13897	----	THE ADVENTURE CLUB AFLOAT by RALPH HENRY BARBOUR Author of _Left End Edwards_, _Left Tackle Thayer_, etc. With Illustrations by E. C. Caswell 1917 [Illustration: The two cruisers were chug-chugging out of the harbour.] TO H.P. HOLT, WHOSE THUNDER I HAVE STOLEN ILLUSTRATIONS THE TWO CRUISERS WERE CHUG-CHUGGING OUT OF THE HARBOUR "IT IS!" HE CRIED. "WE'VE GOT HER, FELLOWS!" "THOSE WAVES WILL BATTER HER TO PIECES" "THEY OFFER YOU--" MR. HYATT LEANED FORWARD IN THE PROTESTING CHAIR CHAPTER I HOW IT STARTED The Adventure Club had its inception, one evening toward the last of June, in Number 17 Sumner Hall, which is the oldest, most vine-hidden and most hallowed of the seven dormitories of Dexter Academy. It was a particularly warm evening, the two windows were wide open and the green-shaded light on the study table in the centre of the room had been turned low--Sumner prided itself on being conservative to the extent of gas instead of electricity and tin bathtubs instead of porcelain--and in the dim radiance the three occupants of the room were scarcely more than darker blurs. Since final examinations had ended that afternoon and Graduation Day was only some twenty-eight hours away, none of the three was doing anything more onerous than yawning, and the yawn which came from Perry Bush, didn't sound as though it cost much of an effort. It was, rather, a comfortable, sleepy yawn, one that expressed contentment and relief, a sort of "Glad-that's-over-and-I'm-still-alive" yawn. There was a window-seat under each casement in Number 17, and each was occupied by a recumbent figure. Perry was on the right-hand seat, his hands under his head and one foot sprawled on the floor, and Joe Ingersoll was in the other, his slim, white-trousered legs jack-knifed against the darker square of the open window. Near Joe, his feet tucked sociably against Joe's ribs, Steve Chapman, the third of the trio, reclined in a Morris chair. I use the word reclined advisedly, for Steve had lowered the back of the chair to its last notch, and to say that he was sitting would require a stretch of the imagination almost as long as Steve himself! Through the windows Steve could see the dark masses of the campus elms, an occasional star between the branches, and, by raising his head the fraction of an inch, the lights in the upper story of Hawthorne, across the yard. Somewhere under the trees outside a group of fellows were singing to the accompaniment of a wailing ukelele. They sang softly, so that the words floated gently up to the open casements just distinguishable: "_Years may come and years may go, Seasons ebb and seasons flow, Autumn lie 'neath Winters' snow, Spring bring Summer verdancy. Life may line our brow with care, Time to silver turn our hair, Still, to us betide whate'er, Dexter, we'll remember thee!_ "_Other memories may fade, Hopes grow dim in ev'ning's shade, Golden friendships that we made_--" "Aw, shut up!" muttered Perry, breaking the silence that had held them for several minutes. Joe Ingersoll laughed softly. "You don't seem to like the efforts of the--um--sweet-voiced choristers," he said in his slow way. "I don't like the sob-stuff," replied Perry resentfully. "What's the use of rubbing it in? Why not let a fellow be cheerful after he has got through by the skin of his teeth and kicked his books under the bed? Gosh, some folks never want anyone to be happy!" He raised himself by painful effort and peered out and down into the gloom. "Sophs, I'll bet," he murmured, falling back again on the cushions. "No one else would sit out here on the grass and sing school songs two days before the end. I hope that idiot singing second bass will get a brown-tail caterpillar down his neck!" "The end!" observed Steve Chapman. "You say that as if we were all going to die the day after tomorrow, Perry! Cheer up! Vacation's coming!" "Vacation be blowed!" responded Perry. "What's that amount to, anyway? Nothing ever happens to me in vacation. It's all well enough for you fellows to laugh. You're going up to college together in the Fall. I'm coming back to this rotten hole all alone!" "Not quite alone, Sweet Youth," corrected Joe. "There will be some four hundred other fellows here." "Oh, well, you know what I mean," said Perry impatiently. "You and Steve will be gone, and I don't give a hang for any other chaps!" He ended somewhat defiantly, conscious that he had indulged in a most unmanly display of sentiment, and was glad that the darkness hid the confusion and heightened colour that followed the confession. Steve and Joe charitably pretended not to have noticed the lamentable exhibition of feeling, and a silence followed, during which the voices of the singers once more became audible. "_Dexter! Mother of our Youth! Dexter! Guardian of the Truth!_" "_Cut it out!_" Perry leaned over the windowsill and bawled the command down into the darkness. A defiant jeer answered him. "Don't be fresh," said Steve reprovingly. Perry mumbled and relapsed into silence. Presently, sighing as he changed his position, Joe said: "I believe Perry's right about vacation, Steve. Nothing much ever does happen to a fellow in Summer. I believe I've had more fun in school than at home the last six years." The others considered the statement a minute. Then: "Correct," said Steve. "It's so, I guess. We're always crazy to get home in June and just as crazy to get back to school again in September, and I believe we all have more good times here than at home." "Of course we do," agreed Perry animatedly. "Anyway, I do. Summers are all just the same. My folks lug me off to the Water Gap and we stay there until it's time to come back here. I play tennis and go motoring and sit around on the porch and--and--bathe--" "Let's hope so," interpolated Joe gravely. "And nothing really interesting ever happens," ended Perry despairingly. "Gee, I'd like to be a pirate or--or something!" "Summers _are_ rather deadly," assented Steve. "We go to the seashore, but the place is filled with swells, and about all they do is change their clothes, eat and sleep. When you get ready for piracy, Perry, let me know, will you! I'd like to sign-on." "Put me down, too," said Joe. "I've always had a--um--sneaking idea that I'd make a bully pirate. I'm naturally bloodthirsty and cruel. And I've got a mental list of folks who--um--I'd like to watch walk the plank!" "Fellows of our ages have a rotten time of it, anyway," Perry grumbled. "We're too old to play kids' games and too young to do anything worth while. What I'd like to do--" "Proceed, Sweet Youth," Joe prompted after a moment. "Well, I'd like to--to start something! I'd like to get away somewhere and do things. I'm tired of loafing around in white flannels all day and keeping my hands clean. And I'm tired of dabbing whitewash on my shoes! Didn't you fellows ever think that you'd like to get good and dirty and not have to care? Wouldn't you like to put on an old flannel shirt and a pair of khaki trousers and some 'sneakers' and--and roll in the mud?" "Elemental stuff," murmured Joe. "He's been reading Jack London." "Well, that's the way I feel, lots of times," said Perry defiantly. "I'm tired of being clean and white, and I'm tired of dinner jackets, and I'm sick to death of hotel porches! Gee, a healthy chap never was intended to lead the life of a white poodle with a pink ribbon around his neck! Me for some rough-stuff!" "You're dead right, too," agreed Steve. "That kind of thing is all right for Joe, of course. Joe's a natural-born 'fusser.' He's never happier than when he's dolled up in a sport-shirt and a lavender scarf and toasting marshmallows. But--" "Is that so?" inquired Joe with deep sarcasm. "If I was half the 'fusser' you are--" "What I want," interrupted Perry, warming to his theme, "is adventure! I'd like to hunt big game, or discover the North Pole--" "You're a year or two late," murmured Joe. "--or dig for hidden treasure!" "You should--um--change your course of reading," advised Joe. "Too much Roosevelt and Peary and Stevenson is your trouble. Read the classics for awhile--or the Patty Books." "That's all right, but you chaps are just the same, only you won't own up to it." "One of us will," said Steve; "and does." "Make it two," yawned Joe. "Beneath this--um--this polished exterior there beats a heart--I mean there flows the red blood of--" "Look here, fellows, why not?" asked Steve. "Why not what?" asked Perry. "Why not have adventures? They say that all you have to do is look for them." "Don't you believe it! I've looked for them for years and I've never seen one yet." Perry swung his feet to the floor and sat up. "Well, not at Delaware Water Gap, naturally. You've got to move around, son. You don't find them by sitting all day with your feet on the rail of a hotel piazza." "Where do you find them, then?" Perry demanded. Steve waved a hand vaguely aloft into the greenish radiance of the lamp. "All round. North, east, south and west. Land or sea. Adventures, Perry, are for the adventurous. Now, here we are, three able-bodied fellows fairly capable of looking after ourselves in most situations, tired of the humdrum life of Summer resorts. What's to prevent our spending a couple of months together and finding some adventures? Of course, we can't go to Africa and shoot lions and wart-hogs--whatever they may be,--and we can't fit out an Arctic exploration party and discover Ingersoll Land or Bush Inlet or Chapman's Passage, but we could have a mighty good time, I'd say, and, even if we didn't have many hair-breadth escapes, I'll bet it would beat chasing tennis balls and doing the Australian crawl and keeping our white shoes and trousers clean!" "We could be as dirty as we liked!" sighed Perry ecstatically. "Lead me to it!" "It sounds positively fascinating," drawled Joe, "but just how would we go about it? My folks, for some unfathomable reason, think quite a lot of me, and I don't just see them letting me amble off like that; especially in--um--such disreputable company." "I should think they'd be glad to be rid of you for a Summer," said Perry. "Anyhow, let's make believe it's possible, fellows, and talk about it." "Why isn't it possible?" asked Steve. "My folks would raise objections as well as yours, Joe, but I guess I could fetch them around. After all, there's no more danger than in staying at home and trying to break your neck driving an automobile sixty miles an hour. Let's really consider the scheme, fellows. I'm in earnest. I want to do it. What Perry said is just what I've been thinking without saying. Why, hang it, a fellow needs something of the sort to teach him sense and give him experience. This thing of hanging around a hotel porch all Summer makes a regular mollycoddle of a fellow. I'm for revolt!" "Hear! Hear!" cried Perry enthusiastically. "Revolution! _A bas la_ Summer Resort! _Viva_ Adventure!" "Shut up, idiot! Do you really mean it, Steve, or are you just talking? If you mean it, I'm with you to the last--um--drop of blood, old chap! I've always wanted to revolt about something, anyway. One of my ancestors helped throw the English breakfast tea into Boston Harbour. But I don't want to get all het up about this unless there's really something in it besides jabber." "We start the first day of July," replied Steve decisively. "Where for?" "That is the question, friends. Shall it be by land or sea?" "Land," said Joe. "Sea," said Perry. "The majority rules and I cast my vote with Perry. Adventures are more likely to be found on the water, I think, and it's adventures we are looking for." "But I always get seasick," objected Joe. "And when I'm seasick you couldn't tempt me with any number of adventures. I simply--um--don't seem to enthuse much at such times." "You can take a lemon with you," suggested Perry cheerfully. "My grandmother--" Joe shook his head. "They don't do you any good," he said sadly. "Don't they! My grandmother--" "Bother your grandmother! How do we go to sea, Steve? Swim or--or how?" "We get my father's cruiser," replied Steve simply. "She's a forty-footer and togged out like an ocean-liner. Has everything but a swimming-pool. She--" "Nix on the luxuries," interrupted Perry. "The simple life for me. Let's hire an old moth-eaten sailboat--" "Nothing doing, Sweet Youth! If I'm to risk my life on the heaving ocean I want something under me. Besides, being seasick is rotten enough, anyhow, without having to roll around in the cock-pit of a two-by-twice sailboat. That cruiser listens well, Steve, but--um--will papa fall for it? If it was my father--" "I think he will," answered Steve seriously. "Dad doesn't have much chance to use the boat himself, and this Summer he's likely to be in the city more than ever. The trouble is that the _Cockatoo_ is almost too big for three of us to handle." "Oh, piffle!" "It's so, though. I know the boat, Perry. She's pretty big when it comes to making a landing or picking up a mooring. If we were all fairly good seamen it might be all right, but I wouldn't want to try to handle the _Cockatoo_ without a couple of sailors aboard." "I once sailed a knockabout," said Perry. "And I had a great-grandfather who was a sea captain," offered Joe encouragingly. "What price great-grandfather?" "Don't see where your grandfather and Perry's grandmother come into this," replied Steve. "How would it do if we gathered up two or three other fellows? The _Cockatoo_ will accommodate six." "Who could we get?" asked Joe dubiously. "Neil Fairleigh, for one." "How about Han?" offered Joe. "Hanford always wants to boss everything," objected Perry. "He knows boats, though, and so does Neil," said Steve. "And they're both good fellows. That would make five of us, and five isn't too many. We can't afford to hire a cook, you know; at least, I can't; and someone will have to look after that end of it. Who can cook?" "I can't!" Perry made the disclaimer with great satisfaction. "No more can I," said Joe cheerfully. "Let Neil be cook." "I guess we'll all have to take a try at it. I dare say any of us can fry an egg and make coffee; and you can buy almost everything ready to eat nowadays." "Tell you who's a whale of a cook," said Perry eagerly. "That's Ossie Brazier. Remember the time we camped at Mirror Lake last Spring? Remember the flapjacks he made? M-mm!" "I didn't go," said Steve. "What sort of a chap is Brazier? I don't know him very well." "Well, Oscar's one of the sort who will do anything just as long as he thinks he doesn't have to," replied Joe. "If we could get him to come along and tell him that he--um--simply must _not_ ask to do the cooking, why--there you are!" "Merely a matter of diplomacy," laughed Steve. "Well, we might have Brazier instead of Hanford--or Neil." "Why not have them all if the boat will hold six?" asked Joe. "Seems to me the more we have the less each of us will have to do. I mean," he continued above the laughter, "that--um--a division of labour--" "We get you," said Perry. "But, say, I wish you'd stop talking about it, fellows. I'm going to be disappointed when I wake up and find it's only a bright and gaudy dream." "It isn't a dream," answered Steve, "unless you say so. I'll go, and I'll guarantee to get the _Cockatoo_ without expense other than the cost of running her. If you and Joe can get your folks to let you come, and we can get hold of, say, two other decent chaps to fill the crew, why, we'll do it!" "Do you honestly mean it?" demanded Perry incredulously. "Gee, I'll get permission if I have to--to go without it!" "How about you, Joe?" "Um--I guess I could manage it. How long would we be gone?" "A month. Two, if you like. Start the first of July, or as soon after as possible, and get back in August." "How much would it cost us?" inquired Perry. "I'm not a millionaire like you chaps." "Wouldn't want to say offhand. We'd have to figure that. That's another reason for filling the boat up, though. The more we have the less everyone's share of the expense will be." "Let's have the whole six, then, for money's scarce in my family these days. Let's make it a club, fellows. The Club of Six, or something of that sort. It sounds fine!" "Take in another fellow and call it The Lucky Seven," suggested Joe. "We might not be lucky, though," laughed Steve. "I'll tell you a better name." "Shoot!" "The Adventure Club." CHAPTER II THE CLUB GROWS And that is the way in which it happened. It began in fun and ended quite seriously. They sat up in Number 17 Sumner until long after bedtime that night, figuring the cost of the expedition, planning the cruise, even listing supplies. The more they talked about it the more their enthusiasm grew. Perry was for having Steve send a night message then and there to his father asking for the boat, but Steve preferred to wait until he reached home and make the request by word of mouth. "He would just think I was fooling or crazy if I telegraphed," he explained. "Tomorrow we'll try to dig up three other fellows to go along, and then, as soon as we all get home, we'll find out whether our folks will stand for it. You must all telegraph me the first thing. Don't wait to write, because I must know as soon as possible. I dare say there's work to be done on the _Cockatoo_ before she's ready for the water, and we don't want to have to wait around until the end of July. The fun of doing anything is to do it right off. If you wait you lose half the pleasure. Now you'd better beat it, Perry. It's after ten. If you meet a proctor close your eyes and make believe you're walking in your sleep." Perry reached his own room, on the floor above, without being sighted, however, and subsequently spent a sleepless hour in joyous anticipation of at last finding some of those adventures that all his life he had longed for. And when he did at length fall asleep it was to have the most outlandish dreams, visions in which he endured shipwreck, fought pirates and was all but eaten by cannibals. The most incongruous phase of the dream, as recollected on waking, was that the _Cockatoo_ had been, not a motor-boat at all, but a trolley-car! He distinctly remembered that the pirates, on boarding it, had each dropped a nickel in the box! Fortunately for the success of the Adventure Club, the next morning held no duties. In the afternoon the deciding baseball game was to be played, but, except for gathering belongings together preliminary to packing, nothing else intervened between now and the graduation programme of the morrow. Hence it was an easy matter to hold what might be termed the first meeting of the club. Besides the originators there were present Messrs. Fairleigh, Hanford and Brazier. After Steve had locked the door to prevent interruption, he presented to the newcomers a summary of the scheme. It was received with enthusiasm and unanimous approval, but Neil Fairleigh and Oscar Brazier sadly admitted that in their cases parental permission was extremely doubtful. George Hanford, whose parents were dead and who was under the care of a guardian, thought that in his case there would be no great difficulty. The other two viewed him a trifle enviously. Then, because one may always hope, they had to hear the particulars and each secretly began to fashion arguments to overcome the objections at home. Finally Oscar Brazier inquired interestedly: "Who is going to cook for you?" "Oh, we'll take turns, maybe," answered Joe. "Or we might hire a cook." Joe stole a look at Steve. Oscar only shuffled his feet. "I say hire," remarked Perry. "Any of us could do it after a fashion, I dare say, but you get frightfully hungry on the water and need good stuff well cooked, and lots of it." "Yes," agreed Steve, "any of us would make an awful mess of it. Cooking's an art." Oscar cleared his throat and frowned. "You'd have to pay a lot for a cook," he said. "It isn't hard, really. I could do it--if I were going along." "That's so," George Hanford confirmed. But the rest seemed unflatteringly doubtful. The silence was almost embarrassing. At last Joe said hurriedly: "Well, we don't have to decide that now. Besides, if you can't come with us--um--" His voice trailed off into a relieved silence. Oscar smiled haughtily. "That's all right," he said. "If you prefer a cook, say so. Only, if I did go I'd be willing to do the cooking, and I'll bet I could do it as well as any cook you could hire. Isn't it so, Han?" "Yes, I call you a mighty nifty cook, Ossie. I've eaten your biscuits more than once. Flapjacks, too." "Well," said Joe politely, "camp cooking is um--different, I guess, from regular cooking. Of course, I don't say Ossie couldn't do it, mind you, but--we wouldn't want to take chances. On the whole, I think it would be best to have a regular cook." "We might let Ossie try it," suggested Perry judicially. "Oh, I'm not crazy about it," disclaimed Oscar, piqued. "If you prefer to pay out good money for a cook--" "Not at all," interrupted Steve soothingly. "We want to do the whole thing as cheaply as we can. I see no harm in leaving the cooking end of it to you, Brazier; that is, if you can go." "I'm going to make a big try for it," declared Oscar resolutely. "If my folks won't let me, they--they'll wish they had!" Whereupon, emboldened by Oscar's stand, Neil Fairleigh expressed the conviction that he, too, could manage it some way. "I dare say that if I tell my dad that all you chaps are going he will think it's all right. It wouldn't be for all Summer, anyway, would it?" "The idea now," responded Steve, "is to start out for a month's cruise and extend it if we cared to. I suppose any of us that got tired could quit after the month was up." He smiled. "We'd all have to sign-on for a month, though." "Right-o," agreed Hanford. "What about electing officers? Oughtn't we to do that? Someone ought to be in charge, I should think." "Sure!" exclaimed Joe. "We'll ballot. Throw that pad over here, Ossie." "Wait a minute," said Steve. "I've been thinking, fellows. The _Cockatoo_ will hold six comfortably. The main cabin has berths for four and the owner's cabin for two, but if I'm not mistaken the berths in the owner's cabin are extension, and if they are we could bunk three fellows in there, or even four at a pinch. That would give us room for seven or eight in all. Eight might make it a bit crowded, but she's a big, roomy boat and I think we could do with seven fellows all right. And seven's a lucky number, too. So suppose we take in one more while we're at it?" "The more the merrier," agreed Joe. "Who have you got in mind?" Steve shook his head. "No one, but I guess we can think of a fellow. There's--" Steve was interrupted by a knock on the door, and when Hanford, who was nearest, had, at a nod from Steve, unlocked the portal a tall, rather serious-faced youth of seventeen entered. "Oh, am I butting-in?" he asked. "I didn't know. I'll come back later, Joe." Philip Street smiled apologetically and started a retreat, but Steve called him back. "Hold on, Phil!" he cried. "Come in here. You're the very fellow we want. Close the door and find a seat, will you?" "By Jove, that's so!" exclaimed Joe, and the others heartily endorsed him. Oddly enough, not one would have thought of Phil Street in all probability, but each recognised the fact that he was the ideal fellow to complete the membership. Steve, Joe aiding and the others attempting to, outlined the plan. If they had expected signs of enthusiasm from Phil they were doomed to disappointment, for that youth listened silently and attentively until they had ended and then asked simply: "When are you planning to get away?" "As near the first of the month as we can," replied Steve. "I'm afraid I couldn't go, then," said Phil. "I'm a delegate to the C.B. Convention, you see, and that doesn't end until the sixth." "I'd forgotten that," said Joe disappointedly. "What's C.B. stand for?" inquired Hanford. "Christian Brotherhood," supplied Steve. "Look here, Phil, could you go after the sixth?" "Yes, I'd love to, thanks." "All right then, you're signed-on. If we get away before that we'll pick you up somewhere. If we don't you can start with us. How is that?" "Quite satisfactory," answered Phil. "But are you sure your folks will let you?" asked Perry. "Oh, yes, I spend my Summers about as I like." "Think of that!" sighed Perry. "Gee, I wish my folks were like that." "I guess," said Steve, "that Phil's folks know he won't get into trouble, Perry, while yours are pretty certain that you will. It makes a difference. Now we can go ahead with that election, can't we? How about nominations?" "No need of them," declared Joe. "What officers do we want?" "Well, this is a club--the Adventure Club, Phil, is the name we've chosen--and so I suppose we ought to have a president and a vice-president and--" "Rot!" said Perry. "Too high-sounding. Let's elect a captain and a treasurer and let it go at that." "I never heard of a club having a captain," Oscar Brazier objected. "Nor anyone else," agreed Joe. "Let's follow the Nihilist scheme and elect a Number One, a Number Two and a Number Three. Number One can be the boss, a sort of president, you know, Number Two can correspond to a vice-president and Number Three can be secretary and treasurer. How's that?" "Suits me," said Steve. "Tear up some pieces of paper, Perry. We'll each vote for the three officers, writing the names in order, then the fellow getting the most votes--" "I don't know as I ought to vote," said Neil Fairleigh, "because I'm not sure I can go. Maybe I'd better not, eh?" "Oh, shucks, never mind that," replied Perry. "You can join the club, anyway, and be a sort of non-resident member. Here you are, fellows. Who's got a pen or something?" During the ensuing two or three minutes there was comparative silence in Number 17, and while the seven occupants of the room busy themselves with pens or pencils let us look them over since we are likely to spend some time in their company from now on. First of all there is Steve Chapman, seventeen years of age, a tall, well-built and nicely proportioned youth with black hair and eyes, a quick, determined manner and an incisive speech. Steve was Football Captain last Fall. Next him sits George Hanford. Han, as the boys call him, is eighteen, also a senior, and also a football player. He is big and rangey, good-natured and popular, and is president of the senior class. Joe Ingersoll's age is seventeen. He is Steve's junior by two months. He is of medium height, rather thin, light complexioned and has peculiarly pale eyes behind the round spectacles he wears. Joe is first baseman on the Nine, and a remarkably competent one. He is slow of speech and possesses a dry humour that on occasion can be uncomfortably ironical. Beside him, Perry Bush is a complete contrast, for Perry is large-limbed, rather heavy of build, freckle-faced, red-haired and jolly. He has very dark blue eyes and, in spite of a moon-shaped countenance, is distinctly pleasing to look at; he is sixteen. Neil Fairleigh and Phil Street are of an age, seventeen, but in other regards are quite unalike. Neil is of medium height, with his full allowance of flesh, and has hair the hue of new rope and grey-blue eyes. He is even-tempered, easy-going and, if truth must be told, somewhat lazy. Phil Street is quite tall, rather thin and dark complexioned, a nice-looking, somewhat serious youth whose infrequent smile is worth waiting for. He is an Honor Man, a distinction attained by no other member of our party save Steve. The last of the seven is Oscar Brazier, and Ossie, as the boys call him, is sixteen years old, short and square, strongly-made and conspicuous for neither beauty nor scholarly attainments. Ossie has a snub nose, a lot of rebellious brown hair, red cheeks and a wide mouth that is usually smiling. Renowned for his good-nature, he is nevertheless a hard worker at whatever he undertakes, and if he sometimes shows a suspicious disposition it is only because his good-nature has been frequently imposed on. When the last pencil had stopped scratching Joe gathered the slips together and after a moment's figuring announced that Steve had been elected Number One without a dissenting vote, that he himself had been made Number Two and that Phil was Number Three. If Perry felt disappointment he hid it, and when Phil declared that in his opinion Perry should have been elected instead of him, since Perry was, so to say, a charter member, Perry promptly disclaimed any desire of the sort. "No, thanks," he said. "If I was secretary I'd have to keep the accounts and all that sort of thing, and I'm no good at it. You're the very fellow for the job, Phil." The assemblage broke up shortly after, to meet again that evening at eight, Steve undertaking to have a map on hand then so that they might plan their cruise. As none of the seven was bound to secrecy, what happened is only what might have been expected. By the time the ball game was half over Steve and Joe had received enough applications for membership in the Adventure Club to have, in Joe's words, filled an ocean liner. It is probable that a large proportion of the applicants could not have obtained permission to join the expedition, but they were each and all terribly enthusiastic and eager to join, and it required all of Steve's and Joe's diplomacy to turn them away without hurting their feelings. Wink Wheeler--his real name was Warren, but no one ever called him that--refused politely but firmly to take no for an answer. Wink said he didn't care where he bunked and that he never ate anything on a boat, anyway, because he was always too seasick to bother about meals. "One more won't matter, Steve," Wink pleaded. "Be a good chap and let me in, won't you? My folks are going out to California this Summer and I don't want to go, and they'll let me do anything I like. Tell you what, Steve. If you'll take me I'll buy something for the boat. I'll make the club a present of--of a tender or an anchor or whatever you say!" Steve found it especially hard to turn Wink down, because he liked the fellow, just as everyone else did. Wink was eighteen and had been five years getting through school, but he was a big, good-hearted, jovial boy, and, as Steve reflected, one who would be a desirable companion on such an adventure as had been planned. Steve at last told Wink that he would speak to the others about him that evening, but that Wink was not to get his hopes up, and Wink took himself off whistling cheerfully and quite satisfied. But when Steve tentatively broached the matter of including one more member in the person of Wink Wheeler, Joe staggered him by announcing that he had promised Harry Corwin to intercede for the latter. "He pestered the life out of me," explained Joe ruefully, "and I finally told him I'd ask you fellows. But I suppose we can't take two more. Nine would--um--be rather overdoing it, eh?" Everyone agreed that it would. Han suggested that Wink Wheeler and Harry Corwin might toss up for the privilege of joining the club. "After all," he added, "we aren't all of us certain that we can go. If one or two of us drop out there'll be room for Wink and Harry, too." "Seems to me," said Phil Street, "it might be a good plan to enlarge the membership to, say, twelve, and let the new members find a boat of their own. I dare say they could. Then--" "Fine!" exclaimed Joe. "Harry and his brother have some sort of a motor-boat. He told me so today. That's a bully idea, Phil! With twelve of us we could divide up between the two boats--" "How many will Corwin's boat hold?" asked Neil. "I don't know. I'll see him and find out. But it ought to be big enough to hold four, anyway. There are seven of us now, and Wink and Harry and his brother Tom would make ten, and we could easily pick out two more." "Let's make the membership thirteen," said Perry. "Thirteen!" echoed Han. "Gee, that's unlucky!" "Rot! Why, you've got thirteen letters in your name. George Hanford." Perry counted on his fingers. "This is the Adventure Club, isn't it? Well, starting out with thirteen members is an adventure right at the start!" "Sure!" agreed Ossie. "Let's take a chance. It's only a silly what-do-you-call-it anyway." "Meaning superstition?" asked Steve. "Well, I'm agreeable. Who else do we want? Bert Alley asked to join, and so did George Browne." "And Casper Temple," added Joe. "And they're all good fellows. But I want it distinctly understood that I'm going on the _Cockatoo_." "Me too!" exclaimed Perry. "All of us fellows must go on the _Cockatoo_. We were the first." "But suppose Corwin's boat won't hold five?" said Han. "We can squeeze eight into the _Cockatoo_, if we have to," said Steve. "Joe, you cut along and find Corwin and bring him up here. We might as well settle the thing now." "All right, but don't settle about the cruise while I'm gone," answered Joe. "I'll have him here in ten minutes." When the meeting adjourned that evening the club had added six new members and enlarged its fleet by the addition of the cabin-cruiser, _Follow Me_. It was just half-past ten when Joe and Steve produced the last of their supply of ginger-ale from under the window-seat and, utilising glasses, tooth-mugs and pewter trophies, the members present drank success to the Adventure Club. CHAPTER III CAST OFF! Some two weeks later, or, to be exact, sixteen days, making the date therefor, the eighth day of July, a round-faced, freckle-cheeked youth in a pair of khaki trousers, white rubber-soled shoes, a light flannel shirt that had once been brown and was now the colour of much diluted coffee and a white duck hat sat on the forward deck of a trim motor-boat with his feet suspended above the untidy water of a slip. By turning his head slightly he could have looked across the sunlit surface of Buttermilk Channel to the green slopes of Governor's Island and, beyond the gleaming Statue of Liberty. But Perry Bush was far more interested in the approach that led from the noisy, granite-paved street behind a distant fence to the pier against which the boat was nestled. As he watched he sniffed gratefully of the mingled odours that came to him; the smell of salt water, of pitch and oakum, of paint from a neighbouring craft receiving her Summer dress, of fresh shavings and sawdust from the nearby shed whence came also the shriek of the band-saw and the _tap-tap_ of mallets. Ballinger's Yacht Basin was a busy place at this time of the year, and the slips were crowded with sailboats and motor-boats, while many craft still stood, stilted and canvas-wrapped, in the shade of the long sheds. Perry whistled a gay tune softly as he basked there in the warm sunlight and awaited the arrival of the rest of the boat's crew. Much had happened since that Thursday when they had toasted the Adventure Club in Steve's and Joe's room in Sumner. Graduation Day had sent them scurrying homeward. Then had followed much correspondence with Steve. After an anxious four days, Perry and the rest had each received a brief but highly satisfactory telegram: "_Cockatoo_ ours for two months. Meet Ballinger's Basin, Brooklyn, fourth." But work on the cruiser had delayed the starting date, and they had now been kicking their heels about New York for four days. Perry and Phil Street had been taken care of by Steve, and Joe had had Neil, Han and Ossie as his guests. At Bay Shore, on the south side of Long Island, the _Follow Me_ was awaiting them impatiently. The _Follow Me_ had been ready to put to sea for a full week. Although Steve and Joe had provisioned the _Cockatoo_--which, by the way, was no longer the _Cockatoo_, but the _Adventurer_, having been renamed during the process of painting--the crew had not been altogether idle during their wait. Each had thought of something further to add. Ossie, who, as a special favour, was to be allowed to try his hand at cooking, had made several trips between a big department store on Fulton Street and had returned to the basin laden each time with mysterious packages, many of which rattled or clinked when deposited in the galley. Perry had purchased an inexpensive talking machine and a dozen records. Neil had contributed a patent life-preserver that looked like a waistcoat to be used by an Arctic explorer and was guaranteed to keep Barnum and Bailey's fat man afloat. Phil had supplied the cabin with magazines, few of them, to Perry's chagrin, of the sort anyone but a "highbrow" would care to tackle. Joe, as an after-thought, had stocked up heavily with Mother Somebody's Cure for Seasickness. George Hanford had tried to smuggle on board a black and white puppy about a foot long which he had bought on a street corner for two dollars and a half. Steve, however, had objected strenuously and Han had been forced to see the puppy's former owner and sell his purchase back for a dollar, the value of it having decreased surprisingly in a few hours. Even Steve had supplemented the boat's contents the day before by stowing two desperate-looking revolvers and several boxes of cartridges in a locker in the forward cabin. Then, too, they had each outfitted more or less elaborately, according to their pocket-books. Steve and Joe had pointed out that, with seven aboard, locker room would be at a premium, and had urged the others to take as little in the way of personal luggage as they could get along with. But when the out-of-town boys got into the stores the advice was soon forgotten. Neil had outfitted as if he was about to set forth on a voyage around the world, and Han was not far behind him. Perry would have liked, too, to become the proud possessor of some of the things the former fellows brought aboard, but Perry's finances were low after he had paid for that talking machine, and so, with the exception of a new grey sweater, he had made no additions to his wardrobe. This morning he had volunteered to go to the basin early and superintend the loading of ice and water, and now, those things aboard, he was wondering, a trifle resentfully, why the others didn't come. They were to cast off at eleven and it was now well after ten. "Probably," he muttered, edging back so that he could have the support of the big, round smoke-stack, "Neil's buying another necktie! It would serve them right if I started the thing up and went off without them." As, however, Perry knew absolutely nothing about a gasoline engine, there was little likelihood of his carrying that threat into action. In any case, there would have been no excuse, for less than a minute later he descried the tardy ones skirting the shed and coming along the wharf. They looked, Perry thought with satisfaction, very hot and disgruntled as, each carrying his belongings in a parcel so that there would be no bags to stow away, they approached the boat. Although Perry was no mechanician, he quite understood the operation of an electric horn, and now, swinging nimbly down to the bridge deck, he set the palm of his hand against a big black button. The result was all that he desired. An amazing, ear-splitting shriek broke the ordinary clamour of the scene. Perry smiled ecstatically and peered out and up from under the awning. But the half-dozen countenances that looked down at him expressed only disgust, and Joe's voice came to him even above the blast of the horn. "Don't be a silly fool, Perry!" shouted Joe peevishly. "Let that alone and catch these bundles!" Perry obeyed and one by one the fellows scrambled from wharf to boat. And, having reached the bridge deck, they subsided exhaustedly onto the two cushioned seats or the gunwale. Perry viewed their inflamed, perspiring faces in smiling surprise. "What did you do?" he asked. "Run all the way?" "Joe got us on the wrong car," panted Neil, "and we went halfway to Coney Island, I guess." "It wasn't my fault any more than it was yours," growled Joe. "You had eyes, hadn't you?" "We had eyes," replied Ossie from behind his handkerchief, as he wiped his streaming face, "but we aren't supposed to know where these silly cars go to." "I didn't have any trouble," murmured Perry. "Well, we did," said Han resentfully. "We waited ten minutes on a broiling-hot corner and then, when we did get another car, it got blocked behind ten thousand drays and we had to foot it about eleven miles! Got any ice-water aboard?" "We've got ice and we've got water," replied Perry. "If you mix 'em in the proper proportions--" "Oh, dry up and blow away," muttered Han, dragging himself painfully down the companion on his way to the galley. Phil Street smiled. "Seems to me we're starting our adventure rather inauspiciously," he said. "If we have a grouch before we leave the dock what's going to happen later?" "Maybe it's a good thing to have it now and get over it," laughed Steve. "It was hot, though! And it isn't much cooler here. Let's get under way, fellows, and find a breeze. It will take us the better part of four hours to get to Bay Shore, anyway, and I telephoned Wink yesterday that we'd be there by three. Every fellow into sea-togs as quick as he can make it. Joe and Phil and I bunk aft, the rest of you in the main cabin. Get your things put away neatly, fellows. Anyone caught being disorderly will be keel-hauled. Have a look at this thermometer, Joe. It's almost eighty-nine! Let's get out of here in a hurry!" For the next ten minutes the fellows busied themselves as Steve had directed. All, that is, save Perry. As Perry was already dressed for sea he used his leisure to sit in the hatchway of the after cabin and converse entertainingly with the occupants until, on the score that he was keeping the air out, he was driven up to the cockpit. There he perched himself in one of the four comfortable wicker chairs, placed his feet on the leather-cushioned seat across the stern and languorously observed a less fortunate person scrape the deck of a sloop on the far side of the slip. Suppose that, while the _Adventurer's_ crew prepares for service, we have a look over the boat. The _Adventurer_, late the _Cockatoo_, was a forty-foot V-bottom, military type cruiser, with a nine-foot beam and a draught of two feet and six inches. Below the water-line she was painted a dark green. Above it she was freshly, immaculately white as to hull, while decks and smoke-stack were buff. The exterior bulkheads were of panelled mahogany, and a narrow strip of mahogany edged the deck. There was a refreshing lack of gold in sight, and, viewed from alongside, the _Adventurer_ had a very business-like appearance. As she was of the raised-deck cabin type, with full head-room everywhere, she stood well above the water, and the low, sweeping lines that suggest speed were lacking. But the _Adventurer_ had speed, nevertheless, for under the bridge deck was a six-cylinder 6x6 Van Lyte engine that could send her along at twenty miles an hour when necessary. On the stern was the legend "ADVENTURER: NEW YORK," and the name appeared again on each of the mahogany boards that housed the sidelights. The cockpit, which was self-bailing, was roomy enough to accommodate seven persons comfortably. A broad leather-cushioned seat ran across the stern and there were four wicker chairs besides. Life preservers were ingeniously strapped under the chair seats and two others hung at each side of the after cabin door. The after cabin, or owner's stateroom, held two extension seats which at night were converted into wide and comfortable berths. At the forward end a lavatory occupied one side and a clothes locker the other. Other lockers occupied the space between the seats and the three ports. This compartment, like the main cabin, was enamelled in cream-white with mahogany trim. Three steps led to the bridge deck, a roomy place which housed engine, steering wheel and all controls. The engine, although under deck, was readily accessible by means of sectional hatches. On the steering column were wheel, self-starter switch, spark, throttle and clutch, making it easily possible for one person to operate the boat if necessary. Two seats were built against the after bulkhead, chart boxes flanked the forward hatchway and the binnacle was above the steering column. Forward, the compartment was glassed in, but on other sides khaki curtains were depended on in bad weather. When not in use the curtains rolled up to the edge of the awning, which was set on a pipe-frame. From the bridge deck three steps led down to the main cabin. Here in the daytime were two longitudinal couches with high upholstered backs. At night the backs swung out and up to form berths, so that the compartment supplied sleeping accomodations for four persons. There were roomy lockers under the seats and at meal times an extension table made a miraculous appearance and seated eight. Forward of the main cabin was the galley, gleaming with white enamel and brass. It was fitted with a large ice-chest, many lockers, a sink with running water, a two-burner alcohol stove with oven and a multitude of plate-racks. It was the lightest place in the boat, for, besides a light-port on each side, it had as well a hatch overhead. The hatch, although water-tight, was made to open for the admission of ice and supplies. Still forward, in the nose of the boat, was a large water tank and, beyond that, the rope locker. The gasoline tanks, of which there were four, held two hundred and fifty gallons. The boat was lighted by electricity in all parts by means of a generator and storage battery. An eight-foot tender rested on chocks atop the main cabin. The boat carried no signal mast, but flag-poles at bow and stern and abaft the bridge deck frame held the Union Jack, the yacht ensign and the club burgee. All in all, the _Adventurer_ was a smart and finely appointed craft, and a capable one, too. Steve's father had had her built only a little more than a year ago and she had seen but scant service. In the inelegant but expressive phraseology of Perry, "she was a rip-snorting corker of a boat." The consensus of opinion was to the effect that Mr. Chapman was "a peach to let them have it," and there was an unuttered impression that that kind-hearted gentleman was taking awful chances! For, after all, except that Steve had had a brief week or so on the boat the preceding Summer and that Joe had taken two days of instruction in gasoline engine operation, not a member of the crew knew much of the work ahead. Still, George Hanford had operated a twelve-foot motor dingey at one time, Phil Street had sailed a knockabout and all had an average amount of common-sense, and it seemed that, with luck, they might somehow manage to escape death by drowning! Mr. Chapman surely must have had a good deal of faith in Steve and his companions or he would never have consented to their operating the cruiser without the aid of a seasoned navigator. As for the boys themselves, they anticipated many difficulties and some hazards, but, with the confidence of youth, they expected to "muddle through," and, as Neil said, what they didn't know now they soon would. At exactly seven minutes past eleven by the ship's clock the _Adventurer_ gave a prolonged screech and, moorings cast off, edged her way out of the basin and dipped her nose in the laughing waters of the bay, embarked at last on a voyage that was destined to fully vindicate her new name. CHAPTER IV THE _FOLLOW ME_ Two days before they had decided that Steve was to be captain, Joe, chief engineer, Phil, first mate, Perry, second mate, Ossie, steward, Neil, cabin boy and Han, crew. Neil and Han had naturally rebelled at being left without office or title and the omission had been laughingly remedied to their entire satisfaction. In fact, Han was quite stuck up over his official position, pointing out that it might be possible for a boat to get along without a captain or mate or even a steward, but that a crew was absolutely essential. He declared his intention of purchasing a yachting cap at the first port of call and having the inscription "Crew" worked on it in gold bullion. When the _Adventurer_ left her berth each member of the boat's company was at his post, or, at least, at what he surmised to be his post. Steve, of course, was at the control, Joe, with the hatches up, was watching his engine approvingly, Phil, boat-hook in hand, was on the forward deck, Perry hovered around Steve, begging to be allowed to blow the whistle, Ossie and Neil watched from opposite sides of the bridge deck and Han, in the role of crew, hitched his trousers at intervals, touched his cap when anyone so much as looked at him and said "Ay, ay, sir!" at the slightest provocation. And with all hands on duty the cruiser pointed her white bow towards The Narrows. Steve never took his eyes from the course for more than a moment until they had passed Coney Island Light, for there were many craft bustling or slopping about and it really required some navigation to get through The Narrows and past Gravesend Bay without running into something. Perry suspected that Steve was working the whistle overtime, but realized that too many precautions were better than too few. It was Perry's ambition to learn navigation so that he might ultimately be entrusted with the wheel, and to that end he stood at Steve's elbow until, when they gained the Main Channel, Ossie's dulcet voice was heard proclaiming, "Grub, fellows!" from below. Steve was rather too preoccupied to be very informative, but Perry did manage to imbibe some information. For instance, he learned that a sailing craft had the right of way over a power craft, something he had not known previously, and observed that a large proportion of them used that right to its limit. He got quite incensed with a small, blunt-nosed schooner which insisted on crossing the _Adventurer's_ course just as they were passing Fort Hamilton. Steve had to slow down rather hurriedly to avoid a collision and Perry viewed the two occupants of the schooner's deck with a scowl as they lazed across the cruiser's bows. "Cheeky beggars," he muttered. He also learned the whistle code that morning: one blast for starboard, two for port, four short blasts for danger and three for going astern. Joe, who had applied oil to every part of the engine that he could reach, supplied the added information that a sailboat under way on the starboard tack had the right of way over anything afloat--with the possible exception of a torpedo!--and that other craft had to turn to port in passing them. Joe had wrested that bit of knowledge from a volume entitled, "Motor Boats and Boating," which he carried in a side pocket every minute of the trip, and passed it on with evident pride. For the next few days he discovered other interesting items in that precious book and divulged them at intervals with what to Perry seemed a most offensive assumption of superiority. "You just read that in your old book," Perry would grumble. "Anybody could do that!" Nevertheless, he hearkened and remembered against the time when the conduct of the boat should be handed over to the hands of the efficient second mate. When Joe became insufferably informative Perry blandly asked him questions about the engine, such as, "What's the difference, Joe, between a two-cycle and a four-cycle motor?" or "What happens when the water-jacket becomes unbuttoned?" and was delighted to find that Joe lapsed into silence until he had had time to surreptitiously consult his book. Today, however, Joe's ignorance of motors mattered not at all, for the engine ran sweetly and the _Adventurer_ churned through the green water without a falter. More than once Joe might have been observed gazing down at the six cylinder-heads surmounted by their maze of wires with an expression of awe. Joe's thoughts probably might have been put into words thus: "Yes, I see you doing it, but--but _why?_" Steve didn't go down to the cabin for dinner, but ate it as best he could on the bridge. Neil, in his capacity of cabin-boy, arranged a folding stool beside him, and from that, at intervals between moving the wheel, blowing the whistle or anxiously scanning the course, Steve seized his food. The others descended to the main cabin and squeezed themselves about the table, which, adorned with a cloth of wonderful sheen and whiteness that bore the cruiser's former name and flag woven in the centre, held a plentiful supply of canned beans, fried bacon, potato chips, bread and butter and raspberry jam. Everything was thrillingly fine, from the pure linen tablecloth and napkins to the silverware. The plates held the same design that was worked into the napery, as did even the knives and forks and spoons. Ossie was apologetic as to the menu, although he need not have been. "There wasn't time to do much cooking," he said, "and, besides, I haven't got the hang of things yet. I never tried to do anything on an alcohol stove before. It takes longer, seems to me. I couldn't get the oven heated until about five minutes ago, and so if those potato-chips aren't very warm--" "I'm warm enough, if they aren't," said Neil. "How do you open these little round window things?" "Turn the thumb-screws," advised Han. "I think everything's bully, and I'm as hungry as a bear. Pass the beans, Perry. Got any more tea out there, cook?" "Yes, but I'm steward and not cook," replied Ossie, arising from his camp-stool and stepping into the galley. "Hand over the bread plate, someone, and I'll cut some more. Bet you it's going to cost us something for grub, fellows!" "Well," responded Han, "I'd rather go broke that way than some others. What kind of tea is this, Ossie?" "Ceylon. Doesn't it suit you?" "Oh, I can worry it down, thanks. Sugar, please, Phil. I generally drink orange pekoe, though. You might lay in a few pounds of it at the next stop." "I might," said Ossie, resuming his place at the end of the board, "and then again I might not. And the probabilities are not. If you don't want all the potatoes, Joe, you may shove them along this way." The repast was frequently interrupted by the shrill blast of the whistle, and whenever that sounded most of the diners scrambled up to peer interestedly through the ports. In fact, so loth were they to miss anything that might be happening that they finished dinner in record time, consuming dessert, which consisted of bananas and pears, outside. Ossie alone remained below, and from the galley came the clatter of dishes and a cheerful tune as the steward cleared away and washed up. Joe smiled at Phil. "Ossie's having the time of his life now," he said, "but wait until the novelty wears off. Then we'll hear some tall kicking about the dishwashing, or I miss my guess." "We'll have to take turns helping him at that," said Steve. "If we don't he's likely to mutiny. There's Coney over there, fellows." The others gathered on the port side to gaze across the water at the crowded beach and the colourful maze of buildings. "It looks jolly, doesn't it?" asked Han. "Couldn't we run in closer, Steve?" "We could, but it would take us out of our course. I'm heading for Rockaway Point over there. We've got a good ways to go yet before we reach Fire Island." Steve had the chart opened before him and he laid a finger on the point mentioned. "Looks like it would be more fun to duck in there," said Neil, vaguely indicating the neighbourhood of Hempstead Bay. "Maybe it would," answered the Captain, "but there are too many islands and things to suit me. I'd rather stay outside here and slip in through Fire Island Inlet. After I get used to running this hooker I'll take her anywhere there's a heavy dew, but right now I'm all for the open sea, Neil." Phil and Han, who had never before gazed on the marvels of Coney Island, even from a distance, were listening to Joe's tales of the delights of that entrancing resort and following his finger as he pointed out the features he recognised. "There's the coaster where I bounced up and came down on a nail," he chuckled. "It was a fine, able-bodied nail, too, and I--um--had to stay on it all the rest of the trip because the car was so crowded there wasn't room to shift." "Smell the peanuts, fellows," murmured Perry dreamily. "Gee, I wish I had some!" Ossie appeared on deck ten minutes later and was very indignant because he had not been informed that they were passing Coney. "I think some of you lobsters might have sung out," he mourned. "I've never seen Coney Island." "Well, have a look," laughed Han. "That's it back there." "Huh! Can't see anything at this distance," growled Ossie. "It's just a smear of buildings. What's the place ahead there!" "Rockaway," answered Joe, "and that's Jamaica Bay in there. Say, there's some sea on, isn't there?" In fact the _Adventurer_ was now doing a good deal of plunging as she made her way through the long swells that swept around the sandy point. And she wasn't satisfied with merely kicking her head and heels up, either, for with the forward and aft motion there was considerable rocking, and as the point came abreast a shower of spray deluged the forward deck and spattered in on the bridge. At Steve's direction the windows were closed, Han performing the task with many "Ay, ay, sirs!" Joe looked anxious and presently sought the forward cabin, reappearing a minute later to ask all and sundry if they knew where he had put his supply of "anti-seasick stuff." No one could tell him and he again took himself off, and before he could locate the medicine the _Adventurer_ had passed the inlet and had settled down on an even keel again. Han and Ossie spread themselves out on the forward cabin roof and the others made themselves comfortable on the seats of the bridge deck, Phil pointing out seriously and with evident satisfaction that the cushions were not only cushions but life-preservers as well. Perry was for borrowing Phil's fountain-pen and putting his name on one. There was no longer any talk of being too warm, for the breeze was straight from the southeast and soon sent them, one after another, into the cabins for their sweaters. They passed Rockaway Beach a good three miles to port and by half-past one were off Point Lookout. Every instant held interest, for many pleasure boats were out and their white sails gleamed in the crisp sunlight. Three porpoise appeared off Short Beach and proved very companionable, for they stayed with the _Adventurer_ for quite ten minutes. One placed himself directly in front of the boat and the others took up positions about six feet apart on the starboard bow, and for two miles or more they maintained their stations, their dusky, gleaming backs arching from the water with the regularity of clock-work. Most of the boys had never seen the fish before and were much interested. Joe called them "puffing pigs" and Perry insisted that they were dolphins, and a fervid argument followed. They finally agreed, at Phil's suggestion, to compromise and call them "porphins." Possibly the discussion bored the subjects, or maybe they were insulted by the title applied to them, for about the time Joe and Perry reached an agreement the porpoise disappeared as suddenly as they had arrived on the scene and it was minutes later before the puzzled mariners descried them heading shoreward some distance away. They missed Ossie after that and when he was found he was stretched out on a seat in the main cabin sound asleep and snoring. Neil came back with the news that one of the "puffing pigs" had flopped aboard and was asleep below. Steve took advantage of plain sailing to instruct Joe, Phil and Perry in the handling of the wheel and controls, and each of the pupils took his turn at guiding the cruiser along the sandy coast. Fire Island Inlet was reached shortly before three and Steve took the wheel again and ran the _Adventurer_ past Jack's Island, around the curve of Short Beach and into the waters of the Great South Bay. There was still a six-mile run to their anchorage, however, and it was nearly four when the cruiser at last crept in among the clustered craft off Bay Shore and dropped her anchor. A hundred yards away a cluster of boys on the deck of a sturdy cabin-cruiser swung their caps and sent a hail across. Steve seized the megaphone from its rack and answered. "_Follow Me_, ahoy!" he shouted. "Ahoy yourself!" was the ribald reply. "We're coming over!" The crew of the _Follow Me_ tumbled into a tiny dingey, cast off and were lost to sight beyond the intervening craft. Then they reappeared, their small boat so deep that the water almost spilled over the sides, Wink Wheeler struggling with a pair of ludicrously short oars and the other five laughingly urging him on. "Throw a couple of fenders over, Han," instructed Steve, "and stand by with your boat-hook." The _Follow Me's_ tender crept alongside amidst noisy greetings, Perry performing excruciatingly on the whistle until pulled away, and in another moment the visitors were aboard. They were a nice-looking, upstanding lot, already well sunburned by a week afloat. Wink Wheeler was the oldest of the six, for he was eighteen. Harry Corwin, Bert Alley and Caspar Temple were seventeen and George Browne, or "Brownie," as he was called, and Tom Corwin were sixteen. First of all they had to see the boat and so the whole gathering trooped from one end to the other, exclaiming and admiring. "The _Follow Me_'s a regular tub compared with this palace," said Harry Corwin. "Why, there isn't anything finer than this along the South Shore, I guess!" "Don't you call our boat names," protested "Brownie." "The _Follow Me_ may not be as nifty as this, but she's one fine little boat, just the same. How long did it take you to come from New York, Joe?" "Nearly four hours and a half, but we ran slow. I guess we could have done it in three hours easily if we'd tried to. This boat can do twenty at a pinch. How fast is the _Follow Me?_" "She's done eighteen," answered Harry Corwin, "but fourteen's her average gait. She burns up gas like the dickens when she does any more. Yesterday we went to Freeport in fifty-seven minutes, and that's a good seventeen and a half miles. She had to hump herself, though." After the wonders of the _Adventurer_ had been exhausted the boys gathered on the bridge deck and Steve laid a chart on the floor and they discussed their plans. It had already been decided that they should cruise northward as far as Maine. As there was no hurry in getting there, they were to take things easy, stopping at such points as promised interest and putting into harbour at night. As it was already after four o'clock, they finally concluded to stay where they were until morning, although the _Follow Me_ crowd were eager to be away. "Our first harbour would be Ponquogue," said Steve, "and that's a good forty-six or-seven mile run. Personally, I don't care much about messing around outside after dark. This is all new water to me. If we start in the morning we'll have plenty of time to run as far as Shelter Island, if we want to." This was agreed to, although Perry protested that as the charts showed a life-saving station every five miles or so all down the shore it was a shame not to take a chance. "I've always wanted to be taken off a sinking ship in a breeches-buoy," he said. "Would you mind being wrecked in the daytime?" asked Neil. "I'd love to see you in a breeches-buoy, Perry, and I couldn't if it was dark." "Let's all go up to the hotel for dinner," suggested Wink Wheeler. "They have dandy feeds there, and maybe we can scare up some fun. Any of you fellows like to bowl?" "First of all," said Han, "we want to see your boat, fellows. Let's go over now. I'm ready for hotel grub if the rest of you are. Can we all go, Steve, or does someone have to stay behind and look after the boat?" "That's the crew's duty," said Phil gravely. "We'll bring you back a sandwich, Han." "Yes, a Han-sandwich," added Perry. When he had been toppled backward down the after cabin steps Harry Corwin said that they'd been in the habit of leaving the _Follow Me_ unguarded for hours at a time and that so far no one had molested her, and Steve decided that it would be safe enough if they locked the cabins. So presently the _Adventurer's_ tender was lifted off the chocks and put overboard and after hasty toilets the boys piled into it and the two dingeys, each loaded to the limit, set off for the _Follow Me_. The latter was a thirty-four foot craft, with a hunting cabin that reached almost to the stern, leaving a cockpit scarcely large enough to swing a cat in; although, as Perry remarked, it wasn't likely anyone would want to swing a cat there. The cabin was surprisingly roomy and held four berths, while a fifth bunk was placed forward of the tiny galley. The latter was intended for the crew but at present it was the quarters of "Brownie." The sixth member of the ship's company occupied at night a mattress placed on the floor and philosophically explained that sleeping there had the advantage of security; there was no chance to roll out of bed in rough weather. The engine compartment lay between cabin and cockpit and held a six-cylinder engine. Steering was done from the cockpit, under shelter of an awning, but the engine control was below. The _Follow Me_ was four years old and had seen much service, but she had been newly painted, varnished and overhauled and looked like a thoroughly comfortable and seaworthy boat. She was copper painted below the water-line and black above, with a gilt line and her name in gilt on bows and stern. Compared to the _Adventurer_ she was a modest enough craft, but her six mariners asked nothing better and secretly believed that in rough weather she would put the bigger boat to shame. Captain Corwin levied on the slender supply of ginger-ale and sarsaparilla contained in the tiny ice-chest and after that they again set forth, this time for the nearest landing. They "did" the town exhaustively and at six-thirty descended on the hotel thirteen strong and demanded to be placed together at one table. It is doubtful if the hotel management made much money on the thirteen dinners served to the boys, for everyone of them ate as though he hadn't seen food for days. Somewhere around eight or half-past they dragged themselves back to the boats and paddled out to the _Adventurer_, where, since the evening was decidedly chilly, they thronged the after cabin and flowed out into the cockpit. Perry started up his talking machine and played his dozen records over a number of times, and everyone talked at once--except some who sang--and, in the words of the country newspapers, "a pleasant time was had by all." And at ten the _Follow Me's_ crew got back into their dingey and went off into the darkness of a starlight night, rather noisy still in a sleepy way, and, presumably, reached their destination. At least, no more was heard of them that night. On the _Adventurer_ berths were pulled out or let down and a quarter of an hour after the departure of the visitors not a sound was to be heard save the lapping of the water against the hull and the peaceful breathing of seven healthily tired boys. CHAPTER V SUNDAY ASHORE Before the sun had much more than climbed to a position where it could peer over the low yellow ridge of Fire Island and see what the Adventure Club was up to, the two cruisers were chug-chugging out of the harbour with all flags flying. First went the _Adventurer_, as flag-ship of the fleet, to use Neil's metaphor, and, a little way behind came the _Follow Me_, her black hull and battleship-grey deck reminding the occupants of the other boat of one of the "puffing pigs" of yesterday. The bay was almost as smooth as the proverbial mill-pond this morning, and the slanting shafts of sunlight cast strange and beautiful shades of gold and copper on the tiny wavelets. It was still cool, and in the shadow of the bridge deck one felt a bit shivery. But the sun promised a warm day. The crew was polishing bright-work rather awkwardly but most industriously and with a fine willingness, explaining that if he polished brass some other poor Indian would have to swab decks, a remark which inspired Neil to state with much emphasis that cleaning decks was not, at all events, within the province of the ship's boy, and that, anyway, he had helped with the dishes and that right now he was going to lie in the sun on the galley roof and that if anyone disturbed him there'd be trouble. Joe had been having a fine time with his engine. He was getting on terms of real familiarity with it now, having lost some of the awe with which he had regarded it yesterday. Today he called it "She" almost patronisingly and even dared lay his hand on the cylinders with a knowing cock of his head. Perry, looking on, asked sarcastically if he was feeling the engine's pulse, and Joe haughtily replied that he wanted to make sure the cylinders weren't overheating. Ossie, emerging from the cabin, wiping his hands on his khaki trousers after wringing out his dish cloths, gave it as his opinion that if there was any overeating done it would not be done by the engine, accompanying the statement with a meaning glance at Perry. About this time the _Follow Me_ left her position astern and began to creep alongside. Steve supposed she wanted to send a message across and told the others on the deck to keep still a minute. But the _Follow Me_ kept on her way, the fellows sprawling around her deck and cockpit looking across the few fathoms of water in silence. "Well, what do you know about that?" gasped Neil. "She's trying to pass us!" Steve grunted, smiled and advanced his throttle. The click-click from under the engine hatches became hurried and louder. Joe wrinkled his forehead anxiously. The _Adventurer_ stopped going astern of the other boat and for a little distance they hung bow to bow. They saw Harry Corwin, at the wheel of the _Follow Me_, lower his head to speak to his brother in the engine room. The _Follow Me_ began to forge ahead again, slowly but certainly. "Give her more gas, Steve," begged Perry. "We can't have a little old 'puffing pig' of a boat like that walking away from us. Look at those idiots grin!" "And watch them change their faces," laughed Steve as he drew the throttle forward another two or three notches. Under the hatches the engine uttered a new note and a quick jarring became felt. Joe's anxiety increased to uneasiness. "Say, Steve, do you think--is it all right--I mean--" "She's only doing about seventeen," replied Steve calmly. "The throttle isn't nearly open yet. But I guess that's enough," he added as he glanced across the water. Perry, leaning across the gunwale, beckoned insultingly. "Come on!" he called. "What are you stopping there for?" The _Follow Me_ replied to the taunt, but what the reply was they didn't know on the _Adventurer_, for the latter was ahead now by its full length and gaining perceptibly every moment. Tom Corwin's head appeared over the cabin roof, he took a look at the rival craft and popped from sight again. The _Follow Me_ stopped going back and hung with her nose abreast the _Adventurer's_ stern. Phil, who had been writing a letter in the cabin, emerged and joined the group outside. "How fast is she going, Steve?" he asked. "About seventeen, I think. Still, Harry said the _Follow Me's_ best was eighteen, and she isn't losing any, and so we may be doing eighteen, too. Guess we might as well settle the matter right now, though." With which he pulled the throttle to the limit, and the white cruiser, quivering from stem to stern, forged ahead. "We're doing a good twenty miles an hour now," shouted Steve above the hum of the motor, "and she won't go any faster unless we get out and push!" But twenty miles was fast enough to distance the _Follow Me_, although that boat held on gamely all the way across the bay and only slowed down when, a good quarter of a mile behind the _Adventurer_, she was abreast Pelican Bar. The _Adventurer_ dropped her gait to twelve and presently the black cruiser, having negotiated the inlet in the wake of the other craft, drew within hailing distance and Harry Corwin called across through the megaphone. "Some boat, Steve!" he shouted. "We're satisfied!" Steve waved back and the two cruisers settled down to their forty-mile run along the shore, the _Follow Me_ gliding smoothly along abaft the _Adventurer's_ starboard beam. They sighted few other craft this morning, and, as there was a deal of sameness in the coast, the fellows settled down to various occupations. Steve conducted a second class in navigation, with Perry and Han as pupils, and Perry was allowed to take the wheel all the way from Smith's Point to a position off the Moriches Life-Saving Station. Phil went on with his letters, Ossie performed mysterious rites in the galley, with Han looking on interestedly from atop the dish-board, and Neil, exhausted by his labours as crew, reclined on the seat in the cockpit and stared sleepily at a blue and unclouded sky. Joe hunched himself on a seat on the bridge deck and studied his book on motor boating, becoming, if truth were told, more and more mystified as to the working of that remarkable affair that was click-clicking away under his feet. The _Adventurer_ reached the inlet to Shinnecock Bay a few minutes past ten and, closely followed by her companion boat, put through and turned her nose past Ponquogue Point. As Comorant Point drew near the shores of the bay closed in and the cruiser turned to port and, signalling her way past various craft, finally came to a pause outside the canal entrance. When the _Follow Me_ floated alongside Wink Wheeler called across. "What do you say to going ashore, fellows?" he asked. "It looks like a jolly sort of place. We've got plenty of time, haven't we?" "All the time in the world and nothing to do," replied Steve cheerfully. "We'll make that landing over there and you can come alongside us, Harry." Ten minutes later they were stretching their legs ashore. Canoe Place held plenty to interest them. The view was magnificent, for on one side of them lay Shinnecock Bay, across whose still, pond-like waters they had just sailed, and on the other stretched the blue expanse of Great Peconic Bay, sun-bathed, aglint with rippling waves and dotted with white sails. A small boy with one suspender performing the duty of two and a straw hat minus about everything except the brim offered to guide them and his proposition was quickly accepted and a bright new quarter changed hands. The quaint old Inn was visited and their informant gravely pointed to two sentinel willow trees and told them that "them trees was planted by Napoleon a couple o' hunerd years ago. He got 'em some place called Saint Helen. They had him in prison there for somethin'." The boys viewed the willows doubtfully, but, as Phil said, it was more fun to believe the extraordinary tale and they tried hard to do so. Steve attempted to secure more historical information from the small boy, but the latter appeared to have exhausted his fund. After that they viewed several Summer estates from respectful distances and, finding that their guide had nothing further of real interest for them, went back to the landing and re-embarked. A quarter-mile or so of artificial canal took them through the narrow neck of land between the two bays and let them out in a cove beyond whose mouth the waters of Great Peconic stretched, apparently illimitable. The course was set northeast by east and they began the trip to Shelter Island. About half an hour later Joe discovered that the _Follow Me_ was far behind and it was soon evident that she had stopped. After a moment Steve decided to turn back and see what was wrong, and when the _Adventurer_ rounded the smaller boat's stern they learned that the _Follow Me_ was having engine trouble. For a few minutes the _Adventurer_ hovered by, and then, as there was a fair breeze blowing now and Joe and Neil were showing interest in the sea-sickness remedy, Steve suggested a tow and Harry Corwin, after some hesitation, pocketed his pride and agreed. A little before one o'clock the two boats slipped into North Sea Harbour and dropped anchors. While the _Follow Me_ doctored her engine the _Adventurer_ sat down to a delayed dinner. Ossie gloomily predicted that everything would be spoiled, but if it was, no one save Ossie apparently knew it. There was broiled bluefish and boiled potatoes and spinach and sliced cucumbers that day, followed by a marvellous concoction which the steward called a prune pudding. Perry said he didn't care what it was called so long as it came, and, please he'd like some more! No cook can withstand such a compliment as that, and Ossie cast off his gloom. They all declared that that dinner was just about the best they had ever eaten, and they meant it, and Ossie swelled visibly with pride and almost declined Han's half-hearted offer to help wash dishes! When the rest went back to the deck and saw the fellows on the _Follow Me_ eating sandwiches and other items of a cold repast on deck they felt rather apologetic, and Joe and Steve slung the tender over and paddled across to lend what assistance they might. But they found Tom Corwin, very dirty and hot and somewhat peevish, reassembling the engine with the help of "Brownie," and learned that the trouble had been discovered and that the boat would go just as soon as they could get her together again, which, from present indications, would be some time the day after tomorrow! Harry Corwin told Steve he had better go ahead, that there was no use in the _Adventurer_ lying around and waiting, but Steve replied that there was no hurry and that they'd stand by. The atmosphere on the _Follow Me_ was not very cheerful and the visitors went back to their own craft after a decent lapse of time. About three the fellows donned swimming tights and went in from the boat and had a fine time in the water, and by the time they had had enough of that there came a heartening _chug-chug-chug_ from the _Follow Me's_ exhaust and Wink announced that they were ready to go on. As a result of the delay, it was almost six when they reached Shelter Island and steered the cruiser to an anchorage. They had supper ashore at seven, having dressed themselves in shore-going attire, but it was noticeable that it was the _Follow Me's_ company who made the most of the meal. Neil met up with an acquaintance on the hotel porch after supper--they chose to call it supper although it was really a full-course dinner--and that meeting led to introductions and the boys "did the society act," to use Perry's disgusted phrase, for the rest of the evening. As it was a Saturday night there was a dance going on, and Steve and Joe and Han, of the _Adventurer's_ crowd, and several of the other boat's company, took part. They didn't get back to the boats until almost midnight, and Perry fell asleep in the dingey, on the second trip, and had to be practically hoisted aboard. He muttered protestingly until he had been dumped in his berth and then promptly went to sleep as he was. They spent the next day at Shelter Island, not because anyone considered it wrong to cruise on Sunday, but because Steve and Joe and Han had discovered attractions at the hotel. Perry demanded that the question of staying be put to a vote and the rest agreed, but the result wasn't what Perry had hoped for because Neil basely cast his ballot with Steve and Joe and Han. The four went off soon after breakfast, having spent much time and effort on their various attires, and weren't seen again until late afternoon. At least, they weren't seen again aboard the cruiser until that time, although Perry, Phil and Ossie, following them ashore after dinner, were scandalised to see them strolling around quite brazenly in the company of an equal number of young ladies. "Girls!" snorted Perry scornfully. "Why, the big chumps, they look as if they liked it! Gee, it's enough to sicken a fellow!" CHAPTER VI IN THE FOG "We've been going two whole days now," declared Perry, "and we haven't even glimpsed an adventure." It was Tuesday morning and the two cruisers were lying side by side in New Bedford harbour. A light drizzle was falling and even under the awning of the bridge deck everything was coated with a film of moisture. The _Adventurer_ and the _Follow Me_ had done just short of a hundred miles yesterday, reaching the present port at nightfall. They had averaged fifteen miles an hour and neither engine had missed an explosion all day long. Joe had been rather stuck-up over the way his engine had performed and had been inclined to take a good share of the credit to himself. Perry, however, had declared that the only reason the thing had run was because Joe had left it alone. "It's lucky for us you're afraid to touch it," said Perry. "If you weren't we'd have been wallowing around somewhere between here and Africa two days ago!" It had been too late to go ashore for sight-seeing last evening, and they had put it off until morning. And now it was drizzling in a steady, whole-hearted way that promised to make sight-seeing a miserable business. Some of the crew of the _Follow Me_ had come aboard to discuss plans and the question was whether to remain in harbour and await better weather or to set out again and run as far as Martha's Vineyard. Perry was all for action, and he had the support of numerous others, but Steve pointed out that running the cruiser in such weather in strange waters was not over pleasant. "It's all well enough for the rest of you, for all you have to do is lie around and read, but it's another thing to stand up there at the wheel and keep from running into the landscape!" "Give her to me," advised Perry. "I'll get her to Edgartown or wherever you want to go, right-side-up with care." "If you take the wheel," said Han, "I get out and walk every foot of the way." "Better put your rubbers on," suggested Wink Wheeler. "You fellows make me very tired," continued Perry severely. "You call yourselves the Adventure Club and start out to see some sport, and then the first time there's a heavy mist you want to stick around an old harbour for fear you'll get damp! We've been going two whole days now, and we haven't even glimpsed an adventure!" "An adventure is one thing," said Ossie, "and getting drowned is something else again. Tell you what, Perry; if you are so keen for sport why don't you slip into the tender and run over to Vineyard Haven yourself? We'll follow along tomorrow, or maybe this afternoon." "I want to see this town," said Joe. "There's lots to look at in here. Whaling ships and a museum and--and lots of romantic things." "The whaling ships are all gone now," said Perry disdainfully. "They've chopped them all up and sold them by the cord for fire wood. I know, for we bought a lot of it once. It cost dad about ten dollars for express and didn't burn any different from any other wood. My grandmother--" Steve groaned. "For the love of lemons, Perry, don't resurrect your grandmother. Let the poor old lady lie." "She isn't dead," denied Perry indignantly. "She's ninety-one and a heap smarter than you are." "Perry," charged Joe severely, "I distinctly remember you telling us that your grandmother died of sea-sickness." "I didn't. I told you she ate lemons and--" "Died of acid stomach? Oh, all right. I knew she was dead." "Oh, dry up! She ate lemons to keep from being sea-sick, you idiot. And if you ate them you wouldn't have to lug around a lot of silly medicine that doesn't amount to a row of pins. And if--" "All very interesting," interrupted Phil mildly, "but it isn't deciding whether we're to stay here or go on. Personally, I think that that should be up to the captain. If he isn't to decide whether the weather is right or wrong, who is?" "That's so," agreed several. "Steve's the captain. What you say goes, Steve." "Very well. Then we'll stay here until it stops misting, or, at any rate, until tomorrow. If it's still nasty then and you fellows want to go on, I'll go. Now let's go ashore and see what's doing." "O Harry!" called Wink. "We're going to stay until tomorrow. Come ashore." In spite of the drizzle they found a good deal to interest them in New Bedford, and Joe actually did find a whaler, although it was no longer in commission. At noon, Ossie, having made many purchases in the town, served a dinner that made the world look a lot brighter. Afterwards the crews of the two boats exchanged calls, read, dozed, played the graphophone and didn't much care whether it drizzled or not. Toward the end of the day the sun peered forth experimentally and there followed another expedition ashore. But the sun soon gave up its attempt to do any business that day and the drizzle set in harder than ever. In the evening the entire club attended a moving picture show and thus disposed of several hours that might otherwise have proved difficult to get through. A motor-boat, no matter how large or luxurious, is not the most interesting place to live on in wet weather. The next morning the mist had ceased, but the sun was hidden behind dark clouds and the world was still rather dreary. But plenty of hot coffee, some of Ossie's baking powder biscuits and the almost invariable fried bacon cheered them remarkably, and at a little past eight the order was given to weigh anchor and the two cruisers, the _Adventurer_ showing the way, set forth across Buzzard's Bay for Edgartown. It was a sixteen-mile run to the channel between Nonamesset Island and the mainland, and Steve followed the steamboat course closely. The chart showed many rocks and ledges in the first six miles, but neither of the cruisers drew enough to make it necessary for their skippers to worry. There was rough water, however, and Joe was seen to look anxiously toward the after cabin. A flukey breeze came out of the southeast and made sweaters comfortable. The shore of Naushon Island was grey and indistinct when the _Adventurer_ straightened out for the run across the bay. Behind her the _Follow Me_ plunged gallantly, doing her fourteen miles without a murmur. As they neared Penzance the sea moderated and they swung into the channel on an almost even keel. Good harbours beckoned, and the plan of lying by until after dinner was discussed and finally abandoned. Edgartown was only another hour's sail and it would be better to keep on and lie in there for dinner. But when the _Adventurer_ had passed into Vineyard Sound Steve began to wish he had waited. A bank of grey mist hid the island toward which they were headed and he feared they would find themselves in it before they could reach the nearest harbour, which was Vineyard Haven. But since the _Adventurer_ had already left Wood's Holl two miles behind and Vineyard Haven Harbour was only some four miles further it seemed silly to turn back. There was always the chance that the fog would blow off, besides. Nevertheless Steve frowned dubiously through the moist pane ahead and, without saying anything of his fears to the rest, drew the throttle a few notches down and kept the _Adventurer_ close to her course. Behind, the _Follow Me_ speeded up as well and the two boats hurried for where, out of sight in the grey void ahead, West Chop pointed a blunt nose to sea. But it was a losing race, for ten minutes later Steve saw that the fog bank was rolling down upon them and from somewhere to the eastward came the dismal hoot of a steamer feeling her way along. Joe, too, saw what they were in for and turned anxiously to Steve. "That's fog, isn't it?" he asked. Steve nodded. "Get the fog-horn ready, will you? We don't want anyone bumping into us. I'm going to slow down to six miles. There's too much water here to drop anchor in." He eyed the advancing fog distastefully and then shrugged his shoulders. "You've got to learn some time, I suppose, Joe, and here's where I learn to make harbour by the compass. Now we're in it!" At that instant the grey mist enveloped them silently, chillingly. Joe drew a long wail from the fog-horn and in response a similar but higher-keyed wail came through the fog from the _Follow Me_. And at the same moment the other members of the ship's company stuck inquiring heads through the companion ways. "Hello," exclaimed Perry. "Fog! Gee, that's exciting! Say, you can't see a thing, can you? Look, fellows, the boat hasn't any bow!" "Nor any stern," added Han. "You can almost taste the stuff. Say, Steve, isn't it hard to steer in a fog?" "Not a bit," answered Steve cheerfully. "Steering's perfectly easy. The only trouble is to steer right." "To-o-ot!" said the fog-horn and was answered from astern. Then somewhere to the south-eastward a siren sent a wailing cry, subdued by distance. The fog settled on everything and shone on the boys' sweaters in little beads of moisture. The _Adventurer_ seemed to be standing still, for, with nothing to judge by, progress was made known only by the slow lazy throb of the engine. Even the water alongside was scarcely discernible. Joe pulled the lever of the fog-horn again, and this time, beside the response from the _Follow Me_, an answering bellow came across the water. "A steamer," muttered Steve, peering uselessly into the grey void. "She's a good ways off, though. Give her another pull, Joe." Again the _Adventurer_ proclaimed her position but there was no answer from the steamer. "She doesn't seem very talkative," said Phil. "How fast are we going, Steve?" "Six." "And how far is Edgartown?" "About twelve, but we're not going there. I'm trying to make Vineyard Haven. It's only about two miles." He glanced puzzledly at the compass and moved the wheel a fraction. "There's a jetty comes out there and I guess we'd better give it a good wide berth." Collars were pulled up to keep the moisture from creeping down necks, and Perry begged to be allowed to manipulate the fog-horn. He went at it whole-souledly and Steve had to curb his enthusiasm. "Once a minute will do, Perry," he said. "You sound like a locomotive scaring a cow off the track." "How do you know there isn't a cow ahead?" demanded Perry. "Or a whale? Gee, wouldn't it be a surprise if we bust right into a whale? Who would get the worst of it, Steve?" "I guess we would. Shut up a minute, fellows, please!" Silence held the bridge deck, silence save for the subdued purr of the engine under their feet and the drip, drip of the drops from the awning edge. Steve peered anxiously ahead, his senses alert. At last: "Hear anything?" he asked. They all said no. "I guess I was mistaken then," Steve explained, "but I could have sworn I heard surf." He leaned over the chart. "This doesn't show anything, though, nearer than the land. Toot your horn, Perry." Perry obeyed. At long intervals the unseen, distant steamer bellowed her warning and more frequently the _Follow Me_ groaned dismally on a hand horn. It was ten minutes later, perhaps, when Steve suddenly swung around and looked back past the bow of the dingey on the after cabin roof. "That's funny!" he exclaimed. "The _Follow Me_ sounded away over there!" He looked anxiously at the compass, hesitated and shook his head. "If I didn't know this thing was all right, fellows, I'd say it was crazy. Or if there was a strong current here--" His voice dwindled away to a murmur as he studied the chart again. Just then the _Follow Me's_ fog-horn sounded and it was undeniably further away and well over to port. "Either he's off his course or I am," muttered Steve. "And I simply don't see how I can be. Give them a long one, Perry!" Perry sent a frantic wail across the water and they listened intently. But no reply came from the _Follow Me_. Instead, from somewhere off their port bow travelled the steamer's bellow. That, too, seemed considerably further away. Then the distant siren sounded, and after that there was silence again. But the silence lasted only a moment, for before anyone could hazard a conjecture as to the _Follow Me's_ erratic behaviour, Phil's voice arose warningly. "Listen, Steve!" he cried. "Isn't that surf I hear?" CHAPTER VII STEVE TAKES HER IN Steve's hand flew to the clutch as the rest joined Phil at the side of the boat, and, in the grey silence that ensued, strained their ears. "You're right," said Neil, after an instant. "There's surf there, or I'm a Dutchman. And it isn't far away." Steve, who had handed the wheel to Joe, nodded. "It's surf, all right," he agreed, "but it hasn't any business there. What are you going to do when you can't depend on the chart? Well, the only thing for us to try is another direction." He swung the wheel well to port and slid the clutch in gently and, with the engine throttled down, the _Adventurer_ nosed forward once more. "Phil, beat it out to the bow and keep your ears open, will you? Watch that deck, though; it's slippery." An anxious silence held for several minutes. Then Phil's voice came from the fog-hidden bow: "Surf dead ahead, Steve!" he called. "Can you see anything?" shouted Steve as he again disengaged. "No, but I can hear the waves breaking." They all could now that the propeller had stopped churning. Steve gazed dazedly from fog to compass and from compass to chart, and finally shook his head helplessly. "It's too much for me, fellows," he said. "I'm going back as straight as I know how, or--" He stopped. "Hang it, there can't be land on _all_ sides!" He pulled the bow still further to port and again started. "Keep your ears open, Phil," he called. "I'll run her as slow as she'll go. If you hear the surf plainer, shout." The _Adventurer_ went on again. After a moment Han, leaning outboard over the deck rail, said: "It's not so loud, Steve. I think we're going away from it slowly." "Or else running parallel," suggested Perry. "Anyhow, it isn't any nearer." Another minute or two passed, with all hands listening intently. Then Phil sounded another warning. "Hold up, Steve! I may be crazy, but I'll swear there's surf dead ahead again!" Steve motioned to Joe and, yielding the wheel after throwing out the clutch again, swung around a stanchion and crept cautiously along the roof of the main cabin and galley until he reached Phil's side. Then, dropping to his knees and steadying himself by the flag-pole, he listened. Quite plainly and, as it seemed, from alarmingly nearby, came the gentle _swish-swash_ of tiny waves breaking on a beach. In the fog it was difficult to tell whether the sound came from directly ahead or from starboard. At all events, when Steve turned his head to port the sound was certainly at his right or behind him. "I'll try it again," he said. "You stay here, Phil." He climbed back to the bridge deck. "Perry, are you working that fog-horn?" he demanded. "If you aren't, get busy with it!" Once more the cruiser picked up and stole forward, her nose slowly swinging around to port. Steve had given up watching the compass now. All he wanted to do was find clear water. The _swish_ of surf died away by degrees as the _Adventurer_ edged cautiously along and, after five minutes, Steve gave a sigh of relief. "I guess we're all right now," he muttered to Joe, "but I'm going to keep her just moving. We might anchor, I suppose, but it's dollars to doughnuts we'd have to spend the night here; wherever here is," he added, scowling resentfully at the chart. "Look here, Joe." He reached forward and laid a finger on the map. "Here's where we were, or where we ought to have been, when we heard the surf first. According to this we were a good mile from the shore and the only shoal is that one and it's marked six feet at mean low water. There's a black-and-red spar buoy there, as you see, but we haven't sighted it. Now, what I want to know is how the dickens we could have got a mile off our course to starboard. Also, if we are off our course, where are we? Unless we've slipped over the beach and got into that pond down there--" "_Steve! Back up! We're running on the rocks!_" It was the frenzied voice of Phil in the bow. Steve thrust Joe aside and seizing the clutch put it quickly into neutral. "Bring the boat-hook here!" shouted Phil. "Reverse, Steve! Hard!" But Steve had already slammed the clutch into reverse and pulled down the throttle. A mighty thrashing and foaming sounded astern and the _Adventurer_ trembled, hesitated and began to churn her way backward. Perry, boat-hook in hand, was sliding and stumbling along the wet deck. He reached the bow just in time to see the menacing face of a high stone jetty disappear again into the mist. Phil, clinging to the flag-pole, was sprawled on the deck with his legs stretched out to fend the boat off. "Just in time!" he muttered, pulling himself back to safety. "Did you see it, Perry!" "Did I see it? I almost fell overboard! That's enough, Steve!" The _Adventurer_ stopped going astern and Steve called anxiously from the wheel. "What was it, Phil?" he questioned. "A breakwater about ten feet high! We almost hit it!" "A breakwater!" Steve turned swiftly to the chart. "Then I know where we are at last! Look here, Joe!" He pointed. "We're cornered in here, see? Here's the shore on that side and the jetty dead ahead of us. How we got here I don't know, but here we are. If we can find the end of the jetty we're all right. Keep that horn going, Perry!" "Why not drop an anchor where we are?" asked Joe. "We could do that, of course, but here's the harbour right around the end of the jetty. Seems to me we might as well get in there, Joe." "All right," agreed the other doubtfully, "but this feeling around in the dark is making me nervous. First thing we know we'll--um--we'll be running into the First National Bank or the Congregational Church or something! Still, if you think we can find our way, all right. I'm game." Steve eyed the compass thoughtfully and in silence for a moment. Then: "You still there, Phil?" he called. "Yes." "Keep your eyes and ears open. I'm going to try to run along the side of the jetty and find the harbour. If you see a red spar buoy, sing out. Sing out if you see anything at all. Everyone keep a watch. We're going to eat dinner in the harbour or know why!" The cruiser moved slowly on once more, her nose turning sharply. Then she paused, went back and again moved forward, Steve turning the wheel slowly with his eyes on the compass. "Now watch on the starboard side, Phil!" he called. "Which is that? My right?" "Yes, you land-lubber! Hear anything?" "N-no! I didn't _hear_ anything before until we were almost on the breakwater. Sometimes I think I can hear--" Phil's voice died away to silence. "Hear what?" asked Steve. "Well, water sort of lapping. It may be against our boat, though." "Neil, you go forward, too, will you?" said Steve. Neil joined Phil and for some minutes the _Adventurer_ stole quietly along through the grey void with little sound save the slow working of the engine below deck and the lazy thud of the propeller. It was so quiet that when Perry suddenly worked the fog-horn Han almost fell over the wet rail on which he was sitting. It was Ossie who broke the silence finally. "Well, I guess we've got to eat, whether we run ashore or stay afloat. I'm going to put some potatoes on." "All right," replied Steve quietly. "But if you feel a bump, put out your alcohol flame the first thing you do, Ossie." "Sure, but you can bet I won't wait down there to see whether the potatoes are done!" "How about it, you chaps?" asked Steve presently. "Don't hear a thing," answered Phil. "All right. I'm going to bring her around now. Yell the minute you see anything. You needn't worry. She's only crawling and I'll have her going astern before you can shout twice." Very slowly Steve moved the wheel to starboard. In the stillness they could hear the gear creak under the deck. No warning came from the two lookouts and, after a moment, Steve again turned gingerly. For all the watchers could tell, the _Adventurer_ never altered her course, but Steve, his gaze on the compass card, knew that she was headed now straight east. Now and then he peered questioningly forward, but his gaze was defeated by the fog. At intervals Perry sent a groaning wail from the fog-horn. Presently Steve heard the boys talking on the bow and in a moment Neil's voice hailed him: "Surf off to starboard, Steve! Not very near, though." The others listened, but there was just enough noise from the engine to drown the sound heard by the lookouts. "Tell me if it gets louder," called Steve. "Still hear it?" "Not so well," answered Phil. "I think we're going away from it." "Waves against the end of the jetty," explained Steve. "I think we're all right now." He moved the wheel over slowly, spoke by spoke. "Keep your horn going, Perry. We're entering the harbour. Watch for buoys, fellows. Take it on this side, Joe." Followed a dubious five minutes during which the only sounds that reached them from outside the boat were distant fog signals and, once, the unmistakable moo of a cow! "Gee," murmured Perry, "that's the best thing I've heard all day! That means we really are in the harbour, doesn't it?" "Might be a sea-cow," suggested Ossie, from the companion. "Ready with the bow anchor!" called Steve. Han scuttled forward into the mist. "All right, sir!" he announced in his best nautical manner. Steve disengaged the clutch. There was a moment of silence aboard the _Adventurer_. Then: "Over with it, Han," directed Steve. There was a splash, followed by the rasping of the cable through the chock and then a cheerful whistle from the crew as he made fast. "About eighteen feet, Steve, I should say," he called. "Sixteen," corrected the Captain gravely. Joe smiled. "Mean it?" he asked. Steve nodded and put a finger on the chart. "We're right here," he said. Then he covered the compass and drew down the lid of the chart box and stretched his arms luxuriously. "That's over with," he added, "and I'm glad of it! How about dinner, Ossie?" "On the fire, Cap! Ready in five minutes." "Then I'm going to get into a dry shirt. I'm soaked through. Some of you chaps pull the side curtains down on the port side. We might as well keep as dry as we can." "Looks to me as if the fog was rolling in from the starboard, though," said Han. "Yes, it's coming from the southeast, but we'll swing around in a few minutes because the tide's coming in. Wonder where the _Follow Me_ is." "Harry would probably make for harbour, too, wouldn't he?" asked Joe, following the other down to the cabin. "I wouldn't be surprised if we found them here when the fog clears." A yacht, hidden somewhere in the fog ahead, sounded eight bells and was instantly echoed from further away. "Great Scott!" exclaimed Steve. "Is it twelve already?" Joe nodded, glancing at the ship's clock at the end of the cabin. "Two minutes after if our clock's right. Say, Steve, the next time we go out in a fog we'll--um--we won't go, eh?" "Not while I'm running this hooker," agreed Steve with intense conviction. "Now that it's over, Joe, I don't mind telling you that I was a bit worried. I wanted like anything to drop anchor back there by the jetty." "Why didn't you then?" "I don't quite know," replied the other thoughtfully, "but I think it was chiefly because I didn't like to be beaten." "Dinner!" called Ossie from the forward cabin. "All hands to dinner! Get a move on!" CHAPTER VIII PERRY LOSES HIS WAY They stayed aboard all that day, for the fog held tight, and, if Steve's calculations were right, the _Adventurer_ lay well down toward the entrance to the harbour and the nearest settlement was a good mile and three-quarters away. None of the seven felt sufficiently ambitious to put out for shore in that smother of mist. They managed to pass the time without much trouble, however. There was always the graphophone, although they were destined to become rather tired of the records, and Steve, Joe, Han and Neil played whist most of the afternoon. Phil curled up on a couch and read, and Ossie and Perry, after having a violent argument over the proper way to make an omelet decided to settle the question then and there. By the time the two omelets were prepared the whist players were ready to stop and the entire ship's company partook of the rival concoctions and decided the matter in favour of Ossie. "Although," explained Joe, "I'm not saying that Perry's omelet is bad. If he had remembered to put a little salt in it--" "I did!" declared Perry resentfully. "You don't know a decent omelet when you see it. Look how light mine was! Why, it was twice as high as Ossie's!" "That's just it," said Steve gravely. "It was so light that it sort of faded away before you could taste it. An omelet, Perry, should be substantial and filling." "That shows how much you know about it," jeered Perry. "There were just as many eggs in mine as there were in his. Only I made mine with water and beat the eggs separately--" "Ah, there it is, you see," drawled Joe. "You beat the poor little eggs. I'm surprised at you, Perry. Any fellow who will beat an inoffensive egg--" "Huh, I found one that wasn't inoffensive by a long shot! Someone will have to get some eggs tomorrow, for there are only eight left." "What!" Han viewed Perry in disgust. "Mean to say you went and used them all up making those silly omelets?" "I notice you ate the silly omelets," said Ossie. "One egg apiece is enough for breakfast, isn't it?" "Not for me. The doctor ordered two every morning. If I don't have two eggs for breakfast I shall mutiny." "If you do you'll be put in irons," said Joe. "Or swung from the yard-arm. Say, how long before we're going to have something to eat, Ossie? I'm hungry. That egg thing sort of whetted my appetite." "Gosh, you fellows would keep me cooking all the time," grumbled the steward. "It's only five, and we don't have supper until six. So you can plaguey well starve for an hour." "Then I shall go to sleep and--um--forget the pangs of hunger. Move your big feet out of the way, Phil." "I like your cheek, you duffer! Go on back to your own bunk." "Too faint for want of food," murmured Joe, stretching himself out in spite of Phil's protests. "Someone sing to me, please." Supper went very well, in spite of the mid-afternoon luncheon, and after that the riding light was set for the night, the hatches drawn shut and all hands settled down to pass the evening in whatever way seemed best. But bedtime came early tonight and, by half-past nine, with the sound of a distant siren coming to them at intervals and the yacht's bells chiming the hours and half-hours, all lights were out below and the _Adventurer_ was wrapped in fog and silence. The fog still held in the morning, although at times it took on a yellowish tinge and made them hopeful that it would burn off. Steve said it was not quite so thick, but no one else was able to see much difference in it. Han managed to subsist on one egg, in spite of gloomy predictions, but after breakfast he and Perry decided to paddle ashore and find a place where they could purchase more. They tried to add to the party, but no one else wanted to go, and so they disappeared into the mist about nine o'clock, agreeing to be back at ten-thirty, at which time, unless the fog should have lifted, those aboard the boat were to sound the whistle. They landed on a narrow beach after a short row, and, stumbling through a fringe of coarse sand, discovered a lane leading inland. They stopped and strove to remember the location of the boat, and then followed the lane. The fog was amber-hued now and the morning was fast losing its chill. Perry broke into song and Han into a tuneless whistle that seemed to give him a deal of satisfaction. They soon found a main-travelled road and, after fixing the turn-off in their minds, wheeled to the left. "It would be a fine joke if we couldn't find the dingey again," chuckled Han. "I think you've got a punk idea of humour," responded Perry. "Anyway, all we'd have to do is find the beach and keep along until we barked our skins on the boat. Bet you, though, this pesky fog will be gone in an hour." The road left the shore presently and the travellers found that the fog was thinner and sometimes lifted entirely over small spaces, and it wasn't long before they stopped to take off their jackets and swing them across their arms. Possibly they passed houses, but they saw none, and the only incident occurred when the sound of wheels came to them from the highway ahead and, presently, a queer, old-fashioned two-wheeled chaise drawn by a piebald, drooping-eared horse passed slowly from the mist ahead to the mist behind. The boys gazed at it in wonderment, too interested in the equipage itself to heed the occupants. When it was out of sight again Han ejaculated: "Well, I'll be switched, Perry! I didn't suppose there was one of those things left in the world!" "Neither did I. And there won't be pretty quick, I guess, for it looked and sounded as if it would fall to pieces before it got to--to wherever it's going. Bet you anything that was the deacon's one-horse chaise in the poem!" "_Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay That was built in such a logical way It ran a hundred years to a day?_" quoted Han. "Wouldn't that look funny alongside a Rolls-Royce, Perry?" "It would look funny alongside a flivver," answered the other. "Say, how far do we have to walk? Seems to me we've done about five miles already." "Rot! We haven't walked more than a mile. Not being able to see things makes it seem farther, I guess." The encouraging sound of a cow mooing reached them the next minute. "That must be the one we heard yesterday," said Han. "I suppose there's just one on the island and it's set to go off at the same time every day." "If there's a cow over there," said Perry, staring into the fog, "maybe there's a farmhouse. Let's have a look." "All right, but we're just as likely to walk into a swamp as find a house." But a very few steps off the highway put them on a narrow lane and presently the big bulk of a barn loomed ahead. The house was soon located and ten minutes later, having purchased two quarts of milk and four dozen eggs, they retraced their steps. The fog had now apparently changed its mind about lifting, for the yellow tinge had gone and the world was once more grey and chill. They donned their coats again and, carrying their precious burdens, trudged on. Occasionally a puff of air came off the sound and the fog blew in trailing wreaths before them. When they had walked what they considered to be the proper distance they began to watch for that lane. And after they had watched for it for a full quarter of an hour and had walked a deal farther than they should have they reached the entirely justifiable conclusion that they were lost! Perry set down the battered milk can on which they had paid a deposit of twenty-five cents, took a long breath and, viewing the encompassing fog, exclaimed melodramatically: "Lost on Martha's Vineyard, or The Mystery of the Four Dozen Eggs!" "Well, we won't starve for awhile," laughed Han. "Say, where _is_ that lane we came up, anyway? Think we've passed it?" "About ten miles back," sighed Perry. "Come on and let's try dead reckoning. The beach is over there somewhere and if we can find it--" "Great! But when we have found it, which way shall we go?" Perry pushed his hat back and thoughtfully scratched his head. "Give it up!" he said at last. "You might go one way and I another. Anyway, let's find the old beach." They scrambled across a wall into a bush-grown tract, Han discovering in the process that he had chosen a place prettily bedecked with poison-ivy. "That does for me," said Han gloomily. "I'll have a fine time of it now for a couple of weeks. I can't even look at that stuff without getting poisoned!" "Maybe it didn't see you," said Perry cheerfully. "In this fog--" "Don't be a silly goat," interrupted the other fretfully. "I tell you I'll be all broken out tomorrow! And it's perfectly beastly, too. You have blisters all over you and they itch so you can hardly stand it." "Too bad," said Perry, trying to sound sympathetic but failing because he caught his foot in a bramble at the moment and almost pitched on his face. "Well," continued Han, more cheerfully, "there's one good thing. Salt water is fine to bathe in when you have ivy poisoning, and there'll be plenty of that around." "Sure; and it won't cost you a cent, either." They reached the beach then and gazed hopelessly about them as they crossed the softer sand. "If only they'd blow their old whistle we'd know where we are." "If I had some alcohol I might backen it," observed Han. "Alcohol? Backen what?" "The ivy poison." "Oh! Well, there's plenty of alcohol on board. Wonder what time it is," Perry drew out his watch and whistled surprisedly. "Only a quarter to ten, Han! We couldn't have walked very far, after all. And they won't signal us until ten-thirty. Here, I'm going this way." "It's the alkali that counteracts the poison," explained Han. "They say that if you can bathe the places in alcohol soon after you come in--in contact with the ivy--" "For the love of Pete!" exclaimed Perry. "Forget about it, Han! You'll worry yourself to death over that poison-ivy. Maybe it didn't bite you, after all." "Of course it did!" replied the other resentfully. "It always does. If I had some alcohol, though--" "Well, come on and get some. We've got to find the boat first, haven't we?" "Yes, but I don't think it's that way." "Then you try the other way, and if you find it, sing out so I'll hear you." "All right." They separated, each following the edge of the water, and presently Perry's voice rang out. "Here she is, Han!" he called. A faint hail answered him and Perry stowed the milk-can in the bow of the little boat and seated himself to wait. A few minutes later, as Han still tarried, he shouted again. This time there was no reply however, and Perry muttered impatiently and found a more comfortable position. When some five minutes more had passed he got to his feet and yelled at the top of his lungs. "Get a move on, Han! The milk's getting sour and I'm getting cold!" he shouted. An answering cry came from closer by, but what it was that Han said Perry couldn't make out. He turned his coat collar up, plunged hands in pockets and viewed the grey mist scowlingly. Then he began to listen for footsteps crunching the sand. But no sound save the lapping of water on the beach and the creaking of a boom on an unseen boat reached him. "It would serve him right to leave him here," he muttered resentfully. "Anyway, I'm not going to yell at him any more. I suppose he's so taken up with his poison-ivy business that he can't think of anything else. Wonder if I got into that stuff, too!" The idea was distinctly unwelcome. He thought he recalled brushing through leaves as he crossed the wall. He had never had any experience with poison-ivy and didn't know whether or not he was susceptible, but it seemed to him that there was a distinct itching sensation on his back. He squirmed uncomfortably. Then a prickly feeling on his left wrist set him to rubbing it. He examined the skin and, sure enough, it was quite red! He had it, too! You had blisters all over you, Han had said. Perry looked for blisters but found none. Still, he reflected miserably, it was probably too early for them yet. He suddenly found himself rubbing his right wrist too. And that, also, was distinctly inflamed looking, although not so red as the other. Gee, he'd ought to do something! Alcohol! That was it! He ought to bathe the places in alcohol! He jumped out of the dingey, pushed it down the beach into the water and sprawled across the bow. Then he shoved further off with an oar and sudsided onto a seat. "Back in ten minutes for you, Han!" he shouted. "You wait here! I'll bring some alcohol!" When a dozen choppy strokes had taken him out of sight of the shore his panic subsided a little and two thoughts came to him. The first was that he was treating Han rather scurvilly and the second was that he hadn't more than the haziest notion where the _Adventurer_ lay! But, having embarked, he kept on. Probably ten or fifteen minutes wouldn't make much difference in Han's case, while, as for finding the cruiser, he would shout after he had rowed a little further and doubtless someone aboard would hear him. So he went on into the mist, occasionally stopping to scratch a wrist or wiggle about on the seat in the endeavour to abate the prickling sensation in back or shoulders. It seemed to him now that he was infected from head to toes. Presently, having rowed some distance, he began to hail. "_Adventurer_ ahoy!" he shouted, "O Steve! O Joe!" He stopped rowing, rubbed a wrist, peered into the fog and waited. But no answering hail reached him. He lifted his voice again. "Ahoy! _Adventurer_ ahoy! Are you all dead? Where are you?" This time there was an answer, faint but unmistakable, and, somewhat to Perry's surprise, it came from almost behind him. "Shout again!" he called. "Where are you?" "He-e-ere! Hurry up!" At least, that was what the answer sounded like. Perry grumblingly turned the boat around and rowed in the direction of the voice. "I suppose," he thought, "I rowed in a circle. I always did row harder with my right. But I don't see what they want me to hurry for. And they might blow their whistle if they had any sense." "Shout again!" he yelled presently. "Hello-o-o!" came a hail from somewhere back of the boat, and: "Come ahead!" called a voice from the fog in front. Perry exploded. "Shut up, one of you!" he called exasperatedly. "I can't row two ways at once! Where's the boat?" But his remarks evidently didn't carry, for all he got was another hail from behind. "All right," he muttered. "Why didn't you say so before?" He swung the dingey around a second time and rowed on a new course. "Wonder who the other chap was," he thought. "I dare say, though, there are boats all around here if a fellow could see them." A minute later he called again: "Come on, you idiots! Where are you?" "Don't bust yourself," said a voice from almost over his shoulder. "And watch where you're going if you don't want to stave that boat in." CHAPTER IX SOUR MILK Perry was so surprised that he almost fell off the seat, while, forgetting to obey injunctions, he let the dingey run until there was a sudden bump that toppled the milk-can over and nearly treated him the same way. He looked startedly about. Six feet away lay a black boat and a boy with a boat-hook was threatening him from the deck. "You silly idiot!" called the boy impatiently. "Look where you're going! If I hadn't got you with the hook you'd have knocked half our paint off!" The boy and the boat slowly vanished in the mist like a "fade-out" at the movies, before Perry found his voice. Then: "Who the dickens are you?" he gasped. "I'm the man who put the salt in the ocean," replied the voice jeeringly. "Come on easy and I'll get you." "Well, but--but--what boat's that?" "U.S. Battleship _Pennsylvania_, Pride of the Navy! Come on, you lubber!" Perry came on and again the boy with the boat-hook took form in the fog. "You're Cas Temple," said Perry stupidly. "That's the _Follow Me_!" "Surest thing you know, son! Hello! Why, it's Perry Bush. I thought you were Bert. What did you do with the fellows?" "What fellows?" asked Perry, puzzled, as Cas pulled the dingey alongside the cruiser. "Why, Bert and Wink and the rest of them." "Haven't seen 'em." "Haven't? Where'd you get the boat, then?" "What boat?" "That one! The one you're in! Say, are you dippy?" "This is our boat and I got it--" "Your boat nothing! That's our boat, you silly chump! Think I don't know our own tender?" "Wh-what!" gasped Perry. "So it is! Then, where's mine! I mean ours? How did I get this one?" "Search me! If you don't know, I'm blessed if I do," chuckled Caspar Temple. "You must remember something that's happened since yesterday morning!" "Han and I went ashore," said Perry, staring puzzledly at the milk-can from which a tiny stream was trickling past the loosened stopper. "Then we went to look for our boat and I found this and I yelled to him and he didn't come and so I started back to the boat to get some--" Perry suddenly remembered his affliction. "Say, got any alcohol?" he asked anxiously. "Alcohol? I don't know. Why?" "I want some." Perry started to scramble out of the tender. "I got poisoned." "Snake?" asked Cas hopefully and eagerly. "Poison-ivy." "Oh!" The other's voice held keen disappointment. "Well, what do you want alcohol for?" "It's good for it," explained Perry, reaching the cockpit. "See if you've got any, will you, Cas?" "Y-yes but, honestly, Perry, I wouldn't try it if I were you." "Why not!" "Why--why, if you go and drink a lot of alcohol--Besides, I'm all alone here, and if you got--got troublesome--" "Drink it, you silly goat! Who's going to drink it? I'm going to rub it on the places!" "Oh, I see! That's different. I'll have a look, Perry." Cas was visibly relieved as he scrambled down to the cabin. Perry dropped into the dingey again and set the milk-can upright, and then, after another minute, Cas returned empty-handed. "I'm sorry," he said, "but we haven't a bit. Would peroxide do?" "I don't know," answered Perry doubtfully. "Maybe. Hand it here and I'll give it a chance. Say," he continued as he laved his wrists, "did your crowd leave this boat on the beach?" "I suppose so. That's where you found it, wasn't it! You'd better hustle back with it, too, for they said they'd be back about eleven. They went to Vineyard Haven." "It's all well enough to say hustle back with it," replied Perry morosely, "but where's your pesky beach?" "Why, over there," said Cas, pointing. "The way you came." "I came forty-eleven different directions," answered Perry. "All right, though. I'll try it. But I'm likely to be paddling around all day and night. Got anything to eat on board?" Cas found some cookies and these, with a glass of water, raised Perry's spirits. "Farewell," he said feelingly, as he shoved off again. "I die for my country." "Did you fellows have any trouble finding this place yesterday?" asked Cas as the departing guest dropped the oars in the locks. "Trouble?" Perry looked blank. "What sort of trouble?" "Why, the fog, you know. We had an awful time finding the harbour." "Oh, that!" Perry shrugged. "Why, we went straight for the jetty and didn't have any trouble at all finding it. But then we've got a navigator on our boat. So long!" Perry discovered that rowing was raising a blister on each palm and that his arms were getting decidedly tired. The trouble with a dingey, he decided, was that while it might do excellently as a bathtub, it was certainly never meant for rowing. The oars were so short that the best strokes he was capable of sent the boat ahead scarcely more than three or four feet, and, being almost as broad as it was long, the tender constantly showed a tendency to go any way but straight ahead. While he had been aboard the _Follow Me_ the fog had again taken on its amber hue and now was unmistakably thinning out. But it was still thick enough to hide objects thirty feet away and Perry couldn't for the life of him be certain that he was sending his craft toward the beach. To be sure he had started out in the general direction of the shore, as indicated by Cas, but there was always the possibility that he was rowing stronger with one oar than the other. He strove to curb that tendency and fancied he was succeeding, but when, after being afloat a good quarter of an hour, he still failed to see land or hear the break of waves on the beach he was both puzzled and annoyed. The sun pierced the mist hotly and he was soon panting and perspiring. He heartily wished that he had never agreed to accompany Han on the search for eggs. Presently he rested on his oars, and as he did so he heard voices quite close. He called. "Hello, there! Where's the beach?" "Here," was the answer. He rowed on and in another minute land came abruptly out of the fog. Two blurred forms resolved themselves into men as Perry beached the dingey and tiredly dropped the oars. The men came toward him and proved, on nearer acquaintance, to be middle-aged and apparently natives. "Quite a fog," drawled one of them. "What boat you from, sir?" "The _Adventurer_." Perry viewed the immediate foreground with misgiving. The beach looked more abrupt than he recalled it. "What beach is this?" he inquired. "Well, I don't know as it's got any name exactly. What beach was you lookin' for?" "The beach between Vineyard Haven and--and some other place." "Oh, West Chop? Why, that's across the harbour, son. This is Eastville, this side." Perry groaned. He had rowed in a half-circle then. Unless Cas had directed him wrong. Presently the true explanation came to him. The tide had turned between the time the _Follow Me's_ crowd had gone ashore and the time that Perry had reached that boat, and Cas had not allowed for the fact that the cruiser had swung around! "Well," he said wearily, "I guess I've got to row across again." "Too bad," sympathised one of the men. "It's most a mile. Guess, though, you'll be able to see your way pretty soon. This fog's burning off fast." Out of sight of the men Perry again laid his oars down and reached behind him for the can of milk. It was rather warm, but it tasted good for all of that. Then, putting the wooden stopper back in place, he once more took up his task. Perhaps he might have been rowing around that harbour yet had not the fog suddenly disappeared as if by magic. Wisps of it remained here and there, but even as he watched them, they curled up and were burned into nothingness like feathers in a fire. He found himself near the head of a two-mile-long harbour. The calm blue water was rippling under the brushing of a light southerly breeze and here and there lay boats anchored or moored. While the fog had hidden the harbour he had supposed that not more than half a dozen craft were within sight, but now, between mouth and causeway, fully two dozen sailboats and launches dotted the surface. Over his shoulder was a little hamlet that was doubtless Vineyard Haven. Facing him was a larger community, and he decided that that would be Oak Bluffs. Half a mile down the harbour lay the _Adventurer_ and, nearer at hand, the _Follow Me_. But what was of more present interest to Perry was a group of figures on the opposite beach. They appeared to be seated and there was that in their attitude which, even at this distance, told of dejection. So, reflected Perry, might have looked a group of marooned sailors. He sighed and bent again to his inadequate oars. He was under no misapprehension as to the sort of welcome awaiting him, but, like an early Christian martyr on the way to the arena, he proceeded with high courage if scant enthusiasm. With the sun pouring down upon him, with his hands blistered, with his breath just about exhausted and his arms aching, he at last drew to the shore amidst a dense and unflattering silence. Five irate youths stepped into the tender and crowded the seats. Harry Corwin took his place beside Perry and relieved him of the port oar. Perry would have yielded the other very gladly, but none offered to accept it and he hadn't the courage to make the suggestion. The dingey floated off the sand again, headed for the _Follow Me,_ and then the storm broke. It didn't descend all at once, however. At first there were muffled growls of thunder from Harry Corwin. Then came claps from Wink Wheeler. After that the elements raged about Perry's defenceless head, even "Brownie" supplying some fine lightning effects! Perry gathered in the course of the uncomplimentary remarks directed toward him that the crowd, being unable to find the dingey where they believed they had left it, had spent some twenty minutes searching up and down the beach, that subsequently they had waited there in the fog for a good forty minutes more and that eventually Perry Bush would sooner or later come to some perfectly deplorable end and that for their part they didn't care how soon it might be. By the time the _Follow Me_ was reached Perry was too worn out to offer any excuse. Cas, however, did it for him, and, as the others' tempers had somewhat sobered by then amusement succeeded anger. Perry faintly and vaguely described his wanderings about the harbour and the amusement increased. As dinner was announced about that time he was dragged to the cabin and propped in a corner of a bunk and fed out of hand. An hour later he was transported, somewhat recovered, to the _Adventurer_ by Harry and Tom Corwin and Wink Wheeler and delivered, together with his precious can of milk, into the hands of his ship-mates. The _Adventurer's_ tender bobbed about at the stern and the first person Perry set eyes on as he scrambled onto the bridge deck was Han. Perry fixed him with a scathing gaze. "Where," he demanded, "did you get to, idiot?" "Oh, I'll tell you about that," answered Han. "You see I was afraid about that poison-ivy and so I took a dip in the ocean. And--" "But I called you and called!" "Yes, and I answered a couple of times. And then I may have had my head under water." "A monstrous pity you didn't keep it there!" "When," continued Han, "I went to look for you I couldn't find you. So I--so I came back here." "Yes, you thought maybe I'd swum across, eh! Or found a boat?" "Sure! You did find a boat, didn't you?" "You make me tired," growled Perry amidst the laughter of the others. "And I hope that poison-ivy gets you good and hard!" "I don't believe it took," replied Han gently, "Maybe it wasn't poison-ivy, after all!" At that instant the outraged countenance of Ossie appeared in the companion way. "What," he demanded irately of Perry, "do you mean by bringing back half a gallon of sour milk?" Perry looked despairingly about at the unsympathetic and amused faces and wandered limply aft to the seclusion of the cockpit. The next morning the Adventure Club chugged around to Edgartown, and then, after putting in gasoline and water, set out at a little after eleven, on a fifty-mile run to Pleasant Bay. CHAPTER X THE _FOLLOW ME_ DISAPPEARS There had been talk of going through the Cape Cod Canal and so obviating the outside journey, but most of the voyagers thought that would be too tame and unexciting. Besides, a barge had managed to sink herself across the channel near the Buzzard's Bay end a week or so before and no one seemed to know for certain whether she had yet pulled herself out and gone on about her business, and, as Steve pointed out, they'd feel a bit foolish if they got to the canal entrance and had to turn back again. They had fair weather and light breezes all the way to New Harbour and from there, the next day, around the tip of the Cape to Provincetown. They dropped anchor off the yacht club landing at Provincetown at four o'clock Friday afternoon and went ashore as soon as the boats were berthed and sought the post-office. Provincetown had been selected as the first certain port of call and most of the thirteen boys found mail awaiting them. Only Neil, however, received tidings of importance, and his letter from his parents brought an exclamation of dismay to his lips. "Anything wrong?" asked Ossie, sitting beside him on the rail of the hotel porch. "Rotten," replied Neil disgustedly. "I've got to go home!" "Go home!" echoed the other. "What for?" "Dad's got to go to England on some silly business or other," explained Neil gloomily, "and he wants me to stay with mother. Of course I ought to. Mother's sort of an invalid and there's no one else. But it's rotten luck." He stowed the letter in his pocket and stared disappointedly at the passing traffic. "I was having a bully time, too," he muttered disconsolately. "That's a shame," said Ossie sympathetically. "When will you have to go?" "He wants me to meet him in New York Sunday. He sails early Monday morning. I suppose I'll have to go tomorrow. Guess I'd better get a time table and see how the trains run." "Gee, I'm sorry," murmured Ossie. And so, for that matter, was every other member of the _Adventurer's_ company for Neil was well liked. And the _Follow He's_ crew were scarcely less regretful. A study of the railroad schedule showed that the next train for Boston left at five-fifty-five in the morning and that the only other train was at two-forty in the afternoon. "Five-fifty-five's a perfectly punk time for a train to leave anywhere, even Provincetown," objected Neil. "And the two-forty will get me to Boston too late for anything but a midnight train to New York." "Bother trains," said Steve. "We'll run you to Boston tomorrow in the boat. We can do it in four hours or so. If the _Follow Me_ crowd want to stay here another day we'll wait for them at Boston, or we'll go on and meet them further up the shore." "But I don't want to hurry you chaps away from the Cape," expostulated Neil. "You were going to Plymouth, weren't you?" "Yes, we were, but there's nothing important about that. Hold on, though! I say, look up the Plymouth trains, Neil. There must be more of them from there and we can put you across to Plymouth in a couple of hours." They found that a train leaving Plymouth at ten would put Neil in Boston shortly after eleven, in plenty of time for the one o'clock express to New York, and so it was decided that the _Adventurer_ was to leave her present port at seven in the morning. The _Follow Me_ was to follow more leisurely and the boats would spend the next night at Plymouth. Neil and Ossie went off to send telegrams and the others roamed around the town until it was time for supper. Afterwards Neil packed his belongings in two pasteboard laundry boxes, having no bag with him, and constantly bewailed his ill-fortune. Later the _Follow Me_ crowd came over and they had quite a jolly evening and Neil cheered up vastly. The next morning dawned clear and hot and, after an early breakfast, the _Adventurer_ weighed anchor. The _Follow Me's_ whistle signalled good-bye until they were half-way to Long Point and the _Adventurer_ replied. Once around the point the boat headed across the wide bay for the mainland at a good sixteen-mile clip. The voyage was uneventful and Manomet Hill was soon sighted. Then Plymouth Beach stretched before them and presently they were rounding the head and pointing the _Adventurer's_ nose for the town. There was still the better part of an hour left after the anchor was dropped and they all tumbled into the dingey and found a landing and spent the next three-quarters of an hour rambling around the historic town, Ossie and Perry bearing Neil's strange-looking luggage. Neil insisted on viewing Plymouth Rock, declaring that he might never get another opportunity, and after that there was not much time left to them. They installed Neil on the train impressively, stowed his luggage around him and then took up positions outside the window, where, to the mingled curiosity and amusement of other travellers, they conducted farewell exercises. These included an entirely impromptu and unsolicited duet by Perry and Han, a much interrupted speech by Joe, and, finally, as the train moved out of the station, a hearty Dexter cheer with three "Neils!" on the end. In such manner the _Adventurer_ lost her cabin boy and the ranks of the club were depleted by one. Neil's departure left a hole and as the others returned from the station they spoke of him rather as though he had passed on to a better world, recalling his good points and becoming quite sad in a cheerful way. In view of their bereavement, they decided to have luncheon at a hotel and during that meal recovered their spirits. More sight-seeing followed, but the day was a hot one and by half-past three they had had enough and so returned to the landing and pulled back to the cruiser. Steve, who had supplied himself with yesterday's New York and Boston papers, pre-empted a seat on the bridge deck and stretched himself out on it, his legs crooked over the railing. The others found places in the shade as best they could and talked and watched for the _Follow Me_ and listened to occasional snatches of news from Steve. There was practically no breeze and the afternoon was uncomfortably hot even under the awning. Joe finally solved the difficulty of keeping cool by disappearing below and presently re-emerging in his swimming trunks and dropping overboard. That set the fashion, and they all went in save Steve, who was too absorbed in his papers to know whether he was warm or not. The _Follow Me_ came up the harbour just before five and tooted a greeting as she swung around to a berth near the _Adventurer_. The fellows, who were still in bathing attire, swam across to her, and very shortly their ranks were increased by just half a dozen more. The sight of Steve's feet hanging over the canvas was too much for Perry and he yielded to temptation. Swimming up very quietly he deftly pulled off one of Steve's "sneakers" and, in defiance of the owner's protests, they played ball with it until the inevitable happened and it sank out of sight before Wink Wheeler could dive for it. "Brownie" said then that Steve might as well let them have the other one, since one shoe was no use to him, but Steve's reply was not only non-compliant but actually insulting in its terms. He took off the other "sneaker" and laid on it. That bath left them feeling both refreshed and hungry and Ossie had a hard time finding enough for them to eat. Perry described the astonishment of some Plymouth fisherman when he opened a codfish some fine day and discovered a rubber-soled shoe inside. "You'll read all about it in the paper, Steve, and won't you laugh!" he added. Steve, who had been forced to don a pair of leather shoes, didn't seem to anticipate any great amount of amusement, however, and suggested that it would be a gentlemanly act if Perry would hie himself to a store and purchase a pair of number 8 "sneakers," a suggestion which Perry weighed carefully and discarded. "You see," he explained, "it wouldn't be fair to make me spend my hard-earned money for two 'sneakers' when I only lost one. If the store would sell me half a pair, Steve, I'd make good in a minute, but you see my point of view, don't you?" Steve didn't seem to. While they were still at table Harry Corwin's voice was heard and Ossie investigated by the simple expedient of climbing on top of the galley locker and thrusting his head through the open hatch. "He wants to know if we'll go to the movies with them," said Ossie, ducking back into sight. "Surest thing you know," agreed Perry. "We might as well, eh?" asked Joe. "It'll be beastly hot, though." "I'll go if they've got Charlie Chaplin," said Han. "Ossie, ask him if they have, please." "He says he doesn't know," responded Ossie after an exchange of remarks. "I told them we'd go, though," he added, dropping to the floor. "They're going to wait for us on the landing in half an hour." "Half an hour!" grumbled Perry. "You told them that so I couldn't get enough to eat, you stingy beggar! Got anything more out there?" "Great Jumping Jehosaphat!" ejaculated Ossie wildly. "I've cooked two messes of potatoes and toasted a hundred slices of bread--" "Oh, all right. Bring on the dessert, then." "The dessert's on now," answered Ossie shortly. "Cookies and jelly. That's all you get, Piggie." "Won't we have to buy some more grub pretty soon?" asked Steve. Ossie nodded and glanced darkly at Perry. "If _he_ stays around we will," he answered. "We've got enough for three or four days yet, though. Better have some canned stuff, I guess. And some flour and sugar." "How's the treasury, Phil?" inquired Han. "Still holding out. Where's the next stop, Steve?" "We said Portsmouth, but Harry wants to put in at Salem. I don't suppose it matters much." "Then we cut out Boston altogether?" "Why, yes, it's out of the way a bit. Besides, we didn't start out on this cruise to visit cities." "We started out to look for adventures," said Perry sadly, "but I don't see many of them coming our way." "What do you call adventures?" asked Han. "Didn't you have a fine time being lost in the fog the other day?" "Huh!" replied Perry, scraping the last of the jelly from the glass. "Being lost in the fog isn't an adventure. It's just plain punk. What I mean is--is pirates and--and desert islands and--and that sort of thing." "You were born a hundred years or so too late," said Joe, shaking his head. "Toss me a cookie, Han. Thanks. If you saw a pirate, Perry, you'd--um--you'd drop dead." "If I saw a pirate," replied Perry indignantly, "I'd--um--live as long as you would! Besides, I've got a perfect right to drop dead if I want to." "Go ahead," said Joe lightly. "Any time you like, old chap." "The reason I spoke of Boston," reverted Phil, "was that I thought it might be a good place to buy our supplies. There's no use paying any more for them than we have to and going broke before the cruise is half over." "Yes, but don't forget that gasoline's pretty expensive stuff these days, Phil," said Steve. "I guess we'd burn up enough gas getting to Boston to make up for any saving on supplies, eh? I suppose there are stores in Salem." "Thought it burned up awhile ago," said Han. "Part of it did, but I don't suppose it stayed burned up, you idiot. What time is it? We'd better beat it for shore." "Right-o," agreed Han. "I hope they have Charlie Chaplin, though." By some strange inadvertency, however, Mr. Chaplin's eccentric person was missing from the screen. In spite of that, though, Han managed to enjoy the evening. Afterwards Perry suggested light refreshments and they set out in search of a lunch counter. But anyone who knows Plymouth will realise the hopelessness of their search. After roaming around the quiet and deserted streets and at last being assured by a policeman that their quest was worse than idle they went back to the tenders. "I suppose," said Perry disgustedly, "they close all the stores early so they can go to the movies. I wish now we'd had some soda at that drug store where the man had insomnia." "We've got food on board," said Ossie. "I'll fix up some sandwiches. I wish you'd get enough to eat for once, though," he added as he took his place in the dingey. "Don't they ever feed you at home, Perry?" "Huh, I'll bet you're as hungry as I am! What are they yelping about over there?" The other tender had left the landing a moment before the _Adventurer's_ boat and now its occupants were heard shouting confusedly across the moonlit water. "Can you make out what they're saying?" asked Steve of the rest. "Just nonsense, I guess," answered Phil, tugging at his oar. "Stop rowing a minute and listen," Steve directed. "Now then!" "Something about the boat," murmured Han. "I can't make it out, though." "By Jove, I can!" exclaimed Steve. "The _Follow Me's_ gone! She must have slipped her anchor or dragged or something. Row hard, fellows!" CHAPTER XI PURSUIT Whatever had happened, one fact was plain, and that was that the smaller of the two cruisers was not swinging at anchor where they had left her. Nor could they see her anywhere. That she had dragged her anchor was impossible, since the harbour was almost land-locked and the night was still, with hardly enough breeze to stir the water. After the first few minutes of stunned surprise the twelve boys, gathered on the _Adventurer_, held council. It was Phil who eventually summed up the situation quietly and tersely as follows: "The boat's gone. She isn't in the harbour, because if she were we could see her. Either she's been taken off as a joke or stolen. I can't imagine anyone doing it as a joke. In any case it's up to us to find her. We went ashore about eight, and it's now ten to eleven. It's probable that whoever swiped her waited until we were safely ashore and out of the way. I mean, they probably allowed us at least half an hour." "They were probably watching us," suggested Steve. "Why didn't they take this one instead of the other?" asked Cas Temple. "Perhaps," replied Steve, "because they found the control locked. All they had to do on the _Follow Me_ was break the padlock on the companion way doors. Still, that's just a guess. They may have preferred the _Follow Me_ for some other reason." "Never mind that," said Joe impatiently. "The question now is how we're to find her. Go ahead, Phil." "I was going to suggest that we inquire among the other boats between here and the harbour entrance. Two or three still have lights aboard. Maybe they saw the _Follow Me_ pass out." "Somebody look after the tenders," said Steve briskly. "Haul ours out and tie the other astern. Give her a short line, so she won't switch around and fill with water. All ready, Joe?" Five minutes later the _Adventurer_ slid through the still water toward the mouth of the harbour. On her way she stopped twice to shout inquiries, and the second time a sleepy mariner, leaning, in pajamas across the rail of a small launch, supplied the information they sought. "Yes, there was a cruising motor-boat went by about nine, or a little after, headed toward the Pier Head. I didn't notice her much, but she was painted dark. Come to think of it, it must have been pretty nearly half-past, for I remember hearing three bells strike just afterwards." "You didn't see her after she went by here?" asked Steve. "No, I was getting ready for bed and saw her through a port. Anything wrong?" "Nothing," replied Steve dryly, "except that she belongs to us and someone's evidently stolen her. Thanks very much. Good night." "Good night," was the answer. "I hope you get her." "Well, we know she got this far," said Joe, "but--um--which way did they take her when they got outside?" "That's the question," said Harry Corwin. "They might have gone across to Provincetown and around the Cape, or taken her up the shore or down. I guess the best thing for us to do would be to hike back and give the alarm. If we telegraphed--" "She went north," said Phil with conviction. "How do you know?" demanded Joe. "I don't _know_, but think a minute. If you were stealing a boat you'd want to keep out of sight with her, wouldn't you?" "Suppose I should." "Then you wouldn't mess around in Cape Cod Bay. You'd set a course as far from other craft and harbours as you could. If they went south they'd be among boats right along, and they'd know that we'd work the wires and that folks would be on the lookout." "Then where," began Steve. "Let's look at the chart from here north," said Phil. The cover of the chart box was thrust back and the lamp lighted and as many as could do so clustered about it. Phil traced a finger across Massachusetts Bay past the tip of Cape Ann. "There's clear sailing for ninety miles or so, straight to Portland, unless--How much gas has she aboard, Harry?" "Only about twelve gallons." It was Tom Corwin who answered. "We were going to fill again in the morning." "How far can she go on that?" "Not more than seventy at ordinary speed, I guess. She's hard on gas." "Good! Then she'd have to put in at Gloucester or Newburyport or somewhere." "Unless she ducked into Boston Harbour," said Steve. "I dare say she could tuck herself away somewhere there quite safely. A coat of white paint would change her looks completely." "That's possible," agreed Phil, "but painting a boat of that size would take a couple of days, wouldn't it? It doesn't seem to me that they'd want to take the chance." "Then your idea is that they're on their way to Portland?" "Somewhere up there. They'd argue that we wouldn't be likely to look for them so far away." "Well, here we are," said Steve. "We've got to go one way or another." The rougher water outside was making the _Adventurer_ dip and roll. "As far as I can see, Phil's theory is as good as another, or maybe better. Shall we try going north, fellows?" No one answered until, after a moment's silence, Perry remarked philosophically: "I don't believe we'll ever see her again, but we can't stop here, and we were going northward anyhow." Murmurs of agreement came from the others. The only dissentient voice was Bert Alley's. "_I_ don't see your argument," he said. "If I had swiped the _Follow Me_ I'd hike out for New York or some place like that and run her into some little old hole until I could either change her looks or sell her." "And be nabbed on the way," said Joe. "Not if I stayed at sea." "But you couldn't stay at sea if you had only twelve gallons of gasoline aboard. Wherever she's going, she will have to put in for gas before long." Phil stared thoughtfully at the chart. "I'll allow," he went on, "that she may have gone any other direction but north. For that matter, she may be anchored just around the corner somewhere. It's all more or less guesswork. But, looking at the probabilities, and they're all we've got to work on, I think north is the likeliest trail for us to take." "Right-o," said Steve, turning the wheel and pointing the boat's slim bow toward Gurnet Point, "We've got to take a chance, fellows, and this looks like the best. In the morning we'll get busy with the telegraph and tell our troubles, but just now the best we can do is keep a sharp lookout and try to think we're on the right course. I'm going to speed her up, Joe, so you might dab some more oil and grease around your old engine." "All right. You fellows will have to clear out of here, though, while I get this hatch up. Some of you might go forward and keep your eyes peeled. I don't suppose, however," he added as he pulled the engine hatch up, "that they'll show any lights on her." "Not likely to," agreed Harry Corwin. "They'll run dark, probably, until they get near a harbour. Look for anything like a boat, fellows. It's a mighty good thing we've got this moonlight." "Yes, and we'll have to make hay while the moon shines," added Wink Wheeler as he climbed out of Joe's way, "for it won't last much longer. It'll be as dark as pitch by one or two o'clock, I guess." "Well, we've got a searchlight," said Perry. "There's no need for more than three of us to stay up," said Steve. "I'll keep the wheel and Joe will stay here with me. Phil, you take the watch for a couple of hours and then wake someone else." "Huh!" said Perry. "I'm not going to bed! Who wants to sleep, anyway?" Apparently no one did, for although presently the dozen fellows were distributed over the boat, not one went below. Phil and Han stretched themselves out at the bow, Steve, Joe, Harry and Tom Corwin and Cas Temple remained on the bridge deck and the rest of the company retired to the cockpit, from where, by looking along the after cabin roof, they had a satisfactory view of the course. Perhaps one or two of the boys did nod a little during the next two hours, but real slumber was far from the minds of any of them. The _Adventurer_ was doing a good twenty miles an hour, the propeller lashing the water into a long foaming path that melted astern in the moonlight. Ossie busied himself in the galley about midnight and served hot coffee and bread-and-butter sandwiches. Only once was the _Adventurer_ changed from her course, which Steve had laid for Gloucester, and then the light which had aroused their suspicions was soon seen to belong to a coasting schooner beating her way toward Boston. Of small boats there were none until, at about one o'clock, when the two white lights of Baker's Island lay west by north and the red flash on Eastern Point showed almost dead ahead, Phil called from the bow. "Steve, there's something ahead that looks like a boat or a rock. Can you see it?" "Which side?" "A little to the left. Port, isn't it? Han doesn't see it, but--" "I've got it," answered Steve. After a moment he added with conviction: "It's a boat. Has she changed her position, Phil?" "Not while I've been watching. Looks as if she was going about the same way we are." The others came clustering forward from the stern to stare across the water at the dark spot ahead which, in the uncertain light of the setting moon, might be almost anything. If it was a boat, it showed no light. Anxiously the boys watched, and after a few minutes Steve announced with quiet triumph: "We're pulling up on her, fellows, whoever she is!" "She's the _Follow Me_," declared Harry Corwin. "She must be, or she wouldn't be running without lights." "We'll know before long," said Steve. "I wish the moon would stay out a little longer, though. Joe, try the searchlight and see if you can pick her up." But the craft ahead was a good mile away and the _Adventurer's_ small searchlight was not powerful enough to bridge that distance with its white glare. "They're making for the harbour, anyway," said Harry Corwin, "and so she can't get away from us if we lose her now." Even as he ended the last pallid rays of the moon vanished and they found themselves in darkness save for the wan radiance of the stars. Lights unnoticed before sprang up in the gloom along the shore and a dim radiance in the sky showed where the town of Gloucester slumbered. "If they double on us now we'll lose them," muttered Steve. "Put that light out, Joe. We can see better without it." "How far off is the harbour?" asked Harry. "About two miles. You can hear the whistle buoy. That white light to the left of the red flash is the beacon on the end of the breakwater." He moved the helm a trifle and examined the chart. "There are no rocks, anyway, and that's a comfort. I can't say I like this running at night. How far away was she when the moon went back on us, Harry?" "Oh, three-quarters, at a rough guess." "Nearer a mile and a quarter, I'd say. Well, if she doesn't dodge along shore we'll have her in the harbour. Always supposing, that is, that she really is the _Follow Me_." "She can't be anything else," answered Harry. "No sensible skipper would go ploughing around at night without a light. Hello! Isn't that a light there now?" "Where? Yes, you're right! She's lighted up at last! Afraid to go in without lights, I dare say, for fear of arousing suspicion. I'm getting to believe she _is_ the _Follow Me_, Harry." "I haven't doubted it once. Do you suppose she knows we're after her?" "She knows we're here, of course, but she can't be certain we're after her. Still, turning that searchlight on was a sort of give-away. If she really does go inside it's just because she's afraid of her fuel giving out. We'd better anchor as far out as we can and keep our eyes open until daylight comes." "She couldn't get gas before morning, I guess," said Joe. "Looks to me as if, if she _is_ the _Follow Me_, they've run themselves into a trap!" "Hope so, I'm sure," said Wink Wheeler. "If we've caught her we've certainly been lucky, fellows!" "Don't count your chickens until they're hatched," advised Ossie. "Maybe she isn't the _Follow Me_ at all." "I can't see her light now," called Phil from the bow. "Hold on, there's a green light, I think! No, I guess I was wrong. Can't see anything now, Steve. Can you?" "No, she's turned and run inside back of the breakwater. Keep your ears and eyes open for that whistling buoy, Phil. I want to pass it to port." "It's pretty near. There it is now! Look!" "I've got it! All right. Now it's straight for the white beacon." Steve sighed relievedly. "No use hurrying any longer, I guess." He eased the throttle back and the _Adventurer_ slowed her pace. "Have a look at the chart, Harry. Isn't there a buoy near the end of the breakwater?" "Yes, a red spar buoy." "What's the depth just inside?" "Four fathoms, shoaling to one." "Good enough. We'll drop anchor just around the breakwater and train the searchlight across the channel. I don't believe, though, they intend to run out again before morning. All I'm afraid of is that they swung off when darkness came and are sneaking around the Cape." "I'll bet anything we'll find her at anchor when daylight comes," replied Harry. "She had only enough gas for seventy miles, and she's gone about sixty at top speed. We've got her, Steve. Don't you worry." "Hope so. Get your bow anchor ready, Han, and stand by to heave. When you let go make as little noise as you can. I'm going to turn the lights out, fellows, so don't go messing about or you may walk overboard. Switch them all off below, Ossie, will you? If those chaps have anchored just inside the breakwater there's no sense in letting them know that this is the _Adventurer_. Got your anchor ready, Han?" "Ay, ay, sir!" "All right. Don't let your windlass rattle. Keep quiet, fellows." Suddenly all the lights on deck save that in the binnacle went out, leaving the boat in darkness. Nearby the red flash of the lighthouse glowed periodically, while, ahead, shone the white beacon. In silence the _Adventurer_ drew nearer and nearer to the latter, put it abeam and then swung to starboard. "Let her go, Han," called Steve softly. Those on the bridge deck heard the faint splash of the hundred-pound navy anchor as it struck the water. Han crept back and swung himself down to the bridge. "All fast, sir," he reported. Somewhere in the darkness at the head of the harbour, where tiny pin-pricks of light twinkled, a town clock struck two. CHAPTER XII WHAT STEVE SAW Waiting was weary work after that. It was two hours and a half to sunrise and, since two of their number were sufficient to keep watch, the others presently went below and napped. Steve and Bert Alley remained on deck. Steve, although he perhaps needed sleep more than anyone, refused to trust other eyes than his own, and while darkness lasted he watched the white path cast across the water by the _Adventurer's_ searchlight. But darkness and silence held until shortly after four, when the eastern sky began to lighten. The next half-hour passed more slowly than any that had gone before. Gradually their range of vision enlarged, and Steve, peering into the greyness, drew Bert's attention to a darker hulk that lay a few hundred yards up the harbour. They watched it anxiously as the light increased. That it was a boat of about the size of the _Follow Me_ and that is was painted dark became more and more apparent. Then, quite suddenly, a ray of rosy light shot up beyond Eastern Point and the neighbouring motor-boat lay revealed. Steve sighed his disappointment. She was not the _Follow Me_ after all, but a battered, black-hulled power-boat used for gill-netting. One by one, as the light strengthened, the others stumbled on deck, yawning and rubbing their sleepy eyes. The _Adventurer_ was anchored more than a mile from the inner harbour, and between her and Ten Pound Island lay a big, rusty-red salt bark, high out of water, and five fishing schooners. But these, aside from the disreputable little gill-netter, were all the craft that met their gaze. "Either," said Steve wearily, "she never came in at all or she's up in the inner harbour. I'll wager she didn't get out again last night. We'll go up and mosey around, I guess. Ossie, how about some coffee?" "I'll make some, Steve. Guess we'd better have an early breakfast too." "It can't be too early to suit me," murmured Bert Alley, as he dragged his feet down the companion way and toppled onto a berth. The _Adventurer_ weighed anchor and in the first flush of a glorious Summer dawn, chugged warily up the still harbour. She kept toward the eastern shore and the boys swept every pier and cove with sharp eyes. Then Rocky Neck turned back them and they picked a cautious way over sunken rocks to the entrance of the inner harbour. By this time it was broad daylight and their task was made easier. Still, as the inner harbour was nearly a mile long and a good half-mile wide, and indented with numerous coves, the search was long. They nosed in and out of slips, circled basins and ran down a dozen false clues supplied by sailors on the fishing schooners that lined the wharves. And, at seven o'clock they had to acknowledge defeat. The _Follow Me_ was most surely not in Gloucester Harbour. Nor, for that matter, was there a cabin-cruiser that resembled her in any way. It was the latter fact that puzzled them, for they had somehow become convinced that the darkened craft that had led them past the breakwater last night was, if not the _Follow Me_, at least a boat of her size. "And," said Harry Corwin, "we know that that boat did come in here, for we saw her light disappear behind the breakwater. Let's look around again." "If she came in for gasoline," said Phil, "we might find out whether she got it. There can't be many places where she could fill her tanks." The _Adventurer_ was slowly rounding a point that lay between the cove from which she had just emerged and Western Harbour, and Wink Wheeler, who was sitting on the rail on the starboard side of the deck, gave utterance to an exclamation of surprise and pointed ahead to where a drab-coloured power-boat had suddenly emerged into sight nearly a half-mile away. "Look at that!" he cried. "That's not the _Follow Me_, you idiot," said Joe. "No, but where'd she come from?" demanded Wink. For a moment the boys stared and then Steve leaned quickly over the chart. "By Jiminy!" he muttered. "There's a way out there. Look, fellows! See where it says 'Drawbridge'? Evidently you can get through there into the Squam River, and the river takes you out into Ipswich Bay! It's dollars to doughnuts that's where they took the _Follow Me_!" Steve drew down the throttle and the cruiser lunged forward in response. "We'll have a look, anyway," he said. "It was stupid of me not to have noticed that on the chart, but it's hardly big enough to be seen." Straight for the beach at the curve of the wide cove sped the _Adventurer_, her nose set for the drawbridge that showed against the blue sky. As they got closer an outlet showed clear, a narrow space between the bridge masonry, with a strong current coming through from the further side. "Gee, it doesn't look very big," said Joe. "And how about head-room, Steve?" "Room enough," was the answer, as the _Adventurer_ slowed down. "They'll raise the draw if we whistle, I suppose, but we don't need to." "We'll scrape our funnel, as sure as shooting!" cried Perry as the cruiser neared the bridge. "We'll miss by two feet," answered Steve untroubledly. They held their breaths and watched nervously as the shadow of the bridge fell across the boat. Then, with the sound of the engine and exhaust echoing loudly, the cruiser dug her nose into the out-running tide and shot safely through to emerge into a narrow canal that stretched straight ahead before them until it joined the river. They breathed easier as the bridge was left behind. Once in the river it was necessary to go cautiously and watch the channel buoys, for the chart showed a depth of only four feet at low tide for the first mile and a half. If they had not all been so absorbed in the fate and recovery of the _Follow Me_ they would have enjoyed that journey down the Squam River immensely, for it was a beautiful stream, quiet and tranquil in the morning sunlight. Summer camps and cottages dotted the shores and green hills hemmed it in. They had breakfast on the way, eating it for the most part on deck. Now and then the _Adventurer_ paused while they examined a motor-boat moored in some cove. "There's one thing certain," said Steve. "Those folks couldn't have brought the _Follow Me_ through here in the dark. If they did come through that cut last night they anchored and waited for light. Keep a watch for gasoline stations, fellows." They found the first one at Annisquam, near where the yacht club pier stuck out into the channel. Steve sidled the _Adventurer_ up to a landing and, while Han held her with the hook, made inquiry of a grizzled man in faded blue jumpers. "We're looking for a motor-boat called the _Follow Me_," he explained. "Have you seen her?" The man shook his head. "What was she like?" he asked. Steve described her, aided by Harry Corwin, and the man pushed his old straw hat back, and rubbed his forehead reflectively. Finally: "There was a launch answerin' to that description stopped here about"--he gazed at the sun--"about two hours ago, I cal'ate. She was black, but she didn't have no name on her so far as I could see. I sold 'em thirty gallons o' gas an' they went on out toward the bar." "Who was on her?" asked Steve quickly. "Two or three men I never seen before. Three, I cal'ate there was. She wasn't here very long. They come up to the house an' got me up from the breakfast table. Said they was in a hurry. Come to think on it, boys, I believe they'd painted the name out on the stern. They ain't stolen her, have they?" "That's just what they have done," answered Steve. "Shove off, Han! Thank you, sir. About two hours ago, you say?" "Might be a little less than two hours. Well, I hope you get her. I didn't much like the looks of the fellers aboard her." "Where do you think they'd take her?" called Joe as the boat swung her stern around. "I dunno. They might switch around into the Essex River, or they might take her in Ipswich way, or they might head straight for Newburyport. If they wanted to hide her I cal'ate they might run in behind Plum Island somewheres." "Sounds pretty hopeless," said Steve as the _Adventurer_ took up her way again. "Look at this chart and see all the places she _might_ be, will you? It's a regular what-do-you-call-it--labyrinth!" "It certainly is," agreed Joe. "And there's a lot of shallows about here, too. Where's this Plum Island he spoke of?" Steve pointed it out, a seven-mile stretch of sand behind which emptied four or five small rivers. "Shall we try it?" he asked. "Might as well be thorough," Joe replied. "What do you say, Harry?" "I say yes. Seems to me they'd be mighty likely to slide into some such place if only to paint a new name on." "We'll have a look then," agreed Steve. The _Adventurer_ dipped her way across Squam Bar and Steve swung the wheel. "Southeast, one-fourth south," he muttered, looking from the chart to compass. "Watch for a black spar buoy off the lighthouse. If they took the _Follow Me_ into Essex Bay, though, we're running right away from her." To port, the sand dunes shone dazzlingly in the sunlight and a long stretch of snow-white beach kept pace with them as they made for the entrance to Plum Island Sound. Several boats, sailing and power craft, had been sighted, but nothing that looked in the least like the _Follow Me_. The sun climbed into a hazy blue sky and the day grew hot in spite of the light westerly breeze. Steve picked up his buoys, a black and then two red, and swung the cruiser in toward the mouth of the Ipswich River. The chart showed feet instead of fathoms in places and Steve slowed down cautiously until they were in the channel. They left Ipswich Light on the port beam and kept on past the river mouth and into the sound. "What happens," asked Harry Corwin, looking at the chart over Steve's shoulder, "when there aren't any soundings shown?" "Just what I was wondering myself," replied the navigator. "It doesn't tell you anything after you pass that last red spar buoy. Still, with those two rivers coming in beyond up there, there must be enough water for us if we can find it. I've about arrived at the conclusion that the _Follow Me_ was mighty well named, Harry. We've been following her for twelve hours, pretty near, and as things look now we'll be still following her a week from Christmas!" "I suppose," sighed the captain of the lost boat, "that what we should have done was report it to the police and stayed right where we were. Dad's going to be somewhat peeved if we lose that boat." "I thought she belonged to you and Tom," said Wink Wheeler. "So she does, but dad gave her to us and he's rather fond of her himself." "Well, it's too bad," Wink answered, "but I don't believe we'll ever find her now. It's like looking for a needle in a haystack, this sort of thing. We don't even know for sure that she isn't down around New York somewhere by this time!" "Yes, we do," said Steve quietly. "We do? How do we?" "Because I'm looking at her," was the reply. Steve nodded ahead and pushed back the throttle. "If that isn't the _Follow Me_ I'll--I'll eat her!" CHAPTER XIII BULLETS FLY A half-mile or so beyond a black cruiser lay at anchor at the mouth of a cove on the island side of the sound. She was broadside-to and one look at her was enough for Harry Corwin. "It is!" he cried. "We've got her, fellows!" "Not yet," warned Phil as the fellows clustered from all parts of the boat. "That's her, but how are we going to get her back? Hadn't we better stop here, Steve, and decide what to do? Those men aren't going to give her up just for the asking, I guess." "Right," agreed Steve. "Bow anchor, Han! Let her go as soon as you're ready. Now then, fellows, let's think what's to be done." The _Adventurer_ pulled at the anchor line with her nose, found further progress stopped and slowly began to swing around with the tide. "There are three of them at least, according to the gasoline chap back there, and there are twelve of us, but if they have guns--" "We've got two revolvers," said Perry eagerly. "Shall I get them, Steve?" "Yes, fetch them up here, but we don't want to use them unless in self-defence. Don't forget the cartridges, Perry. Now suppose we mosey up to where we can talk to them, fellows." "That's the ticket," agreed Wink Wheeler. "If they get to acting ugly, why, I guess there are enough of us to handle them. I think the best way is to beat it right up there and tell them to hand the boat over." "And if they decline?" inquired Phil. "Go in and take it!" "And, as like as not, get shot full of holes! No, thanks!" This from "Brownie." "How would it do for some of us to land and keep out of sight and come around back of them?" asked Cas Temple. "What are we going to do with them if we catch them?" Tom Corwin wanted to know. "Take them back and hand them over to the police?" "I don't believe they'll let us catch them," answered Phil. "Either they'll take to that small boat they've got astern there or they'll try to make a dash past us." [Illustration: "It is!" he cried. "We've got her, fellows!"] "Much good that would do them!" Harry shrugged his shoulders. "The _Adventurer_ can sail all around our boat." "We're not getting anywhere," observed Steve, who had been all the while watching the other craft attentively. "And they've seen us at last, for they're looking over the top of the cabin." "Well, let's do something," said Perry, who was back with the two revolvers and as many boxes of cartridges. "Can they go the other way or do they have to pass us to get out of this place, Steve?" "They can go the other way for about five miles according to the chart, but they can't get out. There's a bridge there. And, anyway, I guess it's only navigable for small boats at high tide. Perry, for the love of lemons, drop those things and let them alone." "They aren't loaded," said Perry, injuredly. "That's the kind that always blow your head off. Well, what's the decision, fellows?" Everyone talked at once for a minute, and, at last, Phil said: "Why not do the natural thing and ask for our boat? Why let them think that we expect trouble? Perhaps when they see that the game's up they'll give in sensibly." "That's the idea," agreed Harry and most of the rest. "Let's breeze right up to them and talk big." "We'll never get the _Follow Me_ by lying here, anyway," said Steve, turning to the wheel. "Get your anchor up, Han. Give him a hand, someone. Wink, open a box of those cartridges and load the revolvers, will you? But keep them out of Perry's way! All right now. Settle down, fellows, and we'll try a bluff." The _Adventurer_ went on and the distance between the two boats lessened rapidly. They could see two men watching them over the top of the cabin, but there was no sign of alarm visible aboard the _Follow Me_. When the _Adventurer_ was almost opposite the black cruiser Steve threw out the clutch, turned the wheel and let her run shoreward. "We're getting out of the channel," he said to Harry. "Watch for sand-bars." He slipped the clutch in again and again disengaged it. The two boats were some twenty yards apart now and the men on the _Follow Me_ were observing the newcomers unblinkingly from the cockpit. Steve leaned over the rail and sent a hail across. "_Follow Me_, ahoy!" he called. "We'll trouble you for that boat, please." For a moment there was no answer. Then one of the two men in sight moved forward and drawled: "Speaking to us, are you? What was it you said?" "I said we'd trouble you for that boat," repeated Steve. "It happens to belong to us, you see." "This boat?" "That identical boat." "Belongs to you!" "You've got it." "That's a good joke, friend. We've owned this boat three years. Where do you come in?" "She's the _Follow Me_, even if you have painted her name out, and you took her from her anchorage in Plymouth Harbour last night. What's the use of throwing a fool bluff like that?" The man laughed hoarsely and his companion joined him. "Run away, kids!" he said finally. "You're crazy with the heat. This boat's the _Esmeralda_, of Providence, and she belongs to me and this feller. What do you mean, took her? Callin' me a thief, are you?" "I'm not taking the trouble to. If you know what's good for you you'll dig out of there and do it quick." "Is that so?" drawled the man. "Well, ain't that nice? An' supposin' it don't suit me to hand over my boat to you? Then what you goin' to do?" "Take her," answered Steve quietly. "There are twelve of us here and we've followed you all the way from Plymouth, and we aren't likely to let you bluff us off now. Come on, now, what do you say?" "Come on and take her, kids!" was the answer. "We're scared to death!" The men thought that extremely funny, and laughed a lot over it. Just then, Steve, leaning outboard over the railing, felt someone tug at his arm. "Look at the middle port, Steve," whispered Phil. Steve looked. The nearer side of the _Follow Me_ was in shadow, but a quivering beam of sunlight, reflected from the surface of the water, glinted on the muzzle of a revolver held just inside the open port. "Every fellow under cover," said Steve quietly. "That means you, too, Joe. Duck! They've got a gun trained on us. Who's the best shot here?" "Wink," answered Joe. "Give him one of the revolvers. Are you there, Wink?" "Yes," answered the other from the forward companion way. "Get a bead on that middle port. You'll see a gun sticking through there. Don't shoot unless they shoot first. Better go into the other cabin. There's no harm in letting them see you, but don't keep your head exposed. Someone hand me that other revolver." On the other boat Steve's silence was accepted as a confession of indecision and a jeering laugh came across the water. The _Adventurer_ was drifting toward the shore now, and Steve turned and slipped the clutch into reverse and churned back a few yards. Then he faced the men again. "You can't get away with it, you know," he said untroubledly. "We can stay here as long as you can. If you run we'll follow you, and at the first port we'll hand you over to the authorities. You've only got thirty gallons of gas and that won't take you far. If you have any sense you'll pile into your tender and light out while you've got a good chance." It was evident that those on the stolen boat had glimpsed Wink's revolver, for one of the men leaned toward his companion and spoke in low tones and their eyes sought the port. After a moment the spokesman replied placatingly. "Maybe you're right, Sport. Guess you've got us this time. But this ain't any place to go ashore. Tell you what we'll do. We'll run her back to Gloucester and hand her over to you there. That's fair, ain't it?" "It doesn't listen well," answered Steve. "You land on the other side there and you'll only have to walk a few miles to a train." "Yeah, walk about six miles across sand dunes in a sun hot enough to blister you! Nothin' doin', Sport. Take it or leave it." "Leave it, thanks." For answer one of the men climbed to the cabin roof and went forward. "He's going to pull up anchor," warned Joe, peering over the rail. Steve's voice rang out sharply: "If you touch that cable we'll shoot!" The man paused, stared across doubtfully and went on. "Can you hear me, Wink?" asked Steve softly. "Yes," came from the after cabin. "If he lays a hand on the anchor cable, shoot, but shoot wide." "All right, Steve!" "Say," called the man in the cockpit, "don't you start nothin', because we got you covered. If there's any shootin' you'll get the worst of it." The man forward dropped to a knee, his gaze turned warily toward the enemy, and took hold of the anchor cable. As he did so Steve whipped his revolver into sight and flattened himself against the bulkhead. A sharp report broke the silence and a bullet sang its way across the _Follow Me's_ bow. The man dropped the rope and sprang back along the roof to tumble frightenedly into the cockpit. From the cabin of the _Adventurer_ floated up the acrid smoke of Wink's revolver. The man at the stern of the other boat had instantly disappeared. "Look out," shouted Perry from the forward cabin. "They're going to shoot from the ports! Come down from there, Steve!" But Steve's hand was on the clutch and, as the _Adventurer_ began to go astern, his other hand turned the spokes of the wheel and the cruiser's bow came slowly around toward the _Follow Me._ "Come up here, Wink," he called, and then: "Put that hatch up all the way and keep behind it," he added as Wink slipped to his side. "Can you get them from there?" "Fine!" answered the other cheerfully. "I'll try to keep her bow-on. Careful not to kill anyone, old man. Shoot for their arms." "How can I when they're out of sight down there?" Wink complained. "All I can do is shoot for the ports." "Don't shoot at all unless you have to," Steve cautioned. "We don't want to knock any more splinters off her than necessary." "We're too near, Steve. The deck's getting in the way." "I'll back her off." The _Adventurer_ retreated until Wink, his elbow resting on the closed cover of the chart-box, could train his revolver on the _Follow Me's_ ports. Several of the others emerged from the cabins and huddled from sight on the deck. "What's the next act, Steve?" inquired Phil. Steve shook his head. "I'm wondering," he answered. "About all we can do is keep them from running away until they talk sense." "Why not let them run? We can go faster than they can." "I'm afraid of tricks," responded Steve. "I don't know these waters, and I suspect that they do. They might manage to give us the slip as they did last night. I guess when they find they can't get away they'll come to terms." Steve raised his head cautiously above the chart-box on his side and a bullet promptly ploughed through the frame of the open window in front of him and went singing astern. "Rotten shooting," observed Wink, as Steve ducked to safety. "Shall I give 'em one, Steve?" Steve hesitated and then shook his head. "What's the use? You'd only plug a hole in the _Follow Me's_ cabin. Wait until they show themselves." "Well, you take care not to show yourself," advised Wink, peering warily past the smoke-stack. "Those murderous pirates are shooting to kill, I guess." Another shot rang out across the dancing water and a bullet flattened itself against a pipe stanchion. "Guess you'd better put a shot into each of those ports," said Steve. "Maybe they'll keep away from them. Sorry to damage your boat, Harry." "Bother the damage!" said Harry. "Plug her full of lead if you like!" Wink's revolver spoke, and: "Bull's-eye," he announced calmly. Another shot followed. "Got that one, too," he muttered. "Can't see the other port from here, Steve. Smokestack's in the way. You try it." Steve tried and missed, the bullet knocking a long splinter from the edge of the cabin roof, and at the same moment a pistol aboard the _Follow Me_ barked and Perry, sitting crouched on one of the seats, uttered an exclamation. Phil, beside him, turned anxiously. Perry's face expressed blank amazement as he pushed his right sleeve up and gazed at a wound from which the blood was spurting. "Gosh," he said awedly, "I'm shot!" CHAPTER XIV A RUSE THAT FAILED "I should think so!" cried Phil. "Come on down and let me fix it." "What is it?" asked Steve anxiously. "Perry's hit in the arm. They must have shot along the side, and the bullet glanced from something. Come on, Perry." "All you fellows get out of here," commanded Steve. "It might happen again, and you're not doing any good here, anyway. The chest's in the bottom locker in our cabin, Phil. Is it bad?" "Don't think so," was the reply from the companion way. "Only a flesh wound, I guess. I'll look after it." Steve had forgotten to try a second shot at the port, but Wink again let go at where the glint of a revolver muzzle showed and a cry of pain came across the water. "Got him!" said Wink. "You must have," agreed Steve. "I hope you didn't hurt him much." "Suffering snakes!" ejaculated Wink. "Why shouldn't I hurt him? They potted Perry, didn't they? What are we supposed to do! Lie around here and let them shoot us full of lead and just smile? Why, you pig-headed, solid concrete--" But Wink's flow of eloquence was interrupted by two shots from the _Follow Me_. There was a tinkling of glass as one of them smashed through the upper frame of the window on Steve's side. The other ploughed into the chart-box. Wink instantly fired back twice, aiming at the two ports he commanded. "Harry's boat will look like a sieve," he chuckled as he broke his revolver and jammed fresh cartridges into it. "Get busy there, Steve!" For answer Steve's revolver spoke twice and the thud of the bullets came to them. "Got the boat anyway," chuckled Wink. "We can scare 'em even if we can't pot 'em! Better back up a little, Steve. I don't want to bust our flag-pole." Once more the _Adventurer_ increased the distance between her and the adversary, and once more the engine beneath their feet relapsed into a quiet purr as the load was taken off again. "If it wasn't that we'd bust the _Follow Me_," exclaimed Steve savagely, "I'd ram them! They're knocking our paint off and breaking our glass and raising the dickens!" Wink glanced across the deck. Steve, his revolver laid on the floor beside him, was knotting a handkerchief about his hand with his teeth. "Hello!" exclaimed Wink. "Did they get you!" "No, it's only a piece of glass. It's bleeding a bit, that's all." Steve gave a final tug at the knot and seized his revolver again. "I wish they'd show themselves!" "They probably wish the same of us," laughed Wink. "How long does this keep up? I'm getting hungry!" "It keeps up until they give in," responded Steve determinedly. "Below there! Tell Ossie to start on the dinner." "Dinner!" exclaimed Ossie from the aft companion. "Suppose they plugged a bullet into the galley?" "Don't be an idiot," begged Steve impatiently. "You've got four inches of planking and a pile of rope and a refrigerator and a lot of other stuff between you and the bullets. Get busy and do your bit!" "All right, Steve. I'd forgotten about the refrigerator. But you can bet I'm not going to leave the door open!" This jest was rewarded with a laugh from the others as Ossie pushed his way past them and dived hurriedly across the deck to the forward companion way. "Pistols and coffee for twelve," he added as he disappeared. For several minutes there was no further sound or movement aboard the _Follow Me_. "They're probably fixing up the chap who got plugged," opined Wink cheerfully, as he watched the ports. "Wish we had a rifle, Steve. We could get them right through the hull, I guess." "Yes, and if we had a torpedo we could sink her," said Cas Temple from the hatch. "Suppose they've run out of cartridges, Steve?" "I don't believe so. I guess they don't think it's worth while wasting what they've got." A cheering aroma of coffee stole up from the galley and murmurs of satisfaction were heard. Perry, his forearm bandaged neatly and scientifically, crowded his way up the after companion. "Say, Steve, let me have a shot at them, will you?" he begged earnestly. "Just one, Steve, like a good fellow!" "How's the arm, Perry?" "Oh, all right, I guess. It hurts a little. Phil's got it so blamed tight that I can't close my fingers. Will you, Steve?" Steve was denied an answer by a sudden interruption from Wink. "She's moving, Steve!" he cried. "They've started her!" "But they're anchored!" exclaimed Joe. "They've cut the line. Probably reached through a port on the other side," said Steve, working quickly at the controls. "It's lucky we didn't have ours down, too!" The _Follow Me_, gathering headway, pushed for the channel, and the _Adventurer_ lunged forward with a mighty splashing of her screw, Steve bringing her head around as fast as he could. "How the dickens are they steering her, Harry?" he demanded, staring in puzzlement at the empty cockpit of the other craft. "There's an auxiliary wheel forward, in the stateroom. They're coming around, fellows. Get under cover! Steve, you'd better drop!" The others scuttled for the companion ways, and none too soon, for, as the _Follow Me_ swung around into the channel those behind her ports had a clean sweep of the _Adventurer's_ bridge deck and a fusillade of shots swept across the forty or fifty yards dividing the boats. Steve and Wink had dropped below the rail, while, in the cabins, the others were taking good care to crouch beneath the level of the ports. Some eight shots were fired, but, although several took effect on various parts of the bridge, the fact that the _Adventurer_ was now plunging around in a half-circle at a full twelve miles an hour and the other boat was running at top speed down the channel made accuracy impossible. Neither Steve nor Wink had a chance to reply until it was too late for their shots to be effective. By that time the two cruisers had straightened out on the course and the chase had begun. Harry Corwin was entrusted with Steve's revolver and, standing on the dining table set from locker to locker across the galley, he could thrust head and shoulders through the hatch. But the cockpit of the _Follow Me_ remained empty and the entrance to the cabin was closed. Wink, his revolver ready, had returned to his post and watched grimly while the _Adventurer_, her engine fairly humming, slowly wore down the distance that separated her from the enemy. "They're certainly getting some speed out of her," called Wink admiringly. The rest of the company had returned to the bridge and were watching eagerly. Tom Corwin, who had remained unaffected by the potting of the _Follow Me's_ hull, was fighting mad now because the thieves had lost the bow anchor, and sputtered wrathfully as he gazed over Steve's shoulder. "If I was Harry I'd put a bullet through that door," he muttered. "I wish someone would let me have a shot at them!" "You couldn't hit her at this distance, with the boats swinging," said Steve. "Wonder why it doesn't occur to them to cut away that tender. It's taking a mile off their speed." "Afraid of getting hit, I guess," replied Joe. "It doesn't seem to me that we're gaining very fast." "We're not, but we're gaining fast enough. Hello!" The _Follow Me_, having approached the end of the island, had turned her nose to port straight for the end of the beach. "How much does she draw, Tom?" "Two feet and a half; same as this." "And the chart shows two feet of water there at low tide!" exclaimed Steve. "And it's nearly dead low now, I guess. She's taking a chance, all right!" The channel ran straight ahead, close to the shore of the mainland, and if the _Follow Me's_ exploit proved successful she was due to increase her dwindling lead by a good mile unless the _Adventurer_ accepted the challenge and followed her example. For a minute Steve hesitated. Then: "If she can do it, we can," he muttered, and slowly turned the wheel, his eyes darting to the chart. "No depth shown here," he said. "Two feet further along. Then four and seven. If we can get to the point of sand there we're all right." They watched the _Follow Me_ breathlessly. She was dancing almost in the breakers now and for a long moment it seemed that she would surely pile herself on the spit that ran seaward from the end of the island. But she got by safely and the _Adventurer_ plunged after her. There were strained faces on the bridge deck then and Ossie was seen to lay a tentative hand on the cushion of the nearer seat. Steve, with grim countenance, kept his eyes on the rollers, trying his best to follow in the wake of the other boat. Here and there white water hinted at shoals and it was between two of these that the _Follow Me_ had gone. Steve eased the wheel and slowed the engine a trifle and the _Adventurer_, rocking in the long swells that were breaking on the beach hardly more than a stone-throw to port, went on. Steve was in the act of breathing a long sigh of relief when there came a jar that threw several of the boys off their balance and brought cries of consternation to their lips. For one horrid moment the _Adventurer_ hung with her propeller churning the sand, and then shook herself free and lunged forward again. Shouts of relief went up and a smile of triumph came to Steve's face as he pulled her back into the course and slipped into deeper water. The _Follow Me_ was still a good eighth of a mile ahead and swinging northward around the curve of beach. "They're going to make for Newburyport," said Steve. "Watch them try to get me into trouble now, Joe." "How do you mean?" "They're keeping in close to shore. See? Look on the chart." "I see twelve little black crosses about there. What do they mean? Oh, I get you. 'Emerson Rocks,' eh? But I don't see them!" "No, they're sunken. The _Follow Me's_ running as near them as she dares, hoping that we'll try to cut the corner more and strike. Those fellows know this coast as I know the inside of my hat! But we'll fool them this time!" So close to the submerged danger did the _Adventurer_ go that Perry, watching over the side, caught a glimpse of a dark mass under the green water. Then the chase straightened out once more and Steve drew the throttle wide, experimented with the spark for a moment and sent the white cruiser surging along in pursuit. There could be no doubt as to the outcome of the race. It was only a question of time. The thieves had staked all on the attempt to elude the _Adventurer_ in the shallows, and now they were doomed to open water, for Plum Island ran straight and unbroken for seven miles, and not until the entrance to Newburyport Harbour was reached was there the smallest chance to slip out of sight. Ossie announced that dinner would be ready in a few minutes, but no one paid any attention. Every eye was fixed on the _Follow Me_, which, dead ahead, was scurrying along at a rate which Tom, who had thought he knew the engine thoroughly, marvelled at. But the distance was shortening between pursued and pursuer. Off the life-saving station the fleeing craft was scarcely a hundred yards in advance, and it became more and more certain that the boats would be on even terms long before the seven-mile stretch was half traversed. Wink went below and summoned Harry Corwin down from his perch, much to the relief of Ossie, whose preparations for dinner had not been made easier by having to dive under the table every time he sought the ice-chest, and posted him at a port in the forward cabin. "If they won't give up," he explained, "we'll have to go on plugging them. I'll take it in the other cabin. Better fire first from one port then from another. That'll keep them guessing. It's just as well for them not to know that we've got only two pieces of artillery!" "All right," said Harry, "but there's no use staying here now, is there? There's nothing in sight but a sea-gull!" "No, but be ready when we get abreast, Harry. I think that gun pulls to the right a little. You might watch it." Wink returned to the deck, followed by Harry as far as the companion, and looked forward at the _Follow Me_. Since he had gone below the positions of the boats had altered noticeably, and now, had he wished, he might easily have put a bullet through the mahogany door beyond the cockpit. Steve was bearing seaward a little, intending to run up on the starboard side of the black cruiser. "I'll bet they're doing a whole lot of thinking about now," said "Brownie." "Guess I'll go down and sit on the floor again. They'll be able to plug us in another minute or so." "You'd all better beat it," said Steve. "If the bullets begin to fly again someone will get hurt." Slowly but certainly the bow of the _Adventurer_ crept up on the _Follow Me's_ stern. Some sixty feet of water divided them. Beyond the black cruiser lay the long yellow beach, dazzling in the noonday sunlight. Suddenly the _Follow Me's_ bow turned straight for the breakers and Steve gave a cry. CHAPTER XV SURRENDER "They're going to run her ashore!" shouted Steve. He slid out the clutch, throttled down the engine and swung the boat's nose to starboard as the others piled back to the deck. The _Adventurer_ swept around in a long circle while the _Follow Me_, churning the shoaling water into white froth, ran straight for the shore. "Gosh, what a mess!" groaned Harry Corwin. "We'll never get her off there!" Steve made no answer, nor did the others. They were all watching that wild rush of the black cruiser. On and on she went, rising and falling with the gentle swells, until it looked as though she must surely be churning the sand with her hurrying screw. Suddenly the cabin doors flew open and three men, one hatless and with a white towel bound around his head, leaped out and scampered along the roof to the bow. Wink raised his revolver, but Steve pulled his arm down. "Don't!" he said. "Let them go if they will." At that instant the _Follow Me_ faltered, stopped, and went on again for another yard or so as a breaking wave rushed under her keel, and then rolled over to starboard and subsided so, her propeller still beating and her stern slowly working around. Into the two feet of water dropped the trio on the bow and, keeping the _Follow Me_ between them and the enemy, scuttled to land, and then, once on the hard sand, ran as hard as their legs would take them up the beach to the north. Wink sent one shot hurtling after them, just, as he explained afterwards, to encourage them, and Steve, having cautiously edged the _Adventurer_ as near shore as he dared, gave his orders hurriedly. "Get the big cable from the rope locker, Han," he directed. "Joe, you and Harry jump into the tender and stand by here. When you get the cable pull in to the _Follow Me_ and make it fast to the stern cleat. Tom, you'd better go along, too. Put your engine into reverse and try to back off. The tide's still running out and if we don't get her off now we'll have a hard time later. I'll pull on the stern and you jockey her with her own power. I think we can do it. Now then, Han, give me that. Here, take this end forward and make it fast around the cleat. Pass it outside that stanchion, you chump! Catch, Harry! All right! Get a move on, fellows!" Off plugged the tender, Joe bending furiously at the short oars, the big cable paying out astern. A minute or two later they were tumbling aboard the _Follow Me_, Tom to dart below to the engine, Harry to make fast their end of the line and Joe to look after the tender. Then Harry waved a hand and shouted, and the _Adventurer_, which had been going slowly astern, taking up the slack of the cable, settled to her task. The big rope tightened, throwing a spray of water into the sunlight along its length, strained and creaked and the _Follow Me's_ propeller, reversed, did its part. There was an anxious two minutes. Very grudgingly the black cruiser's stern came around. Steve drew the _Adventurer's_ throttle down a couple of notches. The _Follow Me_ gave up her notion of spending her declining years on the sands of Plum Island and slowly backed away. A shout of delight arose from a dozen throats as, with the water once more under her she bobbed sedately to an even keel and followed the tug of the big hawser. A quarter of an hour later the two boats continued their way up the shore, the _Follow Me_ poorer by one eighty-pound anchor and richer by one cedar dingey which the six boys aboard seriously suspected of having been stolen. They ate dinner at half-past two, anchored on Joppa Flats, the two crews once more assembled around and about the _Adventurer's_ hospitable board, and as they ate, very hungrily and quite happily, they discussed the day's adventure. The _Follow Me_ showed numerous signs of Steve's and Wink's marksmanship, both outside and in, but there was no damage that nails and hammer, paint and putty wouldn't repair. The stolen boat's larder was sadly depleted and, as Tom said disgustedly, the cabin looked as though a dozen pigs had lived in it a week! But, all in all, the cruiser had come off well. As for the lost anchor, why, as Wink pointed out, the tender would more than buy them a new one. There was some discussion as to their right to dispose of that tender and in the end they agreed that the proper thing to do would be to leave it at Newburyport and mail an advertisement to the Plymouth papers. If the owner claimed the boat he would pay for the advertisement. If he didn't, they would recover it later on their way back down the coast. The _Adventurer_, too, showed numerous scars. One bullet had plugged straight in at one side of the smokestack and out the other, the glass in one window had been shattered to bits and in various other places damage had been wrought. But they had recovered the _Follow Me_, and that, viewing the affair in retrospect, had been something of an achievement. Everyone, even Tom by now, was more than satisfied at the outcome of their first real adventure. Dinner, delayed as it was and none too palatable by reason of having been prepared for a much earlier hour, was a merry meal. After it was over they went on up to Newburyport, found a berth and set out to look for a yard where they could have the two cruisers patched. Repairs kept them there two days, and then, having acquired a new anchor for the _Follow Me_ and left the extra dingey in safe storage, the Adventure Club set forth once more in the early hours of a drizzly morning. They passed the Isles of Shoals before nine and in the middle of the forenoon Steve pointed through the haze to where an indistinct blot against the sky line proclaimed Boon Island. After that the cruisers kept well toward shore, for, although the drizzle had stopped, the navigators feared that a fog might take its place, and that one experience in Vineyard Sound had been sufficient to last them for the balance of the cruise. Off Cape Porpoise the boats found rough seas and the crew of the _Follow Me_ were secretly delighted to observe that the smaller craft made much easier going. The _Adventurer_ seemed to be having a thoroughly good time, for she kicked up her heels and waved her nose and fairly rolled in merriment as the seas came sliding under her quarter. The bridge deck was a damp place until both side curtains were lowered and laced to the rails and stanchions. Poor Joe stood it as long as he could, getting paler and paler and sitting, hands in pockets, gazing fixedly at the brass kickplate at the top of the forward companion way, about the only thing in his range of vision that was fairly steady, and at intervals lurching below with an assumption of carelessness that deceived nobody, to dose himself with his sea-sickness remedy. That remedy, however, failed him, and it was not very long before the Chief Engineer was conspicuous on the bridge by his absence, while those who listened could hear at intervals a low moaning sound proceeding from the after cabin. But Joe was not the only one aboard the _Adventurer_ who suffered qualms of uneasiness, although he alone gave up the struggle. Both Perry and Han showed pale countenances and looked big-eyed and pathetic. Neither displayed the least interest in dinner, while Joe, when cruelly summoned by Ossie, only groaned lugubriously and turned his pallid face to the wall. At two o'clock the sun broke through and dyed the sea a wonderful green, and the _Adventurer_ began to meet other boats. As she left Scarboro Beach on her port beam and began to nose in toward Peak's Island the sea calmed and by the time the cruiser was ready to drop her anchor in Portland harbour, Joe, albeit still rather greenish, had pulled himself back to deck to gaze approvingly at the shore. A week went by during which the Adventure Club, one and all, had a glorious time without anything that in the least resembled adventure. They spent a whole day in Portland--spent, also, a deal of money there replenishing an utterly exhausted galley--and then, to use Perry's inelegant phrase, "bummed around" Casco Bay for three days more. Joe fell in love with more islands during that time than he had known existed. "I've always wanted to own an island," he would explain, "and that's the very island. Let's go ashore, Steve, and look around." Steve humoured him several times, until the others complained that they were getting tired of stopping at every bunch of rocks on the Maine Coast, and pointed out, besides, that, as Perry had owned to having but nine dollars in his pocket just a few days before, it wasn't at all likely that he would find an island within his means. After exhausting the interest of Casco Bay the two boats ran further up the shore and spent another forty-eight hours at Camden. Steve had friends there and the whole tribe of mariners were invited to dinners and luncheons and found that "home cooking" was all that it was popularly believed to be. Ossie had a most perfect time during those two days. "Nothing to cook but breakfast," he said ecstatically, "and real food the other two meals! Gee, but it's fine to eat something some other poor duffer has cooked! Say, Joe, what is it that pigs have that kills them off in bunches: sort of a--an epidemic?" "Hog cholera," hazarded Joe. "Aren't you feeling well, Ossie?" "Well, I wish they'd all have it," said Ossie devoutly. "I'm so plumb sick of cooking bacon!" The rest agreed, away from Ossie's hearing, that it was a very fortunate thing that the period of eating ashore had arrived when it did, for Ossie had been showing symptoms of mutiny of late and his cooking had noticeably fallen off. "He was due to strike in another few days," said Han. "Then someone else would have had to take the job, and we would all have starved to death." "In the absence of the cook," observed Perry gravely, "the job falls to the crew." "No, sir, to the second mate," corrected Han. "Isn't that so, Joe?" "I'm not sure. The only thing I am sure of is that--um--it doesn't fall to the chief engineer." "I should say not!" retorted Perry. "Think of eating food flavoured with engine oil!" "Couldn't be any worse than pudding flavoured with onion extract," chuckled Joe, referring to a viand prepared by Ossie while at Newburyport. Ossie had meant to put in a spoonful of vanilla, but the two bottles looked so much alike-- The pudding was never eaten, unless the fish consumed it, and the mention of it still caused Ossie great pain and humiliation. They went into the water every morning before breakfast, lived almost every minute in the open air--for even at night the wide-open ports and doors made the cabins like sleeping porches--ate heartily, got enough exercise to keep them lean and hungry and became tanned with sun and wind to the colour of light mahogany. Khaki trousers, sleeveless shirts and rubber-soled canvas shoes made up their ordinary attire, although for shore visits they "dolled up" remarkably. Those early morning baths were fine appetisers, as will be understood by the reader who has had experience of the water along the Maine coast, and the number of eggs and slices of crisp bacon that came off the alcohol stove would sound like a fairy tale if told. At Camden the two cruisers lay side by side, with just enough room between to allow them to swing, and by keeping the tenders alongside the gangways it was only a momentary task to ferry from one boat to the other. In consequence the two crews mingled a good deal and it was no unusual thing for one breakfast table to be thronged while the other was half empty of a morning. When the boys got tired of swimming they simply climbed over the rail of the nearer craft and, after partly drying themselves, went down to breakfast. As getting dry was a somewhat perfunctory proceeding, the linoleum in the forward cabin was covered with pools of salt water by the time the last platter of bacon and eggs was empty. Many friends were made and the boys spent more time on shore than aboard. There was tennis to be played, for one thing, and Phil, Steve and Joe were all dabsters at that game. And then there was a big, freckle-faced youth named Globbins who spent most of his waking hours in the driver's seat of a high-powered roadster automobile and who ran the fellows many miles over the roads and was never, seemingly, more contented than when every available inch of the car was occupied. Its normal capacity was three, but by careful packing it was possible to get seven in, on or about it. In return, Globbins was entertained aboard the _Adventurer_ and given a thirty-mile cruise one evening, but it was easy to see that he wasn't really enjoying himself and that his hands fairly ached for the feel of that corrugated wheel of the roadster. They had such a jolly time at Camden that they promised faithfully to stop there again on the return voyage, and really meant to keep the promise when they chugged out of the harbour one crisp morning and turned the cruisers' bows eastward for the run across Penobscot Bay. They lazed that day, for, as Steve said, it was too fine to hurry. Dinner was eaten with the two boats side by side, with only fenders between, in a fairy pool. They found the place quite by accident when exploring the shore of an island whose name they are to this day ignorant of. There was an entrance to the tiny bay through which a schooner might barely have scraped her way. Beyond the mouth lay a wonder land. The pool was as round as a dish and its water the bluest they had ever seen. Straight across from the entrance a cliff of granite towered for a hundred feet or more, its tree-clad summit almost leaning over the boats at anchor. Its face was clothed with vines and dwarf evergreens and birches. On the other encircling shores of the pool tumbled boulders hung over the blue depths and were reflected so clearly that, looking down, one received the same impression of air and space as when lying on one's back staring into the sky. There never were such reflections, they declared. No one came to disturb them, and only the songs and chirpings of birds and the sleepy sigh of the faint breeze in the boughs broke the silence. Green and blue was that fairyland, warm with the sun and redolent of the sea and the sappy fragrance of sun-bathed foliage. They ate dinner on the decks, the two boats snuggled so close that it was the easiest thing in the world to pass dishes from one to another. After dinner they lolled in the sunlight and gazed up at the sheer granite bluff or the smiling and cloudless sky and talked lazily or slumbered a little. And finally Wink Wheeler thought of fishing and in a few minutes a half-dozen lines were overboard, and, while the catches were not big, they were fairly frequent, and the question of what they were to have for supper was solved there and then. It was Harry Corwin's idea to stay in the pool overnight and everyone instantly applauded it. Later, a party went ashore and explored, but there were no paths to be found and Nature was jealous of her secrets and they came back without more knowledge of this unknown island than they had had before. They named it Mystery Island and called the little harbour Titania's Mirror, a suggestion from Bert Alley which elicited jibes and a final agreement. "It's not 'mushy' a bit," said Steve, in Bert's defence. "It's a fine name for the prettiest bit of water any of us ever saw, and you know it. The only trouble with you is that you're afraid someone will laugh at you for being poetical or imaginative. If Bert had suggested calling it Put-In Bay or Simpkins' Cove or something like that you'd have said 'Fine!' and secretly thought him a perfect ass!" Twilight came early and the still, limpid water of the pool took on all sorts of strange and wonderful hues, like the iridescent surface of a pearl-shell. It grew very still and a little bit eery as the shadows crept over the scene, and it was a relief when Cas Temple and Bert Alley brought forth their mandolins. I am sorry to say that Titania's Mirror was a bit too thickly inhabited by mosquitoes for comfort, and there were restless turnings and muttered expostulations to be heard for some time after lights were out. The morning broke radiantly and at half-past six Titania's Mirror was turned into a highly satisfactory bathtub. Brown arms clove the shadowed surface and dripping heads rose and fell as fully half the number set out on a spirited race to the entrance. When almost there they emerged into a flood of pale sunlight, and looking down through the pellucid water they could see the sloping sides of the basin converging like the sides of a bowl. Tragedy was surely the last thing to be thought of amidst such idyllic surroundings, and yet it was hovering very close. CHAPTER XVI THE BURGLARS Wink Wheeler reached the little channel first and gingerly climbed out on a brown ledge that flanked it on one side. Others joined him there to lie panting in the sunlight. Only Joe and Phil kept on and were presently swimming within a short distance of each other well outside. They were both strong rather than fast swimmers, and, although Han frowned slightly as he watched them bob in and out of sight in the long, smooth swells, the others soon turned their attention to Wink's suggestion that they dive from the rock and race around the anchored boats and back again. Wink offered the others a ten-yard start. All save "Brownie" accepted the challenge--"Brownie" was built for comfort rather than speed--and in a moment they were lined up rather unsteadily on the edge of the boulder awaiting the word. Then three bodies launched themselves through the air and the race was on. When the others had taken the first half-dozen strokes after reappearing Wink plunged after them. "Brownie" watched until the foremost swimmer disappeared beyond the boats and then turned his gaze seaward. For a moment he could not find the two venturesome ones, but presently he spied them. They had turned and were coming back straight for the mouth of the little harbour, Phil leading and Joe a dozen yards behind. It looked like a race from the way in which both boys were keeping under and "Brownie" found it more exciting than the other contest. And then, while he watched, something happened, and he sprang to his feet and gazed seaward with wildly beating heart. Joe had stopped swimming and was on his back with one brown arm held aloft. If he made any outcry "Brownie" failed to hear it, but apparently he had, for Phil was turning now and hurrying back with short, quick strokes. But before he had covered half the distance separating him from the other, the watcher on shore uttered an involuntary cry of alarm. Joe was no longer in sight! "Brownie" looked despairingly toward the boys in the pool, but the nearest was still a long way from the channel. Confused thoughts of the boats were cast aside and "Brownie" threw himself from the rock, hitting the water like a barrel, and turned into the channel. As he felt the tug of the tide he experienced a revulsion of fright, for he had no stomach for the task ahead of him. "Brownie's" swimming was usually done in safer water than that he was making for. But he tried his best to forget the depths below him and the long swim ahead, to remember only that Joe was in trouble out there and that Phil, probably by now somewhat exhausted, would never be able to bring him to shore unassisted. The long swells hid the others from him. Once, though, poised for a moment on the round summit of a bank of water, he glimpsed ere he descended into the green valley beyond, a darker spot ahead and so found his direction. He knew better than to tire himself out by desperate strokes. His only hope of getting there and getting back was to conserve his strength. All sorts of thoughts came and went in a strange jumble. Sometimes it seemed that he was making no progress, that the slow waves were bearing him remorselessly back to the cove, or, at least just defeating the strokes of his arms and legs. Breathing became laboured and once a veritable panic seized him and it was all he could do to keep from turning and swimming wildly back toward shore. Instead, though, fighting his fears, he turned on his back for a moment with his round face to the blue breeze-swept sky, and took long, grateful breaths of the sun-sweet air. Above him a grey gull swept in a wide circle, uttering harsh, discordant cries. Then, his panic gone, "Brownie" turned over again and struggled on with renewed strength and courage. And suddenly, the long swells were behind him and there, but a few yards away, was Phil, Phil very white of face but as calm as ever. He was swimming slowly on his side, one arm cleaving the water and the other supporting the nearly inert body of Joe. "Here comes 'Brownie,'" the rescuer heard him say cheerfully. "All right now, Joe. We'll get you in in a jiffy! Roll over, 'Brownie,' and get your breath," he added. "We're all right for a minute. That's the trick." "I'm--a bit--tuckered," gasped "Brownie," as he lay and puffed with outstretched arms. "Don't blame you," said Phil. "How are you now, Joe?" "Punk," muttered the other. "Don't you fellows bother too much. If you'll just stay by for a minute or two--I'll be--um--all right, I guess." "No need to do that," replied Phil quietly. "'Brownie' and I will take you between us. Put a hand on my shoulder. Easy, son! That's it. Now the other on 'Brownie's.' Right you are. Just let yourself float. Ready, 'Brownie?' Don't hurry. Easy does it. We've got an eighth of a mile or so and there's no use getting tired at the start. I guess the tide will help us, though." There were no more words until the shore was nearly reached. By that time "Brownie" was frankly all-in and Phil was in scarcely better condition. Joe had so far recovered then, however, as to be able to aid weakly with his legs, and before they reached the channel half a dozen eager helpers splashed to their assistance. Anxious questions were showered on them, but only Joe had the breath to answer them. "I had a cramp," he explained apologetically. "It hit me all of a sudden out there. It was fierce!" "Legs?" asked Steve. "No--yes--about everywhere below my shoulders. It seemed to start in my tummy. I got sort of sick all over. Thought--um--thought I was a goner until--" "All right! Shut up now. Someone give Phil a hand. He's about ready to quit. 'Brownie,' too." Steve and Wink had taken the places of the rescuers and Joe was finishing his journey at top speed. It was no easy task getting him aboard, but they finally accomplished it and hurried him below. "Brownie," too, had to be pushed and pulled over the side, and while Phil got aboard almost unaided he slumped onto a seat and, to use Perry's expression, "passed out." Hot coffee and many blankets and at least three different remedies from the medicine chest presently left Joe out of pain, while in the case of Phil and "Brownie" the hot coffee and rest were alone sufficient. Breakfast was rather late that morning, and Joe's place was vacant, for that youth was enjoying a sleep in the after cabin. "Brownie" and Phil, however, recovered wonderfully at the sight of bacon and eggs and did full justice to the repast. Steve laid down the law during breakfast as follows: "After this there'll be no more swimming away from the boats, fellows. We came on this trip for fun and not funerals. You took a big chance, Phil, when you went that far out. This water's about ten degrees colder than what you and Joe are used to. It's a wonder you didn't both have cramps and drown." "I guess it was rather foolish," agreed Phil. "The water was a lot colder out there than inside, too. Still it didn't bother me any." He lowered his voice, with a glance toward the companion way and the other cabin. "I thought old Joe was a goner, though, fellows. I was about forty feet away, I suppose, when I heard him yell, and before I could get back he'd gone down. I was afraid he meant to keep on going, but he thrashed his way up again and I managed to grab him. The trouble was then that he wanted to drown both of us and I had a hard time making him see reason." "Someone ought to recommend you for the Carnegie Medal, Phil," said Han, with a laugh that didn't disguise his earnestness. Phil shook his head. "I wasn't the hero of the adventure," he replied quietly. "I'm fairly at home in the water and I've done four miles without tiring much. It's 'Brownie' who deserves the medal, fellows. He saw Joe go down and jumped right in and beat it out there; and you all know that 'Brownie' isn't any swimmer. I think he was just about scared to death!" "I'll bet he was," agreed Steve. "He's never been known to go ten yards from shore or boat. Yes, I guess 'Brownie' is the real hero, as you say, Phil." "He certainly is, because I'll tell you frankly that I never could have got Joe in alone. I was just about used up by the time we'd tried to drown each other out there." "We didn't know anything about it," explained Ossie, filling Phil's cup again unasked, "until someone happened to look from the _Follow Me_ and saw you three out there. It was Tom Corwin, I think. I heard him yelling--I was getting my clothes on down here--and I ran up on deck and then grabbed the megaphone and shouted to Steve and Wink and the others who were over on the rock near the inlet. By the time they got it through their thick heads--" "Thick heads be blowed!" exclaimed Steve disgustedly. "You were just yelling a lot of words that didn't mean anything. If you hadn't kept on pointing we'd never have known what was up. We all thought you had a fit." All's well that ends well, however, and an hour after breakfast the incident was, if not forgotten, dismissed. Joe reappeared, looking rather pale still, but announcing himself quite all right. "I was nice and sick at my tummy," he explained, "and now I feel fine." "Being sick at your tummy," remarked Perry unkindly, "is quite the best thing you do, Joe. If you can't be sea-sick you go and try to drown yourself!" Of course "Brownie" was allowed to surmise that he had done something rather big, and Joe thanked him very nicely, but Mr. Carnegie is still in ignorance of his exploit! The two boats floated out of the pool about ten and set off for Bar Harbor. The barely averted tragedy somewhat modified their regret at leaving Titania's Mirror and Mystery Island. Later, Steve and Joe tried to locate that island on the charts but without certain success. There were so many islands thereabouts that neither dared to more than guess at the identity of the one they had visited. Looking back at it from a distance of a half-mile they saw that it was in reality much smaller than they had supposed, being scarcely more than a huge rock pushed up from the ocean bed. Ossie, who had a leaning toward geology, furnished the theory that Mystery Island was no more nor less than the top of an extinct volcano and that Titania's Mirror was the crater. "It probably sank, like lots of them did," he elaborated, "and the sea wore away part of it and flowed into the crater. I'm pretty sure that that rock we climbed out on this morning when we were swimming was volcanic." "Sure," agreed Perry. "It was pumice stone. I meant to bring a bit of it along for you to clean your hands with." "I didn't say pumice," replied Ossie haughtily. "It was more probably obsidian." "My idea exactly! In fact, it had a very obstinate feeling. It--it left quite an impression on me!" The _Follow Me_ developed engine trouble that morning and they lay by for a half-hour or more while Tom Corwin toiled and perspired, argued and threatened. It was well after two o'clock when they ran up the eastern shore of Mount Desert Island and finally dropped anchor in Frenchman's Bay. They ate only a luncheon on board and then clothed themselves in their gladdest raiment and went ashore. They "did" the town that afternoon, mingling, as Wink said, with the "haut noblesse," and had dinner ashore at an expense that left a gaping hole in each purse. But they were both hungry and glad to taste shore food again, and no one begrudged the cost. It was when they were on their way back to the landing that the glow of coloured lanterns behind a trim hedge drew their attention to the fact that someone was conducting a lawn party. The imposing entrance, through which carriages were coming and going, met their sight a moment later and inspired Perry with a brilliant idea. "Say, fellows, let's go," he said, as they paused in a body to allow a handsome landau to enter. "I've never been to one of these lawn fêtes, or whatever they call them in the society papers, and here's the chance." "Anybody invited you?" drawled Joe. "No, but maybe they meant to. You can't tell. Maybe if they knew we were here--" "Might send word in to them," suggested Wink Wheeler. "Say that the crews of the _Adventurer_ and the _Follow Me_ are without and--" "Yes, without invitations," agreed Perry. "I get you, but that might cause our hostess embarrassment, eh? Why not just save her all that by dropping in sociably?" "Are you crazy?" demanded Steve. "Crazy to go and see all the pretty lanterns and things, yes. And maybe they'll have a feed, fellows! Come on! Take a chance! They can't any more than put us out! Besides, they probably won't know whether they invited us or not. It's just a lark. Be sports, fellows!" The notion appealed to most of them, but Steve and Phil and Bert Alley declined to countenance it. "What will happen to you," said Steve grimly, "is that you'll all spend the rest of the night in the town jail for impersonating gentlemen!" "Oh, if that's all you're afraid of," responded Perry sweetly, "you might as well come, too, Steve. They'd never charge _you_ with that." "Sub-tile, sub-tile," murmured Cas Temple. "Anyhow, our clothes are perfectly O.K.," continued Perry. "White trousers and dark coats are quite _de rigor_. Come on, fellows." They went on, all save the disapproving trio, Perry and Wink Wheeler leading the way up the winding avenue toward the glow of fairy lights ahead. No one challenged them, although they were observed with curiosity by several servants before they came out on a wide lawn in front of a spacious residence. Fully a hundred guests were already assembled. A platform overhung by twinkling and vari-coloured electric lamps had been laid for dancing and, as the uninvited guests paused to survey the scene, an orchestra, hidden by shrubbery and palms in tubs, started to play. Chairs dotted the lawn and a big marquee was nearby. On a low terrace in front of the hospitable doorway of the residence the hostess was receiving as the carriages rolled around the immaculate drive and stopped to discharge the guests. The boys viewed each other questioningly. Perry pulled down his waistcoat and walked boldly across the lawn and the drive and stepped to the terrace. Wink followed unhesitatingly, but the others hung back for a moment. Then they, too, approached, their assurance oozing fast. They reached the terrace in time to witness Perry's welcome. "Good evening," said that youth in bored and careless tones, shaking hands with the middle-aged lady. "Awfully jolly night, isn't it!" "How do you do, Mister--ah--so glad you could come. Yes, isn't it splendid to have such perfect weather? Marcia, you remember Mister--ah--" Perry was passed on to a younger lady, evidently the daughter of the house. "Howdy do?" murmured the latter, shaking hands listlessly. "How do!" returned Perry brightly. "Bully night, eh!" "Yes, isn't it?" drawled the young lady. Then Perry gave place to Wink. "Good evening," said Wink, grinning blandly. "Howdy do? So nice of you to come," murmured the lady. Wink joined Perry and they crossed to the other side of the terrace and maliciously watched the embarrassment of the other boys. Joe and Harry Corwin carried things off rather well, but the others were fairly speechless. Perry chuckled as he saw the growing bewilderment on the face of the hostess. But finally the ordeal was over and Perry led the way back to the festivities. Ossie groaned when they were safely out of ear-shot. "She's on to us," he muttered. "I could see it in her eye! I'm off before they throw me out!" "Don't be a jay," begged Perry. "The evening's young and the fun's just starting. Mrs. Thingamabob doesn't know whether she asked us or not. I'm going to see what's in the big tent over there. Come on, fellows." They went, dodging their way between chattering groups and impeding chairs, but when Perry peered through the doorway of the marquee he was met with a chilly look from a waiter on guard there. "Supper is at ten o'clock, sir," said the servant haughtily. "That's all right," replied Perry kindly. "Don't hurry on my account, old top!" What to do for the succeeding hour was the question, for, while all save Perry and Ossie danced more or less skilfully, they knew no one to dance with. "If you ask me," remarked Cas Temple, yawning, "I call this dull. I'd rather be in my bunk, fellows." "Well, let's find something to do," said Joe. "Maybe they've got a roller-coaster or a merry-go-round somewhere. Let's--um--explore." By this time the dancing had begun in earnest and the platform was well filled with whirling couples. The boys paused to look on and, since the throng was growing larger every minute, were forced to change their position more than once with the result that presently Perry, Wink and Ossie found themselves separated from their companions. They looked about them unavailingly and waited for several minutes, and then, as the others did not appear, went on. "We'll run across them," said Perry cheerfully. "Let's stroll around and see who's here." "Awfully mixed crowd," said Wink. "Really, you know, Mrs. Jones-Smythe should be more particular. Why, some of the folks don't look as though they had ever been invited!" "I know," agreed Perry, with a sigh. "Society's going to the dogs these days. One meets all sorts of people. It's perfectly deplorable." "Beastly," agreed Ossie, stumbling over a chair. "Bar Harbor's getting very common, I fear." "Hello, that's pretty!" exclaimed Perry. They had emerged onto a walled space that looked straight out over the water. Hundreds of lights dotted the purple darkness and the air held the mingled fragrance of sea and roses. "This isn't so punk, you know," continued Perry, leaning over the wall. "Maybe this would suit me as well as an island." "You're on an island," Ossie reminded him. "I meant a real island," murmured Perry. Ossie was about to argue the matter when footsteps approached and they moved off again. A flight of steps led to a stone-floored verandah and they went up it and perched themselves on the parapet, to the probable detriment of the ivy growing across it, and watched the colourful scene. They were quite alone there, for the porch was detached from the terrace that crossed the front of the house. Two French windows were opened and beyond them lay a dimly-lighted library. Perry, hugging one foot in his hands, looked in approvingly. "Whoever owns this shanty knows what's what," he said. "Just have a squint at all those books, will you? Millions of them! Wonder if anyone has ever read them." "Well, I'm glad I don't have to," said Wink feelingly. "But that's a corking room, though. These folks must have slathers of money, fellows." "Oh, fairly well fixed, I dare say," responded Perry carelessly. "Say, what time is it! Feed begins at ten, and with all that mob down there it's the early bird that's going to catch the macaroons. Wonder if they'll have lobster salad." "Nothing but sandwiches and ices, I guess," said Ossie. "I wouldn't object to a steak and onions, myself. Funny how hungry you get up in this part of the world." "You sure do," agreed Wink. "Let's move along. If the Corwin family gets in there ahead of us we might just as well pull in our belts and beat it." "Let's go in through here," said Perry. "It's nearer, I guess." He started toward the first window. "Oh, we'd better not," Ossie objected. "They might not like it." "Piffle! They'll be tickled to death. They like folks to see their pretties." He stepped through the window and, dubiously, his companions followed. The library was a huge apartment, occupying, as it seemed to them, more than half the length of the house, with several long windows opening onto the terrace at the front. The furnishings were sombrely elegant and the dim lights caught the dull polished surface of mahogany and glinted on the gold-lettered backs of the shelf on shelf of books that hid the walls. Deep-toned rugs rendered footsteps soundless as they made their way toward the wide doorway at the far end of the room. They had traversed barely a third of the distance when a sudden sound brought them up short. One of the windows that opened onto the terrace further along swung inward and a middle-aged man in evening attire stepped into the room. Perry, in spite of his former assurance, drew back into the shadow of a high-backed chair, stepping on Wink's foot and bringing a groan from that youth. The newcomer, however, evidently failed to hear Wink's protest, for, closing the window behind him in a stealthy manner, he crossed the further end of the library and paused beside a huge stone fireplace. Wink and Ossie had dropped to the protecting darkness of a big table, but Perry still peered, crouching, from behind the chair. In the dim light of an electric lamp the intruder's face had shown for an instant, and in that instant Perry had sensed it all! The stealthy manner of the man's entrance from the terrace instead of by the door, the plainly furtive way in which he crossed the room and the anxious expression of his face, a face which Perry saw at once to be criminal, was enough! The watcher was not in the least surprised when the man, hurriedly and still stealthily, drew out a square of mahogany paneling at the left of the fireplace and revealed the front of a small safe. Perry's heart began to thump agitatedly at the thought of witnessing a robbery. The man's fingers worked deftly at the knob. Perry could hear in the silence the click of the tumblers as they slid into place. Then the door was pulled open. Between Perry and the robber lay a full thirty feet of floor, and a big table impeded his progress, but it took the boy less than a second to cover the distance, to seize the robber from behind, pinioning his arms, and to bear him heavily back to the floor. CHAPTER XVII FLIGHT "Wink!" he cried. "Ossie! Come quick! Help here!" The robber, having uttered a stifled cry of alarm at the instant of the unexpected attack, was now thrashing mightily about on the thick rug. "Help!" he shouted. "Who are you? Let me go!" "S-sh!" commanded Perry sternly, as the others plunged to his aid, overturning a chair on the way. "Be quiet! Sit on his legs, Ossie!" Perry was astride the man's chest, holding his arms to the floor. "Punch him if he makes a noise, Wink!" Perry, breathing hard, surveyed his captive in triumph. "Now then," he asked, "what have you got to say for yourself? What were you doing at that safe?" The man glared in silence for an instant. To Wink it seemed that the emotion exhibited on the robber's countenance was amazement rather than fear. "Come on," urged Perry. "What's the game?" "Game!" choked the man, finding his voice at last. "Game? You--you young ruffians! You--" "Cut that out, or I'll hand you something," growled Wink. "Answer politely." "Let me up!" "Nothing doing!" answered Perry. "Come across. What's your name and where do you come from? As you didn't get anything out of there, maybe we'll be easy with you if you talk quick." "Let me suggest, if I may," said the man in a strangely quiet and restrained tone, "that you get off my stomach. This conversation can just as well be conducted under more comfortable conditions." Perry blinked and Wink viewed the captive doubtfully. "Promise not to try to run?" demanded Perry. "I have no intention of running, thanks." The robber carefully dusted his clothes as he arose and then felt anxiously of a bruised elbow. "Now, if you will inform me what this--this murderous assault means I shall be greatly obliged to you." "Suppose you tell us what you were doing at that safe?" said Perry sternly. "Is that any of your business?" asked the other. It was evident that he was losing his temper again, and Wink drew a step nearer. "I presume I have a perfect right to open my own safe! What I wish to know--" "Your own safe!" gasped Perry. "Oh, come now, you needn't try to tell us that you--you live here. You're a cracksman, my friend, that's what you are--" Ossie tugged at Perry's sleeve, but Perry failed to notice it. "One look at that face of yours is enough, old top," continued Perry. "It's got crook written all over it!" "It has, has it?" gasped the man. "Let me tell you that my name is Drummond, sir, and that this is my house, and that is my safe, and--and if you'll mind your own business--" "What!" asked Perry weakly. "You mean that you--that this--you mean that--" "I mean," interrupted the man angrily, "that I was about to deposit some money in that safe, some money I'd been carrying around in my pocket all the evening and feared I might lose, when you--you young thugs set on me and knocked me down! Knocked me down right in my own house, on my own hearth-rug! Why, you--you--" Mr. Drummond's wrath got the better of his speech and he only sputtered, waving an accusing finger at the retreating Perry. Wink was already glancing about for a means of escape and Ossie was frankly deserting. "I--I didn't know!" gasped Perry. "I--we saw you come in--and you looked like--like a--" "You've said that already!" said the man, "Never mind my criminal looks, young man!" "No, sir, we don't--I mean I was mistaken, sir! But, you see, it looked so--so queer, you coming in like that--" "Queer! What was queer about it!" demanded Mr. Drummond irascibly, "No one but a parcel of young idiots would think it queer!" He took an envelope from his pocket, tossed it into the safe, closed door and panel and faced them again. "Who are you, anyway? I don't remember you." "Er--my name--my name--" stammered Perry, "my name--" "Well, well! Don't you know your name? Who invited you here?" "Yes, sir, oh, yes, sir! It's Bush. We--you see, we were on the porch there, and we wanted to get back to the--the front of the house--" "Who invited you here, tonight? Who--" The host's expression changed from indignation to suspicion. "Huh!" he ejaculated. "Robber, eh! Well, what were you doing in this room? Seems to me--hm! We'll look into this, I think!" He stepped back and touched a button in the wall. "We'll have this explained! We'll see who the robber is! We--" "_Good night!_" Perry spurned the table against which he was leaning, hurdled a chair and plunged down the room. Ossie was at his heels and Wink was a good third. They fled at top speed and from behind them came the irate commands of their host: "Stop! Come back! Stop, I say!" But they didn't stop. They only ran faster. Wink beat Ossie to the first window easily and passed out even with Perry. And as they landed on the stone flagging outside they heard Mr. Drummond excitedly directing the pursuit. "Quick, Wilkins! Get them! They tried to rob the house!" Mr. Drummond's voice pursued them along the verandah. "Help! Robbers! Head them off!" The boys took the stone steps in two bounds, crashed at the bottom into a hedge, went tearing through and emerged beyond in a service yard, dimly lighted by one struggling electric bulb over a back doorway. It was Ossie who fell into the clothes basket and Wink who collided with the clothes reel and sent it spinning wildly and creakingly around in the darkness. Perry fortunately avoided all pitfalls and was leading by six yards when he reached the top of another flight of steps and saw the marquee and the dancing platform and the gay lights at his right. To make their way in that direction would be sheer folly, while in front of them lay a tangle of shrubbery and trees. Into this they hurtled, as from behind them came cries of "Stop, thief!" and the crunching of many footsteps. Off went Wink's hat as he fled after the scurrying Perry. Ossie went down in a tangle of briars and prickly things with a grunt, rolled somehow clear and was off again. "This way!" shouted a voice. "I seen 'em! They went in here! Come on, men!" Perry was running alongside a wall now, as he hoped, in the general direction of the street. Behind him came Wink and Ossie, crashing through shrubbery with a desperate disregard for noise. Then suddenly, the wall turned abruptly to the right. Perry stopped short, looked and decided. "We've got to get over!" he gasped, as Wink ran blindly into him. "Give me a leg-up!" Wink leaned weakly against the wall and Perry set a foot on his cupped hands and was just able to reach the top of the wall. But that was enough. Up he climbed. Then up came Ossie, and together, while the pursuit drew instantly closer, they pulled Wink to safety. For a brief moment they sat there and caught their breath while wondering what lay below them in the gloom of the further side. But there was scant time for conjectures, for the pursuit was in sight. Three bodies launched themselves into space, there was a frightful, devastating sound of breaking glass and the boys disengaged themselves from a cold-frame and sped on again into the darkness. A house loomed suddenly before them, a house with lights and folks about the porch and a panting automobile curving its way down a drive. They turned to the right and kept along a lawn in the shadows of the trees. The automobile passed them with a purr and a sweeping flare of white light. Then Perry was after it and in another moment they were all three huddled somehow on the gas-tank at the rear and going with increasing speed out of the grounds and along a road. For a few minutes they hung there, breathing hard, and then Wink gasped: "We've got to get off, Perry! It's going the wrong way!" "If we do, we'll get killed," answered Perry. "Wait till it slows up." They waited, but it seemed that it never would slow up. It went faster and faster. It passed houses and stores and a church. It went like the wind. Ossie groaned as they left the village behind. "I can't stay on much longer, fellows!" he said hopelessly. "I'm clinging by my t-t-teeth!" "You've got to!" answered Perry above the noise of the exhaust. "You'll break something if you don't! Wait till it slows up!" _Toot! Toot! To-o-oot!_ said the horn. And then, so suddenly that Perry's head collided with something particularly hard, the brakes squeaked harshly, the car slewed into an avenue and the boys, making the most of the opportunity, fell off. Ossie rolled a full half-dozen yards before his progress was stayed by a tree, and Wink, or so Perry declared afterwards, described a beautiful and quite perfect circle. Bruised, breathless and dizzy, they got to their feet and staggered to the side of the road and subsided on the turf. After a long minute Ossie said feebly: "Where--do you--suppose--we are?" "About ten miles--in the country," answered Wink. There was silence then, silence long and profound. At last they climbed to their feet and, without speaking, walked off in the darkness in the direction from which they had come. Perhaps ten minutes later there came the first sound to break the silence. It was a choking sort of gurgle from Wink. "What's the matter with you?" inquired Perry listlessly. "I was just--just thinking," replied Wink. "It was so--so--" But words failed him and he began to laugh. After a dubious instant Perry chuckled, and then Ossie, and presently they were clinging to each other convulsively in the middle of the unknown road and sending shrieks of laughter up to the starlit sky. Over an hour later they reached the landing. Both tenders were gone. The _Follow Me_ was dark, but a faint light still burned aboard the _Adventurer_. Perry cupped his hands and sent a hail across the water. A sleepy response was followed by the sound of someone tumbling into the dingey and then by the measured creak of oars. Han was grumbling as he drew to the float. "A fine time to be coming back," he said. "Where the dickens did you fellows get to, anyway? We looked all around the shop for you. Did you get any grub?" "N-no," answered Perry, as he sank wearily into a seat. "We got tired of sticking around there and--and went for a ride." "A ride? Where to?" "Oh, just around a bit. Out in the country a ways. Was--was the grub any good?" "Was it!" Han grew quite animated. "It was the best ever! They had about a dozen kinds of salad, and cold meats all over the place, and sandwiches and cakes and ice-cream and ices and coffee and--" "Oh, shut up!" begged Ossie almost tearfully. "It was bully! Were you there when we chased the burglars?" "When you--what?" asked Wink. "Chased the burglars, I said. Mr. Drummer, or something--I never did get the name of the folks--found three of them trying to break into his safe, and they knocked him down and half-killed him, and the servants chased them, and then everyone took a hand! It was fine and exciting, I tell you! Had you gone off before that?" "Why--er--seems to me we did hear something," said Perry. "When--when was this?" "Oh, about a quarter to ten, I suppose. We were dancing--" "_You_ were dancing?" ejaculated Wink. "Sure! All of us danced. Didn't you?" "Who with, for the love of Mike?" "Oh, lots of girls. Mrs. Thingamabob happened to find Joe standing around and made him tell her his name, and then she took him off and introduced him to some girls, and then he introduced the rest of us. It was a peachy floor. Some of the girls were all right, too." "You seem to have got on fairly well," said Wink, "considering you weren't invited." "We were invited just as much as you were," responded Han indignantly. "Maybe, son, maybe," answered Wink, as he climbed aboard the darkened _Follow Me_, "but I'll bet they weren't half as sorry to see you go as they were to see us!" With which cryptic remark Wink stumbled into the cockpit and disappeared. CHAPTER XVIII THE SQUALL Although the Adventure Club remained in port for another day, neither Perry, Wink nor Ossie went ashore again, and all the efforts of the rest of the party failed to coax them off the boats. They were, they declared, fed up with Bar Harbor. And they hinted that so far as they were concerned the voyage might continue at any moment without protest. Han brought back a newspaper that afternoon containing a vivid and highly sensational account of the attempted robbery of the Alfred Henry Drummond "cottage." The three read it with much interest, and especially that portion of it which stated that "the local police force is investigating and has every expectation of making arrests within twenty-four hours, since it is not believed the burglars have succeeded in leaving the island and all avenues of escape are being closely guarded." It might have been observed by the others, but wasn't, that Perry and Ossie, on the _Adventurer_, and Wink, on the _Follow Me_, exhibited a strange fondness for the seclusion of the cabins from that time until the next day at eight, when the cruisers up-anchored and passed out of the harbour. And as the broad Atlantic rolled under the keels three hearty sighs emerged from as many throats. The two boats passed Petit Manan Island toward ten that forenoon, a tiny rocky islet holding aloft a tall shaft against the blue of the Summer sky. "A hundred and fourteen feet," said Joe informatively, "and the highest lighthouse on the coast except one." "Gee, think of living there in Winter!" said Perry awedly. "Guess Petit Manan isn't as bad as some of the islands along here, at that," said Joe. "Some of them are a lot further from the mainland. Remember Matinicus?" "Think of folks living on them," murmured Han. "They must be merry places in Winter with a blizzard blowing around! Lonely, wow!" "Remember the white yacht we passed the other day near Burnt Coal?" asked Phil, looking up from the book he was reading. "The _Sunbeam_ was the name of her. Well, a chap was telling me yesterday about her. It seems she's a sort of Mission boat, the Sea Coast Mission, I think it's called. The folks that live on these off-shore islands along here were in pretty bad shape a few years ago, bad shape in every way. There were no schools, or mighty few, and no churches, and the folks were just naturally pegging out from sheer loneliness and--and lack of ambition, just drifting right back into a kind of semi-civilized state, as folks do on islands in the Pacific that you read about. Well, someone realised it and got busy, and this Mission was started. There was a chap named MacDonald, Alexander MacDonald--" "Sounds almost Scotch," observed Joe dryly. "Never mind what he was. He's American now, if he was ever anything else," replied Phil warmly. "He was teaching school on one of the islands near Mount Desert in the Summers and going to college the rest of the time. There wasn't any church on this island and so he used to conduct services in the place they used for a school. Somehow, that put it into his head--or maybe his heart--to be a preacher. He preached around in all sorts of out-of-the-way places, and then this Mission started up and the folks behind it just naturally got hold of him and put him in charge. A New York woman had the _Sunbeam_ built for him three or four years ago and now he lives right on it, he and a couple of men for crew, and she keeps pegging around the islands, up and down the coast, Summer and Winter. You fellows know what Doctor Grenfell does up around Labrador and beyond? Well, this Mr. MacDonald does the same stunt along this coast, and, by jiminy, fellows, it's some stunt! Think of plunging around these waters in Winter, eh? Breaking his own way through the ice often enough--the boat was built for it they say--and plugging through some of the nor'easters! Say, I take my hat off to that fellow!" "Some job," agreed Steve thoughtfully. "Man's work, fellows." "What does he do for 'em?" asked Ossie. "Teaches them, son. Teaches them how to live clean, how to look after the kids, how to keep healthy. And prays with them, too, I guess. And brings them books and founds schools. Don't you guess that when this _Sunbeam_ comes in sight of some of those little, forsaken islands the folks on shore sort of perk up? Guess the Reverend Mr. MacDonald is pretty always certain of a welcome, fellows!" "Rather!" said Joe. "That's what I call--um--being useful in the world. Bet you he's a fine sort. Bound to be, eh?" "I'd like to make a trip with him," said Perry. "Gee, but it would be some sport, wouldn't it? Talk about finding adventures! Bet you he has 'em by the hundreds." "I dare say," said Phil, "that he'd be glad to dispense with a good many of them. Hope I haven't bored you, fellows," he added, returning to his book. "You haven't, old scout," answered Han. "Any time you learn anything as interesting as that, you spring it. Blamed if it doesn't sort of make a fellow want to be of more use in the world. Guess I'll polish some brass!" They passed many of those islands during the next few days, lonely, rock-girt spots scantily clad with wild grass and wind-worried fir trees. Sometimes there was a lighthouse, and nearly always the rocks were piled with lobster-traps, for lobstering is the chief industry of the inhabitants. They touched at one small islet one afternoon and went ashore. There were but three houses there, old, weather-faded shacks strewn around with broken lobster-pots and nets and discarded tin cans and rubbish. The folks they met, and they met them all, from babes in arms to a ninety-eight-year-old great-grandmother, looked sad and listless and run-to-seed. Even the children seemed too old for their years. It was all rather depressing, in spite of the evident kindliness of the people, and the boys were glad to get away again. They bought some lobsters and nearly a gallon of blueberries before they went. Ossie declared afterwards that those lobsters looked to him a sight happier than the folks they had seen ashore! They went eastward leisurely, making many stops, and had fine weather until they sighted Grand Manan. Then a storm drove them to shelter one afternoon and they lay in a tiny harbour for two days while the wind lashed the ports and the rain drove down furiously. Nothing of great interest happened, although the time went fast and pleasantly. To be sure, there were minor incidents that Phil entered in the log-book he was keeping: as when Han fell overboard one morning in a heavy sea when the _Adventurer_ was reeling off her twelve miles and was pretty well filled with brine and very near exhaustion when he reached the life-buoy they threw him. And once Ossie pretty nearly cut a finger off while opening a lobster. And then there was the time--it was during those two weather-bound days and everyone's temper was getting a bit short--when Perry cast aspersions on Ossie's biscuits at supper. Perry said they were so hard he guessed they were Ossie-fied, and the others laughed and Ossie got angry and they nearly came to blows: would have, perhaps, had not Steve promised to throw them both overboard if they did! They spent two days at Grand Manan, and Perry, who had never before been further from Philadelphia than the Adirondacks, was vastly thrilled when he discovered that Grand Manan was a part of New Brunswick. "This," he declaimed grandly as he stamped down on a clam-shell, "is the first time I've ever set foot on a foreign shore!" The end of the first week in August found them harboured at Eastport. They stayed there four days, not so much because the place abounded in interest as because the _Adventurer_, who had behaved splendidly for several hundred miles, suddenly refused to go another fathom. Steve said he guessed the engine needed a good overhauling, and Perry chortled and offered his services to Joe to help take it apart. But Joe, in spite of his invaluable and ever-present hand-book, acknowledged his limitations, and the job went to a professional and the _Adventurer_ spent most of three days tied up to a smelly little dock while the engine specialist took the motor down before be discovered that a fragment of waste and other foreign matter had lodged in the gasoline supply pipe. Fortunately, his charge was moderate. Had it been otherwise they might have had to stay in Eastport until financial succour reached them, for the exchequer was almost depleted. They found a letter from Neil among the mail that was awaiting them at Eastport. Neil was evidently down on his luck and begged for news of the club. He got it in the shape of an eight-page epistle from Phil. Perry made a close study of the sardine industry and laid gorgeous plans for conducting a similar venture on the banks of the Delaware when he returned home. "You see," he explained, "a sardine is just whatever you like to call it in this country. I used to think that a sardine had to come from Sardinia." "From where?" asked Ossie, the recipient of Perry's confidences. "Sardinia." "Where's that?" "I dunno. Spain, I think. Or maybe Italy. Somewhere over there." He waved a hand carelessly in the general direction of Grand Manan. "Anyway, there's nothing to it. A man told me this morning that the sardines they use here are baby herring or menhaden or--or something else. I guess most any fish is a sardine here if it's young enough. Unless it's a whale. Now why couldn't you use minnows? There are heaps of minnows in the Delaware River. Or young shad. A shad's awfully decent eating when he's grown up, and so it stands to reason that he'd make a perfectly elegant sardine." "Nothing but bones," objected Ossie. "A young shad, say a week-old one, wouldn't have any bones, you chump. At least, they'd be nice and soft. It's a dandy business, Ossie. All you have to have is some fish and a lot of oil and some tin cans." "Sounds easy the way you tell it. I suppose you pour the oil in the tin can and drown the fish in the oil and clamp the lid on, eh?" "N-no, there's a little more to it than that. There's something about boiling them. They have big kettles. Want to go over this afternoon and see them do it? There's a fine, healthy smell around there!" "Thanks, but I got a whiff of it a while ago. Unless you want me to sour on sardines, Perry, you won't take me to the place they build them." The engine was reassembled in the course of time and, with fresh supplies, the _Adventurer_ turned homeward, the _Follow Me_ close astern. They started after an early dinner, having decided to make Northeast Harbor that evening and proceed to Camden the next day. They had seen enough of the eastern end of the coast, they thought, while from Camden westward there were numerous places that had looked enticing. So "No Stop" was the order, and the _Adventurer_, turning back into home waters off Lubec, churned her way through the Bay of Fundy at a good pace. The morning had dawned hazy, but the sun had shone brightly for awhile in mid-afternoon. Later the sunlight disappeared again and the northern sky piled itself with clouds. South West Head was abeam then and Steve half-heartedly offered to run to shelter. But the others pooh-poohed the suggestion. "If we duck every time there's a cloud," said Joe, "we'll never get back to Camden. There isn't any wind and the barometer says fair." The barometer was rather a joke aboard the _Adventurer_. It hung just inside the forward companion way and was undoubtedly a most excellent instrument. But not a soul aboard could read it properly. When it dropped, the skies cleared and the wind blew. When it rose, it invariably rained or got foggy. Steve had long since given it up in despair, but Joe still maintained a belief in his powers of prognosticating weather by the barometer, a belief that no one else on the boat shared. "If the pesky thing says that," remarked Han, "it'll snow before night! Still, I don't see why we need to run into harbour yet. There's no sign of fog, and if it's only rain that's coming, why, we've been wet before. I say let her flicker, Steve." "I guess so. We're not out far and if it does get very wet we can soon get under cover somewhere. Find me the next chart, Joe, will you?" They could see the Seal Islands, or they thought they could, off to port at a little past three. The _Follow Me_ was hiking along about a quarter of a mile astern, making better going than the _Adventurer_, just as she always did in a heavy sea. And today the sea was piling up a good deal. Joe looked anxious at times, but he had passed his novitiate and now it took a good deal of tossing to send him below. What happened at about half-past three occurred so suddenly that no one aboard the _Adventurer_ was prepared for it. It grew dark almost between one plunge of the cruiser's bow and another, and before Steve could punch out his warning on the whistle, preparatory to heading to starboard, a gust of wind tore down on them from the north like a blast from the pole and set canvas rattling and flags snapping. Steve headed toward Englishman's Bay, nine miles due west, and the _Follow Me_ altered her course accordingly. But that storm had no intention of awaiting anyone's pleasure. The first gust was quickly followed by a second and the sky darkened rapidly. The spray began to come over the rail, and Han and Perry tugged down a flapping curtain and lashed it to the stanchions. The next time Steve looked for the _Follow Me_ she was no longer in sight, for the darkness had closed in between the two craft. "This is a mess," shouted Steve, peering through the spray-wet glass ahead. "I wish we were about seven or eight miles further along, fellows." "Well, we will be presently," replied Phil cheerfully. "I dare say this blow won't last long. It's only a squall, probably." "It's a good one, then," muttered Steve. "If you don't believe it take hold of this wheel. Feel her kick? Keep a lookout for that island in there, Joe." Things went from bad to worse and ten minutes after the first warning the _Adventurer_ was tossing about like a cork, her propeller as often out of water as in, and making hard work of it. They had to hold tight to whatever was nearest to keep from being pitched across the bridge deck. The seas began to pile in over the roof of the after cabin and the deck was soon awash. Steve held to the wheel like grim death, with Joe at his side when needed, and they plunged on. But it didn't take Steve long to realise that to attempt to make the haven under such conditions would be folly. There were islands and reefs ahead and the gloom made it impossible to see for any distance. "The only thing we can do, fellows," he said presently, shouting to make himself heard above the wind, "is to run for it straight down the shore. If we can get in past Wass Island we can anchor, I guess, but if we try to make Englishman's Bay we'll pile up somewhere as sure as shooting! I wish I was certain the _Follow Me_ was all right." "If we are, she's sure to be," said Joe. "She's a nifty little chip in tough weather. Here comes some rain, Steve!" Joe's description was weak, however. It was more than "some" rain; it was a deluge! It swept past the edges of the curtains and splashed on the deck in dipperfulls. And it hid everything beyond the torn and tattered Union Jack at the bow. Looking through the dripping windows was like looking through the glass side of an aquarium, for beyond it was a solid sheet of water. Steve gazed anxiously from chart to compass under the electric lights and eased off to port. "There's too much land around here," he shouted to Joe, "to leave me happy. And, what's more, I'm none too certain just where we are at this blessed minute. So it's the wide ocean for yours truly. We'll just have to run for it and trust to luck!" "Right-o," called Joe sturdily. "Let her flicker, old man! There's one thing plumb certain, and that is if we come across an island we're--um--likely to run clean over it!" But Joe was wrong. The words were scarcely off his lips when a cry of mingled astonishment and alarm sprang from Steve as he threw his weight on the wheel. At the same moment there was a shock that sent all hands reeling, the _Adventurer_ quivered from stern to stern, and then, after a moment no longer than a heart-beat, lurched forward again. Directly over the bow, glimpsed vaguely through the rain and gloom, rose a towering cliff. Steve's frantic efforts were in vain, for although he tore at the clutch and the propeller thrashed the water astern, the _Adventurer_ was already in the smother of the surf and an instant later she struck. CHAPTER XIX SHIPWRECKED Afterwards the boys looked back on the ensuing five minutes as a dream rather than a reality. The cruiser grounded with an impetus that set pans rattling in galley, lifted again and once more thumped her stern down, as she did so swinging her stern slowly around in a last frantic effort to pull clear. Then the boat careened, a sea washed clean across the deck and, with her keel forward of the engine firmly imbedded in the sand, she lay still save for the tremors that shook her when the angry surf rushed in across her beam. There was confusion enough, but on the whole the six alarmed boys behaved sensibly. Steve, wet to his waist, turned off the engine and banged shut the chart-box even as he shouted his orders. "Life preservers, fellows! Han, get the big cable from the locker. Keep your heads now!" Clinging like a leech to the canted roof of the forward cabin, Steve himself worked along with the rope and, half-drowned in rain and surf, made it fast to the cleat. The others, struggling into life-belts, clung to the stanchions or whatever they could find. Steve crawled back with the coil, drenched and breathless. "We've got to get off, fellows," he said. "It's only a dozen yards to the beach and we can make it all right. Close every hatch. Ossie, fetch a can of biscuits. See that the lid's tight." Wave after wave struck on the starboard beam and fell hissing across the boat. The side curtains were ripped from the stanchions and fluttered wildly about them. "Going to swim for it?" asked Joe above the roar of waves and tempest. "Yes! We've got to. The boat would swamp in an instant. I'll start ahead with the line. You fellows wait and then follow it in." "Better let me go along," said Joe, his hands formed into a speaking-trumpet. "No need. I'll make it." "Look out for back-tow!" The other nodded. He had pulled off his coat and unlaced his shoes and now he dropped these things through the forward hatch and wrapped the big rope around his waist. "Better not try to swim with your coats, fellows," he instructed. "Nor shoes. Don't take any chances. Last man off see that this hatch is shut tight." He crawled around the stanchions on the starboard side and crept along to the bow, the others, huddled together on the sloping bridge, watching anxiously. Then he slipped from sight. Once they saw his head, or thought they saw it, a darker blot in the grey-green welter. Joe was already creeping toward the bow, and, having reached it, he crouched there, blinded by rain and spray, and waited for the rope to tauten. It seemed a long while before he waved an arm to the watchers behind and swung himself off. They saw his hands travel along the rope a moment and then he was smothered up in the spume. One by one the others followed without misadventure save when Han slipped on the deck and would have rolled across and plunged over the further side had he not fortunately caught the iron support of the searchlight in front of the funnel. Phil was the last to go. With a final look about the deck as he clung to an awning pipe, he followed Ossie. The latter was swinging himself hand-over-hand by the rope with the waves surging to his shoulders. Then Phil saw him strike out and the waters hid him. The beach was visible at moments from the bow, and once Phil, as he prepared to swing himself off, thought he saw figures there. Then he, too, was battling. The waves swept him under the rope and would have wrenched him from it had he not clung on desperately. Holding to it with his right hand, he sought to find it with his left and so draw himself on, but the surf swirled him about dizzily and he gave up the attempt. Instead, almost drowned in the smother, he used his left arm and his legs for swimming, edging his right hand along the cable as best he could, and presently, although none too soon, felt the churning gravel beneath his stockinged feet. But when he tried to stand, the receding water swept his legs from under him so unexpectedly and forcibly that he lost his grasp of the rope. He went down and felt the water tugging him back, swam mightily and was lifted to the top of an in-rushing breaker, filled his lungs with air and felt blindly for the rope. Then hands seized him and Joe and Han, clinging to the cable, dragged him ashore. Phil found himself under the frowning battlement of the huge cliff on a ledge of sand and shingle scarcely twenty feet wide. But there was less sweep for the rain here and the _Adventurer_ was plainly visible through the strange semi-darkness. Steve had made the shore end of the cable fast to a boulder that stood, half out of the shingle, at the base of the cliff. For a long minute the six boys huddled there in the storm and disconsolately gazed at the boat. It was Han who voiced the thought of most of them. "She won't stay together long, I guess," he said sorrowfully. "Those waves will batter her to pieces." "She'll stand a lot of battering," answered Steve hopefully. "It's hitting her on the beam and she hasn't swung much since I left her. The tide's still coming in and--" He stopped. Then: "I ought to have dropped the stern anchor over," he went on. "What an idiot! If she had that to hold her from swinging broadside--" "Would it hold her?" asked Joe dubiously. "It would help." Steve tightened his belt. "I'm going back," he said. They remonstrated, but to no purpose. Then Joe and Han wanted to go along, and were denied. "It's no trick," said Steve resolutely. "I can do it easily. You fellows stand by when I come ashore again. That's the only tough part of it. Someone might see if there's a way up from this beach. If the tide comes much higher it's going to be a bit damp here." It was Perry who undertook that task, while the others followed Steve to the breakers' edge and watched him return to the _Adventurer_. He made no attempt to swim, but pulled himself along by the line, hand-over-hand, his head for the most of the time under the water. But presently he emerged and they saw him clamber to the deck, crawl along it and disappear. He seemed a long time there, but he came into sight again eventually and began the return trip. Perry was back by then and they formed a line by clasping hands and Joe stood well above his waist, battered by the surf, and Steve was helped along from one to another and presently they were all back on the beach once more. "I got it over," gasped Steve, "but it was hard work. I think it will hold. If the storm will only go down pretty soon she may get through. I think some of her planks are sprung, though. There's a foot of water in the after cabin. I got some matches and this cup." He pulled a tin cup from a trousers pocket. "Can we get up the cliff a way?" "Yes," answered Perry. "There's a sort of a shelf about a hundred feet beyond there. I'll show you the way." [Illustration: "Those waves will batter her to pieces"] They followed. Real darkness was coming fast now and Perry found difficulty in retracing his steps. But in a few minutes, by dint of scrambling and pulling themselves upward, they reached the shelf. It was barely large enough to hold them all and was scarcely ten feet above the level of the beach below. Nor was it at all level, for it had been formed by the accumulation of falling debris from the cliff and sloped outward at a steep angle. Some dwarf firs and low bushes had gained rootage, however, and it was possible for them to huddle there without fear of rolling to the rocks beneath. Steve tried to find some dead branches to build a fire, and did succeed in getting a few, but his first attempt to set them alight proved the futility of the undertaking. There was nothing for it save to lie as close together as they could, for warmth, and await the morning. That was a miserable night. They all slept at times, and by changing places they all, for a while at least, found some degree of warmth. But they had been drenched through to start with and when, at last, the stormy world began to lighten their garments were still sodden and they shivered whenever they stirred. Ossie was ill toward morning, but there was nothing they could do for him except huddle closely about him. He complained of intense pains in his chest and Steve had horrible visions of pneumonia until Ossie, asked to locate the trouble more definitely, laid a trembling hand on a portion of his anatomy and muttered "Here" through chattering teeth. "That's not your chest, you idiot," said Steve, vastly relieved. "That's your stomach!" "Is it?" returned the sufferer miserably. "Well, it hurts just the same!" But after an hour he felt considerably better and went off to sleep. By that time it was early morning and they could see about them. The rain had almost ceased, but the wind still blew hard and the surf was still pounding. Once during the darkness the waves had, from the sound, entirely covered the little beach. Now, however, they had receded and, as the light grew, they saw that the _Adventurer_ lay, with regard to the tide, about as they had last glimpsed her. But she had swung her stern further around, in spite of the anchor Steve had dropped, and the waves were breaking almost squarely across her. She was a pathetic sight. Her side curtains were waving in ribands, the forward flag-pole held nothing but one tiny rag of blue bunting and the tender, torn from the chocks, was jammed between the stanchions ahead. "But she's still whole," said Steve from between blue lips. "And the storm's going down. If she isn't sprung too much, and we could only get her off of there--" "Getting her off," said Joe with a pessimism born of hunger and cold and the gloom of the early morning, "will be about as easy as moving a house with a toothpick. I dare say the sand's bedded around her two feet high." "I'm afraid so," Steve agreed. "Well, let's have something to eat. Will you have steak or chicken, Joe?" "Broiled ham and a baked potato, please, and a couple of eggs. Not more than two minutes for the eggs. And you might bring me a couple of hot biscuits--" "Oh, shut up," begged Steve miserably. "Well, you started it! Who's awake here?" "I am," muttered Perry. "Seems to me I haven't been anything but awake for ten years." "Well, want to order your breakfast now, or will you wait?" asked Joe cheerfully. "Guess I'll wait," answered Perry grimly. "Where are those crackers?" They got Ossie awake with difficulty and Steve doled out six crackers to each. The tin cup came in handy, for there was a pool of rain water in a ledge below them. "What I can't see," grumbled Ossie, "is why we didn't stay on board the boat. It would have been a lot drier than this place." "You may think so now," replied Steve, "but wait till you get aboard again. We might have stayed on her, as it's turned out, but the boat didn't look very homelike to me yesterday!" "How the dickens were we to know that it would hold together, or even stay on its keel?" asked Joe disgustedly. "Don't talk like a sick goldfish, Ossie!" As soon as they had consumed breakfast they scrambled down to the beach with many groans and stretched their cramped and aching limbs. The rain, although now little more than a very heavy mist, limited their vision to a hundred yards or so in any direction. Steve hazarded the opinion that they were not more than two miles from the mainland, although he made no attempt to give a name to the island they were on. The fate of the _Follow Me_ worried them all, but Phil, always the most sanguine in times of stress, pointed out that as the other craft had not followed them onto the island she was probably safe. "She may be piled up further along somewhere," suggested Joe. "I say we'd better have a look. It would help a bit to know what sort of a place we've struck, anyway. For all we know there may be a house just around the corner!" So they set out in two parties, Steve, Ossie and Phil going one way and the rest the other. It was agreed that they were to be back in an hour at the most. Twenty minutes later, each exploration party having stuck to the beach, they came together again, much to their mutual surprise. "The pesky thing isn't more than a few acres big!" exclaimed Joe disgustedly. "And it's entirely surrounded by water," added Perry brightly. "Most islands are," said Ossie. "We can get up on top easily enough here, fellows. Let's see what it looks like." Their island was little more than a rock stuck out of the water. Just how big it was was difficult to determine since the haze of driving mist allowed but little view. From the beach, at a point presumably directly opposite the place where they had come ashore they climbed by the aid of rocky footholds and bushes to a broken but generally level summit clad with a tangled growth of blueberry and briars and sprinkled most liberally with boulders. The ground arose gradually as they advanced, guided by Steve's pocket compass, and before very long they reached the wind-swept edge of the cliff against which they had spent the night. From the summit they could see dimly at brief intervals the form of the _Adventurer_ far below. "Well, I don't see that we've accomplished much," said Han. "We're here, but where are we? And how the dickens are we going to get back again? If anyone thinks that I'm going to risk my neck sliding down here he's mistaken." "We don't ask you to, Ossie dear," said Han. "Your little neck is much too precious. One thing is certain, anyway, I guess: there's no hotel on the place!" "Hotel!" said Joe. "Gee, I'd be satisfied with a--um--cow-shed!" Nevertheless, they made the return journey in better spirits, for they had walked the aches from their limbs and warmth into their bodies. On the way Steve made them gather fagots of dead branches and they found a number of larger pieces of wood on the beach. By the time they were once more "at home," as Perry put it, they had all the material for a fire save paper or some other form of kindling. Steve experimented with twigs from the fir trees on the ledge, but they were too wet to burn. No one had any paper, or if they had it was too damp. "What would Robinson Crusoe have done?" asked Steve, frowning thoughtfully. Joe, who had seated himself tiredly on the wet sand and was digging his stockinged heels into it, sneered at Mr. Crusoe. "He'd have made a trip on his raft," he said, "and fetched ashore a bundle of kindling. If it hadn't been for that wreck to draw on Robinson Crusoe would have starved to death in twenty-four hours!" "Of course!" exclaimed Steve. "That's the idea!" "What, starve?" asked Joe distastefully. "No, you idiot, go out to the _Adventurer_ and get some gasoline!" "Sure!" agreed Ossie. "Only--just when we were getting dry at last--" "What's the matter with stripping," asked Steve cheerfully, suiting action to word. "Is there a can or anything I can put it in, Ossie?" "There's a jug in the starboard locker. There's about a pint of vinegar in it, but I guess we can sacrifice that." "Drink it, Steve, and save it," suggested Perry. The tide had retreated further by now and the bow of the cruiser was almost beyond the breakers and Steve's journey was not difficult. When he got back, with the vinegar jug filled with gasoline hung around his neck, he reported the _Adventurer_ waist-deep in water at the stern. "You fellows start the fire," he said, "and I'll go back and bring some grub ashore. There's no reason for starving with food handy." Joe volunteered to accompany him, and, after disrobing and putting his damp clothes under a stone to keep them from blowing away, he and Steve plunged back into the water. Meanwhile success met the efforts of the firemen and soon a good-sized blaze was roaring in spite of wind and mist. They had located it as near the foot of the cliff as possible and, although the smoke made itself disagreeable by billowing out in their faces, it was thereby somewhat sheltered from the elements. Steve and Joe made three trips and brought back frying-pan, coffee-pot and smaller utensils, as well as provisions, and a half-hour later they were beginning a supplementary breakfast of bacon and coffee. And if anything in all the wide world, from the time of Noah to that of the Adventure Club, ever tasted sublime to a shipwrecked mariner it was that same bacon and coffee! When they had finished, Phil's watch--the only one of six which had neither run down for lack of winding or been incapacitated by immersion in salt water--gave the hour as twenty minutes past seven. Comforted by food and drink, they warmed themselves at the fire and waited for the tide to recede far enough to allow a survey of the _Adventurer_. The comfort was too much for Perry and he fell asleep with his feet almost in the embers and his head on a rock and slumbered emphatically. At last the line of breakers was well astern of the cruiser and the boys, leaving their stockings to dry by the fire and rolling their trousers up, began their investigation. On the whole the _Adventurer_ had so far come off easily. Her planks had been strained in several places, but there were no breaks. Steve, hanging over the stern, tried to get sight of the propeller but failed, as the sand had settled about it. Joe, wading out into the water, had better success when he investigated. He came up, dripping, with the welcome announcement that the blades were intact and that, so far as he could ascertain by feeling, the shaft was not bent. But things looked pretty dismal below-decks. The forward cabin was awash, as was the engine-well, and the after stateroom was knee-deep. They gathered on the bridge deck and held council. "We can plug her seams, all right," said Steve, "and by keeping a pump going get to port, _if_ we can only get her off the beach. But I can't, for the life of me, see how we're going to do that. Her bow's settled a foot deep in sand and it's piled up along this side of her. Even her propeller's buried!" "Not very much," said Joe. "If we start her she'll kick it away in a minute." "But there isn't any use starting her," said Steve thoughtfully, "unless she's afloat a good deal more than she was this morning. If only we had something to fix a line to astern we might pull her off with the windlass." His gaze ran seaward and in an instant he was on his feet gazing intently through the mist. "What's that back there?" he demanded eagerly. "Isn't it a rock, fellows?" CHAPTER XX THE DERELICT It was a rock whose brown head was thrust barely two feet above the water. "It's the ledge we grazed last night," cried Joe. "Could we get a rope to that, Steve?" "Why not? We'll have a go at it, anyway. Help me with the tender, someone!" It was difficult work. As a first step the bow line was replaced by a smaller rope and taken through the breakers to the out-cropping ledge. There, working precariously in the water while Joe held him from the boat and Han did his best to keep the dingey steady, Steve eventually got the big cable around the rock, protecting it from the rough edges by a blanket from one of the berths. Fortunately, the rock was so formed that, once drawn tight, there was no danger of the rope slipping off, and they returned to the _Adventurer_, Steve towing behind, in triumph. In the meanwhile the others, directed by Phil, were stuffing the worst of the seams with strips of muslin, using table knives for caulking irons. The cable to the rock was led through a ring at the stern and carried forward to the windlass. By the time the tide had begun to rise again they had got the hull free of water, taking turns at the hand-pump and operating the bilge-pump at the same time. Then they waited to see how well they had succeeded at their caulking. It was noon by that time, and they ate cold rations in the galley, and while they were below a transient gleam of sunlight shone for an instant through the hatch above and they tumbled to deck. The fine rain had almost ceased and although the sunlight was gone again, the clouds were breaking. Steve whooped for joy and the others joined him. It might have been only in imagination, but it seemed that the wind was less fierce and that the in-rolling breakers were less formidable. There was little to do save to set the cruiser as much to rights inside and out as was possible and wait for high tide again. As the water once more surrounded the boat they were pleased and encouraged to find that while the water was again coming in through the seams it filled the bilge so slowly that the pump could easily take care of it. Perry declared proudly that they had done a "caulking job!" They went ashore before the water cut them off entirely and built the fire up again. About four the wind died down appreciably and the sun, which had been flirting with the world ever since noon, burst forth in a sudden blaze of glory. The mist disappeared as if by magic and exclamations of surprise burst from six throats as eager eyes looked shoreward. There, as it seemed scarcely a half-mile distant, was the mainland; green fields, grey cliffs, white houses! In reality the distance was well over a mile and a quarter, but so clear had the atmosphere suddenly become that the space of tumbled green water intervening looked hardly more than a swimmer's stunt! They cheered and would have waved their caps had they had any to wave. A small steamer was ducking her way along near shore and they could almost see the spray tossing from the bow. They found a nearer way to the top of the cliff and climbed to the summit and tried to decide just where they were, but even Steve was at a loss, although he was fairly certain that Englishman's Bay was well to the north, probably as far distant as six miles. But, since from where they gazed islands and mainland melted into each other, even Wass Island was not determinate. But after all it didn't much matter where they were. In a calm sea they could reach the shore in the dingey if it became necessary, while a distress signal would undoubtedly be soon seen from the nearer head-land. But Steve was not ready to call for aid yet, and together they made their way back to the beach and settled down philosophically to await evening and high tide. With the prospect of release from their desert island to cheer them, waiting was not so hard. They had some supper about six and after that the time passed fairly quickly. At half-past eight they made their way out to the _Adventurer_. The wind had died entirely down at sunset and now the sea was probably as quiet and well-behaved as it ever was just there. About nine they began operations. No one was too sanguine of the results, but when, having started the engine and experimentally moved the clutch into reverse to clear the sand from around the propeller, no untoward incident happened they became more encouraged. The heaving lever was put into the windlass and, with Phil astern to watch the cable where it ran through the ring bolt, Steve operated the engine while the others took turns, two and two, at the windlass. Gradually the manila cable tightened and strained and the screw churned hard, but the _Adventurer_, save for righting herself a trifle, gave no indication of moving from her sandy bed. Steve summoned the boys who were not working the windlass to the after part of the boat in order to lighten the bow as much as possible, and they worked on. Just when it seemed that not another inch of the cable was to be conquered there was a shout from Ossie and Han, who were panting at the lever, and the _Adventurer_ moved! After that it was only a matter of time. Inch by inch the cruiser dragged her keel along the sand, each minute floating a little freer and each minute putting her deck more level as the stern found the deep water. And, perhaps a half-hour from the time they had started, they had the boat riding clear and slowly going astern to take up the cable. It was out of the question to get the rope free of the rock and so they had to cut it, and, having done so, they swung cautiously around in a wide circle and headed toward the cheerful white beam of a lighthouse that beckoned from the shore. They had to keep the pump going, for a leak they had not suspected developed forward, but that was a small matter and they were so glad to get out of the adventure with nothing worse than a few sprung planks, some bent stanchions and the loss of the side curtains that they would willingly have pumped by hand. Half an hour later, after a slow and careful passage from island to mainland, with the searchlight picking out her path, the _Adventurer_ dropped anchor in a narrow harbour. They stayed there only overnight, for in the morning they found that there was no prospect of getting repairs made there, and so, with the bilge pump sucking merrily, they ran ten miles further down the coast and before dinner time saw the _Adventurer_ on a cradle and hauled high and dry from the water. The damage to the hull, while nowhere severe, was more general than they had thought, and the man who was to do the repairs decreed a week's stay. After discussing the situation it was decided that all save Steve and Phil were to proceed to Camden by rail and wait there for the _Adventurer_. Steve was to remain to superintend the repairs and painting--the cruiser stood in need of paint by then--and Phil volunteered to keep him company and help take the boat on when it was ready. In the meanwhile, after a day of uncertainty, the _Follow Me_ was located by telegraph at Jonesport. "All well. Sailing for Camden tomorrow. Meet you there" was the reply from Harry Corwin. Steve and Phil, watching seaward from the deck of the _Adventurer_, sitting high up on a marine railway, thought that they made out the _Follow Me_ about ten o'clock the next morning, but couldn't be sure. The two boys, captain and first mate, lived aboard and took their meals wherever they could get them. They were there just six days and had a very happy if unexciting time. Several absurd epistles reached them from Camden, all of which indicated that the other members of the Adventure Club were enjoying themselves hugely. At last, shining with new paint and polished brass and refurnished with new curtains, the _Adventurer_ slid down the railway again, floated out from the cradle and pointed her nose toward Penobscot Bay. In the middle of a bright Friday afternoon she dropped anchor alongside her companion craft, Phil doing wild and ecstatic things with the whistle and eliciting no response from the _Follow Me_. Steve and Phil donned proper shore-going togs and tumbled into the dingey. The _Follow Me_ was totally deserted, which accounted for the fact that, while their noisy arrival had aroused not a little interest on other craft, the _Follow Me_ had received them very coldly. They found some of the party at the hotel and the others rounded up later. Everyone was flatteringly glad to see the new arrivals again, but none more so than Perry. Perry was absolutely pathetic in his greetings and refused to let Steve out of his sight for an instant. "I'm quite taken by surprise," declared Steve. "I knew you loved me devotedly, Perry, but this is--this is really touching!" Perry grew a trifle red and coughed. "Er--well--I hope so," he blurted. "You hope so? Hope what?" "Hope it's touching," explained the other, grinning. "You see, I'm flat broke, Steve, and so is everyone else, or pretty near, and if you could lend me a couple of dollars--" "I feared it wasn't all just affection," sighed Steve, reaching for his purse. "But it was worth the price, Perry!" "Much obliged! You--you might make it three, if you don't mind. I owe Han fifty cents and Ossie a quarter--no, thirty-five--" "Here's five, you spendthrift. Let me have it back as soon as you can, though, for I'm down near the bottom myself." "I will, Steve. I've sent for some and it ought to be along in a day or two. Money doesn't last any time here!" Friends and acquaintances made during their former visit had done everything possible to make the boys' stay so very more than pleasant, and when the matter of going on was introduced the suggestion met with scant sympathy. However, Steve was not at all averse to a week or so of lotus eating and, having satisfied his conscience by the proposal, he settled down, to enjoy himself with the rest. His friends ashore were lavish with hospitality, while "Globbins the Speed Fiend," as Perry had dubbed the freckle-faced proprietor of the restless automobile, was indefatigably attentive. A second letter from Neil, forwarded from one port of call to another in their wake, reached them one day, and they composed a reply between them and all hands signed it. Neil was having rather a dull time of it, they gathered, and they hoped their letter would cheer him up a bit. At last, when they had, after two postponements, fixed a day of departure, a storm that tied up shipping all along the North Atlantic Coast for four days caused a final delay, and consequently it was well toward the last of August when they said good-bye and set forth for Squirrel Island. No one particularly cared to visit Squirrel Island save Han, who had friends there, but as there was still a full week at their disposal they were in no great hurry and one port was as good as another. They remained there a day and then made Portland. At Portland supplies were put in, and one Wednesday morning they picked up the anchor at a little after six o'clock and started for Provincetown with the fine determination to cover the distance of approximately a hundred and twenty-five miles before they sat down to supper. That they didn't do so was no fault of either the _Adventurer_ or the _Follow Me_. It was about half-past eight that Phil, sitting on the forward cabin roof with his back braced against the smokestack, called Steve's attention to an object far off to port. They had then put some thirty miles between them and Portland and were twenty miles off Cape Neddick. The morning was lowery, with occasional spatters of rain, and the storm, which had blown off to the northward the day before, had left a heavy sea running. For an hour the _Adventurer_ and the _Follow Me_ had been climbing up the slopes of grey-green swells and sliding down into swirling troughs, and for a minute Steve couldn't find the dark speck at which Phil was pointing. When he did at last sight it over the tumbled mounds of water he stared in puzzlement a moment before he took the binoculars from their place and fitted them to his eyes. He looked long and then silently handed the glasses through the window to Phil, punched two shrill blasts on the whistle and swung the wheel to port. "Looks like a wreck," said Phil, after an inspection of the distant object. "Going to see?" Steve nodded. "Might be someone aboard," he answered. "We can tell in another mile or so, I guess." Phil gave up the glasses to the others, who had clustered to the bridge, while the _Follow Me_ altered her course in obedience to the signal, her company probably wondering why Steve had suddenly chosen to stand out to sea. At the end of ten minutes it was plainly to be determined with the aid of the binoculars that the object which had attracted their attention and curiosity was without any doubt a wreck, and as the _Adventurer_ drew momentarily closer her plight was seen to be extreme. Whether anyone remained aboard was still a question when the cruiser was a mile distant, but everything pointed against it. The craft, which proved to be a small coasting schooner, had evidently seen a lot of trouble. Both masts were broken off, the foremast close to the deck and the mainmast some dozen feet above it. She lay low in the water, with her decks piled high with lumber. A tangle of spars and ropes hung astern, but save for her cargo the decks had been swept clean. She was a sad sight even at that distance, and more than one aboard the _Adventurer_ felt the pathos of her. "No sign of life," said Steve. "If anyone was aboard there'd be a signal flying. And the boats are all gone, too, although that wouldn't mean much in itself because they might have been swept away. I guess, though, it got a bit too strenuous and the crew remembered the 'Safety First' slogan. There's nothing we can do, anyway." He started to swing the cruiser about again, but Perry intervened. "She's a whatyoucallit!" he exclaimed excitedly. "She's--" "No, little one," Joe corrected gently, "she's a wreck." "She's a derelict," persisted Perry eagerly, "and no one belongs to her! If we got her she'd belong to us, Steve! Wouldn't she?" "I suppose she would," replied Steve dubiously, his hand hesitating on the wheel, "but finding her and getting her are two mighty different things, Perry. If we _could_ get her she'd be a nice prize, I guess, for lumber's worth real money these days, and although she isn't very big it's safe to say she's got quite a bunch of it on her, below deck and above. I guess that lumber is what kept her afloat, from the looks of the hull." "Let's see what we can do," said Han. "Someone will find her and--" "It might as well be us," added Perry enthusiastically. "Couldn't we tow her, Steve!" "Tow her! Gee, she'd follow about as easily as a brick house!" "But if we both pulled--" "Well"--Steve cast an appraising eye at the weather--"I'm game to try it if the rest of you say so. Full steam ahead, Mr. Chapman!" CHAPTER XXI ON BOARD THE _CATSPAW_ Steve communicated the project to those aboard the _Follow Me_ which had now drawn up as near as she dared, and there followed a moment of blank amazement aboard the smaller boat. But discussion there was brief, and almost at once Harry Corwin raised his megaphone again and bellowed across: "Go to it! What do you want us to do, Steve?" "Nothing yet," was the answer. "We're going to board her first and see how she looks. If we take on the job we'll want your heaviest cable." Harry signalled assent. By this time they were within a hundred yards of the derelict, and, with engines just moving, they tossed about on the long swells and had a better look at the schooner. She was about eighty feet long, with a beam of probably twenty-two, and displaced approximately a hundred tons. She was square-sterned and blunt-nosed, evidently built for capacity rather than speed. Her name, in gold letters on the bow, was quite distinct: _Catspaw_. Later, when they rounded her stern, they saw that her home port was Norfolk. Her cargo, or at least so much of it as was above deck, consisted of rough pine boards, and every available foot of space was occupied with it. The deck-house was all but hidden. The mainmast dragged by a tangle of ropes aft of the starboard beam and was acting as a sort of sea-anchor. For the rest, her lumber-piled deck was swept clean save for a splintered gaff that had become wedged in the boards. Her hull had been painted black, but not very recently, and a dingy white streak led along the side. The two cruisers worked cautiously around to the leeward side of the _Catspaw_, the _Adventurer's_ tender was dropped over and Steve, Joe and Han climbed in. Boarding in that sea was no child's work, for the big swells, which slammed into and sometimes over the schooner without much effect, tossed the dingey high in air. But by rowing hard at first and then taking advantage of the quieter water near the schooner they at last reached the old black hull in safety and, while Han managed the boat-hook, the other two scrambled aboard. As they had suspected, the hulk was utterly deserted, and the fact that the forecastle and the captain's quarters were bare of anything of value and that the davits were empty indicated that the vessel had been abandoned in order. There was a good deal of water in her, but, as Steve pointed out, she wouldn't sink in a dozen years with that load of lumber to hold her up. "She wouldn't show much speed," he said when they had completed their investigations and were once more on deck, "and she'll tow about as easy as a lump of lead, but it's only thirty miles or so to Portsmouth, and even if we make only two miles an hour, and I guess we won't make much more, we can get her there tomorrow. That is, we can if our cables hold and the weather doesn't get nasty. I don't much like the looks of that same weather, though." "Well, the barometer is rising," said Joe, "and that means--" "Never mind your old barometer," laughed Steve. "Anyway, we'll have a go at this. If we have to give it up, all right, but we'd be silly not to try it. Come on and we'll get the cables aboard." Two hours of hard work followed. With the cruisers tagging along nearby, suiting their pace to the slow drift of the schooner, the boys cut away the wreckage and rigged a jury-mast at the stump of the foremast. On this they spread a spare forestaysail which they dug from the sail locker. That it would aid greatly in the ship's progress Steve did not expect, but it would, he figured, make steering easier. Then the cruiser's heaviest anchor cables were taken aboard and made fast at the bow. A "prize crew" consisting of Joe, Han and Perry, from the _Adventurer_, and Wink and Bert, from the _Follow Me_, was placed in charge and enough food for two meals supplied them. The galley stove was still in running order, although it reeked of grease, and there was a fair supply of wood handy. Bert Alley, who had volunteered to do the cooking, objected to an inch or so of water that swashed around the floor, but the others pulled a pair of old rubber boots from a chest in the forecastle and he became reconciled. At noon they all returned to their respective cruisers and ate dinner, which, under the conditions, was no easy matter. They had to hold the dishes to the table and swallow their tea between plunges. Joe was inordinately proud of himself that day, for, in spite of the nasty motion--and there's nothing much more likely to induce sickness than a long ground-swell--he not only remained on duty but consumed his dinner with a fine appetite. It rained quite hard for a half-hour about noon and then ceased just in time for them to set off to the _Catspaw_ again. It was decided that the _Follow Me's_ tender was to be left with the schooner, in case of necessity, and Joe acknowledged that he felt a bit easier in his mind when it had been hoisted, not without difficulty, to one of the davits. "It's all fine and dandy to say that this old tub can't sink," he confided to Wink Wheeler, "but--um--suppose she _did_ sink? Then that little old dingey would be worth about a thousand dollars, I guess." "It would be worth about ten cents," answered Wink pessimistically, "after we'd crowded five fellows into her in a sea like this!" "Well, anyway, she's bigger than ours," said Joe. "And I saw a life belt downstairs--I mean below." Joe and Wink were to take watches at the wheel, Perry and Han were to tend to the sail and keep a lookout and Bert was to cook. Steve issued his final directions at a little past one and then the two hawsers were stretched to the cruisers. Another squall of rain set in as the final preparations were made. A code of signals had been arranged between the three boats, a flag or piece of sailcloth to be used while the light held and a lantern after darkness. The "prize crew" cheered gaily as the others pulled away in the _Adventurer's_ dingey and were cheered in return, and five minutes later the two cables tautened, the water foamed under the overhangs of the motor-boats and, reluctantly and even protestingly, the _Catspaw_ obeyed the summons and started slowly to follow in the wakes of the distant cruisers. Han and Perry, at the bow, waved caps triumphantly as the blunt nose of the schooner began to dig into the waves, and Joe, at the wheel, shouted back. The three-cornered sail was shifted to meet the following breeze and soon the _Catspaw_ was wallowing along slowly but, as it seemed, in a determined way at the rate of, perhaps, three miles an hour. Perry, protected by a slicker, seated himself on the windlass and felt very important. Now and then someone aboard one of the cruisers waved a hand and Perry waved superbly back. Those cruisers were a long way off in case of danger, he reflected once, but he decided not to let his mind dwell on the fact. Joe found that the wheel of the _Catspaw_ required a good deal more attention than that of the _Adventurer_, and his arms were fairly tired by the time he yielded his place to the impatiently eager Wink. Steering the _Catspaw_ with the sea almost up to her deck line was a good deal like steering a scow loaded with pig-iron, Joe decided. Not, of course, that he had ever steered a scow of any sort, but he had imagination. The _Adventurer_ and _Follow Me_ were heading West Southwest one-fourth West to pass Boon Island to starboard, and Kittery Point lay some thirty miles away. As it was then just short of three bells, and as they were making, as near as those aboard the _Catspaw_ could judge, very nearly three miles an hour, it seemed probable that by two o'clock that night they would be at anchor off Portsmouth Harbour. Of course, there was always the possibility of bad weather or a broken cable, but the _Catspaw's_ crew declined to be pessimistic. They were having a royal good time. There was enough danger in the enterprise to make it exciting, and, being normal, healthy chaps, excitement was better than food. Perry proclaimed his delight at last finding an adventure quite to his taste. "Being wrecked on that island the other day was poor fun," he declared. "And it was dreadfully messy, too. But this is the real thing, fellows! Why, this old hooker might take it into her head to go down _ker-plop_ any minute!" "Huh," replied Wink Wheeler, "that may be your idea of the real thing, Perry, but it isn't mine. I'm just as strong for adventure as you, sonny, but I prefer mine on top of the water and not underneath!" "Shucks," said Joe, "this thing can't sink. Look at all the lumber on her!" "Yes, but it might get water-logged," suggested Bert from the door of the deck-house. "Wood does, doesn't it?" "Not for a long time," said Joe. "Years, maybe. And this lumber's new. You can tell by the looks of it." "Well, don't be to sure," advised Perry, darkly. "You never can tell. And there's another thing, too. We're top-heavy, with all these boards piled up on deck here, and if a storm came up we might easily turn turtle." "Oh, dry up," said Han. "You're worse than Poe's raven. Besides, she couldn't turn over, you idiot, as long as the lumber floated. She'd have to stay right-side up." "Wish we had a barometer aboard," said Joe. "We'd know what to expect then." "You mean we'd know what you'd tell us to expect," replied Perry ironically. "And then we'd get something else. For my part, I'm glad they took their old barometer with them." "They took about everything that wasn't nailed down except the stove," said Wink. "That's nailed down, too," said Bert. "Or, at least, it's bolted. How many do you suppose there were on board when the storm hit them?" "About five, maybe. Perhaps six. I guess five could handle a schooner this size. Five are handling her now, anyway," Joe added. Nothing of moment occurred during the afternoon, if we except occasional squalls of rain, until, at about five, those on the schooner observed a smudge of smoke to the southward that eventually proved to be coming from an ocean tug. The tug approached them half an hour later and ran alongside the _Adventurer_. The boys on the _Catspaw_ saw the boat's captain appear from the pilot-house and point a megaphone toward the white cruiser, and glimpsed Steve replying. What was said they could only surmise, but the tug's mission was evident enough. "He wants the job," said Joe anxiously. "Wonder if Steve will let him have it." "I hope he doesn't," said Wink. "We can do the trick without anyone's help, I guess. Besides, he'd want half the money we'll get." "More than half, probably," said Han. "He's still talking. I wish he'd run away smiling." He did finally. That is, he went off, but whether he was smiling they couldn't say. They fancied, however, that he was not, for the _Catspaw_ would have made a nice prize for the tug's owners. The tug plunged off the way she had come and was soon only a speck in the gathering twilight. It seemed a bit more lonesome after she had gone, and more than one of the quintette aboard the _Catspaw_ wondered whether, after all, it might not have been the part of wisdom to have accepted assistance. Darkness came early that evening, and by six the lights on the _Adventurer_ and _Follow Me_ showed wanly across the surly, shadowy sea. Han and Perry had already prepared the two lanterns they had found on board and as soon as the cruisers set the fashion they placed them fore and aft, one where it could be plainly seen from the boats ahead and the other on the roof of the deck-house. While they were at that task the darkness settled down rapidly, and by the time they had finished the cruisers were only blotches against which shone the white lights placed at the sterns for the guidance of the _Catspaw's_ navigators. The boys ate their suppers in relays about half-past six. Bert had prepared plenty of coffee and cooked several pans of bacon and eggs, and had done very well for a tyro. Later the _Adventurer_ turned on her searchlight and against the white path of it she was plainly visible. A more than usually severe squall of wind and rain broke over them about eight and when the rain, which pelted quite fiercely for a few minutes, had passed on the wind continued. It was coming from the northwest and held a chilliness that made the amateur mariners squirm down into their sweaters and raincoats. The _Catspaw_, low in the water as she was, nevertheless felt the push of the wind and keeping her blunt nose pointed midway between the two lights ahead became momentarily more difficult. At the end of an hour it required the services of both Joe and Wink to hold the schooner steady. Perry and Han, huddled as much out of the chilling wind as they could be, kept watch at the bow. Keeping watch, though, was more a figure of speech than an actuality, for the night was intensely dark and save for the lights of the towing craft nothing was discernible. The sea arose under the growing strength of the nor'wester and soon the waves were thudding hard against the rail and the piled lumber and sending showers of spray across the deck. The _Catspaw_ rolled and wallowed and the watchers at the bow soon knew from the sound of the straining cables that the cruisers were having difficulty. Bert crawled forward through the darkness and spray and joined them. "Joe says they'll be signalling to cast off the hawsers pretty quick," he bellowed above the wind and waves. "He says we aren't making any headway at all now." "Gee, it'll be fine to be left pitching around here all night," said Perry alarmedly. "If we only had an anchor--" "I'd rather keep on drifting," said Han. "It'll be a lot more comfortable." "Maybe, but we'll be going out to sea again. Seems to me they might keep hold of us even if they don't get along much." Perry ducked before the hissing avalanche of spray that was flung across the deck. "There's one thing certain," he added despondently. "We've got to stay on this old turtle as long as she'll let us, for we couldn't get that dingey off now if we tried!" "What's the difference?" asked Han. "They'll stick around us until the wind goes down again, and we're just as well off here as they are on the boats. Bet you the _Adventurer_ is doing some pitching herself about now!" They relapsed into silence then, for making one's self heard above the clamour of wind and water and the groans and creakings of the schooner was hard work. They watched the _Adventurer_ for the expected signal for a long time, but it was nearly ten when a lantern began to swing from side to side on the cruiser. A moment later they heard faintly the shriek of the _Adventurer's_ whistle. CHAPTER XXII INTO PORT "Cast off!" said Han. "Take this one first, Perry. Gee, but it's stiff!" They had to fumble several minutes at the wet cable before they got it clear and let it slip over the bow. Then the other was cast off as well and Bert swung the lantern four times above his head as a signal to haul in. An answering dip of the light on the stern of the _Adventurer_ answered, just as Joe joined them. "All right?" he asked anxiously. "Yes, both clear," replied Han. "What do we do now, Joe?" "Sit tight and wait. Some of us had better get some sleep. Perry, you and Bert might as well turn in for awhile. I'm going to. It's ten o'clock. I'll wake you at two, and you can relieve Han. Bert, you might make some coffee when you tumble out again. We'll probably need it." "I'm not sleepy a bit," protested Perry. But Joe insisted and he and Bert followed the other below and laid down in the bunks in the captain's cabin. In spite of his disclaimer and the noise and rolling of the ship, Perry was asleep almost as soon as he touched the berth, and the others were not far behind. Joe had the faculty of waking up at any predetermined hour, and at two he was shaking the others from their slumbers. It was at once evident that the gale had increased, for it was all they could do to keep their feet under them as they made their way to the galley. Bert set about making a fire while the others made their way to the wheel. Wink greeted them cheerfully enough from the lantern-lit darkness there, but his voice sounded weary in spite of him. "I had Han take the sail down," he announced. "She steers better without it. The wind's pretty fierce, isn't it? Look out!" A big wave broke over the rail and descended on them in bucketfulls. "That's what makes it so pleasant," shouted Wink. "Guess I'll take a nap if I can." "Bert's making some coffee," said Joe. "Better have some before you turn in." Perry made his way cautiously forward and relieved Han. "Seen anything?" he asked. "Not a thing." "Hello, where are the boats?" Perry stared ahead in surprise. "One of them--I think it's the _Adventurer_--is back there." Han turned Perry about until he glimpsed a faint flicker of light far off over the starboard beam. "Don't know where the other is. Guess they're having a rough time of it." "I'll bet!" agreed Perry. "You're to have some coffee and turn in, Han." "Coffee!" murmured the other gratefully. "Have you had some?" "No, I'll get mine later. Beat it, you!" Han disappeared in the darkness and Perry, wrapping himself as best he could in the folds of his slicker, settled himself to his task. Now and then he looked back for a glimpse of the friendly light at the stern or for sight of the _Adventurer_. The wind made strange whistling sounds through the interstices of the lumber and the battered hull groaned and creaked rheumatically. When he stood erect the gale tore at him frantically, and at all times the spray, dashing across the deck, kept him running with water. He grew frightfully sleepy about three and had difficulty in keeping awake. In spite of his efforts his head would sink and at last he had to walk the few paces he could manage, accommodating his uncertain steps to the roll of the boat, in order to defeat slumber. To say that Perry did not more than once regret his suggestion of rescuing the _Catspaw_ would be far from the truth. He felt very lonely out there on that bow, and his stomach was none too happy. And the thought of what would happen to him and the others if the schooner decided to give up the struggle was not at all pleasant to dwell on. And so he did his best not to think about it, but he didn't always succeed. On the whole it was a very miserable three hours that he spent on lookout duty that night. Once Bert crawled forward and shared his loneliness, but didn't remain very long, preferring the partial shelter of the house. No one was ever much gladder to see the sky lighten in the east than was Perry that morning. But even when a grey dawn had settled over the ocean the surroundings were not much more cheerful. As Wink said, it was a bit better to drown by daylight than to do it in the dark, but, aside from the fact that the _Catspaw_ was still afloat, there wasn't much to be thankful for. One of the cruisers was barely visible off to the northward, but the other was nowhere in sight. The grey-green waves looked mountain-high when seen from the water-washed deck of the _Catspaw_, and the wind, while seeming to have passed its wildest stage, still blew hard. There was no sight of land in any direction and Joe pessimistically decided that they were then some forty miles at sea and about off the Isles of Shoals. Soon after the sun had come up, somewhere behind the leaden clouds, they sighted a brig to the southward. She was hardly hull-up and was making her way under almost bare yards toward the west. She stayed in sight less than half an hour. The boys had breakfast about half-past six. Except coffee and bread there was little left, and the outlook, in case the gale continued, was not inspiring! Perry declared that he'd much rather drown than starve to death. The first cheerful event that happened was the drawing near of the _Adventurer_. The white cruiser came plunging up to within a quarter of a mile about nine o'clock and signals were exchanged. An hour later the _Follow Me_ appeared coming up from westward and at noon the schooner and the two convoys were reunited. But there was still no chance of getting lines aboard. All that they could do was wait. Dinner hour aboard the _Catspaw_ was dinner hour in name only. There was coffee, to be sure, but the sugar was low and the condensed milk had given out completely. All else had disappeared at breakfast time. The spirits of the "prize crew" got lower and lower as the afternoon began and they were faced with another night aboard the schooner. Twice they sighted other craft, once a steamer headed toward the northeast and once a schooner dipping along under reefed sails. Neither craft showed any curiosity and each went on its way without a sign. Once the _Adventurer_ circled close to the windward and Steve shouted encouragement through his megaphone. Just what was said they couldn't make out, and Joe's attempts to acquaint the cruiser with the fact that they were out of provisions was unsuccessful, since he had only his hands to shout through and the wind was unsympathetic. But having the cruisers at hand was comforting, and when, at about four, there was a brief glimpse of sunlight to the south their spirits arose somewhat. The wind now began to go down perceptibly and by five it no longer roared down on them from the northwest, but, swinging around to the northeast, became quite docile and friendly. They put up their sail again and gradually the _Catspaw_ pointed her nose toward the coast. Just before darkness came the sea had quieted enough to make possible an attempt to get the cables aboard again and those on the schooner saw the cruisers draw together. Steve and Phil caught the line hurled from the _Follow Me_ after several attempts and then the tender was dropped over and with the two cables aboard the boys made for the _Catspaw_. Those on the schooner watched anxiously. At one moment the tiny dingey was seen poised on the summit of a great green sea and the next was quite gone from sight. The sun came out momentarily before saying Good Night, as though to watch that struggle. At last the tender came sidling down the slope of a wave, the occupants striving hard at the oars, and after one breathless moment, during which it seemed that the little boat would be crushed to splinters against the old black hull of the schooner, Joe caught the painter, Steve made a flying leap for the deck and gained it in safety, and Phil, boat-hook in hand, worked manfully and skilfully to fend off while the cables were brought aboard. The dingey had fetched food as well and a shout of joy went up as Phil, taking advantage of the calm moments between the rushing waves, hurled the bundles to the deck. There was little time for conversation, for darkness was coming fast, but Steve heard a brief account of the _Catspaw's_ experiences, and, while helping to make fast the cables, told of the night aboard the _Adventurer_. "It was fierce," Steve said. "No one had much sleep, I guess. We almost pitched on our nose time and again. If it hadn't been for you chaps we'd have cut and run about midnight. We lost sight of your lights several times; they were so low in the water, and thought that you'd gone down at first. The _Follow Me_ had to run for it, and I guess they weren't very happy either. But we'll make it this time. It's clearing up nicely and we're only forty miles from Portsmouth. Keep your lips stiff, fellows, and we'll be eating breakfast ashore!" The dingey pulled off again, narrowly escaping capsizing more than once, and ten minutes afterwards the _Catspaw_ was once more wallowing along in the wake of the cruisers. Supper, with bacon and potatoes and lots of bread, perked the crew up mightily, and when the stars began to peep through the scudding clouds and the sea stopped tormenting the poor old _Catspaw_ they got quite cheerful. That second night was an easy one for all hands. The weather cleared entirely by two o'clock and the sea calmed to almost normal conditions. The _Catspaw_ strained along at the ends of the cables at about three miles an hour until she got close enough to the shore to feel the tide. After that she went more slowly. At early dawn--and it was a real dawn this time, with sunlight on the water and a golden glow in the eastern sky--the Isles of Shoals lay six miles to the southwest and the blue shore line was beckoning them. At a little before eleven that forenoon the _Catspaw_ passed Portsmouth Light and half an hour later, having been given over to the care of a tug, was lying snugly against a wharf. It was a tired but triumphant dozen that stretched their legs ashore at noon and set out in search of dinner. Already they had answered a score of questions and told their story half a dozen times, and even after they were seated at table in the best restaurant that the city afforded--and it was a very good restaurant, too--an enterprising newspaper reporter found them out and Steve, as spokesman, recounted their adventures once more between mouthfuls. And when at last they could eat no more and the reporter had gone off to write his story, Steve, Joe and Wink set forth to an address they had secured on the wharf and the others adjourned to the porch of a nearby hotel to await their return. "Tell him," instructed Perry as they parted, "that we won't accept a cent less than a thousand dollars! And," he added to himself, "I wouldn't go through it again for fifty thousand!" CHAPTER XXIII SALVAGE Mr. Anthony T. Hyatt, attorney-at-law, leaned smilingly back in a swivel-chair, matched ten pudgy fingers together and smiled expansively at his clients. There was a great deal of Mr. Hyatt, and much of it lay directly behind his clasped hands. He had a large, round face in the centre of which a small, sharp nose surmounted a wide mouth and was flanked by a pair of pale brown eyes at once innocent and shrewd. Steve counted three chins and was not certain there wasn't another tucked away behind the collar of the huge shirt. Mr. Hyatt had a deep and mellow voice, and his words rolled and rumbled out like the reverberations of a good-natured thunder storm. From the windows of the bright, breeze-swept office the boys could look far out to sea, and it was possible that the faintly nautical atmosphere that appertained both to the office and its occupant was due to the sight and smell of the salt water. While Steve told his story the lawyer's expression slowly changed from jovial amusement to surprise, and when the narrative was ended he drew himself ponderously from the chair and rolled to a window. "You say you've got her tied up to Sawyer's Wharf, eh?" he asked. "Yes, sir." "I want to know! Well! Well! Where'd you say you came across her?" Steve told him again. "And you brought her in yourself, eh?" "The lot of us did. Now what we want to know is what claim have we got against the owners, Mr. Hyatt?" The lawyer heaved himself back to his chair and lowered himself into it with what the boys thought was a most reckless disregard of the article's capacity and strength. But the chair only creaked dismally. "Of course you do! Of course you do!" he rumbled smilingly. "But s'posing I was to tell you you hadn't any claim at all on 'em?" "What! No claim at all?" exclaimed Steve. The man laughed and shook. "I only said s'posing," he protested. He weaved his fingers together again over his ample stomach. "As a matter of law, young gentlemen, you have an excellent claim, a steel-bound, double-riveted claim. Whether it's against the owners or some insurance company is what you'll have to find out first. Most likely that ship and cargo were insured. As to just what amount you are entitled to, the law doesn't state. That's a matter generally agreed on between the salvors and the owners. When no agreement can be reached the case goes to the Admiralty Court." "Oh," said Steve. "The first thing to do--" "I guess the first thing to do is find out who the owners are and see what they have to say. If they make you a fair offer, well and good. Now, do you want me to take this case for you?" "Why, yes, sir, I think so," replied Steve, glancing inquiringly at the others, who nodded assent. "How much--that is, what--" "What would I charge you for my services?" boomed the lawyer. "Nothing at all, boys, unless you get a settlement. If we don't have to go to court you may pay me a hundred dollars. If we do, we'll make another arrangement later. That satisfactory?" "Yes, indeed," answered Steve heartily, and the rest murmured agreement. "How long will it take to find out, sir?" "I'll have the owner's name in half an hour. Then I'll send them a wire. You drop in tomorrow at this time and I dare say I'll have something to tell you. I'll have a look at the boat this afternoon and get an idea of her value as a bottom. Then we'll get someone to give an estimate on her cargo. Would you be willing to pay ten dollars for an appraisement?" "Yes, sir, if that's advisable." "Well, I think it is. We'd better know what we've got, eh? All right, gentlemen. You leave it to me. Where are you stopping?" "We're staying aboard our boats, sir, the _Adventurer_ and the _Follow Me_." "I want to know! Regular mariners, ain't ye? Well! Well! Guess you're having a fine time, too, eh?" "Yes, sir, we've had a pretty good time. About--about how much do you think we ought to get for the boat, Mr. Hyatt?" "Including cargo? Well, now, I don't know, Mister--What did you say your name is?" "Stephen Chapman." "Mr. Stephen Chapman, eh?" The lawyer wrote it on a scrap of paper and thrust it carelessly into a pigeon-hole of the old walnut desk. "Well, there ought to be a tidy sum coming to you, sir; yes, sir, a tidy sum. Lumber is fetching money just now, and you tell me the _Catspaw_ is loaded high." "Yes, sir, she's loaded up to her rails. Do you suppose we'll get a thousand dollars?" "A thousand dollars, eh?" Mr. Hyatt beamed broadly and nodded until all his chins in sight shook. "Yes, you might look for a thousand dollars, boys. It isn't sense to get your expectations too high, but I guess you can safely bank on a thousand. Oh, yes, a thousand isn't unreasonable. Well, you drop around tomorrow and maybe there'll be something to report. I'll get right to work, gentlemen. Good afternoon!" "Funny old whale, isn't he?" commented Joe when they were once more on the street. "Suppose he knows what he's talking about?" "Why not?" asked Wink. "He struck me as being rather a canny customer." "Well, he said a thousand dollars," replied Joe. "That's a lot of money, isn't it, for an old schooner like the _Catspaw_?" "It isn't much for the schooner and the cargo, too," said Steve. "I'm wondering if it oughtn't to be a lot more; say fifteen hundred. You see, a schooner like that costs quite a lot of money when it's new. And then, as Mr. Hyatt said, lumber is high right now, and there's a pile of it on board." "A thousand will suit me all right," said Joe. "A twelfth of a thousand is--is--" "A thirteenth you mean," corrected Steve. "Don't forget Neil." "And don't count your chickens until they're hatched," Wink advised. "It's unlucky, Joe." They found the other members of the expedition in various states of coma induced by a hearty dinner and lack of sleep, but they were all wide awake when Steve announced the result of the visit to the lawyer. "Gee!" exclaimed "Brownie." "A thousand dollars! He's fooling, isn't he? Why, I thought we'd get maybe three hundred!" "A thousand isn't a cent too much," said Perry. "Come to think of it, fellows, I earned that much myself!" "Just a minute, fellows," said Steve, interrupting the jeers that greeted Perry's statement. "What are we going to do with the money when we get it?" There was a moment of silence. Then Tom Corwin inquired: "Do with it? How do you mean, do with it, Steve? I thought it would be divided up pro rata." "Of course," agreed Cas and Ossie in unison. "Wait a minute," said Phil. "Steve's got something on his mind. Let's hear it." Steve swung himself to the porch rail and faced the half-circle of boys. "It's just an idea," he began, "and if you don't like it you've only got to say so. As I look at it, fellows, this club has been a good deal of a success. If we haven't had any whopping big adventures, we've had some mild ones--" "Great Jumping Jehoshaphat!" muttered Han. "What do you call adventures?" Steve smiled and went on, "At any rate, we've had a whole lot of fun. At least, I have." He looked about him inquiringly. "You bet we have!" answered Joe heartily, and the rest echoed him. "Of course, we got the club up just for this Summer, I suppose, but I don't see any reason why we shouldn't make it a--a permanent affair." "Bully!" exclaimed Perry. "Second the motion!" "Sit down!" growled Wink. "There's next Summer coming, fellows. We could do something like this again if we wanted to. We needn't make a trip in motor-boats, but we could do something just as good. Well, now, why not take this money when we get it and stow it away in the Club treasury instead of spending it? Then we'd have enough to do almost anything we liked next year. If we each got our seventy-seven dollars, or whatever the shares might be, we'd have it spent in a month and never know where it got to. But if we put it in the bank at interest we'd--we'd have something. If you don't like the scheme, just say so. I'm willing to do whatever the rest of you say, only I thought--" "It's a corking idea," declared Harry Corwin enthusiastically. "You're dead right, Steve, too. Seventy-seven dollars would last about two weeks with me. Why hang it, I've had it spent ten times already, and each time for some fool thing I didn't really want! I say, let's keep the Club going, fellows, and put the money in the treasury. And let Phil deposit it in a bank. At four per cent, or whatever it is banks pay you, it would come to nearly--nearly thirty dollars by next Summer. And thirty dollars would buy us gasoline for a month!" "Right you are," agreed Wink. "We'll make a real club of it." "How about the rest of you?" asked Steve. The others were all in favour, although Perry couldn't quite smother a sigh of regret for the cash in hand he had dreamed of, and there followed an enthusiastic discussion of plans for next Summer, and Bert Alley echoed the sentiment of all when he remarked regretfully that next Summer was an awfully long way off! Ossie made the suggestion that it might be a good plan to reimburse the members from the salvage money for what sums they had expended on the present cruise, explaining, however, that he wasn't particular on his own account. The question was argued and finally decided in the negative. As Phil put it, what they had spent would have been spent in any case, whether they had gone on the cruise or stayed at home, and they had all received full value for their contributions. Still planning, they went back to the boats and spent the rest of the afternoon in cleaning them up inside and out, for both the _Adventurer_ and the _Follow Me_ had been sadly neglected for the past forty-eight hours. Being persons of wealth, they supped ashore and went to a moving picture show, and afterwards, since no one had had his full allowance of sleep for the past two nights, "hit the hay," in Perry's phraseology, in short order and slept like so many logs until sun-up. "I wish," remarked Han at breakfast the next morning, "that we were just starting out instead of going home." "Me too," agreed Perry. "It'll be all over in two or three days, and I'll have to go back to school again. I suppose," he added sadly, "I shan't see any of you fellows again until next Summer; no one but Ossie, that is." "You don't have to look at me if you don't want to," said Ossie, reaching backward into the galley for the coffee-pot. "I'm not particular." "You'll see us before Summer," replied Steve. "I've been thinking." "So that's it," murmured Joe. "I thought maybe you just--um--hadn't slept well." "If we're going to keep the Club together," continued Steve, treating the interruption disdainfully, "we've got to keep in touch with each other. Suppose now we have a meeting about Christmas time, during vacation." "Good scheme!" applauded Phil. "I think so. My idea is to keep out about thirty dollars of that money, or take it out later, I suppose, and have a feed somewhere, a sort of Annual Banquet of the Adventure Club of America, not Incorporated. We could hold a business meeting first and then feed our faces and talk over this Summer's fun and have a jolly old time. What do you say! Pass the sugar, Han." [Illustration: "They offer you--" Mr. Hyatt leaned forward in the protesting chair] They said many things, but they were all in praise of the idea, and later the _Follow Me's_ contingent was quite as enthusiastic, and Steve, in his official capacity of Number One, finally found a calendar and solemnly announced that Saturday, the twenty-third day of December, was the date, that the hour was six o'clock, post meredian, and that the place would be decided on later. After which they all went ashore and passed the time until dinner in various ways. And at a little before two Steve, Joe and Wink once more climbed the narrow stairway to Lawyer Hyatt's office. "I have here," said Mr. Hyatt, when they had seated themselves and greetings had been exchanged and the weather duly and thoroughly disposed of, "a telegram from Barrows and Leland, of Norfolk, Virginia, agents for the owners of the schooner _Catspaw_. In it they make an offer of settlement of your claim, subject, of course, to the facts and conditions being as stated in my telegram to them." He paused impressively and the boys shuffled their feet in silent expectancy. "Hm. Now I'm not going to advise you to accept their offer and I'm not going to advise you not to," he rumbled. "Only, I do say this, gentlemen. If you take your case to the Admiralty Court it will cost you a good deal of money and you won't get a final judgment for a long time. Of course, you might, in the end, get a better figure. I'd almost be willing to guarantee that you would. But you want to remember that the costs of a trial aren't small and that they might eat a big hole in the difference between the present offer and the court's award." "What--what do they offer us?" asked Steve as the lawyer paused to clear his throat. "There's no doubt that the value of the _Catspaw_ and her cargo is a sight more than these fellows offer us," resumed Mr. Hyatt, quite as though he had not heard the question. "But there's the old adage about a bird on toast being worth more than a bird on the telegraph wire." He chuckled deeply. "And, of course, no owner ever thinks of paying the full value of salvaged property. Nor does the court expect him to. Something like an equable division is what they try to award." "Yes, sir," murmured Steve nervously. "Yes, sir. Would you mind--" "You said something yesterday about a thousand dollars, and I told you you might expect that much, didn't I?" Steve nodded silently. "Well--" The lawyer took up a sheet of creased yellow paper from the desk and ran his eyes along the message thereon. "Well, I've got to tell you they don't offer you a thousand, boys." "Oh!" murmured Steve. "Don't they?" gasped Joe weakly. "Then what--" began Wink dejectedly. "They offer you--" Mr. Hyatt leaned forward in the protesting chair and held the telegram toward Steve--"they offer you four thousand, seven hundred and sixty-one dollars, young gentlemen." * * * * * Isn't this a good place to end our story? I might tell how they wired the good news to Neil, and how they set forth that afternoon for New York, and how, after a jolly but uneventful trip, the two boats parted company off Bay Shore, and how the _Adventurer_, having done her best to deserve the name she bore, at last sidled up to a slip in the yacht basin and discharged her crew. And I might depict the awed delight with which, two days later, Steve, Joe and Phil gazed upon a narrow strip of green paper bearing the wonderful legend "Four Thousand Seven Hundred Sixty-one Dollars." But we set out in search of adventures, and we have reached the last of them, and so the chronicle should end. And since it began with a remark from Perry let us end it so. Perry's closing remark was made from the platform of the train for Philadelphia. "Good-bye, you fellows," said Perry, smiling widely to show that he didn't mind leaving the others the least bit in the world. "We had a corking good time, didn't we? But just let me tell you something. It isn't a patch on the fun we're going to have on the next trip of the Adventure Club!" 
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21107	----	On Board the Esmeralda; or, Martin Leigh's Log by John Conroy Hutcheson _______________________________________________________________ There is no doubt that John Hutcheson was a talented writer of books for teenagers. Most of his books were about the sea, but few of them were as well-written as this one. What is meant here is that his English style is very good, even when he brings in characters whose command of English is less perfect; and also that he drives his characters from one gripping situation to another. The hero, Martin Leigh, is the son of a brave British Naval officer, who was killed in Africa when the boy is very young. The mother also dies, and Martin is left an orphan, to be brought up by his father's brother. He has a horrible time in this family, and Aunt Matilda is his chief tormentor. Eventually he is sent to a cheap boarding school with a prospectus in no way matched by reality. Again he has a horrible time, for several years, but is befriended by another boy, Tom. One year, on Guy Fawkes' Day, they perpetrate a misdemeanour far beyond what they should have done, and are sentenced to be expelled. They run away, and stow away in a little coaster. When they are discovered, the captain beats them even worse than the Headmaster of their school had done. So Martin, aged thirteen, has known nothing but hard times. He meets with nice people, has a while in which he gets his act together, and then goes to sea again. This trip is full of adventure, near misses and disasters. Fire at sea, wrecked on the southern tip of South Anerica, and finally back home to the kind people who had befriended him when he had that early chance to settle down. It is a well-written book, easy to read or to listen to, and I recommend it as one of Hutcheson's best. N.H. ________________________________________________________________ ON BOARD THE ESMERALDA; OR, MARTIN LEIGH'S LOG BY JOHN CONROY HUTCHESON CHAPTER ONE. EARLY DAYS. It is strange what trifling events--little things apparently in themselves--seem to have the power of shaping our different destinies, and colouring, so to speak, the whole course of our subsequent life! To illustrate this, I may state without exaggeration that, had it not been for Dr Hellyer's hat--taken in connection with the mischievous promptings of that madcap Tom Larkyns, my special chum at the time--it is more than probable that the grand climax which so abruptly brought my school-days to a close might have been averted; and, in that case, following out the argument, I should not have gone to sea; have never started on that disastrous voyage round Cape Horn which nearly terminated my then newly-commenced nautical career as summarily as my whilom academical studies had been put a stop to just previously; and, as a natural consequence, I should most certainly have never had the opportunity or necessity for spinning the present yarn. But, perhaps, the best plan for me to pursue, in order to make you fully understand the matter in all its bearings, will be to "begin at the beginning," as your regular 'longshore professional storytellers say, in the good old- fashioned way, without any more backing and filling, and veering and hauling, which mode of progression, as every decent sailor knows, only tends to take a craft off her proper true course, and make lots of leeway; whereas, if we sail on free, with a fair wind and a steady helm, you'll soon be able to follow in my wake and form a correct opinion of your own as to the merits of my logical conclusions. I will now, therefore, put back again and select a fresh point of departure after this little bit of sea lawyering; so, here goes for a start in earnest! My name is Martin Leigh, and my mother died shortly after I was born, worse luck for me! My father, who was a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, being within a year or two subsequently killed in action up the Niger river on the west coast of Africa, I was left an orphan at a very early age, without having ever experienced, even in my most remote childish recollections, those two greatest of all blessings--a mother's love and parental guidance--which many who have been more fortunate than myself to possess are, as I have frequently noticed in after-life, but too often in the habit of undervaluing and making light of. At the time of my birth, my father was abroad on service in the exercise of his profession, having no private fortune or other resources which would have enabled him to live at home on his half-pay; and on my mother's early death I was taken charge of at his request by his brother, a man considerably older than himself, with a wife and family of his own. Of course, while my father lived he made over a portion of the _honorarium_ given him by a grateful country in return for exposing his life at the call of duty; but, on his suddenly succumbing to the effects of a murderous slug shot through the lungs, fired from the old flint musket of one of the King of Abarri's adherents, in the pestilential African stream up which he had gone to demolish a native stronghold that had defied the fetish of the British flag, this allowance for my support ceased, and I was thenceforth left a poor pensioner on my uncle's bounty. I will do my relative the justice of stating that I do not believe he would have grudged the extra expense I entailed on his already well-populated household, had it not been for my aunt. This lady, however, affectionately regarded me as an interloper from the very first; and I have a vivid memory, even now, of the aggravating way she had of talking about the food I ate and the clothes I wore out--although, goodness knows, my tailor's bill could not have amounted to much in those days, as I was invariably made the residuary legatee of my elder cousin Ralph's cast-off jackets and trousers, which, when pretty nearly dilapidated, used to be made over to my use, after being first cut down by my Aunt Matilda's own fair hands to suit my more juvenile proportions. To make a long story short, I could plainly perceive, young as I was, long before I had cut my eye teeth, that I was looked upon as an uncalled-for incumbrance by my relatives, senior and junior alike--Aunt Matilda never being dissuaded, by any fear of hurting my feelings, from continually speaking of my pauper condition, and throwing it, as it were, in my face, wondering in her hypocritical way what special sin she could have committed that she should thus be afflicted in having to "deny her own children their rightful bread," that I, miserable orphan, might "wax fat and kick," as she said; while my cousins, who were a very mean lot, dutifully followed the example set them by their mother, in making me "realise my position," as they termed their cruel tyranny. Uncle George used sometimes to take my part when some hazy recollection of his dead brother came before his mind, declaring that as long as he had a crust to spare I should not want; still, as the incessant dropping of water will in the end wear away stone, so my aunt's persistent nagging and iteration of my shortcomings in resisting my cousins' bullying had their due effect in time. The upshot was that, when I had just turned my twelfth year and had experienced a childhood of martyrdom which I trust few others situated like myself will ever have to undergo, my uncle came to the determination of sending me away to a cheap boarding-school at a distance, where I was to be taught and boarded and "found" for the munificent sum I believe of twelve pounds annually. The proviso was, I may add, especially insisted on by my Aunt Matilda, that I was not to return "home"--I beg that hearty word's pardon for so misapplying it-- for the holidays at any period whatever, but was to spend my whole time under the academical roof-tree until my pupilage should expire. Hitherto I had received no regular instruction whatever, and had it not been for the kind offices of a good-natured servant-maid, I would have been unable either to read or write. Indeed, I believe the neighbours must have gossiped about my neglected state and the position I occupied in the house, where I had to perform all sorts of menial offices, and was hardly ever allowed out of doors, except on Sundays, when I had to go to the chapel which my aunt attended. Be that as it may, at all events, I was told by my friend, the maid-servant aforesaid, that the minister of this chapel had remonstrated on my behalf. Thence came the determination on my uncle's part to send me to school; for I am certain that if my dear aunt could have had her own way, without the fear of being talked about in the locality, she would much rather have entrusted me to the care of the parochial authorities. However, in whatever way the matter was decided, I know that when I heard the news I felt inclined to jump for joy, considering "going to school," which is so dreaded at first by boys with happier homes than I had been accustomed to, would be a delightful deliverance from the misery to which I had been condemned from infancy in my uncle's house--living like an Ishmael, with every hand, save that of Uncle George and Molly the maid, raised against me. "Now, Martin," said my uncle, when he informed me of the result of the family council held on my case, "as I'm only a poor man, I'm straining a point and crippling my means in order to send you to school; but I am doing it so that you may be educated to earn your own living, which you'll have to do as soon as the three years expire for which I have contracted with Dr Hellyer; after that it will be out of my power to do anything further for you." "All right, uncle," said I, buoyantly, so carried away with excitement at the news that I almost felt kindly disposed towards my aunt, who was standing by, although she tried to damp my spirits as much as in her lay. "You are only throwing away your money, George," she remarked acidly to my uncle. "He has always shown an ungrateful, thankless disposition; and his bad, undutiful temper will be certain to bring him to ruin!" "Let us hope not," replied uncle, placidly. He was a quiet, easy-going business man, employed in the City, and used to let things quietly take their own course, except when sometimes they touched him too keenly to be left unnoticed. He then went on addressing me: "You will have to be steady and diligent, making the most of your time; and the master will report to me every quarter as to your conduct and zeal in learning." "Nice reports they'll be!" interposed my aunt, mockingly. "Well, well," hurriedly concluded Uncle George, to get the thing ended as soon as possible. "Your fortune is all in your own hands, and I hope and trust, if only for your father's sake, you will turn out well! Remember, that if Dr Hellyer gives a good general report of you at the end of your three years' term, I'll try to get you into a City warehouse or office; but if you behave badly, why, you'll have to shift for yourself, and go your own course, as I shall wash my hands of you!" There the conversation ended, with an intimation that I was to go to Dr Hellyer's school in three days' time. The interval passed like a whirlwind to me; for not only were my thoughts full of the new life on which I was entering, but there was in addition the very unusual bustle attendant on my being provided with a wardrobe--I for whom anything had been good enough before! My uncle, however, had now made it a _sine qua non_ that I should be fitted out properly with decent clothes, and, consequently, my aunt was obliged to furnish me with a thorough rig, selected from my Cousin Ralph's surplus stock. One thing pleased me in this better than all else! It was that, instead of having my outer raiment composed, as previously, of Ralph's cast-off garments, I was measured for an entirely new suit of my own. This alone was an unexpected gratification; for I hated the fact of my being compelled to wear Ralph's discarded clothes. It had been gall and wormwood to me. I loathed myself for having to put them on, and loathed him as the malicious instrument that caused me to be so degraded--the more especially as my cousin would in "a friendly sort of way" frequently allude to the circumstance of the clothes having been formerly his, calling attention to my want of care in treating them properly! All things have an end, fortunately, and the morning arrived at last when I had to bid farewell to the villa on the outskirts of Islington where I had passed so many miserable years. Molly, the servant-maid, was the only one in the house with whom I parted with any regret; and it was with feelings considerably more exultant than sad that I accompanied my uncle to the City in the omnibus which he always took to his place of business, that convenient vehicle passing by in its route the corner of the road where uncle lived. Arriving at the London Bridge terminus, Uncle George ensconced me and my box in a train, bound for Beachampton, at which retired and out-of-the- way little watering-place was situated Dr Hellyer's school. Handing me then my railway ticket and a two-and-sixpenny "tip," Uncle George gave me a hearty hand-shake, wishing me good-bye and a safe journey. "Mind you be a good boy, and pay attention to your lessons," he said. "And--listen, Martin--should you ever be in any serious trouble, you can write and let me know. But mind," added Uncle George, "you mustn't forget, my boy, to address your letters to my office, and not to the villa; for your Aunt Matilda might not like the idea, you know, eh!" "All right, Uncle George," I answered. "I will remember where to write to, never fear. Good-bye now, and thank you for all your kindness to me." "Good-bye, Martin!" he echoed; and, as the train moved slowly out of the station, I really felt quite sorry to part with him; but, as the panting engine proceeded on its way, going faster as it emerged from the labyrinthic terminus on to the open line, dragging the groaning, wheezing, jolting carriages behind it--the clatter of the wheels and rattle of the coupling-chains keeping time with the puffs and pants of escaping steam--my temporary emotion at parting with Uncle George was banished by the exultant feeling of being set free, like a bird let loose from a cage. I was only conscious that I was flying along to new scenes and new surroundings, where everything would be fresh and novel, and entirely unlike what I had previously been accustomed to at Tapioca Villa. CHAPTER TWO. AT BEACHAMPTON. My journey "down the line" was a momentous matter to me in more ways than one; for, independently of the fact of its being the first opportunity I had ever had of riding in a railway train, it was while travelling down to Brighton, and thence along the endless south coast route past Shoreham and Worthing, that I had my first sight of the sea-- that sea on whose restless bosom my floating home was to be made for many a year afterwards in good fortune and ill. I must confess, however, that this first view of the element did not impress me very greatly, in spite of the tendency of my mind at that period to take a rose-coloured view of everything new that came within range of my vision, so long as it was totally disconnected with old associations of the Islington villa; for, from the window of the third- class carriage, whence I was peering out eagerly to see all that was to be seen, the marine horizon that stretched out before my gaze appeared more like a large inverted wash-hand basin than anything else, with the ships that were going up and down Channel, seeming to be sailing in a curve along its outer rim; while, instead of the vivid hue of cerulean blue that had been pictured in my imagination as the invariable tint of Neptune's domain, the sober tone of the tumid element was that of a dull brownish-grey, reflecting the unwholesome leaden-tinged sky above, and, there being no wind to speak of, there wasn't the ghost of a ripple perceptible on its sullen, silent surface! Even novelty tires after a time, and long before I had reached my destination I had got heartily sick of railway travelling; so, I was very glad when, after changing carriages at a junction between Brighton and somewhere else on the line, sometimes going fast, sometimes slow, and thus crawling along landwise and seaward through miles of country for four hours or more, the train came to a standstill beside the platform of the little station to which I had been consigned on leaving London. "'Champt'n! 'Champt'n!" cried out somebody with a cracked voice, and this sound approximating to the name of the place I was looking out for, combined with the fact that the engine began vigorously to blow off steam, I became convinced that I had arrived at my goal; so, out I got from the uncomfortable and cushionless carriage in which I had performed the toilsome journey, not forgetting, you may be sure, the box containing my grand rig-out of new clothes, which Aunt Matilda would not let me wear on the journey for fear, as she said, of my spoiling them. This box I had carefully kept on a seat beside me, in full view of my watchful eye, all the way, lest some accident might befall it, although not another soul save myself occupied the compartment. When taking leave of me, Uncle George had said that some responsible person would meet me on my arrival at the station to take charge of me, from the "scholastic establishment;" and as I had conceived the most magnificent ideas of this place from a lithograph I had seen at the top of the prospectus referring to it, representing a palatial mansion standing in its own grounds, with a commanding view of the adjacent sea, I stared about the platform, expecting to see a gorgeous footman in livery or some other imposing personage, who would presently step up requesting me to take a seat in a coach-and-four or similar stately vehicle, and then drive me off in triumph to the educational mansion. But, lo and behold! no footman or imposing personage made his appearance; nor did any one seem to be on the look-out for my insignificant self. My spirits began to sink almost to zero, which point they reached anon in the descending scale, when, as soon as everybody else who had come by the train had bustled out of the station, an old and broken-down looking porter, in a shabby velveteen jacket, standing on the other side of the line, shouted out to me across the rails in a tone of inquiry, and in a voice which I immediately recognised as that which had screeched out the name of the place as the train ran in-- "B'y fur Hellyer's, hey?" I felt annihilated. "Do you mean to ask whether I am the new pupil for Dr Hellyer's establishment?" I said--with some dignity, I flatter myself. But that horrible porter was not a bit abashed! "Yees," he drawled out in his cracked accents, with an intonation that clearly evinced the fact of his having been born in Sussex. "Hellyer's school i' the village, b'y, that's wat I mean! Y'er to come along o' me. Poot yer box on yer shoulder and crass the line, young maister, an' I'll shoo yer way down." This was not to be borne. I had been treated like a menial in my uncle's household, and had perforce to bear it, but I had made up my mind on leaving Tapioca Villa that I should never be so degraded again if I could possibly help it. It wasn't likely, therefore, that I was now going to be at the beck and call of a railway porter, after all my boastful resolves--not quite! I flew into a passion at once: I felt inclined to kill the unfortunate man. "Come over and take up my box yourself, porter," I cried angrily, my face flaring up furiously as I spoke, I have no doubt. "I shall not forget, either, to complain to Dr Hellyer about your insolence." "Ho, ho, ho, the-at be a good un," laughed the old man from his vantage- ground on the opposite platform. "I thinks I say un neow, an' you a- talkin' 'bout I!" However, as I stamped my foot and repeated my order in a tone of command, he, evidently much surprised and obeying from the force of habit in one accustomed to yield to others, crossed over the line, the broad country yokel grin with which he had received my first reply, giving place to a surly look. "Y'er a foine young bantam," he muttered grumblingly in his wheezy cracked voice, as he stooped to raise my precious box, "but I specs, young maister, yer'll soon ha' yer comb cut, sure-ly!" I said nothing further to this sally, my anger having by this time evaporated; and the old man, poising the light load easily on one shoulder, walked leisurely out of the station without uttering another word, I following him also in silence. Proceeding along a straggling street, which was more like a country lane than anything else, with a few shops scattered about here and there at intervals, for more than half a mile or more--he in front with my box, I closely stepping in the rear--after turning sharp round to the right and then to the left, past a little corner building which seemed to be a wayside inn, but was triumphantly lettered "hotel" along the top of its gable end, we at length debouched on to a solitary-looking semi-deserted row of red-brick houses that occupied one side of a wild-looking, furze- grown common, which I could perceive faced the sea; the sound of the low murmurs of the waves on the beach alone breaking the stillness of the desolate scene. This terrace apparently consisted entirely of lodging houses, and it being the month of November, and the "season" of the little watering- place having closed, bills with "Apartments to Let" were exposed in the windows of almost all; almost, but not quite all, for my crack-voiced friend when he arrived about the middle of the row stopped in front of one of the most unprepossessing habitations of the lot, without any notice displayed like the others. Here, putting down my box on the steps, he rang a side-bell that gave out a melancholy clang for a moment, and caused quite a bustle of excitement in the two adjacent houses, heads being popped out to see who the unexpected new-comers might be. "Here be un," said the old porter, taking off his leathern cap, and wiping his forehead with what looked like a tattered "Danger" flag that had been used up on the line and discarded from further service. "Oh!" I ejaculated, having nothing further to say, for, on seeing the grand establishment I had anticipated dwarfed to such very humble proportions, I felt terribly small and contemptible in my own sight. The dignity that I had so recently aired at the old man's expense shrank into nothingness, and I was quite relieved that he did not take advantage of the opportunity to "put me down a peg or two." As a sort of sop to Cerberus, and in order to try and maintain my position of independence a few moments longer, I drew out the odd sixpence which Uncle George had put into my hand along with the two shillings of my tip, giving it to the old porter with the air of one with whom such trifling coins were as plentiful as blackberries! "Take that, my good man," said I, "for your trouble in showing me the way." "H'm!" he grunted between his teeth, but whether meaning to thank me or not, I could not say; and then, without waiting for the door to be opened, as I naturally imagined, he turned on his heel, and made off back again towards the station. I had to ring a second time at the side-bell before any person appeared to answer my summons; and then, sad be it to relate, the portal of the mansion was opened by a dirty, down-at-heels, draggle-tailed old woman instead of the staid, respectable man-servant who should have officiated as janitor to be in proper keeping with the brilliant prospectus before mentioned. "Oh, it's you, is it!" exclaimed the old woman, who had drawn back the door gingerly as if she had expected some one else on possibly a hostile mission, for an expression of relief came over her face when she saw only me; and then, ushering me into a little room leading out of the hall, she left me there, telling me to sit down. I had brought my box in with me, you may be sure, otherwise this feat would have been impossible, as there was not a single chair in the apartment, the major portion of the furniture of the house, as I subsequently learnt, having been seized by the sheriff's officers for rent. My first interview with Doctor Hellyer did not last very long; but it certainly was to the point, so far as it went towards impressing me with his ponderous personality, for he was a big, smooth-faced, fat, oily man, with a crafty look in his little twinkling eyes. "Ah, Leigh--ah," said he on coming, presently, into the room, "you've come at last--ah?" This "ah-ing" of his was a confirmed habit, for he never seemed able to begin or end a sentence without dragging in the ejaculation. "Yes, sir," I replied, rising up from my box, and taking off my cap politely. "Ah--I've had a nice character of you from your aunt, my dear young gentleman," he proceeded, blinking his little ferret-like eyes furiously, and with a dubious sort of grin expanding his wide mouth, which was furnished with a set of teeth like a shark's. "She tells me-- ah--Master Leigh, that you are rude, and bold, and bad, and disobedient--ah--and that I shall have to keep a strict watch over your conduct; but I think--ah--you will find yourself in good hands here, my dee-er boy, really in good hands at last--ah!" and, smiling an ogreish smile, he rubbed the palms of the said members together up and down and over one another in a circular way as if he were kneading up a little ball of putty within them, and I was that ball! CHAPTER THREE. MY CHUM. Of course, as you may suppose, I offered no reply to this characteristic introductory address of Dr Hellyer, although the allusion he made to Aunt Matilda's treachery in trying to prejudice him against me--an attempt which, apparently, was as successful as it was intended to be-- made me boil over with suppressed passion. It was just like her, I thought! I had hoped, on leaving Tapioca Villa, to have escaped the influence of her spiteful malignity; and yet here, at a distance, it was pursuing me still, when I really believed myself for ever beyond its reach. The reflection so maddened me that, as I was unable at the time to give vent to my anger, my face flushed up as it always did when I was so roused by my temper getting the better of me; and I dare say I looked like a bellicose young turkey-cock. My schoolmaster took advantage of the opportunity to "improve the occasion." "Ah, I see," he went on, "your aunt was quite right in her estimate of your disposition; but, my dear excitable young friend, I must--ah--give you fair warning that if you feel inclined to be rude at any time, you'd better not be rude here, and if you are bold--ah--you'll get bowled out! Ah--that was an unintentional pun, Leigh, but I don't think you'll find me joking when I have to come to the point. Mind, I never flog a boy under any circumstances, but I've got an equally efficacious way of my own for making my pupils obey me, which never fails, and you'll probably have an early chance of getting familiar with it! Oh no, I never flog, but I've a way of my own, Master Leigh, a way of my own--ah!" The infinite relish and gusto with which he repeated these last words of his are utterly indescribable; while the grin that overspread his fat countenance, wrinkling up its fleshy folds, can only be compared to the expression one sees carved out on those hideous gargoyles with which the architects of former days decorated the odd corners of our cathedrals. I couldn't help shivering in my shoes; and Dr Hellyer, noticing this, evidently thought that he had made sufficient impression for a start, for, dropping his terrible, rolling, ponderous voice, he spoke to me more amiably. "Now, leave your box here and it shall be taken up presently to the dormitory. Come along with me and I'll introduce you--ah--to your schoolfellows." To hear was to obey; so, deserting my hitherto keenly-watched little property with many misgivings as to the chances of my ever setting eyes on it again, I followed Dr Hellyer out of the room and along a narrow passage that led directly to the back of the house. Throwing open a door at the further end, a flight of short stone steps was disclosed, descending to a wide yard or garden--that is, if one solitary tree in a remote corner supplied sufficient vegetation to give the place such a name--where I could see a lot of boys of all ages and sizes jumping about and otherwise diverting themselves. "Ah--this is our--ah--playground, Leigh," explained the master, with a comprehensive wave of his arm; and, then, the chorus of yells, shouts, screams, and stray laughter that at first echoed through my ears, like the din of Pandemonium, having ceased as soon as the Doctor's presence in their midst was perceived by the boys, that worthy very briefly introduced me. "Here's a new boy--ah--make friends with him; but, ah--no fighting!" Having thus done as much as he thought necessary, the master withdrew, shutting the door that communicated with the house behind him; and I, going down the steps, with some little hesitation in the face of all the mass of boys who were now staring at me, with, it seemed to me, the concentrated look of one, found myself in a minute surrounded by them. I was just like a solitary pigeon amongst a flock of rooks, for all, as if with a single voice, began eagerly shouting out a series of the most personal questions, without giving me time to answer them individually. After a bit, the clamour somewhat ceased, and then a tall, slenderly- built chap, who appeared to be the cock of the school, came up to me, while the others formed a circle around us two, waiting for the upshot of their leader's action. It was enough to make one feel nervous, for they all became suddenly silent, although I could see one or two nudging each other and grinning gleefully, as if some highly interesting episode was expected at my expense. "What is your name?" said the tall one. "Martin Leigh," I replied, civilly, seeing no harm in the question. "Oh, that's a fine name," observed my interlocutor, sneeringly; "I suppose you're the son of a duke, and a nobleman in disguise?" "No," said I, calmly, put on my mettle by hearing the others sniggering at their leader's wit, as they thought it--"my father was an officer." "That's a good one!" said the tall chap, with a stagey laugh; "I think he must have belonged to the Horse Marines--didn't he?" At this there was a chorus of chuckles from the surrounding boys, with cries of "Go it, Slodgers!" and other impertinent interruptions, causing my quick temper to fire up. "You're wrong again, `Mr Sharp,'" I said, angrily. "He was an officer in the navy, and a gentleman--more than yours was, I should think." "You impudent young beggar, what do you mean?" retorted the tall boy, taking a step nearer me, and raising his hand as if to give me a slap on the face; "your father was a sweep, you hound!" "You lie!" I yelled out, in a white heat with passion; and, without waiting for him to give me the first blow, I sprang up and planted my fist between his eyes, knocking him back so suddenly that he would have fallen but for the others advancing closer and shoring him up, as it were, by their pressure, so that he couldn't tumble down. "Oh, that's it, is it?" said my opponent, recovering himself at once quickly; and, before I could put up my hands, he had dealt me two swinging blows right and left, making my nose bleed and bringing me in a heap on to the ground. I was not beaten, however, for I was on my feet again in a second, dashing in madly at him; and, but for the intervention of another boy, not quite so tall as my antagonist, but with much broader shoulders and of heavier weight, who got in between us and prevented further hostilities, I should probably have come to sad grief. "Let him alone, Slodgers; he's only a new boy, remember," said this peacemaker, warning me off with one outstretched arm while he pushed back my antagonist with the other, as he was making for me again. "I know he's a new boy; but the cheeky young beggar has given me a black eye, confound him! and the Doctor is safe to see it when we go in. I must pay him out for it, Larkyns; move away, and I'll thrash him within an inch of his life!" With these words, the tall boy, or Slodgers, as he was called, made another rush at me; but the other interposed once more, and this time more forcibly. "No, I tell you," said he, "let him alone, or I'll have to make you," and he gave Slodgers a quiet sort of tap on the chest that had the effect of at once stopping his advance, the bully and coward, as he seemed to me to be, retiring sulkily to the corner of the yard under the tree, accompanied by two of his select cronies, grumbling in an undertone about "somebody's" meddlesomeness in interfering with "other people's business," although he did not take any further notice of the stalwart Samaritan who had thus come so opportunely to my aid, baulking the summary vengeance he had intended taking on my unhappy head. The other boys, too, were just as disgusted at the turn events had taken, for they had looked for rare sport in seeing me mauled by their champion. They also now went off in a body, leaving my protector and myself alone together, close to the steps where the little fracas had occurred. "You are a plucky fellow," said my new friend, confidentially, as soon as the rest were out of hearing. "I don't think Master Slodgers has had such a prompt lesson before to correct that nasty way he has of frightening every new boy that comes here; but I tell you what, though, you mustn't go hitting out at big chaps like that, you know! Slodgers would have pounded you into a jelly if I hadn't interfered." "I dare say he would," I replied, passionately, not having yet quite calmed down--the sight of the blood dropping from my poor nose adding to instead of abating from my courage. "But, I would have made him feel something first! I don't care if he had killed me! I would do the same again if he made fun of my father. He said I told lies when I was telling the truth." "Well, well, that's all right," said my rescuer, soothingly. "I've no doubt I should have struck him, too, if I had been in your place. I like you for standing up to him so bravely, and that's the reason I took your part, independently of my always trying to stop his bullying. Slodgers is a cur at heart, and I dare say you would lick him in the end if you could hold out long enough, although I wouldn't advise you to tackle him until you know how to use your fists better, if I am not by! I think you said your name was Martin Leigh, to change the subject from the brute, eh?" "Yes," I answered, readily; "and I must now thank you for your kindness in coming to my help." "Oh, stow all that! May I call you Martin?" "By all means," said I, gladly; "there's nothing I should like better." "All right then, that's agreed. My name is Tom Larkyns, and you may call me Tom, if you like." "May I?" I asked, deferentially, proud of his condescending to be on such cordial terms with me. "Won't it sound too familiar?" "Nonsense," said he, laughing cheerily. "We'll swear a bond of eternal friendship, like Damon and Pythias," and he squeezed my hand in his strong grip, as if he meant it. Tears came into my eyes; but not with pain. It was at the happy consciousness that at last I had come across some one who really cared for me personally. Uncle George's scanty amount of affection for me was due to the fact of my being his brother's child, while Molly, the maid- servant, the only one else who had ever evinced any kindly feeling towards me, had been actuated by pity for my forlorn and neglected condition amongst my own kindred; but Tom was my very own friend, mine by choice and selection. Had he not singled me out and taken my part, besides asking me to be his comrade? That alone would have made me his staunch ally, even without the proffer of his friendship; so, needless to say, I vowed there and then my fealty as his chum through thick and thin! Presently, Tom took me round to a side door of the house, through which admittance was gained to the kitchen, where, procuring some water, he helped me to stop the bleeding from my nose, caused by Slodgers' blow, and otherwise wash away the traces of the combat. We subsequently returned to the "playground," Tom saying that we could remain there if we liked until the tea-bell rang, as it was a half-holiday, and there were no more lessons for the day. The other boys had mostly gone in by this time, disappearing in batches of twos and threes, tired of being out in the bare yard, and having exhausted all attempts at amusing themselves. We remained here over an hour longer, walking up and down, exchanging confidences and forming the most wonderful plans of what we would do together bye-and-bye, not only while at school, but when we grew up and went into the world. I, of course, told him all about my cruel bringing-up under Aunt Matilda's auspices, and he imparted the information that he was almost an orphan like myself; his father, who was a clergyman, having died early and left his widowed mother with a large number of children to support on a scanty income; whence the fact of his being at such a poor second-rate school as Dr Hellyer's, about which Tom then proceeded to unfold the most wonderful revelations. The master, he said, in spite of his generally having thirty boys at least, from whom he managed to get an income of six hundred a year or so, was always in hard straits, and at his wit's end for money; although, apparently, he could not have any great expenditure, the rent of the house or houses occupied by the school being cheap, his cost for the aid of masters not by any means excessive, and the boys' keep not too extravagant, judging by the meals they had. Dr Hellyer was "an ignorant, uncultivated brute," Tom averred, and his degree of "Doctor" was only derived from the fact of his having paid ten dollars to an American university to air this specious prefix to his scholastic name! The whole school, my new friend told me, was a sham, for, instead of there being some dozen of masters, as stated in the prospectus sent to Uncle George, there were only two besides "The Doctor"--Mr Smallpage, the mathematical master, called by the boys "Smiley," on the _lucus a non lucendo_ principle, I suppose, because his face ever bore an expression of gravity; and Monsieur Achile Phelan, professor of foreign languages and dancing, christened by Tom Larkyns "The Cobbler," on account of his teaching a certain number of extra-paying pupils how to "heel and toe." Whatever was the reason for "The Doctor's" hardupishness, however, the fact was undeniable; and Tom said that for weeks at a time the establishment would be in a state of siege, from tradespeople coming after their "little accounts," which the master put off settling as long as he could. The old woman who had opened the door to me, my chum stated, was popularly believed to be the principal's maternal relative, as she kept a watchful eye upon the portal, besides presiding over the interior economy of the school. She was so sharp, Tom averred, that she could smell a "dun," experience having so increased the natural keenness of her scent. Sometimes, too, Tom said, when Dr Hellyer could get no credit with the butcher, they lived on Australian tinned mutton, which he got wholesale from the importers, as long as three months at a stretch; and once, he pledged me his word, when the baker likewise failed to supply any more bread by reason of that long-suffering man's bill not having been paid for a year, Dr Hellyer, not to be beaten, went off to Portsmouth and bought a lot of condemned ship biscuits at a Government sale in the victualling yard, returning with this in triumph to the school, and serving it out to the pupils in rations, the same as if they had been at sea! In the midst of all these interesting disclosures, a terrible drumming, buzzing noise filled the air. "What's that din?" I asked Tom. "Oh, that's the tea-gong," he replied. "We must go in now, as we'll get none if we are late, for the Doctor teaches punctuality by example." "He told me he had `a way of his own' for making his pupils obey him," said I. "Did he? Ah, you'll soon find out what a brute he is! Let us look at your nose, though, Martin, before you go in. You recollect what he said about not fighting, eh?" "Yes; does it look all right now?" I asked, anxiously. "Pretty well," said Tom, critically examining the damaged organ. "A little bit puffy on the off side but I think it will pass muster, and you'll escape notice if that sneak Slodgers doesn't split about his eye--which I believe you've pretty nicely marked for him." "Do you think he'll tell?" I whispered to Tom as we ascended the steps and he turned the handle of the door leading into the house. "More than likely, if the Doctor pitches on to him! He will spin a fine story about your having attacked him, too, to excuse himself; for he's a liar as well as a cur and a bully. But, come on, Martin, look sharp! There's the second gong, and if we're not at table in our seats before it stops, it'll be a case of pickles!" With these words, Tom dashed into the passage with me after him; and, after racing up a bare, carpetless flight of stairs, I found myself in a wide large room, which, the evening having closed in, was lighted up only by a single gas-burner. This made its bareness all the more apparent; for, with the exception of having a long table stretching from end to end--now covered with a semi-brownish white table-cloth, and cups and saucers and plates, not forgetting a monstrous big tin teapot like a Chinese junk, in the centre, and a couple of narrow deal forms without backs placed on either side for seats--the apartment had no other furniture, a broad shelf attached to the wall opposite the fireplace serving as a buffet, and an armchair at the head of the festal board, for the presiding master, completing its equipment. Tom had whispered to me as we went up-stairs that either "Smiley" or "The Cobbler" would officiate at the tea-table, those two worthies taking that duty in turn; but this evening, strange to say, whether in honour of my arrival or on account of some other weighty motive, the seat of honour at the end of the table was filled by the portly form of the head of the establishment. "By Jove!" ejaculated Tom, sliding into a vacant place along the form nearest the door, and motioning to me to follow his example, "something's up, or he wouldn't be here!" Tom's supposition proved correct. Something was "up" with a vengeance--at least as far as I was concerned. CHAPTER FOUR. SCHOOL EXPERIENCES. As two or three others, late like ourselves, were scrambling into their places when Tom and myself took our seats, while the old woman who had opened the door for me was bustling about the table, filling a series of tin mugs from the Chinese junk teapot and passing them along towards the outstretched hands that eagerly clutched at them _en route_ downwards from the head of the board, I hoped that my damaged face would have escaped notice, but the master's ferret-eyes singled me out apparently the instant I entered the room, for he pounced on me at once. "Boy Leigh," he shouted out in his deep rolling voice, "stand up!" I obeyed the order, standing up between the table and the form on which I had been sitting; but Dr Hellyer said nothing further at the time, after seeing me come to the attitude of "attention," as a drill sergeant would have termed it, and there I remained while the other pupils proceeded with their meal. You must remember that I was almost famishing, for I had had nothing to eat all day beyond the scanty breakfast which I was too much excited to eat before leaving my uncle's house at Islington in the morning; while the long journey by rail combined with the effects of the fresh sea air had made me very hungry. It may be imagined, therefore, with what wolfish eyes I watched the boys consuming the piles of bread-and-butter which the old woman distributed, after serving out the allotted allowance of tea in each pupil's mug! Tom looked up at me sympathisingly every now and then between the bites he took out of the thick hunches on his plate; but the fact of my starving state did not appear to affect his appetite. This made me feel hurt at my chum's indifference to my sufferings, envying the while every morsel he swallowed, and wondering when my suspense would cease; and, although I had not then heard of the tortures of the classic Tantalus, my feelings must have much resembled those of that mythical person during this ordeal. At the expiration of, I suppose, about twenty minutes, within which interval every one of the busy crowd round the table had made short work of his portion, not leaving a crumb behind as far as I could notice, the master, pushing back his armchair, got on his feet, an example immediately followed by all the boys, and, all standing up, he said grace. This ended, the boys, with much shuffling of feet on the bare boards composing the floor of the apartment, were about to rush out _en masse_, when Dr Hellyer arrested the movement. "Stop!" he cried in stentorian tones, drowning the clatter of feet and whispering of voices; "the pupils will remain in for punishment!" Every face was turned towards him, with astonishment, expectancy, and dread marked in each feature; and, with a gratified grin on his broad flabby countenance, he remained for a moment or two apparently gloating with gusto over the consternation he had created, amidst a stillness in which you could have heard a pin drop. After holding all hearts for some time in suspense in this way, glaring round the room with an expression of diabolical amusement, such as a cat may sometimes assume when playing with a mouse before finally putting it out of its misery, Dr Hellyer spoke again. It was to the point. "Boy Leigh," he exclaimed, "come here." I advanced tremblingly to where he stood. Though I was pretty courageous naturally, his manner was so strange and uncanny that he fairly frightened me. "What is the matter with your nose?" was his first query, as soon as I had come up close to him, pointing with his fat forefinger at the injured member, which I had vainly thought would have escaped the observation of his keen eye. "I--I--I've hurt it, sir," said I, in desperation. "Boy Leigh, you are not truthful," was his answer to this, shaking the fat forefinger warningly in my face, rather too near to be pleasant. "You've been fighting already, and that against my express injunctions; and now, you attempt to conceal the effects of your disobedience by telling a falsehood--worse and worse!" "I--I really couldn't help it; it wasn't my fault, sir," I pleaded. "Ah, worse still! He who excuses, accuses himself," said the stern Rhadamanthus. "Boy Slodgers, approach." My whilom opponent of the playground thereupon came up to where I was in front of the Doctor; when on closer inspection, I could see that he was in a fair way of having a splendid pair of black eyes from the blow I had given him. This was some satisfaction, and put a little more pluck into me as I faced my judge. I trembled no longer. "Boy Slodgers, what's the matter with your eyes?" asked Dr Hellyer of the fresh culprit, in the same searching way in which he had interrogated me. "Please, sir, Leigh hit me, sir," said the sneak, glibly, in a whining voice that was very different to the bullying tone he had adopted when catechising me before our "little unpleasantness" occurred. "Ah--Leigh--ah--you see _my_ boys tell the truth," observed the Doctor parenthetically to me; and then, turning again to Slodgers, he said, inquiringly, "And, I suppose, you then--ah--returned his blow?" "Oh no, please, sir," replied he, confirming what Tom had told me of his inveracity; "I happened to have my hand up, sir; and, rushing at me in his fury, he ran against it, sir, that's all. I wouldn't have hurt him, sir, for the world, as I know your orders, sir, about fighting." "Good boy! I'm glad you pay attention to my wishes, Slodgers, and as the fight wasn't of your seeking, I'll let you off without an imposition, as I had at first intended. You can go back to your place, Slodgers. I see--ah--ha--too, you've been punished already, which is another reason for my leniency;" and so saying, the Doctor dismissed him. Would you believe it? That cur went down the long room again with the most unblushing effrontery, after telling those flagrant falsehoods he had done about me! I really don't know which I was the more angry with--at him, for cooking up that story about me, or with Dr Hellyer for believing him! The latter had not done with me yet, however. "Now, my pugilistic young friend," he said to me aloud, so that all the boys could hear, "you and I have a little account to settle together. Hold out your hand!" Nerving myself up to the inevitable, I stretched out my right palm; and "whish"--with the sound that a flail makes when wielded by an experienced thresher--Dr Hellyer came down, right across my fingers, with a tingling blow from a broad flat ruler, which he must have kept concealed behind his back, as I had not seen it before. He seemed to throw all his strength into the stroke. The pain made me jump, but I didn't cry out or make the slightest exclamation. I would have bitten my lips through first; for all the boys were looking on, with the expectation probably of hearing me yell out--especially that sneak Slodgers, who, I made up my mind, should not be gratified by any exhibition of yielding on my part. "The other now!" cried the Doctor; and, "whack" came a second dose of the flat ruler on my left digits. "The right again!" sang out the big brute, I obeying without wincing after the first stroke; and so he went on, flaying my poor hands until he had given me six "pandies," as the boys called the infliction, on each, by which time both of my palms were as raw as a piece of ordinary beefsteak, and, I'm certain, far more tender. "That will do for a first lesson--ah--Martin Leigh," said my tormentor, when he had concluded this performance. "You can go now, but, mark me, the next time I hear of your fighting you shall have a double portion! Boys, you're dismissed." With these parting words, Dr Hellyer waved me off; on which I followed slowly after the rest, who had at once rushed off from the room. Being the last, when I got outside the door, all the boys had disappeared, with the exception of Tom, whom I found waiting for me at the head of the stairs. I felt inclined to be indignant with him at first for not speaking up for me and contradicting the false statement of Slodgers; but Tom soon persuaded me that such a course on his part would probably only have increased my punishment and brought him in for it as well, without doing good to either of us, or harming the cur who had told such lies about me. "Dr Hellyer," said Tom, "always takes everything Slodgers says for gospel, and it's not a bit of use going against him when brought to book. The only way for you to pay him out, Martin, will be to learn to use your fists properly, and give him a good thrashing some day when we are out of doors. You will then only get some more `pandies' like what you had just now, and I think the gratification of punching his head ought to be worth that." "Right you are, Tom," I replied. "I'm game for it: I will never feel happy till I make him acknowledge the lie he told to-day against me." "Bravo, that's hearty," said Tom. "You're a big fellow for your age, and with a little training will soon be a match for that cur, as he's a coward at heart. But, look here, Martin--see, I didn't forget you, as I believe you thought I did at tea-time. I saved this for you, as I could see you were hungry." The good-hearted chap had managed to stow away a thick slice of bread- and-butter in his trousers pocket, and this he now brought out and handed to me. It was dirty and greasy, and had little bits of paper sticking to it, from the mixed assortment of articles amidst which it had been crammed; but, as it was the first morsel of food I had given me after my long fast, I received it from my chum with the utmost gratitude, putting my teeth through it without delay. I really think that it was the most appetising thing I had ever tasted in my life, up to the present, and I longed for more when I had finished it up, although, alas, no more was then to be had! Little as it was, however, this slight apology for a meal made me feel better and stronger; so, I told Tom, after I had swallowed the bread- and-butter, that I was fit for anything, which pleased him very much. "You're just the sort of fellow I thought you were," said he, clapping me on the back. "I have been looking out for a chum like you ever since I came here, and we'll have fine times together, my boy! But, come along now, and put your hands under the pump--the cold water will pain you at first, but it will do a world of good, and to-morrow the hands'll feel all right." So saying, Tom, catching hold of my arm, lugged me off down-stairs, and through a lot of mysterious passages and dark ways, to the wash-house at the back of the kitchen again. Arrived here, he pumped away for a good half-hour on my hands, in spite of all my entreaties to the contrary; but, at the end of that time, although they were almost benumbed, the pain from the Doctor's pandies had passed away, and the palms, which had been previously almost rigid, had regained their flexibility. "There, that's enough for the present," said Tom, quite out of breath with his exertions at the pump-handle, kindly taking out his pocket- handkerchief and gently dabbing my hands with it until they were dry. "I think they'll do now, and won't pain you to-morrow; but you must try, old fellow, and avoid getting another taste of the Doctor's ruler till they're a bit more recovered." At that moment the gong struck up again its ringing, buzzing, drumming sound, and I pricked up my ears, in the vain hope of having a meal at last. "Is that for supper?" I asked him, recollecting well what it had rung for before. "Oh no," answered Tom, "we never get anything else after tea here of an evening. That's the call to go to sleep: `Early to bed, early to rise,' you know, Martin! I didn't think it was so late; look sharp and follow me, and I'll show you the way to the dormitories. There are two of them, and I don't know which room you'll be sent to--I hope mine, but we'll soon see, as `Smiley' arranges all that." Passing back through the same passages again by which we had descended from the eating-room--or "refectory," as Dr Hellyer styled that bare apartment--and up a second flight of stairs beyond, Tom leading the way, we finally reached a long chamber which must have stretched along the whole front of the house, immediately above the room devoted to meals. Some twenty beds were ranged down the length of this dormitory, in the same way as is customary in a hospital ward, some of them already occupied by boys who had quietly undressed, while the rest of the fellows were hurriedly pulling off their clothes and preparing their toilets for the night. At the door of the dormitory stood a tall, cadaverous-looking man of some fifty years or thereabouts whom I had not before seen. To him Tom now briefly introduced me in the most laconic fashion. "New boy, Mr Smallpage," he said. "Oh, new boy--Leigh, I suppose, eh?" replied this gentleman in an absent sort of way--"Is he in your charge, Larkyns?" "Well, sir," said Tom, rather at a loss to answer this question, not wishing to tell an untruth and yet desirous for certain reasons that I should be associated with him, "I've made friends with him, that's all." "Ah, then, he can have that vacant bed next yours," decided Mr "Smiley," kindly, seeing Tom's drift. "Thank you, sir," said my chum in a gleeful tone at having his wish gratified. "Come along with me, Martin, and I will show you your place. Is it not jolly?" he whispered to me as we proceeded up the room along the centre space left vacant between the two rows of beds lining the walls on either side, "why, it's just the very thing we wanted!" Tom's bed and mine were close to one of the windows in the front of the house, which fact delighted me very much, as I thought I should be able to see the sea as soon as I woke in the morning. My chum, however, threw a damper on this reflection by suggesting that, when the first gong sounded our _reveille_ at six o'clock AM, we should have such sharp work before us to dress and get down to the refectory in the quarter of an hour allowed us for the operation, that unless I wished to lose my breakfast--a dreadful contingency considering the then empty state of my body--I should have precious little time for star- gazing! Tom's mention of "shovelling on my clothes," as he delicately termed the act of dressing, immediately reminded me of my box, which I had quite forgotten all about ever since my leaving it behind me in the little room out of the hall on the termination of my first interview with Dr Hellyer. "I wonder where it is?" I asked Tom. "Oh, it has been brought up-stairs all right. The old woman would see to that," he said. "Then where is it?" I inquired. "I want my night-shirt now." "It is probably in the locker room," replied my chum, "shall I ask Smiley to let us go and see?" "Do, if you don't mind," said I; and Tom, whisking down the room in a somewhat neglige costume, readily obtained the requisite "permit of search." He then beckoned me to follow him towards a second door communicating from the dormitory with a smaller apartment beyond, whose sides, I observed on entering within, were buttressed from floor to ceiling with a series of diminutive square wooden chests, ranged along the walls on top of one another, like the deed boxes noticeable in the private office of a solicitor in large practice, and all numbered in similar fashion, seriatim, with large black figures on their front faces. "Every boy has one of these lockers to stow his traps in," explained Tom, "and Smiley said you could have 31, next to mine, which is 30--just in the same way, old fellow, as our beds are alongside--good of him, isn't it?" "Yes," I replied, "he seems a kind chap." "He is," said Tom; "but, come, Martin, if your box is here you'd better bundle in your things at once, and leave it out on the landing for the old woman to take down again to the cellar, where all our trunks and such-like are kept." My box was soon found; and my scanty wardrobe being quickly removed to the numbered receptacle allotted to me, Tom and I returned to the dormitory, where, as I had taken care to bring back with me the garment I required for present exigencies, we both soon made an end of our toilets and jumped into our respective beds. I had expected that as soon as all the boys were under the sheets, the mathematical master would have left the room; but, no, "Smiley," much to my surprise, proceeded to undress, and occupy a large bed at the end of the dormitory close to the entrance. Under these circumstances, therefore, instead of the row that would otherwise have gone on, in the absence of any presiding genius of order, the room was soon hushed in quiet repose; and, the last thing I can recollect hearing, ere dropping to sleep, after wishing Tom a _sotto voce_ "good night," was the sound of the many-voiced sea as the waves whispered to each other on the beach--the gentle lullaby noise it made, to the fancy of my cockney ears, exactly resembling that created by the distant traffic of the London streets in the early hours of the morning to those living within the city radius. CHAPTER FIVE. A SECRET CONSPIRACY. I awoke from a confused dream of having a quarrel with Aunt Matilda at Tapioca Villa about taking the tea-tray up to the parlour, and, in my passion at being condemned to exercise Molly's functions, kicking over the whole equipage, and sending all the cups and saucers flying down the kitchen stairs--where I could hear them clattering and crashing as they descended--to the far different reality that, instead of being still under my uncle's roof at Islington, I was actually at school at Dr Hellyer's. And that dreadful gong which had interrupted my slumbers, and which must once have belonged to a mandarin of the most warlike tendencies, and of three buttons at least, judging by the din it was capable of, was banging away down-stairs and reverberating through the house; while the score of boys or so, who occupied the dormitory along with Tom and myself, were jumping out of bed and dressing as hurriedly as they could in the semi-darkness of the wintry morning, which the twinkling of the solitary gas-jet, still alight near the door, over Smiley's couch, rendered even more dusky and dismal by contrast. The windows were shrouded in a thick white fog, that had come up with the rising tide from the sea, which I was thus prevented from seeing had I the time to spare to look out; although, the thought of doing so never crossed my mind, for, independently of the noise of the gong and the scurrying of the other fellows out of the room as soon as they were partly dressed, being suggestive of my also hurrying on my clothes as quickly as I possibly could, I hardly needed Tom's reminder to "look sharp!" Really, no sooner had I stood on my feet and been thoroughly roused, than I was assailed by such a feeling of ravenous hunger that it would have been quite sufficient inducement for me to make haste without any further spur to my movements. I certainly did not intend to be late for breakfast--this morning at all events--and so I told Tom! Within less than two minutes, I think, I had scrambled into my shirt and trousers; and, throwing my other garments over my arm in imitation of Tom, I was racing along with him down to the lavatory in the lower regions where our ablutions had to be performed. Thence, there was another mad rush up-stairs again to the refectory, which we reached before the second gong, calling us to the matutinal meal, had ceased to sound. Porridge, with mugs of skim sky-blue milk-and-water, and a couple of slices of bread-and-butter for each pupil, comprised the bill of fare; but it might have been a banquet of Lucullus from the way I did justice to it after my prolonged fast. Noticing my voracity, the old woman, who, as on the evening before, acted as mistress of the ceremonies, gave me an extra allowance of porridge, which made me her friend thenceforth--at least at meal-times, that is! On breakfast being cleared away, the "refectory," by the simple process of removing the dirty table-cloth from the long table occupying the centre of the apartment, was converted into a school-room, Dr Hellyer coming in immediately after a third gong had rung for a short interval, and taking the armchair at the head--that seat of honour which had been temporarily filled by "the Cobbler" during our meal being vacated by Monsieur Phelan with much celerity as soon as the Doctor's expansive countenance was seen beaming on us through the doorway, "like the sun in a fog," as Tom whispered to me. The great man had not long taken his seat before he called me up to him, and, with many "ah's," interrogated me as to my acquirements. He was evidently not greatly impressed with my proficiency; for, severely commenting on the ignorance I displayed for a boy of my age, he relegated me to the lowest class, under Mr Smallpage, or "Smiley," who set me tasks in spelling and the multiplication table, after which school regularly began for the rest. Books were produced in the most extraordinary and mysterious fashion from hidden cupboards, and desks improvised out of hinged shelves of deal affixed to the walls, and supported by brackets likewise movable, one of the forms along the centre table being shifted for the accommodation of those taking writing lessons; and, at intervals, Dr Hellyer had up a batch of boys before his throne of office, rigidly putting them under examination, varied by the administration of "pandies," and the imposition of ever so many lines of Caesar to be learnt by heart, when they failed in construing it. At sharp eleven, a large clock over the fireplace, with a round face like that of our podgy preceptor, telling the time, Dr Hellyer pushed back his chair as a sign that our morning studies were over; and the boys then all trooped out into the playground for an hour, coming back again punctually at twelve to dinner in the re-transformed room, at the summons of the inveterate gong. As the butcher had been lately conciliated apparently, there was no recourse to tinned meats of Australian or South American brand on the first occasion of my partaking of this meal at the establishment. Roast beef, and plenty of it, was served out to us, with the accompaniment of potatoes and cabbage, vegetables being cheap at that time on account of the watering-place's season being ended; while such of the pupils whose parents paid extra for the beverage, in the same way as they did for French and dancing lessons from the "Cobbler," were supplied with a mug apiece of very small beer--the remainder, and far larger proportion of us, being allowed cold water "at discretion." After dinner came afternoon school, lasting till four o'clock; when followed another hour's diversion in the playground; and then, tea, similar to the repast I had been a spectator, but not partaker of, the evening before. After tea a couple of hours' rest were allowed for reflection, in the same apartment, during which time the boys were supposed to learn their lessons for the next morning, but didn't--Dr Hellyer relegating his authority at this period of the day generally to Smiley, who went to sleep invariably when in charge of the room, or the Cobbler, who as invariably sneaked out and left the pupils to themselves, when the consequences may be readily imagined. At eight o'clock, to bring this category of our day's doings to a close, the final gong sounded a tattoo, sending us all aloft, like poor Tom Bowling, to the dormitories to bed. Such was the ordinary routine of our life at the Doctor's, according to my two years' experience, the only exception being that our meals varied, as to quantity and quality, in direct proportion to the Doctor's credit in the neighbouring town; for, I will do our preceptor the justice to state that, should fortune smile on him, in respect to the facilities afforded him by the tradespeople with whom he dealt, he treated us with no niggard hand and we fared well; while, should the fickle goddess Fortune frown, and provisions be withheld by the cautious purveyors thereof until ready money was forthcoming, then we suffered accordingly, there being a dearth upon the land, which we had to tide over as best we could, hoping for better times. Every Wednesday and Saturday, too, there was no afternoon school, the boys on these half- holidays being either allowed additional exercise in the so-called "playground," or taken out for long dreary walks under the escort of Smiley or the Cobbler; and on Sundays we were always marched to church in state, be the weather what it might, wet or fine, Dr Hellyer leading the van on these high parade occasions--in full academical costume, and wearing a most wonderful sort of archdiaconal hat that had a very imposing effect--with the two assistant masters acting as the rearguard, and closing the procession. In summer we used to have more latitude in the way of outdoor exercise, the boys being taken down every morning to bathe in the sea, when the tide allowed, before breakfast; or, if the far out-reaching sands were not then covered with water, later on in the day. We had also cricket and football on the common during the hours of relaxation spent in winter on the barren playground in the rear of the house. Sometimes, in our solemn walks under charge of the under-masters, we occasionally encountered "the opposition school" or college fellows belonging to a large educational institution near us, when it was no rare occurrence for a skirmish to ensue between the two forces, that led to the most disastrous results, as far as subsequent "pandies" and impositions from the Doctor were concerned, or, rather, those who had to undergo them! This, of course, was in the working terms--when the school was in full blast, so to speak, and everything carried on by rule in regular rotation; but, at vacation time, when all the boys had dispersed to their several homes and were enjoying themselves, as I supposed, to their heart's content, in their respective family circles, the life that I led was a very different one. As at my uncle's house, I was still the solitary Ishmael of the community, doomed to spend holidays and periods of study alike under the academical roof. The first of those educational interludes during my stay at the establishment occurred at Christmas, shortly after I had taken up my residence there, and the thought of all the jollity and merry-making my more fortunate schoolfellows would have at that festive season, about which they naturally talked much before the general breaking-up, made me feel very lonesome when left behind at Beachampton; although I did not for a moment desire to return to Tapioca Villa, in order to share the delightful society of my relatives there. However, this feeling wore off in a few days, and long before the boys came back I had learnt to be pretty well contented with my solitary lot. But, when the midsummer recess came round, in due course, matters had altered considerably for the better on my being again left behind in my glory; and, but for the fact of being deprived of the close companionship of my constant chum Tom, I can honestly say that my life was far happier than when the school was going on as usual. I was alone, it is true, but then I had the great counterbalancing advantage of almost entire liberty of action, being allowed to roam about the place at my own sweet will and pleasure, with no lessons to learn, and the only obligation placed on me that of reporting myself regularly at meal-times; when, as the penalty for being late consisted in my having to go without my dinner or tea, as the case might be, and I possessed an unusually sensitive appetite which seldom failed to warn me of the approach of the hour devoted to those refections, even when I was out of earshot of the gong, I earned a well-founded reputation for the most praiseworthy punctuality--the lesson I had when I first arrived at the school having given me a wholesome horror of starvation! In my wanderings about the neighbourhood I explored the country for miles round. As for the beach, I investigated it with the painstaking pertinacity of a surveying officer of the hydrographic department of the Admiralty mapping out some newly-discovered shore. I knew every curve and indentation of the coast eastwards as far as Worthing, with the times of high and low water and the set of the tides, and was on familiar terms with the coastguardsmen stationed between Eastbourne and Preston and thence westwards. Crabs, too, and zoophytes, sea anemones, and algae, were as keenly my study as if I were a marine zoologist, although I might not perhaps have been able to describe them in scientific language; while, should a stiff south-westerly gale cast up, as it frequently did amongst other wreckage and ocean flotsam and jetsam, fresh oysters torn from carefully cultivated beds further down the coast, none were sooner acquainted with the interesting fact than I, or gulped down the savoury "natives" with greater gusto--opening them skilfully with an old sailor's jack-knife, which was a treasure I had picked up amidst the pebbly shingle in one of my excursions. My chief resort, however, when I could steal away thither without being perceived from the school, was the quay close to the entrance to the harbour, at the mouth of the little river which there made its efflux to the sea. Here the small coasting craft and Channel Island steamers of low draught of water that used the port would lay up while discharging cargo, before going away empty or in ballast, as there was little export trade from the place; and it was my delight to board the different vessels and make friends with the seamen, who would let me go up the rigging and mount the masts to the dog-vane, the height of my climbing ambition, while telling me the names of the different ropes and spars and instructing me in all the mysteries of shipping life, in which I took the deepest interest. I was a born sailor, if anything. There is no use in my denying the fact I must have inherited it with my father's blood! Once, Dr Hellyer spying about after me, on account of my not having turned up either at dinner or tea--a most unusual circumstance--found me messing with the hands in the fo'c's'le of a coal brig. I recollect he pushed me along back to the school the whole way, holding me at arm's length by the scruff of the neck; and, besides the infliction of a round dozen of "pandies" and an imposition of five hundred lines of Virgil's Aeneid to learn by heart, threatened me with all sorts of pains and penalties should he ever catch me going down to the quay again. But, all his exhortations were of no avail! Go to the harbour amongst the vessels I would, whenever I could get an opportunity of sneaking away unnoticed; and, the more I saw of ships and sailors, the more firmly I made up my mind to go to sea as soon as I saw a chance of getting afloat, in spite of the very different arrangements Uncle George had made for my future walk in life--arrangements that were recalled to my mind every quarter in the letters my relation periodically wrote to me after the receipt of the Doctor's terminal reports on my character and educational progress. These latter were generally of a damaging nature, letting me in for a lecture on my bad behaviour, coupled with the prognostication, which I am sure really came from Aunt Matilda through this side wind, that unless I mended my ways speedily I should never be promoted to that situation of clerk in uncle's office which was being held open for me as soon as I was old enough, and the thought of which--with the enthralling spell of the ocean upon me--I hated! To tell the strict truth, these quarterly reports of Dr Hellyer in respect of my conduct were not wholly undeserved; for, with the exception of displaying a marked partiality for mathematics, which, fortunately for my subsequent knowledge of navigation, Mr Smallpage kindly fostered and encouraged to the best of his ability, my studies were terribly irksome to me, and my lessons being consequently neglected, led to my having impositions without number. I believe I must have learnt the whole of Virgil by heart, although I could not now construe the introductory lines of the first book of the Aeneid; and as for history I could then, nor now, no more tell you the names of the Roman emperors, or the dates of accession of the various Kings of England, than I could square the circle, or give you the cubical contents of the pyramids of Egypt off-hand. The personal rows, too, that I got into with Dr Hellyer were innumerable; and I really think he wore out three flat rulers while I was a member of the school, in inflicting his dearly-loved "pandies" on my suffering palms. The most important of these, what I may term "private differences," between my worthy preceptor and myself, after my first experience of his "way" of making the boys obey him, without flogging them, arose from the same cause--Master Slodgers, my enemy from the date of my entrance within the select academy, although, if you recollect, he did not "get the best of me" even then! Some six months after that memorable occasion, having developed much bone and sinew in the meantime, besides cultivating the noble art of self-defence under the tuition of my chum Tom, I challenged the lanky cur on the self-same ground where he had first assailed me; when I gave him such a beating that he could not leave his bed in the dormitory for nearly a week afterwards. For this--what I considered--just retaliation, I received the encomiums of the majority of the fellows, who detested Slodgers for his sneaking as well as bullying ways with the youngsters; but Dr Hellyer, with whom he still continued a favourite, took my triumph in such ill part, that he treated me to no less than six dozen "pandies," incarcerating me besides in an empty coal cellar, on a diet of bread and water, in solitary confinement below for the same length of time that Slodgers was laid up ill in bed above stairs. However, after that day I had it all my own way with the boys, for I was strongly-built and thick-set for my age, looking two years older than I really was. I could fight and lick all the rest of the fellows at the time, not excepting even Tom my instructor, although he and I were much too good friends to try conclusions on the point, and I was the acknowledged leader of the school. Athletics, indeed, were my strong point, for I may say, almost without egotism, that I had so cultivated my muscles to the sad neglect of my proper studies, that I could swim like a fish, dive like an Indian pearl hunter, run swifter than anybody else, and play cricket and football with the best; but, as far as my real school duties were concerned, I'm afraid I was a sad dunce, as I was always at the bottom of my class. I am now approaching the period to which these reminiscences of my school-days have all along tended, albeit I have been a long time in reaching it. You may remember my calling your attention to the fact of the Doctor always marching us to church on Sundays, and heading the procession, wearing a most peculiar-looking hat the while? Well, "thereby hangs a tale," as a wise jester says in one of Shakespeare's plays. I had just completed my two years' residence under the academical roof; the summer vacation had come and gone; the boys were all back again at school, and settled down for the winter term; the month of October had flown by with unlagging footsteps; and November had come in, gloomy and dismal, with white fogs and sea mists--such as haunt some parts of the southern coasts in the autumn. The "Fifth" was a great anniversary at the establishment. If Guy Fawkes' Day were uncared for elsewhere, we at all events held the memory of the defunct conspirator in high reverence; and invariably did it such honour by the explosion of gunpowder, in the shape of squibs and crackers as our means afforded. The pocket-money of those having friends with long purses was saved up for weeks beforehand for this purpose; while any boys without a regular allowance had to "beg or borrow," so that they might contribute to the general fund. The couple of odd shillings Uncle George had slipped into my hand on leaving London, had, of course, melted away long ago, and, until this year, he never seemed to think of renewing the tip, supposing, perhaps, that I did not want anything, for I was too proud to ask him; but at Michaelmas, when my birthday came round--I was just fourteen then--he quite unexpectedly sent me a post-office order for half-a-sovereign in the possession of which I felt as rich as Croesus. Tom, naturally, was told of the arrival of this enormous treasure instantly. Indeed, he accompanied me on the next half-holiday, when we were allowed out, to get the order cashed; but beyond expending about eighteenpence in hot three-corner jam tarts and ginger beer, at a favourite confectioner's patronised by the school, we devoted the sum to purchasing the best fireworks we could get for the money, carrying our explosives back to the school carefully concealed on our persons, and secreting them in our lockers. "We'll have such a lark!" said Tom. "Won't it be jolly!" I chimed in, with equal enthusiasm--adding, however, a moment afterwards, as the reflection occurred to me, "What a pity, though, Tom, that the Fifth falls this year on a Sunday? I declare, I never thought of it before!" "Nor I," said he, and both our faces fell six inches at least. But, Tom's soon brightened up again, as some happy thought flashed across his mind. "Why, it'll be all the better, Martin," he cried out, greatly to my surprise. "How can that be?" I exclaimed, indignantly. "The Doctor will never allow us to have our bonfire, I'm sure!" "Hush, you stupid," said Tom. "I do declare your brains must be wool- gathering! Stop a minute and listen to me." He then whispered to me a plan he had thought of for signalising "the glorious Fifth," in spite of Dr Hellyer, and in a manner which that worthy would never dream of. It was a scheme quite worthy of Tom's fertile imagination. "Oh, won't it be a lark!" I cried, when he had finished; and we both then burst into an ecstasy of laughter at the very idea of the thing. CHAPTER SIX. OUR PLOT AND ITS RESULTS. "Now, mind," said Tom, after a pause in our giggling, "we won't tell any one else about it!" "No," I agreed; "it will be all the more fun to keep it to ourselves, and, besides, there will be less chance of our being found out." True to our compact, not a word of our conspiracy was breathed to a soul in the school; and the eventful day approached at last, if not "big with the fate of Caesar and of Rome," pregnant with a plan for astonishing our master, and celebrating the anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot in a manner never known before in the traditions of the establishment-- although, perhaps, perfectly in keeping with the idea of the original iconoclast, whose memory we intended to do honour to in fitting manner. When Dr Hellyer awoke to the knowledge of the fact that the Fifth of November fell this year on a Sunday, had he generously made allowance for the patriotic feelings of his pupils, and allowed them to have their usual annual firework demonstration on the Saturday prior, which happened to be a half-holiday, the matter might have been harmoniously arranged, and Tom and I been persuaded at the last moment to abandon our daring enterprise--possibly, that is, though I doubt it much. But, no. Dr Hellyer grasped the chance afforded him by the fortuitous cycle of dates as a splendid opportunity for putting down what had been a yearly _bete noir_ to him; and so, he rushed madly on to his fate. After dinner in the refectory, on the third of the month--two days beforehand, so as to give them clear notice of his intentions, in order not be accused of taking them unawares, and causing them to lay out their savings uselessly--just as the boys were going to rush out of the room for their usual hour's relaxation before afternoon school, he detained them, with a wave of his well-known fat arm and the sound of his rolling accents. "Boys," he cried, "wait a moment! I have--ah--determined that--ah--as Guy Fawkes' day this year--ah--will be next Sunday, when--ah--of course--ah--you will be unable with any regard for the solemn associations--ah--of the--ah--Sabbath, be--ah--able to celebrate it in your usual fashion--ah--that--ah--you must--ah--postpone--ah--your--ah bonfire--ah--till next year." A loud murmur ran round the room at this, an expression of popular opinion which I had never heard previously in the school. The master, however, was equal to the occasion. "Silence!" he roared out at the pitch of his voice, making the ceiling ring again, dropping his "Ahs" and drowning the sibillation of the malcontents by sheer dint of making a superior amount of noise. "Any boy I catch hissing, or otherwise expressing disapproval of my orders, had better look out, that's all! There will be no celebration of Guy Fawkes' day here, do you hear me! No, neither this year, nor next year, nor any year again, so long as I am master of this school! You can disperse now; but, mark my words, any one found letting off a squib or cracker, or discovered to be in the possession of gunpowder, or other explosive compound, will have to render an account to me. Boys, you're dismissed!" Bless you, when Dr Hellyer ceased speaking there was a silence that could almost be felt, and we all sneaked out of the room with corresponding quietude--adjourning to the playground as if we were going to attend a funeral instead of going out for diversion! But, it was a silence that meant mischief, a quietude that was next door to hatching a mutiny; and, when we had got outside, there was a general howl of indignation that the Doctor could not have helped hearing, although the door communicating with the house was closed and he was still in the refectory in front, while we were at the rear of the establishment. Of course, as was natural at such a crisis, the boys grouped themselves into little coteries, considering what should be done in such an unlooked-for emergency. Even Slodgers, the sneak, pretended to be as angry as anybody, desiring to have revenge for the deprivation of our annual gala show; but Tom and I kept aloof from all, and held our own counsel, much to the disgust of Slodgers, as we could easily see, for the cur wanted to hear what we might suggest so that he could go and report to Dr Hellyer. We were too wary birds for Slodgers, however; we were not going to be caught, like young pigeons, with his chaff--no, we knew better than that! We agreed with the mass of our schoolfellows that the Doctor's arbitrary proclamation was an act of unmitigated tyranny and a "jolly shame;" but, beyond that, Slodgers could get nothing out of us, although we listened cordially to all the others had to say, and regulated our procedure accordingly. "I vote," said Batson, one of the big boys like Tom and I were now, "that we buy our fireworks on Saturday, in spite of what Old Growler has declared, and if he does not allow us to let them off in the evening, why we'll have `a grand pyrotechnic display,' as the newspapers say, at night in the dormitories." "Hear, hear!" shouted all the fellows in rapturous enthusiasm at such a bold idea; and even Tom and I wondered whether this plan would not be better than ours. But it was only for a moment. Reflection told us that the Doctor would certainly hear of our doings in time, through Slodgers, to nip the brilliant design in the bud ere it could be matured; so, while the majority of the boys devoted all their spare cash on the Saturday afternoon, when some of us were allowed to go into the town, in the purchase of squibs and crackers, and Roman candles, we declined all share in the enterprise on the plea of having no money--an excuse readily recognised, as the finances of most of the pupils were known to be not in a flourishing condition. While Batson and his confreres took advantage of the half-holiday to go out to buy these fireworks, Tom and I remained indoors, he on the plea of indisposition and I for the ostensible purpose of writing out an imposition; but we both utilised the time thus afforded us by artfully removing the store of combustibles we had already secreted in our lockers, bringing them down-stairs, and placing them for safety and concealment in the cellar below, where our boxes were kept. It was a timely precaution. Slodgers had evidently played the sneak as usual, although keeping up the semblance all the while of being one of the prime movers in the pyrotechnic display suggested by Batson. Indeed, he went so far as to buy and bring home a shilling's-worth of detonating powder to aid the contemplated _feu de joie_; but, no sooner had the boys got in and gone up-stairs to arrange their clothes for Sunday, as was our custom before tea-time every Saturday afternoon, than Dr Hellyer, accompanied by Smiley and the Cobbler, and the old woman, who had the keenest eye of the lot for the detection of contraband stores, came round to the dormitories on an exploring and searching expedition. There was a grand _expose_ of the conspiracy, of course, at once; for, the contents of all the lockers were turned out and the newly-purchased fireworks confiscated to the last cracker! "Ah--you can't deceive me!" exclaimed the Doctor, as he departed triumphantly, his arms and those of his assistants loaded with the spoils of their raid, "I told you I would not have any fireworks in my school this year, and shall keep my word, as you see! You have only to thank yourselves--ah--for wasting your money! But, for disobeying my orders the boys will all stop in next week on both half-holidays;" and, so concluding his parting address, with a triumphant grin on his huge round face, he went out, leaving the baffled conspirators in agonies of rage, swearing vengeance against the unknown spy who had betrayed their preparations. Tom and I were jubilant, however. Nothing could have worked better for the end we had in view; as, after this failure of Batson, the surprise we intended for the Doctor would be all the more unexpected and correspondingly successful. It was a sad night, though, for the other fellows. When Sunday morning came, the boys got up grumbling, moody, defiant, and almost inclined to weep over their frustrated efforts; while Tom and I were so jolly that we could have sung aloud. We always breakfasted later on this day of the week, and after the meal was done generally lounged about the room while the old woman was clearing up, waiting till it was time for us to assemble for what we styled our "church parade;" but, this morning, the boys seemed out of sorts, and went back again up-stairs after they had finished, leaving only Tom and myself in the refectory, while the old woman was removing the breakfast things and putting on a clean table-cloth for dinner. She quitted the apartment as soon as she had swept up the fireplace, placing enough coal on the fire to last till the afternoon, and otherwise completing her arrangements--then going down to the kitchen, from which we knew she would not emerge until we came back from church again, when it would be time to sound the gong for dinner--which meal was also an hour later on Sundays than on week days; and, being generally of a more sumptuous description, it required extra cooking. This was the opportunity Tom and I had waited for all along, in pursuance of our plan; so, long ere the old woman had reached her sanctum below, we were at work, having taken advantage of the time we were washing in the lavatory before breakfast to put our fireworks and combustible matter in our pockets, whence we now quickly proceeded to extract the explosive agents, and deposit them in certain fixed positions we had arranged beforehand after much consultation. Now, what I am going to relate I would much rather not tell about, as it concerns what I consider a very shameful episode in my life. The only thing I can urge in extenuation of my conduct is the lax manner in which my earlier life was looked after in my uncle's house, where my worse passions were allowed full play, without that judicious control which parental guidance would perhaps have exercised on my inherent disposition for giving vent to temper, with no thought whatever of the consequences of any hare-brained act I might commit. I narrate, therefore, the circumstances that led to my running away from school, merely because my mad and wicked attempt to injure Dr Hellyer is a portion of my life-history, and I wish to describe all that happened to me truthfully, without glossing over a single incident to my discredit. I thus hope that no boy reading this will, on the strength of my example, be prompted to do evil, with the malicious idea of "paying off a grudge." I may add that I entirely take all the blame to myself, for, had it not been for me, Tom Larkyns, I am sure, would have had no hand in the matter; and you will see later on, if you proceed with my story, how, through the wonderful workings of Providence, I was almost subjected to the same terrible fate I had been the means of preparing for our schoolmaster; although, fortunately, the evil design I and Tom planned only reverted on our own heads. Our diabolical scheme was more than a thoughtless one. It might, besides, jeopardising the life of Dr Hellyer, have set fire to the house, when, perhaps, many of our schoolfellows might have been burnt to death. The first thing Dr Hellyer always did on entering the refectory when he returned from church was, as we well knew, to walk up to the fireplace, where he would give the bars a thorough raking out with the poker and then heap a large shovelful of coals on from the adjacent scuttle. In this receptacle, Tom and I now carefully placed about a quarter of a pound of gunpowder with some squibs, the latter blackened over like the shining Wallsend knobs, so as to escape detection; and then, such was our fiendish plan, we concealed under the cushion of the Doctor's armchair a packet of crackers, connected with a long tiny thread of a fuse leading midway under the centre of the broad table, so that it could not be seen or interfered with by the boys' feet as they sat at dinner, along the floor to the end of the form where we usually sat, near the entrance to the apartment. "I shall manage to light this fuse somehow or other," Tom said, assuming the control of this infernal machine; and then, after going into the hall to get our caps, giving another look round the room when we came back, to see whether our preparations were noticeable, we awaited Dr Hellyer's summons to proceed to church--with calm satisfaction at the so far successful issue of our calculations. During our processional walk we were both in high glee at the grand "blowing up" that would happen on our return--a sort of "Roland for an Oliver" in return for the many different sorts of blowings up we had received at Dr Hellyer's hands at one time and another. I was all the more excited, too, for I had made up my mind to attempt another exploit of which I had not even warned Tom, but which would probably throw his sublime conception into the shade. I had, in my visits to the different coasting craft in the harbour, been presented by a fisherman with a lot of very small fish-hooks. These I had in the morning attached by thin pieces of thread to several fire crackers, which I intended for my own personal satisfaction to present to the Doctor, although in a way he would not relish or dream of. If there was one thing more than another that Dr Hellyer esteemed I think I have already sufficiently pointed out it was his dignity--to the glory of which the archdeacon's hat he always wore on Sundays eminently contributed; and, as may be believed, he venerated this head-covering accordingly. It was against this hat I contemplated taking especial proceedings now. Being held to be an outlaw to all ordinary discipline, the Doctor, to have me under his own eye, made me walk close behind him in the procession formed for our march to and from church. Tom and some three or four other unruly members were also similarly distinguished; and, as walking two-and-two abreast we made such a long string, that the masters behind could not see what was going on in front, we usually had a good deal of fun in the rear of the Doctor, without, of course, his perceiving it, or the teachers betraying us. Watching my chance, soon after we came out of church on this eventful occasion, I dexterously managed to fasten the fish-hooks with the crackers attached not only to different points of the master's garments, but also to his hat; and, the scrunching of our feet on the gravel pathway from the village deadening the sound I made in scratching the match I used, I contrived to light the crackers before any one, save the boys immediately alongside of me, perceived what I was doing. Everything favoured me. Presently, whiz--crack--and the Doctor's coat tails flew up as if by magic, swaying to and fro in the air, although there was no wind; and the fellows, smelling a "rat" as well as the burnt powder, began to titter. "What is that?" said the Doctor, sternly, turning round and confronting us with an even more majestic deportment than usual. Of course, nobody answered; but, the crack, crack, cracking continued, and in another minute, with a bang, off went Dr Hellyer's hat! Nor was that all. Putting up his hand, with a frantic clutch, to save his headgear from falling into the mire, it being a drizzling, mizzling, dirty November day, our worthy preceptor pulled away what we had always imagined to be a magnificent head of hair, but what turned out now, alas for human fallibility, only to be a wig! This was a discovery with a vengeance; and, as might have been expected, all the boys, as if with one accord, shouted with laughter. Dr Hellyer was speechless with indignation. He was mad with pain as well, for in clutching at his hat he had got one of my fish-hooks deeply imbedded in the palm of his hand--a sort of just retaliation, I thought it, for all he had made me suffer from his cruel "pandies." He guessed who was the offender at once, as he caught me laughing when he turned round, with the end of the smouldering match still held between my fingers. "Oh--ah! It is you, is it?" he gasped out, giving me a ponderous slap on one side of my face with the big broad hand that was uninjured, which made me reel and tumble down; but a second blow, a backhander on the opposite side of my head, brought me up again, "all standing." Still, although I felt these gentle taps, I could not help grinning, which, of course, increased his rage, if that were possible. He certainly presented a most comical spectacle, dancing there before us, first on one leg and then on the other, his bulky frame swaying to and fro, like that of an elephant performing a jig, with the crackers exploding every instant, and his bald head surrounded apparently with a halo of smoke like a "nimbus." The boys fairly shrieked with laughter, and even Smiley and the Cobbler had to turn their heads aside, to hide their irrepressible grins. As for myself, I confess that at the moment of perpetrating the cruel joke, I felt that I wouldn't have missed the sight for anything. I was really extremely proud of my achievement, although conscious that I should have to pay dearly bye-and-bye for my freak in the way of "pandies" and forced abstention from food; but I little thought of the stern Nemesis at a later period of my life Providence had in store for me. In a little time the crackers had all expended their force; when the Doctor, jamming down the wig and his somewhat crushed and dirty hat over his fuming brows, with a defiant glare at the lot of us, resumed his march homeward--taking the precaution of clutching hold of my arm with a policeman-like grip, as if he were afraid of my giving him the slip before he had pandied the satisfaction he clearly intended to have out of my unhappy body. But he need not have been thus alarmed on the score of any attempted flight on my part, at least then; for I was quite as anxious to reach the school as he was to get me there. Much as I had enjoyed this cracker scene, which I had brought about on my own account, I was longing to see the denouement of the deeply-planned plot, the details of which Tom and I had so carefully arranged before starting for church. My little venture was nothing in comparison with what this would be, I thought. My ambition was soon gratified. Our little contretemps on the way had somewhat delayed dinner, which was already on the table on out arrival; so, without wasting any more time, Dr Hellyer marched us all in before him, still holding on to me until he had reached the top of the refectory, where, ordering me to stand up in front of his armchair, he proceeded as usual to poke the fire and then shovel on coals. Bang! In a second, there was a great glare, and then an explosion, which brought down a quantity of soot from the old-fashioned open chimney, covering me all over and making me look like a young sweep, as I was standing right in front of the fireplace, and came in for the full benefit of it. I was not at all frightened, however, as, of course, I had expected a somewhat similar result as soon as the coals went on. Not so the Doctor, though. With a deep objurgation, he sank back into his armchair, as if completely overcome. This was Tom's opportunity, and he quickly took advantage of it. Glancing slily down under the table, I could see him in the distance stoop beneath it and apply a match to the end of the fuse, which being a dry one at once ignited, the spluttering flame running along like a streak of lightning along the floor and up the leg of the chair on which Dr Hellyer was sitting--too instantaneously to be detected by any one not specially looking out for it, like myself. Poof--crack--bang, went off another explosion; and up bounced Old Hellyer, as if a catapult had been applied below his seat. You never saw such a commotion as now ensued. Tom and I were the only ones who preserved their composure out of the whole lot in the room, although Dr Hellyer soon showed that, if startled at first, he had not quite lost his senses. He rushed at me at once, quite certain that as I had perpetrated the former attack on his sacred person while on the way from church, I must likewise be guilty of this second attempt to make a Guy Fawkes of him; and, striking out savagely, he felled me with a weighty blow from his great fist, sending me rolling along under the table, and causing me to see many more stars than an active astronomer could count in the same space of time--but I'm sure he had sufficient justification to have treated me even worse! "You young ruffian!" he exclaimed as he knocked me down, his passion getting the better both of his scholastic judgment and academical dignity, and he would probably have proceeded to further extremities had not Tom Larkyns started up. "Oh, please don't punish Leigh, sir," I heard him cry out as I lay on the floor, just within reach of the Doctor's thick club-soled boots, with which I believe he was just going to operate on me in "Lancashire fashion," as fighting men say. "Please, sir, don't hurt Leigh--it was I who did it!" At this interruption, which seemed to recall him to himself, the master regained his composure in an instant. "Get up, boy!" he said to me, gruffly, spurning me away with his foot, and then, as soon as I was once more in a perpendicular position, he ordered me, sooty as I was, to go and stand up alongside of Tom. "Brothers in arms, hey?" chuckled our incensed pedagogue, pondering over the most aggravating form of torture which he could administer to us in retaliation for what we had made his person and dignity suffer. "I'll make you sick of each other's companionship before I've done with you! Stand up there together now, you pair of young desperadoes, while the rest of the boys have dinner, which your diabolical conduct has so long delayed. Mr Smallpage, say grace, please." "Smiley" thereupon performed the Doctor's usual function; then the fellows were helped round to roast mutton and Yorkshire pudding--Tom and I, both hungry as usual, you may be sure--having the gratification of smelling without being allowed to taste. This was Dr Hellyer's very practical first stage of punishment; he always commenced with starving us for any offence against his laws and ordinances, and then wound up his trilogy of penance with a proportionate number of "pandies" and solitary confinement. After dinner the other boys were dismissed, but Tom and I remained still standing there; Dr Hellyer the while seated in his armchair watching us grimly as if taking pleasure in our sufferings, and without uttering a word to either of us. The afternoon progressed, and the fellows came trooping in to tea at six, the old woman first arriving; to lay the cloth and put on the china teapot and tin mugs. We, however, had to pass through the same ordeal as at dinner; there was none for us, for still the Doctor sat there in the armchair by the fire, looking in the dancing gleams of light like some old wizard or magician weaving a charm of spells which was to turn us into stone where we stood, if that process should not be rendered unnecessary by our being frozen beforehand from cramp through remaining so long in the one position. When the bed gong sounded, we heard the boys trooping up-stairs; and then Dr Hellyer rose at last. "Martin Leigh and Thomas Larkyns," he rolled out in his very deepest voice, making the ceiling of the refectory ring as usual. "I intend to expel you from my school. I shall write to your friends in the morning; and, in the meantime, you will be confined here until they come to remove you!" He then left the room, locking the door behind him, when the single jet of light from one burner went out suddenly with a jump, showing that he had turned the gas off at the main, and that we should not have a cheering beam to illumine our solitary vigil throughout the weary night. A little bit of fire was still flickering in the grate, however, and, by this feeble light Tom and I looked at each other in desperation. We were in a hobble, and no mistake! What was to be done? CHAPTER SEVEN. CATCHING A TARTAR. "Well, this is a nice mess we're in!" said Tom, after a moment's pause, during which we stared blankly at each other in front of the fire, which we had approached as soon as our janitor had departed. My chum seated himself comfortably in the Doctor's armchair, which he drew near the hearth, putting his feet on the fender so as to warm his chilled toes; but I remained standing beside him, leaning against the chimney-piece. "Yes," I replied, disconsolately. "It's too bad though; I say, old fellow, I'm awfully hungry!" "So am I," said Tom, "but I don't suppose we'll be able to get anything whatever to eat before morning--if the Doctor lets us have breakfast then!" "Oh, bother him!" I exclaimed; "I'm not going to starve." "Why, what can we do, Martin? I don't think you'll find any grub here. The old woman swept away every crumb, even from the floor, after tea; I was watching her like a dog after a bone." "What are we to do, eh?" I repeated, cheerfully, my spirits rising to the occasion; "why, get away from this as soon as we can!" "Run away?" ejaculated Tom in astonishment. I nodded my head in the affirmative. "But how can we get out?" "I'll soon show you," I said, complacently. "I thought we'd be placed in a fix after our lark, and I made my preparations accordingly." "By Jove, Martin, you're a wonderful fellow!" cried Tom, as I then proceeded to peel off my jacket and waistcoat, unwinding some twenty feet of thick cord, which I had procured from my sailor friends in the harbour and had been carrying about me all day, rolled round my body over my shirt, so as not to lacerate my skin--fearing all the while that the podgy appearance which its bulk gave to me would be noticed, although fortunately it had escaped comment. "We'll get down from the balcony outside the window by the aid of this," I explained, as soon as I had got rid of the rope from about my person, coiling it up handily, first knotting it at intervals, so that we could descend gradually, without hurting our hands, already sore from "pandies." "And, once outside the house, why, we'll make off for the harbour, where I've no doubt my friends on board the coal brig, which was lying alongside the quay last Wednesday, when I was down there, will take us in, and make us comfortable." "My!" exclaimed Tom, "why, you're a regular brick, Martin. One would think you had planned it out all beforehand!" "Just precisely what I did," I replied, chuckling at having kept my secret. "I have determined ever since last summer to run away to sea at the first opportunity I got; and when you suggested our blowing up Dr Hellyer, and making a regular Guy Fawkes of him, I, thought it would be too warm for us here afterwards, and that then would be the time to bolt. There is no use in our remaining now, to be starved first and expelled afterwards--with probably any number of `pandies' given us to- morrow in addition." "No," said Tom, agreeing with this pretty correct estimate of our present position and future prospects. "Dr Hellyer will whack that ruler of his into us in the morning, without fail--I could see it in his eye as he went out of the room, as well as from that grin he put on when he spoke. I dare say, besides, we won't be allowed a morsel to eat all day; we shall be kept here to watch the other fellows feeding--it's a brutal way of paying a chap out, isn't it?" "Well, I'm not going to put up with it, for one," said I, decisively. "You know, Tom, as soon as my uncle hears of my being expelled, prompted by Aunt Matilda, he will seize the chance of doing what he has long threatened, and `wash his hands of me,' and then, why I will be in only just the same plight as if I take French leave of Dr Hellyer now!" "My mother, though, will be grieved when she hears of this," put in Tom, as if hesitating what he should do. "Nonsense, Tom," I replied--still exercising the influence I possessed over my chum for evil!--"I am certain that if she knew that the Doctor had treated you as he has done, starving you and keeping you here all night in the cold out of your bed, she wouldn't mind a bit your running away from the school along with me; especially when I'm going to take you where you'll get food and shelter." This argument decided Tom at once. "All right," said he, in the usual jolly way in which he and I settled all our little differences. "I'll come, Martin. But it is getting late. Don't you think, too, we'd better look alive and start as soon as we can?" "I was waiting till we heard the Doctor snoring," I replied. "Go and listen at the door; his room, you know, is on the other side of the landing, and you'll be able to tell in a minute whether he is asleep or not." Tom did as I requested, stealing noiselessly across the room for the purpose, returning quickly with the news that our worthy preceptor was fast in the arms of Morpheus, judging by the stentorian sound of his deep breathing. Dr Hellyer had made a hearty dinner, in spite of our having upset his equanimity so unexpectedly. He had likewise disposed of an equally hearty tea; so he was now sleeping soundly--his peaceful slumbers doubtless soothed with sweet dreams in reference to the punishment he intended inflicting on us on the morrow, not thinking for a moment, unhappy dreamer, that the poor birds whom he had, as he imagined, effectually snared and purposed plucking, would by that time, if all went well with our plans, have flown far beyond reach of his nervous arm! The master asleep, we had no fear of interruption from any one else, for the old woman took her repose in the back kitchen, out of earshot of anything happening in the front of the house, and Smiley and the Cobbler were probably snoring away as composedly as their chief in the dormitories above, of which they were in charge; so, Tom and I at once began operations for effecting our "strategic retreat" from the establishment. The windows of the refectory opened on to a narrow balcony that ran along the front of the house; and these, having heavy wooden shutters, fastened by horizontal iron bars, latching into a catch, we had some little difficulty in opening the one we fixed on for making our exit by, the bar securing it being some height from the floor and quite beyond our reach. However, as Tom magniloquently quoted, difficulties were only made for brave men--or boys--to surmount. By lifting one of the forms as quietly as we could close to the window, and standing on this, the two of us managed to raise the iron bar from the catch and let it swing down, although the hinges made a terrible creaking noise in the operation, which we thought would waken Dr Hellyer up. However, on going to the door to listen again, we heard him still snoring, so we then proceeded to unfasten the window, letting in the cold night air, that made us shiver as it blew into the room from the sea. It was quite dark when we got outside into the balcony, although we could see a star or two faintly glimmering overhead; while away to the westward, across the common, the red light at the pier-head marking the entrance to the harbour was visible. Like most watering-places in the "dead season," everybody went to bed early in the terrace; so that, although it could have been barely ten o'clock, not a light was to be seen from the windows of the neighbouring houses. "Just the night for a burglary!" said Tom with a snigger, on our cautiously looking round us to see if the coast was clear. "Yes," I chimed in, joyously, "only, we are going to burgle out, instead of breaking in;" and we then both had a hearty chuckle at this little joke. Still, no time was to be lost, now that we had got so far. The next thing, therefore, to do, was to descend the balcony; and, here, my happily-thought-of rope ladder came in handily to deliver us from durance vile. Knotting it securely to the top rail of the balustrade, I gave it a strong tug or two to test its strength, making the balcony shake and tremble with the strain. "Do you think it will bear our weight?" asked Tom, anxiously, noticing me do this and feeling the vibratory movement. "Bear our weight, you shrimp," I rejoined, "why, it would hold forty of us, and Dr Hellyer too!" At this we both sniggered again, suppressing our merriment, however, for fear of being overheard; and then, drawing-to the shutter inside as close as I could, so that it should not show too plainly the fact of its being unbarred, and closing the window itself, which was a much easier task, we prepared to slide down to the pavement below. "I had better go first," I said to Tom, "I'm the heaviest; so, if I reach the ground all right, there'll be no fear of the rope giving way with you." Tom argued the point, considering that the question was one of honour, like that of leading a forlorn hope; but, on my saying that I had planned the enterprise and thereby was entitled by right to be the first to venture down, quite apart from the fact of my supplying the rope, he yielded gracefully. Thereupon, without any more fuss, I got over the railings of the balcony, and holding on tightly to the frail cord with both hands, letting my legs drop, and then obtaining a grip below with my ankles, I allowed myself to slide down below, checking the rapidity of my descent by the knots I had previously placed there, a foot or so apart, for this especial purpose. I swayed round a bit, but the rope held firmly; and in a few seconds I was standing on the steps below, waiting for Tom to join me. He came down much easier than I did, from the fact of my holding the other end of our improvised ladder, thus preventing it from twirling him about in the same way as it had treated me, causing me almost to feel giddy. As soon as he stood beside me I coiled up the end of the cord, flinging it back with a dexterous heave, in the way my sailor friend had taught me, over the balcony again, so that the end of it might not be seen hanging down, and so betray us too soon should any passer-by notice it. "Come on, Tom," I then said, "a long good-bye to the Doctor's, my boy, the blessed place shall never see me again, if I can help it! Let us make for the quay now, and get on board the brig if we can--that is, unless it be too late, in which case we must hide somewhere till the morning." "All right," he replied; and the two of us at once started off at a jog- trot up the terrace and along the road that led into the town. We were successful so far, but we were almost captured on the threshold of victory through an unforeseen contingency; for, just as we turned round the corner of the terrace by the country inn, or "hotel," which I had noticed on my way from the station when I first arrived at the place with Grimes, the cantankerous old railway porter escorting me to the school, who should we meet point-blank but that identical worthy! He was evidently going home to bed having just been turned out of the inn, which was shutting up for the night. He had, apparently, spent a most enjoyable evening, for he seemed in good spirits--or, rather, perhaps had a pretty good amount of spirits or beer in him--as he reeled somewhat in his gait, and, although it was Sunday, was trying in his cracked falsetto voice to chant a Bacchanalian ditty assertive of the fact that he wouldn't "go home till morning!" But, in despite of being tipsy, he recognised us both instantly. He was in the habit of coming constantly to and from the station to Dr Hellyer's with parcels, and was, besides, frequently employed by the Doctor in odd jobs about the house, consequently he was perfectly familiar with our faces--especially mine, which he had never forgotten since that little altercation I had with him on my first introduction. I believe the old fellow bore me a grudge for having spoken to him so peremptorily on that occasion, which even my present of sixpence had not been able to obliterate. He saw us now without doubt, as we passed by hurriedly, close to one of the street lamps which shone down full upon us; and, alert in a moment, he hailed us at once. "Hullo, you young vaggybones," he screeched out with a hiccup; "where be ye off ter now, hey?" We made no answer to this, only quickening our pace; and he staggered after us waveringly, wheezing out in broken accents, "I knows you, Master Bantam, I does, and you Tom Larkyns; and I'll tell the Doctor, I will, sure--sure--sure-ly." But, unawed by this threat, we still went on at our jog-trot until we were well out of his sight, when, retracing our steps again, we watched at a safe distance to see what he would do. We were soon relieved, however, from any anxiety of his giving the alarm, for, although he attempted to take the turning leading down to the school, his legs, which had only been educated up to the point of taking him home and nowhere else after leaving the inn, must have refused to convey him in this new direction, for we could see him presently clinging to the lamp- post that had betrayed us, having a parley with the mutinous members-- the upshot being that he abandoned any design he might have formed of going there and then to Dr Hellyer, postponing his statement as to what he had seen of us, as we could make out from his muttered speech, "till marn-ing," and mingling his determination with the refrain of the ditty he had been previously warbling. This was a lucky ending to what might otherwise have been a sad mischance, if Dr Hellyer had been at once made acquainted with our flight; so, devoutly thankful for our escape, we resumed our onward jog- trot towards the quay, which we reached safely shortly afterwards, without further incident or accident by the way. After being out in the open air a little while, the evening did not seem nearly so dark as we had thought when first peering out from the window of the refectory before making our final exit from the school. Our eyes, probably, became more accustomed to the half-light; but whether or no this was the case, we managed to get down to the harbour as comfortably as if going there in broad day. The brig which I had been on board of on many previous occasions, the _Saucy Sall_, of South Shields, was lying alongside the jetty in her old berth, with a plank leading up to the gangway; and, seeing a light in the fo'c's'le, I mounted up to her deck, telling Tom to follow me, making my way forwards towards the glimmer. All the hands were ashore, carousing with their friends, with the exception of one man, who was reading a scrap of newspaper by the light of a sputtering dip candle stuck into a ship's lantern. He looked rather surprised at receiving a visit from me at such a time of night; but, on my telling him the circumstances of our case, he made us both welcome. Not only this, he brought out some scraps of bread and meat which he had stored up in a mess-tin, most likely for his breakfast, urging on us to "fire away," as we were heartily free to it, and regretting that was all he had with which to satisfy our hunger. This man's name was Jorrocks, and he was the first seafaring acquaintance I had made when I had timidly crept down to the quay two years before during the summer vacation; thus, we were now old friends, so to speak. He told us, after we had polished the mess-tin clean, that the brig was going to sail in the morning, for Newcastle, with the tide, which would "make," he thought, soon after sunrise. "Why, that'll be the very thing for us," I exclaimed. "Nothing can be better!" But Jorrocks shook his head. "I don't know how the skipper'd like it," he said doubtingly. "Oh, bother him," interposed Tom; "can't you hide us somewhere till the vessel gets out to sea; and then, he'll have to put up with our presence whether he likes it or not?" "What, hide you down below, my kiddies!" said the man, laughing. "Why, he'll larrup the life out of you with a rope's-end when he finds you aboard. I tell you what, he a'most murdered the last stowaway we had coming out of Shields two years ago!" "Never mind that," I put in here; "we'll have to grin and bear it, and take monkey's allowance if he cuts up rough. All we want to do now is to get away from here; for, no matter how your captain may treat us, Dr Hellyer would serve us out worse if he caught us again! Do help us, Jorrocks, like a good fellow! Stow us away in the hold, or somewhere, until we are out of port." Our united entreaties at last prevailed, Jorrocks consenting finally to conceal us on board the brig, although not until after much persuasion. "Mind, though, you ain't going to split on who helped yer?" he provisoed. "No, Jorrocks, we pledge our words to that," Tom and I chorused. "Then, come along o' me," the good-natured salt said, and lifting the scuttle communicating with the hold forwards, he told us to get down into the forepeak, showing us how to swing by our hands from the coaming round the hole in the deck, as there was no ladder-way. "There, you stow yourselves well forrud," he enjoined, as soon as we had descended, chucking down a spare tarpaulin and some pieces of canvas after us to make ourselves comfortable with. "Lie quiet, mind," he added as a parting injunction, "the rest of the hands and the skipper will be soon aboard, and it'll be all up if they finds you out afore we start." "All right, we'll be as still as if we're dead," I said. "Then, belay there," replied Jorrocks, shouting out kindly, as he replaced the hatch cover, which stopped up the entrance to our hiding place so effectually that the interior became as dark as Erebus. "Good, night, lads, and good fortune! I'll try and smuggle you down some breakfast in the mornin'." "Thank you; good night!" we shouted in return, although we doubted whether he could hear us now the scuttle was on. Thus left to ourselves, we scraped together, by feeling, as we could not see, the materials Jorrocks had supplied us with for a bed, on which we flung ourselves with much satisfaction, thoroughly tired out on account of the Doctor's having kept us standing up all day, in addition to the exertions we had since made in making our escape from school. The novelty of our new situation, combined with its strange surroundings, kept us awake for a little time, but we were too much fatigued both in body and mind for our eyelids to remain long open; and soon, in spite of our daring escapade and the fact that the unknown future was a world of mystery before us, we were as snugly asleep as if in our beds in the dormitory at Dr Hellyer's--albeit we were down in the hold of a dirty coal brig, with our lullaby sung by the incoming tide, which was by this time nearly on the turn, washing and splashing by the bows of the vessel lying alongside the projecting jetty, in its way up the estuary of the river that composed the little harbour. How long we had been in the land of dreams, and whether it was morning, mid-day, or night, we knew not, for a thick impenetrable darkness still filled the forehold where we were stowed; but, Tom and myself awoke to the joyful certainty that we were at sea, or must be so--not only from the motion of the brig, as she plunged up and down, with an occasional heavy roll to port or starboard; but from the noise, also, that the waves made, banging against her bow timbers, as if trying to beat them in, and the trampling of the crew above on the deck over our heads. We listened to these sounds for hours, unable to see anything and having nought else to distract our attention, until Tom, becoming somewhat affected by the smell of the bilge water in the hold as well as by the unaccustomed rocking movement of the brig, began to feel sea-sick and fretful. "I declare this is worse than the Doctor's," he complained. "We'll soon be let out," I said, "and then you'll feel better." But, the friendly Jorrocks did not appear; and, at length, wearied out at last by our vain watching, we both sank off to sleep again on our uneasy couch. After a time we woke up again. There was a noise as if the hatchway was being raised, and then the welcome gleam of a lantern appeared above the orifice. It was Jorrocks come to relieve us, we thought; and so we both started up instantly. The hour for our deliverance had not yet arrived, however. "Steady!" cried our friend. "We're just off Beachy Head, and you must lie where you are till mornin'; but, as you must be famished by now, I've brought you a bit of grub to keep your pecker up. Show a hand, Master Martin!" I thereupon stretched out upwards, and Jorrocks, reaching downwards, placed in my grip our old acquaintance of the previous night, the mess- tin, filled with pieces of beef and potatoes mixed up together, after which he shoved on the hatchway cover again, as if somebody had suddenly interrupted him. I made a hearty meal, although Tom felt too qualmish to eat much, and then we both lay down with the assurance that our troubles would probably soon be over. I suppose we went to sleep again, for it seemed but a very brief interval, when, awaking with a start, I perceived the hatchway open. "Rouse up, Tom," said I, shaking him; "we'd better climb on deck at once." "All right," replied Tom, jumping up, and he was soon on the fo'c's'le, with me after him. "Who the mother's son are you?" a gruff voice exclaimed; and, looking round, I saw the skipper of the brig advancing from aft, brandishing a handspike. I immediately stepped forwards in front of Tom. "We've run away to sea, sir," I explained. "So I see," said the skipper, drawing nearer; "but, what right have you to come aboard my craft?" "We couldn't help it, sir," I answered, civilly, wishing to propitiate him. "It was our only chance." "Oh, then you'll find it a poor one, youngster," said he grimly. "Boatswain!" "Aye, aye, sir!" responded Jorrocks, stepping up. "Do you know these boys?" "I've seen 'em at Beachampton," said our friend. "You don't know how they came aboard, eh?" "No, I can't say as how I can say, 'zactly, cap'en." "Well, then tie 'em up to the windlass and fetch me a rope's-end. Now, my jokers," added he, turning to us, "I've sworn to larrup every stowaway I ever finds in my brig, and I'm a going to larrup you now!" CHAPTER EIGHT. "A FRIEND IN NEED." Jorrocks had no option but, first, to proceed to pinion us, and then tie us separately to the windlass, using us as kindly as he could in the operation and with a sympathising expression on his face--that said as plainly as looks could speak, "I am really very sorry for this; but I told you what you might expect, and I can't help it!" He afterwards went aft to the skipper's cabin, bringing forwards from thence a stout piece of cord, with the ends frayed into lashes like those of a whip, which had evidently seen a good deal of service. This "cat" he handed deferentially to the commander of the brig; who, seizing it firmly in his right fist, and holding the handspike still in his left, as if to be prepared for all emergencies, began to lay stroke upon stroke on our shoulders with a dexterity which Dr Hellyer would have envied, without being able to rival. It was the most terrible thrashing that either Tom or myself had ever experienced before; and, long ere the skipper's practised arm had tired, our fortitude broke down so, that we had fairly to cry for mercy. "You'll never stow yourself away on board my brig again, will you?" asked our flagellator of each of us alternately, with an alternate lash across our backs to give emphasis to his question, making us jump up from the deck and quiver all over, as we tried in vain to wriggle out of the lashings with which we were tied. "No, I won't," screamed out Tom, the tears running down his cheeks from the pain of the ordeal. "I'll promise you never to put my foot within a mile of her, if you let me off!" "And so will I, too," I bawled out quickly, following suit to Tom. I can really honestly aver that we both meant what we said, most sincerely! "All right then, you young beggars; that'll do for your first lesson. The thrashing will pay your footing for coming aboard without leave. Jorrocks, you can cut these scamps down now, and find them something to do in the fo'c's'le--make 'em polish the ring-bolts if there's nothing else on hand!" So saying, the skipper, satisfied with taking our passage money out of our hides, walked away aft; while Jorrocks began to cast loose our lashings, with many whispered words of comfort, which he was afraid to utter aloud, mixed up with comments on the captain's conduct. "He's a rough customer to deal with--as tough as they make 'em," said he, confidentially, removing the last bight round Tom's body and setting him free; "but, he's all there!" "So he is," said Tom, with much decision, rubbing his sore shoulders. "I will vouch for the truth of that statement!" "And, when he says he'll do a thing, he allys does it," continued Jorrocks, in testimony to the skipper's firmness of purpose. "He won't flog _me_ again," said Tom, savagely, in answer to the boatswain's last remark. "Nor me," I put in. "Ah, you'd better keep quiet till you're ashore ag'in," advised our friend, meaningly. "You won't find much more harm in him than you've done already; and bye-and-bye, when he's got used to seeing you about, he'll be as soft and easy as butter." "Oh yes, I can well believe that!" said Tom, ironically; but then, acting on the advice of Jorrocks, although more to save him from getting into a scrape on our behalf, than from any fear of further molestation from the skipper, against whom our hearts were now hardened, we bustled about the fo'c's'le, pretending to be awfully busy coiling down the slack of the jib halliards, and doing other odd jobs forward. Up to this time, neither of us had an opportunity of casting a glance over the vessel to see where she was, our attention from the moment we gained the deck having been entirely taken up by the proceedings of the little drama I have just narrated, which prevented us from making any observations of the _mise en scene_, whether inboard or over the side. Now, however, having a chance of looking about me, my first glance was up aloft; and I noticed that the brig was under all plain sail, running before the wind, which was almost dead aft. Being "light," that is having no cargo on board beyond such ballast as was required to ensure her stability when heeling over, she was rolling a good deal, lurching from side to side as her canvas filled out to the breeze, with every fresh puff of air. Away to the left, over our port beam, I could see land in the distance, which Jorrocks told me was the North Foreland--near Margate--a place that I knew by name of course, although this information did not give me any accurate idea of the brig's whereabouts; but, later on in the day, when the vessel had run some fifteen or twenty miles further, steering to the north-east, with the wind to the southward of west, we passed through a lot of brackish mud-coloured water, close to a light-ship, that my friend the boatswain said was the Kentish Knock, midway between the mouth of the Thames and wash of the Humber, and it was only then that I realised the fact, that we were running up the eastern coast of England and were well on our way to Newcastle, for which port, as I've intimated before, we were bound. "Hurrah!" exclaimed Tom, when I mentioned this to him. "We'll soon then be able to give that brute of a skipper the slip. I won't stop on board this horrid brig a minute longer than I can help, Martin, you may be certain!" "Avast--belay that!" interposed Jorrocks, who was close behind, and heard this confession. "Don't you count your chickens afore they're hatched, young master! Take my word for it, the skipper won't let you out of his sight 'fore you've paid him for your grub and passage." "But how can he, when we've got no money?" asked Tom. "That makes no difference," said Jorrocks, with an expressive wink that spoke volumes. "You'll see if he don't make you work 'em out, and that'll be as good to him as if you paid him a shiner or two. You jest wait till we gets to Noocastle, my lad, and I specs you'll larn what coal-screening is afore you've done with it." "And what if we refuse?" inquired Tom, to whom this grimy prospect did not appear over-pleasant. "Why, there'll be larruping," replied the boatswain, significantly, with another expressive wink, and Tom was silenced; but, it was only for a moment, as he looked up again the instant afterwards with his usual bright expression. "Perhaps it will be wisest to make the best of a bad job, Martin, eh?" he said, cheerfully. "We have only to thank ourselves for getting into this scrape, and the most sensible thing we can do now is to grin and bear whatever we've got to put up with." This exactly agreed with my own conclusions, and I signified my assent to the sound philosophy of Tom's remark with my usual nod; but, as for Jorrocks, he was completely carried away with enthusiasm. "Right you are, my hearty!" he cried, wringing Tom's hand in the grip of his brawny fist as if he would shake it off. "That's the sort o' lad for me! You've an old head on young shoulders, you have--you'll get on with the skipper, no fear; and me and my mates will make you both as com'able aboard as we can; theer, I can say no better, can I?" "No," replied Tom, in an equally hearty tone. The _Saucy Sall_ being only of small tonnage, she had a correspondingly small crew, seven men and a boy--including the skipper and Jorrocks, and excluding ourselves for the present--comprising "all hands." Of this number, one was aft now, taking his turn at the wheel, with the skipper standing beside him, while a couple of others were lounging about, ready to slacken off or haul taut the sheets; and the remainder, whose watch below it was, were seeing to the preparations for dinner--a savoury smell coming out from the fo'c's'le heads, that was most appetising to Tom and me, who were both longing to have once more a good hot meal. Presently, the skipper shouted out something about "making it eight bells," whereupon Jorrocks took hold of a marlinspike, which he had seemingly ready for the purpose, striking eight sharp, quick blows on a little bell hanging right under the break of the little topgallant fo'c's'le, with which the old-fashioned coaster was built. "That's the pipe down to dinner," he said to us in explanatory fashion. "Come along o' me, and I'll introduce you to yer messmates in proper shipshape way!" Thereupon, we both followed Jorrocks into the dark little den in the fore-part of the vessel, with which Tom had first made acquaintance the night we went on board, after escaping from Dr Hellyer's, now four days since--a long while it seemed to us, although only so short an interval, from the experiences we had since gained, and our entirely new mode of life. The place was small and dark, with bunks ranged along either side, and a stove in the centre, at which one of the hands, selected as cook, was just giving a final stir to a steaming compound of meat, potatoes, and biscuit, all stewed up together, and dubbed by sailors "lobscouse." Most of the crew I already knew, from my visits to the brig during vacation time; but, Tom being a comparative stranger--albeit all of them had witnessed the "striking proof" of the honour the skipper considered our coming on board had done him--Jorrocks thought best to introduce us in a set speech, saying how we were "a good sort, and no mistake"; and that, although we were the sons of gentlemen, who had "runned away from school," we were going to shake in our lot with them "like one of theirselves." This seemed to go down as well as the stew, of which we were cordially invited to partake, that disappeared rapidly down our famished throats; and, thenceforth, we were treated with that good fellowship which seems natural to those who follow the sea--none attempting to bully us, or take advantage of our youth, and all eager to complete our nautical education to the best of their ability. Perhaps this was principally on account of Jorrocks constituting himself our friend and patron, and keeping a keen eye on our interests in the food department, so as to see that we had a fair share of what was going; but, at any rate, thus it was, for, with the exception of the skipper, we had no reason to complain of the treatment of any one on board the brig, from the time we joined her in the surreptitious manner I have described, to the moment of our leaving her. Towards evening, the wind shifting more to the westwards and bearing on our quarter, the yards had to be braced round a bit and the jib sheet hauled in taut to leeward, giving Tom and me an opportunity of showing our willingness to bear a hand. Otherwise, however, until we arrived at Newcastle there was little to do in the way of trimming sails, as the wind was fair all the way, giving no occasion for reefing or furling canvas until we got into port. I don't believe, either, we were out of sight of land once during the progress of the voyage; for, the skipper, like the commanders of most coasting craft, hugged the shore in navigating to and fro between the different places for which he was bound, never losing sight of one prominent landmark or headland till he could distinguish the next beyond, in the day-time, and steering by the lighthouses and floating beacons, by night. If times had been easy for us so far, when we arrived at Newcastle we had terrible work to balance our good fortune in this respect. Talk of galley slaves! no unfortunate criminals chained to the oar in the old days of that aquatic mode of punishment ever went through half what poor Tom and I did at this great coal centre of the north--none at least could have suffered so much in body and spirit from the effects of a form of toil, to which the ordinary labour of a negro slave on a Cuban plantation would be as nothing! The skipper never allowed us once to leave the vessel to go ashore, although all the other hands went backwards from brig to land as it seemed to please them, without any restraint being apparently put on their movements; but, whether our stern taskmaster was afraid of our "cutting and running" before he had his pound of flesh out of us, or whether he feared being called to account under the terms of the Merchant Shipping Act for having us on board without our names being on the brig's books as duly licensed apprentices, when he might have been subjected to a penalty, I know not. The fact remains, that there he kept us day and night as long as we remained taking in a fresh cargo of coals. We never once set foot on land during our stay in port. And the work! We did not have to carry the bags of coal, as the rest of the crew did, from the wharf to the gangway of the vessel, as then we might have been seen; but we had to bear a hand over the hatches to shunt the bags down into the hold, into which we were afterwards sent with rakes and shovels to stow the rough lumps into odd holes and corners and make a smooth surface generally, until the brig was chock full to the deck-beams, when we couldn't even creep in on our hands and knees to distribute the cargo further! This job being finished, the hatches were battened down, and the brig made sail again for the south. This time, our destination was further along the coast westwards, the collier brig proceeding to Plymouth instead of returning to our previous port of departure--a circumstance which rejoiced us both greatly, as we should not have liked to have been landed again at the place we had left: Dr Hellyer, perhaps, would have been more pleased to see us than we should have been to meet him! The wind, on our return trip, was still westerly, and consequently against us; so I had no reason to complain of any lack of instruction in seamanship on this part of the voyage. It was "tacks and sheets"--"mainsail haul"--and "bout-ship"--"down anchor" as the tide changed, and "up with it!" again, when the flood or ebb was in our favour--all the way from the Mouse Light to Beachy Head! In performing these various nautical manoeuvres, I had plenty of exercise aloft, so that my previous teaching, when I used to go down to the quay in the summer vacations on being left alone at school, stood me now in good stead; and in a little while I became really, for a lad of my years, an expert seaman, able to hand, reef, steer, and take a watch with any on board, long before we got to Plymouth! But, it was not so with Tom. The coal business, he thought, having no turn for colliery work, was bad enough; but, when it came to have to go aloft in a gale of wind and take in sail on a dark night, with the flapping canvas trying to jerk one off the yard, Tom acknowledged that he had no stomach to be a sailor--he preferred gymnastics ashore! Although, otherwise, I had found him bold and fearless to desperation, he now evinced a nervous timidity about mounting the rigging that I didn't think he had in him. It seemed utterly unlike the dauntless Tom of old acquaintanceship on land. He said that he really "funked" going aloft, for it made his head swim when he looked down. I told him that if he got in the habit of looking down at the water below whenever he ascended the shrouds, instead of its only making his head swim, as he now complained, it would inevitably result in his entire self being forced to do so! However, he said he could not possibly help it, and really I don't believe he could. Some people are so constituted. The upshot was that the skipper, noticing his inefficiency in the work of the ship, made him his cabin boy, in place of the lad who had hitherto occupied that enviable position, and whom he now sent forward amongst the other hands in the fo'c's'le. But the change did not bring any amelioration to poor Tom's lot. It was "like going from the frying-pan into the fire;" for, now, my unfortunate chum, being immediately under the control of the skipper, who was a surly, ill-tempered brute at bottom, he paid him out for his laziness in "shirking work," as he termed the constitutional nervousness that he was powerless to fight against--Tom coming in for "more kicks than halfpence" by his promotion to the cabin, and having "purser's allowance" of all the beatings going, when the skipper was in one of his tantrums. I got into a serious row with the brute for taking Tom's part one day. In his passion, the skipper knocked me down with his favourite handspike, giving me a cut across my temple, the scar of which I'll carry to my grave. My interference, however, saved Tom and myself any further ill-treatment, as I bled so much from the blow he gave me and was insensible so long, that the men thought the skipper had killed me. They accordingly remonstrated so forcibly with him on the subject that he promised to let us both alone for the future, at least so far as the handspike was concerned. Fortunately, however, we were not much longer at the mercy of the brute's temper; for, the morning after this, we reached Beachy Head, anchoring there to await the ebb tide down Channel, and the wind chopping round to the north-eastwards, made it fair for us all the way, enabling us to fetch Plymouth within three days. Here, no sooner had the brig weathered Drake Island, anchoring inside the Cattwater, where all merchant vessels go to discharge their cargoes, than the skipper at once gave us notice to quit, almost without warning. "Be off now, you lazy lubbers," he cried, motioning us down into the _Saucy Sall's_ solitary boat, which had been got over the side, and which, with Jorrocks in charge of it, was waiting to take us ashore. "I'm glad to get rid of such idle hands; and you may thank your stars I've let you off so cheaply for your cheek in stowing yourselves away aboard my brig! You may think yourselves lucky I don't give you in charge, and get you put in gaol for it!" "You daren't," shouted back Tom, defiantly, as soon as he was safely down in the stern-sheets of the dinghy. "If you wanted to give us in charge, you ought to have done so in Newcastle, instead of making us work there for you like niggers. I've a great mind to have you up before the magistrates for your ill-treatment!" This appeared to shut up the skipper very effectively, for he didn't offer a word in reply; and, presently, Jorrocks landed us at the jetty stairs, close inside the Cattwater. Our old friend seemed quite sorry to part with us; and, knowing our destitute condition, he kindly presented us with the sum of five shillings, which he said was a joint subscription from all hands, who had "parted freely" when they learnt that we were about to be turned adrift from the brig, but which I believe mainly came out of his own pocket. "Good-bye, my lads," were his last words. "Keep your pecker up, and if you'll take the advice of an old sailor, I'd recommend you to write to your friends and go home." "Much he knows of my Aunt Matilda!" I said to Tom, as we watched the good-hearted fellow pulling back to the old tub on board of which we had passed through so much. "If he were acquainted with all the circumstances of the case I don't think he'd advise my going home at all events!" "I'm not quite sure of that, Martin," replied Tom, who was now thoroughly tired of everything connected with the sea, vowing that, after the experience he had gained, he would not go afloat again, to be made "Lord High Admiral of England!" "Well, we'll deliberate about it," said I, as we turned away from the jetty and walked towards the town, where our immediate intention was to enter a coffee-shop and get a substantial breakfast out of the funds which Jorrocks had so thoughtfully provided us with. Here, Tom's fate was soon decided; for, we had not long been seated in a small restaurant where we had ordered some coffee and bread-and-butter, which were the viands we specially longed for, than an advertisement on the front page of an old copy of the _Times_ caught my eye. It ran thus:-- "If Tom L---, who ran away from school in company with another boy on the night of November the Fifth and is supposed to have gone to sea, will communicate with his distressed mother, all will be forgiven." "Why, Tom," said I, reading it aloud, with some further particulars describing him, which I have not quoted--"this must refer to you!" "So it does," said he. "And what will you do?" I asked him. "Well, Martin, I don't like to leave you, but then you know my mother must be so anxious, as I told you before, that I think I'd better write to her." I suggested a better course, however, as soon as I saw he wished to go home; and that was, that, as his mother lived not very far from Exeter, he should take the balance of the money we had left after paying for our breakfast, and go off thither by train at once. This, after some demur, he agreed to; so, as soon as we had finished our meal and discharged the bill, which only took eightpence put of our store, we made our way to the railway station. A train was luckily just about starting, and Tom getting a ticket for half-price, he and I parted, not meeting again until many days had passed, and then in a very different place! When I realised the fact that Tom was gone, and that I was now left alone in that strange place, where I had never been in my life before, I felt so utterly cast down, that instinctively I made my way to the sea, there seeking that comfort and calm which the mere sight of it, somehow or other, always afforded me. I got down, I recollect, on the Hoe, and, walking along the esplanade, halted right in front of the Breakwater, whence I could command a view of the harbour, with the men-of-war in the Hamoaze on my right hand, and the Cattwater, where the _Saucy Sall_ was lying, on my left. I was very melancholy, and after a bit I sat down on an adjacent seat; when, burying my face in my hands, I gave way to tears. Presently, I was roused by the sound of a man's voice close at hand, as if of some one speaking to me. I looked up hastily, ashamed of being caught crying. However, the good- natured, jolly, weather-beaten face I saw looking into mine reassured me. "Hullo, young cockbird," said the owner of the face--a middle-aged, respectable, nautical-looking sort of man--speaking in a cheery voice, which went to my heart; "what's the row with you, my hearty? Tell old Sam Pengelly all about it!" CHAPTER NINE. OLD CALABAR COTTAGE. I don't know why, excepting that the words had a kindly ring about them, in spite of the almost brusque quaintness of the address, that touched me keenly in the depressed state of mind in which I was; but, instead of answering the speaker's pertinent question as to the reason of my grief, I now bent down my head again on my arm, sobbing away as if my heart would break. But this only made the good Samaritan prosecute his inquiry further. "Come, come, stow that, youngster," said he, taking a seat beside me on the bench, where I was curled up in one corner, placing one of his hands gently on my shoulder in a caressing way. "Look up, and tell me what ails you, my lad, and if Sam Pengelly can help you, why, there's his fist on it!" "You--you--are very k-kind," I stammered out between my long-drawn sobs; "but--but--no--nobody can--help me, sir." "Oh, nonsense, tell that to the marines, for a sailor won't believe you," he replied, briskly. "Why, laddie, anybody can help anybody, the same as the mouse nibbled the lion out of the hunter's net; and, as for Mr Nobody, I don't know the man! Look here, I can't bear to see a ship in distress, or a comrade in the doldrums; so I tell you what, young cockbird, raise your crest and don't look so peaky, for I'm going to help you if it's in my power, as most likely it is--that is, saving as how it ain't a loss by death, which takes us all, and which the good Lord above can only soothe, bringing comfort to you; and even then, why, a friendly word, and a grip o' some un's hand, sometimes softens down the roughest plank we've got to tread. "I tell you, my hearty," he resumed again, after a brief pause, during which my sobs ceased, "I ain't a going to let you adrift, now I've borne down alongside and boarded you, my hearty--that's not Sam Pengelly's way; so you'd better make a clean breast of your troubles and we'll see what can be done for 'em. To begin with, for there's no use argufying on an empty stomach, are you hungry, eh?" "No," I said with a smile, his cheery address and quaint language banishing my melancholy feelings in a moment, just as a ray of sunshine or two, penetrating the surface mist, that hangs over the sea and land of a summer morning before the orb of day, causes it to melt away and disappear as if by magic, waking up the scene to life; "I had breakfast in the town about an hour ago." "Are you hard up?" was his next query. "No," I answered again, this time bursting into a laugh at the puzzled expression on his face; "I've got a shilling and a sixpence--there!" and I drew the coins from my pocket, showing them to him. "Well, I'm jiggered!" murmured the old fellow to himself, taking off the straight-peaked blue cloth cap he wore, and scratching his head reflectively--as if in a quandary, and cogitating how best to get out of it. "Neither hard up or hungry! I call this a stiff reckoning to work out. I'd better try the young shaver on another tack. Got any friends?" he added, in a louder key--addressing himself, now, personally to me, not supposing that I had heard his previous soliloquy, for he had merely uttered his thoughts aloud. This question touched me on the sore point, and I looked grave at once. "No," I replied, "I've got none left now, since Tom's gone." "And who's Tom?" he asked, confidentially, to draw me out. Thereupon, I told him of my being an orphan, brought up by relatives who didn't care about me, and all about my being sent to school. I also detailed, with much gusto, the way in which Tom and I had made our exit from Dr Hellyer's academy, and our subsequent adventures in the coal brig, down to the moment when I saw the last of my chum as he steamed out of the Plymouth railway station in the Exeter train, leaving me desolate behind. My new friend did not appear so very much amused by the account of our blowing up the Doctor as I thought he would be. Indeed, he looked quite serious about it, as if it were, no joking matter, as really it was not, but a very bad and mischievous piece of business. What seemed to interest him much more, was, what I told him of my longing for a sea- life, and the determination I had formed of being a sailor--which even the harsh treatment of the _Saucy Sall's_ skipper had in no degree banished from my mind. "What a pity you weren't sent in the service," he said, meditatively, "I fancy you'd ha' made a good reefer from the cut of your jib. You're just the very spit of one I served under when I was a man-o'-war's-man afore I got pensioned off, now ten year ago!" "My father was an officer in the Navy," I replied rather proudly. "He lost his life, gallantly, in the service of his country." "You don't say that now?" exclaimed my questioner, with much warmth, looking me earnestly in the face; "and what may your name be, if I may be so bold? you haven't told it me yet." "Martin Leigh," I answered, promptly, a faint hope rising in my breast. "Leigh?--no, never, it can't be!" said the old fellow, now greatly excited. "I once knew an officer of that very name--Gerald Leigh--and he was killed in action up the Niger River on the West Coast, while attacking a slave barracoon, ten years ago come next March--" "That was my father," I here interposed, interrupting his reminiscences. "Your father? You don't mean that!" "I do," I said, eagerly, "I was four years old when Uncle George received the news of his death." "My stunsails!" ejaculated the old fellow, dashing his cap to the ground in a fever of excitement; and, seizing both my hands in his, he shook them up and down so forcibly that he almost lifted me off the seat. "Think of that now; but, I could ha' known it from the sort o' feeling that drew me to you when I saw you curled up here, all lonesome, like a cock sparrow on a round of beef! And so, Lieutenant Leigh was your father--the bravest, kindest officer I ever sailed under! Why, youngster, do you know who I am?" He said this quite abruptly, and he looked as if he thought I would recognise him. "No," I said, smiling, "but you're a very kind-hearted man. I'm sure, to take such an interest in a friendless boy like me." "Friendless boy, be jiggered!" he replied--"You're not friendless from now, you can be sarten! Why, I was your father's own coxswain in the _Swallow_, off the coast, and it was in my arms he died when he received that murdering nigger's shot in his chest, right 'twixt wind and water. Yes! there's a wonderful way in the workings o' Providence--to think that you should come across me now when you needs a friend, one whom your father often befriended in old times, more like a brother than an officer! I thank the great Captain above,"--and the old fellow looked up reverently here to the blue heaven over us as he uttered these last words--"that I'm allowed this marciful chance o' paying back, in a poor sort o' way, all my old commander's kindness to me in the years agone! Yes, young gentleman, my name's Sam Pengelly, and I was your father's coxswain. If he had ha' lived he'd have talked to you, sure enough, about me." "I'm very glad to hear this," said I; and so I was, for my hopeful surmise had proved true. "Well, laddie--you'll excuse my speaking to you familiar like, won't you?" "Call me what you please," I answered, "I'm only too proud to hear your kind voice, and see your friendly face. I have had all nonsense about dignity and position knocked out of me long since!" "Well, perhaps, that's all for the best--though mind, Master Leigh, being your father's son, you mustn't ever forget you've been born a true gen'leman, and don't you ever do an action that you'll have cause to be ashamed on! That's the only proper sort o' dignity a gen'leman's son need ever be partic'ler about, to make people recognise him for what he is; and, with this feeling and eddication, you'll take your proper place in the world, never fear! Now, what do you think about doing, my lad? for the day is getting on, and it's time to see after something." "I'm sure I don't know," I replied. "I should like to go to sea, as I've told you. Not in a coasting vessel, like the coal brig, but really to pea, so as to be able to sail over the ocean to China or Australia; and, bye-and-bye, after awhile, as soon as I am old enough and have sufficient experience, I hope to command a ship of my own." He had shown such sympathy towards me, that I couldn't help telling him all the wild dreams about my future which had been filling my mind for the last two years, although I had not confided them even to Tom, for I thought he would make fun of my nautical ambition. Instead of laughing at me, however, my new friend looked highly delighted. "I'm blessed if you aren't a reg'ler chip of the old block," he said admiringly, gazing into my face with a broad smile on his weather-beaten countenance, that made it for the moment in my eyes positively handsome. "There spoke my old lieutenant, the same as I can fancy I hear him now, the morning we rowed up the Niger to assault the nigger stockade where he met his death. `Pengelly,' sez he, in the same identical way as you first said them words o' yourn, `I mean to take that prah,' and, take it he did, though the poor fellow lost his life leading us on to the assault! I can see, very plain, you've got it all in you, the same as he; and, having been a seafaring man all my life, first in the sarvice, and then on my own hook in a small way in the coasting line, in course I honours your sentiments in wishing to be a sailor--though it's a hard life at the best. Howsomedevers, `what's bred in the bone,' as the proverb says, `must come out in the flesh,' and if you will go to sea, why, you must, and I'll try to help you on to what you wish, as far as Sam Pengelly can; I can't say more nor that, can I?" "No, certainly not, and I'm much obliged to you," I answered; for he made a pause at this point, as if waiting for my reply. "Well, then, that's all settled and entered in the log-book fair and square; but, as all this can't be managed in a minute, and there'll be a lot of arrangements to make, s'pose as how you come home along o' me first? I'm an orphan, too, the same as yourself, with nobody left to care for or to mind me, save my old sister Jane, who keeps house for me; and she and I'll make you as welcome as the flowers in May!" I demurred for a moment at accepting this kind proposal, for I was naturally of a very independent nature; and, besides, the lessons I had received in my uncle's household made me shrink from incurring the obligation of any one's hospitality, especially that of one with whom I had only such brief acquaintanceship, albeit he was "an orphan"--a rather oldish one, I thought--"like myself." But my new friend would not be denied. "Come on, now," he repeated, getting up from the seat, and holding out a big, strong hand to me, with such a beaming, good-natured expression on his face and so much genuine cordiality in his voice, that it was impossible for me to persist in refusing his invitation; the more particularly as, seeing me hesitate, he added the remark--"leastways, that is, unless you're too high a gen'leman to consort with an humble sailor as was your own father's coxswain!" This settled the point, making me jump up in a jiffey; when, without further delay, he and I went off from the Hoe, hand in hand, in the direction of Stoke, where he told me he lived. It was now nearly the middle of December, six weeks having passed by since the memorable Sunday on which I and Tom had made a Guy Fawkes of Dr Hellyer, and run away from school--the intervening time having slipped by quickly enough while on board the coal brig at Newcastle, and during our voyage down the coast again--but the weather, I recollect, was wonderfully mild for the time of year; and, as we walked past the terraces fronting the Hoe, the sun shone down on us, and over the blue sea beyond in Plymouth Sound below, as if it had been a summer day. Indeed, no matter what the weather might have been, I think it would have seemed fine and bright to me; for, I don't believe I had ever felt so happy in my life as I did when trudging along by Sam Pengelly's side that morning. "You're a pretty strong-built chap for your age," said Sam, as we went along. "I suppose you're close on sixteen, eh?" "Dear me, no," I laughed, light-heartedly. "Why, I'm only just fourteen! I told you I was four when my poor father was killed; and that, as you yourself said, happened ten years ago, so you can calculate yourself." "Bless me, so you must be by all accounts; but, sure, you look fully two years older! Humph, you're a little bit too young yet to get apprenticed to the sea regularly as I thought of; but there's plenty o' time for us to study the bearings of it arter we fetch home. Come along, step out. I feel kind o' peckish with all this palavering, and thinks as how I could manage a bit of dinner pretty comfably, and it'll be just about ready by the time we reach Stoke, as Jane's mighty punctual to having it on the table by eight bells; step out, my hearty!" Presently, turning off from the main road into a sort of bye-lane, my conductor finally stopped before the entrance porch of a neat little cottage, standing in a large garden of its own, that stretched away for some distance on either side. There was an orchard also in the rear, the fruit-trees of which, such was the mildness of the season, appeared ready to break into bud. "Here's my anchorage, laddie," said he, with a wave of his hand-- indicating the extent of his property. "What a jolly little place!" I exclaimed. "Yes," he replied, with pardonable pride, "I set my heart on the little cabin years ago--afore I left the navy--and I used to save up my pay and prize money, so as to buy it in time. I meant it for mother, but she died before I could manage it; and then I bought it for myself, thinking that Jane and I would live here until we should be summoned for the watch on deck above, and that arter our time Teddy, my nephew, Jane's only boy, would have it. But, not long arter we settled down comfably, poor Teddy caught a fever, which carried him off; and Jane and I have gone on alone, ever since, with only our two selves." "You must miss your nephew Teddy," I said, sympathisingly, seeing a grave look on his face. "Yes, laddie, I did miss him very much, but now, my cockbird," and here his face brightened up with another beaming smile, as he laid a meaning emphasis on his words, "but now I fancy, somehow or other, I'll not miss Teddy as much as I used to; d'ye know why?" "No," I said, hesitatingly, and somewhat untruthfully, for I pretty well guessed what he meant. "Then I'll tell you," he continued, with much feeling and heartiness of expression, "I've christened this here anchorage o' mine, `Old Calabar,' in mem'ry o' the West Coast, where I sarved under your father in the _Swallow_, as I told you just now; and, Master Leigh, as his son, I hope you'll always consider the little shanty as your home, free to come and go or stay, just as you choose, and ever open to you with a welcome the same as now?" What could I say to this? Why, nothing. I declare that I couldn't have uttered a word then to have saved my life. But he did not want any thanks. Pretending not to notice my emotion, he went on speaking, so as to allow me time to recover myself. "Rec'lect this, laddie," said he, "that my sister Jane and I have neither chick nor child belonging to either of us, and that your presence will be like sunshine in the house. Come along in now, my boy. I'll give Jane a hail to let her know we're here in harbour, so that she can pipe down to dinner. Hi--hullo--on deck there!" and, raising his voice, in this concluding shout--just as if he were standing on the poop of a vessel in a heavy gale of wind and hailing a look-out man on the fore-crosstrees--he opened the door of the cottage, motioning me courteously to enter it first. CHAPTER TEN. A WELCOME GUEST. The little hall, or passage way, opening out of the porch, in which I now found myself, was like the vestibule to a museum. It was crammed full, from floor to ceiling, with all sorts of curios, brought from foreign parts, evidently by the worthy owner of the dwelling, when returning home after his many cruisings in strange waters--conch shells from the Congo and cowries from Zanzibar; a swordfish's broken spear from the Pacific, and a Fijian war-club; cases of stuffed humming-birds from Rio, and calabashes from the Caribbean Sea; a beautiful model, in the finest ivory work, of a Chinese junk on one side, _vis-a-vis_ with a full-rigged English man-of-war on the other; and, above all, in the place of honour, the hideous body of a shark, displaying its systematic rows of triangularly arranged saw-like teeth, now harmless, but once ready to mangle the unwary! All these objects, of course, immediately attracted my attention, but I had not much time for glancing round the collection; for, almost as soon as we got inside the little hall, a bright-faced middle-aged woman, with jet-black hair and eyes, the very image of my new friend, only much more comely in feature, stepped forward from a room opening out of the other end of the passage. "Dear me, Sam, is that you?" she cried out in a voice closely resembling his in its cheery accents, although more musical by reason of its feminine ring; "I'm just dishing up, and dinner'll be ready as soon as the pasty's done." Her brother did not apparently pay any attention to this highly important announcement for the moment. "Come here, Jane," he said, "I've brought home a visitor." With this she advanced, courtesying, her face changing as soon as she came nearer and saw who the stranger was. "My, Sam!" she exclaimed, "who is he? Why, he's the very image of poor Ted!" and she raised the corner of her apron to her eyes as she spoke, as if to stop the ready-starting tears. "Whoever do you think he is?" said Sam Pengelly, triumphantly; "look at him carefully, now. No, Jane, my woman, I don't believe you'd ever guess!" "Who?" "Why, the son of my good old commander, Lieutenant Leigh, of the _Swallow_, him as I've spun you so many yarns about! Why, Jane, my woman, I found the poor little laddie a desarted young orphan on the Hoe just now. He's friendless, with never a home to go to; and so I asked him to come along o' me, saying as how you'd welcome him to `Old Calabar' the same as I." "And so I will, too, Sam," replied the other, coming up to me and speaking; "I'm main glad to see you here, young gentleman, for I've often heard Sam talk of your father, saying how good and kind he was to him. You're heartily welcome to our little home. My gracious, Sam!" she added, turning aside and using her apron again; "he's as like my Ted as two peas! I can't help it!" and so saying, she threw her arms round my neck and kissed me. The action somewhat confused me; for, it was the first motherly caress I had ever experienced in my life. Aunt Matilda, you may be sure, never once thought of so greeting me! "Avast there, Jane," laughed out Sam, much pleased at the way in which his sister had received me. "What d'ye mean by boarding my prize in that fashion? But I'm glad you think he's like Teddy--it will make it more like old times and home-like for us to have the laddie with us." "Aye, and he can have Ted's room," answered the other--all eagerness now to see to my being completely arranged for--"I think the poor boy's clothes will fit him too." "So they will, and just in time, too, for he wants a new rig," said her brother, casting a critical eye over my wardrobe, which had not been improved by my stay on board the coal brig. We then proceeded to enter a nice roomy old-fashioned kitchen, with a cleanly-scoured floor like the deck of a man-of-war, and all resplendent with rows of plates and burnished pewter pots and dish-covers, where we had, what I considered both then and now to be, the best dinner I had ever eaten in my life, winding up with an apple tart that had Devonshire cream spread over it like powdered sugar--a most unparalleled prodigality of luxury to my unaccustomed eyes and palate! Afterwards, I was shown a little room at the back, looking out into the garden, which had been formerly occupied by Teddy. Of this I was now put in formal possession, along with a good stock of clothes which the bereaved mother had carefully preserved in the chest-of-drawers in one corner, just as if her boy had been still living, all ready for use. These, she now told me, with tears in her eyes, I was heartily welcome to, if I were not too proud to accept them, as, in wearing them, she said, I should make her think that she yet had poor Ted to comfort her, and I would take his vacant place in her heart. The good woman, however, with housewifely care, brought up to the room a large tub with a plentiful supply of hot water and soap, so that I might have "a thorough wash," as she called it, before putting on the clean clothes. Thus, through the kind hospitality of brother and sister alike, before the day was out, I was as thoroughly at home in the household as if-- having stepped into the lost Teddy's shoes metaphorically as well as practically--I had lived there for years! It would take a volume for me to tell of all the kindness I received from these people, the brother and sister vying with each other in their endeavours to make me feel comfortable and at ease with them in my new home. Sam Pengelly, thinking it the right thing to do, wrote to Uncle George, informing him where I now was; and saying, that, if my relatives had no objection, he should like to be allowed to look after my future as if I were his own son. To this a reply soon came, to the effect that, as I had of my own will thrown away all the advantages that had been secured for me in putting me to a good school and holding out the offer of a situation afterwards in a merchant's office, my uncle "washed his hands of me" on account of my ungrateful and abandoned behaviour; and that, henceforth, he did not care what became of me, nor would he be answerable for my support! "That's a good 'un," said Sam Pengelly, as he read this. "That cranky Aunt Matilda, you told me about, laddie, must ha' had a hand in this, sartin; for, perhaps you don't know that I've diskivered as your uncle drawed what they calls a `compassionate allowance' from My Lords of th' Admiralty for your keep all them years they starved you under their roof and pretended you was livin' on their charity!" Sam Pengelly looked quite fierce and indignant as he made this, to me, new revelation. "Really?" I asked him, eagerly. "Yes, laddie, it's true enough, for I've taken the pains to find it out for a fact from a friend o' mine at head-quarters. Th' Admiralty allers give an annual 'lowance for the support of the childer o' them officers as is killed in action, that is when their folks are left badly off; and some one must ha' put up your uncle to this, for he took precious good care to draw it every year you was along o' him." "Oh, I'm so glad!" I exclaimed, joyfully. "I only wish, though, I had known it before, so that I could have thrown it back in Aunt Matilda's teeth when she used to tell me that I was robbing her children of their bread every meal I took in the house, taunting me with being only a pauper!" "Never mind that now," said Sam Pengelly--quite his composed, calm, genial self again, after the little ebullition he had given way to on my behalf. "Better let byegones be byegones. It is a good sailin' direction to go upon in this world; for your cross old aunt will be sartin to get paid out some time or other for her treatment o' you, I'll wager! Howsomedevers, I'm glad we've got that letter from your uncle, though. You see, laddie, it cuts them adrift altogether from any claim on you; and now, if you be so minded, you can chuck in your lot with old Sam and his sister--that is, unless you want to sheer off and part company, and desart us?" "Oh no, I'll never do that if I can help it," I replied, earnestly. "Why, I did not know what it was to be happy and cared for till I met you, and you brought me here to your home. I shall never willingly, now, leave you here--that is, except you want me to." "Then, that'll be never," said he, with an emphasis and a kindly smile that showed his were no empty words. Nor did they prove to be as time rolled on. For many months after that casual meeting of ours on the Hoe, which I little thought was going to lead to such happy consequences, the little cottage at Stoke was my home in winter and summer alike; when Nature was gay in her spring dress, and when dreary autumn came; although, it was never dreary to me, no matter what the season might be. In the summer months I used generally to accompany Sam in the short trading trips he made in a little foretopsail schooner--of which he was the registered owner, and generally took the command--when we would fetch a compass for Falmouth or Torquay, and other small western ports; between which places and Plymouth the schooner went to and fro when wind and weather permitted. Sometimes, tempted by the inducement that early potatoes and green peas were plentiful and cheap at Saint Mary's, Sam would venture out as far as the Scilly Isles; and once, a most memorable voyage, we made a round trip in the little craft to the Bristol Channel and back--facing all the perils of the "twenty-two fathom sandbank" off Cape Cornwall, with its heavy tumbling sea. This was not time wasted on my part; for I had not forgotten my ambition of being a sailor, and now, under Sam Pengelly's able tuition I was thoroughly initiated into all the practical details of seamanship, albeit I had not yet essayed life on board ship in an ocean-going vessel. Sam Pengelly said, that, at fourteen, I was too young to be apprenticed regularly to the sea, and that it would be much better for me to wait until I should be able to be of use in a ship, and get on more quickly in navigation. Going to sea before would only be lost time, for I could gain quite as much experience of what it was necessary for me to know in the schooner along with him, until it was time for me to go afloat in real earnest. This was what my old friend advised; and, although he declared himself willing to forward my wishes should they go counter to his own views, I valued his opinion too highly to disagree with it, judging that his forty years' experience of the sea must have taught him enough to know better than I about what was best in the matter. My life, therefore, for the two intervening years, after I had run away from school and before I went actually to sea, was a very even and pleasant one--cut off completely, as it was, from all the painful past, and the associations of Aunt Matilda and Dr Hellyer's. I had heard once from Tom, my whilom chum, it is true, telling me that his mother had persuaded him to go back to the Doctor's establishment, and that I should not have any further communication from him in consequence--which I didn't; and there was the one letter from Uncle George to Sam Pengelly, "washing his hands of me," which I have already alluded to. With these, however, all connection with my former existence ceased; and I can't say I regretted it, cherished as I now was in the great loving Cornish hearts of Sam and Jane Pengelly. Sam would not let my education be neglected, however. "No, no, laddie, we must keep a clear look-out on that," he often said to me. "If I had only had eddication when I was in the sarvice, I'd ha' been a warrant officer with a long pension now, instead o' having a short one, and bein' 'bliged to trust to my own hands to lengthen it out. If you wants to be a good navigator, you must study now when you're young; for arterwards it will be no use, and you may be as smart a sailor as ever handled a ship, and yet be unable to steer her across the ocean and take advantage of all the short cuts and currents, and so on, that only experienced seamen and those well up in book knowledge can know about." Acting on this reasoning, he got the master of a neighbouring school to give me after-time lessons in mathematics and geography; and, in the course of a few months, I was able to be inducted into the mysteries of great circle sailing and the art of taking lunars, much to the admiration of Sam, whom I'm afraid I often took a delight in puzzling with trigonometrical phrases that sounded full of portentous difficulty, albeit harmlessly easy. As time went on, although I was happy enough at the cottage, I was continually asking Sam if he had found me a ship yet, he having promised to "keep his eye open" and let me know as soon as he saw a good opportunity of placing me with some captain with whom I was likely to learn my nautical calling well and have a chance of getting on up the ladder; but, as regularly as I asked him the question, the old salt would give me the same stereotyped answer--"No, laddie, our ship's not got into port yet. We must still wait for an offing!" But at last, after many days, this anxiously awaited "offing" was, much to my satisfaction, apparently thought within reach by my old friend. One morning I did not accompany him as usual into Plymouth after breakfast, where the old fellow regularly proceeded every morning--never feeling happy for the day unless he saw the sea before dinner. I was busily engaged trimming up a large asparagus bed in the garden, wherein my adopted mother took considerable interest. I recollect the morning well. It was just at the beginning of summer, and the trees were all clothed in that delicately-tinged foliage of feathery green, which they lose later on in the season, while the ground below was covered with fruit blossoms like snowflakes, a stray blue flag or daffodil just springing up from the peaty soil, gleaming out amidst the vegetable wealth around, and the air perfumed with a delicious scent, of the wallflowers that were scattered about the garden in every stray nook and corner. Sam was late on his return. "Eight bells," his regular hour, had struck without his well-known voice being heard hailing us from the porch; and it was quite half-past twelve before the customary shout in the porch of the cottage told of his arrival, for I was keeping strict watch over the time, having been rendered extra hungry by my exertions in the garden--our dinner being postponed till the missing mariner came. However, "better late than never," says the old proverb; and here he was now--although as soon as I saw him I noticed from his face that something unusual and out-of-the-way had happened, his expression always disclosing if anything was on or in his mind, and being a sad tell-tale. He did not wait to let me ask, though. "Hullo!" he cried, as soon as he came into the kitchen-parlour, where the principal meal of the day was invariably partaken of, "I've got some news for you." "A ship?" I said, questioningly. "Yes--an A1 too, my hearty." "Hurrah!" I exclaimed--"Going a long voyage?" "To Callao and back again, on a round trip." "Better and better still," I said, in high glee, in which Sam Pengelly shared with a kindred feeling, while his sister put up her apron to her eyes, and began to cry at the idea of my going to sea. "Is she a large vessel?" "Aye, aye, my cockbird. A barque of a thousand tons, or more, and her name's the _Esmeralda_." CHAPTER ELEVEN. SIGNING ARTICLES. "She's loading at Cardiff--cargo o' steam coals, I b'lieve, for some o' them Pee-ruvian men-o'-war out there," explained Sam, presently, when the first excitement occasioned by his announcement of the news had somewhat calmed down. "It's lucky, laddie, as how the schooner's all ready for sailing, as I thought o' fetching down to Saint Mary's morrer mornin', arter some new taties; but the taties must wait now, and I fancy as how this arternoon tide'll sarve jest as well for us--the wind's right fair for the Lizard, too!" "What, Sam--you don't mean that, really?" exclaimed Jane Pengelly, not expecting such a hurried sending of me off to sea. "Surely not so soon, my man, eh?" She was almost breathless with grief and surprise. "Aye, but I do mean it," persisted he. "The shep's a loadin' now, I tell you, and she oughter start on her v'yage in a fortnight's time at th' outside; and if you reckon as how we'll take a week to reach Cardiff, we'll ha' no time to lose, for, if the wind changes arter we rounds the Longships, we'll ha' all our work cut out to beat up the Bristol Channel, in time to see the lad comf'ably off!" "My, Sam! couldn't you take the train across country to Cardiff, when you'd all ha' more time for getting ready, and I could see to mending all the poor dearie's things before he goes for--it'll be the last sight I'll ever see of his blessed face?" Jane Pengelly said this timidly, wiping her eyes carefully, with each corner of her apron in turn; for, she well knew her brother's horror of the railway, and all conveyances--indeed, he disliked any mode of land travelling, save on foot, or "on Shank's mare," as he called it, which was the plan he invariably adopted for reaching such places which he could not get to by water. "Why, Jane, my woman," Sam indignantly rejoined; "your brains must all be a wool-gathering! Catch me and the lad agoing by that longshore schreechin', smokin', ramshacklin' fire engine, when we can ha' a boat's sound plank under our foot, and sail over the sea in a nat'ral sort o' way, such as we're born to! You're the last person to think as how Sam Pengelly 'd desart his colours and bringing-up, for to go over to such an outlandish way o' fetching the port for which he's bound! No, Jane-- I ain't angry, but I feels hurt a bit on the h'insinivation--but there, let it be. We'll go round to Cardiff in the schooner, as is as smart a little craft for a passage boat as ere a one could wish to clap eyes on, though I says it as shouldn't, and we'll start, laddie, this arternoon, as soon as the tide sets down Channel; so, you'd better see after your traps, and stow your chest when dinner's over--and then, we'll get under weigh, and clear outwards!" Little dinner, however, was eaten that day at the cottage, notwithstanding the fact that Jane Pengelly, as a reward for my industry in making up and remoulding her asparagus bed, had concocted a favourite Cornish dish for our repast, y'clept a "Mevagissey pie"--a savoury compound consisting of alternate slices of mutton and layers of apples and onions cut into pieces, and symmetrically arranged, the whole being subsequently covered with a crust, pie-fashion, and then baked in the oven until well browned; when, although the admixture seems somewhat queer to those unused to a Cornish cuisine, the result is not by any means to be despised; rather is it uncommonly jolly! Generally, this dish would have been considered a _tour de force_ on the table, and not much left of it after our united knife and fork play when operations had once begun; but now, albeit Sam Pengelly made a feeble pretence of having a tremendous appetite, failing most ridiculously in the attempt, while his sister heaped up my plate, we were all too much perturbed in our minds to do justice to the banquet. So it was that the Mevagissey pie, toothsome as it was, went almost untasted away, Jane removing the remains presently to the larder--that was, as she said, but I could not help noticing that she did not return afterwards to clear away the dinner things and make matters tidy in the kitchen, as was her regular custom when we had finished meals. I soon found out the reason of this, when, on going up shortly afterwards to my little room, I discovered the soft-hearted creature bending over the sea-chest which I had been presented with--in addition to her son Teddy's clothes and other property--"having a good cry," as she said in excuse for the weakness. From some cause or other, she had taken to me from the moment her brother Sam first brought me to the cottage, placing me in the vacant spot in her heart left by Teddy's early death, and I am sure my own mother, if she had lived, could not have loved me more. Of course I reciprocated her affection--how could I help it, when she and her brother were the only beings in the world who had ever exhibited any tenderness towards me? Strangely enough, however, she would never allow me to call her "mother" or "Mistress Pengelly," as I wanted to--thinking "Jane" too familiar, especially when applied by a youngster like myself to a middle-aged woman. No, she would not hear of my addressing her otherwise than by her Christian name. "If you calls me Missis anything, dearie, mind if I don't speak to you always as `Master Leigh'--that distant as how you won't know me," she said; so, as she always said what she meant, I did as she wished, and she continued to style me her "dearie," that being the affectionate pet name she had for me, in the same way as her brother Sam had dubbed me his "cockbird," when he first introduced himself to me on the Hoe, a mode of address which he still persisted in. I may add, by the way, to make an end of these explanations, that Jane Pengelly had married her first cousin on the father's side, as the matter was once elaborately made plain to me; consequently, she was not compelled, as most ladies are, to "change her name" when she wedded Teddy's sire, and still retained after marriage her ancestral patronymic--which was sometimes sported with such unction by her brother, when laying down the law and giving a decided opinion. Partings are sad things, and the sooner they are over the better. So Sam thought too, no doubt, for he presently hailed us both to come down- stairs, as time was up, and a man besides waiting with a hand-truck to trundle my chest down to the quay in the Cattwater, off which Sam's little schooner was lying. Thereupon, Jane giving me a final hug, my chest was bundled below in a brace of shakes, and Sam and I, accompanied by the man wheeling the truck, were on our way down the Stoke Road towards Plymouth--a lingering glance which I cast behind, in order to give a farewell wave of the hand to my second mother, imprinting on my memory every detail of the little cottage, with its clematis-covered porch, and the bright scarlet geraniums and fuchsias in full bloom in front, and Jane Pengelly's tearful face standing out amidst the flowers, crying out a last loving "good-bye!" We reached the schooner in good time so as to fetch out of the Sound before the tide ebbed, and, after clearing the breakwater, as the wind was to the northward of east, Sam made a short board on the port tack towards the Eddystone, in order to catch the western stream--which begins to run down Channel an hour after the flood, when about six miles out or so from the land, the current inshore setting up eastwards towards the Start and being against us if we tried to stem it by proceeding at once on our true course. When we had got into the stream, however, and thus had the advantage of having the tideway with us, Sam let the schooner's head fall off; and so, wearing her round, he shaped a straight course for the Lizard, almost in the line of a crow's flight, bringing the wind nearly right aft to us now on the starboard tack as we ran before it. We passed abreast of the goggle-eyed lighthouse on the point which marks the landfall for most mariners when returning to the English Channel after a foreign voyage, close on to midnight--not a bad run from Plymouth Sound, which we had left at four o'clock in the afternoon. It was a beautiful bright moonlight night, the sea being lighted up like a burnished mirror, and the clear orb making the distant background of the Cornish coast come out in relief, far away on our western bow. The wind being still fair for us, keeping to the east-nor'-east, Sam brought it more abeam, bearing up so that he might pass between the Wolf Rock and the Land's End, striking across the bight made by Mount's Bay in order to save the way we would have lost if he had taken the inshore track, like most coasters--and, indeed, as he would have been obliged to do if it had been foggy or rough, which, fortunately for us, it wasn't. By sunrise next morning we had fetched within a couple of miles of the Longships; when, bracing round the schooner's topsail yard and sailing close-hauled, with the wind nearly on our bow, we ran for Lundy Island in the British Channel. I never saw any little craft behave better than the schooner did now, sailing on a bowline being her best point of speed, as is the case with most fore and aft rigged vessels. She almost "ate into the wind's eye;" and, although the distance was over a hundred miles from the Longships, she was up to Lundy by nightfall, on this, the second day after leaving home. From this point, however, we had to beat up all the way to Cardiff, as the easterly wind was blowing straight down the Bristol Channel, and consequently dead in our teeth, as soon as we began to bear up. It was a case of tack and tack about--first a long leg over to the Mumbles on the starboard tack, followed by a corresponding reach towards Dunkery Beacon on the port hand; backwards and forwards, see-saw, turn and turn about, until, finally, we rounded Penarth Heads, arriving at our destination on the afternoon of our fourth day from Plymouth. We got to Cardiff none too early, either. The _Esmeralda_ having completed loading in her cargo sooner than the owners had expected, had cast-off from the jetty and was now lying in the stream off the harbour. She was quite ready to start on her voyage, and seemed longing to be on the move, for her topsails were hanging loose and the courses were in the brails, so that they could be let fall and sheeted home at a moment's notice. We could see this for ourselves, as we rounded close under the vessel's stern when running into the harbour; and further particulars of the ship's readiness to set sail we learnt at the agent's ashore, with whom Sam Pengelly had been in communication for some time, unknown to me, with reference to having me articled as a first-class apprentice in one of their best ships. The good-hearted fellow, too, without my knowledge, although I learnt this later on, had entered into an agreement to pay a good round sum as a premium for me in order that I might have accommodation aft and mess with the officers. Sam enlightened me about some of these particulars, mentioning the arrangements he had made for my comfort, while we were making our trip round to the Bristol Channel in the schooner, our departure from the cottage having been too hurried for me to gain any information on the point, save the great fact of my being about to go to sea at last. The reason for the delay in this, Sam now explained to me, was on account of the absence of the _Esmeralda_ on a long round voyage to the China seas and back, my worthy old friend having picked that vessel out from amongst the many that had put into Plymouth since I had been with him, and which he had overhauled for the special purpose in view, because of her staunch sailing qualities and the clipper-like cut of her lines, besides his personal knowledge that she was "commanded by a skipper as knew how to handle a shep," as he said, "so as a b'y might expect to larn somethin' under him," and he had therefore set his heart on my going in her. We had not now been long at the agent's, from the windows of whose small office we could see the barque riding at her moorings, before this identical gentleman came bustling in as if in a most desperate hurry. "Why, here he is!" ejaculated Sam aside to me as he entered, saying to the other as he took off his cap with one hand and shoved out his other fist in greeting, "Sarvent, sir, Cap'en Billings; how d'ye find yourself since we last met in Plymouth Sound?" "Oh, is that you, Pengelly?" responded the skipper of the _Esmeralda_ cordially, accepting Sam's proffered hand and shaking it heartily, "I was just thinking of you and your boy--have you brought him with you?" "Aye, there's the b'y," replied Sam, pushing me forward affectionately, "and a right good straight up and down youngster you'll find him, Cap'en Billings, with all the makings of a sailor in him, I tell you, sure's my name's Sam Pengelly!" "Well, I'll take your word for that," laughed the other. He seemed to me at first sight a genial good-tempered man--with rough reddish hair and beard, and a pair of merry twinkling blue eyes; but I could also see, from a quick sharp look he threw over me, reckoning me up from top to toe, that he'd all his wits about him and was used to command. He looked like one of those sort of fellows that wouldn't be trifled with when roused. "I'm glad to see you, Leigh, and have you with me," he said to me, affably--although he didn't offer to shake hands, some distance lying between the position of a skipper and an apprentice. "You're lucky to be just in time, though, for we're all ready to sail as soon as the tide serves for us to cross the outer bar and be off. Got all the papers ready, Mr Tompkins?" "Yes, captain," replied the agent. "Here they are; Leigh and Mr Pengelly have just signed them." "All right then. If you'll come along with me over to the Marine Superintendent's office," said Captain Billings, to us two, "we'll have the signatures witnessed to these indenture articles; and then the thing'll be all settled, and the boy can come aboard at once." "Heave ahead, my hearty," replied Sam. "We're both ready and willing;" and thereupon we all adjourned to the presence of the responsible official of the port entrusted with the supervision of all matters connected with the mercantile marine, in whose presence I was formally bound apprentice to the captain of the _Esmeralda_. These preliminaries duly arranged, Sam Pengelly had some further dealings of a private nature with the captain and agent, in which the chinking of gold coin had apparently a good deal to do; and then he and I, at the skipper's invitation, taking our seats in a boat that was lying by the side of the jetty started off for the _Esmeralda_, whither Sam had previously directed one of the schooner's men to have my sea- chest removed while we went on to the agent's. Really, I could not explain the mingled feelings of hope, joy, pride, and satisfaction, that had filled my breast at the thought that I was really going to sea, and having the darling wish of my heart at last gratified--my contentment much increased by my overhearing a whispered comment of my new captain to Sam Pengelly, that I "wasn't a pigeon-toed landsman, thank goodness!" He said he could see that from the manner in which I put my feet on the side cleats, as I got out of the boat and swung myself up to the gangway. "Now at length," thought I, speaking of myself in Sam's fashion, as if I were some other person--"Martin Leigh you are going afloat at last!" And, although I was only an humble reefer in the merchant service, whose spick-and-span uniform of blue serge and gold-banded cap had never yet smelt salt water to christen them, I felt as proud on first stepping "on board the _Esmeralda_" as Nelson must have done, when standing on the quarter-deck of the _Victory_ and seeing her close with the Spanish fleet immediately after his famous signal was displayed--"England expects every man this day to do his duty!" CHAPTER TWELVE. MAKING "WESTING." She was a fine-looking barque--as Sam had explained to me beforehand, when first telling me the news of his having secured a berth for me aboard her--with a good forecastle and clean run of deck aft to the poop, saving a small deck-house amidships, on a line with the cook's caboose, where were the separate cabins devoted to the use of the boatswain and carpenter. Captain Billings showed us over her, pointing out the special arrangements for the comfort of his officers; and then, much to my surprise, and to that of Sam as well, for that matter, although he had stipulated for good treatment on my behalf, the skipper said that I could have an empty bunk to myself, alongside of the boatswain's quarters. It was almost too good to be true! "Why, laddie, you'll be a blessed sight better off than if you were a middy aboard a man o' war!" said Sam, exultantly; but, whilst he was engaged showing me how to put my chest and stow my things, so as to be easily within reach and yet out of the way, in order not to encroach on the limited space at my command, our attention was drawn away from the consideration of such personal matters by the loud hail of Captain Billings ringing through the ship fore and aft-- "All hands, make sail!" The pilot had come off from shore in the same boat with us; and, as the only thing the _Esmeralda_ had been awaiting was the water to rise sufficiently for her to cross the bar, Cardiff being a tidal harbour, now that it was approaching the flood, it was time to make ready for a start. We were going to make a move "while the day was yet young," so to speak, for it was only about five o'clock yet in the afternoon. On hearing the skipper's cry, Sam and I at once made our way aft up the ladder on to the poop, where Captain Billings was standing, shouting out his orders, according to the directions of the pilot standing beside him--that gentleman, while in charge, being commanding officer, having the precedence of a captain even on board his own ship! I was all eagerness to assist, and anxious to enter on my duties; but the skipper motioned me aside, saying that he'd put me into a watch and give me regular work to do as soon as we had got fairly to sea, for he "didn't want any idlers hanging round them to encumber the men." So, acting on the principle that "a nod was as good as a wink to a blind horse," I sheered over to the other side of the deck. Here, Sam Pengelly was standing by the taffrail, and from this coign of vantage we both watched with much interest the operation of getting the ship under weigh. The vessel's topsails, as I have mentioned before, were already cast loose from the gaskets and her courses hung in the brails, while she was lying in the stream, heading almost due south and facing the entrance of the harbour, into which the tide was still running and, consequently, keeping her cable as taut as a fiddle-string; but now, on the captain's command causing the hands to man the topsail halliards and run up the yards to the mast-head, the ponderous folds of canvas expanded with the wind, which was still to the nor'-east and blowing from aft, and the ship, in spite of the incoming tide, surged up to her anchor, bringing it right under her fore foot, thus slackening the strain on the cable. Another party of the crew, meanwhile, under the superintendence of the boatswain, had manned the windlass, bringing in the cable slack with a "slip-slap" and "click-clack" of the pall, as the winch went round, the moment the skipper's warning cry, "Hands up anchor," was heard from aft. "Hove short, sir," then sang out the boatswain. "Up with it, then, men," returned the skipper; and in another minute, for we were only in some six-fathom water, the anchor-stock showed itself above the surface and was run up to the cathead. Now, free from the ground, the bows of the vessel began to rise and fall as she curtsied politely to the stream, which was just on the turn, preparing to bid adieu to Cardiff harbour; so, Captain Billings himself jumped from where he had been standing, by the pilot's side, to the wheel, making the spokes rapidly fly round until the helm was hard up, putting the ship before the wind and steering towards the mouth of the harbour ahead. "Sheet home!" was the next order; and, with a "yo-heave-ho," the clews of the topsails were hauled out to the end of the yards, while the clewgarnet blocks rattled as the main sheet was brought aft; then, the yards were braced round a bit to the starboard and the vessel headed out into the Channel, with the wind on her quarter, on the port tack. "Hoist away the jib!" shouted out Captain Billings, on this much being achieved; when the _Esmeralda_ began to gather way, the bubbles now floating past astern as she commenced to move through the water--at first slowly, and then with more speed, as the sails, already set, filled and drew. "Look smart there, men, and run away with those halliards," echoed the mate, repeating the captain's order anent the jib; and the _Esmeralda_, being now well under control of her helm, a picked hand came aft to take Captain Billings' place at the wheel, of which he had retained charge until now, while another man was put in the main chains with the lead, heaving it at intervals and chanting out the soundings in a monotonous sing-song drawl of "By the mark, four," and so on, until we reached six- fathom water, and then "The deep nine!" All this time we had been heading over to the Somersetshire shore; but when we were a couple of miles or so out from Cardiff, the pilot told the skipper that it was time to come about, as we had got into the proper fairway of the Channel and our course now should be west instead of south. Captain Billings didn't need a second hint as to what he should do. "Hands 'bout ship!" he roared out the instant the pilot had spoken, the mate and boatswain repeating as before the order after him in turn, and the man at the wheel putting down the helm instanter. "Helm's a lee!" shouted the skipper, the head sheets being let go as he spoke, and the jib flattened on the vessel going into stays. "Raise tacks and sheets!" and the fore-tack and main sheets were cast- off, while the weather main brace was hauled taut. "Mainsail haul!" was the next order; when, on the heavy yard swinging round, the _Esmeralda_ came up to the wind slowly, as if casting a long, lingering farewell look at the Welsh coast, in deep regret at leaving it. The head yards were then braced round, the fore-tack boarded, and the mainsheet hauled aft; after which the spanker was set, and the men sent aloft to loosen the topgallant sails, the yards of which had been crossed while we were still at anchor, so as to be ready when wanted. The ship then filled away again on the port tack, starting off with renewed speed, in a due west direction now, down the Bristol Channel, with the wind, which was on her beam, blowing at the rate of about an eight-knot breeze. "We've made a good start, Pengelly," said Captain Billings, coming up to where we were still standing, rubbing his hands cheerfully together and seemingly much at ease now that we were well under way. "It isn't often one gets a nor'-east wind at this time of year, hereabouts, and when we do chance upon it, why, there's no use in wasting it." "Sartinly not, Cap'en Billings," responded Sam; "them's jest my sentiments! I suppose as you'll be a'most out of the Channel by mornin', if the wind holds?" "Aye, we ought to be off Ilfracombe soon after sunrise, the pilot says. Will you like to go ashore when we drop him there, eh?" "That'll do nicely, Cap'en," replied Sam. "I only jest wanted for to see the last of the b'y, and I s'pected as how you'd land your pilot thereabout or at Bideford, where I told the man in charge o' my schooner to call in for me; but it don't matter much where I get ashore." "All right then," said Captain Billings; "so, now, as the ship's going on at a spanking rate, with no danger ahead and in charge of the pilot, suppose you and the lad come down to the cabin along with me and have a bit of something to eat, for it's getting late? I dare say the steward'll find us some grub somewhere, though it's rather early in the voyage for regular meals." So saying, the skipper dived down the poop ladder, we two after him, when we found a well-spread table below, the sight of which pleased Sam as much as the appearance of my bunk--although, mind you, only on account of his interest in me, as there wasn't a bit of the gourmand about him. "See, my laddie," said he, nudging me, and speaking in a whisper. "The cap'en ain't a going to starve you!" When we got on deck again, after a hearty meal, the sun had set and the evening was closing in; but, it was bright and clear overhead and the twinkling Nash lights, two white and one red, by Saint Donat's Castle, were well away to windward on the starboard hand. Although there was no necessity whatever for my keeping up, I was too much excited to turn in, even for the purpose of seeing how snug my new quarters were; so, Sam keeping me company, in order to have as much of me as he could--for the time was now approaching for our parting--he and I paced the poop all night, talking of all sorts of things, and planning out a wonderful future when I should be captain of a ship of my own. Early in the morning watch, the wind lulled down to a gentle breeze, as it frequently does in summer before sunrise. This checked the ship's rate of speed through the water considerably, so staying our progress that, instead of our arriving off Ilfracombe close on to daylight, as Captain Billings had sanguinely reckoned, it was long past eight bells and the hour of breakfast, to which we were both again invited into the cabin, before we neared the headland marking the bay sufficiently for us to heave to and signal for the pilot's boat to come off and fetch him. We were not long detained, however. Hardly had the _Esmeralda's_ main-topsail been backed, ere a smart little cutter came sailing out towards us, with the familiar "P" and her number displayed on her spanker; so Sam hastened to bid his last farewell to me, making ready to accompany the pilot ashore. "Good-bye, my cockbird," said he, wringing my hand with a grip that made it wince again, a tremble the while in his voice and something suspiciously like a tear in his eye. "Keep honest, and do your duty, and never forget your father, laddie, nor old Sam Pengelly, who'll be right glad to see you again when you return from this v'yage!" "Good-bye, and God reward you, Sam, for all your kindness to me," I returned, almost breaking down, and having to exercise all my self- command in order not to make an exhibition of myself before my new shipmates. "I'll be certain to come and see you and Jane the moment I touch English ground again." "All right, my hearty, fare thee well," said he, stepping into the boat of the pilot after that worthy, while the _Esmeralda's_ sails were let fill again on the vessel resuming her course down the Bristol Channel; but, as I bent over the taffrail, and waved my hand to Sam for the last time, I could hear his parting hail in the distance, sounding as loud almost as if he were alongside. "Good-bye, my laddie, and good luck to the _Esmeralda_ on her v'yage. Cap'en Billings, remember the b'y!" "Aye, aye, my hearty, so I will," shouted out the skipper, cordially. "Good luck to you, Pengelly!" and then the pilot made in for the land, and the ship's yards were squared. The royals were soon afterwards sent aloft, the wind having sprung up again steadily, still from the nor'- east, as the tide began to make, and we ran now before it, almost sailing free, so as to pass to the southwards of Lundy Island and weather Hartland Point, on our way out into the open sea. Captain Billings, seeing the wind so favourable, instead of hugging the land, determined to make all the westing he could at this the very outset of our voyage, in order to avoid the cross currents hanging about the chops of the Channel, and off the Scilly Isles--which frequently, when aided by the contrary winds they engender, drive a ship on to the French coast, and into the Bay of Biscay, thus entailing a lot of beating up to the northwards again to gain a proper westerly course. Under these circumstances, therefore, my skipper, who I could see thus early "had his head," as they say, "screwed on straight," taking his point of departure from Lundy, and so bidding farewell to the land which he didn't intend approaching again for the next few weeks if he could help it, kept a straight course by the compass due west for twenty-four hours, by the end of which time, and this was about noon on our second day out, we had cleared the Scilly Islands, passing some twenty leagues to the northward of the Bishop's Rock. We were now well in with the Atlantic Ocean, and pursued the same direction, right before the wind, until we reached the meridian of 12 degrees 15 minutes West, when we hauled round more to the southwards, shaping a course to take us well to the westward of Madeira. Before this, however--that is, on our first day out, shortly after we had cleared Lundy Island, and when Sam and the pilot and his cutter were out of sight, and the ship clear of "strangers"--Captain Billings called a muster of all hands aft, when he divided the crew into two watches, officered respectively by the first and second mates. The "complement," as they say in the Royal Navy, of the _Esmeralda_, I may as well state here, consisted of the skipper, Captain Billings; the two mates, one occupying the proud position of "chief of the staff," and the other being merely an executive officer of little superior grade to one of the foremast hands; a boatswain, carpenter, sail-maker, cook, steward, and eighteen regular crew--the vessel, on account of her being barque-rigged, not requiring such a number of men in proportion to her tonnage as would have been necessary if she had been fitted as a ship, with yards and squaresails on the mizen-mast. When apportioning out the hands to their several officers, Captain Billings assigned me to the starboard watch, under charge of the second mate, telling the boatswain at the same time to "keep an eye upon me," so as to have me thoroughly initiated into the practical part of my profession. I had not observed this latter individual previously, he having been employed forwards while I had been mostly on the poop ever since I had come on board the ship; now, however, that the skipper thus specially entrusted me to his care, I looked across the deck, when I noticed that his face seemed strangely familiar to me, although I could not exactly say how and where I had seen him before, although I puzzled my head in vain to guess who he was. But, my quandary did not last very long; for, on Captain Billings dismissing the men after the full-dress parade he had held on the quarter-deck, the boatswain came up to me with a genial grin on his hairy face. "Hullo, Master Leigh," said he, "Who'd a' thought of us two meeting ag'in like this?" CHAPTER THIRTEEN. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. "What!" I exclaimed, in much amazement. "Is it really you, Jorrocks? I can hardly believe my eyes!" "Aye, aye, it's me sure enough," replied my old ally of the _Saucy Sall_, shaking hands with great heartiness, as if he were really glad to see me again under such altered circumstances. "It's me sure enough, Master Leigh--that is, unless I've got some double of a twin brother, as like me as two peas, a-sailing round in these latitudes!" There could be no question of his identity after I had once heard the tones of his well-remembered voice; but the beard which he had allowed to grow since I had last seen him had so completely altered the expression of his face, or rather indeed its entire appearance, that there was some excuse for my not recognising him at the moment. Jorrocks, however, he was without doubt; and, I need hardly say that I was quite as much pleased at this unexpected meeting as he seemed to be--albeit the sight of him, when I realised the fact that it was really himself and heard his cheery familiar accents, brought back in an instant to my mind the scene on board the coal brig that eventful day when the _Saucy Sall's_ surly skipper discovered that Tom and I had stolen a march on him, and treated us each to a dose of his sovereign specific for stowaways! "How is it, though, Jorrocks, that you've abandoned the brig?" I asked him presently, when we had got over our mutual surprise at thus meeting in such an unlooked-for fashion. "I thought you were a fixture there, and didn't know you were a regular sailor--I mean one accustomed to sea- going ships like this?" I said this with much dignity, being greatly impressed with the responsibility of my new position; and I'm sure I must have spoken as if I were a post captain at least, addressing some subordinate officer! Jorrocks, however, took my patronage in good part, although I could detect a faint cock of his eye, denoting sly amusement at my ridiculous assumption of superiority. This he now proceeded to "take down a peg" in his roundabout way. "Why, bless you, Master Leigh, I sailed as able seaman in a China clipper afore you were born, and when I were that high!" he replied, laughing, putting his hand about a foot above the deck to illustrate his approximate stature at the period referred to, and representing himself to be at that time certainly a very diminutive son of Neptune. "You must have been very young, then," said I, a little bit nettled at his remark--thinking it a slur on my nautical experience, so bran-new as that was! But Jorrocks went on as coolly as if I had not cast a doubt on the veracity of his statement concerning his early commencement of sailor life. "Aye, aye," he answered, quite collectedly, "I grant I were young, but then you must rec'lect, my lad, I got the flavour o' the sea early in a lighthouse tower, where I was born and brought up, my father having the lantern to mind; and, since then, I've v'y'ged a'most to every part you could mention, and shipped in a'most every kind of craft, from an East Indyman down to a Yarmouth hoy. Bless you! I only took to the coasting line two or three years ago, when you and I first ran foul of each other; and the reason for my doing that was in cons'quence of my getting spliced, and the missus wanting me to take a 'longshore berth. Howsomedevers, I couldn't stand it long, being once used to a decent fo'c's'le in a proper sort of vessel v'y'ging o'er the seas in true shipshape fashion; and so, I parted company with the brig and came aboard the _Esmeralda_ eighteen months ago come next July--a long spell for a sailor to stick to one ship without changing, but then Cap'en Billings 's a good sort, and he made me boatswain o' the craft last v'y'ge but one, so I hopes to remain with him longer still." "You like him, then?" I said, tentatively, looking him straight in the face. "Oh, aye--first-class," replied Jorrocks to my implied question, with much seriousness, "He's not only a good skipper--as good as they make 'em, treating the hands as if they were men, and not dogs--but he's a prime seaman, and knows what's what in a gale, better nor most I've ever sailed with. Howsomedevers, he'll stand no nonsense; and when he puts his foot down, you may as well give up, as you might sooner soft-sawder a trenail into a two-inch plank as get over him and shirk your duty! The old man, easy-going when you take him right, is as stiff as a porkypine when you runs foul of his hawse; so, you'd better not try on any o' them pranks o' yours you told me you and your messmate played off on your old schoolmaster, for Cap'en Billings has cut his eye teeth, my hearty." "Why, I wouldn't dream of such a thing," I exclaimed, indignantly, "what Tom and I did to Dr Hellyer was quite different, and served him right for his cruelty." "Aye, aye, that may be accordin' to your notion," said Jorrocks, sententiously; "but that schoolmaster were the skipper of his own ship, the same as Cap'en Billings is here aboard this here craft, and it ain't right to trifle with them as is set in authority over us!" I can't tell what I might have replied to this appropriate little sermon that Jorrocks delivered about the mischievous and dangerous trick that Tom and I conspired together to commit, and which I have often subsequently reflected might have led to the most disastrous consequences, and perhaps injured the Doctor for life; but, at that moment, Captain Billings, seeing my old friend and I chatting together, came over to leeward, where we were standing. "Hullo, boatswain!" he shouted out, "making friends with the youngster, eh?" "Why, bless you, Cap'en Billings," answered Jorrocks, touching his cap, "he and I are old shipmates." "Indeed! I had no idea of his having been at sea before," said the skipper, apparently very much astonished at this news. "Oh, aye, sir, he has," returned my old friend, glad to be able to put in a good word for me, as he thought, after the little lecture he had just given me. "He was on board a coal brig with me two years ago, a coasting craft that plied up along shore to Noocastle and back; and you'll find him no green hand, Cap', but a smart able chap, one that'll get out to the weather earing when there's a call to reef topsails sooner than many a full-grown seaman, for he knows his way up the rigging." "I'm very glad to hear that," said the skipper, turning to me, with an affable smile that lighted up his twinkling blue eyes. "When Sam Pengelly told me you were a capable lad, of course, I naturally took his opinion to proceed more from personal bias than practical comment on your seamanship; but, now that I learn from Jorrocks here, on more independent testimony, that you're no novice on board ship and have already mastered the rough rudiments of your profession in the best way possible--that of having been before the mast as a regular hand--why, you'll be able to get on all the faster, and be able to command the deck by-and-by on your own hook. How are you up in navigation, eh?" "I can take the sun, sir," said I, modestly, not wishing to blow my own trumpet. "Anything else?" "Yes, sir, I can work out a reckoning, I believe," I answered. "Ha, humph, pretty good! I'll try you by-and-by, Leigh," said Captain Billings, turning aside for the moment to order the port watch to give one extra pull to the weather braces--"mind and bring out your sextant when you see me on deck at eight bells. I suppose you've got one in your chest, eh?" "Oh yes, sir, Sam Pengelly gave me one," I replied, and the skipper then went into the cabin while Jorrocks and I resumed our interrupted conversation. My old friend took advantage of the opportunity to put me up to a good many wrinkles concerning my fellow-shipmates. The mate, Mr Macdougall, who was a tall, hatchet-faced Scotsman, with high cheek-bones and a very prominent nose--Jorrocks told me, in confidence--was a tight-handed, close-fisted, cross-tempered man, ever fond of displaying his authority and working the hands to death, under the plea of preventing their idling or "hazing," as he called it. "I advise you not to get into a row with him, Mister Leigh, if so as you can help it; 'cause, once a chap falls foul of him in any way, he neversomedevers by no chance forgets or forgives it, nohow." "I shan't give him the chance," I answered to this, with a laugh. "I suppose he doesn't think himself greater than the captain!" "Ah, you just wait a bit 'fore you decide that p'int. The first mate aboard a marchint ship is a sight more powerful than a judge on the bench, as you'll find out! The skipper allers tells him what he wishes, and the mate sees to its being done, an' it depends what sorter fellow _he_ is, and not on the cap'en, as to how matters go on when a vessel's at sea; for, it's in his power for to make things pleasant like and all plain sailing, or else to cause the crew for to smell brimstone afore their time, I tell you! That Macdougall, now, though you laugh in that light-hearted way, ain't to be trifled with, Mister Leigh, I warn you; and if you go for to raise his dander ag'in you, why, you won't find it worth grinning at, that's sartin, for he's as nasty as he's spiteful, and every man Jack of us hates him like pizen, and wishes he were out of the ship. The skipper, I knows, wouldn't have him aboard if he could have his own way, but he's some connection of the owners, and he can't help himself." "All right, Jorrocks, I'll try and steer clear of him," I said, trying to look grave, for I saw the old sailor was in earnest, and only speaking for my good. "I will endeavour to do my duty, and then he won't have any occasion to find fault with me." "Ah, but you'll have to do more than that; for, like most of them uppish chaps, if you don't truckle under to him and purtend as how he's the Lord Mayor, he's safe to be down on you." "I'm not going to crawl under any man's feet, first mate or no first mate!" I said, proudly. "Why, I'm a first-class apprentice, and the captain has rated me as third officer in the ship's books." "Now, Mister Leigh, don't you go on for being bumptious, now, my lad!" replied Jorrocks, laughing heartily at my drawing myself up on my dignity. "A third officer or `third mate,' as we calls him, has a dog's berth aboard a ship if he doesn't lend his hand to anything and button to the first mate! You needn't go for to really humble yourself afore that Macdougall; I only meant you to purtend like as how you thinks him a regular top-sawyer, and then you'll sail along without a chance of a squall--Mr Ohlsen, the second mate, in charge o' your watch, is an easy-going chap, and you'll get on well enough with him." "All right," I said in response, as if agreeing with his advice; but I formed my own resolution as to how I would treat the Scotsman should he try to bully me unjustly. He would find no cringe in me, I vowed! The rest of my shipmates, Jorrocks then went on to tell me, were a very jolly set of fellows, forming as good a crew as he'd ever sailed with-- fit for anything, and all able seamen "of the proper sort." Haxell, the carpenter, he said, was a quiet, steady-going, solemn sort of man, with no nonsense about him, who kept himself to himself; while Sails, the sail-maker, whom I have omitted mentioning in his proper place as one of the officers ranking after the boatswain, was a cheery chap, who could sing a good song on Saturday night in the fo'c's'le; but, the life of the crew, Jorrocks said, was Pat Doolan, the cook, an Irishman, as his name would imply. He was always ready to crack a joke and "carry on" when there was any skylarking about, besides willing to lend a hand at any time on a pinch. Jorrocks told me "to mind and be good friends with Pat," if it were only for the sake of the pannikin of hot coffee which it was in his power to dispense in the early morning when turning out on watch in the cold. "Ah, you were not born yesterday, Jorrocks!" I said, when he imparted this valuable bit of information to me, as one of the state secrets of the fo'c's'le. "No, Mister Leigh," he answered, with a meaning wink; "I've not been to sea, twenty year more or less, for nothing, I tell you." The steward--to complete the list of those on board--was a flabby half- and-half sort of Welshman, hailing from Cardiff but brought up in London; and, as he was a close ally of the first mate, I need hardly say he was no favourite either of my friend Jorrocks, or with the crew generally--all the hands thinking that he skimped the provisions when serving them out, in deference to Mr Macdougall's prejudices in the way of stinginess! The _Esmeralda_, therefore, carried twenty-seven souls in all of living freight, including the skipper and my valuable self, besides her thousand tons of coal or so of cargo; we on board representing a little world within ourselves, with our interests identical so long as the voyage lasted. While Jorrocks and I were talking in the waist of the ship to leeward, I observed the first mate, Mr Macdougall--who had the forenoon watch, and was in charge of the vessel for the time--approach close to the break of the poop, and stop in his walk up and down the deck once or twice, as if he were on the point of hailing us to know what we were palavering about; but something seemed to change his intention, so he refrained from calling out, as I expected, although he glowered down on Jorrocks and I, with a frown on his freckly sandy-haired face, "as if he could eat us both up without salt," as the boatswain said, on my pointing out the mate's proximity. I believe Mr Macdougall took a dislike to me from the first; and the skipper's apparent favour did not subsequently tend to make him appreciate me any the better, I could see later on. That very day, shortly before noon, when Captain Billings came out of his cabin with his sextant, and found me all ready for him with mine, in obedience to his order, I heard Mr Macdougall utter a covert sneer behind the skipper's back respecting me. "Hoot, mon," he said aside to Ohlsen, the second mate--"Old son of a gun" as the men used to call him, making a sort of pun on his name--"the old man's setting up as dominie to teach that bairn how to tak' a sight, you ken; did you ever see the like? These be braw times when gentlefolk come to sea for schoolin', and ship cap'ens have to tak' to teachin' 'em!" Ohlsen didn't reply to this save by a grunt, which might have meant anything, but I was certain Macdougall was trying to turn me into ridicule. Captain Billings, however, did not overhear the remark; and proceeded to test my accuracy with the sextant, making me take the angle of the sun and that of the distant land on the port bow. He was delighted when, afterwards, I had worked out my calculations, based on the sight taken of the sun's altitude, and, deducting the difference of the ship's mean time from that observed, found out that our true position on the chart was very nearly 50 degrees 55 minutes 20 seconds North and 4 degrees 50 minutes 55 seconds West, or about ten miles to the south-west of Hartland Point on the Devonshire coast. It was all a labour of love, however, for the land was still within reach, and we had not long taken our "point of departure;" while soundings could still be had, if we wished, in thirty fathom water; so, there was no necessity for our taking an observation so early in the voyage. The skipper only did it to test my knowledge, and he was perfectly satisfied with the result apparently. "Why, Macdougall," he said to the Scotsman, who was waiting by with an air of ill-concealed triumph on his face, hoping to hear of my failure to work out the reckoning, "he's a better navigator than you are!" This, you may be certain, did not please the mate, who muttered something of it's "all being done by guess work." But the skipper wouldn't have this at any price. "No, no, Macdougall," he replied, quickly, "it's all fair and square calculation, such as I couldn't have managed at his age;" then, turning to me, he added, kindly, "you stick to it, my lad, and you'll beat us all with the sextant before we get to Callao!" The captain desired me, also, to work out the ship's reckoning each day and to keep a log, the same as the first mate had to do, which that individual resented as a sort of check exercised upon him, and hated me accordingly. As I afterwards found out, he was an extremely bad navigator, and ignorant of all the newest methods, such as Sumner's, for shortening calculation, consequently, he was afraid of his errors being discovered too easily if his log should be compared every day with mine. Unaware of all these kindly feelings towards me, Captain Billings filled up the measure of Mr Macdougall's wrath by inviting me to come into the cabin to dine with him that day at six bells, instead of waiting until the termination of Ohlsen's watch, and go in with him to the "second table," as it was termed, after the skipper and first mate had finished their repast--such being the etiquette in merchant ships. Macdougall almost boiled over with anger when he heard the skipper ask me. His freckled face looked just like a turkey's egg--boiled! "Vara weel, vara weel, Cap'en Billings," said he, with a mock deference that little disguised his rage: "but I'd ha'e you to know that I didn't ship aboard here to mess wi' 'prentice lads." The skipper fired up in an instant, a light darting from his blue eyes which one would not have thought their liquid depths capable of. "And I would have you to know, Mr Macdougall," he retorted, quickly, uttering every word, however, with distinct emphasis, "that I'm captain of my own ship, and shall ask whom I please to my table. Steward," he added, calling out to that worthy, who was just sauntering by into the cabin from the cook's galley with a covered dish in his hands, "lay a plate and knife and fork for Mr Leigh; and bear in mind that he dines with me every day when his duties allow!" "Aye, aye, sir," replied Owen Williams, proceeding on into his pantry with his dish, and I followed the skipper into the cabin shortly afterwards. This was undoubtedly a blow to the mate, as I thought, sniggering over the little episode at the time; but, Mr Macdougall did not forget the fact of my having been the occasion of his getting a "dressing down" from the skipper, and he debited it carefully in his account against me, determining to pay me out for it on the first convenient opportunity--a resolution that was carried out quite soon enough for me, as you will presently learn! CHAPTER FOURTEEN. IN THE HORSE LATITUDES. At noon on our second day out, running right before the north-east by east wind all the while and making but little southing, with our royals and studding-sails set, and everything that could draw--the _Esmeralda_ averaging nearly ten knots an hour every time we hove the log from the time of our clearing the Bristol Channel--we had reached the meridian of 12 degrees 15 minutes west; for Captain Billings wisely took advantage of such a favourable breeze, as I've remarked before, to get well to windward of the French coast, knowing well that we might shortly meet with westerly winds of a variable nature that would probably put us quite as far to the eastward as we should want--in the event of our making too much westing. However, having now gained such a good offing, we hauled our wind, and steered a west-sou'-west course, as previously mentioned, towards Madeira. Up to this time we had not started a brace, or loosed a sheet, the wind being fair from aft while we were steering to the west, and now well abeam, on our bearing up to the southward on the port tack; but, we had hardly made a couple of days' sail in our new direction, running down to the parallel of 45 degrees north, which we crossed in 15 degrees west, before the wind began to come in light puffs. Shortly afterwards, it shifted round to the westward, backing occasionally to the east and south-east and causing us plenty of work in the way of tacking, first to starboard, and then to port again--the skipper striving all the while to keep all the westing he had made, and preserve a diagonal course for the Line; although the set of the Gulf Stream, in towards the coast of Portugal, gave us a lot of leeway to add to our dead reckoning. What with the baffling breezes and occasional calms, it took us another four days to get to the southwards of the Azores, passing them much further to the eastwards than Captain Billings had calculated on; but then a fresh wind sprang up from the north-west, bidding fair to last, which took us down to the thirty-fifth parallel in fine style, the _Esmeralda_ covering over three hundred miles between the morning of one day and noon the next. All hands now began hoping we were going to make a quick run of it after all, in spite of the tedious delays of the last few days; but it was a very fallacious hope, as we quickly found out. The favourable north-wester lasted another twelve hours, driving us down our latitudes on the starboard tack, the ship sailing pretty free, with the wind nearly abeam and all her canvas set that could draw, racing through the water like a crack cutter at a regatta; when, on the evening of our eleventh day out, by which time we had nearly reached the parallel of Madeira, although forty miles or so to the westward of the island, the breeze failed us all of a sudden, just close on to midnight, a dead calm setting in, accompanied by a heavy rolling swell. "Ah," said Jorrocks, who was sharing the first watch with me--Mr Ohlsen, the second mate, being ill and excused from duty--"we're now in the Hoss Latitudes, Mister Leigh, and may know what we've got to expect!" "Horse Latitudes?" I repeated after him, inquiringly, thinking he was having a little joke at my expense, and taking advantage of my ignorance. "Aye, I ain't trying to bamboozle you, my lad! They calls them so, 'cause, in the old days, the West India traders that carried out hosses to the Windward Islands had frequently to throw 'em overboard during the shifts of wind and changes they had when they got hereabouts; for the weather can't be depended on for an hour at a time, it being calm, just as now, one minute, and the next a gale springing up strong enough to blow the masts out o' your ship 'fore you can let the sheets fly." "Oh!" I exclaimed; "and, do you think there's any likelihood of a hurricane now?" "Can't say," replied Jorrocks, sententiously. "We'd better give the skipper a hail; he left orders to be called if the wind dropped, or in case of any change." "All right," said I, turning to leave the poop. "I will go down and rouse him at once, and I may as well knock up Mr Macdougall at the same time to relieve the deck, for it's past eight bells." "Aye, aye, do so, sir," responded the boatswain; so I hastened below to perform my mission, leaving him in charge until I returned. Captain Billings answered my call almost the instant I rapped at his door, coming from his cabin fully dressed, having turned in to his bunk "all standing," as if prepared for the summons; but the first mate was a heavy sleeper, and it took me more than ten minutes to rouse him, so that when I had gained the deck again the port watch had come on duty, the "starbowlines" having gone to their bunks as soon as relieved by the fresh hands. Jorrocks, however, I noticed, remained still on the poop; and, knowing that he would not thus inconvenience himself by going without his proper "caulk," like the rest, unless there was some urgent reason--for he dearly loved his sleep when duty did not interfere with the indulgence--I stayed behind, too, the more especially as I remembered what he had said about there being the chance of a "blow." In the short time I had been away, a change was apparent, even to my unaccustomed eyes, unused as they were as yet to many nautical phenomena. The stillness of the atmosphere I had noticed when I quitted the deck to summon the skipper, had been succeeded by a series of light puzzling puffs of air; while, although the night was clear, with a few stars shining overhead, fleecy fragments of cloud were whirling about in eddies, some settling in heavy masses on the water and banking themselves round the horizon. But, the sea itself showed much the greatest sign of coming disturbance. The waves, no longer following each other in long heaving rollers, were curving upwards and jostling each other--like so many fiery coursers, suddenly thrown back on their haunches, by reason of being reined in when in the full burst of their mad career, and now champing their bits with angry impatience! There was, likewise, an alteration in the aspect of the ship. Captain Billings had already reduced his canvas, the topgallant sails having been taken in and the courses clewed up; and now, pretty nearly stripped of all her "drapery," like a gladiator entering the arena, the _Esmeralda_ appeared awaiting the issue of whatever decision the elements might arrive at--ready to take her part in the conflict should strife ensue between the opposing forces of the wind and waves; or, in the event of a contest being avoided through the disinclination of the storm fiend to "come to the scratch," equally prepared to spread her wings again and proceed on her voyage. "It's just a toss up now, whether we'll have it or not," whispered Jorrocks to me as we stood side by side together on the poop, watching the skipper, whose eyes were as intently riveted on the dog-vane at the main truck above. Just at this moment, Mr Macdougall came lazily sauntering up the poop ladder. He did not see that Captain Billings was on deck; and, eyeing the change in the ship's appearance, exclaimed, angrily, with that Scottish burr of his, which was always more pronounced when he was excited-- "Hoot, mon, wha' the dickens hae ye takken the sails off her--who ordered ye, I'd like ta ken?" He was addressing Jorrocks; but the skipper, who was annoyed by his late arrival to relieve the watch, answered him sharply-- "I gave the order, Mr Macdougall, which you should have been up in time to have seen carried out; and, if you're a seaman and will just give a glance round, you'll soon see the reason why!" The first mate made no reply to this save to follow out the captain's suggestion of looking over the side; and what he saw there did not appear to give him any excuse for controverting the skipper's words; for, the clouds had now spread over the horizon--except to the southward, where it was still clear, and from which a short sharp gust of wind came every now and then, filling out the loose folds of the courses, and then, as it died away, letting them flap against the masts with a heavy dull sound as of distant thunder, an occasional streak of pale lightning darting across the sky to the north-west, where the heavens were most obscured, as if to bear out the illusion. "We're in for it now, for certain," said Captain Billings presently, noticing a faint stir in the air above amidst the whizzing clouds, the upper strata of which were going in a contrary direction to that in which the vane pointed, which was still to the south-east. "Boatswain, rouse out the watch below!" Jorrocks thereupon immediately went forward towards the fo'c's'le, knocking with a marlinspike three times on the deck, and shouting out the well-known hail that every sailor knows but too well. "Tumble up there! All hands shorten sail!" The men, who had hardly shifted their clothes and turned in, after being relieved by the port watch at eight bells, came tumbling up on deck hurriedly, and the skipper at once ordered the topsail and foresail to be reefed, spanker to be brailed up, and the main course furled; while the vessel was kept with her head to the southward, that is, as well as the cross sea and the fitful gusts of wind would allow, under her jib, fore and main-topsails and forecourse. Presently there was an ominous hum in the surrounding atmosphere, when the waves calmed down as if by magic; and then, a large rent disclosed itself in the sombre curtain of cloud to the north-west, the heavy masses of vapour that had been previously piling themselves along the horizon there and spreading up to the zenith falling back again and scurrying away in a retrograde direction, like skirmishers on a battle- field driven-in on to their supports by a rush of cavalry trying to cut them off. "Here it comes!" shouted out Captain Billings, ordering the hands at the same time to "stand by" the braces and topsail halliards; and, almost ere the crew could get to their respective posts, the clouds had disappeared, with what seemed a supernatural celerity from the heavens, letting the clear blue sky be seen again and the bright twinkling stars peep down to see what all the fuss was about, all being calm and easy up there! Thanks to the skipper's precautions, the outburst of the gale did not take the _Esmeralda_ aback, as would most probably have been the case if the first mate had been in charge of the deck, when we should have most likely lost our spars, if the vessel had not foundered, as frequently happens when a ship is caught unprepared; as it was, she only winced slightly, with a shiver through her frame, as the wind struck her on the quarter, the masts and yards creaking and the topsails expanding with a sound like that of an explosion as they were blown out to their fullest extent, almost jumping from the bolt-ropes, and then her hull lay over to leeward while she began to push through the water, driven along before the blast at racehorse speed. "Ease off those starboard braces there, and haul in to leeward?" cried out Captain Billings, directing the man at the wheel by a wave of his hand to put the helm down slightly, so as to bring her head more up to the wind; but this was more than the steersman could do unaided, the vessel--carrying out the analogy I recently used--resembling a vicious charger that had taken the bit between his teeth--so, Mr Macdougall at once sprang to help the steersman, when the two together managed, by exerting all their united strength, to jam the spokes round so that the ship's head was brought over to the south-west, bearing off then with the wind before the beam. The north-west gale was then blowing with tremendous force and increasing to the power of a hurricane each instant as it whistled through the cordage, wailing and shrieking like the lost souls in Dante's "Inferno." The momentarily quiet sea, too, had got up again, and was now covered with huge broken waves--raised aloft in pyramids one moment, and the next scooped out into yawning valleys, into which the vessel plunged, with a shock that made her timbers vibrate with the sledge-hammer thud of the bows meeting the billows full butt, the concussion causing columns of spray to be thrown up that came in over the cathead, drenching the fo'c's'le and pouring in a cascade into the waist, whence the broken water, washing aft along the deck, forming a lake on the lee-side, where the scuppers were level with the sea, from the ship's heeling over. We were still carrying too much sail; and this the skipper was as quick as any one to perceive, although he was anxious to pursue his course as long as he could, and make as much capital as he could out of the north- wester in his way to the Line. "Hands shorten sail!" accordingly was the repeated cry; and, knowing what was wanted, the crew were soon racing up the shrouds to close-reef the topsails, although the force of the wind nearly pinned them to the rigging like spread eagles, and they had hard difficulty in gaining the yards, and working out along the foot-ropes, especially on those to windward. The topsail halliards had of course been let go before this, and the loose sails were filled out like balloons, so that it took some time to get in the bunt and tie the reef points; but it was at last done, and we returned to the deck--I being especially triumphant at having out-paced one of the smartest topmen in the ship, in gaining the weather earing of the foretop sail before him, and completing my task so quickly as to get down on deck before some of the rest had yet left the yard. Captain Billings, I was pleased to see, noticed my activity, giving me an approving smile, which more than counterbalanced the scowl that Macdougall greeted my reappearance with below; but all such thoughts were soon banished by the skipper's fresh order to go aloft and take in the topsail we had only just close-reefed, the vessel being buried too much by the head. Away up the rattlins we all climbed again; while those below, on the halliards being started by the run, began hauling on the clewlines and buntlines, bagging up the sail so that we could hand it easier. It was stiffer work furling it than the reefing had been; but, at length this, too, was accomplished, albeit I nearly narrowly got knocked off the yard-arm by the flapping back of the folds of canvas in my face as the wind caught the leech sideways. We then returned once more to the more substantial platform of the deck, glad enough to get down safe again. "Let go the jib halliards!" was the next command, some of the hands starting forwards to man the down haul; but the moment the halliards were cast loose, the accommodating sail saved us any further trouble in the way of stowing it, by blowing clean away to leeward with a report as if a small cannon had been fired off on the fo'c's'le--floating out against the dark background of the sky like a child's kite whose string has parted and let it go to grief, tumbling down from its soaring height, and disappearing in the dim distance to leeward, where the clouds had already vanished. The ship was now only under her close-reefed main-topsail and reefed foresail, all the rest of her canvas having been taken off her by degrees; still, she laboured so greatly, and got such a list to leeward--with the topmasts bent like fishing rods under the strain, while the weather shrouds were as taut as fiddle-strings, and those on the port side hung limp and loose through the stretching of the rigging--that the skipper saw she would not stand driving any more. The only thing now to be done, he thought, was to lay her to, so that, as he could not get her any further on her forward journey, she should not, at all events, lose the progress she had already made save by leeway drift, which of course was unavoidable. "Ease down the helm!" he cried to the two men, who were now necessary at the wheel, while the fore-tack was boarded, the lee braces hauled aft, and the mainyard braced in, when the ship was brought up to the wind, bowing and scraping, and taking in tons of water over the fo'c's'le, in this operation, that washed everybody off their legs in the waist, bundling them away to leeward in a bunch. For a time the _Esmeralda_ now behaved very well, the mizen trysail being set to steady her, although, being hove to on the starboard tack, she drifted sideways, before the fierce north-west gale, making as much leeway towards the south and east as if she had been running free; but, presently, there was a loud crack heard forwards, and Haxell, the carpenter, came up to the skipper on the poop, looking even more serious than usual as he crawled aft under shelter of the bulwarks. "The foremast is sprung, sir," said he in a melancholy tone of voice, as if he were announcing the fact of his just going to be hanged. "Is it serious?" asked Captain Billings. "Aye, aye, sir, it's all that," replied Haxell. "There's a big flaw close under the slings of the foreyard. It won't stand the pressure of that foresail ag'in it much longer, Cap'; and it'll be safe to carry away presently." "Then we must relieve it before that happens," said the skipper, giving orders for us to furl the foresail and hoist the fore-topmast staysail in its place, for that would serve to keep control of the helm, he thought. The ship required some headsail, and this would not try the damaged mast so severely as the foresail had done, with its wide extent of canvas. By the time all these different manoeuvres had been essayed and effected it was broad daylight. It was a fine morning, too, although the wind was still blowing a hurricane and the sea was fearfully high and choppy, for there wasn't a cloud to be seen in the heavens, while the sun was shining down with almost tropical heat; but, in spite of its looking so bright, we hadn't done with the nor'-wester yet. Towards mid-day, when we found from observation that we were in latitude 27 degrees North and longitude 18 degrees West--nearly abreast of the island of Palma in the Canaries, and a terrible distance to the eastward of our position on the previous day, thus showing all the leeway we had lost--the wind increased so much in strength that it blew now with even greater force than at its first onset the evening before on the breaking out of the gale. This was not all, either. The heavy waves that dashed against the ship as she headed them, broke upon her bows with such fury that it seemed every moment as if they would beat in the timbers; while, every now and then, some billow mightier than its fellows would force her head away, making her fall off, and then, the succeeding sea would take her broadside on, hurling tons of broken water on her decks that would have soon filled her had not the hatches been battened down, which precaution had been taken when we first reduced sail. The situation became serious on this being repeated several times during the afternoon, for there was great danger of the vessel being any moment thrown on her beam ends, when there would certainly be a clean sweep made of everything on board and the _Esmeralda_ be speedily converted into a floating wreck! Captain Billings accordingly called a council of his officers, I standing by and listening to what Mr Macdougall and Jorrocks advised should be done in the emergency. These both, however, came to the same opinion as the skipper, that scudding would be the best course to pursue under the circumstances--although, like him, they were well aware that the difficulty which faced us all consisted, not so much in running before the wind, as in managing to get the vessel's head round so as to do it without broaching or letting her to. Still, the manoeuvre had to be tried as a last resource. "I don't see that anything else can be done," said Captain Billings, with a more anxious look on his face than I had ever noticed there before. "I only hope we'll manage it successfully; for, if we once get broadside on in the trough of this sea, she'll never rise out of it, with the heavy cargo she carries, and so it will be a case of Davy Jones' locker for the lot of us!" CHAPTER FIFTEEN. "A LITTLE UNPLEASANTNESS." "Say, Cap', we'll have to strip her first," suggested Jorrocks, when it was thus decided to carry out the contemplated measure for the relief of the ship--"if we don't do that, we'll have every stick taken out of her as soon as we try to wear her!" "Oh, aye, boatswain, I haven't forgotten that, you may be sure," said the skipper; and the hands were then once more sent aloft to furl the main-topsail, while the mizzen trysail was hauled down and the braces manned, so as to help the vessel round with the yards the moment the helm was put up. It was a ticklish job, though. The utmost care was necessary in order that the manoeuvre might be successfully accomplished. Should one of the heavy rollers strike her after she had once yielded to the influence of the rudder and while coming round with the wind, before she had fully paid off--thus presenting her stern to the attack of her stubborn assailants even as she now faced them, like a stag at bay or a cat fronting a bull-dog--why, the gale would undoubtedly catch her broadside on. In such a case, the _Esmeralda_ would be exposed at her weakest point to the full force of the wind and sea, in the same way as the deer or cat turning tail to its pursuer--with what result we on board could readily anticipate, even without the skipper's warning words! As Jorrocks expressed it, in the event of such a catastrophe happening, "It was all Lombard Street to a China orange we'd lose the number of our mess and sarve as food for fishes!" Everything, therefore, depended on our seizing the right moment for putting the helm up and bringing her head round, the critical period being that between the onslaught of one of the rollers and the advent of the next; when, if the vessel answered her helm smartly, rising out of the trough of the sea ere the following wave had time to reach her, she would be away scudding in front of the gale safely, before many minutes would be past and the present peril might then be a thing to look back upon with feelings of thankfulness and satisfaction. Captain Billings explained this to Jorrocks, while all the remaining canvas was being stripped off the vessel, with the exception of the fore-topmast staysail, which was still retained in order to assist in forcing her head round when all was ready for trying the hazardous experiment. "You know what I want, Boatswain," he said, sending Jorrocks forwards to watch for a favourable opening between the following waves and turn the ship--"the moment you see our chance, give the word; and then, Heaven help us to get round in time and not broach-to!" "Aye, aye, sir, I knows what you want," answered Jorrocks, who then proceeded to crawl as carefully towards the fore-chains, as the carpenter had come aft--bending down beneath the protection of the weather-bulwarks as he crept along the waist, and holding on by a stray rope's-end here and there to preserve his balance--although he did this as much to prevent exposing his body as leverage for the wind to force the vessel over to leeward before the proper time, as to shield himself from its boisterous buffeting. Arrived at the point he had selected, Jorrocks drew himself up gingerly into the fore-rigging, his hat blowing from off his head and his hair streaming out before the wind the instant he abandoned the shelter of the bulwarks. However, he had not long to remain in that exposed position. He had waited to stand up until he heard the blow of one of the heavy billows as it careered before the gale, coming against the bows in due rotation, and the instant he heard this he raised himself erect at once, receiving part of the deluge that broke over the cathead in a fountain of spray on his exposed head and hairy face, the impromptu shower bath making him appear like a dripping merman fresh from the briny deep. Jorrocks, however, did not mind the cold bath. He had much more serious matter on hand to take notice of it, beyond giving himself a shake like a retriever fresh from a dip. Looking over the side to windward, as quickly as he dashed the water from his eyes, he noticed that the following wave succeeding the one which had just delivered its attack, was quite two cable lengths off--a more than usually long interval between the waves as yet. It seemed like an interposition of Providence in our favour, I thought, noticing the lull from my station on the poop almost as soon as Jorrocks perceived it in the bows, and I feared he would have missed the opportunity. But the boatswain was too good a seaman for that. The very instant the reflection crossed my mind that he would be too late, for the whole thing happened in the "wink of an eye," he raised his right hand high in the air, standing up to his full height on the bulwarks, while holding on to the ratlines of the foreshrouds--thus allowing his body to act as a sort of additional headsail to aid the fore-topmast staysail, which, as I've said before, was the only rag the ship had on her, in forcing her bows round. Captain Billings was watching Jorrocks even more intently than I; and, without a second's delay, the moment the latter gave the signal that the critical point for action had arrived, he roared out in a voice of thunder, "Hard up with the helm, hard up, my men, for your lives!" Mr Macdougall and the two seamen who were standing on either side of the wheel, clutching hold of the spokes and holding on to them with all their might, shifted it round almost as quickly as the skipper's order was given. But they had to put all their strength into the task to overcome the resistance of the dead weight of the hull, aided as that was by the mountain of water pressing it back upon them and thus resisting their efforts to shift the helm over to port. For a brief space of time, hardly an instant though it seemed an eternity, the ship appeared somewhat sluggish to respond to the movement of the rudder, hanging in stays and settling down into the great valley of water that loomed on our lee; but the next moment a glad cry of relief burst from all as she answered her helm, a wavering motion of her bows denoting this being then perceptible. "Now, men, look alive," cried the skipper. "Cast-off those lee braces here; haul round to windward sharp, and square the yards!" These orders were executed as rapidly as they were given, the hands being ready at the braces, and only waiting for the word of command to ease the yards round. When these were squared, however, the fore- topmast staysail fluttered and filled with a jerk that made the foremast crack and tremble, the vibration shaking the ship to her centre and penetrating even as far as to the deck beneath our feet as we stood awaiting the issue of the operation--the very planks "creeping" with the concussion caused by this and the bows meeting the send of the sea. But the power of the little staysail forward, and the effect of the exposed surface of the boatswain's body in the rigging, both catching the wind at the same time, settled the matter. Without making any further opposition to our wishes, the _Esmeralda_ payed off handsomely; and, rising up on the crest of an enormous green roller, that had swept up to overwhelm her, but which now passed harmlessly under her keel instead, she surged through the water, gathering way every moment as she showed her heels to the gale, careering over the stormy billows before the blast like a mad thing, as if rejoicing in her freedom after so long being forced to lay to-- although the fore-topmast staysail, which had done such good work in getting her head round, parted company as soon as the yards were braced round, blowing away to atoms, and floating off in the distance in the same kite-like fashion in which the jib had previously disappeared. The loss, however, seemed to affect the ship's speed but little, for she scudded off under bare poles at as great a rate as if she had all her canvas set, and was running before a ten-knot breeze. "Thank Heaven!" I heard Captain Billings exclaim in a low voice, taking off his cap reverently, as soon as we were safely round before the wind; and I could see his lips move as if in silent prayer. In this, I confess, I joined with all my heart; for, if ever in my life I experienced the feeling of religious emotion which causes us to express our gratitude for rescue from peril, I had that feeling then! The _Esmeralda_, though, was not out of all danger yet. There was still the fear of her being pooped by the following waves, which now raced after, in anger at her having escaped their clutches; so, to lessen this possibility, the skipper had the reefed main-topsail set again, and the mizzen trysail once more hoisted, so that the ship might get through the water faster than the pursuing rollers. The strain on the masts was tremendous; but, fortunately, everything held, and under the impetus of this additional sail power she doubled her speed, bidding defiance to the harpies of the ocean that had so nearly worsted her in the combat. It was just four bells in the afternoon watch when we got her head round before the wind, although it was not until nearly midnight that the hurricane blew itself out, the wind then dropping almost as suddenly as it had sprung up twenty-four hours before. During all this time, only one of the watches had a short spell below, and neither the skipper, Jorrocks, nor I, had ever left the deck after the gale had begun--the only exception being Mr Macdougall, who had turned in for a caulk when we were lying-to. Had it not been, however, for the praiseworthy exertions of Pat Doolan, the Irish cook, I do not believe we should have been able to hold out so long. The willing fellow, despite the series of liquid avalanches that were constantly flooding the ship as she took in the green seas over her bows, managed in some wonderful way or other to keep his galley fire alight, supplying us with a grateful cup of hot coffee at intervals through the harassing night; and, late in the afternoon, when we were all utterly exhausted, he served out to each of us, much to our surprise, a pannikin apiece of the most delicious pea-soup I ever tasted--"It was enough," as one of the men said on receiving the welcome refreshment, "to have put life in a post!" This was while our struggle with the elements yet lasted; but as soon as that was over, and when all fear of peril was dispelled by the lulling of the gale, the inevitable reaction after such protracted exertions without any recuperative rest became painfully apparent, and I was not at all sorry when Captain Billings told the hands belonging to the port watch that they might go below. "And I fancy, Mister Leigh," said Jorrocks to me, "we can go down and turn in too; for we ain't a going to have another such a blow in a hurry again for a month of Sundays!" Nor did it look like it either, the stars twinkling away in a cloudless sky, and the night being perfectly bright and clear, although there was no moon, while the rollers were rolling less angrily, as if the ocean were hushing itself down into repose at last. There was nothing, therefore, to keep me on deck any longer; so, following the example of my old friend Jorrocks, I speedily sought my bunk, and, turning in, did not wake again until nearly noon on the following day--the good-natured skipper having given orders to Mr Macdougall not to disturb me when the starboard watch was relieved in the early morning, saying that I had earned my rest fairly by rolling two days' duty into one, which, indeed, I believe I had! I was up on deck again, however, in time to "tak' the soon," as the Scottish mate termed it in his north-country accent, for I was anxious to see how far the gale had driven the vessel off her proper course. It was our thirteenth day out, counting from the time we "took our departure," as navigators say, from Lundy Island; and both the skipper and I made it out, after working the reckoning, that we were as far down as the twenty-fifth parallel, although a good deal to the eastward of what our true position should be--the leeway we had made while lying-to, and our subsequent scudding for nearly twelve hours before the north- wester, having taken us much too close in towards the African continent, thus causing us to lose all that westing we had secured on our first start from the Bristol Channel, and which we had afterwards so carefully preserved, even amidst the baffling winds of the middle latitudes. Still, this mortifying conclusion had a redeeming feature. If we were too far to the eastwards, we were as assuredly beyond the region specially designated by Jorrocks as the "Horse Latitudes," where the calms of Cancer hold sway; for, now, setting all plain sail before a steady breeze from off the land, we soon managed to run into the regular north-east Trades, picking them up in the next degree or two we ran down to the southward. From this point, keeping on the starboard tack again, with the wind well on our beam, we ran for the Line; but before crossing the equator, Mr Macdougall and I, between whom relations had been somewhat strained almost from our first introduction, came to an open rupture, the "little unpleasantness" happening in this wise. Mr Ohlsen, the second mate--"Old son of a gun," as the crew called him, from his taciturn manner of going about his work--was still on the sick list; and Captain Billings, who had expressed himself much pleased with my behaviour since I was on board, especially during the storm, had assigned the performance of this gentleman's duties to me. At this Mr Macdougall was extremely indignant, remonstrating with the skipper for putting so young a lad as myself in such an important post as that of second mate. "What are your reasons for objecting to him?" asked Captain Billings. "Why, the loon's but a bairn," said Mr Macdougall, at a nonplus for some objection to my promotion. "If he's young," answered the skipper, "he's got a man's courage and a seaman's aptitude, which is more than I can say for some aboard here!" "Hoot, mon, d'ye mean to eenseenuate?" "I insinuate nothing," interrupted Captain Billings, hotly. "If the cap fits you, why, you can wear it! Leigh is a strong, sturdy fellow, worth any two hands on a yard; and, as for navigating, he can work out a reckoning better than--than myself!" "That mebbe, that mebbe, I dinna gang for to denee that stat'ment, Cap'en," said the Scotsman, sneeringly, implying that I or anybody else might easily eclipse the skipper's powers of calculation; "but I hae my doots, mon, I hae my doots." "You can `hay' your grandmother if you like," retorted Captain Billings, decisively; "still, it's my order that Leigh acts as second mate until Mr Ohlsen is able to return to duty. I'm captain of this ship, Mr Macdougall, please remember!" This was the invariable expression the skipper always made use of when he had made up his mind to anything, so the mate knew that there was no use in his trying to argue the point any further, and he left the poop, where the altercation had taken place, in a towering rage. This his freckles plainly showed, his equanimity not being restored by the ill- concealed titters of the men standing by, for they had overheard most of what had been said, and repeated the substance of the conversation to me afterwards. I was, it is true, only sixteen at the time; but, being a sturdy, broad- shouldered chap, I looked all two years older; and I really do not think the skipper complimented me too strongly when he said I was worth a couple of hands on a yard, for, during my experience in the coal brig under Jorrocks' tuition, I had acquired considerable proficiency and dexterity in most of a seaman's functions, which aptitude I had further improved while sailing in Sam Pengelly's schooner between the various ports between Plymouth and the Land's End for two years nearly at a stretch afterwards. My nautical education, too, as I have already mentioned, had not been neglected all the time I had been waiting to get on board a sea-going ship, for since I had joined the _Esmeralda_ I had not lost a single opportunity for developing my book learning by practical examples in seamanship, Captain Billings encouraging me to persevere whenever he saw me inclined to laziness, and giving me all the advantage of his own training and experience; so that, by this time, I believe I was almost as competent to take charge of the ship on an emergency and navigate her to her destination, as if I had passed the Trinity House examination and received a first mate's certificate like Mr Macdougall, whom in the mathematical part of navigation I could beat easily. Of course, I was not up in sailor lore as to atmospheric changes and those signs and tokens which it takes a long apprenticeship to the sea thoroughly to learn; but in the ordinary work of the ship I was second to none, the men, with whom I was a prime favourite, thanks to Jorrocks, acknowledging that I could reef, hand, and steer, with any of them. Mr Macdougall was jealous of me--that was the reason of his animosity; so he took advantage of every chance he had to discount the captain's favour by making me in the wrong, to prove his assertion as to my incompetence to take charge of a watch. One day I had taken an observation at noon as usual, the skipper of late leaving that operation entirely to me, for he knew Mr Macdougall would be certain to get a sight too, if only in order to have a wrangle with me as to the right position of the ship. Having made out the reckoning with a stop watch, I was busily engaged marking out our place on the chart on top of the cabin sky-light, as it was a fine day, with a pair of callipers and parallel rulers, when the Scottish mate came up to me. "And whaur d'ye find us the noo?" said he, insinuatingly, to me. "We're in 1 degree 35 minutes north, and 28 degrees west; and I think ought to alter our course a trifle more to the southward to avoid the Saint Paul islets, which we must be heading for direct, steering south- west as we are now." "Whaur d'ye mean, bairn? There's no land near us, I ween, save the Rocas, and that is far awa' to the westwar'." "I tell you," said I, positively, with perhaps a good deal of bumptiousness, "we're heading on straight for those rocks there marked on the chart!" "Why, ye're mad--a stork staring loon!" retorted Mr Macdougall, in the most irritating way; "ye'd better gang awa' to schule again." "I think you had," I answered; "I have forgotten more than you ever learned!" Now this was very rude and impertinent for me to remark to a man so much older than myself, and my superior officer; but I did not reflect at the moment what I said to my tormentor, for he used to nag at me every day about the very same point--my taking the sun and working out the reckoning. It was a very sore subject with him ever since the skipper praised me at his expense on our first day out. At all events, rude or not, my reply had the desired effect of exasperating Mr Macdougall to the last pitch of endurance, for he was very easily excited. "Gin you say that ag'in, ye onmannerly loon," said he, foaming with passion, his pale complexion becoming paler, which made the freckles stand out prominently, "I'll knock ye doon." "Will you?" I cried, "you just try it, that's all!" He did; and down I went on the deck, as flat as a pancake, from a well- directed blow of his brawny fist! I was not beaten, however. Jumping up, I faced him again, only to undergo a repetition of the flooring process; when, seeing that I with my boy's strength was no match for him as yet, and losing my temper quite as much as he had done, I seized a large snatch-block which was lying by on the deck close to my hand, hurling it at his head with all my force. The mate started back in terror, for the missile only missed him by half an inch, and if it had struck him would most certainly have killed him on the spot, although I did not think of that when I pitched it at him; and, just at that moment, I heard Captain Billings' voice behind us. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. BREAKERS AHEAD! "Hullo, steady there--belay that!" exclaimed Captain Billings, half-way up the poop ladder, which he was ascending hastily, two steps at a time, "Mr--Mr Macdougall--Martin Leigh! What's this disgraceful row about?" I had quickly picked up a handspike when I saw that I had missed my aim with the snatch-block, while my antagonist--who, to do him justice, had plenty of pluck, and had only been startled for the moment by the heavy missile hurtling through the air close to his projecting nose--was advancing to attack me again with his fists clenched, a savage look the while on his face, as if he meant to settle me this time; but, on this interruption from the skipper, we both relinquished our hostile attitudes, Mr Macdougall slinking towards the binnacle, as if innocently engaged in studying the bearings of the compass there, and I dropping the handspike incontinently. There was a ringing tone of command in the skipper's voice which meant that he intended to be obeyed; but mixed with this, beyond a slight suspicion of surprise at the unexpected scene which met his gaze, there was a good deal of subdued irritation, which really was not to be wondered at. He had been having an afternoon nap in his cabin, which was situated immediately below the deck where the mate and I had been rehearsing the little drama I have just detailed; and the noise we had made with "the movements of the piece," to speak theatrically, having very unceremoniously disturbed his slumbers before the period he generally allowed himself for his "forty winks" had expired, his temper was not sweetened thereby beforehand, only just needing the unseemly _fracas_ which he noticed on coming on the poop to send it up to fever-heat. I had never seen Captain Billings so angry since I had been on board the _Esmeralda_; his blue eyes fairly flashed forth fire! He took no notice of me at first, advancing towards the chief mate. "Mr Macdougall," said he, sharply, "I call upon you for an explanation of this--this--discreditable affair!" "Yon dratted loon, Capting, sought me life!" replied the other, glibly. "He hove a snatch-block at me, and takkin' the pairt of my ain defeence I was gangin' to poonish him a wee when ye came on deck." "And did you give him no occasion for behaving so insubordinately, sir?" asked the skipper, looking Mr Macdougall straight in the face with a piercing glance, as if defying him to answer him untruthfully. But the mate was too old a hand at "spinning a yarn," as sailors term dealing in fictitious statements. He could utter a falsehood without winking once! "Nae, sir," said he, as cool as a cucumber, making no reference to the fact of his having twice knocked me down before I retaliated on him, "I did naething to the loon, naething at a'! I only joost reprovit him a wee for his bad language and inseelance, ye ken, an' he oops wi' yon block an' heaves at me puir head. It's joost a marcy o' Proveedence he did nae knockit me brains oot!" Fortunately for the Scotsman, his good or bad angel was in the ascendant at this moment, substantiating this incomplete account he gave as to what had happened. As luck would have it, too, Captain Billings had only got up the poop ladder in time to take heed of the latter part of the fray, and thus the evidence of his own eyesight corroborated apparently the mate's assertion, that I had made a most unjustifiable assault on him. Greatly incensed, therefore, he now turned on me. "I saw the assault myself, Mr Macdougall; so I don't merely take your word alone for it. What have you got to say, Leigh, in excuse for your outrageous behaviour? It's--it's scandalous; I could thrash you myself!" My pride, however, was roused by the fact of his having accepted the mate's explanation without asking me for any explanation first, and so condemning me unheard; consequently, without taking into consideration the thought that it was only proper that Captain Billings should support the authority of his chief officer unhesitatingly, I answered him rather pertly, only feeling my own wrong, and not considering what was the skipper's obvious duty. "If you believe Mr Macdougall," I replied, in a rude, off-hand way, "there's nothing for me to say." "You ungrateful young hound!" cried out the skipper, who, if angry before, was now as mad as a hatter at my impudence. "That's the thanks I get, is it, for favouring you and promoting you out of your station! Listen; consider yourself disrated from this instant--do you hear?" "Yes, I hear, Captain Billings," said I, in a sullen voice. "Then, heed sharply, my lad," he retorted. "Get off this deck and go forward. Your place, henceforth, sir, will be in the fo'c's'le, along with the other hands; and the sooner you lug that chest of yours out of the spare bunk I gave you amidships, the better!" This was a terrible downfall; but, of course, there was no use my arguing against the skipper's decision, the master of a merchant ship being lord paramount on board his own vessel, and having the power to make and unmake his officers, like a nautical Warwick, the whilom creator of kings! So, much chapfallen, I withdrew from the poop; and, abandoning all my dignities as acting second mate and first-class apprentice, proceeded to make myself at home with the crew forward--much against the grain, I confess, although the men received me cordially, and took my part, not only from their liking for me personally, but from their hatred of the chief mate as well. Mr Macdougall, I could plainly see, was cock-a-hoop at my disgrace, from the malicious grin on his freckled face. His triumph, however, was not very long-lived. On making me relinquish my functions on the quarter-deck, the skipper had sent for Jorrocks, telling him that he would have to take charge of Mr Ohlsen's watch in my place. "But I doesn't know nothing o' navigation, Cap'," said the boatswain, who felt keenly my abasement, and was loth to "step into my shoes," as it were. "Oh, never mind that," replied the skipper. "Mr Macdougall will give you the courses to steer; and, if anything particular happens--which I don't expect, with the wind we have now and us in the open sea--why, you can call me." "Aye, aye, sir," answered Jorrocks, being thus foiled in his attempt at getting me reinstated, which he thought might have been the case on his pleading his inability to con the ship; and so, when Macdougall went below with the starboard watch at eight bells in the afternoon, the boatswain took charge of the deck with the relief hands--the mate telling him still to keep to the same west-sou'-west course which I had suggested to Mr Macdougall, a couple of hours or so before, should be altered to a more southerly one, and the controversy about which had caused that "little unpleasantness" between us, which had terminated so disastrously for myself. To explain this matter properly, I should mention that, when, on our thirteenth day out, after the cessation of the north-westerly gale that had driven us to the south of the Canaries, Captain Billings discovered that we were so near in to the African coast, in taking advantage of the wind off the land he had perhaps committed an error of judgment in making an attempt to recover our lost westing, instead of pursuing a course more directly to the southwards; for, in the early part of the northern summer, the Equatorial Current begins to run with greater rapidity towards the west, causing vessels to lose much of their true direction, and the most experienced navigators recommend crossing this stream at right angles, if possible, so as to get beyond its influence as speedily as circumstances will permit, at least at that time of year, when an easterly passage of the equator is advisable. However, the skipper acted for the best, wishing to get well to the windward of Cape Blanco and the contrary currents and variable breezes generally encountered in that vicinity; and so, the _Esmeralda_ had therefore continued on a diagonal course across the equatorial stream even after we had picked up the regular north-east Trades, until we had reached the meridian of 25 degrees West, when we had run as far south as 8 degrees 15 minutes North. Here, we lost the Trades that had blown us so far on our route, entering into the second great belt of calms met with in the Atlantic to perplex the mariner when essaying to pass either to the north or south of the equator--a zone of torpidity, known popularly under the name of the "Doldrums," which was originally derived most probably from the old Portuguese phrase _dolorio_, "tormenting." This belt of calms separates the two wind zones of the north-east and south-west Trades, which meeting here, their opposing forces are neutralised, and the air they bring with them from the colder regions of the north and south, becoming rarified by the heat of the equator, passes up into the higher atmosphere, producing a stagnation of the wind currents; and hence ensue calms that vary in duration according to the position of the sun, whether north or south of the Line, calms that are sometimes accompanied by tremendous rain showers, and sometimes varied with frequent squalls and thunder and lightning, followed sometimes by thick fogs hanging on the surface of the water. The belt of the Doldrums has an average width of some six degrees, or about five hundred miles of latitude, roughly speaking; and in crossing it we were not much more favoured than most navigators, having to knock about for seven days under a sweltering tropical sun--taking advantage of whatever little breeze we could get that aided our progress to the equator, until we emerged from the retarding influence of this zone of inactivity, some three degrees to the northward of the Line, when we fortunately succeeded in sailing into the south-east Trades almost before we expected. We had, however, lost some little way eastwards through the sweep of the Guinea current, a stream which seems strangely enough to take its rise in the middle of the ocean, and makes a sudden set thence towards the Bight of Benin; so, Captain Billings, who appeared to be prejudiced on the subject of the western passage of the equator, instead of now trying again to shape a true south course towards our point of destination, Cape Horn, directed a parallel so as to fetch the Brazilian coast. The ship, consequently, after leaving the Doldrums was steered south-west and by west, a direction which, if preserved, would have run us on in a straight line to the Rocas, a dangerous reef stretching out into the sea off the westward peak of the island of Fernando Noronha, some eighty- four miles out from the mainland to the northward of Cape Saint Roque. This was on our thirtieth day out from the Bristol Channel, two days before the first mate and I had come to loggerheads; and since then the vessel had kept on in the same course, closing with the equator each hour under the steady south-easterly breeze which we had with us, on the port tack, and speeding even more rapidly to the west than our skipper imagined--for, through the set of some current to the northward and westwards, our dead reckoning showed a wide discrepancy from the position of the ship by observation, as I made it on the day of the row--when, as I've stated, the skipper, feeling indisposed, had left me to take the sun, knowing that the mate would check my calculations. But, as things turned out, the altercation which occurred completely took off the attention of Captain Billings from the subject; and, as I left the chart which I had been using on the top of the cabin sky-light when he ordered me to quit the poop without informing him of the serious error I had discovered, and Mr Macdougall, wise in his own conceit and confident that he and the dead reckoning were both right, did not hint of the ship's course being wrong, on we went, with all our canvas spread, racing into the teeth of a danger which the skipper never dreamt of our being near. The weather was now beautifully fine, the breeze tempering the heat of the sun, and flying fish and albicore playing around the vessel as we neared the equator; while, occasionally, a school of whales would spout to windward, or a shoal of porpoises, having a game of high jinks as they leaped out of the water in their graceful curves one after the other, would cross our bows backwards and forwards in sport, apparently mocking our comparatively slow progress through the sea in contrast to their own rapid and graceful movements, and showing how easily they could outstrip us when they so pleased. I was standing on the fo'c's'le head, sadly looking out over the bows, while the light lasted, at the moving panorama of Nature around me; the dancing waves curled up on either side of the catheads as the vessel plunged her forefoot down, and streaming aft in a long wake to leeward; the cloudless sky above; the vast solitary expanse of the horizon; the leaping fish and spouting whales--keenly alive to everything and yet my mind full of all my grievances, being especially wrathful with the skipper for accepting Mr Macdougall's statement against me, without first allowing me to utter a word in my own defence. It was worse than tyranny, I thought, this arbitrary conduct in disrating me unjustly! I remained here till I heard one bell strike soon after the second dog- watch commenced; for I was waiting for Jorrocks to be relieved, as I wished to speak to him in order to get him to put in a word for me with Captain Billings, when he had calmed down and could listen to reason. While I was waiting, the evening closed in, the sun having not long set; for, in the tropics, night succeeds day with startling rapidity, there being no twilight to temper the transition between bright sunshine and darkness--the one ensuing almost immediately after the other without any "toning down," as painters express it, to lessen the effect of the change. Hearing, as I fancied, a whale spouting nearer than usual--these monsters of the deep making a noise as they eject the water through the spout-holes on top of their heads in a fountain of spray, after drawing it with their gills, like surf breaking on a distant shore--the sound somehow or other took back my thoughts to the chart, and I suddenly remembered what I had told the mate about the danger of the ship approaching the Islets of Saint Paul. These are a cluster of rocks, called by the early Portuguese navigators the Penedo de Saint Pedro, lying almost in mid-ocean, close to the equator, in latitude zero degrees 55 minutes 30 seconds North, and longitude 29 degrees 22 minutes West; and, from the water being beyond soundings in their immediate neighbourhood, they must form the peak of some submarine mountain range. They are only about sixty feet or so in height clear above the level of the sea; and, consequently, being only visible at a comparatively short distance off--not more than a couple of leagues at the outside, even in broad daylight--and situated as the shoal is in the direct track of the trade wind, the rocks form a source of great peril to mariners traversing their bearings, especially at night time, nothing existing to give warning of their proximity until a vessel may be right on to them, as it were. Thinking of all this, which I had read in the "Sailing Directions for the North Atlantic," a book which the skipper had lent me to study, in order to perfect me in navigation, I felt a sudden fear lest the ship should be wrecked on the reef, making up my mind to tell Jorrocks about the error I had discovered in our position on the chart, which I determined to ask him to fetch for me, so as to show it to Captain Billings. Jorrocks, however, was a long time coming forwards after being relieved from charge of the deck by Mr Macdougall, remaining some little time talking to him on the poop; so that it was nearly two bells, and quite dusky, when he made his way to where I was standing looking out for him, I having asked one of the hands to say that I wanted to speak with him. "Well, Mister Leigh," he said, on making his appearance, "here I am at last; better late nor never, as the old folks say! But that blessed Scotchman would have a long yarn with me, about goodness knows what!" "I'm glad you've come," I replied; and then I went on to tell him about my fears of peril to the ship from our vicinity to the Rocks of Saint Paul, which I was certain we were approaching every mile we ran further west. But the boatswain was almost as incredulous of our being near the shoal as the first mate had been in the afternoon. "Bless you, Mister Leigh, we're miles to windward of that place," said he with a laugh. "But it's allers the way with your young navigators as is full chock up to the bung with book larnin' and hasn't had no real 'sperience o' the sea yet! They allers fancy all sorts o' dangers that your old seamen who've been a v'yage or two never thinks o' reckonin' on!" However, the good-natured fellow, seeing how earnest I was in the matter, promised to take the chart to the skipper, who was lying down in his cabin again, feeling far from well of late, as, indeed, his looks lately showed--and we were all afraid he had caught the same sort of low fever like Mr Ohlsen, the second mate. "An; I'll tell him as mildly as I can, Mister Leigh, of this here mare's nest as you've found out, so as not to make him angry with you again." "Thank you, Jorrocks," I replied heartily; but, just at that moment, hearing the whales making a noise quite close to the ship's side as I thought--although I could not see them within the limited circle of dusky light to which the surrounding gloom narrowed my vision, I said, "What a row those whales are making, are they not? They're quite near, and yet, although it's not dark enough yet to hide them from our gaze, there's not a trace of one in sight!" Jorrocks cocked his head on one side and listened; but in an instant there was a striking alteration in the quizzical look with which he had at first regarded me, under the evident idea that I had discovered another "mare's nest." "By Jingo, Mister Leigh, you're right after all!" he exclaimed, his face turning pale as if with sudden fright. "What, do you think we're running on the rocks I spoke about?" I asked, anxiously. "Aye, not a doubt of it," he answered, in the same quick way, bending his head again to listen over the side. "Either them identical ones, or else we're on the Rocas off the Brazilian coast." In another moment, however, if in doubt previously, his suspicions were apparently confirmed; for, springing up again, and rushing aft as if he were suddenly possessed, Jorrocks roared out at the pitch of his voice-- the words ringing like a trumpet note through the ship-- "Breakers ahead on the weather bow! Hard up with the helm--hard!" CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. PAT DOOLAN "CARRIES ON." Jorrocks's cry to put the helm up was instantly obeyed by the man at the wheel, who jammed it hard-a-port with all his strength. The hands belonging to the watch on duty, at the same time, knowing with the aptitude of seamen what this order necessitated, rushed to the lee braces, easing them off without any further word of command, while those on the weather side were hauled in, thus squaring the yards and getting the ship round before the wind, when she ran off to the north-westwards, on a course almost at right angles to her former direction--which was on a bowline, with the sou'-south-east wind nearly on her beam. "Hoot mon, what d'ye mean?" shouted Mr Macdougall, when he had recovered from the surprise which the unexpected order of the boatswain, so rapidly carried out, had caused. "Are ye gone clean daft?" But Jorrocks had no need to explain the reason for his interference with the mate's duties. As the vessel payed off, the sound of surf, loudly thundering against some rocky rampart projecting from the deep which opposed the onward roll of the ocean billows, was heard louder and louder; and, in another instant, Mr Macdougall and those who stood beside him on the poop held their breath with awe as the _Esmeralda_ glided by a triangular-shaped black peak that seemed as high as the foretopsail yard--so closely that they could apparently have touched it by merely stretching out their hands, while over it the waves, driven by the south wind, were breaking in columns of spray, flakes of which fell on the faces of all aft, as they looked over the side, and trembled at the narrowly-avoided danger. "Whee-ew!" whistled Jorrocks through his teeth. "That were a squeak, an' no mistake!" It was. We had been saved by a miracle. Five minutes, nay, half a minute longer on our previous course, and the _Esmeralda_ would, with the way she had on her, have been dashed to pieces on the jagged teeth of these isolated rocks standing in mid- ocean, when never a soul on board would have lived to tell the tale of her destruction; for, in the pale phosphorescent light emitted by the broken water surrounding the crag, some of the sailors averred, as we sheered by, that they saw several sharks plunging about--ready to devour any of us who might have tried to swim ashore had the vessel come to grief. It was an escape to be thankful for to Him who watches over those who travel on the treacherous seas, and protects them from its perils "in the night, when no man seeth!" A dead stillness prevailed for a moment on board after the bustle of wearing the ship round had ceased, so that you might have heard a pin drop, as the saying is, although in the distance away astern the melancholy cadence of the waves breaking on Saint Paul's Islets was borne down to us on the wind. As I stood in the waist, whither so far aft I had followed Jorrocks, I could have caught any words spoken on the poop above me, but I noted that Mr Macdougall didn't utter a syllable in continuance of the reprimand he had begun against the boatswain for his "officiousness," as he apparently considered his order to put the ship off her course. He was terror-stricken on realising the motive for the boatswain's interference; however, before he had time to open his mouth again, the skipper, who had been roused up by the sudden commotion on the deck over his head, rushed past me up the poop ladder like lightning. Captain Billings' first look, sailor-like, was aloft; and noticing the vessel was before the wind, while the spanker, which had been eased off, prevented him from seeing the shoal we had so narrowly avoided, he turned on the mate for explanation. "Hallo, Macdougall!" he exclaimed, "what's the reason of this, eh?" But the mate did not answer at once. He still seemed spellbound. "We've just wore her, sir," said Jorrocks, stepping forwards, and accompanying Captain Billings as he made his way to the binnacle. "So I see," drily replied the skipper, after a hasty glance at the standard compass. "But what has been the reason for thus altering the course of the ship? I gave orders for her to be steered south-west by west; and here we are now heading direct up to the northward again! What's the reason for this, I want to know? Speak, now, can't you?" Macdougall, on this second inquiry being directed to him by the skipper--who for the moment seemed to ignore the boatswain's presence beside him--mumbled out something about the rocks, but he spoke in so thick and indistinct a voice that Captain Billings believed he was intoxicated. "Rocks, your grandmother!" he cried angrily. "The only rocks hereabouts are those built up in your brain through that confounded bottle you're always sucking at below!" "Indeed, sir," put in Jorrocks at this point, taking the mate's part, "Mr Macdougall's right, Cap'. We've just had the narrowest squeak of going to the bottom I ever 'sperienced in all my time. Look there, sir, o'er the weather taffrail, an' you'll see summat we pretty nearly ran foul of just now--it were a risky shave!" Captain Billings, somewhat puzzled by the boatswain thus "shoving his oar in" for a second time unasked, cast his eyes in the direction pointed out to him, where, now lighted up by the newly risen moon, could be distinctly seen the Penedo de San Pedro, with the surf breaking over it in sheets of silver foam. He recognised the place in a moment, having passed close by the spot on a previous voyage; and he was greatly astonished at our being in its near vicinity now. "Good gracious!" he ejaculated, "what an escape we must have had; but how came we near the place at all?" "That I can't explain, sir," replied Jorrocks meaningly. "Perhaps, though, as how there was something wrong in the ship's position on the chart to-day." "Ha, humph!" muttered the skipper to himself. "This comes of my being ill and entrusting my duties to other hands; but I'll never do it again, I'll take care! Mr Macdougall," he added aloud, "I beg your pardon for what I said just now in the heat of the moment, and I hope you'll excuse it, as I was greatly flurried, and do not feel very well yet. What position did you place the vessel in to-day, by the way, when you took your observation at noon?" This was a ticklish question, and the mate hardly knew how to answer it, recollecting, as he did in an instant, what I had said--of our being much further westwards than the skipper thought. Even if he did not agree with me, the point should have been referred to Captain Billings, as it so vitally concerned the interests of all on board. Almost tongue-tied, therefore, now by his former silence on the subject, he temporised with the difficulty, determined not to be cornered if he could help it. "'Deed an' I mad' it e'en the same as the deed reck'nin' cam' to, Cap'en, a wee bit to the westwar' o' twenty-seven, and close to the leen." "Then your sextant must have been out of order, or your calculations wrong," replied the skipper, shortly. "We are evidently much to the westwards of your reckoning. How did you observe the danger--was there a man on the look-out?" "Nae, sir, I didna think we required yon," answered Macdougall, now at his wit's end for a reply. "No, I should think not," said Captain Billings, in his dry way; "but who was it that warned you in time to wear the ship?" "Mister Leigh, sir," put in Jorrocks, thinking the time now come to speak up for me. "He heard the noise of the breakers first, and called my 'tention to 'em, and I then sung out to put the helm up." "Oh!" ejaculated the skipper, quite taken aback by my name being thus suddenly brought up by Jorrocks--just as he was thinking of me and my recent shortcomings, as he afterwards explained to me. "Yes, sir," continued my old friend the boatswain, believing it best to push the matter home, now he had once introduced me on the carpet; "and he begged me to tell you, sir, as how he'd left his chart on the cabin sky-light, where he'd jotted down summat as he'd diskivered when taking the sun, before the rumpus arose 'twixt him and Muster Macdougall." "Chart!" interposed the mate, making a step towards the sky-light, and trying to throw the tarpaulin that was hanging there over it whilst pretending to drag it off, "I see no chart here." "Why, here it is," exclaimed the skipper, noticing one end of the roll, which projected from beneath the tarpaulin; and, pulling it out, he walked back again towards the binnacle, by the light of which he inspected my tracing of the ship's path on the chart carefully. "Pass the word forwards for Martin Leigh," he cried out presently; and I, listening below in the waist, just under the break of the poop, to all that had transpired, very quickly answering to the call of my name as it was sung out by Jorrocks, mounted up the poop ladder, and advanced aft to where Captain Billings stood. "Leigh," said he, quietly, "I have sent for you to explain matters about this chart. Did you take an observation to-day as I told you?" "Yes, sir," I replied. "And did you agree with Mr Macdougall?" "No, sir," said I, unable to avoid the joke, "we didn't agree--we fell out, as you saw!" Jorrocks burst out laughing at this, and even the skipper himself couldn't repress a smile--although he bit his lips to hide it, seeing the first mate scowling at me as if he could eat me up without salt, for he was afraid of the truth now coming out. "Don't be impudent, Leigh! you know what I mean well enough. Did your calculation agree with that of Mr Macdougall?" asked Captain Billings again. "No, Captain Billings," I answered, this time gravely enough. "I found that our dead reckoning was nearly thirty leagues out, some set of current having carried us considerably to the westward; but when I told this to Mr Macdougall, he called me a fool." "Why did you not come and report the matter to me?" "Well, sir, I didn't have time to," I said. "When Mr Macdougall spoke to me in that way, I suppose I gave him a cheeky retort, for he threatened to knock me down." "And then?" asked the skipper, when I paused here, not wishing to tell of my being floored. "Why, I dared him to touch me," I continued, "and he did knock me down." "Did he? I heard nothing of this before! I thought that you had attacked Mr Macdougall first--indeed, he told me so himself!" Captain Billings said, with much surprise, eyeing the first mate suspiciously. At this point, an unexpected witness stepped forth in my defence, in the person of Haxell, the taciturn carpenter. This individual seldom spoke to any one unless previously addressed; so his voluntary testimony on my behalf was all the more striking and effective, especially as it was given in the very nick of time. "Aye, but the lad didn't," now sang out Haxell, who had come up on the poop without any one previously noticing him. "I saw Mr Macdougall knock him down twice afore ever he raised his hand ag'in' him." "The deuce he did!" exclaimed the skipper, indignantly; and then turning on the first mate, he gave him another "dressing down" before all the men, such as I never heard given to any one before. It, really, almost made me feel sorry for him! "You lying thing!" he cried to Mr Macdougall in withering accents, the scorn of which was more than I could express in words. "I can't call you a man, and you aren't a sailor, by Jove, for sailors don't behave like that to poor friendless orphan boys! You have told me a heap of falsehoods about this whole occurrence from first to last, and I despise you from the bottom of my soul for the way in which you have acted throughout. I'm only sorry we're at sea, for you shouldn't stop an hour longer in my ship if I could help it!" "But, Cap'en," interposed Mr Macdougall, feebly, trying to ward off the storm of the skipper's wrath, "the ill favourt loon provokit me, and was mair than inseelent." "Phaugh, man!" exclaimed Captain Billings, with intense disgust. "Don't try and excuse yourself; it only makes matters much worse! I don't mind your knocking the lad down, and I daresay Leigh would forgive you for that, too; but what I am indignant at is the fact of your telling such a gross lie about the transaction, and allowing me to take an unjust view of the quarrel--making me disrate the young fellow, and punish him as I did, under a false, impression of what his conduct had been, all of which a word from you might have altered! Besides, just think how in your conceited ignorance you nearly wrecked the ship and sacrificed all our lives through your refusal to take a hint from the lad as to our position. Why, I don't mind receiving a suggestion from the humblest foremast hand any day!" "But--" put in the mate again, trying to defend himself. His appeal, however, was in vain, for the skipper would not listen to him for a moment. "You had better go below, Mr Macdougall," he said. "I cannot speak calmly to you now, and the sooner you're out of my sight the better for you! But stop a minute," he added, as if on after reflection. "As you were present when I disrated Leigh--on the ground mainly of your false statements as to his having assaulted you without any provocation on your part, which has now been proved to have been false--it is only right that you should also be present at the restoration of the lad to his former post. Leigh!" "Here, sir," I replied to this last hail of the skipper's, on his completing his reprimand to the mate. I anticipated, of course, what was coming, and my heart gave an exultant thump, almost "leaping into my mouth," as the saying is. "I'm sorry, my boy, I did you a wrong this afternoon," said Captain Billings, stretching out his hand kindly to me as he spoke. "I hope, however, you'll forgive me, and bear no malice. I now wish you to return to your duties as acting second mate in Mr Ohlsen's place until he's fit and well again; and I trust you'll have no further disagreements with any of the officers of the ship." "Thank you, sir," I answered respectfully, accepting the hand he offered and giving it a cordial shake. "I will be very careful of my conduct in future, and I'm sorry for being impertinent to Mr Macdougall--" I turned here towards where the first mate had been standing; but he had disappeared, so the skipper accepted the apology I intended for him, on his behalf in his absence, making short my _amende honorable_. "Never mind him now, my lad," he said, waving his hand as if dismissing Mr Macdougall from further consideration. "He's gone below, and joy go with him, if he's got any conscience! And, by the way, Leigh, I shan't forget that you've saved all our lives to-night by your timely warning." "It was more Jorrocks than I, sir," I interposed here, stopping the skipper's thanks. "I thought the sound of the breakers was caused by a lot of whales blowing near us; but he knew better, and he it was who sang out to the helmsman." "Well, well, we won't argue the point," replied Captain Billings, laughing. "I will say you both had a hand in it, if that'll suit you better; but now, to end the controversy, you can go and turn in to your old bunk, as I intend keeping the first watch till we're safe on our right track again." To hear was to obey, although, before I left the poop, the _Esmeralda_ having got well away from the perilous rocks that had nearly been her ruin, I had the satisfaction of seeing her hauled round again up to the wind, with her head pointing south, thus resuming her proper course towards Cape Horn--only now with a more southerly pitch, sailing close- handed on the port tack. Towards four bells in the morning watch we achieved the wonderful nautical feat of "Crossing the Line," and, as I was on deck at the time, interviewing Pat Doolan in order to coax some coffee out of him, the Irish cook had a joke or two at my expense, under the plea of christening me on my entrance into Neptune's rightful "territory"--if that term be not a Hibernian bull, considering the said territory is supposed to lie below the sea! It was only our thirty-third day out, and some of the hands were congratulating themselves on our having got so far on our journey, many vessels knocking about the equator when within reach of it for days frequently before they can accomplish the passage. "Be jabers!" said Doolan, "I call to mind once whin I was goin' from Noo Yark to Australy in a schooner with a cargo o' mules--" "Lor', here's a bender coming now!" interrupted one of the crew with a laugh. "Whisht, now!" ejaculated the cook indignantly. "Sure an' it's the trooth I'm tell'n ye, an' niver a lie! Whin I were a goin' to Australy in this here schooner, we kept dancing about hereabouts till a lot ov them blessed mules died, an' in coorse we hove 'em overboard as soon as they turned up their toes." "That's a good un!" put in Jorrocks, who was standing by. "This is the fust time I ever heard tell of a mule having toes!" "Well, hooves thin, if you likes them betther," said Pat, a little upset by this correction. "But, as I was a sayin' when this omahdaun here took the word out ov me mouth, unlike the raal gintleman he ginerally is--" "Stow that flummery," cried Jorrocks, putting his hands before his face, under pretence of blushing at the compliment; but Doolan took no notice of him further, proceeding with his yarn. "Whin we hove them mules over the side, I noticed one as was coollured most peculiar, all sthripes ov black on a white skin, jist like one ov them zaybrays they haves in the sarcus show, an' they're called so, by the same token, 'case they brays like a donkey and comes over the zay, you see?" "Aye, we see," said the hands, winking at each other and whispering that Pat was "carrying on finely this morning!" "Well, bhoys, as I was a sayin'," continued the narrator, serving out pannikins of hot coffee to the watch the while, and so attending to duty and pleasure in the same breath, "I notic't this sthripy mule when it was chucked over the side at the beginning of the month. It was last August twelvemonth as how we was crossing the Line; and, after pitching the poor brute over, we sailed on and on--would you belayve it?--aye, for thray weeks longer, as I'm a living sinner, whin one foine mornin', jist the same as this now, the look-out man sings out as he says a boat floating ahid ov the schooner! Our old man, thinkin' there might be sowls in the blissid thing, puts the vessel off ov her coorse to fetch to windward ov it; and blest if what the look-out man thought was a boat wasn't the self-same carkiss ov that there sthripy mule we hove over three weeks before!" "You'll do," was the comment of Jorrocks to this story. "You 'mind me, Pat, of a yarn I heard once about an old lady and a chap who knew how to `bowse his jib up,' same as yourself." "What was that?" I asked, seeing that Jorrocks looked as if he were primed up to fire off another story, and only needed a little pressing to make him reel it out. "Lord, Mister Leigh, it ain't nothing to speak of," he began, with a preliminary hitch of his trowser stocks; "it's only what them book- people calls a nanny goat." "An anecdote, eh?" I said. "Well, that'll be all the better. Heave ahead with it now you're on the tack." "All right, then," replied Jorrocks. "Here goes. You must know as how this old lady were going over the Atlantic for the fust time, being on a voyage from Falmouth to Saint Kitts, in the West h'Indies; and she were mighty curious, when she had rekivered from sea-sickness, about all the strange sights o' the h'ocean, pestering the cap'en to death with questions. "One day she tackled the old man 'bout flying fish. `Bless me, Mr Capting,' she says, `is it really true as how there be fishes as fly hereabouts?' "Now, it were just on to noon that day, and the old man was busy 'bout taking a sight o' the sun, the same as you're so handy with, Mister Leigh; so he says to the old lady, `I'm engaged, mum, at present, but if you axes that man there at the wheel while I goes below, he'll tell you all about it.' "So, as soon as he dives down the companion to take the time of the chronometer below, the old lady goes up to the helmsman--all bridling up and curtseying down, the same as a ship in a heavy head sea. "`Good-morning, Mr Sailor,' says she. "`Mornin',' says the man at the wheel, who was a rough old shellback, and didn't waste his words like Pat Doolan here. "`Is it really true, Mr Sailor,' says the old lady, `as how there are fishes in the sea in these latitoods, as can fly in the air, like birds? The capting told me to ax you, or I wouldn't trouble you.' "`Bless you, mum, no trouble at all,' answered the man. `In course there be flying fish hereabouts; you'll see flocks of 'em presently.' "`And are they very large, Mr Sailor?' says the old lady. "`Large, mum?' repeats the helmsman, looking around as if in search of something to liken the size of the fish to. `Why, I've seed em as big round as--aye, as the stump of that there mizzen-mast there!' "`My good gracious!' screams the old lady, `Why, they must be larger nor crocodiles!' "`Aye, all that,' says the man, as cool as you please. `The last voyage I was on, my mate was in the foretop of the vessel I was in, looking out to windward, when pop jumps one of 'em right down his throat!' "`And the fish was as big as the mizzen-mast there?' says the old lady, curious like, in her surprise at the chap's awful bender; although she didn't misdoubt his telling her the truth, for she would ha' took in anything! "But he was too fly for her, was my joker! "`You mustn't speak to the man at the wheel!' says he, gruffly; and so he got out cleverly from answering any more questions on the point-- smart of him, wasn't it?" I could not help laughing at this story, the other hands joining in the merriment; all of us, though, wondering how Pat Doolan would take it. The Irishman, however, did not consider there was anything personal in it. Other people's pulls at the long-bow always seem much more apparent than one's own! "Ov coorse that chap was takin' a rise out of the ould lady," he said parenthetically; "but what I tould you ov the mule was thrue enough." "What! do you mean to say that you were sailing away from the carcase for three weeks and came across it again?" I inquired, with a smile. "Not a doubt ov it," replied the Irishman, stoutly, "and going good siven knots an hour by the log, too, at that! I rec'lect that v'yage o' mine in that schooner well, too, by the same token! It was there I found that Manilla guernsey ov mine so handy ag'in' the could." "A Manilla guernsey?" said Jorrocks, in much amazement. "I know what Manilla cables are, and I've heard tell o' Manilla cigars, though I've never smoked 'em; but a Manilla guernsey--why, who ever came across sich an outlandish thing?" "Be jabers, I have, boatswain," cried Pat Doolan. "Sure, an' I made it mysilf; so, if you'll listen, I'll till ye all about it." "Hooray, here's another bender!" sang out the chaps standing by; but, seeing that the cook appeared as if he would turn rusty if they showed any further incredulity at his statements, they composed their faces--"looking nine ways for Sunday," as the phrase goes; or, like the Carthaginians when the pious Aeneas was spinning that wonderful yarn of his which we read about in Virgil, in the presence of Queen Dido and her court, _conticuere omnes et ora tenebant_! CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. CAUGHT IN A PAMPERO. "Sure an' you must bear in mind, messmates," commenced Pat, coming outside his galley and leaning against the side in free-and-easy fashion, "when I wint aboord that vessel in Noo Yark, I was a poor gossoon, badly off for clothes, having no more slops than I could carry handy in a hankercher." "Not like your splendiferous kit now," observed Sails, the sail-maker, with a nudge in Jorrocks' ribs to point the joke--the cook's gear in the way of raiment being none of the best. "No, not a ha'porth ov it," proceeded the Irishman, taking no notice of the sarcastic allusion to his wardrobe. "To till the truth, I'd only jist what I stood up in, for I'd hard times ov it in the States, an' was glad enough to ship in the schooner to git out ov the way ov thim rowdy Yankees, bad cess to 'em! They trate dacint Irishmen no betther nor if they were dirthy black nayghurs, anyhow! How so be it, as soon as I got afloat ag'in, I made up my mind to git some traps togither as soon as I could." "Let you alone for that!" interposed Sails again, maliciously. "Arrah, be aisy now, old bradawl and palm-string, or I'll bring ye up with a round turn!" exclaimed Pat, getting nettled at the remark. "Why can't you let him be?" cried the rest, thereupon. "Heave ahead, cooky;" and, so encouraged, the Irishman once more made a fresh start, declaring, however, that if he were once more interrupted they'd "never hear nothing" of what he was going to tell them, "at all, at all!" Peace being then restored, he resumed the burden of his tale. "As soon as the ould schooner was riddy to start with all thim mules aboard, we got a tugboat to take us in tow down the harbour out to the Narrows, as they calls the entrance to Noo Yark Bay; and whin the tug's hawser was fetched over our bows to be fastened to the bollards I sees that the rope's a bran-new Manilla one. "`Aha,' thinks I, `that's a foine pace of rope anyhow! I'll have a bit ov you, me lad, to stow away with my duds; mayhap ye'll come in handy by-and-bye!' and so saying to meeself, I sings out to the chap on the tugboat a-paying out the hawser, to give me some more slack, and he heaves over a fathom or two more, which allowed me to cut off a good length, lavin' plenty yit to belay around the bollards; an' whin no one was lookin' I takes the pace ov cable below and kicks it away in the forepeak, so as I could know where to foind it forenenst the time I wanted for to use it. "Well, we sailed away from Sandy Hook down to the Line, an' sailed and sailed, losin' most of our mules, and making no headway, as I've tould you, until at last we got into the south-east Trades, same as this ship is now, and fetched down the coast to Cape Horn. "Presently, it begins to get so could, that for want of clothing I was nearly blue-mouldy with the frost in the nights, until I could stand it no longer; but none ov the chaps had any duds to spare, an' I was clane out of me head what for to do. "One evening, howsoever, whin I were that blue with could as I could have sarved for a Blue Pater if triced up to the mast-head, a sinsible kind ov idea sthruck me. "`Be jabers,' sez I to mesilf, `I'm forgettin' that pace of Manilla hawser I've got stowed away; sure an' it'll make an illigant overall!' "No sooner I thinks that, than down I goes to the forepeak, where I found me rope all right; and thin, thin and there, boys, I unreaves the strands, making it all into spun yarn--you know, I s'pose, as how I'm a sail-maker by rights, like Sails here, and not a reg'ler cook?" "The deuce you are!" ejaculated Sails; "you never told us that before." "No fear," replied Pat. "Faix, I don't till you iverythin' I knows--I larnt better nor that from the monkeys in Brazil, old ship!" "But what did you do with the Manilla hemp arter you unrove the hawser?" asked Jorrocks, his curiosity now roused by the matter-of-fact way in which the Irishman told his story--relating it as if every word was "the true truth," according to the French idiom. "Why, you omahdaun, I jist worked it into a guernsey, knitting it from the nick downwards, the same as the ladies, bless 'em! do them woollen fallals that they wear round theirselves." "You wove it into a guernsey?" cried Sails, in astonishment. "Aye, I did that so," returned Pat; "and wore it, too, all round Cape Horn!" "Then let me look at you a little closer," cried the sail-maker, pulling Doolan towards him, and passing his hand over his nose. "What the blazes are ye afther, man?" asked Pat, not being able to make out what the other meant by handling him in that fashion. "Only seeing if you had my mark," said Sails, calmly; "and here it is, by all that's powerful!" "Your mark, Sails? What on airth d'ye mane?" "Why, whenever I sews up a chap in his hammock as dies at sea, which I've often had to do as part of the sail-maker's duty in the many ships I've been in, I allers makes a p'int of sticking my needle through the corpse's nose, to prevent him slipping out of his covering." "What!" ejaculated the Irishman, startled for the moment out of his native keenness of wit; "an' is it m'aning to say as it's a could corpus I've been, an' that I've bin did an' buried in the bottom of the say?" "Aye, aye, my hearty," answered Sails, with great nonchalance. "And I've sewed you up in your hammock, too, for sarten--that is, just as sure as you fetched across that there streaky mule of yourn, arter sailing over the ocean for three weeks, and made a guernsey frock out of a Manilla hawser!" There was a regular shout of laughter from all hands at the sail-maker thus turning the tables so completely on the Irishman, who got so angry at our merriment for the moment that he retired within his caboose, slamming the half-door too, and declaring that not a single mother's son of those present should have the taste of hot coffee again in the morning watch! However, Pat's fits of temper were as evanescent as they were quickly produced, and presently he was laughing and talking away as if he had not been offended, enjoying the joke Sails had against him almost as much as any of the others. Two days after crossing the Line we sighted the Rocas, on passing the parallel of Fernando Noronha, where the Brazilians have a penal settlement; and, on the third day, we cleared the Cape of Saint Roque, which is the most projecting point of the South American continent-- stretching out, as it does, miles into the Atlantic Ocean, while the coast-line on either side of it trends away in a wide sweep, away westwards, north and south, back from the sea. After passing Saint Roque, we ran down our latitudes rapidly, the south- east Trades keeping with us until we had reached the twentieth parallel; and we fetched Rio on our forty-second day out. This was not bad time, considering the great distance we were driven out of our way by the gale, and the fact of our subsequently knocking about for a week in the Doldrums. With regard to matters on board the ship, I may state here, that, from the date of that eventful night when the _Esmeralda_ had so providentially escaped being wrecked on the Rocks of Saint Paul, and Captain Billings, after "dressing down" the mate, had restored me to my former position aft, Mr Macdougall had not spoken a single word to me, although I had made many overtures of peace towards him, wishing the matter to drop--nothing being so unpleasant as to be on awkward terms with any one with whom one is brought in constant contact, especially when the daggers-drawn parties are cooped up together in a vessel on the high seas. But, no; he would not accept the olive branch. When it was time for me to relieve his watch, the mate invariably sent one of the hands to summon me, telling me through the same medium the course to be steered, and giving what orders were necessary for the working of the ship, so that there should be no occasion for any conversation between us; and it likewise happened that when we were on deck together, as was frequently the case during the day, he always walked on the weather side of the poop, while I took the leeward place-- that is, unless the skipper was there too, when of course the latter promenaded the more honourable beat, and I walked by his side, while Mr Macdougall had the lee-side then all to himself. At meal-times also, in the cabin, he took care that we should not meet, never coming in until after I had left the table, and always rising up to go on deck should I enter while he was there. The mate held aloof in a similar fashion from the skipper, the two never interchanging a word save with reference to the navigation of the vessel. He seemed, indeed, to have sent us both to Coventry, although Captain Billings made no comment to me on his conduct; but I did not fail to notice--what indeed was the popular belief through the ship-- that, if the first mate was paying us out in this way, he did not forget to "take it out of the crew" in another and very practical mode of his own, which was by driving them as hard as a workhouse superintendent in charge of a lot of poor paupers. To return to the ship and her voyage, I should observe that, after the south-east Trades failed us--succeeded for a short spell by light variable winds, as we kept well away from the coast, and so perhaps missed the land breeze that we might have had--we picked up the south- west monsoon, which carried us past Rio Janeiro. The term monsoon, or "monsun," I may explain, is derived from an Arabic word, _mausim_, meaning "a set time, or season of the year;" and is generally applied to a system of regular wind currents, like the Trades, blowing in different hemispheres beyond the range of those old customers with which ordinary voyagers are familiar. From Rio we ran down in five days to the Plate River, having fine weather and making pretty good sailing all the time, as indeed we had done since crossing the Line; but, arrived off Monte Video, we soon had warning that our quiet days of progress through the water on one tack, without shifting a brace or starting a sheet, were numbered with the fortunate things of the past. One morning, just when we were in latitude 34 degrees 55 minutes south, and 55 degrees 10 minutes West, or nearly a hundred miles off the wide estuary of the Rio de la Plata, I noticed a peculiar phenomenon. The wind was blowing from the northward of west, while the atmosphere was bright and clear, so that the horizon was extended to almost double its ordinary distance; but, although no land was to be seen anywhere in sight, myriads of little winged insects began all at once to hover over us, just as if we were close in shore under the lee of some tropical forest, while our hands, clothes, faces, and the ship's rigging as well, began to be covered with long, white, hair-like webs, similar to those woven by spiders in a garden shrubbery! I couldn't make it out at all, feeling inclined to view the matter as one of those extraordinary freaks of Nature, which even science is unable to throw any light on--phenomena that are every now and then exhibited to us, as if only to show our ignorance of the workings of the invisible Power around us guiding the movements and physical cosmogony of our sphere; but Jorrocks, who was a thorough seaman, believing in portents, and thinking that everything unusual at sea was sent for a purpose, and "meant something," advised my calling the skipper. "I 'specs, Mister Leigh," said he, "as how there's a squall brewing, or summat, for they're pretty plentiful down here when the wind bears round to the west." "All right, Jorrocks; I'll give him a hail," I replied; and leaving the boatswain in charge of the deck, it being my watch, I went down to wake up the skipper, he having only turned in just before I came on duty. "How's the glass?" asked Captain Billings, as soon as I had roused him and told him what I had observed. "I didn't think of looking at it, sir," I replied. "Then do so at once," he said; "a sailor should never fail to consult his barometer, even when the weather is apparently fine, for it gives warning of any change hours, perhaps, before it may occur. It is an unswerving guide--more so than the wind and sky in some latitudes." I hastened now to look at the instrument, and noticing that it had fallen, I reported the fact to the skipper as he was dressing. "Ah," said he, "then that has occurred since I turned in;" and, completing his toilet rapidly, he soon followed me on deck, whither I returned at once. In the short interval of my absence below, however, there was a marked alteration in the scene. The wind had dropped to the faintest breeze, which presently, too, died away, succeeded by a dead stillness of the atmosphere, while the sea became like glass, except where an occasional heave of the unbroken surface betrayed the restless force beneath that seeming calm; and, instead of the clear sky and wide-stretching horizon melting into the azure distance, which had previously struck me with admiration, a thick haze had crept up over the heavens from the westwards, which, extending right up to the zenith, had soon shut out the bright sunlight, making it darker than night--the air becoming at the same time chill and cold. I had not much leisure, though, to note the pictorial effects of the scene; for I heard the skipper's voice behind me. "By Jove, Leigh!" he exclaimed, "we're going to have one of those pamperos, as they call them, that come off the mouth of the Plate; and we'll have all our work cut out for us to be ready in time. Call the other watch, boatswain!" "Aye, aye, sir," replied Jorrocks; and quickly his familiar hail rang out fore and aft, as he rapped on the scuttle forwards-- "All ha-a-ands take in sail!" We were carrying a full spread of canvas at the time; but the men, tumbling out of their bunks with a will, not having had much of that sort of work lately, were soon clambering up the rigging, furling the royals and topgallant sails--I amongst them, you may be sure, having been the first, as usual, on the main royal yard. "Now, men, take in the flying jib," cried Captain Billings, when we had come below, having so far stripped the ship for the coming fight; and the headsail was stowed, the spanker and trysail were brailed, the courses hauled up and the yards squared, when we awaited the attack of the pampero. "It'll soon be on us now," said the skipper, seeing that the heavens became blacker and blacker to the westwards; and presently it came! A streak of vivid lightning shot out from the blue-black storm-clouds that were hung over the ship like a funeral pall, lighting up the surrounding gloom and making it appear all the more sombre afterwards from the momentary illumination; and then, with a crash of thunder--that seemed as if the sky above was riven open, it was so awfully loud and reverberating--the tornado burst upon us, accompanied by a fierce blast of wind, that almost took the ship aback, and would have sent her down beneath the water in an instant to a certainty if we had been under sail. "Let fly everything!" shouted the skipper; and the halliards being cast loose, the topsails came down on the caps by the run; when the _Esmeralda_, paying off from the wind, began to exhibit her old form of showing her heels to the enemy--tearing away through the sea with all her sheets flying. Along with the pampero came a terrific shower of hail that lacerated our faces and almost took away our breath for the moment; but, never heeding this, on the skipper issuing his orders, we were up aloft again reefing topsails in a jiffey, and, as soon as the halliards had been manned and the yards rehoisted, the courses were furled and the jib hauled down, the fore-topmast staysail being set in its place. Everything being now made snug, the vessel was brought once more round to her course on the starboard tack, heading a little to the westward of south. To the hail succeeded a heavy storm of rain; and then, the pampero having blown itself out by its sudden frenzy, a short calm now came on, after which the wind chopped round to the old quarter, the southwards and eastwards, bringing us back again to the port tack as we steered between the Falkland Islands and the South American continent--keeping in closer to the land now, for any fresh wind that might spring up would be certain to come from off shore. The day of the pampero, however, did not pass by before another incident happened on board the _Esmeralda_. When "all hands" were called, of course Mr Macdougall came up too; and, although he did not go aloft the same as I did to help in reefing topsails and furl the canvas--for he was neither so young nor so active as myself, and besides, it was not his place as first mate of the ship thus to aid the crew in doing the practical part of their duty--yet, on deck, he was of much assistance to the skipper in seeing that his different orders were promptly executed at the moment required; being not chary either of lending a hand at a brace when help was necessary, and exerting himself as much as any one, in a way very unusual for him. So now, when the pampero had passed away and the excitement was over, Captain Billings, in his joyful exuberance of feeling at the _Esmeralda_ having weathered the peril, went up to him and shook hands cordially. "Hurrah, Macdougall!" he exclaimed, "the old barquey has been too much for my River Plate bully of a pampero." "Aye, mon, she's weethered it weel, I ween," replied the mate, accepting the proffered pledge of restored friendship; and he was shaking away at the skipper's fist as if he was never going to relinquish its grasp, when, suddenly, the calm came on that I have mentioned, and the sails flapped against the masts heavily, shaking the ship and making the rigging vibrate. Both Mr Macdougall and the skipper looked aloft, impelled by the same instinct, as they stood aft, the mate close to the taffrail; when, at that instant, the spanker boom swinging round, the lee sheet--not being hauled taut--caught the mate athwart his chest and swept him incontinently over the side! I was on the opposite side of the deck, witnessing with much satisfaction the mode in which he and the skipper had made up their differences, the feud having lasted for over a fortnight; but, on seeing the accident, was for a moment horror-struck. However, I soon recovered myself. "Man overboard!" I shouted out, with all the power of my lungs; and then, without hesitation, I plunged after Mr Macdougall into the sea. CHAPTER NINETEEN. ON FIRE IN THE HOLD! The wind had dropped to a calm, as I've mentioned, just before this; but the sea was still running high, with those heavy waves that get up in a moment in the lower latitudes as soon as it begins to blow. But I never thought of this when I plunged in to the mate's rescue. When I was at Dr Hellyer's, the only two things I ever really learnt that were of any use to me in my after-life were, a substantial grounding in mathematics--thanks to "Smiley"--which subsequently made the study of navigation easy to me when Sam Pengelly put me under charge of a tutor; and, secondly, the art of swimming, the place where the school was situated and the practice of taking out the boys on the beach for the purpose every day, offering great facilities to any one with the least aptitude for taking to the water and possessed of a desire to learn how to support himself in it. Now, therefore, I found the second of these acquirements to stand me in good stead--the consciousness of knowing how to swim, not only giving me the courage to leap over the vessel's side after the unfortunate man, but also enabling me to decide what to do when I found myself battling with the waves on my errand of succour. The _Esmeralda's_ quarter was a good height from the sea level; so, on my diving off, what with this and the impetus of my leap, I went considerably below the surface, coming up panting for breath some distance away from the ship, which, having still a little way on her, besides offering a considerable surface of hull for the waves to act upon, was drifting further and further off each instant. I had no concern about this, though, the only impression on my mind being the necessity of getting hold of Mr Macdougall as soon as I could; and when I had recovered from the half-suffocating feeling produced by my impromptu long dive beneath the Atlantic rollers, I raised myself on the top of one of these, and proceeded to look for the first mate, who ought, I thought, to be pretty close to me. The water struck bitterly cold, as I trod it down in order to elevate myself as much as I could and so have a wider view around, for it made my limbs feel as if cramp was coming on; but I kicked out vigorously, and the sensation passing off I began to feel more at home in the water, and as confident as if I were bathing off the shore at Beachampton-- albeit I was now having a bath in the middle of the Southern ocean, with my ship almost half a mile from me by this time! I did not see Mr Macdougall anywhere at first, so I feared that the force with which the boom sheet had come against his chest might have so injured him as to paralyse his movements when he fell overboard; but, presently, when I rose on the crest of another huge rolling billow that took me up a little higher aloft, I saw him struggling in one of the watery valleys between the ridges of the waves about half a cable's length away to the windward of me, so that I was between him and the ship, whose sails alone now were all I could see of her from my low position in the water. Catching sight of him, at once inspired me with fresh courage, making me as buoyant as a cork; and I faced the task before me, offering up a heartfelt prayer that I might accomplish it successfully. "Hold up, Mr Macdougall! I'm coming to help you!" I cried out as loudly as I could, for he seemed just then, from the look of despair I saw on his face, to be on the point of chucking up his hands and allowing himself to sink to the bottom, impressed probably with the hopelessness of attempting to reach the vessel. Then, striking out with a good strong breast-stroke, which is worth all your fancy side business in rough water, I made towards him; although, having to go against the set of the sea, I found it much harder work than merely keeping myself afloat, which was all that I had previously tried to do, without actually swimming. He did not hear my shout, being to windward; but, when I rose presently on another wave-crest nearer him, I could perceive that he saw me, from the way in which he raised one of his arms in his excitement--the effect of which was, of course, to cause his head to go under and make him believe his last hour was come. "Help, help!" he screamed, when he got above the surface again, spluttering out words and water together; "I'm droonin', mon--help, mon, help!" I could hear him distinctly from my being to leeward, and as I was much nearer to him now, I cried out again to encourage him-- "Hold on, Mr Macdougall! I'll be with you in a minute!" Then, with half a dozen strong, sturdy strokes, aided by a wave that worked him towards me, I was by his side. He was utterly exhausted, having, like most unpractised swimmers, pumped himself out by splashing about with short jerky movements of his hands and legs, which only wearied him without advancing him through the opposing billows or assisting him to keep up; and, on my coming up to him, as all drowning men in similar circumstances invariably do, he made a frantic clutch at me, when, if he had succeeded in grasping me, we should both have sunk to the bottom. But I took very good care he should not touch me, for Tom Larkyns and I when at Hellyer's used to make a practice in fun of pretending we were going down when out bathing, and the one or other of us who acted the part of rescuer would always study how to approach the feigning drowner, so as to help him effectually without incurring any risk of being pulled below the surface; so, on Mr Macdougall stretching out his clutching hands, endeavouring to get hold of me, I was quite on my guard to avoid his grip. Diving below him, I seized him by the back of the neck, his long sandy hair, which was streaming with water, enabling me to take a firm grip. "Don't try to hinder me," I cried hurriedly between breaths, for the sea was very rough, and it wasn't easy to speak. "Keep perfectly quiet, and I'll save you." The Scotsman gave a wriggle or two, but, like most of his countrymen, he had a good deal of common sense and self-command, which made him remain passive after a bit; when, throwing myself on my back, I floated, dragging his head across my body, so that he might rest awhile and recover himself before trying to swim towards the ship. Presently he endeavoured to look round, so as to see who it was that had come to his assistance. "Hold hard!" I said. "You mustn't move, or I'll have to let you go;" for, I can state, it was a difficult job supporting him in that way, and it took all my paddling to keep our united weight up. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "I ken the voice--eet's you, Leigh, eesn't it?" "Yes, Mr Macdougall, it's me," said I. "Do you feel better now?" But he did not answer me for a moment, although I felt a tremble go through his frame. A moment afterwards, with what sounded like a sob, he cried out, "You brave laddie! To theenk that you of all ithers should ha' coom to save a reckless loon lik' me, the noo! It's a joogement on me for me cruel leeing again' you, boy; you've heapit coals o' fire on me head!" "Never mind that now, Mr Macdougall," I said. "We've got to see about getting back to the ship, and then we can let bygones be bygones! Have you got your breath back now?" "Eh?" "Do you think you can manage to put a hand on my shoulder, and rest quiet in the water while I tow you along?" "Aye, I'll try it, laddie." "Mind, you mustn't clutch hold of me too hard," I cried; and, easying him off from my chest, I turned round again in the water. He sank about a foot at first from the change of position, but, keeping strict heed to my injunctions, and gripping my shoulder with a grasp of iron, he was presently floating half alongside and half behind, with his head well out of the water, as I struck out to where I could still see the ship as we rose every now and then at intervals on the crests of the following waves; although, when we descended again between the intervening hollows, we seemed shut in by a wall of sea. The pampero having blown off from the pampas inland--whence the local name for these tornadoes--had come from the westwards, and, of course, the set of the waves, even after the wind had ceased to move them, continued in a south-westerly direction, whither the _Esmeralda_ had also been carried away from us, the exposed surface of her hull drifting her more rapidly away than such tiny atoms as we presented to the influence of the rollers. When, therefore, Mr Macdougall was so far recovered as to permit of my attempting to regain the ship, she was already quite a mile off, if not more! As I looked at her distant sails, which came in sight when we got atop of the billows, they seemed to be gliding further and further away each fresh time that I saw them, showing that there was no wind; so, knowing that a boat would have to pull all that distance against a heavy head sea in order to fetch us, I almost despaired of our being picked up. No one but those who have undergone a similar experience, can imagine the utter loneliness that strikes upon the heart of a solitary swimmer, struggling in the middle of the ocean for dear life. The sea never looks so terribly wide and vast as then, the sky never so far off, as he gazes upwards in piteous entreaty; while the elements appear to mock his puny efforts to reach the receding vessel containing his comrades of a moment ago, who now seem basely leaving him to perish! These thoughts flashed through my mind as I struck out in the direction of the _Esmeralda_. All the sins and omissions of my past life then rose before my mental kaleidoscope, making me conscious of my unpreparedness to die, and yet want of justification to live; but I struck out bravely nevertheless, and I need hardly say, I did not whisper a word of my fears to the mate, who kept silent and motionless the while, without incommoding my efforts. My strokes got slower and slower, for the wash of the sea over us every now and then was terribly fatiguing; for, although I was very strong for my age, and powerfully built, still the strain of supporting Mr Macdougall besides myself, was more than I was able to manage--the strongest man couldn't have done it. He saw this even before I did, and took away his hand from my shoulder. "Let me bide, laddie," he said. "You've doon your best to save me, but you canna do't mair; gang awa' and save your ain sel'." "No I won't, Mr Macdougall," I cried, stopping and treading water for a minute or two, while he imitated my example. "If I'm saved, you shall be saved; and if you drown, I'll drown too!" "That's bravely said, laddie," he replied, "but your streength will na let you bear my lumpy karkus. I'm a meesereeble sinner, ye ken, and it's na richt as a brave lad lik' you should lose his ain life for a worthless loon lik' me!" "No more of that, Mr Macdougall!" I cried, stoutly. "I made up my mind to try and save you when I jumped overboard after you; and save you now I will, with God's help--so there's no use trying to prevent me! Now put your hand on my shoulder again, for it's time for us to be moving on after our rest." The short "spell off" from swimming had rested me, and I struck out once more with renewed vigour, my progress with the mate in tow being now much more rapid, for the sea was calming down, beginning to feel the cessation of the wind. "We'll reach the ship, never fear!" I said presently, seeing her still in the distance when we rose upon a wave from the watery abyss in which the previous dialogue had taken place. "I hope so, laddie, I hope so," said Mr Macdougall, but his words did not sound very cheering, and I went on swimming hard, saying nothing further. By-and-bye, just when my strength began to fail again, and I felt that I could never get over the distance that separated us from the vessel, I saw to my joy a large object floating near. "Hullo!" I cried, "here's a boat, or raft, or something in sight; cheer up, Mr Macdougall, we're saved!" But, he was so worn out with the exposure, and his previous efforts to keep up before I went to his assistance, that he had now almost lost the power of speech, only moaning something like "Eh, laddie?" behind me. I saw, therefore, that I must now trust entirely to my own exertions for our joint safety--the more so since that, as the mate lost his consciousness, although still keeping hold of me in the way I had directed him, his limp, passive weight pressed me down lower and lower in the water; so, putting out all my energies for a final effort, and clenching my teeth together with grim determination, I struggled forward, swimming as hard as I could towards the floating object I had seen, and which I had caught sight of only just in time. One stroke--two--three--and a roller throws me back again. I renew the contest--another stroke, accompanied by as vigorous a kick out as I can manage, with Mr Macdougall's prostrate body touching my legs; and then--I clutch hold of the thing at last--hurrah! It was a large hencoop, which used to be fixed on the starboard side of the _Esmeralda's_ poop; so I suppose some one must have pitched it overboard after me the moment I gave the alarm. But, no matter when it was sent adrift or why, it now saved both our lives; for I don't believe I could have swum a stroke further, while as for Mr Macdougall, he was already like a man dead. There was a piece of rope lashed round the coop, and with this I at once made the mate fast to it, raising his head well up, and shouting in his ears to revive him. In a minute or two, he opened his eyes, and appeared more like himself, a smile spreading over his face, as if in thankfulness for escaping death. As for me, I was as right as a trivet now that I had come across such a splendid raft; and, climbing on top, and balancing myself so as not to let it lurch over, I proceeded to look for the ship--which I had almost forgotten while striving to reach this nearer haven of refuge. No sooner, however, had I mounted the hencoop, which floated nearly a foot above the surface, even with my weight on it--for it was a big piece of woodwork, with plenty of timber in it, and as light as a cork-- than I felt a faint current of air blowing in my face from a direction quite opposite to that of the drift of the waves, the tops of which now began to curl and break off. "Hullo, the wind has changed!" I sang out to Mr Macdougall, as he looked up at me to hear my report; and then, glancing round, there I saw the _Esmeralda_, with her yards squared, approaching us rapidly, the breeze having caught her up long before it reached us. I could have shouted aloud for joy. "Cheer up, Mr Macdougall!" I said, repressing my emotion as much as it lay in my power. "The ship is making for us, and we'll be on board again in a brace of shakes." "Nae, ye're jookin', laddie!" he cried despairingly. "She'll never reach us 'fore dark." "Aye, but she will, though," I replied, as she was nearing us so fast that I could now see her hull, which had before been invisible; and, almost as I spoke the words, she rose higher and higher, until I could make out an object at the mast-head like a man on the look-out for us and signalling, for I could see his arms move. "Hurrah! she's coming up fast now!" I cried, to convince Mr Macdougall; when, seeing my excitement, he at last believed the good news, the effect on him being to cause him to burst into a passion of tears, of which I took no notice, leaving him to recover himself. Presently, I could not only perceive the _Esmeralda_, but a boat also ahead, to which the man I had noticed in the foretop was making motions. "We're all right now, Mr Macdougall," I said. "I thought they wouldn't desert us! They have launched a boat, and it is pulling towards us now. Let us give them a hail; raise your voice, sir--one, two, three--now then. Boat ahoy!" The mate did not help the chorus much, his voice being too weak as yet, and his lungs probably half full of salt water; but still, he joined in my shout, although those in the boat were too far off to hear it. "We must hail them again," I said, "or else they'll pass to windward of us. Come, Mr Macdougall, one more shout!" This time our feeble cry was heard; and a hearty cheer was borne back down on the breeze to us, in response, the men in the boat pulling for us as soon as they caught our hail. In another five minutes, it seemed, but perhaps it was much less--the tension on one's nerves sometimes making an interval of suspense appear much longer than it really is--the _Esmeralda's_ jolly-boat was alongside our little raft, with the two of us tumbled into the stern- sheets, amidst a chorus of congratulations and handshakings from Jorrocks, who was acting as coxswain; and, before we realised almost that we were rescued, we were safe on board the old ship again. It was all like a dream, passing quite as rapidly! The skipper, when I climbed the side ladder which had been put over for us, assisted up by a dozen pairs of willing hands, almost hugged me, and the crew gave me three cheers, which of course gratified my pride; but, what I valued beyond the praises bestowed on me for jumping overboard after Mr Macdougall--which was a mere act of physical courage which might have been performed by any water-dog, as I told Jorrocks--was the consciousness that I had made a friend of one who had previously been my enemy, returning good for evil. It was owing to this only, I fervently believe, that my life was preserved in that perilous swim! Mr Macdougall was ill for some days afterwards, the shock and exposure nearly killing him; still, before the end of the week he was able to return to duty, a much changed man in every respect. Thenceforth, he treated the men with far greater consideration than previously, and he was really so painfully humble to me that I almost wished once or twice that he would be his bumptious, dogmatic old self again. However, it was all for the best, perhaps, for we all got on very sweetly together now, without friction, and harmony reigned alike on the poop and in the fo'c's'le. The south-easterly wind, which had sprung up so fortunately for our rescue, lasted the _Esmeralda_ until she had run down the coast of Patagonia to Cape Tres Puntas, some three hundred and twenty miles to the northward of the Virgins, as the headlands are called that mark the entrance to the Straits of Magellan. Of course, our skipper did not intend to essay this short cut into the Pacific, which is only really practicable for steamers, as the currents through the different channels are dangerous in the extreme, and the winds not to be relied on, chopping round at a moment's notice, and causing a ship to drop her anchor in all sorts of unexpected places; but he intended to go through the Straits of Le Maire, instead of going round Staten Island, and thus shorten his passage of Cape Horn in that way. However, when, on our fifty-ninth day out, we were nearing the eastern end of Staten Island, the wind, which had of late been blowing pretty steadily from the northward of west, hauled round more to the southward, and being dead against the Le Maire channel, we were forced to give the island a wide berth, and stand to the outside of it. It was fine light weather, with clear nights, all the time we had been sailing down the coast; for we could see the Magellan clouds, as they are called, every evening. These are small nebulae, like the Milky Way, which occupy the southern part of the heavens, immediately above Cape Horn, whose proximity they always indicate. Shortly after our passing Staten Island, however, a change came, the wind blowing in squalls, accompanied by snow and sleety hail, and the sea running high as it only can run in these latitudes; but still, everything went well with us until we were about 55 degrees South and 63 degrees West, when a violent gale sprang up from the north-west. Everything was hauled down and clewed up, the ship lying-to under her reefed main-topsail and fore-topmast staysail, and Captain Billings was just saying to me that I was now going to have "a specimen of what Cape Horn weather was like," when I noticed Mr Macdougall--who had been making an inspection of the ship forwards--come up the poop ladder with his face much graver than usual, although, as a rule, his expression of countenance was not the most cheerful at any time. "Whatever is the matter with Mr Macdougall?" I said to Captain Billings. "I'm certain something has happened, or he would not look so serious!" "Bless you, Martin, you mustn't judge by his phiz. I daresay the men have only been skylarking in the fo'c's'le, and it doesn't please him." But it was something far more important than that which had occasioned the gravity of the mate's face, as the skipper soon heard; for, on Mr Macdougall coming up close to us, he whispered something in the skipper's ear which made him turn as white as a sheet. "Martin, Martin," he said to me, dropping his voice, however, so that the men might not hear the terrible news before it was absolutely necessary to tell them, "the coals are on fire in the main hold!" CHAPTER TWENTY. THE LAST DISASTER. After the first shock of surprise at the alarming intelligence--the most awful that can be circulated on board a ship, and one that fills up the seaman's cup of horrors to the brim--Captain Billings quickly recovered his usual equanimity. He was his own clear-headed, calm, collected self again in a moment. "How did you discover it?" he asked the mate, in a low tone. "I was ganging forwarts," said Mr Macdougall, in the same hushed key, so that only Captain Billings and I could catch his words, "when a' at once I smeelt somethin'--" "Ah, that raking flying jibboom of yours wasn't given you for nothing!" whispered the skipper, alluding to the mate's rather "pronounced" nose. "Aye, mon, it sairves me weel," said Mr Macdougall, feeling the ridge of his nasal organ with much apparent satisfaction, and then proceeding to finish his statement. "But I could no meestake the smeel, the noo." "Something burning, I suppose?" said the skipper interrogatively. "You're right, Cap'en; the smeel was that o' boornin' wood and gas." "What did you do then?" asked Captain Billings. "I joost slippet off the main hatch, and the smeel was quite overpowerin', enough to choke one! so I e'en slippet the hatch on again, walking forwarts so as not to alarm the crew; and then I cam' aft to tell your ain sel'." "You did right," said the skipper. "I'll go presently and have a look myself." Captain Billings' inspection proved that the mate's fears were but too well-founded; so he immediately had the pumps rigged by the watch on duty--"all hands" not being called yet, as the vessel was lying-to, and there was not much work to be done. But a lot of water was pumped into the hold, after which the hatches were battened down, and we hoped the fire would die out from being smothered in this way. Meanwhile the north-westerly gale increased to almost a hurricane, the ship taking in great seas over her bows that deluged the decks, so that the waist sometimes was all awash with four feet of water on it; but this did not trouble us much, for of the two elements the sea was now the least feared, as we hoped that the one would check the spread of the other. Next day, however, when the gale lightened a little, and the _Esmeralda_ rode easier, still head to sea, the men complained that the fo'c'sle was getting too hot for them to live in it, although the temperature of the exterior air was nearly down to freezing point. This looked ominous; so Captain Billings, determining to adopt more stringent measures to check the conflagration that must be raging below in the cargo, caused the hatches to be opened; but such dense thick volumes of smoke and poisonous gas rolled forth the moment the covers were taken off, that they were quickly battened down again, holes now being bored to insert the hose pipes, and another deluge of water pumped into the hold, forwards as well as amidships. "I don't know what to do," said the skipper to Mr Macdougall. "If it were not for this gale I would try to run for Sandy Point, where we might get assistance, as I've heard of the captain of a collier once, whose ship caught fire in the cargo like mine, careening his ship ashore there, when, taking out the burning coals, he saved the rest of his freight and stowed it again, so that he was able to resume his voyage and deliver most of the cargo at its destination. But this wind is right in one's teeth, either to get to Sandy Point or fetch any other port within easy reach." "We moost ae just trust to Proveedence!" replied the mate. "Oh, yes, that's all very well," said the skipper, impatiently. "But, still, Providence expects us to do something to help ourselves--what do you suggest?" "I canna thaenk o' naught, Cap'en," replied Mr Macdougall, in his lugubrious way. "Hang it, neither can I!" returned the skipper, as if angry with himself because of no timely expedient coming to his mind; but just at that moment the gale suggested something to him--at all events in the way of finding occupation! All at once, the wind, which had been blowing furiously from the northwards, shifted round without a moment's warning to the south-west, catching the ship on her quarter, and heeling her over so to leeward that her yard-arms dipped in the heavy rolling sea. For a second, it seemed as if we were going over; for the _Esmeralda_ remained on her beam ends without righting again, the waves breaking clean over her from windward, and sweeping everything movable from her decks fore and aft; but then, as the force of the blast passed away, she slowly laboured up once more, the masts swaying to and fro as if they were going by the board, for they groaned and creaked like living things in agony. "Put the helm up--hard up!" shouted the skipper to the man at the wheel; but, as the poor fellow tried to carry out the command, the tiller "took charge," as sailors say, hurling him right over the wheel against the bulwarks, which broke his leg and almost pitched him over the side. Had this occurred it would have been utterly impossible to have saved him. Mr Macdougall and I immediately rushed aft; and, the two of us grasping the spokes, managed to turn the wheel round with our united strength; but it was too late to get the ship to pay off, for, a fresh blast of wind striking her full butt, she was taken aback, the foremast coming down with a crash across the deck, carrying with it the bowsprit and maintopmast, the mizzen-topmast following suit a minute afterwards. This was bad enough in all conscience, without our having the consciousness that besides this loss of all our spars, making the vessel a hopeless log rolling at the mercy of the winds and waves, our cargo of coals was on fire in the hold, forming a raging volcano beneath our feet! Fortune was cruel. Mishap had followed on mishap. The powers of evil were piling Ossa on Pelion! The skipper, however, was not daunted yet. All hands had rushed aft, without being specially called, roused by the crash of the falling spars, so he immediately set them to work with the hatchets fastened round the mainmast bitts, cutting away at the wreckage; and then, as the clouds cleared away and a bit of blue sky showed itself aloft, Captain Billings expressed himself hopeful of getting out of the meshes of that network of danger in every direction with which we seemed surrounded. "Look alive, men, and don't despair," said he to the crew, encouraging them; for they were almost panic-stricken at first, and it was all that Jorrocks and I could do to get them to ply their tomahawks forwards and cut away the rigging, which still held the foremast with all its top- hamper attached to the ship, thumping at her sides as the lumber floated alongside, trying to crunch our timbers in. "Look alive, men, and put your heart into it; all hope hasn't left us yet! The gale has nearly blown itself out, as you can see for yourselves by that little bit of blue sky there overhead, bigger than a Dutchman's pair of breeches; so, as soon as the sea goes down a little, we'll hoist out the boats, so as to have them handy in case we have to abandon the ship, should the fire in the hold get too strong for us, although I don't fear that yet, my hearties, for the water may drown it out soon, you know. But work away cheerily, my lads, and clear away all that dunnage, so that we can set a little sail presently on the mainmast and mizzen, which we still have standing, when we can make a run for some islands lying close by under the lee of Cape Horn, where I'll heave her ashore if I can; but, if the vessel don't reach the land, you needn't be afraid of not being able to do so in the boats, which we can take to as a last resource, so there's no fear of your lives being lost, at any rate!" "Hurray!" shouted out Jorrocks, leading a cheer; and Pat Doolan seconding him heartily, the hands started at the rigging with greatly renewed vigour, slashing at the shrouds and stays until they parted, and the foremast was at last cut away clear, floating astern on the top of the rolling waves. "There it goes!" cried the skipper, "and joy go with it for deserting us in that unhandsome way!" "Ah, sir," observed Haxell, the carpenter, who was standing close beside him now, quiet a bit after exerting himself like a navvy in helping to clear the wreck, "you forgets as how the poor dear thing never recovered that spring it had off Madeiry!" "No; for it has lasted well, nevertheless, and I oughtn't to complain of it now," said Captain Billings, with a responsive sigh to the carpenter's lament over the lost foremast. Haxell looked upon all the ship's spars as if they were his own peculiar private property, and spoke of them always--that is, when he could be induced to abandon his chronic taciturnity--as if they had kindred feelings and sensibilities to his own! The dark threatening clouds which had enveloped the heavens for the past twenty-four hours now cleared away, although the wind still blew pretty fresh from the south-west, and the sun coming out, Captain Billings told me to go and fetch my sextant in order to take an observation so as to ascertain our true position; for, first with the north-easter, and then with the squall from the south, we had been so driven here, there, and everywhere, that it was difficult to form any reasonable surmise as to where we really were--especially as there was a strong current supposed to run round Cape Horn from the Pacific towards the Atlantic Ocean at certain tides. I fetched my sextant and took the sun; and I may say confidently to all whom it may concern that this was the last observation ever made by any one on board the ill-fated _Esmeralda_! The skipper checked me in the time, from the chronometer in the cabin; and when I had worked out the reckoning, we compared notes on the poop. "What do you make it?" said he. "56 degrees 20 minutes South," I said. "And the ship's time makes us about 66 degrees West. Ha! humph! we must be about forty miles to the south of Cape Horn; and, by Jove," he added, looking to the north-west, where the blue sky was without a fleck save a little white cloud, like the triangular sail of a boat, seen dimly low down on the horizon, "there's my gentleman over there, now!" The knowledge of the vessel's position appeared to give the skipper greater confidence; and, the waves ceasing to break over us, although the huge southern rollers swept by in heavy curves, he gave directions for getting some tackle rigged to launch the long-boat, which, although it was right in the way, had escaped injury when the foremast fell. At the same time, the mainsail and mizzen staysail were set, and the vessel steered in the direction of that Cape which she seemed destined never to round. "We'll run for the Wollaston group," said the skipper--"that is, if the fire will let us stop aboard till we reach there; and if not, why, the less distance there will be for us to trust ourselves to the boats in this strong sea." No time was lost in making preparations to quit the ship, however-- provisions and stores being brought up from the steerage by the steward and a couple of seamen who were told off to help him. In the last few hours the fire had made considerable headway; for thin wreaths of smoke were curling up from the deck forwards, where the pitch had been melted from the seams, and the heat was plainly perceptible on the poop, accompanied as it was by a hot sulphurous smell. "Be jabers, I fale like a cat on a hot griddle," said Pat Doolan, as he danced in and out of the galley, engaged in certain cooking operations on a large scale which the skipper had ordered; "I'll soon have no sowl at all, at all, to me cawbeens!" The men laughed at this, but there was a good deal of truth in the joking words of the Irishman, as, although washed with water, the deck was quite unbearable to one's naked foot. It was now early in the afternoon, and the long-boat and jolly-boat were both launched and loaded with what stores were available, the skipper personally seeing that each was provided with a mast and sails and its proper complement of oars and ballast--barrels and barricoes containing water being utilised to this latter end, thus serving for a double purpose. Other things and persons were also attended to. Mr Ohlsen, the second mate, and Harmer, the seaman who had had his leg broken when thrown against the bulwarks--and who, by the way, had the injured limb excellently set by Mr Macdougall, who had passed through a hospital course in "Edinbro' Toon," he told us--were brought up from the cabin in their cots, being both invalids. The skipper likewise secured the ship's papers and removed the compass from the binnacle; while I, of course, did not forget my sextant and a chart or two which Captain Billings told me to take. The foremast hands having also selected a small stock of useful articles, all of us were ready to leave the vessel as soon as she gave us notice to quit. The fire was waxing hotter and hotter, the curling wreaths of smoke having expanded into dense black columns of vapour, and an occasional tongue of flame was licking the edges of the coamings of the fore hatchway, while sparks every now and then went flying up in the air and were wafted away to leeward by the wind. "She can't last much longer now without the flames bursting forth," said Captain Billings. "The sooner we see about leaving her the better now. Haul up the boats alongside, and prepare to lower down our sick men." "Hadn't we better have a whip rigged from the yard-arm, sir?" suggested Jorrocks. "It'll get 'em down more comfortable and easy like." "Aye, do; I declare I had forgotten that," said the skipper; "I'm losing my head, I think, at the thought of the loss of my ship!" He spoke these words so sadly that they touched me keenly. "No, no, Cap', you haven't loosed your head yet, so far as thinking about us is concerned," observed Jorrocks, who was watching the man he had sent out on the mainyard fasten a block and tackle for lowering down the cots of the two invalids. I'm sure we all acquiesced in this hearty expression of the boatswain's opinion, for no one could have more carefully considered every precaution for our comfort and security than the skipper, when making up his mind to abandon the ship. No further words were wasted, however, as soon as the boats were hauled alongside. Mr Ohlsen and Harmer were lowered down carefully into the long-boat, and the provisions, with the captain's papers and instruments, were subsequently stowed in the stern-sheets by the side of the invalids. A similar procedure was then adopted in reference to the jolly-boat, only that there were no more sick men, fortunately, to go in her; and the skipper was just about mustering the hands on the after part of the main deck, below the break of the poop, when there was a terrible explosion forwards, the whole fore-part of the ship seeming to be rent in twain and hurled heavenward in a sheet of flame as vivid as forked lightning! I don't know by what sudden spasm of memory, but at that very instant my thoughts flew back to my boyish days at Beachampton, and my attempt to blow up Dr Hellyer and the whole school with gunpowder on that memorable November day, as I have narrated. The present calamity seemed somehow or other, to my morbid mind, a judgment on my former wicked conduct--the reflection passing through my brain at the instant of the explosion with almost a similar flash. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. HERSCHEL ISLAND. "Maircy on us!" exclaimed Mr Macdougall, who at that moment was just gingerly passing down the standard compass to Jorrocks, the boatswain, standing up in the stern-sheets of the long-boat alongside, and stretching up his hands as carefully to receive the precious instrument; and the sudden blinding flash of the explosion and concussion of the air that it caused, almost made him drop this in his fright. "Whateever on airth ees that noo?" "Matter?" repeated the skipper after him coolly, taking in cause and effect at a glance. "Why, the gas generated by the heated coal in the hold has blown out the forepeak, that's all! It is providential, though, that the wrench which the foremast gave to the deck-beams and bulkhead there when it carried away, so far weakened the ship forwards as to enable the gas to find vent in that direction, otherwise the entire deck would probably have been blown up--when it would have been a poor look-out for all of us here aft!" "Gudeness greecious!" ejaculated the mate again, blinking bewilderedly, like an owl unexpectedly exposed to daylight; but Captain Billings did not waste time in any further explanations or unnecessary words. "I hope nobody's hurt! Run forwards, Leigh, and see," he said to me. Fortunately, however, all had escaped without a scratch, although fragments of the knees and other heavy portions of the vessel's timbers had been hurled aloft and scattered in all directions, as if a mine had been sprung below--the woodwork descending afterwards in a regular hailstorm on our heads, blown into small pieces no bigger than matches, and mixed up with a shower of blazing sparks and coal-dust, making us all "as black as nayghurs," as Pat Doolan said. The stump of the foremast, in particular, described a graceful parabolic curve in the air, coming down into the water in close proximity to the bows of the long-boat--where, under the supervision of the boatswain, the steward and the carpenter were stowing provisions under the thwarts, making the two almost jump out of their skins. It descended into the sea with the same sort of "whish" which the stick of a signal rocket makes when, the propelling power that had enabled it previously to soar up so majestically into the air above being ultimately exhausted, it is forced to return by its own gravity to its proper level below, unable to sustain itself unaided by exterior help at the unaccustomed height to which it was temporarily exalted. And in this respect, it may be observed here, although I do not believe the remark is altogether original, that a good many human rockets may be encountered in our daily life, which exhibit all the characteristic points and weaknesses of the ordinary material model that I have likened them to--composed of gunpowder and other explosive pyrotechnic substances, and familiar to all--for, they go up in the same brilliant and glorious fashion, and are veritable shining lights in the estimation of their friends and the fickle testimony of public opinion; only, alas, to descend to the ordinary level of every-day mortals, like the rocket- stick comes down in the end! I need hardly say, though, that I had no thought of these reflections now; for, immediately after the explosion forwards, the flames which mounted aloft with it burst forth with full vigour, released from the confined space of the hold to which they had been previously limited, and the entire fore-part of the ship, from the waist to the knight- heads, became a mass of fire, the cavity disclosed by the riven deck adjacent to the fo'c's'le being like a raging volcano, vomiting up clouds of thick yellow smoke from the glowing mass of ignited coal below, which almost suffocated us, as the ship went too slowly through the water for the vapour to trail off to leeward. The mainmast was still standing, with the mainsail set before the southerly wind, that was blowing in towards the land, the force of the explosion not being vented much further aft than the windlass bitts; but, almost as we looked, tongues of flame began to creep up the main rigging, and the huge sail was presently crackling away like tissue paper to which a lighted match has been applied, large pieces of the burning material being whirled in the air. The heat now became unbearable, and Captain Billings, much to his grief, saw that the time had come for him to abandon the ship. "We must leave her, Leigh," said he to me, with as much emotion as another person might have displayed when wishing a last farewell to some dearly-loved friend or relative. "There is no good in stopping by the old barquey any longer, for we can't help her out of her trouble, and the boats may be stove in by the falling mainmast if they remain alongside much longer. Poor old ship! we've sailed many a mile together, she and I; and now, to think that, crippled by that gale and almost having completed her v'yage, she should be burnt like a log of firewood off Cape Horn!" "Never mind, sir," said I, sympathisingly. "It has not happened through any fault of yours." "No, my lad, I don't believe it has, for a cargo o' coal is a ticklish thing to take half round the world; as more vessels are lost in carrying it than folks suppose! However, this is the last we'll ever see of the old _Esmeralda_, so far as standing on her deck goes; still, I tell you what, Leigh, you may possibly live to be a much older man than I am, but you'll never come across a ship easier to handle in a gale, or one that would go better on a bowline!" "No, sir, I don't think I shall," I replied to this panegyric on the doomed vessel, quite appreciating all the skipper's feelings of regret at her destruction; but just then the flames with a roar rushed up the main hatch, approaching towards the poop every moment nearer and nearer. This at once recalled Captain Billings from the past to the present. "Have you got everything aboard the boats?" he sang out in his customary voice to Mr Macdougall, his tones as firm and clear as if he had not been a moment before almost on the point of crying. "Are all the provisions and water in?" "Aye, aye, an' stoowed awa', too, Cap'en," answered the mate, to whom had been entrusted the execution of all the necessary details. "A very thin's aboord, and naething forgot, I reecken." "Then it's time we were aboard, too," said the skipper. "Boatswain, muster the hands!" Jorrocks didn't have to tap on the deck with a marlinspike now to call them, in the way he used to summon the watch below to reef topsails in the stormy weather we had off Madeira and elsewhere; for the men were all standing round, ready to start over the side as soon as the skipper gave the word of command to go. Captain Billings then called over the list of the crew from the muster roll, which he held in his hand along with the rest of the "ship's papers"--such as the _Esmeralda's_ certificate of registry, the manifest of the cargo, and her clearance from the custom-house officers at Cardiff; when, all having answered to their names, with the exception of the two invalids, Mr Ohlsen, and Harmer, the seaman, both of whom were already in the long-boat, the skipper gave the word to pass down the gangway, apportioning seven hands in all to the jolly-boat, under charge of Mr Macdougall, and the remainder of our complement to the long-boat, under his own care. Including the invalids, we were seven-and-twenty souls in all--now compelled to abandon our good ship, and trust to those two frail boats to take us to the distant coast of Tierra del Fuego, of which we were not yet even in sight; and it was with sad hearts that we went down the side of this poor _Esmeralda_ for the last time, quitting what had been our floating home for the two months that had elapsed since we left England, for the perils we had encountered in her had only endeared her the more to us! Captain Billings was the last to abandon the ship; lingering not merely until we had descended to the boats, seven in one and nineteen as yet only in the other without him, but waiting while we settled ourselves along the thwarts; when, turning round, he put his feet on the cleats of the side ladder and came down slowly, looking up still at the old vessel, as if loth to leave her in such an extremity. The jolly-boat had been already veered astern on receiving her allotted number, the long-boat only waiting alongside for the skipper, with a man in the bows and another amidships, fending her off from the ship's side with a couple of boat-hooks, so that the little barque should not dash against the hull of the bigger one, now she was so loaded up--a collision would have insured destruction to all in her, the huge billows of the Southern Ocean rolling in at intervals, and raising her so high aloft as to overtop the ship sometimes, and again carrying her down right under the _Esmeralda's_ counter, thus making her run the risk of being stove in every instant. It was too perilous a proximity; so, as soon as Captain Billings had got down into the stern-sheets, he gave the order to shove off. "Easy her away gently, men," he said, as he took up the tiller lines, watching with a critical eye the movements of the men amidships and in the bow, as they poled the boat along the side of the ship until it passed clear of her by the stern. "Be ready there with your oars, sharp!" In another moment the boat was tossing about in the open sea, the height and force of the waves becoming all the more apparent now that we had lost the protection of the _Esmeralda's_ lee. The flames just then, as if angry at our having escaped them, darted up the mizzen rigging, and presently enveloped the poop in their blaze, so that the whole ship was now one mass of fire fore and aft, blazing like a tar-barrel. The skipper would have liked to have lain by and seen the last of the vessel, but there was too much sea on, and the wind seemed getting up again; so, knowing how treacherous the weather was in the vicinity of the Cape of Storms, he determined, for the safety of those under his charge, to make for the land as speedily as possible--an open boat not being the best craft in the world to be in, out on the ocean, when a gale is about! As Captain Billings could see, the wind was blowing on shore, in the very direction for us to go; and, as the rollers were racing towards the same goal, the only way for us to avoid being swamped by them was to travel at a greater rate forwards than they did, or else we would broach-to in the troughs of the waves, when a boat is apt to get for the moment becalmed, from the intervening wall of water on either side stopping the current of air, and taking the breeze out of her sails. The long-boat was fitted with a couple of masts, carrying a large mainsail and a mizzen, both of which the skipper now ordered to be set, the former close-reefed to half its size. A bit of a staysail was also hoisted forwards in place of the jib, which was too large for the wind that was on; and then, it was wonderful to see the way the long-boat began to go through the water when the sail was put on her! She fairly raced along, dragging astern the jolly-boat, which we had taken in tow, the little craft leaving a curly wave in front of her cutwater, higher than her bows, and looking as if it were on the point of pouring over on top of those in her. It was now late in the afternoon of this, our sixty-third day out of port; and, as the sun sank to rest in the west, away in the east, according to our position in the boat, there was another illumination on the horizon. It was that caused by the burning ship. But it did not last so long: the fire of coals and wood could not vie with that of the celestial orb. We could still see the blazing hull, as we rose every now and then on the crest of the rollers; while, when we could not perceive it from the subsidence of the waves under the boat's keel, making us sink down, a pillar of smoke, floating in the air high above the _Esmeralda_ in a long fan-like trail, and stretching out to where sky and sea met in the extreme distance, told us where she was without any fear of mistake. Soon after we had quitted the vessel the mainmast, when half consumed, tumbled over the side; and, presently, the burning mizzen, which had been standing up for some time like a tall fiery pole, disappeared in a shower of sparks. The end was not far off now. As we rose on the send of the next sea, Captain Billings, by whose side I was sitting in the stern-sheets of the long-boat, grasped my arm. "Look!" he said, half turning round and pointing to where the burning ship had last been seen. She was gone! The smoke still hung in the air in the distance, like a funeral pall; but the wind was now rapidly dispersing it to leeward, there being no further supply of the columns of cloud-like vapour that had originally composed it. Soon, too, the smoke had completely disappeared, and the horizon was a blank. "All's over!" cried the skipper, with a heavy sigh. All was over, indeed; for, whatever fragments of the ill-fated _Esmeralda_ the remorseless fire may have spared, were now, without doubt, making their way down to the bottom of that wild ocean on which we poor shipwrecked mariners were tossing in a couple of frail boats-- uncertain whether we should ever reach land in safety, or be doomed to follow our vessel's bones down into the depths of the sea! Night fell soon after this; but the long-boat still held her way, running before the wind, and steering a nor'-nor'-west course by compass. We had now been going in that direction some two hours or more, and the skipper calculated that we were some thirty miles off the Wollaston Islands, which we ought to fetch by daylight next morning. Fortunately, it was a bright clear night, although there was no moon, only the stars twinkling aloft in the cloudless azure sky; and, thus, we were able to watch the waves so as to prevent them pooping us when two seas ran foul of each other, which they frequently did, racing against the wind, and eager, apparently, to outstrip it. Still, the most careful steering was necessary, and Jorrocks had to have out an oar astern, in order to aid the skipper's control of the tiller, when he put the helm up or down suddenly so as to get out of the wash of the breakers. The jolly-boat, too, occasioned us much uneasiness; for when the tow- rope slackened at these moments of peril, she ran the chance of slewing round broadside on to the sea. However, thanks to the interposing aid of Providence, we got through the dangers of the night, and day dawned at last. It was a terribly anxious watch, though, for all hands--especially for the skipper and Jorrocks, and the men told off to hold the sheets of the sails; for these latter couldn't be belayed, having to be hauled taut or let go at a moment's notice. With the advent of day came renewed hope, in spite of our not being able yet to see land--nothing being in sight ahead or astern, to the right or the left, but the same eternal sea and sky, sky and sea, which the rising sun, although it lent a ray of radiance to the scene, only made infinitely more dreary and illimitable. Towards noon, however, away on the port bow, the peak of a snow-topped mountain was perceived just above the horizon. "Hurrah!" cried Captain Billings. "There's our old friend Cape Horn! Another couple of hours straight ahead, and we ought to rise those islands I was speaking of. Do you see the Cape?" he shouted out across the little intervening space of water to Mr Macdougall in the jolly- boat. "Aye, aye--and it's a glad seeght!" replied the mate, to which statement all hands cheered. Some provisions, which, through the thoughtful precaution of the skipper and the assistance of Pat Doolan, had been cooked before being placed on board, were now served out around--the long-boat the while steadily progressing on her course, now hauled a bit more to the westwards of north. About three o'clock in the afternoon another cheery hail broke the stillness that reigned amongst us; for we were all too anxious to talk, and those of the crew who were not attending to the sheets of the sails had composed themselves to sleep, under the thwarts amidships and on the gratings aft. "Land, ho!" The cry came from a man on the look-out in the bows; and the announcement was received with a ringing shout, for the heavens were beginning to get overcast, and the wind was rising, promising that, should we be compelled to remain afloat another night, we should not find it quite so pleasant as our experiences of the past one, in spite of what we then thought the dangerous character of the following waves; and, if it came on to blow in addition, the heavy running sea which we had then to contend with would be mere child's play in comparison with what we might expect would get up in an hour or two. But, the nearness of the land led us to hope that we should not experience any further risk of being swamped. Long before sunset we approached it close enough to see where we were going. The nearest shore was that of an island, with high mountain peaks, but of little apparent extent, looking, as we saw it, barely a mile long. Near this were three or four other islands, although further to the northwards; while on the extreme left, some miles to the westwards, was the high snow-white peak which the skipper had said was Cape Horn, standing on a little island of its own that stretched out into the sea to a more southerly point than any of the other islets composing the archipelago. "Why, sir," said I to Captain Billings, "I always thought that Cape Horn was part of the mainland, jutting out from the end of Tierra del Fuego-- that's what my school geography taught, at all events!" "Oh, no," he replied. "It is on an island, sure enough, as all mariners know, although these chaps that write books for schools may not think it island enough to mention the fact. Where it stands is called Horn Island, and the next large one beyond it Wollaston Island; but I'm going to make for that little one ahead, as it is the nearest." "And what is that called?" I asked. "Herschel Island, after the great astronomer," answered the skipper. "I've been here before, my lad, and recognise the whole lot of them, and that is how I come to know about 'em." "Are any people living there?" said I, presently, the boat nearing the island so quickly that we could see a line of white beach, with the waves breaking on it, lying below the chain of mountain ridges that ran across it "fore and aft," as a sailor would describe it. "Only cannibals," replied the skipper, placidly. "Cannibals on Herschel Island, and we going there!" I exclaimed, half astonished, half frightened. "Aye, they are there or thereabouts; but, at all events, we're going to land on Herschel Island, as it's a case with us of any port in a storm! Look out there, forwards!" he called out a moment or two after to the men. "Be ready to down the mainsail when I give the word. Steady with the sheets. Now!" And, with a grating noise, the boat's keel struck the shore, carried forwards on the top of a huge wave, whose backwash, however, dragged us back into the deep the next second, slewing the head of the boat round at the same time, so that she hung broadside on. "Out oars, men--out oars for your life!" shouted the skipper, seeing the terrible danger that now threatened us in the very moment of safety; but, before the order could be executed, the long-boat was upset, and we were all tumbling about in the surf! CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. AN AUSTRAL AURORA. A wild cry went up to Heaven as we struggled for dear life in the water, battling with the under-tow of the in-rolling waves, which tried to drag us down in their angry clutches; but first one and then another emerged dripping on the sands, even Mr Ohlsen having saved himself without help, although he had been snugly tucked up in his hammock a moment before, and was lying down in the stern-sheets when the boat capsized. Poor Harmer, however, whose broken leg was only fresh set, and the bones not united, was unable to put out a hand on his own behalf, and seeing he had not gained the beach with the others, I looked eagerly about for him, knowing that in his crippled state it was almost impossible for him to have got ashore. Just then, his head appeared some twenty feet out from the land, in the midst of the boiling surf, with his hands stretched out in mute entreaty to us, appealing for succour as he was being carried out rapidly to sea. Who could refrain from venturing in again to rescue him? Certainly not I; and, as I dashed in, Pat Doolan followed my example, the cook uttering a wild Irish yell that had the effect of animating several of the rest of the sailors to lend us a helping hand, although they had not the pluck to dash in too. "Hooroo, boys!" he shouted. "Follow me leader, ye spalpeens, and let us say who'll raich the poor drowning chap first! Ould Oireland for iver!" He reached Harmer almost as soon as I, and the two of us took hold of him together--the poor fellow, however, being already insensible, made no effort whatever to keep up and help himself, and was absolutely limp in our grasp. We managed to swim back in with our burden on the top of a roller, well enough; but when we tried to secure our footing on the shore, the under- tow took us out again, although Pat Doolan flung himself face downwards on the sand, clutching it with one of his hands while he held the half- drowned man with the other in the same way as I did. Once, twice, we made the attempt; and yet, in spite of our desperate struggles, both of us putting forth all our strength, the backwash of the waves laughed at our resistance, floating us back again out into deep water. At our third try, however, and it would have been the last, for we were both exhausted by this time, the men on the beach--who had formed a line holding on to one another, Jorrocks being foremost and Captain Billings next, wading in up to their necks in the sea--managed to catch hold of us, when we were dragged out by sheer force; Pat and I, with Harmer between us, all lumped together in a confused mass, and the hands hauling us in with a "Yo, heave ho!" as if they were pulling at the topsail halliards or getting the main tack aboard! My swim after Mr Macdougall was nothing to this, although I had then battled with the sea for over an hour, while now the Irishman and I had not been ten minutes over our fight with the remorseless waves; but it was a terrific contest whilst it lasted, and albeit we had both come off victorious, thanks to the timely assistance of our comrades, we were nearly worsted, and so utterly pumped out that another five minutes of it would have ended the matter very differently. As it was, I had to lie on the sands, whither Jorrocks had lifted me beyond the reach of the tide, for a considerable period before I could either move or speak, while Pat Doolan was in an equally sorry plight. When I at last gained my voice, I stammered out a question-- "How's Harmer?" I asked, anxiously. But Captain Billings, who was beside me, lifting up my head tenderly with his arm placed round me, shook his head sadly. "Poor fellow," he said; "you did your best, but he must have been gone before you reached him. He's quite dead--you were too late to save him!" I declare this news affected me more than all I had gone through; and, whether from weakness, or from the reaction after such violent exertion producing a feeling of hysteria, I cannot tell; all I know is, that I turned my face away from the kind-hearted skipper who was supporting me, and cried like a child--I, who thought myself then a man! Meanwhile, as I found out when I had recovered from my emotion and was able to stand up and look about me, my shipmates had not been idle in trying to retrieve the effects of our unfortunate landing; for which the skipper upbraided his own carelessness, laying the blame on himself, and saying that he ought to have known better than to have tried to rush the boat in with such a ground swell on! The tow-rope of the jolly-boat had been cast-off shortly before we approached the shore, Captain Billings hailing Mr Macdougall and telling him to bring her head to the sea, and lay off until we got ashore; so, there she was, riding in safety, about half a cable's length out, beyond reach of the surf, while we were tumbling about in it after the long-boat had upset us so unexpectedly without ceremony. Mr Macdougall was about to pull in at once, on seeing the _contretemps_, but the skipper, the moment he fetched the shore, and before I had gone in after Harmer, had directed him still to keep off and get a line ready to heave in, as by that means those in the jolly- boat would not only be able to land in a better way than ourselves, but, also, some portion of the stores of our boat might be recovered, as well as the craft itself--the long-boat having only turned over, and still floating in the midst of the breakers, bobbing up and down bottom upwards. This task was now being proceeded with by all hands. Forming again a line, as when they had dragged Pat Doolan and myself out--the men holding each other's hands, for they had no rope as yet to tackle on to--several articles near in shore had been already picked up; and, now that I was all right again, the skipper at once set about getting the jolly-boat in, besides trying to secure the long-boat. Each, amongst other necessary parts of his equipment, had been provided with a coil of strong half-inch line, in addition to their proper painters, and on Captain Billings singing out to the first mate, and telling him what to do, the jolly-boat with her six oars manned was backed in just beyond reach of the surf. The end of the line, which Mr Macdougall held ready with a sounding-lead attached to it to make it swing further, was then hove ashore. It fell short, some ten feet out in the midst of the eddy caused by the backwash, but the leading hand of the long-boat's crew, after one or two dives in the surf, in which he got knocked down and rolled over, succeeded finally in grasping the sounding-lead. Then, with a loud hurrah, the end of the line was hauled in towards us, communication being thus established with those in the jolly-boat. The stay the rope afforded steadied her in the water, so that she rode more easily, which made the next operation, that of getting hold of the overturned long-boat, more practicable, and not as likely to jeopardise her safety as would otherwise have been the case. The coil of rope was fully a hundred feet long, and of sufficient length to pass twice between the jolly-boat ashore and back again, leaving a few spare yards over; so, first throwing over a grapnel to anchor her head out to the sea, the water being only some three fathoms deep where she was riding, and the men in her being now wanted for something else besides rowing to keep her from drifting in, the other end of the line was belayed, and the boat easied in with the utmost care, two of the hands still keeping to their oars, until she reached the wrecked boat. Then Haxell, the carpenter, pluckily volunteered to jump over the side, and try, by diving underneath, to catch hold of the long-boat's painter or some of her headgear, all attempts to reach such by the aid of a boat-hook being impossible from the motion of the two boats in the restless water. After a bit, the taciturn but useful man obtained the object in view, dragging out from below the long-boat's stern the very tow-rope with which we had been previously pulling the jolly-boat along while sailing towards the land, before casting her off, and our subsequent upset. This rope was now fastened to the shore-line with a double hitch, and our lot on the beach hauling in, we presently had the satisfaction of seeing the stern of our own craft working in towards us, the jolly-boat still remaining out beyond reach of the rollers, until the long-boat had grounded; when, seeing a proper opportunity, she too was got in safely-- without, however, any previous upset, like ours, and indeed without her taking in any perceptible quantity of water so as to damage her cargo or give her crew a ducking, all of whom, with the exception of Haxell, who of course had sought a bath of his own accord, getting to land dry-shod, unlike us, who had been drenched from head to foot, and were now shivering with cold, the temperature of the air being below freezing point. It was now high-water, as Captain Billings observed from the marks on the shore; so, as nothing more could then be done towards getting the long-boat further in and righting her, and the hands were pretty well tired out with their exertions, he called a rest as soon as the jolly- boat was hauled up well beyond reach of the waves, which still broke threateningly on the beach--impelled by the force of the wind, now blowing a stiff gale from the south-west, and covering the beach with breakers that sent showers of foam over us, even when we had moved many yards away. "Spell O!" sang out the skipper. "Boatswain, pipe down the men to dinner." We had to encroach on the jolly-boat's stores, the provisions being divided between the two boats although our craft, being the larger of the two, had of course carried the major portion. This could, however, only now be looked upon as lost; for the seawater must have spoilt everything eatable. However, as the crew had gone through a good deal of hardship, the skipper did not attempt to ration them down to any smaller allowance on this our first evening on Herschel Island; and so, when a fire was built up, and some hot coffee brewed by Jorrocks, who usurped Pat Doolan's functions on this occasion, the Irishman being still too weak from his efforts to rescue poor Harmer to be of much use yet, we all had a hearty meal, feeling much the better thereby. After this, the skipper told the men to lie down round the fire, which we found very grateful when the sun had set, besides its enabling us to dry our wet clothes; but the crew were warned that they would have to rouse up about midnight, when Captain Billings expected the tide would have gone down sufficiently to enable us to get the long-boat out of danger, and turn her over on the beach beyond high-water mark. I confess that I went off to sleep at once; and neither the shaking of Jorrocks, nor the noise the men made in righting the long-boat, served to wake me up till it was broad daylight next morning, when I opened my eyes to find the sun shining down on a calm sea that hardly made a ripple on the beach, with the long-boat upright in her proper position, alongside the jolly-boat, and high and dry ashore. There was a delicious smell of something cooking in one of Pat Doolan's galley pots, hung gipsy fashion over a roaring fire, and superintended by the Irishman, now himself again. A large tent had also been rigged up by the aid of the boat sails and tarpaulins, making the place have the appearance of a cosy encampment, and offering a pleasant change to the desolate look it had worn the previous afternoon--when the sea was roaring in, hurling a deluge of foam on the beach, and we, wet and forlorn, were endeavouring to save the flotsam and jetsam of the long- boat's cargo. "Sure an' you're a foine gintleman, taking it aisy," said Pat Doolan, when I went up to him. "An' is it a pannikin o' coffee you'll be afther wanting, this watch?" "I shouldn't refuse it if you offered it," said I, with a laugh. "Be jabers, you're the bhoy for the coffee!" he replied cheerily. "An' its meeself that's moighty proud to sarve you. Sure an' I don't forgit how you thried, like a brave gossoon, to save that poor chap last night!" "Ah!" I ejaculated, feeling melancholy when he thus brought up Harmer's fate, which had passed out of my mind for the moment. "But you did your best, too, Pat." "Bad was the bist then, alannah, bad cess to it!" said he. "There, now, Mister Leigh, dhrink your coffee an' ha' done with it. The poor chap's gone, and we can't call him back; but have you heard tell of the news? Misther `Old-son-of-a-gun' is moighty bad this morning, too, and the skipper think's he's a going too, by the same token!" "Indeed!" I cried, turning towards the tent, seeing Captain Billings standing close by it. The news was too true. The wetting and shock to the system had completed what a low fever had begun, and Mr Ohlsen's days--nay, hours--were numbered. Ere the sun had again set, we had to mourn the loss of the second of our shipmates! Towards evening of this day, the wind got up again even more fiercely than it had done the night before--the heavy southern billows rolling in again upon the beach with a terrible din, although they could do no harm now to either of our boats, both being snugly sheltered beyond their reach. But when it grew dark, we witnessed a wonderful phenomenon. It made many of the seamen believe that they were dreaming over again the scene connected with the burning of the _Esmeralda_; while others went almost wild with terror, fancying that the end of the world was come--or that, at all events, the natural display we saw of the greatest wonder of the arctic and antarctic worlds, was a portent of fresh disasters to us, greater than all we had already passed through! The heavens were as black as death all around, with no moon. Not a star to be seen; when, all at once, the whole horizon glowed with a living fire, lighting up the ocean in front of us, and reflecting upwards and outwards from the snow-covered peaks on the background of water beyond the beach. The wave-tossed surface of the sea changed to a bright vermilion tint, making it look like a lake of raging flames. Through the crimson sky, streaks of brighter light shot across at intervals from right to left, and back again from left to right, in coruscations of darting sparks that would ever and anon form themselves into crosses and diamonds of different shapes; while, in the middle of this wonderful transformation scene, the wind blew with immense force, howling over sea and land with a wild shriek and deep diapason, accompanied by blinding showers of hail and sleet and snow, that made us all creep under the folds of the canvas of our tent for shelter. "What is this? What does it mean?" I asked Captain Billings, who seemed the only one of us unmoved by the unwonted sight, that had as much terror as grandeur about it. "It is what is called an Austral aurora--the _aurora Australis_, as scientific men term it; though, how it is caused and what it is occasioned by, I'm sure I can't explain to you, my lad. All I know is this, that it is never seen in the vicinity of Cape Horn without a stiff gale and rough weather following in its track; so we had better all of us look out for squalls!" CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. "ALL THE WAY ROUND." The skipper was right in his prognostication about the weather; for, during the next few days, we experienced a terrible gale from the south- west, snow falling without intermission all the time, and making huge drifts to the windward of the island, while even in sheltered places it was over four feet deep, with the pile continually increasing as the flakes drove down in one steady stream. Of course, it was bitterly cold, but, knowing what sort of climate the vicinity of Cape Horn rejoiced in, Captain Billings, before abandoning the ship, had ordered the men to bring all their warm clothes with them, he himself adding to the stock with all the spare blankets he could find in the cabin; and now, although these things were amongst the stores of the long-boat when she capsized, they fortunately escaped being thrown into the sea and lost on her "turning the turtle," for they were securely fastened below the thwarts, so when the boat was recovered they were still to the good all right--with the exception of their being thoroughly soaked in sea water, which an exposure before Pat Doolan's fire, and a hang-out in the fresh breezy air, soon remedied. It was now the month of August, about the coldest time of the year on the coast of Tierra del Fuego, or "The Land of Fire," as this portion of the South American Continent was somewhat inappropriately christened by its original discoverer, the veteran navigator Magalhaens. He called it so, when he sailed round it in 1520, from the fact of the natives lighting watch-fires in every direction as soon as his ship was perceived nearing any of the channels transecting the archipelago, as if to give warning of his approach, a practice still pursued by the Tierra del Fuegans up to the time present, as all voyagers round Cape Horn well know. However, in spite of the inclemency of the season, we made ourselves pretty comfortable. We had lost the greater portion of the three months' stock of provisions we had taken with us; but still we had enough to last for three or four weeks, and Captain Billings hoped to spin out our store by the aid of the different species of wild fowl which frequented the islands, in addition to the abundant supply of fish that the southern waters contain--that is, until, as we hoped, some passing ship should pick us up and convey our little party to more civilised regions. But, while the snowstorm lasted, we all suffered more or less from the severity of the weather, many of the men having their feet and hands frostbitten, and poor Mr Macdougall almost losing his nose! "I say," said Sails to Pat Doolan, on seeing that worthy shivering while trying to re-light the fire--which an avalanche of snow, descending from a precipitous rise above the site of our tent, had suddenly buried, along with the cook's pots and pans, just as he was preparing our morning meal, on the fourth day of the storm--"how about that Manilla guernsey o' yourn now, old flick? Guess it would come in handy, eh!" "Be jabers, an' it would that," replied the Irishman, with much heartiness; "I only wish I had it across me back now, and I was aboard that schooner ag'in; an' faix, I'd die happy!" Pat's fire was soon lighted again; but the fall of snow from above, without any previous warning, might have caused serious injury to some of us if it had come down in the night. It quite broke down our tent, and it took us some hours' hard work, using broken oar-blades for shovels, to dig away the immense heap of frozen debris that the unexpected slip of the accumulation on the top of the cliff had caused. Really, if the avalanche had fallen when we were all inside and asleep, perhaps not one of us would have escaped alive, as it must have been many tons in weight! We thought, from the continuation of the snowstorm, that we would have to endure all the miseries of an antarctic winter; but, towards the evening of the fourth day, the south-westerly gale gradually lost its force, shifting round a bit more to the northwards. Strange to say, although the wind now came from what, in our northern latitudes, we esteem a colder quarter, it was ever so much warmer here, on account of its passing over the warm pampas of the Plate before reaching us, the effect of which soon became apparent in the melting of the snow on the ground as rapidly as when a thaw takes place at home. Properly speaking, however, the snow rather may be said to have dried up than melted, for it was absorbed by the air, which was dry and bracing. The flakes, that had up to now continued coming down without cessation, also ceased to fall--much to our satisfaction, as I need hardly add; for, albeit it is very nice to look out from a warm, well-furnished room at the beautiful winter garb of Nature, and highly enjoyable to go out snowballing, when you can leave it off and go indoors to a jolly fire when you like, it was a very different matter to us now to experience all the discomforts of those dreadful, icy, spongy, little feathery nuisances penetrating beneath every loophole they could find entrance to, in the apology for a tent that we had, and to have our clothing sodden by it, our fire put out, and our blood congealed. Perhaps even the most ardent snow-lover would lose his taste for the soft molecules under such circumstances! On the fifth day, the sun appeared again, when Captain Billings took advantage of the opportunity for getting an observation as to our position, using Mr Macdougall's sextant, his own and mine having gone to the bottom when the long-boat was upset. The skipper, I may add, had also to make use of the mate's watch--the chronometer that had been brought from the ship having shared the fate of the other instruments, standard compass and all having passed into the safe keeping of old Neptune and his Tritons, who, if they cared about the study of meteorology, had a rare haul on this occasion! The observation he now obtained only confirmed the skipper's previous impression that we were on Herschel Island, one of the Hermite, or Cape Horn group, the mountainous peaks of which are mainly composed of green stone, in which hornblende and feldspar are more or less conspicuous, and the presence of iron very apparent, some of the rocks being intensely magnetic, causing the needle of a little pocket compass I had to execute all sorts of strange freaks. When the weather got fine, we took a walk round the island as far as the ridge that bisected it would allow, finding the elevated ground clothed with thickly growing trees, principally a species of spruce fir called the antarctic beech, which runs to a height of some thirty or forty feet, with a girth of five or six feet. It is a magnificent evergreen, and would look well on an English lawn, for it has a splendid spreading head. Beside this beech, there was a pretty little laurel tree, and the arbutus, which one of the sailors, who was from Devonshire, would persist in calling a myrtle bush, although the skipper showed him the berries to convince him to the contrary. There was also a sort of wild strawberry plant plentiful enough about, running like a vine over the rocks under the cliff; but there was nothing like what we call grass to be seen anywhere, only clumps or tussocks of a fibrous material like hemp, with long, ragged, straggling ends. So much for the botany of the island; as for the living creatures, "barring ourselves," as Pat Doolan would have expressed it, there were "race horses," "steamer" ducks, and penguins, besides a species of wild goose that we had seen off the Falkland Islands, and which Sails described to me as being so tough that a shipmate of his, who was once trying to gnaw through the drumstick of one when in Stanley Harbour, had his eye knocked out by the bone "fetching back" sharply through the elasticity of the tendon which his teeth missed hold of--a tough morsel to chew away at, if the yarn be true, eh? But, amongst all these specimens of animated nature, we did not see a trace of any of the natives--a fact which I took care to point out to the skipper, expressing my belief that he had only been romancing about the "cannibals," as he termed them. He, however, denied this. "No, my lad," he said. "The natives of this coast are a small, barbarous race of beings, whom one can hardly call men. They go about in the inclement climate without a rag of covering on, save a bit of raw sealskin which they shift from shoulder to shoulder as a protection against the wind, just as we get a vessel's sails round on the port or starboard tack. "The inhabitants of one island are hostile to those of the next, killing them, and eating them too, whenever they have the chance! They have no sort of government, as most other islanders, even the most savage, have, and, of course, no laws--in which perhaps they are all the better off. They never cultivate the soil, or do anything for a living, as we would say at home; and they mainly occupy the sea-shore, living on whatever mussels they can manage to pick up, and the blubber of any occasional fish they come across. I'm told they also eat that toad-stool we see growing on the beech trees; and if they'd do that, they'd eat anything! Sometimes they venture out long distances to sea in their rude canoes, like catamarans, which they contrive out of a couple of branches of a tree and sealskins sewn together with fish-gut, but they never go without their blessed fire, though--always carrying it along with them wherever they go, up the mountains, on the beach, in their frail boats, the live embers resting always in the latter on a bed of leaves--the reason for this solicitude being, not that they are followers of Zoroaster and worship the god of fire, but because they know the difficulty they would have in rekindling it again if they once allowed it to go out, as Pat Doolan suffered ours to do the other day, when you know the consequences, eh?" "Yes, I remember well," I said, laughing. "We hadn't another match left, none of us having thought of bringing a supply from the ship, save a box which one of the men in the jolly-boat fortunately had in his pocket that first evening of our landing. Then we wanted a fire badly, and couldn't build one until he got ashore, and this box was expended up to the last match; so, on the second occasion, Mr Macdougall had to snap off nearly all the caps he had for his gun before he could get a light, the snow having damped them. Oh, yes, I remember Pat's fire going out very well!" A day or two after this conversation I had the chance of corroborating the skipper's statement about the natives. We had now been on the island nearly a fortnight, and our stores were becoming rapidly diminished; for we were now only twenty-five in all, since Mr Ohlsen and the seaman Harmer had died, but still this was a large number to provide for out of the scanty stock we had left us through the loss of nearly two-thirds of our provisions by the upsetting of the long-boat--the few perishable articles saved when we righted her again being uneatable from the effects of the salt water, which turned the meat putrid and converted our flour and biscuit into the most unpalatable paste. Captain Billings had hoped that some of the sealing schooners that rendezvous about the neighbourhood of Cape Horn, in search of the blubber and skins of the marine animals frequenting the shoals there, would have put in ere this and taken us off the inhospitable shore on which we had been forced to take refuge, or else that some passing ship homeward bound or sailing west into the Pacific would have picked us up; but, never a sail hove in sight, and, as our provisions daily grew less, although the men had been rationed down to a couple of biscuits and an ounce of salt pork per day, something had to be done, or else starvation would quickly stare us in the face! The skipper therefore summoned Mr Macdougall to a consultation, at which I also was allowed to be present, for our sad plight had united us all together on the most brotherly terms, if I may so speak of the relations both the mate and Captain Billings bore towards me--although the skipper had always remembered Sam Pengelly's exhortation on parting with me when he left me in his charge, to "remember the b'y!" I think, too, I have already mentioned that since I had helped to save his life, Mr Macdougall had not only completely changed in his treatment towards me, but was an altogether different man in every respect. The men used to say, "That bath of salt water washed all the confounded bumptiousness out of him!" "I have determined--that is, if you agree with me, Macdougall," said the skipper, when we had assembled in the tent, pointing with his ringer to a spot on a chart of the coast that he had brought with him from the _Esmeralda_, and which the wetting it had received in our spill among the breakers had not damaged very materially, for it looked right enough now, spread out on top of Mr Macdougall's chest, he being lucky enough to get his safe on shore--"I have determined," repeated Captain Billings--"that is, if you agree with me--to make a tour of inspection of the neighbouring islands, to see if we can get any help or some provisions to keep us going until a ship passes." "That's weel, vara weel," said Mr Macdougall, with an approving cough. "And if our quest should be unsuccessful, why, we must proceed to Good Success Bay--that point to the south-east of the mainland, opposite Staten Island--where there'll be more chance of our intercepting a vessel." "Hech, mon, but it's a gude long deestance, I reecken?" replied the mate, in a questioning way. "About a hundred miles I make it," said the skipper, measuring the space on his chart with his fingers, for lack of a pair of callipers. "But, with the southerly and westerly wind that we nearly always have here, the boats ought to fetch the place in a couple of days at most." "Vara weel, Cap'en, I'm ae weelin' to agree to eenything; but I misdoubt tak'ing to the sea since more in yon open boat. 'Twas only the grace o' Proveedence that saved us in landin' here, and we didna get clear off then!" "No, we didn't," said the skipper, with a chuckle. "But we won't essay that long trip yet awhile--at all events, not until we are forced to. We will try the islands near us first; and then, if we meet with no luck there, why, we'll shape a course for Good Success Bay." "All richt, I'm agree'ble," answered Mr Macdougall, quite satisfied that we were not going to put to sea again in a hurry in our frail craft, which were indeed not very staunch to brave the perils of the open sea; so it was decided, accordingly, that the jolly-boat, with a picked party, should proceed the next day on a surveying tour amongst the neighbouring islands. The following morning, therefore, Captain Billings, Jorrocks, and I, with three of the sailors--Mr Macdougall being left behind at his own request in charge of the remainder of the crew--started on the investigating expedition, directing the boat first towards a small island lying-to the westwards, and the closest to us of all that we could distinguish from the beach where our camp was. This island, however, we found to be uninhabited, and even more bare and sterile than the one we had landed on; so, hoisting the small lugsail which the jolly-boat carried, we made over more to the north-west, towards Wollaston Island, the largest in the archipelago, and about the same distance away from us that the Isle of Wight is from Selsea Bill. On reaching this we found a couple of native families living on the shore in rude huts, composed of the branches of trees, and with mud and stones heaped over them. The people were the ugliest I had ever seen, being more like baboons than men and women. They were dwarfish in stature, the tallest of the party not exceeding five feet in height, and the majority of the others quite a foot shorter. I noticed also, as the skipper had told me, that their apparel was of the very scantiest possible, consisting only of a piece of sealskin, which was movable, so that it could be placed on the most convenient side for protecting them against the weather. They were not able to help us much, looking miserably off; but they were hospitable enough, offering us some mussels and fish, and berries similar to those we had seen on the arbutus trees on our own island. If they could not assist us materially, they put us up to one thing, and that was how to catch fish; for, although we had seen many of them jumping in the water, and swimming about the beach in front of our encampment, we had been unable to capture any, owing to there not being a single hook brought in the boats; and, sailors not being accustomed to use pins about their garments, we could not make use of these for a substitute. The Tierra del Fuegans had a rare dodge to supply the deficiency. They fastened a limpet to the end of their lines, and, heaving it into deep water, the fish readily gorges it; when, before he can bring it up again, they pull him out, and thus they get their fish without losing their mussel. "They're just like Turks!" cried Captain Billings, with a broad grin on his face. "Why?" asked I, knowing that something funny was coming. "Because they're regular musselmen!" said the skipper, laughing out loudly at the old joke, Jorrocks and I, of course, joining in. The natives spoke some sort of gibberish of a language which we could not understand; nor could we make them comprehend what we wished to learn with reference to the sealing schooners, although the skipper shouted out the word "ship" to them as loudly as he could bawl, thinking thereby to make himself more intelligible. Seeing, therefore, that we could do no good by remaining here, we started back for Herschel Island to rejoin our companions, getting there before it was dark--much to our own relief and to that of Mr Macdougall, who was anxiously looking out for us. For another fortnight we remained here, experiencing the utmost privation, for our stock of provisions gradually dwindled down, our two- biscuit ration being reduced to one, then to half-a-one a day, and then to none at all, when all of us had to eat berries with the little piece of salt pork served out to us, and an occasional fish that we sometimes succeeded in catching in the native fashion. At last, at the beginning of September, the skipper determined that all hands should put to sea again in the two boats, in order to make our way across the intervening gulf of water to Good Success Bay, at the extreme south-east point of Tierra del Fuego, opposite to Staten Island, on the other side of the Strait of Le Maire. This plan was adopted, and we launched the boats, now much lighter than when they originally had left the poor _Esmeralda_, for they had nothing now to carry but ourselves, save water, our provisions being all exhausted. For three days and nights we suffered terribly from hunger, besides being buffeted about by adverse winds; but, happily, the fourth morning brought us relief, although we had not yet got in sight of Staten Island. Far away on the horizon, on our starboard hand, Jorrocks saw a ship standing to the westward; so, rigging up the long-boat's sails again-- for the wind was contrary to the course we had been trying to fetch, and we had hauled them down in despair, allowing the boats to drift about on the ocean without heart or energy--we made a board to the south, so as to cut off the vessel as she steered towards Cape Horn, taking the jolly-boat in tow behind us, for she spread such little canvas that she could not keep up with the larger boat. Fortunately, the wind held, and the ship did not change her course; so, about mid-day, we came up with her. She was a London vessel, the _Iolanthe_, bound to Valparaiso; so her captain, seeing that we were shipwrecked mariners in distress, took us on board at once, and treated us like brothers, without waiting even to hear our story about the loss of the _Esmeralda_. In thirty days more we were landed at Valparaiso. Here, by rights, I ought to finish my yarn, for I said when I began that I was only going to give a full, fair, and truthful statement as to how I came to go to sea, and of my escape, just by "the skin of my teeth," as the saying goes, from the perils of the ocean off Cape Horn on this first voyage; and now, as the _Esmeralda_ got burnt and her keel and bottom timbers are lying beneath the waves--the catastrophe terminating, of course, my voyage in her, to which this story only refers--what relates to myself further on is of no concern to any one! However, not to leave you in suspense, I'll tell you how I got back home again to old England, although it was by a terribly roundabout route. When we arrived at the _Iolanthe's_ port, Captain Billings took passage home in the mail-steamer for Mr Macdougall and himself, as well as for three of the hands who wished to return to their native country; but the rest preferred to run the risk of picking up a ship and working their way back in that way, so as to have some little money on the landing, the wages due to them from the _Esmeralda_ ceasing from the day of her loss. The men of the mercantile marine have to put up with some hardship in this respect, for, when a vessel in which they may have shipped comes to an untimely end, like our unfortunate barque, they not only lose all their traps and personal belongings, but their wages as well--that is, beyond the period at which they actually assisted in working the ship, although they may have signed articles for a three years' voyage. The skipper offered to take me home, too, but I was of the same opinion as the majority of my late shipmates. I did not desire to go back on Sam Pengelly's hands, like a bad penny, especially as I liked what I had seen of the sea in spite of its perils; so, when I mentioned this to Captain Billings, he said that although he would prefer my coming back to England with him and waiting till he got a fresh ship, he would not interfere with my wishes as to finding another berth at once. Indeed, he added, he already knew of one, as an old friend of his who commanded a ship just leaving Valparaiso for Australia had told him that he wanted a third mate. "And if you like," said the skipper, "I'll recommend you to Captain Giles for the post." "I shall be only too glad," I replied. The skipper did so; and the whole thing was settled off-hand, I signing articles with my new captain the same day, shortly before my late one left in the mail-steamer, which was just on the point of starting. I took a cordial farewell of Captain Billings, promising that as soon as I got back to England, from the voyage I was just starting on, I would look him up. He promised, likewise, to give me a berth on board any ship he commanded--should the Board of Trade not withhold his certificate after the inquiry that would be held on the loss of the _Esmeralda_ on his arrival home; and I may as well state here, that the officials entirely exonerated him from any blame in the destruction of the ship and cargo, putting the matter down to one of the ordinary risks of commercial life. The skipper also promised to see Sam Pengelly for me, and to tell him how I was getting on. These mutual engagements being gone into, I and Jorrocks, having shaken hands with Captain Billings and Mr Macdougall, the latter of whom said he would "never forget me as long as he lived," were both making our way along the front of the one long street that Valparaiso consists of, thinking of taking off a boat soon to our new ship, the _Jackmal_, lying out in the offing--for Jorrocks, learning that Captain Giles wanted a boatswain, and knowing that I was going with him, agreed to go to sea with him in a moment--when, all at once, who should we come full butt on but the very last person in the world I expected to see here. I thought he was still at Dr Hellyer's, at Beachampton, cramming for an Oxford scholarship, as far as I knew to the contrary--who but-- Yes!-- Tom Larkyns, my old chum, who acted so wickedly in concert with me, when we blew up the schoolmaster and ran away to sea! His uncle, he told me, had a foreign agency here; and the old gentleman having written home to his mother offering Tom a situation, he had at once been sent out at his own wish, preferring such a life greatly to that of going to the university and afterwards having to take holy orders, that being the only opening held out to him in England. Tom also related that the Doctor had become a bankrupt, and the school broken up; but I was unable to hear anything further about the scene of my past misdeeds and experiences of "pandying" and "way of his own" of my former master, for while we were yet chatting together, Captain Giles came up, saying he was going off to the _Jackmal_ at once, and would like Jorrocks and myself to come on board with him, as he intended sailing that afternoon. So, wishing Tom good-bye, before many hours were over I was again floating on the deep. From Valparaiso, we sailed to Sydney; then, taking a cargo of all sorts of "notions," as the Yankees say, we went on to Singapore; going thence to Bombay, in ballast. From India we proceeded back again to Australia, going to Melbourne this time; finally coming home to England, round the Cape of Good Hope--a good two years after I joined my new ship; for it was in October that I landed in Liverpool, while I had started away from Cardiff in the _Esmeralda_ two years and five months previously exactly. I was, however, all the better for my absence; for I had saved up over a hundred and fifty pounds, and I had grown a big strapping chap, with whiskers and beard in a small way, of which I was very proud. Need it be asked where I first bent my steps on leaving my ship at Liverpool? Why, to Plymouth, of course! I got there early in the morning; and, being acquainted with Sam Pengelly's every-day practice, I knew exactly where to come across him, that is, unless he should happen to be ill; for every morning--except Sunday, when he always went to church, unless he chanced to be on board his little foretopsail schooner, which was not likely at this time of the year--he was invariably to be found on the Hoe, seated on one of the benches in front of Esplanade Terrace, looking over at the vessels out in the Sound, below and beyond. Here I sought him; and here I found him, sure enough! He did not see me coming; so, going behind the seat on which he was sitting, I clapped him suddenly on the back, exclaiming at the same time, in slight paraphrase of his old address to me that memorable December day when I first heard his friendly voice-- "Hallo, old cockbird! How are you?" Gracious me, you should only have seen him jump! CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. AT HOME AGAIN. Sam Pengelly started up, and looked at me as if he thought I was a ghost. "What, laddie, is it you really?" he exclaimed, peering into my face with his own, which, usually as florid as a peony, was now all white with emotion; while his lips trembled nervously as he spoke. "Why," he said, after a close inspection to see whether I was actually Martin Leigh or else some base impostor assuming his voice and guise, "it _is_ the young cockbird, by all that's living--ain't I glad!" And, then, throwing his arms round me in a bear-like hug, he almost squeezed every particle of breath out of my body. "Now, come along," he said presently, when he could speak again, the kind-hearted fellow's joy choking him at first, and preventing him from uttering a syllable; though he sighed, and drew his breath again in a long sigh like a sob, and finally cleared his throat with a cough that might have been heard on Drake Island. "Where?" I asked. "Why, to Old Calabar Cottage, in course!" he replied, indignantly. "Do you think Jane won't be glad to see you? Why, she's been fretting her heart into fiddle-strings arter you all these last six months that you never wrote, thinking you was gone down to Davy Jones's locker!" "I'm very sorry I couldn't write from Melbourne," I said. "We were so hurried that I had hardly time to get once ashore. You got my other letters, though, eh?" "Oh, aye," replied Sam, as we went along the familiar old Stoke road that I knew so well, although it was now so long since I had seen it. "You've been main good in writin', laddie, an' I don't know what Jane would ha' done without your letters. She thinks you're Teddy still, I believe, and seems to have got fonder than ever of you since you left. Do you know what the woman did when Cap'en Billings came to tell us how he'd seen you, and you was goin' on first-rate?" "No, I'm sure I can't say," I answered. "Blest if she didn't throw her arms round his neck and kiss him--just because he had last seen you!" I did not laugh at this, as Sam did; I only thought of the great affection, which, so undeserved by me, I had drawn from Jane Pengelly's great heart! Presently, we came in sight of the cottage. There it was, porch, creepers, and all, just as I had left it, only now the glow of the fuchsias had gone, with that of the scarlet geraniums and other flowers of summer; still, the autumn tints of the Virginian creeper, hanging down in festoons of russet and yellow and red from the roof, gave all the colouring that was wanted. Sam opened the door and walked in, as usual; but it was before his usual time for returning from Plymouth, so Jane came out of the kitchen in surprise--this I could hear, for I remained without in the porch till he had warned her of my coming. "Deary me, Sam, you are early," she said. "Why, the pasty won't be done for an hour and more." "What, have you got a Mevagissey pie ag'in for dinner?" "Yes, Sam," she replied. "Now, that's curious," Sam said. I could almost have felt certain that I knew what he was doing when he spoke those words in that way. He must have taken off his hat and begun scratching his head reflectively with the other hand, I'm certain! "Curious?" repeated Jane. "Why?" "Why, because we had it for dinner when the poor laddie left us." "Deary me!" exclaimed Jane, her voice full of alarm. "There's no tidings of any harm come to he, surely!" "No, no, Jane, my woman," said he, "the lad's all right; 'fact, I've-- I've seen him this morning." "This morning!" cried she, all excitement. "Why, what are you holding the door back for? It's him--he's here!" And, in another moment, my second mother, as I shall always call her, was clinging round my neck with almost more than a mother's love for me--if that were possible! "Deary me!" she said a little while after, "isn't he like Teddy, now?" Sam burst out laughing. "Why, Teddy was a slim boy of fourteen, and this laddie here's a fine strapping fellow, nearly six feet high, and as broad in the beam as a Dutch sloop!" However, Jane wouldn't be convinced but that I was the very image of her own lost child; and, as I had all her wealth of affection in consequence, I'm sure I have no reason to complain. I took up my quarters at "Old Calabar Cottage," as Sam loved to hear people call it, rolling out the full name himself with great gusto; and, in a little while, as things went on in the old way, I got so accustomed to everything around me that I could almost fancy my first voyage and the burning of the _Esmeralda_ were a dream, as well as all my later experiences of the sea. But, after a time, I began to long again to be on the deep, desiring once more to be daring its dangers and glorying in that "life on the ocean wave" which, once tasted by the true-born sailor, can never be given up altogether. I had just begun to deliberate with myself as to what sort of ship I should seek, and whither I would prefer to voyage for my next trip, when Sam came back from Plymouth one morning brimful of news. "Well, laddie--who d'ye think I met to-day?" he called out to me, almost before he was quite inside the house. "I'm sure I can't guess," I replied. "Who?" "Why, Cap'en Billings, my cockbird!" "Captain Billings!" I said, with surprise. "I thought he was in China." "No, but he's going there this voyage." "This voyage?" I repeated questioningly, after Sam had said the words. "Aye, laddie; he's got a bran' new ship, which the owners of the _Esmeralda_ have had built, and just made him skipper of. And, what do you think, laddie?" "I'm sure I can't tell," said I. "He's going to have a bran' new second mate, who he hears has just got his certificate from the Trinity House Board--that is, if he'll accept the berth under his old captain." "What!" I exclaimed, breathless with excitement, "does he offer to take me with him as he promised?" "Aye, laddie, the berth's open to you if you'll have it, he says. Will you go?" "Go?" I repeated, "of course I will!" And so it came about that I am going to sail under my old skipper again. THE END. 
21813	----	THE MADMAN AND THE PIRATE, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE. CHAPTER ONE. A beautiful island lying like a gem on the breast of the great Pacific-- a coral reef surrounding, and a calm lagoon within, on the glass-like surface of which rests a most piratical-looking schooner. Such is the scene to which we invite our reader's attention for a little while. At the time of which we write it was an eminently peaceful scene. So still was the atmosphere, so unruffled the water, that the island and the piratical-looking schooner seemed to float in the centre of a duplex world, where every cloudlet in the blue above had its exact counterpart in the blue below. No sounds were heard save the dull roar of the breaker that fell, at long regular intervals, on the seaward side of the reef, and no motion was visible except the back-fin of a shark as it cut a line occasionally on the sea, or the stately sweep of an albatross, as it passed above the schooner's masts and cast a look of solemn inquiry upon her deck. But that schooner was not a pirate. She was an honest trader--at least so it was said--though what she traded in we have no more notion than the albatross which gazed at her with such inquisitive sagacity. Her decks were not particularly clean, her sails by no means snow-white. She had, indeed, four goodly-sized carronades, but these were not an extraordinary part of a peaceful trader's armament in those regions, where man was, and still is, unusually savage. The familiar Union Jack hung at her peak, and some of her men were sedate-looking Englishmen, though others were Lascars and Malays, of the cut-throat type, of whom any wickedness might be expected when occasion served. The crew seemed to have been overcome by the same somnolent influence that had subdued Nature, for they all lay about the deck sleeping or dozing in various sprawling attitudes, with the exception of the captain and the mate. The former was a huge, rugged man of forbidding aspect, and obviously savage temper. The latter--well, it is not easy to say what were his chief characteristics, so firmly did he control the features of a fine countenance in which the tiger-like blue eyes alone seemed untamable. He was not much above the middle height; but his compact frame was wiry and full of youthful force. "Lower away the dinghy," said the captain, gruffly, to the mate, "and let one of these lazy lubbers get into her with a box of figs. Get into her yourself? I may want you." The mate replied with a stern "Ay, ay, sir," and rose from the gun-carriage on which he had been seated, while the captain went below. In a few minutes the latter reappeared, and soon the little boat with its three occupants was skimming over the lagoon towards the land. On that land a strange and interesting work was going on at the time. It was no less than the erection of a church by men who had never before placed one stone upon another--at least with a view to house-building. The tribe to which these builders belonged had at first received their missionary with yells of execration, had torn the garments from his back, had kicked him into the sea and would infallibly have drowned him if the boat from which he landed had not returned in haste and rescued him. Fortunately, that missionary was well accustomed to a state of nudity, being himself a South Sea islander. He was also used to a pretty rough life, besides being young and strong. He therefore soon recovered from the treatment he had received, and, not many weeks afterwards, determined to make another attempt to land on the island of Ratinga--as our coral-gem on the ocean's breast was named. For Waroonga's heart had been opened by the Holy Spirit to receive Jesus Christ, and the consequent flame of love to the souls of his countrymen burned too brightly to be quenched by a first failure. The desire to possess the little box of clothes and trifles with which he had landed on Ratinga had been the cause, he thought, of the savages attacking him; so he resolved to divest himself totally of this world's goods and go to his brethren with nothing but the Word of God in his hand. He did so. The mission-boat once again conveyed him from headquarters to the scene of his former discomfiture, and, when close to the beach, where the natives awaited the landing of the party with warlike demonstrations, he slipped out of his clothes into the water and swam ashore--the Bible, in the native tongue, being tied carefully on the top of his head to keep it dry. Surprise at this mode of proceeding caused the natives to receive him with less violence than before. Their curiosity led them to listen to what he had to say. Then a chief named Tomeo took him by the shoulders, placed his nose against that of Waroonga and rubbed it. This being equivalent to a friendly shake of the hand, the missionary signalled to his friends in the boat to go away, which they accordingly did, and left their courageous brother to his fate. It is not our purpose to recount the whole history of this good man's enterprise. Let it suffice to say that the natives of Ratinga turned round, childlike--and they were little more than grown up children-- swallowed all he had to say and did all he bid them do--or nearly all, for of course there were a few self-willed characters among them who objected at first to the wholesale changes that Waroonga introduced in their manners and customs. In the course of a few months they formally embraced Christianity, burned their idols, and solemnly promised that if any more unfortunate ships or boats chanced to be wrecked on their shores they would refrain from eating the mariners. Thus much accomplished, Waroonga, in the joy of his heart, launched a canoe, and with some of his converts went off to headquarters to fetch his wife. He fetched her, and she fetched a fat little brown female baby along with her. Missionaries to the Southern seas, as is well known, endeavour to impress on converts the propriety, not to say decency, of a moderate amount of clothing. Mrs Waroonga--who had been named Betsy-- was therefore presented to the astonished natives of Ratinga in a short calico gown of sunflower pattern with a flounce at the bottom, a bright yellow neckerchief, and a coal-scuttle bonnet, which quivered somewhat in consequence of being too large and of slender build. Decency and propriety not being recognised, apparently, among infants, the brown baby--who had been named Zariffa at baptism--landed in what may be styled Adamite costume. Then Waroonga built himself a bamboo house, and set up a school. Soon after that he induced a half Italian, half Spanish sailor, named Antonio Zeppa, who had been bred in England, to settle with his wife and son on the island, and take charge of the school. For this post Zeppa and his wife were well qualified, both having received an education beyond that usually given to persons in their rank of life. Besides this, Antonio Zeppa had a gigantic frame, a genial disposition, and a spirit of humility, or rather childlike simplicity, which went far to ingratiate him with the savages. After several years' residence in this field of labour, Waroonga conceived the grand idea of building a house of God. It was to be built of coral-rock, cemented together with coral-lime! Now, it was while the good people of Ratinga were in the first fervour of this new enterprise, that the dinghy with its three occupants approached their shore. At that particular point of time the walls of the new church had begun to rise above the foundations, for the chief, Tomeo, had entered into the matter with intense enthusiasm, and as Tomeo was supreme chief, every one else felt bound to follow his example and work hard; but, to do them justice, they required no stimulant; the whole community entered into it with inexpressible glee. Zeppa taught them everything, because no one else knew anything, except of course Waroonga, who, however, was not much in advance of his native congregation save in spiritual matters. Zeppa showed them how to burn lime out of the coral-rock, and they gazed with open-eyed--and open-mouthed wonder at the process. Then the great chief Tomeo gave the word to burn lime, and Buttchee, the chief second in command, backed him up by kicking the native nearest to his foot and echoing the order, "Go, burn lime!" The entire population began to burn lime forthwith, and would have gone on burning lime enough to have built a South Sea pyramid equal to Cheops, if they had not been checked and their blazing energies turned into stone-hewing and dressing, and other channels. Thus the work went on merrily, and so engrossed were they with it that they did not at first observe the arrival of the visitors. Of course they were aware of the schooner's presence, and had been off to her the previous day, before she had furled her sails, to offer fruits and vegetables; but it was some time before they discovered that three strangers had landed and were gazing at them while they toiled. Zeppa had a black servant, a negro, whom he had induced to follow him. This man took a prominent oversight of the works. He was by nature a cook, but church-building occupied his leisure moments, and he prided himself upon being not only cleverer, but considerably blacker, than the islanders. "Now you keep out ob de road, leetil Za." This was addressed to Zariffa, who, by that time, could not only toddle but trowel, besides being able to swim like a duck. "Take care, missy Za, dat clumsy feller wid the big stone--let him fall, and--oh!" The negro gave vent to a yell, for the accident he feared actually occurred. The clumsy native let a huge piece of coral-rock fall from his shoulder, which just missed crushing the brown little girl. It dropped on a mass of soft lime, which flew up in all directions, making Zariffa piebald at once, and, what was more serious, sending a lump straight into Tomeo's face. This was too much for the great man. He seized the culprit by the neck, and thrust his brown visage down upon the lime, from which he arose white, leaving a beautiful cast of his features behind him. Tomeo was pacified at once. He burst into a loud laugh, while the guilty man slunk humbly away, not, however, without receiving a salute from Buttchee's active foot in passing. At this moment Zeppa came up, holding his son Orlando, a well-grown lad of fourteen, by the hand. He at once observed the captain of the schooner, and, going forward, shook hands with him and the mate. He had made their acquaintance the day before, when the vessel anchored in the lagoon. "I have come to say good-bye, Mr Zeppa. We have finished taking in fresh water sooner than I had expected, and will be ready to sail with the evening breeze." "Indeed? I regret this for various reasons" replied Zeppa, in a soft musical voice, that one scarcely expected to issue from such a capacious chest. There was about the man an air of gentle urbanity and tenderness which might have induced a stranger to suppose him effeminate, had not his manly looks and commanding stature rendered the idea absurd. "In the first place," he continued, "my wife and I had hoped to show you some hospitality. You know we seldom have visitors to this out-of-the-way island. Then we wanted your advice with regard to the building of our church, which, you see, is progressing rapidly; and last, but not least, I wished to ask a favour, which it will be impossible to grant if you sail to-night." "Perhaps not impossible," said Captain Daniel, whose gruff nature was irresistibly mellowed by the sweet spirit of the giant who addressed him. "What d'ye want me to do?" "I meant to ask a passage in your vessel for my son and myself to the island of Otava. It is not far off, and you said yesterday that you intend to pass close to it. You see, I am something of a trader, as well as a missionary-schoolmaster; but if you sail to-night I have not time to get ready." "If that's all your difficulty," returned the captain, "I'll delay till to-morrow night. A day won't make much difference--will it, Mr Rosco?" he said, turning to the mate. "You know best" replied the mate somewhat sharply, "I don't command the schooner." The captain looked at the officer with an angry frown, and then, turning quickly to Zeppa, said-- "Well, if that time will do, it is settled. You and your son may go with me. And, see here, I've brought a box of figs for your wife, since you won't take anything for the help you gave me this morning." "You shall present it yourself," said Zeppa, with a pleased smile. "Hi! Ebony," hailing the negro, "tell Marie to come here. She is in the palm-grove." Ebony found his mistress and delivered his message. Madame Zeppa was a pretty little fair woman, of French extraction. She had been a lady's-maid, and, having been born and brought up chiefly in England, spoke English fluently, though with a slightly foreign accent derived from her mother. "Missis," said the negro, in a low voice, and with a mysterious look, as he followed her out of the palm-grove, "massa him wants to go wid schooner. Don' let him go." "Why not, Ebony?" "Kase I no likes him." "You don't like the schooner?" "No, de cappin ob de skooner. Hims bad man for certin. Please don' let massa go." "You know I never give master his orders," returned madame, with a light laugh. "Better if you did, now an' den," muttered the negro, in a tone, however, which rendered the advice not very distinct. The fair little woman received the box of figs graciously; the captain and mate were invited to the abode of Zeppa, where they met the native missionary, and soon after returned to their vessel to make preparations for departure. "Marie," said Zeppa that night as they, with their boy, sat down to rest after the labours of the day, "I expect to be away about three weeks. With anything of a wind the schooner will land us on Otava in two or three days. Business won't detain me long, and a large canoe, well manned, will bring Orlando and me back to you in a week or so. It is the first time I shall have left you for so long since our wedding. You won't be anxious, little woman?" "I would not be anxious if I were sure you went with good people," returned Marie, with a slightly troubled look; "but are you sure of the captain?" "I am sure of nobody except you, Marie," returned her husband, with a smile that contained a dash of amusement in it. "And me, father," said Orlando, assuming an injured look. "Well, Orley, I can't say that I am quite sure of you, you rascal," returned his father playfully. "That spice of mischief in your composition shakes me at times. However, we will leave that question to another time. Meanwhile, what makes you doubt the captain, Marie?" "Ebony seems to doubt him; and I have great faith in Ebony's judgment." "So have I; but he is not infallible. We should never get on in life if we gave way to groundless fears, dear wife. Besides, have we not the promise, `Lo, I am with you alway?'" On the following afternoon a fresh breeze sprang up and the piratical-looking schooner, bowing gracefully before it, sailed across the now ruffled lagoon and stood out to sea, while Marie with the missionary and his wife, and a crowd of natives, stood at the end of the coral wharf, waving farewell to Zeppa and his son as long as their figures could be distinguished. After that, they continued to gaze at the diminishing vessel until it melted like a little speck at the meeting-place of sea and sky. That night an event which had been long pending was precipitated. Captain Daniel had given way to his fierce temper so often during the voyage, and had behaved with such cruel tyranny to his crew, that they had resolved to stand it no longer. His harsh conduct to the mate, in particular, who was a favourite with the men, had fostered the spirit of indignation, and the mate himself, being a man of no fixed principles, although good-natured enough when not roused, had at last determined to side with the men. He was a man of fierce passions, and had been roused by his superior's tyranny and insolence to almost uncontrollable fury; but he had not at that time been guilty of absolute insubordination. When the vessel's course had been laid that night--which chanced to be a Friday, as some of the crew afterwards remembered--and the cabin lamp had been lighted, the captain sent for the mate, who saw by his looks that a storm was brewing. "What did you mean, sir," began the captain at once, "by that insolent reply you made to me on shore yesterday?" The young man might have answered temperately if they had been alone, but Zeppa was lying on a locker reading, and his son was also present, and Rosco knew that the captain meant to put him to shame before them. His spirit fired. "Scoundrel!" he cried, "the measure of your iniquity is filled. You shall no longer command this schooner--" Thus far he got when the captain, livid with rage, sprang up to rush at him. Zeppa also leaped up to aid in putting down what he clearly perceived was premeditated mutiny, but the mate sprang out of the cabin, and, shutting the door with a bang, locked it. At the same instant the man at the wheel--knowing what had occurred--closed and fastened the cabin sky-light. The captain threw himself several times with all his weight against the door, but it opened inwards and could not be forced. There were two square windows in the stern of the schooner, one of which was open. Orlando perceived this, sprang up, clambered through it, gained the deck unperceived, and, running down the companion stair, past all the men, rushed against the cabin door, and burst it open. Zeppa was endeavouring at the moment to wrench off the lock and was nearly thrown back. Recovering, he struck fiercely out at those who thronged the dark passage. "Oh! father," groaned Orlando, as he fell before the blow. With a terrible cry of consternation Zeppa stooped to pick up his child. He was felled with a handspike as he did so; the crew then rushed into the cabin and the captain was overpowered and bound. "Overboard wi' them all!" shouted one of the men. There were some among these villains who, having once given the reins to their rage, were capable of anything. These, ready to act on the diabolical suggestion, attempted to drag Zeppa and the captain up the companion ladder, but their great size and weight rendered the effort difficult. Besides, Zeppa's consciousness was returning, and he struggled powerfully. It was otherwise with poor Orlando. One of the ruffians easily raised the lad's light frame and bore him to the deck. Next moment a sharp cry and splash were heard. Zeppa understood it, for he had seen his son carried away. With a wild shout he burst from those who held him, and would certainly have gained the deck and leaped overboard had not a mutineer from behind felled him a second time. When Rosco heard what had been done he ran furiously on deck, but one glance at the dark sea, as the schooner rushed swiftly over it sufficed to show him that the poor boy's case was hopeless. But Orley's case was not as hopeless as it seemed. The plunge revived him. Accustomed to swim for hours at a time in these warm waters, he found no difficulty in supporting himself. Of course his progress was aimless, for he could not see any distance around him, but a friend had been raised up for him in that desperate hour. At the moment he had been tossed overboard, a sailor, with a touch of pity left in his breast had seized a life-buoy and thrown it after him. Orlando, after swimming about for a few minutes, struck against this buoy by chance--if we may venture to use that word in the circumstances. Seizing the life-preserver with an earnest "thank God" in his heart if not on his lips, he clung to it and looked anxiously around. The sight was sufficiently appalling. Thick darkness still brooded on the deep, and nothing was visible save, now and then, the crest of a breaking wave as it passed close to him, or, rolling under him, deluged his face with spray. CHAPTER TWO. When Antonio Zeppa recovered consciousness, he found himself lying on a mattress in the schooner's hold, bound, bleeding, and with a dull and dreadful sense of pain at his breast, which at first he could not account for. Ere long the sudden plash of a wave on the vessel's side recalled his mind to his bereavement; and a cry--loud, long, and terrible--arose from the vessel's hold, which caused even the stoutest and most reckless heart on board to quail. Richard Rosco--now a pirate captain--heard it as he sat alone in his cabin, his elbows resting on the table, and his white face buried in his hands. He did not repent--he could not repent; at least so he said to himself while the fires kindled by a first great crime consumed him. Men do not reach the profoundest depths of wickedness at one bound. The descent is always graduated--for there are successive rounds to the ladder of sin--but it is sometimes awfully sudden. When young Rosco left England he had committed only deeds which men are apt lightly to name the "follies" of youth. These follies, however, had proved to be terrible leaks through which streams of corruption had flowed in upon his soul. Still, he had no thought of becoming a reckless or heartless man, and would have laughed to scorn any one who should have hinted that he would ever become an outlaw and a pirate. But oppression bore heavily on his hasty, ill-disciplined temper, and now the lowest round of the ladder had been reached. Even in this extremity he did not utterly give way. He would not become an out-and-out pirate. He would merely go forth as a plunderer to revenge himself on the world which had used him so ill. He would rob-- but he would not kill; except of course in self-defence, or when men refused to give up what he demanded. He would temper retributive justice with mercy, and would not suffer injury to women or children. In short, he would become a semi-honourable, high-minded sort of pirate, pursuing wealth without bloodshed! True, in the sad case of poor Orlando, he had not managed to steer clear of murder; but then that deed was done without his orders or knowledge. If his comrades in crime had agreed, he would have preferred some sort of smuggling career; but they would not listen to that, so he had at last consented to hoist the black flag. While the wretched youth was endeavouring to delude himself and gather crumbs of comfort from such thoughts as these, the awful cry from the ship's hold again rang out, and as his thoughts reverted to the bereaved father, and the fair, light-hearted little mother on Ratinga Island, the deadly pallor that overspread his countenance was intensified. Rising hastily--with what intent he himself hardly knew--he proceeded to the hold. It was broad day at the time, and sufficient light penetrated the place to reveal the figure of Antonio Zeppa crouching on his mattress, with his chin upon his knees, his handsome face disfigured with the blood that had dried upon it, and a wild, fierce light gleaming in his eyes. He did not speak or move when Rosco entered and sat down on the head of a cask near him. "Zeppa," he said, with intense earnestness, "as God shall be my judge, I did not mean to--to--throw--to do this to your boy. It was done without my knowledge." "Hah!" burst from the stricken father; but nothing more, while he continued to gaze in the pirate captain's face. "Indeed it is true," continued Rosco hurriedly. "I had no intention of letting murder be done. I would not even slay the captain who has used me so ill. I would give my life if I could alter it now--but I cannot." "Hah!" gasped Zeppa again, still keeping his eyes fixed on Rosco's face. "Don't look at me that way," pleaded the pirate, "as if I had done the deed. You know I didn't. I swear I didn't! If I had been there, I would have saved Orlando at the cost of--" He was interrupted at this point by the repetition of the cry which had before reached him in the cabin; but how much more awful did that despairing cry sound near at hand, as it issued full, deep-toned, and strong, from the chest of the Herculean man! There was a difference in it also this time--it terminated in a wild, fiendish fit of laughter, which caused Rosco to shrink back appalled; for now he knew that he confronted a maniac! For some minutes the madman and the pirate sat gazing at each other in silent horror. Then the latter rose hastily and turned to leave the hold. As he did so, the madman sprang towards him, but he was checked by the chains which bound him, and fell heavily on the deck. Returning to the cabin, Rosco went to a locker and took out a case bottle, from which he poured half a tumbler of brandy and drank it. Then he summoned the man who had been appointed his second in command. "Redford," he said, assuming, by a mighty effort of self-restraint a calm tone and manner, "you told me once of a solitary island lying a long way to the south of the Fiji group. D'you think you could lay our course for it?" "I'm sure I could, sir; but it is very much out of the way of commerce, and--" "There is much sandal-wood on it, is there not?" asked Rosco, interrupting him. "Ay, sir, plenty of that, an' plenty of fierce natives too, who will give us a warm reception. I would--" "So much the better," returned the captain, with a cynical smile, again interrupting; "we may be able to obtain a load of valuable wood for nothing, and get rid of our cowards at the same time. Go, lay our course for--what's the island's name?" "I don't know its right name, sir; but we call it Sugar-loaf Island from the shape of one end of it." "That will do. And hark ye, friend, when I give orders or ask questions in future, don't venture to offer advice or raise objections. Let the crew understand that we must be able to pass for lawful traders, and that a load of sandal-wood will answer our purpose well enough. It will be your wisdom, also, to bear in mind that discipline is as useful on board a Free Rover as on board a man-of-war, and that there is only one way to maintain it." The pirate captain pointed to a brace of pistols that lay on the table beside him, and said, "Go." Redford went, without uttering another word. His was one of those coarse natures which are ever ready to presume and take advantage when there is laxity in discipline, but which are not difficult to subdue by a superior will. He forthwith spread the report that the new captain was a "stiff un," a fact which nearly all the men were rather glad than otherwise to hear. For some days after leaving Ratinga a stiff breeze enabled the schooner--which had been re-named by its crew the "Free Rover"--to proceed southward rapidly. Then a profound calm succeeded, and for a couple of days the vessel lay almost motionless on the sea. During all this time the poor maniac in her hold lay upon his blood-stained couch, for no one dared--at least no one cared--to approach him. At meal times the cook pushed a plate of food within his reach. He usually took no notice of this until, hunger constrained him to devour a little, almost savagely. No word would he speak, but moaned continually without intermission, save when, in a burst of uncontrollable anguish, he gave vent to the terrible cry which so weighed on the spirits of the men, that they suggested to each other the propriety of throwing the father overboard after the son. Redford's report of his interview with the captain, however, prevented the suggestion being acted on. It is possible that the two tremendous blows which Zeppa had received during the mutiny may have had something to do with his madness; but there can be no doubt that the intense mutual affection which had subsisted between him and his only child, and the sudden and awful manner of that child's end, were of themselves sufficient to account for it. For Orlando had been all that a father could wish; loving, gentle, tender, yet lion-like and courageous in action, with a powerful frame like that of his father, and a modest, cheerful spirit like that of his mother. No wonder that both parents doted on him as their noblest terrestrial gift from God. "And now," thought the crushed man, as he crouched on his mattress in the hold, "he is gone,--snatched away before my eyes, suddenly and _for ever_!" It was when this thought recurred, again and again, that the cry of agony burst from him, but it was invariably succeeded by the thought, "No, not _for ever_. Orlando is with the Lord. We shall see him again, Marie and I, when we reach the better land." And then Zeppa would laugh lightly, but the laugh would merge again into the bitter cry, as the thought would recur persistently--"gone--gone-- for ever!" Oh! it was pitiful to see the strong man thus reduced, and reason dethroned; and terrible were the pangs endured by the pirate chief as he heard and saw; but he had now schooled himself to accept what he called his "fate," and was able to maintain a calm, indifferent demeanour before his men. Of course he never for a moment, during all that time, thought of crying to God for mercy, for as long as a man continues to ascribe his sins and their consequences to "fate," he is a rampant and wilful, besides being an unphilosophical, rebel against his Maker. At last, one afternoon, the peak of Sugar-loaf Island was descried on the horizon, close to where the sun was descending amid a world of golden clouds. "Which side is the best for landing on!" asked the captain of his mate. "The southern end, sir, which is steep and uninhabited," said Redford. In half an hour they were under the shelter of the cliffs close to a creek, at the inner end of which there was a morsel of flat beach. Beyond this lay a richly wooded piece of land, which seemed to be connected with a gorge among the hills. "Lower the boat" said Rosco. "Have three men ready, and, when I call, send them to the hold." He descended as he spoke, and approached Zeppa, who looked at him with unmistakable ferocity. "You are going on shore," he said to the poor madman, who seemed neither to comprehend nor to care for what he said. "Once again," continued Rosco, after a pause, "I tell you that I had no hand in the death of your son. My men, if they had their way, would soon treat you as they treated him. They want to get rid of you, so, to save your life, I must send you on shore. It is an island--inhabited. I hope the natives will prove friendly to you. I hope you will get well--in time. Do you understand what I say?" Zeppa neither spoke nor moved, but continued to glare at the man whom he evidently regarded as his deadliest foe. A touch of pity seemed to influence the pirate captain, for he added in a softer tone, "I would have taken you with me, if it had been possible, and landed you on Ratinga. Perhaps that may yet be done. At any rate I will return to this island--we shall meet again." At last the madman spoke, in a harsh, grating tone,--"If we meet again, you shall die!" "I will do my best to avoid that fate," returned Rosco, with a touch of sarcasm. "Ho! lads! come down." Three powerful seamen, who had stood at the hatchway awaiting the summons, descended, and at once laid hold of Zeppa. To their surprise, he made no resistance. To every one but the captain he behaved liked a lamb. Having been placed in the bottom of the boat alongside, with his hands still bound, they shoved off, and Rosco, taking the tiller, steered for the little creek. The instant the keel touched the land two of the men jumped out and hauled the boat ashore. The others assisted Zeppa to land. They led him to a grassy bank, and bade him sit down. He obeyed meekly, and sat there gazing at the ground as if unable to comprehend what was being done. Rosco remained in the boat while a small box of biscuit was conveyed to the spot and left at the side of Zeppa. Then, removing his bonds, the men re-embarked and returned to the schooner, which soon left that part of the island far astern. While it receded, the pirate captain kept his glass fixed on the wretched man whom he had thus forsaken. He saw that Zeppa never once turned his head seaward, but, after gazing in a state of abstraction at the ground for some time, rose and sauntered slowly inland. He did not appear to observe the small supply of provision left for his use. With his chin sunk upon his breast and his hands clasped behind him, he appeared to wander aimlessly forward until his tall figure was lost to view among the palm-groves that fringed the bottom of the mountain. Leaving him there, we shall turn now to poor Orlando, who had been tossed so unceremoniously into the sea. Probably the reader is aware that the water of the southern seas is, in many parts, so much warmer than that of our northern climes, that people may remain in it for hours without being chilled. Hence natives of the coral islands are almost amphibious, and our young hero, having spent much of his life among these islands, could swim for the greater part of a day without becoming exhausted. When, therefore, he caught hold of the life-preserver, as stated in the last chapter, he clung to it with some degree of confidence; but by degrees the depressing influence of continued darkness began to tell upon him, and he became less and less hopeful of deliverance. He bethought him of the great distance they had sailed from Ratinga before the mutiny broke out, and the utter impossibility of his being able to swim back. Then he thought of sharks, and a nervous tendency to draw up his legs and yell out affected him. But the thought of his father, and of the probable fate that awaited him, at length overbore all other considerations, and threw the poor boy into such a state of despair, that he clung to the life-preserver for a long time in a state of semi-stupor. At last the day dawned faintly in the east and the glorious sun arose, and Orley's heart was cheered. From earliest infancy he had been taught to pray, so you may be sure he did not fail at this crisis in his young life. But no answer was returned to his prayer until a great part of the weary day had passed, and he had begun to look forward with dread to the approaching night. As evening advanced, exhaustion began to creep over him, and more than once he felt himself slipping from his support under the influence of sleep. The struggle to retain consciousness now became terrible. He fought the battle in many ways. Sometimes he tried to shake himself up by shouting. Then he again had recourse to prayer, in a loud voice. Once he even attempted to sing, but his heart failed him, and at last he could do nothing but grasp the life-buoy and cling with all the tenacity of despair. And, oh! what thoughts of his mother came over him then! It seemed as if every loving act and look of hers was recalled to his mind. How he longed to clasp her once more in his arms and kiss her before he died! While these thoughts were gradually taking the form of a hazy dream, he was rudely aroused by something grasping his hair. Sharks, of course, leaped to his mind, and he struggled round with a wild gurgling shriek, for the grasp partially sank him. Then he felt himself violently dragged upwards, and his eyes encountered the dark face and glittering eye-balls of a savage. Then was Orley's cry of fear turned into a shout of joy, for in that dark countenance he recognised the face of a friend. A canoe full of Ratinga natives had nearly run him down. They had been absent on an expedition, and were alike ignorant of the visit of the Free Rover and the departure of Antonio Zeppa. Their astonishment at finding Orlando in such a plight was only equalled by their curiosity to know how he had come there; but they were compelled to exercise patience, for the poor boy, overcome by mingled joy and exhaustion, fell back in a swoon almost as soon as he was hauled out of the water. Need we describe the state into which poor Madame Zeppa was thrown when Orlando returned to her?--the strange mingling of grief and terrible anxiety about her husband's fate, with grateful joy at the restoration of her son? We think not! Ebony, the faithful and sable servitor of the family, got hold of Orlando as soon as his poor mother would let him go, and hurried him off to a certain nook in the neighbouring palm-grove where he was wont to retire at times for meditation. "You's quite sure yous fadder was not shooted?" he began, in gasping anxiety, when he had forced the boy down on a grassy bank. "I think not," replied Orley, with a faint smile at the negro's eagerness. "But you must remember that I was almost unconscious from the blow I received, and scarce knew what was done." "But you no hear no shootin'?" persisted Ebony. "No; and if any shots had been fired, I feel certain I should have heard and remembered them." "Good! den der's a chance yous fadder's alive, for if de no hab shooted him at first, de no hab de heart to shoot him arterwards. No, he'd smile away der wikitness; de _couldn'_ do it." Orlando was unable to derive much comfort from this sanguine view of the influence of his father's smile--bright and sweet though he knew it to be--yet with the energy of youth he grasped at any straw of hope held out to him. All the more that Ebony's views were emphatically backed up by the chiefs Tomeo and Buttchee, both of whom asserted that Zeppa had never failed in anything he had ever undertaken, and that it was impossible he should fail now. Thus encouraged, Orlando returned home to comfort his mother. CHAPTER THREE. But Orley's mother refused to be comforted. What she had heard or read of pirates induced her to believe that mercy must necessarily be entirely banished from their hearts; and her husband, she knew full well, would sooner die than join them. Therefore, she argued in her despair, Antonio must have perished. "But mother," said Orley, in a soothing tone, "you must remember that Rosco and his men are not regular pirates. I only heard them shout `Hoist the black flag!' when they seized me; but that does not prove that they did hoist it, or that Rosco agreed to do so. They were only mutineers, you see, and not hardened villains." "Hardened enough when they threw you overboard, my son," returned poor little Madame Zeppa, with a sob. "True; but that was in the hurry of the rising, and without orders from Rosco, as far as I know. Besides, mother, have you not often told me that God will never forsake His own children? Surely, then, He will not forsake father." "No, oh, no! the good Lord will never forsake him. He will certainly deliver his soul from sin and death; but God sometimes sees fit to allow the bodies of His children to suffer and die. It may be so now." "Yes, mother, but also it may _not_ be so now. Let us take a hopeful view, and do what we can to find out--to find--to--" Poor Orlando broke down here, laid his head on his little mother's shoulder, and wept for his mind had suddenly run itself blank. What was there to find out? what could they do? Nothing, absolutely nothing, except pray; and they did that fervently. Then Orley went out to consult again with his friends. Alas! there was no other outlet for their grief, save prayer and consultation, for action was, in the circumstances, impossible. "Bin t'ink, t'inkin' horroble hard all last night. Couldn' sleep a wink," said Ebony one day, some weeks after the return of Orlando, when, according to custom, he and the native missionary and his wife, with the chiefs Tomeo and Buttchee, assembled for a consultation in the palm-grove. "What have you been thinking about?" asked Orley. "Yous fadder, ob course." "Of course," repeated the boy, "but what have you been thinking about him--anything new?" "Not zackly noo," returned the negro, with a very earnest look, "but ole t'oughts turned in a noo d'rection. Sit down, Tomeo, an' I will tell you--an' try to forgit yous hat if poss'ble. It's 'xtroarnar good lookin', a'most as much good lookin' as yousself, so you got no occashin to be always t'inkin' about it." We may remark here that both Tomeo and Buttchee understood a little of Ebony's English, though they could not speak a word. The reader will understand, therefore, that when we put words in their mouths we only give a free translation of their language. In like manner Ebony understood a little of the Ratinga tongue, but could not speak much of it, and Waroonga, who himself spoke uncommonly bad, though fluent, English, interpreted when necessary. "Well, you mus' know," said Ebony, "dat jus before I goes to bed las' night I heat a little too much supper--" "You doos that every night" interrupted Buttchee, with a grin. Ebony ignored the interruption, and continued-- "So, you see, I dream berry bad--mos' drefful dreams! Yes. Well, what I dream was dis. I see Massa Zeppa forced by de pierits to walk de plank--" "What's that?" asked Tomeo. Waroonga looked at Ebony for an explanation, and then translated-- "When pirates want to kill people they sometimes tie up their eyes, and bind their hands, and make them walk along a plank stickin' over the ship's side, till they fall off the end of it into the sea, where they are left to drown." Tomeo looked at Buttchee with a grin and nodded, as though he thought the mode of execution rather a good one; then, recollecting suddenly that any mode of slaying innocent men was inconsistent with his character as a convert to Christianity, he cast a glance of awful solemnity at Waroonga, and tried to look penitent. "Well, hims walk de plank like a man," continued Ebony, "hims dood eberyting like a man. An' w'en hims topple into de sea hims give sitch a most awful wriggle dat his bonds bu'sted. But hims berry sly, was Massa Zeppa--amazin' sly. I t'ought him lie on's back zif him be dead. Jest move a leetle to look like drownin', an' w'en he long way astern, he slew round, off wid de hanky fro hims eyes an' larf to hisseff like one o'clock. Den he swum'd to a island an' git ashore, and climb up de rocks, an' sit down--an'--an'--dat's all." "What! be that all?" asked Waroonga. "Dat's all," repeated the negro. "I no dream no more arter dat, 'cause I was woked by a fly what hab hoed up my nose, an' kep' bumblin' in it like steam inside ob a kittle." "Well, Ebony," asked Orlando, "what conclusions do you draw from that dream?" "I di'nt draw no kungklooshins from it 'cos I dunno what de are. Nebber hab notin' to do wid what I don' understan'. But what I was t'ink was dis: in de days ob old, some time after Adam an' Eve was born, a sartin king, called Fair-ho, or some sitch name (Waroonga there knows all about him) had a dream, that siven swine came up--" "Kine, Ebony--not swine," interrupted the missionary, with a good-humoured smile, "which is all the same as cows." "Well, den, siven fat cows come up out ob a ribber, an' hoed slap at siven thin cows--mis'rable skinny critters that--" "All wrong, Ebony," again interrupted Waroonga. "It's just the other way. The skinny ones went at the fat ones." "Well, ob course you must be right," returned the negro, humbly, "though I'd have 'spected it was t'other way. But I s'pose the skinny ones was so hungry that the fat ones hadn't a chance wid 'em. However, it don't matter. What I was goin' to say was that a good man, called Joseph, went to Fair-ho an' 'splained all his dream to him. Now, if Joseph could do dat, why shouldn't Waroonga 'splain my dream to me?" "Because I's not Joseph, Ebony, an you're not Pharoah," returned Waroonga promptly. Tomeo and Buttchee turned looks of inquiry on Ebony as if to say, "What d'ye say to that, you nigger?" But the nigger said nothing for some moments. He seemed not to have viewed the matter in that light. "Well, I don'no," he said at last with a deep sigh, "I t'ought I'd get hold ob suthin' when I kitch hold ob dat dream. But, I do b'lieve myself, dat part of it means dat Zeppa hims git on an island, anyhow." "If my dear father got upon _anything_, it must have been an island," said Orlando sadly. "That's troo," remarked Mrs Waroonga. "Keep your mouth shut, my da'lin'." She referred to her brown baby, which she placed with some violence on her knee. It is well to remark here that little Zariffa had been supplied with a coal-scuttle bonnet proportioned to her size, made by her mother out of native straw, and that she did not wear anything else in the way of costume. After Ebony's dream had been thoroughly discussed in all its bearings, and viewed in every possible point of relation to their great sorrow, the council adjourned, as usual, to various duties about the flourishing little village, and Orlando went to lay the result before his mother, who, although she could not believe these deliberations would end in anything practical, found it impossible, nevertheless, to resist the influence of so much faith and strong hopefulness, so that she was somewhat comforted, as it were, in spite of herself. Time flew by, and upwards of three years elapsed without anything happening at Ratinga Island to throw a single ray of light on the fate of the lost man. During that period, however, much that was interesting and encouraging occurred to comfort the heart of the native missionary and the sorrowing Marie Zeppa. In the first place they received several visits from the mission-vessel, with small supplies of such luxuries as sugar, tea, and coffee for the body, and, for the spirit, a few bundles of tracts and books printed in the native tongue, among which, you may be sure, were many copies of the Book of books, the blessed Bible. Carpenters' and smiths' tools were also brought to them, so that they not only carried on their house-building and other operations with greater ease than heretofore, but even essayed the building of small boats with considerable success. On the occasion of these visits, supplies of clothing were also left for the use of those converts who could be persuaded to put them on. But in these matters of taste Waroonga was not so successful as he had been in spiritual things. After his first disastrous landing, he had found no difficulty in persuading the natives to burn their false gods, and put away their too numerous wives--reserving only one to each man;--but when it was suggested that the usual bit of cloth round the loins was not quite sufficient for Christians, and that additional clothing was desirable, they betrayed decided symptoms of a tendency to rebel. Savages in all parts of the world are usually much influenced for good or evil by the example of their chiefs. Those of Ratinga were no exception to the general rule, and the chiefs Tomeo and Buttchee did not encourage the putting on of clothes. In the matter of head-dress they had indeed given in; but when one day, Waroonga presented Tomeo with a pair of what are called slop-made trousers, and advised him to put them on, slapping his own at the same time, and asserting (we trust truthfully) that they were comfortable, Tomeo looked at them with an air of contempt and Buttchee, who was irreverent, laughed. After much persuasion, however, and being good-natured, he consented to try. He got one leg in easily enough, but when he attempted to put in the other, not being accustomed to the feat, he staggered and had to let the leg down. Raising it a second time, he made a successful plunge, got the foot in, lost his balance, made a frantic effort to disengage his foot, and fell to the ground. "Sit down, my friend, and try it again," said Waroonga, encouragingly. Our missionary was of a gentle, loving disposition. His successes were in every case the result of suasion. He never sought to coerce men. Tomeo with childlike simplicity rebuked his own awkwardness, and humbly seated his huge body on a bank for another effort. In this position he got his legs easily into the trousers and drew them on, but when he stood up to complete the operation, it was found that they were very much too small for him, besides which he had put them on with the back to the front! "Ah! my friend, they do not fit," said Waroonga, thinking it unnecessary to refer to the error. "I will find a larger pair for you in the store. But try this coat. It is the kind worn by the white man when he goes to see his friends. It will be much easier to put on, I think." So saying, Waroonga produced a blue surtout with bright brass buttons. "No," said Tomeo, drawing himself up with dignity, and putting the garment aside, "I do not require it. Has not a coat of skin been given to me? I want no other." And truly, the dark brown skin which fitted so perfectly to his muscular frame--tattooed as it was with many elegant devices--seemed to warrant his rejection of the ill-made surtout. But in Ratinga, as elsewhere, tastes differ. Buttchee's fancy was caught by the brass buttons, and he volunteered to put on the coat, although he had looked with scorn on the trousers. Like his brother chief, however, he experienced considerable difficulty, especially in distinguishing the difference between the left arm-hole and the breast pocket, despite the able assistance of Waroonga. At last he got the coat partially on, and with a mighty heave, forced it upon his broad shoulders. Then he stood with arms awkwardly curved and extended, uncertain what to do next. He was by no means properly into the garment, and his look of solemn inquiry said as much to the missionary. "Try another heave, my friend," said Waroonga, in a tone of encouragement. Buttchee tried, with the result of a mysterious and incomprehensible noise at his back. "What is that?" he said quickly, with looks of alarm, as he endeavoured to glance over his shoulder. "I fear," replied Waroonga with some hesitation, "that the coat has burst!" There could be no doubt whatever about that, for a long strip of the chief's back was visible, as if a gusset of brown leather had been introduced into the blue coat, from the waist to the collar. For a considerable time after this, both chiefs declined further experiments in the clothing way, but ultimately Tomeo was induced to wear a striped flannel jersey, and Buttchee, of his own accord, adopted a scarlet flannel petticoat that had been given to his wife. Thus was the ice of conservatism broken in the island of Ratinga, and liberal views prevailed thenceforward in the matter of costume--whether to the advancement of taste and decency remains to this day an open question, as all liberal and conservative questions will probably remain till the crack of doom. One day, to the inexpressible surprise and joy of the islanders, a large vessel was seen to pass through the narrow opening in the coral reef, and cast anchor in the lagoon. The excitement on Ratinga was great, for vessels rarely had occasion to visit the island, although some of them, probably South Sea whalers, were seen to pass it on the horizon two or three times a year. Immediately four canoes full of natives put off to visit the stranger; but on reaching her they were sternly told to keep off, and the order was silently enforced by the protruding muzzle of a carronade, and the forbidding aspect of several armed men who looked over the side. "We are men of peace," said Waroonga, who was in the foremost canoe, "and come as Christian friends." "We are men of war," growled one of the men, "an' don't want no friends, Christian or otherwise." "We came to offer you hospitality," returned the missionary in a remonstrative tone. "An' we came to take all the hospitality we want of you without waitin' for the offer," retorted the sailor, "so you'd better go back to where you came from, an' keep yourselves quiet, if ye don't want to be blowed out o' the water." This was sufficient. With disappointed looks the natives turned their canoes shoreward and slowly paddled home. "Depend upon it, this is another pirate," said Orlando, when Waroonga reported to him the result of his visit. "What would you advise us to do?" asked Waroonga. Lest the reader should be surprised at this question, we must remind him that Orlando had, in the course of these three years, grown up almost to manhood. The southern blood in his veins, and the nature of the climate in which he had been born and brought up, may have had something to do with his early development; but, whatever the cause, he had, at the early age of eighteen, become as tall and nearly as powerful as his father had been, and so like to him in aspect and manner, that the natives began to regard him with much of that respect and love which they had formerly entertained towards Antonio. Of course Orlando had not the sprinkling of grey in his short black curly hair which had characterised the elder Zeppa; but he possessed enough of the black beard and moustache, in a soft rudimental form, to render the resemblance to what his sire had been very remarkable. His poor little mother left the management of all her out-of-door affairs with perfect confidence to her son. Tomeo and Buttchee also had begun to regard him as his father's successor. "I would advise you to do nothing," said Orley, in reply to Waroonga's question, "beyond having all the fighting men of the village prepared for action, and being ready at a moment's notice to receive the strangers as friends if they choose to come as such." "Well, then, Orley, I will be ready for them, as you tell to me, if they comes in peace; if not, you must go and carry out your own advice, for you is manager of all secular affairs here." In the afternoon a large boat, full of men armed to the teeth, put off from the side of the strange vessel, which was barque-rigged, and rowed to the beach near the mouth of a small stream. Evidently the object of the visit was to procure fresh water. Having posted his men in ambush, with orders to act in strict accordance with his signals, Orlando sauntered down alone and unarmed to the place where the sailors were filling their water-casks. "Is your captain here?" he asked quietly. The men, who were seemingly a band of thorough ruffians, looked at him in surprise, but went on filling their casks. "I am the captain," said one, stepping up to the youth with an insolent air. "Indeed!" said Orlando, with a look of surprise. "Yes, indeed, and let me tell you that we have no time to trouble ourselves wi' you or yours; but since you've put yourself in our power, we make you stay here till we've done watering." "I have no intention of leaving you," replied Orley, seating himself on a rock, with a pleasant smile. "What d'ee say to kidnap the young buck?" suggested one of the men; "he might be useful." "Perhaps he might be troublesome," remarked Orlando; "but I would advise you to finish your work here in peace, for I have a band of three hundred men up in the bush there--not ordinary savages, let me tell you, but men with the fear of God in their hearts, and the courage of lions in their breasts--who would think it an easy matter to sweep you all off the face of the earth. They are ready to act at my signal--or at my fall--so it will be your wisdom to behave yourselves." The quiet, almost gentle manner in which this was said, had a powerful effect on the men. Without more words they completed the filling of the casks, and then, re-embarking, pushed off. It was obvious that they acted in haste. When they had gone about a couple of boat-lengths from the beach, one of the men rose up with a musket, and Orlando distinctly heard him say-- "Shall I send a bullet into him?" "If you do, the captain will skin you alive," was the reply from one of the other men. The alternative did not seem agreeable to the first speaker, for he laid down his musket, and resumed his oar. Soon after the boat reached her, the sails of the stranger were spread, and she glided slowly out of the lagoon. CHAPTER FOUR. Let us waft ourselves away, now, over the sea, in pursuit of the strange barque which had treated the good people of Ratinga so cavalierly. Richard Rosco sits in the cabin of the vessel, for it is he who commands her. He had taken her as a prize, and, finding her a good vessel in all respects, had adopted her in preference to the old piratical-looking schooner. A seaman stands before him. "It is impossible, I tell you," says Rosco, while a troubled expression crosses his features, which have not improved since we saw him upwards of three years ago. "The distance between the two islands is so great that it is not probable he traversed it in a canoe, especially when we consider that he did not know the island's name or position, and was raving mad when I put him ashore." "That may be so, captain," says the sailor: "nevertheless I seed him with my own eyes, an no mistake. Didn't you say he was a man that nobody could mistake, tall, broad, powerful, handsome, black curly hair, short beard and moustache, with sharp eyes and a pleasant smile?" "The same, in every particular--and just bordering on middle age," answers the perplexed pirate. "Well, as to age, I can't say much about that," returns the seaman; "he seemed to me more like a young man than a middle-aged one, but he had coolness and cheek enough for a hundred and fifty, or any age you like." "Strange," muttered Rosco to himself, paying no regard to the last observation; "I wish that I or Mr Redford had gone with you, or some one who had seen him the last time we were here; but I didn't want to be recognised;" then checking himself--"Well, you may go, and send Mr Redford to me." "I cannot account for Zeppa turning up in this way," he said, when the mate entered. "No more can I, sir." "Do all the men agree in saying that he seems to be quite sane." "All. Indeed most of them seemed surprised when I asked the question. You see, what with death by sword, shot, and sickness, there's not a man in the ship who ever saw him, except yourself and me. The last of the old hands, you know, went with Captain Daniel when you sent him and the unwilling men away in the old schooner. I have no doubt, myself, from what they say, that Zeppa has got well again, and managed to return home as sound and sane as you or I." "If you and I were sane, we should not be here," thought the pirate captain; but he did not give expression to the thought, save by a contemptuous curl of his lip. "Well, Redford," he said, after a few seconds' pause, "my chief reason for going to Sugar-loaf Island is removed, nevertheless we shall still go there for a fresh load of sandal-wood and other things that will fetch a good price." "I fear, sir," returned the mate after some hesitation, "that the crew will be apt to mutiny, if you insist on going there. They are tired of this mixture of _trade_ with free-roving, and are anxious to sail in seas where we shall be more likely to fall in with something worth picking up." "Stop, Redford, I want to hear no more. The crew shall go where I please as long as I command them; and you may add that I will guarantee their being pleased with my present plan. There, don't refer to this subject again. Where did you say the British cruiser was last seen?" "Bearing nor'-east, sir, hull down--on our starboard quarter. I called you at once, but she had changed her course to nor'-west and we lost sight of her." "That will just suit us," said Rosco, going into his private cabin and shutting the door. Well might the pirate captain be perplexed at that time, for he was surrounded by difficulties, not the least of which was that his men were thoroughly dissatisfied with him, and he with them. He did not find his crew sufficiently ready to go in for lucrative kidnapping of natives when the chance offered, and they did not find their captain sufficiently ferocious and bloodthirsty when prizes came in their way. Nevertheless, through the influence of utter recklessness, contemptuous disregard of death, and an indomitable will, backed by wonderful capacity and aptitude in the use of fist, sword, and pistol, he had up to this time held them in complete subjection. In his heart Rosco had resolved to quit his comrades at the first favourable opportunity, and, with this intent had been making for one of the most out-of-the-way islands in the Pacific--there to go and live among the natives, and never more to see the faces of civilised men-- against whom he had sinned so grievously. His intentions were hastened by the fact that a British man-of-war on the Vancouver station, hearing of his exploits, had resolved to search for him. And this cruiser did in fact come across his track and gave chase; but being a poor sailer, was left behind just before the pirate had reached Ratinga, where, as we have seen, she put in for water. The discovery there made, as he supposed, that Antonio Zeppa had recovered his reason and returned home, not only amazed and puzzled Rosco, but disconcerted part of his plan, which was to find Zeppa, whose image had never ceased to trouble his conscience, and, if possible, convey him to the neighbourhood of some port whence he could easily return to Ratinga. It now struck him that, since Zeppa was no longer on Sugar-loaf Island, that spot would be as favourable a one as could be found for his purpose, being far removed from the usual tracks of commerce. He would go there, take to the mountains as Zeppa had done before him, leave his dissatisfied comrades to follow their own devices, and, crossing over to the other side of the island, ingratiate himself as well as he could with the natives, grow beard and moustache, which he had hitherto shaved, and pass himself off as a shipwrecked sailor, should any vessel or cruiser touch there. "And shipwrecked I am, body, soul, and spirit," he muttered, bitterly, as he sat in his cabin, brooding over the past and future. Leaving him there, and thus, we will return to Ratinga, the peaceful inhabitants of which were destined at this time to be tickled with several little shocks of more or less agreeable surprise. One of these shocks was the sudden disappearance of Zariffa, the native missionary's brown baby. It was an insignificant event in itself, and is only mentioned because of its having led indirectly to events of greater importance. Zariffa had, by that time, passed out of the condition of brown-babyhood. She had, to her own intense delight, been promoted to the condition of a decently-clad little savage. In addition to the scuttle bonnet which was not quite so tremulous as that of her mother, she now sported a blue flannel petticoat. This was deemed sufficient for her, the climate being warm. Zariffa was still, however, too young to take care of herself. Great, therefore, was Betsy Waroonga's alarm when she missed her one day from her little bed where she should have been sleeping. "Ebony!" cried Betsy, turning sharply round and glaring, "Zariffa's gone." "_Quite_ dead," exclaimed the negro, aghast. "Not at all dead," said Betsy; "but gone--gone hout of hers bed." "Dat no great misfortin', missis," returned Ebony, with a sigh of relief. "It's little you knows, stoopid feller," returned the native missionary's wife, while her coal-scuttle shook with imparted emotion; "Zariffa never dis'beyed me in hers life. She's lost. We must seek-- seek quick!" The sympathetic negro became again anxious, and looked hastily under the chairs and tables for the lost one, while her mother opened and searched a corner cupboard that could not have held a child half her size. Then the pair became more and more distracted as each excited the other, and ran to the various outhouses shouting, "Zariffa!" anxiously, entreatingly, despairing. They gathered natives as they ran, hither and thither, searching every nook and corner, and burst at last in an excited crowd into the presence of Waroonga himself, who was in the act of detailing the history of Joseph to a select class of scholars, varying from seven to seventeen years of age. "Oh! massa, Zariffa's lost!" cried Ebony. Waroonga glanced quickly at his wife. The excessive agitation of her bonnet told its own tale. The missionary threw Joseph overboard directly, proclaimed a holiday, and rushed out of the school-house. "No use to go home, massa," cried Ebony; "we's sarch eberywhere dar; no find her." "Has you been to the piggery?" demanded the anxious father, who was well aware of his child's fondness for "little squeakers." "Oh, yes; bin dar. I rousted out de ole sow for make sure Zariffa no hides behind her." At this juncture Orlando came up with a sack of cocoa-nuts on his back. Hearing what had occurred he took the matter in hand with his wonted energy. "We must organise a regular search," he said, throwing down the sack, "and go to work at once, for the day is far advanced, and we can do little or nothing after dark." So saying he collected all the able men of the village, divided them into bands, gave them minute, though hurried, directions where they were to go, and what signals they were to give in the event of the child being found; and then, heading one of the bands, he joined eagerly in the search. But, before going, he advised Betsy Waroonga to keep his mother company, as women could not be of much use in such work. "No," said Mrs Waroonga, with decision; "we will go home an' pray." "Right, that will be better," said Orlando. "You go back with her, Ebony, and fetch my gun. I left it in Waroonga's house when I went in for a sack to hold the cocoa-nuts. It is behind the door. You'll find me searching in the palm-grove. Now, boys, away; we've no time to lose." Returning to her house with her sable attendant, poor Betsy rushed into her private apartment threw herself on her knees and half across her lowly bed in an agony of alarm. She was startled and horrified by a sharp, though smothered cry, while some living creature heaved under the bed-clothes. Instantly she swept them off, and lo! there lay Zariffa safe and well, though somewhat confused by her rude awaking and her mother's weight. "You's keep up heart, missis," said the sympathetic Ebony, looking hastily into the room in passing; "we's sartin sure to find--" He stopped. Blazing amazement sat on his countenance for about six moments--a pause similar to that of an injured infant just preparing for a yell--then he exploded into a fit of laughter so uncontrollable that it seemed as if a hurricane had been suddenly let loose in the room, insomuch that Betsy's remonstrances were quite unheard. "Oh! missis," he exclaimed at last, wiping his eyes, "I's a-goin' to bust." "Yes, an' I'll help you to do it," she replied impatiently, seizing an old shoe, and laying it on the negro's bare back with a crack like a pistol-shot. Ebony strove to calm himself. "Go 'long, you noisy feller, an' tell Waroonga to stop the search." It was plain that Ebony had not sufficiently relieved his feelings, for his broad chest heaved, and ominous sounds came out of his nose. "On'y tink," said he, "dat you hoed down to say yous prayers on de berry top ob de babby!" The thought was too much for him. He exploded again, and, rushing from the house, ascended the hills, and filled the groves as he went with hilarious melody. But he did not find Orlando, who had completed his search of the palm-grove and passed over the ridge that formed the summit of the island in that part. It was by no means the highest part, but from it could be seen a large bay which lay on the side of the island opposite to the mission village. And here he beheld the cause of another of the little surprises with which we have said the people of Ratinga were visited at that time. It was a stately man-of-war, with the Union Jack flying from her peak, and her sails backed so as to check her way. A boat was being lowered from her side, and Orlando with his party hastened to the beach to meet it. The officer in command was evidently not aware that he had come to an island where the peaceful influences of the gospel of Jesus prevailed, for, on landing, he drew up his men, who were all armed to receive either as friends or foes the party of natives who advanced towards him. The officer was not a little surprised to observe that the natives were led by a white man, who halted them when within about three hundred yards off, and advanced alone and unarmed to the beach. "I am happy to welcome you and offer hospitality," said Orlando, taking off his cap. "Thanks, good sir, I accept your offer most gladly," returned the officer, holding out his hand; "all the more heartily that I had expected to meet with none but savages here." "We are Christians, thank God," said Orlando. "Then this must be the island of Ratinga, of which we have heard so much of late." "Even so." "But where, then, is your village, your church?" asked the officer, looking round. "It is on the other side of the island. If you will take your ship round there you will find good anchorage and fresh water, of which last, if I may judge from the casks in your boat you are in search." The officer at once acted on this advice, and Orlando accompanied him on board to pilot the vessel round. On the way the captain--Fitzgerald--asked if any suspicious craft had been seen lately, and, on hearing that a barque, flying British colours, had put in there only a day or two before, said that he had been sent out in chase of that barque, as she was commanded by a celebrated and rather eccentric pirate, named Rosco. "I know him well," said Orlando quickly, "he was mate of a schooner which called here between three and four years ago. It was commanded by a poor fellow named Daniel, who, I fear, was murdered by his crew. Alas! I have only too good reason to remember it." He then related the visit of the piratical-looking schooner to Ratinga; its departure with his father and himself on board; the mutiny, and all the other circumstances connected with that memorable event. "And have you never heard of your father since then?" asked Captain Fitzgerald. "Never. I am almost forced to the conclusion that he must have been murdered by the mutineers, for if he had escaped them, he would surely, long ere now, have managed to find his way home. And yet I cannot help feeling that perhaps God may have spared his life, and may yet restore him to us." "It is, perhaps, cruel to encourage hopes which may be doomed to bitter disappointment," returned the captain, regarding Orlando's sad face with a look of sympathy; "but it is by no means impossible that your father may be alive. Listen. I, too, know something of this affair, and will tell you all I know. Captain Daniel, of the schooner whose crew mutinied, was not murdered. This Rosco seems to have had, all through his career, a strong tendency to mercy. So much so that his men have threatened his own life more than once. At the same time, he possesses great power over them, and has held them for many years under command. We have heard of him more than once from persons whom he has set free, after taking their vessels; among others from Captain Daniel, who turned up in Vancouver's Island. It seems that after you were thrown overboard and supposed to be drowned, your poor father went--went--that is to say, his mind was unhinged, owing, no doubt, to the combined effect of your supposed murder and the two terrible blows by which he was felled during the mutiny." "My father--mad!" exclaimed Orlando, in a low, horrified tone, clasping his hands, and gazing into Captain Fitzgerald's face. "Nay, I did not say mad. It was a great shock, you know, and quite sufficient to account for temporary derangement. Then Rosco sailed away to a distant island, where he put your father ashore, and left him." "What island--did you hear its name?" asked Orlando, quickly. "It is an almost unknown island, not marked or named in any chart; but it had been seen by one of the mutineers on one of his early voyages, and named Sugar-loaf Island, from its shape. Well, after leaving the island Rosco attacked, and easily captured, a large merchantman. Finding it both good and new, he transhipped all that was worth retaining, including arms and guns, into this barque, and took command; then he assembled his men, asked who were willing to follow him, put those who were unwilling into the old schooner with Captain Daniel at their head, and left them to sail where they pleased. They landed, as I have said, at Vancouver's Island. The pirate Rosco, and his barque, the `Flame,' have become notorious since then, both for daring and eccentricity, and I have been ordered to get hold of them, if possible. Now, I mean to go to Sugar-loaf Island, because, from various things I have heard of this scoundrel, I think it not unlikely that he will go there." "And you will let me go with you?" suddenly exclaimed Orlando, in a voice of earnest entreaty. "I will, my poor fellow," returned the captain; "but don't be too sanguine; and let me advise you to say nothing of all this to your mother." "You are right. She must not know--at least not now. It will be the first time in my life I have had a secret from my mother; but she must not know till--till we return." That night there was great rejoicing in Ratinga, because of the recovery, if we may so call it, of Zariffa, and the visit of the British man-of-war. In the midst of the rejoicings a huge, lustrous pair of black eyes gazed earnestly into Orlando's face, and an enormously thick pair of red lips said, "I go too, massa--eh?" "Well, you may, Ebony, if the captain will let you. He has already agreed to take the missionary and the chiefs Tomeo and Buttchee; but, mind, not a whisper of our secret hope to any one." Thus, with the approval of Madame Zeppa and Betsy Waroonga, these five representatives of Ratinga embarked on board the British man-of-war, and left the island. CHAPTER FIVE. We left the poor madman, Antonio Zeppa, wandering aimlessly up into the mountains of Sugar-loaf Island. Whether it was the loss of his beloved Orley alone that had turned his brain, or that loss coupled with the injury to his head, we cannot tell, but certain it is that the outward and visible violence of his great sorrow seemed to depart from him after he had entered the rugged defiles of the mountain range. His mental malady appeared to take the form of simple indifference and inactivity. Sometimes he muttered to himself as he went slowly and wearily along, but generally he was silent with his chin sunk upon his breast as he gazed upon the ground with lack-lustre eyes. At other times he started and looked around him with a sharp, inquiring, almost timid, glance; but the gleam of memory--if such it was--soon passed away, and his handsome face resumed the gentle, almost childish, look which had settled down on it. But never again did he give vent to the heart-broken cries and wails which had marked the first stage of his derangement. The mutterings to which we have referred were seldom coherent; but the disjointed utterances sufficed to indicate the natural character of the man. As the ruling passion is said to become dominant in death, so, in this death of reason which appeared to have passed upon Zeppa, love of his wife and child and the natives of Ratinga, as well as profound reverence and love to his God, became conspicuous in the broken sentences that occasionally dropped from his lips. At first he had been like some grand instrument thrown wildly out of tune and swept by a reckless hand. Now he resembled the same instrument with the framework shattered, the strings hanging loose, and the music of discord as well as harmony gone for ever. Oh it was sad, inexpressibly sad, to see the grand and good man--the image of himself, yet not himself, with bowed head and bent form, the very personification of humility--wandering forth on that lonely island of the southern seas! After quitting the shore he continued slowly to ascend the mountain until he gained the summit. Here, seating himself on a rock, he lifted his eyes and looked slowly around him. It was a glorious sight that met his unintelligent gaze. On the side which he had ascended, the mountain sloped abruptly into the sea, yet its precipices were not forbidding or gloomy, for they were clothed with the luxuriant and lovely vegetation of those favoured regions. The rocks were fringed with grasses and wild flowers; the cliffs were softened by palmated leaves and gorgeous shrubs. Wild fruits in abundance grew on every side; in short, the land presented the appearance of a terrestrial paradise. On the other side of the range similar, but softer, scenery rolled away for several miles in easy slopes, until it terminated in a plain, the farther end of which was bounded by the white sands of the shore. Around all lay the great sea, like a transparent blue shield, on which the sun glinted in myriad ripples of burnished gold. Everywhere God's work was glorious, but God's image in man was not there, for poor Zeppa looked upon it all with total indifference. The schooner was still visible from that lofty outlook, like a snowflake on the sea; but Zeppa saw it, or regarded it, not. On the shore of the island furthest from the mountain, the clustering huts of a native village could be seen; but Zeppa looked at it without a gleam of interest, and passed it over as if it were a group of ant-hills. Hunger, however, soon claimed attention. After remaining motionless for more than an hour, he arose and plucked some fruit from a neighbouring tree. "God is good--has always been good to me and mine," he murmured, as he placed the fruit on the grass and sat down beside it. Then, clasping his hands and closing his eyes, he asked a blessing on his food in the same words and tone which he had been wont to use when at home. After his hunger was appeased, he again wandered about apparently without aim; but as night began to descend, he sought and found a slightly hollowed part of a cliff with an overhanging ledge. It was scarcely deep enough to be styled a cave, but appeared to be a sufficient shelter in the maniac's eyes, for he busied himself in gathering ferns and dried grass, until he had made himself a comfortable couch at the inner end of it. Before lying down he knelt, clasped his hands, and poured out his soul in fervent prayer. His words were now no longer incoherent and the burthen of his petition was--a blessing on the dear ones at home, and forgiveness of all his sins through Jesus Christ. It seemed evident judging by his words, that he had forgotten the recent past, and imagined that Orlando was still alive. Then he lay down and fell asleep. Thus days and weeks and months rolled on, and still the madman wandered aimlessly among the mountain peaks. The savages at the other end of the island never molested him, for, having no occasion to clamber up these rocky heights, they did not become aware of his existence until a considerable time had elapsed. His discovery at last was the result of a crime. One of the savages committed a theft in the native village, and fled for refuge to the mountains. Wapoota, being a funny fellow, was a favourite with his chief Ongoloo, and occupied a position somewhat analogous to the court jester of old. Moreover, he was often consulted in serious matters by his chief--in short, was a sort of humorous prime minister. But he could not resist the tendency to steal, and one day pilfered something or other from Ongoloo, who finally lost patience with him, for he was an old offender. Ongoloo, though neither a warlike nor ferocious fellow, vowed to cut out the heart and liver of Wapoota, and expose them to public gaze. Disliking publicity after this fashion, the thief fled, purposing to abide in the mountains until his chief's wrath should have evaporated. Rambling one day in his mountain refuge, the dishonest savage turned a jutting point of rock, and suddenly stood face to face with Zeppa. His jaw dropped, his eyes glared, his knees smote together, and lemon-yellow took the place of brown-ochre on his cheeks. It was an awkward place of meeting, for the path, if we may so style it, was a mere ledge, with a perpendicular cliff on one side, a precipice on the other. And well might the savage by overcome with fear, on such a spot with such a man before him, for, in addition to his commanding stature, Zeppa had now the wild appearance resulting from long untrimmed locks and a shaggy beard. Both locks and beard had also changed from black to iron-grey during these months of lonely wandering. His dress, too, had become much disordered and ragged, so that altogether his appearance and fierce aspect were eminently fitted to strike terror to the heart of a more courageous man than Wapoota, who happened to be rather mild in disposition. After the first stare of astonishment he sank on his knees and held up his hands as if supplicating mercy. But he had nothing to fear from the maniac. "My poor fellow," said Zeppa, in English, laying his hand on the native's head and patting it, "do not fear. I will not harm you." Of course Wapoota did not understand the words but he fully appreciated the action, and the lemon-yellow began to fade while the brown-ochre returned. Without uttering another word, Zeppa took Wapoota by the hand and led him to his cave, where he set before him such fruits as remained over from his last meal, and then, sitting down, gazed abstractedly on the ground. Wapoota ate from fear of offending his host, rather than hunger. When he had finished, Zeppa rose, pointed to his couch at the inner part of the cave, nodded to him with a kindly smile, and left him. At first the savage seemed disposed to make off when Zeppa's back was turned, but when he saw him slowly ascend the hill with his head bowed down he changed his mind, made some significant grimaces--which we will not attempt to explain--and lay down to sleep. On his return, Wapoota tried to enter into conversation with his host but Zeppa only smiled, patted him gently on the head and shoulder, and paid no further attention to him. The savage was somewhat overawed by such treatment. Observing his host more closely, it soon began to dawn upon him that he was in the power of a madman, and some tinges of the lemon-yellow reappeared; but when he perceived that Zeppa was not merely a harmless but an exceedingly gentle madman, his confidence and the brown-ochre reasserted themselves. Thus, for several days, the madman and the savage dwelt amicably together, and slept side by side during the night; but Zeppa made it very apparent that he did not wish for his visitor's society during the day-time, and the visitor had the sense to let him wander forth alone. Wapoota was mistaken when he calculated on the cooling of Ongoloo's wrath. That angry chief, bent on the fulfilment of his anatomical vow, set forth with a small party of picked men to explore the Sugar-loaf in quest of the runaway. He found him one day gathering fruits for Zeppa's supper--for Wapoota had already become a sort of attached Friday to this unfortunate Crusoe. On beholding his countrymen, the thief's visage underwent a series of remarkable changes, for he knew that escape was impossible, and the expression of his chief's face forbade him to hope for mercy. "I have found you, mine enemy," growled Ongoloo--of course in the native tongue. "Mercy!" exclaimed Wapoota, in a piteous tone. "Mercy no longer dwells in my breast," returned the chief. In proof of the truth of this assertion he ordered his men to seize and bind Wapoota, and proceed at once with the execution of his cruel purpose. The unfortunate wretch, unable to face the appalling prospect gave vent to a series of terrible shrieks, and struggled fiercely while they bound him. But in vain would he have struggled if his cries for mercy had not reached other ears than those of his countrymen. Not far from the spot where the thief had been captured, Zeppa chanced to be sitting, idly toying with the branch of a tree which he had fashioned into a rude staff wherewith to climb the mountain more easily. When the first shriek ran among the cliffs, it seemed to startle the maniac out of the depressing lethargy under which he had laboured so long. He sprang up and listened, with dilated eyes and partly open mouth. Again and again the shrieks rang out, and were echoed from cliff to cliff. As a tigress bounds to the rescue of her young, so sprang Zeppa down the hillside in the direction of the cries. He came suddenly to the edge of a cliff which overlooked the scene, and beheld a savage just about to plunge a knife into Wapoota's breast. Zeppa gave vent to a tremendous roar, which terminated in a wild laugh. Then he wrenched a mass of rock from the cliffs and hurled it down. The height was greater than any sane man would have ventured to leap even to save his life; but the maniac gave no time to thought. He followed the mass of rock with another wild laugh, and next moment stood in the midst of the savage group. These men were no cowards. They were Ongoloo's picked warriors, and would have scorned to fly before a single foe, however large or fierce. But when they saw plainly that Zeppa was a white man and a maniac, they turned, with one consent, and fled as if a visitant from the nether realms had assailed them. Zeppa did not follow. All his sudden wrath vanished with the enemy. He turned calmly to the prostrate man, cut his bonds, and set him free. Then, without saying a word, he patted him on the shoulder, and wandered listlessly away with his head dropped as of old. You may be sure that Wapoota did not hesitate to make good use of his freedom. He fled on the wings--or legs--of fear to the most inaccessible recesses of the mountains, from which he did not emerge till night had enshrouded land and sea. Then he crept stealthily back to Zeppa's cave, and laid himself quietly down beside his friend. The inherent tendency of Zeppa's nature was towards peace and goodwill. Even in his madness and misery his spirit trickled, if it did not run, in the customary direction. His dethroned reason began, occasionally, to make fitful efforts after some plan which it sought to evolve. But before the plan could be arranged, much less carried out, the dull sense of a leaden grief overwhelmed it again, and he relapsed into the old condition of quiet apathy. Chance, however, brought about that which the enfeebled intellect could not compass. One day--whether inadvertently or not we cannot tell--Zeppa wandered down in the direction of the native settlement. That same day Ongoloo wandered towards the mountain, and the two men suddenly met so close to each other that there was no possibility of escape to either. But, sooth to say, there was no thought of escape in the breast of either. Ongoloo, being a brave savage, was ashamed of having given way to panic at his first meeting with the madman. Besides, he carried his huge war-club, while his opponent was absolutely unarmed--having forgotten to take his usual staff with him that day. As for Zeppa, he had never at any time feared the face of man, and, in his then condition, would have faced man or fiend with equal indifference. But the sight of the savage chief seemed to recall something to his mind. He stood with his arms crossed, and an expression of perplexity on his countenance, while Ongoloo assumed an attitude of defence. Suddenly a beaming smile overspread Zeppa's face. We have already said that his smile had fascination in it. The effect on the savage was to paralyse him for the moment. Zeppa advanced, took Ongoloo's face between both hands, and, placing his nose against that of the chief, gently rubbed it. For the benefit of the ignorant, we may explain that this is the usual salutation of friendship among some of the South Sea Islanders. Ongoloo returned the rub, and dropped his club. He was obviously glad of this peaceful termination to the rencontre. Then, for the first time, it occurred to Zeppa to use the language of Ratinga. The chief evidently understood it. "God is love," said Zeppa solemnly, pointing upward with his finger. "God forgives. You will forgive, and so be like God." The chief was completely overawed by Zeppa's grandeur and gentleness. He had never before seen the two qualities combined. Zeppa took him by the hand, as he had previously taken Wapoota, and led him up into the mountains. The chief submitted meekly, as if he thought a being from the better world were guiding him. On reaching the cave they found Wapoota arranging the supper-table--if we may so express it-- for he had been in the habit of doing this for some time past, about sunset, at which time his protector had invariably returned home--alas! it was a poor home! To say that Wapoota was transfixed, or petrified, on beholding Ongoloo, would not convey the full idea of his condition. It is useless to say that he glared; that his knees smote, or that lemon-yellow supplanted brown-ochre on his visage. Words can do much, but they cannot describe the state of that savage on that occasion. The reader's imagination is much more likely to do justice to the situation. To that we leave it. But who, or what language, shall describe the state of mind into which both Ongoloo and Wapoota were thrown when Zeppa, having brought them close to each other, grasped them firmly by their necks and rubbed their noses forcibly together. There was no resisting the smile with which this was dune. The chief and the thief first glanced at each other, then at their captor, and then they laughed--absolutely roared--after which they rubbed noses of their own accord, and "made it up." We may remark, in passing, that Ongoloo was not sorry for the reconciliation, because Wapoota had become necessary to him both in council and during relaxation, and of late he had come to feel low-spirited for want of his humourist. But both of them were much concerned to observe that after this reconciliation, the reconciler relapsed into his pensive mood and refused to be interested in anything. They tried in vain to rouse him from his strange apathy--which neither of them could at all understand. Next day Ongoloo took occasion to give him the slip, and returned to his village. Zeppa cared nothing for that. He did not even ask Wapoota what had become of him. At this time a new idea occurred to Wapoota, who had been ordered by his chief to induce Zeppa to visit the native village. It struck him that as he had been led, so he might lead. Therefore one morning he waited until Zeppa had finished breakfast, and when he rose, as was his wont, to go off for the day, Wapoota took him gently by the hand and led him forth. To his surprise--and comfort, for he had had strong misgivings-- Zeppa submitted. He did not seem to think that the act was peculiar. Wapoota led him quietly and slowly down the mountain side, and so, by degrees, right into the native village, where Ongoloo was, of course, prepared to meet and welcome him. He was received by the head men of the tribe with deep respect and conducted to a tent which had been prepared for him, where Wapoota, who had constituted himself his servant--or lieutenant--made him comfortable for the night. Zeppa at first expressed some surprise at all the fuss that was made regarding him, but soon ceased to trouble himself about the matter, and gradually relapsed into his old condition. He was content to remain with the natives, though he did not cease his lonely wanderings among the hills, absenting himself for days at a time, but always returning, sooner or later, to the tent that had been provided for him in the village. Now, in Sugar-loaf Island, there was a tribe that had, for years past, been at war with the tribe into whose hands Zeppa had thus fallen, and, not long after the events just narrated, it chanced that the Ratura tribe, as it was named, resolved to have another brush with their old enemies, the subjects of Ongoloo. What they did, and how they did it, shall be seen in another chapter. CHAPTER SIX. After Zeppa had remained a short time in his new quarters, he began to take an interest in the children of his savage friends. At first the mothers of the village were alarmed when they saw their little ones in his strong arms, playing with his beard, which had by that time grown long and shaggy, as well as grey like his curly locks; but soon perceiving that the children had nothing to fear from the strange white man, they gave themselves no further concern on the subject. If Zeppa had been in his right mind when the savages first found him, it is probable that they would have hunted him down and slain him without remorse--for it is well known that many of the South Sea Islanders regard shipwrecked persons as victims who have no claim on their hospitality, but are a sort of windfall to be killed and devoured. Their treatment of Zeppa, therefore, must have been owing to some feeling of respect or awe, inspired by his obvious insanity, coupled, no doubt, with his commanding size and presence as well as his singular conduct on the occasion of their first meeting. Whatever the reason, it is certain that the natives amongst whom the poor madman's lot had thus been cast, treated him in an exceptional manner, and with an amount of respect that almost amounted to reverence. At first Ongoloo made a slight attempt to ascertain where his guest had come from, and what was his previous history, but as Zeppa always met such inquiries with one of his sweetest smiles, and with no verbal reply whatever, the chief felt unusually perplexed, dropped the subject, and began to regard the madman as a species of demigod. Of course no one else dared to question him, so that ever afterwards he remained in the eyes of his entertainers as a "Great Mystery." By degrees Zeppa became intimately acquainted with the little boys and girls of the village, and took much pleasure in watching them at play. They soon found out that he was fond of them, and might have become rather troublesome in their attentions to him, if he had been a busy man, but as he had nothing whatever to do except follow his own inclinations, and as his inclinations led him to sympathise with childhood, he was never ruffled by their familiarities or by their wild doings around his tent. He even suffered a few of the very smallest of the brown troop to take liberties with him, and pull his beard. One brown mite in particular--a female baby of the smallest conceivable dimensions, and the wildest possible spirit--became an immense favourite with him. Her name was Lippy, or some sound which that combination of letters produces. Lippy's mother, a large-eyed, good-looking young woman, with insufficient clothing--at least in the estimate of a Ratingaite--was transfixed the first time she saw her little one practise her familiarities on their demigod. Zeppa was lying on his back at the time, in front of his hut, when Lippy prowled cautiously towards him, like a very small and sly kitten about to pounce on a very huge dog. She sprang, just as her mother caught sight of her, and was on his broad chest in a moment. The mother was, as we have said, transfixed with alarm. The human kitten seized Zeppa by the beard and laughed immoderately. Zeppa replied with a gentle smile--he never laughed out now--and remained quite still. Having finished her laugh, Lippy drew herself forward until she was close to her human dog's chin. At this point her mother would have rushed to the rescue, but she was still paralysed! Having reached the chin Lippy became more audacious, stretched forth one of her little hands, and seized Zeppa's nose. Still he did not move, but when the little brown kitten proceeded to thrust a thumb into one of his eyes, he roused himself, seized the child in his powerful hands, and raised her high above his head; then, lowering her until her little mouth was within reach, he kissed her. This sufficed to relieve the mother's fears, so she retired quietly from the scene. She was not so easily quieted, however, some weeks later, when she beheld Zeppa, after amusing himself one day with Lippy for half an hour, start up, place her on his shoulder, and stalk off towards the mountains. He absented himself for three days on that occasion. Lippy's mother at first became anxious, then terrified, then desperate. She roused Ongoloo to such a pitch that he at last called a council of war. Some of the head men were for immediate pursuit of the madman; others were of opinion that the little brat was not worth so much trouble; a few wretches even expressed the opinion that they were well rid of her--there being already too many female babies in the community! While the conflict of opinions was at its fiercest, Zeppa stalked into the midst of them with Lippy on his shoulder, looked round with a benignant expression of countenance, delivered the child to her mother, and went off to his hut without uttering a word. The council immediately dissolved itself and retired humiliated. It was during one of Zeppa's occasional absences that the Ratura tribe of natives, as before mentioned, decided to have another brush with the Mountain-men, as they styled their foes. We are not sure that the word used in the Ratura language was the exact counterpart of the words "brush" and "scrimmage" in ours, but it meant the same thing, namely, the cutting of a number of throats, or the battering in of a number of human skulls unnecessarily. Of course there was a _casus belli_. There always is among savage as well as civilised nations, and it is a curious coincidence that the reasons given for the necessity for war are about as comprehensible among the civilised as the savage. Of course among civilised nations these reasons for war are said to be always good. Christians, you know, could not kill each other without _good_ reasons; but is it not strange that among educated people, the reasons given for going to war are often very much the reverse of clear? The origin of the war which was about to be revived, besides being involved in the mists of antiquity, was somewhat shrouded in the clouds of confusion. Cleared of these clouds, and delivered from those mists, it would have been obviously a just--nay, even a holy war--so both parties said, for they both wanted to fight. Unfortunately no living man could clear away the clouds or mists; nevertheless, as they all saw plainly the exceeding righteousness of the war, they could not in honour, in justice, or in common sense, do otherwise than go at it. At some remote period of antiquity--probably soon after the dispersion at Babel--it was said that the Mountain-men had said to the Raturans, that it had been reported to them that a rumour had gone abroad that they, the men of Ratura, were casting covetous eyes on the summit of their mountain. The Raturans replied that it had never entered into their heads either to covet or to look at the summit of their mountain, but that, if they had any doubts on the subject, they might send over a deputation to meet a Ratura deputation, and hold a palaver to clear the matter up. The deputations were sent. They met. They palavered for about half-an-hour with an air of sententious sincerity, then the leading chief of the mountaineer deputation cracked the crown of the leading chief of the Raturan deputation, and the two deputations spent the remainder of that day in fighting. Reinforcements came up on both sides. The skirmish became a pitched battle. Blood was shed lavishly, heads were broken beyond repair, and women, coming to the help of the men with the baskets of stones, were slain in considerable numbers, as well as little children who had an inconvenient but not uncommon habit of getting in the way of the combatants. At last the Raturans were driven into the impregnable swamps that bordered part of their country; their villages and crops were burned, and those of their women and children who had not escaped to the swamps were carried into slavery, while the aged of both sexes were slaughtered in cold blood. It was a complete victory. We are inclined to think that the Mountain-men called it a "glorious" victory. Judging from the world's history they probably did, and the mountain women ever afterwards were wont to tell their little ones of the prowess of their forefathers--of the skulls battered in and other deeds of heroism done--in that just and reasonable war! As centuries rolled on, the old story came to be repeated again, and over again, with slight variations to suit the varying ages. In particular it came to be well understood, and asserted, that that unconquerable desire of the Raturans to take possession of the mountain-top was growing apace and had to be jealously watched and curbed. In one of the centuries--we are not sure which--the Raturan savages made some advances into their swampy grounds and began to improve them. This region lay very remote from the Mountain-men's villages, but, as it approached the mountain base in a round-about manner, and as the mountain-tops could be distinctly seen from the region, although well-nigh impassable swamps still lay between the reclaimed lands and the mountain base, these advances were regarded as another _casus belli_, and another war was waged, with practically the same results-- damage to everybody concerned, and good to no one. Thus was the game kept up until the chief Ongoloo began to strut his little hour upon the stage of time. There are always men, savage as well as civilised, in every region and age, who march in advance of their fellows, either because of intellectual capacity or moral rectitude or both. Ongoloo was one of these. He did not believe in "war at any price." He thought it probable that God lived in a state of peace, and argued that what was best for the Creator must naturally be best for the creature. He therefore tried to introduce a peace-policy into Sugar-loaf Island. His efforts were not successful. The war-party was too strong for him. At last he felt constrained to give in to the force of public opinion and agreed to hold an unarmed palaver with the men of Ratura. The war-at-any-price party would have preferred an armed palaver, but they were overruled. The Raturans chanced at this time to be in somewhat depressed circumstances, owing to a sickness which had carried off many of their best warriors and left their lands partly waste, so that their finances, if we may so express it were in a bad condition. "Now is our chance--now or never," thought the war-party, and pushed matters to extremity. On the day appointed for the palaver, one of the most pugnacious of the Mountain-men got leave to open the deliberations. "You're a low-minded, sneaking son of an ignorant father," he said to the spokesman of the Raturans. "You're another," retorted his foe. Having disposed of these preliminary compliments, the speakers paused, glared, and breathed hard. Of course we give the nearest equivalent in English that we can find for the vernacular used. "You and your greedy forefathers," resumed the Mountain-man, "have always kept your false eyes on our mountain-top, and you are looking at it still." "That's a lie," returned the man of Ratura with savage simplicity. Had they been armed, it is probable that the palaver would have closed abruptly at this point. Seeing that the relations between the parties were "strained" almost to the breaking-point, one of the less warlike among the Ratura chiefs caught his own spokesman by the nape of the neck, and hurled him back among his comrades. "We have _not_, O valiant men of the Mountain," he said, in a gentle tone, "looked upon your hill-tops with desire. We only wish to improve our swamps, increase our sweet-potato grounds, and live at peace." "That is not true," retorted the fiery Mountain-man, "and we must have a promise from you that you will let the swamps alone, and not advance one step nearer to the top of our mountain." "But the swamps are not yours," objected the other. "No matter--they are not yours. They are neutral ground, and must not be touched." "Well, we will not touch them," said the peaceful Raturan. This reply disconcerted the fiery mountaineer, for he was anxious to fight. "But that is not enough," he resumed, as a bright idea struck him, "you must promise not even to _look_ at our mountain." The man of Ratura reflecting how ill able his tribe was to go to war just then, agreed not even to _look_ at the mountain! "More than that" resumed the mountaineer, "you must not even wink at it." "We will not even wink at it," replied his foe. "Still further," continued the warlike mountaineer in sheer desperation, "you must not even _think_ of it." "We will not _think_ of it" answered the accommodating man of Ratura. "Bah! you may go--you peace-loving cowards," said the disappointed mountaineer, turning on his heel in bitter disappointment. "Yes, you may go--in peace!" said Ongoloo with sententious gravity, waving his band grandly to the retiring men of Ratura, and walking off with an air of profound solemnity, though he could not help laughing--in his arm, somewhere, as he had not a sleeve to do it in. But the Raturans did not go in peace. They went away with bitter animosity in their hearts, and some of them resolved to have a brush with their old foes, come what might. Savages do not, as a rule, go through the formality of declaring war by withdrawing ambassadors. They are much more prone to begin war with that deceptive act styled "a surprise." Smarting under the taunts of their foes, the Raturans resolved to make an attack on the enemy's village that very night, but Ongoloo was more than a match for them. Suspecting their intentions, he stalked them when the shades of evening fell, heard all their plans while concealed among the long grass, and then, hastening home, collected his warriors. It chanced that Zeppa had returned from one of his rambles at the time and was lying in his hut. "Will you come out with us and fight?" demanded Ongoloo, entering abruptly. The mention of fighting seemed to stir some chord which jarred in Zeppa's mind, for he shook his head and frowned. It is possible that, if the savage had explained how matters stood, the poor madman might have consented, but the chief had not the time, perhaps not the will, for that. Turning quickly round, therefore, he went off as abruptly as he had entered. Zeppa cared nothing for that. Indeed he soon forgot the circumstance, and, feeling tired, lay down to sleep. Meanwhile Ongoloo marched away with a body of picked men to station himself in a narrow pass through which he knew that the invading foe would have to enter. He was hugely disgusted to be thus compelled to fight, after he had congratulated himself on having brought the recent palaver to so peaceful an issue. He resolved, however, only to give his enemies a serious fright, for he knew full well that if blood should flow, the old war-spirit would return, and the ancient suspicion and hatred be revived and intensified. Arranging his plans therefore, with this end in view, he resolved to take that peaceful, though thieving, humorist Wapoota, into his secret councils. Summoning him, after the ambush had been properly arranged and the men placed, he said,--"Come here, you villain." Wapoota knew that Ongoloo was not displeased with him by the nature of his address. He therefore followed, without anxiety, to a retired spot among the bush-covered rocks. "You can screech, Wapoota?" "Yes, chief," answered the ex-thief in some surprise, "I can screech like a parrot the size of a whale." "That will do. And you love peace, like me, Wapoota, and hate bloodshed, though you love thieving." "True, chief," returned the other, modestly. "Well then, listen--and if you tell any one what I say to you, I will squeeze the eyes out of your head, punch the teeth from your jaws, and extract the oil from your backbone." Wapoota thought that this was pretty strong for a man who had just declared his hatred of bloodshed, but he said nothing. "You know the rock, something in shape like your own nose, at the foot of this pass?" said Ongoloo. "I know it, chief." "Well, go there; hide yourself, and get ready for a screech. When you see the Ratura dogs come in sight, give it out--once--only once,--and if you don't screech well, I'll teach you how to do it better afterwards. Wait then till you hear and see me and my men come rushing down the track, and _then_ screech a second time. Only once, mind! but let it be long and strong. You understand? Now--away!" Like a bolt from a crossbow Wapoota sped. He had not been in hiding two minutes when the Ratura party came stealthily towards the rock before mentioned. Wapoota gathered himself up for a supreme effort. The head of the enemy's column appeared in view--then there burst, as if from the bosom of silent night, a yell such as no earthly parrot ever uttered or whale conceived. The very blood in the veins of all stood still. Their limbs refused to move. Away over the rolling plain went the horrid sound till it gained the mountain where, after being buffeted from cliff to crag, it finally died out far up among the rocky heights. "A device of the Ratura dogs to frighten us," growled Ongoloo to those nearest him. "Come, follow me, and remember, not a sound till I shout." The whole party sprang up and followed their chief at full gallop down the pass. The still petrified Raturans heard the sound of rushing feet. When Wapoota saw the dark forms of his comrades appear, he filled his chest and opened his mouth, and the awful skirl arose once again, as if to pollute the night-air. Then Ongoloo roared. With mingled surprise and ferocity his men took up the strain, as they rushed towards the now dimly visible foe. Savage nerves could stand no more. The Raturans turned and fled as one man. They descended the pass as they had never before descended it; they coursed over the plains like grey-hounds; they passed through their own villages like a whirlwind; drew most of the inhabitants after them like the living tail of a mad comet, and only stopped when they fell exhausted on the damp ground in the remotest depths of their own dismal swamps. CHAPTER SEVEN. Strange to say, the anger of the Raturans was not assuaged by the rebuff which they received at that time. They took counsel again, and resolved to wait till the suspicions of the Mountain-men had been allayed, and then attack them when off their guard. Meanwhile Zeppa, who did not at all concern himself with these matters, took it into his head one day that he would teach his little favourite, Lippy, to sing. Being a religious man he naturally selected hymns as the foundation of his teaching. At first he found it rather up-hill work, for Lippy happened to be gifted with a strong sense of the ludicrous, so that when he took her on his knee--the day on which the idea occurred to him--opened his mouth, and gave forth the first notes of a hymn in a fine sonorous bass voice, the child gazed at him for a few moments in open-eyed wonder, and then burst into an uncontrollable fit of open-mouthed laughter. Poor Zeppa! till that day, since his mental break-down, the idea of singing had never once occurred to him, and this reception of his first attempt to teach disconcerted him. He stopped abruptly and gazed at the child with a perplexed expression. This gaze was evidently regarded by Lippy as an additional touch of humour, for she went off into renewed explosions of delight and the lesson had to be given up for that time. Zeppa was gifted, however, with patient perseverance in a remarkable degree. He renewed his efforts, but changed his plan. From that time forward he took to humming hymns in a low, sweet voice, as if for his own amusement. In a short time he had the satisfaction of hearing Lippy attempt, of her own accord, to sing one of the hymns that had taken her fancy. She went wrong in one or two notes, however, which gave Zeppa the opportunity of putting her right. He took her on his knee, and told her, in her own tongue, to try it again. "Listen, this is the way," he said, opening his mouth to give an example; but the first note had scarcely begun to sound when Lippy thrust her brown fist into his mouth, and told him to stop. She would sing it herself! Accordingly, she began in a sweet, tiny little voice, and her teacher gazed at her with intense pleasure depicted on his handsome face until she reached the note where she had formerly gone wrong. "No--not so; sing thus," he said, giving the right notes. The pupil took it up at once, and thus the singing lessons were fairly begun. But the matter did not rest here, for Lippy, proud of her new acquirement soon began to exhibit her powers to her little companions, and ere long a few of the smallest of these ventured to creep into Zeppa's hut while the daily lesson was going on. Gradually they grew bolder, and joined in the exercise. Zeppa took pleasure in helping them, and at last permitted as many as could crowd into his hut to do so. Those who could not get inside sat on the ground outside, and, as the hut was open in front, the gathering soon increased. Thus, insensibly, without a well-defined intention or effort on the part of any one, the praise of God and the sweet name of Jesus ascended to heaven from that heathen village. The assembling of these children for their lesson brought powerfully to Zeppa's mind, one day, the meetings of the Ratinga people for worship, and the appropriateness of beginning with prayer occurred to him. Accordingly, that morning, just as he was about to commence the hymns, he clasped his hands, raised his eyes, and briefly asked God's blessing on the work. Profound astonishment kept the little ones quiet, and before they had time to recover the prayer was over. Zeppa's mode of terminating the assembly was characteristic. He did not like to order the children away, much less to put them out of his hut, and the little creatures, being fond of the teacher, were prone to remain too long. When, therefore, he thought it time to close, he simply rose up and took himself off, leaving his congregation to disperse when and how it pleased! Sometimes on these occasions he would remain away for, perhaps, two or three days, having totally forgotten the singing class, to the great disappointment of the children. One night, while he was thus absent, the men of Ratura delivered the attack which they had long meditated. It was an unusually dark and still night; such a night as tends almost irresistibly to quiet and subdue wayward spirits, and induces man to think of his Creator. Such a night as is apt to fill the guilty conscience with unresting fears, as though it felt the near approach of that avenging sword which sooner or later it must meet. Nevertheless, unmoved by its influences--except in so far as it suited their dark designs--the Raturans chose it for the fell purpose of invading their neighbours' lands, and exterminating their ancient foes; for, driven to desperation by the taunts and scorn of the Mountain-men, they felt that nothing short of extermination would suffice. And they were right. Extermination of the sinners, or the sins, was indeed their only chance of peace! Not knowing the Gospel method of blotting out the latter, their one resource lay in obliterating the former. In the dead of night--that darkest hour when deeds of villainy and violence are usually done--the Raturan chief once more assembled his men from all quarters of the rolling plains and the dismal swamps, until the entire force of the tribe was under his command. Leaving the aged men and boys to protect the women and children, those dark-skinned warriors marched away to battle--not with the flaunting banners and martial music of civilised man, but with the profound silence and the stealthy tread of the savage. Though the work in hand was the same, the means to the end were different; we will therefore describe them. Had it been a daylight battle to which they went forth, their women and boys would have followed with reserve ammunition in the shape of baskets full of stones, and spare javelins; but, being a night attack, the fighting men went alone--each armed with a heavy club, a light spear, and a stone knife or hatchet. Arrived at the pass where they had met with such a singular repulse on a former occasion, the main body was halted, and scouts were sent out in advance to see that all was clear. Then the plan of attack was formed. One detachment was to approach the enemy's village on the right; another was to go round to the left; while the main body was to advance in front. There is a proverb relating to the plans of men as well as mice, which receives verification in every land and time. Its truth received corroboration at this time on Sugar-loaf Island. On that same night it chanced that the chief Ongoloo was unable to sleep. He sent for his prime-ministerial-jester and one of his chiefs, to whom he proposed a ramble. The chief and jester professed themselves charmed with the proposal, although each had been roused from a pleasant slumber. In the course of the ramble they came unexpectedly on one of the Raturan scouts, whom they temporarily extinguished with a club. Ongoloo became at once alive to the situation, and took instant action. "Wapoota!" he said in an excited whisper, "run to the rear of the foe. Go swiftly, like the sea bird. When you get there, yell, shriek--like-- like--you know how! As you did last time! Change your ground at each yell--so they will think you a host. Fear not to be captured. Your death is nothing. Away!" A kick facilitated Wapoota's flight, and the two chiefs returned at speed to rouse the sleeping camp. Wapoota performed his part nobly--and without being captured, for he did not agree with Ongoloo as to the unimportance of his own death! At the unexpected outcry in the rear the Raturans halted, and held a hasty council of war. "Let us go back and fight them," said one. "No use, they are evil spirits--not men," said another. Some agreed with the former--some with the latter. "While we waste time here," said the leading chief, "the mountain dogs will get ready for us. Come! Forward!" The chief was right. Ongoloo's ruse caused delay, so that when the Raturans reached the village they found armed men ready to receive them. These they attacked with great courage, and waged a somewhat scrambling fight until daylight enabled each party to concentrate its forces. Meanwhile, at the first alarm, the women and children of the village had been sent off to the mountains for safety. Among the fugitives were Lippy and her mother. These happened to meet with the enemy's detachment which had been sent to assault the village on the left. The women scattered and fled. The savage warriors pursued, and several were taken, among them Lippy and her mother, who were promptly despatched to the rear. Those of the broken band that escaped continued their flight to the hills. They had not gone far when they met Zeppa returning from one of his rambles. His surprise on hearing that the village had been attacked was great and his anxiety considerable. Although he had refused to go out to war with his entertainers, he felt no disposition to stand idly by when they were attacked. Disordered though his mind was, he could make a clear distinction between aggressive war and self-defence. "And where is Lippy?" he asked, glancing round on the terrified faces. "She is caught and carried away--with her mother." "What!" exclaimed Zeppa, with a flash of his bright eyes that told of natural rage mingling with the fires of insanity. The women did not wait for more. They ran away from him in terror. But Zeppa had heard enough. Turning his face towards the village he sped over the ground at a pace that soon brought him in sight of the combatants, who seemed to be swaying to and fro--now here, now there--as the tide of battle flowed and victory leaned sometimes to one side sometimes to the other. Zeppa was unarmed. As he drew near he was observed by both parties to stop abruptly in his career, and wrench out of the ground a stake that had been meant for the corner-post of a newly-begun hut. It resembled the great club of Hercules rather than a weapon of modern man. Whirling it like a feather round his head, the maniac rushed on. He was thoroughly roused. A feeling of desperate anxiety coupled with a sense of horrible injustice had set his spirit in a blaze. His great size, which became more apparent as he advanced, his flashing eyes, compressed lips, and the wild flowing of his uncut hair and beard, gave him altogether an aspect so terrible that his foes trembled, while his friends rejoiced, and when at last he uttered a roar like a mad bull, and launched himself into the thickest of the fight the Raturans could not stand it, but turned and fled in a body under the impression that he was more than human. He was too fleet for them, however. Overtaking a flying knot, he brought the the corner-post down on the mass, and three warriors were levelled with the ground. Then, hurling the mighty club away as if it were a mere hindrance to him, he ran straight at the leader of the Raturans, who, being head and shoulders above his fellows, seemed a suitable foe to single out. Before reaching him, however, his attention was arrested by a cry from some one in the midst of the enemy in front. It was the voice of Wapoota, who was trying to break his way through the flying foe to his own people. Fortunately Zeppa recognised the voice, and darted towards his friend, who was hard pressed at the time by a crowd of opponents. One roar from the maniac sent these flying like chaff before the wind. It must be added, however, for the credit of the men of Ratura, that Ongoloo and his warriors had backed up their new leader gallantly. When Wapoota saw his deliverer, he ran to him, panting, and said-- "Come with me--this way--Lippy is here!" That was sufficient. Zeppa became submissive like a child, while the jester, taking him by the hand, ran with him at racing speed in the direction of the Raturan villages, towards which the child and her mother were being led by the party which had captured them. This was briefly explained to Zeppa by Wapoota, who had chanced to encounter the party when returning from his yelling mission, if we may so express it. The race was a long one, but neither the madman nor his friend flagged until they overtook the party. It consisted of about thirty warriors, but if it had been thirty hundred it would have made no difference in the effect of Zeppa's roar and aspect as he rushed upon them with obviously awful intentions, though without arms. In fact the latter circumstance tended rather to increase the fears of the superstitious natives. They fled as one man at the first sight of the maniac and Lippy was recovered! Instantly Zeppa's ferocity vanished, and the tenderest of smiles rippled over his face as he took the child in his arms and kissed her. But Wapoota did not feel quite so easy, for in their mad race they had outstripped the flying enemy, bands of whom were constantly passing them in their flight before the Mountain-men. His anxieties, however, were groundless, for no sooner did any of the Raturans set eyes on Zeppa, than, with howls of consternation, they diverged at a tangent like hunted hares, and coursed away homeward on the wings of terror. As on former occasions of conquest, the Mountain-men pursued the flying host into their swamps, but they did not, as in former times, return to slay the aged and carry the women and children into captivity. To the surprise of all his followers, and the anger of not a few, Ongoloo commanded his men to return to their village and leave the Raturans alone. One of his chiefs, who showed a disposition to resist his authority, he promptly knocked down, whereupon the rest became obedient and went quietly home. On reaching the village, Zeppa went straight to his hut with Lippy on his shoulder. Apparently he had forgotten all about the recent fight for, without even waiting to take food or rest he sat down, and began to give his little friend a singing lesson! With the air of a little princess, who felt that she was only receiving her due, the child accepted the attention. Her young companions, attracted by the sweet sounds, soon flocked to the old place of rendezvous, and when the last of the straggling warriors returned from the field of battle they found the singing class going full swing as if nothing had happened. But when the wounded and the dead were brought in, other sounds began to arise--sounds of wailing and woe, which soon drowned the hymns of praise. As soon as Zeppa became fully alive to this fact he ceased singing and went about trying to comfort those who wept but, from his perplexed air, and the frequency with which he paused in his wanderings to and fro and passed his hand across his brow, as if to clear away some misty clouds that rested there, it was evident that his shattered intellect had taken in a very imperfect impression of what had occurred. As if to get rid of this beclouded state, he started off that evening at a quick walk towards his favourite haunts among the hills. No one ever followed him on these occasions. The natives regarded his person as in some measure sacred, and would have deemed it not only dangerous but insolent to go up among the rocky heights when the madman was known to be there. Once, indeed, Wapoota, with that presumptuous temerity which is a characteristic of fools in general, ventured, on the strength of old acquaintance, to follow him, and even went towards the well known cave where he had found refuge and protection in the day of his distress; but Zeppa had either forgotten his former intercourse with the jester or intended to repudiate the connection, for he did not receive him kindly. On the way up, Wapoota, who felt somewhat timorous about the visit, had made up his mind as to the best mode of address with which to approach his friend. He had decided that, although he was not particularly youthful, the language and manner of a respectful son to a revered father would best befit the occasion. Accordingly when he reached the cave and saw Zeppa busy beside his fire with a cocoa-nut, he assumed a stooping attitude of profound respect, and drew near. Zeppa looked up with a frown, as if annoyed at the intrusion. "Your unworthy son," began Wapoota, "comes to--" But he got no further. He could not well have hit upon a more unfortunate phrase. "My unworthy _son_!" shouted Zeppa, leaping up, while unearthly fires seemed to shoot from his distended eyes. "My son! _son_! Ha! ha-a-a-a!" The horrified intruder heard the terminal yell, and saw the maniac bound over the fire towards him, but he saw and heard no more, for his limbs became suddenly endued with something like electric vitality. He turned and shot over a small precipice, as if flung from an ancient catapult. What he alighted on he did not know, still less did he care. It was sufficiently soft to prevent death. Another awful cry echoed and re-echoed from the heights above, and intensified the electric battery within him. He went down the slopes regardless of gradient at a pace that might have left even Zeppa behind if he had followed; but Zeppa did not follow. When Wapoota went over the precipice and disappeared, Zeppa halted and stood erect, gazing with a questioning aspect at the sky, and drawing his hand slowly across his brows with that wearied and puzzled aspect which had become characteristic. Returning after a few minutes to his cave, he reseated himself quietly beside his fire, and, with his usual placid expression, devoted himself earnestly to his cocoa-nut. That was the first and last occasion on which the poor madman experienced intrusion from the natives in his mountain retreat. CHAPTER EIGHT. Let us return, now, to our miserable and half-hearted pirate, far out upon the raging sea. It must not be supposed that the Pacific Ocean is always peaceful. No-- there are days and nights when its winds howl, and its billows roar, and heave, and fume, with all the violence and fury of any other terrestrial sea. On one such night, the pirate's barque was tossed like a cork on the Pacific's heaving bosom, while the shrieking winds played, as it were, fiendishly with the fluttering shreds of sails which they had previously blown to ribbons. Richard Rosco stood beside the weather-bulwarks holding on to one of the mizzen back-stays. His mate Redford assisted the man at the wheel. Upwards of three years of Rosco's rule had subdued Redford to the condition of a hypocritical and sly, but by no means a submissive, savage. One or two spurts at the commencement of their career had satisfied the mate, as well as the men, that the only way to overcome Rosco was to take his life; and as Redford had not sufficient courage, and the men no desire, to do that, they pursued their evil courses in comparative harmony. Nevertheless, the pirate captain knew well that the savage Redford was more acceptable to the pirates than himself so he determined to carry out intentions which had been simmering in his brain for some time, and rid the pirate crew of his presence. "We will sight the island to-morrow afternoon, sir, if this holds," said the mate. "I know it," answered Rosco. "There is no good anchorage around it," continued the mate. "So you have told me before," returned the captain, "but it matters not; we shall not anchor." "Not anchor!" repeated Redford in surprise. "I understood that we were to land there to ship sandal-wood. The crew thought so too, and I'm quite sure--" "Well--go on--what are you sure of?" "Oh! nothing--only sure that Captain Rosco understands his own intentions best." Rosco made no reply, and nothing further passed between the inharmonious pair at that time. Next day the gale abated, and, as Redford had predicted, Sugar-loaf Island was sighted in the afternoon. Running close in under the shelter of the mountain, the barque was hove-to and a boat lowered. "The crew will take arms with them, I suppose, sir?" asked the mate. "Of course, though there will not be occasion for them, as there are no natives at this part of the island. I merely wish to ascend the hill to reconnoitre. You will go with me. Put your pistols in your belt, and fetch my rifle. We may get some fresh meat among the hills." Breech-loading rifles had just come into fashion at that time, and the pirate captain had possessed himself of a double-barrelled one, with which he became wonderfully expert. This weapon was put into the boat with a large pouch full of cartridges. No comments were made in regard to this, the pirates having been accustomed to see their commander land in various places for a day's shooting, the result of which was usually an acceptable addition of fresh food to their larder. "Remain by the boat, lads, till we return," said Rosco, leaping out when the keel grated on the shore. "Come with me, Redford." The mate obeyed, following his commander towards the same ravine where, about four years before, they had seen poor Zeppa disappear among the recesses of the mountain. Redford felt a little surprise, and more than a little discomfort, at the peculiar conduct of his captain; but he comforted himself with the thought that if he should attempt any violence, there was a brace of pistols in his belt, and a cutlass at his side. He even for a moment meditated using the pistols when he looked at Rosco's broad back; but he knew that some of the men in the boat had a sort of sneaking fondness for their captain, and refrained--at least till he should get out of sight of the boat and into the shelter of the woods where his actions could not be seen, and any account of the affair might be coloured to suit his convenience. Richard Rosco divined pretty well what was passing in his mate's mind. He also knew that as long as they were in sight of the boat, his enemy would not dare to injure him; he therefore threw his rifle carelessly over his shoulder, and walked with the most easy air of nonchalance over the strip of level land that lay between the sea and the forest that fringed the mountain base. On the instant of entering the mouth of the ravine, however, he wheeled suddenly round and said-- "Now, Redford, you will lead the way, and I will direct you." The mate was startled, and his right hand moved, as if by involuntary impulse, toward the handle of a pistol. Instantly the muzzle of the captain's rifle was pointed at his breast. "Drop your hand!" he said sternly. "Another such threat, and I will shoot you with as much indifference as I would a sneaking dog. Now go on and do as I bid you." Redford gave in at once. He was at Rosco's mercy. Without a word he passed on in advance, and ascended the ravine with a quick, steady step. To say the truth, he knew well that while his commander, on the one hand, would not threaten what he did not mean to perform, on the other hand he would never shed human blood needlessly. He therefore felt less troubled than might have been expected. They soon reached a small eminence or rocky plateau, from which was obtained a splendid view of the sea, with the barque floating like a large albatross on its surface. From that point the boat could also be clearly seen, and every step of the path by which they had reached the eminence. "Now, Redford," said Rosco, throwing his rifle into the hollow of his left arm, so as to bring the muzzle full on the mate's chest, while, with the forefinger of his right hand, he lightly touched the triggers, "draw your pistols from your belt, and be very careful how you do it-- very careful--for if, even by chance, you touch hammer or trigger, you are a dead man." There was something of banter in Rosco's manner, yet this was associated with an air and tone of such calm decision that the mate felt curiously uncomfortable. He obeyed orders, however, promptly, and stood with a pistol in each hand. It must have been a tantalising position, for, had they been cocked, he could have blown out Rosco's brains in a moment. Indeed, he was sorely tempted to break the half-cock catch on the chance of one or both going off, but his commander's eye and muzzle forbade it. "Drop them," said Rosco, suddenly. If they had been red-hot irons, the mate could scarcely have let them go more quickly. It almost seemed as if his guilty desire had passed into the weapons and intensified the laws of gravitation--they came to the rock with such a clatter. "That will do. Now, two paces step--back, march! Splendid. Why, Redford, I had no idea you were so well up in your drill," said Rosco, stepping to the spot beside the pistols, which the mate had just vacated. "You are fit to act fugleman to the British army. Now, clasp your hands behind your back, and don't unclasp them till I give you leave. It's a new piece of drill but not difficult to learn." The cowed pirate was too much alarmed to be amused by this last sally. He stood, sulkily it is true, but anxiously, awaiting further orders. "Look here, Redford," continued the pirate captain. "I want to prove to you that the distance from this spot to the boat is about five hundred yards. You see that gull on the water? It is about the same distance off as the boat--well--" He sighted his rifle for five hundred yards, took a rapid aim, fired, and the gull, leaping its own height out of the water, fell back dead. "Oh! don't start my fine fellow, you forget the _other_ barrel!" The reminder was in time to check an unwise impulse on the mate's part. "Now," continued Rosco, assuming a more serious tone, "I have brought you here for a last conversation. You have long desired to command that vessel, and I have long desired to resign the command. We shall both have our desires gratified this day. I intend to take up my abode here; you are free to go where you please--but not to come here again. Lay my words to heart, now, and let me advise you to impress them on your crew. If you ever venture to come to this island again, I promise you to shoot every man that puts his foot upon the shore, and to shoot all that follow, as long as my ammunition lasts. And, you see, I have brought a pretty large bag of it on shore, which I do not mean to waste on gulls, or anything else. I mean to keep it entirely for your benefit, my worthy friend--so, after this warning, you will please yourself, and take your own course. Now, go down to the boat; row straight back to your ship, tell your crew whatever you choose as to our interview, and go where you please. But bear in mind that my rifle will cover you during every step that you take from this spot down to the beach, ay, and after you have left the beach too, until you are safe on board. Remember, also, that the rifle is sighted for one thousand yards, and that the barque is not much farther off than that. Go!" The last word was uttered in such a tone, that Redford instantly turned, and, without even a word of reply, retraced his steps to the shore. Then he promptly embarked, and the men promptly shoved off while Rosco sat on the rocky eminence, quietly watching them. No words did Redford speak to his wondering men, except such as were needed to direct the boat. On gaining the vessel, he sprang up the side, ordered all sail to be set and the guns to be loaded. When the vessel had increased her distance a few hundred yards from the shore, he brought her broadside to bear on the land, and then, having carefully laid the guns, gave the word to fire. The hull of the pirate vessel was instantly enveloped in a snowy curtain of smoke, and, next moment, the echoes of the hills were rudely startled by a thunderous crash, while a dozen or more iron balls burst like bomb-shells on the cliffs immediately above the spot where Rosco sat, sending showers of rock in all direction; and driving the sea-mews in shrieking terror from their nests. "A mere waste of ammunition," murmured Rosco, with a contemptuous curl of his lip, as he rose. "But the next may be better aimed, so I'll bid you good-bye, Redford!" Descending into the ravine, he was soon safe from the iron messengers of death, of which the enraged Redford sent another group ashore before finally bidding the island farewell. Now, it so happened that Zeppa was ascending the Sugar-loaf mountain on its other side, when all this cannonading was going on. He was naturally surprised at such unwonted sounds, and, remembering that cannon implied ships, and that ships were necessary to deliverance from his enforced exile, he naturally hastened his steps, and experienced an unusual degree of excitement. When he reached his favourite outlook--a ledge of flat land on the southern face of the hill, partially covered with bushes--he saw the pirate vessel sailing away from the island, and the smoke of her two broadsides rising like two snowy cloudlets into the blue sky. At first an expression of disappointment flitted across Zeppa's countenance, but it quickly passed, leaving the usual air of childlike submission behind. He sat down on a ledge of rock, and gazed long and wistfully at the retreating vessel. Then, casting his eyes upwards to the blue vault, he gave way to an impulse which had been growing upon him for some time--he began to pray aloud. It was while he was engaged in this act of devotion that Richard Rosco came upon the scene. At the first sound of the madman's deep voice, the pirate stopped and listened with a feeling of superstitious dread which seemed to check the very action of his heart--for, at the moment, a few bushes concealed his old enemy from his sight. Stepping cautiously forward, he could see through the interlacing boughs without himself being seen; and then the blood forsook his visage, and his limbs trembled as if he had been a paralysed old man. Could the man before him, in tattered garments, with the dishevelled mass of flowing, curly, iron-grey hair, with the long, heavy beard and moustache, the hollow cheeks, and the wonderfully solemn eyes--could _that_ be Zeppa? It seemed impossible, yet there was no mistaking the well known and still handsome features, or the massive, sinewy frame-- still less was it possible to doubt the deep, sonorous voice. But then--Zeppa had been seen on Ratinga Island, and the description given of him by those who had seen him had been so exact that Rosco had never doubted his return home and recovery of reason. Whatever he thought or felt, however, the pirate's whole being was soon absorbed in the madman's prayer. It was simple, like himself. He asked for permission to return home, and made a humble confession of sin. From the tenor of it, there could be no doubt that poor Zeppa had come to regard his exile as a direct punishment from God. Then the prayer changed to a petition for blessings on his wife and son and the deep voice became deeper and full of tenderness. The pirate experienced a shock of surprise--was the son, then, still alive? And, if so, how came Zeppa to know? He could not know it! The man before him must either be the creature of his own disordered fancy, or a real visitant from the world of spirits! As these thoughts coursed like lightning through the pirate's brain, he was suddenly startled by the sound of his own name. "And Rosco," said the madman, still looking steadily up into the sky, while a dark frown slowly gathered on his brow--"Oh! God, curse--no-- no, no. Forgive me, Lord, and forgive _him_, and save him from his sins." He stopped abruptly here, and looked confused. The mention of the pirate and his sins seemed to remind the poor father that his son had been murdered, and yet, somehow, he had fancied him alive, and had been praying for him! He could not understand it at all. The old look of mingled perplexity and patient submission was beginning again to steal over his face, and his hand was in the familiar act of passing over the troubled brow, when Zeppa's eyes alighted on Rosco's countenance. It would be difficult to say which, at that moment, most resembled a maniac. The sight of his enemy did more, perhaps, to restore Zeppa to a spurious kind of sanity than anything that had occurred since the fatal day of his bereavement, and called up an expression of fierce indignation to his countenance. All memory of his previous prayer vanished, and he glared for a moment at the pirate with intense fury. At the same time Rosco stood with blanched cheeks, intense horror in his eyes, his lower jaw dropped, and his whole frame, as it were, transfixed. The inaction of both was, however, but momentary. The madman sprang up, clutched the heavy staff he was wont to use in climbing the hills, and rushed impetuously but without word or cry at his foe. The pirate, brave though he undoubtedly was, lost all self-control, and fled in abject terror. Fortunately, the first part of the descent from the spot was unobstructed; for, in the then condition of their feelings, both men would probably have flung themselves over any precipice that had lain in their way. A few moments, however, sufficed to restore enough of self-possession to the pirate to enable him to direct his course with some intelligence. He naturally followed the path by which he had ascended, and soon gained the beach, closely followed by Zeppa. In speed the two men were at the time well matched, for any advantage that Zeppa had in point of size and strength was counterbalanced by the youth and superstitious terror of Rosco. At first, indeed, the madman gained on his foe, but as the impetuosity of his first dash abated, the pirate's courage returned, and, warming to the race, he held his ground. Like hare and greyhound they coursed along the level patch of ground that lay on that side of the island, until they came in sight of the swampy land, covered with low but dense wood which bounded the lands of the Raturans. Dismay overwhelmed the pirate at first sight of it. Then hope rebounded into his soul, and he put on a spurt which carried him considerably ahead of his pursuer. He reached the edge of the swamp-land, and dashed into its dark recesses. He had barely entered it a few yards when he plunged into water up to the neck. The heavy root of a tree chanced to hang over him. Drawing himself close beneath it, he remained quite still. It was his best--indeed his only--chance. Next moment Zeppa plunged headlong into another part of the same half-hidden pool. Arising, like some shaggy monster of the swamp, with weeds and slimy plants trailing from his locks, he paused a moment, as if to make sure of his direction before resuming the chase. At that moment he was completely in the power of the pirate, for his broad back was not more than a few feet from the screen of roots and tendrils by which Rosco was partially hidden. The temptation was strong. The pirate drew the keen knife that always hung at his girdle, but a feeling of pity induced him to hesitate. The delay sufficed to save Zeppa's life. Next moment he seized an overhanging branch, drew himself out of the swamp, and sped on his way; but, having lost sight of his enemy, he soon paused and looked round with indecision. "It must have been a dream," he muttered, and began to retrace his steps with an air of humiliation, as if half ashamed of having given way to such excitement. From his hiding-place the pirate saw him pass, and watched him out of sight. Then, clambering quickly out of the stagnant pool, he pushed deeper and deeper into the recesses of the morass, regardless of every danger, except that of falling into the madman's hands. CHAPTER NINE. Who shall tell, or who shall understand, the thoughts of Richard Rosco, the ex-pirate, as he wandered, lost yet regardless, in that dismal swamp? The human spirit is essentially galvanic. It jumps like a grasshopper, bounds like a kangaroo. The greatest of men can only restrain it in a slight degree. The small men either have exasperating trouble with it, or make no attempt to curb it at all. It is a rebellious spirit. The best of books tells us that, "Greater is he that ruleth it, than he that taketh a city." Think of that, youngster, whoever you are, who readeth this. Think of the conquerors of the world. Think of the "Great" Alexander, whose might was so tremendous that he subjugated kingdoms and spent his life in doing little else. Think of Napoleon "the Great," whose armies ravaged Europe from the Atlantic to Asia: who even began--though he failed to finish--the conquest of Africa; who made kings as you might make pasteboard men, and filled the civilised world with fear, as well as with blood and graves--all for his own glorification! Think of these and other "great" men, and reflect that it is written, "He who rules his own spirit" is _greater_ than they. Yes, the human spirit is difficult to deal with, and uncomfortably explosive. At least so Richard Rosco found it when, towards the close of the day on which his enemy chased him into the dismal swamp, he sat down on a gnarled root and began to reflect. His spirit jumped almost out of him with contempt, when he thought that for the first time in his life, he had fled in abject terror from the face of man! He could not conceal that from himself, despite the excuse suggested by pride--that he had half believed Zeppa to be an apparition. What even if that were true? Had he not boastfully said more than once that he would defy the foul fiend himself if he should attempt to thwart him? Then his spirit bounded into a region of disappointed rage when he thought of the lost opportunity of stabbing his enemy to the heart. After that, unbidden, and in spite of him, it dropped into an abyss of something like fierce despair when he recalled the past surveyed the present, and forecast the future. Truly, if hell ever does begin to men on earth, it began that day to the pirate, as he sat in the twilight on the gnarled root, with one of his feet dangling in the slimy water, his hands clasped so tight that the knuckles stood out white, and his eyes gazing upwards with an expression that seemed the very embodiment of woe. Then his spirit lost its spring, and he began to crawl, in memory, on the shores of "other days." He thought of the days when, comparatively innocent he rambled on the sunny hills of old England; played and did mischief with comrades; formed friendships and fought battles, and knew what it was to experience good impulses; understood the joy of giving way to these, as well as the depression consequent on resisting them; and recalled the time when he regarded his mother as the supreme judge in every case of difficulty--the only comforter in every time of sorrow. At this point his spirit grovelled like a crushed worm in the stagnant pool of his despair, for he had no hope. He had sinned every opportunity away. He had defied God and man, and nothing was left to him, apparently, save "a fearful looking-for of judgment." As he bent over the pool he saw his own distorted visage dimly reflected therein, and the thought occurred,--"Why not end it all at once? Five minutes at the utmost and all will be over!" The pirate was a physically brave man beyond his fellows. He had courage to carry the idea into effect but--"after death the judgment!" Where had he heard these words? They were strange to him, but they were not new. Those who are trained in the knowledge of God's Word are not as a general rule, moved in an extraordinary degree by quotations from it. It is often otherwise with those who have had little of it instilled into them in youth and none in later years. That which may seem to a Christian but a familiar part of the "old, old story," sometimes becomes to hundreds and thousands of human beings a startling revelation. It was so to the pirate on this occasion. The idea of judgment took such a hold of him that he shrank from death with far more fear than he ever had, with courage, faced it in days gone by. Trembling, terrified, abject he sat there, incapable of consecutive thought or intelligent action. At last the gloom which had been slowly deepening over the swamp sank into absolute blackness, and the chills of night, which were particularly sharp in such places, began to tell upon him. But he did not dare to move, lest he should fall into the swamp. Slowly he extended himself on the root; wound his arms and fingers convulsively among leaves and branches, and held on like a drowning man. An ague-fit seemed to have seized him, for he trembled violently in every limb; and as his exhausted spirit was about to lose itself in sleep, or, as it seemed to him, in death, he gave vent to a subdued cry, "God be merciful to me a sinner!" Rest, such as it was, refreshed the pirate, and when the grey dawn, struggling through the dense foliage, awoke him, he rose up with a feeling of submissiveness which seemed, somehow, to restore his energy. He was without purpose, however, for he knew nothing of his surroundings, and, of course, could form no idea of what was best to be done. In these circumstances he rose with a strange sensation of helplessness, and wandered straight before him. And oh! how beautiful were the scenes presented to his vision! Everything in this world is relative. That which is hideous at one time is lovely at another. In the night the evening, or at the grey dawn, the swamp was indeed dismal in the extreme; but when the morning advanced towards noon all that was changed, as if magically, by the action of the sun. Black, repulsive waters reflected patches of the bright blue sky, and every leaf, and spray, and parasite, and tendril, that grew in the world above was faithfully mirrored in the world below. Vistas of gnarled roots and graceful stems and drooping boughs were seen on right and left, before and behind, extending as if into infinite space, while innumerable insects, engaged in the business of their brief existence, were filling the region with miniature melodies. But Richard Rosco saw it not. At least it made no sensible impression on him. His mental retina was capable of receiving only two pictures: the concentrated accumulation of past sin--the terrible anticipation of future retribution. Between these two, present danger and suffering were well-nigh forgotten. Towards noon, however, the sense of hunger began to oppress him. He allayed it with a few wild berries. Then fatigue began to tell, for walking from root to root sometimes on short stretches of solid land, sometimes over soft mud, often knee-deep in water, was very exhausting. At last he came to what appeared to be the end of the swamp, and here he discovered a small patch of cultivated ground. The discovery awoke him to the necessity of caution, but he was awakened too late, for already had one of the Raturan natives observed him advancing out of the swamp. Instantly he gave the alarm that a "white face" was approaching. Of course the appearance of one suggested a scout, and the speedy approach of a host. Horrified to see a supposed enemy come from a region which they had hitherto deemed their sure refuge, the few natives who dwelt there flew to arms, and ran to meet the advancing foe. The pirate was not just then in a mood to resist. He had no weapon, and no spirit left. He therefore suffered himself to be taken prisoner without a struggle, satisfied apparently to know that the madman was not one of those into whose hands he had fallen. Great was the rejoicing among the Raturans when the prisoner was brought in, for they were still smarting under the humiliation of their defeat, and knew well that their discomfiture had been largely owing to the influence of "white faces." True, they did not fall into the mistake of supposing that Rosco was the awful giant who had chased and belaboured them so unmercifully with a long stake, but they at once concluded that he was a comrade of Zeppa--perhaps one of a band who had joined their foes. Besides, whether he were a comrade or not was a matter of small moment. Sufficient for them that his face was white, that he belonged to a race which, in the person of Zeppa, had wrought them evil, and that he was now in their power. Of course, the Raturans had not during all these years, remained in ignorance of the existence of Zeppa. They had heard of his dwelling in the mountain soon after he had visited the village of their enemies, and had also become aware of the fact that the white man was a madman and a giant, but more than this they did not know, because of their feud preventing interchange of visits or of news between the tribes. Their imaginations, therefore, having full swing, had clothed Zeppa in some of the supposed attributes of a demigod. These attributes, however, the same imaginations quickly exchanged for those of a demi-devil, when at last they saw Zeppa in the flesh, and were put to flight by him. His size, indeed, had rather fallen short of their expectation, for sixty feet had been the average estimate, but his fury and aspect had come quite up to the mark, and the fact that not a man of the tribe had dared to stand before him, was sufficient to convince a set of superstitious savages that he was a real devil in human guise. To have secured one of his minor comrades, therefore, was a splendid and unlooked-for piece of good fortune, which they resolved to make the most of by burning the pirate alive. Little did the wretched man think, when they conducted him to a hut in the middle of their village and supplied him with meat and drink, that this was a preliminary ceremony to the terrible end they purposed to make of him. It is true he did not feel easy in his mind, for, despite this touch of hospitality, his captors regarded him with looks of undisguised hatred. There was something of the feline spirit in these Raturan savages. As the cat plays with the mouse before killing it, so did they amuse themselves with the pirate before putting him to the final torture which was to terminate his life. And well was it for Rosco that they did so, for the delay thus caused was the means of saving his life--though he did not come out of the dread ordeal scathless. They began with a dance--a war-dance it is to be presumed--at all events it involved the flourishing of clubs and spears, the formation of hideous faces, and the perpetration of frightful grimaces, with bounds and yells enough to warrant the conclusion that the dance was not one of peace. Richard Rosco formed the centre of that dance--the sun, as it were, of the system round which the dusky host revolved. But he did not join in the celebration, for he was bound firmly to a stake set up in the ground, and could not move hand or foot. At first the warriors of the tribe moved round the pirate in a circle, stamping time slowly with their feet while the women and children stood in a larger circle, marking time with hands and voices. Presently the dance grew more furious, and ultimately attained to a pitch of wild violence which is quite indescribable. At the height of the paroxysm, a warrior would ever and anon dart out from the circle with whirling club, and bring it down as if on the prisoner's skull, but would turn it aside so deftly that it just grazed his ear and fell with a dull thud on the ground. Other warriors made at him with their spears, which they thrust with lightning speed at his naked breast, but checked them just as they touched the skin. Two or three of these last were so inexpert that they pricked the skin slightly, and blood began to trickle down, but these clumsy warriors were instantly kicked from the circle of dancers, and compelled to take their place among the women and children. When they had exhausted themselves with the dance, the warriors sat down to feast upon viands, which had, in the meanwhile, been preparing for them, and while they feasted they taunted their prisoner with cowardice, and told him in graphic language of the horrors that yet awaited him. Fortunately for the miserable man--who was left bound to the stake during the feast--he did not understand a word of what was said. He had been stripped of all clothing save a pair of short breeches, reaching a little below the knee, and his naked feet rested on a curious piece of basketwork. This last would have been too slight to bear his weight if he had not been almost suspended by the cords that bound him to the stake. Rosco was very pale. He felt that his doom was fixed; but his native courage did not forsake him. He braced himself to meet his fate like a man, and resolved to shut his eyes, when next they began to dance round him, so that he should not shrink from the blow or thrust which, he felt sure, would ere long end his ill-spent life. But the time seemed to him terribly long, and while he hung there his mind began to recall the gloomy past. Perhaps it was a refinement of cruelty on the part of the savages that they gave him time to think, so that his courage might be reduced or overcome. If so, they were mistaken in their plan. The pirate showed no unusual sign of fear. Once he attempted to pray, but he found that almost impossible. Wearied at length with waiting, the savages arose, and began to put fagots and other combustibles under the wicker-basket on which the pirate stood. Then, indeed, was Rosco's courage tried nearly to the uttermost and when he saw the fire actually applied, he uttered a cry of "Help! help!" so loud and terrible that his enemies fell back for a moment as if appalled. And help came from a quarter that Rosco little expected. But to explain this we must return to Zeppa. We have said that he gave up the chase of the pirate under the impression that the whole affair was a dream; but, on returning to his cave, he found that he could not rest. Old associations and memories had been too violently aroused, and, after spending a sleepless night he rose up, determined to resume the chase which he had abandoned. He returned to the spot where he had lost sight of his enemy in the swamp, and, after a brief examination of the place, advanced in as straight a line as he could through the tangled and interlacing boughs. Naturally he followed the trail of the pirate, for the difficulties or peculiar formations of the ground which had influenced the latter in his course also affected Zeppa much in the same way. Thus it came to pass that when the Raturans were about to burn their prisoner alive, the madman was close to their village. But Zeppa did not think of the Raturans. He had never seen or heard of them, except on the occasion of their attack on the Mountain-men. His sole desire was to be revenged on the slayer of his boy. And even in this matter the poor maniac was still greatly perplexed, for his Christian principles and his naturally gentle spirit forbade revenge on the one hand, while, on the other, a sense of justice told him that murder should not go unpunished, or the murderer remain at large; so that it required the absolute sight of Rosco before his eyes to rouse him to the pitch of fury necessary to hold him to the execution of his purpose. It was while he was advancing slowly, and puzzling his brain over these considerations, that Rosco's cry for help rang out. Zeppa recognised the voice, and a dark frown settled on his countenance as he stopped to listen. Then an appalling yell filled his ears. It was repeated again and again, as the kindling flames licked round the pirate's naked feet, causing him to writhe in mortal agony. Instantly Zeppa was stirred to action. He replied with a tremendous shout. Well did the Raturans know that shout. With caught breath and blanched faces they turned towards the direction whence it came, and they saw the madman bounding towards them with streaming locks and glaring eyes. A single look sufficed. The entire population of the village turned and fled! Next moment Zeppa rushed up to the stake, and kicked the fire-brands from beneath the poor victim, who was by that time almost insensible from agony and smoke. Drawing his knife, Zeppa cut the cords, and, lifting the pirate in his arms, laid him on the ground. The madman was terribly excited. He had been drenched from frequent immersions in the swamp, besides being much exhausted by his long and difficult walk, or rather, scramble, after a sleepless night; and this sudden meeting with his worst enemy in such awful circumstances seemed to have produced an access of insanity, so that the pirate felt uncertain whether he had not been delivered from a horrible fate to fall into one perhaps not less terrible. As he lay there on his back, scorched, tormented with thirst and helpless, he watched with fearful anxiety each motion of the madman. For some moments Zeppa seemed undecided. He stood with heaving chest expanding nostrils, and flashing eyes, gazing after the flying crew of natives. Then he turned sharply on the unhappy man who lay at his feet. "Get up!" he said fiercely, "and follow me." "I cannot get up, Zeppa," replied the pirate in a faint voice. "Don't you see my feet are burnt? God help me!" He ended with a deep groan, and the ferocity at once left Zeppa's countenance, but the wild light did not leave his eyes, nor did he become less excited in his actions. "Come, I will carry you," he said. Stooping down quickly, he raised the pirate in his arms as if he had been a child, and bore him away. Avoiding the swamp, he proceeded in the direction of the mountain by another route--a route which ran so near to Ongoloo's village, that the Raturans never ventured to use it. He passed the village without having been observed, and began to toil slowly up the steep ascent panting as he went, for his mighty strength had been overtaxed, and his helpless burden was heavy. "Lay me down and rest yourself," said Rosco, with a groan that he could not suppress, for his scorched lower limbs caused him unutterable anguish, and beads of perspiration stood upon his brow, while a deadly pallor overspread his face. Zeppa spoke no word in reply. He did, indeed, look at the speaker once, uneasily, but took no notice of his request. Thus, clasping his enemy to his breast he ascended the steep hill, struggling and stumbling upwards, as if with some fixed and stern purpose in view, until at last he gained the shelter of his mountain cave. CHAPTER TEN. We change the scene once more, and transport our readers over the ocean waves to a noble ship which is breasting those waves right gallantly. It is H.M.S. "Furious." In a retired part of the ship's cabin there are two savage nobles who do not take things quite as gallantly as the ship herself. These are our friends Tomeo and Buttchee of Ratinga. Each is seated on the cabin floor with his back against the bulkhead, an expression of woe-begone desolation on his visage, his black legs apart, and a ship's bucket between them. It were bad taste to be too particular as to details here! On quitting Ratinga, Tomeo and his brother chief had said that nothing would rejoice their hearts so much as to go to sea. Their wish was gratified, and, not long afterwards, they said that nothing could rejoice their hearts so much as to get back to land! Such is the contradictoriness of human nature. There was a stiffish breeze blowing, as one of the man-of-war's-men expressed it and "a nasty sea on"--he did not say on what. There must have been something nasty, also, on Tomeo's stomach, from the violent way in which he sought to get rid of it at times--without success. "Oh! Buttchee, my brother," said Tomeo (of course in his native tongue), "many years have passed over my head, a few white streaks begin to--to--" He paused abruptly, and eyed the bucket as if with an intention. "To appear," he continued with a short sigh; "also, I have seen many wars and suffered much from many wounds as you--you--ha!--you know, Buttchee, my brother, but of all the--" He became silent again--suddenly. "Why does my brother p-pause?" asked Buttchee, in a meek voice--as of one who had suffered severely in life's pilgrimage. There was no occasion for Tomeo to offer a verbal reply. After a time Buttchee raised his head and wiped his eyes, in which were many tears--but not of sorrow. "Tomeo," said he, "was it worth our while to forsake wives and children, and church, and hymns, and taro fields, and home for th-this?" "We did not leave for this," replied Tomeo, with some acerbity, for he experienced a temporary sensation of feeling better at the moment; "we left all for the sake of assisting our friends in--there! it comes-- it--" He said no more, and both chiefs relapsed into silence--gazing the while at the buckets with undue interest. They were interrupted by the sudden entrance of Ebony. "Come, you yaller-cheeked chiefs; you's die if you no make a heffort. Come on deck, breeve de fresh air. Git up a happetite. Go in for salt pork, plum duff, and lop-scouse, an' you'll git well 'fore you kin say Jack Rubinson." Tomeo and Buttchee looked up at the jovial negro and smiled--imbecile smiles they were. "We cannot move," said Tomeo and Buttchee together, "because we--w--" Together they ceased giving the reason--it was not necessary! "Oh dear!" said Ebony, opening his great eyes to their widest. "You no kin lib long at dat rate. Better die on deck if you _mus'_ die; more heasy for you to breeve up dar, an' more comf'rable to fro you overboard w'en you's got it over." With this cheering remark the worthy negro, seizing the chiefs each by a hand, half constrained, half assisted them to rise, and helped them to stagger to the quarter-deck, where they were greeted by Orlando, Captain Fitzgerald, Waroonga, and the missionary. "Come, that's right," cried the captain, shaking the two melancholy chiefs by the hand, "glad to see you plucking up courage. Tell them, Mr Zeppa, that we shall probably be at Sugar-loaf Island to-morrow, or next day." The two unfortunates were visibly cheered by the assurance. To do them justice, they had not quite given way to sea-sickness until then, for the weather had been moderately calm, but the nasty sea and stiff breeze had proved too much for them. "Are you sure we shall find the island so soon?" asked Orlando of the captain in a low, earnest tone, for the poor youth's excitement and anxiety deepened as they drew near to the place where his father might possibly be found--at the same time a strange, shrinking dread of what they might find made him almost wish for delay. "I am not sure, of course," returned the captain, "but if my information is correct, there is every probability that we shall find it to-morrow." "I hopes we shall," remarked Waroonga. "It would be a grand blessing if the Lord will gif us the island and your father in same day." "Mos' too good to be true," observed Ebony, who was a privileged individual on board, owing very much to his good-humoured eccentricity. "But surely you not spec's de niggers to tumbil down at yous feet all at wance, Massa Waroonga?" "Oh no, not at once. The day of miracle have pass," returned the missionary. "We mus' use the means, and then, has we not the promise that our work shall not be in vain?" Next day about noon the Sugar-loaf mountain rose out of the sea like a great pillar of hope to Orlando, as well as to the missionary. Captain Fitzgerald sailed close in, sweeping the mountain side with his telescope as he advanced until close under the cliffs, when he lay-to and held a consultation with his passengers. "I see no habitations of any kind," he said, "nor any sign of the presence of man, but I have heard that the native villages lie at the lower side of the island. Now, the question is, whether would it suit your purposes best to land an armed party here, and cross over to the villages, or to sail round the island, drop anchor in the most convenient bay, and land a party there?" Orlando, to whom this was more directly addressed, turned to the missionary. "What think you, Waroonga? You know native thought and feeling best." "I would not land armed party at all," answered Waroonga. "But Cappin Fitzgald know his own business most. What he thinks?" "My business and yours are so mingled," returned the captain, "that I look to you for advice. My chief duty is to obtain information as to the whereabouts of the pirate vessel, and I expect that such information will be got more readily through you, Waroonga, than any one else, for, besides being able to speak the native language, you can probably approach the savages more easily than I can." "They are not savages," returned Waroonga quietly, "they are God's ignorant children. I have seen worse men than South sea islanders with white faces an' soft clothin' who had not the excuse of ignorance." "Nay, my good sir," said the captain, "we will not quarrel about terms. Whatever else these `ignorant children' may be, I know that they are brave and warlike, and I shall gladly listen to your advice as to landing." "If you wish to go to them in peace, do not go to them with arms," said Waroonga. "Surely you would not advise me to send an unarmed party among armed sav--children?" returned the captain, with a look of surprise, while Orlando regarded his friend with mingled amusement and curiosity. "No. You best send no party at all. Jis' go round the island, put down angker, an' leave the rest to me." "But what do you propose to do?" asked the captain. "Swum to shore with Bibil." Orlando laughed, for he now understood the missionary's plan, and in a few words described the method by which Waroonga had subdued the natives of Ratinga. "You see, by this plan," he continued, "nothing is presented to the natives which they will be tempted to steal, and if they are very warlike or fierce, Waroonga's refusal to fight reduces them to a state of quiet readiness to hear, which is all that we want. Waroonga's tongue does the rest." "With God's Holy Spirit and the Word," interposed the missionary. "True, that is understood," said Orlando. "That is not _always_ understood," returned Waroonga. "The plan does not seem to me a very good one," said Captain Fitzgerald thoughtfully. "I can have no doubt that it has succeeded in time past, and may probably succeed again, but you cannot expect that the natives, even if disposed to be peaceful, will accept your message at once. It may take weeks, perhaps months, before you get them to believe the gospel, so as to permit of my men going ashore unarmed, and in the meantime, while you are engaged in this effort, what am I to be doing?" "Wait God's time," answered Waroonga simply. "But time presses. The pirate vessel, where-ever it may be, is escaping me," said the captain, unable to repress a smile. "However, I will at all events let you make the trial and await the result; reminding you, however, that you will run considerable risk, and that you must be prepared to accept the consequences of your rather reckless proceedings." "I hope, Waroonga," said Orlando, when the captain left them to give orders as to the course of the ship, "that you will let me share this risk with you?" "It will be wiser not. You are a strong man, an' sometimes fierce to behold. They will want to fight you; then up go your blood, an' you will want to fight them." "No, indeed, I won't," said Orlando earnestly. "I will promise to go in the spirit of a missionary. You know how anxious I am to get news of my dear father. How could you expect me to remain idle on board this vessel, when my soul is so troubled? You may depend on me, Waroonga. I will do exactly as you bid me, and will place myself peaceably in the power of natives--leaving the result, as you advise, to God." The young man's tone was so earnest, and withal so humble, that Waroonga could not help acceding to his request. "Well, well," said Captain Fitzgerald, when he heard of it; "you seem both to be bent on making martyrs of yourselves, but I will offer no opposition. All I can say is that I shall have my guns in readiness, and if I see anything like foul play, I'll bombard the place, and land an armed force to do what I can for you." Soon the frigate came in sight of Ongoloo's village, ran close in, brought up in a sheltered bay, and lowered a boat while the natives crowded the beach in vast numbers, uttering fierce cries, brandishing clubs and spears, and making other warlike demonstrations--for these poor people had been more than once visited by so-called merchant ships--the crews of which had carried off some of them by force. "We will not let a living man touch our shore," said Ongoloo to Wapoota, who chanced to be near his leader, when he marshalled his men. "Oh! yes, we will, chief," replied the brown humorist. "We will let some of them touch it, and then we will take them up carefully, and have them baked. A long-pig supper will do us good. The rest of them we will drive back to their big canoe." By the term "long-pig" Wapoota referred to the resemblance that a naked white man when prepared for roasting bears to an ordinary pig. A grim smile lit up Ongoloo's swarthy visage as he replied-- "Yes, we will permit a few fat ones to land. The rest shall die, for white men are thieves. They deceived us last time. They shall never deceive us again." As this remark might have been meant for a covert reference to his own thievish tendencies, Wapoota restrained his somewhat ghastly humour, while the chief continued his arrangements for repelling the invaders. Meanwhile, these invaders were getting into the boat. "What! you's not goin' widout me?" exclaimed Ebony, as one of the sailors thrust him aside from the gangway. "I fear we are," said Orlando, as he was about to descend the vessel's side. "It was as much as I could do to get Waroonga to agree to let me go with him." "But dis yar nigger kin die in a good cause as well as you, massa," said Ebony, in a tone of entreaty so earnest that the men standing near could not help laughing. "Now then, make haste," sang out the officer in charge of the boat. Orlando descended, and the negro, turning away with a deeply injured expression, walked majestically to the stern to watch the boat. Waroonga had prepared himself for the enterprise by stripping off every article of clothing save a linen cloth round his loins, and he carried nothing whatever with him except a small copy of God's Word printed in the language of the islanders. This, as the boat drew near to shore, he fastened on his head, among the bushy curls of his crisp black hair, as in a nest. Orlando had clothed himself in a pair of patched old canvas trousers, and a much worn unattractive cotton shirt. "Stop now," said the missionary, when the boat was about five or six hundred yards from the beach. "Are you ready?" "Ready," said Orlando. "Then come." He dropped quietly over the side and swam towards the shore. Orlando, following his example, was alongside of him in a few seconds. Both men were expert and rapid swimmers. The natives watched them in absolute silence and open-mouthed surprise. A few minutes sufficed to carry the swimmers to the beach. "Have your rifles handy, lads," said the officer in charge of the boat to his men. "Stand by," said the captain of the "Furious" to the men at the guns. But these precautions were unnecessary, for when the swimmers landed and walked up the beach they were seen by the man-of-war's-men to shake hands with the chief of the savages, and, after what appeared to be a brief palaver, to rub noses with him. Then the entire host turned and led the visitors towards the village. With a heart almost bursting from the combined effects of disappointment, humiliation, and grief, poor Ebony stood at the stern of the man-of-war, his arms crossed upon his brawny chest, and his great eyes swimming in irrepressible tears, a monstrous bead of which would every now and then overflow its banks and roll down his sable cheek. Suddenly the heart-stricken negro clasped his hands together, bowed his head, and dropped into the sea! The captain, who had seen him take the plunge, leaped to the stern, and saw him rise from the water, blow like a grampus, and strike out for land with the steady vigour of a gigantic frog. "Pick him up!" shouted the captain to the boat, which was by that time returning to the ship. "Ay, ay, sir," was the prompt reply. The boat was making straight for the negro and he for it. Neither diverged from the straight course. "Two of you in the bow, there, get ready to haul him in," said the officer. Two sturdy sailors drew in their oars, got up, and leaned over the bow with outstretched arms. Ebony looked at them, bestowed on them a tremendous grin, and went down with the oily ease of a northern seal! When next seen he was full a hundred yards astern of the boat, still heading steadily for the shore. "Let him go!" shouted the captain. "Ay, ay, sir," replied the obedient officer. And Ebony went! Meanwhile our missionary, having told the wondering savages that he brought them _good news_, was conducted with his companion to Ongoloo's hut. But it was plain that the good news referred to, and even Waroonga himself, had not nearly so great an effect on them as the sight of Orlando, at whom they gazed with an expression half of fear and half of awe which surprised him exceedingly. "Your story is not new to us," said Ongoloo, addressing the missionary, but gazing at Orlando, "it comes to us like an old song." "How so?" exclaimed Waroonga, "has any one been here before with the grand and sweet story of Jesus and His love." The reply of the savage chief was strangely anticipated and checked at that moment by a burst of childish voices singing one of the beautiful hymns with which the inhabitants of Ratinga had long been familiar. As the voices swelled in a chorus, which distance softened into fairy-like strains, the missionary and his companion sat entranced and bewildered, while the natives looked pleased, and appeared to enjoy their perplexity. "Our little ones," said Ongoloo, after a few minutes' pause, "are amusing themselves with singing. They often do that." As he spoke the party were startled and surprised by the sudden appearance of Ebony, who quietly stalked into the circle and seated himself beside the missionary with the guilty yet defiant air of a man who knows that he has done wrong, but is resolved at all hazards to have his way. Considering the turn that affairs had taken, neither Orlando nor Waroonga were sorry to see him. "This is a friend," said the latter in explanation, laying his hand on the negro's shoulder. "But tell me, chief, we are impatient for to know, where learned you that song?" "From one who is mad," replied the chief still gazing earnestly at Orlando. "Mad!" repeated the youth, starting up and trembling with excitement--"how know you that? Who--where is he? Ask him, Waroonga." The explanation that followed left no doubt on Orlando's mind that his father was bereft of reason, and wandering in the neighbouring mountain. If there had been any doubt, it would have been swept away by the chief, who quietly said, "the madman is _your father_!" "How does he know that Waroonga?" "I know, because there is no difference between you, except years-- and--" He did not finish the sentence, but touched his forehead solemnly with his finger. "Does he dwell alone in the mountains?" asked Orlando. "Yes, alone. He lets no one approach him," answered Ongoloo. "Now, Waroonga," said Orlando, "our prayers have been heard, and--at least partly--answered. But we must proceed with caution. You must return on board and tell Captain Fitzgerald that I go to search for my father _alone_." "Wid the help ob dis yar nigger," interposed Ebony. "Tell him on no account to send men in search of me," continued Orlando, paying no attention to the interruption; "and in the meantime, you know how to explain my purpose to the natives. Adieu." Rising quickly, he left the assembly and, followed modestly but closely by the unconquerable negro, set off with rapid strides towards the mountains. CHAPTER ELEVEN. When Zeppa, as related in a previous chapter, staggered up the mountain side with Richard Rosco in his arms, his great strength was all but exhausted, and it was with the utmost difficulty that he succeeded at last, before night-fall, in laying his burden on the couch in his cave. Then, for the first time, he seemed to have difficulty in deciding what to do. Now, at last, the pirate was in his power--he could do to him what he pleased! As he thought thus he turned a look of fierce indignation upon him. But, even as he gazed, the look faded, and was replaced by one of pity, for he could not help seeing that the wretched man was suffering intolerable anguish, though no murmur escaped from his tightly-compressed lips. "Slay me, in God's name, kill me at once, Zeppa," he gasped, "and put me out of torment." "Poor man! poor Rosco!" returned the madman in a gentle voice, "I thought to have punished thee, but God wills it otherwise." He said no more, but rose hastily and went into the bush. Returning in a few moments with a bundle of herbs, he gathered some sticks and kindled a fire. A large earthenware pot stood close to the side of the cave's entrance--a clumsy thing, made by himself of some sort of clay. This he filled with water, put the herbs in, and set it on the fire. Soon he had a poultice spread on a broad leaf which, when it was cold, he applied to one of the pirate's dreadfully burnt feet. Then he spread another poultice, with which he treated the other foot. What the remedy was that Zeppa made use of on this occasion is best known to himself; we can throw no light on the subject. Neither can we say whether the application was or was not in accordance with the practice of the faculty, but certain it is that Rosco's sufferings were immediately assuaged, and he soon fell into a tranquil sleep. Not so the madman, who sat watching by his couch. Poor Zeppa's physical sufferings and exertion had proved too much for him; the strain on his shattered nerves had been too severe, and a burning fever was now raging within him, so that the delirium consequent on disease began to mingle, so to speak, with his insanity. He felt that something unusual was going on within him. He tried to restrain himself, and chain down his wandering, surging thoughts, but the more he sought to hold himself down, the more did a demon--who seemed to have been especially appointed for the purpose--cast his mental fastenings adrift. At last he took it into his head that the slumbering pirate had bewitched him. As this idea gained ground and the internal fires increased, the old ideas of revenge returned, and he drew the knife which hung at his belt, gazing furtively at the sleeper as he did so. But the better nature within the man maintained a fierce conflict with the worse. "He murdered my son--my darling Orley!" murmured the madman, as he felt the keen edge and point of his knife, and crept towards the sleeper, while a fitful flicker of the dying fire betrayed the awful light that seemed to blaze in his eyes. "He carried me from my home! He left Marie to die in hopeless grief! Ha! ha! ha! Oh God! keep me back--back from _this_." The noise awoke Rosco, who sat up and gazed at Zeppa in horror, for he saw at a glance that a fit of his madness must have seized him. "Zeppa!" he exclaimed, raising himself with difficulty on both hands, and gazing sternly in the madman's face. "Ha!" exclaimed the latter, suddenly throwing his knife on the ground within Rosco's reach, "see, I scorn to take advantage of your unarmed condition. Take that and defend yourself. I will content myself with this." He caught up the heavy staff which he was in the habit of carrying with him in his mountain rambles. At the same instant Rosco seized the knife and flung it far into the bush. "See! I am still unarmed," he said. "True, but you are not the less guilty, Rosco, and you must die. It is my duty to kill you." He advanced with the staff up-raised. "Stay! Let us consider before you strike. Are you not a self-appointed executioner?" The question was well put. The madman lowered the staff to consider. Instantly the pirate made a plunge at and caught it. Zeppa strove to wrench it from his grasp, but the pirate felt that his life might depend on his retaining hold, and, in his extremity, was endued with almost supernatural strength. In the fierce struggles that ensued, the embers of the fire were scattered, and the spot reduced to almost total darkness. During the unequal conflict, the pirate, who could only get upon his knees, was swept and hurled from side to side, but still he grasped the staff with vice-like power to his breast. Even in that fearful moment the idea, which had already occurred to him, of humouring his antagonist gained force. He suddenly loosed his hold. Zeppa staggered backward, recovered himself, sprang forward, and aimed a fearful blow at his adversary, who suddenly fell flat down. The staff passed harmlessly over him and was shattered to pieces on the side of the cave. "Ha! ha!" laughed the pirate lightly, as he sat up again, "you see, Zeppa, that Providence is against you. How else could I, a helpless cripple, have held my own against you? And see, the very weapon you meant to use is broken to pieces. Come now, delay this execution for a little, and let us talk together about this death which you think is due. There is much to be said about death, you know, and I should like to get to understand it better before I experience it." "There is reason in that, Rosco," said Zeppa, sitting down on the ground by the side of the pirate, and leaning his back against the rock. "You have much need to consider death, for after death comes the judgment, and none of us can escape _that_." "True, Zeppa, and I should not like to face that just now, for I am not fit to die, although, as you truly say, I deserve death. I have no hesitation in admitting that," returned the pirate, with some bitterness; "I deserve to die, body and soul, and, after all, I don't see why I should seek so earnestly to delay the righteous doom." "Right, Rosco, right; you talk sense now, the doom is well deserved. Why, then, try to prevent me any longer from inflicting it when you know it is my duty to do so?" "Because," continued the pirate, who felt that to maintain the conflict even with words was too much for his exhausted strength, "because I have heard that God is merciful." "Merciful!" echoed Zeppa. "Of course He is. Have you not heard that His mercy is so great that He has provided a way of escape for sinners-- through faith in His own dear Son?" "It does not, however, seem to be a way of escape for _me_," said the pirate, letting himself sink back on his couch with a weary sigh. "Yes, it is! yes, it is!" exclaimed Zeppa eagerly, as he got upon the familiar theme; "the offer is to the chief of sinners, `Whosoever will,' `Turn ye, turn ye, for why will ye die?'" "Tell me about it" said Rosco faintly, as the other paused. Zeppa had delayed a moment in order to think for his disordered mind had been turned into a much-loved channel, that of preaching the Gospel to inquiring sinners. For many years he had been training himself in the knowledge of the Scriptures, and, being possessed of a good memory, he had got large portions of it by heart. Gathering together the embers of the scattered fire, he sat down again, and, gazing thoughtfully at the flickering flames, began to point out the way of salvation to the pirate. Sleep--irresistible sleep--gradually overcame the latter; still the former went on repeating long passages of God's word. At last he put a question, and, not receiving an answer, looked earnestly into the face of his enemy. "Ah! poor man. He sleeps. God cannot wish me to slay him until I have made him understand the gospel. I will delay--till to-morrow." Before the morrow came Zeppa had wandered forth among the cliffs and gorges of his wild home, with the ever-increasing fires of fever raging in his veins. Sometimes his madness took the form of wildest fury, and, grasping some bush or sapling that might chance to be near, he would struggle with it as with a fiend until utter exhaustion caused him to fall prostrate on the ground, where he would lie until partial rest and internal fire gave him strength again to rise. At other times he would run up and down the bills like a greyhound, bounding from rock to rock, and across chasms where one false step would have sent him headlong to destruction. Frequently he ran down to the beach and plunged into the sea, where he would swim about aimlessly until exhaustion sent him to the shore, where he would fall down, as at other times, and rest--if such repose could be so styled. Thus he continued fighting for his life for several days. During that time Richard Rosco lay in the cave almost starving. At first he had found several cocoa-nuts, the hard shells of which had been broken by Zeppa, and appeased his hunger with these, but when they were consumed, he sought about the cave for food in vain. Fortunately he found a large earthenware pot--evidently a home-made one--nearly full of water, so that he was spared the agony of thirst as well as hunger. When he had scraped the shells of the cocoa-nuts perfectly clean, the pirate tried to crawl forth on hands and knees, to search for food, his feet being in such a state that it was not possible for him to stand, much less to walk. But Zeppa had long ago cleared away all the wild fruits that grew in the neighbourhood of his cave, so that he found nothing save a few wild berries. Still, in his condition, even these were of the utmost value: they helped to keep him alive. Another night passed, and the day came. He crept forth once more, but was so weakened by suffering and want that he could not extend his explorations so far as before, and was compelled to return without having tasted a mouthful. Taking a long draught of water, he lay down, as he firmly believed, to die. And as he lay there his life rose up before him as an avenging angel, and the image of his dead mother returned with a reproachful yet an appealing look in her eyes. He tried to banish the one and to turn his thoughts from the other, but failed, and at last in an agony of remorse, shouted the single word "Guilty!" It seemed as if the cry had called Zeppa from the world of spirits--to which Rosco believed he had fled--for a few minutes afterwards the madman approached his mountain-home, with the blood still boiling in his veins. Apparently he had forgotten all about the pirate, for he was startled on beholding him. "What! still there? I thought I had killed you." "I wish you had, Zeppa. It would have been more merciful than leaving me to die of hunger here." "Are you prepared to die now?" "Yes, but for God's sake give me something to eat first. After that I care not what you do to me." "Miserable man, death is sufficient for you. I have neither command nor desire to torture. You shall have food immediately." So saying, Zeppa re-entered the bush. In less than half-an-hour he returned with several cocoa-nuts and other fruits, of which Rosco partook with an avidity that told its own tale. "Now," said Zeppa, rising, when Rosco had finished, "have you had enough?" "No," said the pirate, quickly, "not half enough. Go, like a good fellow, and fetch me more." Zeppa rose at once and went away. While he was gone the fear of being murdered again took possession of Rosco. He felt that his last hour was approaching, and, in order to avoid his doom if possible, crawled away among the bushes and tried to hide himself. He was terribly weak, however, and had not got fifty yards away when he fell down utterly exhausted. He heard Zeppa return to the cave, and listened with beating heart. "Hallo! where are you?" cried the madman. Then, receiving no answer, he burst into a long, loud fit of laughter, which seemed to freeze the very marrow in the pirate's bones. "Ha! ha!" he shouted, again and again, "I knew you were a dream, I felt sure of it--ha! ha! and now this proves it. And I'm glad you were a dream, for I did not want to kill you, Rosco, though I thought it my duty to do so. It was a dream--thank God, it was all a dream!" Zeppa did not end again with wild laughter, but betook himself to earnest importunate prayer, during which Rosco crept, by slow degrees, farther and farther away, until he could no longer hear the sound of his enemy's voice. Now, it was while this latter scene had been enacting, that Orlando and the faithful negro set out on their search into the mountain. At first they did not speak, and Ebony, not feeling sure how his young master relished his company, kept discreetly a pace or two in rear. After they had crossed the plain, however, and begun to scale the steep sides of the hills, his tendency towards conversation could not be restrained. "Does you t'ink, Massa Orley, that hims be you fadder?" "I think so, Ebony, indeed I feel almost sure of it." Thus encouraged, the negro ranged up alongside. "An' does you t'ink hims mad?" "I hope not. I pray not; but I fear that he--" "Hims got leettle out ob sorts," said the sympathetic Ebony, suggesting a milder state of things. As Orlando did not appear to derive much consolation from the suggestion, Ebony held his tongue for a few minutes. Presently his attention was attracted to a sound in the underwood near them. "Hist! Massa Orley. I hear somet'ing." "So do I, Ebony," said the youth, pausing for a moment to listen; "it must be some sort of bird, for there can be no wild animals left by the natives in so small an island." As he spoke something like a low moan was heard. The negro's mouth opened, and the whites of his great eyes seemed to dilate. "If it _am_ a bird, massa, hims got a mos' awful voice. Mus' have cotched a drefful cold!" The groan was repeated as he spoke, and immediately after they observed a large, sluggish-looking animal, advancing through the underwood. "What a pity we's not got a gun!" whispered Ebony. "If we's only had a spear or a pitchfork, it's besser than nuffin." "Lucky that you have nothing of the sort, else you'd commit murder," said Orlando, advancing. "Don't you see--it is a man!" The supposed animal started as the youth spoke, and rose on his knees with a terribly haggard and anxious look. "Richard Rosco!" exclaimed Orley, who recognised the pirate at the first glance. But Rosco did not reply. He, too, had recognised Orley, despite the change in his size and appearance, and believed him to be a visitant from the other world, an idea which was fostered by the further supposition that Ebony was the devil keeping him company. Orlando soon relieved him, however. The aspect of the pirate, so haggard and worn out, as he crawled on his hands and knees, was so dreadful that a flood of pity rushed into his bosom. "My poor fellow," he said, going forward and laying his hand gently on his shoulder, "this is indeed a most unexpected, most amazing sight. How came you here?" "Then you were not drowned?" gasped the pirate, instead of answering the question. "No, thank God. I was not drowned," said Orley, with a sad smile. "But again I ask, How came you here?" "Never mind me," said Rosco hurriedly, "but go to your father." "My father! Do you know, then, where he is?" cried Orlando, with sudden excitement. "Yes. He is up there--not far off. I have just escaped from him. He is bent on taking my life. He saved me from the savages. He is mad-- with fever--and stands terribly in need of help." Bewildered beyond expression by these contradictory statements, Orlando made no attempt to understand, but exclaimed-- "Can you guide us to him?" "You see," returned the pirate sadly, "I cannot even rise to my feet. The savages were burning me alive when your father came to my rescue. The flesh is dropping from the bones. I cannot help you." "Kin you git on my back?" asked Ebony. "You's a good lift, but I's awful strong." "I will try," returned Rosco, "but you will have to protect me from Zeppa if he sees me, for he is bent on taking my life. He thinks that you were drowned--as, indeed, so did I--the time that you were thrown overboard without my knowledge--mind that, _without my knowledge_--and your father in his madness thinks he is commissioned by God to avenge your death. Perhaps, when he sees you alive, he may change his mind, but there is no depending on one who is delirious with fever. He will probably still be in the cave when we reach it." "We will protect you. Get up quickly, and show us the way to the cave." In a moment the stout negro had the pirate on his broad shoulders, and, under his guidance, mounted the slightly-marked path that led to Zeppa's retreat. No words were spoken by the way. Orlando was too full of anxious anticipation to speak. The negro was too heavily weighted to care about conversation just then, and Rosco suffered so severely from the rough motions of his black steed that he was fain to purse his lips tightly to prevent a cry of pain. On reaching the neighbourhood of the cave the pirate whispered to Ebony to set him down. "You will come in sight of the place the moment you turn round yonder cliff. It is better that I should remain here till the meeting is over. I hear no sound, but doubtless Zeppa is lying down by this time." The negro set his burden on the ground, and Rosco crept slowly into the bush to hide, while the others hurried forward in the direction pointed out to them. CHAPTER TWELVE. No sooner had Orlando and the negro passed round the cliff to which Rosco had directed them, than they beheld a sight which was well calculated to fill them with anxiety and alarm, for there stood Zeppa, panting and wrestling with one of the fiends that were in the habit of assailing him. The fiend, on this occasion, was familiar enough to him--the stout branch of a tree which overhung his cave, but which his delirious brain had transformed into a living foe. No shout or cry issued from the poor man's compressed lips. He engaged in the deadly struggle with that silent resolve of purpose which was natural to him. The disease under which he laboured had probably reached its climax, for he swayed to and fro, in his futile efforts to wrench off the limb, with a degree of energy that seemed more than human. His partially naked limbs showed the knotted muscles standing out rigidly; his teeth were clenched and exposed; his blood-shot eyes glared; the long, curling and matted hair of his head and beard was flying about in wild disorder; and his labouring chest heaved as he fiercely, silently, and hopelessly struggled. Oh! it was a terrible picture to be presented thus suddenly to the gaze of a loving son. "Stay where you are, Ebony. I must meet him alone," whispered Orlando. Then, hastening forward with outstretched arms, he exclaimed-- "Father!" Instantly Zeppa let go his supposed enemy and turned round. The change in his aspect was as wonderful as it was sudden. The old, loving, gentle expression overspread his features, and the wild fire seemed to die out of his eyes as he held out both hands. "Ah! once more, my son!" he said, in the tenderest of tones. "Come to me. This is kind of you, Orley, to return so soon again; I had not expected you for a long time. Sit down beside me, and lay your head upon my knee--so--I like to have you that way, for I see you better." "Oh, father--dear father!" said Orlando, but the words were choked in his throat, and tears welled from his eyes. "Yes, Orley?" said Zeppa, with a startled look of joyful surprise, while he turned his head a little to one side, as if listening in expectancy; "speak again, dear boy; speak again. I have often seen you since you went to the spirit-land, but have never heard you speak till to-day. Speak once more, dear boy!" But Orley could not speak. He could only hide his face in his father's bosom and sob aloud. "Nay, don't cry, lad; you never did that before! What do you mean? That is unmanly. Not like what my courageous boy was wont to be. And you have grown so much since last I saw you. Why, you've even got a beard! Who ever heard of a bearded man sobbing like a child? And now I look at you closely I see that you have grown wonderfully tall. It is very strange--but all things seem strange since I came here. Only, in all the many visits you have paid me, I have never seen you changed till to-day. You have always come to me in the old boyish form. Very, _very_ strange! But, Orley, my boy" (and here Zeppa's voice became intensely earnest and pleading), "you won't leave me again, will you? Surely they can well spare you from the spirit-world for a time--just a little while. It would fill my heart with such joy and gratitude. And I'm your father, Orley, surely I have a right to you--more right than the angels have--haven't I? and then it would give such joy, if you came back, to your dear mother, whom I have not seen for so long--so very long!" "I will _never_ leave you, father, _never_!" cried Orlando, throwing his arms round Zeppa's neck and embracing him passionately. "Nay, then, you _are_ going to leave me," cried Zeppa, with sudden alarm, as he clasped Orlando to him with an iron grip. "You always embrace me when you are about to vanish out of my sight. But you shall not escape me _this_ time. I have got you tighter than I ever had you before, and no fiend shall separate us now. No fiend!" he repeated in a shout, glaring at a spot in the bushes where Ebony, unable to restrain his feelings, had unwittingly come into sight. Suddenly changing his purpose, Zeppa let go his son and sprang like a tiger on the supposed fiend. Ebony went down before him like a bulrush before the hurricane, but, unlike it, he did not rise again. The madman had pinned him to the earth and was compressing his throat with both hands. It required all the united strength of his son and the negro to loosen his grasp, and even that would not have sufficed had not the terrible flame which had burned so long died out. It seemed to have been suddenly extinguished by this last burst of fury, for Zeppa fell back as helpless as an infant in their hands. Indeed he lay so still with his eyes closed that Orlando trembled with fear lest he should be dying. "Now, Ebony," said he, taking the negro apart, when they had made the exhausted man as comfortable as possible on his rude couch in the cave; "you run down to the ship and fetch the doctor here without delay. I will be able to manage him easily when alone. Run as you never ran before. Don't let any soul come here except the doctor and yourself. Tell the captain I have found him--through God's mercy--but that he is very ill and must be carefully kept from excitement and that in the meantime nobody is to disturb us. The doctor will of course fetch physic; and tell him to bring his surgical instruments also, for, if I mistake not, poor Rosco needs his attention. Do you bring up as much in the way of provisions as you can carry, and one or two blankets. And, harkee, make no mention of the pirate to any one. Away!" During the delivery of this message, the negro listened eagerly, and stood quite motionless, like a black statue, with the exception of his glittering eyes. "Yes, massa," he said at its conclusion, and almost literally vanished from the scene. Orlando then turned to his father. The worn out man still lay perfectly quiet, with closed eyes, and countenance so pale that the dread of approaching death again seized on the son. The breathing was, however, slow and regular, and what appeared to be a slight degree of moisture lay on the brow. The fact that the sick man slept soon became apparent, and when Orlando had assured himself of this he arose, left the cave with careful tread, and glided, rather than walked, back to the place where the pirate had been left. There he still lay, apparently much exhausted. "We have found him, thank God," said Orlando, seating himself on a bank; "and I would fain hope that the worst is over, for he sleeps. But, poor fellow, you seem to be in a bad case. Can I do aught to relieve you?" "Nothing," replied Rosco, with a weary sigh. "I have sent for a surgeon--" "A surgeon!" repeated the pirate, with a startled look; "then there must be a man-of-war off the coast for South sea traders are not used to carry surgeons." "Ah! I forgot. You naturally don't wish to see any one connected with a man-of-war. Yes, there is one here. I came in her. But you can see this surgeon without his knowing who or what you are. It will be sufficient for him to know that you are an unfortunate sailor who had fallen into the hands of the savages." "Yes," exclaimed Rosco, grasping eagerly at the idea; "and that's just what I am. Moreover, I ran away from my ship! But--but--do _you_ not feel it your duty to give me up?" "What I shall feel it my duty to do ultimately is not a matter for present consideration. Just now you require surgical assistance. But how did you come here? and what do you mean by saying that you ran away from your ship?" Rosco in reply gave a brief but connected narrative of his career during the past three years, in which he made no attempt to exculpate himself, but, on the contrary, confessed his guilt and admitted his desert of death. "Yet I shrink from death," he said in conclusion. "Is it not strange that I, who have faced death so often with perfect indifference, should draw back from it now with something like fear?" "A great writer," replied Orlando, "whom my father used to read to me at home, says that `conscience makes cowards of us all.' And a still greater authority says that `the wicked flee when no man pursueth.' You are safe here, Rosco--at all events for the present. But you must not go near the cave again. Rest where you are and I will search for some place where you may remain concealed till you are well. I shall return quickly." Leaving the pirate where he lay, Orlando returned to his father, and, finding that he still slept, went off to search for a cave. He soon found a small one in the cliffs, suitable for his purpose. Thither he carried the pirate, laid him tenderly on a couch of branches and leaves, put food and water within his reach, and left him with a feeling of comfort and of contentment at heart that he had not experienced for many years. That night the surgeon of the "Furious" ascended to the mountain cave. His approach was made known to Orlando, as he watched at the sick man's side, by the appearance of Ebony's great eyes glittering at him over the bushes that encircled the cave's mouth. No wonder that poor Zeppa had mistaken him for a demon! Holding up a finger of caution, Orlando glided towards him, seized his arm, and, after leading him to a safe distance, asked in a low voice-- "Well, have you brought the doctor?" "Ho, yis, massa, an' I bring Tomeo and Buttchee too." "Didn't I tell you to let no one else come near us?" said Orlando in a tone of vexation. "Dat's true, massa, but I no kin stop dem. So soon as dey hear dat Antonio Zeppa am found, sick in de mountains, dey swore dey mus' go see him. I say dat you say no! Dey say dey not care. I say me knock 'em bofe down. Dey say dey turn me hinside hout if I don't ole my tongue. What could dis yar nigger do? Dey's too much for me. So dey follered, and here dey am wid de doctor, waiting about two hun'rd yards down dere for leave to come. But, I say, massa, dey's good sort o' fellers after all--do whatever you tells 'em. Good for go messages, p'raps, an save dis yar nigger's poor legs." Ebony made the latter suggestion with a grin so broad that in the darkness his face became almost luminous with teeth and gums. "Well, I suppose we must make the most of the circumstances," said Orlando. "Come, lead me to them." It was found that though the strong affection of the two chiefs for Zeppa had made them rebellious in the matter of visiting the spot, the same affection, and their regard for Orlando, rendered them submissive as lambs, and willing to do absolutely whatever they were told. Orlando, therefore, had no difficulty in prevailing on them to delay their visit to his father till the following day. Meanwhile, he caused them to encamp in a narrow pass close at hand, and, the better to reconcile them to their lot, imposed upon them the duty of mounting guard each alternate couple of hours during the night. "He will do well," said the doctor, after examining the patient. "This sleep is life to him. I will give him something when he awakes, but the awaking must be left to nature. Whether he recovers his reason after what he has passed through remains to be seen. You say he has been wandering for some time here in a state of insanity? How came that about?" "It is a long and sad story, doctor," said Orlando, evading the question, "and I have not time to tell it now, for I want you to visit another patient." "Another patient?" repeated the surgeon, in surprise; "ah! one of the natives, I suppose?" "No, a white man. He is a sailor who ran away from his ship, and was caught by the natives and tortured." "Come, then, let us go and see the poor fellow at once. Does he live far from here?" "Close at hand," answered Orlando, as he led the way; "and perhaps, doctor, it would be well not to question the poor man at present as to his being here and in such a plight. He seems very weak and ill." When the surgeon had examined Rosco's feet he led Orlando aside. "It is a bad case," he said; "both legs must be amputated below the knee if the man's life is to be saved." "Must it be done now?" "Immediately. Can you assist me?" "I have assisted at amateur operations before now," said Orlando, "and at all events you can count on the firmness of my nerves and on blind obedience. But stay--I must speak to him first, alone." "Rosco," said the youth, as he knelt by the pirate's couch, "your sins have been severely punished, and your endurance sorely tried--" "Not more than I deserve, Orlando." "But I grieve to tell you that your courage must be still further tried. The doctor says that both feet must be amputated." A frown gathered on the pirate's face, and he compressed his lips for a few moments. "And the alternative?" he asked. "Is death." Again there was a brief pause. Then he said slowly, almost bitterly-- "Oh, death! you have hovered over my head pretty steadily of late! It is a question whether I had not better let you come on and end these weary struggles, rather than become a hopeless cripple in the prime of life! Why should I fear death now more than before?" "Have you any hope of eternal life, Rosco?" "How can _I_ tell? What do _I_ know about eternal life!" "Then you are not prepared to die; and let me earnestly assure you that there _is_ something well worth living for, though at present you do not--you _cannot_ know it." "Enough. Let it be as the doctor advises," said the pirate in a tone of resignation. That night the operation was successfully performed, and the unfortunate man was afterwards carefully tended by Ebony. Next day Tomeo and Buttchee were told that their old friend Zeppa could not yet be seen, but that he required many little comforts from the "Furious," which must be brought up with as little delay as possible. That was sufficient. Forgetting themselves in their anxiety to aid their friend, these affectionate warriors went off on their mission, and were soon out of sight. When Zeppa awoke at last with a deep sigh, it was still dark. This was fortunate, for he could not see whose hand administered the physic, and was too listless and weak to inquire. It was bright day when he awoke the second time and looked up inquiringly in his son's face. "What, are you still there, Orley?" he said faintly, while the habitual sweet expression stole over his pale features, though it was quickly followed by the perplexed look. "But how comes this change? You look so much older than you are, dear boy. Would God that I could cease this dreaming!" "You are not dreaming _now_, father. I am indeed Orley. You have been ill and delirious, but, thanks be to God, are getting well again." "What?" exclaimed the invalid; "has it been all a dream, then? Were you _not_ thrown into the sea by mutineers, and have I _not_ been wandering for months or years on a desert island? But then, if these things be all dreams," he added, opening his eyes wide and fixing them intently on Orlando's face, "how comes it that I still dream the change in _you_? You are Orley, yet not Orley! How is that?" "Yes, all that is true, dear, _dear_ father," said the youth, gently clasping one of the helpless hands that lay crossed on Zeppa's broad chest; "I _was_ thrown overboard by the mutineers years ago, but, thank God, I was not drowned; and you have been wandering here in--in--very ill, for years; but, thank God again, you are better, and I have been mercifully sent to deliver you." "I can't believe it, Orley, for I have so often seen you, and you have so often given me the slip--yet there does seem something very real about you just now--very real, though so changed--yet it is the same voice, and you never _spoke_ to me before in my dreams--except once. Yes, I think it was once, that you spoke. I remember it well, for the sound sent such a thrill to my heart. Oh! God forbid that it should again fade away as it has done so often!" "It will not fade, father. The time you speak of was only yesterday, when I found you. You have been sleeping since, and a doctor is attending you." "A doctor! where did _he_ come from?" At that moment Ebony approached with some food in a tin pan. The invalid observed him at once. "Ebony! can that be you? Why--when--oh! my poor brain feels so light-- it seems as if a puff of wind would blow it away. I must have been very ill." Zeppa spoke feebly, and closed his eyes, from which one or two tears issued--blessed tears!--the first he had shed for many a day. "His reason is restored," whispered the doctor in Orlando's ear, "but he must be left to rest." Orlando's heart was too full to find relief through the lips. "I cannot understand it at all," resumed Zeppa, reopening his eyes; "least of all can I understand _you_, Orley, but my hope is in God. I would sleep now, but you must not let go my hand." (Orlando held it tighter.) "One word more. Your dear mother?" "Is well--and longs to see you." A profound, long-drawn sigh followed, as if an insupportable burden had been removed from the wearied soul, and Zeppa sank into a sleep so peaceful that it seemed as if the spirit had forsaken the worn out frame. But a steady, gentle heaving of the chest told that life was still there. During the hours that followed, Orlando sat quite motionless, like a statue, firmly grasping his father's hand. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. A few days after the discovery of Zeppa by his son, a trading vessel chanced to touch at the island, the captain of which no sooner saw the British man-of-war than he lowered his gig, went aboard in a state of great excitement, and told how that, just two days before, he had been chased by a pirate in latitude so-and-so and longitude something else! A messenger was immediately sent in hot haste to Sugar-loaf Mountain to summon Orlando. "I'm sorry to be obliged to leave you in such a hurry," said Captain Fitzgerald, as they were about to part, "but duty calls, and I must obey. I promise you, however, either to return here or to send your mission-vessel for you, if it be available. Rest assured that you shall not be altogether forsaken." Having uttered these words of consolation, the captain spread his sails and departed, leaving Orlando, and his father, Waroonga, Tomeo, Buttchee, Ebony, and Rosco on Sugar-loaf Island. Several days after this, Waroonga entered the hut of Ongoloo and sat down. The chief was amusing himself at the time by watching his prime minister Wapoota playing with little Lippy, who had become a favourite at the palace since Zeppa had begun to take notice of her. "I would palaver with the chief," said the missionary. "Let Lippy be gone," said the chief. Wapoota rolled the brown child unceremoniously out of the hut, and composed his humorous features into an expression of solemnity. "My brother," continued the missionary, "has agreed to become a Christian and burn his idols?" "Yes," replied Ongoloo with an emphatic nod, for he was a man of decision. "I like to hear what you tell me. I feel that I am full of naughtiness. I felt that before you came here. I have done things that I knew to be wrong, because I have been miserable after doing them--yet, when in passion, I have done them again. I have wondered why I was miserable. Now I know; you tell me the Great Father was whispering to my spirit. It must be true. I have resisted Him, and He made me miserable. I deserve it. I deserve to die. When any of my men dare to resist me I kill them. I have dared to resist the Great Father, yet He has not killed me. Why not? you tell me He is full of love and mercy even to His rebels! I believe it. You say, He sent His Son Jesus to die for me, and to deliver me from my sins. It is well, I accept this Saviour--and all my people shall accept Him." "My brother's voice makes me glad," returned Waroonga; "but while you can accept this Saviour for yourself, it is not possible to force other people to do so." "Not possible!" cried the despotic chief, with vehemence. "Do you not know that I can force my people to do whatever I please?--at least I can kill them if they refuse." "You cannot do that and, at the same time, be a Christian." "But," resumed Ongoloo, with a look of, so to speak, fierce perplexity, "I can at all events make them burn their idols." "True, but that would only make them hate you in their hearts, and perhaps worship their idols more earnestly in secret. No, my brother; there is but one weapon given to Christians, but that is a sharp and powerful weapon. It is called Love; we must _win_ others to Christ by voice and example, we may not drive them. It is not permitted. It is not possible." The chief cast his frowning eyes on the ground, and so remained for some time, while the missionary silently prayed. It was a critical moment. The man so long accustomed to despotic power could not easily bring his mind to understand the process of _winning_ men. He did, indeed, know how to win the love of his wives and children--for he was naturally of an affectionate disposition, but as to _winning_ the obedience of warriors or slaves--the thing was preposterous! Yet he had sagacity enough to perceive that while he could compel the obedience of the body--or kill it--he could not compel the obedience of the soul. "How can I," he said at last, with a touch of indignation still in his tone, "I, a chief and a descendant of chiefs, stoop to ask, to beg, my slaves to become Christians? It may not be, I can only command them." "Woh!" exclaimed Wapoota, unable to restrain his approval of the sentiment. "You cannot even command yourself, Ongoloo, to be a Christian. How, then, can you command others? It is the Great Father who has put it into your heart to wish to be a Christian. If you will now take His plan, you will succeed. If you refuse, and try your own plan, you shall fail." "Stay," cried the chief, suddenly laying such a powerful grasp on Waroonga's shoulder, that he winced; "did you not say that part of His plan is the forgiveness of enemies?" "I did." "Must I, then, forgive the Raturans if I become a Christian?" "Even so." "Then it is impossible. What! forgive the men whose forefathers have tried to rob my forefathers of their mountain since our nation first sprang into being! Forgive the men who have for ages fought with our fathers, and tried to make slaves of our women and children--though they always failed because they are cowardly dogs! Forgive the Raturans? _Never_! Impossible!" "With man this is impossible. With the Great Father all things are possible. Leave your heart in His hands, Ongoloo; don't refuse His offer to save you from an unforgiving spirit, as well as from other sins, and that which to you seems impossible will soon become easy." "No--never!" reiterated the chief with decision, as he cut further conversation short by rising and stalking out of the hut, closely followed by the sympathetic Wapoota. Waroonga was not much depressed by this failure. He knew that truth would prevail in time, and did not expect that the natural enmity of man would be overcome at the very first sound of the Gospel. He was therefore agreeably surprised when, on the afternoon of that same day, Ongoloo entered the hut which had been set apart for him and the two Ratinga chiefs, and said-- "Come, brother, I have called a council of my warriors. Come, you shall see the working of the Great Father." The missionary rose at once and went after the chief with much curiosity, accompanied by Tomeo and Buttchee: Zeppa and his son, with Ebony and the pirate, being still in the mountains. Ongoloo led them to the top of a small hill on which a sacred hut or temple stood. Here the prisoners of war used to be slaughtered, and here the orgies of heathen worship were wont to be practised. An immense crowd of natives--indeed the entire tribe except the sick and infirm--crowned the hill. This, however, was no new sight to the missionary, and conveyed no hint of what was pending. The crowd stood in two orderly circles--the inner one consisting of the warriors, the outer of the women and children. Both fell back to let the chief and his party pass. As the temple-hut was open at one side, its interior, with the horrible instruments of execution and torture, as well as skulls, bones, and other ghastly evidences of former murder, was exposed to view. On the centre of the floor lay a little pile of rudely carved pieces of timber, with some loose cocoa-nut fibre beneath them. A small fire burned on something that resembled an altar in front of the hut. The chief, standing close to this fire, cleared his throat and began an address with the words, "Men, warriors, women and children, listen!" And they did listen with such rapt attention that it seemed as if not only ears, but eyes, mouths, limbs, and muscles were engaged in the listening act, for this mode of address--condescending as it did to women and children--was quite new to them, and portended something unusual. "Since these men came here," continued the chief, pointing to Waroonga and his friends, "we have heard many wonderful things that have made us think. Before they came we heard some of the same wonderful things from the great white man, whose head is light but whose heart is wise and good. I have made up my mind, now, to become a Christian. My warriors, my women, my children need not be told what that is. They have all got ears and have heard. I have assembled you here to see my gods burned (he pointed to the pile in the temple), and I ask all who are willing, to join me in making this fire a big one. I cannot compel your souls. I _could_ compel your bodies, but I _will_ not!" He looked round very fiercely as he said this, as though he still had half a mind to kill one or two men to prove his point, and those who stood nearest to him moved uneasily, as though they more than half expected him to do some mischief, but the fierce look quickly passed away, and he went on in gentle, measured tones-- "Waroonga tells me that the Book of the Great Father says, those who become Christians must love each other: therefore we must no more hate, or quarrel, or fight, or kill--not even our enemies." There was evident surprise on every face, and a good deal of decided shaking of heads, as if such demands were outrageous. "Moreover, it is expected of Christians that they shall not revenge themselves, but suffer wrong patiently." The eyebrows rose higher at this. "Still more; it is demanded that we shall _forgive_ our enemies. If we become Christians, we must open our arms wide, and take the Raturans to our hearts!" This was a climax, as Ongoloo evidently intended, for he paused a long time, while loud expressions of dissent and defiance were heard on all sides, though it was not easy to see who uttered them. "Now, warriors, women and children, here I am--a Christian--who will join me?" "I will!" exclaimed Wapoota, stepping forward with several idols in his arms, which he tossed contemptuously into the temple. There was a general smile of incredulity among the warriors, for Wapoota was well known to be a time-server: nevertheless they were mistaken, for the jester was in earnest this time. Immediately after that, an old, white-headed warrior, bent nearly double with infirmity and years, came forward and acted as Wapoota had done. Then, turning to the people, he addressed them in a weak, trembling voice. There was a great silence, for this was the patriarch of the tribe; had been a lion-like man in his youth, and was greatly respected. "I join the Christians," he said, slowly. "Have I not lived and fought for long--very long?" "Yes, yes," from many voices. "And what good has come of it?" demanded the patriarch. "Have not the men of the Mountain fought with the men of the Swamp since the Mountain and the Swamp came from the hand of the Great Father?" (A pause, and again, "Yes, yes," from many voices.) "And what good has come of it? Here is the Mountain; yonder is the Swamp, as they were from the beginning; and what the better are we that the swamp has been flooded and the mountain drenched with the blood of our fathers? Hatred has been tried from the beginning of time, and has failed. Let us now, my children, try Love, as the Great Father counsels us to do." A murmur of decided applause followed the old man's speech, and Ongoloo, seizing him by both shoulders, gazed earnestly into his withered face. Had they been Frenchmen, these two would no doubt have kissed each other's cheeks; if Englishmen, they might have shaken hands warmly; being Polynesian savages, they rubbed noses. Under the influence of this affectionate act, a number of the warriors ran off, fetched their gods, and threw them on the temple floor. Then Ongoloo, seizing a brand from the fire, thrust it into the loose cocoa-nut fibre, and set the pile in a blaze. Quickly the flames leaped into the temple thatch, and set the whole structure on fire. As the fire roared and leaped, Waroonga, with Tomeo and Buttchee, started a hymn. It chanced to be one which Zeppa had already taught the people, who at once took it up, and sent forth such a shout of praise as had never before echoed among the palm-groves of that island. It confirmed the waverers, and thus, under the influence of sympathy, the whole tribe came that day to be of one mind! The sweet strains, rolling over the plains and uplands, reached the cliffs at last, and struck faintly on the ears of a small group assembled in a mountain cave. The group consisted of Zeppa and his son, Ebony and the pirate. "It sounds marvellously like a hymn," said Orlando, listening. "Ah! dear boy, it is one I taught the natives when I stayed with them," said Zeppa; "but it never reached so far as this before." Poor Zeppa was in his right mind again, but oh! how weak and wan and thin the raging fever had left him! Rosco, who was also reduced to a mere shadow of his former self, listened to the faint sound with a troubled expression, for it carried him back to the days of innocence, when he sang it at his mother's knee. "Dat's oncommon strange," said Ebony. "Nebber heard de sound come so far before. Hope de scoundrils no got hold ob grog." "Shame on you, Ebony, to suspect such a thing!" said Orlando. "You would be better employed getting things ready for to-morrow's journey than casting imputations on our hospitable friends." "Dar's not'ing to git ready, massa," returned the negro. "Eberyting's prepared to start arter breakfust." "That's well, and I am sure the change to the seashore will do you good, father, as well as Rosco. You've both been too long here. The cave is not as dry as one could wish--and, then, you'll be cheered by the sound of children playing round you." "Yes, it will be pleasant to have Lippy running out and in again," said Zeppa. They did not converse much, for the strength of both Zeppa and Rosco had been so reduced that they could not even sit up long without exhaustion, but Orlando kept up their spirits by prattling away on every subject that came into his mind--and especially of the island of Ratinga. While they were thus engaged they heard the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, and next moment Tomeo and Buttchee bounded over the bushes, glaring and panting from the rate at which they had raced up the hill to tell the wonderful news! "Eberyting bu'nt?" exclaimed Ebony, whose eyes and teeth showed so much white that his face seemed absolutely to sparkle. "Everything. Idols and temple!" repeated the two chiefs, in the Ratinga tongue, and in the same breath. "An' nebber gwine to fight no more?" asked Ebony, with a grin, that might be more correctly described as a split, from ear to ear. "Never more!" replied the chiefs. Next morning the two invalids were tenderly conveyed on litters down the mountain side and over the plain, and before the afternoon had passed away, they found a pleasant temporary resting-place in the now Christian village. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. The slopes and knolls and palm-fringed cliffs of Ratinga were tipped with gold by the western sun one evening as he declined towards his bed in the Pacific, when Marie Zeppa wandered with Betsy Waroonga and her brown little daughter Zariffa towards the strip of bright sand in front of the village. The two matrons, besides being filled with somewhat similar anxieties as to absent ones, were naturally sympathetic, and frequently sought each other's company. The lively Anglo-French woman, whose vivacity was not altogether subdued even by the dark cloud that hung over her husband's fate, took special pleasure in the sedate, earnest temperament of her native missionary friend, whose difficulty in understanding a joke, coupled with her inability to control her laughter when, after painful explanation, she did manage to comprehend one, was a source of much interest--an under-current, as it were, of quiet amusement. "Betsy," said Marie, as they walked slowly along, their naked feet just laved by the rippling sea, "why do you persist in wearing that absurd bonnet? If you would only let me cut four inches off the crown and six off the front, it would be much more becoming. Do let me, there's a dear. You know I was accustomed to cutting and shaping when in England." "But what for the use?" asked Betsy, turning her large brown eyes solemnly on her companion. "It no seems too big to me. Besides, when brudder Gubbins give him to me he--" "Who is brudder Gubbins?" asked Marie, with a look of smiling surprise. "Oh! _you_ know. The min'ster--Gubbins--what come to the mission-station just afore me an' Waroonga left for Ratinga." "Oh! I see; the Reverend Mr Gubbins--well, what did _he_ say about the bonnet?" "W'at did he say? ah! he say much mor'n I kin remember, an' he look at the bonnet with's head a one side--so sad an' pitiful like. `Ah! Betsy Waroonga,' ses he, `this just the thing for you. Put it on an' take it to Ratinga, it'll press the natives there.'" "Impress them, you mean, Betsy." "Well, p'raps it was that. Anyhow I put it on, an' he looked at me _so_ earnest an' ses with a sigh, `Betsy,' ses he, `it minds me o' my grandmother, an' she _was_ a good old soul--brought me up, Betsy, she did. Wear it for her sake an' mine. I make a present of it to you.'" "Ah! Betsy," said Marie, "the Reverend Gubbins must be a wag, I suspect." "W'at's a wag, Marie?" "Don't you know what a wag is?" "Oh, yis, _I_ know. When leetil bird sit on a stone an shake hims tail, I've heerd you an Orley say it wag--but misser Gubbins he got no tail to wag--so how can he wag it?" "I didn't say he wagged it, Betsy," returned Marie, repressing a laugh, "but--you'll never get to understand what a wag means, so I won't try to explain. Look! Zariffa is venturesome. You'd better call her back." Zariffa was indeed venturesome. Clad in a white flannel petticoat and a miniature coal-scuttle, she was at that moment wading so deep into the clear sea that she had to raise the little garment as high as her brown bosom to keep it out of the water; and with all her efforts she was unsuccessful, for, with that natural tendency of childhood to forget and neglect what cannot be seen, she had allowed the rear-part of the petticoat to drop into the sea. This, however, occasioned little or no anxiety to Betsy Waroonga, for she was not an anxious mother; but when, raising her eyes a little higher, she beheld the tip of the back-fin of a shark describing lively circles in the water as if it had scented the tender morsel and were searching for it, her easy indifference vanished. She gave vent to a yell and made a bound that told eloquently of the savage beneath the missionary, and, in another instant was up to the knees in the water with the coal-scuttle quivering violently. Seizing Zariffa, she squeezed her almost to the bursting point against her palpitating breast, while the shark headed seaward in bitter disappointment. "Don't go so deep agin, Ziffa," said the mother, with a gasp, as she set her little one down on the sand. "No, musser," said the obedient child; and she kept on the landward side of her parent thereafter with demonstrative care. It may be remarked here that, owing to Waroonga's love for, and admiration of, white men, Zariffa's native tongue was English--broken, of course, to the pattern of her parents. "It was a narrow escape, Betsy," said Marie, solemnised by the incident. "Yes, thank the Lord," replied the other, continuing to gaze out to sea long after the cause of her alarm had disappeared. "Oh! Marie," she added, with a sigh, "when will the dear men come home?" The question drove all the playful humour out of poor Marie, and her eyes filled with sudden tears. "When, indeed? Oh! Betsy, _my_ man will never come. For Orley and the others I have little fear, but my Antonio--" Poor Marie could say no more. Her nature was as quickly, though not as easily, provoked to deep sorrow as to gaiety. She covered her face with her hands. As she did so the eyes of Betsy, which had for some time been fixed on the horizon, opened to their widest, and her countenance assumed a look so deeply solemn that it might have lent a touch of dignity even to the coal-scuttle bonnet, if it had not bordered just a little too closely on the ridiculous. "Ho! Marie," she exclaimed in a whisper so deep that her friend looked up with a startled air; "see! look--a sip." "A ship--where?" said the other, turning her eager gaze on the horizon. But she was not so quick-sighted as her companion, and when at length she succeeded in fixing the object with her eyes, she pronounced it a gull. "No 'snot a gull--a sip," retorted Betsy. "Ask Zariffa. Her eyes are better than ours," suggested Marie. "Kumeer, Ziffa!" shouted Betsy. Zariffa came, and, at the first glance, exclaimed. "A sip!" The news spread in a moment for other and sharper eyes in the village had already observed the sail, and, ere long, the beach was crowded with natives. By that time most of the Ratingans had adopted more or less, chiefly less, of European costume, so that the aspect of the crowd was anything but savage. It is true there were large proportions of brown humanity presented to view--such as arms, legs, necks, and chests, but these were picturesquely interspersed with striped cotton drawers, duck trousers, gay guernseys, red and blue flannel petticoats, numerous caps and straw hats as well as a few coal-scuttles--though none of the latter could match that of Betsy Waroonga for size and tremulosity. But there were other signs of civilisation there besides costume, for, in addition to the neat huts and gardens and whitewashed church, there was a sound issuing from the pointed spire which was anything but suggestive of the South sea savage. It was the church bell--a small one, to be sure, but sweetly toned--which was being rung violently to call in all the fighting men from the woods and fields around, for at that time the Ratingans had to be prepared for the reception of foes as well as friends. A trusty chief had been placed in charge of the village by Tomeo before he left. This man now disposed his warriors in commanding positions as they came trooping in, obedient to the call, and bade them keep out of sight and watch his signals from the beach. But now let us see what vessel it was that caused such commotion in Ratinga. She was a brig, with nothing particularly striking in her rig or appointments--a mere trading vessel. But on her bulwarks at the bow and on the heel of the bowsprit was gathered a group that well deserves notice, for there, foremost of all, and towering above the others, stood Antonio Zeppa, holding on to a forestay, and gazing with intensity and fixedness at the speck of land which had just been sighted. Beside him, and not less absorbed, stood his valiant and amiable son; while around, in various attitudes, sat or stood the chiefs Tomeo and Buttchee, Rosco and Ebony, Ongoloo and Wapoota, and little Lippy with her mother! But the native missionary was not there. He had positively refused to quit the desert which had so unexpectedly and suddenly begun to blossom as the rose, and had remained to water the ground until his friends should send for him. The chief and prime minister of the Mountain-men were there because, being large-minded, they wished to travel and see the world; and Lippy was there because Zeppa liked her; while the mother was there because she liked Lippy and refused to be parted from her. Great was the change which had come over Zeppa during his convalescence. The wild locks and beard had been cut and trimmed; the ragged garments had been replaced by a suit belonging to Orley, and the air of wild despair, alternating with vacant simplicity, which characterised him in his days of madness, had given place to the old, sedate, sweet look of gentle gravity. It is true the grey hairs had increased in number, and there was a look, or, rather, an effect, of suffering in the fine face which nothing could remove; but much of the muscular vigour and the erect gait had been regained during those months when he had been so carefully and untiringly nursed by his son on Sugar-loaf Island. It was not so with the ex-pirate. Poor Rosco was a broken man. The shock to his frame from the partial burning and the subsequent amputation of his feet had been so great that a return to anything like vigour seemed out of the question. But there was that in the expression of his faded face, and in the light of his sunken eye, which carried home the conviction that the ruin of his body had been the saving of his soul. "I cannot tell you, Orley, how thankful I am," said Zeppa, "that this trader happened to touch at the island. As I grew stronger my anxiety to return home became more and more intense; and to say truth, I had begun to fear that Captain Fitzgerald had forgotten us altogether." "No fear of that, father. The captain is sure to keep his promise. He will either return, as he said, or send some vessel to look after us. What are you gazing at, Ebony?" "De steepil, massa. Look!" cried the negro, his whole face quivering with excitement, and the whites of his eyes unusually obtrusive as he pointed to the ever-growing line of land on the horizon, "you see him?-- glippering like fire!" "I do see something glittering," said Orlando, shading his eyes with his hand; "yes, it must be the steeple of the church, father. Look, it was not there when you left us. We'll soon see the houses now." "Thank God!" murmured Zeppa, in a deep, tremulous voice. "Can you see it, Rosco?" said Orley. The pirate turned his eyes languidly in the direction pointed out. "I see the land," he said faintly, "and I join your father in thanking God for that--but--but it is not _home_ to me." "Come, friend," said Zeppa, laying his hand gently on the poor man's shoulder, "say not so. It shall be home to you yet, please God. If He has blotted out the past in the cleansing blood of the Lamb, what is man that he should remember it? Cheer up, Rosco, you shall find a home and a welcome in Ratinga." "Always returning good for evil, Zeppa," said Rosco, in a more cheerful voice. "I think it is this tremendous weakness that crushes my spirits, but come--I'll try to `cheer up,' as you advise." "Dat's right massa!" cried Ebony, in an encouraging tone; "an' jus' look at the glipperin' steepil. He'll do yous heart good--somet'ing like de fire in de wilderness to de Jipshins--" "To the Israelites you mean," said Orley. "Ah, yis--de Izlrights, to be sure. I mis-remembered. Ho! look; dar's de house-tops now; an' the pine grove whar' we was use to hold palaver 'bout you, Massa, arter you was lost; an'--yis--dat's de house--yous own house. You see de wife lookin' out o' winder bery soon. I knows it by de pig-sty close 'longside whar' de big grumper sow libs, dat Ziffa's so fond o' playin' wid. Ho! Lippy, come here, you little naked ting," (he caught up the child an' sat her on his broad shoulder). "You see de small leetil house. Dat's it. Dat's whar' Ziffa lubs to play, but she'll hab you to play wid soon, an' den she'll forsake de ole sow. Ho! but I forgit--you no understan' English." Hereupon Ebony began to translate his information as he best could into the language of the little creature, in which effort he was not very successful, being an indifferent linguist. Meanwhile the vessel gradually neared the island, stood into the lagoon, and, finally, dropped anchor. A boat was at once lowered and made for the shore. And oh! how intensely and intently did those in the boat and those on the shore gaze at each other as the space between them diminished! "They not look like enemies," said Betsy in subdued tones. "And I don't think they are armed," returned Marie, with palpitating heart, "but I cannot yet make out the faces--only, they seem to be white, some of them." "Yis, an' some of 'em's brown." Thus--on the shore. In the boat:-- "Now den, massa, you sees her--an' ha! ha! dar's Betsy. I'd know her 'mong a t'ousind. You sees de bonnit--tumblin' about like a jollyboat in a high sea; an' Ziffa too wid de leetil bonnit, all de same shape, kin you no' see her?" Zeppa protested, rather anxiously, that he could _not_ see them, and no wonder, for just then his eyes were blinded by tears which no amount of wiping sufficed to clear away. At that moment a shriek was heard on shore, and Betsy was seen to spring, we are afraid to say how many feet, into the air. "Dar', she's reco'nised us now!" exclaimed Ebony with delight; and it was evident that he was right for Betsy continued to caper upon the sands in a manner that could only be the result of joy or insanity, while the coal-scuttle beat tempestuously about her head like an enraged balloon. Another moment and a signal from the chief brought the ambushed Christian warriors pouring down to the shore to see the long-lost and loved ones reunited, while Ebony ran about in a state of frantic excitement, weeping copiously, and embracing every one who came in his way. But who shall describe the agony of disappointment endured by poor Betsy when she found that Waroonga was _not_ among them? the droop of the spirits, the collapse of the coal-scuttle! Language is impotent. We leave it to imagination, merely remarking that she soon recovered on the faith of the happiness which was yet in store for her. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. And now, once again, we find ourselves in the palm-grove of Ratinga Island. It is a fine autumn afternoon. The air is still as regards motion, but thrilling with the melody of merry human voices as the natives labour in the fields, and alive with the twittering of birds as they make love, quarrel, and make it up again in the bushes. Now and then a hilarious laugh bursts from a group of children, or a hymn rises from some grateful heart, for as yet there is no secular music in Ratinga! In the lagoon lies a man-of-war, its sails neatly furled, and its trim rigging, dark hull, and taper spars, perfectly reproduced in the clear water. As the sun sank lower towards the west, our friend Ebony might have been seen slowly climbing the side of one of the neighbouring hills with Richard Rosco, the ex-pirate, on his back. "Set me down now, my friend," said Rosco, "you are far too good to me; and let me know what it is you have to say to me. You have quite roused my curiosity by your nods and mysterious manner. Out with it now, whatever it is." The negro had placed Rosco in such a position on a ledge of rock that he could see the lagoon and the ship at anchor. The ex-pirate had by that time recovered some of his former strength, and, although there rested on his countenance an air of profound sadness, there mingled with it a hue of returning health, which none who saw him land had expected to see again. But the care of gentle hands and the power of gladsome emotions had wrought miraculously on the man, body and soul. "I's heerd massa an' Cappin Fizzroy talkin' about you," said the negro, crossing his arms on his chest and regarding his questioner with a somewhat quizzical expression. "Ha! I thought so. I am _wanted_, eh?" "Well, yis, you's wanted, but you's not getted yet--so far as I knows." "Ah! Ebony," returned Rosco, shaking his head, "I have long expected it, and now I am prepared to meet my deserved fate like a man--I may humbly say, a Christian man, thanks to God the Saviour and Zeppa the instrument. But, tell me, what did the commander of the man-of-war say?" "What did he say? Well, I's tell you. Fust he hoed into massa's house an' shook hands with missis, also wid Missis Waroonga wot happined to be wid her, an' hims so frindly dat he nigh shookt de bonnit off her head. Den dey talk 'bout good many t'ings, an' after a while de cappin turn full on massa, an say,-- "`I's told Missr Zeppa dat you's got dat willain Rosco de pirit here.' "Ho! you should hab see poor massa's face how it grow long, I most t'ink it also grow a leetil pale, an' missis she give a squeak what she couldn't help, an' Betsy she giv' a groan an' jump up, slap on hers bonnit, back to de front, an' begin to clar out, but de cappin jump up an' stop her. `Many apologies,' ses de hipperkrit `for stoppin' a lady, but I don't want any alarm given. You know dat de pirit's life am forfitid to his country, so ob course you'll gib him up.'" "And what said Zeppa to that?" asked Rosco eagerly. "I's just a-goin' to tell you, massa. You see I's in de back kishen at de time an' hear ebery word. `Well,' ses massa, awful slow an' unwillin' like, `I cannot deny that Rosco is in the island, but I do assure you, sir, that he is quite unable to do any furder mischief to any one, for--an massa stop all of a suddint.' "`Well,' ses de cappin, `why you not go on?' "`Has you a description of him?' he asked. "`Oh! yes,' ses de cappin, drawin' out a paper an' readin' it. De bery ting, as like you it was as two pease, even to de small mole on side ob you's nose, but it say not'ing 'bout you's feet. Clarly he nebber heerd ob dat an' massa he notice dat, seems to me, for he ses, `Well, Cappin Fizzerald, it may be your duty to seize dis pirit and deliber him up to justice, but it's no duty ob mine to help you.' "`Oh! as to dat,' ses de cappin, `I'll easily find him widout your assistance. I have a party of men with me, and no one knows or even suspects de reason ob my visit. But all of you who now hear me mus' promise not to say a word about this matter till my search is over. I believe you to be an honourable Christian man, Zeppa, who cannot break his word; may these ladies be relied on?' "`Dey may,' ses massa, in a voice ob woe dat a'most made me cry. So w'en I hear dat I tink's to myself, `oh! you British hipperkrit, you's not so clebber as you t'inks, for Ebony's got to wind'ard ob you,' an' wid dat I slips out ob do back winder an' run to you's cottage, an' ask if you'd like to have a ride on my back as usual, an' you say yis, an'-- now you's here, an' I dessay de cappin's lookin' for you." "It is very kind of you, Ebony," said Rosco, with a deep sigh and a shake of the head, "very kind, both of you and Zeppa, but your efforts cannot now avail me. Just consider. If the description of me possessed by Captain Fitzgerald is as faithful and minute as you say, the mere absence of my feet could not deceive him. Besides, when I am found, if the commander of the man-of-war asks me my name I will not deny it, I will give myself up." "But if you do dey will hang you!" said Ebony in a somewhat exasperated tone. "Even so. It is my fate--and deserved." "But it would be murder to hang a innercent man what's bin reformed, an' don't mean for to do no more mischief--not on'y so, but _can't_!" "I fear you won't get the broken law to look at it in that light, Ebony." "Broken law! what does I care for de broken law? But tell me, massa, hab you make up you's mind to gib youself up?" "I have," returned Rosco sadly. "Quite sure an' sartin'?" "Quite," returned Rosco, with a faint smile at the poor negro's persistency. "Well, den, you come an' hab a last ride on my back. Surely you no kin refuse so small a favour to dis yar black hoss w'ats carried you so of in, afore you die!" "Of course not, my poor fellow! but to what purpose--of what use will it be to delay matters? It will only prolong the captain's search needlessly." "Oh! nebber mind. Der's good lot o' huts in de place to keep de hipperkrit goin'. Plenty ob time for a last leetil ride. Besides, I want you to see a place I diskiver not long ago--most koorious place-- you nebber see." "Come along, then," said Rosco, thinking it right to humour one who had been more like a brother than a servant to him during his long illness, "stoop down. Now, then, heave!" In a twinkling Rosco was on the back of his "black horse," which carried him a considerable distance in among the hills. "Ah! Ebony," said the rider at last, "I feel sure you are deceiving me--that you hope to conceal me here, but it is of no use, I tell you, for I won't remain concealed." "No, massa, I not deceive you. I bring you here to show you de stronary place I hab diskiver, an ax you what you t'ink ob him." "Well, show it me quickly, and then let us hasten home." Without replying, the negro clambered up a somewhat steep and rugged path which brought them to the base of a low precipice which was partially fringed with bushes. Pushing one of these aside, he entered a small cavern not much larger than a sentry-box, which seemed to have no outlet; but Ebony, placing his right foot on a projection of rock just large enough to receive it, raised himself upwards so as to place his left foot on another projection, which enabled him to get on what appeared to be a shelf of rock. Rising up, he entered another cavern. "A strange place truly, but very dark," said Rosco; "does it extend far?" "You'll see, jus' now," muttered the negro, obtaining a light by means of flint and steel, with which he kindled a torch. "You see I's bin 'splorin' here before an' got t'ings ready." So saying, he carried Rosco through several winding passages until he gained a cavern so large and high, that the torch was unable to reveal either its extent or its roof. "Wonderful! why did you not tell us of this place before, Ebony?" "'Cause I on'y just diskiver him, 'bout a week past. I t'ink him splendid place for hide our wimen an childers in, if we's iver 'tacked by savages. See, I even make some few preparations--got straw in de corner for lie on--soon git meat an' drink if him's required." "Very suitable indeed, but if you have brought me here to hide, as I still suspect, my poor fellow, you have troubled yourself in vain, for my mind is made up." "Dat's berry sad, massa, berry sad," returned Ebony, with a deep sigh, "but you no object sit on de straw for a bit an' let me rest. Dere now. You's growin' heavier every day, massa. I stick de torch here for light. Look, here you see I hab a few t'ings. Dis is one bit ob rope wid a loop on him." "And what may that be for?" asked Rosco, with some curiosity. "For tie up our enemies when we's catch dem. Dis way, you understan'." As he spoke, Ebony passed the loop over Rosco's shoulders and drew it tight so as to render his arms powerless, and before the latter realised what he was about his legs were also securely bound. "Surely you do not mean to keep me here by force!" cried Rosco angrily. "I's much afraid, massa, dat's zactly what I mean!" "Come, come, Ebony, you have carried this jest far enough. Unbind me!" "Berry sorry to disoblige you, massa, but dat's impossible just now." "I command you, sir, to undo this rope!" cried Rosco fiercely. "Dere's a good deal ob de ole ring about dat, sar, but you's not a pirit cappen now, an' I ain't one ob de pirit crew." Rosco saw at once the absurdity of giving way to anger, and restrained himself. "But you cannot restrain my voice, Ebony," he continued, "and I promise you that I will shout till I am heard." "Shout away, massa, much as you please. Bu'st you's lungs if you like, for you's in de bow'ls ob de hill here." Rosco felt that he was in the negro's powers and remained silent. "I's berry sorry to leave you tied up," said Ebony, rising to quit the place, "but when men is foolish like leetil boys, dey must be treat de same. De straw will keep you comf'rable. I daren't leave de torch, but I'll soon send you food by a sure messenger, and come back myself soon as iver I can." "Stay, Ebony, I'm at your mercy, and as no good can come of my remaining bound, I must give in. Will you unbind me if I promise to remain quiet?" "Wid pleasure," said the negro cheerfully, as his glistening teeth showed themselves. "You promise to wait here till I come for you?" "I promise." "An' you promise not to shout?" "I do." In a moment the rope was cast off, and Rosco was free. Then Ebony, bidding him keep up his heart, glided out of the cavern and left him in profound darkness. Captain Fitzgerald searched the island high and low, far and wide, without success, being guided during the search chiefly by Ebony. That wily negro, on returning to the village, found that the search had already begun. The captain had taken care that no one, save those to whom he had already spoken, should know what or who he was searching for, so that the pirate might not be prematurely alarmed. Great, therefore, was his surprise when he was accosted by the negro, and asked in a mysterious manner to step aside with him out of ear-shot of the sailors who assisted him. "What have you got to say to me, my man?" he asked, when they had gone a few yards into the palm-grove. "You's lookin' for the pirit!" said Ebony in a hoarse whisper, and with a superhumanly intelligent gaze. "Why, how came _you_ to know that?" asked the captain, somewhat perplexed and thrown off his guard. "Ho! ho!" laughed Ebony in a subdued voice, "how I comes to know dat, eh? I come to knows many t'ings by putting dis an' dat togider. You's cappen ob man-ob-war. Well, you no comes here for notting. Well, Rosco de pirit, de horroble scoundril, hims lib here. Ob course you come for look for him. Hofficers ob de Brish navy got notting else to do but kotch an' hang sitch varmints. Eh? I's right?" "Well, no," returned Captain Fitzgerald, laughing, "not altogether right as to the duties of officers of the British navy. However, you're right as to _my_ object, and I see that this pirate is no friend of yours." "No friend, oh! no--not at all. Him's far more nor dat. I lub him as a brudder," said the negro with intense energy. Captain Fitzgerald laughed again, for he supposed that the negro spoke ironically, and Ebony extended his thick lips from ear to ear because he foresaw and intended that the captain would fall into that mistake. "Now you lose no time in sarch for him," said Ebony, "an' dis yar nigger will show you de way." "Do, my fine fellow, and when we find him, I'll not forget your services." "You's berry good, a'most too good," said Ebony, with an affectionate look at his new employer. So, as we have said, the village and island were searched high and low without success. At last, while the searching party was standing, baffled, on the shore farthest from the village, Captain Fitzgerald stopped abruptly, and looking Zeppa in the face, exclaimed, "Strange, is it not? and the island so small, comparatively." "Quite unaccountable," answered Zeppa, who, with his son, had at last joined in the search out of sheer anxiety as to Rosco's fate. "Most perplexing!" said Orlando. "Most amazin'!" murmured Ebony, with a look of disappointment that baffles description. Suddenly the negro pointed to the beach, exclaiming, "Oh! I knows it now! Look dare. You see two small canoes? Dere wor _tree_ canoes dare yisterday. De t'ird wan am _dare_ now. Look!" They all looked eagerly at the horizon, where a tiny speck was seen. It might have been a gull or an albatross. "Impossible," said Zeppa. "Where could he hope to escape to in that direction--no island within a thousand miles?" "A desprit man doos anyt'ing, massa." "Well. I shall soon find out, for the wind blows in that direction," said the captain, wheeling about and returning to his ship. Soon the sails were spread, the anchor weighed, the coral reef passed, and the good ship was leaping merrily over the sea in pursuit of the pirate, while Ebony was seated on the straw beside Rosco, expanding his mouth to an extent that it had never reached before, and causing the cavern to ring with uproarious laughter. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. It need scarcely be said that the man-of-war did not overtake the pirate's canoe! She cruised about for some days in the hope of falling in with it. Then her course was altered, and she was steered once more for Ratinga. But the elements seemed to league with Ebony in this matter, for, ere she sighted the island, there burst upon her one of those tremendous hurricanes with which the southern seas are at times disturbed. So fierce was the tempest that the good ship was obliged to present her stern to the howling blast, and scud before it under bare poles. When the wind abated, Captain Fitzgerald found himself so far from the scene of his recent visit, and so pressed for time, as well as with the claims of other duties--possibly, according to Ebony, the capturing and hanging of other pirates--that he resolved to postpone his visit until a more convenient season. The convenient season never came. Captain Fitzgerald returned home to die, and with him died the memory of Rosco the pirate--at least as far as public interest in his capture and punishment was concerned--for some of the captain's papers were mislaid and lost and among them the personal description of the pirate, and the account of his various misdeeds. But Rosco himself did not die. He lived to prove the genuine nature of his conversion, and to assist Waroonga in his good work. As it is just possible that some reader may doubt the probability--perhaps even the possibility--of such a change, we recommend him to meditate on the fact that Saul of Tarsus, the persecutor, became Paul, the loving Apostle of the Lord. One morning, not long after the events just narrated, Zeppa came to Rosco's hut with a bundle under his arm. He was followed by Marie, Betsy, Zariffa, and Lippy with her mother. By that time Lippy had been provided with a bonnet similar to that of her friend Ziffa, and her mother had been induced to mount a flannel petticoat, which she wore tied round her neck or her waist, as her fancy or her forgetfulness inclined her. The party had accompanied Zeppa to observe the effect of this bundle on Rosco. That worthy was seated on a low couch constructed specially for him by Ebony. He was busy reading. "Welcome, friends all," he said, with a look of surprise at the deputation-like visit. "We have come to present you with a little gift, Rosco," said Zeppa, unrolling the bundle and holding up to view a couple of curious machines. "Wooden legs!" exclaimed Rosco with something between a gasp and a laugh. "That's what they are, Rosco. We have been grieved to see you creeping about in such a helpless fashion, and dependent on Ebony, or some other strong-backed fellow, when you wanted to go any distance, so Orlando and I have put our heads together, and produced a pair of legs." While he was speaking the on-lookers gazed in open-eyed-and-mouthed expectancy, for they did not feel quite sure how their footless friend would receive the gift. "It is kind, _very_ kind of you," he said, on recovering from his surprise; "but how am I to fix them on? there's no hole to shove the ends of my poor legs into." "Oh! you don't shove your legs into them at all," said Zeppa; "you've only got to go on your knees into them--see, this part will fit your knees pretty well--then you strap them on, make them fast, and away you go. Let's try them." To the delight of the women and children, Rosco was quite as eager to try on the legs as they were to see him do it. The bare idea of being once more able to walk quite excited the poor man, and his hands trembled as he tried to assist his friend in fixing them. "Keep your hands away altogether," said Zeppa; "you only delay me. There now, they're as tight as two masts. Hold on to me while I raise you up." At that moment Tomeo, Buttchee, Ebony, Ongoloo, Wapoota, and Orlando came upon the scene. "What a shame, father," cried the latter, "to begin without letting us know!" "Ah! Orley, I'm sorry you have found us at it. Marie and I had planned giving you a surprise by making Rosco walk up to you." "Never mind," cried Rosco impatiently; "just set me on my pins, and I'll soon walk into him. Now then, hoist away!" Orley and his father each seized an arm, and next moment Rosco stood up. "Now den, don' hurry him--hurrah!" cried Ebony, giving a cheer of encouragement. "Have a care, friends; don't let me go," said Rosco anxiously, clutching his supporters' necks with a convulsive grasp. "I'll never do it, Zeppa. I feel that if you quit me for an instant, I shall go down like a shot." "No fear. Here, cut him a staff, Ebony," said Zeppa; "that'll be equal to three legs, you know, and even a stool can stand alone with three legs." The staff was cut and handed to the learner, who, planting it firmly on the ground before him, leaned on it, and exclaimed, "Let go!" in tones which instantly suggested "the anchor" to his friends. The order was obeyed, and the ex-pirate stood swaying to and fro, and smiling with almost childlike delight. Presently he became solemn, lifted one leg, and set it down again with marvellous rapidity. Then he lifted the other leg with the same result. Then he lifted the staff, but had to replace it smartly to prevent falling forward. "I fear I can only do duty as a motionless tripod," he said rather anxiously. "Nebber fear, massa--oh! Look out!" The latter exclamation was caused by Rosco falling backwards; to prevent which catastrophe he made a wild flourish with his arms, and a sweep with his staff, which just grazed the negro's cheek. Zeppa, however, caught him in his arms, and set him up again. "Now then, try once more," he said encouragingly. Rosco tried, and in the course of half-an-hour managed, with many a stagger and upheaval of the arms and staff to advance about eight or ten yards. At this point, however, he chanced to place the end of the right leg on a soft spot of ground. Down it went instantly to the knee, and over went the learner on his side, snapping the leg short off in the fall! It would be difficult to paint the general disappointment at this sudden collapse of the experiment. A united groan burst from the party, including the patient, for it at once became apparent that a man with a wooden leg--to say nothing of two--could only walk on a hard beaten path, and as there were few such in the island, Rosco's chance of a long ramble seemed to vanish. But Zeppa and his son were not men to be easily beaten. They set to work to construct feet for the legs, which should be broad enough to support their friend on softish ground, and these were so arranged with a sort of ball-and-socket joint, that the feet could be moved up and down. In theory this worked admirably; in practice it failed, for after a staggering step or two, the toes having been once raised refused to go down, and thus was produced the curious effect of a man stumping about on his heels! To overcome this difficulty the heels of the feet were made to project almost as much behind as the toes did in front somewhat after the pattern of Ebony's pedal arrangements, as Rosco remarked when they were being fitted on for another trial. At last, by dint of perseverance, the wooden legs were perfected, and Rosco re-acquired the art of walking to such perfection, that he was to be seen, almost at all times and in all weathers, stumping about the village, his chief difficulty being that when he chanced to fall, which he often did, he was obliged either to get some one to help him up, or to crawl home; for, being unable to get his knees to the ground when the legs were on, he was obliged to unstrap them if no one was within hail. Now, during all this time, Betsy Waroonga remained quite inconsolable about her husband. "But my dear, you know he is quite safe," her friend Marie Zeppa would say to her, "for he is doing the Master's work among Christian men." "I knows that," Betsy would reply, "an' I'm comforted a leetle when I think so; but what for not Zeppa git a canoe ready an' take me to him? A missionary not worth nothing without hees wife." Marie sympathised heartily with this sentiment, but pointed out that it was too long and dangerous a voyage to be undertaken in a canoe, and that it was probable the mission ship would revisit Ratinga ere long, in which case the voyage could be undertaken in comfort and safety. But Betsy did not believe in the danger of a canoe voyage, nor in the speedy arrival of the mission ship. In fact she believed in nothing at that time, save in her own grief and the hardness of her case. She shook her head, and the effect on the coal-scuttle, which had now become quite palsied with age and hard service, was something amazing, insomuch that Marie's sympathy merged irresistibly into mirth. The good woman's want of faith, however, received a rebuke not many weeks later. She was hastening, one afternoon, to an outlying field to gather vegetables in company with Zariffa, who had by that time grown into a goodly-sized girl. The pace induced silence, also considerable agitation in both bonnets. When they had cleared the village, and reached Rosco's hut near the entrance to the palm-grove, they went up to the open door and looked in, but no one was there. "He's hoed out to walk," observed Zariffa with a light laugh; "awful fond o' walkin' since he got the 'ooden legs!" "What was you want with him?" asked Betsy, as they resumed their walk. "Want to ask 'bout the Bibil lesson for to-morrow. Some things me no can understan', an' Rosco great at the Bibil now." "Yes," murmured Betsy with a nod, "there's many things in the Bibil not easy to understand. Takes a deal o' study, Ziffa, to make him out. Your father always say that. But Rosco's fuss-rate at 'splainin' of 'em. Fuss-rate--so your father say. Him was born for a mis'nary." At that moment a cry was heard in the distance. They had been ascending a winding path leading to the field to which they were bound. "Sounds like man in distress," said Betsy, breaking into a run with that eager alacrity which usually characterises the sympathetic. Zariffa replied not, but followed her mother. The cry was repeated, and at once recognised as being uttered by the man who was "born for a mis'nary," but had mistaken his profession when he became a pirate! When they reached the spot whence it had apparently issued, the mis'nary, or ex-pirate, was nowhere to be seen. "Hooroo! whar' is you?" shouted Betsy, looking round. "Here!" cried a half-smothered voice from somewhere in the earth. "Oh! look!" exclaimed Zariffa in a sort of squeal as she ran towards a spot where two strange plants seemed to have sprung up. "Rosco's legs!" said Betsy, aghast. And she was right. The venturesome man had, with his accustomed hardihood, attempted that day to scale the mountain side, and had fallen into a hole by the side of the track, from which he could by no means extricate himself, because of its being a tightish fit, his head being down and his legs were in the air. "Oh, Betsy, pull me out lass! I'm half-choked already," gasped the unfortunate man. But Betsy could not move him, much less pull him out, although heartily assisted by her daughter. "Run, Ziffa, run an' fetch men!" Ziffa ran like a hunted deer, so anxious was she for the deliverance of her Bible instructor. On turning sharp round a bend in the track, she plunged into the bosom of Ebony. "Ho! hi! busted I am; why, what's de matter, Ziffa? you travel like a cannon-ball!" As he spoke, Zeppa and his son, who had been walking behind Ebony, came up. The panting child only replied, "Rosco--queek!" and ran before them to the fatal spot. Need we say that in a few moments the "born mis'nary" was drawn like a cork out of a bottle, and set down right end up? Then they carried him to a clear space, whence the sea was visible, condoling with him as they went; but here all thought of the accident and of everything else was banished, for the moment by the sight of a ship on the horizon! It turned out to be the mission-vessel with supplies, and with a young native missionary, or Bible-reader; and thus, in a few days, not only Betsy Waroonga, but Ongoloo and Wapoota, with Lippy and her mother and Orlando, were enabled to return to Sugar-loaf Island. The joy of the Sugarlovians at the return of their chiefs and friends is not to be described, for, despite the assurances of Waroonga, they had begun to grow uneasy. Neither is it possible to describe the condition of the coal-scuttle bonnet after it had been crushed in the reckless embrace of Betsy's spouse, nor the delight of the uncles, aunts, brothers, cousins, nieces, and nephews of Lippy, when they got her safe back again, though awfully disguised by the miniature coal-scuttle and flaming petticoat. By that time the Mountain-men and the Raturans had rubbed noses, intermingled, intermarried, broken bows and spears, buried the war-hatchet and otherwise made up their minds, like sane creatures, to dwell in peace; for savages come to this condition sometimes--civilised nations never do! Great, therefore, was their satisfaction when their mourning, at the prospect of losing Waroonga, was turned into joy by the decision of the young native teacher, who volunteered to take his place and remain with them as their permanent instructor in the way of Righteousness. A dance was proposed by some of the chiefs as an appropriate way of expressing their joy and getting rid of superfluous energy; but as their only dance was a war-dance, it was thought better to celebrate the occasion by a grand feast which, being preceded by games--wrestling, jumping, and running, etcetera--served the purpose equally well--if not better. Thus was an island won from heathenism in those far off southern seas! And now, what shall we say in conclusion? Time and space would fail us, were we to continue the history of Ratinga island down to the present time. We can only add that Waroonga and Betsy returned home, that a stalwart son of Tomeo went in after years, to Sugar-loaf Island, and carried off Lippy as his bride, along with her mother; that a handsome son of Ongoloo took revenge by carrying Zariffa away from Ratinga, without her mother; that regular and frequent intercourse was set up between the two islands by means of a little schooner; that Ebony stuck to his master and mistress through thick and thin to a good old age; that Orlando went to England, studied medicine, and returned again to Ratinga with a fair daughter of that favoured land; that Wapoota's morals improved by degrees; that Buttchee became more reconciled to European dress as he grew older; and that the inhabitants of the two islands generally became wiser and happier--though of course not perfect--through the benign influence of that Gospel which teaches man to do to others as he would have others do to him. Time, as usual, continued to work his marvellous changes as the years flew by, but of all the transformations he wrought none was so striking as that produced in two men of Ratinga, who daily sat down, side by side, in front of their cottage by the sea, to watch a host of children of all ages, sizes, and complexions, which gambolled merrily on the sands. These men were old and somewhat feeble, with hair like the driven snow, but their gentle expressions and ready smiles told of eternal youth within. As the one sat with his colossal frame still erect though spare, talking softly to his comrade, and the other sat slightly bent, with eyes gazing sometimes at the children, and sometimes at his wooden toes, how difficult how almost impossible, to believe that, in former days, the one had been the madman, and the other the pirate! 
21108	----	Fritz and Eric, or the Brother Crusoes by John Conroy Hutcheson ________________________________________________________________ This is rather an extraordinary book, because it consists of two rather different eras in the lives of two brothers. In the first the brother Fritz takes part in the Franco-Prussian war of 1870-71, and is severely wounded, but survives - just. He is tended by a beauteous maiden, with whom he falls in love. Meanwhile the brother Eric has gone to sea in what turns out to be a rotten old vessel, which sinks in southern waters. There are some survivors, but Eric is not among them, and is presumed dead. Fritz departs for America, and is wondering how to get a job. He meets a whaling captain and they are having a chat in a bar when who should appear but Eric, who has had a miraculous rescue, but has never had a chance of writing home. The two brothers decide they will get the whaling ship to drop them off on a very remote island in the South Atlantic, Inaccessible Island, where they will spend a year sealing, and make their fortunes from the skins they get during the year. There are many vicissitudes, and they do make their fortunes, but not from sealing. There are so many tense situations, so very well described, that the book might almost have come from the pen of George Manville Fenn. A well-written and interesting book, and with a very good description of the Franco-Prussian War, the war which is so often forgotten about. N.H. ________________________________________________________________ FRITZ AND ERIC; OR, THE BROTHER CRUSOES BY JOHN CONROY HUTCHESON CHAPTER ONE. "GOOD-BYE!" "Time is getting on, little mother, and we'll soon have to say farewell!" "Aye, my child. The parting is a sad one to me; but I hope and trust the good God will hold you in His safe keeping, and guide your footsteps back home to me again!" "Never you fear, little mother. He will do that, and in a year's time we shall all meet again under the old roof-tree, I'm certain. Keep your heart up, mother mine, the same as I do; remember, it is not a `Farewell' I am saying for ever, it is merely `Auf wiedersehen!'" "I hope so, Eric, surely; still, we cannot tell what the future may bring forth!" said the other sadly. Mother and son were wending their way through the quaint, old-fashioned, sleepy main street of Lubeck that led to the railway station--a bran-new modern structure that seemed strangely incongruous amidst the antique surroundings of the ancient town. Although it was past the midday hour, hardly a soul was to be seen moving about; and the western sun lighted up the green spires of the churches and red-tiled pointed roofs of the houses, glinting from the peculiar eye-shaped dormer windows of some of the cottages with the most grotesque effect and making them appear as if winking at the onlooker. It seemed like a scene of a bygone age reproduced on the canvas of some Flemish artist; and, but that Eric and his mother were accustomed to it, they must have rubbed their eyes, like Rip Van Winkle when he came down from the goblin-haunted mountain into the old village of his youth, in doubt whether all was real, thinking it might be a dream. Presently, however, they were at the railway station, and they would have been convinced, if they had felt inclined to believe otherwise, that they were living in the present. But, even here, amid all the hissing of steam, and creaking of carriages, and whirr of moving machinery, the queer old-world costumes of the peasantry, with their quaint hats and mantles, which more resembled the stage properties of a Christmas pantomime than the known dress of any people of the period, all spoke of the past--a past when the great Barbarossa reigned in Central Europe, and when there were "Robbers of the Rhine," and "Forty thousand virgins," in company with Saint Ursula, canonising the sainted and scented city of Cologne. Ah, those days of long ago! "Here we are at last, mother," said Eric, slinging the bag containing his sea kit on to the railway platform. "The old engine is getting its steam up, and we'll soon be off. Cheer up, little mother! As I've told you, it is not a good-bye for ever!" "So you say, my son. The young ever look forward; but old people like myself look back, and it makes us reflect how few of the noble aspirations and longing anticipations of our youth are ever realised!" "Old people like yourself indeed, little mother!" said Eric indignantly, tossing up his lion-like head, and looking as if he would like to see any one else who would dare to make such an assertion, the next moment throwing his arms round her neck, and hugging her fondly. "I won't have you calling yourself old, you dear little mother, with your nice glossy brown hair, and beautiful bright blue eyes and handsome face--a face which I fail not to see Burgher Jans gaze on with eloquent expression every Sunday when we go to the Dom Kirche. Ah, I know--" "Fie, my son!" exclaimed Madame Dort, interrupting him by placing her hand across his mouth, a process which soon stopped his indiscreet impetuosity, a warm blush the while mantling her comely countenance; for she was yet in the bloom of middle-aged womanhood. "Suppose, now, any one were to overhear you, audacious child!" "Ah, but I know, though," repeated the boy triumphantly, when he had again regained his freedom of speech. "I won't tell, little mother; still, I must make a bargain with you, as I don't intend that fusty old Burgher Jans to have my handsome young mutterchen, that's poz! But, to change the subject, why are you so despondent about my leaving you now, dear mother? I've been already away from you two voyages, and yet have returned safe and sound to Lubeck." "You forget, my child, that the pitcher sometimes goes once too often to the well. The ocean is treacherous, and the perils of the sea are great, although you, in boy-like fashion, may laugh at them. Strong men have but too often to acknowledge the supremacy of the waves when they bear them down to their watery grave, leaving widows and orphans, alas! to mourn their untimely fate with sad and bitter tears! Don't you remember your poor father's end, my son?" "I do, mother," answered the boy gravely; "still, all sailors are not drowned, nor is a seafaring life always dangerous." "Granted, my child," responded his mother to this truism; "but, those who go down to the sea in ships, as the Psalmist says, see the perils of the deep, and lead a venturesome calling! Besides, Eric, I must tell you that I--I do not feel myself so strong as I was when you first left home and became a sailor boy; and, although I have no doubt a good Providence will watch over you, and preserve you in answer to my heartfelt prayers, yet you are now starting on a longer voyage than you have yet undertaken, and perchance I may not live to greet you on your return!" "Oh, mother, don't say that, don't say that!" exclaimed Eric in a heart- broken voice; "you are not ill, you are not ailing, mother dear?" and he peered anxiously with a loving gaze into her eyes, to try and read some meaning there for the sorrowful presage that had escaped thus inadvertently from her lips, drawn forth by the agony of parting. "No, my darling, nothing very alarming," she said soothingly, wishing to avoid distressing him needlessly by communicating what might really be only, as she hoped, a groundless fear on her part. "I do not feel exactly ill, dear. I was only speaking about the natural frail tenure of this mortal life of ours. This saying `Good-bye' to you too, my darling, makes me infected with morbid fear and nervous anxiety. Fancy me nervous, Eric--I whom you call your strong-minded mother, eh?" and the poor lady smiled bravely, so as to encourage the lad, and banish his easily excited fears on her account. It was but a sickly smile, however, for it did not come genuinely from the heart, prompted though the latter was with the fullest affection. Still, Eric did not perceive this, and the smile quickly dismissed his fears. "Ha, ha," he laughed in his light-hearted, ringing way. "The idea of your being nervous, like I remember old grandmother Grimple was when I used to jump suddenly in at the door or fire my popgun! I would never believe it, not even if you yourself said it. Ah, now you look better already, and like my own dear little mother who will keep safe and well, and welcome me back next year, surely; and then, dear one, we'll have no end of a happy time!" "I hope so, Eric; I hope so with all my heart," said she, pressing the eager lad to her bosom in a fond embrace; "and you may be sure that none will be so glad to welcome you back as I!" "Think, mother," said Eric presently, after a moment's silence, in which the feelings of the two seemed too great to find expression in words of common import. "Why, by that time I will have nearly sailed round the world; for in my voyage to Java and back I will have to `double the Cape,' as sailors say!" "Yes, that you will, my boy," chimed in his mother, anxious to sustain this buoyant change in his humour, and drive away the somewhat melancholy tone she had unwittingly introduced into their last parting conversation. "You'll be a regular little travelled monkey, like the one belonging to the Dutchman that we were reading about the other day which could do everything almost but speak, although I don't think anybody would accuse you of any want of ability on the latter score, you chatterbox!" "No, no, little mother; I think not likewise," chuckled Eric complacently. "I'm not one of your silent ones, not so! But, hurrah!-- There comes Fritz turning in under the old gateway. He said he would try and get away for half an hour in the afternoon from the counting- house to wish me another good-bye and see me off, if Herr Grosschnapper could spare him. Ah ha, Master Fritz," shouted out the sailor lad, as his brother drew nigh, "you're just in time to see the last of me. I thought the worthy Herr would not let you come, you are so very late." "Better late than never," said the other, smiling, coming up beside the pair, who were standing in front of one of the railway carriages, into which Eric had already bundled his bag. "The old man did growl a bit about my `idling away the afternoon,' as he called it; but when I impressed him with the fact that you were going away to sea, he relented and let me come, saying that it was a good job such a circumstance did not occur every day!" "Much obliged to him, I'm sure!" said Eric, with that usual toss of his head which threw back his mane-like locks of yellow hair. "He would have been a fine old curmudgeon to have refused you leave to wish good- bye to your only brother!" And he put one of his arms round Fritz's neck as he spoke. "Hush, my son," interposed Madame Dort. "You must not speak ill of the good merchant who has been such a kind friend to Fritz and given him regular employment in his warehouse!" "All right, mutterchen, I won't mention again the name of the old cur--, I mean dear old gentleman, little mother, there!" And then catching the twinkling eye of Fritz, the two burst into a simultaneous laugh at the narrow escape there had been of his repeating the obnoxious epithet; while Madame Dort could not help smiling too, as she gazed fondly into the merry face of the roguish boy, standing by his brother's side and clinging to him with that deep fraternal affection which is so rarely seen, alas! in members of the same family. Truly, they were sons of whom any mother might have been proud. Fritz was tall and manly, by virtue of his two-and-twenty years and a small fringe of dark down that covered his upper lip; Eric was shorter by some inches, but more thick-set and with broader shoulders, predicting that he would be the bigger of the two as time rolled on. The firstborn, Fritz, with his closely cropped hair and swarthy complexion, took after his dead father, who had been a Holsteiner--a mariner by profession, who had sailed his ship from the Elbe some years before for the last time, and left his wife to bring up her fatherless boys by the sweat of her brow and her own exertions; for Captain Dort had left but little worldly goods behind him, his all being embarked with himself in his ship, which was lost, with all hands on board, in the North Sea. Fritz and Eric had both been too young at the time to appreciate the struggles of their mother to support herself and them, until she had achieved a comfortable competency by teaching music and languages in several rich Hanoverian families; and now she had no longer to battle for her bread. Eric took after her in face and expression, having the same light- coloured hair and bright blue eyes; but there the resemblance ceased, as hardly had he grown to boyhood than he evinced that desire for a sea life which he must have inherited with his father's blood--he would, he must be a sailor! Being the youngest, he naturally was her pet; and thus, although the recollection of her husband's fate was ever before her, and Madame Dort had a dread of the sea which only those who have suffered a similar bereavement can fully understand, she could not resist the boy's continual pleadings, backed up as they were by his evident and unaffected bias of mind towards everything connected with ships and shipping; for, Eric never seemed so happy as when frequenting the quays and talking with the sailors and sea-captains who came to the old port of Lubeck, where of late years the mother had taken up her residence, in order to be near Fritz, who had obtained a clerkship in a merchant's house there, through the friendly offices of the parents of one of the music-teacher's pupils. Eric had already received his `sea-baptism,' so to speak, having been on a trip to England in a Hamburgh cattle-boat, and on a cruise up the Baltic in a timber-ship; but he was now going away in a Dutch vessel to the East Indies, the voyage promising to occupy more than a year, so there is no wonder that his mother was anxious on his account, thinking she would never live to see him again. It seemed so terrible to her as she stood on the railway platform, surrounded by all the bustle and preparation of the train about to depart, to fancy, as she gazed with longing eyes at her brave and gallant Eric, with his lion-like head and curling locks of golden hair, that she might never look on her sailor laddie's merry, loving face any more; and, tears dropped from the widow's eyes as she drew him towards her, clasping him to her, as if she could not bear to let him go. "Come, mother," said Fritz, after a moment's interval. "Time is up! The guard is calling out for the passengers to take their seats. Eric, old fellow, good-bye, and God bless you! You will write to the mother and me from every port you touch at?" "Aye, surely," said the boy, a sob breaking his voice and banishing the mannish composure which he had tried to maintain to the last. "Good- bye, Fritz; you'll take care of mother?" "Don't you fear, that will I, brother!" was the answer in those earnest tones which Fritz always used when he was making a promise and giving his word to anything he undertook--a word which he never broke. "And now, good-bye, mutterchen, my own darling little mother," said Eric, clasping his mother in a last clinging hug; "you'll never forget me, but will keep strong and well till I come back." "I will try, my child, with God's help," sobbed out the poor lady. "But, may He preserve you and bring you back safe to my arms! Good-bye, my darling. You must never forget Him or me; my consolation in your absence will be that your prayers will ascend to heaven along with mine." "You may trust me, mother, indeed you may. Good-bye, little mother! God bless you, mutterchen! Good-bye!" cried out the sailor lad from the carriage window; and then, the train moved off, puffing and panting out of the station, leaving Fritz and his mother standing on the platform, and waving their handkerchiefs in farewell to Eric, who was as busily engaged gesticulating, with his hat in one hand and in the other a newspaper that his brother had brought him, shouting out, `Lebewohl!'--a sobbing farewell it was--for the last time, and still waving adieux when his voice failed him! "Never mind, my mother," said Fritz softly, giving his arm to the heart- stricken lady, and leading her away with tender care from the railway station to their now sadly bereaved home. "Cheer up, and hope, mutterchen! You have a son still left you, who will never desert you or quit his post of looking after you, till Eric, the dear boy, comes back." "I know, my son, I know your love and affection," replied Madame Dort, pressing his arm to her side affectionately; "but, who can tell what the future may have in store for us? Ah, it's a wise proverb that, dear son, which reminds us that `man proposes, but God disposes!'" "It is so," murmured Fritz, more to himself than to her; "still, I trust we'll all meet again beneath the old roof-tree." "And I the same, from the bottom of my heart!" said his mother, in cordial sympathy with his wish, as she began to ascend the steps leading up to her dwelling; while Fritz returned to the counting-house of his employer, Herr Grosschnapper, to finish those duties which had been interrupted by his having to see Eric off. CHAPTER TWO. A THUNDERCLAP! It was late in the autumn when Eric left Lubeck on his way to Rotterdam, where he was to go on board the good ship _Gustav Barentz_, bound on a trading voyage to the eastern isles of the Indian Ocean; and, as the year rolled on, bringing winter in its train--a season which the Dort family had hitherto always hailed with pleasure on account of its festive associations--the hours lagged with the now sadly diminished little household in the Gulden Strasse; for, the merry Christmas-tide reminded them more than ever of the absent sailor boy, who had always been the very life and soul of the home circle, and the eagerly sought- for guest at every neighbourly gathering. "It does not seem at all the same now the dear lad is away on the seas," said old Lorischen, the whilom nurse, and now part servant, part companion of Madame Dort. "Indeed, I cannot fancy him far-distant at all. I feel as if he were only just gone out skating on the canal, and that we might expect him in again at any moment!" "Ah, I miss him every minute of the day," replied Madame Dort, who was sitting on one side of the white porcelain stove that occupied a cosy corner of the sitting-room, facing the old nurse, who was busily engaged knitting a pair of lambs-wool stockings on the other. "It is now--aye, just two months since the dear lad left us," continued Lorischen, "and we've never had a line from him yet. I hope no evil has befallen the ship!" "Oh, don't say such a thing as that," said Madame Dort nervously. "The vessel has a long voyage to make, and would only touch at the Cape of Good Hope on her way; so we cannot expect to hear yet. I wonder at you, Lorischen, alarming me with your misgivings! I am sure I am anxious enough already about poor Eric." "Ach himmel! I meant no harm, dear lady," rejoined the other; "but, when one has thoughts, you know, they must find vent, and I've been dreaming of him the last three nights. I do wish he were safe back again. The house is not itself without him." "You are not the only one that thinks that," said Madame Dort. "Why, even the very birds that come to be fed at the gallery window miss him! They won't take their bread crumbs from my hand as they used to do last winter from his; you remember how tame they were, and how they would hop on his shoulder when he opened the window and called them?" "Aye, that do I, well! He was a kind lad to bird and beast alike. There is my old cat, which another boy would have tormented according to the nature of all boys where poor cats are concerned; but Eric loved it, and petted it like myself! Many a time I see Mouser looking up at that model of his ship there, blinking his eyes as if he knew well where the young master is, for cats have deeper penetration than human folk give them credit for. I heard him miaow-wowing this morning; and, when I went to look for him, there he was on the top of the stove, if you please, gazing up at the little ship, with his tail up in the air as stiff as a hair-brush! I couldn't make it out at all, and that's what made me so thoughtful to-day about the dear lad, especially as I'd dreamt of him, too." "My dear Lorischen, you absurd creature," laughed out Madame Dort. "I'm glad you said that. Don't you know what was old Mouser's grievance? Was I not close behind you at the time the cat was making the noise, and did not Burgher Jans' dog rush out of the room as the door was opened? Of course, Mouser got on the stove to be out of his way, and that was why you thought he was speaking in cat language to poor Eric's little model ship. What a superstitious old lady you are, to be sure!" "Ah well, you may think so, and explain it away, madame," said Lorischen, in no way convinced; "but I have my beliefs all the same; and I think that cat knows more than you and I do. Dear, dear! There, I declare it is snowing again. What a Christmas we will have, and how the dear lad would have enjoyed it, eh?" "Yes, that he would," rejoined the other. "He did love to watch the snowflakes come down, and talk of longing to see an Arctic winter; but I hope it will not fall so heavily as to block the railway, and prevent us from getting any letters." "I hope not," replied Lorischen sympathisingly. "That would be a bad look-out, especially at Christmas time! Look, the roof of the Marien Kirche is covered already: what must it not be in the open country!" The old town presented a very different aspect now to what it had done when Madame Dort had walked by Eric's side to the railway station, for the red tiles of the houses were hidden from view by the white covering which now covered the face of nature everywhere--the frozen canal ways and river, with the ice-bound ships along the quays and the tall poplar trees and willows on the banks, as well as the streets and market-place, being thickly powdered, like a gigantic wedding-cake, with snow-dust; while icicles hung pendent, as jewels, from the masts of the vessels and the boughs of the trees alike, and from the open-work galleries of the market hall and groined carvings of the archways and outside staircases that led to the upper storeys of the ancient buildings around. These latter glittered in every occasional ray of sunshine that escaped every now and then from the overhanging clouds, flashing out strange radiant shades of colouring to light up the monotonous tone of the landscape. Madame Dort rose from her chair and went to the window where she remained for some little time watching the fast descending flakes that came down in never-ceasing succession. "I'm afraid it is going to be a very heavy fall," said she presently, after gazing at the scene around in the street below. Then, lifting her eyes, she noticed that the heavy mass of snow-clouds on the horizon had now crept up to the zenith, totally obscuring the sun, and that the wind had shifted to the north-east--a bad quarter from whence to expect a change at that time of year. "But, dear me, there is Fritz! I wonder what brings him home so early to-day?" she exclaimed again after another pause. "See," she added, "the dear child! He has got something white in his hand, and is waving it as he comes up the stairway. It's a letter, I'm sure; and it must be from Eric!" Old Lorischen bounced out of her chair at this announcement and was at the door of the room almost as soon as her mistress; but, before either could touch the handle, it was opened from without, and Fritz came into the apartment. "Hurrah, mother!" he shouted out in joyful tones. "Here's news from Eric at last! A letter in his own dear handwriting. I have not opened it yet; but it must have been put on board some passing vessel homewards bound, as it is marked `ship's letter,' and I've had to pay two silbergroschen for it. Open it and read, mother dear; I'm so anxious to hear what our boy says." With trembling hands Madame Dort tore the envelope apart, and soon made herself mistress of the contents of the letter. It was only a short scrawl which the sailor lad had written off hurriedly to take advantage of the opportunity of sending a message home by a passing ship, as his brother had surmised--Eric not expecting to have been able to forward any communication until the vessel reached the Cape; and, the stranger only lying-to for a brief space of time to receive the despatches of the _Gustav Barentz_, he could merely send a few hasty lines, telling them that he was well and happy, although he missed them all very much, and sending his "dearest love" to his "own little mother" and "dear brother Fritz," not forgetting "darling, cross old Lorischen," and the "cream- stealing Mouser." "Just hear that, the little fond rascal!" exclaimed the worthy old nurse, when Madame Dort read out this postscript. "To think of his calling me cross, and accusing Mouser of stealing; it is just like his impudence, the rogue! I only wish he were here now, and I would soon tell him a piece of my mind." Eric added that they had had a rough passage down the North Sea, his vessel having to put into Plymouth, in the English Channel, for repairs; and that, as she was a bad sailer, they expected to be much longer on the voyage than had been anticipated. He said, too, that if the wind was fair, the captain did not intend to stop at the Cape, unless compelled to call in for provisions and water, but to push on to Batavia so as not to be late for the season's produce. He had overheard him telling the mate this, and now informed those at home of the fact that they might not be disappointed at not receiving another letter from him before he reached the East Indies, which would be a most unlikely case, unless they had the lucky chance of communicating a second time with a homeward-bound ship--a very improbable contingency, vessels not liking to stop on their journey and lay-to, except in answer to a signal of distress or through seeing brother mariners in peril. "So, you see," said Madame Dort, as soon as she had reached the end of the sheet, "we must not hope to hear from the dear boy again for some time, and can only trust that all will go well with him on the voyage!" She heaved a heavy sigh from the bottom of her mother's heart as she spoke, and her face looked sad again, like it had been before Eric's letter came. "Yes, that's right enough, mutterchen," answered Fritz hopefully; "but, you can likewise see that Providence has watched over our Eric so far, in preserving him safely, and there is now no reason for our feeling any alarm on his account. We shall hear from him in the spring, without doubt, telling us of his safe arrival at Java, and saying what time we may look forward to expecting him home. At any rate, this dear letter comes welcome enough now, and it will enable us to have a happier Christmas-tide than we should otherwise have passed." "Ach, that it does," put in old Lorischen, beginning again to bustle about the room with all her former zest in making preparations for the coming festival, which her melancholy forebodings about Eric and superstitious, fears anent the cat's colloquy in the morning had somewhat interrupted: "we shall have a right merry Christmas in spite of the dear lad's absence. We must remember that he will be with us in spirit, at least, and it would grieve him if we were down-hearted!" This wise reflection of the old nurse, coupled with Fritz's hopeful words, appeared to have a cheering influence on Madame Dort, whom many trials had made rather more despondent than could have been expected from her bright, handsome face, which did not seem sometimes to have ever known what sorrow was; although, like Eric's, it exhibited for the moment every passing mood, so that those familiar with her disposition could almost read her very thoughts, her nature being so open. Banishing her gloom away, apparently by the mere effort of will, she now proceeded to assist Lorischen in getting the room decorated for the Christmas Eve feast, of which all partook with more merriment and content than the little household in the Gulden Strasse had known since the sailor boy left. Nay, it seemed to them, happy with the tidings of his safety and well-being, that Eric was there too in their midst; for they drank his health before separating for the night, and his mother, when placing the surprise presents, which were to tell the members of the family in the morning that they had not been overlooked in the customary distribution of those little gifts that form the most pleasing remembrances of the festive season in Germany, did not omit also to fill the stocking which Eric had suspended from the head of his bedstead before leaving--he having laughingly said that he expected to find it chock-full when he returned home in time for the next Christmas feast, as he was certain that Santa Claus would never be so unkind as to forget him because he chanced to be away and so missed his turn in the usual visit of the benevolent patron of the little ones! Time passed on at Lubeck, the same as it does everywhere else. The year turned and the months flew by. Winter gave place to spring, when the adamantine chains with which the ice-king had bound the rivers and waters of the north were loosed asunder by the mighty power of the exultant sun; the snow melted away from the earth, which decked itself in green to rejoice at its freedom, smiling in satisfaction with flowers; while the trees began to clothe their ragged limbs and branches in dainty apparel, and the birds to sing at the approach of summer. June came, when Madame Dort had fully expected to hear of Eric's arrival at Batavia; but the month waned to its close without any letter coming to gladden the mother's heart again, nor was there any news to be heard of the good ship _Gustav Barentz_ in the commercial world--not a single telegram having been received to report her having reached her destination, nor was there any mention of her having been seen and signalled by some passing vessel, save that time when she was met off the Cape de Verde Islands in the previous November. It began to look ominous! But, while Madame Dort was filled with apprehension as to the fate of her younger son, a sudden conjuncture of circumstances almost made her forget Eric. This was, the unexpected summons of Fritz from her side, to battle with the legions of Germany against the threatened invasion of "the Fatherland" by France. At the time, it looked sudden enough. A little cloud, no bigger than a man's hand, had arisen on the horizon of European politics, which, each moment, grew blacker and more portentous; and, in a brief while, it burst into a war that deluged the vine-clad slopes of Rhineland and the fair plains of Lorraine with blood and fire, making havoc everywhere. Now, however, looking back on all the events of that terrible struggle and duly weighing the surroundings and impelling forces leading up to it, allowing also for all temporary excuses and pretexts, and admitting all that can be said for partisanship on either side, there can be no use in blinking at the pregnant fact that the real cause of the war arose from a desire to settle whether the French or the Germans were the strongest in sheer brute force--just in the same way as two men, or boys, fight with nature's weapons in a pugilistic encounter to strive for the mastery, thus indulging in passions which they share with the beasts of the field! The long, steady, complete preparation for war on each side shows that this very simple and intelligible motive was at the bottom of it all; and it is pitiable to think, for the sake of human nature, when recapitulating the history of this fearful conflict of fifteen years ago which caused such misery and murderous loss of life, that two of the most polished, advanced, educated, and representative nations of Europe at that time should not have apparently attained a higher code of civilised morality than that adopted by the natives of Dahomey--one, ruled over by the blood-stained fetish of human sacrifice! As the world advances, looking at the matter in this light, we seem to have exchanged one sort of barbarism for another, and the present one appears almost the worse of the two, by the very reason of its being mixed up with so much scientific advancement, cultural refinement, and the higher development of man. It is like the old devil returning and bringing with him seven other devils more powerful for evil than their original prototype, this prostitution of learning, intellect, and philosophy to the most debasing influences of human nature! These thoughts, however, did not affect either Fritz or his mother at the time. Not being the only son of a widow, in which case he might have been exempted from service, Fritz, when he had reached his eighteenth year, had been compelled to join the ranks of the national army; and, after completing the ordinary course of drill, had been relegated to the Landwehr and allowed to return home to his civic occupation. But, when the order was promulgated throughout the German empire to mobilise the vast human man-slaying machine which General Moltke and Prince Bismark had constructed with such painstaking care that units could be multiplied into tens, and tens into hundreds, and hundred into thousands--swelling into a gigantic host of armed men almost at a moment's notice, ready either to guard the frontier from invasion, or to hurl its resistless battalions on the hated foe whose defeat had been such a long-cherished dream--the young clerk received peremptory orders to join the headquarters of the regiment to which he was attached. The very place and hour at which he was to report himself to his commanding officer were named in the general order forwarded along with his railway pass, so comprehensive were the details of the Prussian military organisation. This latter so thoroughly embraced the entire country after the absorption of the lesser states on the collapse of Koniggratz, that each separate individual could be moved at any given moment to a certain defined point; while the instructions for his guidance were so complete and perfect, that they could not fail to be understood. Fritz had to proceed, in the first instance, to the capital city of his state, Hanover, now no longer a kingdom, but only a small division of the great empire into which it was incorporated. For him there was no chance of evasion or getting out of the obligation to serve, for the whilom "kingdom" having withstood to the last during the six weeks' war the onward progress to victory of the all-devouring Prussians, her citizens would be at once suspected of disloyalty on the least sign of any defection. Besides, a keen official eye was kept on the movements of all Hanoverians, their patriotism to the newly formed empire being diligently nourished by a military rule as stern and strict as that of Draco. "Oh, my boy, my firstborn! and must I lose thee too?" exclaimed Madame Dort, when Fritz made her acquainted with the news of his summons to headquarters. "Truly Providence sees fit to afflict me for my sins, to try me with this fresh calamity!" "Pray do not take such a sombre view of my departure, dear mother," said Fritz. "Why, probably, in a month's time I will be back again in old Lubeck; for, I'm sure, we'll double up the French in a twinkling." "Ah, my child, you do not know what a campaign is, yet! The matter will not be settled so easily as you think. War is a terrible thing, and the Prussians may not be able to crush the whole power of the French nation in the same way in which they conquered Austria and Saxony, and subdued our own little state four years ago." "But, mother recollect, that now we shall be fighting all together for the Fatherland," said Fritz, who like most young Germans was well read in his country's history, and to him the remembrance of the old war time, when Buonaparte trampled over central Europe, was as fresh as if it were only yesterday. "We've long been waiting for this day, and it has come at last! Besides, dear mutterchen, you forget that the Landwehr, to which I belong, will only act as a reserve, and will not probably take any part in the fighting--worse luck!" He added the latter words under his breath, for it was not so long since he had abandoned his barrack-room life for him to have lost the soldierly instincts there implanted into him; and, truth to say, he longed for the strife, the summons to arms making him "sniff the battle from afar like a young war-horse!" The French declaration of war and the proclamation of the German emperor had roused the people throughout the country into a state of patriotic frenzy; so that, from the North Sea to the Danube, from the Rhine to the Niemen, the summons to meet the ancient foe was responded to with an alacrity and devotion which none who witnessed the stirring scenes of that period can ever forget. Fritz was no less eager than his comrades; and, considerably within the interval allowed him for preparation, he and the others of his corps living in the same vicinity were on their way to Hanover. This second parting with another of her children almost wrung poor Madame Dort's heart in twain; but, like the majority of German mothers at the time, she sent off her son, with a blessing, "to fight for his country, his Fatherland"; for, noble and peasant alike, every wife and mother throughout the length and breadth of the land seemed to be infected with the patriotism of a Roman matron. Madame Dort would be second to none. "Good-bye, my son," she said, "be brave, although I need hardly tell your father's son that, and do your duty to God and your country!" "I will, mother; I will," said Fritz, giving her a last kiss, as the train rolled away with him out of the station to the martial strains of "Der Deutsche Vaterland," which a band was playing on the platform in honour of the young recruits going to the war. The widow had to-day no son left to support her steps homeward to the desolate house in the Gulden Strasse, now bereaved of her twin hopes, Fritz and Eric both; only old Lorischen was by her side, and she felt sadly alone. "Both gone, both gone!" she murmured to herself as she ascended the outside stairway that led to her apartments in the upper part of the house. "It will be soon time for me to go, too!" "Ach nein, dear mistress," said the faithful servant and friend who was now the sole companion left to share the deserted home. "What would become of me in that case, eh? We will wait and watch for the truants in patience and hope. They'll come back to us again in God's good time; and they will be all the more precious to us by their being taken from us now. Himmel! mistress, why we've lots of things to do to get ready for their return!" CHAPTER THREE. GRAVELOTTE. The actual declaration of war by France against Germany was not made until the 15th of July, 1870, reaching Berlin some four days later; but, for some weeks prior to that date, there is not the slightest doubt that both sides were busily engaged in mobilising their respective armies and making extensive preparations for a struggle that promised at the outset to be "a war to the knife"--the cut-and-dried official announcement of hostilities only precipitating the crisis and bringing matters to a head, so to speak. On the general order being given throughout the states of the Empire to place the national army on a war footing, in a very few days the marvellous system by which the German people can be marshalled for battle, "each tribe and family according to its place, and not in an aggregate of mere armed men," was in full operation throughout the land; and, under the influence of fervid zeal, of well-tested discipline, and of skilful arrangement, the Teuton hosts became truly formidable. From the recruiting ground allotted to it, each separate battalion speedily called in its reserves, expanding into full strength, the regiments so formed being at once arrayed into divisions and corps under proved commanders, furnished with every appliance which modern military science deemed necessary. These battalions composed the first line of defence for the Fatherland; while behind them, to augment the regular troops, again following out local distinctions and keeping up "the family arrangement," the Landwehr stood in the second line; the additional reserve of the Landsturm--yet to be called out in the event of fresh levies being required for garrisoning the fortresses with this militia force, so as to enable the trained soldiery to move onward and fill up the casualties of the campaign--forming a third line of defence. These gigantic masses were organised with the celerity and precision of clockwork, and then sent forward westward, perfectly equipped--in the highest sense a national army, being over four hundred thousand strong! Day after day, up to the end of July, the different railway lines of Germany bore the mighty host onward to the banks of the Rhine in endless succession of train-loads. Mass after mass of armed men, duly supplied with all the material of war, advanced rapidly, yet in due pre-arranged order, to the points selected for their gathering; while, in the meantime, the fortresses along the line of the river, where the first French attack was expected to be made, were put in a proper state of defence, and now, with strong garrisons, repaired works, ditches filled, and ramparts crowned with Krupp cannon, were prepared to defy the invader. By the first week of August three great armies had taken possession of the strip of territory, lying between the lower stream of the Moselle and the Rhine, which had for centuries been a battlefield between the German and French races, and which was now to witness fighting on a scale which put every previous campaign into the shade. The first army, under the veteran General Steinmetz, who had won his spurs at Waterloo, had been moved from the north down the valley of the Moselle and along the railway from Bingen, with its headquarters at the strongly fortified town of Coblentz. The second, or "central army," under Prince Frederick Charles, "the Red Prince," as his enthusiastic soldiers styled him, occupied Mannheim and Mayence, guarding the Vosges, through which was the principal avenue to the heart of the coveted Rhineland provinces; while the third army, under the Crown Prince of Prussia, who, as is well-known, is married to our own "Princess Royal," had its headquarters at Landau, where also the Baden and Wurtemberg contingents had to rendezvous. "The ball was opened"--to use the light-hearted expression of a French journalist in describing the commencement of the murderous struggle for supremacy between the two nations--at Saarbruck on the 2nd of August, 1870, when the late ill-fated Prince Imperial of France received his "baptism of fire"; but the first real engagement of the war did not occur till two days later, at Weissembourg, this being succeeded by the terrible battle of Woerth on the 6th of the month, when the German army under the Crown Prince of Prussia crumpled up the forces of Mcmahon, and thus effectually disposed of the previously much-vaunted superiority of the French military system, with its chassepot rifle and mitrailleuse. With these initial victories of Germany we have not much to do, however; for Fritz belonged to the Hanoverian division, which formed one of the units of the Tenth Army Corps, under the command of Steinmetz, which did not come into action until later on. On joining his regiment at headquarters, our young recruit from Lubeck, hastily summoned to exchange the pen and desk of a Dutch merchant's counting-house for the needle-gun and camp of the soldier, discovered to his great joy, that, instead of having to go through the tedious routine of garrison duty--which he had expected would have mainly composed his experiences of the war--the French invasion of Rhineland had so suddenly collapsed, that the Teuton forces, which had been assembled for the original purpose of defending the native soil, were now able to take the offensive and in their turn invade the territory of the foe; and, thus, he would be able to see active service on the field. This was a consummation dearly desired on his part, for he was young and ardent; although, perhaps, the order to go forwards was not quite so much relished by some of his comrades, who were married men and preferred the quiet of their home fireside to the many risks and discomforts of a campaign, which, at the beginning, they did not look upon so hopefully as their leaders. "Hurrah!" he exclaimed one morning at Coblentz, when the division in which he served was paraded on the Platz in heavy marching order, the men hurriedly falling into the ranks. "No more sentry rounds now and guard-mounting; we're off to Paris!" "Don't you crow too loudly, my young bantam," said a veteran near him; "we'll have a long march first, and then perhaps one of those confounded chassepot bullets we've heard so much of will put you feet foremost, in a way you won't like!" "Bah!" replied Fritz; "I'll run the chance of that. Anything is better than stopping here kicking our heels in this old town, while our brothers are gaining laurels in the battlefield!" "Ach, mein lieber," said the other; "wait till you've seen a little of the reality of war, the same as I did four years ago at Sadowa; you'll then think differently. It all looks very well now, with your smart new uniform and bright helmet; but, when the one is ragged with bayonet cuts and bloody and dirty, and the other doesn't preserve you from a leaden headache, you will prefer, like me, barrack life--aye, even in Coblentz!" "Hush there! order in the ranks!" sang out an officer at this moment, stopping Fritz's answer; and, the word of command being presently given to march, the conversation was not renewed. After the fearful loss they had suffered at Woerth, which battle was followed up by the sanguinary defeat of Frossard at Forbach, to the left of their line, on the same day, the French fell back on Metz as their rallying point, hoping by means of the vast entrenched camp there and its facilities of communication with Chalons and Verdun, to be able to make a stand against the enemy, now pressing them so sore. Military critics say that this was the greatest mistake made by the Emperor Napoleon's advisers; and that, had the forces under Bazaine retreated farther to the west--after throwing a sufficient garrison into Metz-- they might have been able to effect a junction with the defeated army of Mcmahon, which that general was withdrawing into the interior and from which they were now completely cut off. Be that as it may, however, during this interval of inactivity, when the shattered fragments of the magnificent French army--which had so proudly assumed the offensive but a bare fortnight before along the frontiers of the Rhine--were idling away precious moments that were fraught with peril and disaster to the Gallic race, the huge German masses, animated by a sense of victory and the consciousness of a superiority in arms as well as in numbers, were sweeping forward like a whirlwind of destruction. The Crown Prince, who had routed Mcmahon at Woerth and driven the wedge in that separated him from Bazaine, continued his onward march on the left of the German line through the passes of the Vosges into the fertile plains of Champagne. At the same time, Prince Frederick Charles, with the main portion of the second army, had crossed the Moselle at Pont-a-Mousson; and, moving northwards, was already in a position to threaten the line of the French retreat on Verdun, while the remainder of the Red Prince's forces were advancing to the eastward of Metz. The columns, too, of Steinmetz, moving with mathematical regularity at an equal rate of progression, were also being echelonned along the northern face of the fortress, just within striking distance. To put it concisely, some two hundred and fifty thousand unbeaten German soldiers, with an artillery numbering over eight hundred guns, almost surrounded the stronghold of Lorraine and the far weaker and partly demoralised force which the French had gathered together beneath its walls, only, as it turned out subsequently, to court defeat and annihilation. It was not until the 14th of August that the series of battles that were to rage round Metz, began. Early in the morning of that day--apparently for the first time struck with an apprehension of having his retreat on Chalons by way of Verdun interfered with and his communications with his base of supply cut off, thus appreciating his critical position only when it was too late to remedy it--the French Marshal commenced crossing the Moselle with his vanguard. The entire body of troops, however, did not reach the river; for, three corps, which had been encamped to the eastward of the fortress, delayed their departure until the afternoon--a tardiness that enabled Steinmetz to attack their rear and detain them on the spot, until the flanking movement of Prince Frederick Charles' army beyond the Moselle towards Pont-a-Mousson had been completed. A bloody and indecisive action was the result, in which, if the Germans did not gain a victory, they succeeded in accomplishing their object--that of detaining the French troops before Metz, until their retreat on Verdun should be impossible of achievement. On the 16th occurred the battle of Vionville; and, two days later, that of Gravelotte, the bloodiest contest that took place between the opposing forces throughout the entire war--the first general engagement, too, in which our friend Fritz really "smelt powder" and became an active participant. The rough skirmishing work which some of the divisions of the army corps under Steinmetz had already had, during the intervening days since the 14th, somewhat prepared the soldiers of the Waterloo veteran for butchery. They could plainly perceive from his tactics that their general was one who would spare no sacrifice of human life in order to gain his end and defeat the enemy. The corpses piled high on the field of Vionville of the Cuirassiers and Ziethen Hussars, who had been ordered to charge batteries of artillery in Balaclava fashion, afforded proof enough of that; and the men said, with a laugh and a shrug of the shoulders, "Ah, yes; we're going to have a warm time of it now with `Old Blood and Iron,' we are!" And they had! Fritz had barely dropped to sleep on the evening of the 17th, when, towards midnight, he was aroused by the wild music of military trumpets, blown apparently from every bivouac in his neighbourhood for miles round. "Who goes there?" he exclaimed, raising himself up on his elbow, but half awake and dreaming he was on sentry duty. "Rouse up! rouse up!" shouted a comrade in his ear, and then he recollected all at once where he was. As he sprang to his feet, the noise throughout the camp told without further explanation that an important crisis was at hand, for the measured tramp of marching battalions pulsated the ground like the beat of a muffled drum, while above this sound could be heard the roll of wheels and dragging of gun limbers, and the ringing of horses' hoofs, all swelling into a perfect roar of sound. Bazaine, having been driven back from the forward positions his army had attained on the Verdun and Etain roads, in its progress of retreat towards Chalons, by the intervention of the German forces, now sought a fresh vantage-ground during the brief respite allowed by his enemy--one, that is, where he would be able not only to offer a determined resistance, but also retain his lines of retreat; and whence, if victorious, he might be able to break forth and make good his intended movement on Chalons. Such a position he found in the range of uplands, which, intersected at points by ravines, with brooks and difficult ground in front and with belts of wood in the near distance, extends from the village of Gravelotte on the north-east to Privat-la-Montaigne, beyond the road that runs from Metz to the whilom German frontier; and, throughout the whole of the previous day the Marshal had been busily engaged in stationing his troops along this line collecting every means of defence which could add to its natural strength. The arrangements of Bazaine certainly gave proof on this occasion of that tactical skill for which he had previously been renowned. The French left, occupying Gravelotte at the junction of the roads from Verdun and Etain and thence extended along the high-road to Metz, held a range of heights, with a wood beneath, which commanded all the neighbouring approaches. This position, besides, was protected in front by lines of entrenchments, with rifle-pits and a formidable display of artillery; and, shielded in its rear by the heavily armed fort of Saint Quentin, might well-nigh be considered impregnable. Bazaine's centre, although not so strongly placed, had also the advantage of rising ground; and, the right of the line was equally protected by natural and artificial means. Along this admirably selected fighting ground the French Marshal posted some hundred thousand men altogether, clinging to Gravelotte with his best troops, and leaving about twenty thousand as a reserve near Metz--thus acting entirely on the defensive. While Bazaine had been making these preparations, the German leaders had not by any means been idle. On the same day that the French Marshal was entrenching himself on his chosen field of battle, the entire force of the second army, under the Red Prince, approaching from Pont-a-Mousson, had come into line; and, in communication with the first army, under old "Blood and Iron" Steinmetz, had completely crossed the French, line of retreat, occupying the Verdun and Etain roads northward from Rezonville to Doncourt, with the remaining corps that had remained to the east of Metz supporting the rear and right flank. Altogether, the German commanders had at least nine army corps in hand; and when the reinforcements were brought up, they could calculate on possessing a force of no less than two hundred and forty thousand men to hurl against their antagonists, thus overmatched at the very outset by at least two to one. The Teuton plan of battle, as subsequently detailed, premised, that, as the French left at Gravelotte was prodigiously strong, making it extremely difficult to carry that position without enormous sacrifices, it would be preferable to move a large part of the army across Bazaine's front, in order to assail and crush his right wing, which was protected in the rear by Metz, and so could not be turned in that direction. It was also decided that, at the same time, a forward attack should be made as a feint on Gravelotte, the German commanders hoping that under the double pressure of a simultaneous onslaught on both its wings, the French army would lose its hold of the Verdun and Etain roads--which of course it was Bazaine's object to secure--when, being driven in under the guns of Metz, his forces would there be isolated and completely cut off from any further action in the campaign. This result, it may be here stated, was ultimately attained, although the turning movement against the right of the French line was found to be impracticable shortly after it was undertaken and had to be given up, the operations of the German host being subsequently confined to an attack in front on the formidable position of Gravelotte--which, with its ridge of hills lined with fortifications and strengthened with rows of rifle-pits that covered the slopes in every direction, overtopping each other like seats in a circus, seemed proof against attack. Marching in the darkness, he knew not whither, by the side of comrades in solid phalanx, Fritz found himself, when morning broke, at the rear of some other battalions that were concealed from the enemy behind a mass of brushwood and scattered forest trees. These grew on an elevated plateau from which a very good view could be obtained of the field of battle, the rising sun lighting up the whole landscape and displaying the beautiful details of the country around, so soon, alas! to be marred by the terrible havoc of battle, bringing fire and ruin and bloodshed in its train. On the left, stretched out like a silver thread amidst the green sheen of the foliage the road leading to Verdun and Paris beyond, lined along its extent with rows of tall poplars planted with mathematical regularity; while a series of pretty villages, each with its own church steeple and surrounded by charming villa residences, only a few hundred yards apart apparently, broke the monotonous regularity of the highway-- Mars la Tour, Florigny, Vionville, Rezonville, Malmaison, and last, though by no means least, Gravelotte, which was in the immediate foreground. On the right were thickly wooded hills; and, far away in the distance, glittered the peaks and pinnacles of Metz, the whole forming a lovely panorama, spread out below in the smiling valley of Lorraine. As Fritz was looking on this scene with mingled feelings, a splendid regiment of uhlans dashed up behind the infantry; and, when they reached the brow of the hill, they broke into a wild hurrah, which almost seemed to thrill their horses, which neighed in chorus. This provoked a responsive echo from the marching battalions on foot; and then, the cavalry galloped forwards. At the same time, distant cannonading could be heard in the neighbourhood of Vionville, and shells were seen bursting in the air around the French positions at Point du Jour, with the smaller puffs of smoke from rifles in action between the trees below. The battle had begun. Bang, bang, went the guns; and soon the cannonade, drawing in closer and closer upon the doomed villages, became a deafening roar, with streams of hurtling missiles shrieking overhead and bursting with a crash at intervals. Masses of men could be perceived winding in and out along the main road and the side lanes like ants, a gap every now and then showing in their ranks when some shot had accomplished its purpose. By twelve o'clock the engagement had become general; although, as yet, it had been only a battle of the guns, which bellowed and hurled destruction on assailant and defender alike--the curious harsh grating sound of the French mitrailleuse being plainly perceptible above the thunder of the cannon and rattle of musketry, "just like the angry growl of a cross dog under a wagon when some one pretends to take away his bone!" as one of the men said. The Ninth Army Corps, composed of Schleswig-Holsteiners, Fritz's compatriots and close neighbours, were the first to come into collision with the enemy's van but soon the Hanoverian artillery had to follow suit; and bye-and-bye, in the main attack on Gravelotte, the infantry became engaged at last, much to the relief of the men, who were bursting with impatience at being allowed to rest idly on their arms when such stirring scenes were being enacted before their eyes. This was not, however, until the French positions in front of Vionville had been carried, a success only achieved late in the afternoon, after the most desperate fighting and when the slaughter-dealing Steinmetz ordered an advance in front of the enemy's defences. A tremendous fire of artillery was first concentrated on the French works, one hundred and twenty guns taking part in the bombardment; and then, after about half an hour's shelling, the leading Prussian regiment dashed up the slopes above Gravelotte. The men were rushing into the very jaws of death; for, when they had got about half-way up, the mitrailleuses opened on them, doing terrible execution at close quarters. The brave fellows, however, pressed on, though they fell literally by hundreds. Indeed, they actually got into the works, and a half battery of four-pounder guns which had followed them up was close in their rear on their way to the crest of the hill, when the French, who had run their mitrailleuses farther back some four hundred yards to avoid capture, opened so deadly a fire that the "forlorn hope" had to retire again down the slope--leaving the guns behind them, for every horse in the battery had been killed or disabled. After this, a mad attempt was made to charge the hill with cavalry, the cuirassiers and uhlans dashing up the road at the French works; but men and horses were mowed down so rapidly that the scattered remnants of these fine squadrons had to retire like the infantry. A third effort was made by another line regiment, the men advancing in skirmishing order, instead of in column like the first pioneers of the attack; but although this attempt was covered by a tremendous artillery fire, it was equally unsuccessful. Some of the men certainly managed to reach the French batteries, but they were then shot down in such numbers by the terrible mitrailleuses that they could not hold their ground. These different episodes of the battle consumed the greater portion of the afternoon, although of course fighting was going on elsewhere along the line. Fritz's battalion was engaged in another part of the field, and in the Bois du Vaux, as well as on the opposite bank of the Moselle, it did good service in crushing in the wing of the French. Here Fritz had an opportunity of distinguishing himself. In charging an entrenched outwork held by the enemy, the captain of his company got struck down by a bullet; when, as no officer remained to take his place, Fritz gallantly seized the sword of the fallen man, leading on his comrades to the capture of the battery, which had been annoying the German reserves greatly by its fire. Fortunately, too, for Fritz, his commanding officer, General Von Voigts-Rhetz, not only noticed his bravery on the occasion, but let him know that it should not be forgotten at headquarters. Meanwhile, the continual bombardment of the French position was maintained, and about half-past six o'clock in the evening a last desperate attack was made on Gravelotte--the outlying farmhouse of La Villette, which was the key to the defence, being especially assailed. The reserve artillery being brought up commenced playing upon the still staunchly guarded slopes with storms of shot and shell; and, presently, the farmhouse was in flames, although the garden was still held by the French, who had crenellated the walls, making it into a perfect redan. A gallant foot regiment then took the lead of the German forces, charging up the deadly slope, followed by a regiment of hussars; when, after more than an hour spent in the most desperate fighting of the day, the French at last began to retire from the entrenchments which they had defended so gallantly up to now, the infantry being protected in their retreat by the murderous mitrailleuses that had so disunited the ranks of their stubborn foes, the hoarse growl of their discharge being yet heard in the distance long after the louder and sharper reports of the guns and howitzers had generally ceased. The evening was now closing in, and soon darkness reigned around, the prevailing gloom being only broken by the fiery path of some bombshell winging its parabolic flight through the air, or the long tongue of fire darting forth from the mouth of a stray cannon; while, in the sky above, the lurid smoke-clouds of burning houses joined with the shades of night in casting a pall over the scene of hideous carnage which the bright day had witnessed, hiding it for ever save from the memories of those who were there and had shared its horrors. The battle of Gravelotte was lost and won; but, to the Germans, the victory was almost akin to a defeat, no less than five-and-twenty thousand of the best troops of the "Fatherland" being either killed or wounded! Fritz escaped scathless through all the perils of the day, in spite, too, of his risking his life most unnecessarily on many occasions in order to see the progress of the fight when his battalion was not in action; but his favourite comrade, the veteran soldier who had fought at Sadowa, received a bullet in his chest, and his life-blood was gradually ebbing away when Fritz, kneeling at his side, asked him if he could do anything for him. "Ah, no," answered the poor fellow; "nobody can do anything for me now! I told you, comrade, to wait till you saw what real war was like. Himmel! Sadowa and '66 were child's play to this here, with the fire of the chassepot and that infernal mitrailleuse! Hurrah, though we've won!" shouted out the veteran in a paroxysm of patriotism; and then, joining in with the chorus of "Die Wacht am Rhein," which a Prussian corps was singing as they marched by, he thus sobbed out his last breath and so died! "His was a patriot soldier's end," said Fritz, as he closed his eyes and covered over his face reverently with his pocket-handkerchief. "Yes, so it was," chimed in the others sententiously. "It is good so to die!" CHAPTER FOUR. AFTER THE BATTLE. During the height of the struggle, Fritz had been carried away by a perfect delirium of excitement, as if in a dream; and what he had done had been done almost unconsciously, in spite of himself, and on the spur of the moment. He had been marched here; marched there; halted; ordered to fire; charged with his comrades; retreated; charged again--all, as it seemed, in one brief second of time! What, with the continuous roar of artillery reverberating through the surrounding hills; the constant ping; pinging and singing of rifle bullets; the rattling discharge of platoon firing; the whirring of heavy shot and shell through the air above the ranks and the bursting every now and then of some huge bomb in their midst, knocking down the men like ninepins and sending up a pyramid of dust and stones, mingled with particles of their arms and clothing, as well as fragments of the torn flesh of some victims, on the missile exploding in a sheet of crackling flame, with a rasping, tearing noise--all combined with the thick sulphureous cloud of gunpowder which hung over the battlefield, half asphyxiating the combatants, whose hoarse cries of rage and hatred could be heard above the noise of the cannon and discharges of musketry, mixed up with the words of command of their different officers, the "_En avant, mes amis_!" of the French, the stern "_Vorwarts_!" of the Germans, and the occasional wild, weird, frenzied scream of some stricken charger echoing shrilly in the distance, like the wail of a lost soul in purgatory--the whole realised a mad riot of destruction and carnival of blood, the essence of whose moving spirit appeared to take possession of each one engaged, rendering him unaccountable for his actions for the time being. Like the rest, Fritz felt the "war fever" upon him. A red mist hovered before his eyes. He smelt blood and longed to spill more. The fumes of brimstone acted on his senses like hasheesh to narcotic smokers. An irresistible impulse urged him forwards. A voice kept crying in his ears, "Kill and slay, and spare not!" This was while the fury of the combat lasted, when the Prussian battalions were hurling their human waves in columns against the rocky defences of Gravelotte, only for them to fall back impotently, like the broken foam and spent wash of billows which have assailed in vain the precipitous peaks of some cliff-defended coast that repels their every attack; when the sharp clash of steel met opposing steel and galloping thud of flying squadrons, urged on with savage oath and triumphant cheer, filled the air; when the gurgling groan of the death-agony and moan of painless pain, made the treble of the devil-music, to the thundering sustained bass of the cannon roar, and the growling arpeggio accompaniment of the mitrailleuse! But, when, after one last fearful combined volley, in which every single piece of ordnance on the field seemed to take part, the hideous turmoil of sound ceased as if by mutual consent. A sort of solemn hush, in company with the night, caused comparative stillness to brood over the scene, in contrast to the pandemoniacal noise that had previously reigned so fiendishly. Then, all of a sudden, Fritz appeared to awake suddenly from a disturbed dream or phantom-haunted night-mare, in which all the powers of evil were tearing at his heart and brain. The war fever, for him, had exhausted its final paroxysm. The red mist had been withdrawn from his eyes. The thirst for blood from his soul. He was himself again; but a strangely altered self, for he felt weak and ill, and as languid and worn-out as if he had just recovered from a fainting fit. It was at this moment that Hermann his comrade had been struck down by a chassepot ball, winging its murderous mission from some unknown point; and when Fritz had sat down by the side of the body, covering over the face of the dead man, he did not seem to feel any desire to live or even to rise up again, he was so utterly powerless and lacking in energy. The majority of his fellow-soldiers appeared, too, to be in the same mood, stretching their weary limbs on the ground in listless apathy, as if caring for nothing; they did not either seem to be affected by hunger or thirst, although it was more than twelve hours since they had broken their fast; the fury of the fight had satiated them, taking away all stamina and appetite. Presently, however, an ambulance detachment, passing by on their merciful errand to seek for the wounded, besought aid; and Fritz, with others, at once sprang up and volunteered assistance to bear away those to whom the surgeon's care could do any good to the field hospitals, where their hurts could be attended to in a general way. The number of wounded men was so great that it was simply impossible for the doctors to hunt after individual cases and treat them properly. The battlefield was now covered by a dense cloud, illuminated at either end of the valley in which it lay by two enormous fires of burning houses. But, above, the stars shone down peacefully from the blue vault of heaven on the terrible picture of carnage below; and, as the smoke of the gunpowder cleared away, the different points of the struggle could be clearly picked out by reason of the heaps of corpses and dead horses, piled beneath overturned cannon and broken limbers, shattered needle- guns and chassepots, all of which were scattered around pell-mell in endless profusion. "Water, water, for the love of God!" was the heartrending cry that proceeded everywhere from yet living men hidden among hecatombs of the slain, as they heard the footsteps of the ambulance corps and their helpers. Really, the task was an endless one, to try to relieve the misery around; for, hardly had one wounded wretch been saved from being buried alive in the mountain of dead under which he writhed, than an appeal for aid was heard in another direction--and yet again another, until the bearers and relief corps themselves became exhausted. Each required forty pairs of hands instead of one! It was terrible work to go over the scene of slaughter in cold blood, with no fever of excitement to blot out the hideous details, now displaying themselves in all their naked reality! Conspicuously, in front of La Villette, were to be seen the white trimmings of the uniforms of the Prussian Imperial Guards; the red trousers of the French line; the shining helmets of the cuirassiers, whose breastplates were all torn and dented with shot, as if they had been ploughed over; while the wind, now rising as the night progressed towards morning, rustled the myriad leaves of white paper that had escaped from out of the French staff carriages, blowing them across the valley, like a flock of sea- gulls fluttering on the bosom of the breeze. As the day broke, the bright beams of the rising sun lit up the field of battle, only to disclose its horrors the more unmistakably. The rays of light, flashing on the exposed sword blades and bayonet points, reflected little radiant gleams of brightness; but, the hands of those who wielded them so valiantly not many hours agone were now cold and cramped in the agony of death, alas! Sad bruised eyes glared out from disfigured faces under torn-open breasts, appearing to look up to where the stars only so recently twinkled down, vainly asking Providence why it had put the lightning into the hands of man for so fell a purpose! Rows of infantry lay dead in perfect order, as if on parade, where the mitrailleuse had mowed them down; whole squadrons of hussars and lancers were heaped up in mass; and, in some of the French rifle-pits, there were more than a thousand corpses piled, the one on top of another with trim regularity, as if carefully arranged so. Blue, red, and yellow uniforms, with the occasional green of the Tyrolean Jager, were mixed together in picturesque confusion along the Verdun road; in fact, the dead and dying were everywhere in such prodigious numbers that the hearts of those seeking out the wounded were appalled. Worse than in the fields were the scenes displayed in the villages and little towns along the white high-road to Metz, the tall poplars that lined it being torn down by the round shot, thus blocking the way. The broken vehicles and baggage wagons that were mingled together in an inextricable mass also added to the obstruction; Malmaison, Vionville, and Rezonville were filled with war victims; and all the surgeons, French as well as German, that could be summoned to help, were as busy as they could possibly be. Carriages and stretchers covered the open places in front of every house, the Red Cross of Geneva being rudely depicted on the doors, with the neutral flag of the society floating above; while pools of blood marked the dressing places of the wounded, the pale white faces of whom looked down in mute misery from the carts in which they were being borne away to the rear to make room for others to be attended to. To complete the picture, those who had died under operation were laid by the roadside until they could be collected bye- and-bye for burial, the living having to be seen to first! Released at length, after toiling through the night and early morning at his voluntary labour, Fritz was able at last to return to the bivouac of the Hanoverians; but, while on his way to camp, he passed one of the most affecting pictures he had yet seen. Hearing the howl of a dog, he turned aside towards a little clump of trees from which the sound seemed to come, and here he came up to a splendid large black retriever, which, with one paw on a dead officer's breast and with his noble head raised to the sky, was baying in that melancholy fashion in which dogs tell their woe on being overcome by grief. Near this little group was an unfortunate horse sitting on its haunches, its hind-quarters having been torn off by the discharge of a shell, or the passage of some conical projectile. The animal was moaning heavily with pain, and looked so appealingly at Fritz out of its large deep eyes, that he raised a revolver which he had picked up on the field and put the poor brute out of its agony. It was a different matter with the dog, however; although he could not persuade the faithful retriever to leave his master's side; and, as it was getting late, and Fritz thought he might be missed and reported as a straggler from his corps, he hurried on to the camping ground of his regiment, promising himself to return later on in the day, if spared from duty, when he would bury the dead body of the officer and take possession of the dog--that is, should no one else have appropriated him in the meantime, as might possibly be the case. He was so worn-out with fatigue, on arrival at the bivouac of the regiment in the Bois du Vaux, that, on finding that his absence was not taken any notice of, he laid himself down by the side of a fire which the men had kindled for cooking their camp kettles; and, although it was a warm summer day, he immediately fell asleep, not waking until late in the afternoon. Then, partaking of some Erbwurst, or "peasoup sausage," which one of his comrades had kindly kept for him, albeit the rations were rather scanty, he felt a new man, and fit for anything; for, the worn-out feeling of exhaustion and nervous horror which had possessed his mind throughout the many hours that elapsed since the close of the fighting on the evening before, being only the effects of over- excitement, had now completely disappeared on his getting rest and refreshment. Indeed, he no longer felt sickened with war. On the contrary, he was quite ready to start into a fresh battle, and that, too, with as eager an impetus as he had plunged into his first engagement. This was not all, either. On the regiment being paraded shortly afterwards in front of its bivouac, the field officer of the day called out "Fritz Dort" a second time, after the names of the men had been run over on the muster roll-- many failing to answer, and having the brief military comment "Dead," or "Missing," placed after their numbers. "Here!" answered Fritz, stepping forwards and saluting the officer in the ordinary routine fashion, wondering what was to come next. "Fritz Dort and men of the 16th Hanoverians," proceeded the major, reading from an official document in his hand, "I am directed by the general commanding the Tenth Army Corps, in the order of the day, to signalise the distinguished gallantry which the said Fritz Dort displayed yesterday in the face of the enemy at the engagement in front of Gravelotte, when, on the falling of the officer leading the company to which he was attached, the said Fritz Dort bravely stepped to the front, and taking his commander's vacant post, led on his men to capture the French battery, which they were detailed to take by storm. For such conspicuously good service in action, the general commanding hereby promotes the said Fritz Dort to be a sub-lieutenant in the same regiment, trusting that, as an officer, he will perform his duty as he has done as a private soldier and meet with the obedience and honour of those with whom he has previously served as a brother comrade, none the less on account of his promotion from the ranks which as one of themselves he has adorned!" A loud "Hurrah!" broke from all the men when the major had finished reading this document; and that officer then shook hands kindly with Fritz, welcoming him cordially to the higher station he had attained. The other subalterns also advanced, doing the same; while, on retiring from the parade, the men of the rank and file, without receiving any order to that effect, gave the young hero a general salute, in token of their respect and recognition of his new dignity as an officer over them. Fritz's heart was bursting with joy at his unexpected promotion. He thought how proud his mother would be to hear of it; but, before writing home by the afternoon field post, as he intended doing, he determined to carry out the promise he had made to himself, and which he held as equally binding as if it had been made in the presence of witnesses--the promise to bury the body of the dead officer which he had come across in the wood, guarded by his faithful dog. "Heinrich!" he called out to the man who, as his whilom comrade, had preserved his rations for him. He forgot for the moment the altered condition of their respective ranks. "Ja, Herr Lieutenant," said Heinrich, much to his surprise, stepping out towards him and saluting, with forefinger to pickelhaube, as straight as a ramrod. "Bother!" exclaimed Fritz, a bit puzzled at first by the inconvenience in some ways of his exaltation in rank. There was some difficulty at first in accommodating himself to his new position. "Never mind my being an officer for awhile, friend Heinrich," he explained to his whilom comrade--"the dignity can keep without harming it until we are again on duty together, when I promise to remember it to all your advantage; for you've been good fellows to me, one and all! I want you now to help me, friend Heinrich, in a sad commission; so, I rely upon your assistance from our old brotherly feelings when together--not because I ask you as your superior. Get a pickaxe and spade from one of the pioneers and come with me. I'm going to bury a poor fellow who has fallen over there, whose fate has attracted my sympathy." Fritz pointed, as he spoke, to the wood where the dead man lay. "With right good pleasure, Herr Lieutenant," said the other in a cheerful tone of voice, with great alacrity of manner, saluting again as before. As a soldier, he knew his place too well to take a liberty with an officer, even if a newly-made one, and with his own permission! The German, or rather Prussian, system was and is very strict on such points. "Oh, bother!" ejaculated Fritz again, between his teeth. "The idea of helping to bury a man `with right good pleasure'!" He could not help smiling at the ludicrous association with so grave a subject, as he unconsciously mimicked the soldier's simple speech. "Poor dear old fellow, though," thought he a moment afterwards, "he doesn't know what a funny phrase he used." In a minute or two the man returned with the required articles; when he and Fritz set off towards the wood, the latter leading the way, and Heinrich following close behind in single file. On reaching the spot which he had marked, Fritz found that no one had apparently been there in his absence, for the dog was still on guard over his master's corpse, although he was now lying across the body, and had ceased his melancholy howl. When he approached the animal wagged his bushy tail, as if in recognition of having seen Fritz before. "Poor fellow!" said Fritz; "come here, old man! We're here to put your master in his last home, and you must not prevent us. We will treat him very tenderly." The dog looked up in his face, as if he understood what his new friend said; and, crawling off from the officer's body, he came to Fritz and licked his hand, holding up the while one paw, which was bleeding as if from a cut. "He is wounded," said Heinrich, stooping down. "Yes," answered Fritz, examining the poor paw, much apparently to the dog's satisfaction. "It's from a piece of shell, probably the same that settled the horse there; but it's not a bad wound, and will soon get well, doggie!" So saying, lifting up the injured member gently, he began to bind it round with a piece of lint which he had in his pocket, the retriever keeping perfectly quiet, as if knowing that no injury was intended him. Fritz then proceeded to open the dead officer's jacket, in order to search for any papers or articles of value, which he might keep and forward to his relatives. Previously, the dog would not allow him to touch the body at all, but now he did not offer any objection, so Fritz turned out all the pockets. He could discover no paper, however, nor any trace of identity. The only token he could find was a little silver ring wrapped in a small piece of paper, inscribed, "From my beloved, 18th July, 1870." This was carefully enclosed in a little bag of silk, and suspended by a ribbon round the poor young fellow's neck, resting on the cold and lifeless spot where his heart once used to beat. "A love gage," said Heinrich sympathisingly. "Ah, yes," replied Fritz; "and the poor girl will, I suppose, continue to look out for him, hoping to see him again, while he lies here in a nameless tomb! Never mind, I will keep the token and the dog; perhaps I may discover her and his friends some day through them. Now, let us make the grave quickly, comrade, and commit him to his rest!" In silence the two then dug a low trench in the soil beneath the tree where the officer had found his death, and then reverently laid him in it. He had died calmly from the effects of a bullet which must have penetrated his brain, as only a small blue orifice was to be seen in the centre of his forehead; and a smile was on his handsome young face, as if no painful thought had vexed his last moment. During the sad obsequies, the dog kept close to the side of Fritz, watching attentively everything that was done, without stirring or uttering a sound, save when they shovelled the earth on his poor master's breast. He then gave vent to a short, angry bark; but, on Fritz speaking to him soothingly, he again became quiet, remaining so to the end, when he laid down on the newly-made grave, with a deep, low whine that was almost a sigh, that seemed to come from the bottom of his faithful canine heart! From a piece of broken wood close by, Fritz then carved a rude cross, which he fixed in the ground at the head of the poor young fellow's last resting-place, inscribing on it the words: "To a French officer. Peace to his remains. The grave knows no enmities! 18th August, 1870." The date on this unknown victim's grave was exactly one month later than that on which he must have parted from his sweetheart. What a strange fatality, pondered Fritz and his companion, that one who had probably been so much loved and cared for, should be indebted for the last friendly offices which man or woman could render him--to strangers! "May he rest in peace!" said Fritz, uncovering his head as he turned away, and then putting on his helmet again. "So, too, I wish," echoed Heinrich. "We can do no more for him, poor youth!" "No," said Fritz; "we'd better go now. Come on, old fellow!" he added, with a whistle to the retriever, who, wise dog that he was, seeing he could do no further good to the one to whom he had been faithful in life and watched in death as long as he was able, now answered the call of the new friend whom Providence had sent him. Without any demur he returned with Fritz and Heinrich to the Hanoverian camp, following close behind the heels of the former, as if recognising him as his master in the place of him whom he had lost. Fritz christened this treasure trove of the battlefield "Gelert"; and like that trusty hound of old, the animal became known to all the men in a very short while. He was formally adopted, indeed, as the pet of the regiment, besides coming in for Fritz's own special care, being known even to the general in command of the division as "the dog of the sub- lieutenant of Gravelotte." CHAPTER FIVE. BAD NEWS. If it had seemed dull and lonely in the little household of the Gulden Strasse at Lubeck after Eric had gone to sea, how much more so was it not to the two sad women left alone to console each other when Fritz, also, had departed from home! For days, Madame Dort appeared borne down by a weight of woe, and even Lorischen lost that customary cheeriness with which she usually performed her daily duties in her endeavours to console her mistress. Mouser, too, went miaow-wowing about the house at nights, as if he likewise shared in the family despondency--not once being caught in the act of stealing the breakfast cream, a predilection for which had hitherto been an abnormal failing on his part. So changed, indeed, became the old cat that he did not possess spirit enough to put up his tail and "phit" and "fiz" at Burgher Jans' terrier, when that predatory animal made an occasional excursion into the parlour at meal times, to see what he could pick up, either on the sly or in that sneaking, fawning fashion which a well-trained dog would have despised. This continued almost to the end of the month; but then came a bright little bit of intelligence to gladden their hearts. It was like a gleam of sunshine breaking through the dark cloud of gloom that hung over them. Fritz wrote home from Coblentz, close to the frontier, telling how comfortable he was, and how every one in the army of the Fatherland was confident as to the result of the campaign. In a few weeks at the outside, they thought--everything was so carefully planned and every contingency provided against--the French army of invasion would have been dispersed to the four winds of heaven and the war be over; and, then, the Landwehr, at all events, would be enabled to return home to their several states and resume those peaceful employments which their mobilisation had interrupted. Fritz said that he feared he would have no chance of distinguishing himself in the campaign, as one alone of the three great army corps they had already massed along the Rhine would be sufficient to crush the hated foe. The only men who would probably see any fighting would be those serving under the Crown Prince, who had already routed the enemy and were in active pursuit of them across the borderland. His veteran old general, Steinmetz, every one considered to be "out of the hunt completely!" All he would see of the whole affair, they thought, would be the warriors returning home crowned with laurels after the victory. Thus ran the tenor of Fritz's letter, the writer evidently not dreaming of the events in store for him; and that, instead of returning to Lubeck in a few weeks, it would be many weary months before he saw the blinking eyes of the ancient astronomical clock in the Dom Kirche again! Through the intricacies of the field post, too, this communication was a long time in reaching the little seaport town on the North Sea, being at least ten days old when it arrived; but what mattered that? It contained good news when it did come, and was as welcome as if it had been dated only yesterday. "Ah, ha!" exclaimed Lorischen, when her mistress communicated the contents of Fritz's letter. "The young Herr will soon be back, and then we'll see him give Meinherr Burgher Jans the right-about. I call it scandalous, I do, his persecuting an unprotected, lone widow--just because her sons are away, and there's only me to look after her! But, I keep him at arm's distance, I promise you, madame. It is only his thief of a dog who manages to creep in here when I am about!" Madame Dort blushed. She was a comely, middle-aged woman, and when she coloured up she looked quite pretty. "I'm sure, Lorischen," she said, "I wonder you can talk such nonsense; you are as bad as poor Eric used to be, teasing me about that little fat man! Poor Burgher Jans means no harm in coming to inquire after my health while Fritz is away." "That's just what I object to, dear lady," interrupted the other; "why does he do it?" "Can't you see, you stupid thing," said Madame Dort, laughing heartily, the hopeful letter of her son having quite restored her spirits, "that is the very reason? If dear Fritz were here, he would naturally ask him how we all are; but, as he is away now, and I never go outside the house, while you, my faithful Lorischen, are not very communicative, I suppose, when you go to the Market Platz, it is plain enough to common sense that the worthy Burgher, if he takes an interest in us, must come here to inquire after the family himself!" "Oh yes, I understand," answered the old nurse, in a grumbling tone. She had lived so long with the widow, whom she looked upon really as a child committed to her charge, that she considered she had a perfect right to pass an opinion on anything which did not please her. Besides, she was jealous, on behalf of the boys, of any interloper being put over their heads in the shape of a stepfather, she as an old spinster having a wholesome horror of the designing nature of all men, especially of the little Burgher Jans, to whom she had taken an inveterate dislike. "Oh yes, I understand," she said in an ironical tone she always assumed on being a bit vexed; "when the cat's away the mice play!" "I presume then," said Madame Dort dryly, "that Mouser is a good deal absent now from his duties; for, I noticed this morning that half that cheese in the cupboard was nibbled up. It was a good Limburger cheese, too!" "Ach, Himmel!" exclaimed the old nurse, not perceiving the design of her mistress to change the conversation, and taking up the cudgels readily to defend her dearly loved cat. "The poor creature has not been himself since the young masters have been away. He feels too lonesome to hunt the mice as he used to do so gaily in the old days, tossing them up in the air when he caught them, and bringing them mewing to my feet,--the dear one! Why, he hardly ever touches a drop of milk now." "Yes, I see he spares our cream--" "Oh, madame, that was a libel on the poor animal. It was only the dear lad Eric's joke! Mouser would never touch one drop of the breakfast cream, save perhaps when we might be late for the meal, or when the dear fellow felt a little thirsty, or--" "Ah, indeed! Yes, no doubt," interrupted Madame Dort, laughing again. "He would have been at it again to-day, only Burgher Jans' dog came in at the nick of time and scared him away!" "Did he!" said Lorischen indignantly. "It strikes me that pest of a terrier is here a good deal too much, like his master! And, talk of him, there he is!" she added hastily, leaving the room as a knock came to the door. Burgher Jans came in as the old nurse went out, brushing by him with ill-concealed contempt and aversion. He was a fat little man, with long straight hair coming down over his coat collar, and a round, full-moon sort of face, whose effect of beaming complacency was enhanced by a pair of large-rimmed tortoise-shell spectacles out of which his owl-like eyes shone with an air of balmy wisdom. "Most worthy lady," he commenced, addressing Madame Dort with an elaborate bow, sweeping the floor with his hat. "Unto me the greatest and ever-much rapture doth it with added satisfaction bring, to tell you of the glorious success of the German arms over our greatly-overbearing and hopeful-of-victory foe." "Dear me!" exclaimed the widow, "you are rather late with your news; I heard from Fritz just now." "And is the dear, well-brought-up, and worthy youth in good health?" "He is," said Madame Dort; "and tells us to expect him home soon." Burgher Jans looked startled at this announcement, losing a trifle of his beaming smile. "He is not wounded, I trust?" asked he tremblingly. "Oh dear no, thank the good God who has watched over him," answered the other cheerfully. "Why, he has not been in battle yet! He tells us that the French are retreating, and that the war will be over almost before another blow has been struck, the enemy having to surrender before our irresistible battalions." "Have you not heard of the battles of Woerth and Forbach, then?" "No; what--when were they?" "Where did your son Fritz write to you from, then?" "From Coblentz. His letter is dated the day he arrived there, but I only got it this morning." "Ah then, most worthy lady, two terrible battles have occurred since that time. We have beaten the French and forced them back into their own country; but, alas! thousands of German lives have been lost. The slaughter has been terrific!" "Good heavens, Burgher Jans, you alarm me!" said Madame Dort, rising from her chair in excitement. "Fritz told me there would be no fighting except between the Crown. Prince's army and the enemy!" "The worthy young Herr was right so far," put in the little man soothingly, "that is as regards the south of the line; but our second army corps has been likewise engaged on the banks of the Saar, hurling disaster on the foe, although the French fought well, too, it is said. Where, however, is Herr Fritz?" "Serving under General Steinmetz." "Ah, then he's safe enough, dear madame. That army is but acting as the reserve. It is only my poor countrymen, the Bavarians, and the Saxons who will have the hard work of the campaign to do. Von Bismark wants to let out a little of their blood in return for the feverish excitement they displayed against the Prussians in '66!" "You relieve my mind," said Madame Dort, resuming her seat. "I thought for the moment Fritz was in danger. You speak bitterly against the Chancellor, however. He is a great man, and has done much for Germany." "Oh, yes, I grant that," replied the other warmly; "still, he is one who never forgets. He always pays out a grudge! You will see, now, if those poor Bavarians do not come in for all the thick of the fighting." "You talk as if there is going to be a lot more?" "So there is, without doubt, without doubt," said Burgher Jans, rubbing his hands together, as if he rather enjoyed the prospect. "In that case, then, Fritz cannot return to Lubeck as soon as he thinks possible?" and Madame Dort looked grave again, as she said this half questioningly. "I fear not, most worthy lady," replied the little man in a tone of great concern; but, from the look on his face and the brisk way in which he still continued to rub his hands together, it might have been surmised that the prolonged absence of poor Fritz from his home would not affect him much,--in fact, that he would be rather pleased by such a contingency than not. Madame Dort noticed this, and became quite sharp to him in consequence. "I must beg you to say good-bye now," she said; "I've a busy day before me, and have no more time to waste in chatting. Good-morning, Burgher Jans." "Good-morning, most worthy lady," said the little fat man, accepting his dismissal and bowing himself out. "The ill-natured little manoeuvrer!" exclaimed Madame Dort, half to herself, as he left the room. Lorischen entered again at the same time, the two always playing the game apparently of one of those old-fashioned weather tellers, in which a male or female figure respectively comes out from the little rustic cottage whenever it is going to be wet or fine; for, as surely as the Burgher ever entered the sitting-room, the old nurse withdrew, never returning until he had left. "The ill-natured little manoeuvrer!" exclaimed Madame Dort, not thinking she was overheard. "I believe he would be glad to keep poor Fritz away if he could." "Just what I've thought all along!" said Lorischen, immensely pleased at this acknowledgment of her superior power of discernment. "I mean, not on account of wishing any harm to Fritz," explained the widow, "but that he himself might be able to come here oftener." "Just what I've said!" chirped out the old nurse triumphantly; but Madame Dort made no reply to this second thrust, and before Lorischen could say anything further, a second visitor came to the little house in the Gulden Strasse. It seemed fated as if that was to be a day for callers, and "people who had no business to do preventing those who had," as the old nurse grumbled while on her way to open the street door for the new-comer--a courtesy Burgher Jans never required, walking in, as she said, without asking leave or license, just when he pleased! The visitor was Herr Grosschnapper, the merchant who employed Fritz in his counting-house and who was also a part proprietor in the ship in which Eric had sailed for Java. Madame Dort's heart leapt in her bosom when she saw the old gentleman enter the parlour. But, the shipowner's face did not look as if he brought any pleasing news; and, after one brief glance at his countenance, the widow's fell in sympathy. She almost anticipated the evil tidings which she was certain he had in store for her. "Madame Dort," he began, "pray compose yourself." "I am quite calm, Herr Grosschnapper," she answered. "Go on with what you come to tell me. You have heard something of my poor boy Eric; is it not so?" "It is, madame," replied the merchant, deceived by her composure. "I grieve to say that I have received intelligence through the English house of Lloyd's that the _Gustav Barentz_ foundered at sea in the Southern Ocean early this year. Two boats escaped from her with the crew and passengers, one of which, containing the first officer and several hands, was picked up when those on board were in the last stage of exhaustion, by a vessel bound to Australia. The men were taken to Melbourne before any communication could be received from them, so that is why the news of the wreck has been so long in reaching us." "And Eric?" asked the widow, with her head bent down. "He was with the captain in the other boat, dear madame," said Herr Grosschnapper; "but, I'm afraid there is little or no chance of their having been saved, or else we would have heard of them by this time. Pray bear up under the loss, madame. He was a good son, I believe, and would have made a good sailor and officer; but it was not to be! Remember, you have another son left." "Ah, but not Eric, my little one, my darling!" burst forth the poor bereaved mother in a passion of tears; and then, the merchant, seeing that any words of comfort on his part would be worse than useless, withdrew. The violence of Madame Dort's grief, however, was soon assuaged, for she had long been preparing herself for this blow. She had given up all hope of ever hearing from Eric again, even before Fritz left home. Thenceforth, all her motherly love was bound up in her firstborn, now the only son left her; and daily she scanned the papers to learn news of the war. Time passed on, the widow occasionally receiving a hurried scrawl from Fritz, who, as she knew, was now no longer resting with the reserve battalions in the fortresses of the Rhine, but marching onwards with the invading army through France. She heard of the terrible battle of Gravelotte, in which she dreaded that he had taken part; but, almost before she could read the full official details published in the German newspapers under military censorship, her anxieties were relieved by a long letter coming from Fritz, telling of his participation in the colossal contest and of his miraculous escape without a wound, although he had been in the thick of the fire and numbers of his comrades from the same part of the country had been killed. But, he had better news to tell--that, at least, is what he wrote, only the mother doubted whether any intelligence could be more important to her than the fact of his safety! What would she think of hearing that he had been promoted to be an officer "for gallantry in the field of battle," as the general order read out to the whole army worded it? Would she not be proud of her Fritz after that? Aye, would she not, would not Lorischen? And did not the entire gossiping community of Lubeck know all about it by and through the means of the old nurse before the close of the self- same day, eh? Certainly; still, would it be believed that the very first person whom Lorischen told the news to was her special antipathy, Burgher Jans? She actually went up to and accosted him of her own free-will on the Market Platz for the very purpose of telling him of Fritz's promotion! Yes, such was the case; and she not only was friendly to the little fat man on this occasion, but she actually patted his dog at the same time! Still, Eric, the lost sailor laddie, was not forgotten in his brother's success. The mother's grief was only chastened; and almost the very first thought she had on receiving the news from Fritz, and afterwards when she read it in official print, was "how pleased poor Eric would have been at this!" Bye-and-bye, Fritz wrote again, telling that their task had become very monotonous. The Tenth Army Corps was detained along with several others to besiege Metz, so hemming in Bazaine and the remainder of the army that had endeavoured so gallantly at Gravelotte to pierce the German lines, that they were powerless to assist the rest of their countrymen in driving the Teuton invader from their soil. The besieging army, which was formed of the united forces of the different corps under Prince Frederick Charles and Steinmetz, had nothing to do, said Fritz, save to stand to their guns and perform sentry duty; for the French, since the fearful battle of the 18th of August, had not once attempted to push their way out beyond range of the guns of the fortress, under whose shelter they were cantoned in an extended entrenched camp, and were apparently being daily drilled and disciplined for some great effort. On the 31st of the month, however, Fritz told his mother later on, Bazaine made a desperate effort to break the German cordon around Metz; and this being repulsed with heavy loss, the Marshal again remained quiet for the space of another six weeks. During this period Madame Dort heard regularly from her son through the field post. She sent him letters in return, telling him all the home news she could glean, and saying that she expected him back before the winter. She hoped, at least, that he would come by that time, for Herr Grosschnapper had informed her that he would have to fill up Fritz's place in his counting-house if the exigencies of the war caused his whilom clerk to remain away any longer. Things went on like this up to the month of October, the anniversary of poor Eric's going away; when, all at once, there came a cessation of the weekly letters of Fritz from headquarters. His mother wrote to inquire the reason. She received no answer. Then she read in the papers of another heavy battle before Metz, in which the Tenth Army Corps had taken part. The engagement had happened more than a week before, and Fritz was silent. He might be wounded, possibly killed! Madame Dort's anxiety became terrible. "No news," says the proverb, "is good news;" but, to some it is the very worst that could possibly be; for, their breasts are filled with a storm of mingled doubts and fears, while hope is deadened and there is, as yet, no balm of resignation to soothe the troubled heart! The proverb is wrong; even the most heartbreaking confirmation of one's most painful surmise is infinitely preferable to being kept in a state of perpetual suspense, where one dreads the worst and yet is not absolutely certain of it. It was so now with Madame Dort. She thought she could bear the strain no longer, but must go to the frontier herself and seek for information of her missing son, as she had read in the newspapers of other mothers doing. However, one afternoon, as she was sitting in the parlour in a state of utter dejection by the side of the lighted stove, for winter was coming on and the days were getting cold, Lorischen brought in a letter to her which had just come by the post. It was in a strange handwriting! The widow tore it open hurriedly, glancing first at the signature at the end. "Madaleine Vogelstein!" she said aloud. "I wonder who she is; I never heard of her before!" She then went on to read the letter. It did not take her long to understand the sense of it. For, after scanning the contents with startled eyes, she exclaimed, "My son! oh, my son!" and then fell flat upon the floor in a dead faint. CHAPTER SIX. WOUNDED. The stupendous events of the war rushed on with startling rapidity. The invasion of France, in retaliation for the projected invasion of Germany, was now an accomplished fact; and, day after day, the Teuton host added victory to victory on the long list of their triumphant battle-roll, almost every engagement swelling the number of Gallic defeats and lessening the power of the French to resist their relentless foe, who now, with iron-clad hand on the throat of the prostrate country, marched onward towards Paris, scattering havoc with fire and sword wherever the accumulating legions of armed men trod. The battle of Woerth succeeded that of Weissembourg; Forbach that of Woerth; and then came Vionville and Gravelotte to add their thousands of victims to the valhalla of victory. The surrender of Sedan followed, when the Germans passed on their way to the capital; but the brave general Urich still held out in besieged Strasbourg, and Bazaine had not yet made his last brilliant sortie from the invested Metz. The latter general especially kept the encircling armies of Prince Frederick Charles and Steinmetz on the constant alert by his continuous endeavours to search out the weakest spot in the German armour. The real attempt of the French Marshal to break through the investing lines was yet to come; that of the 31st of August, to which Fritz alluded in his letter to his mother, having been only made apparently to support Mcmahon as a diversion to the latter's attack on Montmedy, before the surrender of Sedan. From this period, up to the beginning of October, the French remained pretty quiet, the guns of the different forts lying without the fortifications of Metz only keeping up a harassing fire on the besieging batteries that the Germans had erected around on the heights commanding the various roads by which Bazaine's army could alone hope to force a passage through their lines. Summer had now entirely disappeared and cold weather set in, so the Teuton forces found it very unpleasant work in the trenches when the biting winds of autumn blew through their encampments of a night, making their bivouac anything but comfortable; while the sharp morning frosts also made their rising most unpleasantly disagreeable; add to this, whenever they succeeded in making their quarters a trifle more cosy than usual, as certainly would the cannon of Fort Quelin or the monster guns of Saint Julien send a storm of shot and shell to awaken them, causing an instant turn-out of the men in a body to resist a possible sortie. Bazaine made perpetual feints of this sort, with the evident intention of wearying out his antagonists, even if he could do them no further harm. The position was like that of a cat watching a mouse-hole, the timid little occupant of which would every now and then put out its head to see whether the coast were clear; and then, perceiving its enemy on the watch, provokingly draw it in again, leaving pussy angry at her repeated disappointments and almost inclined to bite her paws with vexation at her inability to follow up her prey into its stronghold; for, the heavy artillery of the fortress so protected the surrounding country adjacent to Metz, that the Germans had to place the batteries of their works out of its range, that is, almost at a distance of some four miles from the French camp--of which any bombardment was found after a time to be worse than useless, causing the most infinitesimal amount of damage in return for an enormous expenditure of ammunition and projectiles that had to be conveyed over very precarious roads all the way from the frontiers of the Rhine into the heart of Lorraine. "Oh, that the French would only do something!" cried Fritz and his companions, sick of inactivity and the wearisome nature of their duties, which, after the excitement of battle and the stirring campaigning they had already gone through, seemed now far worse than guard-mounting in Coblentz. "Oh, that the French would only do something to end this tedious siege!" Soon this wish was gratified. On the morning of the 6th of October, when the investiture of Metz had lasted some six weeks or more--just at daybreak--a heavy, dull report was heard at Mercy-le-Haut. It was like the bursting of a mine. "Something is up at last!" exclaimed one of the staff-officers, entering the tent where Fritz and others were stretched on the bare ground, trying to keep themselves as warm as they could with all the spare blankets and other covering that could be collected heaped over them--"Something is up at last! Rouse up; the general assembly has sounded!" The ringing bugle notes without in the frosty air emphasised these words, causing the young fellows to turn out hastily, without requiring any further summons. Aye, something was up. The pioneers of the Seventh German army corps, on the extreme right, had mined and blown up the farm buildings of Legrange aux Bois, close to Peltre. These farm buildings had hitherto served as a cover to the French troops when they made their foraging sorties, but they could not be held by the Germans, for they were situated within the line of fire of Fort Quelin; so, as may be imagined, their destruction was hailed with a ringing cheer by the besiegers. The artillerymen in the fort, however, apparently anticipating an attack in force of which this explosion was but the prelude, were on the alert at once; and, soon after sunrise, they began to pour in a heavy rain of fire on the German works, which the conflagration of the buildings and removal of intervening obstacles now clearly disclosed. Whole broadsides of projectiles from the great guns flew into the valley of the Moselle as far as Ars, sweeping away the entrenchments as if they were mere packs of cards; and, presently, an onward movement of French battalions of infantry, supported by field artillery and cavalry, showed that, this time at least, something more was intended by Marshal Bazaine than a mere feint. Trumpet called to trumpet in the German ranks, and speedily the whole of the second army under Prince Frederick Charles mustered its forces in line of battle, the men gathering in imposing masses towards the threatened point at Ars. Here the 61st and 21st infantry regiments, which were on outpost duty, were the first: to commence hostilities, rushing to meet the French who were advancing from Metz. Aided by the batteries erected by the side of the Bois de Vaux, the Germans, after a sharp conflict, succeeded in repulsing the enemy, who had ultimately to retire again under the guns of Fort Quelin, although they made a vigorous resistance while the engagement lasted--only falling back on suffering severe loss from the shower of shrapnel to which they were subjected, besides losing many prisoners. During all the time of this attack and repulse, Fort Saint Julien, on the other side of the fortress, was shelling the Landwehr reserve, causing many casualties amongst the Hanoverian legion; and, but that the men here were quite prepared for their foe, the combat might have extended to their lines. As it was, the expected fight, for which the Tenth Corps was ready and waiting, was only delayed for a few hours; when, if Fritz and his comrades had complained of the cold of the weather, they found the work cut out for them "hot" enough in all conscience! In the afternoon of the following day, Bazaine made a desperate effort to break through the environment of the Germans in the direction of Thionville. On the previous evening, in resisting the attack from Saint Julien, which had been undertaken at the same time as that from Saint Quelin on Ars, the French had been driven from the village of Ladonchamps, and their adversaries had established foreposts at Saint Remy, Petites et Grandes Tapes, and Maxe; and now, under cover of a thick fog, the French Marshal advanced his troops again and commenced a vigorous attempt, supported by a heavy artillery fire, for the recovery of the lost Ladonchamps. Failing in this, although possibly the attack might have been a blind, the general being such a thorough master of strategy, Bazaine made a dash for Petites et Grandes Tapes, annihilating the foreposts and hurling great masses of men at their supports. Having occupied these villages, the French Marshal then sent forward a large body of troops to the right, close to the Moselle. These advanced up the valley against the German entrenchments on the heights until checked by cannon fire from batteries on both sides of the river, and were only finally stopped by an advance in force of two brigades of the Landwehr, the men of whom occupied a position just in front of Petites et Grandes Tapes. Amongst these latter troops was the regiment of our friend Fritz. The fighting was terrific here. Clouds of bullets came like hail upon the advancing men, reaping the ranks down as if with a scythe, while bursting shells cleared open spaces in their midst in a manner that was appalling; still, those in the rear pressed on to fill the places of the fallen, with a fierce roar of revenge, and the needle-gun answered the chassepot as quickly as the combatants could put the cartridges into the breech-pieces and bring their rifles again to the "present." Fritz felt the frenzy of Gravelotte return to him as he gripped the sword which he now wielded in place of the musket; and, urging on his company, the men, scattering right and left in tirailleur formation were soon creeping up to the enemy, taking advantage of every little cover which the irregularities of the ground afforded. Then, suddenly, right in front, could be seen a splendid line regiment of the French, advancing in column. A sheet of flame came from their levelled rifles, and the Fusilier battalion of the Landwehr regiment to the left of Fritz's company were exterminated to a man, the enemy marching over their dead bodies with a shout of victory. Their progress, however, was not to last. "Close up there, men!" came the order from Fritz's commanding officer; when the troops hurriedly formed up in a hollow which protected them for a moment from the galling fire. "Fix bayonets!"--and they awaited the still steady advance of the French until they appeared above the rising ground. "Fire, and aim low!" was the next order from the major; and then, "Charge!" With a ringing cheer of "Vorwarts!" Fritz dashed onward at the head of the regiment, a couple of paces in front of his men, who with their sharp weapons extended in front like a fringe of steel, came on behind at the double. Whiz, sang a bullet by his ear, but he did not mind that; crash, plunged a shell into the ground in front, tearing up a hole that he nearly fell into; when, jumping over this at the run, in another second he had crossed swords with one of the officers of the French battalion, who rushed out as eagerly to meet him. They had not time, though, to exchange a couple of passes before a fragment of a bursting bomb carried away the French officer's head, bespattering Fritz with the brains and almost making him reel with sickness; while, at the same moment, the men of the German regiment bore down the French line, scattering it like chaff, for the sturdy Hanoverians seemed like giants in their wrath, bayoneting every soul within reach! This was only the beginning of it. "On," still "on," was the cry; and, not until the lost villages were recaptured and the unfortunate German foreposts avenged did the advance cease. But the struggle was fierce and terribly contested. Three several times did the Germans get possession of Petites et Grandes Tapes, and three several times did the French drive them out again with their fearful mitrailleuse hail of fire; the bayonet settled it at last, in the hands of the northern legions, who had not forgotten the use of it since the days of Waterloo, nor, as it would appear, the French yet learnt to withstand it! Beyond a slight touch from a passing bullet which had grazed his lower jaw, having the effect of rattling his teeth together, as if somebody had "chucked him under the chin," Fritz had escaped without any serious wound up to the time that the French were beaten back after the third attempt to carry their positions; but then, as they turned to run and the Hanoverians pressed on in pursuit, he felt suddenly hit somewhere in the breast. A spasm of pain shivered through him as the missile seemed to rend its way through his vitals; and then, throwing up his arms, he fell across the corpse of a soldier who must have been shot almost immediately before him, for the body was quite warm to the touch. How he was hurt he could not tell; he only knew that he was unable to stir, and that each breath of air he drew came fainter and fainter, as if it were his last. He heard, from the retreating tramp of footsteps and distant shouts, that his regiment had moved on after the enemy; but, as he lay on his back, he could not see anything save the sky, while each moment some stray shot whistled by in the air or threw up earth over him, threatening to give him his finishing blow should the wound he had received not be sufficient to settle him. Then, he felt thirsty, and longed to cry out for help; but, no sound came from his lips, while the exertion to speak caused such intolerable agony that he wished he could die at once and be put out of his misery. When charging the French battalion, he recollected putting his foot on the dead face of some victim of the fight, and he could recall the thrill of horror that passed through him as he had done this inadvertently; now, each instant he expected, too, to be trampled on in the same manner. Ha! He could distinguish footsteps pressing the ground near. "Oh, mother!" he thought, "the end is coming now, for the fight must be drawing near again. I wish a shell or bullet would settle the matter!" But the footsteps he imagined to be the tramp of marching men--on account of his ear being so close to the ground and thus, of course, magnifying the sound--were only those of the faithful Gelert, who with the instinct of a well-trained retriever was searching for his new-found friend. He had tracked his path over the valley from the advanced post which the regiment had occupied in the morning, and where the dog had been kept by Fritz to watch his camp equipments until he should return. Gelert evidently considered that he had waited long enough for duty's sake; and, that, as his adopted master did not come to fetch him, he ought to start to seek for him instead, one good turn deserving another! At the moment, therefore, when Fritz expected to have the remaining breath trampled out of him by a rush of opposing battalions across his poor prone body, he felt the dog licking his face, whining and whimpering in recognition and mad with joy at discovering him. "Dear old Gelert, you brave, good doggie," he ejaculated feebly, in panting whispers. "You'll have to try and find a third master now!" and then, overcome by the effort, which taxed what little strength was left in him, he swooned away like a dead man--the last distinct impression he had being that of seeing a bright star twinkle out from the opal sky above him as he lay on the battlefield, which seemed to be winking and blinking at him as if beckoning him up to heaven! His awakening was very different. On coming to his consciousness again, he felt nice and warm and comfortable, just as if he were in bed; and, opening his eyes, he saw the sweet face of a young girl bending over him. "I must be dreaming," he murmured to himself lazily. He felt so utterly free from pain and at ease that he did not experience the slightest anxiety or perplexity to know where he was. He was perfectly satisfied to take what came. "I must be dreaming, or else I am dead, and this is one of the angels come to take me away!" CHAPTER SEVEN. MADALEINE. "I am glad you are better," said a soft voice in liquid accents, so close to his ear that he felt the perfumed breath of the speaker wafted across his face. Fritz stared with wide-opened eyes. "I'm glad you're better," repeated the voice; "you are better, are you not; you feel conscious, don't you, and in your right senses?" "Where am I?" at last said Fritz faintly. "Here," answered the girl, "with friends, who are attending to you. Do not fear, you shall be watched over with every care until you are quite well again." "Where is `here'?" whispered Fritz feebly again, smiling at his own quaint question. The girl laughed gently in response to his smile. "You are at Mezieres, not far from the battlefield where you fell. I discovered you there early yesterday morning." "You?" inquired Fritz, his eyes expressing his astonishment. "Yes, I," said the girl kindly; "and I was only too happy to be the means of finding you, and getting you removed to a place of safety; for, I'm afraid that if you had lain there much longer on the damp ground you would have died." "Oh!" interrupted Fritz as eagerly as his exhausted condition would allow; "I remember all now! I was wounded and lay there close to the battery; and then I saw the stars come out and thought--" "Hush!" said the girl, "you must not speak any more now. You are too weak; I only spoke to you to find out whether you had regained consciousness or not." "But you must let me thank you. If it had not been--" "No, I won't allow another word," she interposed authoritatively. "You will do yourself harm, and then I shall be accused of being a bad nurse! Besides, you haven't got to thank me at all; it was the dog who made me see you." "What, Gelert," whispered Fritz again, in spite of her admonition,--"dear old fellow!" He had hardly uttered these words, when the faithful dog, who must have been close beside the bed, raised himself up, putting a paw on one of Fritz's arms which lay outside the coverings and licking his hand, whining rapturously the while, as if rejoiced to hear the voice of his master again. "`Gelert!'" exclaimed the girl with some surprise. "Why, I know the dog perfectly, and he recognises me quite well; but he is called `Fritz,' not `Gelert,' as you said." "`Fritz!'" ejaculated he, in his turn. "Why, that is my name!" "Gracious me," thought the girl to herself, "he is rambling again, and confusing his own name with that of the dog! I must put a stop to his speaking, or else he will get worse. Here, take this," she said aloud, lifting to his lips a wineglass containing a composing draught which the doctor had left for her patient to take as soon as he showed any signs of recovery from his swoon, and which she really ought to have given him before; "it will do you good, and make you stronger." Fritz swallowed the potion unhesitatingly, immediately sinking back on his pillow in a quiet sleep; when the girl, sitting down by the side of the bed, watched the long-drawn, quivering respirations that came from the white, parted lips of the wounded man. "Poor young fellow!" she said with a sigh; "I fear he will never get over it. I wonder where Armand is now, and how came this stranger to have possession of his dog! The funniest thing, too, is that `Fritz' seems as much attached to this new master as he was to Armand, although he has not forgotten me. Have you, `Fritz,' my beauty, eh?" The retriever, in response, gave three impressive thumps with his bushy tail on the floor, as he lay at the girl's feet by the side of the bed. He evidently answered to this other familiar appellation quite as readily as he had done to that of "Gelert," being apparently on perfect terms of friendship, not to say intimacy, with the young lady who had just asked him so pertinent a question. He certainly had not forgotten her. He would not have been a gallant dog if he had; nor would he have displayed that taste and wise discrimination which one would naturally have expected to find, in a well-bred dog of his particular class, for his interlocutor was a remarkably pretty girl--possessing the most lovely golden-hued hair and a pair of blue eyes that were almost turquoise in tint, albeit with a somewhat wistful, faraway look in them, especially now when she gazed down into the brown, honest orbs of the retriever, who was watching her every moment with faithful attention. She had, too, an unmistakeable air of refinement and culture, in spite of her being attired in a plainly made black stuff dress such as a servant might have worn, and having a sort of cap like those affected by nuns and sisters of charity drawn over her dainty little head, partly concealing its wealth of fair silky hair. No one would have dreamt of taking her to be anything else but a lady, no matter what costume she adopted, or how she was disguised. "Who ever thought, dear doggie," she continued, speaking the thoughts that surged up in her mind while addressing the dumb animal, who looked as if he would like to understand her if he only could,--"who ever would have thought that things would turn out as they have when I last patted your dear old head at Bingen, `Fair Bingen on the Rhine,' eh?" and she murmured to herself the refrain of that beautiful ballad. The retriever gave a long sniff here to express his thorough sympathy with her, and the girl proceeded, musingly, thinking aloud. "Yes, I mean, doggie, when Armand and I parted for the last time. Poor mamma was alive then, and we never dreamt that this terrible war would come to pass, severing us so completely! Poor Armand, he said he would be true and return to me again when he was old enough to be able to decide for himself without the consent of that stern father of his, who thought that the daughter of a poor German pastor was not good enough mate for his handsome son--although he was only a merchant, while my mother was a French countess in her own right. Still, parents have the right to settle these things, and I quite agreed with dear mamma that I would never consent to enter a family against their will, especially, too, when they despised our humble position!" The girl drew herself up proudly as she said this. "Never mind," she went on again presently, "it is all over and done for. But, still, I believe Armand loved me. How handsome he looked that last time I saw him when he came to our little cottage to say good-bye, before he went to join his regiment in Algeria, where his father had got him ordered off on purpose to separate us. However, perhaps it was only a boy and girl affection at the best, and would never have lasted; my heart has not broken, I know, although I thought it would break then; for, alas! I have since seen sorrow enough to crush me down, even much more than parting with Armand de la Tour. Fancy, poor darling mamma gone to her grave, and I, her cherished child, forced to earn my bread as companion to this haughty old baroness, who thinks me like the dust under her feet! Ah, it is sad, is it not, doggie?" The retriever sniffed again, while the blue eyes continued to look down upon him through a haze of tears; and then, the girl was silent for a time. "Heigho, doggie," she exclaimed, after a short pause of reflection, brushing away the tear drops from her cheeks and shaking her dainty little head as if she would fain banish all her painful imaginings with the action, "I must not repine at my lot, for the good Father above has taken care of me through all my adversity, giving me a comfortable home when I, an orphan, had none to look after me. And, the good baroness, too--she may be haughty, but then she is of a very noble family, and has been brought up like most German ladies of rank to look down upon her inferiors in position; besides, she is kind to me in her way. I am pleased that she took it into her head to come off here to seek for her son, and bring him presents from home in person. Nothing else would suit her, if you please, on his birthday, although the young baron, I think, was not over-delighted at his mother coming to hunt for him in war time, as if he were a little boy--he on the staff of the general! I fancy he got no little chaff from his brother officers in consequence. However, `it is an ill wind that blows nobody good,' for the good baroness being here has been seized with a freak for looking after the wounded, because the Princess of Alten-Schlossen goes in for that sort of thing; and thus it is, doggie, that I'm now attending to this poor fellow here. Though, how on earth Armand parted with you, and you became attached to this new master, whom you seem to love with such affection, I'm sure I cannot tell!" Fritz at this moment turned in the little pallet bed on which he was lying, and in an instant the girl was up from her seat and bending over him. "Restless?" she said, smoothing the pillows and laying her cool hand on the hot brow of her patient, who gave vent to a sigh of satisfaction in his sleep. "Ah! you'll be better bye-and-bye. Then, you will wake up refreshed and have some nourishment; and then, too, you'll be able to tell me all about yourself and master doggie here, eh?" But, it was many days before poor Fritz was in a condition to offer any explanation about the dog--many days, when the possibility was trembling in the balance of fate as to whether he would ever speak again, or be silent for aye in this world! When he woke up, he was delirious; and the doctor, a grave German surgeon of middle age, on coming into the room to examine him, when making the rounds of the house--a villa in the suburbs of Mezieres, which had been transformed into a sort of field hospital for the most dangerous cases in the vicinity--declared Fritz to be in a very critical state. His life, he said, was in serious peril, a change having taken place for the worse. He had been struck by a chassepot conical rifle bullet in the chest; and the ball, after breaking two of his ribs and slightly grazing the lungs, had lodged near the spine, where it yet remained, the wounded man being too prostrate for an operation to be performed for its extraction, although all the while it was intensifying the pain and adding to the feverish symptoms of the patient. "You've not been allowing him to talk, have you?" asked the surgeon, scanning the girl's face with a stern professional glance. "No," she replied, blushing slightly under his gaze; "that is, he wanted to, an hour ago, when he became conscious, but I gave him the sleeping draught you ordered at once." "Donnerwetter!" exclaimed the other. "The potion then has done him harm instead of good. I thought it would have composed him and made him comfortable for the operation, as, until that bullet is taken out he can't possibly get well. However, he must now be kept as quiet as possible. Put a bandage on his head and make it constantly cool with cold water. I will return bye-and-bye, and then we'll see about cutting out the ball." The surgeon then went out softly from the room, leaving the girl to attend to his directions, which she proceeded to do at once; shuddering the while at what she knew her poor patient would have to undergo, when the disciple of Aesculapius came back anon, with his myrmidons and their murderous-looking surgical knives and forceps, to hack and hew away at Fritz in their search for the bullet buried in his chest--he utterly oblivious either of his surroundings or what was in store for him, tossing in the bed under her eyes and rambling in his mind. He fancied himself still on the battlefield in the thick of the fight:-- "Vorwarts, my children!" he muttered. "One more charge and the battery is won. Pouf! that shell had a narrow squeak of spoiling my new helmet. The gunner will have to take better aim next time!" Then he would shudder all over, and cry out in piteous tones, "Take it away, take it away--the blood is all over my face; and his body, oh, it is pressing me down into that yawning open grave! Will no one save me? It is terrible, terrible to be buried alive, and the pale stars twinkling down on my agony!" Presently, however, the cold applications to his head had their effect, and he sank down into a torpid sleep, only to start up again in the ravings of delirium a few moments afterwards. Fritz continued in this state for hours, with intervals of quiet, during which his nurse, by the doctor's orders, administered beef tea and other nourishment which sustained the struggle going on in his sinking frame; until, at last, the ball was extracted, after an operation which was so prolonged that the girl, who felt almost as if she were undergoing it herself, thought it would never end. Then came the worst stage for the sufferer. Fever supervened; and, although the wound began to heal up, his physical condition grew weaker every day under the tearing strain his constitution was subjected to. Even the doctor gave him up; but the girl, who had attended to him with the most unwearying assiduity had hopes to the last. Fritz had been unconscious from the time that he first recognised the dog, on the evening after he was wounded and found himself in the villa, until the fever left him, when he was so weak that he was unable to lift a finger and seemed at the very gates of death. Now, however, his senses returned to him, and a glad look came into his eyes on seeing, like as he did before and now remembered, the face of the beautiful girl bending over him again; but he noticed that she did not look so bright as when he first beheld her. "Ah!" he exclaimed feebly, "it was not a dream! How long have I been ill?" "More than a fortnight," said the girl promptly. "Oh, my poor mother!" ejaculated Fritz with a sob, "she will have thought me dead, and broken her heart!" "Don't fear that," said she kindly. "I wrote to her, telling her you were badly hurt, but that you were in good hands." "You! Why, how did you know her name, or where she lived?" "I found the address in your pocket," answered the girl with a laugh. "Don't you recollect putting a slip of paper there, telling any one, in case you were wounded or killed, to write and break the news gently to your mother, `madame Dort, Gulden Strasse, Lubeck'? I never heard before of such a thoughtful son!" "Ah, I remember now," said Fritz; "and you wrote, then, to her?" "Yes, last week, when we despaired of your recovery; but, I have written again since, telling her that the bullet has been removed from your wound, and that if you get over the fever you will recover all right." "Thank you, and thank God!" exclaimed Fritz fervently, and he shut his eyes and remained quiet for a minute or two, although his lips moved as if in prayer. "And where is Gelert, my dog?" he asked presently. "`Fritz,' you mean," said the girl, smiling. "No, that is my name, the dog's is Gelert." "That is what I want explained," said the other. "But, please pardon my rudeness, Fraulein," interrupted Fritz, "may I ask to whom I am indebted for watching over me, and adding to it the thoughtful kindness of relieving my mother's misery?" "My name is Madaleine Vogelstein," said the girl softly. "Do you like it?" "I do; it is a very pretty one," he replied. "The surname is German, but the given name is French--Madaleine? It sounds sweeter than would be thought possible in our guttural Teuton tongue!" "My mother was a Frenchwoman, and I take the name from her," explained the girl. "But now, before I stop you from talking any more, for the good doctor would blame me much if he came in, you must tell me how you came to possess that dog; or, rather, why he so faithfully attached himself to you, as it was entirely through him that I found you, and got you picked up by the ambulance corps and brought here. You must first take this soup, however, to strengthen you. It has been kept nice and warm on that little lamp there, and it will do you good. I won't hear a word more until you have swallowed it!" "A soldier should always obey the orders of his commanding officer," said Fritz with a smile, as he slowly gulped down the broth, spoonful by spoonful, as Madaleine placed it in his mouth, for he could not feed himself. "That will do," she remarked, when he had taken what she thought sufficient. "And now you can tell me about the dog. Here he is," she continued, as the retriever came into the room; and, going up to the side of the bed where Fritz was lying, put up his paws on the counterpane and licked his master's face, in the wildest joy, apparently, at his recovery and notice of him. "He must have heard his name spoken, as I only just sent him out for a run with one of the men, for all the time you were so ill we could not get him to leave the room. Now, doggie, lie down like a good fellow, and let us hear all about you." The retriever at once obeyed the girl, stretching himself on the floor at her feet, although close beside his master all the while. Fritz then narrated the sad little episode of the battle of Gravelotte, and how he had found the dead body of the French officer with the dog keeping guard over it. The girl wept silently as he went on. "It must have been poor Armand," she said presently through her tears. "Did you find nothing about him to tell who he was?" "There was a little bag I saw round his neck," said Fritz; "I took it off the poor fellow before we buried him, and suspended it on my own breast afterwards for security, thinking that I might restore it some day to his friends, if I ever came across them." "Ah, that must be the little packet which got driven into your wound, and, stopping the flow of blood, saved your life, the doctor says. I have kept it carefully for you, and here it is," cried the girl, hastily jumping up from her seat and bringing the article in question to Fritz. "Open it," he said; "I haven't got the strength to do it, you know." Madaleine unfastened the silken string that confined the mouth of the bag, now stained with Fritz's blood; and then she pulled out the little silver ring it contained. One glance was enough for her. "Yes," she faltered through her sobs. "It is the ring I gave him; but that was months before the date engraved upon it, `July 18th, 1870,' which was the day he said he would come back to Bingen, as then he would be of age." "And he never came, then?" inquired Fritz. "No, never again," said she mournfully. "Ah, I would come if I had been in his place," exclaimed Fritz eagerly, with a flashing eye. "I never fail in an appointment I promise to keep; and to fail to meet a betrothed--why it is unpardonable!" He had raised his voice from the whisper in which he had previously spoken, and its indignant tone seemed quite loud. "Perhaps he couldn't come," said Madaleine more composedly. "Besides, we were not engaged; all was over between us." "I'm very glad to hear that," replied Fritz. "It would have been dastardly on his part otherwise! But, would you like to keep the dog for his sake, Fraulein Vogelstein? I have got no claim to him, you know." "Oh dear no, I would not like to deprive you of him for the world, much as I love the poor faithful fellow. Why, he would think nobody was his proper master if he were constantly changing hands like this!" "Poor old Gelert!" said Fritz; and the dog, hearing himself talked about, here raised himself up again from his recumbent attitude by the side of the bed and thrust his black nose into the hand of his master, who tried feebly to caress him. "`Fritz,' you mean," corrected Miss Madaleine, determined to have her point about his right name. "Well, if you call him so, I shall think you mean me," said Fritz jokingly, as well as his feeble utterance would permit his voice to be expressive. He wanted, however, to imply much more than the mere words. "That would not be any great harm, would it?" she replied with a little smile, her tears of sorrow at Armand de la Tour's untimely fate having dried up as quickly as raindrops disappear after a shower as soon as the sun shines out again; however, she apparently now thought the conversation was becoming a little too personal, for she proceeded to ply the invalid with more soup in order to stop his mouth and prevent him from replying to this last speech of hers! CHAPTER EIGHT. THE "LITTLE FAT MAN." "Hullo! What fails with the well-born and most worthy lady, her to make in such pitiable plight?" inquired Burgher Jans, poking his little round face into the parlour of the house in the Gulden Strasse, just as Lorischen, bending over her mistress, was endeavouring to raise her on to the sofa, where she would be better enabled to apply restoratives in order to bring her to. The old nurse was glad of any assistance in the emergency; and, even the fat little Burgher, disliked as he was by her, as a rule, with an inveterate hatred, was better than nobody! "Madame has fainted," she said. "Help me to lift her up, and I'll be obliged to you, worshipful Herr." "Yes, so, right gladly will I do it, dearest maiden," replied Burgher Jans politely, with his usual sweeping bow, taking off his hat and depositing it on an adjacent chair, while he lent a hand to raise the poor lady and place her on the couch. This done, he espied the letter that had caused the commotion, which Madame Dort still held tightly clutched in her hand when she fell; and he tried to pull it away from her rigid fingers. "Ha, what have we here?" he said. "You just leave that alone!" snapped out Lorischen. "Pray take yourself off, with your wanting to spy into other people's business! If I were a man I'd be ashamed of being so curious, I would. Burgher Jans, I'll thank you to withdraw; I wish to attend to my mistress." "I will obey your behests, dearest maiden," blandly replied the little man, taking his hat from the chair and backing towards the door, although casting the while most covetous eyes on the mysterious letter, which he would have cheerfully given a thaler to have been allowed to peruse. "I will return anon to inquire how the gracious lady is after her indisposition, and--" "If you are not out of the room before I count five," exclaimed the old nurse, angrily interrupting him, "I declare I'll pitch this footstool at your little round turnip-top of a head, that I will. One--two--three--" "Why, whatever is the matter, Lorischen?" interposed Madame Dort, opening her eyes at this juncture, while the old nurse yet stood with the footstool raised in her uplifted hands facing the door, half in and half out of which peered the tortoise-shell spectacles of the little fat burgher. "Who is there?" The poor lady spoke very faintly, and did not seem to know where she was at first, her gaze wandering round the room. Lorischen quickly put down the heavy missile with which she was threatening Burgher Jans; and he, taking advantage of this suspension of hostilities, at once advanced again within the apartment, although still keeping his hand on the door so as to be ready to beat a retreat in a fresh emergency, should the old nurse attempt to renew the interrupted fray. "High, well-born, and most gracious madame," said he obsequiously. "It is me, only me!" "Hein!" grunted Lorischen. "A nice `me' it is--a little, inquisitive, meddlesome morsel of a man!" "Oh, Meinherr Burgher Jans," said Madame Dort, rising up from the sofa. "I'm glad to see you; I wanted to ask you something. I--" Just at that moment she caught sight of the letter she held between her fingers, when she recollected all at once the news she had received, of which she had been for the time oblivious. "Ah, poor Fritz!" she exclaimed, bursting into a fit of weeping. "My son, my firstborn, I shall never see him more!" "Why, what have you heard, gracious lady?" said Burgher Jans, abandoning his refuge by the door, and coming forwards into the centre of the room. "No bad news, I trust, from the young and well-born Herr?" "Read," said the widow, extending the letter in her hand towards him; "read for yourself and see." His owlish eyes all expanded with delight through the tortoise-shell spectacles, the fat little man eagerly took hold of the rustling piece of paper and unfolded it, his hands trembling with nervous anxiety to know what the missive contained--and which he had been all along burning with curiosity to find out. Lorischen actually snorted with indignation. "There, just see that!" she grumbled through her set teeth, opening and clenching her fingers together convulsively, as if she would like to snatch the letter away from him--when, perhaps, she would have expressed her feelings pretty forcibly in the way of scratches on the Burgher's beaming face: "there, I wouldn't have let him see it if he had gone down on his bended knees for it--no, not if I had died first!" The widow continued to sob in her handkerchief; while the Burgher appeared to gloat over the delicate angular handwriting of the letter, as if he were learning it by heart and spelling out every word--he took so long over it. "Ah, it is bad, gracious lady," he said at length; "but, still, not so bad as it might otherwise be." Madame Dort raised her tear-stained face, looking at the little roan questioningly; while Lorischen, who in her longing to hear about Fritz had not quitted the apartment, according to her usual custom when Burgher Jans was in it, drew nearer, resting her impulsive fingers on the table, so as not to alarm that worthy unnecessarily and make him stop speaking. The Burgher felt himself a person of importance, on account of his opinion being consulted; so he drew himself up to his full height--just five feet one inch! "The letter only says, most worthy and gracious lady,--and you, dearest maiden," he proceeded--with a special bow to Lorischen, which the latter, sad to relate, only received with a grimace from her tightly drawn spinster lips--"that the young and well-born Herr is merely grievously wounded, and not, thanks be to Providence, that he is--he is--he is--" "Why don't you say `dead' at once, and not beat about the bush in that stupid way?" interposed the old nurse, who detested the little man's hemming and hawing over matters which she was in the habit of blurting out roughly without demur. "No, I like not the ugly word," suavely expostulated the Burgher. "The great-to-come-for-all-of-us can be better expressed than that! But, to resume my argument, dearest maiden and most gracious lady, this document does not state that the dear son of the house has shaken off this mortal coil entirely as yet." "I'd like to shake off yours, and you with it!" said Lorischen angrily, under her breath--"for a word-weaving, pedantic little fool!" "You mean that there is hope?" asked Madame Dort, looking a bit less tearful, her grief having nearly exhausted itself. "Most decidedly, dear lady," said the Burgher. "Does not the letter say so in plain and very-much-nicely-written characters?" "But, all such painful communications are generally worded, if the writers have a tender heart, so as to break bad news as gently as possible," answered the widow, wishing to have the faint sanguine suspicion of hope that was stealing over her confirmed by the other's opinion. "Just so," said Burgher Jans authoritatively. "You have reason in your statement; still, dear lady, by what I can gather from this letter, I should think that the Frau or Fraulein Vogelstein who signs it wishes to prepare you for the worst, but yet intimates at the same time that there is room to hope for the best." "Ah, I'm glad you say so," exclaimed the widow joyfully. "Now I read it over, I believe the same; but at first, I thought, in my hurried glance over it, that Fritz was slain, the writer only pretending he was still alive, in order to prepare me for his loss. He is not dead, thank God! That is everything; for, whilst there is life, there's hope, eh?" "Most decidedly, gracious lady," responded the little man with effusion. "If ever I under the down-pressing weight of despondency lie, so I unto myself much comfort make by that happy consolation!" Madame Dort experienced such relief from the cheering aspect in which the Burgher's explanation had enabled her now to look upon the news of Fritz's wound, that her natural feelings of hospitality, which had been dormant for the while, asserted themselves in favour of her timely visitor, who in spite of his curiosity had certainly done her much good in banishing all the ill effects of her fainting fit. "Will you not have a glass of lager, Herr Jans?" said she. "Mein Gott, yes," promptly returned the little man. "Much talking makes one dry, and beer is good for the stomach." "Lorischen, get the Burgher some lager bier," ordered Madame Dort, on her invitation being accepted, the old nurse proceeding to execute the command with very ill grace. "The Lord only knows when he'll leave now, once he starts guzzling beer in the parlour! That Burgher Jans is getting to be a positive nuisance to us; and I shall be glad when our poor wounded Fritz comes home, if only to stop his coming here so frequently--the gossipping little time- server, with his bowing and scraping and calling me his `dearest maiden,' indeed--I'd `maiden' him if I had the chance!" Lorischen was much exasperated, and so she grumbled to herself as she sallied out of the room. However, much to her relief, the "fat little man" did not make a long stay on this occasion, for he took his leave soon after swallowing the beer. He was anxious to make a round of visits amongst his acquaintances, to retail the news that Fritz was wounded and lying in a hospital at Mezieres, near Metz, for he had read it himself in the letter, you know! He likewise informed his hearers, although he had not so impressed the widow, that they would probably never see the young clerk of Herr Grosschnapper again in Lubeck, as his case was so desperate that he was not expected to live! His story otherwise, probably, would have been far less interesting to scandal-mongers, as they would have thus lost the opportunity of settling all the affairs of the widow and considering whom she would marry again. Of course, they now decided, that, as she had as good as lost both her sons and had a nice little property of her own, besides being comparatively not old, so to speak, and not very plain, she would naturally seek another partner to console herself in her solitude--Burgher Jans getting much quizzed on this point, with sly allusions as to his being the widow's best friend! Some days after Madaleine Vogelstein's first letter, Madame Dort received a second, telling her that the ball had been extracted from her son's wound, but fever had come on, making him very weak and prostrate; although, as his good constitution had enabled him to survive the painful operation, he would probably pull through this second ordeal. The widow again grew down-hearted at this intelligence, and it was as much as Burgher Jans could do, with all his plausibility, to make her hopeful; while Lorischen, her old superstitious fears and belief in Mouser's prophetic miaow-wowing again revived, did all her best to negative the fat little man's praiseworthy efforts at cheering. Ever since the Burgher had been elected a confidant of Madaleine's original communication, he had made a point of calling every day in the Gulden Strasse, with his, to the old nurse, sickening and stereotyped inquiry--"Any news yet?" until the field post brought the next despatch, when, as he now naturally expected and wished, the letter was given him to read. "He seems bent on hanging up his hat in our lobby here!" Lorischen would say spitefully, on the widow seeking to excuse the little man's pertinacity in visiting her. "Much he cares whether poor Master Fritz gets well or ill; he takes more interest in somebody else, I think!" "Oh, Lorischen!" Madame Dort would remonstrate. "How can you say such things?" "It is `Oh, mistress!' it strikes me," the other would retort. "I wish the young master were only here!" "And so do I heartily," said Madame Dort, at the end of one of these daily skirmishes between the two on the same subject. "We agree on that point, at all events!" and she sighed heavily. The old servant was so privileged a person that she did not like to speak harshly to her, although she did not at all relish Lorischen's frequent allusions as to the real object of the Burgher's visits, and her surmises as to what the neighbours would think about them. Madame Dort put up with Lorischen's innuendoes in silence, but still, she did not look pleased. "Ach Himmel, dear mistress!" pleaded the offender, "never mind my waspish old tongue. I am always saying what I shouldn't; but that little fat man does irritate me with his hypocritical, oily smile and smooth way--calling me his `dearest maiden,' indeed!" "Why, don't you see, Lorischen, that it is you really whom he comes here after, although you treat him so cruelly!" said the widow, smiling. This was more than the old spinster could bear. "What, me!" she exclaimed, with withering scorn. "Himmel, if I thought that, I would soon scratch his chubby face for him--me, indeed!" and she retreated from the room in high dudgeon. Bye-and-bye, there came another letter from the now familiar correspondent, saying that Fritz was really recovering at last; and, oh what happiness! the mother's heart was rejoiced by the sight of a few awkwardly scrawled lines at the end. It was a postscript from her son himself! The almost indecipherable words were only "Love to Mutterchen, from her own Fritz," but they were more precious to her than the lengthiest epistle from any one else. "Any news?" asked Burgher Jans of Lorischen soon afterwards, when he came to the house to make his stereotyped inquiry. "Yes," said the old nurse, instead of replying with her usual negative. "Indeed!" exclaimed the little man. "The noble, well-born young Herr is not worse, I hope?" and he tried to hide his abnormally bland expression with a sympathetic look of deep concern; but he failed miserably in the attempt. His full-moon face could not help beaming with a self- satisfied complacency which it was impossible to subdue; indeed, he would have been unable to disguise this appearance of smiling, even if he had been at a funeral and was, mentally, plunged in the deepest woe-- if that were possible for him to be! "No, not worse," answered Lorischen. "He is--" "Not dead, I trust?" said Burgher Jans, interrupting her before she could finish her sentence, and using in his hurry the very word to which he had objected before. "No, he is not dead," retorted the old nurse, with a triumphant ring in her voice. "And, if you were expecting that, I only hope you are disappointed, that's all! He is getting better, for he has written to the mistress himself; and, what is more, he's coming home to send you to the right-about, Burgher Jans, and stop your coming here any more. Do you hear that, eh?" "My dearest maiden," commenced to stammer out the little fat man, woefully taken aback by this outburst, "I--I--don't know what you mean." "Ah, but I do," returned Lorischen, not feeling any the more amiably disposed towards him by his addressing her in that way after what Madame Dort had said about his calling especially to see her. "I know what I mean; and what I mean to say now, is, that my mistress told me to say she was engaged when you came, should you call to-day, and that she is unable to see you, there! Good-morning, Burgher Jans; good-morning, most worshipful Herr!" So saying, she slammed the door in the poor little man's face, leaving him without, cogitating the reason for this summary dismissal of him by the widow; albeit Lorischen, in order to indulge her own feelings of dislike, had somewhat exaggerated a casual remark made by her mistress-- that she did not wish to be interrupted after the receipt of the good news about Fritz, as she wanted to answer the letter at once! CHAPTER NINE. A MUTUAL UNDERSTANDING! "Do you know what is going on to-day?" said Madaleine Vogelstein to her patient, a couple of days after she had aided him to scrawl that postscript to her letter to his mother in his own handwriting, when he had so far recovered that he might be said to be almost convalescent. "No, what--anything important?" he replied, answering her question in questionable fashion by asking another. "Guess," said she teasingly, holding up her finger. "I'm sure I can't." "The capitulation of Metz!" she said slowly with some emphasis, marking the importance of the news she was telling. "Never--it can't be!" ejaculated Fritz, making an effort to spring up in the pallet bed on which he was still lying, but falling back with a groan on finding himself too weak. "What an unlucky beggar I am!" "Lie still," said she, putting her hand gently on his, which was outside the quilt. "You must keep quiet, or you'll never get better, so as to be able to stand up and walk about again--no, you won't, if you try to hurry matters now." "That's more than the French have done if they've only just given in! Is it true, though? Perhaps you've only heard a rumour, for there are always such false reports flying about. Why, in the camp it used to be the current cry every morning, after we began the siege, that Metz had fallen." "It is true enough now, I can tell you," said Madaleine. "The whole French army commanded by Bazaine has capitulated, and the Germans have marched in and taken possession of the fortress." "I must believe you; but, is it not aggravating that this should just happen when I am invalided here, and not able to take part in the final triumph? It is rather hard lines, after serving so long in the trenches all during our wearisome environment, not to have had the satisfaction in the end of being a witness to the surrender!" "It's the fortune of war," said she soothingly, noticing how bitterly Fritz spoke. "Although all may fight bravely, it is not every one who reaps the laurels of victory." "No," he replied, smiling at some thoughts which her words suggested--so much is dry humour allied to sentiment that the mention of laurels brought to his mind a comic association which at once dispelled his chagrin. "When did you say the capitulation took place?" "Well, I heard that the formal agreement was signed by the French officers on behalf of Marshal Bazaine two days ago; but the actual surrender takes place to-day, the Marshal having already left, it is said, to join his imprisoned emperor at Cassel." What Madaleine told Fritz was perfectly true. On the 27th of October, the seventieth day after it had been driven under the guns of Metz on the disastrous termination of the battle of Gravelotte, Bazaine's army, in addition to the regular garrison of the fortress and an unknown number of Gardes Mobiles, was forced to surrender to the Germans--thus now allowing the latter to utilise the giant legions hitherto employed in investing the stronghold of Lorraine, in further trampling out the last evidences of organised resistance in France, and so, by coercing the country, sooner put an end to the duration of the war. Notwithstanding all the comments made--especially those by his own countrymen in their unreasoning prejudice against every one and everything connected with the late empire, from its unfortunate and much-maligned head downwards--in the matter of this capitulation, and on Marshal Bazaine's conduct, it is absolutely certain that he held out as long as it was possible to do so. Indeed, it is a surprising fact that his provisions lasted such a length of time; and it would be a cause for sorrow to believe that the brave defender of Metz was in any way stained by the crime of "treachery" as his act was stigmatised by the demagogues of Paris. Those who assert that a clever commander ought somehow or other to have made his escape from the place, do not take into consideration the strength of the investing force, which comprised the united armies of Prince Frederick Charles and Steinmetz--more than two hundred and fifty thousand men, in addition to their reserves, all capable of being concentrated at any given point where an attack was anticipated, and protected, besides, by entrenched lines of great strength. Nor do these biassed critics consider the ruin that must have fallen on Bazaine's army, even if it had succeeded in cutting its way through the ranks of the besiegers, as the general tried gallantly, but unsuccessfully, to do on more than one occasion, besides making numerous sorties. It is apparent to most unprejudiced minds now, at this distance of time from the momentous epoch of the struggle between the two nations, that the Marshal, in his situation, accomplished all that could have been expected in detaining for such a length of time a huge German army nearly on the frontier, thus giving the invaded country breathing time to collect its resources for just so long a period. The fact is, that when an army like that of Bazaine's is severed from its communications and supplies, its surrender can only be a question of time; and, therefore, unparalleled as is the capitulation of Metz in modern history, the unprecedented catastrophe--can be fully accounted for on military grounds. "I'm sorry I missed the sight," said Fritz presently, after thinking over the news. "It would have been some fair return for all that bitter night work I had in the trenches before I was wounded. Still, I'm glad it's all ended now, for my corps will be able to march onward on Paris like the rest." "That will not benefit you much, my poor friend," remarked Madaleine sympathisingly. "I'm afraid it will be some time before you will be strong enough to move from this room, although you're improving each day." "Oh, will it?" said Fritz triumphantly; "that's all you know about it, young lady! Why, Doctor Carl said this morning that he thought I would be able to report myself fit for duty in another week." "I suppose you'll rejoice to get back to your friends and comrades in the regiment? You must find it miserable and dull enough in this place!" "No, not quite that. I've been very happy and comfortable here the last few days; and I shall never forget all your kindness and care of me--no, never!" "Don't speak of that, pray; it's only what any one else would have done in my place. Besides," she added demurely, "you know that in attending to you as a wounded soldier, I have only been carrying out the orders of the baroness, my employer." "Hang the fussy old thing!" said Fritz impatiently trying to shrug his shoulders. He had had the honour of one interview with Madaleine's distinguished patroness, and did not crave for another; for, she had a good deal of that old-fashioned, starched formality which the German nobility affect, mixed up with a fidgety, condescending, patronising manner which much annoyed the generous-minded young fellow. He burned with indignation all the time the visit of the old lady to him had lasted, for she ordered Madaleine to do this and corrected her for doing that, in, as he thought, the rudest manner possible. Her exquisitely dignified patronage of himself, as a species of inferior animal, who, being in pain and distress, she was bound in common charity to take some notice of, caused him no umbrage whatever; but it annoyed him to see a gentle, ladylike girl like Madaleine subjected to the whims and caprices of an old woman, who, in spite of her high birth, was naturally vulgar and inconsiderate. "Hang the fussy old thing!" he repeated, with considerable heat. "I wish you had nothing to do with her. I'm sure she would drive me mad in a day if I were constantly associated with her!" "Ah, dear friend, beggars mustn't be choosers," said Madaleine sadly. "You forget my position, in your kind zeal on my behalf! A poor orphan girl such as I, left friendless and penniless, ought to be glad to be under the protection of so grand a lady as the Baroness Stolzenkop. She is kind to me, too, in her way." "But, what a way!" interposed Fritz angrily. "I wouldn't speak to a dog in that fashion." "You are different." "I should hope so, indeed!" "Besides, Herr Fritz, remember, that if it hadn't been for this old lady, of whom you speak in such disrespectful terms, I should never have come here to Mezieres and been able to nurse you." "I forgot for the moment, Fraulein. My blessing on the old catamaran for the fancy that seized her, so auspiciously, to go touring on the trail of the war and thus to bring you here. I don't believe I would have lived, if it had not been for your care and kindness!" "Meinherr, you exaggerate. It is to your own good constitution and to Providence that your thanks are due; I have only been a simple means towards that happy end." "Well, I shall always attribute my recovery to you, at all events; and so will my good mother, who I hope will some day be able to thank you in person for all that you've done for me and her." "I should like to see her," said Madaleine; "she must be a kind, good lady, from her letters to you." "And the fondest mother in the world!" exclaimed Fritz with enthusiasm. "But, you will see her--some day," he added after a pause. "I vow that you shall." "I don't know how that will be," said Madaleine, half laughing in a constrained fashion, as if wishing to conceal her real feelings. "In a week or two you will be off to the wars again and forget me--like a true soldier!" "Stay," interposed Fritz, interrupting her. "You have no right to say that! Do you think me so ungrateful? You must have a very bad opinion of me! I--" "Never mind explanations now," interrupted the girl in her turn, speaking hurriedly in a nervous way, although trying to laugh the matter off as a joke. "If the doctor says you can soon report yourself as fit for duty, of course you'll have to rejoin your regiment." "Ah, I wonder where that is now?" said Fritz musingly. "Since our camp round Metz is broken up, the army will naturally march on farther into the interior. No matter, there's no good my worrying myself about it. They'll soon let me know where I've got to go to join them; for, the powers that be do not allow any shirking of duty in the ranks, from the highest to the lowest!" "I saw that here," remarked Madaleine. "The baroness wanted to get her son to return home with her; but she was told that, if he were allowed to go he could never come back to the army, as his reputation for courage would be settled for ever." "Yes, that would be the case, true enough. Hev would be thought to have shown the white feather! But, about your movements, Fraulein Madaleine--the baroness is not going to remain here long, is she?" "No; she spoke this morning about going away. She said that, as the siege of Metz was raised, and the greater portion of the wounded men would be removed to Germany, along with the prisoners of war, she thought she would go back home--to Darmstadt, that is." "And there you will stop, I suppose?" asked Fritz. "Until she has a whim to go somewhere else!" replied Madaleine. "May I write to you there?" "I will be glad to hear of your welfare," answered she discreetly, a slight colour mantling to her cheeks. "Of course, you have been my patient; and, like a good nurse, I should like to know that you were getting on well, without any relapse." "I will write to you, then," said Fritz in those firm, ringing tones of his that clearly intimated he had made a promise which he intended to keep. "And you, I hope, will answer my letters?" "When I can," replied the girl; "that is, you know, if the Baroness Stolzenkop does not object." "Bother the Baroness Stolzenkop!" said he energetically, and he stretched out his hand to her with a smile. "Promise to write to me," he repeated. Madaleine did not say anything; but she returned his smile, and he could feel a slight pressure of her fingers on his, so with this he was perfectly contented for the while. "Ah, when the war is over!" he exclaimed presently, after a moment's silence between the two, which expressed more than words would have done perhaps. "Ah, when the war is over!" "Eh, what?" said the doctor, coming in unexpectedly at that instant and catching the last words. "I--I--said," explained Fritz rather confusedly, "that when the war was over, I'd be glad to get home again to my mother and those dear to me;" and he looked at Madaleine as he spoke meaningly. "Eh, what?" repeated the doctor. "But, the war isn't over yet, my worthy young lieutenant, and I hope we'll patch you up so as to be able to play a good part in it still for the Fatherland!" "I hope so, Herr Doctor," answered Fritz. "I've no desire yet to be laid on the shelf while laurels and promotion are to be won." "Just so, that is good; and how do you feel this afternoon, eh?" "Much better." "Ah yes, so I see! You will go on improving, if you take plenty of food. I bet that in a week's time I shall be able to turn you out of these nice quarters here." So saying, the surgeon bustled out of the room, with a kind nod to his patient and a bow to Madaleine, who was shortly afterwards summoned by a servant to the baroness--the footman telling her that her ladyship requested her presence at once. She returned later on, but it was only for a very brief interval, to say good-bye. The Princess of Alten-Schlossen, she said, was about to leave Mezieres immediately for Germany, and the baroness could not think of staying behind, even for the charitable consideration of nursing any more wounded, if the exalted lady, whose actions traced the pattern for her own conduct, thought fit to go away! Madaleine, therefore, had orders to pack up all the old dowager's numerous belongings, being also given permission to make any arrangements she pleased for the poor fellows who remained in the villa, in order to have them handed over to the regular authorities, now that this amateur ambulance of the baroness was going to abandon its voluntary labours. "It's a shame," said Madaleine indignantly. "It is like putting one's hand to the plough and then turning back!" "Never mind, Fraulein, do not fret yourself," interposed Fritz. "The old lady has done some good by starting this hospital here, even if she did it in imitation of the Princess; and, although she may now give it up, it will be carried on all right by others, you see if it won't! As I am getting well, too, and will have to go, as the doctor says; why, I shall not regret it as I should otherwise have done." "Oh, you selfish fellow!" said she, smiling. "Now you have been attended to and nursed into convalescence, you do not care what becomes of those who may come after you!" "Not quite so bad as that," replied Fritz; "only, as I shall be away serving with my regiment, I should prefer to think of you ensconced in the quiet security of the baroness' castle on the Rhine, to being here amidst the excitement of the war and in the very thick of bands of stragglers to and from the front." "Especially since I would lose your valuable protection!" laughed Madaleine. "Ah, wait till I get up and am strong!" said Fritz. "When you see me again, I promise to be able to protect you." "Aye, when!" repeated the girl with a sigh. "However, I must say good- bye now, Herr Lieutenant I have told our man Hans, whom the baroness leaves behind, to see that you want for nothing until you shall be able to attend to yourself. I'm sorry you'll have no female nurse now to look after you." "I wouldn't let another woman come near me after you go!" exclaimed Fritz impulsively. "Mind, you have promised to write to me, you know." "Yes," said she, "I will answer your letters; and now, good-bye! Don't forget me quite when you get amongst the gay ladies of Paris, who will quite eclipse your little German nurse!" "Never!" he ejaculated. "Good-bye, till we meet again!" and he pressed her hand to his lips, looking up into her eyes. "Good-bye!" said she in a husky voice, turning away; when the dog, which had been lying down in his usual place by his master's bedside, started up, "Good-bye you, too, my darling `Fritz'!" she added, throwing her arms round the retriever's neck and kissing his smooth black head; "I nearly forgot you, dearest doggie, I do declare!" "Heavens!" exclaimed the other Fritz, mortally jealous of his dog for the moment, "I wish you would only say farewell to me like that!" Madaleine blushed a celestial rosy red. But "Auf wiedersehen!" was all she said, as she left the room with a speaking glance from her violet eyes; and, towards the evening, from the confused bustling about which he heard going on within the villa, and the sound of carriage wheels without driving off, Fritz knew that the Baroness Stolzenkop and her party--amongst whom, of course, was Madaleine--had quitted Mezieres, on their way back to the banks of the Rhine. CHAPTER TEN. ON THE MOVE AGAIN. "I wonder if she cares about that French fellow still?" thought Fritz to himself when Madaleine had gone. "I don't believe she could have felt for him much, from the manner in which she listened when I told her of his death and the way she looked at that ring. Himmel! Would she receive the news of my being shot in the same fashion, I wonder?" Fritz, however, could not settle this momentous question satisfactorily to his own mind just then; so he had, consequently, to leave the matter to be decided at that blissful period when everybody thought that "everything would come straight"--the period to which he had alluded at the interesting instant when his slightly confidential conversation with Madaleine was so inopportunely interrupted by the maladroit entrance of Doctor Carl. In other words, "when the war should be over!" But, as the worthy disciple of Aesculapius had sapiently remarked on the occasion of his accidental interference with what might have been otherwise a mutual understanding between the two, the war was not over yet. The halcyon time had not arrived for the sword to be beaten into a ploughshare, nor did there seem much prospect of such a happy contingency in the near immediate future; for, although the contest had already lasted three months--during which a series of terrible engagements had invariably resulted in the defeat of the French--from the commencement of the campaign to the capitulation of Metz, each crushing disaster only seemed to have the effect of nerving the Gallic race to fresh resistance and so prolong the struggle. Indeed, at the beginning of November, 1870, with Paris laughing the idea of a siege to scorn and new armies being rapidly organised, in the north at Saint Quentin, in the west at Havre, and in the south at Orleans, the end of the war appeared as far off as ever! Fritz missed the attentions of his unwearying little nurse much, and his convalescence did not progress so rapidly in consequence; but one morning, some three weeks after the departure of the party of the baroness' from Mezieres, he was agreeably surprised by Doctor Carl giving him permission to rejoin his corps. "I don't quite think you exactly strong enough yet, you know; but I've received orders to clear out the hospitals here, sending forward all such as are fit to their respective regiments, while those not sufficiently recovered I am to invalid to Germany. Now, which is it to be, Herr Lieutenant? I candidly don't believe you're quite up to the mark for campaigning again yet; but still, perhaps, you would not like being put on the shelf, and no doubt you'd gain strength from the change of air as you moved on with the army. Which course will you select, Herr Lieutenant? I give you the choice." "To rejoin my regiment, certainly, doctor!" answered Fritz, without a moment's hesitation. "I'm tired of doing nothing here, and I fancy I've been well enough to move for the past fortnight." "Ah, permit me to be the best judge of that, young man," said the other. "No doubt you feel wonderfully strong just now! Can you lift this chair, do you think, eh?" "Certainly," replied Fritz, laying his hand on the slight little article of furniture the doctor had pointed out with his cane, and which he could have easily held up with one finger when in the possession of his proper strength. He was quite indignant, indeed, with Doctor Carl for suggesting such a feeble trial for him, as if he were a child; but, much to his astonishment, he found that he was utterly unable to raise the chair from the ground. Besides which, he quite panted after the exertion, just as if he had been endeavouring to lift a ton weight! "Ha, what did I say, Herr Lieutenant?" said the surgeon with a laugh. "You will now allow, I suppose, that we doctors know best as to what is good for our patients! But, come, you will not be wanted to raise or carry about a greater weight than yourself until you come up with your regiment, which is now with Manteuffel's division near Amiens, for, by that time, you'll be yourself again. I'll now go and sign your certificate and papers, so that you may get ready to start as soon as you like." "Hurrah!" exclaimed Fritz. "It is `Forwards' again--the very word puts fresh life in me!" and, trying once more, he lifted the chair this time with ease. "You see, Herr Doctor, I can do it now!" "Ah, there's nothing like hope and will!" said the doctor, bustling out of the room--which Fritz, unlike many poor victims of the war, had had entirely to himself, instead of being only one amongst hundreds of others in a crowded hospital ward. "By the time you join your comrades again, you'll be double the man you were before you came under my care!" "Thanks to you, dear doctor," shouted out Fritz after him in cordial tones; and he then proceeded to overhaul his somewhat dilapidated uniform to see whether it was in order for him to don once more. On the termination of the siege of Metz, by its capitulation at the end of October, the large German force which had been employed up till then in the investment of Marshal Bazaine's entrenched camp before the fortress, became released for other duties; thus enabling Von Moltke, the great strategical head of the Teuton legions, to develop his plans for the complete subjugation of the country. In accordance, therefore, with these arrangements, two army corps, each of some thirty thousand men, proceeded at once to aid the hosts encircling Paris with fire and steel; while two more corps were led by Prince Frederick Charles towards the south of France, where they arrived in the nick of time to assist the Duke of Mecklenburgh and the defeated Bavarians under Van der Tann in breaking up the formidable army of the Loire commanded by Chanzy, which had very nearly succeeded in altering the condition of the war; the remainder of the German investing force from Metz were sent northwards, under Manteuffel, in the direction of Brittany and the departments bordering on the English Channel, so as to crush out all opposition there. With this latter force marched the regiment of our friend Fritz, which he was able to rejoin about the beginning of December at Amiens, where were established the headquarters of General Manteuffel, the present commander of the first army--"Old Blood and Iron." Steinmetz having been shelved, it was said, on account of his age and infirmities, he having fought at Waterloo, but more probably on account of his rather lavish sacrifice of his men, especially at Gravelotte. This force kept firm hold of Normandy with a strong hand, threatening Dieppe and Havre on either side. Fritz had a tedious journey to the front. Partly by railway where practicable, and partly by roads that were blocked by the heavy siege guns and waggon loads of ammunition going forwards for the use of the force besieging Paris, the young lieutenant made his way onwards in company with a reserve column of Landwehr proceeding to fill up casualties in Manteuffel's ranks--the journey not being rendered any the more agreeable by the frequent attacks suffered from franc-tireurs when passing through the many woods and forests encountered on the route, in addition to meeting straggling bands of the enemy, who opposed the progress of the column the more vigorously as it abandoned the main roads leading from the frontier and struck across country. It was not by any means a pleasure trip; but, putting all perils aside, regarding them merely as the vicissitudes of a soldier's lot, what impressed Fritz more than anything else was the ruin and devastation which, following thus in the rear of a triumphant army, he everywhere noticed. The towns he entered on his way had most of their shops shut, and the windows of the private houses were closed, as if in sympathy with a national funeral, those which had been bombarded--and these were many-- having, besides, their streets blocked up with fallen masonry and scattered beams of timber, their church steeples prostrate, and the walls of buildings perforated with round shot and bursting shells that had likewise burnt and demolished the roofs; while, in the more open country, the farms and villages had been swept away as if with a whirlwind of fire, only bare gables and blackened rafters staring up into the clouds, like the skeletons of what were once happy homes. The vineyards and fields and gardens around were destroyed and running to waste in the most pitiful way, for every one connected with them, who had formerly cherished and tended them with such care and attention, had either been killed or else sought safety in flight to the cities, where their refuge was equally precarious. Along the highway, the trees, whose branches once gave such grateful shade to wayfarers, were now cut down, only rows of hideous, half-consumed stumps remaining in their stead; while here and there, as the scene of some great battle was passed, great mounds like oblong bases of flattened pyramids rose above the surface of the devastated plain--mounds under whose frozen surface lay the mouldering bodies of thousands of brave men who had fallen on the bloody field, their last resting-place unmarked by sepulchral cross or monumental marble. Everywhere there was terrible evidence of the effects of war and the price of that "glory" which, the poet sings truly, "leads but to the grave!" Fritz was sickened with it all; but, what struck his keen sense of honour and honesty more, was the wholesale pillage and robbery permitted by the German commanders to be exercised by their soldiery on the defenceless peasantry of France. A cart which he overhauled, proceeding back to the frontier, contained such wretched spoil as women's clothes, a bale of coffee, a quantity of cheap engravings and chimney ornaments, an old-fashioned kitchen clock, with an arm-chair--the pride of some fireside corner--a quantity of copper, and several pairs of ear-rings, such as are sold for a few sous in the Palais Royale! The sight of this made his blood boil, and Fritz got into some trouble with a colonel of Uhlans by ordering the contents of the cart to be at once confiscated and burnt, the huckster being on the good books of that officer--doubtless as a useful collector of curios! It was a current report amongst the French at the time that the German army was followed by a tribe of Jew speculators, who purchased from the soldiers the plunder that they certainly could not themselves expect to carry back to their own country; and this incident led Fritz to believe the rumour well founded. "Heavens, little mother," as he wrote home subsequently to Madame Dort, after his experience of what went on at headquarters under his new commander. "I do not fear the enemy; but the only thing which will do us any harm, God willing that we come safely home, is that we shall not be able to distinguish between mine and thine, the `meum' and `tuum' taught us at school, for we shall be all thorough thieves; that is to say, we are ordered to take--`requisition' they call it--everything that we can find and that we can use. This does not confine itself alone to food for the horses and people, but to every piece of portable property, not an absolute fixture, which, if of any value, we are directed to appropriate and `nail' fast! "Through the desertion of most of the castles here in the neighbourhood by their legitimate proprietors, the entry to all of them is open to us; and now everything is taken out of them that is worth taking at all. The wine-cellars in particular are searched; and I may say that our division has drank more champagne on its own account than I ever remember to have seen in the district of Champagne, when I visited it last year before the war. "In the second place, our light-fingered forces carry off all the horses we can take with us; all toilet things, glasses, stockings, brushes, boots and shoes, linen--in a word, everything is `stuck to!' "The officers, I may add, are no exception to the private soldiers, but steal in their proper precedence, appropriating whatever objects of art or pictures of value they can find in the mansions we visit in these archaeological tours of ours. Only yesterday, the adjutant of my regiment, a noble by birth, but I am sorry to say not a gentleman either by manners or moral demeanour, came to me and said, `Fritz Dort, do me the favour to steal for me all the loot you can bring me. We will at all events show Moltke that he has not sent us into this war for nothing.' Of course, this being an order from a superior officer, I could not say anything but `At your command, your highness!' But what will come of it all only God knows! I'm afraid, when there is nothing left to lay our hands on, we will begin to appropriate the goods and chattels of each other; although, little mother, I will endeavour to keep my fingers clean, if only for your sake!" Fritz, however, soon had something more exciting to think about than the morals of his comrades; for, only a few days after he joined his regiment, he went into action again at the battle of Amiens, when the Germans drove back Faidherbe's "army of the north," routing them with much slaughter, and taking many prisoners, besides thirteen cannon. A French regiment of marines was ridden down by a body of German Hussars, who were almost decimated by the charge--which resembled that of Balaclava, the "sea soldiers" standing behind entrenchments with their guns. Later on, too, Fritz was in a more memorable engagement. It occurred on the morning of the 23rd of December at Pont Noyelles, where the army of General Manteuffel, numbering about fifty thousand men with some forty guns, attacked a force of almost double the strength, commanded by Faidherbe, the last of the generals on whom the French relied outside of Paris. The two armies confronted each other from opposing heights, separated by the valley of the Somme and a small, winding stream, which falls into the larger river at Daours, on the right and left banks of which the contending forces were respectively aligned; and the combat opened about eleven o'clock in the forenoon with a heavy cannonade, under cover of which the German tirailleurs smartly advanced and took possession of several small villages, although the French shortly afterwards drove them out of these at the point of the bayonet, exhibiting great gallantry. In the evening, both armies rested in the same positions they had occupied at the commencement of the fight; but, although the French greatly outnumbered their antagonists, being especially superior in artillery, the fire of which had considerably thinned the German ranks, they did nothing the whole of the succeeding day. On the contrary, they rested in a state of complete inactivity, when, if they had but pushed forwards, they might have compelled the retreat of Manteuffel. The next morning was that of Christmas Day. Fritz could not but remember it, in spite of his surroundings, for he received a small parcel by the field post, containing some warm woollen socks knitted by Lorischen's own fair fingers, and sent to him in order "to prevent his appropriating those of the poor French peasantry," as he had intimated might be the case with him in his last letter home, should he be in need of such necessaries and not have any of his own. His good mother, too, did not forget him, nor did a certain young lady who resided at Darmstadt. It was the morning of Christmas Day; but not withstanding its holy and peaceful associations, Fritz and every one else in Manteuffel's army corps expected that the anniversary would be celebrated in blood. Judge of their surprise, however, when, as the day advanced, the vedettes and outposts they sent ahead returned with the strange intelligence that the enemy had abandoned the highly advantageous ground they had selected on Pont Noyelles, retiring on Arras. The news was almost too good to be true; but, nevertheless, the German cavalry were soon on the alert, pursuing the retreating force and slaughtering thousands in the chase--thus Christmas Day was passed! The new year opened with more fighting for Fritz; for, on the 2nd of January, occurred the battle of Bapaume, and on the 19th of the same month the more disastrous engagement for the French of Saint Quentin, which finally crumbled up "the army of the north" under Faidherbe, which at one time almost looked as if it would have succeeded in raising the siege of Paris, by diverting the attention of the encircling force. However, in neither of these actions did Fritz either get wounded or gain additional promotion; and from thence, up to the close of the war, his life in the invaded country was uneventful and without interest. Yes, to him; for he was longing to return home. "Going to the war" had lost all its excitement for him, the carnage of the past months and the sorrowful scenes he had witnessed having fairly satiated him with "glory" and all the horrors which follow in its train. Now, he was fairly hungering for home, and the quiet of the old household at Lubeck with his "little mother" and Lorischen--not forgetting Mouser, to make home more homelike and enjoyable, for Fritz thought how he would have to teach Gelert, who had likewise escaped scathless throughout the remainder of the campaign in the north of France, to be on friendly terms with the old nurse's pet cat. He was thinking of some one else too; for, lately, the letters of Madaleine had stopped, although she had previously corresponded with him regularly. He could not make out the reason for her silence. One despatch might certainly have been lost in transmission through the field post; but for three or four--as would have been the case if she had responded in due course to his effusions, which were written off to Darmstadt each week without fail--to miss on the journey, was simply impossible! Some treachery must be at work; or else, Madaleine was ill; or, she had changed her mind towards him. Which of these reasons caused her silence? It was probably, he thought, the former which he had to thank for his anxiety; and the cause, he was certain, was the baroness. What blessings he heaped on her devoted head! It was in this frame of mind that Fritz awaited the end of the war. CHAPTER ELEVEN. A PLEASANT SURPRISE! That winter was the dullest ever known in the little household of the Gulden Strasse, and the coldest experienced for years in Lubeck--quiet town of cold winters, situated as it is on the shores of the ice-bound Baltic! It was such bitter, inclement weather, with the thermometer going down to zero and the snow freezing as it fell, that neither Madame Dort nor old Lorischen went out of the house more than they could help; and, as for Mouser, he lived and slept and miaow-wowed in close neighbourhood to the stove in the parlour, not even the temptation of cream inducing him to leave the protection of its enjoyable warmth. For him, the mice might ravage the cupboards below the staircase, his whilom happy hunting-ground, at their own sweet will; and the birds, rendered tame by their privations, invade the sanctity of the balcony and the window- sills, whereon at another season their lives would not be worth a moment's purchase. He heeded them not now, nor did he, as of yore, resent the intrusion of Burgher Jans' terrier, when that predatory animal came prowling within the widow's tenement in company with his master, who had not entirely ceased his periodic visits, in spite of "the cold shoulder" invariably turned to him by Lorischen. Mouser wasn't going to inconvenience himself for the best dog in Christendom; so, on the advent of the terrier, he merely hopped from the front of the stove to the top, where he frizzled his feet and fizzed at his enemy, without risking the danger of catching an influenza, as he might otherwise have done if he had sought refuge elsewhere out in the cold. Aye, for it was cold; and many was the time, when, rubbing their tingling fingers, both the widow and Lorischen pitied the hardships to which poor Fritz was exposed in the field, almost feeling angry and ashamed at themselves for being comfortable when he had to endure so much--as they knew from all the accounts published in the newspapers of the sufferings which the invading armies had to put up with, although Fritz himself made light of his physical grievances. At Christmas-tide they were sad enough at his absence, with the memory of the lost Eric also to make that merry-making time for others doubly miserable to them; but, on the dawn of the new year, their hopes began to brighten with the receipt of every fresh piece of news from France concerning the progress of the war. "The end cannot be far off now," they said to one another in mutual consolation, so as to cheer up each other's drooping spirits. "Surely the campaign cannot last much longer!" The last Sunday in the month came, and on this day Madame Dort and Lorischen went to the Marien Kirche to service. Previously they had been in the habit of attending the Dom Kirche, from the fact of Eric's liking to see, first as a child and afterwards as a growing boy, the great astronomical clock whose queer-looking eyes rolled so very curiously with the swing of the pendulum backwards and forwards each second; but, now, they went to the other house of God for a different reason. It, too, had an eccentric clock, distinguished for a procession of figures of the saints, which jerked themselves into notice each hour above the dial; still it was not that which attracted the widow there. The church was filled with large monumental figures with white, outstretching wings, that hovered out into prominence above the carvings of the old oak screens, black with age. These figures appeared as if soaring up to the roof of the chancel; and Madame Dort had a fancy, morbid it might have been, that she could pray better there, surrounded as it were by guardian angels, whose protection she invoked on behalf of her boy lost at sea, and that other, yet alive, who was "in danger, necessity," and possibly "tribulation!" After she and Lorischen had returned home from the Marien Kirche, the day passed quietly and melancholy away; but the next morning broke more cheerfully. It was the 30th of January, 1871. Both the lone women at the little house in the Gulden Strasse remembered that fact well; for, on the morrow, the month from which they had expected such good tidings would be up, and if they heard nothing before its close they must needs despair. Seeing that the morning broke bright and cheerily, with the sun shining down through the frost-laden air, making the snow on the roofs look crisper and causing the icicles from the eaves to glitter in its scintillating rays, Lorischen determined to go to market, especially as she had not been outside the doorway, except to go to church, since the previous week. She had not much to buy, it is true; but then she might have a gossip with the neighbours and hear some news, perhaps--who knows? Anything might have happened without the knowledge of herself or her mistress, as no one, not even Burgher Jans, had been to visit them for ever so long! Clad, therefore, in her thick cloak and warm boots, with her wide, red- knitted woollen shawl over her head and portly market-basket on arm, Lorischen sallied out like the dove from the ark, hoping perchance to bring back with her an olive branch of comfort; while the widow sat herself down by the stove in the parlour with her needle, stitching away at some new shirts she was engaged on to renew Fritz's wardrobe when he came back. Seeing an opportunity for taking up a comfortable position, Mouser jumped up at once into her lap as soon as the old nurse had left the room, purring away with great complacency and watching in a lazy way the movements of her busy fingers, blinking sleepily the while at the glowing fire in front of him. Lorischen had not been gone long when Madame Dort heard her bustling back up the staircase without. She knew the old nurse's step well; but, besides hers, she heard the tread of some one else, and then the noisy bark of a dog. A sort of altercation between two voices followed, in which the old nurse's angry accents were plainly perceptible; and next there seemed a hurried scuffle just without the parlour door, which suddenly burst open with a clatter, and two people entered the room. They were Lorischen and Burgher Jans, who both tried to speak together, the result being a confused jangle of tongues from which Madame Dort could learn nothing. "I say I was first!" squeaked the Burgher in a high treble key, which he always adopted when excited beyond his usual placid mode of utterance. "And I say it was me!" retorted the old nurse in her gruff tones, which were much more like those of a man. "What right have you to try and supplant the servant of the house, who specially went out about it, you little meddlesome teetotum, I'd like to know, hey?" "But I was first, I say! Madame Dort--" "Don't listen to him, mistress," interposed Lorischen. "I've just--" "There's news of--" But, bang just then came Lorischen's market-basket against the side of the little man's head, knocking his hat off and stopping his speech abruptly; while the old nurse muttered savagely, "I wish it had been your little turnip-top of a head instead of your hat, that I do!" "Good people! good people!" exclaimed Madame Dort, rising to her feet and dropping her needlework and Mouser--who rapidly jumped on to the top of the stove out of the reach of Burgher Jans' terrier, which, of course, had followed his master into the parlour and at once made a dart at the cat as he tumbled on to the floor from the widow's lap. "Pray do not make such a noise, and both speak at once! What is the matter that you are so eager to tell me--good news, I trust, Lorischen, or you would not have hurried back so soon?" Madame Dort's voice trembled with anxiety, and tears of suspense stood in her eyes. "There," said Lorischen triumphantly to the Burgher, who remained silent for the moment from the shock of the old nurse's attack. "You see for yourself that my mistress wishes me to tell her." "Oh, what is it--what have you heard?" cried the widow plaintively. "Do not keep me in this agony any longer!" And she sat down again nervously in her chair, gazing from one to the other in mute entreaty and looking as if she were going to faint. "There now, see what you've done!" said Lorischen, hastening to Madame Dort's side. "I told you what it would be if you blurted it out like that!" Burgher Jans' eyes grew quite wide with astonishment beneath the broad rims of his tortoise-shell spectacles, giving him more than ever the appearance of an owl. "Peace, woman!" he exclaimed. "I--" "Yes, that's it, dear mistress," interrupted the old nurse, half laughing, half crying, as she knelt down beside the widow's chair and put her arm round her caressingly. "There's peace proclaimed at last, and the dear young Herr will come home again to you now!" "Peace?" repeated the widow, looking up with an anxious stare from one to the other. "Yes, peace, most worthy lady," said Burgher Jans pompously in his ordinary bland voice; adding immediately afterwards for Lorischen's especial benefit--"and I was the first to tell you of it, after all." "Never mind," replied that worthy, too much overpowered with emotion at the happiness of the widow to contest the point. "We both brought the glad tidings together. Madame, dearest mistress, you are glad, are you not?" But Madame Dort was silent for the moment. Her eyes were closed, and her lips moving in earnest prayer of thankfulness to Him who had heard her prayers and granted the fervent wish of her heart at last. "Is it really true?" she asked presently. "Yes, well-born and most worthy lady," replied the little fat man, whom Lorischen now allowed to speak without further interruption. "Our Bismark signed an armistice with the French at Versailles on Saturday by which Paris capitulates, the forts defending it being given over to our soldiers, and the starving city allowed to be reprovisioned by the good English, who have prepared ever so many train-loads of food to go in for the use of the population." "Ah, those good English!" chimed in Lorischen. "You have reason to say that, dearest maiden," continued the Burgher, bowing suavely to the old woman. "They subscribed, ah! more than a million thalers for this purpose in London." "And I suppose the war will now cease?" said Madame Dort. "Most certainly, worthy lady," replied Burgher Jans. "The armistice is to last for three weeks to enable the French to have an election of members to an assembly which will decide whether the contest shall go on any further; but there is no doubt, as their armies have all been defeated and their resources exhausted, that hostilities will not be again resumed. All parties are sick of fighting by this time!" "So I should think," exclaimed Lorischen warmly. "It has been a bloody, murdering work, that of the last six months!" "Yes, but good for Germany," put in the little man in his bland way. "Humph! much good, with widows left without their husbands and children fatherless, and the stalwart sons that should have been the help of their mothers made food for French powder and the chassepot! Besides, I don't think the German states, Meinherr," added the old nurse more politely than she usually addressed the Burgher, "will get much of the plunder. Mark my words if Prussia does not take the lion's share!" "You have reason, dearest maiden," answered the other, agreeing with his old opponent for once. "I've no doubt that, like the poor Bavarians who had to do the heaviest part of the fighting, we shall get only the kicks and Prussia the halfpence!" "That's more than likely," said Lorischen, much pleased at the similarity of their sentiments; "and I suppose we can expect Herr Fritz home soon now, eh?" "Probably as soon as peace is regularly established; for then, our troops will commence to evacuate France and march back to the Rhine," replied Burgher Jans,--"that Rhine whose banks they have so valiantly defended." "Ah, we'd better begin at once to prepare to receive our soldier lad," said the old nurse with much cheerfulness, as if she wished to set to without a moment's delay at making things ready for Fritz; seeing which, Burgher Jans took his departure, the widow and Lorischen both expressing their thanks for the good news he had brought, and the old nurse actually escorting him to the door in a most unusual fit of civility! The definite treaty of peace between France and Germany was completed on the 28th February, 1871, when it was ratified by the constituent assembly sitting at Bordeaux, the conquered country surrendering two of her richest provinces, Alsace and Lorraine, together with the fortresses of Metz and Belfort--the strongest on the frontier--besides paying an indemnity of no less a sum than five milliards of francs, some two hundred millions of pounds in English money, to the victors! It was a terrible price to pay for the war; for, in addition to these sacrifices must be reckoned:-- 2,400 captured field guns; 120 eagles, flags, and standards; 4,000 fortress guns; and 11,669 officers and 363,326 men taken prisoners in battle and interned in Germany--not counting 170,000 men of the garrison of Paris who must be held to have surrendered to their conquerors, although these were not led away captive like the others, who were kept in durance until the first moiety of their ransom was paid! But, Prince Bismark over-reached himself in grinding down the country as he did. He thought, that, by fixing such an enormous sum for the indemnity, France would be under the heel of Germany for years to come, as the Prussian troops were not to leave until the money was paid. Instead of which, by a general and stupendous movement of her population, inflamed by a praiseworthy spirit of patriotism, the five milliards were paid within a year and the French soil clear of the invader--this being the most wonderful thing connected with the war, some persons think! Meanwhile, Madame Dort's anxiety to behold her son again at home and his earnest wish to the same effect had to await gratification. The news of the armistice before Paris reached Lubeck on the 30th January; but it was not until March that the German troops began to evacuate their positions in front of the capital of France, and nearly the end of the month before the last battalion turned its face homeward. Before that wished-for end was reached, Fritz was terribly heart-sick about Madaleine. After a long silence, enduring for over a month, during which his mind was torn by conflicting doubts and fears, he had received a short, hurried note from her, telling him that she had been ill and was worried by domestic circumstances. She did not know what would become of her, she wrote, adding that he had better cease to think of her, although she would always pray for his welfare. That was all; but it wasn't a very agreeable collapse to the nice little enchanted "castle in Spain" he had been diligently building up ever since his meeting with Madaleine at Mezieres:-- it was a sad downfall to the hopes he had of meeting her again! Of course, he wrote to his mother, telling her of his misery; but she could not console him much, save by exhorting him to live in hope, for that all would come well in good time. "Old people can't feel like young ones," thought Fritz. "She doesn't know what I suffer in my heart." And so time rolled on slowly enough for mother and son; he, counting the days--sadly now, for his return was robbed of one of its chief expectations; she, gladly, watching to clasp her firstborn in her arms once more. Ample amends she thought this would be to her for all the anxiety she had suffered since Fritz had left home the previous summer, especially after her agonised fear of losing him! Towards the close of March, the Hanoverian regiments returned to their depot, Fritz being forwarded on to Lubeck. As no one knew the precise day or hour when the train bearing him home might be expected to arrive, of course there was no one specially waiting at the railway station to welcome him back. Only the ordinary curiosity-mongers amongst the townspeople were there; but these were always on the watch for new-comers. They raised a sort of cheer when he and his comrades belonging to the neighbourhood alighted from the railway carriages; but, although the cheering was hearty, and Fritz and the others joined in the popular Volkslieder that the townspeople started, the young sub-lieutenant missed his mother's dear face and Lorischen's friendly, wrinkled old countenance, both of whom, somehow or other without any reason to warrant the assumption, he had thought would have been there. It was in a melancholy manner, therefore, that he took his way towards the Gulden Strasse and the little house he had not seen for so long-- could it only have been barely nine months ago? How small everything looked now, after his travels and experiences of the busy towns and handsome cities of France which he had but so lately passed through! All here seemed quiet, quaint, diminutive, old- fashioned, like the resemblance to some antique picture, or the dream city of a dream! Presently, he is in the old familiar street of his youth. It seemed so long and wide then; now, he can traverse its length in two strides, and it is so narrow that the buildings on either side almost meet in the middle. But, the home-coming charm is on him; love draws him forward quickly like a magnet! He sees his mother's house at the end of the street. He is up the outside stairway with an agile bound. With full heart, he bursts open the door, and, in a second, is within the parlour. He hears his mother's cry of joy. "My son, my son!" and she throws herself on his neck, as he clasps her in a fond embrace, recollecting that once he never expected to have lived to see her again. And Lorischen, too, she comes forward with a handshake and a hug for the boy she has nursed on her knee many a time in the years agone. But, who is this besides? "What! Madaleine?" exclaims Fritz. "Yes, it is I," she replies demurely, a merry smile dancing on her face, and a glad light in the bright blue eyes. This was the surprise Madame Dort had prepared for Fritz--a pleasant one, wasn't it, with which to welcome him home? CHAPTER TWELVE. FAMILY COUNCILS. "I have to thank you, dear mother, for this!" said Fritz, with an affectionate smile, to Madame Dort. "How did you contrive such a pleasant surprise?" "You told me of your trouble, my son," she replied; "so I did my best to help you under the circumstances." "And you, little traitress," exclaimed he, turning to Madaleine. "How could you keep me in suspense all those weary weeks that have elapsed since the year began?" "I did not think you cared so much," said she defiantly. "Cared!" he repeated. "Well, it was not my fault," she explained. "When I wrote to you last, I really never thought I should see you again." "You don't know me yet," said Fritz. "I should have hunted you out to the world's end! I had determined, as soon as I had seen mother, to go off to Darmstadt and find out what had become of you." "And a nice wild-goose chase you would have had," answered Madaleine, tossing her head, and shaking the silky masses of golden hair, now unconfined by any jealous coiffe, with her blue eyes laughing fun. "You wouldn't have found me there! The baroness--" "Hang her!" interrupted Fritz angrily; "I should like to settle her!" "Ah, I wouldn't mind your doing that now," continued the girl naively; "she treated me very unkindly at the end." "The brute!" said Fritz indignantly. "Her son--the young baron, you know--came home from the war in January. He was invalided, but I don't think there was anything the matter with him at all; for, no sooner had he got back to the castle than he began worrying me, paying all sorts of attention and pestering me with his presence." "Puppy!" exclaimed Fritz; "I would have paid him some delicate little attentions if I'd been there!" "Oh, I knew how to treat him," said Madaleine. "I soon made him keep his distance! But it is the Baroness Stolzenkop that I complain of; she actually taxed me with encouraging him!" "Indeed?" interrogated Fritz. "Yes; and, when I told her I wouldn't choose her fop of a son if there wasn't another man in Germany, why she accused me of impertinence, telling me that the fact of my having attracted the young baron was an honour which an humble girl in my position should have been proud of-- she did, really!" "The old cat!" said Fritz indignantly; "I should like to wring her neck for her." "Hush, my son," interposed Madame Dort. "Pray don't make use of such violent expressions. The baroness, you know, is exalted in rank, and--" "Then all the greater shame for her to act so dishonourably," he interrupted hotly. "She ought to be--I can find no words to tell what I would do to her, there!" "Besides, Master Fritz," said old Lorischen, "I won't have you speak so disrespectfully of cats, the noblest animals on earth! Look at Mouser there, looking his indignation at you; can't you see how he feels the reproach of your comparing him to that horrid baroness?" This remark at once diverted the conversation, all turning in the direction the old nurse pointed, where a little comedy was being enacted. Mouser--with his tail erected like a stiff bottle-brush, and every individual hair galvanised into a perpendicular position on his back, which was curved into the position of a bent bow with rage and excitement, his whiskers bristling out from each side of his head and his mouth uttering the most horrible anathemas the cat language is capable of--was perched on the back of Madame Dort's arm-chair in the corner; while poor Gelert, the innocent cause of all this display of emotion on Mouser's part, was calmly surveying him and sniffing interrogatory inquiries as to whom he had the pleasure of speaking. The dog had not yet been formally introduced to his new cat friend, and from the commanding position he had taken up, with his hind legs on the hearthrug and his fore paws on the seat of the easy chair, he had considerable advantage over pussy, should that sagacious creature think of fleeing to another vantage-ground; although the thought of this, it should be added, never crossed for an instant the mind of old Mouser; he knew well when he was safe. Fritz burst out laughing. "Lie down, Gelert!" he cried; and the retriever at once obeyed. "Is that the dear dog?" inquired Madame Dort, stooping to pat him. "Yes," said Fritz, "this is Gelert, the brave, faithful fellow but for whom I would have bled to death on the battlefield and never have been saved by Madaleine!" "Thanks be to God!" exclaimed the widow piously. "What a nice dog he is!" "He is all that," replied Fritz; "still, he must be taught not to molest Master Mouser. Here, Gelert!" The dog at once sprang up again from his recumbent position on the hearthrug; while Mouser, his excessive spiny and porcupinish appearance having become somewhat toned down, was now watchfully observing this new variety of the dog species, which his natural instinct taught him to regard with antagonism and yet who was so utterly different from Burgher Jans' terrier, the only specimen of the canine race with whom he had been previously acquainted. "See," said Fritz to the retriever, laying one hand on his head and stroking the cat with the other, "you mustn't touch poor Mouser. Good dog!" The animal gave a sniff of intelligence, seeming to know at once what was expected of him; and, never, from that moment, did he ever exhibit the slightest approach of hostility to pussy--no, not even when Mouser, as he did sometimes from curiosity, would approach him at the very delicate juncture when he was engaged on a bone, which few dogs can stand--the two ever after remaining on the friendliest of friendly terms; so friendly, indeed, that Mouser would frequently curl himself to sleep between Gelert's paws on the hearthrug. This little diversion had drawn away the conversation from Madaleine's treatment by the old Baroness Stolzenkop; but, presently, Madame Dort proceeded to explain to Fritz that, on account of his telling her in one of his letters home how anxious he was in the matter, and knowing besides how much she was indebted to Madaleine for saving his life by her kindly nursing when he was in the villa hospital at Mezieres, she had written to her at Darmstadt, asking her to pay her a visit and so light up a lonely house with her presence until her son should have returned from the war. "And a veritable house fairy she has been," concluded the widow, speaking from her heart, with tears in her eyes. "She has been like sunshine to me in the winter of my desolation." "And Mouser likes her, too," said Lorischen, as if that settled the matter. "She's the best manager in the world," next put in Madame Dort. "She has saved me a world of trouble since she's been in the house." "And she cooks better than any one else in Lubeck!" exclaimed the old nurse, not to be beat in enumerating all the good qualities of Fritz's guardian angel, who had taken her heart, as well as the widow's, by storm. Meanwhile, the subject of all these remarks stood in the centre of the room, blushing at the compliments paid her on all sides. "Dear me, good people, I shall have to run away if you go on like that," she cried at last. "I have been so happy here," she added, turning to Fritz. "It's the first time I've known what home was since my mother died." "Poor child," said Madame Dort, opening her arms. "Come here, I'll be your mother now." "Ah, that's just what I've longed for!" exclaimed Fritz rapturously. "Madaleine, will you be her daughter in reality?" The girl did not reply in words, but she gave him one look, and then hid her face in the widow's bosom. "Poor Eric," said the widow presently, resigning Madaleine to the care of Fritz, who was nothing loth to take charge of her--the two retreating to a corner and sitting down side by side, having much apparently to say to each other, if such might be surmised from their bent heads and whispered conversation. "If he were but here, my happiness would now be almost complete!" "Yes," chimed in Lorischen as she bustled out of the room, Madame Dort following her quietly, so as to leave the lovers to themselves--"the dear flaxen-haired sailor laddie, with his merry ways and laughing eyes. I think I can see him now before me! Ah, it is just nineteen months to the day since he sailed away on that ill-fated voyage, you remember, mistress?" But, she need not have asked the question. Madame Dort had counted every day since that bright autumn morning when she saw her darling for the last time at the railway station. It was not likely that she would forget how long he had been absent! Later on, when the excitement of coming home to his mother and meeting with Madaleine had calmed down, Fritz, having ceased to be a soldier, his services not being any longer required with the Landwehr, turned his attention to civil employment; for, now, with the prospect of marrying before him, it was more urgent than ever that he should have something to do in order to occupy his proper position as bread-winner of the family, the widow's means being limited and it being as much as she could do to support herself and Lorischen out of her savings, without having to take again to teaching--which avocation, indeed, her health of late years had rendered her unable to continue, had she been desirous of resuming it again. Madaleine, of course, could have gone out as a governess, Madame Dort being, probably, easily able to procure her a situation in the family of one of her former pupils; or she might have resumed the position of a hospital nurse, for which she had been trained at Darmstadt, having been taken on as an assistant in the convalescent home established in that town by the late Princess Alice of Hesse, when the Baroness Stolzenkop turned her adrift. But Fritz would not hear of Madaleine's leaving his mother. "No," said he decisively to her, "your place is here with mutterchen, who regards you as a daughter--don't you, mother?" "Yes, indeed," answered the widow readily enough--"so long as I'm spared." "There, you see, you've no option," continued Fritz triumphantly. "Mother would not be able to do without you now. Besides, it is not necessary. I will be able to earn bread enough for all. Look at these broad shoulders and strong arms, hey! What were they made for else, I'd like to know?" Still, Fritz did not find it so easy to get employment as he thought. Herr Grosschnapper had kept the clerkship he had formerly filled in his counting-house open for him some time after the commencement of the war; but, finding that Fritz would be away much longer than he had expected, he had been forced to employ a substitute in his place. This young man had proved himself so diligent and active in mastering all the details of the business in a short time, that the worthy shipowner did not wish to discharge him now when his original clerk returned, and Fritz himself would have been loth to press the matter; although, he had looked upon his re-engagement in the merchant's office as a certainty when he came back to Lubeck. Fritz had thought, with that self-confidence which most of us possess, that no one could possibly have kept Herr Grosschnapper's books or calculated insurances with such ability as he could, and that the worthy merchant would have been only too delighted to welcome so able a clerk when he walked into the counting-house again. He had not lived long enough to know that as good, or better, a man can always be found to fill the place of even the best; and that, much as we may estimate our own value, a proportionate equivalent can soon be supplied from other sources! So, much to Fritz's chagrin, on going down to the merchant's place of business on the quay, all eagerness to resume work again on the old footing, he found that he was not wanted: he would have to apply elsewhere for employment. "Oh, that will not be a hard matter," he thought to himself. "Softly, my friend," whispered fickle Dame Fortune in his ear, "not quite so fast! Things don't always turn out just as you wish, young sir, with your reliant impetuosity!" Lubeck had never been at any time a bustling place, for it had no trade to speak of; and now, since the war had crippled commerce, everything was in a state of complete stagnation. Ships were laying up idle all along the banks of the great canal, although spring was advancing and the ice-chains that bound up the Baltic would soon be loosed. There were no cargoes to be had; and perforce, the carriers of the sea were useless, making a corresponding dearth of business in the houses of the shipping firms. Why, instead of engaging fresh hands at their desks, they would have need soon to discharge some of their old ones! This was the answer that met his ear at every place he applied to, and he had finally to give up all hope of finding work in his native town. It was the same elsewhere. The five milliards of ransom paid by France, brought no alleviation of the enormous taxation imposed on Germany to bear the expense of organising the great military machine employed to carry out the war. The Prussian exchequer alone reaped the benefit of this plunder of the conquered nation; as for the remaining states of the newly created empire, they were not a farthing to the good for all the long train of waggons filled with gold and silver and bales of bank-notes that streamed over the frontier when the war indemnity was paid. If possible, their position was made worse instead of better; as, from the more extravagant style of living now adopted, in lieu of the former frugal habits in vogue--on account of the soldiers of the Fatherland learning to love luxury through their becoming accustomed during the campaign to what they had never dreamt of in their lives before-- articles of food and dress became increased in price, so that it was a difficult matter for people with a small income to make both ends meet. Ah, there was wide-spread poverty and dearth of employment throughout the length and breadth of the land, albeit there might be feasting and hurrahing, and clinking of champagne glasses Unter den Linden at Berlin! However, Fritz was not the sort of fellow to grow despondent, or fail to recognise the urgency of the situation. Long before Eric had gone to sea, he had fancied that Lubeck, with its slow movements and asthmatic trade, offered little opening for the energy and ability with which he felt himself endowed; for, he might live and die a clerk there, without the chance of ever rising to anything else. He had frequently longed to go abroad and carve out a fortune in some fresh sphere; but the thought of leaving his mother alone prevented him from indulging in this day-dream, and he had determined, much against the grain, to be satisfied with the humble lot which appeared to be his appointed place in life. Now, however, circumstances had changed. His place was filled up in the old world; Providence itself forced him to seek an opening in the new. His mind was made up at once. "Little mother," said he one evening, when he had been home a month, seeing every prospect of employment shut out from him--his last hope, that of a situation in the house of a comrade's father at Coblentz, from which he had expected great things, having failed--"I've determined to emigrate to America--that is, if you do not offer any objection; for I should not like to go without your consent, although I see there's no chance for me here in Germany." "What!" exclaimed Madame Dort, so startled that she let her knitting drop. "Go to America, across the terrible sea?" Fritz had already explained matters to Madaleine, and she, brave-hearted girl that she was, concealing her own feelings at the separation between them which her lover's resolve would necessitate, did not seek to urge him against his will to abandon his project. She believed in his honesty of purpose, relying on his strong, impulsive character; and what he had decided on, she decided, too, as a good wife that was to be, would be best not only for them both but for all. "Yes, to America, mutterchen," he replied to the widow's exclamation, speaking in a tender voice of entreaty. "It is not so very far, you know, dear little mother, eh? It will be only from Bremerhaven to Southampton in England,--you recollect going there with me for a trip, don't you, the year before last?--and from Southampton to New York; and, there, I shall be in my new home in ten days' time at the outside! Why, it's nothing, a mere nothing of a voyage when you come to consider it properly." "Across the wide, wild ocean that has already robbed me of Eric, my youngest," went on poor Madame Dort, unheeding his words; "you, my firstborn--my only son now--I shall never see you more, I know!" and she gave way to a burst of tears. "Say not so, darling mother," said Madaleine, throwing her arms round her and joining in her weeping with a sympathetic heart, feeling quite as great grief at the idea of parting with her lover. "He will return for us both bye-and-bye. He is only going to make that home for us in the Far West we've read about so often lately, which he cannot hope to establish here; and then, my mother,--for you are my mother too, now, are you not?--he will come back for you and me, or we will go out and join him." "And I should like to know what will become of me, Fraulein Madaleine," interposed Lorischen indignantly. "Am I to be left behind to be bothered all my life long by that little plague, Burgher Jans?" "No, no, Lorischen," laughed Fritz; "a home across the sea in America would not be a home without you--or Mouser, either," he added. "That's all right, then," said the old nurse affably; her digression serving to break the gravity of the conversation, and make Madame Dort take a better view of the matter. "But, it's a terrible journey, though, a terrible journey--almost worse than parting with him to go to the war," said the widow sadly to herself. "Ah, but you did not have Madaleine with you then," replied Fritz, turning a look of affection to the fair girl clinging to his mother. "She will be a daughter to you, and comfort you in my absence, I know." "Aye, that I will," exclaimed Madaleine fondly, caressing her adopted parent and gazing at Fritz with the blue eyes full of love, although blinded with tears. "I shall love her dearly for your sake, my darling, as well as for her own--and my own too; and we will all look forward to meeting again happily after our present parting, with hope and trust in the good God who will protect and watch over you in return for our prayers!" "Amen to that," said Lorischen heartily. "And I tell you what it is, Master Fritz--we'll be all ready when you give the word to follow you across the sea to that wonderful America! I declare I'm quite longing to see it, for I don't think much of this Lubeck now, with such curious, meddling, impertinent people in it like that odious little fat man, Burgher Jans." These words of the old nurse put them all in a merry mood, and the family council thus terminated more cheerily than it had begun. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. Fritz was as prompt in action as he was rapid in resolve; so in a few days after he had imparted to Madaleine and his mother his intention of emigrating to America, his last good-byes were exchanged with the little household in the Gulden Strasse--not forgetting the faithful Gelert, now domiciled in the family, whom it was impossible to take with him on account of the expense and trouble his transit would have occasioned, besides which, the good doggie would be ever so much better looked after by those left behind and would serve "as a sort of pledge," Fritz told Madaleine, "of his master's return!" Yes, within a week at the outside, he had left Lubeck once more, and was on his way to that western "land of the free" which Henry Russell the ballad writer, has sung of:-- where the "mighty Missouri rolls down to the sea," and where imperial autocrats and conscription are undreamt of--although, not so very, very many years ago, it was convulsed in the throes of a civil war which could boast of as gigantic struggles between hostile forces and as terrible and bloodthirsty battles as those which had characterised that Franco-German campaign, in which Fritz had but so recently participated and been heartily sick of before it terminated! The love of colonisation seems to be the controlling spirit of modern times. Some sceptics in the truth of historical accuracy, have whispered their suspicions that, the "New World" was actually discovered at a date long anterior to the age of Columbus; but, even allowing that there might be some stray scrap of fact for this assertion, it may be taken for granted that the first nucleus of our present system of emigration, from the older continent to the "new" one, originated in the little band of thirty-nine men left behind him by Christopher in Hispaniola, at the close of his first "voyage beyond seas," in the year 1493, or thereabouts. This small settlement failed, as is well-known, and the bones of the Genoese mariner who founded it have been mouldering in dust for centuries. Sir Walter Raleigh--the gallant imitator of Columbus, treading so successfully in his footsteps as to illustrate the old adage of the pupil excelling the master, the original expounder, indeed, of the famous "Westwards Ho!" doctrine since preached so ably by latter-day enthusiasts--has also departed to that bourne from whence no traveller returns. So have, likewise, a host of others, possessing names proudly borne on the chronicle of fame as martyrs to the universal spread of discovery and spirit of progress. But, the love of enterprise, and consequent expansion of civilisation and commercial venture, inaugurated by the brave old pioneers of Queen Elizabeth's day, have not ceased to impel similar seekers after something beyond ordinary humdrum life. The path of discovery, although narrowed through research, has not yet been entirely exhausted; for "fresh fields and pastures new," as hopeful as those about which Milton rhapsodised and as plenteously flowing with typical milk and honey as the promised land of the Israelites, are being continually opened up and offered to the oppressed and pauperised populations of Europe. Thus, the tide of emigration, swelled from the tiny ocean-drop which marked its first inception more than three hundred years ago to its present torrentine proportions and bearing away frequently entire nationalities on its bosom, still flows from the east to the west, tracing the progress of civilisation from its Alpha to its Omega, as steadily as when it originally began--aye, and as it will continue to flow on, until the entire habitable globe shall be peopled as with one family by the intermixture and association of alien races! It is curious how this migratory spirit has permeated through the odd corners of the old world, leading the natives of different countries to flock like sheep to every freshly spoken of colony; and how, by such means, Englishmen, Celts, Germans, French, Hollanders, Italians, Norsemen, Africans, as well as the "Heathen Chinee," are scattered in a mixed mass over the whole face of the earth now-a-days, as widely as the descendants of Noah were dispersed from the plain of Shinar after their unsuccessful attempt at building the tower of Babel--the result being, that some of the highest types of advancement are at present to be found where, but a few years back, uncultivated savages, as rude but perhaps not quite so inquisitive as the late Bishop Colenso's apocryphal Zulu, were the sole existing evidences of latent humanity! Fritz, however, was not proceeding to any of these newly colonised countries. Like the majority of other Germans who had emigrated before him, he was aiming for "the States," where, according to the popular idea in Europe, money can be had for nothing in the shape of any expenditure of labour, time, or trouble. Really, the ne'er-do-well and shiftless seem to regard America as a sort of Tom Tiddler's ground for the idle, the lazy, and the dissolute--although, mind you, Fritz was none of these, having made up his mind to work as hard in the New World as he would have been forced to do in the Old for the fortune he could not win there, and which he had been forced to turn his back on. Bremerhaven to Southampton; Southampton to Sandy Hook, as he had told his mother; and, in ten days altogether, the ocean steamer he travelled in, one of the North German line, had landed him safely in New York. Seven years before, when he would have reached the "Empire City" during the height of the Secession War, he might have sold himself to a "bounty jumper," as the enlisting agents of the northern army were termed, for a nice little sum in "greenback" dollars; now, he found sharpers, or "confidence men," ready to "sell" him in a similar way--only, that the former rogues would have been satisfied with nothing less than his body and life, as an emigrant recruit for Grant or Sherman's force; while the present set cared but for his cash, seeking the same with ravenous maw almost as soon as he had landed at Castle Garden! Fritz had taken a steerage passage, so as to save money; and, being dressed in shabby clothes, in keeping with his third-class ticket, the loafers about the Battery, at the end of Manhattan Island, on which the town of New York is built, thought he was merely an ignorant German peasant whom they might easily impose on. They, however, soon found that he had not been campaigning six months for nothing, and so their efforts at getting him to part with the little capital he had were pretty well thrown away--especially as Fritz, in his anxiety to find some work to do at once, did not "let the grass grow under his feet," but proceeded up Broadway instead of wasting his time by lounging in the vicinity of the emigrant depot, as the majority of his countrymen generally do, apparently in the expectation that employment will come in search of them. Still, he soon discovered that New York was overstocked with just the species of labour he was able to supply. Of course, if he had been at the pitch of desperation, he might have found a job of some sort to his hand; but, writing and speaking English and French fluently in addition to his native tongue, besides being a good correspondent and book-keeper, he did not feel disposed to throw away his talents on mere manual labour. He had emigrated to "make his fortune," or, at all events, to achieve a position in which he could hope to build up a home for the dear ones left behind at Lubeck; and there would not be much chance of his accomplishing this by engaging himself out as a day labourer--to assist some skilled carpenter or bricklayer--which was the only work offered him. "No, sir; nary an opening here!" was the constant reply he met with at every merchant's office he entered from Wall Street upwards along Broadway until he came to Canal Street; when, finding the shops, or "stores" as the Americans call them, going more in the "dry goods" or haberdashery line, he wended his way back again "down town," investigating the various establishments lying between the main thoroughfare and the North and East rivers, hoping to find a situation vacant in one of the shipping houses thereabouts. But, "No, sir; all filled up, I guess," was still the stereotyped response to his applications, with much emphasis on the "sir"--the majority of the Manhattanese uttering this word, as Fritz thought, in a highly indignant tone, although, as he discovered later on, this was the general pronunciation adopted throughout the States. "I suppose," he said to one gentleman he asked, and who was, it seemed to Fritz, the master, or "boss," of the establishment, from the fact of his lounging back in a rocking chair contiguous to his desk, and balancing his feet instead of his hands on the latter,--"I suppose it's because I can give no references to former employers here, that all the men I speak to invariably decline my services?" "No, sirree; I reckon not," was the reply. "Guess we don't care a cuss where you come from. We take a man as we find him, for just what he is worth, without minding what he might have been in the old country, or bothering other folks for his ka-racter, you bet! I reckon, mister, you'd better start right away out West if you want work. Book-keepers and sich-like are played out haar; we're filled up to bustin' with 'em, I guess!" It was good advice probably; but, still, Fritz did not care to act upon it. Having been accustomed all his life to the shipping trade, he wished to find some opening in that special branch of business; and, if he went inland to Chicago or elsewhere, he thought, he would be abandoning his chances for securing the very sort of work he preferred to have. Besides, going away from the neighbourhood of ships and quays and the sea would be like cutting adrift every old association with Lubeck and Europe; while, in addition, he had directed his letters from home to be sent to the "Poste Restante, New York," and if he left that city, why he would never hear how Madaleine and his mother were getting on in his absence! So, for days and days he patrolled the town in vain; seeking for work, and finding none. The place, as his candid informer had said, was filled with clerks like himself in search of employment; and they, linguists especially, were a drug in the market--the cessation of the Franco-German War having flooded the country with foreign labour. What should he do? Before making a move, as everybody advised him, he determined to await the next mail steamer. This would bring him a letter from home, in answer to the one he had written, immediately on landing, telling of his safe arrival in the New World. He was dying to have, if only, a line from those dear ones he had left with a good-bye in the Gulden Strasse, recounting all that had happened since he had started from home--his passage across the Atlantic having lasted, according to his morbid imagination, at least as long as the war he had lately served through! At last, a letter came; and, as it really put fresh heart in him-- cheering up his drooping energies and banishing a sort of despondent feeling which had begun to prey upon him, altering him completely from his former buoyant self--he made up his mind in his old prompt fashion to visit some of the other seaports on the coast, "Down East," as Americans say, in order to try whether he might not be able there to get a billet. He had very little money left now; for, he had not brought much with him from home, originally and the greater part of what he had in his pockets when he came ashore had melted away in paying for his board and lodging while remaining in New York. Although he had put up at the cheapest boarding-house he could find, it was far dearer than the most expensive accommodation in Lubeck or even at a first-class hotel in any large town on the Continent. Living in such a city was actually like eating hard cash! Fritz saw that he would have to proceed on his journey along the coast as cheaply as possible:-- he had not much to spare for railway and steamboat fares. With this resolution staring him in the face, he made his way one afternoon to the foot of Canal Street, from the quays facing which, on the North River, start the huge floating palaces of steamers that navigate the waters of Long Island Sound--visiting on their way those New England States where, it may be recollected, the Pilgrim Fathers landed after their voyage in the _Mayflower_, of historic renown, a couple of odd centuries ago. One of these vessels had "Providence" marked on her; and the name at once arrested the attention of Fritz. "Himmel!" he said to himself, with a superstitious sort of feeling like that which he used to ridicule in old Lorischen when she read omens in Mouser's attitudes and cat language of a night--"this looks lucky; perhaps providence is going to interpose on my behalf, and relieve me from all the misery and anxiety I'm suffering! At all events, I will go on board and see where the steamer is bound for." No sooner said than done. Fritz stepped on to the gangway; and, quickly gaining the vessel, asked one of the deck hands he saw forward where she was going to. "Ha-o-ow?" repeated the man--meaning "what?" "Where are you bound for?" said Fritz again. "Providence, Rhode Island, I guess, mister. Can't ye see it writ up?" "And where's that?" further inquired Fritz. "New England way, I reckon, whar I wer raised." "Any ships or shipping trade there?" The man laughed out heartily. "Jerusalem, that's prime, anyhow!" he exclaimed. "Any ships at Providence? Why, you might as well ask if thar wer any fish in the sea! Thar are heaps and heaps on 'em up to Rhode Island, mister, from a scoop up to a whaler; so I guess we can fix you up slick if you come aboard!" "All right, I will," said Fritz; "that is, if the fare is not too high." "Guess two-fifty won't break you, hey?" responded the deck hand, meaning two-and-a-half dollars. "No," said Fritz; "I think I can manage that. What time do you start?" "Five o'clock sharp." "That will just give me time to fetch my valise," said Fritz, thinking aloud. "Where away is that?" asked the man. "Chatham Street," answered Fritz, "just below the town hall." "Oh, I know, mister, well enough whar Chatham Street is! Yes, you'll have plenty of time if you look smart." "Thank you, I will," said Fritz; and, going back to the boarding-house where he had been stopping, he soon returned to the quay with the little valise that carried all his impedimenta--reaching the steamer just in the nick of time as she was casting off. As he jumped on to her deck, the gangway was withdrawn. "All aboard?" sang out the captain from the pilot-house on the hurricane deck. "Aye, aye, all aboard," was the response from Fritz's friend the deck hand, who, with only a red flannel shirt on and a pair of check trousers--very unsailorlike in appearance altogether--stood in the bows. "Then fire away and let her rip!" came the reply from the captain above, followed by the tinkle of an electric bell in the engine-room, the steamer's paddles revolving with a splash the moment afterwards and urging her on her watery way. Round the Battery at Manhattan Point she glided, and up the East River through Hell Gate into Long Island Sound--one of the most sheltered channels in the world, and more like a lake or lagoon than an arm of the sea--leaving a broad wake of creamy green foam behind her like a mill- race, and quivering from stem to stern with every revolution of her shaft, with every throb of her high-pressure engines! CHAPTER FOURTEEN. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. The Rhode Island steamer was a splendid boat, Fritz found, when he came to look about him; for, she was a "floating palace," every inch of her, with magnificent saloons and state-cabins stretching away the entire length of the vessel fore and aft. A light hurricane deck was above all, on which the passengers could promenade up and down to their hearts' content, having comfortable cane-bottomed seats along the sides to sit down upon when tired and no gear, or rope coils, or other nautical "dunnage," to interrupt their free locomotion on this king of quarter-decks, which had, besides, an awning on top to tone down the potency of the western sun. With three tiers of decks--the lowermost, or main, containing the engine-room and stowage place for cargo, as well as the men's quarters; the lower saloon, in which were the refreshment bars, and what could only appropriately be called the "dining hall," if such a term were not an anachronism on board ship; and, thirdly, the upper saloon, containing the principal cabins and state-rooms, in addition to the graceful promenading hurricane deck surmounting the whole--the steamer had the appearance of one of those bungalow-like pretended "houses" which children build up with a pack of cards. Only that, this illusion was speedily destroyed by the huge beam of the engine, working up and down like a monster chain-pump on top of the whole structure--not to speak of the twin smoke-stacks on either side of the paddle-boxes emitting volumes of thick, stifling vapour, and the two pilot-houses, one at each extremity of the hurricane deck; for, like most American river steamers, the boat was what was called a "double-ender," built whale-boat fashion to go either backwards or forwards, a very necessary thing to avoid collision in crowded waters. Fritz could not but realise that the ingenious construction which he was gazing at was essentially a Yankee invention, resembling nothing in European waters. If he had not yet been fully convinced of this fact, the eldritch screech which the steam whistle shortly evolved, in obedience to the pressure of the captain's finger on a valve in the pilot-house forward-- whence the vessel was steered--would have at once decided his mind on the point. It was the most fearful, ear-deafening, blood-curdling sound he had ever heard in his life! Fritz thought something had happened--that the boiler was in danger of bursting, or the vessel sinking at the least--but, on making a startled inquiry of the nearest person, he was reassured by learning that the "whistle," as the frightful noise was called, was only emitted in courteous salutation to another steamer passing in the distance, bound down to New York; and soon, an answering squeal from the boat in question, mercifully tempered by the distance into a faint squeak that lent more "enchantment" to its notes than was possessed by the one which had just startled him, corroborated the truth of this statement. After enjoying the scenery from the hurricane deck for some little time, Fritz made his way below to the forward part of the main deck running into the bows, where he had noticed, while looking down from above, his friend the deck hand of the Garibaldi shirt and blue cotton check trousers--or "pants" as the man would himself probably have called these garments. He was busily engaged coiling down ropes and otherwise making himself useful, singing the while in a light-hearted way a queer sort of serio- comic and semi-sentimental ditty, the most curious composition Fritz had ever come across. He, therefore, could not help laughing when the singer arrived at the end of his lay. The man turned round at once on hearing the sound of his merriment. "Nice song, that," said Fritz, as soon as he could compose his face sufficiently to speak. "Just the sort of tender tone about it that I like!" "None o' your gas, mister," replied the other with a smile, which showed that he was not offended at Fritz's chaff. "It's only a lot o' nonsense I picked up somehow or other out West." "It is a very funny mixture," said Fritz. "It is a wonder to me who imagines these absurd things and makes them up!" "Right you air," replied the man. "A heap more curious it is than the folks who write the clever things; and the queerest bit about it is, too, that the nonsense spreads quicker and faster than the sense!" "Human nature," said Fritz laconically, expressing thus his opinion of the matter. "You're a philosopher, I reckon?" observed the deck hand in reply. "No, not quite that," answered Fritz, rather surprised at such a remark from a man of the sort. "I merely form conclusions from what I see. I'm only a clerk--and you?" "I'm a deck hand now," said the other, speaking rather bitterly. "Last fall, I was a cow boy, Minnesota way; next year, I'll be goodness knows what. Once, I was a gentleman!" "And how--" began Fritz, when the other interrupted him brusquely. "Put it all down to the cussed drink, mister, and you won't be far out," said he, laughing mockingly, so as to disguise what he really felt by the avowal; "but," he added, to turn the conversation, "you speak very good English for a German, which I ken see you are." "I was educated partly in England," said Fritz. "Ah, that accounts for it. Been long in this country?" "About six weeks," replied Fritz. "Travelling for pleasure, or looking about you?" was the next query from the deck hand, whom Fritz thought strangely inquisitive for an utter stranger. Still, the man did not mean any harm; it was only the custom of the country, as all new-comers speedily find out. "I'm looking about for work," he answered rather curtly. "I wish you would get me some." Fritz thought this would have silenced his interlocutor; but, instead of that, the deck hand proceeded with a fresh string of questions. "What can you do?" he asked amiably, his smile robbing the words of any impertinence. "You don't look like one who has roughed it much." "No?" said Fritz, somewhat amused. "You would not think, then, that I had been all through the terrible war we've had with France, eh?" "Pst!" ejaculated the other. "You don't call that a war, do you? Why, you don't know what a war is in your miserable, played-out old continent! Look at ours, lasting nearly four years, and the battle of Gettysburgh, with thirty thousand dead alone! What do you think of that, hey?" "Gravelotte had nearly as many," said Fritz quietly. "All right, mister; we won't argy the p'int now; but you haven't answered me yet as to what you ken do." "Well, then," answered Fritz, "I can speak and write three languages, keep books, and act as a good correspondent and manager." "I like that," exclaimed the other admiringly. "You speak slick and straight to the p'int, without any bunkum or blarney, like some of them that come over here. But, what line have you run on in the old country?" "The shipping business is what I know best about," replied Fritz. "Ah, that's the reason, I suppose, you asked me if thar wer any ships up to Providence, hey, mister?" "Yes," said Fritz. "I have applied to all the houses in New York in vain, and I thought I would try my chance at some other seaport town." "Didn't like going inland, then!" "No," he answered. "And so you selected Providence?" "I only did so from chance. If I had not seen the name painted on the steamer, I would not have thought of speaking to you and asking where she was going." "And if you had not spoken to me again, why, I would not have known anything about you, nor been able to put you in the way of something," replied the deck hand, more earnestly than he had yet spoken. "You can do that?" said Fritz eagerly. "Yes; but wait till we get to Providence. As soon as the old ship is moored alongside the wharf and all the luggage ashore, you come along of me, and I'll show you whar to go. I shall be my own boss then, with no skipper to order me about." The man hurried off as he said these last words, in obedience to a hail from above--telling him to go and do something or other, "and look smart about it too"--which had probably influenced his remark about being his own "boss" when he got to land; and Fritz did not see him again until the next morning, by which time the steamer had reached its destination. To Fritz's eyes, Providence was more like a European town than New York, the more especially from his being accustomed to the look of seaports on the Baltic and banks of the Elbe; for the houses were mostly built of stone, and there was much less of that wooden, flimsy look which the newly sprung up cities of America possess. This old-fashioned appearance is a characteristic of all the New England states--Rhode Island, Massachusetts, and Connecticut--for, here the original "Pilgrim Fathers" settled down and built unto themselves dwellings as nearly like those they had left behind them as it was possible with the materials to their hands, their descendants seemingly keeping up the habit of building in like manner. If this is not the case, then, most certainly, the old buildings of two centuries ago have lasted uncommonly well! Fritz waited to go ashore until his friend the deck hand should be disengaged. He had seen him soon after they reached the steamer's wharf; and, again, a second time when the crowd of passengers, with the exception of himself, brought up from New York had all disembarked--the man telling him he was just going to "clean himself down a bit," and he would then be ready to take him to a decent place to stop, where he would not be charged too exorbitantly for his board. And so Fritz waited on the steamer's deck alongside the quay, gazing with much interest at the scene around him. There were not quite so many ships as his casual acquaintance had led him to expect when he told him he would "see heaps up thaar"; but, still, the port evidently had a large import trade, for several big vessels were moored in the harbour and others were loading up at the wharves or discharging cargo, the latter being in the majority, while lots of smaller sailing craft and tiny boats were flying about, transporting goods and bales of merchandise to other places further up the river. He had hardly, however, seen half what was in view when some one tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned round. It was his friend the deck hand of the red flannel shirt and blue check cotton trousers; but, a wonderful transformation had taken place in his dress! Clad now in an irreproachable suit of black, with a broad, grey felt hat on his head, the man looked quite the gentleman he had represented himself as once being. His manners, too, seemed to have changed with his outer apparel, the off-hand boorishness of the whilom "deck hand" having vanished with his cast-off raiment. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, sir," he said to Fritz, still, however, with the strongly accentuated "sir" he had noticed in those who had spoken to him at New York, "but I've hurried up as quickly as I could. Shall we now go ashore?" "Certainly," said Fritz, "although you've not detained me, I assure you. I have had plenty to look at during the little time I've been waiting." "Ah, you've not seen half of Providence yet," replied the other, as the two stepped from the gangway that led from the deck of the steamer on to the stone quay alongside. "Why, some of the houses further up are finer than those of Broadway!" "This is your native place, I suppose?" said Fritz slyly. "Yes," answered his companion, "but I do not flatter it on that account." The two walked on, until presently the Rhode Islander stopped in front of one of the smaller hotels. This looked, despite its lesser proportions, in comparison with its larger rivals, far more respectable and aristocratic--if such terms may be permitted to anything appertaining to the land of so-called "equality" and "freedom," where, according to the poetical belief, there is no aristocracy save hat of merit and shoddy! "Let's go in here," said the deck hand. "It is a great place for the merchants and sea-captains, and I might be able to introduce you to some one I know while we're having a drink." "It's too early for that," said Fritz, feeling inclined to draw back, remembering what his companion had confessed the night before about his habits. "Ah, I see," exclaimed the other, colouring up as he took the hint, being evidently highly sensitive. "But you need not be afraid of that now. I'm always on my good behaviour whenever I come up to Providence. I'm really not going in here to drink now, I assure you; this is a house of call for business people, and I want to see some one just come home whom I know." "All right, then," said Fritz, going into the hotel without any further protest; when, following his companion through several long passages, they at length entered a large room at the back. "Jerusalem!" ejaculated the Rhode Islander almost the very instant he had crossed the threshold of this apartment. "If that aren't the identical coon right oppo-site, mister!" "Where?" asked Fritz. "There," said the other, pointing to where a rather short, broad- shouldered man was engaged in conversation with a lithe lad, whose back was turned but the colour of whose hair reminded Fritz of poor Eric. "Hullo, Cap'en Brown," sang out the whilom deck hand at this juncture; and, the broad-shouldered man looking round in the direction whence the voice proceeded, the lad also turned his face towards Fritz. Good heavens! It was his brother Eric, whom he and every one at home had believed to be buried beneath the ocean with the rest of the boat's crew that had escaped when the _Gustav Barentz_ foundered, nothing of them having been heard since! With one bound he was across the room. "Eric!" he exclaimed in astonishment. "Fritz!" ejaculated the other; and, forgetting their surroundings in the joy of thus meeting again, the two brothers fell into each other's arms, almost weeping with joy. "By thunder!" said the Rhode Islander to his friend the sea captain, both looking on with much interest at the affecting scene, "I'm glad I made him come in here anyhow, and we'll have a licker-up on the strength of it, Cap'en Brown. It seems it wer a sort of providence that made him take our boat away haar, after all!" CHAPTER FIFTEEN. THE YANKEE SKIPPER. "And how on earth did you escape?" asked Fritz, when he and Eric had somewhat recovered from their first surprise and emotion at meeting again in so unexpected a manner. "Well, it's a long story to tell, brother," replied Eric, as soon as he could speak calmly, putting his arm through that of Fritz and drawing him towards a sort of long sofa, like a divan, which stretched across one side of the wide apartment where they had so strangely encountered-- the other and opposite side of the room being occupied by the usual long hotel "bar," common in most American towns, in front of which various little detached groups of people were standing up, drinking and chatting together. "Suppose we come to an anchor here awhile, and I'll reel you off a yarn about all that has happened to me since I left Lubeck." "All right, we may as well sit down, at all events," said Fritz. "They won't charge us for that, eh?" "Oh no, I guess not," answered Eric, with that old light-hearted laugh of his, which his brother had never thought he should ever hear again. "This is a free country, they say, you know!" "Now tell me all about yourself," said Fritz, when they had ensconced themselves comfortably in the furthest corner of the divan, or settee, which they had pretty much to themselves. "I'm dying to know how you were saved!" "Right you are, my hearty," replied Eric, in sailor fashion. "Here goes for the log of my cruise in the poor old _Gustav Barentz_!" "Fire away!" said Fritz; and then, the lad thereupon began his story. The ship, Eric declared, was found to be terribly leaky almost as soon as they had started on the voyage, and this necessitated their having to put into Plymouth for repairs, which detained them a considerable time. Indeed, it was as much as they could do to patch her up at all; for, her timbers were so rotten and the vessel had been strained so much from overloading that she was really unfit to be sent to sea. However, as Fritz already knew, the _Gustav Barentz_ managed to clear out of the Channel, reaching the latitude of the Cape de Verde Islands all right, and it was shortly after passing Teneriffe that Eric had been enabled to forward that letter of his which had so gladdened his mother's heart, to Lubeck by a homeward-bound ship. After that, however, all went wrong with the ill-fated vessel. She had knocked about in the doldrums for weeks; and, after making a long leg over to the South American coast, had succeeded at last in getting round the Cape of Good Hope safely-- although taking a terrible time over it, and dragging out a most tedious passage from Plymouth--when she met a south-east gale, just as she had entered the Indian Ocean and was shaping a course towards the Straits of Sunda, so as to fetch Java. Leaky and strained and overladen as the ship was, she was in no condition to fight the elements on fair terms; so the result of it was, that, after being buffetted by the gale for some four days and then, finally, pooped by a heavy following sea as she tried to run before the wind, it was discovered that she was making water too fast for the pumps to be of any avail. Consequently, as nothing further could be done, it was determined to abandon her. Accordingly, the jolly-boat and pinnace were provisioned and launched over the side, the crew being divided between the two, under the direction of the captain and chief officer; and they had hardly time to get into these frail craft, to encounter once again on worse terms the perils of the ocean that had already proved too strong for their vessel, and push off from her side, when they saw the old _Gustav Barentz_ go down before their eyes--foundering almost without a moment's warning. "It was terrible for you all to be left tossing about on the raging sea in a couple of open boats!" said Fritz sympathisingly, pressing his brother's arm,--"worse than being in a leaky ship, I should think." "Yes," answered Eric; "but we kept up our courage well, the captain sustaining us with brave words, saying that, as we were not many miles south of Cape Arguilhas and had the wind blowing right on to the land, we must soon reach shore. But, I don't know, I'm sure, how he came to place the ship where he did; for, according to my reckoning, we were several degrees, at the least, to the eastward of the Cape. However, I suppose he said what he did to prevent our giving way to despair, which, perhaps, we might otherwise have done, eh?" "Most probably," said Fritz, agreeing with his brother. "It would be very unlikely for the captain to make so great an error in his calculations as that. He was esteemed a good navigator, you know, by Herr Grosschnapper." "Well, anyway," continued Eric, without waiting to argue this point with his brother, "we did not reach land that day, which some of the men expected from his words; nor did we the next morning, although, then much to our sorrow, we could see the pinnace no longer near us, she having parted company in the night time and gone to the bottom, as we thought." "You were wrong," interrupted Fritz; "the boat was picked up by an Australian ship, the survivors being taken on to Melbourne. It was through these that we heard later on of the loss of the _Gustav Barentz_; and naturally, as you had not been rescued at the same time, we all gave you and the captain's party up." "Oh, indeed!" said Eric. "I'm right glad to hear that! Why, we thought that they were the lost ones, not us, lamenting them much accordingly! That Groots, the first mate, was a capital chap, as fine an officer as ever stepped aboard a ship; so I'm pleased to know he's safe. But, to go on with my yarn, there we found ourselves alone in the morning on the wild waste of waters, dancing about in an angry sea that threatened every moment to overwhelm us, and with the gale increasing instead of having blown itself out, as we hoped. We didn't feel very comfortable, I can tell you, Fritz." "I should think not," responded his brother. "No; for it was as much as we could do to prevent the boat from filling every moment, the waves were breaking over her so continually. It only escaped sinking by constantly baling her out with our boots and keeping her head to the wind with a floating anchor, which we rigged together out of all the spare oars and spars we had aboard, veering the little craft to leeward of this by the painter. All that day, too, the gale kept up; and the sea, you may be sure, did not calm down, rolling mountains high, as it seemed to us just down to its level in the jolly- boat! So it was the next night, there not being the slightest lull, we having to ride it out all the while; but, on the third morning, the gale moderated sufficiently for us to be able to scud before it in the direction of the Cape. It was lucky for us that the wind, by the way, did not shift once while we were lying-to, blowing steadily from the same quarter it began in, from the south-east. If it had changed at all, especially during the night at any time, it would have been all up with us!" "Yes?" said Fritz interrogatively. "Why, of course it would, for it was as dark as pitch, so that you could not see your hand before your face; and if the wind had chopped round, bringing us athwart the heavy rolling sea that was running, we should have been swamped in a moment, without the chance of saving ourselves by turning the boat's head so as to meet the waves; do you see now?" "I see," said Fritz, with a shudder. "It was bad enough to confront your peril in daylight, but it would have been awful to have been engulfed in the darkness!" "That was what was in our minds," proceeded Eric; "at least, I can answer for my own thoughts. However, on the morning of the third day, as I've told you, the wind slackening down somewhat, although still blowing steadily from the south-east, we hauled up to our floating anchor, which we quickly proceeded to take to pieces, hauling on board again the oars and old boat-stretchers that had composed it, and which had served the purpose of fending off somewhat the rollers, these breaking over the spars, under whose lee we had comparatively still water. We then, with a great deal of difficulty, as it was a dangerous operation on account of getting broadside on to the waves, managed to slew the jolly-boat's head round; when, rigging up a scrap of a sprit- sail amidships, so as not to bury the little craft's nose, which might have been the case if we had tried to step our proper mast more forward, with the captain steering with an oar out to windward to give him greater command of her than the rudder would have done, we scudded away towards the African coast, giving up the pinnace as lost, and looking out only for ourselves." "You had plenty to do," said Fritz, "without thinking of any one else." "Yes," replied Eric; "but still, we could not forget them so easily as all that. Shore folk think sailors are heartless, and that when a poor chap is lost overboard, they only say that `So-and-so has lost the number of his mess!' and, after having an auction over his kit in the fo'c's'le, then dismiss him from their memory! But, I assure you, this is not always the case. You see, a ship is a sort of little world, and those on board are so closely bound together--getting to know each other so thoroughly from not having any others to associate with--that when one is taken away from amongst them, particularly by a violent death, his absence, cannot but be felt. A sailor often misses even a messmate whom he may dislike. How much the more, therefore, did we feel the loss of the whole boat's crew of the pinnace, every man of whom was almost as much a brother to me as you!" "I beg your pardon if I spoke thoughtlessly," said Fritz; "but I should have imagined that being in such imminent danger, you would not have had much time to mourn your lost comrades." "Nor did we," continued Eric, "so long as we had something to do, either in helping to bale the boat out or keeping her head to wind; but, when we began to run before the gale, the men stretched out in the bottom and along the stern-sheets, doing nothing,--for there was nothing for us to do,--we began to think of the poor fellows. This was only for a short time, however, as presently we had a more serious consideration on our minds than even the fate of the others. During all the strain on us, when we were in such danger, none of us had thought of eating or drinking; and, consequently, we had not examined the provisions--put hastily on board as we were leaving the sinking ship. But, now, feeling almost famished, on proceeding to overhaul the lockers, we found to our dismay that the sea water had spoilt everything, our biscuit being paste and the other food rendered unfit for use." "What a calamity!" exclaimed Fritz. "Yes," said Eric, "it was. Fortunately, we had some water, although our two barricoes did not contain an over-abundant supply for seven men as there were of us in the jolly-boat all told, including me. The captain, too, had stowed away a bottle of rum in the pocket of his pea jacket; and this being served out all round in a little tin pannikin we had, diluted to the strength of about four-water grog, it strengthened us all up a bit, bracing up our energies for what lay before us." "What did you do?" asked Fritz. "Why, what could we do, save let the boat go where the wind chose to take us, and trust in providence!" said Eric, seemingly surprised at the question. "Ah, we had an awful time of it," he resumed presently. "When you come to being five days in an open boat, with nothing to eat and only a small quantity of water to assuage your burning thirst with at stated intervals, exposed all the time, too, to rough seas breaking over you-- encrusting your hair and skin and everything with salt that blistered you when the sun came out afterwards, as it did, roasting us almost as soon as the gale lessened--why it was a painful ordeal, that's all! The rum did not last out long; and soon after the final drop of this was served out, the captain succumbed to weakness, having been dying by inches, and the stimulant only sustaining him so long. We kept him a couple of days, and then flung the body overboard, along with those of two other men who had died in the meantime from exposure and want of food; thus, only three others were now left in the jolly-boat besides me." "And then?" interrupted Fritz anxiously. "I don't know what happened afterwards," said Eric. "I got delirious, I suppose, for I remember fancying myself at home again in Lubeck, with Lorischen bending over me and offering me all sorts of nice things to eat! Really, I do not recollect anything further as to what occurred in the boat." "How were you saved, then?" asked Fritz. "It was that good Captain Brown there, talking to the gentleman whom you came in here with," replied Eric, pointing out the broad-shouldered, jolly-looking, seafaring man whom Fritz's friend, the deck hand of the steamer, had accosted and was now conversing with, close to where the two brothers were seated on the divan. "Oh, he rescued you!" said Fritz, looking at the seafaring man with some interest. "I should like to thank him." "Yes; he's a good fellow," Eric went on. "The first thing I saw when in my right senses again, I think, after we had heaved the bodies of our dead shipmates overboard the boat, was Captain Brown bending over me. I must have confused his face with that of Lorischen, whom I had been dreaming of, for I thought it was hers, and called the captain by her name." "You did?" "Yes; I remember his laughing and saying, `poor little chap,' meaning me. He took care of me well, though; and it was only through his kind care that they were able to bring me round again. They told me afterwards that I was in a most pitiable state of emaciation--a skeleton, they said, with only fragments of burnt, blistered skin covering my poor bones!" "And the others," inquired Fritz,--"did they recover too?" "No; not one of the three was alive when Captain Brown's ship came across our boat. I was the only one who had any life remaining. They thought me a corpse, too, and would have left me to die with the rest, if it hadn't been for the captain, who declared there was breath still in my apparently dead body, and kindly had me hoisted on board and attended to." "But how was it you never wrote home?" said Fritz after a bit, the recollection of what he had gone through overcoming Eric and making him silent for a moment. "How could I, when the first land I touched, since I was picked up in the ocean south of the Cape, was when I stepped ashore here last week!" "I can't make that out," said Fritz, puzzled at this. "Why," replied the other, "you must know that Captain Brown's ship, the _Pilot's Bride_, is a whaling vessel; and she was on her usual cruise for her fishing ground in the Southern Ocean, when I was rescued. If there had been a boatload of us, or had our skipper been alive, perhaps Captain Brown would have put in to the Cape to land us and so give news of the loss of our ship; but, as there was only me, a boy, and I was for days insensible and unable to give him any particulars about the vessel I belonged to, of course he continued his voyage. When I came to myself, he promised to put me on board the first home-going ship we met; but, as we were far out of the track of these, we never came across a sail. We did land at Tristan d'Acunha, about which I'll have to tell you something bye-and-bye as to a plan I've got in my head, however, as no vessel with the exception of ourselves had been there for six months, there was not much use in my leaving a letter to be forwarded home, on the chance of its being called for, was there?" "No," said Fritz, laughing. "A bad sort of post office that!" "So," continued Eric, "I had to wait till I landed here last Friday, when I wrote at once to dear mother and you, whom I thought would of course still be at Lubeck." "Ah, you don't know all that has happened since you left," said Fritz solemnly. "Nothing is the matter with mother, dear mutterchen?" asked Eric in a frightened voice. "No; she's quite well, thank God," said Fritz, who then proceeded to give his brother a history of all that had transpired in his absence-- the account taking all the longer from Eric's ignorance of the war and everything connected with it, he not having seen a newspaper from the time of his leaving home until his arrival at Rhode Island, when, the events of the past memorable year being of course stale news, they had no chance of being communicated to him. "And now," said Fritz, when he had made an end of his confidences in return for his brother's story, "I want to know Captain Brown, and thank him for all his kindness to you, Eric." As Fritz said this, the broad-shouldered, jolly, seafaring man Eric had pointed out--who was still talking to Fritz's acquaintance of the steamboat, close to the divan and within sound of the brothers' voices-- hearing his name spoken, looked towards Fritz, who at once raised his hat politely. "Sarvint, sir," said he, coming forward and stretching out an open hand about the size of a small-sized ham. "You're the brother, I reckon from the likeness, of this young shaver I picked up off the Cape, hey? My name's Brown, Cap'en Brown, sir, of the _Pilot's Bride_, the smartest whaling craft as ever sailed out o' Providence, I guess. Glad to know you, mister!" CHAPTER SIXTEEN. AN INVITATION. "Yes, I'm Eric's brother," said Fritz, grasping the huge paw of the other, and shaking hands cordially,--"Fritz Dort, at your service. I'm only too glad to have the pleasure of personally thanking you, on my own and my mother's behalf, for your bravery in saving my poor brother here from a watery grave, as well as for all your kindness to him afterwards! He has told me about you, captain, and how you rescued him at sea, besides treating him so very handsomely afterwards." "Avast there!" roared out the Yankee skipper in a voice which was as loud as if he were hailing the maintop from his own quarter-deck, albeit it had a genial, cheery tone and there was a good-natured expression on his jolly, weather-beaten face. "Stow all thet fine lingo, my hearty! I only did for the b'y, mister, no more'n any other sailor would hev done fur a shepmate in distress; though, I reckon I wer powerful glad I overhauled thet there jolly-boat in time to save him, afore starvation an' the sun hed done their work on him. I opine another day's exposure would hev settled the b'y's hash; yes, sir, I du!" "I've no doubt of that," said Fritz kindly. "From what he says, you must have picked him up just in the nick of time." "Yes, sirree, you bet on thet," responded the skipper. "Six hours more driftin' about in thet boat, with the sun a-broilin' his brain-box an' his wits wool-gatherin' in delirimums, would ha' flummuxed him to a haar, I guess. He wer so mad when we got him aboard thet he took me fur his gran'mother, Lorry sunthin' or other--I'm durned if I ken kinder rec'lect the name!" "So he tells me," said Fritz, laughing at the idea of old Lorischen being mistaken for the broad-shouldered, red-faced, whaling captain. The old nurse, who was very particular about her personal appearance, would have had a fit at the bare supposition, much less at such an allusion to her age as would have supposed her ancient enough to be Eric's grandmother! "Never mind, mister," continued the skipper, giving Eric a hearty slap on the back, which made the lad wince although he smiled at what the worthy sailor intended for a little friendly attention. "He's all right now, the b'y is--ain't you, my bully, hey?" "Yes; all right, captain, all right, sir, thanks to you," replied Eric. "Thet's your sort," said the skipper exultantly. "We've coddled him up an' made a man of him ag'in, we hev, sirree. Jerusalem, mister, you wouldn't know him ag'in for the skillagalee young shaver we h'isted aboard! An', what is more, mister, look here, we've made a sailor of the b'y since he's been along of us in the _Pilot's Bride_--none of your lazy, good-for-nothin' idlers; but, a reg'ler downeaster cat block, clear grit an' no mistake, a sailor every inch of him, yes, sir!" "I should have thought he had seen enough of the sea, eh?" said Fritz, turning to Eric with a smile. "Thunder, mister!" exclaimed the Yankee skipper indignantly. "What d'ye mean with your `'nough of the sea,' when he's only jest cut his eye- teeth an' taken to larnin'? Why, mister, it would be a sin to let thet b'y turn his hand to anythin' else, fur he's a born sailor to the very backbone!" "What say you, Eric?" said Fritz to his brother. "Oh, I'm with the captain," replied he. "I always loved the sea, and the wreck of the old _Gustav Barentz_ has not altered my thinking about it just the same. I don't believe I could ever settle down to a shore life now! I have learnt a lot of seamanship, too, with Captain Brown; and he says, that if I will go with him on his next whaling voyage, he'll make me third mate of the _Pilot's Bride_." "Jest so, my young cock shaver," said that gentleman; "an' what old Job Brown sez, why I guess he'll stick to! You rec'lect what I told you 'bout wages, hey? We whalin' men don't gen'rally give a fixed sum, as we go shares in the vally o' the venture; but, if yer brother haar likes it better, I'll give you twenty dollars a month, besides yer keep an' mess money, thaar!" "I'm sure, Captain Brown, that is a very generous offer," replied Fritz, acting as spokesman for his brother; "still, I hardly think my poor mother would like his being away for so long a time as your voyage would last." "We'll be away, I reckon, fur a twelvemonth, countin' from next month, when we'll start--thet is if my shep's ready for the v'y'ge, as I kinder guess she'll be, with me to look arter her an' see the longshore men don't lose time over the job," interrupted the skipper. "Say now, she sails latter end o' July, so as to git down to the Forties afore October, or tharabouts; waall, I guess we'll cast anchor in Narraganset Bay ag'in 'fore next fall--will that du for you, mister, hey?" "You see," explained Fritz, "my poor mother thinks him dead; and, of course, after she gets the letter he tells me he has just sent home, it will be as bad as a second death to her to know that he has now started on another voyage without returning to see her first! Besides that, I've read and heard that whaling life is terribly dangerous--isn't it?" "Not a bit of it," said the skipper bluntly, in sea-dog fashion. "I reckon it's nary half so dangerous as sailin' back'ards an' for'ards across the herrin' pond 'twixt Noo Yark an' your old Eu-rope in one o' them ocean steamers, thet are thought so safe, whar you run the risk o' bustin' yer biler an' gettin' blown up, or else smashin' yer screw-shaft an' goin' down to Davy Jones' locker! Why, thaar ain't a quarter the per'l 'bout it, much less half, as I sed jest naow! You jest ax my friend haar, whom you seem to hev known afore. Say, Nat, what d'ye think o' whalin' life?" "Safe as the National Bank, I guess, Job," promptly responded the individual addressed, Fritz's acquaintance the "deck hand," whose full name he now learnt was Nathaniel Washington Slater--usually addressed as "Nathaniel W Slater," or called familiarly "Nat" by his friends! "Thaar!" exclaimed the skipper, "what more d'ye want than thet, hey? You see, mister, the _Pilot's Bride_ don't do whalin' up in Baffin's Bay an' further north, whar I'll allow the fishin' is a bit risky. We only makes reg'ler trips once a year to the Southern Ocean, callin' in on our way at Saint Helena an' the Cape o' Good Hope. Thaar, I guess, we meets a fleet of schooners thet do all the fishin' fur us 'mongst the islands. We fetch 'em out grub, an' sich-like notions, an' take in return all the ile an' skins they've got to bring home. In course, sometimes, we strike a fish on our own 'count; but, we don't make a trade of it, 'cept the black fins comes under our noses, so to speak! The b'y'll run no risk, you bet, if you're skeart about him." "No, not a bit, mister," corroborated Nat; "and it's a downright capital openin' for him, I guess, too. Why, there are scores of people would give something handsome as a premium to get the cap'en to take their sons along o' him!" "Thet's a fact," said the skipper; "though I reckon I don't kinder like to be bothered with b'ys--'specially sich as are mother's darlin's. They're gen'rally powerful sassy, or else white-livered do-nuthins! I've taken a fancy to this lad, howbeit; an' thet's the reason I wants fur to hev him with me." "Besides, Fritz," put in Eric, who had refrained from speaking as yet throughout the conversation, although so interested in it, "you must recollect what a sum mother paid for my outfit? Well, I have lost every stitch of it, and shall not get the slightest return from the owners for what went down in the _Gustav Barentz_--merchant sailors have to run the risk of all such casualties, you know! Now, I should not like to go back on mother's hands again, like a bad penny, with nothing to bless myself with; but, here's a capital chance for me. As Captain Brown says, I shall return in a year, and then my wages would be something handsome to take home to mutterchen, even if I then gave up the sea." "Did you tell mother of this in your letter?" asked Fritz. "Certainly; for, of course, I did not expect to see you here. I told her that I had almost pledged my word with Captain Brown to go with him, even if it were only to pay him for what he had already done for me, in advancing me money to buy clothes and other necessaries, for I hadn't a rag on when he rescued me, as well as promising to keep me here till the vessel is ready to start again on her next voyage. Why, Fritz, he's so kind, that he actually offered to pay my passage home, if I were bent on seeing mother first before deciding about his offer!" "That settles it then, Eric, for mother will be certain to say that the right thing to do will be to pay your debts first; in addition to which, knowing I am now out here, she will not expect you to return yet. Really, Captain Brown," added Fritz, turning to the skipper, who appeared to be anxiously awaiting the result of the colloquy between the two brothers, "I'm quite at a loss to express my gratitude to you, both on my brother's and my own behalf! I hope you will not think me lukewarm in the matter, from my taking so long to make up my mind?" "Sartenly not, sirree," said the Yankee skipper with emphasis, as he gripped Fritz's hand again. "Sartenly not, sirree. Bizness is bizness, an' pleasure's another kind o' notion altogether! I only gev' the b'y an invitation, thet's all, I reckon!" "An invitation which he now accepts with thanks," replied Fritz. "Eh, Eric?" he added, turning to the lad, who was looking at Captain Brown with a face as beaming as his own. "Of course I will," answered Eric, without a moment's hesitation. "I should be a donkey to refuse such an offer." "Waall," drawled out the skipper in high good humour, "I'm raal glad to hear you say thet so. You won't repent j'inin' me, I ken tell you, nor regret slingin' yer hammock aboard the _Pilot's Bride_!" He then proceeded to wring Eric's hand as cordially, and forcibly too, in his big fist as he had done his brother's. "Now thet's all settled an' fixed up slick," said Captain Brown, when he had finished hand-shaking, passing on the friendly civility to Mr Nat Slater. "I guess we'd better hev a liquor-up to seal the barg'in; an' when thet's done, if you've got nuthin' better to du, I reckon you'd better come along o' me to my little shanty at the head of the bay--your brother's ben made welcome thaar already." "You are very kind," replied Fritz, to whom this courteous speech was addressed; "but this gentleman here," indicating Nat, "was just going to show me a boarding-house where I can put up at. He has also promised to introduce me to some shipping firm where I can get work." "Out o' collar, then?" asked the skipper, with deep interest. "Yes," answered Fritz. "I could get no employment in New York, and that is what made me come up here, so providentially as it has now turned out." "Waall, come home along o' me, anyhow, till you find sunthin' to put yer hand to," said the other kindly. "My folks'll make you downright welcome, you bet, mister." "Thank you, I will," replied Fritz, accepting the kind invitation in the same spirit in which it was offered; and presently the two brothers, reunited so strangely, were on their way, in company with the good- hearted skipper to his "shanty," as he called it, on Narraganset Bay--a comfortable, old-fashioned house, as Fritz presently found out, commanding a fine view of the Providence river on one hand, and of the wide Atlantic, rolling away into the illimitable distance, on the other. "Nat" declined to accompany the party, on the plea of an engagement He made an appointment, however, with Fritz for the morrow, promising then to introduce him to some business men, who, he said, would probably find the young German employment; after which he took leave of the Yankee skipper and the two brothers, with a brief parting, "So long!" CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. ERIC'S PROJECT. Fritz was not long in the company of Mr Nathaniel Washington Slater on the following day before he discovered, much to his disappointment, that he was one of those superficial characters who are given largely to dealing in promises that they either have no intention of keeping when making them originally, or which they never were or would be in a position to carry out. When coming up Long Island Sound on board the Rhode Island steamer and having that friendly chat in the bows of the boat, the deck hand had been lavishly expansive as to what he would be able to accomplish for his newly-made acquaintance, in the way of procuring him employment; but, when Fritz met him again, according to their arrangement of the previous afternoon, "Nat" did not appear to exhibit that eager alacrity in introducing him to business men--or "big bugs," as he termed them-- which his words of the night before had led Fritz naturally to expect. Whether this arose from the fact that the deck hand's desire to aid the young German had evaporated as rapidly as it had arisen, or because his morning reflections had convinced him that he had too rashly promised something which he was unable to perform, Fritz, of course, could not precisely tell. Whatever was the reason, the result came to the same thing, that Mr Slater showed a most unmistakable inclination to "back out" of the matter in the same easy way in which those double-ender floating palaces Fritz had noticed on the way up could go astern in order to avoid an obstruction; albeit Nat was prolific in the extreme with all manner of excuses--excuses that were as baseless and unsubstantial as the foam churned up by the steamboat's paddle-wheels! He "felt ugly" and was "no end sorry," but he really "hadn't the time that morning." This was his first attempt at shunting the engagement; but then, when Fritz, in the exuberance of hopeful possibilities, offered to meet him at the same place and time on the following day, "Nat" "couldn't think of putting him to the trouble," as he "might have to return to New York in the boat at a moment's notice." Besides, he said, it would be "better to put off the appointment awhile," as he'd just heard that the "boss" of the very identical shipping firm where he thought he could have got Fritz a berth had started "right away" for Boston, and he was such a "durned electric eel of a cuss, here, there, and everywhere," that it would be "just dubersome to kalkerlate" when he would "reel his way back to hum!" Fritz could not understand many of these very choice Americanisms; still, he was sufficiently gifted with common sense to see pretty plainly that all the deck hand's "tall talking" of the previous evening had been, to use his own expressive vernacular, nothing but "bunkum," and that, if he wished to get any situation in the place, he must trust more to his own good fortune than to Mr Slater's kind offices as a go- between. This disheartened him at the time; but when he got back to Captain Brown's shanty later on, the worthy old skipper, noticing his despondency, soon cheered him out of it. "Bless you, sonny," said he affectionately, for he seemed to have taken as great a fancy to Fritz as he had to Eric--the young fellow having told him all his plans and prospects, besides giving him an epitome of his adventures during the war when narrating the same for his brother's edification,--"Bless you, sonny, nary you mind what thet ne'er-do-well Nat Slater sez. I'd half a mind to tell you thet yesterday, when I seed you so thick with him! Jerusalem, mister, he's a coon thet's bin allers a loafer all his life, stickin' to nuthin' even fur a dog-watch, an' as shifty as one o' them sculpens in the creek thaar! You jest wait an' make yourself comf'able haar till bye-em-bye, an' I reckon we'll fix you up to sunthin'." The same evening, when the two brothers were alone together, and speaking of old Captain Brown's kindness, Eric suddenly, as if in a moment of inspiration, said, "Why should you not come along with me in the _Pilot's Bride_ when we start next month?" "What!" exclaimed Fritz in astonishment. "Don't look so startled, brother," said Eric, laughing at the expression of the other's face. "Recollect, that as you say, you've been unable to get any work here, so, why not go with me? I'm sure Captain Brown would take you with us if you ask him." "But I'm not a sailor," argued Fritz; "and, besides, if I were one, going to sea would not be the way to make the fortune I have planned, so that I may be able to return home and marry Madaleine." "Ah, that dear Madaleine!" said Eric. "I wonder when I'll see her, and whether I shall think her all that you describe? Never mind," he added, seeing that Fritz appeared vexed at this speech, "I've no doubt she's a beautiful maiden, and that you'll both be as happy as the day is long! But, I'm going to speak about business now, my brother; and, if you listen, you'll see that my idea of your coming in the _Pilot's Bride_ is not such a wild-goose chase, after all." "I confess I don't see it yet," interposed Fritz, with a smile at Eric's boyish eagerness. "In what way will going whaling with Captain Brown and your important self advance my fortunes?" "Listen," said the other, "and I'll soon tell you. Do you recollect when I was recounting my story, that after I was picked up from the boat and taken on board the _Pilot's Bride_, I mentioned the fact of the ship calling at Tristan d'Acunha?" "Yes; and you also said that you would inform me of something important about the place `bye-and-bye,' if you alluded then to what you're going to tell me now." "Precisely, `bye-and-bye' is `now,'" said Eric, laughing again and tossing his mane-like hair back from his forehead in the old fashion. "We landed at Tristan d'Acunha--" "Where on earth is that place?" interrupted Fritz. "I've a confused notion that it is an island of some sort; but, in what precise spot it is situated, I'm sure I can't tell!" "Well, then," commenced Eric grandiloquently--only too glad of the opportunity of having to instruct his elder brother, who had been regarded in the family circle as the centre of all wisdom--"`Tristan d'Acunha' is the centre island of a group, so-called after the Portuguese navigator who discovered them in the early beginning of the sixteenth century. The islands are probably the most isolated and remote of all the abodes of men, lying as they do almost in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, and nearly equidistant from the continents of America and Africa; for, they are situated nearly on the line that could be drawn between Cape Horn and the Cape of Good Hope--from the latter of which they are distant some fifteen hundred miles in a westerly direction, while Saint Helena, the nearest other land to them on the north, is thirteen hundred miles away." "You're very explicit, I'm sure," said Fritz in a chaffing way; "you must have been coaching up your geography recently." "I disdain vulgar interruption and idle clamour," returned the other in a similar vein. "But, to proceed. The group consists of the larger island of Tristan and two smaller islands--Inaccessible Island, some eighteen miles to the south-west, and Nightingale Island, twenty miles to the south. These islands are uninhabited, save by penguins and seals; but an interesting little colony of some eighty souls occupies Tristan, breeding cattle and cultivating vegetables, with which they supply passing vessels, mostly whalers--these calling there from time to time, on their way to and from their fishing grounds in the great Southern Ocean." "Your account is highly interesting, my dear Eric," said Fritz, when his brother had completed this exhaustive description of the Tristan d'Acunha group; "still, I confess I do not see in what way it affects me." "Don't you?" "No." "Then you will soon; listen a moment longer. I told you that, with the exception of the larger one, these islands are uninhabited save by the penguins and seals and such-like marine animals." "Yes, you've told me that; and I don't wonder at it when they are situated so remotely from all civilisation." "That fact has its advantages none the less," proceeded Eric. "Being so cut off from communication with men makes these islands just the favourite resort of those animals that shun the presence of their destroyers. Seals, as you know, are very nervous, retiring creatures seeking their breeding-places in the most out-of-the-way, deserted spots they can find; and the advance of the human race, planting colonies where the poor things had formerly undisputed sway around the shores of the South American continent, has driven them further and further afield, or rather to sea, until they are now only to be met with in any numbers in the Antarctic Ocean, and such islands as lie adjacent to that great Southern continent which has never yet been discovered--although Lord Ross pretty nearly put foot on it, if any explorer can be said to have done that." "Really, Eric," exclaimed Fritz jokingly, "you surpass yourself!" "Oh, I've read up all this in some books Captain Brown lent me," said the boy. "I wanted to learn everything that was to be learnt about a whaler's life, and to become acquainted with the special parts of the ocean that have to be visited by vessels in the trade in order to find a profitable fishing ground." "But you've been talking about seals, not whales," remarked Fritz. "Yes, because it is with seals that my present business lies," said the other, not a bit put out by the correction. "Banished now from their once favourite waters around Cape Horn, adjacent to the islands of the Pacific, there are yet some stray outlandish spots left which the animals frequent, so as to be able to breed in peace and multiply, without fear of that wholesale extermination which is their unhappy lot elsewhere. Amongst such isolated places is the Tristan d'Acunha group; and, to Inaccessible Island as well as the other islets they come in countless numbers every year. Seal fishing is a very profitable concern; for, not only is the oil valuable, but the skins fetch the most extravagant prices in the market, especially those of the finer sort. Now, do you see what I'm after, brother?" "You want to go sealing, I suppose; but, won't you have plenty of that in the _Pilot's Bride_ with Captain Brown, eh?" "Not in the way I mean," replied Eric. "I have an idea of settling for a time at Tristan d'Acunha, going in thoroughly for the thing as a business on shore." Fritz appeared to prick up his ears at this. "But, I thought you said there was a colony there already; why don't the people manage to cultivate the trade? Besides, if they have it all their own way, I think they would not like a couple of strange interlopers, like you and me, going amongst them to rob them of their harvest from the sea!" "Ah, I see you're bitten with the idea," exclaimed Eric, clapping his hands triumphantly. "But, it was not of Tristan, the larger island, I was thinking; it was of Inaccessible Island, where there wouldn't be another living soul but ourselves, the seals, and sea birds." "`Monarchs of all we survey,' eh, like Robinson Crusoe?" said Fritz with a smile. "That would be very nice, wouldn't it?" "Don't laugh, brother," returned Eric, speaking earnestly. "I assure you I've considered this thing well. The people living at Tristan told me that they went fishing to the other islands once a year; but, the weather is generally so rough and the beach so hard to land at or get off from, on account of the heavy ocean rollers coming in when the wind is up at all, that the islanders can never make a long stay at the islets--and so cannot get half the number of sealskins which might be easily procured by any one stopping ashore there for any length of time. I really thought, I assure you, of asking Captain Brown, when I went on my next voyage with him, to land me at Inaccessible Island, with provisions enough to last me six months or so, and to call for me on his return voyage from the Cape, as he was wending his way back home again here." "And you would have gone there alone?" "Yes; why not? But now, oh, Fritz, if you would only go with me, we might settle at this place like regular Robinson Crusoes--as you said just now--and make a pile of money, or, rather, of skins, in a year or two!" "The idea is feasible," said Fritz in a reflective way. "I'll talk to Captain Brown, and see what he says of it." The elder brother had a good deal of German caution in his composition; so that, although prompt of action, he was never accustomed to undertake anything without due deliberation. Eric, on the contrary, all impulse, was thoroughly carried away by the notion, now that he saw that Fritz, instead of ridiculing it, thought it worth consideration. The project of going to settle on a real uninhabited island, like Robinson Crusoe, that hero of boyhood throughout the world, exceeded the realisation of his wildest dreams, when first as a little chap he had planned how he should go to sea as soon as he was big enough. Why, he and Fritz would now be "Brother Crusoes," if his project were carried out, as there seemed every likelihood of its being--crusoes of their own free-will and not by compulsion, besides having the satisfaction of knowing that within a certain period it would be in their power to end their solitary island life; that is, should they find, either that it did not come up to their expectations in a business point of view, or that its loneliness and seclusion combined with the discomforts of roughing it were more than they could bear. It was a glorious plan! This was Eric's conclusion, the more he thought of it; while Fritz, on his part, believed that there was something in the suggestion--something that had to be weighed and considered carefully--for, might he not really conquer Fortune in this way? Captain Brown did not throw any cold water on the matter either, when it was brought before him. "By thunder! it's a durned good plan, it air, mister," said he to Fritz, "thet it air, fur a young scaramouch like thet youngster thaar! I seed him palaverin' with one o' them islanders at Tristan--they're a sort of half-caste tan colour there, like mulattoes in the States. I rec'lect one of the men who wer oncest on a whaler with me a v'y'ge or two to Kerguelen Land an' back, tellin' me 'bout the lot of seals thet were on Inaccessible Island, now I come to think of it; but I've never been thaar myself. Its name's good enough fur me, since most of us thet go by thaar gives it a pretty wide berth, you bet; fur it air inaccessible, with a vengeance--a rocky coast plungin' down abruptly into the sea, with a terrible surf breakin' ag'in the cliffs, an' no anchorage ground anywheres nigh thet's safe!" "And how could we land then?" asked Fritz. "Oh, it ken be done, mister, fur the Tristaners go over thaar, as the b'y told you, every year fur a week or so; an' they hev to git ashore somehow or other. Yes, we'll manage to land you, safe enough, in a whale-boat when the time comes. What I meant to say was, thet the ship couldn't stay any while lyin' off, so as to see whether you liked the place or not. If you land, thaar you'll hev to stay till we come back fur you next v'y'ge!" "All right, I shan't mind that, with Eric. If I were alone, of course it would be another matter." "Jest so," replied the Yankee skipper; and he then proceeded to advise the brothers what would be best to take with them, Fritz wishing to lay out his small remaining stock of money to advantage. He also told them, good-naturedly, that he would convey them to their contemplated destination for nothing, so that they would have no passage to pay. Eric, indeed, would work his, being considered as attached to the ship, his name besides being retained on the list of the crew while sealing on shore; and, as for Fritz, Captain Brown said, he would "grub him and give him a bunk into the barg'in." Then, again, in respect of the provisions they would need for their maintenance during their stay on the island, the skipper promised to supply them from the ship's stores, on their arrival there, at cost price; so that, not only would they thus get them much cheaper than they would have been able to purchase them in open market, but they would likewise save the cost of their freightage to Inaccessible Island, which any one else would have expected them to pay. Could Fritz desire more? Hardly. "I guess, mister," concluded the skipper, "so be it as how you kinder makes up yer mind fur the venture, thet you two coons will start in bizness with a clean sheet an' no book debts, like the boss of a dry goods store; an' if you don't make a pile in less than no time, why it won't be Job Brown's fault, I reckon!" This settled the matter; when, the captain giving them a short memorandum of certain necessary articles which they would find useful on the island and which they could readily procure in Providence while the _Pilot's Bride_ was refitting, the two brothers set to work making their preparations without delay for the novel enterprise to which Eric's project had given birth--that of going crusoeing in the South Atlantic! CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. THE "PILOT'S BRIDE." The more Fritz thought over the project, the more enthusiastic he became about it. Unlike Eric, he was deeply reflective, never adventuring into any scheme or undertaking action in any matter until he had fully weighed the pros and cons and had considered everything that could be said for and against it; but, once his judgment was convinced, there was no more hearty co-operator than he. It was so in this instance. Eric's idea had struck him as feasible at the first blush, the boy being so eager in giving vent to his own impressions and experiences of what he had seen at Tristan d'Acunha with regard to the advantage of starting a new sealing station of their own; but, when Fritz came to ponder over the plan, it seemed so chimerical that he felt inclined to be angry with himself for having entertained it for a moment. These second thoughts, however, did not long stand their ground after old Captain Brown had been consulted; for, that experienced mariner, who had, as he thought, such better means of judging than himself, immediately took so sanguine a view of the enterprise, that Fritz's original opinion in favour of it became confirmed, and he entered upon the preparations for the expedition with even greater zest than Eric, its first inceptor and propounder. "Brother," said he to the latter, on Captain Brown's approving of the plan and promising his cordial assistance in helping them to carry it out to a successful issue, "we'll not leave anything to chance. We will put our shoulders to the wheel and determine to win!" "Aye," responded the other, "and we oughtn't to make a failure either; for, you know, the old adage has it that, `Fortune favours the brave,' eh?" "Yes," said Fritz, the practical. "However, it is in little things that success is attained, so we must not neglect these." Nor did they. Indeed, so much did Fritz impress Eric with the value of carefully considering every petty detail of their outfit, so that they might not find something omitted at the last moment which would be of use, that there was danger of their forgetting more important articles-- the "little things," apparently, absorbing all their attention. So engrossed were they in this enthusiasm for collecting and packing up the most out-of-the-way trifles which it struck one or other of the two brothers that they might want--getting these ready, too, for their departure weeks before the _Pilot's Bride_ could possibly be refitted for her voyage--that they were the subject of many a joke from the hospitable household of the little "shanty" on Narraganset Bay. The captain and Mrs Brown, or else Celia their daughter--a lively American lassie of Eric's age, who seemed to have taken as great a fancy to the young sailor as her father had done towards Fritz--would ever be suggesting the most extraordinary things as likely to "come in handy on the island," such as a warming pan or a boot-jack; with which latter, indeed, the skipper gravely presented the elder brother one day, telling him it would save him time when he was anxious to get on his slippers of an evening after sealing on the rocks! But, although they "chaffed" them, the kind people helped them none the less good-naturedly in completing their equipment, the old captain's "missis" and his "gal" plying their needles as energetically on their behalf as Madame Dort and Lorischen would have done in the little house at home in the Gulden Strasse of Lubeck. The very eagerness and "thoroughgoingness" of the hopeful young fellows enlisted sympathy for them, in addition to those good qualities which had already made them prime favourites. "Bully for them, old woman," as the skipper said, when talking them over to his wife. "They're raal grit an' bound to run into port with a fair wind an' no mistake, you bet; they're such a tarnation go-ahead pair o' coons, with no empty gas or nonsense about 'em!" But, full as he was of the venture, and embarking heart and soul into its details with every energy he possessed, Fritz did not neglect to write home a long letter to his mother and Madaleine, telling them all about the new undertaking in which his hopes and prospects alike were centred and expressing his feelings thoroughly in the matter--thus showing the amount of reflection he had given to the scheme. Eric, he said, was a sailor; and, therefore, should the venture not succeed, its failure would not affect him much, as it would be merely an episode in his nautical life, Captain Brown promising to retain his name on the books of the _Pilot's Bride_ and allow him to ship again as third mate in the event of his taking to the sea once more when the two got tired of their sojourn on the island or found that sealing did not answer their expectations; but, for him, Fritz, the enterprise was a far more important one, changing the whole aspect of his career. However, he wrote, he not only hoped for the best, but believed the undertaking would result more favourably than his most sanguine wishes led him to estimate its returns; still, in any case, it was better, he thought, to engage in it, rather than waste any further time in vainly searching for employment in the States. But, whether successful or unfortunate, he was fully determined, so he concluded his letter, to return home within the period of three years to which he had limited his absence when leaving Lubeck; and, he prayed that his coming back would be the opening of a new era of happiness for them all--that is should the good God, who had so mercifully preserved their Eric from the dangers of the deep and restored the dead to life, prosper the joint enterprise of the reunited brothers, who, come what may, would now be together. "Good-bye, dear mutterchen, and you, my darling Madaleine," were his last words. "Watch and pray for us, and look forward to seeing us again beneath the old roof-tree in time for our third Christmas festival from now; and, then, won't there be a home-coming, a house-warming, with us altogether once more!" Much to Fritz's satisfaction, before the _Pilot's Bride_ was ready to put to sea, a reply was received to this communication, bidding the brother crusoes a cheery "God speed!" from home. Madame Dort was so overjoyed with the unexpected news of Eric's safety that she made no demur to the prolongation of his absence from home, the more especially now that he would be in Fritz's company. As for Madaleine, she expressed herself perfectly contented with her betrothed's plans, considering, as she did, that he would know best; but she was all the better pleased, she wrote, that he was going to an uninhabited island, as then he would be unable to come across other girls, who might blot her image from his heart. "The little stupid!" as Fritz said fondly to himself when he read this,--"as if that were possible, the darling!" If Madaleine, however, could have known that, when she penned those words, Master Fritz was engaged making himself agreeable to a party of New York belles who had come up from the stifling "Empire City" to see their cousins the Browns and sniff the bracing sea breezes of Narraganset Bay, she might not have been quite so easy in her mind! But, she need not have alarmed herself much, for Fritz was too busily engaged, along with Eric, in helping Captain Brown to prepare the _Pilot's Bride_ for her forthcoming voyage, to spare much time to the fascinating fair ladies from Fifth Avenue. The elder brother could do but little to aid the skipper in a nautical way; still, as a clerk, he proved himself of great assistance, attending to all the captain's correspondence and acting as a sort of supercargo. Eric, however, having now had considerable experience of the sea, besides, as the skipper had said, being "a born sailor," came out in strong colours in all those minutiae required in getting a vessel ready for sea. Really, he showed himself so active and intelligent that the skipper looked upon him as "his right-hand man"--at least, so declared he one day in the presence of Mrs Brown, Celia, and the entire family at the shanty, in full and open conclave; and no one disputed his statement, albeit Master Eric was sadly confused at the compliment. But, how was it with the ship, in which, like twin Caesars, the brothers were about to embark "all their fortunes?" Well, the _Pilot's Bride_, after going into dry dock and discharging cargo on her return home, first had her sheathing stripped and the exterior of her hull carefully examined to see that no rotten timber- work should be overlooked that might subsequently be fatal to her when battling with the billows in mid-ocean. She had then been recaulked and coppered; besides having her rigging set up again and tarred down, as well as the coverings and seizings replaced, and the chaffing gear paid over. Finally, on the yards being sent up and the rigging completed, with all the running gear seen to and thoroughly overhauled, a good coat of paint, and an overcoat, too, in addition was given to the vessel from bow to taffrail down to the water-line, with a white streak, in regular Yankee fashion, running along her ports. The stern gallery and rail were then gilded, as was also the figure-head--a wooden damsel, with arms akimbo, of the most unprepossessing appearance, representing the bride of the "pilot" whose name she bore. This completed the exterior refitting of the ship. Much remained to be done to her interior, however; and, here it was that Eric was able to be of considerable service, having learnt all of a sailor's duty in reference to the stowage of a vessel's hold--a matter that might seem easy enough to a landsman who only has to do with the packing of boxes, but which is of serious importance on board a ship, where the misplacement of the cargo may not only affect her sailing properties but also the safety of those she carries. To commence with, the _Pilot's Bride_ being a whaler would have to start from her home port comparatively "light"--as, having no cargo to speak of, save the provisions for her own crew for twelve months and the stores she carried for the use of the sealing schooners amongst the islands, she was forced to take in a great deal of ballast to ensure her stability, and this had to be so apportioned in her hold as to make her of good trim. This being done, the water and provisions were then shipped and a large number of empty casks placed on top of all the stores in the hold, amidships. These latter were carried to be subsequently filled with the oil and skins that might be collected by the schooners acting as tenders to the _Pilot's Bride_ amongst the islands; and, besides, the ship had "trying pots" of her own to melt down the blubber of any whales or odd fish she might capture "on her own hook." The brothers' belongings were next taken on board and placed in the cabin appropriated by Captain Brown to Fritz's use; and then, only the live stock remained to be shipped and the crew mustered for the vessel to be ready for sea, as now, with her sails bent she lay along the wharf at Providence, waiting but to be hauled out into the stream. She was a barque of some three or four hundred tons, riding rather high out of the water in consequence of being mostly in ballast. In appearance she looked somewhat wall-sided, and she had those heavy round bows that are seen mostly in whaling vessels, which are thus protected forwards in order to resist the pressure of the ice in those arctic regions whither they go to and fro; but, in spite of her build, which resembled more that of a Dutch galliot--such as Fritz's eyes were accustomed to see in the ports of the North Sea--than an American merchantman, with her freshly painted hull, whose ports were picked out in white, and her tall shapely spars all newly varnished, the _Pilot's Bride_ looked as dapper and neat as her namesake. Eric certainly thought this, no matter what his brother's opinion might be, and believed there was every reason for Captain Brown taking the pride in the vessel that he did. "There you are," said the skipper to the brothers, taking them with him to survey her from the jetty when all her preparations were finished, the vessel only waiting his mandate to haul out into the river--"did you ever see sich a tarnation duck of a beauty in all yer born days, hey?" "She looks very pretty," observed Fritz admiringly. "Blow thet!" exclaimed the skipper with a laugh. "Folks would think you were talkin' 'bout a gal; but, what ken a longshore fellow know 'bout a shep!" he added compassionately. "What d'ye say 'bout her Mas' Eric, hey?" "I say she's a regular clipper, captain," answered the lad in prompt sailor fashion, much to the skipper's delight. Eric's encomium was all the more appreciative from the fact of his having been familiar with the ship through part of her last voyage. Then, she was all battered and bruised from her conflict with the elements during her cruise in southern seas; so, now, her present transformation and gala trim made the difference in her appearance all the more striking to him, causing her good points to shine out with all the greater display and hiding most of her drawbacks. "Ah, thet's your sort of 'pinion I likes," said the skipper in reply to Eric's tribute to the vessel's merits. "Yes, suttenly, she's a clipper, if ever there wer one; an' a beauty to the back of thet, I reckon, hey, sonny?" and he gave the lad one of his thundering pats of approval across the shoulders with his broad hand that almost jerked him off the jetty. "I guess," he added presently, "the only thing we've got to do now is to shep a tol'able crew aboard; an' then, I kalkerlate, mister, she'll be the slickest whaler this v'y'ge as ever loos'd tops'les an' sailed out o' Narraganset Bay!" "Will there be any difficulty in getting men?" asked Fritz. "No, I reckon not, mister," replied the skipper, with a huge guffaw at his ignorance. "Why, the crimpers would send 'em to me in shoals, fur Job Brown is as well-known in Providence as Queen Victoria is in England, God bless her fur a good woman, too! The diff'culty lies in pickin' out the good ones thet air worth their salt from the green hands, as ain't up to a kid of lobscouse fur all the work they ken do aboard a shep!" "Well, I hope you'll get the men you want," said Fritz cordially. "Nary a doubt 'bout thet," answered the other, slewing round and trotting across the wharf to a line of warehouses and merchants' offices on the other side. "I'm just a-goin' to my agents now; an' I ken tell you, fur a fact, thet Job Brown is never licked, no, sir, not when he makes up his mind to anythin'!" In the evening of the same day he astonished Fritz somewhat. "Who d'ye think wished fur to sign articles with me to-day fur the v'y'ge?" said he, after he mentioned that he had shipped his crew and that the _Pilot's Bride_ would haul out into the stream the next morning, preparatory to starting off altogether on the following day. "I'm sure I can't say," replied Fritz. "Who but our old friend Nat Slater!" said the skipper with a broad grin. "I guess Nathaniel Washington hez come down in the world ag'in, fur all his tall talkin' about what he wer goin' to do to help you, hey?" "Have you taken him on?" asked Fritz, somewhat dubious about the pleasure which the society of the whilom "deck hand" of the steamboat would afford him when the two of them should be cooped together on board the same vessel for any length of time, especially after the way in which that individual had behaved to him. "Yes, I let him jine," answered the skipper. "I couldn't do else, considerin' the poor cuss wer so down on his luck as to ask me; 'sides, mister, I knewed him afore he went to the bad; an' if he du come with me, it'll do him good in one way. He'll never get none o' thet infarnal drink till he comes back ag'in to Providence, fur I never allows a drop o' pizen in any craft I sails from the time we leaves port till we casts anchor ag'in!" "I'm glad to hear that," said Fritz. "There's mischief enough done with it on land without taking it to sea." "Right you air, mister," rejoined the other; "but, mind you, I don't ask my men to do what I don't do myself. This old hoss doesn't believe in a fellow's preachin' one thing and practisin' another; no, sirree! I ain't a teetotaler, nohow; but I never touches a drop o' licker from the time I sots foot aboard ship till I treads land ag'in--an' what I does, every man Jack o' my crew shall do ditto, or I'll know an' larn 'em the reason why, you bet! Howsomedever, mister, I guess we'd all better turn in now," he added, making a signal which Mrs Brown and Celia always interpreted as meaning their departure to bed. "Recollect, this'll be our last night ashore, fur we shall all hev to rise airly in the mornin' to git the _Pilot's Bride_ under weigh." CHAPTER NINETEEN. THE VOYAGE OF THE SHIP. When Fritz awoke the next day, however, he could not quite make out what was going on in the place. There was a strong smell of gunpowder in the air, and he could hear the cracking reports of small cannon, let off at frequent intervals with much noise in the streets by a crowd of boys, whose voices mingled with the excruciating sound of squeaking trumpets and the shrill, ear-piercing scream of penny whistles. For the moment, he thought he was dreaming again of the old days of the war, and that the confused medley, which became each moment louder, was but the half-waking recollection of the bivouac around Metz, with its many constant alarms of sallies and sorties from the beleaguered fortress; but, when he came downstairs from his bedroom, he was speedily undeceived as to the reason for the pandemonium without. The captain and Eric had already started off for the ship, and only Mrs Brown and Celia were below waiting breakfast for him. "What on earth is the matter?" he asked. "It seems like Bedlam broken loose. Is there an insurrection going on?" "Ah, they're having a fine time, ain't they!" said Miss Celia. "But, what is it all about?" he repeated, gazing from one to the other of the smiling ladies, almost bewildered by the uproar out of doors. "Fourth of July," replied the lady of the house, as if that was quite a sufficient answer and accounted for everything. "The fourth of July!" he repeated mechanically. "What has the day of the month got to do with it--is it an anniversary of some sort--some national holiday?" "An anniversary, indeed!" exclaimed Miss Celia indignantly. "I thought you were such a good hand at history. Why, haven't you ever heard of our glorious Declaration of Independence, when the free states of America severed the hated yoke that bound them under the thraldom of the tyrant England?" "Oh, yes, I forgot. I'm sure I beg your pardon for not recollecting what must be to you a sacred day!" said Fritz, somewhat deceived by the girl's affected enthusiasm, Celia having spoken as grandiloquently as if she were an actress declaiming tragedy. "Sacred day, fiddlesticks!" she replied, laughing at his grave face and solemn manner. "I guess we don't worry ourselves much about that! We try and have a good time of it, and leave it to the politicians and skallywags to do the speechifying and bunkum! The boys have the best time of it, I reckon." "Yes," he replied, his ideas as to the patriotic associations of American citizens considerably modified. "They seem to enjoy themselves, if the noise they're making affords any criterion of that!" "I guess so," answered the girl. "They've burnt a few fire crackers this morning; but, it's nothing to what they do at Boston. Law, why you should see the goings on there'll be in front of Faneuil Hall to-night, when the `Bonfire Boys' set to work!" "By that time, I imagine, I'll be on the sea," said Fritz. "Your father told us last evening that he would start to-day if the wind was fair, and I noticed a bit of a breeze blowing through my window when I was dressing." "Yes," put in Mrs Brown; "and he said this mornin', 'fore he went off down town, to tell you to be sure and hurry up as soon as ever you'd swallowed your breakfast--not for what I want to hasten you away, though!" "Did he?" said Fritz, bolting a bit of buckwheat cake and hastily rising from the table. "If that's the case, I'd better be off to see about my traps." "Bless you, they're all aboard hours ago! Eric took them with him when he started off with pa," remarked Celia demurely. "Oh, you saw him before he went, then?" said Fritz. "Yes, I wished your brother good-bye," replied the girl, colouring up. "Oh!" repeated Fritz meaningly, with a sly glance at her. "And now, Mr Dort, we must wish you good-bye, too," interposed Mrs Brown, in order to distract his attention from Celia, who looked a bit confused by Fritz's interrogatories respecting Master Eric. "Aren't you coming down to see us off?" said he. "Guess not," replied Mrs Brown with much composure, her husband's departure with his ship being of such periodic occurrence as to have long since lost all sense of novelty. "We'll see you when you get out in the bay, and wish you good luck in the distance. I hope, mister, that you and your brother will be successful in your venture--that I do heartily." "Thank you," said Fritz, shaking the hand of the good-natured woman cordially. "I can't express how grateful we both are to you and your husband for all your kindness to us, strangers in a foreign land!" "What, do you leave me out?" put in Miss Celia saucily. "I should think not," returned Fritz gallantly. "I included you, of course, when thanking your mother. I'm sure words would fail to give you any idea of my feelings on the subject; but I dare say Eric spoke on my behalf this morning." "Indeed, he had too much to say for himself," retorted the girl; "and, instead of his behaving like a quiet German lad, as I thought him, he was more of a saucy American sailor boy! Not that I minded that much," she added demurely. "It made him more sparkish-like and all the pleasanter." "Really?" said Fritz, smiling. "I think I shall have to talk to Master Eric when I get on board the ship." "No, nary you mind that," pleaded Miss Celia most magnanimously. "I forgive him this time; but you can tell him, though, I'll pay him out when he comes back to our shanty, that I will!" "All right, I will give him your message," replied Fritz, as he shook hands with the fair little Rhode Islander, whose eyes were full of tears as she said good-bye, in spite of her sprightly manner and off-hand way. "And now, ladies," he added, addressing them both collectively, "I must say farewell, hoping to have the pleasure of seeing you again on our return from Inaccessible Island, somewhere about two years hence." "I'm sure I hope so, too," said the lady of the house kindly, Celia joining cordially in the wish; and Fritz then left the shanty, directing his steps down to the quay, where he expected to find the _Pilot's Bride_ still moored. She was not here, however; but, after a moment, he could discern the vessel lying out in the river some little distance from the shore. There, anchored almost in mid-stream and with a blue peter flying at the fore as well as the American stars and stripes trailing over her stern, she looked even more picturesque than when Fritz had seen her lying along the wharf on his first view of her. It was much earlier in the month than Captain Brown had stated was his usual time for starting on his annual voyage to the South Atlantic; but the skipper had accelerated his departure in order to have time to go to Tristan d'Acunha on his outward trip, instead of calling there as he usually did just before returning to Providence--so as to allow the brothers to pick up a little information that might be of use to them from the little colony at Tristan, before proceeding to their own selected settlement on Inaccessible Island. The ship was now, therefore, quite ready to start as soon as the wind and her captain willed it; for, her sails were bent, with the gaskets cast-off and the topsails loose, ready to be let fall and sheeted home at the word of command. A nautical man would have noticed, too, that she was hove short, right over her anchor, so that no time should be lost in bowsing that up to the cathead and getting under weigh, when the time came to man the windlass and heave up the cable, with a "Yo-heave ho!" Presently, Fritz observed a boat that had been towing astern of the ship hauled up alongside, and then this put off for the shore, with some one in the stern-sheets whom he did not recognise at first, on account of the person having a gilt-banded cap on; but, as soon as the boat got nearer, he saw that it was Eric, who now hailed him while yet a hundred yards away. "Hullo!" he shouted; "how is it you're so late? The captain is only waiting for you to set sail, for the pilot's coming on board now!" "I didn't think you were going until the evening," replied Fritz, descending the steps of the jetty, which the boat had now nearly approached. "Nor were we, if this breeze hadn't sprung up since morning so very suddenly, when we least expected it! I suppose it's because of all that gunpowder firing that the air's got stirred up a bit? But, jump in, old fellow, the skipper seems a bit impatient; and the sooner we're all on board the better he'll be pleased." With these words, Eric stretched out a hand to help his brother into the little dinghy, which could barely carry two comfortably besides the man pulling amid-ship, and then the frail little craft started on her way back to the mother ship, of which she seemed the chicken! No sooner were they alongside and up the ladder, than Captain Brown's voice was heard rapidly giving orders, as if no time were to be lost. "Veer thet boat astern an' hook on the falls," he roared in stentorian accents. "I want her walked up to the davits 'fore I can say Jack Robinson! There, thet's the way to do it, men. Now, get her inboard an' secure her; we shan't want her in a hurry ag'in, till we come back to the bay!" "Mr Dort," he sang out presently to Eric, who was standing by ready for the skipper's orders and watching his eye--prepared to jump anywhere at a second's notice, and looking so full of eagerness and attention that Fritz felt quite proud of him! "Aye, aye, sir," answered the lad, touching his cap; for, nowhere is deference insisted on so stringently from inferior officers to their superiors as on board ship, especially in merchantmen commanded by captains worth their salt. In no other way can proper respect be paid to authority, or the necessary orders requisite for the safety and comfort of all enforced. "I give you charge o' the mizzen mast," said Captain Brown, meaning that Eric would have to see to all that was necessary for making sail in the after part of the ship. At the same time, the second mate stationed himself amidships, and the first officer went forward to the bows, to superintend the getting up of the anchor, each of them repeating the several directions of the captain in turn. "All hands make sail!" then shouted the skipper, who, with his hands in the pockets of his monkey jacket, stood on the poop deck aft, looking everywhere apparently in one glance, it was so comprehensive of everything that was going on below and aloft; whereupon, the men, racing up the rigging with alacrity, the topsails were soon sheeted home and the yards hoisted, after which more canvas was unfolded to the breeze, that came in short, sharp puffs off the land. The headsails were then backed, as the ship brought up over her anchor; and, the windlass coming round with a ringing "clink, clank!" of the pawl to the hearty long heaves of the sailors--who worked at it with a will, singing in chorus the while--the heavy weight of metal that still attached the _Pilot's Bride_ to the sand and shells at the bottom of Narraganset Bay was ere long lifted gradually above the water and run up to the cathead. The jib and foretop-sail were then allowed to fill again and the yards squared; when, the vessel, paying off, began to move, at first slowly, and then more rapidly as she gathered way, out of the harbour away towards the open sea, some thirty miles beyond. The wind being light and flickering, the crew were soon ordered aloft again to set the top-gallant-sails, for the breeze was so far favourable that the ship did not have to beat out of the bay; consequently, she was able to spread more canvas than if she had been forced to tack, or had to be steered by her sails. Nor was Captain Brown satisfied with top-gallants alone; for, quickly, the order came to set the royals and flying jib before the men could climb down the ratlins; and, soon, the vessel was under a cloud of sail alow and aloft, taking advantage of every breath of air. Towards the afternoon, the north-westerly breeze still lasting, the ship cleared Narraganset Bay, running before the wind; when, shaping a course between the treacherous Martha's Vineyard on the one hand and Gardiner's Island on the other, she was steered out into the open Atlantic. No sooner had they got to sea than Captain Brown called all hands aft, mustering the crew--who numbered some twenty in all, including the cook and a couple of boys. He then gave them a short speech from the poop. Some of the men had been with him before, he said, so they knew what he was; but, as for those who didn't, he would tell them that, as long as they did their duty manfully, they would find him always considerate towards them. If they "turned rusty," however, why then "they'd better look out for squalls," for they would discover, should they try on any of their notions, that he was "a hard row to hoe!" The men were next divided into watches and dismissed to their several duties; after which the _Pilot's Bride_ settled down steadily to her voyage. At first, Fritz found the life on board very enjoyable. The motion of the ship was so slight, as she slipped through the water with the wind on her quarter, that there was no rolling; and the difference of her arrangements, with clean cabins and the absence of that sickening smell of the engine-room which had permeated the steamer in which he had made the passage from Bremen to New York--his only previous acquaintance with the ocean-made him fancy that he could spend all his days on the deep without discomfort. But, after a time, the routine grew very monotonous; and long ere the _Pilot's Bride_ had reached tropical latitudes, Fritz would have been glad if she had reached their appointed destination. Truth to say, the vessel was not that smart sailer which a stranger would have imagined from all the skipper had said about her. It was nearly three weeks before she ran into the north-east trades; and three more weeks, after she got within these favouring winds, before she managed to cross the Line, which she did somewhere about 24 degrees West. All this time, too, to add to Fritz's disgust, they never passed a single other sail! The weather throughout the voyage, up to now, had treated the vessel fairly enough, so no complaint could be made on that score; but, no sooner had they arrived at the equator, than the wind suddenly shifted round to the west and south-west, accompanied by a violent squall that would have settled the _Pilot's Bride_, if Captain Brown had not fortunately anticipated it and prepared in time. The ship was nearing Pernambuco, off the South American coast, on a short "leg," before taking the long one that would fetch down towards Tristan d'Acunha, proceeding in the ordinary track of vessels going round the Cape of Good Hope; when, suddenly, towards evening, it fell nearly calm and sheet lightning was noticed towards the eastward, where a dense bank of dark clouds had mounted up, obscuring the sky. This was enough for Captain Brown, who had gone through a similar experience before. "All hands take in sail!" came his order, without a moment's delay. The men sprang aloft immediately and furled the royals and top-gallant- sails; while others below took in the flying jib and hauled up the mainsail and trysail--the hands wondering all the time what on earth the skipper was at, taking in all the spread of the vessel's canvas, when there wasn't a breath of air blowing! However, the "old man," as he was generally called by the crew, knew better than they; and so, with the ship's yards stripped and squared, he awaited what science and forethought had taught him to expect. Science and forethought had not caused him to make these preparations in vain! The blackness in the south-east extended round the horizon to the west, and, presently, a thick mist came rolling up from that quarter, enveloping the vessel in its folds and covering the stars in front like a curtain, although those lesser lights of the night shone out brightly in other parts of the sky. Then, all at once, the squall burst with a furious blast that made the ship heel over almost on her beam ends, the wind being followed by a shower of rain and hail that seemed as if it would batter in the decks. "Let go the halliards!" sang out Captain Brown; and, his order being promptly attended to, the vessel was not taken aback--otherwise every spar would have snapped away, or else she would have gone down stern foremost. Now, however, instead of any accident happening, the good ship, although reeling with the blow like a drunken man, paid off from the wind handsomely--running on for some time before the gale and tearing through the water with everything flying, "as if old Nick were after her," the men said! All hands being then called again, the topsails and trysails were close- reefed, the courses furled, and the foretopmast-staysail set; when, the barque was brought round nearly to her course again, with the weather- braces hauled in a bit to ease her. This was the first rough weather Fritz experienced, and it cannot be said to have increased his admiration for a sea life, all he saw of which only tended to make him wonder more and more every day what could induce his brother Eric to have such a passionate inclination towards it! It was a strange fancy, he thought, as he watched the disturbed state of the wild ocean, lashed into frenzy by the force of the gale, which seemed to wax more lusty each hour; for, the ship appeared to be, now, careering like a mad thing through some deep watery valley, between lofty mountainous peaks of spray, and, the next moment, seeming to be on the toppling edge of a fathomless abyss, into which she looked about to plunge headlong to destruction as she rose above the plane of tempest- tossed water, borne aloft on the rolling crest of one of the huge waves that were racing by each other as if in sport--the broken, billowy element boiling and seething as far as the eye could reach, in eddies of creamy foam and ridges of turbid green, with the clouds above of a leaden tinge that deepened, as they approached the horizon, to a dark slatish hue, becoming blue-black in the extreme distance. "That Shakespeare was a fine fellow!" Fritz said to Captain Brown, who stood close by the binnacle, keeping an eye to the two men who were now at the wheel steering; for, the ship required careful handling in the heavy sea that was running to prevent her from broaching to, and it needed very prompt action frequently to jam down the helm in time, so as to let her fall off her course before some threatening mountain of water that bore down on her bows. "Ha-ow?" ejaculated the skipper inquiringly, turning to the other, who was looking over the taffrail surveying the scene around and had spoken musingly--uttering his thoughts aloud. "I mean Shakespeare, the great dramatist," replied Fritz, who, like all educated Germans, had a keen appreciation of the bard and could quote his pregnant sayings at pleasure. "He wrote plays, you know," he added, seeing that Captain Brown did not quite comprehend him. "Oh, I rec'lect now," replied the skipper, understanding him at last, and his face beaming with curious intelligence. "Him as wrote a piece called `Hamlet,' hey? I reckon I see it once when I wer to Boston some years ago, an' Booth acted it uncommon well, too, yes, sirree!" "Well then," said Fritz, going on to explain the reason for his original remark, "Shakespeare exactly expresses my sentiments, at this present moment, in the words which he puts into the mouth of one of his characters in the `Tempest,' Gonzalo, I think. `Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground; long heath, brown furze, anything: the wills above be done, but I would fain die a dry death!'" The young fellow laughed as he ended the apt quotation. The skipper, however, did not appear to see the matter in the same light. "I guess thet there Gonzalo," he remarked indignantly, "wer no sailor; an' Mister Shakespeare must hev hed a durned pain in his stummick when he writ sich trash!" Some hours afterwards, fortunately for Fritz's feelings, the gale broke; when, the wind shifting round to the northward of west, the _Pilot's Bride_ was enabled to steer away from the South American coast and shape a straight course for Tristan d'Acunha. CHAPTER TWENTY. ARRIVAL AT TRISTAN D'ACUNHA. "This air prime, now ain't it?" said the skipper to Fritz, as the ship, with her nose pointing almost south, was driving away before the north- west wind and making some ten knots an hour. "Yes, she's going along all right," replied he; adding frankly, however, "I should like it all the better, though, if the vessel didn't roll about so much." "Roll?" exclaimed Captain Brown indignantly; "call this rolling? Why, Jee-rusalem, she only gives a kinder bit of a lurch now an' ag'in! I thought you would hev got your sea-legs on by this time." Fritz could only bow to this statement, of course; but, all due deference to the skipper, nevertheless, the _Pilot's Bride_ did roll, and roll most unmercifully, too. She was just like a huge porpoise wallowing in the water! It may be remembered that she had sailed from port light, with a pretty considerable freeboard; and now, with the wind almost right aft, so that she had no lateral pressure to steady her--as would have been the case if the breeze had been abeam or on her quarter--she listed first to port and then to starboard, with the "send" of the sea, as regularly as the swing of a clock's pendulum. Really, the oscillation made it almost as impossible for Fritz to move about as if the ship had been contending with all the powers of the elements in a heavy storm, whereas the skipper said she was only "going easy," with a fair wind! Why, the "breeze" had not lasted a day, before nearly every particle of glass and crockery-ware in the steward's cabin was smashed to atoms; while preventer stays had to be rove to save the masts from parting company. Roll, eh? She did roll--roll with a vengeance! Fortunately, this did not last long; the wind shifting round to the north-east, after a three days' spell from the west, which brought the ship on a bow line, steering, as she was, south-east and by south. Had not this change come when it did, "the old tub would hev rolled her bottom out," as Mr Slater, the whilom deck hand, "guessed" one morning to Fritz, while the crew were engaged in washing decks. Of course, the brothers themselves had many a chat together while the voyage lasted, talking over their plans as well as chatting about the different scenes and circumstances surrounding the endless panorama of sea and sky, sky and sea, now daily unfolded before them. Naturally--to Fritz, at least--all was new; and it was deeply interesting to him to notice the alteration in the aspect of the heavens which each night produced as the ship ran to the southward. The north star had disappeared with its pointers, as well as other familiar stellar bodies belonging to higher latitudes; but, a new and more brilliant constellation had risen up in the sky within his new range of view, which each evening became more and more distinct. This was the Southern Cross, as it is called, consisting of four stars, three of the first magnitude and the fourth somewhat smaller, arranged in the form of an oblique crucifix, pointing across the firmament "athwartship-like," as the skipper explained one night-watch when the brothers were looking out together. Only once in the year, Captain Brown said, is this cross perfectly perpendicular towards the zenith; for, as it circles round our planet, it reverses its position, finally turning upside-down. When the _Pilot's Bride_ ceased to roll and began to make steady way towards Tristan, with the wind from the northward and eastwards on her beam, she ran along steadily on one tack, with hardly a lurch, covering some two hundred miles a day as regularly as the log was hove and the sun taken at noon. All this time, no sight could now have been more glorious than the heavens presented each night after sunset. The myriads upon myriads of stars that then shone out with startling brilliancy was something amazing; and the puzzle to Fritz was, how astronomers could name and place all these "lesser lights"--following their movements from day to day and year's end to year's end, without an error of calculation, so that they could tell the precise spot in the firmament where to find them at any hour they might wish! "And yet," said Fritz, musingly, "these wise men are puzzled sometimes." "Nary a doubt o' thet," responded the skipper, who, in spite of his rough manner and somewhat uncultivated language, thought more deeply than many would have given him credit for; "I guess, mister, all the book-larnin' in the world won't give us an insight inter the workin's o' providence!" "No," said Fritz. "The study of the infinite makes all our puny efforts at probing into the mysteries of nature and analysing the motives of nature's God appear mean and contemptible, even to ourselves." "Thet's a fact," assented the skipper. "Look thaar, now! Don't thet sky-e, now, take the gildin' off yer bunkum phi-loserphy an' tall talkin' 'bout this system an' thet--ain't thet sight above worth more'n a bushel o' words, I reckon, hey?" Fritz gazed upwards in the direction the other pointed, right over the port quarter of the ship and where the starry expanse of the stellar world stretched out in all its beauty. Eastwards, near the constellation Scorpio, was the Southern Cross, which had first attracted their attention, the figurative crucifix of the heavens; while the "scorpion," itself, upreared its head aloft, surmounted by a brilliant diadem of stars that twinkled and scintillated in flashes of light, like a row of gems of the first water--the body of the fabled animal being marked out in fine curves, in which fancy could trace its general proportions, half-way down the heavens. In a more southerly direction, still, the parallel stars of the twin heroes Castor and Pollux could be seen, shining out with full lustre in a sky that was beautifully, intensely blue, conveying a sense of depths beyond depths of azure beyond; and, as the wondering lookers gazed and the night deepened, fresh myriads of stars appeared to come forth and swell the heavenly phalanx, although the greater lights still maintained their glittering superiority, Jupiter emitting an effulgence of radiant beams from his throne at the zenith, while the Milky Way powdered the great celestial dome with a smoke wreath of starlets that circled across the firmament in crescent fashion, like a sort of triumphal arch of flashing diamonds which the angels could tread in their missions from heaven to earth, or the feet of those translated to the realms of the blest! "Grand, ain't it?" repeated the skipper. But Fritz said nothing; his thoughts went deeper than words. A day or two after this, the north-east wind suddenly failed and a dead calm set in, lasting for twenty-four hours. This circumstance did not please Captain Brown much, for he hardly knew what to make of it; however, after a day and night of stagnation, the breeze returned again, although, in the interim of lull, it took it into its head to shift round more to the southwards, causing the _Pilot's Bride_ to run close- hauled. On the evening before this change of wind, and while the calm yet continued, the sea presented what seemed to Fritz--and Eric too, for he had never seen such a sight before, although he had much better acquaintance with the wonders of the deep than his brother--a most extraordinary scene of phosphorescent display, the strange effect of it being almost magical. The sun had set early and the moon did not rise till late; but, as soon as the orb of day had disappeared below water, the horizon all round became nearly as black as ink, without any after-glow, as had invariably been noticed at previous sunsets. The whole sky was dark and pitchy like; only a few stars showing themselves momentarily for a while high up towards the zenith, although they were soon hidden by the mantle of sombre cloud that enveloped the heavens everywhere. Meanwhile, the entire surface of the sea, in every direction as far as their eyes could reach, seemed as if covered with a coating of frosted silver; and, all around the ship, at the water-line, there appeared a brilliant illumination, as if from a row of gas jets or like the footlights in front of the stage of a theatre. Where the sea, too, was broken into foam by the slight motion of the ship, it also gave out the same appearance; and the faint wake astern was as bright as the track usually lit up by the moon or rising sun across the ocean, resembling a pathway of light yellow gold. When Fritz first saw the reflection, on looking over the side of the ship, he thought that something had happened down below, and that the appearance he noticed was caused by different lights, streaming through the portholes and scuttles. "What are they doing with all those lanterns in the hold?" he asked Eric in surprise. The sailor lad laughed. "No ship lanterns," said he, "are at work here. They say that this queer look of the sea is occasioned by thousands of little insects that float on the surface and which are like the fireflies of the tropics. Don't you recollect reading about them?" "But then, this light is so continuous," replied Fritz. "It is bright as far away as we can see." "Yes, I suppose the shoal of insects stretches onward for miles; still, it is only when it is dark like this, with the sky overcast, that you can see them. At least, that is what I've been told, for I never saw such a display before." "You're 'bout right, my lad," observed Captain Brown, who had come over to leeward, where the brothers were. "I forgit what they call the durned things; but, they're as thick as muskitters on the Florida coast. You'll see 'em all clear away as soon as the moon shows a streak, though. They can't stand her candlelight, you bet!" It was as the skipper said. Although the illumination of the sea was so vivid that it lit up the ship's sails with flashes as the water was stirred, it died away when the moon shone out. Then, too, the sky lightened all round and the clouds cleared away before the approaching wind which had thus apparently heralded its coming. Nothing occurred after this to break the monotony of the voyage, beyond a school of whales being noticed blowing in the distance away to the windward one day, about a week after the change of wind. "There she spouts!" called out a man who was up in the fore cross-trees, overhauling some of the running gear; but the hail only occasioned a little temporary excitement, for the animals were much too far off for pursuit and, besides, Captain Brown wished to land the brothers and clear his ship of all cargo before going whaling on his own account. This consummation, however, was not long distant; for some sixteen days or so after they had turned their backs on the South American coast, the skipper told Fritz he hoped to be at Tristan on the morrow. This was when he and the captain were having their usual quarter-deck walk in the first watch, the evening of the same day on which they passed the school of whales. "Yes, sirree," he said, "we've run down to 36 degrees South latitude, I guess, an' wer 'bout 13 degrees West when I took the sun at noon; so I kalkerlate, if the wind don't fail an' the shep keeps on goin' as she is, which is bootiful, I reckon, why we'll fetch Tristan nigh on breakfus-time to-morrow,--yes, sir!" "Indeed!" exclaimed Fritz. He did not think they were anywhere near the place yet; for, although it was more than two months since they had left Narraganset Bay, the ship appeared to sail so sluggishly and the voyage to be so tedious, that he would not have been surprised to hear some day from the captain that they would not reach their destination until somewhere about Christmas time! "Ya-as, really, I guess so, mister. No doubt you're a bit flustered at gettin' thaar so soon; but the _Pilot's Bride's_ sich a powerful clipper thet we've kinder raced here, an' arrove afore we wer due, I reckon!" The skipper innocently took Fritz's expression of surprise to be a compliment to the ship's sailing powers; and so Fritz would not undeceive him by telling him his real opinion about the vessel. It would have been cruel to try and weaken his belief in the lubberly old whaler, every piece of timber in whose hull he loved with a fatherly affection almost equal to that with which he regarded his daughter Celia. Fritz therefore limited himself to an expression of delight at the speedy termination of their voyage, without hazarding any comment on the _Pilot's Bride's_ progress; by which means he avoided either hurting the old skipper's feelings or telling an untruth, which he would otherwise have had to do. He was undoubtedly glad to have advanced so far in their undertaking; for, once arrived at Tristan d'Acunha, a few more days would see them landed on Inaccessible Island, when, he and Eric would really begin their crusoe life of seal-catching and "making the best" of it, in solitary state. Wasn't he up on deck early next morning, turning out of his bunk as soon as he heard the first mate calling the captain at four bells--although, when he got there, he found Eric had preceded him, he having charge of the morning watch and having been up two hours before himself! However, neither of the brothers had much the advantage of the other; for, up to breakfast time, Tristan had not been sighted. But, about noon, "a change came o'er the spirit of their dream!" Captain Brown had just gone below to his cabin to get his sextant in order to take the sun, while Fritz, to quiet his impatience, had sat down on the top of the cuddy skylight with a book in his hand, which he was pretending to read so as to cheat himself, as it were; when, suddenly, there came a shout from a man whom the skipper had ordered to be placed on the look-out forward--a shout that rang through the ship. "Land ho!" Fritz dropped his book on to the deck at once and Eric sprang up into the mizzen rigging, hurriedly scrambling up the ratlins to the masthead, whence he would have a better point of observation; the skipper meanwhile racing up the companion way with his sextant in his hand. "Land--where away?" he sang out, hailing the man on the fore cross- trees. "Dead away to leeward, two points off the beam," was the answer at once returned by the man on the look-out, who happened, strangely enough, to be Fritz's whilom acquaintance, the "deck hand!" "Are you sure?" hailed the captain again to make certain. "As sure as there's claws on a Rocky Mountain b'ar," replied the man in a tone of voice that showed he was a bit nettled at his judgment being questioned; for he next added, quite loud enough for all to hear, "I guess I oughter know land when I see it. I ain't a child put out to dry nurse, I ain't!" "There, thet'll do; stow thet palaver!" said Captain Brown sharply, "else you'll find thet if Rocky Mountain b'ars hev claws, they ken use 'em, an' hug with a prutty good grip of their own too, when they mean bizness, I guess, Nat Slater; so, you'd better quiet down an' keep thet sass o' yourn for some un else!" This stopped the fellow's grumbling at once; and Captain Brown, after proceeding aloft to have a look for himself and see how far the island was off, gave directions for having the ship's course altered, letting her fall off a point or two from the wind. "I guess I wer standin' a bit too much to the northward," he said to Fritz, who was waiting on the poop, longing to ask him a thousand questions as to when they would get in, and where they would land, and so on; "but thet don't matter much, as we are well to win'ard, an' ken fetch the land as we like." The island, which at first appeared like a sort of low-lying cloud on the horizon, was now plainly perceptible, a faint mountain peak being noticeable, just rising in the centre of the dark patch of haze. "Is it far off?" asked Fritz. "'Bout fifty mile or so, I sh'u'd think, mister," answered the skipper--"thet is more or less, as the air down below the line is clearer than it is north, so folks ken see further, I guess. I don't kinder think it's more'n fifty mile, though, sou'-sou'-west o' whar the shep is now." "Fifty miles!" repeated Fritz, somewhat disconcerted by the announcement; for, he would not have thought the object, which all could now see from the deck, more than half that distance away. "Why, we'll never get there to-day!" "Won't we?" said the skipper. "Thet's all you know 'bout it, mister. The _Pilot's Bride_ 'll walk over thet little bit o' water like a race hoss, an' 'ill arrive at Tristan 'fore dinner time, you bet!" The skipper's prognostication as to the time of their arrival did not turn out quite correct, but Fritz's anxiety was allayed by their reaching the place the same night; for, the mountain peak, which had been noticed above the haze that hung over the lower part of the island, began to rise higher and higher as the ship approached, until its sharp ridges could be plainly seen beneath a covering of snow that enveloped the upper cone and which changed its colour from glistening white to a bright pink hue as it became lit up by the rays of the setting sun--the latter dipping beneath the western horizon at the same instant that the _Pilot's Bride_ cast anchor in a shallow bay some little distance off the land, close to Herald Point, where the English settlement on the island lies. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. AN OCEAN COLONY. Fritz and Eric wished to go ashore the moment the anchor plunged into the water and the chain cable grated through the hawse hole; but, darkness setting in almost immediately after sunset, as is usual in such southerly latitudes, their landing had to be postponed until the next morning, when the skipper told them they would have plenty of time to inspect the little ocean colony of Tristan d'Acunha--that is, should not a westerly-wind set in, bringing with it a heavy swell, as it invariably did; for, this would cause them "to cut and run from their anchorage in a jiffy," if they did not desire to lay the ship's bones on the rocks by Herald Point, which he, "for one," he said, had no intention of doing. However, the wind still remained in the same quarter, blowing steadily from the south-east, which made it calm where the _Pilot's Bride_ was lying--Captain Brown from previous experience knowing the safest berth to take up--so she did not have to shift her berth. When morning broke, too, the brothers had a better view of the place than on the evening before; for then, only a hasty peep at it could be obtained before it was hidden by night. The small bay in which the ship was moored opened to the westward; and, on the right, a slope of rough pasture land, about a quarter of a mile in width, ran up from the beach to an almost precipitous wall of rock, a thousand feet or more in height--although a sort of misty vapour hung over it, which prevented Fritz from gauging its right altitude. On the left-hand side, the wall of rock came sheer down into the sea, leaving only a few yards of narrow shingle, on which the surf noisily broke. A stream leaped down from the high ground, nearly opposite the vessel, and the low fall with which it tumbled into the bay at this point indicated that there would be found the best landing-place, an opinion which Captain Brown confirmed as soon as he came on deck. "I guess, though," said the skipper, pointing out a red flag which Fritz could notice just being hoisted on one of the cottage chimneys in the distance, "we needn't hurry 'bout launchin' a boat, fur some o' them islanders are comin' off to pay us a visit an' will take you ashore. Thet's their signal for communicatin' with any vessel thet calls in here. Run up our ensign, Mr Dort," he added to Eric, who stood at his station on the lee side of the mizzen mast; "an' tell 'em to fire the gun forrud, jest to give 'em a kinder sort o' salute, you know. Uncle Sam likes to do the civil, the same as other men-o'-war when they goes to foreign ports!" These orders were obeyed; and no sooner were the "Stars and Stripes" run up to the masthead and the report of the little gun on the topgallant fo'c's'le heard reverberating through the distant mountain tops--the sound of the discharge being caught up and echoed between the narrow arms of the bay--than a smart whale-boat, pulled by eight men and with a white-bearded, venerable-looking individual seated in the stern-sheets, was seen coming out from the very spot which Fritz had determined to be the landing-place. They were soon alongside the _Pilot's Bride_; when the old man--who introduced himself as Green, the oldest inhabitant of the island and with whom Captain Brown had already had an acquaintance of some years' duration--cordially invited Fritz to land, the skipper having explained that he wished to see the place and hear all about it. He told the brothers aside, however, that perhaps they'd better not mention their intention of settling on Inaccessible Island, for the inhabitants of Tristan, who sent expeditions every year on sealing excursions there, might not like to hear this news. While on their way to the shore with the old man and four of the islanders--the other Tristaners remaining on board the ship to select certain articles they required from her stores and arrange for the barter of fresh meat and potatoes with Captain Brown in exchange--Fritz observed that, some distance out from the land, there was a sort of natural breakwater, composed of the long, flat leaves of a giant species of seaweed which grew up from the bottom, where its roots extended to the depth of fifteen fathoms. This, old Green pointed out, prevented the rollers, when the wind was from the westward, from breaking too violently on the shore, between which and the floating weed was a belt of calm water, as undisturbed as the surface of a mountain tarn. The landing-place was of fine black sand, showing the volcanic character of the mountain peak above, which Green said was over eight thousand feet high and had an extinct crater on the top; and, when Fritz and his brother had jumped out of the boat, they proceeded up to the little settlement of the islanders, which was called "Edinburgh" out of compliment to his Royal Highness Prince Alfred, who had visited the place when cruising in HMS _Galatea_, just four years before their landing. The village consisted of some dozen cottages or so, roughly built of square blocks of hewn stone dovetailed into each other, without mortar, and thatched with tussock-grass. The houses were scattered about, each in its own little garden, enclosed by walls of loosely piled stones about four feet high; but, as it was now the early spring of Tristan, these had very little growing in them. One of the enclosures, Fritz noticed, had a lot of marigolds in flower, another, several dwarf strawberry plants just budding, while a third was filled with young onions; but the majority displayed only the same coarse, long tussock- grass with which the cottages were thatched. When the brothers came to examine the houses more closely, they were particularly struck with the neatness with which they were constructed and the extreme labour that must have been expended on them. Apart from the difficulty of procuring wood, which they could only get from stray whaling ships, the islanders are obliged to build their dwellings of stone, in order to prevent their being demolished by the fierce and frequent hurricanes that assail the isolated little spot, exposed as it is to all the rude blustering blasts that career over the expanse of the Atlantic. The cottages are, therefore, put together with a dark-brown, soft sort of stone, which is hewn out in great blocks from the cliffs above the settlement and afterwards shaped with great accuracy and care with the axe. Many of these masses of stone are upwards of a ton in weight; but, still, they are cut so as to lock into one another in a double row to form the main wall, which is some eighteen inches thick, with smaller pieces of stone, selected with equal care as to their fitting, placed in between. There is no lime on the island, so that the blocks are put together on the cyclopean plan, without cement. They are also raised into their places in the same primitive fashion, strong spars being used for inclined planes, up which these monoliths are pushed by manual labour in a similar way to that described in the old hieroglyphics of the Nineveh marbles. With all these precautions as to strength, however, the sou'-westers blow with such fierceness into the little bay where the colony is situated, that many of these massive buildings, Green said, were constantly blown down, the huge blocks being tumbled about like pieces of cork! The roofs were thatched with the long grass that Fritz had seen growing in the gardens and with which he had later on a closer and more painful acquaintance, the tussock fibres being fastened inside to light poles that were attached to rafters placed horizontally, while the ridges outside were covered with bands of green turf, firmly fixed on. As for the colony, which numbered some eighty souls in all, it consisted of fifteen families, who possessed from five to six hundred head of cattle and about an equal supply of sheep, with lots of pigs and poultry, each family having its own stock in the same way that each cultivated its own garden; but, there was a common grazing ground, where also large quantities of potatoes were raised--the trade of the island being principally with the American whalers, who take supplies of fresh meat and vegetables, for which they barter manufactured goods, household stuffs, and "notions." During their visit, Fritz and Eric were hospitably entertained by the old man Green at his cottage, which had three large rooms and was the best in the place; and the roast pig which furnished the main dish of the banquet was all the more toothsome, by reason of the long time the brothers had been at sea and so deprived of fresh meat and those good things of the land, to which they had grown somewhat accustomed during their stay at the comfortable shanty on Narraganset Bay under Mrs Brown's auspices. Indirectly, too, Fritz found out a great deal about Inaccessible Island; and, the more he heard, the more firmly rooted became his determination to settle there. The seals, old Green said, were numerous enough; but, he added that the islanders were only able to pay a short visit in December every year, and so lost considerable chances of taking more of them. "Aha," thought Fritz, "we'll be there altogether, and so will have opportunities for taking them all the year round. Tristaners, my good people, look out for your sealskins and oil in future; we, crusoes, are going into the business wholesale!" When the brothers were rowed back to the ship in the evening--having spent the entire day on the island in noticing what would be most useful to themselves subsequently for the new life they were about to adopt-- the other Tristaners who had remained on board choosing goods returned to the shore, promising to send the value of the articles they had selected in beef and potatoes on the following morning. Before turning in for the night, however, Captain Brown gave Fritz to read a newspaper extract which he had posted into his logbook. This detailed the early history of the little colony, and the gist of it was as follows:-- Although discovered as early as the year 1506 by d'Acunha, the first comparatively modern navigator who visited the island was the captain of an American ship--the _Industry_, a whaler sailing from Philadelphia-- who remained at Tristan from August, 1790, to April, 1791, his people pitching their tents on almost the precise spot now occupied by the settlement. At the time of this vessel's visit, it was mentioned that there was plenty of wood of a small growth excellent for firewood; but this Fritz noticed was not the case when he inspected the place during the day, hardly anything but slight brush being apparent beyond the tussock-grass. The American captain also stated that the amount of sea animals of all kinds on the island--whales, seals, and penguins--was almost inexhaustible, his party having procured over six thousand sealskins during their stay of seven months, besides killing more whales than they could find room for the oil from them in their ship! This, too, had become altered during the years which had elapsed, the seals getting scarcer at Tristan now, through the wholesale war carried on against them by the islanders, who latterly, with the exception of the visits they paid to Inaccessible Island and Nightingale Islet--according to old Green's account--had almost abandoned the pursuit for sheer want of sport. The next mention of Tristan d'Acunha, as related in the printed chronicle Fritz read, was in the year after the American captain's sojourn there, when two British ships of war, the _Lion_ and _Hindostan_, which were probably East Indiamen, with the English embassy to China on board, anchored off the north side of the island under the cliff of the mountain peak; but, a sudden squall coming on, these vessels had to leave without investigating the place thoroughly, although their commanders described it as being uninhabited at that time. Nine years later, the captain of another ship that called there found three Americans settled on the island, preparing sealskins and boiling down oil. Goats and pigs had been set adrift by some of the earlier visitors, as well as vegetables planted, and these colonists appeared to be in a very flourishing condition, declaring themselves perfectly contented to pass their lives there. One of the men, indeed, had drawn up a proclamation, stating that he was the king of the country, a title which the others acknowledged; and the three, the monarch and his two subjects, had cleared about fifty acres of land, which they had sown with various things, including coffee-trees and sugar-canes; but, whether this plantation turned out unsuccessful, or from some other notion, the "king" and his colleagues abandoned the settlement--the place remaining deserted until the year 1817, when, during Napoleon Buonaparte's captivity at Saint Helena, the island was formally taken possession of by the English Government, a guard of soldiers being especially drafted thither for its protection, selected from the Cape of Good Hope garrison. This was, undoubtedly, the foundation of the present colony; for, although the military picket was withdrawn in the following year, a corporal of artillery with his wife and two brother soldiers, who expressed a desire to remain on the island, stayed behind. Since then, Tristan has always been inhabited--the original little colony of four souls having formed the nucleus of the present settlement of over eighty, men joining it at various times from passing whalers, while women were imported from the Cape when wives were wanted. From the fact of these latter being mostly Hottentots, the complexion of the younger men, Fritz noticed, was somewhat darker than that of Europeans. This explained what the skipper meant, on first telling him about the island, when he said the inhabitants were "mulattoes"; although Fritz thought them only of a brunette tinge, for they were of much lighter hue than many Spaniards and Italians whom he had met on the Continent. Glass, the ex-artilleryman and original founder of the English settlement, was a Scotchman, born at Kelso. He seems to have been a man of great principle and energy, these qualities gaining for him the complete confidence of the little community over which his authority was quite of a patriarchal character. For thirty-seven years he maintained his position as leader, representing the colony in all its transactions with passing ships and showing himself just and honest in his dealings. The islanders had always been English-speaking, and having strong British sympathies, "Governor Glass," as he was styled, received permission from one of the naval officers visiting the island to hoist the red ensign, as a signal to vessels going by. This slight official recognition was all the notice that the settlement has received from England ever since its establishment--that is, beyond the sending out of a chaplain there by the "Religious Tract Society," who remained for five years and when leaving spoke of the members of the little settlement as being so highly moral that they did not require any spiritual ministration, "there not being a vice in the colony to contend with!" To this latter statement, Fritz found the skipper had appended an eccentric footnote:-- "'Cos why, there ain't no rum handier than the Cape, the little to be got from the whalers visiting the spot--an' they have little enough from me, you bet!--being speedily guzzled down by the old birds, an' the young uns never gettin' a taste o' the pizen!" On Glass's death, he was succeeded in the leadership of the colony by Green, the next oldest man, who now lived in the house of the late founder of the settlement and hoisted the English ensign in his turn. Green was a venerable-looking man, with a long white beard, and seemed, from what Fritz could gather in his different conversations with the islanders, to have successfully followed in his predecessor's footsteps. Since the Duke of Edinburgh's visit in the _Galatea_, many other stray men-of-war have occasionally called to see how the islanders were getting on; but the principal trading communication they have has always been with American whalers, some round dozen of which call at Tristan yearly for the purposes of barter. "An' I guess it's a downright shame," said Captain Brown, when mentioning this latter fact to Fritz, "thet they don't fly the star- spangled banner instead o' thet there rag of a British ensign! If it weren't for us whalers, they'd starve fur want of wood to warm themselves in winter; an', who'd buy their beef an' mutton an' fixins, if we didn't call in, hey?" "That's a conundrum, and I give it up," answered Fritz with a laugh. "Ah, you're a sly coon," said the skipper, sailing away to his cabin. "I guess it's 'bout time to bunk in, mister, so I'm off. Good-night!" "Good-night!" returned Fritz, shutting up the log book and going his way likewise to the small state room set apart for the use of himself and his brother, where he found Eric asleep and snoring away soundly, the tramping about ashore having completely tired out the lad. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. "ALONE!" The next morning, when Fritz got on deck, he found the ship diving and courtesying to her anchor, while an ominous swell came rolling in past her from the westward towards the beach. The surf, too, was breaking against the boulders of the high rocky ramparts that came down sheer from the cliff on the left-hand side of the bay, which was now to the right of where Fritz was standing at the stern of the _Pilot's Bride_, she having swung round during the night and now laying head to sea. There was no wind to speak of, although there was evidently a change brewing; still, any one with half an eye could see that the skipper was quite prepared for any emergency, for the headsails of the vessel, instead of being furled up, now hung loose, the gaskets being cast-off and the bunts dropped. The men, also, were forward, heaving away at the windlass and getting up the cable, of which a considerable length had been paid out, the ship riding in over forty fathoms of water. "Hullo, mister," exclaimed Captain Brown, when he noticed Fritz looking about him, as if perplexed as to what these signs meant,--"I told you we might hev to cut an' run any moment!" "Why?" said Fritz. "Can't you see, man," retorted the other. "I thought you'd hev been half a sailor by this time, judgin' by your smart lad of a brother! Why, the wind is jest choppin' round to the west'ard, I reckon; an', as I don't kinder like to let the ship go to pieces on them thaar cliffs to loo'a'd, I guess we're goin' to make tracks into the offin' an' give the land a wide berth." "Are you going to start soon?" asked Fritz. "Waall, there ain't no 'mediate hurry, mister; but I allers like to be on the safe side, an' when them islanders bring their second boatload o' taters an' t'other grub, I reckon we'll be off. They've brought one lot already, in return for the dry goods an' bread-stuffs I've let 'em hev; an' when they bring the second, I guess the barg'in'll be toted up!" Not long afterwards, Fritz saw the islanders' boat coming off from the landing-place. It was pretty well laden, and the swell had increased so greatly that it sometimes was lost to sight in the trough between the heavy rollers that undulated towards the shore. The Tristaners, however, being accustomed to the water and experienced boatmen, did not make much of the waves; but, pulling a good steady stroke, were soon alongside--the bowman catching a rope which was hove from the chains and holding on, while the various contents of the cargo brought were handed on board. This operation had to be performed most dexterously; for, one moment, the little craft would be almost on a level with the ship's bulwarks, while the next she would be thirty feet below, as the billowy surface of the sea sank below her keel. Eric was beside the skipper, checking the quantities of provisions which had been accurately calculated beforehand, for the Tristaners showed a keen eye to business and weighed everything they bartered for the whaler's goods, when one of the men hailed him. This was the identical young fellow of whom he had spoken to Fritz when first expounding his projected scheme for going sealing to Inaccessible Island, and who, he mentioned besides, had told him all about the place. Indeed, he had actually suggested his going there. Eric had wondered much at not having come across this young man on the previous day when they had visited the settlement, although he looked about for him, so he was doubly pleased to see him now. "Hullo!" cried out this Tristaner to the young German. "So you are back again, eh?" "Yes," said Eric. "Come aboard a moment; I want to speak to you." "All right," exclaimed the other, who was a fine, stalwart young fellow, with jet-black hair and a bronzed face that appeared to be more tanned by the weather than owing its hue to coloured blood; when, in a jiffy, he had swung himself into the chains by the rope attached to the boat's bows and was by Eric's side on the deck of the _Pilot's Bride_, his face all over smiles. "You're the very chap I was wanting to see," said Eric, shaking hands with him cordially. "I was puzzled to know what had become of you yesterday. I did not see you anywhere." "I was away up the mountain, gathering grass," replied the young fellow. "So, you've returned here, as you said you would, early in the year?" "You told me such fine accounts of the fishing," retorted Eric with a laugh, "that, really, I couldn't stop away. I want to talk to you about it again now. This is my brother," he added, introducing Fritz. "Glad to know him," said the Tristaner, bowing politely--indeed, the manners of all the islanders struck Fritz as being more polished than what he had observed in so-called civilised society. "Is he going to join you in settling on Inaccessible Island?" "Yes," replied Eric. "He and I have determined to start sealing there. We have come from America on purpose. Is there anything more you can tell us about it?" "Have you got provisions to last you a year at the least? You must calculate to hold out so long, for no ship may be able to visit you earlier and you cannot count on procuring much food on the island." "Oh, yes; we've got plenty of grub," said Eric, using the sailor's term for food. "And the things besides that I told you would be necessary?" "You may be certain of that," replied Eric. "The only thing I see that we'll have any difficulty about will be in rigging up a house. I'm sure that Fritz and I will never be able to build a substantial shanty like one of those you have here in your island." "No, perhaps not," said the young fellow, smiling. "You see, when we are going to run up a house, we all join together and lend a hand, which makes it easy work for us. It would be impossible for one or two men-- or many more, indeed. I'll tell you what I'll do for you, though. If the captain of your ship here will promise to bring me back again to Tristan, I will go over there with you for a couple of days or so, to see you comfortably fixed up, as you Americans say, at Inaccessible Island, before you and your brother are left to yourselves." "Agreed!" exclaimed Eric joyfully. "I will ask the skipper at once." To dart across the deck to where Captain Brown was now standing by the open hatchway, overseeing the provisions being passed down into the ship's hold, was, for the sailor lad, but the work of a moment! "Oh, Captain Brown,"--commenced Eric breathlessly, his excitement almost stopping his speech for a second. "Waall, what's all the muss about?" said the old skipper, turning round and scanning the lad's eager face. "Do you an' your brother want to back out o' the venture naow? I saw you talkin' to thet Tristaner you met here with me in the spring." "Back out of the project?" repeated Eric very indignantly. "Give up my pet plan, when everything is turning more and more in favour of it, captain? I should think not, indeed!" "Then, what's the matter?" asked the skipper. "I want you to grant me a favour," said Eric, hesitating a bit as the other looked at him steadfastly, a half-smile, half-grin on his weather- beaten countenance. "Thought sunthin' wer up!" ejaculated the skipper. "Waall, what's this durned favour o' your'n?" he added in his good-natured way. "Spit it out, sonny, an' don't make sich a mealy mouth of it!" "This Tristaner--young Glass, you recollect him, don't you, captain?" said Eric, proceeding with his request--"says he'll come with us and help to build our cabin for us at Inaccessible Island, and settle us--" "Show you the ropes, in fact, hey?" interrupted the skipper. "Yes," continued Eric. "He agrees to stop a day or two with us, till we feel at home, so to speak, if you will undertake to bring him back again and land him at Tristan before you go on to the Cape." "Oh!" exclaimed the skipper, giving expression to a long, low whistle from between his closed teeth. "Thet's the ticket, is it? Waall, I guess I don't mind doin' it to oblige you an' your brother, though it'll take me a main heap out o' my way coastin' up haar ag'in!" "Thank you; oh, thank you, captain," said Eric, quite delighted with this promise; and he rushed back across the deck to tell the others the good news. While the young Tristaner was explaining matters to his comrades in the boat--from which all the stores had now been removed that had been brought off from the island and a few extra articles put in, which Captain Brown had made them a present of, as "boot" to the bargain of barter--the wind began to spring up in gusts, causing the ship's sails to flap ominously against the masts. "Guess you'd better be off," cried the skipper, coming to the side, where the two brothers and the young Tristaner who was going to accompany them stood leaning over, having a parting palaver with those in the boat below. "The breeze is risin', an' if you don't kinder care 'bout startin', I reckon we must. Shove off thaar!" "All right," sang out one of the islanders, casting off the rope which attached them still to the ship. "Good-bye, and mind you bring our countryman back safe." "You bet," shouted the skipper. "I'll take care o' him as if he wer my own kin. Now, Eric," he added, "you've got to tend your duties to the last aboard, you know; away aft with you an' see to the mizzen sheets. All hands make sail!" The topsails were dropped at the same moment and sheeted home, while the jib was hoisted; and the ship, paying off, forged slowly up to her anchor. "Now, men," sang out Captain Brown sharply. "Put your heart into thet windlass thaar, an' git the cable in! It's comin' on to blow hard, an' if you don't look smart we'll never git out of this durned bay in time!" Clink, clank, went round the unwieldy machine, as the crew heaved with a will, their movements quickened by the urgency of getting under weigh without delay, and each man exerting the strength of two. "Heave away, men!" chorussed the mate, standing over them and lending his voice to their harmonious chant. "Heave! Yo ho, heave!" A few hearty and long pulls, and then the anchor showed its stock. "Hook cat!" shouted the mate; whereupon, the fall being stretched along the deck, all hands laid hold. "Hurrah, up with her now, altogether!" came the next cry; and then, the anchor was bowsed up to the cathead to the lively chorus that rang through the ship, the men walking away with the fall as if it had no weight attached to it. The yards were now braced round and the _Pilot's Bride_ began to beat out of the bay against the head wind, which was now blowing right on to the shore. "Guess we aren't a bit too soon," said the skipper, when the vessel, after her second tack to starboard, just cleared Herald Point. "If we'd stopped much longer, we'd been forced to stop altogether, I reckon!" "Was there any danger?" asked Fritz innocently. "Yes, mister; there's allers danger to a shep with a gale comin' on an' a nasty shore under her lee. There's nothin' like the open sea for safety! When you can't come to an anchor in a safe harbour, the best thing is to up cable an' cut and run, say I!" Inaccessible Island was only about eighteen miles distant from Tristan; but, as it lay to the south-west of that island and the wind blew strongly from almost the same quarter, the _Pilot's Bride_ had to make a couple of long tacks before she could approach sufficiently near for Fritz to see the spot where he and his brother had elected to pass so many weary months of solitary exile. As the ship beat to windward, passing the island twice on either tack, he was able to notice what a bare, inhospitable-looking place it was. Its structure seemed pretty much the same as that of Tristan, with the exception that the snow-white cone projecting into the clouds, which was the most noticeable feature in the latter island, was here wanting; but, a wall of volcanic rocks, about the same height as the cliff of Tristan d'Acunha, entirely surrounded the desolate spot, falling for the most part sheer into the sea and only sloping, as far as could be seen from the distance the ship was off, sufficiently on one side to allow of any access to the top. Against this impenetrable, adamantine barrier, on the west, the heavy rolling sea that had travelled all the way from Cape Horn was breaking with a loud din, sending columns of spray flying over almost the highest peaks and making the scene grand but awesome at the same time. "Well might it be called Inaccessible Island!" exclaimed Fritz, gazing intently at the threatening cliffs and cruel surge. "Yes, sirree, it kinder skearts one to look at it, don't it now, hey?" "I should think it more dangerous to approach than Tristan?" said Fritz presently. "I rayther guess so, mister," replied the skipper. "I rec'lect readin', when I was a b'y, of the wreck of a big East Indyman here bound fur Bombay. She wer called the _Blenden Hall_, an' I ken call to mind, though it must be nigh fifty year ago, the hull yarn as to how she wer lost." "Do you?" said Fritz. "I should like to hear about it." "Waall, here goes, I reckon. You see as how there wer several ladies aboard, an' it wer the plight they wer put in thet made me 'member it all. It wer in the month of July thet it happen'd, an' the vessel, as I said afore, wer bound to Bombay. The weather bein' thick an' the master funky about his latitudes, findin' himself by observation near these islands, he detarmined to look for 'em, in order to get a sight of 'em an' correct his reck'nin'. I guess he hed too much of a sight soon; fur, a thick fog shortly shut out everythin' from gaze, an' lookin' over the side he found the vessel in the midst of a lot o' floatin' weed. The helm wer put down, but by reason of light winds and a heavy swell settin' in to the shore, the same as you just now saw at Tristan, the shep's head couldn't be got to come round. Breakers were now heard ahead, so the jolly-boat wer lowered with a tow-line to heave the bows round; but it wer of no use, as the wind hed failed entirely an' the swell was a-drivin' the shep on to the rocks. An anchor wer then let go, but the depth of water didn't allow it to take hold, so, they lowered the cutter to help tow the shep's head round, along with the jolly-boat, when all of a sudden she struck. The fog wer so thick by then, thet those on board couldn't see the boats alongside, much less the shore. Howsomedever, they cut away the masts, to ease the vessel an' stop her grindin' on the rocks. Soon arter this, the fog lifted when those on board were frit by seein' right over their heads apparently, those very terrific-lookin' cliffs you see in front, just thaar--only thet they wer close into 'em, not more nor half a cable's length off, an' the heavy seas, sich as you ken now see runnin' up the face of the rocky wall thaar, wer breaking boldly right over the shep--" "And," interrupted Fritz, "what happened then?" "What could you expect?" replied the skipper. "I guess she wer beaten into matchwood in five minutes; although, won'erful to say, the hull of the passengers, ladies an' all, wer got ashore safely, only one man bein' drowned--an' it sarved him right, as he was one of the crew who tried to escape when the shep first struck, an' leave all the rest to perish! They wer all got to land by a hawser rigged from a peak of projectin' rock to a bit of the wreck; an' the ladies, I read, mister, an' all o' them, lived from July to November on penguins an' seal flesh, which they cooked in part of an iron buoy that they sawed in half fur a kittle, shelterin' themselves from the cold in tents thet they made out of the vessel's sails. I reckon, mister, you'll be kinder better provided fur an' lodged, hey?" "Yes, thanks to your kindness," said Fritz; "but the island seems completely encompassed by this rocky wall. I don't see where and how we're going to land and get our things on shore!" "Don't you?" chuckled the skipper. "I guess you'll soon see how we'll fix it." Presently, Fritz's doubts were solved. When the _Pilot's Bride_ had worked her way well to windward of the island, the captain fetched down towards the eastern side, where, on rounding a point, a narrow bay lay right before the ship, quite sheltered from the rough swell and wind that reigned paramount on the other side of the coast, storming and beating against the wall-like cliffs in blind fury! Here, it was as calm as a mill pond; so, the ship was brought to an anchor right in front of a pretty little waterfall that leaped its way by a series of cascades from the cliff above to a level plateau at the base, where a narrow belt of low ground extended for about a mile in front of the bay, its seaweed face being bordered by a broad sandy beach of black sand. "Oh, that is pretty!" exclaimed Fritz and Eric, almost together in one breath. "It is like the falls of the Staubbach at home in dear Germany." "I don't know nary anythin' 'bout thet," said the skipper laconically, for the brothers spoke for the moment in their native tongue, carried away by old associations; "but I guess we'll hev to see 'bout gettin' your fixins ashore pretty sharp, fur the wind may change agin, an' then I'd hev to cut an' leave you." "All right, captain, we're quite at your service," said Fritz; and, a boat being lowered, the various packages containing the brothers' personal belongings, as well as the supply of provisions furnished by the skipper from the ship's stores for their use, were put on board, after which the two then jumped in accompanied by Captain Brown and the young Tristaner, the little party being rowed ashore by four seamen whom the skipper had ordered to assist. As soon as they landed, the things were carried up the beach; when, the seamen bearing a hand,--directed by Captain Brown, who seemed quite used to the sort of work,--all devoted their efforts towards building a rough sort of house, which would serve the adventurous brothers for a temporary habitation until they could make themselves more comfortable. Young Glass selected the best site for the building; and the skipper having caused a lot of timber to be placed in the boat, a makeshift cottage was hastily run up, the walls being of blocks of stone without and of wood inside. The islander then thatched this neatly with tussock-grass, which grew all up the face of the cliff, where, as he showed the brothers, it could be utilised as a sort of ladder to gain the plateau on top--on which, he also told Fritz and Eric, they would find droves of wild hogs and a flock of goats that would come in handy for food when their provisions failed. The Tristaner had promised to remain with them as long as Captain Brown would stay with the _Pilot's Bride_, that is, for a week or so, if the weather was favourable. However, quite unexpectedly, towards afternoon on the next day--when the cottage was completed, it is true, but they had not as yet had time to explore the island in company with young Glass, in order to be familiarised as to the best spots for sealing, planting their potatoes and vegetable seeds, and so on--the wind shifted again round to the south-east; and no sooner was this change apparent than the skipper had to weigh anchor without a moment's delay, when of course the Tristaner had to embark, or else submit to share the young crusoes' exile. Captain Brown had remained on shore with them all the time from their landing, and he appeared now very loth to leave them at the last. Really, as they went down with him to the whale-boat in which they had come ashore, there were tears in the old man's eyes, which he tried vainly to hide. "Pooh!" he exclaimed, stamping his foot vigorously. "It's all them dratted 'skeaters or flies, or sunthin's got inter my durned old optics as I can't see! Hail the ship, Eric my lad, an' tell 'em to send a boat to take us off, will you, sonny?" "But the whale-boat that we landed in is here, captain," said Eric, thinking the skipper had forgotten all about it. "Nary you mind thet, my lad," shouted the good-hearted old man; "I'm goin' to leave thet with you fur a present, b'ys, in case you sh'u'd get tired an' want ter shift your quarters to Tristan some day. It's allers best to be purvided with the means of escape, you know, in case of the worst, for the _Pilot's Bride_ might get wracked down 'mongst the islands Kerguelen way, an' no shep might ever call to take you off." "Oh, captain, how can we thank you!" exclaimed Fritz, overcome with emotion at the skipper's thoughtfulness. "Still, you will come and look us up next year should all be well with you, eh?" "You bet on thet," replied the worthy old man. "I guess you'll see me next fall, if I'm in the land o' the livin'!" "And you'll call to see if there are any letters for us at the Cape of Good Hope, won't you? I told our people at home to write there, on the chance of their communications being forwarded on." "I'll bring 'em sure, if there's any," replied the skipper; and, by this time, a second boat having been sent off from the ship, in which the seamen who had pulled the first whale-boat ashore now took their places, along with the Tristan islander, it only remained for the kind old captain to embark--and then, the brothers would be crusoes indeed! "Good-bye, an' God bless you, my b'ys," he said, wringing first the hand of Fritz and then that of Eric, in a grip that almost crushed every feeling in those respective members. "Good-bye, my lads; but keep a stiff upper lip an' you'll do! Trust in providence, too, an' look arter the seals, so as to be ready with a good cargo when I come back next fall!" "Good-bye, good old friend," repeated Fritz, wringing his honest hand again on the old man stepping into the boat, the crew of which raised a parting cheer as it glided away to the ship, leaving the young crusoes behind on the beach! They watched with eager eyes the sails being dropped and the anchor weighed, the _Pilot's Bride_ soon after spreading her canvas and making way out of the little bay. Then, when she got into the offing, the skipper, as a final adieu, backed the vessel's main-topsail and dipped her colours three times, firing the bow gun at the same time. It was a nautical farewell from their whilom comrades: and then the brothers were left alone! CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. TAKING AN INVENTORY. The westerly wind being, of course, fair for the _Pilot's Bride_ in her run back to Tristan d'Acunha, she soon disappeared in the distance--the snow-capped cone of the larger island being presently the only object to be seen on the horizon, looking in the distance like a faint white cloud against the sky. The evening haze shut out everything else from their gaze: the lower outlines of the land they had so recently left: the vessel that had conveyed them to their solitary home. Nothing was to be seen but the rolling tumid sea that stretched around them everywhere, as far as the eye could reach, heaving and swelling and with the breeze flecking off the tops of the billows into foam as its resistless impetus impelled them onwards, away, away! "Well," exclaimed Eric, after a long pause, during which neither of the brothers had spoken, both being anxiously watching the _Pilot's Bride_-- until, first, her hull and then her gleaming sails, lit up for awhile by the rays of the setting sun, had sunk out of sight--"well, here we are at last!" "Yes, here we are," said Fritz, "and we've now got to make the best of our little kingdom with only our own companionship." "We won't quarrel, at all events, brother," replied Eric, laughing in his old fashion at the possibility of such a thing. The lad was quite overwrought with emotion at parting with the old skipper as well as his late companions in the ship; and, tears and mirth being closely allied, he would have felt inclined to laugh at anything then--just because he couldn't cry! "I don't suppose we will," said the other--"that is, not intentionally. But, brother, we will have to guard our tempers with a strong hand; for, when two persons are thrown together in such close association as we shall be during the next ensuing months--with no one else to speak to and no authority to control us, save our own consciences and the knowledge of the all-seeing Eye above, weighing and considering our actions--it will require a good deal of mutual forbearance and kindly feeling on the part of one towards the other to prevent us from falling out sometimes, if only for a short while. Even brothers like us, Eric, who love each other dearly, may possibly fall out under such trying circumstances!" "Aye, but we mustn't," said Eric. "Instead of falling out, we'll fall into each other's arms whenever we agree to differ, as old nurse Lorischen would have said!" and he gave his brother an enthusiastic hug as he spoke, putting his words into action with a suddenness that almost threw Fritz off his feet. "Hullo!" exclaimed the latter good-humouredly, smiling as he disengaged himself from Eric's bear-like embrace. "Gently lad. Your affectionate plan, I'm afraid, would sometimes interfere with the progress of our work; but talking of that, as the vessel has now disappeared, there's no use in our standing here any longer looking at the sea. Suppose we begin to make ourselves at home and arrange our things in the snug little cottage which our good friends have built for us?" "Right you are!" responded Eric, starting off towards the cliff, under the lee of which the Tristaner had directed the hut to be built, so that it might be sheltered from the strong winds of the winter, which would soon have blown it down had it been erected in a more exposed situation. Fritz followed more leisurely to the level plateau by the waterfall, where stood their cottage. Here, arresting his footsteps, he remained a moment surveying the little domain before joining his brother, who had already rushed within the building. That boy was all impulse: always eager to be doing something! The territory of the young crusoes was of limited dimensions. Extending about a mile laterally, it was bounded on either side by lofty headlands that projected into the sea, enclosing the narrow strip of beach that lay between in their twin arms. The depth of the valley inwards was even more confined by a steep cliff, down whose abrupt face slipped and hopped through a gorge, or gully, a little rivulet. This stream, on its progress being arrested by a shelf in front of the rocky escarpment, tumbled over the obstacle in a sheet of cloud-like spray, being thus converted into a typical "waterfall" that resembled somewhat that of Staubbach, as the brothers had noticed when making their first observations from the ship. The rivulet, collecting its scattered fragments below, made its way to the beach in a meandering course, passing by in its passage the slight hollow in the plateau at the base of the furthermost crag, close by where the cottage was situated. The "location," as Captain Brown would have termed the sloping ground between the cliff and the sea, was certainly not an extensive one; for, in the event of their wishing to expand their little settlement, in the fashion of squatters out West, by "borrowing" land from adjacent lots, the inexorable wall of volcanic rock to the rear of the plateau and on its right and left flank forbade the carrying out of any such scheme; still, the place was big enough for their house, besides affording room for a tidy-sized garden--that is, when the two had time to dig up the soil and plant the potatoes and other seed which the skipper had provided them with, so that they might have a supply of vegetables anon. At first sight, there did not appear to be any means of exit from this little valley; for, the steep cliffs that hedged in its sides and back lifted themselves skywards to the height of nearly a thousand feet, while their fronts were generally so smooth and perpendicular that it would have been impossible even for a monkey to have climbed them--much less human beings, albeit one was a sailor and pretty well accustomed to saltatory feats! But, on their inspecting the apparently insurmountable breastwork a little closer, Fritz noticed, as the young Tristaner had pointed out to them, that, by the side of the gorge through which the waterfall made its erratic descent to the lower level, the face of the cliff was more strongly indented; so that, by using the tussock-grass, which grew there in great abundance, as a sort of scaling ladder, and taking advantage of the niches in the rock to step upon where this failed, the summit could be thus easily gained. The top, however, was so far away from the beach and the foothold so insecure that the work of ascending the crag would be a most hazardous proceeding at the best of times, to the elder brother at all events. While Fritz was thus cogitating, and diligently studying the features of the scene around, Eric was waiting for him impatiently at the door of the rough-looking hut which the sailors had built for them under the superintendence of Captain Brown and the Tristaner. The young sailor was too restless to remain quiet very long. "Do come along, brother!" he called out after a while. "What a time you are, to be sure; we'll never be able to unpack our things before it's dark, unless you look sharp!" "All right, I'm coming," replied the other; and he was soon by the side of Eric, who had already begun to overhaul the various articles that had been brought up from the boat by the sailors and piled up in a corner of the hut. "What a lot of things!" exclaimed the lad. "Why, there are ever so many more parcels than I thought there were!" "Yes," said his brother; "it is all that good Captain Brown's doing, I suppose. When we were parting, he told me that he had left me a few `notions,' besides our own traps." "He has too, brother. Just look here at this barrel of beef; you didn't pay him for that, eh?" "No," said Fritz; "I only bought some pork and ship's biscuits, besides flour and a few groceries." "Then he has thought of much that we forgot," remarked Eric with considerable satisfaction. "I don't think our groceries included preserved peaches and tinned oysters, Fritz; yet, here they are!" "You don't say so--the kind old fellow!" exclaimed Fritz; and then he, too, set to work examining the stores as eagerly as his brother. Before leaving Providence, the two had purchased a couple of spades and shovels, an American axe, a pick, a rake, a wheelbarrow, and a hoe for agricultural purposes--the skipper having told them that the soil would be fertile enough in the summer at Inaccessible Island for them to plant most sorts of kitchen produce, which they would find of great help in eking out the salted provisions they took from the ship, besides being better for their health; while, to give emphasis to his advice, he presented them with a plentiful stock of potatoes to put into the ground, besides garden seed. For cooking, the brothers were provided with a large kettle and frying pan, a couple of saucepans, several knives and forks, some crockery, and, in addition, a large iron cauldron for melting down seal blubber; for hunting purposes, to complete the list of their gear, they had two harpoons, a supply of fishing hooks and a grapnel, two Remington rifles--besides Fritz's needle-gun which he had used in the first part of the Franco-German war, before he became an officer and was entitled to carry a sword--a supply of cartridges, five pounds of loose powder, lead for making bullets, and a mould. Among their weapons, also, was an old muzzle-loading fowling piece for which shot had been taken, Fritz thinking that it might come in handy for shooting birds--although, as he subsequently found out, all of the feathered tribe they saw were penguins, and these did not require any expenditure of powder and shot on their behalf, being easily knocked down with a stick. Nor did they forget to bring with them three or four strong sheath knives, for skinning the seals and any other use for which they were applicable; and, to add to their stock of cutlery implements, the skipper had presented Fritz with a serviceable bowie knife, whose broad double-dagger-like blade was powerful enough to cut down a tree on an emergency or make mince-meat of an enemy! Fritz had likewise purchased in Rhode Island a good stock of winter clothing for himself and Eric, a couple of thick blanket rugs, and two empty bed-tick covers--to be afterwards filled with the down they should procure from the sea birds. He bought, too, a strong lamp, with a supply of paraffin oil, and several dozen boxes of matches; so that he and Eric should not have to adopt the tinder and flint business, or be obliged to rub two pieces of dry stick together, in the primitive fashion of the Australian aborigines, when they wanted a light. So much for their equipment. For their internal use, Fritz had selected from the ship's stores a barrel of salt pork, two hundred-weight of rice, one hundred pounds of hard biscuit, two hundred-weight of flour, twenty pounds of tea and thirty of coffee, and a barrel of sugar; besides which, in the way of condiments and luxuries, their stores included three pounds of table salt, some pepper, a gallon of vinegar, a jar of pickles, a bottle of brandy and some Epsom salts in the view of possible medical contingencies. The skipper also advised their taking a barrel of coarse salt to cure their sealskins with, as well as empty casks to contain what oil they managed to boil down. These were their own stores; but, imagine the surprise of Fritz and his brother, when they found that Captain Brown had added to their stock the welcome present of a barrel of salt beef and a couple of hams, a good- sized cheese, and some boxes of sardines, besides the preserved fruits and pickled oysters which Eric had already discovered. Nor did the skipper's kindness stop here. He had packed up with their things a couple of extra blankets, which they subsequently found of great comfort in the cold weather, in addition to their rugs; a wide piece of tarpaulin to cover their hut with; a few short spars and spare timber; and, lastly, a clock--not to speak of the valuable whale-boat which he had thought of just as he was going away and had presented to them all standing, with oars, mast and sails in complete trim. "I declare," said Fritz, "he has been better than a father to us all through. I never heard of such good nature in my life!" "Nor I," responded Eric, equally full of gratitude. "Celia, too, before I left Providence, gave me a nice little housewife, wherewith I shall mend all our things when they want repairing, besides which, she made ma a present of quite a little library of books." "And I've brought all mine as well," said Fritz, unrolling a large package as he spoke. "We'll not be hard up for reading, at any rate," remarked Eric, laughing joyously. "Food for the mind as well as food for the body, eh?" "Yes," said Fritz; "plenty of both." "But, how on earth shall we ever be able to get through all this lot of grub?" "Ah, we won't find it a bit too much," said Fritz. "What, for only us two, brother?" exclaimed Eric in astonishment. "You forget it has got to last us more than a year, for certain; while, should the _Pilot's Bride_ not visit us again next autumn, it will be all we may have to depend on for twice that length of time." "Oh, I forgot that." "If you could see the pile of rations which one regiment alone of men manages to consume in a week, the same as I have, Eric, you would not wonder so much at the amount of our supplies." "But think, brother, a regiment is very different to two fellows like us!" "Just calculate, laddie," answered the other, "the food so many men would require for only one day; and then for us two, say, for seven hundred days--where's the difference?" "Ah, I see," said Eric, reflecting for a moment. "Perhaps there won't be too much, after all, eh?" "Wait till this time next year, and see what we shall have left then, laddie!" "But, remember the goats and pigs on the top of the mountain which the Tristaner spoke to us about. We'll have those for food as well, won't we?" "Wait till we catch them," remarked Fritz dryly; adding shortly afterwards, "We'd better stop talking now, however, and see about getting our bed things ready for turning in for the night. Recollect, we'll have a busy day of it to-morrow." "Ah, I shall go up and explore the mountain top, brother, the first thing in the morning," said Eric impulsively. "I'm dying to see what it's like!" "We have more important things to do, before satisfying our curiosity," observed the other. "Don't you recollect the garden?" "I declare I forgot it, brother, for the moment, although there's no need for us to hurry about that." "The sooner we plant the seed, the sooner it will grow up," said Fritz gravely. "Remember, old fellow, it is late in the spring now here; and, unless the things are put into the ground without further delay, Captain Brown said we need not hope to have any return from them this year." "All right, Fritz," replied Eric cheerfully, the name of the skipper having the talismanic effect of making him curb his own wishes anent the immediate exploration of the island, which he had planned out for the next day's programme. "We'll do the garden first, brother, if you like." "I think that will be wisest," said Fritz. "But now let us arrange our bunks and have a bit of something to eat from the little basket the steward put up for us before coming ashore. After that, we must go to roost like the penguins outside, for it is nearly dark." "Aye, aye, sir," responded Eric, touching his cap with mock deference. "You just do that again!" said Fritz, threatening him in a joking way. "Or, what?" asked the other, jumping out of his reach in make-believe terror. "I'll eat your share of this nice supper as well as mine." "Oh, a truce then," cried Eric, laughing and coming back to his brother's side; when the two, sitting down in the hut, whose interior now looked very comfortable with the lamp lit, they proceeded to demolish the roast fowl and piece of salt pork which Captain Brown had directed the steward to put into a basket for them, so that they should be saved the trouble of cooking for themselves the first day of their sojourn on the island, as well as enjoy a savoury little repast in their early experience of solitude. "I say," remarked Eric, with his mouth full. "This is jolly, ain't it!" "Yes, pretty well for a first start at our new life," replied Fritz, eating away with equal gusto. "I only hope that we'll get on as favourably later on." "I hope so, too, brother," responded the other. "There's no harm in wishing that, is there?" "No," said Fritz. "But, remember, the garden to-morrow." "I shan't forget again, old fellow, with you to jog my memory!" "Ah, I'll not omit my part of it, then," retorted Fritz, joining in Eric's laughter. Then, the brothers, having finished their meal, turned out their lamp; and, throwing themselves down on a heap of rugs and blankets which they had piled together in a corner of the hut, they were soon asleep, completely tired out with all the fatigues and exertions of the eventful day. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. GARDENING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. If the brothers thought that they were going to hold undisputed sway over the island and be monarchs of all they surveyed, they were speedily undeceived next morning! When they landed from the ship on the day before, in company with the captain and boat's crew, all had noticed the numbers of penguins and rock petrels proceeding to and from the sea--the point from whence they started and the goal they invariably arrived at being a tangled mass of brushwood and tussock-grass on the right of the bay, about a mile or so distant from the waterfall on the extreme left of the hut. The birds had kept up an endless chatter, croaking, or rather barking, just like a number of dogs quarrelling, in all manner of keys, as they bustled in and out of the "rookery" they had established in the arm of the cliff; and Fritz and Eric had been much diverted by their movements, particularly when the feathered colonists came out of the water from their fishing excursions and proceeded towards their nests. The penguins, especially, seemed to possess the diving capabilities of the piscine tribe, for they were able to remain so long under the surface that they approached the beach without giving any warning that they were in the neighbourhood. Looking out to sea, as the little party of observers watched them, not a penguin was to be seen. Really, it would have been supposed that all of them were on shore, particularly as those there made such a din that it sounded as if myriads were gathered together in their hidden retreat; but, all at once, the surface of the water, some hundred yards or so from the beach, would be seen disturbed, as if from a catspaw of a breeze, although what wind there was blew from the opposite quarter, and then, a ripple appeared moving in towards the land, a dark-red beak and sometimes a pair of owlish eyes showing for a second and then disappearing again. The ripple came onwards quickly, and the lookers-on could notice that it was wedge-shaped, in the same fashion as wild geese wing their way through the air. A moment later, a band of perhaps from three to four hundred penguins would scramble out on to the stones with great rapidity, at once exchanging the vigorous and graceful movements for which they were so remarkable while in the water for the most ludicrous and ungainly ones possible now that they were on terra firma; for, they tumbled about on the shingle and apparently with difficulty assumed the normal position which is their habit when on land--that of standing upright on their feet. These latter are set too far back for their bodies to hang horizontally; so, with their fin-like wings hanging down helplessly by their sides, they look ashore, as Fritz said to Eric, "just the very image of a parcel of rough recruits" going through their first drill in the "awkward squad!" When the penguins got fairly out of the water, beyond reach of the surf--which broke with a monotonous motion on the beach in a sullen sort of way, as if it was curbed by a higher law for the present, but would revenge itself bye-and-bye when it had free play--they would stand together in a cluster, drying and dressing themselves, talking together the while in their gruff barking voice, as if congratulating each other on their safe landing; and then, again, all at once, as if by preconcerted order, they would start scrambling off in a body over the stony causeway that lay between the beach and their rookery in the scrub, many falling down by the way and picking themselves up again by their flappers, their bodies being apparently too weighty for their legs. The whole lot thus waddled and rolled along, like a number of old gentlemen with gouty feet, until they reached one particular road into the tussock-grass thicket, which their repeated passage had worn smooth; and, along this they passed in single file in the funniest fashion imaginable. The performance altogether more resembled a scene in a pantomime than anything else! This was not all, either. The onlookers had only seen half the play; for, no sooner had this party of excursionists returned home than another band of equal numbers appeared coming out of the rookery from a second path, almost parallel with the first but distinctly separated by a hedge of brushwood--so as to prevent the birds going to and from the sea from interfering with each other's movements. These new--comers, when they got out of the grass on to the beach--which they reached in a similar sprawling way to that in which the others had before traversed the intervening space, "jest as if they were all drunk, every mother's son of 'em!" as the skipper had said--stopped, similarly, to have a chat, telling each other probably their various plans for fishing; and then, after three or four minutes of noisy conversation, in which they barked and growled as if quarrelling vehemently, they would scuttle down with one consent in a group over the stones into the water. From this spot, once they had dived in, a long line of ripples, radiating outwards towards the open sea, like that caused by a pebble flung into a pond, was the only indication, as far as could be seen, that the penguins were below the surface, not a head or beak showing. Such was the ordinary procedure of the penguins, according to what Fritz and the others noticed on the first day of the brothers' landing on the island. A cursory glance was also given to the movements of the curious little rock hoppers and petrels. These made burrows in the ground under the basaltic debris at the foot of the cliffs, just like rabbits, popping in and out of their subterranean retreats in the same way as people travelling in the American backwoods have noticed the "prairie dogs" do; but, both the brothers, as well as the men from the _Pilot's Bride_, were too busy getting the hut finished while daylight lasted and carrying up the stores from the beach to the little building afterwards, to devote much time to anything else. When, too, the captain and seamen returned on board and the ship sailed, leaving Fritz and Eric alone, they had quite enough to occupy all their time with unpacking their things and preparing for the night, without thinking of the penguins; although they could hear their confused barking noise in the distance, long after nightfall, above the singing of the wind overhead through the waterfall gully and the dull roar of the surf breaking against the western side of the coast. The brothers, however, were too tired to keep awake long, soon sinking into a heavy sleep that was undisturbed till the early morning. But, when day broke, the penguins would not allow their existence to be any longer forgotten, the brothers being soon made aware of their neighbourhood. Eric, the sailor lad, accustomed to early calls at sea when on watch duty, was the first to awake. "Himmel!" he exclaimed, stretching his arms out and giving a mighty kick out with his legs so as to thoroughly rouse himself. He fancied that he heard the mate's voice calling down the hatchway, while summoning the crew on deck with the customary cry for all hands. "What's all the row about--is the vessel taken aback, a mutiny broken loose, or what?" "Eh?" said Fritz sleepily, opening his eyes with difficulty and staring round in a puzzled way, unable at first to make out where he was, the place seemed so strange. "Why, whatever is the matter?" repeated Eric, springing up from amongst the rugs and blankets, which had made them a very comfortable bed. "I thought I was on board the _Pilot's Bride_ still, instead of here! Listen to that noise going on outside, Fritz? It sounds as if there were a lot of people fighting--I wonder if there are any other people here beside ourselves?" "Nonsense!" said his brother, turning out too, now thoroughly awake. "There's no chance of a ship coming in during the night; still, there certainly is a most awful row going on!--What can it be?" "We'll soon see!" ejaculated Eric, unfastening a rude door, which they had made with some broken spars, so as to shut up the entrance to the hut, and rolling away the barrels that had been piled against it, to withstand any shock of the wind from without. The brothers did not fear any other intruder save some blustering south-easter bursting in upon them unexpectedly. "Well!" sang out Fritz, as soon as the lad had peered without--"do you see anybody?" "No," replied Eric, "not a soul! I don't notice, either anything moving about but some penguins down on the beach. They are waddling about there in droves." "Ah, those are the noisy gentlemen you hear," responded the other, coming to the doorway and looking around. "Don't you catch the sound more fully now?" "I would rather think I did," said Eric. "I would be deaf otherwise!" There was no doubt of the noise the birds made being audible enough! The barking, grunting, yelping cries came in a regular chorus from the brushwood thicket in the distance, sometimes fainter and then again with increased force, as if fresh voices joined in the discordant refrain. The noise of the birds was exactly like that laughing sort of grating cry which a flock of geese make on being frightened, by some passer-by on a common, say, when they run screaming away with outstretched wings, standing on the tips of their webbed feet as if dancing--the appearance of the penguins rushing in and out of the tussock clump where their rookery was, bearing out the parallel. "They are nice shipmates, that's all I can say!" remarked Eric presently, after gazing at the movements of the birds for some little time and listening to the deafening din they made. "They seem to be all at loggerheads." "I dare say if we understood their language," said Fritz, "we would know that each of their different cries has a peculiar signification of its own. Perhaps, they are talking together sociably about all sorts of things." "Just like a pack of gabbling old women, you mean!" exclaimed Eric. "I should like to wring all their necks for waking us up so early!" "Not a bit too soon," observed Fritz. "See, the sun is just rising over the sea there; and, as we turned in early last night, there is all the better reason for our being up betimes this morning, considering all there is for us to do before we can settle down regularly to the business that brought us here. What a lovely sunrise!" "Yes, pretty fairish to look at from the land," replied the other, giving but a half-assent to his brother's exclamation of admiration. "I've seen finer when I was with Captain Brown last voyage down below the Cape near Kerguelen. There, the sun used to light up all the icebergs. Himmel, Fritz, it was like fairyland!" "That might have been so," responded the elder of the two, in his grave German way when his thoughts ran deep; "but, this is beautiful enough for me." And so it might have been, as he said--beautiful enough for any one! The moon had risen late on the previous night, and when Fritz and Eric turned out it was still shining brightly, with the stars peeping out here and there from the blue vault above; while, the wind having died away, all the shimmering expanse of sea that stretched away to the eastwards out of the bay shone like silver, appearing to be lazily wrapped in slumber, and only giving vent to an occasional long hum like a deeply drawn breath. But, all in a moment, the scene was changed--as if by the wave of an enchanter's wand. First, a rosy tinge appeared, creeping up from below the horizon imperceptibly and spreading gradually over the whole arc of sky, melting presently into a bright, glowing madder hue that changed to purple, which faded again into a greenish neutral tint that blended with the faint ultramarine blue of the zenith above. The bright moonlight now waning, was replaced for an instant or two only--the transition was so short--by a hazy, misty chiaro-oscuro, which, in another second, was dissolved by the ready effulgence of the solar rays, that darted here, there, and everywhere through it, piercing the curtain of mist to the core as it annihilated it. Then, the sun rose. But no, it did not rise in the ordinary sense of the expression; it literally jumped up at once from the sea, appearing several degrees above the horizon the same instant almost that Fritz and Eric caught sight of it and before they could realise its presence, albeit their eyes were intently fixed all the while on the point where it heralded its coming by the glowing vapours sent before. "Ah!" exclaimed Fritz, drawing a deep breath when this transformation of nature was complete, the light touching up the projecting peaks of the cliff and making a glittering pathway right into the bay. "This sight is enough to inspire any one. It ought to make us set to our work with a good heart!" "Right you are," responded Eric, who was equally impressed with the magic scene--in spite of his disclaimer about having seen a better sunrise in antarctic seas. "As soon as we've had breakfast, for I confess I feel peckish again--it's on account of going to bed so early, I suppose!--I'm ready to bear a hand as your assistant and help you with the garden. But, who shall be cook? One of the two of us had better take that office permanently, I think; eh, Fritz?" "You can be, if you like," said the other. "I fancy you have got a slight leaning that way, from what I recollect of you at home." "When I used to bother poor old Lorischen's life out of her, by running into the kitchen, eh?" "Yes, I remember it well." "Ah, that was when I was young," said Eric, laughing. "I wouldn't do it now, when I am grown up and know better!" "Grown up, indeed! you're a fine fellow to talk of being of age with your seventeen years, laddie!" "Never mind that," retorted Eric; "I mayn't be as old as you are; but, at all events, I flatter myself I know better how to cook than a sub- lieutenant of the Hanoverian Tirailleurs!" So saying, the lad proceeded to make a fire and put the kettle on in such a dexterous manner that it showed he was to the manner born, so to speak; Fritz helping to aid the progress of the breakfast by fetching water from a pool which the cascade had hollowed out for itself at the point where it finally leapt to level ground and betook itself to the sea in rivulet fashion. The brothers only trenched on their stores to the extent of getting out some coffee and sugar, the remains of their supper being ample to provide them with their morning meal; and, after partaking of this, armed with their wheelbarrow and other agricultural implements, besides a bag of potatoes and some seed for planting, they sallied forth from the hut in the direction of the penguin colony. Here, the Tristaner told them, they would find the best spot for a garden, the soil being not only richer and easier to cultivate but it was the only place that was free from rock, and not overrun by the luxuriant tussock-grass which spread over the rest of the land that was not thicket. Proceeding to the right-hand side of the cliff under which their hut was built, they descended the somewhat sloping and broken ground that led in the direction of the penguin colony, the noise from which grew louder and louder as they advanced, until it culminated in a regular ear- deafening chorus. When they had reached the distance of about a quarter of a mile, they came to a closely grown thicket, principally composed of a species of buckthorn tree that grew to the height of some thirty feet although of very slender trunk, underneath which was a mass of tangled grass and the same sort of debris from the cliff as that whereon their hut stood. The place was overgrown with moss and beautiful ferns, while several thrushes were to be seen amongst the branches of the trees just like those at home, although the brothers did not think they sang as sweetly: they whistled more in the way of the blackbird. The ground here, too, was quite honeycombed with the burrows of the little petrels, and into these their footsteps broke every moment. It was odd to hear the muffled chirp and feel the struggling birds beneath their feet as they stepped over the grass-grown soil. The ground had not the slightest appearance of being undermined by the mole-like petrels, its hollowness being only proved when it gave way to the tread; although, after the first surprise of the two young fellows at thus disturbing the tenants of the burrows, they walked as "gingerly" as they could, so as to avoid hurting the little creatures. The birds, however, seemed too busy with their domestic concerns to take any notice of them. After passing through the strip of wood, which was not of very extensive dimensions, Fritz and Eric found the ground on the other side level and pretty free from vegetation. This open land was just at the angle between the cliffs, occupying a space of perhaps a couple of acres, exactly as the Tristaner had told them; so, here they began at once their operations for laying out their projected garden, which was to be the first task they had to accomplish before settling down, now that they had been saved the trouble of building a house to live in. Eric, impetuous as usual, wanted to dig up and plant the entire lot; but Fritz was more practical, thinking it the wisest plan not to attempt too much at once. "No," said he, "we had better begin with a small portion at first; and then, when we have planted that, we can easily take in more land. It won't be such easy work as you think, laddie!" Accordingly, they marked out a space of about twenty yards square; and then, the brothers, taking off their coats, commenced digging at this with considerable energy for some length of time. But, Eric soon discovered that, easy as the thing looked, it was a much tougher job than he had expected, the ground being very hard from the fact of its never having had a spade put into it before; besides which, the exercise was one to which the lad was unaccustomed. "Really, I must rest," he exclaimed after a bit, his hands being then blistered, while he was bathed in perspiration from head to foot. He did not wish to give in so long as he saw Fritz plodding on laboriously, especially as he had made light of the matter when they began; but now he really had to confess to being beaten. "I declare," he panted out, half-breathlessly--"my back feels broken, and I couldn't dig another spadeful to save my life!" "You went at it too hard at first," said his brother. "Slow and sure is the best in the long run, you know! Why, I haven't tired myself half as much as you; and, see, I have turned over twice the distance of hard ground that you have." "Ah, you are used to it," replied Eric. "I'm more accustomed to ploughing the sea than turning up land! But, I say, Fritz; while you go on digging--that is if you're not tired--I've just thought of something else I can do, so as not to be idle." "What is that--look on at me working, eh?" "No," said the lad, laughing at the other's somewhat ironical question; "I mean doing something really--something that will be helping you and be of service to the garden." "Well, tell me," replied Fritz, industriously going on using his spade with the most praiseworthy assiduity, not pausing for a moment even while he was speaking; for, he was anxious to have the ground finished as soon as he could. "I thought that some of the guano from the place where the penguins make their nests would be fine stuff to manure our garden with before we put in the seeds, eh?" "The very thing," said Fritz. "It's a capital idea of yours; and I am glad you thought of it, as it never occurred to me. I recollect now, that the Tristaner said they used it for the little gardens we saw at their settlement. It will make our potatoes and cabbages grow finely." "All right then; shall I get some?" "By all means," responded Fritz; "and, while you are collecting it, I will go on preparing the ground ready for it; I've nearly done half now, so, by the time you get back with the guano I shall have dug up the whole plot." "Here goes then!" cried Eric; and, away he went, trundling the wheelbarrow along, with a shovel inside it for scraping up the bird refuse and loading the little vehicle--disappearing soon from his brother's gaze behind the tussock-grass thicket that skirted the extreme end of the garden patch, close to the cliff on the right-hand side of the bay, and exactly opposite to the site of their cottage, this being the place where, as already mentioned, the penguins had established their breeding-place, or "rookery." Prior to Eric's departure, the birds had been noisy enough, keeping up such a continual croaking and barking that the brothers could hardly hear each other's voice; but now, no sooner had the lad invaded what they seemed to look upon as their own particular domain, than the din proceeding from thence became terrific, causing Fritz to drop his spade for the first time since handling it and look up from his work, wondering what was happening in the distance. He could, however, see nothing of Eric, the tussock-grass growing so high as to conceal his movements; so, he was just about resuming digging, fancying that his brother would shortly be back with his wheelbarrow full of guano manure and that then the uproar would be over, when, suddenly, he distinguished, above all the growling and barking of the penguins, the sound of the lad's voice calling to him for aid. "Help, Fritz, help!" cried Eric, almost in a shriek, as if in great pain. "Help, Fritz, help!" CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. ERIC'S COOKERY. To throw down his spade a second time and rush off in the direction from whence his brother's cries for assistance proceeded was but the work of an instant for Fritz; and when he had succeeded in pushing his way through the tangled tussock-grass, which grew matted as thick as a cane- brake, he found the lad in a terrible plight. At first, the strong ammoniacal smell of the guano was so overpowering, combined with the fearful noise the penguins made--all screaming and chattering together, as if the denizens of the monkey house at the Zoological Gardens, which Fritz had once visited when in London, had been suddenly let loose amongst the parrots in the same establishment-- that his senses were too confused to distinguish anything, especially as the thicket was enveloped in semi-darkness from the overhanging stems of the long grass which shut out the sunlight; but, after a brief interval, Fritz was able to comprehend the situation and see his brother. Poor Eric was lying face downwards, half-suffocated amidst the mass of bird refuse, with the wheelbarrow, which had got turned over in some mysterious way or other, lying over him and preventing him from rising. Really, but for Fritz's speedy arrival, the lad might have lost his life in so strange a fashion, for he was quite speechless and his breath gone when his brother lifted him up. Nor was this the worst either. The penguins had made such a determined onslaught on Eric with their heavy beaks and flapping wings, and possibly too with their webbed feet when he was down struggling amongst them, that his clothes were all torn to rags; while his legs and body were bleeding profusely from the bites and scratches he had received. His face alone escaped injury, from the fact of its being buried in the guano debris. Fritz took hold of him, after pulling away the wheelbarrow, and lugged him outside the penguin colony; when the lad, recovering presently, was able to tell the incidents of the adventure, laughing subsequently at its ridiculous aspect. It seemed funny, he explained, that he, a sailor who had battled with the storms of the ocean and feared nothing, should be ignominiously beaten back by a flock of birds that were more stupid than geese! He had thought it easy enough to get the guano for the garden, he said, but he had overrated his ability or rather, underrated the obstacles in his way; for, no sooner had he left the level ground which they had selected for their little clearing, than he found that the tussock- grass, which appeared as light and graceful in the distance as waving corn, grew into a nearly-impenetrable jungle. The root-clumps, or "tussocks" of the grass--whence its name--were two or three feet in width, and grew into a mound about a foot high, the spaces intervening between, which the penguins utilised for their nests, averaging about eighteen inches apart, as if the grass had been almost planted in mathematical order. It would have been hard enough to wheel in the wheelbarrow between the clumps, Eric remarked, if all else had been plain sailing; but since, as he pointed out and as Fritz indeed could see for himself, the stems of the thick grass raised themselves up to the height of seven or eight feet from the roots, besides interweaving their blades with those of adjoining clumps, the difficulty of passing through the thicket was increased tenfold. He had, he said, to bend himself double in stooping so as to push along the wheelbarrow into the birds' breeding-place, which he did, thinking his path would become more open the farther he got in. So, not to be daunted, Eric trundled along the little vehicle right into the heart of the birds' colony, beating down the grass as he advanced and crushing hundreds of eggs in his progress, as well as wheeling over those birds that could not, or stupidly would not, get out of his way; when, as he was beginning to load up the wheelbarrow with a mass of the finer sort of guano which he had scraped up, the penguins, which had been all the while grumbling terribly at the intruder who was thus desolating their domain--waiting to "get up steam," as the lad expressed it--made a concerted rush upon him all together, just in the same manner as they appeared always to enter and leave the water. "In a moment," Eric said, "the wheelbarrow got bowsed over, when I managed, worse luck, to fall underneath; and then, finding I couldn't get up again, I hailed you, brother." "I came at once," interposed Fritz, "the moment I heard you call out." "Well, I suppose you did, old fellow," said Eric; "but whether you did or didn't, in another five minutes I believe it would have been all up with me, for I felt as if I were strangled, lying down there on my face in that beastly stuff. It seemed to have a sort of take-away-your- breath feeling, like smelling-salts; and, besides, the penguins kicked up such a hideous row all the while that I thought I would go mad. I never heard such a racket in my life anywhere before, I declare!" "But they've bitten you, too, awfully," remarked Fritz sympathisingly. "Look, your poor legs are all bleeding." "Oh, hang my legs, brother!" replied the other. "They'll soon come right, never fear, when they have had a good wash in salt water. It was the noise of the blessed birds that bothered me more than all their pecking; and, I can say truly of them, as of an old dog, that their bark is worse than their bite!" So chuckling, the lad appeared to think no more of it; albeit he had not escaped scathless, and had been really in imminent peril a moment before. "The penguins do bark, don't they, Fritz?" he presently asked when he had stopped laughing. "Yes," said his brother, "I don't think we can describe the sounds they make as anything else than barking. Talking of dogs, I wish I had my old Gelert here; he would soon have made a diversion in your favour and routed the penguins!" "Would he?" exclaimed Eric in a doubting tone, still rather sore in his mind at having been forced to beat a retreat before his feathered assailants. "I fancy the best dog in the world would have been cowed by those vicious brutes; for, if he didn't turn tail, he would be pecked to death in a minute!" Eric was not far wrong, as a fine setter, belonging to one of the officers of HMS _Challenger_, when that vessel was engaged in surveying the islands of the South Atlantic, during her scientific voyage in 1874, was torn to pieces by the penguins in the same way that Eric was assailed, before it could be rescued. "Never mind," said Fritz, "I wish dear old Gelert were here all the same." "So do I," chorussed Eric, jumping up on his legs and shaking himself, to see whether his bones might not have received some damage in the affray. "We should have rare fun setting him at the penguins and interrupting their triumphant marches up and down the beach!" And he raised his fist threateningly at his late foes. "Do you know," observed Fritz, who had been cogitating awhile, "I think I see the reason for their methodical habit of going to and from the water." "Indeed?" said Eric. "Yes. Don't you recollect how an equal number seem always to come out from the rookery and proceed down the beach when the other batches land from the sea, just as if they took it in rotation to go fishing?" "Of course. Why, Captain Brown specially pointed that out to us." "Well," said Fritz, "the reason for that is, that the males and females mind the nests in turn, just as you sailors keep watch on board ship. First, let us say, the gentlemen penguins go off to the sea to have a swim, and see what they can catch; and then, at the expiration of a fixed time, these return to the shore and take charge of the nests, sitting on the eggs while their wives, whom they thus relieve for a spell, have a spell off, so as to get a mouthful of fresh air--" "Water, you mean," interposed Eric, jokingly. "All right, water then, and perhaps a fish or two as well; after which they come back to attend to their own legitimate department. Look now at that group there, just in front of us?" Eric glanced towards the spot where his brother directed his attention, and noticed a party of penguins returning from the sea. These separated as soon as they approached the line of nests, different individuals sidling up to the sitting birds and giving their partners a peck with their beaks, by way of a hint, barking out some word of explanation at the same time. In another moment, the home-coming penguin had wedged itself into the place of the other, which struggling on to its feet then proceeded outside the thicket, where, being joined by others whose guard had been thus similarly relieved, the fresh group proceeded together, in a hurried, scrambling sort of run, to the beach, whence they shortly plunged into the sea, having, however, their usual gabbling colloquy first in concert before taking to the water. "They're a funny lot," said Eric; "still, they're not going to get the better of me, for I intend to load the wheelbarrow with their guano, whether they like it or not!" "I wouldn't disturb them again, if I were you," observed Fritz. "They seem to have quieted down, and do not mind our presence now." "I won't trouble them, for I shall not go inside their rookery," said Eric. "I only intend to skirt round the place, and see what I can pick up outside." "Very well then, I will go on digging the garden, which I have been neglecting all this time, if you will get the manure. I should like to plant some of our potatoes to-day, before knocking off work, if we can manage it." "All right, fire away; I will soon come and join you," said Eric, and the brothers separated again--Fritz proceeding back to the ground he had been digging, which now began to look quite tidy; while the sailor lad, lifting up the handles of the wheelbarrow, trundled it off once more along the edge of the tussock-grass thicket, stopping every now and again to shovel up the guano, until he had collected a full load, when he wheeled his way back to where Fritz was working away still hard at the potato patch. A piece of ground twenty yards long by the same in breadth is not easy to dig over in a day, even to the most industrious toiler, and so Fritz found it; for, in spite of the interruption his brother had suffered from on his first start after the manure from the bird colony, the lad managed to cover the whole of the plot they had marked out with the fertilising compound, which he wheeled up load after load, long before he had accomplished half his task, although he dug away earnestly. Fritz had been a little more sanguine than he usually was. He thought he could have finished the job before the middle of the day; but, when it got late on in the afternoon and the sun gave notice as he sank behind the western cliff that the evening was drawing nigh, there was still much to finish; and so, much to the elder brother's chagrin, the task had to be abandoned for the day in an incomplete state. "Never mind," he said to Eric--when, putting their spades and other tools into the wheelbarrow, they trundled it homeward in turn, like as their friends the penguins practised their domestic duties--"we'll get it done by to-morrow, if we only stick to it." "I'm sure I will do my best, brother," responded Eric; "but, really, I do hate digging. The man who invented that horrible thing, a spade, ought to be keel-hauled; that's how I would serve him!" "Is that anything like what the penguins did to you this morning?" asked Fritz with a chuckle. "Pretty much the same," said Eric, grinning at the allusion. "I declare I had almost forgotten all about that! However, I'll now go and get a change of clothes, and have a bath in the sea before sitting down comfortably to our evening meal;" and, anxious to carry out this resolve at once, the lad set off running towards the hut with the wheelbarrow before him, he having the last turn of the little vehicle. "There never was so impetuous a fellow as Eric," Fritz said to himself, seeing the lad start off in this fashion. "Himmel, he is a regular young scatter-brain, as old Lorischen used to call him!" "Pray be quick about your bath," he called out after him. "I will get the coffee ready by the time you come back." "Good!" shouted Eric in return. "Mind and make it strong too; for, I'm sure I shall want something to sustain me after all my exertions!" The day terminated without any further incident; although the wind having calmed down, the young fellows heard the penguins much more plainly through the night than previously. Still, this did not much affect their rest; for in the morning they turned out fresh and hearty for another day's experience of gardening. But, again, they were unable to finish the plot of land properly on this second day, to Fritz's satisfaction, so as to begin planting their seeds. The ground was so hard and there were such numbers of roots and weeds to remove from the soil, that it took them up to the middle of the afternoon of the third day ere their little plot could be said to be clear of all extraneous matter. Then, however, it was really ready for the reception of their seedling potatoes and other vegetables, with the guano well dug in. "Hurrah!" exclaimed Fritz, as he and Eric began fixing a piece of line across the fresh mould, so as to be able to make the furrows straight for the potatoes, which they had ready cut in a basket, only pieces with an "eye" in them being selected, "now, we'll soon be finished at last! When we've put in the cabbage seed and onions, I think we'll have a holiday for the rest of the day." "Right you are," said Eric, in high glee at the prospect of a little respite from the arduous toil they had been engaged in almost since they had landed. He would have struck work long before, had it not been for Fritz labouring on so steadily, which made him ashamed to remain idle. "I tell you what we'll do to celebrate the event, now the garden is done. We will have a feast there." "I don't know where that's to come from," observed Fritz in his sober way, just then beginning to place carefully the pieces of potato in the drills prepared for them. "I don't think there's much chance of our having any feasting here." "Oh, indeed," replied Eric; "am I not cook?" "Well, laddie, I haven't noticed any great display of your skill yet since we landed," said Fritz dryly. "Ah, we've been too busy; you just wait till I have time, like this afternoon. Then you shall see what you shall see!" "No doubt," said Fritz, laughing at this sapient declaration. "However, I assure you, brother mine and most considerate of cooks, I'll not be sorry to have a change of diet from the cold salt pork and biscuit on which we have fared all the time we've been gardening." "How could I cook anything else, when you wanted me here?" replied Eric indignantly, handing the last piece of potato to put in the sole remaining drill. "I couldn't be up at the hut with my saucepans and down here helping you at the same time, eh?" "No," said Fritz, proceeding to give the plot a final rake over; after which he sowed some cabbage seed and onions in a separate patch, while Eric put in the peas and scarlet runners which the skipper had given him. "We'll consider the past a blank, laddie. See what you can do with your saucepans to-day; you've got the whole afternoon before you." "All right," replied Eric. "Only, you must promise not to interfere with me, you know; mind that, old fellow!" "What, I have the temerity to offer advice to such a grand cuisinier as the noble ex-midshipman? no, not if I know myself." "Thanks, Herr Lieutenant," said Eric, with a deferential bow; "I will summon your lordship when the dinner is ready." With this parting shot, the lad went off laughing towards the hut. Fritz proceeded down to the shore; and, in order that he might keep his promise to Eric of not disturbing him, he determined to devote his time to watching the penguins, so as to get up an appetite for the forthcoming banquet--although the hard work he had just gone through rendered any stimulus to eating hardly necessary. Indeed, Fritz would have been well enough satisfied to have sat down and demolished a fair quantity of the despised cold pork and biscuits long before Eric summoned him up to the hut, which he did presently, with a hail as loud as if he were calling "all hands" at sea, in a heavy squall. "Ahoy, Herr Lieutenant!" shouted out the lad in his funny way. "Your gracious majesty is served!"--screeching out the words so distinctly that, though he was on the opposite side of the valley, the portentous announcement sounded to Fritz as if it had been bellowed in his ears. "I'm coming," he answered; and, with no lagging footsteps, he quickly hastened towards the left cliff, where in front of the hut he could see Master Eric had made the most elaborate preparations in his power for the promised feast. The lad had even gone so far as to spread the piece of tarpaulin which the skipper had given them, on the ground in lieu of a tablecloth! Everything looked charming. Eric had arranged some plates and a couple of dishes round the tarpaulin with great artistic effect, and a carving knife and fork before the place where he motioned Fritz to seat himself. The lad's own position, as host, was in front of a large mess tin which was covered with a cloth. A most agreeable odour filled the air, albeit the faint smell as of burnt meat somewhat struck Fritz as Eric proceeded to take off the covering cloth with a flourish. "Well, Monsieur Cuisinier, what is the bill of fare?" asked the elder brother with a gratified smile, the unaccustomed smell of a hot dinner almost making his mouth water before he knew what he was going to have. "Roast beef to begin with," announced Master Eric pompously. "Himmel!" exclaimed Fritz, "roast beef! How have you managed to provide that?" His heart sank within him as he asked the almost unnecessary question; for, quickly came the answer he feared. "Oh," said Eric in an off-hand way, "I opened the cask Captain Brown gave us and roasted a piece over the fire." "But, that was salt meat!" ejaculated Fritz in consternation. "Well, what matter?" rejoined Eric; "I suppose it was as good to roast as any other. Besides, we didn't have any fresh." Fritz heaved a sigh of despair. "Let us try it, anyhow," he said in a melancholy tone, and Eric having, carved off with extreme difficulty a knob--it could be called nothing else--of the black mass in the mess tin he had before him, handed the plate containing it over to Fritz, who, sawing off a fragment, endeavoured to chew it unsuccessfully and then had finally to eject it from his mouth. "Good heavens, Eric!" he exclaimed, "it's as hard as a brickbat, as salt as brine, and burnt up as thoroughly as a piece of coke. How could you even think of trying to roast a bit of salt junk? Why, your own experience of the article on board ship should have told you better!" "Well, I know it is tough when boiled; but I fancied it might be better roasted for a change. I'm very sorry, old fellow, but, still, we haven't come to the end of our resources yet; I have got another dish to surprise you." "I hope not in the same way!" said Fritz with a shudder. "What is the other string to your bow, eh, Mr Cook?" "A stew," replied Eric laconically. "Ho, that sounds better," said his brother, the complacent look which had stolen over his face on sitting down to the banquet now returning again in the expectation of having something savoury at last. "A stew, eh? Why, that used to be my favourite dish at home; don't you remember, laddie?" "Yes, I remember," responded Eric, not quite so joyously as his brother evidently expected; "but," he added hesitatingly, "you'll find this a little different, because, ah, you know, ah, I hadn't got all the proper things. Still, it's very nice, very nice indeed!" The amateur cook brought out the last words with great earnestness, as if wishing to impress Fritz with the fact that, although the dish might not be quite what he expected, yet it would be certainly "tasty"--that is, according to his notions! It was; for, hardly had Fritz tasted a spoonful of it, than he spat it out again, making the most terrible faces. "Why, this is worse than the other!" he cried rather angrily. "What on earth have you made it of. Eric?" "Well, I put in some pork and the tinned oysters--" "That mixture would be almost enough to settle one!" said Fritz, interrupting him. "Anything else?" "Oh, yes. As there were only a few potatoes left from those we used for planting in the garden I put them in; and, as I had no other vegetables, I also shook in some preserved peaches, and--" "There, that will do," shouted Fritz, quite put out at having his expected dinner treat spoilt in such a fashion,--"salt pork, pickled oysters, and preserved peaches,--good heavens! The stew only wanted some cheese to be added to make it perfect." "I did put some in," said Eric innocently. This naive acknowledgment quite restored Fritz's good humour, and he burst out laughing; his anger and disgust dispelled at once by the comical confession. "If ever I let you cook for me again," he observed presently when he was able to speak again, "I'll--yes, I will eat a stewed penguin, there!" Eric laughed, too, at this; although he remarked, wisely enough, "Perhaps you might have to eat worse than that, old fellow!" "I don't know what could be," said Fritz. "Nothing!" curtly replied Eric, the truism silencing his brother for the moment and setting him thinking; but he presently spoke again to the point at issue. "Is there nothing left for us to eat?" he asked. "I'm famishing." "There's the cheese and some raw ham if you can manage with those," said Eric sadly, quite disheartened at the failure of all his grand preparations for giving his brother a treat. "Capitally," replied Fritz, "fetch them out, and let us make a good square meal. We can have some coffee afterwards. Next time, laddie," he added to cheer up Eric, "I dare say you'll do better." The lad was somewhat relieved at his brother taking the matter so good- humouredly, and quickly brought out the cheese and ham, which with some biscuits served them very well in place of the rejected viands; and, soon, the two were chatting away together again in their old affectionate way as if no misunderstanding had come between them, talking of home and old familiar scenes and recollections of Lubeck. While they were yet sitting in front of the hut, over their coffee, the setting sun cast the shadow of the cliff right before their feet; and, at the very edge of the craggy outline, they perceived the shadow of something else which was in motion. This somewhat aroused their attention and made them look up towards the heights above the waterfall. What was their astonishment, there, to see a large animal, which, in the strong light behind it from the descending orb, appeared almost of gigantic proportions. The beast appeared to be right over their heads; and, as they looked up, it seemed as if about to jump down on them! CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. THE WILD GOATS. "Ach, Himmel! What is it?" exclaimed Eric, getting closer to his brother, who also was at first a bit frightened. "I sure I don't know," said Fritz, quite perplexed for the moment; but he was soon reassured, for the animal, which had hitherto presented itself end on towards them, so that its head and body were humped up together, now turning sideways, its change of position enabled him better to judge of its proportions. "Pshaw!" he cried out, "it's only a goat, after all!" "A goat?" repeated Eric, still surprised, not catching at once the meaning of the word. "Yes; don't you remember that young Glass said there was a flock of goats on the tableland above the cliff?" "Oh, I recollect now," said Eric, his mind quite relieved. For the moment, he really believed that some terrible monster inhabited the desert island besides themselves; and thought that this unknown animal might possibly sally forth as soon as the sun set and darkness reigned, in search of its prey, when he and Fritz would fall victims to its rapacity. "I did not understand you at first." "Well, it's all right now, brother, so you need not be afraid. I cannot wonder at your alarm, however for I was startled, I must confess. Fancy, me, a soldier, to show such want of nerve! Why, I'm as bad as you were the other morning when the penguins attacked you!" "Don't say any more about that, please," pleaded Eric, whose fright of the birds was still a standing joke with Fritz. "I'm sure when they rushed at me so fiercely they seemed quite as awful as the sight of that big brute up there on the cliff, who looked just as if he were going to leap down on us." "Very well, we'll let the matter drop, then," said the other, laughing. "I can't afford to boast of my courage now! If all goes well, laddie, we will ascend the cliffs to-morrow and have a peep at my gentleman at closer quarters." "All right," replied Eric, using his stock phrase for everything; and then, as it was getting dark, the brothers turned in for the night--the sailor lad taking particular care, by the way, to see that the door of the hut was carefully barricaded, a precaution which had been omitted since the first evening of their taking possession of the little dwelling. The next morning was a bright and cheerful one, with no wind to speak of, save a pleasant breeze, while the sun was warm and cheerful--its light dancing on the curly little waves that rippled on the beach, causing the plumage of the penguins as they made their pilgrimages to and from the rookery to gleam with iridescent colours. This was especially the case when the birds emerged from the water, the light just then giving them the tints which the dolphin displays when first caught and before death has deadened its changing hues. "A splendid day for our exploring trip!" sang out Eric, the early riser, waking up Fritz by rolling away the barrels from before their frail doorway and fussing about the hut. "Rouse up, brother. The old sun has been up for an hour or more, and it will be soon time for us to start." "Eh, what? oh, yes," cried Fritz, rubbing his eyes and yawning; but, Eric, pulling away his blankets, soon made him bestir himself, when his brother jumped up with his usual alertness--first running down to the beach and imitating the penguins in having a dip in the sea, to wash the cobwebs out of his head, as he laughingly said on his return to their little domicile, when proceeding to dress. For a sailor, Eric was, strangely enough, not half so fond of a daily bath; but, as he said in excuse to his brother, this was perhaps owing to his having so many impromptu and unexpected douches on board ship. Most seamen, especially those of foreign nationality, have seemingly a horror of water for ablutionary purposes, in contradistinction to landsmen. However, there was one advantage in this, to Fritz at least; for, while he was performing his swim and making his subsequent toilet, Eric had lit a fire and was preparing coffee for their breakfast, to which, when ready, Fritz was able to sit down comfortably without any trouble or exertion on his part. A cup of the steaming fluid apiece warmed the two, invigorating them for the business of the day; and, as soon as the matutinal meal was finished, they set about getting their traps ready. "Of course, we'll take our guns, eh?" asked Eric; although, as far as he was concerned, he had evidently already come to a decision on the point, for he had carefully selected one of the Remington rifles from their armoury for his own especial weapon. "Yes, I suppose we had better take something to shoot with," replied Fritz. "We need not pot our old friend the goat yet, however. Judging by his horns and beard, he must be the kaiser of the flock, and so may be a little tough; still, we may find some daintier morsel to shoot. I confess I should be glad of a little fresh meat for a change--a real roast this time, eh, Eric?" "Oh, bother that roast salt beef; I suppose I'll never hear the end of it!" cried the lad pathetically, although he could not refrain from laughing at Fritz's allusion to the unsuccessful banquet. "You just get me something proper to cook, and I bet you'll not be disgusted with the way in which I dress it!" "We'll see," replied Fritz, taking up the fowling piece and slinging a powder flask and shot case round his neck. "As you're going to carry a rifle for heavy game, laddie, I'll take this for the benefit of any likely-looking birds we may come across." "All right," responded Eric; when the two, packing up some biscuit and cheese for their refreshment by the way and barricading the door of the hut from the outside--lest the penguins might chance to pay them a visit in their absence--set forth towards the base of the waterfall up the gorge. Here, the Tristaner had told them, they would be able to climb up by the aid of the tussock-grass should they wish to reach the summit of the cliff. It was a tedious ascent, the top of the ridge being over a thousand feet above the little valley in which they lived. As for Fritz, he was quite worn-out when they arrived at the head of the crags above the waterfall; but Eric found the climbing easier work from his practice in the rigging aboard the _Pilot's Bride_. This was just as well, for he had to pull his brother up nearly all the way. However, once arrived at the summit, the two had the whole tableland exposed to their view. This sight alone well rewarded them for their trouble, for the plateau stretched like an undulating plain before them, occupying the entire extent of the island--with the exception of the three-cornered slice taken out of it by their valley, like a segment cut from a round cheese. There was, also, a slight depression on the western side, where there was a little cave, although this was not nearly so wide as the bay on the east fronting their valley. Groups of stunted trees grew in the hollows, in which sprang up in great luxuriance the inevitable tussock-grass; while, amongst the little thickets that were sparsely scattered over the plain, were grazing large numbers of hogs, headed by a monster boar. This animal had tusks nearly a foot long; and he almost impaled Eric against a buckthorn tree, under the shelter of which he had been lying until surprised by the lad, when, after making a rush at him, he ran grunting away, followed by his numerous family. As the brothers proceeded across the tableland, they also saw numbers of a small bird, about the size of a bantam, called by young Glass the "island hen." Its plumage was almost entirely black, and its wings were so short that they were useless for flight, the bird running in and out of the long grass and ferns with which the surface of the plateau was covered in the open, like the partridge does amongst the turnips in England. Fritz shot a couple of the little things, and the brothers plucked and roasted them over an extemporary fire which Eric lit with the box of matches he invariably "carried in his pocket--as a sort of badge of his culinary office," Fritz said. The birds were found to be very palatable for lunch, along with the biscuit and cheese which the brothers had brought with them. The goats were the main object of the excursion; but Fritz could not see anything of them until they had nearly made the circuit of the plain. When they had almost given up the animals as a myth, feeling inclined to believe that the old "billy" they had seen the evening before was the creature of their imagination, they suddenly came upon the flock. The goats were secreted in a thicket of buckthorn trees and tussock-grass, close to where the tableland sloped to the beach at its western extremity. There were twenty-three in all, and must have been the produce of a pair which some whaling vessel had turned loose on the island; for, they were every one marked in the same way as the patriarchal-looking male,-- evidently their progenitor. He was a stately old fellow, with a fine pair of curving horns that nearly reached to his tail; in addition to which, he could boast of a long silky beard that a Turkish pasha might have envied. Seeing three kids amongst the number, Fritz told Eric to shoot one; and the lad, after a third attempt with the repeating rifle he carried, succeeded in making a successful shot. There was some excuse for Eric's not killing his kid at first; for, the old male was extremely wary, keeping at a very respectful distance from the two sportsmen and making the flock remain in his rear, while he fronted the intruders-- continually retreating as they advanced, and dexterously shifting his position, by a flank movement every now and then, so as not to be driven over the cliffs. "Master Billy can't be ignorant of men folk or firearms," said Eric, when he had missed his second shot, "otherwise, he would not remain so far off!" "He was probably brought here originally from the Cape," replied Fritz, telling his brother to aim lower next time, his last bullet having only missed by too great an elevation. "So, like all animals that have once heard a gun go off, he knows what it means! Most likely, if I had not fired twice at those little birds, we might have got up quite close to the flock; but, the old gentleman must have heard the report and that has made him so cautious about letting us approach. Look out, Eric; now's your chance! Only aim low and steadily, and you will bring down that kid there to the right!" Puff, bang! No sooner said than done. "Hurrah!" shouted Eric, "I've got him this time, without fail!" He had; for, although the flock of goats scampered off from the thicket they were at that moment occupying towards another woody clump on the opposite side of the plain, darting away with the rapidity of the wind, they left one of their number behind. The unfortunate victim was a pretty little kid, about three months old; and it lay stretched out, bleeding, on the grass. Its body had been perforated by the bullet from Eric's rifle. "That was a capital shot!" exclaimed Fritz, when the two came up to where the poor little kid lay. "The ball has passed right through its heart; so, you must have aimed, as I told you, behind the shoulder." "I did," said Eric, alike proud of his powers and the compliment; "but, poor little thing, it seems a pity to have killed it!" "Ah," remarked Fritz the practical, "still, roast mutton will taste nice after our living on salt meat for so many days, eh?" "Yes," replied Eric, with much satisfaction, his sympathy for the slaughtered kid quickly disappearing at the thought of all that young Glass had told him as to the flavour of the animal when cooked. "It is better than the tenderest pork, they say." "Very well, we'll try it for dinner to-morrow and see whether we agree with that verdict. It will be too late to cook it when we get home this evening." "Dear me, I really did not think the time was going so fast! Why, it must be within a hour of sunset; don't you think so?" "Not far off," said Fritz; "so, therefore, there's all the greater reason for our returning down the gully as soon as possible. If the darkness came on while we were descending, I should never be able to scramble down." "Never fear, brother; I'll look after you," cried Eric. On their approaching the eastern end of the clift again, the sailor lad first lowered down the dead kid by a piece of rope he had taken with him, on to one of the niches in the gorge above the waterfall, and then prepared for the descent of Fritz and himself. "Never fear brother," he repeated. "Although you may be stronger than I, still my eye is steady and my hand sure!" "Good!" said Fritz. "You had better then go down first, and direct me where to put my feet. After we've been up and down once or twice, of course, I shall not find it so difficult." "All right," responded Eric, "here goes!" So saying, he swung himself over the top of the cliff, when, holding on firmly to the tussock-grass and half slipping down and half stepping on the projections in the face of the crag, he reached in a few minutes the first broad ledge over which the rivulet from above tossed its spray. "Are you quite safe?" asked Fritz, before adventuring on the descent. "Certainly," said the other. "Hold on to the grass stems the same as I did, and let yourself slide over at the corner--there! Now, feel with your foot for a projecting bit of stone just below where you are standing and about a yard to the right. Have you got it?" "Yes," replied Fritz. "All right, then, let yourself down on it and take a fresh grip of the tussock-grass, for you will have to bear more to the left this time. Hold on tight and take a long step down, now, and you'll be beside me; there you are, you see!" Eric then proceeded down to the next step, or leap, of the waterfall in the same way, lowering the kid first, and then descending and directing his brother's steps; so that, in a much shorter time than they had ascended, they arrived once more in the valley--although, from the fact of the tableland being more open and exposed and the cliffs obscuring the light, the lads found it quite dark when they reached their hut, the sun having sunk below the western ocean while they were climbing down the crags. "Thank goodness, we're here at last!" exclaimed Fritz, when, having got within their hut, he sank upon the bed in the corner. "I didn't tell you before, for fear of alarming you; but, as I came down the cliff, I sprained my ankle fearfully. Once, I thought I should never reach the bottom alive, laddie. Really, if we had but another step now to go, I'm certain I would not have been able to limp it." "Himmel!" ejaculated Eric, "I couldn't see that you walked lame on account of its being dark; and, you wouldn't tell me, of course, or lean on my arm so as to let me help you!" Eric spoke in quite an aggrieved tone, which struck his brother keenly, although he refrained from answering him; but, while expressing his sense of hurt feeling at Fritz not asking his aid, the lad was busily employed in lighting the lamp and examining the injured ankle, which, to his consternation, he found so badly dislocated that the bone protruded. The foot, too, was already swollen to more than twice its size! "It looks awful," he said; "and, just think, if it had given way when we were descending the crag you might have tumbled down the precipice and made me brotherless! Why did you not tell me and ask my help?" "Because," replied Fritz, with some reason, "my doing so might perhaps have frightened you, causing you to lose your nerve at a moment when the safety of both of us depended on your keeping cool and steady." "That might have been so," said Eric; "but, still, I would have been able to help you more if I had known! However, `everything that is, is for the best,' isn't that so, brother?" With this consoling reflection, the sailor lad, under Fritz's directions, set about bandaging the wounded limb with a long handkerchief dipped in cold water and wrapped round it as tightly as possible. This surgical operation accomplished, the two then went to bed, pretty well tired with the day's excursion. They had had a long chase after the wild goats, in addition to first exploring the tableland above and the exertion of ascending and descending the cliff--which latter was quite an arduous enough enterprise in itself and sufficiently dangerous, as was amply proved by the fact of Fritz's accident, that might lay him up for some time. However, the next day, the invalid thought roast kid ample payment for sprained ankle; and he was not sorry for the enforced rest he was obliged to take after the rough exercise he had undergone since landing on the island, having now an opportunity of reading and investigating the little library of books given by Celia Brown to Eric, which he had not yet had the chance of overhauling. Indeed, Master Fritz had a nice easy time of it; for Eric not only waited on him, but saw to everything that had to be done until he was able to move about again. "That old billy-goat was bound to do me an injury! I thought so when I first saw him that evening, standing out against the sunset sky over our heads," said the elder brother to Eric, when he was once more out of doors and felt again like his old self. "Aha, though, I've not done with the old rascal yet! Some day, I'll pay him out, never fear!" "Right you are!" was Eric's answer, laughing the while. The lad was really so overjoyed to see his brother on his legs again, that he went off into fits of laughter every now and then about nothing at all. He could not contain himself! CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. SEALING. It was well on in the month of September--the spring of the year in South Atlantic latitudes--when the brothers commenced their crusoe-like life on Inaccessible Island; and, by the time that Fritz had recovered from the effects of his sprained ankle, so far as to be able to hobble about the place, it was nearly the end of October. This was the beginning of the early summer at Inaccessible Island; and, the season being but a short one, not an hour of it could be wasted if they wished to carry out to advantage the special purpose that had taken them away from the haunts of men. The sealing season would soon begin; and, it behoved them to be ready for it, so that they should lose no chance of securing as many skins as they could get. The amount of oil they might procure from the boiled- down blubber was also a consideration, but only a secondary one in comparison with the pelts; for, owing to the market demand for sealskins and the wholesale extermination of the animal that supplies them that is now continually going on in arctic and antarctic seas alike, the pursuit is as valuable as it is more and more precarious each year--the breeding-grounds now being almost deserted to what they once were, even in the most out-of-the-way spots, the Esquimaux to the north and American whalers in the south having depopulated the whilom numerous herds. The garden was the first point Fritz aimed for, when he found he could put his foot to the ground; and he proceeded thither slowly, with the aid of a stick to lean upon and with Eric "frisking round him," as he said, just like old Gelert would have done! In the comparatively short space of time since Fritz had last seen the little plot, a wonderful transformation had been effected--thanks to the richness of the virgin soil, the productiveness of the climate, and, lastly, the super-stratum of guano which Eric had suggested being placed over the clearing. The sailor lad, too, had not forgotten each morning to water the newly planted land, which was exposed all day to the sun's heat, with the exception of a brief period in the afternoon when the shade of the cliffs extended over it; so, now, the garden presented a smiling appearance, with the potatoes just sprouting above their ridges, and cabbages and radishes coming up in clusters, while rows of peas and scarlet runners were sprouting as thick as hedges--not to speak of the slender onion stems, like tiny spears, each bearing its own seed back above ground after it had performed its creative mission below the surface, leaving a root behind. "This looks well," said Fritz, delighted at the result of their joint handiwork. "Bye-and-bye, we ought to reap a good return for all our labour. I'm glad we got the job done when we did; otherwise, we should not have such a charming prospect before us." "I'm jolly glad we haven't got to do it now!" replied Eric, with a shrug of his shoulders and laughing as usual. "Himmel! I shall never forget that digging!" "Nor the penguins either, I suppose, when you went to get the guano that day?" said Fritz slyly, with a meaning glance. "Ah, brother, `no more of that, an thou lovest me!'" quoted Eric. "Still, the guano, perhaps, has made the things come on so well, eh?" "No doubt of that," replied Fritz. "But, we'll have to thin out those cabbage plants shortly, laddie; that will necessitate our digging up some more ground, so as to make a place ready for them." "Oh!" groaned the other in a lachrymose way, making a hideous grimace. "However, we needn't hurry about it," continued Fritz, smiling at his grimace. "Ah!" exclaimed Eric, much relieved. He knew that if the thing had to be done, he should have to accomplish it; for, in spite of all his disgust for spade work, he certainly would not have allowed Fritz to attempt gardening so soon with his invalided foot. "No, there's no hurry," went on Fritz, as if thinking aloud. "We'll have to confine our attention to the seals now for the next two months or so, as that is our special business here. When we can capture no more of those gentry, we'll have plenty of time to attend to the garden; although, probably, we shall get something out of it ere long, if only a few radishes--at all events we ought to have some new potatoes by Christmas, that is if they ripen as rapidly as they have jumped out of the ground!" "Fancy, new potatoes at Christmas!" cried Eric. "I wonder what they would say to that at home in Lubeck?" "Aye, what!" repeated Fritz; and, in a second, his thoughts were far away across the rolling Atlantic. His mental eyes could see--as plainly as if the scene was there before him, now, in that little valley between the cliffs of the desert isle where the two brothers were--the house in the Gulden Strasse, with the dear home faces belonging to it. Yes, there they were in a loving vision, the "little mother," Lorischen, and Madaleine, not forgetting Gelert or Mouser even; while the old-fashioned town, with its antique gateway and pillared market platz, and quaint Dom Kirche and clock of the rolling eyes, seemed moving past in a mental panorama before him! Eric recalled him presently to himself by a pertinent inquiry. "We'll have to see to our boat to hunt the seals in, won't we?" he asked. "Yes, certainly," said Fritz, fixing his mind on present things with an effort. "I hope it's all right!" "You may make sure of that," answered Eric. "I wasn't going to let any harm happen to the boat which the good captain so kindly gave us! No. I have been down to look at and overhaul it every day--keeping water in it besides, that the seams should not open with the heat and make it leak." "Then it is quite seaworthy?" "Oh, yes, without doubt." "Well, I tell you what we'll do," said Fritz. "As the exertion will not compel me to have any walking to speak of, nor interfere with the strengthening of my poor foot, I vote that we sail round the headland to the western beach on the other side of the island. We can then see whether there is any appearance yet of the seals coming to take up their summer residence here." "Won't that be jolly!" shouted out Eric. "Why, it is the very thing I have been longing to do since we went up the cliffs and saw the beach there from the tableland! I would not speak to you about it, because I knew, of course, you could not move, and feared that talking of it might excite you." "That was very considerate of you, laddie," replied Fritz; "so, now to reward you for your thoughtfulness, I vote that we proceed there as soon as we can get the boat ready and prepare for the excursion. Apart from its being in the nature of a little pleasure trip--my convalescent tour, as it were, for change of air--it is really necessary work for us to know when we can begin, if we are going to be seal hunters and trade in skins and oil!" "Right you are," said Eric, quite convinced by this argument that nothing could be more wise or sensible than a voyage round the island in the whale-boat, especially as the plan agreed with his own views of the matter to an iota; and, in his usually impulsive way, in spite of having already inspected the little craft that morning, he rushed off down to the beach, scaring multitudes of penguins on his way, to see whether she was as sound and seaworthy as he had said, and thoroughly fit for the cruise. Everything was right, fortunately; so, early on the following day, they shoved off the whale-boat from the beach. This was a rather fatiguing operation, although it was greatly facilitated by some rollers which Eric sawed off a spare topgallant mast that was amongst the old spars the skipper gave them. The brothers then started on their trip round the island, the wind being fair from the south-east--the same point, indeed, from which it had blown almost entirely during their stay, with the exception of a short spell from the south-west just after their arrival. The coast, after clearing the headland, was bold and precipitous, the wall of rock continuing round to the west side; although here it broke away, with a lower ridge of soft dolomite that had caves worn into its face from the action of the sea, and one or two creeks that the boat could run into. This was evidently the haunt of the seals, for numbers of fish bones were scattered about on the floor of the caves and on the fragments of volcanic rock that were scattered on the beach below, piled and heaped up in pyramid fashion. Landing at one of the little caves, just under a tussock-grass-grown gully, like that close to their hut on the eastern side, Eric ascended with his rifle to the ridge above. He soon gained the tableland, returning anon with a well-grown kid which Fritz had told him to shoot, so that they might take it home with them. The ascent to the plateau, the lad said, was much easier from this part of the coast than by the waterfall; but, of course, as it would necessitate a voyage almost round the island whenever they attempted it, the other way was more preferable, although dangerous by contrast. One or two seals were seen sunning themselves on the rocks; but these quickly slid off into the sea when the boat approached. Their breeding- season had certainly not yet arrived, else they would not only have been more numerous, but have been too much engaged with their families to mind ordinary intruders. When separated from their fellows, as the brothers now saw them, however, they were naturally extremely timid animals. Proceeding round the southern extremity of the island, the cliff that encircled the coast seemed the more precipitous the further they advanced, frowning down destruction on any ship that might approach it unawares in the darkness--should the wind blow on shore and the set of the sea prevent escape from its terrors! Eric steered the boat out a bit here, so that they might tack further on inwards and so weather the eastern promontory, which stretched to the left of the bay outwards into the ocean. They were thus able to have a grand view of the whole island, getting back to their little home, not long before sundown. Nor did they return empty-handed, either; for, the kid furnished fresh meat for their dinner, to which their trip besides added a piquant relish. What with making things more comfortable in their hut and attending to the garden, which bloomed out apace each day, the hours did not lag on their hands by any means during the next week or two. There was occupation enough, even in this interval, to pass the time pleasantly away; but, when the month of November was ushered in, the seals then coming to the island in shoals, they found plenty to do from morning till night. There was work of all kinds to be done:-- first, boating round the coast after their prey; secondly, hunting the animals into their caves and killing them, taking care to secure their bodies before they sank into deep water and were thus irrecoverably lost; thirdly, getting off the skins and salting them down to prevent their putrefying; and, lastly, boiling blubber--oh, yes, they had enough work to employ them, and no time to be idle! Before this busy period, however, every morning, again at midday, and in the afternoon, Eric would go up and down the tussock-grass ladder by which he scaled the precipice on to the tableland above, whence he was able to reconnoitre the west coast, the favourite resort of the seals, according to the information of young Glass, the Tristaner who instructed them in the matter. The lad did this daily as a matter of duty, "climbing the fore cross- trees for a look-out," as he termed the scramble up the gorge; and, as regularly, three times every day, after his morning, midday, and afternoon observations, he would come back to Fritz with the same unsatisfactory tale--that no seals were in sight. One afternoon, however, towards the end of the month, he reported more cheering news. "Oh, there are such a lot of seals on the rocks!" he called out from the top of the cliff, without waiting to come down. "Why, there must be hundreds of them there, crawling in and out of the caves on their flappers, to and from the sea! Which will be the best way to tackle them, brother, we can reach them from here, you know?" Fritz, who was below seated outside the hut, just preparing to mend some of his clothes that had long needed looking after, in a moment became equally excited, pitching the dilapidated garments back inside the hut and putting off the work of repairing to some future day. "Come down sharp, Eric, and help me to get the boat out," he cried. "We must attack them from seaward; for, if we went at them from the cliff, they would at once take to the water, and so escape us. Descend at once, while I am getting the guns and tackle ready!" "Right you are!" shouted the sailor lad in answer. "I'll be down with you in a brace of shakes!" No sooner had he uttered the words than he was scrambling down by the tussock-grass through the waterfall gully; while, at the same time, Fritz below was proceeding hurriedly to collect the various articles required for the sealing expedition, which had been put away on one side so as to be handy for just such an emergency:-- the loaded rifles, with spare cartridges; the two harpoons, to each of which a long coiled-up line was attached; the strong boat-hook to pull in the carcases of their victims; and, other little etceteras. The common seal, which is frequently seen on the north coast of Scotland amongst the Hebrides and Shetland Islands, and the sea bear of Cape Horn and the Magellan Straits, are both very similar in their general habits to the Greenland seal of the Esquimaux; and the animals usually herd together in flocks or droves of some thirty to a hundred, each male having a certain number of females under his charge--the males being some six to eight feet long and the females of less dimensions. The seals invariably frequent the most desolate rocks and caverns, where they can have ready access to the sea, which is their proper element; and, in the north and extreme south, they live on the ice-peaks as a rule, getting the fish they require for their food by diving off and catching their prey in the same way that an otter does. The wildest and stormiest seas appear to delight them most. In such they may be seen, sporting amidst the breakers and rough water, in the highest of spirits apparently, and escaping scatheless where other creatures would be dashed to pieces on the rocks that form their temporary homes. Although they do not assemble on shore in any numbers, except during the summer months of the latitudes in which they are found, they are never far-distant from their favourite haunts at any time, the reason for their not being seen, most probably, being that they only leave the water at night during the winter, or else because the stormy weather prevents those who go after them from approaching their habitats and so noticing them. By the time Eric descended the cliff, Fritz had the boat ready to shove off, with their hunting gear inside and all necessary weapons for the chase; so, the two were soon on their way round the headland, steering towards the seal-caves on the western side of the island. "You never saw such a lot, brother," Eric went on to say, when they had embarked and were working round the coast. "There were hundreds of small ones, while some were big monsters that had long noses and seemed to be double the size of the others!" "Ah, those were probably sea elephants," said Fritz. "I should like to catch one. The fur, they say, is not so good as that of the common seal, but they yield an immense lot of oil from their blubber--from eight to ten barrels, I have been told." "Really?" observed Eric. "Why, one or two of those gentlemen would soon fill up our casks!" "Yes, and I shouldn't regret it," said Fritz. "We should then have a good stock ready against the time Captain Brown returns to visit us with the _Pilot's Bride_!" "Aye, I should like that," replied the other; and then, as both rowing and sailing--for the wind was light--the boat neared the rock caves of the western coast, the brothers grew too excited to talk any more. Presently, they hove in sight of their hunting-ground; whereupon, they at once stopped the way of the boat in order to map out their campaign. It did not take long for them to do this; and the gist of the plan could be seen in the arrangements they made for battle. Fritz and Eric both put their rifles ready on the thwarts of the boat, and the harpoons were also placed handy in the bows along with the boat- hook; then, lowering the lugsail which the little craft carried, they muffled their oars with some rags they had prepared and pulled in steadily towards the beach. As they got nearer, the seals could be seen swarming on the rocks, while the noise they made--something like the bleating of sheep mingled with a hoarse growling roar, not dissimilar to that of an angry bull in the distance--could be heard plainly while the brothers were yet more than a mile off. Some of the seals were swimming about in the water, but the majority were basking on the huge slabs of rocks that had been broken off from the face of the cliff by the onslaught of the waves and which now lay on the beach at its base, partly in and partly out of the sea. "Now, Eric, be ready!" called out Fritz in a hoarse whisper. "Do you see those two fellows on that boulder nearest us?" "Yes," whispered Eric in return, almost breathless with excitement. "Then, you take the right-hand one, and I will make sure of the one to the left. Aim low and steadily at the head, for that is the only vital part a ball will reach. Remember, if you only wound him, he'll slip into the water and dive out of our reach!" "Right you are; I'm ready," was Eric's reply. "Wait till I give the word, then," said Fritz. There was a moment of suspense as the boat crept closer to the poor seals, who were playing away, thoughtless of danger, and then-- "Fire!" exclaimed Fritz. The two murderous rifles, at the same instant, at once belched forth their contents; and, a moment after, the dropped heads of the animals aimed at showed that the respective bullets had accomplished their mission. "Now, let us push in," cried Fritz, seizing his oar again, when, his brother following his example, they beached the boat in a few strokes. Then, each taking up a harpoon, they attacked the cluster of animals, killing fifteen before the frightened creatures could escape into their native element, although they came off the rocks with a rush, looking most formidable as they opened their mouths and showed their fangs, emitting the while terrific roars; and, as they waddled in a crowd into the water, they rolled down the brothers with their impetus as if they had been ninepins. "I don't mind the bruises," said Fritz, picking himself up again with a laugh. "Not when I have such a sound salve for them as the thought of the oil we'll get out of all the carcases!" "Nor I," chimed in Eric, rubbing his nose ruefully though all the same. "Think of fifteen--no, seventeen sealskins, counting in the two we shot first on the rocks! They ought to fetch something handsome when we send them to the States, eh?" "Yes," said Fritz; "but now, out with your knife, laddie! Let us set to work, taking off the pelts while they are still warm." "Right you are," replied Eric; and the two were soon at work, skinning the animals and taking off the layer of blubber which lay immediately beneath the inner lining of the skin--rolling up the greasy and reeking mass of skin and fat together in bundles and placing them in the boat as soon as each seal had his toilet thus attended to. It was very dirty work and neither was sorry when all the blubber and skins were stowed in the whale-boat; their last care being to roll the poor bodies of the seals now bereft of those coveted coats which had caused their destruction, into the sea. This was done in order that the remains might not scare away others of the herd from such inhospitable shores. The task was soon accomplished, for the rocks shelved down abruptly into the water; and, when the place was made tidy again, the brothers set sail for home with their cargo, going back the contrary way they came, so as to have the advantage of the wind and save the labour of rowing. Since their onslaught, not another live seal was to be seen in the vicinity, the first to make off before the boat was pulled into the beach after Fritz and Eric had fired being the couple of sea elephants which they had noticed amongst the mass of animals, clustered together on the rocks; and these, consequently, they were unable to secure. However, they consoled themselves on their way back to the bay with the reflection that they had done a very good day's work. They were by no means dissatisfied with the result of their sport--seventeen seals at one haul were not to be despised! For some time after reaching the hut they were busily engaged, cleaning the skins and salting them down for preservation. They had both been instructed how to do this on board the whaler; although Eric, having had previous practical experience with all the details of the operation, now acted as superintendent. They had also to boil the blubber in the iron cauldron, which they had brought from the States for the purpose of "trying out the oil," as whaling men technically term the procedure; and they found when they had finished that the result realised some ten barrels full. This was a splendid start for them and it made them so contented that it was upwards of a fortnight before they undertook another expedition to the west beach. But, apart, from the satisfactory results of their first venture, they thought it best to let the seals have a little interlude of calm before attacking them again. Besides this, Eric's reports from his look-out station on the tableland were most unfavourable, as, for some days after their last foray, hardly a seal was to be seen in the neighbourhood of the scene of the fray. However, one fine morning in December, Eric reported the arrival of a fresh batch of the fur-bearing animals on the west rocks; so, making their boat ready, the brothers soon sailed round thither once more. They had turned the last projecting point of the headland, before opening the beach frequented by the seals, and Fritz had brought up the boat's head to the wind, preparatory to their lowering the sail and taking to their oars to pull into shore, when Eric, who had been looking out over the bows, arrested his brother's intention. "Hullo, Fritz!" he exclaimed, "there's some one there before us. I can see a boat, with a lot of men in it, close to the beach!" "Indeed!" said Fritz, quite as much astonished. "I wonder who they are?" He felt almost as indignant as a landlord on finding that a party of poachers had invaded his choicest preserves and were ruthlessly appropriating his pet pheasants! "Himmel!" he repeated, "I wonder who the fellows can be?" Just then, the discharge of several rifles all together, as if practising platoon firing, struck on his ear; and, as Fritz sniffed the smell of the burnt gunpowder floating by him in the air to seaward, driven off from shore by the wind, the saltpetrous scent did not tend to restore his equanimity! CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. SOME VISITORS. "What donkeys we are!" exclaimed Eric presently, a moment or so after the discharge of the firearms. "We are real stupids to be astonished at all!" "How, in what way?" asked Fritz. "Why, the strange boat must have come from Tristan d'Acunha. Don't you recollect, we were told that a party always came sealing here, as well as at Nightingale Island, during the summer?" "Oh yes; I forgot," said Fritz. "I wonder, though, you didn't see their boat pass your look-out station--you, with your fine observant eyes!" "Ah, they must have come round to leeward of the promontory, close under the land," replied Eric to this taunt:--"that is how they escaped my notice. But, what shall we do now--go on, or return home?" "It strikes me we had better go home, for we shall have uncommon little sport to-day, since they have been first in the field!" said Fritz dryly. "Still, I suppose we'd better be friendly with them. Let us go on to shore first before leaving, and have a chat. No doubt, they'll be as much surprised to see us as we were just now at their unexpected appearance here." "Well, I don't know about that," observed Eric. "I should think young Glass would have told them about our having settled here." "But, I asked him not to mention it," replied Fritz, "and, as he seemed a very decent sort of young fellow, I dare say he has obeyed my wish-- especially as he was your friend, you know." "It's all right then," said Eric; "my Tristaner would be certain to keep his word if he promised it. Let us proceed now and astonish them with our presence, which must therefore, as you say, be quite unexpected." "Pull away then, brother." "Right you are!" said Eric in response; and the two, putting their backs into the oars, the boat was soon speeding to the point where the islanders were gathered in a group on the shore--far too busy with the seals they had shot to notice their approach. "Now," cried Fritz, when they were close to the others, although still unobserved, "let us give them a call." "Shout away!" said Eric; when, he and his brother joining their voices, they gave utterance to a ringing hail that must have frightened all the fish near. "Boat ahoy!" The party on shore, who had their backs turned seawards, jumped round at this as if they had been shot; but soon, an answering hail assured them that some one amongst the islanders had recognised them. "Hillo, whar be you sprung from?" inquired a voice with a strong nasal twang. It was that of Nat Slater, the "deck hand" of the Rhode Island steamboat! Fritz was perfectly astounded to find him now amongst the Tristaners. How came he there? What could possibly have become of the _Pilot's Bride_ and Captain Brown? These were the anxious thoughts that at once flashed through the mind of the young German, and his brother shared his anxiety to an equal extent. Nat Slater however did not keep them long in suspense. "I guess," he said--as soon as they reached the beach and accosted the islanders, who received them very coldly they could perceive, as if looking upon them now as rivals in the same pursuit--"me and the old man couldn't drive the same team long. We had a muss together, soon as you parted company, an' I asked him to put me ashore at Tristan, thinking to ship in another whaling craft; but, I'm blest if ary a one's called thar since the _Pilot's Bride_ sailed, so I've ben forced to chum in with these islanders!" "Did you get on a spree, or what, to make Captain Brown leave you behind?" asked Fritz, judging by what the skipper had told him of Mr Nathaniel Slater's character that the real facts of the case might put quite another complexion on his plausible statement, that the skipper had quarrelled with him. "Waall, I reckon, I did go on a bit of a bender aboard," said the whilom deck hand in a drawling way. "I managed to stow away a couple o' bottles of Bourbon whisky I got to Providence after I left hum, an' I thought I would have a licker-up arter we parted with you an' your brother, mister, I felt so kinder lonesome." "And I suppose you got so drunk that Captain Brown kicked you out of the ship?" exclaimed the young German indignantly. "Why, you knew his particular orders about never allowing any spirituous liquors on board his vessel when at sea!" "I guess he wern't boss of everybody," said the American coolly. "An' so I told him, too! But, say, mister, I've a kinder hankering to jine you and your brother haar; will you let a poor coon chum in?" "No, I confess I would rather not," was the instant reply that came from Fritz--a decision which, from his quick look of satisfaction, Eric most cordially shared in. "We did not appear to get on together very well before, and I certainly do not care to associate with any one who does not keep his word!" "I guess this here island don't belong to you, mister?" said Nat Slater sneeringly, on purpose apparently to make Fritz angry; but the young German remained perfectly cool and collected. "I never said it did," he answered. "Of course, you have every right to settle here if you like; but I and my brother decline having any association with you." "Oh, jist as you like, mister," replied the American, now showing himself in his true colours, having evidently nourished a spite against the two brothers on account of Captain Brown's friendship for them. "I'm durned if I kinder kear now to hang out along with you, as I sed at first; I'd rayther a durned sight stick to these good chaps haar, as hev more friendly feelins than a pair o' blessed foreign coons that don't know how to treat a free-born American citizen like a man! I guess, though, I'll spile your sealing for you, if I hev any influence with the islanders." "You are welcome to do your worst," said Fritz; and then, as young Glass was not amongst the Tristaners--who now seemed, either from the deck hand's threat or on account of some other reason, to look upon them in rather a hostile manner--he and Eric withdrew from the party. Retiring at once to their boat, they returned to their own little settlement in the eastern bay, with the resolve of not coming out after the seals again until after the islanders had left the coast, so as not to risk any further altercation with them. "It's a great nuisance, though," grumbled Eric, who was especially annoyed by the fact of their going back to the hut with an empty boat instead of the full cargo | he expected, similar to their first day's experience of sealing. "I should like to pay out that mean Yankee for his spite. He's not like a true sailor, for he wasn't worth his salt aboard the _Pilot's Bride_; and I've heard the skipper say that he only took him out of good nature and nothing else!" "Yes, I know he only allowed him to come in order to save him from ruin at home," Fritz said. "But, he might just as well have left him at Providence, for all the good the voyage has done him!" "Well, he has spoilt our sealing, as he said he would," observed Eric after a bit, when they were rounding the western promontory of their own little bay, and their cottage home was just in sight. "Only to-day, or, at the worst, for but a short time longer," replied Fritz. "The islanders will not stay for any period after they've filled their boat; and, of course, he will return with them to Tristan. He's too lazy to stop here and shift for himself, although he would have been glad to sponge upon us." "Joy go with him when he leaves!" cried Eric heartily on the keel of their whale-boat touching the beach, when they then proceeded to draw her up on the shingle and take all their traps and gear out of her. They did this in case their American friend might persuade the islanders to come round to the bay and make a raid on their property, so as to prevent them from interfering with their sealing--that being the only grievance which they could possibly have against them. However, as next morning, the whale-boat lay intact where they had left her, their suspicions of the Tristaners' bad faith proved to be quite unfounded. Still, the brothers were glad to find, from Eric's observations on the tableland, whence he kept a constant watch on the visitors' movements, that, after a ten days' stay they left the little island once more to them alone; although, as they also discovered to their grief a short time after their departure, the Tristaners took away with them the greater number of the goats on the plateau, or else killed them for their sustenance whilst they remained. This was a sad discovery. The islanders were quite welcome to the pigs, thought the brother crusoes; but the flesh of the goats was so delicate and needful besides, as a change of diet to their ordinary salt provision, that any diminution of their numbers was a serious loss to them. It was not until a week at least after the Tristaners had left, that Eric reported the presence of seals again on the west beach, where, probably, the fact of the islanders camping on the spot had quite as much to do with scaring away the timid creatures from the coast as the warfare waged upon them. Fortunately, however, the poor animals had an affection for the place; for, having now observed, no doubt from some of their number sent out as scouts, that their enemies had departed, they once more returned to the rock caverns they had before frequented. "There are some of those `elephants,' as you call them, amongst them, too," said Eric when he came down the cliff with the news to Fritz. "There are a great many more than I saw last time." "Ah, we must try and catch some of the gentlemen this trip," remarked Fritz. "Perhaps it will be the last chance we may have of capturing sea elephants!" "Right you are," replied the lad. "I'll do my best to kill them; but really, brother, they look awfully formidable fellows!" "Oh, they're not half so dangerous as they look," said Fritz. "They're like your friends the penguins; their bark is worse than their bite!" "Ha, ha!" laughed Eric good-temperedly; "you will continue to chaff me about those wretched birds I suppose! Never mind, though, I've got the joke about the billy-goat frightening you as a set-off, eh, brother?" "That's nothing--nothing!" said Fritz in an off-hand way. "We'd better see about starting round after the seals, I think." "Ah, it's all very well your trying to get out of it like that!" retorted Eric, going off, laughing, to haul the whale-boat down into the bay; when, as soon as she was afloat and all their preparations made, they set off again round the headland for the sealing ground. They noticed, as they approached, that the animals were much more wary now than at the time of their first visit, many plunging into the water from off the outlying rocks on the boat nearing the shore; consequently, they had to use their rifles at once to secure any seals at all, without trusting to their harpoons. Fritz fired six shots rapidly from the Remington he carried, Eric, who was not so handy in the use of the weapon, managing about half the number; and then, seeing that some of the animals which were only wounded were endeavouring to wriggle down the beach into the sea, the two dashed in at them with the harpoons and boat-hook--Master Eric selecting the latter weapon from his being more accustomed to its use. They had a great scrimmage amongst the struggling seals, which roared and bellowed like so many bull calves, looking when they opened their mouths as if they would swallow up the brothers at one gulp; but, it was all bravado, for the poor things had not an ounce of fight in them. They suffered themselves to be knocked on the head without the slightest resistance, only bleating piteously when they received their death-blow and dropping down in their tracks at once. One enormous sea elephant Fritz made for, just as he was on the point of sliding off into the sea from a little rocky jetty where he had ensconced himself. The animal reared itself on its fore flappers and seemed to tower over the young German; but, on Fritz pluckily piercing it with his harpoon right through the chest, the warm blood gushed over him in a torrent and the portentous sea elephant sank down lifeless. The creature was upwards of eighteen feet long, from the point of his queer-looking nose or snout, which was elongated like an elephant's trunk--hence its name of "sea elephant"--to the hind flappers; while it must have been pretty nearly ten feet in girth. "Ah, here are eight barrels of oil at least!" shouted Fritz when he had given the monster his death-blow. "Fancy all that quantity from one sea elephant!" "You don't say you've caught one of those fellows?" cried Eric, who was kneeling down and trying to detach a little cub seal from its dead mother. "I wish I had killed him, instead of my victim here. I wonder what this poor little baby thing will do without its parent?" "You'd better knock it on the head," said Fritz. "It is safe to pine away, if left alone to take care of itself, now that its mother is dead." "I'm sure I can't do that," replied the lad, turning away from the pitiful sight. "It would seem to me exactly like committing a murder in cold blood!" "You are too tender-hearted for a sealer," said Fritz in his matter-of- fact way; and then, with one tap from the butt end of his harpoon on its nose, he settled the fate of the poor little beast. The result of this day's sport was, some thirteen sealskins, in addition to that of the sea elephant, which, although much larger of course than the others, did not appear to be of the same quality of fur. From the number of animals they bagged, it was apparent that the bullets from their rifles must have penetrated more than one seal at a time, passing through the one aimed at and hitting some of those behind. This would be quite feasible if the leaden messenger of death did not come in contact with the bone, for the bodies of the mammals were very soft and yielding from the amount of adipose tissue they contained. These sealskins, with those which they had previously obtained, made up their quota to thirty. The oil, likewise, extracted from the blubber filled up their remaining empty casks, so that they had now no receptacle wherein to stow any more should they succeed in killing more seals. But, the brothers need not have troubled themselves on this account, for their last onslaught on the breeding-ground had the effect of the final straw on the camel's back, not one of the cat-faced animals--as Eric called them, from their fancied resemblance to old Mouser--being to be seen in the neighbourhood of the coast for months afterwards, albeit the young crusoes were constantly on the watch for them! Boiling down the blubber was, certainly, a tedious operation. The brothers had made a rocky bed for their cauldron, near the hut, with an ingeniously constructed fireplace beneath it which had a cross-cut trench for creating a draught, in the way Fritz noticed that the soldiers made their camp fires during the war--the whole affair when finished looking like one of those "coppers" placed in back kitchens for washing days. Over this laboratory, the two were busy enough for some days, making themselves so black with smoke and begrimed with oil that they resembled a couple of chimney sweepers, or engine fitters for the nonce! Eric, who superintended the details by reason of the superior knowledge which his whaling experience gave him, first cut up the blubber into long thin strips, which Fritz again subdivided into smaller portions with the aid of his sheath knife. These strips of blubber were then heaped into the pot, under which a roaring fire was kept up, the operation being continued until the cauldron was full; when, as it came to the boil, the refuse matter and pieces of flesh adhering to the fat were skimmed off from the top, and the melted oil allowed to cool gradually, after which it was emptied into the casks kept ready by the side of the hut. The brothers were very glad when the job was ended, for the blubber smelt terribly fishy and almost suffocated them with its fumes as the pot came to the boiling point; but, they persevered with their task until their casks were all full and headed up, when they proceeded to dress their sealskins roughly and salt them down in a large puncheon which they had reserved especially for their storage. Next, they had a grand clean up, putting the hut and place in order, the blubber boiling having covered everything with a deposit of oily soot; and, the morning after they had made things comfortable again, they proceeded down to the garden to see how matters were progressing there, not having visited the spot since the day they had started on their last sealing excursion. "I say, brother," observed Eric, as they directed their steps towards the little wood beyond the waterfall, where they could hear the thrushes chirping and whistling as they came near; for, the penguins were not so noisy now, having hatched their eggs and abandoned the nests they used to make such a fuss over. "I say, brother, how are the days going--it must be nearly the end of December now, eh?" Fritz thought for a moment. He was the methodical member of the family and had always been looked up to as having the best memory for dates at home. "Himmel!" he exclaimed. "What day do you think it is?" "I'm sure I can't imagine," replied Eric. "All the days go alike here; why, it seems more than a year already since good Captain Brown left us, although I know it's only a few months." "Only, think, Eric, it is--" "No, never!" said the lad, interrupting his brother and guessing that the answer he was going to give would confirm his own conjecture. "It cannot be, really, eh?" While saying this, Eric stopped abruptly as they were entering the little grove of buckthorn trees, where the thrushes and finches were hopping about amongst their branches as merry as grigs in the sunshine; for, the weather was as warm as our June, although it was then December--the seasons in southern latitudes being the reverse of what we are accustomed to in Europe. "Yes, you've guessed right, laddie," replied Fritz, looking into his face with a smile. "It is, without doubt, Christmas Day!" "What, to-day?" said Eric, incredulous in spite of himself. "Yes, to-day," repeated his brother. "Well, that is wonderful!" exclaimed Eric; adding a moment afterwards, however, in a tone of the greatest dismay, "only think, though, we haven't prepared a Christmas tree, or anything!" "Never mind," said Fritz consolingly. "Those sort of arrangements for the festival would be a little out of place here." "Would they?" cried Eric. "Ah, we'll see about that!" CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. FRITZ GOES HUNTING. After his last remark, Eric, silent for a little while, as if buried in deep thought, followed behind his brother to the garden patch, which was found in the most flourishing state. The potatoes were all in full flower and the haulms of sturdy growth promised well for the crop of tubers beneath, some indeed being already half withered, as if fit for digging; while pods were thick on the two rows of peas planted, and the scarlet runners were a mass of bloom and brilliancy. At such a glorious sight, Eric could remain silent no longer. "This is capital," he exclaimed in high delight; "why, we've got a regular harvest, brother!" "Yes, the great Mother Earth has rewarded our exertions," said Fritz thoughtfully. "It is wonderful how she yields to those who cultivate her properly! I can see that we'll have bushels of potatoes--enough to last us through the winter." "Aye, and peas and beans, too," chorussed Eric. "Look, here, at this lot, Fritz! I believe we can have a dish of them to-day." "What, to keep up the festival with?" said his brother, smiling. "I see you are still thinking of that; but, methinks, green peas at Christmas will be rather an anachronism!" "Hang the what-do-you-call-it--oh, anachronism!" cried the lad impulsively. "When we're at Rome we must do as Rome does." "I don't remember, though, that the citizens of `The city on the seven hills' ate peas in December, as far as my reading of the classics go," remarked Fritz ironically. He liked to "pick up" his brother sometimes in fun. "Ah, that was because they were pagans, and didn't keep up our Christmas ceremonies!" cried Eric triumphantly. "Still, Romans or no Romans, I declare we'll have a rare banquet to-day, brother, eh!" "No roast beef, I hope!" "Oh no, bother it--something better than that! You just let me alone and you'll see bye-and-bye!" "All right, laddie, I don't mind leaving the cooking in your hands, now," said Fritz kindly, wishing to blot out the recollection of his last remark. "You have had experience since your first memorable attempt, which I must say was perhaps excusable under the circumstances." "You are a brick, old fellow," responded Eric, much pleased at this speech. "Only trust matters to my hands and, I promise you I'll not let you have any opportunity to find fault with me a second time!" "Very good; that's agreed," said Fritz; and, after thus settling matters, the two then went about the garden, gathering its produce--the elder digging up some new potatoes for trial, while Eric picked all the early peas that seemed fit, quite filling a good-sized basket which he had brought with him; although Fritz, who had not been so thoughtful, had to put his potatoes in a handkerchief. On their way home, the brothers passed through the deserted penguin rookery, with never a bark or a grumble from the whilom excited birds as they tramped the well-worn paths which they had made from the thicket to the beach. The inhabitants of the feathered colony were now educating their little ones in the art of fishing; and, the scene in front of the bay was quite enlivening as the birds swam about gracefully in curves, losing in the sea that ungainliness and ugly, awkward appearance which seemed inseparable from them on land, and prosecuting their task, without any of the noise that had distinguished them while breeding. Birds were darting about--here, there, and everywhere in the water; some, swimming after each other as if in a race, like a shoal of fish; others, again, chasing one another on the surface, on which they seemed to run, using the ends of their wings, or flappers, to propel them like oars, for they dipped in the tips of their pinions and scattered the spray in their progress. To add to the charm, the calm expanse of sea reflected the pure ultramarine blue of the sky above, being illumined at the same time by the bright sunlight, which brought out in strong relief the twin headlands embracing the little bay with their outstretching arms. Nothing, indeed, could be more unlike the crusoes' old associations of Christmas and Christmas-tide than this prospect presented, nothing less suggestive of: home; and yet, standing there, on the shore of their lonely sea-girt and cliff-embattled island home, gazing across the ocean that spanned the horizon, the thoughts of both strayed away to their little native town on the Baltic--where, probably, the housetops were then covered with snow and the waters bound in chains of ice; but where, also, troops of children were singing Christmas hymns and Christmas bells were ringing, while prayers were no doubt being offered up for them, so distant and yet so near in spirit! Eric, however, was not long pensive. The day was too bright and fine for him to be sorrowful or reflective for any length of time; so, after staying by the side of Fritz for a short while on the shore, sharing his thoughts about the dear ones far away--although neither uttered a word on the subject the one to the other--his impulsive nature quickly asserted itself, as usual. "I'm off, old fellow," said the young sailor, slinging the basket of freshly picked peas on his arm and leaving the bundle of potatoes for Fritz to carry. "It is getting near the noonday hour, and time for me to be thinking of preparing dinner!" "All right, laddie, go on and I will follow you soon," replied the other, but, still, without making any move from his seat on the shingle. "Mind, and don't forget the potatoes," cried Eric, who was already half- way towards their hut. "I shall want them soon!" "All right," replied the other, but the mention of the potatoes, which had been an anxious consideration with Fritz all along, seemed to have the effect of banishing his sad reflections; for, in another minute, he, with his bundle on arm, followed Eric up the incline that led to the cottage. Considering all things, the two had a capital Christmas dinner. Indeed, Eric, the cook, so greatly distinguished himself on this occasion that he blotted out all recollection of his previous mishaps when undertaking a similar role. What say you to a splendid ham, one of those given them by Captain Brown; green peas, fresh and tender and dressed to perfection; and, new potatoes? Many a person might have a worse meal on a warm summer day, like it was this anniversary of the festival on Inaccessible Island! Nor was this all; for, after the more substantial portion of the feast, Eric introduced a wonderfully savoury compound in the confectionery line, which he had manufactured with some care. This consisted of flour and sugar made into a thick paste, with some of those very preserved peaches which had figured so prominently in the despised stew that had been Eric's first essay in cooking, placed within the envelope, the compound being then boiled in a saucepan until thoroughly done. During the early months of the new year, the brothers had little to do save attending to their garden, digging up the remaining potatoes when ripe, and then storing them in a corner of their hut. They also cleared some more land and planted out the little seedling cabbages in long rows, so that in time they had a fine show of this vegetable, which was especially valuable as an antiscorbutic to the continuous use of salt meat,--now their main nutriment with the exception of a few birds which Fritz brought down occasionally with his fowling piece. Once or twice they went round the promontory in their boat, in pursuit of stray single seals; but, the animals were so shy that only a long shot could be had at them. This made it a risky and almost needless task to waste gunpowder in their pursuit; for, in the event of the animals being merely wounded and not killed right out at once, they invariably slipped off the rocks, disappearing in deep water before the brothers had time to row up to them and haul them into the boat. Under these circumstances, therefore, although they expended a considerable number of bullets, they had only two more sealskins to show in return to add to their great hauls at the commencement of the season; so, after a third unsuccessful expedition early in the new year, they made up their minds to leave the animals alone until the following summer. Then, they determined to begin their campaign before the Tristaners should forestall them, hoping to secure a large number by a newly-organised system of capture--Eric assailing them from the shore by way of the descent from the tableland on the western coast, while Fritz attacked them by sea in the boat. "Talking of expeditions," said Eric, while the two were thus planning together their future seal campaign--"we haven't been up on the cliffs for a long time now; suppose we ascend the plateau and see how the pigs and goats are getting on, eh?" "That's a very good idea," replied his brother. "The garden is in good order now, needing nothing further to be done to it for some time; while, as for reading, I'm sure I have devoured every book in our little library, including Shakespeare, which I know by heart--so, there's nothing to occupy my mind with." "I'm in the same position precisely," said Eric. "You therefore agree to our hunting expedition, eh?" "Yes; the more especially as I wish to try and pot that old billy-goat. He is such an artful old fellow that he always keeps just out of range of my weapon, as if he knows the distance it carries. He will thus offer good sport. That other kid too, that we saw, must be grown up by now." "He shall be my prey," cried Eric, proceeding immediately to polish his rifle, so as to be ready for the excursion. A day or two afterwards, the two ascended the cliff by the now familiar tussock-grass ladder; but, although Eric could almost have gone up blindfold this time, the ascent was quite as difficult as it had been at first to Fritz, who had never climbed it once since the day he sprained his ankle in coming down, having left the look-out department entirely to the sailor lad, on account, as he said, of its "being more in his line!" As he had not, therefore, seen it for so long, Fritz noticed a considerable change on going up. The grass had grown very much taller, while the trees appeared more bushy; but, besides these alterations, the inhabitants of the plateau had become changed and more varied. The droves of wild hogs had increased considerably; while the goats, headed by the old billy, who looked as lively and venerable as ever, had diminished--of course, through the ravages of the Tristaners, as mentioned before. Still, not even the loss of these latter animals specially attracted his attention; what he particularly observed was, that the prairie tableland had a fresh class of visitors, which must have arrived with the new year, for they had not been there when he had previously ascended the cliff. Eric was too much taken up with looking for seals to notice them, for he certainly never mentioned them on his return below to the hut; and, so, Fritz was doubly surprised now at seeing them. These newcomers were the wandering albatross--the "Diomedia exulans," as naturalists term it--which sailors believe to float constantly in the upper air, never alighting on land or sea, but living perpetually on the wing! Eric was firmly convinced of this from what he had been told when on board the _Pilot's Bride_; but Fritz, of course, expressed doubts of the bird having any such fabulous existence when it was pointed out to him while illustrating "flight without motion," as its graceful movement through the air might be described. Now, he had ocular demonstration of the fact that the albatross not only rests its weary feet on solid earth sometimes, but that it also builds a nest, and, marvellous to relate, actually lays eggs! No sooner had Fritz set foot on the plateau, after a weary climb up the toilsome staircase which the tussock-grass and irregularities of the cliff afforded, than he startled one of these birds. It was straddling on the ground in a funny fashion over a little heap of rubbish, as the pile appeared to him. The albatross was quite in the open part of the tableland, and the reason why it selected such a spot for its resting- place, instead of amid the brushwood and tussock-grass thickets that spread over the plateau, was apparent at once when the bird was disturbed; for, it had to take a short run along the bare ground before it could get its pinions thoroughly inflated and rise in the air. Had it been amidst the trees or long grass, Fritz would have been able to approach it and knock it over before it could have sought safety in flight, on account of its long wings requiring a wide space for their expansion. On proceeding to the little heap of rubbish, as Fritz thought it, from which the albatross had risen, he found it to be a nest. This was built, like that of an ostrich, about a foot high from the surface of the ground, on the exterior side, and three feet or so in diameter; while the interior was constructed of grass and pieces of stick woven together with clay. There was one large egg in the centre of this nest, a little bigger than that of a swan and quite white, with the exception of a band of small bright red spots which encircled the larger end. In addition to the albatross, several nests of which were scattered about the open ground on the plateau to the number of a hundred or more, there were lots of mollymawks and terns, or "sea swallows." These latter were beautifully plumaged, Fritz thought, the wings and body being delicately harmonised in white and pale grey, while tiny black heads and red beaks and feet, further improved their dainty appearance. After noticing these new arrivals carefully, although he would not fire at any of them, thinking it needless destruction to kill any creatures but such as were required for food or other purposes, such as the seals, Fritz made after the goats. These, he soon discovered, had removed themselves, under the leadership of "Kaiser Billy"--as his brother had christened the big old male which had frightened them both by his shadow on the cliff--to the further side of the tableland, placing the width of the plateau between the brothers and themselves. "Artful old brute!" said Fritz on noticing this. "Ah, he doesn't intend you to come near him to-day," observed Eric. "He's too wise to put himself within reach of your rifle." "Is he?" replied the other, beginning to get vexed, as the goat dexterously managed to preserve the same distance between them by shifting round in a sidling fashion as he and Eric advanced. "I tell you what, laddie, you go round one way, and I shall take the reverse direction. By that means we will circumvent the cunning old gentleman." These tactics were adopted; but, by some keen intuitive instinct which warned him which of the brothers was most to be feared, "Kaiser Billy," while allowing Eric many a time to get within range, still carefully kept out of Fritz's reach! It was most provoking. "Hang the old fellow!" cried the elder between his clenched teeth. "I'll have him yet;" and, thinking to deceive the animal's wariness by pretending to give up the chase, he sat down in one of the nests of the albatross, whence he could command a good view around of the several thickets of grass and brushwood, asking Eric to continue driving the goats towards him while he lay here concealed. This Eric did, after first shooting the plumpest-looking of the females, which had the effect of scaring the rest and making them run in the direction where Fritz was lying in ambush. The goats, however, went faster than either of the brothers expected; so Fritz, seeing them coming out of a clump of brushwood in the distance just after Eric had brought down his selected victim, immediately crouched down in his retreat. Hearing soon afterwards, however, the sound of the animals' hoofs, he was afraid of raising his head to make an observation as to their whereabouts until they should come closer, thinking that his sudden appearance might cause them race off again in another direction and lose him the chance of a shot. He had not to wait long, for the goats came closer and closer--too close, indeed, to be pleasant! "Look out, Fritz! look out, brother! they're right on top of you," shouted out Eric from the distance, away behind the flock, now coming up at a gallop, and still headed by the venerable "Kaiser Billy." Fritz at once scrambled to his feet, rifle in hand, cocking the weapon as he rose up; but, at the same instant that he stood on his legs, a blow like a battering ram struck him in the small of the back, sending him down flying to the ground again on his face and pitching the cocked rifle out of his hands. This was not the end of it, either; for, the weapon went off with a loud bang as it fell beside him, the bullet penetrating his leg just below the knee in an upward direction and narrowly escaping his head. As for "Kaiser Billy," who had butted him as he rose up, and thus did the damage, he galloped off with a loud "baa" of triumph, as if shouting a paean of victory. "Himmel! are you hurt, Fritz?" called out Eric, hastening up on hearing the report of the rifle. He was alarmed at seeing his brother lying motionless on the ground. But, there was no answer; nor did Fritz even move at the sound of his voice! CHAPTER THIRTY. ANOTHER MISHAP. In another minute Eric arrived where his brother was lying; when, throwing himself on his knees, he bent over him anxiously. "Oh, Fritz, are you badly hurt?" he cried: and, still receiving no answer, he burst into a passion of sobs. "He's dead, he's dead!" he wailed in a broken voice--"dead, never to speak to me more!" "No, laddie, not quite dead yet," whispered Fritz faintly. The sudden blow in the back from the goat's horns, striking him as it did at the base of the spine, had rendered him for the moment unconscious; the unexpected attack had injured him terribly--more so, indeed, than the bullet wound through his leg. Besides, he was lying face downwards, and so was unable to turn over, which fact prevented him from speaking more plainly when he recovered his senses. "Not dead? Oh, I am so glad!" shouted out Eric joyously, in sudden revulsion of feeling. "I was afraid that you were killed!" "I feel pretty near it," said Fritz, although he spoke now in a stronger tone, Eric having partly raised him up, by putting his arm under his neck. "Gently, laddie, gently," he called out, however, as his brother lifted him, "my poor back hurts fearfully!" "I thought it was your leg, Fritz, for it is bleeding awfully. Your trousers are wet with blood!" "That's nothing, laddie--nothing to speak of," said Fritz. "Oh, isn't it?" cried the other, who had been busily cutting away the trouser leg and stocking with his sheath knife. "Why, the bullet has gone through the fleshy part of your calf." "I wish it had gone through the horny part of that horrid old goat," said Fritz grimly, smiling at his own joke, which made Eric laugh. "The old brute! But, you would go after him, you know." "Yes; still, I am suffering now, and perhaps justly, for not leaving the poor animal alone. He never harmed me before I tried to harm him, so it only serves me right! It's a bad job, Eric; I'm afraid I shan't be able to get down to the hut again. You will have to rig me up some sort of shelter here." "Oh, no, that won't be necessary," said Eric, glad that his brother seemed to be getting more like his old calm self and able to look matters in the face. "Why, how can I move? Do you think I shall be able to climb down that abominable tussock-grass ladder in this condition, especially when I was hardly able to manage it while sound in wind and limb--which I can't say is the case at present?" "I didn't think of your getting down that way, old fellow," said the lad, after a moment's reflection. "I've got another plan in my noddle-- a better one than yours I think." "And what is that?" asked Fritz. "Why, you know where you are now, don't you?" "Yes, I should think I did; I haven't quite lost my consciousness yet!" "You are close to the western side of the coast, just near where the plateau slopes down to the sea by our sealing ground." "Well, what of that?" "Why, don't you see through my plan yet, brother? Can I not pull the whale-boat round from our bay, and then manage to lift you down the incline here into it--thus getting you back home easily in that way?" "Himmel, Eric, you're a grand fellow," exclaimed Fritz, in honest admiration of the proposal. "I declare I never thought of such a simple thing as that. Of course it can be done. What a stupid I was, not to think of it! That old goat must have knocked all my seven senses out of my head; for, I declare I never recollected that there was any other way of getting down from here save by the waterfall gully!" "Ah, well, there is another way," said Eric, laughing joyously. "But, really we must now see about using it, for I don't want you to remain up here all night when you may be so much more comfortable in the hut. I will scramble down and fetch round the boat at once, if there is nothing more I can do for you before I go--is there anything you wish?" "No, nothing, now that you've raised my head and propped it up so nicely with your coat. I should be glad, though, if you will bring a can of water with you when you come back with the boat." "Stay, I'll get some for you now!" cried the lad; and, flying across the plateau, he was soon half-way down a niche in the gully whence he could reach the cascade. In a few minutes more, he was up again on the tableland and by the side of Fritz, with his cap full of the welcome water, which tasted to the sufferer, already feverish from the bullet wound--which Eric had bandaged up to stop the bleeding--more delicious than nectar, more strengthening than wine. It at once brought the colour back to his cheek and the fire to his eye. "Ha!" Fritz exclaimed, "that draught has made a new man of me, laddie. You may be off as soon as you please, now, to fetch the boat; while I will wait patiently here until you can bring it round the headland. How's the wind?" "South-east and by south," cried the young sailor promptly. "That will be all in your favour, then. Go now, laddie, and don't be longer than you can help." "You may depend on that," cried Eric, pressing his brother's hand softly; and, in another moment, he was racing again across the plateau to the point where the two had ascended from the gully by the waterfall. Ere long, Eric had brought round the whale-boat to the haunt of the seals on the west beach; when, after a good deal of labour, in which he could not help hurting Fritz somewhat, he succeeded in getting the sufferer down the sloping rocks. Thence, he lifted him bodily into the stern-sheets of the boat, where he had prepared a comfortable couch by piling up on the bottom grating all the blankets and rugs from the hut. Eric had a hard pull back against the wind and tide round the headland, there being none to help him with an oar; but, naturally indomitable, he bravely accomplished the task at last, arriving back at the bay before sunset with his almost unconscious burden, who was now unable to move or assist him in the least. Fortunately, the most arduous part of the transportation was now accomplished, the remainder being "all plain sailing," as Eric said. The lad certainly had a most inventive mind; for, as soon as they reached their own little bay, he once more astonished Fritz--who was glad enough to get so far, but puzzled as to how he would ever arrive at the hut, knowing that the lad would never be able to carry him there. "Now, brother," cried Eric, "you just stop quietly where you are a minute or two while I get the carriage ready." "The carriage?" cried Fritz, more puzzled than ever. "What do you mean, laddie?" "The wheelbarrow, of course," answered Eric, laughing. "See, I have put the door of our hut across it; and, with the bedding on top of this, I shall be able to wheel you, without the slightest jolting, right up to the cottage." "Donnerwetter!" exclaimed Fritz--"you're a wonderful lad; you seem to think of everything." "Nonsense! Silence, now--you mustn't talk; it might bring on fever perhaps!" exclaimed Eric, to stop his brother's grateful expressions. Then, lifting him out carefully from the boat, he placed the invalid on the novel ambulance wagon he had so ingeniously improvised; and, rolling the wheelbarrow along the little pathway up the incline that led to the hut, he proceeded carefully to transport him home. Arrived here, Eric at once put Fritz to bed, so that he might be able to examine his injuries more closely and apply proper bandages to the wounded leg and back, in place of the temporary appliances he had made shift with when first attending to the wounded hero, who was now able to direct him what to do and how to do it. Eric could not help thinking what an unlucky fellow that elder brother of his was! The cliff seemed fatal to him; for, the first time he ascended it, he sprained his ankle, which laid him up for three weeks; and now he had hurt himself even worse. Really, the sailor lad wished there were no crags at all; but, should that devout consummation not be feasible, then he wished there were no means of getting to the summit, for then Fritz would never incur any danger through climbing there. Little did Eric think, as these hasty reflections passed through his mind, that, in a very short while, his last wish would be gratified--and that in a way, too, which would seriously affect them both! The very next morning, indeed, he was glad enough to go up the cliff by the tussock-grass ladder, in order to fetch the young goat he had shot the day before, which, in the excitement of Fritz's accident, had been left behind on the plateau; and, as he was coming down the gully again, he saw the old goat "Kaiser Billy," and shook his fist at him. "You old rascal!" he cried--"had it not been for you and your nasty horns, poor Fritz would be now all right." He then fired a shot at the animal in the distance; but, the knowing fellow, who must have noticed the lad's deadly aim the previous afternoon--when he had slain one of his family while she was galloping along beside him--now kept carefully out of the range of Eric's rifle, so that the bullet did not fall any way near him, so the lad had to descend the tussock-grass ladder in a somewhat disappointed frame of mind. He had not wished actually to hurt the old goat, but merely to give him a sort of mild lesson anent his impudent treatment of Fritz. However, the astute animal declined learning even from so gentle an instructor as Eric, despite the possibility of the lad having his welfare at heart! This was the last time the sailor lad ever had the chance to climb up or down the face of the cliff by means of the much-abused ladder-way; for, within the next few days, a sudden mishap happened that cleared the tangled masses of grass away in a jiffy, leaving the precipitous pass through the gorge bare--the grim rocks thenceforth disclosing themselves in all their naked ruggedness, for, there were no friendly tendrils hanging down whereby to escalade the heights. The accident occurred in this wise. When clearing the land for the garden, a large amount of brushwood and weeds had to be removed from its surface. These, when cut down and dug up, made a large heap of rubbish, which, for the sake of neatness and being out of the way, was piled up at the bottom of the gorge adjoining the waterfall--the embrasure of the gully making a capital dust-hole, as Eric had suggested. From the effects of the hot sun, this rubbish was now as dry as straw; so, one afternoon, when Fritz had so far recovered from his injuries as to be able to crawl out of the hut and sit on a bench outside, which the two had constructed under a rude sort of porch, Eric determined to signalise his brother's convalescence by having a bonfire in honour of the event. To the impulsive lad it was all one to think of such a thing and to carry out the idea. In a moment, rushing from Fritz's side, he had drawn his inseparable box of matches from his pocket, struck a light, and ignited the pile of rubbish. "Doesn't it flare up splendidly?" he cried with glee as he watched the tongue-like flames darting upwards, the whole body of dry material being soon in a red fiery glow, so hot and scorching that the lad had to move away from the vicinity; and, returning to the front of the hut he stood for a time by the side of Fritz, gazing with great admiration at the blaze, which, mounting higher and higher, quickly enveloped the gorge with clouds of that light, pungent smoke which wood fires always give out. "Yes, it burns well enough," said the calm, methodical Fritz; "but, perhaps, laddie, it will spread farther than you intend. I fear it will burn up the little wood to the right of our garden, with all the poor thrushes and other birds in it. It is easy enough to start a fire, you know: the difficulty is to limit its action and put it out when you wish!" "Oh, there's no fear about that," replied Eric with great nonchalance. "The wind is blowing from the north-east and will only carry the flames against the cliff, where there is nothing to harm." Was there not? Higher and higher rose the smoke, ascending pyramidically up the chimney-like gorge; and, the quick-darting tongues of flame could be seen spreading through the hazy veil, while the crackle and roar of the fire sounded fiercer and fiercer. Presently, growing bolder in its strength, the fire advanced outwards from the cleft in the rock where it was first kindled, spreading to the right and left of the gully. Next, it began to clamber up the face of the cliff, burning away gaily even right under the waterfall, which seemed powerless to stay its rapid progress. "Look, Eric," cried Fritz, "it has caught the tussock grass now close to our ladder. I told you it would do mischief!" "Bother it all, so it has!" exclaimed the lad, darting off with the vain intention of trying to stop the conflagration. He might just as well have attempted to arrest the flow of the sea in the little bay below by the aid of his much-detested spade! Crackle, crackle--puff--whish; and, in another few moments, the whole cliff seemed on fire, the flames licking every particle of herbage off the face of the rock. The heat soon made the solid stone glow like molten iron; while the columns of white smoke, as they rose up, were swept by the wind over the tableland, frightening away several of the albatross, which hovered over the scene of devastation on poised wing, wondering apparently what all the fuss was about! The fire gradually burnt itself out when there was nothing more to consume, only an angry pile of smouldering embers remaining below the waterfall, which still danced and tumbled itself over the blackened edges of the crags, no longer festooned with the tussock-grass and shrubs which had previously given the brothers handhold and foothold when climbing to the summit of the cliff. The ladder up to Eric's look-out station being now irremediably destroyed, henceforth the sphere of action of the brother crusoes would be limited to the confined valley in which they had landed and built their home; for, there was now no means of reaching the tableland, save by the pass on the western side near their sealing station, to reach which they would have to use the whale-boat and venture out to sea, round the eastern or western headland. They were now really shut completely within their little valley, without a chance of escaping in any sudden emergency, except by taking to the water! The destruction of the ladder-way was a sad calamity; but, that was not the worst of the damage done by Eric's bonfire! It was late in the afternoon when the lad first lit up the pile of rubbish and night came ere the fire had died out, its blazing light, reflected back by the glistening surface of the cliff, shining out to sea from the bay, like a beacon welcoming the passing mariner to friendly shores--instead of which, the cruel crags that encircled the island only grinned through the surf, like the pointed teeth of a pack of snarling wolves, waiting to rend and tear any hapless craft that should make for them! In addition to this, there was yet another peril to any ship in the vicinity; for, the wind from the north-east had risen to a gale as the evening set in, bringing with it a heavy, rolling swell that thundered in upon the beach with a harsh, grating roar, throwing up columns of spray over the projecting peaks of the headlands on either hand. "I hope no vessel will mistake your bonfire for a beacon," said Fritz, as the darkness increased. "If so, and they should chance to approach the land, God help them, with this wind and sea on!" "I trust not," replied Eric sadly, already regretting his handiwork; "it would be a bad look-out for them!" But, as he spoke the words, the sound of a cannon could be heard coming from seaward over the water; and the lad shuddered with apprehension. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. THE WRECK OF THE BRIG. "Himmel!" exclaimed Fritz, rising up from the bench on which he was sitting and clutching on to the side of the hut for support, being still very feeble and hardly able to stand upright. "There must be a ship out there approaching the island. If she should get too close inshore, she is doomed!" But, Eric did not answer him. The lad had already rushed down to the beach; and, climbing on to a projecting boulder, was peering into the offing, endeavouring to make out the vessel whose signal gun had been heard in the distance. The darkness, however, was too great. The heavens were overcast with thick, drifting clouds, while the sea below was as black as ink--except where the breakers at the base of the cliffs broke in masses of foam that gave out a sort of phosphorescent light for the moment, lighting up the outlines of the headlands during the brief interval, only for them to be swallowed up the next instant in the sombre gloom that enwrapped the bay and surrounding scene. Eric, consequently, could see nothing beyond the wall of heaving water which the rollers presented as they thundered on the shingle, dragging back the pebbles in their back-wash with a rattling noise, as if the spirits of the deep were playing with dice in the depths below under the waves! At his back, the lad could see the bonfire still blazing, casting the foreground in all the deeper shadow from its flickering light; and, never did he regret anything more in his life than the sudden impulse which had led him into so dangerous a freak, as that of lighting the bonfire. Who knew what further terrible peril that treacherous fire might not lead to, besides the mischief it had already done? Bye-and-bye, there came the sound of another gun from the sea. The report sounded nearer this time; still, Eric could see nothing in sight on the horizon when some break in the clouds allowed him a momentary glimpse of the angry ocean--nothing but the huge billows chasing each other in towards the land and the seething foam at the base of the crags, on which they broke themselves in impotent fury when they found their further course arrested by the rocky ramparts of the island. Nor could the lad hear anything beyond the crash of the breakers and splash of the eddying water, which sometimes washed up to his feet, as he stood on the boulder gazing out vainly to sea, the sound of the breaking billows being mingled with the shriek of the wind as it whistled by overhead. Nothing but the tumult of the sea, stirred into frenzy by the storm- blast of angry Aeolus! After a time, Eric suddenly recollected that his brother could not move far from the hut and must be wondering what had become of him; and, recognising as well the fact that he was powerless alone to do anything where he was, even if a ship should be in danger, he returned towards the cottage to rejoin Fritz, his path up the valley being lit up quite clearly by the expiring bonfire, which still flamed out every now and then, as the wind fanned it in its mad rush up the gorge, stirring out the embers into an occasional flash of brilliancy. Fritz, usually so calm, was in a terribly anxious state when his brother reached him. "Well, have you seen anything?" he asked impatiently. "No," said Eric sorrowfully. "There's nothing to be seen." "But _you_ heard another cannon, did you not?" "Oh yes, and it seemed closer in." "So I thought, too," said the other, whom the sound of the heavy guns, from his old experience in war, appeared to affect like a stimulant. "Can't we do anything? It is terrible to stand idly here and allow our fellow-creatures to perish, without trying to save them!" "What could we do?" asked Eric helplessly, all the buoyancy gone out of him. He seemed to be quite another lad. "You couldn't launch the boat without me, eh?" "No," answered Eric; "I couldn't move it off the beach with all my strength--I tried just now." Fritz ground his teeth in rage at his invalid condition. "It serves me right to be crippled in this fashion!" he cried. "It all results from my making such a fool of myself the other day, after that goat on the plateau. I ought to have known better." "You need not vex yourself, brother, about that," said Eric. "If there were twenty of us to get the boat into the water, instead of two, she could not live in the heavy sea that is now running. She would be swamped by the first roller that came in upon us, for the wind is blowing dead on shore!" "That may be," replied Fritz; "still, I should like to do something, even if I knew it would be useless!" "So should I," said Eric, disconsolately. In silence, the two continued to pace up and down the little platform they had levelled in front of their hut, trying to pierce the darkness that now entirely obscured the sea, the north-easter having brought up a thick fog in its train, perhaps from the far-distant African coast, which shut out everything on that side; although, the light of the bonfire still illumined the cliff encircling the valley where they had pitched their homestead, disclosing the inmost recesses of this, so that they could see from where they stood, the wood, which the conflagration had spared, as well as their garden and the tussock-grass rookery of the penguins beyond, not a feature of the landscape being hid. Again came the booming, melancholy sound of the minute guns from sea, making the brothers more impatient than ever; and, at that moment, the fog suddenly lifted, being rapidly wafted away to leeward over the island, enabling the two anxious watchers to see a bit of bright sky overhead, with a twinkling star or two looking down on the raging ocean, now exposed to their gaze--all covered with rolling breakers and seething foam as far as the eye could reach, to the furthest confines of the horizon beyond the bay. Still, they could perceive nothing of the ship that had been firing the signals of distress, till, all at once, another gun was heard; and the flash, which caught their glance at the same moment as the report reached them, now enabled them to notice her imminent peril. This, the people on board could only then have noticed for the first time, the fog having previously concealed their danger; for they distinctly heard, above the noise of the sea and wind, a hoarse shout of agonised, frantic alarm, wafted shorewards by the wind in one of its wild gusts. The vessel was coming up under close-reefed topsails, bow on to the headland on the western side of the bay; and, almost at the very instant the brothers saw her, she struck with a crash on the rocks, the surf rushing up the steep face of the cliff and falling back on the deck of the ill-fated craft in sheets of spray like soapsuds. Fritz and Eric clasped their hands in mute supplication to heaven; but, at the same moment, the spars of the vessel--she was a brig, they could see--fell over her side with a crash. There was a grinding and rending of timbers; and then, one enormous wave, as of three billows rolled into one, poured over her in a cataract. One concentrated shriek of horror and agony came from the seething whirlpool of broken water, and, all was over; for, when the foam had washed away with the retreating wave, not a single vestige could be seen of the hapless craft! She had sunk below the sea with those on board. "Oh, brother, it is awful!" cried Eric. Fritz could not answer. His throat was filled with a great gulping lump which prevented him from drawing his breath; while his eyes were suffused with tears that no unmanly feelings had called forth. Eric was starting off again down to the beach, to see whether any one had escaped from the wreck and been swept into the bay, in which case he might have been of use in trying to drag them from the clutch of the cruel waves, when Fritz called him back. "Don't leave me behind, brother," he cried out passionately. "Wheel me down, in the barrow, so that I may help, too!" The lad stopped in a instant, comprehending his brother's request; and, flying back, in and out of the hut as if he had been galvanised, he quickly placed the old door on top of the wheelbarrow as a sort of platform, with a mattress on top. He then lifted Fritz on the superstructure as if he were a child, the excitement having given him tenfold strength; and, wheeling the barrow down at a run, the two arrived on the beach almost sooner than a boat could have pulled ashore from the point where the catastrophe to the vessel had occurred. But, although it was now light enough to scan the surface of the restless sea for some distance out, no struggling form could be seen battling with the waves; nor was there a single fragment of the wreck noticeable, tossing about on the billows that still rolled in thunderingly on the beach, marking out the contour of the bay with a line of white surf, which shone out in contrast to the glittering black sand that was ever and anon displayed as the back-wash of the waves swept out again in a downward curve preparatory to the billows hurling themselves in shore once more with renewed force. "Poor chaps, they must all have gone down!" said Eric, half crying. He had made sure that some one would have escaped, if only for him to rescue at the last moment--perhaps just when the sinking swimmer might require a helping hand to drag him from the clutches of the grasping billows that sought to overwhelm him as he was getting beyond their reach! "There's no doubt of that," echoed Fritz, who had got off his platform on the wheelbarrow with much more agility than he had been capable of a short time before. "The sea has swallowed up those who were not dashed to pieces on the headland! I hardly know which fate was the least preferable of the two?" "I do hope that the bonfire did not lead to their misfortune," said Eric presently. "If so, I should consider myself to be the cause of their death!" "No, I don't think it was, laddie," replied Fritz, to cheer him, the lad being greatly distressed at the thought of having occasioned the catastrophe. "You see, the ship must have been coming from the other side of the headland, whose height would shut all view of our valley entirely from the sea." "Well, I only hope so," replied Eric, only half consoled. "I'm afraid, however, the people on board took the flame of the burning grass to be some beacon to warn them." "In that case, they would have kept away from it, of course," said Fritz decidedly; "so, no blame can be attached to you. The wind, you see, was blowing a gale from the north-east; and, probably, they were driving on before it, never thinking they were near Inaccessible Island, nor believing that there was such a place anywhere within miles of them, or land at all, for that matter, till they should reach the South American coast!" "Perhaps so," rejoined Eric, in a brighter tone; "but then, again, they might have thought the light to be a ship on fire, and, in going out of their way to lend assistance, they possibly met with their doom, eh?" "Ah, that would be sad to believe," said Fritz. "However, I don't think we should worry ourselves over the dispensations of providence. Poor fellows, whoever they are, or whatever they were about at the time of the disaster, I'm sorry for them from the bottom of my heart!" "And so am I," chimed in his brother. "But now, old fellow," added Eric, "it is time for you to be getting back indoors, with your poor back and wounded leg." "Yes, I shan't be sorry to lie down now; for, I've exerted myself more than I should have done. Oh," continued Fritz, as the lad helped him on to the wheelbarrow platform, again preparing to return to the hut, "I shall never forget the sight of that doomed vessel dashing against the rocks. I fancy I can now see the whole hideous panorama before my eyes again, just as we saw it when the mist cleared away, disclosing all the horrors of the scene!" "I shan't forget it either, brother," said Eric, as he commenced to wheel back Fritz homeward, neither uttering another word on the way. Both went to bed sadly enough; for, the calamity that had just occurred before their eyes made them more depressed than they had ever been before--aye, even in the solitude of their first night alone on the island. Next morning, the gale had blown itself out, the wind having toned down to a gentle breeze; while the sea was smiling in the sunshine, so innocently that it seemed impossible it could have been lashed into the fury it exhibited the previous night. There it was, rippling and prattling away on the beach in the most light-hearted fashion, oblivious, apparently, of all thought of evil! All trace of the wreck, too, had disappeared, nothing being subsequently cast ashore but one single plank, on which the hieroglyphic letters, "PF Bordeaux," were carved rudely with a chisel; so, the mystery of the brig's name and destination remained unsolved to the brothers, as it probably will continue a mystery, until that day when the ocean gives up its secrets and yields up its dead to life! CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. "NEWS FROM HOME." For some time after the wreck, the brothers seemed to experience a strange dreariness about the place which they never felt before. They were now shut in entirely, being confined, as it were, to the little valley of the waterfall through the destruction of the tussock- grass ladder, which previously had opened the tableland on top of the crags to them, giving greater liberty of action; although the ascent had not been by any means an easy matter for Fritz. Now, however, restricted to their scanty domain, bounded by the bare cliff at the back and encompassed by lofty headlands on either side, they were prevented from wandering beyond the limits of the bay, save by taking to their boat; and this, the strong winds which set in at the latter end of March rendered utterly impossible of achievement. Consequently, they began to realise more fully their solitary condition, recognising the fact that they were crusoes indeed! No event of any importance happened after the episode of the bonfire and the storm in which the crew of the brig perished, for some weeks, nothing occurring to break the monotony of the solitary life they were leading; until, one morning, without any warning, the penguins, which had been their constant companions from the commencement of their self- chosen exile up to now, suddenly left the island. This was in the month of April. Never was a migration more unexpected. On the evening before, the birds, so long as daylight lasted, were seen still playing about in the bay and arranging themselves in lines along the rough escarpment of the headlands, where they were drawn up like soldiers on parade and apparently dressed in the old-fashioned uniform that is sometimes still seen on the stage. Really, their black and white plumage exactly resembled the white buckskin breeches and black three-cornered hats of the whilom mousquetaires; while their drooping flappers seemed like hands down their sides in the attitude of "attention!"--the upper portions of the wings, projecting in front, representing those horrible cross-belts that used to make the men look as if they wore stays. The penguins seemed so much at home on the island that it looked as if they never intended leaving it, albeit the brothers noticed that the birds barked and grumbled more discordantly than they had done of late. No doubt there was something on hand, they thought; but they never dreamt that this grand pow-wow was their leave-taking of the rookery; but, lo and behold! when Eric came out of the hut next morning to pay his customary matutinal visit to the beach, there was not a single penguin to be seen anywhere in the vicinity, either out in the water or on land! They had disappeared, as if by magic, in one single night. In the evening before, they were with them; when day dawned, they were gone! Fritz and Eric had got so accustomed to the birds by this time, studying their habits and watching the progress of many of the adult penguins from the egg to representative birdom, as they passed through the various gradations of hatching and moulting, that they quite missed them for the first few days after their departure. The cliffs, without their presence to enliven them, appeared never so stern and bleak and bare as now; the headlands never so forbidding and impassable; the valley never so prison-like, to the brothers, shut in as they were and confined to the bay! However, the winter season coming on apace, the two soon had plenty to do in preparing for its advent. This served to distract their attention from becoming morbid and dwelling on their loneliness, which was all the more dismal now from the fact of their being debarred from their hunting-ground on the plateau--Fritz having got strong and well again after the wreck, and being now able to start on a second expedition in pursuit of "Kaiser Billy," did he so wish, if the access to the tableland above the cliffs by way of the gully were only still open to them. Goat-shooting, therefore, being denied them, the brothers busied themselves about other matters, as soon as the increasing coldness of the air and an occasional snow-storm warned them that winter would soon visit the shores of the island. "I tell you what," said Fritz, when the first few flakes of snow came fluttering down one afternoon as they were standing outside the hut, the sun having set early and darkness coming on. "We're going to have some of the old weather we were accustomed to at Lubeck." "Ah; but, we can have no skating or slides here!" replied Eric, thinking of the canals and frozen surface of the sea near his northern home, when the frost asserted its sway, ruling with a sceptre of ice everywhere. "No, and we don't want them either," rejoined the practical Fritz. "I am pondering over a much more serious matter; and that is, how we shall keep ourselves warm? My coat, unfortunately, is getting pretty nearly worn-out!" "And so is mine," cried Eric, exhibiting the elbows of his reefing jacket, in which a couple of large holes showed themselves. The rest of the garment, also, was so patched up with pieces of different coloured cloth that it more resembled an old-clothes-man's sack than anything else! "Well, what do you think of our paying our tailor a visit?" said Fritz all at once, after cogitating a while in a brown study. Eric burst out into a loud fit of laughing; so hearty that he nearly doubled himself up in the paroxysms of his mirth. "Ha, ha, ha, what a funny fellow you are, Fritz!" he exclaimed. "I wonder where we are going to find a tailor here?" "Oh, I know one," said his brother coolly, in such a matter-of-fact way that the lad was quite staggered with surprise. "Do you?" he asked in astonishment. "Who is he?" "Your humble servant," said Fritz, with a low bow. "Can I have the pleasure of measuring you for a new suit, meinherr?" Eric began laughing again. "You can measure away to your heart's content," he replied; "but, I fancy it will puzzle even your lofty intellect to discover the wherewithal to make clothes with--that is, except sailcloth, which would be rather cold wear for winter, I think, eh, Master Schneider?" "How about those two last sealskins we didn't salt down, or pack up with the rest in the puncheon?" enquired Fritz with a smile. "O-oh!" exclaimed Eric, opening his mouth wide with wonder. "A-ah," rejoined his brother. "I think they'll do very well to make a couple of good coats for us; they'll be warm and serviceable." "Of course they will," said Eric, jumping at the idea. "And, they will be fashionable too! Why, sealskin jackets are all the rage in Berlin and Hanover; so, we'll be regular dandies!" "Dandies of the first water, oh yes," replied Fritz quizzingly. "I wonder what they would think of us at, Lubeck if they could just see us now!" "Never mind, brother, we'll astonish them when we go back with our pockets full of money," said Eric in his happy fashion; and then, without further delay, the two set to work making themselves winter garments, as Fritz had suggested, from the sealskins. These had been dried, instead of being salted down with the rest, in the ordinary way whalers preserve them for the furriers; so, now, all that remained for the brothers to do was to make the skins limp and pliable. This they managed to effect by rubbing grease over the inner surface of the skins with a hard piece of lava slab selected from the volcanic debris at the foot of the cliff, in the same way, as Eric explained, that sailors holystone the decks of a ship; and, after the pelts of the seals were subjected to this process, they underwent a species of tanning by being steeped in a decoction of tea leaves, keeping, however, the hair out of the liquor. Lastly, the outside portion of the skins was dressed by pulling off the long fibrous exterior hairs, concealing the soft fur below that resembled the down beneath a bird's rough feathers. The skins being now thoroughly prepared, all that remained to do was to cut out the coats, a feat the crusoes accomplished by using their old garments for patterns; and then, by the aid of the useful little housewife which Celia Brown had given Eric, after an immense amount of stitching, the brothers were able at last to clothe themselves in a couple of fur jackets. These, although they were perhaps roughly made, the good people at home could not have turned up their noses at, for the articles were certainly intrinsically worth more than the best-cut masterpiece of the best outfitter, even if not of so perfect a fit or style! Fritz was the chief tailor in this operation; but, while he was busily engaged with needle and thread, Eric was employed in another way, equally for the good of both. The hut had been found somewhat cold and damp in consequence of the sun's power beginning to wane by reason of its shifting further north, through the periodic revolution of the earth; so it was determined to build a fireplace within the dwelling. This had not been necessary before, all their cooking operations having been carried on without the hut at an open-air campaigner's stove designed by soldier Fritz. Now, however, Master Eric devoted himself to the task of improving their household economy, accomplishing the feat so well that, wonderful to relate, the place never smoked once after the fire had been lit in the new receptacle for it, excepting when the wind blew from the westward. Then, indeed, coming from over the top of the plateau above, it whirled down the gorge, roaring through the lad's patent chimney like a cyclone. From May, until the end of July--during which time the extreme severity of the winter lasted--the brothers did little, save stop indoors and read, or play dominoes. Really, there was nothing else for them to occupy their minds with; for, it was impossible to cultivate the garden, while the weather was too rough for them to venture out in the whale-boat. Early in August, however, the penguins returned. The birds did this as suddenly as they had left; although they did not come all together, as at the period of their migrating from the island. It need hardly be said that Fritz and Eric welcomed them joyfully as the early swallows of the coming summer; for, as the summer advanced, their life would be more varied, and there would be plenty for them to do. Besides, the brothers had not forgotten Captain Brown's promise to return at this period and visit them with the _Pilot's Bride_, the arrival of which vessel might be expected in a couple of months or so. The male penguins were the first to make their reappearance in the bay, Eric returning to the hut with the news of this fact one morning in August. "I say, Fritz," he called out, when yet some distance off from their dwelling--"I've just seen two penguins down by the sea!" "Have you?" exclaimed the other eagerly. "That's good news." "Is it?" said Eric. "I didn't think you cared about them so much." "Ah, I'm looking out for their eggs," replied Fritz. "Why, you never seemed to fancy them last year, old fellow," said the sailor lad surprised. "What means this change of view on your part?" "Well, you know, when we arrived here first, the birds were already sitting; and, I certainly confess I did not care about the eggs then, for they would probably have been half addled! Now, however, if we look out each day, we can get them quite fresh, when they'll be ever so much better. Young Glass told us, as you ought to remember, that they tasted very nice and not in the least fishy." "Oh, yes, I recollect," said Eric. "I will keep a good look-out for them now you say they're worth looking after!" And he did. The two male birds, who first came, were succeeded on the following day by half a dozen more, a large number coming later on the same afternoon. All these penguins were in their best plumage, and very fat and lazy, contenting themselves with lolling about the beach for a day or two, as if to recover from the fatigues of their journey. Then, after a solemn conference together close to the rookery, the birds began to prepare their nests, so as to be ready for the reception of the females, which did not make their appearance for nearly a month after the first male penguins were seen. A fortnight later, there was in almost each nest an egg of a pale blue colour, very round in shape and about the size of a turkey's--the sight of which much gratified Master Eric, who, fearless of consequences, made a point of investigating the tussock-grass colony every morning. He called the birds habitat his "poultry yard," seeming to be quite unmindful of his mishap there the previous year; although now, as the penguins had not begun regularly to sit yet, they were not so noisy or troublesome as when he then intruded on their domain. Besides, as the sailor lad argued, the eggs were uncommonly good eating, and well worth risk getting them. September came; and the brother crusoes were all agog with excitement, watching for the expected coming of the old Yankee skipper. "Do you know what to-day is?" asked Fritz one morning, as Eric woke him up in turning out. "What a fellow you are for dates!" exclaimed the other. "You ought to go and live in the East, where they cultivate them, brother! No, I can't say I recollect what day it is. Tuesday, is it not?" "I don't mean that," said Fritz petulantly. "I alluded to the sort of anniversary, that's all." "Anniversary of what?" "Our landing here last year," replied Fritz. "Oh, I forgot that!" exclaimed Eric. "It strikes me you forget a good many things," said his brother in his dry way. "Still, what I was thinking of was, that we might now really begin to look out for Captain Brown. What a pity it is that you can't ascend to your old signalling station on top of the gully." "Yes, it was all on account of the grass burning that our ladder got spoilt and--" "Of course you didn't set it on fire, eh?" interposed Fritz. "Ah well, it's of no use our talking about that now; words will not mend matters," said Eric. "We'll have look out from here!" The wind latterly had been from the east, blowing right into the bay. On account of this, the brothers could not venture out in the boat and thus get round the headland, so as to climb the plateau from the other side of the island and scan the offing from thence. Still, no amount of looking out on their part--or lack of observation, whichever way the matter was put--seemed to effect the arrival of the expected ship; for, the month passed away in daily counted days without a trace of a sail being seen on the horizon. At last, just when the brothers had given up in despair all hope of hearing from home, Eric, one morning in October, reported that there was something in sight to windward of the bay; although, he said, he did not think she looked like the _Pilot's Bride_. Hastily jumping into his clothes--for Fritz, sad to relate, could never practise early rising, in which good habit day after day Eric set him a praiseworthy example--the elder followed the younger lad again to the shore of the bay; from which point, well away out to sea, and her hull just rising from the rolling plane of water, could be seen a vessel. She was steering for the island apparently, with the wind well on her beam. "It isn't Captain Brown's ship," said Eric now decisively, his sailor eye having distinguished while she was yet in the distance that the vessel was a fore-and-aft-rigged schooner, although Fritz could not then tell what sort of craft she was. "It is one of those small whalers that ply amongst the islands, such as I saw down at Kerguelen." "What can have become of the skipper, then?" cried Fritz, quite disappointed. "I hope nothing has happened to him." "We'll soon know," replied Eric. "If I mistake not this very schooner, which is evidently going to call here, is the _Jane_. I know her by that queer patch in her jib; and, if that's the case, she is one of the consorts of the _Pilot's Bride_ and will be bound to be able to tell us something about her." "I sincerely hope so," said Fritz. The two then remained silent for some time, watching the approaching vessel; but they took the precaution to run down their whale-boat to the beach, so as to be ready to put off as soon as the visitor should come near enough for them to board her. In a short time, bowling up before a good breeze, although it seemed hours to them, they were so anxious, the schooner lay-to off the bay, hoisting her flag as a signal that she wished to communicate. But, long before the bunting had been run up to the masthead, the brothers had launched their boat and were pulling out towards the vessel, which did not anchor, for there was a heavy ground swell on--this latter, indeed, cost them, too, some trouble in getting their little craft out to sea, the rolling surge first lifting her up and then plunging her down so that everything was hidden from them for the moment by a wall of water on either side. However, they managed to get through the waves somehow; and, presently, they were alongside the schooner,--pulling in under her stern, whence a rope was hove them to get on board by. An active-looking, slim, seamanlike young fellow advanced to them as they scrambled on the schooner's deck; and Eric appeared to recognise him. "Hullo, Captain Fuller," he said, "where's the _Pilot's Bride_ and the old skipper?" "I'm sorry you won't see him this trip," replied the other. "The barque got damaged in a gale off the African coast a month ago: so, she had to put into the Cape of Good Hope for repairs, which'll take such a time that Captain Brown couldn't manage to come along here and see you as he promised. Howsomever, the old skipper has sent me in his stead, to bring you some letters and take home any cargo you might have ready in sealskins and oil. He told me, likewise, to let you have any provisions you may want; but, I'm sorry to say, while coming here I helped an American ship that was short, and now I only have a little flour left to spare." "Thank you, all the same," said Fritz, who had been waiting patiently while the master of the schooner gave this explanation. "I'm very sorry at not seeing Captain Brown; however, I suppose he'll come for us next year, as he said, won't he?" "Oh yes," answered the other cordially. "I'm sure he will, for it seemed a great disappointment to him not to be able to do so now. He told me to be certain to say that, `blow great guns and small arms or not, he'll be at Inaccessible Island next year!' But, you must be anxious about your letters. Here they are," and the nice-looking young fellow, whom Fritz had quite taken a fancy to, handed a little packet to him, adding, "I am afraid I'll have to hurry you up about your return messages, as the wind is getting up from the eastwards and I shan't be able to remain here long." Fritz at once broke the seal of a thick letter, which Captain Brown had enclosed in one of his own. This he saw came from Lubeck, although it had the Capetown post mark on it, and he glanced hurriedly over the front page and then at the end. "All right at home, thank God!" he said aloud for Eric's benefit, the lad staring at his brother with eager eyes. "And now, Captain Fuller, I'm ready to attend to you. I shall be glad of a barrel of flour if you can spare it, but our other provisions can hold out. Will you let a man or two come ashore to help get our freight aboard?" "How much have you got to ship?" asked the other. "Thirty sealskins and twenty barrels of oil," replied Fritz at once; he and Eric had counted over their little store too often for him not to have their tally at his fingers' ends! "Come now," said Captain Fuller encouragingly. "That's not bad work for a couple of novices as their first take here! Next year, you'll be able to fill up the _Pilot's Bride_, `I reckon,' as the old skipper would say." "Not quite that," replied Fritz, while he and Eric joined in the other's laugh; "still, I've no doubt we'll do better than this, for we'll take care to be beforehand with some folks!" The commander of the schooner looking puzzled by the latter part of this speech, Fritz proceeded to tell the young seaman all about Nat Slater and the Tristaners, anent which he became very indignant. "I'll take care to call at the island and spoil the mean fellow's game for him, so that you shan't be troubled in the same way again!" cried their new friend, with much heartiness; "but, do, please, let these men go ashore with you now and fetch your produce at once, or else we'll have to be off without it! Here, Harris and Betkins," he sang out to two of the schooner's men, "go along with these gentlemen in their boat and bring off some cargo they'll point out to you!" "I don't think we can stow all in one boat," said Eric. "Then, we must make two or three trips till we do," answered the other, equal to the occasion; and this procedure was adopted until all the brothers' sealskins and barrels of oils were shipped in the schooner. The goods were consigned to Captain Brown, who had undertaken to dispose of all the produce of their expedition; and, when the freight was all shipped, the schooner, filling her sails, bore away from the island on her return trip to the Cape--not without a hearty farewell to Fritz and Eric from those on board. This visit of the little craft cheered them up wonderfully, reconciling them cheerfully to another year's sojourn in their island home; for, had not the schooner brought them comfort and hope, and, above all else, what was to their longing hearts like manna to the Israelites in the wilderness, water to a dry ground, warmth to those shivering with cold-- in other words, "good news from home?" Aye, that she had! CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. A DIRE PERIL. Oh, those dear letters from home! Did not Fritz pore over them, when he and Eric got back to their little hut, glad to sit down and be quiet again, all to themselves after the excitement of the schooner's visit and the fatigue of shipping the produce of their labours during the past? Madame Dort's missive was a long, voluminous epistle of ever so many pages, written in their dear mother's clear hand, without a blot or a scratch out, or any tedious crossing of the pages to make the writing indistinct. She had been a teacher, and able to write well, if only because she had formerly to instruct others? The letter was public property for both, being addressed to Eric as well as Fritz, and it contained much loving news--news that caused the elder brother frequently to pause in his reading and Eric to dash away the quick tears from his bright eyes; while, anon, it made them both laugh by some funny allusion to household arrangements as they recalled the well-remembered little home scene in the old-fashioned house in which the two had been brought up, in the Gulden Strasse at Lubeck. The communication was so lengthy that it was almost a journal, Madame Dort recounting all the haps and mishaps of the family since Fritz had gone away, taking it for granted that he would have informed Eric of all that had transpired during the lad's previous absence. The letter mentioned, too, that the neighbours were all interested in the brothers' adventures and called frequently to ask her about them. Herr Grosschnapper, she also related, had especially told her that he had never employed so accurate a book-keeper as Fritz; for, the new clerk had, like a new broom, swept so clean that he had swept himself out of favour, the old merchant longing to have the widow's son back in his counting-house again. "I don't wonder at that," exclaimed Eric, interrupting the reading here. "He should have known when he was well off and kept your place open for you until your return from the war!" "So he did, brother, he waited as long as he could," said Fritz, taking the part of the absent, although the matter was still a sore subject with him; and, then, he continued reading out his mother's letter, which went on to detail Lorischen's many dreams about the children of her nursing--how she prophesied that Eric would be such a big strapping fellow that the house would not be able to contain him, and how Mouser had developed such an affection for Gelert, that he even followed the dog, when the latter went out to take his walks abroad, in the most fearless manner possible, trusting evidently to the kindness of his canine protector to prevent other obnoxious animals like Burgher Jans terrier from molesting him! Oh, and while mentioning the little fat man's dog, Madame Dort said she had such a wonderful story to relate. What would they think of Lorischen-- "I said it would turn out so!" cried Eric, interrupting his brother a second time. "I always said it would turn out so, in spite of all our old nurse's cruel treatment of the little Burgher." "What did you say, Mr Prophet?" asked Fritz good-humouredly. "That he and Lorischen would make a match of it yet," replied Eric, clapping his hands in high glee. "What fun that would be! Is it not so, brother?" "You might be further out in your guessing than that," said Fritz, going on to the denouement of the story told in his mother's letter. Yes, Madame Dort wrote, the little fat man had really, one day when Lorischen had received him more affably than usual and invited him to partake of some nice cheese-cakes she had just made, asked her to marry him! And, more wonderful still, in spite of all their old nurse used to say about the Burgher, and how she pretended to detest him, as they must remember well, Lorischen had finally agreed to an engagement with him, promising to unite her fate with his when Herr Fritz and Master Eric came home. "So now, dear boys both, you know how much depends on your return," concluded their mother in her quaint way, for she had a keen appreciation of humour. "If only to hasten the happiness of old Lorischen and her well-beloved little fat man, pray do not delay your coming back as soon as ever you can conveniently manage it. I say nothing about myself or of Madaleine, my new daughter; for, you must be able to imagine without the aid of any words of mine, how we are both longing and praying to see you again!" "And now for sister Madaleine's letter," cried Eric, when he had kissed the signature to that of his mother's which Fritz handed over to him as soon as he had done reading it aloud. "It seems almost as big a one as mutterchen's and I dare say there'll be lots more news in it!" "Ah, I think I'll read this first to myself," said Fritz dryly; adding a moment after when he noticed Eric's look of intense disgust: "you see, she only writes to me, you know." "Oh yes, that's very fine!" exclaimed the other, in a highly aggrieved tone. "Never mind, though, I can pay you out sooner than you think, Master Fritz! See this little note here!" "No--yes--what is it?" said Fritz, looking up in an absent way from the second of the home letters, which now lay open on his knee. "Ah, wouldn't you like to know, Mr Selfish-keep-his-letters-to-himself sort of a brother, eh? Well, then, this note here contains some of the dearest words you ever saw penned! It was enclosed by Miss Celia Brown in a letter of her father's to you--which you've taken such little account of that you chucked it down on the floor in your ridiculous hurry to read that letter which you won't tell me about. Now, I did intend, Master Fritz, to give you this delightful little note, which I would not part with for the world, for you to read it your own self; but, now, I shan't let you once cast your eyes over it, there! It is only a little tiny note; still, I think much more of it than all your big letters from that Madaleine Vogelstein, who I don't believe is half as handsome as Celia!" "All right then, we're both satisfied if such is the case," rejoined Fritz, in no way put out by this outburst, or alarmed at the terrible reprisals threatened by Eric, and then, the elder brother bowed his head again over the unfolded sheets of scented paper lying on his knee that came from his sweetheart across the sea. The letter was all that the fondest lover could wish; and, with the omission of a few endearing terms, Fritz subsequently read it to Eric, who thereupon relented from his previous resolution and showed him Miss Celia Brown's note. This, however, contained nothing very remarkable, after all; unless a postscript, saying that the writer "expected to have a good time" when the sailor lad returned to Providence, deserves to be described in Eric's extravagant language. The schooner's visit having settled their minds, so to speak, the brother crusoes were able after her departure to devote themselves anew, with all the greater zest, to what they now considered their regular work. As in the previous year, before adventuring beyond their own special domain, the garden was dug up and replanted; the labour this time, of course, being far less than on the first occasion, for they had no longer virgin soil to tackle with as then. A much larger lot of potatoes were put into the ground, the brothers having learnt by experience that, after once planting, these useful "apples of the earth" necessitated little further trouble, one good hoeing up when the sprouts had appeared above the surface and an occasional rake over to keep down the weeds being quite sufficient to make the plot look neat; while, should they have more than they required for themselves when harvest time came, they could easily store them up for the use of the _Pilot's Bride_ crew, as a slight return for all Captain Brown's kindness. A good crop of cabbages and onions was also provided for; while Eric did not forget his favourite peas and beans for their next Christmas banquet. This task done and things tidied up about the hut, so as to make their immediate surroundings snug and comfortable, the brothers determined, the weather being now settled and fair, to have a cruise round the coast again. They were anxious to find out whether the seals were about yet, besides wishing to pay another visit to the tableland, which they had been debarred from exploring since the bonfire had burnt up their ladder at the beginning of the winter season. They would, naturally, have made this expedition long before, had the wind and sea not been so boisterous--very unlike, indeed, the genial spell they had experienced in the previous year; but, really, from the month of August, a succession of gales had set in from different points of the compass and the navigation was so dangerous that it would not have been safe to have ventured out beyond the bay. Indeed, as it was, the whale-boat got so much knocked about by a heavy sea, which came rolling in on the beach one night when they had not drawn her up far enough, that she was now far too cranky for them to trust their lives in her in bad weather. However, one fine day, late in November, with all their shooting and hunting gear, in addition to a supply of provisions for a week or ten days, they set sail from the bay bound westward round the headland, intending to have a regular outing. Seals they found plentiful enough, the animals having returned to their breeding haunts much earlier than the year before. They seemed, besides, so tame that the new-comers must either have been quite a fresh family of the mammals, or else the brothers had stolen a march on the Tristaners and would therefore have the advantage of the first assault on the seals. There was nothing like taking time by the forelock, and so, without frightening the animals by any display of hostility, the brothers quietly landed their traps in a little creek some distance away from the principal cove they frequented; and then, the two organised a regular campaign against their unsuspecting prey. Eric with a rifle and harpoon got round the seals by way of the land; while Fritz, equally well provided with weapons, assailed them from the sea in the boat, both making a rush together by a preconcerted signal. Their strategy was triumphant this time; for, after a very one-sided battle between the intrepid seal killers on the one hand and the terrified, helpless creatures on the other, eighty-five victims were counted on the field of battle--six of the animals being sea elephants, and five sea bears, or "lions," a species having a curious sort of curly mane round their necks, while the remainder of the slain consisted of specimens of the common seal of commerce. "Why, brother, this is grand!" exclaimed Eric, as he and Fritz counted over the spoil. "But, how shall we get the blubber and skins round to the bay? Our boat will never carry them all in her leaky state." "Well, laddie, I thought you were the inventive genius of the family," said the other. "Can't you think of an easier plan than lugging them round the headland all that way by sea?" "I'm sure I can't," Eric replied, with a hopeless stare. "Then, I'll tell you," said Fritz. "What think you of our just taking them up to the top of the plateau; and, after a short walk across the tableland, pitching our bundle of spoil down right in front of our hut-- without first loading up the boat and then unloading her again, besides having the trouble of toiling all the way from the beach to the cottage afterwards?" "Why, that's a splendid plan!" cried Eric; "almost good enough for me to have thought of it." "I like your impudence!" said Fritz, laughing. "Certainly, a young sailor of my acquaintance has a very good opinion of himself!" "Right you are," rejoined Eric, with his time-honoured phrase; and then the two, as usual, had a hearty laugh. Skinning the seals and packing up the layers of blubber within the pelts was then the order of the day with them for some hours, Fritz pointing out, that, if they removed all the traces of the combat before nightfall, the seals would return to their old haunt the next day, the evening tide being sufficient to wash away the traces of blood on the rocks as well as bear to the bottom the bodies of the slain victims; otherwise, the sad sight of the carcases of their slain comrades still lying about the scene of battle would prevent the scared and timid animals from coming back. Consequently, the brothers worked hard; and, practice having made them proficients in the knack of ripping off the coats of the seals with one or two dexterous slashes with a keen knife along the stomach and down the legs of the animals, they stripped off the skins in much less time than might be imagined. Then, the pelts and layers of blubber were rolled up together in handy bundles and conveyed up to the plateau. This was a very tedious job, necessitating, first, a weary tramp to and from the beach to where the path led up to the summit of the tableland; and, secondly, a scramble up the rocky and wearisome ascent of the plateau, this latter part of their labour being rendered all the more difficult and disagreeable by the bundles of blubber and skins, which they had to carry up on their heads in the same fashion as negroes always convey their loads--a thing apparently easy enough to the blacks by reason of their strong craniums, but terribly "headachy" for Europeans unaccustomed to such burdens! Fritz and Eric did not hurry over this job, however, deferring its completion till the morning. They camped out on the plateau so as to be out of the way of the seals, glad enough to rest after their day's labour, without going hunting after the goats, as they had intended at first doing, the same afternoon. Next morning, seeing no seals about--the animals probably not having recovered from their fright yet--they continued carrying up the skins and blubber, until they had quite a respectable pile on the plateau; when, the next question arose about its transportation across the tableland to the eastern side, immediately over the gully by which they used to climb up, near their hut. "I wish we had brought your carriage, Fritz," said Eric, alluding to the wheelbarrow, which had been so styled by the sailor lad after he had utilised it as an ambulance waggon. "It's too late to wish that now," replied the other. "I could soon go round in the boat and fetch it, brother," cried Eric, looking as if he were going to start off at the moment. "No, stop, laddie; we could not spare the boat," said Fritz, laying his hand on his arm. "It would be more than likely that, the moment you were out of sight the seals would land again on the rocks, when we should miss the chance of taking them! I don't believe we shall have more than one other chance of getting their skins; for the Tristaners will soon be here again on their annual excursion, with that fellow Slater in their company, and, I confess, I should not like us to be here when they came." "I wouldn't mind a row at all!" cried Eric defiantly; "still, as you don't want me to go for the wheelbarrow, how do you suggest that we should carry the skins across this dreary expanse here?" "Let us make a stretcher with the oars," said Fritz. "Bravo, the very thing," replied Eric. "Why, you are the inventive genius this time!" "Well, one must think of something sometimes," said Fritz, in his matter-of-fact way; and the two then proceeded to carry out the plan of the elder brother, which simplified their labour immensely. They only had to make some three journeys across the plateau with the skins, which, when the bundles were all transported to the eastern side of the tableland, were incontinently tumbled over to the foot of the cliff below, alighting quite close to the cauldron in which the blubber would be subsequently "tried out" into oil. Then, and not till then, did they pick up their guns and think of the goats, which had hitherto led a charmed life as far as they were concerned. They soon noticed, however, that, in lieu of the large number they had observed when they last saw them, the flock had been now reduced to five. The Tristaners must evidently have paid another visit to the west coast since they had met them there when going sealing the previous season; and, this second visit the brothers put down to the instigation of the whilom "deck hand," who had no doubt incited the islanders to do everything they could to annoy them. Fritz only shot one goat, leaving "Kaiser Billy" and the other three, on the chance of their numbers being afterwards increased. He and Eric then went for a hunt after the wild pigs, killing a fine young porker, which they roasted on the plateau and made a feast of at their camp. The flesh, however, was very coarse, tasting fishy and rank, probably on account of the pigs feeding on the penguins, the young of which they could easily secure by going down to the beach by the same pathway that the brothers had climbed. Fritz and Eric stayed ten days on the western shore; but during all the time they remained they only were able to capture eleven more seals, which made up their quota to ninety-six. Eric longed to run it up to the even hundred, but they did not see another single mammal, although they remained a day longer on the coast than they had intended. This delay led to the most disastrous consequences; for, a gale sprang up right in their teeth when they were on their way back to the bay with the goat and the remaining sealskins, which they had not taken the trouble of transporting across the plateau, but took along with them in the boat. It was something wonderful to notice the sea, which a short time previously had been so placid, presently running high with mighty rollers, that threatened each moment to engulf their little craft; and they had to allow her to run before the wind some little time for fear of getting her swamped. This danger avoided, a worse one arose, which Fritz had not thought of, but which soon became apparent to the sailor lad, his intelligence heightened by his former painful experience when adrift in a boat at sea, out of sight of land. "I say, Fritz," he cried; "we are leaving the land!" "What?" asked the other, not understanding him. "We are getting away too far from the island; and if we go on like this, we'll never get back." "Good heavens, what shall we do?" said Fritz. "I'm sure, I can't say," replied Eric despondently. "Can't we put back?" "No; we'd be upset in an instant, if we attempted it." "Then, we're lost!" exclaimed Fritz. "The land is now growing quite faint in the distance and each moment it sinks lower and lower!" This was not the worst, either. The afternoon was drawing to a close; and, the sky being overcast, darkness threatened presently to creep over the water and shut out everything from their gaze. CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. ANXIOUS TIMES. The boat continued driving before the wind for some little time, until the mountain cliffs of Inaccessible Island gradually lost their contour. They had become but a mere haze in the distance, when Eric, who had been intently gazing upward at the sky since Fritz's last speech of alarm, and seemed buried in despondency, suddenly appeared to wake up into fresh life. He had noticed the clouds being swept rapidly overhead in the same direction in which the boat was travelling; but, all at once, they now appeared to be stationary, or else, the waves must be bearing their frail little craft along faster than the wind's speed. What could this puzzling state of things mean? Eric reflected a moment and then astonished Fritz as they both sat in the stern-sheets, by convulsively grasping his hand. "The wind has turned, brother!" he cried out in a paroxysm of joy. Fritz thought he was going mad. "Why, my poor fellow, what's the matter?" he said soothingly. "Matter, eh?" shouted out Eric boisterously, wringing | his brother's hand up and down. "I mean that the wind has changed! It is chopping round to the opposite | corner of the compass, like most gales in these latitudes, that's what's the matter! See those clouds there?" Fritz looked up to where the other pointed in the sky--to a spot near the zenith. "Well," continued the lad, "a moment ago those clouds there were whirling along the same course as ourselves. Then, when I first called out to you, they stopped, as if uncertain what to do; while now, as you can notice for yourself, they seem to be impelled in the very opposite direction. What do you think that means?" Fritz was silent, only half convinced, for the send of the sea appeared to be rolling their unhappy boat further and further from the island, which, only a bare speck on the horizon, could be but very faintly seen astern, low down on the water. "It means," said Eric, answering his own question, without waiting longer for his brother's reply, "that the same wind which bore us away from our dear little bay is about to waft us back again to it; still, we must look out sharply to help ourselves and not neglect a chance. Oars out, old fellow!" "But, it is impossible to row amidst these waves," the other expostulated. "Bah, nothing is impossible to brave men!" cried the sailor lad valiantly. "I only want to get her head round to sea. Perhaps, though, my old friend that served me in such good stead when the _Gustav Barentz_ foundered may serve my turn better now; we'll try a floating anchor, brother, that's what we'll do, eh?" "All right, you know best," replied Fritz, who, to tell the truth, had very little hopes of their ever seeing the island again. He thought that, no matter what Eric might attempt, all would be labour in vain. The sailor lad, on the contrary, was of a different opinion. He was not the one to let a chance slip when there seemed a prospect of safety, however remote that prospect might be! Rapidly attaching a rope round the bale of sealskins that were amidships, thinking these more adapted for his purpose than the oars, which he had first intended using, he hove the mass overboard, gently poising it on the side and letting it slip gradually into the water. He did this in order that he might not disturb the balance of the boat, which any sudden rash movement would have done, causing her probably to heel over--for the waves, when they raced by, came level with her gunwale, and an inch more either way would have swamped her. In a few seconds after this impromptu anchor was tried, the effect on the whale-boat's buoyancy became marvellous. Swinging round by degrees, Eric helping the operation by an occasional short paddle with one of the oars he had handy, the little craft presently rode head to sea, some little distance to leeward of the sealskins whose weight sunk them almost to the level of the water; and then, another unexpected thing happened. The oil attached to the still reeking skins came floating out on the surface of the sea, so calming the waves in their vicinity that these did not break any longer, but glided under the keel of the boat with a heavy rolling undulation. "This is more than I hoped!" exclaimed Eric joyfully. "Why, we'll be able to ride out the gale capitally now; and, as soon as the wind chops round--as it has already done in the upper currents of air, a sure sign that it will presently blow along the water from the same quarter--why, we can up anchor and away home!" "How shall we ever know the proper direction in which to steer?" asked Fritz, who was still faint-hearted about the result of the adventure. "We won't steer at all," said Eric. "There are no currents to speak of about here; and as we have run south-westwards before the north-easter, if we run back in an opposite direction before the south-wester, which is not far off now from setting in, why we must arrive pretty nearly at the same point from which we started." "But we may then pass the island by a second time and be as badly off as we are now." "What an old croaker you are!" cried Eric impatiently. "Won't I be on the look-out to see that such an accident as that shan't happen? We'll have to be very careful in turning the boat however--so as to bring the wind abeam when we get up abreast of the island, in order to beat into the bay--for the poor craft is so leaky and cranky now that she'll not stand much buffeting about." "Can't I do anything?" asked Fritz, beginning to regain his courage and bestir himself, now that he reflected that their chances of getting back to the island were not so precarious and slight as he had at first imagined. "Yes, you can bale out the boat, if you like," said Eric. "She's nearly half full of water now and continues leaking like a sieve. The seams strain and yawn awfully when she rides, even worse than when she was flying along at the mercy of the wind and waves. Still, we must try to keep her clear if possible, as the lighter and more buoyant she is, the better chance have we of getting out of this mess." "I'll do the baling gladly," rejoined Fritz, really pleased at doing something, and beginning at once with the job, using a large tin pannikin that they had taken with them. "Then, fire away," said Eric. "It will be as much as I can do to attend to the steering of the boat. Look sharp, old fellow, and get some of the light ballast out of her! I see a light scud creeping up from leeward, behind us, with the waves fringing up into a curl before it. The wind has chopped round at last and we'll have to cut and run as soon as it reaches us." Fritz baled away with the tin pannikin for dear life. "Now, brother," cried Eric, a moment later, "get your knife ready, and go forwards into the bows. I want you, the instant I sing out, to give a slash across the painter holding us to our moorings." "What, and lose our bundle of sealskins!" exclaimed the practical Fritz. "Lose them? Of course! Do you think we'd have time to lug them into the boat before we'd be pooped! What are the blessed things worth in comparison with our lives?" "I beg your pardon," said Fritz humbly, always ready to acknowledge when he was in the wrong. "I spoke unthinkingly; besides, if we lose these, we've got plenty more under the cliff by our hut." "Aye, if we ever reach there!" replied Eric grimly. Although taking advantage of every possible device to reach the island again, as a sailor he was fully conscious of the dire peril they were in. "Now, Fritz," he called out presently, as a big white wave came up astern, "cut away the painter, and just give a hoist to the jib and belay the end of the halliards, half-way up. There, that will do. Lie down for the present, old fellow. The wind has reached us at last; so, it's a case of neck or nothing now!" Hardly had Eric uttered the last words, when a sudden rush of wind struck the boat's stern like a flail, seeming to get underneath and lift it out of the water. The next instant the little craft sank down again as if she were going to founder stern foremost; but, at the same moment, the wind, travelling on, caught the half-set jib, and blowing this out with a sound like the report of a cannon, the small sail soon began to drive the boat through the swelling waves at racing speed. Onward speeded the boat, faster and yet faster. Fortunately, the mast was a strong spar, or otherwise it would have broken off like a carrot; as, even with the half-hoisted jib, it bent like a whip, thus yielding to the motion of the little craft as she rose from the trough of the sea and leaped from one wave crest to another. The boat appeared just to keep in advance of the following rollers that vainly endeavoured to overtake her, and only broke a yard or so behind her stern--which, on account of her being a whale-boat, was built exactly like her bows and thus offered a smaller target for the billows to practise on, as they sent their broken tops hurtling after her in a shower of thick foam. Eric had an oar out to leeward steering, while Fritz crouched down amidships, with the belayed end of the jib halliards in his hand, ready to let them go by the run when his brother gave the word; and, as the boat tore on through the water like a mad thing, the darkness around grew thicker and thicker, until all they could distinguish ahead was the scrap of white sail in the bows and the occasional sparkle of surf as a roller broke near them. Should they not be able to see where they were going, they might possibly be dashed right on to the island in the same way as they had seen the unfortunate brig destroyed. It was a terrible eventuality to consider! Presently, however, the moon rose; and, although the wind did not abate its force one jot, nor did the sea subside, still, it was more consoling to see where they were going than to be hurled on destruction unawares. Eric was peering out over the weather side of the boat, when, all of a sudden, on the starboard bow, he could plainly distinguish the island, looking like a large heavy flat mass lifting itself out of the sea. "There it is!" he cried out to Fritz, who at once looked up, rising a little from the thwart on which he had been lying. "Where?" "To your right, old fellow; but, still ahead. Now, we must see whether we can make the boat go our way, instead of her own. Do you think you could manage to haul up the jib by yourself? Take a half-turn round one of the thwarts with the bight of the halliards, so that it shall not slip." Fritz did what was requested; when Eric, keeping the boat's head off the wind, sang out to his brother to "hoist away." The effect was instantaneous, for the boat quivered to her keel, as if she had scraped over a rock in the ocean, and then made a frantic plunge forwards that sent her bows under. "Gently, boat, gently," said Eric, bringing her head up again to the wind, upon which she heeled over till her gunwale was nearly submerged, but she now raced along more evenly. "Sit over to windward as much as you can," he called out to Fritz, shifting his own position as he spoke. Almost before they were aware of it, they were careering past the western headland of the bay, when Eric, by a sudden turn of his steering oar, brought the bows of the whale-boat to bear towards the beach. The little craft partly obeyed the impetus of his nervous arm, veering round in the wished-for direction, in spite of the broken water, which just at that point was in a terrible state of commotion from a cross current that set the tide against the wind. But, it was not to be. The doom of the boat was sealed in the very moment of its apparent victory over the elements! A return wave--curling under from the base of the headland, against whose adamant wall it had hurled itself aloft, in the vain attempt to scale the cliff--falling back angrily in a whirling whish of foam, struck the frail craft fair on the quarter. The shock turned her over instantly, when she rolled bottom upwards over and over again. The sea then hurled her with the force of a catapult upon the rocks that jutted out below the headland; and Fritz and Eric were at once pitched out into the seething surf that eddied around, battling for their lives. How they managed it, neither could afterwards tell; but they must have struck out so vigorously with their arms and legs at this perilous moment, in the agony of desperation, that, somehow or other, they succeeded in getting beyond the downward suction of the undertow immediately under the overhanging headland. Otherwise, they would have shared the fate of the boat, for their bodies would have been dashed to pieces against the cruel crags. Providentially, however, the strength of the struggling strokes of both the young fellows just carried them, beyond the reach of the back-wash of the current, out amidst the rolling waves that swept into the bay from the open in regular succession; and so, first Eric and then Fritz found themselves washed up on the old familiar beach, which they had never expected to set foot on again alive. Here, scrambling up on their hands and knees, they quickly gained the refuge of the shingle, where they were out of reach of the clutching billows that tried to pull them back. As for the boat, it was smashed into matchwood on the jagged edges of the boulders, not a fragment of timber a foot long being to be seen. The brothers had escaped by almost a miracle! "That was a narrow squeak," cried Eric, when he was able to speak and saw that Fritz was also safe. "Yes, thank God for it!" replied the other. "I had utterly given up hope." "So had I; but still, here we are." "Aye, but only through the merciful interposition of a watchful Hand," said Fritz; and then both silently made their way up the incline to their little hut by the waterfall, unspeakably grateful that they were allowed to behold it again. Never had the cottage seemed to their tired eyes more homelike and welcome than now; and they were glad enough to throw themselves in bed and have some necessary rest:-- they were completely worn-out with all they had gone through since the previous morning, for the anxious night had passed by and it was broad daylight again before they reached shore. Not a particle of the boat or anything that had been in her was ever washed up by the sea; consequently, they had to deplore the loss, not only of the little craft itself, the sole means they had of ever leaving the bay, but also of the carcase of the goat they were conveying home to supply them with fresh meat, as a change from their generally salt diet. The sea, too, had taken from them their last haul of sealskins, which had cost them more pains to procure than the much larger lot they had pitched down from the plateau, and which fortunately were safe. Nor was this the worst. Their two rifles and the fowling piece--which Fritz had taken with him, as usual, in his last hunting expedition, for the benefit of the island hen and other small birds--as well as the harpoons, and many other articles, whose loss they would feel keenly, were irrevocably gone! But, on the other side of the account, as the brother crusoes devoutly remembered, they had saved their lives--a set-off against far greater evils than the destruction of all their implements and weapons! The first week or two of their return from this ill-fated expedition, Fritz and Eric had plenty to do in preparing the bundles of sealskins they had secured in their first foray, and which they found safe enough at the bottom of the gully where they had cast them down from above; although they little thought then of the peril they would subsequently undergo and the narrow chance of their ever wanting to make use of the pelts. Still, there the skins were, and there being no reason why they should not now attend to them, they set to work in the old fashion of the previous year, scraping and drying and then salting them down in some fresh puncheons Captain Fuller of the _Jane_ had supplied them with, as well as a quantity of barrels to contain their oil, in exchange for the full ones he had taken on board. After the skins were prepared, the blubber had to be "tried out" in the cauldron, with all the adjuncts of its oily smoke and fishy smell, spoiling everything within reach; and, when this was done, there was the garden to attend to, their early potatoes having to be dug up and vegetables gathered, besides the rest of the land having to be put in order. They had no time to be idle! Christmas with them passed quietly enough this time. The loss of the boat and the escape they had of their own lives just preceded the anniversary, so they felt in no great mood for rejoicing. In addition to that, the festival had too many painful memories of home, for which they now longed with an ardent desire that they had not felt in their first year on the island. The fact was, that, now the whale-boat was destroyed, they were so irrevocably confined to the little valley where their hut was planted-- shut in alike by land and sea, there being no chance of escape from it in any emergency that might arise, save through the unlikely contingency of some stray passing vessel happening to call in at the bay--that the sense of being thus imprisoned began to affect their spirits. This was not all. Their provisions lately had been diminishing in a very perceptible manner; so much so, indeed, that there was now no fear of their being troubled with that superabundance of food which Eric had commented on when they were taking the inventory of their stores! But for some flour which Captain Fuller had supplied them with, they would have been entirely without any article in the farinaceous line beyond potatoes, their biscuits being all gone. The hams and other delicate cabin stores Captain Brown had originally given them were now also consumed; so that, with the exception of two or three pieces of salt pork still remaining and a cask of beef, they had nothing to depend on save the produce of their garden and some tea--all their other stores as well as their coffee and sugar having long since been "expended," as sailors say. The months passed by idly enough, with nothing to do, and they watched for the approach of winter with some satisfaction; for, when that had once set in, they might look for the return of the _Pilot's Bride_ to rescue them from an exile of which they were becoming heartily weary. The penguins departed in April, as before, leaving them entirely solitary and more crusoe-like than ever, when thus left alone themselves; and, then, came the winter, which was much sharper than previously, there being several heavy falls of snow, while the waterfall froze up down the gorge, hanging there like a huge icicle for weeks. It was dreary enough, and they hardly needed the wintry scene to make their outlook worse; but, one bitter morning they made a discovery which filled them with fresh alarm. They had finished eating all their salt pork, but had never once opened the cask of beef since Eric abstracted the piece he roasted the year before "for a treat"; and, now, on going to get out a good boiling piece, in order to cook it in a more legitimate fashion, they found to their grief that, whether through damp, or exposure to the air, or from some other cause, the cask of beef was completely putrid and unfit for human food! This was very serious! They had kept this beef as a last resource, trusting to it as a "stand- by" to last them through the winter months; but now it had to be thrown away, reducing them to dry potatoes for their diet--for, the penguins, which they might have eaten "on a pinch," had departed and would not return to the island until August, and there was no other bird or animal to be seen in the valley! Their plight was made all the more aggravating from the knowledge of the fact that, if they could only manage to ascend the plateau, they might live in clover on the wild pigs and goats there; so, here they were suffering from semi-starvation almost in sight of plenty! Fritz and Eric, however, were not the sort of fellows to allow themselves to be conquered by circumstances. Both, therefore, put their thinking caps on, and, after much cogitation, they at last hit upon a plan for relieving their necessities. CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. A LONG SWIM. This plan was nothing else than their attempting the feat of swimming round the headland, in order to reach the western shore, from whence, of course, they knew from past experience they could easily ascend to the tableland above--the happy hunting-ground for goats and pigs, their legitimate prey. "Nonsense," exclaimed Fritz, when Eric mooted the project; "the thing can never be done!" "Never is a long day," rejoined the sailor lad. "I'm sure I have covered over twice that distance in the water before now." "Ah, that might have been in a calm sea," said Fritz; "but, just recollect the terrible rough breakers we had to contend with that time in December when the whale-boat got smashed! Why, we might never get out of the reach of that current which you know runs like a mill-race under the eastern cliff." "We won't go that way," persisted Eric. "Besides, the sea is not always rough; for, on some days the water, especially now since the frost has set in, is as calm as a lake." "And terribly cold, too," cried his brother. "I dare say a fellow would get the cramp before he had well-nigh cleared the bay." "Well, I never saw such a chap for throwing cold water on any suggestion one makes!" exclaimed Eric in an indignant tone. He was almost angry. "It is cold water this time with a vengeance," retorted Fritz, laughing; whereupon Eric calmed down again, but only to argue the point more determinedly. "Mind, I don't want you to go, brother," he pleaded. "I'm much the stronger of the two of us, although I am the youngest; so, I'll try the feat. It will be easy enough after rounding the headland, which will be the hardest part of the job; but when I have weathered that, it will be comparatively easy to reach the seal-caves. Once arrived there, I shall only have to climb up to the plateau and shoot some pigs and a goat and fling them down to you here, returning at my leisure; for, there'll be no hurry. As for the swim back, it will not be half so difficult a task as getting round there, for the wind and tide will both be in my favour." But, Fritz would not hear of this for a moment. "No," he said; "if anybody attempts the thing, it must be me, my impulsive laddie! Do you think I could remain here quietly while you were risking your life to get food for us both?" "And how do you expect me to do so either?" was the prompt rejoinder. "I am the eldest, and ought to decide." "Ah, we are brothers in misfortune now, as well as in reality; so the accident of birth shall not permit you to assert a right of self- sacrifice over me!" cried Eric, using almost glowing language in his zealous wish to secure his brother's safety at the expense of his own. "What fine words, laddie!" said Fritz, laughing again at the other's earnestness, as if to make light of it, although he well recognised the affection that called forth Eric's eloquence. "Why, you are speaking in as grand periods as little Burgher Jans!" Eric laughed, too, at this; but, still, he was not going to be defeated by ridicule. "Grand words or not, brother," he said, with a decision that the other could not bear down; "you shall not venture upon the swim while I stop here doing nothing!" "Nor will I allow you to go and I remain behind," retorted Fritz. "I tell you what, then," cried Eric; "as we're two obstinate fellows and have both made up our minds, suppose we attempt the feat together, eh?" Fritz urged at first that it was unnecessary for both to run the risk; however, Eric's pleadings made him finally yield. "You see," argued the sailor lad, "we can swim side by side, the same as we have done many a time in the old canal at Lubeck; and then, should either of us get the cramp, or feel `played-out,' as the skipper used to say, why the other can lend a helping hand!" And, so it was finally settled, that, on the first bright calm day when there should be but little wind, and while the tide was setting out of the bay in the direction favourable for them, which was generally at the full and change of the moon, they were to attempt the task of swimming round the headland to the west shore of the island. Thence they could ascend the plateau in search of that animal food which they so sadly required, the two having been restricted for some weeks to a diet of dry potatoes, without even a scrap of butter or grease to make them go down more palatably. This being determined on, the two quickly made their preparations for the undertaking, which to them appeared almost as formidable as poor Captain Webb's feat of trying to go down the Falls of Niagara; although, it might be mentioned incidentally, that, at the time they attempted their natatory exploit, that reckless swimmer's name was unknown to fame. Of course, they had to consider that, should they reach the beach on the other side all right and thus get up to the tableland, they would require some weapon to bring down the animals they were going in chase of; and, as both the Remington rifles as well as Fritz's shot gun had been lost with the whale-boat, the only firearm remaining was the needle-gun, which the elder brother had brought with him from Germany-- more, indeed, as a reminiscence of the campaign in which he had been engaged than from any idea of its serviceableness. However, for want of anything better, there it was; and, as Fritz had plenty of cartridges which would fit it, the weapon had a chance of now being employed for a more peaceful purpose than that for which it was originally intended. It would, certainly, still take life, it is true; but it would do so with the object of ultimately saving and not destroying humanity. There was the weapon and the cartridges; but, how to get them round with them was the question? The brothers could swim well enough without any encumbrance, still, they would be crippled in their efforts should they be foolish enough to load themselves with a heavy gun, as well as sundry other articles which they thought it necessary to take with them for the success of their expedition. Why, such a procedure would be like handicapping themselves heavily for the race! What was to be done? Eric, the "inventive genius," very soon solved this difficulty. "I tell you what we'll do, brother," he said; "let us put our blankets, with the kettle and rifle and the other things we require, in one of the oil casks. We can then push this before us as we swim along, the cask serving us for a life buoy to rest upon when we are tired, besides carrying our traps, eh?" "Himmel, Eric, you're a genius!" exclaimed Fritz, clapping him on the back. "I never knew such a fellow for thinking of things like you, laddie; you beat Bismark and Von Moltke both rolled into one!" "Ah, the idea only just flashed across my mind," said the other, somewhat shamefaced at his brother's eulogy and almost blushing. "It came just on the spur of the moment, you know!" "But, how are we going to get the needle-gun into the barrel?" asked Fritz suddenly, taking up the weapon and seeing that its muzzle would project considerably beyond the mouth of the said article, even when the butt end was resting on the bottom. "Why, by unscrewing the breech, of course," said Eric promptly. Fritz gazed at him admiringly. "The lad is never conquered by anything!" he cried out, as if speaking to a third person. "He's the wonder of Lubeck, that's what he is!" "The `wonder of Lubeck' then requests you'll lose no time in getting the gun ready," retorted Eric, in answer to this chaff. "While we're talking and thus wasting time, we may lose the very opportunity we wish for our swim out of the bay!" This observation made Fritz set to work: and the two had shortly placed all their little property in one of the stoutest of the oil casks, which they then proceeded to cooper up firmly, binding their old bed tarpaulin round it as an additional precaution for keeping out the salt water when it should be immersed in the sea. Rolling the cask down to the beach, they tried it, to see how it floated; and this it did admirably, although it was pretty well loaded with their blankets wrapped round the needle-gun and other things. It still rose, indeed, quite half out of the water. Eric then plaited a rope round it, with beckets for them to hold on by; and so, everything being ready, they only waited for a calm day to make the venture. Some three days afterwards, the south-east wind having lulled to a gentle breeze and the sea being as smooth as glass, only a tumid swell with an unbroken surface rolling into the bay, the brothers started, after having first stripped and anointed their bodies with seal oil--a plan for the prevention of cold which Eric had been told of by the whalers. Until they reached the headland, they had easy work; but, there, a cross current carried them first one way and then another, so much interfering with their onward progress that it took them a good hour to round the point. That achieved, however, as the sailor lad had pointed out when they were first considering the feasibility of the attempt, all the rest of the distance before them was "plain sailing"; so that, although they had to cover twice the length of water, if not more, another couple of hours carried them to the west beach. Here they arrived not the least exhausted with their long swim; for, by pushing the cask before them in turn and holding on to it by the beckets, they, were enabled to have several rests and breathing spells by the way. Arrived again on terra firma, they at once opened their novel portmanteau; and, taking out a spare suit of clothes for each, which they had taken the precaution to pack up with the rest of their gear, they proceeded to dress themselves. After this, they carried up their blankets and other things to a little sheltered spot on the plateau above, where they had camped on their previous expedition. They did not find the tableland much altered, save that a considerable amount of snow was scattered about over its surface, accumulating in high drifts at some points where the wind had piled it in the hollows. The ground beneath the various little clumps of wood and brush, however, was partly bare; so, here, they expected to find their old friend "Kaiser Billy" and the remains of his flock. But, high and low, everywhere, in the thickets and out on the open alike, they searched in vain for the goats. Not a trace of them was to be seen; so, Fritz and Eric had finally to come to the conclusion that the islanders--along with their enemy, as they now looked upon him, Nat Slater--had paid another secret visit to the plateau and destroyed the animals. They believed the Tristaners did this with the object of expediting their departure from Inaccessible Island, where there could be no doubt they must have spoiled their sealing, thus depriving them of a valuable article of barter. "Never mind," said Eric the indomitable, when Fritz lamented the disappearance of the goats. "We've got the wild hogs left; and, for my part, I think roast pig better than dry potatoes!" "Himmel, the idea is good!" replied Fritz, who had already screwed on the breech of the needle-gun, making it ready for action. "We must go pig-chasing, then." And, so they did, shooting a lusty young porker ere they had travelled many steps further. Eric's matches were then produced, the inevitable box of safety lights being in the pocket of the sealskin jacket he had headed up in the oil cask; when, a fire being lit, the game was prepared in a very impromptu fashion, the animal being roasted whole. On previously tasting the flesh of these island hogs, they had thought the pork rather fishy; but now, after weeks of deprivation from any species of animal food, it seemed more delicious than anything they had ever eaten before. "Why, Eric, it beats even your roast beef!" said Fritz jokingly. The lad looked at him reproachfully; that was all he could do, for his mouth was full and this prevented him from speaking. "I beg your pardon," interposed the other. "I shan't say so again; I forgot myself that time." "I should think you did," rejoined Eric, now better able to express himself. "It's best to let bye-gones be bye-gones!" "Yes," replied Fritz; and the two then went on eating in silence, so heartily that it seemed as if they would never stop. Indeed, they made such good knife-and-fork play, that they were quite weary with their exertions when they had finished, and were obliged to adjourn to their little camp in the sheltered hollow where, curling themselves up comfortably in their blankets, they went cosily to sleep. The next day, they killed several of the younger hogs and threw their carcases down to the bottom of the gully by the waterfall; for, besides planning out the manufacture of some hams out of the island porkers, they intended utilising the lard for frying their potatoes, in. This, in the event of their finding the pig's flesh too rank after a time, would then afford them an agreeable change of diet to the plain boiled tubers with which hitherto they had had only salt to eat for a relish. On the third day, as the wind seemed about to change and ominous clouds were flying across the face of the sky, they determined to return home, having by that time consumed the last of their roast pig as well as all the potatoes they had brought with them in their floating cask. They were taking a last walk over the plateau, which they thought they might never see again--for the swim round the headland was not a feat to be repeated often, even if the weather allowed it, the currents being so treacherous and the sea working itself up into commotion at a moment's notice--when, suddenly, Eric stopped right over the edge of the gully. He arrested his footsteps just at the spot where the tussock-grass ladder had formerly trailed down, enabling them to reach their valley, without all the bother of toiling round the coast as they had to do now. "Don't you think this spot here has altered greatly?" said the sailor lad to Fritz. "No, I can't say I do," returned the other. "The grass has only been burnt away; that, of course, makes it look bare." "Well, I think differently," replied Eric, jumping down into the crevice. "This place wasn't half so wide before." "Indeed?" "No, it wasn't I couldn't have squeezed myself in here when I last came up the plateau." "Why, that was all on account of the space the tussock-grass took up." Eric did not reply to this; but, a moment after, he shouted out in a tone of great surprise, "Hullo, there's a cave here, with something glittering on the floor!" "Really?" "Yes, and it looks like gold!" CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. "SAIL HO!" "Gold!" exclaimed Fritz in astonishment. "Yes, gold," repeated the other, excitedly. "There are a lot of coins here each bigger than an eight-gulden piece." "Nonsense?" "Yes, there is, really. Come down here and see for yourself. There's plenty of room for both you and me." Trembling with excitement, Fritz jumped down beside his brother, who, stooping down in the crevice of the gully, had discovered a cavity in the rock further in the face of the cliff. This the fringe of the now destroyed tussock-grass had previously hidden from view as they ascended and descended the ladder-way; else they must have noticed the place the very first time they came up to the tableland from the valley below. It was exactly facing the ledge from whence they climbed on to the plateau; so, had it not been then covered over, they could not have failed to see it. The cavity, which had been probably worn away by the water trickling down, was like a little grotto; and there, piled on the bare rock, were hundreds of coins! These were quite bright, strange to say, although this circumstance was most likely owing to the action of the fire that had burnt the tussock- grass; for, some heavy iron clamps and hinges, that had evidently belonged to the box which contained the coins originally and had been consumed at the same time, lay on either side of the golden treasure. A number of the coins, too, if any further proof was needed, were fused together in a solid lump. With eyes dilated with joy, the brothers gazed at the mine of wealth, hardly daring to believe that what they saw was real. Then, Fritz put out his hands and touched the heap. "It is there--I feel it!" he exclaimed. "We are not dreaming?" "I'm sure I'm not," said Eric, laughing with delight. "Why, it is a regular fortune--it will beat all that we have earned by our sealing!" Fritz took up one of the coins and examined it carefully. He had some knowledge of numismatics from his mercantile education in Herr Grosschnapper's office, that worthy merchant trading to all parts of the globe and having considerable dealings with foreign monies. "It is a doubloon," he explained to his brother after studying it a bit. "The treasure consists of old Spanish coins that must have lain here for years." "I wonder who put them in this little hole?" said Eric. Fritz did not answer this query for the moment; but, almost at the same instant, there flashed across his recollection a curious story which an old man at Tristan d'Acunha had told him--at the time when he and Eric were inspecting the settlement on that island, before coming over to their own little colony--concerning an old pirate who had buried a lot of treasure either there or on Inaccessible Island. After the brothers had gazed to their hearts' fill at the precious hoard which had so suddenly been, revealed to them, the next thought was how to remove it to their hut below. "We'll roll up the lot in a blanket," said Eric, who as usual was always to the fore when anything had to be planned out. "Tie up the gold securely; and then chuck the bundle containing it down below, along with the poor pigs we have slaughtered! There's no fear of anybody making off with our doubloons before we accomplish the swim round the headland back home." "Yes, that will be the wisest course," acquiesced Fritz; "but, talking of swimming round the headland, the sooner we're off the better. Those clouds look very threatening." "Only rain, I think," replied Eric, looking up at the sky. "Good, that will not make us very wet when we are in the water, with our bare skins," said Fritz quizzingly. "No," replied Eric, laughing. "But, the sooner we are now off the better, as you say; for, even if the weather holds up, there are a lot of things for us to do when we get home. We have the pigs to skin, as well as cut up and salt; and, besides, there's all our money to count over." "We can do that now, as we roll it up in the blanket," replied Fritz, proceeding to suit the action to the word. To their high delight, they found that there were nearly two thousand separate gold coins, apart from the solid lump fused together, the whole being probably worth some three thousand pounds, or thereabouts. "Why, it's a perfect fortune!" exclaimed Eric. "You and Madaleine will now be able to marry and settle down, and mother be comfortably provided for, and everything!" "But, how about your share?" said Fritz, looking at the unselfish lad with glistening eyes. "Your share, indeed, why it's all yours!" "Nonsense," replied Eric; "we are partners, are we not? Besides, I don't want any money. When we leave here, you know, I'm going to sea again with Captain Brown, in the _Pilot's Bride_; and a sailor, unlike you poor land folk, carries his home with him. He does not continually want cash for housekeeping expanses!" "Very well, we'll see about that bye-and-bye," said Fritz, putting all the coins into the blanket, which Eric then tied up securely, lashing it round with a cord in seaman fashion. After that, they pitched the bundle down below, when the chink of the coins at the bottom of the gully sounded like pleasant music in their ears! The barrel of the needle-gun was then unscrewed from the stock, Fritz having kept the weapon ready for use as long as they remained on the plateau, thinking that as Fortune had so strangely endowed them with the pirate's treasure, perhaps some outlandish bird might equally suddenly make its appearance for him to add to their spoil. However, as nothing new in the feathered line came in sight, the albatross having taken their departure with the penguins, and not even an "island hen" being to be seen, the two now clambered down to the west beach once more. Here, packing up their cask again with the various impedimenta they still had, they proceeded also to put in their clothing. Then, fastening up the cask and lashing the tarpaulin round it again with the fastenings and beckets, which had been taken off in order the easier to unpack it, they entered the sea for their return swim round the headland--starting off in the best of spirits on their way back home once more. This time, the swim back was far more fatiguing, the wind and a slight swell being against them; but, the good living they enjoyed while on the plateau had nerved them up to any amount of exertion, so the journey, if more wearying, was performed in almost the same time they had taken to go to the western coast. Besides, as soon as they neared the headland, the currents there, which had been against them, were now all in their favour, the waves bearing them and their oil cask, once they had turned the point, buoyantly up to their own beach in the little bay, without the trouble almost of swimming a stroke! It was now well on towards the latter end of July, in the second year of the island life; and, the next week or two, they were busy enough salting down their pigs and attending to their garden, some cabbages from which with their newly acquired pork making them many a good meal. Then, came the return of the penguins to their breeding-place in August; so, there was now no further fear of their suffering from a scarcity of food, for, in case they tired of pork, they had plenty of fresh eggs for a change, as well as an occasional roast of one of the inhabitants of the rookery, whose fleshy breasts tasted somewhat, Eric said, like goose--albeit Fritz called him a goose for saying so! September was ushered in by a strong north-easterly gale, similar to that in which the brig had been wrecked. This alarmed the brothers, who began to fear, when the gale had lasted over the middle of the month, that the stormy weather might possibly prevent the _Pilot's Bride_ from venturing near the island, Captain Brown having said that it would have been more than madness while the wind prevailed from that quarter for any vessel to approach the coast. However, towards the third week in the month, the north-east wind shifting round, a gentle breeze sprang up from the south-west. A like change had very similarly occurred at the time of their own landing on the island; so, the brothers' hearts beat high with hope. Everything was got ready for their instant departure; the consequence of which was that all their own personal little goods and chattels were packed up so soon that they had frequently to open the bundles again to take out some article they required for use! The golden treasure was not forgotten either--that may be taken for granted. The result of their sealing for the past year was also put up for shipment. This consisted of eighty-five sealskins and fifty barrels of oil--a result that said much for their industry during the period. And so, the brother crusoes waited and looked out, day after day, with longing eyes for the anxiously expected vessel that was to terminate their exile on Inaccessible Island and bear them back to the loved ones at home! Fritz of late had somewhat reformed his lazy habits, rising much earlier than he used to do, this reformation being caused by a natural desire to be up and stirring when the _Pilot's Bride_ should arrive; but, still, Eric invariably forestalled him. The sailor lad was always down on the beach on the look-out, in default of being able to climb up to his former signalling station on the cliff, at the first break of day! Morning after morning, he went down to the shore; morning after morning, he returned with a disconsolate face and the same sad report-- "Nothing in sight!" This was the case every day. There was never the vestige of a vessel on the horizon. At last, one morning became a gladdened one in their calendar! Eric had proceeded to the beach as usual; but, not returning so soon as was his general habit, Fritz had time to awaken and rouse up from bed. Anxious at the lad's delay, he went to the door of the hut, peering out to seaward as the sun rose in the east, flooding the ocean with a radiance of light. At the same instant, Fritz heard Eric hailing him in the distance. It was the cheeriest shout, he thought, he had ever heard! Only two words the lad called out. "Sail ho!" CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. IN THE GULDEN STRASSE AGAIN. That was all. "Sail ho!" shouted Eric in stentorian tones, his voice penetrating through the entire valley, and reaching probably the remotest extent of the island. The shout was quite enough for Fritz; for, hardly taking time to dress, he at once rushed down to join his brother on the beach. "Where is she?" he cried out anxiously, when yet some distance off. He panted out the question as he ran. "Right off the bay!" sang out Eric, in quite as great a state of frenzied excitement. "She's hull down to windward now; but she's rising every moment on the horizon." "Where?" repeated Fritz, now alongside of the other. "I can't see her." "There," said Eric, pointing to a tiny white speck in the distance, which to Fritz's eyes seemed more like the wing of a sea bird than anything else. "How can you make her out to be the _Pilot's Bride_?" was his next query. "I can barely discern a faint spec far away; and that might be anything!" Eric smiled. "Himmel!" he cried with an infinite superiority. "What bad sight you landsmen have, to be sure! Can't you see that she is a barque and is steering straight for the bay. What other vessel, I should like to know, would be coming here of that description, save the old skipper's ship!" Fritz made no reply to this unanswerable logic; so, he asked another question instead. "What time do you think she'll be near enough to send a boat off, eh, brother? We can't go out to meet her, now, you know." "No, worse luck!" said Eric. "However, I think, with this breeze, she'll be close to us in a couple of hours' time." "A couple of hours!" exclaimed Fritz with dismay, the interval, in his present excited state of feeling, appearing like an eternity! "Yes; but, the time will soon pass in watching her," replied the sailor lad. "Look how she rises! There, can't you now see her hull above the waves?" Fritz gazed till his eyes were almost blinded, the sun being right in his face when he looked in the direction of the advancing vessel; but, to his inexperienced eyes, she still seemed as far off as ever. "I dare say you are right, Eric," he said; "still, I cannot see her hull yet--nor anything indeed but the same little tiny speck I noticed at first! However," he added, drawing a deep sigh, "if we only wait patiently, I suppose she'll arrive in time." "Everything comes to him who knows how to wait," replied his brother, rather grandiloquently; after which speech the two continued to look out over the shimmering expanse of water, now lit up by the rays of the steadily rising sun, without interchanging another word. Their thoughts were too full for speech. Some two hours later, the _Pilot's Bride_--for it was that vessel, Eric's instinct not having misled him--backed her main-topsail and lay- to off the entrance to the little bay, the gaudy American flag being run up as she came to the wind, and a gun fired. The brother crusoes were almost mad in their eagerness to get on board. "What a pity we have no boat!" they both exclaimed together. They looked as if they could have plunged into the sea, ready dressed as they were, so as to swim off to the welcome vessel! Eric waved his handkerchief frantically to and fro. "The skipper will soon know that something has prevented our coming off, and will send in a boat," he said; and the two then waited impatiently for the next act of the stirring nautical drama in which they had so deep an interest. In a few minutes, they could see a boat lowered from the side of the ship; and, presently, this was pulled towards the shore by four oarsmen, while another individual, whom Eric readily recognised in the distance as Captain Brown, sat in the stern-sheets, steering the little craft in whaling fashion with another oar. "It's the good old skipper!" exclaimed Eric, dancing about and waving his hat round his head so wildly that it seemed as if he had taken leave of his senses. "I can see his jolly old face behind the rowers, as large as life!" Two or three minutes more, and the boat's keel grated on the beach, when Fritz and Eric sprang into the water to greet their old friend. "Waall, boys!" cried the skipper, "I guess I'm raal downright glad to see you both ag'in, thet I am--all thet, I reckon. It's a sight for sore eyes to see you lookin' so slick and hearty." So saying, Captain Brown shook hands with the two in his old, thoroughgoing arm-wrenching fashion, their hands when released seeming to be almost reduced to pulp in the process, through the pressure of his brawny fist. Of course, they then had a long talk together, the brothers recounting all that had happened to them in the past year, Captain Fuller of the schooner _Jane_ having taken to the Cape an account of their doings during the preceding twelve months. "Waal," exclaimed the skipper, when he was showed their little cargo of sealskins and oil, and told also of the treasure which they had found, "I guess you h'ain't made half so bad a job o' crusoeing, arter all! I reckon them skins an' He, along o' what you shipped afore, will fetch you more'n a couple o' thousan' dollars; an' what with them doubloons you mention, I guess you'll hev' made a pretty considerable pile fur the time you've been sealin'!" There being no object to be gained by the vessel remaining any length of time at the island--which indeed was the reason that the skipper had not brought the _Pilot's Bride_ to anchor, preferring to ply on and on in front of the bay, so as to be ready for an instant start--the little property of the brothers was, without further delay, taken on board; and then, crusoes now no longer, they bade adieu, a long adieu, to Inaccessible Island, their abiding place for the past two years. As the _Pilot's Bride_ filled her sails and cleared the headlands, which, stretching their giant arms across the entrance to the little bay, soon shut out all view of the valley from their gaze, the last thing they noticed was their hut, the home of so many long and weary months, blazing away in regular bonfire fashion. Master Eric had put a match to the thatch of the little edifice on crossing its threshold for the last time! "There's no fear, however, of this bonfire doing as much mischief as the last, old fellow!" he said apologetically to Fritz as they gazed back over the ship's stern at the rapidly receding island. "No," replied the other. "It won't do any particular harm, it is true; but still, I think it was a pity to burn down our little home. We have passed many pleasant as well as sad hours there, you know, during the last two years." "That may be all very true, brother," replied Eric, "but do you know what was my real reason for setting fire to it?" "No," said Fritz. "Well then I'll tell you," continued the other. "I couldn't bear to think that those cheeky penguins should invade it and perhaps make their nests there after we were gone!" "What?" exclaimed Fritz, beginning to laugh. "You don't mean to say you haven't forgiven the poor birds yet for--" "Stop!" cried Eric, interrupting him. "You know what you agreed to, eh? Let bye-gones be bye-gones!" "Good," said Fritz; and there ended the matter. The return voyage of the _Pilot's Bride_ back to America was uneventful, although full enough of incident to the brothers after their enforced exile; but when the vessel arrived again at her old home port of Providence in Rhode Island, of course the two had something more to excite them in the greeting they received from the cheery and kindly- hearted family of the good old skipper at the shanty on the bay. The worthy dame, Mrs Brown, welcomed them like sons of her own; while, Miss Celia--declared that Eric had grown quite a man--adding, with a toss of her head, that she "guessed he'd lost nothing of his old impudence!" However, in spite of all the kindness and hospitality of these good people, Fritz and Eric were both too anxious to get home to Lubeck to prolong their stay in the States any longer than was absolutely necessary; so, as soon as the worthy skipper had managed to convert their stock of sealskins and oil into hard cash--getting the weighty and old-fashioned doubloons exchanged for a valuable banker's draft, save one or two which they kept for curiosity's sake--the pair were off and away again on their way back to Europe by the next--starting North German steamer from New York. Before setting out, however, Eric promised to return to Providence ere the following "fall," in time to resume his post of third mate of the _Pilot's Bride_ before she started again on another whaling voyage to the southern seas. One more scene, and the story of "The Brother Crusoes" will be "as a tale that is told!" It is Christmas Eve again at Lubeck. The streets as well as the roofs and exteriors of the houses are covered with snow, exhibiting without every appearance of a hard winter; while, within, the interiors are filled with bustling folk, busy with all the myriad and manifold preparations for the coming festival on the morrow. Mirth, music, and merry-making are everywhere apparent. In the little old-fashioned house in the Gulden Strasse, where Fritz and Eric were first introduced to the readers notice, these cheery signs of the festive season are even more prominently displayed than usual; for, are not the long-absent wanderers expected back beneath the old roof- tree once more, and is not their coming anticipated at every hour--nay, almost at any moment? Aye! Madame Dort is sitting in her accustomed corner of the stove. She is looking ever so much better in health and younger in appearance than she was at the time of that sad celebration of the Christmas anniversary three years ago, detailed in an early chapter of the story; and there is a smile of happiness and content beaming over her face. The good lady of the house is pretending to be darning a pair of stockings, which she has taken up to keep her fingers busy; but every now and then, she lets the work drop from her hands on to her knees, and looks round the room, as if listening and waiting for some one who will soon be here. Madaleine, prettier than ever, clad in a gala dress and with bright ribbons in her golden hair, while her rosebud lips are half parted and her blue eyes dancing with joy and excitement, is pacing up and down the room impatiently. She is too eager to sit still! Mouser, our old friend the cat, is curled up in a round ball between Gelert's paws on the rug in front of the stove; while, as for Lorischen, she is bustling in and out of the room, placing things on the well- spread table and then immediately taking them away again, quite forgetful of what she is about in her absence of mind and anxiety of expectancy. Burgher Jans, too, now and again, keeps popping his head through the doorway, to ask if "the high, well-born and noble Herren" have yet come--the little fat man then retiring, with an humble apology for intruding, only to intrude again the next instant! Madame Dort had received, late that afternoon, a telegram from Fritz, stating that he had reached Bremerhaven; and that he and Eric were just going to take the train, hoping to be with them in Lubeck ere nightfall. Cause enough, is there not, for all this excitement and expectancy in the household? Presently, a party of singers pass down the street, singing a plaintive Volkslieder, that sounds, oh so tender and touching in the frosty evening air; and then, suddenly, there is a sound of footsteps crunching the snow on the outside stairway. Gelert, shaking off poor Mouser's fraternal embrace most unceremoniously, starts up with a growl, rushing the moment afterwards with a whine and yelp of joy to the rapidly thrown open door; and, here he jumps affectionately up upon a stalwart, bearded individual who enters, trying to lick his face in welcome. "Fritz!" cries Madaleine. "Eric!" echoes the mother, the same instant. "Madaleine!" bursts forth from Fritz's lips; while Eric, close behind, cries out joyously, "Mother--mutterchen--dear little mother mine!" The long-expected meeting is over, and the "Brother Crusoes" are safe at home again. Little remains to be told. Early in the new year, when winter had given place to spring and the earth was budding forth into fresh life, Fritz and Madaleine were married. The happy pair live on still with good Madame Dort in the little house of the Gulden Strasse as of yore; for, Fritz has settled down into the old groove he occupied before the war, having gone back to rejoin his former employer, Herr Grosschnapper--although, mind you, instead of being only a mere clerk and book-keeper, he is now a partner in the shipbroker's business:-- the little capital which he and Eric gained in their sealing venture to Inaccessible Island, and which Fritz has invested in the concern in their joint names, is amply sufficient to make him a co-proprietor instead of occupying a subordinate position. And Eric? Well, the lad is doing well enough. He went back to Providence at the end of the following summer, as he had promised; and, having joined the _Pilot's Bride_, and sailed in her since, he is now first officer of that staunch old ship--which the fates will that our old friend the Yankee skipper shall still command. The last news from Rhode Island, however, records a rumour anent a "splice," to use the nautical phrase, between Master Eric and Miss Celia Brown; and report has it that when this matrimonial engagement is effected "the old man" has announced his intention of giving over his dearly beloved vessel to the entire charge of his son-in-law. Still, this has not happened yet--Master Eric being yet too young for such honours. Lorischen and Burgher Jans, strange to say, did not make a match of it after all, the fickle-minded old nurse backing out of the bargain instead of holding to her promise after the arrival of her young masters at home. Gelert is yet to the fore, and as good and brave an old dog as ever, albeit time has robbed him of some of his teeth and made him somewhat less active; but as for Mouser, he does not seem to have "turned a hair." The highly intelligent animal still purrs and fizzes as vigourously as in his youth--occupying his leisure moments, when not after birds or mice, in basking in the sunshine on the window-ledge above the staircase in summer; while, in winter, he curls himself up between Gelert's outstretched paws on the hearthrug, in front of the old-fashioned china stove. The brothers must have the last word; and, here a little sermon must come in. Do you know, if you should ask them their candid opinion, they would tell you that, although the idea of playing at Robinson Crusoe may seem pleasant enough to those whose only experience of life on a desert island is derived from what they have read about its romantic features in books, persons, like themselves, who know what the real thing is, could narrate a very different story concerning its haps and mishaps, its deadly monotony and dreary solitude, its hopes and its despair! THE END. 
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21240	----	The Lone Ranche A Tale of the Staked Plain By Captain Mayne Reid ________________________________________________________________________ This was quite a hard book to transcribe, and I hope there are not now too many errors remaining. For one thing several of the people of the book speak a very rough version of the language, so that there are many hundreds of "words" appearing in the book, that are not in the dictionary. And the "new" words are not always consistently spelt. There are numerous Spanish or Mexican words used in the book, but I am no scholar in these tongues. I just did my best to get them right. Another problem was that the type used to print the book had been damaged in many places, which meant that it was sometimes very hard to decipher. After much poring there remains only one damaged word in the book, of which I am not certain. As if this were not enough I made the mistake of scanning the book too dark, which meant that in very many cases a full stop following the letters `t' and sometimes `e' had not come correctly through the OCR process; and also any stains on the pages obscured the letters under them. This greatly increased the amount of work needed to transcribe the book. I suppose this is among the very first "cowboy and Indian" books. If you are interested in this genre, here is the book for you. NH ________________________________________________________________________ THE LONE RANCHE A TALE OF THE STAKED PLAIN BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID CHAPTER ONE. A TALE OF THE STAKED PLAIN. "HATS OFF!" Within the city of Chihuahua, metropolis of the northern provinces of Mexico--for the most part built of mud--standing in the midst of vast barren plains, o'ertopped by bold porphyritic mountains--plains with a population sparse as their timber--in the old city of Chihuahua lies the first scene of our story. Less than twenty thousand people dwell within the walls of this North Mexican metropolis, and in the country surrounding it a like limited number. Once they were thicker on the soil; but the tomahawk of the Comanche and the spear of the Apache have thinned off the descendants of the _Conquistadores_, until country houses stand at wide distances apart, with more than an equal number of ruins between. Yet this same city of Chihuahua challenges weird and wonderful memories. At the mention of its name springs up a host of strange records, the souvenirs of a frontier life altogether different from that wreathed round the history of Anglo-American borderland. It recalls the cowled monk with his cross, and the soldier close following with his sword; the old mission-house, with its church and garrison beside it; the fierce savage lured from a roving life, and changed into a toiling _peon_, afterwards to revolt against a system of slavery that even religion failed to make endurable; the neophyte turning his hand against his priestly instructor, equally his oppressor; revolt followed by a deluge of blood, with ruinous devastation, until the walls of both _mission_ and military _cuartel_ are left tenantless, and the redskin has returned to his roving. Such a history has had the city of Chihuahua and the settlements in its neighbourhood. Nor is the latter portion of it all a chronicle of the olden time. Much of it belongs to modern days; ay, similar scenes are transpiring even now. But a few years ago a stranger entering its gates would have seen nailed overhead, and whisked to and fro by the wind, some scores of objects similar to one another, and resembling tufts of hair, long, trailing, and black, as if taken from the manes or tails of horses. But it came not thence; it was human hair; and the patches of skin that served to keep the bunches together had been stripped from human skulls! They were _scalps_--the scalps of Indians, showing that the Comanche and Apache savages had not had it all their own way. Beside them could be seen other elevated objects of auricle shape, set in rows or circles like a festooning of child peppers strung up for preservation. No doubt their procurement had drawn tears from the eyes of those whose heads had furnished them, for they were human ears! These ghastly souvenirs were the _bounty warrants_ of a band whose deeds have been already chronicled by this same pen. They were the trophies of "Scalp Hunters"--vouchers for the number of Indians they had killed. They were there less than a quarter of a century ago, waving in the dry wind that sweeps over the plains of Chihuahua. For aught the writer knows, they may be there still; or, if not the same, others of like gory record replacing or supplementing them. It is not with the "Scalp Hunters" we have now to do--only with the city of Chihuahua. And not much with it either. A single scene occurring in its streets is all of Chihuahuaense life to be depicted in this tale. It was the spectacle of a religious procession--a thing far from uncommon in Chihuahua or any other Mexican town; on the contrary, so common that at least weekly the like may be witnessed. This was one of the grandest, representing the story of the Crucifixion. Citizens of all classes assisted at the ceremony, the soldiery also taking part in it. The clergy, of course, both secular and regular, were its chief supports and propagators. To them it brought bread, and if not butter-- since there is none in Chihuahua--it added to their incomes and influence, by the sale of leaden crosses, images of the Virgin Mother, and the numerous sisterhood of saints. In the _funcion_ figured the usual Scripture characters:--The Redeemer conducted to the place of Passion; the crucifix, borne on the shoulders of a brawny, brown-skinned Simon; Pilate the oppressor; Judas the betrayer--in short, every prominent personage spoken of as having been present on that occasion when the Son of Man suffered for our sins. There is, or was then, an American hotel in Chihuahua, or at least one conducted in the American fashion, though only a mere _posada_. Among its guests was a gentleman, stranger to the town, as the country. His dress and general appearance bespoke him from the States, and by the same tokens it could be told that he belonged to their southern section. He was in truth a Kentuckian; but so far from representing the type, tall, rough, and stalwart, usually ascribed to the people "Kaintuck," he was a man of medium size, with a build comparable to that of the Belvidere Apollo. He had a figure tersely set, with limbs well knitted; a handsome face and features of amiable cast, at the same time expressing confidence and courage. A costly Guayaquil hat upon his head, and coat to correspond, bespoke him respectable; his _tout ensemble_ proclaimed him a man of leisure; while his air and bearing were unmistakably such as could only belong to a born gentleman. Why he was in Chihuahua, or whence he had come to it, no one seemed to know or care. Enough that he was there, and gazing at the spectacular procession as it filed past the posada. He was regarding it with no eye of wonderment. In all likelihood he had seen such before. He could not have travelled far through Mexico without witnessing some ceremony of a similar kind. Whether interested in this one or no he was soon notified that he was not regarding it in the manner proper or customary to the country. Standing half behind one of the pillars of the hotel porch, he had not thought it necessary to take off his hat. Perhaps placed in a more conspicuous position he would have done this. Frank Hamersley--for such was his name--was not the sort of man to seek notoriety by an exhibition of bravado, and, being a Protestant of a most liberal creed, he would have shrunk from offending the slightest sensibilities of those belonging to an opposite faith--even the most bigoted Roman Catholic of that most bigoted land. That his "Guayaquil" still remained upon his head was due to simple forgetfulness of its being there; it had not occurred to him to uncover. While silently standing with eyes turned towards the procession, he observed scowling looks, and heard low growlings from the crowd as it swayed slowly past. He knew enough to be conscious of what this meant; but he felt at the same time disinclined to humiliate himself by a too facile compliance. A proud American, in the midst of a people he had learned to despise--their idolatrous observances along with them--no wonder he should feel a little defiant and a good deal exasperated. Enough yielding, he thought, to withdraw farther back from behind the pillar, which he did. It was too late. The keen eye of a fanatic had been upon him--one who appeared to have authority for meting out chastisement. An officer, bearded and grandly bedizened, riding at the head of a troop of lancers, quickly wheeled his horse from out of the line of march, and spurred him towards the porch of the posada. In another instant his bared blade was waving over the hatted head of the Kentuckian. "_Gringo! alto su sombrero! Abajo! a sus rodillas_!" ("Off with your hat, greenhorn! Down upon your knees!") were the words that came hissing from the moustached lips of the lancer. As they failed to beget compliance, they were instantly followed by a blow from the blade of his sabre. It was given sideways, but with sufficient sleight and force to send the Guayaquil hat whirling over the pavement, and its wearer reeling against the wall. It was but the stagger of a sudden and unexpected surprise. In another instant the "gringo" had drawn a revolving pistol, and in yet another its bullet would have been through the brain of the swaggering aggressor, but for a third personage, who, rushing from behind, laid hold of the Kentuckian's arm, and restrained the firing. At first it seemed to Hamersley the act of another enemy; but in a moment he knew it to be the behaviour of a friend--at least a pacificator bent upon seeing fair play. "You are wrong, Captain Uraga," interposed he who had intermeddled, addressing himself to the officer. "This gentleman is a stranger in the country, and not acquainted with our customs." "Then it is time the heretico should be taught them, and, at the same time, respect for the Holy Church. But what right, Colonel Miranda, have you to interfere?" "The right, first of humanity, second of hospitality, and third that I am your superior officer." "Bah! You mistake yourself. Remember, senor coronel, you are not in your own district. If it was in Albuquerque, I might take commands from you. This is the city of Chihuahua." "Chihuahua or not, you shall be made answerable for this outrage. Don't imagine that your patron, Santa Anna, is now Dictator, with power to endorse such base conduct as yours. You seem to forget, Captain Uraga, that you carry your commission under a new regime--one that holds itself responsible, not only to fixed laws, but to the code of decency-- responsible also for international courtesy to the great Republic of which, I believe, this gentleman is a citizen." "Bah!" once more exclaimed the bedizened bully. "Preach your _palabras_ to ears that have time to listen to them. I shan't stop the procession for either you or your Yankee protege. So you can both go to the devil." With this benevolent permission the captain of lancers struck the spurs into his horse, and once more placed himself at the head of his troop. The crowd collected by the exciting episode soon scattered away--the sooner that the strange gentleman, along with his generous defender, had disappeared from the portico, having gone inside the inn. The procession was still passing, and its irresistible attractions swept the loiterers along in its current--most of them soon forgetting a scene which, in that land, where "law secures not life," is of too frequent occurrence to be either much thought of or for long remembered. CHAPTER TWO. A FRIEND IN NEED. The young Kentuckian was half frenzied by the insult he had received. The proud blood of his republican citizenship was boiling within his veins. What was he to do? In the agony of his dilemma he put the question to the gentleman who, beyond all doubt, had restrained him from committing manslaughter. The latter was an entire stranger to him--never seen him before. He was a man of less than thirty years of age, wearing a broad-brimmed hat upon his head, a cloth jacket, slashed _calzoneras_, and a red crape scarf around his waist--in short, the _ranchero_ costume of the country. Still, there was a military bearing about him that corresponded to the title by which the lancer captain had addressed him. "Caballero," he said in reply, "if your own safety be of any consequence to you I should advise you to take no further notice of the incident that has arisen, however much it may have exasperated you, as no doubt it has done." "Pardon me, senor; but not for all the world would I follow your advice--not for my life. I am an American--a Kentuckian. We do not take blows without giving something of the same in return. I must have redress." "If you seek it by the law I may as well warn you, you won't have much chance of finding it." "I know that. The law! I did not think of such a thing. I am a gentleman; I suppose this Captain Uraga supposes himself to be the same, and will not refuse to give me the usual satisfaction." "He may refuse, and very likely will, on the plea of your being a stranger--only a barbarian, a _Tejano_ or _gringo_, as he has put it." "I am alone here--what am I to do?" The Kentuckian spoke half in soliloquy, his countenance expressing extreme chagrin. "_Fuez, senor_!" responded the Mexican colonel, "if you're determined on a _desafio_ I think I might arrange it. I feel that I am myself a little compromised by my interference; and if you'll accept of me for your second, I think I can answer for it that Captain Uraga will not dare to deny us." "Colonel Miranda--your name, I believe--need I attempt to express my thanks for so much generosity? I cannot--I could not. You have removed the very difficulty that was in my way; for I am not only a stranger to you, but to every one around. I arrived at Chihuahua but yesterday, and do not know a soul in the place." "Enough; you shall not be disappointed in your duel for the want of a second. As a preliminary, may I ask if you are skilled in the use of the sword?" "Sufficiently to stake my life upon it." "I put the question, because that is the weapon your adversary will be certain to choose. You being the challenger, of course he has the choice; and he will insist upon it, for a reason that may perhaps amuse you. It is that we Mexican gentlemen believe you Americans somewhat _gauche_ in the handling of the rapier, though we know you to be adepts in the use of the pistol. I take Captain Gil Uraga to be as thorough a poltroon as ever wore epaulettes, but he will have to meet you on my account; and he would perhaps have done so anyhow--trusting to the probability of your being a bad swordsman." "In that he may find himself disappointed." "I am glad to hear it; and now it only needs to receive your instructions. I am ready to act." The instructions were given, and within two hours' time Captain Gil Uraga, of the Zacatecas Lancers, was in receipt of a challenge from the Kentuckian--Colonel Miranda being its bearer. With such a voucher the lancer officer could not do otherwise than accept, which he did with cooler confidence for the very reason Miranda had made known. A _Tejano_, was his reflection--what should he know of the sword? And swords were the weapons chosen. Had the captain of Zacatecas Lancers been told that his intended adversary had spent a portion of his life among the Creoles of New Orleans, he would have been less reliant on the chances likely to turn up in his favour. We need not describe the duel, which, if different from other encounters of the kind, was by being on both sides bitter, and of deadly intent. Suffice it to say, that the young Kentuckian displayed a skill in swordsmanship sufficient to disarrange several of Gil Uraga's front teeth, and make an ugly gash in his cheek. He had barely left to him sufficient command of his mouth to cry "Basta!" and so the affair ended. "Senor Hamersley," said the man who had so effectively befriended him, after they had returned from the encounter, and were drinking a bottle of Paso wine in the posada, "may I ask where you intend going when you leave Chihuahua?" "To Santa Fe, in New Mexico; thence to the United States, along with one of the return caravans." "When do you propose starting?" "As to that, I am not tied to time. The train with which I am to cross the plains will not be going for six months to come. I can get to Santa Fe by a month's travel, I suppose?" "Less than that. It is not a question of how soon you may arrive there, but when you leave here. I advise you to start at once. I admit that two days is but a short time to see the sights of even so small a place as Chihuahua. But you have witnessed one of them--enough, I should say. If you take my advice you will let it content you, and kick the Chihuahua-ense dust from your feet before another twenty-four hours have passed over your head." "But why, Colonel Miranda?" "Because so long as you remain here you will be in danger of losing your life. You don't know the character of the man with whom you have crossed swords. I do. Although wearing the uniform of an officer in our army, he is simply a _salteador_. A coward, as I told you, too. He would never have met you if he had thought I would have given him a chance to get out of it. Perhaps he might have been tempted by the hopes of an easy conquest from your supposed want of skill. It would have given him something to boast about among the dames of Chihuahua, for Captain Gil deems himself no little of a lady-killer. You have spoilt his physiognomy for life; and, depend upon it, as long as life lasts, he will neither forget nor forgive that. I shall also come in for a share of his spite, and it behoves both of us to beware of him." "But what can he do to us?" "Caballero, that question shows you have not been very long in this country, and are yet ignorant of its customs. In Mexico we have some callings not congenial to your people. Know that stilettoes can here be purchased cheaply, with the arms of assassins to use them. Do you understand me?" "I do. But how do you counsel me to act?" "As I intend acting myself--take departure from Chihuahua this very day. Our roads are the same as far as Albuquerque, where you will be out of reach of this little danger. I am returning thither from the city of Mexico, where I've had business with the Government. I have an escort; and if you choose to avail yourself of it you'll be welcome to its protection." "Colonel Miranda, again I know not how to thank you. I accept your friendly offer." "Reserve your thanks till I have done you some service beyond the simple duty of a gentleman, who sees another gentleman in a dilemma he had no hand in creating. But enough, senor; we have no time to spend in talking. Even now there may be a couple of poignards preparing for us. Get your things ready at once, as I start two hours before sunset. In this sultry weather we are accustomed to travel in the cool of the evening." "I shall be ready." That same afternoon, two hours before the going down of the sun, a party of horsemen, wearing the uniform of Mexican dragoons of the line, issued from the _garita_ of Chihuahua, and took the northern road leading to Santa Fe, by El Paso del Norte. Colonel Miranda, his ranchero dress changed for the fatigue uniform of a cavalry officer, was at its head, and by his side the stranger, whose cause he had so generously and gallantly espoused. CHAPTER THREE. THE COLONEL COMMANDANT. Six weeks have elapsed since the day of the duel at Chihuahua. Two men are standing on the _azotea_ of a large mansion-like house close to the town of Albuquerque, whose church spire is just visible through the foliage of trees that shade and surround the dwelling. They are Colonel Miranda and the young Kentuckian, who has been for some time his guest; for the hospitality of the generous Mexican had not terminated with the journey from Chihuahua. After three weeks of toilsome travel, including the traverse of the famed "Dead Man's Journey," he was continuing to extend it in his own house and his own district, of which last he was the military commandant, Albuquerque being at the time occupied by a body of troops, stationed there for defence against Indian incursions. The house on whose roof the two men stood was that in which Colonel Miranda had been born--the patrimonial mansion of a large estate that extended along the Rio del Norte, and back towards the Sierra Blanca, into territories almost unknown. Besides being an officer in the Mexican army, the colonel was one of the _ricos_ of the country. The house, as already said, was a large, massive structure, having, like all Mexican dwellings of its class, a terraced roof, or _azotea_. What is also common enough in that country, it was surmounted by a _mirador_, or "belvedere." Standing less than half a mile distant from the soldier's _cuartel_, the commandant found it convenient to make use of it as his headquarters. A small guard in the _saguan_, or covered entrance below, with a sentinel stationed outside the gate in front, indicated this. There was no family inside, wife, woman, or child; for the colonel, still a young man, was a bachelor. Only _peons_ in the field, grooms and other servants around the stables, with domestics in the dwelling-- all, male and female, being Indians of the race known as "Indios mansos"--brown-skinned and obedient. But though at this time there was no living lady to make her soft footsteps heard within the walls of the commandant's dwelling, the portrait of a lovely girl hung against the side of the main _sola_, and on this his American guest had more than once gazed in silent admiration. It showed signs of having been recently painted, which was not strange, since it was the likeness of Colonel Miranda's sister, a few years younger than himself--at the time on a visit to some relatives in a distant part of the Republic. Frank Hamersley's eyes never rested on it without his wishing the original at home. The two gentlemen upon the housetop were leisuring away the time in the indulgence of a cigar, watching the water-fowl that swam and plunged on the bosom of the broad shallow stream, listening to the hoarse croakings of pelicans and the shriller screams of the _guaya_ cranes. It was the hour of evening, when these birds become especially stridulent. "And so you must go to-morrow, Senor Francisco?" said his host, taking the cigaritto from between his teeth, and looking inquiringly into the face of the Kentuckian. "There is no help for it, colonel. The caravan with which I came out will be leaving Santa Fe the day after to-morrow, and there's just time for me to get there. Unless I go along with it, there may be no other opportunity for months to come, and one cannot cross the plains alone." "Well, I suppose I must lose you. I am sorry, and selfishly, too, for, as you see, I am somewhat lonely here. There's not one of my officers, with the exception of our old _medico_, exactly of the sort to be companionable. True, I have enough occupation, as you may have by this time discovered, in looking after our neighbours, the _Indios bravos_, who, knowing the skeleton of a regiment I've got, are growing saucier every day. I only wish I had a score or two of your stalwart trappers, who now and then pay a visit to Albuquerque. Well, my sister will soon be here, and she, brave girl, has plenty of life in her, though she be but young. What a joyous creature she is, wild as a mustang filly fresh caught. I wish, Don Francisco, you could have stayed to make her acquaintance. I am sure you would be delighted with her." If the portrait on the wall was anything of a faithful likeness, Hamersley could not have been otherwise. This was his reflection, though, for certain reasons, he did not in speech declare it. "It is to be hoped we shall meet again, Colonel Miranda," was his ingenious rejoinder. "If I did not have this hope, I should now be parting from you with greater regret. Indeed, I have more than a presentiment we shall meet again; since I've made up my mind on a certain thing." "On what, Don Francisco?" "On returning to New Mexico." "To settle in the country?" "Not exactly that; only for a time--long enough to enable me to dispose of a cargo of merchandise in exchange for a bag of your big Mexican dollars." "Ah! you intend to become one of the prairie merchants, then?" "I do. That intention has been the cause of my visiting your country. I am old enough to think of some calling, and have always had a fancy for the adventurous life of the prairie trader. As I have sufficient means to stock a small caravan for myself, I think now of trying it. My present trip has been merely one of experiment and exploration. I am satisfied with the result, and, if no accident arise, you may see me back on the Del Norte before either of us be twelve months older." "Then, indeed, is there a hope of our meeting again. I am rejoiced at it. But, Senor Don Francisco," continued his host, changing to a serious tone, "a word lest I might forget it--a word of counsel, or warning, I may call it. I have observed that you are too unsuspicious, too regardless of danger. It does not all lie upon the prairies, or among red-skinned savages. There is as much of it here, amid the abodes of our so-called civilisation. When you are travelling through this country bear your late antagonist in mind, and should you at any time meet, beware of him. I have given you some hints about the character of Gil Uraga. I have not told you all. He is worse than you can even imagine. I know him well. Do you see that little house, out yonder on the other side of the river?" Hamersley nodded assent. "In that hovel he was born. His father was what we call a _pelado_--a poor devil, with scarce a coat to his back. Himself the same, but something worse. He has left in his native place a record of crimes well known, with others more than suspected. In short, he is, as I have told you, a robber. No doubt you wonder that such a man should be an officer in our army. That is because you are ignorant of the state of our service--our society as well. It is but the result of constantly recurring changes in our political system. Still you may feel surprise at his holding this commission, with the patriotic party--the pure one-- in power, as it now is. That might be inexplicable even to myself, since I know that he will be traitor to our cause when convenient to him. But I also know the explanation. There is a power, even when the party exercising it is not in the ascendant--an influence that works by sap and secrecy. It is that of our hierarchy. Gil Uraga is one of its tools, since it exactly suits his low instincts and treacherous training. Whenever the day is ripe for a fresh _pronunciamento_ against our liberties--if we are so unfortunate as to have one--he will be amongst the foremost of the traitors. _Carrai_! I can think of him only with disgust and loathing. Would you believe it, senor, that this fellow, now that epaulettes have been set on his shoulders--placed there for some vile service--has the audacity to aspire to the hand of my sister? Adela Miranda standing in bridal robes by the side of Gil Uraga! I would rather see her in her shroud!" Hamersley's bosom heaved up as he listened to the last words, and with emotion almost equalling that which excited his host. He had just been thinking about the portrait upon the wall, and how beautiful the original must be. Now hearing her name coupled with that of the ruffian whose blow he had felt, and whose blood he had spilled, he almost regretted not having ended that duel by killing his adversary outright. "But surely, Colonel Miranda," he said at length, "there could be no danger of such an event as that you speak of?" "Never, so long as I live. But, amigo, as you have learnt, this is a strange land--a country of quick changes. I am here to-day, commanding in this district, with power, I may almost say, over the lives of all around me. To-morrow I may be a fugitive, or dead. If the latter, where is she, my poor sister, going to find the arm that could protect her?" Again the breast of Hamersley heaved in a convulsive manner. Strange as it might appear, the words of his newly-made friend seemed like an appeal to him. And it is just possible some such thought was in the mind of the Mexican colonel. In the strong man by his side he saw the type of a race who can protect; just such an oak as he would wish to see his sister extend her arms tendril-like around, and cling on to for life. Hamersley could not help having vague and varied misgivings; yet among them was one purpose he had already spoken of--a determination to return to Albuquerque. "I am sure to be back here," he said, as if the promise was meant to tranquillise the apprehensions of the colonel. Then, changing to a more careless tone, he added,-- "I cannot come by the spring caravans; there would not be time enough to make my arrangements. But there is a more southern route, lately discovered, that can be travelled at any season. Perhaps I may try that. In any case, I shall write you by the trains leaving the States in the spring, so that you may know when to expect me. And if, Colonel Miranda," he added, after a short reflective pause, in which his countenance assumed a new and graver form of expression, "if any political trouble, such as you speak of, should occur, and you may find it necessary to flee from your own land, I need not tell you that in mine you will find a friend and a home. After what has happened here, you may depend upon the first being true, and the second hospitable, however humble." On that subject there was no further exchange of speech. The two individuals, so oddly as accidentally introduced, flung aside the stumps of their cigars; and, clasping hands, stood regarding one another with the gaze of a sincere, unspeakable friendship. Next morning saw the Kentuckian riding away from Albuquerque towards the capital of New Mexico, an escort of dragoons accompanying him, sent by the Mexican colonel as a protection against marauding Indians. But all along the road, and for months after, he was haunted with the memory of that sweet face seen upon the _sola_ wall; and instead of laughing at himself for having fallen in love with a portrait, he but longed to return, and look upon its original--chafing under an apprehension, with which the parting words of his New Mexican host had painfully inspired him. CHAPTER FOUR. A PRONUNCIAMENTO. A little less than a quarter of a century ago the Navajo Indians were the terror of the New Mexican settlements. It was no uncommon thing for them to charge into the streets of a town, shoot down or spear the citizens, plunder the shops, and seize upon such women as they wanted, carrying these captives to their far-off fastnesses in the land of Navajoa. In the _canon_ de Chelley these savages had their headquarters, with the temple and _estufa_, where the sacred fire of _Moctezuma_ was never permitted to go out; and there, in times past, when Mexico was misruled by the tyrant Santa Anna, might have been seen scores of white women, captives to the Navajo nation, women well born and tenderly brought up, torn from their homes on the Rio del Norte, and forced to become the wives of their red-skinned captors--oftener their concubines and slaves. White children, too, in like manner, growing up among the children of their despoilers; on reaching manhood to forget all the ties of kindred, with the _liens_ of civilised life--in short, to be as much savages as those who had adopted them. At no period was this despoliation more rife than in the time of which we write. It had reached its climax of horrors, day after day recurring, when Colonel Miranda became military commandant of the district of Albuquerque; until not only this town, but Santa Fe, the capital of the province itself, was menaced with destruction by the red marauders. Not alone the Navajoes on the west, but the Apaches on the south, and the Comanches who peopled the plains to the east, made intermittent and frequent forays upon the towns and villages lying along the renowned Rio del Norte. There were no longer any outlying settlements or isolated plantations. The grand _haciendas_, as the humble _ranchos_, were alike lain in ruins. In the walled town alone was there safety for the white inhabitants of Nuevo Mexico, or for those Indians, termed _mansos_, converted to Christianity, and leagued with them in the pursuits of civilisation. And, indeed, not much safety either within towns--even in Albuquerque itself. Imbued with a spirit of patriotism, Colonel Miranda, in taking charge of the district--his native place, as already known--determined on doing his best to protect it from further spoliation; and for this purpose had appealed to the central government to give him an increase to the forces under his command. It came in the shape of a squadron of lancers from Chihuahua, whose garrison only spared them on their being replaced by a troop of like strength, sent on from the capital of the country. It was not very pleasant to the commandant of Albuquerque to see Captain Gil Uraga in command of the subsidy thus granted him. But the lancer officer met him in a friendly manner, professing cordiality, apparently forgetful of their duelling feud, and, at least outwardly, showing the submission due to the difference of their rank. Engaged in frequent affairs with the Indians, and expeditions in pursuit of them, for a while things seemed to go smoothly enough. But as Adela Miranda had now returned home, and was residing with her brother, in the interludes of tranquillity he could not help having some concern for her. He was well aware of Uraga's aspirations; and, though loathing the very sight of the man, he was, nevertheless, compelled to tolerate his companionship to a certain extent, and could not well deny him the _entree_ of his house. At first the subordinate bore himself with becoming meekness. Mock humility it was, and soon so proved itself. For, as the days passed, rumours reached the distant department of New Mexico that the old tyrant Santa Anna was again returning to power. And, in proportion as these gained strength, so increased Gil Uraga's confidence in himself, till at length he assumed an air of effrontery--almost insolence--towards his superior officer; and towards the sister, in the interviews he was permitted with her, a manner significantly corresponding. These were few, and still less frequent, as his brusque behaviour began to manifest itself. Observing it, Colonel Miranda at length came to the determination that the lancer captain should no longer enter into his house--at least, by invitation. Any future relations between them must be in the strict execution of their respective military duties. "Yes, sister," he said, one afternoon, as Adela was buckling on his sword-belt, and helping to equip him for the evening parade, "Uraga must come here no more. I well understand the cause of his contumacious behaviour. The priest party is again getting the ascendency. If they succeed, heaven help poor Mexico. And, I may add, heaven help us!" Drawing the girl to his bosom with a fond affectionate embrace, he gave her a brother's kiss. Then, striding forth, he sprang upon a saddled horse held in waiting, and rode off to parade his troops on the _plaza_ of Albuquerque. A ten minutes' trot brought him into their presence. They were not drawn up in line, or other formation, to receive him. On the contrary, as he approached the _cuartel_, he saw strange sights, and heard sounds corresponding. Everything was in confusion--soldiers rushing to and fro, uttering seditious cries. Among these were "Viva Santa Anna!" "Viva el General Armijo!" "Viva el _Coronel_ Uraga!" Beyond doubt it was a _pronunciamento_. The old regime under which Colonel Miranda held authority was passing away, and a new one about to be initiated. Drawing his sword and putting spur to his horse, he dashed in among the disaffected men. A few of the faithful ran up, and ranged themselves by his side. Then commenced a struggle, with shouting, shooting, sabring, and lance-thrusts. Several fell--some dead, some only disabled; among the last, Colonel Miranda himself, gravely wounded. In ten minutes it was all over; and the commandant of Albuquerque, no longer commanding, lay lodged in the garrison _carcel_; Captain Gil Uraga, now colonel, replacing him as the supreme military officer of the district. While all around ran the rumour that Don Antonio Lopes de Santa Anna was once more master of Mexico; his satellite, Manuel Armijo, again Governor of Santa Fe. CHAPTER FIVE. "WHY COMES HE NOT?" "What delays Valerian? What can be keeping him?" These questions came from Adela Miranda, on the evening of that same day, standing in the door of her brother's house, with eyes bent along the road leading to Albuquerque. Valerian was her brother's baptismal name, and it was about his absence she was anxious. For this she had reasons--more than one. Though still only a young girl, she quite understood the political situation of the Mexican Republic; at all times shifting, of late more critical than usual. In her brother's confidence, she had been kept posted up in all that transpired in the capital, as also the district over which he held military command, and knew the danger of which he was himself apprehensive--every day drawing nigher and nigher. Shortly after his leaving her she had heard shots, with a distant murmur of voices, in the direction of the town. From the _azolea_, to which she had ascended, she could note these noises more distinctly, but fancied them to be salutes, vivas, and cheers. Still, there was nothing much in that. It might be some jubilation of the soldiery at the ordinary evening parade; and, remembering that the day was a _fiesta_, she thought less of it. But, as night drew down, and her brother had not returned, she began to feel some slight apprehension. He had promised to be back for a dinner that was long since due--a repast she had herself prepared, more sumptuous than common on account of the saint's day. This was it that elicited the anxious self-asked interrogatories. After giving utterance to them, she paced backward and forward; now standing in the portal and gazing along the road; now returning to the _sola de comida_, to look upon the table, with cloth spread, wines decantered, fruits and flowers on the epergne--all but the dishes that waited serving till Valerian should show himself. To look on something besides--a portrait that hung upon the wall, underneath her own. It was a small thing--a mere photographic carte-de-visite. But it was the likeness of one who had a large place in her brother's heart, if not in her own. In hers, how could it? It was the photograph of a man she had never seen--Frank Hamersley. He had left it with Colonel Miranda, as a souvenir of their short but friendly intercourse. Did Colonel Miranda's sister regard it in that light? She could not in any other. Still, as she gazed upon it, a thought was passing through her mind somewhat different from a sentiment of simple friendship. Her brother had told her all--the circumstances that led to his acquaintance with Hamersley; of the duel, and in what a knightly manner the Kentuckian had carried himself; adding his own commentaries in a very flattering fashion. This, of itself, had been enough to pique curiosity in a young girl, just escaped from her convent school; but added to the outward semblance of the stranger, by the sun made lustrous--so lustrous inwardly--Adela Miranda was moved by something more than curiosity. As she stood regarding the likeness of Frank Hamersley she felt very much as he had done looking at hers--in love with one only known by portrait and repute. In such there is nothing strange nor new. Many a reader of this tale could speak of a similar experience. While gazing on the carte-de-visite she was roused from the sweet reverie it had called up by hearing footsteps outside. Someone coming in through the _saggan_. "Valerian at last!" The steps sounded as if the man making them were in a hurry. So should her brother be, having so long delayed his return. She glided out to meet him with an interrogatory on her lips. "Valerian?"--this suddenly changing to the exclamation, "_Madre de Dios_! 'Tis not my brother!" It was not, but a man pale and breathless--a _peon_ of the establishment--who, on seeing her, gasped out,-- "Senorita! I bring sad news. There's been a mutiny at the cuartel--a _pronunciamento_. The rebels have had it all their own way, and I am sorry to tell you that the colonel, your brother--" "What of him? Speak! Is he--" "Not killed, _nina_; only wounded, and a prisoner." Adela Miranda did not swoon nor faint. She was not of the nervous kind. Nurtured amid dangers, most of her life accustomed to alarms from Indian incursions, as well as revolutionary risings, she remained calm. She dispatched messengers to the town, secretly, one after another; and, while awaiting their reports, knelt before an image of the Virgin, and prayed. Up till midnight her couriers went, and came. Then one who was more than a messenger--her brother himself! As already reported to her, he was wounded, and came accompanied by the surgeon of the garrison, a friend. They arrived at the house in hot haste, as if pursued. And they were so, as she soon after learnt. There was just time for Colonel Miranda to select the most cherished of his _penates_; pack them on a _recua_ of mules, then mount, and make away. They had scarce cleared the premises when the myrmidons of the new commandant, led by the man himself, rode up and took possession of the place. By this time, and by good luck, the ruffian was intoxicated--so drunk he could scarce comprehend what was passing around him. It seemed like a dream to him to be told that Colonel Miranda had got clear away; a more horrid one to hear that she whom he designed for a victim had escaped from his clutches. When morning dawned, and in soberer mood he listened to the reports of those sent in pursuit--all telling the same tale of non-success--he raved like one in a frenzy of madness. For the escape of the late Commandant of Albuquerque had robbed him of two things--to him the sweetest in life--one, revenge on the man he heartily hated; the other, possession of the woman he passionately loved. CHAPTER SIX. SURROUNDED. A plain of pure sand, glaring red-yellow under the first rays of the rising sun; towards the east and west apparently illimitable, but interrupted northward by a chain of table-topped hills, and along its southern edge by a continuous cliff, rising wall-like to the height of several hundred feet, and trending each way beyond the verge of vision. About half-distance between this prolonged escarpment and the outlying hills six large "Conestoga" waggons, locked tongue and tail together, enclosing a lozenge-shaped or elliptical space--a _corral_--inside which are fifteen men and five horses. Only ten of the men are living; the other five are dead, their bodies lying a-stretch between the wheels of the waggons. Three of the horses have succumbed to the same fate. Outside are many dead mules; several still attached to the protruding poles, that have broken as their bodies fell crashing across them. Fragments of leather straps and cast gearing tell of others that have torn loose, and scoured off from the perilous spot. Inside and all around are traces of a struggle--the ground scored and furrowed by the hoofs of horses, and the booted feet of men, with here and there little rivulets and pools of blood. This, fast filtering into the sand, shows freshly spilled--some of it still smoking. All the signs tell of recent conflict. And so should they, since it is still going on, or only suspended to recommence a new scene of the strife, which promises to be yet more terrible and sanguinary than that already terminated. A tragedy easy of explanation. There is no question about why the waggons have been stopped, or how the men, mules, and horses came to be killed. Distant about three hundred yards upon the sandy plain are other men and horses, to the number of near two hundred. Their half-naked bodies of bronze colour, fantastically marked with devices in chalk-white, charcoal-black, and vermillion red--their buckskin breech-clouts and leggings, with plumes sticking tuft-like above their crowns--all these insignia show them to be Indians. It is a predatory band of the red pirates, who have attacked a travelling party of whites--no new spectacle on the prairies. They have made the first onslaught, which was intended to stampede the caravan, and at once capture it. This was done before daybreak. Foiled in the attempt, they are now laying siege to it, having surrounded it on all sides at a distance just beyond range of the rifles of those besieged. Their line forms the circumference of a circle of which the waggon clump is the centre. It is not very regularly preserved, but ever changing, ever in motion, like some vast constricting serpent that has thrown its body into a grand coil around its victim, to close when ready to give the fatal squeeze. In this case the victim appears to have no hope of escape--no alternative but to succumb. That the men sheltered behind the waggons have not "gone under" at the first onslaught is significative of their character. Of a surety they are not common emigrants, crossing the prairies on their way to a new home. Had they been so, they could not have "corralled" their unwieldy vehicles with such promptitude; for they had started from their night camp, and the attack was made while the train was in motion--advantage being taken of their slow drag through the soft, yielding sand. And had they been but ordinary emigrants they would not have stood so stoutly on the defence, and shown such an array of dead enemies around them. For among the savages outside can be seen at least a score of lifeless forms lying prostrate upon the plain. For the time, there is a suspension of hostilities. The red men, disappointed by the failure of their first charge, have retreated back to a safe distance. The death-dealing bullets of the whites, of which they have had fatal proof, hold them there. But the pause is not likely to be for long, as their gestures indicate. On one side of the circle a body of them clumped together hold counsel. Others gallop around it, bearing orders and instructions that evidently relate to a changed plan of attack. With so much blood before their eyes, and the bodies of their slain comrades, it is not likely they will retire from the ground. In their shouts there is a ring of resolved vengeance, which promises a speedy renewal of the attack. "Who do you think they are?" asks Frank Hamersley, the proprietor of the assaulted caravan. "Are they Comanches, Walt?" "Yis, Kimanch," answers the individual thus addressed; "an' the wust kind o' Kimanch. They're a band o' the cowardly Tenawas. I kin tell by thar bows. Don't ye see that thar's two bends in 'em?" "I do." "Wal, that's the sort o' bow the Tenawas carry--same's the Apash." "The Indians on this route were reported friendly. Why have they attacked us, I wonder?" "Injuns ain't niver friendly--not Tenawas. They've been riled considerably of late by the Texans on the Trinity. Besides, I reck'n I kin guess another reezun. It's owin' to some whites as crossed this way last year. Thar war a scrimmage atween them and the redskins, in the which some squaws got kilt--I mout say murdered. Thar war some Mexikins along wi' the whites, an' it war them that did it. An' now we've got to pay for their cussed crooked conduk." "What's best for us to do?" "Thar's no best, I'm afeerd. I kin see no chance 'cept to fight it out to the bitter eend. Thar's no mercy in them yells--ne'er a morsel o' it." "What do they intend doing next, think you?" "Jest yet 'taint easy to tell. Thar's somethin' on foot among 'em--some darned Injun trick. Clar as I kin see, that big chief wi' the red cross on his ribs, air him they call the Horned Lizard; an' ef it be, thar ain't a cunniner coon on all this contynent. He's sharp enough to contrive some tight trap for us. The dose we've gin the skunks may keep 'em off for a while--not long, I reck'n. Darnation! Thar's five o' our fellows wiped out already. It looks ugly, an' like enuf we've all got to go under." "Don't you think our best way will be to make a dash for it, and try to cut through them. If we stay here they'll starve us out. We haven't water enough in the waggons to give us a drink apiece." "I know all that, an' hev thort o' 't. But you forget about our hosses. Thar's only two left alive--yours and myen. All the rest air shot or stampedoed. Thurfor, but two o' us would stand a chance o' gettin' clar, an' it slim enough." "You are right, Walt; I did not think of that I won't forsake the men, even if assured of my own safety--never!" "Nobody as knows you, Frank Hamersley, need be tolt that." "Boys!" cries out Hamersley, in a voice that can be heard all through the corral; "I needn't tell you that we're in a fix, and a bad one. There's no help for us but to fight it out. And if we must die, let us die together." A response from eight voices coming from different sides--for those watching the movements of the enemy are posted round the enclosure-- tells there is not a craven among them. Though only teamsters, they are truly courageous men--most of them natives of Kentucky and Tennessee. "In any case," continues the owner of the caravan, "we must hold our ground till night. In the darkness there may be some chance of our being able to steal past them." These words have scarce passed the lips of the young prairie merchant, when their effect is counteracted by an exclamation. It comes from Walt Wilder, who has been acting as guide to the party. "Dog-goned!" he cries; "not the shadder o' a chance. They ain't goin' to give us till night. I knewed the Horned Lizard 'ud be after some trick." "What?" inquire several voices. "Look whar that lot's stannin' out yonder. Can't ye guess what they're at, Frank Hamersley?" "No. I only see that they have bows in their hands." "An' arrers, too. Don't you obsarve them wroppin' somethin' round the heads o' the arrers--looks like bits o' rags? Aye, rags it air, sopped in spittles and powder. They're agoin' to set the waggons afire! They air, by God!" CHAPTER SEVEN. FIERY MESSENGERS. The teamsters, each of whom is watching the post assigned to him, despite the danger, already extreme, see fresh cause of alarm in Wilder's words. Some slight hope had hitherto upheld them. Under the protection of the waggons they might sustain a siege, so long as their ammunition lasts; and before it gave out some chance, though they cannot think what, might turn up in their favour. It was a mere reflection founded on probabilities still unscrutinised--the last tenacious struggle before hope gives way to utter and palpable despair. Hamersley's words had for an instant cheered them; for the thought of the Indians setting fire to the waggons had not occurred to any of the party. It was a thing unknown to their experience; and, at such a distance, might be supposed impossible. But, as they now look around them, and note the canvas tilts, and light timbers, dry as chips from long exposure to the hot prairie sun; the piles of dry goods--woollen blankets, cotton, and silk stuffs--intended for the stores of Chihuahua, some of which they have hastily pulled from their places to form protecting barricades--when they see all this, and then the preparations the Indians are engaged in making, no wonder that they feel dismay on Walt Wilder shouting out, "They're agoin' to set the waggons afire!" The announcement, although carrying alarm, conveys no counsel. Even their guide, with a life-long experience on the prairies, is at a loss how they ought to act in this unexpected emergency. In the waggons water there is none--at least not enough to drown out a conflagration such as that threatened; and from the way the assailants are gesturing the traders can predict that ere long, a shower of fiery shafts will be sent into their midst. None of them but have knowledge sufficient to admonish them of what is intended. Even if they had never set foot upon a prairie, their school stories and legends of early life would tell them. They have all read, or heard, of arrows with tinder tied around their barbs, on fire and spitting sparks, or brightly ablaze. If any are ignorant of this sort of missile, or the mode of dispatching it on its mischievous errand, their ignorance is not destined longer to continue. Almost as soon as Wilder has given utterance to the warning words, half a score of the savages can be seen springing to the backs of their horses, each bearing a bow with a bunch of the prepared arrows. And before a single preventive step can be taken by the besieged traders, or any counsel exchanged between them, the pyrotechnic display has commenced. The bowmen gallop in circles around the besieged enclosure, their bodies concealed behind those of their horses--only a leg and an arm seen, or now and then a face for an instant, soon withdrawn. Not exactly in circles but in spiral rings--at each turn drawing closer and nearer, till the true distance is attained for casting the inflammatory shafts. "Stand to your guns, men!" is the hurried command of the guide, backed by a kind of encouragement from the proprietor of the caravan. "Now, boys!" adds the guide, "ye've got to look out for squalls. Keep two an' two of ye thegither. While one brings down the hoss, t' other take care o' the rider as he gits unkivered. Make sure afore ye pull trigger, an' don't waste so much as the snappin' o' a cap. Thar goes the first o' the fire works!" As Wilder speaks, a spark is seen to shoot out from one of the circling cavaliers, which rising rocket-like into the air, comes in parabolic curve towards the corral. It falls short some twenty yards and lies smoking and sputtering in the sand. "They han't got thar range yit," cries the guide; "but this child hez got his--leastwise for that skunk on the clay-bank mustang. So hyar goes to rub him off o' the list o' fire shooters." And simultaneous with the last word is heard the crack of Wilder's rifle. The young prairie merchant by his side, supposing him to have aimed only at the Indian's horse, has raised his own gun, ready to take the rider as soon as uncovered. "No need, Frank," shouts the guide, restraining him. "Walt Wilder don't waste two charges o' powder that way. Keep yur bullet for the karkidge o' the next as comes 'ithin range. Look yonder! I know'd I'd fetch him out o' his stirrups--tight as he's tried to cling to 'em. Thar he goes to grass!" Hamersley, as the others on the same side of the corral, were under the belief that the shot had been a miss; for the Indian at whom it was aimed still stuck to his horse, and was carried for some distance on in curving career. Nor did the animal show any sign of having been hit. But the rider did. While engaged in the effort of sending his arrow, the savage had exposed his face, one arm, and part of the other. Ere he could withdraw them, Walt's bullet had struck the arm that supported him, breaking the bone close to the elbow-joint. He has clung on with the tenacity of a shot squirrel, knowing that to let go will be certain death to him. But, despite all his efforts, the crippled arm fails to sustain him; and, with a despairing cry, he at length tumbles to the ground. Before he can rise to his feet, his body is bored by a leaden messenger from one of the men watching on that side, which lays him lifeless along the sand. No cheer of triumph ascends from among the waggons; the situation of those who defend them is too serious for any idle exhibition. The man who has fired the last shot only hastens to re-load, while the others remain mute and motionless--each on the look-out for a like opportunity. The fall of their comrade has taught the freebooters a lesson, and for a time they make their approach with more caution. But the shouts of those standing spectators in the outer circle stimulate them to fresh efforts, as the slightest show of cowardice would surely cause them to be taunted. Those entrusted with the fiery arrows are all young warriors, chosen for this dangerous service, or volunteers to perform it. The eyes of their chief, and the braves of the tribe, are upon them. They are thirsting for glory, and hold their lives as of little account, in the face of an achievement that will gain them the distinction most coveted by an Indian youth--that which will give him rank as a warrior, and perhaps some day raise him to a chieftaincy. Stimulated by this thought, they soon forget the check caused by the fall of their comrade; and, laying aside caution, ride nearer and nearer, till their arrows, one after another, hurtle through the air, and dropping like a continuous shower of spent rocket-sticks upon the covers of the corralled waggons. Several of them fall to shots from the barricade, but then places are supplied by fresh volunteers from the outer circle; and the sparkling shower is kept up, till a curl of smoke is seen soaring above the white tilts of the waggons, and soon after others at different places and on different sides of the enclosure. As yet the besieged have not seen this. The powder-smoke puffing up from their own guns, discharged in quick repetition, obscures everything in a thick, sulphurous cloud; so that even the white covers of the waggons are scarce distinguishable, much less the spots where it has commenced smoking. Not long, however, till something besides smoke makes itself visible, as also audible. Here and there flames flicker up, with a sharp crackling noise, which continues. The one is not flashes from the guns, nor the other a snapping of percussion-caps. Wilder, with eyes turning to all points, is the first to perceive this. "We're on fire, boys!" he vociferates; "on fire everywhar!" "Great God! yes! What are we to do?" several ask, despairingly. "What air we to do?" shouts the guide, in response. "What kin we do, but fight it out to the death, an' then die! So let us die, not like dogs, but as men--as Americans!" CHAPTER EIGHT. KNIFE, PISTOL, AND HATCHET. The brave words had scarce passed from Walt Wilder's lips when the waggons became enveloped in a cloud of smoke. From all sides it rolled into the corral till those inside could no longer see one another. Still through the obscurity rang their cries of mutual encouragement, repeating the determination so tersely expressed. They knew they had no water by which to extinguish the fast-threatening flames; yet in that moment of emergency they thought of an expedient. There were shovels in the waggons; and laying hold of these, they commenced flinging sand over the places that had caught fire, with the intent to smother the incipient blaze. Left alone, and with time, they might have succeeded. But they were not left alone, for the savages, seeing the advantage they had gained, were now fast closing for a final charge upon the corral, and the implements of industry had to be abandoned. These were thrown despairingly aside; and the besieged, once more grasping their rifles, sprang back into the waggons--each with eager eye searching for an assailant. Though themselves half blinded by the smoke, they could still see the enemy outside; for the Indians, grown confident by the _coup_ they had made, were now riding recklessly near. Quick came the reports of rifles--faster and more frequent than ever; fast as ten men, all practised marksmen, could load and fire. In less than sixty seconds nearly a score of savages dropped to the death-dealing bullets, till the plain appeared strewn with dead bodies. But the crisis had come--the time for a general charge of the whole band; and now the dusky outside ring was seen gradually contracting towards the corral--the savages advancing from all sides, some on foot, others on horseback, all eager to secure the trophy of a scalp. On they came, violently gesticulating, and uttering wild vengeful shouts. With the besieged it was a moment for despair. The waggons were on fire all around them, and in several places flames were beginning to flicker up through the smoke. They no longer thought of making any attempt to extinguish them. They knew it would be idle. Did they think of surrender? No--not a man of them. That would have been equally idle. In the voices of the advancing foe there was not an accent of mercy. Surrender! And be slain afterwards! Before which to be tortured, perhaps dragged at the horse's tail, or set up as a target for the Tenawa sharpshooters to practise at. No! They would have to die anyhow. Better now than then. They were not the men to offer both cheeks to the insulter. They could resign sweet life, but death would be all the sweeter with corpses of Indians lying thickly around them. They would first make a hecatomb of their hated foes, and then fall upon it. That is the sort of death preferred by the prairie man--hunter, trapper, or trader--glorious to him as the cannon-furrowed field to the soldier. That is the sort of death of which Walt Wilder spoke when he said, "Let us die, not like dogs, but as men--as Americans!" By this time the smoke had completely enveloped the waggons, the enclosed space between, and a fringe of some considerable width around them. But a still darker ring was all around--the circle of savage horsemen, who from all sides were galloping up and dismounting to make surer work of the slaughter. The warriors jostled one another as they pressed forward afoot, each thirsting for a scalp. The last throe of the conflict had come. It was no longer to be a duel at a distance--no more a contest between rifle-bullets and barbed arrows; but the close, desperate, hand-to-hand contest of pistol, knife, spear, club, and hatchet. The ten white men--none of them yet _hors de combat_--knew well what was before them. Not one of them blanched or talked of backing. They did not even think of surrender. It would have been too late to sue for mercy, had they been so inclined. But they were not. Attacked without provocation, and treacherously, as they had been, their fury was stronger than their fear; and anger now nerved them to frenzied energy of action. The savages had already closed around the waggons, clustering upon the wheels, some like snakes, wriggling through the spaces left undefended. Rifles ceased to ring; but pistols cracked--repeating pistols, that dealt death at every shot, sending redskin after redskin to the happy hunting grounds. And by the pistol's flash blades were seen gleaming through the smoke--now bright, anon dimmed, and dripping blood. For every white man that fell, at least three red ones went down upon the sand. The unequal contest could not long continue. Scarce ten minutes did it last, and but for the obscuring smoke five would have finished it. This was in favour of the assailed, enabling them to act with advantage against the assailants. Such a quick, wholesale slaughter did the white men make with their revolvers that the savages, surprised and staggered by it, for a moment recoiled, and appeared as if again going to retreat. They did not--they dared not. Their superior numbers--the shame of being defeated by such a handful of foes--the glory of conquest--and, added to it, an angry vengeance now hot in their hearts--all urged them on; and the attack was renewed with greater earnestness than ever. Throughout every scene in the strife Frank Hamersley had comported himself with a courage that made his men feel less fear of death, and less regret to die by his side. Fighting like a lion, he had been here, and there, and everywhere. He had done his full share of slaving. It was all in vain. Though standing in the midst of thick smoke, unseeing and unseen, he knew that most of his faithful men had fallen. He was admonished of this by their less frequent responses to his cries of encouragement, telling him the struggle was close upon its termination. No wonder his fury was fast giving place to despair. But it was no craven fear, nor any thought of escape. His determination not to be taken alive was strong as ever. His hand still firmly clasped his bowie-knife, its blade dripping with the blood of more than one enemy; for into the body of more than one had he plunged it. He clutched it with the determination still farther to kill--to take yet another life before parting with his own. It was hopeless, useless slaughter; but it was sweet. Almost insane with anger, he thought it sweet. Three dusky antagonists lay dead at his feet, and he was rushing across the corral in search of a fourth. A giant figure loomed up before him, looking more gigantic from the magnifying effect of the smoke. It was not that of a savage; it was Walt Wilder. "Dead beat!" hoarsely and hurriedly muttered the guide. "We must go under, Frank. We're boun' to go under, if we don't--" "Don't what, Walt?" "Git away from hyar." "Impossible." "No. Thar's still a chance, I think--for us two anyways. There ain't many o' the others left, an' ef thar war, we can't do 'em any good now. Our stayin' 'ud be no use--no use dyin' along wi' 'em; while ef we get clar, we mout live to revenge 'em. Don't ye see our two horses are still safe? Thar they air, cowerin' clost in agin one o' the waggons. 'Tain't much kit? I admit; still thar's a shadder. Come, Frank, and let's try it." Hamersley hesitated. It was at thought of deserting even the last of his faithful followers, who had sacrificed, or were still sacrificing, their lives in his service. But, as the guide had truly said what good could he do them by staying and getting killed? And he might survive to avenge them! The last reflection would have decided him! But Wilder had not waited for him to determine. While speaking the urgent words, he laid his huge hand upon Hamersley's shoulder and half led, half dragged him in the direction of the horses. "Keep hold o' yur rifle, though it air empty," hurriedly counselled the guide. "If we shed get away, it will be needed. We mout as well go under hyar as be upon the pararira without a gun. Now mount!" Almost mechanically the young Kentuckian climbed upon the back of the horse nearest to him--his own. The guide had not yet mounted his; but, as could be seen through the smoke, was leaning against the wheel of one of the waggons. In an instant after Hamersley perceived that the vehicle was in motion, and could hear a slight grating noise as the tire turned in the sand. The great Conestoga, with its load had yielded to the strength of the Colossus. In another instant he had sprung upon his horse's back and riding close to Hamersley, muttered in his ear, "Now I've opened a crack atween two o' the wehicles. Let's cut out through it. We kin keep in the kiver o' the smoke as far as it'll screen us. You foller, an' see that ye don't lose sight o' me. If we must go under in the eend, let it be out on the open plain, an' not shut up hyar like badgers in a barr'l. Follow me clost, Frank. Now or niver!" Almost mechanically the young Kentuckian yielded obedience; and in ten seconds after the two horsemen had cleared the waggon clump, with the shouting crowd that encircled it and were going at full gallop across the sand-strewn plain. CHAPTER NINE. QUARRELLING OVER SCALPS. Nearly simultaneous with the departure of the two horsemen came the closing scene of the conflict. Indeed it ended on the instant of their riding off. For of their comrades left behind there was not one upon his feet--not one able to fire another shot, or strike another blow. All lay dead, or wounded, among the waggons; some of the dead, as the wounded, clasping the handle of a knife whose blade reeked with blood, or a pistol from whose muzzle the smoke was still oozing. But soon among the whites there were no wounded, for the hovering host, having closed in from all sides, leaped from their horses, swarmed over the barrier between, tomahawking the last that showed signs of life, or thrusting them with their long lances, and pinning them to the sand. Through the body of every white man at least a half-dozen spear-blades were passed, while a like number of savages stood exultingly over, or danced triumphantly around it. And now ensued a scene that might be symbolised only among wild beasts or fiends in the infernal regions. It was a contest for possession of the scalps of those who had fallen--each of the victors claiming one. Some stood with bared blades ready to peel them off, while others held out hands and weapons to prevent it. From the lips of the competitors came shouts and expostulations, while their eyes flashed fire, and their arms rose and fell in furious gesticulations. Amidst their demoniac jargon could be heard a voice louder than all, thundering forth a command. It was to desist from their threatening strife and extinguish the flames that still flared up over the waggons. He who spoke was the one with the red cross upon his breast, its bars of bright vermilion gleaming like fire against the sombre background of his skin. He was the chief of the Tenawa Comanches--the Horned Lizard--as Wilder had justly conjectured. And as their chief he was instantly obeyed. The wranglers, one and all, promptly suspended their disputes; and flinging their weapons aside, at once set to carrying out his orders. Seizing upon the shovels, late dropped from the hands of their now lifeless antagonists, and plying them to better purpose, they soon smothered the flame, and the smoke too, till only a thin drift stole up through the sand thrown thickly over it. Meanwhile a man, in appearance somewhat differing from the rest, was seen moving among them. Indian in garb and guise, savage in his accoutrements, as the colour of his skin, he nevertheless, showed features more resembling races that are civilised. His countenance was of a cast apparently Caucasian, its lineaments unlike those of the American aboriginal; above all, unlike in his having a heavy beard, growing well forward upon his cheeks, and bushing down below the chin. True, that among the Comanche Indians bearded men are occasionally met with--_mestizos_, the descendants of renegade whites. But none paraded as he, who now appeared stalking around the ruined caravan. And there was another individual by his side, who had also hair upon his cheeks, though thinner and more straggling; while the speech passing between the two was not the guttural tongue of the Tenawa Comanches, but pure Mexican Spanish. Both were on foot, having dismounted; he with the heavy beard leading, the other keeping after as if in attendance. The former flitted from one to another of those who lay slain; in turn stooping over each corpse, and scrutinising it--to some giving but a cursory glance, to others more careful examination--then leaving each with an air of disappointment, and a corresponding exclamation. At length, after going the complete round of the dead, he faced towards his satellite, saying,-- "_Por dios_! he don't appear to be among them! What can it mean? There could be no doubt of his intention to accompany the caravan. Here it is, and here we are; but where is he? _Carajo_! If he has escaped me, I shall feel as if I'd had all this trouble for nothing." "Think of the precious plunder," rejoined the other. "These grand _carretas_ are loaded with rich goods. Surely they don't count for nothing." "A fig for the goods! I'd give more for his scalp than all the silks and satins that were ever carried to Santa Fe. Not that I'd care to keep such a trifle. The Horned Lizard will be welcome to it, soon as I see it stripped from his skull. That's what I want to see. But where is it? Where is he? Certainly not among these. There isn't one of them the least like him. Surely it must be his party, spoken of in his letter? No other has been heard of coming by this route. There they lie, all stark and staring--men, mules, and horses--all but him." The smoke has thinned off, only a thin film still wafting about the waggons, whose canvas tilts, now consumed, expose their contents--some of them badly burnt, some but slightly scorched. The freebooters have commenced to drag out boxes and bales, their chief by a stern command having restrained them from returning to take the scalps of the slain. All has been the work of only a few moments--less than ten minutes of time--for it is scarce so much since Wilder and Hamersley, stealing out between the wheels, rode off under cover of the cloud. By this he with the beard, speaking Spanish, has ceased to scrutinise the corpses, and stands facing his inferior, his countenance showing an air of puzzled disappointment, as proclaimed by his repeated speeches. Once again he gives speech to his perplexity, exclaiming: "_Demonios_! I don't understand it. Is it possible that any of them can have got away?" As he puts the question there comes a shout from outside, seeming to answer it. For it is a cry half in lamentation--a sort of wail, altogether unlike the charging war-whoop of the Comanches. Acquainted with their signals, he knows that the one he has heard tells of an enemy trying to escape. Hurrying outside the corral, he sees two mounted men, nearly a mile off, making in the direction of the cliffs. And nearer, a score of other men, in the act of mounting, these being Indians, who have just caught sight of the fugitives, and are starting to pursue. More eager than any, he rushes direct to his horse, and, having reached, bestrides him at a spring. Then, plunging deep the spur, he dashed off across the plain towards the point where the two men are seen making away. Who both may be he knows not, nor of one need he care; but of one he does, feeling sure it is the same for whom he has been searching among the slain. "Not dead yet, but soon shall be!" So mutters he, as with clenched teeth, bridle tight-drawn, and fingers firmly clasping the butt of a double-barrelled pistol, he spurs on after the two horsemen, who, heading straight for the cliff, seem as if they had no chance to escape; for their pursuers are closing after them in a cloud, dark as the dreaded "norther" that sweeps over the Texan desert, with shout symbolising the clangour that accompanies it. CHAPTER TEN. A BRAVE STEED ABANDONED. In making his bold dash, Walt Wilder was not acting without a preconceived plan. He had one. The smoke, with its covering cloud, might be the means of concealment, and ultimate salvation; at all events, it would cover their retreat long enough to give them a start of the pursuers, and then the speed of their horses might possibly be depended upon for the rest. They at first followed this plan, but unfortunately soon found that it would not long avail them. The smoke was not drifting in the right direction. The breeze carried it almost straight towards the line of the cliffs, while their only chance was to strike for the open plain. At the cliffs their flight would be stopped. So far the smoke had favoured them. Thick and stifling in the immediate vicinity of the waggons, it enabled them to slip unobserved through the ruck of savages. Many of these, still mounted, had seen them pass outward, but through the blue film had mistaken them for two of their own men. They perhaps knew nothing of there having been horses inside the corral, and did not expect to see any of their caged enemies attempting to escape in that way. Besides, they were now busy endeavouring to extinguish the fires, all resistance being at an end. As yet there was no sign of pursuit, and the fugitives rode up with the projecting _nimbus_ around them. In the soft sand their horses' hoofs made no noise, and they galloped towards the cliff silent as spectres. On reaching its base, it became necessary for them either to change the direction of their flight, or bring it to a termination. The bluff towered vertically above them, like a wall of rude masonwork. A cat could not have scaled it, much less horse, or man. They did not think of making the attempt. And now, what were they to do? Ride out from the smoke-cloud, or remain under its favouring shelter? In either case they were sure of being discovered and pursued. It would soon clear off, and they would be seen from the waggons. Already it was fast thinning around them; the Indians having nearly extinguished the fires in order to save the treasure, which had no doubt been their chief object for attacking the caravan. Soon there would be no smoke--and then? The pursued men stayed not to reflect further. Delay would only add to their danger; and with this thought urging them on, they wheeled their horses to the left, and headed along the line of the bluff. Six seconds after they were riding in a pure atmosphere, under clear dazzling sunlight. But it gave them no delight. A yell from the savages told them they were seen, and simultaneously with the shout, they perceived a score of horsemen spurring from the crowd, and riding at full speed towards them. They were both splendidly mounted, and might still have had a fair chance of escape; but now another sight met their eyes that once more almost drove them to despair. A promontory of the cliff, stretching far out over the sandy plain, lay directly in their track. Its point was nearer to the pursuers than to them. Before they could reach, and turn it, their retreat would be intercepted. Was there still a chance to escape in the opposite direction? Again suddenly turning, they galloped back as they had come; again entered the belt of smoke; and, riding on through it, reached the clear sunlight beyond. Again a torturing disappointment. Another promontory--twin to the first--jutted out to obstruct them. There was no mystery in the matter. They saw the mistake they had made. In escaping under cover of the cloud they had gone too far, ridden direct into a deep embayment of the cliff! Their pursuers, who had turned promptly as they, once more had the advantage. The outlying point of rocks was nearer to them, and they would be almost certain to arrive at it first. To the fugitives there appeared no alternative but to ride on, and take the chance of hewing their way through the savages surrounding--for certainly they would be surrounded. "Git your knife riddy, Frank!" shouted Wilder, as he dug his heels into his horse's side and put the animal to full speed. "Let's keep close thegither--livin' or dead, let's keep thegither!" Their steeds needed no urging. To an American horse accustomed to the prairies there is no spur like the yell of an Indian; for he knows that along with it usually comes the shock of a bullet, or the sting of a barbed shaft. Both bounded off together, and went over the soft sand, silent, but swift as the wind. In vain. Before they could reach the projecting point, the savages had got up, and were clustering around it. At least a score, with spears couched, bows bent, and clubs brandishing, stood ready to receive them. It was a gauntlet the pursued men might well despair of being able to run. Truly now seemed their retreat cut off, and surely did death appear to stare them in the face. "We must die, Walt," said the young prairie merchant, as he faced despairingly toward his companion. "Maybe not yet," answered Wilder, as with a searching glance, he directed his eye along the facade of the cliff. The red sandstone rose rugged and frowning, full five hundred feet overhead. To the superficial glance it seemed to forbid all chance either of being scaled, or affording concealment. There was not even a boulder below, behind which they might find a momentary shelter from the shafts of the pursuers. For all that, Wilder continued to scan it, as if recalling some old recollection. "This must be the place," he muttered. "It is, by God!" he added more emphatically, at the same time wrenching his horse around, riding sharp off, and calling to his companion to follow him. Hamersley obeyed, and rode after, without knowing what next. But, in another instant, he divined the intent of this sudden change in the tactics of his fellow fugitive. For before riding far his eyes fell upon a dark list, which indicated an opening in the escarpment. It was a mere crack, or chine, scarce so wide as a doorway, and barely large enough to admit a man on horseback; though vertically it traversed the cliff to its top, splitting it from base to summit. "Off o' yur hoss!" cried Wilder, as he pulled up in front of it, at the same time flinging himself from his own. "Drop the bridle, and leave him behint. One o' 'em'll be enough for what I want, an' let that be myen. Poor critter, it air a pity! But it can't be helped. We must hev some kiver to screen us. Quick, Frank, or the skunks will be on to us!" Painful as it was to abandon his brave steed, Hamersley did as directed without knowing why. The last speeches of the guide were somewhat enigmatical, though he presumed they meant an important signification. Slipping down from his saddle, he stood by his horse's side, a noble steed, the best blood of his own State, Kentucky, famed for its fine stock. The animal appeared to know that its master was about to part from it. It turned its head towards him; and, with bent neck, and steaming nostrils, gave utterance to a low neigh that, while proclaiming affection, seemed to say, "Why do you forsake me?" Under other circumstances the Kentuckian would have shed tears. For months he and his horse had been as man and man together in many a long prairie journey--a companionship which unites the traveller to his steed in liens strong as human friendship, almost as lasting, and almost as painful to break. So Frank Hamersley felt, as he flung the bridle back on the animal's withers--still retaining hold of the rein, loth to relinquish it. But there was no alternative. Behind were the shouting pursuers quickly coming on. He could see their brandished spears glancing in the sun glare. They would soon be within reach, thrusting through his body; their barbed blades piercing him between the ribs. No time for sentiment nor dallying now, without the certainty of being slain. He gave one last look at his steed, and then letting go the rein, turned away, as one who, by stern necessity, abandons a friend, fearing reproach for what he does, but without the power to explain it. For a time the abandoned steed kept its place, with glances inquiringly sent after the master who had forsaken it. Then, as the yelling crew came closer behind, it threw up its head, snorted, and tore off with trailing bridle. Hamersley had turned to the guide, now also afoot, but still retaining hold of his horse, which he was conducting towards the crack in the cliff, with all his energies forcing it to follow him; for the animal moved reluctantly, as though suspecting danger inside the darksome cleft. Still urging it on, he shouted back to the Kentuckian, "You go first, Frank! Up into the kanyon, without losin' a second's time. Hyar, take my gun, an' load both, whiles I see to the closin' o' the gap." Seizing both guns in his grasp, Hamersley sprang into the chine, stopping when he got well within its grim jaws. Wilder went after, leading his steed, that still strained back upon the bridle. There was a large stone across the aperture, over which the horse had to straddle. This being above two feet in height, when the animal had got its forelegs over Wilder checked it to a stand. Hitherto following him with forced obedience, it now trembled, and showed a strong determination to go back. There was an expression, in its owner's eye it had never seen before--something that terribly frayed it. But it could not now do this, though ever so inclined. With its ribs close pressing the rocks on each side, it was unable to turn; while the bridle drawn firmly in front hindered it from retiring. Hamersley, busily engaged in loading the rifles, nevertheless found time to glance at Wilder's doings, wondering what he was about. "It air a pity!" soliloquised the latter, repeating his former words in similar tones of commiseration. "F'r all that, the thing must be done. If thar war a rock big enough, or a log, or anythin'. No! thar ain't ne'er another chance to make kiver. So hyar goes for a bit o' butcherin'." As the guide thus delivered himself, Hamersley saw him jerk the bowie knife from his belt, its blade red and still reeking with human gore. In another instant its edge was drawn across the throat of the horse, from which the blood gushed forth in a thick, strong stream, like water from the spout of a pump. The creature made a last desperate effort to get off, but with its forelegs over the rocks and head held down between them, it could not stir from the spot. After a convulsive throe or two, it sank down till its ribs rested upon the straddled stone; and in this attitude it ended its life, the head after a time drooping down, the eyes apparently turned with a last reproachful look upon the master who had murdered it! "It hed to be did; thar war no help for it," said Wilder, as he hurriedly turned towards his companion, adding: "Have you got the guns charged?" Hamersley made answer by handing him back his own rifle. It was loaded and ready. "Darn the stinkin' cowarts!" cried the guide, grasping the gun, and facing towards the plain. "I don't know how it may all eend, but this'll keep 'em off a while, anyhow." As he spoke he threw himself behind the body of the slaughtered steed, which, sustained in an upright position between the counterpart walls, formed a safe barricade against the bullets and arrows of the Indians. These, now riding straight towards the spot, made the rocks resound with exclamations of surprise--shouts that spoke of a delayed, perhaps defeated, vengeance. They took care, however, not to come within range of that long steel-grey tube, that, turning like a telescope on its pivot, commanded a semicircle of at least a hundred yards' radius round the opening in the cliff. Despite all the earnestness of their vengeful anger, the pursuers were now fairly at bay, and for a time could be kept so. Hamersley looked upon it as being but a respite--a mere temporary deliverance from danger, yet to terminate in death. True, they had got into a position where, to all appearance, they could defend themselves as long as their ammunition lasted, or as they could withstand the agony of thirst or the cravings of hunger. How were they to get out again? As well might they have been besieged in a cave, with no chance of sortie or escape. These thoughts he communicated to his companion, as soon as they found time to talk. "Hunger an' thirst ain't nothin' to do wi' it," was Wilder response. "We ain't a goin' to stay hyar not twenty minutes, if this child kin manage it as he intends ter do. You don't s'pose I rushed into this hyar hole like a chased rabbit? No, Frank; I've heern o' this place afore, from some fellers thet, like ourselves, made _cache_ in it from a band o' pursuin' Kimanch. Thar's a way leads out at the back; an' just as soon as we kin throw dust in the eyes o' these yellin' varmints in front, we'll put straight for it. I don't know what sort o' a passage thar is--up the rocks by some kind o' raven, I b'lieve. We must do our best to find it." "But how do you intend to keep them from following us? You speak of throwing dust in their eyes--how, Walt?" "You wait, watch an' see. You won't hev yur patience terrifically tried: for thar ain't much time to spare about it. Thar's another passage up the cliffs, not far off; not a doubt but these Injuns know it; an' ef we don't make haste, they'll git up thar, and come in upon us by the back door, which trick won't do, nohowsomdever. You keep yurself in readiness, and watch what I'm agoin' to do. When you see me scoot up back'ards, follor 'ithout sayin' a word." Hamersley promised compliance, and the guide, still kneeling behind the barricade he had so cruelly constructed, commenced a series of manoeuvres that held his companion in speechless conjecture. He first placed his gun in such a position that the barrel, resting across the hips of the dead horse, projected beyond the tail. In this position he made it fast, by tying the butt with a piece of string to a projecting part of the saddle. He next took the cap from his head--a coonskin it was--and set it so that its upper edge could be seen alongside the pommel, and rising about three inches above the croup. The ruse was an old one, with some new additions and embellishments. "It's all done now," said the guide, turning away from the carcase and crouching to where his comrade awaited him. "Come on, Frank. If they don't diskiver the trick till we've got time to speed up the clift, then thar's still a chance for us. Come on, an' keep close arter me!" Hamersley went, without saying a word. He knew that Wilder, well known and long trusted, had a reason for everything he did. It was not the time to question him, or discuss the prudence of the step he was taking. There might be danger before, but there was death--sure death--behind them. CHAPTER ELEVEN. A DESCENT INTO DARKNESS. In less than a dozen paces from its entrance the chine opened into a wider space, again closing like a pair of callipers. It was a hollow of elliptical shape--resembling an old-fashioned butterboat scooped out of the solid rock, on all sides precipitous, except at its upper end. Here a ravine, sloping down from the summit-level above, would to the geologist at once proclaim the secret of its formation. Not so easily explained might seem the narrow outlet to the open plain. But one skilled in the testimony of the rocks would detect certain ferruginous veins in the sandstone that, refusing to yield to the erosion of the running stream, had stood for countless ages. Neither Walt Wilder nor the young Kentuckian gave thought to such scientific speculations as they retreated through the narrow gap and back into the wider gorge. All they knew or cared for was that a gully at the opposite end was seen to slope upward, promising a path to the plain above. In sixty seconds they were in it, toiling onward and upward amidst a chaos of rocks where no horse could follow--loose boulders that looked as if hurled down from the heavens above or belched upward from the bowels of the earth. The retreat of the fugitives up the ravine, like their dash out of the enclosed corral, was still but a doubtful effort. Neither of them had full confidence of being able eventually to escape. It was like the wounded squirrel clutching at the last tiny twig of a tree, however unable to support it. They were not quite certain that the sloping gorge would give them a path to the upper plain; for Wilder had only a doubtful recollection of what some trapper had told him. But even if it did, the Indians, expert climbers as they were, would soon be after them, close upon their heels. The ruse could not remain long undetected. They had plunged into the chasm as drowning men grasp at the nearest thing afloat--a slender branch or bunch of grass, a straw. As they now ascended the rock-strewn gorge both had their reflections, which, though unspoken, were very similar. And from these came a gleam of hope. If they could but reach the summit-level of the cliff! Their pursuers could, of course, do the same; but not on horseback. It would then be a contest of pedestrian speed. The white men felt confidence in their swiftness of foot; in this respect believing themselves superior to their savage pursuers. They knew that the Comanches were horse Indians--a significant fact. These centaurs of the central plateaux, scarce ever setting foot upon the earth, when afoot are almost as helpless as birds with their wings plucked or pinioned. If they could reach the crest of the cliff, then all might yet be well; and, cheered by this reflection, they rushed up the rock-strewn ravine, now gliding along ledges, now squeezing their bodies between great boulders, or springing from one to the other--in the audacity of their bounds rivalling a brace of bighorns. They had got more than half-way up, when cries came pealing up the glen behind them. Still were they hidden from the eyes of the pursuers. Jutting points of rock and huge masses that lay loose in the bed of the ravine had hitherto concealed them. But for these, bullets and arrows would have already whistled about their ears, and perhaps put an end to their flight. The savages were near enough to send either gun-shot or shaft, and their voices, borne upward on the air, sounded as clear as if they were close at hand. The fugitives, as already said, had reached more than halfway up the slope, and were beginning to congratulate themselves on the prospect of escape. They even thought of the course they should take on arriving at the summit-level, for they knew that there was an open plain above. All at once they were brought to a stop, though not by anything that obstructed their path. On the contrary, it only seemed easier; for there were now two ways open to them instead of one, the ravine at this point forking into two distinct branches. There was a choice of which to take, and it was this that caused them to make a stop, at the same time creating embarrassment. The pause, however, was but for a brief space of time--only long enough to make a hasty reconnoissance. In the promise of an easy ascent there seemed but little difference between the two paths, and the guide soon came to a determination. "It's a toss up atween 'em," he said; "but let's take the one to the right. It looks a little the likest." Of course his fellow-fugitive did not dissent, and they struck into the right-hand ravine; but not until Walt Wilder had plucked the red kerchief from his head, and flung it as far as he could up the left one, where it was left lying in a conspicuous position among the rocks. He did not say why he had thus strangely abandoned the remnant of his head-gear; but his companion, sufficiently experienced in the ways and wiles of prairie life, stood in no need of an explanation. The track they had now taken was of comparatively easy ascent; and it was this, perhaps, that had tempted Wilder to take it. But like most things within the moral and physical world, its easiness proved a delusion. They had not gone twenty paces further up when the sloping chasm terminated. It debouched on a little platform, covered with large loose stones, and there rested after having fallen from the cliff above. But at a single glance they saw that this cliff could not be scaled. They had entered into a trap, out of which there was no chance of escape or retreat without throwing themselves back upon the breasts of their pursuers. The Indians were already ascending the main ravine. By their voices it could be told that they had reached the point where it divided; for there was a momentary suspension of their cries, as with the baying of hounds thrown suddenly off the scent. It would not be for long. They would likely first follow up the chasm where the kerchief had been cast, but, should that also prove a _cul-de-sac_, they would return and try the other. The fugitives saw that it was too late to retrace their steps. They sprang together upon the platform, and commenced searching among the loose rocks, with a faint hope of finding some place of concealment. It was but a despairing sort of search, again like two drowning men who clutch at a straw. All at once an exclamation from the guide called his companion to his side. It was accompanied by a gesture, and followed by words low muttered. "Look hyar, Frank! Look at this hole! Let's git into it!" As Hamersley came close he perceived a dark cavity among the stones, to which Wilder was pointing. It opened vertically downward, and was of an irregular, roundish shape, somewhat resembling the mouth of a well, half-coped with slabs. Dare they enter it? Could they? What depth was it? Wilder took up a pebble and flung it down. They could hear it descending, not at a single drop, but striking and ricochetting from side to side. It was long before it reached the bottom and lay silent. No matter for that. The noise made in its descent told them of projecting points or ledges that might give them a foothold. They lost not a moment of time, but commenced letting themselves down into the funnel-shaped shaft, the guide going first. Slowly and silently they went down--like ghosts through the stage of a theatre--soon disappearing in the gloom below, and leaving upon the rock-strewn platform no trace to show that human foot had ever trodden it. CHAPTER TWELVE. A STORM OF STONES. Fortunately for the fugitives, the cavity into which they had crept was a shaft of but slight diameter, otherwise they could not have gone down without dropping far enough to cause death, for the echoes from the pebbles betokened a vast vertical depth. As it was, the void turned out to be somewhat like that of a stone-built chimney with here and there a point left projecting. It was so narrow, moreover, that they were able to use both hands and knees in the descent, and by this means they accomplished it. They went but slowly, and took care to proceed with caution. They knew that a false step, the slipping of a foot or finger, or the breaking of a fragment that gave hold to their hands, would precipitate them to an unknown depth. They did not go farther than was necessary for quick concealment. There was noise made in their descent, and they knew that the Indians would soon be above, and might hear them. Their only hope lay in their pursuers believing them to have gone by the left hand path to the plain above. In time the Indians would surely explore both branches of the ravine, and if the cunning savages should suspect their presence in the shaft there would be no hope for them. These thoughts decided them to come to a stop as soon as they could find foothold. About thirty feet from the top they found this, on a point of rock or ledge that jutted horizontally. It was broad enough to give both standing room, and as they were now in the midst of amorphous darkness, they took stand upon it. The Indians might at any moment arrive on the platform above. They felt confident they could not be seen, but they might be heard. The slightest sound borne upwards to the ears of the savages might betray them, and, knowing this, they stood still, scarce exchanging a whisper, and almost afraid to breathe. It was not long before they saw that which justified their caution--the plumed head of a savage, with his neck craned over the edge of the aperture, outlined conspicuously against the blue sky above. And soon half a dozen similar silhouettes beside it, while they could hear distinctly the talk that was passing overhead. Wilder had some knowledge of the Comanche tongue, and could make out most of what was being said. Amidst exclamations that spoke of vengeance there were words in a calmer tone--discussion, inquiry, and conjecture. From these it could be understood that the pursuers had separated into two parties, one following on the false track, by the path which the guide had baited for them, the other coming direct up the right and true one. There were bitter exclamations of disappointment and threats of an implacable vengeance; and the fugitives, as they listened, might have reflected how fortunate they had been in discovering that unfathomed hole. But for it they would have already been in the clutches of a cruel enemy. However, they had little time for reflection. The talk overhead at first expressed doubts as to their having descended the shaft, but doubts readily to be set at rest. The eyes of the Indians having failed to inform them, their heads were withdrawn; and soon after a stone came tumbling down the cavity. Something of this kind, Wilder had predicted; for he flattened himself against the wall behind, and stood as "small" as his colossal frame would permit, having cautioned his companion to do the same. The stone passed without striking them, and went crashing on till it struck on the bottom below. Another followed, and another; the third creasing Hamersley on the breast, and tearing a couple of buttons from his coat. This was shaving close--too close to be comfortable. Perhaps the next boulder might rebound from the wall above and strike one or both of them dead. In fear of this result, they commenced groping to ascertain if the ledge offered any better screen from the dangerous shower, which promised to fall for some time longer. Good! Hamersley felt his hand entering a hole that opened horizontally. It proved big enough to admit his body, as also the larger frame of his companion. Both were soon inside it. It was a sort of grotto they had discovered; and, crouching within it, they could laugh to scorn the storm that still came pouring from above; the stones, as they passed close to their faces, hissing and hurtling like aerolites. The rocky rain at length ended. The Indians had evidently come to the conclusion that it was either barren in result, or must have effectually performed the purpose intended by it, and for a short time there was silence above and below. They who were hidden in the shaft might have supposed that their persecutors, satisfied at what they had accomplished, were returning to the plain, and had retired from the spot. Hamersley did think so; but Walt, an old prairie man, more skilled in the Indian character, could not console himself with such a fancy. "Ne'er a bit o' it," he whisperingly said to his companion. "They ain't agoin' to leave us that easy--not if Horned Lizard be amongst 'em. They'll either stay thar till we climb out agin, or try to smoke us. Ye may take my word for it, Frank, thar's some'ut to come yet. Look up! Didn't I tell ye so?" Wilder drew back out of the narrow aperture, through which he had been craning his neck and shoulders in order to get a view of what was passing above. The hole leading into the grotto that held them was barely large enough to admit the body of a man. Hamersley took his place, and, turning his eyes upward, at once saw what his comrade referred to. It was the smoke of a fire, that appeared in the act of being kindled near the edge of the aperture above. The smoke was ascending towards the sky, diagonally drifting across the blue disc outlined by the rim of rock. He had barely time to make the observation when a swishing sound admonished him to draw back his head; then there passed before his face a ruck of falling stalks and faggots. Some of them settled upon the ledge, the rest sweeping on to the bottom of the abyss. In a moment after the shaft was filled with smoke, but not that of an ordinary wood fire. Even this would have been sufficient to stifle them where they were; but the fumes now entering their nostrils were of a kind to cause suffocation almost instantaneously. The faggots set on fire were the stalks of the creosote plant--the _ideodondo_ of the Mexican table lands, well known for its power to cause asphyxia. Walt Wilder recognised it at the first whiff. "It's the stink-weed!" he exclaimed. "That darned stink-weed o' New Mexico! It'll kill us if we can't keep it out. Off wi' your coat, Frank; it are bigger than my hunting skirt. Let's spread it across the hole, an' see if that'll do." His companion obeyed with alacrity, stripping off his coat as quickly as the circumscribed space would permit. Fortunately, it was a garment of the sack specialty, without any split in the tail, and when extended offered a good breadth of surface. It proved sufficient for the purpose, and, before the little grotto had become so filled with smoke as to be absolutely untenable, its entrance was closed by a curtain of broadcloth, held so hermetically over the aperture that even the fumes of Assafoetida could not possibly have found their way inside. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. BURIED ALIVE. For nearly half an hour they kept the coat spread, holding it close around the edges of the aperture with their heads, hands, knees, and elbows. Withal some of the bitter smoke found ingress, torturing their eyes, and half stifling them. They bore it with philosophic fortitude and in profound silence, using their utmost efforts to refrain from sneezing or coughing. They knew that the least noise heard by the Indians above--anything to indicate their presence in the shaft--would ensure their destruction. The fumigation would be continued till the savages were certain of its having had a fatal effect. If they could hold out long enough, even Indian astuteness might be baffled. From what Wilder had heard, their persecutors were in doubt about their having descended into the shaft; and this uncertainty promised to be their salvation. Unless sure that they were taking all this trouble to some purpose, the red men would not dally long over their work. Besides, there was the rich booty to be drawn from the captured waggons, which would attract the Indians back to them, each having an interest in being present at the distribution. Thus reasoned Walt Wilder as they listened to detect a change in the performance, making use of all their ears. Of course they could see nothing, no more than if they had been immured in the darkest cell of an Inquisitorial dungeon. Only by their ears might they make any guess at what was going on. These admonished them that more of the burning brush was being heaved into the hole. Every now and then they could hear it as it went swishing past the door of their curtained chamber, the stalks and sticks rasping against the rocks in their descent. After a time these sounds ceased to be heard; the Indians no doubt thinking that sufficient of the inflammatory matter had been cast in to cause their complete destruction. If inside the cavern, they must by this time be stifled--asphyxiated--dead. So must have reasoned the red-skinned fumigators; for after a while they desisted from their hellish task. But, as if to make assurance doubly sure, before taking departure from the spot, they performed another act indicative of an equally merciless intention. During the short period of silence their victims could not tell what they were about. They only knew, by occasional sounds reaching them from above, that there was some change in the performance; but what it was they could not even shape a conjecture. The interregnum at length ended with a loud rumbling noise, that was itself suddenly terminated by a grand crash, as if a portion of the impending cliff had become detached, and fallen down upon the platform. Then succeeded a silence, unbroken by the slightest sound. No longer was heard either noise or voice--not the murmur of one. It was a silence that resembled death; as if the vindictive savages had one and all met a deserved doom by being crushed under the falling cliff. For some time after hearing this mysterious noise, which had caused the rock to tremble around them, the two men remained motionless within their place of concealment. At length Wilder cautiously and deliberately pushed aside the curtain. At first only a small portion of it--a corner, so as to make sure about the smoke. It still oozed in, but not so voluminously as at first. It had evidently become attenuated, and was growing thinner. It appeared also to be ascending with rapidity, as up the funnel of a chimney having a good draught. For this reason it was carried past the mouth of the grotto without much of it drifting in, and they saw that they could soon safely withdraw the curtain. It was a welcome relaxation from the irksome task that had been so long imposed upon them, and the coat was at length permitted to drop down upon the ledge. Although there were no longer any sounds heard, or other signs to indicate the presence of the Indians, the fugitives did not feel sure of their having gone; and it was some time before they made any attempt to reascend the shaft. Some of the pursuers might still be lurking near, or straying within sight. They had so far escaped death, as if by a miracle, and they were cautious of again tempting fate. They determined that for some time yet they would not venture out upon the ledge, but keep inside the grotto that had given them such well-timed shelter. Some sulky savage, disappointed at not getting their scalps, might take it into his head to return and hurl down into the hole another shower of stones. Such a whim was probable to a prairie Indian. Cautious against all like contingencies, the guide counselled his younger companion to patience, and for a considerable time they remained without stirring out of their obscure chamber. At length, however, perceiving that the tranquillity continued, they no longer deemed it rash to make a reconnoissance; and for this purpose Walt Wilder crawled out upon the ledge and looked upward. A feeling of surprise, mingled with apprehension, at once seized upon him. "Kin it be night?" he asked, whispering the words back into the grotto. "Not yet, I should think?" answered Hamersley. "The fight was begun before daybreak. The day can't all have passed yet. But why do you ask, Walt?" "Because thar's no light comin' from above. Whar's the bit o' blue sky we seed? Thar ain't the breadth o' a hand visible. It can't a be the smoke as hides it. That seems most cleared off. Darned if I can see a steim o' the sky. 'Bove as below, everything's as black as the ten o' spades. What kin it mean?" Without waiting a reply, or staying for his companion to come out upon the ledge, Wilder rose to his feet, and, grasping the projecting points above his head, commenced swarming up the shaft, in a similar manner as that by which he had made the descent. Hamersley, who by this time had crept out of the grotto, stood upon the ledge listening. He could hear his comrade as he scrambled up; the rasping of his feet against the rocks, and his stentorian breathing. At length Walt appeared to have reached the top, when Hamersley heard words that sent a thrill of horror throughout his whole frame. "Oh!" cried the guide, in his surprise, forgetting to subdue the tone of his voice, "they've built us up! Thar's a stone over the mouth o' the hole--shettin' it like a pot lid. A stone--a rock that no mortal ked move. Frank Hamersley, it's all over wi' us; we're buried alive!" CHAPTER FOURTEEN. A SAVAGE SATURNAL. Only for a short while had Wilder's trick held the pursuers in check. Habituated to such wiles, the Indians, at first suspecting it to be one, soon became certain. For, as they scattered to each side of the cleft, the steel tube no longer kept turning towards them, while the coonskin cap remained equally without motion. At length, becoming convinced, and urged on by the Red Cross chief and the bearded savage by his side, they dashed boldly up, and, dismounting, entered the chine over the body of the butchered horse. Only staying to take possession of the relinquished rifle, they continued on up the ravine fast as their feet could carry them. A moment's pause where the red kerchief lay on the rock, suspecting this also a ruse to mislead them as to the track taken by the fugitives. To make certain, they separated into two parties--one going up the gulch, that led left, the other proceeding by that which conducted to the place where the two men had concealed themselves. Arriving upon the little platform, the pursuers at once discovered the cavity, at the same time conjecturing that the pursued had gone into it. Becoming sure of this, they who took the left-hand path rejoined them, these bringing the report that they had ascended to the summit of the cliff, and seen nothing of the two men who were chased. Then the stones were cast in; after them the burning stalks of the _ideodondo_; when, finally, to make destruction sure, the rock was rolled over, closing up the shaft as securely as if the cliff itself had fallen face downward upon the spot. The savages stayed no longer there. All were too eager to return to the waggons to make sure of their share in the captured spoils. One alone remained--he with the bushed beard. After the others were gone he stepped up to the boulder, and, stooping down, placed his ear close to it. He appeared as if trying to catch some sound that might come from the cavity underneath. None came--no noise, even the slightest. Within the shut shaft all was still as death. For death itself must be down there, if there ever was life. For some time he crouched beside the rock, listening. Then rising to his feet, with a smile of satisfaction upon his grim, sinister features, he said, in soliloquy,-- "They're down there, no doubt of it; and dead long before this. One of the two must have been he. Who the other matters not _Carrai_! I'd like to have had a look at him too, and let him see who has given him his quietus. Bah! what does it signify? It's all over now, and I've had my revenge. _Vamos_! I must get back to the waggons, or my friend the Horned Lizard may be taking his pick of the plunder. Luckily these redskins don't know the different values of the goods; so I shall bestow the cotton prints with a liberal hand, keeping the better sorts to myself. And now to assist in the partition of spoils." So saying, he strode away from the rock, and, gliding back down the gulch, climbed over the carcass of the dead horse. Then, finding his own outside, he mounted and rode off to rejoin his red-skinned comrades engaged in sacking the caravan. On reaching it a spectacle was presented to his eyes--frightful, though not to him. For he was a man who had seen similar sights before--one with soul steeped in kindred crime. The waggons had been drawn partially apart, disclosing the space between. The smoke had all ascended or drifted off, and clear sunlight once more shone upon the sand--over the ground lately barricaded by the bodies of those who had so bravely defended it. There were thirteen of them--the party of traders and hunters being in all but fifteen. Of those slain upon the spot there was not one now wearing his hair. Their heads were bare and bloody, the crown of each showing a circular disc of dark crimson colour. The scalping-knife had already completed its work, and the ghastly trophies were seen impaled upon the points of spears-- some of them stuck upright in the sand, others borne triumphantly about by the exulting victors. Their triumph had cost them dear. On the plain outside at least thirty of their own lay extended, stone dead; while here and there a group bending over some recumbent form told of a warrior wounded. By the orders of their chief, some had set about collecting the corpses of their slain comrades, with the intent of interring them. Others, acting without orders, still continued to wreak their savage spite upon the bodies of their white victims, submitting them to further mutilation. They chopped off their heads; then, poising these on the points of spears, tossed them to and fro, all the while shouting in savage glee, laughing with a cacchination that resembled the mirth of a madhouse. Withal, there was stern vengeance in its tones. A resistance, they little expected, causing them such serious loss, had roused their passions to a pitch of the utmost exasperation; and they tried to allay their spiteful anger by expending it on the dead bodies of those who, while living, had so effectually chastised them. These were slashed and hacked with tomahawks, pierced with spears, and arrows, beaten with war clubs, then cut into pieces, to be tied to the tails of their horses, and dragged in gallop to and fro over the ground. For some time this tragical spectacle held play. Then ensued a scene savouring of the ludicrous and grotesque. The waggons were emptied of their contents, while the rich freight, transported to a distance, was spread out upon the plain, and its partition entered upon--all crowding around to receive their share. The distribution was superintended by the Horned Lizard, though he with the beard appeared to act with equal, or even greater, authority. Backed by the second personage, who wore hair on his cheeks, he dictated the apportionment. And as he had said in soliloquy, the cotton prints of gaudy patterns satisfied the cupidity of his red-skinned companions, leaving to himself and his confidential friend the costlier fabrics of silken sheen. Among the traders' stock were knives of common sort--the cheapest cutlery of Sheffield; guns and pistols of the Brummagem brand, with beads, looking glasses, and such-like notions from the New England Boston. All these, delectable in the eyes of the Horned Lizard and his Tenawas, were left to them; while the bearded man, himself selecting, appropriated the silks and satins, the laces and real jewellery that had been designed to deck the rich _doncellas_ of Santa Fe, El Paso, Chihuahua, and Durango. The distribution over, the scene assumed a new aspect. It was now that the ludicrous came prominently into play. Though not much water had been found in the waggons, there was enough fluid of stronger spirit. A barrel of Monongahela whisky was part of the caravan stores left undestroyed. Knowing the white man's firewater but too well, the Indians tapped the cask, and quaffed of its contents. In a short time two-thirds of the band became intoxicated. Some rolled over dead drunk, and lay a-stretch along the sand. Others tottered about, uttering maudlin speeches. Still others of stronger stomach and steader brain kept their feet, as also their senses; only that these became excited, increasing their cupidity. They wanted more than they had got, and would gamble to get it. One had a piece of cotton print, and so had another. Each wished to have both or none. How was it to be decided? By cards? By dice? No. There was a way more congenial to their tastes--more _a propos_ to their habits. It should be done by their horses. They knew the sort of game, for it is not the first time they have played it. The piece of print is unrolled, and at each end tied to a horse's tail. The owners spring to the backs of the animals, then urge them in the opposite directions till the strain comes; at the pluck the web gives way, and he who holds the longer part becomes possessor of the whole. Others, not gamblers, out of sheer devilry and diversion, similarly attach their stuffs, and gallop over the ground with the prints trailing fifty yards behind them. In the frenzied frolic that had seized hold of them they forgot their slain comrades, still unburied. They whoop, shout, and laugh till the cliffs, in wild, unwonted echo, send back the sound of their demoniac mirth. A riot rare as original--a true saturnal of savages. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. A LIVING TOMB. Literally buried alive, as Walt Wilder had said, were he and his companion. They now understood what had caused the strange noise that mystified them--the rumbling followed by a crash. No accidental _debacle_ or falling of a portion of the cliff, as they had been half supposing; but a deed of atrocious design--a huge rock rolled by the united strength of the savages, until it rested over the orifice of the shaft, completely coping and closing it. It may have been done without any certain knowledge of their being inside--only to make things sure. It mattered not to the two men thus cruelly enclosed, for they knew that in any case there was no hope of their being rescued from what they believed to be a living tomb. That it was such neither could doubt. The guide, gifted with herculean strength, had tried to move the stone on discovering how it lay. With his feet firmly planted in the projections below, and his shoulder to the rock above, he had given a heave that would have lifted a loaded waggon from its wheels. The stone did not budge with all this exertion. There was not so much as motion. He might as successfully have made trial to move a mountain from its base. He did not try again. He remembered the rock itself. He had noticed it while they were searching for a place to conceal themselves, and had been struck with its immense size. No one man could have stirred it from its place. It must have taken at least twenty Indians. No matter how many, they had succeeded in their design, and their victims were now helplessly enclosed in the dark catacomb--slowly, despairingly to perish. "All up wi' us, I reck'n," said the guide, as he once more let himself down upon the ledge to communicate the particulars to his companion. Hamersley ascended to see for himself. They could only go one at a time. He examined the edge of the orifice where the rock rested upon it. He could only do so by the touch. Not a ray of light came in on any side, and groping round and round he could detect neither crevice nor void. There were weeds and grass, still warm and smouldering, the _debris_ of what had been set on fire for their fumigation. The rock rested on a bedding of these; hence the exact fit, closing every crack and crevice. On completing his exploration Hamersley returned to his companion below. "Hopeless!" murmured Wilder, despondingly. "No, Walt; I don't think so yet." The Kentuckian, though young, was a man of remarkable intelligence as well as courage. It needed these qualities to be a prairie merchant-- one who commanded a caravan. Wilder knew him to be possessed of them-- in the last of them equalling himself, in the first far exceeding him. "You think thar's a chance for us to get out o' hyar?" he said, interrogatively. "I think there is, and a likely one." "Good! What leads ye to think so, Frank?" "Reach me my bowie. It's behind you there in the cave." Wilder did as requested. "It will depend a good deal upon what sort of rock this is around us. It isn't flint, anyhow. I take it to be either lime or sandstone. If so, we needn't stay here much longer than it would be safe to go out again among those bloodthirsty savages." "How do you mean, Frank? Darn me if I yet understan ye." "It's very simple, Walt. If this cliff rock be only sandstone, or some other substance equally soft, we may cut our way out--under the big stone." "Ah! I didn't think o' thet. Thar's good sense in what ye say." "It has a softish feel," said the Kentuckian, as he drew his hand across one of the projecting points. "I wish I only had two inches of a candle. However, I think I can make my exploration in the dark." There was a short moment of silence, after which was heard a clinking sound, as of a knife blade being repeatedly struck against a stone. It was Hamersley, with his bowie, chipping off a piece from the rock that projected from the side of the shaft. The sound was pleasant to the Kentuckian's ear, for it was not the hard metallic ring given out by quartz or granite. On the contrary, the steel struck against it with a dull, dead echo, and he could feel that the point of the knife easily impinged upon it. "Sandstone," he said; "or something that'll serve our purpose equally as well. Yes, Walt, there's a good chance for us to get out of this ugly prison; so keep up your heart, comrade. It may cost us a couple of days' quarrying. Perhaps all the better for that; the Indians are pretty sure to keep about the waggons for a day or so. They'll find enough there to amuse them. Our work will depend a good deal on what sort of a stone they've rolled over the hole. You remember what size the boulder was?" "'Twas a largish pebble; looked to me at least ten feet every way. It sort o' serprised me how the skunks ked a budged it. I reck'n 'twar on a coggle, an' rolled eezy. It must ha' tuk the hul clanjamfry o' them." "If we only knew the right edge to begin at. For that we must go by guess-work. Well, we mustn't lose time, but set about our stone-cutting at once. Every hour will be taking the strength out of us. I only came down for the bowie to make a beginning. I'll make trial at it first, and then we can take turn and turn about." Provided with his knife, the Kentuckian again climbed up; and soon after the guide heard a crinkling sound, succeeded by the rattling of pieces of rock, as they got detached and came showering down. To save his crown, now uncovered by the loss of both kerchief and cap, he crept back into the alcove that had originally protected them from the stones cast in by the Indians. Along with the splinters something else came past Walt's face, making a soft, rustling sound; it had a smell also that told what it was--the "cussed stink-weed." From the falling fragments, their size and number, he could tell that his comrade was making good way. Walt longed to relieve him at his work, and called up a request to this end; but Hamersley returned a refusal, speaking in a cautious tone, lest his voice might be borne out to the ear of some savage still lingering near. For over an hour Wilder waited below, now and then casting impatient glances upward. They were only mechanical; for, of course, he could see nothing. But they were anxious withal; for the success of his comrade's scheme was yet problematical. With sufficient food and drink to sustain them, they might in time accomplish what they had set about; but wanting these, their strength would soon give way, and then--ah! then-- The guide was still standing on the ledge, pursuing this or a similar train of reflection, when all at once a sight came, not under but above his eyes, which caused him to utter an exclamation of joy. It was the sight of his comrade's face--only that! But this had in it a world of significance. He could hot have seen that face without light. Light had been let into their rock-bound abode, so late buried in the profoundest darkness. It was but a feeble glimmer, that appeared to have found admission through a tiny crevice under the huge copestone; and Hamersley's face, close to it, was seen only in faint shadow--fainter from the film of smoke yet struggling up the shaft. Still was it light--beautiful, cheering light--like some shore-beacon seen by the storm-tossed mariner amid the dangers of a night-shrouded sea. Hamersley had not yet spoken a word to explain what had occurred to cause it. He had suddenly left off chipping the rock, and was at rest, apparently in contemplation of the soft silvery ray that was playing so benignly upon his features. Was it the pleasure of once more beholding what he lately thought he might never see again--the light of day? Was it this alone that was keeping him still and speechless? No, something else; as he told his comrade when he rejoined him soon after on the ledge. "Walt," he said, "I've let daylight in, as you see; but I find it'll take a long time to cut a passage out. It's only the weeds I've been able to get clear of. The big rock runs over at least five feet, and the stone turns out harder than I thought of." These were not cheering words to Walt Wilder. "But," continued Hamersley, his speech changing to a more hopeful tone, "I've noticed something that may serve better still; perhaps save us all the quarrying. I don't know whether I'm right; but we shall soon see." "What hev ye noticed?" was the question put by Wilder. "You see there's still some smoke around us." "Yes, Frank, my eyes tell me that plain enuf. I've nigh nibbed 'em out o' thar sockets." "Well, as soon as I had scooped out the crack that let in the daylight. I noticed that the smoke rushed out as if blasted through a pair of bellows. That shows there's a draught coming up. It can only come from some aperture below, acting as a furnace or the funnel of a chimney. We must try to get down to the bottom, and see if there's such a thing. If there be, who knows but it may be big enough to let us out of our prison, without having to carve our way through the walls, which I feel certain would take us several days. We must try to get down to the bottom." To accede to this request the guide needed no urging, and both--one after the other--at once commenced descending. They found no great difficulty in getting down, any more than they had already experienced, for the shaft continued all the way down nearly the same width, and very similar to what it was above the ledge. Near the bottom, however, it became abruptly wider by the retrocession of the walls. They were now in a dilemma, for they had reached a point where they could go no further without dropping off. It might be ten feet, it might be a hundred--in any case enough to make the peril appalling. Wilder had gone first, and soon bethought himself of a test. He unslung his powder-horn and permitted it to drop from his hand, listening attentively. It made scarce any noise; still he could hear it striking against something soft. It was the brush thrown in by the Indians. This did not seem far below; and the half-burnt stalks would be something to break their fall. "I'll chance it," said Walt, and almost simultaneous with his words was heard the bump of his heavy body alighting on the litter below. "You may jump without fear, Frank. 'Taint over six feet in the clar." Hamersley obeyed, and soon both stood at the bottom of the chimney--on the hearthstone where the stalks of the creosote still smouldered. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. OFF AT LAST! On touching _terra firma_, and finding plenty of space around, they scrambled from off the pile of loose stones and stalks cast down by the Indians, and commenced groping their way about. Again touching the firm surrounding of rock, they groped searchingly along it. They were not long engaged in their game of blind-man's buff, when the necessity of trusting to the touch came abruptly to an end--as if the handkerchief had been suddenly jerked from their eyes. The change was caused by a light streaming in through a side gallery into which they had strayed. It was at first dim and distant, but soon shone upon them with the brilliance of a flambeau. Following the passage through which it guided them, they reached an aperture of irregular roundish shape, about the size, of the cloister window of a convent. They saw at once that it was big enough to allow the passage of their bodies. They saw, too, that it was admitting the sunbeams--admonishing them that it was still far from night. They had brought all their traps down along with them--their knives and pistols, with Hamersley's gun still carefully kept. But they hesitated about going out. There could be no difficulty in their doing so, for there was a ledge less than three feet under the aperture, upon which they could find footing. It was not that which caused them to hesitate, but the fact of again falling into the hands of their implacable enemies. That these were still upon the plain they had evidence. They could hear their yells and whooping, mingled with peals of wild demon-like laughter. It was at the time when the firewater was in the ascendant, and the savages were playing their merry game with the pieces of despoiled cotton goods. There was danger in going out, but there might be more in staying in. The savages might return upon their search, and discover this other entrance to the vault. In that case they would take still greater pains to close it and besiege the two fugitives to the point of starvation. Both were eager to escape from a place they had lately looked upon as a living tomb. Still, they dared not venture out of it. They could not retreat by the plain so long as the Indians were upon it. At night, perhaps, in the darkness, they might. Hamersley suggested this. "No," said Walt, "nor at night eyther. It's moontime, you know; an' them sharp-eyed Injuns niver all goes to sleep thegither. On that sand they'd see us in the moonlight 'most as plain as in the day. Ef we wait at all, we'll hev to stay till they go clar off." Wilder, while speaking, stood close to the aperture, looking cautiously out. At that moment, craning his neck to a greater stretch, so as to command a better view of what lay below, his eye caught sight of an object that elicited an exclamation of surprise. "Darn it," he said, "thar's my old clout lyin' down thar on the rocks." It was the red kerchief he had plucked from his head to put the pursuers on the wrong track. "It's jest where I flinged it," he continued; "I kin recognise the place. That gully, then, must be the one we didn't go up." Walt spoke the truth. The decoy was still in the place where he had set it. The square of soiled and faded cotton had failed to tempt the cupidity of the savages, who knew that in the waggons they had captured were hundreds of such, clean and new, with far richer spoil besides. "S'pose we still try that path, Frank. It may lead us to the top arter all. If they've bin up it they've long ago gone down agin; I kin tell by thar yelpin' around the waggons. They've got holt of our corn afore this; and won't be so sharp in lookin' arter us." "Agreed," said Hamersley. Without further delay the two scrambled out through the aperture, and, creeping along the ledge, once more stood in the hollow of the ravine, at the point of its separation into the forks that had perplexed them in their ascent. Perhaps, after all, they had chosen the right one. At the time of their first flight, had they succeeded in reaching the plain above, they would surely have been seen and pursued; though with superior swiftness of foot they might still have escaped. Once more they faced upward, by the slope of the ravine yet untried. On passing it, Walt laid hold of his "clout," as he called it, and replaced it, turban fashion, on his head. "I can only weesh," he said, "I ked as convenient rekiver my rifle; an', darn me, but I would try, ef it war only thar still. It ain't, I know. Thet air piece is too precious for a Injun to pass by. It's gone back to the waggons." They could now more distinctly hear the shouts of their despoilers; and, as they continued the ascent, the narrow chine in the cliff opened between them and the plain, giving them a glimpse of what was there going on. They could see the savages--some on foot, others on horseback--the latter careering round as if engaged in a tournament. They saw they were roystering, wild with triumph, and maddened with drink--the fire-water they had found in the waggons. "Though they be drunk, we mustn't stay hyar so nigh 'em," muttered Walt. "I allers like to put space atween me and seech as them. They mout get some whimsey into their heads, an' come this ways. They'll take any amount o' trouble to raise ha'r; an' maybe grievin' that they hain't got ourn yit, an' mout think they'd hev another try for it. As the night's bound to be a mooner, we can't git too far from 'em. So let's out o' this quick's we kin." "On, then!" said Hamersley, assenting; and the next moment the two were rapidly ascending the gorge, Wilder leading the way. This time they were more fortunate. The ravine sloped on up to the summit of the cliff, debouching upon a level plain. They reached this without passing any point that could bring them under the eyes of the Indians. They could still hear the shouts of triumph and wild revelry; but as they receded from the crest of the cliff these grew fainter and fainter, until they found themselves fleeing over an open table-land, bounded above by the sky, all round them silent as death--silent as the heart of a desert. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. INTO THE DESERT. The cliff, up which the young prairie merchant and his guide, after their series of hairbreadth escapes, have succeeded in climbing, is the scarped edge of a spur of the famous Llano Estacado, or "Staked Plain," and it is into this sterile tract they are now fleeing. Neither have any definite knowledge of the country before them, or the direction they ought to take. Their only thought is to put space between themselves and the scene of their disaster--enough to secure them against being seen by the eye of any Indian coming after. A glance is sufficient to satisfy them that only by distance can they obtain concealment. Far as the eye can reach the surface appears a perfect level, without shrub or tree. There is not cover enough to give hiding-place to a hare. Although now in full run, and with no appearance of being pursued, they are far from being confident of escaping. They are under an apprehension that some of the savages have ascended to the upper plain, and are still on it, searching for them. If so, these may be encountered at any moment, returning disappointed from the pursuit. The fugitives draw some consolation from the knowledge that the pursuers could not have got their horses up the cliff; and, if there is to be another chapter to the chase, it will be on foot--a contest of pedestrian speed. In a trial of this kind Walt Wilder, at least, has nothing to fear. The Colossus, with his long strides, would be almost a match for the giant with the seven-leagued boots. Their only uneasiness is that the savages may have gone out upon the track they are themselves taking, and, appearing in their front, may head them off, and so intercept their retreat. As there is yet no savage in sight--no sign either of man or animal--their confidence increases; and, after making a mile or so across the plain, they no longer look ahead, but backward. At short intervals the great brown beard of the guide sweeps his left shoulder, as he casts anxious glances behind him. They are all the more anxious on observing--which he now does--that his fellow-fugitive flags in his pace, and shows signs of giving out. With a quick comprehension, and without any questions asked, Wilder understands the reason. In the smoke-cloud that covered their retreat from the corralled waggons--afterwards in the sombre shadow of the chine, and the obscurity of the cave, he had not observed what now, in the bright glare of the sunlight, is too plainly apparent--that the nether garments of his comrade are saturated with blood. Hamersley has scarce noticed it himself, and his attention is now called to it, less from perceiving any acute pain than that he begins to feel faint and feeble. Blood is oozing through the breast of his shirt, running down the legs of his trousers, and on into his boots. And the fountain from which it proceeds is fast disclosing itself by an aching pain in his side, which increases as he strides on. A moment's pause to examine it. When the vest and shirt are opened it is seen that a bullet has passed through his left side, causing only a flesh wound, but cutting an artery in its course. Scratched and torn in several other places, for the time equally painful, he had not yet perceived this more serious injury. It is not mortal, nor likely to prove so. The guide and hunter, like most of his calling, is a rough practical surgeon; and after giving the wound a hurried examination, pronounces it "only a scratch," then urges his companion onward. Again starting, they proceed at the same quick pace; but before they have made another mile the wounded man feels his weakness sensibly overcoming him. Then the rapid run is succeeded by a slow dog-trot, soon decreasing to a walk, at length ending in a dead stop. "I can go no farther, Walt; not if all the devils of hell were at my heels. I've done my best. If they come after you keep on, and leave me." "Niver, Frank Hamersley, niver! Walt Wilder ain't the man to sep'rate from a kumrade, and leave him in a fix that way. If ye must pull up, so do this child. An' I see ye must; thar's no behelp for it." "I cannot go a step farther." "Enuf! But don't let's stan' to be seen miles off. Squat's the word. Down on yer belly, like a toad under a harrer. Thar's jest a resemblance o' kiver, hyar 'mong these tussocks o' buffler-grass; an' this child ain't the most inconspicerousest objeck on the plain. Let's squat on our breast-ribs, an' lay close as pancakes." Whilst speaking he throws himself to the earth, flat on his face. Hamersley, already tottering, drops down by his side; as he does so, leaving the plain, as far as the eye can reach, without salient object to intercept the vision--any more than might be seen on the surface of a sleeping ocean. It is in favour of the fugitives that the day has now well declined. But they do not remain long in their recumbent position before the sun, sinking behind the western horizon, gives them an opportunity of once more getting upon their feet. They do so, glad to escape from a posture whose restraint is exceedingly irksome. They have suffered from the hot atmosphere rising like caloric from the parched plain. But now that the sun had gone down, a cool breeze begins to play over its surface, fanning them to fresh energy. Besides, the night closing over them--the moon not yet up--has removed the necessity for keeping any longer in concealment, and they proceed onward without fear. Hamersley feels as if fresh blood had been infused into his veins; and he is ready to spring to his feet at the same time as his comrade. "Frank! d'ye think ye kin go a little furrer now?" is the interrogatory put by the hunter. "Yes, Walt; miles further," is the response. "I feel as if I could walk across the grandest spread of prairie." "Good!" ejaculates the guide. "I'm glad to hear you talk that way. If we kin but git a wheen o' miles atween us an' them yelpin' savages, we may hev a chance o' salvation yit. The wust o' the thing air, that we don't know which way to go. It's a toss up 'tween 'em. If we turn back torst the Canadyen, we may meet 'em agin, an' right in the teeth. Westart lies the settlement o' the Del Nort; but we mout come on the same Injuns by goin' that direckshun. I'm not sartin they're Tenawas. Southart this Staked Plain hain't no endin' till ye git down to the Grand River below its big bend, an' that ain't to be thort o'. By strikin' east, a little southart, we mout reach the head sources o' the Loozyany Red; an' oncest on a stream o' runnin' water, this child kin generally navigate down it, provided he hev a rifle, powder, an' a bullet or two in his pouch. Thank the Almighty Lord, we've stuck to your gun through the thick an' the thin o't. Ef we hedn't we mout jest as well lie down agin' an' make a die at oncest." "Go which way you please, Walt; you know best. I am ready to follow you; and I think I shall be able." "Wal, at anyhow, we'd best be movin' off from hyar. If ye can't go a great ways under kiver o' the night, I reck'n we kin put enough o' parairia atween us an' these Injuns to make sure agin thar spyin' us in the mornin'. So let's start south-eastart, an' try for the sources o' the Red. Thur's that ole beauty o' the North Star that's been my friend an' guide many's the good time. Thar it is, makin' the handle o' the Plough, or the Great Bar, as I've heern that colleckshin o' stars freekwently called. We've only to keep it on our left, a leetle torst the back o' the shoulder, an' then we're boun' to bring out on some o' the head-forks o' the Red--if we kin only last long enough to reach 'em. Darn it! thar's no danger; an' anyhow, thar's no help for't but try. Come along!" So speaking, the guide started forward--not in full stride, but timing his pace to suit the feeble steps of his disabled comrade. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. A LILLIPUTIAN FOREST. Guiding their course by the stars the fugitives continue on--no longer going in a run, nor even in a very rapid walk. Despite the resolution with which he endeavours to nerve himself, the wounded man is still too weak to make much progress, and he advances but laggingly. His companion does not urge him to quicken his pace. The experienced prairie man knows it will be better to go slowly than get broken down by straining forward too eagerly. There is no sign or sound of Indian, either behind or before them. The stillness of the desert is around them--its silence only interrupted by the "whip-whip" of the night-hawk's wings, and at intervals its soft note answering to the shriller cry of the kid-deer plover that rises screaming before their feet. These, with the constant skirr of the ground-crickets and the prolonged whine of the coyote, are the only sounds that salute them as they glide on--none of which are of a kind to cause alarm. There appears no great reason for making haste now. They have all the night before them, and, ere daylight can discover them, they will be sure to find some place of concealment. The ground is favourable to pedestrianism in the darkness. The surface, hard-baked by the sun, is level as a set flagstone, and in most places so smooth that a carriage could run upon it as on the drive of a park. Well for them it is so. Had the path been a rugged one the wounded man would not go far before giving out. Even as it is, the toil soon begins to tell on his wasted strength. His veins are almost emptied of blood. Nor do they proceed a very great distance before again coming to a halt; though far enough to feel sure that, standing erect, they cannot be descried by any one who may have ascended the cliff at the place where they took departure from it. But they have also reached that which offers them a chance of concealment--in short, a forest. It is a forest not discernible at more than a mile's distance, for the trees that compose it are "shin oaks," the tallest rising to the height of only eighteen inches above the surface of the ground. Eighteen inches is enough to conceal the body of a man lying in a prostrate attitude; and as the Lilliputian trees grow thick as jimson weeds, the cover will be a secure one. Unless the pursuers should stray so close as to tread upon them, there will be no danger of their being seen. Further reflection has by this time satisfied them that the Indians are not upon the upper plain. It is not likely, after the pains they had taken to smoke them in the cave and afterwards shut them up. Besides, the distribution of the spoils would be an attraction sure to draw them back to the waggons, and speedily. Becoming satisfied that there is no longer a likelihood of their being pursued across the plain, Wilder proposes that they again make stop; this time to obtain sleep, which in their anxiety during their previous spell of rest they did not attempt. He makes the proposal out of consideration for his comrade, who for some time, as he can see, has evidently been hard pressed to keep up with him. "We kin lie by till sun-up," says Walt; "an' then, if we see any sign o' pursoot, kin stay hyar till the sun goes down agin. These shin oaks will gie us kiver enuf. Squatted, there'll be no chance o' thar diskiverin' us, unless they stumble right atop o' us." His companion is not in the mood to make objection, and the two lay themselves along the earth. The miniature forest not only gives them the protection of a screen but a soft bed, as the tiny trunks and leaf-laden branches become pressed down beneath their bodies. They remain awake only long enough to give Hamersley's wound such dressing as the circumstances permit, and then both sink into slumber. With the young prairie merchant it is neither deep nor profound. Horrid visions float before his rapt senses--scenes of red carnage--causing him ever and anon to awake with a start, once or twice with a cry that wakes his companion. Otherwise Walt Wilder would have slept as soundly as if reposing on the couch of a log cabin a thousand miles removed from any scene of danger. It is no new thing for him to go to sleep with the yell of savages sounding in his ears. For a period of over twenty years he has daily, as nightly, stretched his huge form along mountain slope or level prairie, and often with far more danger of having his "hair raised" before rising erect again. For ten years he belonged to the "Texas Rangers"--that strange organisation that has existed ever since Stephen Austin first planted his colony in the land of the "Lone Star." If on this night the ex-Ranger is more than usually restless, it is from anxiety about his comrade, coupled with the state of his nervous system, stirred to feverish excitement by the terrible conflict through which they have just passed. Notwithstanding all, he slumbers in long spells, at times snoring like an alligator. At no time does the ex-Ranger stand in need of much sleep, even after the most protracted toil. Six hours is his usual daily or nocturnal dose; and as the grey dawn begins to glimmer over the tops of the shin oaks, he springs to his feet, shakes the dew from his shoulders like a startled stag, and then stoops down to examine the condition of his wounded comrade. "Don't ye git up yit, Frank," he says. "We mustn't start till we hev a clar view all roun', an' be sure there's neery redskin in sight. Then we kin take the sun a leetle on our left side, an' make tracks to the south-eastart. How is't wi' ye?" "I feel weak as water. Still I fancy I can travel a little farther." "Wall, we'll go slow. Ef there's none o' the skunks arter us, we kin take our time. Durn me! I'm still a wonderin' what Injuns they war; I'm a'most sartint thar the Tenawa Kimanch--a band o' the Buffler-eaters an' the wust lot on all the parairia. Many's the fight we rangers used to hev wi' 'em, and many's the one o' 'em this child hev rubbed out. Ef I only hed my rifle hyar--durn the luck hevin' to desart that gun--I ked show you nine nicks on her timmer as stan' for nine Tenawa Kimanch. Ef't be them, we've got to keep well to the southart. Thar range lays most in the Canadyen, or round the head o' Big Wichitu, an' they mout cross a corner o' the Staked Plain on thar way home. Tharfer we must go southart a good bit, and try for the north fork o' the Brazos. Ef we meet Indian thar, they'd be Southern Kimanch--not nigh sech feeroshus varmints as them. Do you know, Frank, I've been hevin' a dream 'bout them Injuns as attacked us?" "A dream! So have I. It is not strange for either of us to dream of them. What was yours, Walt?" "Kewrus enuf mine war, though it warn't all a dreem. I reck'n I war more 'n half awake when I tuk to thinkin' about 'em, an' 'twar somethin' I seed durin' the skrimmage. Didn't you observe nothin' queery?" "Rather say, nothing that was not that way. It was all queer enough, and terrible, too." "That this child will admit wi' full freedom. But I've f't redskin afore in all sorts an' shapes, yet niver seed redskin sech as them." "In what did they differ from other savages? I saw nothing different." "But I did; leastways, I suspeck I did. Didn't you spy 'mong the lot two or three that had ha'r on thar faces?" "Yes; I noticed that. I thought nothing of it. It's common among the Comanches and other tribes of the Mexican territory, many of whom are of mixed breed--from the captive Mexican women they have among them." "The ha'r I seed didn't look like it grew on the face o' a mixed blood." "But there are pure white men among them--outlaws who have run away from civilisation and turned renegades--as also captives they have taken, who become Indianised, as the Mexicans call it. Doubtless it may have been some of these we saw." "Wall, you may be right, Frank. Sartint thar war one I seed wi' a beard 'most as big as my own--only it war black. His hide war black, too, or nigh to it; but ef that skunk wan't white un'erneath a coatin' o' charcoal an' vermilion then Walt Wilder don't know a Kristyun from a heethun. I ain't no use spek'latin' on't now. White, black, yella-belly, or red, they've put us afoot on the parairia, an' kim darned nigh wipin' us out althegither. We've got a fair chance o' goin' un'er yet, eyther from thirst or the famishment o' empty stomaks. I'm hungry enuf already to eat a coyat. Thar's a heavy row afore us, Frank, an' we must strengthen our hearts to hoein' o' it. Wall, the sun's up; an' as thar don't appear to be any obstrukshun, I reck'n we'd best be makin' tracks." Hamersley slowly and somewhat reluctantly rises to his feet. He still feels in poor condition for travelling. But to stay there is to die; and bracing himself to the effort, he steps out side by side with his colossal companion. CHAPTER NINETEEN. THE DEPARTURE OF THE PLUNDERERS. On the day after the capture of the caravan the Indians, having consumed all the whisky found in the waggons, and become comparatively sober, prepared to move off. The captured goods, made up into convenient parcels, were placed upon mules and spare horses. Of both they had plenty, having come prepared for such a sequel to their onslaught upon the traders. The warriors, having given interment to their dead comrades, leaving the scalped and mutilated corpses of the white men to the vultures and wolves, mounted and marched off. Before leaving the scene of their sanguinary exploit, they had drawn the waggons into a close clump and set fire to them, partly from a wanton instinct of destruction, partly from the pleasure of beholding a great bonfire, but also with some thoughts that it might be as well thus to blot out all the traces of a tragedy for which the Americans--of whom even these freebooters felt dread--might some day call them to account. They did not all go together, but separated into two parties on the spot where they had passed the night. They were parties, however, of very unequal size, one of them numbering only four individuals. The other, which constituted the main body of the plunderers, was the band of the Tenawa Comanchey, under their chief, Horned Lizard. These last turned eastward, struck off towards the head waters of the Big Witches, upon which and its tributaries lie their customary roving grounds. The lesser party went off in almost the opposite direction, south-westerly, leaving the Llano Estacado on their left, and journeying on, crossed the Rio Pecos at a point below and outside the farthest frontier settlement of New Mexico towards the prairies. Then, shaping their course nearly due south, they skirted the spurs of the Sierra Blanca, that in this latitude extend eastward almost to the Pecos. On arriving near the place known as Gran Quivira--where once stood a prosperous Spanish town, devoted to gathering gold, now only a ruin, scarcely traceable, and altogether without record--they again changed their course, almost zigzagging back in a north-westerly direction. They were making towards a depression seen in the Sierra Blanca, as if with the intention to cross the mountains toward the valley of the Del Norte. They might have reached the valley without this circumstance, by a trail well known and often travelled. But it appeared as if this was just what they wanted to avoid. One of the men composing this party was he already remarked upon as having a large beard and whiskers. A second was one of those spoken of as more slightly furnished with these appendages, while the other two were beardless. All four were of deep bronze complexion, and to all appearance pure-blooded aboriginals. That the two with hirsute sign spoke to one another in Spanish was no sure evidence of their not being Indians. It was within the limits of New Mexican territory, where there are many Indians who converse in Castilian as an ordinary language. He with the whiskered cheeks--the chief of the quartet, as well as the tallest of them--had not left behind the share of plunder that had been allotted to him. It was still in his train, borne on the backs of seven strong mules, heavily loaded. These formed an _atajo_ or pack-train, guided and driven by the two beardless men of the party, who seemed to understand mule driving as thoroughly as if they had been trained to the calling of the _arriero_; and perhaps so had they been. The other two took no trouble with the pack-animals, but rode on in front, conversing _sans souci_, and in a somewhat jocular vein. The heavily-bearded man was astride a splendid black horse; not a Mexican mustang, like that of his companions, but a large sinewy animal, that showed the breed of Kentucky. And so should he--since he was the same steed Frank Hamersley had been compelled to leave behind in that rapid rush into the crevice of the cliff. "This time, Roblez, we've made a pretty fair haul of it," remarked he who bestrode the black. "What with the silks and laces--to say nothing of this splendid mount between my legs--I think I may say that our time has not been thrown away." "Yours hasn't, anyhow. My share won't be much." "Come, come, _teniente_! don't talk in that way. You should be satisfied with a share proportioned to your rank. Besides, you must remember the man who puts down the stake has the right to draw the winnings. But for me there would have been no spoils to share. Isn't it so?" This truth seeming to produce an impression on Roblez's mind, he made response in the affirmative. "Well, I'm glad you acknowledge it," pursued the rider of the black. "Let there be no disputes between us; for you know, Roblez, we can't afford to quarrel. You shall have a liberal percentage on this lucky venture; I promise it. By the bye, how much do you think the plunder ought to realise?" "Well," responded Roblez, restored to a cheerful humour, "if properly disposed of in El Paso or Chihuahua, the lot ought to fetch from fifteen to twenty thousand dollars. I see some silk-velvet among the stuff that would sell high, if you could get it shown to the rich damsels of Durango or Zacatecas. One thing sure, you've got a good third of the caravan stock." "Ha! ha! More than half of it in value. The Horned lizard went in for bulk. I let him have it to his heart's content. He thinks more of those cheap cotton prints, with their red and green and yellow flowers, than all the silk ever spun since the days of Mother Eve. Ha! ha! ha!" The laugh, in which Roblez heartily joined, was still echoing on the air as the two horsemen entered a pass leading through the mountains. It was the depression in the sierra, seen shortly after parting with the Horned Lizard and his band. It was a pass rugged with rock, and almost trackless, here and there winding about, and sometimes continued through canons or clefts barely wide enough to give way to the mules with the loads upon their backs. For all this the animals of the travellers seemed to journey along it without difficulty, only the American horse showing signs of awkwardness. All the others went as if they had trodden it before. For several hours they kept on through this series of canons and gorges--here and there crossing a transverse ridge that, cutting off a bend, shortened the distance. Just before sunset the party came to a halt; not in the defile itself, but in one of still more rugged aspect, that led laterally into the side of the mountain. In this there was no trace or sign of travel--no appearance of its having been entered by man or animal. Yet the horse ridden by Roblez, and the pack-mules coming after, entered with as free a step as if going into a well-known enclosure. True, the chief of the party, mounted on the Kentucky steed, had gone in before them; though this scarce accounted for their confidence. Up this unknown gorge they rode until they had reached its end. There was no outlet, for it was a _cul-de-sac_--a natural court--such as are often found among the amygdaloidal mountains of Mexico. At its extremity, where it narrowed to a width of about fifty feet, lay a huge boulder of granite that appeared to block up the path; though there was a clear space between it and the cliff rising vertically behind it. The obstruction was only apparent, and did not cause the leading savage of the party to make even a temporary stop. At one side there was an opening large enough to admit the passage of a horse; and into this he rode, Roblez following, and also the mules in a string, one after the other. Behind the boulder was an open space of a few square yards, of extent sufficient to allow room for turning a horse. The savage chief wheeled his steed, and headed him direct for the cliff; not with the design of dashing his brains against the rock, but to force him into a cavern, whose entrance showed its disc in the facade of the precipice, dark and dismal as the door of an Inquisitorial prison. The horse snorted, and shied back; but the ponderous Mexican spur, with its long sharp rowel-points, soon drove him in; whither he was followed by the mustang of Roblez and the mules--the latter going in as unconcernedly as if entering a stable whose stalls were familiar to them. CHAPTER TWENTY. A TRANSFORMATION. It was well on in the afternoon of the following day before the four spoil-laden savages who had sought shelter in the cave again showed themselves outside. Then came they filing forth, one after the other, in the same order as they had entered; but so changed in appearance that no one seeing them come out of the cavern could by any possibility have recognised them as the same men who had the night before gone into it. Even their animals had undergone some transformation. The horses were differently caparisoned; the flat American saddle having been removed from the back of the grand Kentucky steed, and replaced by the deep-tree Mexican _silla_, with its _corona_ of stamped leather and wooden _estribos_. The mules, too, were rigged in a different manner, each having the regular _alpareja_, or pack-saddle, with the broad _apishamores_ breeched upon its hips; while the spoils, no longer in loose, carelessly tied-up bundles, were made up into neat packs, as goods in regular transportation by an _atajo_. The two men who conducted them had altogether a changed appearance. Their skins were still of the same colour--the pure bronze-black of the Indian--but, instead of the eagle's feathers late sticking up above their crowns, both had their heads now covered with simple straw hats; while sleeveless coats of coarse woollen stuff, with stripes running transversely--_tilmas_--shrouded their shoulders, their limbs having free play in white cotton drawers of ample width. A leathern belt, and apron of reddish-coloured sheepskin, tanned, completed the costume of an _arriero_ of the humbler class--the _mozo_, or assistant. But the change in the two other men--the chief and him addressed as Roblez--was of a far more striking kind. They had entered the cave as Indians, warriors of the first rank, plumed, painted, and adorned with all the devices and insignia of savage heraldry. They came out of it as white men, wearing the costume of well-to-do rancheros--or rather that of town traders--broad glazed hats upon their heads, cloth jackets and trousers--the latter having the seats and insides of the legs fended with a lining of stamped leather; boots with heavy spurs upon their feet, crape sashes around the waist, machetes strapped along the flaps of their saddles, and seraphs resting folded over the croup, gave the finishing touch to their travelling equipment. These, with the well appointed _atajo_ of mules, made the party one of peaceful merchants transporting their merchandise from town to town. On coming out of the cave, the leader, looking fresh and bright from his change of toilet and late purification of his skin, glanced up towards the sky, as if to consult the sun as to the hour. At the same time he drew a gold watch from his vest pocket, and looked also at that. "We'll be just in the right time, Roblez," he said. "Six hours yet before sunset. That will get us out into the valley, and in the river road. We're not likely to meet any one after nightfall in these days of Indian alarms. Four more will bring us to Albuquerque, long after the sleepy townsfolk have gone to bed. We've let it go late enough, anyhow, and mustn't delay here any longer. Look well to your mules, _mozos! Vamonos_!" At the word all started together down the gorge, the speaker, as before, leading the way, Roblez next, and the mozos with their laden mules stringing out in the rear. Soon after, they re-entered the mountain defile, and, once more heading north-westward, silently continued on for the valley of the Rio del Norte. Their road, as before, led tortuously through canons and rugged ravines--no road at all, but a mere bridle path, faintly indicated by the previous passage of an occasional wayfarer or the tracks of straying cattle. The sun was just sinking over the far western Cordilleras when the precipitous wall of the Sierra Blanca, opening wider on each side of the defile, disclosed to the spoil-laden party a view of the broad level plain known as the valley of the Del Norte. Soon after, they had descended to it; and in the midst of night, with a starry sky overhead, were traversing the level road upon which the broad wheel-tracks of rude country carts--_carretas_--told of the proximity of settlements. It was a country road, leading out from the foot-hills of the sierra to a crossing of the river, near the village of Tome, where it intersected with the main route of travel running from El Paso in the south through all the riverine towns of New Mexico. Turning northward from Tome, the white robbers, late disguised as Indians, pursued their course towards the town of Albuquerque. Any one meeting them on the road would have mistaken them for a party of traders _en route_ from the Rio Abajo to the capital of Santa Fe. But they went not so far. Albuquerque was the goal of their journey, though on arriving there--which they did a little after midnight--they made no stop in the town, nor any noise to disturb its inhabitants, at that hour asleep. Passing silently through the unpaved streets, they kept on a little farther. A large house or hacienda, tree shaded, and standing outside the suburbs, was the stopping place they were aiming at; and towards this they directed their course. There was a _mirador_ or belvidere upon the roof--the same beside which Colonel Miranda and his American guest, just twelve months before, had stood smoking cigars. As then, there was a guard of soldiers within the covered entrance, with a sentry outside the gate. He was leaning against the postern, his form in the darkness just distinguishable against the grey-white of the wall. "_Quien-viva_?" he hailed as the two horsemen rode up, the hoof-strokes startling him out of a half-drunken doze. "_El Coronel-Commandante_!" responded the tall man in a tone that told of authority. It proved to be countersign sufficient, the speaker's voice being instantly recognised. The sentry, bringing his piece to the salute, permitted the horsemen to pass without further parley, as also the _atajo_ in their train, all entering and disappearing within the dark doorway, just as they had made entrance into the mouth of the mountain cavern. While listening to the hoof-strokes of the animals ringing on the pavement of the _patio_ inside, the sentinel had his reflections and conjectures. He wondered where the colonel-commandant could have been to keep him so long absent from his command, and he had perhaps other conjectures of an equally perplexing nature. They did not much trouble him, however. What mattered it to him how the commandant employed his time, or where it was spent, so long as he got his _sueldo_ and rations? He had them with due regularity, and with this consoling reflection he wrapped his yellow cloak around him, leaned against the wall, and soon after succumbed to the state of semi-watchfulness from which the unexpected event had aroused him. "Carrambo!" exclaimed the Colonel to his subordinate, when, after looking to the stowage of the plunder, the two men sat together in a well-furnished apartment of the hacienda, with a table, decanters, and glasses between them. "It's been a long, tedious tramp, hasn't it? Well, we've not wasted our time, nor had our toil for nothing. Come, _teniente_, fill your glass again, and let us drink to our commercial adventure. Here's that in the disposal of our goods we may be as successful as in their purchase!" Right merrily the lieutenant refilled his glass, and responded to the toast of his superior officer. "I suspect, Roblez," continued the Colonel, "that you have been all the while wondering how I came to know about this caravan whose spoil is to enrich us--its route--the exact time of its arrival, the strength of its defenders--everything? You think our friend the Horned Lizard gave me all this information." "No, I don't; since that could not well be. How was Horned Lizard to know himself--that is, in time to have sent word to you? In truth, _mio Coronel_, I am, as you say, in a quandary about all that. I cannot even guess at the explanation." "This would give it to you, if you could read; but I know you cannot, _mio teniente_; your education has been sadly neglected. Never mind, I shall read it for you." As the colonel was speaking he had taken from the drawer of a cabinet that stood close by a sheet of paper folded in the form of a letter. It was one, though it bore no postmark. For all that, it looked as if it had travelled far--perchance carried by hand. It had in truth come all the way across the prairies. Its superscription was:-- "El Coronel Miranda, Commandante del Distrito Militario de Albuquerque, Nuevo Mexico." Its contents, also in Spanish, translated read thus:-- "My dear Colonel Miranda,--I am about to carry out the promise made to you at our parting. I have my mercantile enterprise in a forward state of readiness for a start over the plains. My caravan will not be a large one, about six or seven waggons with less than a score of men; but the goods I take are valuable in an inverse ratio to their bulk-- designed for the `ricos' of your country. I intend taking departure from the frontier town of Van Buren, in the State of Arkansas, and shall go by a new route lately discovered by one of our prairie traders, that leads part way along the Canadian river, by you called `Rio de la Canada,' and skirting the great plain of the Llano Estacado at its upper end. This southern route makes us more independent of the season, so that I shall be able to travel in the fall. If nothing occur to delay me in the route, I shall reach New Mexico about the middle of November, when I anticipate renewing those relations of a pleasant friendship in which you have been all the giver and I all the receiver. "I send this by one of the spring caravans starting from Independence for Santa Fe, in the hope that it will safely reach you. "I subscribe myself, dear Colonel Miranda,-- "Your grateful friend,-- "Francis Hamersley." "Well, _teniente_," said his Colonel, as he refolded the far-fetched epistle, and returned it to the drawer, "do you comprehend matters any clearer now?" "Clear as the sun that shines over the Llano Estacado," was the reply of the lieutenant, whose admiration for the executive qualities of his superior officer, along with the bumpers he had imbibed, had now exalted his fancy to a poetical elevation. "_Carrai-i! Esta un golpe magnifico_! (It's a splendid stroke!) Worthy of Manuel Armilo himself. Or even the great Santa Anna!" "A still greater stroke than you think it, for it is double--two birds killed with the same stone. Let us again drink to it!" The glasses were once more filled, and once more did the associated bandits toast the nefarious enterprise they had so successfully accomplished. Then Roblez rose to go to the _cuartel_ or barracks, where he had his place of sleeping and abode, bidding _buena noche_ to his colonel. The latter also bethought him of bed, and, taking a lamp from the table, commenced moving towards his _cuarto de camara_. On coming opposite a picture suspended against the _sala_ wall--the portrait of a beautiful girl--he stopped in front, for a moment gazed upon it, and then into a mirror that stood close by. As if there was something in the glass that reflected its shadow into his very soul, the expression of exultant triumph, so lately depicted upon his face, was all at once swept from it, giving place to a look of blank bitterness. "One is gone," he said, in a half-muttered soliloquy; "one part of the stain wiped out--thanks to the Holy Virgin for that. But the other; and she--where, where?" And with these words he staggered on towards his chamber. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. STRUGGLING AMONG THE SAGES. It is the fourth day after forsaking the couch among the shin oaks, and the two fugitives are still travelling upon the Llano Estacado. They have made little more than sixty miles to the south-eastward, and have not yet struck any of the streams leading out to the lower level of the Texan plain. Their progress has been slow; for the wounded man, instead of recovering strength, has grown feebler. His steps are now unequal and tottering. In addition to the loss of blood, something else has aided to disable him--the fierce cravings of hunger and the yet more insufferable agony of thirst. His companion is similarly afflicted; if not in so great a degree, enough to make him also stagger in his steps. Neither has had any water since the last drop drank amid the waggons, before commencing the fight; and since then a fervent sun shining down upon them, with no food save crickets caught in the plain, an occasional horned frog, and some fruit of the _opuntia_ cactus--the last obtained sparingly. Hunger has made havoc with both, sad and quick. Already at the end of the fourth day their forms are wasted. They are more like spectres than men. And the scene around them is in keeping. The plain, far as the eye can reach, is covered with _artemisia_, whose hoary foliage, in close contact at the tops, displays a continuation of surface like a vast winding-sheet spread over the world. Across this fall the shadows of the two men, proportioned to their respective heights. That of the ex-Ranger extends nearly a mile before him; for the sun is low down, and they have its beams upon their backs. They are facing eastward, in the hope of being able to reach the brow of the Llano where it abuts on the Texan prairies; though in the heart of one of them this hope is nearly dead. Frank Hamersley has but slight hopes that he will ever again see the homes of civilisation, or set foot upon its frontier. Even the ci-devant Ranger inclines to a similar way of thinking. Not far off are other animated beings that seem to rejoice. The shadows of the two men are not the only ones that move over the sunlit face of the artemisia. There, too, are outlined the wings of birds--large birds with sable plumage and red naked necks, whose species both know well. They are _zopilotes_--the vultures of Mexico. A score of such shadows are flitting over the sage--a score of the birds are wheeling in the air above. It is a sight to pain the traveller, even when seen at a distance. Over his own head it may well inspire him with fear. He cannot fail to read in it a forecast of his own fate. The birds are following the two men, as they would a wounded buffalo or stricken deer. They soar and circle above them, at times swooping portentously near. They do not believe them to be spectres. Wasted as their flesh may be, there will still be a banquet upon their bones. Now and then Walt Wilder casts a glance up towards them. He is anxious, though he takes care to hide his anxiety from his comrade. He curses the foul creatures, not in speech--only in heart, and silently. For a time the wearied wayfarers keep on without exchanging a word. Hitherto consolation has come from the side of the ex-Ranger; but he seems to have spent his last effort, and is himself now despairing. In Hamersley's heart hope has been gradually dying out, as his strength gets further exhausted. At length the latter gives way, the former at the same time. "No farther, Walt!" he exclaims, coming to a stop. "I can't go a step further. There is a fire in my throat that chokes me; something grips me within. It is dragging me to the ground." The hunter stops too. He makes no attempt to urge his comrade on. He perceives it would be idle. "Go on yourself," Hamersley adds, gasping out the words. "You have yet strength left, and may reach water. I cannot, but I can die, I'm not afraid to die. Leave me, Walt; leave me!" "Niver!" is the response, in a hoarse, husky voice, but firm, as if it came from a speaking-trumpet. "You will; you must. Why should two lives be sacrificed for one? Yours may still be saved. Take the gun along with you. You may find something. Go, comrade--friend--go!" Again the same response, in a similar tone. "I sayed, when we were in the fight," adds the hunter, "an' aterwards, when gallupin' through the smoke, that livin' or dyin' we'd got to stick thegither. Didn't I say that, Frank Hamersley? I repeat it now. Ef you go unner hyar in the middle o' this sage-brush, Walt Wilder air goin' to wrap his karkiss in a corner o' the same windin' sheet. There ain't much strength remainin' in my arms now, but enuf, I reck'n, to keep them buzzarts off for a good spell yit. They don't pick our bones till I've thinned thar count anyhow. Ef we air to be rubbed out, it'll be by the chokin' o' thirst, and not the gripin' o' hunger. What durned fools we've been, not to a-thinked o' 't afore! but who'd iver think o' eatin' turkey buzzart? Wall, it's die dog or swaller the hatchet; so onpalatable as thar flesh may be, hyar goes to make a meal o' it!" While speaking, he has carried the gun to his shoulder. Simultaneous with his last words comes the crack, quickly followed by the descent of a zopilote among the sages. "Now, Frank," he says, stooping to pick up the dead bird, while the scared flock flies farther away, "let's light a bit o' a fire, an' cook it. Thar's plenty o' sage for the stuffin', an' its own flavour'll do for seasonin' 'stead o' inyuns. I reck'n we kin git some o' it down, by holdin' our noses; an' at all events, it'll keep us alive a leetle longer. Wagh, ef we only hed water!" As if a fresh hope has come suddenly across his mind, he once more raises himself erect to the full stretch of his gigantic stature, and standing thus, gazes eastwardly across the plain. "Thar's a ridge o' hills out that way," he says. "I'd jest spied it when you spoke o' giein out. Whar thar's hills, thar's a likelihood o' streams. Sposin', Frank, you stay hyar, whiles I make tracks torst them. They look like they wa'n't mor'n ten miles off anyhow. I ked easy get back by the mornin'. D'ye think ye kin hold out thet long by swallerin' a bit o' the buzzart?" "I think I could hold out that long as well without it. It's more the thirst that's killing me. I feel as if liquid fire was coursing through my veins. If you believe there be any chance of finding water, go, Walt." "I'll do so; but don't you sturve in the meanwhile. Cook the critter afore lettin' it kim to thet. Ye've got punk, an' may make a fire o' the sage-brush. I don't intend to run the risk o' sturvin' myself; an' as I mayn't find any thin' on the way, I'll jest take one o' these sweet-smellin' chickens along wi' me." He has already re-loaded the rifle; and, once more pointing its muzzle towards the sky, he brings down a second of the zopilotes. "Now," he says, taking up the foul carcase, and slinging it to his belt, "keep up your heart till this chile return to ye. I'm sure o' gettin' back by the mornin'; an' to make sartint 'bout the place, jest you squat unner the shadder o' yon big palmetto--the which I can see far enuff off to find yur wharabouts 'thout any defeequelty." The palmetto spoken of is, in truth, not a "palmetto," though a plant of kindred genus. It is a _yucca_ of a species peculiar to the high table plains of Northern and Central Mexico, with long sword-shaped leaves springing aloe-like from a core in the centre, and radiating in all directions, so as to form a spherical chevaux-de-frize. Its top stands nearly six feet above the surface of the ground, and high over the artemisias; while its dark, rigid spikes, contrasted with the frosted foliage of the sage, render it a conspicuous landmark that can be seen far off over the level plain. Staggering on till he has reached it, Hamersley drops down on its eastern side, where its friendly shadow gives him protection from the sun, fervid, though setting; while that of Walt Wilder is still projected to its full length upon the plain. Saying not another word, with the rifle across his shoulder and the turkey buzzard dangling down his thigh, he takes departure from the spot, striking eastward towards the high land dimly discernible on the horizon. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. A HUNTRESS. "_Vamos_, Lolita! hold up, my pretty pet! Two leagues more, and you shall bury that velvet snout of yours in the soft _gramma_ grass, and cool your heated hoof in a crystal stream. Ay, and you shall have a half peck of pinon nuts for your supper, I promise you. You have done well to-day, but don't let us get belated. At night, as you know, we might be lost on the Llano, and the wicked wolves eat us both up. That would be a sad thing, _mia yegua_. We must not let them have a chance to dispose of us in that manner. _Adelante_!" Lolita is a mustang pony of clear chestnut colour, with white mane and tail; while the person thus apostrophising her is a young girl seated astride upon its back. A beautiful girl, apparently under twenty of age, but with a certain commanding mien that gives her the appearance of being older. Her complexion, though white, has a tinge of that golden brown, or olive, oft observed in the Andalusian race; while scimitar shaped eyebrows, with hair of silken texture, black as the shadows of night, and a dark down on the upper lip, plainly proclaim the Moorish admixture. It is a face of lovely cast and almost Grecian contour, with features of classic regularity; while the absence of obliquity in the orbs of the eye--despite the dusky hue of her akin--forbids the belief in Indian blood. Although in a part of the world where such might be expected, there is, in truth, not a taint of it in her veins. The olivine tint is Hispano Moriscan--a complexion, if not more beautiful, certainly more picturesque than that of the Saxon blonde. With the damask-red dancing out upon her cheeks, her eyes aglow from the equestrian exercise she has been taking, the young girl looks the picture of physical health; while the tranquil expression upon her features tells of mental contentment. Somewhat singular is her costume, as the equipment. As already said, she bestrides her mustang man-fashion, the mode of Mexico; while a light fowling-piece, suspended _en bandouliere_, hangs down behind her back. A woollen seraph of finest wool lies scarf-like across her left shoulder, half concealing a velveteen vest or spencer, close-buttoned over the rounded hemispheres of her bosom. Below, an embroidered skirt--the _enagua_--is continued by a pair of white _calzoncillas_, with fringe falling over her small feet, they are booted and spurred. On her head is a hat of soft vicuna wool, with a band of bullion, a bordering of gold lace around the rim, and a plume of heron's feather curving above the crown. This, with her attitude on horseback, might seem _outre_ in the eyes of a stranger to the customs of her country. The gun and its concomitant accoutrements give her something of a masculine appearance, and at the first glance might cause her to be mistaken for a man--a beardless youth. But the long silken tresses scattered loosely over her shoulders, the finely-cut features, the delicate texture of the skin, the petticoat skirt, the small hand, with slender tapering fingers stretched forward to caress the neck of the mustang mare, are signs of femininity not to be misunderstood. A woman--a huntress; the character clearly proclaimed by a brace of hounds--large dogs of the mastiff bloodhound breed--following at the heels of the horse. And a huntress who has been successful in the chase--as proved by two prong-horn antelopes, with shanks tied together, lying like saddle-bags across the croup. The mustang mare needs no spur beyond the sound of that sweet well-known voice. At the word _adelante_ (forward) she pricks up her ears, gives a wave of her snow-white tail, and breaks into a gentle canter, the hounds loping after in long-stretching trot. For about ten minutes is this pace continued; when a bird flying athwart the course, so close that its wings almost brush Lolita's muzzle, causes her rider to lean back in the saddle and check her suddenly up. The bird is a black vulture--a zopilote. It is not slowly soaring in the usual way, but shooting in a direct line, and swiftly as an arrow sent from the bow. This it is that brings the huntress to a halt; and for a time she remained motionless, her eye following the vulture in its flight. It is seen to join a flock of its fellows, so far off as to look like specks. The young girl can perceive that they are not flying in any particular direction, but swooping in circles, as if over some quarry that lies below. Whatever it is, they do not appear to have yet touched it. All keep aloft, none of them alighting on the ground, though at times stooping down, and skimming close to the tops of the sage-bushes with which the plain is thickly beset. These last prevent the huntress from seeing what lies upon the ground; though she knows there must be something to have attracted the concourse of zopilotes. Evidently she has enough knowledge of the desert to understand its signs, and this is one of a significant character. It not only challenges curiosity, but calls for investigation. "Something gone down yonder, and not yet dead?" she mutters, in interrogative soliloquy. "I wonder what it can be! I never look on those filthy birds without fear. _Santissima_! how they made me shudder that time when they flapped their black wings in my own face! I pity any poor creature threatened by them--even where it but a coyote. It may be that, or an antelope. Nothing else likely to become their prey on this bare plain. Come, Lolita! let us go on and see what they're after. It will take us a little out of our way, and give you some extra work. You won't mind that, my pet? I know you won't." The mare wheels round at a slight pressure upon the rein; and then commenced her canter in the direction of the soaring flock. A mile is passed over, and the birds are brought near; but still the object attracting them cannot be seen. It may be down among the artemisias, or perhaps behind a large yucca, whose dark whorl rises several feet above the sage, and over which the vultures are wheeling. As the rider of Lolita arrives within gun-shot distance of the yucca-tree she checks the mustang to a slower pace--to a walk in short. In the spectacle of death, in the throes and struggles of an expiring creature, even though it be but a dumb brute, there is something that never fails to excite commiseration, mingled with a feeling of awe. This last has come over the young girl, as she draws near the spot where the birds are seen circling. It has not occurred to her that the cause of their presence may be a human being, though it is a remembrance of this kind that now prompts her to ride forward reflectively. For once in her life, with others around her who were near and dear, she has been herself an object of like eager solicitude to a flock of zopilotes. But she has not the slightest suspicion of its being a human creature that causes their gathering now. There, upon the Llano Estacado, so rarely trodden by human feet, and even shunned by almost every species of animal, she could not. As she draws still nearer, a black disc, dimly outlined against the dark green leaves of the yucca, upon scrutiny, betrays the form of a bird, itself a vulture. It is dead, impaled upon the sharp spikes of the plant, as it came there by falling from above. A smile curls upon her lips as she sits regarding it. "So, _yegua_!" she says, bringing the mare to a stand, and half-turning her. "I've been losing my time and you your labour. The abominable birds--it's only one of themselves that has dropped dead, and they're holding a _velorio_ over it." She continues, again facing towards the dead vulture. "Now, I wonder if they are only waking it, or if the wakers are cannibals, and intend making a repast on one of their own kind. That would be a curious fact for our natural historian, Don Prospero. Suppose we stay awhile and see?" For a moment she seems undecided as to staying or going. Only for a moment, when an incident occurs that changes the current of her thoughts from scientific curiosity to something of fear. The bloodhounds that have lagged behind in the scurry across the plain, now close up; and, instead of stopping by the side of Lolita, rush on towards the yucca. It is not the odour of the dead buzzard--strong as that may be--that attracts them; but the scent of what is more congenial to their sanguinary instincts. On arriving at the tree they run round to its opposite side; and then spring growling back, as if something they have encountered there has suddenly brought them to bay. "A wounded bear or wolf!" is the muttered reflection of their mistress. It has scarce passed her lips, when she is made aware of her mistake. Above the continued baying of the dogs she can distinguish the tones of a human voice; and at the same instant, a man's head and arm appear above the spikes of the plant--a hand clutching the hilt of a long-bladed knife! CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. "DOWN, DOGS!" Notwithstanding her apparent _sang-froid_, and the presence of mind she surely possesses, the rider of Lolita is affrighted--far more than the vultures, that have soared higher at her approach. And no wonder that she is affrighted at such a strange apparition--the head of a man, with a dark moustache on his lip, holding in his hand a blade that shows blood upon it! This, too, in such a solitary place! Her first thought is to turn Lolita's head and hurry off from the spot. Then a reflection stays her. The man is evidently alone, and the expression on his countenance is neither that of villainy nor anger. The colour of his skin, with the moustache, bespeak him a white man, and not an Indian. Besides, there is pallor upon his cheeks--a wan, wasted look, that tells of suffering, not sin. All this the quick eye of the huntress takes in at a glance, resolving her how to act. Instead of galloping away she urges the mustang on towards the yucca. When close up to it she flings herself out of the saddle, and, whip in hand, rushes up to the hounds, that are still giving tongue and threatening to spring upon the stranger. "_Abajo, perros! abajo, feos_!" (Down, dogs! down, you ugly brutes!) "_A tierra_!" she continues to scold, giving each a sharp cut that at once reduces them to quiescence, causing them to cower at her feet. "Do you not see the mistake you have made?" she goes on addressing the dogs; "don't you see the caballero is not an Indio? It is well, sir!" she adds, turning to the caballero, "well that your skin is white. Had it been copper-coloured, I'm not certain I could have saved you from getting it torn. My pets are not partial to the American aboriginal." During these somewhat bizarre speeches and the actions that accompany them, Frank Hamersley--for it is he--stands staring in silent wonder. What sees he before him? Two huge, fierce-looking dogs, a horse oddly caparisoned, a young girl, scarce a woman, strangely and picturesquely garbed. What has he heard? First, the loud baying of two bloodhounds, threatening to tear him to pieces; then a voice, sweet and musical as the warbling of a bird! Is it all a dream? Dreaming he had been, when aroused by the growling of the dogs. But that was a horrid vision. What he now sees is the very reverse. Demons had been assaulting him in his sleep. Now there is an angel before his eyes. The young girl has ceased speaking; and as the vertigo, caused by his sudden uprising, has cleared away from his brain, he begins to believe in the reality of the objects around him. The shock of surprise has imparted a momentary strength that soon passes; and his feebleness once more returning, he would fall back to the earth did he not clutch hold of the yucca, whose stiff blades sustain him. "_Valga me Dios_!" exclaims the girl, now more clearly perceiving his condition. "_Ay de mi_!" she repeats in a compassionate tone, "you are suffering, sir? Is it hunger? Is it thirst? You have been lost upon the Llano Estacado?" "Hunger, thirst--both, senorita," he answers, speaking for the first time. "For days I have not tasted either food or drink." "_Virgen santissima_! is that so?" As she says this she returns to her horse; and, jerking a little wallet from the saddle, along, with a suspended gourd, again advances towards him. "Here, senor!" she says, plunging her hand into the bag and bringing forth some cold _tortillas_, "this is all I have; I've been the whole day from home, and the rest I've eaten. Take the water first; no doubt you need that most. I remember how I suffered myself. Mix some of this with it. Trust me, it will restore your strength." While speaking she hands him the gourd, which, by its weight, contains over a pint; and then from another and smaller one she pours some liquid first into the water and then over the tortillas. It is vinegar, in which there is an infusion of _chile Colorado_. "Am I not robbing you?" inquires Hamersley, as he casts a significant glance over the wide, sterile plain. "No, no! I am not in need, besides I have no great way to go to where I can get a fresh supply. Drink, senor, drink it all." In ten seconds after the calabash is empty. "Now eat the tortillas. 'Tis but poor fare, but the _chili vinagre_ will be sure to strengthen you. We who dwell in the desert know that." Her words proved true, for after swallowing a few morsels of the bread she has besprinkled, the famished man feels as if some restorative medicine had been administered to him. "Do you think you are able to ride?" she asks. "I can walk--though, perhaps, not very far." "If you can ride there is no need for your walking. You can mount my mare; I shall go afoot. It is not very far--only six miles." "But," protests he, "I must not leave this spot." "Indeed!" she exclaims, turning upon her _protege_ a look of surprise. "For what reason, senor? To stay here would be to perish. You have no companions to care for you?" "I have companions--at least, one. That is why I must remain. Whether he may return to assist me I know not. He has gone off in search of water. In any case, he will be certain to seek for me." "But why should you stay for him?" "Need you ask, senorita? He is my comrade, true and faithful. He has been the sharer of my dangers--of late no common ones. If he were to come back and find me gone--" "What need that signify, caballero? He will know where to come after you." "How should he know?" "Oh, that will be easy enough. Leave it to me. Are you sure he will find his way back to this place?" "Quite sure. This tree will guide him. He arranged it so before leaving." "In that case, there's not any reason for your remaining. On the contrary. I can see that you need a better bed than sleeping among these sage-plants. I know one who will give it. Come with me, caballero? By the time your comrade can get back there'll be one here to meet him. Lest he should arrive before the messenger I shall send, this will save him from going astray." While speaking she draws forth a small slip of paper from a pouch carried _a la chatelaine_; along with it a pencil. She is about to write, when a thought restrains her. "Does your comrade understand Spanish?" she asks. "Only a word or two. He speaks English, or, as we call it, American." "Can he read?" "Indifferently. Enough, I suppose, for--" "Senor," she says, interrupting him, "I need not ask if you can write. Take this, and put it in your own language. Say you are gone south, due south, to a distance of about six miles. Tell your friend to stay here till some one comes to meet and conduct him to where you'll be found." Hamersley perceives the rationality of these instructions. There is no reason why he should not do as desired, and go at once with her who gives them. By staying some mischance might still happen, and he may never see his fair rescuer again. Who can tell what may arise in the midst of that mysterious desert? By going he will the sooner be able to send succour to his comrade. He hesitates no longer, but writes upon the piece of paper--in large, carefully-inscribed letters, so that the _ci-devant_ Ranger need have no difficulty in deciphering them:-- "Saved by an Angel.--Strike due south. Six miles from this you will find me. There is a horse, and you can take up his tracks. If you stay here for a time, one will come and guide you." The huntress takes the paper from his hand, and glances at the writing, as if out of curiosity to read the script of a language unknown to her. But something like a smile playing around her lips might lead one to believe she has divined the meaning of at least the initial sentence. She makes no remark, but stepping towards the yucca and reaching up, impales the piece of paper on one of its topmost spikes. "Now, caballero," she says, "you mount my mare. See, she stands ready for you." Hamersley again protests, saying he can walk well enough. But his tottering steps contradict him, and he urges his objections in vain. The young girl appealingly persists, until at length the gallantry of the Kentuckian gives way, and he climbs reluctantly into the saddle. "Now, Lolita!" cries her mistress, "see that your step is sure, or you shan't have the pinons I promised you. _Adelante! Nos vamos, senor_!" So saying, she strikes off through the sage, the mustang stepping by her side, and the two great hounds, like a rear guard, bringing up behind. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. FOES OR FRIENDS? Mounted on the mustang mare, Frank Hamersley pursues his way, wondering at his strange guide. So lovely a being encountered in such an out-of-the-way corner of the world--in the midst of a treeless, waterless desert, over a hundred miles from the nearest civilised settlement! Who is she? Where has she come from? Whither is she conducting him? To the last question he will soon have an answer; for as they advance she now and then speaks words of encouragement, telling him they are soon to reach a place of rest. "Yonder!" she at length exclaims, pointing to two mound-shaped elevations that rise twin-like above the level of the plain. "Between those runs our road. Once there, we shall not have much farther to go; the rancho will be in sight." The young prairie merchant makes no reply. He only thinks how strange it all is--the beautiful being by his side--her dash--her wonderful knowledge exhibited with such an air of _naivete_--her generous behaviour--the picturesqueness of her dress--her hunter equipment--the great dogs trotting at her heels--the dead game on the croup behind--the animal he bestrides--all are before his mind and mingling in his thoughts like the unreal phantasmagoria of a dream. And not any more like reality is the scene disclosed to his view when, after passing around the nearest of the twin mound-shaped hills, and entering a gate-like gorge that opens between them, he sees before him and below--hundreds of feet below--a valley of elliptical form like a vast basin scooped out of the plain. But for its oval shape he might deem it the crater of some extinct volcano. But then, where is the lava that should have been projected from it? With the exception of the two hillocks on each hand, all the country around, far as the eye can reach, is level as the bosom of a placid lake. And otherwise unlike a volcanic crater is the concavity itself. No gloom down there, no black scoriae, no returning streams of lava, nor _debris_ of pumice-stone; but, on the contrary, a smiling vegetation--trees with foliage of different shades, among which can be distinguished the dark-green frondage of the live-oak and pecan, the more brilliant verdure of cottonwoods, and the flower-loaded branches of the wild China-tree. In their midst a glassy disc that speaks of standing water, with here and there a fleck of white, which tells of a stream with foaming cascades and cataracts. Near the lakelet, in the centre, a tiny column of blue smoke ascends over the tree-tops. This indicates the presence of a dwelling; and as they advance a little further into the gorge, the house itself can be descried. In contrast with the dreary plain over which he has been so long toiling, to Hamersley the valley appears a paradise--worthy home of the Peri who is conducting him down to it. It resembles a landscape painted upon the concave sides of an immense oval-shaped dish, with the cloudless sky, like a vast cover of blue glass, arching over it. The scene seems scarcely real, and once more the young prairie merchant begins to doubt the evidence of his senses. After all, is it only a vision of his brain, distempered by the long strain upon his intellect, and the agony he has been enduring? Or is it but the _mirage_ of the desert, that has so oft already deceived him? His doubts are dissipated by the sweet voice sounding once more in his ears. "_Mira, caballero_! you see where you are going now? It is not far; you will need to keep a firm seat in the saddle for the next hundred yards or so. There is a steep descent and a narrow pathway. Take good hold with your knees, and trust yourself to the mare. She knows the way well, and will bear you in safety. Won't you, Lolita? You will, my pet!" At this the mustang gives a soft whimper, as if answering the interrogatory. "I shall myself go before," the girl continues. "So let loose the rein, and leave Lolita to take her own way." After giving this injunction, she turns abruptly to the right, where a path almost perpendicular leads down a ledge, traversing the facade of the cliff. Close followed by the mustang, she advances fearlessly along it. Certainly a most dangerous descent, even for one afoot; and if left to his own will, Hamersley might decline attempting it on horseback. But he has no choice now, for before he can make either expostulation or protest, Lolita has struck along the path, and continues with hind-quarters high in air and neck extended in the opposite direction, as though standing upon her head! To her rider there is no alternative but do as he has been directed--stick close to the saddle. This he manages by throwing his feet forward and laying his back flat along the croup, till his shoulders come between the crossed shanks of the prong-horns. In this position he remains, without saying a word, or even daring to look below, till he at length finds himself moving forward with face upturned to the sky, thus discovering that the animal he bestrides is once more going along level ground. Again he hears the voice of Lolita's mistress, saying, "Now, senor, you can sit upright; the danger is past. You have behaved well, _yegua-- yeguita_!" she adds, patting the mare upon the neck; "you shall have the promised pinons--a whole _cuartilla_ of them." Once more stepping to the front, she strikes off among the trees, along a path which still inclines downward, though now in gentler slope. Hamersley's brain is in a whirl. The strange scenes, things, thoughts, and fancies are weaving weird spells around him; and once more he begins to think that his senses have either forsaken or are forsaking him. This time it is really so, for the long-protracted suffering--the waste of blood and loss of strength--only spasmodically resuscitated by the excitement of the strange encounter--is now being succeeded by a fever of the brain, that is gradually depriving him of his reason. He has a consciousness of riding on for some distance farther--under trees, whose leafy boughs form an arcade over his head, shutting out the sun. Soon after, all becomes suddenly luminous, as the mustang bears him out into a clearing, with what appears a log-cabin in the centre. He sees or fancies the forms of several men standing by its door; and as the mare comes to a stop in their midst his fair conductor is heard excitedly exclaiming,-- "_Hermano_! take hold of him! _Alerte! Alerte_!" At this one of the men springs towards him; whether to be kind, or to kill, he cannot tell. For before a hand is laid on him the strange tableau fades from his sight; and death, with all its dark obliviousness, seems to take possession of his soul. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. "SAVED BY AN ANGEL!" The shadow of Walt Wilder is again projected over the Staked Plain, as before, to a gigantic length. But this time westwardly, from a sun that is rising instead of setting. It is the morning after he parted with his disabled companion; and he is now making back towards the spot where he had left the latter, the sun's disc just appearing above the horizon, and shining straight upon his back. Its rays illumine an object not seen before, which lends to Walt's shadow a shape weird and fantastic. It is that of a giant, with something sticking out on each side of his head that resembles a pair of horns, or as if his neck was embraced by an ox-yoke, the tines tending diagonally outwards. On looking at Walt himself the singularity is at once understood. The carcase of a deer lies transversely across his back, the legs of the animal being fastened together so as to form a sling, through which he has thrust his head, leaving the long slender shanks, like the ends of the letter X, projecting at each side and high above his shoulders. Despite the load thus borne by him, the step of the ex-Ranger is no longer that of a man either despairing or fatigued. On the contrary, it is light and elastic; while his countenance shows bright and joyous as the beams of the ascending sun. His very shadow seems to flit over the frosted foliage of the artemisias as lightly as the figure of a gossamer-robed belle gliding across the waxed floor of a ball-room. Walt Wilder no longer hungers or thirsts. Though the carcase on his back is still unskinned, a huge collop cut out of one of its hind-quarters tells how he has satisfied the first craving; while the gurgle of water, heard inside the canteen slung under his arm, proclaims that the second has also been appeased. He is now hastening on to the relief of his comrade, happy in the thought of being able soon to relieve him also from his sufferings. Striding lightly among the sage-bushes, and looking ahead for the landmark that should guide him, he at length catches sight of it. The palmilla, standing like a huge porcupine upon the plain, cannot be mistaken; and he descries it at more than a mile's distance, the shadow of his own head already flickering among its bayonet-like blades. Just then something else comes under his eyes, which at once changes the expression upon his countenance. From gay it grows grave, serious, apprehensive. A flock of buzzards, seemingly scared by his shadow, have suddenly flapped up from among the sage-plants, and are now soaring around, close to the spikes of the palmilla. They have evidently been down _upon the earth_. And what have they been doing there? It is this question, mentally put by Walt Wilder, that has caused the quick change in his countenance--the result of a painful conjecture. "Marciful heavens!" he exclaims, suddenly making halt, the gun almost dropping from his grasp. "Kin it be possyble? Frank Hamersley gone under! Them buzzards! They've been upon the groun' to a sartinty. Darnashin! what ked they a been doin' down thar? Right by the bunch o' palmetto, jest whar I left him. An' no sign o' himself to be seen? Marciful heavens! kin it be possyble they've been--?" Interrupting himself, he remains motionless, apparently paralysed by apprehension, mechanically scanning the palmilla, as though from it he expected an answer to his interrogatory. "It air possyble," he continues after a time, "too possyble--too likesome. He war well-nigh done up, poor young fellur; an' no wonder. Whar is he now? He must be down by the side o' the bush--down an' dead. Ef he war alive, he'd be lookin' out for me. He's gone under; an' this deer-meat, this water, purcured to no purpiss. I mout as well fling both away; they'll reach him too late." Once more resuming his forward stride, he advanced towards the dark mass above which the vultures are soaring. His shadow, still by a long distance preceding him, has frightened the birds higher up into the air, but they show no signs of going altogether away. On the contrary, they keep circling around, as if they had already commenced a repast, and, driven off, intend returning to it. On what have they been banqueting? On the body of his comrade? What else can be there? Thus questioning himself, the ex-Ranger advances, his heart still aching with apprehension. Suddenly his eye alights on the piece of paper impaled upon the topmost spike of the palmilla. The sight gives him relief, but only for an instant; his conjectures again leading him astray. "Poor young fellur!" is his half-spoken reflection; "he's wrote somethin' to tell how he died--mayhap somethin' for me to carry back to the dear 'uns he's left behind in ole Kaintuck. Wall, that thing shall sartinly be done ef ever this chile gets to the States agin. Darnashin! only to think how near I war to savin' him; a whole doe deer, an' water enough to a drownded him! It'll be useless venison now, I shan't care no more to put tooth into it myself. Frank Hamersley gone dead--the man o' all others I'd 'a died to keep alive. I'd jest as soon lie down an' stop breathin' by the side o' him." While speaking he moves on towards the palmilla. A few strides bring him so near the tree that he can see the ground surface about its base. There is something black among the stems of the sage-bushes. It is not the dead body of a man, but a buzzard, which he knows to be that he had shot before starting off. The sight of it causes him again to make stop. It looks draggled and torn, as if partially dismembered. "Kin he hev been eatin' it? Or war it themselves, the cussed kannybals? Poor Frank, I reck'n I'll find him on t'other side, his body mangled in the same way. Darn it, 't air kewrous, too. 'Twar on this side he laid down to git shade from the sun. I seed him squat whiles I war walkin' away. The sun ain't hot enuf yit to a druv him to westward o' the bush, though thar for sartin he must be. What's the use o' my stannin' shilly-shally hyar? I may as well face the sight at oncest, ugly as I know it'll prove. Hyar goes." Steeling himself for the terrible spectacle, which he believes to be certainly awaiting him, he once more advances towards the tree. A dozen strides bring him up, and less than half a dozen more carry him around it. No body, living or dead--no remains of man, mutilated or otherwise! For some time Wilder stands in speechless surprise, his glances going all around. But no human figure is seen, either by the palmilla or among the sage-bushes beside it. Can the wounded man have crawled away? But no; why should he? Still, to make sure, the ex-Ranger shouts out, calling Hamersley by name. He gets no response. Alone he hears the echo of his own voice, mingling with the hoarse croaking of the vultures, scared by his shouts. His hunter habits now counsel him to a different course of action. His comrade cannot be dead, else the corpse would be there. The vultures could not have eaten up both body and bones. There is no skeleton, no remains. His fellow fugitive has gone off or been taken. Whither? While asking the question Wilder sets about the right way to answer it. As a skilled tracker he begins by examining the signs that should put him on the trace of his missing companion. At a glance he perceives the prints of a horse's hoof, and sees they are those of one unshod. This bodes ill, for the naked-hoofed horse betokens a savage rider--an Indian. Still, it may not be; and he proceeds to a more careful scrutiny of the tracks. In a short time he is able to tell that but one horse has been there, and presumably but one rider, which promises better. And while shaping conjectures as to who it could have been his eye ascends to the piece of paper impaled upon the spike, which he has for a time forgotten. This promises still better. It may clear up everything. Hoping it will, he strides towards and takes hold of it. Lifting it carefully from the leaf, he spreads it out. He sees some writing in pencil, which he prepares to read. At first sight he supposed it might be a dying record. Now he believes it may be something else. His hands tremble, and his huge frame is convulsed as he holds the paper to his eyes. With a thrill of joy he recognises the handwriting of Hamersley, which he knows. He is not much of a scholar; still, he can read, and at a glance makes out the first four words, full of pleasant meaning: "_Saved by an Angel_!" He reads no farther, till after giving utterance to a "hurrah!" that might have been heard many miles over the Staked Plain. Then, more tranquillised, he continues deciphering the chirography of his companion to the end; when a second shout terminates the effort. "Saved by a angel!" he says, muttering to himself. "A angel on the Staked Plain! Whar can the critter hev come from? No matter whar. Thar's been one hyar, for sartin. Darn me ef I don't smell the sweet o' her pettikotes now! This piece o' paper--'t ain't Frank's. I knows he hedn't a scrap about him. No. Thar's the scent o' a woman on it, sure; an' whar thar's a woman Frank Hamersley ain't likely to be let die o' sturvashun. He air too good-lookin' for that. Wall I reck'n it's all right an' thar ain't no more need for me to hurry. T'war rayther a scant breakfast I've hed, an' hain't gin this chile's in'ards saterfacshun. I'll jest chaw another griskin o' the deer-meat to strengthen me for this six-mile tramp southard." In less than five minutes after, the smoke from a sage-stalk fire was seen ascending from beside the palmilla, and in its blaze, quickly kindled, a huge piece of venison, cut from the fat flanks of the doe, weighing at least four pounds, spitted upon one of the stiff blades of the plant, was rapidly turning from blood red to burnt brown. As circumstances had ofttimes compelled the ex-Ranger to eat his deer-meat underdone, the habit had become his _gout_; and it was, therefore, not long before the griskin was removed from the spit. Nor much longer till it ceased to be a griskin--having altogether disappeared from his fingers, followed by a gurgling sound, as half the contents of the canteen went washing it down his throat. "Now!" he said, springing to his feet, after he had completed his Homeric repast, "this chile feels strong enuf to face the devil hisself, an' tharfor he needn't be backward 'bout the encounterin' o' a angel. So hyar goes to find out Frank Hamersley, an' how _he's_ farin'. Anyhow, I'll take the deer along in case thar mout be a scarcity o' eetables, though I reck'n thar's no fear o' that. Whar a angel makes dwelling-place thar oughter be a full crib, though it may be ambrosyer or mannar, or some o' them fixin's as a purairy man's stummick ain't used to. Anyways, a bit o' doe-deer meat won't do no harum. So, Walt Wilder, ole coon, let's you an' me set our faces southart, an' see what's to turn up at the tarminashun o' six miles' trampin'." Once more shouldering the carcase, he strides off towards the south, guiding himself by the sun, but more by the hoof-marks of the mustang. These, though scarce distinguishable, under the over-shadowing sage-plants, are descried with little difficulty by the experienced eye of the Ranger. On goes he, now and then muttering to himself conjectures as to what sort of a personage has appropriated and carried off his comrade. But, with all his jocular soliloquising, he feels certain the _angel_ will turn out to be a _woman_. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. FALLEN AMONG FRIENDS. If, before losing consciousness, Hamersley had a thought that he had fallen into the hands of enemies, never in all his life could he have been more mistaken, for those now around him, by their words and gestures, prove the very reverse. Six personages compose the group-- four men and a girl; the sixth, she, the huntress, who has conducted him to the house. The girl is a brown-skinned Indian, evidently a domestic; and so also two of the four men. The other two are white, and of pronouncedly Spanish features. One is an oldish man, greyheaded, thin-faced, and wearing spectacles. In a great city he would be taken for a _savant_, though difficult to tell what he may be, seen in the Llano Estacado surrounded by a desert. In the same place, the other and younger man is equally an enigma, for his bearing proclaims him both gentleman and soldier, while the coat on his back shows the undress uniform of an officer of more than medium rank. It is he who answers to the apostrophe, "Hermano!" springing forward at the word, and obeying the command of his sister--for such is she whom Hamersley has accompanied to the spot. Throwing out his arms, and receiving the wounded man as he falls insensible from the saddle, the obedient brother for a moment stands aghast, for in the face of him unconscious he recognises an old friend-- one he might no more expect to see there than to behold him falling from the sky. He can have no explanation from the man held in his arms. The latter has fainted--is dying--perhaps already dead. He does not seek it, only turns to him who wears the spectacles, saying,-- "Doctor, is he, indeed, dead? See if it be so. Let everything be done to save him." He thus addressed takes hold of Hamersley's pulse, and, after a moment or two, pronounces upon it. It beats; it indicates extreme weakness, but not absolute danger of death. Then the wounded man is carried inside--tenderly borne, as if he, too, were a brother--laid upon a couch, and looked after with all the skill the grey-haired _medico_ can command, with all the assiduity of her who has brought him to the house, and him she calls "Hermano." As soon as the stranger has been disposed of, between these two there is a dialogue--the brother seeking explanations from the sister, though first imparting information to her. He knows the man she has saved; telling her how and where their acquaintance was made. Few words suffice, for already is the story known to her. In return, she too gives relation of what has happened--how, after her chase upon the plain, coming back successful, she saw the zopilotes, and was by them attracted out of her way; narrating all the rest already told. And now nothing more can be known. The man still lives--thank Heaven for that!--but lies on the couch unconscious of all around him. Not quiet, for he is turning about, with quick-beating pulse, and brain in a condition of delirium. For a night and a part of a day they keep by his bedside--all three, sister, brother, and doctor, grouped there, or going and coming. They know who the wounded man is, though ignorant of how he came by his wounds, or what strange chance left him stranded on the Staked Plain. They have no hope of knowing until he may regain consciousness and recover. And of this the doctor has some doubt; when asked, shaking his head ominously, till the spectacles get loosened upon his nose. But, though the prognosis remain uncertain, the diagnosis is learnt in a manner unexpected. Before noon of the next day the hounds are heard baying outside; and the watchers by the sick-bed, summoned forth, see one approaching--a personage whose appearance causes them surprise. Any one seen there would do the same, since for months no stranger had come near them. Strange, indeed, if one had, for they are more than a hundred miles from any civilised settlement, in the very heart and centre of a desert. What they see now is a man of colossal form and gigantic stature, with bearded face and formidable aspect, rendered somewhat grotesque by a deer's carcase carried over his shoulders, the shanks of the animal rising crossways over his crown. They are not dismayed by the uncouth apparition. She who has brought Hamersley to the house guesses it to be the comrade of whom he spoke-- describing him as "true and faithful." And, without reflecting further, she glides out, grasps the great hunter by the hand, and conducts him to the bedside of his unconscious companion. Looking at her as she leads him, Walt Wilder mutters to himself,-- "Saved by a _angel_! I knowed it would turn out a _woman_, and this is one for sartin." CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. THE LONE RANCHE. A singular habitation was that into which Frank Hamersley, and after him Walt Wilder, had found their way. Architecturally of the rudest description--a kind among Mexicans especially styled _jacal_, or more generally _rancho_, the latter designation Anglicised or Americanised into ranche. The _rancho_, when of limited dimensions, is termed _ranchito_, and may be seen with walls of different materials, according to the district or country. In the hot low lands (_tierras calientes_) it is usually built of bamboos, with a thatching of palm-leaf; higher up, on the table lands (_tierras templadas_) it is a structure of mud bricks unburnt (adobe's); while still higher, upon the slopes of the forest-clad sierras, it assumes the orthodox shape of a log cabin, though in many respects differing from that of the States. The one which gave shelter to the fugitives differed from all these, having walls of split slabs, set stockade fashion, and thatched with a sedge of _tule_, taken from a little lake that lay near. It had three rooms and a kitchen, with some sheds at the back--one a stable appropriated to the mustang mare, another to some mules, and a third occupied by two men of the class of "peons"--the male domestics of the establishment. All, with the house itself, structures of the rudest kind, unlike as possible to the dwelling-place of a lady, to say nought of an _angel_. This thought occurs to Wilder as he enters under its roof. But he has no time to dwell upon it. His wounded comrade is inside, to whom he is conducted. He finds the latter still alive--thank God for that!--but unconscious of all that is passing around. To the kindly words spoken in apostrophe he makes no reply, or only in speeches incoherent. His skin is hot, his lips parched, his pulse throbbing at ninety to the minute. He is in the throes of a raging fever, which affects his brain as his blood. The stalwart hunter sits down by his side, and stays there, tenderly nursing him. It glads him to observe there are others solicitous as himself--to find that he and Hamersley have fallen among friends. Though also surprising him, as does the sort of people he sees around. First, there is a lady, easily recognised as the _angel_; then a man of military aspect, who addresses her as "Hermanita," unquestionably a gentleman with a second and older man wearing spectacles, by both spoken of as "el medico." Strange inhabitants for a hovel, as that this should be in such an odd situation--hundreds of miles beyond the borders of civilisation, as Walt well knows. No wonder at his wondering, above all when he discovers that his comrade is already known to them--to the younger of the two men, who is their host. This, however, is soon explained. Walt was already aware that the young prairie trader had made a former trip to New Mexico, when and where, as he is now told, the acquaintance commenced, along with some other particulars, to satisfy him for the time. In return for this confidence he gives a detailed account of the caravan and its mischances--of the great final misfortune, which explains to them why its owner and himself had been forced to take to the Staked Plain, and were there wandering about, helpless fugitives. To his narrative all three eagerly listen. But when he enlarges on the bravery of his young comrade, lying unconscious beside them, one bends upon the latter eyes that express an interest amounting to admiration. It is the "angel." In the days that succeed she becomes Walt's fellow-watcher by the bedside of the sufferer; and often again does he observe similar glances given to their common patient. Rough backwoodsman though he be, he can tell them to be looks of love. He thinks less about them because he has himself found something of like kind stealing over his thoughts. All his cares are not given to his invalided comrade; for in the hut is a fourth individual, whose habitual place is the _cocina_, coming and going, as occasion calls. A little brown-skinned beauty, half Spanish, half Pueblo Indian, whose black eyes have burnt a hole through his buckskin hunting-shirt, and set fire to his heart. Though but little more than half his height, in less than a week after making her acquaintance she has become his master, as much as if their stature were reversed. Walt does not want her for his mistress. No; the hunter is too noble, too honourable, for that His glance following her as she flits about the room, taking in her dainty shape, and the expression of her pretty face, always wreathed in smiles, he has but one single-hearted desire, to which he gives muttered expression, saying,-- "Thet's jest the kind o' gurl a fellow ked freeze to. I ne'er seed a apple dumplin' as looked sweeter or more temptin'; an' if she's agreeable, we two air born to be bone o' one bone, and flesh o' one flesh!" CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. A SWEET AWAKENING. For many days the young Kentuckian remains unconscious of all that is passing around. Fortunately for him, he has fallen into the right hands; for the old gentleman in spectacles is in reality a medical man-- a skilled surgeon as well as a physician, and devotes all his time and skill to restoring his patient to health. Soon the wound shows signs of healing, and, along with it, the fever begins gradually to abate. The brain at length relieved, reason resumes its sway. Hamersley becomes conscious that he still lives, on hearing voices. They are of men. Two are engaged in a dialogue, which appears to be carried on with some difficulty, as one is speaking English, which the other but slightly understands. Neither is the English of the first speaker of a very correct kind, nor is his voice at all euphonious. For all that, it sounds in Hamersley's ears sweet as the most seraphic music, since in its tones he recognises the voice of Walt Wilder. A joyous throb thrills through his heart on discovering that his comrade has rejoined him. After their parting upon the plain he had his fears they might never come together again. Walt is not within sight, for the conversation is carried on outside the room. The invalid sees that he is in a room, a small one, of which the walls are wood, roughly-hewn slabs, with furniture fashioned in a style corresponding. He is lying upon a _catre_, or camp bedstead, rendered soft by a mattress of bearskins, while a _serape_ of bright-coloured pattern is spread over him, serving both for blanket and counterpane. In the apartment is a table of the rudest construction, with two or three chairs, evidently from the hand of the same unskilful workman, their seats being simply hides with the hair on. On the table is a cup with a spoon in it, and two or three small bottles, that have the look of containing medicines. All these objects come under his eyes at the first dim glance; but as his vision grows clearer, and he feels strength enough to raise his head from the pillow, other articles are disclosed to view, in strange contrast with the chattels first observed. Against the wall hang several articles of female apparel--all of a costly kind. They are of silk and silk-velvet, richly brocaded; while on a second table, slab like the first, he can distinguish bijouterie, with other trifles usually belonging to a lady's toilet. These lie in front of a small mirror set in a frame which appears to be silver; while above is suspended a guitar, of the kind known as _bandolon_. The sick man sees all these things with a half-bewildered gaze, for his senses are still far from clear. The costly articles of apparel and adornment would be appropriate in a lady's boudoir or bed chamber. But they appear strange, even grotesque, in juxtaposition with the roughly-hewn timbers of what is evidently a humble cottage--a log cabin! Of course he connects them with her, that singular being who has succoured, and perhaps saved his life. He can have no other conjecture. He remembers seeing a house as they approached its outside. It must be that he is now in; though, from the last conscious thought, as he felt himself swooning in the saddle, all has been as blank as if he had been lying lifeless in a tomb. Even yet it might appear as a dream but for the voice of Walt Wilder, who, outside, seems labouring hard to make himself intelligible to some personage with whom he is conversing. Hamersley is about to utter a cry that will summon his comrade to his side, when he perceives that the voices are becoming fainter, as if the two speakers had gone outside the house and were walking away from it. Feeling too weak even for the slightest exertion, he remains silent, taking it for granted they will soon return. It is broad daylight, the sun glancing in through an aperture in the wall that serves for a window. It has neither frame nor glass, and along with the bright beams there drifts in a cool breeze laden with the delicious fragrance of flowers, among which he can distinguish the aromatic perfume of the wild China tree. There are voices of birds mingling their music with the sough of falling water--sounds very different from those of the desert through which he has of late been straying. He lies thinking of the beautiful being who brought him thither, shaping conjectures in regard to the strangeness of the situation. He has no idea how long he may have been unconscious; nor has the whole time been like death--unless death have its dreams. For he has had dreams, all with a fair form and lovely face flitting and figuring in them. It is the wild huntress. He has a fancy that the face seemed familiar to him; or, if not familiar, one he has looked upon before. He endeavours to recall all those he had met in Mexico during his sojourn there; for if encountered anywhere, it must have been there. His female acquaintances had been but few in that foreign land. He can remember every one of them. She is not of their number. If he has ever seen her before their encounter on the Staked Plain, it must have been while passing along the street of some Mexican city. And this could scarcely be, in his silent reflection; for such a woman once seen--even but for a moment--could never be forgotten. He lies pondering on all that has passed--on all he can now recall. Walt had got back, then, to the place where they parted. He must have found food and water, though it matters now no more. Enough that he has got back, and both are in an asylum of safety, under friendly protection. This is evident from the surroundings. Still feeble as a child, the effort of thought very soon fatigues him; and this, with the narcotic influence of the flower perfume, the songs of the birds, and the soothing monotone of the waters, produces a drowsiness that terminates in a profound slumber. This time he sleeps without dreaming. How long he cannot tell; but once more he is awakened by voices. As before, two persons are engaged in conversation. But far different from those already heard. The bird-music still swelling in through the window is less sweet than the tones that now salute his ear. As before, the speakers are invisible, outside the room. But he can perceive that they are close to the door, and the first words heard admonish him of their design to enter. "Now, Conchita! Go get the wine, and bring it along with you. The doctor left directions for it to be given him at this hour." "I have it here, senorita." "_Vaya_! you have forgotten the glass. You would not have him drink out of the bottle?" "_Ay Dios_! and so I have," responds Conchita, apparently gliding off to possess herself of the required article, with which she soon returns. "Ish!" cautions the other voice; "if he be still asleep, we must not wake him. Don Prospero said that. Step lightly, _muchacha_!" Hamersley is awake, with eyes wide open, and consciousness quite restored. But at this moment something--an instinct of dissembling-- causes him to counterfeit sleep; and he lies still, with shut eyelids. He can hear the door turning upon its hinges of raw hide, then the soft rustle of robes, while he is sensible of that inexpressible something that denotes the gentle presence of woman. "Yes, he is asleep," says the first speaker, "and for the world we may not disturb him. The doctor was particular about that, and we must do exactly as he said. You know, Conchita, this gentleman has been in great danger. Thanks to the good Virgin, he'll get over it. Don Prospero assures us he will." "What a pity if he should not! Oh, senorita, isn't he--" "Isn't he what?" "Handsome--beautiful! He looks like a picture I've seen in the church; an angel--only that the angel had wings, and no mustachios." "Pif, girl; don't speak in that silly way, or I shall be angry with you. _Vayate_! you may take away the wine. We can come again when he awakes. _Guardate_! Tread lightly." Again there is the rustling of a dress; but this time as if only one of the two were moving off. The other seems still to linger by the side of the couch. The invalid queries which of the two it is. There is an electricity that tells him; and, for an instant, he thinks of opening his eyes, and proclaiming consciousness of what has been passing. A thought restrains him--delicacy. The lady will know that he has been awake all the while, and overheard the conversation. It has been in Spanish, but she is aware that he understands this, for he has no doubt that the "senorita" is she who has saved him. He remains without moving, without unclosing his eyelids. But his ears are open, and he hears a speech pleasanter than any yet spoken. It is in the shape of a soliloquy--a few words softly murmured. They are, "_Ay de mil_ 'Tis true what Conchita says, and as Valerian told me. _He is, indeed, handsome--beautiful_!" More than ever Hamersley endeavours to counterfeit sleep, but he can resist no longer. Involuntarily his eyes fly open, and, with head upraised, he turns towards the speaker. He sees what he has been expecting, what he beheld in fancy throughout his long, delirious dream--the fair form and beautiful face that so much interested him, even in that hour when life seemed to be forsaking him. It is the angel of the desert, no longer in huntress garb, but dressed as a lady. There is a red tinge upon her cheek, that appears to have flushed up suddenly, as if suspecting her soliloquy has been heard. The words have but parted from her lips, and the thought is yet thrilling in her heart. Can he have heard it? He shows no sign. She approaches the couch with a look of solicitude, mingled with interrogation. A hand is held out to her, and a word or two spoken to say she is recognised. Her eyes sparkle with joy, as she perceives in those of the invalid that reason is once more seated on its throne. "I am so happy," she murmurs, "we are all so happy, to know you are out of danger. Don Prospero says so. You will now get well in a short time. But I forget; we were to give you something as soon as you should awake. It is only some wine. Conchita, come hither!" A young girl is seen stepping into the chamber. A glance would tell her to be the maid, if the overheard conversation had not already declared it. A little brown-skinned damsel, scarce five feet in height, with raven hair hanging in double plait down her back, and black eyes that sparkle like those of a basilisk. Provident Conchila has brought the bottle and glass with her, and a portion of the famed grape juice of El Paso is administered to the invalid. "How good and kind you've all been!" he says, as his head once more settles down upon the pillow. "And you especially, senorita. If I mistake not, I'm indebted to you for the saving of my life." "Do not speak of that," she rejoins; "I've shown you no kindness in particular. You would not have one leave a fellow creature to perish?" "Ah! but for you I should now have been in another world." "No, indeed. There you are mistaken. If I had never come near you, you'd have been saved all the same. I have good news for you. Your comrade is safe, and here. He returned to your trysting-place, with both food and drink; so, as you see, I have no merit in having rescued you. But I must not talk longer. Don Prospero has given instructions for you to be kept quiet. I shall bring the doctor at once. Now that you are awake it is necessary he should see you." Without waiting for a reply, she glides out of the room, Conchita having gone before. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. DON VALERIAN. Hamersley lies pondering on what he has seen and heard, more especially on what he has overheard--that sweet soliloquy. Few men are insensible to flattery. And flattery from fair lips! He must be indeed near death whose heart-pulsations it does not affect. But Don Prospero! Who is he? Is he the owner of the voice heard in dialogue with Walt Wilder? May he be the owner of all? This thought troubles the Kentuckian. Approaching footsteps put a stop to his conjectures. There are voices outside, one of them the same late sounding so sweetly in his ears. The other is a man's, but not his who was conversing with Wilder. Nor is it that of the ex-Ranger himself. It is Don Prospero, who soon after enters the room, the lady leading the way. A man of nigh sixty years of age, spare form and face, hair grizzled, cheeks wrinkled; withal hale and hearty, as can be told by the pleasant sparkle of his eye. Dressed in a semi-military suit, of a subdued tint, and facings that tell of the medical staff. At a glance there is no danger in Don Prospero. The invalid feels easier, and breathes freely. "Glad to see you looking so well," says Don Prospero, taking hold of his patient's wrist and trying the pulse. "Ah! much more regular; it will be all right now. Keep quiet, and we shall soon get you on your feet again. Come, senor! A little more of this grape-juice will do you no harm. Nothing like our New Mexican wine for bringing back a sick man to his appetite. After that, we shall give you some wild-turkey broth and a bone to pick. In a day or two you'll be able to eat anything." Other personages are now approaching the chamber. The lady glides out, calling,-- "Valerian!" "Who is Valerian?" feebly interrogates the invalid. Once more the name of a man is making him unhappy. "Don Valerian!" responds the doctor, in a tone that tells of respect for the individual so designated; "you shall see, senor. You are about to make his acquaintance. No; I am wrong about that. I forgot. You cannot now." "Cannot! Why?" "Because you have made it already. _Mira_! He is there!" This as a tall, elegant man, under thirty years of age, steps inside the chamber, while a still taller form appears in the doorway, almost filling up the space between the posts. The latter is Walt Wilder, but the former--who is he? Don Valerian, of course! "Colonel Miranda!" exclaims Hamersley, starting up on his couch. He has already dismissed all suspicious fears of Don Prospero; and now he no longer dreads Valerian. "Colonel Miranda, is it you?" "It is, _mio amigo_, myself, as you see. And I need not tell you how glad I am to meet you again. So unexpected in this queer quarter, where I little hoped to have the pleasure of entertaining an old friend. Our worthy doctor here informs us you will soon get strong again, and become more of a tax on my hospitality than you have yet been. No doubt, after your illness, you'll have the appetite of an ostrich. Well, in one way, that will be fortunate, since we are living, as you may see, in a somewhat Homeric fashion. _Carrambo_! you will be deeming my manners quite as rude as the roughest of Homer's heroes. I am forgetting to introduce you to one of whom you've heard me speak. Though it don't so much signify, since the lady has made your acquaintance already. Permit me to present my dear Adela." It is the beautiful huntress who steps forward to be introduced, now looking more beautiful than ever. To Hamersley all is explained by her presence. He remembers the portrait upon the wall, which accounts for his fancy of having seen her face before. He sees it now; his wonder giving way to an intense, ardent admiration. Soon, the young lady retiring, his curiosity comes back, and he asks his host for an explanation. How came Colonel Miranda there, and why? By what sinister combination of circumstances has the military commandant of Albuquerque made his home in the midst of a howling wilderness, for such is the Llano Estacado? Despite the smiling oasis immediately surrounding it, it cannot have been choice. No. Chance, or rather mischance, must have led to this change in the affairs of his New Mexican acquaintance. More than an acquaintance--a friend who stood by him in the hour of danger, first courageously protecting, then nobly volunteering to act as his second in a duel; afterwards taking him on to his home and showing him hospitality, kind as was ever extended to a stranger in a strange land. No wonder Frank Hamersley holds him dear. Dearer now, after seeing his sister _in propria persona_--she whose portrait had so much impressed his fancy--the impression now deepened by the thought that to her he has been indebted for his life. Naturally enough, the young Kentuckian is desirous of knowing all, and is anxious about the fortunes of his Mexican friend, that for the time seem adverse. "No," is Colonel Miranda's response to his appeal. "Not now, Senor Don Francisco. Our good doctor here places an embargo on any further conversation for the present. The tale I have to tell might too much excite you. Therefore let it rest untold till you are stronger and more able to hear it rehearsed. Now, _amigo_, we must leave you alone, or rather, I should say, in the best of good company, for such has your worthy comrade, the Senor Wilder, proved himself to be. No doubt you'll be anxious to have a word with one who, while your life was in danger, would have sacrificed his own to save it. Don Prospero permits him to remain with you and give such explanations as you may need. The rest of us are to retire. _Hasta luega_." So saying, Miranda steps out of the room. "Keep perfectly quiet," adds the ex-army surgeon, preparing to follow. "Don't excite yourself by any act or thought that may cause a return of the fever. For in that lies your greatest danger. Feel confident, _caballero_, that you're in the company of friends. Don Gaulterio here will be able to convince you of that. Ah! senor, you've a nurse who feels a great interest in seeing you restored to health." Pronouncing these last words in undertone and with an accent of innuendo, accompanied by a smile which the invalid pleasantly interprets, Don Prospero also retires, leaving his patient alone with his old caravan guide. Drawing one of the chairs up to the side of the bed, the ex-Ranger sits down upon it, saying,-- "Wal, Frank, ain't it wonderful? That we shed both be hyar, neested snug an' comfortable as two doons in the heart of a hollow tree, arter all the dangersome scrapes we've been passin' through. Gheehorum! To think o' thar bein' sech a sweet furtile place lyin' plum centre in the innermost recesses o' the Staked Plain, whar we purairey men allers believed thar wun't nothin' 'ceptin' dry desert an' stinkin' sage-bush. Instead, hyar's a sort o' puradise aroun' us, sech as I used read o' when I war a youngster in the big Book. Thar's the difference, that in the Gardin o' Eeden thar's but one woman spoken of; hyar thar's two, one o' which you yurself hev called a angel, an' ye hain't sayed anythin' beyont the downright truth. She air a angel, if iver thar was sech on airth. Now, not detractin' anythin' from her merits, thar's another near hand--somewhat of a smaller sort, though jest as much, an' a little bit more, to my likin'. Ye won't mind my declarin' things that way. As they say in Mexican Spanish, _cadder uner a soo gooster_ (cada una a su gusto), every one to his own way o' thinkin', so my belief air that in this. Gardin o' Eeden thar air two Eves, one o' which, not countin' to be the mother o' all men, will yit, supposin' this chile to hev his way, be the mother o' a large family o' young Wilders." While Hamersley is still smiling at the grotesque prognostication, the ex-Ranger, seizing hold of his hand, continues,-- "I'm so glad you're a goin' to rekiver. Leavin' out the angels we love, ther'll be some chance to git square wi' the devils we've sech reezun to hate. We may yit make them pay dear for the bloody deed they've done in the murderin' o' our innercent companyuns." "Amen to that," mutters Hamersley, returning the squeeze of his comrade's hand with like determined pressure. "Sure as I live, it shall be so." CHAPTER THIRTY. THE RAIDERS RETURNING. An Indian bivouac. It is upon a creek called "Pecan," a confluent of the Little Witchita river, which heads about a hundred miles from the eastern edge of the Llano Estacado. There are no tents in the encampment; only here and there a blanket or buffalo robe extended horizontally upon upright poles--branches cut from the surrounding trees. The umbrageous canopy of the pecans protects the encamped warriors from the fervid rays of a noonday sun, striking vertically down. That they are on the maraud is evidenced by the absence of tents. A peaceful party, in its ordinary nomadic passage across the prairies, would have lodges along with it--grand conical structures of painted buffalo skins--with squaws to set them up, and dogs or ponies to transport them when struck for another move. In this encampment on the Pecan are neither squaws, dogs, nor ponies; only men, naked to the breech clout, their bodies brightly painted from hip to head, chequered like a hatchment, or the jacket of a stage harlequin, with its fantastic devices, some ludicrous, others grotesque; still others of aspect terrible--showing a death's-head and cross-bones. A prairie man on seeing them would at once say, "Indians on the war trail!" It does not need prairie experience to tell they are returning upon it. If there are no ponies or dogs beside them, there are other animals in abundance--horses, mules, and horned cattle. Horses and mules of American breed, and cattle whose ancestral stock has come from Tennessee or Kentucky along with the early colonists of Texas. And though there are no squaws or papooses in the encampment, there are women and children that are white. A group comprising both can be seen near its centre. It does not need the dishevelled hair and torn dresses to show they are captives; nor yet the half-dozen savages, spear-armed, keeping guard over them. Their drooping heads, woeful and wan countenances, are too sure signs of their melancholy situation. What are these captives, and who their captors? Two questions easily answered. In a general way, the picture explains itself. The captives are the wives and children, with sisters and grown-up daughters among them, of Texan colonists. They are from a settlement too near the frontier to secure itself against Indian attack. The captors are a party of Comanches, with whom the reader has already made acquaintance; for they are no other than the sub-tribe of Tenawas, of whom the Horned Lizard is leader. The time is two weeks subsequent to the attack on Hamersley's train; and, judging by the spectacle now presented, we may conclude that the Tenawa chief has not spent the interval in idleness. Nearly three hundred miles lie between the place where the caravan was destroyed and the site of the plundered settlement, whose spoils are now seen in the possession of the savages. Such quick work requires explanation. It is at variance with the customs and inclinations of the prairie freebooter, who, having acquired a booty, rarely strikes for another till the proceeds of the first be squandered. He resembles the anaconda, which, having gorged itself, lies torpid till the craving of a fresh appetite stirs it to renewed activity. Thus would it have been with the Tenawa chief and his band, but for a circumstance of a somewhat unusual kind. As is known, the attack on the prairie traders was not so much an affair of the Horned Lizard as his confederate, the military commandant of Albuquerque. The summons had come to him unexpected, and after he had planned his descent on the Texas settlement. Sanguinary as the first affair was, it had been short, leaving him time to carry out his original design, almost equally tragical in its execution. Here and there, a spear standing up, with a tuft of light-coloured hair, blood-clotted upon its blade, is proof of this. Quite as successful, too. The large drove of horses and horned cattle, to say nothing of that crowd of despairing captives, proves the proceeds of the later maraud worth as much, or perhaps more, than what had been taken from the traders' waggons. Horned Lizard is jubilant; so, also, every warrior of his band. In loss their late foray has cost them comparatively little--only one or two of their number, killed by the settlers while defending themselves. It makes up for the severe chastisement sustained in their onslaught upon the caravan. And, since the number of their tribe is reduced, there are now the fewer to share with, so that the calicoes of Lowell, the gaudy prints of Manchester, with stripes, shroudings, and scarlet cloth to bedeck their bodies, hand mirrors in which to admire themselves, horses to ride upon, mules to carry their tents, and cattle to eat--with white women to be their concubines, and white children their attendants--all these fine things in full possession have put the savages in high spirits--almost maddened them with delight. A new era has dawned upon the tribe of which Horned Lizard is head. Hitherto it has been a somewhat starving community, its range lying amid sterile tracts, on the upper tributaries of the Red River and Canadian. Now, before it is a plentiful future--a time of feasting and revelry, such as rarely occurs to a robber band, whether amidst the forest-clad mountains of Italy, or on the treeless steppes of America. The Tenawa chief is both joyous and triumphant. So, too, his second in command, whose skin, with the paint cleansed from it, would show nearly white. For he is a Mexican by birth; when a boy made prisoner by the Comanches, and long since matriculated into the mysteries of the redman's life--its cunning, as its cruelties. Now a man, he is one of the chiefs of the tribe, in authority only less than the Horned Lizard himself, but equal to the latter in all the cruel instincts that distinguish the savage. "El Barbato" he is called, from having a beard, though this he keeps clean shaven, the better to assimilate himself to his beardless companions; while, with painted face and hair black as their own, he looks as Indian as any of them. But he has not forgotten his native tongue, and this makes him useful to those who have adopted him, especially when raiding in the Republic of Mexico. It was through him the Tenawa chief was first brought to communicate with the military robber, Uraga. The Indian bivouac is down in the creek bottom in a little valley, on both sides flanked by precipitous cliffs. Above and below these approach each other, so near as to leave only a narrow path along the edge of the stream. The savages are resting after a long, rapid march, encumbered with their spoils and captives. Some have lain down to sleep, their nude bodies stretched along the sward, resembling bronze statues tumbled from their pedestals. Others squat around fires, roasting collops from cattle they have killed, or eating them half raw. A few stand or saunter by the side of the captives, upon these casting covetous glances, as if they only waited for the opportunity to appropriate them. The women are all young; some of them scarce grown girls, and some very beautiful. A heart-harrowing sight it would be for their fathers, brothers, husbands and sweethearts, could they but witness it. These may not be far off. Some suspicion of this has carried the Horned Lizard and El Barbato up to the crest of the cliff. They have been summoned thither by a sign, which the traveller on the prairies of Texas or the table plains of Mexico never sees without stopping to scrutinise and shape conjecture about its cause. Before entering the canon through which runs Pecan Creek, the Tenawa chief had observed a flock of turkey-buzzards circling about in the air. Not the one accompanying him and his marauders on their march, as is the wont of these predatory birds. But another quite separate gang, seen at a distance behind, apparently above the path along which he and his freebooters had lately passed. As the Comanche well knows, a sign too significant to be treated lightly or with negligence. And so, too, his second in command. Therefore have they climbed the cliff to obtain a better view of the birds--those flying afar--and, if possible, draw a correct conclusion as to the cause of their being there. On reaching the summit they again see them, though so far off as to be barely visible--black specks against the blue canopy of the sky. Still near enough to show a large number circling about over some object that appears stationary. This last observation seems satisfactory to the Tenawa chief, who, turning to his fellow-freebooter, shouts out,-- "Nothing to fear. Don't you remember, Barbato, one of our horses gave out there, and was left? It's over him the zopilotes are swooping. He's not dead yet; that's why they don't go down." "It may be," rejoins the renegade. "Still I don't like the look of it. Over a dead horse they'd hardly soar so high. True, they keep in one place. If it were Texans pursuing us they'd be moving onward--coming nearer and nearer. They're not. It must be, as you say, the horse. I don't think the people of the settlement we struck would be strong enough to come after us--at least not so soon. They may in time, after they've got up a gathering of their Rangers. That isn't likely to be till we've got safe beyond their reach. They won't gain much by a march to the Witchita mountains. _Por cierte_! the zopilotes out yonder are over something; but, as they're not moving on, most likely it's the horse." Again the Horned Lizard gives a grunt, expressing satisfaction; after which the two scramble back down the cliff, to seek that repose which fighting and forced marching make necessary to man, be he savage or civilised. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. PURSUERS ON THE PATH. Despite common belief, the instinct of the Indian is not always sure, nor his intellect unerring. An instance of the contrary is afforded by the behaviour of the Tenawa chief and his subordinate Barbato. About the buzzards both have been mistaken. The second flock seen by them is not hovering over a horse, but above an encampment of horsemen. Not correctly an encampment, but a halt _en bivouac_--where men have thrown themselves from their saddles, to snatch a hurried repast, and take quick consultation about continuing on. They are all men, not a woman or child among them, bearded men with white skins, and wearing the garb of civilisation. This not of the most fashionable kind or cut, nor are they all in the exact drew of civilised life. For many of them wear buckskin hunting shirts, fringed leggings, and moccasins; more a costume peculiar to the savage. Besides these there are some in blanket-coats of red, green, and blue; all sweat-stained and dust-tarnished, till the colours nearly correspond. Others in Kentucky jeans, or copper-coloured homespun. Still others in sky-blue _cottonade_, product of the hand-mills of Attakapas. Boots, shoes, and brogans fabricated out of all kinds of leather; even that from the corrugated skin of the illigator. Hats of every shape, fashion, size, and material--straw, chip, Panama, wool, felt, silk, and beaver. In one respect they are all nearly alike--in their armour and accoutrements. All are belted, pouched, and powder-horned. Each carries a bowie-knife and a revolving pistol--some two--and none are without a rifle. Besides this uniformity there are other points of resemblance--extending to a certain number. It is noticeable in their guns, which are jagers of the US army-brand. Equally apparent is the caparison of their horses; these carrying cavalry saddles, with peaks and cantles brass mounted. Among the men to whom these appertain there is a sort of half-military discipline, indicated by some slight deference shown to two or three, who appear to act with the authority of officers. It is, in fact, a troop--or, as by themselves styled, a "company"--of Texan Rangers. About one-half the band belongs to this organisation. The others are the people of the plundered settlement--the fathers, brothers, and husbands, whom the Horned Lizard and his red robbers have bereft of daughters, sisters, and wives. They are in pursuit of the despoilers; a chase commenced as soon as they could collect sufficient force to give it a chance of success. Luckily, a troop of Rangers, scouting in the neighbourhood, came opportunely along, just in time to join them. Soldiers and settlers united, they are now on the trail of the Tenawas, and have only halted to breathe and water their horses, eat some food themselves, and then on. Not strange their hot haste--men whose homes have been made desolate, their kindred carried into captivity. Each has his own painful reflections. In that hour, at that very moment, his beloved wife, his delicate daughter, his fair sister, or sweetheart, may be struggling in the embrace of a brawny savage. No wonder that to them every hour seems a day, every minute an hour. Though with a different motive, not much less impatient are their associates in the pursuit--the Rangers. It chances to be a company especially rabid for defence against the incursions of the Tenawa tribe; and more than once baffled by these cunning red-skins, they are anxious to make up for past disappointment. Twice before have they followed the retreating trail of these same savages, on both occasions returning foiled and empty-handed. And, now that they are again on it, with surer signs to guide them, the young men of the corps are mad to come up with the red marauders, while the elder ones are almost equally excited. Both resemble hounds in a hunt where the scent is hot--the young dogs dashing forward without check, the old ones alike eager, but moving with more circumspection. Between them and the settlers there is the same earnestness of purpose, though stimulated by resentment altogether different. The latter only think of rescuing their dear ones, while the former are stirred by soldier pride and the instinctive antagonism which a Texan Ranger feels for a Tenawa. Many of them have old scores to settle with the Horned Lizard, and more than one longs to send a bullet through his heart. But, despite the general reckless impatience to proceed, there are some who counsel caution. Chief among those is a man named Cully, a thin wiry sexagenarian, who looks as if he had been at least half a century upon the prairies. All over buckskin, fitting tight to his body, without tag or tail, he is not one of the enrolled Rangers, though engaged to act as their guide. In this capacity he exercises an influence over the pursuers almost equalling that of their leader, the Ranger captain, who, with a group gathered around, is now questioning the guide as to the next move to be made. "They can't be very far off now," replies Cully, in answer to the captain's interrogatory. "All the signs show they passed this hyar point a good hour arter sun-up. The dew war off the grass as they druv over it, else the blades 'ud a been pressed flatter down. Besides, there's the dead hoss they've left ahint. Ye see some o' 'em's cut out his tongue an' tuk it along for a tit-bit at thar next campin' place. Now, as the blood that kim out o' the animal's mouth ain't been long cruddled up, thet shows to a sartinty they can't be far forrad. I reck'n I know the adzact spot whar they're squatted." "Where?" "Peecawn creek. There they'll get good water for thar stock, an' the shade o' trees to rest unner; the which last they'll take to in this hottish spell o' sun." "If they're upon the Pecan," puts in a third speaker, a tall, lathy individual, in a green blanket coat, badly faded, "and anywhere near its mouth, we can't be more than five miles from them. I know this part of the country well. I passed through it last year along with the Santa Fe expedition." "Only five miles!" exclaims another man, whose dress bespeaks a planter of respectability, while his woe-begone countenance proclaims him to be one of the bereaved. "Oh, gentlemen I surely our horses are now rested enough. Let us ride forward and fall upon them at once!" "We'd be durned foolish to do so," responded Cully. "Thet, Mr Wilton, 'ud be jest the way to defeet all our plans an' purpisses. They'd see us long afore we ked git sight o' them, an' maybe in time to run off all the stolen hosses an' cattle, but sartinly the keptyves." "What's your way, Cully?" interrogates a lieutenant of the Rangers. "My way air to wait till the sun go down, then steal torst 'm. Thar boun' to hev fires, an' thet'll guide us right into thar camp. Ef it's in the Peecawn bottom, as I'm pretty sure it air, we kin surround 'em eesy. Thar's bluffs a-both sides, an' we kin divide inter two lots--one slippin' roun' an' comin' from up the creek, while t'other approaches 'em from below. In thet way we'll make sure o' keepin' 'em from runnin' off the weemen; beside it'll gie us the more likelier chance to make a good count o' the redskin sculps." "What do you say, boys?" asks the Ranger captain, addressing himself more especially to the men composing his command. "Cully's right," is the response from a majority of voices. "Then we must stay here till night. If we go forward now, they may see us before we get within shooting distance. So you think, Cully, you can take up the trail at night, supposing it to be a dark one?" "Pish!" retorts the old prairie-man, with a disdainful toss of his head. "Take up the trail o' a Tenawa Injun? I'd do that in the darkest night as iver shet down over a prairie. The skunks! I ked smell the place they'd passed over." There is no further discussion. Cully's opinion is all-powerful, and determines the course to be pursued. The halt intended to be temporary, is to continue till near sunset, despite expostulations, almost prayerful appeals, from those who have left desolate homes behind, and who burn with impatience to ride forward and rescue their captive kindred. CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. THE SAVAGES SURPRISED. Throughout the afternoon hours both parties remained stationary; the pursued indulging in a siesta, which days of rough riding and raiding, with nights of watchfulness, have made necessary; the pursuers, on their part, wearied as well, but unable to sleep so long as their vengeance remains unappeased, and such dread danger hangs over the heads of those near and dear to them. Above the bivouacs the black vultures spread their shadowy wings, soaring and circling, each "gang" over the cohort it has been all day accompanying. Every now and then between the two "gangs" one is seen coming and going, like so many mutual messengers passing between; for, although the flocks are far apart, they can see one another, and each is aware, by instinct clearer than human ken, what the other is after. It is not the first time for them to follow two such parties travelling across the Texan prairie. Nor will it be the first for them to unite in the air as the two troops come into collision on the earth. Often have these birds, poised in the blue ether, looked down upon red carnage like that now impending. Their instincts--let us call them so, for the sake of keeping peace with the naturalists of the closet--then admonish them what is likely to ensue. For if not reason, they have at least recollection; and as their eyes rest upon men with dusky skins, and others dimly white, they know that between such is a terrible antagonism, oft accruing to their own interest. Many a time has it given them a meal. Strange if they should not remember it! They do. Though tranquilly soaring on high--each bird with outstretched neck and eye bent, in hungry concupiscence, looks below on the forms moving or at rest, saying to itself, "Ere long these vermin will furnish a rich repast." So sure are they of this--the birds of both flocks-- that, although the sun is nigh setting, instead of betaking themselves to their roosts, as is their wont, they stay, each by its own pet party. Those accompanying the pursuers still fly about in the air. They can tell that these do not intend to remain much longer on that spot. For they have kindled no fires, nor taken other steps that indicate an encampment for the night. Different with those that soar over the halting-place of the pursued. As night approaches they draw in their spread wings and settle down to roost; some upon trees, others on the ledges of rock, still others on the summits of the cliffs that overhang the camping place of the Indians. The blazing fires, with meat on spits sputtering over them; the arms abandoned, spears stuck in the ground, with shields suspended; the noise and revelry around--all proclaim the resolve of the savages to stay there till morning. An intention which, despite their apparent stolidity--in contradiction to the ideas of the closet naturalist and his theory of animal instinct--the vultures clearly comprehend. About the behaviour of the birds the marauders take no note. They are used to seeing turkey-buzzards around--better known to them by the name "zopilotes." For long ere the Anglo-American colonists came in contact with the Comanche Indians a Spano-Mexican vocabulary had penetrated to the remotest of these tribes. No new thing for the Tenawas to see the predatory birds swooping above them all day and staying near them all night. Not stranger than a wolf keeping close to the sheepfold, or a hungry dog skulking around shambles. As night draws near, and the purple twilight steals over the great Texan plain, the party of chasing pursuers is relieved from a stay by all deemed so irksome. Remounting their horses, they leave the scene of their reluctant halt, and continue the pursuit silently, as if moving in funeral march. The only sounds heard are the dull thumping of their horses' hoofs upon the soft prairie turf; now and then a clink, as one strikes against a stone; the occasional tinkle of a canteen as it comes in contact with saddle mounting or pistol butt; the champing of bits, with the breathing of horses and men. These last talk in low tones, in mutterings not much louder than whispers. In pursuit of their savage foe, the well-trained Rangers habitually proceed thus, and have cautioned the settlers to the same. Though these need no compulsion to keep silent; their hearts are too sore for speech; their anguish, in its terrible intensity, seeks for no expression, till they stand face to face with the red ruffians who have caused, and are still causing, it. The night darkens down, becoming so obscure that each horseman can barely distinguish the form of him riding ahead. Some regret this, thinking they may get strayed. Not so Cully. On the contrary, the guide is glad, for he feels confident in his conjecture that the pursued will be found in Pecan Creek, and a dark night will favour the scheme of attack he has conceived and spoken of. Counselled by him, the Ranger captain shares his confidence, and they proceed direct towards the point where the tributary stream unites with the main river--the little Witchita, along whose banks they have been all that day tracking. Not but that Cully could take up the Indian trail. Despite the obscurity he could do that, though not, as he jestingly declared, by the smell. There are other indices that would enable him, known but to men who have spent a lifetime upon the prairies. He does not need them now, sure he will find the savages, as he said, "squatted on the Peecawn." And, sure enough, when the pursuers, at length at the creek's mouth, enter the canon through which it disembogues its crystal water into the grander and more turbid stream, they discovered certain traces of the pursued having passed along its banks. Another mile of travelling, the same silence observed, with caution increased, and there is no longer a doubt about the truth of Cully's conjecture. Noises are heard ahead, sounds disturbing the stillness of the night air that are not those of the uninhabited prairie. There is the lowing of cattle, in long monotonous moans, like when being driven to slaughter, with, at intervals, the shriller neigh of a horse, as if uneasy at being away from his stable. On hearing these sounds, the Ranger captain, acting by the advice of the guide, orders a halt. Then the pursuing party is separated into two distinct troops. One, led by Cully, ascends the cliff by a lateral ravine, and pursues its way along the upper table-land. The other, under the command of the captain, is to remain below until a certain time has elapsed, its length stipulated between the two leaders before parting. When it has passed, the second division moves forward up the creek, again halting as a light shines through the trees, which, from its reddish colour, they know to be the glare of log fires. They need not this to tell them they are close to an encampment--that of the savages they have been pursuing. They can hear their barbarous jargon, mingled with shouts and laughter like that of demons in the midst of some fiendish frolic. They only stay for a signal the guide arranged to give as soon as he has got round to attack on the opposite side. The first shot heard, and they will dash forward to the fires. Seated in their saddles, with reins tight drawn, and heels ready to drive home the spur--with glances bent greedily at the gleaming lights, and ears keenly alert to catch every sound--the hearts of some trembling with fear, others throbbing with hope, still others thrilling with the thought of vengeance--they wait for the crack that is to be the signal-- wait and listen, with difficulty restraining themselves. It comes at length. Up the glen peals a loud report, quickly followed by another, both from a double-barrelled gun. This was the signal for attack, arranged by Cully. Soon as hearing it, the reins are slackened, the spurs sent home, and, with a shout making the rocks ring, and the trees reverberate its echoes, they gallop straight towards the Indian encampment, and in a moment are in its midst. They meet little resistance--scarce any. Too far from the settlements to fear pursuit--in full confidence they have not been followed, the red robbers have been abandoning themselves to pleasure, spending the night in a grand gluttonous feast, furnished by the captured kine. Engrossed with sensual joys, they have neglected guard; and, in the midst of their festivities, they are suddenly set upon from all sides; the sharp cracking of rifles, with the quick detonation of repeating pistols, soon silences their cacchinations, scattering them like chaff. After the first fusillade, there is but little left of them. Those not instantly shot down retreat in the darkness, skulking of! among the pecan trees. It is altogether an affair of firearms: and for once the bowie--the Texan's trusted weapon--has no part in the fray. The first rays of next morning's sun throw light upon a sanguinary scene--a tableau terrible, though not regrettable. On the contrary, it discloses a sight which, but for the red surroundings, might give gladness. Fathers, half frantic with joy, are kissing children they never expected to see again; brothers clasping the hands of sisters late deemed lost for ever; husbands, nigh broken-hearted, once more happy, holding their wives in fond, affectionate embrace. Near by, things strangely contrasting--corpses strewn over the ground, stark and bleeding, but not yet stiff, all of coppery complexion, but bedaubed with paint of many diverse colours. All surely savages. A fearful spectacle, but one too often witnessed on the far frontier land of Texas. CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. A FORCED CONFESSION. The party of Texans has made what prairie men call a "coup." On counting the corpses of their slain enemies they find that at least one-half of the Tenawa warriors have fallen, including their chief. They can make an approximate estimate of the number that was opposed to them by the signs visible around the camp, as also upon the trail they have been for several days following. Those who escaped have got off, some on their horses, hastily caught and mounted; others afoot, by taking to the timber. They were not pursued, as it was still dark night when the action ended, and by daylight these wild centaurs, well acquainted with the country, will have scattered far and wide, beyond all likelihood of being again encountered. The settlers are satisfied at having recovered their relatives, as also their stolen stock. As to the Rangers, enough has been accomplished to slake their revengeful thirst--for the time. These last, however, have not come off unscathed; for the Comanches, well armed with guns, bows, and lances, did not die unresistingly. In Texas Indians rarely do, and never when they engage in a fight with Rangers. Between them and these border _guerrilleros_--in one sense almost as much savages as themselves--war is an understood game--to the bitter end, with no quarter either asked or given. The Rangers count three of their number killed and about twice as many wounded--enough, considering the advantage they had in their unwarned attack upon enemies who for once proved unwatchful. When the conflict has finally come to a close, and daylight makes manifest the result, the victors take possession of the spoil--most of it their own property. The horses that strayed or stampeded during the fight are again collected into a drove--those of the Indians being united to it. This done, only a short stay is intended--just long enough to bury the bodies of the three Rangers who have been killed, get stretchers prepared for such of the wounded as are unable to sit in the saddle, and make other preparations for return towards the settlements. They do not hasten their departure through any apprehension of a counter-attack on the side of the Comanches. Fifty Texan Rangers--and there are this number of them--have no fear on any part of the plains, so long as they are mounted on good horses, carry rifles in their hands, bowie-knives and pistols in their belts, with a sufficient supply of powder in their flasks, and bullets in their pouches. With all these items they are amply provided; and were there now any necessity for continuing the pursuit, or the prospect of striking another coup, they would go on, even though the chase should conduct them into the defiles of the Rocky Mountains. To pursue and slay the savage is their vocation, their duty, their pastime and pleasure. But the settlers are desirous of a speedy return to their homes, that they may relieve the anxiety of other dear ones, who there await them. They long to impart the glad tidings they will take with them. While the preparations for departure are going on, Cully--who, with several others, has been collecting the arms and accoutrements of their slain enemies--gives utterance to a cry that brings a crowd of his comrades around him. "What is it, Nat?" inquires the Ranger captain. "Look hyar, cap! D'ye see this gun?" "Yes; a hunter's rifle. Whose is it?" "That's jess the questyin; though thar ain't no questyin about it. Boys, do any o' ye recognise this hyar shootin' iron?" One after another the Rangers step up, and look at the rifle. "I do," says one. "And I," adds another. And a third, and fourth, make the same affirmation, all speaking in tones of surprise. "Walt Wilder's gun," continues Cully, "sure an' sartin. I know it, an oughter know it. See them two letters in the stock thar--`WW.' Old Nat Cully hez good reezun to recconise them, since 'twas hisself that cut 'em. I did it for Walt two yeern ago, when we war scoutin' on the Collyrado. It's his weepun, an' no mistake." "Where did you find it?" inquires the captain. "I've jess tuk it out o' the claws o' the ugliest Injun as ever made trail on a puraira--that beauty thar, whose karkidge the buzzards won't be likely to tech." While speaking Cully points to a corpse. It is that of the Tenawa chief, already identified among the slain. "He must a' hed it in his clutch when suddenly shot down," pursues the guide. "An' whar did he git it? Boys, our ole kummerade's wiped out for sartin. I know how Walt loved that thar piece. He w'udn't a parted wi' it unless along wi' his life." This is the conviction of several others acquainted with Wilder. It is the company of Rangers to which he formerly belonged. "Thar's been foul play somewhar," continues Cully. "Walt went back to the States--to Kaintuck, ef this chile ain't mistook. But 'tain't likely he stayed thar; he kedn't keep long off o' the purairas. I tell ye, boys, these hyar Injens hev been makin' mischief somewhar'. Look thar, look at them leggin's! Thar's no eend o' white sculps on' 'em, an' fresh tuk, too!" The eyes of all turned towards these terrible trophies that in gory garniture fringe the buck-skin leg-wear of the savages. Cully, with several others who knew Wilder well, proceed to examine them, in full expectation of finding among them the skin of their old comrade's head. There are twelve scalps, all of white men, with others that are Indian, and not a few that exhibit the equally black, but shorter crop of the Mexican. Those that are indubitably of white men show signs of having been recently taken, but none of them can be identified as the scalp of Walt Wilder. There is some relief in this, for his old comrades love. Walt. Still, there is the damning evidence of the gun, which Cully declares could only have been taken from him along with his life. How has it got into the hands of the Horned Lizard? "I reckon we can settle that," says the Captain of the Rangers. "The renegade ought to know something about it." This speech refers to Barbato, who has been taken prisoner, and about whose disposal they have already commenced to deliberate. His beard betrayed him as a renegade; and, the paint having been partially wiped from his skin, all perceive that he is a white man--a Mexican. Some are for shooting him on the spot, others propose hanging, while only a few of the more humane advocate taking him on to the settlements and there giving him a trial. He will have to die anyhow--that is pretty sure; for not only as a Mexican is he their enemy, but now doubly so from being found in league with their most detested foes, the Tenawa Comanches. The wretch is lying on the ground near by, shaking with fear, in spite of the fastenings in which he is tightly held. He knows he is in dire danger, and has only so far escaped through having surrendered to a settler instead of to one of the Rangers. "Let's gie him a chance o' his life; ef he'll tell all about it," counsels Cully. "What d'ye say, cap?" "I agree to that," responds the Ranger captain. "He don't appear to be worth shooting; though it may be as well to take him on to the settlements, and shut him up in prison. The promise of pardon may get out of him all he knows; if not, the other will. He's not an Indian, and a bit of rope looped round his neck will, no doubt, loosen his tongue. Suppose we try boys?" The "boys" are unanimous in their assent, and the renegade is at once brought up for examination. The man in the green blanket coat, who, as a Santa Fe expeditioner, has spent over twelve months in Mexican prisons, is appointed examiner. He has been long enough among the "yellerbellies" to have learnt their language. The renegade is for a time reticent, and his statements are contradictory. No wonder he declines to tell what has occurred, so compromising to himself! But when the _lariat_ is at length noosed around his neck, the loose end of it thrown over the limb of a pecan tree--the other conditions being clearly expounded to him--he sees that things can be no worse; and, seeing this, makes confession--full, if not free. He discloses everything--the attack and capture of the caravan, with the slaughter of the white men who accompanied it; he tells of the retreat of two of them to the cliff, one of whom, by the description, can be none other than Walt Wilder. When he at length comes to describe the horrible mode in which their old comrade has perished, the Rangers are almost frenzied with rage, and it is with difficulty some of them can be withheld from breaking their given word, and tearing him limb from limb. He makes appeal to them for mercy, stating that he himself had no part in that transaction; that, although they have found him among the Indians, he was only as their prisoner; and forced to fight along with them. This is evidently untrue; but, false or true, it has the effect of pacifying his judges, so far, that the _lariat_ is left loose around his neck. Further examination, and cross-examination, elicit other facts about the captured caravan--in short, everything, except the secret alliance between the Mexican officer and the Tenawa chief. Not thinking of this--in truth, having no suspicion of it--his examiners do not put any questions about it; and, for himself, the wretch sees no reason to declare it, but the contrary. He indulges in the hope of one day returning to the Del Norte, and renewing his relations with Colonel Gil Uraga. "Comrades!" cries the Ranger captain, addressing himself to his men, as soon as the examination is concluded, "you all of you loved Walt Wilder--all who knew him?" "We did! we did!" is the response feelingly spoken. "So did I. Well, he's dead, beyond a doubt. It's nearly a month ago, and he could not last so long, shut up in that cave. His bones will be there, with those of the other poor fellow, whoever he was, that went in with him. It's dreadful to think of it! Now, from what this scoundrel says, it can't be so very far from here. And, as we can make him guide us to the place, I propose we go there, get the remains of our old comrade, and give them Christian burial." With the Texan Rangers obedience to duty is less a thing of command than request; and this is a request of such nature as to receive instant and unanimous assent "Let us go!" is the universal response. "We needn't all make this journey," continues the captain. "There's no need for any more than our own boys, the Rangers, and such of the settlers as may choose to go with us. The rest, who have to look after the women, and some for driving back the stock, can make their way home at once. I reckon we've left the track pretty clear of Indians, and they'll be in no further danger from them." Without further discussion, this arrangement is decided upon; and the two parties commence making the preparations suitable to their respective plans. In less than half an hour after they separate; the settlers, with the women, children, and cattle, wending their way eastward; while the Rangers, guided by the renegade, ride off in the opposite direction-- toward the Llano Estacado. CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. A PROPOSAL BY PROXY. Day by day Hamersley grows stronger, and is able to be abroad. Soon after Wilder, plucking him by the sleeve, makes request to have his company at some distance from the dwelling. Hamersley accedes to the request, though not without some surprise. In the demeanour of his comrade there is an air of mystery. As this is unusual with the ex-Ranger, he has evidently something of importance to communicate. Not until they have got well out of sight of the house, and beyond the earshot of anyone inside or around it, does Walt say a word. And then only after they have come to a stop in the heart of a cotton-wood copse, where a prostrate trunk offers them the accommodation of a seat. Sitting down upon it, and making sign to Hamersley, still with the same mysterious air, to do likewise, the backwoodsman at length begins to unburden himself. "Frank," says he, "I've brought ye out hyar to hev a little spell o' talk, on a subjeck as consarns this coon consid'able." "What subject, Walt?" "Wal, it's about a wumman." "A woman! Why, Walt Wilder, I should have supposed that would be the farthest thing from your thoughts, especially a such a time and in such a place as this." "True it shed, as ye say. For all that, ef this chile don't misunnerstan' the sign, a wumman ain't the furrest thing from yur thoughts, at the same time an' place." The significance of the observation causes the colour to start to the cheeks of the young prairie merchant, late so pale. He stammers out an evasive rejoinder,-- "Well, Walt; you wish to have a talk with me. I'm ready to hear what you have to say. Go on! I'm listening." "Wal, Frank, I'm in a sort o' a quandary wi' a critter as wears pettikotes, an' I want a word o' advice from ye. You're more practised in thar ways than me. Though a good score o' year older than yurself, I hain't hed much to do wi' weemen, 'ceptin' Injun squaws an' now an' agin a yeller gurl down by San Antone. But them scrapes wan't nothin' like thet Walt Wilder heve got inter now." "A scrape! What sort of a scrape? I hope you haven't--" "Ye needn't talk o' hope, Frank Hamersley. The thing air past hopin', an' past prayin' for. Ef this chile know anythin' o' the signs o' love, he has goed a good ways along its trail. Yis, sir-ee; too fur to think o' takin' the backtrack." "On that trail, indeed?" "Thet same; whar Cyubit sots his little feet, 'ithout neer a moccasin on 'em. Yis, kummerade, Walt Wilder, for oncest in in his kureer, air in a difeequelty; an' thet difeequelty air bein' fool enuf to fall in love-- the which he hez dun, sure, sartin." Hamersley gives a shrug of surprise, accompanied with a slight glance of indignation. Walt Wilder in love! With whom can it be? As he can himself think of only one woman worth falling in love with, either in that solitary spot, or elsewhere on earth, it is but natural his thoughts should turn to her. Only for an instant, however. The idea of having the rough Ranger for a rival is preposterous. Walt, pursuing the theme, soon convinces him he has no such lofty aspirations. "Beyond a doubt, she's been an' goed an' dud it--that air garl Concheeter. Them shining eyes o' her'n hev shot clar through this chile's huntin' shirt, till thar's no peace left inside o' it. I hain't slep a soun' wink for mor'en a week o' nights; all the time dreemin' o' the gurl, as ef she war a angel a hoverin' 'bout my head. Now, Frank, what am I ter do? That's why I've axed ye to kum out hyar, and enter into this confaberlation." "Well, Walt, you shall be welcome to my advice. As to what you should do, that's clear enough; but what you may or can do will depend a good deal on what Miss Conchita says. Have you spoken to her upon the subject?" "Thar hain't yit been much talk atween us--i'deed not any, I mout say. Ye know I can't parley thar lingo. But I've approached her wi' as much skill as I iver did bear or buffler. An', if signs signerfy anythin', she ain't bad skeeart about it. Contrarywise, Frank. If I ain't terribly mistuk, she shows as ef she'd be powerful willin' to hev me." "If she be so disposed there can't be much difficulty in the matter. You mean to marry her, I presume?" "In coorse I duz--that for sartin'. The feelin's I hev torst that gurl air diffrent to them as one hez for Injun squaws, or the queeries I've danced wi' in the fandangoes o' San Antone. Ef she'll agree to be myen, I meen nothin' short o' the hon'rable saramony o' marridge--same as atween man an' wife. What do ye think o't?" "I think, Walt, you might do worse than get married. You're old enough to become a Benedict, and Conchita appears to be just the sort of girl that would suit you. I've heard it said that these Mexican women make the best of wives--when married to Americans." Hamersley smiles, as though this thought were pleasant to him. "There are several things," he continues, "that it will be necessary for you to arrange before you can bring about the event you're aiming at. First, you must get the girl's consent: and, I should think, also that of her master and mistress. They are, as it were, her guardians, and, to a certain extent, responsible for her being properly bestowed. Last of all, you'll require the sanction of the Church. This, indeed, may be your greatest difficulty. To make you and your sweetheart one, a priest, or Protestant clergyman, will be needed; and neither can be had very conveniently here, in the centre of the Staked Plain." "Durn both sorts!" exclaims the ex-Ranger in a tone of chagrin. "Ef't warn't for the need o' 'em jest now, I say the Staked Plain air better 'ithout 'em, as wu'd anywars else. Why can't she an' me be tied thegither 'ithout any sech senseless saramony? Walt Wilder wants no mumblin' o' prayers at splicin' him to the gurl he's choosed for his partner. An' why shed thar be, supposin' we both gie our mutooal promises one to the tother?" "True. But that would not be marriage such as would lawfully and legally make you man and wife." "Doggone the lawfulness or legullity o' it! Priest or no priest, I want Concheteter for my squaw; an' I've made up my mind to hev her. Say, Frank! Don't ye think the old doc ked do it? He air a sort o' professional." "No, no; the doctor would be of no use in that capacity. It's his business to unite broken bones, not hands and hearts. But, Walt, if you are really resolved on the thing, there will, no doubt, be an opportunity to carry out your intention in a correct and legitimate manner. You must be patient, however, and wait till you come across either a priest or a Protestant clergyman." "Doggoned ef I care which," is the rejoinder of the giant. "Eyther'll do; an' one o' 'em 'ud be more nor surficient, ef 't war left ter Walt Wilder. But, hark'ee, Frank!" he continues, his face assuming an astute expression, "I'd like to be sure 'bout the thing now--that is, to get the gurl's way o' thinking on 't. Fact is, I've made up my mind to be sure, so as thar may be no slips or back kicks." "Sure, how?" "By procurin' her promise; getting betrothed, as they call it." "There can be no harm in that. Certainly not." "Wal, I'm gled you think so; for I've sot my traps for the thing, an' baited 'em too. Thet air's part o' my reezun for askin' ye out hyar. She's gin me the promise o' a meetin' 'mong these cotton woods, an' may kum at any minnit. Soon's she does, I'm agoin' to perpose to her; an' I want to do it in reg'lar, straightforrard way. As I can't palaver Spanish, an' you kin, I know'd ye wudn't mind transleetin' atween us. Ye won't, will ye?" "I shall do that with the greatest pleasure, if you wish it. But don't you think, Walt, you might learn what you want to know without any interpreter? Conchita may not like my interference in an affair of such a delicate nature. Love's language is said to be universal, and by it you should understand one another." "So fur's thet's consarned, I reck'n we do. But she, bein' a Mexikin, may hev queery ideas about it; an' I want her promise guv in tarms from which thar'll be no takin' the back track; same's I meen to give myen." "All right, old fellow. I'll see you get such a promise, or none." "Thet's satisfactory, Frank. Now, as this chile air agoin' to put the thing stiff an' strong, do you transleet it in the same sort." "Trust me, it shall be done--_verbatim et literatim_." "Thet's the way!" joyfully exclaims Walt; thinking that the _verbatim et literatim_--of the meaning of which he has not the slightest conception--will be just the thing to clinch his bargain with Conchita. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The singular contract between the prairie merchant and his _ci-devant_ guide has just reached conclusion as a rustling is heard among the branches of the cottonwoods, accompanied by a soft footstep. Looking around, they see Conchita threading her way through the grove. Her steps, cautious and stealthy, would tell of an "appointment," even were this not already known to them. Her whole bearing is that of one on the way to meet a lover; and the sight of Walt Wilder, who now rises erect to receive her, proclaims him to be the man. It might appear strange that she does not shy back, on seeing him in company with another man. She neither starts nor shows any shyness; evidence that the presence of the third party is a thing understood and pre-arranged. She advances without show of timidity; and, curtseying to the "Senor Francisco," as she styles Hamersley, takes seat upon the log from which he has arisen; Walt laying hold of her hand and gallantly conducting her to it. There is a short interregnum of silence. This Conchita's sweetheart endeavours to fill up with a series of gestures that might appear uncouth but for the solemnity of the occasion. So considered, they may be deemed graceful, even dignified. Perhaps not thinking them so himself, Walt soon seeks relief by turning to his interpreter, and making appeal to him as follows-- "Doggone it, Frank! Ye see I don't know how to talk to her, so you do the palaverin. Tell her right off, what I want. Say I hain't got much money, but a pair o' arems strong enuf to purtect her, thro' thick an' thro' thin, agin the dangers o' the mountain an' the puraira, grizzly bars, Injuns, an' all. She sees this chile hev got a big body; ye kin say to her thet his heart ain't no great ways out o' correspondence wi' his karkidge. Then tell her in the eend, thet his body an' his hands an' heart--all air offered to her; an' if she'll except 'em they shall be hern, now, evermore, an' to the death--so help me God!" As the hunter completes his proposal thus ludicrously, though emphatically pronounced, he brings his huge hand down upon his brawny breast with a slap like the crack of a cricket bat. Whatever meaning the girl may make out of his words, she can have had no doubt about their earnestness or sincerity, judging by the gestures that accompany them. Hamersley can scarce restrain his inclination to laugh; but with an effort he subdues it, and faithfully, though not very literally, translates the proposal into Spanish. When, as Walt supposes, he has finished, the ex-Ranger rises to his feet and stands awaiting the answer, his huge frame trembling like the leaf of an aspen. He continues to shake all the while Conchita's response is being delivered; though her first words would assure, and set his nerves at rest, could he but understand them. But he knows not his fate, till it has passed through the tedious transference from one language to another--from Spanish to his own native tongue. "Tell him," is the response of Conchita, given without sign of insincerity, "tell him that I love him as much as he can me. That I loved him from the first moment of our meeting, and shall love him to the end of my life. In reply to his honourable proposal, say to him yes. I am willing to become his wife." When the answer is translated to Walt, he bounds at least three feet into the air, with a shout of triumph such as he might give over the fall of an Indian foe. Then, advancing towards the girl, he flings his great arms around her, lifts her from the ground as if she were a child's doll; presses her to his broad, throbbing breast, and imprints a kiss upon her lips--the concussion of which can be heard far beyond the borders of the cottonwood copse. CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. A DANGEROUS EAVESDROPPER. However successful in his suit with Conchita, Walt Wilder is not without a rival. Hamersley has reason to suspect this soon after separating from the lovers, which he does, leaving them to themselves. It has occurred to him, that the presence of more than two on that spot can be no longer desirable. His part has been performed, and he withdraws without saying a word. There is a third man, notwithstanding--a spectator--whose breast is stirred with terrible emotion. As the Kentuckian passes out through the copse, he catches sight of a figure crouching behind the trunk of a tree--apparently that of a man. Twilight is now on, and beneath the leafy branches reigns an obscurity almost equalling night. What he sees may be some straying animal, or perhaps it is only fancy. His thoughts are engrossed with that which carries him on towards the house. There one will be awaiting him, in whose refined presence he will soon forget the uncouth spectacle of courtship at which he has been assisting. But the form he has observed cowering under the shadow of the cotton-woods was no fancy, nor four-footed creature, but a human being, a man--in short, Manuel the Indian. Manuel is mad in love with the little mestiza, who, with Spanish blood in her veins, is, nevertheless, maternally of his own race--that of the _Indios mansos_, or "tame Indians," of New Mexico--so called in contradistinction to the _Indios bravos_, the savages who, from the conquest till this day, have never submitted themselves to Spanish rule. Though Christianised, after a fashion, by the Franciscans, with others of the missionary fathers--living in walled towns, each with its _capilla_ or church, and cultivating the lands around, many of these so-called Christian Indians still continue to practice Pagan rites, more or less openly. In some of their villages, it is said, the _estafa_, or sacred fire, is kept burning, and has never been permitted to go out since the time of Montezuma, from whom and his people they believe themselves descended. They are undoubtedly of Aztec race, and sun-worshippers, as were the subjects of the unfortunate Emperor of Tenochtitlas. Travellers who have visited their more remote "pueblos" have witnessed something of this sun-worship, seeing them ascend to the flat roofs of their singularly constructed houses, and there stand in fixed attitude, devoutly gazing at the sun as it ascends over the eastern horizon. Notwithstanding the epithet "tame," which their Spanish conquerors have applied to them, they are still more than half wild; and, upon occasions, the savage instinct shows itself in deeds of cruelty and blood. This very instinct has been kindled in the heart of Manuel. It was not devotion to Don Valerian Miranda that moved him to follow the fortunes of his master into exile; his love for Conchita accounts for his presence there. And he loves her with an ardour and singleness of passion such as often burns in the breasts of his people. The girl has given him no encouragement, rather the reverse. For all that, he has pursued her with zealous solicitation, regardless of rebuffs and apparently unconscious of her scorn. Hitherto he has had no rival, which has hindered him from despairing. Conchita is still young, in her earliest teens, having just turned twelve. But even at this age a New Mexican maiden is deemed old enough for matrimony; and Manuel, to do justice to him, has eyes upon her with this honest intent. For months he had made up his mind to have her for his wife--long before their forced flight into the Llano Estacado. And now that they are in the desert, with no competitor near--for Chico does not count as one--he has fancied the time come for the consummation of his hopes. But just when the fair fruit seems ripe for plucking, like the fox in the fable, he discovers it is beyond his reach. What is worse still, another, taller than he, and who can reach higher, is likely to gather it. Ever since the arrival of Walt Wilder in the valley he has been watching the movements of the latter. Not without observing that between the great Texan hunter and the little Mexican _muchacha_ there has sprung up an attachment of a suspicious nature. He has not heard them express it in speech, for in this way they cannot communicate with one another; but certain looks and gestures exchanged, unintelligible to others, have been easily interpreted by the Indian as the signs of a secret and mutual understanding between them. They have driven the poor peon well nigh distracted with jealousy--felt all the keener from its being his first experience of it, all the angrier from consciousness of his own honest love--while he believes that of the intruder to have a different intent. As the days and hours pass he observes new incidents to sharpen his suspicions and strengthen his jealous ire. In fine, he arrives at the conclusion that Conchita--long loved by him, long vainly solicited--has surrendered her heart to the gigantic Texan, who like a sinister shadow, a ghoul, a very ogre, has chanced across the sunlight of his path. Under the circumstances, what is he to do? He is powerful in passion, but weak in physical strength. Compared with his rival, he is nought. In a conflict the Texan would crush him, squeeze the breath out of his body, as a grizzly bear would that of a prairie squirrel or ground gopher. He does not show open antagonism--does not think of it. He knows it would but end in his ruin--his utter annihilation. Still, he is not despairing. With the instincts peculiar to his race, he contemplates revenge. All his idle hours are spent brooding over plans to frustrate the designs of his rival--in short, to put him out of the way altogether. More than once has a thought of poison passed through his mind as the surest way of effecting his fiendish purpose, as also the safest; and upon this mode of killing the Texan he has at length determined. That very day he has been engaged in making ready for the deed-- preparing the potion. Certain plants he has found growing in the valley, well known among his people as poisonous, will furnish him with the means of death--a slow, lingering death, therefore all the surer to avert suspicion from the hand that has dealt it. To all appearance, Walt Wilder is doomed. He has escaped the spears, arrows, and tomahawks of the Tenawa savages to fall a victim to a destroyer, stealthy, subtle, unseen. And is the noble Texan--guide, ranger, and hunter--thus sadly to succumb? No. Fate has not decreed his death by such insidious means. A circumstance, apparently accidental, steps in to save him. On this very day, when the poison it being prepared for him, the poisoner receives a summons that for the time at least, will frustrate his foul plans. His master commands him to make ready for a journey. It is an errand similar to that he has been several times sent upon before. He is to proceed to the settlements on the Rio Grande, where Don Valerian has friends with whom, in his exile, he keeps up secret correspondence, Manuel acting as messenger. Thence the trusted peon is to bring back, as oft before, despatches, news, provisions--the last now more than ever needed, on account of the stranger guests so unexpectedly thrown upon his hospitality. Manuel is to commence his journey on the following day at the earliest hour of dawn. There will be no chance for him now to carry out his nefarious design. It must remain uncompleted till his return. While chafing at the disappointment, he sees Conchita stealing out from the house and entering the cotton-wood grove. He follows her with a caution equalling her own, but from a far different cause. Crouching on through the trees, he takes stand behind a trunk, and, concealed by it, becomes spectator of all that passes. He is at first surprised at seeing three where he expected only two. Pleased also; for it gives him hope the girl's errand may not be the keeping of a love appointment. But as the triangular conference proceeds; above all, when it arrives at its conclusion, and he sees the Texan raise Conchita in his arms, giving her that kiss, the echo of which is distinctly audible to him, his blood boils, and with difficulty does he restrain himself from rushing up to the spot, and taking the lives of all three, or ending his own if he fail. For a time he stands erect, with his _machete_ drawn from its sheath, his eyes flashing with the fires of jealous vengeance. Fortunately for those upon whom they are bent, an instinct of self-preservation stays him. His hand is ready, but his heart fails him. Terrible as is his anger, it is yet controlled by fear. He will wait for a more favourable time and surer opportunity. A safer means, too--this more than aught else restraining him. While still in intense agitation, he sees Hamersley depart, leaving the other two to themselves. And now, as other kisses are exchanged between the lovers, his jealous fury becomes freshly excited, and for the second time he is half resolved to rush forward and kill--kill. But again his fears gain the ascendency, and his hand refuses to obey the dictates of his angry heart. With the bare blade held tremblingly, he continues spectator of that scene which fills his breast with blackest, bitterest emotion. He has not the courage to interrupt it. Calculating the chances, he perceives they are against him. Should he succeed in killing the Texan, with Conchita standing by and bearing witness to the deed, would be to forfeit his own life. He could find it in his heart to kill her too; but that would lead to the same result. Failing in his first blow, the great hunter would have him under his heel, to be crushed as a crawling reptile. Thus cogitating, he sticks to his place of concealment, and overlooks the love scene to its termination; then permits the lovers to depart in peace--the woman he so wildly loves, the man he so madly hates. After they have gone out of the grove, he advances towards the log upon which they were seated. Himself taking seat on it, he there ponders upon a plan of vengeance surer and safer than the assassin's steel. It is no longer his intent to employ poison. A new idea has entered his brain--has been in it ever since receiving notice of the journey on which he is about to set forth; in truth, suggested by this. A scheme quite as efficient as poisoning, but also having a purpose far more comprehensive, for it includes others besides his rival the Ranger. Of late neglectful of his duties, Colonel Miranda has severely chided him, thus kindling the hereditary antipathy of his race towards the white man. His master is to be among the victims--in short, all of them, his fellow-servant, Chico, excepted. Should the diabolical plan prove a success, not one of them can escape ruin, and most of them may meet death. CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. A TALE OF PERIL. Thanks to the skill of Don Prospero, exerted with kind assiduity, Hamersley's wounds are soon healed, his strength completely restored. Doubtless the tender nursing of the "angel" has something to do with his rapid recovery, while her presence, cheerful as gentle, does much to remove the gloom from his spirits, caused by the terrible disaster he had sustained. Long before reaching convalescence he has ceased to lament the loss of his property, and only sorrows as he reflects on the fate of his brave followers, whose lives were sacrificed in the effort to preserve it. Happily, however, as time passes the retrospect of the red carnage loses something of its sanguinary hue, its too vivid tints becoming gradually obscured in the oblivion of the past with the singular surroundings of the present. Amid these his spirit yields itself to pleasanter reflections. How could it be otherwise? Still, with restored strength, his curiosity has been increasing, till it has reached a point of keenness requiring to be satisfied. He wonders at all around him, especially the strange circumstance of finding his old friend and duelling second in such an out-of-the-way place. As yet, Miranda has only given him a hint, though one pretty much explaining all. There has been a revolution; and they are refugees. But the young Kentuckian is curious to learn the details, about which, for some reason, the Mexican has hitherto preserved silence. His reticence has been due to an injunction of the doctor, who, still under some anxiety about the recovery of his patient, forbade imparting to him particulars that might have an injurious effect on his nervous system, sadly debilitated by the shock it has received. Don Prospero is an acute observer. He perceives the growing interest which Hamersley takes in the sister of his host. He knows the story of the Chihuahua duel; and thinks that the other story--that of the disastrous revolution--told in detail, might retard the convalescence of his patient. Counselled by him, Colonel Miranda has refrained from communicating it. Ignorant of the cause, Hamersley is all the more eager to learn it. Still, his curiosity does not impel him to importunate inquiry. In the companionship of such kind friends he can afford to be patient. Walt Wilder has no curiosity of any kind. His thoughts have become centred, his whole soul wrapped up in Conchita. The heart of the colossal hunter has received a shock such as it never had before; for, as he declared himself, he is in love for the first time in his life. Not but that he has made love before, after a fashion. For he has shared his tent with more than one Indian squaw, drank and danced with those nondescript damsels who now and then find their way to the forts of the fur-traders scattered among the Rocky Mountains and along the border-land of the prairies. To all this he has confessed. But these have been only interludes, "trifling love scrapes." His present affair with the little mestiza is different. Her sparkling black eyes pierced deeper and more direct--"straight plum-centre to his heart," as, in professional jargon, he described it. The invalid is at length convalescent; the doctor removes the seal of injunction placed upon the lips of Colonel Miranda, and the latter fulfils his promise made to give a narrative of the events which have led to their residence in that remote and solitary spot. The two seated together sipping Paseno wine and smoking cigars, the Mexican commences his tale. "We are refugees, as I've already stated, and came here to save our heads. At least, there was danger of my losing mine--or, rather, the certainty of it--had we not succeeded in making our escape from Albuquerque. The word _pronunciamento_ explains all. A revolt of the troops under my command, with a name, that of the leader, will give you a key to the whole affair." "Uraga!" exclaims Hamersley, the word coming mechanically from his red lips; while a cloud passes over his brow, and a red flush flecks the pallor on his cheeks. "Captain Uraga! 'Twas he?" "It was." "The scoundrel! I thought so." "Not Captain Uraga now, but Colonel; for the reward of his treason reached him simultaneously with its success, and the traitor is now in command of the district from which I have been, deposed. Not only that, but, as I have heard, he has appropriated my house--the same where, twelve months ago, I had the pleasure of showing you some hospitality. Contrasting it with our present humble abode, you will see, senor, that my family affairs have not prospered, any more than my political fortunes. But to the narration. "Not long after you left us I made application to the Government for an increase to the mounted force at my disposal. This had become necessary for due protection of the district from our warlike neighbours in the west--the Navajoes. They had made several raids upon the river settlements, and carried off goods, cattle, and a number of captives. The force I had made requisition for was obtained; but not the right men, or at least the officers I should have chosen to command it. A troop of light cavalry was sent me--Lancers. You may imagine my chagrin, not to say disgust, when I saw Captain Gil Uraga at its head. Marching into the town of Albuquerque, he reported himself for duty. "I need not tell you how unpleasant it was for me to have such a fellow for subordinate. In addition to our Chihuahua duel, there were many reasons for my having an aversion to him--one, and not the least, that which I have already hinted to you--his pretensions to be the suitor of my sister." Hamersley writhes as he listens, the red spot on his cheek spreading and flushing redder. Miranda proceeds-- "He continued his ill-received attentions whenever chance gave him an opportunity. It was not often. I took care of that; though, but for precautions and my authority as his superior officer, his advances would, no doubt, have been bolder--in short, persecutions. I knew that to my sister, as to myself, his presence was disagreeable, but there was no help for it. I could not have him removed. In all matters of military duty he took care to act so that there should be no pretext for a charge against him. Besides, I soon found that he was in favour with one of the Government dignitaries. Though I did not then know why, I learnt it afterwards; and why he, of all others, had been sent to Albuquerque. The _sap_ had commenced for a new revolution, and he was one of its secret fomenters. He had been chosen by the _parti pretre_ as a fitting agent to act in that district, of which, like myself, he was a native. "Having no suspicion of this, I only thought of him in regard to his impertinent solicitation of my sister; and against this I could restrain him. He was polite; obsequiously so, and cautiously guarded in his gallantries; so that I had no cause for resorting to the _desafio_. I could only wait and watch. "The vigil was not a protracted one; though, alas! it ended differently from what I expected. About two months after his coming under my command, the late _grito_ was proclaimed all over Mexico. One morning as I went down to the military quarters I found confusion and disturbance. The soldiers were under arms, many of them drunk, and vociferating `_Viva Santa Anna! Viva el Coronel Uraga_!' Hearing this, I at once comprehended all. It was a _pronunciamento_. I drew my sword, thinking to stem the tide of treason; and called around me such of my followers as were still faithful. It was too late. The poison had spread throughout the whole command. My adherents were soon overpowered, several of them killed; myself wounded, dragged to the _carcel_, and there locked up. The wonder is that I was not executed on the spot; since I know Gil Uraga thirsted for my life. He was only restrained, however, by a bit of caution; for, although I was not put to death on that day, he intended I should never see the sun rise upon another. In this he was disappointed, and I escaped. "I know you will be impatient to learn how," resumes the refugee, after rolling and igniting a fresh cigarrito. "It is somewhat of an incident, and might serve the writer of a romance. I owe my life, my liberty, and, what is more, my sister's safety, to our good friend Don Prospero. In his capacity of military surgeon he was not compromised like the rest of us; and after the revolt in the cuartel he was left free to follow his vocation. While seeking permission to dress the wound I had received, chance conducted him to a place where he could overhear a conversation that was being carried on between Uraga and one of his lieutenants--a ruffian named Roblez, fit associate for his superior. They were in high glee over what had happened, carousing, and in their cups not very cautious of what they said. Don Prospero heard enough to make him acquainted with their scheme, so diabolical you will scarcely give credence to it. I was to be made away with in the night--carried up to the mountains, and there murdered! With no traces left, it would be supposed that I had made my escape from the prison. And the good doctor heard other designs equally atrocious. What the demons afterwards intended doing when my sister should be left unprotected--" Something like a groan escapes from the listener's lips, while his fingers move nervously, as if clutching at a weapon. "Devoted to me, Don Prospero at once resolved upon a course of action. There was not a moment to be lost. He obtained permission to attend me professionally in the prison. It was a cheap grace on Uraga's part, considering his ulterior design. An attendant, a sort of hospital assistant, was allowed to accompany the doctor to the cell, carrying his lints, drugs, and instruments. Fortunately, I had not been quite stripped by the ruffians who had imprisoned me, and in my own purse, along with that of Don Prospero, was a considerable sum of gold--enough for tempting the attendant to change clothes and places with me. He was the more ready to do so, relying upon a story he intended to tell--that we had overpowered and compelled him. Poor fellow! As we afterwards learnt, it did not save him. He was shot the next morning to appease the chagrin of Uraga, furious at our escape. We cannot help feeling regret for his fate; but, under the circumstances, what else could have been done? "We stepped forth from the _carcel_, the doctor leading the way, and I, his assistant, bearing the paraphernalia after him. We passed out of the barracks unchallenged. Fortunately, the night was a dark one, and the guards were given to carousing. The sentries were all intoxicated. "By stealth, and in silence, we hastened on to my house, where I found Adela, as you may suppose, in a state of agonised distress. But there was no time for words--not even of explanation. With two of my servants whom I could trust, we hastily collected some of our animals--horses and pack-mules. The latter we loaded with such things as we could think of as being requisite for a journey. We intended it to be a long one--all the way across the great prairies. I knew there would be no safety for us within the limits of New Mexico; and I remembered what you had said but a few months before--your kind proffer of hospitality, should it ever be my fate to seek refuge in your country. And to seek it we set forth, leaving my house untenanted, or only in charge of the remaining domestics, from whom gold had gained a promise not to betray us. The doctor, Adela and myself, the two peons who had volunteered to accompany us, with the girl, Conchita, composed our travelling party. I knew we dared not take the route usually travelled. We should be followed by hostile pursuers and forced back, perhaps slain upon the spot. I at least would have had a short shrift. Knowing this, we made direct for the mountains, with whose passes I was familiar, having traversed them in pursuit of the savages. "We passed safely through the Sierra, and kept on towards the Rio Pecos. Beyond this river all was unknown to us. We only knew that there lay the Llano Estacado, invested with mysterious terrors--the theme of our childhood's fears--a vast stretch of desert, uninhabited, or only by savages seeking scalps, by wild beasts ravening for blood, by hideous reptiles--serpents breathing poison. But what were all these dangers to that we were leaving behind? Nothing, and this thought inspired us to proceed. "We crossed the Pecos and entered upon the sterile plain. We knew not how far it extended; only that on the other side lay a fertile country through which we might penetrate to the frontier settlements of your great free nation. This was the beacon of our hopes, the goal of safety. "We travelled in an easterly course; but there were days when the sun was obscured by clouds; and then, unguided, we had either to remain at rest or run the chance of getting strayed. "We toiled on, growing weak for want of food, and suffering terribly from thirst. No water was to be found anywhere--not a drop. "Our animals suffered as ourselves. Staggering under the weight of their loads, one by one they gave out, dropping down upon the desert plain. Only one held out bravely to the last--the mustang mare that brought you to our present abode. Yes, Lolita survived to carry my dear sister, as if she understood the value we all placed upon her precious burden. The others gave out--first the horses ridden by Don Prospero and myself, then the pack-mules. Fortunately, these fell near the spot where we at length found relief--near enough for their loads, and two of themselves, to be afterwards recovered. "One day, as we toiled on afoot, in the hourly expectation of death, we came in sight of this fair spot. It appeared to us a Paradise, as you say it did to yourself. Under our eyes were green trees and the gleam of crystal streams; in our ears the songs of birds we had never expected to hear again. Chance had brought us direct to the path, the only one by which the valley can be reached from the upper plain. Inspirited by the fair spectacle below, we gained strength enough to descend. We drank of the sweet water, and procured food from the branches of the trees that shaded it. It was the season when fruits and berries were abundant. Afterwards we discovered game, and were successful in capturing it. "Soon with restored strength we were able to go back, and recover the paraphernalia we had left upon the plain, along with two of the mules that, after resting, had regained their feet, and could stagger on a little farther. "At first we only thought of making this a temporary resting-place; though there seemed but slight hope of being able to continue our journey. But as the days passed, and we were left undisturbed, we began to realise the fact that we had found an asylum, safe as pleasant. "It was not likely that anyone would discover the track we had taken in our flight. Even the resentment of Uraga would scarce pursue us across the Staked Plain. In any case, there was no help for it but to remain in the valley, as we had not animals enough to carry us on. Our only alternative was to go back to the Del Norte--a thing not to be thought of. We resolved, therefore, on staying, at least for a time. I had conceived a plan for communicating with my friends in New Mexico, and am not without hope that sooner or later we may get tidings that will make it safe for as to return. In our country, as you know, there is nothing permanent; and we have hopes ere long to see the Liberal party once more in the ascendant. "Our resolution to remain here becoming fixed we sot about making our situation as comfortable as circumstances would permit. We erected this humble tenement whose roof now shelters us. We turned fishermen and hunters; in the last my sister proving more accomplished than any of us--a real huntress, as you have seen. We have enjoyed the life amazingly; more especially our worthy _medico_, who is an enthusiastic naturalist, and here finds a rare opportunity of gratifying his scientific tastes. For subsistence we have not had to depend altogether upon the chase. Manuel, one of our peons, an old muleteer, makes an occasional trip to Albuquerque, the route of which he has good reason to remember. I send him with messages, and to purchase provisions. He is cautious to make his approaches under cover of night, and do his marketing with circumspection. With our gold, not yet all gone, he is enabled to bring back such commodities as we stand in need of; while a friend, entrusted with the secret of our hiding-place, keeps us informed of the _novedades_. Now you know all." CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. THE INTERCEPTED LETTER. Colonel Miranda, having told the tale of his perilous escape, for a time remains silent and reflective. So does his listener. Both are thinking on the same subject--the villainy of Gil Uraga. Hamersley first breaks silence, asking the question,-- "Did you get my letter?" "What letter?" "I wrote you only one. Now I think of it, you could not have received it. No. By the time it would reach Albuquerque, you must have been gone from there." "I got no letter from you, Don Francisco. You say you sent one. What was the nature of its contents?" "Nothing of any importance. Merely to say that I was coming back to New Mexico, and hoped to find you in good health." "Did it particularise the time you expected to reach Albuquerque?" "Yes; as far as I could fix that, if I remember rightly, it did." "And the route you were to take?" "That too. When I wrote the letter I intended to make trial of a new trail lately discovered--up the Canadian, and touching the northern end of the Staked Plain. I did make trial of it, alas! with lamentable result. But why do you ask these questions, Colonel Miranda?" The colonel does not make immediate answer. He appears more meditative than ever, as though some question has come before his mind calling for deliberate examination. While he is thus occupied the ex-Ranger enters the room and sits down beside them. Walt is welcome. Indeed, Don Valerian had already designed calling him into their counsel. For an idea has occurred to the Mexican Colonel requiring the joint consideration of all three. Turning to the other two, he says,-- "I've been thinking a good deal about the attack on your caravan. The more I reflect on it the more I am led to believe that some of the Indians who plundered you were painted." "They were all painted," is the reply of the young prairie merchant. "True, Don Francisco; but that isn't what I mean." "I reckon I knows what ye mean," interposes the ex-Ranger, rising excitedly from his chair on hearing the Mexican's remark. "It's been my own suspeeshun all along. You know what I tolt ye, Frank?" Hamersley looks interrogatively at his old comrade. "Did I not say," continues Wilder, "that I seed two men 'mong the Injuns wi' ha'r upon thar faces? They wa'n't Injuns; they war whites. A'n't that what ye mean, Kurnel Meoranda?" "_Precisamente_!" is the colonel's reply. The other two wait for him to continue on with the explanation Wilder has already surmised. Even the young prairie merchant--less experienced in Mexican ways and wickedness, in infamy so incredible--begins to have a glimmering of the truth. Seemingly weighing his words, Miranda proceeds,-- "No doubt it was a band of Comanche Indians that destroyed your caravan and killed your comrades. But I have as little doubt of there being white men among them--one at least, and that one he who planned and instigated the deed." "Who, Colonel Miranda?" is the quick interrogatory of the Kentuckian, while with flashing eyes and lips apart he breathlessly awaits the answer. For all, he does not much need it; the name to be pronounced is on the tip of his own tongue. It is again "Gil Uraga!" "Yes," replies the Mexican, with added emphasis. "He is, undoubtedly, the robber who despoiled you. Though done in the guise of an Indian onslaught, with real Indians as his assistants, he has been their instructor--their leader. I see it all now clear as sunlight. He got your letter, which you say was addressed to me as colonel commanding at Albuquerque. As a matter of course, he opened it. It told him when and where to meet you; your strength, and the value of your cargo. The last has not been needed as an incentive for him to assail you, Don Francisco. The mark you made upon his cheek was sufficient. Didn't I tell you at the time he would move heaven and earth to have revenge on you--on both of us? He has succeeded; behold his success. I a refugee, robbed of everything; you plundered the same; both ruined men!" "Not yet!" cries the Kentuckian, starting to his feet. "Not ruined yet, Colonel Miranda. If the thing be as you say, I shall seek a second interview with this scoundrel--this fiend; seek till I obtain it. And then--" "Hyur's one," interrupts the ex-Ranger, unfolding his gigantic form with unusual rapidity, "who'll take part in that sarch. Yis, Frank, this chile's willin' to go wi' ye to the heart o' Mexiko, plum centre; to the halls o' the Montyzoomas; reddy to start this minnit." "If," resumes Hamersley, his coolness contrasting with the excited air of his comrade, now roused to a terrible indignation, "if, Colonel Miranda, it turns out as you conjecture, that Gil Uraga has taken part in the destruction of my waggon-train, or even been instrumental in causing it, I shall leave no stone unturned to obtain justice." "Justice!" exclaims the ex-Ranger, with a deprecatory toss of the head. "In case o' this kind we want somethin' beside. To think o' thirteen innercent men attacked without word o' warnin', shot down, stabbed, slaughtered, and sculped! Think o' that; an' don't talk tamely o' justice; let's shout loudly for revenge!" CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT. THE LAND OF THE "LEX TALIONIS." During the quarter of a century preceding the annexation of New Mexico to the United States, that distant province of the Mexican Republic, like all the rest of the country, was the scene of constantly recurring revolutions. Every discontented captain, colonel, or general who chanced to be in command of a district, there held sway as a dictator; so demeaning himself that martial and military rule had become established as the living law of the land. The civic authorities rarely possessed more than the semblance of power; and where they did it was wielded in the most flagitious manner. Arbitrary arts were constantly committed, under the pretext of patriotism or duty. No man's life was safe who fell under the displeasure of the ruling military chieftain; and woman's honour was held in equally slight respect. In the northern frontier provinces of the republic this irresponsible power of the soldiery was peculiarly despotic and harassing. There, two causes contributed to establish and keep it in the ascendency. One of these was the revolutionary condition of the country, which, as elsewhere, had become chronic. The contest between the party of the priests and that of the true patriots, begun in the first days of Mexico's independence, has been continued ever since; now one, now the other, in the ascendant. The monstrous usurpation of Maximilian, supported by Napoleon the Third, and backed by a soldier whom all Mexicans term the "Bandit Bazaine," was solely due to the hierarchy; while Mexico owes its existing Republican government to the patriot party--happily, for the time, triumphant. The province of New Mexico, notwithstanding its remoteness from the nation's capital, was always affected by, and followed, its political fortunes. When the _parti pretre_ was in power at the capital, its adherents became the rulers in the distant States for the time being; and when the Patriots, or Liberals, gained the upper hand this _role_ was reversed. It is but just to say that, whenever the latter were the "ins," things for the time went well. Corruption, though not cured, was to some extent checked; and good government would begin to extend itself over the land. But such could only last for a brief period. The monarchical, dictatorial, or imperial party--by whatever name it may be known--was always the party of the Church; and this, owning three-fourths of the real estate, both in town and country, backed by ancient ecclesiastical privileges, and armed with another powerful engine--the gross superstition it had been instrumental in fostering-- was always able to control events; so that no Government, not despotic, could stand against it for any great length of time. For all, freedom at intervals triumphed, and the priests became the "outs;" but ever potent, and always active, they would soon get up a new "grito" to bring about a revolutionary change in the Government. Sanguinary scenes would be enacted--hangings, shooting, garrottings--all the horrors of civil war that accompany the bitterest of all spite, the ecclesiastical. In such an uncertain state of things it was but natural that the _militarios_ should feel themselves masters of the situation, and act accordingly. In the northern districts they had yet another pretext for their unrestrained exercise of power--in none more than New Mexico. This remote province, lying like an oasis in the midst of uninhabited wilds, was surrounded on all sides by tribes of hostile Indians. There were the Navajoes and Apaches on its west, the Comanche and other Apache bands on the south and east, the Utahs on its north, and various smaller tribes distributed around it. They were all more or less hostile at one time or another: now on terms of an intermittent peace, secured by a "palaver" and treaty; this anon to be broken by some act of bad faith, leaving their "braves" at liberty once more to betake themselves to the war-path. Of course this condition of things gave the soldiery a fine opportunity to maintain their ascendency over the peaceful citizens. Rabble as these soldiers were, and poltroons as they generally proved themselves in every encounter with the Indians, they were accustomed to boast of being the country's protectors, for this "protection" assumed a sort of right to despoil it at their pleasure. Some few years preceding the American-Mexican war--which, as well known, gave New Mexico to the United States--these belligerent swaggerers were in the zenith of their arbitrary rule. Their special pet and protector, Santa Anna, was in for a new spell of power, making him absolute dictator of Mexico and disposer of the destinies of its people. At the same time, one of his most servile tools and successful imitators was at the head of the Provincial Government, having Santa Fe for its capital. This man was Manuel Armijo, whose character may be ascertained, by those curious to study it, from reading the chronicles of the times, especially the records of the prairie merchants, known as the "Santa Fe traders." It will there be learnt that this provincial despot was guilty of every act that could disgrace humanity; and that not only did he oppress his fellow-citizens with the soldiery placed at his disposal to protect them from Indian enemies, but was actually in secret league with the savages themselves to aid him in his mulcts and murders! Whatever his eye coveted he was sure to obtain, by fair means or foul-- by open pillage or secret theft--not unfrequently accompanied by assassination. And as with the despot himself, so with his subordinates--each in his own town or district wielding irresponsible power; all leading lives in imitation of the provincial chieftain, as he of him--the great prototype and patron of all--who held dictatorial sway in the capital of the country, Don Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna. A knowledge of this abnormal and changeable condition of Mexican affairs will, in some measure, explain why Colonel Miranda so suddenly ceased to be commandant of Albuquerque. Santa Anna's new accession to power brought in the _Padres_, turning out the _Patriotas_, many of the latter suffering death for their patriotism, while the adherents of the former received promotion for their support. Staunchest among these was the captain of Lancers, Gil Uraga, promoted to be colonel as also commandant of the district from which its deposed chief so narrowly escaped with his life. And now this revolutionary usurper is in full authority, his acts imitating his master, Armijo, like him in secret league with the savages, even consorting with the red pirates of the plains, taking part in their murderous marauds, and sharing their plunder. CHAPTER THIRTY NINE. PROSPEROUS, BUT NOT HAPPY. Despite his rapid military promotion and the ill-gotten wealth he has acquired, Colonel Gil Uraga is anything but a happy man. Only at such times as he is engaged in some stirring affair of duty or devilry, or when under the influence of drink, is he otherwise than wretched. To drinking he has taken habitually, almost continually. It is not to drown conscience; he has none. The canker-worm that consumes him is not remorse, but disappointment in a love affair, coupled with a thirst for vengeance. There are moments when he is truly miserable, his misery reaching its keenest whenever he either looks into his mirror or stands before a portrait that hangs against the wall of the _sala_. It is a likeness of Adela Miranda; for he has taken possession of the house of his predecessor, with all its furniture and pictures, left in their hasty retreat, the young lady's portrait as the rest. The Lancer colonel loves Adela Miranda; and though his love be of a coarse, brutal nature, it is strong and intense as that the noblest man may feel. In earlier days he believed there was a chance of his obtaining her hand. Humble birth is no bar in Mexico--land of revolutions--where the sergeant or common soldier of to-day may be a lieutenant, captain, or colonel to-morrow. His hopes had been a stimulant to his military aspirations; perchance one of the causes that first led him into crime. He believed that wealth might bridge over the social distinction between himself and her, and in this belief he cared not how it should be acquired. For the rest he was not ill-looking, rather handsome, and fairly accomplished. Like most Mexican _militarios_, he could boast of his _bonnes fortunes_, which he often did. These have become more rare since receiving the sword-thrust from his American adversary in the duel at Chihuahua, which not only cost him three front teeth, but a hideous scar across the cheek. The teeth have been replaced, but the scar cannot be effaced; it remains a frightful cicatrix. Even his whiskers, let grow to their extremest outcrop, will not all conceal it; it is too far forward upon the face. It was after this unfortunate affair that he made proposal to Adela Miranda. And now he cannot help thinking it had something to do with her abrupt and disdainful rejection of him, though the young lady's little concealed disgust, coupled with her brother's indignation, had no reference to the physical deformity. But for his blind passion he might have perceived this. Fancying it so, however, it is not strange that he goes half frantic, and can be heard giving utterance to fearful oaths every time he glances in his looking-glass. After returning from his secret expedition of murder and pillage, he can gaze with more equanimity into the glass. From the man who caused the disfiguration of his visage he has exacted a terrible retribution. His adversary in the Chihuahua duel is now no more. He has met with a fate sufficient to satisfy the most implacable vengeance; and often, both sober and in his cups, does Gil Uraga break out into peals of laughter, like the glee of a demon, as he reflects on the torture, prolonged and horrible, his hated enemy must have endured before life became extinct! But even all this does not appease his malevolent spirit. A portion of his vengeance is yet unappeased--that due to him who was second in the duel. And if it could be satisfied by the death of Miranda himself, then there would still be the other thought to torture him--his thwarted love scheme. The chagrin he suffers from this is stronger than his thirst for vengeance. He is seated in the sala of Miranda's house, which he occupies as his official headquarters. He is alone, his only companion being the bottle that stands upon a table beside him--this and a cigar burning between his lips. It is not wine he is drinking, but the whisky of Tequila, distilled from the wild maguey. Wine is too weak to calm his perturbed spirit, as he sits surveying the portrait upon the wall. His eyes have been on it several times; each time, as he takes them off, drinking a fresh glass of the mezcal and igniting another cigar. What signifies all his success in villainy? What is life worth without her? He would plunder a church to obtain possession of her--murder his dearest friend to get from Adela Miranda one approving smile. Such are his coarse thoughts as he sits soliloquising, shaping conjectures about the banished commandant and his sister. Where can they have gone to? In all probability to the United States-- that asylum of rebels and refugees. In the territory of New Mexico they cannot have stayed. His spies have searched every nook and corner of it, their zeal secured by the promise of large rewards. He has dispatched secret emissaries to the Rio Abajo, and on to the _Provincias Internas_. But no word of Miranda anywhere--no trace can be found either of him or his sister. "_Chingara_!" As if this exclamatory phrase, sent hissing through his teeth--too foul to bear translation--were the name of a man, one at this moment appears in the doorway, who, after a gesture of permission to enter, steps inside the room. He is an officer in full uniform--one whom we have met before, though not in military costume. It is Lieutenant Roblez, Uraga's adjutant, as also his confederate in crime. "I'm glad you've come, _ayudante_," says the Colonel, motioning the new-comer to a seat. "I'm feeling a little bit lonely, and I want some one to cheer me. You, Roblez, are just the man for that; you've got such a faculty for conversation." This is ironical; for Roblez is as silent as an owl. "Sit down and give me your cheerful company," the Colonel adds. "Have a cigar and a _copita_ of this capital stuff; it's the best that Tequila produces." "I've brought other company that may be more cheerful than mine," returns the adjutant, still keeping his feet. "Ah! some of our fellows from the cuartel? Bring them in." "It is not any of the officers, Colonel. There's only one man, and he's a civilian. "Civilian or soldier, you're free to introduce him. I hope," he adds, in an undertone, "it's one of the _ricos_ of the neighbourhood, who won't mind taking an _albur_ at _monte_ or a throw of the dice. I'm just in the vein for a bit of play." "He I'm going to introduce don't look much like a _rico_. From what I can see of him in the darkness, I should say that the blanket upon his shoulders and his sheepskin smallclothes--somewhat dilapidated by the way--are about all the property he possesses." "He's a stranger to you, then?" "As much as to yourself, as you'll say after seeing him--perhaps more." "What sort of man is he?" "For that matter, he can hardly be described as a man. At least, he's not one of the _gent-de-razon_. He's only an Indian." "Ha! Comanche?" As he utters this interrogatory, Colonel Gil Uraga gives a slight start, and looks a little uneasy. His relations with men of the Indian race are of a delicate nature; and, although keen to cultivate their acquaintance whenever occasion requires it, he prefers keeping all Indians at a distance--more especially Comanches, when he has no particular need of their services. The thought has flashed across his mind that the man waiting to be ushered into his presence may be a messenger from the Horned Lizard; and with the Tenawa chief he desires no further dealings--at least for a time. Therefore, the belief of its being an emissary from his red-skinned confederate somewhat discomposes him. The reply of his subordinate, however, reassures him. "No, colonel, he's not a Comanche; bears no resemblance to one, only in the colour of his skin. He appears to be a Pueblo; and from his tattered costume, I take him to be some poor labourer." "But what does he want with me?" "That, colonel, I cannot say; only that he has expressed a very urgent desire to speak with you. I fancy he has something to communicate, which might be important for you to hear; else I should not have taken the liberty to bring him here." "You have him at hand?" "I have. He is outside in the _patio_. Shall I usher him in?" "By all means; there can be no harm in hearing what the fellow has to say. It may be about some threatened invasion of the savages; and as protectors of the people, you, ayudante, know it's our duty to do whatever we can for warding off such a catastrophe." The colonel laughs at his sorry jest; the adjutant expressing his appreciation of it in a shrug of the shoulders, accompanied by a grim smile. "Bring the brute in!" is the command that followed, succeeded by the injunction. "Stay outside in the court till I send for or call you. The fellow may have something to say intended for only one pair of ears. Take a glass of the _mezcal_, light cigarrito, and amuse yourself as you best may." The adjutant obeys the first two of these directions; then, stepping out of the _sala_, leaves his superior officer alone. Uraga glances around to assure himself that there are weapons within reach. With a conscience like his, a soul charged with crime, no wonder. His sabre rests against the wall close to his hand, while a pair of dragoon pistols, both loaded, lie upon the table. Satisfied with the proximity of these weapons, he sits upright in his chair and tranquilly awaits the entrance of the Indian. CHAPTER FORTY. A CONFIDENCE WELL REWARDED. Only a short interval, a score of seconds elapses, when the door, once more opening, admits the expected visitor. The adjutant, after ushering him into the room, withdraws, and commences pacing to and fro in the patio. Colonel Gil Uraga feels very much inclined to laugh as he contemplates the new-comer, and reflects on the precautions he has taken. A poor devil of an Indian _peon_, in coarse woollen _tilma_, tanned sheepskin trousers reaching only to the knee, bare legs below, _guaraches_ upon his feet, and a straw hat upon his head; his long black hail hanging unkempt over his shoulders; his mien humble and looks downcast, like all of his tribe. Yet it might be seen that, on occasion, his eyes could flash forth a light, indicative of danger--a fierce, fiery light, such as may have shone in the orbs of his ancestors when they rallied around Guatimozin, and with clubs and stakes beat back the spears and swords of their Spanish invaders. At the entrance of this humble personage, into the splendidly furnished apartment, his first act is to pull off his tattered straw hat, and make lowly obeisance to the gorgeously attired officer he sees sitting behind the table. Up to this time Uraga has presumed him to be a perfect stranger, but when the broad brim of the sombrero no longer casts its shade over his face, and his eyelids become elevated through increasing confidence, the colonel starts to his feet with an exclamatory speech that tells of recognition. "_Carrambo_! You are Manuel--mule driver for Don Valerian Miranda?" "_Si, Senor; a servido de V_ (Yes, Sir; at your Excellency's service)," is the reply meekly spoken, and accompanied with a second sweep of the straw hat--as gracefully as if given by a Chesterfield. At sight of this old acquaintance, a world of thought rushes crowding through the brain of Gil Uraga--conjectures, mingled with pleasant anticipations. For it comes back to his memory, that at the time of Colonel Miranda's escape, some of his domestics went off with him, and he remembers that Manuel was one of them. In the Indian bending so respectfully before him he sees, or fancies, the first link of a chain that may enable him to trace the fugitives. Manuel should know something about their whereabouts? And the _ci devant_ mule driver is now in his power for any purpose--be it life or death. There is that in the air and attitude of the Indian which tells him there will be no need to resort to compulsory measures. The information he desires can be obtained without, and he determines to seek it by adopting the opposite course. "My poor fellow," he says, "you look distressed--as if you had just come from off a toilsome journey. Here, take a taste of something to recuperate your strength; then you can let me know what you've got to say. I presume you've some communication to make to me, as the military commandant of the district. Night or day, I am always ready to give a hearing to those who bring information that concerns the welfare of the State." While speaking the colonel has poured out a glass of the distilled mezcal juice. This the peon takes from his hand, and, nothing loth, spills the liquor between his two rows of white glittering teeth. Upon his stomach, late unused to it, the fiery spirit produce! an effect almost instantaneous; and the moment after he becomes freely communicative--if not so disposed before. But he has been; therefore the disclosures that follow are less due to the alcohol than to a passion every whit as inflammatory. He is acting under the stimulus of a revenge, terrible and long restrained. "I've missed you from about here, Manuel," says the colonel, in kindly tones, making his approaches with skill. "Where have you been all this while, my good man?" "With my master," is the peon's reply. "Ah, indeed! I thought your master had gone clear out of the country?" "Out of the settled part of it only, senor." "Oh! he is still, then, within Mexican territory! I am glad to hear that. I was very sorry to think we'd lost such a good citizen and patriot as Don Valerian Miranda. True, he and I differ in our views as regards government; but that's nothing, you know, Manuel. Men may be bitter political enemies, yet very good friends. By-the-way, where is the colonel now?" Despite his apparent stolidity, the Indian is not so stupid as to be misled by talk like this. With a full knowledge of the situation-- forced upon him by various events--the badinage of the brilliant _militario_ does not for a moment blind him. Circumstances have given him enough insight into Uraga's character and position to know that the tatter's motives should somewhat resemble his own. He has long been aware that the Lancer colonel is in love with his young mistress, as much as he himself with her maid. Without this knowledge he might not have been there--at least, not with so confident an expectation of success in the design that has brought him hither. For design he has, deep, deadly, and traitorous. Despite the influence of the aguardiente, fast loosening his tongue, he is yet somewhat cautious in his communications; and not until Uraga repeats the question does he make answer to it. Then comes the response, slowly and reluctantly, as if from one of his long-suffering race, who has discovered a mine of precious metal, and is being put to the torture to "denounce" it. "Senor coronel," he says, "how much will your excellency give to know where my master now is? I have heard that there's a large bounty offered for Don Valerian's head." "That is an affair that concerns the State. For myself, I've nothing personally to do with it. Still, as an officer of the Government, it is my duty to take what steps I can towards making your master a prisoner. I think I may promise a good reward to anyone who, by giving information, would enable me to arrest a fugitive rebel and bring him before the bar of justice. Can you do that?" "Well, your excellency, that will depend. I'm only a poor man, and need money to live upon. Don Valerian is my master, and if anything were to happen to him I should lose my situation. What am I to do?" "Oh, you'd easily get another, and better. A man of your strength-- By the way, talking of strength, my good Manuel, you don't seem to have quite recovered from your journey, which must have been long and fatiguing. Take another _copita_; you're in need of it; 'twill do you good." Pressure of this sort put upon an Indian, be he _bravo_ or _manso_, is rarely resisted. Nor is it in Manuel's case. He readily yields to it, and tosses off another glass of the aguardiente. Before the strong alcohol can have fairly filtered down into his stomach its fumes ascend to his skull. The cowed, cautious manner--a marked characteristic of his race--now forsakes him; the check-strings of his tongue become relaxed, and, with nothing before his mind save his scheme of vengeance, and that of securing Conchita, he betrays the whole secret of Colonel Miranda's escape--the story of his retreat across the Staked Plain, and his residence in the lone valley. When he further informs Uraga about the two guests who have strayed to this solitary spot, and, despite his maudlin talk, minutely describes the men, his listener utters a loud cry, accompanied by a gesture of such violence as to overturn the table, sending bottle and glasses over the floor. He does not stay to see the damage righted, but with a shout that reverberates throughout the whole house, summons his adjutant, and also the corporal of his guard. "_Cabo_!" he cries, addressing himself to the latter in a tone at once vociferous and commanding; "take this man to the guard-house! And see you keep him there, so that he may be forthcoming when wanted. Take heed to hold him safe. If he be missing, you shall be shot ten minutes after I receive the report of it. You have the word of Gil Uraga for that." From the way the corporal makes prisoner the surprised peon, almost throttling him, it is evident he does not intend running any risk of being shot for letting the latter escape. The Indian appears suddenly sobered by the rough treatment he is receiving. But he is too much astonished to find speech for protest. Mute, and without offering the slightest resistance, he is dragged out through the open doorway, to all appearance more dead than alive. "Come, Roblez!" hails his superior officer, as soon as the door has closed behind the guard corporal and his captive, "Drink with me! Drink! First to revenge! I haven't had it yet, as I'd thought; that has all to be gone over again. But it's sure now--surer than ever. After, we shall drink to success in love. Mine is not hopeless, yet. Lost! she is found again--found! Ah, my darling Adela!" he exclaims, staggering towards the portrait, and in tipsy glee contemplating it, "you thought to escape me; but no. No one can get away from Gil Uraga-- friend, sweetheart, or enemy. You shall yet be enfolded in these arms; if not as my wife, my--_margarita_!" CHAPTER FORTY ONE. AN EARTHLY PARADISE. "Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair spirit for my monitor! That I might all forget the human race, And, hating no one, love but only her. Ye elements, in whose ennobling stir I feel myself exalted, can ye not Accord me such a being? Do I err In deeming such inhabit many a spot-- Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot." Oft during his sojourn in the sequestered valley do these lines occur to the young prairie merchant. And vividly; for, in very truth, he has realised the aspiration of the poet. But, though dwelling in a desert, far different is the scene habitually before his eyes. From the front of the humble chalet that has so opportunely afforded him a shelter, seated under the spreading branches of a pecan-tree, he can look on a landscape lovely as ever opened to the eyes of man--almost as that closed against our first parents when expelled from Paradise. Above he beholds a sapphire sky, scarce ever shadowed by a cloud; a sun whose fierce, fervid beams become softened as they fall amid the foliage of evergreen oaks; among clustering groves that show all the varied tints of verdure, disporting upon green glassy glades, and glinting into arbours overshadowed by the sassafras laurel, the Osage orange, and the wild China-tree, laced together by a trellis of grape vines. A lake in the centre of this luxurious vegetation, placid as sleep itself, only stirred by the webbed feet of waterfowl, or the wings of dipping swallows, with above and below a brawling rivulet, here and there showing cascades like the tails of white horses, or the skirts of ballroom belles floating through waltz or gallopade. In correspondence with these fair sights are the sounds heard. By day the cooing of doves, the soft tones of the golden oriole, and the lively chatter of the red cardinal; by night the booming note of the bull-bat, the sonorous call of the trumpeter swan, and that lay far excelling all--the clear song of the polyglot thrush, the famed mocking-bird of America. No wonder the invalid, recovering from his illness, after the long dark spell that has obscured his intellect, wrapping his soul, as it were, in a shroud--no wonder he fancies the scene to be a sort of Paradise, worthy of being inhabited by Peris. One is there he deems fair as Houri or Peri, unsurpassed by any ideal of Hindoo or Persian fable--Adela Miranda. In her he beholds beauty of a type striking as rare; not common anywhere, and only seen among women in whose veins courses the blue blood of Andalusia--a beauty perhaps not in accordance with the standard of taste acknowledged in the icy northland. The _vigolite_ upon her upper lip might look a little bizarre in an assemblage of Saxon dames, just as her sprightly spirit would offend the sentiment of a strait-laced Puritanism. It has no such effect upon Frank Hamersley. The child of a land above all others free from conventionalism, with a nature attuned to the picturesque, these peculiarities, while piquing his fancy, have fixed his admiration. Long before leaving his sick couch there has been but one world for him--that where dwells Adela Miranda; but one being in it--herself. Surely it was decreed by fate that these two should love one another! Surely for them was there a marriage in heaven! Else why brought together in such a strange place and by such a singular chain of circumstances? For himself, Hamersley thinks of this--builds hopes upon it deeming it an omen. Another often occurs to him, also looking like fate. He remembers that portrait on the wall at Albuquerque, and how it had predisposed him in favour of the original. The features of Spano-Mexican type--so unlike those he had been accustomed to in his own country--had vividly impressed him. Gazing upon it he had almost felt love for the likeness. Then the description of the young girl given by her brother, with the incidents that led to friendly relations between him and Colonel Miranda, all had contributed to sow the seed of a tender sentiment in the heart of the young Kentuckian. It had not died out. Neither time nor absence had obliterated it. Far off--even when occupied with the pressing claims of business--that portrait-face had often appeared upon the retina of his memory, and often also in the visions of dreamland. Now that he has looked upon it in reality--sees it in all its blazing beauty, surrounded by scenes picturesque as its own expression, amid incidents romantic as his fancy could conjure up--now that he knows it as the face of her who has saved his life, is it any wonder the slight, tender sentiment first kindled by the painted picture should become stronger at the sight of the living original? It has done this--become a passion that pervade his soul, filling his whole heart. All the more from its being the first he has ever felt-- the first love of his life. And for this also all the more does he tremble as he thinks of the possibility of its being unreciprocated. He has been calculating the chances in his favour every hour since consciousness returned to him. And from some words heard in that very hour has he derived greater pleasure, and draws more hope than from aught that has occurred since. Constantly does he recall that soliloquy, speech spoken under the impression that it did not reach his ears. There has been nothing afterwards--neither word nor deed--to give him proof he is beloved. The lady has been a tender nurse--a hostess apparently solicitous for the happiness of her guest--nothing more. Were the words she had so thoughtlessly spoken unfelt, and without any particular meaning? Or was the speech but an allusion, born from the still lingering distemper of his brain? He yearns to know the truth. Every hour that he remains ignorant of it, he is in torture equalling that of Tantalus. Yet he fears to ask, lest in the answer he may have a painful revelation. He almost envies Walt Wilder his commonplace love, its easy conquest, and somewhat grotesque declaration. He wishes he could propose with like freedom, and receive a similar response. His comrade's success should embolden him; but does not. There is no parallelism between the parties. Thus he delays seeking the knowledge he most desires to possess, through fear it may afflict him. Not from any lack of opportunity. Since almost all the time is he left alone with her he so worships. Nothing stands in his way--no zealous watchfulness of a brother. Don Valerian neglects every step of fraternal duty--if to take such ever occurred to him. His time is fully occupied in roving around the valley, or making more distant excursions, in the companionship of the _ci-devant_ Ranger, who narrates to him a strange chapter in the life-lore of the prairies. When Walt chances to be indoors, he has companion of his own, which hinder him from too frequently intruding upon his comrade. Enough for him the company of Conchita. Hamersley has equally as little to dread the intrusion of Don Prospero. Absorbed in his favourite study of Nature, the ex-army surgeon passes most of his hours in communion with her. More than half the day is he out of doors, chasing lizards into their crevices among the rocks, impaling insects on the spikes of the wild maguey plant, or plucking such flowers as seem new to the classified list of the botanist. In these tranquil pursuits he is perhaps happier than all around--even those whose hearts throb with that supreme passion, full of sweetness, but too often bringing bitterness. So ever near the shrine of his adoration, having it all to himself, Hamersley worships on, but in silence. CHAPTER FORTY TWO. A DANGEROUS DESIGN. At length the day, the hour, is at hand when the young Kentuckian purposes taking departure. He does not anticipate this with pleasure. On the contrary, the prospect gives him pain. In that sequestered spot he could linger long--for ever, if Adela Miranda were to be with him. He is leaving it with reluctance, and would stay longer now, but that he is stirred by a sense of duty. He has to seek justice for the assassination of his teamsters, and, if possible, punish their assassins. To obtain this he intends going on to the Del Norte--if need be, to Albuquerque itself. The information given by the ex-commandant, with all the suspicious circumstances attending, have determined him how to act. He intends calling Uraga to account; but not by the honourable action of a duel, but in a court of justice, if such can be found in New Mexico. "If it turns out as we have been conjecturing," he says, in conversation with Miranda, "I shall seek the scoundrel in his own stronghold. If he be not there, I shall follow him elsewhere--ay, all over Mexico." "Hyar's one'll be wi' ye in that chase," cries the ex-Ranger, coming up at the moment. "Yis, Frank, go wi' ye to the heart o' Mexiko, plum centre; to the halls o' the Montezoomas, if ye like, enywhar to be in at the death o' a skunk like that." "Surely, Colonel Miranda," continues Hamersley, gratified, though not carried away by his old comrade's enthusiastic offer of assistance, "surely there is law in your land sufficient to give redress for such an outrage as that." "My dear Don Francisco," replies the Mexican, tranquilly twirling a cigarrito between his fingers, "there is law for those who have the power and money to obtain it. In New Mexico, as you must yourself know, might makes right; and never more than at this present time. Don Manuel Armijo is once more the governor of my unfortunate fatherland. When I tell you that he rose to his present position by just such a crime as that we've been speaking of, you may then understand the sort of law administered under his rule. Manuel Armijo was a shepherd, employed on one occasion to drive a flock of thirty thousand sheep--the property of his employer, the Senor Chavez--to the market Chihuahua. While crossing the Jornado del Muerte, he and one or two confederates, whom he had put up to his plan, disguised themselves as Apache Indians, attacked their fellow sheep-drivers, murdered them, and made themselves masters of the flock. Then pulling the plumes from their heads, and washing the paint off their faces, they drove their muttons to a different market, sold them, and returned to Chavez to tell a tale of Indian spoliation, and how they themselves had just escaped with their scalps. This is the true history of General Don Manuel Armijo, Governor of New Mexico; at least that of his first beginnings. With such and many similar deeds since, is it likely he would look with any other than a lenient eye on the doings of Gil Urago, his imitator? No, senor, not even if you could prove the present commandant of Albuquerque, in full, open court, to have been the individual who robbed yourself and murdered your men." "I shall try, for all that," rejoins Hamersley, his heart wrung with sorrow at the remembrance of his slaughtered comrades, and bursting with the bitter thought of justice thus likely to be obstructed. "Don't suppose Colonel Miranda, that I intend resting my cause on the clemency of Don Manuel Armijo, or any chance of right to be expected at his hands. There's a wide stretch of desert between the United States and Mexico, but not wide enough to hinder the American eagle from flapping its wings across, and giving protection to all who have a right to claim it, even to a poor prairie trader. A thousand thanks, Colonel Miranda. I owe you that for twice saving my life, and now for setting me on the track of him who has twice endangered it. No use your trying to dissuade me. I shall go in search of this _forban_ direct to the valley of the Del Norte. Don't fear that I shall fail in obtaining justice, whatever Don Manuel Armijo may do to defeat it." "Well, if you are determined I shall not hold out against you. Only I fear your errand may be fruitless, if not worse. The two mules are at your service, and you can leave them at a place I shall indicate. When Manuel returns I shall send him to bring them back." "Possibly I may bring them myself. I do not intend making stay in New Mexico; only long enough to communicate with the American Consul at Santa Fe, and take some preliminary steps for the end in view. Then I shall return to the--States to lay the whole affair before our Government." "And you think of coming this way?" "Walt, here, has been making explorations down the stream that runs through this valley; he has no doubt about its being one of the heads of the Red River of Louisiana, if not the Texan Brazos. By keeping down it we can reach the frontier settlements of Texas, then on to the States." "I'm glad you intend returning this way. It will give us the pleasure of soon again seeing you." "Colonel Miranda," rejoins Hamersley, in a tone that tells of something on his mind, a proposition he would make to his host, and feels delicacy in declaring it, "in coming back by the Llano Estacado I have another object in view besides the idea of a direct route." "What other object, _amago mio_?" "The hope of inducing you to accompany me to the States--you and yours." "Senor Don Francisco, 'tis exceedingly kind of you. But the period of our banishment may not be long. I've had late news from our friends, telling me things are taking a turn and the political wheel must soon make another revolution, the present party going below. Then I get back to my country, returning triumphant. Meanwhile we are happy enough here, and I think safe." "In the last I disagree with you. I'm sorry to say, but have reasons. Now that I know the real character of this ruffian Uraga--his deeds actually done, and others we suspect--he's just the man who'll leave no stone unturned to discover your hiding place. He has more than one motive for doing so, but one that will move him to follow you here into the desert--aye, to the uttermost end of the earth!" The motive in the speaker's mind is Uraga's desire to possess Adela. After a pause, this though: passing him, he adds,-- "No, Don Valerian, you are not safe here." Then, continuing,-- "How know you that your servant Manuel has not been recognised while executing some of those errands on which you've sent him; or that the man himself may not turn traitor? I confess, from what I've seen of the fellow, he has not favourably impressed me." The words make an impression upon Miranda anything but pleasant. It is not the first time for him to have the thought suggested by them. More than once has he entertained suspicions about the peon's fidelity. It is possible the man might prove traitor; if not then, at some future time--aye, and probable, too, considering the reward offered for the exile's head. Miranda, knowing and now thinking of it, admits the justice of his friend's fear. More; he sees cause for raising alarm. So does Don Prospero, who, at the moment coming up, takes part in the conference. It ends in the refugees resolving to stay in the valley till Hamersley and Walt can return to them; then to forsake that asylum, no longer deemed safe, and retire to one certainly so--the land over which waves a flag powerful to protect its citizens and give the same to their friends--the Star-spangled Banner. CHAPTER FORTY THREE. THE LAST APPEAL. "I have news for you, _nina_." It is Colonel Miranda speaking to his sister, shortly after the conversation reported. "What news, Valerian?" "Well, there are two sorts of them." "Both good, I hope." "Not altogether; one will be pleasant to you, the other, perhaps, a little painful." "In that case they should neutralise one another; anyhow, let me hear them." "I shall tell the pleasant ones first. We shall soon have an opportunity of leaving this lonely place." "Do you call that good news? I rather think it the reverse. What will the bad be?" "But, dear Adela, our life here, away from all society, has been a harsh experience--to you a terrible one." "In that, _hermano mio_, you're mistaken. You know I don't care a straw for what the world calls society--never did. I prefer being free from its stupid restraints and silly conventionalities. Give me Nature for my companion--ay, in her wildest scenes and most surly moods." "Surely you've had both to a surfeit." "Nothing of the kind; I'm not tired of Nature yet. I have never been happier than in this wilderness home. How different from my convent school--my prison, I should rather call it! Oh, it is charming! and if I were to have my way, it should never come to an end. But why do you talk of leaving this place? Do you suppose the troubles are over, and we can return safely? I don't wish to go there, brother. After what has happened, I hate New Mexico, and would prefer staying in the Llano Estacado." "I have no thought of going back to New Mexico." "Where, then, brother?" "In the very opposite direction--to the United States. Don Francisco advises me to do so; and I have yielded to his counsel." Adela seems less disposed to offer opposition. She no longer protests against the change of residence. "Dear sister," he continues, "we cannot do better. There seems little hope of our unfortunate country getting rid of her tyrants--at least, for some time to come. When the day again arrives for our patriots to pronounce, I shall know it in time to be with them. Now, we should only think of our safety. Although I don't wish to alarm you, I've never felt it quite safe here. Who knows, but that Uraga may yet discover our hiding-place? He has his scouts searching in all directions. Every time Manuel makes a visit to the settlements, I have fear of his being followed back. Therefore, I think it will be wiser for us to carry out our original design, and go on to the American States." "Do you intend accompanying Don Francisco?" She listens eagerly for an answer. "Yes; but not now. It will be some time before he can return to us." "He is going home first, and will then come back?" "Not home--not to his home." "Where, then?" "That is the news I thought might be painful. He has resolved upon going on to our country for reasons already known to you. We suspect Uraga of having been at the head of the red robbers who have plundered him and killed his people. He is determined to find out and punish the perpetrators of that foul deed. It will be difficult; nay, more, there will be danger in his attempting it--I've told him so." "Dear brother, try to dissuade him!" If Hamersley could but hear the earnest tone in which the appeal is spoken it would give him gratification. "I have tried, but to no purpose. It is not the loss of his property-- he is generous, and does not regard it. His motive is a nobler, a holier one. His comrades have been murdered; he says he will seek the assassins and obtain redress, even at the risk of sacrificing his own life." "A hero! Who could not help loving him?" Adela does not say this aloud, nor to her brother. It is a thought, silent within the secret recesses of her own heart. "If you wish," continues the colonel, "I will see him, and again try to turn him from this reckless course; though I know there is little hope. Stay! a thought strikes me, sister. Suppose you speak to him. A woman's words are more likely to be listened to; and I know that yours will have great weight with him. He looks upon you as the saviour of his life, and may yield to your request." "If you think so, Valerian--" "I do. I see him coming this way. Remain where you are. I shall send him in to you." With a heart heaving and surging, Hamersley stands in the presence of her, the sole cause of its tumultuous excitement. For he has been summoned thither in a manner that somewhat surprises him. "Don Francisco, my sister wishes a word with you," is the speech of Colonel Miranda, an invitation promptly responded to. What is to be the import of his interview, unexpected, unsought, apparently commanded? He asks himself this question as he proceeds towards the place where she stands waiting to receive him. Coming up to her, he says,-- "Senorita, your brother has told me you wish to speak with me?" "I do," she replies, without quail in her look or quiver in her voice. In returning her glance Hamersley feels as if his case is hopeless. That very day he had thought of proposing to her. It almost passes from his mind. So cool, she cannot care for him. He remains silent, leaving her to proceed. "Senor, it is about your going to the Rio del Norte. My brother tells me such is your intention. We wish you not to go, Don Francisco. There is danger in your doing it." "It is my duty." "In what respect? Explain yourself!" "My brave comrades have been slain--assassinated. I have reason to believe that in the town of Albuquerque I may discover their assassins-- at all events their chief, and perhaps bring him to justice. I intend trying, if it costs me my life." "Do you reflect what your life is worth?" "To me not much." "It may be to others. You have at home a mother, brothers, and sisters. Perhaps one dearer?" "No--not at home." "Elsewhere, then?" He is silent under this searching inquisition. "Do you think that danger to your life would be unhappiness to her's-- your death her life's misery?" "My dishonour should be more, as it would to myself. It is not vengeance I seek against those who have murdered my men, only to bring them to justice. I must do that, or else proclaim myself a poltroon--I feel myself one--a self-accusation that would give me a life-long remorse. No, Senorita Adela. It is kind of you to take an interest in my safety. I already owe you my life; but I cannot permit you to save it again, at the sacrifice of honour, of duty, of humanity." Hamersley fancies himself being coldly judged and counselled with indifference. Could he know the warm, wild admiration struggling in the breast of her who counsels him, he would make rejoinder in different fashion. Soon after he talks in an altered tone, and with changed understanding. So also does she, hitherto so difficult of comprehension. "Go!" she cries. "Go and get redress of your wrongs, justice for your fallen comrades; and if you can, the punishment of their assassins. But remember! if it brings death to you, there is one who will not care to live after." "Who?" he asks, springing forward, with heart on fire and eyes aflame. "Who?" He scarce needs to put the question. It is already answered by the emphasis on her last words. But it is again replied to, this time in a more tranquil tone; the long, dark lashes of the speaker veiling her eyes as she pronounces her own name,-- "_Adela Miranda_!" From poverty to riches, from a dungeon to bright daylight, from the agonising struggle of drowning to that confident feeling when the feet stand firm upon terra firma--all these are sensations of a pleasantly-exciting kind. They are dull in comparison with that delirious joy, the lot of the despairing lover on finding that his despair has been all a fancy, and that his passion is reciprocated. Such a joy thrills through Hamersley's breast as he hears the name pronounced. It is like a cabalistic speech, throwing open to him the portals of Paradise. CHAPTER FORTY FOUR. A MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE. As is known, Hamersley's suspicions about the treachery of the peon are not without cause. On the contrary, they might seem second-sight. For, almost at the moment he is communicating them to Colonel Miranda, the native is telling his tale to Uraga. Nor does the latter lose much time in acting upon the information gained--only that short interlude given to exultation as he stepped up to the portrait of Adela Miranda, and stood triumphantly regarding the likeness of her he now looks upon as sure to be his. He has no hope to get possession of her by fair means; foul are alone in his thoughts. After delivering his half-frenzied apostrophe to the painted image, he returns to the table, beside which Roblez has already taken a seat. They re-fill their glasses, and drink the toasts specified, with a ceremony in strange contrast to the hellish glee sparkling in the eyes of the Lancer-Colonel. His countenance beams with triumph, such as might be shown by Satan over the ruin of innocence. For he now feels sure of his victims--alike that of his love as well as those of his revenge. Not long does he remain over his cups in the company of his subordinate. He has an important matter upon his mind which calls for reflection--in silence and by himself. Though often admitting his adjutant to a share in his criminal schemes, the participation is only in their profits and the act of execution. Despotic even in his villainies, he keeps the planning to himself, for he has secrets even Roblez must not know. And now an idea has dawned upon his mind, a purpose he does not care to communicate to the subaltern till such time as may be necessary or seem fit to him. Not that he dreads treachery on the part of his fellow freebooter. They are mutually compromised, and long have been; too much to tell tales about one another. Besides, Roblez, though a man of undoubted courage, of the coarse, animal kind, has, neverthless, a certain moral dread of his commanding officer, and fears to offend him. He knows Gil Uraga to be one whose hostility, once provoked, will stop short at nothing, leave no means untried to take retribution--this of a terrible kind. Hence a control which the colonel holds over him beyond that drawn from his superior military rank. Hence, also, his receiving but a small share in the proceeds of their various robberies, and his being satisfied with this, or, at all events, seeming so. On his side, Uraga has several motives for not letting his subordinate into the knowledge of all his complicated schemes; among them one springing from a moral peculiarity. He is of a strangely-constituted nature, secretive to the last degree--a quality or habit in which he prides himself. It is his delight to practice it whenever the opportunity offers; just as the thief and detective officer take pleasure in their respective callings beyond the mere prize to be derived from their exercise. The intelligence just received from the traitorous mule-driver, unexpected as pleasing, has opened to him the prospect of a grand success. It may enable him to strike a _coup_ covering all--alike giving gratification to his love, as his hate. But the blow must needs be dealt deftly. There are circumstances to be considered and precautions taken, not only to prevent its failing, but secure against a publicity that might cause scandal to himself, to say naught of consequent danger. And it must be struck soon--at once. It is too ticklish a matter to admit of delay, either in the design or execution. Already has the matter flitted before his mind in its general outlines; almost soon as receiving the report of the peon. It is only the details that remain for consideration; and these he intends considering alone, without any aid from his adjutant. As time is an object, he speedily terminates his carousal with the subaltern; who, dismissed, returns to the military _cuartel_. Soon as he is gone the colonel again seats himself, and lighting a fresh cigar, continues smoking. For several minutes he remains silent, his eyes turned upwards, and his features set in a smile. One might fancy him but watching the smoke of his cigar as it rises in spiral wreaths to the ceiling. He is occupied with no such innocent amusement. On the contrary, his grim smile betokens meditation deep and devilish. He is mentally working out a problem, a nefarious scheme, which will ere long bear evil fruit. As the cigar grows shorter he seems to draw nearer to his conclusions. And when at length there is only the stump between his teeth, he spits it out; and, taking a hand-bell from the table, rings until a domestic appears in the doorway in answer to the summons. "Call in the guard-corporal!" is the order received by the servant, who withdraws without saying a word. Soon the soldier shows himself, saluting as he enters the door. "_Cabo_! Bring your prisoner before me." The corporal retires, and shortly after returns, having the Indian in charge. He is commanded to leave the latter, and himself remain waiting without. Directed also to close the door; which he does on getting outside. Thus closeted with the peon--still wondering why he has been made a prisoner--Uraga submits him to a process of examination, which elicits from the scared creature everything he seeds to know. Among the rest, he makes himself acquainted with the situation of the valley, where the exiles have found temporary asylum; the direction, distance, and means of access to it--in short, its complete topography. With all the Indian is familiar, can correctly describe it, and does so. In that imposing presence he dare not attempt deception, even if inclined. But he is not. Between questioner and questioned the aim and end are similar, if not the same. Besides, the peon's blood has again been warmed up, and his tongue set loose, by a fresh infusion of aguardiente--so that his confessions are full as free. He tells about the life led by the Mexican refugees, as also their American guests--all he knows, and this is nearly everything. For trusted, unsuspected, he has had every opportunity to learn. The only thing concealed by him is his own love affair with Conchita and its disastrous ending, through the intrusion of the Texan Ranger. This, if told, would give his listener slight concern, alongside the grave impressions made upon him by another affair; some particulars of which the peon communicates. These points refer to tender relations existing between the young prairie trader and Adela Miranda, almost proving their existence. Confirmed or not, on hearing of them Gil Uraga receives a shock which sends the blood rushing in quick current through his veins; while upon his countenance comes an expression of such bitter malignity, that the traitor, in fear for his own safety, repents having told him. But Uraga has no spite against him--no motive for having it. On the contrary, he intends rewarding him, after he gets out of him certain other services for which he is to be retained. When his cross-questioning is at length brought to a close, he is once more committed to the charge of the guard-corporal, with orders to be returned to the prison. At the same time a hint is given him that his incarceration is only precautionary, with a promise it will not be for long. Immediately after his removal, Uraga seats himself before an escritoire, which stands on one side of the room. Laying open the lid, he spreads a sheet of paper upon it, and commences to write what appears an epistle. Whatever it is, the composition occupies some considerable time. Occasionally he stops using the pen, as though pondering what to put down. When it is at length completed, apparently to his satisfaction, he folds the sheet, thrusts a stick of wax into the flame of a candle, and seals the document, but without using any seal-stamp. A small silver coin taken from his pocket makes the necessary impression. There does not appear to be any name appended to the epistle, if one it is; and the superscription shows only two words, without any address. The words are "El Barbato." Again ringing the bell, the same servant answers it. "Go to the stables," commands his master, "or the corral, or wherever he may be, and tell Pedrillo I want him. Be quick about it!" The man bows and disappears. "It will take them--how many days to reach the Tenawas' town, and how many back to the Pecos?" soliloquises Uraga, pacing the floor, as he makes his calculations. "Three, four, five. No matter. If before them we can wait till they come. Pedrillo!" Pedrillo has put in an appearance. He is an Indian of the tame sort, not greatly differing from the man Manuel, with a countenance quite as forbidding. But we have seen Pedrillo before; since he was one of the two muleteers who conducted the _atajo_ transporting the spoil from the caravan of the prairie traders. "Pedrillo," directs the Colonel, "catch a couple of the best roadsters in the corral--one for yourself, the other for Jose. Have them saddled, and get yourselves ready for a journey of two weeks, or so. Make all haste with your preparations. When ready, come here, and report yourself." The muleteer disappears, and Uraga continues to pace the floor, apparently yet busied with a mental measurement of time and distance. At intervals he stops before the portrait on the wall, and for a second or two gazes at it. This seems to increase his impatience for the man's reappearance. He has not a great while to wait. The scrip and staff of a New Mexican traveller of Pedrillo's kind is of no great bulk or complexity. It takes but a short time to prepare it. A few _tortillas_ and _frijoles_, a head or two of _chile Colorado_, half a dozen onions, and a bunch of _tasojo_--jerked beef. Having collected these comestibles, and filled his _xuaje_, or water gourd, Pedrillo reports himself ready for the road, or trail, or whatever sort of path, and on whatever errand, it may please his master to despatch him. "You will go straight to the Tenawa town--Horned Lizard's--on the south branch of the Goo-al-pah. You can find your way to the place, Pedrillo. You've been there before?" The Indian nods an affirmative. "Take this." Here Uraga hands him the sealed paper. "See you show it to no one you may chance to meet passing out from the settlements. Give it to Barbato, or hand it to the Horned Lizard himself. He'll know who it's for. You are to ride night and day, as fast as the animals can carry you. When you've delivered it you needn't wait, but come back-- not here, but to the Alamo. You know the place--where we met the Tenawas some weeks ago. You will find me there. _Vaya_!" On receiving these instructions Pedrillo vanishes from, the room; a strange sinister glance in his oblique Indian eyes telling that he knows himself to be once more--what he has often been--an emissary of evil. Uraga takes another turn across the floor, then, seating himself by the table, seeks rest for his passion-tossed soul by drinking deep of the _mescal_ of Tequila. CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. THE STAKED PLAIN. The elevated table-land known as Llano Estacado is in length over three hundred miles, with an average width of sixty or seventy. It extends longitudinally between the former Spanish provinces of New Mexico and Texas; their respective capitals, Santa Fe and San Antonia de Bejar, being on the opposite side of it. In the days of vice-royal rule, a military road ran across it, connecting the two provincial centres, and mule trains of traders passed to and fro between. As this road was only a trail, often obliterated by the drifting sands of the desert, tall stakes were set up at intervals to indicate the route. Hence the name "Llano Estacado"--literally, Staked Plain. In those days Spain was a strong, enterprising nation, and her Mexican colonists could travel over most parts of their vast territory without fear of being assaulted by the savages. At a later period, when Spanish power began to decline, all this became changed. Cities fell to ruin, settlements were deserted, mission establishments abandoned, and in the provinces of Northern Mexico white travellers had to be cautious in keeping to the most frequented roads, in some districts not daring even to venture beyond the walls of their haciendas or towns. Many of these were fortified against Indian attack, and are so to this day. Under these circumstances the old Spanish trail across the Staked Plain fell into disuse; its landmarks became lost, and of late years only expeditions of the United States army have traversed it for purposes of exploration. In physical aspect it bears resemblance to the table lands of Abyssinia and Southern Arabia, and at its northern end many outlying spurs and detached _mesas_ remind the traveller of the Abyssinian hills--known as _ambas_. A portion of this singular territory belongs to the great gypsum formation of the south-western prairies, perhaps the largest in the world; while a highly-coloured sandstone of various vivid hues, often ferruginous, forms a conspicuous feature in its cliffs. Along its eastern edge these present to the lower champaign of Texas a precipitous escarpment several hundred feet sheer, in long stretches, tending with an unbroken facade, in other places showing ragged, where cleft by canons, through which rush torrents, the heads of numerous Texan streams. Its surface is, for the most part, a dead horizontal level, sterile as the Sahara itself, in places smooth and hard as a macadamised road. Towards its southern end there is a group of _medanos_ (sandhills), covering a tract of several hundred square miles, the sand ever drifting about, as with _dunes_ on the seashore. High up among their summits is a lakelet of pure drinking water, though not a drop can be found upon the plateau itself for scores of miles around. Sedge and lilies grow by this tarn so singularly situated. Here and there the plain is indented by deep fissures (_barrancas_), apparently the work of water. Often the traveller comes upon them without sign or warning of their proximity, till, standing on the edge of a precipitous escarpment, he sees yawning below a chasm sunk several hundred feet into the earth. In its bed may be loose boulders piled in chaotic confusion, as if cast there by the hands of Titans; also trunks of trees in a fossilised state such as those observed by Darwin on the eastern declivity of the Chilian Andres. Nearly all the streams that head in the Staked Plain cut deep channels in their way to the outer world. These are often impassable, either transversely or along their course. Sometimes, however, their beds are worn out into little valleys, or "coves," in which a luxuriant vegetation finds shelter and congenial soil. There flourish the pecan, the hackberry, the black walnut, the wild china, with evergreen oaks, plums, and clustering grapevines; while in the sterile plain above are only seen those forms of the botanical world that truly indicate the desert--various species of cactaceae, agaves, and yuccas--the palmilla and lechuguilla, dwarf-cedars, and mezquites, artemisia, and the strong-smelling larrea, or "creosote plant." Animals are rare upon the Llano Estacado, although the prong-horn antelope--true denizen of the desert--is there found, as also its enemy, the Mexican jackal, or coyote. To the rattlesnake and horned lizard (_agama_) it is a congenial home; and the singular snake-bird (_paisano_) may frequently be seen running over the arid waste, or skulking through the tortuous stems of the nopals. In the canons of the stream the grizzly bear makes his haunt, and in times not long gone by it was ascended and traversed by the unwieldy buffalo. The wild horse (_musteno_) still occasionally courses across it. Of all the living things it is least frequented by man. Even the Indian rarely strays into its solitudes; and the white man, when necessitated to enter them, does so with fear and trembling, for he knows there is danger. This is chiefly due to the absence of water; but there is also the chance of going astray--getting lost in the absence of landmarks. To be astray in a wilderness of any kind is a perilous predicament for the traveller--in one without water it is death. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ After their affair with the Tenawas, the Texan Rangers directed their course towards the Llano Estacado. On starting, it was their intention to strike north, and get upon the main stream of the Canadian, then follow it up to the place where the prairie traders met their murderous doom. From the country of the Tenawa Comanches this would be the correct route, and was the same taken by these freebooters returning with the spoils of the caravan. But from the mouth of the Pecan Creek is one more direct, leading across a spur of the plateau itself, instead of turning its north-eastern extremity. It was not known to the Rangers, though Cully remembered having heard something about it. But the Mexican renegade declared himself familiar with, and counselled taking it. There had been hesitation before acceding to his counsel. Of course, they could have no confidence in such a man, but rather suspicion of all he said or did. In guiding them across the Staked Plain he might have some sinister purpose--perhaps lead them into a trap. After all, how could he? The tribe of savages with which he had been consorting was now so terribly chastised, so effectually crushed, it was not probable--scarce possible--they would be encountered again. Certainly not for a season. For weeks there would be weeping and wailing in the tents of the Tenawas. If the renegade had any hope of being rescued from his present captivity, it could not be by them. He might have some thought of escape, taking the Rangers by the route he proposed to them. On this score they had no apprehension--not the slightest. Suspicious, they would keep close watch upon him; shoot him down like a dog at the first sign of his attempting to deceive them. And, as Cully remembered having heard of this trail over the Staked Plain, it was most probable the Mexican had no other object than to bring them to the end of their journey in the shortest time and straightest course. All knew it would be a near cut, and this decided them in its favour. After parting from Pecan Creek, with their faces set westward, they had a journey before them anything but easy or pleasant. On the contrary, one of the most difficult and irksome. For it lay across a sterile tract--the great gypsum bed of North-western Texas, on which abut the bluffs of the Llano Estacado. Mile after mile, league after league; no "land in sight," to use a prairie-man's phrase--nothing but level plain, smooth as a sleeping sea; but, unlike the last, without water--not a sheet to cheer their eyes, not a drop to quench the thirst, almost choking them. Only its resemblance, seen in the white mist always moving over these arid plains--the deluding, tantalising mirage. Lakes lay before them, their shores garlanded by green trees, their bosoms enamelled with islets smiling in all the verdure of spring--always before them, ever receding; the trees, as the water, never to be reached! Water they do arrive at more than once--streams rushing in full flow across the barren waste. At sight they ride towards them rapidly. Their horses need not to be spurred. The animals suffer as themselves, and rush on with outstretched necks, eager to assuage their thirst. They dip their muzzles, plunge in their heads till half-buried, only to draw out again and toss them aloft with snorts of disappointment shaking the water like spray from their nostrils. It is salt! For days they have been thus journeying. They are wearied, worn down by fatigue, hungry; but more than all, tortured by the terrible thirst-- their horses as themselves. The animals have become reduced in flesh and strength; they look like skeletons staggering on, scarce able to carry their riders. Where is the Mexican conducting them? He has brought them into a desert. Is the journey to end in their death? It looks like enough. Some counsel killing him, and returning on their tracks. Not all; only a minority. The majority cry "Onward!" with a thought beyond present suffering. They must find the bones of Walt Wilder and bury them! Brave men, true men, these Texan Rangers! Rough in outward appearance, often rude in behaviour, they have hearts gentle as children. Of all friends the most faithful, whether it be affection or pure _camaraderie_. In this case a comrade has been killed--cruelly murdered, and in a strange manner. Its very strangeness has maddened them the more, while sharpening their desire to have a last look at his remains, and give them Christian burial. Only the fainthearted talk of retreating; the others do not think of it, and these are more than the majority. On, therefore, they ride across treeless, grassless tracks; along the banks of streams, of whose bitter, saline waters they cannot drink, but tantalising themselves and their animals. On, on! Their perseverance is at length rewarded. Before their eyes looms up a line of elevated land, apparently the profile of a mountain. But no; it cannot be that. Trending horizontally, without curvature, against the sky, they know it is not a mountain, but a mesa--a table-land. It is the Llano Estacado. Drawing nearer, they get under the shadow of its beetling bluffs. They see that these are rugged, with promontories projecting far out over the plain, forming what Spanish Americans, in their expressive phraseology, call _ceja_. Into an embayment between two of the out-stretching spurs Barbato conducts them. Joyously they ride into it, like ships long storm-tossed entering a haven of safety; for at the inner end of the concavity there is a cleft in the precipitous wall, reaching from base to summit, out of which issues a stream whose waters are sweet! It is a branch of the Brazos River, along whose banks they have been some time travelling, lower down finding its waters bitter as gall. That was in its course through the selenite. Now they have reached the sandstone it is clear as crystal, and to them sweeter than champagne. "Up it lies our way," says the renegade guide, pointing to the portals of the canon through which the stream debouched from the table to the lower plain. But for that night the Rangers care hot to travel further. There is no call for haste. They are _en route_ to bury the bones of a dead man, not to rescue one still living. CHAPTER FORTY SIX. A BRILLIANT BAND. Just as the Texan Rangers are approaching the Staked Plain on its eastern edge, another body of horsemen, about their equal in number, ascends to the same plateau, coming from the very opposite direction-- the west. Only in point of numbers, and that both are on horseback, is there any similitude between the two troops. Individually they are unlike as human beings could be; for most of those composing the Texan party are great, strapping fellows, fair-haired, and of bright complexions; whereas they coming in the counter direction are all, or nearly all, small men, with black hair and sallow visage--many of them dark as Indians. Between the horses of the two troops there is a proportionate disparity in size; the Texans bestriding animals of nearly sixteen hands in height, while they approaching from the west are mounted on Mexican mustangs, few over fourteen. One alone at their head, evidently their leader, rides a large American horse. In point of discipline the second troop shows superiority. It is a military organisation _pur sang_, and marches in regular formation, while the men composing it are armed and uniformed alike. Their uniform is that of Mexican lancers, very similar to the French, their arms the same. And just such are they; the lancers of Colonel Uraga, himself at their head. Having crossed the Rio Pecos bottom, and climbed up the bluffs to the higher bench of the Llano Estacado, they strike out over the sterile plain. As it is early morning, and the air is chilly, they wear their ample cavalry cloaks of bright yellow cloth. These falling back over the flanks of their horses, with their square lancer caps, plumed, and overtopped by the points of the pennoned lances, give them an imposing martial appearance. Though it is but a detachment of not over fifty men--a single troop--riding by twos, the files stretch afar in shining array, its sheen all the more brilliant from contrast with the sombre sterility of the desert. A warlike sight, and worthy of admiration, if one knew it to be an expedition directed against the red pirates of the plains, _en route_ to chastise them for their many crimes--a long list of cruel atrocities committed upon the defenceless citizens of Chihuahua and New Mexico. But knowing it is not this--cognisant of its true purpose--the impression made is altogether different. Instead of admiration it is disgust; and, in place of sending up a prayer for its success, the spectator would feel apprehension, or earnestly desire its failure. Its purpose is anything but praiseworthy. On the contrary, sinister, as may be learnt by listening to the conversation of the two who ride at the head of the detachment, some paces in advance of the first file. They are its chief and his confidential second, the ruffian Roblez. Uraga is speaking. "Won't our worthy friend Miranda be surprised when he sees us riding up to the door of his _jacal_, with these fifty fellows behind us? And the old doctor, Don Prospero? I can fancy his quizzical look through those great goggle spectacles he used to wear. I suppose they are still on his nose; but they'll fly off as soon as he sees the pennons of our lances." "Ha! ha! ha! That will be a comical sight, colonel. But do you think Miranda will make any resistance?" "Not likely. I only wish he would." "Why do you wish that?" "_Ayadante_! you ask a stupid question. You ought to have a clearer comprehension in the brisk, bright atmosphere of this upland plain. It should make your brain more active." "Well, _Coronel mio_, you're the first man I ever saw on the way to make a prisoner who desired to meet resistance. _Carrambia_! I can't understand that." "I don't desire to make any prisoner--at least, not Don Valerian Miranda. For the old doctor, I shan't much care one way or the other. Living or dead, he can't do any great harm. Miranda I'd rather take dead." "Ah! now I think I comprehend you." "If he show the slightest resistance--raise but a hand--I shall have him that way." "Why can't you anyhow? Surely you can deal with him as you think proper--a refugee, a rebel?" "There you again show your want of sense. You've got a thick skull, _teniente_; and would be a bad counsellor in any case requiring skilful management. This is one of the kind, and needs the most delicate manipulation." "How so?" "For several reasons. Remember, Roblez, we're not now acting with the Horned Lizard and his painted freebooters. Our fellows here have eyes in their heads, and tongues behind their teeth. They might wag the latter to our disadvantage if we allowed the former to see anything not exactly on the square. And if we were to shoot or cut down Miranda, he not resisting, that would be a scandal I might have difficulty in suppressing. It would spread surely, go over the country, get to the ears of the Central Government, and return to New Mexico with a weight that might overwhelm me. Besides, _amigo mio_, it would spoil my plan in several respects--notably, that with the nina and others too numerous to mention. Of course, we'll kill him if we can, with fair pretext for doing so. But unless he show fight, we must take him alive, his guests along with him. I hope he will." "I think it likely you'll have your hopes. The two Americanos are not men to submit tamely. Remember how they fought at the attack on their waggon-train, and how they got off afterwards. They're a rough couple, and likely to give us anything but a smooth reception." "The rougher the better. That would be just as wanted, and we'll settle everything at once. If otherwise, I have my plan fixed and complete." "What is it, colonel?" "Not now. I'll tell you in the proper time. First to make experiment of what's immediately before us. If it succeed, we shall return this way with only women as our prisoners. If it fail, we'll have men--four of them. A word in your ear to content you for the while. Not one of the four will ever enter the prison of Albuquerque." "You intend sending them to some other?" "I do." "Where?" "A gaol from which there can be no escape--need I name it?" "You need not. There's but one will answer your description--the grave." With this solemn conjecture the _sotto voce_ conversation comes to a close, the ruffians riding at the head of their troop, far extending after, its files resembling the vertebrae of some grand glittering serpent on its way to seize a victim, the two in front fair types of its protruding poisonous fangs. CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN. A COMING CLOUD. Between lovers, those who truly love, the parting is ever painful Frank Hamersley, taking leave of Adela Miranda, feels this as does Walt Wilder separating from Conchita. There may be a difference in degree, in the intensity of their respective passions; perhaps also something in its character. Still the sentiment is the same. Both suffer at the thought of separation, feel it keenly. All the more as they reflect on what is before them--a prospect anything but cheerful. Clouds in the sky; many chances they may never see their loved ones again. No wonder they turn towards the Del Norte with gloom in their glances and dark forebodings in their breasts. Men of less loyal hearts, less prone to the promptings of humanity, would trifle and stay; spend longer time in a dalliance so surely agreeable, so truly delightful. Not so the young Kentuckian and his older companion, the Texan. Though the love of woman is enthroned in their hearts, each has kept a corner sacred to a sentiment almost as strong, and perhaps purer. The blood of their slaughtered comrades cries from the ground, from the sand through which they saw it filtering away. They cannot find peace without responding to its appeal; and for this even the fruition of their love is to be delayed. To seek retribution they must journey on to the settlements of the Del Norte; not sure of success on arrival there, but more likely to meet failure-- perhaps imprisonment. In this there would be nothing new or strange. They would not be the first Americans to suffer incarceration without cause in a New Mexican _calabozo_, and lie there for long years without trial. Once more Miranda represents the danger they are about to undergo. It does not daunt them. "No matter," is the reckless response. "Whatever be the consequences, go we will. We must." Thus determined to start off, after exchanging tender adieus with those left behind--two of them in tears. According to promise, Miranda has placed his mules at their disposal, and on these they are mounted. He has, moreover, furnished them with spare dresses from his wardrobe--costumes of his native country, which will enable them to travel through it without attracting attention. Starting at sunrise, it is still early morning when they reach the upper plain through the ravine between the two twin mountains. So far Colonel Miranda accompanies them, as also Don Prospero. There parting, the refugees return to the ranche, while the travellers strike out over the treeless waste, which spreads before their faces to the very verge of vision. They have no landmark to guide them, neither rock nor tree; but the sky is without a cloud, and there is a sun in it gleaming like a globe of fire. To the experienced prairie man this is sufficient for telling every point of the compass, and they but want one. Their course is due west till they strike the Pecos; then along its bank to the crossing, thence west again through the Sierras, and on to Santa Fe. Keeping the sun slightly on the left shoulder, they journey till near noon, when a dark object, seen a little to the right, attracts them. Not to surprise, for they well know what it is--a grove. They can tell, too, that the trees composing it are oaks, of the species known as black-jack. Notwithstanding their stunted growth, the black-jacks are umbrageous, and give good shade. Though the sun has not yet reached meridian, its rays are of meridian heat, and strike down with fiery fervour on the surface of the parched plain. This determines them to seek the shelter of the grove, and there make their noontide halt. It is a little but of their way; but, far as they can see ahead, no other spot offers a chance of protection against the burning beams. The grove is a mere copse, covering scarce half an acre, and the topmost branches rise but a few feet above their heads. Still is there shade, both for them and their animals; and cover, should they require to conceal themselves--the last a fortunate circumstance, as is soon proved. Equally fortunate their not having need to kindle a fire. In their haversacks they carry provisions already cooked. Dismounting, they lead their males in among the trees, and there make them secure by looping the bridles to a branch. Then, laying themselves along the earth, they eat their midday meal, pull out their pipes, and follow it with a smoke. With little thought, they are burning the last bit of tobacco which remained to the refugees. At parting, their generous host, to comfort them on their journey, presented them with the ultimate ounce of his stock; with true Spanish politeness saying nothing of this. As they lie watching the blue film curling up among the branches of the black-jacks, as little do they reflect how fortunate for them it is not the smoke of a fire, nor visible at any great distance. Were it so, there would not be much likelihood of their ever reaching the Del Norte or leaving the Llano Estacado alive. Not dreaming of danger in that desolate place--at least none caused by human kind--they remain tranquilly pulling at their pipes, now conversing of the past, anon speculating about their plans for the future. Three or four hours elapse; the sun having crossed the meridian, begins to stoop lower. Its rays fall less fervently, and they think of continuing their journey. They have "unhitched" the mules, led them out to the edge of the copse, and are standing by the stirrup, ready to remount, when an object catches the quick eye of the ex-Ranger, causing him to utter a sharp ejaculation. Something seen west, the way they want to go. Pointing it out to Hamersley, the two stand observing. No great scrutiny needed to tell them 'tis a cloud of dust, although in breadth not bigger than a blanket. But while they are regarding it it gradually spreads out, at the same time showing higher above the surface of the plain. It may be a swirl of the wind acting on the dry sand of the desert--the first commencement of a regular whirlwind--a thing common on the table lands of New Mexico. But it has not the round pillar-like form of the _molino_, nor do they believe it to be one. Both are too well acquainted with this phenomenon to be deceived by its counterfeit. If they had any doubts, as they stand gazing these are resolved. The cloud presents a dense dark head, with a nucleus of something more solid than dust. And while guessing at the true character of this opaque central part, a circumstance occurs disclosing it. A puff of wind striking the dust causes it to swirl sideways, showing underneath a body of mounted men. Men, too, in military array, marching in double file, armed, uniformed, with lances borne erect, their blades glinting in the sun. "Sogers!" exclaims the ex-Ranger. CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT. DREAD CONJECTURES. It is Wilder who so emphatically proclaims the character of the cavalcade. He has no need, Hamersley having already made it out himself. "Yes; they are soldiers," he rejoins, mechanically, adding, "Mexican, as a matter of course. None of our troops ever stray this fair west. 'Tis out of United States territory. The Texans claim it. But those are not Texans: they are uniformed, and carry lances. Your old friends, the Rangers, don't affect that sort of thing." "No," responds Wilder, with a contemptuous toss of the head, "I shedn't think they did. We niver tuk to them long sticks; 'bout as much use as bean-poles. In coorse they're Mexikins, _lanzeeros_." "What can they be doing out here? There are no Indians on the Staked Plain. If there were, such a small party as that, taking it to be Mexican, would not be likely to venture after them." "Maybe it's only a advance guard, and thar's a bigger body behint. We shell soon see, as they're ridin' deerect this way. By the 'Tarnal, 'twon't do to let 'em sight us; leastwise, not till we've seen more o' them, an' know what sort they air. White men tho' they call themselves, I'd a'most as soon meet Injuns. They'd be sure to take us for Texans; and 'bout me there'd be no mistake in that. But they'd treet you the same, an' thar treetment ain't like to be civil. Pull yur mule well back among the bushes. Let's blind the brutes, or they may take it into their heads to squeal." The hybrids are led back into the grove, tied, and _zapadoed_--the last operation performed by passing a blanket, mask fashion, over their eyes. This done, the two men return to the edge of the copse, keeping themselves screened behind the outstanding trees. In their absence the moving cohort has drawn nearer, and still advances. But slowly, and, as when first sighted, enveloped in a cloud of dust. Only now and then, as the wind wafts this aside, can be distinguished the forms of the individuals composing it. Then but for an instant, the dust again drifting around them. Still the _nimbus_ draws nigher, and is gradually approaching the spot where the travellers had concealed themselves. At first only surprised at seeing soldiers on the Staked Plain, they soon become seriously alarmed. The troop is advancing towards the black-jack grove, apparently intending it for a place of bivouac; if so, there will be no chance for them to escape observation. The soldiers will scatter about, and penetrate every part of the copse. Equally idle to attempt flight on their slow-footed animals, pursued by over two score of cavalry horses. They can see no alternative but surrender, submit to be made prisoners, and receive such treatment as their captors may think fit to extend to them. While thus despairingly reflecting, they take note of something that restores their disturbed equanimity. It is the direction in which the Mexicans are marching. The cloud moving in slow, stately progress does not approach any nearer to the copse. Evidently the horsemen do not design halting there, but will ride past, leaving it on their left. They are, in truth, passing along the same path from which the travellers have late deflected; only in the counter direction. Now, for the first time, a suspicion occurs to Hamersley, shared by the Texan, giving both far greater uneasiness than if the soldiers were heading direct towards them. It is further intensified as a fresh spurt of the desert wind sweeps the dust away, displaying in clear light the line of marching horsemen. No question as to their character now. There they are, with their square-peaked corded caps, and plumes of horsehair; their pennoned spears sloped over their shoulders; their yellow cloaks folded and strapped over the cantles of their saddles; sabres lying along thighs, clinking against spurs and stirrups--all the picturesque panoply of lancers. It is not this that strikes dismay into the minds of those who are spectators, for it is now struck into their heart of hearts. On one figure of the cavalcade the eyes of both become fixed; he who rides at its head. Their attention had been first attracted to his horse, Wilder gasping out, soon as he set eyes on the animal, "Look yonner, Frank!" "At what?" "The fellur ridin' foremost. D'ye see the anymal he's on? It's the same we war obleeged to abandon on takin' to the rocks." "By heavens! my horse!" "Yurs, to a sartinty." "And his rider! The man I fought with at Chihuahua, the ruffian Uraga!" On recognising his antagonist in the duel, the Kentuckian gives out a groan. The Texan, too. For on both the truth flashes in all its fulness--all its terrible reality. It is not the possession of Hamersley's horse, identifying its rider with the destroyers of the caravan. That is nothing new, and scarce surprises them. What pains--agonises them--is the direction in which the soldiers are proceeding. They can have no doubt as to the purpose of the military march, or the point to which it is tending. "Yes," says Walt, "they're strikin' straight fur the valley, goin' 'ithout guess-work, too. Thar's a guide along, an' thar's been a treetur." "Who do you think?" "That Injun, Manoel. Ye remember he went on a errand 'bout a week ago, to fetch them some things that war needed. Instead, he's made diskivery o' the hidin' place o' his master, and sold that master's head. That's what he's did, sure." "It is," mutters Hamersley, in a tone that tells of affliction too deep for speech. Before his mind is a fearful forecast. Don Valerian a prisoner to Uraga and his ruffians--Don Prospero, too; both to be dragged back to Albuquerque and cast into a military prison. Perhaps worse still--tried by court-martial soon as captured, and shot as soon as tried. Nor is this the direst of his previsions. There is one darker--Adela in the company of a ribald crew, surrounded by the brutal soldiery, powerless, unprotected--she his own dear one, now his betrothed! Overcome by his emotions he remains for some time silent, scarce heeding the remarks of his comrade. One, however, restores his attention. "I tolt ye so," says Walt. "See! yonner's the skunk himself astride o' a mule at the tail o' the gang." Hamersley directs his eyes to the rear of the outstretched rank. There, sure enough, is a man on muleback, dressed differently from the troopers. The coarse woollen tilma, and straw hat, he remembers as having been worn by one of Mirander's male domestics. He does not identify the man. But Walt's recollection of his rival is clearer, and he has no doubt that he on the mule is Manuel. Nor, for that matter, has Hamersley. The peon's presence is something to assist in the explanation. It clears up everything. Hamersley breathes hard as the dark shadows sweep through his soul. For a long time absorbed in thought, he utters scarce an ejaculation. Only after the lancer troop has passed, its rearmost files just clearing the alignment of the copse, he gasps out, in a voice husky as that of one in the act of being strangled,-- "They're going straight for the place. O God!" "Yes," rejoins the ex-Ranger, in a tone like despondent, "Thar boun' thar for sartint. The darned creetur's been tempted by the blood-money set on Kumel Miranda's head, an' air too like to git it. They'll grup him, sure; an's like as not gie him the garota. Poor gentleman! He air the noblest Mexikin I iver sot eyes on, an' desarves a better fate. As for the ole doc, he may get off arter sarvin' a spell in prison, an' the saynorita--" A groan from Hamersley interrupts the remark. His comrade, perceiving how much he is pained, modifies what he meant to say. "Thar's no need to be so much afeard o' what may happen to her. She ain't goin' to be rubbed out, anyhow; an' if she hasn't no brother to purtect her, I reckon she's got a frien' in you, Frank. An' hyar's another o' the same, as they say in the Psalms o' Davit." Walt's words have a hopeful sound. Hamersley is cheered by them, but replies not. He only presses the hand of his comrade in silent and grateful grasp. "Yis," continues the ex-Ranger with increased emphasis, "I'd lay down my life to save that young lady from harum, as I know you'd lay down yourn. An' thet air to say nothin' o' my own gurl. This chile ain't niver been much guv to runnin' arter white wheemen, an' war gen'rally content to put up wi' a squaw. But sech as them! As for yourn, I don't wonder yur heart beats like a chased rabbit's; myen air doin' the same for Concheeter. Wal, niver fear! Ef thar's a hair o' eyther o' thar heads teched, you'll hear the crack o' Walt Wilder's rifle, and see its bullet go into the breast o' him as harms 'em. I don't care who or what he air, or whar he be. Nor I don't care a durn--not the valley of a dried buffler-chip--what may come arter--hangin', garrotin', or shootin'. At all risks, them two sweet creeturs air bound to be protected from harum; an ef it comes, they shall be reevenged. I swar that, by the Eturnal!" "I join you in the oath," pronounces Hamersley, with emphatic fervour, once more exchanging a hand-squeeze with his companion. "Yes, Walt; the brave Miranda may be sacrificed--I fear it must be so. But for his sister, there is still a hope that we may save her; and surely heaven will help us. If not, I shall be ready to die. Ah! death would be easier to bear than the loss of Adela!" "An' for this chile the same, rayther than he shed lose Concheeter." CHAPTER FORTY NINE. A CAUTIOUS COMMANDER. No need saying that the cavalcade seen passing the copse is the lancer troop of Colonel Uraga. Some thirty hours before, they ascended to the Staked Plain, and are now nearly across it. Guided by the traitor, they had no need to grope their way, and have made quick time. In a few hours more they will pounce upon the prey for which they have swooped so far. The two men concealed in the grove expect them to ride on without stopping, till out of sight. Instead, they see them draw up at a few miles distance, though all remain mounted. Two separate from the rest keep on a couple of hundred yards ahead, then also halt. These are Uraga himself, with his adjutant Roblez. 'Tis only a temporary pause to exchange counsel about the plan of proceeding--as a falcon expands itself in the air before its last flight towards the quarry it has selected. Before separating from his followers, Uraga has summoned to his side the youngest commissioned officer of the troop, saying,-- "Alferes! go back to that Indian! Send the brute on to the front here." Manuel is the individual thus coarsely indicated. Told that he is wanted, the peon spurs his mule forward, and places himself by the side of the commanding officer, who has meanwhile dismounted. In the countenance of the Indian there is an expression of conscious guilt, such as may appear in that of one not hardened by habitual crime. There is even something like compunction for what he is about to do, with remorse for what he has already done. Now that he is drawing near the scene, where those betrayed by him must suffer, his reflections are anything but pleasant. Rather are they tinged with regret. Don Valerian Miranda has been an indulgent master to him, and the Dona Adela a kind mistress. On both he is bringing destruction. And what is to be his reward? From the time of his betraying them, the moment he parted with the secret of their hiding-place, he has lost control of it. He is no longer treated with the slightest respect. On the contrary, he to whom he communicated it behaves to him as conqueror to conquered, master to slave, forcing him forward with sword pointed at his breast, or pistol aimed at his head. If a guide, he is no longer looked upon as a voluntary one. Nor would he be this, but for a thought that inspires, while keeping him true to his treasonous intent. When he thinks of Conchita--of that scene in the cotton-wood grove--of the Texan kissing her--holding her in his fond embrace--when the Indian recalls all this, torturing his soul afresh, then no more remorse, not a spark of regret, not a ray of repentance! No; perish the dueno--the duena too! Let die the good doctor, if need be--all whom his vengeance has devoted! "Sirrah! are those the two peaks you spoke of?" It is Uraga who puts this interrogatory, pointing to a pair of twin summits seen rising above the horizon to eastward. "_Si Senor Coronel_; they are the same." "And you say the path leads down between them?" "Goes down through a gulch, after keeping round the cliff." "And there's no other by which the valley may be entered?" "Your excellency, I did not say that. There is another entrance, but not from the upper plain here. A stream runs through, and cuts it way out beyond. Following its channel through the _canon_, the place can be reached from below; but not after it's been raining. Then the flood fills its bed, and there's no path along the edge. As it hasn't rained lately, the banks will be above water." "And anyone could pass out below?" "They could, Senor Coronel." "We require to observe caution, Roblez," says Uraga, addressing himself to the adjutant; "else we may have made our long journey for nothing. 'Twill never do to enter the cage and find the birds flown. How far is it to the point where the river runs below?" The question is put to the peon. "_Cinco leguas, Senor_; not less. It's a long way to get round, after going down the cliff." "Five leagues there, and five back up the canon of the stream--quite a day's journey. If we send a detachment round 'twill take all of that. Shall we do it?" "I don't think there's the slightest need for wasting so much time," counsels the adjutant. "But the Indian says any one going down the defile between those hills can be seen from the house. Supposing they should see us, and retreat by the opening below?" "No need to let them see us. We can stay above till night, then descend in the darkness. As they're not likely to be expecting visitors, there should be no great difficulty in approaching this grand mansion unannounced. Let us make our call after the hour of midnight, when, doubtless, the fair Adela will be dreaming of--" "Enough!" exclaims Uraga, a cloud suddenly coming over his countenance, as if the words of his subordinate recalled some unpleasant souvenir. "We shall do as you say, _ayadante_. Give orders for the men to dismount. We shall halt here till sunset. Meanwhile, see that this copper-skin is closely kept. To make safe, you may as well clap the manacles on him." In obedience, Roblez takes the Indian back to the halted troop, directs him to be shackled; then gives the order for dismounting. But not for a night camp, only for a temporary bivouac; and this without fires, or even unsaddling of the horses. The troopers are to stay by the stirrup, ready at any moment to remount. There stay they; no longer in formation, but, as commanded, silent and motionless; only such stir as is made by snatching a morsel from their haversacks or smoking their corn-husk cigarritos. Thus till near sundown, when, remounting, they move on. CHAPTER FIFTY. STALKING THE STALKER! The spot upon which the lancer troop had halted was less than a league from the grove that gave shelter to the two Americans. In the translucent atmosphere of the tableland it looked scarce a mile. The individual forms of troopers could be distinguished, and the two who had taken themselves apart. The taller of these was easily identified as the commanding officer of the troop. "If they'd only keep thar till arter sundown," mutters Wilder, "especially him on yur hoss, I ked settle the hul bizness. This hyar gun the doc presented to me air 'bout as good a shootin'-iron as I'd care to shet my claws on, an 'most equal to my own ole rifle. I've gin it all sorts o' trials, tharfor I know it's good for plum center at a hundred an' fifty paces. Ef yonner two squattin' out from the rest 'ill jest stay thur till the shades o' night gie me a chance o' stealin' clost enuf, thar's one o' 'em will never see daylight again." "Ah!" exclaimed Hamersley, with a sigh of despair, and yet half hopeful, "if they would but remain there till night, we might still head them into the valley, time enough to get our friends away." "Don't you have any sech hopes, Frank; thar's no chance o' that I kin see what the party air arter. They've made up thar mind not to 'tempt goin' inter the gully till they hev a trifle o' shadder aroun' them. They think that ef they're seen afore they git up to the house their victims might 'scape 'em. Tharfor they purpiss approachin' the shanty unobserved, and makin' a surround o' it. That's thar game. Cunnin' o' them, too, for Mexikins." "Yes, that is what they intend doing--no doubt of it. Oh, heavens! only to think we are so near, and yet cannot give Miranda a word of warning!" "Can't be helped. We must put our trust in Him as hes an eye on all o' us--same over these desert purairas an' mountains as whar people are livin' in large cities. Sartin we must trust to Him an' let things slide a bit, jest as He may direct 'em. To go out of our kiver now 'ud be the same as steppin' inter the heart o' a forest fire. Them sogers air mounted on swift horses, an' 'ud ketch up wi these slow critturs o' mules in the shakin' o' goat's tail. Thurfor, let's lie by till night. Tain't fur off now. Then, ef we see any chance to steal down inter the valley, we'll take edvantage o' it." Hamersley can make no objection to the plan proposed. He sees no alternative but accede to it. So they remain watching the halted troop, regarding every movement with keen scrutiny. For several hours are they thus occupied, until the sun begins to throw elongated shadows over the plain. Within half an hour of its setting the Mexicans again mount their horses and move onwards. "Jest as I supposed they'd do," said Walt. "Thar's still all o' ten miles atween them and the place. They've mezyured the time it'll take 'em to git thur--an hour or so arter sundown. Thar ain't the shadder o' a chance for us to steal ahead o' 'em. We must stay in this kiver till they're clar out o' sight." And they do stay in it until the receding horsemen, who present the appearance of giants under the magnifying twilight mist, gradually grow less, and at length fade from view under the thickening darkness. Not another moment do Hamersley and the hunter remain within the grove, but springing to their saddles, push on after the troop. Night soon descending, with scarce ten minutes of twilight, covers the plain with a complete obscurity, as if a shroud of crape had been suddenly thrown over it. There is no moon, not even stars, in the sky; and the twin _buttes_, that form the portals of the pass, are no longer discerned. But the ex-Ranger needs neither moon, nor stars, nor mountain peaks to guide him for such a short distance. Taking his bearings before starting from the black-jack copse, he rides on in a course straight as the direction of a bullet from his own rifle, until the two mounds loom up, their silhouettes seen against the leaden sky. "We mustn't go any furrer, Frank," he says, suddenly pulling up his mule; "leastwise, not a-straddle o' these hyar conspikerous critters. Whether the sogers hev goed down inter the valley or no, they're sartin to hev left some o' the party ahind, by way o' keepin' century. Let's picket the animals out hyar, an' creep forrad afut. That'll gie us a chance o' seeing in, 'ithout bein' seen." The mules being disposed of as Walt had suggested, the two continue their advance. First walking erect, then in bent attitude, then crouching still lower, then as quadrupeds on all-fours, and at length, crawling like reptiles, they make their approach to the pass that leads down into the valley. They do not enter it; they dare not. Before getting within the gape of its gloomy portals they hear voices issuing therefrom. They can see tiny sparks of fire glowing at the lips of ignited cigars. From this they can tell that there are sentries there--a line of them across the ravine, guarding it from side to side. "It ain't no use tryin', Frank," whispers Wilder; "ne'er a chance o' our settin' through. They're stannin' thick all over the ground. I kin see by thar seegars. Don't ye hear them palaverin? A black snake kedn't crawl through among 'em 'ithout bein' obsarved." "What are we to do?" asks Hamersley, in a despairing tone. "We kin do nothin' now, 'ceptin' go back an' git our mules. We must move them out o' the way afore sun-up. 'Taint no matter o' use our squattin' hyar. No doubt o' what's been done. The main body's goed below; them we see's only a party left to guard the gap. Guess it's all over wi' the poor critters in the cabin, or will be afore we kin do anythin' to help 'em. Ef they ain't kilt, they're captered by this time." Hamersley can scarce restrain himself from uttering an audible groan. Only the evident danger keeps him silent. "I say agin, Frank, 'tair no use our stayin' hyar. Anythin' we kin do must be did elsewhar. Let's go back for our mules, fetch 'em away, an' see ef we kin clomb up one o' these hyar hills. Thar's a good skirtin' o' kiver on thar tops. Ef the anymals can't be tuk up, we kin leave them in some gulch, an' go on to the summut ourselves. Thar we may command a view o' all that passes. The sogers'll be sartin to kum past in the mornin', bringin' thar prisoners. Then we'll see who's along wi' 'em, and kin foller thar trail." "Walt, I'm willing to do as you direct. I feel as if I'd lost all hope, and could give way to downright despair." "Deespair be durned! Thar's allers a hope while thar's a bit o' breth in the body. Keep up yur heart, man! Think o' how we war 'mong them wagguns. That oughter strengthen yur gizzern. Niver say die till yur dead, and the crowner are holdin' his 'quest over yur karkidge. Thet's the doctryne o' Walt Wilder." As if to give illustrative proof of it, he catches hold of his comrade's sleeve; with a pluck turns him around, and leads him back to the place where they had parted from the mules. These are released from their pickets, then led silently, and in a circuitous direction, towards the base of one of the buttes. Its sides appear too steep for even a mule to scale them; but a boulder-strewed ravine offers a suitable place for secreting the animals. There they are left, their lariats affording sufficient length to make them fast to the rocks, while a _tapado_ of the saddle-blankets secures them against binneying. Having thus disposed of the animals, the two men scramble on up the ravine, reach the summit of the hill, and sit down among the cedar-scrub that crowns it, determined to remain there and await the "development of events." CHAPTER FIFTY ONE. APPROACHING THE PREY. Were we gifted with clairvoyance, it might at times spare us much misery, thought at other times it would make it. Perhaps 'tis better we are as we are. Were Frank Hamersley and Walt Wilder, keeping watch on the summit of the mound, possessed of second sight, they would not think of remaining there throughout all the night--not for an hour--nay, not so much as a minute, for they would be aware that within less than ten miles of them is a party of men with friendly hearts and strong arms, both at their disposal for the very purpose they now need such. Enough of them to strike Uraga's lancers and scatter them like chaff. And could the man commanding these but peep over the precipitous escarpment of the Llano Estacado and see those stalwart Texans bivouacked below, he would descend into the valley with less deliberation, and make greater haste to retire out of it. He and his know nothing of the formidable foes so near, any more than Hamersley and Wilder suspect the proximity of such powerful friends. Both are alike unconscious that the Texans are encamped within ten miles. Yet they are; for the gorge at whose mouth they have halted is the outlet of the valley stream, where it debouches upon the Texan plain. Without thought of being interfered with, the former proceed upon their ruthless expedition; while the latter have no alternative but await its issue. They do so with spirits impatiently chafing, and hearts sorely agonised. Both are alike apprehensive for what next day's sun will show them-- perchance a dread spectacle. Neither shuts eye in sleep. With nerves excited and bosoms agitated they lie awake, counting the hours, the minutes; now and then questioning the stars as to the time. They converse but little, and only in whispers. The night is profoundly still. The slightest sound, a word uttered above their breath, might betray them. They can distinctly hear the talk of the lancers left below. Hamersley, who understands their tongue, can make out their conversation. It is for the most part ribald and blasphemous, boasts of their _bonnes fortunes_ with the damsels of the Del Norte, commingled with curses at this ill-starred expedition that for a time separates them from their sweethearts. Among them appears a gleam greater than the ignited tips of their cigarittos. 'Tis the light of a candle which they have stuck up over a serape spread along the earth. Several are seen clustering around it; while their conversation tells that they are relieving the dull hours with a little diversion. They are engaged in gambling, and ever and anon the cries, "_Soto en la puerta_!" "_Cavallo mozo_!" ascending in increased monotone, proclaim it to be the never-ending national game of monte. Meanwhile Uraga, with the larger body of the lancers, has got down into the glen, and is making way towards the point aimed at. He proceeds slowly and with caution. This for two distinct reasons--the sloping path is difficult even by day, at night requiring all the skill of experienced riders to descend it. Still with the traitor at their head, who knows every step, they gradually crawl down the cliff, single file, again forming "by twos" as they reach the more practicable causeway below. Along this they continue to advance in silence and like caution. Neither the lancer colonel nor his lieutenant has forgotten the terrible havoc made among the Tenawas by the two men who survived that fearful affray, and whom they may expect once more to meet. They know that both have guns--the traitor has told them so--and that, as before, they will make use of them. Therefore Uraga intends approaching stealthily, and taking them by surprise. Otherwise he may himself be the first to fall--a fate he does not wish to contemplate. But there can be no danger, he fancies as he rides forward. It is now the mid-hour of night, a little later, and the party to be surprised will be in their beds. If all goes well he may seize them asleep. So far everything seems favourable. No sound comes from the direction of the lonely dwelling, not even the bark of a watch dog. The only noises that interrupt the stillness of the night are the lugubrious cry of the coyote and the wailing note of the whip-poor-will; these, at intervals blending with the sweeter strain of the tzenzontle--the Mexican nightingale--intermittently silenced as the marching troop passes near the spot where it is perched. Once more, before coming in sight of the solitary jacal, Uraga commands a halt. This time to reconnoitre, not to rest or stay. The troopers sit in their saddles, with reins ready to be drawn; like a flock of vultures about to unfold their wings for the last swoop upon their victims--to clutch, tear, kill, do with them as they may wish! CHAPTER FIFTY TWO. A BLOODLESS CAPTURE. A house from which agreeable guests have just taken departure is rarely cheerful. The reverse, if these have been very agreeable--especially on the first evening after. The rude sheiling which gives shelter to the refugees is no exception. Everyone under its roof is afflicted with low spirits, some of them sad--two particularly so. Thus has it been since the early hour of daybreak, when the guests regretted spoke the parting speech. In the ears of Adela Miranda, all day long, has been ringing that painful word, "Adios!" while thoughts about him who uttered it have been agitating her bosom. Not that she has any fear of his fealty, or that he will prove traitor to his troth now plighted. On the contrary, she can confide in him for that, and does--fully, trustingly. Her fears are from a far different cause; the danger he is about to dare. Conchita, in like manner, though in less degree, has her apprehensions. The great Colossus who has captured her heart, and been promised her hand, may never return to claim it. But, unacquainted with the risk he is going to run, the little mestiza has less to alarm her, and only contemplates her lover's absence, with that sense of uncertainty common to all who live in a land where every day has its dangers. Colonel Miranda is discomforted too. Never before since his arrival in the valley have his apprehensions been so keen. Hamersley's words, directing suspicion to the peon, Manuel, have excited them. All the more from his having entertained something of this before. And now still more, that his messenger is three days overdue from the errand on which he has sent him. At noon he and Don Prospero again ascend to the summit of the pass, and scan the table plain above--to observe nothing upon it, either westwardly or in any other direction. And all the afternoon has one or the other been standing near the door of the jacal, with a lorgnette levelled up the ravine through which the valley is entered from above. Only as the shades of night close over them do they desist from this vigil, proving fruitless. Added to the idea of danger, they have another reason for desiring the speedy return of the messenger. Certain little luxuries he is expected to bring--among the rest a skin or two of wine and a few boxes of cigars. For neither the colonel himself nor the ex-army surgeon are anchorites, however much they have of late been compelled to the habit. Above all, they need tobacco, their stock being out; the last ounce given to their late guests on leaving. These are minor matters, but yet add to the cheerlessness of the time after the strangers have gone. Not less at night, when more than ever one feels a craving for the nicotian weed, to consume it in some way-- pipe, cigar, or cigaritto. As the circle of three assemble in their little sitting-room, after a frugal supper, tobacco is the Colonel's chief care, and becomes the first topic of conversation. "Carramba!" he explains, as if some new idea had entered his head, "I couldn't have believed in a man suffering so much from such a trifling cause." "What are you referring to?" interrogates the doctor. "The thing you're thinking of at this moment, _amigo mio_. I'll make a wager it's the same." "As you know, colonel, I never bet." "Nor I upon a certainty, as in this case it would be. I know what your mind's bent upon--tobacco." "I confess it, colonel. I want a smoke, bad as ever I did in my life." "Sol." "But why don't you both have it, then?" It is Adela who thus innocently interrogates. "For the best of all reasons," rejoins her brother. "We haven't the wherewith." "What! no cigarittos? I saw some yesterday on one of the shelves." "But not to day. At this moment there isn't a pinch of tobacco within twenty miles of where we sit, unless our late guests have made a very short day's march. I gave them the last I had to comfort them on the journey." "Yes, senorita," adds the doctor, "and something quite as bad, if not worse. Our bottles are empty. The wine is out as well as the weed." "In that," interrupts the Colonel, "I'm happy to say you're mistaken. It's not so bad as you think, doctor. True, the pigskin has collapsed; for the throat of the huge Texan was as difficult to saturate as the most parched spot on the Staked Plain. Finding it so, I took occasion to abstract a good large gourd, and set it surreptitiously aside. I did that to meet emergencies. As one seems to have arisen, I think the hidden treasure may now be produced." Saying this, the colonel steps out of the room, soon returning with a large calabash bottle. Conchita is summoned, and directed to bring drinking cups, which she does. Miranda, pouring out the wine says,-- "This will cheer us; and, in truth, we all need cheering. I fancy there's enough to last us till Manuel makes his reappearance with a fresh supply. Strange his not having returned. He's had time to do all his bargainings and been back three days ago. I hoped to see him home before our friends took departure, so that I could better have provided them for their journey. They'll stand a fair chance of being famished." "No fear of that," puts in Don Prospero. "Why do you say so, doctor?" "Because of the rifle I gave to Senor Gualtero. With it he will be able to keep both provisioned. 'Tis marvellous how he can manage it. He has killed bits of birds without spoiling their skins or even ruffling a feather. I'm indebted to him for some of my best specimens. So long as he carries a gun, with ammunition to load it, you need have no fear he or his companion will perish from hunger, even on the Llano Estacado." "About that," rejoins Miranda, "I think we need have no uneasiness. Beyond lies the thing to be apprehended--not on the desert, but amid cultivated fields, in the streets of towns, in the midst of so-called civilisation. There will be their real danger." For some time the three are silent, their reflections assuming a sombre hue, called forth by the colonel's words. But the doctor, habitually light-hearted, soon recovers, and makes an effort to imbue the others with cheerfulness like his own. "Senorita," he says, addressing himself to Adela, "your guitar, hanging there against the wall, seems straining its strings as if they longed for the touch of your fair fingers. You've been singing every night for the last month, delighting us all I hope you won't be silent now that your audience is reduced, but will think it all the more reason for bestowing your favours on the few that remain." To the gallant speech of pure Castilian idiom, the young lady answers with a smile expressing assent, at the same time taking hold of her guitar. As she reseats herself, and commences tuning the instrument, a string snaps. It seems an evil omen; and so all three regard it, though without knowing why. It is because, like the strings of the instrument, their hearts are out of tune, or rather attuned to a presentiment which oppresses them. The broken string is soon remedied by a knot; this easily done. Not so easy to restore the tranquillity of thought disturbed by its breaking. No more does the melancholy song which succeeds. Even to that far land has travelled the strain of the "Exile of Erin." Its appropriateness to their own circumstances suggesting itself to the Mexican maiden, she sings-- Sad is my fate, said the heart-broken stranger, The wild deer and wolf to the covert can flee, But I have no refuge from famine and danger, A home and a country remain not to me. "Dear Adela!" interrupts Miranda. "That song is too sad. We're already afflicted with its spirit. Change it for one more cheerful. Give us a lay of the Alhambra--a battle-song of the Cid or the Campeador-- something patriotic and stirring." Obedient to her brother's request, the young girl changes tune and song, now pouring forth one of those inimitable lays for which the language of Cervantes is celebrated. Despite all, the heaviness of heart remains, pressing upon those who listen as on her who sings. Adela's voice appears to have lost its accustomed sweetness, while the strings of her guitar seem equally out of tune. All at once, while in the middle of her song, the two bloodhounds, that have been lying on the floor at her feet, start from their recumbent position, simultaneously giving utterance to a growl, and together rush out through the open door. The singing is instantly brought to an end; while Don Valerian and the doctor rise hastily from their chairs. The bark of watch-dog outside some quiet farmhouse, amidst the homes of civilisation, can give no idea of the startling effect which the same sound calls forth on the far Indian frontier--nothing like the alarm felt by the dwellers in that lone ranche. To add to it, they hear a hoof striking on the stones outside--that of either horse or mule. It cannot be Lolita's; the mustang mare is securely stalled, and the hoof-stroke comes not from the stable. There are no other animals. Their late guests have taken away the two saddle mules, while the _mulas de carga_ are with the messenger, Manuel. "It's he come back!" exclaims the doctor. "We ought to be rejoiced instead of scared. Come, Don Valerian! we shall have our smoke yet before going to bed." "It's not Manuel," answers Miranda. "The dogs would have known him before this. Hear how they keep on baying! Ha! what's that? Chico's voice! Somebody has caught hold of him!" A cry from the peon outside, succeeded by expostulations, as if he was struggling to escape--his voice commingled with shrill screams from Conchita--are sounds almost simultaneous. Don Valerian strides back into the room and lays hold of his sword, the doctor clutching at the first weapon that presents itself. But weapons are of no avail where there are not enough hands to wield them. Into the cabin lead two entrance doors--one front, the other back--and into both is seen pouring a stream of armed men, soldiers in uniform. Before Miranda can disengage his sword from its scabbard, a perfect _chevaux-de-frise_ of lance-points are within six inches of his breast, while the doctor is similarly menaced. Both perceive that resistance will be idle. It can only end in their instant impalement. "Surrender, rebels!" cries a voice rising above the din. "Drop your weapons, and at once, if you wish your lives spared! Soldiers, disarm them!" Miranda recognises the voice. Perhaps, had he done so sooner, he would have held on to his sword, and taken the chances of a more protracted and desperate resistance. It is too late. As the weapon is wrested from his grasp, he sees standing before him the man of all others he has most reason to fear-- Gil Uraga! CHAPTER FIFTY THREE. A SLEEPLESS NIGHT. All night long Hamersley and the hunter remain upon the summit of the mound. It is a night of dread anxiety, seeming to them an age. They think not of taking sleep--they could not. There is that in their minds that would keep them wakeful if they had not slept for a week. Time passing does not lessen their suspense. On the contrary, it grows keener, becoming an agony almost unendurable. To escape from it, Hamersley half forms the resolution to descend the hill and endeavour to steal past the sentinels. If discovered, to attack them boldly, and attempt cutting a way through; then on into the valley, and take such chances as may turn up for the rescue of the refugees. Putting it to his companion, the latter at once offers opposing counsel. It would be more than rashness--sheer madness. At least a dozen soldiers have been left on picket at the summit of the pass. Standing or sitting, they are scattered all over the ground. It would be impossible for anyone going down the gorge to get past them unperceived; and for two men to attack twelve, however courageous the former and cowardly the latter, the odds would be too great. "I wouldn't mind it for all that," says Walt, concluding his response to the rash proposal, "ef thar war nothin' more to be did beyont. But thar is. Even war we to cut clar through, kill every skunk o' 'em, our work 'ud be only begun. Thar's two score to meet us below. What ked we do wi' 'em? No, Frank; we mout tackle these twelve wi' some sort o' chance, but two agin forty! It's too ugly a odds. No doubt we ked drop a good grist o' 'em afore goin' under, but in the eend they'd git the better o' us--kill us to a sartinty." "It's killing me to stay here. Only to think what the ruffians may be doing at this moment! Adela--" "Don't gie yur mind to thinkin' o' things now. Keep your thoughts for what we may do arterward. Yur Adela ain't goin' to be ate up that quick, nor yet my Concheeter. They'll be tuk away 'long wi' t'others as prisoners. We kin foller, and trust to some chance o' bein' able to git 'em out o' the clutches o' the scoundrels." Swayed by his comrade's counsel, somewhat tranquillised by it, Hamersley resigns himself to stay as they are. Calmer reflection convinces him there is no help for it. The alternative, for an instant entertained, would be to rush recklessly on death, going into its very jaws. They lie along the ground listening, now and then standing up and peering through the branches at the sentries below. For a long while they hear nothing save the calls of the card-players, thickly interlarded with _carajoz, chingaras_, and other blasphemous expressions. But just after the hour of midnight other sounds reach their ears, which absorb all their attention, taking it away from the gamesters. Up out of the valley, borne upon the buoyant atmosphere, comes the baying of bloodhounds. In echo it reverberates along the facade of the cliff, for a time keeping continuous. Soon after a human voice, quickly followed by a second; these not echoes or repetitions of the same; for one is the coarse guttural cry of a man, the other a scream in the shrill treble of of a woman. The first is the shout of surprise uttered by Chico, the second the shriek of alarm sent forth by Conchita. With hearts audibly beating, the listeners bend their ears to catch what may come next, both conjecturing the import of the sounds that have already reached them, and this with instinctive correctness. Walt is the first to give speech to his interpretation of it. "They're at the shanty now," he says, in a whisper. "The two houn's guv tongue on hearin' 'em approach. That fust shout war from the Injun Cheeko; and the t'other air hern--my gurl's. Durnation! if they hurt but a he'r o' her head--Wagh! what's the use o' my threetenin'?" As if seeing his impotence, the hunter suddenly ceases speech, again setting himself to listen. Hamersley, without heeding him, is already in this attitude. And now out of the valley arise other sounds, not all of them loud. The stream, here and there falling in cataracts, does something to deaden them. Only now and then there is the neigh of a horse, and intermittently the bark of one of the bloodhounds, as if these animals had yielded, but yet remain hostile to the intruders. They hear human voices, too, but no shout following that of Chico, and no scream save the one sent up by Conchita. There is loud talk, a confusion of speakers, but no report of firearms. This last is tranquillising. A shot at that moment heard by Hamersley would give him more uneasiness than if the gun were aimed at himself. "Thank God!" he gasps out, after a long spell of listening, "Miranda has made no resistance. He's seen it would be no use, and has quietly surrendered. I suppose it's all over now, and they are captives." "Wal, better thet than they shed be corpses," is the consolatory reflection of the hunter. "So long as thar's breath left in thar bodies we kin hev hope, as I sayed arready. Let's keep up our hearts by thinkin' o' the fix we war in atween the wagguns, an' arterwards thet scrape in the cave. We kim clar out o' both in a way we mout call mirakelous, an' we may yit git them clar in someat the same fashion. 'Slong's I've got my claws roun' the stock o' a good gun, wi' plenty o' powder and lead, I ain't a-goin' to deespar. We've both got that, tharfor niver say die!" The hunter's quaint speech is encouraging; but for all, it does not hinder him and his comrade from soon after returning to a condition of despondency, if not actual despair. A feeling which holds possession of them till the rising of the sun, and on till it reaches meridian. When the day breaks, with eyes anxiously scrutinising, they look down into the valley. A mist hangs over the stream, caused by the spray of its cataracts. Lifting at length, there is displayed a scene not very different from what they have been expecting. Around the ranche they see horses picketed and soldiers moving among them or standing in groups apart; in short, a picture of military life in "country quarters." Their point of view is too far off to identify individual forms or note the exact action carried on. This last, left to conjecture, is filled up by fancies of the most painful kind. For long hours are they constrained to endure them--up to that of noon. Then, the notes of a bugle, rising clear above the hissing of the cascades, foretell a change in the spectacle. It is the call, "Boots and saddles!" The soldiers are seen caparisoning their horses and standing by the stirrup. Another blast gives the order to "Mount!" Soon after, the "Forward!" Then the troop files off from the front of the jacal, disappearing under the trees like a gigantic glittering serpent. The white drapery of a woman's dress is seen fluttering at its head, as if the reptile had seized upon some tender prey--a dove from the cote--and was bearing it off to its slimy lair. For another half-hour the two men on the mound wait with nervous impatience. It requires this time to make the ascent from the centre of the valley to the upper plain. After entering among the trees, the soldiers and their captives are out of sight; but the clattering of their horses' hoofs can be heard as they strike upon the rock-strewn path. Once or twice a trumpet sound proclaims their movements upon the march. At length the head of the troop appears, the leading files following one after the other along the narrow ledge. As they approach the summit of the pass the track widens, admitting a formation "by twos." At the trumpet call they change to this, a single horseman riding at their head. He is now near enough for his features to be distinguished, and Hamersley's heart strikes fiercely against his ribs as he recognises them. If he had any doubt before, it is set at rest now. He sees Gil Uraga, certain of his being the man who caused the destruction of his caravan. His own horse, ridden by the robber, is proof conclusive of the crime. He takes note that the lancer colonel is dressed in splendid style, very different from the dust-stained cavalier who the day before passed over the desert plain. Now he appears in a gorgeous laced uniform, with lancer cap and plume, gold cords and aiguillettes dangling adown his breast; for he has this morning made his toilet with care, in consideration of the company in which he intends travelling. Neither Hamersley nor the hunter hold their eyes long upon him; they are both looking for another individual--each his own. These soon make their appearance, their white dresses distinguishable amid the darker uniforms. During the march their position has been changed. They are now near the centre of the troop, the young lady upon her own mare Lolita, while the Indian damsel is mounted on a mule. They are free, both hand and limb, but a file in front, with another behind, have charge of them. Farther rearward is another group, more resembling captives. This is composed of three men upon mules, fast bound to saddle and stirrup, two of them having their arms pinioned behind their backs. Their animals are led each by a trooper who rides before. The two about whose security such precaution has been taken are Don Valerian and the doctor, the third, with his arms free, is Chico. His fellow-servant Manuel, also on mule-back, is following not far behind, but in his attitude or demeanour there is nothing to tell of the captive. If at times he looks gloomy, it is when he reflects upon his black treason and infamous ingratitude. Perhaps he has repented, or deems the prospect not so cheerful as expected. After all, what will be his reward? He has ruined his master and many others beside, but this will not win him the love of Conchita. The spectators feel somewhat relieved as Colonel Miranda comes in sight. Still more as the march brings him nearer, and it can be seen that he sits his horse with no sign of having received any injury; and neither has Don Prospero. The elaborate fastenings are of themselves evidences that no hurt has happened to them. It has been a capture without resistance, as their friends hoped it would, their fears having been of a conflict to end in the death of the exiles. One by one, and two by two, the troops come filing on, till the leader is opposite the spot where the two spectators stand crouching among the trees. These are dwarf cedars, and give the best cover for concealment. Thoroughly screened by their thickly-set boughs and dense dark foliage, Hamersley and the hunter command a clear view of everything below. The distance to the summit of the pass is about two hundred yards in a slanting direction. As the lancer colonel approaches the spot where the picket is posted, he halts and gives an order. It is for the guard to fall in along with the rest of the troop. At this moment a similar thought is in the minds of the two men whose eyes are upon him from above. Wilder is the first to give expression to it. He does so in an undertone,-- "Ef we ked trust the carry o' our rifles, Frank." "I was thinking of it," is the rejoinder, equally earnest. "We can't I'm afraid it's too far." "I weesh I only had my old gun; she'd a sent a bullet furrer than that. A blue pill inter his stomach 'ud simplerfy matters consid'rable. 'Tall events it 'ud git your gurl out o' danger, and mayhap all on 'em. I b'lieve the hul clanjamfery o' them spangled jay birds 'ud run at hearin' a shot. Then we ked gie 'em a second, and load an' fire half a dozen times afore they could mount up hyar--if they'd dar to try it. Ah! it's too fur. The distance in these hyar high purairas is desprit deceivin'. Durned pity we kedn't do it. I fear we can't." "If we should miss, then--" "Things 'ud only be wuss. I reck'n we'd better let'm slide now, and foller arter. Thar boun' straight for the Del Norte; but whether or no, we kin eesy pick up thar trail." Hamersley still hesitates, his fingers alternately tightening on his gun, and then relaxing. His thoughts are flowing in a quick current-- too quick for cool deliberation. He knows he can trust his own aim, as well as that of his comrade. But the distance is doubtful, and the shots might fall short. Then it would be certain death to them; for the situation is such that there could be no chance to escape, with fifty horsemen to pursue, themselves mounted upon mules, and therewith be reached without difficulty. They might defend themselves on the mound, but not for long. Two against fifty, they would soon be overpowered. After all, it will be better to let the troop pass on. So counsels the ex-Ranger, pointing out that the prisoners will be carried on to New Mexico--to Albuquerque, of course. He and his comrade are Americans, and not proscribed there. They can follow without fear. Some better opportunity may arise for rescuing the captives. Their prison may offer this; and from what they have heard of such places it is probable enough. A golden key is good for opening the door of any gaol in Mexico. Only one thought hinders Hamersley from at once giving way to this reasoning--the thought of his betrothed being in such company--under such an escort, worse than unprotected! Once more he scans the distance that separates him from the soldiers, his gun tightly grasped. Could their colonel but suspect his proximity at that moment, and what is passing through his mind, he would sit with little confidence in his saddle, bearing himself less pompously. Caution, backed by the ex-Ranger's counsel, asserts its sway, and the Kentuckian relaxes his grasp on the gun, dropping its butt to the ground. The last files, having cleared the gap, are formed into a more compact order; when, the bugle again sounding "Forward," the march is resumed, the troop striking off over the plain in the direction whence it came. CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR. A MAN AND A MULE. Carefully as ever, Hamersley and the Texan keep to their place of concealment. They dare not do otherwise. The slope by which they ascended is treeless, the cedars only growing upon the summit. The gorge, too, by which they went up, and at the bottom of which their mules were left, debouches westwardly on the plain--the direction in which the lancers have ridden off. Any of these chancing to look back would be sure to catch sight of them if they show themselves outside the sheltering scrub. They have their apprehensions about their animals. It is a wonder these have not been seen by the soldiers. Although standing amid large boulders, a portion of the bodies of both are visible from the place mentioned. Fortunately for their owners, their colour closely resembled the rocks, and for which the troopers may have mistaken them. More probably, in their impatience to proceed upon the return route, none of them turn their eyes in that direction. An equally fortunate circumstance is the fact of the mules being muffled. Otherwise they might make themselves heard. Not a sound, either snort or hinney, escape them; not so much as the stamping of a hoof. They stand patient and silent, as if they themselves had fear of the men who are foes to their masters. For a full hour after the lancers have left these stay crouching behind the cedars. Even an hour does not take the troop out of sight. Cumbered with their captives, they march at slow, measured pace--a walk. Moreover, the pellucid atmosphere of the Staked Plain makes objects visible at double the ordinary distance. They are yet but five miles from the buttes, and, looking back, could see a man at their base, more surely one mounted. The two who are on the summit allow quite twenty minutes more to elapse before they think of leaving it. Then, deeming it safe, they prepare to descend. Still they are in no haste. Their intention is to follow the cavalcade, but by no means to overtake it. Nor do they care to keep it in sight, but the contrary, since that might beget danger to themselves. They anticipate no difficulty in taking up the trail of a troop like that Walt confidently declares he could do so were he blindfolded as their mules, adding, in characteristic phraseology, "I ked track the skunks by thar smell." Saying this he proposes a "bit o' brakwist," a proposition his comrade assents to with eagerness. They have not eaten since dinner of the day before, their provisions having been left below, and the sharp morning air has given additional edge to their appetites. This at length draws them down to their mules. Taking off the _tapados_ to relieve the poor animals, who have somewhat suffered from being so scurvily treated, they snatch a hasty repast from their haversacks, then light their pipes for a smoke preparatory to setting forth. It is not yet time, for the soldiers are still in sight. They will wait till the last lance pennon sinks below the horizon. Whilst smoking, with eyes bent upon the receding troop, a sound salutes their ears, causing both to start. Fortunately they draw back behind one of the boulders, and there remain listening. What they heard was certainly a hoofstroke, whether of horse or mule--not of either of their own; these are by their sides, while the sound that has startled them appears to proceed from the other side of the mound, as if from the summit of the pass leading up out of the valley. They hear it again. Surely it is in the gorge that goes down, or at the head of it. Their conjecture is that one of the lancers has lagged behind, and is now _en route_ to overtake the troop. If it be thus what course are they to pursue? He may look back and see themselves or their animals, then gallop on and report to his comrades. 'Twould be a sinister episode, and they must take steps to prevent it. They do so by hastily restoring the _tapados_ and leading the mules into a _cul-de-sac_, where they will be safe from observation. Again they hear the sound, still resembling a hoofstroke, but not of an animal making way over the ground in walk, trot, or gallop, but as one that refused to advance, and was jibbing. Between them and it there seems great space, a projecting spur of the butte from which they have just descended. By climbing the ridge for a score of yards or so they can see into the gorge that goes down to the valley. As the trampling still appears steadfast to the same point, their alarm gives place to curiosity, then impatience. Yielding to this, they scramble up the ridge that screens the kicking animal from their view. Craning their heads over its crest, they see that which, instead of causing further fear, rather gives them joy. Just under their eyes, in the gap of the gorge, a man is struggling with a mule. It is a contest of very common occurrence. The animal is saddled, and the man is making attempts to get his leg over the saddle. The hybrid is restive, and will not permit him to put foot in the stirrup. Ever as he approaches it shies back, rearing and pitching to the full length and stretch of the bridle-rein. Soon as seeing him, they upon the ridge recognise the man thus vexatiously engaged. He is the peon Manuel. "The durned scoundrel," hissed Walt, through clenched teeth. "What's kep him ahint, I wonder?" Hamersley responds not--he, too, conjecturing. "By Jehorum!" continues the hunter, "it looks like he'd stayed back apurpose. Thar ked been nothin' to hinder him to go on 'long wi' the rest. The questyun air what he's stayed for. Some trick o' trezun, same as he's did afore." "Something of the kind, I think," rejoins Hamersley, still considering. "Wal, he's wantin' to get on bad enuf now, if the mule 'ud only let him. Say, Frank, shell I put a payriud to their conflict by sendin' a bit o' lead that way, I kin rub the varmint out by jest pressin' my finger on this trigger." "Do you mean the man or the mule?" "The man, in coorse. For what shed I shoot the harmless critter that's been carryin' him? Say the word, an' I'll send him to kingdom come in the twinklin' o' a goat's tail. I've got sight on him. Shall I draw the trigger?" "For your life, don't look yonder! They're not yet out of sight. They might see the smoke, perhaps hear the crack. Comrade, you're taking leave of your senses!" "Contemplatin' that ugly anymal below air enough to make me. It a'most druv me out o' my mind to think o' his black ungratefulness. Now, seein' hisself through the sight of a rifle 'ithin good shootin' distance, shurely ye don't intend we shud let him go!" "Certainly not. That would be ruin to ourselves. We must either kill or capture him. But it must be done without noise, or at least without firing a shot. They're not far enough off yet." "How d'ye devise, then?" "Let's back to our mules, mount, and get round the ledge. We must head him before he gets out of the gap. Come on!" Both scramble back down the slope quicker than they ascended it, knowing there is good reason for haste--the best for their lives--every thing may depend on capturing the peon. Should he see them, and get away, it will be worse both for them and their dear ones. In two minutes the mules are again unmuffled and mounted. In two more they are entering the gap from outside, their masters on their backs. These, spurring the animals to speed, enter the gorge, their eyes everywhere. They reach the spot where the peon was so late seen, striving to get into his saddle. They see the turf torn up by the hybrid's hoofs, but no man, no mule. CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE. A LAGGER LAGGED. The surprise of the two men is but momentary; for there can be no mystery about the peon's disappearance. He has simply gone down the ravine, and back into the valley. Is he on return to the house, which they know is now untenanted, and, if so, with what intent? Has he become so attached to the place as to intend prolonging his sojourn there? or has something arisen to make him discontented with the company he has been keeping, and so determined to get quit of it by hanging behind? Something of this sort was on their minds as they last saw him over the crest of the ridge. While in conflict with his mule, he was ever and anon turning his eyes towards the point where the soldiers must have been last seen by him; for from the gap in which he was these were no longer visible. Both Hamersley and Wilder had noticed an uneasy air about him at the time, attributing it to his vexation at being delayed by the obstinacy of the animal and the fear of being left behind. Now that he had mounted and taken the back-track, the cause must be different. "Thar's somethin' queery in what the coyoats doin'," is Walt's half-soliloquised observation; adding, "Though what he's arter tain't so eezy to tell. He must be tired o' their kumpany, and want to get shet o' it. He'll be supposin' they ain't likely to kum back arter him; an' I reck'n they won't, seein' they've got all out o' him they need care for. Still, what ked he do stayin' hyar by himself?" Walt is still ignorant of the peon's partiality for his own sweetheart. He has had a suspicion of something, but not the deep, dire passion that burns in the Indian's heart. Aware of this, he would not dwell on the probability of the man having any intention, any more than himself, remain behind now that Conchita is gone. "Arter all," he continues, still speaking in half soliloquy, "I don't think stayin's his game. There's somethin' else at the bottom on't." "Can Uraga have sent him back on any errand?" "No, that ain't it eyther. More like he's good on a errand o' his own. I reckon I ken guess it now. The traitur intends turnin' thief as well--doin' a leetle bit o' stealin' along wi' his treason. Ye remember, Frank, thar war a goodish grit o' valleyables in the shanty-- the saynorita's jeweltry an' the like. Jest possyble, in the skrimmage, whiles they war making capter o' thar prisoners, this ugly varmint tuk devantage o' the confusion to secret a whun o' thar gimcracks, an's now goed back arter 'em." "It seems probable enough. Still, he might have some other errand, and may not go on as far as the house. In which case, we may look for his return this way at any moment. It will never do for us to start upon their trail, leaving him coming in our rear. He would see us, and in the night might slip past and give them warning they were followed." "All that air true. We must grup him now." "Should we go down after him, or stay here till he comes up?" "Neythur o' the two ways'll do. He moutn't kum along no time. If he's got plunder he won't try to overtake the sogers, but wait till they're well out o' his way. He knows the road to the Del Norte, and kin travel it by hisself." "Then we should go down after him." "Only one o' us. If we both purceed to the shanty there's be a chance o' passin' him on the way. He mout be in the timmer, an', seein' us, put back out hyar, an' so head us. There'd no need o' both for the capterin' sech a critter as that. I'll fetch him on his marrowbones by jest raisin' this rifle. Tharfor, s'pose you stay hyar an' guard this gap, while I go arter an' grup him. I'm a'most sartin he'll be at the shanty. Anyhow, he's in the trap, and can't get out till he's hed my claws roun' the scruff o' his neck an' my thumb on his thropple." "Don't kill him if you can help it. True he deserves to die; but we may want a word with him first. He may give information that will afterwards prove useful to us." "Don't be afeared, Frank. I shan't hurt a har o' his head, unless he reesists, then I must kripple him a bit. But he ain't like to show fight, such a coyoat as he!" "All right, Walt. I'll wait for you." "You won't hev long. Ye'd better take kiver back o' them big stones to make sure o' not bein' seen by him, shed he by any chance slip past me. An' keep yur ears open. Soon as I've treed him I'll gie a whistle or two. When ye hear that ye can kim down." After delivering this chapter of suggestions and injunctions, the ex-Ranger heads his mule down the pass, and is soon lost to his comrade's sight as he turns off along the ledge of the cliff. Hamersley, himself inclined to caution, follows the direction last given, and rides back behind one of the boulders. Keeping in the saddle, he sits in silent meditation. Sad thoughts alone occupy his mind. His prospects are gloomy indeed; his forecast of the future dark and doubtful. He has but little hope of being able to benefit Don Valerian Miranda, and cannot be sure of rescueing his sister--his own betrothed--in time to avert that terrible catastrophe which he knows to be impending over her. He does not give it a name--he scarce dares let it take shape in his thoughts. Nearly half-an-hour is spent in this painful reverie. He is aroused from it by a sound which ascends out of the valley. With a start of joy he recognises the signal his comrade promised to send him. The whistle is heard in three distinct "wheeps," rising clear above the hoarser sibillations of the cascades. From the direction he can tell it comes from the neighbourhood of the house; but, without waiting to reflect whither, he spurs his mule out, and rides down the pass as rapidly as possible. On reaching the level below he urges the animal to a gallop, and soon arrives at the ranche. There, as expected, he finds his companion, with the peon a captive. The two, with their mules, form a tableau in front of the untenanted dwelling. The ex-Ranger is standing in harangue attitude, slightly bent forward, his body propped by his rifle, the butt of which rests upon the ground. At his feet is the Indian, lying prostrate, his ankles lashed together with a piece of cowhide rope, his wrists similarly secured. "I ked catched him a leetle sooner," says Walt to his comrade, coming up, "but I war kewrious to find out what he war arter, an' waited to watch him. That's the explication o' it." He points to a large bag lying near, with its contents half poured out-- a varied collection of articles of bijouterie and virtu, resembling a cornucopia; spilling its fruits. Hamersley recognises them as part of the _penates_ of his late host. "Stolen goods," continues Walt, "that's what they air. An' stole from a master he's basely betrayed, may be to death. A mistress, besides, that's been too kind to him. Darnation! that's a tortiss-shell comb as belonged to my Concheeter, an' a pair o' slippers I ken swar wur here. What shed we do to him?" "What I intended," responds Hamersley, assuming a curious air; "first make him confess--tell all he knows. When we've got his story out of him we can settle that next." The confession is not very difficult to extract. With Wilder's bowie-knife gleaming before his eyes, its blade within six inches of his breast, the wretch reveals all that has passed since the moment of his first meditating treason. He even makes declaration of the motive, knowing the nobility of the men who threatened him, and thinking by this means to obtain pardon. To strengthen his chances he goes still farther, turning traitor against him to whom he had sold himself--Uraga. He has overheard a conversation between the Mexican colonel and his adjutant, Lieutenant Roblez. It was to the effect that they do not intend taking their prisoners all the way back to Albuquerque. How they mean to dispose of them the peon does not know. He had but half heard the dialogue relating to Don Valerian and the doctor. The female prisoners! Can he tell anything of what is intended with them? Though not in these terms, the question is asked with this earnestness. The peon is unable to answer it. He does not think they are prisoners-- certainly not Conchita. She is only being taken back along with her mistress. About the senorita, his mistress, he heard some words pass between Uraga and Roblez, but without comprehending their signification. In his own heart Hamersley can supply it--does so with dark, dire misgivings. CHAPTER FIFTY SIX. "THE NORTE." Westward, across the Liana Estacado, Uraga and his lancers continue on their return march. The troop, going by twos, is again drawn out in an elongated line, the arms and accoutrements of the soldiers glancing in the sun, while the breeze floats back the pennons of their lances. The men prisoners are a few files from the rear, a file on each flank guarding them. The women are at the head, alongside the guide and sub-lieutenant, who has charge of the troop. For reasons of his own the lancer colonel does not intrude his company on the captives. He intends doing so in his own time. It has not yet come. Nor does he take any part in directing the march of the men. That duty has been entrusted to the _alferez_; he and Roblez riding several hundred paces in advance of the troop. He has thus isolated himself for the purpose of holding conversation with his adjutant, unembarrassed by any apprehension of being overheard. "Well, _ayadante_," he begins, as soon as they are safe beyond earshot, "what's your opinion of things now?" "I think we've done the thing neatly, though not exactly the way you wanted it." "Anything but that. Still, I don't despair of getting everything straight in due time. The man Manuel has learnt from his fellow-servant that our American friends have gone on to the settlements of the Del Norte. Strange if we can't find them there; and stranger still if, when found, I don't bring them to book at last. _Caraja_! Neither of the two will ever leave New Mexico alive." "What about these two--our Mexican friends?" "For them a fate the very reverse. Neither shall ever reach it alive." "You intend taking them there dead, do you?" "Neither living nor dead. I don't intend taking them there at all." "You think of leaving them by the way?" "More than think; I've determined upon it." "But surely you don't mean to kill them in cold blood?" "I won't harm a hair of their heads--neither I, nor you, nor any of my soldiers. For all that, they shall die." "Colonel, your speech is somewhat enigmatical. I don't comprehend it." "In due time you will. Have patience for four days more--it may be less. Then you will have the key to the enigma. Then Don Valerian Miranda and the old rascal Don Prospero shall cease to trouble the dreams of Gil Uraga." "And you are really determined on Miranda's death?" "A silly question for a man who knows me as you. Of course I am." "Well, for my part, I don't care much one way or the other, only I can't see what benefit it will be to you. He's not such a bad sort of a fellow, and has got the name of being a courageous soldier." "You're growing wonderfully sentimental, _ayadante_. The tender glances of the senorita seem to have softened you." "Not likely," rejoins the adjutant with a grim smile. "The eyes that could make impression upon the heart of Gaspar Roblez don't exist in the head of woman. If I have any weaknesses in the feminine way, it's for the goddess Fortuna. So long as I can get a pack of playing cards, with some rich _gringo_ to face me in the game, I'll leave petticoats alone." In turn the colonel smiles. He knows the idiosyncracy of his confederate in crime. Rather a strange one for a man who has committed many robberies, and more than once imbued his hands in blood. Cards, dice and drink are his passions, his habitual pleasure. Of love he seems incapable, and does not surrender himself to its lure, though there has been a chapter of it in his life's history, of which Uraga is aware, having an unfortunate termination, sealing his heart against the sex to contempt, almost hatred. Partially to this might be traced the fact of his having fallen into evil courses, and, like his colonel, become a robber. But, unlike the latter, he is not all bad. As in the case of Conrad, linked to a thousand crimes, one virtue is left to him-- courage. Something like a second remains in his admiration of the same quality in others. This it is that leads him to put in a word for Colonel Miranda, whose bravery is known far and wide throughout the Mexican army. Continuing to plead for him, he says-- "I don't see why you should trouble yourself to turn States' executioner. When we get to Santa Fe our prisoners can be tried by court-martial. No doubt they'll be condemned and shot." "Very great doubt of it, _ayadante_. That might have done when we first turned their party out. But of late, things are somewhat changed. In the hills of the Moctezumas matters are again getting complicated, and just now our worthy chief, El Cojo, will scarce dare to sign a sentence of death, especially where the party to be _passado por les armes_ is a man of note like Don Valerian Miranda." "He must die?" "_Teniente_! Turn your head round and look me straight in the face." "I am doing so, colonel. Why do you wish me?" "You see that scar on my cheek?" "Certainly I do." "Don Valerian Miranda did not give the wound that's left it, but he was partly the cause of my receiving it. But for him the duel would have ended differently. It's now twelve months gone since I got that gash, at the same time losing three of my teeth. Ever since the spot has felt aflame as if hell's fire were burning a hole through my cheek. It can only be extinguished by the blood of those who kindled it. Miranda is one of them. You've asked the question, `Must he die?' Looking at this ugly scar, and into the eye above it, I fancy you will not think it necessary to repeat the question." "But how is it to be done without scandal? As you yourself have said, it won't do for us to murder the man outright. We may be held to account--possibly ourselves called before a court-martial. Had he made resistance, and given us a pretext--" "My dear _ayadante_, don't trouble yourself about pretexts. I have a plan which will serve equally as well--my particular purpose, much better. As I've promised, you shall know it in good time--participate in its execution. But, come, we've been discoursing serious matters till I'm sick of them. Let's talk of something lighter and pleasanter-- say, woman. What think you of my charmer?" "The Dona Adela?" "Of course. Could any other charm me? Even you, with your heart of flint, should feel sparks struck out of it at the sight of her." "Certainly she's the most beautiful captive I've ever assisted at the taking of." "Captive!" mutters Uraga, in soliloquy. "I wish she were, in a sense different." Then, with a frown upon his face, continuing,-- "What matters it! When he is out of the way, I shall have it all my own way. Woo her as Tarquin did Lucretia, and she will yield not as the Roman matron, but as a Mexican woman--give her consent when she can no longer withhold it. What is it, _cabo_?" The interrogatory is addressed to a corporal who has ridden alongside, and halts, saluting him. "Colonel, the _alferez_ sends me to report that the Indian is no longer with us." "What! the man Manuel?" "The same, colonel." "Halt!" commands Uraga, shouting aloud to the troop, which instantly comes to a stand. "What's this I hear, _alferez_?" he asks, riding back, and speaking to the sub-lieutenant. "Colonel, we miss the fellow who guided us. He must have dropped behind as we came out of the gorge. He was with us on leaving the house, and along the valley road." "It don't much signify," says Uraga, in an undertone to Roblez; "we've got all out of him we need care for. Still, it may be better to bring him along. No doubt he slipped off to settle some affair of his own-- some pilferings, I presume; and will be found at the ranche. _Cabo_! take a file of men, go back to the valley, and bring the loiterer along with you. As I intend marching slowly, you'll easily overtake us at our night camp." The corporal, singling out the file as directed, rides back towards the buttes, still in sight, while the troop continues its uninterrupted march. Uraga and Roblez again go in advance, the former making further disclosure of his plans to his _particeps criminis_. Their confidential dialogue has lasted about an hour, when another of the lancers riding up again interrupts it. He is a grizzled old veteran, who has once been a _cibolero_, and seen life upon the plains. "What is it, Hernandez?" demands the colonel. "_Senor coronel_," says the man, pointing to a little speck in the sky, that has just shown itself above the north-eastern horizon, "do you see yonder cloud?" "Cloud! I see no cloud, unless you mean that spot on the horizon, scarce so large as the crown of my hat Is it that you mean?" "It is, colonel. And small as it seems, there may come trouble from it. It don't look much now, but in ten minutes time it will be big enough to spread all over the sky, and over us too." "You think so? Why, what is it, Hernandez? El Norte?" "I'm sure of it. _Carramba_! I've seen it too often. Trust me, colonel, we're going to have a storm." "In that case we'd better bring to a halt and get under shelter. I see nothing here that would screen a cat, save yonder clump of dwarf oaks. In a way it'll keep the blast off us, and, as we may as well stay under it for the night, it will furnish fuel for our fires. Ride back to the troop. Tell the _alferez_ to bring on the men to yonder grove, and quickly. Let the tents be pitched there. _Vaya_!" The _ci-devant_ cibolero does as directed, going at a gallop; while the colonel and his adjutant trot on to the clump of blackjacks, standing some three hundred paces out of the line of march. It was the same copse that gave shade and concealment to Frank Hamersley and Walt Wilder on the day preceding. On arriving at its edge, which they do before their followers, Uraga and Roblez see the tracks of the two mules. Not without surprise, and they exchange some words regarding them. But the fast-darkening sky drives the subject out of their thoughts, and they occupy themselves in choosing a spot for pitching the tents. Of these there are too--one which Urago owns, the other, found in the ranche, an old marquee Miranda had carried with him in his flight. This has been brought along for the accommodation of his sister, whom Uraga has reason to treat tenderly. Both tents are soon set up in the shelter of the black-jacks; the marquee, as ordered by Uraga, occupied by the female captives. The lancers, having hastily dismounted, picket their horses and make other preparations for the storm, predicted by the ex-cibolero as something terrific. Before long they see his prediction verified to the spirit and the letter. The sky, hitherto shining like a sapphire and blue as a turquoise, becomes changed to the sombre hue of lead; then darker, as if night had suddenly descended over the sterile plain. The atmosphere, but a moment before unpleasantly hot, is now cold as winter; the thermometer is less than twenty minutes falling over forty degrees--almost to freezing point! It is not night which causes the darkness, nor winter the cold. Both come from an atmospheric phenomenon peculiar to the table-lands of Texas, and far more feared by the traveller. It is that called by Mexicans and styled by the ex-cibolero _El Norte_; by Texans known as "The Norther." Alike dreaded by both. CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN. A CUMBERSOME CAPTIVE. Having made prisoner of the peon, and drawn out of him all he is able to tell, his captors have a difficulty in deciding what to do with him. It will hamper them to take him along. Still they cannot leave him behind; and the young Kentuckian is not cruel enough to kill him, though convinced of his deserving death. If left to himself, Walt might settle the question quickly. Indignant at the Indian's treason, he has now a new reason to dislike him--as a rival. With the ex-Ranger this last weighs little. He is sure of having the affections of Conchita. He has her heart, with the promise of her hand, and in his own confiding simplicity has no fear of failure in that sense--not a pang of jealousy. The idea of having for a rival the abject creature at his feet, whom he could crush out of existence with the heel of his horseskin boot, is too ridiculous for him to entertain. He can laugh it to scorn. Not for that would he now put an end to the man's life, but solely from a sense of outraged justice, with the rough-and-ready retribution to which, as a Texan Ranger, he has been accustomed. His comrade, less prone to acts of high-handed punishment, restrains him; and the two stand considering what they are to do with their prisoner, now proving so inconvenient. While still undecided a sound reaches their ears causing them to start and turn pale. It is the trampling of horses; there can be no mistaking it for aught else. And many of them; not two or three, or half a dozen, but a whole troop. Uraga and his lancers have re-entered the valley! They are riding up to the ranche! What but this can it be? No other party of horsemen could be expected in that place. And no other thought have the two men hearing the hoof strokes. They are sure it is the soldiers returning. Instinctively they retreat into the house, without taking their prisoner along with them. Tied, he cannot stir from the spot. If he could it would make little difference now. Their determination is to defend themselves, if need be, to the death; and the hut, with its stout timber walls, is the best place they can think of. It has two doors, opening front and back, both of heavy slabs--split trunks of the palmilla. They have been constructed strongly and to shut close, for the nights are sometimes chilly, and grizzly bears stray around the ranche. Hastily shutting to the doors and barring them they take stand, each at a window, of which there are also two, both being in front. They are mere apertures in the log wall, and of limited dimensions, but on this account all the better for their purpose, being large enough to serve as loopholes through which they can deliver their fire. The position is not unfavourable for defence. The cabin stands close to a cliff, with but passage way behind. In front the ground is open, a sort of natural lawn leading down to the lake; only here and there a tree diversifies its smooth surface. Across this anyone approaching must come, whether they have entered the valley from above or below. On each flank the facade of the precipice projects outward, so that the abutting points can be seen from either of the windows; and, as they are both within rifle range, an assailant attempting to turn the cabin so as to enter from the back would be exposed to the enfilading fire of those inside. For security against a surround, the spot could not have been better chosen, and with anything like a fair proportion between besiegers and besieged the former would fail. Under the circumstances, however, there is not likely to be this, and for the two men to attempt defending themselves would seem the certain sealing of their doom. What chance for them to hold the hut against a force of fifty armed men--soldiers--for if the whole of the troop is returning there is this number? It may be not all have re-entered the valley--only a party sent back to bring on the pilferer, who has been missed upon the march. In that case there will be some chance of withstanding their attack. At all hazards it is to be withstood. What else can the two men do? Surrender, and become the prisoner of Uraga? Never! They know the relentless ruffian too well, and with too good reason. After their experience of him they need expect no mercy. The man who could leave them buried alive to die a lingering death in the gloomy recesses of a cavern, would be cruel enough not only to kill but torture them. They have to "go under," anyhow, as the prairie hunter expresses it, adding, "Ef we must die let's do so, killin' them as kills us. I'm good for half a score o' them leetle minikin Mexikins, an' I reck'n you, Frank, kin wipe out as many. We'll make it a bloody bizness for them afore the last breath leeves our bodies. Air you all churged an' riddy?" "I am," is the response of the Kentuckian, in stern, solemn tones, showing that he, as the Texan, has made up his mind to "die killing." Says the latter, "They'll come out through the trees yonder, where the path runs in. Let's take the fust as shows, an' drop him dead. Gie me the chance, Frank. I'm dyin' to try the doctor's gun." "By all means do so." "You fetch the second out o' his saddle, if a second show. That'll gie the others a scare, an' keep 'em back a bit, so's we'll hev good time to get loaded agin." All this--both speech and action--has not occupied over two minutes of time. The rush inside the cabin, the closing of the doors, and taking stand at the windows, have been done in that haste with which men retreat from a tiger or flee before a prairie fire. And now, having taken all the precautions possible, the two men wait behind the walls, gun in hand, prepared for the approach of the assailants--themselves so sheltered by the obscurity inside as not to be seen from without. As yet no enemy has made appearance. No living thing is seen outside, save the lump of copper-coloured humanity prostrate on the sward, beside the bag and swag he has been hindered from taking away. Still the shod hoofs are heard striking against stones, the click sounding clearer and nearer. They inside the _jacal_ listen with bated breath, but hearts beating audibly. Hearts filled with anxiety. How could it be else? In another minute they may expect to engage in a life-and-death conflict-- for themselves too likely a death one. Something more than anxiety stirs within them. Something of apprehension, perhaps actual fear. If so, not strange; fear, under the circumstances, excusable, even in the hearts of heroes. Stranger were it otherwise. Whatever their emotions at the moment, they experience a sudden change, succeeded by a series. The first is surprise. While listening to the hoof strokes of the horses, all at once it appears to them that these are not coming down the valley, but up it from below. Is it a sonorous deception, caused by the sough of the cascade or reverberation from the rocks? More intently they bend their ears, more carefully note the quarter whence proceeds the sound. Soon to answer the above question, each to himself, in the negative. Unquestionably it comes from below. They have recovered from this, their first surprise, before a second seizes upon them. Mingling with the horses' tramp they hear voices of men. So much they might expect; but not such voices. For amidst the speeches exchanged arise roars of laughter, not such as could come from the slender gullets of puny Mexicans, nor men of the Spanish race. Nor does it resemble the savage cachinnation of the Comanche Indians. Its rough aspirate, and rude, but hearty, tone could only proceed from Celtic or Anglo-Saxon throats. While still wondering at the sound ringing in their ears, a sight comes before their eyes which but lessens their surprise by changing it into gladness. Out of the trees at the lower end of the lake a horseman is seen riding--after him a second. Both so unlike Uraga or any of his lancers, so different from what they would deem enemies, that the rifles of Hamersley and the hunter, instead of being aimed to deliver their fire, are dropped, butts to the ground. Before clearing the skirt of timber, the two horsemen make halt--only for an instant, as if to reconnoitre. They appear surprised at seeing the hut, and not less at sight of a man lying along the ground in front of it. For they are near enough to perceive that he is tied hand and foot, and to note the spilled paraphernalia beside him. As they are men not easily to be daunted, the tableau, though it somewhat mystifies, does not affright or drive them back. Instead, they advance without the slightest show of fear. And behind the two first showing themselves follow two others, and two more, till fifty have filed out of the timber, and ride across the clear ground, heading direct for the house. Clad in rough coats of sombre hue, jeans, blanket, and buckskin, not a few of them ragged, with hats of all shapes and styles; carrying rifles in their hands, with revolving pistols and bowie-knives in their belts, there could be no mistaking them for the gaudily-bedizened troop whose horses at sunrise of that same day trampled over the same turf. To the spectators no two cohorts could present a _coup d'oeil_ more dissimilar. Though about equal in numbers, the two bodies of men were unlike in everything else--arms, dresses, accoutrements; even their horses having but slight resemblance. The horsemen late upon the spot would seem dwarfs beside those now occupying it, who in comparison might be accounted giants. Whatever the impression made upon the young prairie merchant by the sight of the newly-arrived troop, its effect upon the ex-Ranger might be compared to a shock of electricity, or the result that succeeds the inspiration of laughing-gas. Long before the first files have reached the centre of the cleared space he has sprung to the door, pulled the bar back, slammed open the slabs, almost smashing them apart, and rushed out; when outside sending forth a shout that causes every rock to re-echo it to the remotest corner of the valley. It is a grand cry of gladness like a clap of thunder, with its lightning flash bursting forth from the cloud in which in has been pent up. After it some words spoken more coherently give the key to its jubilant tone. "Texas Rangers! Ye've jest come in time. Thank the Lord!" CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT. OLD ACQUAINTANCES. Not necessary to say that the horsemen riding up to the ranche are Captain Haynes and his company of Rangers. They have come up the canon guided by Barbato. Even more than they is the renegade surprised at seeing a house in that solitary spot. It was not there on his last passing through the valley in company with his red-skinned confederates, the Tenawas, which he did some twelve months before. Equally astonished is he to see Walt Wilder spring out from the door, though he hails the sight with a far different feeling. At the first glance he recognises the gigantic individual who so heroically defended the waggon-train, and the other behind--for Hamersley has also come forth--as the second man who retreated along with him. Surely they are the two who were entombed! The unexpected appearance produces on the Mexican an effect almost comical, though not to him. On the contrary, he stands appalled, under the influence of a dark superstitious terror, his only movement being to repeatedly make the sign of the Cross, all the while muttering Ave Marias. Under other circumstances his ludicrous behaviour would have elicited laughter from the Rangers--peals of it. But their eyes are not on him, all being turned to the two men who have issued out of the cabin and are coming on towards the spot where they have pulled up. Several of them have already recognised their old comrade, and in hurried speech communicate the fact to the others. "Walt Wilder!" are the words that leap from a dozen pairs of lips, while they, pronouncing the name with glances aghast, look as if a spectre had suddenly appeared to them. An apparition, however, that is welcome; altogether different to the impression it has produced upon their guide. Meanwhile, Wilder advances to meet them; as he comes on, keeping up a fire of exclamatory phrases, addressed to Hamersley, who is close behind. "Air this chile awake, or only dreaming? Look thar, Frank! That's Ned Haynes, my old captin'. An' thar's Nat Cully, an' Jim Buckland. Durn it, thar's the hul strenth o' the kumpany." Walt is now close to their horses' heads, and the rangers, assured it is himself and not his ghost, are still stricken with surprise. Some of them turn towards the Mexican for explanation. They suppose him to have lied in his story about their old comrade having been closed up in a cave, though with what motive they cannot guess. The man's appearance does not make things any clearer. He still stands affrighted, trembling, and repeating his Paternosters. But now in changed tone, for his fear is no longer of the supernatural. Reason reasserting itself, he has given up the idea of disembodied spirits, convinced that the two figures coming forward are real flesh and blood; the same whose blood he assisted in spilling, and whose flesh he lately believed to be decaying in the obscurity of a cave. He stands appalled as ever; no more with unearthly awe, but the fear of an earthly retribution--a terrible one, which he is conscious of having provoked by the cruel crime in which he participated. Whatever his fears and reflections they are not for the time intruded upon. The rangers, after giving a glance to him, turn to the two men who are now at their horses' heads; and, springing from their saddles, cluster around them with questions upon their tongues and eager expectations in their eyes. The captain and Cully are the two first who interrogate. "Can we be sure it's you, Walt?" is the interrogatory put by his old officer. "Is it yourself?" "Darn me ef I know, cap. Jess now I ain't sure o' anythin', arter what's passed. Specially meetin' you wi' the rest o' the boys. Say, cap, what's fetched ye out hyar?" "You." "Me!" "Yes; we came to bury you." "Yis, hoss," adds Cully, confirming the captain's statement. "We're on the way to gie burial to your bones, not expecting to find so much flesh on 'em. For that purpiss we've come express all the way from Peecawn Crik. An' as I know'd you had a kindly feelin' for yur ole shootin'- iron, I've brought that along to lay it in the grave aside o' ye." While speaking, Cully slips out of his saddle and gives his old comrade a true prairie embrace, at the same time handing him his gun. Neither the words nor the weapon makes things any clearer to Walt, but rather add to their complication. With increased astonishment he cries out,-- "Geehorum! Am I myself, or somebody else? Is't a dream, or not? That's my ole shootin' stick, sartin. I left it over my hoss, arter cuttin' the poor critter's throat. Maybe you've got him too? I shedn't now be surprised at anythin'. Come, Nat; don't stan' shilly-shallyin', but tell me all about it. Whar did ye git the gun?" "On Peecawn Crik. Thar we kim acrost a party o' Tenawa Kimanch, unner a chief they call Horned Lizart, o' the whom ye've heern. He han't no name now, seein' he's rubbed out, wi' the majority of his band. We did that. The skrimmage tuk place on the crik, whar we foun' them camped. It didn't last long; an' arter 'twere eended, lookin' about among thar bodies, we foun' thar beauty o' a chief wi' this gun upon his parson, tight clutched in the death-grup. Soon's seeing it I know'd 'twar yourn; an' in coorse surspected ye'd had some mischance. Still, the gun kedn't gie us any informashun o' how you'd parted wi' it. By good luck, 'mong the Injuns we'd captered a Mexikin rennygade--thet thing ye see out thar. He war joined in Horned Lizart's lot, an' he'd been wi' 'em some time. So we put a loose larzette roun' his thrapple, an' on the promise o' its bein' tightened, he tolt us the hul story; how they hed attackted an' skuttled a carryvan, an' all 'bout entoomin' you an' a kimrade--this young fellur, I take it--who war wi' ye. Our bizness out hyar war to look up yur bones an' gie 'em a more Christyun kind o' beril. We were goin' for that cave, the rennygade guidin' us. He said he ked take us a near cut up the gully through which we've just come-- arter ascendin' one o' the heads o' the Loosyvana Rod. Near cut! Doggone it, he's been righter than I reck'n he thort o'. Stead o' your bones thar's yur body, wi' as much beef on't as ever. Now I've told our story, we want yourn, the which appears to be a darned deal more o' a unexplainable mistry than ourn. So open yur head, ole hoss, and let's have it." Brief and graphic as is Cully's narrative, it takes Walt still less time to put his former associates in possession of what has happened to himself and Hamersley, whom he introduces to them as the companion of his perilous adventures--the second of the two believed to have been buried alive! CHAPTER FIFTY NINE. MUTUAL EXPLANATIONS. The arrival of the Rangers at that particular time is certainly a contingency of the strangest kind. Ten minutes later, and they would have found the jacal deserted; for Hamersley and Wilder had made up their minds to set off, taking the traitor along with them. The Texans would have discovered signs to tell of the place having been recently occupied by a large body of men, and from the tracks of shod horses these skilled trailers would have known the riders were not Indians. Still, they would have made delay around the ranche and encamped in the valley for that night. This had been their intention, their horses being jaded and themselves wearied making their way up the canon. Though but ten miles in a direct line, it was well nigh twenty by the winding of the stream--a good, even difficult, day's journey. On going out above they would have seen the trail of Uraga's party, and known it to be made by Mexican soldiers. But, though these were their sworn foemen, they might not have been tempted to follow them. The start of several hours, their own animals in poor condition, the likelihood of a larger force of the enemy being near--all this would have weighed with them, and they would have continued on to the cave whither the renegade was guiding them--a direction altogether different. A very singular coincidence, then, their coming up at that exact instant. It seemed the hand of Providence opportunely extended; and in this light Hamersley looked upon it, as also the ex-Ranger. Briefly as may be they make known to the new-comers all that had transpired, or as much as for the time needs to be told. Then appeal to them for assistance. By the Texans their cause is instantly espoused--unanimously, without one dissenting voice. On the contrary, all are uttered with an energy and warmth that give Hamersley a world of hope. Here are friends, whose enemies are his own. And they are in strength sufficient to pursue Uraga's troop and destroy it. They may overtake it that very night; if not, on the morrow. And if not then, they will pursue it to the borders of New Mexico--to the banks of the Del Norte itself. His heart is no more depressed. The chance of rescuing his friends from death and saving his betrothed from dishonour is no longer hopeless. There is now a probability--almost a certainty--of its success. Backed by Wilder, he proposes instant pursuit. To the Texans the proposal is like an invitation to a ball or frontier fandango. Excitement is the breath of their life, and a fight with Mexicans their joy; a pursuit of these their supremest delight. Such as this, moreover, having for its object not only the defeat of a hated foe, but the recovery of captives, beautiful women, as their old comrade Walt enthusiastically describes them, is the very thing to rouse the Rangers to energetic action, rekindling in their hearts the spirit of frontier chivalry--the same which led them to become Rangers. Notwithstanding their wild enthusiasm they do not proceed rashly. Haynes, their captain, is an old "Indian fighter," one of the most experienced chiefs of that Texan border warfare, so long continued. Checking their impatience to pursue at once, he counsels prudence and deliberate action. Cully also recommends this course. "But why should we lose a moment?" inquires the hot-blooded Kentuckian, chafing at the delay; "they cannot yet be more than ten miles off. We may overtake them before sunset." "That's just what we mustn't do," rejoins the Ranger chief. "Suppose they get sight of us before we're near? On the naked plain, you say it is, they'd be sure to do that. What then? Their horses, I take it, are fresh, compared with ours. They might gallop off and leave us gazing after them like so many April fools. They'd have time, too, to take their prisoners along with them." This last speech makes an impression upon all. Even Hamersley no longer offers opposition. "Let the sun go down," continues the Texan captain; "that's just what we want. Since they're bound due west I reckon we can easily keep on their trail, clear night or dark one. Here's Nat Cully can do that; and if our friend Walt hasn't lost his old skill he can be trusted for the same." The Ranger and ex-Ranger, both standing by, remain modestly silent. "Our plan will be," pursues Haynes, "to approach their camp under cover of night, surround, and so make certain of them. They'll have a camp; and these Mexican soldiers are such greenhorns, they're sure to keep big fires burning, if it is only to give them light for their card-playing. The blaze'll guide us to their squatting-ground, wherever they may make it." The captain's scheme seems so rational that no one opposes it. Walt Wilder in words signifies assent to it, and Hamersley, with, some reluctance, is at length constrained to do the same. It is resolved to remain two hours longer in the valley, and then start for the upper plain. That will give time to recruit their horses on the nutritious _gramma_ grass, as themselves on the game they have killed before entering the canon. This hangs plentifully over the horns of their saddles, in the shape of wild turkeys, haunches of venison, and pieces of bear meat. The fire on the cabin hearth and those kindled by the soldiers outside are still smouldering. They are quickly replenished, and the abandoned cooking utensils once more called into use. But pointed saplings, and the iron ramrods of their rifles--the Ranger's ordinary spit--are in greater demand, and broiling is the style of _cuisine_ most resorted to. The turkeys are plucked and singed, the venison and bear meat cut into collops, and soon two score pieces are sputtering in the flames of half-a-dozen bivouac fires, while the horses, unbridled, are led out upon their lariats, and given to the grass. CHAPTER SIXTY. CROSS-QUESTIONING. While the Rangers are preparing for their Homeric repast, a group gathered in front of the jacal is occupied with an affair altogether different. The individuals most conspicuous in it are the Texan captain, the guide Cully, Walt Wilder, and the young Kentuckian, though several besides take part in the conference. Two others are concerned in it, though not forming figures in the group. They are some paces apart, lying on the grass, both bound. These are the traitor Manuel and the renegade Barbato. Both Indian and Mexican appear terribly cowed and crestfallen, for both feel themselves in what Cully or Walt Wilder would call a "bad fix." They are, in truth, in a dangerous predicament; for, now that Walt and the Kentuckian have turned up alive, what with the story they have to tell, added to that already known to the Rangers--comparing notes between the two parties--new light is let in, floods of it, falling upon spots hitherto dark, and clearing up points confused and obscure. The two culprits are again cross-examined, and, with pistols held to their heads, forced to still further confession. The peon repeats what he has already told, without adding much, not having much to add. With the renegade it is different. He has kept much back concerning the part played by Uraga and his lieutenant in the affair of the destroyed waggon train. But with Hamersley, who speaks his own native tongue, now cross-questioning him, and Walt Wilder to extract his testimony by the persuasive influence of a knife-blade glistening in his eyes, he goes further, and admits the unnatural confederation that existed between the white and red robbers--the Mexican colonel and Comanche chief. In short, to save his life, he makes a much cleaner breast of it than before, this time only keeping back his own special guiltiness in being their willing go-between. While he is repeating his confession, all the other Rangers gather around the group to listen to him. They stand silent, with bated breath and brows contracted. When at length they become possessed of the tale in all its diabolical atrocity, all its completeness, their anger, already excited, become almost ungovernable; and it is as much as their captain can do to restrain them from at once starting in pursuit. Some fling their spits in the fire with the meat upon them still untouched; others drop the pieces roasted and partly eaten; most demanding to be led on. The counsels of the more prudent prevail; and again tranquillised, they recover the morsels of meat and continue their repast. Not long, till they have reason to regret the delay and deem the prudence misplaced. Though this arises not from any mistake on the part of their counsellors, but from a circumstance entirely accidental. While they are still in the midst of their meal, the sky, all day long of cerulean clearness, becomes suddenly clouded. Not as this term is understood in the ordinary sense, but absolutely black, as if the sun were instantly eclipsed, or had dropped altogether out of the firmament. Scarce ten minutes after its commencement the obscurity has reached completeness--that of a total solar eclipse or as in a starless night. Though troubled at the change, none of the Rangers are dismayed by it, or even surprised. The old prairie men are the least astonished, since they know what it means. At the first portentous sign Cully is heard crying out,-- "A hurricane!--A norther!" Wat Wilder has observed it at the same time, and confirms the prognostic. This is before any of the others have noticed aught peculiar in the aspect of the sky, and when there is just the selvedge of a cloud seen above the cliff. All Texans understand the significance of the word "norther"--a storm or tornado, usually preceded by a hot, stifling atmosphere, with drifting dust, accompanied by sheet or forked lightning and claps of terrific thunder, followed by wind and rain, sometimes hail or sleet, as if the sluices of heaven were drawn open, ending in a continued blast of more regular direction, but chill as though coming direct from the Arctic regions. In less than ten minutes after its first sign, the tempest is around them. Down into the valley pours the dust, swept from the surface of the upper plain, along with it the leaves and stalks of the wild wormwood, with other weeds of the desert. Simultaneously the wind, at first in low sighs, like the sound of a distant sea; then roaring against the rocks, and swooping down among the trees, whose branches go crashing before its blast. Then succeed lightning, thunder, and rain-- the last falling, not in drops, but in sheets, as if spilled from a spout. For shelter the Rangers rush inside the ranche, leaving their horses to take care of themselves. The latter stand cowering under the trees, neighing with affright--the mules among them giving vent to their plaintive hinney. There are dogs, too, that howl and bark, with other sounds that come from farther off--from the wild denizens of the wilderness; cries of the cougar in contralto, wolf-barkings in mezzo-soprano, screaming of eagles in shrill treble, snorting of bears in basso, and hooting of scared owls in lugubrious tone, to be likened only to the wailing of agonised spirits in Purgatory. Crowded within the hut, so thickly as to have scarce standing room, the Rangers wait for the calming of the tempest. They submit with greater resignation, knowing it will not long continue. It is far from being their first experience of a "norther." The only thought that troubles them is the delay--being hindered from setting forth on the pursuit. True, the party to be pursued will be stayed by the same obstruction. The soldiers will have to halt during the continuance of the storm, so that the distance between will remain the same. But then their tracks will be obliterated--every vestige of them. The wind, the rain, and dust will do this. How is their trail to be taken up? "That will be easy enough," says one, whose self-esteem is greater than his prairie experience. He adds: "As they're going due west, we can't make any mistake by steering the same way." "How little he knows about it!" is the muttered remark exchanged between Wilder and Cully. For they know that the deflection of a single point upon the prairies--above all, upon the Staked Plain--will leave the traveller, like a ship at sea without chart or compass, to steer by guesswork, or go drifting at sheer chance. To most, the consoling thought is that the Mexicans will halt near, and stay till the storm is over. They have some baggage--a tent or two, with other camp equipage. This is learnt from the Indian; and Hamersley, as also Wilder, have themselves made note of it. To the returning soldiers there can be no great reason for haste, and they will not likely resume their march till the sky is quite clear. Therefore they will gain nothing in distance. Satisfied by such assurance given by the sager ones of the party, the Rangers remain inside the hut, on the roof of which the rain dashes down, without experiencing any keen pangs of impatience. Some of them even jest--their jokes having allusion to the close quarters in which they are packed, and other like trifles incidental to the situation. Walt Wilder for a while gives way to this humour. Whatever may be the danger of Don Valerian and the others, he does not believe his sweetheart much exposed. The little brown-skinned damsel is not in the proscribed list; and the ex-Ranger, strong in the confidence of having her heart, with the promise of her hand, has less reason to be apprehensive about the consequences. Besides, he is now in the midst of his former associates, and the exchange of new histories and old reminiscences is sufficient to fill up the time, and keep him from yielding to impatient longing. Of all Hamersley alone is unhappy. Despite the assurances spoken, the hopes felt, there is yet apprehension for the future. The position, however, is endurable, and only passes this point as a thought comes into his mind--a memory that flashes across his brain, as if a bullet had struck him between the temples. It causes him to spring suddenly to his feet, for he has been seated, at the same time wringing from him a cry of peculiar signification. "What is it, Mr Hamersley?" asks the Ranger Captain, who is close by his side. "My God!" exclaims the Kentuckian. "I'd forgotten. We must be off at once, or we shall be too late--too late!" Saying this, he makes a dash for the door, hurtling his way through the crowd close standing between. The Rangers regard him with glances of astonishment, and doubts about his sanity. Some of them actually think he has gone mad! One alone understands him--Walt Wilder; though he, too, seems demented. With like incoherent speech and frantic gesture, he follows Hamersley to the door. Both rush outside; as they do so calling back, "Come on! come on!" CHAPTER SIXTY ONE. INTO THE STORM. Lightning flashes, thunder rolls, wind bellows, and rain pours down in sheets, as if from sluices; for the storm is still raging as furiously as ever. Into it have rushed the two, regardless of all. The Texans are astounded--for a time some of them still believing both men mad. But soon it is seen they are acting with method, making straight for the horses, while shouting and gesticulating for the Rangers to come after. These do not need either the shouts or signs to be repeated. Walt's old comrades know he must have reason, and, disregarding the tempest, they strike out after. Their example is electric, and in ten seconds the jacal is empty. In ten more they are among their horses, drawing in the trail-ropes and bridling them. Before they can get into their saddles they are made aware of what it is all about. Hamersley and Walt, already mounted and waiting, make known to the Ranger captain the cause of their hurried action, apparently so eccentric. A few words suffice. "The way out," says the Kentuckian, "is up yonder ravine, along the bed of the stream that runs through. When it rains as it's doing now, then the water suddenly rises and fills up the channel, leaving no room, no road. If we don't get out quick we may be kept here for days." "Yis, boys!" adds Wilder, "we've got to climb the stairs right smart, rain or shine, storm or no storm. Hyar's one off for the upper storey, fast as his critter kin carry him." While speaking, he jobs his heels against the ribs of his horse--for he is now mounted on one, as also Hamersley--supernumeraries of the Texan troop. Then, dashing off, with the Kentuckian by his side, they are soon under the trees and out of sight. Not of the Rangers, who, themselves now in the saddle, spur after in straggling line, riding at top speed. Once again the place is deserted, for, despite their precipitate leave-taking, the Texans have carried the prisoners along with them. No living thing remains by the abandoned dwelling. The only sign of human occupation is the smoke that ascends through its kitchen chimney, and from the camp fires outside, these gradually getting extinguished by the downpour. Still the lightning flashes, the thunder rolls, the wind bellows, and the rain pours down as from dishes. But not to deter the Texans, who, drenched to their shirts, continue to ride rapidly on up the valley road. There is in reality no road, only a trail made by wild animals, occasionally trodden by the domesticated ones belonging to Colonel Miranda; later still by Uraga's lancers. Soaked by the rain, it has become a bed of mud, into which the horses of the Rangers sink to their saddle girths, greatly impeding their progress. Whip and spur as they may, they make but slow time. The animals baulk, plunge, stumble, some going headforemost into the mire, others striking their shoulders against the thick-standing trees, doing damage to themselves and their riders. For with the norther still clouding the sky, it is almost dark as night. Other dangers assail them from falling trees. Some go down bodily before the blast, while from others great branches are broken off by the wind, and strike crashing across the path. One comes near crushing half a dozen horsemen under its broad, spreading avalanche of boughs. Notwithstanding all, they struggle on fearlessly, and fast as they can, Hamersley and Wilder at their head, Haynes, Cully, and the best mounted of the troop close following. Walt and the Kentuckian well know the way. Otherwise, in the buffeting of that terrible storm, they might fail to find it. They succeed in keeping it, on to the head of the valley, where the stream comes in between the cliffs. A tiny runlet as they last looked upon it--a mere brook, pellucid and sparkling as the sand on its bed. Now it is a torrent, deep, red and roaring; only white on its surface, where the froth sweeps on, clouting the cliffs on each side. Against these it has risen quite six feet, and still creeps upward. It has filled the channel from side to side, leaving not an inch of roadway between the river and rock. To wade it would be impossible; to attempt swimming it destruction. The staunchest steed could not stem its surges. Even the huge river-horse of Africa would be swept off his feet and tossed to the surface like one of its froth-flakes. Arriving on its edge, Hamersley sees this at a glance. As he checks up his horse, the exclamation that leaps from his lips more resembles the anguished cry of a man struggling in the torrent than one seated safely in a saddle on its bank. After it, he gives utterance to two words in sad despairing tone, twice repeated,-- "Too late--too late!" Again repeated by Walt Wilder, and twenty times again by a score of the Rangers who have ridden up, and reined their horses crowdingly behind. There is no response save echo from the rocks, scarce audible through the hoarse sough of the swollen surging stream, that rolls relentlessly by, seeming to say, as in scorn, "Ford me! swim across me if you can!" CHAPTER SIXTY TWO. A SHORT SHRIFT. Difficult--indeed, impossible--for pen to describe the scene consequent upon the arrival of the Rangers by the banks of the swollen stream, and finding it unfordable. Imagine a man who has secured passage by a ship bound for some far-off foreign land, and delayed by some trifling affair, comes upon the pier to see the hawser cast off, the plank drawn ashore, the sails spread, himself left hopelessly behind! His chagrin might be equal to that felt by the Texans, but slight compared with what harrows the hearts of Hamersley and Walt Wilder. To symbolise theirs, it must be a man missing his ship homeward bound, with sweetheart, wife, child awaiting him at the end of the voyage, and in a port from which vessels take departure but "few and far between." These two, better than any of the Texans, understand the obstruction that has arisen, in the same proportion as they are aggrieved by it. Too well do they comprehend its fatal import. Not hours, but whole days, may elapse before the flood subsides, the stream can be forded, the ravine ascended, and the pursuit continued. Hours--days! A single day--an hour--may seal the fate of those dear to them. The hearts of both are sad, their bosoms racked with anguish, as they sit in their saddles with eyes bent on the turbid stream, which cruelly forbids fording it. In different degree and from a different cause the Texans also suffer. Some only disappointment, but others real chagrin. These last men, whose lives have been spent fighting their Mexican foemen, hating them from the bottom of their hearts. They are those who knew the unfortunate Fanning and the lamented Bowie, who gave his name to their knives; some of themselves having escaped from the red massacre of Goliad and the savage butchery of the Alamo. Ever since they have been practising the _lex talionis_--seeking retaliation, and oft-times finding it. Perhaps too often wreaking their vengeance on victims that might be innocent. Now that guilty ones--real Mexican soldiers in uniform, such as ruthlessly speared and shot down their countrymen at Goliad and San Antonio--now that a whole troop of these have but the hour before been within reach--almost striking distance--it is afflicting, maddening, to think they may escape. And the more reflecting on the reason, so slight and accidental--a shower of rain swelling a tiny stream. For all this, staying their pursuit as effectively as if a sea of fire separated them from the foe, so despised and detested. The lightning still flashes, the thunder rolls, the wind bellows, and the rain pours down. No use staying any longer by the side of the swollen stream, to be tantalised by its rapid, rushing current, and mocked by its foam-flakes dancing merrily along. Rather return to the forsaken ranche, and avail themselves of such shelter as it may afford. In short, there seems no alternative; and, yielding to the necessity, they rein round, and commence the backward march, every eye glancing gloomily, every brow overcast. They are all disappointed, most of them surly as bears that had been shot in the head, and have scratched the place to a sore. They are just in the humour to kill anyone, or anything, that should chance in their way. But there is no one, and nothing; and, in the absence of an object to spend their spite upon, some counsel wreaking it on their captives--the traitor and renegade. Never during life were these two men nearer their end. To all appearance, in ten minutes more both will be dangling at the end of a rope suspended from a limb of a tree. They are saved by a circumstance for them at least lucky, if unfortunate for some others. Just as a half-score of the Rangers have clumped together under a spreading pecan-tree, intending to hang them upon one of its branches, a horse is heard to neigh. Not one of their own, but an animal some way off the track, amid the trees. The hail is at once responded to by the steeds they are bestriding; and is promptly re-answered, not by one horse, but three neighing simultaneously. A strange thing this, that calls for explanation. What horses can be there, save their own? And none of the Rangers have ridden in the direction whence the "whighering" proceeds. A dozen of them do so now; before they have gone far, finding three horses standing under the shadow of a large live oak, with three men mounted on their backs, who endeavour to keep concealed behind its broad buttressed trunk. In vain. Guided by the repeated neighing and continuous tramp of their horses, the Rangers ride up, close around, and capture them. Led out into the light, the Texans see before them three men in soldier garb--the uniform of Mexican lancers. It is the corporal squad sent back by Uraga to bring on the truant traitor. Of their errand the Rangers know nought, and nothing care. Enough that three of their hated foemen are in their hands, their hostility intensified by the events of the hour. No more fuel is needed to fire them up. Their vengeance demands a victim, and three have offered ready to hand. As they ride back to the road, they leave behind them a tableau, telling of a spectacle just passed--one having a frightful finale. From a large limb of the live oak, extending horizontally, hang three men, the Mexican lancers. They are suspended by the neck, dangling, dead! CHAPTER SIXTY THREE. A SPLIT TRAIL. The Texans ride on to the ranche. They still chafe at being thwarted of a vengeance; by every man of them keenly felt, after learning the criminality of the Lancer Colonel. Such unheard of atrocity could not help kindling within their breasts indignation of the deepest kind. The three soldiers strung up to the trees have been its victims. But this episode, instead of appeasing the executioners, has only roused them, as tigers who have tasted blood hindered from banqueting on flesh. They quite comprehend the position in which the norther has placed them. On the way Hamersley and Wilder, most discomforted of all, have made them aware of it. The swollen stream will prevent egress from the valley till it subsides. There is no outlet save above and below, and both these are now effectually closed, shutting them up as in a strong-walled prison. On each side the precipice is unscalable. Even if men might ascend, horses could not be taken along; and on such a chase it would be hopeless for them to set out afoot. But men could not go up the cliff. "A cat kedn't climb it," says Walt, who during his sojourn in the valley has explored every inch of it. "We've got to stay hyar till the flood falls. I reckon no one kin be sorrier to say so than this chile. But thar's no help for 't." "Till the flood falls? When will that be?" No one can answer this, not even Wilder himself. And with clouded brows, sullen, dispirited, they return to the jacal. Two days they stay there, chafing with angry impatience. In their anger they are ready for the most perilous enterprise. But, although bitterly cursing the sinister chance that hinders pursuit, deeming each hour a day, they can do nought save wait till the swollen stream subsides. They watch it with eager solicitude, constantly going to the bank to examine it, as the captain of a ship consults his weather-glass to take steps for the safety of his vessel. All the time one or another is riding to, or returning from, the head of the valley, to bring back report of how the subsidence progresses. And long ere the stream has returned to its regular channel, they plunge their horses into it, breasting a current that almost sweeps them off their feet. But the Texan horses are strong, as their riders are skilful; the obstacle is surmounted, and the Rangers at length escape from their prolonged and irksome imprisonment. It is mid-day, as filing up the pass, they reach the higher level of the Llano. Not many moments do they remain there; only long enough for the rear files to get out of the gorge, when those in front move forward across the plain, guided by the two best trackers in Texas, Nat Cully and Walt Wilder. At first there is no following of a trail, since there is none visible. Wind, rain, and drifted dust have obliterated every mark made by the returning soldiers. Not a sign is left to show the pursuers the path Uraga's troop has taken. They know it should be westward, and strike out without waiting to look for tracks. For the first ten or twelve miles they ride at a rapid rate, often going in a gallop. Their horses, rested and fresh, enable them to do so. They are only stayed in their pace by the necessity of keeping a straight course--not so easy upon a treeless plain, when the sun is not visible in the sky. Unluckily for them, the day is cloudy, which renders it more difficult. Still, with the twin buttes behind--so long as these are in sight they keep their course with certainty; then, as their summits sink below the level of the plain, another landmark looms up ahead, well known by Walt Wilder and Hamersley. It is the black-jack grove where, two days before, they made their midday meal. The Rangers ride towards it, with the intention also to make a short halt there and snatch a scrap from their haversacks. When upon its edge, before entering among the trees, they see that which decides them to stay even less time than intended--the hoof-prints of half a hundred horses! Going inside the copse, they observe other signs that speak of an encampment. Reading these with care, they can tell that it has not long been broken up. The ashes of the bivouac fires are scarce cold, while the hoof-marks of the horses show fresh on the desert dust, for the time converted into mud. Wilder and Cully declare that but one day can have passed since the lancers parted from the spot; for there is no question as to who have been bivouacking among the black-jacks. A day--only a day! It will take full five before the soldiers can cross the Sierras and enter the valley of the Del Norte. There may still be a chance of overtaking them. All the likelier, since, cumbered with their captives, and not knowing they are pursued, they may be proceeding at a leisurely pace. Cheered by this hope, and freshly stimulated, the Texans do not even dismount, but, spurring forth upon the plain, again ride rapidly on, munching a mouthful as they go. They are no longer delayed by any doubt as to course. The trail of the lancer troop is now easily discernible, made since the storm passed over. Any one of the Rangers could follow it in a fast gallop. At this pace they all go, only at intervals drawing in to a walk, to breathe their blown steeds for a fresh spurt. Even after night has descended they continue on, a clear moonlight enabling them to lift the trail. As next morning's sun breaks over the Llano Estacado they descend its western slope into the valley of the Rio Pecos. Traversing its bottom, of no great breadth, they reach the crossing of the old Spanish trail, from Santa Fe to San Antonio de Bejar. Fording the stream, on its western bank, they discover signs which cause them to come to a halt, for some time perplexing them. Nothing more than the tracks of the troop they have been all the while pursuing, which entered the river on its left side. Now on its right they are seen the same, up the sloping causeway of the bank. But on reaching the bottom, a little aback from the water's edge, the trail splits into two distinct ramifications, one continuing westward towards the Sierras, the other turning north along the stream. The first shows the hoof-marks of nigh forty horses, the second only ten or twelve. Unquestionably the Mexican colonel had here divided his troop, the main body proceeding due west, the detachment striking up stream. The route taken by this last would be the old Spanish road for Santa Fe, the first party proceeding on to Albuquerque. For a time the pursuing Texans are at fault, as foxhounds by a fence, over which Reynard has doubled back to mislead them. They have halted at the bifurcation of the trails, and sit in their saddles, considering which of the two they should take. Not all remain mounted. Cully and Wilder have flung themselves to the ground, and, in bent attitudes, with eyes close to the surface, are scanning the hoof-marks of the Mexican horses. The others debate which of the two troops they ought to take after, or whether they should themselves separate and pursue both. This course is opposed by a majority, and it is at length almost decided to continue on after the main body, which, naturally enough, they suppose to have Uraga at its head, with the captives in keeping. In the midst of their deliberations a shout calls the attention of all, concentrating it on Walt Wilder. For it is he who has uttered the cry. The ex-Ranger is seen upon his knees, his great body bent forward, with his chin almost touching the ground. His eyes are upon the hoof-marks of a horse--one of those that went off with the smaller detachment along the river's bank. That he has identified the track is evident from the speech succeeding his ejaculation. "Yur hoss, Hamersley! Hyar's his futprint, sure. An', as he's rud by Urager, the scoundrel's goed this way to a sartinty. Eqwally sartin, he's tuk the captives along wi' him." On hearing their old comrade declare his prognosis, the Rangers wheel their horses and ride towards him. Before reaching the spot where he is still prospecting, they see him give a sudden spring forward, like a frog leaping over meadow sward, then pause again, scrutinising a track. A second examination, similar to the first, tells of another discovery. In like manner explained, by his speech close following,-- "An' hyar's the track o' the mare--the yeller mustang as war rid by the saynorita. An', durn me, that's the hoof-mark o' the mule as carried my Concheter. Capting Haynes! Kumrades! No use botherin' 'bout hyar any longer. Them we want to kum up wi' are goed north 'long this trail as leads by the river bank." Not another word is needed. The Rangers, keen of apprehension and quick to arrive at conclusions, at once perceive the justness of those come to by their old comrade. They make no opposition to his proposal to proceed after the smaller party. Instead, all signify assent; and in ten seconds after they are strung out into a long line, going at a gallop, their horses' heads turned northward up the right bank of the Rio Pecos. CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR. A SYLVAN SCENE. Perhaps no river on all the North American continent is marked with interest more romantic than that which attaches to the Rio Grande of Mexico. On its banks has been enacted many a tragic scene--many an episode of Indian and border war--from the day when the companions of Cortez first unfurled Spain's _pabellon_ till the Lone Star flag of Texas, and later still the banner of the Stars and Stripes, became mirrored on its waves. Heading in the far-famed "parks" of the Rocky Mountains, under the name of Rio Bravo del Norte, it runs in a due southerly direction between the two main ranges of the Mexican "Sierre Madre;" then, breaking through the Eastern Cordillera, it bends abruptly, continuing on in a south-easterly course till it espouses ocean in the great Mexican Gulf. Only its lower portion is known as the "Rio Grande;" above it is the "Bravo del Norte." The Pecos is its principal tributary, which, after running through several degrees of latitude parallel to the main stream, at length unites with it below the great bend. In many respects the Pecos is itself a peculiar river. For many hundred miles it courses through a wilderness rarely traversed by man, more rarely by men claiming to be civilised. Its banks are only trodden by the savage, and by him but when going to or returning from a raid. For this turbid stream is a true river of the desert, having on its left side the sterile tract of the Llano Estacado, on its right dry table plains that lead up to the Sierras, forming the "divide" between its waters and those of the Bravo del Norte. On the side of the Staked Plain the Pecos receives but few affluents, and these of insignificant character. From the Sierras, however, several streams run into it through channels deeply cut into the plain, their beds being often hundreds of feet below its level. While the plateau above is often arid and treeless, the bottom lands of these tributaries show a rich luxuriant vegetation, here and there expanding into park-like meadows, with groves and copses interspersed. On the edge of one of these affluents, known as the _Arroyo Alamo_ (Anglice "Cottonwood Creek"), two tents are seen standing--one a square marquee, the other a "single pole," of the ordinary conical shape. Near by a half score of soldiers are grouped around a bivouac fire, some broiling bits of meat on sapling spits, others smoking corn-husk cigarettes, all gaily chatting. One is some fifty paces apart, under a spreading tree, keeping guard over two prisoners, who, with legs lashed and hands pinioned, lie prostrate upon the ground. As the soldiers are in the uniform of Mexican lancers, it is needless to say they belong to the troop of Colonel Uraga. Superfluous to add that the two prisoners under the tree are Don Valerian Miranda and the doctor. Uraga himself is not visible, nor his adjutant, Roblez. They are inside the conical hut, the square one being occupied by Adela and her maid. After crossing the Pecos, Uraga separated his troop into two parties. For some time he has sent the main body, under command of his alferez, direct to Albuquerque, himself and the adjutant turning north with the captives and a few files as escort and guard. Having kept along the bank of the Pecos till reaching the Alamo, he turned up the creek, and is now _en bivouac_ in its bottom, some ten miles above the confluence of the streams. A pretty spot has he selected for the site of his encampment. A verdant mead, dotted with groves of leafy _alamo_ trees, that reflect their shadows upon crystal runlets silently coursing beneath, suddenly flashing into the open light like a band of silver lace as it bisects a glade green with _gramma_ grass. A landscape not all woodland or meadow, but having also a mountain aspect, for the basaltic cliffs that on both sides bound the valley bottom rise hundreds of feet high, standing scarce two hundred yards apart, grimly frowning at each other, like giant warriors about to begin battle, while the tall stems of the _pitahaya_ projecting above might be likened to poised spears. It is a scene at once soft and sublime--an Eden of angels beset by a serried phalanx of fiends; below, sweetly smiling; above, darkly frowning and weirdly picturesque. A wilderness, with all its charms, uninhabited; no house in sight; no domestic hearth or chimney towering over it; no smoke, save that curling aloft from the fire lately kindled in the soldiers' camp. Beasts and birds are its only habitual denizens; its groves the chosen perching place of sweet songsters; its openings the range of the prong-horn antelope and black-tailed deer; while soaring above, or seated on prominent points of the precipice, may be seen the _caracara_, the buzzard, and bald-headed eagle. Uraga has pitched his tents in an open glade of about ten acres in superficial extent, and nearly circular in shape, lying within the embrace of an umbrageous wood, the trees being mostly cotton woods of large dimensions. Through its midst the streamlet meanders above, issuing out of the timber, and below again entering it. On one side the bluffs are visible, rising darkly above the tree-tops, and in the concavity underneath stand the tents, close to the timber edge, though a hundred paces apart from each other. The troop horses, secured by their trail-ropes, are browsing by the bank of the stream; and above, perched upon the summit of the cliff, a flock of black vultures sun themselves with out-spread wings, now and then uttering an ominous croak as they crane their necks to scan what is passing underneath. Had Uraga been influenced by a sense of sylvan beauty, he could not have chosen a spot more suitable for his camping-place. Scenic effect has nought to do with his halting there. On the contrary, he has turned up the Alamo, and is bivouacking on its bank, for a purpose so atrocious that no one would give credit to it unacquainted with the military life of Mexico in the days of the Dictator Don Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna. This purpose is declared in a dialogue between the lancer colonel and his lieutenant, occurring inside the conical tent shortly after its being set up. But before shadowing the bright scene we have painted by thoughts of the dark scheme so disclosed, let us seek society of a gentler kind. We shall find it in the marquee set apart for Adela Miranda and her maid. It scarce needs to say that a change is observable in the appearance of the lady. Her dress is travel-stained, bedraggled by dust and rain; her hair, escaped from its coif, hangs dishevelled; her cheeks show the lily where but roses have hitherto bloomed. She is sad, drooping, despondent. The Indian damsel seems to suffer less from her captivity, having less to afflict her--no dread of that terrible calamity which, like an incubus, broods upon the mind of her mistress. In the conversation passing between them Conchita is the comforter. "Don't grieve so, senorita," she says, "I'm sure it will be all right yet. Something whispers me it will. It may be the good Virgin--bless her! I heard one of the soldiers say they're taking us to Santa Fe, and that Don Valerian will be tried by a court martial--I think that's what he called it. Well, what of it? You know well he hasn't done anything for which they can condemn him to death--unless they downright assassinate him. They dare not do that, tyrants as they are." At the words "assassinate him," the young lady gives a start. It is just that which is making her so sad. Too well she knows the man into whose hands they have unfortunately fallen. She remembers his design, once nigh succeeding, only frustrated by that hurried flight from their home. Is it likely the fiend will be contented to take her brother back and trust to the decision of a legal tribunal, civil or military? She cannot believe it; but shudders as she reflects upon what is before them. "Besides," pursues Conchita, in her consolatory strain, "your gallant Francisco and my big, brave Gualtero have gone before us. They'll be in Albuquerque when we get there, and will be sure to hear of our arrival. Trust them for doing something to save Don Valerian." "No, no," despondingly answers Adela, "they can do nothing for my brother. That is beyond their power, even if he should ever reach there. I fear he never will--perhaps, none of us." "_Santissima_! What do you mean, senorita? Surely these men will not murder us on the way?" "They are capable of doing that--anything. Ah! Conchita, you do not know them. I am in as much danger as my brother, for I shall choose death rather than--" She forbears speaking the word that would explain her terrible apprehension. Without waiting for it, Conchita rejoins-- "If they kill you, they may do the same with me. Dear _duena_, I'm ready to die with you." The _duena_, deeply affected by this proffer of devotion, flings her white arms around the neck of her brown-skinned maid, and imprints upon her brow a kiss, speaking heartfelt gratitude. For a time the two remain enlocked in each other's arms, murmuring words of mutual consolation. Love levels all ranks, but not more than misery--perhaps not so much. In the hour of despair there is no difference between prince and peasant, between the high-born dame and the lowly damsel accustomed to serve her caprices and wait upon her wishes. Adela Miranda has in her veins the purest _sangre azul_ of Andalusia. Her ancestors came to New Spain among the proud _conquistadores_; while those of Conchita, at least on the mother's side, were of the race conquered, outraged, and humiliated. No thought of ancestral hostility, no pride of high lineage on one side, or shame of low birth on the other, as the two girls stand inside the tent with arms entwined, endeavouring to cheer one another. Under the dread of a common danger, the white _doncella_ and the dusky damsel forget the difference in the colour of their skins; and for the first time feel themselves sisters in the true sisterhood of humanity. CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE. TWO SCOUNDRELS IN COUNCIL. Simultaneous with the scene in the square marquee a dialogue is taking place within the conical tent, the speakers being Uraga and Roblez. The colonel is reclining on a bearskin, spread over the thick sward of grass, which forms a soft couch underneath. The lieutenant sits on a camp-stool beside. Both are smoking; while from a canteen and two cups, resting upon the top of a bullock trunk, comes a perfume which tells they have also been indulging in a drink. Uraga is thoughtful and silent; Roblez patiently waiting for him to speak. The adjutant has but late entered the tent and delivered his report about the pitching of the camp, the arrangements of which he has been superintending. "You've stationed a look-out as I directed?" the Colonel inquires, after a long silence. "I have." "I hope you've placed him so that he can command a good view of the valley below?" "He's on a spur of the cliff, and can see full five miles down stream. May I ask, colonel, whom we may expect to come that way? Not pursuers, I take it?" Uraga does not make immediate reply. There is evidently something in his thoughts he hesitates to communicate to his subordinate. The answer he at length vouchsafes is evasive. "Whom may we expect? You forget those fellows left behind on the Llano. The corporal and two men, whether they've found the Indian or not, will make all haste after us. Fear of falling in with some party of Apaches will stimulate their speed. I wonder why they haven't got up long ago. Something strange about that." "No doubt the storm has detained them." "Do you think it's been that, ayadante?" "I can't think of anything else, colonel. Anyhow, they wouldn't be likely to come here, but go on straight to Albuquerque. The corporal is a skilled _rastrero_, and, reaching the place where the troop separated, he'd be pretty sure to follow the trail of the larger party. All the more from his knowing it the safer one, so far as savages are concerned." "I hope he has done so. We don't want him here." Saying this, Uraga resumes his thoughtful attitude and silently puffs away at his cigar, apparently watching the smoke as it curls up and spreads against the canvas. Roblez, who appeared anxious about something, after a time again essays speech. He puts the interrogatory,-- "How long are we to remain here?" "That will depend on--" Uraga does not complete the response--at least not till after taking several whiffs at his weed. "On what?" asks the impatient subordinate. "Many matters--circumstances, events, coincidences." "May I know what they are. You promised to tell me, colonel." "I did--in time. It has not yet come. One thing I may now make known. When we leave this camping-place we shall take no prisoners along with us." "You intend setting them free?" The question is asked, not with any idea that this is Uraga's design, but to draw out the explanation. "Free of all cares in this world, whatever may be their troubles in the next." "They are to die, then?" "They are to die." "You mean only the men--Don Valerian and the doctor?" "What a ruffian you are, Roblez! By your question you must take me for the same--a sanguinary savage. I'm not so bloodthirsty as to think of killing women, much less one so sweet as the Senorita Miranda. Men don't desire the deaths of their own wives--at least, not till after the honeymoon. The Dona Adela is to be mine--shall, and must!" "I am aware that is your wish, and as things stand you have a fair chance of obtaining it. You can have her without spilling her brother's blood. Excuse me, colonel, but I can see no reason why he should not be let live, at least till we take him to Santa Fe, There a prison will hold him safe, and a court-martial can be called, which, with the spirit just now abroad, will condemn him in one day, and execute him on the morning of the next. That would keep you clear from all suspicion of over-haste, which may attach to you if you take the thing into your own hands here." "Bah! you talk like a child, teniente! The security of a prison in New Mexico, or the chances of a prisoner being condemned, far less executed, are things merely imaginary. All the more now that there's some probability of a change in the political sky. Clouds have shown themselves on the horizon at the capital--talk that our good friend Gameleg is going out again. Before the storm comes I for one intend making myself secure. As the husband of Adela Miranda, owning all that belongs to her brother, and which will be hers after his death, I shall care but little who presides in the Halls of the Moctezumas. Priest-party or patriots, 'twill be all the same to me." "Why not become her husband and let the brother live?" "Why? Because that cannot be." "I don't see any reason against it. Both are in your power. You may easily make terms." Uraga, impressed with the observation, remains for a while silent, considering. To aid reflection he smokes harder than ever. Resuming speech, he asks,-- "How do you counsel?" "As I've said, colonel. Make terms with Miranda. Knowing his life to be in your hands, he will listen to reason. Extract from him a promise--an oath, if need be--that he will consent to his sister becoming your wife; at the same time settling a portion of his property on the newly married pair. It's big enough to afford all of you a handsome income. That's what I would do." "He might promise you here. What security against breaking his word when we get to Albuquerque?" "No need waiting for Albuquerque to give him the chance. You seem to forget that there are churches between, and priests not over-scrupulous. For instance, the cure of Anton Chico, and his reverence who saves souls in the pueblita of La Mora. Either one will make man and wife of you and the Senorita Adela without asking question beyond whether you can produce coin sufficient to pay the marriage fees. Disbursing freely, you may ensure the ceremonial in spite of all protest, if any should arise. There can be none." Uraga lights a fresh cigar, and continues smoking, reflecting. The counsel of his subaltern has made an impression on him--put the thing in a new light. After all, what harm in letting Miranda live? Enough of revenge compelling him to consent that his sister shall be the wife of one she has scornfully rejected. If he refuse--if both do so--what then? The interrogatory is addressed to Roblez. "Your position," answers the adjutant, "will be no worse than now. You can still carry out the design you've hinted at without doing me the honour to entrust it to me. Certainly no harm can arise from trying my plan first. In ten minutes you may ascertain the result." "I shall try it," exclaims Uraga, springing to his feet and facing towards the entrance of the tent. "You're right, Roblez. It's a second string to the bow I had a thought about. If it snap, let it. But if it do, before long--aye, before to-morrow's sun shines into our camp--the proud beauty may find herself brotherless, her sole chance of protection being the arms of Gil Uraga." Saying this, he pitches away the stump of his cigar, and strides forth from the tent, determined to extract from Adela Miranda a promise of betrothal, or in lieu of it decree her brother's death. CHAPTER SIXTY SIX. A BROTHER SORELY TEMPTED. After stepping forth from the tent Uraga pauses to reflect. The course counselled by Roblez seems reasonable enough. If he can but force the girl's consent, it will not be difficult to get it sealed. There are priests in the frontier pueblitas who will be obedient to a power superior to the Church--even in Mexico, that Paradise of padres. Gold will outweigh any scruples about the performance of the marriage ceremony, however suspicion! the circumstances under which the intending bride and bridegroom may prevent themselves at the altar. The lancer colonel is well aware of this. But there are other points to be considered before he can proceed farther with the affair. His escort must not know too much. There are ten of them, all thorough cut-throats, and, as such, having a fellow-feeling for their commanding officer. Not one of them but has committed crime, and more than one stained his soul with murder. Nothing strange for Mexican soldiers under the regime of Santa Anna. Not rare even among their officers. On parting with the main body Uraga selected his escort with an eye to sinister contingencies. They are the sort to assist in any deed of blood. If ordered to shoot or hang the captives they would obey with the eagerness of bloodhounds let loose from the leash, rather relishing it as cruel sport. For all, he does not desire to entrust them with the secret of his present scheme. They must not overhear the conversation which he intends holding with his captives; and to prevent this a plan easily suggests itself. "Holla!" he hails a trooper with chevroned sleeves, in authority over the others. "Step this way, _sergente_." The sergeant advances, and saluting, awaits further speech from the colonel. "Order boots and saddles!" directs the latter. The order is issued; and the soldiers soon stand by their stirrups ready to mount, wondering what duty they are so unexpectedly to be sent upon. "To horse!" commands the Colonel, vicariously through his non-commissioned officer. "Ride up the creek, and find if there is a pass leading out above. Take all the men with you; only leave Galvez to keep guard over the prisoners." The sergeant, having received these instructions, once more salutes. Then, returning to the group of lancers, at some distance off, gives the word "Mount!" The troopers, vaulting into their saddles, ride away from the ground, Galvez alone staying behind, who, being a "familiar" with his colonel, and more than once his participator in crimes of deepest dye, can be trusted to overhear anything. The movement has not escaped the observation of the two men lying tied under the tree. They cannot divine its meaning, but neither do they augur well of it. Still worse, when Uraga, calling to Galvez to come to him, mutters some words in his ear. Their apprehensions are increased when the sentry returns to them, and, unfastening the cord from the doctor's ankles, raises him upon his feet, as if to remove him from the spot. On being asked what it is for, Galvez does not condescend to give an answer, except to say in a gruff voice that he has orders to separate them. Taking hold of the doctor's arm, he conducts him to a distance of several hundred yards, and, once more laying him along the ground, stands over him as before in the attitude of a sentry. The action is suspicious, awe-inspiring--not more to Don Prospero than Miranda himself. The latter is not left long to meditate upon it. Almost instantly he sees the place of his friend occupied by his enemy. Gil Uraga stands beside him. There is an interval of silence, with only an interchange of glances; Don Valerian's defiant, Uraga's triumphant. But the expression of triumph on the part of the latter appears held in check, as if to wait some development that may either heighten or curb its display. Uraga breaks silence--the first speech vouchsafed to his former commanding officer since making him a prisoner. "Senor Miranda," he says, "you will no doubt be wondering why I have ordered your fellow-captive to be taken apart from you. It will be explained by my saying that I have words for you I don't wish overheard by anyone--not even by your dear friend, Don Prospero." "What words, Gil Uraga?" "A proposal I have to make." Miranda remains silent, awaiting it. "Let me first make known," continues the ruffian, "though doubtless you know it already, that your life is in my power. If I put a pistol to your head and blow out your brains there will be no calling me to account. If there was any danger of that, I could avoid it by giving you the benefit of a court-martial. Your life is forfeit to the state; and our military laws, as you are aware, can be stretched just now sufficiently to meet your case." "I am aware of it," rejoins Miranda, his patriotic spirit roused by the reflection; "I know the despotism that now rules my unfortunate country. It can do anything, without respect for either laws or constitution." "Just so," assents Uraga; "and for this reason I approach you with my proposal." "Speak it, then. Proceed, sir, and don't multiply words. You need not fear of their effect. I am your prisoner, and powerless." "Since you command me to avoid circumlocution, I shall obey you to the letter. My proposal is that, in exchange for your life--which I have the power to take, as also to save--you will give me your sister." Miranda writhes till the cords fastening his wrists almost cut through the skin. Withal, he is silent; his passion too intense to permit of speech. "Don't mistake me, Don Valerian Miranda," pursues his tormentor, in a tone intended to be soothing. "When I ask you to give me your sister I mean it in an honourable sense. I wish her for my wife; and to save your life she will consent to become so, if you only use your influence to that end. She will not be a faithful sister if she do not. I need not tell you that I love her; you know that already. Accept the conditions I offer, and all will be well. I can even promise you the clemency of the State; for my influence in high places is somewhat different from what it was when you knew me as your subordinate. It will enable me to obtain free pardon for you." Miranda still remains silent--long enough to rouse the impatience of him who dictates, and tempt the alternative threat already shaping itself on his tongue. "Refuse," he continues, his brow suddenly clouding, while a light of sinister significance flashes from his eyes, "Refuse me, and you see not another sun. By that now shining you may take your last look of the earth; for this night will certainly be your last on it alive. Observe those vultures on the cliff! They are whetting their beaks, as if they expected a banquet. They shall have one, on your body, if you reject the terms I've offered. Accept them, Don Valerian Miranda; or before to-morrow's sun reaches meridian the birds will be feeding upon your flesh, and the wild beasts quarrelling over your bones. Answer me, and without prevarication. I demand plain speech, yes or no." "No!" is the monosyllable shouted, almost shrieked, by him so menaced. "No!" he repeats; "never shall I consent to that. I am in your power, Gil Uraga. Put your pistol to my head, blow out my brains, as you say you can do with impunity. Kill me any way you wish, even torture. It could not be more painful than to see you the husband of my sister, either by my consent or her own. You cannot force mine upon such disgraceful conditions, nor yet gain her's. My noble Adela! She would rather see me die, and die along with me." "Ha! ha!" responded Uraga, in a peal of mocking laughter, mingled with a whine of chagrin, "we shall see about that. Perhaps the senorita may not treat my offer quite so slightingly as yourself. Women are not so superbly stupid. They have a keener comprehension of their own interests. Your sister may better appreciate the honour I am intending her. If not, Heaven help her and you! She will soon be without a brother. Adios, Don Valerian! I go to pour speech into softer ears. For your own sake, hope--pray--that my proposal may be more favourably received." Saying this, Uraga turns upon his heel and abruptly walks away, leaving behind his captive with hands tied and heart in a tumult of anguished emotion. CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN. A SISTER SORELY TRIED. The marquee occupied by Adela Miranda and her maid is not visible from the spot where her brother lies bound. The other tent is between, with some shrubbery further concealing it. But from the tenour of his last speech, Don Valerian knows that Uraga has gone thither, as also his object. Chagrined by the denial he has received from the brother, roused to recklessness, he resolves on having an answer from the sister, point-blank, upon the instant. With slight ceremony he enters her tent. Once inside, he mutters a request, more like a command, for Conchita to withdraw. He does this with as much grace as the excited state of his feelings permits, excusing himself on the plea that he wishes a word with the senorita-- one he is sure she would not wish to be heard by other ears than her own. Aroused from a despondent attitude, the young lady looks up, her large round eyes expressing surprise, anger, apprehension, awe. The mestiza glances towards her mistress for instructions. The latter hesitates to give them. Only for an instant. It can serve no purpose to gainsay the wishes of one who has full power to enforce them, and whose demeanour shows him determined on doing so. "You can go, Conchita," says her mistress; "I will call you when you are wanted." The girl moves off with evident reluctance, but stops not far from the tent. "Now, Don Gil Uraga," demands the lady, on being left alone with the intruder, "what have you to say to me that should not be overheard?" "Come, senorita! I pray you will not commence so brusquely. I approach you as a friend, though for some time I may have appeared in the character of an enemy. I hope, however, you'll give me credit for good intentions. I'm sure you will when you know how much I'm distressed by the position I'm placed in. It grieves me that my instructions compel such harsh measures towards my two prisoners: but, in truth, I can say no discretion has been left me. I act under an order from headquarters." "Senor," she rejoins, casting upon him a look of scornful incredulity, "you have said all this before. I suppose you had something else to speak of." "And so I have, senorita. Something of a nature so unpleasant I hesitate to tell it, fearing it may sadly shock you." "You need not. After what has passed I am not likely to be nervous." Despite her natural courage, and an effort to appear calm, she trembles, as also her voice. There is an expression on the face of the man that bodes sinister risings--some terrible disclosure. The suspense is too painful to be borne; and in a tone more firm and defiant she demands the promised communication. "Dona Adela Miranda," he rejoins, speaking in a grave, measured voice, like a doctor delivering a prognosis of death, "it has been my duty to make your brother a prisoner--a painful one, as I have said. But, alas! the part I've already performed is nothing compared with that now required of me. You say you are prepared for a shock. What I'm going to say will cause you one." She no longer attempts to conceal alarm. It is now discernible in her large, wondering eyes. "Say it!" The words drop mechanically from her lips, drawn forth by the intensity of her apprehension. "You are soon to be without a brother!" "What mean you, senor?" "Don Valerian dies within the hour." "You are jesting, sir. My brother has not been sick? He is not wounded? Why should he die?" She speaks hurriedly, and with an incredulous stare at Uraga; while at the same time her heaving, palpitating bosom shows she too truly believes what he said. "Don Valerian is not sick," continues the unfeeling wretch, "nor yet has he received any wound. For all this, in less than an hour he must die. It is decreed." "_Madre de Dios_! You are mocking me. His death decreed! By whom?" "Not by me, I assure you. The military authorities of the country have been his judges, and condemned him long ago, as also Don Prospero. It only needed their capture to have the sentence carried out. This disagreeable duty has been entrusted to me. My orders at starting were to have both shot on the instant of making them captives. For your sake, senorita, I've so far disobeyed the rigorous command--an act which may cost me my commission. Yes, Dona Adela, for your sake." The tale is preposterous, and might seem to her who hears it a lie, but for her knowledge of many similar occurrences in the history of her native land, "Cosas de Mexico." Besides, her own and her brother's experience render it but too probable. "_Dios de mi alma_!" she cries out in the anguish of conviction, "can this be true?" "It is true." "Colonel Uraga, you will not carry out this cruel sentence! It is not an execution--it is an assassination! You will not stain your soul with murder?" "I must obey orders." "My poor brother! Have mercy! You can save him?" "I can." "You will? You will?" "I will!" The emphasis with which these two words are pronounced brings a flush of gratefulness over her face, and she makes a forward movement as if to thank him by a pressure of the hand. She might have given it but for the cast upon his features, telling his consent not yet obtained, nor his speech finished. There is more to come--two other words. They are-- "Upon conditions!" They check her bursting gratitude. Conditions! She knows not what they may be. But she knows the character of Gil Uraga, and can predict they will be hard. "Name them!" she demands. "If it be money, I'm ready to give it. Though my brother's property is taken from him, as we've heard, not so mine. I have wealth--houses, lands. Take all, but save Valerian's life." "You can save it without expending a single _claco_; only by giving a grace." "What mean you, senor?" "To explain my meaning I'll repeat what I've said. Your brother's head is forfeit. It can be saved by a hand." "Still I do not understand you. A hand?" "Yes, your hand." "How?" "Grasped in mine--united with it in holy wedlock. That is all I ask." She starts as if a serpent had stung her, for she now comprehends all. "All I ask," he continues in a strain of fervid passion, "I who love you with my whole soul; who have loved you for long hopeless years--aye, senorita, ever since you were a schoolgirl; myself a rough, wild youth, the son of a ranchero, who dared only gaze at you from a distance. I am a peasant no longer, but one who has wealth; upon whom the State has bestowed power to command; made me worthy to choose a wife from among the proudest in our land--even to wed with the Dona Adela Miranda, who beholds him at her feet!" While speaking he has knelt before her, and remains upon his knees awaiting her response. She makes none. She stands as if petrified, deprived of the power of speech. Her silence gives him hope. "Dona Adela," he continues in an appealing tone, as if to strengthen the chances of an affirmative answer, "I will do everything to make you happy--everything a husband can. And remember your brother's life! I am risking my own to save it. I have just spoken to him on the subject. He does not object; on the contrary, has given consent to you being mine." "You say so?" she inquires, with a look of incredulity. "I do not believe it--will not, without hearing it from his own lips." While speaking, she springs past the kneeling suppliant, and, before he can get upon his legs or stretch forth a hand to detain her, she has glided out of the tent, and makes for the place where she supposes the prisoners to be kept. Starting to his feet, Uraga rushes after. His intent is to overtake and bring her back, even if he have to carry her. He is too late. Before he can come up with her she has reached the spot where her brother lies bound, and kneels beside him with arms embracing, her lips pressing his brow, his cheeks moistened by her tears. CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT. A TERRIBLE INTENTION. Not for long does the scene of agonised affection remain uninterrupted. In a few seconds it is intruded on by him who is causing its agony. Uraga, hastening after, has reached the spot and stands contemplating it. A spectacle to melt a heart of stone, it has no softening effect on his. His brow his black with rage, his eyes shining like coals of fire. His first impulse is to call Galvez and order him to drag brother and sister apart. His next to do this himself. He is about seizing Adela's wrist, when a thought restrains him. No melting or impulse of humanity. There is not a spark of it in his bosom. Only a hope, suddenly conceived, that with the two now together he may repeat his proposal with a better chance of its being entertained. From the expression upon their countenances he can see that in the interval before his coming up words have passed between them--few and hastily spoken, but enough for each to have been told what he has been saying to the other. It does not daunt; on the contrary, but determines him to renew his offer, and, if necessary, reiterate his threats. There is no one within earshot for whom he need care. Galvez has taken Don Prospero far apart. Roblez is inside the tent, though he thinks not of him; while the Indian damsel, who stands trembling by, is not worth a thought. Besides, he is now more than ever regardless of the result. "Don Valerian Miranda!" he exclaims, recovering breath after his chase across the camp-ground. "I take it your sister has told you what has passed between us. If not, I shall tell you myself." "My sister has communicated all--even the falsehood by which you've sought to fortify your infamous proposal." "_Carramba_!" exclaims Uraga, upon whose cheeks there is no blush of shame for the deception practised. "Does the offer to save your life, at risk of my own--to rescue you from a felon's death--does that deserve the harsh epithet with which you are pleased to qualify it? Come, senor, you are wronging me while trifling with your own interests. I have been honest, and declared all. I love the Dona Adela, as you've known, long. What do I ask? Only that she shall become my wife, and, by so doing, save the life of her brother. As your brother-in-law it will be my duty, my interest, my pleasure, to protect you." "That you shall never be!" firmly rejoins Miranda. "No, never!" he adds, with kindling fervour, "never, on such conditions!" "Does the senorita pronounce with the same determination?" asks Uraga, riveting his eyes on Adela. It is a terrible ordeal for the girl. Her brother lying bound by her side, his death about to be decreed, his end near as if the executioner were standing over him--for in this light does Uraga appear. Called upon to save his life by promising to become the wife of this man-- hideous in her eyes as the hangman himself; knowing, or believing, that if she does not, in another hour she may be gazing upon a blood-stained corpse--the dead body of her own brother! No wonder she trembles from head to foot, and hesitates to endorse the negative he has so emphatically pronounced. Don Valerian notes her indecision, and, firmly as before, repeats the words,-- "No--never!" adding, "Dear sister, think not of me. Do not fear or falter; I shall not. I would rather die a hundred deaths than see you the wife of such a ruffian. Let me die first!" "_Chingara_!" hisses the man thus boldly defied, using the vilest exclamation known to the Spanish tongue. "Then you shall die first. And, after you're dead, she shall still be my wife, or something you may not like so well--my _Margarita_!" The infamous meaning conveyed by this word, well understood by Miranda, causes him to start half-upright, at the same time wrenching at the rope around his wrists. The perspiration forced from him by the agony of the hour has moistened the raw-hide thong to stretching. It yields to the convulsive effort, leaving his hands released. With a quick lurch forward he clutches at the sword dangling by Uraga's side. Its hilt is in his grasp, and in an instant he has drawn the blade from its scabbard! Seeing himself thus suddenly disarmed, the Lancer Colonel springs back shouting loudly for help. Miranda, his ankles bound, is at first unable to follow, but with the sword-blade he quickly cut the thongs, and is on his feet--free! In another instant he is chasing Uraga across the camp-ground, the latter running like a scared hound. Before he can be overtaken, the trampling of hoofs resound upon the grassy turf, and the returned lancers, with Roblez and the sentry, close around the prisoner. Don Valerian sees himself encircled by a _chevaux de frise_ of lances, with cocked carbines behind. There is no chance of escape, no alternative but surrender. After that-- He does not stop to reflect. A wild thought flashes across his brain--a terrible determination. To carry it out only needs the consent of his sister. She had rushed between their horses and stands by his side, with arms outstretched to protect him. "Adela!" he says, looking intently into her eyes, "dear sister, let us die together!" She sees the sword resolutely held in his grasp. She cannot mistake the appeal. "Yes; let us, Valerian!" comes the quick response, with a look of despairing resignation, followed by the muttered speech of "Mother of God, take us both to thy bosom! To thee we commit our souls!" He raises the blade, its point towards his sister--in another moment to be buried in her bosom, and afterwards in his own! The sacrifice is not permitted, though the soldiers have no hand in hindering it. Dismayed or careless, they sit in their saddles without thought of interfering. But between their files rushes a form in whose heart is more of humanity. The intruder is Conchita--opportune to an instant. Two seconds more, and the fratricidal sword would have bereft her of a mistress and a master, both alike beloved. Both are saved by her interference; for grasping the upraised arm, she restrains it from the thrust. Roblez, close following, assists her, while several of the lancers, now dismounted, fling themselves upon Miranda and disarm him. The intending sororicide and suicide is restored to his fastenings; his sister taken back to her tent; a trooper detailed to stand sentry beside and frustrate any attempt at a second escapade. CHAPTER SIXTY NINE. AN INTERCEPTED DISPATCH. While the thrilling incident described is occurring in Uraga's camp, the Rangers, _en route_ along the banks of the Pecos, are making all the haste in their power to reach it, Hamersley and Wilder every now and then saying some word to urge them on. In pursuit of such an enemy the Texans need no pressing. 'Tis only the irrestrainable impatience of the two whose souls are tortured by the apprehension of danger hovering over the heads of those dear to them. There is no difficulty in lifting the trail of the soldiers. Their horses are shod, and the late storm, with its torrent of rain, has saturated the earth, obliterating all old hoof-marks, so that those later made are not only distinct but conspicuous. So clear, that the craft of Cully and Wilder is not called into requisition. Every Ranger riding along the trail can take it up as fast as his horse is able to carry him. All see that Uraga has taken no pains to blind the track of his party. Why should he? He can have no suspicion of being pursued; certainly not by such pursuers. Along the trail, then, they ride rapidly; gratified to observe that it grows fresher as they advance for they are travelling thrice as fast as the men who made it. All at once they come to a halt--summoned to this by a sight which never fails to bring the most hurried traveller to a stand. They see before them the dead body of a man! It is lying on a sand-spit, which projects into the river. Upon this it has evidently been washed by the waters, now subsiding after the freshet, due to the late tornado. Beside it shows the carcase of a mule, deposited in similar manner. Both are conspicuous to the Rangers as they ride abreast of the spit; but their attention has been called to them long before by a flock of buzzards, some hovering above, others alighting upon the sandbank. Six or seven of the Texans, heading their horses down the sloping bank, ride towards the "sign"--so sad, yet terribly attractive. It would tempt scrutiny anywhere; but in the prairie wilderness, in that dangerous desert, it may be the means of guiding to a path of safety, or warding from one that is perilous. While those who have detached themselves proceed out upon the sand-bar, the main body remains upon the high bank, awaiting their return. The dead man proves to be an Indian, though not of the _bravos_, or savage tribes. Wearing a striped woollen _talma_, with coarse cotton shirt underneath, wide sheep-skin breeches, ex tending only a little below the knee, and rude raw-hide sandals upon his feet, he is evidently one of the Christianised aboriginals. There are no marks of violence on his body, nor yet on the carcase of the mule. The case is clear at a glance. It is one of drowning; and the swollen stream, still foaming past, is evidence eloquent of how it happened. On the man's body there are no signs of rifling or robbery. His pockets, when turned inside out, yield such contents as might be expected on the person of an _Indio manso_. Only one thing, which, in the eyes of the examinators, appears out of place; a sheet of paper folded in the form of a letter, and sealed as such. It is saturated with water, stained to the hue of the still turbid stream. But the superscription can be read, "Por Barbato." So much Cully and Wilder, who assist at the examination, can make out for themselves. But on breaking open the seal, and endeavouring to decipher what is written inside, both are at fault, as also the others along with them. The letter is in a language that is a sealed book to all. It is in Spanish. Without staying to attempt translating it, they return to the river's bank, taking the piece of paper along, for the superscription has touched a tender point, and given rise to strange suspicions. Walt carries the wet letter, which, soon as rejoining their comrades, he places in the hands of Hamersley. The latter, translating, reads aloud: "Senor Barbato,--As soon as you receive this, communicate its contents to the chief. Tell him to meet me on the Arroyo de Alamo--same place as before--and that he is to bring with him twenty or thirty of his painted devils. The lesser number will be enough, as it's not an affair of fighting. Come yourself with them. You will find me encamped with a small party--some female and two male captives. No matter about the women. It's the men you have to deal with; and this is what you are to do. Charge upon our camp the moment you get sight of it; make your redskins shout like fiends, and ride forward, brandishing their spears. You won't meet resistance, nor find any one on the ground when you've got there, only our two prisoners, who will be fast bound, and so cannot flee with us. What's to be done with them, amigo mio, is the important part--in fact, the whole play. Tell the chief they are to be speared upon the spot, thrust through as soon as you get up to them. See to this yourself, lest there be any mischance; and I'll take care you shall have your reward." Made acquainted with the contents of this vile epistle, the rage of the Rangers, already sufficiently aroused, breaks from all bounds, and, for a while, seeks vent in fearful curses and asseverations. Though there is no name appended to the diabolical chapter of instructions, they have no doubt as to who has dictated it. Circumstances, present and antecedent, point to the man of whom they are in pursuit--Gil Uraga. And he to whom the epistle is superscribed, "Por Barbato." A wild cry ascends simultaneously from the whole troop as they face round towards the renegade, who is still with them, and their prisoner. The wretch turns pale, as if all the blood of his body were abruptly drawn out. Without comprehending the exact import of that cry, he can read in fifty pairs of eyes glaring angrily on him that his last hour has come. The Rangers can have no doubt as to whom the letter has been addressed, as they can also tell why it has miscarried. For the renegade has already disclosed his name, not thinking it would thus strangely turn up to condemn him to death. Yes--to death; for, although promised life, with only the punishment of a prison, these conditions related to another criminality, and were granted without the full knowledge of his guilt--of connivance at a crime unparalleled for atrocity. His judges feel absolved from every stipulation of pardon or mercy; and, summoning to the judgment seat the quick, stem decreer--Lynch--in less than five minutes after the trembling wretch is launched into eternity! There is reason for this haste. They know that the letter has miscarried; but he who could dictate such a damnable epistle is a wild beast at large, who cannot be too soon destroyed. Leaving the body of Barbato to be devoured by wolves and vultures, they spur on along the Pecos, only drawing bridle to breathe their horses as the trail turns up at the bottom of a confluent creek--the Arroyo de Alamo. CHAPTER SEVENTY. A SCHEME OF ATROCITY. Discomfited--chagrined by his discomfiture--burning with shame at the pitiful spectacle he has afforded to his followers--Uraga returns within his tent like an enraged tiger. Not as one robbed of its prey--he is still sure of this as ever; for he has other strings to his bow, and the weak one just snapped scarce signifies. But for having employed it to no purpose he now turns upon Roblez, who counselled the course that has ended so disastrously. The adjutant is a safe target on which to expend the arrows of his spleen, and to soothe his perturbed spirit he gives vent to it. In time, however, he gets somewhat reconciled; the sooner by gulping down two or three glasses of Catalan brandy. Along with the liquor, smoking, as if angry at his cigar, and consuming it through sheer spite, Roblez endeavours to soothe him by consolative speech. "What matters it, after all!" puts in the confederate. "It may be that everything has been for the best. I was wrong, no doubt, in advising as I did. Still, as you see, it's gained us some advantage." "Advantage! To me the very reverse. Only to think of being chased about my own camp by a man who is my prisoner! And before the eyes of everybody! A pretty story for our troopers to tell when they get back to Albuquerque! I, Colonel commanding, will be the jest of the _cuartel_!" "Nothing of the kind, colonel! There is nothing to jest about. Your prisoner chanced to possess himself of your sword--a thing no one could have anticipated. He did it adroitly, but then you were at the time unsuspecting. Disarmed, what else could you do but retreat from a man, armed, desperate, determined on taking your life. I'd like to see anyone who'd have acted otherwise. Under the circumstances only an insane man would keep his ground. The episode has been awkward, I admit. But it's all nonsense--excuse me for saying so--your being sensitive about that part of it. And for the rest, I say again, it's given us an advantage; in short, the very one you wanted, if I understand your intentions aright." "In what way?" "Well, you desired a pretext, didn't you?" "To do what?" "Court-martial your prisoners, condemn, and execute them. The attempt on your life will cover all this, so that the keenest scandal-monger may not open his lips. It will be perfectly _en regie_ for you to hang or shoot Don Valerian Miranda--and, if you like, the doctor, too--after ten minutes' deliberation over a drum's head. I'm ready to organise the court according to your directions." To this proposal Uraga replies with a significant smile, saying: "Your idea is not a bad one; but I chance to have a better. Much as I hate Miranda and wish him out of the way, I don't desire to imbrue my hands in his blood; don't intend to, as I've already hinted to you." Roblez turns upon his superior officer a look of incredulous _surprise, interrogating_,-- "You mean to take him back, and let him be tried in the regular way?" "I mean nothing of the kind." "I thought it strange, after your telling me he would never leave this place alive." "I tell you so still." "Colonel! you take pleasure in mystifying me. If you're not going to try your prisoners by court-martial, in what way are your words to be made good? Surely you don't intend to have them shot without form of trial?" "I've said I won't imbrue my hands in their blood." "True, you've said that more than once, but without making things any clearer to me. You spoke of some plan. Perhaps I may now hear it?" "You shall. But first fill me out another _capita_ of the Catalan. That affair has made me thirsty as a sponge." The adjutant, acting as Ganymede, pours out the liquor and hands the cup to his colonel, which the latter quaffs off. Then, lighting a fresh cigar, he proceeds with the promised explanation. "I spoke of events, incidents, and coincidences--didn't I, _ayadante_?" "You did, Colonel." "Well, suppose I clump them altogether, and give you the story in a simple narrative--a monologue? I know, friend Roblez, you're not a man greatly given to speech; so it will save you the necessity of opening your lips till I've got through." Roblez, usually taciturn, nods assent. "Before coming out here," continues the Colonel, "I'd taken some steps. When you've heard what they are I fancy you'll give me credit for strategy, or cunning, if you prefer so calling it. I told you I should take no prisoners back, and that Don Valerian and the doctor are to die. They will go to their graves without causing scandal to any of us. To avoid it I've engaged an executioner, who will do the job without any direct orders from me." "Who?" asks the adjutant, forgetting his promise to be silent. "Don't interrupt!" The subordinate resumes silence. "I think," continues Uraga, in a tone of serio-comicality, "you have heard of a copper-coloured gentleman called `Horned Lizard.' If I mistake not, you have the honour of his acquaintance. And, unless I'm astray in my reckoning, you'll have the pleasure of seeing him here this evening, or at an early hour to-morrow morning. He will make his appearance in somewhat eccentric fashion. No doubt, he'll come into our camp at a charging gallop, with some fifty or a hundred of his painted warriors behind him. And I shouldn't wonder if they should spit some of our gay lancers on the points of their spears. That will depend on whether these _valientes_ be foolish enough to make resistance. I don't think they will. More likely we shall see them gallop off at the first whoop of the Indian assailants. You and I, Roblez, will have to do the same; but, as gallant gentlemen, we must take the women along with us. To abandon them to the mercy of the savages, without making an effort to save them, were absolute poltroonery, and would never bear reporting in the settlements. Therefore, we must do our best to take the ladies along. Of course, we can't be blamed for not being able to save our male prisoners. Their fate, I fear, will be for each to get half a dozen Comanche spears thrust through his body, or it may be a dozen. It's sad to think of it, but such misfortunes cannot always be avoided. They are but the ordinary incidents of frontier life. Now, _senor ayadante_, do you comprehend my scheme?" "Since I am at length permitted to speak, I may say I do--at least, I have an obscure comprehension of it. Fairly interpreted, I take it to mean this. You have arranged with the Horned Lizard to make a counterfeit attack upon our camp--to shoot down or spear our poor devils of soldiers, if need be?" "Not the slightest need of his doing that, nor any likelihood of his being able to do it. They'll run like good fellows at the first yell of the Indians. Have no apprehensions about them." "In any case, the Horned Lizard is to settle the question with our captives, and take the responsibility off our hands. If I understand aright, that is the programme." "It is." CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE. A BOOTLESS JOURNEY. Having returned to his original design--the scheme of atrocity so coolly and jestingly declared, Uraga takes steps towards its execution. The first is, to order his own horse, or rather that of Hamersley, to be saddled, bridled, and tied behind his own tent. The same for that ridden by Roblez. Also the mustang mare which belongs to Adela Miranda--her own "Lolita"--and the mule set apart for the _mestiza_. The troop horses already caparisoned are to remain so. Ignorant of their object, the troopers wonder at these precautions, though not so much as might be expected. They are accustomed to receive mysterious commands, and obey them without cavil or question. Not one of the ten but would cut a throat at Gil Uraga's bidding, without asking the reason why. The picket placed on a spin of the cliff has orders to signal if any one is seen coming up the creek. If Indians appear he is to gallop into the camp, and report in person. The alarm thus started will easily be fostered into a stampede, and at the onslaught of the savages the lancers will rush to their horses and ride off without offering resistance. In the _sauve qui peut_ none of them will give a thought to the two prisoners lying tied under the tree. These are to be left behind to the tender mercies of the Tenawa chief. It will be an act of gallantry to save the female captives by carrying them off. This Uraga reserves for himself, assisted by Roblez. Such is his scheme of vicarious assassination; in the atrocity of conception unequalled, almost incredible. He has no anxiety as to its success. For himself he is more than ever determined; while Roblez, restrained by the fiasco following his advice, no longer offers opposition. Uraga has no fear the Tenawa chief will fail him. He has never done so before, and will not now. The new proposal, which the colonel supposes to have reached the hands of Horned Lizard in that letter carried by Pedrillo, will be eagerly accepted. Barbato will bring the chief with his cut-throats to the Arroyo de Alamo, sure as there is a sun in the sky. It is but a question of time. They may come up at any hour--any minute; and having arranged all preliminaries, Uraga remains in his tent to await the cue for action. He little dreams at the moment he is thus expecting his red-skinned confederate, that the latter, along with the best braves of his band, has gone to the happy hunting grounds, while his go-between, Barbato, is in safe keeping elsewhere. As the hours pass, and no one is reported as approaching, he becomes impatient; for the time has long elapsed since the Tenawa chief should have been upon the spot. Chafing, he strides forth from the tent, and proceeds towards the place where the look-out has been stationed. Reaching it, he reconnoitres for himself, with a telescope he has taken along, to get a better view down the valley. At first, levelling the glass, no one can be seen. In the reach of open ground, dotted here and there with groves, there are deer browsing, and a grizzly bear is seen crossing between the cliffs, but no shape that resembles a human being. He is about lowering the telescope when a new form comes into its field of view--a horseman riding up the creek. No the animal is a mule. No matter the rider is a man. Keenly scrutinising, he perceives it is an Indian, though not one of the wild sort. His garb betokens him of the tamed. Another glance through the glass and his individuality declares itself, Uraga recognising him as one of the messengers sent to the Tenawas' town. Not the principal, Pedrillo, but he of secondary importance, Jose. "Returning alone!" mutters the Mexican to himself. "What does that mean? Where can Pedrillo be? What keeps him behind, I wonder?" He continues wondering and conjecturing till Jose has ridden up to the spot, when, perceiving his master, the latter dismounts and approaches him. In the messenger's countenance there is an expression of disappointment, and something more. It tells a tale of woe, with reluctance to disclose it. "Where is Pedrillo?" is the first question asked in anxious impatience. "Oh, _senor coronel_!" replies Jose, hat in hand, and trembling in every joint. "Pedrillo! _Pobre Pedrillito_!" "Well! Poor Pedrillito--what of him? Has anything happened to him?" "Yes, your excellency, a terrible mischance I fear to tell it you." "Tell it, sirrah, and at once! Out with it, whatever it is!" "Alas, Pedrillo is gone!" "Gone--whither?" "Down the river." "What river?" "The Pecos." "Gone down the Pecos? On what errand?" inquired the colonel, in surprise. "On no errand, your excellency." "Then what's taken him down the Pecos? Why went he?" "_Senor coronel_, he has not gone of his own will. It is only his dead body that went; it was carried down by the flood." "Drowned? Pedrillo drowned?" "_Ay de mi_! 'Tis true, as I tell you--too true, _pobrecito_." "How did this happen, Jose?" "We were crossing at the ford, senor. The waters were up from a _norte_ that's just passed over the plains. The river was deep and running rapid, like a torrent, Pedrillo's _macho_ stumbled, and was swept off. It was as much as mine could do to keep its legs. I think he must have got his feet stuck in the stirrups, for I could see him struggling alongside the mule till both went under. When they came to the surface both were drowned--dead. They floated on without making a motion, except what the current gave them as their bodies were tossed about by it. As I could do nothing there, I hastened here to tell you what happened. _Pobre Pedrillito_!" The cloud already darkening Uraga's brow grows darker as he listens to the explanation. It has nothing to do with the death of Pedrillo, or compassion for his fate--upon which he scarce spends a thought--but whether there has been a miscarriage of that message of which the drowned man was the bearer. His next interrogatory, quickly put, is to get satisfied on this head. "You reached the Tenawa town?" "We did, _senor coronel_." "Pedrillo carried a message to the Horned Lizard, with a letter for Barbato. You know that, I suppose?" "He told me so." "Well, you saw him deliver the letter to Barbato?" "He did not deliver it to Barbato." "To the chief, then?" "To neither, your Excellency. He could not." "Could not! Why?" "They ere not there to receive it. They are no longer in this world-- neither the Horned Lizard nor Barbato. Senor Coronel, the Tenawas have met with a great misfortune. They've had a fight with a party of Tejanos. The chief is killed, Barbato is killed, and nearly half of their braves. When Pedrillo and I reached the town we found the tribe in mourning, the women all painted black, with their hair cut off; the men who had escaped the slaughter cowed, and keeping concealed within their lodges." A wild exclamation leaps from the lips of Uraga as he listens to these disclosures, his brow becoming blacker than ever. "But, Pedrillo," he inquires, after a pause; "what did he say to them? You know the import of his message. Did he communicate it to the survivors?" "He did, your Excellency. They could not read your letter, but he told them what it was about. They were to meet you here, he said. But they refused to come. They were in too great distress about the death of their chief, and the chastisement they had received. They were in fear that the Tejanos would pursue them to their town; and were making preparations to flee from it when Pedrillo and myself came away. _Pobre Pedrillito_!" Uraga no longer stays listening to the mock humanity of his whining messenger. No more does he think of the drowned Pedrillo. His thoughts are now given to a new design. Murder by proxy has failed. For all that, it must still be done. To take counsel with his adjutant about the best mode of proceeding, he hastens back to the camp; plunges into his tent; and there becomes closeted--the lieutenant along with him. CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO. A MOCK COURT-MARTIAL. For the disaster that was overtaken the Tenawa chief and his warriors, Gil Uraga does not care a jot. True, by the death of Horned Lizard he has lost an ally who, on some future scheme of murder, might have been used to advantage; while Barbato, whose life he believes also taken, can no more do him service as agent in his intercourse with the red pirates of the prairie. It matters not much now. As military commander of a district he has attained power, enabling him to dispense with any left-handed assistance; and of late more than once has wished himself rid of such suspicious auxiliaries. Therefore, but for the frustration of his present plans, he would rather rejoice than grieve over the tidings brought by the returned emissary. His suit scorned, his scheme of assassination thwarted, he is as much as ever determined on the death of the two prisoners. In the first moments of his anger, after hearing Jose's tale, he felt half inclined to rush upon Miranda, sword in hand, and settle the matter at once. But, while returning to the camp-ground, calmer reflections arose, restraining him from the dastardly act, and deciding him to carry out the other alternative, already conceived, but kept back as a _dernier ressort_. "Sit down, _camarado_!" he says, addressing the adjutant on entering. "We must hold a court-martial, and that is too serious a ceremonial to be gone through without the customary forms. The members of the court should be seated." The grim smile which accompanies his words shows that he means them in jest only as regards the manner of proceeding. For the earnestness of his intention there is that in his eyes--a fierce, lurid light, which Roblez can read. In rejoinder the adjutant asks,-- "You are still resolved upon the death of the prisoners?" "Still resolved! Carramba! An idle question, after what has occurred! They die within the hour. We shall try, condemn, and then have them shot." "I thought you had arranged it in a different way?" "So I had. But circumstances alter cases. There's many a slip 'twixt cup and lip, and I've just heard of one. The Horned Lizard has failed me." "How so, colonel?" "You see that Indian outside. He's one of my muleteers I'd sent as a messenger to the Tenawa town. He returns to tell me there's no Horned Lizard in existence, and only a remnant of his tribe. Himself, with the best of his braves, has gone to the happy hunting grounds; not voluntarily, but sent thither by a party of Tejanos who fell foul of them on a foray." "That's a strange tale," rejoins Roblez, adding, "And Barbato?" "Dead, too--gone with his red-skinned associates." "Certainly a singular occurrence--quite a coincidence." "A coincidence that leaves me in an awkward predicament, without my expected executioners. Well, we must supply their places by substituting our own cut-throats." "You'll find them willing, colonel. The little interlude of Miranda getting loose, and making to run you through, has been all in your favour. It affords sufficient pretext for court-martialling and condemning both prisoners to be shot I've heard the men say so, and they expect it." "They shall not be disappointed, nor have long to wait. The court has finished its sitting, and given its verdict. Without dissenting voice, the prisoners are condemned to death. So much for the sentence. Now to carry it into execution." "How is the thing to be done?" "Call in the sergeant. With him I shall arrange that. And when you're out, go among the men and say a word to prepare them for the measure. You may tell them we've been trying the prisoners, and the result arrived at." The adjutant steps out of the tent; and while Uraga is swallowing another cup of Catalan to fortify him for his fearful purpose, the sergeant enters. "_Sergente_! there's some business to be done of a delicate nature, and you must take direction of it." The Serjeant salutes, and stands awaiting the explanation. The colonel continues:-- "We intend taking our prisoners no farther--the men, I mean. With the women we have nothing to do--as prisoners. After what you saw, we deem it necessary that Don Valerian Miranda should die; and also the other, who is equally incriminated as a traitor to the State--a rebel, an old conspirator, well known. Lieutenant Roblez and I have held a court, and decreed their death. So order the men to load their carbines, and make ready to carry out the sentence." The sergeant simply nods assent, and, again saluting, is about to retire, when Uraga stays him with a second speech. "Let all take part in the firing except Galvez. Post him as sentry over the square tent. Direct him to stand by its entrance and see that the flap is kept down. Under no circumstances is he to let either of its occupants out. It's not a spectacle for women--above all, one of them. Never mind; we can't help that I'm sorry myself, but duty demands this rigorous measure. Now go. First give Galvez his orders; then to the men and get them ready. Make no more noise than is necessary. Let your lancers be drawn up in line; afoot, of course, and single file." "Where am I to place the prisoners, colonel?" "Ah! true; I did not think of that." Uraga steps to the entrance of the tent, and, looking forth, takes a survey of the camp-ground. His eyes seek the spot occupied by the prisoners. They are both again together, under the same tree where first placed, a sentry keeping guard over them. The tree is a cottonwood, with smooth stem and large limbs extending horizontally. Another is near, so similar as to seem a twin; both being a little out from the thick timber, which forms a dark background behind them. After regarding them a moment, scanning them as a lumberman would a log intended for a saw-mill, Uraga directs. "Raise the prisoners upright, and tie one to each of those two trees. Set their backs to the trunk. They've both been army men, and we won't disgrace the cloth by shooting them from behind. That's grace enough for rebels." The sergeant, saluting, is again about to go, only staying to catch some final words of direction. They are-- "In ten minutes I shall expect you to have everything ready. When you've got the stage set I shall myself appear upon it as an actor--the Star of this pretty play!" And with a hoarse laugh at his horrid jest, the ruffian retires within his tent. CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE. THE HAND OF GOD. The sun is descending towards the crest of the Cordillera, his rays becoming encrimsoned as twilight approaches. They fall like streams of blood between the bluffs enclosing the valley of the Arroyo de Alamo, their tint in unison with a tragedy there about to be enacted--in itself strangely out of correspondence with the soft, tranquil scene. The stage is the encampment of Uraga and his detachment of lancers, now set for the terrible spectacle soon to take place. The two tents are still standing as pitched, several paces apart. At the entrance of the square one, with its flap drawn close and tied, a soldier keeps sentry; that of conical shape being unguarded. Rearward, by the wood edge, are three horses and a mule, all four under saddle, with bridles on; these attached to the branches of a tree. There is no providence in this, but rather neglect. Since the purpose for which they were caparisoned has proved abortive, they remain so only from having been forgotten. The other troop-horses have been stripped, and, scattered over the mead, are browsing at the length of their lariats. It is in the positions and attitudes of the men that a spectator might read preparation; and of a kind from which he could not fail to deduce the sequence of a sanguinary drama. Not one accompanied by much noise, but rather solemn and silent; only a few words firmly spoken, to be followed by a volley; in short, a military execution, or, as it might be more properly designated, a military murder. The victims devoted are seen near the edge of the open ground--its lower edge regarding the direction of the stream. They are in erect attitude, each with his back to the trunk of a tree, to which with raw-hide ropes they are securely lashed. No need telling who they are. The reader knows them to be the prisoners lately lying prostrate near the same place. In their front, and scarce ten paces distant, the lancers are drawn up in line and single file. There are ten of them, the tenth a little retired to the right, showing chevrons on his sleeve. He is the sergeant in immediate command of the firing party. Farther rearward, and close by the conical tent, and two in the uniform of officers, Uraga and his adjutant. The former is himself about to pronounce the word of command, the relentless expression upon his face, blent with a grim smile that overspreads it, leading to believe that the act of diabolical cruelty gives him gratification. Above, upon the cliff's brow, the black vultures also show signs of satisfaction. With necks craned and awry, the better to look below, they see preparations which instinct or experience has taught them to understand. Blood is about to be spilled; there will be flesh to afford them a feast. There is now perfect silence, after a scene which preceded; once more Uraga having made overtures to Miranda, with promise of life under the same scandalous conditions; as before, to receive the response, firmly spoken,-- "No--never!" The patriot soldier prefers death to dishonour. His choice taken, he quails not. Tied to the trunk of the tree, he stands facing his executioners without show of fear. If his cheeks be blanched, and his bosom throbbing with tumultuous emotion, 'tis not at sight of the firing party, or the guns held loaded in their hands. Far other are his fears, none of them for himself, but all for his dear sister--Adela. No need to dwell upon or describe them. They may be imagined. And Don Prospero, brave and defiant too. He stands backed by the tree, his eyes showing calm courage, his long silvered beard touching his breast, not drooping or despairingly, but like one resigned to his fate, and still firm in the faith that has led to it--a second Wickliffe at the stake. The moment has arrived when the stillness becomes profound, like the calm which precedes the first burst of a thunderstorm. The vultures above, the horses and men below, are all alike silent. The birds, gazing intently, have ceased their harsh croaking; the quadrupeds, as if startled by the very silence, forsaking the sweet grass, have tossed their heads aloft, and so hold them. While the men, hitherto speaking in whispers, no more converse, but stand mute and motionless. They are going to deal death to two of their fellow-creatures; and there is not one among them who does not know it is a death undeserved--that he is about to commit murder! For all this, not one has a thought of staying his hand. Along the whole line there is no heart amenable to mercy, no breast throbbing with humanity. All have been in a like position before--drawn up to fire upon prisoners, their countrymen. The patriots of their country, too; for the followers of Gil Uraga are all of them picked adherents of the _parti preter_. "_Sergente_!" asks Uraga, on coming forth from his tent, "is everything ready?" "All ready," is the prompt reply. "Attention!" commands the Colonel, stepping a pace or two forward, and speaking in a low tone, though loud enough to be heard by the lancers. "Make ready!" The carbines are raised to the ready. "Take aim!" The guns are brought to the level, their bronzed barrels glistening under the rays of the setting sun, with muzzles pointed at the prisoners. They who grasp them but wait for the word "Fire!" It is forming itself on Gil Uraga's lips. But before he can speak there comes a volley, filling the valley with sound, and the space around the prisoners with smoke. The reports of more than forty pieces speak almost simultaneously, none of them with the dull detonation of cavalry carbines, but the sharper ring of the rifle! While the last crack is still reverberating from the rocks, Uraga sees his line of lancers prostrate along the sward; their guns, escaped from their grasp, scattered beside them, still undischarged! CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR. "SAUVE QUI PEUT." At sight of his soldiers cut down like ripe corn before the reaper, Uraga stands in stupefied amaze; his adjutant the same. Both are alike under the spell of a superstitious terror. For the blow, so sudden and sweeping, seems given by God's own hand. They might fancy it a _coup d'eclair_. But the jets of fire shooting forth from the forest edge, through a cloud of sulphurous smoke, are not flashes of lightning; nor the rattle that accompanies them the rolling of thunder, but the reports of firearms discharged in rapid succession. While in shouts following the shots there is no accent of Heaven; on the contrary, the cries are human, in the voices of men intoned to a terrible vengeance. Though every one of the firing party has fallen, sergeant as well as rank and file, the two officers are still untouched. So far they have been saved by the interposition of the formed line. But straggling shots succeed, and bullets are whizzing past their ears. These, quickening their instincts, rouse them from their stupefaction; and both, turning from the direction of the danger, looked to the other side for safety. At first wildly and uncertain, for they are still under a weird impression, with senses half bewildered. Neither has a knowledge of the enemy that has made such havoc among their men; only an instinct or intuition that the blow has been struck by those terrible _Tejanos_, for the shots heard were the cracks of rifles, and the shouts, still continued, are not Indian yells nor Mexican vivas, but the rough hurrahs of the Anglo-Saxon. While standing in hesitancy, they hear a voice raised above the rest-- one which both recognise. Well do they remember it, pealing among the waggons on that day of real ruthless carnage. Glancing back over their shoulders, they see him who sends it forth--the giant guide of the caravan. He has just broken from the timber's edge, and in vigorous bounds is advancing towards them. Another is by his side, also recognised. With trembling frame, and heart chilled by fear, Uraga identifies his adversary in the duel at Chihuahua. Neither he nor his subordinate remains a moment longer on the ground. No thought now of carrying off their female captives, no time to think of them. Enough, and they will be fortunate, if they can themselves escape. Better for both to perish there by the sides of their slain comrades. But they know not this, and only yield to the common instinct of cowardice, forcing them to flee. Fortune seems to favour them. For animals fully caparisoned stand behind the conical tent. They are these that were in readiness for a flight of far different kind, since unthought of--altogether forgotten. Good luck their being saddled and bridled now. So think Uraga and Roblez as they rush towards them. So thinks Galvez, who is also making to mount one. The sentry has forsaken his post, leaving the marquee unguarded. When a lover no longer cares for his sweetheart, why should he for a captive. And in the _sauve-qui-peut_ scramble there is rarely a regard for rank, the colonel counting for no more than the corporal. Obedient to this levelling instinct, Galvez, who has arrived first on the ground, selects the best steed of the three--this being the horse of Hamersley. Grasping the bridle, and jerking it from the branch, he springs upon the animal's back and starts to ride off. Almost as soon the two officers get astride, Roblez on his own charger, the mustang mare being left to Uraga. From her mistress he must part thus unceremoniously, covered with ignominious shame! The thought is torture, and for a time stays him. A dire, damnable purpose flashes across his brain, and for an instant holds possession of his heart. It is to dismount, make for the marquee, enter it, and kill Adela Miranda--thrust her through with his sword. Fortunately for her, the coward's heart fails him. He will not have time to do the murder and remount his horse. The Rangers are already in the open ground and rushing towards him, Wilder and Hamersley at their head. In a minute more they will be around him. He hesitates no longer, but, smothering his chagrin and swallowing his unappeased vengeance, puts whip and spur to the mustang mare, going off as fast as she can carry him. CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE. DIVIDED BY DUTY. But for a half-score men lying dead along the earth, their warm blood welling from wounds where bullets have passed through their bodies, the gory drops here and there like dew bedecking the blades of grass, or in fuller stream settling down into the sand--but for this, the too real evidence of death, one who entered the camp of Uraga as the Mexican Colonel is riding out of it might fancy himself spectator of a pantomime during the scene of transformation. In the stage spectacle, not quicker or more contrasting could be the change. The gaily-apparelled lancers, with their plumes, pennons, and tassels, representing the sprites and sylphides of the pantomime, are succeeded by men who look real life. Big bearded men, habited in homespun; some wearing buckskin, others blanket coats; all carrying guns, bowie-knives, and pistols; the first smoking at the muzzles, as freshly fired, the last held in hand, ready to be discharged as soon as somebody worth shooting at shows himself. Entering the open ground ahead of the others, Hamersley and Wilder glance around in search of this somebody, both thinking of the same. They see stretched along the sward ten soldiers dead as herrings on a string, but among them no one wearing the uniform of an officer-- certainly not him they are after. Their first glance is unrewarded, but their second gives all they seek. Behind a tent, and partially screened by the trees, three men are in the act of mounting three horses. One is already in the saddle and moving away, the other two have just set foot in the stirrup. The roan mounted is unknown to the pursuers; but his animal is recognised by them. It is Hamersley's own horse! Of the other two but one is identified, and him only by Hamersley. He sees Gil Uraga. A cry from the Kentuckian expresses disappointment. For on the instant after sighting the Mexican officers the latter have leaped into their saddles and gone off at a full gallop. A rifle shet might yet reach them; but the guns of both Kentuckian and Texan are empty. Their revolvers are loaded to no purpose. The retreating horsemen are beyond pistol range! Sure of this, they do not think of firing. And afoot, as all the Rangers are--having left the horses behind to steal forward--they feel helpless to pursue for the present. While hesitating, a circumstance occurs giving Hamersley a hope. The man who has mounted his horse finds a difficulty in managing him. As a Mexican he sits the saddle to perfection, but cannot make the animal go the way he wants. From behind the horse has heard neighing, which he knows to come from the steeds of his own race, and, knowing this, has resolved to rub noses with them. In vain Galvez kicks against his ribs, beats him about the head, and makes frantic efforts to urge him on. He but rears in the opposite direction, backing so far as to bring his rider within reach of the revolver held in the hands of Hamersley. Its crack rings clear--not needing to be repeated or the cylinder turned. At the first explosion the soldier is seen to spring from the saddle, dropping dead without kick or cry, while the steed, disembarrassed, sheers round and comes trotting towards the place whence the shot proceeded. In a moment more its real master has hold of the bridle-rein, his shout of joy answered by a whimper of recognition. Seeing how matters stand, the Rangers hasten back to get possession of their horses; others make for those of the fallen lancers, that now in affright are rearing and straining at the end of their trail-ropes in a vain endeavour to break loose. For neither can Hamersley wait. It will take time, which his impatience--his burning thirst for vengeance--cannot brook. He is thinking of his slain comrades, whose bones lie unburied on the sands of the Canadian; also of the outrage so near being perpetrated, so opportunely interrupted. But one thought stays him--Adela. Where is she? Is she safe? He turns towards the marquee late guarded by Galvez. A very different individual is now seen at its entrance. Walt Wilder, with bowie-knife bared, its blade cutting the cords that kept the tent closed. In an instant they are severed, the flap flies open, and two female forms rush forth. In another instant one of them is lying along Hamersley's breast, the other in the embrace of Wilder. Kisses and words are exchanged. Only a few of the latter, till Hamersley, withdrawing himself from the arms that softly entwine him, tells of his intention to part. "For what purpose?" is the interrogatory, asked in tremulous accents, and with eyes that speak painful surprise. "To redress my wrongs and yours, Adela," is the response firmly spoken. "_Santissima_!" she exclaims, seeing her lover prepare to spring into the saddle. "Francisco! Stay with me. Do not again seek danger. The wretch is not worthy of your vengeance." "'Tis not vengeance, but justice. 'Tis my duty to chastise this crime-- the greatest on earth. Something whispers me 'tis a destiny, and I shall succeed. Dearest Adela, do not stay me. There is no danger. I shall be back soon, bringing Uraga's sword, perhaps himself, along with me." "Thar's odds again ye, Frank," interposes Wilder. "Two to one. If I foller afoot I mayn't be up in time. An' the boys that's gone arter thar critters, they'll be too late." "Never mind the odds! I'll make it up with the five shots still in my revolver. See, dearest, your brother is coming this way. Go meet and tell him I shall soon return with a prisoner to be exchanged for him. Another kiss! _Adios! hasta luego_!" Tearing himself from arms so reluctant to release him, he bounds upon the back of his horse and spurs off, soon disappearing among the trees. Scarce is he out of sight when another quadruped is seen galloping after--not a horse, but a hybrid. Walt Wilder has espied the saddled mule hitched up behind the tent--that intended for Conchita. It is now ridden by the ex-Ranger, who, prodding it with the point of his bowie, puts it to its best speed. And soon after go other horsemen--the Texans who have recovered their steeds, with some who have caught those of the troopers, rapidly bridled and mounted them bare-back. They who stay behind become spectators of a scene strange and tender. Two male prisoners unexpectedly rescued--snatched, as it were, from the jaws of death--two female captives alike saved from dishonour. A brother embracing his sister, whose noble affection but the moment before prompted her to share with him the first sooner than submit to the last. CHAPTER SEVENTY SIX. THE CHASE. Hamersley has his horse fairly astretch ere the fugitives, though out of sight, are many hundred yards ahead; for the scenes and speeches recorded occupied but a few seconds of time. He is confident of being able to overtake them. He knows his Kentucky charger is more than a match for any Mexican horse, and will soon bring him up with Uraga and the other officer. If they should separate he will follow the former. As he rides on he sees they cannot go far apart. There is a sheer precipice on each side--the bluffs that bound the creek bottom. These will keep the pursued men together, and he will have both to deal with. The ground is such that they cannot possibly escape him except by superior speed. He can see the cliffs on each side to their bases. There is not enough underwood for a horseman to hide in. He hastens on, therefore, supposing them still before him. In ten minutes more he is sure of it--they are in sight! The timber through which the chase has hitherto led abruptly terminates, a long grassy mead of over a mile in length lying beyond; and beyond it the trees again obstruct the vista up the valley. The retreating horsemen have entered upon this open tract, but not got far over it, when Hamersley spurs his horse out of the timber tract, and pursuer and pursued are in sight of other. It is now a tail-on-end chase, all three horses going at the greatest speed to which their riders can press them. It is evident that the large American horse is rapidly gaining upon the Mexican mustangs, and, if no accident occur, will soon be alongside them. Hamersley perceives this, and, casting a glance ahead, calculates the distance to where the timber again commences. To overtake them before they can reach it is the thought uppermost in his mind. Once among the tree-trunks they can go as fast as he, for there the superior fleetness of his horse will not avail. Besides, there may be a thick underwood, giving them a chance of concealment. He must come up with them before they can reach the cover, and to this end he once more urges his animal both with spur and speech. At this moment Roblez looking back, perceives there is but one man in chase of them. A long stretch of open plain in his rear, and no other pursuer upon it. Brigand though he be, the adjutant possesses real courage. And there are two of them, in full health and strength, both armed with sabres, himself carrying a pair of dragoon pistols in his holsters. Those belonging to Uraga are nearer to the hand of Hamersley--having been left upon the saddle which the colonel, in his hasty retreat, had been hindered from occupying. "_Carajo_!" exclaims Roblez, "there's but one of them after us. The others haven't had time to get mounted, and won't be up for a while. It's some rash fool who's got your horse under him. Let's turn upon him, colonel." The coward thus appealed to cannot refuse compliance. In an instant the two wheel round, and, with blades bared, await the approach of the pursuer. In a dozen more strides of his horse Hamersley is on the ground. Uraga now recognises his antagonist in the Chihuahua duel--the man he hates above all others on earth. This, hatred, intense as it is, does not supply him with courage. In the eye of the pursuer coming on, when close up, Uraga reads a terrible expression--that of the avenger! Something whispers him his hour has come, and with shrinking heart and palsied arm he awaits the encounter. As said, the two Mexican officers carry swords, cavalry sabres. Against these the Kentuckian has no weapon for parrying or defence. He is but ill-armed for the unequal strife, having only a Colt's revolver with one chamber empty, and, as a _dernier ressort_, the single-barrelled pistols in the holsters. Quickly perceiving his disadvantage, he checks up before coming too close, and with his revolver takes aim, and fires at the nearest of his antagonists, who is Roblez. The shot tells, tumbling the lancer lieutenant out of his saddle, and making more equal the chances of the strife. But there is no more fighting, nor the show of it, for Uraga, on seeing his comrade fall, and once more catching sight of that avenging glance that glares at him as if from the eyes of Nemesis, wrenches the mustang round, and rides off in wild retreat; his sword, held loosely, likely to drop from his grasp. Soon it does drop, for Hamersley, following in close pursuit, delivers a second shot from the revolver. The bullet hits the extended sword arm; the naked blade whirls out, and falls with a ring upon the meadow turf. Uraga rides on without looking back. He has not even courage to turn his face towards his antagonist. He thinks only of reaching the timber, in a despairing hope he may there find shelter and safety. It is not his destiny to reach it; the pursuer is too close upon his heels. The head of Hamersley's horse is swept by the mustang's tail, its long, white hair spread comet-like behind. Once more the revolver is raised, its muzzle pointed at the retreating coward. The pressing of its trigger would send a bullet into his back. It is not pressed. As if from mercy or mere caprice Hamersley suddenly transfers the pistol to his left hand. Then, forcing his horse to a long leap forward, he lays hold of Uraga with his right. Grasping the Mexican by the sword-belt and jerking him out of the saddle, he dashes him down to the earth. Then reining up, with the revolver once more in his right hand, he cries out-- "Lie still, you ruffian! Don't move an inch! I have four shots to spare, and if you attempt to stir, one of them will quiet you." The admonition is not needed. Uraga, stunned by the shock for a time, makes no movement. He is insensible. Before he comes to himself the Rangers have ridden up, with Walt Wilder at their head. They proceed to make prisoners of the two men, neither of whom has been killed in the encounter. Better for both if they had. For they are now in the hands of men who will surely doom them to a death less easy thar that they had escaped. Their fate is inevitable. CHAPTER SEVENTY SEVEN. THE CAMP TRANSFORMED. Another sun rises over the Llano Estacado, his beams gilding with ruddy glow the brown basaltic cliffs that enclose the valley of the Arroyo de Alamo. On projecting points of these, above the spot chosen by Uraga for his camp, the black vultures are still perched. Though 'tis not their usual roosting-place, they have remained there all night, now and then giving utterance to their hoarse, guttural croaks, when some howling, predatory quadruped--coyote or puma--approaching too near, has startled them from their dozing slumbers. As the first rays of the sun rouse them to activity, their movements tell why they have stayed. No longer at rest, or only at intervals, they flit from rock to rock, and across the valley from cliff to cliff, at times swooping so low that their wings almost touch the topmost twigs of the trees growing upon the banks of the stream. All the while with necks astretch, and eyes glaring in hungry concupiscence. For below they perceive the materials of a repast--a grand, gluttonous feast--no longer in doubtful expectation, but now surely provided for them. Ten men lie prostrate upon the sward; not asleep, as the vultures well know--nor yet reclining to rest themselves. Their attitudes are evidence against this. They lie with bodies bent and limbs stiff, some of them contorted to unnatural postures. Besides, on the grass-blades around are drops and gouts of blood, grown black during the night, looking as if it had rained ink; while little pools of the same are here and there seen, dull crimson and coagulated. From these sanguinary symbols the vultures are well aware that the recumbent forms are neither asleep nor reposing. Every bird knows that every man of them is dead; and, though still clad in the uniform of soldiers, with all the gay insignia of lancers, they are but clay-cold corpses. It is the firing party, still lying as it fell; not a figure disturbed, not a coat stripped off nor pocket rifled; no strap, plume, or pennon displaced since the moment when all dropped dead almost simultaneously at the detonation of the Rangers' rifles. Except the tents, which are still set as before, this cluster of corpses is the only thing seeming unchanged since yesterday's sun went down. For it was after sunset when the pursuers returned, bringing their prisoners along with them. As on yesterday, two captives are seen under the same tree, where late lay Don Valerian and the doctor. But different men, with quite another style of sentry standing over them. The latter, a rough-garbed, big-bearded Texan, full six feet in height, shouldering a gun whose butt, when rested on the ground, places the muzzle within an inch of his chin. No need to say who are the two he is guarding. At his feet Uraga lies, crestfallen, with a craven look upon his face, like a fox in the trap; his splendid habiliments torn, mud-bedaubed, bedraggled. Besides him his adjutant, Roblez--his confederate in many a crime--also showing signs of having received rough treatment, but not without resenting it. His aspect is that of a tiger encaged, chafing at the torture, regardless of what may be the end. On the camp ground are seen some sixty horses with half-a-dozen mules. About fifty of the former are under saddle and bridle, as if soon to be mounted. The others have lariats around their necks, intended to be led. A few men--those of inferior standing--look after the animals; while the larger number is gathered into a group near the centre of the camp ground. Their air, attitudes, earnest speech, and excited gesticulations tell they are taking counsel on some matter of serious import. Walt Wilder is among them, Hamersley being absent. The latter is inside the square tent, in pleasanter companionship. He is seated upon a _catre_, Adela by his side, her hand clasping his. This without any bashfulness or reserve at her brother being present. Which he is, along with the dear old doctor, both now released from their bonds. It is a tableau of true love, wreathed with fraternal affection. With devotion also, of an humbler kind, Conchita is passing out and in, rejoicing in a general way. She pays no attention to a peon who lies tied behind the tent--Jose; and gives only scorn to another seen fast bound beside him--Manuel. Notwithstanding her knowledge that this man is madly in love with her-- for she now also knows how much he has been a traitor--her thoughts, as her eyes, are upon one more true--on her grand, gallant _Tejano_! She is proud to observe the distinguished part he plays among his _compaisanos_. For, in truth, Walt is doing this. Standing a half head taller than any of the Rangers around him, he is alike leader in their deliberations, those the most serious in which men can be engaged. No question of life and death. It has been, but is no longer. The latter has been unanimously decreed, the verdict declared, the sentence pronounced. Their talk now only relates to the manner of execution. The Ranger Captain, who presides, puts the interrogatory thus: "Well, boys, what are we to do with them? Shoot or hang?" "Hang!" is the response from more than a majority of voices. "Shootin' is too clean a death for scoundrels sech as them," is the commentary of a voice recognisable as that of Nat Cully. "They ought to be scalped, skinned, an' quartered," adds a man disposed to severer punishment. "Yes!" affirms another of the like inclining. "A bit of torture wouldn't be more than the rascals deserve." "Come, comrades!" cries the Ranger Captain. "Remember, we are Texans, and not savages like those we're about to punish. Sufficient to send them out of the world without acting inhumanly. You all declare for hanging?" "All!" "Enough! Where shall we string them up?" "Yonner's a pick spot," responds Wilder, pointing out the two trees to which Don Valerian and the doctor had been lately lashed. "They kin each hev a branch separate, so's not to crowd one the t'other in makin' tracks to etarnity." "Jest the place!" endorses Cully. "Kedn't be a better gallis if the sheriff o' Pike County, Massoury, had rigged it up hisself. We'll gie 'em a tree apiece, as they war about to do wi' thar innocent prisoners. Takin' their places'll be turn an' turn about. That's fair, I reckin." "Boys!" cries Walt, "look out a cupple o' layvettes, an' fetch 'em this way." Several start towards the horse-drove, and soon return with the trail-ropes. Then all proceed towards the two trees. Each chances to have a large limb extending horizontally outward from the trunk. Over each a tazo is flung, one end left loose, the other remaining in the hand of him who pitched it. Before flinging them the rope has been passed through the iron ring with which all lariats are provided, thus furnishing a ready-made running noose. "Who's to haul up?" asks the Ranger Captain; adding, "Boys! 'Taint a nice business, I know; but I suppose there's some of you willing to undertake it." Some of them! Forty voices, nearly all present, are heard crying out with one accord-- "I'm willing!" In fact, every man upon the ground seems eager to take part in a duty which, under other circumstances, would be not only disagreeable, but disgusting to them. Rough, rude men as most of the Rangers are, little prone to delicate sentimentalism, they are, nevertheless, true to the ordinary instincts of humanity. Accustomed to seeing blood spilled, and not squeamish about spilling it if it be that of a red-skinned foe, it is different when the complexion is white. In the present case they have no scruples on the score of colour. What has been told them about their two prisoners--the atrocities these have committed--puts all this aside. The tale has made a profound impression upon their minds; and, beyond any motive of mere revenge, they are stirred by a sense of just retribution. Every man of them feels as if it were his sacred duty to deal out justice, and administer the punishment of death to criminals so surely deserving it. CHAPTER SEVENTY EIGHT. A LIVING SCAFFOLD. Captain Haynes, seeing there will be no difficulty in obtaining executioners, deems everything settled, and is about ordering the prisoners to be brought up. Being a man of humane feelings, with susceptibilities that make him somewhat averse to performing the part of sheriff, it occurs to him that he can avoid the disagreeable duty by appointing a deputy. For this he selects Walt Wilder, who in turn chooses Nat Cully to assist him. The two assume superintendence of the ceremony, and the Ranger Captain retires from the ground. After communing for some seconds between themselves, and in _sotto voce_, as if arranging the mode of execution, Walt faces round to the assembled Texans, saying-- "Wal, boys, thar 'pears to be no stint o' hangmen among ye. This chile niver seed so many o' the Jack Ketch kind since he fust set foot on the soil o' Texas. Maybe it's the smell o' these Mexikins makes ye so savagerous." Walt's quaint speech elicits a general laugh, but suppressed. The scene is too solemn for an ebullition of boisterous mirth. The ex-Ranger continues-- "I see you'll want to have a pull at these ropes. But I reckon we'll have to disapp'int ye. The things we're agoin' to swing up don't desarve hoistin' to etarnity by free-born citizens o' the Lone Star State. 'Twould be a burnin' shame for any Texan to do the hangin' o' sech skunks as they." "What do you mean, Walt?" one asks. "Somebody must hoist them up!" "'Taint at all necessary. They kin be strung 'ithout e'er a hand techin' trail-rope." "How?" inquire several voices. "Wal, thar's a way Nat Cully an' me hev been speaking o'. I've heern o' them Mexikins practisin' themselves on thar Injun prisoners for sport. We'll gie' 'em a dose o' their own medicine. Some o' you fellows go an' fetch a kupple o' pack mules. Ye may take the saddles off--they won't be needed." Half-a-dozen of the Rangers rush out, and return leading two mules, having hastily stripped off their alparejas. "Now!" cries Walt, "conduct hyar the kriminals!" A party proceeds to the spot where the two prisoners lie; and taking hold, raise them to an erect attitude. Then, half carrying, half dragging, bring them under the branches designed for their gallows-tree. With their splendid uniforms torn, mud-bedaubed, and stained with spots of blood, they present a sorry spectacle. They resemble wounded wolves, taken in a trap; nevertheless, bearing their misfortune in a far different manner. Roblez looks the large, grey wolf--savage, reckless, unyielding; Uraga, the coyote--cowed, crestfallen, shivering; in fear of what may follow. For a time neither speaks a word nor makes an appeal for mercy. They seem to know it would be idle. Regarding the faces around, they may well think so. There is not one but has "death" plainly stamped upon it, as if the word itself were upon every lip. There is an interval of profound silence, only broken by the croak of the buzzards and the swish of their spread wings. The bodies of the dead lancers lie neglected; and, the Rangers now further off, the birds go nearer them. Wolves, too, begin to show themselves by the edge of the underwood--from the stillness thinking the time arrived to commence their ravenous repast. It has but come to increase the quantity of food soon to be spread before them. "Take off thar leg fastenin's!" commands Wilder, pointing to the prisoners. In a trice the lashings are loosed from their ankles, and only the ropes remain confining their wrists--these drawn behind their backs, and there made fast. "Mount 'em on the mules!" As the other order, this is instantly executed; and the two prisoners are set astride on the hybrids, each held by a man at its head. "Now fix the snares roun' thar thrapples. Make the other eends fast by giein' them a wheen o' turn over them branches above. See as ye draw 'em tight 'ithout streetchin'." Walt's orders are carried out quickly, and to the letter, for the men executing them now comprehend what is meant. They also, too well, who are seated upon the backs of the mules. It is an old trick of their own. They know they are upon a scaffold--a living scaffold--with a halter and running noose around their necks. "Now, Nat!" says Walt, in undertone to Cully. "I guess we may spring the trap? Git your knife riddy." "It's hyar." "You take the critter to the left. I'll look arter that on the right." The latter is bestridden by Uraga. With Walt's ideas of duty are mingled memories that prompt to revenge. He remembers his comrades slaughtered upon the sands of the Canadian, himself left buried alive. With a feeling almost jubilant--natural, considering the circumstances, scarce reprehensible--he takes his stand by the side of the mule which carries Colonel Uraga. At the same time Cully places himself beside that bestridden by Roblez. Both have their bowie-knives in hand, the blades bare. One regarding them, a stranger to their intent, might think they meant slaughtering either the mules or the men on their backs. They have no such thought, but a design altogether different, as declared by Wilder's words--the last spoken by him before the act of execution. "When I gie the signal, Nat, prod yur critter sharp, an' sweep the support from unner them. They've been thegither in this world in the doin' o' many a rascally deed. Let's send 'em thegither inter the next." "All right, ole hoss! I'll be riddy," is the laconic rejoinder of Cully. After it another interval of silence, resembling that which usually precedes the falling of the gallows drop. So profound, that the chirp of a tree cricket, even the rustling of a leaf, would seem a loud noise. So ominous, that the vultures perched upon the summit of the cliff crane out their necks to inquire the cause. The stillness is interrupted by a shout; not the signal promised by Wilder, but a cry coming from the lips of Uraga. In the last hour of anguish his craven heart has given way, and he makes a piteous appeal for mercy. Not to those near him, knowing it would scarce be listened to; but to the man he has much wronged, calling out his name, "Colonel Miranda." On hearing it Don Valerian rushes forth from the tent, his sister by his side, Hamersley with the doctor behind. All stand in front regarding the strange spectacle, of which they have been unconscious, seemingly prepared for them. There can be no mistaking its import. The _mise en scene_ explains it, showing the stage set for an execution. If they have a thought of interfering it is too late. While they stand in suspense, a shout reaches them, followed by explanatory words. They are in the voice of Walt Wilder, who has said-- "Death to the scoundrels! Now, Nat, move your mule forrard!" At the same instant he and Cully are seen leaning towards the two mules, which bound simultaneously forward, as if stung by hornets or bitten by gadflys. But neither brings its rider along. The latter--both of them--stay behind; not naturally, as dismounted and thrown to the earth; but, like the cradle of Mahomet, suspended between earth and heaven. CHAPTER SEVENTY NINE. AFTER THE EXECUTION. It is mid-day over the Arroyo de Alamo. The same sun whose early morning rays fell around the deliberating lynchers, at a later hour lighting up a spectacle of execution, has mounted to the meridian, and now glares down upon a spectacle still sanguinary, though with tableaux changed. The camp is deserted. There are no tents, no Texans, no horses, nor yet any mules. All have disappeared from the place. True, Uraga and his lancers are still there--in body, not in spirit. Their souls have gone, no one may know whither. Only their clay-cold forms remain, us left by the Rangers--the common soldiers lying upon the grass, the two officers swinging side by side, from the trees, with broken necks, drooping heads, and limbs dangling down--all alike corpses. Not for long do they stay unchanged--untouched. Scarce has the last hoof-stroke of the Texan horses died away down the valley, when the buzzards forsake their perch upon the bluff, and swoop down to the creek bottom. Simultaneously the wolves--grand grey and coyote--come sneaking out from the thicket's edge; at first cautiously, soon with bolder front, approaching the abandoned bodies. To the bark of the coyote, the bay of the bigger wolf, and the buzzard's hoarse croak, a _caracara_ adds its shrill note; the fiend-like chorus further strengthened by the scream of the white-headed eagle--for all the world like the filing of a frame saw, and not unlike the wild, unmeaning laughter of a madman. Both the predatory birds and the ravening beasts, with instincts in accord, gather around the quarry killed for them. There is a grand feast--a banquet for all; and they have no need to quarrel over it. But they do--the birds having to stand back till the beasts have eaten their fill. The puma, or panther, takes precedence--the so-called lion of America. A sorry brute to bear the name belonging to the king of quadrupeds. Still, on the Llano Estacado, lord of all, save when confronted by the grizzly bear--then he becomes a cat. As no grizzly has yet come upon the ground, and only two panthers, the wolves have it almost their own way, and only the vultures and eagles have to hold back. But for the birds there is a side dish on which they may whet their appetites, beyond reach of the beasts. To their share fall the two suspended from the trees; and, driven off from the others, they attack these with beak and talon, flapping around, settling upon the branches above, on the shoulders of the corpses, thick as honey-bees upon a branch, pecking out eyes, tearing at flesh, mutilating man--God's image--in every conceivable mode. No; there is one left, peculiar to man himself. Strange, at this crisis, he should appear to give exhibition of it. By pure chance--a sheer contingency--though not less deserving record. The beasts and birds while engaged in devouring the dead bodies are interrupted and scared away from their filthy repast, retreating suddenly from the ground at sight of their masters--men, who unexpectedly appear upon it. These are not the Rangers returning, but a band of Jicarilla Apaches-- young braves out on a roving excursion. They have come down the creek, making for the Pecos, and so chanced to stray into the deserted camp. Surprised at the spectacle there presented to their eyes, they are not the less delighted. More than a dozen dead men, with scalps untaken! They can see there has been a fight, but do not stay to think who have been the victors. Their thoughts are turned towards the vanquished, their eyes resting on heads that still carry their covering of hair. In a trice their blades are bare, and it is cut off--the skin along with it--to the skull of the last lancer! Neither does Uraga nor his lieutenant escape the scalping-knife. Before the savages part from the spot, the crowns of both show crimson, while the scalps stripped off appear as trophies on the points of two Apache spears. Not long do the Indians dally on the ghastly ground. Soon forsaking it, they continue on down the creek. Not in pursuit of the party which has so opportunely furnished them with spear-pennons and fringes for their leggings. The testimony of so many dead men, with the tracks of so many horses--horses with large hoofs, evidently not ridden by Mexicans, whom they contemn, but Texans they terribly fear; these evidences make the Apaches cautious, and, keeping on towards the Pecos, they go not as pursuers, but men trying to shun the party that has passed before. In this they are successful. They never sight the returning Texans, nor these them. The Rangers go down the river; the savages up stream. Of all Apaches, of all Indians, the Jicarillas are the most contemptible cowards. Dastards to the last degree, the young "braves" who mutilated the slain lancers will return to their tribe to tell of scalps fairly taken in fight! And while they are boasting, the wolves, eagles, and vultures will be back among the dead bodies, strip them of their flesh, and leave nought but their bones to bleach white; in time to become dust, and mingle with the earth on which they once moved in all the pride of manhood and panoply of war! CHAPTER EIGHTY. TRANQUIL SCENES. The last act of our drama is recorded, the last sanguinary scene. All red enough, the reader will say, while the keenly susceptible one may deem them too red. Alas! the writer is not answerable for this. He but depicts life as it exists on the borderland between Mexico and Texas. Those who doubt its reality, and would deem him drawing upon imagination, should read the Texan newspapers of that time, or those of this very day. In either he will find recorded occurrences as strange, incidents as improbable, episodes as romantic, and tragedies of hue sanguinary as any recorded in this mere romance. Not always with such a satisfactory termination. Fortunately for our tale and its readers, Nemesis, in dealing out death and meting vengeance, has necessarily allied herself with Justice. The fallen deserved their fate--all, save the teamsters of the caravan, and those Texans who on Pecan Creek succumbed to the Comanche spears. These victims, like stage supernumeraries, living nameless and dying unknown, though their fate may stir our sympathy it does not appeal to the painful depths of sorrow. More easily can it be borne, reflecting on the brighter fate of the survivors. It can give no painful sensation to tell that Colonel Miranda and his sister accompanied Frank Hamersley on his return to the States, Don Prospero and the New Mexican damsel, Conchita, being of the party, which had for escort across the plains Captain Haynes and his company of Texan Rangers, their old comrade, Walt Wilder, travelling along, and, with Nat Cully, narrating around their nightly camp fires many a strange "scrape" of the mountains and prairies. Two subsequent scenes alone seem worthy of record, both fairly deserving it. The first occurs in a little country church in the celebrated "Blue Grass district" of Kentucky. Within its walls have assembled some scores of the very bluest blood of this blue grass country--stalwart, handsome men, alongside a like number of lovely women. They are assisting at a marriage ceremony, not an uncommon occurrence in a church. But in the Kentuckian place of worship--a little rural edifice, far away from any town--it is something unusual to see three couples standing before the altar. In the present case there is this number, none of the pairs strangers to the other two, but all three, by mutual agreement and understanding, to take Hymen's oath at the same time. Foremost and first to put the ring on his bride's finger is Frank Hamersley. She who holds out her hand to receive it is Adela Miranda. Of the couple coming next, the bridegroom is known to the reader. A handsome man, of dark complexion and pure Spanish features, remarked by the spectators as having resemblance to those of Hamersley's new-made bride. Not strange, he being her brother. But who is the lady, the tall, fair girl consenting to make Don Valerian happy, so like Hamersley himself. No one asks this question, all present knowing she is his sister. A fair exchange between the brothers of the bride; each equally quick to fall in love with the sister of the other. On the sterile Llano Estacado it took scarce a minute for the dark Mexican maiden to subdue the heart of Hamersley. Almost as soon, in the fertile State of Kentucky, has his bright-skinned, blonde-haired sister made conquest of the Mexican Colonel. The third pair that presents itself to be made man and wife--who are they? The bridegroom stands six feet two in his boots; the bride, in her satin slippers, far under five. Without thinking of the disproportion in their stature, the reader will recognise Walt Wilder and Conchita. As the ex-Ranger puts the ring on the finger of his blushing bride, he accompanies the act with certain ludicrous protestations of fidelity not to be found in the printed ritual of the Church. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Another scene ends our tale; a simple episode of every-day life; but life in a strange land, remote from the ordinary centres of civilisation. It occurs in New Mexico, in itself a sort of oasis in the great middle desert of North America. Locally, the scene takes place near Albuquerque, on the azotea of a handsome house, which commands a view of the town. It is the mansion once belonging to Don Valerian Miranda. That its former master has retained possession of it is evident from the fact of his being again on its roof, tranquilly smoking a cigaretto; while near by him is his sister. Though one dearer stands between--his wife. Adela is not distressed by her brother's preference for the new mistress of the mansion. She has a mansion of her own, independent. Though far off, its master, Frank Hamersley, is near. Near, also, in the court-yard below is Walt Wilder, in his grotesque way playing Benedict to Conchita. While up and down moves the doctor, sharing the general joy. Outside, upon the plain, the white tilts of twenty waggons, with the smoke of camp-fires rising over them, tell of a trader's caravan. It is Hamersley's--late arrived--_en route_ for the Rio Abajo and El Paso del Norte. Its teamsters take their siesta, reposing in full confidence. No fear of Indian attacks now, nor impost exactions from the tyrant Governor of New Mexico, Don Manuel Armijo! A war has swept the land; a new flag floats over it. Seen streaming above the towers of Albuquerque, it promises security to all. For it is the banner of the "Stars and Stripes!" 
21268	----	[Illustration: Instead of releasing his hold on Neal the reptile held firm, etc. See Page 193.] THE SEARCH FOR THE SILVER CITY. A TALE OF ADVENTURE IN YUCATAN. By JAMES OTIS. Author of "The Castaways," "A Runaway Brig," "The Treasure Finders," etc., etc. ILLUSTRATED. NEW YORK: A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER. Copyright, 1893, by A. L. BURT. INTRODUCTION. In Mr. E. G. Squier's preface to the translation of the Chevalier Arthur Morelet's "Travels in Central America" the following paragraph can be found: "Whoever glances at the map of Central America will observe a vast region, lying between Chiapas, Tabasco, Yucatan, and the republic of Guatemala, and comprising a considerable part of each of those states, which, if not entirely a blank, is only conjecturally filled up with mountains, lakes and rivers. It is almost as unknown as the interior of Africa itself. We only know that it is traversed by nameless ranges of mountains, among which the great river Usumasinta gathers its waters from a thousand tributaries, before pouring them, in a mighty flood, into the Lagoon of Terminos, and the Gulf of Mexico. We know that it has vast plains alternating with forests and savannas; deep valleys where tropical nature takes her most luxuriant forms, and high plateaus dark with pines, or covered with the delicate tracery of arborescent ferns. We know that it conceals broad and beautiful lakes, peopled with fishes of new varieties, and studded with islands which supports the crumbling yet still imposing remains of aboriginal architecture and superstition. And we know, also, that the remnants of the ancient Itzæs, Lacandones, Choles, and Manches, those indomitable Indian families who successfully resisted the force of the Spanish arms, still find a shelter in its fastnesses, where they maintain their independence, and preserve and practice the rites and habits of their ancestors as they existed before the discovery. Within its depths, far off on some unknown tributary of the Usumasinta, the popular tradition of Guatemala and Chiapas places that great aboriginal city, with its white walls shining like silver in the sun, which the _curé_ of Quiche affirmed to Mr. Stephens he had seen, with his own eyes, from the tops of the mountains of Quesaltenango." In Stephens' "Yucatan," Vol II, page 195, are the following lines: "He (meaning the padre of Quiche, with whom Mr. Stephens was conversing), was then young, and with much labor climbed to the naked summit of the Sierra, from which, at a height of ten or twelve thousand feet, he looked over an immense plain--and saw at a great distance a large city spread over a great space, and with turrets white and glittering in the sun. The traditionary account of the Indians of Chajul is, that no white man has ever reached this city, that the inhabitants speak the Maya language, are aware that a race of strangers has conquered the whole country around, and murder any white man who attempts to enter their territory. They have no coin or other circulating medium; no horses, cattle, mules, or other domestic animals except fowls, and the cocks they keep under ground to prevent their crowing being heard. One look at that city would be worth ten years of an every-day life. If he (the padre) is right, a place is left where Indians and an Indian city exist as Cortez and Alvarado found them; there are living men who can solve the mystery that hangs over the ruined cities of America; who perhaps can go to Copan and read the inscriptions on its monuments. No subject more exciting and attractive presents itself to my mind, and the deep impression will never be effaced." CONTENTS. PAGE. CHAPTER I. The Sea Dream. 1 CHAPTER II. Under Weigh. 8 CHAPTER III. Nassau. 19 CHAPTER IV. A New Danger. 29 CHAPTER V. Fighting the Flames. 39 CHAPTER VI. The Last Resort. 49 CHAPTER VII. On Shore. 60 CHAPTER VIII. Suspense. 71 CHAPTER IX. Across the Country. 81 CHAPTER X. A Strange Story. 91 CHAPTER XI. The Journey. 101 CHAPTER XII. The Silver City. 111 CHAPTER XIII. In the City. 122 CHAPTER XIV. The Festival. 132 CHAPTER XV. A Retreat. 142 CHAPTER XVI. Discovered. 152 CHAPTER XVII. A Halt. 162 CHAPTER XVIII. Cave Life. 172 CHAPTER XIX. A Change of Base. 182 CHAPTER XX. A Desperate Struggle. 192 CHAPTER XXI. A Long Halt. 202 CHAPTER XXII. Jake's Venture. 212 CHAPTER XXIII. A Hurried Departure. 222 CHAPTER XXIV. Jake. 231 CHAPTER XXV. On the Range. 241 CHAPTER XXVI. The Pursuit. 251 CHAPTER XXVII. At Bay. 260 CHAPTER XXVIII. The Catastrophe. 270 CHAPTER XXIX. A Fierce Conflict. 280 CHAPTER XXX. A Welcome Change. 290 CHAPTER XXXI. The Sea. 299 CHAPTER XXXII. A Happy Surprise. 308 CHAPTER XXXIII. Homeward Bound. 318 THE SEARCH FOR THE SILVER CITY. CHAPTER I. THE SEA DREAM. Three years ago last August, it is unnecessary to specify the exact date, Teddy Wright was not only a very lonely fellow, but considered himself abused by circumstances. During the previous season he had studied very hard at the military school on the Hudson which he often referred to slightingly as "the barracks," and as a reward for the flattering reports sent home by his teachers, had been promised a long vacation in the Adirondacks with a schoolmate who lived in the northern portion of New York state. Teddy's parents and sisters intended spending the summer at some one of the fashionable watering places; but with three long months of "roughing it" where game could be found in abundance, he had no desire to accompany them. "Life in the woods knocks staying at a big hotel on the sea-shore, where a fellow is obliged to be dressed up all the time," he said when one of his sisters expressed surprise at his choice. "We shall regularly camp out, and father has given me a doubled-barreled breech-loader, to say nothing of his own rod and collection of flies. Jack and I will have the jolliest kind of a time while you're moonin' on the hot sands trying to think it is fun." Teddy went to Jack's home, and, to his sorrow and dismay, found that young gentleman so ill that there was no hope of his being allowed to take the long-contemplated trip. He remained there, however, until perfectly certain of this unpleasant fact, and then returned home to the house which had been left in charge of one servant, and, as he expressed it, "just to spite himself," refused to join the remainder of the family. Of course this was a most foolish proceeding; but Teddy was in that frame of mind where a boy of seventeen is prone to foolish deeds, and there he stayed in a frame of mind very nearly approaching the sulks, until he received a letter from Neal Emery, another schoolmate, whose father lived in Bridgeport. Mr. Emery owned a large factory in that city, and Neal had intended to spend his vacation at home where he could enjoy the use of a small sloop-rigged yacht his mother had presented him with the year previous. The letter contained a very pressing invitation for Teddy to visit Bridgeport, since his trip to the Adirondacks had been postponed, and concluded with the startling announcement: "Father has just bought the Sea Dream, a beautiful steam yacht of an hundred feet in length, and I don't know how many tons. He proposes to cruise around three or four weeks while mother is at Bar Harbor, and is perfectly willing I should invite you to join us. We will have a jolly time, and if nothing prevents I want you to come at once. We are to start Wednesday morning." The letter had been received Monday afternoon, therefore Teddy had but little time for preparation. He first sent a long telegram to his father, repeating the substance of what Neal had written, and asked permission to enroll himself on the Sea Dream's passenger list. Not until late in the evening did he receive a favorable reply; but his traps, including the gun and fishing tackle, were packed, and on the first train Tuesday morning he started, all traces of ill-humor having vanished, for a cruise on a steam yacht promised quite as great pleasure as had the stay in the woods, with not so much certainty of hard work. Neal met him at the depot, and after going to the former's home only long enough to leave the baggage, the two set out to view the yacht which, in all the bravery of glistening paint and polished metal, lay at anchor in the harbor. Although not an expert in matters pertaining to marine architecture, Teddy could appreciate the beauty of the little craft while she swung lazily to and fro at her cable as if husbanding strength against the time when speed and endurance would be required. Neal signaled from the pier, two of the crew came ashore in the captain's boat, and the boys went on board where, during the remainder of the day, they were busy examining and admiring the jaunty little craft. Leading from the main saloon were two state-rooms on either side, and in one of these Neal had already stored such of his belongings as he intended to take on the cruise. "This is our room, and now that we are here I wonder why we were so foolish as to carry your baggage up to the house. If it was with us we would remain on board, for it is very much more pleasant than in the hot town." "There is nothing to prevent our bringing it down," Teddy replied with a laugh. "I had certainly rather stay here to-night." "Come on, and then we shall feel more at home when the cruise begins." The boys were rowed ashore, and the sailors instructed to remain at the pier until their return. Then a short visit was made to Mr. Emery's office, where Neal explained what they proposed to do, and having received permission to occupy the quarters slightly in advance of sailing time, Teddy's baggage was soon in the small apartment which to both the boys looked so enchanting. "I wish we were to be gone three years," Teddy said as he threw himself on a locker and gazed around. If he could have known just at that moment how long the cruise would really last it is very certain he would not have expressed such a desire. "Next year father says he will start early in the season, take mother with us, and not come back until it is time for me to go to school." "And you must get an invitation for me," Teddy replied, his eyes glistening with pleasure at simply contemplating such an excursion. "There won't be any difficulty about it. He has already promised that if nothing happens he will speak to your father." "And in the meanwhile we've got before us the jolly fact that we're to stay on board a month." "Yes; but there's no good reason why we should remain below where it is so warm. Come on deck for awhile, and then we'll have a look at the engine-room." The engineer, Jake Foster, was under the awning aft, and Neal introduced his friend, saying as he did so: "Teddy has never been yachting before, not even in a sailing craft." Jake, a stout, jolly looking fellow hardly more than twenty-five years of age, gazed at the visitor curiously a moment, and then said with a hearty laugh: "He'll have a chance to find out what an acquaintance with the ocean means, for I understand that Mr. Emery is going to run well over to the Bahamas before he comes back." "Father has business there which it would be necessary to attend to not later than next fall, so intends to make it a portion of the pleasure trip." "Are we likely to have much rough weather?" Teddy asked, realizing for the first time that it was more than possible he might be called upon to pay Neptune a tribute. "Not at this time of the year; but its more'n probable the Sea Dream will kick up her heels enough to show something of what is meant by a life on the ocean wave before she pokes her nose into this port again." Then the engineer was summoned from below, and the boys remained aft recalling to mind all they had studied relative to the Bahama banks. The stores were on board; everything was in readiness for the start as soon as the owner should arrive, and when the steward summoned them to supper it seemed as if the voyage had really begun. CHAPTER II. UNDER WEIGH. It was a long while before the boys could close their eyes in slumber on this first night aboard the Sea Dream, owing to the novelty of the surroundings. It seemed as if Teddy would never cease admiring the snug quarters with the guns and fishing rods hung where they could be seen to the best advantage, and Neal had very much to say regarding the plans he proposed to carry into execution during the cruise. Despite such enchanting topics of conversation they were not able to remain awake all night, and when finally the journey into dreamland was made, neither returned to a full realization of the situation until quite late in the morning. Teddy was the first to open his eyes, and in a very few seconds the throbbing of the screw, as well as the invigorating draught of cool air which came through the open port-hole, told him that the voyage had really begun. "Neal, Neal," he cried, shaking his friend vigorously. "Wake up; I think we are at sea." Neal was on his feet in an instant, and after one glance through the tiny window he replied with a laugh: "There's no question about our being under way; but we sha'n't see the sea to-day." "Why, we are on it now." "If you have forgotten your geography as soon as this you'll be obliged to do some mighty hard studying when we get back to school. The Sea Dream must go through the sound before we reach the ocean, and most likely we shall make harbor at Martha's Vineyard to-night." "Of course I knew about the sound; I had forgotten, that's all," and Teddy looked just a trifle ashamed at having displayed so much ignorance. Never had the boys made their toilets more quickly. Both were eager to be on deck in order to extract the greatest possible amount of pleasure out of this first day of the cruise, and when they finally emerged from the companion-way an exclamation of surprise and delight burst from Teddy's lips. The yacht was steaming at nearly full speed over waters as placid as a pond, and here and there were craft of all kinds darting back and forth like active fish. "I tell you there's nothing in the way of sport to beat sailing," Teddy said enthusiastically. "There are times when it isn't quite as nice as this. When it storms, and the yacht dances around so that it is impossible to come on deck you will think camping in the Adirondacks is much better." "I thought vessels always went into a harbor at such times." "If you are at sea it is necessary to take whatever comes in the way of weather, but there is no reason why we should speak of such things now. Let's have a look at Jake and his engine before breakfast." During this first day of the cruise the boys were very busy. Considerable time was spent eating three decidedly hearty meals, and what with inspecting every portion of the steamer and watching the passing vessels, they managed without much trouble to find something in the way of amusement until the Sea Dream arrived off Cottage City, where Mr. Emery proposed to stop a day or two. The wind had come up quite strong toward night, and when the little craft swung to her anchors some distance from the shore Teddy was feeling decidedly disagreeable. There was not sea enough to trouble the greenest fresh-water sailor that ever "caught a crab;" but to poor Teddy, who had never been on the water save when crossing from New York to Brooklyn or Jersey City, it seemed as if the Sea Dream was very like a hideous nightmare. She danced lightly on the long swell as if courtesying to the craft in her immediate vicinity, and each graceful movement caused Neal's guest to fancy his stomach was turning somersaults. "You are not going below now?" the former said as Teddy staggered toward the companion-way. "I am if it is possible to get there," was the impatient reply. "But we shall have a chance to see the town. Father is going ashore presently." "In one of those little boats?" and Teddy pointed to the davits where four polished tenders hung glistening in the sun like some articles of adornment. "Of course. How else could he get there?" "That doesn't make any difference to me. This boat is bouncing around enough for a fellow to wish he'd never heard of such a thing as a yacht, and in one of those egg-shells I'm certain it must be terrible." "But it isn't. Try not to think of being sick, and come on shore with me." "How can I help not thinking about it when I feel as if I was dying?" Then, as if unable to prolong the conversation, Teddy ran below, while his friend followed more leisurely. Neal could offer no inducements sufficiently strong to tempt his companion out of the berth, and there he remained until next morning when, in half a gale of wind, Mr. Emery decided to take a party of friends to Nantucket. Only this was needed to give Teddy a severe attack of seasickness during which, when he spoke at all, it was to repeat over and over again his intention of going home as soon as the Sea Dream arrived at Cottage City. Probably he would have carried this threat into execution if the excursion had not been prolonged; but it was four days before the yacht returned to Martha's Vineyard, and by that time he had, as Jake expressed it, "found his sea legs." Now no matter how much the little craft tumbled around he remained undisturbed, and the sight of food was no longer disagreeable, but very pleasing to him. Therefore it was that when the Sea Dream left Cottage City for the Bahamas, the delightful portion of the cruise, so far as Teddy was concerned, had but just begun. Inasmuch as there was no especial reason why they should arrive at any certain time, and the owner wished to remain at sea as long as possible while making the voyage, the yacht was run at half speed, thus not only saving considerable coal; but unnecessary wear and tear of the machinery. That it could be very warm on the water had never entered the minds of the boys; but as they journeyed southward the heat became intense. During two days it was almost a perfect calm, the only air stirring being that caused by the motion of the steamer, and the cabin seemed like an oven. There the thermometer stood at 84 degrees, while in the galley it was twenty degrees higher, and in the engine-room it frequently rose to 130 degrees. Neal and Teddy could do little more than lie under the awning aft, working hard but unsuccessfully to keep cool by the aid of fans and such iced drinks as the steward prepared. The novelty of yachting had passed away in a measure, and they were already counting the days which must elapse before the Sea Dream would be in a less torrid climate. Jake had assured them that when the yacht came to an anchor and the fires were drawn it would be much cooler on board, therefore both the boys were delighted when Bridge Point at the entrance to the N. E. Providence Channel was sighted. There was a light breeze blowing off the banks, and the yacht was running slowly as she passed within a quarter of a mile of the low lying land, when suddenly a most disagreeable odor from the shore caused Neal to say impatiently: "If such perfumes as that are common to the Bahamas I had rather endure the heat than stay a very long while, no matter how cool it may be when we cease steaming." "What is it?" and Teddy covered his nose with his handkerchief. "I don't know; but I wish Jake would put her ahead faster, for it is absolutely sickening." His desire for more speed was not gratified. To the surprise of both the boys the engine-room gong sounded for the machinery to be stopped, and as the headway was checked Mr. Walters, the sailing master, came from the wheel-house to where Mr. Emery was sitting. The boys could not hear the short conversation which followed; but their surprise increased as the order was given to lower away one of the port boats. "What are we stopping here for?" Neal inquired of his father. "Doesn't the odor give you any idea?" Mr. Emery asked with a smile. "None except that the sooner we get away the more comfortable I shall feel." "When I tell you that we are likely to find as the cause of your discomfort something nearly as precious as gold, it may be a trifle more bearable." Both Neal and Teddy looked perplexed, and the latter said laughingly: "It is strong enough to be worth a good deal; but do you really mean what you say, sir?" "Every word. Mr. Walters thinks he can find ambergris which has been washed up on the rocks, and that is quoted at ten dollars per ounce. Now you boys have been at school long enough to know exactly why it is so valuable." "I have heard of it as being the base of the finest perfumes," Neal said slowly; "but that must surely be a mistake if it smells anything like this," and he did violence to his stomach by inhaling a long breath of the disagreeably laden air. "It is true, nevertheless. Ambergris is believed to be the product of a sort of ulcer or cancer which has formed in the bowels of a whale. After a certain length of time, or because a cure has been wrought by change of feeding place, the mass is dislodged. It floats, and is often found far out to sea; but more particularly among the cays in the Turks islands. It is the foundation of nearly every perfume, and in ancient times was used for spicing wine." During this conversation the boat had been lowered, and, with Mr. Walters as steersman, was being pulled toward the land. Now Neal and Teddy were sorry they had not accompanied the sailing master; but it was too late for regrets, and the odor did not seem to be nearly as disagreeable since they knew from what it proceeded. "Never mind how much the stuff is worth," Teddy said, as he and Neal leaned over the rail in company with Jake, who had come on deck to ascertain why the yacht had been brought to a standstill, "it isn't a nice thing to smell of, and I shall remember this afternoon whenever I see perfume." "It isn't always the most agreeable things which are of the most service," Jake replied with an air of wisdom; and then as a loud shout was heard from the shore, the boat having reached the land some time since, he added, "It's ambergris for a fact, or they wouldn't be makin' such a fuss." Five minutes later the little craft was seen approaching the yacht, and each instant the odor became stronger until both the boys were forced to cover their organs of smell. In the bow of the boat was a black mass looking not unlike coke, and weighing, as was afterward ascertained, forty ounces. "I thought I couldn't be mistaken, although I never run across anything of the kind but once before," Mr. Walters said triumphantly, as he handed the precious substance up to one of the sailors, who took it very unwillingly. "We shall be driven out of the yacht if you try to carry it home," Mr. Emery replied, moving aft as far as possible. "It won't trouble us many hours. We will sell or ship it at Nassau, and I reckon all hands can manage to live until we arrive there." The valuable substance was wrapped carefully in several thicknesses of canvas, and placed in the hold where it is not probable any odor from it could have been perceptible on deck, although both the boys were quite positive the yacht was thoroughly permeated. After this short delay the Sea Dream continued on her course at a higher rate of speed, for now that she was so near land the heat seemed unbearable, and when night came Neal and Teddy stretched themselves out in the hammocks which had been slung under the after awning, wishing, not for a glimpse of Nassau; but that they were off the New England coast instead of being so near the tropics. Then, despite the profuse perspiration, both fell asleep, not to waken until the rattling of the cable through the hawse-holes told that they were in the harbor. CHAPTER III. NASSAU. A semi-tropical port in midsummer is by no means a pleasant place however diversified and picturesque the scenery may be, and when the boys awakened from their restless slumber the lassitude which beset them told how great an effect the climate could exert. Even Mr. Emery was disinclined to any severe exertion; but his business must be transacted, and, after a breakfast eaten on deck, he ordered the boat to be made ready. "If possible I shall leave to-night," Neal and Teddy heard him say to the sailing master, "therefore it will be well to get your ambergris on shore before noon." Neither of the boys cared to see the town at the expense of walking around under the blazing sun, and when Mr. Emery was being rowed toward the dock-yard they joined Jake who, in the coolest spot under the awning, was watching the fishermen near by. The water was clear as crystal, and of a bright greenish tinge which admitted of their seeing very distinctly the tiny fish of silver and golden hues as they darted to and fro; the violet and blue medusæ, and the cream-colored jelly-fish as big as a watermelon. There were angel fish of a bright blue tinge; yellow snappers; black and white sergeant majors; pilot fish; puff fish which could inflate their bodies until they were round as a ball, or flatten themselves to the shape of a griddle cake. The cow fish attracted the boys' attention more particularly, for it had two horns, and its head was shaped exactly like a cow, and when one passed with a "calf" as Teddy called it, swimming by her side, both agreed that it was well worth suffering so much from the heat to see such a sight. Fish of all colors and sizes swam around the yacht as if examining her hull, and the effect of such brilliant hues displayed through the crystal-like water was actually startling because of the gorgeousness. Before they were weary of admiring this aquatic panorama Jake called their attention to a fisherman who, in a small canoe, was pursuing his vocation in a very odd manner. In his boat he had a hideous looking sucking fish, around the tail of which was tied a long cord with a wooden float at one end. While the boys were watching him he dropped the monster overboard, and in an instant it darted at a medium-sized Jew fish, attaching itself to the latter by means of the sucking valve on the top of its head. Having done this he remained motionless, his victim seeming to be literally paralyzed, and there was nothing for the boatman to do but pull in on the float, disengage his animated fishhook by a dextrous pressure on the sucker after both had been drawn aboard, and send the repulsive looking servant out again. Although the Jew fish must have weighed at least a hundred pounds, he was landed without difficulty, and Jake gravely assured his companions that a sucking fish could "pull up the whole bottom of the ocean providin' the rope on his tail was strong enough to stand the strain." Then the engineer told a story which did not bear quite so hard on the imagination since it was absolutely true, and began by saying as he pointed toward the little fortification known as Montague fort: "That place has been the headquarters of at least a dozen pirates, the worst of which was called Black Beard, a bloodthirsty villain who sunk two vessels right where we are anchored this blessed minute. The feller's real name was John Teach, an' that big banyan tree over there is where he used to hold what he allowed was court martials. "He was drunk about three-quarters of the time, an' allers had a great spree when there were any prisoners on hand. He an' his men would get the poor wretches to the tree, go through all the ceremony of a reg'lar trial, an' allers end by stringin' every blessed one of 'em up in such a way as to prevent 'em from dyin' quick, when a fire'd be built underneath, so's to roast the whole lot. "They do say he buried all the treasure among the roots of the banyan, an' many's the one who has dug for it; but so far as I ever heard, not a single piece has been found. While he lived this wasn't a very pleasant harbor for them as cared about a livin' to make." "What became of him finally?" Teddy asked. "An English man-of-war got hold of him after awhile, an' he was strung on the yardarm to dry. If I'd been in command of the vessel he should have found out how it felt to be roasted. Say, don't you boys want to go over to Potter's cay?" "What is to be seen there?" "The sponge yards, an' it's a great sight if you never visited one." "It is too hot," Neal replied with a very decided shake of the head. Jake did not urge the matter, for just at that moment the second port boat was lowered, and Mr. Walters made ready to go ashore with his precious bundle of aromatic ambergris. Idly the boys watched the perspiring party, pressing handkerchiefs to their faces meanwhile, since, despite the wrappings of canvas, the valuable mass gave most decided proof of its being in the vicinity, and when the boat started for the shore Neal and Teddy clambered into the hammocks, for even leaning over the rail was an exertion in the sultry atmosphere. During the middle of the day both the boys slept, for a siesta is as necessary as food in hot climates, and when the light breeze of evening crept over the waters Mr. Emery came aboard with the welcome intelligence that his business had been concluded. "We will get under way again before midnight," he said as he stepped over the rail, and was received by Mr. Walters. "Now that a breeze has set in it should be cool enough to permit of the men's working without fear of prostration." "It would use me up to walk fore and aft twice," Neal said in an undertone to Teddy; "but it isn't for us to complain of the heat if we can get out of this furnace." Jake was nowhere to be seen. It was as if after his invitation to go on shore had been declined he betook himself to some other portion of the yacht, where he could perspire without allowing the others to see his suffering, and the boys swung to and fro until the hour came when the singing of steam told that preparations for departure were being made. There could be no doubt but that Nassau would be a pleasant place in which to spend the winter months; but it was by no means desirable during the summer, and when the Sea Dream left the little harbor where the water was hardly more than sufficient to float her, both Neal and Teddy gave vent to a sigh of relief. "We are to run south until it is possible to give the banks a clear berth, and then stand straight up the coast for home," the former said as the yacht glided almost noiselessly over the phosphorescent lighted waters down the eastern side of the shoals. "If a good head of steam is kept on we should be in a colder latitude very soon." "We can't get there any too soon to please me," Teddy replied, as he waved the palm-leaf fan languidly. "I believe it would be a positive comfort to have my nose frost-bitten." "It isn't possible you will have such comfort as that for some time to come; but we may be able to make your teeth chatter in a few days," Neal replied laughingly, and then as the breeze caused by the movement of the yacht over the water fanned his face, he added sleepily, "Good night; I don't believe I shall open my eyes until after sunrise to-morrow." As a matter of fact this prediction was not verified; before evening a wind had come out of the sea which caused the yacht to bow before it like a reed in a storm, and the hammocks that, a few hours previous, had seemed so rest-inviting, were swinging at a rate that threatened to throw their occupants to the deck. "I fancy it is time we went below," Neal said, as he awakened his friend by a series of vigorous shakes. "If we stay here half an hour longer it will be doubtful whether we're on board or in the water." The Sea Dream's lee rail was already so near the surface that the green waves curled over it now and then, and before the boys could reach the cabin they were thoroughly drenched. It was the greatest possible relief to crawl into the bunk and pull up the bed-clothes to defend themselves against the cold wind which came through the port-hole, and so delicious was this sense of being chilly that they failed to realize the cause of the sudden change in the weather, until they heard the sailing master in the cabin reply to Mr. Emery's question: "You are getting your first taste of what is known as a norther; but there isn't the slightest danger if we can crawl away from the land, and we shall have no trouble in doing that so long as there is a full head of steam on." "What does he mean by a norther?" Teddy asked of Neal, who had shown, by rising on his elbow, that he was awake. "A wind coming from the north, more frequently met in the Gulf of Mexico, when the temperature falls very suddenly, as was the case this evening, and a furious gale is often the result." "So long as it holds cold I don't see that we have any cause to complain," was the sleepy rejoinder; but before the night came to a close he had good reason for changing his mind on the subject. It was about midnight, as near as the boys could judge without looking at a watch, when the yacht was flung on her beam ends with a sudden force which threw both out of the berth, and before the port-hole could be fastened, flooded the state-room with water. Teddy might well be excused for the shrill cry of alarm which escaped from his lips, for at that moment even an experienced sailor would have fancied the little craft had struck upon a reef, more particularly since it was known they were in a dangerous locality. "We are sinking!" he cried frantically as he tried in vain to open the door, and Neal was of the same opinion. After what seemed to be a very long while although in reality it could have been but a few seconds, the Sea Dream slowly righted, and then it was possible for the boys to gain the cabin. Here they were met by Mr. Emery, who had just succeeded in leaving his own room, and before any conversation could be indulged in the steamer began pitching and rolling about in a manner that showed she was not on the reef even if the first shock had been the result of striking one. It was only by holding with all their strength to the immovable articles of furniture that they avoided being flung from one end of the cabin to the other, as the yacht plunged and tossed, throwing violently to and fro everything which had not been securely fastened. The cabin lamp was burning dimly, and the faint light only served to reveal more clearly the general confusion. Once amid the tumult the boys heard Mr. Emery shout: "Don't be frightened; if there was any immediate danger Mr. Walters would warn us." "He may not be able to come where we are," Teddy thought; but he refrained from giving words to such a dismal foreboding, and in silent fear waited for--he knew not what. CHAPTER IV. A NEW DANGER. To the frightened boys in the cabin it was as if the night would never come to an end, and during every one of those fearful moments they believed the yacht was on the point of taking the final plunge. At four o'clock in the morning the steamer's movements became more regular; but not less in violence, and, shortly after, the sailing master came below. "We are laying-to," he said to Mr. Emery. "There is a nasty sea on, and I didn't care to take the chances of fighting against it." "How does she stand it?" "Like a darling. I was afraid of straining her at first; but when she took the butt end of the storm in such a pleasant fashion there was no longer any reason to fret about her." "It didn't seem like such a very pleasant fashion to us," Teddy said to Neal, who had succeeded in gaining a chair near his friend. "It appeared to me as if she kicked pretty hard about it," Neal replied, and then Mr. Emery asked: "What are the weather indications?" "There is no reason to hope for anything better until the wind blows itself out, and according to my way of thinking that won't be within the next twenty-four hours. Why don't you people lie down?" "Because it has been a matter of impossibility to remain in the berths." "You can do so now without much difficulty. Come, boys, let me help you to turn in." The calm, matter-of-fact way in which Mr. Walters acted caused the boys to feel more comfortable in mind, and they made no protest when he assisted them to the state-room where there was yet water enough to show what had happened. "Why didn't you call one of the stewards to mop this up?" the sailing master asked as he lighted the swinging lamp. "We haven't seen one since the gale begun," Neal replied with a laugh. "I fancy they were as much frightened as Teddy and I." "It won't take long to turn them out," and Mr. Walters started forward in a manner which boded no good for the skulkers. Neal and Teddy found little difficulty in retaining a recumbent position, although the yacht was tossing up and down like a mad thing. She no longer gave those sudden lurches which threatened to carry away even the short spars, and for the first time since the deluge from the port-hole, they began to feel really comfortable in mind. The steward came in very shortly after Mr. Walters left, and from the expression on his face it was evident he had been rated severely for neglect of duty. "It didn't make any difference to us whether the water was washed up or not," Neal said in a friendly tone. "The sailing master saw it and asked why we hadn't called you." "He don't allow that a man has any right to sleep," the steward replied sulkily. "If he'd been up since five o'clock, he'd want to turn in before midnight instead of foolin' around the cabin till it was time to begin another day's work." "Is it possible that you have been sleeping?" Neal asked in surprise. "Why not?" "I don't see how you could even lie down while the yacht was tumbling about in such a furious manner." "That was none of my business. I didn't ship before the mast, consequently it ain't any duty of mine to go prowlin' 'round if the wind happened to blow a little." "If you call this a 'little' I wouldn't like to be on board when you thought it was a regular gale," Teddy said with a laugh. "I've seen the wind blow so hard that a fellow had to lash his hair down to keep it from bein' carried away when he went on deck; but that didn't stop my wantin' to get a watch below." With this remark the steward, having finished his work, left the room, and the boys were alone once more. Although they had believed it would be impossible to sleep during a gale such as the yacht was now laboring under, the eyes of both were soon closed in slumber, not to be opened until late in the morning. So far as could be told by the motion, there was no diminution in the strength of the wind, and they experienced great difficulty in making their toilets. When this task had finally been accomplished, however, Neal said as he opened the door after some trouble, owing to the erratic movements of the yacht: "I'm going on deck. It can't be much worse there, and it wouldn't be a bad idea to see what the ocean looks like in a gale." "I'll go too: but don't let's venture out of the companion-way, for the waves must be making a clean sweep over the decks." When the boys entered the cabin no one was to be seen save the surly steward who visited them the night previous, and in reply to Neal's question he said: "Your father left word that he wasn't to be called. It wouldn't be much use for him to turn out, because we can't set the table in such a rumpus." "What are we to do for breakfast?" "The same as Mr. Walters did, get a cup of coffee and a hard-tack; that'll go way ahead of nothin' if you're very hungry." "We can go into the galley when we want a bite," Neal replied, and then he led the way up the narrow stairs where, through the half-opened hatch, it was possible to get a view of the raging waters. Perhaps it would have been better, so far as their peace of mind was concerned, not to have ventured out, for the scene was anything rather than reassuring. Standing there and looking forward the boys could see a huge wall of water dead ahead bearing down upon the yacht as if to swamp her, and at the moment when it appeared as if the final stroke had come she would lurch to leeward, presenting her side to the wave, rising on the succeeding one and shivering on its crest as if shaking the spray from her shrouds, after which came the downward plunge that caused the boys to hold their breath in fear. The sky, the swiftly flying clouds, and the waves were of a grayish hue looking ominous and threatening and the little craft appeared to be but a plaything for the angry elements. That she could out-ride the gale seemed almost impossible, and Teddy said with a shudder as he descended the stairs: "Don't let's stay where we can see it. I wish I hadn't looked, for, bad as matters seem to be down here, it is as nothing compared to being on deck." Neal was of the same opinion, and the two passed through the cabin to the engine-room where Jake was keeping vigilant watch over the machinery. "Why, I thought we were hove to," Neal exclaimed in surprise as the engineer assisted him and Teddy to a seat by his side. "So we are; but it is necessary to keep the screw turning, otherwise it might not be possible to hold her in the proper position." "How long have you been on duty?" "Since I saw you last." "Haven't you had any sleep?" "I can bottle up enough when the gale abates; but just now it stands a man in hand to have his weather eye open pretty wide, for a bit of carelessness would work considerable mischief. I'm going to have breakfast, an' if you boys care to join me we'll make it three-handed. You're not likely to fare any better in the cabin than here to-day." The boys accepted the invitation, and with some cold meat and hard-tack placed on the locker where it could not slide off, and mugs of steaming coffee in their hands, all made a remarkably jolly meal under the unfavorable circumstances. During the remainder of the day Neal and Teddy stayed below, not caring for another view of the angry sea, and when night came the gale had so far abated that the yacht was sent ahead once more; but owing to the force and direction of the wind it was deemed best to continue on a southerly course even at the expense of reaching the Caribbean Sea, rather than take the chances of putting about. All this Jake explained when the boys visited him just previous to retiring, and he added in conclusion: "It seems pretty tough to go yet further south; but Mr. Walters is a cautious sailin' master, an' when he makes up his mind to a thing you can count on its bein' mighty nigh right." "Will it be possible to get home as soon as father intended if we go so far out of the way?" Neal asked. "If he don't do any cruisin' after he gets up north I reckon it could be done; but there's no sense in figgerin' on that till we're off Hatteras." Now that the yacht had proved her seaworthiness by riding safely through the storm the boys would have been willing to go almost anywhere in her, and the idea that they might have no cruising in a more agreeable climate caused a decided feeling of disappointment; but, as Jake had said, there was no reason to worry about that while they were so far from home, and as if by common consent the subject was not broached again. On the following morning when they went on deck the sun was shining down upon the yet angry looking waves; but one of the sailors assured them that "the gale had blowed itself out." "It stands to reason there'd be a heavy sea runnin'; but its settlin' down fast, an' by to-morrow there won't be swell enough for comfort." In this he was correct. Twenty-four hours later the awnings were up, and all hands were panting under the blazing heat of a tropical sun. This sudden change prostrated the boys, and during the next two days they fanned themselves, drank iced drinks, and sought in vain for some spot where a breath of cool air could be found. It was the fourth day after the norther. While waiting for dinner to be brought on deck (the meals had been served under the awnings since the storm, for the cabin was too hot to permit even of their eating there), Teddy lay near the after starboard boat lazily wondering why that thin curl of blue smoke should come from the planking directly over the kitchen, instead of through the pipe as it always had before. Owing to the fact that there was no unusual disturbance he never fancied for a moment anything could be wrong, and remained gazing at it in silence so long that Neal asked curiously: "What do you see that is so very interesting?" "I was wondering what had happened to the galley pipe." "How do you know that it isn't all right?" "I suppose it is; but it looks queer to see that smoke coming up as if from the deck." Neal looked in the direction indicated by Teddy's outstretched finger, and seeing the blue curl, which had now grown considerably thicker, sprang to his feet very quickly. Without speaking to his friend he ran forward, Teddy still ignorant there was any danger, and in the shortest possible space of time Mr. Walters came from the wheel-house in response to Neal's emphatic request. To Teddy it seemed as if but an instant elapsed before the deck was a scene of confusion, and as all hands were called for duty he heard one of the sailors cry in a tone of alarm: "Tumble up, boys, the yacht is on fire!" CHAPTER V. FIGHTING THE FLAMES. It was some moments after the fire was discovered before anything could be done toward checking the flames, for the very good reason that the exact location remained a mystery until a visit had been paid to the hold. The cook said the galley felt unusually warm; but he paid no particular attention to the fact, thinking the weather had grown hotter, and, save for the smoke, there were no signs of fire to be seen anywhere until Mr. Walters called upon one of the men to raise the hatch which led into the eyes of the yacht directly beneath the kitchen. Instantly this was done a broad sheet of flame burst forth, and had the stout covering not been replaced immediately, the little craft would have soon been consumed. Working with all speed, for even the seconds were precious now, the hatch was battened down, and a hole large enough to admit of the nozzle of the hose, bored just abaft the hatch-way. While this was being done a portion of the crew had been getting into working order the hose used for washing down the decks, and when all was ready the real task of extinguishing the flames began. A steady stream of water was forced into the hold as rapidly as the men could work the pumps, and the lower deck examined carefully for the slightest aperture which might admit air. How the fire had started no one knew, nor was any time spent in trying to ascertain, for every person had been detailed to some duty. Neal and Teddy were given the lightest task, which was simply to watch the hose at the place where it entered the deck, to make sure the water flowed through freely, and the nozzle did not slip out. Ten minutes after the alarm had been raised all hands were working methodically, thanks to the discipline maintained by Mr. Walters, and it became a question simply of whether the flames could be stifled or drowned. "Do you think they can save the yacht?" Teddy asked after a short time of silence, and Neal, who had not seen the broad sheet of flame which leaped from the hatch-way replied confidently: "Of course. If the hold is filled with water she surely can't burn." "Are there boats enough to carry us all in case the fire does get the best of us?" "Certainly; but it won't come to anything quite as bad as that." Before Teddy could ask another question one of the stewards shouted down the forward companion-way: "Mr. Emery says that his son is to come on deck. There is no need of two there." Neal obeyed the summons thinking he was to assist at the pumps; but in this he was speedily undeceived. "Take such things as you are likely to need most from your state-room, and stow them in one of the boats aft," his father said when he reported for further duty. "Although I don't think we shall be obliged to abandon the yacht, it is well to be prepared for any emergency." This was no time to ask questions, and Neal obeyed at once, observing as he entered the cabin that the stewards were collecting food and such other things as might be needed in case they were forced to depend upon the frail crafts. This work rather than the evidences of fire in the hold, frightened Neal. Until this moment he had not believed there was any possibility the steamer could be destroyed while there were so many to assist in saving her; but now there was no question as to the fact of their being in great danger. "Unless father and Mr. Walters were convinced that the fire had got considerable headway, the boats would not be provisioned so soon," he said to himself. His portion of the work could be performed quickly. He and Teddy had brought all their belongings, with the exception of the fowling pieces and the fishing rods, aboard in two satchels, and these he packed with the utmost expedition. Then, with both weapons, he went on deck, stowed all the goods in the after port boat, and returned to his father's state-room to see if anything could be done there. From the disorder it was apparent that the stewards had been in this apartment before him; but a fine rifle yet hung on the bulk-head, and in the open locker was quite a large amount of ammunition. "There's no reason why these cartridges shouldn't be taken if we are obliged to leave the yacht," he said to himself as he gathered them into convenient shape for carrying. "In case we land on a desolate island they would be mighty useful." When he went on deck with his second burden the stewards were putting small kegs of water into each boat, and after stowing the ammunition by the side of the first articles brought, he looked over the little craft to ascertain what his father had thought best to save. He could find nothing there; but on searching the starboard gig he discovered a small quantity of wearing apparel. "I wonder if that is the craft he intends to go in, or have the clothes simply been thrown anywhere." At that moment Mr. Emery came out of the pilot-house followed by Mr. Walters, and Neal ran forward to ask which boat his father intended to use in case the abandonment became necessary. "It makes no particular difference," Mr. Emery replied in answer to Neal's question. "We can easily arrange the details later. Go into the engine-room and tell Jake to drive her at full speed, and to report if the water we are pumping in is likely to rise as high as the furnaces." Promising himself that he would re-stow the goods on the gig, putting his father's with those belonging to himself and Teddy, as soon as this message had been delivered, he descended the companion-way after glancing rapidly around the horizon. There was no land to be seen on either hand, and he understood at once why the order to keep the yacht going at full speed had been given. The small boats were by no means stanch enough to be depended on for a long cruise unless the present dead calm should continue until they could reach land, and every effort was to be made to gain some of the islands in the vicinity. When Neal entered the engine-room he believed for an instant that Jake had not heard of the terrible danger which threatened. Work there was going on as usual, except, perhaps, that the engineer and his assistants were watching the machinery a trifle more carefully than seemed really necessary; but when he repeated the message Jake's face grew just a shade paler. "Say to your father that we have got on every pound of steam that can be raised, and it will be necessary to slow down presently because the bearings are growing warm. The water is already above the fire-room floors, and if the pump is worked an hour longer the fires will be drowned." "But you must keep her going, Jake. It would be terrible to take to the boats when there was no land in sight." "I'm bound to do my best; but a man can go only so far. Do you know where we are?" "No." "What is being done on deck?" "The sailors are pumping, and the stewards are provisioning the boats." "Getting ready to abandon the little craft, are they?" "Father said that was being done in order that we might be prepared for any emergency." "And he's got a pretty clear idea that the flames can't be kept under, or else there wouldn't be a thought of such a thing. How's the weather?" "A dead calm, as it was this morning." Jake remained silent a few moments as if revolving some plan in his mind, and then he said abruptly: "Neal, if we do have to put off you and Teddy must try to go in the same boat with me." "Unless father makes different arrangements." "Of course, of course; but if nothin' is said we'll stick together. Go back an' say that the Sea Dream shall do her best until the water gets above the fire-boxes, an' then my part of the work has been done." Neal left the engine-room feeling that there was very little chance of reaching any port in the yacht, and since there was no reason why he should hurry on deck, he went around by the way of the galley where Teddy was stationed. "How are things going on here?" he asked, forcing himself to speak in a cheerful tone. "Can you get any idea of the fire?" "Put your hand on the deck," Teddy replied gravely, his face of a livid white although big drops of perspiration were streaming down his cheeks. Neal obeyed, and immediately drew his hand back with a cry of mingled pain and fear. The planks were already so hot that it seemed as if the flesh must be burned. "Has father been here within a few moments?" "He has just left." "Did he say anything?" "Nothing except that I was to come on deck when it was so hot I couldn't stand it any longer. Neal," and now Teddy spoke very earnestly, "you laughed when I referred to the possibility that the yacht might be destroyed; but I know your father thinks she cannot be saved." "I believe now that he does; but I didn't when I left you. Everything is ready for us to abandon her when nothing more can be done." "Are we to go in the small boats?" asked Teddy, excitedly. "It is the only chance we've got; but don't look so frightened," he added, as Teddy's face grew yet paler. "It is calm, there's absolutely no sea at all running, and we shall be as safe as on board the yacht." "It will be horrible," Teddy whispered as if to himself, and Neal added: "I'll tell father what Jake said, and then come straight back to stay with you." "Don't be away long. It seems as if I had been deserted, when there is no one here." Neal could not trust himself to speak. Ascending the companion-way rapidly he approached his father who was conversing with Mr. Walters near the bow, as if that position had been chosen to prevent the crew from hearing what was said. After repeating the engineer's message he asked: "Can I go back where Teddy is? I think it frightens him to stay there alone." "I can't say that I wonder very much; it is a very trying situation for a boy, especially one who has never been to sea before. Ask Jake if he will send a man to relieve him and then you may both come on deck." To deliver this message and return after one of the firemen took Teddy's place at the nozzle, did not occupy five minutes, and the frightened boy gave vent to a long sigh of relief when he was in the open air once more. Except for the heat the weather was perfect. The Sea Dream, showing no sign of the monster which was gnawing at her vitals, save by the clouds of smoke that ascended from the bow, dashed on like the thing of beauty she was; but when her flight should be checked there would remain nothing but the tiny boats to bear those on board to a place of safety. CHAPTER VI. THE LAST RESORT. Mr. Emery and the sailing master had decided that the yacht should be kept at full speed, headed for the nearest land, until the water which was being pumped into the hold drowned the fires in the furnaces, when recourse must necessarily be had to the boats. There could no longer be any question but that the entire forward portion of the hold was a mass of flames which it would not be possible to hold in check very much longer. By this time all on board understood that the yacht was to be abandoned, and, with the exception of those in the engine-room and at the pumps, every one gazed as if fascinated at the clouds of smoke arising from near the bow. Already were tiny curls coming from between the deck planks, and Teddy heard Mr. Walters say in a low tone to Neal's father: "I am afraid the flames will burst through before the furnaces are flooded. It is too late to cut another hole in the deck, and by an hour at the latest we must take to the boats." "Have the crew been told off?" "I will attend to that now." Then the sailing master announced to each man the boat to which he was assigned, and during the next hour hardly a word was spoken. Teddy and Neal conversed now and then in whispers, as if not daring to make a noise, and the sailors worked in grim silence. Nothing save the clank of the pumps and the throbbing of the screw could be heard. When the hour had passed it was no longer possible to force water into the hold. The heat was so great that the hose burned as fast as it could be pushed through the aperture, and long tongues of flame were appearing around the edges of the hatch. All hands, including the boys, were formed in line, and water sent below in buckets for twenty minutes more, when the word was given to slacken speed. The lower deck had burst through, and there was no more than time for Jake and his assistants to clamber up the ladders before the flames had complete possession of the yacht from the bow to the engine-room companion-way. There was no time to be lost in lowering the boats, and the men were forced to leap in regardless of the previous assignment, for once the fire burst the bonds which had confined it so long it swept aft with almost incredible rapidity. Teddy and Neal, bewildered by the flames which actually burned their flesh as they stood by the rail while the sailors let go the falls, had only thought of reaching the craft in which their property was stowed, and Jake followed; but as the little tenders were allowed to drop astern beyond reach of the intense heat the boys discovered that Mr. Emery was not with them. He had charge of one boat; Mr. Walters commanded another; Jake was held responsible for the safety of the third, and the last was handled by the mate. "Shall we come with you, father?" Teddy shouted. "I don't think it will be advisable to make any change now, and you are as safe in one boat as another." "I'll answer for them," Jake cried cheerily, and the sailing master added: "Jake can handle a small boat better than any one here, therefore you need not fear an accident will result through carelessness." "How am I to steer?" the engineer asked. "Due west. The boats must remain together, and in each one is a lantern to be hung up during the night to lessen the chances of being separated. Two men in every craft are to be kept at the oars all the time, and, in order to make the work light, they should be relieved hourly. The indications are that the weather will hold clear; it is only a couple of hundred miles to the Cuban coast, and we are not likely to be cooped up in these cockle shells very long." As he ceased speaking Mr. Walters gave the word for the oarsmen to begin the work which it was supposed would be continued without intermission until all were in a place of safety, and the boats were pulled about a mile from the burning steamer, when, as if by common consent, they were brought to a standstill to watch the destruction of the Sea Dream. The jaunty little craft was moving through the water slowly, enveloped in flames from bow to stern, and the boys gazed at her with a feeling of sadness which did not arise solely from the fact of their present peril. It seemed to them as if she could understand that those who should have saved her had fled when her need of assistance was greatest, and she was creeping slowly away to die alone. "The poor thing can't swim much longer," Jake said, as if speaking to himself. "The boiler will explode----" Even as he spoke a black cloud of smoke shot up from amidships, followed by a shower of fiery fragments, some of which struck in the immediate vicinity of the boats, and then the glare of the conflagration suddenly vanished as the Sea Dream sank beneath the waves. It would have been strange indeed if each member of the little party had not experienced a feeling of sorrow and desolation at this moment. The yacht which, a few hours previous, had appeared so stanch, was no longer afloat, and their only hope of reaching land was in the tiny boats which could hardly be expected to live in an ordinary sailing breeze. The tears were very near Teddy's and Neal's eyelids, and Jake's voice was quite the reverse of steady as he gave the word for the men to resume work at the oars. [Illustration: Instead of releasing his hold on Neal the reptile held firm, etc. See Page 193.] Night was close at hand. The sun had already set, and the short-lived twilight cast a sinister grayish hue over the waters. Mr. Walters' boat had the lantern raised at the bow on the end of an oar where it swung gently to and fro, and in a few moments all the others could be distinguished by the same signal. During such time as they had been waiting to witness the end of the Sea Dream the little crafts had drifted farther apart, until the one in charge of Neal's father was nearly half a mile away, and the sailing master could be heard shouting for them to be brought nearer together. "We shall probably have a breeze to-night," he cried when Jake's boat approached within easy hailing distance, "and if it should come you must rig up something to serve as a sail, for your only chance of keeping afloat will be to run before it. You have a compass, and remember that land is to be found to the westward." "Ay, ay," the engineer replied, as he looked around in vain for some sign of the wind, and then he added in a low tone to the boys: "I allow Mr. Walters is off in his reckonin' this time, for there isn't a breath of air stirring now." "We may get it later," Neal said apprehensively, and Jake muttered to himself; but yet so loud that Teddy could hear him: "It'll be tough on us if it comes out of the wrong quarter." In ten minutes from the time the word had been given to bring the boats into closer order the mantle of night had fully fallen, and the location of the other crafts could only be told by the tiny, swaying lights, or the hum of voices. Jake's boat was loaded less deeply than the remainder of the little fleet. In addition to himself and the two boys, there were but three sailors on board, and the stock of provisions was correspondingly small. As a natural consequence she rode higher out of the water, and although built on the same model as the others, the engineer insisted she was by far the fastest sailing craft. An hour had not elapsed before it was possible to test her quality in this respect. The breeze which Mr. Walters predicted came up from the east, and as its first influence was felt Jake shouted in a tone of relief: "We're in luck this time, lads. Here's what will shove us along in the right direction, an' we can count on striking land without too much work. Lash a couple of coats to the oars, an' set them up close by the forward thwart; you'll find a chance there to make 'em fast." This apology for a sail was soon gotten in place, and, small as was the surface presented to the wind, the little boat surged ahead, rippling the water musically under her bow. Jake held the rudder lines, the boys sitting either side of him on the bottom of the boat where they could stretch out at full length in case they felt inclined to sleep, and after they had listened to the swish of the sea under the stern for some time Neal asked as he raised his head to look over the side: "Where are the others?" "Considerable distance astern. I knew this one could show them her heels." "But the orders were that we must not separate," Neal exclaimed in alarm. "That is true; but how can we help ourselves just now? We can't shorten sail, because there would be nothing left, and we're bound to run ahead of the waves, small as they are, or be swamped." "But suppose we never see them again?" "Don't worry about that; we're all headin' in the same direction, an' have only got to wait till they overtake us after land is sighted." Although Jake spoke in a positive tone Teddy and Neal were far from feeling comfortable in mind; but, as he had said, nothing different could be done, and each tried to hide his fears from the other. The weight of the wind increased as the night advanced, and by the words of caution which the sailors uttered from time to time, the boys knew that those who should best understand such matters were anxious regarding the outcome of this night run. Now and then a small quantity of water would dash over the side; but it was quickly bailed out, and, as one of the men said, "did more good than harm, for it gave them something to do." Notwithstanding the gravity of the situation, Neal and Teddy fell asleep before midnight, therefore they were unconscious of the fight which their companions were making for life. It was necessary the frail craft should be kept dead before the wind; otherwise she would have been swamped by the following waves, which were now running dangerously high, and the skill of the helmsman was all that prevented her from destruction. Not for a single moment during the hours of darkness was it safe to relax the vigilance, and the constant strain on one's nerves was more fatiguing than the real labor. Just as the day was breaking Neal awoke, and then he aroused Teddy by asking Jake: "Can you see the other boats?" "Not yet; but some of them may be in sight at sunrise. It isn't possible their lights would show up more than a mile off." "Isn't the sea running very high?" Teddy asked timidly as he attempted to stand erect; but Jake grasped him by the shoulder as he said quickly: "It isn't safe to move around very much. Lie quiet until the wind dies away a bit; we've got more'n we want, and the boat must be kept trimmed mighty carefully or there'll be trouble." It was only necessary for the boys to watch their companions in order to learn the dangers which beset them, and, clasping each other's hands, they waited in anxious suspense for the rising of the sun to learn if the remainder of the party was near. CHAPTER VII. ON SHORE. When the first rays of the sun appeared above the horizon the sailors searched with their eyes in every direction; but neither land nor a craft could be seen. "I knew we were bound to run away from the rest of the party," Jake said, keeping his face turned toward the bow, for the slightest carelessness might be fatal to all. "If this wind dies out we can lay still till they come up, as they're sure to do before long." "But suppose the other boats have been swamped?" Neal suggested, with a choking sob as he realized that he might never see his father again. "We won't suppose anything of the kind," Jake replied sharply. "There are plenty in the crowd who can handle the boats better than this one was handled, and if we rode out the night in safety why shouldn't they have done the same?" "The only chance of our not seein' 'em," one of the sailors said thoughtfully, "is, that sailin' slower, they may now be near land that we passed in the night without knowin' it. There should 'a been a lot of keys within fifty miles of where we abandoned the Sea Dream." "That's very true, matey," and now Jake spoke in his customary cheerful tone, "an' we'll soon be makin' some place where there'll be a chance of stretchin' our legs. Overhaul the grub, one of you, an' let's have a bite; I feel like a man what's been on a thirty hour watch." "So you have, for that matter. Even if you ain't a sailor man I'd like to see him as could handle a little craft any better. With me at the helm she'd have gone to the bottom before midnight." "I won't kick 'cause you praise me," Jake replied with a laugh; "but don't lay it on too thick for fear I might get proud." "I was only tellin' the truth, an' jest what all of us think. When the breeze freshened I made up my mind that the voyage was about ended; but here we are yet, an' here we're likely to be a spell longer unless we strike another norther." While the man was speaking he had passed aft two cans of preserved meat, some hard bread, and a small jar of pickles, after opening the tins with his sheath knife, and every one on board made a hearty meal, the boys in particular feeling decidedly cheerful when the repast had been eaten. "The wind is fallin' off a bit, an' I reckon it'll come dead calm by noon," Jake said, after refusing to allow one of the seamen to relieve him. "We'll all soon have a chance to bottle up sleep." "How long do you think it ought to be before we sight the land?" Neal asked. "That's jest what I can't say, lad; but 'cordin' to my way of thinkin' we was a good bit below the coast of Cuba when the little yacht went down. That norther blew us a good way off our course, an' it's possible Mr. Walters might have made a mistake in determinin' the position, although it ain't exactly the proper thing for an engineer to set up agin a first-class sailin' master." "It won't take long to find out if this breeze holds, an' that's some comfort," one of the sailors replied, and then the three men drew lots to see which two should take a watch "below." During the forenoon there was but little change in the condition of affairs. The wind decreased until it was nothing more than a good sailing breeze; but the expected calm did not come. The boat reeled off the knots in fine style, despite the poor apology for a sail, and the boys were allowed to change their position, which they did by sitting on the after thwart. About twelve o'clock Jake stretched himself out on the bottom for a nap, awakening one of the sleepers that the man at the helm might have assistance in case he should require it, and the boys alternately dozed or searched the horizon in vain for some signs of the other boats. Those who were hungry ate whenever it pleased them to do so, and there was no lack of either food or water. Teddy would have talked with his friend regarding the prospects of reaching home within a reasonable length of time; but Neal was so anxious about his father that he could speak of nothing else. Toward the close of the day the wind freshened again, and, in obedience to his previous orders, Jake was awakened, the man at the helm saying in an apologetic tone: "I can hold on here a good bit longer; but you wanted to know if there was any change, an' there is. It looks to me as if we should have more of a breeze than we had last night." "No signs of land yet?" "No sir; but the Cuban coast, if that's what we're headin' for, is so low that we wouldn't be likely to raise it till we got close on." Jake ate supper before taking his seat at the helm, and then the boys were advised to lie down as on the preceding night. "You'll be comfortable there, and won't stand so much of a chance of gettin' wet." It was evident that Jake wanted to have them out of the way, and both obeyed at once, Teddy saying as he stretched himself out on the hard boards: "It seems as if my bones were coming through the skin, and I'm sore all over." "Things are not nearly as bad as they might be, so we musn't complain," Neal replied philosophically; but at the same time it seemed as if he could not remain in that position another night. Even in face of the danger to which they would be exposed, the occupants of the boat welcomed the increase in the weight of the wind since it was reasonable to suppose that each mile traversed carried them just so much nearer the land, and, with the exception of Neal and Teddy, all were in good spirits when the darkness of night covered the ocean. Owing to the absence of exercise the boys did not sleep well, and when the unconsciousness of slumber did come upon them for a few moments at a time, it brought in its train dreams so distressing that wakefulness with the full knowledge of the dangers which encompassed them, was preferable. It seemed as if twenty hours instead of ten had passed when one of the men in the bow cried joyfully: "If I don't see the loom of land now it's because I never saw such a sight before." "Where away?" Jake asked, straining his eyes in the vain effort to discern anything amid the gloom. "Dead ahead as we are running. It must be somethin' more'n a cay, or it wouldn't show up so big." The gray light of approaching dawn was lifting the mantle of night when the man spoke, and, ten minutes later, all saw with reasonable distinctness the dark cloud which could be nothing less than land. Now the roar of surf was heard, and Jake said in a troubled tone: "I don't see how we are to make it after all, unless we plump her straight on, an' that's likely to be a dangerous experiment." "Why not take in the sail, and work the oars; then you can pick a landing place?" "All right, let go the halyards; but instead of furling the canvas you can stow it under one of the thwarts." This order was given and obeyed cheerily, for all were in the best of spirits now that the end of the wearisome journey seemed to be so near at hand and in a very short time the boat was moving slowly toward the shore, rising and falling gently on the heavy swell. Each moment it was possible to see more distinctly the coast, and when they were thirty yards from a shore strewn with jagged blocks of coral, Jake shouted: "Hold on, boys, it would be worse than folly to attempt to run in there while the sea is so high." "Can't you find a better place?" one of the men asked. "It appears to be the same all along for a mile or so in either direction." "There's more danger of bein' swamped while runnin' up or down the coast, than in makin' a try for it here. Let her go in on the swell, an' when the water shoals we can jump over to lighten her so she'll strike well up on the shore where there'll be no trouble in savin' everything." "I don't like the idea," Jake replied. "We can't tell what a fellow might meet with, an' to be swung agin one of them rocks would be hard lines." The sailors were determined to make the attempt regardless of his warnings, and after a few moments he refused to argue longer. "You ought to know better than I," he said, "an' its no more'n right you should have your own way without any fuss; but the boys an' I will stay here till she strikes. That is a better plan than goin' over the side when you know nothing about the shore, and besides, I can't see the advantage of lightenin' her." "So she'll strike higher up on the beach, of course, otherwise she'd be stove before you could say Jack Robinson." "Do as you please, an' so will I. Shall I steer her in now?" The sailors kicked off their boots, and began pulling vigorously at the oars while Jake said in a low tone to the boys: "Be ready to jump the minute she strikes; but not before. Look out for the rocks, and take care the swell don't drag you back." The heavy waves were rolling up on the shore with a roar that rendered conversation difficult, and as he glanced ahead at the foaming waters in which it did not seem possible the little craft could live for a single moment, Teddy pressed Neal's hand as if to say good-by. Neal gave him one quick, hopeful glance; pointed shoreward to intimate that they must watch every motion of the boat in order to be prepared when the most favorable time arrived, and, following Jake's example both arose from the thwart, standing in a stooping posture in order to steady themselves by the rail. Carried on the crest of an enormous wave the tiny craft hangs as if poised in mid-air for an instant, and as the vast body of water is dashed forward the three sailors leap into the boiling, swirling foam. Teddy fancied he heard a muffled cry of agony; but just at that moment he could think only of saving his own life, and there was no time to so much as glance around. The boat was shot suddenly forward with the water dashing above the stern and sides, and Jake shouted: "Over with you now!" At the same instant that the boat struck the boys leaped, and during several fearful seconds it was doubtful whether they could hold their own against the treacherous under-tow. By clinging to the sides of the craft, and straining every muscle, the attempt was successful, and as the wave receded the little tender lay across a sharp piece of coral, almost a total wreck. "Take hold and shove her further up!" Jake shouted. "Work now as you never did before, or we shall lose all our stores!" During the next half minute the three struggled to the utmost of their power, and then the fragments of the boat and the goods which had been brought from the Sea Dream were high upon the beach beyond reach of the next wave, which swept in with a yet louder roar as if enraged at having been deprived of its prey. Not until this had been done was it possible to look around for the sailors, and Teddy cried as he gazed seaward without seeing any living creature: "Where are they?" Jake watched the boiling waters several seconds before he replied mournfully: "It was as I feared. They either struck some of these jagged rocks as they leaped from the boat or the under-tow was so strong that it dragged them down." "Do you mean that all three have been drowned?" Neal cried. "If they were alive we should see them by this time," and Jake ran along the shore hoping they might have succeeded in scrambling out at some other point. Teddy and Neal followed him, and when five minutes passed there could be no further doubt. "If they had waited until the boat struck, as we did, there would have been little trouble to get ashore; but now we shall never see them again." The boys could hardly realize that three strong men had been taken from this world so quickly, and when finally the fact stood out boldly without the slightest possibility of mistake, a feeling of deepest depression took possession of all. Teddy threw himself face downward on the sand and gave way to grief, while Neal and Jake stood by his side in silence, for this dreadful catastrophe seemed to be a warning of their own fate. CHAPTER VIII. SUSPENSE. How long they remained on the shore in an apathy of despair not one of that party ever knew. Jake was the first to arouse himself, and, understanding that work is the best remedy for mental troubles, he said, with a great effort to speak cheerily: "See here, lads, this will never do if we want to get out of the scrape. We've got to stay here till the other boats come along, and it is necessary to make some preparations for living. The goods must be stowed where they won't be destroyed, an' there's plenty to keep us busy for the rest of this day." "When do you think the other boats should arrive?" Neal asked. Jake realized fully how slight were the chances that either of the crafts would come to that exact spot, even if they were all afloat; but he had no idea of adding to his companions' grief, therefore he replied: "It may be forty-eight hours. You see some or all of them might have put out a sea anchor when it blew so hard, for they carried heavier loads than we did, and while layin' still we hummed right along, consequently its difficult tellin' when to expect 'em." "Of course they are bound to land here?" Jake hesitated only for an instant before he decided that under the circumstances a lie was absolutely necessary, and then replied positively: "Of course. Where else would they come?" "I was afraid there might have been some little difference in the steering." "We all were obliged to keep dead before the wind, therefore ought to come out pretty nigh alike." This reply appeared to satisfy Neal, and he set about cheering Teddy, who finally arose to his feet and signified his willingness to do whatever Jake should propose as necessary. The engineer made many suggestions which he would not have thought of had he been alone, or in the company of those who did not need such a tonic. All the goods were first carried from the beach to the edge of the thick forest a hundred yards away, and over the collection was constructed a shelter to protect it from the dew. The fragments of the boat were carefully gathered up and deposited in the same place. Then a quantity of such pieces of dead branches and decaying wood as could be found near at hand was stacked close by the beach, to serve as a signal in case a vessel or the boats should heave in sight. When this had been done it was noon, and Jake set about preparing as elaborate a meal as their store of provisions would permit, saying as he summoned them to the repast: "Now boys, I want you to fill yourselves up so's to be ready for hard work in case anything is to be done when the others get here. Afterwards we'll take a snooze, which is the proper thing to do at the middle of the day in a hot climate, and then there must be some exploring, for we want to find out if we are really on the island of Cuba." The boys' hunger was very much greater than their grief, and without further urging they did full justice to the meal, Teddy saying as he helped himself to the third slice of preserved meat: "It wouldn't be a bad idea for us to hunt a little while for something in the shape of a vegetable, or we shall soon run short of provisions." "It's the very plan I was thinking of. In these woods we should be able to find many things that would help out on the bill of fare; but in case that can't be done, you boys must turn hunters. It's mighty lucky you have your guns and plenty of ammunition." This last suggestion pleased the boys wonderfully and if Jake had not insisted very strongly that they sleep during the hottest portion of the day, both would have started into the forest without delay. After lying down in the shade slumber came to their eyelids quickly, and when he was convinced they were across the border of dreamland, Jake arose softly, saying to himself as he stole up the shore: "This goes ahead of any scrape I ever had the bad luck to fall into, an' I'd give all I've got to know exactly where we are, for I'm certain it ain't Cuba. If two days pass without our sightin' a sail I must fix up some story to make the boys eager to tramp across the country. That'll be better than stayin' here where, 'cordin' to my idea, there's mighty small chance of our finding anybody who can help us." He walked along the shore fully two miles; but there was no diversity of scene. The coast strewn thickly with coral rocks, and backed by a dense forest, was all that could be seen either above or below the place where they landed. Then Jake forced his way through the tangled undergrowth, experiencing no slight difficulty in so doing, and the vegetation confirmed his belief that the little craft had been carried by the wind to some land further south than was at first supposed. On the water not a sail was in sight, and when Jake returned to the place where the rude shelter had been put up he was in even a more despondent mood than Teddy and Neal had been. "I s'pose we must wait here a couple of days to satisfy the boys the other boats won't come, an' then it's a case of strikin' across the country with good chance of wanderin' around until fever or wild animals puts an end to it." His companions were yet asleep, and he lay down beside them in order to prevent any suspicion that he had been spying out the land. Under other circumstances the monotonous roar of the surf would have lulled him to rest; but now his anxiety was so great that, despite all efforts, his eyes would persist in staying open very wide, and he spent the remainder of the siesta trying in vain to decide what was best to do. Not until late in the afternoon did the boys awaken, and then Neal said as he sprang to his feet: "It won't do for us all to sleep again at the same time. If the boats came in sight since we've been lying here it is very probable father has missed us, for more than likely they would try for a better place to land further up or down the coast." "You needn't worry about that, lad. I've kept honest watch, and not so much as the wing of a sea gull has appeared above the horizon." Teddy, remembering what Jake had said about hunting, began to clean the guns, for both had been thoroughly wetted during the landing, and Neal walked slowly along as he looked out over the water intently. Before going very far he saw the engineer's footprints on the sand, and shouted excitedly: "Some one has been here! Perhaps father arrived before we did." "There's no such good luck," Jake replied. "While you fellows were snoozing I went a long bit in that direction." "Then it's only a waste of time for me to go over the same ground," and Neal retraced his steps, adding when he gained Teddy's side, "I'll do my share of that work." "You spoke too late, for I have finished. Now let's see what can be done in the way of hunting; a roasted bird will be a big improvement over salt meat, and I count on finding plenty of game." "All right, provided Jake is willing to stay here alone." "What is to prevent me from joining the party?" "Someone must remain in case the boats heave in sight," Neal replied in a positive tone, and the engineer said carelessly: "I didn't think of that; but it'll be all right, I'll keep my eyes peeled," and he added to himself, "I wish he wasn't so certain about the others coming, an' then the disappointment wouldn't be quite so great." Jake cautioned the boys against going very far from the beach because of the danger of getting lost in the forest, and as they disappeared among the underbrush he threw himself upon the ground, unable longer to fight against the despair which was rapidly overpowering him. He understood perfectly well how great would be the danger in attempting to make their way through the wooded portion of the country at this season of the year, when fever germs lurked in every spot where stagnant water was to be found, and knew at the same time how extremely difficult it might be to find a place offering any more advantages than did the narrow strip of sand on which they had been thrown. "It wouldn't be quite as bad if I knew where we are," he said to himself. "It can't be possible that we're on the coast of South America; but if that should prove to be the case we'd make a pretty mess of it by trying to cross." Then came the thought that perhaps it would be better to travel up the coast, and as to the advisability of this he studied a long while without being able to arrive at any satisfactory conclusion. Two hours were spent in this profitless speculation, and then the boys returned, bringing with them two large hoccos, birds looking not unlike wild turkeys. "We shan't starve while such game as this is to be found," Neal cried triumphantly. "I believe we might have shot a dozen by staying longer; but there was no sense in doing so just for the sake of killing. It will be a hard job to eat all this meat before it spoils." "How far in did you go?" Jake asked, rising to his feet quickly and trying to banish from his face the look of dejection, lest his companions should suspect how desperate he believed the situation to be. "Not more than half a mile," Teddy replied. "What is the general appearance of the country?" "The undergrowth is very dense in places, and above here, a little to the right, we came upon what seems to be a swamp. It was there we found these birds, and something else which is not quite so promising." As he spoke Teddy pulled up his shirt sleeve, and pointed to several black specks on his skin. "They are ticks, or garrapatas, as the Spaniards call them," Jake replied, as he opened his pocket knife. "The sooner you get rid of them the better, for they will make what is likely to be a bad sore unless a cordial invitation to leave is extended." "Are you going to cut them out?" Teddy asked in alarm. "Not exactly; but you won't get rid of the pests without considerable pain, for they have the faculty of crawling under the skin mighty fast." Jake set about the work in a methodical manner, causing Teddy to cry aloud very often as the insects were pulled or dug from the flesh. Then Neal was called upon to undergo the same operation, and not until nearly an hour had passed were the hunters free from the painful pests. It was now nearly sunset, and all hands set about preparing the hoccos for roasting, by first plucking the fowls, removing the intestines, and sticking them on a sharpened stake in front of the fire. It was not an entirely satisfactory method of cooking, for while one portion was done brown, another would be hardly warmed through; but, as Teddy said, "it went a long way ahead of nothing," and all three worked industriously, turning the game or piling on the fuel until, about an hour after sunset, the task was completed. By this time the castaways were decidedly hungry, and the half-cooked fowls tasted better than had the most elaborate meals on board the Sea Dream. CHAPTER IX. ACROSS THE COUNTRY. When, supper having been eaten, preparations were made for the night, Neal insisted that one of the party should remain on guard during the hours of darkness, in order to watch for the boats, and Jake had no slight trouble in convincing him that it was not absolutely necessary. "We couldn't see their lights half a mile away if they have any hoisted, which isn't likely, for the oil must be scarce by this time," the engineer said, "and, in case we did sight them, what good would it do? We should induce them to land here, and we know how dangerous that is even in the daytime. I had rather let them pass without knowing where we are, than to be the innocent cause of a second disaster." After considerable discussion Neal was made to understand that no good could come of posting sentinels, and the little party lay down on the bed of leaves; but, owing to the suspense concerning the fate of the others, neither slept very soundly. It was hardly light enough to see surrounding objects when Jake began to prepare breakfast, and as soon as the sun rose Neal and Teddy paced to and fro on the beach gazing seaward; but without seeing that for which they sought. For the first time Neal began to despair concerning his father, and returning to the camp he said in a voice choked by sobs: "I don't believe we shall ever see either of them again. The wind has held steady since we landed, and they should have been here a long while ago. Our boat couldn't have sailed so much faster than theirs that we should arrive twenty-four hours in advance." "Now put out of your mind the idea that we are not to see all hands some time," Jake replied quite sharply. "I'm willing to admit that they may not strike here, for I might as well own up to the truth, and say the chances are against two boats coming so far and hitting the same spot on the coast. That doesn't prove, however, that there has been any further disaster." "Then you do believe that they won't come here?" "Yes." "Why haven't you proposed to make some change?" "I didn't want to say anything until we were certain the boats wouldn't heave in sight. I shouldn't advise making a move yet awhile; but since you've broached the subject we may as well talk plainly." "Do you think we are likely to be taken off by a vessel?" "The fact that none have passed within our line of vision certainly shows that such a chance is slim. I have come to the conclusion that we are not on the island of Cuba, and it stands us in hand to try for some town or sea-port. We might stay here a month, and then have a craft heave in sight when the surf run so high as to prevent a boat landing." "What do you want to do?" "Strike straight through the woods. There must be people living here somewhere, and the sooner we find them the sooner we'll get home." "Why not follow along the beach?" "Because, if this is an island, as it surely must be, we could get across quicker than around, and, besides, with all these coral rocks the beach is not the best sort of a road for traveling, loaded down as we shall be." Neal was silent for a moment, and Teddy took advantage of the opportunity to ask: "When do you think we ought to make a move?" "My idea is that we should stay here to-day (our supply of water won't last much longer), and start early to-morrow morning. That would be time enough to prove whether the boats are coming, and give us a chance to get the traps into proper shape for carrying." "You know best what should be done," Neal said, speaking slowly, "and I am ready to do as you propose." "Now that is what I call sensible talk," Jake replied, in a tone of satisfaction. "By buckling right down to work, and putting out of our minds all unpleasant thoughts, for it don't do any good to moon over what can't be changed, we shall soon get out of this scrape." Neal remained silent. To leave the coast seemed like deserting his father, and although he knew Jake's plan should be carried out, it made him sad to think of going where it would be no longer possible to see the ocean. Teddy, however, experienced a sense of relief as soon as it was decided to enter the forest in search of human beings. To him the place was anything rather than agreeable, for he could never rid himself of the feeling that the drowned sailors would soon be washed ashore, and during the hours of darkness all kinds of queer fancies came into his mind with every unusual sound. He was eager to discuss with Jake the details of the proposed journey, and, Neal listening to the conversation but taking no part in it, the matter was arranged to the satisfaction of the engineer and Teddy. The ammunition and such provisions as had been brought ashore, was divided into three portions, one being very much heavier than the others, and each tied in such shape as would be most convenient for carrying. So much of the game as would not be needed for immediate consumption was wrapped in leaves for the travelers to take with them; but that which caused Jake the most anxiety was the fact that the supply of water would be exhausted before they started. "It can't be helped," he said ruefully, "and we may be mighty thirsty before finding any; but the case would be worse if we staid here, so there is no reason why we need worry very much. In that swamp you spoke of we shall surely find what thirsty men can drink on a pinch, and I'm positive we'll get along all right." As if eager to convince himself that there was no great danger to be apprehended from the journey through the forest, he continued to talk about his plans until both the boys were perfectly familiar with all he hoped to gain by the attempt; but of his fears not a word was spoken. At night all retired early in order to be fresh for the morrow's work, and when the first faint flush of another day appeared in the eastern sky Jake aroused his companions. "Turn out, boys," he shouted cheerily. "We must make the most of these cool hours, for it will be necessary to halt at noon, and we want to get through the forest as quickly as possible." While speaking he was fastening the heaviest package on his back, and after a hurried toilet in the sea Neal and Teddy took up their loads. It was still quite dark under the towering trees when the journey was begun; but each moment the gloom grew less, until, when the sun rose it was possible to see the way with but little difficulty. To travel very rapidly was out of the question. In certain places the underbrush was so dense that considerable exertion became necessary in order to force a passage, and despite all efforts not more than two miles an hour could be made. At the swamp plenty of cool, clear water was found, and with this Jake filled the two bottles, all they had in which to carry a supply of the precious liquid. At noon a long halt was made, and when the sun began to decline the weary march was resumed. By no means the least of the travelers' suffering was caused by thorns, and to one who has never had any experience of this sort, a description of the various spines and needles which project from the strange plants in these vast forests would seem exaggerated. They are of all sizes and shapes, and in many places actually prevent a man from making his way through the foliage even though he be armed with a machete. Oftentimes it is absolutely necessary to make a long detour in order to avoid the painful obstructions, and before half of this day's journey was finished all three of the castaways bore bloody evidence of what these natural bristles can do. The siesta was decidedly abridged, for Jake realized the importance of concluding the tramp as quickly as possible, and the afternoon was but little more than half ended when, to the intense surprise of all, they suddenly arrived at a clearing in the very midst of the forest. After wandering among the luxuriant vegetation the travelers were almost startled at seeing an avenue of banana trees which had evidently been planted by the hand of man, and, following it up, the little party were yet more surprised at seeing a white man swinging idly in a hammock. Jake advanced as if unable to believe the evidences of his own senses, and said hesitatingly: "We had no intention of intruding, sir; but followed the line of banana trees without the slightest idea of finding a gentleman's home." "Don't apologize," the stranger replied in good English, and springing to his feet as if in alarm. "It is true that I am not in the habit of receiving callers in this out-of-the-way place; but those of my own race are none the less welcome. Will you walk into the house?" The boys peered through the foliage where, after some difficulty, they saw a small cabin, hardly large enough to be called a dwelling, and Jake replied quickly: "We would prefer to remain here. Having walked since sunrise, you can fancy that any place in which to rest our legs without fear of coming in contact with a scorpion or a snake is grateful." "I can't promise that you won't be troubled by such visitors; but you are welcome to do as you choose." Jake threw himself on the ground, asking as he did so: "Can you tell me how near we are to a sea-port? We have just landed from a pleasure yacht which was destroyed by fire, and haven't any idea where we are." "You are now in Yucatan, and probably know perfectly well how near to the coast, for----" "In Yucatan?" Jake repeated in surprise. "Exactly, and not so very far from the famed Silver City of the Chan Santa Cruz Indians." "That last information doesn't seem to be very important so far as we are concerned; but it does surprise me to know we are in this section of the country, for our captain was quite positive we should strike the coast of Cuba." "Tell me how such a mistake was made." "That is exactly what I don't know myself; but it won't take long to explain why we are here." Then Jake told the story of the cruise in the Sea Dream, of the unaccountable conflagration, and the fatal landing on the coast, concluding by saying: "As a matter of course we are most anxious to reach some place from which we can find a steamer or sailing vessel going to the United States. Probably you can give us the proper information, and by that means get rid of unexpected and, perhaps, unwelcome visitors." "But I do not wish to get rid of you," the stranger replied quickly. "On the contrary I am more than delighted because you were forced to come here, since you can render me a very great service." "I fail to understand how," Jake replied in perplexity. "You shall soon know, and I fancy you will be decidedly surprised when I give you all the details. First, however, allow me to prepare supper, and then it will be singular if I do not tell such a story as will cause greater astonishment than you ever experienced before." With these strange words the young man--he did not appear to be more than thirty years old--leaped out of the hammock, and disappeared among the shrubbery which so nearly concealed the building. CHAPTER X. A STRANGE STORY. The meal, which was partaken of heartily by the weary travelers, consisted of eggs and fruit, with plenty of freshly cooked tortillas, and as Teddy remarked in a low tone when it was absolutely impossible for him to eat any more, "it went way ahead of turkeys roasted on a stick." After his guests had finished this very satisfactory repast, the stranger proposed that all adjourn to the banana avenue where he slung another hammock that both the boys might lie down, gave Jake a cigar of home manufacture, lighted one himself, and, lying upon the ground in an attitude of absolute repose, said laughingly: "Now if you wish to hear the story I promised to tell there is nothing to prevent." "I would certainly like to know how it happens that you are living alone in this forest," Jake replied. "Then I will begin in regular story-book style, for when it is ended I intend to make a proposition. My name is Byron Cummings, and the last home I had previous to the building of this shanty, was in Baltimore, Maryland. Two years ago--it may have been longer, for one does not keep a very strict record of time in this country--I visited Merida on a pleasure trip, and while there heard the story of the Silver City." "Is that the name of a town, or do you mean that the precious metal is so plentiful there?" Teddy interrupted. "I refer to a city built by the Chan Santa Cruz Indians which has received this name because the ornamentation of the houses is of silver, and so profuse as to give it the appearance, at a distance, of being a collection of silver buildings. Don't laugh until you hear the whole story," he added, as a smile of incredulity passed over Jake's face. "Any one in Merida, and, in fact the English histories, will tell you that this wonderful city is in the vast tract of marshy land situated between here and Merida, known as the Black Swamp. It is a fact that no white man has ever seen it, since the only approach is across the swamp on the south side, and the way so closely guarded that a person must have special sources of information in order to get through the labyrinth of narrow water courses on the banks of which are sentinels ready to salute the visitor with a shower of poisoned arrows. "It cannot be reached from the east because of the rocks, a few samples of which you probably saw on the sea coast. As you doubtless know, the Indians hereabout have never been conquered by the whites, and the interior is as much an unknown land as it was at the time of the conquest. "Certain of the Chan Santa Cruz Indians visit Merida at certain seasons of the year, where they sell, or rather, exchange for goods, gold dust and massive golden ornaments, valuing the yellow treasure so lightly, and bringing such quantities that there can be no doubt they have access to an enormous deposit. Silver they use as we do iron, and I myself have seen one of these visitors wearing thick beaten bands of it as a protection to his legs, probably because of the thorns." "If they come into the towns I should think some venturesome fellow would follow, to learn the secret of the city in the swamp," Jake suggested, and it could plainly be seen that he was growing decidedly interested. "That has often been tried; but, so far as I can learn, no one ever succeeded. Twice I tracked three villainous looking old fellows to the very edge of the marsh, and both times they disappeared so silently and completely as to make it seem as if the earth had opened and swallowed them. Then, learning of the many who had failed in the same attempt, I formed a plan which must give me the victory, although it has required much time." "What is it?" Jake asked breathlessly. "I resolved to learn the language, and to that end came here with an Indian who knows the habits and customs of these people, he having dealt with them for many years, and, what is more, has been within sight of the famous city. From him I have gained all the information necessary to enable me to penetrate the swamp, and now flatter myself that I can speak the dialect of the Chan Santa Cruz tribe as perfectly as a native." "Have you remained here two years doing nothing else but studying how to reach the village?" Neal asked. "Very little beside that. We built the hut, planted these trees for a lounging place, and now raise chickens and fruit enough to provide us with food." "Where is the man you speak of?" "He went to Merida three days ago; but will return by the day after to-morrow if no accident has befallen him." "When are you going to make the attempt to get through the swamp?" "Very soon if you accept my proposition." "What have we to do with it?" Jake asked in surprise. "I will explain. Old Poyor and myself are not strong enough numerically to make the attempt alone, for in case the secret of our identity should be discovered, nothing could save our lives. With you three as an addition to the party, and two armed with good weapons, I would not be afraid to travel straight through the city. As a matter of fact the only real danger is in approaching the place; but I have studied over that portion of the business so long that I do not fear a failure if you can be prevailed upon to join us." "That is out of the question," Neal replied decidedly, speaking quickly, as if afraid Jake might agree to the scheme. "You know we must get back to our own country as soon as possible, for if father is alive he will suffer great anxiety concerning us." "You are right to make haste; but what if I tell you that by going with me no time will be lost?" "How can that be possible?" "Because if you were in Merida to-day you could not reach Progresso in time to take the steamer which left for the United States this morning. If you remain here two weeks more, there will then be ample opportunity to get passage on the next vessel which starts. I have a time table, and you can see by it that I am telling the truth." As he ceased speaking Cummings arose, walked leisurely to the house, and returned with the article in question, which he handed to Neal. It was only necessary to glance at it in order to learn that his statement was a fact, and when Teddy was also convinced, the host continued: "According to the plan I have formed we should be back in less than ten days from the time we begin the journey, and if you agree to the scheme it should make us all wealthy." "But you said the old Indian would not return for three days," Jake interrupted. "Very true; but we shall not wait for him to come here. That which he will bring is exactly what we want as an outfit, and we can meet him at the only entrance to the swamp where, for more than three months, I have had a boat hidden in readiness for the attempt." Then Cummings gave a more detailed account of the wonderful city as he had heard it in Merida and from Poyor, and so well did he tell the story that in a short time his guests were in the highest state of excitement. "Now the question is whether you will join me?" he said in conclusion. "Having studied the matter so long I feel warranted in saying that it is not an unusually dangerous venture, and, if we are successful, the amount of wealth we can carry away must be enormous." "It wouldn't take me long to decide," Jake replied promptly; "but seeing that I am in Mr. Emery's employ I couldn't go contrary to his son's orders. As a matter of fact I'm not bound in any way; but it seems to be the only square thing to do." "And what is your idea?" Cummings asked as he looked toward Teddy. "Since we can't start for home immediately, I don't see why we shouldn't spend the time in what will be the jolliest kind of an adventure whether there is any gold to be gained or not." The young man then turned to Neal questioningly, and the latter said hesitatingly: "It isn't fair for Jake to make me decide. He should know better than I whether we ought to go with you. If it was possible for us to leave the country at once there could be no question, for we must return to the United States at the earliest opportunity." "And since that cannot be done you have no objections to joining us in the visit to the Silver City?" "I don't know. You would not go until to-morrow, so we have a chance to discuss the matter among ourselves." "Very true. I've some work to attend to, and while I am away you will be able to talk privately." Then Cummings arose, went toward the house and when he disappeared from view Neal said to Jake: "Now tell me just what you think of going with him; I mean, what you think father would say if we could consult him, not what we would like to do." "Well, if you put it in that way," and now Jake spoke as if weighing every word, "I can't see why we shouldn't have a little fun, seein's how we're bound to stay here longer than he allows is enough to go to this Silver City an' back. It would be a mean kind of a man who'd object to our havin' enjoyment after all that's happened." "Then you believe father would approve of our going with Mr. Cummings?" Jake was not exactly prepared to say "yes," and at the same time he did not wish to reply in the negative after his acquiescence in all the host had advanced as reasons why they should accompany him, and after a long pause Neal added: "Of course I want to go, for it can't be possible that there is very much danger, and I make this proposition: We must sail on the next steamer, and if Mr. Cummings is willing we should desert him, no matter what may be the condition of affairs when it is time for us to start for the coast, then we are warranted in accepting the proposition." "That is what I call putting the matter in the proper light," Jake replied with considerable emphasis. "On this basis no one can possibly find any fault, and we may as well tell him that we have decided to go." "First explain that we must leave Yucatan on the next steamer which starts from Progresso." "I'll do it, and if he is so certain that we shall be out of the Silver City in that time there can be no reason for any fault-finding." "I think Neal has arranged the business as it should be," Teddy said approvingly, and from that moment the castaways believed they were committed to the scheme. Half an hour later, when Cummings returned to learn the result of the interview, Jake explained upon what grounds the decision had been arrived at, and he expressed himself as perfectly satisfied with the arrangement. "If we can't get into the city during the coming week there is no use trying," he said, "and I will undertake to see you on board the next steamer which sails. Now it only remains to decide upon the details, and at sunrise to-morrow we will begin what I have been preparing for, during the past two years." Since the details consisted only in agreeing upon what amount of luggage should be taken with them, but little time was spent in discussion, and as the boys retired on this night it was with the knowledge that when the sun rose again they would start for the Silver City which every traveler in Yucatan admitted had an existence. CHAPTER XI. THE JOURNEY. The boys and Jake had no preparations to make for the journey. The goods they had brought from the coast was their only property, and could readily be carried as during the tramp to this point. On the contrary, Cummings found many things which it was necessary should be done before departure. Whether successful in the attempt to reach the marvelous city or not, he could hardly hope to return to the hut where all his preparations had been made, and there was much to be done. After ascertaining that his guests were willing to accompany him he made arrangements for their comfort during the night, and then, excusing himself on the plea of work, was seen no more until the time for departure had come. Of the three castaways Neal was the only one who had any misgivings regarding the proposed detour. It seemed to him as if he was in some way abandoning his father by embarking in this enterprise, although how anything more could be done to aid those who had taken refuge in the boats was beyond his comprehension. This much was clear in his mind, however: He had agreed to aid in the attempt, and when Cummings awakened the little party he arose quickly, firmly resolved to do everything in his power to reach the city which, as yet, he was not thoroughly convinced existed. It was still dark when the final preparations for the journey were begun, and Cummings' impatience was so great that the sun had but just shown himself above the horizon when the morning meal had been eaten, and their host was urging them to make haste. "We must be at the rendezvous not later than this afternoon in order to avoid the chance of passing Poyor on the way," he said impatiently, "therefore the sooner we start the better." "We are ready," Jake replied, and, after setting the fowls loose, Cummings led the way through the underbrush, finding a path where the others would not have believed any existed. As if to prevent the boys from losing their interest in the search for the Silver City, their guide continued to add to the story he had already told, and during the long march but little else was talked about. Jake who was as excited as a man well could be, for he had no doubt but that they could find large quantities of treasure where there would be no difficulties in the matter of carrying it away, plied Cummings with questions whenever the conversation lagged, and Neal had but little opportunity to speculate upon the fate of his father. Not until late in the night, when to Neal and Teddy it seemed as if they could go no further, did the party halt, and during the last hour of the march the utmost silence was maintained. "It is absolutely necessary to avoid detection in case any of the Indians may be in the vicinity," Cummings had said, "and we must move as stealthily as if we knew positively they were waiting for us." From that time no one spoke. The guide crept on at a slow pace, his every movement copied by the remainder of the party, and on arriving at the rendezvous he motioned the others to lie down, whispering as they gathered around him: "We are near the canoe, and it only remains to watch for Poyor, who should be here by morning. I'll stand guard while the others sleep." There was no thought of putting up anything in the shape of a shelter, and the boys stretched themselves on the ground in the midst of a thick clump of vegetation, Teddy whispering to Neal: "If it is necessary to take such precautions as these before we are near the city, we may expect pretty rough times before arriving at the place." "That's a fact, and I begin to wish we hadn't started. There is no positive assurance we shall get through in time to take the next steamer for home, and even Cummings himself can't say whether any of us will ever come back." "Do you want to give up the job now?" "I'd be ashamed to do that, for it would look as if we were afraid; but I'm sorry we agreed to the plan;" and Teddy replied heartily: "So am I." Jake had nothing to say; but whether his silence was caused by a desire to obey Cummings' instructions to avoid making a noise, or by misgivings as to the wisdom of the venture, neither of the boys could guess. Despite the anxiety of the younger members of the party they soon fell asleep, owing to excessive fatigue, and did not arouse to consciousness until Jake whispered as he shook them vigorously: "It's time to start. The Indian has come, an' ain't half as bad a lookin' man as I counted on seeing." The boys sprang to their feet, finding themselves face to face with a tall, half naked figure which, in the dim light, looked more like a statue of bronze than a human being. He stood scrutinizing them keenly for fully a minute, and then, as if satisfied with their appearance, turned away to walk swiftly along the edge of the swamp until lost to view in the darkness. "Poyor has just arrived," Cummings said by way of explanation; "and according to his belief it is well for us to start at once." "Where has he gone?" Teddy asked. "After the canoe; it is but a short distance from here." "Don't you dare to cook breakfast?" "Certainly not; the light of a fire would be worse, for us, than the report of a gun. Until we arrive at the Silver City it will be a case of eating cold food, and perhaps we may be obliged to wait even longer than that before having anything very elaborate in the way of a meal." "If we are only certain of coming back again where it is possible to do as we please, I won't grumble about what we are obliged to eat," Neal said, with a nervous laugh. "Don't borrow trouble," Cummings replied quickly; but both the boys noticed that he no longer spoke in the same confident tone as before the journey was begun. "We shall surely get through without difficulty." The conversation was interrupted by the approach of Poyor, who came down the water-way in the canoe more like a ghost than a creature of flesh and blood, and Jake, whose head had been turned in the other direction, could not suppress a slight exclamation of surprise as the Indian suddenly appeared by his side. The canoe which had been brought thus silently was simply the trunk of a tree hollowed out, and about fifteen feet in length. It yet rested lightly on the water when the entire party and all the traps were on board, and the boys noticed with no slight degree of astonishment, that one stroke of the paddle was sufficient to send it sharply in either direction. "Now you have a chance to finish your nap," Cummings whispered as, kneeling aft, he began to assist Poyor in propelling the craft. "Don't you want us to help?" Teddy asked. "No, there will be nothing you can do until we enter the Silver City." Tired though the boys were it was literally impossible to close their eyes in slumber now, and they remained very wide awake watching the coming of a new day. When the sun had risen they could get some slight idea of the country through which they were passing; but of what might be a few yards beyond no one could say. The shores of this particular water-way through the swamp were flat, covered with reeds and long grass, with here and there dense tangles of trees and vines, and the channel was so narrow that only at rare intervals could the paddles be used. The Indian and the white man pushed the boat from one bend to another, oftentimes finding it difficult to pass the sharp curves, and the boys confidently expected this labor would be continued during the entire day, therefore their surprise was great when, about an hour after sunrise, the little craft was forced under a clump of overhanging foliage as if the journey was at an end. "What is the matter?" Neal asked in a whisper, and Cummings replied in the same cautious tone: "Nothing. It would be in the highest degree dangerous to travel very far now that it is light." "How long are we to stay here?" "Until the darkness comes again." "Wouldn't it be safe to go on the bank where we can stretch our legs?" "We must not leave the boat. It will be only for a few hours, and then we shall have plenty of exercise paddling." Immediately the canoe had been made fast under the mass of vines and shrubbery Poyor stretched himself out in the bow as if the task of remaining perfectly quiet during an entire day was a very agreeable one, and Cummings followed his example. Jake, who had been sitting amidships, moved toward his friends, and the three spent an hour talking of what was now termed by all "a foolish venture." There was nothing left for it, however, but to continue on since they were in the swamp, and after a time Neal said petulantly: "Well make the best of it, and if an opportunity should occur to go to Merida there must be no hesitation, whatever Cummings may say." As if this resolution gave them renewed courage, the boys lay down in the most comfortable position possible, after eating a light lunch, and until nightfall no sound save that caused by heavy breathing could have been heard from the boat. Then, when darkness came again, Poyor, who had remained almost without motion during the entire time of the halt, aroused himself, ate half a dozen bananas, and took up the paddle. The precautions against being discovered by those who might be on the watch were now redoubled. Before rounding a bend the Indian waited in a listening attitude to assure himself no one was moving in the immediate vicinity, and when it became necessary to work the canoe along by aid of the foliage the utmost care was exercised to prevent the branches from rustling. As the hours wore on and no attack was made Cummings appeared to be highly elated, and Jake's gloomy forebodings were dispelled in the thought of the treasure which they might be able to bring away. Once, about midnight, when they halted a moment for Poyor to reconnoiter, Neal whispered to the leader: "How many nights of this kind of traveling is necessary before we reach the city?" "When we next halt it will be to leave the boat and continue the journey on foot. It was the possible difficulties, not the distance, which rendered the undertaking formidable." The Indian returned, stepped into the canoe without speaking, and took up the paddle as if to say there was nothing to prevent them from going ahead. From this time until faint streaks of light caused by the approach of the sun could be seen in the sky there was no lengthy interruption to the advance, and then as the boat was pulled out of the channel into a sort of basin or break of the bank which led among the more dense portions of the forests, Cummings said to Neal: "In two hours you shall have a full view of the Silver City, and then there can be no doubt as to the truth of what I have told you." CHAPTER XII. THE SILVER CITY. To Neal and Teddy the thought that they were so near the wonderful place described by Cummings overshadowed everything else, and the probable danger was but a secondary consideration. Jake was in a perfect fever of excitement, and so great was his desire to see the city from which he fully expected to bring away enormous amounts of gold that more than once did the leader caution him in an impatient tone to remain quiet. Impassive, apparently unmoved by the fact that the plan which he and his white companion had spent so many months in perfecting was about to be proven successful, or a failure that might result in the death of all concerned, the Indian stood silent and motionless at the foot of a gigantic cypress tree; but Teddy observed that he was on the alert for the slightest unusual sound. Cummings dealt out some food; but none of the party ate it. Hunger had been banished by suspense, anxiety and anticipation. Gradually the gloom was dispelled, and it became possible to see the varied forms of life everywhere around. The party had halted upon a slight elevation, where they had a limited view of that portion of the forest which appeared to be distinct from the region of marsh. As the sun arose, and a singularly dazzling light, different from anything the boys had ever seen before was reflected on the tops of the trees, it seemed as if every branch was laden with birds of the most gorgeous plumage flitting here and there like movable jewels against a background of green enamel. Hundreds of monkeys filled the air with an almost incessant chattering which drowned all other sounds, and snakes of every color and size writhed and wriggled in different directions to greet the grateful heat of the sun. It was a picture most beautiful, and at the same time, because of the serpents, terrifying. Cummings began to make his way up the trunk of the cypress, aided by Poyor; but when Jake would have followed, the Indian motioned for him to remain with the boys. [Illustration: The Indian stood silent and motionless at the foot of the gigantic Cypress tree, etc.] One glance appeared to be sufficient for the leader of the party, and as he descended he whispered to Neal: "We have made no mistake. The city can be seen plainly. You and your companions may gratify your curiosity, for we shall remain here until Poyor comes back." Then turning to the Indian, Cummings whispered a few words, and the former glided through the underbrush, being lost to view almost immediately. By assisting each other the three castaways were soon where such a marvelous sight was presented that exclamations of surprise and admiration burst from their lips; but, fortunately, the chattering of the monkeys would have prevented the outcries from being heard had a party of Chan Santa Cruz Indians been at the foot of the tree. Far to the eastward was a long range of low, rocky mountains, and at the north and south spurs or cliffs, all enclosing a beautiful valley in the center of which was a city of dazzlingly white buildings. To look at this collection of houses and temples very long at a time was almost impossible because of the peculiar glare which the boys had mistaken for the sun's rays. It was caused by the reflection of the god of day on an edifice in the center of the city, the dome-like roof of which was covered with a burnished metal substance having the appearance of silver. The adjoining buildings, composed of white stone having a softness as of alabaster, threw this peculiar light in every direction, causing the city to stand out amid the green foliage like a huge incandescent mass. Each house stood in a square by itself, and, judging from the area of the city one might have estimated the population at about fifteen thousand. The streets were laid out with the utmost precision, and composed of what appeared to be fine white sand, while at every intersection were monuments of grotesque figures or animals. At regular intervals were enormous white columns capped with the glistening metal, the same as displayed on the dome of the principal building and on many of the houses. After taking in this wonderful picture as a whole the boys gazed at the most prominent objects in turn, the central edifice occupying the greater share of attention. That this was a place of worship seemed reasonable to suppose because of the crowds of people entering or departing from the opening formed by lofty pillars of shimmering metal, and also because of the tiny threads of smoke which arose from several apertures in the roof as if from altar fires. To confirm the beholders in this belief the faint sound of sweet music arose in the air, and instantly the throngs in the streets prostrated themselves in adoration of some one of the statues. The citizens were dressed in flowing garments of white, and all seemed intent on worship which was prolonged until after the spectators left the tree. One singular fact was noted by Teddy, and he called Neal's attention to it. Neither on the surrounding hills nor in the city could a single animal of any kind be seen. It was as if even the birds from the forest so shaped their course as to avoid flying over the dazzling wonderful city which was shut out from the rest of the world by the swamp wherein fever lurked in its most horrible form. How long the boys and Jake gazed at this marvelous picture neither of them could ever say. They took no heed of the passage of time, and when Cummings called softly that it would be well to come down in order to gain a little rest before Poyor returned, Teddy noticed with surprise that the sun was high in the heavens. "Well, do you believe now that the Silver City really has an existence?" the leader asked when the three stood by his side. "After that anything seems possible," Neal replied with a sigh as if weary of gazing at so much magnificence. "Save some adjectives expressive of admiration until we are in the city, when I fancy you will see very much that is more curious." "The people don't appear to be so terribly ferocious," Teddy said, "and yet you think they would kill us all if our presence was discovered." "I am positive of it. In a white man they see only one of that race which has worked them so much injury, making ruins of many cities, and oppressing the rightful owners of the country." "If that is the case how are we to get in there?" Neal asked. "Poyor has a plan which I think will be successful; wait until he returns, and if the conditions are favorable to the attempt you shall soon know." "But suppose he stays away until a party of Indians take it into their heads to come in this direction?" "There is little danger of our being discovered unless it has been suspected we have crossed the swamp, which is hardly probable. Very few of the inhabitants ever venture out, and there is no reason why they should come to this exact spot. Lie down now, Poyor will be with us by nightfall." It was a simple matter to follow the first portion of this advice; but decidedly difficult to close their eyes in slumber after what had been seen. Teddy and Neal, who threw themselves on the ground side by side, could not keep their thoughts from the wonderful city, and when both Jake and Cummings were apparently wrapped in slumber the former whispered: "Do you think now that we were foolish to come?" "No, because it isn't so far in the swamp but that we can get out in a short time if anything happens, and a glimpse of that city would repay a fellow for considerable trouble." "But suppose the Indians get hold of us?" "That is something I reckon Cummings can take care of. If he has made such elaborate preparations for entering, when it is so near where he was living we can be pretty certain there will be no very grave mistake." "Even if we succeed in reaching the city I can't understand how it will be possible to carry away much gold." "Nor I; but yet you know a small package is valuable, and five persons could lug a great deal." "Do you fancy he brought us simply to carry the treasure for him?" "He said we would all share alike, so our services wouldn't be of much advantage to him, more particularly since he and the Indian could bring away a heavier load than all three of us." In this manner, speculating upon the benefits which might accrue to them rather than regarding the great danger to which the entire party was exposed, the boys passed the time until late in the afternoon, and then Poyor approached so softly that he stood in their midst before any one had heard even a rustling among the leaves. On seeing the man Cummings sprang up eagerly, asked a question in the Indian dialect, and the reply was given at great length, Poyor using more gestures than the boys had ever fancied were at his command. That his report was in the highest degree interesting to Cummings there could be no doubt, for the latter listened intently, interrupting him only to ask some question, and not until nearly half an hour had passed was any explanation made to the others. Then Cummings said with a slight show of triumph: "Poyor has just come from the city, and there is no suspicion that we have passed the line of sentinels." "If he did that what is to prevent us from doing the same?" Jake asked as the leader paused for an instant. "Nothing except our skins are white, and he can readily pass himself off for a Chan Santa Cruz. He speaks the language, resembles them in features, and could make his way around the town with but little trouble; but on that point no great amount of time need be spent. Here is the plan which I wish to carry into effect: Poyor has found a vacant building on the outskirts of the place which he has bargained for, representing himself as one of the sentinels recently released from duty on the eastern side. In that character no person will be likely to wonder why he is without acquaintances, for the watchmen often remain away from the city one or two years, entering only when it is necessary to procure provisions." "Is he to go on alone?" Jake asked. "Certainly not. At a late hour to-night we will accompany him, and all our hopes of success depend upon gaining this building without being discovered." "How long are we to stay there?" "A week if necessary." "A week!" Teddy and Neal cried in concert. "Yes, and I hope we shall be able to remain concealed in the house during that time, otherwise it may go hard with us." "But what do you expect to do shut up in a building, for of course we must keep out of sight?" and Jake's face expressed the utmost surprise and apprehension. "That is exactly what you shall learn when we arrive there. Since I have proven that the Silver City really has an existence, the least that can be done is to aid in carrying out my programme without too much discussion." "You won't have any reason to complain because I don't obey orders," Jake replied quickly. "Then I will soon show you what we expect to do providing our plans work without a hitch during the next ten hours. Let's get these traps into a more convenient shape for carrying, in order that we may be ready for the last stage of our journey when Poyor gives the word." CHAPTER XIII. IN THE CITY. The boys and Jake were decidedly perplexed and not a little worried in regard to the outline of work as given by Cummings. They failed to understand how it could be to their advantage to go into the city if it should be necessary to remain hidden all the time, or in what way they would derive any benefit from the visit. Although the leader of the party knew from the expression of their faces that they were dissatisfied with the general outlook, he did not volunteer any information, thinking, perhaps, that it was unnecessary to do so since they were where it was impossible to withdraw from the enterprise. Neither Teddy nor Neal believed the party would be exposed to any extraordinary danger. The only idea in their minds was as to whether it would be possible for them to get out of the swamp in time to take the next steamer which left Progresso for the United States, and both believed it would be a great misfortune to miss the first opportunity of reaching home. "We can stand it for one week," Neal said in a whisper: "but what I am afraid of is that it won't be possible to leave the city at the end of that time," and Teddy replied in the same cautious tones: "It is for us to see that such a contingency does not arise. Jake will do as we say, and if Cummings refuses to leave at a date sufficiently early for us to reach Progresso, we must force him to act as has been promised." "What shall we do in case he refuses?" "We are three out of a party of five, and should be able to arrange matters to our own liking." Neal was perfectly contented with such a view of the case, and he felt well satisfied that nothing could prevent them from doing as they wished; but unfortunately, he failed to take into consideration the very important fact that while it might be a simple matter to enter the city, they could not be certain of leaving it at will. "We can do as we please by standing firm to our determination of going away in time to take passage on the steamer," he said; "therefore we'll see the adventure through to that point, and if Cummings fails in his purpose of bringing away a large amount of gold we will have had such an experience as can be talked about when we get home." As for Jake, a glimpse of the glistening walls of the city had literally intoxicated him, and his one and only desire was to reach that point where he could satisfy himself by the sense of touch as well as sight. As the time drew near for the final move in the bold scheme Cummings became greatly agitated. It was as if all the blood had left his face, and his eyes were open wide and staring as he gazed into vacancy. "Are you sick?" Teddy asked in alarm. The young man shook his head. "I suppose I'm acting like a fool; but can't prevent my nerves from getting the best of me just at this time. After laboring two years for one thing, and then being so near a successful completion of the work, is enough to make any fellow excited." Teddy was on the point of saying he fancied that fear of the ultimate result might have some share in this alleged nervous attack; but, fortunately, he checked himself in time, and turned to watch Poyor who was hiding the boat beneath an ingeniously constructed screen of leaves. Night came slowly; the twittering of the birds and the chattering of the monkeys was hushed. Among the dense underbrush the darkness was intense, yet the Indian remained motionless in a listening attitude. Amid profound silence the moments passed until to the boys it seemed as if it must have been midnight when Cummings whispered: "It is time. Poyor shall lead the way, and I will bring up the rear." Walking in single file, and keeping firm hold of each other's garments lest they should be separated, the little party began the last stage of the journey. The Indian went forward as if familiar with all the surroundings, and when half an hour had passed he halted only long enough to point ahead where, through the foliage, could be seen the city, its buildings gleaming ghostly white in the starlight. The decisive moment had arrived. If they should be seen by a single person the alarm would be given, for the clothing as well as the skin of all the party, save Poyor, would proclaim the fact that these newcomers belonged to the hated race, and the end could not be long delayed. Assuring himself that there was no one in sight, Poyor quickened his pace, leading the way toward a small building on the outskirts of the town, and ten minutes later, the strangers were inside the dwelling; but although successful in the undertaking, were virtually prisoners. The house was very small as compared with the majority of those seen by the boys when they gazed from a distance, and had evidently been unoccupied a long while. The one room which comprised the entire lower floor was destitute of anything in the way of furniture, and the sides, ceiling and floor were formed of the same soft-looking white stone which appeared to be the only building material in the city. Poyor did not give his companions much time in which to inspect this portion of the building. With an impatient gesture to the boys who were gazing around them in evident disappointment, he led the way up a narrow flight of stairs to a sort of attic hardly more than six feet high, and with only two narrow slits in the wall to serve as windows. Here five hammocks had been slung, and on one of them the Indian threw himself without a word of rejoicing or comment upon the ease and safety with which they had entered the city. "Now what is to be done?" Neal asked as Cummings started toward the stairway. "I wish to bar the lower door, for it would be exceedingly inconvenient if we should have callers." "It strikes me that there will be very little chance to get gold if we are to stay shut up here." "That's just what has been puzzlin' me ever since I saw the place," Jake added. "We're not even in the city, only on the edge, and so far as seein' what's goin' on is concerned, the big tree in the swamp would have been a better place." "You may find that we are too near the heart of the town," Cummings replied with a grimace. "To-morrow, after Poyor has looked around some, we will decide on a plan. You had better go to sleep while there is a chance, for no one can say when we may be obliged to beat a hasty retreat." The boys followed this advice for the simple reason that there was nothing else to be done. Teddy had looked through the narrow slit in the wall; but without being able to see anything of interest, and in this city which may have been, and probably was standing when Columbus discovered America, the three who had been literally thrown upon the coast of Yucatan lay down to sleep. Owing to the strangeness of their surroundings, and the knowledge of the danger which threatened, no one gave himself up to very profound slumber. The silence was so perfect as to be almost oppressive, until half an hour before sunrise, when a low strain of sweetest music arose on the air, gradually swelling in volume, and finally ending in a wild burst which caused Poyor to spring to his feet. "What is the matter?" Teddy asked, and Cummings replied carelessly: "Nothing in particular. That music is the summons to prayer, and now is the time when the Indian can go through the streets with less danger of being discovered." In another instant Jake and the boys were at the apertures which served as windows; but some time elapsed before they could see anything owing to the gloom. Then, as day dissipated the darkness, they distinguished throngs of white robed figures hurrying from every quarter toward some common point, which was probably the temple with its dome of silver. It was an odd sight to see so many people moving rapidly, but without noise, while neither cart nor animal of any kind accompanied them. Here and there were men carrying burdens on their backs by aid of a strap passed around the forehead, and many women and children literally loaded down with flowers. "I don't see any great show of gold or silver," Teddy said, after gazing at the scene some time in silence. "No one appears to wear anything like jewelry." "That may be because such metal is too common here," Jake replied. "What bothers me is to make out why Cummings and the Indian are so afraid of being discovered. These people don't look as if they'd kill a fly unless he made a noise, an' that's what they seem to be scared of." "Don't make a mistake," Cummings whispered, as he overheard the last portion of the conversation. "If it was known that a white man had succeeded in entering the city our lives would be taken within the next hour." "You may believe all that; but I'll hold to it that they're the most peaceable lot I ever saw, until somethin' comes up to prove the contrary," and Jake went toward the street door with Poyor, regardless of whether he was seen by the passers-by or not until the Indian said sharply: "Go back; I do not wish to die." "If you're frightened of course I'll get out of the way," Jake replied half angrily; "but before we leave this town I'll show you how much reason there is for being afraid." "And in ten minutes from that time you will cease to live," Poyor replied gravely, as he left the building, closing the door carefully behind him. "It will be well to remember what he has said," Cummings added sharply as he approached the engineer to bar the door. "These people are peaceable until the time comes when religion and all the traditions of their race tell that a long remembered wrong should be avenged, and then no class can be more implacable. I would not show my face outside of this door for as much gold as can be found in Yucatan." This remark silenced Jake, but he was by no means convinced of its truthfulness, as could be told by his whispered remark to Neal: "They know we will have a chance to lug off a pile of money, an' to prevent us from wantin' too much, try to prove that we must stay out of sight so's they can get the cream of the bargain." "Don't do anything foolish," Teddy replied earnestly. "Cummings would not have asked us to come with him unless there had been good reason for wanting assistance, and it is not possible he has made any mistake regarding the nature of the people." Jake had nothing more to say; but it could readily be seen that he believed his own ideas on the subject were correct, and at this moment something occurred which demanded his entire attention. Poyor had but just left the building, and a crowd was gathering in front of the door, causing Cummings to say with every sign of fear: "We shall soon have a chance of learning what these people will do in event of finding a white man in the city, for it looks as if we were discovered." CHAPTER XIV. THE FESTIVAL. It can well be imagined with what anxiety the party in the building looked through the narrow apertures at the crowd below. Even Jake began to fancy he had made a mistake in regard to their peaceful dispositions, and Teddy noticed that he examined very carefully all the weapons. Those on the outside were armed chiefly with bows and arrows; but a few carried a sort of spear with a tip which looked not unlike glass, and Neal whispered to Cummings: "If they have got nothing but arrows we ought to be able to hold a large number in check with our guns." "Don't make the mistake of despising their weapons, for every one is covered with a poison so deadly that a single scratch would be more dangerous than a wound from a bullet." "Do you think they have learned that we are here?" "I can't explain in any other way the motive for the gathering; but none of them appear to be paying very much attention to the building." As a matter of fact, although there were four to five hundred directly in front of the house, hardly one of them glanced toward the openings through which the little party were gazing; but the majority appeared to be having a most sociable time. As the moments passed without any evidence that an attack was to be made the voluntary prisoners began to grow more comfortable in mind, and again Jake proposed that such people were neither able nor inclined to inflict much injury upon any one. Suddenly there was a great commotion among the crowd; the men shouted and waved their weapons, danced about in the most grotesque fashion and from afar off could be heard the sound of music. Five minutes later the cause of this sudden change of demeanor became apparent. Down the street from the direction of the forest came several hundred women decorated with the most beautiful flowers, and carrying huge bouquets or wreaths. They trooped along without any attempt at marching in regular order: but on arriving in front of the men they halted suddenly in response to sharp strokes on a gong or tongueless bell which one of them held high in the air. The men were now on one side of the street and the women on the other, and in this order they stood when twenty persons of both sexes, carrying on a broad flower-covered platform a repulsive looking figure apparently composed of gold, marched between the ranks and halted. Instantly every one sank down with bowed head as if in adoration, and the invisible music, accompanied by the peals of sweet-toned bells, filled the air with melody. "We were frightened too soon," Cummings said with a sigh of relief. "It is a festival of some sort, and this happens to be the place where it is to be welcomed to the city. It would be most unfortunate if Poyor should take it into his head to come back just at this time." "He could see the crowd before getting very near and would know enough to stay at a distance," Neal replied. "I'd like to know what that statue represents." The golden figure was certainly very odd. Its body was in shape not unlike a panther's; but the tail was short, and stuck straight in the air. The head might have been formed to represent a monkey, although the ears were very long, and the whole was covered with carving to represent scales. "How much do you suppose it weighs?" Teddy asked of Jake, and the latter, who had also been trying to compute its value, replied: "Not an ounce less than a hundred pounds. What a prize that would be if we could carry it away!" "There are many of the same kind in the city." Cummings added, "and we should be able to get off with some before a week is ended." "Then that is the plan you have formed?" Neal said interrogatively. "Exactly. Poyor is to examine all the statues near by, and decide upon such as we can pull down some night, after which it will only be a question of reaching our boat. I have no fear of being able to get through the swamp providing we have a start of five or six hours." While this conversation was being carried on the people outside remained in the same devout attitude; but just as Cummings ceased speaking there was a change in the affairs. The music grew louder, and the bells were rung more rapidly, and the devotees sprang to their feet with shouts and songs, the women throwing flowers on the platform until the hideous god was nearly hidden from view. When the tongueless bell was struck three times the crowd gathered around the image bearers, and all started toward what the white men believed was the temple, chanting in perfect harmony with the music. The worshipers were soon lost to view; but their voices could be heard for ten or fifteen minutes, after which clouds of smoke, probably caused by burning incense, arose from the silver-domed building. "If Poyor is wise he will come now," Cummings said, as he looked anxiously out. "The people are so intent upon the worship, or installation of a new god, whichever it may be, that he can get into the house without being seen." But there were no signs of the Indian. Strain their eyes as they might he did not appear. The sounds of music died away. The smoke ceased to arise from the temple, and the people began to walk the streets intent upon their business or pleasure. "It is strange he is so imprudent," Cummings muttered half to himself. "Now the only safe way is to wait until night, if indeed he is yet at liberty." "Do you think anything has happened to him?" Neal asked. "Of course I can't even guess; but it is very strange he has waited so long." More than that Cummings would not say: but both the boys could plainly see he was very anxious, and all grew greatly distressed in mind as the hours wore on. Noon came, and once more the streets were nearly deserted, for the inhabitants of the city were indulging in a siesta. Now Cummings stationed himself at the window, peering out eagerly; but all in vain. Slowly the moments passed. The boys tried to eat; but the terrible suspense had spoiled all appetite for food, more especially since it was not particularly inviting, and after swallowing a few crumbs Teddy said: "It's no use, I can't even force it down. Why did we come here, knowing at least a portion of the danger?" "'Cause we were fools," Jake replied philosophically; "but that is no reason why we shouldn't have as near to a square meal as is possible," and he began to devour another tortilla. "We won't despair yet," Cummings said, as he left his post at the window and joined the little group in the further corner of the room, "Poyor is cautious in the extreme, and may believe it isn't safe to enter the house in the daytime under any circumstances." "Did he say when he would come back?" "No; it was understood he should return at the first favorable opportunity." "Could you find the way to the boat if we never saw him again?" Teddy asked. "Yes, although we might have some trouble in doing so." Then another long interval of silence came upon the little party, during which each one listened intently for the slightest sound which might betoken a visitor. Finally Jake fell asleep, and so loud was his snoring that it seemed as if he must be heard from the street, therefore the boys pinched him when there was too great a volume of sound, and at the same time wished they could enjoy the same happy unconsciousness of the situation. Cummings alternately paced to and fro, and stood by the narrow aperture overlooking the street, until nightfall, when the citizens walked up and down singing or chatting. It was as if every one was perfectly happy, and this condition of affairs caused Cummings to feel less despondent. "Look," he said to Neal and Teddy, "if Poyor had been discovered the people would show some signs of excitement. We have no reason to fear yet awhile." The argument was certainly a good one, and the boys' courage revived wonderfully. They made a reasonably hearty supper of tortillas, and when the promenaders began to disappear, thus telling that the hour for retiring was near at hand, Cummings went downstairs and unbolted the door. Now every second appeared like a minute, and when it seemed as if the night must be well nigh spent a slight sound was heard from below. Jake would have rushed to the stair-case to welcome the Indian; but Cummings restrained him. It was not certain who the visitor might be, and with bated breath all listened until a low voice said: "It is Poyor." The remark was commonplace in the extreme; but no combination of words sounded more sweetly to the boys, and they rushed forward to clasp the Indian by the hand. In the dim light it was not possible to see him very clearly; but from the imperfect view all understood that something serious had happened. He was panting as if just having concluded a long race, and the flowing white garments he had put on before leaving in order to resemble the inhabitants of the city, were torn and stained with mud. Cummings spoke to him in the Indian dialect, and he replied gravely, the first words causing the white man to utter an exclamation of dismay. "What is the matter? What has happened?" Teddy asked; but Cummings made no reply until Poyor had spoken at considerable length, and then he said: "The worst possible misfortune has befallen us. Our boat has been discovered and brought into the city. It is believed we are hiding in the swamp, and a number of men are searching there for us." "Why didn't he come straight back to tell us?" Jake asked angrily. "If these people are so fierce as you pretend, it is time we were making our escape." "To have approached this place in the daytime would have been in the highest degree dangerous, and, besides, he had a good deal of work to do." "Such as what?" "It was necessary we should know exactly the strength and whereabouts of the searching party. That he has discovered." "And how much good will it do us while we are shut up in here?" "Do not cast reproaches in the time of trouble," Cummings replied gravely. "We must work together to extricate ourselves from the danger into which I have persuaded you to come." Jake was silenced, and Poyor continued to tell his story, but still speaking in his own language. The boys fancied he was proposing some plan which did not meet with Cummings' approbation, for the latter spoke vehemently at times. While this was going on Teddy whispered to Neal: "It begins to look as if the sailors who were drowned in the surf were more fortunate than the rest of us. They died quickly, and we shall probably find out what it means to be tortured." "Don't speak of such horrible things, Teddy. We are not captured yet, and there is no sense in looking trouble in the face." "It can't be helped sometimes. I've had enough of adventures, and if we do live to escape from this place all the gold in the world wouldn't tempt me to get into another such scrape." CHAPTER XV. A RETREAT. Cummings and Poyor talked together fully half an hour before the former volunteered any further information to his white companions, and then he said: "It would be useless for me to disguise the truth in any particular, for it is important all should know the absolute facts of the situation. In laying my plans for this expedition the only contingency for which I did not prepare, was exactly what has happened. I never believed there were so many sentinels in the swamp that the boat would be discovered, and when we came through without seeing a single one, I felt perfectly safe on that score." "Isn't it possible the Indians will think it is a craft belonging to some of their own people?" Neal asked. "There is no hope of that. She is entirely different in build, and you must remember that we left a number of things on board. Those who found her came directly to the city, and orders have been given by the chief men that the swamp be searched thoroughly. There is no longer any possibility that we could go through without being discovered." "Then we've got no chance of escaping," Jake cried passionately, and Cummings replied calmly: "Who says we haven't? the coast line, where no one would think of looking for an enemy, is still open, and what prevents us from trying to make our way in that direction?" "Then you have given up all hope of carrying away any treasure?" "Under the circumstances I shall be well pleased if we succeed in getting away alive. We are now in a position where nothing save escape must be thought of, and I am the one who has placed you three in such a dangerous situation. Shut your eyes to the fact that so much treasure might be gained, and bend all your energies to leaving this section of the country. As compared with life gold amounts to very little." "Then we are to say that the attempt has been a failure," Jake added in a tone of reproach. "Yes, and I take upon myself all the blame. You have spent but little time on the enterprise, while to it I have devoted not less than two years, therefore you can get some idea of the extent of my disappointment as compared with yours." "We recognize that fully," Neal replied, "and understand that you believed the expedition would be successful; but since it has proven to be a failure let us decide upon the proper course to be pursued rather than spend our time reproaching each other." "You are talking like a sensible fellow," Cummings said approvingly. "Here is the situation in a nut-shell, and Poyor understands English sufficiently to follow us in all we say. To go back by the way we came is now impossible, and yet we must leave the city before a house to house search is made, as I am convinced will be the case when it is shown that there are no strangers in the swamp. The only open course is toward the east, over the mountains, and the journey can be accomplished if we hang together. I am willing to acknowledge that I have led you on an unsuccessful search, although that may be of little satisfaction, and now my only aim is to release you from the dangers which beset us all." "We understand that perfectly," Teddy said quickly, "therefore there is no reason why the matter should be discussed. We took the same chances that you and Poyor did, consequently our interests are identical. Show us how to get out of here, and the Chan Santa Cruz Indians may keep all their gold and silver so far as I am concerned." "But how are we to be paid for the time spent?" Jake asked fretfully. "By saving your own life, which is now in great danger," Neal replied. "Give up all idea of making yourself rich by the venture, and think only of how we can best get away." "That is something for Cummings to fix," Jake replied in a sulky tone. "I came here for gold, and if that can't be had let those who put up the job help us out of the scrape." "I have already taken upon myself all the blame of the failure, and admitted that it came about through an oversight of mine," Cummings said sternly. "Now if you will listen to my plan I believe we can get out of here alive, which is the one important thing just at this time when everything has gone against us." "What do you propose to do?" Neal asked, with a glance at Jake which should have silenced him. "Strike for the sea-shore. Poyor believes it is yet possible to leave the city on the eastern side without danger of meeting the sentinels, the majority of whom have been withdrawn to aid in searching the swamp, and by moving quickly we can at least be out of this hornets' nest before sunrise." "You are the best judge; we will follow your directions," Teddy said, speaking more calmly than one would have fancied was possible in view of all the danger. "Tell us what you think is best and we will agree to it, for now Neal and I have but one desire, which is to leave the Silver City in the shortest possible space of time. We can be of but little assistance in case of a regular fight, and according to my way of thinking, your greatest mistake has been in accepting such useless companions." "I am perfectly satisfied that so far as you are concerned I have not made any error. With twenty well-armed men I should not try to maintain my position, for to hold out against an attack would be impossible, and the only question now is whether we can escape. Having been here once I will come again, and at some time in the future you shall hear that I succeeded in bringing away treasure from this same wonderful city." Then Cummings held a short conversation with Poyor, and when it was concluded turned toward Neal and Teddy, as if disdaining to submit any plans to Jake, and said: "My first idea was to make an effort to return by the same way we came; but the Indian has persuaded me to the contrary. Are you willing to do as we think best?" "You are as eager to save your own lives as we are ours," Neal replied, "and since you are familiar with this country it would be foolish for us to offer any advice. Do whatever in the opinion of both is best, and we will obey orders." "Our scheme necessitates an immediate move, for, as yet, no attempt has been made to learn if there are any strangers in the city." "Then you propose to go without making any effort to carry away gold?" Jake asked. "Exactly. The journey has been a failure, through my carelessness as I said before, and to load ourselves down with treasure when a long march is before us, would be the height of folly." Jake remained silent, and Neal said: "Don't waste any more time talking. Let us start at once." Cummings spoke with Poyor, and the latter replied with the air of one who considers himself vanquished, after which the former said: "We may need all this food. Make it up into bundles, and we will start at once. The journey before us is a long and a dangerous one: but, as I believe, it is the only way of escape left open." The boys set about making the small amount of baggage into five parcels while Cummings and the Indian were still discussing some point, and when the conversation was concluded the former said: "We will start for the sea coast. There is no immediate hurry, for there is yet at least six hours before the inhabitants will be stirring." "There must be sentinels on the east as well as the west side," Teddy suggested. "True; but if the information brought by Poyor be correct, there will not be as strict a watch kept. The Indian believes we should try to force a passage through the swamp, fighting in case of a necessity; but I prefer that course where the least danger is to be met, even though the distance be greater." Neither Neal nor Teddy cared to discuss the matter: they knew that Cummings was the best judge in such a case, and were well content to follow his leadership; but Jake did not trust him so implicitly. "Before we leave here I want to know your plans," he said. "My life as well as yours and the others, is in danger, and it is no more than right that I have at least a faint idea of what is to be done." "You are quite right," Cummings replied mildly. "It is my purpose to travel toward the east as far as the sea-shore, and from there make our way to my hut. So far as I can see it is the only practicable course." "What does the Indian say?" "He thinks we can go through the swamp even if we have no boat: but, in my opinion, the danger of contracting the fever is too great." Jake had the appearance of a man who is about to make some protest, and Neal whispered to him: "In such a case as this it is our duty to accept Cummings' view of the matter. Do not delay now when we all know that every moment is precious." "Have it your own way, I won't say another word," the engineer replied impatiently; "but I think we have followed this man blindly as long as we should." Neal paid no attention to the latter portion of this remark, but said as he turned toward the leader: "It is all right; we are ready." "Then follow me, and remember that our lives may pay the forfeit if a single incautious word is spoken." Thus speaking he took up one of the packages, looked once more to the cartridges in his gun, and started down the stairs, the boys and Jake following, while Poyor brought up the rear. At the outer door he hesitated an instant, much as if to persuade himself that it was absolutely necessary to flee from this city to enter which he had spent so many days in making preparations, and then, throwing it open, he led the way into the deserted streets. "Our safest plan is to go straight across, rather than try to circle around the outskirts where we may meet with sentinels," he said, motioning for Poyor to lead the way. "At present no one suspects that we are here, consequently the guard will not be particularly on the alert." "Do as you think best," Neal replied, and then, falling back by the side of Teddy, he whispered: "If it hadn't been for me you wouldn't have gotten into this scrape; in case anything happens try not to believe it was my fault." "There is no possible chance that you can be to blame," Teddy replied warmly. "Any one would have accepted the invitation to go yachting, and this last part of the cruise is only the result of an accident with which you had nothing to do." Jake did not open his mouth; he acted as if Cummings had done him a personal injury in proposing such a trip, and the fact that they were obliged to leave without making any effort to carry away the vast amount of treasure which he knew to be in the city unguarded, aroused his anger in a most unreasonable degree. Poyor took the lead and conducted the party directly past the enormous temple with its ornamentation of silver which shone in the pale rays of the moon until the entire structure appeared to be a solid mass of the precious metal, and the marvelous sight was too much for Jake, who, coming to a sudden halt, said doggedly: "It may be all right for you boys with rich fathers to turn your backs on so much wealth; but I'm goin' to have some part of this treasure, or give the Indians a fair chance to kill me." CHAPTER XVI. DISCOVERED. Cummings was bringing up the rear during this march across the city, and when Jake halted he naturally thought it was in obedience to some signal made by Poyor, therefore he remained silent until hearing Neal say imploringly: "Go on, Jake. Don't stop now when we have a chance of getting away in safety, for what is gold in comparison with life?" "Have you halted with any idea that it may be possible to carry anything off with us?" Cummings asked, speaking in a whisper, and Jake replied in the same cautious tone: "That's the size of it. You brought us here with the promise that we could make ourselves rich, and when the first little thing goes wrong you run. Now I will do as I please." "It is nothing less than suicide. We have before us a journey so long and difficult that however small a burden you may have to carry, it will seem all too heavy." By this time Poyor turned back to learn the cause of the halt, and when it was explained he said gravely: "Each instant we stand here brings death so much nearer. Even at this moment watchful eyes may be upon us, and once we are discovered flight will be almost impossible." The little party stood directly in front of what was evidently the main entrance to the temple. It was formed of twenty slender shafts of white stone which in the moonlight looked translucent, and each column upheld a grotesque figure composed of what appeared to be silver. "I am goin' to have one of them images, no matter what happens," Jake said doggedly. "I don't care how much of a tramp there is before us, and the more the thing weighs the better I'll be pleased, for it's the first chance I ever had to make myself rich." "But think of us," Teddy whispered. "We all run the risk of being killed because of what you propose to do." "There's no need of your waitin' here. Go on, an' I'll take care of myself. I ain't such a chump as not to be able to find my way out." "It must be as he says. We can wait no longer," Poyor said peremptorily. "Better one should die than all," and, seizing Neal by the shoulder, he literally dragged him away. Cummings did the same by Teddy, and as the boys were thus forced from the place they saw Jake trying to make his way up one of the smooth shafts. "It is cruel to leave him when you know he will be killed," Neal said as he struggled in vain to release himself from the Indian's grasp. "He knows the danger, and will not come. We must care for ourselves. Now remain quiet; there has been too much noise and too long a delay." Poyor was walking at a pace so rapid that the boys were forced to run; but before they reached the next intersecting street a loud crash was heard from the direction of the temple, and Cummings whispered: "He has toppled over one of the columns, and discovery is now certain. He has insured our destruction as well as his own." The words had hardly been uttered when shouts were heard from different portions of the city, and, as if he had sprung from the ground, a man appeared directly in their path. A second's delay would have been fatal. Poyor, releasing his hold of Neal, dashed forward with the agility of a cat, and springing upon the stranger bore him to the ground. There was a short, sharp struggle which lasted while one might possibly have counted ten, and then the man lay motionless while Poyor, grasping Neal by the arm once more, darted on down the street. Now it seemed as if the entire city had been aroused. On every hand could be heard shouts as if of command and cries of surprise and anger. The sound of footsteps in the rear told that the pursuit had already begun, and it was a race for life with the odds fearfully against the fugitives. "You must run now as you never did before," Cummings said sharply to Teddy. "There can be no thought of fatigue until we reach some shelter where it will be possible to make a stand." "I can hold out as long as Neal; but neither of us are a match for Poyor." "He could run all day." Two moments later, when they were nearing a broad street which Cummings fancied led to the woods on the eastern side of the city, Poyor slackened his pace to say: "There is one close behind who must be stopped. Will you do it, or shall I?" "Help Teddy along, while I try it." As the Indian took Teddy by the arm, thus having a boy on either side of him, Cummings unslung the rifle which had been strapped over his shoulder, and, wheeling suddenly, raised it at a man who was not more than forty yards in the rear. "Don't shoot! It's me!" a familiar voice cried, and as Cummings turned to resume the flight he muttered to himself: "It's a pity they haven't caught you. But for your folly we could have passed through the city unobserved." Jake no longer believed the Chan Santa Cruz Indians to be such a peaceable race. When, as Cummings had suspected, the shaft he was trying to climb toppled over, he was able to escape injury by leaping to one side, and immediately made an effort to detach the statue which was cemented firmly to the stone. It seemed to him that he had but just begun the task when two men rushed from the interior of the temple. Fortunately for him they were unarmed or his term of life would have expired at that moment; but as it was one of them seized a fragment of the stone as he turned to run, and threw it with such accuracy of aim that Jake's cheek was cut from the eye to the chin as smoothly as if done with a razor. With the blood streaming down his face Jake ran for dear life in the direction taken by the remainder of the party, and now fully realizing the danger he had brought upon them. "I deserve to be killed," he said to himself, "and if that Poyor don't try to even up things with me for this night's job it'll be because he's a better Indian than I ever gave him credit for." When the remainder of the party reached the end of the broad street with the welcome shelter of the forest not more than half a mile away, Jake was ten or twelve yards in the rear, and three times that distance behind him were a dozen men who appeared to be gaining each instant. Again Poyor spoke to Cummings, and again the latter stopped suddenly and wheeled about: but this time there was no warning shout to prevent the rifle from being discharged. There was a loud report, a cry of pain from one of the pursuers, and all halted for an instant to aid their wounded companion. When Cummings turned to continue the flight Jake was by his side, saying as they ran: "If it comes to close quarters I'll drop behind, and make as long a fight as I can, which will give the rest a chance to gain on the crowd." "They would surely kill you. There could be no hope in a hand to hand struggle." "I know that, and it will be no more than I deserve. If I hadn't been such a fool you would have got through without turning a hair." This confession and the proposition to sacrifice himself had the effect of dissipating Cummings' anger, and he said decidedly: "We will stick together and take even chances. No matter what has been done one shall not be sacrificed to save the rest unless I, who brought you here, am that one." To carry on any extended conversation and at the same time continue the pace was out of the question, and during the next five minutes not a word was spoken. Now there were two dozen pursuers, and the boys had become so nearly exhausted that Teddy felt positive that he could not keep on his feet long enough to reach the forest. Poyor, seeing that both the boys had nearly run their race, shouted in his own language a few words to Cummings, clasped his panting companions by the waist, and, although thus burdened, soon drew away from both the white men. Nearer and nearer come the pursuers. Once more Cummings halts, discharges his rifle, and then presses forward. Poyor gains the shelter while the others are a hundred yards away, and allowing the boys to drop to the ground, he unslings Neal's gun, stands at the very edge of the cover where he fires two shots just in time to save the remainder of the party. "We must not stop here," he says as Cummings comes to a halt by his side. "Help the boys, and leave me here long enough to hold them in check until you have put considerable distance between the crowd and yourselves." Cummings waited only until he had given the Indian his own rifle and some cartridges, for it was a more effective weapon than Neal's, and then he and Jake did as directed. Traveling in as nearly a straight line as possible they marched rapidly, while behind them could be heard shot after shot, telling that Poyor was doing his duty. "If he can keep that up long enough we shall give them the slip after all," Jake said, speaking with difficulty as he gasped for breath. "There are others to be met. Between here and the coast is a line of sentinels who may be more vigilant than those in the swamp." Now that the pace was slower, and because of the assistance rendered, Neal and Teddy were able to make their way unaided, and the former said as he pushed Cummings from him: "I am all right now. You have as much as you can do to take care of yourself, and it is not fair to half carry me as you and Poyor have been doing." "It hasn't been such a very hard job; but I'm perfectly willing to give it up if you are feeling better." "We are both in fair condition," Teddy replied, and being relieved of the burdens the men were able to travel more rapidly. During the next ten minutes not a word was spoken, and then Cummings said as he halted: "We'll take a little rest, for I am nearly blown." All threw themselves on the ground where they lay panting until, recovering somewhat, Jake asked: "How is Poyor to find us in this thicket? He can't follow a trail in the darkness." "He will succeed in doing so as---- Say, are you wounded?" "One of those fellows cut my cheek open with a rock; but beyond the pain I don't reckon there's been any great damage done." "You are fortunate that it was not inflicted by an arrow or spear. Let me try to bandage it, for the loss of blood will tell upon you if we continue this gait very long." With strips torn from Jake's shirt the wound was bound up in an awkward fashion, and Cummings said as he finished the work: "When Poyor comes he will gather a certain leaf which has healing properties, and in a short time all the pain will go away; but I fancy you'll carry that scar to your grave." CHAPTER XVII. A HALT. Jake professed to have but little care how long the scar might remain on his face providing the wound healed, and they succeeded in escaping from the Chan Santa Cruz Indians. "Nothing that can happen to us during the journey to Merida would be half as bad as to fall into their hands," he said with a shudder, "and what surprises me most is that I should have thought they were peaceably inclined." "But that is exactly what they are until it comes to dealing with a white man," Cummings replied. "You must remember all that the people--the natives I mean--have suffered since America was discovered. The barbarous treatment they received from the Spaniards is told from father to son, and it is a portion of their religious training to work all the injury possible to the whites. Read of what the invaders did to satisfy their thirst for gold, and then you can no longer wonder why these people, the only ones who have kept their city free from the conqueror, are so implacable. Remember that Yucatan was once covered with populous cities, the ruins of which show even at this late date how magnificent they were, how splendid beyond comparison with the one we have seen, and you ask yourselves why these Indians do not rise and massacre all of the hated color that can be found." "But you also came hoping to take away their treasure," Neal said, smiling at Cummings' vehemence. "That is true, therefore I have no word of blame when they attempt to kill me; but, as a matter of course, I try to save my life even though I am to them nothing more than a common robber. In my own eyes, however, the case seems different. To procure such goods as I most desired, would probably be, by the aid of Poyor, to solve that which scholars have studied for so long in vain--the origin of the Aztecs and Toltecs, for I believe the Chan Santa Cruz belong to the latter race, and keep fresh all their histories and traditions." "And now that you have failed it would be better to go home with us," Teddy said. "This attempt has failed; but I shall try again and again until I succeed, providing we get out of this scrape alive, which is by no means certain, for we have a long and perilous journey before us." "Which we are not likely to make unless Poyor comes back," Neal added grimly. "It surely seems as if he should be here by this time. I haven't heard the report of his rifle for a long while." "Most likely we are too far away for the sound to reach us. We will wait half an hour longer, and then I will go back to see if anything has happened." Cummings had hardly ceased speaking before the Indian appeared in their midst, having come so softly that no one heard him until he stood before them. "It is not a good watch you keep," he said to Cummings, speaking in English. "We cannot guard against such an approach as yours. Where are the enemy?" "I left them at the edge of the forest. Knowing how we are armed they do not dare to follow very close; but when the sun rises a hundred will be at our heels." "Shall we go on now, or will you rest awhile?" "I am ready. We have no time to lose." Cummings rose to his feet, the others following his example, and the Indian started forward without delay. "How far are we from the sea-shore?" Cummings asked as the march began. "More miles than we shall travel for many days. By sunrise every sentinel will know we are here, and it will be impossible to break through their lines." "Then how are we to get home?" Teddy asked in alarm. "He probably hopes to find some place where we can stay in hiding for awhile. In this section of the country there are many large caverns in which streams of water are invariably found, thus causing the belief that a subterranean river flows from the valley to the sea. If we stop at one of them until it is decided we have succeeded in escaping, you will not be able to take the steamer as intended." "But we may have to stay two or three weeks." "Better that than to be captured," Cummings replied, and then he relapsed into silence. During the next two hours the little party pressed steadily forward, making their way with difficulty through the tangled foliage, and then Neal was forced to ask for another halt. "I must rest awhile," he said. "My feet are sore, and it seems impossible to take another step." Poyor halted, was about to seat himself, and then, as if suddenly remembering something, he said: "Wait here. I will soon be back." The white members of the party were too tired even to talk. Throwing themselves upon the ground they enjoyed the luxury of rest, and, convinced there was no danger to be apprehended from the enemy until daylight, Neal and Teddy gave themselves up to the embrace of slumber. An hour passed before the apparently tireless Poyor returned, and he awakened the sleepers by saying: "I have found that for which I sought. Come with me, and repose until labor will seem a pleasure." "What is it? A cave?" Neal asked sleepily. "More than that. An underground house where we can live in safety, unless the retreat should be discovered." It was a great exertion to get into traveling trim; but all hands did it after a time, and Poyor led the way, although he had probably been there but once before, as if following a familiar path. After about half an hour's rapid walking the Indian halted at an opening in the hillside hardly more than large enough for one to go through on his hands and knees, and motioned for the others to enter. Cummings led the way, and while he was doing so Teddy asked Poyor: "Have you been here often before?" "This is the first time." "How could you see a small hole like that while it is so dark?" "On the line of these caves the earth is always damp. When we halted last I could feel that we were on the underground water course, and it was only necessary to follow it up. Here we shall find both food and drink." "I don't understand where the food comes in unless we are to live on bats," Neal said laughingly, as he in turn entered the aperture. By the time Teddy was inside Cummings had lighted a branch of what is mistakenly called fat wood, and, using this for a torch, it was possible to have a reasonably good view of the temporary home. The boys found themselves standing in an enormous chamber, from which led several galleries or smaller rooms, lined with the same soft white stone seen in the buildings of the Silver City, and at the further end was a narrow stream rising apparently from the solid rock, crossing the cavern to the opposite side where it disappeared. To describe the beauty of this marble chamber fashioned by nature would be impossible. Neal and Teddy had but just begun to realize its magnificence when they were startled by the whirring of wings and a clucking noise such as is made by a barn-yard fowl, and an instant later Poyor had knocked over with a piece of rock what looked very much like a chicken. "It is a toh," Cummings said, as he took the prize from the Indian. "At the city from which we came so unceremoniously these birds are kept as hens, and their eggs are most delicious." "But how did this one happen to be in here, I wonder?" Teddy muttered. "The species are found nowhere else but in the caverns. Probably there are several hundred here." Before the torch had burned out the boys had time to examine the odd chicken. It was about as large as a bantam, had soft, silky plumage, and a tail composed of two feathers which were nothing more than stems up to the very tips, where were tassel-like appendages. "Now if the enemy does not track us here we can live pretty comfortably for a few days; but I hope we shan't be obliged to stay any longer. Poyor will destroy our trail as soon as it is light, and if they should come I fancy we can tire them out, for one man can hold this place against a hundred." "I am going to drink my fill of that water," Jake said, as he groped his way toward the rear of the chamber. "It seems as if I hadn't had all I needed since we started on this trip." "Be careful," Cummings shouted quickly. "Don't venture near the stream until I get another torch." "Why not?" "Because in some of these caverns alligators are found, and it is never safe to drink from the running water without first making sure that there are no saurian guards about." Cummings went to the entrance for more wood, and when he returned the Indian was with him. "This will cure the wound on your face," the latter said to Jake as he held out a branch covered with small, glossy green leaves. "Take off the cloth that I may see it." While Jake obeyed, Cummings was kindling a fresh torch, and as the light fell upon the engineer's cheek both the boys uttered exclamations of surprise. It was certainly a terrible looking wound, the dried blood causing it to appear even larger than it really was; but Poyor set about dressing it with the utmost indifference, perhaps because he thought Jake deserved it for having been so stubborn and criminally foolish. The Indian chewed the leaves to a pulp, and then spread them thickly on the wound, after which Cummings replaced the cloth, and Jake declared that the pain had subsided instantly. "I must remember the name of that plant if it can be found in a dried state at home," he said, "and there are many times when such a poultice would come in mighty handy." "He has only bound on leaves from a shrub called guaco; but you needn't try to remember the name, for they are efficacious only while green. Now that the surgeon's duties have been performed we will get some water, and then set about cooking breakfast. Poyor, bring in plenty of wood, and then try to find another toh." At the swiftly running stream nothing resembling an alligator was seen, and the white members of the party enjoyed to the utmost copious draughts of the ice-cold liquid. Meanwhile the Indian was rapidly obeying Cummings' orders. He built a fire near the water, and by the light which the white stones reflected in every direction, had but little difficulty in knocking over three more of what Teddy persisted in calling "chickens." Leaving the cave again he soon returned with a lot of clay which he pasted over the tohs without removing the feathers or intestines, and thus prepared one would have supposed they were nothing more than so many balls of mud. These he put into the fire, piled the wood over and around them, and then sat down to wait for the fruits of his labor. The boys fell asleep before the fowls were cooked: but after a little more than an hour Cummings awakened them to get their share of the feast. The now thoroughly baked clay was broken open, and it was found that the feathers and skin of the birds had adhered to the covering, leaving the white flesh temptingly exposed. Among the small amount of stores there was salt sufficient for several days' consumption, therefore they were not without seasoning for the meat, and Jake, Neal and Teddy were quite positive they had never eaten anything half so delicious as this odd chicken baked in a most singular manner. CHAPTER XVIII. CAVE LIFE. When the meal was ended it was nearly daylight and Cummings said as he stretched himself out close by the entrance: "It is necessary that the strictest kind of a watch should be kept every moment of the time from now on. I'll take the first trick, Jake shall be awakened next, and Poyor, who has done the most work, comes last." "But what are Teddy and I to do?" Neal asked in surprise. "We are as well able to stand guard as any one else." "I allowed that it would be at least twenty-four hours before you were in condition for anything," Cummings replied with a laugh. "That is where you made a big mistake," Teddy added. "We insist on doing our full share." "Very well, if Poyor is asleep when Jake goes off duty one of you shall be called." It was arranged that they should sleep near the entrance where the sentinel could awaken them if necessary, without making a noise, and after the weapons were examined once more to make certain they were in good working order, all save Cummings made a business of going to sleep. The Indian did not give any one an opportunity of awakening him. At the expiration of an hour, just as Cummings was thinking it time to call Jake, he arose and peered cautiously out through the opening. "Why did you get up so soon?" Cummings asked. "You need rest, and there is nothing to prevent your sleeping until noon if you feel so disposed." "There is much work to be done," he replied gravely. "When the sun rises I must examine the trail to make sure it is not too plain." "It will be another hour before daylight." "By sitting here I shall be ready to go as soon as it is light." "I do not think you are giving me the true reason," and Cummings ignited a match that he might see the Indian's face. "You must not do that," he said quickly, as he clasped his hand over the tiny flame. "It is unwise so near the entrance." "You believe then that we are in considerable danger?" "We shall be until we are outside the Chan Santa Cruz country." "That is not all you can say. I wish to know exactly your opinion of the situation." "You shall know; but it is not well to explain to the others. Our enemies will find us I think, and we may be forced to fight to the end, for they will not give up the chase until after many days." "Do you think it would be unsafe to push on again now we have had rest and food?" "By this time the sentinels know what happened last night, and the forest is full of enemies. A poisoned arrow can be sent in the daytime, while he who shoots it remains concealed. Before noon we would all be dead." Cummings was silent for a moment, and then he asked in a low tone: "How far do you think we are from the sea-shore?" "The distance is not great; but the way so difficult that the journey could not be ended in less than five days." "Then it seems that we are in a tight place whatever course is pursued." "We can fight longer here than where the trees conceal our foes," was the grave reply, and then Poyor crept through the opening into the gloomy forest where wild animals and wilder human beings lurked to destroy. After this conversation Cummings was in no mood for sleep, and he refrained from awakening Jake. Seated where he could hear the slightest sound from the outside, he reflected upon all the dangers of the situation, and reproached himself for having led the boys and the engineer into such peril. "I would have been culpable if no one but Poyor had accompanied me," he said to himself, "and now I am directly responsible for the lives of those who but for me, would at this moment be safe in Merida." There was nothing to be gained by scolding one's self, and he strove with very poor success to put such thoughts from his mind until the sun rose, partially lighting up the gloomy recesses of the forest, and sending tiny rays of light through the narrow aperture. The three sleepers breathed regularly and noisily; but the sentinel disturbed them not. The minutes passed slowly until two hours had elapsed, and then a slight rustling of leaves near the entrance caused Cummings to seize the rifle more firmly and peer out. It was Poyor returning, and he appeared weary like one who has run a long race. "Have you seen anything?" Cummings asked anxiously. "There were four Indians about a mile south from here. They came from the city last night, and are searching. It was possible to hear them talk. The sentinels near the coast have been doubled in number, and there is little hope we could pass them." "It is barely possible they may not find this cave; the entrance is small, and almost hidden by the brushes." "Yet I found it in the night." "True," Cummings replied gloomily, and as he said nothing more Poyor went to the stream to quench his thirst. While passing by Jake he accidentally brushed the latter's arm with his foot, and the engineer was on his feet in an instant, staring around stupidly as if believing the enemy was upon him. "Why didn't you call me to stand my watch?" he asked in a loud tone, and Poyor, darting back to his side whispered: "It is not safe to make any noise. Do not so much as speak aloud." By this time the boys were aroused, and when the Indian had cautioned them in turn all three went to where Cummings was seated. "Are we going to move, or have you concluded to stay here?" Neal asked. "We shall be obliged to make this our headquarters for a few days. Poyor has seen people from the city in the immediate vicinity, consequently it is advisable to keep under cover." "Do you think we will be able to leave in a week?" Teddy asked anxiously, and Cummings replied evasively: "I hope so." To Jake, who did not feel so eager to reach home by the next steamer that left Progresso, the prospect of remaining in the cave several days was agreeable rather than otherwise, and he asked: "Are we to cook any breakfast this morning?" "No, because the smoke might be seen. To-night there will be no such danger, and the light can be screened from view, therefore it is a case of getting along with a cold bite until then. Sleep as much as possible in order that you may be ready to do your share of the watching, and remember that perfect silence is absolutely necessary." Then Cummings intimated that the conversation should cease, by turning his attention to what might be happening outside, and the three went toward the opposite end of the cavern where the Indian had thrown himself down for a nap. Here, after discussing what little they knew regarding the situation, they ate a few totopostes, a thin, dry tortilla which will remain sweet many days, and then gave themselves up to slumber once more. To sleep when one does not feel the necessity of such rest is, however, not an easy matter to be arranged, and after two or three short naps the boys found it impossible to woo the drowsy god. They walked around the cavern, arousing flocks of tohs; but, owing to the dim light, finding nothing worthy of attention, and then they went to the entrance where Cummings refused to hold any conversation with them because of the possibility that some of the enemy might be lurking outside, where it was possible to hear the sound of their voices. In this restless manner the day was spent, and when night came again Poyor ventured out once more. By this time Cummings felt the necessity of gaining a little rest, and he proposed that Neal and Teddy take their turn at standing watch. "It will not be so tedious if you remain here together," he said, "and we will give Jake a job later in the night." It was really a relief to the boys to have something to occupy their time, and as they took his place at the entrance he lay down near at hand where they could awaken him without difficulty in case it should become necessary. To repeat all the unimportant incidents of the night would be tedious. When Poyor returned from his first trip outside he built a fire near the stream, shielded the flame by a screen of boughs that the light might not be reflected from the entrance, and then, with the air of one who is accustomed to such work, set about catching "chickens" enough to make a hearty meal. Dishing these up in clay he roasted them as before, and Cummings was awakened to share in the appetizing meal. Then the Indian went out again, while Jake was standing watch, and an hour later (it was then about two o'clock in the morning), he returned, and roused Cummings, saying in his native tongue as he did so: "Five miles from here is a smaller cave. The sentinels have just finished searching it. They will be here in the morning. I have thought we might slip past them, by exercising great caution, and it would be just so much nearer the coast." "Do you believe it should be done?" Cummings asked, as he sprang to his feet. "It can do no harm, providing we are not discovered during the march through the forest, and we may possibly be able to throw them off the scent." "Then we will start at once. Under such desperate circumstances nothing should be neglected which might be of benefit. How much food have we got on hand?" "All that will be needed. It is not difficult to procure provisions in this forest." It surely seemed as if they might better their condition very materially by making this change, and, in view of all things, it was the proper manoeuvre since by remaining there was no doubt the party would be discovered, when a regular siege must necessarily be the result. There was yet a considerable amount of the roasted tohs on hand. This was wrapped in leaves with the remainder of the provisions, and all the luggage made up in three packages, for it had been decided that the boys should not be called upon to carry any burden. "It may be that we shall be obliged to move quickly," Poyor said, "and it is best they have nothing but their guns." When everything was in readiness for the start the Indian went outside once more to reconnoiter, and on his return the final preparations were made. He, Cummings and Jake fastened the bundles to their backs; Neal and Teddy were cautioned to take plenty of cartridges from the general store, and then, Poyor leading the way, they emerged from the cave. CHAPTER XIX. A CHANGE OF BASE. Although the boys did not know the full extent of the danger, they could understand something of the anxiety felt by both Cummings and Poyor when the shelter of the cave had been left behind. The latter moved with the utmost caution, taking half a dozen steps and then stopping to listen; halting whenever the foliage rustled more than he fancied was usual and otherwise acting as if believing the enemy had completely surrounded them. Under such circumstances the advance was necessarily slow, and at least an hour was consumed in traveling less than a mile. Teddy was on the point of protesting against such excessive precaution when the sound of voices caused all the party to crouch low among the bushes, hiding themselves in the foliage just as four Chan Santa Cruz Indians came to a halt not more than twenty feet away. It was not difficult to distinguish the form of each one even amid the gloom, and from their manoeuvers Teddy and Neal were confident that they had halted for the remainder of the night. It would have been impossible to hold any conversation, however guarded, without the certainty of being heard while these men were so near, and the fugitives remained motionless, hardly daring to breathe, until it seemed as if some change of position must be made regardless of the consequences. Each one with the possible exception of Poyor, was so cramped as to be in great pain: but all knew that the slightest unusual noise among the foliage would have attracted attention. Of course Cummings' party was more than a match for the Indians; but in addition to his disinclination to begin a fight, was the chance that there might be others in the immediate vicinity who would join in the battle, thus reducing the odds which appeared to be in favor of the white men. It was in the highest degree important, also, that they remain hidden, for once the Indians got a glimpse of the party it would be a simple matter to track them to the next hiding place. There was another and a very weighty reason why both Cummings and Poyor wished to avoid an encounter in the forest, even though their weapons were much superior to those carried by the Chan Santa Cruz so far as rapid work was concerned. Unless struck in some vital part, the chances are in favor of recovery from a bullet wound; but let the skin be punctured ever so slightly by arrows poisoned with the venom of the snake known as the nahuyaca and death is certain to follow. With all this in mind it is little wonder that the fugitives suffered considerable pain before making any attempt to change positions, and that they would be forced to remain exactly where the halt had been made, until morning, seemed positive. Poyor was well content to stay there as long as the men carried on a conversation, for he was thus enabled to get some valuable information concerning their proposed movements, and not a word escaped him. Three hours elapsed before the pursuers gave any sign of leaving the place, and then a peculiar sound as of a night bird calling to its mate, caused them to start to their feet. It was evidently a signal from another party of pursuers, for these men answered it by a similar cry, and it was repeated several times by those in the distance. A moment later the Indians had started, and as they disappeared Neal whispered to Teddy: "I never realized before how much comfort there is in the ability to move whenever a fellow feels so disposed." "If I'd been obliged to keep still ten minutes longer I believe my legs would have dropped off," Teddy replied with a sigh of relief. There was no time to say anything more; Poyor had begun the advance, and the little party moved slowly and silently through the gloomy forest until the Indian halted in front of an opening slightly larger than the one leading to the cave they had just left. Jake did not wait to be told that the journey had come to an end; but at once crawled through, followed by Cummings with the materials for making a torch, and in a few moments the boys were also inside. Poyor did not accompany them; he wanted to assure himself that they had not been discovered, and proposed to stand guard among the trees until this had been accomplished. The cavern was not more than half as large as the one first visited; but was formed of the same peculiar stone. Here also was a stream across one corner, the bottom of which sloped gently up to the shore of fine white sand, and, so far as could be ascertained, it did not afford a home for disagreeable monsters in the shape of alligators. There was plenty of evidence near the entrance to show that in addition to searching the cave the Indians had made a long halt. Fragments of totopostes were scattered around, and a small pile of fine shavings told where one of them had repaired an arrow. The only objection which could be found in this new refuge was that it had not been taken possession of by tohs. Cummings searched everywhere in vain for the "chickens," and the troubled look on his face spoke plainly of his disappointment in failing to find a supply of food close at hand. "If we should be discovered and besieged it will be a case of short rations," he said as the little party returned to the opening to wait for Poyor. "Don't you suppose there are fish in the stream?" Teddy asked. "I never heard that there were; but even if it was stocked with them we should be none the better off since there are neither hooks nor lines here." "Neal and I have got plenty of both, so what's to hinder our finding out? A fresh fish wouldn't taste badly." "Very well. I'll stay here on guard, and----" He was interrupted by the arrival of Poyor, who had crept through the short passage without making sufficient sound to be heard by those who were supposed to be watching, and, speaking in English, he said to Cummings: "I do not think there is any one near here, and now I wish to go further on to learn where the next line of sentinels is posted. We may be able to change our quarters again, and if every move takes us nearer the coast we shall be gaining just so much every time. You must keep a better watch, however, for if I can surprise you, so can others." "I will take it upon myself to see that no one else is able to do the same thing," Cummings replied with a laugh. "When you are outside in the vicinity I always feel secure; for the best Chan Santa Cruz that ever lived couldn't pass without your knowledge. Did you hear anything of importance while we were hiding so near that party?" "From what they said it is positive fully a hundred men have been sent from the city to search for us, and with the sentinels there must be double that number between here and the coast." "It would seem as if with so many they ought to run us to the ground finally," Cummings said musingly. "Where were those fellows going?" "They had been following the wet track examining the caves, and began near the range of hills which forms the east boundary of their country. One of the party believed we had doubled back in order to cross the swamp, and if we can remain hidden it may not be long before all the searchers will be sent in that direction." "Did they make any talk about what would be done with us in case they run us down?" Jake asked. "All are to be taken to the city alive, if possible, and it is not hard to say what would be our fate there." "What do they do with their captives?" Jake continued, as if this not very cheerful subject fascinated him. "A white man would be sacrificed in the temple before the gods, and the death stroke would not be delivered until much torture had been inflicted." "Don't talk of such horrible things," Teddy interrupted nervously. "It can do us no good to learn all the terrible particulars. I want to keep my mind on the one idea of escape." "That is where you are right," Cummings replied approvingly. "We shall be worth any number of dead men for some time to come, and won't discuss even the possibility of capture. When are you going to start, Poyor?" "When I have bound more guaco leaves on this man's wound," was the answer, and now the boys noticed that he had brought a fresh supply of the wonderful shrub. After preparing it as before the bandage was removed, and by the light of a splinter of fat wood which Cummings fired with a match, it could be seen that the edges of the gash had already united. "To-morrow there will be no reason for keeping it tied up." "That is to say, the wound will be healed, and you'll have a souvenir of the Silver City which can never be lost," Cummings added. "I won't complain, for I came out of the scrape much better than I deserved," the engineer replied with a laugh. Poyor was now ready to go on the scout, and he delayed only long enough to say: "There must be no talking while I am away, for one who speaks cannot listen, and if the enemy should come here again his approach will be like that of a serpent." "You shan't have any cause to complain," Cummings replied, and an instant later the Indian had left the cave. Teddy now thought the time had come when he should settle the question of whether there were any fish in the stream, and after gaining Cummings' permission to make the attempt he and Neal brought out the lines and flies which had been saved from the wreck of the Sea Dream. "We shall need bait," he whispered. "If there were a million fish there they couldn't see a fly in the dark, and, besides, if this river runs underground entirely not one of them knows anything about insects." "A piece of roasted toh will be the very best we could have," and Neal soon brought out some of the toughest portions of the remnants left from the last meal. Cummings would not listen to their proposition that a fire be lighted, therefore it was necessary to work in the dark, and they experienced considerable difficulty in beginning the task. Then, while Jake sat near by deeply interested in the experiment, the boys moved their lines to and fro, forced to wade quite a distance into the water, and ten minutes passed before there was any sign that their efforts would be rewarded by success. "I've got a bite," Teddy whispered excitedly. "By the way he pulled it must have been a big fel---- Hello, he's taken hook and all!" "Tie on another quick while I try to catch him," and Neal ventured further into the water, throwing the line as far as possible toward the other side. The thought came into Jake's mind that, while no alligators had been seen when they first entered it was by no means certain one or more would not follow down the course of the stream, and he was on the point of warning Neal not to venture too far from the edge of the shore, when there was a mighty splash, a cry of fear and pain from the fisherman, and the engineer shouted regardless of the fact that the enemy might be close at hand: "Help! An alligator has got Neal!" CHAPTER XX. A DESPERATE STRUGGLE. There was no necessity for the outcry. The splashing of the water told Cummings what had happened even before Jake had time to shout, and he started forward at full speed, carrying with him the materials for torches. When Jake and Teddy were in a condition to understand anything, for the sudden attack had bewildered them to a certain extent, Neal was lying face downward upon the sand, and being slowly dragged backward. The alligator had evidently snapped at his leg, and, missing his aim, had caught the boy's trousers rather than the flesh. Instead of releasing his hold for a better grip, he was trying to drag Neal into deeper water, and once there the struggle would have been quickly ended. Neal had dug his hands into the sand, straining every muscle to prevent being pulled into the stream; but despite all efforts the monster was rapidly getting the best of him. Cummings lost no time after arriving on the scene of action. The boys' cries had guided him to the exact spot, and he waited only long enough to kindle a blaze before joining in the fight. "Teddy, go back to the entrance, get one of the guns, and be sure that no one comes through, for we are likely to make so much noise here that if any of the enemy are in the vicinity we shall be discovered. Jake, you are to hold the torch, and take good care that it burns brightly." Cummings was armed with nothing but his hunting knife and by this time the alligator had dragged fully half of Neal's body into the water. There seemed to be but little hope that the boy could be rescued before serious injury had been inflicted. Pulling off his coat and belt Cummings leaped boldly on the back of the saurian monster, burying the blade of his knife in the alligator's eye at the same time, and then ensued a most terrific struggle. Instead of releasing his hold on Neal the reptile held firm, and put forth every effort to sink in the deeper water to dislodge the more formidable antagonist who was striking beneath the surface with his weapon in the hope of hitting some vulnerable spot. Jake stood on the bank holding the torch high above his head to prevent it from being extinguished by the showers which were sent up by the lashing of the monster's tail, and powerless to aid in the fight for life. Slowly but surely Neal was being pulled from the shore. With only the sand to clutch he could retard, not check the saurian's movements, and work as he might, it seemed impossible for Cummings to strike a fatal blow. "Drop your torch and seize the boy by the arms," the latter shouted as he saw that the battle was going against him. "At this rate I shall soon be where it will be out of the question to prolong the struggle." Jake did as he was commanded, and in the darkness the remainder of the terrible fight was waged. The engineer pulled until to Neal it seemed as if his arms would be torn from their sockets, and the alligator retained his hold as he struggled to throw off Cummings. The noise of the combat sounded almost deafening to Teddy, who was doing his best to listen for any unusual disturbance among the foliage outside, and he felt confident that if the enemy was anywhere in the vicinity the secret of their hiding place would soon be discovered. The struggle lasted only five minutes; but Neal would have said an hour had passed since he was first seized, and then Cummings won the victory by slipping from the alligator's back regardless of the rapidly moving tail, and stabbing him under the fore leg. Even then it appeared as if the victory was to be purchased at a great cost, for, in order to avoid being killed by the monster's dying struggles, Cummings was forced to release his hold, and the current carried him rapidly toward the channel formed by the waters through the rock. "Light the torch!" he shouted, putting forth all his strength in order to breast the tide. "I'm in the middle of the stream, and likely to be carried through the wall." Jake had pulled Neal high up out of the water the instant the alligator's hold was released, and at this appeal he dropped him suddenly, groping around for the bundle of wood so hurriedly cast aside. It was several seconds before he could find it, and then much valuable time was lost in trying to ignite the fuel made damp by the spray which had been thrown up. It seemed to him that never had he been so clumsy, and the anxiety to move quickly only served to retard his efforts. Finally, after what to Teddy appeared to be a very long while, the fat wood was ignited, and then it could be seen that Cummings was in a most dangerous position. He was not more than six feet from the aperture through which the water raced with redoubled force because the opening was several inches lower than the surface, and swam as if nearly exhausted. Jake was the only one who could render any assistance just at this moment, and he proved to be equal to the occasion. Seizing one of the guns he waded into the water to his waist, and succeeded in extending the weapon sufficiently for Cummings to grasp the end of the barrel. "Hold on for grim death; I've got to drop the torch!" he shouted, suiting the action to the words, and Teddy could see no more because the light was suddenly extinguished. Now the sentinel forgot that the enemy might creep upon them and running forward he cried: "Don't give in, Jake; I'll help you." Before he could reach the stream the work was accomplished. Jake pulled Cummings on the bank by the side of Neal, and proceeded to relight the torch, a difficult matter since the matches in his pocket had been spoiled by the action of the water. In this last work Teddy was able to render some assistance, and the flame had but just sprung up from the wood when Cummings said hurriedly: "Extinguish that light. If we haven't advertised our whereabouts to the Indians already there is no reason for taking foolish risks. We'll attend to matters here, Teddy, and you get back to the entrance." This command was obeyed at once, and the sentinel heard only a faint sound from the direction of the stream until his companions rejoined him, none the worse for the battle except in the respect of being decidedly wet. "Have you heard anything suspicious?" Cummings asked anxiously. "Not the slightest noise. If there had been any Indians in the vicinity they would surely have made an attempt to enter when all hands was raising such an uproar." Cummings crept through the short tunnel and investigated in the immediate vicinity of the opening before he could believe they had been so fortunate, and when he returned Jake said: "I thought you wouldn't find anything. If those imps had had the slightest inkling of where we are it wouldn't have been necessary to wait so long as this before the fact was made known." "It was better to be sure. Poyor was so careful to caution us about a noise that I was afraid he knew some of them were lurking near by. It is all right, however, and we can congratulate ourselves on a fortunate escape from more than one danger." The weather was so warm that no one felt any serious effects from the involuntary bath. A portion of the wet clothing was taken off and hung on the guns set in the sand as stakes, to dry, and since their fears regarding the proximity of the Indians had been partially set at rest by Cummings' survey, there was a general disposition to talk of something foreign to the struggle through which they had just passed. "You have said very much about the poisoned arrows which the Chan Santa Cruz Indians use," Neal began, "and I would like to know how they manage to render them so deadly." "It is by no means a difficult matter, and as Poyor's people use very nearly the same method of increasing the death-dealing power of their weapons, I can describe the process exactly," Cummings replied, speaking in a whisper, regardless of the Indian's remark that "he who talks cannot listen." "You have heard me say many times that the nahuyaca is the most venomous of serpents, and instead of being content with a single bite, as is the case with snakes in general, he strikes many times with almost incredible rapidity. When the Indians wish to prepare the poison for their arrows or spears they first get the liver of a tapir, or some other animal as large, and then hunt for the species of serpent I have spoken of. Once found he is pinned to the ground with a forked stick in such a manner that he can use his head freely; but yet be unable to escape, and the liver, fastened to a long pole, is held where he can strike at it. "When the snake refuses longer to bite he is killed, and the liver placed where it will decompose without any of the moisture being lost. You can imagine what a mixture it is when thus prepared, and in it the weapons are dipped. "It is said that the venom retains its deadly properties for many weeks, and, in fact, I know of a native who came very near losing his life by being scratched with an old arrow that must have been poisoned nearly a year previous." "I should think they might make a mistake when shooting game, and use a doctored arrow rather than one of the ordinary kind," Teddy said. "That could only result from sheer carelessness. The point of a poisoned weapon is covered with a reddish brown substance which cannot be mistaken, and, for greater security, the feathers used for the tip are invariably green. A Central American Indian never takes a green shafted arrow, nor a spear on which is painted a band of the same color, when he goes out to procure food." "Then if we happen to meet these fellows who are hunting for us, we are likely to come out second best even though they have only bows with which to shoot," Jake suggested grimly, and, evading a direct answer, Cummings replied: "We will hope that we shan't get near enough to let any such thing as that trouble us." Then the conversation gradually ceased. Neal and Teddy, after learning that Cummings intended to remain on watch until Poyor returned, lay down together, where for at least the hundredth time they discussed the chances of reaching home within a reasonable number of days, and, hopeful though both tried to appear, neither could bring himself to set any definite day for the end of the dangerous journey which might never be finished. "There is so much certain," Neal said decidedly after a short pause, "once we get out of this section of the country we'll go to the nearest sea-port and wait there for a steamer or a vessel, without ever setting our feet outside the town. There'll be no more delays if we get clear of this scrape." "You can count me in on that, and now I'm going to sleep. It seems as if a week had passed since we started from the last cavern." Jake had already taken advantage of the opportunity to indulge in slumber, and soon Cummings was the only one on the alert; anxiety kept his eyes very wide open, for he believed Poyor should have returned some time before. CHAPTER XXI. A LONG HALT. When the morning dawned Poyor was still absent and Cummings' anxiety had become intense. It hardly seemed possible the Indian would go very far from the cave of his own free will, and that he had been captured by the enemy appeared more than probable. Neither Jake nor the boys awakened until after the sun had risen, and, as a matter of course, the first inquiry of each was concerning the man upon whom all depended so entirely. Before Cummings could give words to the fears which had haunted him during the night the entrance to the cave was darkened, and Teddy cried joyfully: "Here he is, and I hope we are to make another move pretty soon, for after last night's adventure this isn't the most pleasant place I ever saw in which to spend any length of time." It could easily be seen from the Indian's general appearance that he brought no bad news, and without waiting to be questioned he went toward the stream to quench his thirst. A sharp cry from both the boys caused him to halt very suddenly, and when Cummings told the story of the adventure with the alligator he said: "You should not have made such an attempt except when a fire was burning, and even then to wade into the water was wrong. I will get what can be used for both drinking and fishing." Again he left the cave, returning ten minutes later with what looked like a slender bamboo, save that there were no joints in it. Through the middle of the pole, running the entire length, was a small hole hardly larger than is to be found in a reed, and with this while standing five or six feet from the stream he drank at leisure, keeping his eyes fixed upon the surface of the water to guard against an attack. Having thus quenched his thirst he returned to where Cummings was on guard and told the story of his wanderings. He had followed straight along the line of moisture, finding cave after cave but none of them as well adapted to their purpose as was this one, and had seen none of the enemy until five or six miles had been traversed, when a strong cordon of sentinels was discovered. The men were stationed not more than twenty feet apart, and, as nearly as he could judge, had been ordered to remain and prevent the fugitives from leaving the country by way of the coast. From what he already knew concerning the people, he understood the number of men on duty at this particular point had been largely increased, therefore the natural inference was that there were two distinct bodies engaged in trying to capture the white men. One whose duty it was to guard the boarder so thoroughly that it would be impossible to escape, while the other scoured the forest and swamp. "We must stay here several days," he said in conclusion. "After a time the men will grow careless, and then we may be able to make our way through the lines; but now it is impossible." Until this moment Neal and Teddy had hoped there might yet be a chance for them to reach Progresso in time to take passage on the steamer as first agreed upon; but now they were in despair. Poyor spoke so positively that there could be no doubt the journey to the coast would be a long one, in case they ever succeeded in making it, and the thoughts of the loved ones at home who were probably mourning them as dead caused them to be more gloomy than on the night of the flight, when it did not seem possible any of the party would escape alive. Cummings, who had no care as to when he reached the coast, and Jake, to whom time was no particular object, received the news calmly. A week more or less made but little difference to them, and after a short pause Cummings said: "If you will stay on guard, Jake, I'll find out if it is possible to catch any fish. The food supply is an important matter which should be settled at once, for we must not depend upon what can be gotten in the forest, since no one can say how soon we may be besieged." Poyor lay down to sleep as if perfectly indifferent to the experiment, and the boys followed Cummings. To watch him fish was better than remaining quiet thinking over their troubles. The reflection of the sun from the outside had so far dispelled the gloom that it was possible to distinguish surrounding objects with reasonable distinctness, and Cummings stood by the bank of the stream as he tied one end of Teddy's line to the pole Poyor had used for drinking purposes, while, with the last remaining fragments of roasted toh, began the work. In the most perfect silence the boys watched him for ten minutes, and Teddy said: "I guess you'll have to give it up as a bad job. There's nothing but alligators in the stream, and what they most want is another chance to get hold of Neal's trousers." "It was lucky for me that they didn't get hold of my ankle as well. I don't understand how I escaped so easily, for----" "Here's the first one," Cummings said triumphantly, as he swung on shore a fish weighing about three pounds. "If we find many such there won't be any danger of suffering from hunger." The boys seized the flapping evidence of Cummings' skill as an angler, and hurried to the entrance in order to examine it more closely. In shape it was similar to a brook trout; but instead of being spotted had black scales as large as one's thumb nail, and not until it had been scrutinized carefully was anything seen to betoken the presence of organs of sight. Then Jake pointed out two slight depressions near the end of the upper jaw, which were protected and nearly covered by a cartilaginous substance extending entirely across the head something after the fashion of a hood. "I don't wonder he had to try a long while before catching this fellow," Teddy said with a laugh. "A fish that has such poor apologies for eyes can't be expected to see bait very quickly." "It isn't likely they can see anything, and if these small specks are eyes they've probably only been put on as ornaments." At this point Jake, regardless of the fact that he should have been listening intently at the aperture, began what was evidently about to be a long dissertation on the subject of a fish being able to smell while in the water, and to prevent him from neglecting his duties as sentinel, the boys went back to the stream, arriving there just as Cummings landed a second prize. At the end of an hour four fish, aggregating in weight not less than ten pounds, were on the bank, and it was decided that no more should be caught. "We've got food enough to last us during twenty-four hours," Cummings said, "and it would be a waste of time to fish any longer." "When are we to cook them?" Teddy asked. "That is a job which must be left for Poyor. He can do it better than either of us, and, since there are none of the enemy in the immediate vicinity, I fancy we may count on having these for the next meal." Then Cummings took his turn at sleeping, after impressing on the minds of the boys and Jake that a strict watch should be kept by all regardless of the news brought by the Indian, and during the two hours which followed before there was any change in the condition of affairs, little else was done save to discuss the situation. They talked of the loved ones at home; of the probable whereabouts of those who had left the burning yacht in their company, and of the chances that they would soon reach the coast, until Jake changed the subject by saying abruptly: "We'll soon be blind if the Indian don't find a hidin' place where the sunlight penetrates once in awhile. I begin to feel a good deal like a bat already, an' have a big mind to slip out for a walk." "Don't so much as think of it," Teddy cried in alarm. "It isn't certain that the enemy are not close by, and the risk is too great." "I can't see it in that light," Jake replied in his old obstinate manner. "Perhaps Poyor has had more experience in these woods than I have; but I'll bet considerable that I can get around as well as he does." "Do you remember what happened the last time you believed Cummings and Poyor were mistaken or ignorant?" Neal asked meaningly. "What has that got to do with my going where I can use my eyes a bit?" "Very much, considering the fact that Cummings thinks it is dangerous even for him to venture out. You are safe so long as the Indians do not get a glimpse of you, and it would be endangering the lives of all hands if you tried such a foolish experiment that can be of no especial benefit in case it is made successfully." Jake did not reply; but from his manner Neal believed he intended to leave the cave at the first favorable opportunity, and resolved to keep a close watch upon him. Nothing more was said on the subject because at this moment Poyor arose, and going to the stream for a drink of water, saw the fish on the bank. "Hungry?" he asked, coming toward the entrance. "I wouldn't object to something warm," Teddy replied with a laugh; "but I suppose it isn't safe to build a fire till after dark." "We can have one now," the Indian said, as he began to crawl through the passage. "There," Jake said triumphantly, as Poyor disappeared, "you can see how much danger there would be in our taking a stroll. Yesterday he wouldn't let a fellow whisper, and now we're to cook as if such a tribe as the Chan Santa Cruz had never existed." "That doesn't make the slightest difference so far as we are concerned. He could go in safety where you'd be certain to get into trouble." Again the engineer was silenced but not convinced and Neal's fears that some dangerously foolish move might be made by him, were increased. When Poyor returned he brought with him a small quantity of wood, more mud, and a bundle of green leaves. At the further end of the cave he built a fire; encased the fish as he previously had the "chickens," piled the embers over them, and then, in the canteen brought by Cummings, he steeped the leaves. Breakfast or dinner, whichever it might be called was ready in half an hour, and when Poyor set the repast before them, where all could be on the alert while eating, Teddy exclaimed: "Those leaves must have been from a tea plant; it seems quite like being on the yacht again to smell that." "You'll be disappointed when you taste of the beverage," Cummings, who had just been awakened by the Indian, said, as he approached his companions. "He has made an infusion of pimientillo leaves, a drink of which the natives of Yucatan are very fond." Teddy was pleased rather than otherwise with the flavor, which was as of tea mixed with cloves, and drank so much that Poyor was forced to brew another canteen full in order to satisfy his own desires. The fish were pronounced delicious, and although Cummings thought he had caught considerably more than could be consumed in one meal, there was very little left when the hunger of all had been appeased. It was now nearly noon, when every native of the country believes a siesta is necessary, however important business he may have on hand, and Poyor stretched himself once more out on the sand, Cummings advising the boys and Jake to do the same thing. "I slept so long that I couldn't close my eyes now if I tried, so you had better take advantage of the opportunity." CHAPTER XXII. JAKE'S VENTURE. The boys followed Cummings' advice; but owing to the fact that they had taken no exercise the slumber was neither prolonged nor refreshing. When they awakened Poyor and Jake were yet asleep, and they went softly to where Cummings was keeping most vigilant watch. "Had enough of it?" he asked with a smile. "Yes: we are not feeling so comfortable in mind that we can sleep at will, and just now a little goes a great way," Neal replied. "Don't make the mistake of dwelling upon your troubles. By putting them from your mind you are in better condition to meet what may come, and besides, fretting never did mend matters." "I'll admit that the advice is good; but it is not every one who can follow it." "Why not? Have you tried by looking for something else with which to occupy your attention?" "Shut up here as we are it would be pretty hard work to think of anything except our own situation." "I'm not so certain of that. Suppose we try by speaking of the country on whose shores you were cast by the waves?" "It was formerly an independent republic; but now forms one of the Mexican states," Teddy replied promptly. "I'll admit that to be true; but it is a small fund of information for a schoolboy to have regarding a country which was probably the most powerful on the hemisphere hundreds of years before Columbus crossed the ocean. Here have been found the ruins of forty-four large cities; the remains of enormous artificial lakes, paved roads, and, in fact, all the evidences of a high state of civilization which existed before Europe could boast of the slightest form of government." "You may be certain that I shall study about it with more interest in case we are so fortunate as to be able to go to school again," Teddy replied. "Tell us about the people who lived here when it was so great." "I wish I could," Cummings said with a sigh. "If it had been possible for us to have taken from the Silver City any records, or sculptured figures, or plates of a historical nature, I might have succeeded in solving that which the student can speak of only as a mystery. Before the Conquest it was known as Maya--that is to say, the territory now called Yucatan, and the Chan Santa Cruz yet speak the Maya language. It is only certain that for many centuries there was here an important feudal monarchy, which doubtless arose after the Toltec overthrow of the very ancient kingdom of Xibalba." "Cortez was the first white man to come into this country," Neal said half questioningly. "Not by any manner of means. In the year 1502 Ferdinand Columbus, driven by adverse currents out of his southerly course, sighted a group of islands off Honduras, and captured a huge canoe, which is described as having been as wide as a galley and eighty feet long, formed of the trunk of a single tree. In the middle was an awning of palm leaves, not unlike those of Venetian gondolas, under which were the women, children and goods. The canoe was propelled by twenty-five Indians who wore cotton coverlets and tunics without sleeves, dyed various colors and curiously worked. The women wrapped themselves in large mantles of similar material. "The men wore long swords, with channels each side of the blade, edged with sharp flints that cut the body as well as steel. They had copper hatchets for chopping wood, belts of the same material, and crucibles in which to melt it. For provisions they carried roots and grain, a sort of wine made from maize, and great quantities of almonds. This is a fragment of the history of Yucatan, simply a suggestion of what can be found by study, and some day when you have nothing to do, ask Poyor to tell you of his people's traditions." Cummings had succeeded in interesting the boys despite Neal's assertion that it would be impossible to think of anything but their own condition, and Teddy asked, hoping to hear more about the country: "How large is Yucatan?" "I question if even the officials know. It is set down as containing 76,560 square kilometres, with 302,315 inhabitants; but the last figures can be only guess-work, since regarding the unconquerable tribes of the interior, such as we are now trying to escape from, all is conjecture." This concluded the conversation so far as Cummings was concerned, for Poyor had awakened and joined the party, and there was very much to be discussed with him relative to what move should be made, when a sufficient time had elapsed. In order that the boys might understand all which was said, the two men spoke only in English, and when the consultation was brought to a close the former had a very clear idea of the condition of affairs. "It is safe to venture out in search of food," Poyor said, when Cummings intimated by his silence that there was no further topic which he wished to discuss, "and I will go for a short time." "Why not take one of the boys with you?" the leader of the expedition asked. "It is dull work for them here, and a little exercise will be beneficial." "Not yet," the Indian replied quickly. "Too broad a trail would surely attract the attention of the enemy, and we must not run such a risk." "Very well, we will do a little fishing in order to have something hearty for supper in case you are not successful." Then the Indian went cautiously out through the narrow passage, and he had but just disappeared when Jake awakened. "What's goin' on?" he asked with a yawn. "Has Poyor left us again?" "He thought it might be possible to get some game near by, and proposes to make the attempt," Cummings replied carelessly. "Now that you are awake stand watch awhile, for the boys and I are going to catch a few more fish." Jake seated himself by the entrance, and Cummings led the way to the stream, never fancying for a single moment that the sentinel might desert his post. The second effort to draw food from the water was more successful than the first. Cummings had hardly dropped the line before the bait was seized, and he landed a fairly good sized fish, after which he proposed that Teddy should try his hand at the work. "I don't want to monopolize all the fun," he said laughingly, "therefore you boys had better take turns until we get enough for supper. To-night we'll ask Poyor to cut another pole, and then both can enjoy the sport at the same time." The fish were smaller than those previously taken and half an hour elapsed before there were enough on the shore to make up what Cummings believed was sufficient for a hearty meal. Then the three walked slowly toward the entrance to relieve Jake; but, to the surprise of all, he was not there. "It is my fault," Neal cried while Cummings was looking around in the belief that the sentinel had gone to another portion of the cave and would soon be back. "I knew from what was said this forenoon that he had an idea of venturing out, and made up my mind to watch him closely; but the history lesson and the fishing caused me to forget it entirely." "Do you mean that he has had an idea of leaving us?" Cummings asked in astonishment. "No; he simply proposed to take a walk. He thinks it is as safe for him as for Poyor." "But I, who surely understand the woods better than he, would not dare to attempt it." "You know what he has done." "If he does not lose his own life ours may be sacrificed," Cummings said passionately. "The Indian can go through the undergrowth without leaving any sign of his passage: but for Jake to do so is simply to set up a guide-board by which the enemy can find us." "I should have told you at once," Neal said in self reproach. "You are not to be blamed in the slightest; but if I could get my hands on him at this moment he would regret most sincerely ever having such a thought in his head." "What will be the result?" Teddy asked in distress. "If he succeeds in finding his way back, which I doubt very much, we will be forced to make a change regardless of the consequences, and if he is captured it becomes a case of our putting the greatest possible distance between this cave and ourselves," Cummings replied bitterly. "I might go out and try to find him," Neal suggested, and his companion put an end to any such idea by saying impatiently: "Your efforts to aid him would only result in making our own position just so much the worse. We must wait until Poyor comes back, and learn what he has to say in regard to the affair." "But it seems cruel to let him run into danger without saying a word." "It is not half as bad as it is for him to jeopardize all our lives. He did the same thing once before, and the consequence was that instead of making back tracks to my shanty, as could easily have been done, we are forced to skulk around two or three weeks with no certainty of escaping even at the end of that time." Both Neal and Teddy understood that it would be useless to say anything more in Jake's favor, and as a matter of fact, they felt quite as bitter toward him as did Cummings, for it was not difficult to see what might be the result of his foolish excursion. In silence the little party waited until the Indian returned bringing the carcass of a tapir, a small quantity of alligator pears, and two so-called cabbages cut from palm trees. "It is not difficult to get all the food that may be needed provided we can keep the fact of our being here a secret," he said in a tone which showed how greatly he was pleased by his success. "And that we shall not be able to do many hours longer except by some piece of rare good luck," Cummings said bitterly. "Jake went out a long while ago, and is now, I presume, roaming around in order to give the enemy an opportunity of looking at him." "Went out?" the Indian repeated in surprise. "Do you mean that he has left the cave?" "That is exactly the size of it." "Why did he do such a foolish thing?" "Because he was too much of a baby or an idiot to stay in hiding until the danger had passed. He claimed that exercise was necessary." "He will get all he needs," Poyor said half to himself, as he allowed the supply of provisions to fall unheeded from his hands. "We also must leave this place." "Do you mean that we should go at once?" Cummings asked as if he had been expecting such a remark. "When the night has come we will start, and with but little hope of breaking through the line of sentinels." "Are we not to wait for Jake?" Neal interrupted. "If he does not return before we are ready there will be little chance of ever seeing him again," was the grim reply as Poyor paced to and fro, evidently so disturbed that it was impossible for him to remain in one position. CHAPTER XXIII. A HURRIED DEPARTURE. Neal and Teddy were in a state of the most painful suspense from the moment Poyor returned until the time for their departure arrived. The one hope was that Jake would succeed in finding his way back, for the thought that he might be captured was terrible, and they sat near the entrance listening intently to every sound. "You're bound to be disappointed if you count on hearing him," Cummings said bitterly. "But there is a chance that the Indians are some distance from here," Teddy replied. "Poyor didn't find any until he reached the line of sentinels." "I am not saying that he is necessarily captured yet; but it would be little short of a miracle if he found his way back after going any distance from this cave. I wouldn't dare to make the attempt." "But are we to go away without trying to find the poor fellow?" Neal asked in a tone of distress. "It would be useless to search, and we are now in too much danger to waste any time," Cummings said sternly. "Our one chance of escape was to give the enemy the idea that we had succeeded in getting out of the country, and he has destroyed it. Now this portion of the forest will be filled with Indians, and in twenty-four hours from the moment he or his trail is seen, we shall be discovered. We cannot aid him, and I doubt whether I would be willing to do so if it was possible, for a man of average common sense who will act as he has done deserves punishment." The boys made no reply. Each instant their companion's anger against Jake increased, and it was not well to rouse him by further conversation. Near the bank of the stream Poyor had built a fire and was cooking a portion of the tapir and the fish, for in the hurried flight which was soon to be begun there might not be an opportunity to prepare food. The Indian had unpacked the bundles in order to discard everything not absolutely necessary, and was tying each compactly when the boys approached. "Why are you making only three packages?" Neal asked. "Teddy and I want to do our full share of the work, and it isn't right for you and Cummings to lug everything." "You will be forced to do more than an equal share because that which Jake carried must now be divided between us," Poyor replied grimly. "The fourth load is to be made up of the provisions." "Are you going straight for the coast, and try to force your way through the line of sentinels?" "That cannot be done. We must now ascend the mountain range on the north of the forest." "But by so doing the journey will be made much longer, won't it?" "Very much." "Then why not try to fight through?" "Because it is impossible. Not one of us would live to see the ocean." There was not much comfort to be derived from such a conversation, and again the boys went to the entrance where Cummings was examining carefully all the weapons. "You must carry plenty of cartridges where they can be gotten at quickly," he said, as they came up. "It is impossible to say what may happen, and no precaution should be neglected. The guns are in good order, and with them we may succeed in holding the enemy at such a distance that their arrows cannot be used." "We have filled our pockets," Neal replied, and throwing himself upon the ground, he watched Cummings and Poyor at their work. Ten minutes later the Indian came to the entrance and said as he began to crawl through the narrow passage: "I will make one effort to find him who has caused us so much trouble." "Don't spend any time on such a fool," Cummings cried fiercely. "He knew the danger, and if he chooses to run into it, jeopardizing our lives at the same moment, nothing too bad can happen to him." "He may be near at hand. I will make a search," Poyor replied as he rose to his feet on the outside, and Neal whispered to Teddy: "If Jake can be found matters won't seem quite so hard, for it will be terrible to think of him wandering around until captured, and we running away from him." Teddy nodded his head; but did not dare trust himself to speak. He had been thinking of home until the tears were so very near his eyelids that he feared they would overflow. During the next half hour not a word was spoken by either of the little party, and then Poyor returned alone. There was no necessity of questioning him, and Neal covered his face with his hands to hide the distress he knew must be pictured there, for there was no longer any hope the engineer would accompany them on their rapid and most dangerous flight. By this time the meat was cooked, and the Indian brought a generous supply to the entrance; but no one had any particular desire for food. "You must take some," Cummings said, when Neal and Teddy turned away. "We may not have an opportunity to eat again for many hours, and it is necessary to be prepared for a long tramp." The boys managed to swallow a small quantity after considerable effort, when the final preparations were made, and by the time they were completed the sun had set. Night had not fully settled down when Poyor gave the signal for the start, and one by one the fugitives crept from the cave, pushing their bundles before them, since the passage was not sufficiently large to admit of their walking upright. "Strap the pack on firmly," Cummings said in a whisper, when they were in the open air. "We may be obliged to run, in which case there must be no chance of losing our baggage. You boys follow Poyor, and I will bring up the rear." The Indian was waiting for them to get into proper marching order, and instantly this had been done he started at a rapid pace. As they left the cave it seemed to Neal and Teddy that Jake had really been abandoned, and, regardless of what he had done, they felt that it was cruel to hurry away so soon. "It could have done no harm to wait until morning," Neal said in a whisper, when they halted a short distance from the starting point while Poyor went ahead to reconnoiter. "And by that time we might have found ourselves besieged. It would have been a delay of twenty-four hours, for all our traveling must be done in the night," Cummings replied. "We have taken the only course he left open to us, and we won't discuss the matter any more." The march was resumed after a short delay, and not until two hours had passed did the Indian so much as slacken his pace. They had arrived where the forest is less dense; but the undergrowth more tangled, and Poyor signified by gestures that the boys would be allowed a short time of rest. Teddy was about to ask if he could take off the pack, for the cords were cutting into his flesh in a painful manner; but the Indian checked him with a quick motion of the hand. The party were now near where it was supposed a line of sentinels was stationed, and, holding his finger to his lips, Cummings gave them to understand that the utmost silence must be preserved. Again Poyor went forward alone, and the tired boys sat with their backs against a tree thinking only of Jake and his possible fate. The silence was so profound as to be almost alarming. Here and there amid the foliage could be seen countless fire-flies; but not even the rustling of the leaves broke the stillness, and it did not require any very great stretch of the imagination to fancy that the enemy were lurking close at hand awaiting an opportunity to spring upon them. Once a rat-like tuza ran past within a few inches of Teddy's feet, and as the boy leaped up in affright, fancying the vengeful Indians had discovered him, it was with difficulty he repressed a cry of alarm. With so many horrible things to think of it was a decided relief when Poyor came gliding noiselessly back to announce that the journey could be continued, and once more the little party picked their way over fallen and decaying timber, or through thickets where thorns tore both clothing and flesh. After a time they reached ascending ground, showing that they were on the foot hills of the range, and the advance became more laborious, until, shortly before sunrise, Neal declared that he could go no farther. "We must stop," he whispered to Poyor. "I have held out as long as possible, and could not keep on half a mile more if the enemy were in close pursuit." The Indian nodded his head to signify that the halt should be made, and a few moments later he turned aside into a small ravine or cut on the side of the hill. Here he threw down his burden, and the boys followed the example, paying no attention to the advantages or disadvantages of the spot as a refuge during the day which was so near at hand. Lying at full length on the ground, heeding not that deadly reptiles might be close at hand, Neal and Teddy fell asleep almost immediately, and Poyor proposed that Cummings should also seek repose. "I will watch," he said, "and when the sun rises we can decide whether it is safe to stay here." Although the white man was weary he would not admit that the Indian could bear more fatigue, and insisted on keeping awake until it was learned if they should be warranted in remaining. In perfect silence the two stood guard over the sleeping boys, and when the morning came the important question was soon settled. The place of refuge to which chance had brought them was admirable both for purposes of defense and for hiding. It was a deep, narrow cut extending thirty feet into what appeared to be a mass of sandstone, and at the entrance was not more than ten feet wide, while over the top the foliage grew so luxuriantly as to completely conceal them from the view of any one who might be above. In front the trees were small, and it was possible to see forty or fifty yards down the side of the hill, therefore the enemy could not approach unobserved save from the top. "It is good," Poyor said approvingly. "We can remain here until night." "But why have we not met the sentinels which you believe to be so numerous?" "They are further on. At the end of the next march we shall be in their midst." "And then comes the most difficult portion of our journey. But we won't search for trouble," Cummings added after a short pause. "Let us have breakfast, and then one shall stand guard while the others sleep." Poyor unpacked the provisions, awakened Neal and Teddy, and with a view before them which, under other circumstances, would have called forth expressions of the most lively admiration, the little party made a hearty meal. CHAPTER XXIV. JAKE. It was only natural that on awakening Neal and Teddy should first think of the engineer and his possible fate; but the other two members of the party were so incensed against him that neither cared to speak on the subject. They asked concerning their location, and were told all that Cummings and Poyor knew, and when the very satisfactory meal was brought to a close the former said as if inviting a discussion: "We have sufficient food to last us three days if there is no game picked up on the way; but our supply of water threatens to run short very soon unless we can manage to refill the canteens. Are we likely to find a stream among these hills, Poyor?" "When we descend into the valley there will be no lack of plenty to drink; but on beginning the ascent of the mountains we must be careful not to use too much." "How long shall we probably be on the range providing every thing works smoothly?" "Three days--perhaps four." "But we can only carry water enough for two days at the best." "Then each one must take but half as much as he needs." "Of course that would settle the matter; but it is going to be pretty tough to travel in heat without all we want to drink." "Better that than to fall into the hands of the Chan Santa Cruz," Poyor replied gravely. "I am willing to admit it; but at the same time I believe we can hit upon some plan of carrying all that may be needed." "We may find the water pitchers in the forest, and by means of them replenish the supply." "That is figuring upon a possibility, and we are by no means certain of getting what we want." "There is plenty of time to think the matter over, for, unless we are discovered, it will be necessary to stay here until night. Will you sleep now?" "You need rest more than I," Cummings replied. "Lie down while I stand guard." The Indian did not hesitate; it made very little difference who remained on watch providing the utmost vigilance was maintained, and he stretched himself on the ground at the farther end of the ravine where he could be sheltered from the rays of the sun. The boys seated themselves by Cummings' side where the best view of the surrounding country could be had; but the latter was in no mood for further conversation, and the three remained silent for an hour or more, when Teddy asked: "How long before you intend to call Poyor?" "There is plenty of time," Cummings replied carelessly. "We have all day before us, and when I am tired he shall take his turn." "Why can't we do something? If you lie down now it will be gaining just so much more sleep, and surely both of us can keep watch as well as either you or he." "That is a good idea, and I'll take advantage of the offer. Call me if you see the slightest thing suspicious, or hear any sound not made by the birds. I don't fancy we shall be troubled; but at the same time no one knows what may happen." "We'll take good care; you shall be told if anything larger than a rat comes in view," Teddy replied, "so don't lose time that might be spent in sleep." Cummings followed this advice at once, and in a few moments his heavy breathing told that he had crossed over into slumberland. During the next hour nothing was seen or heard by the sentinels, who sat just within the shadow cast by the rock gazing intently down the hill, and then Teddy whispered excitedly as he pointed to a clump of bushes near where the trees were thickest: "Look in that direction. Can't you see the foliage is moving to and fro more than should be the case on a calm day like this?" Neal followed with his eyes Teddy's finger, and after a close scrutiny said: "I see what you mean: but there is probably some animal among the bushes. At all events we shan't be a great while finding out, and it isn't well to call Cummings until we are positive something is wrong." During five minutes the boys watched intently, and then there could be no question but that the leader should be awakened. They had seen a man, or at least a portion of one, as the foliage was parted gently to admit of his looking out, and Neal said as he raised his gun: "Call Cummings. I won't fire until he gives the word unless that fellow comes too near." Believing that they were about to be attacked, Teddy shook the leader of the party vigorously as he whispered: "They've found out where we are, and one is just getting ready to make a rush." This information was well calculated to arouse Poyor as well as the white man, and they ran with all speed toward the entrance to the ravine where Neal was making ready to shoot. "He has shown himself twice since Teddy went to call you," the boy said, "and I know exactly where to fire if you believe it ought to be done." "Do you think he knows we are here?" Cummings asked, and Neal replied: "He has been looking out from among the bushes as if suspicious that there was something wrong in this quarter; but I don't fancy he has seen us." "Then do not fire. It is of the greatest importance that we should remain concealed, and to discharge a weapon now would only be to bring down a crowd upon us. Get back to the farther end of the ravine while Poyor and I find out what is going on." The boys did as they were bidden, taking their station where it was possible to see all the men were doing, and after ten minutes both were surprised by hearing Cummings say in a tone of relief: "It is only that idiot, and he evidently mistakes us for enemies. The best thing we can do is to let him stay where he is, for then he can't get us into another scrape." "It's Jake!" Teddy cried. "I thought that arm didn't look like an Indian's!" "It will be worse than wicked if Cummings don't let him know who we are. Of course he's hunting for us, and we _must_ call to him." As Neal spoke he stepped forward, and was about to cry out when Cummings prevented him. "Let the fool alone," the latter said. "If he joins us we shall never be able to pass the sentinels." "You can't mean to let him wander off by himself." "Better that than give him another chance to bring the enemy down upon us." "But I won't allow it," Neal cried angrily. "It is true he has been worse than foolish twice----" "And the third time he'll succeed in bringing all hands up with a sharp turn. We are where very little is needed to put us in the power of the enemy, and we cannot afford to take such chances as he appears to delight in." "Then Teddy and I will leave you, and run all the risk with him, which is nothing more than fair, considering the fact that he is one of our party." From the look on Cummings' face it was evident he intended to make an angry reply; but before he could speak Poyor said: "The boys are right. It is not good to desert a friend, no matter what he has done." "Very well," Cummings said impatiently. "Call him in, and during the remainder of this journey, if we live to finish it, I will see that he does not have a chance to work any more mischief." Neal did not delay. Stepping out from the ravine he shouted: "Jake! Jake, come in here!" Although the engineer was so far away the cry of mingled surprise and joy which burst from his lips could be heard distinctly, and in the shortest possible space of time he was in the ravine shaking the boys' hands vigorously. "What are you up to here?" he asked. "Looking for me?" "Indeed we were doing nothing of the kind," Cummings said angrily. "After you so kindly did all you could to tell the Indians where we had located it was necessary to make a quick move, and if I had had my way you would never have known how near we were." "I don't suppose it will do any good to say that I am sorry?" Jake suggested meekly. "Not a bit, for this is the second time you have done all the mischief possible. By this last performance it has been necessary to take a course nearly three times as long as the one we intended to travel, and no one can say what you won't do before we are out of the scrape." "I pledge my word to obey orders. The experience I have had during the past twenty-four hours has taught me that I can't afford to take any more chances while we are in this heathenish country." "It is a grave question whether we shall be able to get clear, and now that you have come we must make another change, running all the risks of traveling in the daytime, for the enemy can follow up on your trail as readily as if you had set sign-boards all the way." Jake understood that it would do no good to make any reply while Cummings was in such a rage, and he very wisely retreated to the further end of the ravine where he whispered to Teddy: "Can't you give me a bite to eat? I'm just about starved." "Haven't you had anything since leaving the cave?" "Not a mouthful, and only one drink of water." "Where have you been?" "Walkin' all the time. When I went away it was only with the intention of travelin' a short distance. It didn't seem as if I had gone a quarter of a mile before I turned to go back, an' I've been tryin' to get there ever since." "Didn't you sleep any last night?" "Not a wink. I wanted to; but some kind of a big animal came prowlin' around the tree I'd chosen as my sleepin' apartment, and after that I couldn't so much as shut my eyes without takin' the chances of fallin' off the branch." "Did you meet any one?" "No." "But how came you over here so far?" "It seems as if I'd had time to go across the whole country since I saw you last. Say, give me some water and a mouthful of anything that's eatable, an' then I'll get a little sleep before tacklin' Cummings again. I suppose its a case of goin' way down on my marrow bones before he'll forget what I've done." "I fancy you are right in that respect," Teddy said gravely, as he overhauled the stores to procure the food, "and he can't be blamed, for you have put us in a very bad position without even the poor excuse of having tried to benefit the party." "From this out I won't so much as yip," Jake replied earnestly, as he made a vigorous attack on the roast tapir. "Getting lost in such a forest as this is enough to make a fellow's hair turn white." "If it will prevent you from playing the fool any more I shall be satisfied," Cummings, who had come up unperceived, said emphatically. CHAPTER XXV. ON THE RANGE. Although it was nearly noon, the time when the natives of Yucatan believe a siesta is absolutely necessary, Cummings insisted that the flight should be continued without further delay. "It would not be surprising if the Chan Santa Cruz sentinels had seen that idiotic Jake, and followed him in order to learn where we were hiding," he said when Neal asked why they had left the ravine during the hottest portion of the day. "If the Indians should besiege us here, it would only be a few hours before surrender must be made, because of lack of water, therefore we can render our position no worse, and may succeed in bettering it by going now." Poyor evidently looked at the matter in the same light, for he made no protest; but began at once to prepare for the tramp. Jake, after eating a hearty meal, had stretched out at the further end of the hiding place, and was just giving himself up to the luxury of slumber when Teddy aroused him by saying: "Come, what are you lying here for? We are ready to start, and there's a good deal of satisfaction in knowing that this time you'll have to carry your share of the load." "But I've got to have a nap first. Just think how long it's been since I've had a chance to close my eyes." "You'll have to wait awhile. Both Cummings and Poyor believe it is absolutely necessary for us to make a quick move, and if you're not ready they will go away alone." Jake began to protest; but Teddy cut him short by saying: "It won't do any good to kick. They are angry because we were forced to leave the cave, and won't spend much time coaxing." "Hurry along," Cummings shouted impatiently. "We must be well up on the range before sunset." These words spoken in an imperative tone caused Jake to spring to his feet very nimbly, and as he neared the entrance Poyor pushed one of the packages toward him as he said: "We carried all last night, and it would be only right to give you a double load." "I'd have to take it if you did," Jake replied; but as if to prevent any different distribution of the burdens, he tied this one on quickly, saying when it was fastened firmly to his back, "Now I'm ready to tramp as long as you do; but it would have suited me better if I'd had time for a nap." "It will serve you right if you don't get a chance to sleep for a week," Cummings replied sharply. "Go on, Poyor leads the way as before, and see to it that you keep close at his heels." The fugitives soon learned that however difficult it might be to travel through the tangled underbrush of the forest, it was as nothing compared to clambering over the ledges of green or white rock which formed the base of the range. Here there was nothing to shield them from the fervent rays of the sun, and so intense was the heat that it seemed as if they were walking over the top of a furnace. The only relief from the excessive warmth was when they came upon a deep fissure in the rocks where was a pool of water, with the most gorgeous flowers around the margin. Everywhere else the soil was sandy, covered in places with pebbles and burning gravel. In front of them were the mountains, bare and sterile, on which the least experienced of the party knew no drop of water could be found. As a matter of course both Cummings and Poyor kept strict watch over the surrounding country lest the enemy should be creeping upon them unawares; but when, late in the afternoon, a short halt was called, nothing suspicious had been seen. "I don't understand how you could have wandered around twenty-four hours without being discovered by some of the sentinels," Cummings said to Jake, when they were reclining on the side of the mountain in the shadow cast by an overhanging rock, where a full view of the valley beneath could be had. "Perhaps they have given over lookin' for us," the engineer suggested. "There's no chance of that. Every square foot of the country will be searched, and sooner or later they'll come across our trail." "How long will it take us to get over the range?" Neal asked. "It is impossible to say: but we must keep moving nearly all the time, for the small amount of water we have with us now is the last that'll be seen until we are on the other side." "I feel as if I could drink the entire supply, and then want more," Teddy said, the knowledge that they were cut off from all means of adding to the store making him thirsty. "I reckon every one in the party feels much the same way," Cummings replied grimly. "If it was possible to find a stream now and then the journey across the range would not be such a dangerous one." With the exception of the suggestion he made when they first halted, Jake did not join in the conversation. His eyes had closed in slumber almost instantly after lying down, and during half an hour he was allowed to sleep uninterruptedly. Then Poyor awakened him, and the weary march was resumed, the advance becoming more difficult each moment as they climbed higher up on the range. About two hours before nightfall the sun was hidden from view by dense masses of dark clouds, and the boys hailed with joy this relief from the burning heat. "If we could only have it like this all the time!" Neal exclaimed. "Better the sun than the clouds," Cummings said in a tone of anxiety, and Poyor increased his pace, no longer searching with his eyes for the enemy; but casting quick glances from side to side as if hunting for some particular object. A south wind came up, and the boys were trudging along right merrily, despite their fatigue, when it was as if a solid sheet of water descended upon them. There had been no warning drops to give notice of the coming storm; but the rain literally fell in torrents, drenching the fugitives at the first downpour. It was now impossible to see twenty feet in either direction. The driving rain and the white clouds which completely enveloped the mountain shut out everything from view. The enemy might have crept close upon them without being aware of the fact. There was no place in which to shelter themselves, and the boys had a thorough illustration of what a tropical rain-storm may be during the time Poyor was hunting for such a place as would serve to shield them from the flood. Not until half an hour had passed did they make a halt, and then the Indian led them under an overhanging ledge, in front of which was a sheer descent of eighty feet or more to the valley beneath. "Here we can wait until the worst of the gale has blown over," he said, as he threw down his burden and prepared to enjoy a long rest. "It is not likely we shall be able to move to-night, and there is no fear the enemy will come upon us while the storm rages." "We shall at least be where the canteens can be filled," Cummings replied in a tone of content, "and by gaining a fresh supply of water the journey will be robbed of half its dangers, consequently a wetting is of but little consequence." To have seen the mountain at this moment one would hardly have thought that the party could have suffered from thirst. Every crevice of the rocks was now a stream, and by reaching out in a dozen different directions a quantity of the precious liquid could be obtained. The only thing to cause alarm was the fact that this storm was but the beginning of the summer season, during which rain might be expected each day, and thus the danger of fever while crossing the low lands would be greatly increased. "The sentinels will certainly keep under cover during such weather as this," Cummings said in a tone of satisfaction, "and we may be able to get over the range without a hand to hand fight, as I had anticipated." Under such climatic conditions the meat would not keep sweet many hours, and Poyor set the entire stock before his companions, saying as he did so: "What cannot be eaten must be thrown away, therefore he is fortunate who can now swallow enough to prevent the pangs of hunger from being felt during the next forty-eight hours." "But we certainly won't be forced to stay here that length of time," Neal replied. "It can't rain all the day and night." "It is safe to count on a long storm," Cummings added. "This is the beginning of the bad season, and there will be a certain amount of water fall each day." "Did you take the fact into consideration when you made ready to visit the Silver City?" Neal asked. "Of course, and if there had been nothing to prevent the carrying out of my plans we would have been clear of the swamp by this time, or so near the edge that but a few hours traveling must have taken us through." It was worse than useless to talk of what might have been, and the little party settled down to make themselves as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. Overhead the rock sheltered them from the rain; but now that every crevice had been turned into a stream it was difficult to protect one's self from the innumerable tiny crevices through which the water was pouring, and each member of the party lay down in turn only to find himself literally flooded out before it was possible to gain any rest. The night had come, and the air, so warm a few hours previous, was uncomfortably cold. Jake proposed that a fire be built, providing he could find a sufficient quantity of dry wood; but both Cummings and Poyor decided against it in a very emphatic manner. "Although we have been traveling for the past six or eight hours where any one in the valley might see us, we are not so insane as to build a beacon here that our pursuers may be guided to this halting place." Cummings spoke in a petulant tone, and fearing that he might add something regarding the fact that if Jake had behaved himself all would now be in the cave, Teddy hastened to say: "If we can't build a fire why not spend the time walking, for it will be impossible to sleep with this rain beating down upon us?" "It would take a better man than Poyor to lead the way in the darkness and storm. Here we must stay, at least until morning, and then unless the rain has ceased falling, it will be a case of going hungry awhile." Finding that there was to be no change in the condition of affairs, Jake had crawled into the further end of the shelter where, with the water dripping down upon him he was trying his best to sleep, and Neal curled up beside him. Poyor, regardless of the weather, remained just outside the rock as if on guard, while Cummings, a few paces behind him, sat upon a fragment of stone listening intently, and Teddy wisely concluded to find a resting place somewhere, for he was so weary that repose seemed absolutely necessary, more especially since there could be no doubt but that the journey would be continued immediately the storm cleared away. Selecting a spot where some portion of his body could be kept dry, he lay down, and, regardless of all discomforts was soon oblivious to everything around him. CHAPTER XXVI. THE PURSUIT. During this night of discomforts the boys and Jake succeeded in gaining more rest than one would have thought possible under the circumstances. The temperature had fallen so much that, in comparison with the heat of the day, it was positively cold; but by lying close together and covering themselves with half a dozen enormous leaves from a vine which encircled the rock, they managed to pass the long hours without positive pain. Whenever Neal, who awakened very often, opened his eyes he saw Cummings and Poyor standing near at hand like statues, and the natural supposition was that they did not seek repose even to the slight extent of sitting down. Once he called to the white man, proposing to do his share of the watching; but the offer was positively declined. "I could not rest even if I should lie down," he replied in a whisper. "There are too many chances that the Chan Santa Cruz Indians may creep upon us under cover of this mist, and both Poyor and myself are needed. Sleep if you can, so that we may be prepared for a hard tramp to-morrow." As it proved, however, these excessive precautions were useless. The rain continued to fall steadily and in great volume until daybreak, and then all hands prepared for another tramp, for each one was so completely drenched that a little water more or less could not make much difference. The breakfast was by no means a hearty one. The moisture had spoiled the roast tapir, and even the remaining totopostes were so damp as to be decidedly unpleasant to the sight as well as the taste. Jake shut his eyes and ate a small quantity: but neither Neal nor Teddy could force the food down, and, in view of the fact that there was little likelihood of finding any game on the summit of the mountain, it seemed reasonably certain they would be forced to fast a long while. The burdens, soaked with water, had increased in weight very materially, and again Poyor overhauled them in order to throw away yet more of the load. All the fishing tackle, two extra suits of clothes belonging to the boys, the spoiled provisions and, in fact, nearly everything except the ammunition and weapons, was left behind when the ascent of the mountain was continued. It was not yet time for the sun to rise; but the gray light of coming day served to show the way, and Poyor strode on in advance at a pace which would have soon winded the boys had Cummings not ordered him to proceed more slowly. "We must keep on without a halt until noon," he said, "and it would be bad policy to use a portion of the party up before the journey has fairly begun." Even at the best pace possible the progress was by no means rapid, owing to the obstructions in the path. Here it was necessary to make a long detour that an overhanging ledge might be avoided, and there they were literally forced to scramble among boulders of every size at imminent risk of breaking limbs or being precipitated to the valley below. Before half an hour had passed the rain ceased falling as rapidly as it had begun, and as the sun appeared the clouds at the foot of the mountain were dispersed. Poyor halted and turned to look toward the valley. Almost at the same instant a loud shout was heard and Cummings uttered an exclamation of dismay, as a party of at least a hundred Indians burst into view about a mile below. "They halted rather than run the risk of passing us during the storm," he said half to himself. "Inasmuch as the slowest of that crowd can travel two yards to our one we are likely to be overhauled in a very short time." "It is the end," Poyor said gravely. "There is little chance of escape, and none of running from them." "Do you propose that we shall stand and fight?" Cummings asked. "There is nothing else to be done." "But we have no show against them." "As much as to run." "Here in the open they can soon surround us." "We will be able to throw up a line of these rocks before they get here, and because it is in the open we can hold them back a few hours." There was plenty of material near at hand with which to make a shelter sufficient to protect them from the poisoned arrows, and after a few seconds' hesitation Cummings saw that Poyor's plan was the only one which could be carried into execution. "Set to work lively, boys," he shouted, as he began to throw up the smaller boulders in a circle. "Everything depends on our getting a fort ready before they come within shooting distance." There was no necessity of urging the boys or Jake to labor industriously. They could see the enemy and hear their yells of triumph at having tracked the game so successfully, therefore not a second was wasted. It seemed as if Poyor had the strength of a dozen men in his arms. He lifted huge boulders which the remainder of the party together could hardly have moved from their resting place; flung the smaller ones around as if they were nothing more than pebbles, and when the circle had been raised four feet high, set about digging away the sand from the center in order to increase the depth. The preparations were not yet completed when the foremost of the pursuers came in view from beneath a ledge about forty yards away, and he said to Cummings: "Three guns are enough to hold them back while Jake and I finish the work here. Do not hesitate to shoot, for they will stop at nothing when the time comes that we can hold out no longer." "Teddy, you sit there," Cummings said, as he pointed to an aperture in the wall which had been left as a loop-hole. "Neal, you're stationed next to him, and I'll hold this place. Now work lively, and pick off every one of those yelling villains that comes within range." He discharged both barrels of his weapon in rapid succession as he ceased speaking, and the two leaders disappeared immediately; but whether they had been hit by the leaden messengers, or only frightened, no one could say. Teddy raised his gun as a third man pressed forward, and, as he afterward confessed, closed his eyes while pulling the trigger, for to fire deliberately at a human being was something inexpressibly terrible. Even if he did not hit the mark the bullet must have gone so near the man as to frighten him, for when Neal discharged his weapon at a fourth Indian the entire party beat a retreat, disappearing behind the ledge. "They can't send an arrow from that distance with any accuracy of aim," Cummings said in a tone of satisfaction, "therefore we may count on keeping them back until night, at all events." "And then what?" Teddy asked with a shudder. "That is something we won't talk about yet awhile," was the grave reply. "We've got at least twelve hours before us, providing they don't catch us napping, and at such a time as this it is a much longer lease of life than I expected." Teddy and Neal looked at each other in silence. The situation must indeed be desperate if Cummings could count on remaining at liberty only one day, and then---- In fancy Teddy could see them led back to the Silver City as prisoners. He almost heard the strains of music while they were marched into the temple amid the slender, silver-tipped columns, with the throng of people following to witness the torture and final stroke which should relieve them from suffering. "What is the matter?" Neal whispered. "You have turned as white as a ghost." "I was thinking of what will happen when those murderers get us in their power." "Don't do anything of the kind; it is too terrible. I will die here fighting rather than be taken prisoner." "And is that all the hope we have left?" "To be killed here? Perhaps not; but it is far preferable to the torture Poyor and Cummings say is sure to be our portion in case of capture." Neal's face was also pale; but there was a certain look of determination about it which told he had made up his mind for the worst, and would struggle manfully to the end. Jake on the contrary, was nearly paralyzed with fear. He understood now if never before all the trouble he had brought upon his companions, first by making their presence in the city known, and, lastly, by betraying the whereabouts of the party when he ventured out of the cave. That the Indians would not be turned from their purpose he realized fully, and there could be no mistaking the desperate condition in which he had placed all hands. He was supposed to be aiding Poyor; but, as a matter of fact he could do little more than look out over the fortifications, fearing each moment that the enemy would make a sudden dash. The particular thought in the minds of all was as to what might be done in the way of replenishing the larder, for now the siege had really begun the question of how food could be procured was a serious matter, more especially since no one had eaten what would be worthy the name of breakfast. Neither Cummings nor Poyor feared a direct assault. In their opinion it was only a question of holding the enemy in check, and to this alone did they pay any attention. Cummings watched over the line of rocks, and at the slightest show of a living target discharged his weapon; but, so far as could be ascertained, without inflicting any injury upon those who were ready to deal out death at the first opportunity. "It is only a question of holding back until the night comes, when they can ascend the mountain, and, being above us, be able to shoot us down without exposing themselves," Teddy said as he sat by the aperture watching for a sight of the enemy. "We will wait until sunset before we give up entirely," Neal replied, in a tone that showed he had lost all hope. "Then, unless Poyor can devise some plan for escape, we shall have to stand a hand to hand fight which can result in but one way." "You admit that we can't escape?" Teddy replied interrogatively. "Five against a hundred won't be able to stand very long." "We can at least hold our own a few hours, and when the end comes we will be found fighting." This was poor consolation for a fellow who hoped his friend might see some better way out of the difficulty, and Teddy settled back to watch for an opportunity to discharge his weapon with effect; but feeling that it was vain labor so far as the ultimate result was concerned. During the forenoon, while every crevice in the rocks was running with water, Poyor filled the canteens, and when this work was done he insisted that Jake should continue to aid him in lowering the level behind the line of rocks; but the engineer was, to use his own words, "completely played out," and the necessary work was neglected until he could gain a certain amount of rest, which, under the circumstances, every other number of the party was willing to forego for a time. CHAPTER XXVII. AT BAY. When the Indian had scraped the sand away to the solid rock, thereby deepening the enclosure at least twelve inches, he ceased work, and, seating himself by Cummings' side, prepared to do his share of the watching. By this time the assailants had become convinced that it was useless to expose themselves to the murderous fire which could not be returned with any possibility of injuring the white men, and they remained under cover. "I believe we might sneak away from them," Neal said, after looking fifteen or twenty minutes at the ledge beneath which the enemy had taken refuge, without seeing so much as a man's head. "They think we will shoot them down, and might keep under cover while we were escaping." "Then you believe they do not know what we are about?" Cummings asked grimly. "How can it be possible if no one comes out to reconnoiter?" "Look down the valley." Following with their eyes the direction of Cummings' outstretched finger the boys saw a party of Indians far down the mountain side out of range, traveling rapidly in the opposite direction. "They are running away!" Teddy cried gleefully. "Our guns were too much for them." "Do you believe there are as many in that crowd as we saw coming up the mountain?" Teddy gazed again, and this time the look of joy and relief faded from his face. "No," he replied slowly, "only about half as many." "And the remainder are under the ledge ready to come out at the first good opportunity." "But what are those fellows doing?" "Going out of range where every movement we make can be seen without risk of being shot at, and when the night comes they will circle around us." That this supposition was correct could be seen a few moments later when the party halted in full view, and disposed of themselves in such places as the bushes afforded any shade from the sun's hot rays. "They are taking things mighty easy," Neal said after a long pause, during which he watched the enemy intently. "What is to prevent?" Cummings replied. "Time is of no especial object to them providing we can be captured finally, and just now we are situated very much like rats in a trap." "I wonder what would be the result if one of us should show himself?" Teddy said musingly. "You shall soon see. Poyor, walk a short distance up the mountain, and let the boys learn how well we are watched." The Indian did as he was requested, and had hardly left the fortification when those in the valley made a series of signals to the men above, and instantly Cummings had another opportunity to empty his weapon at a living target as several men sprang out from beneath the ledge. "Now you have some slight idea of what the result would be if we should attempt to run away," he said while re-loading the gun. "But what is to be gained by staying here if you are certain we shall be surrounded? Wouldn't it be better to have the fight out when it is possible to see what we are doing?" "Yes, decidedly; but I prefer to wait longer. While there's life there's hope, and before sunset something may happen to give us the advantage." Poyor came back leisurely, and as he re-entered the circle of rocks those in the valley settled down contentedly once more. During this conversation Jake had been sleeping soundly; but now the sun shone full upon him, and the heat was so great that he was forced to change his position, saying as he did so: "In a couple of hours more we shall be roasted to a turn." "That isn't the worst that may befall us," Cummings replied, evidently pleased at an opportunity to increase the engineer's fears. "But it seems as if we might make a try for some game. I'm very nearly starved." "You are at liberty to do as you please, because it is not possible to work us any further injury. According to your belief the Chan Santa Cruz Indians are such peaceable fellows that they might allow you to hunt in the valley awhile." "What's the use of roughing into me now? I know I've made a fool of myself twice; but I'm in the same hole with the rest." "That doesn't make our situation any the more bearable, and when we think how it was brought about it is only natural to feel sore. Even now you insist on taking rest when the others are working." "But I traveled steadily for twenty-four hours, and haven't had half as much sleep as the remainder of the party." "What about last night?" Jake made no reply. He considered himself abused because Cummings persisted in talking about what had been done, when he believed the matter should be dropped after the fault was acknowledged. Another hour passed. The sun was directly overhead, and the heat seemed excessive. There was no longer any shadow cast by the rocks, and the sand was so hot as to be painful to the touch. "There is no reason why you boys should remain on guard," Cummings finally said. "The Indians will not make a move before afternoon, and it is equally certain we shall not get a chance to shoot at those under the ledge." "We may as well sit here, for no fellow could sleep in this oven," Teddy replied; but Poyor showed what might be done, by lying down near the front wall and closing his eyes. At the end of two hours there was no further change in the condition of affairs. Poyor continued to sleep, the boys and Cummings remained on guard, and Jake sat leaning his head against the rocks while the perspiration ran down his face in tiny streams. Then, as on the previous evening, the clouds began to gather, and Cummings said in a tone of satisfaction as he gazed toward the sky: "There's evidently no danger that we shall suffer from thirst, for another storm is coming up, and while it lasts we may see some chance of giving those fellows the slip." "But you didn't dare to travel last night when it was raining," Teddy said. "Very true; but that was at a time when we were not positive the enemy were so near. Now they are close at our heels we shall be warranted in running many risks which, twenty-four hours ago, would have been most imprudent." In a very short time the sun was hidden from view; a cooling wind blew across the mountain, and every member of the sad visaged party experienced a wonderful sense of relief. Poyor arose to his feet like one refreshed, and Jake bestirred himself sufficiently to propose that he relieve Neal or Teddy a short while. "You can sleep now that the sun doesn't shine," he said, "and I promise to keep strict watch." After some hesitation Teddy accepted the offer while he paced to and fro to rest his cramped and aching limbs, and Poyor consulted with Cummings relative to an attempt at flight when the storm should come. His idea was that they could not be any worse off by making one effort to reach the summit of the range, even if the desired result was not attained, and after considerable discussion the white man agreed to the plan. "It is barely possible that we may get on all right, and the situation is so desperate that almost any change must be for the better," he said. "We will wait half an hour or so, and then start if the enemy have made no move meanwhile." The threatened storm was not long delayed. In less than an hour it was upon them in all its fury, and Cummings said sharply as he pressed nearer the front of the fortification: "Now we need all the eyes in the party. Keep a sharp watch, and fire at the first moving thing you see." On this occasion thunder and lightning accompanied the wind and rain, and by the glare of the flashes it was possible to see as if at noon-day. Never before had the boys witnessed such a terrible tempest. The entire heavens seemed ablaze at times, and the peals which echoed and re-echoed from one point to another appeared to shake the mountain. The wind was so powerful that even Poyor could not stand against it, and Cummings said in a tone of deepest disappointment: "Unless we choose to venture into the valley again flight is out of the question. We must stay here and take what the Indians care to give us when the storm clears away." He had hardly ceased speaking when a flash of lightning nearly blinded them; the earth shook most decidedly before the thunder peal came, and then it was as if all nature was in convulsion. The rocks forming the fortification were precipitated down the mountain; the little party were hurled violently forward, and then intense darkness and the most profound silence ensued. Teddy reached out his hand to touch Neal; but the latter was not near him. "Neal! Neal!" he shouted again and again, and several moments elapsed before he heard, as if far away, an answering cry. "Where are you, Teddy?" "Here, on the side of the hill. Come this way." "I can't. I'm nearly buried in the sand." From the direction of the voice Teddy knew his friend had been thrown quite a distance down the hill, and he cried: "Keep on shouting so I can find you." "Don't move! Wait for another flash of lightning!" It was Cummings who had spoken, and an instant later Jake was heard begging for help. [Illustration: The little party were hurled violently forward, and then intense darkness ensued.] "All the rocks of the fort must be on top of me. Will somebody help pull them away." The rain was yet falling in torrents: but the electrical disturbance had ceased entirely. That something terrible had occurred all knew; but what it was no one could say. When Jake implored some one to aid him the second time, Poyor cried: "Let each remain motionless. I will find the engineer. The earth has opened here, and I am on the brink of a chasm." This order was obeyed, and the boys knew by the sound of the Indian's voice that he was making his way toward Jake. At the end of ten minutes he shouted: "There has been no harm done here. We will come to you." The boys spoke from time to time to guide him, regardless of the fact that they might also be calling the enemy, and after what seemed to be a very long while the party were re-united at the spot where Neal was, as he had said, nearly buried in the sand. CHAPTER XXVIII. THE CATASTROPHE. To extricate Neal from his disagreeable position was a long, but not a difficult operation. It appeared as if the earth Poyor had dug up from the middle of the fortification was all heaped above him in such a manner that he could do nothing in his own behalf, and it was only necessary to dig this away. "What could have happened to upset things so thoroughly?" he asked, staggering to his feet, and being obliged to sit down very suddenly lest the wind should blow him down. "As near as I can guess there has been a land slide," Cummings replied. "I believe it began at the ledge under which the Indians were hidden, and how far it extends no one can so much as guess until it is possible to get a view of the country." "Are you not afraid of an attack?" Teddy asked. "Not while this storm is raging. Stand up for a moment, and then you can see whether those fellows would make much headway trying to reach us." The wind was blowing furiously, and the rain falling in great volume. Now and then the little party cowering close together for mutual protection, would be struck by a perfect shower of pebbles and wet sand with such force that, had they been in a standing position, all would have been overthrown, and it really required considerable exertion to remain in one spot. The ammunition, or rather, the greater portion of it, had been left near the front wall of the fort, and the chances were that it was destroyed by the water or scattered beyond finding. Teddy was the first to think of this misfortune, and he said in a tone of despair: "There's little hope now that we can hold the enemy in check even for an hour, in case they should make an attack, for I don't believe we have twenty cartridges left." "And but two guns, for I lost mine when I was blown down the side of the mountain," Neal added. "Don't make the mistake of searching for trouble," Cummings interrupted. "It is sufficient to know that we are alive and uninjured. The Indians will not bother us for some time." Not until considerably past midnight did the rain cease falling; but the wind storm still continued, and Poyor said, speaking for the first time since the party were united: "It will not be possible to leave here until sunrise. Those who can sleep should try to do so, for we may have a hard day's work before us to-morrow." "I should as soon think of sleeping during a battle," Teddy replied with a shudder. "The suspense is worse than actual danger." "What can you be afraid of just now?" Jake asked. "At this particular moment, nothing: but I feel positive that when the sun rises we shall find ourselves surrounded by the Indians." This was not a pleasant subject of conversation, and it was dropped as if by mutual consent. The wind seemed icy cold, and the fugitives nestled closer together for protection against the blast, counting the slowly passing moments until heralds of the coming dawn appeared in the sky. Before it was sufficiently light to distinguish surrounding objects the wind lulled, and, standing erect each looked anxiously down the side of the mountain, waiting impatiently for the rising of the sun. As the misty clouds which veiled the top of the range drifted away, an exclamation of astonishment burst from the lips of all. Where, a few hours previous, had been a band of men eager to capture or slay the white strangers, was now only a yawning chasm. Beginning at the ledge of rocks it appeared as if a giant hand had rent the side of the mountain apart, throwing the huge mass of earth into the valley, uprooting or crushing trees, and making desolate for many hundred yards what had been a perfect garden of trees, flowers and shrubs. "Why, there must have been an earthquake!" Jake exclaimed when the first burst of astonishment passed away. "Hardly as bad as that," Cummings replied. "I fancy the lightning struck the ledge, and then a regular land slide followed." "Do you suppose the Indians are buried under that pile of earth and rocks?" "Unless they understood what damage might be done by such storms they must be, and it stands us in hand to get away from this spot before others can arrive." "It is terrible to think of so many being killed," Teddy said mournfully, and Jake asked sharply: "Are you sorry we've got a chance for escape?" "Certainly not; but no matter who they were, one can't help feeling shocked at such a catastrophe." "It is not well for us to stay here," Poyor said before any reply could be made. "While looking at what we believe to be the grave of the Chan Santa Cruz army, they may be climbing the mountain to cut us off." "You are right, Poyor. Boys, look around for the ammunition and Neal's gun, and whether we find anything or not we must be on our journey in five minutes." Cummings led in the search, which resulted in nothing, for even the boulders which formed the fort were hidden from view by the sand and gravel, and then Poyor advanced on the way upward once more. Although it seemed certain the enemy had been destroyed the Indian did not neglect any precaution. He traveled further in advance than usual and from time to time cast searching glances toward the valley where, in all probability, so many lay dead. Now every member of the party were suffering for food. It was thirty-six hours since they had satisfied their hunger, and during the greater portion of this time a large amount of labor had been performed. "I believe I could eat an iguana, and that's the most disagreeable looking reptile I've ever seen," Teddy whispered to Neal, and the latter replied gravely: "It doesn't seem right to complain about being hungry after escaping from such a terrible situation; but at the same time I'm willing to confess that almost anything would taste mighty good just now." The travelers were nearing the summit of the mountain where not so much as a blade of grass could be seen, and there was nothing for it but to endure hunger, as they were forced to, the heat, which, as the day advanced, seemed almost insupportable. It was about noon when the little party stood on the highest point of land, and, looking over a long stretch of valley and plain covered with verdure of the deepest green, saw the blue waters of the Caribbean sea, the crests of the waves sparkling in the sunlight like jewels set in sapphire-colored enamel. Never had the ocean seemed so beautiful and friendly as now, after the long, dangerous tramp, and the boys forgot all privations and discomforts as they gazed at the broad expanse of water. "If the Sea Dream was afloat and anchored off there how quickly we could get home," Teddy cried. "Even allowing that nothing happens to prevent our traveling ten hours a day, it will be a week before you can stand on the shore of the sea," Cummings replied, glancing backward as if regretting that he was about to descend the range which would separate him from the wonders and wealth of the Silver City. "At least, we have nothing more to fear from the Indians, and there is now good reason to believe we shall get home at some time, which is more than either of us could have said truthfully last night." "We can't have that satisfaction," and Cummings turned to resume the march. "The Chan Santa Cruz frequently go to the coast, and there are plenty living near by who may try to make matters disagreeable for us. But we must not stand here speculating; it is necessary to gain the forest below before finding anything for supper, and I'm free to confess that either fish or meat will be very acceptable." The thought of food caused all to forget their fatigue, and the descent was begun, the progress being as easy and rapid as it had previously been slow and difficult. The afternoon was not more than half spent when they reached the fringe of bushes marking the forest line, and an hour later the little party were shielded from the rays of the sun by the wide spreading branches of enormous trees. Now the advance was more of a hunting excursion than the ending of a day's journey, and each member of the band searched among the foliage for something eatable. Poyor was the one who finally succeeded in replenishing the larder, and he did it in a right royal manner. While Neal and Teddy were looking for a bird which the latter declared he had caught a glimpse of among the leaves, the Indian started off at full speed, returning in a short time with two armadilloes. "Good for you!" Cummings shouted joyfully. "We'll have a first-class supper now, with plenty to spare for breakfast. How did you manage to get both?" "An Indian is a better hunter than the white man," Poyor said with a smile as he set about building a fire. "Do you intend to eat those horrid looking things?" Teddy asked in surprise. "Indeed I do, and after you get a taste of the old fellow's flesh, roasted in his own shell, you'll say it goes ahead of everything except a morsel of fat from the back of Mr. Armadillo." A small spring bubbled out of the ground beneath a huge logwood tree, giving rise to what would probably be a large stream by the time it reached the coast, and here it was proposed to spend the night. To protect themselves from possible visits from wild beasts Cummings set about collecting fuel for camp-fires, and in this work the others assisted while the Indian played the part of cook. While his game was being roasted Poyor searched the forest in the immediate vicinity, and succeeded in finding a quantity of yellowish green fruit which Cummings explained to his companions were mangoes. "I thought it was necessary to cultivate mangoes," Teddy said in surprise. "Not here, although it was originally introduced from India; but it took so kindly to the soil that one finds the fruit even in the heart of the primitive forest. Except for the odor of turpentine, I think it the most pleasing of all that nature has bestowed." Just at that moment the boys were more interested in what Poyor was doing than regarding the fruits of Yucatan, and instantly he pulled the first armadillo from the fire they were ready to be served. During ten minutes after receiving his share of the meat on a broad leaf, every member of the party ate ravenously, and then Jake said with a sigh of content, as he helped himself to another generous portion: "I declare it is almost worth while going without grub in order to know how good it tastes." "I'd rather eat less at a time, and have my meals more regularly," Teddy said with a laugh, as he made an attack upon a pile of mangoes. Then Cummings began to discuss with Poyor the best course to pursue while journeying to the coast, and the others listened in silence, for upon the decision arrived at might depend all their chances of ever reaching home again. CHAPTER XXIX. A FIERCE CONFLICT. That Poyor believed the more serious danger was over, the boys understood from the fact that camp-fires were to be kept burning during the night, something which would never have been allowed had he feared an attack from the Chan Santa Cruz. Then again, the Indian no longer refused to converse lest the duty of the sentinel should be neglected; but talked readily and at considerable length with Cummings regarding the course to be pursued. He also indulged in the luxury of a smoke, something he had not done since leaving the white man's hut, and, taking their cue from him, the remainder of the party gave themselves up to absolute repose both of body and mind, therefore because of these reasons if for no other, this particular halting place was afterward remembered as the most pleasant they knew during the long, fruitless journey. When Cummings and Poyor finally decided upon the line of march for the following day, the twilight was rapidly deepening into the gloom of night, and the latter lighted the fires, thus making a circle of flame completely around the party. "Is it really necessary to have such a blaze, or are you indulging in it simply because it has been so long since we dared allow our whereabouts to be known?" Teddy asked, as he sat with his chin on his knees gazing at the burning wood. "We are guarding against brute enemies. It is said that jaguars are plenty in this section, and there can be no question but snakes abound. These embers, which require only labor to keep alive, will do very much toward saving our small stock of ammunition." Jake did not appear disposed to join in any conversation since dinner. He had thrown himself on the ground near the foot of a gigantic tree, and, from the expression on his face, Neal fancied he was regretting that they had not succeeded in bringing away any treasure from the Silver City. "What are you thinking of?" he asked. "Only figgerin' out what a 'royal excursion this would 'a been if I'd got that image I tried so hard for." "If you had succeeded in carrying it outside the city we should not be here now," Cummings said gravely. "With that lump of silver added to our load I fancy we would be prisoners at this moment if they allowed us to live so long." "I reckoned you'd take the disappointment harder, after spendin' so much time gettin' ready for the trip." "Of what use would it be for me to complain? In view of all that has happened we have been remarkably fortunate in getting away alive, and consequently there is very much to be thankful for." "Do you think that if I'd obeyed orders right up to the handle anything more could have been done?" "Not in the matter of carrying away treasure, for all hope fled the moment our boat was discovered. You simply caused us additional hardships, and have put an end to my visiting the place again for many months." "What?" Teddy cried in surprise. "Are you still thinking of entering the city again?" "I am, most certainly. It shall be my life work to discover the history of these people, and tell to the world the meaning of the inscriptions on the monuments of Copan. This failure has simply been a misfortune, not anything which will prevent my continuing the labor." "Do you count on asking others to go with you?" "No," Cummings replied, with a meaning glance toward Jake. "If I ever succeed the honor will be divided among Poyor and myself alone." Then, as on the day when he first broached the subject, he reviewed all that is known to the white race concerning the buried cities of Central America and of the descendants of that mighty race of people whose once high state of civilization cannot be questioned. When he concluded Jake indulged in but one remark before composing himself for slumber: "It don't make any difference to me whether the inscriptions can ever be read or not; but a fellow feels sore to think that he had a chance of scoopin' in enough to set himself up in great shape, an' was prevented when the precious metal was under his very fingers." "Have you any particular reason for going to Progresso?" Neal asked after a pause. "I have most decidedly. Since getting you in a scrape which nearly cost your lives, it is only right I should see you homeward bound." "Couldn't we find our way alone?" "That would be impossible even for me. Poyor is the only guide, and when he has done his work you sail on the steamer, while he and I return to the little hut, there to wait for another opportunity of getting inside the Silver City." After this Cummings appeared disinclined to talk any more, and the boys lay down near Jake for the slumber which both needed so badly. Although their eyelids were heavy with sleep, it was not possible to lose consciousness immediately. Now their safety was in a measure assured, the thoughts of Cummings' great disappointment, and the lost opportunity of making themselves famous, came to mind more forcibly than ever before, causing both to remain awake after all save Poyor were breathing heavily. "This won't do," Teddy said half to himself. "The mysteries of the Silver City are not to be solved by us, and the sooner we go to sleep the better condition we shall be in for to-morrow's tramp." Before Neal could reply the Indian stole softly toward them and whispered: "If you would see the father of serpents, sit up and look toward the spring; but make no noise." The boys did as they were directed and could distinguish by the glare of the camp-fires the largest snake either had ever seen. It was a boa, moving lazily toward the water course as if conscious that its own wonderful strength was sufficient to enable it to cope successfully with all enemies. Before it was possible to form any estimate as to the serpent's size another stranger appeared on the scene, causing Poyor to raise his gun ready to shoot. This visitor was a jaguar, who had evidently come out for a drink, and the unusual light prevented him from seeing the boa. He moved warily forward, ready to meet an attack, and probably trying to make up his mind whether or not this was a favorable opportunity to get a particularly good supper, when the boa darted upon him. Taken by surprise from the rear, the snake had one complete turn around the animal's body before there was any show of resistance, and then ensued a most thrilling conflict. The boys could see that the boa's tail was fastened firmly around a tree, thus giving him a purchase such as the jaguar would have difficulty in overcoming. Using both claws and teeth the animal defended himself bravely for ten minutes, and then it could be seen that the rapidly tightening folds of the serpent were hampering his movements. He no longer struggled so desperately; but uttered shrill cries of alarm which were responded to from a distance. "His mate is coming," Poyor whispered. "Now we shall see a royal battle." It was as he had said. A few moments later another jaguar appeared, and the boys could understand that the boa was making haste to crush the first victim before meeting the second enemy. It was possible to see the muscles of the serpents' tail stand out as the pressure was increased, and then could be plainly heard the breaking bones while the victim uttered wild screams of agony. The female jaguar had but just come into view when her mate was killed, and she darted at the serpent with a yell of rage which was answered by an angry hiss. Whether the boa was taken at a disadvantage in the beginning of the fight, or had become so weary with its previous exertions as to render it incapable of putting forth all its powers could not be told; but certain it is that the second battle was short. The beast caught it by the neck at the third attempt, and the lashing of the monster's tail told that he was beaten. "He killed one jaguar easily; but this last beast will soon finish him," Teddy whispered, and almost before the words had been uttered the battle was virtually at an end. Having relinquished its hold of the tree, and unable to encircle the animal's body with its deadly folds, the boa's strength was useless, and from that time on only the snarling of the jaguar and the threshing of the serpent could be heard until the fight came to an end. "What are you going to do?" Neal asked as Poyor raised his weapon when the silence told that the conflict had been decided in favor of the weaker party. "Kill the beast. There are too many of her kind already, and I shall be doing a favor to those who come after us by reducing the number." "Don't shoot; she has proved her right to live, if the theory of the survival of the fittest be correct, and after such a battle it would be cowardly to kill her." "If, on the morrow, you should find yourself suddenly seized by her, there would not be so much pity in your heart," Poyor replied, and before Neal could make any reply the animal had vanished in the thicket. "There is no longer any question of what should be done," the Indian said regretfully, after a pause, as he lowered his weapon. "There is a fine skin for those who care to save it." "It can lay there for all I care," Teddy replied with a laugh. "Fur in this kind of weather isn't pleasant even to think of. Perhaps in the morning Cummings will fancy it worth his while to carry the hide away." "The ants will have devoured it before the sun rises, and since it has no value for you it is well to go to sleep. One of the white men can call you when it is time to stand your share of the watch." "Is guard to be kept all night?" "It would be unsafe for all to sleep. If the jaguars had not met the serpent what would have been the result to those whose eyes were closed in slumber?" "There is no necessity of saying anything more," Neal replied with a laugh. "We will be ready when our turn comes." Then, as soon as they could compose themselves sufficiently, the boys surrendered to the demand of slumber, and Cummings must have stood their watch himself, since they were not awakened until another day had come. Breakfast was already cooked. On a number of gigantic leaves the Indian had spread such food as he could procure: Mangoes without stint; a roasted bird shaped not unlike a goose, and several small, white cones which tasted like radishes. Except for such articles as bread or vegetables, it was a meal which would have tempted an epicure and to it all hands did full justice. When their hunger had been satisfied, Cummings said as he shouldered one of the two remaining guns and took up a greater portion of the cartridges: "It is time we were moving. We can travel reasonably slow, in order that no one may become exhausted; but not an hour must be lost. The way before us is long, even after we reach the sea-shore, and each day wasted is just so much delay in reaching our destination." "Now that we are really homeward bound you will have no reason to complain because our powers of endurance are too slight," Neal replied, as he took up the remaining weapon, and the march was immediately begun. CHAPTER XXX. A WELCOME CHANGE. While they were on the mountain where no shade could be found the boys thought that it would be a wonderful relief to gain the shelter of the forest; but after traveling an hour they realized that the heat was nearly as great in one place as another. Among the trees the rays of the sun did not beat directly down upon them; but to balance this every breath of wind was shut out, and the atmosphere seemed stifling. The perspiration rolled from their faces in streams, and so great was the humidity that it seemed as if it would be a positive relief to be in the sunlight. "I reckon you've got a better opinion of mountain travel by this time," Cummings said laughingly, as Neal involuntarily halted. "In such a climate the shade of the trees is a positive discomfort." "We can stand it," Teddy replied bravely. "Every step takes us just so much nearer the coast, and one glimpse of the sea will repay us for all our exertions." It seemed as if even Poyor was affected by the heat. He no longer strode forward at such a rapid pace; but lagged from time to time as badly as either member of the party. Cummings urged first one and then another on until about eleven o'clock in the forenoon, and then he said, coming to a full stop by the side of the stream they had been following: "We can now afford to indulge in a siesta, and shall probably travel all the better for frequent halts. Later in the day one of us will do a little hunting, and the march need not come to an end until it is no longer light enough for us to see the way." To this very welcome proposition no one had any objections to offer, and in the shortest possible space of time only the sentinel, which on this occasion proved to be Teddy, was left awake. It was dull work sitting there listening to the droning of the insects; but no member of the party could have kept watch more conscientiously than did he, and when it seemed impossible to hold his eyes open any longer he paced to and fro to prevent them from closing. With the exception of the usual noises of the forest, it was as if all nature slumbered, and he had just begun to think that standing watch was a useless precaution when an unusual rustling among the foliage caused him to start in surprise. His first thought was that the Chan Santa Cruz had followed them over the range; but an instant later this was shown to be a mistake, as four copper-colored men, bearing no resemblance to the inhabitants of the Silver City, however, passed through the forest a short distance away without apparently being aware of the proximity of the white party. To arouse Poyor was but the work of an instant, for it was only necessary to touch him gently on the shoulder when he sprang to his feet. "There are some men over there," Teddy whispered as he pointed in the direction taken by the strangers. The Indian started through the underbrush as noiselessly as a serpent, and as he disappeared the boy awakened Cummings. "Were they armed?" the latter asked, after the short story had been told. "I didn't notice. My only idea was to arouse you and Poyor, and there wasn't much time for an examination." "It can't be that they have followed us over the range," Cummings said, half to himself, as he seized his weapon and made sure it was loaded. "It won't do any harm to be prepared, therefore you had best get the others on their feet; we may have to trust to our legs." It was not an easy matter to awaken the remainder of the party without causing an outcry; but by first covering the mouth of each with his hand Teddy finally succeeded, and then stood on the alert with them as Cummings made his way in the direction taken by Poyor to assist in the investigation. One, two, three minutes of suspense followed, and then came a cry which set all their fears at rest. It was the salutation of friends, and an instant later Cummings shouted: "Do not fear; we have found acquaintances." "It is time something of the kind was discovered," Jake said in a tone of relief. "I was beginning to think we should never meet one again." "They looked like Indians," Teddy said doubtfully, and Neal added: "I fancy we can take Cummings' word for it. Here they are, and it will soon be possible to know why they were so foolish as to come into this part of the country where wild beasts are not the least of the dangers to be encountered." The strangers appeared, escorted by Poyor and the white man, and the latter said as they came into the opening selected as a halting place: "These are acquaintances of ours from Merida, who have visited this section of the country in search of bird skins, which find a ready sale among your people. They have a canoe, and report that a dozen miles below here the stream widens until it can be navigated by reasonably large crafts." "Since we haven't so much as the smallest kind of a boat I can't see how that information will be of any use to us," Neal replied laughingly. "It won't take long for me to explain. I propose to hire them to carry us to the sea-shore, and thus save just so much labor of traveling on foot." "Is their canoe large enough?" "It will carry a dozen." "Then our troubles are indeed over," Teddy cried joyously; but Cummings dampened his ardor somewhat when he added: "There will then remain the journey around the coast, and with such a load it would not be safe to put to sea in their craft. But let us enjoy the blessings which come to us," he added, on observing how quickly his companions' countenances fell. "Half a loaf is decidedly better than no bread at all, and when a tramp of six days can be set aside we have good cause to feel pleased." The strangers had not waited to be welcomed by the other members of the party. Without stopping to be invited they began preparations for cooking on rather an extensive scale, using the contents of their well filled game bags, and the savory odor which soon arose brought Jake to a full realization of the good fortune that had come to them. "With those fellows to hunt the game it will be a regular feast from here to the coast," he said approvingly, "and I think this is the first piece of good luck we've had since leaving the Sea Dream." The newcomers could not speak the English language, consequently all the conversation on the part of the fugitives was carried on by Cummings and Poyor; but these two interpreted such portions as they thought might be of interest to the boys. From the middle of what is known as the "dry season" until the period of almost incessant rains is well advanced, these hunters spend their time on one or another of the streams leading from the coast, and they consider themselves well paid when a year's work nets each an hundred dollars. "That is really a large amount of money to them," Cummings explained when Neal suggested that hunting was not a very profitable employment. "One quarter of the sum will serve to purchase the absolute necessities of life in a country where fruit can be had for the labor of gathering, and in ten years they can well afford to retire from business, or become landed proprietors by leasing logwood cuttings, sub-letting the land to those who will pay fifteen cents a hundred pounds for all that can be gathered." The strangers were quite as satisfactory cooks as Poyor, and when the dinner had been spread on the leaves each member of Cummings' party was ready to do it full justice. After the meal a short time was spent by the men in smoking, and at about four o'clock in the afternoon the journey was resumed. Feeling secure because of numbers, and the reports made by the newcomers that there was no one in the immediate vicinity the boys were allowed to follow their own inclinations as to the line of march, and each strayed here or there as he pleased until the coming of night forced them to keep together because of the danger to be apprehended from wild animals. It was late in the evening when they arrived at the hunters' camp; but Cummings did not propose to remain there even for one night. He insisted that they could travel by water as well during the hours of darkness, while it would be no more labor for one to guide the canoe, allowing her to drift with the current, than to stand watch. The strangers used every argument to induce him to defer the beginning of the journey until morning; but he was determined, and after some controversy the men made the canoe ready. Neal, Teddy and Jake were stationed amidships, where thanks to the generous size of the craft, they could stretch out at full length whenever the fancy seized them. Poyor was seated in the bow, Cummings on the stern thwart, and the owners of the boat where they could use the paddles to advantage. Of this first night's journeying the boys knew very little. The stream was narrow, and lined on either bank with trees so that at times even the heavens were obscured by foliage, therefore they could perceive nothing save the dark wall on either side. From the movements of the helmsman it was possible to understand when the canoe was rounding a bend, or being pulled from the bank; but that was all, and, weary of watching without being able to see anything, the boys soon gave themselves up to slumber. When they awakened the little craft was moored to the bank at a point where the stream formed a basin; a fire was burning brightly, and over it Poyor bent in a suggestive attitude. "Well, this is the kind of traveling that suits me," Teddy cried, springing to his feet and arousing his companions. "While we were sleeping the boat drifted steadily on, and, at this rate, when we arrive at the coast all hands ought to be in good condition for a long tramp." "Where's Cummings?" Neal asked, as he in turn arose from the bottom of the canoe. "Gone for game," the Indian replied. "Oh, we're not to have breakfast until it is shot," he added laughingly. "It makes no difference what they find, for there are twenty fat fish roasting in the coals, and you may eat at any time." "Is there a chance of meeting with an alligator or a crocodile in this stream?" "Not here." "Then I'm going to have a bath," and Neal began to undress, Teddy and Jake quickly following his example. During half an hour they had most glorious sport swimming, and then the return of the hunters literally laden down with game warned them that it was time to prepare for the morning meal. CHAPTER XXXI. THE SEA. After breakfast the voyage was resumed. The owners of the canoe urged that the party remain in camp until the following day, in order as they said, that all hands might be the better fitted for the journey; but Cummings decided against such delay in a very emphatic manner. "It is of the greatest importance to these boys that we reach the coast at the earliest possible moment," he said, "and there is no good reason for halting any longer than is necessary for the purpose of cooking. With such a large crew each one can get all the rest he needs, and yet not be obliged to do a great amount of labor." Very unwillingly the Indians took their seats in the boat, and during the day the boys saw very much to interest them. Among the trees were monkeys in regular droves, and the more mischievous appeared to think it great sport to follow the craft and pelt the occupants with fruit. Next to these long tailed brutes, black squirrels were the most numerous, and had the party been on a hunting excursion it would have been possible to load the canoe to the water's edge with this species of game. Now and then a sleek jaguar showed himself. Again a drove of peccaries peered out from among the underbrush, and more than once Cummings was forced to exert all his authority to prevent the Indians from stopping to bag an incautious tapir which had come to the stream for water. The animals seen on this day's journey were few, however, as compared with the birds. There were times when it seemed as if the channel was literally blocked with them, and as the boat advanced they dived under the surface or flew with harsh, discordant cries past the travelers' heads. There were tantales with hard, crooked beaks, white heron, the spoon-bill with pink plumage, long necked flamingoes with flaming wings, cranes on their stilt-like legs, and teal and ducks in greatest variety. Only once did Cummings allow any shooting to be done, and then it was to bring down a jacana that the boys might see the long spur, sharp as steel, which nature has placed under the wing, thus rendering him a formidable antagonist even to the boa. For the noon-day meal there was plenty of provisions left from breakfast, and while the canoe was being borne along by the current at the rate of three or four miles per hour, the little party regaled themselves with meat or fruit as fancy dictated. When the sun was within an hour of sinking behind the trees the word to halt was given, and that they had covered a long distance since morning could be told from the alligators and the turtles which were so numerous as to often render navigation dangerous. "You will indulge in no more baths this side of Progresso," Cummings said, as the boys leaped ashore just as the long snout of an alligator appeared at the very edge of the water, its owner waiting in the hope that by falling overboard some of the boatmen would provide him with a supper. "The presence of these fellows shows that we are nearing the coast, and if they will give us half a chance you shall know the taste of fresh water turtle, which is much finer than that of their cousins from the sea." It would have been a very agile alligator who could have stopped Poyor in his search for a toothsome morsel, and in a short time two, known as hicoteas, were roasting in the midst of a roaring fire. "While a fellow is traveling in this manner he can't complain of the bill of fare," Jake said, in a tone of most perfect content, as he helped himself to another portion of the turtle. "With a different kind of food at each meal, and all of the primest quality, we ought to grow fat." "More especially since you are not obliged to exert yourself in the slightest," Teddy added with a laugh. "There's a good deal in that also, though I never refuse to do my share of the work." "Except when you feel very tired." "Well a man must take care of himself, and there are times when it becomes absolutely necessary to rest. Say, if we had some of those silver images here it wouldn't be a very hard job to carry them, eh?" "Now don't get back to that subject," Neal said impatiently. "If you are so eager to have two or three stop here with Cummings, and make one of the party when he tries the venture again." Jake did not appear inclined to trust his precious body in such a dangerous place again, and, the command to go on board the canoe having been given, the conversation was brought to an abrupt close. All night the little craft drifted with the current, more than once striking with considerable force the back of a sleeping alligator, and neither the boys nor Jake were called upon to stand watch. Neal offered to do his share of the work; but Cummings would not listen to the proposition. "With six men on board the time of duty for each one is short, and we have an opportunity to get more sleep than is really needed. Besides, you are not sufficiently acquainted with such sailing to be a very valuable assistant at the helm." When the boys awakened on the second morning the character of their surroundings had changed entirely. Instead of being on a narrow, swiftly-running stream, they were in a broad lagoon with innumerable water-ways leading in every direction, and it had become necessary to use the paddles. "Where are we?" Neal asked in surprise. "Within less than a day's journey from the sea," Cummings replied. "The stream led into this lagoon, and if these Indians know the true course, as they claim to do, we shall start direct for Progresso in the morning, in good condition for a long tramp." A short stop was made at a spot where a few trees broke the monotony of the scene, and here a second meal of turtle was prepared, Cummings saying as the boys began the repast: "Our water supply is now limited, for that by which we are surrounded is brackish if not absolutely salt. I intend to take the greater portion of what the men have on board, when we start up the coast, and every drop will be needed before the journey is finally ended." "When did they take it on board?" Teddy asked in surprise, as he learned by examination that all the gourds had been filled. "While you were asleep." "We can't carry one of these big things." "By tying a rope of vines around the necks of two I guarantee to get along without much trouble, for they will grow lighter every hour." "Will the journey be a hard one?" "You mean up the coast? Yes, it will, and what is bound to make it particularly bad is the glare of the sun as reflected from the water." "It can't be any worse than climbing the range, knowing the Indians were close behind," Teddy said with evident satisfaction. "You are right, my boy, and we shall have the pleasure of knowing that each step taken is one the less, without any fear of being obliged to double back in order to escape enemies." During nearly the entire day the boys strained their eyes trying to get a glimpse of the sea; but not until late in the afternoon was this possible. Then, as the canoe rounded a point, the vast expanse of water lay spread out before them, and was greeted with three rousing cheers. "It begins to look now as if there was some chance of our getting home," Teddy cried excitedly. "We are at least where a vessel can be signaled in case anything should prevent us from walking and----" "Don't flatter yourself that we shall see many sailing crafts within hailing distance," Cummings interrupted. "At this point the water is so shallow that only the smallest boats venture inshore." "Never mind, we can see the ocean while tramping along, and know that somewhere on it is the steamer which will carry us home." When the voyage was resumed all hands worked at the paddles, for it was quite important, according to Cummings' belief, that they should get out of the lagoon before sunset, and the canoe sped on, dashing the spray in the air with her bow as if rejoicing that the journey was so nearly ended. There were yet two hours of daylight remaining when the party reached the mouth of the narrow channel they had been threading, and to the left was the coast, piled high with rocks. Only through the inlet leading to the lagoon could a landing be effected from a vessel, and it was at this point that the hunters had been set ashore by the craft on which they had come from Progresso. There was yet a small supply of provisions on the canoe, and these the Indians willingly shared with their passengers. The water gourds were divided between the two parties, and, having been paid a good price for their labor, by Cummings, the four men departed, not wishing to spend the night where fever lurked. "We don't particularly need rest," Cummings said, when the fugitives from the Silver City were alone again; "but it would be foolish to begin the last portion of our journey so late at night. We'll carry our belongings up the shore a bit, and then camp." The crooked necks of the water gourds afforded a good handle by which to carry them, and, each taking a portion of their sadly depleted outfit, the little party followed the leader about a hundred yards from the place at which they had landed, to where the huge rocks gave promise of a partial shelter. Now the time had come when both food and water must be husbanded with care, and instead of setting out the entire amount for each to thoroughly satisfy himself, Cummings divided so much as he thought would be sufficient for the meal, giving every one an equal share. "It is to be short rations for awhile," he said cheerfully. "That will be better than to fill ourselves up now, and suffer afterward." No one could take any exception to this very reasonable precaution, and the meal was eaten in the merriest possible fashion. Then there was nothing to do but wait until morning, when the march was to be resumed, and Neal and Teddy occupied their time speculating as to what the loved ones at home were doing just at that particular moment. It was not a remarkably pleasant thing to do, considering how great a distance separated them, and when they grew weary of thus making themselves mentally uncomfortable, Teddy asked: "How long do you suppose it will take us to reach Progresso?" "I hope to be there in about a week." "And you feel positive there is no chance of hailing a vessel?" "Just a chance: nothing more. The possibilities are so slight that it wouldn't pay to spend any time waiting for a craft to heave in sight." "What would you do if one should come along to-morrow morning?" "Try to attract the attention of those on board, of course; but there'll be no such good fortune as that, so the best thing we can do is to lie down now, for we have a hard day's work before us." CHAPTER XXXII. A HAPPY SURPRISE. The monotonous roar of the surf should have lulled the boys to sleep very shortly after they lay down on the sand where a number of boulders formed a partial shelter; but instead of doing so it appeared to have the opposite effect. For a long while after Cummings and Jake were wrapped in slumber they talked of the journey which lay before them, and speculated with heavy hearts as to the fate of those who had left the burning yacht in their company. This was a topic of conversation seldom brought up since the day they first saw the Silver City, because their peril had been so great as to overshadow everything else. Now, however, when it seemed as if they were very near home, the fear that but one boat of the four had lived to reach the land came to both with painful intensity, and fully half the night was spent in trying to persuade themselves that it was well with the remainder of the Sea Dream's crew. When they did finally sink into slumber Poyor was sitting bolt upright with his back against a huge block of coral-like rock, looking out over the water, and in the morning when Neal opened his eyes the Indian was in the same position. "Have you seen a vessel?" the boy asked. "There is one," was the calm reply, and Neal sprang to his feet in the greatest excitement to see a small, schooner-rigged craft with all sail set moving slowly through the water on a parallel line with the coast, about three miles away. In another instant he had awakened the remainder of the party by shouting vigorously, as if believing it possible that those on board could hear his voice. "What's the matter?" Cummings asked: but before the question could be answered he also saw the craft. "It looks as if she was bound in our direction, and we had better try to attract attention; but you'll never do it by shouting, my boy." "What shall we do?" "Build a fire, of course," Jake replied. "They have got plenty of time to send a boat ashore, for it is nearly calm, and in another hour there won't be so much as a breath of wind." Before he had ceased speaking Neal and Teddy were running back toward the line of trees for wood, and in a short time a cloud of smoke was ascending from the shore at the very edge of the water. While the others continued to bring fuel Poyor sprinkled the flames with a bough wet in the sea in order to prevent them from burning too freely, and there was no interruption in the work until a flag was raised on the schooner's main-mast to signify that the signal would be answered. "We're in great luck," Cummings said, as he seated himself on one of the boulders, for it was no longer necessary to keep the fire burning. "No matter where she is bound I don't fancy we shall have much trouble in persuading them to put into Progresso, and the tramp up the shore which all have been dreading can be avoided." As a matter of course the entire party were in the best of spirits, and to Neal and Teddy the little craft had a particularly friendly look. The schooner had been headed for the shore when the smoke first began to ascend; but the wind was so light that she hardly moved through the water, and, after a few moments, the watchers could see that a boat was being lowered. "That dashes some of my hopes," Cummings said with a laugh. "What do you mean?" Neal asked. "I thought there might be just a chance that she hailed from Progresso, and we should have no trouble in persuading them to do as we wished." "Why do you think that isn't the case?" "Because you couldn't find a crew of natives who would willingly row so far; the majority would wait for a breeze a week before voluntarily performing so much labor." The boys watched the boat as she approached slowly, and when she neared the shore both they and Jake started in surprise, scrutinized her more intently, and then looking at each other as if in fear. "What is the matter?" Cummings asked, and Neal replied slowly: "The man who is steering resembles Mr. Walters, the sailing master of the Sea Dream, that is all." "It _is_ him!" Teddy cried excitedly. "I am certain of it now; but how did he get here in that schooner?" As a matter of course the question could not be answered by his companions, and all waited with the liveliest signs of impatience until the gentleman was within hailing distance, and then Neal shouted: "Is that really you, Mr. Walters?" "To the best of my knowledge it is," was the laughing reply. "Are you all well?" "In first-class condition. Where is father?" "On board the schooner. I will give the signal to let him know the crew of the yacht have all been saved." As he spoke he discharged a revolver, and the waving of the flag told that the good news was understood. "Not all, Mr. Walters, the three sailors in our boat were drowned while trying to land on this coast." "It is too late now to rectify the mistake. I hoped when I saw so many that there had been no disaster." By this time the little craft had been rowed around the point of the lagoon where it was possible to effect a landing without danger of being swamped, and the sailing master leaped ashore to welcome by hearty handshakes those whom he had feared were dead. Cummings and Poyor were introduced, and then Neal asked: "Where did you get the schooner?" "Chartered her to hunt for you; but Mr. Emery shall tell the story. Will you come aboard now?" "You are to go with us," Neal said, turning quickly toward Cummings. "I hardly know what to do. It would probably be wisest for Poyor and I to begin the homeward march since there is no longer any necessity of going to Progresso." "But you must see my father. Time is not so precious just now but that you can afford to spend another day in our company." "It shall be as you say," Cummings replied laughingly. "I hesitated only because the sooner our long tramp comes to an end the more comfortable I shall feel in mind." Jake and Teddy had already clambered into the boat; the others followed, and the little craft, loaded down nearly to the water's edge, was rowed out toward the schooner. It is not necessary to make any attempt at trying to describe the reception the castaways met with from the remainder of the yacht's crew, nor the manner in which Poyor and Cummings were welcomed. After the heartiest greetings had been exchanged Mr. Emery and the sailing master asked for an account of the landing and subsequent wanderings, and it is safe to say that they were treated to a wilder story than they had ever dreamed of hearing. Mr. Walters was at first disposed to look upon it as a "yarn;" but the souvenir which Jake carried on his face was evidence that could not be doubted, and Cummings soon convinced the skeptical sailing master that the Chan Santa Cruz really had an existence. "That is an adventure I would like to have," he finally said in a tone of enthusiasm. "I can't understand why it shouldn't be possible to hit upon some hiding place within half a mile of the city, and on a stormy night, for instance, lug away precious metal enough to make ourselves rich." "That and more can be done if one has patience and discretion." "Now we're where there's little doubt about gettin' home you may rap at me as often as you please," Jake said with a hearty laugh. "I admit having acted like a fool; but so long as nothing serious came of it, except the cut on my own cheek, it isn't a hanging matter." "I haven't a relative in this world," Mr. Walters continued, "and now the Sea Dream has gone down would be obliged to look around for a job, therefore if you'll accept me as a comrade I'll stay here instead of going back to the states." "Do you really mean to enter upon such a wild venture?" Mr. Emery asked in surprise. "Most certainly. What is to prevent?" "Nothing that I know of; but it seems little less than suicide to go there after the Indians have been so thoroughly aroused." "We shall not make the attempt for several months, perhaps a year," Cummings added. "Where would you propose to stop? Here?" "How far do you intend to go in this schooner?" "To the nearest port where we can find a steamer bound for the United States." "That is Progresso, and if you have no objections Poyor and I will accompany you there. We need some supplies from Merida, and if Mr. Walters is of the same mind when we arrive I shall be more than pleased to have him go with us." "The vessel is at your disposal. We will land you at any point, and I yet have sufficient money with me to pay Walters' wages and make him a slight advance if he needs it." "Very little will be required if he joins Poyor and myself. The cost of living in this country is small, for nature provides bountifully." The captain of the schooner, a full-blooded negro, was told to head his craft for Progresso as soon as the wind should spring up again, and then Mr. Emery asked many questions concerning the city the boys had seen, while their answers only made the sailing master more eager to remain with Cummings. "This is hardly fair," Neal finally said. "All the time we have been telling you of our adventures, and not one word have we heard regarding your movements. I would like to know where the three boats we out-sailed went to on the night after leaving the yacht, and where this schooner was found?" "It is not a long story," Mr. Emery replied. "When you disappeared in the darkness we continued on the same course, and succeeded in keeping the three boats well together. At sunrise your craft was not in sight. We held on all that day and the next, finally arriving at Cozumel where we stayed three days in the hope you would appear. Then this schooner touched at the island, and I chartered her to search for you. We have been cruising up and down the coast ever since, for it seemed positive your boat reached the land in this immediate vicinity." "How long would you have stayed here?" "Not many days more, for we had begun to believe you were picked up by a vessel. Knowing Jake could handle a small craft better, perhaps than any other member of the crew, and also that she was the most seaworthy of the four tenders, it did not seem reasonable she had foundered while the others went through in safety." "Then we came out just in time." "Yes, for I had no idea you could be so far up this way, and we should have left the locality as soon as the wind would permit." Jake wanted to ask the sailing master how it happened that he had made such a mistake in his reckoning; but it was a delicate question, and he thought it best to wait until Mr. Walters had left them, when Neal's father could probably give the desired explanation. CHAPTER XXXIII. HOMEWARD BOUND. One can readily fancy what a feeling of perfect content had come over the boys after finding themselves once more with nearly all the crew of the Sea Dream. There was no longer anything to cause anxiety; the vengeful Indians had been left far behind, and the fear of an attack was among the things of the past. "I used to think it would be mighty nice to go into some such place as we have just left," Neal said to Teddy, while the two were sitting under the awning aft, some distance from their companions; "but now we know what the reality is like, I've had enough." "I suppose our story would sound pretty fair if it was put into a book; but whoever wrote it couldn't be all the time telling about how hungry and tired we were, how the mosquitoes and flies nearly ate us up, how thoroughly we were frightened the greater portion of the time, nor how disagreeable it is to be where there's precious little chance for a fellow to keep clean." "That is why adventures seem so nice when you read about them, for all the trifling things which serve to make a person uncomfortable in both body and mind are omitted." "Yes," Teddy said very emphatically, "one day would be enough for any fellow I know, and the idea of going where there is likely to be plenty of chance for adventure will never again have any fascination for me." In this strain the boys talked until dinner was served on deck, which was not a particularly well cooked meal, after which the conversation became general. The re-united party spoke chiefly of Mr. Walters' determination to remain with Cummings, and while listening to it Jake forgot all else save the wonderful sights he had seen in the famous city. "I have a good mind to stay with you," he finally said. "The idea that I have been where silver could be had for the labor of carrying it away, and didn't get any, makes me angry with myself. Now that Mr. Walters has concluded to try his hand at it I believe I'll do the same thing." Poyor looked up quickly, shook his head very decidedly, and Cummings said emphatically: "Then it will be necessary for you to go alone; I've been there once with you, and it was only by the rarest good fortune that we succeeded in coming away alive, therefore I'm not disposed to try the same dangerous experiment again." "I suppose you think I would make a fool of myself once more?" "I am positive of it. When your opinion chanced to be at variance with ours you would go straight on without giving the slightest heed to the consequences. It is best for you to stay with the boys." Jake had nothing more to say; but later in the day he told Neal and Teddy privately that he believed he would venture into the swamp alone. "I could do it as well as Poyor can. They want to make out that it is a very dangerous venture." "You thought the same on the night when that beautiful scar was presented, and also when you wandered away from the cave, unable to find your way back," Neal replied with a laugh. Then Jake had a desperate fit of the sulks from which he did not recover until the schooner was standing up the coast under the influence of the strong night breeze. The voyage to Progresso from this time on occupied but a few hours. The clumsy looking vessel proved to be a good sailor, and on the following afternoon she had dropped anchor in the harbor, twenty-four hours before the next steamer was advertised to leave. There was yet plenty of chance to bid good-by to those who intended to remain behind, and the last moments were spent together rather than visit the quaint town, for no one could say whether they would meet again. Jake made no further preparation to join the treasure seekers, and Neal felt positive that if they had allowed him to make one of the party his courage would have failed him at the last minute. Not until a late hour in the night was there any attempt to break up the gathering. Each felt a certain repugnance to so doing, and if Mr. Emery had not finally insisted on retiring all might have remained under the awning until morning. "It is good-by as well as good-night," Cummings said as he arose. "We do not care to stay here very long for fear some of the Chan Santa Cruz may recognize us, and by daybreak I propose to be on our way to Merida, from which point we shall return to the hut where we first saw the castaways." "We can at least count on hearing from you," Mr. Emery said. "The boys will be eager to learn how your venture succeeded." "It is not convenient to post a letter where a journey of fifty miles on foot is necessary to reach a mailing place; but you shall hear from us at the first favorable opportunity." With Jake, Cummings and Poyor spent but little time; neither had any especial love for him after all that had happened; but with the boys the Indian was almost affectionate. "If the gods will listen to Poyor's prayer your lives shall be free from clouds," he said gravely, and laying his hands on their heads he went through a certain ceremony as if blessing them, after which he did not speak again. If good wishes were of any avail both Walters and Cummings should have succeeded in their attempt to carry away treasure from the Silver City; but whether they have yet been able to do so neither Neal nor Teddy know, for not a word has been heard from them since that parting in the harbor at Progresso. The trip home was as uneventful as is usually the case when one travels on a steam vessel, and at about the time when the Sea Dream should have arrived the castaways landed in New York before the news of the yacht's destruction had been learned. As a consequence neither Teddy's parents nor Neal's mother had been anxious concerning them, and the home coming was a very tame affair, as compared with what both had been through. Even at this late day the boys are speculating as to whether the white men and the Indian ever succeeded in their desires, and both believe the news will soon come that Cummings has been able to read the inscriptions on the monuments at Copan by the aid of his researches in the Silver City. THE END. 
33465	----	[Frontispiece: "Joy, darling Joy," Patience said, "you have often said you had wished you had known your mother." _Page_. 167. _Little Miss Joy._ BY EMMA MARSHALL, AUTHOR OF "LITTLE QUEENIE;" "BLUE BELL;" "ROBERT'S RACE;" "HURLY-BURLY;" ETC. NEW EDITION. JOHN F. SHAW (1928) & CO., LTD. _Publishers,_ 3, PILGRIM STREET, LONDON, E.C.4. 1892 PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN AT THE ANCHOR PRESS, TIPTREE, ESSEX CONTENTS. _CHAPTER I._ WAITING AND WATCHING _CHAPTER II._ LITTLE MISS JOY _CHAPTER III._ "AN HONEST BOY" _CHAPTER IV._ HIS OWN WAY _CHAPTER V._ A TEA-PARTY IN THE ROW _CHAPTER VI._ A VISIT TO THE SKINNERS _CHAPTER VII._ DARK DOINGS _CHAPTER VIII._ IN PERIL OF THE SEA _CHAPTER IX._ ON THE WIDE, WIDE SEA _CHAPTER X._ "ONLY A LITTLE BOX" _CHAPTER XI._ MR. SKINNER IN COMMAND _CHAPTER XII._ THE SPIRIT OF PEACE _CHAPTER XIII._ A TOKEN AT LAST _CHAPTER XIV._ THE WAITING IS OVER _CHAPTER XV._ THE HERITAGE OF PEACE LITTLE MISS JOY. CHAPTER I. _WAITING AND WATCHING._ The sea lay calm and still under a cloudless sky. The tide was out, and there was only a faint murmur like the whisper of gentle voices, as the little waves told to the sands that they were coming back soon, for the tide had turned. It was yet early morning, and the old town of Great Yarmouth was asleep. The fishing boats had been out all night, and were lying like so many black birds with folded wings, waiting for the flow of the water to bring them to the beach. All the blinds were down in the houses facing the level strand. There was no one moving yet, for the resonant clock of Saint Nicholas Church had only just struck four. The children of visitors to Yarmouth, tired with their exertions on the sand the evening before, were all wrapt in profound slumber. Happy seaside children, who had paddled and delved on the beach to their hearts' content, who had braved all the reproaches of mothers and nurses, and had gone home with their buckets full of seaweed, pebbles, and shells, looking like the veriest little ragged waifs and strays, who were known as "the beach children," and who were an ever-moving population gathered from the depths of the town, pattering with naked feet round the boats as they came to shore, to pick up odd fish which fell from the nets as they were spread out to dry. A great expanse of sand stretches out from Yarmouth, and over this the wind whistles through the long parched grass which grows in patches, interspersed with the little pink mallow and stunted thistles, which are not discouraged by their surroundings, and flourish in spite of difficulties. This wide expanse of sand and sand-mounds is called the Denes; and as little weary feet plod over it, it seems in its vastness a very desert of Sahara. Yet there is a charm about the Denes which the children feel. A sense of freedom, and a power to deal with the sand after their own will, were checked by repeated exhortations from governess or nurse to take care of their clothes. Yet the soft silvery sand can do no harm, and a prick from a blade of the pointed grass, or a scratch from a thistle, are the only dangers that beset it. The town of Yarmouth lies at some distance from the sea, and possesses one feature of rather unusual interest. There is a fine quay, shaded by trees, alongside which many large ships from all countries lie. There is a wide market-place and several good streets. But the heart and core of the old town is to be found in the "rows," narrow thoroughfares with tall houses on either side, where many a competency, if not a fortune, has been made in days past. Very little sunshine or light penetrates the rows, and some of the inhabitants have a faded, washed-out look, like that of a plant shut in a dark place, which shows but a faint colour of either leaves or blossom. Perhaps the pale woman standing by the door of a small shop, the shutters of which were not yet taken down, was a fair specimen of her neighbours. She was tall, but drooped so much that her real height was lost. She had a sad face, where lines of care and anxiety had made a network perhaps earlier in life than wrinkles had any right to appear, if they should be traced by time rather than by sorrow. For Patience Harrison was not an old woman, and had scarcely entered her thirty-sixth year. As she stood at the narrow entry of the shop, her hands folded, her head bent forward, she might well attract any passer-by, while she looked right and left, as if in hopes of seeing a well-known figure come into the row, from either end. Up and down, up and down, that eager, hungry glance, with an infinite pathos in the dark eyes, scanned the narrow passage; and grew more pathetic and more hungry every moment. At last footsteps were heard on the pavement. Patience started, and took a step forward, only to draw back again disappointed. "The top of the morning to you, Mrs. Harrison. You are about early. It is as fine a summer morning as I ever was out in." The speaker was a tall, well-knit young man of two or three and thirty, with a fine open countenance, and a broad square brow, round which thick light curls clustered. No contrast could be greater than between Patience Harrison and George Paterson: the man so full of life, and the enjoyment of life; the woman so languid and weary-looking. He seemed as if the world were a pleasant place to him, she as if it were a waste and a wilderness. "You are up and about early," George repeated. "Indeed, you look as if you hadn't been to bed. I hope you haven't been up all night. Have you, now?" "Yes. How could I sleep? How could I rest? There was a worse storm than ever last night at supper-time, and--and--Jack ran away out of the house, and has never come back." "The young rascal!" George exclaimed. "I'd like to thrash him!" "Oh, don't say so! Don't say so! If ever a boy is scourged by a tongue, Jack is. I mean to leave this house; I can't--I can't bear it any longer." "Well," George said, his eyes shining with a bright light--the light of hope--"well, there's a home ready for you, you know that. The sooner you come, the better." "You know I can't do it. Why do you ask me? I wonder you should ask me." "I see no wonder in it," was the answer. "You've watched and waited for eleven years; sure that's long enough! He will never come back." "Yes," she said sadly; "yes. I have waited and watched, as you say. It is the business of my life. I shall watch and wait to the end." George Paterson gave an impatient gesture, and settled the workman's basket on his broad shoulders, as if he were going to walk on. But after a pace or two he seemed to change his mind, and stopping, he said-- "But what about Jack? How did it happen?" "He offended her yesterday. He brought dirty boots into the parlour; and he blew a tune on the little cornet you gave him, when she told him to be quiet. He upset a jug of water on the table, and he made a face at her, and he called her 'an old cat.' He had no business to call her names." George laughed. "A very fitting name, I think; he has felt her claws often enough. Well, what then?" "Then she boxed his ears--it was at supper--and he flew into a rage, and he would not listen to me, but tore out of the room, out of the house, and has never come back. Oh, George, what if there should be two to wait and watch for, instead of one! Jack! Jack! How could he leave me?" "He can't have gone far; and, as to being out all night, why, that won't hurt him. The young rascal, to give you all this trouble! Yes, I'll go and hunt for him; and if I catch him, won't I give it to him!" "No, George; no. Remember his provocation. Remember he has had no father, only a mother like me to control him." "Only a mother like you! I should like to know where a better could be found! I am sorry for the boy that he has had to live with a cross-grained old maid, but for your sake he ought to have put up with it." "She means well. She took us in for my father's sake, and she has kept me and the boy from starving." "You have earned your living; you have worked well for her, and she knows it. But I will go and hunt for Master Jack. See! I will leave my basket of tools here as an assurance that I am coming back. You go and lie down, and I'll have the young master back before an hour is over. Come, go indoors; you look ready to drop." But Patience shook her head. "I am used to waiting and watching," she said again; "it's nothing new." Then her eyes began their search up and down the row, with the same wistful, eager gaze. George Paterson had put the basket of tools just within the doorway, and turning to her said-- "Look up at that strip of blue sky, Patience; look up, not downward so much." As he spoke he raised his head, and pointed to the narrow bit of sky which made a deeply blue line above the tops of the tall houses. "That tells of love," he said--"God's love which is over us. Take heart, and lift it up to Him in your trouble." George spoke out of the fulness of his own heart: not in any way as if he set himself up to lecture his listener, but just simply to try to raise her thoughts from the gnawing anxiety which had laid hold on her. "Yes," she said, "the bit of sky is beautiful, but it is so far off; and--don't be angry with me, George, but I wish you would go and find him. Let me come with you!" she exclaimed. "No, no; I shall be quicker than you are. I can get over the ground in half the time." Neither asked the other where George would look for the truant. Both had one thought--Jack had been to the quay, and was perhaps on board one of the ships lying there. He had threatened before that he would go to sea, and leave Miss Pinckney and her scoldings and fault-findings behind him. "If it had not been for his mother he would have done so long ago," he said. "He loved the sea, and he wished to be a sailor, as his father had been before him." As George's quick, firm steps were heard dying away in the distance, Mrs. Harrison pulled a stool towards her out of the shop, and seated herself just within the doorway. She was scarcely conscious of anything but the fear, growing greater every moment, that Jack--the sunshine of her life, the light of her eyes--had gone from her. She leaned her head against the door, and looked up at the sky half unconsciously. As she looked, a blind in one of the windows of the opposite house was lifted, and the window cautiously opened, while a head with a tangle of golden hair was thrust out, and a little voice--clear, like the sound of a thrush in a tree--sang in sweet dulcet tones some verses of a childish morning hymn:-- "Now the eastern sky is red, I, too, lift my little head; Now the lark sings loud and gay, I, too, rise to praise and pray. "Saviour, to Thy cottage home Once the daylight used to come: Thou hast often seen it break Brightly o'er the Eastern lake. "Blessed Jesus! Thou dost know What of danger, joy, or woe, Shall to-day my portion he-- Let me meet it all in Thee." Here the sweet, clear voice broke off suddenly, for the child saw that her opposite neighbour on the doorstep was looking up at her. "Mrs. Harrison," she said, nodding and kissing her hand. "_I_ see you! I'm coming down when I'm dressed. Uncle Bobo isn't awake yet." Then the head disappeared, and there was silence for a few minutes. Presently the bolts of the opposite door were gently drawn, and out came the daintiest little figure, in a fresh blue cotton frock and white pinafore, her rosy lips parted with a smile, and her eyes dancing with the light of the morning of life. Dear unclouded child-eyes! How soon they lose that first sweet innocent gaze! How soon the cares and sins of this weary world shadow their depths, and the frank gaze which tells of faith in all that is lovely and beautiful is changed into one of distrust, and sometimes of sorrow. "Well, little Miss Joy!" Patience Harrison said, as the child tripped across the row, and flung her arms round the waiting mother's neck. "Well, dear Goody Patience. Why are you sitting here all alone, and looking so sad? Why, Goody, _dear_ Goody, you are crying!" For the child's loving caress had touched the fountain of tears, and, sobbing, the poor mother said-- "Oh, little Miss Joy! Jack has run away. I couldn't sleep, so I came down here." "Run away, Jack! Oh, how naughty of him to grieve you! But he will come back--of course he will. Don't cry, my dear Goody Patience; don't cry. Of course he'll come back. What was it all about?" "A fuss with his poor Aunt Amelia, as usual; and Jack was rude, I know, and he did not behave well; but----" "I am afraid," Joy said thoughtfully, "Jack is not a good boy to Miss Pinckney. He is no end good to _me_, and I love him dearly, and so does Uncle Bobo. He says he is like a fine ship--all sails set and flags flying and no compass--which gets on rocks and quicksands, because there is no guide. That is what Uncle Bobo says." "It is quite true--quite true," Patience said. "I do not excuse him, though I know he has had a great deal to try his temper in his Aunt Amelia's house." "I dare say he will come back, and be a good boy. I'll talk to him," Joy said, with a wise nod of her golden head. "I'll talk to him, and he will never run away again." "But, Joy, he is gone; and though Mr. Paterson thinks he knows where to find him, I don't believe he _will_ find him." "I must go indoors now; for here is Peter coming to take down our shutters, and Uncle Bobo will be wanting his breakfast, and I always help Susan to get it ready. I shall be on the watch, and the minute Jack comes back I will run over." Then, with showers of kisses on the pale, woe-struck face, little Miss Joy was gone. CHAPTER II. _LITTLE MISS JOY._ Little Miss Joy was the pride of the row, and always seemed to bring a ray of sunshine with her. She lived with an old man she called "Uncle Bobo," who kept a curiously mixed assortment of wares, in the little dark shop where he had lived, man and boy, for fifty years. He was professedly a dealer in nautical instruments, the manufacture of which was carried on in Birmingham or Sheffield. Every now and then a large packing-case would excite the inhabitants of the row, as it was borne on one of the Yarmouth carts constructed on purpose for the convenience of passing through the rows, and dropped down with a tremendous thud on the pavement opposite Mr. Boyd's door. No wheels but the wheels of these carts were ever heard in the row, unless it were a wheelbarrow or a truck. And none of these were welcome, as it was difficult for foot-passengers to pass if one of these vehicles stopped the way. The nautical instruments by no means represented all Mr. Boyd's stock-in-trade. Compasses and aneroids and ship's lamps were the superior articles to be sold. But there were endless odds and ends--"curiosities"--bits of carving, two or three old figure-heads of ships, little ship-lanthorns, and knives of all shapes and sizes, balls of twine, rolls of cable, and all packed into the narrow limits of the tiny shop. "Uncle Bobo" was coming home one night--a Christmas night--a few years before the time my story opens, when he heard a wailing cry as he fitted the latch-key into his own door. The cry attracted him, and looking down on the threshold of his home he saw--a bundle, as it seemed to him, tightly tied up in a handkerchief. Stooping to pick it up, the faint wailing cry was repeated, and Uncle Bobo nearly let the bundle fall. "It's a child--it's an infant!" he exclaimed. "Where's it dropped from? Here, Susan!" he called to his faithful old servant, "here's a Christmas-box for you; look alive!" Susan, who had appeared with a light, groped through the various articles in the shop, and received the bundle from her master's hand. "Dear life, Mr. Boyd, what are you going to do with it then?" "Can't say," was the answer, as Mr. Boyd rolled into the parlour, where a bright fire was burning and the kettle singing on the hob. "Unpack the parcel, Sue, and let's have a look." Susan untied many knots and unrolled fold after fold of the long scarf-shawl of black and white check in which the child was wrapped: and then out came, like a butterfly out of a chrysalis, a little dainty girl of about two years old, who, looking up at Mr. Boyd, said, "Dad-da!" There was no sign of ill-usage about the child. She was neatly dressed, and round her waist a purse was tied. Mr. Boyd fitted his large black-rimmed spectacles on his nose, and while Susan sat with the child on her knee, warming her pink toes in the ruddy blaze, he untied the ribbon with which the purse was fastened to the child's waist, and opened it. It was an ordinary purse, with pockets, and within the centre one, fastened by a little spring, was one sovereign and a bit of paper, on which was written: "It is the last money I have in the world Take care of the bearer till you hear more. Keep her for me." Eight years had gone by since that Christmas night, and nothing more had ever been heard about this "Christmas-box;" but Uncle Bobo never repented that he had kept the child. She had been the interest and delight of his old age, and he had fondly called her "My little Joy." The neighbours wondered a little, and some looked severely on this deed of kindness of Mr. Boyd's. The person who looked most severely at it was Miss Amelia Pinckney, who kept a small haberdasher's and milliner's shop opposite Mr. Boyd's. Now neighbours in the Yarmouth rows, especially opposite neighbours, are very near neighbours indeed; and if it was almost possible to shake hands over the heads of the passers-by from the upper windows, it was quite possible to hear what was said, especially in summer, when the narrow casements were thrown open to admit what air was stirring. Thus Miss Pinckney's voice, which was neither soft nor low, reached many ears in the near vicinity, and Mr. Boyd was well aware that she had called him "a foolish old fellow," adding that "the workhouse was the place for the child, and that she had no patience with his folly." Truth to tell, Miss Pinckney had but little patience with any one. She had, as she conceived, done a noble deed by allowing her stepsister and her boy to take up their abode with her. But for this deed she took out very heavy interest; and poor Mrs. Harrison, who was, as her sister continually reminded her, "worse than a widow"--a deserted wife--had to pay dearly for the kindness which had been done her. Many a time she had determined to leave the uncongenial roof, and go forth to face the world alone; but then she was penniless, and although she worked, and worked hard too, to keep herself and her boy, by executing all Miss Pinckney's millinery orders, and acting also as general servant as well as shopwoman of the establishment, still she was never allowed to forget that she was under an obligation to her sister, and that she ought to be "thankful for all her mercies!" "It is not as if it was only yourself, Patience. Think what it is to have a boy like yours! Enough to drive one mad, with his monkey tricks and his impudence. I don't say that I regret taking you in. Blood is thicker than water, and you are my poor father's child, though he had cause to rue the day he married your silly mother--he never had a day's peace after that." Such sentiments, expressed with freedom and without intermission, were a trial in themselves; but lately things had assumed a far more serious aspect. Jack had been a mere baby when first he and his mother had been taken in by Miss Pinckney. But eleven years had changed the baby of two years old into a strong, self-willed boy of thirteen, impatient of control, setting all his aunt's rules at defiance, and coming in from school every day, more antagonistic, and more determined, as he said, to "pay the old auntie back in her own coin." In vain Mrs. Harrison had remonstrated; in vain she had striven to keep the peace. For ever before her eyes was the dread that Jack would carry his oft-repeated threat into execution, and go to sea. Then, indeed, the light of her stricken life would finally go from her, and she would have nothing left to live for! Jack was a boy likely, in spite of all his faults, to fill a mother's heart with pride. He was the picture of merry, happy boyhood, with a high spirit, which was like a horse without a bridle, and carried him away beyond all bounds of tongue and temper. But to his mother he could be gentle and penitent, acknowledging his faults, and showing real sorrow at having grieved her by warfare with his aunt. There was an excellent boys' school in Yarmouth, where he made good progress with his lessons, and was a favourite with his school-fellows; and the master, though often irritated by his tricks and carelessness, found it hard to be angry with him, or to inflict the punishment he deserved. It is possible that Jack would have been able to get on more peaceably at home, had there not been another person frequently at his aunt's home with whom he waged a perpetual warfare. This person was a tall, meagre-looking young man, a clerk in an Excise office, who made great profession of being better than his neighbours. He was always coming into Miss Pinckney's to tea or supper, and invariably, when listening to the aunt's stories of Jack's misdemeanours, talked of the bad end to which naughty boys were brought, and of the sins of disobedience bringing their sure reward. Mr. Skinner had the disagreeable habit of uttering truths in the most unpleasant manner. A great deal that he said was correct; but somehow his words seemed to have no effect on those whom he addressed. There was a dash of unreality about Mr. Skinner, and a certain want of candour, which Jack's eyes were quick to detect. He suspected that Mr. Skinner came to Miss Pinckney's "for what he could get," that he liked a chair by her fire in the back parlour, and that the glass of hot gin and water, sweetened to his taste, with a bit of lemon floating on the top, was his grand attraction. The smell of this glass of spirit and water was odious to Jack; and he naturally felt aggrieved, when on one occasion Mr. Skinner, coming in to tea, devoured the whole plate of hot buttered toast or muffins, and talked of the duty of thankfulness, and how much more any of us had than we deserved--Jack meantime having slices of very stale bread scraped with a little salt butter. The contrast between his own share of the fare and Mr. Skinner's was sufficiently provoking. Then too of late Jack had been conscious that both Mr. Skinner and his aunt had been doing their best to bring his mother round to their view--that he was "the worse-behaved and most ill-conditioned boy that ever lived." That last great outbreak of temper, when he had rushed off, and left his mother to pass a sleepless and tearful night, had been caused not so much by the shower of reproaches heaped on him, as by his aunt's bitter words: "If you go on like this, you'll break your mother's heart. Even she is getting sick of you, and you would be a good riddance!" He knew well enough it was not true. He knew that if all the world were against him, his mother would never give him up. But, stung to the quick, he had poured out a torrent of angry words; and addressing his aunt as "an old cat, who shouldn't have the chance of setting her claws into him again!" he had rushed off and left his mother miserable. As soon as the house was quiet and Miss Pinckney's long tirade against "spoilt wicked boys" had ceased, Patience Harrison had crept downstairs again, and, slipping the bolt off the door, had taken up her position there. And there George Paterson had found her, pale and worn with sleepless sorrow, and with an aching sense of loss which was well-nigh hopeless. CHAPTER III. "_AN HONEST BOY._" When little Miss Joy had tripped across the row to her own door, Mrs. Harrison had gone into the house. The shutters were being taken down from several of the windows, blinds were drawn up, doors opened, and the row was waking to life and the business of life. Mrs. Harrison went about her usual work of clearing up and dusting and sweeping, and about half-past six she called a boy from one of the opposite houses to take down the shutters of the little shop front. The boy looked wistfully at her sad face, and asked, "Is Jack ill, please, ma'am?" "No, not ill," she answered, unwilling to spread the news that he had run away; "not ill; but I am up early." The boy asked no further question, but said to himself, "Something is up; and here comes Mr. Paterson!" "Have you found him?" Patience asked, under her breath. "Any news? Any news?" George passed into the house, for he did not wish to excite observation. "No--no direct news; but I hear some ships got under weigh about three o'clock. The tide served, and it is just likely that the boy is aboard one. Don't you think me unfeeling now if I say, it is just as well he should go; he may learn a lesson you couldn't teach him." "The same story, the same trial over again! Oh, how can I bear it?" Patience said, in a voice that filled the honest heart of George Paterson with deep pity and almost deeper pain. "Well," he said, "this wrangling here was bad for all parties. The boy was always in hot water." "Because she was so cross-grained--because she hated him. Oh, I cannot, cannot bear to think of it!" "Pray," said a sharp, shrill voice from the bottom step of the very narrow staircase which led into the still narrower passage, "pray, what is all this about?" "Jack never came home last night," Patience said in a voice of repressed emotion. "He never came home. He is gone, and I shall never see him again." "Oh, fiddlesticks!" was the reply. "Bad pennies always turn up. I never knew one in my life that was lost. Mark my words, you have not seen the last of him--worse luck." "That's not a very pleasant way to talk, Miss Pinckney: you'll excuse me for saying so," said Mr. Paterson. "The boy was a good boy on the whole." "A good boy!" Miss Pinckney was screaming now. "Well, George Paterson, your ideas of goodness and mine differ. You may please to take yourself off now, for I've no time to spend in gossip;" and Miss Pinckney began her operations by flapping with a duster the counter of the shop, and taking from the drawers certain boxes of small articles in which she dealt. While she was thus engaged, she suddenly stopped short, and uttered an exclamation of horror, turning a white face to her sister, who was listening to the few words of comfort George had to bestow. "Look here!" she exclaimed; "look here! The secret's out. The little tin cash-box is gone, and the thief is out of reach. What do you say to your good boy now, eh, George Paterson?" George Paterson took one step into the shop, and said-- "How do you know he took it? He is the last boy I could think of as a thief." "Of course. Oh, he is a perfect boy--a good boy! I only wish he had never darkened my doors--the young villain!" "Hush, now Miss Pinckney. Calm yourself, and let us have a look for the box. Where was it put?" "Why, in the drawer, to be sure, under the counter. I keep the key of the drawer in my key basket. I always locked it--always. He got the key and opened it. There was four pounds and odd money in it--close on five pounds." "I am certain," said Patience, "Jack did not steal your money, sister Amelia." Poor Patience was calm now. "It is impossible," she continued. "He was--he was as honest as the day, and as true as gold." "All that's very fine--very fine indeed. He stole the money, and made off. If he didn't, who did?" Patience stood wondering for a few moments, going over all that day--that last day. Jack had been at school and out till nearly tea-time; then he had sat with his books till supper; and then came the uproar with his aunt, and he had rushed away--straight out of the house. He could not have stopped in the shop on the way; besides, a plot must have been laid to get the key. It was impossible Jack could be guilty. She looked at George, and read in his face deep sympathy, and also read there a reassuring smile. "No," he said. "Whoever is the thief, Jack is innocent. Circumstances may be against him--his running off to sea, and his passion-fit against you--but I believe him to be innocent. You had better leave things as you found them, and I'll call in a policeman. There'll be one on his beat at the end of the row by this time. It is right and just all proper inquiries should be made." The policeman--a stolid, sober individual, who never wasted words--came at George Paterson's bidding, and looked with a professional eye at the drawer whence the money had been abstracted. "Box and all gone! That's queer. Key of box fastened to it by a string. Humph! Any servant in the house?" "No." "Boy that cleans up and takes down the shutters, eh?" "_No_--that is--my nephew was in the house, and," said Miss Pinckney with emphasis, "he ran off to sea last night." The policeman gave a prolonged "Ah!" Then he proceeded to examine the lock of the drawer. "Where's the key?" "Here, in my key basket. I lock the drawer the last thing, and lock the shop-door myself. You know that, Patience. Speak up." "Yes, I know it--I know it." "Well, there seems no certain clue," the policeman said, twisting the key of the drawer round and round in the lock. "There's this clue," Miss Pinckney said; "my nephew who ran off to sea stole the box. He and I had quarrelled a bit, for he was the most impudent and trying young vagabond. If you wish to know my thoughts, policeman, they are that he took the cash-box." "There's no proof. We must have proof. But there's suspicion. We must try to track the youngster, find out what ship he sailed in; and when she comes into port, why, we'll keep an eye on the little chap." The policeman had no more to say just then, and departed, saying to George, who shouldered his tools and followed him, "I know the boy. A sharp one, isn't he?" "An honest one, if ever an honest boy lived," was the rejoinder, as George Paterson strode away. CHAPTER IV. _HIS OWN WAY._ Jack Harrison had no fixed purpose when he rushed out of his aunt's house, except to get away from the sound of her angry words, and from the sight of his mother's grieved face--that face, which bore the marks of so many storms, and which he loved better than any other in the world. "I had better go," he reasoned with himself. "I may make a fortune. Suppose I go aboard a whaling ship, as my father did. I won't go aboard a smack or trawler; I should not care for that life--handling fish, and out all weathers, north of the Dogger trawling--no, that would not pay, but a good ship would; and I'll take a look round the quay as soon as it's light." Jack had found the convenient shelter of an old boat on the beach, and there he curled himself up and fell asleep. He was awoke by feeling something touching his face, and starting up, just distinguished in the dim light the shape of a dog, which began to whine piteously, and licked his hands. "What, are you lost, or run away like me?" he asked. "Have you been treated ill, eh?" Jack was now thoroughly awake, and crept out of his shelter on to the soft sand, which almost gave way under his feet. The dog continued whining and jumping on him, and seemed to want to show him the way to some place. "What do ye want, eh? I can't make you out," Jack said; but in the light of the strengthening dawn which was breaking over the sea he saw a dark mass of something at some distance on the sand, and towards this the dog was evidently trying to guide him. There was not a creature to be seen on the level strand, and no sound but the gentle murmur of the tide just turning. Presently, however, another sound made Jack pause and listen. The dog heard it also, and grew more and more frantic in his efforts to lead Jack on. When he got near the dark mass, Jack found it was the figure of a man, and that the sounds came from him, for he was groaning and crying as if in great pain. The dog ran to him, and leaping on his prostrate figure, and then back again to Jack, showed that the place to which he had to bring him was reached. As plainly as a dog could speak, he was saying, "Help my master." Jack bent down over the man, and said-- "What's the matter? Are you hurt?" "Yes, I've sprained my leg; and if I don't get to the quay by four o'clock I am ruined. I'm mate of the _Galatea_. Look alive and help me to the ship; it's all right when I'm there, for the captain is a jolly fellow--but oh, this leg!--all along of my catching my foot in a net. Toby here and I were coming along the beach from my old step-mother's, over t'other side of the Monument, and I fell, and must have twisted my foot as I fell on that big stone. Now, I say, will you help me to limp to the quay? Doubt if I can do it, but I'll try all the same." The light was momentarily increasing now, and as Jack bent over the man to take his arm and pull him into a sitting posture, he saw a sad, pensive face turned up to him. Evidently the impression that was mentally made was a good one, for the man said-- "Where are you off to, young un?" "To see if I can get aboard any ship, and work my passage." "Whew!--oh!--here, wait a bit, my boy; I must ask the Lord to help me. I have been crying and groaning like a baby; that won't do. No, Dick Colley, you mustn't be a coward. Pain! well, what's pain! Toby there would bear it better!" After a moment's silence the man said-- "Now, heave-to, my boy, and I'll put down the right leg, and make you answer for the left. Ahoy! ahoy!" The "ahoy" was nearly a groan again, and then there was a muttered oath. "Did ye hear that, boy? That's the hardest job a man has to do--to cure himself of cursing. It's worse than drinking. I've been hard at it for a twelvemonth now, and I'm blessed if I ain't beaten over and over again. This pain will---- Don't you think, boy, I consider it a fine thing to swear, and take the Lord's name in vain. I think it is a shame to do it--and I beg Him to forgive me the next minute. It's just this--that habits, bad or good, stick like a leech. Now then, ahoy!" This time Dick Colley was fairly on his feet, and by the support of Jack's strong shoulder progress towards the quay was made. It was slow and difficult, and Toby followed close to his master's side with a dejected air, his stubby tail between his legs, giving every now and then a little whine of sympathy. "I am hard put to it, lad, to get along. I am feeling faintish and bad; but I can't afford to lose this voyage; it's a long one, and good pay, and I've an old mother and a pack of children to keep." "Rest a bit," said Jack. "Here's a post will do." "Ay; I dare say I'm pretty near breaking your shoulder-blade. I shan't forget you, youngster. I say, what's up? mischief, eh?" "I want to be off to sea just for a bit. Will you take me?" "Well, I must go aboard first, before I can promise. Now then, on we go." The quay was reached at last, and it was now broad daylight. The stately ships were all getting under weigh, and there was no bustle or noise. The cargoes had been shipped overnight, and there was only a silent waiting for the tide. "Here she is; here's my berth. You help me aboard, and we'll see what can be done." "Dick Colley, the mate, as sure as I'm alive!" said one of the crew, who was turning a loose cable round and round into a coil of many circles. "Why, old chappie, what's amiss with 'ee?" "Give us a hand aboard. I've been and sprained my ankle. This youngster helped me along, or I'd never have got here." "You are just in time, mate; for we are off to the river's mouth in a twinkling. Here, why, look alive! he's awful bad." With Jack's help they got Dick Colley on board and down below, where the ship's surgeon bandaged the swollen ankle, and Jack stood by with Toby. In the general hurry of departure, when the captain gave the word, no one noticed Jack, or if they noticed him, concluded that he was aboard the _Galatea_ as a passenger, of which there were a few. It was not till they were well out to sea that the captain, coming down into the mate's berth, said-- "Hallo, Colley! who's the youngster aboard with the curly hair? What's he about?" "He wants to work his way out, captain; set him to it. I promised I'd say a word for him. He just helped me across the sand, when I was pretty near dying of the pain. You'll let him stay?" The captain turned on his heel, somewhat sulkily. "Do you suppose he's to do the work of your lame foot, eh? Well, he hasn't come here to eat the bread of idleness. I'll soon show him that." And the captain kept his word. Long before the sun--which had risen in a cloudless sky that morning--had set behind a bank of clouds, Jack was put to work. Washing the decks and performing other like offices fell to his share on that first bright day, when to sail over the blue calm sea, with the crisp air blowing from the great German Ocean, was a pleasant sensation in itself. But night came on, and the stars looked down from their immeasurable depths; and Jack, lying on a bench, with his arms folded, and his face resting on them, had time to think. He had done it now. Often, when in a storm of passion he had said he would leave his aunt's roof for ever, he had relented, and even at his mother's instigation and entreaty had expressed sorrow for his burst of anger, and asked to be forgiven. He had done this only a fortnight before, and his aunt had received his apology with a short-- "It's all very well to think by saying you are sorry you make it all right. It's deeds not words, for me." This ungracious manner of receiving an expression of contrition had often hardened the boy's heart against his aunt. Still more so when, from the other side of the parlour, Mr. Skinner would say, in a nasal, squeaky voice-- "It's a wonder to me how your kind, generous aunt puts up with you for a single hour. Only a good woman like her would give you house room at all." "What business is it of yours, I should like to know?" had been Jack's retort; and all the real sorrow he had felt, awakened by his mother's gentle words, had vanished. That Skinner! How he hated him; how instinctively he turned from him with positive dislike and loathing. Now, as he lay alone and unnoticed beneath the star-strewn sky of the summer night, it was not of Skinner that he thought, not of his aunt, not of anything he had suffered--but of his mother. And he had left her without a word--without a kiss! Many and many a time had he felt her kiss upon his forehead as he was sinking off into the sound sleep of childhood. Many a time he had heard her whispered prayer as she knelt by his side; and now he had left her desolate! "Joy will be there," Jack thought--"little Miss Joy, and she will comfort her--dear little Joy!" And somehow, as all these memories of those he had left behind him came before him, tears rose all unbidden, and chased each other down his cheeks. Presently a rough kick from a man's boot made him start. "The mate is singing out for you, youngster," he said; "get along with you and go where you are wanted, for you ain't wanted here." "Where's the mate?" "Where, stupid? In his berth, a groaning and sighing. There ain't much the matter with him, that's my belief; only some folks can afford to make a fuss." Jack drew himself together and walked towards the companion ladder. As he was putting his foot on it with the cautious air of the uninitiated, a rude push from behind, followed by a derisive laugh, sent him down to the bottom with a heavy thud. "Shame!" cried a voice, "to treat the boy like that." "Oh, he will be one of Colley's lambs, canting no end, you'll see! For my own part, I'd soon chuck him overboard." "I know you are spiteful enough for anything," was the reply; "and I pity that boy if he's in your clutches." Another laugh, and Jack, now on his feet, turned round with a defiant air, and, half-stunned and bewildered, was climbing up the stairs again, to give his adversary a blow with his fist, when a voice called-- "Stop, lad! don't go and give evil for evil." Colley from his berth had seen Jack fall, and had heard the mocking laugh. "Come here, lad. I'm a bit easier now, and I want to talk to you. There, sit down on my locker, and we'll spin a yarn. You've run away, haven't you? I was so mad with pain, or I should have talked to you before. Come, you've run away now?" "Yes," the boy said. "Then you've been and acted very foolish, let me tell you. I did the same, boy, and I've repented it all my life. I grieved the best of old fathers by my wild career, and then I ran off; and when we put into port after the first voyage, I went to the old place to find him dead. Now, how do you think I felt? Why, ready to kill myself with remorse. What if you find your mother dead, when we put into port again? Now look here, boy. You've done me a good turn, and I'll do you one. I'll get the captain to put you ashore, if you choose, and I'll put a few shillings in your pocket to get back home. Do you hear?" "Yes," Jack said, "I hear; but I am in for it now, and I had better stick to it. I should only make more trouble by going back. That old aunt, who made my life miserable, would only be worse than ever. No, sir, thank you; I'll go on, and I must put up with it." "Lie on the bed you've made for yourself, lad? Ah, that's a precious uneasy one! I'd like to tell you how I made mine, and I will some day; but now you'd better turn in, there's the watch on deck, telling midnight." "Where am I to turn in?" Jack asked. "There's an empty hammock close by. Climb up there, and sleep till I call you. There isn't much sleep for me. Good-night." Jack found it no easy matter to climb into the hammock. Like everything else, it requires practice; he took off his boots and made attempts to clamber up, but failed each time. "You young cur, what are you about?" called a gruff voice. "Can't you turn in without waking a fellow from his sleep? Get along with you;" and a leg was thrust out, which gave Jack a very emphatic kick. At last he gave up the attempt, and taking off his jacket he made a pillow of it, and curled himself up on the deck. The motion of the ship began to be more decided, for just at dawn a fresh breeze sprung up, and the _Galatea_ curtesied on the crest of the waves, and the water made a splash against her sides. Jack was rolled against a locker, and found sleep impossible. The sailor who had grumbled at his disturbing him by his unsuccessful attempt to get into his berth, turned out at three o'clock, to relieve the watch on deck, and stumbling over Jack exclaimed-- "You baby bunting! So you can't get to your berth! I'll teach you!" And taking Jack roughly by one arm and leg, he tossed him as if he had been a feather into the hammock, and said-- "Lie there till you are wanted, and be thankful you've got there!" There is a certain rule which I think has seldom an exception, though I know we say that all rules _have_ an exception to prove their truth. But it is seldom indeed that we see the rule departed from, that "as a man soweth so shall he reap." We all of us prove its truth at one time or other of our lives. "He that soweth to the flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption"; and many a bitter tear of self-reproach is caused by the crop our own hands have sown, when we took _our own way_, and turned from His way, "who gave us an example that we should follow in His steps." CHAPTER V. _A TEA-PARTY IN THE ROW._ The hot summer days passed by in the Row, and the inhabitants took advantage of the long evenings to go down to the beach and pier, and listen to the bands playing merry tunes, and watch the gaily-dressed people who frequent Yarmouth in the season. Little Miss Joy was drooping somewhat with the heat, for the summer was one of rather unusual warmth. But though she was quieter, and her voice was not so often heard singing like a bird from her high window opposite Mrs. Harrison's, still she did not get dull or cross. "My Sunbeam!" her old friend called her; and there was nothing he liked better than to sit at his door, after business hours, while Joy talked to him or read him a story. She went to a little day-school in the market-place, and was, in old Mr. Boyd's opinion, a wonderful scholar. Joy had many things to tell of her school-fellows, and there was one who use to excite her tender pity and her love. Bertha Skinner was a tall, angular girl of fourteen, who was the butt of the school, often in tears, always submissive to taunts, and never resenting unkindness. That little Miss Joy should choose this untaking girl as her friend was the cause of much discontent and surprise in Miss Bayliff's little "seminary for young ladies." No one could understand it, and little Miss Joy was questioned in vain. "Such an ugly, stupid girl, always dressed like a fright, and she can't add two and two together. I wonder you speak to her, Joy." But Uncle Bobo, though confessing that he was surprised at Joy's taste, had a faint notion of the reason she had for her preference. "It's like my little Joy," he said; "it's just out of the kindness of her heart. She thinks the girl neglected, and so she takes her up, bless her!" "May I ask poor Bet to spend Thursday afternoon with me, Uncle Bobo?" Joy asked one hot August morning as she was ready for school. "_May_ I, please? It's early closing day, and we have a half-holiday. Dear Goody Patience says she will take us to the sands, and perhaps Jim Curtis may give us a row. I _should_ like that." "Well, I have no objection, my pretty one; the poor thing has no treats!" "Treats! Oh, Uncle Bobo, she is miserable! Her grandmother is so sharp, and tells her she is a useless fright, and things like that. And then there's her Uncle Joe, he is horrid!" Mr. Boyd laughed. "Ah, ah! Miss Pinckney's suitor; he isn't very nice, I must say." "Suitor, Uncle Bobo; what's a suitor?" "You'll know time enough, my dear, time enough. You'll have a score of them, I dare say; and I hope not one of them will be like Master Skinner, that's all. He's like one of the lean kine you read to me about last Sunday in the Bible. But leanness is no sin; p'r'aps he'll get fatter by-and-by." Little Miss Joy was mystified, and repeated to herself, and then aloud: "Does suitor mean the same as 'young man' and 'lover,' I wonder?" "Bless the child's innocence! Yes, my dear, you've got it now." "But, Uncle Bobo, could an old, old lady like Miss Pinckney have a suitor?" "Oh, yes, my dear, yes! She set her cap at me once. She is--well--not much short of fifty; that's a girl, you know. All are girls till they marry; old girls, we call them!" "But my dear Goody Patience is ever so much younger, and oh! she said last night, 'I don't feel as if I was ever young, or a girl,' and then she looked so sad." "Ah! my dear, she has had a sight of trouble, has poor Mrs. Harrison. First, her husband making off, leaving a good business--a very good business here, as a master of a lot of herring boats, with a share in one of the big curing houses where the bloaters are the best to be had in the trade. But my young man must needs be off whaling, and never came back again. Poor Patience! It's a sad story. For my part, I wish she would call herself a widow and have done with it. There's some one ready enough to make her a happy wife." "Really, Mr. Boyd, if I was you I would not put such nonsense into the child's head," said the good old servant. She had lived behind the little dark shop for some thirty years, and now came forward into the light, blinking as an owl might blink in the bright rays of the August sun, which at this time of day at this time of year penetrates the narrow row and shines right down into it. "Yes, I say it's nonsense to put into the child's head. Run off, my dear; run off." "And I may ask Bet Skinner to come to tea, and dear Goody too; and you'll buy a plum-roll and cheese-cakes for a treat. Will you, Uncle Bobo?" "Yes, my dear; I'll make a feast, see if I don't; and we'll have a good time." "Tea on the leads, tea upstairs, Uncle Bobo." Uncle Bobo nodded; and Joy ran off gaily with her invitation ready for poor Bertha. Uncle Bobo was as good as his word, and on Thursday morning sallied forth early to the confectioner's shop at the end of the row, and returned with a variety of paper bags stuffed full of cakes, and chucking them across the counter to Susan, said-- "Spread the tea up aloft, as the child wishes it; it's cool up there, and plenty of air." Tea on the leads may not seem to many who read my story a very enchanting prospect, but to little Joy it was like tea in Paradise! The houses of the rows had many of them flat roofs behind the gables, which faced those opposite, and here flowers were cultivated by those who cared to do so, linen was hung out to dry, and in one or two instances pet doves cooed, or poor caged thrushes sang their prison song. Susan grumbled not a little at carrying up the provisions; but the boy Peter was pressed into the service, and Uncle Bobo brought up an old flag, which Peter tied to a pole, and set up to wave its rather faded colours over the feast. While these preparations were being made, Mrs. Harrison, and little Joy, and Bertha Skinner were on their way to the beach to watch the pleasure-boats pulling off with the visitors, and the children making their sand-castles and houses, and paddling in the pools the sea had left. The tide was ebbing, and wide patches of yellow sand were separated from the beach by streams of water; sea-weeds threw out their pink feathery fronds, and shells of many varied colours lay beneath. Mrs. Harrison sat down, leaning her back against a boat, and the children ran down to the water's edge. The wife and mother was sad at heart; not one word from Jack--not one word. She looked across the boundless sea, and thought how it had taken from her the husband of her youth, and the boy who was the light of her eyes. Why was she so tried? Why was her trouble always to be, as it were, in one direction, her position always suspense, always uncertainty, always waiting and watching, and dreading what news might come at last? George Paterson was a ship's carpenter, and well known along the coast and on the quay. He had made every inquiry, but could not get any direct tidings of Jack. Several ships had sailed early that fine morning--the _Galatea_, for Constantinople; the _Siren_, for a Norwegian port; the _Mermaid_, for Genoa; but no one had any recollection of noticing a boy go aboard. Indeed, there were but few people who could have seen him, for few were stirring at that early hour, except those who were obliged to be at their post at sea or on shore, and they were probably too much engrossed with their own concerns to heed him, even if he had been seen. Patience had borne up bravely under this last sorrow. In some ways Jack's absence was a relief--she had been always treading, as it were, on the edge of a volcano, that might send up fire and smoke at any time. We all know what a strain it is upon body and mind to be always seeking for peace, while those around us make themselves ready for battle; and the terror at every meal that there would be a scene between Jack and his aunt, with the effort to prevent it, had been a perpetual strain upon Mrs. Harrison. At least that fear and dread were taken from her, and her heart said-- "If only I knew he was well and happy I should be glad to know that he was gone away from so much that jarred and fretted him; but it is the silence and the terrible suspicion they raise that he was a thief that overwhelms me sometimes." As these thoughts were passing through Mrs. Harrison's mind George Paterson came up; he had been watching her and the children for some minutes, and the sympathy for the poor deserted wife and mother filled his honest blue eyes with tears. All the gay people about her--the singing of a large party which filled one of the pleasure-boats, the bustle and activity everywhere--seemed to force upon George Paterson the painful contrast between the glad and happy and the sad and deeply-tried woman, whom he loved better than anything in the wide world. Oh that she would let him comfort her, take her to a pleasant home on the Gorlestone Road, with a garden full of flowers, and where peace and plenty reigned! But George loved Patience too well to weary her with importunity. He would never add a straw's weight to her care by undue persistence in urging his suit. "Well," he said, pointing to Joy and her companion, "they seem happy enough. It's odd that little Miss Joy should choose for her friend that untaking niece of Joe Skinner's. She is very like him--just as unwholesome-looking and sly too." "Poor girl! She has a melancholy time of it at home, so Joy tells me. It is just like her to take pity on one who is not cared for." "I dare say. She is a little darling, and no mistake!" "This is early-closing day, and a half-holiday at Joy's school--that is why we are out pleasuring. We are to have tea on the leads at Mr. Boyd's. Will you come with us? for we ought to be getting back. I promised Amelia I would be in at six o'clock, as she wants to go walking with Mr. Skinner." "Well, she had better stay at home, that's certain. That fellow is a rogue, if ever there was one!" Mrs. Harrison was silent for a moment; then she said quietly, "I have no reason to love him, for he helped to drive my boy out of the house." "No doubt he did; and--I hardly like to say what I think--but I believe he made a plot about that money-box." "Oh! I have often thought so, and put away the thought as wrong and wicked." "We'll speak plain English for once," George Paterson said. "That man means to marry your sister, and get hold of all she possesses." "Oh, George! Amelia is close on fifty, and Mr. Skinner can't be much over thirty." "That does not matter; the same thing is done every day. Don't we see great folks setting the example, and ladies of any age marrying young fellows who want their money? You may depend upon it, Skinner has this in his little sly eye. Well, I shan't do him any good by abusing him, nor myself neither; so I'll have done." "Not a word from Jack," Mrs. Harrison sighed out--"not a word." "If he is off on a long voyage, as he may be, I never thought you would have a word. You must wait till Christmas for news." "Till Christmas! Ah! those were his father's last words--'I'll be back by Christmas;' and how many Christmases have come and gone since that day, and never a word--never a sign." "The dead cannot give either words or signs," George said; and then, as he saw Patience cover her face with her hands, he was sorry that he had uttered what was an obvious truth, and added gently-- "If your husband had been alive he would come or write, for he loved you; and how can any man who loved _you_ forget or change?" Patience did not reply, and little Miss Joy, having caught sight of George Paterson, came springing towards him. "Oh! I have got some beautiful shells," she said--"such a big one. Put it to your ear, and listen to the sound of the sea. And Bet has got one too. Come, Bet, and show it." Bet advanced slowly and awkwardly, her angular shoulders nearly touching her ears, her rough sandy hair gathered into a little knot at the back of her head, on which a very shabby brown hat was set on one side. Bertha had the cringing, deprecating manner of an ill-used dog. No one liked her, no one cared for her, and she was fully alive to the fact. Only sweet little Miss Joy ever said a kind and pleasant word to her, and her devotion to this merry child filled her whole soul. She dare not show it; she dare not lavish any of the ordinary endearments upon her. She saw the other girls at Miss Bayliff's kiss and fondle her; she heard her praised and admired; she saw little gifts showered upon her--but she did none of these things. Poor Bertha's was a blind and dumb worship for one who smiled at her when others frowned, who could seek her society when others shunned it, and could encourage her with her tasks--so far below her age--when others called her a dunce and an idiot. The tea on the leads was a great success; although, to be sure, a few black tokens from a neighbouring chimney peppered the cakes, and one or two danced into Mr. Boyd's large breakfast-cup full of tea. Before tea was over, however, the shop-door bell was heard to ring furiously, and Susan, who had been invited to her share of the feast, trudged down, to trudge back, breathless and indignant, after a few minutes' absence, saying-- "Miss Pinckney can't give no one any rest. She is wanting you, Mrs. Harrison, to go and keep the house, as she is off with Mr. Skinner. I shouldn't hurry now if I was you. Let her wait, Mrs. Harrison." "No; I promised to go back by six o'clock." "Saint Nicholas clock has not struck yet," said Uncle Bobo. "Don't you hurry, Mrs. Harrison, for we must have a song before we part--eh, my Joy?" "If you please, Uncle Bobo, let it be 'Tom Bowling.'" Whereupon Mr. Boyd began to groan forth in not very dulcet tones the familiar song and strain, beginning-- "Here, a sheer-hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling." Mr. Boyd's voice had not been very musical in youth, and now the sounds seemed to come more from his boots than from his lips. But Joy was a delighted listener. Then she followed with one of Mrs. Alexander's "hymns for little children," and as she sang, in her sweet childish treble, the words seemed to speak peace. "On the dark hill's western side The last purple gleam has died; Twilight to one solemn hue Changes all, both green and blue. "In the fold and in the nest, Birds and lambs are gone to rest; Labour's weary task is o'er, Closely shut the cottage door. "Saviour, now in sweet repose I my weary eyelids close, While my mother through the gloom Singeth from the outer room." Joy paused, and putting her little hand in Mrs. Harrison's, said-- "I have never any mother but you, dear Goody; and I know she must be glad I've got you, as God took her away from me." It was very seldom that Joy referred to her position in Uncle Bobo's house, and indeed very seldom that she thought of it. She had been told that she had been laid at Uncle Bobo's door as a Christmas gift, and that had been enough for her. But since she had been to Miss Bayliff's school there had arisen a question in her little mind as to why she had never known either father or mother--a question no one could answer. The bell ringing again more violently than before made Mrs. Harrison hasten away, and she had just gone when the clock struck six. "I should like to take Bet home, Uncle Bobo. That will be such a nice end to our feast. Will you come?" Uncle Bobo was not fond of walking, but he never liked to refuse Joy anything, and very soon he might be seen toddling along the row, with his short, stout legs, and rosy apple face, singing out a cheery "Good-evening" to such neighbours as were about, and taking Joy's little hand in his, while she danced at his side. Presently she let go her hold on Uncle Bobo's hand, and said in a low voice-- "I think I'd better walk with poor Bet, Uncle Bobo. She looks so sad walking behind us." "So do, my Joy, so do. You've a kind little heart, and may no one ever say a cross word to you, or do an unkind action." Joy fell back with a radiant smile, and, putting her hand into Bet's arm, drew her on in front. CHAPTER VI. _A VISIT TO THE SKINNERS._ Mr. Skinner was very like his mother. No one could mistake that they bore this relationship. Some old age is lovely--radiant with the chastened light of eventide. Mrs. Skinner's was certainly unlovely. Tall and spare, with sharp pinched features, and thin pitiless lips, from which very few kindly words had ever fallen, and where a smile was almost unknown--she was an almost friendless woman. She who had never rendered a neighbour a kindly service neither expected nor received any from others. She had the reputation of being a cross-grained old woman, who had driven her only daughter away by her unkindness, and had spent what love she had upon her two sons, who suited her in many ways far better than her daughter. The youngest of these--Bertha's father--had married a woman much older than himself, and Bertha was his orphan child, her mother having died at her birth. She had been taken to live with her grandmother, at the dying wish of her father: what maternal affection she possessed responded to this last request of her youngest son, and Bertha had known no other home. It was a home, as far as the shelter of a roof and food and clothing went; and the education of Miss Bayliff's school, given somewhat grudgingly, was to be granted till Bertha was fifteen. "_Then_ she must work for her living," Mrs. Skinner had said; "and," she added, "few people would have done what _I_ have done." "A great deal too much!" Joe would say when his mother indulged in this self-congratulation--"a great deal too much; and I, for one, don't approve of this girl being nursed in idleness; it was the ruin of Maggie." Mrs. Skinner winced a little at the name; for Maggie had disappeared, and no trace could be found of her. She had been, so those who remembered her said, of a very different type to her family, as if she had dropped down from the clouds into it. That was long ago now, but the people who could look back some years in the neighbourhood where Mrs. Skinner lived could remember this bright, gay girl disappearing, and the mother's reply to any inquiry-- "I know nothing about her, nor do I wish to know. She has been and made her bed, and she must lie on it." Report said that Maggie had married against her mother's wish, and that she had literally turned her out of her house. This was about all that was ever heard, and nothing was really known. Any attempt to question Mrs. Skinner was met by a sharp rebuff, and very few people, even the boldest, dare approach her even with an attempt to find out what she chose to keep secret. Mrs. Skinner and her son Joe lived in a detached red brick house, built long before villas with bay windows and gabled roofs, and little dormer windows in them, were thought of. It was a straight little house, with a window on each side of the door, and three above it, a lean-to at the back, and a square of garden in front. The path to the door was of pebbles, and they always made a disagreeable crunching sound as the feet of any comers to the house walked over them. That was not often; and the little iron gate grated on its hinges, it was so seldom opened, as Mr. Boyd pushed it back to admit the two girls. "No, no," Uncle Bobo had said, in answer to Joy's entreaty. "I'll just walk across to that bench and wait for you, my Joy. I don't fancy the old lady, and she doesn't fancy me. So ta-ta!" Mr. Boyd toddled across the bit of sandy road to a bank mound of sand, covered with long pointed grass, which hid the view of the sea from the lower window of Mrs. Skinner's house, and sitting down on a wooden seat, resigned himself to patient waiting. Bertha crept slowly up to the door, and seemed half afraid to make her coming known. She turned the bright brass handle of the door, but it was locked. "We must go in by the back door; p'raps grandmother won't mind." "Are you afraid to go in, Bet?" "Well, grandmother is very particular; she isn't like Mr. Boyd." "Do you mean," said Joy, "that you would rather I didn't come in? Oh, then I will run back to Uncle Bobo! Good-bye, Bertha." "No, no, I didn't mean that," said Bertha, much distressed. "I--I----" As she was hesitating the door was opened, and Mrs. Skinner's tall figure filled the narrow entrance. She stood without saying a word for a moment, and then, in a harsh, discordant voice, she asked--"Who is _that_?" "If you please, ma'am, I am Joy. I go to school with Bertha, and she has been home to tea with me and Uncle Bobo, and I have brought her back." "She does not want bringing," was the sharp reply; "she can bring herself, I suppose. Go round to the back door, will you?" "I think I had better _not_," Joy said with emphasis, "because you do not wish me to come into your house." Mrs. Skinner had been standing motionless at the door while Joy was speaking, and there was a strange expression on her sharp thin features. "Where do you say you live, child?" "I live with Uncle Bobo, in the row, opposite Miss Pinckney and Mrs. Harrison. Miss Pinckney keeps the milliner's shop, where the widows' caps hang up." "_I_ know," was the reply; "I never bought any article there, and I never mean to. Well, you may run round with Bertha for a few minutes." "Thank you," Joy said. "I hope you'll let Bet come to tea again; and if you'd like to come too, I am sure Uncle Bobo wouldn't mind." "I don't spend _my_ time gadding about taking tea with folks. I leave that to drones, who've got nothing better to do. Did you say, child, you lived with Boyd, at the instrument shop?" "Yes, ma'am; he's my uncle." Mrs. Skinner turned away, and then the door was shut with a sharp bang, and the two girls were left outside. "I don't think I'll come in, Bet," little Miss Joy said; "for your grandmother does not like me--she looks so cross." "She always looks like that," Bertha said; and then she added, "Every one but you is cross to me; you are always kind. Oh, I do love you!" Then Bet's cheeks, after making this declaration, were suffused with blushes, which made her poor sallow face a dark purplish-red. "Do come in a moment--_do_," she said. The two girls went in at the back door, and along a narrow stone passage. The door on the right was open, and Bet said, in a low whisper-- "There's Uncle Joe's room. There's where he sits at night, and I hear people coming in, 'cause my window is one in the lean-to." Uncle Joe's proceedings had not much interest for Joy, and she just looked round the room standing on the threshold, and said-- "What a big table for such a wee little room, covered with green cloth, and what funny little boxes! They are like the big hour-glass in Uncle Bobo's glass case. It's not a pretty room at all," she said decidedly. "Come away, Bet." Bertha then led the way up a very narrow flight of steps, which were scarcely to be called a staircase. They creaked under her feet, and even Joy's light tread made them squeak and shake. "Here's where I sleep;" and Joy found herself in a little room with a sloping roof and a beam. The room was in fact only a loft for storage, but it was thought good enough for Bertha. "I wanted to show you this," Bertha said; "it's the only keepsake I've got. It was once my poor Aunt Maggie's, and she gave it to me. I can just remember her kissing me one night, and saying, 'God bless you--you poor orphan.' I must have been a little thing, perhaps four years old, for it's such a long time ago, and I am nearly fifteen." Bertha had dived into the depths of a trunk covered with spotted lilac paper, and which contained most of her worldly goods. From the very bottom she pulled out a square leather frame, and as she rubbed the glass, which was thick with dust, with her sleeve, she said-- "Isn't she pretty?" It was an old faded photograph of what must have been a pretty girl, in a white dress with a band of ribbon, which a photographic artist had painted blue, and had touched the eyes with the same colour. "I think she is beautiful," Bertha said. "I never saw any one so pretty till I saw you, and I think you are like poor Aunt Maggie." Joy looked doubtfully at the portrait, and said-- "Yes, it's very nice. She looks so good and so sweet, as if she could never have been cross or naughty." "That's just what _I_ think," Bertha said; "and she _is_ like you, for you are good, and I am sure you are never cross." "Oh!" little Miss Joy said, "that's a mistake. I am naughty when I hate Miss Pinckney, and when I am impudent to Susan. She _says_ I am impudent, and Miss Pinckney has called me a 'saucy little baggage' very often. That's why I don't go into Miss Pinckney's shop to see dear Goody Patience and Jack. "Ah!" Joy added with a sigh, "there is no Jack to see now; he is gone, and I do miss him so. He used to be so good to me;" and her eyes grew dim, and the corners of her rosy lips turned down ominously. "But I must go to Uncle Bobo now; he must be tired of waiting, and he'll get fidgety." "Very well," Bet said; "I don't want you to get a scolding." "A scolding!" Joy said, recovering herself from the momentary depression which the thought of Jack's loss had caused. "Uncle Bobo never scolded me in his life." Then Joy stepped cautiously down the narrow stairs, and turning said-- "Good-bye, Bet; good-bye." "Good-bye," poor Bet said, as, standing at the back-door, she watched her friend skipping off across the road to the seat where Uncle Bobo sat, with his round back--very round--and his short legs tucked up, one wide-toed boot upon the other, to give support. "I wish she'd kissed _me_," poor Bet thought, as she saw Joy throw her arms round the old man's neck, and kiss all that was visible of his rosy cheek beneath his large wide-awake. "I'd like her to kiss me like that;" and poor Bet followed the two figures with lingering, longing eyes till they were out of sight. Other eyes were following them also. Mrs. Skinner was standing by the window of her parlour, peering over the short white muslin blind at Uncle Bobo and Joy. What was she thinking about? For her thin lips were parted as if she were speaking to some one, and her long fingers worked convulsively with the strings of her black alpaca apron. Presently the door opened softly, and Bet came creeping in. She never knew what reception she might get, and she had the miserable cowed manner of a beaten dog. "Grandmother!" Mrs. Skinner started, and said sharply-- "Well, what do you want?" "Isn't she pretty? Isn't she a darling?" "Stuff and nonsense! I don't care about beauty; it's only skin deep; and I dare say she's a pert little hussy. Don't go and bring her here again, I don't want her." CHAPTER VII. _DARK DOINGS._ When Mr. Skinner had escorted Miss Pinckney home after their walk, he seated himself at supper with the air of one who was thoroughly at home and at his ease. "He knows on which side his bread is buttered," Uncle Bobo's Susan said, as she had watched Miss Pinckney walking up the row with her tall, ungainly suitor. For Uncle Bobo was right. Mr. Skinner had every intention of coming to the point; though, I need not say, it was not his custom to go straight to the point. Mr. Skinner always preferred a circuitous route. When they were seated at supper Mr. Skinner said-- "You have had no tidings of your runaway, I presume, Mrs. Harrison?" This question was asked as Mr. Skinner looked at Jack's mother with that oblique glance Jack had boldly called a "squint." Patience shook her head. She could not bring herself to talk of her boy to Mr. Skinner. "Ah," he said, "what a home he has left, and what a friend! When I think of Miss Pinckney's generosity and nobility of temper, I grieve that they were expended on so unworthy an object." The colour rose to Mrs. Harrison's cheeks. "You will be so kind, Mr. Skinner," she said, "not to talk about my boy. It is not a matter I care to speak of to any one." "True, true!" was the reply. "'Least said, soonest mended.' But I suppose I may be permitted to offer my humble tribute of admiration to my dear, kind friend, who always gives me a welcome to her hospitable board." Here Mr. Skinner stretched out his long, thin fingers, and laid them gently on Miss Pinckney's, who was in the act of handing him another triangular cut from the pork pie, which had been the _pièce de résistance_ of the supper-table. "Oh! dear me, Mr. Skinner," Miss Pinckney exclaimed, "I don't look for gratitude--never! So I am not disappointed. Gratitude isn't a plant that grows in these parts. It doesn't flourish. The air doesn't suit it, I suppose." This was said with a glance at poor Patience, who was well accustomed to such side-hits. "It is a plant that has a deep root in my heart," said Mr. Skinner, "and I hope the flower is not unpleasing, and that the fruit will be satisfying." This was a great flight of poetical rhetoric, and Miss Pinckney bridled and simpered like a girl of sixteen. "You are kindly welcome surely to anything I have to give, Mr. Skinner, now and at _all_ times. Those that don't care for what I provide, well, they may seek their fortune elsewhere, and the sooner the better." Patience Harrison had long been disciplined to self-control, or she could never have borne the "quips" and "quirks" of her sister. Thus she kept silence, determined not to wrangle with Miss Pinckney in the presence of witnesses; above all, not in the presence of the man whom she distrusted. So she quietly cleared away the supper when the meal was concluded, and retired to the back premises to wash up the dishes, and put everything in order for the night. It was about ten o'clock when Mr. Skinner--having sipped his glass of hot gin and water bid his hostess an affectionate adieu, and turned his steps homewards. When he reached his own gate he exchanged a quiet greeting with two men, who were evidently waiting for him. Then all three went softly round to the back of the house, and entered it by the door through which Bet and little Miss Joy had gone in that afternoon. Mr. Skinner opened the door with a latch-key, and all three men passed silently into the little room with the big table, covered with the green cloth--the table which little Joy had said looked too big for the room. "Well," one of the men said, "'Fortune favours the brave.' I am in for luck to-night. What have you got to drink? I dare say there's a bottle of rum in the cupboard, eh?" "Well," Mr. Skinner said, "I don't drink anything myself. So, no doubt, what you left is to be had." "Ah, ha! ah, ha!" laughed the other man. "You don't drink at your own expense; is that it? The old lady in the row finds you in toddy." "Shut up!" said the elder of the two men; "don't talk all night, but let us to business." Then two packs of cards were produced with the black bottle, and very soon the game began. Ah me! that ruinous game, which so many, I fear, play, and thereby lose all sense of honour and right. Who shall say how long is the list of broken hearts for which gambling is responsible? And not only the sordid gambling, such as that in which Mr. Skinner and his boon companions indulged, with dirty packs of cards, in a low room where the mice scampered about behind the loose boards, and the whole aspect was uninviting; but, alas! there is the same game going on amongst those who, from education and social position, should be the first to shun this crying evil. It matters not whether the stakes be for a pound or a penny, the danger and the sin is the same. The winner is always the winner at the expense of the loser. The success of one is the destruction and misery of the other. Deceit and fraud, with too often strong drink to silence the cry of remorse and the voice of conscience, follow in the gambler's train. No departure from the paths of honesty is single in its consequences, and there is no sin but may be compared to the throwing of a pebble into a still lake, when the circles which follow the fall of the stone widen and widen, and that indefinitely. Gambling in all its forms is a grievous wrong; and whether from betting on horses, or speculating in stocks and shares, or descending to a shabby little room such as that where Mr. Skinner and his friends sat on this fair summer night, shuffling their cards, for what seemed by comparison insignificant sums, we are bound to protest against it with all our might, and to guard the young under our care from the first beginnings of what is indeed the cause of untold misery to many who, in thousands of cases, suffer for the sins of others. The stakes for which Mr. Skinner and his companions played were small; but his usual good fortune seemed to have deserted him of late, for he had lost again and again. One of the men, as he threw down the cards, said-- "I have a score against you for last Tuesday, Skinner. Do you want to run up further?" and he pulled out a bit of dirty paper from a pocket-book, and read from it sums which amounted to several pounds. Mr. Skinner treated the matter with lofty indifference, saying-- "You needn't fear; I am going in for a prize, and I shall win!" "Ah, well, win or lose, I must be paid. It is rather inconvenient to be out of pocket like this." Mr. Skinner threw down another four shillings, and said-- "Try again." Again, the stakes being trebled on a card, he lost--though the winner this time was the third man of the company. Then a good deal of wrangling and quarrelling in an undertone followed, and Bet, in her room above, was awoke by it. She had been awoke before from the same cause; but to-night she sat up in bed and listened. The joists that divided the room in this lean-to of Mr. Skinner's cottage, which could hardly be called a "wing," were very thin and far apart, and a knot in one of the boards of her room had been forced out and left a hole through which it was possible to get a peep into the room below. Presently the voices ceased, and she heard the stealthy footsteps of the men retreating across the yard, and then, as they reached the deep soft sand, they were heard no longer. Bet got up, and standing on tip-toe tried to look out of the little attic window that lighted her room. As she did so the hole in the floor attracted her, for she could see the light through it from the room below. She lay down on the boards, and, looking through, could see her uncle at the table. He had a small box before him, from which he took out some coins, and then he put a key attached to the box in the lock, and fastened it. Bertha watched, she hardly knew why, with deep interest her uncle's proceedings, and saw him rise from the table with the box in his hand and go out. She climbed on the seat to bring her face on a level with the little window, and distinctly saw her uncle, with a lantern in one hand, which he set down by his side, and in the other a spade, with which he dug a hole in the soft, sandy mould by the strip of garden, where Mrs. Skinner cultivated some straggling cabbages, which went to _stalk_ with but few leaves, in the poor soil of the little enclosure. Presently he put something from his pocket into the hole, and then covering it with the soft soil, he returned to the house. What did it all mean? Poor Bet felt something was wrong, and yet how could she help it? "I wish there was any one I could tell," she thought; "but there is nobody. Little Miss Joy wouldn't care to hear, and nobody else would listen to me if I did tell them. And I suppose Uncle Joe has a right to bury his things if he likes; but it's very odd." Then she crept back to her bed, and was soon asleep. Bet went off to school the next morning with a lighter heart than usual, for she had received a convincing proof of little Joy's friendship, by her invitation to tea at the row. The midsummer holidays were approaching, and she was determined to bear all the rebuffs she met with from her school-fellows with fortitude. What did anything matter if Joy loved her! When Bet reached the gates of the garden before Miss Bayliff's school, she saw a knot of girls standing there. She came slowly towards them, shuffling her feet as usual in an awkward fashion, and not daring to draw too near the charmed circle, for her defender was not there. "Little Joy is late this morning," one of the girls said. "But we must go indoors; Miss Bayliff is in a rage if we crowd outside. Here, Bet, do you know where little Miss Joy is?" "How should she?" said another voice. "Here comes May Owen; let us ask her: she lives in Broad Row." May Owen was the daughter of an ironmonger, whose premises were at the corner of the row, just above Uncle Bobo's shop. "Well," she said, "have you heard about poor little Joy?" "No; what's the matter?" asked a chorus of voices. "She was out last evening with Mr. Boyd, and as they were coming home a horse came galloping along the Market Place, and Joy was knocked down. She has hurt her head, they say, or her back. The doctor has been there half the night, and Mr. Boyd is mad with grief. It has made a scene, I can tell you, in the row." "Why, Bet!" one of the girls exclaimed, "don't do that!" For poor Bet had seized the arm of the girl nearest her to support herself. Her heart beat wildly, her face was blanched with fear, as she gasped out-- "Oh, I must go to little Miss Joy! I must, indeed I must!" "Nonsense! Don't squeeze my arm like that; you'll pinch me black and blue. _You_ can't go to little Miss Joy; she wouldn't want _you_." "No; I should think not!" said May Owen. "The notion of a scarecrow like you being a pleasant sight to Mr. Boyd in his trouble! Mrs. Harrison is with the child." "Tell me--tell me," poor Bertha gasped; "will she get well? will she live?" "I don't know. Let us hope so, for she is a darling, and every one loves her," said another voice. And then a bell rang, and the girls trooped up the steps into the house, and the business of the morning began. Who shall tell the misery of those long hours in school to Bertha? She could only gaze at the white face of the clock, and count the minutes as the long hand passed over them. As to her lessons in class, she was, as the governess who taught her said, "Hopelessly muddled." Vain were her efforts to get through her repetition of Cowper's lines on his mother's picture. She sat with a sum before her on a slate, and blurred it with tears; and finally had a long array of bad marks, and was sent by the assistant governess to Miss Bayliff to receive a lecture, and to be given a long column of the Dictionary to write out and learn by heart in addition to her usual lessons. It did not strike Miss Bayliff that sorrow for Joy was the cause of Bet's woe-begone face. Miss Bayliff herself was really distressed at the news which had circulated through the school of Joy's accident, but she did not think Bet could feel as she did for little Miss Joy. The moment school was over, Bet seized her hat from the peg in the passage, and set off to the row to learn the worst. To her great relief she saw Mrs. Harrison coming from her own door to Uncle Bobo's. She clutched her arm pretty much as she had clutched her schoolfellow's; but she was not thrust away this time. Patience Harrison said kindly, "My dear, our little Joy seems a trifle better. She has opened her eyes and smiled at Uncle Bobo." "Will she get well? May I see her?" "You must not see her; she has to be kept very quiet." "Oh! what shall I do? what shall I do?" Bet exclaimed. "Pray for her," was the reply, "and trust in God's love whichever way it goes with her." And then, moved to deep pity for poor Bet, Mrs. Harrison stooped and kissed her, and went into the little shop. CHAPTER VIII. _IN PERIL OF THE SEA._ The _Galatea_ was a good sailing vessel, loaded with goods, and was bound for Constantinople. She was a trading vessel, with a few passengers who paid a moderate sum for their berths, and were provided with very fair accommodation on board. Jack certainly proved himself a good sailor. As soon as the first misery of sea-sickness was over, he made himself very useful to the crew generally, and to Dick Colley in particular. "He is worth his biscuit, captain," Colley said one day. "A sharp lad, eh?" "Yes, and a handy one too. It's well for you that you have had that boy to help you, with your lame leg; and you are trying to make him one of your sort, I see." "One of my sort! No. I hope a long sight better than my sort, captain. I am but a beginner, learning the alphabet late in life; but, please God, I'll stumble on following Him, and I hope I may get others to follow Him too." "You needn't look for me in that following, Colley; but you are welcome to the boy. It is all very fine to preach about God's love and care for us when the sea is stirred by a pleasant breeze, just enough to give us a capful of wind, and we are making our proper knots an hour straight for port; but when the waves are roaring, and the timbers of the ship groaning and creaking, and we know not but that we may go to the bottom any minute--don't tell me it is God's love then, when poor fellows are fighting the waves for life, knowing that if they are drowned they leave wife and child poor and desolate. No, no, Colley; that motion won't hold water." "Begging your pardon, captain," said Colley, "it's better to trust in the Lord's love in a storm, than curse, and swear, and shriek as you and I have seen some of our mates take on, in mortal terror. You can't deny that." "I deny nothing," was the reply. "I am content to let things take their course, and religion with the rest. Let them pray who like; it's no odds to me." Jack had been near during this conversation; and as the captain turned on his heel and took up his position again at the helm, Colley called Jack. "Were you within ear-shot just now, boy?" "Yes," Jack said. "I heard what you and the captain were saying. My mother talks as you talk; and as to little Miss Joy, she is always singing hymns, and loves taking Uncle Bobo's hand and trotting to church with him. I wish you could see little Miss Joy; you would love her as much as I do." "P'r'aps I may see her one day. She is a pretty little thing, you say?" "Pretty!" Jack said; "she is a great deal more than pretty. Her eyes are like the sky; and how she can laugh, to be sure! it's like silver bells ringing. Many a time, when I have been half wild with Aunt Amelia's grating tongue, I have run over to Mr. Boyd's, and Joy has put me right. She would always be on the watch for me when I came back from school, and she calls my mother 'Goody,' and she is just like a little daughter to her. Then when there were sharp words between Mr. Boyd and his old servant, Joy made peace. She would climb on Uncle Bobo's knee, and kiss him, and put her hand before his mouth, and beg him to be quiet, and not get angry with Susan, because hard words did no good." "That's true, boy--that's true; and now I want to know what you are going to do when we are safe in port? Go home and show you are sorry, eh?" "Not home to my aunt's house; I'd rather break stones. Look here, she just makes me feel wretched, as little Miss Joy makes me feel good." "Ah, boy, that's the wrong end of the stick--the feeling good and wicked, as you say. No, no; 'goodness,' as you call it, don't depend on little Miss Joy, or wickedness on sharp-tempered viragos like you say your aunt is. It is the _heart_, boy. If that is turned to God, then we may hope to keep straight, by watching and praying; but it is a fight, boy, as I find. As I told you, I find it hard enough to curb my tongue; for it is like a ship flying afore the wind, with no rudder and no pilot. Off I go, and the words drop from my lips like mad! But I pray for help to bridle my tongue, and I cry to God for pardon every time I take His blessed name in vain. Don't you learn bad ways aboard. Most of the crew are steady young fellows. One or two of 'em are on the right track; but that man who kicked you when you came aboard, you beware of him. He is more dangerous when he is friendly than when he's your enemy. So don't listen to him; it won't do you no good." Amongst the passengers was a sweet-faced woman, with her little boy. Jack took greatly to the child. He reminded him of Miss Joy, and he would take his hand and lead him about the ship, and show off Toby's tricks for his amusement. The woman was on her way to Cairo to join her husband, who had a place there in an English family as courier and valet. She had been sent home by the doctors for her health, and was now on her outward-bound voyage, with her little son. She soon found that Jack was trustworthy, and she allowed her little Peter to be with him whenever Jack had time to amuse him. Old Colley, too, would set him on his knee, and tell him stories of the sea, and the names of the sea-birds, which often followed the ship, and would sometimes pounce down on any bit of biscuit or salt meat which might be on deck. It was a pretty sight when little Peter's golden hair rested against Colley's blue jersey, and the child would put up his hand and stroke the stubby beard of his new friend, and say-- "I shall be a sailor when I grow up. I love the sea." Then Colley would stroke his head and say--"In calm weather it's pleasant enough, boy. You wait till you have seen a storm." The voyage out promised well till they came to the Bay of Biscay, when contrary winds and a storm drove the _Galatea_ to take refuge in the port of Lisbon. The captain was anxious to make his way to Constantinople, and against the advice of Colley and the second mate sailed out from Lisbon in rough weather. "The storm is over," he said, "and I've no time to spend with the men kicking their heels aboard, or going ashore to get into mischief." So the orders were given, and the _Galatea_ went curtesying over the billows, under a bright sky, with all sails set. "We are in the track of a storm, and if I'm not mistaken," Colley said, "we shall find ourselves in a worst plight before forty-eight hours have come and gone. I never saw the moon look as she did last night without a meaning." But for that night Colley's prophecy seemed to be unfulfilled. The wind sank, the sea became like glass, and the _Galatea_ made but little progress. The weather was intensely hot, and the nights scarcely cooler than the days. It was on the evening of the second day, after sailing out of the port of Lisbon, that Colley asked Jack if he saw a dark line drawn along the horizon. "Yes," Jack said, "I see." "That's the storm coming, and it will be upon us fast enough." The captain, who was standing at his post with his glass, saw it also, and very soon orders were shouted to reef sails, and "every man to his post." Before a landsman could believe it possible, the mysterious dark line had spread over the sky, and there was a hissing sound as of coming breakers. Then a swift forked flash struck across the waters, and was followed by a peal of thunder which was deafening. In another quarter of an hour the waves were roaring, and the noise of the thunder and the gathered blackness of darkness were awful. The _Galatea_ was well manned, and every one of the crew held gallantly to their post. The captain encouraged the frightened passengers, and tried to quiet their fears. Jack obeyed orders, and never flinched from his duty. Presently the angry billows broke with terrific violence over the poor _Galatea_, and she bowed herself in her distress till the masts and timbers creaked, and every time she went down into the deep valleys between the mountainous waves, it seemed impossible that she should right herself again. "We are in great peril, boy," Colley said in Jack's ear, or rather he shouted the words at the pitch of his voice. "You put your trust in God, and He will hear your cry." Ah! in moments of dire distress and fear, the soul that has before been dumb cries unto God. Poor frail mortals think they can do very well without God, when skies are blue, and all things, golden, bright, and prosperous; but in the hour of death, and in all times of tribulation, few indeed are to be found who do not cry to God for refuge and deliverance. Jack stood face to face with death, and he knew it. All his short life seemed to rise clearly before him, and his mother's face as he knelt to repeat his little prayer at her knee in childish days. His mother! she had been left a widow, although she could not believe it; his mother! to whom he should have been a stay and comfort, deserted, because he had been a coward, and could not meet the trials of his daily life--his aunt's sharp tongue, and Mr. Skinner's side-hits. He had run away to sea to escape these, to please himself--and this was the end. Oh! his mother! his mother! Had he not seen her watch and wait for his father's return? and had he not seen the lines of care deeping on her sweet face? And now he had added to her sorrow, and could never hear her words of forgiveness. All this passed through Jack's mind far more quickly than I can write it here, or you can read it; and hot tears mingled with the cold, salt spray, which drenched him through and through as he stood firm by the rope which was entrusted to him. The storm raged with unabated fury, and the darkness was only just pierced by the rising moon, itself invisible, but which cast a strange weird whiteness athwart the gloom. The worst had not yet come. It was about midnight that cries arose above the storm, and a violent shock told that the _Galatea_ had struck on a rock. There was no hope then--the _Galatea_ was doomed. The boats had been kept in readiness, and the captain's voice was heard, shouting his orders to let them down. For the _Galatea_ had parted in midships, and was settling down into those black waters where, here and there, the white surf on the wave-crests was seen with ghastly clearness in the murky gloom. "All women and children first," the captain ordered; and Peter's mother, clasping the child close, with the few passengers, were let down into the first boat. "Back, you coward!" the mate shouted, as the man who had been so unfeeling to Jack, on first starting, stumbled forward and tried to jump into the boat. Alas! too late was the command to stop. The boat was swamped, and smothered cries arose from the surging depths. The other boats were lowered, and old Colley remained to the last. "Now, captain," he said, "it's your turn. She's settling down fast." And between the roar of the storm and the more distant roll of the thunder, a swishing, gurgling noise told that the water was fast gaining ground, and the _Galatea_ going down. "I leave the ship last, or die with her. Forward, Colley! Do you hear?" "After you, captain; after you." "Colley, old fellow, you never disobeyed me before. You won't do it now." Then a great shudder seemed to thrill through the ship, and she turned on her side, and with a mighty rush the waves seized their prey, and the _Galatea_ went down into the stormy waters. Jack found himself struggling in the surging waves; but a boat was near him, and a hand seized him and dragged him in. It was old Colley's hand, and he had in his other arm little Peter, and a whine told that Toby was with his master. It was a perilous position--the boat was tossed like a feather on those stormy billows; while above the raging of the storm could be heard cries for help from those who were clinging to broken rafts and pieces of the wreck. "She was cracked like a walnut," Colley said; "and the captain's heart was broken--that's why he said he would die with her." CHAPTER IX. _ON THE WIDE, WIDE SEA._ The boat was drifting off, and every minute seemed to put a further distance from the place where the _Galatea_ had struck the rock and perished. At this time the fury of the storm had abated, and a rift in the clouds showed the moon in its last quarter floating like a boat on its back in a silvery sea. The pale rays shed a flickering light upon the waters, and there was a lull. Behind them rose a low black mass, with the points of the masts showing where the _Galatea_, had gone down. No other object was visible, and Colley covered his face with his hands. "I don't believe there's one of 'em saved," he said; "I don't indeed. The boats were swamped, and this is the only one that righted. But, boy, I don't know where we are, nor where we are drifting." "Are we going home?" said a little voice from the bottom of the boat. "I want to get home with mother." "Ay, my lad; but I expect we must all three give up an earthly home, and turn our thoughts to a heavenly one." When morning dawned they were far out on the trackless waters, and not a sail in eight. Jack, at Colley's bidding, tied his shirt to the oar, in the hopes that, fluttering in the breeze, it might attract the notice of some passing vessels. But although several sail were seen on the horizon, none seemed to come across the track of the little lonely boat. The scorching sun of noon beat on their unprotected heads, and poor little Peter cried and moaned with a pain in his head. Hunger too, and thirst, began to be unbearable; and Colley had some difficulty in preventing Jack from drinking the sea-water, and giving it to little Peter. "Don't you do it, boy; it will drive you mad, and you will repent it if you touch it." Towards evening the air became cooler, and Peter, pulling at Jack's trousers, said-- "There is something hard under my head, and Toby is sniffing at it." Oh, how untold was the thankfulness with which Colley pulled out a canvas bag of sea biscuits, which had been stowed away under one of the seats, with a stone jar in which was a little rum! "Thank the Lord, you won't starve, you young ones; there's enough to keep you alive." "Enough to keep us all alive!" Jack said; "and I shan't touch a crumb unless you eat the same quantity as I do." The boy lying at their feet had already set his teeth into a biscuit like a hungry dog, and was putting his mouth to the stone bottle. "Gently, now, gently," Colley said, trying to take the bottle away from the child. But he did not succeed till he had swallowed a considerable quantity, and lay in a kind of stupor. Another night closed in, and the stillness and darkness were acceptable after the burning heat of noon. At day-dawn Jack saw a ship. Surely it was coming nearer and nearer. He stood up and called "Ahoy!" with all his might, and poor Toby whined and barked. Colley, awakened from a light dose, stood up also, and joined in the cry. But, alas! there was no answer, and the white sails, glistening in the level rays of the rising sun, vanished like a bird taking flight. "It is no use hoping for help," Jack said, sinking down. "I say, Colley, are we to go on floating over the wide sea for ever?" "Nay, lad, nay; it won't be for ever. Please the Lord, He'll put an end to these long watches in His own time." "Colley," Jack said, "do you think I am being punished for my sins? I ran away in a fit of temper, and I know how my mother is waiting and watching for me, as she did for my father, and she will watch and wait in vain. Oh, Colley, do you think God is very angry, and that this is my punishment--to die out here, with no one to care, no one to----" Jack broke down, and hid his face on his sleeveless arms, for his blue jersey was fluttering in the morning breeze. "Boy," Colley said, "it is just this: You wanted your own way, and you were let to take it. You have made your own punishment; but as to God's anger--well, if you turn your heart to Him in Christ's name, He won't send you empty away. He will speak peace for His dear Son's sake, whether He lets you go back to you poor mother, or whether He takes you through the Valley of Death to His kingdom in heaven." "Colley," Jack said vehemently, "I don't want to die. I want to live, and show my mother I am sorry." "We can't choose, boy, we can't choose; and we are just in God's hands, and must be quiet." But, oh! through that long day of heat and oppression it was hard to be quiet. The poor child moaned, and was rapidly becoming insensible. Jack's lips were so sore and chapped he could not bite the hard biscuit; and though Colley soaked his in a few drops of rum, he felt sick at the smell and taste of the spirits, and when offered a morsel, he turned away, saying-- "It reminds me of Skinner. I hate the smell." The great waste of waters, of varied opal hues, in the clear depths of which the forms of many sea creatures could be seen darting hither and thither--how desolate it was! Above, snowy gulls flew and floated now and again on the waves. One came so near that Colley seized it and took it into the boat. It looked up with wondering eyes, and Colley said-- "You poor stupid thing! You have come to your death;" and then he wrung the bird's neck, saying, "If the worst comes to the worst, we must eat it raw." "I would sooner die," Jack said wearily. "I begin to wish to die, Colley. Yesterday I wanted to live, but I don't feel to care now, and I believe that poor little darling is going." "Help me to lift him up--lift him up," Colley said; and between them, feeble as they both were, the old man and the boy, they managed to get the poor child's head to rest on Colley's knees. Towards evening the child opened his eyes. "Mother," he said, "I'm coming." Then he smiled, and Jack said, "He is better." But Colley shook his head. "No; but he will be better soon;" and then he said a few words of prayer, and bid Jack think of some hymn his mother had taught him. Jack tried to summon a verse from his confused brain, and the one little Miss Joy had often said came to his lips, and he repeated in a low voice, quavering with weakness and emotion-- "Jesus, lover of my soul, Let me to Thy bosom fly, While the nearer waters roll, While the tempest still is high: "Hide me, O my Saviour, hide, Till the storm of life is past; Safe into the haven guide, Oh, receive my soul at last! "Other refuge have I none, Hangs my helpless soul on Thee; Leave, ah! leave me not alone, Still support and comfort----" "Oh! Colley," Jack said, breaking off, "look!" The little boy's eyes were wide open, gazing upwards. Then a smile, a sweet smile, a shudder as if in answer to a welcome, and the spirit of the child had fled! Colley bowed his head weeping. "A pretty little lad!" he said, "his mother's pride aboard ship. Well, well, she is waiting for him, and God's will be done." When the shadows crept over the blue expanse that night, Colley lifted the child's body tenderly in his arms, and said to Jack-- "Kiss him for his mother, boy. He is saved from the death which, unless God send help, lies before you and me--the death of starvation. You are young, but I am an old man; for all sailors are old at fifty, and few see sixty. I shall go next." "Oh, Colley, Colley, do not leave me all alone!" Colley shook his head. "Again I say, Let God's will be done. I wish--I wish I had a memory for a text of Scripture to say before I bury this child; for we must bury him, and now. You've been at school, you say, up to the time you ran away. Can't you say the words of Scripture which you have learned? You must know a lot." Poor Jack rubbed his head and tried to collect his thoughts, but in vain. "It's what the Lord said to Mary when her brother Lazarus died. Ah, I've got it now!" and Colley slowly and solemnly repeated, "I am the Resurrection and the Life; he that liveth and believeth on Me shall never die." Then the old sailor clasped his weather-beaten hands over the child's lifeless form, and with tears running down his rugged cheeks he said: "O heavenly Father, Thou hast called this child from pain and suffering. In Thy mercy send for me next; but let poor Jack live to go back to his mother. For Christ Jesus' sake." Then tenderly and gently the little form slipped over the side of the boat; there was a sudden splash, a rippling sound, and all was still--so still, except for the mysterious murmur which always sounds like whispers from another world at nightfall on the sea. Again the sun rose, and again the silent sea was flooded with the rays of the sun. The inhabitants of the little boat were too weak now to speak much. Even Toby could scarcely wag his tail, but lay with his head on his paws, gazing up to his master's face, questioning as to what it meant--this faintness and weakness which seemed to be creeping over him. The dead gull lay untouched. There was not strength left to eat it, even if there had been inclination. Jack still grasped the oar, and still the poor blue jersey fluttered in the breeze. But Colley lay at the bottom of the boat, breathing heavily, though his eyes were open, and his rough weather-beaten hands folded as if in prayer. They had drifted far out in the Atlantic, but not in the direct line hitherto of the many steamers which continually cross the great dividing waters which lie between the Old World and the New. Jack had ample time for thought, as the long weary hours went by. But a stupor was fast creeping over him, and everything became dreamlike and unreal. Even the images of his mother and Joy, which had been so vivid, grew taint and indistinct, and he was scarcely conscious, when a loud "Ahoy!" fell on his ear. He started up, and there, at last, was a boat alongside of theirs. "Wake up, boy!" said a cheery voice. "What's happened, eh?" "Oh, Colley, Colley!" Jack cried, "we are saved, we are saved!" And then from excess of joy and emotion he fell prone upon the prostrate figure of the old sailor. "A man, a boy, and a dog," said one of the boat's crew. "Half-starved, I declare! Look alive, mates, and let's get 'em aboard our ship as quick as may be. I told you this object we saw was a craft of some sort, though you were so slow to believe me. A happy thing for these poor creatures I got the boat lowered." In another quarter of an hour two pairs of sturdy arms were pulling the boat and those in it to the good ship _Claudia_, bound for the islands of the Southern Seas. CHAPTER X. "_ONLY A LITTLE BOX._" Uncle Bobo was sitting at the door of his shop one golden September day, when the atmosphere of the row was oppressive, and his heart was heavy within him. Little Miss Joy was mending--so the doctors said; for Uncle Bobo had declared two heads were better than one, and had insisted on calling in a second opinion. Yes; they all said little Miss Joy was better. But in what did this betterness consist? She was still lying in that upper chamber, whence she had always smiled her good-morning on Patience Harrison, and sang her hymn of thanksgiving as the little birds sing their matins to the rising sun. Better! yes, she was better; for there was now no danger to her life. But the fall had injured her back, and she could not move without pain. The colour was gone from her rosy lips, and the light from those lovely gentian eyes was more soft and subdued. Little Miss Joy, who had been as blithe as a bird on the bough and so merry and gladsome, that she deserved her name of "Little Sunbeam," was now a patient sick child, never complaining, never fretful, and always greeting Uncle Bobo with a smile--a smile which used to go to his heart, and send him down to his little shop sighing out--as to-day-- "Better--better! I don't see it; the doctor doesn't know! What are doctors for, if they can't make a child well? I pay enough. I don't grudge them their money, but I expect to see a return for it. And here comes Patience Harrison to tell me what I don't see--that my little sunbeam is better." Patience Harrison was crossing the row to Uncle Bobo's door as he spoke. Her face wore the same expression of waiting for something or some one that never came, as it did on the morning when we first saw her looking up and looking down the row for Jack. It was a wonderfully warm September. No news had been brought of the wanderer: the news for which her soul thirsted. George Paterson, it is true, had heard an inkling of news, but it was not anything certain. He had heard from a sailor that Jack Harrison had been seen aboard the _Galatea_ by a passenger who had been put ashore as the _Galatea_ passed the Lizard; and tidings had come that the _Galatea_ had been lost off the coast of Spain, and only nine of the crew or passengers aboard had survived to tell the tale! That the _Galatea_ was lost seemed certain, but that Jack was aboard her was not proved. The man who reported that he had seen him could not be sure of his name. He heard him called Jack, but so were hundreds of other boys. He had understood that he was a runaway, kept on sufferance by the captain to please the second mate; but that was all, and it was not much. Certainly not enough to warrant adding to Patience Harrison's heavy burden of sorrow. So George Paterson kept the suspicion to himself, and waited for confirmation of the report before he mentioned it. Patience Harrison had nursed and cared for Joy as if she had been her own child, and Uncle Bobo was not ungrateful. "Well," he said, as she leaned against the door, a variety of articles making a festoon over her head, and a bunch of fishing-tackle catching a lock of her abundant hair, which was prematurely grey:--"Well, is the grand affair coming off to-morrow?" "Yes, they are to be married to-morrow at ten o'clock; but there's to be no fuss. They are going to Cromer for a few days, and I have promised to keep shop till they come home." "And what's Joy to do without you?" "I shall run over early every morning and late every evening, and poor Bet Skinner is out of her wits with delight because I said I thought you would let her stay by day and take my place." "To be sure! to be sure! Only don't expect me to hold out a hand to that old lady, Skinner's mother. Is she to be present at the wedding?" "Yes, and so is Bet; and I have excused myself on account of looking after the shop." "Well, your poor sister is making a pretty hard bed for herself to lie on, and I am afraid she will live to repent it; though, to be sure, we can't call it marrying in haste. That sly fellow has been sneaking about here for a long time. What's the mother going to do?" "She will live where she is for the present, and everything will go on the same, except that I cannot live with Skinner. I shall look out for a situation in a shop, as soon as Joy is well again, and does not want me. Or maybe I shall take one of the small houses on the Denes, and let lodgings to folks who can put up with humble accommodation." "You oughtn't to do any such thing," said Mr. Boyd. "You have been a widow now between eleven and twelve years. A good man wants to make you his wife--and," said Uncle Bobo, slapping his knee, "and why shouldn't he?" "Please do not speak of it, Mr. Boyd," Patience said. "Do you think that I could ever marry any man while I am waiting for my husband's return, and now, too, for my boy's? No! it is only pain to me to think that any of my friends could think I should forget." "You'll see the boy safe and sound before long, and you'll find the salt water has washed a lot of nonsense out of him. He will come back, but the other--never!" Mrs. Harrison said no more, but climbed up the narrow staircase to Joy's room. "Oh, Goody dear! I _am_ so glad you are come," Joy said, stretching out her little thin arms and winding them round her friend's neck. "I have been fidgeting so, hearing you talking to Uncle Bobo downstairs. And I've been very snappy to Susan, because she will have it I ought to try to stand. Goody dear, I _can't_." "Susan knows that as well as I do, dearie. I think she tries to make you out much stronger than you are, to comfort Uncle Bobo." "_Dear_ Uncle Bobo!" the child said. "I wish he would not fret about me. Goody! I was dreaming of a horse tearing after me, just as that horse did that evening; and then it wasn't a horse at all, but it was great roaring waves, and I thought Jack was with me, and we were going to be drowned." The lines on Mrs. Harrison's forehead deepened, and she tried to say cheerfully-- "Dreams do not mean anything, dear; and it is said they always go by contrary, you know." Then Mrs. Harrison began to settle Joy's pillows, and put back the curtains so that she might see from her bed the strip of blue sky above the opposite roofs and through a slight aperture between the two houses, where Joy could on clear nights see two or three stars, and at certain, and what seemed to her very long intervals, the moon, on her lonely way through the heavens. "Susan says the wedding will be to-morrow, and that you will have to stay to keep shop while Miss Pinckney is away." "Yes, dear; and Bet is coming to be with you." Joy sighed, and said softly-- "Poor Bet! she does love me very much; but, dear Goody, _I_ don't love her as I love you. When Jack comes home, I shall tell him how kind you have been to me, and we shall be so happy; only I expect Jack will be vexed to see me lying here, instead of running out to meet him." Mrs. Harrison could only turn away her head to hide her tears as Joy went on: "Uncle Bobo said the other day, when he came up and found me crying, just a little bit, 'Why, I shall have to call you little Miss Sorrowful!' And then he seemed choked, and bustled away. I made up my mind then I would try to smile always when he came. I should not like him to call me little Miss Sorrowful, it seems to hurt him so. And then he always says he ought to have snatched hold of me when the horse came galloping after us, and that he ought to have been knocked down, not me. But that is quite a mistake. Uncle Bobo is wanted in the shop, and I don't think I could have done instead of him; and then it would have been worse for him to bear the pain than it is for me; for when he had the gout in his toe, he did shout out, and threw the things about when Susan went to bathe it. So it is best as it is," was little Miss Joy's conclusion; "isn't it Goody?" The wedding came off the next day, and the row was greatly excited by the event. Miss Pinckney was dressed in a cream-coloured cashmere, trimmed with lace, and she wore an apology for a bonnet, with orange blossoms, and a large square of tulle thrown over it. Susan, who reported the appearance of the wedding party, which she watched leaning out of Joy's window, exclaimed: "All in white, or next to white! Deary me! If I was fifty, and had a yellow skin, I wouldn't dress like a young girl. There she goes mincing down the row, and there's a coach waiting at the end with white horses. And there goes Mrs. Skinner looking like a lamp-post, dressed in a grey alpaca; she looks as grim as ever. And there's poor Bet--well, to be sure, what a frock and bonnet! They belonged to her mother, let alone her grandmother, or p'r'aps to that pretty daughter of hers, who ran off--she was that ill-treated by her mother she couldn't bear it! Ah! they are a queer lot, those Skinners; they do say Joe Skinner is a queer customer, and that he is so hard up, that's why he's married that old lady. He will make her money spin, and there won't be much left at the end of a year. Serve her right. I've no patience with folks making themselves ridiklous at her time of life. Why, my dear!" Susan said, growing confidential, as she drew her head in from the window, when the little following of girls and boys who lived in the row had returned from seeing the last of Miss Pinckney--"Why, my dear! I could have married, last fall, the lamplighter who has looked after the lamps in the row for years. But I knew better. I told him I was forty-eight, and he was scarce thirty-eight, and I was not going to make myself a laughing-stock. And he went and married a young girl, and has made a good husband. So that's all right!" It was the same afternoon that Mrs. Harrison, being installed in her sister's place at the shop, Bet came breathlessly up the narrow stairs to say-- "Grandmother wants to see you." "Oh! I'd rather not, please. I feel so afraid of your grandmother. Don't, please don't let her come." But it was too late. Mrs. Skinner's spare figure was already at the door. She was dressed in her wedding gown and bonnet, and came to Joy's bed, standing there like a grey spectre, her bonnet and face all of the same dull grey as the gown. Joy turned up her wistful eyes to the hard, deeply-lined face, and her lips quivered. "If you please," she said, "I am glad you will spare Bet, while Goody is so busy." But Mrs. Skinner did not speak--not a word. "I am getting better," Joy continued; "at least the doctors say so; but--but I can't stand or walk yet, so I am glad to have Bet." Mrs. Skinner had all this time been scanning little Miss Joy's features with a keen scrutiny. Then, after a few minutes, she jerked out: "I hope you'll soon get about again; you are welcome to keep Bet;" and then she turned, and her footfall on the stairs was heard less and less distinct, till the sound ceased altogether. "Your grandmother is--is not like other people," little Miss Joy ventured to say. "I don't like her; but I beg your pardon, I ought not to say so to you." "And do you think _I_ like her?" Bet exclaimed vehemently. "At first I thought I'd try, and I did try; but she was always so hard. She loves Uncle Joe, I think, though she is angry with him for marrying Miss Pinckney, and lately I have heard high words between them." And now Bet took off her wedding bonnet, and sat down by Joy's side, perfectly content that she was thought worthy to be her companion. "You'll tell me if you want anything," she said. "And you won't mind if I am stupid and blunder, will you?" "No," Joy said faintly. "Have you got your work, or a book? Give me my crochet. I like to try to do something, though lying flat it is rather tiring." Bet did as she was told, and then said humbly, "I shan't talk unless you wish me to talk;" and the poor girl settled herself by the window till a bell rang. "That is for you to go down for my tea," Joy said. "It saves Susan's legs, you know." Bet was only too happy to be of use, and hurried down stairs at once for the tray. "Be careful now," Susan said; "and don't fall upstairs and break the crockery. There's a cup for yourself, and Mrs. Harrison has sent over a bit of wedding-cake. It's very black, and I don't like the looks of the sugar; but I dare say it may eat better than it looks." The day wore on to evening, and the row was quiet, when Joy, who had been lying very still, suddenly said-- "I have been dreaming of Jack again--Jack Harrison. I think he must be coming home." "Did you care for Jack Harrison very much?" "Very much," said Joy; "he was always so good to me. That last day before he ran away he lent me that pretty book you were looking at, and said we would learn those verses at the beginning together, and I never saw him again. That was a dreadfully sad time; and then, not content with being very hard on Jack, Miss Pinckney and your uncle said he was a thief. Think of that! Jack a thief! Miss Pinckney said he had got the key of a drawer and taken out a little box, where she kept the money. There were four or five pounds in it." "A box!" Bet said; "was it a big box?" "Oh no; dear Goody says it would go into anybody's pocket. A little box with a padlock and a little key. I knew Jack did not take it, but of course as he ran away that very day it looks _like_ it. Even Susan shakes her head, and I never talk of Jack to her. But," said Joy, "I am tired now, and I think I'll take what Uncle Bobo calls 'forty winks.'" Everything was very quiet after that; and when Bet saw Joy was asleep, she crept downstairs, and in the shop saw Mrs. Harrison. Miss Pinckney's shutters were closed, and she felt free to come over and have a last look at Joy. "A little box! a little box!" Bet repeated to herself as she went home. "A box so small it would go into anybody's pocket." And Bet that night lay awake pondering many things, and repeating very often, "A little box!" CHAPTER XI. _MR. SKINNER IN COMMAND._ Mrs. Skinner was more silent than ever during the next few days, and when she spoke it was to scold Bet in a rasping voice. She was suffering from that very bad mental disease which is beyond the reach of doctors, and is a perpetual torment; and that disease is called remorse. Of late she had been haunted by the memory of her only daughter, and of her harshness to her. The man she had chosen to marry was good, and to all appearance above the class in which Maggie was born. There was nothing against him but poverty. He had been a travelling photographer, who set up his little van with "Photographic Studio" painted on the canvas cover in large letters, and had sometimes done a brisk trade on Yarmouth sands. One of his first customers had been Maggie Skinner, then in her fresh beauty, and a tempting subject for a photographer or artist. About the same time a wealthy grocer in Yarmouth, old enough to be her father, had offered to marry her. He had a villa at Gorlestone: possessed a pony-carriage, and was rich and prosperous. But Maggie shrank from marrying him. Mr. Plummer might be rich, and no doubt he meant well and kindly by her, but she could not marry him. In vain she pleaded with her mother, and with her inexorable brother Joe, that to marry simply for what you were to get by it was a sin--a sin against the law of God, who meant marriage to be a sign and seal of mutual love. Mrs. Skinner at last said that if she did not do as she bid her, and promise to marry Mr. Plummer, she might go and earn her living for she was not going to keep her in idleness. Many stormy scenes followed; and one night Maggie declared that she could not marry Mr. Plummer, for she had promised to marry Roger Chanter, the photographic artist! "And if you do, you shall never see my face again," Mrs. Skinner declared. "I'll turn you out of the house, and you may disgrace yourself as you please. I have done with you. Your brother there knows when I say a thing I mean it." "Oh, mother, you are very cruel!" Ah! how those words sounded sometimes in the dead of night, when Mrs. Skinner lay awake, listening for Joe's return, and to the moaning of the restless sea. "Oh! mother, you are very cruel!" Those were the last words ever heard from Maggie, as she passed out of her mother's sight. The next morning her bed was empty, and she was gone. From that day up to the present time not a word had been heard of her, nor had her mother or her brother troubled themselves to inquire for her. It was supposed she had married the pale, delicate-looking photographer; but her name was never mentioned, and she had passed away as if she had never been. It was the day of the bride and bridegroom's return, and Patience Harrison had put all things in order. The business had not suffered in the absence of the head of the establishment, and Mr. Skinner expressed considerable satisfaction at this. He at once took the keys, and said he would keep the books and the money, and, in fact, rule the establishment, and transact the business. He was fidgeting about the shop the next morning, and peering into all the boxes and drawers, when his wife ventured to remark that perhaps he would be late at the office on the quay, as the clock had struck ten. "My dear," was the reply, "I have resigned my post in the Excise-office, and shall henceforth devote myself to you and my aged mother. I have always been a good son, and I shall often look in on her of an evening when I have settled up matters here." Patience Harrison heard this announcement, and saw her sister's face betray considerable surprise. "Resign the place at the office!" she exclaimed. "Why, Joe!----" "Why, Joe!" he repeated. "Why, my dear, you ought to be delighted; you will have so much more of my company and my help. Now you can take your ease, and sit in your parlour, while Mrs. Harrison waits in the shop, and performs household duties." "What next, Joe! I am not going to sit with my hands before me because I am a married woman. As to a man about in a little shop like mine, with ladies trying on caps and ordering underclothing, it is not to be thought of. The customers won't like it. It is too small a place for three." "You may be easy on that score, sister," Patience said. "I only remained while you were away. I wish to leave you, and think of taking a little house on the Denes, and taking a lodger till they come home." "Pray may I ask who are _they_?" Mr. Skinner said. "My husband and my son," was the reply. "The folly of some women!" exclaimed Mr. Skinner. "No, Mrs. Harrison, you don't know when you are well off. You should recompense your sister's goodness and generosity by staying to assist her in her household cares." "I did not ask for your advice, and I do not want it. Sister, I shall cross over to Mr. Boyd's, and take care of that dear child for the present. I have packed my boxes, and Peter will carry them over." "My dear," Mr. Skinner said, "that being the case, we at once renounce all connection with Mrs. Harrison." "But we shall have to keep a servant," exclaimed his wife; "and servants are such a terrible trouble, and think of the worry and the expense, and----" Poor Mrs. Joe Skinner seemed unfeignedly sorry. She began to magnify her gentle sister's perfections now she was to lose her. "And Patience knows all my ways, and how to use the furniture polish on the chairs and table in the parlour. And---- Oh! really, Patience, I hope you will stay; especially now the boy is gone. You are welcome, I'm sure; very welcome! It was the boy made the trouble. We've gone on so pleasantly since he went." Patience turned away to hide the tears of wounded feeling, and said no more. As she was crossing over to Mr. Boyd's, she saw a ladylike, sweet-faced woman standing at the door of the shop. Mr. Boyd was very busy rubbing up a chronometer, which the captain and mate of one of the small sailing vessels were bargaining for; and as it was difficult for more than three people to stand in the little shop at once, Patience paused before entering. "I am waiting to speak to Mr. Boyd," the lady--for so she looked--said. "I dare say he will be at liberty directly," Patience said. "It is a very small shop, and too full of goods for its size." "Do you happen to know if Mr. Boyd has a little girl living with him? She is now just short of nine years old. She is very----" The voice suddenly faltered, and Patience hastened to say-- "She is a darling child. Mr. Boyd has adopted her, and he calls her Joy. We all call her Joy--little Miss Joy. Do you know anything about her?" The lady grasped Mrs. Harrison's arm. "Let me see Mr. Boyd," she said. "Wait till I see him." The bargain in the shop was now completed, and the captain and mate were departing with their chronometer, when Uncle Bobo sang out to Patience-- "Glad to see you; the little one aloft is just hungry for a sight of you. Bet isn't come yet. She's to help her old grannie before she starts." A bevy of little girls on their way to school now came up with flowers, and some ripe plums in a basket. "Please will you give these to little Miss Joy?" the eldest of the four said, "with our love. Please, Mr. Boyd, how is she? is she better?" "So they say, my dear; so they say. I wish I could say so too. But--well--never mind. Here, Mrs. Patience, take 'em aloft to the child. And now, ma'am, what can I show you?" Mr. Boyd said, turning to the lady. "The child--you call--little Miss Joy," was the reply, in faint tones. "Mr. Boyd, you don't know me, and Mrs. Harrison does not know me. I was once Maggie Skinner, and Little Joy is my child!" Uncle Bobo looked with a keen glance from under his bushy grey eyebrows into the lady's face. "You Maggie Skinner! Well, I never!" "Yes, I have had a great deal of trouble; but it is over now." "Sit down; sit down," Uncle Bobo said, pushing a high round stool with a slippery leather top, the only seat for which the shop could afford room. "Sit ye down; but surely you look too old to be Maggie Skinner!" "I have had many troubles. Oh! Mr. Boyd, can you forgive me? When my darling child was a baby, I wanted bread. My husband died just when she was eighteen months old; I had not a shilling in the world; there was only the workhouse before me, and I could not--no, I could not take my precious child there. So I walked here from Ipswich. I remembered you had a kind heart--so I laid her here on your door-step and stood watching till you came and took her up, and I knew you would be good to her; but I dared not face my mother. I wandered alone all that night; and early in the morning, before any one was stirring, I came to look up at this house. As I stood listening, I heard my baby's little cough. Some one was crooning over her and playing with her." "That was Susan. Hi, Sue! come this way," exclaimed Mr. Boyd. Susan came blundering down the stairs, asking-- "What do you want? I was just giving the precious child her breakfast. She seems a bit brighter this morning." "What is the matter with her?" Maggie Chanter asked. "Is she ill? is she ill?" "She was knocked down by a runaway horse last June, and hurt her back. What do you know about the child?" "I am her mother?" was the answer. "Oh! I thank you all for being kind to her." And then a burst of passionate tears choked the poor mother. Patience Harrison's kind arms were round her in a moment. "My dear," she said, "God is very good to us. Do not fret; you trusted this little one to His care, and He has not forgotten you. Little Miss Joy is loved by every one; she is the sweetest and best of little darlings." "Ah! I am so afraid she may not love me," the poor mother said. "She may think I was cruel to desert her; but what could I do? I knew Mr. Boyd had a kind heart; but many, oh! many a time I have repented of what I did. As I wandered back to the quay that morning I saw a new registry office I had never seen before. I waited till it was open, and went in. A man-servant was waiting with me, and he went into the manager's room first. Presently the manager came out. "'What place do you want?' she asked, "'Any place,' I replied. 'A maid----' "'I think she'll do,' the man said. "Then he told me his young mistress was married a month before, and was to sail from London Docks that night for India. The maid who was to have attended her was sickening of scarlet fever; the lady was at her wits' end; she was staying at Lord Simon's, near Yarmouth. 'Come out,' he said, 'and see her at once.' "I went, and I was instantly engaged. I told my story in a few words, and the lady believed me. Strange to say, she had a photograph taken by my husband, with the name Ralph Chanter on the back. She remembered him and the time when he was taking portraits here. Well, I served her till she died, dear lady, and never returned to England till last week. She has left me a legacy, which will enable me to set up a business, and make a home for my child. You'll give her back to me, Mr. Boyd?" Uncle Bobo's face was a study as he listened to this story, told brokenly, and interrupted by many tears. "It will be kind of hard," he said at last. "Yes, it will be _kind of hard_," with desperate emphasis. "But," he said, heavily slapping his leg, "I'll do what is just and right." "I know you will, I know you will," Patience Harrison said; "but, oh! I am so sorry for you, dear Uncle Bobo." "Let me see my child," Maggie Chanter said. "Let me see her; and yet, oh, how I dread it! Who will take me to her? Will you take me? Will you tell the story, Mr. Boyd?" "No, no, my dear, don't ask me; let Patience Harrison do it; let her. I can't, and that's the truth." Then Patience Harrison mounted the narrow stairs, and pausing at the door said, "We must be careful, she is very weak." Maggie bowed her head in assent, and then followed Patience into the room. "Oh, Goody, I am _so_ glad you are come!" and the smile on Joy's face was indeed like a sunbeam. "Bet has not come yet. I don't like to vex her, but she does blunder so. Susan calls her Blunder-buss; isn't that funny of Susan?" Then Joy turned her head, and caught sight of the figure on the threshold. "Why doesn't she come in?" Joy said; "she looks very kind; and see what flowers and plums the girls have brought me as they went to school!" "Joy, darling Joy," Patience said, "you have often said you wished you had known your mother." "Have I? You are like my mother now." "But what if I were to tell you your very own mother is come, Joy?" And then, pointing to Maggie, she said, "There she is!" The excitement and agitation was all on one side. The mother tried in vain to conceal her deep emotion. Joy, on the contrary, was quite calm, and said, looking at Patience-- "Is it true? _is_ this my mother?" "Yes, yes; your poor unhappy mother. Can you love her, little Joy? Can you forgive her for leaving you to Mr. Boyd?" "Why, yes," Joy said brightly, "of course I can; he has been ever so good to me, and I do love him so." Then Patience Harrison slipped away, and left the mother and the child together. "The meeting is well over," she said as she returned to the shop. "But the parting isn't over," was poor Uncle Bobo's lament; "and I tell you what, when it comes it will break my heart. I shan't have nothing left to live for; and the sooner I cut my cable the better." Patience Harrison felt that it was useless to offer comfort just then, and she remembered Bet had not arrived as usual, and turned out of the row. Towards the market-place, on the way to Mrs. Skinner's cottage, she met George Paterson. His face brightened, as it always did, when they met. "Well," he said, "have the bride and bride-groom come home?" "Yes," she replied, "and I have given notice to quit." "You have!" he said joyfully; "then you will come to me?" "No, George, no--not yet." "Not _yet_! When, then?" he asked quickly. "I was reading in the paper the other day, that when a man is not heard of for seven years it is lawful to marry another. It is getting on for twice seven years since you were left desolate." "My dear kind friend," Patience said, "I have waited so long and prayed so often to be shown the right path, that I feel sure God will not leave me without an answer; and till I am certain that my husband is taken away by death, I could not be the wife of another man." "Then you may wait till you are a hundred," George said impatiently. "How _can_ you ever know?" "Dear George, be patient with me. Do not be angry with me. I have asked God for guidance, and He will give it in His own time." "I am wrong to be hard on you, I know," was the reply; "but to see you drifting alone, and with no home, is enough to madden any man when a home is ready for you." "I have got some strange news for you," Patience said, trying to change the subject. "Our little Joy is Maggie Skinner's child. She left her when destitute on Mr. Boyd's door-step." "How do you know?" "Because she is here in Yarmouth, and I have just left her and her child together." "Well, wonders never cease! and I suppose you know why Joe Skinner has left the office?" "That he may get entire rule in my poor sister's home, and grind every penny out of her. The reason is plain enough." "Ah! but there's another reason. He is dismissed from the office for certain irregularities in the cash. He has narrowly escaped prosecution--so I hear." "Oh, George, then our suspicions about that little cash-box are right!" "It looks like it," George said, as Patience's eyes shone with a wonderful light of hope. "It looks like it; and when the boy comes home, we will see his character cleared." "_When_ he comes home! Oh, another 'when,' another waiting time!" Patience sighed out, "There is a word which gives me comfort, however, and I am always hearing it, as if it were whispered to me: 'If it tarry, wait for it.'" "You find waiting easier than I do," George said. "Easy!" she said, clasping her hands together. "Easy! oh, only God knows how hard!" Then she turned sorrowfully away from him, and pursued her way alone to look for Bet. CHAPTER XII. _THE SPIRIT OF PEACE._ Bet had been sent on an errand for her grandmother, and when Patience came up to her she was laden with a heavy basket of market produce. She was bending under the weight she carried, and as Patience joined her she set down the basket and wiped her hot face with her handkerchief. "Is little Miss Joy worse?" she asked eagerly, "I couldn't come early, for grandmother wanted me to scrub out the room Joe uses, and the passage; and then I had to change my frock and go to the market. I met the girls going to Miss Bayliff's, and they laughed at me, and said they supposed I was so clever I had left school because there was no more to learn; and they laughed and jeered at me as they daren't have done if little Miss Joy had been there. But as she loves me a little, and never laughs at me, I don't mind." "I thought I should meet you, Bet, and I came along to tell you some news." "Not that Jack is come? Oh my!" "No; my wanderer is not come home; but another has--your Aunt Maggie." Bet stared in Mrs. Harrison's face with open mouth. "My Aunt Maggie! she that went away! I have got her picture in a box. I showed it to little Miss Joy that last evening she was ever running about, and she came home with me." "Bet, that Aunt Maggie is Joy's mother." "How do you know?" "She is with Joy now. I have left them together." "Are you come to tell grannie? She has been so mopy since the wedding. Uncle Joe had a breeze with her just before he married. She says she can't get along living in this house alone with me. Come and see her, do; and tell her about Aunt Maggie. I think you must tell her that." "But I do not know your grandmother very well. I have scarcely spoken a dozen words to her in my life." "I feel afraid to tell her," Bet said. "Do come along, please, Mrs. Harrison." Patience did not like to refuse the earnest pleading of poor Bet. Just as they reached the back door--for Bet never entered at the front--she paused. "Little Miss Joy won't care for me, or no one, now that she has got her mother. I say, is it wicked? I almost wish Aunt Maggie had never come back. Little Miss Joy will belong to her now, and--she won't care for me." "Bet," Patience said, "all love that is very, very strong for any person is likely to lead to jealousy; take care, for jealousy would make you unhappy. True love thinks nothing of itself in comparison with the person beloved. Whatever is for the good and for the happiness of any one we love, should make us happy also. Try to see that." "I can't," said poor Bet. "I'd like little Miss Joy to love me, that I would; and I thought she was beginning to love me, and now she'll have her mother, and never want me." "Or _me_," Mrs. Harrison said. "I might say the same; but I think it would be a great mistake if I did, for I believe dear little Joy will love you and me and Uncle Bobo just the same as ever." "Do you?" Bet said; "that's good to hear;" and then Bet opened the door and went up the long narrow passage to the front of the house. Mrs. Skinner was seated by the table in the kitchen, stiff and straight; her hands were folded, and she only nodded as Bet put the basket on the table with both her tired arms. "Grannie, Mrs. Harrison is come to see you." "I don't want Mrs. Harrison," was the reply. "I won't stay long, Mrs. Skinner," Patience said. Mrs. Skinner's back was turned to the door, and she never moved her position. Patience advanced to her side and said-- "Bet thought you would like to hear some good news." "There is never good news for me," was the answer, in a tone so hard and yet so pathetic that Patience's heart was touched. "A wanderer has come home," Mrs. Harrison said. "Oh! your scapegraces I suppose. My son Joe has a very bad opinion of him--I can tell you that." Mrs. Harrison took no notice of this thrust, but said-- "No, my boy has not come home; but your daughter has returned. She is little Joy's mother." "What!" exclaimed Mrs. Skinner; "I don't believe it." "Well, it is true; and you have only to come to Mr. Boyd's to convince yourself of the truth. If other tokens were wanting, the likeness between dear little Joy and her mother is striking; and, besides----" "There, I don't want to hear any more," Mrs. Skinner said. "I'm a miserable woman--that's what I am; but I want no pity, and I want nobody or nothing." Patience Harrison ventured a little nearer, and said, "Come and see our dear little Joy and her mother. You will feel happier then. God will comfort your sore heart, if you turn to Him. Do come and satisfy yourself that you have a child and a grandchild, who will love you if you will let them." Mrs. Skinner took no further notice of what Patience Harrison said, and resolutely turned her head away. But just as Bet was leaving the kitchen with her visitor she said: "You stay at home, and don't go gadding off where you are not wanted. Bide at home and do your duty. Do you hear?" "You had better stay," Patience said, "and be patient. You are sure to hear something from Aunt Maggie before the day is over." It was not till the evening was closing in that a gentle tap was heard at the door, and Bet, opening it, saw her aunt standing there. "You are Bet, I suppose. Little Joy sent me," she whispered. "I was afraid to come till mother wished for me; but Joy begged me to come, and tell her I am sorry I offended her. For, Bet, I ought not to have deserted her, and I see it all now. Where is your grandmother?" "Sitting in the parlour knitting; but she won't speak, and she looks very strange. I've had such a long day, Aunt Maggie, watching the clock, and thinking it would never end. I have got your picture," she added, "and it is very like dear little Miss Joy. _You_ are not like it now." "No, no; trouble and sorrow have changed me. Poor Bet! I remember coming to kiss you that night when I went away. Poor little thing, I pitied you. But, Bet, I ought never to have acted as I did; and God has been kinder to me than I deserve; for my darling found a true friend, and if only she gets well I shall be a happy mother. I think how proud her poor father would have been of such a dear child." "She is dear!" said Bet, in an ecstasy of delight. "But there's grannie calling; you had better come." "Bet, who are you gossiping with out there?" cried Mrs. Skinner. "Shut the door at once, and come in, will you?" Then Maggie Chanter, trembling and half choked with emotion, went up to the table where, by the light of a dull little paraffin lamp, Mrs. Skinner sat. "Mother!" Mrs. Skinner looked up over her spectacles. "Mother, I am so sorry. Please forgive me, and let me comfort your old age, mother! My little Joy sent me. She does so want to see you, and to know you will forgive me." "Forgive you! What do you care for my forgiveness? You chose your own way, and made your own bed, and it isn't my fault you found it hard." "Come to Joy, mother. Hear her dear little voice asking you to--to be kind. Will you come?" "I'll see about it." "But come now; it is not very dark; there's a moon rising. Oh, mother, come!" There was a pause, and then Mrs. Skinner said-- "Get me my cloak and bonnet, Bet. I suppose for peace sake I shall have to go." But Mrs. Skinner's voice trembled, and Bet saw her hand shake so that she could hardly fasten her cloak. She followed her daughter silently out of the house, only saying to Bet, "Be sure to lock the door." Bet was left alone, and had again nothing to do but to count the clock's chimes as it struck the quarters. At last, lulled by the sound of the in-coming tide and the low moan of the wind, she fell asleep in her grandmother's chair. She was awakened by the sound of a laugh--a discordant laugh. It came from her Uncle Joe's old room. Presently there was the chink of money, and Bet, creeping softly to the end of the passage, listened attentively. "Come, that's a good card," said the speaker; "you are in luck's way." "Oh! I know what I'm about now; we'll have shilling stakes to-night." "Won't your pretty bride wonder where you are?" "She'll be taught _not_ to wonder, that's all." "Has that young hopeful ever turned up?" was the next question, as the cards were shuffled. "No, and it will be the worse for him when he does." Silence reigned after this, and it was evident that Joe Skinner thought his mother and Bet were safe in bed. Bet crept upstairs. At last she heard the clock strike eleven, and then the three men below departed, noiselessly as they came, by the back door, of which Joe Skinner had the key. Bet pinched herself to keep awake till she heard her grandmother's step at the front of the house. Running down, she opened the front door before there was time to ring. Mrs. Skinner came in as she had gone out, silent and self-restrained. "Go back to bed, child," she said; "you'll catch your death of cold." "But you are so cold, grannie; let me make up the fire, and get you a cup of tea; let me." Mrs. Skinner said nothing, but she shivered, and leaned her head against the back of the chair. Bet instantly made her preparations, and the kettle was soon boiling, and the cup of tea ready. The crackling of the wood, and the sudden blaze, seemed to thaw poor Mrs. Skinner mentally and bodily. "You are a good girl," she said; "go to bed now." As Bet was leaving the kitchen she looked back, and saw her grandmother with her head bowed on her hands, and heard a low, sobbing cry. The hardly-wrung tears of old age, the painful, difficult sobs of a sore and seared heart, how sad they are! Bet did not return to her grandmother, but, softly closing the door, left her, saying to herself-- "When I'm bad, and crying my heart out, I don't like to be watched. I dare say grannie is like me." Then, faithful and loyal-hearted, she climbed the narrow stairs, and lay down this time to hear no disturbance till the morning dawned. There are moments when the soul is brought, as it were, into the very presence of the all-loving Saviour of the lost. In the silent watches of that night the words which had been spoken by a child had a strange and unwonted power. "Grannie," little Joy had said--"Grannie, God is Love; and as He loves us and forgives us, we'll love and forgive one another, won't we? and we'll be so happy together--you, and I, and mother, and Uncle Bobo, and dear Goody." "Happy! No, I shall never be happy," Mrs. Skinner had replied. Little Miss Joy was disappointed; but she quietly said: "Yes, you _will_, if you make other folks happy, grannie. _That's the secret_." Was it indeed the secret? Again and again, like a breath of heaven, gentle and subtle, an influence unknown before seemed to touch Mrs. Skinner's heart in those solemn, lonely hours as she sat pondering over the sad, sad past. The Holy Spirit had convinced her of sin, and she was turning by that divine power from darkness to a glimmering of light. When the grey, cold dawn of the autumn morning crept through the chinks of the shutters, she went softly to her room, and lay down with the relief a tired labourer feels who has laid down a heavy burden he has borne through the long hot day. That burden was the burden of harsh, unforgiving judgment and remorse. It had been rolled away, like that of one of old, at the foot of the cross--the cross of Him who, in the pains of a cruel death, could pray for those who had done Him wrong, and say, "Father, forgive them." CHAPTER XIII. _A TOKEN AT LAST._ The ship that had picked up Colley and Jack Harrison in mid-ocean, and saved them from the lingering death of starvation, was bound for the islands of the South Pacific, and the captain told them that they must be content to be absent from England till the following spring. He had to call at several of the islands, and exchange cargo, so that even with fair weather their return voyage could not be made under nine months. Poor Colley was slow to recover; indeed, he never did recover fully from the effects of those terrible days and nights at sea. But Jack was young and strong, and he and Toby were soon, as old Colley said, "hale and hearty as ever they were." Jack earned his biscuit and won favour as well; and the captain's kind heart was touched by Colley's history of what had happened to his old mother and his little children at home, and the fear he had that he should never see them again. "I am cut to the heart that I can't work as a able-bodied seaman should," Colley would say. "But God will reward you for your goodness to me and the boy." The captain puffed his short pipe, and said: "I am an old hand now; but I say, Once get a taste of shipwreck like yours, and you are cured of your craze for the sea. Not that I am chicken-hearted, and I'd stand to my ship as your captain did--ay, and go down with her if needs must; but for all that it is a roughish life, and a terrible trial for them that love you and are left ashore." "Ay! ay!" old Colley said, "there's the pinch. The youngster's father made off to better himself now ten years agone, and he's never been heard of from that day to this. Dead, of course; only the poor woman, his wife, won't believe it--so the lad says." A day or two after this the captain called Jack, and said: "The mate wants a word with you in private." "What have I done to offend him, sir?" Jack said. "Don't jump at conclusions, youngster. Did I say anything was wrong? Be off with you." Jack went to the mate's berth, and found him sitting cross-legged on the edge, and looking mysterious. "Is your name Harrison, young 'un?' "Yes," Jack said. "Do you hail from Yarmouth?" "Yes," said Jack again. "Where's your father?" "He was lost at sea--so we think; but we never heard a word about it, and mother thinks he may be still alive." "Did he own several small herring boats, and have a share in a curing-house, before he went a-whaling?" "Yes," Jack said, growing more and more wondering and excited by these questions. "Look here, youngster. When I was a boy, eleven years ago, I was working on a whaleship, and your father was aboard. His name was John Harrison, hailing from Yarmouth." "Oh!" Jack said. "Where is he--do you know?" "No, my lad; let us hope his soul is gone aloft, but his body is lost. We had dragged our boat across a field of ice for some miles, on the look-out for our ship, which we had left, stored with provisions, in open water. We were pretty near starving, for we had missed the track, and the men said they would not go on another step. But your father, boy, had a brave heart, such as I never saw before or since; and he said, if those that were too chicken-hearted to go on, would stay where they were for a few hours, he would go ahead and find the ship, as he knew perfectly well we were near it, and near a village of the folk they call Esquimaux. One youngster, just such another as you, said, 'I'm your man, captain'; and they set off with a good heart. We that were left turned our boat bottom upwards, and a sorry set we were, frost-bitten and starving. We huddled together to keep each other warm--warm! why, I am cold now when I think of it; and look here, I lost a finger and the end of a thumb that same time." "How?" Jack asked. "How? Frost-bitten, of course. Well, those two that left us never came back, and never were seen again. We waited till we were so weak we could scarce crawl, and then two of us--for three of the fellows died--made our way back, and found a ship which took us aboard; but never a word of your father and the young 'un from that day." "My father!" said Jack. "Are you sure?" "Well, I am as sure as I can be of anything. I was rummaging in my locker t' other day, after we had picked you and old Colley up, and I knew your name, and I found an old handkerchief that belonged to John Harrison, and I'll proceed to produce it, lad." The mate then dragged from the depths of the locker a torn and ragged red handkerchief, with yellow spots, and in the corner in white letters was marked with thread, "J. H." "Yes, boy, there's the article, and your father gave it to me to tie up my leg, which had a bad wound. He was uncommon loth to part with it, but there never was a man with a kinder heart, never. He was a bit fiery and off at a tangent, always thinking he was right and every one else wrong; but he was a fine fellow, and you bid fair to be like him. Here, take the handkerchief, and you can show it to your mother. She'll know it; for John said to me, 'I'll let you have it for your poor leg; but when I come back you must give it to me again, because my wife tied it round my neck when I bid her good-bye, and I value it.' I remember he said, 'She is a right good woman is my wife, and I'll see her and the boy again, please God. I never lose heart.' Well, he may see you again in the next world, but never in this, boy, never in this; he is dead and gone long ago." Jack folded the handkerchief, and put it in his pocket. He felt strangely affected by the sailor's story, and could only say: "If ever I see my mother again she shall have this token. She has often prayed for a token that my father was dead, or a sign that he was living; and now she will have it." Then Jack returned to his post on the deck, and, throwing himself down behind some loose crates, found himself sobbing bitterly. The homeward voyage was prosperous, and it was on a bright August evening that the white cliffs of old England came in sight. In another hour Jack and his old friend found themselves dropping down with the tide to St. Catherine's Docks. They were penniless, and how to get back to Yarmouth was a puzzle. Jack could walk, but Colley could only hobble with the help of a stick. The captain was kindly-disposed, and at parting gave Jack a few shillings, saying he had more than earned his biscuit; while the mate said he felt quite downhearted at losing him. "Tell 'ee what, lad," Colley said, "I know there's a place where the shipwrecked fishermen's folk hang out. Let's enquire for it, and may be they'll give us a helping hand." So the two made their way through the crowded thoroughfares to the place which has been a refuge for many in like circumstances. The kindness of their reception greatly cheered old Colley, and they were put up for the night, while inquiries were made about the _Galatea_, and the truth of their story. "The _Galatea_ had been lost, with all hands," was the answer from Lloyd's; and the captain of the _Claudia_, the ship which had picked the poor waifs up in mid-ocean, gave both man and boy an excellent character. "The old geezer was useless, but I didn't grudge him his berth. What's the world like, if we can't hold out a helping hand to one another in trouble?" This was all satisfactory, and money was provided to pay the railway journey to Yarmouth, while Jack's few shillings were expended in a pair of second-hand boots for himself, and a new jersey--that which had served for a flag of distress in mid-ocean being so full of holes that he presented a very ragged appearance. Home at last! Home! Yes, where his mother was, was Home. He would not care about the cold looks of his aunt: he would bear even Mr. Skinner's gibes and scoffs: he would bear everything for his mother's sake. And then, at last he had tidings for her! Colley was put down at a station before Yarmouth was reached, as it was nearer the home of his old mother, who looked after his little ones. "For I married late in life, my boy," he said to Jack, "and lost my poor wife almost as soon as I'd got her. She just lived to be the mother of the youngest of the three children, and then she died. The sailor's life is a hard one, and the wives of sailors have a hard time, boy! The men grow old, like me, before their time. Why, I'm but just over fifty years old, and I feel a vast deal more like seventy. Take my advice, boy, and give up the sea. You are a good scholar, and you are the only son of your mother. Bear all your aunt's hard words, and live ashore, and be a comfort to her. You have had your lesson. God has given you a pretty hard one to learn, first page! But never mind--so much the better for you. Those days and nights were about the worst I ever went through, and I've had a taste of dangers, I can tell you. Don't you forget them, nor the Lord's mercy to you and me in delivering us from the dreadful death of starvation. Don't forget it." "Forget it!" Jack said. "Why, I dream of it most nights, and see little Peter's dying eyes. I----" Jack's voice was choked with tears, and old Colley wrung his hand, while Toby wriggled up to him, and licked his face with silent sympathy. Colley stumbled out of the carriage with Toby in his arms when the station was reached, and so they parted. In a few minutes more Jack found himself in Yarmouth, and was making his way towards the row. His only thought was of his mother and little Miss Joy. He looked up the familiar row, and then darted through it till he came to the little milliner's shop. The widow's caps still showed in the window, and there was a straw bonnet trimmed, and some artificial flowers, lying on a very dusty bit of black velvet. The window that used to be so bright looked dim, and the brass ledge before it dull and stained. Altogether there was a dejected appearance about the place. The door was open, and Jack entered cautiously. His aunt was sitting behind the counter waiting for customers, who were slow to come; for the business had very much declined since Mr. Skinner had taken the command and Mrs. Harrison had left the house. Mrs. Skinner looked very different from the Miss Pinckney of scarcely a year ago. She had a dirty, faded look, and her face was pinched and miserable. When she saw a sailor boy standing by the counter, she rose and said-- "What for you? Have you brought a message from any one?" "No, Aunt Pinckney. Don't you know me? Where's my mother?" Mrs. Skinner was for a moment speechless. Then she raised her shrill voice-- "Joe! Joe! come here; the young thief is come back." Mr. Skinner, who was apparently smoking in the back parlour and taking life easily, now appeared. "What are you making such a row about? screeching like a poll-parrot!" Days of courtship and days of matrimony are apt to differ, in cases like that of Mr. and Mrs. Skinner! Then, having delivered himself of this polite question, Mr. Skinner caught sight of Jack. "You! oh! it's you, is it? Well, the police have been looking for you, and I'll just give you in charge." Jack, utterly bewildered, was for the moment speechless. Then he said-- "Hands off! What do you mean? Where's my mother?" "She is not here; so you needn't think any of her crying and fuss will avail. I'll give you in charge unless you confess." "Confess what?" said Jack, wriggling away from Mr. Skinner's grip. "Hands off, I say! I am not going to run away. What am I to confess?" "Take him into the back parlour, Joe. You'll have the neighbours coming in: take him out of the shop." "Hold your tongue!" was the rejoinder. "I shall do as I choose." "Let me go and call Mr. Boyd," Jack said. "He will tell me where my mother is. Let him be a witness of what you say, and what charge you have against me." Jack now looked across the row for the first time, and saw a young man standing at the door of the little stuffy shop, which, unlike its opposite neighbour, had grown smarter, and had a lot of ships' lanterns hanging over the door, and showy aneroids and compasses in the window. "Where's Mr. Boyd? Where's little Joy's Uncle Bobo?" "Gone! He has sold the business; he is gone right away." "Gone! And where's Joy--little Miss Joy? I tell you I will know. And where is my mother?" "Look here, youngster! This matter must be cleared up. You'll not be let off so easy; but if you confess, well--we shan't be hard on you." "Confess _what_?" Jack shouted now. He was getting very angry, and repeated, "Confess _what_?" "Oh, that's all very fine! Perhaps you've forgotten you ran away and broke your poor mother's heart, and took my little cash-box with you with four pounds odd money in it," said his aunt. "It's convenient to forget. You'd better not try to fool _me_," said Mr. Skinner. "Your aunt's key of that drawer was in her little key-basket. You slily took it out, and when the house was quiet, opened the drawer and put the box in your pocket I see!" Jack's face grew crimson. He felt very much inclined to fly at Mr. Skinner's throat, and pummel him well with his strong young fist. But the vision of his mother and little Miss Joy rose before him, and with a desperate effort he controlled himself. "Prove what you say, and don't call me a thief till you have proved me one." "Well, it's my duty--my painful duty," said Mr. Skinner, "to lock you up till I have fetched a policeman, and communicated with your mother." "You needn't _lock_ me up," said Jack proudly. "If I say I'll stay here, I'll stay. Indeed, I will stay till you have made it all clear. Your little cash-box! Aunt Pinckney----" "No, no, not Aunt Pinckney; I am Mrs. Skinner now." The tone was so sad that Jack's boyish heart was touched. "Do you think I could steal a penny of yours, aunt, when you had kept me and mother all those years? Will you send for her? and I will stay till she comes." But Mr. Skinner pushed Jack into the kitchen behind the parlour. He had just turned the key in the lock, when a voice was heard in the shop--Bet's voice. "I have brought you some fresh eggs, and half a pound of butter, Aunt Skinner," she said. "Aunt Maggie sent them with her love. What is amiss, Aunt?" "Child," Mrs. Skinner said, "Jack is come home. Your uncle has locked him up in the kitchen. Hush! here he is." "Well, what are you prying about here for?" Mr. Skinner said. "Oh, eggs! My dear, poach me a couple for supper; I'm fond of poached eggs." But Bet stood on one foot speechless by the counter, where she had put the basket. "What do you say Jack stole?" "My little cash-box, the night he ran away; but I don't want to be hard on the boy--my only sister's child. I'll forgive him if he'll confess." Bet stood pondering for another moment, and then she said-- "I've got another errand to do. I'll come back for the basket." And Bet was off, as if on the wings of the wind--off to the Denes and the little lonely red-brick house, which was shut up and had a board on a pole in the front garden, with "To Let. Inquire for the key at Mr. Skinner's, Market Row," painted in white letters on it. Bet looked right and left; there was no one in sight, and she went round to the back, and found, to her great joy, an old trowel with half the handle broken, which she seized eagerly. She went down on her hands and knees, and dug and burrowed with her fingers in the soft, sandy soil. Her heart beat wildly with hope and fear; her hat fell back, and her tawny hair fell over her shoulders. The light of the April evening was waning; she had not a moment to lose. "It was here--it was here--it must have been just here," she cried. Some people passing on the raised path where Uncle Bobo had sat on the evening of little Miss Joy's accident turned to look at her once, and wondered what she was doing, digging there on hands and knees. At last Bet stopped, and, raising her head and clasping her hands, said-- "Little Miss Joy would tell me to pray to God to help me to find it. He would hear _her_. Will He hear me, I wonder?" Then poor Bet uttered a few words, calling on God, who saw everything, to show her where what she sought lay hid. She redoubled her efforts, and moving a little further from the house, she dug another hole till she came to some bricks. She lifted them, and there was the little cash-box--empty now, but, oh! of what priceless value! Bet gathered up her stray tools, and putting on her hat, ran off again along the sand by the sea-shore, now left hard by the retreating tide, on and on to the farther end of that part of Yarmouth where a road, then lately made, led towards Gorlestone. Breathless and panting she reached the first of two pretty houses standing together, with a strip of garden in front, bright now with wallflowers and hardy hepaticas and celandines. Under the porch of the first, smoking his pipe, sat Uncle Bobo; and warmly covered with a rug, in a reclining chair by his side, was little Miss Joy. Maggie Chanter was sowing some seeds in the window-box of the next house, and Mrs. Harrison was standing by the porch, waiting and watching. She had her knitting in her hand, but her eyes were on the sea, with the same wistful longing in them as of old. "Jack is come home. Jack!" gasped Bet. "They say he stole the cash-box, but--but--I've found it. Quick! take it to Uncle Joe, and say I found it in the ground at the back of grannie's old home." CHAPTER XIV. _THE WAITING IS OVER._ Sudden news, whether it be good or bad, is always a shock; and when Patience Harrison caught the cry repeated by Maggie Chanter, "Jack is come home!" and echoed by little Miss Joy's silvery voice, and old Uncle Bobo's bass, "Jack is come home!" she sank back in the porch and gasped for breath. Presently the little gate was opened by George Paterson, who hastily asked-- "What is the matter? Jack come home? Well, that's good news." "Yes," Maggie Chanter said; "but Bet there has some other news, which is not so good. They dare to say Jack stole the cash-box the day he ran off, and they have locked him up." "But he didn't, he didn't," Bet said, recovering her breath at last. "Here it is; take it to Uncle Joe, and tell him where I found it." "Yes; take it," said Uncle Bobo; "I'd go myself, only I can't stir my old stumps as fast as you can. Paterson, you are the man for the business." George Paterson was looking at poor Patience, who seemed utterly overwhelmed with the tidings; and behind her stood old Mrs. Skinner, with her arm round her, letting her head rest against her shoulder. "There, there," she said, as Patience began to sob convulsively; "there, there, you've naught to cry for. Your boy is come back; and if Bet is to be believed, my son is the thief, not yours. You needn't break your heart. What made you go and look for the box, Bet? What made you think of it?" "Oh, grannie, I--I saw Uncle Joe bury it in the ground one night! I never knew what it was till I heard a talk about a little box that was lost." "Well, well, the box is found, and now I am off to bring the boy to his mother. Bet, you come along." "No," Bet said; "I dare not, Mr. Paterson, I dare not." "I will come with you, Mr. Paterson," Maggie said. "I am not afraid of Joe--I never was. He ought to be ashamed of himself, and I expect there is worse behind." "I have no doubt about it," said George Paterson, as he and Maggie set out together. The gardens of the two pretty neat houses were divided by low iron railings. One was inhabited by Mr. Boyd, old Susan, and Mrs. Chanter and her darling Joy; the other by Mrs. Skinner and Bet and Patience Harrison. "I can't part with the child," Uncle Bobo had said: "I'd rather cut off my right arm." And, indeed, parting from the little dark shop in the row, and the darker parlour behind it, where he had lived for so many years, had been almost like cutting off a right arm to Uncle Bobo. But when he heard the doctors say that little Miss Joy ought to have fresh air, and that the bedroom where she lay so patiently week after week, with only the occasional variety of being carried "to the leads," where the memorable tea-parties used to be held, was not healthful for her, he decided to sell the business, and remove. What a removal it was! and even now Uncle Bobo said the light was too much for his eyes, and that he liked the shade of the row better than the glare of the sea. But little Miss Joy was so dear to the old man's heart, that he gave even this great proof of his love. The two little houses, away from the bustle and noise of the busy seaport, were hired, and the sitting-room was to be let this season, with one bedroom, to any visitor to Yarmouth who would like the quiet, broken only by the distant murmur of the sea, or the voice of birds in the low copses which had been planted round a house of some pretension not far off. As soon as George Paterson and Aunt Maggie were gone, Joy said-- "Bet, go and ask dear Goody to come here. I want her so much." "What do you want, my lamb?" Uncle Bobo said. "Hi, Mrs. Harrison, you are wanted. Little Miss Joy wants you." That name had always a charm about it, and Mrs. Harrison raised herself, and went slowly, and like one in a dream, down the narrow garden path, out at the little gate, and in at the next. She was met by Bet, who threw her arms round her, and said--"You go and sit with Joy while I go to poor grannie. Oh, I am sorry for grannie; but I _am_ glad for you!" "Here, Mrs. Harrison, take my chair," Uncle Bobo said, "and sit by the child. You'll feel better then. She is the peace-maker--bless her--and every one is the better for being alongside of her." Yes; it was most true. When Susan was put out with new-fangled ways; when Mrs. Skinner relapsed into her old silence, only broken by fault-finding; when Maggie grew impatient of her mother's strange temper; when little breezes disturbed the waters of domestic life in the two homes--then it was that little Miss Joy's presence was sought, and her gentle words were truly like oil on troubled waters. Have we not all felt the presence of such peace-makers to be as a breath from heaven? And are they not most frequently found amongst those who have had the cross of suffering laid upon them, and who are shut out from many of the pursuits and enjoyments of others? Blessed indeed are the maintainers of peace; blessed, thrice blessed, are the child-comforters who can love and pity the erring and soothe the sorrowful, and who by their own beautifully simple child-faith encourage others to seek after a like precious gift. Mrs. Harrison sat with Joy's hand in hers for the next hour, an hour of painful waiting and expectancy. Joy did not say much, but now and then she would put in a little word of her own thoughts. "There is the big star! Look, Goody! isn't it beautiful? Oh, I do like to see the whole sky, and all the stars now! God seems to look at me as I look at them. It was good of Him to let me come to live here, though I loved the dear old row very much when I could run about. Then it is so nice to see mother going about making everything pretty; and doesn't she work beautifully! That last dress she made was lovely. She is teaching me to work too. Don't you care to hear my chatter, dear Goody? You are thinking Jack may come every minute," as Mrs. Harrison heaved a heavy sigh. "I talk to make the time seem shorter--that's all. Uncle Bobo is standing by the gate; he will be the first to tell us when they are coming." It did seem a long, long time. Bet was constantly running backwards and forwards from the door of the next house to the gate; and Susan, with folded arms, was leaning against the side of the house, coming round the corner every now and then to say it was getting too cold for Miss Joy to stay in the porch. "Oh, I am quite warm! let me wait, Susan." "You must have your own way, I suppose, as usual," was the short reply. Susan was fond of saying rather sharp things sometimes, to cover her real love for Joy. She had felt a natural pang of jealousy when she found the young mother had taken her place of waiting on Joy, or rather sharing the waiting with Bet and Mrs. Harrison. She was not quite kindly disposed to Maggie Chanter, and would mumble sometimes-- "It was all very well for folks to leave their children on people's doorsteps, and then when they were grown nicely, and every one loved them, it was very fine to come and claim them;" and she would say, "There's no love lost between me and Mrs. Skinner's daughter, and I don't hold with girls going off with poor sickly photographers when they might have rode in their carriage and married rich grocers." People like Susan generally speak in the plural number when their remarks are directed to one person who is the object of their satire or reproof. The longed-for moment came at last. As the three neared the house, George Paterson said: "Run on and go to your mother alone, boy; she will like it best." Jack did as he was bid, and in a few minutes he was kneeling at his mother's side, clasping her round the waist and covering her with kisses. "Forgive me, mother dear; forgive me!" Mrs. Harrison could only press the boy close to her heart and murmur over him tender words, while Joy's little voice said: "Kiss me too, Jack, dear Jack. Of course every one forgives you--because God for Christ's sake has forgiven us. Oh, dear, _dear_ old Jack!" It was not till Jack was in his bed that night that his mother, kneeling by him, poured out her heart in thankfulness to God. Then he drew from under his pillow the old red and yellow handkerchief, and in a few words told the story as the sailor had told it to him. "The token has come at last," poor Patience said. "Yes, I marked those letters on the handkerchief with my own hand. Oh, Jack! Jack! it all comes back to me, and I have had a weary time of waiting; but it is better to _know_ at last." CHAPTER XV. _THE HERITAGE OF PEACE._ The joy of the hypocrite is but for a moment; and the house that is built on the sand must needs fall to ruin at last. Mr. Skinner received the box with his accustomed composure, though he turned deadly pale. It was an _extra_ordinary coincidence that the box was found in the sandy ground. How it came there he was at a loss to conjecture. "The less said about it the better," George Paterson remarked, "and you owe this boy a full apology." "Well, it _is_ possible there is a mistake somewhere. However, we will give the youngster the benefit of the doubt, and send him home to his mother." "Doubt!" Maggie exclaimed vehemently; "_doubt_! You stole the box, Joe, and hid it in the garden behind your house. You were _seen_ to bury it; you had better make a clean breast of it." "Oh, spare him, Maggie Chanter!" poor infatuated Mrs. Skinner said. "Joe! Joe!" Then, with a white face and an expression on it none who saw it will ever forget, Mr. Skinner, with a wave of his long thin hand, left the house. Nothing more was ever heard of him. The crooked paths of deceit and dishonesty can have but one end, unless by God's grace those paths are forsaken, and the strait and narrow way chosen in their place. Poor Aunt Amelia had indeed reason to rue the day when she had listened to the flattering words of the wily man. He left her with an empty purse, a ruined custom, and a sore heart. But she was now delivered from one who in her folly she had trusted, and there were many who, hearing her story, pitied her, and gave back the custom they had withdrawn. * * * * * Another year passed away, and it brought more peaceful times. Perhaps Patience Paterson's life could not be called sunny or bright; but it is calm and peaceful, and she is the happy wife of a good and noble-hearted man, who had loved her faithfully for many years. George Paterson was conscious that the deep respect he now felt for his wife would scarcely have been the same had she yielded to his wishes, and, taking it for granted that her husband was dead, had married him while his end was undecided. Patience may well set an example to others in this matter, and her evening-tide light will be clouded by no misgivings and no self reproaches. She had asked for some token, and it was given. Through the trial of her boy's absence came the blessing of the long-looked-for tidings; and in this, as in many another step of her pilgrimage, she could feel the truth of the words, "To the upright there ariseth light in the darkness." They took a pretty house near Gorlestone, and George became a prosperous man. Jack was taught his business as ship's carpenter, and the control exercised by his step-father was most salutary. He is likely to grow up a good and useful man. The two houses, called by Uncle Bobo "The Home, Number One and Number Two," became popular as lodgings for single ladies and their maids, and were said to be amongst the best and most comfortable in or near Yarmouth. Old Colley and his children were not forgotten, and were often invited to tea in the garden behind the two houses, where Uncle Bobo and Colley would exchange many stories or yarns of their early days. Little Miss Joy did not get strong or vigorous, but she was able to walk about by the help of an arm. Uncle Bobo would sometimes hire a donkey-chair, and trudge by her side as it rolled along the esplanade, or was taken down to the edge of the water, where she loved to sit and think, and listen to the sweet music of the chime of the waves. It was one lovely summer's evening when little Miss Joy was enjoying the air and her favourite song of the waves, that Bet, now grown a tall and less ungainly girl, came up to her with a thin, sad-looking woman dressed in black. "I've made Aunt 'Melia come," Bet said. "I told her you wanted her, and here she is." "I've got the camp-stool in the chair," Joy said. "Sit down, Aunt Amelia, and let us be comfortable and happy." Mrs. Skinner shook her head. "No, my dear, I can never be happy. I leave that to other people." "Oh, yes, you can be happy!" little Miss Joy said. "No, no; not with a broken heart!" "God can mend broken hearts. Don't you know that, Aunt Amelia? 'He gives medicine to heal their sickness.'" "Not when troubles are brought upon one's self by one's own folly and sin, my dear. No, no." "I don't think that makes any difference," said little Miss Joy in her clear, musical voice. "He healeth those that are broken in heart; He giveth medicine to heal their sickness. He telleth the number of the stars: He calleth them all by their names. I do _love_ that psalm, because it shows God cares for little things like me and my little troubles, and for great and mighty things like the stars. For, you know, I _have_ my little troubles. I do long to run and skip as I used to do, and wait on Uncle Bobo and mother, when she is tired and the lodgers are rather tiresome, and poor grannie is cross, and _I_ am inclined to grumble and be cross too." "Never, never, my dear," said Mrs. Skinner. "Well, I know I _feel_ cross, and I go to God for His medicine. I wish you would go too, Aunt 'Melia." Mrs. Skinner shook her head. "I think grannie has gone to Him, and she is happier, I know. He will give it you if you ask Him. His medicine is love, the love He had for us when He gave us the Lord Jesus." Mrs. Skinner still shook her head, but tears rolled down her thin, faded cheeks. "I must be going now," she said. "Good-bye, my dear." "Good-bye. Kiss me, Aunt 'Melia;" and then Bet, who had purposely kept apart, came up with some shells she had gathered for Joy, and said, as she had gone to fetch Aunt Amelia, she would take her home again. So they turned and left Joy, and then Uncle Bobo came down from the seat where he had been watching what passed, and, calling the donkey-boy, he told Joy it was time to be going home. "What have you been saying to poor Mrs. Skinner?" he asked. "Not much, dear Uncle Bobo; but, oh, I am so sorry for her, and I wish I could comfort her! I love poor Mrs. Skinner now, indeed I do." "Love her! Well, bless your little heart, you love everybody, I think." "Yes, I think I do, and I am so happy, Uncle Bobo. Let us go home now." Dear little Miss Joy! Who shall say what is the guerdon she and those like her wear? Truly those that are the maintainers of peace have a blessed heritage; for the golden fruit of righteousness is a glorious harvest for those who make peace. Yes, and for those childlike souls there is quietness and assurance for ever. * * * * * [Transcriber's note: the three illustrations between pages 53/54, 103/104, and 157/158 were missing from the source book.] * * * * * 
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21404	----	From Powder Monkey to Admiral, a Story of Naval Adventure, by W.H.G. Kingston. ________________________________________________________________________ This book was written for "Boy's Own Paper" shortly after that magazine started. The plan was to write a book illustrating how it might be possible for any very ordinary little boy joining the Navy in the lowest rating--powder monkey--and ascend to the very highest rank--admiral. It had been done before, in the separate cases of Benbow and Hopson, and there was no reason why it shouldn't happen again. A powder monkey was so called because his job in manning the guns was to run from time to time to fetch more powder whenever it was needed. Since the boys were small they afforded little target for the enemy's shot, so they tended to survive an engagement. Just as well, for their job was indispensable. In this book three boys join up in the same batch. They have the usual Kingston-style adventures, but only one of them makes it to the quarter deck to become a midshipman. This was probably the hardest step for any of them, but it was his bravery, honesty and good manners that won for him the necessary attention. At the end of the book there is a pathetic scene where we meet again the boy who did least well. This is a good and enjoyable read or listen, taking about twelve and three quarter hours. ________________________________________________________________________ FROM POWDER MONKEY TO ADMIRAL; A STORY OF NAVAL ADVENTURE, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON. Introduction. A book for boys by W.H.G. Kingston needs no introduction. Yet a few things may be said about the origin and the purpose of this story. When the _Boys' Own Paper_ was first started, Mr Kingston, who showed deep interest in the project, undertook to write a story of the sea, during the wars, under the title of "From Powder-monkey to Admiral." Talking the matter over, it was objected that such a story might offend peaceable folk, because it must deal too much with blood and gunpowder. Mr Kingston, although famed as a narrator of sea-fights, was a lover of peace, and he said that his story would not encourage the war spirit. Those who cared chiefly to read about battles might turn to the pages of "British Naval History." He chose the period of the great war for his story, because it was a time of stirring events and adventures. The main part of the narrative belongs to the early years of life, in which boys would feel most interest and sympathy. And throughout the tale, not "glory" but "duty" is the object set before the youthful reader. It was further objected that the title of the story set before boys an impossible object of ambition. The French have a saying, that "every soldier carries in his knapsack a marshal's baton," meaning that the way is open for rising to the very highest rank in their army. But who ever heard of a sailor lad rising to be an Admiral in the British Navy? Let us see how history answers this question. There was a great sea captain of other days, whose fame is not eclipsed by the glorious reputations of later wars, Admiral Benbow. In the reign of Queen Anne, before the great Duke of Marlborough had begun his victorious career, Benbow had broken the power of France on the sea. Rank and routine were powerful in those days, as now; but when a time of peril comes, the best man is wanted, and Benbow was promoted out of turn, by royal command, to the rank of Vice-Admiral, and went after the fleet of Admiral Ducasse to the West Indies. In the little church of Saint Andrew's, Kingston, Jamaica, his body lies, and the memorial stone speaks of him as "a true pattern of English courage, who lost his life in defence of queen and country." Like his illustrious French contemporary Jean Bart, John Benbow was of humble origin. He entered the merchant service when a boy. He was unknown till he had reached the age of thirty, when he had risen to the command of a merchant vessel. Attacked by a powerful Salee rover, he gallantly repulsed these Moorish pirates, and took his ship safe into Cadiz. The heads of thirteen of the pirates he preserved, and delivered them to the magistrates of the town, in presence of the custom-house officers. The tidings of this strange incident reached Madrid, and the King of Spain, Charles the Second, sent for the English captain, received him with great honour, and wrote a letter on his behalf to our King James the Second, who on his return to England gave him a ship. This was his introduction to the British Navy, in which he served with distinction in the reigns of William the Third and Queen Anne. But his obscure origin is the point here under notice, and the following traditional anecdote is preserved in Shropshire:--When a boy he was left in charge of the house by his mother, who went out marketing. The desire to go to sea, long cherished, was irresistible. He stole forth, locking the cottage door after him, and hung the key on a hook in a tree in the garden. Many years passed before he returned to the old place. Though now out of his reach, for the tree had grown faster than he, the key still hung on the hook. He left it there; and there it remained when he came back as Rear-Admiral of the _White_. He then pointed it out to his friends, and told the story. Once more his country required his services, but his fame and the echo of his victories alone came over the wave. The good town of Shrewsbury is proud to claim him as a son, and remembers the key, hung by the banks of the Severn, near Benbow House. Whatever basis of truth the story may have, its being told and believed attests the fact of the humble birth and origin of Admiral Benbow. Another sailor boy, Hopson, in the early part of last century, rose to be Admiral in the British Navy. Born at Bonchurch in the Isle of Wight, of humblest parentage, he was left an orphan, and apprenticed by the parish to a tailor. While sitting one day alone on the shop-board, he was struck by the sight of the squadron coming round Dunnose. Instantly quitting his work, he ran to the shore, jumped into a boat, and rowed for the Admiral's ship. Taken on board, he entered as a volunteer. Next morning the English fleet fell in with a French squadron, and a warm action ensued. Young Hopson obeyed every order with the utmost alacrity; but after two or three hours' fighting he became impatient, and asked what they were fighting for. The sailors explained to him that they must fire away, and the fight go on, till the white rag at the enemy's mast-head was struck. Getting this information, his resolution was formed, and he exclaimed, "Oh, if that's all, I'll see what I can do." The two ships, with the flags of the commanders on each side, were now engaged at close quarters, yard-arm and yard-arm, and completely enveloped in smoke. This proved favourable to the purpose of the brave youth, who mounted the shrouds through the smoke unobserved, gained the French Admiral's main-yard, ascended with agility to the main-topgallant mast-head, and carried off the French flag. It was soon seen that the enemy's colours had disappeared, and the British sailors, thinking they had been hauled down, raised a shout of "Victory, victory!" The French were thrown into confusion by this, and first slackened fire, and then ran from their guns. At this juncture the ship was boarded by the English and taken. Hopson had by this time descended the shrouds with the French flag wrapped round his arm, which he triumphantly displayed. The sailors received the prize with astonishment and cheers of approval. The Admiral being told of the exploit, sent for Hopson and thus addressed him, "My lad, I believe you to be a brave youth. From this day I order you to walk the quarter-deck, and if your future conduct is equally meritorious, you shall have my patronage and protection." Hopson made every effort to maintain the good opinion of his patron, and by his conduct and attention to duty gained the respect of the officers of the ship. He afterwards went rapidly through the different ranks of the service, till at length he attained that of Admiral. We might give not a few instances of more recent date, but the families and friends of those "who have risen" do not always feel the same honest pride as the great men themselves in the story of their life. While it is true that no sailor boy may now hope to become "Admiral of the Fleet," yet there is room for advancement, in peace as in war, to what is better than mere rank or title or wealth,--a position of honour and usefulness. Good character and good conduct, pluck and patience, steadiness and application, will win their way, whether on sea or land, and in every calling. The inventions of modern science and art are producing a great change in all that pertains to life at sea. The revolution is more apparent in war than in peace. There is, and always will be, a large proportion of merchant ships under sail, even in nations like our own where steam is in most general use. In war, a wooden ship without steam and without armour would be a mere floating coffin. The fighting _Temeraire_, and the saucy _Arethusa_, and Nelson's _Victory_ itself, would be nothing but targets for deadly fire from active and irresistible foes. The odds would be about the same as the odds of javelins and crossbows against modern fire-arms. Steam alone had made a revolution in naval warfare; but when we add to this the armour-plating of vessels, and the terrible artillery of modern times, "the wooden walls of old England" are only fit to be used as store-ships or hospitals for a few years, and then sent to the ship-yards to be broken up for firewood. But though material conditions have changed, the moral forces are the same as ever, and courage, daring, skill, and endurance are the same in ships of oak or of iron:-- "Yes, the days of our wooden walls are ended, And the days of our iron ones begun; But who cares by what our land's defended, While the hearts that fought and fight are one? 'Twas not the oak that fought each battle, 'Twas not the wood that victory won; 'Twas the hands that made our broadsides rattle, 'Twas the hearts of oak that served each gun." These are words from one of the "Songs for Sailors," by W.C. Bennett, who has written better naval poems for popular use than any one since the days of Dibdin. The same idea concludes a rattling ballad on old Admiral Benbow:-- "Well, our walls of oak have become just a joke And in tea-kettles we're to fight; It seems a queer dream, all this iron and steam, But I daresay, my lads, it's right. But whether we float in ship or in boat, In iron or oak, we know For old England's right we've hearts that will fight, As of old did the brave Benbow." But, after all, even in war, fighting is only a small part of the sum of any sailor's life, and the British flag floats over ships on every sea, whether under sail or steam, in the peaceful pursuits of commerce. The same qualities of heart and mind will have their play, which Mr Kingston has described in his stirring story,--a story which will be read with profit by the young, and with pleasure by both young and old. DR. MACAULAY, FOUNDER OF "BOY'S OWN PAPER." CHAPTER ONE. PREPARING TO START. No steamboats ploughed the ocean, nor were railroads thought of, when our young friends Jack, Tom, and Bill lived. They first met each other on board the _Foxhound_ frigate, on the deck of which ship a score of other lads and some fifty or sixty men were mustered, who had just come up the side from the _Viper_ tender; she having been on a cruise to collect such stray hands as could be found; and a curious lot they were to look at. Among them were long-shore fellows in swallow-tails and round hats, fishermen in jerseys and fur-skin caps, smugglers in big boots and flushing coats; and not a few whose whitey-brown faces, and close-cropped hair, made it no difficult matter to guess that their last residence was within the walls of a gaol. There were seamen also, pressed most of them, just come in from a long voyage, many months or perhaps years having passed since they left their native land; that they did not look especially amiable was not to be wondered at, since they had been prevented from going, as they had intended, to visit their friends, or maybe, in the case of the careless ones, from enjoying a long-expected spree on shore. They were all now waiting to be inspected by the first lieutenant, before their names were entered on the ship's books. The rest of the crew were going about their various duties. Most of them were old hands, who had served a year or more on board the gallant frigate. During that time she had fought two fierce actions, which, though she had come off victorious, had greatly thinned her ship's company, and the captain was therefore anxious to make up the complement as fast as possible by every means in his power. The seamen took but little notice of the new hands, though some of them had been much of the same description themselves, but were not very fond of acknowledging this, or of talking of their previous histories; they had, however, got worked into shape by degrees: and the newcomers, even those with the "long togs," by the time they had gone through the same process would not be distinguished from the older hands, except, maybe, when they came to splice an eye, or turn in a grummet, when their clumsy work would show what they were; few of them either were likely ever to be the outermost on the yard-arms when sail had suddenly to be shortened on a dark night, while it was blowing great guns and small arms. The frigate lay at Spithead. She had been waiting for these hands to put to sea. Lighters were alongside, and whips were never-ceasingly hoisting in casks of rum, with bales and cases of all sorts, which it seemed impossible could ever be stowed away. From the first lieutenant to the youngest midshipman, all were bawling at the top of their voices, issuing and repeating orders; but there were two persons who out-roared all the rest, the boatswain and the boatswain's mate. They were proud of those voices of theirs. Let the hardest gale be blowing, with the wind howling and whistling through the rigging, the canvas flapping like claps of thunder, and the seas roaring and dashing against the bows, they could make themselves heard above the loudest sounds of the storm. At present the boatswain bawled, or rather roared, because he was so accustomed to roar that he could speak in no gentler voice while carrying on duty on deck; and the boatswain's mate imitated him. The first lieutenant had a good voice of his own, though it was not so rough as that of his inferiors. He made it come out with a quick, sharp sound, which could be heard from the poop to the forecastle, even with the wind ahead. Jack, Tom, and Bill looked at each other, wondering what was next going to happen. They were all three of about the same age, and much of a height, and somehow, as I have said, they found themselves standing close together. They were too much astonished, not to say frightened, to talk just then, though they all three had tongues in their heads, so they listened to the conversation going on around them. "Why, mate, where do you come from?" asked a long-shore chap of one of the whitey-brown-faced gentlemen. "Oh, I've jist dropped from the clouds; don't know where else I've come from," was the answer. "I suppose you got your hair cropped off as you came down?" was the next query. "Yes! it was the wind did it as I came scuttling down," answered the other, who was evidently never at a loss what to say. "And now, mate, just tell me how did you get on board this craft?" he inquired. "I swam off, of course, seized with a fit of patriotism, and determined to fight for the honour and glory of old England," was the answer. It cannot, however, be said that this is a fair specimen of the conversation; indeed, it would benefit no one were what was said to be repeated. Jack, Tom, and Bill felt very much as a person might be supposed to do who had dropped from the moon. Everything around them was so strange and bewildering, for not one of them had ever before been on board a ship, and Bill had never even seen one. Having not been much accustomed to the appearance of trees, he had some idea that the masts grew out of the deck, that the yards were branches, and the blocks curious leaves; not that amid the fearful uproar, and what seemed to him the wildest confusion, he could think of anything clearly. Bill Rayner had certainly not been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. His father he had never known. His mother lived in a garret and died in a garret, although not before, happily for him, he was able to do something for himself, and, still more happily, not before she had impressed right principles on his mind. As the poor woman lay on her deathbed, taking her boy's hands and looking earnestly into his eyes, she said, "Be honest, Bill, in the sight of God. Never forget that He sees you, and do your best to please Him. No fear about the rest. I am not much of a scholar, but I know that's right. If others try to persuade you to do what's wrong, don't listen to them. Promise me, Bill, that you will do as I tell you." "I promise, mother, that I will," answered Bill; and, small lad as he was, meant what he said. Poor as she was, being a woman of some education, his mother had taught him to read and write and cipher--not that he was a great adept at any of those arts, but he possessed the groundwork, which was an important matter; and he did his best to keep up his knowledge by reading sign-boards, looking into book-sellers' windows, and studying any stray leaves he could obtain. Bill's mother was buried in a rough shell by the parish, and Bill went out into the world to seek his fortune. He took to curious ways,-- hunting in dust-heaps for anything worth having; running errands when he could get any one to send him; holding horses for gentlemen, but that was not often; doing duty as a link-boy at houses when grand parties were going forward or during foggy weather; for Bill, though he often went supperless to his nest, either under a market-cart, or in a cask by the river side, or in some other out-of-the-way place, generally managed to have a little capital with which to buy a link; but the said capital did not grow much, for bad times coming swallowed it all up. Bill, as are many other London boys, was exposed to temptations of all sorts; often when almost starving, without a roof to sleep under, or a friend to whom he could appeal for help, his shoes worn out, his clothing too scanty to keep him warm; but, ever recollecting his mother's last words, he resisted them all. One day, having wandered farther east than he had ever been before, he found himself in the presence of a press-gang, who were carrying off a party of men and boys to the river's edge. One of the man-of-war's men seized upon him, and Bill, thinking that matters could not be much worse with him than they were at present, willingly accompanied the party, though he had very little notion where they were going. Reaching a boat, they were made to tumble in, some resisting and endeavouring to get away; but a gentle prick from the point of a cutlass, or a clout on the head, made them more reasonable, and most of them sat down resigned to their fate. One of them, however, a stout fellow, when the boat had got some distance from the shore, striking out right and left at the men nearest him, sprang overboard, and before the boat could be pulled round had already got back nearly half-way to the landing-place. One or two of the press-gang, who had muskets, fired, but they were not good shots. The man looking back as he saw them lifting their weapons, by suddenly diving escaped the first volley, and by the time they had again loaded he had gained such a distance that the shot spattered into the water on either side of him. They were afraid of firing again for fear of hitting some of the people on shore, besides which, darkness coming on, the gloom concealed him from view. They knew, however, that he must have landed in safety from the cheers which came from off the quay, uttered by the crowd who had followed the press-gang, hooting them as they embarked with their captives. Bill began to think that he could not be going to a very pleasant place, since, in spite of the risk he ran, the man had been so eager to escape; but being himself unable to swim, he could not follow his example, even had he wished it. He judged it wiser, therefore, to stay still, and see what would next happen. The boat pulled down the river for some way, till she got alongside a large cutter, up the side of which Bill and his companions were made to climb. From what he heard, he found that she was a man-of-war tender, her business being to collect men, by hook or by crook, for the Royal Navy. As she was now full--indeed, so crowded that no more men could be stowed on board--she got under way with the first of the ebb, and dropped down the stream, bound for Spithead. As Bill, with most of the pressed men, was kept below during this his first trip to sea, he gained but little nautical experience. He was, however, very sick, while he arrived at the conclusion that the tender's hold, the dark prison in which he found himself, was a most horrible place. Several of his more heartless companions jeered at him in his misery; and, indeed, poor Bill, thin and pale, shoeless and hatless, clad in patched garments, looked a truly miserable object. As the wind was fair, the voyage did not last long, and glad enough he was when the cutter got alongside the big frigate, and he with the rest being ordered on board, he could breathe the fresh air which blew across her decks. Tom Fletcher, who stood next to Bill, had considerably the advantage of him in outward appearance. Tom was dressed in somewhat nautical fashion, though any sailor would have seen with half an eye that his costume had been got up by a shore-going tailor. Tom had a good-natured but not very sensible-looking countenance. He was strongly built, was in good health, and had the making of a sailor in him, though this was the first time that he had even been on board a ship. He had a short time before come off with a party of men returning on the expiration of their leave. Telling them that he wished to go to sea, he had been allowed to enter the boat. From the questions some of them had put to him, and the answers he gave, they suspected that he was a runaway, and such in fact was the case. Tom was the son of a solicitor in a country town, who had several other boys, he being the fourth, in the family. He had for some time taken to reading the voyages of Drake, Cavendish, and Dampier, and the adventures of celebrated pirates, such as those of Captains Kidd, Lowther, Davis, Teach, as also the lives of some of England's naval commanders, Sir Cloudesley Shovell, Benbow, and Admirals Hawke, Keppel, Rodney, and others, whose gallant actions he fully intended some day to imitate. He had made vain endeavours to induce his father to let him go to sea, but Mr Fletcher, knowing that he was utterly ignorant of a sea life, set his wish down as a mere fancy which it would be folly to indulge. Tom, instead of trying to show that he really was in earnest, took French leave one fine morning, and found his way to Portsmouth, without being traced. Had he waited, he would probably have been sent to sea as a midshipman, and placed on the quarter-deck. He now entered as a ship-boy before the mast. Tom, as he had made his bed, had to lie on it, as is the case with many other persons. Even now, had he written home, he might have had his position changed, but he thought himself very clever, and had no intention of letting his father know where he had gone. The last of the trio was far more accustomed to salt water than was either of his companions. Jack Peek was the son of a West country fisherman. He had come to sea because he saw that there was little chance of getting bread to put into his mouth if he remained on shore. Jack's father had lost his boats and nets the previous winter, and had shortly afterwards been pressed on board a man-of-war. Jack had done his best to support himself without being a burden to his mother, who sold fish in the neighbouring town and country round, and could do very well for herself; so when he proposed going on board a man-of-war, she, having mended his shirts, bought him a new pair of shoes, and gave him her blessing. Accordingly, doing up his spare clothes in a bundle, which he carried at the end of a stick, he trudged off with a stout heart, resolved to serve His Majesty and fight the battles of Old England. Jack went on board the first man-of-war tender picking up hands he could find, and had been transferred that day to the _Foxhound_. He told Tom and Bill thus much of his history. The former, however, was not very ready to be communicative as to his; while Bill's patched garments said as much about him as he was just then willing to narrate. A boy who had spent all his life in the streets of London was not likely to say more to strangers than was necessary. In the meantime the fresh hands had been called up before the first lieutenant, Mr Saltwell, and their names entered by the purser in the ship's books, after the ordinary questions had been put to them to ascertain for what rating they were qualified. Some few, including the smugglers, were entered as able seamen; others as ordinary seamen; and the larger number, who were unfit to go aloft, or indeed not likely to be of much use in any way for a long time to come, were rated as landsmen, and would have to do all the dirty work about the ship. The boys were next called up, and each of them gave an account of himself. Tom dreaded lest he should be asked any questions which he would be puzzled to answer. The first lieutenant glanced at all three, and in spite of his old dress, entered Bill first, Jack next, and Tom, greatly to his surprise, the last. In those days no questions were asked where men or boys came from. At the present time, a boy who should thus appear on board a man-of-war would find himself in the wrong box, and be quickly sent on shore again, and home to his friends. None are allowed to enter the Navy until they have gone through a regular course of instruction in a training ship, and none are received on board her unless they can read and write well, and have a formally signed certificate that they have obtained permission from their parents or guardians. CHAPTER TWO. HEAVING UP THE ANCHOR. As soon as the boys' names were entered, they were sent forward, under charge of the ship's corporal, to obtain suits of sailor's clothing from the purser's steward, which clothing was charged to their respective accounts. The ship's corporal made them wash themselves before putting on their fresh gear; and when they appeared in it, with their hair nicely combed out, it was soon seen which of the three was likely to prove the smartest sea boy. Bill, who had never had such neat clothing on before, felt himself a different being. Tom strutted about and tried to look big. Jack was not much changed, except that he had a round hat instead of a cap, clean clothes, and lighter shoes than the thick ones in which he had come on board. As neither Tom nor Bill knew the stem from the stern of the ship, and even Jack felt very strange, they were handed over to the charge of Dick Brice, the biggest ship's boy, with orders to him to instruct them in their respective duties. Dick had great faith in a rope's-end, having found it efficacious in his own case. He was fond of using it pretty frequently to enforce his instructions. Jack and Bill supposed that it was part of the regular discipline of the ship; but Tom had not bargained for such treatment, and informing Dick that he would not stand it, in consequence got a double allowance. He dared not venture to complain to his superiors, for he saw the boatswain and the boatswain's mate using their colts with similar freedom, and so he had just to grin and bear it. At night, when the hammocks were piped down, the three went to theirs in the forepart of the ship. Bill thought he had never slept in a more comfortable bed in his life. Jack did not think much about the matter; but Tom, who had always been accustomed to a well-made bed at home, grumbled dreadfully when he tried to get into his, and tumbled out three or four times on the opposite side before he succeeded. Had it not been for Dick Brice, who slung their hammocks for them, they would have had to sleep on the bare deck. The next morning the gruff voice of the boatswain's mate summoned all hands to turn out, and on going on deck they saw "Blue Peter" flying at the fore, while shortly afterwards the Jews and all other visitors were made to go down the side into the boats waiting for them. The captain came on board, the sails were loosed, and while the fife was setting up a merry tune, the seamen tramped round at the capstan bars, and the anchor was hove up. The wind being from the eastward, in the course of a few minutes the gallant frigate, under all sail, was gliding down through the smooth waters of the Solent Sea towards the Needles. Tom and Bill had something fresh to wonder at every minute. It dawned upon them by degrees that the forepart of the ship went first, and that the wheel, at which two hands were always stationed, had something to do with guiding her, and that the sails played an important part in driving her on. Jack had a great advantage over them, as he knew all this, and many other things besides, and being a good-natured fellow, was always ready to impart his knowledge to them. By the time they had been three or four weeks at sea, they had learned a great deal more, and were able to go aloft. Bill had caught up to Jack, and had left Tom far behind. The same talent which had induced him to mend his ragged clothes, made him do, with rapidity and neatness, everything else he undertook, while he showed a peculiar knack of being quick at understanding and executing the orders he received. Tom felt rather jealous that he should be surpassed by one he had at first looked down on as little better than a beggar boy. It never entered into Jack's head to trouble himself about the matter, and if Bill was his superior, that was no business of his. There were a good many other people on board, who looked down on all three of them, considering that they were the youngest boys, and were at everybody's beck and call. As soon as the frigate got to sea the crew were exercised at their guns, and Jack, Tom, and Bill had to perform the duty of powder-monkeys. This consisted in bringing up the powder from the magazine in small tubs, on which they had to sit in a row on deck, to prevent the sparks getting in while the men were working the guns, and to hand out the powder as it was required. "I don't see any fun in firing away when there is no enemy in sight," observed Tom, as he sat on his tub at a little distance from Bill. "There may not be much fun in it, but it's very necessary," answered Bill. "If the men were not to practise at the guns, how could they fire away properly when we get alongside an enemy? See! some of the fresh hands don't seem to know much what they are about, or the lieutenant would not be growling at them in the way he is doing. I am keeping my eye on the old hands to learn how they manage, and before long, I think, if I was big enough, I could stand to my gun as well as they do." Tom, who had not before thought of observing the crews of the guns, took the hint, and watched how each man was engaged. By being constantly exercised, the crew in a few weeks were well able to work their guns; but hitherto they had fallen in with no enemy against whom to exhibit their prowess. A bright look-out was kept from the mast-head from sunrise to sunset for a strange sail, and it was not probable that they would have to go long without falling in with one, for England had at that time pretty nearly all the world in arms against her. She had managed to quarrel with the Dutch, and was at war with the French and Spaniards, while she had lately been engaged in a vain attempt to overcome the American colonies, which had thrown off their allegiance to the British Crown. Happily for the country, her navy was staunch, and many of the most gallant admirals whose names have been handed down to fame commanded her fleets; the captains, officers, and crews, down to the youngest ship-boys, tried to imitate their example, and enabled her in the unequal struggle to come off victorious. The _Foxhound_ had for some days been cruising in the Bay of Biscay, and was one morning about the latitude of Ferrol. The watch was employed in washing down decks, the men and boys paddling about with their trousers tucked up to their knees, some with buckets of water, which they were heaving about in every direction, now and then giving a shipmate, when the first lieutenant's eye was off them, the benefit of a shower-bath: others were wielding huge swabs, slashing them down right and left, with loud thuds, and ill would it have fared with any incautious landsman who might have got within their reach. The men were laughing and joking with each other, and the occupation seemed to afford amusement to all employed. Suddenly there came a shout from the look-out at the masthead of "Five sail in sight." "Where away?" asked Lieutenant Saltwell, who was on deck superintending the operations going forward. "Dead to leeward, sir," was the answer. The wind was at the time blowing from the north-west, and the frigate was standing close hauled, on the starboard tack, to the westward. The mate of the watch instantly went aloft, with his spy-glass hung at his back, to take a look at the strangers, while a midshipman was sent to inform Captain Waring, who, before many minutes had elapsed, made his appearance, having hurriedly slipped into his clothes. On receiving the report of the young officer, who had returned on deck, he immediately ordered the helm to be put up, and the ship to be kept away in the direction of the strangers. In a short time it was seen that most of them were large ships; one of them very considerably larger than the _Foxhound_. The business of washing down the decks had been quickly concluded, and the crew were sent to their breakfasts. Many remarks of various sorts were made by the men. Some thought that the captain would never dream of engaging so superior a force; while others, who knew him well, declared that whatever the odds, he would fight. As yet no order had been received to beat to quarters, and many were of opinion that the captain would only stand on near enough to ascertain the character of the strangers, and then, should they prove enemies, make all sail away from them. Still the frigate stood on, and Bill, who was near one of the officers who had a glass in his hand, heard him observe that one was a line-of-battle ship, two at least were frigates, while another was a corvette, and the fifth a large brig-of-war. These were formidable odds, but still their plucky captain showed no inclination to escape from them, but, on the contrary, seemed as if he had made up his mind to bring them to action. The question was ere long decided. The drum beat to quarters, the men went to their guns, powder and shot were handed up from below, giving ample occupation to the powder-monkeys, and the ship was headed towards the nearest of the strangers. She was still some distance off when the crew were summoned aft to hear what the captain had to say to them. "My lads!" he said, "some of you have fought under me before now, and though the odds were against us, we licked the enemy. We have got somewhat greater odds, perhaps, at present, but I want to take two or three of those ships; they are not quite as powerful as they look, and if you will work your guns as I know you can work them, we'll do it before many hours have passed. We have a fine breeze to help us, and will tackle one after the other. You'll support me, I know." Three loud cheers were given as a response to this appeal, and the men went back to their guns, where they stood stripped to their waists, with handkerchiefs bound round their heads. Notwithstanding the formidable array of the enemy, the frigate kept bearing down under plain sail towards them. Our heroes, sitting on their tubs, could see but very little of what was going forward, though now and then they got a glimpse of the enemy through the ports; but they heard the remarks made by the men in their neighbourhood, who were allowed to talk till the time for action had arrived. "Our skipper knows what he's about, but that chap ahead of the rest is a monster, and looks big enough to tackle us without the help of the others," observed one of the crew of the gun nearest to which Tom was seated. "What's the odds if she carries twice as many teeth as we have! we'll work ours twice as fast, and beat her before the frigates can come up to grin at us," answered Ned Green, the captain of the gun. Tom did not quite like the remarks he heard. There was going to be a sharp fight, of that there could be no doubt, and round shot would soon be coming in through the sides, and taking off men's heads and legs and arms. It struck him that he would have been safer at school. He thought of his father and mother, and brothers and sisters, who, if he was killed, would never know what had become of him; not that Tom was a coward, but it was somewhat trying to the courage even of older hands, thus standing on slowly towards the enemy. When the fighting had once begun, Tom was likely to prove as brave as anybody else; at all events, he would have no time for thinking, and it is that which tries most people. The captain and most of the officers were on the quarter-deck, keeping their glasses on the enemy. "The leading ship under French colours appears to me to carry sixty-four guns," observed the first lieutenant to the captain; "and the next, also a Frenchmen, looks like a thirty-six gun frigate. The brig is American, and so is one of the sloops. The sternmost is French, and is a biggish ship." "Whatever they are, we'll fight them, and, I hope, take one or two at least," answered the captain. He looked at his watch. It was just ten o'clock. The next moment the headmost ship opened her fire, and the shot came whizzing between the ship's masts. Captain Waring watched them as they flew through the air. "I thought so," he observed. "There were not more than fifteen; she's a store-ship, and will be our prize before the day is over. Fire, my lads!" he shouted; and the eager crew poured a broadside into the enemy, rapidly running in their guns, and reloading them to be ready for the next opponent. The _Foxhound_ was standing along the enemy's line to windward, and as she came abreast of each ship she fired with well-directed aim; and though all the enemy's ships in succession discharged their guns at her, not a shot struck her hull, though their object evidently was to cripple her, so that they might surround her and have her at their mercy. Tom, who had read about sea-fights, and had expected to have the shot come rushing across the deck, felt much more comfortable on discovering this, and began to look upon the Frenchmen as very bad gunners. The _Foxhound's_ guns were all this time thundering away as fast as the crews could run them in and load them, the men warming to their work as they saw the damage they were inflicting on the enemy. Having passed the enemy's line to windward, Captain Waring ordered the ship to be put about, and bore down on the sternmost French ship, which, with one of smaller size carrying the American pennant, was in a short time so severely treated that they both bore up out of the line. The _Foxhound_, however, followed, and the other French ships and the American brig coming to the assistance of their consorts, the _Foxhound_ had them on both sides of her. This was just what her now thoroughly excited crew desired most, as they could discharge their two broadsides at the same time; and right gallantly did she fight her way through her numerous foes till she got up with the American ship, which had been endeavouring to escape before the wind, and now, to avoid the broadside which the English ship was about to pour into her, she hauled down her colours. On seeing this, the frigate's crew gave three hearty cheers; and as soon as they had ceased, the captain's voice was heard ordering two boats away under the command of the third lieutenant, who was directed to take charge of the prize, and to send her crew on board the ship. Not a moment was to be lost, as the rest of the enemy, under all sail, were endeavouring to make their escape. The boats of the prize, which proved to be the _Alexander_, carrying twenty-four guns and upwards of a hundred men, were then lowered, and employed in conveying her crew to the ship. The American captain and officers were inclined to grumble at first. "Very sorry, gentlemen, to incommode you," said the English lieutenant, as he hurried them down the side; "but necessity has no law; my orders are to send you all on board the frigate, as the captain is in a hurry to go in chase of your friends, of which we hope to have one or two more in our possession before long." The lieutenant altered his tone when the Americans began to grumble. "You must go at once, or take the consequences," he exclaimed; and the prisoners saw that it would be wise to obey. They were received very politely on board the ship, Captain Waring offering to accept their parole if they were ready to give it, and promise not to attempt to interfere with the discipline and regulations of the ship. As soon as the prisoners were transferred to the _Foxhound_, she made all sail in chase of the large ship, which Captain Waring now heard was the sixty-four gun ship _Menager_, laden with gunpowder, but now mounting on her maindeck twenty-six long twelve-pounders, and on her quarter-deck four long six-pounders, with a crew of two hundred and twenty men. Her force was considerably greater than that of the English frigate, but Captain Waring did not for a moment hesitate to continue in pursuit of her. A stern chase, however, is a long chase. The day wore on, and still the French ship kept ahead of the _Foxhound_. The crew were piped to dinner to obtain fresh strength for renewing the fight. "Well, lads," said Green, who was a bit of a wag in his way, as he looked at the powder-boys still seated on their tubs, "as you have still got your heads on your shoulders, you may put some food into your mouths. Maybe you won't have another opportunity after we get up with the big 'un we are chasing. I told you, mates," he added, turning to the crew of his gun, "the captain knew what he was about, and would make the Frenchmen haul down their flags before we hauled down ours. I should not be surprised if we got the whole lot of them." The boys, having returned their powder to the magazine till it was again wanted, were glad enough to stretch their legs, and still more to follow Green's advice by swallowing the food which was served out to them. The rest of the enemy's squadron were still in sight, scattered here and there, and considerably ahead of the _Menager_; the frigate was, however, gaining on the latter, and if the wind held, would certainly be up with her some time in the afternoon. Every stitch of canvas she could carry was set on board the _Foxhound_. It was already five o'clock. The crew had returned to their quarters, and the powder-monkeys were seated on their tubs. Both the pursuer and pursued were on the larboard tack, going free. "We have her now within range of our guns," cried Captain Waring. "Luff up, master, and we'll give her a broadside." Just as he uttered the words a squall struck the frigate. Over she heeled, the water rushing in through her lower deck ports, which were unusually low, and washing over the deck. The crews of the lee guns, as they stood up to their knees in water, fully believed that she was going over. In vain they endeavoured to run in their guns. More and more she heeled over, till the water was nearly up to their waists. None flinched, however. The guns must be got in, and the ports shut, or the ship would be lost. "What's going to happen?" cried Tom Fletcher. "We are going down! we are going down!" CHAPTER THREE. BILL DOES GOOD SERVICE. The _Foxhound_ appeared indeed to be in a perilous position. The water washed higher and higher over the deck. "We are going down! we are going down!" again cried Tom, wringing his hands. "Not if we can help it," said Jack. "We must get the ports closed, and stop the water from coming in." "It's no use crying out till we are hurt. We can die but once," said Bill. "Cheer up, Tom; if we do go to the bottom, it's where many have gone before;" though Bill did not really think that the ship was sinking. Perhaps, had he done so, he would not have been so cool as he now appeared. "That's a very poor consolation," answered Tom to his last remark. "Oh, dear! oh, dear! I wish that I had stayed on shore." Though there was some confusion among the landsmen, a few of whom began to look very white, if they did not actually wring their hands and cry out, the crews of the guns remained at their stations, and hauled away lustily at the tackles to run them in. The captain, though on the quarter-deck, was fully aware of the danger. There was no time to shorten sail. "Port the helm!" he shouted; "hard a-port, square away the yards;" and in a few seconds the ship, put before the wind, rose to an even keel, the water, in a wave, rushing across the deck, some escaping through the opposite ports, though a considerable portion made its way below. The starboard ports were now speedily closed, when once more the ship hauled up in chase. The _Foxhound_, sailing well, soon got up again with the _Menager_, and once more opened her fire, receiving that of the enemy in return. The port of Ferrol could now be distinguished about six miles off, and it was thought probable that some Spanish men-of-war lying there might come out to the assistance of their friends. It was important to make the chase a prize before that should happen. For some minutes Captain Waring reserved his fire, having set all the sail the _Foxhound_ could carry. "Don't fire a shot till I tell you," he shouted to his men. The crews of the starboard guns stood ready for the order to discharge the whole broadside into the enemy. Captain Waring was on the point of issuing it, the word "Fire" was on his lips, when down came the Frenchman's flag, and instead of the thunder of their guns the British seamen uttered three joyful cheers. The _Foxhound_ was hove-to to windward of the prize, while three of the boats were lowered and pulled towards her. The third lieutenant of the _Foxhound_ was sent in command, and the _Menager's_ boats being also lowered, her officers and crew were transferred as fast as possible on board their captor. As the _Menager_ was a large ship, she required a good many people to man her, thus leaving the _Foxhound_ with a greatly diminished crew. It took upwards of an hour before the prisoners with their bags and other personal property were removed to the _Foxhound_. Captain Waring and Lieutenant Saltwell turned their eyes pretty often towards the harbour. No ships were seen coming out of it. The English frigate and her two prizes consequently steered in the direction the other vessels had gone, the captain hoping to pick up one or more of them during the following morning. Her diminished crew had enough to do in attending to their proper duties, and in looking after the prisoners. The commanders of the two ships were received by the captain in his cabin, while the gun-room officers invited those of similar rank to mess with them, the men taking care of the French and American crews. The British seamen treated them rather as guests than prisoners, being ready to attend to their wants and to do them any service in their power. Their manner towards the Frenchmen showed the compassion they felt, mixed perhaps with a certain amount of contempt. They seemed to consider them indeed somewhat like big babes, and several might have been seen feeding the wounded and nursing them with tender care. During the night neither the watch below nor any of the officers turned in, the greater number remaining on deck in the hopes that they might catch sight of one of the ships which had hitherto escaped them. Note: This action and the subsequent events are described exactly as they occurred. The American commander, Captain Gregory, sat in the cabin, looking somewhat sulky, presenting a great contrast to the behaviour of the Frenchman, Monsieur Saint Julien, who, being able to speak a little English, allowed his tongue to wag without cessation, laughing and joking, and trying to raise a smile on the countenance of his brother captive, the American skipper. "Why! my friend, it is de fortune of war. Why you so sad?" exclaimed the volatile Frenchman. "Another day we take two English ship, and then make all right. Have you never been in England? Fine country, but not equal to `la belle France;' too much fog and rain dere." "I don't care for the rain, or the fog, Monsieur; but I don't fancy losing my ship, when we five ought to have taken the Englishman," replied the American. "Ah! it was bad fortune, to be sure," observed Monsieur Saint Julien. "Better luck next time, as you say; but what we cannot cure, dat we must endure; is not dat your proverb? Cheer up! cheer up! my friend." Nothing, however, the light-hearted Frenchman could say had the effect of raising the American's spirits. A handsome supper was placed on the table, to which Monsieur Saint Julien did ample justice, but Captain Gregory touched scarcely anything. At an early hour he excused himself, and retired to a berth which Captain Waring had courteously appropriated to his use. During the night the wind shifted more to the westward, and then round to the south-west, blowing pretty strong. When morning broke, the look-outs discovered two sail to the south-east, which it was evident were some of the squadron that had escaped on the previous evening. They were, however, standing in towards the land. Captain Waring, after consultation with his first lieutenant and master, determined to let them escape. He had already three hundred and forty prisoners on board, while his own crew amounted to only one hundred and ninety. Should he take another prize, he would have still further to diminish the number of the ship's company, while that of the prisoners would be greatly increased. The French and American captains had come on deck, and were standing apart, watching the distant vessels. "I hope these Englishmen will take one of those fellows," observed Captain Gregory to Monsieur Saint Julien. "Why so, my friend?" asked the latter. "They deserve it, in the first place, and then it would be a question who gets command of this ship. We are pretty strong already, and if your people would prove staunch, we might turn the tables on our captors," said the American. "Comment!" exclaimed Captain Saint Julien, starting back. "You forget dat we did pledge our honour to behave peaceably, and not to interfere with the discipline of the ship. French officers are not accustomed to break their parole. You insult me by making the proposal, and I hope dat you are not in earnest." "Oh, no, my friend, I was only joking," answered the American skipper, perceiving that he had gone too far. Officers of the U.S. Navy, we may here remark, have as high a sense of honour as any English or French officer, but this ship was only a privateer, with a scratch crew, some of them renegade Englishmen, and the Captain was on a level with the lot. The Frenchman looked at him sternly. "I will be no party to such a proceeding," he observed. "Oh, of course not, of course not, my friend," said Captain Gregory, walking aside. It being finally decided to allow the other French vessels to escape, the _Foxhound's_ yards were squared away, and a course shaped for Plymouth, with the two prizes in company. Soon after noon the wind fell, and the ships made but little progress. The British crew had but a short time to sleep or rest, it being necessary to keep a number of men under arms to watch the prisoners. The Frenchmen were placed on the lower deck, where they sat down by themselves; but the Americans mixed more freely with the English. As evening approached, however, they also drew off and congregated together. Two or three of their officers came among them. Just before dusk Captain Gregory made his appearance, and was seen talking in low whispers to several of the men. Among those who observed him was Bill Rayner. Bill's wits were always sharp, and they had been still more sharpened since he came to sea by the new life he was leading. He had his eyes always about him to take in what he saw, and his ears open whenever there was anything worth hearing. It had struck him as a strange thing that so many prisoners should submit quietly to be kept in subjection by a mere handful of Englishmen. On seeing the American skipper talking to his men, he crept in unobserved among them. His ears being wide open, he overheard several words which dropped from their lips. "Oh, oh!" he thought. "Is that the trick you're after? You intend to take our ship, do you? You'll not succeed if I have the power to prevent you." But how young Bill was to do that was the question. He had never even spoken to the boatswain or the boatswain's mate. It seemed scarcely possible for him to venture to tell the first lieutenant or the captain; still, if the prisoners' plot was to be defeated, he must inform them of what he had heard, and that without delay. His first difficulty was how to get away from among the prisoners. Should they suspect him they would probably knock him on the head or strangle him, and trust to the chance of shoving him through one of the ports unobserved. This was possible in the crowded state of the ship, desperate as the act might seem. Bill therefore had to wait till he could make his way on deck without being remarked. Pretending to drop asleep, he lay perfectly quiet for some time; then sitting up and rubbing his eyes, he staggered away forward, as if still drowsy, to make it be supposed that he was about to turn into his hammock. Finding that he was unobserved, he crept up by the fore-hatchway, where he found Dick, who was in the watch off deck. At first he thought of consulting Dick, in whom he knew he could trust; but second thoughts, which are generally the best, made him resolve not to say anything to him, but to go at once to either the first lieutenant or the captain. "If I go to Mr Saltwell, perhaps he will think I was dreaming, and tell me to `turn into my hammock and finish my dreams,'" he thought to himself. "No! I'll go to the captain at once; perhaps the sentry will let me pass, or if not, I'll get him to ask the captain to see me. He cannot eat me, that's one comfort; if he thinks that I am bringing him a cock-and-bull story, he won't punish me; and I shall at all events have done my duty." Bill thought this, and a good deal besides, as he made his way aft till he arrived at the door of the captain's cabin, where the sentry was posted. "Where are you going, boy?" asked the sentry, as Bill in his eagerness was trying to pass him. "I want to see the captain," said Bill. "But does the captain want to see you?" asked the sentry. "He has not sent for me; but he will when he hears what I have got to tell him," replied Bill. "You must speak to one of the lieutenants, or get the midshipman of the watch to take in your message, if he will do it," said the sentry. "But they may laugh at me, and not believe what I have got to say," urged Bill. "Do let me pass,--the captain won't blame you, I am sure of that." The sentry declared that it was his duty not to allow any one to pass. While Bill was still pleading with him, the door of the inner cabin was opened, and the captain himself came out, prepared to go on deck. "What do you want, boy?" he asked, seeing Bill. "Please, sir, I have got something to tell you which you ought to know," said Bill, pulling off his hat. "Let me hear it then," said the captain. "Please, sir, it will take some time. You may have some questions to ask," answered Bill. On this the captain stepped back a few paces, out of earshot of the sentry. "What is it, boy?" he asked; "you seem to have some matter of importance to communicate." Bill then told him how he came to be among the prisoners, and had heard the American captain and his men talking together, and proposing to get the Frenchmen to rise with them to overpower the British crew. Captain Waring's countenance showed that he felt very much disposed to disbelieve what Bill had told him, or rather, to fancy that Bill was mistaken. "Stay there;" he said, and he went to the door of the cabin which he had allowed the American skipper to occupy. The berth was empty! He came back and cross-questioned Bill further. Re-entering the inner cabin, he found the French captain seated at the table. "Monsieur Saint Julien," he said; "are you cognisant of the intention of the American captain to try and overpower my crew?" "The proposal was made to me, I confess, but I refused to accede to it with indignation; and I did not suppose that Captain Gregory would make the attempt, or I should have informed you at once," answered Saint Julien. "He does intend to make it, though," said Captain Waring, "and I depend on you and your officers to prevent your men from joining him." "I fear that we shall have lost our influence over our men, but we will stand by you should there be any outbreak," said the French captain. "I will trust you," observed Captain Waring. "Go and speak to your officers while I take the steps necessary for our preservation." Captain Waring on this left the cabin, and going on deck, spoke to the first lieutenant and the midshipmen of the watch, who very speedily communicated the orders they had received to the other officers. The lieutenant of marines quickly turned out his men, while the boatswain roused up the most trustworthy of the seamen. So quickly and silently all was done, that a strong body of officers and men well armed were collected on the quarter-deck before any of the prisoners were aware of what was going forward. They were awaiting the captain's orders, when a loud report was heard. A thick volume of smoke ascended from below, and the next instant, with loud cries and shouts, a number of the prisoners were seen springing up the hatchway ladders. CHAPTER FOUR. THE FRIGATE BLOWN UP. The Americans had been joined by a number of the Frenchmen, and some few of the worst characters of the English crew--the jail-birds chiefly, who had been won over with the idea that they would sail away to some beautiful island, of which they might take possession; and live in independence, or else rove over the ocean with freedom from all discipline. They had armed themselves with billets of wood and handspikes; and some had got hold of knives and axes, which they had secreted. They rushed on deck expecting quickly to overpower the watch. Great was their dismay to find themselves encountered by a strong body of armed men, who seized them, or knocked them down directly they appeared. So quickly were the first overpowered that they had no time to give the alarm to their confederates below, and thus, as fresh numbers came up, they were treated like the first. In a couple of minutes the whole of the mutineers were overpowered. The Frenchmen who had not actually joined them cried out for mercy, declaring that they had no intention of doing so. What might have been the case had the Americans been successful was another matter. All those who had taken part in the outbreak having been secured, Captain Waring sent a party of marines to search for the American captain. He was quickly found, and brought on the quarter-deck. "You have broken your word of honour; you have instigated the crew to mutiny, and I should be justified were I to run you up to the yard-arm!" said Captain Waring, sternly. "You would have done the same," answered the American captain, boldly. "Such acts when successful have always been applauded." "Not, sir, if I had given my word of honour, as you did, not to interfere with the discipline of the ship," said Captain Waring. "You are now under arrest, and, with those who supported you, will remain in irons till we reach England." Captain Gregory had not a word to say for himself. The French captain, far from pleading for him, expressed his satisfaction that he had been so treated. He and the officers who had joined him were marched off under a guard to have their irons fixed on by the armourer. After this it became necessary to keep a strict watch on all the prisoners, and especially on the Americans, a large proportion of whom were found to be English seamen, and some of the _Foxhound's_ crew recognised old shipmates among them. Captain Waring, believing that he could trust to the French captain and his officers, allowed them to remain on their parole, a circumstance which greatly aggravated the feelings of Captain Gregory. The captain had not forgotten Bill, who, by the timely information he had given, had materially contributed to preserve the ship from capture. Bill himself did not think that he had done anything wonderful; his chief anxiety was lest the fact of his having given the information should become known. The sentinel might guess at it, but otherwise the captain alone could know anything about it. Bill, as soon as he had told his story to the captain, and found that it was credited, stole away forward among the rest of the crew on deck, where he took very good care not to say a word of what had happened; so that not till the trustworthy men received orders to be prepared for an outbreak were they aware of what was likely to occur. He therefore fancied that his secret had been kept, and that it would never be known; he was, consequently, surprised when the following morning the ship's corporal, touching his shoulder, told him that the captain wanted to speak to him. Bill went aft, feeling somewhat alarmed at the thoughts of being spoken to by the captain. On the previous evening he had been excited by being impressed with the importance of the matter he was about to communicate, but now he had time to wonder what the captain would say to him. He met Tom and Jack by the way. "Where are you going?" asked Tom. Bill told him. "I shouldn't wish to be in your shoes," remarked Tom. "What have you been about?" Bill could not stop to answer, but followed his conductor to the cabin door. The sentry, without inquiry, admitted him. The captain, who was seated at a table in the cabin, near which the first lieutenant was standing, received him with a kind look. "What is your name, boy?" he asked. "William Rayner, sir," said Bill. "Can you read and write pretty well?" "No great hand at either, sir," answered Bill. "Mother taught me when I was a little chap, but I have not had much chance of learning since then." "Should you like to improve yourself?" asked the captain. "Yes, sir; but I have not books, or paper, or pens." "We'll see about that," said the captain. "The information you gave me last night was of the greatest importance, and I wish to find some means of rewarding you. When we reach England, I will make known your conduct to the proper authorities, and I should like to communicate with your parents." "Please, sir, I have no parents; they are both dead, and I have no relations that I know of; but I am much obliged to you, sir," answered Bill, who kept wondering what the captain was driving at. "Well, my boy, I will keep an eye on you," said the captain. "Mr Saltwell, you will see what is best to be done with William Rayner," he added, turning to the first lieutenant. "If you wish to learn to read and write, you can come and get instruction every day from my clerk, Mr Finch. I will give him directions to teach you; but remember you are not forced to do it." "Thank you, sir," said Bill. "I should like to learn very much." After a few more words, the captain dismissed Bill, who felt greatly relieved when the formidable interview was over. As he wisely kept secret the fact of his having given information of the mutiny, his messmates wondered what could have induced the captain so suddenly to take an interest in him. Every day he went aft for his lesson, and Mr Finch, who was a good-natured young man, was very kind. Bill, who was remarkably quick, made great progress, and his instructor was much pleased with him. He could soon read easily, and Mr Finch, by the captain's orders, lent him several books. The master's assistant, calling him one day, told him that he had received orders from the captain to teach him navigation, and, greatly to his surprise, put a quadrant into his hands, and showed him how to use it. Bill all this time had not an inkling of what the captain intended for him. It never occurred to him that the captain could have perceived any merits or qualifications sufficient to raise him out of his present position, but he was content to do his duty where he was. Tom felt somewhat jealous of the favour Bill was receiving, though he pretended to pity him for having to go and learn lessons every day. Tom, indeed, knew a good deal more than Bill, as he had been at school, and could read very well, though he could not boast much of his writing. Jack could neither read nor write, and had no great ambition to learn; but he was glad, as Bill seemed to like it, that he had the chance of picking up knowledge. "Perhaps the captain intends to make you his clerk, or maybe some day you will become his coxswain," observed Jack, whose ambition soared no higher. "I should like to be that, but I suppose that it is not necessary to be able to read, or write, or sum. I never could make any hand at those things, but you seem up to them, and so it's all right that you should learn." Notwithstanding the mark of distinction Bill was receiving, the three young messmates remained very good friends. Bill, however, found himself much better off than he had before been. That the captain patronised him was soon known to all, and few ventured to lay a rope's-end on his back, as formerly, while he was well treated in other respects. Bill kept his eyes open and his wits awake on all occasions, and thus rapidly picked up a good knowledge of seamanship, such as few boys of his age who had been so short a time at sea possessed. The _Foxhound_ and her prizes were slowly making their way to England. No enemy appeared to rob her of them, though they were detained by contrary winds for some time in the chops of the Channel. At length the wind shifted a point or two, and they were able to get some way up it. The weather, however, became cloudy and dark, and no observation could be taken. It was a trying time, for the provisions and water, in consequence of the number of souls on board, had run short. The captain was doubly anxious to get into port; still, do all he could, but little progress was made, till one night the wind again shifted and the sky cleared. The master was aware that the ship was farther over to the French coast than was desirable, but her exact position it was difficult to determine. The first streaks of sunlight had appeared in the eastern sky, when the look-out shouted-- "A ship to the southward, under all sail." As the sun rose, his rays fell on the white canvas of the stranger, which was now seen clearly, standing towards the _Foxhound_. Captain Waring made a signal to the two prizes, which were somewhat to the northward, to make all sail for Plymouth, while the _Foxhound_, under more moderate canvas, stood off shore. Should the stranger prove an enemy, of which there was little doubt, Captain Waring determined to try and draw her away from the French coast, which could be dimly seen in the distance. He, at the same time, did not wish to make an enemy suppose that he was flying. Though ready enough to fight, he would rather first have got rid of his prisoners, but that could not now be done. It was necessary, therefore, to double the sentries over them, and to make them clearly understand that, should any of them attempt in any way to interfere, they would immediately be shot. Jack, Tom, and Bill had seen the stranger in the distance, and they guessed that they should before long be engaged in a fierce fight with her. There was no doubt that she was French. She was coming up rapidly. The captain now ordered the ship to be cleared for action. The men went readily to their guns. They did not ask whether a big or small ship was to be their opponent, but stood prepared to fight as long as the captain and officers ordered them, hoping, at all events, to beat the enemy. The powder-monkeys, as before, having been sent down to bring up the ammunition, took their places on their tubs. Of course they could see but little of what was going forward, but through one of the ports they at last caught sight of the enemy, which appeared to be considerably larger than the _Foxhound_. "We have been and caught a Tartar," Bill heard one of the seamen observe. "Maybe. But whether Turk or Tartar, we'll beat him," answered another. An order was passed along the decks that not a gun should be fired till the captain gave the word. The boys had not forgotten their fight a few weeks before, and had an idea that this was to turn out something like that. Then the shot of the enemy had passed between the masts and the rigging; but scarcely one had struck the hull, nor had a man been hurt, so they had begun to fancy that fighting was a very bloodless affair. "What shall we do with the prisoners, if we take her, I wonder?" asked Tom. "We've got Monsieurs enough on board already." "I daresay the captain will know what to do with them," responded Bill. "We must not count our chickens before they're hatched," said Jack. "Howsumdever, we'll do our best." Jack's remark, which was heard by some of the crew of the gun near which he was seated, caused a laugh. "What do you call your best, Jack?" asked Ned Green. "Sitting on my tub, and handing out the powder as you want it," answered Jack. "What more would you have me do, I should like to know?" "Well said, Jack," observed Green. "We'll work our guns as fast as we can, and you'll hand out the powder as we want it." The talking was cut short by the voices of the officers ordering the men to be ready for action. The crews of the guns laid hold of the tackles, while the captains stood with the lanyards in their hands, waiting for the word of command, and ready at a moment's notice to fire. The big ship got nearer and nearer. She could now be seen through the ports on the starboard side. "Well, but she's a whopper!" exclaimed Ned Green, "though I hope we'll whop her, notwithstanding. Now, boys, we'll show the Monsieurs what we can do." Just then came the word along the decks-- "Fire!" And the guns on the starboard side, with a loud roar, sent forth their missiles of death. While the crew were running them in to re-load, the enemy fired in return; their shot came crashing against the sides, some sweeping the upper deck, others making their way through the ports. The smoke from the guns curled round in thick eddies, through which objects could be but dimly seen. The boys looked at each other. All of them were seated on their tubs, but they could see several forms stretched on the deck, some convulsively moving their limbs, others stilled in death. This was likely to be a very different affair from the former action. Having handed out the powder, Jack, Tom, and Bill returned to their places once more. The _Foxhound's_ guns again thundered forth, and directly after there came the crashing sound of shot, rending the stout sides of the ship. For several minutes the roar was incessant. Presently a cheer was heard from the deck. One of the Frenchman's masts had gone over the side; but before many minutes had elapsed, a crashing sound overhead showed that the _Foxhound_ had been equally unfortunate. Her foremast had been shot away by the board, carrying with it the bowsprit and maintopmast. She was thus rendered almost unmanageable, but still her brave captain maintained the unequal contest. The guns, as they could be brought to bear, were fired at the enemy with such effect that she was compelled to sheer off to repair damages. On seeing this, the crew of the _Foxhound_ gave another hearty cheer; but ere the sound had died away, down came the mainmast, followed by the mizenmast, and the frigate lay an almost helpless hulk on the water. Captain Waring at once gave the order to clear the wreck, intending to get up jury-masts, so as to be in a condition to renew the combat should the French ship again attack them. All hands were thus busily employed. The powder in the meantime was returned to the magazine, and the guns run in and secured. The ship was in a critical condition. The carpenters, before anything else could be done, had to stop the shot-holes between wind and water, through which the sea was pouring in several places. It was possible that the prisoners might not resist the temptation, while the crew were engaged, to attempt retaking the ship. The captain and officers redoubled their watchfulness. The crew went steadily about their work, as men who knew that their lives depended on their exertions. Even the stoutest-hearted, however, looked grave. The weather was changing for the worse, and should the wind come from the northward, they would have a hard matter to escape being wrecked, even could they keep the ship afloat. The enemy, too, was near at hand, and might at any moment bear down upon them, and recommence the action. The first lieutenant, as he was coming along the deck, met Bill, who was trying to make himself useful in helping where he was wanted. "Rayner," said Mr Saltwell, "I want you to keep an eye on the prisoners, and report to the captain or me, should you see anything suspicious in their conduct--if they are talking together, or look as if they were waiting for a signal. I know I can trust you, my boy." Bill touched his hat. "I will do my best, sir," he answered; and he slipped down to where the prisoners were congregated. They did not suspect that he had before informed the captain of their intended outbreak, or it would have fared but ill with him. Whatever might have been their intentions, they seemed aware that they were carefully watched, and showed no inclination to create a disturbance. The greatest efforts were now made to set up the jury-masts. The wind was increasing, and the sea rising every minute. The day also was drawing on, and matters were getting worse and worse; still Captain Waring and his staunch crew worked away undaunted. If they could once get up the jury-masts, a course might be steered either for the Isle of Wight or Plymouth. Sails had been got up from below; the masts were ready to raise, when there came a cry of, "The enemy is standing towards us!" "We must beat her off, and then go to work again," cried the captain. A cheer was the response. The powder-magazine was again opened. The men flew to their guns, and prepared for the expected conflict. The French ship soon began to fire, the English returning their salute with interest. The round shot, as before, whistled across the deck, killing and wounding several of the crew. The sky became still more overcast; the lightning darted from the clouds; the thunder rattled, mocked by the roaring of the guns. Bill saw his shipmates knocked over on every side; but, as soon as one of the crew of a gun was killed, another took his place, or the remainder worked the gun with as much rapidity as before. The cockpit was soon full of wounded men. Though things were as bad as they could be, the captain had resolved not to yield. The officers went about the decks encouraging the crew, assuring them that they would speedily beat off the enemy. Every man, even the idlest, was doing his duty. Jack, Tom, and Bill were doing theirs. Suddenly a cry arose from below of "Fire! fire!" and the next moment thick wreaths of smoke ascended through the hatchways, increasing every instant in density. The firemen were called away. Even at that awful moment the captain and officers maintained their calmness. Now was the time to try what the men were made of. The greater number obeyed the orders they received. Buckets were handed up and filled with water to dash over the seat of the fire. Blankets were saturated and sent down below. The enemy ceased firing, and endeavoured to haul off from the neighbourhood of the ill-fated ship. In spite of all the efforts made, the smoke increased, and flames came rushing up from below. Still, the crew laboured on; hope had not entirely abandoned them, when suddenly a loud roar was heard, the decks were torn up, and hundreds of men in one moment were launched into eternity. Jack, Tom, and Bill had before this made their escape to the upper deck. They had been talking together, wondering what was next to happen, when Bill lost all consciousness; but in a few moments recovering his senses, found himself in the sea, clinging to a piece of wreck. He heard voices, but could see no one. He called to Tom and Jack, fancying that they must be near him, but no answer came. He must have been thrown, he knew, to some distance from the ship, for he could see the burning wreck, and the wind appeared to be driving him farther and farther away from it. The guns as they became heated went off, and he could hear the shot splashing in the water around him. "And Jack and Tom have been lost, poor fellows!" he thought to himself. "I wish they had been sent here. There's room enough for them on this piece of wreck. "We might have held out till to-morrow morning, when some vessel might have seen us and picked us up." Curiously enough, he did not think much about himself. Though he was thankful to have been saved, he guessed truly that the greater number of his shipmates, and the unfortunate prisoners on board, must have been lost; yet he regretted Jack and Tom more than all the rest. The flames from the burning ship cast a bright glare far and wide over the ocean, tinging the foam-topped seas. Bill kept gazing towards the ship. He could make out the Frenchman at some distance off, and fancied that he saw boats pulling across the tossing waters. On the other side he could distinguish another vessel, which was also, he hoped, sending her boats to the relief of the sufferers. The whole ship, however, appeared so completely enveloped in fire, the flames bursting out from all the ports and rising through every hatchway, that he could not suppose it possible any had escaped. He found it a hard matter to cling on to the piece of wreck, for the seas were constantly washing over him. Happily it was weighted below, so that it remained tolerably steady. Had it rolled over and over he must inevitably have lost his hold and been drowned. Though he had had very little of what is called enjoyment in life, and his prospects, as far as he could see, were none of the brightest, he still had no wish to die, and the instinct of self-preservation made him cling to the wreck with might and main. The tide, which was setting towards the shore, had got hold of his raft, which was also driven by the wind in the same direction, and he found himself drifting gradually away from the burning ship, and his chance of being picked up by one of the boats diminishing. He remembered that land had been in sight some time before the action, but how far the ship had been from it when she caught fire he could not tell, and when he turned his eyes to the southward he could see nothing of it. Some hours had passed away, so it seemed to him, when, as he turned his eyes towards the ship, the flames appeared to rise up higher than ever. Her stout hull was a mass of fire fore and aft--she was burning down to the water's edge. Then came the end--the wild waves washed over her, and all was dark. "There goes the old ship," thought Bill. "I wonder how many on board her a few hours ago are now alive. Shall I reach the shore to-morrow morning? I don't see much chance of it, and if I don't, how shall I ever live through another day?" CHAPTER FIVE. PICKED UP BY A FISHING-VESSEL. After a time, Bill began to feel very hungry, and then he recollected that at dinner he had clapped a biscuit into his pocket. He felt for it. It was soaked through and through, and nearly turned into paste, but it served to stay his appetite, and to keep up his strength. At length he became somewhat drowsy, but he did his best to keep awake. Feeling about, he got hold of a piece of rope, with which he managed to secure himself to the raft. Had he found it before, it would have saved him much exertion. The feeling that there was now less risk of being washed away, made him not so anxious as at first to withstand the strong desire which had attacked him, and yielding to it, his eyes closed, and he dropped off to sleep. How long he had been in that state he could not tell, when he was aroused by the sound of human voices. Opening his eyes, he found that the sun was shining down upon him, and looking round, he saw a small vessel approaching. He soon made her out to be a fishing craft with five people on board. They hailed him, but he was too weak to answer. He managed, however, to wave one of his hands to show that he was alive. The fishing-vessel came on, and hove-to close to him. The sea had considerably gone down. A boat was launched from her deck, and pulled up to the raft, with two men in her. They said something, but Bill could not understand them. One of them, as they got up alongside, sprang on to the raft, and casting off the lashings which held Bill to it, the next instant was safe in the boat with him in his arms. The man having placed him in the stern-sheets, the boat quickly returned to the cutter. Bill was lifted on board, and the boat was then hauled up again on the cutter's deck. His preservers, though rough-looking men, uttered exclamations in kind tones which assured Bill that he had fallen into good hands. One of them then carried him down into the little cabin, and stripping off his wet clothes, placed him between the blankets in a berth on one side. In a few minutes the same man, who appeared to be the captain of the fishing-vessel, returned with a cup of hot coffee and some white bread. Stirring the coffee and blowing to cool it, he made signs to Bill that he must drink some of it. This Bill very gladly did, and he then felt able to eat some of the bread, which seemed very sweet and nice. This greatly restored his strength. He wished, however, that he could answer the questions which the men put to him. He guessed that they were Frenchmen, but not a word of French did he know. At last another man came into the cabin. "You English boy?" asked the man. "Yes," said Bill. "Ship burn; blow up?" was the next question put to Bill, the speaker showing what he meant by suitable action. "Yes," said Bill, "and I am afraid all my shipmates are lost. Though you are French, you won't send me to prison, I hope?" "Have no fear," answered the man, smiling; and turning round to his companions, he explained what Bill had said. They smiled, and Bill heard them say, "Pauvre garcon." "No! no! no! You sleep now, we take care of you," said the interpreter, whose knowledge of English was, however, somewhat limited. Bill felt a strong inclination to follow the advice given him. One of the men, bundling up his wet clothes, carried them to dry at the little galley fire forward. The rest went on deck, and Bill in another minute fell fast asleep. Where the cutter was going Bill could not tell. He had known her to be a fishing-vessel by seeing the nets on deck, and he had guessed that she was French by the way in which the people on board had spoken. They had given evidence also that they intended to treat him kindly. Some hours must have passed away when Bill again awoke, feeling very hungry. It was daylight, and he saw that his clothes were laid at the foot of his berth. Finding that his strength had returned, he got up, and began dressing himself. He had just finished when he saw that there was some one in the opposite berth. "Perhaps the skipper was up all night, and has turned in," thought Bill; but as he looked again, he saw that the head was certainly not that of a man, but the face was turned away from him. His intention was to go on deck, to try and thank the French fishermen, as far as he was able, for saving his life, but before he did so curiosity prompted him to look again into the berth. What was his surprise and joy to recognise the features of his shipmate, Jack Peek! His face was very pale, but he was breathing, which showed that he was alive. At all events, Bill thought that he would not awake him, eager as he was to know how he had been saved. He went up on deck, hoping that the man who had spoken a few words of English might be able to tell him how Jack had been picked up. On reaching the deck he found that the vessel was close in with the land. She was towing a shattered gig, which Bill recognised as one of those belonging to the _Foxhound_. He at once conjectured that Jack had managed somehow or other to get into her. As soon as he appeared, the Frenchmen began talking to him, forgetting that he was unable to understand them. As he made no reply, they recollected themselves, and began laughing at their own stupidity. One of them shouted down the fore-hatchway, and presently the interpreter, as Bill called him, made his appearance. "Glad see you. All right now?" he said, in a tone of interrogation. "All right," said Bill, "but I want you to tell me how you happened to find my shipmate Jack Peek;" and Bill pointed down into the cabin. "He, friend! not broder! no! We find him in boat, but he not say how he got dere. Two oder men, but dey dead, so we heave dem overboard, and take boat in tow," answered the man. Jack himself was probably not likely to be able to give any more information than the Frenchman had done. Suddenly it struck his new friends that Bill might be hungry, and the interpreter said to him, "You want manger," pointing to Bill's mouth. Bill understood him. "Yes, indeed I do; I am ready for anything you can give me," he said. The fire was lighted, while a pot was put to boil on it, and, greatly to Bill's satisfaction, in a few minutes one of the men, who acted as cook, poured the contents into a huge basin which was placed on the deck, and smaller basins and wooden spoons were handed up from below. One man remaining at the helm, the remainder sat down and ladled the soup into the smaller basins. Bill eagerly held out his. The mess, which consisted of fowl and pork and a variety of vegetables, smelt very tempting, and as soon as it was cool enough, Bill devoured it with a good appetite. His friends asked him by signs if he would have any more. "Thank you," he answered, holding out his basin. "A spoonful or two; but we must not forget Jack Peek. When he awakes, he will be glad of some;" and he pointed into the cabin. The Frenchmen understood him, and made signs that they would keep some for his friend, one of them patting him on the back and calling him "Bon garcon." Bill, after remaining some time on deck, again felt sleepy, and his head began to nod. The Frenchmen, seeing this, told him to go below. He gladly followed their advice, and descending into the cabin, lay down, and was once more fast asleep. The next time he awoke he found that the vessel was at anchor. He got up, and looked into Jack's berth. Jack at that moment turned round, and opening his eyes, saw his shipmate. "Why, Bill, is it you!" he exclaimed. "I am main glad to see you; but where are we?--how did I come here? I thought that I was in the captain's gig with Tom Nokes and Dick Harbour. What has become of them? They were terribly hurt, poor fellows! though they managed to crawl on board the gig." Bill told him what he had learned from the Frenchman. "They seem kind sort of fellows, and we have fallen into good hands," he added; "but what they're going to do with us is more than I can tell." Just then the captain of the fishing-vessel came below, and seeing that Jack was awake, he called out to one of the men to bring a basin of the soup which had been kept for him. While he was swallowing it, a man brought him his clothes, which had been sent forward to dry. The captain then made signs to him to dress, as he intended taking them both on shore with him. Bill helped Jack, who was somewhat weak, to get on his clothes. They then went on deck. The vessel lay in a small harbour, protected by a reef of rocks from the sea. Near the shore were a number of cottages, and on one side of the harbour a line of cliffs running away to the eastward. Several other small vessels and open boats lay at anchor around. The captain, with the interpreter, whose name they found was Pierre, got into the boat, the latter telling the lads to come with them. They did as they were directed, sitting down in the stern-sheets, while the captain and Pierre took the oars and pulled towards the shore. It was now evening, and almost dark. They saw the lights shining in the windows of several of the cottages. Pierre was a young man about nineteen or twenty, and, they fancied, must be the captain's son. They were right, they found, in their conjectures. Pierre made them understand, in his broken language, that he had some short time before been a prisoner in England, where he had been treated very kindly; but before he had time to learn much English, he had been exchanged. This had made him anxious to show kindness to the young English lads. "Come along," said Pierre, as they reached the shore. "I show you my house, my mere, and my soeur. They take care of you; but mind! you not go out till dey tell you, or de gendarmes take you to prison perhaps. Do not speak now till we get into de house." Bill and Jack followed their guide while the old man rowed back to the vessel. Pierre led them to a cottage a little distance from the shore, which appeared to be somewhat larger than those they had passed. He opened the door, telling them to come in with him, when he immediately again closed it. A middle-aged woman and a young girl, in high white caps with flaps over the shoulders, were seated spinning. They started up on seeing the two young strangers, and began inquiring of Pierre who they were. His explanation soon satisfied them, and jumping up, Madame Turgot and Jeannette took their hands, and began pouring out in voluble language their welcomes. "You say `Merci! merci!'" said Pierre, "which means `Thank you! thank you!'" "Merci! merci!" said Jack and Bill. It was the first word of French they learned, and, as Jack observed, came in very convenient. What the mother and her daughter said they could not make out, but they understood well enough that the French women intended to be kind. "You hungry?" asked Pierre. "Very," answered Jack. Pierre said something to his mother and sister, who at once set about spreading a cloth and placing eatables on the table--bread and cheese, and pickled fish, and some salad. "Merci! merci!" said Jack and Bill, as their hostess made signs to them to fall to. Pierre joined them, and in a short time Captain Turgot himself came in. He was as hospitably inclined as his wife and daughter, and kept pressing the food upon the boys. "Merci! merci!" was their answer. At last Jeannette began to laugh, as if she thought it a good joke. Jack and Bill tried hard to understand what was said. Pierre observed them listening, and did his best to explain. From him they learned that they must remain quiet in the house, or they might be carried away as prisoners of war. He and his father wished to save them from this, and intended, if they had the opportunity, enabling them to get back to England. "But how will you manage that?" asked Bill. Pierre looked very knowing, and gave them to understand that smuggling vessels occasionally came into the harbour, and that they might easily get on board one of them, and reach the English coast. "But we do not wish to get rid of you," said Pierre. "If you like to remain with us, you shall learn French, and become French boys; and you can then go out and help us fish, and gain your livelihood." Pierre did not say this in as many words, but Jack and Bill agreed that such was his meaning. "He's very kind," observed Bill; "but for my part, I should not wish to become a French boy; though I would not mind remaining for a while with the French dame and her daughter, for they're both very kind, and we shall have a happy time of it." This was said a day or two after their arrival. Captain Turgot had fitted them up a couple of bunks in a small room in which Pierre slept, and they were both far more comfortable than they had ever been in their lives. Captain Turgot's cottage was far superior to that of Jack's father; and as for Bill, he had never before slept in so soft a bed. They had to remain in the house, however, all day; but Captain Turgot or Pierre took them out in the evening, when they could not be observed, to stretch their legs and get a little fresh air. They tried to make themselves useful by helping Madame Turgot, and they rapidly picked up from her and her daughter a good amount of French, so that in a short time they were able to converse, though in a curious fashion, it must be owned. They soon got over their bashfulness, and asked the name of everything they saw, which Jeannette was always ready to tell them. Their attempts at talking French afforded her vast amusement. Though kindly treated, they at length got tired of being shut up in the house, and were very well pleased when one day Captain Turgot brought them each a suit of clothes, and told them that he was going away to fish, and would take them with him. Next morning they went on board the cutter, and sail being soon afterwards made, she stood out of the harbour. CHAPTER SIX. TAKEN PRISONERS. Jack and Bill made themselves very useful in hauling the nets, and cleaning the fish when caught. Jack was well up to the work, and showed Bill how to do it. Captain Turgot was highly pleased, and called them "bons garcons," and said he hoped that they would remain with him till the war was over, and as much longer as they liked. When the cutter returned into the harbour to land her fish, Jack and Bill were sent below, so that the authorities might not see them and carry them off. Captain Turgot was much afraid of losing them. They were getting on famously with their French, and Bill could chatter away already at a great rate, though not in very good French, to be sure, for he made a number of blunders, which afforded constant amusement to his companions, but Pierre was always ready to set him right. Jack made much slower progress. He could not, he said, twist his tongue about sufficiently to get out the words, even when he remembered them. Some, he found, were wonderfully like English, and those he recollected the best, though, to be sure, they had different meanings. One day the cutter had stood out farther from the shore than usual, her nets being down, when, at daybreak, a strange sail was seen in the offing. The captain, after taking one look at her, was convinced that she was an enemy. "Quick! quick! my sons," he shouted: "we must haul the nets and make sail, or we shall be caught by the English. They are brave people, but I have no wish to see the inside of one of their prisons." All hands worked away as if their lives depended on their exertions. Jack and Bill lent a hand as usual. They scarcely knew what to wish. Should the stranger prove to be an English ship, and come up with them, they would be restored to liberty; but, at the same time, they would feel very sorry that their kind friends should lose their vessel and be made prisoners; still, Jack wanted to let his mother know that he was alive, and Bill wished to be on board a man-of-war again, fighting for Old England, and getting a foot or two up the ratlines. His ambition had been aroused by what the captain had said to him, and the assistant master had observed, though he had spoken in joke, that he might, some day or other, become an admiral. Bill had thought the subject over and over, till he began to fancy that, could he get another chance, the road to fame might be open to him. The loss of the ship with the captain and officers seemed, to be sure, to have overthrown all his hopes; but what had happened once might happen again, and by attending to his duty, and keeping his eyes open, and his wits awake, he might have another opportunity of distinguishing himself. No one could possibly have suspected what was passing in Bill's mind, as he worked away as energetically as the rest in stowing the nets and making sail. The stranger was now made out to a certainty to be an English frigate, and a fast one, too, by the way she slipped through the water. The wind was from the south-east, and being thus partially off shore, would enable the frigate to stand in closer to the land than she otherwise might have ventured to do. This greatly diminished the chances of the cutter's escape. Captain Turgot, however, like a brave man, did not tear his hair, or stamp, or swear, as Frenchmen are sometimes supposed to do, but, taking the helm, set every sail his craft could carry, and did his best, by careful steering, to keep to windward of the enemy. Could he once get into harbour he would be safe, unless the frigate should send her boats in to cut his vessel out. The cutter possessed a couple of long sweeps. Should it fall calm, they would be of use; but at present the breeze was too strong to render them necessary. The crew kept looking astern to watch the progress made by their pursuer, which was evidently coming up with them. What chance, indeed, had a little fishing craft with a dashing frigate? An idea occurred to Jack which had not struck Bill. "Suppose we are taken--and it looks to me as if we shall be before long--what will they say on board the frigate when they find us rigged out in fisherman's clothes? They will be thinking we are deserters, and will be hanging us up at the yard-arm." "I hope it won't go so hard as that with us," answered Bill. "We can tell them that the Frenchmen took away our clothes, and rigged us out in these, and we could not help ourselves." "But will they believe us?" asked Jack. On that point Bill acknowledged that there was some doubt; either way, he would be very sorry for Captain Turgot. One thing could be said, that neither their fears nor wishes would prevent the frigate from capturing the cutter. They looked upon that as a settled matter. As long, however, as there was a possibility of escaping, Captain Turgot resolved to persevere. Matters began to look serious, when a flash and wreath of smoke was seen to issue from one of the bow guns of the frigate, and a shot came jumping over the water towards them. It did not reach them, however. "You must get nearer, monsieur, before you hurt us," said the captain, as he watched the shot fall into the water. Shortly afterwards another followed. It came close up to the cutter; but a miss is as good as a mile, and the little vessel was none the worse for it. Another shot, however, might produce a very different result. "I say, Bill, I don't quite like the look of things," observed Jack. "Our skipper had better give in, or one of those shot will be coming aboard us, and carrying somebody's head off." "He doesn't look as if he had any thoughts of the sort," said Bill; "and as long as there is any chance of keeping ahead, he'll stand on." Soon after Bill had made this remark, another shot was fired from the frigate, and passed alongside the cutter, falling some way ahead. Had it been better aimed, the effect might have been somewhat disastrous. Still Captain Turgot kept at the helm. Some of the crew, however, began to cry out, and begged him to heave to. He pointed to the shore. "Do you want to see your wives and families again?" he asked. "Look there! How smooth the water is ahead. The wind is falling, and the frigate will soon be becalmed. She'll not think it worth while to send her boats after us. Come! out with the sweeps, and we shall soon draw out of shot of her. Look there! now her topsails are already flapping against the masts. Be of good courage, my sons!" Thus incited, the crew got out the sweeps. Jack and Bill helped them with as much apparent good-will as if they had had no wish to be on board the frigate. The little vessel felt the effects of the powerful sweeps, and, in spite of the calm, continued to move ahead. Again and again the frigate fired at her, but she was a small object, and each shot missed. This encouraged the French crew, whose spirits rose as they saw their chance of escaping increase. Farther and farther they got from the frigate, which, with the uncertainty from what quarter the wind would next blow, was afraid of standing closer in shore. By nightfall the cutter, by dint of hard rowing, had got safe into harbour. When Dame Turgot and Jeannette heard what had occurred, they expressed their delight at seeing their young friends back. "We must not let you go to sea again, for it would be a sad thing to hear that you had been captured and shot for being deserters," said Jeannette. She had the same idea which had occurred to Jack. The English frigates were at this time so frequently seen off the coast, that Captain Turgot, who had several boats as well as the cutter, thought it prudent to confine his operations to inshore fishing, so as not to run the risk of being captured. Jack and Bill sometimes went out with him, but, for some reason or other, he more generally left them at home. Pierre, who was a good swimmer, induced them to come down and bathe with him in the morning, and gave them instruction in the art. Jack could already swim a little. Bill took to it at once, and beat him hollow; in a short time being able to perform all sorts of evolutions. He was soon so perfectly at home in the water, that he declared he felt able to swim across the Channel, if he could carry some food with him to support himself on the way. Jack laughed at the idea, observing that "nobody ever had swum across the Channel, and he did not believe that anybody ever would do so." Pierre advised Bill not to make the attempt. "No fear," said Jack. "He'll not go without me, and I am not going to drown myself if I can help it." Bill, however, often thought over the matter, and tried to devise some plan by which he and Jack might manage to get across. His plans came to nothing; and, indeed, the Channel where they were was much too wide to be crossed except in a small vessel or in a large boat. Jack was beginning to speak French pretty well, and Bill was able to gabble away with considerable fluency, greatly to the delight of Jeannette, who was his usual instructress. He tried to teach her a little English in return, but she laughed at her own attempts, and declared that she should never be able to pronounce so break-jaw a language. Bill thought that she got on very well, but she seemed more anxious to teach him French than to learn English herself. Several weeks more passed by. Well treated as they were, still the boys had a longing to return to England, though the opportunity of doing so appeared as far off as ever. They were in the house one afternoon, laughing and joking merrily with Jeannette, while Dame Turgot was away at the neighbouring town to market, when the door opened, and she entered, with a look of alarm on her countenance. "Quick, quick, come here!" she said; and seizing them both by the arms, she dragged them into the little inner room. "Pull off your clothes and jump into bed!" she exclaimed. "Whatever you hear, don't move or speak, but pretend to be fast asleep." They obeyed her; and snatching up their jackets and trousers, she hurried from the room, locking the door behind her. She had just time to tumble their clothes into a chest, when a loud knocking was heard at the door. She opened it, and several soldiers, under the command of a sergeant, entered. The boys guessed who they were by their voices, and the noise they made when grounding their muskets. "Well, messieurs," said Dame Turgot, with perfect composure, "and what do you want here?" "We come in search of prisoners. It is reported that you have some concealed in your house," said the sergeant. "Ma foi! that is a good joke! I conceal prisoners indeed!" exclaimed the dame, laughing. "Pray who are these notable prisoners?" "That's for you to say. We only know that you have prisoners," answered the sergeant. "Then, if you will have it so, one may possibly be a general, and the other an admiral, and the sooner they are lodged in the Bastille, the better for the safety of France," answered the dame, laughing. "I am a loyal Frenchwoman, and can cry `Vive le Roi!' `Vive la France!' with all my heart." Jack and Bill, who had quaked at the thoughts of being made prisoners by the soldiers, now began to have better hope of escaping. The sergeant, however, was not to be deceived by Dame Turgot's manner. "Come, come, I must search your house, notwithstanding. For that purpose I was sent, and I must perform my duty," he said; and he hunted round the room. "Now let us look into your room;" and the soldiers, entering, began poking about with their bayonets, running them under the bed, and through the bedding, in a way likely to kill anybody concealed. Jeannette's little room was visited and treated in the same manner. "And what's this room?" asked the sergeant, pointing to the boys' room. "That? That is a closet," answered the dame; "or if you like it, the general and admiral are both there fast asleep, but I am unwilling to disturb them." She said this in a laughing tone, as if she were joking. "Well, open the door," said the sergeant, not expecting to find anybody. "But I tell you the door is locked. Who has got the key, I wonder?" said the dame. "Come, come, unlock the door, or we must force it open," said the sergeant, making as if he was about to prise it open with his bayonet. On this the dame pulled the key out of her pocket, and opening the door, exclaimed-- "There in one bed you will find the general, and in the other the admiral; or, without joking, they are two poor boys whom my good man picked up at sea, and already they are more French than English." The sergeant, looking into the beds, discovered the boys. "Come, get up, mes garcons," he said; "you must come with me, whoever you are, and give an account of yourselves." Neither of the boys made any reply, deeming it wiser to keep silence. "Come along," he said; and he dragged first one, and then the other, out of bed. "Bring the boys' clothes," he added, turning to the dame, who quickly brought their original suits. They soon dressed themselves, hanging their knives round their necks. "I told you the truth. You see who and what they are!" exclaimed the dame. Jeannette, too, pleaded eloquently on their behalf, but the sergeant was unmoved. "All you say may be right, but I must take them," he answered. "Come-- quick march!" He allowed them, however, to take an affectionate farewell of the dame and Jeannette, the latter bursting into tears as she saw them dragged off by the soldiers. CHAPTER SEVEN. SHUT UP IN A TOWER. Jack and Bill marched along in the middle of the party of soldiers, endeavouring, as well as they could, to keep up their spirits, and to appear unconcerned. Where they were going they could not tell. "Jack," whispered Bill, "don't let these fellows know that we understand French. We may learn something from what they say to each other; and they are not likely to tell us the truth, if we were to ask them questions." "Trust me for that," answered Jack. "One might suppose, from the way they treat us, that they take us for desperate fellows, who would make nothing of knocking them down right and left, if it were not for their muskets and bayonets." "All right," responded Bill; "we'll keep our wits awake, and maybe we shall find an opportunity of getting away." "I am ready for anything you propose," said Jack. "We might have found it more easy to make our escape if Madame Turgot had brought us back our French toggery; but still, for my part, I feel more comfortable-like in my own clothes." "So do I," said Bill. "Somehow I fancy that I am more up to work dressed as an English sailor than I should be as a French boy. I only hope our friends will not get into any scrape for having concealed us. They are wonderfully kind people, and I shall always be ready to do a good turn to a Frenchman for their sakes." "So shall I after I've thrashed him," said Jack. "If the French will go to war with us, they must take the consequences." The soldiers did not interfere with the lads, but allowed them to talk on to each other as much as they liked. The road they followed led them to the eastward, as far as they could judge, at no great distance from the shore. After marching about a couple of miles, they reached a small town, or village rather, the houses being scattered along the shores of another bay much larger than the one they had left. A river of some size ran into the bay, and on a point of land near the mouth, on a height, stood an old tower, which had been built, apparently, for the purpose of guarding the entrance. It was in a somewhat dilapidated condition, and seemed now very unfit for its original object, for a few round shot would have speedily knocked it to pieces. It might, however, afford shelter to a small body of infantry, who could fire from the loopholes in its walls down on any boats, attempting to ascend the river. "I wonder if they are going to shut us up there!" said Jack, as the sergeant led the party in the direction of the tower. "No doubt about it," replied Bill; "but it doesn't seem to be a very terrible place; and, by the look of the walls, I have a notion that I could climb to the top, or make my way down them, without the slightest difficulty." They had time to make their observations before they reached the entrance gate. A small guard of soldiers were stationed in the tower, to whose charge the prisoners were handed over. The officer commanding the party was a gruff old fellow, who seemed to have no feeling of compassion for his young prisoners. After putting various questions to the sergeant who had brought them, he made signs to them to accompany him to the top of the building, and led the way, attended by two soldiers who followed close behind, up a flight of exceedingly rickety stairs, which creaked and groaned as they ascended. On reaching the top the officer opened a door, which led into a small room, the highest apparently in the building; he then signed to the boys to go in, and without saying a word closed the door and locked it. They soon afterwards heard him and his men descending the stairs. "Here we are," said Jack. "I wonder what's going to happen next!" "Why, if they leave us here long enough, the next thing that will happen will be that we'll make our way out again," replied Bill. "Look at those windows! Though they are not very big, they are large enough for us to squeeze through, or it may be more convenient to make our way out by the roof. I can see daylight through one or two places, which shows that the tiles are not very securely fastened on." "And if we do get out, where shall we go?" asked Jack. "It won't do to return to the Turgots; we might be getting them into trouble. We must make our way down to the sea shore, and then travel on till we can reach some port or other, and when there try to get on board a smuggling lugger, as Captain Turgot at first proposed we should do," replied Bill. "It may be a hard job to do that," said Jack; "and I should say it would be easier to run off with a boat or some small craft which we two could handle, and make our way in her across Channel. I know where to find the polar star. I have often been out at night when father steered by it, and we should be sure, some time or other, to make the English coast." "I should not like to run away with a poor man's vessel. What would he say in the morning when he found his craft gone?" observed Bill. "It would be taking what is not ours to take. I never did and never would do that." Jack argued the point. "The French are enemies of the English," he said, "and therefore Englishmen have a perfect right to best them either afloat or on shore." Bill said he would consider the subject, and in the meantime they made a further survey of their prison. It could not be called luxuriantly furnished, considering that there was only a bench of no great width running along the side of one of the walls, and the remains of a table. One of the legs had gone, and part of the top, and it was propped up by a couple of empty casks. There were neither bedsteads nor bedding of any description, but the bench was of sufficient length to allow both the boys to lie down on it. The sun was on the point of setting when they reached the tower, and darkness soon stole on them. "I wonder whether they intend to give us any supper," said Jack, "or do they expect us to live on air?" "I can hold out till to-morrow morning, but I should be thankful if they would bring us up something to-night; and we should be the better able to make our escape, if we have the opportunity," observed Bill. "Then I propose that we make a tremendous row, and that will bring some one up to sea what's the matter. We can then point to our mouths to show that we are hungry, and perhaps they will take compassion on us," said Jack. Bill agreeing to Jack's proposal, they began jumping and stamping about the room, and singing at the top of their voices, in a way which could scarcely fail to be heard by the men in the guard-room below. They were in a short time convinced that their proceedings had produced the desired effect; for when they ceased to make the noise, they heard the heavy step of a man ascending the creaking stairs. It had not occurred to them that he might possibly come with a thick stick in his hand, to thrash them for making a row. The idea, however, flashed across Jack's mind by the time the man was half-way up. "We may get more kicks than ha'pence for what we've been doing," he observed; "however, it cannot be helped; we must put a good face on the matter, and let him fancy that it is the way English boys have of showing when they are hungry. If he does not make out what we mean, we'll say, `manger, manger,' and he'll then know what we want." Bill laughed. He was not much afraid of a beating. He reminded Jack that he must not say anything more than he proposed, or the Frenchmen might find out that they understood their language. The man came slowly up the steps, which creaked and groaned louder and louder. "I'll tell you what," said Bill. "If those steps are as rotten as they appear to be, we might pull some of them up, and so prevent the guard from reaching this room, and finding out that we have made our escape." "We should have to get the door open first," observed Jack, "and that would be no easy matter." "More easy than you may suppose," said Bill. "I'll try and shove something into the catch of the lock while the Frenchman is in the room." Just then the door opened, and a soldier entered, with a lantern in one hand, and, as Jack expected, a stick in the other. It was not, however, a very thick one, and Jack thought, as he eyed it, that its blows, though they might hurt, would not break any bones; however, neither he nor Bill had any intention of being thrashed if they could help it. The soldier began at once to inquire, in an angry tone, why they had made so much noise. They pretended not to understand him; but as he lifted his stick to strike at them, they ran round the room, Jack shouting "Manger! manger!" and pointing to his mouth. He could easily manage to keep out of the Frenchman's reach, but at last he allowed himself to be caught for a minute at the farther end of the room, thus giving Bill time to reach the door. Bill made good use of the opportunity, while the Frenchman's back was turned, to carry out his intention. "All right," he cried out; and as soon as Jack heard him, he skipped out of the Frenchman's way, as he had no wish to receive more blows than he could avoid. The soldier, on seeing Bill, attacked him next, but he easily evaded most of the blows aimed at him, till the soldier grew weary of the chase. "Manger! manger!" cried both the boys at once, in various tones, sometimes imploring, at others expostulating, and then as if they were excited by anger and indignation that they should be so treated. The soldier understood them clearly enough, and probably thought to himself that unless he could bring some food to keep the young prisoners quiet, he might have frequent trips to make to the top of the tower. "Ma foi! I suppose that you have had nothing to eat for some hours," he observed, in French. "I'll see what I can get for you; but remember, you must be quiet, or you will be left to starve." They were well pleased to hear this; but still pretending not to understand him, they continued crying out, "Manger! manger!" At last the soldier took his departure, locking the door, as he supposed, behind him. As soon as they knew, by the sounds he made descending the steps, that he had got some distance down, the boys ran to the door, and, to their satisfaction, found that they could easily open it, though it appeared to be securely locked. From the remarks the Frenchman had made, they had some hopes that he would bring them food; they therefore lay down on the bench to await his return. Greatly to their satisfaction, in a short time they again heard a step on the stair, and the soldier who had before paid them a visit entered, carrying a basket with some bread and cheese, dried figs, and some wine in a bottle. He also brought up a piece of candle, and a lump of wood with a spike in it, which served as a candlestick. He placed these on the table with the contents of the basket. "There," he said, "eat away; you may have a long march to-morrow, and if you haven't strength we may have to carry you." The boys pretended not to understand him; but both exclaimed, as they saw the viands, "Merci! merci!" and put out their hands to shake that of the soldier, who seemed, while performing a kind action, to be in much better humour than before. "Mangez! mes braves garcons," he remarked. "What is over you can have for breakfast to-morrow morning, as maybe you'll get nothing else brought you." "Merci! merci!" answered Jack and Bill, as they escorted the soldier to the door, letting him suppose that these were the only two words they understood. As soon as he had turned the key in the door, they hurried to the table, and eagerly devoured some of the bread and cheese. "It's fortunate we've got so large a stock of food," said Bill; "there's enough here, if we are careful of it, for a couple of days." There was in the bottle but a small allowance of wine, which was excessively sour; but it served to quench their thirst, though they agreed that they would much rather have had fresh water. Having finished their supper, they divided the remainder of the food into two portions, which they stowed away in their pockets. They then waited till they had reason to suppose, from hearing no noise ascending the stairs, that the soldiers in the guard-room had gone to sleep. Having cautiously opened the door, they next examined the steps, and found that they could wrench up those of the upper part of the flight without making much noise. They had to be quick about it, as their candle would soon burn out. First, having closed the door, they got up seven of the steps, beginning at the uppermost one, till they formed a gap which it would be impossible for a man to spring over. The boards they carried down as they descended, when they found themselves in another storey, the whole of which was occupied by one large room without doors, the reason, of course, why it had not been made their prison. Their candle had now nearly burned out. Having hung their shoes round their necks, they were able to step softly. Hunting about, they discovered an empty space under the stairs, in which they stowed the pieces of wood. "Perhaps we might get down by the stairs," whispered Jack. "The chances are that we should find a door to stop us at the bottom," returned Bill. "We must try to get down the outside. The walls are so full of holes that we might manage it, and I am ready to go first and try." The question was, on which side should they attempt to make their descent? On looking through the narrow windows, they observed a gleam of light coming out below them on one side; probably that was from the guard-room, and they accordingly fixed on the opposite side, where all was dark. They ran no little chance of breaking their necks, but about that they did not trouble themselves. If a cat could get up, they believed that they could get down, by clinging with toes and fingers, and teeth, if necessary, to the wall. They, however, made the fullest examination in their power to ascertain the best spot for their descent; they looked out of every window in succession, but at last arrived at the conclusion that the attempt to scramble down a perpendicular wall was too hazardous to be made. They now began to fear that their enterprise must be abandoned, and that they should be compelled to make their way first to a lower storey, which, for what they could tell, might be inhabited; or else that they must descend the creaking stairs, and run a still greater chance of being discovered. "Here's another window," said Bill; "let's look through that." He climbed up to it, and gazed out. Great was his satisfaction to perceive the top of a massive wall a few feet below him. The tower had been a portion of an old castle, and the end of this wall was a mass of ruins, but quite thick enough to enable them to scramble along the top of it, and Bill had no doubt that they thence could easily descend to, the level ground. CHAPTER EIGHT. THE ESCAPE--CONCEALED IN A CAVERN. Bill drew his head in from the window, and beckoned to Jack, who followed him up; and as there was no time to be lost, he at once dropped down on to the top of the wall. Jack came next, fortunately without dislodging any stones, which might have rattled down and betrayed their proceedings. Bill leading, they made their way on hands and knees along the top of the wall, which, being fringed in most places with bushes, contributed to conceal them from any passers-by. They had to move cautiously for the reason before given, and also to avoid the risk of falling down any gap in the wall which time might have produced. As Bill had expected, the further end of the wall was broken gradually away, forming an easy descent. Down this they climbed, feeling their way with their feet, and not letting go of one mass of ruin till they had found a foothold on a lower. Thus they at length had the satisfaction of standing on the firm ground outside the walls. They had now to consider in which direction they should direct their flight. The river was on one side of them, and though they might swim across they would run the risk of being discovered while so doing. They finally decided to make for the sea shore, to the westward of the bay, and to lie hid among the rocks till the search for them should be given up. They accordingly stole round the building, keeping on the side away from the guard-room, till they got into a lane which led at the back of the village down towards the shore. If they could once get there they hoped to be safe. Few lights in the village were burning, as the inhabitants retired early to bed; but two or three still twinkled from some cottages at the farther end. Possibly the owners had gone out fishing, and had only lately returned. They had got some distance from the tower, and no cottage was near, when Jack stopped. "I've been thinking that we might get on board one of the fishing-boats, which have just come in, and go off in her," he whispered. "I could not do it," said Bill. "I have said before--what would the poor fishermen think in the morning when they found their boat gone, the only means they may have of supporting their wives and families?" Jack did not agree with Bill in this, but it was not a time to argue the point, so they set off again, and continued running till they reached a gap in the cliff, down which the road led. They then made their way to the left, under the cliffs, in the direction of the village where they had so long resided. The tide was out, and they wisely kept close down to the water, so that the returning sea might obliterate their footsteps. Jack proposed returning to Captain Turgot's, but Bill observed that that would not be fair to their friends, who would, of course, be exposed to great danger by again harbouring them, and who yet would not like to deliver them up. "No, no, we must not do that," he said. "The sooner we can find a place to hide in the better. The cliff hereabouts appears to be broken, and full of hollows, and perhaps, if we search for it, we shall discover some spot fit for our purpose." While they were talking the moon rose; and, though on the decrease, afforded a good deal of light, and greatly assisted them in their search. The sea where they were would, they saw, at high tide, completely cover the whole beach, so they must take care to find a place beyond its reach. They anxiously searched about. The night was drawing on, and they must find concealment before daylight, which would expose them to the view of any boats passing near the beach, or to people looking for them from the cliffs above. They climbed up at several places without discovering any hollow sufficiently deep to conceal them effectually; still they persevered, and at last they reached a black rock which projected out from the cliff, and ran some way down the beach. From its appearance they saw that it must be covered at high-water. They made their way round it, as the sides were too smooth to climb over, and then once more reached the foot of the cliff. The tide was now rising rapidly, and they saw that they would be exposed to the danger of being caught by the sea, could they not get some distance up the cliff. They were hurrying on when Bill exclaimed-- "There's a cave, and it may perhaps run some way back in the cliff. We shall soon find out by the feel of the rock whether the water fills it up, and if not, we couldn't have a better hiding-place." They climbed up the slippery rock, and found themselves in a cavern with a low arched entrance. This looked promising. They groped their way onwards. As they advanced, their ears caught the gentle sound of a tiny streamlet, which issued from the rock, while the ground beneath their feet was perfectly dry, consisting in some places of hard rock, in others of soft, warm sand. Looking back, they could distinguish the ocean, with the moonlight shining on it. "We shall be safe here, I think," said Bill. "When daylight comes, we shall be able to find our way farther in, and perhaps discover some nook in which we may remain hidden, even were people to come to the mouth of the cave to look for us." Jack agreed that there was no risk of the tide rising to the place where they then were, so they sat down on the dry sand, and being tired from their exertions, very soon fell fast asleep. Jack was not much addicted to dreaming. When he went to sleep he did so in right earnest, and might have slept through a general engagement, if he had not been called to take a part in it. Bill had a more imaginative mind, which was seldom altogether at rest. He fancied sometimes that he was escaping from the top of the tower, and tumbling head over heels to the bottom; at others that he was running along, with the Frenchmen shouting after him to stop. Then he fancied that one with a long pair of legs had overtaken him, and was grasping him tightly by the arm. He awoke with a start, and found that Jack was trying to arouse him. Daylight was streaming through the mouth of the cavern; beyond could be seen the blue sea shining brightly in the rays of the sun, with a chasse-maree, or some other small vessel, gliding swiftly across it, impelled by a smart breeze off shore. Jack had taken it into his head that the people on board might see them. "I don't think there's much chance of that," said Bill. "Even if they happen to turn their glasses this way, depend on it, if we sit quiet, they'll not discover us." The vessel soon disappeared, and they then looked about to examine more carefully the cavern in which they had taken refuge. The tide was still at its highest, and the water washed up to the ledge in front of the cavern. The ground rose considerably above that point to where they sat, and on looking round they saw that it continued to rise behind them for some distance. Bill advised that they should at once explore it, observing that though, even at spring-tide, with the wind off shore, the water might not reach to where they sat; yet should a gale blow from the northward, it might drive the waves far up the cavern, and expose them to great danger. "We cannot tell what may happen," he said, "and it's as well to be prepared for the worst. Besides, if the soldiers come to look for us, they may find the mouth of the cavern, and make their way some distance in, but if they do not discover us they'll fancy we are not here, and go away again as wise as they came." Jack saw the wisdom of this proposal. They accordingly groped their way on, aided by the light, which, though dim, pervaded the part of the cavern they had reached. Every now and then they stopped, and, on looking back, could still see the entrance, with the bright sea beyond it. At length they came to a rock, which seemed to stop their further progress; but, feeling about them, found that the cavern made a turn here to the left. They now proceeded with the greatest caution, for fear of coming to some hole down which they might fall. "If we had a torch we might see what sort of a place we have got to," observed Jack. "But we haven't got a torch, and no chance of getting one; and so we must find out by making good use of our hands," answered Bill. "We must move slowly on, and feel every inch of the way, putting out one hand before we lift up the other." They were groping forward on their hands and knees, and were in total darkness; still, as they looked back, there was a faint glimmer of light, which appeared round the corner of the rock, and this would enable them to find their way back again. Hitherto they had met only with smooth rock, gently inclining upwards; possibly it might lead them, if they went on long enough, to the top of the cliff, though they hoped that there was no opening in that direction. Here, at all events, they thought that they should be secure, even should their pursuers enter the cavern. As they were getting hungry, they agreed to go back and eat their breakfast in daylight near the spring, which would afford them a draught of cool water. They returned as they had come, feeling their way along the rock. Just before they reached the turning in the cavern, they discovered a recess which would hold both of them; and they agreed to make it their hiding-place should the soldiers by any chance come to look for them. Without much difficulty they got back to the spot where they had slept, which was close to the stream. Here they sat down, and produced the provisions which they had brought from the tower. On examining their stock, they calculated that they had sufficient to last them for a couple of days. "When that's gone, what shall we do?" asked Jack. "We must try to pick up some shell-fish from the rocks," answered Bill. "The soldiers by that time will have got tired of looking for us, and if any persons from the top of the cliffs see us they won't know who we are, and will fancy we are fisher-boys getting bait. Perhaps before that time a smuggling lugger may come off here, and we may manage to hail her before we run short of food; at all events, there's no use being frightened about what may happen." Every now and then one or the other went towards the mouth of the cave to look out. As long as the tide remained high there was no danger of their being discovered; but at low water the French soldiers were very likely to come along the sands, and could scarcely fail to see the mouth of the cavern. The tide was now rapidly going down, black rocks appearing one by one above the surface. They accordingly determined to retire to the inner part of the cavern, and to wait there till they calculated that the tide would once more have come in. "We must make up our minds to enjoy six hours of daylight, and to endure six of darkness," observed Bill. "I sha'n't care much about that; we can but go to sleep and amuse ourselves the best way we can think of while the tide is in," said Jack. "If we had some hooks and lines we might fish," said Bill. "We should only catch rock fish, and they are not fit to eat," replied Jack. The boys carried out their plan. It was an easy matter to get through the sleeping-time, but they became somewhat weary from having nothing to do during the period that the tide was in. They could do little more, indeed, than sit looking at the sea, and watching the few vessels which appeared in the offing. Now and then they got up and walked about to stretch their legs. They were afraid of bathing, lest while swimming about they might be seen from any part of the cliff above. Whether the soldiers had come to look for them they could not tell; one thing was certain, they had not been discovered, and there were no signs of any persons having approached the mouth of the cavern. They husbanded their food, but it was rapidly diminishing. At night they therefore, when the tide had gone out, crept down on the sands, and managed to cut off some limpets and other shell-fish with their knives from the rocks. These would have sustained them for some days had they been able to cook them, but they had no means of lighting a fire. Though limpets may help to keep body and soul together for a short time, they are not wholesome food, especially when raw. Their bread was all gone, but as long as they had some figs and cheese they got down the limpets very well; but both figs and cheese came to an end, and they both felt that they were getting very weak. "If we don't take care we shall starve," said Bill. "We must do something or other. I don't see anything but trying to get on board a lugger, as we talked of; but then in searching for her we should run the chance of being made prisoners again." "You must come round to my plan, and run off with a boat of some sort," said Jack. "That's just what I cannot do," said Bill. "It's either that or starving," said Jack. "We should have to get food first, even if we did run off with a boat," observed Bill. "It would never do to put to sea without something to eat. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll try and make my way back to Captain Turgot's. It cannot be far from this. I'll ask them to give us some food. They are sure to do that, though they might not like hiding us; and perhaps they might tell us of some boat in which we could get off without the owner being the worse for the loss. If you'll stay here, I'll go this very evening as soon as the tide is out. I calculate that I should have time to get there and back before the flood is up; and I'm not afraid of being refused, at all events." Jack wanted to go too; but Bill urged that one was less likely to be discovered than two, and that it would be better for him to go alone. Jack at last agreed to this, and directly the sand appeared below the mouth of the cavern, Bill set out. CHAPTER NINE. VISIT TO CAPTAIN TURGOT'S COTTAGE. As it was growing dusk, Bill had no fear of being seen as he made his way from the cavern. He felt rather weak, but he had a brave heart, and pushed on. He had some rough rocks to climb over, and others he managed to get round, walking through the water where it was not too deep. Sooner than he expected he reached the bay near which the Turgots' cottage was situated. To avoid the other cottages and huts he had to make a wide circuit. He cautiously crept up towards the back of his friends' dwelling; then, keeping close to the wall, he looked in through the window of the room in which the family generally sat. Jeannette was alone, spinning as usual, but looking somewhat pensive. Bill tapped at the window, and Jeannette looked up. "May I come in?" he asked in French. Jeannette came to the window. "Who are you?" she inquired. "What! don't you know me?" said Bill. "Ah! one of the young Englishmen!" she exclaimed; and she opened the window. Bill jumped in. "I am so happy to see you!" she cried. "Where have you come from? And your friend Jack, where is he? Have you both escaped from the soldiers? We thought you were in prison long ago;" and Jeannette put so many questions that Bill had great difficulty in answering them. He, however, soon contrived to let her know all that had happened, and then inquired for her father and mother and brother. "Mother is in bed, quite ill," she said; "she was so frightened by the soldiers, expecting to be carried off to prison, that she has not got over it. My father and Pierre are out fishing. I expect them home before midnight, but they said that they should be out later than usual." "I should like to stop and see them," said Bill; "but in the meantime, can you give me something to eat? I am nearly starved." "Of course," cried Jeannette; and she quickly placed some food before Bill, which he as quickly attacked. "Well, you are hungry!" she observed, "but eat away. I wish I had known before how near you were to us, and I would have brought you provisions." "Can you bring them to us now?" asked Bill. "If we do not manage to get off, we shall soon be hungry again." "Of course I will," she answered; "but it would not be safe for me to bring them all the way to the cave. I know, however, a place much nearer this where I could hide them, and you can come and fetch them." "But how am I to know the place?" asked Bill. "I will describe it to you," answered Jeannette. "You remarked, as you came along, a break in the cliff, with a stream running down the bottom. On the right side of the stream, about ten feet from high-water mark, there is a small hollow just large enough for one person to creep in. I took shelter there once when I was a little girl, having been caught in a storm as I was rambling along the sands so I remember it well." Bill thought he could find the place, and would look for it as he went back. Jeannette promised to bring a basket every other day, directly the morning tide went down, so that Bill would know exactly when to go and fetch the food. He thanked her very much, and promised to follow her directions. He then asked her about a boat, but she could say nothing till her father and Pierre returned. They might know of one, but as there was very small chance of her ever being restored to her owner, while the boys were not likely to have the means of paying for her, she was doubtful. "As to that," said Bill, "we shall have plenty of prize-money. I hope to pay for her over and over again; and I will promise most faithfully to do so." Jeannette smiled, for she thought that there was very little probability of the two young ship-boys ever getting prize-money sufficient to pay for such a boat as they required, to make a voyage across the Channel. Bill was anxious to get back to poor Jack, who he remembered was well-nigh starving. Jeannette would have accompanied him part of the way, but she had to remain at home to receive Captain Turgot and Pierre. She had, in the meantime, packed a basket with provisions for Jack and himself, that they might be independent for a couple of days. He therefore jumped up, and, begging her to remember him very kindly to the others, he bade her farewell, and, with the basket on his arm, slipped out of the house as cautiously as he had entered. He had noted every object as he came along, so that he had no difficulty in making his way back. He also easily discovered the small cave described by Jeannette. It was at a convenient distance from the large cavern, and, as a path led near it, should Jeannette be perceived, it might be supposed that she was making her way to the top of the cliff. Bill did not stop longer than was necessary to examine the place to be certain of being able to find it again, as he knew that Jack would be anxiously waiting for him. He hurried on, therefore, and in a short time reached the beach below the cavern. Climbing up, he called out, "All right, Jack!" But Jack did not answer. He called again, but still there was no reply, and he began to feel very anxious. Had the soldiers been there and carried off his companion? or had Jack died of starvation? Jeannette had thoughtfully put a tinder-box, flint and steel, and a couple of candles into the basket. After feeling his way on for some distance, he stopped and lighted one of the candles. The faint light gave the cavern a wild, strange appearance, so that he could scarcely have known where he was. He looked round on every side, but could nowhere see Jack; he became more and more alarmed; still he did not give up all hope of finding him. Again and again he called out "Jack!" At length a faint voice came from the interior. He hurried on. There lay Jack on the ground. "Is that you, Bill?" he asked, in a low voice. "I was afraid you were caught. I fancied I heard voices, and crept away, intending to get into our hiding-place, when I fell down, and I suppose I must have gone to sleep, for I remember nothing more till I heard you calling to me. Have you brought any food?" "Yes," said Bill; "sit up and eat as much as you can; it will do you good, and you will soon be all to rights." Jack did not require a second invitation, but munched away at the bread and cheese, and dried fish and figs, with right good will, showing that he could not have been so very ill after all. He quickly regained his strength and spirits, and listened eagerly to what Bill had to tell him. "Well, it's a comfort to think that we are not likely to be starved," he observed; "and I will bless Miss Jeannette as long as I live. I wish we could do something to show her how much obliged we are. And now, Bill, what about the boat? Is there a chance of our getting one?" "A very poor chance at present, I am afraid," answered Bill. "Jeannette, however, will let us know if her father and brother can find one to suit our purpose, or if a smuggling lugger comes into the harbour." "We'll have, after all, to do as I proposed, and take one without asking the owner's leave," said Jack. "I tell you it will be perfectly fair. The French are at war with us, and we have a right to take any of their property we can find, whether afloat or on shore." "That may be, but I can't get it out of my head that we shall be robbing some poor fellow who may have to depend on his boat for supporting himself and his family," answered Bill. They argued the point as before, till Bill proposed that they should lie down and go to sleep, as he felt tired after his long walk. They allowed two days to pass, when Bill set off as agreed on to obtain the provisions he hoped Jeannette would have brought. She had not deceived him; there was an ample supply, and two or three more candles. Several more days passed by. Jeannette regularly brought them provisions, but she left no note to tell them of any arrangements which her father had made. They were becoming very weary of their life, for they had nothing whatever to do--no books to read, and not even a stick to whittle. The weather had hitherto been fine, the cavern was warm and comfortable, and the dry sand afforded them soft beds. They might certainly have been very much worse off. Bill always went to fetch the food from the cave where Jeannette left it. He had hitherto not met her, which he was anxious to do, to learn what chance there was of obtaining a boat. She, however, was always before him, the fact being that the path from her house to the cave was practicable before that from the large cavern was open. "I don't quite like the look of the weather," observed Bill one day to Jack, just before the time Jeannette was due at the little cave, and all their provisions were expended. "If it comes on very bad she may be stopped, and we shall be pressed. I'll slip down the moment the water is shallow enough, and try to get along the shore; and if she has not reached the cave, I'll go on and meet her." Bill at once put his resolution into practice. He did not mind wetting his feet; but he had here and there a hard job to save himself from being carried off by the sea, which rolled up the beach to the very foot of the cliff. Twice he had to cling to a rock, and frequently to wade for some distance, till he began to regret that he had ventured so soon; but having made up his mind to do a thing, he was not to be defeated by the fear of danger; so waiting till the wave had receded, he rushed on to another rock. The sky had become overcast. The leaden seas, foam-crested, came rolling in with increasing force, and had not the tide been on the ebb his position would have been perilous in the extreme. He knew, however, that every minute would make his progress less difficult; so with a brave heart he pushed on. At last he reached the little cave by the side of the gorge. It was empty! He knew, therefore, that Jeannette had not been there. According to his previous determination, he went on to meet her, hoping that before this she might have set out. The rain now began to fall, and the wind blew with fitful gusts. He did not care for either himself, but he was sorry that Jeannette should be exposed to the storm. He felt nearly sure that she would come, in spite of it. If not, he made up his mind to wait till dark, and then to go on to her cottage. There was no great risk in doing so, as the soldiers would long before this have given up their search for him and Jack. He had gone some distance, and the fishing village would soon be in sight, when he saw a figure coming towards him, wrapped in a cloak. Hoping that it was Jeannette, he hurried forward to meet her. He was not mistaken. Bill told her that he had come on that she might be saved from a longer exposure to the rain than was necessary. "Thank you," she answered. "I was delayed, or I should have set off earlier, but a party of soldiers came to the village pretending that they wanted to buy fish. I, however, suspected that they came to look for you, and I waited till they had gone away again. We sold them all the fish they asked for, and put on an unconcerned look, as if suspecting nothing, I saw them, however, prying about, and I recognised one of them as the sergeant who came in command of the party which carried you off. I am not at all certain, either, that they will not return, and I should not have ventured out, had I not known that you must be greatly in want of food, and that, perhaps, should the storm which is now beginning increase, many days might pass before I could supply you." The information given by Jeannette made Bill very glad that he had come on to meet her. He, of course, thanked her warmly, and then asked what chance there was of obtaining a boat. "My father wishes you well, but is afraid to interfere in the matter," she answered. "He does not, perhaps, enter into your feelings about getting back to England, because he thinks France the best country of the two, and sees no reason why you should not become Frenchmen. As the detachment of soldiers quartered in the neighbourhood will soon, probably, be removed, you may then come back without fear, and resume the clothes you before wore, and live with us, and help my father and brother; then who knows what may happen? You will not have to fight your own countrymen, and the war may some day come to an end, or perhaps the French may conquer the English, and then we shall all be very good friends again." "Never! Jeannette; that will never happen," exclaimed Bill. "You are very kind to us, and we are very fond of you, and would do anything to serve you, and show our gratitude, but don't say that again." Jeannette laughed. "Dear me, how fiery you are!" she exclaimed. "However, it's foolish to stop talking here, and I ought to hurry home, in case the soldiers should pay us another visit and suspect something. Do not be angry, my dear Bill. I did not wish to offend you; only, you know, we each think our own country the best." Bill assured Jeannette that he was not angry, and again thanked her very much, though he could not help saying that he was sorry her father would not obtain the boat for them. "Well, well, you must have patience," she answered. "Now go back to your cave as fast as you can, or you will be wet to the skin." "I am that already," answered Bill, laughing; "but it's a trifle to which I am well accustomed." Once more they shook hands, and exchanging baskets. Jeannette, drawing her cloak around her, hurried back to the village, while Bill made the best of his way to the cavern. He was now able, in spite of the wind, to get along where he had before found it difficult to pass. In one or two places only did the waves rolling up wash round his feet, but the water was not of sufficient depth to carry him off, and he gained the mouth of the cavern in safety. Jack was eagerly looking out for him, and both of them being very sharp set, they lost no time in discussing some of the contents of the basket. As they looked out they saw that the wind had greatly increased. A heavy north-westerly gale was blowing. It rushed into the cavern filled with spray from off the now distant foam-tipped waves. What it would do when the tide was again high was a matter of serious consideration. "We shall have to go as far back as we can," observed Bill, "and the sooner we pick out a safe berth the better. I should like, too, to get my wet clothes off, for the wind makes me feel very cold." Jack was of the same opinion, and he taking up the basket, they groped their way to the inner cave round the rock, where it turned, as before described, to the left. Here they were completely sheltered from the wind, and had it not been for the loud roar of the waves beating on the shore, and the howling of the gale in the outer cavern, they would not have been aware that a storm was raging outside. They had, it should have been said, collected a quantity of drift wood, which Jack had thoughtfully employed himself in carrying to the spot where they were now seated. As they could not possibly run any risk of being detected, they agreed to light a fire, which they had hitherto avoided doing. They soon had a cheerful one blazing up, and it made them feel much more comfortable. Bill was able to dry his wet clothes, and by its light they could now take a better survey of their abode than they had hitherto done. The cavern was here not more than eight or ten feet in height, but it was nearly thirty broad, and penetrated, so it seemed to them, far away into the interior of the cliff. "I vote we have a look and see where the cave leads to," said Bill, taking up a long piece of fir-wood which burnt like a torch. Jack provided himself with another of a similar character, and, by waving them about, they found that they could keep them alight. They also took one of their candles and their match-box in case their torches should go out. Having raked their fire together, so that it might serve as a beacon to assist them in their return, they set out. The ground rose as they had before supposed when they explored it in the dark, but the roof continued of the same height above it. Suddenly Jack started. "What is that?" he exclaimed, seizing his companion's arm. "There's a man! or is it a ghost? Oh Bill!" CHAPTER TEN. DISCOVERY OF THE SMUGGLERS' TREASURE. Bill waved his torch on one side and peered forward. "It looks like a man, but it doesn't move. It's only a figure, Jack," he answered. "I'm not afraid of it. Come on! we'll soon see what it is." Jack was ashamed of lagging behind, and accompanied him. The object which had frightened Jack was soon discovered to be merely a stalactite--a mass of hardened water. Similar formations now appeared on both sides of the cavern, some hanging from the roof, others in the form of pillars and arches; indeed, the whole cavern looked like the interior of a Gothic building in ruins. Other figures still more strange were seen, as if starting out from recesses or doorways on both sides. "Well! this is a strange place. I never saw or heard of anything like it," exclaimed Jack, when he found how harmless all the ghosts really were. In many places the roof and sides shone and glittered as if covered with precious stones. Even Bill began to fancy that they had got into some enchanted cavern. The ground was covered in most places with the same substance, and so rough that they could make but slow progress. They were about to turn back for fear of their torches going out when they reached a low archway. Curiosity prompted them to enter, which they could do by stooping down. After going a short distance they found themselves in a still larger cavern, almost circular, like a vast hall, the roof and sides ornamented by nature in the same curious fashion, though still more profusely. "It won't do to stop here," said Bill, "but we'll come back again and have another look at it with fresh torches. Hallo! what's that?" Jack started as he had before done, as if he were not altogether comfortable in his mind. He had never heard anything about enchanted caverns, but a strange dread had seized him. He had an idea that the place must be the abode of ghosts or spirits of some sort, and that Bill had seen one. Bill hurrying forward, the light of his torch fell on a pile composed of bales and chests, and casks, and various other articles. The place had evidently been used as a store-room by persons who must have considered that it was not likely to be discovered. As their torches were by this time nearly burnt out, they could not venture to stop and examine the goods, but had to hurry back as fast as they could. They had managed to get through the narrow passage, and had made some progress in their return, when both of them were obliged to let their torches drop, as they could no longer hold them without burning their hands. They might have lighted their candles, had they been in any difficulty, but their fire enabled them to find their way along, though they stumbled frequently over the inequalities of the ground, and once or twice Jack clutched Bill's arm, exclaiming, "Sure! there's some one! I saw him move! Can any of the soldiers have come to look for us?" "Not with such a storm as there is now raging outside," answered Bill. "It was only one of the marble figures." Presently Jack again cried out, "There! I saw another moving. I'm sure of it this time. It's a ghost if it isn't a man." "Well! if it is a ghost it won't hurt us," answered Bill; "but the only ghosts hereabouts are those curious figures, which can't move from their places. For my part, I don't believe there are such things as ghosts at all going about to frighten people. The only one I ever heard tell of was `The Cock Lane Ghost', and that was found out to be a sham long ago." Jack regained his courage as they approached the fire, and both being pretty well tired, they were glad to sit down and talk about the wonderful store of goods they had discovered. Jack was afraid that the owners might come back to look for their property and discover them, but Bill was of opinion that they had been placed there by a party of smugglers, who had gone away and been lost without telling any one where they had stowed their goods. From the appearance of the bales and chests he thought that they had been there for some time. Another visit would enable them to ascertain this, and they resolved to make it without delay. They were becoming very sleepy, for they had been many hours on foot and the night was far advanced. Before lying down, however, Bill said he wished to see how the storm was getting on. It was making a dreadful uproar in the cavern, and he wanted to ascertain what chance there was of the waves washing in. There was not much risk, to be sure, of their reaching as far as they then were, but it was as well to be on the safe side, and if there was a likelihood of it they would move farther up and carry their provisions and store of fuel with them, the only property they possessed. They set out together, Jack keeping a little behind Bill for though he was as brave as any lad need be in the daylight, or out at sea, he did not somehow, he confessed, feel like himself in that dark cavern, filled with the roaring, howling, shrieking noises caused by the gale. They got on very well till they rounded the rock, when they met a blast, driving a sheet of fine spray in their faces, which well-nigh blinded them, and forced them back. They notwithstanding made their way for some distance, till Bill began to think that it would be wise to go no farther. Every now and then a bright glare filled the cavern, caused by the flashes of lightning darting from the clouds; while, as each sea rolled in, the whole mouth was filled as it were by a sheet of foaming water, part of which, striking the roof, fell back into the ocean, while a portion rushed up the floor, almost to where they were standing. "It's bad enough now," shouted Jack, for they could only make each other hear by speaking at the top of their voices. "What will it be when it's high tide?" "Perhaps it won't be much worse than it is now," answered Bill. "We shall be safe enough at our hiding-place, and if it gets up much higher it will give us notice of its coming, and allow us to retreat in good time." They accordingly got back to their fire, the embers of which enabled them to dry their clothes. They then lay down, and, in spite of the storm and the hubbub it was creating, were soon fast asleep. Had it not been for feeling very hungry, they might have slept on till past noon of the next day. Awaking, they found their fire completely gone out. What o'clock it was they could not tell. They were in total darkness, while the tempest roared away as loudly as ever. They, however, lighted a candle, and ate some breakfast. To wash it down they had to get water from the spring, which was so much nearer the entrance of the cavern. They accordingly put out their candle, and groped their way round the rock. On seeing light streaming through the entrance, they knew that at all events it was no longer night. The sea was rising over the ledge at the mouth, tossing and tumbling with foam-topped billows, and rolling up along the floor of the cavern in a seething mass of froth. They saw how high it had come, and had no reason to fear that it would rise farther. They now made their way to the spring, and drank heartily. "We ought to be thankful that we are in so snug a place," observed Bill; "but I tell you, we must take care not to eat up all our food in a hurry, or we may find it a hard matter to get more. The wind appears to have driven the sea over on this shore, and I doubt whether we shall be able to make our way along the beach even at low water." Jack did not at all like the idea of starving, but he saw that it would be wise to follow Bill's advice. They had food enough to last them for three days, as Jeannette had put up a double allowance; but the gale might blow much longer than that, and then what should they do? "It's no use troubling ourselves too much about the matter till the time comes," observed Bill; "only we must be careful not to eat more than is necessary to keep body and soul together." As they had found a fire very useful and pleasant, they went down as close as they could venture to the water, and employed themselves in collecting all the driftwood and chips they could find. They agreed that they would do the same every day, so as to have a good stock of fuel. They wanted also to secure some pieces which might serve as torches, so that they could examine the smugglers' store as they called it, which they had discovered. They carried their wood and placed it on the soft warm sand, where it would dry more rapidly, for in its present state it would not serve to kindle a fire. They had, however, some dry pieces which would answer that purpose, and they judged rightly that they might place the damp wood on the top of their fire, when it would burn in time. Most of the day was employed in this manner. Even after the tide went out they found a number of pieces washed up along the sides of the cavern. The seas, however, rolled so far up the beach that they were afraid of descending, or they might have obtained much more. When it grew dark they returned to their camp, lighted the fire, and made themselves comfortable. It was difficult to keep to their resolution of eating only a very little food, and Bill had to stop Jack before he thought he had had half enough. "I don't want to stint you," he said, "but recollect you will be crying out when our stock comes to an end, and wishing you had not eaten it." As they had had so long a sleep, neither of them was inclined to turn in; and Bill proposed that they should examine the smugglers' store. They had several pieces of wood which they thought would burn as the first had done, and each taking three, with a candle to be used in case of emergency, they set out. They found their way easily enough; but Jack, as before, did not feel quite comfortable as he saw the strange figures, which seemed to be flitting about the sides of the cavern; sometimes, too, he fancied that he detected faces grinning down upon him from the roof, and more than once he declared positively that he had caught sight of a figure robed in white stealing along in front of them. Bill each time answered with a laugh. "Never mind. We shall catch it up if it's a ghost, and we'll make it carry a torch and go ahead to light us." As they moved on more rapidly than before, they were able to reach the inner cavern before either of their torches was much more than half burned through. They thought it wiser to keep both alight at a time, in case one should accidentally go out, and they should be unable to light it again with a match. With feelings of intense curiosity they approached the smugglers' store. Both agreed, as they examined it, that the goods must have been there for some time; but the place being very dry (probably it was chosen on that account), they did not appear to be much damaged. The goods, as far as they could judge, were English. There were many bales of linen and cloth. One of the cases which they forced open contained cutlery, and another was full of pistols; and from the weight of several which they did not attempt to open, they judged that they also contained firearms. There were two small chests placed on the top of the others. They were strongly secured; but by means of a sharp stone, which served as a chisel, and another as a hammer, they managed to break one of them open. What was their surprise to find the case full of gold pieces! They had little doubt that the other also contained money. They, neither of them, had ever seen so much gold before. "What shall we do with it?" cried Jack. "There's enough here to let mother live like a lady till the end of her days, without going to sell fish at the market." "It is not ours, it belongs to somebody," said Bill. "That somebody will never come to claim it," answered Jack. "Depend on it, he's gone to the bottom, or ended his days somehow long ago, or he would have come back before this. These goods have been here for months, or years maybe, by the look of the packages; and depend on it the owners would not have let them stay where they are, if they could have come back to fetch them away." "But gold pieces won't help us to buy food while we are shut up in the cavern. A few Dutch cheeses, with a cask of biscuits, would have been of more value," observed Bill. "You are right," said Jack. "Still, I vote that we fill our pockets, so that if we have to hurry away, and have no time to came back here, we may carry some of the gold with us." Bill could not make up his mind to do this. The gold was not theirs, of that he felt sure, and Jack could not persuade him to overcome the principle he had always stuck to, of not taking, under any circumstances, what was not lawfully his own. If the owners were dead, it belonged to their heirs. Jack did not see this so clearly. The money had been lost, and they had found it, and having found it, they had a right to it. They must not, however, lose time by arguing the point. Jack put a handful or two of the money into his pocket. Bill kept his fingers out of the box; he did not want the money, and he had no right to it. There were several other articles they had not examined, among which were some small casks. Jack, finding that his torch was almost burning his fingers, was obliged to let it drop. Before he lighted another, however, Bill's torch affording sufficient light for the purpose, he managed to knock in the head of one of the small casks, which he found filled with little black grains. He tasted them. "Keep away, Bill--keep away!" he shouted, in an agitated tone, "This is gunpowder!" Had Jack held his torch a few seconds longer in his hand, he and Bill would have been blown to atoms--the very cavern itself would have been shattered, to the great astonishment of the neighbouring population, who would, however, never have discovered the cause of the explosion, although Jeannette Turgot might have guessed at it. "It's a mercy we didn't blow ourselves up," said Jack. "I was just going to take my torch to look at these casks." He hunted about for all of the same description, and rolled them into a place by themselves. "We must take care what we are about if we come here again with torches," he said. Bill agreed with him. After all, of what use to them was the treasure they had discovered. The cloth and linen were much more serviceable, as they could make bedding of them. "I don't see why we should not try to make jackets and trousers for ourselves," observed Bill. "This cloth will be fine stuff for the purpose, and as the cold weather is coming on we shall be glad of some warm clothing." "But how are we going to make them?" asked Jack. "The linen will serve us for thread, and I must see about making some needles of wood if we can't get anything better," answered Bill. "However, we'll think about that by-and-by; it's time to return to our camp, we may be left in the dark." They accordingly loaded themselves with as much of the linen and cloth as they could carry, cutting off pieces with their knives. They could return, they agreed, for more if this was not enough. Bill was not quite consistent in taking the cloth when he would not touch the money, but it did not occur to him for a moment that he was wrong in appropriating it, or he would have refused to do so. Had he argued the point, he would have found it very difficult to settle. One thing was certain, that the owners were never likely to make any complaint on the subject. They got back to their fire without much difficulty, and having raked it together, and put on fresh wood, they made their beds with the cloth they had brought, said their prayers in a thankful spirit, and slept far more comfortably than they had done since they had taken possession of the cavern. CHAPTER ELEVEN. THE WRECK. By the roaring sound they heard when they awoke, the lads knew that the storm was still raging. They ate sparingly of their store of food for breakfast; and then calculating that it must be once more daylight, they made their way towards the mouth of the cavern. They were not mistaken as to its being day, but how long the sun had risen they could not tell, as the sky was still thickly overcast with clouds. The sea was washing, as before, heavily into the cavern, throwing up all sorts of articles, among which were a number of oranges, melons, and other fruits of a southern clime. The melons were mostly broken, but they got hold of two unbroken, and very welcome they were. The oranges were mostly green, though a few had turned sufficiently red to be eaten. "I would rather have had more substantial food," observed Jack; "but I am glad enough to get these." "What's that?" asked Bill, pointing to the opposite side of the cavern, where a creature was seen struggling in a hollow half filled with water. Jack dashed across at the risk of being carried off by the receding sea; and, grasping a large fish, held it up as he rushed away to escape from the following wave, which came rolling in with a loud roar. "Here's a prize worth having," he shouted. "Hurrah! we may spend another week here without fear of starving." He carried his prize well out of the reach of the water, and a knock on the head put an end to its struggles. The lads piled up their various waifs, contemplating them with infinite satisfaction; but it was evident that what was their gain was somebody else's loss. "Some unfortunate ship has gone on shore, or else has thrown her cargo overboard," observed Bill. He went first to one side of the cavern, and then to the other, so as to obtain as wide a prospect as possible. "See! there's a vessel trying to beat off shore," he exclaimed; and just then a brig with her foretopmast gone came into view, the sail which she was still able to carry heeling her over till her yard-arms seemed almost to touch the foaming summits of the seas. "She'll not do it, I fear," said Jack, after they had been watching her for some time. "It's a wonder she doesn't go right over. If the wind doesn't fall, nothing can save her; and even then, unless she brings up and her anchors hold, she's sure to be cast on shore." They watched the vessel for some time. Though carrying every stitch of canvas she could set, she appeared to be making little headway, and to be drifting bodily to leeward. The lads uttered a cry of regret, for down came her mainmast, and immediately her head turned towards the shore. In a few minutes she struck, though no rock was visible, and the sea swept over her deck, carrying her remaining mast, boats, caboose, and round-house overboard, with every person who could be seen. In an instant, several human forms were discernible struggling in the seething waters alongside, but they quickly disappeared. "They are all gone," cried Jack; "not one that I can see has escaped." "Perhaps some were below," observed Bill. "If they were, it won't much matter, for in a few minutes she will go to pieces." He was mistaken as to the latter point, for another sea rolling in, lifted the vessel, and driving over the ledge on which she had first struck, carried her between some dark rocks, till she stuck fast on the sandy shore. Had the people been able to cling to her till now, some might possibly have been saved, but they had apparently all been on deck when the vessel struck, and been swept away by the first sea which rolled over her. The seas still continued to sweep along her deck, but their force was partly broken by the rocks, and being evidently a stout vessel, she hung together. It was at the time nearly high-water, and the lads longed for the tide to go down, that they might examine her nearer. "Even if anybody is alive on board, we cannot help them," observed Jack; "so I vote that we take our fish to the camp, and have some dinner. I am very sharp set, seeing that we had no breakfast to speak of." Bill, who had no objection to offer, agreed to this; so carrying up their newly-obtained provisions, they soon had a fire lighted, and some of the fish broiling away before it. The fate of the unfortunate vessel formed the subject of their conversation. "I have an idea," cried Bill. "It's an ill wind that brings no one good luck. If we can manage to get on board that craft which has come on shore, we might build a boat out of her planking, or at all events a raft; and should the wind come from the southward, we might manage to get across the Channel, or be picked up by some vessel or other. We are pretty sure to find provisions on board. Perhaps one of her boats may have escaped being knocked to pieces, and we could repair her. At all events, it will be our own fault if that wreck doesn't give us the opportunity of escaping." Jack listened to all Bill was saying. "I cannot agree with you as to the chance of getting off," he observed. "As soon as the wreck is seen, the Frenchmen are sure to be down on the shore, and we shall be caught and carried back to prison instead of getting away. The boats are pretty certain to have been knocked into shreds before this, and as to building a boat, that is what neither you nor I can do, even if we had the tools, and where are they to come from?" "Perhaps we shall find them on board," said Bill. "The vessel has held together till now, and I don't see why she should not hold together till the storm is over. `Where there's a will there's a way,' and I don't see that we have so bad a chance of getting off." "Well, I'll help you. You can show me what we had best do," said Jack. "I am not going to draw back on account of the risk. All must depend on the weather. If the wind comes off shore, and the sea goes down, I should say that our best chance would be to build a raft. We can do that, if we can only find an axe and a saw, and we might get launched before the Frenchmen find out the wreck. The first thing we have to do is to get on board, and when we are there, we must keep a bright look-out to see that none of the natives are coming along the shore to trap us." The lads, having come to this resolution, hurried back to the entrance of the cave. They forgot all about the smugglers' stores, and their intention of making clothes for themselves; indeed, they only thought of getting on board the vessel. They watched eagerly for the tide to go down. The day passed by and the night came on, but the clouds clearing away, a bright moon shed her light over the scene. The wind had also sensibly decreased, and the waves rolled in with far less fury than before. The water, however, seemed to them a long time moving off; still it was evidently going down. Rock after rock appeared, and looking over the ledge they could see the sand below them. Knowing full well that the water would not again reach the beach it had once left till the return of the tide, they leaped down without hesitation, and began to make their way in the direction of the vessel. They had again to wait, however, for, as they pushed eagerly forward, a sheet of foam from a wave which came rolling up nearly took them off their legs. They retreated a short distance, and in a few minutes were able to pass the spot over the uncovered sand. On and on they pressed, now advancing, now having to retreat, till they stood abreast of the vessel. The water still surrounded her, and was too deep to wade through. They looked round on every side, but not a trace of a boat could be discovered, though fragments of spars and the bulwarks of the vessel strewed the beach. Among the spars they found two whole ones, which they secured. "These will help us to get on board if we find no ropes hanging over the side," observed Bill; "or they will enable us to withstand the sea should it catch us before we can climb up." They now advanced more boldly. The vessel lay over on her bilge, with her deck partly turned towards the shore, the sea, after she struck, having driven her round. They waded up to her, for their impatience did not permit them to wait till the water had entirely receded. The risk they ran of being carried off was considerable, but, dashing forward, they planted the spars against the side. Bill swarmed up first, Jack followed, and the deck was gained. Scarcely were Jack's feet out of the water, when a huge sea came rolling up, which would inevitably have carried him off. They knew that they had no time to lose, for the wreck once seen from the shore, crowds of people were certain to visit it to carry off the cargo. The after-part of the vessel was stove in, and nothing remained in the cabin; but the centre part, though nearly full of water, was unbroken. The water, however, was rushing out like a mill-stream, both at the stern and through some huge holes in the bows. Nothing whatever remained on deck. The lads plunged down below, and gained the spar-deck, which was already out of the water. Here the first object their eyes alighted on was a chest. It was the carpenter's, and contained axes, and saws, and nails, and tools of all sorts. There were a good many light spars and planks stowed on one side. "Here we have materials for a raft at hand!" cried Bill. "We must build one; for I agree with you, Jack, that there's no use in attempting a boat. It would take too much time, even if we could succeed in making her watertight." "I said so," replied Jack. "I wish we had some grub, though; perhaps there's some for'ard. I'll go and find it if I can." Jack made his way into the forepeak, while Bill was cutting free the lashings, and dragging out the spars. Jack returned in a short time with some cold meat, and biscuit, and cheese. "See! we can dine like lords," he exclaimed; "and we shall be better able to work after it." They sat down on the chest, and ate the provisions with good appetites. Bill cast a thought on the fate of the poor fellows to whom the food had belonged; their bodies now washing about in the breakers outside. Every now and then they alternately jumped up, and looked east and west, and to the top of the cliff, to ascertain if any one was coming. The vessel had been driven on shore out of sight of both the villages, or they would not have been left long alone. It was to be hoped that no one would come along the cliff and look down upon the wreck. Their meal over, they set to work to plan their raft. They were obliged to labour on deck, as they could not hoist it up through the hold, or they would have preferred keeping out of sight. It would be a hard job to launch it, but that they hoped to do by fastening tackles at either side leading to the ring bolts on deck. As there were no bulwarks to stop them, they laid the foundation, or, as they called it, the keel, projecting slightly over the side. They would thus have only to shove it forward and tip it up to launch it. Their plan was to form an oblong square, then to put on bows at one end; and two pieces crossing each other with a short upright between them, on which to support the steering oar. The interior of the framework they strengthened by two diagonal braces. They lashed and nailed a number of crosspieces close together, and on the top of the whole they nailed down all the planks they could find, which were sufficient to form a good flooring to their raft. They discovered also a number of small brandy casks, which they immediately emptied of their contents, letting the spirits flow without compunction into the water, and then again tightly bunged them down. They fastened ropes around the casks, with which, when the raft was launched, they could secure them to either side, to give it greater buoyancy. They also brought up a couple of sea-chests, which they intended to lash down to the centre, so as to afford them some protection from the sea, and at the same time to hold their provisions. Bill was the chief suggester of all these arrangements, though Jack ably carried them out. They worked like heroes, with all the energy they could command, for they felt that everything depended on their exertions. The night being bright, they were able to get on as well then as in the daytime. CHAPTER TWELVE. A RAFT BUILT--MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF JACK PEEK. Not till their raft was complete did the two boys think of again eating. They had been working, it must be remembered, for several hours since the meal they took soon after they got on board. Having finished the beef and cheese, they lighted a couple of lanterns which they found hung up in the forepeak, and hunted about for more food. They discovered some casks of salt beef, and another of biscuits, a drum of cheese, and several boxes of dried fruit. They had thus no lack of provisions, but they did not forget the necessity of supplying themselves with a store of water. Hunting about, they found two small vessels, which they filled from one of the water-casks. There were several oars below, three of which they took and placed in readiness on deck--one to steer with, and the other two for rowing. They had, lastly, to rig their raft. A fore-royal already bent was found in the sail-room, and a spar served as a mast. How to step it, and to secure it properly, was the difficulty, until Bill suggested getting a third chest and boring a hole through the lid, and then, by making another hole through the bottom, the mast would be well stepped, and it was easy to set it up by means of a rope led forward and two shrouds aft. Knowing exactly what they wanted to do, they did it very rapidly, and were perfectly satisfied with their performance. The tide must come up again, however, before they could launch their raft. It would not be safe to do that unless the wind was off shore and the water smooth. Of this they were thoroughly convinced. Some hours must also elapse before the hitherto tumultuous sea would go down; what should they do in the meantime? Bill felt very unwilling to go away without wishing their friends the Turgots good-bye. He wanted also to tell Jeannette of the smugglers' store. The Turgots, at all events, would have as good a right to it as any one else, should the proper owners not be in existence. Jack did not want him to go. "You may be caught," he observed, "or some one may come down and discover the vessel, and if I am alone, even should the tide be high, I could not put off." "But there is no chance of the tide coming up for the next three hours, and I can go to the village and be back again long before that," answered Bill. At last Jack gave in. "Well, be quick about it," he said; "we ought to be away at daylight, if the wind and the sea will let us; and if we don't, I'm afraid there will be very little chance of our getting off at all." Bill promised without fail to return. There was no risk, he was sure, of being discovered, and it would be very ungrateful to the Turgots to go away without trying to see them again. He wished that Jack could have gone also, but he agreed that it was better for him to remain to do a few more things to the raft. Before he started they arranged the tackles for launching it; and they believed that, when once in the water, it would not take them more than ten minutes or a quarter of an hour to haul the empty casks under the bottom and to step and set up the mast. They might then, should the wind be favourable, stand boldly out to sea. This being settled, Bill lowered himself down on the sand by a rope, and ran off as fast as he could go. Jack quickly finished the work he had undertaken; then putting his hand into his pocket, he felt the gold pieces. "It's a pity we shouldn't have more of these," he said to himself. "I don't agree with Bill in that matter. If he does not care about them for himself, I do for him, and he shall have half." As he said this he emptied his pockets into one of the chests. "I shall want a lantern by-the-bye," he said; and springing below, he secured one with a fresh candle in it. Having done this, he forthwith lowered himself, as Bill had done, down on the sand, and quickly made his way to the cavern. He had left the basket with the tinder-box, and the remnant of their provisions at their camp, which he soon reached. His desire to obtain the gold overcame the fears he had before entertained of ghosts and spirits. Having lighted his lantern he took up the basket, which had a cloth in it, and pushed forward. The pale light from his lantern, so different from that of a couple of blazing torches, made the objects around look strange and weird. He began not at all to like the appearance of things, and fancied at last that he must have got into a different part, of the cavern; still he thought, "I must have the gold. It would be so foolish to go away without it. It belongs to us as much as to anybody else, seeing that the owners are dead. Their ghosts won't come to look for it, I hope. I wish I hadn't thought of that. I must be going right. It would have been much pleasanter if Bill had been with me. Why didn't I try to persuade him to stop?" Such were the thoughts which passed through Jack's mind; but he was a bold fellow, and did not like giving up what he had once determined on. He saw no harm in what he was doing; on the contrary, he was serving his friend Bill as well as himself, or rather his mother, for he wanted the gold for her. In the meantime, Bill was hurrying on towards the Turgots' cottage. He should astonish them, he knew, by waking them up in the middle of the night, or rather so early in the morning; but they would appreciate his desire to wish them good-bye, and would be very much obliged to him for telling them of the treasure in the cavern. It would make their fortunes, and Jeannette would be the richest heiress in the neighbourhood; for, of course, he would bargain that she should have a good share. There might be some difficulty in getting the goods away without being discovered, which would be a pity, as they were of as much value as the boxes of gold. However, he was doing what was right in giving them the opportunity of possessing themselves of the treasure, though he considered that he could not take it himself. He got round to the back door, under the room where Pierre slept. He knew that he would not be out fishing then, as the weather would have prevented him. He knocked at once. No answer came. The third time, and he heard some one moving, and presently Pierre sang out, "Who's there?" "It's one you know; let me in," answered Bill, in a low voice, for he was afraid of any one who might by chance be in the neighbourhood hearing him. Pierre came downstairs and opened the door. Bill explained all that had happened, except about the treasure. "You going away!" cried Pierre. "It would be madness! You will only float about till another storm arises and you will be lost." "You don't know what we can do," answered Bill. "We shall probably be picked up by one of our ships before we reach England; and, if not, we shall get on very well, provided the wind holds from the southward, and after the long course of northerly gales there's every chance of its doing that." "I must consult my father before I let you go," said Pierre. "You would not keep us prisoners against our will," said Bill, laughing, as if Pierre could only be in joke. "Come, call your mother and father and Jeannette, and let me wish them good-bye. I haven't many minutes to stop, and I've got something to tell them, which I've a notion will be satisfactory." Pierre went to his father and mother's and Jeannette's rooms, and soon roused them up. They appeared somewhat in _deshabille_, and looked very astonished at being called out of their beds by the young Englishman. "What is it all about?" asked Captain Turgot. "We are going away," replied Bill, "but we could not go without again thanking you for all your kindness; and to show you that we are not ungrateful, I have to tell you how you can become a rich man in a few hours, without much trouble." On this Bill described how they had found the smuggler's treasure. Captain Turgot and the dame held up their hands, uttering various exclamations which showed their surprise, mixed with no little doubt as to whether Bill had not been dreaming. He assured them that he was stating a fact, and offered, if Captain Turgot and Pierre would accompany him, to show them the place, as he thought that there would be time before daylight, when he and Jack had determined to set sail. "I am sure he's speaking the truth," cried Jeannette; "and it's very kind and generous of you, Bill, to tell us of the treasure, when you might have carried it off yourself. I know of the cave, for I saw it once, when I was very nearly caught by the tide and drowned, though I don't think many people about here are acquainted with it; and very few, if any, have gone into the interior." Captain Turgot and Pierre confessed that they had never seen it, though they had gone up and down the coast so often; but then, on account of the rocks, they had always kept a good distance out. At last Bill and Jeannette persuaded them that there really was such a cave; but on considering the hour, they came to the conclusion that the tide would come in before they could make their escape from it, and they would prefer going when the tide had again made out. Bill, they thought, would only just have time to get on board the vessel, if he was determined to go. "But if you have so much gold, you could purchase a good boat," said Captain Turgot; "and that would be much better than making your voyage on a raft." Bill acknowledged that such might be the case, but he was unwilling to risk any further delay. He trusted to his friends' honour to let him go as he had determined. He had come of his own accord to bid them farewell, and they would not really think of detaining him against his will. The fact, however, was that Captain Turgot doubted very much the truth of Bill's story. Had any band of smugglers possessed a hiding-place on that part of the coast, he thought that he should have known it, and he fancied that the young Englishman must in some way or other have been deceived. "Where is the gold you speak of?" he asked. "You surely must have secured some for yourself." Bill replied that Jack had, but that he had not wished to touch it. "Then you give it to us, my young friend," said Captain Turgot; "where is the difference?" "No! I only tell you of it, that you may act as you think right. If you find out the owners, I hope you will restore it to them; but, at all events, it's Frenchmen's money, and a Frenchman has more right to it than I have." Captain Turgot did not quite understand Bill's principles, though perhaps Jeannette and Pierre did. "Well, well, my young friend, if go you must, I will not detain you. You and your companion will run a great risk of losing your lives, and I wish you would remain with us. To-morrow, as soon as the tide is out, Pierre and I will visit the cavern, which, I think, from your description, we can find; and we will take lanterns and torches. Again I say I wish you would wait, and if there is a prize to be obtained, that you would share it with us." Jeannette and Pierre also pressed Bill to remain, but he was firm in his resolution of rejoining Jack, and setting off at once. He was so proud of the raft they had made, that he would have been ready to go round the world on it, if it could be got to sail on a wind, and at all events he had not the slightest doubt about its fitness to carry him and Jack across the Channel. Bill had already delayed longer than he intended, and once more bidding his friends good-bye, he set off for the wreck. He hurried along as fast as he could go, for he felt sure that at daybreak it would be seen, if not from the shore, from the sea, and that people would come and interfere with his and Jack's proceedings. As he knew the way thoroughly, he made good progress. On getting abreast of the wreck, he looked out for Jack, but could nowhere see him. The water was already coming round the vessel, and in a short time would be too deep to wade through. He thought that Jack must have gone below, but he was afraid of giving a loud shout, lest his voice might be heard. He accordingly, without stopping, made his way on board. Great was his alarm when he could nowhere discover Jack. Could he have gone to the cavern? or could he have been carried off? The latter was not probable, for had the stranded vessel been discovered, people would have remained in her. "He must have gone to the cavern, and to save time, I must follow him," he said to himself; and sliding down the rope, he made his way as fast as he could towards its mouth. He quickly climbed up, and hurried on as fast as he dare move in the dark, holding out his hands to avoid running against the sides, or to save himself should he fall. He knew that there were no pitfalls or other serious dangers, or he could not have ventured to move even so fast as he did. He shouted out as he went Jack's name. "How foolish I was not to bring a lantern with me," he said. "Jack is sure to have taken one if he went to get more gold, and that I suspect is what he has been after; if he has a light, I shall see it, but I don't." "Jack! Jack!" he again shouted out; but the cavern only echoed with his voice. Bill was a fine-tempered fellow, but he felt very much inclined to be angry with Jack. All their plans might be upset by his having left the wreck. Even should he soon find him, they would have to swim on board, and set off in their wet clothes; but that was of little consequence compared with the delay. At last his hands touched the rock near their camping-place, and he thence groped his way on; for having so often traversed the cavern in the dark, he found it as easily as a blind man would have done. He soon felt his feet treading on the ashes of their former fires, and feeling about, he discovered the things which Jack had thrown out of the basket. Among them was a candle and the tinder-box. Jack having a lighted lantern, had not troubled himself to bring it. The basket was gone! This convinced him that Jack had been there. He quickly lighted the candle, and as there was not a breath of air, he was able to walk along with it in his hand. The stalactite formations, which appeared on both sides, looked as weird and strange to him as they had to Jack, but he, knowing perfectly well what they were, did not trouble himself about their appearance. He went on, keeping his gaze ahead, in the hopes of meeting Jack. He was sorry that he had not made more determined attempts to persuade Captain Turgot and Pierre to accompany him; for if anything should have happened to his companion, they would have assisted him. But what could have happened? that was the question. Sometimes he thought that Jack might, after all, not have come to the cavern; but, then, who could have carried away the basket? Brave as he was, the strange shadows which occasionally seemed to flit by made him feel that he would much rather not have been there all alone. Suppose, too, the smugglers should have returned, and, perhaps, caught Jack; they would seize him also, and it would be impossible to persuade them that he had not come to rob their store. Still, his chief anxiety was for Jack. He thought much less about himself, or the dangers he might have to encounter. Bill was a hero, though he did not know it, notwithstanding that he had been originally only a London street boy. "I must find Jack, whatever comes of it," he said to himself, as he pushed on. At last he reached the low entrance of the smugglers' store-room, as Jack and he had called it. He crept on carefully, and as he gained the inner end of the passage, he saw a light burning close to where the goods were piled up, but no voices reached his ear. If the smugglers were there, they would surely be talking. He rose to his feet, holding out the candle before him. Seeing no one, he advanced boldly across the cavern. There lay a figure stretched upon the ground! It was Jack! CHAPTER THIRTEEN. THE RAFT LAUNCHED AND VOYAGE COMMENCED. Could Jack be dead? What could have happened to him? Bill, hurrying forward, knelt down by his side, and lifted up his head. He still breathed. "That's a comfort," thought Bill. "How shall I bring him to? There's not a drop of water here, and I can't carry him as far as the spring." Bill rubbed his friend's temples, while he supported his head on his knee. "Jack! Jack! rouse up, old fellow! What's come over you?" Bill held the candle up to Jack's eyes. Greatly to his joy they opened, and he said, "Where am I? Is that you, Bill! Is it gone?" "I am Bill, and you are in the cavern; but there is nothing to go that I know of. It's all right. Stand up, old fellow, and come along," replied Bill, cheeringly. "Oh, Bill," said Jack, drawing a deep sigh, "I saw something." "Did you?" said Bill; "the something did not knock you down, though." "No; but I thought it would," responded Jack. "That comes of wanting to take what isn't your own," said Bill. "However, don't let's talk about that. If we are to get off with this tide, we must hurry on board as fast as we can. Don't mind the gold; I suppose that's what you came for. Our friends the Turgots will get it, I hope; and they have more right to it than we have." Bill's voice greatly re-assured Jack, who, fancying that he saw one of the ghosts he was afraid of, had fallen down in a sort of swoon. How long it would have lasted if Bill had not come to him it is impossible to say; perhaps long enough to have allowed his candle to be extinguished. Had this happened, he would never have been able to find his way out of the cavern. He, however, with Bill by his side, soon felt like himself again. "Let me just fill my pockets with these gold pieces," he exclaimed. "I have taken so much trouble that I shouldn't like to go away without them." "Perhaps the ghost will come back if you do," Bill could not help saying. "Let them alone. You have got enough already, and we must not stop another moment here." Saying this, he dragged Jack on by the arm. "Come, if we don't make haste, our candles will go out, and we shall not be able to see our way," Bill continued. Jack moved on. He was always ready to be led by Bill, and began to think that he had better not have come for the gold. Bill did not scold him, vexed as he felt at the delay which had occurred. They might still be in time to get on board the wreck and to launch their raft, but it would be broad daylight before they could get to any distance from the shore, and they would then be sure to be seen. Bill only hoped that no one would think it worth while to follow them. Having two lights, they were able to see their way pretty well, though they could not run fast for fear of extinguishing them. Every now and then Jack showed an inclination to stop. "I wish I had got the gold," he muttered. Bill pulled him on. "The gold, I say, would not do us any good. I don't want it for myself, and you have got enough to make your mother independent for the rest of her days." On they went again. Bill was thankful, on reaching the mouth of the cavern, to find that it was still night. It seemed to him a long time since he had quitted the wreck. He did not remember how fast he had gone. They jumped down on the beach, and began to wade towards the wreck, but had to swim some distance. "If we had had our pockets full of gold we could not have done this," observed Bill. "We should have had to empty them or be drowned. We are much better without it." They soon reached the side of the vessel, and climbed up on deck. There was plenty of water alongside to launch the raft, and to get the casks under it. The wind, too, if there were any, was off shore, but here it was a perfect calm. They had one advantage through having waited so long; they were beyond the influence of the wave which breaks even on a weather shore, especially after a gale, although the wind may have changed. The tackles having been arranged, they lost no time in launching their raft, which they did very successfully, easing it with handspikes; and in a couple of minutes it floated, to their great satisfaction, safely alongside. Their first care was to lash the casks under the bottom. This took some time, but they were well repaid by finding the raft float buoyantly on the very surface of the water. The cargo had, however, to be got on board, consisting of the three chests, which, of course, would bring it down somewhat. They lowered one after the other, and lashed them in the positions they had intended. The foremost chest was secured over all by ropes, as that had not to be opened, and was to serve only as a step for their mast; the other two chests were secured by their handles both fore and aft and athwartships, the lashings contributing to bind the raft still more securely together. Daylight had now broken, and they were in a hurry to get on with their work, but this did not prevent them from securing everything effectually. They next had to get their stores into the chests; and lastly they stepped and set up the mast, securing the sail ready for hoisting to the halyards, which had been previously rove. They surveyed their work when completed with no little satisfaction, and considered, not without reason, that they might, in moderate weather, run across Channel, provided the wind should remain anywhere in the southward. They well knew that they must run the risk of a northerly wind or a gale. In the first case, though they need not go back, they could make little or no progress; but then there was always the hope of being picked up by an English craft, either a man-of-war or a merchant vessel. They might, to be sure, be fallen in with by a Frenchman, but in the event of that happening, they intended to beg hard for their liberty. Should a gale arise, as Jack observed, they would look blue, but they hoped that their raft would even weather that out. That it would come to pieces they had no fear; and they believed that they could cling on to it till the sea should again go down. They had put on board a sufficient supply of spare rope to lash themselves to the chests. Jack climbed up for the last time on deck, and handed down the three sweeps, taking a look round to see that nothing was left behind. "All right," he said; "we may shove off now, Bill. You are to be captain, and take the helm, and I'll pull till we get out far enough to find a breeze. It seems to me, by the colour of the sea, that it's blowing in the offing, and we shall then spin merrily along." "All right," said Bill; "cast off, Jack." Jack hauled in the rope which had secured the raft to the wreck, and give a hearty shove against it with his oar, he sent the raft gliding off some way ahead. He then got out the other oar, and standing between the two chests, pulled lustily away. The raft floated even more lightly than they had expected. They had so well noted all the rocks, that they could easily find their way between them, and there was ample space, especially thereabouts where the brig had been driven in. Their progress was but slow, though they worked away with all their might; every now and then looking back to ascertain whether they were observed from the shore. No one, however, could be seen on the cliffs above; and people, unless they had discovered the wreck, were not likely at that early hour to come down to the beach. It took them more than half an hour to get clear of the rocks. When once out on the open sea, they began to breathe more freely. They pulled on and on; still, unless they should get the wind, they could not hope to make much progress. The day was advancing. Bill wetted his finger and held it up. "There's a breeze," he cried out; "hoist the sail, Jack." The sail filled as Bill sheeted it home, and the raft began to glide more rapidly over the water. Jack took in the oars, for he wanted to rest, and there was but little use rowing, though it might have helped the raft on slightly. He could now look about him, and as the two harbours to the east and west opened out, he turned his eyes anxiously towards them. If they were pursued, it would be from one or the other. He had little fear from that on the west, as there was no one likely to trouble himself about the matter; but there were officials living near the larger harbour, and they might think it their duty to ascertain what the small raft standing off shore under sail could be about. "I wish that we had got away a couple of hours ago," said Bill; but he did not remind Jack that it was through his fault they had not done so. He blamed himself, indeed, for having gone to see the Turgots, much as he would have regretted leaving the country without paying them a visit. The farther the raft got from the shore the more rapidly it glided along, the sea being too smooth in any way to impede its progress. Bill's whole attention was taken up in steering, so as to keep the raft right before the wind. Presently Jack cried out, "There's a boat coming out of the harbour. She's just hoisted her sail, and a whacking big sail it is. She's coming after us. Oh! Bill! what shall we do?" "Try to keep ahead of her," answered Bill, glancing round for a moment. "The Frenchmen may not think it worth while to chase us far, even if they are in chase of us, and that's not certain. Don't let us cry out before we are hurt. Get out the oars, they'll help us on a little, and we'll do our best to escape. I don't fancy being shut up again, or perhaps being carried off to a prison, and forced into a dungeon, or maybe shot, for they'll declare that we are escaped prisoners." Jack did not, however, require these remarks to make him pull with all his might; still he could not help looking back occasionally. He was standing up, it should be understood, rowing forward, with the oars crossing, the larboard oar held in the right hand, and the starboard in the left. "The boat's coming on three knots to our one," he cried out. "It won't take her long to be up with us." "Pull away," again cried Bill. "We'll hold on till the Frenchmen begin to fire. If their bullets come near us, it will be time to think whether it will be worth running the risk of being shot." Jack continued to row with might and main, and the raft went wonderfully fast over the water. It was too evident, however, that the boat was in pursuit of them, and in a few minutes a musket ball splashed into the water a short distance astern of the raft. "That shows that they are in earnest," said Jack. "We had better lower the sail, another might come aboard us." "Hold all fast, perhaps they are getting tired of chasing us, and may give it up when they see that we are determined to get away," replied Bill; not that he had much hope that this was the case, but he stuck to the principle of not giving in as long as there was a chance of escape. Jack had plenty of courage, but he did not like being fired at without the means of returning the compliment. Another shot from the boat came whistling close to them. "It's of no use," cried Jack, "we must lower the sail." "If you're afraid, take in the oars and lie down between the chests; you'll run very little risk of being hit there; but for my part, I'll stand at the helm till the boat gets up with us," said Bill. Jack would not do this, but pulled away as stoutly as at first. Presently another shot struck one of the oars, and so splintered it that the next pull Jack gave it broke short off. He was now compelled to take in the other. "The next time the Frenchmen fire they may aim better," he said. "Come, Bill, I'm ready to stand by you, but there's no use being killed if we can help it." "The boat isn't up with us yet," answered Bill. "Till she gets alongside I'll hold on, and maybe at the very last the Frenchmen will give up." "I don't see any hope of that," said Jack. "In ten minutes we shall be prisoners. By-the-bye, I turned all my gold into this chest. If the Frenchmen find it they'll keep it, so I'll fill my pockets again, and they may not think of looking into them, but they're sure to rummage the chest." Saying this, Jack opened the chest, and soon found his treasure, which he restored to his pockets. He asked Bill to take some, but Bill declined on the same ground that he had before refused to appropriate it. Bill again advised Jack to lie down, and, to induce him to do so, he himself knelt on the raft, as he could in that position steer as well as when standing up. Thus they presented the smallest possible mark to the Frenchmen. Shot after shot was fired at them. Their chances of escape were indeed rapidly diminishing. At last the Frenchmen ceased firing. They were either struck by the hardihood of the boys, or had expended their ammunition; but the boat came on as rapidly as before, and was now not half a cable's length from them. "We must lower the sail," cried Bill, with a sigh, "or the Frenchmen maybe will run us down;" and Jack let go the halyards. In another minute the boat was up to them. Besides her crew, there were five soldiers on board. A volley of questions burst from the people in the boat; and all seemed jabbering and talking together. As she got alongside the raft, two men leaped out, and seizing Jack and Bill, hauled them into the boat, while another made fast the raft, ready to tow it back to the harbour. Jack and Bill were at once handed aft to the stern-sheets, where they were made to sit down. Immediately the officer in command of the boat put various questions to them, as to who they were, where they had come from, and where they were going. According to their previous agreement they made no reply, so that their captors might not discover that they understood French; still, as far as Bill could make out, the Frenchmen were not aware that they were the lads who had escaped from the old tower. They had no reason to complain of the way they were spoken of by the Frenchmen, who were evidently struck by their hardihood and determination in their persevering efforts to escape. They remarked to each other that their young prisoners were brave boys, and expressed their satisfaction that they were not hurt. When the officer found, as he supposed, that they could not answer him, he forbore to put any further questions. The crew did not appear to be angry at the long pull that had been given them back; indeed, Jack and Bill suspected, from what they heard, that the seamen, at all events, would not have been sorry if they had escaped altogether. On reaching the landing-place in the harbour, they found a party of soldiers, with an officer, who, from what Bill made out, had sent the boat in pursuit of them. As soon as they stepped on shore the officer began to question them, in the same way as the commander of the boat had done. Bill shrugged his shoulders and turned to Jack, and Jack shrugged his and turned to Bill, as much as to say, "I wonder what he's talking about?" "The lads do not understand French, that is evident," said the officer to a subordinate standing near him; "I shall get nothing out of them without an interpreter. They do not look stupid either, and they must be bold fellows, or they would not have attempted to made a voyage on that raft. I must have a nearer look at it;" and he ordered the boatmen to bring it in close to the shore, so that he might examine it. He again turned to Bill, and said, "What were you going to attempt to cross the Channel on that?" Bill, as before, shrugged his shoulders, quite in the French fashion, for he had learnt the trick from Pierre, who, when he was in doubt about a matter, always did so. "I forgot; the boy doesn't understand French," observed the officer. Bill had some little difficulty in refraining from laughing, as he understood perfectly well everything that was said around him, except when the Frenchmen talked unusually fast. "Let the raft be moored close to the shore, just in its present state," said the officer; "the general may wish to see it. How could the lads have contrived to build such a machine?" The commander of the boat explained that a wreck had occurred on the shore, and that they had evidently built it from the materials they found on board her, but anything further about them he could not say. "Well, then, I'll take them up at once to the general, and the interpreter attached to our division will draw from them all we want to know. Come, lads! you must follow me," he said. "Sergeant, bring the prisoners along with you." On this Jack and Bill found themselves surrounded by the soldiers; and thinking it possible, should they not move fast enough, that their movements might be expedited by a prick from the bayonets, they marched briskly forward, keeping good pace with the men. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. AGAIN SHUT UP. "I say, Bill, I wonder what the mounseers are going to do with us," whispered Jack, as they marched along. "Will they put handcuffs on our wrists and throw us into a dungeon, do you think?" Bill acknowledged that he feared such might be the fate prepared for them. They were not, however, ill-treated during their walk. Naturally they felt very much disappointed at being recaptured, but they tried as before to put as bold a face as they could on the matter, and talked away to each other in an apparently unconcerned manner. They found from the remarks of the soldiers that they had a march of a couple of miles or more inland to the place where the troops were encamped, and that they were not to be carried to the old tower. On one account they were sorry for this, as, having made their escape once, they thought that they might make it again, though, of course, they would be more strictly guarded if it was discovered who they were. From a height they reached they saw the camp spread out on a wide level space a short distance off. As they got nearer to it they observed a party of officers on horseback riding towards them, one of whom, from the waving plume in his hat, and from his taking the lead, they supposed was the general. They were right in their conjecture. As he approached with his staff, the officer who had charge of them ordered his men to halt and draw on one side. The general reined in his horse and inquired who they were. The captain explained that two foreign lads, supposed to be English, had been discovered, endeavouring to leave the shore on a small raft of curious construction, such as no sane people would have wished to go to sea on; that there was something very suspicious about their movements, as they had persisted in trying to escape, although fired at by the soldiers, and that he had considered it his duty to bring them up for examination, as he could not understand them or make them understand him. "You acted rightly, Captain Dupont," said the general. "Let them be brought to my quarters, and I'll send for Colonel O'Toole to cross-question them." Bill and Jack understood every word that was said. "We are in for it," said Bill; "but we must put a bold face on the matter, and speak the truth. We can say that we were living in the cavern for some time, and that when the brig was wrecked, we resolved at once to build a raft, and get back to our own country." "It would save a great deal of trouble if we were to say that we were wrecked in the brig, and then it would be but natural that we should try to escape from her," replied Jack. "It would not be the truth, and we should not be believed," answered Bill. "I would say just what happened--that our ship caught fire and blew up, that we were saved by the fishermen, that some French soldiers got hold of us and carried us off prisoners, and that we made our escape from them. We need not mention the names of our friends, and perhaps the interpreter won't be very particular in making inquiries." Bill finally persuaded Jack to agree that they should give a true account of themselves, leaving out only such particulars as were not necessary to mention, such as their visit to the Turgots, and their discovery of the smugglers' stores. The general, who was making a survey of the country around the camp, rode on with his staff, while Captain Dupont and his men conducted their two young prisoners to head quarters, there to await his return. The general was residing in an old chateau, with a high-peaked roof, and towers at each of the angles of the building. The party passed through the gateway, and proceeded to a room near the chief entrance, which served as a guard-room. The soldiers remained outside, while the captain, with two men to guard the prisoners, entered. Jack and Bill had to wait for some time, during which they were allowed to sit on a bench by themselves. Jack began to make observations on the people around them. "Hush!" whispered Bill, "some one here may understand English better than we suppose, and we shall be foolish to let our tongues get us into a worse scrape than we are in already." Jack took Bill's advice, and when he made any remark it was in a whisper. They saw several of the officers who entered looking at them, and they were evidently the subject of their conversation. Jack and Bill had reason to consider themselves for a time persons of some importance, though they had no wish to be so. At last an officer in a handsome uniform entered. He was a red-haired man, with queer twinkling eyes, and a cock-up nose, anything but of a Roman type. Captain Dupont spoke to him, when the lads saw him eyeing them, and presently he came up and said, "Hurroo! now me boys, just be afther telling me what part of the world you come from!" Bill, as agreed on, began his narrative in a very circumstantial manner. "All moighty foine, if thrue," observed Colonel O'Toole, for he was the officer who had just arrived, having been sent for to act as interpreter. "It's true, sir, every word of it," said Bill. "Well! we shall see, afther you repeat it all over again to the gineral, and moind you thin don't made any changes," said the colonel. Bill wisely did not reply. Presently the general with his staff appeared, he and a few officers passing on into an inner room. A few minutes afterwards Jack and Bill were sent for. They found the general with Colonel O'Toole and several other persons seated at a table. The general spoke a few words, when the colonel again told the prisoners to give an account of themselves. Bill did so exactly in the words he had before used, Colonel O'Toole interpreting sentence by sentence. "Good!" said the general. "And what could induce you, when you were once safe on shore, to venture out to sea on so dangerous a machine?" The colonel interpreting, turned to Jack. "I wanted to get home and see my mother, for she must fancy I am lost," answered Jack. "Well, and a very right motive too," said the colonel; and he explained to the general what Jack had said. "And what induced you to attempt the voyage?" asked the colonel, turning to Bill. "Did you want to get back to see your mother?" "No, sir; I have no mother to see," answered Bill. "I wanted to get back to do my duty, and fight the enemies of my country." The general laughed when this was interpreted to him; and observed to the officers around him, "If such is the spirit which animates the boys of England, what must we expect from the men? I must, however, consider whether we shall allow these boys to return home. They are young now, but in a short time they will grow into sturdy fellows." "They've got tongues in their young heads," remarked the colonel. "I'm not altogether certain that they are quite as innocent as they look. Maybe they were sent on shore as spies, and perhaps are midshipmen disguised as common seamen." "Let them be searched, then, and ascertain whether they have any papers about them which may show their real character," said the general. Jack and Bill clearly understood these remarks, and began to feel very uncomfortable. Bill remembered that Jack had got his pockets filled with gold, and Jack remembered it too, and wished that he had left it behind in the cavern as Bill had advised. The colonel, who was in no wise particular as to what work he performed, at once took hold of Bill. "Come, young gintleman," he said, "let me see what you have got in your pockets, and next your skin; or, if you will save me the throuble, just hand out your orders or any papers you may have about you." "I have got none, sir," answered Bill. "I told you the truth, that we are mere ship-boys, and as to being spies as you seem to think, we had nothing to spy out that I know of." "Well, we will soon see all about that," said the colonel, beginning to search Bill; but, greatly to his surprise, he found nothing whatever about him, except his knife, the whole of Bill's worldly wealth, "I told you so, sir," said Bill, when he had finished. "I spoke only the truth about myself and my companion." Bill said this, hoping that Jack would escape the search; but the colonel was far too knowing, and presently he seized upon Jack, who, in spite of his efforts to appear unconcerned, began to quake. The first plunge the colonel made with his hand into one of Jack's pockets brought forth a number of gold pieces. "Hurroo! now, this is your innocence is it, young gintlemen?" he exclaimed, exhibiting a handful of gold to the general. "Let me be afther seeing what your other pocket contains;" and as he spoke he quickly drew forth another handful of gold, some of which, observing that the general and the other officers were examining the first which he had produced, he slipped into his own pocket. "Troth! you're an arrant young rogue," he exclaimed. "You either stole these, or they were given you to bribe the people to betray their country." "They were not given me to bribe any one, and I didn't steal them," answered Jack, boldly; "I took them out of the chest which was on our raft, and there was no harm in doing that, I should think." Bill was somewhat surprised to hear Jack say this. It was the truth, and the idea must have at that moment occurred to him. He was thus saved from having to betray the existence of the boxes of gold in the cavern, which the colonel would not have long allowed to remain unvisited, he suspected, from the little incident which has just been described. The colonel translated fairly enough to the general what Jack had just said. "It is probably the truth," he remarked; "however, let the boys be detained till we can ascertain more about them. I don't wish to have them ill-treated. There is a room in the western turret where they can be shut up securely till to-morrow. Colonel O'Toole, see that my orders are carried out; but you can first let them have a view of the army, that they may tell their friends, if they get home, of the mighty force prepared for the conquest of England, and impress on the minds of their countrymen how hopeless is their attempt to resist the armies of France." Bill understood every word of these remarks, and they raised his hopes that they might be set at liberty and allowed to return home; still, the Irish colonel did not look very amiably at them; perhaps he did not quite like Bill's observations. "Come along," he said, turning to them; and, bowing to the general and to the other officers, he conducted them from the room, when the two soldiers, who stood ready outside, again took charge of them. They were led along to a terrace, from whence a view extended over the surrounding country. Here they saw an almost countless number of white tents pitched, with soldiers in various uniforms moving among them. "Can you count those tents?" asked the colonel. "Each tent contains eleven or thirteen men, and one spirit animates the whole--that is, the conquest of perfidious Albion." "They'll have a tough job, sir, let me tell them," observed Bill. "I haven't seen much of English sojers except the Guards in London, and our Marines on board ship, but I know that one of our Guardsmen would lick a whole tentful of the little chaps I see about here; and I would advise the general to stay quietly at home, and not attempt to take our tight little island." "The French have wrongs to revenge, as have my gallant people, and bitterly will they revenge them some day, when your king and his nobles are brought in chains to France." "That won't be just yet, and may be never," answered Bill, who was growing bold, and inclined to speak his mind. "I'll not bandy words with you, boy. Take care what you are about!" exclaimed the colonel, who did not like Bill's boldness, especially when he saw a broad grin on Jack's countenance. "If you ever get back to England--and I don't say you ever will get back--remember what you have seen to-day, and tell those wretched slaves your countrymen what they are to expect." "We'll not forget it, sir," answered Bill, thinking it wiser to be civil; "and I hope the general won't think it necessary to keep in prison two poor sailor boys who never did any harm to the French, and never wished to do any harm, except to thrash them well in a fair stand-up fight; and you will allow, sir, that that's all right and fair play." "Or receive a thrashing from them," answered the colonel; "however, come along. I must see you stowed safely in the tower, where the general has ordered you to be placed, and moind you kape quiet and don't kick up a row, as you midshipmen are apt to do." "We are not midshipmen, sir," said Bill, who had not forgotten what the colonel had before said. "We are humble boys serving before the mast. Jack, there, is a fisherman's son, and I am a poor boy out of the London streets. I am only telling you the truth, sir." "You are a very sharp boy, then," responded the colonel, looking at Bill. "Yes, sir," said Bill, "the school I went to is a place where boys are apt to get their wits sharpened. They have little else to depend on." The colonel still seemed to doubt whether Bill was speaking the truth, and, perhaps fortunately for them, was fully impressed with the idea that he had charge of a couple of midshipmen. Possibly Bill was a lord's son; and though he railed against English lords, yet, when brought into contact with them, he was inclined to pay them the deepest respect. Owing to the colonel's idea, Bill and Jack were treated with far more attention than they otherwise would have received. The room into which they were put, though small, had a table and chairs in it, and a bed in one corner. "You will remain here for the present," said the colonel, as he saw them into the room; "probably before long the general may wish to examine you again, and I would advise you to take care that you tell him only the truth, and confess your object in coming to the country." Bill made no answer; and the colonel, after again surveying the room, took his departure, locking the door behind him. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. THE ESCAPE. Jack and Bill heard Colonel O'Toole descending the stairs, and, listening, were convinced that he had gone away without leaving a sentry at the door. "We are in luck," said Bill, as he looked round the room. "This is a better place than the old tower, and I don't see that it will be much more difficult to escape from." They went to the window. It was long and narrow, but there was ample space for them to creep out of it. It was, however, a great height from the ground; three or four storeys up they calculated; and should they attempt to drop down, they would break every bone in their bodies. "It cannot be done, I fear," said Jack. "It can be done, and we'll do it before to-morrow morning, too," answered Bill. "When the general ordered us to be shut up here, he was thinking that we were just like a couple of French boys, without a notion of going aloft, or of finding their way down again." "But I don't see how we can manage to get down here," said Jack, peeping through the window, cautiously though, for fear of being seen. "There is nothing to lay hold of, and the door is locked and bolted. I heard that traitor Irishman shoot a bolt before he went away." "Look here," replied Bill, pointing towards the bed. "Why, that's a bed," said Jack. "It was very good-natured in the mounseers to give it us to sleep on." "What do you think it's made of?" asked Bill. "Why, sheets and blankets and ticking," replied Jack. "Yes," said Bill, "you are right; and with those selfsame sheets and blankets, and maybe a fathom or two of rope besides, underneath, I intend that we shall try to lower ourselves down to the ground; and when we are once outside, it will be our own fault if we do not get back to the harbour, and when there, that we do not get on board our raft again. The French captain said it was to be left just as it was for the general to see it to-morrow morning. Before that time comes, I hope that we shall be out of sight of land, if we get a fair breeze, or, at all events, out of sight of the people on shore." "I'm always ready for anything you propose, Bill," said Jack. "I see now well enough how we are to get away. If all goes smoothly, we shall do it. But suppose we are caught?--and there are a good many chances against us, you'll allow." "We can but be shut up again. Even if they were to flog us, we could stand it well enough; and as to the pain, that would be nothing, and it would not be like being flogged for breaking the articles of war, or doing anything against the law. I should call it an honourable flogging, and should not mind showing the scars, if any remained," said Bill. "I'm your man, and the sooner we set about turning our sheets and blankets into a rope the better," exclaimed Jack, enthusiastically. "If we are caught and punished ever so much, we must not mind it." "Stop a bit," said Bill. "Perhaps the red-haired colonel may pay us a visit before nightfall. We must not be caught making preparations for our escape; that would be a green trick." "I hope if they come they'll bring us some supper," said Jack. "I am pretty sharp set already; and if the mounseers should have stolen the grub out of our chest, we should have nothing to eat on our voyage." "I have been thinking too much about going away to feel hungry," said Bill. "But now you talk of it, I should like some food, and I hope they'll bring enough to last us for a day or two. Now, I say, it's getting dark, and we must fix upon the best spot to lower ourselves down to. You listen at the door lest any one should come up suddenly, and I'll examine the windows and settle the best plan." Bill, however, first went to the bed, examined the blankets and sheets and mattress, and found, to his satisfaction, that below all were two thick pieces of canvas, drawn together by a rope. The rope, though rather thin, would, he was satisfied, bear their light weights. It might take them half an hour or so to twist the various materials up into a rope, and altogether would give them one of ample length for their purpose. This discovery greatly raised the boys' spirits and hopes of success. Bill now went to the window, and found that the grass came close up to the walls of the tower underneath. Even should they fall from a considerable height, they might have the chance of not breaking their bones, and that was some satisfaction. An iron bar extended from the top of the window to the bottom in the centre. He felt it, and it was strong as need be. It would do well for securing their rope. As far as he could judge, there was no window under them. This was of consequence, as had there been, they might have been seen by any person within during their descent, rapidly as they might make it. Bill considered whether it would be possible to withdraw the rope after they had descended, but he doubted whether they had sufficient materials to enable them to do that. "Well, it cannot be helped," Bill said to himself. "The Frenchmen will see how we escaped, but they won't find it out till daylight, and it won't matter much then." He had finished his survey, and settled his plan, when Jack cried out, "Hist! there's some one coming!" and they ran back and sat themselves down near the table with their heads on their hands, as if they were feeling very melancholy and disconsolate. "I wish I could squeeze out a tear," said Jack; "but I can't for the life of me. I feel so jolly at your idea of getting off." Presently the door opened, and an old woman entered with a basket. "I have brought you some food and a bottle of wine, mes garcons," she said, in a kind tone. "The general gave me permission, and I was very glad to bring it, as I knew that you must be hungry. Poor boys! I heard of your attempt to get away. You would have been drowned to a certainty if you hadn't been caught, and that would have been sad, for one of you, they say, wanted to get back to see his mother. I have got a son at sea, so I can feel for her. I wish he was safe back again. I don't know what they will do with you, but I hear that you are to be tried to-morrow, and the Irish officer here says you are spies, and if so, you will run a great chance of being hung, or, at all events, shut up in a prison till you confess what you have been about. Ah! but I forgot. They say you don't speak French, and you may not have understood a word I have said." Jack and Bill could scarcely refrain from laughing as the old woman ran on, but they restrained themselves, and when she showed them the contents of the basket, they merely said, "Bon! bon! merci! merci!" several times, and looked very well pleased, as indeed they were, for there was food enough to last them two or three days, full allowance-- cheese and sausages, bread, figs, raisins, and butter, besides the bottle of wine. They were afraid of drinking much of that, not knowing how weak it was, lest it should get into their heads, for they wanted no Dutch courage to do what they intended--they had pluck enough without that. The old woman--not that she was so very old, but she was small and thin, with a high white cap and a brown dress fitting closely, which made her look older than she was--stood by, after she had covered the table with the provisions, that she might have the pleasure of seeing the boys eat. They were very willing to give her that pleasure, and set to with a good appetite. She smiled benignantly, and patted them on their heads, as she watched them stowing away the various things. They were not very particular as to which they took first. "Bon! bon!" said Jack, every now and then, as he saw that his saying so pleased her. "Merci! merci!" She poured them out some wine; it was dreadfully sour, so Bill thought, and he made signs to her that he would drink it by-and-by, as he did not like to show her how much he disliked it. Jack was not so particular, but he was content with a mouthful or two, and then began again on the sausages and figs. "I hope she is not going to stop till we have done," said Bill, "or she may take away the remainder. I'll try and make her understand that we should like a little more by-and-by. I vote we stop now and put the things into the basket. We'll then show her that we do not wish her to take them away." The kind old housekeeper of the chateau--for such she was--seemed to understand the boys' wishes. Bill even ventured to say a few words in French, which would show her what they wanted; and at last, wishing them good-night, she took her departure. They heard the door locked and bolted after she went out, as if by some other person; and it made them fear that a sentry was placed there, who might, should they make any noise, look in to see what they were about. It would be necessary, therefore, to be extremely cautious as to their proceedings. "There's no one moving," said Bill, who had crept to the door to listen. He, of course, spoke in a low whisper. "I vote we set to work at once and make our rope. It will take some time, and we ought to be off as soon as the people have turned in, as we must try to get a good distance from the shore before daylight." "Suppose any one was to come, and find us cutting up our bed-clothes," said Jack, "it would be suspected what we were going to do." "We'll keep the coverlid till the last, so as to throw it over the bed should we hear a step on the stair; we must then sit down on the edge, and pretend that we are too sorrowful to think of going to bed," said Bill. "That will do," replied Jack; "I never was a good hand at piping my eye, but I know that I should be inclined to blubber if I thought there was a chance of being found out." "There's no use talking about that. We must run the risk," observed Bill; "so here goes." And he forthwith turned back the coverlid, and began measuring the sheets. They were of strong and tough material, and by dividing each into four lengths, he calculated that a rope formed of them would be of sufficient strength for their purpose, and they were quickly cut through with their knives, and each length was then twisted tightly up. The bed-ticking was treated in the same manner; but that being of less strength, gave them only six much shorter lengths. The sacking and rope at the bottom of the bed would, Bill was sure, reach, at all events, to a short distance from the ground. As they twisted and bent one piece to another, they surveyed their work with satisfaction, and were convinced that it would bear their weight, though it would hardly have borne that of a man of moderate size. To try it, they tugged away against each other, and it held perfectly firm. "It will do famously," exclaimed Bill, after they had joined all the pieces together. "Even if it does not quite reach to the ground, I should not mind dropping a dozen feet or so." "But if we do that, the noise we make in our fall may be heard," said Jack. "Hadn't we better bend on the coverlid? It's not so strong as the sheets, but we can put it at the lower end." Bill agreed to this, and, as it was of considerable width, it formed three lengths. "We have enough almost for a double rope, I expect," said Bill, as he coiled it away ready to carry to the window at the opposite side of the room. "Oh, no; I don't think we've enough for that," said Jack; "even if we had, it won't matter leaving the rope behind. The Frenchmen will see by the disappearance of the bed-clothes how we got out. I advise that we make only one rope, and just get down to the ground as quietly as we can manage to do." Bill made another trip to the door to listen. "No one is coming," he whispered, as he returned. "Now let's carry the rope to the window." They did so, and Bill leant out to listen again. No sounds reached his ear, except the occasional barking of a dog. "The people go to bed early in this country," he observed, "and I am very much obliged to them. We may start, Jack, without much fear of being stopped." "But don't let us forget our grub," said Jack; and they filled their pockets with the provisions the old woman had brought them, tying up the remainder in their handkerchiefs, which they fastened to the lanyards of their knives. "Now let's bend on the rope," said Bill. They secured it round the iron bar. "I'll go first," said Jack; "if the rope bears me, it's certain to bear you." "No; I proposed the plan, and I ought to go first," answered Bill. "It's of no use wasting words. Don't begin to come down till you feel that I am off the rope. So here goes." Bill, on saying this, climbed through the narrow opening between the bar and the side of the window, and then, first grasping the bar with his hands, threw his legs off straight down, and began descending the thin rope. Jack stretched out his head to watch him, but Bill soon disappeared in the darkness. The rope held, however, though, as he felt it, it appeared stretched to the utmost. He could with difficulty draw a breath, while he waited till, by finding the rope slacken, he should know that Bill had safely reached the bottom. At last he ascertained that Bill was no longer hanging to the rope, while, from not hearing a sound, he was sure that his companion had performed the feat in safety. As Bill had charged him not to lose a moment, he, following his example, commenced his descent. Down and down he went, but had he not been thoroughly accustomed to suspend himself on thin ropes, he could not have held on. It seemed to him that he should never reach the bottom; how much further he had to go he could not tell. All at once he felt a hand grasping him by the leg. A sudden fear seized him. Could the Frenchmen have got hold of Bill, and were they about to recapture him? He could with difficulty refrain from crying out; still, as there would be no use in attempting to get up the rope again, he continued to lower himself. The hand was withdrawn, and presently he found that he had reached the ground. "All right," whispered Bill in his ear; "I caught hold of your ankle to let you understand that you were close to the bottom. Now let's be off! The harbour lies directly under yonder star. I marked its position during daylight, and again just before I began to descend the rope." CHAPTER SIXTEEN. VOYAGE ON THE RAFT. Bill and Jack remained for a few seconds in the dark shade caused by the tall wall of the chateau, listening attentively for any sounds of people moving about. None reached their ears, and only here and there, in the more distant part of the building, were any lights to be seen gleaming from the windows. "We may run for it now without much chance of being seen," said Bill. "We must step lightly, though, or we may be heard by some of the sentries. Keep your eye on the star, it's the best guide we have for the harbour. Now for it! let's start." They set off, treading as lightly as they could on the ground with their bare feet, the soles of which were pretty well hardened. For some distance they had only grass to run over, and a couple of phantoms could scarcely have produced less sound. In a short time, however, they reached a fence. It was somewhat rotten, and as they were climbing over it, a part gave way and came down with a crash. "Quick!" said Bill, as he was helping over Jack, who followed him; "we must run on like the wind; somebody may be coming to find out what's the matter." They did not stop, as may be supposed, to repair the damage they had caused, but soon reaching a road which led in the direction they wished to take, they scampered on at full speed. Tall trees grew on either side of the road, which, casting a dark shadow over it, would have effectually concealed them from view, even if anybody had been looking out for them. The darkness, however, also prevented them from seeing any one who might be ahead. Sometimes indeed they had a difficulty in keeping in the middle of the road. "I hope we're going in the right direction," said Jack; "I can't see the star, and the road seems to me to have twisted about." "We must, at all events, go on," answered Bill. "Perhaps we shall catch sight of the star again before long, and we must steer our course accordingly. There's no use stopping still." They went on and on. "There it is at last," cried Jack. The trees which lined the road were much lower, being indeed mere pollards, and allowed them to see the sky overhead. Presently they heard a dog bark; then another and another. Could the brutes be barking at them? It was a sign that there were dwellings near, and the inhabitants might be looking out to ascertain what made their dogs bark. "Never mind," whispered Bill; "the chances are that the dogs are tied up, and if we keep moving the people won't see us." They passed through the village or hamlet. They were still, they knew, some distance from the harbour. Here and there only could they see a light twinkling from a window, probably of some sick-chamber. It was pretty evident that most of the people had gone to bed, still some one or other might be up who would give the alarm. They found themselves verging to the right; it was better, however, than keeping to the left side, which might lead them away from the harbour. Presently they came to some grassy downs, and the regular road they had been pursuing turned sharp off to the left. "We had better keep straight on," said Bill; "we shall be more exposed on the open downs; but then it isn't likely that anybody will be there to see us, so that won't matter." Jack, as usual, was ready to do whatever Bill proposed. They got quickly over the grass, which was cropped short by sheep feeding on it, and they could manage to see somewhat better than they had done on the road. Presently Jack, whose eyesight was even keener than Bill's, having been well practised at night from his childhood, caught his companion's arm, exclaiming, "Hold back; it seems to me that we have got to the edge of the downs." They crept cautiously forward. In another instant they would have leapt down a cliff some hundred feet in height, and been dashed to pieces. They turned away from it, shuddering at the fearful risk they had run, and kept along on somewhat lower ground, still having the star which had before guided them ahead. Once more they found themselves approaching buildings, but they were low and scattered; evidently only in the outskirts of the village. "We must be close to the harbour now," said Jack. "The greater reason that we should be cautious," observed Bill. "This road, I suspect, leads right down to the part of the harbour we want to reach." They ran on, their hope of escape increasing. Suddenly they heard the voice of a man shouting out, "Who goes there?" Bill seized Jack's arm, and pulled him down in the shadow of a high wall, near which they happened at that moment to find themselves. Some minutes they waited, scarcely daring to draw breath. The shout was not repeated. "We may go on now," whispered Jack; and getting up, they crept forward. Presently, below them, they caught sight of the harbour, with the stars reflected on its surface. The most difficult part of their undertaking was now to be performed. They had to find out exactly where their raft lay. Bill had not failed to observe the shape of the harbour, and to take note of the various objects on shore, as he and Jack were brought in prisoners by the French boat; but the partial survey he was then able to make did not enable him to settle positively in what direction they ought to proceed to find their raft. By keeping on as they were then going they believed that they should make the shore of the harbour at no great distance from the mouth. They might then keep along up it until they reached the place where they landed, near which they hoped to find their raft moored. "I am only afraid that we may meet some guards or patrols, or fishermen coming on shore or going off to their vessels," observed Jack. "If we do we must try to hide ourselves," answered Bill. "We'll keep along as close as we can under the cliffs, or any walls or houses we are passing, so that we may see people before we are seen ourselves." They acted as Bill suggested, and pushed boldly onwards. Not a sound was heard coming either from the land side or from the harbour. The water was as smooth as glass. They were still going forward when Jack seized Bill's arm. "That's the place," he whispered. "I can make out the raft, moored outside a boat at the end of a slip." Bill, creeping forward, assured himself that Jack was right, and, as nothing could be gained by waiting a moment, they hurried on, and in a few seconds were on board their raft. Jack plunged his hand into one of the chests, to ascertain that the articles it had contained were still there. They had not been taken away. He could scarcely refrain from shouting out for joy. Even the oars had not been removed. They got another from the boat alongside to supply the place of the one which had been splintered. "Cut the warps," cried Bill. "We'll paddle on till we find the breeze." The raft was quickly cast loose, and, getting out the oars, they began to paddle silently down the harbour. They could not avoid making some slight noise, but they hoped that there was no one on the watch to hear it. Very frequently they turned their glances astern to ascertain if they were followed, but they could see nothing moving. There were several vessels lower down the harbour, so they steered a course which would carry them past at some little distance from them. The raft moved easily over the smooth surface, and they made good way. There was only one vessel more which they had to pass before they reached the harbour's mouth. They both earnestly hoped that her crew were fast asleep, and that no watch was kept on deck. They paddled slowly by, and more than half a cable's length from her, moving their oars as gently as possible, and scarcely daring to breathe. The slightest sound might betray them. At length they got outside her, and there was nothing now between them and the open channel. Again Jack could hardly refrain from shouting. Just then a voice came from the vessel. Bill looked back. He judged by the distance the vessel was off that the character of the raft could not be discovered. He answered in very good French, "We are going out early this morning, and if we have good luck in fishing, we'll bring you some for breakfast." "Thank you, my friend, thank you," answered the man on board the vessel. Bill had been paddling on all the time he was speaking. He was certain that the man did not suspect who he and Jack were, and in a few minutes they lost sight of the vessel altogether. They now gave way with might and main. They were rowing for life and liberty; for if again caught, they fully believed that they should be shot. How anxiously they wished that a breeze would spring up! For fully an hour they rowed on, till the shore faded from sight. They were steering by the polar star, which both Jack and Bill knew well. "If there's a breeze from the southward, we ought to feel it by this time," observed Jack. "Never fear; we shall find it before long," answered Bill. "We are not so far away from the cliffs as you suppose, and it would be as well not to speak loud, or our voices may reach any boat passing, or even people on shore." "I hope there will be none there at this hour, though they will come down fast enough in the morning from the chateau, when they find we have taken French leave," said Jack. "A very proper thing to take, too, seeing we were in France," remarked Bill, with a quiet chuckle. "I hope we shall never set foot on its shores again." "So do I; but I'm afraid we have a great chance of doing so, unless we get a breeze pretty soon. I am inclined to whistle for it," said Jack. "It won't come the faster for that," answered Bill. "We shall do more good by working our oars. We are sending the raft along at three knots an hour at least, and as it will be three hours or more before daylight, we shall be ten miles or so away from the shore, even if we do not get a breeze, before the Frenchmen find out that we have got off." As Bill advised, he and Jack continued pulling away as lustily as at first. The smoothness of the water was a great advantage to them, for had there been any sea their progress would have been much slower. An hour or more passed away, when Bill exclaimed, "Here comes the wind, and right aft, too! It's not very strong yet, but it will freshen soon, I hope. Stand by, Jack, to hoist the sail!" "Ay, ay!" answered Jack, taking hold of the halyards and feeling that all was clear. "Hand me the sheet; and now hoist away," said Bill. Jack, with right good will, hauled away at the halyards, and the sail was soon set. The raft felt the influence of the breeze and glided on at an increased speed. It was cheery to hear the water rippling against the bows. "We must take care not to capsize the raft if the wind increases much," observed Bill. "Keep the halyards ready to let go in a moment; the sail is full large for our craft, and it would not take long to capsize it." "Trust me for that," said Jack; "I have no wish to be drowned, and I feel wonderfully jolly at the thought of having got away. Are you steering a right course, Bill? It seems to me that the sail must be between you and the polar star." "No; I can see it directly over the yard when I stand up and keep well aft," answered Bill. "The wind, too, won't let us go in any other direction." "How about the tide?" asked Jack. "Why, as it was just on the ebb when we came out of the harbour, and helped us along, it is, I calculate, making to the westward. It won't, however, run much longer in that direction, and it will then carry us to the eastward for a good six hours. We'll be well out of sight of land by that time, and, I hope, may fall in with an English cruiser, though, for my part, I would rather run right across the Channel. It would be fine fun to land, and tell the people how we managed it. They would think more of our raft than the Frenchmen did, though there are not many boys afloat who would not try to do as we have done." Jack was of the same opinion, and as there was no necessity for rowing, while Bill steered, Jack sat on a chest with his arms folded. Suddenly he exclaimed, "I say, Bill, I am getting very peckish; I vote we have some supper." "Well, we have not far to go for it," observed Bill, "seeing we have got enough in our pockets to last us for the whole of to-morrow." As Bill could not well manage to steer and tend the sheet and eat his supper, too, he let Jack finish his; after which they changed places, and Bill fell to with a good appetite on some of the old Frenchwoman's provisions. "I hope the kind old creature won't get into any scrape for supplying us," said Bill. "I don't see how it will be found out that she gave us so much," said Jack. "When she finds that we are gone, she'll keep her own counsel, depend on that." "We must not expend the food too fast, though," remarked Bill. "It will take us several days to get across Channel; and it won't do to run short of provisions." "You forget those we have in the chest," said Jack. "Are you certain that the Frenchmen allowed them to remain there," asked Bill, opening the lid of one of them, and feeling about. "Yes! here's a piece of beef or pork and some biscuit. All right, we shall do now. I'll take the helm again if you like; I feel more comfortable when I'm at it, though you steer well enough, I dare say." "As you like," said Jack. "I'd just as soon stand by the halyards." They again changed places. Bill kept his eye on the polar star, while Jack peered under the sail ahead, that they might not, as he said, run down any craft. Thus the night passed away. The breeze slightly increased, but Bill considered that they might still carry their whole sail with safety. Perhaps they did not move along quite so fast as he supposed. He told Jack that he thought they were running through the water at five knots an hour; but four, or even three, knots was a good deal for a raft to make, with flat bows, light and well put together as it was. They were too much excited to feel the slightest inclination to sleep, and being both in capital spirits, did not trouble themselves with thinking of the possibility that the weather might change before they could get across to the English coast. A fast lugger would take nearly two days to do the distance. The dawn now broke, and they eagerly looked out on every side for a sail. As the light increased they were greatly disappointed, on gazing astern, to discover the French coast still in sight, though blue and indistinct, like a cloud rising out of the water. No sail, however, was to be seen in that direction. That was a comfort; they were not pursued by any large craft, and could certainly not be seen from the shore. To the northward, however, they caught sight of a sail just rising above the horizon, and soon afterwards another was seen to the eastward, but which way she was standing they could not determine. As the sun rose the wind decreased, and before long it became perfectly calm. "We must lower the sail and take to our oars again," said Bill. "It won't do to stop where we are." "I am ready to pull on as long as I have any strength in me," answered Jack, as he stowed the sail, and got out his oar. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. A NARROW ESCAPE--THE FUGITIVES PICKED UP BY A FRIGATE. The rest Jack and Bill had obtained while their raft was under sail enabled them to row with as much vigour as at first; and row they did with might and main, knowing that their liberty might depend upon their exertions. The calm was very trying, for they had expected to be wafted quickly across the Channel, and row as hard as they could, their progress must be slow. After rowing for a couple of hours or more, they found themselves apparently no nearer the ship ahead than they had been at first. At length hunger compelled them to lay in their oars and take some breakfast. They ate a hearty one, for they had plenty of provisions; but on examining their stock of water they found that they must be very economical, or they might run short of that necessary of life. After a short rest, Bill sprang to his feet. "It won't do to be stopping," he observed. "If we only make a couple of miles an hour it will be something, and we shall be so much nearer home, and so much farther away from the French shore." "I'm afraid that when the mounseers find out that we have escaped, they will be sending after us," said Jack. "They will be ashamed of being outwitted by a couple of English boys, and will do all they can to bring us back." "I believe you are right, Jack," replied Bill; "only, as they certainly will not be able to see us from the shore, they won't know in what direction to pull, and may fancy that we are hid away somewhere along the coast." "They'll guess well enough that we should have pulled to the nor'ard, and will be able to calculate by the set of the tide whereabouts to find us," said Jack. "We mustn't trust too much to being safe as yet. I wonder what that vessel to the eastward is. She's a ship, for I can see her royals above the horizon, and she's certainly nearer than when we first made her out." "She must be standing to the westward, then, and will, I hope, pass inside of us, should the breeze spring up again from the same quarter," observed Bill. "She's probably French, or she would not be so close in with the coast." "As to that, our cruisers stand in close enough at times, and she may be English notwithstanding," answered Jack. "Unless we are certain that she's English we shall be wiser to avoid her," remarked Bill, "so we'll pull away to the nor'ard." "But what do you think of the ship out there?" asked Jack, pointing ahead. "I cannot help believing that she's English," said Bill. "We must run the chance of being seen by her. We shall have to pull on a good many hours, however, first, and when the breeze springs up, she'll pretty quickly run either to the eastward or westward." The boys, however, after all their remarks, could arrive at no conclusion. They rowed and rowed, but still appeared not to have moved their position with regard either to the shore or the two vessels in sight. The sun rose high above their heads and struck down with considerable force; but they cared little for the heat, though it made them apply more frequently than they otherwise would have done to their water-cask. Bill had more than once to warn Jack not to drink too much. The day was drawing on, and at last Jack proposed that they should have another rest and take some dinner. "There's no use starving ourselves, and the more we eat the better we shall be able to pull," he said. Bill was not quite of this opinion. At the same time he agreed to Jack's proposal, as his arms were becoming very weary. They had just finished their dinner when Jack, getting up on the chest in which the mast was stepped, so that he might have a better look-out, exclaimed, "I see a sail between us and the land. The sun just now glanced on it. There's a breeze in shore, depend on it, and it will reach us before long." Bill jumped up to have a look-out also. He could not distinguish the sail, but he thought by the darker colour of the water to the southward that a breeze was playing over it, though it had not as yet got as far as they were. They again took to their oars and pulled on. Jack, however, occasionally turned round to look to the southward, for he entertained the uncomfortable idea that they were pursued. They were now, they agreed, nearer the ship to the northward. Her lofty sails must have caught a light westerly air, which did not reach close down to the water, and had sent her along two or three knots an hour. They could see half-way down her courses, and Jack declared his belief that she was a frigate, but whether English or French he could not determine. Unless, however, they were to hoist their sail, they might pass very close to her without being discovered, and the course she was steering would take her somewhat to the eastward of them. They would have to settle the point as to whether she was a friend or foe, and in the former case whether it would be advisable to hoist their sail, and made every signal in their power to attract her attention, or to keep the sail lowered until she was at a distance from them. Bill had not been convinced that Jack had seen a sail to the southward. "Whether or not I saw one before, there's one now," cried Jack, "and pretty near, too, and what's worse, it's a boat, so that they have oars, and will be coming up with us in spite of the calm." "They must have had a breeze to get thus far," remarked Bill. "Yes, but it has failed them now; see, they are lowering down the sail." As Jack spoke, a light patch of white like the wing of a wild-fowl was seen for a moment glancing above the water landward. "Yes, there's no doubt that was a sail, which must have come from the shore; but it is a question whether the Frenchmen will have the pluck to pull on in the hopes of finding us, or will turn back. One thing is certain, that we had better try to keep ahead, when they will have farther to come if they still pursue us." Once more the boys got their oars out, and laboured away as energetically as before. They every now and then, however, looked back to ascertain if the boat were coming after them. Meantime a light breeze played occasionally over the water, but it was so light that it would not have helped them much, and they thought it wiser not to hoist their sail, as it would betray their position should a French boat really be in pursuit of them. The ship, which they supposed to be a frigate, was in in the meantime drawing nearer to them from the north-east. "I cannot help thinking that the boat is still coming after us," cried Jack. "I fancy I caught sight of the gleam of the sun on the men's hats; if I were to swarm up the mast I should be more certain." "You will run the chance of capsizing the raft if you do," observed Bill. "I'll just go a little way up," retorted Jack; and he jumped on the chest, and hoisted himself three or four feet only up the mast, while Bill sat down on the deck to counterbalance his weight. "Yes, I was right," said Jack, coming down. "I made out a boat, as sure as we are here, and a large one, too, or I should not have seen her so clearly. She's a good way off still, so that it will be some time before she can get up with us. The French fellows in her must take yonder ship to be a countryman, or they would not pull on so boldly." "They may think that they have time to pick us up and be off again before the ship can get near them," said Bill; "but whatever they think, we must try to disappoint them, so we'll pull away as long as we can stand, and then we'll row on our knees." The sun was by this time sinking towards the west; and should darkness come on, their chances of escape would be increased. The wind had shifted slightly to the south-west, and should it freshen sufficiently to make it worth while hoisting the sail, they might stand away to the north-east. It still, however, wanted two or three hours before it would be perfectly dark, while the boat would be up to them before that time. After rowing for the greater part of an hour, Jack again took a look-out, and reported that he could distinctly see the boat. "So I suspect by this time can the people on board the ship," observed Bill, "and probably they can see us also; but the crew of the boat well know that with this light wind they can easily row away from the ship should she prove to be English." In a short time they could both see the boat when only standing up on the raft. They had now too much reason to fear that, in spite of all their efforts, they should be overtaken. Still, like brave boys, they pulled on, though their arms and backs were aching with their exertions. The Frenchmen, who must by this time have seen the raft, appeared determined to re-take them. Presently a report was heard, and a bullet flew skimming over the water, but dropped beneath the surface somewhere astern. Another and another followed. "Their shot won't hurt us as yet," observed Bill. "They fancy that they can frighten us, but we'll show them that they are mistaken;" and he pulled on as steadily as he had before been doing. Jack, however, could not resist jumping up once more on the chest, and looking towards the ship. "Hurrah! there's a boat coming off from the ship!" he cried out. "If she's English, she'll soon make the Frenchmen put about." Jack was right as to a boat coming from the ship, but the Frenchmen still pulled on. Perhaps they did not see the boat, or if they did, thought that she also was French. Again and again the pursuers fired, the bullets now falling close to the raft. "A miss is as good as a mile," cried Bill, rowing on. But the French boat was evidently getting terribly near. If any tolerable marksman were on board, he could easily pick off the two occupants of the raft. They knew that well enough, but they kept to their resolution of pulling on till the last. They were encouraged, too, by seeing the boat from the stranger making towards them. Presently three or four bullets together flew close to their ears, and fell into the water ahead. "Pull on! pull on!" cried Bill; "the fellows fired to vent their spite. They are going to give up the chase." He looked round as he spoke, and, sure enough, the stern of the boat was seen. The Frenchmen were rowing back to the shore. The boat of the stranger, instead of steering, as she had been, towards the raft, was now seen directing her course after the French boat, the crew of which were evidently straining every nerve to escape. "Hurrah!" cried Jack, standing up and waving his cap, "that's an English frigate." "No doubt about it," exclaimed Bill; "I can see her ensign blowing out;" and he could scarcely refrain from throwing up his cap, but remembered that it might chance to fall overboard if he did. Directly afterwards a gun was heard, fired by the frigate. It was a signal to recall the boat. She would have had a long pull before she could over take the Frenchmen. The signal was not to be disobeyed, and she was seen to pull round and steer for the raft. The boys eagerly watched her approach. She was soon up to them. "Hallo, my lads! where do you come from?" asked the officer, who was standing up in the stern-sheets. "We are running away from the Frenchmen, sir," answered Bill. "A curious craft you have chosen for the purpose," observed the officer. "It was the best we could get, sir," said Bill. "We twice have managed to make our escape, and the first time were caught and carried back." "Well, we'll hear all about it by-and-by. Come, jump on board. I should like to tow your raft to the frigate, but we must not delay for that purpose," exclaimed the officer. Jack and Bill quickly tumbled into the boat, though, as soon as they were on board, they cast wistful glances at their raft. The officer ordered the men to give way, and steered the boat towards the frigate. He now asked the lads how they came to be in France. Bill briefly described how the _Foxhound_ had blown up, and the way in which they had been taken on board a French fishing-vessel, and their various adventures on shore. "That's curious enough," observed the lieutenant, "for we have on board the frigate most of those who escaped." The officer, who was the third lieutenant of the frigate, had learned the greater part of their history by the time the boat got up to her. He and most of the crew quickly climbed on board, followed by the boys. The falls were hooked on, and the boat hoisted up. Whom should Jack and Bill see standing on the deck, and issuing his orders to the crew to "brace round the yards," but Mr Saltwell, the first lieutenant of their former ship. They stood for some minutes by themselves, for everybody was too much engaged to attend to them. The frigate's head was now turned in the direction of the stranger they had seen to the eastward, towards which they observed that the glasses of several of the officers were directed. "Though she has not shown her colours, I feel positive that she's French," observed the captain to Mr Saltwell. "I hope that you are right, sir," was the answer; "but we shall scarcely get up to her before dark." "We shall get near enough to make the private signal," said the captain, "and if she does not answer it we shall know how to treat her when we do get up to her." All the sail the frigate could carry was set, and as the breeze had increased, she ran rapidly through the water. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. THE FRIGATE IN ACTION--BILL SHOWS THAT HE CAN BE OF USE. The stranger, which had apparently been beating down Channel, now put up her helm, and setting studden sails stood to the eastward before the wind. She failed also to answer the private signal; no doubt, therefore, remained that she was French, and wished to avoid an action, though, as she appeared to be as large as the English frigate, if not larger, this was somewhat surprising. "Perhaps she has some consorts to the eastward, and wishes to lead us into their midst during the night," observed Mr Saltwell. "She will find that she's mistaken. We will keep too bright a look-out to be so caught," said the captain. The first lieutenant, as he was walking forward, caught sight of Bill and Jack. "Why, lads, where do you come from?" he asked. As he spoke he recognised Bill. "Are you not the lad who gave notice of the plot of the American captain to capture our ship?" he asked. Bill acknowledged that such was the case. "I am truly glad that you have escaped. I promised our late captain that I would keep an eye on you," he continued, "and I shall now have the opportunity. I thought you, with the rest of our poor fellows, had been lost when our ship blew up." Bill briefly described their adventures, and the lieutenant seemed much interested. He said he would have them at once entered on the ship's books, for as they were likely soon to be engaged with the enemy, it might be of importance to them. He accordingly sent for the purser, to whom he gave the proper directions. Bill and Jack then made their way below. On passing the galley they saw a boy busily employed, assisting the cook's mate in cleaning pots and pans. He looked up at them and started, letting drop the pot at which he was scrubbing. "What! Bill! Jack! I thought you had gone to Davy Jones's locker," he exclaimed. "Are you really yourselves?" "No doubt about it, Tom," answered Bill and in a few words they again told their adventures. Tom soon recovered from his astonishment. He appeared somewhat ashamed of his present occupation. He had got into a scrape, he acknowledged, and had been ordered to assist the cook's mate. "I wish you would tell him, Tom, that we are very hungry, as we have had a long pull, and that if he would give us something to eat we should be very much obliged to him. If he's a good-natured fellow, I daresay he will." Tom undertook to plead for them with the cook himself, who just then put his head out of the galley. The cook, without hesitation, on hearing their story, gave them each a basin of broth and a handful of biscuit. While they were eating they asked Tom to tell them how he had escaped. "I've no very clear notion about the matter," he answered; "I must have been in the water, for I found myself lying at the bottom of a boat wet to the skin, and more dead than alive. There were a dozen or more of our fellows in her, and Mr Saltwell, our first lieutenant, who had been picked up, I supposed, as I had been. They thought I was done for, and, as the boat was overloaded, they were about to heave me overboard, when I opened my eyes, and sang out, `Don't;' so they let me remain, and after some time pulled alongside a cutter, on board which we were taken and looked after below. Shortly afterwards we went in chase of a French craft of the same rig as ours, but she got away, and we then steered for Plymouth. We were at first taken on board the guardship, where we remained some time, and then I was transferred with others to this frigate, the _Thisbe_, of which, to my great satisfaction, I found that Mr Saltwell had been appointed first lieutenant. Thinking that, as we had shared a common misfortune, he would stand my friend, I went up to him, and telling him that I was a gentleman's son, begged he would have me put on the quarter-deck. He told me that if I did my duty I should have as good a chance as others; but here I am set to scrape potatoes and clean pots and pans. It's a shame, a great shame, and I can't stand it." Bill and Jack had a tolerably correct notion why Tom was not better off, but they did not say so, as they did not wish to hurt his feelings, and were grateful to him for having obtained for them the broth and biscuits. They had scarcely finished their meal when the order came to extinguish the galley fire. A short time afterwards the drum beat to quarters, and every one was employed in getting the ship ready for action. Jack and Bill expected that they would be employed in their former occupation of powder-monkeys, though, having been awake all the previous night, and in active exertion the whole of the day, notwithstanding the expectation of a battle, they could with difficulty keep their eyes open. They were going with the rest of the boys to the powder-magazine, when they heard their names called out, and the ship's corporal appearing, told them that the first lieutenant had directed that they should turn in below and take some sleep. A couple of hammocks were slung for them forward, and they very gladly obeyed the order. Bill made an effort to keep awake, that he might turn out again should the ship go into action, but in less than two minutes drowsiness overtook him, and he went fast asleep. He dreamed, however, that he heard the guns firing, and the crew shouting, and that he got up and found that the frigate had taken the Frenchman. Meantime, however, the wind falling light, the frigate made but slow progress, though she still kept the enemy in sight. When Bill really awoke, the light was streaming down through the fore-hatchway. He roused up Jack, as there was no one below to call them, and on going on deck they discovered the crew at their quarters, and the French frigate almost within range of their guns. She was to leeward, for the wind was still in its former quarter, and she had just then hauled up and backed her main-topsail to await their coming. She was now seen to carry four more guns than the _Thisbe_, and to be apparently considerably larger, her bright, polished sides showing that she had not been long out of harbour. When a ship goes into action, sail is generally shortened, but Captain Martin kept all the _Thisbe's_ set, and stood on, bearing down directly for the enemy. Jack had been sent to join the other boys, who were employed in bringing up the powder as required from the magazine, but the first lieutenant directed Bill to remain near him. Jack took his seat as a matter of course on his tub, and, as it happened, next to Tom. "How are you feeling?" asked Tom, who looked rather pale. "Much as I generally do, only I am rather peckish," answered Jack. "I wish we had had time for breakfast before thrashing the mounseers, but I hope that won't take us very long." "I hope not," said Tom; "only they say that the French ship is the bigger of the two." "What's the odds of that, provided we can work our guns twice as fast as they can?" observed Jack; "that's the way we licked the Frenchmen before, and, of course, we shall lick them again; but I say, Tom, what makes you look so melancholy?" "Do I? Well, if you want to know, I was thinking of home, and wishing I had not run off to sea. I've had a miserable life of it since I came on board this frigate. It was my own fault that I did not go back when I was last on shore. I had the chance, but was ashamed to show my face." "There's no use thinking about that sort of thing now," said Jack. "We shall be fighting the Frenchmen in a few minutes, and the round and grape shot and bullets will be flying about our ears." "That's what I don't quite like the thoughts of," replied Tom. "I hope neither you nor I will be hit, Jack." "Of course not," said Jack; "it wouldn't be pleasant, though we must do our duty, and trust to chance, or rather trust in Providence, like the rest." "I don't envy Bill up on deck there," remarked Tom. "I wonder what the first lieutenant wants with him." "Perhaps he intends to turn him into a midshipman," suggested Jack. "Into a midshipman! a London street boy, who scarcely knows who his father was," ejaculated Tom. "I should think he would have made me one before him." "The first lieutenant doesn't care a rap what he or his father was. He remembers only the way Bill saved the ship from being taken by the American skipper, and he seemed highly pleased at our having escaped from France. I tell you I shouldn't be at all surprised if Bill is placed on the quarter-deck," said Jack. Tom gave a grunt of dissatisfaction. The conversation had a good effect, as far as he was concerned, as it made him forget the fears he had entertained about his personal safety. In the meantime Bill remained on deck watching what was going forward. He heard Captain Martin tell the first lieutenant that he intended to engage the enemy to leeward, in order to prevent her escape; but as the _Thisbe_ approached the French ship, the latter, suspecting his intention, so as to frustrate it, wore round on the starboard tack. After much skilful seamanship on both sides, Captain Martin, finding that he could not succeed, ranged up to windward of the enemy within pistol shot, both ships being on the larboard tack, two or three points off the wind. They now simultaneously opened their broadsides, the shot of the _Thisbe_ telling with considerable effect, while not a few of those of the enemy came on board in return, cutting up her rigging, and laying low three or four of her men. The French ship now passed under the stern of the _Thisbe_, firing her larboard broadside with great precision. A second time she attempted to repeat the manoeuvre, but the crew of the _Thisbe_, having quickly rove new braces, her sails were thrown aback, and gathering sternway, her starboard quarter took the larboard bow of the French frigate. The French on this made several attempts to board, but the marines, who were drawn up on deck, opened so warm a fire that they were driven back with considerable loss. The _Thisbe_ had now her enemy fast to her quarter. In order to keep her there, Captain Martin and some of his crew endeavoured to lash her bowsprit to his mizenmast; while others were engaged in bringing a gun to bear, out of a port which the carpenters quickly cut through the stern windows and quarter gallery. While they were thus engaged, the enemy kept up a hot fire on them, several men being killed and wounded; but the gun was at length brought into position. "Now fire, my lads!" cried the second lieutenant, who was superintending the operation. After the first, discharge, no sooner had the smoke cleared away, than full twenty Frenchmen were seen stretched on the deck. Bill had been standing near the first lieutenant. A marine had just loaded his musket, but was knocked over before he had time to fire it. Bill at that moment saw a French seaman run along the bowsprit with a musket in his hand. Bill, springing forward, seized that of the marine, and, as he did so, he observed the Frenchman taking aim at the head of Mr Saltwell, whose eyes were turned in a different direction. There was not a moment for deliberation. Without ceremony pushing the lieutenant aside, he fired at the Frenchman, who, as he did so, discharged his musket, but immediately fell overboard, the ball tearing away the rim of Mr Saltwell's hat, but without hurting him. The first lieutenant, turning round, perceived the way by which his life had been saved. "Thank you, my lad," he said, "I see how you did it, and I'll not forget the service you have rendered me." There was no time just then for saying more, for a party of Frenchmen were attempting to fire a carronade on their forecastle. Before they could succeed, the marines had picked off the greater number. Others took their places, but every man of them was treated in the same manner. At last the attempt to fire the gun was abandoned. The French ship now getting a breeze, began to forge ahead. This enabled the _Thisbe's_ crew to bring their aftermost gun on the starboard side to bear, the first discharge from which cut away the gammoning of the French frigate's bowsprit. The two ships now separated, but were soon again abreast of each other exchanging broadsides; but so rapidly did the English crew work their guns that they managed to fire three to the Frenchman's two. A loud cheer burst from their throats as they saw the enemy's maintopmast go over the side. The _Thisbe_ now forged ahead clear of her adversary, and the breeze dying away, the firing ceased on both sides. Still the Frenchmen kept their colours flying. The English crew were busily employed in knotting and splicing the rigging which had been cut away, and repairing other damages. "I hope they've had enough of it, and that the fighting is over," exclaimed Tom. "Not so sure of that," said Jack. "The French take a good deal of drubbing, and don't always know when they are beaten." Tom felt, at all events, that he had had enough of it, as he looked along the deck and saw numbers of the men who had been slightly hurt binding up each other's wounds. Several lay stiff and stark, whose bodies were dragged on one side, while not a few, severely hurt, had been carried below to the cockpit, where the surgeon and his mates had ample employment. Among the killed was the second lieutenant, a master's mate, and two young midshipmen; altogether of the two hundred and fifty men who that morning were in health and strength, forty were either killed outright or were severely wounded. Just then, however, the survivors were too much occupied to think about the matter; every man and boy was wanted to get the ship to rights, and all were eagerly looking out for a breeze that they might again attack the enemy. Bill was as eager as any one for the fight. He felt that he was somebody, as he could not help reflecting that he had done good service in saving the life of the first lieutenant, though he did not exactly expect any reward in consequence. It seemed to him that he had grown suddenly from a powder monkey into a man. Still the calm continued, and the two ships lay with their sails against the masts, the water shining like a polished mirror. The calm was to the advantage of the French, who had thus longer time to repair their damages. The English were soon ready to renew the action. What, however, might not happen in the meantime? Both the captain and Mr Saltwell thought it possible that the French squadron might be to the eastward, and should the firing have been heard, and a breeze spring up from that direction, which it was very likely to do, the Frenchmen in overwhelming force might be down upon them. The captain walked the deck, looking anxiously out in every direction for signs of a breeze. Occasionally reports were brought to him of the way the wounded men were getting on. The surgeons had as much work as they could get through, cutting off arms and legs, setting broken limbs, and binding up flesh wounds. Such are the horrors of war! How many might be added ere long to the number of the killed and wounded! It was nearly noon when the captain exclaimed, "Here comes a breeze! Trim sails, my lads!" The men flew to the braces. The canvas blew out, and the frigate began slowly to move towards her antagonist. CHAPTER NINETEEN. THE "THISBE" VICTORIOUS--AN ENEMY'S SQUADRON HEAVES IN SIGHT. The crew of the _Thisbe_ stood at their guns, ready to open fire at the word of command. Several who had, at the commencement of the action, been among them, were missing; and though the survivors mourned their loss, that was not the time either to think or talk about them. Not a word, indeed, was spoken fore and aft; not even the usual jokes passed between the men. The Frenchman showed no inclination to avoid the combat. He could not have got away even had he wished, for his foretopmast was gone, and he had not fully repaired the other damages he had received aloft. Nearer and nearer the _Thisbe_ drew to the enemy, still the looked-for word of command did not come. The captain resolved to wait till he got close up to her. The French, also, for some time refrained from firing, though the _Thisbe_ was within range of their guns. They were the first to lose patience, or perhaps they thought that they could knock away the spars and rigging of their antagonist, and thus be able to make their escape. The _Thisbe_, however, was coming up on their larboard quarter. Their guns which they could bring to bear were trained high for the purpose mentioned. The shot came whistling about her masts and rigging; but though some of her sails were shot through, and a few ropes cut away, no material damage was received. The breeze at that instant freshened, and the _Thisbe_ glided rapidly on. "Give it them, my lads!" cried the captain, as the helm being put to starboard the whole of the _Thisbe's_ broadside was brought to bear with terrible effect on the enemy. The Frenchman again fired. The _Thisbe's_ guns were quickly run in and reloaded. The breeze at that instant blew aside the smoke, and as it did so the enemy's foremast was seen to fall with a crash overboard. Loud cheers rang forth from the decks of the _Thisbe_. Again her broadside was fired, but no return came. The next instant, through the smoke, the Frenchman's ensign was seen in the act of being lowered, just in time to save them from another broadside. The British crew had cheered lustily when they saw the foremast fall. They now redoubled their shouts, turning round and shaking each other heartily by the hand; some throwing up their caps, and others, mostly the Irishmen of the crew, leaping and dancing with delight. Two of the _Thisbe's_ boats being uninjured, they were lowered; and the third lieutenant, with a master's mate and a party of seamen, was sent on board to take possession of the prize. As they were about to shove off, Mr Saltwell inquired whether any one could speak French. "I can, sir," said Bill, touching his hat. "Then go and assist Mr Sterling; you will be of much use," said the first lieutenant. Bill, who had been longing to visit the prize, obeyed with no small satisfaction. As they reached her deck, an officer advanced with his sword in his hand, and presented it to Mr Sterling, who, receiving it, handed it to Bill. The French officer announced that he was the second lieutenant of the _Diana_ frigate, which it was his misfortune now to yield into the possession of her British conquerors. Mr Sterling bowed in return. "Tell him, Rayner," he said, "that we acknowledge how bravely he and his countrymen have fought their ship, and that though they have lost her, they have not lost their honour." The French lieutenant looked highly gratified at this remark when Bill interpreted it, and desired him to express his obligation to the English lieutenant. The captain and first lieutenant had been killed, as were no less than thirty of the crew, including other officers, while fifty were wounded. The deck, indeed, presented a dreadful scene--strewed in every direction with corpses, while many poor fellows were so fearfully injured that their shipmates had been unwilling to move them. The other officers presented their swords, while the seamen unbuckled their cutlasses, and the marines piled their arms. Many wry faces were made, though most of the Frenchmen merely shrugged their shoulders, observing that what had happened to them was the fortune of war. Bill made himself very useful in communicating with the French officers and crew. One of the _Diana's_ boats had escaped injury, and she, being lowered, assisted the other boats in carrying the prisoners on board the _Thisbe_. They far outnumbered the English, and much vigilance was required to keep them in order. The prize crew sent on board the _Diana_ set to work, under the command of Mr Sterling, to stop the shot-holes in her sides, and to repair her other more serious damages. A jury-mast was rigged forward, to supply the place of the foremast carried away. In the meantime, a hawser being conveyed on board the _Thisbe_, the prize was taken in tow, and sail was made for Plymouth. It was of the greatest importance to get away from the French coast without delay, for a northerly wind might spring up and drive the two ships upon it; or if, as Captain Martin suspected, a French squadron was in the neighbourhood, the sound of the firing might have reached them, and they would very probably come up to ascertain what had taken place, when the prize would be recaptured, and the _Thisbe_ herself might find it very difficult to escape. Everybody on board had, therefore, ample work to do; besides which the prisoners in both ships had to be watched. Several had been allowed to remain on board the prize to assist the surgeons in attending to the wounded men. An eye had also to be kept on them. Mr Saltwell sent for Bill, who had returned to the _Thisbe_. "I remember well how you behaved on board the _Foxhound_, and I want you to keep a watch on the prisoners, and let me know if you hear or see anything suspicious. They will probably remain quiet enough, as they must know that they would have very little chance of success should they attempt to rise upon us. At the same time it is better to be on the safe side, and not to trust them too much." "They have heard me talking French to the officers, and will be careful what they say when they see me near them," answered Bill; "but there's my messmate, Jack Peek, who was in France with me, and knows their `lingo' as well as I do; and as they have not heard him talking, they'll not suspect him; and if you will allow me, sir, I will tell him to go among them, and he'll soon find out if they have any thoughts of mischief." Mr Saltwell approved of Bill's proposal, and gave him leave to employ Jack as he suggested. Bill, going below, soon found out his messmate. Jack was well pleased at the confidence placed in him, and promised to keep his eyes and ears well open. There was no time for conversation just then, for every man in the ship was busy, and the boys were wanted to assist them. The frigate and her prize had made some way to the northward before night came on. A bright look-out was kept for any enemy which might heave in sight; but when darkness gradually stole over the ocean, none had appeared. During that night none of the English officers or men turned in. The most tired snatched a few moments of sleep at intervals as best they could when off watch. The Frenchmen were allowed to lie down on deck between the guns, with sentries placed over them. It was very evident that, had they chosen to rise, they might have overpowered the sentries at the cost of a few of their own lives. Fortunately none of them liked to run the risk of being shot, and remained quiet. The wind was light, and the _Thisbe_ and her prize made but slow progress. The captain anxiously waited the return of morning. At early dawn look-outs were sent aloft to ascertain if any vessels were in sight. They reported three to the south-east, and one to the westward; but what they were it was impossible at that distance to say, as their loftier sails could but indistinctly be seen rising above the horizon. The _Thisbe_ had already as much sail set as she could carry, but Lieutenant Sterling was making an effort to get up a maintopmast on board the prize. When Jack and Bill met at breakfast, Jack reported that he had been frequently among the prisoners, but had failed to hear anything which showed that they had the slightest thoughts of attempting to regain their liberty. "What would you know about the matter even if they had been talking treason?" observed Tom. "I doubt if either of you fellows know much about French." "As to that," said Bill, "we managed to talk to Frenchmen, and to understand what they said to us. That, at least, shows that we do know something about French; not that I wish to boast, only I think I should do much better if I could get hold of some French books." Tom laughed. "Oh! I dare say you are going to become a great scholar, and to beat us all," he observed, with a sneer. "Jack was even declaring that you were likely to be placed on the quarter-deck. That would be a good joke." "It would be a good reality for me, though I don't think it's what is very likely to happen," answered Bill, without getting at all angry. "Nor do I," said Tom, in the same tone as before. "Just fancy a chap like you turned into an officer. You can jabber a few words of French, and may have picked up a smattering of navigation on board the _Foxhound_, though I've a notion you must pretty well have forgotten all you knew by this time, and you may be fond of books, but all that won't turn a fellow who has come out of the gutter, as one may say, into a gentleman, as I suppose those on the quarter-deck call themselves." "And what do you call them?" exclaimed Jack, not liking to hear such remarks made to Bill. "I wonder you dare to speak in that way." "I call myself the son of a gentleman, and I'm thinking when I get into port of writing to my father and asking him to have me placed on the quarter-deck." "I wonder you didn't do that before you ran away from home," said Jack. "They'll have forgotten all about you by this time, and maybe, if you do manage to write a letter, your father won't believe that it comes from you." "Let him alone, Jack," said Bill; "I don't mind what he says about me. If his father gets him made a midshipman, I shall be as glad as any one." "Thank you," said Tom; "I flatter myself I shall know how to strut about the quarter-deck and order the men here and there as well as the rest of them." Just then a voice was heard shouting, "Tom Fletcher, the cook wants you in the galley. Be smart, now, you've been long enough at breakfast." Tom, bolting his last piece of biscuit, hurried away, as he had no fancy for the rope's-ending which would have been bestowed upon him had he delayed obeying the summons. The mess-tins were stowed away, and the watch hastened on deck. The wind by this time had somewhat freshened, and the frigate and her prize were making better progress than before. The strangers, however, which had appeared in sight in the morning were considerably nearer. A fourth was now seen beyond the three which had been made out to the eastward. The ship to the westward which was considerably farther off than the others, was evidently a large vessel, and the captain declared his belief that she was a line-of-battle ship, but whether English or French, it was impossible to decide. He hoped, as did everybody on board, that she was English, for should she prove to be French, as undoubtedly were the vessels to the eastward, the _Thisbe_ would lose her hard-won prize, even though she might manage to escape herself. Still, Captain Martin was not a man to give up hope while there was a chance of escape. The _Thisbe_, followed by her prize, kept on her course with every stitch of canvas she could carry set. "I'm afraid if we don't outrun those fellows there, we shall get boxed up again by the Frenchmen," observed Jack, pointing to the approaching ships. "If we do we must manage to get out somehow or other, as we did before," answered Bill; "but even if they do come up with us, that's no reason why we should be taken. We must try and beat them off, and the captain and Mr Saltwell are the men to do it. They are only four to our two ships, for the lieutenant in charge of the prize will fight his guns as well as we do ours." "But what do you say to that big ship coming up Channel out there?" asked Tom. "We shall be made mincemeat of if she gets up to us, for I heard the boatswain's mate say that she's a seventy-four at least, and may be an eighty-gun ship, or still larger." "She hasn't come up with us yet," answered Bill. "We shall have time to beat off the others and stand away to the northward before she gets us within range of her guns. Perhaps, too, the wind will shift to the eastward, and throw her to leeward. We shall then be well in with Plymouth by the time she can manage to beat up to us. We are not going to give in while the tight little frigate keeps above water." Bill expressed the sentiments of most of the crew. Still, the odds were greatly against the _Thisbe_ and _Diana_. The latter had but forty hands on board to work the guns and manage the sails, while the crew of the _Thisbe_ was thus far diminished, besides which they had to look after their prisoners. The two leading ships of the enemy had been made out to be frigates, as it was thought probable were their consorts astern; and even though they might fail to capture the _Thisbe_, they might knock away her masts and spars, and so maul her that she would be compelled to succumb to the line-of-battle ship coming up from the westward. Not, however, by his manner, or anything he said, did the captain show the least apprehension of such a result. The crew were at their stations, ready to shorten sail should the breeze freshening render it necessary. The men joked and laughed as usual, as ready for action as if they were only expecting one opponent of equal size. The morning wore on, the hands were piped down to dinner, the prospect of hot work not at all damping their appetites, though perhaps they got through their meal rather faster than was their wont; when they again hurried on deck to see how things were going on. The two French frigates were approaching. The headmost in a short time fired a bowchaser, but the shot fell short. It served, however, as a signal to prepare for action. Once more the guns were cast loose, and their crews stood ready to fire as soon as they received the looked-for word of command. A few of the French prisoners who had been allowed to remain on deck were now ordered below. They went willingly enough, exhibiting in their countenances the satisfaction they felt at the expectation of being soon restored to liberty. They were, of course, narrowly watched, and well knew that they would be pretty severely dealt with should they show any signs of insubordination. CHAPTER TWENTY. THE "THISBE'S" NARROW ESCAPE--TOM HOPES TO BE MADE A MIDSHIPMAN. Half an hour or more passed, when again the leading French frigate fired, the shot falling close to the counter of the _Diana_, which by this time, having got up a fresh maintopmast, was able to make more sail. Captain Martin now ordered Lieutenant Sterling to cast off the tow rope and to stand on ahead of him, while, to allow the _Diana_ to do so, he clewed up the _Thisbe's_ topsails. "Make the best of your way to Plymouth," he shouted, as the _Diana_ passed the _Thisbe_; "we'll keep these two fellows in play, and shall, I hope, be soon after you." As soon as the prize had got some distance ahead, Captain Martin, who had been watching the two frigates coming up on the starboard quarter, ordered the _Thisbe's_ helm to be put to port; at the same moment, her starboard broadside being fired, the shot raked the two Frenchmen fore and aft. The helm was then immediately put over, and the frigate coming up on the other tack, her larboard broadside was poured into her antagonists. The shot told with considerable effect. The foretopmast of the leading frigate was shot away, and the mizenmast of the one following was seen to go by the board. This, however, did not much alter their rate of sailing, as, the wind being aft, all the canvas they required continued set. They also opened their fire, and their shot came crashing on board the _Thisbe_, killing and wounding two or three men, but not doing any material damage to her spars or rigging. She having shortened sail, her antagonists were compelled to do the same; and while they poured their broadsides into her, she returned them as rapidly as the crew could run the guns in and out. Captain Martin's great object was to keep them engaged, and, if possible, to knock away their masts, so as to enable the _Diana_ to escape, for although he might hope to get off himself, he could not expect to capture either of the enemy's ships. The _Thisbe_ had been several times hulled, and her sails were already completely riddled, while many more of her crew had fallen. "It is going hard with us, I fear," said Jack to Tom, who was seated next him on his powder tub. "There's well-nigh a score of poor fellows killed or wounded within the last half-hour. It may be the lot of one of us before long." "Oh, dear! I hope not," cried Tom. "I wish the skipper would try and get away instead of fighting the Frenchmen. Two to one is fearful odds against us, and we shall have the two other ships blazing away at our heads before long." "We haven't much to fear from them," said Jack. "I have just heard they're corvettes, and they won't be up to us until we've given the other two a drubbing, and have made sail again to the northward." The two corvettes were, however, likely to prove no despicable opponents, and Captain Martin was only watching until he had knocked away the masts or spars of one or both of the frigates, to make sail and escape, for it would have been madness to have continued the fight longer than was necessary to accomplish that object. The Frenchmen, however, fought bravely, and evidently did not intend to let him get off if they could help it. Each had just fired another broadside into the _Thisbe_, when they were seen to haul their wind, the two ships coming up astern doing the same. The reason of this was evident: the line-of-battle ship to the westward, now approaching under a pressure of sail, had hoisted British colours, and any longer delay would have enabled her quickly to capture one or both of them. The brave crew of the _Thisbe_ expressed their satisfaction by giving a loud cheer, which was joined in even by many of the wounded. Captain Martin had accomplished his object; he had secured the safety of his prize, and his crew, now swarming aloft, set to work rapidly to knot and splice the rigging which had been shot away. As soon as this had been accomplished sufficiently to make sail, the _Thisbe_, brought to the wind, stood after the flying enemy, firing her bow chasers as she did so; but it was soon seen that she had little chance of coming up with them. Still her captain persevered; but, with both masts and spars wounded, it was impossible to carry as much sail as would otherwise have been done. Consequently, before long the line-of-battle ship, which made the signal _Terrible_, seventy-four, overtook her. A cheer rose from the deck of the big ship, which came gliding slowly by. Her captain hailed, "Well done, Martin!" The pursuit was continued for some time, but night was approaching, and the coast of France was not far off. The seventy-four therefore threw out the signal to bear up and a course was shaped for Plymouth. A sharp look-out was kept during the night for the _Diana_. Soon after sunrise she was seen steering for Plymouth, into which harbour Captain Martin and his gallant crew had the satisfaction of conducting her the following day. Although it was a day of triumph to the surviving crew, it was one of mourning to many who had lost relatives and friends. The dead were carried on shore to be buried, the wounded conveyed to hospitals, the Frenchmen were landed and marched off under an escort of marines to the prisons prepared for them, and press-gangs were soon busy at work to obtain fresh hands to supply the places of those who had fallen, although many prime seamen volunteered to serve on board a frigate which had already won a name for herself. Tom Fletcher, as soon as the ship got into harbour, managed to procure a pen and some ink and paper, and indited a letter to his father. It was not over-well written, but he contrived to make it pretty clearly express that he was serving on board H.M.S. _Thisbe_, and that having already seen a great deal of service, he felt sure that if his father would apply to the Admiralty and make him an allowance of thirty or forty pounds a year, he should be placed on the quarter-deck, and in due course of time become an admiral. "We are sure to make lots of prize-money," he added; "and if I were a midshipman now, I should be receiving a hundred pounds or more, so that you may be sure, father, that I will pay it all back with interest." "Father likes interest," he observed to Bill, who was sitting by him at the time, and helping him in his somewhat unaccustomed task; "that'll make him more ready to do what I want, though whether he'll ever get the money is neither here nor there." "But if you promise to pay him, you are bound to do so," observed Bill. "You need not have made the promise, then you could have waited to know whether he required interest." "Well, I've written it, and can't scratch it out now," said Tom. "It will come to the same thing in the end." Bill had some doubts whether Tom's father would make the allowance Tom asked for; but if he were a rich man, as Tom asserted, he might do so, and therefore he said nothing. The letter, after being folded several times and creased all over, was at length closed, sealed, and addressed, by which time it had assumed a somewhat grimy appearance. Tom got the cook's mate, who was going on shore, to post his letter, having told him that he expected to receive a good sum of money by return, and promising him a part of the proceeds. Bill and Jack looked forward to the reply with almost as much interest as Tom himself, neither of them feeling that they should be at all jealous, should it produce the satisfactory result he anticipated. Meantime, every possible exertion was made to get the ship ready for sea. Mr Saltwell was very busy superintending all the operations. Bill, however, found that he was not forgotten, from a kind word or two which on several occasions the first lieutenant bestowed upon him. As Tom was not aware of this, he amused himself by telling Bill that Mr Saltwell would not trouble himself more about him--that he must be content to remain a powder monkey until he got big enough to be rated as an ordinary seaman. "Better than being cook's boy," cried Jack, who could never stand hearing Bill sneered at. "He's a precious deal more likely to be made a midshipman than you are, even though your father is a rich man and rides in his carriage, as you say." Tom retorted, and Jack looked as if he was much inclined to knock him over, when the quarrel was cut short by the appearance of the cook's mate, who dragged off Tom to help him clean the galley and scrub the pots and pans. Day after day went by. The frigate was reported ready for sea, and her complement of men having been filled up, she only waited for her captain to come on board to continue her cruise. Still Tom had received no reply from his father. "Perhaps he or the Admiralty may have written to the captain, and when he comes aboard I shall be placed in my proper position," he observed in confidence to Bill. "I hope so, but I'm afraid there will be but little time for you to get a proper uniform and an outfit," was the answer. "I'm not much afraid of that; the tailors won't take long in rigging me out," answered Tom. Soon after this the captain came on board, and Tom, greatly to his disappointment, was not sent for. Just, however, as the ship was going out into the Sound, the mail-bag arrived, and a letter addressed, "Thomas Fletcher, H.M.S. _Thisbe_," was handed him. He eagerly broke the seal. As he was no great hand at reading writing, he was obliged to ask Bill to assist him in deciphering the contents. He had, however, to rub his eyes several times before he could make them out, even with his messmate's help. "It's not from father at all," he observed, after looking at the paper all over. "S. Fletcher must be my biggest brother, and he always gave me more kicks than ha'pence." The letter began:-- "Dear Tom,--Our father received yours of the third instant, as the first intimation of your being alive since your unaccountable disappearance. You have caused us by your wicked proceeding no end of grief and trouble, and, as far as we can make out by your wretchedly written epistle, you do not seem to be at all ashamed of yourself, or sorry for what you have done; and our father bids me to say, that as you have made your bed, you must lie in it. As to making you an allowance of thirty or forty pounds a year, and getting you placed on the quarter-deck, the notion is too ridiculous to be entertained. I must tell you, too, our father has failed, smashed up completely, won't pay sixpence in the pound. As we find it a hard matter to live, he is not likely to make you an allowance of thirty pounds, or thirty pence a year, or to trouble himself by going to the Admiralty with the certainty of being sent away with a flea in his ear; so you see, Tom, you must just grin and bear it. If you don't get killed, I would advise you--should you ever wish to come home--to make your appearance with your pockets full of the prize-money you talk of, and you will then perhaps receive a welcome, and be well entertained as long as it lasts by the rest of the family, as also by-- "Your affectionate brother-- "S. Fletcher. "P.S. Until then I would advise you not to show your nose in this neighbourhood." "He always was an ill-natured fellow, was my brother Sam," exclaimed Tom, not seeming concerned at the news of his father's ruin, while, crumpling up the letter, he thrust it into his pocket. "I feel inclined to hang myself or jump overboard." "Don't think of doing anything so bad," said Bill. "You are no worse off than you were before. All you've got to do is to attend to your duty, and try to please those above you." "The cook and the cook's mate," growled poor Tom. "It isn't a pleasant task to have to scrub saucepans and clean out the galley." "But it is your duty, and while you have to do it it would be best to try and do it as well as you can," observed Bill. "Neither the cook nor the cook's mate are bad fellows, and you will gain their good-will by showing a pleasant temper, and working as hard as you can." "All very well for you to preach," said Tom; "but there's no help for it, I suppose, and so I must make the best of my hard lot." "That's just what I'm advising," said Bill; though he did not add, "You must remember you brought it upon yourself by running away from home." The boatswain's pipe summoned all hands on deck to make sail, and the frigate, standing down the Sound, at once put to sea. A bright look-out was kept for enemies; all hands, from the captain downwards, being eager to secure another prize, even though they might have to fight a tough battle to win her. The captain's orders were to capture, sink, burn, destroy, or drive on shore any of the enemy's vessels he could come up with. With this object in view the _Thisbe_ continued to cruise, now down the Channel, now up again, keeping as much as possible in sight of the French coast. She had been some time at sea, however, without having made any prizes; for although she had chased several vessels, they, having espied her in time, had managed to escape by running close in shore, under strong batteries, or getting up harbours where they could not be followed. At last one morning, as the frigate had just made the land, from which she had been standing off during the night, a sail was seen inside of her--that is, between her and the French coast, steering to the eastward, apparently bound down Channel. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. A CUTTING-OUT EXPEDITION--BILL DISCOVERS AN OLD FRIEND. The wind being very light, every stitch of canvas the _Thisbe_ could carry was packed on her, and her course altered so as to cut off the stranger. As the sun rose, and its beams lighted up the white canvas of the latter, she was pronounced to be a full-rigged ship, either a man-of-war or privateer, or a large merchantman, but at the distance she was off it was difficult to determine whether she was a frigate or a flush-decked vessel. Captain Martin hoped that she would prove to be a frigate, and an antagonist worthy of engaging. She must have seen the _Thisbe_ approaching, but either took her for a friend or believed that she was well able to cope with her, as she did not alter her course. Captain Martin calculated that the _Thisbe_ would be up with the stranger before noon. Every telescope on board was directed towards her. Bill wished that he had one, that he might form an opinion as to what she was. He heard some officers talking, and they declared that she was undoubtedly French, and was either a large man-of-war corvette, or a privateer. If such were the case, and the _Thisbe_ could get up to her, she would be captured to a certainty, though she would probably fight, and try to knock away some of the _Thisbe's_ spars, so as to effect her escape. The wind, which had hitherto been blowing from the southward and south, suddenly shifted to the east. As soon as the stranger felt it, she was seen to haul her tacks on board, brace up her yards, and stand away towards the land. "She's going to run on shore," exclaimed Jack, who had been watching her as eagerly as any one, when his duty would allow him to take a look-out. "More likely she knows of a harbour or battery in there, and is running in for shelter," answered Bill. "We shan't be able to take her then," said Jack. "I was making sure we should have her as our prize." "I won't say we shan't take her, notwithstanding," observed Bill. "Perhaps we shall fight the battery and her too, if she brings up under one. Or if she runs into a harbour, the boats may be sent in after her to bring her out." As soon as the stranger was seen standing to the southward, the _Thisbe_ also hauled up to continue the pursuit, but the chase was still beyond the reach of her guns. "We shan't catch her after all," said Jack, who had taken another look at the stranger some time after she had altered her course. "I don't see that we have not still a chance of coming up with her," answered Bill. "The captain thinks so, or he would not be keeping after her. Perhaps she may be becalmed closer in with the land, or we may draw near enough to knock away her masts. We have gained a mile on her during the last hour. I would always try to succeed while a single chance remains, and I would never knock under to an enemy while I had a stick standing, or a plank beneath my feet." Still, notwithstanding Bill's sanguine hopes of success, as the day wore on there seemed every probability that the French ship would make good her escape. It was now seen that she was steering for a harbour, the mouth of which could be distinguished from the deck of the _Thisbe_, with a battery on one side. "Our bow chasers will reach her, Mr Saltwell," cried the captain, at length. The order to fire was eagerly obeyed. The frigate, however, had to yaw for the purpose. One of the shot was seen to go right through the sails of the chase, but the other fell on one side. The guns were quickly reloaded, and were fired immediately the ship was kept away sufficiently for the purpose. Again one of the shot took effect, but what damage was done it was impossible to say, and the chase stood on as before. The manoeuvre was repeated several times, causing the frigate to lose ground; but a fortunate shot would have enabled her quickly to regain it. Though several of the _Thisbe's_ shot took effect, the chase continued her course, firing in return from a gun run out astern; but none of the shot struck her pursuer. At last, however, the chase ran past the battery, which shortly afterwards opened fire. Captain Martin returned it with such effect that two of the guns were silenced, when the frigate's head was put off shore, and she stood away to avoid the risk of being becalmed should the wind fall, as was very likely, towards evening. "I say, Bill, I really believe that's the very place we got away from on our raft," said Jack. "No doubt about it," answered Bill. "I remember the look of the land to the eastward, and I feel pretty sure I could find my way up the harbour." Bill had scarcely said this when he heard his name called, and he was told to go to the first lieutenant. "Do you recollect anything about the harbour up there?" asked Mr Saltwell. "Yes, sir," answered Bill. "I remember it was the one from which Peek and I got off, and I was thinking I could make my way up it at night, if I had to do so." "You will have an opportunity to-night, I hope, of showing your knowledge. The captain intends to send up the boats to try and cut out the vessel we chased into the harbour. I am to command the expedition, and I will take you with me." "Thank you, sir," said Bill, touching his hat. "I feel pretty sure that I know my way up to the landing-place, and I do not suppose that a ship the size of the chase could get up higher." "You can go forward now, and be ready to accompany me when you are summoned," said Mr Saltwell. Bill felt highly gratified by the confidence placed in him, and was thankful that he had so thoroughly observed the harbour before he and Jack had made their escape. The frigate, meantime, was standing out to sea, so that by the time the sun went down she could not be perceived from the shore. She was then hove-to, and preparations were made for the intended expedition. Lieutenant Saltwell went in the barge, the third lieutenant in the launch, and the lieutenant of marines, with the senior mate, in the cutter, the oars of all the boats being muffled, so that no sound would betray their approach to the enemy. The frigate then again stood in, taking care to show no lights, when in perfect silence the boats shoved off, carrying among them about fifty officers and men. Lieutenant Saltwell called Bill aft to take a seat by his side. Before leaving the frigate, the captain had directed the first lieutenant to return should he find the ship so moored as to render it impossible to bring her out. Bill, however, told him that he had observed a vessel at anchor some way below the landing-place, and that he supposed no large craft could get up higher on account of the shallowness of the water. The wind, which had hitherto been east and north-east, again shifting to the southward, blew directly down the harbour, which would enable the ship, should she be captured, to be brought down without difficulty. Bill's heart beat quicker than usual as he thought of the work in hand, and recollected that the success of the undertaking might considerably depend upon him. The night was very dark, but as the boats got up to the mouth of the harbour the lights on shore could be distinguished, as well as several on board vessels at anchor. The boats kept clear of the latter, lest any of their people might discover them and give the alarm. The barge led, the launch and cutter following in succession. The success of the undertaking would depend on their being able to take the enemy by surprise. As yet no signs had been perceived that their approach was discovered, and Bill advised that they should keep over to the west shore, where there were no vessels at anchor, but where he was sure there was water for the boats, from having seen a good-sized craft keeping that course at low tide. As they got higher up, the sound of voices came off the shore, as if the people were laughing and making merry. This gave Mr Saltwell hopes that many of the crew were landed, and that those on board would be totally unprepared for an attack. He intended to board on the starboard quarter, and he had given directions to the other officers, one to board on the larboard quarter and the other at the main chains, his object being to overpower the resistance the officer's would make aft, then to sweep the decks until the forecastle was gained. One of the boats was immediately to shove ahead and cut the cable, while certain of the men had been directed to hoist the headsails, so that the prize might, without an instant's delay, be making her way down the harbour before any assistance could come off to her from the land. The moment for action was approaching. The ship was seen at the spot where Bill thought she would be found, lying silent and dark, her tall masts and the tracery of her rigging just to be distinguished against the sky. No one was observed moving on her deck. Eagerly the boats dashed forward to the posts allotted to them. The bows of the barge had just hooked on when the sentry on the gangway, who had evidently not been attending to his duty, shouted out, and fired his musket. The rest of the watch came rushing aft, but it was to encounter the crew of the barge, who, having climbed up her side, had already gained her deck. Their officers at the same moment sprang up the companion-hatch, sword in hand, but were knocked over before they could strike a blow. The crews of the other boats had, in the meantime, gained the deck, but not before the rest of the Frenchmen came tumbling up from below armed with cutlasses and pikes, or such weapons as they could lay their hands on. Though they made a bold stand, and endeavoured to defend the fore part of the ship, they had to retreat before the desperate charge of the boarders, who, with cutlasses flashing and cutting, soon hewed a way for themselves to the forecastle, leaving the deck on either side covered with dead or wounded men. Not a word had been spoken, and scarcely a shout uttered, but the clashing of steel and flashing of pistols must have showed the people on shore what was going forward. The mate, to whom the duty had been assigned, having in the meantime carried his boat under the bows, quickly cut the cable, then allowing her to drift alongside, he sprang on to the forecastle, where he took charge of the party engaged in making sail. The third lieutenant, though he was severely wounded, went aft to the helm, and in less than three minutes from the time the boats got alongside, the prize, under her foresail and foretopsail, was standing down the harbour. Bill, having got hold of a pistol, kept close to Mr Saltwell, that he might be ready to assist him or obey any orders he might receive. A few only of his men were standing round the lieutenant when a party of the French crew, who had already yielded, led by the boatswain, a big, sturdy fellow, whose cutlass had already brought two of the English seamen to the deck, suddenly attacked him, hoping to regain the ship. The sailors had enough to do to defend themselves, and the big boatswain was making a desperate blow at the lieutenant's head, when Bill, who thought it a time to use his pistol with effect, fired, and the boatswain fell, his cutlass dropping from his hand. His followers on this sprang back, and, throwing down their weapons, cried for mercy. "I saw you do it, my lad," said the lieutenant. "The second time you have saved my life. I'll not forget it." The English sailors now had work enough to do to prevent the Frenchmen from rising. While sail was being made, numerous boats also were seen coming off from the shore full of armed men, evidently with the intention of attempting to board the prize. Sail after sail was let drop, and the ship ran faster and faster through the water. She was not, however, as yet entirely won. Her crew, though beaten down below, were still very numerous, and might, should they find the boats of their friends coming alongside, at any moment rise and try to regain her. The fort also had to be passed, and the garrison were sure to have heard the uproar and would open fire as soon as she got within range of their guns. Notwithstanding this, the British seamen performed their various duties as steadily as if they were on board their own ship. Some were aloft, loosing sails; others ran out the guns, ready to give the boats a warm reception, and others kept an eye on the prisoners. The breeze freshened, and the prize in a short time reached the mouth of the harbour. No sooner had she done so than the guns from the fort, as had been expected, opened fire, and their shot, thick as hail, came crashing on board. Several men were struck, and the sails shot through and through. None of the yards, however, were carried away, and the canvas stood filled out with the breeze. A number of prisoners had remained on deck, with sentries over them, as the shot struck the ship. Several, to avoid it, endeavoured to escape below. Some succeeded, not waiting to descend by the ladders, but leaping down, to the no small risk of breaking their arms and legs. There was still more sail to be set, and Bill was pulling and hauling, when he saw a shot come plump in among a party of prisoners. Three fell; the rest, in spite of the sentries, making a desperate rush, leapt down the main hatchway. Bill at that moment saw a young Frenchman, who had been struck, struggling on the deck, and a voice crying out which he thought he recognised. He sprang towards the sailor, and lifted him up. He was not mistaken; it was his friend Pierre. "Are you badly hurt?" he asked in French. "I'm afraid so, in my side," was the answer. "My poor mother, and Jeannette, I shall never see them more." "I hope that things are not so bad as that," responded Bill. "I will try and get you below. Here!" and he called to one of the prisoners who had remained on deck, and who, being very glad to get out of the way of the shot, willingly assisted Bill in dragging the wounded man to the companion-hatchway, down which the two together lifted him, and placed him in the gun-room. Fortunately the French surgeon had been ill in his berth, but had now got up, prepared to attend to his professional duties. As yet, however, none of the wounded prisoners had been brought aft, and Pierre, who had been placed on the gun-room table, was the first man the surgeon took under his care. "He is not badly hurt, I hope," said Bill, rather anxiously. "That's more than I can say, my young friend," answered the surgeon, "but I will attend to him. I shall have patients enough on my hands directly, I fear." Bill felt that he ought not to remain a moment longer below, though he greatly wished to learn how much Pierre had been injured. All he could do, therefore, was to press his friend's hand, and spring up again on deck. The battery was still firing away at the prize, and every now and then a crashing sound, as the shot struck her, showed that she was within range of its guns; but she was rapidly distancing the boats, which could now only be dimly seen astern. The British crew raised a cheer when they found that they had to a certainty secured their prize. Still the battery continued firing, but not another shot struck her, and at length the dim outline of the _Thisbe_ was seen ahead. Shortly afterwards the prize, rounding to under the frigate's quarter, was received with hearty cheers by her crew. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. THE POWDER MONKEY GETS HIS FIRST STEP UP THE RATLINES. The British wounded, and the French prisoners captured in the prize, were forthwith taken on board the _Thisbe_, when both ships made sail to get a good offing from the coast before daylight. Mr Saltwell remained in command of the prize with the crew which had so gallantly won her. The wounded Frenchmen were also allowed to continue on board under charge of their surgeon, with an English assistant-surgeon to help him, for there were upwards of forty poor fellows who required his care. Bill was glad to find that he had not to go back to his own ship, as he wanted to look after Pierre, and as soon as his duty would allow him he went below to learn how his young French friend was getting on. When he asked for the man whom he had brought down, the doctor pointed to one of the officer's cabins in the gun-room, observing, "He is somewhat badly hurt, but there are others still more cruelly knocked about who require my care, and I have not been able to attend to him for some time." Bill hurried into the cabin. A faint voice replied to him. "_Merci, merci_! It is very kind of you to come and see me, but I fear that I shall not get over it," said Pierre. "Is there no chance of our returning to France? I should like to die under my father's roof, and see my mother and Jeannette once more." "There's no chance of your getting back for the present, but I hope you will see your mother and sister notwithstanding," answered Bill. "We are running across the Channel, and shall be in an English port in a day or two, when you will be landed, and I will ask the captain to let me take care of you. I should like to prove how grateful I am for all your kindness to me and Jack Peek, and I will tell Mr Saltwell, the lieutenant who commands this ship, how you and your family treated me. But I don't think you ought to talk; I came to see if I could do anything for you." "My lips are parched; I am very thirsty; I should like something to drink," answered Pierre. "I will see what I can find," said Bill; and making his way to the steward's pantry outside the captain's cabin, he hunted about until he discovered some lemons. He quickly squeezed out the juice of a couple of them, and mixing it with water, brought the beverage to Pierre, who drank it eagerly. It much revived him. "I was very unfortunate to be on board the _Atlante_ when you captured her, for I had no wish to fight the English," said Pierre. "Only ten days ago I was persuaded to come on board to see a friend, and the crew would not let me return on shore. However, I was determined to make the best of it, hoping before long to get back to my family, and be able to assist my father. And now to be cut down by my own countrymen, for it was a shot from the battery on shore which wounded me. It is more than I can bear!" "Don't think about it," said Bill; "you are safe from further harm, and will be well taken care of; and when you have recovered, and the war is over, you will be able to go back. I must leave you now, but I will come and see you as often as I can. I have placed the jug of lemonade close to your head, where it cannot slip. When that is gone I will get some more; it is the best thing you can take at present." Saying this, Bill hurried back to attend to his duty on deck, for, young as he was, as the prize was short-handed, he had plenty of work to do. Several times he passed Mr Saltwell, who gave him a kind look or said a word or two of encouragement, but did not allude to the service Bill had done him. "He probably has forgotten all about my having shot the French boatswain," thought Bill. "I only did my duty, and if anybody else had been in his place I should have done the same." The frigate and her fresh prize were meantime making the best of their way across the Channel. As the latter, a fast sailor, was not materially injured, all sail was made on her, and she kept good way with the _Thisbe_. At the same time there was still the risk of either one or both being taken by a French ship of superior force, though neither was likely to yield without making every effort to escape. A constant look-out was kept from the mast-head, but as the ships got farther and farther from the French coast, the hope of escaping without having again to fight increased. Several sail were seen in the distance, but it was supposed that they were either merchantmen, standing up or down Channel, in spite of the enemy's cruisers on the watch to pick them up, or privateers, and, seeing that the _Thisbe_ was a frigate, took good care to keep out of her way. At length the entrance to Plymouth Sound was descried, and the _Thisbe_ and her prize stood up it triumphantly with colours flying, creating considerable astonishment at her quick return with another capture. Both were soon moored in Hamoaze, when the _Atlante_, a fine little ship, carrying twenty guns on one deck, was handed over to the prize agents with the full expectation that she would be bought into the service. The prisoners were carried on shore, the wounded men were taken to the hospital, and the prize crew returned on board their own ship. Bill had been very anxious to accompany Pierre, that he might watch over him with more care than strangers could do, but he had had no opportunity of asking leave of Mr Saltwell. He had not been long on board the frigate, and was giving an account of the boarding expedition to Jack and Tom, when he heard his name called along the decks. "Boy Rayner, the captain has sent for you into the cabin," said the master-at-arms. "What can you be wanted for!" exclaimed Tom. "Look out for squalls. I shouldn't like to be in your shoes." "No fear of that," said Jack. "Maybe the first lieutenant has told the captain how Bill saved his life. I wish that I had had a chance of doing something of the sort." Bill, however, did not stop to hear the remarks of his two friends, but hurried aft, thinking that now would be the time to say something in poor Pierre's favour. The sentry, who knew that he had been sent for, allowed him to pass without question, and he soon found himself in the presence of the captain and Mr Saltwell, who were seated at the table in the main cabin. Bill stood, hat in hand, ready to answer any questions which might be put to him. "William Rayner," said the captain, "you have, I understand, behaved remarkably well on several occasions, twice especially, by saving Mr Saltwell's life through your coolness and presence of mind. You are also, I find, a fair French scholar, and the first lieutenant reports favourably of your conduct in your former ship. I wish to reward you. Let me know how I can best do so in a way satisfactory to yourself." "I only did my duty without thinking of being rewarded," answered Bill; "but I have been wishing since we took the prize that something could be done for a young Frenchman who was badly hurt on board her by a shot from the battery which fired at us. He and his father saved Jack Peek and me from drowning when we were blown up in the _Foxhound_, and his family were afterwards very kind to us, and did their utmost to save us from being carried off to prison, and when we were hid away in a cave, his sister, at great risk, brought us food. He will now be amongst strangers, who do not understand his lingo, and the poor fellow will be very sad and solitary; so I think he would like it, if I could get leave to go and stay with him while the frigate remains in harbour. I'll take it as a great favour, sir, since you ask me what reward I should like, if you can let me go and be with him at the hospital, or if that cannot be, if he may be removed to some lodging where he can be well looked after until he recovers and is sent back to his own home." "There may be some difficulty in doing as you propose," replied the captain. "Mr Saltwell will, however, I have no doubt, try to make a satisfactory arrangement, for a person behaving as the young Frenchman has done deserves to be rewarded; but that is not what I meant; I want you to choose some reward for yourself, and wish you to let me know how I can best serve you." "Thank you, sir," answered Bill. "I cannot think just now of anything I require, though I should be very glad if I could get Pierre sent back to his family." "Your parents, perhaps, will be able to decide better than you can do, then. Your father or mother," observed the captain. "I have neither father nor mother, sir," answered Bill. "They are both dead." "Your relatives and friends might decide," said the captain. "I have no relatives or friends, nor any one to care for me that I know of," said Bill, in a quiet voice. "Then Mr Saltwell and I must settle the matter," said Captain Martin. "Should you like to be placed on the quarter-deck? If you go on as you have begun, and let duty alone guide you on all occasions, you will, if you live, rise in the service and be an honour to it." Bill almost gasped for breath as he heard this. He knew that the captain was in earnest, and he looked at him, and then at Mr Saltwell, but could not speak. "Come, say what you wish, my lad," said Captain Martin, in an encouraging tone. Still Bill was silent. "You will have opportunities of improving your education, and you need not fear about being well received by the young gentlemen in the midshipmen's berth," observed Mr Saltwell. "Captain Martin and I will make arrangements for giving you an outfit and supplying you with such funds as you will require, besides which you will come in for a midshipman's share of prize-money." The kind way in which the captain and first lieutenant spoke greatly assisted Bill to find his tongue and to express himself appropriately. "I am grateful, sirs, for your offer, and hope that I always shall be grateful. If you think that I am fit to become a midshipman, I will try to do my duty as such, so I accept your offer with all my heart." Bill, overpowered by his feelings, could say no more. "The matter is settled, then," said the captain; and sending for the purser, he at once entered the name of William Rayner as a midshipman on the ship's books, the only formality requisite in those days, though his rank would afterwards have to be confirmed at the Admiralty. The purser observed that he had a suit of clothes belonging to one of the midshipmen killed in the action with the French frigate, which would, he thought, exactly fit Mr Rayner. Bill felt very curious at hearing himself so spoken of. The purser said that he would debit him with them at a moderate price. The captain approving of this proposal, Bill, in the course of a few minutes, found himself dressed in a midshipman's uniform. He could scarcely believe his senses. It seemed to him as if by the power of an enchanter's wand he had been changed into some one else. The first lieutenant then desired him to accompany him, and leading the way down to the berth, in which a number of the young gentlemen were assembled for dinner, he stopped at the door. "I wish, young gentlemen, to present a new messmate to you," he said, looking in. "Mr William Rayner! He has gained his position by exhibiting those qualities which I am sure you all admire, and you will, I have no doubt, treat him as a friend." The members of the mess who were present rose and cordially put out their hands towards Bill, whom the first lieutenant, taking by the aim, drew into the berth. Mr Saltwell then returned on deck. Bill naturally felt very bashful, but his new messmates did their best to set him at ease, and no one alluded to his former position. They spoke only of the late action, and begged him to give a description of the way in which he had saved Mr Saltwell's life, a vague account of which they had heard. Bill complied, modestly, not saying more about himself than was necessary. What he said gained him the applause of his new messmates, and raised him greatly in their estimation; he therefore found himself far more at his ease than he had expected would be possible; no one by word or deed showing that they recollected that he had been just before a ship's boy, but all treated him as an equal. His only regret now was that he could no longer talk with Jack and Tom as he had been accustomed to do, though he hoped that he should still be able, without doing anything derogatory to his new position, to speak to them in a friendly way. Thinking highly of Jack as he did, he regretted more than ever that his former messmate could neither read nor write. He felt sure that he would, should he have an opportunity, do something to merit promotion. Bill commenced his new duties with a spirit and alacrity which was remarked by his superior officers. He had narrowly observed the way the midshipmen conducted themselves, and was thus able to behave as well as the best of them. He was a little puzzled at first at dinner, but by seeing what others did he soon got over the slight difficulty he had to encounter. Next day Mr Saltwell called him up as he was walking the quarter-deck. "I have been making inquiries as to what can be done for your friend Pierre Turgot," he said. "As you told me he was not willingly on board the privateer, I was able to state that in his favour, and I have obtained leave for him to be removed to a private house, where he can remain until he has recovered, and he will then, I hope, be allowed to return to France without waiting for an exchange of prisoners. Were he to be sent back with others, he would probably at once be compelled to serve afloat, and his great desire is, I understand, to return to his own family, to follow his former occupation of a fisherman." "Thank you, sir," exclaimed Bill, "I cannot be too grateful to you for your kindness." "Don't talk of that, my lad; if it hadn't been for your courage and coolness I should not have been here. I am now going on shore, and wish you to accompany me. I have seen the widow of an old shipmate of mine who is willing to receive Pierre into her house, and to attend to him. We will have him removed at once, so that when we sail you will know he is placed under good care." CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. WILLIAM RAYNER IS ENABLED TO SHOW HIS GRATITUDE TO PIERRE. Will at once got ready to attend the first lieutenant. The boat being alongside, they were soon on shore. Their first visit was to the hospital, which, being overcrowded, the authorities were glad to get rid of one of their patients. Pierre was placed in a litter and conveyed, accompanied by Mr Saltwell and Bill, to the residence of Mrs Crofton, a neat cottage standing by itself in a small garden. A pretty little girl about thirteen years of age opened the door, and on seeing the strangers summoned her mother, who at once appeared, and led the way to the room she had prepared for Pierre's reception. It was on the ground-floor, and contained a dimity-covered bed, and a few other simple articles of furniture, quite sufficient for all the young French sailor's wants. Pierre again and again thanked Bill for having brought him to so delightful a place. "Ah!" he said, "that lady," looking at Mrs Crofton, "reminds me of my mother, and the little girl is just like Jeannette, when she was younger. And they are so kind and gentle! I shall get well very soon, though I think I should have died if I had remained at the hospital, where I was nearly stifled, while day and night I heard the oaths and groans of my wounded compatriots, who abuse the English as the cause of their suffering, regardless of the care that is being taken of them." "I was very sure you would recover sooner in a quiet house by yourself, and therefore I begged my officer to have you removed," said Bill. It was not for some time that Pierre remarked the new midshipman's uniform. "Why, you told me you were a ship's boy, now I see you dressed as an officer!" he exclaimed, in a tone of astonishment. "The gendarmes were right after all." "No, they were wrong," answered Bill. "I was then what I told you, but I am now a midshipman." He then gave an account to Pierre of how he had been promoted. Their conversation was interrupted by the return of Mrs Crofton and Mary with some food for their patient, as the doctor had told Mr Saltwell that he should be fed often, though with but little at a time. As Mrs Crofton could speak French, she did not require Bill to interpret for her. He was glad to find that Pierre would be able to converse with his kind hostess Mr Saltwell, who had gone into the drawing-room, now told Bill that he might stay with Pierre until the evening, and that he should have leave to visit him every day while the frigate remained in harbour. The first lieutenant now took his leave, and Mrs Crofton observing that "Pierre would be the better for some sleep, after the excitement of being moved," invited Bill into her sitting-room, she naturally wishing to hear more about his adventures in France than Mr Saltwell had been able to tell her. Bill himself was perfectly willing to talk away on the subject as long as she wished, especially when he found so ready a listener in Mary. He began with an account of the blowing up of the _Foxhound_; and when he had finished, Mrs Crofton wished to know how it was that he first came to go to sea, and so he had to go back to tell her all about himself, and the death of his mother, and how he had been left penniless in the world. "And now I find you a midshipman with warm friends; in a few years you will be a lieutenant, then a commander, and next a post-captain, I hope, and at length a British admiral, and you will have gained your promotion without the interest of relatives or born friends, simply by your own good conduct and bravery." "I don't know what I may become, ma'am," said Bill, inclined to smile at Mrs Crofton's enthusiasm. "At present I am but a midshipman, but I will try, as I always have, to do my duty." This conversation made Bill feel perfectly at home with Mrs Crofton. Indeed, it seemed to him as if he had known her all his life, so that he was willing to confide in her as if she were his mother. He was equally willing to confide in Mary. Indeed, all the reserve he at first felt quickly wore off, and he talked to her as if she had been his sister. If he did not say to himself that she was a perfect angel, he thought her what most people would consider very much better--a kind, good, honest, open-hearted girl, with clear hazel, truthful eyes, and a sweet smile on her mouth when she smiled, which was very frequently, with a hearty ring in her laughter. She reminded him, as she did Pierre, of Jeannette, and Bill felt very sure that, should she ever have the opportunity of helping any one in distress, she would be ready to take as much trouble and run as many risks as the French girl had in assisting Jack and him. "Do you know, Mr Rayner, I like midshipmen very much?" she said, in her artless way. "My brother Oliver is a midshipman, and as I am very fond of him, I like all midshipmen for his sake. At first I was inclined to like you because you were a midshipman, but now I like you for yourself." "I am much obliged to you," said Bill; "and I like you for yourself, I can tell you. I didn't know before that you had a brother Oliver. Where is he serving?" "On board the _Ariel_ corvette in the West Indies," answered Mary. "Perhaps some day we may fall in with each other," said Bill; "and I am very sure, from what you say about him, we shall become good friends, for I shall be inclined to like him for your sake." "Then I'm sure he will like you; he could not help doing so. He is only three years older than I am; just about your age I suppose. He went to sea when he was a very little fellow with poor dear papa, who was killed in action. Oliver was by his side at the time, and wrote us home an account of the sad, sad event, saying how brokenhearted he was. The people were very kind to him. Papa was lieutenant of the ship, and was loved by all the men, as I am sure he would have been, remembering how good and kind and gentle he was with us." The tears came into Mary's bright eyes as she spoke of her father. "Whenever we hear of a battle out there, poor mamma is very anxious until the particulars come home, and she knows that Oliver is safe," said Mary. "We are nearly sure to get a letter from him, for he always writes when he can, and I hope that you'll write also when you are away, and tell us all that you are doing; then we shall receive two letters instead of one, and we shall always be so very, very glad to hear from you." Bill promised that he would write constantly, saying that he should be pleased to do so, especially as he had not many correspondents; indeed, he might have said that he had none, as he was, in truth, not acquainted with anybody on shore. Mary and her mother were the first friends he had ever possessed, so that he very naturally valued them the more. They were of very great service to him in many respects, for Mrs Crofton was a ladylike and refined person, though her means were small, and she was able to give him instruction in the ways and manners of people of education; though Bill was so observant, and anxious to imitate what was right, that he only required the opportunity to fit himself thoroughly for his new station in life. Mr Saltwell lent him books, and he read during every spare moment, to make amends for his want of early education. When he came on shore, Mrs Crofton assisted him, and as she knew French very well, helped him to study it with a grammar and dictionary, which he found very easy, as he already understood so much of the language, and he was able to practise speaking with Pierre. The young Frenchman slowly recovered, but the doctor, who came to visit him from the hospital every day, said that it would be a long time before he would regain strength and be able to return to France. Bill had written, at Pierre's dictation, to Madame Turgot, to tell her where he was, what had happened to him, and how well he was treated. It was rather a funny composition, as Pierre was no great scholar, and could not say how the words should be spelt, but Bill showed it to Mrs Crofton, who assured him that it would be understood perfectly well, which was the great object required, and that Madame Turgot would be satisfied, from the tone and expression, that it came from her son. There was no regular post in those days between the two countries. Pierre, however, at length got an answer from his mother, directed to the care of Mrs Crofton, expressing her heartfelt thanks to Lieutenant Saltwell and Bill, and the kind lady who had befriended him. She sent also many messages from Captain Turgot and Jeannette. The letter arrived just as the _Thisbe_ was ready for sea. Mary could not help bursting into tears when Bill took his leave for the last time. "It's just like Oliver going away," she said. Indeed, it was evident that she looked upon Bill as another Oliver, and even Mrs Crofton showed how sincerely sorry she was to part with her young visitor, who had so greatly won on her affections. She promised to write again to Madame Turgot to let her know how Pierre was getting on; but there appeared no probability of his being able to move until the frigate came back, when Mr Saltwell would be able to make arrangements for his return to France. Though sorry to leave his kind friends, Bill was very glad to be at sea again, and engaged in the active duties of his profession. His messmates treated him with much kindness, and remarked among themselves the improvement in his manners, while two or three fresh members of the mess, when they heard how he had gained his promotion, looked upon him with evident respect. He did not, however, forget his old friends, and Jack was always pleased when he came forward to talk to him, and did not appear at all jealous, which could not be said of Tom, who, though he did not venture to show his feelings, was inclined to keep out of his way, and sometimes answered in rather a surly tone when spoken to, always taking care to bring in the "sir" after every sentence, and touching his hat with mock respect, of which Bill, though he could not fail to observe, took no notice. The _Thisbe_ had been several weeks at sea, and had during that time captured, without firing a shot, three of the enemy's merchantmen, which she had sent into Plymouth, the more pugnacious of the crew grumbling at not having encountered an enemy worthy of their prowess, and which would have afforded them a larger amount of prize-money. Captain Martin was about to return to port to take on board his officers and men when he was joined by the _Venus_ frigate. Her captain told him that he had just before made out two French frigates to the south-east, and the _Thisbe_ bore up with the _Venus_ in chase, with every stitch of canvas they could carry set. A stern chase is proverbially a long chase, and the French frigates, which had been seen to the eastward, had a considerable start of their pursuers. Still, as they had been under moderate canvas, it was hoped that they would set no more sail, and might thus be overtaken. A sharp look-out was kept, and the officers were continually going aloft with their glasses, and sweeping the horizon from north to south, in the hopes of espying the enemy. "I say, Jack, do you think if we come up with those two Frenchmen we are chasing they'll turn round and fight us?" asked Tom, who thought it much pleasanter to capture unarmed merchant vessels than to have to fight an enemy which sent round shots and bullets on board in return. "No doubt about that, youngster," answered Ben Twinch, the boatswain's mate, who overheard Tom's remark. "What do you think we come to sea for? If we can take a man-of-war of our own size she's worth half a dozen merchant craft, though, to be sure, some of us may lose the number of our mess; but we all know that, and make no count of it. Maybe you'll have your head taken off one of these days, and if you do, you'll only share the fate of many another fine fellow." "I hope not!" cried Tom, mechanically putting up his hand to his head as if to hold it on, and turning from Ben. "Never fear!" said Jack, wishing to console him; "the chances are that you will escape and live to fight another day." If Tom had any fear, it was not the time to show it. He heard all around him speak of fighting as if it were fun, and of death with seeming levity. It is the way of the young and the thoughtless. Old sailors and old soldiers seldom talk thus, and think more of duty than of glory. For young or for old the loss of life is not a matter for light talk, as if death were only the end of it. Those that cause war will have much to reckon for hereafter. But there is no time for such thoughts in sight of the enemy. So we must go on with our story. The midshipmen aft were universally anxious to come up with the vessels of which they were in chase. It was supposed that they were frigates of the same size as their own and the _Venus_; but should they prove much larger, they were equally ready to engage them. Still, hour after hour went by, and no enemy appearing, they began to fear that the Frenchmen would get into port before they could be overtaken. At length, just before the sun reached the horizon, his rays fell on the royals and topgallantsails of two ships right ahead. As the sun sank lower they were again lost to view, but their appearance revived the hopes of all on board. It was not likely that they would alter their course during the night, and it was hoped, therefore, that before morning they would be overtaken. It was not likely that the _Thisbe_ and _Venus_, being in the shadow, would have been perceived. "The chances are that we shall be upon them in the dark," said Jack to Tom; "and we'll surprise them, I've a notion. The captain thinks so, or he wouldn't have given the order to prepare for action." "I would rather fight in daylight," said Tom, "and I hope they'll manage to keep ahead till then." Jack laughed, for he suspected that Tom would rather not fight at all. The watch below were ordered to turn in as usual, but most of the officers kept on deck, too eager for the work to be able to sleep. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. ACTION BETWEEN THE "THISBE" AND A FRENCH FRIGATE. Rayner--for such he ought now to be called--who was in the middle watch, was standing forward on the look-out, and, as may be supposed, he did not allow an eye to wink. Several times he thought that he could see two dark objects rising above the horizon, but his imagination might have deceived him, for they, at all events, grew no larger. When his watch was over, he came aft into the midshipmen's berth, where several of his messmates were collected. He might have turned in, for the night was drawing on, but there were still two hours to daylight. He, as well as others, dropped asleep with their heads on the table. They were aroused from their uncomfortable slumbers by the boatswain's call, piping the hammocks up, and on coming on deck the first thing they saw were the two ships they had been chasing all night directly ahead, their topsails just rising above the water. Their hopes revived that they would come up with them before the day was many hours older; still the strangers were a long way out of range of their bow chasers. As the sun rose and shone on their own canvas they knew that they must be clearly seen, and it was hoped that the two ships would, if their captains were inclined to fight, heave to and await their coming. Such, however, it was evidently the intention of the Frenchman not to do, for it was seen that studding-sails were being set below and aloft. "Still they may not have the heels of us," observed Captain Martin to the first lieutenant; "and before they get into Cherbourg we may be up to them." It was thought that as the day advanced the wind might increase, but in this Captain Martin was disappointed. At length, towards evening, Cape La Hogue and the coast of France, to the westward of Cherbourg, appeared in sight. In a few hours it was too probable that the French ships would get safe into port. Remarks not over complimentary to the valour of the Frenchmen were made by the crews of the English frigates, when they saw that the enemy had escaped them; but as Jack observed, "There's no use grumbling; the mounseers have got away from us because they knew the tremendous drubbing we would have given them." "Perhaps we may see them again before long," said Tom, his courage returning now that all danger of an encounter had passed. "Depend on it, our captain will do his best to give them a taste of our quality." Tom was right; for although the _Thisbe_ and _Venus_ had to haul their wind, and stand off shore, a bright look-out was kept, in the hopes that the French frigates might again put to sea. Day after day passed, and at length the _Venus_ parted company from the _Thisbe_. The latter frigate was standing across Channel when a lugger was sighted, to which she gave chase. The stranger at first made all sail, as if to escape. She was at length seen to heave to. On coming up with her, it was at first doubtful whether she was English or French, but as the frigate approached she hoisted English colours and lowered a boat, which in a short time came alongside, and a fine, intelligent-looking man stepping upon deck, announced himself as master of the lugger. He had, he said, at first taken the _Thisbe_ for a French frigate which was in the habit of coming out of Cherbourg every evening, picking up any prizes she could fall in with, and returning next morning with them into port. He had, indeed, narrowly escaped once before. This was valuable information, and Captain Martin determined to act upon it, in the hopes of capturing the marauder. Being engaged in particular service, the master of the lugger was allowed to proceed on his way, and the _Thisbe_ stood back towards Cherbourg. The day passed, and no enemy appeared. Next morning, however, a sail was seen to the northward. Captain Martin immediately bore up to ascertain her character. As the daylight increased, all felt confident that she was a frigate, and probably French. The stranger was seen to be carrying a press of canvas, and apparently steering for Cherbourg. To re-enter that port she must encounter the _Thisbe_, on board which preparations were made for the expected engagement. The stranger, too, continuing her course, hauled her wind, and stood down Channel, as if anxious to escape. Why she did so it was difficult to say, except on the possibility that she had seen another English ship to the northward, and was unwilling to encounter two enemies at once. It was the general opinion that she was a powerful frigate, considerably larger than the _Thisbe_; but even if such were the case, Captain Martin was not the man to be deterred from engaging her. The stranger sailed well, and there appeared every probability that she would distance the _Thisbe_, and if she wished it, get back to port without coming to action. In a short time the weather became very thick, and, to the disappointment of all, the stranger was lost sight of. Still the _Thisbe_ continued her course, and many a sharp pair of eyes were employed in looking out for the Frenchman, it being difficult to say, should the fog lift, in what direction she might next be seen. She might tack and run back to Cherbourg, or she might, trusting to her superior sailing, stand across the _Thisbe's_ bows to the southward. A couple of hours passed. As at any moment the fog might clear away, and the stranger might appear close aboard her, the _Thisbe_ prepared for immediate action. The men had been sent below to dinner, and the prospect of a fight did not damp their appetites. The midshipmen had finished theirs, and Rayner, who had just relieved one of his messmates on deck, was on the look-out when he espied, away on the larboard bow, a sail through the fog, which had somewhat dispersed in that quarter. A second glance convinced him that she was a large ship. He instantly shouted out the welcome intelligence. Every one hoped that she was the vessel they were in search of. The drum beat to quarters, and scarcely were the guns run out than the fog clearing still more discovered a large frigate standing under all sail to the eastward, about half a mile away. If she were the one they had before seen, she had evidently acted as Captain Martin had supposed might be the case, and having crossed the _Thisbe's_ course, had then kept away, hoping to get in shore of her and back to Cherbourg. At once the _Thisbe_ was put about, and then stood so as to cross the stranger's bows. The latter, on seeing this, hoisting French colours, rapidly shortened sail and hauled up to the northward, the two ships crossing each other on contrary tacks. The _Thisbe_ fired her starboard broadside, receiving one in return, and then going about, endeavoured to get to windward of her antagonist. This, however, she was unable to do, and was compelled to continue the engagement to leeward. Her crew fought with the usual courage of British seamen, but the enemy's shot were making fearful havoc on her masts and rigging. Her three lower masts and bowsprit were in a short time wounded in several places, most of her stays were shot away, and much damage was done to the main rigging. At length her main-topsail yard was shot away in the slings by a double-headed shot, and the yard-arms came down in front of the mainyard, the leech ropes of the mainsail were cut to pieces and the sail riddled. All the time, also, whenever the ships were within musket-range, showers of bullets came rattling on board, and several of the men were laid low. Still Captain Martin did not attempt to escape from his opponent, which was seen to have twenty guns on a side, besides quarter-deck guns, and a number of men armed with muskets. He hoped, by perseverance, to knock away her masts or inflict such other serious injury as might compel her to give in. This was Rayner's first action since he had attained his present rank. He endeavoured to maintain his character, and though it was trying work to see his shipmates struck down on either side of him, he did not for a moment think of himself or the risk he ran of meeting the same fate. All the time spars, rigging, and blocks were falling from aloft, shot away by the hot fire of the enemy. He endeavoured to keep himself cool and composed, and to execute the orders he received. Jack and Tom were employed as powder-monkeys on the maindeck, when Rayner was sent by the captain to ascertain what was going on. As he went along it he passed his two friends. Jack was as active as ever, handing up the powder required; poor Tom looked the picture of misery. "Ain't the enemy going to strike yet, Mr Rayner?" he asked, in a melancholy tone; "we've been a long time about it, and I thought they would have given in long ago." "I hope they soon will have enough of it and give in, and we must blaze away at them until they do," answered the midshipman, hurrying on. Just then a shot came crashing in through the side, passing just where Rayner had been standing, sending the splinters flying about in all directions. He had not time to look round, but thought he heard a cry as if some one had been hit, and he hurried on to deliver his message to the second lieutenant. On his way back he took a glance to see how it fared with his two friends. Tom was seated on his tub, but poor Jack lay stretched on deck. Rayner, hastening to him, lifted him up. "I'm only hit in the leg," answered Jack to his inquiries. "It hurt me very much, and I fell, but I'll try to do my duty." How barbarous is war! Rayner, however, saw that this was impossible, as the blood was flowing rapidly from the wounded limb, and calling one of the people appointed to attend those who were hurt, he ordered him to carry Jack below. "Tell the surgeons he's badly wounded, and get them to attend to him at once," he said. He longed to be able to go himself, but his duty compelled him to return to the upper deck. Scarcely had he got there than he saw, to his grief, that the enemy had dropped under the stern, and the next instant, discharging her broadside, she raked the _Thisbe_ fore and aft. In vain the latter tried to escape from her critical position; before she could do so she was a second time raked, the gaff being shot away, the mizenmast injured, and the remaining rigging cut through and through. Fortunately, the _Thisbe_ still answered her helm, and the crew were endeavouring to make sail, when the enemy ranged up on the starboard quarter, her forecastle being covered with men, evidently intending to board. Captain Martin, on seeing this, sent Rayner below with orders to double shot the after-maindeck guns, and to fire them as the enemy came close up. The next he shouted the cry which British seamen are always ready to obey, "Boarders, repel boarders;" and every man not engaged at the guns hurried aft, cutlass in hand, ready to drive back the foe as soon as the ships should touch; but ere that moment arrived, an iron shower issued from the guns beneath their feet, crashing through the Frenchman's bows and tearing along her decks. Instead of coming on, she suddenly threw all her sails aback, and hauled off out of gunshot. On seeing this, the British crew uttered three hearty cheers, and Rayner, with others who had hurried from below, fully believed that the enemy had hauled down her flag, but instead of that, under all the sail she could carry, she continued standing away until she had got two miles off. Here she hove-to, in order, it was evident, to repair damages. These must have been very severe, for many of her men were seen over the sides engaged in stopping shot-holes, while the water, which issued forth in cascades, showed that the pumps were being worked with might and main to keep her from sinking. The _Thisbe_ was in too crippled a condition to follow. Several shot had passed between wind and water on both sides. One gun on the quarter-deck and two on the maindeck were dismounted, and almost all the tackles and breachings were cut away. The maindeck before the mainmast was torn up from the waterway to the hatchways, and the bits were shot away, as was the chief part of the gangways. Not an officer had been killed, but two midshipmen, the master, and gunner, were wounded. Twenty men were wounded and eleven lost the number of their mess. The wind, which had been moderate when the action began, had now greatly increased. Not a moment was lost in commencing the repair of damages. The sky indicated the approach of bad weather, and a westerly or south-westerly gale might be expected. Before all the shot-holes could be stopped it came on to blow very hard. Plymouth being too far to the westward, the nearest shelter the _Thisbe_ could reach was Portland, towards which she steered. The moon coming forth, she had light sufficient to run in and anchor, protected by the projecting headland from the furious gale now blowing. Many a brave man on board besides the captain breathed more freely than they had done for some hours when the anchor was dropped and the torn canvas furled. Still the _Thisbe_ would be in a critical position should the wind shift more to the southward, as she would be exposed to the seas rolling into the bay. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. THE SHIPWRECK. As soon as Rayner could obtain a spare moment, he hastened below to visit poor Jack. He met Tom on the way. "Jack's very bad, Mr Rayner," answered Tom to his inquiries. "He didn't know me just now; he's talking about his mother, and fancying she's nursing him." This news made our hero feel very sad, and he hurried on to the lower deck, where the wounded lay in their hammocks, sheltered by a canvas screen. He inquired of one of the attendants where Jack Peek was, and soon found him, the surgeon being by his side dressing his wound. "I'm much afraid that he will slip through our fingers unless we can manage to quell the fever. He requires constant watching, and that is more than he can well obtain, with so many men laid up, and so much to do," said the doctor as he finished his task. "However, Rayner, if you can stay by him, I'll be back in a few minutes to see how he's getting on. In the meantime give him this medicine; if he comes to his senses, a word or two from you may do him good." Though Rayner himself could scarcely stand from fatigue, he undertook to do as the doctor requested. He waited until he saw, by the light of the lantern hung up from a beam overhead, that Jack had come somewhat to himself, when he got him to take the draught he held in his hand. "How do you feel, Jack?" he asked in a low tone; but poor Jack did not reply. After waiting a little time longer, Rayner again spoke. "We've beaten off the enemy, you know, and are safe under shelter of the land. Cheer up now, you'll soon get round." "Is that you, Bill?" asked Jack, in a faint voice. "I thought mother was with me, and I was on shore, but I'm glad she's not, for it would grieve her to see me knocked about as I am." "You'll do well now, the doctor said so, as you've come to yourself," observed Rayner, much cheered at hearing Jack speak. "I'll stay by you while it is my watch below, and then I'll get Tom to come. Now go to sleep, if the pain will let you." "The pain isn't so very great, and I don't mind it since we have licked the enemy," answered Jack; "but I hope you won't be angry at me calling you Bill; I quite forgot, Mr Rayner, that you were a midshipman." "No, I didn't remark that you called me Bill," answered Rayner; "if I had, I shouldn't have thought about it. I just feel as I did when I was your messmate. However, I must not let you be talking, so now shut your eyes and get some sleep; it will do you more good than the doctor's stuff." Rayner was very glad when the doctor came back, accompanied by Tom, and having observed that Jack was going on as well as he expected, told him to go to his hammock. This he gladly did, leaving Tom in charge of their friend. Rayner felt that he greatly needed rest; but as he had expended part of his watch below, he could not have three hours' sleep. On coming on deck he found the gale was blowing harder than ever, though the frigate lay sheltered by the land. Almost immediately the sound of a distant gun reached his ear. It was followed rapidly by others, and the sound appeared to come down on the gale. "There's a ship in danger on the other side of Portland," observed the second lieutenant, who was the officer of the watch. "Rayner, go and tell the captain. He desired to be called if anything happened." Captain Martin, who had only thrown himself down on his bed in his clothes, was on his feet in a moment, and followed Rayner on deck. After listening a minute. "It's more than possible she's our late antagonist," he observed. "If the gale caught her unprepared, her masts probably went by the board, and, unable to help herself, she is driving in here. Get a couple of boats ready with some coils of rope, and spars, and rockets, and we'll try and save the lives of the poor fellows." Rayner was surprised to hear this, supposing that the captain intended to pull out to sea, whereas he had resolved to go overland to the part of the coast which probably the ship in distress was approaching. Although where the frigate lay was tolerably smooth water, yet, from the white-crested seas which broke outside, and the roaring of the wind as it swept over the land, it was very evident that no boat could live when once from under its shelter. The captain, accompanied by three gun-room officers, Rayner and another midshipman, and twenty men, landed at the nearest spot where the boats could put in, and proceeded overland in the direction from which the sound of the guns had come. Again and again they boomed forth through the midnight air. Solemnly they struck on the ear, telling of danger and death. Scarcely, however, had the party proceeded a quarter of a mile than they ceased. In vain they were listened for. It was too evident that the ship had struck the fatal rocks, and if so, there was not a moment to be lost, or too probably the whole of the hapless crew would be lost. The western shore was reached at last. As they approached the cliffs they saw a number of people moving about, and as they got to the bay and looked down over the foaming ocean, they could see a dark object some fifty fathoms off, from which proceeded piercing shrieks and cries for help. It was the hull of a large ship, hove on her beam-ends, her masts gone, the after-part already shattered and rent by the fierce seas which dashed furiously against her, threatening to sweep off the miserable wretches clinging to the bulwarks and stanchions. To form a communication with her was Captain Martin's first object. As yet it was evident that no attempt of the sort had been made, most of the people who had collected being more eager apparently to secure the casks, chests, and other things thrown on shore than to assist their perishing fellow-creatures. It was vain to shout and direct the people on the wreck to attach a line to a cask and let it float in towards the beach. The most stentorian voices could not make themselves heard when sent in the teeth of the gale now blowing. On descending the cliffs, Captain Martin and his party found a narrow strip of beach, on which they could stand out of the power of the seas, which, in quick succession, came foaming and roaring in towards them. He immediately ordered a couple of rockets to be let off, to show the strangers that there were those on shore who were ready to help them. No signal was fired in return, not even a lantern shown, but the crashing, rending sounds which came from the wreck made it too evident that she could not much longer withstand the furious assaults of the raging ocean. Captain Martin inquired whether any of his crew were sufficiently good swimmers to reach the wreck. Rayner longed to say that he would try, but he had never swum in a heavy sea, and felt that it would be madness to make the attempt. "I'll try it, sir," cried Ben Twinch, the boatswain's mate, one of the most powerful men in the ship. "I'd like, howsomdever, to have a line round my waist. Do you stand by, mates, and haul me back if I don't make way; there are some ugly bits of timber floating about, and one of them may give me a lick on the head, and I shan't know what's happening." Ben's offer was accepted. While the coil of line was being got ready, a large spar, to which a couple of men were clinging, was seen floating in towards the beach, but it was still at some distance, and there was a fearful probability that before it touched the shore the reflux of the water might drag them off to destruction. "Quick, lads, quick, and I'll try to get hold of one or both of them, if I can," cried Ben, fastening the rope round his body. His example was followed by another man, who, in the same way, secured a rope round himself, when both plunged in and seized the well-nigh drowning strangers, just as, utterly exhausted, they had let go their hold. They were able, however, to speak, and Rayner discovered that they were French. By the captain's directions he inquired the name of the ship. "The _Zenobie_ frigate, of forty guns and three hundred and forty men," was the answer. "We had an action yesterday with an English frigate, which made off while we were repairing damages, but truly she so knocked us about that when we were caught by the gale our masts went over the side, and we were driven utterly helpless on this terrible coast." Rayner did not tell the _Thisbe's_ men, who were trying to assist the hapless strangers, that they were their late antagonists. He merely said, "They are Frenchmen, lads; but I'm sure that will make no difference to any of us." "I should think not, whether they're Mynheers or Mounseers," cried Ben. "They're drowning, and want our help; so, whether enemies or friends, we'll try to haul as many of the poor fellows ashore as we can get hold of, and give them dry jackets, and a warm welcome afterwards. Slack away, mates!" And he plunged into the foaming billows. His progress was anxiously watched as he rose now on the top of a roaring sea, now concealed as he sank into the hollow to appear again on the side of another, all the time buffeting the foaming breakers, now avoiding a mass of timber, now grasping a spar, and making it support him as he forced his way onward, until he was lost to sight in the gloom. After a considerable time of intense anxiety it was found that the line was taut. Ben had, it was supposed, reached the forechains of the frigate. Then the question rose, whether he would be able to make himself understood by the Frenchmen. One of the men, however, who had been washed on shore said that he believed one or two people on board understood English; but it was doubtful whether they were among those who had already perished. Some more minutes passed, and then they felt the line shaken. It was the signal for them to haul in. Rapidly pulling away, they at length had the satisfaction of finding the end of a stout hawser, with a smaller line attached to it. The hawser was made fast round a rock, then, knowing the object of the line, they hauled away at it until they saw a cradle coming along with a couple of boys in it. The moment they were taken out the cradle was hauled back, and then a man appeared, and thus, one after another, about sixty of the French crew were dragged on shore. Every time the cradle appeared, his shipmates hoped to see Ben in it; but Rayner learned from one of the persons in it that he had remained on the wreck, assisting those who were too benumbed or bewildered with fear to secure themselves. As the poor Frenchmen were landed, they were placed under charge of some of the men appointed for the purpose, while two of the officers supplied the most exhausted with such restoratives as they required. Many, they said, had already been washed off the wreck and been lost, while others were too much paralysed by fear even to make their way to where Ben was standing, lashed to a stanchion, ready to help them into the cradle. Great fears were now entertained lest he should suffer by his noble exertions to save others. The crashing and rending sounds increased in frequency. Every instant some huge portion of the wreck was rent away, and the whole intervening mass of seething waters was covered by dark fragments of timber, tossing and rolling as they approached the beach, or were floated out to sea, or cast against the rocks. Still the Frenchmen kept arriving. Now one more daring than the others would crawl along the cable in spite of the risk of being washed off by the hungry breakers into which it was occasionally plunged. Rayner, who stood on the rock with a party engaged in assisting the people as they arrived in the cradle, inquired whether there were many more to come. "I think so, monsieur," was the answer; "we mustered nearly four hundred souls, but of those, alas! numbers have already been washed away." Again and again those fearful crashings, mingled with despairing shrieks, were heard above the roar of wild breakers. Rayner felt serious apprehensions about the safety of brave Ben. At any moment the wreck might break up, and then it would be scarcely possible for a human being to exist amidst the masses of timber which would be hurled wildly about. Again the cradle was to be hauled in. In came with greater difficulty than before, as if it carried a heavier weight. It seemed as if the cable would not bear the additional strain. The British seamen exerted all their strength, for at any moment, even if the cable did not break, it might be torn from its holdfast on the wreck. As the cradle came in, two men were seen seated in it, one holding another in his arms. Rayner heard the words, "Vite, vite, mon ami, ou nous sommes perdu." "Haul away, lads, haul away!" he shouted out, though his men required no urging. Just as the cradle was reaching the rock, a crash, even louder than its predecessors, was heard. Several men sprang forward to grasp the occupants of the cradle. The outer end of the rope had given way, and in another instant they would have been too late. Again the wild shrieks of despair of the helpless wretches who still remained on the wreck echoed along the cliffs. "Poor Ben! has he gone?" exclaimed Rayner. "No, sir, he's one of those we've just got ashore," answered a quarter-master who, with several others, had rushed down to help the two men taken out of the cradle, and who were now bearing the apparently inanimate body of the boatswain's mate up the rock; "the other's a Frenchman by his lingo." Rayner hurried to the spot, when what was his surprise, as the light of the lantern fell on the countenance of the Frenchman last landed, to see Pierre's father, Captain Turgot! Putting out his hand, he warmly shook that of his old friend, who opened his eyes with a look of astonishment, naturally not recognising him. "Don't you know me, Captain Turgot?" said Rayner. "I am one of the boys you saved when our frigate was blown up." "What! are you little Bill?" exclaimed the honest fisherman. "That is wonderful. Then you escaped after all. I am indeed glad." There was no time just then, however, for explanations. Rayner thanked his old friend for saving Ben's life. "I could do nothing else," was the answer. "He was about to place another man in the cradle who had not the courage to get into it by himself, when a piece of timber surging up struck both of them, the other was swept away, and the brave English sailor would have suffered the same fate had I not got hold of him; and then, though I had made up my mind to remain to the last, I saw that the only way to save him was to bring him myself in the cradle to the shore, and I am thankful that I did so. But my poor countrymen! There are many still remaining who must perish if we cannot get another hawser secured to the wreck." This was what Captain Martin was now endeavouring to do, but there was no one found willing or able to swim back to the wreck. The danger of making the attempt was, indeed, far greater than at first. Ben was regaining his consciousness; but even had he been uninjured, after the exertions he had gone through, he would have been unfit to repeat the dangerous exploit. Captain Turgot offered to try; but when he saw the intermediate space through which he would have to pass covered with masses of wreck, he acknowledged that it would be impossible to succeed. The final catastrophe came at last. A tremendous wave, higher than its predecessors, rolled in, apparently lifting the wreck, which, coming down again with fearful force upon the rocks, split into a thousand fragments. As the wave, after dashing furiously on the shore, rolled back again, a few shattered timbers could alone be perceived, with not a human being clinging to them. Shrieks of despair, heard above the howling tempest, rose from the surging water, but they were speedily hushed, and of the struggling wretches two men alone, almost exhausted, were thrown by a succeeding wave on the shingly beach, together with the bodies of several already numbered among the dead. When Captain Martin came to muster the shipwrecked men saved by his exertions, he found that upwards of three hundred of the crew of his late antagonist had perished, seventy alone having landed in safety. Leaving a party on the beach to watch lest any more should be washed on shore, he and the magistrate led the way up the cliff. The Frenchmen followed with downcast hearts, fully believing that they were to be treated as prisoners of war. Some of them, aided by the British seamen, carried those who had been too much injured to walk. After they had arrived at a spot where some shelter was found from the fury of the wind, Captain Martin, calling a halt, sent for Rayner, and told him to assure the Frenchmen that he did not look upon them as enemies or prisoners of war, but rather as unfortunate strangers who, having been driven on the English coast by the elements, had a right to expect assistance and kind treatment from the inhabitants, and that such it was his wish to afford them. Expressions of gratitude rose from the lips of the Frenchmen when Rayner had translated what Captain Martin had said. The magistrate then offered to receive as many as his own house could accommodate, as did two gentlemen who had accompanied him, their example being followed by other persons, and before morning the whole of the shipwrecked seamen were housed, including three or four officers, the only ones saved. The poor fellows endeavoured by every way in their power to show how grateful they were for the kindness they were receiving. Captain Martin's first care was to write an account of the occurrence to the Admiralty, stating what he had done, and expressing a hope that the shipwrecked crew would be sent back as soon as possible to France. By return of post, which was not, however, until the end of three or four days, Captain Martin had the satisfaction of receiving a letter from the king himself, highly approving of his conduct, and directing that the Frenchmen should each receive as much clothing and money as they required, and as soon as a cartel could be got ready, sent back to Cherbourg or some other French port. News of the battered state of the _Thisbe_ having been received at the Admiralty, a frigate was ordered round to escort her into port, as she was not in a position to put to sea safely by herself. The Frenchmen having been received on board the two frigates, and a light northerly breeze springing up, they sailed together for Plymouth. The pumps were kept going on board the _Thisbe_ during the whole passage, when the Frenchmen, at the instigation of Captain Turgot, volunteered to work them. Rayner had many a talk about Pierre with his old friend, who longed to embrace his son, and was profuse in his expressions of gratitude for the kindness he had received. Directly he returned on board, Rayner went to Jack, whom he found going on well. Captain Turgot, on hearing that Jack had been wounded, begged permission to see him, and from that moment spent every instant he could by his side, tending him as if he had been his own son. It was curious to see the way the English sailors treated their French guests who had so lately been engaged with them in a desperate fight. Several were suffering from bruises and exposure on the wreck. These were nursed with a tender care, as if they had been women or children, the sailors carrying those about whose legs had been hurt, and feeding two or three, whose hands or arms had been injured, just as if they had been big babies. The rest of the Frenchmen who had escaped injury quickly recovered their spirits, and might have been seen toeing and heeling it at night to the sound of Bob Rosin's fiddle; and Bob, a one-legged negro, who performed the double duty of cook's second mate and musician-general of the ship, was never tired of playing as long as he could get any one to dance. The style of performance of the two nationalities was very different, but both received their share of applause from one another. The Frenchmen leapt into the air, whirled, bounded and skipped, while the British tars did the double-shuffle and performed the various evolutions of the hornpipe, to the admiration of their Gallic rivals. By the time they had reached Plymouth they had won each other's hearts, and hands were wrung, and many of the Frenchmen burst into tears as they took their leave of their gallant entertainers, all protesting that they should always remember their kindness, and expressing the hope that they should never meet again except as friends. Sad it is that men, who would be ever ready to live on friendly terms and advance their mutual interests, should, by the ambition and lust of power of a few, be compelled to slaughter and injure each other, as has unhappily been the case for so many centuries throughout the whole civilised portion of the world. As soon as the anchor was dropped, Rayner asked for leave to go on shore with Captain Turgot, to visit Mrs Crofton, and learn how Pierre was getting on. "You may go, but you must return on board at night, as there is plenty of work to be done," answered the first lieutenant. "Thank you, sir," said Rayner; and he hurried below to tell Captain Turgot to get ready. They shoved off by the first boat going on shore. They walked on quickly through the streets of Plymouth, Rayner anticipating the pleasure of seeing Mrs Crofton and Mary, and of witnessing the meeting between the honest Frenchman and his son. "I hope that we shall find Pierre recovered; but the doctor said his wound would take long to heal, and you must not be surprised if he is still unable to move," he said to Captain Turgot. "Our friends will take very good care of him, and perhaps you would like to remain behind until he is well." "I would wish to be with him, but I am anxious to relieve the anxiety of Madame Turgot and Jeannette, who, if they do not see me, will suppose that I am lost," answered the Captain. "I shall grieve to leave my boy behind, but I know that he will be well cared for, and I cannot tell you, my young friend, how grateful I am. Little did I think, when I picked you up out of the water, how amply you would return the service I did you." "I certainly did not expect in any way to be able to repay it," said Rayner, "or, to say the truth, to feel the regard for Frenchmen which I do for you and your son." Rayner found Mrs Crofton and her daughter seated in the drawing-room. After the first greetings were over, and he had introduced Captain Turgot, he inquired after Pierre, expecting, through not seeing him, that he was still unable to leave his room. "He has gone out for a short walk, as the doctor tells him to be in the fresh air as much as possible, and he is well able to get along with the help of a stick," answered Mrs Crofton. "I hope his father has not come to take him away, for we shall be very sorry to lose him?" "I don't know whether he will be allowed to go without being exchanged," answered Rayner; and he gave an account of the wreck of the _Zenobie_ and the arrangement which had been made for sending the survivors of her crew back to France. "That is very kind and generous of our good king. No wonder that his soldiers and sailors are so ready to fight for him," remarked Mrs Crofton. While they were speaking, Pierre entered the house. His joy at seeing his father almost overcame him. They threw themselves into each other's arms and embraced as Frenchmen are accustomed to embrace--somewhat, it must be confessed, to Mary's amusement. After they had become more tranquil they sat down and talked away at such a rate that even Rayner could scarcely understand what they were saying. He meantime had a pleasant conversation with Mary and her mother, for he had plenty to tell them, and they evidently liked to listen to him. After some time, during a pause in the conversation, Captain Turgot desired Pierre to tell Mrs Crofton and her daughter how grateful he felt for their kindness, his own knowledge of English being insufficient to express his wishes. They, hearing him, replied in French, and soon the whole party was talking away in that language, though Mary's French, it must be admitted, was not of a very choice description; but she laughed at her own mistakes, and Rayner helped her out when she was in want of a word. The afternoon passed pleasantly away, and Rayner, looking at his watch, was sorry to find it was time to return. He told Pierre that he must report his state to the Captain and Mr Saltwell, who would decide what he was to do. Captain Turgot went back with him, having nowhere else to go. Captain Martin lost no time in carrying out the wishes of the kind king. A brig was chartered as a cartel, on board of which the Frenchmen were at once sent. Rayner was not aware that Mr Saltwell had obtained permission for Pierre to go back with his father, and was much surprised on being directed to go to Mrs Crofton's, and to escort him on board the brig. Pierre seemed scarcely to know whether to laugh or cry at regaining his liberty as he took leave of his kind hostess and her daughter; but his desire to see his mother and sister and la belle France finally overcame his regret at parting from them, and he quickly got ready to set off. "We shall be happy to see you as soon as you can come again, Mr Rayner," said Mrs Crofton. "Oh yes," added Mary, in a sweet voice, with a smile, which made our hero at once promise that he would lose no opportunity of paying them a visit. Rayner's first duty was to see Captain Turgot and Pierre on board the cartel. They embraced him with tears in their eyes as they wished him farewell, and many of the grateful Frenchmen gathered round him, several expressing their hopes that France and England would soon make up their quarrel. "What it's all about, ma foi, is more than I or any of us can tell," exclaimed a boatswain's mate, wringing Rayner's hand, which all were eager to grasp. "We are carried on board ship and told to fight, and so we fight--more fools we! If we were wise, we should navigate our merchant vessels, or go fishing, or stay at home and cultivate our fields and gardens. We all hope that there'll be peace when we next meet, messieurs." Many others echoed the sentiment, and cheered Rayner, who, after he had sent many kind messages to Madame Turgot and Jeannette, hurried down the side and returned on board the frigate. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. THE SHIP ON FIRE. Jack, with the rest of those who had been wounded, had been sent to the hospital. Rayner the next day obtained leave to visit him. He was sorry for Tom, who was thus left very much to his own resources, and he tried to find an opportunity of speaking a kind word to his former companion; but Tom, as before, sulkily kept aloof, so that he was compelled to leave him to himself. He was very sorry, soon after, to see him being led along the deck by the master-at-arms. Tom looked dreadfully downcast and frightened. Rayner inquired what he had been doing. "Attempting to desert, sir," was the answer. "He had got on shore and had dressed himself in a smock-frock and carter's hat, and was making his way out of the town." Tom could not deny the accusation, and he was placed in irons, awaiting his punishment, with two other men who had also run from the ship and had been caught. Rayner felt a sincere compassion for his old messmate, and obtained leave to pay him a visit, anxious to ascertain if there were any extenuating circumstances by which he might obtain a remission of his punishment. "What made you try to run, Fletcher?" he asked, as he found Tom and his two companions seated in "durance vile," on the deck. "I wanted to go back to my father and to try and persuade him to get me made a midshipman as you are," answered Tom. "It's a shame that a gentleman's son should be treated as I have been, and made a powder monkey of, while you have been placed on the quarter-deck." "I thought that you had applied to your father before, and that he had refused to interfere," said Rayner, taking no notice of Tom's remark in regard to himself. "I know that, well enough; but it was my brother who answered the letter; and, as my father is a clever man, I daresay by this time he has become rich again, and, for very shame at having a son of his a common ship's boy, would do as I wish. Can't you tell the captain that, and perhaps he'll excuse me the flogging? It's very hard to be prevented seeing my family, and to be flogged into the bargain. It's more than I can bear, and I've a great mind to jump overboard and drown myself when I get my wrists out of these irons." "You'll not do that," answered Rayner, knowing very well that Tom did not dream of putting his threat into execution; "but I'll tell the first lieutenant what you say about your wish to see your family, though I fear it will not influence him in recommending the captain to remit your punishment. I would advise you, whatever happens, to submit, and to try, by doing your duty, to gain a good name for yourself," said Rayner, who gave him some other sound advice before he returned on deck. Mr Saltwell shook his head when he heard what Rayner had to say. "The captain won't forgive him, you may depend upon that, Rayner," he answered; "desertion must be punished, were it only as a warning to others." Rayner, fortunately for himself, was on shore when Tom underwent his punishment, so that he was saved the pain of seeing it inflicted. The frigate had been surveyed, but what opinion had been formed about her was not known for some time. At length the captain, who had gone on shore, returned, and, mustering the ship's company, informed them that, according to the surveyor's report, it would take some months to put her in thorough repair, and that in the meantime he had been appointed to the command of the store-ship _Bombay Castle_, of sixty-four guns, bound for the Mediterranean, and he should take his officers and crew with him. "We all of us might wish for more active service, my lads, but we shall not be long absent, and I hope by the time we come back that we shall find our tight little frigate as ready for any duty she may be sent on, as you all, I am sure, will be." A cheer was the reply to this address, and the next day the officers and crew of the _Thisbe_ went on board their new ship. They had, however, first to get her ready for sea, and then to receive the stores on board, by which time several of the wounded men, including Jack Peek, had sufficiently recovered to join her. The _Bombay Castle_ was rolling her away across the Bay of Biscay with a northerly breeze. She was a very different craft from the _Thisbe_, and though more than twice her size, not nearly so comfortable. Captain Martin had received orders to avoid an engagement, except attacked, and then to do his best to escape, as the stores she carried were of great value, and were much required by the fleet. Though several sail were sighted supposed to be an enemy's squadron, she managed to escape from them, and arrived safe at Gibraltar. Here she was joined by the _Ione_ frigate, and the two ships sailed together, expecting to fall in with the fleet off Toulon. The two ships lay almost becalmed in the Gulf of Lyons. Several officers of the _Ione_, which was only a short distance off, had come on board, when Captain Martin advised them, somewhat to their surprise, to get back to the frigate. "I don't quite like the look of the weather," he remarked. "I've seen the masts of a ship whipped out of her, when not five minutes before there was no more wind than we have at present." The frigate's boat left the side and was seen pulling rapidly towards her. Suddenly the cry was heard, "All hands on deck to save ship!" Those who were below, springing up, found the ship heeling over till her yard-arms almost touched the foaming water, which came rushing over the deck, while the watch were engaged in letting fly tacks and sheets, lowering topsails, clewing up, and hauling down, blocks were rattling, sails shivering, the wind roaring, the sea leaping, hissing, and foaming. The helm was put up, the ship righted, and away she flew before the furious blast, not having suffered any material damage. The _Ione_, however, could nowhere be seen. Struck by the squall, she might either have been dismasted or have capsized. In the former case it was very probable that she might fall into the hands of the enemy; but, much as the captain desired it, he could not return to her assistance. Night came on, and the gale increased, the big ship tumbling and rolling about almost as much as she would have done in the Atlantic, so rapidly did the sea get up. It took some time to get everything snug, but as the ship was at a considerable distance from the land, no great anxiety was felt for her safety. In the morning the master reported that by his calculation they were about thirteen leagues south-east of Cape Saint Sebastian, on the Spanish coast. The wind had fallen with almost the same rapidity with which it had risen, but there was still a good deal of sea on. It had now shifted. The first lieutenant was officer of the watch, and was superintending the operation of washing decks. Rayner, and another midshipman, also with bare feet and trousers tucked up, were paddling about, directing the men in their various duties. Our hero had just came aft, and was addressing Mr Saltwell, when the latter looking forward, suddenly exclaimed, "What can that smoke be? Run and see where it comes from!" As Rayner hurried forward he observed a thick volume of smoke rising out of the fore-hatchway, and immediately afterwards a similar ominous cloud ascended from the main hatchway. Before he had made a step aft to report this he saw Mr Saltwell hastening forward. The next moment the cry of "Fire!" was raised, and the people came rushing up the hatchway in the midst of volumes of smoke ascending from the orlop deck. "Rayner, go and inform the captain what has occurred," said Mr Saltwell, in a calm tone. "Let the drum beat to quarters!" he shouted. The rolling sound of the drum was soon heard along the decks, and the men, springing from all parts of the ship, hurried to their respective stations, where they stood, ready for their orders. Not a cry was heard. Not an expression of alarm escaped from one of the men. Scarcely a word was spoken as they stood prepared to do their duty. Summoning the gunner and the boatswain, the first lieutenant ordered the former to open the ports, to give light and air below, and the latter to pipe up the hammocks. He then ascended to the orlop deck, made his way first into one tier, then into another, in both of which he found the smoke issuing exceedingly thick from forward. He was now joined by the second lieutenant and Rayner. "We'll just go into the sail-room and ascertain if the fire is there," he said. On reaching it, there was no appearance of fire or smoke. It was thus evident that the seat of the fire was farther forward. He and his companions next proceeded to the hold, but the dense smoke compelled them to beat a retreat, as their throats became affected as if from the fumes of hot tar. A second attempt to reach the hold was equally unsuccessful. The entire absence of heat, however, convinced them that the fire could not be in that part of the ship, but that the smoke found its way through the bulkheads. They were returning on deck, when a cry was raised that the fire was down forward. "I alone will go!" said Mr Saltwell. "Not a life must be risked without necessity. Remain, and render me any assistance I may require." Having descended to the orlop deck, he was attempting to go down into the cockpit, when several men rushed by him, crying out that the fire was increasing. He endeavoured to retreat, but would have fallen before he reached the deck, had not the second lieutenant and Rayner, springing forward, assisted him up, and the next moment he sank down, apparently lifeless. It was some minutes before the fresh air revived him. Two poor fellows were suffocated by the smoke rolling in dense volumes along the lower deck, and others were rescued half dead by their shipmates. Some short time was of necessity lost while the captain and master and the lieutenants were holding a consultation as to what was to be done. In the meantime, Rayner, seeing the importance of discovering the seat of the fire, resolved at every risk to make the attempt. Without telling any of the officers of his intention, he called on Ben Twinch and Jack and Tom, whom he met on his way, to accompany him, and to bring a long rope with him. On reaching the hatchway he fastened the end round his waist. "Haul me up if you find it becomes slack," he said. "You'll know then that I am not able to get on." "Don't go, sir! don't go!" cried Jack. "It won't matter to any one if I get choked, but so many would be sorry if anything happened to you." "I'll tell you what it is, Mr Rayner," exclaimed Ben; "no man who hasn't been down to the bottom of Stromboli or down Etna will be able to live two minutes in the cockpit, and I cannot help you, sir, to throw your life away. The ship's on fire somewhere forward, and what we've got to do is to pump the water over it, and try and put it out. If we can't do that, we must shut down the hatches, and see if we can't smother it." Rayner was not inclined to listen to this well-meant and really judicious advice, but rushing forward, was attempting to make his way down the ladder. Scarcely, however, had he descended three or four steps, when the smoke filling his mouth and nostrils, he would have fallen headlong down had not Ben and Jack hauled him up again, almost in the same condition as Mr Saltwell had been. "I told you so, sir," said Ben, as he carried him out of the way of the hose, which now began to play over the spot, under the direction of Mr Saltwell. The water, however, seemed to make no impression on the fire, or in any way to lessen the volumes of smoke, which, on the contrary, became thicker and thicker. The men who were directing the hose were compelled to retire. The carpenters had, in the meantime, been engaged in scuttling the orlop deck, so that water might be poured down in great quantities. All their efforts were of no avail, however. In a short time the first lieutenant was heard issuing his orders to cover in the hatchways, and to close the ports, so as to prevent the circulation of air. With a sad heart Mr Saltwell now went on deck to report to the captain what had been done. He spoke in a low and earnest tone. "I am afraid, Captain Martin, that we cannot hope to save the ship," he said; "the fire may be kept under for an hour or perhaps two hours, but if it once makes its way through the hatchways and gets to the lower decks, there is nothing to stop it. I would strongly advise that the boats should at once be got ready, so that as many lives as possible may be preserved." "Were we to do that, the people would immediately fancy that the destruction of the ship is certain, and abandon themselves to despair," said the captain. "I know our men, and can answer for their doing their duty," replied Mr Saltwell, with confidence. "If we delay getting out the boats, we may find it impossible to do so at last, and the lives of all on board may be sacrificed. We can trust to the marines, and give them directions to prevent any of the men getting into the boats until you issue the order for them to do so." "You are right, Saltwell; send the sergeant of marines here," said the captain. The sergeant quickly appeared and stood bolt upright, with his hand to the peak of his hat, as if on parade, ready to receive any orders which might be given. "Call out your men, and understand that they are to load with ball and shoot any of the seamen who get into the boats without orders." The sergeant, saluting, faced about, as if going to perform some ordinary routine of duty, and, quickly mustering his marines, stationed them as directed. The first lieutenant now gave orders to the boatswain to turn the hands up, and as soon as they appeared on deck, he shouted, "Out boats! but understand, my lads, that not one of you is to enter them without leave. The marines have received orders to shoot the first man who attempts to do so, though you do not require to be told that." The crew hastened to the tackles and falls, and with the most perfect regularity the boats were lowered into the water when they were veered astern and secured for towing. The helm was now put down, the yards braced up, and the ship's head directed to the north-west, in which direction the land lay, though not visible from the deck. The crew knew by this that the captain and officers considered the ship to be in great danger, and at the same time it encouraged them to persevere in their attempts to keep the fire under. They had some hopes also of falling in with the _Ione_ or by firing the guns to attract her attention, should she be within hearing of them. As the boats, however, would not carry the whole ship's company, the captain directed the carpenter and his mates to get the booms overboard for the purpose of constructing a raft large enough to support those whom the boats could not carry. As it was now evident, from the increasing volumes of smoke which ascended through the hatchways, that the fire was working its way aft, although the flames had not yet burst out, it became of the greatest importance to get the powder out of the magazine. For this purpose the second lieutenant descended with a party of men, and succeeded in bringing up a considerable quantity, which was stowed in the stern gallery. All the other hands, not otherwise employed, were engaged under the different officers in heaving water down the hatchways; but the smoke increased to such a degree that they were compelled to desist, several who persevered falling senseless on the deck. The powder which had been got up being hove into the sea, the captain gave the order to drown the magazine. The difficulty of accomplishing this task was, however, very great, and the second lieutenant and gunner, with several of the men, were drawn up, apparently lifeless, after making the attempt. Lieutenant Saltwell now again descended to the after cockpit, where he found one man alone still persevering in the hazardous duty-- Ben Twinch, boatswain's mate. "A few more buckets, and we'll do it, sir!" cried Ben; but almost immediately afterwards he sank down exhausted. The lieutenant, singing out for a rope, fastened it round him, though feeling that he himself would be overpowered before the gallant seaman could be drawn up. He succeeded, however, and once more returned to the deck above. Still, he knew that a large quantity of powder remained dry, and that should the fire reach the magazine, the destruction of all on board would be inevitable. Although gasping for breath, he was about again to descend, when a light, active figure, with a rope round his waist, darted passed him, and he recognised Rayner. He was about to follow, when he heard the voice of the midshipman shouting, "Haul me up, quick!" The next instant Rayner was drawn up, too much exhausted to speak. He had succeeded in drowning a portion of the powder; but a quantity remained, sufficient at any moment to blow the ship into the air. Although no human being could exist between the decks forward, the after-part of the lower deck remained free from smoke. In the hopes of getting at the magazine, the carpenter was directed to cut scuttles through the ward-room, and gun-room, so as to get down right above it. By keeping all the doors closed, the smoke was prevented from entering, and at length it was found that the powder could be drawn, up and hove overboard out of the gallery windows. Several of the officers volunteered for this dangerous duty. Rayner, notwithstanding that he had just before escaped suffocation, again twice descended, and was each time drawn up more dead than alive. Several hours had now gone by, and the wind providentially holding fair, the ship was nearing the land. Meantime, the fire was fast gaining on them, and might at any moment triumph over all the heroic efforts of the crew to subdue it. The heat below was intense. The first lieutenant, going forward, found that the hatches had been blown off, as also the tarpaulins placed over the gratings. As it was of the greatest importance to keep them on, he directed the carpenter, with as many men as could be obtained, to replace them, while he returned once more aft, to superintend the operation of getting up the powder. Although hitherto none of the men had attempted to shirk their duty, greatly to his annoyance he saw, on looking out of the ward-room windows, the stern ladders covered with people, who fancied that they would there be more secure, and escape discovery. At once bursting open a window he ordered them all up, and directed Rayner to go and see that they made their appearance on deck. Among one of the first who came creeping up, our hero discovered his former messmate Tom Fletcher. "You people have disgraced yourselves. Fletcher, I am sorry to have to say the same to you," he exclaimed. It was the first time he had ever openly found fault with his former companion, but his feelings compelled him to utter the words. Tom, and the whole of the men who had been on the ladders, sneaked away on either side, ashamed, at all events, of being found out, and still looking with longing eyes at the boats astern. Every now and then a seaman was brought aft and placed under the doctor's care, but of the number four were found to be past recovery, and it seemed doubtful whether several others would revive. The greater portion of the crew, under the direction of the officers, were vieing with each other, trying to keep down the flames. The wind shifted a point or two more in their favour. The captain immediately ordered the hands aloft, to set the topgallant sails and royals. Seven anxious hours had passed, when while the men were still aloft, the cry arose, "Land, land, on the weather bow!" The men on deck cheered at the announcement. In a short time it could be observed through the haze right ahead. The sight, though the land was still five leagues distant, revived the sinking spirits of the crew, and spurred them on to greater exertions. Still, notwithstanding all their efforts, the fire rapidly increased. Again and again efforts were made to clear the magazine, but the smoke as often drove the men back. By this time the whole of the fore part of the lower deck was on fire, but owing to the ports being closed and all circulation of air prevented, the flames did not rise with the rapidity which would otherwise have been the case. The fear was that, the heels of the masts being consumed by the fire, the masts themselves might fall. Still they stood right gallantly, carrying their widespread canvas, and urging on the ship to the wished-for shore. By this time all communication with the fore part of the ship was cut off. The crew were gathered aft, still actively employed in fighting the flames by heaving down water. But foot by foot they were driven towards the stern. At length the devouring element burst through all control, and rushed up the fore-hatchway, rising triumphantly as high as the foreyard. Yet the ship kept on her way. The men remained firm to their duty. Now, not only from the fore, but from the main hatchway, the flames were seen to ascend, but for some time, the courses having been thoroughly wetted, they stood still urging on the ship towards the land. Time went on. The fire had commenced at seven in the morning, it was now several hours past noon. For all that period the crew had been fighting desperately with the fiery element for their lives. Anxiously, with straining eyes, they gazed at the land. On either side a dark mass of smoke ascended before them, and blew away to leeward, while the lurid flames rose beneath it, striving furiously for victory over the masts and spars, sails and rigging. It seemed like a miracle that the masts should stand in the midst of the hot furnace which glowed far down the depths of the ship. All were aware that at any moment one of several fearful events might occur. The wind might shift and prevent the ship reaching the land ahead, or a gale might spring up and cast the ship helplessly upon the rocks, or a calm might come on and delay her progress, or the masts, burnt through, might fall and crush those on deck, or, still more dreadful, a spark might reach the magazine, and her immediate destruction must follow. Still the officers and crew strove on, though they well knew that no human power could extinguish the raging flames, which with sullen roar came nearer and nearer to where they stood. An alarm was given that the mizenmast was on fire in the captain's cabin, and as Rayner looked over the side, he could see the flames burst out of the lee ports. The guns had not been loaded, but there was no necessity to fire signals of distress. The condition of the ship could be seen from far along the shore, and it was hoped that boats would, as she drew near, put off to her assistance. The master, some time before, had brought up a chart on deck, and now pointed out to his brother officers the exact spot towards which the ship was steering. It was the Bay of Rosas. Already the ship was entering between two capes which formed its northern and southern sides. The captain stood in the midst of his officers and men, gathered on deck, for every place below was filled with smoke, and, except in the after-part of the ship, the raging flames had gained full mastery. His wish had been to reach the shore before any one quitted the ship; he now saw that to do this was impossible. "My lads," he said, "I am about to order up the boats. You have hitherto maintained your discipline; let me see that you are ready to obey orders to the last. And now we'll have the raft overboard, which will carry every man who cannot be stowed in the boats, even if the Spaniards don't come out to help us. Lower away." It was no easy matter to perform this operation, with the fire raging uncontrolled not many feet off, almost scorching the backs of the men standing nearest it. A cheer announced that it had safely reached the water, when the carpenter and his crew, with a few additional hands, were ordered on to it, to secure the booms on either side, so as to increase its power of supporting a heavy weight. Scarcely had this been done, and the launch ordered up under the stern, than the ship struck and remained immovable, though nearly a mile from the shore. Then the tall masts seemed to sway to and fro as if they were about to fall, though it might only have been fancy. The marines, who had faithfully performed their duty, were stationed on either side, while the sick and several of the wounded were lowered into the launch. The boys and younger midshipmen were next directed to go down the ladder, and the other men were told off. The two yawls and jolly-boat being hauled up, were then loaded with as many as they could carry. "May I stay by you, sir?" asked Rayner of Mr Saltwell. "No, Rayner," answered the first lieutenant; "you have done your duty well this day, and I cannot allow you to risk your life by remaining a moment longer than is necessary. We cannot tell when the ship may blow up. It may be before the captain and I quit her. I order you to go." Rayner obeyed and descended into one of the yawls. Looking towards the shore he saw several boats coming off. He pointed them out to the officer in command of the launch. "Tell them to come under the stern of the ship and take off the remainder of the crew," said the lieutenant. While the yawl was pulling towards the Spanish boats, he looked round to the ship. Already it appeared as if the flames were rushing from every port, while they were rising higher and higher, forming a vast pyramid of fire, as circling round and round the masts they caught hold of the canvas and rigging, and seized the spars in their embrace. He urged the crew to pull with all their strength, that they might the sooner return to the assistance of their friends. The Spanish boats were reached, but in vain he endeavoured to persuade their crews to come near the burning ship. They were ready enough to receive on board the people in the yawl, but not to risk their lives by approaching her. One of the officers could speak a little Spanish, and Rayner tried his French upon them, endeavouring to persuade them, and at length threatening condign punishment if they refused. But nothing that could be said had any effect. Time was precious, so, putting the men from the crowded yawl into one of the boats, Rayner, who took charge of her, urging the men to pull with all their might steered back for the ship. From the position in which the boat was, between her head and the shore, she appeared already to be one mass of flame. It seemed impossible indeed that any human being could still be alive on board. Pulling round, however, so as to approach the stern, Rayner saw that the after portion still remained free from flame, though the crew, as if they knew that there was no time to be lost, were not only descending the ladders, but sliding rapidly down the ropes hanging over the taffrail on to the raft. They had good reason for doing so, for he could see the ruddy light even through the stern windows, and from every port, except the extreme after ones, the flames were rushing out. Three figures alone stood on the poop; they were those of the captain, the first lieutenant, and master, who had maintained their perilous position until every living man was out of the ship. Remembering the remark Mr Saltwell had made just before he had quitted the ship, Rayner again urged on his well-nigh exhausted crew to pull up and rescue their brave officers. The raft was crowded with men. The shout rose, "Shove off! shove off!" and with broken spars and pieces of board, those on it were endeavouring to make their way to a distance from the side of the ship. Rayner steered his boat under the stern. The master was the first to descend, Mr Saltwell came next, and the captain was the last to leave her. "Pull away, Rayner," he said, in a calm voice. "We have reason to be thankful to Providence that she has not blown up yet, for at any moment the fire may reach the magazine, and there is still powder enough, I understand, to send the fragments far around." The first yawl having received on board several people from the land, took the raft in tow. In a short time the other boats returned, having placed the people they carried in the Spanish boats, several of which also arrived, though they lost not a moment in pulling again towards the shore, as far as they could from the burning ship. The captain directed Rayner to keep astern of the other boats. His eye rested on his ship as if he desired to see her as long as she existed. The moment of her destruction came at last. The rest of the crew having landed, the yawl was nearing the shore, when a loud roar was heard as if a whole broadside had been fired. The flames rose high in the air; the masts shot upwards surrounded by burning fragments of planks and timbers; the stout sides, rent asunder, rushed outwards, and in another minute a few blackened fragments of the gallant ship, which had that morning floated trim and proudly on the ocean, were alone visible. Captain Martin looked sad and grave as he stepped on shore; but he felt that he, as well as his officers, had done their duty, and had made every possible effort to preserve the ship. Neither he nor they could discover the cause of the fire. Fortunately, England had not then declared war against Spain, and the authorities received the British officers and men in a friendly manner, while many of the inhabitants of the neighbouring town vied with each other in rendering them all the service in their power. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. A NARROW ESCAPE--HOME--AN ACTION SUDDENLY ENDED. The morning after the day they landed in Spain, Rayner had gone down to the beach with Mr Saltwell, who wanted, he said, to have another look at the remains of the old barkie. The midshipman was examining the black ribs of the wreck appearing above water through the telescope which the lieutenant had lent him, when the latter exclaimed, "Do you see a sail away to the south-east?" The sun glanced for a moment on her canvas. "Yes, sir," answered Rayner. "She's a large craft, too, for I can only just see her royals rising above the horizon. She's standing in this direction." "Hand me the glass," said Mr Saltwell. "You are right, youngster," he continued, looking through it. "I only hope that she may be one of our own cruisers, but it will be some time before that point can be decided." After watching the approaching stranger for some time the lieutenant and midshipman returned with the intelligence to the farm-house where the captain and several of the other officers were quartered. Hoping that she might be the _Ione_, Captain Martin ordered the first yawl to be got ready to go off to her. The crew were then mustered. Eight did not answer to their names. It was known how five had died, but what had become of the other three? At length it was whispered among the men that they had managed to get drinking the previous night, and had fallen below, stupefied by the smoke. The men having breakfasted, the greater number hurried down to the shore to have a look at the stranger, now approaching under all sail. Three cheers were uttered as the flag of England flew out at her peak. The captain immediately ordered Mr Sterling to pull off to her, and to request that his officers and ship's company might be received on board. "You will make sure before you get near that she is English," he whispered. "The Frenchman may have a fancy to take some Spaniards prisoners, and would be better pleased to get hold of you." Rayner went as midshipman of the boat, which made good way towards the frigate now lying hove-to about three miles from the shore. "What do you think of her, Noakes?" asked the lieutenant of the coxswain, as they got nearer. The old seaman took a steady glance at the stranger, surveying her from truck to water-line. "If she doesn't carry a British crew, the Frenchmen must have got hold of her since we parted company three days ago, and I don't think that's likely, or there would be not a few shot-holes in her canvas, and a pretty good sprinkling in her hull, too," he answered, in a confident tone. "She's the _Ione_, sir, or I don't know a frigate from a Dutch dogger." Now certain that there was no mistake, Mr Sterling steered for the frigate. Pulling alongside, he and Rayner stepped on board. Captain Dickson, with most of his officers, were on deck. "Where is your ship?" was the first question the captain asked of the lieutenant. "There is all that remains of her," answered Mr Sterling, pointing to the blackened ribs of the ship, which could be distinguished through a telescope near the shore; and he gave an account of what had happened. Due regrets at the occurrence having been expressed, Captain Dickson saying that he had been induced to stand into the bay in consequence of hearing the sound of the explosion, at once ordered out all the boats, and in a few minutes they were pulling for the shore, accompanied by the yawl. The _Ione_, meantime, was standing in somewhat nearer, to be ready to receive the crew of the store-ship on board. No time was lost in embarking, and it was with intense satisfaction that Captain Martin and those under him found themselves again on the deck of an English frigate. Sail was at once made for Gibraltar, Malta not having at that time been taken possession of by the English. As the two ships' companies had to be stowed away below, they were compelled to pack pretty closely, but no one minded that, as they expected a speedy passage to the Rock, while the officers and crew of the store-ship hoped immediately to be sent back to England. It is too true a saying that "There's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip." The _Ione_ was about midway between the Spanish coast and Majorca, when, as morning broke, a number of ships were seen standing out from the direction of Minorca. At first it was supposed that they were part of the English fleet, but after two of the lieutenants had taken a careful survey of them from aloft, it was decided that they were French. "They have seen us, and guess what we are," observed Captain Dickson to his brother captain. "See, here come two frigates in chase. Turn the hands up and make sail!" he added, addressing the first lieutenant. The crew were quickly aloft, and every stitch of canvas the _Ione_ could set was packed upon her. There was no disgrace in running from so superior a force. The _Ione_ was considered a good sailer, but the Frenchmen showed that they were still faster. Captain Dickson, however, had no intention of yielding his ship as long as he had a stick standing to escape with. Full of men as he now was, he hoped to beat off both his foes, though he could not expect to capture them in sight of an enemy's squadron. As they got nearer, a couple of guns were trained aft to serve as stern chasers, and every preparation was made to fight for life and liberty. Another frigate and two line-of-battle ships were seen standing after the first, but they were so far astern, that should the _Ione_ keep ahead, without having her masts and spars shot away, there might still be hopes of her escaping. British seamen seldom wish to avoid a fight, but on the present occasion few on board were such fire-eaters as not to hope that they might keep well ahead of their foes. The two frigates were rapidly gaining on the _Ione_; another half-hour, or even less, and she would be within range of their guns. To hit her, however, they would have to yaw, and this would enable her to gain on them, while she could fire without altering her course. Jack and Tom every now and then got a glimpse of the enemy through the ports. "I say, Jack, it isn't fair of those two fellows out there to be chasing us after all we have gone through. I was hoping to go home and see my father, and ask him to get me placed on the quarter-deck. I shouldn't like to be killed till I've been made a midshipman--not that I should like it then." "Don't you be talking nonsense about being made a midshipman. You've about as much chance as you have of being made port-admiral off-hand," answered Jack, with more temper than he generally showed. "Of course you don't want to be killed--no more do I; but we must both be ready should it be God's will to call us in the way of duty." At length the drum beat to quarters, by which the men knew that the captain expected before long to be engaged in a fierce fight. Rayner was at his station forward, but he could still see what was taking place astern. Presently the frigates yawed. Two flashes were seen, and the low, booming sound of a couple of guns came across the ocean. "We're not quite within range of the mounseers' popguns yet," observed the boatswain, with a laugh. "They must come closer before they can harm us." "Do you think we can beat them off?" asked Rayner. "You may be very sure that we'll try pretty hard to do so," answered the boatswain, in a confident tone. "I've heard of your doings aboard the _Thisbe_. We'll show you that the crew of the _Ione_ are made of the same stuff." As the two Frenchmen drew nearer, the desire of the British sailors to fight increased, and it was with a feeling of almost bitter disappointment, just as the _Ione_ had fired her stern chasers, that the enemy were seen to haul their tacks aboard, in answer, apparently, to the signals made by the ships astern. The general opinion was that the British fleet had appeared to the eastward. Whether or not this was the case it was impossible to say. The _Ione_ continued her course, and in a short time ran the enemy out of sight. On her arrival at Gibraltar, the first intelligence Mr Saltwell received was that he had been promoted to the rank of commander. The very next day two ships came in from the fleet with despatches, which the _Ione_ was directed to carry immediately to England. As they were both short of hands, much to Captain Martin's annoyance, a considerable number of his men were drafted on board them. Had other ships come in, he would probably have lost many more. The _Ione_ sailed immediately with the remainder, and he hoped that they would form the nucleus of a new crew for the _Thisbe_. The _Ione_ had a quick passage to Plymouth. On his arrival there, much to his disappointment, Captain Martin found that the _Thisbe_ was not yet ready for sea. Rayner was considering how to dispose of himself during the intermediate time. He did not expect that Mrs Crofton would offer him a room, but he wished, at all events, to pay her and Mary a visit, as they had always shown so friendly a feeling towards him. When, however, she heard how he was situated, she insisted that he should take up his quarters with them. "I do not require any payment, as I have no other lodger at present, and I am only too glad to have you," she said, in a kind tone. Rayner thanked her very warmly, and accepted her offer. "I daresay Captain Saltwell will come and see us as soon as he has time. I was delighted to hear that he had obtained his promotion, and I hope, Mr Rayner, that you will soon get yours. You have surely served long enough to pass for a mate, and I would advise you to apply at once, that you may be ready for your lieutenancy." "I am afraid that I should have but little chance of passing, but I'll try," said Rayner. "I am told the examinations are very stiff. If a midshipman doesn't answer every question put to him, he is turned back immediately." "At all events, go in and try, and take a testimonial from Captain Saltwell," said Mrs Crofton, who had heard something of the way examinations were conducted in those days. Rayner found, on inquiry, that, fortunately, a board was to sit the very next day, and, meeting Captain Saltwell, he mentioned his intention. "The very thing I was going to advise," was the answer. "I'll write a letter to Captain Cranston, and you can take it with you." Next morning Rayner presented himself on board the flagship, where he found several other midshipmen ready to go up. First one, and then another, was sent for, and came back with smiling faces. At last one, who certainly did not look as if he would set the Thames on fire, went in. In a short time he reappeared, grumbling and complaining that it was very hard a fellow who had been at sea six years should be turned back. Rayner's turn came next. Comparatively but a few questions were asked in navigation. He had no difficulty in answering those put to him in seamanship. At last, Captain Cranston, knitting his brow, and looking very serious, said-- "Now, Mr Rayner, supposing the ship you are in charge of is caught on a lee shore with a hurricane blowing, and you find yourself embayed; what would you do?" "If there was holding ground, I should let go the best bower, and make all snug aloft." "But suppose the best bower is carried away?" "I should let go the second bower, sir." "But suppose you lose that?" asked the captain, looking still more serious. "I should cut away the masts and bring up with my sheet anchor." "But in the event of losing that, Mr Rayner, how would you next proceed?" "I should have done all that a man can do, and should look out for the most suitable place for running the ship ashore." "But, suppose you could find no suitable place, Mr Rayner?" "Then, sir, I should let her find one for herself, and make the best preparations time would allow for saving the lives of her people, when she struck." "I have the pleasure to inform you, Mr Rayner, that you have passed your examination very creditably," said Captain Cranston, handing him his papers. Rayner, thanking the captain, and bowing, made his exit. On afterwards comparing notes with the midshipman who had been turned back, he mentioned the question which had been put to him. "Why, that's the very one he asked me," said his companion. "I told him I would club-haul the ship, and try all sorts of manoeuvres to beat out of the bay, and would not on any account let her go ashore." "I'm not surprised that you were turned back, old fellow," observed Rayner, with a laugh. On returning on shore he met Commander Saltwell. "I congratulate you, Rayner," he said. "I have just received orders to commission the _Lily_ sloop-of-war, and I will apply to have you with me. By-the-bye, where are you going to put up?" "Mrs Crofton has asked me to go to her house, and as I thought that you would have no objection, I accepted her offer, sir," answered Rayner. "I am glad to hear it; the very best thing you could do," said Commander Saltwell. "Though many would prefer the freedom of an inn, I admire your good taste in taking advantage of the opportunity offered you to pass your time in the society of refined, right-minded persons like Mrs Crofton and her daughter." Our hero spent a few happy days with the kind widow and Mary, who both evidently took a warm interest in his welfare. It was the first time he had been living on shore, except during his sojourn in France, since he first went to sea. He was introduced to some of the few friends they possessed, and he made several pleasant excursions with them to visit some of the beautiful scenery in the neighbourhood of Plymouth. His observation, unknown to himself, enabled him rapidly to adapt himself to the manners of people of education, and no one would have recognised in the gentlemanly young midshipman the powder monkey of a short time back. It was with more regret than he supposed he could possibly have felt that he received a summons to join the _Lily_, now fitting out with all despatch for the West Indies. Though he no longer belonged to the _Thisbe_, it was with much sorrow that he heard she was pronounced unfit for sea, and that her crew had been dispersed. He made inquiries for Jack and Tom. The former, he discovered, had gone to pay his mother a visit; but, though he searched for Tom, he could nowhere hear of him. The day after he had joined the _Lily_, he was well pleased to see Jack come on board. "I found out, sir, that you belonged to the corvette, as I thought you would when I heard that Mr Saltwell was appointed to command her," said Jack; "so, sir, I made up my mind to volunteer for her, if I could escape being pressed before I got back to Plymouth." "I am glad to see you, Peek," said our hero. "Have you heard anything of Tom Fletcher?" "Well, sir, I'm sorry to say I have," answered Jack. "He has been knocking about Plymouth, hiding away from the press-gangs in all sorts of places, instead of going home to his father, as he said he would. I only found him last night, and tried to persuade him to join the _Lily_ with me, but he'd still a shiner or two in his locker, and he couldn't make up his mind to come till the last had gone. I know where to find him, and I'll try again after I have entered on board the _Lily_." "Do so," said Rayner. "He may be better off with a friend like you to look after him than left to himself." Rayner had the satisfaction of seeing Jack rated as an A.B. Several of the _Thisbe's_ crew had joined the _Lily_, and besides them Ben Twinch, who, owing to Captain Martin's recommendation, had been raised to the rank of warrant officer, was appointed to her as boatswain. "Very glad to be with you again, Mr Rayner," said honest Ben; "and I hope before the ship is paid off to see you one of her lieutenants. We are likely to have a good ship's company; and I am glad to say my brother warrant officers, Mr Coles the gunner, and Mr Jenks the carpenter, are men who can be trusted." Rayner's own messmates were all strangers. The first lieutenant, Mr Horrocks, a red-faced man, with curly whiskers, and as stiff as a poker, had not much the cut of a naval officer; while the second lieutenant, Mr Lascelles, who was delicate, refined, young, and good-looking, offered a great contrast to him. They were both not only civil but kind to Rayner, of whom Commander Saltwell had spoken highly to them. Jack had been twice on shore to look out for Tom, and had returned saying that he could not persuade him to come on board. At last, when the ship was almost ready for sea, being still some hands short of her complement, Rayner obtained leave for Jack, with two other men who could be trusted to try and bring him off, and any others they could pick up. Late in the evening a shore boat came off with several men in her, and Jack made his appearance on deck, where Rayner was doing duty as mate of the watch. "I have brought him, sir, though he does not exactly know where he is coming to," said Jack. "I found him with his pockets emptied and the landlady of the house where he was lodging about to turn him out of doors. We managed to bring him along, sir, however, and to-morrow morning, when he comes to his senses, I have no doubt he'll be thankful to enter." "I'm glad to hear you've got him safe at last, and I know you'll look after him," said Rayner. Next morning Tom, not knowing that Rayner was on board, or how he himself came there, entered as an ordinary seaman, which placed him in an inferior position to Jack Peek, who might soon, from his activity and good conduct, be raised to the rank of a petty officer. Our hero paid a last visit to Mrs Crofton and Mary, promising, as they asked him to do, to write whenever he could obtain an opportunity. At length the _Lily_, a fine corvette, carrying twenty guns on a flush deck and a complement of one hundred and twenty men, was ready for sea. On going down the Sound she found the _Latona_, which ship she was to assist in convoying a fleet of merchantmen brought up in Cawsand Bay. As the men-of-war approached, the merchant vessels, to the number of nearly fifty, got under way and stood down Channel. It was pretty hard work to keep them together, and the corvette was employed in continually firing signals to urge on the laggers, or to prevent the faster craft from running out of sight. What with shortening and making sail and signalling, together with getting a newly commissioned ship into trim, the time of all on board was pretty well occupied, and Rayner had no opportunity of learning anything about Tom Fletcher. A bright look-out was kept on every side, for an enemy might at any moment appear, especially at night, when it was possible some daring privateer might pounce down and attempt to carry off one of the merchantmen, just as a hawk picks off a hapless chicken from a brood watched over so carefully by the hen. The wind was fair, the sea calm, and the traders bound for Jamaica safely reached Port Royal harbour, the remainder being convoyed to the other islands by the _Latona_ and _Lily_, which were afterwards to be sent to cruise in search of the enemy's privateers. Our hero had not forgotten Tom Fletcher, but watched in the hopes of doing him a service Jack's report of him had not been favourable. He had talked of going home to his father, and had plenty of money in his pocket to do so, but instead of that he had gone to dancing-houses and similar places resorted to by seamen, where his money rapidly disappeared. He might have fallen into the docks, or died in the streets, had not Jack found him and brought him on board the _Lily_. For some neglect of duty his leave had been stopped, and, fortunately for himself, he was not allowed to go on shore at Port Royal when the ship put in there. Tom, however, still avoided Rayner, who had no opportunity, unless he expressly sent to speak to him, to give him a word of advice or encouragement. Jack, who was really the best friend he had in the ship, did his utmost to keep him out of mischief. "It's all very fine for you to talk that way," answered Tom, when one day Jack had been giving him a lecture. "You got rated as an able seaman, and now have been made captain of the mizen-top, too, and will, I suppose, before long, get another step; and here am I sticking where I was. It's no fault of mine, that I can see. I'll cut and run if I have the chance, for I cannot bear to see others placed over my head, as you and Bill Rayner have been, and to see him walking the quarter-deck in a brand new uniform, and talking to the officers as friendly and easy as if he had been born among them, while I, a gentleman's son, remain a foremast man, with every chance of being one to the end of my days." "There's no use grumbling, Tom; all you have to think about is to do your duty with smartness, keep sober, and to avoid doing anything wrong, and with your education, which I wish I had, you are sure to get on." There is an old saying that it is useless to try and make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. It is to be seen whether Tom Fletcher was like the sow's ear. Soon after the _Lily_ left Jamaica she fell in with the _Ariel_. As a calm came on while they were in company, the officers of the two ships paid visits to each other. Rayner, recollecting that Mary Crofton's brother Oliver was serving in her, got leave to go on board, for the purpose of making his acquaintance. He was much disappointed, on inquiring for him, to learn that he had been sent away a few days before, in charge of a prize, a brig called the _Clerie_, with orders to take her to Jamaica. "She ought to have arrived before you left there," observed the midshipman who told him this. "How provoking that I should have missed him, though I do not think any such vessel came in while we were there," answered Rayner. "His mother and sister are great friends of mine." "They must be nice people if they are like him, for Oliver Crofton is a capital fellow. He is as kind-hearted and even-tempered as he is brave and good-looking, and he is a favourite with all on board." "I am glad to hear that, though it makes me the more sorry that we should have missed each other, but I hope before long to fall in with him," observed Rayner. A breeze springing up, the officers retired to their respective vessels, and the _Lily_ and _Ariel_ parted company, the former rejoining the frigate. While off Antigua, the wind being from the eastward, the frigate made the signal of three strange sail to the south-west, and directly afterwards to give chase. All the canvas they could carry was set. In a short time one of the strangers was seen to haul up to the northward, and the _Lily_ was ordered to go in pursuit of her. She was apparently the smallest of the three, but was still likely to prove no mean antagonist. As the _Lily_ appeared to be gaining on her, the commander gave the order to prepare for action. The frigate meantime was standing after the other two vessels. Before long her topsails, and finally her royals, disappeared beneath the horizon. "We shall have her all to ourselves, and we'll see how soon we can take her," observed Mr Horrocks to the second lieutenant. "It is some time since you smelt powder, Lascelles." "Last time I smelt a good deal of it, when we were beating off a ship twice our size, and should have taken her, too, had she not gone down in the night," answered the second lieutenant, in his usual quiet tone. "I got my promotion in consequence." "And wrote an ode to victory, eh?" said Mr Horrocks, who was fond of bantering his brother lieutenant on his fondness for poetry. "And it was considered good," responded the young officer. "You will have an opportunity of exercising your poetical talents before long on the same subject, I hope," observed the first lieutenant. "We are gaining fast on the chase." Just then the look-out from the mast-head shouted, "Sail on the starboard bow!" "Go and see what she is like," said the commander to Rayner. Our hero hurried aloft, his telescope hanging by a strap at his back. He was quickly joined by the second lieutenant. They were of opinion that she was a large craft, and that the object of the chase was to draw the _Lily_ away from the frigate, so that the corvette might have two opponents to contend with. "We must manage to take her before she reaches the other, then we shall have time to prepare for a second action," observed Mr Lascelles. "Can she be the _Ariel_?" asked Rayner. "She's very likely to be cruising hereabouts." Mr Lascelles took another look at her through his glass. "I think not," he answered. "The chase must have seen her, and must know her to be a friend, or she would not keep on as she is at present standing." The two officers descended to make their report. The _Lily_ was a fast craft, and now rapidly gained on the chase, which, as she drew within range, fired a couple of shot. Captain Saltwell ordered the two foremost guns to be fired in return. The second lieutenant took charge of one and Rayner of the other. Both, looking along the sights, gave them the proper elevation, and fired at the same moment. The effect of the shot was beyond all expectation. Down came the foreyard, shot away in the slings, causing, it was very evident, considerable confusion on board. "Bravo, Rayner! you did it!" cried Mr Lascelles. "My shot went through the mainsail." The enemy now opened fire from a broadside of ten guns, but not a shot damaged the _Lily_, which, ranging up on the weather side of her opponent, began blazing away as fast as the crews could run in and load their guns. The stranger was a large flush-decked vessel, crowded with men, many of whom, stripped to the waist, were working away desperately at their guns, while others opened a heavy fire of musketry. As Rayner, who had charge of the foremost guns, was watching her, he caught sight of a young man in the uniform of a midshipman, who sprang suddenly up through the companion-hatch, and, making his way aft, seemed to be addressing the captain with energetic action. Rayner got but a glimpse of him, for the next moment there came a fearful roaring sound. The deck of the enemy's ship rose in the air, rent into a thousand fragments. Her masts and yards and sails shot upwards, and her dark hull seemed suddenly to melt away. The _Lily_ reeled with the shock, and the crew, astounded by the awful catastrophe, for a moment forgot their discipline. Several of the men were knocked down; indeed, it seemed surprising that any should have escaped. Rayner remained at his station, and although several pieces of burning plank fell close to him, he was uninjured. The voice of the commander was soon heard recalling the men to their duty, and ordering them to fill the buckets with water, to prevent the blazing fragments which strewed the deck from setting the ship on fire. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. A RESCUE. While some of the crew were engaged on deck, others, led by the second lieutenant, the boatswain, and Rayner, ascended the rigging with buckets of water to heave over the sails, which in several places had caught fire. It was a work of extreme peril, but it was quickly accomplished, before much damage had been done. The ship all the time was standing on, her starboard tacks aboard. Nearly a quarter of an hour had elapsed before any one could look in the direction where their late antagonist had floated. A few dark fragments of wreck could alone be seen in the far distance, but no one supposed that any human beings could have escaped from the fearful catastrophe. The _Lily_ was quickly put to rights and stood on in chase of the stranger, which was now seen, under a press of sail, standing away to the north-west. Evening was approaching, and it was feared that if she wished to avoid the risk of an engagement, she might manage to escape in the night. During the first part of it the atmosphere was tolerably clear, and the chase could dimly be seen in the distance. She was carrying all sail, evidently doing her best to escape. The _Lily_ had all her canvas set, but as at night a squall cannot be seen, as in the daytime, coming across the ocean, all hands were kept on deck, ready to take it in at a moment's notice. "Are we gaining on the chase?" asked the commander, when the second lieutenant, who had just before gone forward, returned. "I think so, sir; but unless the breeze freshens, it will be a long time before we can get her within range of our guns." Everything that could be thought of was done to make the corvette move through the water. The sails were wetted, the hammocks were piped down, and the watch were ordered to turn in, with a couple of round shot with each, under the idea that as the hammocks swung forward with the surge of the ship, her speed would be increased. The privateers were at that time committing so much havoc among the English merchantmen, that it was of the greatest importance to stop their career. As the night drew on, the crescent moon, which had before been affording some light, sank beneath the horizon, and the darkness increased, a mist gradually filling the atmosphere, and obscuring all objects around. The chase was thus shut out from view. Still the _Lily_ continued standing in the direction she had last been seen. Rayner was on the forecastle near Ben Twinch, both endeavouring to pierce the veil which surrounded the supposed privateer. "We may at any moment run through this mist, and we shall then, I hope, see the chase again," observed Ben. "It won't do for a moment to shut our eyes, for maybe we shall find her much closer than before." "I fancy that I can even now see her, but my imagination may deceive me," said Rayner. "Can that be her out there?" "I can't see anything," said the boatswain, putting his hands on either side of his eyes. "What is that on the lee bow?" suddenly exclaimed Rayner. Before the boatswain could turn his eyes in the direction the midshipman was pointing, the latter added, "I must have been mistaken. It has disappeared, for I can see nothing. Still I must go aft and report to the commander what I saw, or fancied I saw." "It could only have been fancy," remarked Captain Saltwell. "The imagination is easily deceived in an atmosphere like this. We'll keep on as we were standing." Rayner accordingly went forward. He was not sorry at length to be relieved, as he was growing weary from having had so long to keep a strain on his eyes. At last, awakened by the gruff voice of the boatswain turning up the hands, he went on deck, and found that it was already daylight; but not a sail was in sight, and it was pretty evident that the chase had altered her course. The commander, thinking it likely that she had kept to the westward, steered in that direction. The day wore on, but still no sail appeared, nor did it seem at all likely that the chase would again be sighted. The ship was therefore put about to rejoin the _Ione_. Soon after noon the wind fell, and the _Lily_ lay motionless on the glassy ocean; the sun shining forth with intense heat, making the pitch in the seams of the deck bubble up, and every piece of metal feel as if it had just come out of a furnace. The seamen sought every spot of shade which the sails afforded, and made frequent visits to the water-cask to quench their thirst. A few hours thus passed by, when, away to the south-east, a few clouds could be seen floating across the sky. "The calm can only be partial, for there's wind out there," observed the commander, pointing the clouds out to the first lieutenant. "I hope we shall soon get it." In this he was disappointed. The day went by; the ship still lay motionless on the waste of waters. Another night came on. It was not until the sun again rose that the sails were heard to give several loud flaps against the masts; a few cat's-paws were seen playing over the surface of the water, and at length the canvas swelled out to an easterly breeze. The tacks were hauled aboard, and the _Lily_ stood in the direction it was supposed the _Ione_ would be found, over the course she had just come. The wind was light, and she made but little progress. It freshened, however, in the evening, and during the night the log showed that she was going at a fair rate. Rayner was in the morning watch, and was forward when the look-out from the mast-head shouted, "A piece of wreck away on the starboard bow." As the ship would pass close by it, she was kept on her course. Rayner was examining the piece of wreck through his glass, when he saw what he supposed was a person moving on it. He went aft, and reported this to the first lieutenant, who was on deck, and the ship was headed up towards it. "I can see four or five men!" exclaimed Rayner, "some are lying down. One man is kneeling up and waving." By this time the commander had come on deck, and as the ship drew near, he ordered a boat to be got ready. Two of the men were seen to rise on their knees, and wave. "They must have belonged to the crew of the ship which blew up the other day, though how they escaped seems a miracle," observed the commander. "Poor fellows, they must have suffered fearfully! Put a beaker of water and some food in the boat. They'll want nourishment as soon as possible." The corvette was hove-to. Rayner took charge of the boat, the crew pulling eagerly away to the rescue of the hapless men on the raft. As they drew near, Rayner observed, to his surprise, as he stood up steering, that one of the persons kneeling on the raft was dressed in the uniform of an English midshipman. "Give way, lads--give way!" he shouted. The boat was quickly up to the raft, which was a portion apparently of the poop deck. Besides the young Englishman, there were five persons dressed as ordinary seamen, dark, swarthy fellows, their countenances haggard, and their whole appearance wretched in the extreme. "Water, water! in mercy give us water!" cried the young Englishman; while the other men, who were scarcely able to move, pointed to their mouths. One lay stretched on the raft, apparently lifeless, and another seemed almost too far gone to recover. Two of the _Lily's_ crew leapt on the raft, and, lifting up the English midshipman, carried him to the stern-sheets, where Rayner stood with a cup of water ready to give him. He grasped it with both his hands, and eagerly drank the contents. A second mug had in the meantime been filled. One of the Frenchmen, in his eagerness to reach it, stretched out his arms, and fell flat on his face. The English seamen lifted him up, and gently poured the water down his throat. He and two more were lifted on board. They then took a cup to the rest, who were too weak to make the slightest exertion. They poured some water down the throat of one; he gave one gasp, and then sank back, apparently lifeless. A sixth person was already beyond human help. On raising his arm, it fell again at his side. "Are we to take these two bodies with us?" asked one of the men. "They don't seem to have any life in them." "Yes, by all means," answered Rayner; "we must let the doctor judge about them--perhaps he may bring them round." The two bodies were placed in the bows, and the crew giving way, Rayner steered for the ship. As he looked at the countenance of the English midshipman, he thought he had seen him before. He did not trouble him with questions, however; indeed, although the latter had asked for water, it was very evident that he was unable to answer them. The boat was soon alongside. The young midshipman was the first lifted on board. "Why, who can this be?" exclaimed the commander. "How came he among the crew of the privateer?" Rayner explained that he had seen him spring on deck the instant before the ship blew up, but more about him he could not say, as he had not spoken a word since he was taken on board the boat. "Carry him at once into my cabin," said the commander. "You'll do all you can for him I know, doctor," he added, addressing the surgeon, who, with the aid of the master and another officer, had already lifted up the young stranger. "He wants nourishment more than doctoring," answered the surgeon. While the midshipman was being carried into the cabin, the assistant-surgeon was examining the other men. He ordered some broth to be given to the three who had first been taken into the boat, observing that it was the only thing they required; and he then at once turned his attention to a fourth man, whose pulse he felt with a serious countenance. "There's life in him still," he observed; and ordering his head to be slightly raised, he hurried down to his dispensary, and quickly returned with a stimulant, which he poured down his throat. The effect was wonderful, for scarcely had it been swallowed than the patient gave signs of returning animation. The last poor fellow, after a careful examination, he pronounced beyond human aid. "Had we arrived half an hour sooner, his life might have been saved," he observed, "for even now he is scarcely cold." The surgeon soon came up. "We'll try what can be done," he said, "for I never despair in a case of this sort." All his efforts, however, proved vain; and he at last had to acknowledge to the assistant-surgeon that the unfortunate man was beyond recovery. The yards had in the meantime been braced round, and the ship had been standing on her course. Rayner was now sent for into the cabin, where he found the midshipman he had saved placed in the commander's cot. "Do you see a likeness to any one you know?" asked Commander Saltwell. "Yes," answered Rayner, looking at the countenance of the young stranger, who was sleeping calmly; "I thought so from the first; he reminds me of Mrs Crofton, or, rather, of her daughter." "So he does me. I have little doubt that he is Oliver Crofton, and I can fully account for his being on board the privateer," said the commander. "She must have captured the prize of which he was in charge. I fear that the rest of the men who were prisoners on board have perished." "I am thankful that he has been saved," said Rayner. "It would well-nigh have broken Mrs Crofton's and her daughter's hearts if they had heard that he had died in so dreadful a manner, though to be sure no one would have known of it unless we had fallen in with the raft." The doctor would not allow any questions to be asked his patient until he had several times taken a small quantity of nourishment, and had passed the intermediate time in sleep; and the commander also kindly directed that he should be allowed to remain in his cot, while he had a hammock slung in his cabin for himself. The surgeon or assistant-surgeon was in constant attendance on him during the night. Their unremitting care was rewarded, for soon after the hammocks were piped up the young stranger opened his eyes, and exclaimed in a faint voice, with a tone of astonishment, "Where am I? What has happened?" "You are all right, and safe among friends," said the commander, who had just turned out of his hammock, coming to his side. "You shall have some breakfast, and then I must get you to tell me all about yourself. Unless I am mistaken, we have met before. Are you not Oliver Crofton?" "Yes, sir," answered the midshipman. "How did you know that, sir?" "I made a shrewd guess at it," answered the commander, smiling, "and truly glad I am to have you on board my ship. However, do not exert yourself just now, but go to sleep again if you can till the steward brings you your breakfast, and you shall then, if the doctor thinks you are strong enough, tell me all that has happened." The commander, coming on deck, told Rayner that he was right in his conjectures, and invited him to breakfast with him. The surgeon, however, would not allow Oliver to get up, but said that he might give an account of his adventures, provided he did not spin too long a yarn. "Thank you, sir," said Oliver. "I'll try to collect my thoughts; for, to say the truth, I find them somewhat scattered at present. "It must have been nearly ten days ago when the _Ariel_, to which I belonged, captured a French brig. Captain Matson sent me on board to take her to Port Royal. We were just in sight of the eastern end of Jamaica, when a large privateer bore down on us. We did our best to escape, but as she sailed two feet to our one, and carried twenty-two guns, we were compelled to yield, and I and my men were taken on board, while our prize was sent away to one of the French islands. "The privateer continued her cruise in search of our merchantmen, or any prizes our ships might have taken. A more ruffianly set of fellows I never set eyes on. My poor men were robbed of everything they had about them, and I should have had my jacket taken off my back but for the interference of the officers, who allowed me to mess with them, and to go on deck whenever I wished. Considering the style of their conversation at table, however, I should have thankfully preferred living by myself. "When they discovered that you were English, the officers took a fearful oath that nothing should compel them to yield. They, however, did their best to escape; but when they found that you had the heels of them, they made up their minds to fight, fully expecting, I believe, to take you. Nothing could exceed the savageness of the crew as, stripped to the waist, they went to their guns. Several of them, as they cast their eyes on me, vowed that they would shoot me through the head should the day go against them. Having no fancy to be so treated, I thought it prudent to go below, knowing very well that, in spite of their boasting, they would soon get the worst of it, and that you, at all events, would fight on until you had compelled them to strike their flag or sent them to the bottom. I felt the awful position in which I was placed. I might be killed by one of your shot, even should I escape the knives and bullets of my captors. "I considered how I could best preserve my life, as I thought it very possible that you would send the privateer to the bottom should she not yield or try to escape. I determined, should I find her sinking, to leap out through one of the stern windows of the captain's cabin. I accordingly made my way there, and was looking out for some instrument with which to force open the window when I saw smoke curling up through an opening in the deck below me. I at once knew that it must arise from a spot at no great distance from the magazine. In the hopes of inducing the commander to send some men down to try and extinguish the fire before it was too late, I sprang on deck. Scarcely had I reached it, and was telling the captain of our danger, when I felt a fearful concussion, and found myself lifted into the air, the next instant to be plunged overboard amidst the mangled crew, some few around me shrieking vainly for help, though the greater number had been killed by the explosion and sank immediately. Being a strong swimmer, I struck out, narrowly avoiding several who clutched at my legs, and swam towards a large piece of wreck which had been blown to some distance from where the ship went down. I scrambled upon it, and was soon joined by three other men, who had, they told me, been forward, and found themselves uninjured in the water. "I saw soon afterwards two others floating at some distance from the raft. One of them shouted for help saying that he was exhausted, and could no longer support himself. The other, notwithstanding left him to his fate and swam towards us. I could not bear to see the poor fellow perish in our sight with the possibility of saving him, and as there was no time to be lost, I plunged in and made for him, picking up in my way a piece of plank. I placed it under his arms, and telling him to hold on to it, shoved it before me in the direction of the raft. The other fellow had in the meantime got hold of a piece of timber, on which he was resting, but was apparently almost exhausted. As I passed, I told him that if I could I would come to his help, and I at length managed to get back to the raft, on to which the three other men had hauled up their other shipmate. "I was pretty well tired by this time, and had to rest two or three minutes before I could again venture into the water. While I was trying to recover my strength, the man clinging to the log, fancying that no one was coming, again shrieked out for help. Once more slipping into the water, at last by shoving the piece of plank before me, I contrived to reach him; then getting him to take hold of it, I made my way back to the raft, when we were both dragged nearly exhausted out of the water. "At first I had hopes that you would discover us and put back to take us off; but when I perceived that you were on fire, I began to fear that we should not be observed, though I did not say so to my companions in misfortune, but endeavoured to keep up their spirits. I told them that if the ship with which they had been engaged should come back, my countrymen would not look upon them as enemies, but would treat them kindly, as people who had suffered a great misfortune. When, however, they saw you standing away, they began to abuse the English, declaring that we were a perfidious nation, never to be trusted; and I had some suspicion that they would wreak their ill-temper on my head. "My position would have been very dreadful even had I been with well-disposed companions. The sun beat down upon our heads with terrific force; we had not a particle of food, nor a drop of water to quench our thirst. I was thankful when, the sun at length having set, the men, accustomed only to think of the present, and not suffering much as yet from the want of food or water, stretched themselves on the raft to sleep. "I sat up, hoping against hope that you might come back to ascertain if any people had escaped, or that some other vessel might pass within hail. We had no means of making a signal, not even a spar on which to hoist our handkerchiefs or shirts. The only article which had by some means or other been thrown on the raft was a blanket. How it had fallen there I cannot tell. I secured it, and doubling it up, it served as a rest to my head. I constantly, however, got up to look about, but no vessel could I see, and at length, overpowered by weariness, I lay down and fell asleep. "At daylight I awoke. The sea was calm. I gazed anxiously around. Not a speck was visible in the horizon. The sun rose, and its rays beat down upon us with even greater fury than on the previous day, or, at all events, I suffered more, as did my companions. They now cried out for water and food, and I saw them eye me with savage looks. I pretended not to observe this, and said that I hoped and thought that we might catch some fish or birds. "`It will be better for some of us if we do,' muttered one of the men. "Although I saw several coveys of flying-fish leaping out of the water in the distance, none came near us. Once I caught sight of the black fin of a shark gliding by; presently the creature turned, and as it passed it eyed us, I thought, with an evil look; but while the water was calm, there was no risk of its getting at us. Had the brute been smaller, we might have tried to catch it. I remembered having heard of several people who saved their lives, when nearly starved, by getting hold of a shark. One of the men stuck out his leg, and when the creature tried to grab it, a running bowline was slipped round its head, and it was hauled up. My companions, however, had not the spirits to make the attempt--indeed, we could not find rope sufficient for the purpose on our raft. "The day wore on, and scarcely any of my companions spoke, but lay stretched at full length on the raft. Others sat with their arms round their knees, and their heads bent down, groaning and complaining, one or two swearing fearfully at the terrible fate which had overtaken them, regardless of that of their late shipmates, hurried into eternity. In vain I tried to arouse them. Now and then one would look at me with an ominous glance, and I confess I began to fear, as night drew on, that I should not be allowed to see another day dawn. I stood up, though it was with difficulty that I could steady myself, for my strength was already failing. Anxiously I looked round the horizon. The sky had hitherto been clear; but, as I cast my eye to the eastward, I observed a cloud rising rapidly. Another and another followed. They came on directly towards us, discharging heavy drops of rain. My fear was that they would empty themselves before they reached us. The looks of my companions brightened. "`Now, my friends,' I said, `we must try and catch some of that rain. Here, spread out this blanket, for if a shower falls but for ten minutes we shall have water enough to quench our thirst.' "We got the blanket ready. The first cloud passed by, nearly saturating the blanket. The men wrung it out into one of their hats, two or three sucking at the corners. They seemed inclined to fight for the small quantity they had obtained, but did not even offer to give me any. I got no water, though the blanket was somewhat cleansed, not that I felt inclined to be particular. In a few minutes another shower fell. Each of us got an ample supply of water. My spirits rose in a way I could not have expected. For some time I did not suffer from the pangs of hunger; but they presently returned with greater force than before, and I guessed how my companions were feeling. I encouraged them as well as I was able. `God, in His mercy, has sent us water, and He may, I trust, supply us with food.' "Some of them stared at my remark, but others replied-- "`Yes, yes, perhaps to-morrow we shall have an ample breakfast.' "Still I did not trust them completely, and endeavoured to keep awake until they had all dropped off to sleep. "Another heavy shower fell during the night, and I roused them up to obtain a further supply of water. We filled all our hats, for we had nothing else to put it in. The next day was but a repetition of the former. The water we had obtained during the night was quickly exhausted. My hopes of catching some fish appeared likely to be disappointed. Twice a shark came near us, but the brute was too large to give us a chance of catching it. It was far more likely to have caught us had we made the attempt. We shouted to drive it off. At last, smaller fish of some sort approached--albicores or bonitas. It was extraordinary with what eager looks we eyed the creatures. "While we were watching the fish, trying to devise some means of snatching them, one of the men, who lay stretched on the raft apparently asleep or in a state of stupor, suddenly sat up, uttering an exclamation of delight. We turned our heads, and saw him eagerly gnawing at a flying-fish; but he snarled and growled, eating eagerly all the time, just as a dog does when a person attempts to take a bone from him. He had managed to gulp down the larger portion before the others could snatch the prize from him. The next moment he sank back, and never spoke again. I saw no violence used, except the force they exerted to take the fragments of the fish from his hands. It appeared to me as if one of them had stabbed him, so suddenly did he fall. "The others gave me none of the fish: indeed, my portion would have been so small that I did not miss it, though for the moment I would have been thankful for the merest scrap of food. "I still endeavoured to keep up my spirits, and prayed for strength from above. I am sure it was given me, or I should have sunk. I did not like even to think of the pain I suffered. The Frenchmen, too, were growing ravenous, and I heard them talking together, and looking at me as if meditating mischief. "I thought over the means by which I could best preserve my life. I knew that it would not do to show the slightest fear, so arousing myself, I said, `My friends, you are hungry, so am I, but we can endure another day without eating. Now I want you to understand that we are more likely to be saved by an English vessel than by one of any other nation, as there are three times as many English cruisers in these seas as there are French, and ten times as many merchantmen. If we are picked up by an English vessel, you are sure to be well treated for my sake, but if any accident were to happen to me--if I were to fall overboard, for instance--there would be no one to say a word in your favour. Remember that I was the means of saving the lives of two of you, although, when I plunged into the water and swam to you at the risk of being caught by a shark, or sinking myself from fatigue, I did not expect any return. I suppose that you do not wish to be ungrateful.' "This address seemed to have some effect on the men I had saved. Each of them uttered an exclamation of approval, while the two others, who still retained some little strength, turned aside their heads, not daring to look at me. I did not move until night came on, when I crawled from the place I had occupied, and lay down between the two men who seemed most disposed to befriend me. In the middle of the night I awoke, and finding that there was a light breeze. I endeavoured to kneel up and ascertain if providentially any vessel were approaching. "I was raising myself on my elbow when I saw one of the men who had threatened me by their words creeping towards me. I instantly awoke my two friends, for so I will call them, by exclaiming, `There is a breeze. Perhaps a vessel is approaching us. We should not be sleeping;' while the man whom I suspected of a design against my life drew back and lay perfectly still. I determined not again to fall asleep, if I could avoid it, until daylight. I believe, however, that I frequently dropped off, but I was preserved. When morning dawned, I discovered that the man who had, as I believed, intended to kill me was utterly unable to move. The other fellow, however, seemed to be the strongest of the party. He got up, and stretching out his arms, exclaimed, addressing his countrymen-- "`Food we must have this day at every coast, or we shall perish.' "I also rose, and found, to my surprise, that I could stand on my feet. "`I pray God that we may have food, and that some friendly vessel may bring it,' I exclaimed. "As I spoke I looked round the horizon, when I need not tell you how grateful I felt to Heaven at seeing a sail standing, as I judged, directly towards us. I pointed her out to my companions; but as they were sitting down, they could not for some time make her out. I, too, could no longer support myself, and once more sank on the raft. In a short time, however, we could all distinguish her. The Frenchmen began to weep. Now they expressed their fears that she would pass us; now they tried to shout for joy at the thoughts of being saved. I at times also dreaded lest we should not be observed, but all my doubts vanished when I made you out to be an English sloop-of-war, and saw you haul up towards us." CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. A SHIPWRECK. The _Lily_ had been continuing her cruise in the Caribbean Sea for some days without falling in with the _Ariel_, or any other English ship-of-war, nor had she taken a prize. Oliver Crofton had completely recovered. As one of the midshipmen was ill, he took his duty. Our hero and Oliver soon became fast friends, and they were well able to appreciate each other's good qualities. Commander Saltwell, not looking upon the Frenchmen he had picked up in the light of prisoners, wished to put them on shore as soon as possible. He resolved, therefore, to stand in towards the coast of San Domingo, the western portion of which island belonged to France, and to land them at some settlement where they could obtain assistance. The _Lily_ was still off the east end of the island, belonging to Spain, when a schooner was sighted running along the shore, apparently endeavouring to escape observation. The wind, however, headed her, and she was compelled to tack off the land. "She's French, to a certainty, or she would have run in and brought up somewhere," observed Mr Horrocks. The commander agreed with him. The ship was steered so as to cut her off. On seeing this, the schooner wore, and, setting a large square sail, ran off before the wind to the westward. Though the stranger evidently possessed a fast pair of heels, the _Lily_, making all sail, soon got near enough to send a shot skipping over the water close under her counter. The schooner, notwithstanding, still held on, when another shot almost grazed her side. Her object was probably to run on until she could steer for some port where she could obtain shelter and protection. "If she doesn't shorten sail presently, send another shot through her canvas, Mr Coles," said the commander. The _Lily_ carried a long gun which could be run out at either of her bow ports. It was the gunner's favourite. He declared that he could shoot as true with it, and ten times as far, as he could with a tower musket. The gun was loaded and pointed through the larboard bow port. Still the chase held on. It was time to bring her to, for the wind gave signs of dropping. "Are you ready there, forward, with the gun?" asked the commander. "Ay, ay, sir!" was the answer. "Port the helm! Fire!" he shouted directly afterwards. The gun was well aimed, for the shot went through the schooner's large squaresail. The ship was again kept on her course, when the gun was hauled in and reloaded. "Stand by to fire again, and this time pitch it into her. All ready there, forward?" "Ay, ay, sir!" Again the helm was ported, but before the commander had time to shout "Fire!" the schooner was seen to haul down her flag, at the same time to take in her squaresail and clew up her foretopsail. The corvette was soon up, when she was found to be a fine little schooner, such as was employed in the carrying trade between the islands, or in bringing the produce of the plantations to some central depot. "Heave to!" cried the commander; "and if you attempt to escape I'll sink you, remember that! Tell them in French what I mean," he added, turning to Rayner. "Oui, oui; je comprende," answered one of the few white men on board-- probably the master--and, the schooner's helm being put down, she came up head to wind, with her foretopsail to the mast. The corvette, which had by this time shot a little way ahead, also hove-to, and the commander directed Rayner, with a boat's crew, to go on board the prize and take possession. The master stood, hat in hand, at the gangway, ready to receive him. He was bound, he said, for Martinique, in ballast, to obtain a cargo and other stores for Leogane, the principal settlement of the French in the island. The crew consisted of a Creole mate, two mulattos, and four blacks, one of the former calling himself the boatswain. "Then you'll do me the favour of accompanying the master and mate on board the ship," said Rayner pointing to the boat. The master seemed very unwilling to obey, but the crew soon tumbled him, with the mate and boatswain, into the boat, which returned to the corvette, while Rayner remained with two hands on board. He now ordered the crew to haul round the fore yard, and, keeping the helm up, soon ran within speaking distance of the _Lily_. "I intend to send you in to land the people picked up on the raft, with a flag of truce, and as soon as you put them on shore, come back and join me," said the commander. "Ay, ay, sir," answered Rayner, very well pleased to have a separate command, although it might only last a few hours. He was still more pleased, however, when the boat came back, bringing Oliver Crofton, the four Frenchmen, and Jack and Tom, to form part of his crew. The blacks and the mulatto were kept on board to assist in working the schooner. The mulatto said he was the steward, and one of the blacks, with a low bow, introduced himself as the cook. "Me talkee English, massa, well as French, and me cookee anyting dat buckra officer like to order," he said, with a grimace which made the midshipman laugh. "By-the-bye, before we part company with the corvette, we may as well ascertain what Sambo here has got to cook," said Oliver. It was fortunate that he had this forethought, for, except a supply of salt-fish, some yams and bananas, and a small cask of flour, with a half-empty case of claret, no other provisions were discovered for officers or men. Oliver accordingly returned, and obtained some beef and biscuit, and a few articles from the mess. "And just bring five or six dollars with you, in case we want to purchase any fish or vegetables," said Rayner, as he was shoving off. No time was lost in procuring what was necessary, when Oliver returned to the _Mouche_, for such was the name of the prize. The corvette making sail, she and the schooner ran on in company until they came off the French part of the coast. The commander then ordered Rayner to stand in, directing him, should any people be seen on shore, to hoist a white flag, and land the four Frenchmen. Scarcely, however, had they parted company for a couple of hours, when a dead calm came on, and Rayner and Oliver believed that there was no chance of being able to land the Frenchmen that night. "I am very sorry for it," remarked Oliver; "for from the experience I have had of them, I think it more than possible, if they can get the assistance of the black crew, they will try and play us some scurvy trick. I have not hitherto pointed out the fellow who tried to take my life, and who was so nearly dying himself; but I suspect his disposition has not altered for the better. You'll fancy me somewhat suspicious, but I cannot help thinking that should he win over the blacks, they will try and take the schooner from us." "They'll find that rather a tough job with you and me and our four men to oppose them," answered Rayner. "However, after your warning, I'll keep an eye on the gentlemen, and I'll tell Jack Peek to let me know if he sees anything suspicious in their behaviour. He understands French almost as well as I do, and he'll soon find out what they are about." "I do not like to think ill of other people, even though they are foreigners; but I cannot forget what a villain one of those men is," remarked Oliver. "Forewarned, forearmed," said Rayner. "We need not, after all, be anxious about the matter; but it will be wise to keep our pistols in our belts and our swords by our sides, and not to let the Frenchmen and the black crew mix together more than is necessary." The steward now came aft, hat in hand, and speaking in a jargon of French and Spanish, interlarded with a few words of English, of which he was evidently proud, requested to know what the officers would like for supper. "We shall not find fault, provided that the cook supplies us with the best he can," answered Rayner. "One of our men there,"--pointing to Jack Peek--"will give him the materials, unless he happens to have some ducks or fowls, or a fine fish, for which we will pay him." The steward shrugged his shoulders, regretting that the only fish he had on board were salted; but, notwithstanding, the cook would exercise his skill upon them, and would produce a dish which even an epicure would not disdain. While waiting for the evening meal, the young officers walked the deck, whistling for a breeze, but there seemed no chance of its coming. The land lay blue, but still indistinct, away to the northward, its outline varied by hills of picturesque form, which rose here and there along the coast. Rayner called up Jack Peek, and told him to keep a watch not only on the black crew, but on the Frenchmen. "Notwithstanding the kind way they have been treated, they may think it a fine opportunity for obtaining a vessel in which they can carry on their former calling," he observed. "They'll be audaciously ungrateful wretches if they do, sir," answered Jack. "To my mind they'll deserve to be hove overboard to feed one of those sharks out there;" and he pointed to a black fin which was gliding just above the surface. "I hope that they will not prove treacherous, and it is our business to take care that they have no opportunity of being so," said Rayner. "Do you and Tom keep an eye upon them, that's all." "Ay, ay, sir," answered Jack. The English seamen kept together. Though there were but four of them, they were sturdy fellows, well armed, and it was not likely that either the blacks or Frenchmen would venture to attack them. At length the mulatto steward announced supper ready, and Rayner and Oliver descended to partake of it, leaving Tom in charge of the deck. "Call me if you see the slightest sign of a breeze," said the former, as he went below. The cabin was not very large nor yet very clean; indeed, cockroaches and centipedes were crawling about in all directions, and every now and then dropped down on the white cloth from the beams above. The table, however, was covered with several dishes, which, from the fragrant odour ascending from them, promised to satisfy the hunger of a couple of midshipmen. It was difficult to make out the materials of which the dishes were composed, but on examination it was found that they consisted chiefly of salt beef and fish dressed in a variety of fashions, fricasseed, stewed, and grilled, and mixed with an abundance of vegetables, with some delicious fruit, such as the West Indies can alone produce. "Me tinkee better keep on de cobers, massa," observed the steward, "or de cockroaches fall in an' drown demselves." "By all means," said Rayner, laughing. Indeed, he and Oliver had to examine each mouthful before they raised it to their lips, lest they should find one of the nauseous creatures between their teeth. As soon as the midshipmen had finished supper, they returned on deck. The sun had sunk beneath the ocean in a refulgence of glory, its parting rays throwing a ruddy glow over the surface, unbroken by a single ripple. "We must make up our minds to spend the night where we are," observed Rayner. "It will be as well for you and me to take watch and watch, and not to trust to any of the men, for although I have every confidence in Peek, I cannot say the same for the rest." Oliver, of course, agreed to this, and took the first watch. At midnight he aroused Rayner, who had stretched himself on one of the lockers, not feeling inclined to turn into either of the doubtful-looking bunks at the side of the vessel. "I suspect that we are going to have a change of weather," said Oliver, as he came on deck. "The air feels unusually oppressive for this time of night. There is a mist rising to the southward, though the stars overhead shine as bright as usual." "I don't know what to think of it, having had but little experience in these seas," answered Rayner; "I must ask the oldest of the Frenchmen, but I don't see any of them on deck." "No, they and the blacks have all turned in," said Oliver. "They did not ask my leave, but I thought it useless to rouse them up again, as there seemed no chance of their being wanted." "Well, go and lie down and take a caulk, if the centipedes and cockroaches will let you," laughed Rayner. "They have been crawling all over me during the time I have been below, but I knew there was no use attempting to keep them off, so I let them crawl, without interfering with their pleasure. If I see any further change in the appearance of the sky, I will rouse you up, and we'll make the black fellows turn out to be ready to shorten sail." Rayner for some time walked the deck of the little vessel alone. Jack was at the helm, and one of the men forward. The watch was very nearly out, and he determined not to call up Oliver until daylight. On looking to the southward he saw that the mist which had before remained only a few feet above the horizon was rapidly covering the sky, while beneath it he distinguished a long line of white foam. "Turn out, Oliver!" he shouted through the cabin skylight; "I'll take the helm. Peek, run forward and rouse up the blacks and Frenchmen to shorten sail. Not a moment to be lost!" Jack as he went forward shouted down the main hatchway, where Tom and the other men were sleeping, and then in a stentorian voice called, in French, to shorten sail. The Englishmen were on deck in a moment, but the blacks came up stretching their arms and yawning. "Lower away with the throat and peak halyards!" shouted Rayner. Oliver and the two English sailors hastened to obey the order. "Brail up the foresail. Be smart, lads! Aloft with you and furl the foretopsail, or it will be blown out of the bolt-ropes!" The mainsail was quickly got down. The black crew were pulling and hauling at the brails of the headsails, when a fierce blast struck the vessel. She heeled over to it. Rayner immediately put up the helm; but before the vessel had answered to it, she heeled over till the water rushed over the deck. Then there came a clap like thunder, and the main-topsail, split across, was blown out of the bolt-ropes. "Square away the foreyard!" shouted Rayner. The vessel, righting, flew off before the fierce gale, the water rushing and foaming round her sides. Astern, the whole ocean seemed a mass of tumultuous foam-covered waves. The sky was as black as ink. To bring the vessel to the wind was impossible. All that could be done was to run directly before the gale, and even then it seemed that at any moment the fast rising seas might break over her stern and sweep her decks. The schooner, however, by continuing her course, was running on destruction, unless some port could be found under her lee to afford her shelter; but even then there was a great risk of being captured by the enemy, who would not pay much attention to a flag of truce, or believe that she came for the object of landing the Frenchmen. Besides which, as the vessel was a prize, it would be thought perfectly right to detain her. Dawn broke; for an instant a fiery-red line appeared in the eastern horizon, but was quickly obscured. The increasing light, however, enabled the crew to carry on work which could not otherwise have been performed. Rayner and Oliver resolved that they must, at all risks, try to heave the schooner to while there was yet sea-room; and, should the weather moderate, beat off shore until the gale was over and a boat could land the people with safety on the beach. The first thing to be done was to strike the maintopmast. Peek took the helm, while the rest went aloft. It was no easy matter to get out the fid--the pin which secured the heel of the topmast in the cross-trees--but after considerable exertions, with a fearful risk of being jerked overboard, they succeeded in lowering down the mast. They had next to get fore and main-trysails ready to set, should it be found possible to beat to windward, though at present it was evident that the schooner could not bear even that amount of canvas. The foretopsail had stood, being a new stout sail, and it being closely reefed, Rayner hoped that the little vessel would lay to under it. It was a dangerous experiment he was about to try, but he had to choose between two evils--that of being driven on shore, or the risk of having the decks swept by the tremendous seas rolling up from the southward before the schooner could be hove-to. She had already run a considerable distance nearer the land. Stationing the men in readiness to brace round the yard, he looked out for a favourable opportunity to put down the helm and bring the vessel up to the wind. That favourable opportunity, however, did not come; every sea that rolled up astern threatened to overwhelm her should he make the attempt. The land appeared closer and closer. If the vessel was to be hove-to it must be done at once, in spite of all risks. "Hold on, lads, for your lives!" cried Rayner, in English and French, setting the example by clinging to the larboard main rigging. "Now starboard the helm. Haul away on the larboard headbrace. Ease off the starboard." Oliver and Jack, who were at the helm, as they put it down prepared to lash it to starboard; but as the vessel came up to the wind, a fearful sea struck her, sweeping over her deck, carrying away the caboose and the whole of the bulwarks forward; at the same moment the foretopsail split as the other had done, and the canvas, after fluttering wildly in the blast, was whisked round and round the yard. "Up with the helm!" cried Rayner. Oliver and Jack, knowing what was necessary, were already putting it up. Before another sea struck the vessel she was again before the gale. Her only resource was now to anchor, should no port be discovered into which they could run. The cable was accordingly ranged ready to let go at a moment's notice; but Rayner and Oliver well knew that there was little hope of the anchor holding, or if it did, of the vessel living through the seas which would break over her as soon as her course was stopped. Still, desperate as was the chance, it must be tried. There might be time to set the foresail yet, and she might lay to under it. The order was given to get the sail ready for setting as soon as she could be brought up to the wind. Again the helm was put down. "Hoist away!" shouted Rayner. But scarcely had the sail felt the wind than it was blown away to leeward, and another sea, even heavier than the first, struck the vessel, sweeping fore and aft over her deck. Rayner, who was clinging on to the rigging, thought that she would never rise again. A fearful shriek reached his ear, and looking to leeward, he saw two of his people in the embraces of the relentless sea. In vain the poor fellows attempted to regain the schooner, farther and farther they were borne away, until, throwing up their arms, they disappeared beneath the foaming waters. At first he thought they were his own men, but on looking round he saw Oliver and Jack clinging to the companion-hatch, and the rest holding on to the main rigging. One of the Frenchmen had been lost, and the coloured steward. Ere long the rest on board might have to share the same fate. Still Rayner resolved to struggle to the last. Another attempt was made. The main-trysail was shifted to the foremast; if that would stand, the vessel might possibly be kept off shore; but scarcely had it been set, than the hurricane came down on the hapless vessel with redoubled fury. The weather rigging gave way, and down came the mast itself, killing one of the blacks, and fearfully crushing another; and, to Rayner's dismay striking down Jack Peek. He sprang forward to drag Jack out from beneath the tangled rigging and spars, calling Tom Fletcher to assist him. They ran a fearful risk of being washed away, but he could not leave Jack to perish. "Are you much hurt?" he shouted, as he saw Jack struggling to free himself. "Can't say, sir; but my shoulder and leg don't feel of much use," answered Jack. Tom, with evident reluctance, had to let go his hold, but could not refuse to run the same risk as his officer. By lifting the spars they got Jack out, and dragged him to the after-part of the vessel, where, as he did not seem able to help himself, Rayner secured him by a lashing to a stanchion. "I'll stand by you, Peek, and, if it becomes necessary, I'll cast you off, so that you may have a chance of saving yourself," he said. As it was now evidently hopeless to attempt heaving the vessel to, she was once more kept before the wind, while Rayner and his men, armed with two axes, which they found hanging up in the companion-hatch, and their knives cut away the rigging, and allowed the foremast, which hung over the side, to float clear of the vessel. "We must now cut away the mainmast. We shall have to bring up presently, and it will enable her to ride more easily," cried Rayner. The standing rigging was first cut through, then that on the other side, when a few strokes sent the mast overboard. Still the schooner ran on before the wind. Had she been laden, she must have foundered. The hatches had been got on and battened down. They now, as far as practicable, secured the companion-hatch, for they all well knew that the moment they should bring up, the seas would come rolling on board, and sweep the decks fore and aft. By Rayner's advice, each man got lashings ready to secure himself to the stanchions or stumps of the masts. Nearer and nearer the vessel drew to the shore. Looking ahead, the line of breakers were seen dashing wildly on a reef parallel with the shore, beyond which there appeared to be a narrow lagoon. Rayner, observing that the surf did not roll up the beach to any considerable height, looked out for a passage through which the vessel might be steered. The continuous line of breakers ran as far as the eye could reach along the shore. There was only one spot where they seemed to break with less fury. Towards it Rayner determined to steer the schooner. He and Oliver soon came to the conclusion that it would be useless to attempt anchoring. The water, probably, was far too deep outside the reef for their range of cable, and even if it were not, the anchor was not likely to hold. They accordingly steered for the spot they had discovered, the only one which afforded them the slightest hope of escaping instant destruction. On rushed the vessel, now rising on the top of a sea, now plunging into a deep hollow. Rayner and Oliver held their breaths. "I say, what's going to happen?" asked Tom of one of the other men. "Shall we get safe on shore? I shouldn't mind if we could, although the Frenchmen made us prisoners." "As to that, it seems to me doubtful," was the answer. "Maybe, in a few minutes we shall be floating about among those breakers there, with no more life in us than those poor fellows who were washed away just now; or it may be that this little craft will be carried clear over the reef into smooth water." "Oh dear, oh dear!" exclaimed Tom, "I have often wished that I had stayed at home; I wish it more than ever now." "No use wishing. It won't undo what has been done. But, see, we are getting very close. We shall know all about it presently." The schooner was farther off than Rayner had at first supposed; and as they got nearer he saw, to his relief, that the spot for which he was steering was wider than he had fancied. There seemed just a chance that the vessel might be thrown through without striking; at the same time, tossed about as she was, it was impossible to steer her as might be wished. He commended himself and his followers, as every wise men would do, to the care of the Almighty, and nerved himself up for whatever might happen. The roar of the breakers sounded louder and louder. On the vessel drove, until there was a crash. She had struck, but, contrary to all expectation, another sea lifted her and flung her completely through the breakers, when, swinging round, she grounded on a sandbank just within them, heeling over with her head to the eastward, and her deck towards the shore. Though the sea, which washed over the reef, still beat against her, she might possibly hold together for some time. CHAPTER THIRTY. RAYNER PROVES THAT HE IS A TRUE HERO. The sea dashing over the reef, though spent of its fury, still broke with great force against the hull of the schooner. Her timbers shook and quivered as wave after wave, striking them, rolled on towards the beach, and then came hissing back, covering the surface of the lagoon with a mass of creaming foam. The coast, as far as could be seen through the masses of spray, looked barren and uninviting. The Frenchmen and blacks, recovering from the alarm which had well-nigh paralysed them, rushed to the boat stowed amidships, and began casting adrift the lashings, and preparing to launch her. "Keep all fast there!" cried Rayner, as he saw what they were about. "It will be best to wait till the sea goes down, when we shall be able to get the boat into the water with less risk of her being swamped than at present." They, however, paid no attention to his orders, and continued their preparations for launching the boat. When he found that they persisted in their attempts, he urged them to wait till they had collected a supply of provisions, and obtained some fresh water, as it was probable that they might find neither the one nor the other on shore. Calling Fletcher aft to attend to Peek, he and Oliver went into the cabin to collect all the eatables they could find, as also their carpet bags and such other articles as might be useful. "We must get up some water before the boat shoves off," said Rayner. "I'll send one of the men to help you, while I go into the hold to search for casks." The boat was still on the deck, and there seemed no probability that the Frenchmen and blacks would succeed in launching her. He was some time below, hunting about for the casks of water. He had just found a couple, and was about to return on deck to obtain some slings for hoisting them up, when he heard Jack Peek shout out, "Quick, Mr Rayner--quick! the fellows are shoving off in the boat." Springing on deck, what was his surprise and indignation to see the boat in the water, and all the men in her, including Tom Fletcher! "What treachery is this?" he exclaimed. "If go you must, wait until we can get our injured shipmate into the boat, and Mr Crofton will be on deck in a moment." While he was speaking, the man named Brown, who had gone with him below, rushing on deck, leapt into the boat, intending to prevent them from shoving off. Rayner, for the same object, followed him, with a rope in his hand, which he was in the act of making fast, when one of the Frenchmen cut it through, and the boat rapidly drifted away from the side of the vessel. In vain Rayner urged the people to pull back, and take off Oliver and Jack; but, regardless of his entreaties, one of them, seizing the helm, turned the boat's head towards the beach. They pulled rapidly away, endeavouring to keep her from being swamped by the heavy seas which rolled up astern. Now she rose, now she sank, as she neared the shore. "Oliver will fancy that I have deserted him; but Jack Peek knows me too well to suppose that I could have acted so basely," thought Rayner. "If, however, the boat is knocked to pieces, it will be a hard matter to get back to the wreck. All I can do is to pray to Heaven that the schooner may hold together till I can manage to return on board." These thoughts passed through his mind as the boat approached the beach. He saw that it would be utterly useless to try and induce the men to return. Indeed, the attempt at present would be dangerous. He again urged the crew to be careful how they beached the boat. "The moment she touches jump out and try to run her up, for should another sea follow quickly on the first, she will be driven broadside on the beach, and before you can get free of her, you may be carried away by the reflux." The Frenchmen and blacks, eager to save themselves, paid no attention to what he said. On flew the boat on the summit of a sea, and carried forward, the next instant her keel struck the sand. Regardless of his advice, they all at the same moment sprang forward, each man trying to be the first to get out of the boat. He and Tom Fletcher held on to the thwarts. On came the sea. Before the men had got out of its influence, two of them were carried off their legs, and swept back by the boiling surf, while the boat, broaching to, was hove high up on the beach, on which she fell with a loud crash, her side stove in. Rayner, fearing that she might be carried off, leaped out on the beach, Tom scrambling after him. His first thought was to try and rescue the two men who had been carried off by the receding wave. Looking round to see who was missing, he discovered that one of them was a British seaman, the other a Frenchman. He sprang back to the boat to secure a coil of rope which had been thrown into her, and calling on his companions to hold on to one end, he fastened the other round his waist, intending to plunge in, and hoping to seize hold of the poor fellows, who could be seen struggling frantically in the hissing foam. The Frenchmen and blacks, however, terror-stricken, and thinking only of their own safety, rushed up the beach, as if fancying that the sea might still overtake them. Tom and his messmate alone remained, and held on to the rope. Rayner swam off towards the Frenchman, who was nearest to the shore. Grasping him by the shirt, he ordered Tom and Brown to haul him in, and in a few seconds they succeeded in getting the Frenchman on shore. Ward, the other seaman, could still be seen floating, apparently lifeless, in the surf--now driven nearer the beach, now carried off again, far beyond the reach of the rope. The moment the Frenchman had been deposited on the sands, Rayner sprang back again, telling Tom and Brown to advance as far as possible into the water. Rayner, however, did not feel very confident that they would obey his orders, but trusted to his powers as a swimmer to make his way back to the beach. A sea rolled in. He swam on bravely, surmounting its foaming crest. He had got to the end of the rope, and Ward was still beyond his reach. Still he struggled. Perhaps another sea might bring the man to him. He was not disappointed, and grasping the collar of Ward's jacket, he shouted to Brown and Tom to haul away; but the sea which had brought Ward in rolled on, and Tom, fancying that he should be lifted off his legs, let go the rope and sprang back. Happily, Brown held on, but his strength was not sufficient to drag in the rope. In vain he called on Tom to come back to his assistance. While tugging manfully away, he kept his feet on the ground, although the water rose above his waist. The next instant the sea bore Rayner and his now lifeless burden close up to where he stood. Rayner himself was almost exhausted, but with the help of Brown, and such aid as Tom was at length, from very shame, induced to give, they got beyond the influence of the angry seas Rayner lost no time in trying to restore the seaman, but with sorrow he found that it was a corpse alone he had brought on shore. The Frenchman, Jacques Le Duc, having been less time in the water, quickly recovered, and expressed his gratitude to Rayner for having saved him. "Mais, ma foi! those poltroons who ran off, afraid that the sea would swallow them up, should be ashamed of themselves," he exclaimed. "You had best show your gratitude, my friend, by getting them to assist us in bringing off my brother officer and the seaman from the wreck," answered Rayner. "I fear that she will not hold together many hours, and unless they are soon rescued they may lose their lives." "I will try and persuade them to act like men," answered Jacques. "You have twice saved my life, and I feel bound to help you." Saying this, Jacques, who had been assisted on his legs by Tom and Brown, staggered after his companions, shouting to them to stop. On seeing him, they only ran the faster. "Do you take me for a ghost?" he cried out, "Come back, come back, you cowards, and help the brave Englishman!" At last they stopped, and Jacques was seen talking to them. In a short time he came back, saying that they declared nothing would induce them to return to the wreck; that the boat, they knew, could no longer float, and that there was no other means of getting off; that if they remained on the shore they should be starved, and that they must hurry away in search of food and shelter before night, which was fast approaching. "Then we must see what we can do by ourselves," said Rayner. "We cannot allow Mr Crofton and Peek to perish while we have any means of going to their assistance. I must first see if we can patch up the boat so as to enable her to keep afloat." On examining her, however, it was discovered that several of the planks on one side were stove in, and that they could not repair her sufficiently to keep out the water. At first Rayner thought of making a raft out of the materials of the boat; but he soon came to the conclusion that he should never be able to paddle it against the seas which came rolling in. "It must be done," he said to himself. "I have swum as far in smooth water, with no object in view; but strength will be given me. I trust, when I am making an effort to save my fellow-creatures. Crofton might perhaps swim to the shore, but nothing would induce him to leave a shipmate alone to perish." All this time Oliver and Jack could be seen seated on the deck, holding on to the stanchions to save themselves from being washed away by the seas which, occasionally breaking over her side, poured down upon them. It of course occurred to Rayner that if Oliver could manage to float a cask, or even a piece of plank secured to the end of a rope, a communication might be established between the wreck and the shore; but as far as he could see, the running rigging and all the ropes had gone overboard with the masts, and the only coil saved was that which had been brought in the boat. "Go off again I must," he said; "and I want you, my lads, to promise me, should I perish, that you will use every exertion to save the people on the wreck. Fletcher, you know our object in coming on the coast. You must go to the authorities and explain that we had no hostile intentions--that our wish was to land the Frenchmen whose lives we had saved; and if you explain this, I hope that you will all be well treated." Even Tom was struck by his officer's courage and thoughtfulness; and he and his messmate promised to obey his orders. Rayner, having now committed himself to the care of Heaven, prepared to swim off to the wreck. He knew that Oliver would see him coming, and would be ready to help him get on board. Waiting until a sea had broken on the beach, he followed it out, and darting through the next which rolled forward, he was soon a long way from the shore. He found he could swim much better than before, now that he had no rope to carry. Boldly he struck forward. Happily he did not recollect that those seas swarmed with sharks. On and on he went. Now and again, as a sea rushed over the reef, he was thrown back, but exerting all his strength, he struggled forward. He was nearing the wreck, and could see that Oliver, who was eagerly watching him, had got hold of a short length of rope, with which he stood ready to heave when he should be near enough. But he felt his own strength failing. It seemed almost beyond his power to reach the wreck. Still, it was not in his nature to give in, and making a desperate effort, striking out through the surging waters, he clutched the rope which Oliver hove-to him, and the next instant was clambering on board. Throwing himself down on the deck, he endeavoured to regain his strength, Oliver grasping him tightly with one hand, while he held to the stanchion with the other. "I knew you would not desert us, Rayner," he said. "But now you have come, how are we to get this poor fellow to the shore? I could not leave him, or I would not have allowed you to risk your life by returning on board. We must try and knock a raft together sufficient to carry Peek, and you and I will swim alongside it, if we cannot make it large enough to hold us all three. There's no time to be lost, though." Providentially the wind had by this time decreased, and the tide having fallen, the seas struck with less fury against the wreck, and enabled the two midshipmen to work far more effectually than they could otherwise have done. Jack begged that he might try and help them, but they insisted on his remaining where he was, lest a sea should carry him off, and he might not have the strength to regain the wreck. Fortunately the two axes had been preserved, and going below, they found several lengths of rope, though not of sufficient strength to form a safe communication with the shore. They would serve, however, for lashing the raft together. They quickly cutaway some of the bulkheads. They also discovered below several spars and a grating. By lashing these together they in a short time formed a raft of sufficient size to carry all three. They next made a couple of paddles with which to guide the raft. They were very rough, but they would serve their purpose. It was almost dark by the time the raft was finished. "I say, I feel desperately hungry, and I daresay so do you, Rayner, after all you have gone through," said Oliver. "I propose that we should have some of the contents of the basket we packed. I left it in the steward's pantry on the weather side." "A very good idea," answered Rayner. "Pray get it up. Some food will do Peek good, and enable us all to exert ourselves. I'll finish this lashing in the meantime." They were not long in discussing some of the sausages and bread which Oliver produced. "I feel much more hearty, sir," said Jack, when he had swallowed the food. "I don't fancy there's so much the matter with me after all, only my leg and back do feel somewhat curious." "Come," said Rayner, "we must make the attempt, for we cannot tell what sort of weather we shall have during the night." With forethought, they had fixed some lashings to the raft with which to secure both Jack and themselves. It floated with sufficient quietness to enable them to place Jack upon it. "We must not forget the food, though," said Oliver. "Do you, Peek, hold the basket, and do not let it go if you can help it." They took their seats, and lashing themselves to the raft, cast off the rope which held it to the wreck, and began paddling away with might and main. The seas rolled in with much less force than before, though there was still considerable risk of the raft capsizing. While under the lee of the wreck they proceeded smoothly enough, but the seas which passed her ahead and astern meeting, several times washed over them. As they approached the shores they could see through the gloom three figures standing ready to receive them. "I am glad those fellows have not deserted us, for after the way they before behaved I did not feel quite sure about the matter," said Rayner. While he was speaking, a sea higher than the rest came rolling along in, and lifting the raft on its summit, went hissing and roaring forward. "Be ready to cast off the lashings, and to spring clear of the raft, or it may be thrown over upon us," cried Rayner. He gave the warning not a moment too soon, for the sea, carrying on the raft, almost immediately dashed it on the beach. Springing up and seizing Jack Peek by the arm, he leapt clear of it. They would both have fallen, however, had not Tom and Brown dashed into the water and assisted them, while Le Duc rendered the same assistance on the other side to Oliver. Before the raft could be secured the reflux carried it away, together with the basket of provisions, and it soon disappeared in the darkness. "What shall we do next?" asked Oliver. "We cannot stop on the beach all night." Wet to the skin as they were, although the wind was not cold, it blew through their thin clothing, and made them feel very chilly. "We must look out for food and shelter," observed Rayner. "Perhaps we shall fall in with some of the huts of the black people where we can obtain both, though the country did not look very inviting when there was light enough to see it. I, however, don't like to leave the body of that poor fellow on the beach." "Fletcher and I will try and bury him, sir," said Jack. "I don't see much use in doing that," growled Tom. "He can't feel the cold. It will keep us here all the night, seeing we have no spades, nor anything else to dig a grave." "We might do it if we could find some boards," said Jack. "How would you like to be left on shore just like a dead dog?" His good intentions, however, were frustrated, as no pieces of board could be found, and they were compelled at length to be satisfied with placing the body on a dry bank out of the reach of the water. This done, they commenced their march in search of some human habitations, Tom and Brown supporting poor Jack, who was unable to walk without help, between them. The country, from the glimpse they had had of it, appeared more inviting to the west, but Rayner reflected that by going in that direction they would get farther and farther from the Spanish territory, but were they once to reach it, they might claim assistance from the inhabitants. How many miles they were from the border neither Rayner nor Oliver was certain; it might be a dozen or it might be twenty or thirty. Le Duc could give them no information. It was difficult to find the way in the darkness; they could indeed only guide themselves by listening to the roar of the breakers, with an occasional glimpse of the dark ocean to the right. The two officers agreed that it would be of great advantage to get into Spanish territory before daylight, as they would thus avoid being taken prisoners. Though their object in coming on the coast was a peaceable one, it would be difficult to induce the authorities to believe that this was the case. Le Duc promised that he would bear testimony to the truth of the account they intended to give of themselves; but, he observed, "My word may not be believed, and I myself may be accused of being a deserter. The people hereabouts do not set much value on human life, and they may shoot us all to save themselves the trouble of making further inquiries." These observations, which Rayner translated to his companions, made them still more anxious to push on. He and Oliver led the way with Le Duc, whom they desired to answer should they come suddenly on any of the inhabitants. They went on and on, stumbling among rocks, now forcing their way through a wood, now ascending a rugged slope, until they found themselves at what appeared to have been a sugar plantation, but evidently abandoned for the fences were thrown down, though the shrubs and bushes formed an almost impenetrable barrier. They discovered, however, at last, a path. Even that was much overgrown, though they managed to force their way through it. When once out of the plantation they found the road less obstructed. Reaching a rising ground, they eagerly looked round, hoping to see a light streaming from the windows of some house, where they could obtain the rest and food they so much required. "I think I caught sight of a glimmer among the trees. Look there!" said Oliver. They took the bearings of the light, and descending the hill, endeavoured to direct their course towards it. At last they reached a road, which they concluded must lead towards the house where the light had been seen. They went on some way farther in darkness. "We are all right," cried Oliver. "I caught sight of three lights from as many different windows. That shows that it is a house of some size." "I don't know whether that would be an advantage," observed Rayner. "The owner may dislike the English, and refuse to receive us, or send off to the authorities and have us carried away to prison." "But you and Le Duc and Peek, as you speak French, may pass for Frenchmen; and a man must be a curmudgeon if he refuses to afford assistance to sailors in distress," observed Oliver. "I can't say much for Peek's French, or for my own either. I would rather state at once who we are," said Rayner. "Le Duc is an honest fellow, and he will explain why we came on the coast, and will tell them how we saved his life." Le Duc, being asked, replied that he would gladly undertake whatever the English officers wished, and it was arranged that as soon as they got near the house he should go on and ascertain the disposition of the inhabitants. Should they be ill-disposed towards the English he was to return, and they would go on rather than run the risk of being detained and sent to prison. Sooner than they had expected they got close up to what was evidently a house of considerable size, as the lights came from windows some distance above the ground. While Le Duc went forward, the rest of the party remained concealed under shelter of some thick bushes. He had not got far when a loud barking showed that several dogs were on the watch. He advanced, however, boldly, calling to the dogs, and shouting for some one to come and receive him. The animals, though satisfied that he was not a thief, seemed to suspect that there were other persons not far off. "I say, here the brutes come," whispered Tom. "They'll be tearing us to pieces. The people in these parts, I have read, have great big bloodhounds to hunt the Indians with. If they come near us we must knock them over." "That won't make the people inclined to treat us more kindly," answered Jack. "When the dogs find we are quiet, they'll let us alone." Just then the voice of some one was heard calling the dogs, who went back to the house. Some time passed. At last Le Duc's voice was heard. It was too dark to see him. "It's all arranged, messieurs," he said. "There's an old lady and two young ladies in the house. I told them all about you, when they said that they were fond of the English, and would be very happy to give you shelter and food, but that you must come quietly so that no one but their old brown maitre d'hotel, and black girls who wait on them, should know that you are in the house. Follow me, then, and just have the goodness to tell the men that they must behave themselves or they may be getting into trouble." "I'll tell them what you say," observed Rayner; and turning to the three seamen, he said-- "Remember that though you are on shore you belong to the _Lily_, and are, therefore, as much under discipline as if you were on board." They now proceeded towards the house, led by Le Duc. The two officers going first, they mounted the steps, and getting inside the house, they saw an old mulatto carrying a couple of wax candles. He beckoned them with his head to follow, and led the way to an inner room, when an old lady advanced to meet them. Behind her came two young ladies, whom the midshipmen thought very handsome, with dark flashing eyes and black tresses, their costumes being light and elegant, and suited to that warm clime. The old lady introduced them as her daughters, Sophie and Virginie. The midshipmen advanced bowing, and Rayner, who was spokesman, apologised for appearing in their wet and somewhat torn clothes. "We have received the invitation madame has been so kind as to afford us, and we throw ourselves on her hospitality." He then repeated what he had told Le Duc to say. "You shall have your necessities supplied, and I will gladly do all I can to protect and help you regain your ship," she said. "I was once with my daughters taken prisoner when on a voyage from France by an English ship-of-war, and we were treated by the English officers as if we had been princesses. Ah! they were indeed true gentlemen! They won our hearts;" and she sighed. "I thought two of them would have become husbands of my daughters, but stern duty compelled them to sail away after they had landed us, and we have never heard of them since." "We will gladly convey any message to them, if you will tell us their names, and the ships to which they belonged," said Rayner, "should we be fortunate enough to fall in with them." "My daughters will tell you by-and-by," answered the old lady. "You, I see, require to change your dresses, which you can do while supper is preparing. My maitre d'hotel will look to your men with the help of the French sailor whom you sent up with your message." "One of them was hurt on board the wreck, and requires some doctoring, I fear," said Rayner; "he managed to drag himself, with the assistance of his shipmates, thus far, but he must be suffering." "Be sure that I will attend to him," answered Madame La Roche. "I have some skill in surgery, and it will be a satisfaction to exercise it on one of your countrymen; but now Francois will conduct you to a room, and supply you with such garments as he can collect. Your men in the meantime will be attended to." Francois on this stepped forward with his candles, and, with an inimitable bow, requested the young officers to follow him. They bowing again to madame and her daughters, followed the maitre d'hotel, who led the way to a large room with two beds in it, as also a couple of cane sofas, several chairs, a table, and, what was of no small consequence, a washhand-stand. "De best ting messieurs can do will be to get into de bed while I bring dem some dry clothes," said Francois. Rayner and Oliver requested, however, that they might be allowed, in the first place, to wash their hands and faces. This done, they jumped into their respective beds, and when once there they agreed that, if they were not so hungry, they would infinitely prefer going to sleep to having to get up again and make themselves agreeable to the ladies. As soon as Francois got possession of their clothes he hurried away, but shortly returned, bringing with him a supply of linen and silk stockings, and two antiquated court suits. They were, he said, the only costumes which he considered worthy of the English officers, and he begged that they would put them on without ceremony. Though not much inclined for merriment just then, they could not help laughing as they got into the white satin small clothes offered them. They then put on the richly-embroidered waistcoats, which, being very long, came down over their hips. Their frilled shirts stuck out in front to a considerable distance, but when they came to the coats, Rayner, who had the broadest pair of shoulders, felt considerable fear lest he should split his across, while his hands projected some way beyond the ruffles which adorned the wrists. Francois assisted them in the operation of dressing, and after they had tied their neckcloths, he begged, with a low bow, to fasten on their swords. When their costumes were complete he stepped back, and surveyed them with evident satisfaction. Oliver could not keep his countenance, but laughed heartily for some time. "It's just as well to get it over, Rayner," he said; "for otherwise I could not help bursting out every time I looked at you." The maitre d'hotel, however, did not appear to think there was anything laughable in the appearance of the two Englishmen. "Oh, messieurs! you are admirable. Let me have the honour of conducting you to the saloon." Saying this he took up the candles, and with stately step marched before them, until they reached a large room, in the centre of which was a table spread with a handsome repast. Madame La Roche, coming in, took the head of the table, and the young ladies, sailing like swans into the room, placed themselves by the side of their guests, on the strangeness of whose costumes they made not the slightest remark. Rayner and Oliver had become somewhat faint from long fasting, but their spirits quickly revived after they had eaten some of the viands placed before them. At first they supposed that the repast was served up solely on their account, but from the way the girls and their mother kept them in countenance, they were satisfied that they had simply come in for the family supper. Rayner talked away, now to the old lady, now to the young one at his side, while Oliver found that he could converse much more fluently than he had supposed. After a time, however, they found it very difficult to keep their eyes open, and Rayner heard the old lady remark to her daughters, in pitying accents, that "Les pauvres garcons much required rest, and that it would be cruel to keep them up longer than was necessary." She accordingly summoned Francois, who appeared with his huge candlesticks. Wishing them good-night, the old lady advised them to follow the maitre d'hotel to their chamber. They bowed as well as they could, and staggered off, more asleep than awake. "We are certainly in clover here," remarked Oliver, as they reached their room; "I question whether we shall be as well treated when we reach Spanish territory; and I propose, if Madame La Roche is willing to keep us, that we take up our quarters here until Peek is better able to travel than he is now." "Certainly," answered Rayner, taking off his silk coat and placing his sword on the table. "We'll talk of that to-morrow." They had not placed their heads on their pillows many seconds before they both were fast asleep. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. CAPTURED. The shipwrecked midshipmen would probably have slept far into the next day had not Francois appeared with their clothes, nicely brushed and carefully mended, so that they were able to make a presentable appearance in their own characters before their hostesses. He had also brought them a cup of cafe-au-lait, informing them that breakfast would be ready as soon as they were dressed in the salle-a-manger. They found an abundant meal spread out, as Francois had promised. The old lady and her daughters welcomed them kindly--the latter with wreathed smiles, the elder with a host of questions to which she did not wait for a reply. They were all three thorough Frenchwomen, talking, as Oliver observed, "thirteen to the dozen." Madame La Roche told them that she had been attending to the English sailor, who, she hoped, would, under her care, be quite well in a day or two. "I ought to warn you not to go out. People in these parts are not well affected towards the English, and should it be discovered that I am harbouring British officers I may get into trouble," she added. The morning passed very pleasantly. The young ladies produced their guitars, and sang with good voices several French airs. Rayner and Oliver thought them charming girls, and had they not felt it was their duty to get back to their ship as soon as possible, would gladly have remained in their society for an indefinite period. At last they begged leave to go down to see their men. They were guided to their rooms by sounds of music and uproarious laughter. They found Le Duc seated on a three-legged stool on the top of a table fiddling away, while old Francois, three black women, Tom and Brown, were dancing in the strangest possible fashion, whirling round and round, kicking up their heels, and joining hands, while Jack lay on a bed at the farther end of the room, looking as if he longed to get up and take a part in the dance. On seeing the strangers, Francois became as grave as a judge, and hurrying up to them, observed, "I thought it as well, messieurs, just to join in for one minute to set the young people going. The poor sailors needed encouragement, and I like to make people happy." "You succeeded well, Monsieur Francois," remarked Rayner. "I will not interrupt them, but I have a few words to speak to my men." He then told Tom and Brown that it was the wish of Madame La Roche that they should remain in the house, and not show themselves by any chance to the people outside. "In course, sir," said Brown. "We are as happy as princes here. They feed us with as much as we can eat, and give us a right good welcome too." "Take care that you don't indulge too much," said Rayner. "We are obliged to you, Le Duc, for finding us such good quarters, and we shall be still more grateful if you will accompany us to the Spanish border. I conclude you will then desire to return home." "I am very much at home where I am," replied Le Duc, with a grin. "If madame will accept my services, I shall be very happy to remain here. Perhaps one of the young ladies will fall in love with me, and I should prefer settling down to knocking about at sea." Rayner and Oliver were horrified at the Frenchman's impudence. "Pray do not be troubled at what I say, messieurs," said Le Duc, with perfect coolness. "Such things have happened before, and one Frenchman here is as good as another." They saw that it would not do to discuss the matter with the seaman, who, it was evident, from the dishes and glasses standing on the table by the window, had been making himself merry with his companions. The afternoon was spent very much as the morning had been. The young ladies possessed no other accomplishment than that of playing the guitar and dancing. They read when they could get books, but these were mostly French novels, certainly not of an improving character. Rayner and Oliver could not help comparing them with Mary Crofton, and the comparison was greatly to her advantage. The next day, Francois, who had been out to market returned with a troubled countenance. He hurried in to his mistress, who soon afterwards came into the room where her daughters and the young officers were seated. "I am sorry to say that the authorities have heard of your being in the neighbourhood, and have sent the gendarmes to search for you!" she exclaimed, in an anxious tone. "I did not wish to drive you away, and am willing to try and conceal you. At present, no one knows you are in the house. You may remain in a loft between the ceiling of this room and the roof, where you are not likely to be found; but the place is low, and will, I fear, be hot in the daytime, and far from pleasant. Francois might manage to conduct you to a hut in the woods at no great distance from this, to which we could send you food; but there is the risk of the person who goes being seen, and your retreat being discovered." "We are very sorry to cause you so much trouble, madame," said Rayner. "It will, I think, be safest to leave this place to-night, and to try and make our way, as we intended, into Spanish territory." "Ah! but the distance is long--fully twenty leagues," answered Madame La Roche. "You would be recognised as strangers, and probably detained by the mayor of a large village you must pass through." "But we must take care and not pass through any village," said Rayner. "We will try to make our way along bypaths. What we should be most thankful for is a trustworthy guide. Perhaps our good friend Francois here will find one for us." "That I will try to do," said the old mulatto. "It is not, however, very easy, as few of them know much of the country to the east." "But how was it discovered that these English officers and their men were in the country?" asked Mademoiselle Sophie, the eldest of the young ladies, turning to Francois. "It appears that yesterday morning there was found on the beach the dead body of a seaman, who was supposed from his appearance and dress to be English, while the marks of numerous feet were perceived on the sand, some going to the west, others coming in this direction. Those going to the west were traced until a party of French and black sailors were discovered asleep in a wood. They stated that the vessel was French, captured by an English man-of-war; that she had been driven by the hurricane on the reef, and that it was their belief the English officers and crew had escaped as well as themselves, but they could not tell what had become of them. The mayor, on hearing this, had despatched a party of gendarmes in search of the missing people. How soon they may be here it is impossible to say." "But they will not be so barbarous as to carry off to prison English officers who come with a flag of truce, and had no hostile intentions!" exclaimed Virginie. "The authorities would be only too glad to get some Englishmen to exhibit as prisoners," said Francois. "We must not trust them; and I propose that we hide away the officers and men." Just as Francois had finished giving this account, Le Duc ran into the room. "Oh, madame, oh messieurs!" he exclaimed, "I have seen those gendarmes coming along the road towards the house; they will be here presently." "Here, come this way, my friends!" cried Madame La Roche. "Francois, run and get the ladder. There may be time for you all to mount up before the gendarmes appear. Call the other sailors. The sick man is strong enough to move, or some one must help him. Vite, vite!" The old lady hurried about in a state of great agitation. Rayner and Oliver had serious fears that she would betray herself. Francois soon came with the ladder, which he placed in a dark corner of a passage, and, ascending, opened a trapdoor, and urged the party to mount without delay. Oliver went up first. Jack was able to get up without assistance. Le Duc was unwilling to go until the old lady seized him by the arm. "Go up, my son, go up," she said. "You will not be worse off than the rest." He at length unwillingly obeyed. As soon as Rayner got up, by Francois' directions he shut down the trapdoor. There was just light sufficient, through a pane of glass in the roof, to see that the loft extended over a considerable portion of the building. Part only was covered with boards, on which, according to the instructions given them, they laid down. Francois had charged them on no account to move about, lest they should be heard by the people below. The planks, however, were not placed very close together, and after they had been there a minute or so, Rayner discovered a glimmer of light coming through a broadish chink. Putting his face near it, he perceived that the old lady and her daughters had seated themselves at a table with their work before them, endeavouring to look as unconcerned as possible. He had not been in this position many minutes, when he heard some heavy steps coming along the passage; they entered the room, and a gruff voice demanded if any Englishmen had been, or still were, in the house. The old lady started to her feet with an exclamation of well-feigned astonishment. "What can monsieur mean?" she asked. "Englishmen in my house! Where can they have come from? My character is well known as a true patriot. The enemies of France are my enemies. Pray explain yourself more clearly." On this the sergeant of gendarmes began to apologise in more courteous language than he had at first used, explaining why he had been sent to look for the Englishmen who, it had been ascertained, were in that part of the country. "Suppose you find them, what would you do with them?" asked Madame La Roche. "No doubt send them to prison. They are enemies of France, and it would not be wise when we can catch them to allow such to wander at large and commit mischief." "Very true, very true, Monsieur Sergeant," said the old lady. "But that does not excuse you for accusing me of harbouring them, and coming to my house as if I were a traitress." The sergeant, however, was evidently persuaded, notwithstanding Madame La Roche's evasion, that the fugitives had been at the house, if they were not there still, and he insisted, with due respect to her, that it was his duty to make a thorough search. "As you desire it, pray obey your orders," said Madame La Roche. "My maitre d'hotel will show you round the house and outbuildings, and wherever you wish to go. You must excuse me on account of my age, as also my daughters from their youth and delicate nerves from accompanying you." The sergeant bowed, and said something with a laugh which Rayner did not hear, and the old lady, calling Francois, bade him conduct the sergeant and his gendarmes through the house. "And take care that he looks into every corner, under the beds and in them, if he likes, so that he may be thoroughly satisfied," she added. "Oui, madame," answered Francois with perfect gravity. "Come along, Monsieur Sergeant. If you do not find these Englishmen of whom you speak, do not blame me." Rayner heard them retire from the room. He now began to breathe more freely, hoping, for the sake especially of Madame La Roche, that the sergeant would be satisfied when they were not found in the house. The ladies went on working and talking as if nothing were happening, though their countenances betrayed their anxiety. The gendarmes had been absent a sufficient time to make a thorough search through the whole of the building when Rayner heard them coming back. Suddenly the sergeant stopped, and asked, in a loud voice, "What is the object of this ladder, my friend?" "To reach the roof from the verandah, or to enable the inmates to descend should the house be on fire," answered Francois, promptly. "The roof everywhere overlaps the verandah," answered the sergeant, "and no ladder is necessary to get out of these windows to the ground. It appears to me of a length suited to reach the ceiling. Come, show me any trapdoor through which I can reach the loft over the rooms. You forgot, my friend, that part of the house." "A trapdoor in the ceiling! What a strange thought of yours!" exclaimed Francois. "However, perhaps you will find it, should one exist, that you may be satisfied on that point, and let one of your men take the ladder, for I am old, and it would fatigue me to carry it." One of the gendarmes took up the ladder, and he could be heard knocking at the ceiling in various directions. Still Rayner hoped that they would not discover the dark corner, which Francois evidently had no intention to show them. "It must be found somewhere or other," he heard the sergeant say. "This ladder is exactly suited to reach it." At last he entered the room where the ladies were seated. "Will madame have the goodness to tell me whereabouts the trapdoor is that leads to the roof?" he asked. "The trapdoor leading to the roof!" repeated Madame La Roche. "It is not likely that an old woman, as I am, would have scrambled up there, or my delicate daughters either. Surely, Monsieur Sergeant, you are laughing at me." The sergeant turned away, but presently one of the men exclaimed, "I have found it! I have found it--here, up in this corner!" Rayner heard the men ascending, the trap was lifted, but he and his companions lay perfectly still, hoping that in the darkness they might not be perceived. But the gendarme, after waiting a few seconds to accustom his eyes to the dim light, began groping about until he caught hold of Tom's leg. Tom, dreadfully frightened, cried out in English, "Oh, dear; he's got me!" "Come down, messieurs, come down!" exclaimed the sergeant. "Oh, Madame La Roche, you would have deceived me." Rayner and his companions were compelled to descend. He truly felt more for his kind hostess and her daughters than he did for himself. They might be heavily fined, if not more severely punished. He and his companions had only to look forward to a prison, from which they might escape. With the exception of Le Duc they were all soon collected in the room below. He had managed by some means to escape detection. They were allowed but a short time to take leave of Madame La Roche and her daughters. The sergeant having received no orders respecting the ladies, and satisfied at having secured his prisoners, seemed disposed to allow the former to remain unmolested. They looked very melancholy, however. The young ladies, as they shook hands, burst into tears. In vain Madame La Roche begged that their guests might be allowed to partake of some refreshment before commencing their journey. The sergeant would not hear of it. He had caught the spies, and he intended to keep them. If he allowed them to remain, some trick might be played, and they might make their escape. He at once, therefore, ordered his men to lead his prisoners to the courtyard of the house. "Hands off; I won't be manacled by a French jackanapes," cried Brown, turning round as one of the men seized his arm. "We are five to seven, mayn't we knock the fellows over, sir? We could do it easily enough, and get off before they came to themselves again." "I'll join you with all my heart," said Jack, "though I can't fight as well as I could before my ribs were stove in." "I'll tackle one of the fellows if I may take the smallest," said Tom, though he looked rather pale at the thought of the impending struggle. "What do you advise, Rayner?" asked Oliver. "I can advise no violence," said Rayner. "We may succeed in mastering the Frenchmen, but if we did, the kind old lady here and her daughters would certainly suffer in consequence. We must submit with a good grace, and we may possibly afterwards have an opportunity of making our escape without fighting." Though the Frenchmen did not understand what was said, they evidently, from the looks of the seamen, suspected their intentions, and drawing their pistols presented them at the heads of their prisoners. The ladies shrieked, fancying they were about to fire, and Tom turned pale. "Pray don't be alarmed," said Rayner. "We yield to the sergeant, and before we go I wish, in the name of my companions and myself, to express to you the deep gratitude we feel for your kindness. Farewell!" He and Oliver kissed their hands, and the sergeant made significant signs to them to go through the doorway. "Have I the word of you two officers and your men that you will commit no violence?" he asked. "If you refuse it, I shall be under the necessity of binding your arms behind you." "What shall I say, Oliver?" asked Rayner. "If we give the promise we lose the chance of attempting to make our escape; but then again, if our arms are bound no opportunity can occur." "Say then that we will attempt no violence, and submit to any directions he may give us," answered Oliver. Rayner spoke as Oliver advised, and the sergeant appeared satisfied, as he imposed no other promise. CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. IN PRISON, AND OUT AGAIN. The order to march was given. The two officers went first, followed by Brown and Tom supporting Jack, and the gendarmes marched on either side of them with their bayonets fixed. Rayner and Oliver took the bearings of the house and remarked the country as they went along. They found that they were proceeding inland, and on inquiring of the sergeant he said that they were going to a place called Le Trou, where other English prisoners were confined. "Are there many of them?" inquired Rayner. "Yes," answered the Frenchman, "some hundreds, I believe; for one of our frigates captured a ship of yours not long ago, and most of the officers and men who escaped death were sent there." Rayner in vain endeavoured to ascertain what English ship was spoken of, for he had heard of none taken by the French of late years. The sergeant, however, was positive, though he did not know either the name of the ship or the exact time of the capture. "I suspect he has heard some old story, and he repeats it for the sake of annoying us," observed Oliver. "We must not let him suppose that we are cast down. We'll try to learn how far off this Le Trou is." Rayner questioned the sergeant. "He says it is three days' journey. We shall have to stop at different houses on the road. That he must first take us to the mayor, or some official, who may perhaps send us to the governor at Leogane, by whom we shall be examined, and if found to be spies, we shall be shot." "Then Le Trou is not our first destination, and much will depend upon the character of the mayor before whom we are taken," observed Oliver. As they still continued in a northerly direction, they knew that they were not going to Leogane, which lay to the westward, nor were they increasing their distance from the Spanish border. Towards evening they reached a house of some size built, as are most of those in the country, on one storey, raised on a platform, with a broad veranda and wide projecting eaves. At one end, however, was a circular tower of considerable height. "Here we shall stop, and there will be your lodging after you have been examined by Monsieur le Maire," said the sergeant, pointing to the tower. They conducted them up the steps to a hall, at one end of which was a baize-covered table, with a large chair and several smaller chairs on either side. After some time a little old gentleman in a red nightcap and flowered dressing-gown, with slippered feet, and spectacles on nose, entered the hall, followed by another in black, apparently his clerk. Two other persons also came in, and took their seats at the table, while the clerk began to nibble his pen and shuffle his papers. The old gentleman, in a squeaky voice, inquired who were the prisoners now brought before him, and of what crime they were accused. The sergeant at once stepped up to the table, and giving a military salute, informed Monsieur le Maire how he had heard of spies being in the country, and how he had captured them at the house of Madame La Roche. "But if they are Englishmen, they cannot speak French, and we require an interpreter," said the mayor. "Do any of you, my friends, understand the language of those detestable islanders?" No one replied. After the remark of the mayor, it might seem a disgrace even to speak English. Rayner, anxious not to prolong the business, on hearing what was said, stepped up to the table, and observed that, as he spoke French, he should be happy to explain how he and his companions came into the country. He then gave a brief account of the circumstances which led to the shipwreck, and what had since occurred. He was sorry anybody present should entertain ill-feelings towards the English, as for his part he liked France, and had a warm regard for many Frenchmen. Even the mayor was impressed, and a pleased smile came over his weazened features. "I am ready to believe the account you give me, and that you certainly are not spies," he said. "The body of your countryman found on the beach proves that you were shipwrecked. Still, as you are in the country, we must consider you as prisoners of war, and treat you as such. For this night you must remain here, and to-morrow I will consider whether I will send you to Leogane or Le Trou, where you will wait with others of your countrymen to be exchanged." After some further remarks the examination terminated, and Rayner and Oliver, with the three seamen, were marched off under a guard to the tower. It was nearly dark, and they were conducted by the light of a lantern up two flights of steps to a room in an upper storey. As far as they could judge, it was furnished with several pallet beds, a table, some chairs, and stools. "You are to remain here until to-morrow morning, messieurs, when I shall know in what direction to proceed. Monsieur le Maire has ordered you some food, and you will, I hope, not complain of your treatment," said the sergeant, as he closed the door, which he locked and bolted. They heard him descending. "We are better off than I should have expected," remarked Rayner, surveying the room by the light of the lantern which the sergeant had left. "The point is, Are we able to escape?" said Oliver. "You mind, sir, how we got out of the prison in France, and I don't see why we shouldn't get out of this place," observed Jack, going to one of the two narrow windows which the room contained, and looking forth. They were strongly-barred. The night was dark, and he could only see the glimmer of a light here and there in the distance. It was impossible also to ascertain the height of the window from the ground. "We will certainly try to get out," said Rayner, joining Jack at the window. "Though I fear that you with your bruises and battered ribs will be unable to make your way on foot across the country." "Don't mind me, sir," answered Jack. "I have no pain to speak of. If the worst comes to the worst, I can but remain behind. I shall be content if you and Mr Crofton and Tom and Brown make your escape." "No, no, my brave fellow," said Rayner, "we will not leave you behind. But before we talk of what we will do, we must try what we can do. These bars seem very strongly fixed into the stone, and may resist our attempts to get them out." "There's nothing like trying, however," observed Oliver. "We must get away to-night, for if the mayor decides on sending us either to Leogane or Le Trou we shall have a very poor chance afterwards." They tried the bars, but all of them were deeply imbedded in the stone. "Where there's a will there's a way," observed Jack. "We may dig out the lead with our knives, and if we can get one bar loose we shall soon wrench off the ends of the others, or bend them back enough to let us creep through. Brown wouldn't make much of bending one of these iron bars, would you, Sam?" "I'll try what I can do," said the seaman, "especially if it's to get us our liberty." "Then, not to lose time, I'll make a beginning, if you'll let me, sir," said Jack; and he got out his knife, but just as he had commenced operations, steps were heard ascending the stairs. The door opened, and one of the gendarmes appeared, followed by a negro carrying a basket of provisions. "Monsieur le Maire does not want to starve you, and so from his bountiful kindness has sent you some supper," said the former. "We are much obliged to Monsieur the Mayor, but we should be still more so if he would set us at liberty," said Rayner. Meanwhile the black boy was spreading the table with the contents of the basket. The gendarme laughed. "No, no, we are not apt to let our caged birds fly," he answered. "I hope, messieurs, you will enjoy your suppers, and I would advise you then to take some sleep to be ready to start early in the morning, as soon as it is decided in what direction you are to go." Rayner thanked the gendarme, who, followed by the black boy, went out of the room, bolting and barring the door behind him. The men now drew their benches to the table, and Rayner and Oliver, taking their places, fell to with the rest, there being no necessity, under such circumstances, for keeping up official ceremony. Supper was quickly got through, and each man stowed away the remainder of the provisions in his pockets. While they went to work with their knives at the bars, Rayner and Oliver examined the beds. They were thankful to find that the canvas at the bottom was lashed by pieces of tolerably stout rope. These, with the aid of the ticking cut into strips, would form a line of sufficient length and strength to enable them to descend, should they succeed in getting out the bars. This, however, was not easily to be accomplished. When the officers went to the window, they found that Jack and his companions had made little progress. The bars fitted so closely into the holes that there was but a small quantity of lead, and without a hammer and chisel it seemed impossible to make the hole sufficiently large to move the bars so as to allow Brown to exert his strength upon them. If the two centre perpendicular bars could be got out, the lowest horizontal bar might be sent up. This would afford ample room for the stoutest of the party to get through. "We've got out of a French prison before, sir, and we'll get out now," said Jack, working away. "Yes, but we were small boys then, and you, Jack, and I, would find it a hard matter to get through the same sized hole now that we could then," observed Rayner. "That's just it, sir. If two small boys could get out of a French prison, I am thinking that five well-nigh grown men can manage the job. We'll do it, sir, never fear. If this stone was granite it might puzzle us, but it's softer than that by a long way, and I have already cut out some of it with my knife, though, to be sure, it does blunt it considerably." The progress Jack and his companions made was very small, and it was evident that unless they could work faster they would be unable to remove the bar before daylight. Rayner and Oliver searched round the room for any pieces of iron which might serve the purpose of a chisel. They examined the bedsteads--they were formed entirely of wood. There was, of course, no fireplace, or a poker might have assisted them. They had just returned to the window when their ears caught the sounds of a few low notes from a violin, played almost directly beneath them. "Why! I do believe that's the tune Le Duc was playing to us last evening," exclaimed Jack. All was again silent. Rayner and Oliver tried to look through the bars, but could see nothing; all was still. Again the notes were heard. Jack whistled a few bars of the same air. A voice from below, in a suppressed tone asked in French, "Have you a thin line? Let it down." "It is Le Duc. He has got something for us. Maybe just what we want," cried Jack. "Oui, oui," he answered. "It will quickly be ready." The ticking of one of the mattresses was quickly cut up and formed into a line, which was lowered. Rayner, who held it, felt a gentle tug, and as he hauled it up, what was the delight of the party to find two strong files! There could be no doubt that Le Duc had formed some plan to assist them in escaping, or he would not have come thus furnished. Probably they had to thank Madame La Roche for suggesting it. They did not stop, however, to discuss the matter, but set to work immediately to file away the bars, making as little noise as possible. While two of them were thus employed, the rest walked about the room, and talked and laughed and sang, so as to drown the sound of the files. Presently they heard from the other side of the building the loud tones of a fiddle, the player evidently keeping his bow going at a rapid rate. Then came the sounds of laughter and the stamping of feet, as if people were dancing. "Why, our guards will be kept awake and we shall have no chance of getting off, I fear," said Oliver. "If our guards dance they will drink, and sleep afterwards, never fear," answered Rayner. "Our friend Le Duc knows what he is about. I'm sure that we can trust him, or he would not have taken the trouble to bring us these files." The fiddle was kept going, and Brown and Jack kept time to the tunes with the files as they worked, laughing heartily as they did so. "Hurrah!" cried Jack, "there's one bar through. Take a spell here, Tom. You've helped the armourer sometimes, and know how to use a file." Tom, being as eager to get out as the rest, worked away better than he did on most occasions. Jack, however, soon again took the file, and in a short time announced that both the centre bars were cut through at the bottom. They had next to file the upper bars sufficiently to enable Brown to bend them back. Losing patience, however, he at last seized one of them, when, placing his feet against the window, he bent back with all his strength. He was more successful than he expected, for the iron giving way, down he fell on the floor with a tremendous crash, which would certainly have been heard by the guards below, had not their attention been drawn off by the fiddle of Le Duc, who was scraping away with more vehemence than ever. Rayner and Oliver had in the meantime been manufacturing the rope by which they hoped to descend to the ground. They could measure the necessary length by the small line with which the files had been drawn up, and they had the satisfaction of finding that it was amply long enough for their purpose. They now secured it to one of the remaining bars. Rayner and Oliver agreed that it would be wise to descend while the fiddle was going. "Let me go first," said Brown. "I am the heaviest, and if it bears me, it will bear any of you." Tom said nothing. His modesty or something else prevented him from putting himself forward when any danger was to be encountered. Rayner himself had intended to descend first, but the rest of the party begged him to let some one else go, and at last Oliver led the way. Judging by the still louder scraping of Le Duc's fiddle, he must have suspected what they were about. Oliver could hear the notes coming round from the other side of the building. All, however, below him was silence and darkness. He could not judge, as he looked down, whether he was to alight on hard or soft ground, whether into a ditch or stream, or whether they should have a fence to climb. His chief fear was that some of the dogs allowed to go loose in every country house might discover him and his companions before they could effect their escape. All this passed through his mind as he was letting himself down the rope, to which he clung with arms and feet as a sailor only can cling with security. He soon reached the bottom. The ground appeared to be firm, and was, as far as he could judge, perfectly level. The tower threw a dark shadow, in which he stood listening for any sounds which might indicate danger. It had been agreed, even should one or two of the gendarmes come round, to spring upon them, seize their arms, and gag them. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he pulled out his handkerchief, ready for the latter object. Presently another came down. It was Brown, the best man to tackle an enemy, as his muscular strength was equal to any two of the rest. No enemy appeared, however, and at length Rayner, who came last, reached the bottom in safety. CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. TRAVELLING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. They waited and waited. Le Duc kept fiddling away with as much vehemence as at first. But they could not ascertain whether their guards were still dancing--the scraping of the fiddle-strings drowning all other sounds. At length the music became slower and slower, until only a low, moaning wail reached their ears. It was of a remarkably somniferous character,--the cunning Le Duc had evidently some object in playing thus. Presently the music ceased altogether. Not a sound was heard, except the soughing of the wind round the tower. Still their patience had to be tried. Something was keeping Le Duc. At last they saw a figure coming towards the tower. Perhaps it was not Le Duc. If a stranger, they must stop his mouth. Perhaps they might have to bind him. They could cut off a sufficient length of rope for the purpose. He appeared to be a peasant wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a shirt, with a long stick or ox-goad in his hand. They were so well concealed, crouching down against the wall, that he did not perceive them. Rayner and Brown were on the point of springing out to seize him, when he said, in a low whisper, "Don't you know me, friends? Follow me, but bend down as low as you can, that if seen from the house you may be taken for my dogs or sheep. Pardon me for saying so." "No necessity for that; lead on, we will follow," said Rayner. Walking upright, staff in hand, he proceeded at a good rate across the open space at the back of the village. They could see the lights glimmering from several houses on its borders. They soon reached a stream with a long wooden bridge thrown over it. Here, as they would be exposed to view, the sooner they could get across it the better. They hurried over, still stooping down, Le Duc walking erect. At last their backs began to ache from remaining so long in a bent position. They were thankful when they reached the edge of a plantation, and Le Duc, stopping, said, "You have acted admirably, my friends. Come on a little farther to a spot where we shall find some clothes in which you can disguise yourselves. We can get over some leagues before daylight, and the inhabitants we shall then meet with are all blacks, and being very stupid will not discover that you are English, provided those who do not speak French hold their tongues." "A very right precaution," said Rayner. After he had thanked Le Duc for his exertions, he added, "Remember, Brown and Fletcher, neither of you attempt to open your mouths except to put food into them. If you are spoken to, make off, or pretend that you are deaf and dumb." After proceeding another mile or so, they reached a solitary hut, partially in ruins. Le Duc here produced five bundles from behind a heap of rubbish, covered over with bushes. "These I brought by the desire of Madame La Roche," he said. "She and her daughters, and their black girls, and old Francois, worked away very hard to get them finished. They began the very moment you and the gendarmes left the house. It was Mademoiselle Sophie's idea, she's a clever young lady. Directly the dresses were completed, Francois and I started off on horseback, as we knew the road you had taken, I dressed as you see me, and carrying my fiddle in a bag hung round my neck. I was a strolling player once, and belonged to a circus before I became a sailor, so I was at home on horseback, and I was at home also when playing my tricks off on the gendarmes. I have keen wits and strong nerves, messieurs. One without the other is of small value. United, wonders can be worked. How I did bamboozle those stupid fellows! It was fortunate, however, that none of the black crew of the schooner or my late shipmates appeared, or I should have been discovered. Now, put on these dresses, they are such as are worn by the planters of this country, and you can pretend you are going to a fair at Goave to buy mules, that is what Francois advises, and he has got a good head on his shoulders. I wish that he could have come with us, but as soon as he had deposited these clothes he had to ride back as fast as he could to attend to his mistress, and I undertook the rest." "You have indeed done your part well," said Rayner. "What shall we do with our own clothes?" "Do your jackets and trousers up in bundles, and carry them with you. You must take care, however, not to let them out of your hands," answered Le Duc. As they were in a solitary place, with no chance of being overheard, the men, as they looked at themselves by the light of a lantern Le Duc had carried, though he had not until now lit it, indulged in hearty laughter. "You do look like an overseer, Brown," said Jack, "and I should be precious sorry to be a black slave when you had your whip lifted above my shoulders. You'd hit mighty hard, I've a notion." As Rayner and Oliver surveyed each other, they expressed strong doubts whether their disguise was sufficient to enable them to pass undetected, and they agreed that it would be necessary to keep as much as possible out of the way of the inhabitants. Still, the risk must be run. The consequences of being caught would be very serious to them, yet more so to Le Duc, who would almost to a certainty be shot for having assisted in their escape. Having done up their clothes in the handkerchiefs which had contained the dresses they now had on, they pushed forward. Le Duc had never before been in that part of the country, but he had received minute directions from Francois, which helped greatly to guide them. At length they came to a dense jungle. Francois had told Le Duc of this, and that he would find a path through it. They hunted about for some time in vain. "Come this way, messieurs!" exclaimed Le Duc, at length. "This must be the path Francois told me of." He had gone a short distance to the southward, and now led on, feeling the way with his long stick. The others followed. The path was narrow, and the trees met overhead, so that they were in complete darkness. On they went, keeping close behind each other, for there was no room for two to walk abreast. Le Duc walked at a good pace. The jungle seemed interminable. They must have gone on, they fancied, for two or three miles, when they found their feet splashing in water. "I am afraid we are getting into a swamp, messieurs," said Le Duc. "It cannot be helped; we must scramble through it somehow or other. If we had daylight it would be an advantage. It won't do to stop here, however." The water grew deeper. The ground had now become very soft, and they were often up to their knees in mud, so that their progress was greatly delayed. "We shall cut but a sorry appearance, messieurs, if we meet any one when morning breaks," observed Le Duc. "As soon as we get to dry ground we must stop and put ourselves to rights." "Perhaps we shall, and it would be as well if we can wash the mud off our legs," said Rayner. "But go on, my fine fellow; if this path is in general use it cannot be much worse than it is." Rayner was right. In a short time the water became shallower, and soon afterwards they got on to firm ground. To their very great satisfaction they at last found themselves out of the jungle. Before them rose a hill, over which they had to climb. At the foot of the hill they came to a clear, broad stream, passing over a shingly bed. Le Duc, feeling the depth with his staff, walked in. It was sufficiently shallow to enable them to ford it without difficulty; and they took the opportunity of washing off the mud which had stuck to their legs in the swamp. All this time poor Jack never once complained, but he was suffering no small amount of pain. His great fear was that he might have to give in and delay the rest. On the other side of the stream the country showed signs of cultivation. They passed outside several plantations, but what they were they could not tell; still, as they could manage to make their way to the eastward they went on. "We must be near the large village Francois spoke of," said Le Duc. "He advised that we should go to the southward of it, as the country on that side is more easily traversed, and we may hope thus to get by without being discovered if we can pass it before daybreak." They accordingly took the direction as advised. After going some way they heard the barking of dogs and saw a light gleaming, they supposed, from the window of a cottage, whose inmates were up early, or, perhaps, where some one lay dying or dead. At length the bright streaks of early dawn appeared in the sky ahead. Jack at last had to acknowledge that he could go no farther. "If we could but reach some hut or other where the blacks would take care of me, I would be ready to stop sooner than let you be caught, sir," he said, addressing Rayner. "No, I will never allow that," was the answer. "We'll get you along a little farther, until we can find some place to rest in. There's a wood I see ahead, and we must conceal ourselves in it until you are able to go on again. If Mr Crofton likes to lead on the rest and try to get across the frontier, he may do so, but I'll stick by you, Jack. Don't be afraid." "Thank you, Bill, thank you!" said Jack, pressing his old messmate's hand, scarcely knowing what he was saying, but thinking somehow that they were again boys together. "You were always a brave, generous chap, and I know you'd never desert a shipmate." Poor Jack was getting worse every moment. Rayner made no reply, but calling Brown, they helped him along between them, lifting him over the rough places as they made their way towards the wood. They reached it just as daylight burst on the world, as it does in the tropics, the hot sun rushing up immediately afterwards to blaze away with intense heat. Oliver, with Le Duc and Tom, hurried on ahead to look for some place where they might have a chance of effectually concealing themselves. In a short time Oliver came back. "We have discovered just the sort of place we want," he said. "The sooner we can stow ourselves away in it the better. Let me take your place and help Peek along." Rayner would not allow this. "I can support him a mile farther if necessary," he answered. In a short time, making their way through the jungle, and crossing a small stream which would afford them water, they saw before them a huge tree, upturned from the roots, forming beneath it a cavern of considerable size, which Le Duc and Tom were engaged in clearing out. There was a risk of being bitten by snakes, which might have made it their abode, but that could not be avoided. Le Duc was running his stick into every hole he could see to drive out any which might be concealed. In other respects, no better place could be found. Rayner and Brown lifted in Jack and placed him on the ground, and Rayner gave him some of the food they had brought from the tower. They had only enough, unfortunately, for one meal. Meantime it was better than nothing, and resolved to give Jack his share. The rest of the party had collected some branches and brushwood to conceal the entrance. This done, they all crept in. Le Duc, who had surveyed their place of concealment from the outside, declared that no person not actually searching for them would suspect that any one was there. No sooner had they swallowed their food than they all fell asleep. Rayner was the first to awaken. He listened, but could hear no sound except the buzz of insects, and he knew, by the light which came in from the upper part of the entrance, that the sun was shining brightly. Jack was still asleep. He was breathing easily, and appeared to be better; but still it was not probable that he would be able to continue the journey. It would be necessary, therefore, at all events, to remain in the cavern all the day, but should he be well enough they might continue their journey at nightfall. Their chief difficulty would be to procure food from the neighbouring village without exciting suspicion. Rayner was unwilling to arouse his companions. At length, however, Oliver awoke; then Le Duc sat up rubbing his eyes. They consulted as to what was to be done. Oliver agreed with Rayner that they must remain where they were, but Le Duc was for pushing on. When, however, Rayner reminded him that Jack could not possibly move as fast as necessary, if at all, he consented to remain. "But should the gendarmes come in this direction to look for us, we shall probably be discovered," he observed. "We must hope, then, that they will not come in this direction," said Oliver. "But what about food, monsieur?" asked Le Duc. "We must try to go without it for a few hours," answered Rayner. "We shall be well rested, and must tie our handkerchiefs tightly round our stomachs. I have got enough for the sick man, who requires it more than we do; but we must not let him know that we have none, or he will probably refuse to touch it." "We can at all events procure some water," said Le Duc. "Give me your hats, gentlemen; they will hold as much as we want." Though Rayner and Oliver would have preferred some other means of obtaining the water, they willingly gave their hats to Le Duc, who crept out with them, and soon returned with both full to the brim. The thirst of the party being quenched, for a short time they suffered much less than before from the pangs of hunger. Tom and Brown were ready to do what their officers wished, only Tom groaned at having nothing to eat. Jack slept on while the rest again lay down. The light which came through the bushes began somewhat to decrease, and Rayner saw that the sun was sinking behind the trees in the west. He was watching Jack, who at length awoke. The moment he opened his eyes, Rayner offered him the food he had kept ready in his pocket. "Come, Jack, stow this away in your inside as fast as you can, that you may have strength to go on as soon as it is time to start. We don't intend to spend our lives here, like mice in a hole." Jack did as he was bid, without asking questions. Just as he had finished, Tom groaned out, "I shall die soon if I don't get something to eat." "Nonsense lad; you can hold out for a few hours longer," replied Brown. "I'm just as bad as you are, for that matter." Le Duc guessed what they were talking about. He himself felt desperately hungry. "I tell you what, messieurs, without food we shall make slow progress. I'll go into the village and try to procure some. I shall easily learn from some person, before I venture to enter, whether the gendarmes are there, and if they are not, we shall be safe for the present. They will, I hope, fancying that you made your way back to the house of Madame La Roche, have gone off there. We must hope for the best, and I will try and invent some reason for wishing to purchase food. The kind lady supplied me with money, so that I shall have no difficulty on that score." Rayner, who in reality suffered more than any one, as he had had less to eat, at last consented to the proposal of Le Duc, who set off. As soon as he had gone the bushes were drawn close again. The party sat in silence, anxiously waiting his return. They waited and waited. Again it became dark. Jack declared that he felt strong enough to go on. "Yes, you may; but I could not budge an inch until I have had some food," growled Tom. "I wish that that Frenchman would come back." "Shut up there, mate, and don't be grumbling. You're not worse than the rest of us," said Brown. Time wore on; it was now perfectly dark. They listened eagerly for the sound of Le Duc's footsteps. Rayner had made up his mind to go out and try to ascertain what had become of him, or at all events to obtain some food, for he felt that neither he nor the rest of the party could get through the night when travelling without it. Later on it would be still more difficult to obtain, as the inhabitants would be in bed. He thought he should be able to find his way back to their place of concealment; so, desiring the party to keep perfectly silent, he set out. He had not gone far in the wood, when he heard footsteps. He crouched down behind a tree, when, looking out, he saw a man, with something on his back, approaching. He hoped that it was Le Duc, but it might be a stranger. He kept quiet. The person came nearer, now stopping, now turning on one side, now on the other. It must be Le Duc, thought Rayner. He has lost his way, perhaps that may account for his long absence. Stepping from behind the tree, he advanced. "What are you searching for, my friend?" he asked, in French. The man stopped, and seemed inclined to run away. "Le Duc, what's the matter?" asked Rayner, in a suppressed tone. "Ah, monsieur! is it you?" cried Le Duc. "I thought I should never find the place where I left you. I saw it only in daylight. Things look so different in the dark. I have had a narrow escape, but I have got some food now. If you follow my advice you will eat and set off immediately. Is the cave near?" "No; but I can lead you to it," answered Rayner. As they went along, Le Duc said, "When I got near the village I met an old black, who told me there were no strangers in the place, and that I might easily procure what I wanted. I accordingly went on boldly, until I reached a cottage just in the outskirts. I entered and found the people ready enough to sell me some bread and sausages, charging me three times as much as they were worth. I also procured this straw bag to put them in. While I was there packing them up several persons who had come in were talking, and I heard them say that a party of soldiers had just arrived, on their way from Leogane to Port Saint Louis in the bay, and that they were ordered to look out for several English spies, and that some blacks, who knew the Englishmen, had accompanied the soldiers to assist in finding them. As soon as I heard this I hastily put some of the things into my bag, not waiting for the remainder, and hurried out of the hut. As I did so, what was my dismay to see three of the soldiers, accompanied by one of the black fellows who had escaped from the wreck! Were I to have run away they would have suspected me, so I walked on whistling, as if I had nothing to fear from them. "As mischance would have it, they were proceeding in the same direction, and it is my belief that they were even then going in search of you. Thoughtless of the consequence, I happened to whistle an air which I sang that night on board the schooner when we were becalmed. The rogue of a black recognised it, for, turning my head, I saw him coming after me. I was silent directly, and began to walk very fast. Fortunately it was almost dusk, and, reaching some thick bushes, I dodged behind them. The black passed me and went on. I lay quiet, and after a time he came back, and I heard him tell the soldiers, who had followed him, that he must have been mistaken; so they then proposed going back to the village. "I waited until they were out of hearing, and then set off to try and find my way to the cave, but I missed it, and have been wandering about ever since." No one troubled Le Duc with questions. They were too eager to dispose of the contents of his bag. They could not see what they were eating, but they were not inclined to be particular. As soon as they had finished their meal, being told by Rayner that soldiers were in the neighbourhood, they begged at once to continue their journey; but Rayner was very doubtful whether Jack could keep up, though he declared that he was ready. When, however, he crept out of the cave, he was scarcely able to stand, much less to walk any distance. "I must remain, then," said Rayner, "and you, Oliver, go on with the other two men and Le Duc, and when he has seen you safely into Spanish territory he will, perhaps, come back and assist me and Jack Peek. If he cannot, we must do our best by ourselves. We have been in a more difficult position together before now, and managed to escape." Oliver, however, would not hear of this, and it was finally settled that the whole party should remain in their cave another night and day. Jack was very unhappy at being the cause of their detention; but Rayner cheered him up by reminding him that it was not his fault, and perhaps, after all, it was the best thing they could do. They accordingly all crept into the cave and went to sleep. In the morning light enough found its way through the bushes to enable them to eat breakfast. They, of course, took care not to speak above a whisper, though listening all the time for the sound of footsteps; but as no one came near them, they hoped that their place of concealment was unknown to any of the villagers, who might otherwise have pointed it out to the soldiers. The day went by. All the food Le Duc had brought was consumed, except a small portion kept for Jack. He offered to go for more, but Rayner judged it imprudent to let him return to the village, where he would be recognised as having come on the previous evening. They accordingly had to go supperless to sleep, Tom grumbling, as usual, at his hard fate. When daylight streamed into the cavern, Le Duc declared that he could hold out no longer, and that, both for his own sake and that of others, he must go and get some food. "The soldiers will have gone away by this time," he observed, "and the black people in the village can have no object in detaining me. If they do, I will bribe them to let me off, and they know if they hand me over to the soldiers that they will get nothing." The hunger all were feeling and his arguments prevailed, and he set off, promising to be back as soon as possible, and to take care that no one followed him. Rayner felt some misgiving as he disappeared. All they could do in the meantime was to keep close in their hole. All day they waited, but Le Duc did not return. Tom muttered, "The Frenchman has deserted us after all." Even Brown expressed some doubts about his honesty. "You never can trust those mounseers," he said in reply to Tom's remark. "Be silent there, men," said Rayner. "Our good friend has probably thought it safer to hide himself, and will manage to get back at night." Night came, however, and still Le Duc did not appear. Rayner and Oliver became more anxious than ever. "I must not let you fellows starve," said Rayner at last. "I'll go out and try and get provisions of some sort. Le Duc spoke of several cottages on the outskirts of the village, and I'll call at one of them and try to bribe the inhabitants, or to move their compassion; perhaps I may get tidings of our friend." Though either Oliver or Brown would gladly have gone instead, they knew that Rayner was the best person to undertake the expedition. "If I do not return before midnight, you must all set out and travel eastward as fast as you can. How do you feel, Peek? Can you manage to move along." "Yes, sir," answered Jack. "I could if you were with us, but I am afraid if you were left behind in the grip of soldiers I shouldn't do much." "Don't let that idea weigh on your mind. If I am captured and sent to prison, there I must remain until I am exchanged for a French officer, though I don't think there's much chance of my being caught." Having given his final directions, Rayner set off. He went on till he saw a light streaming through a cottage window. The better sort of people were alone likely to be sitting up at that hour, as the poorer blacks, he knew, went to bed at sundown and rose at daybreak. He went up to the door and knocked. "May I come in?" he asked in French; and without waiting for an answer he lifted the latch. An old mulatto woman was seated spinning. Near her sat a young girl of much lighter complexion, with remarkably pretty features, engaged in working on some pieces of female finery. She rose as he entered, and the old woman uttered an exclamation of astonishment. He at once explained his errand. He wanted food, and was ready to pay for it. They would not be so hard-hearted as to refuse it to starving men. The girl looked at the old woman, who was apparently her grandmother. "Mon pere will soon be back. Will monsieur object to wait?" she asked. "I have no time to wait; here, accept this," said Rayner, holding out a dollar which he fortunately had in his pocket. The old woman's eyes glittered. "Give monsieur what he wants, but keep enough for your father's supper and breakfast to-morrow. It is strange that he should require food since he is so rich." "I want sufficient for several persons--anything you have got," said Rayner. The girl went to a shelf at the other end of the room and got down a couple of loaves of maize bread, some cakes, salt-fish, and fruit. "You can take some of these," she said, placing them on the table; "but how are you to carry them?" He had a silk handkerchief, which he produced, intending to tie up the provisions in. The girl looked at it with admiration. "Perhaps you will accept this, and give me a basket, or a matting bag instead?" he said. She quickly produced a bag large enough to hold all the things. "Now can you give me any news of anything happening in the village?" "Yes, some soldiers have been there, and impudent fellows they were; some of them came to our house, and if my Pierre had been present there would have been a fight. I am glad that they have gone. It is said they were in search of deserters or spies, and that they had caught one of them, but could not find the rest. If monsieur dislikes the military as much as I do, he'll keep out of their way." The girl said this in a significant manner. Rayner thanked her and the old woman, and advised them to say nothing about his visit. "If we know nothing we can say nothing, eh, monsieur? Bon voyage, and keep out of the way of the soldiers," whispered the girl as she let him out. He could not help thinking, as he hurried back towards the cave, that she suspected he was one of the persons the soldiers were in search of. Although she wished to befriend him, her father might be in a different mood. There was the danger, too, that if poor Le Duc was caught, he might be tortured to make him confess where his companions were. Rayner considered, therefore, that it would be imprudent to remain longer in the cave, and that it would be safer even to carry Jack, should he be unable to walk, than to delay their journey. He got back safely, and the food he brought soon restored the spirits of the party. Even Jack declared that he was strong enough to walk a dozen miles if necessary. They were in great hopes, therefore, of getting across the border before daybreak. They regretted greatly the loss of Le Duc, who had served them so faithfully, especially as they feared that he himself was in danger of suffering in consequence of the assistance he had given them. Rayner led the way. The stars being as bright as on the previous night, he had no difficulty in directing his course. The country was much of the same character as that they had previously crossed. In some parts they came to plantations, and could distinguish the residences of the proprietors. Now they had to make their way by narrow paths through jungles, now to wade through marshes. Jack, helped by Brown and Tom, got on better than might have been expected. Rayner intended to halt for a short time at the first convenient spot they could reach. He had for some distance observed no signs of cultivation, when he found that they were passing close to a plantation. Then there appeared a house on one side, then another and another. Barking dogs came rushing out, and they had some difficulty in keeping them at bay. The brutes followed them, however, joined by others. A voice from a gateway shouted, "Who goes there?" "Friends!" answered Rayner. "Advance, friends, and show yourselves, and give the countersign," said a sentry, at the same time calling out the guard. To run would have been useless, besides which it is not a movement British officers and seamen are wont to make, except after an enemy. Rayner therefore determined to put a bold face upon the matter, advanced with his companions, and the next instant they found themselves surrounded by a body of French soldiers, whose looks, as they held up a couple of lanterns, were anything but satisfactory. CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. RECAPTURED--AN UNEXPECTED RESCUE. "Whence do you come and where are you going, mes amis?" asked the sergeant of the guard, addressing Tom, who was nearest him. "What's that you say, old chap?" said Tom, forgetting the strict orders he had received to hold his tongue. "Ah, what language is that?" exclaimed the sergeant, holding up his lantern and examining the sailor's countenance. "You are not a Frenchman, I'll vow." He turned from one to the other, looking in the faces of each. "Why, I believe these are the very men we were ordered to search for. Seize them all. Take care that none escape. There are five of them, the very number we were told of, and one, the traitor, we have already got. Can any of you speak French? though I doubt it." "Should you be satisfied, monsieur sergeant, if we do speak French, and better French than many of the people about here?" asked Rayner. "If so, will you let us go on our journey? do we look like English sailors?" "I don't know how English sailors generally look," said the sergeant, gruffly, and rather taken aback at being suddenly addressed in his own language. "You certainly have the appearance of overseers, or people of that sort, but your countenances betray you. I am not to be deceived. Bring them along into the guard-room." In vain Rayner pleaded that he and his companions were in a hurry to proceed on their journey. They were dragged into the building, and a guard with fixed bayonets was placed over them. For the remainder of the night they had to sit on a hard bench, with their backs against the wall, sleeping as well as they could in so uncomfortable a position. At daybreak the next morning Sergeant Gabot, by whom they had been captured, entering the room, ordered the guard to bring them along into the presence of Captain Dupuis. The seamen, imitating their officers, quietly followed the sergeant, who led the way to a room in the same building. Here Captain Dupuis, a fierce-looking gentleman wearing a huge pair of moustaches, and a long sword by his side, was found seated at a table with two other officers. He cast his eye over the prisoners and inquired their names. Here was a puzzle, for neither Rayner nor Oliver had thought of assuming French ones. They, therefore, without hesitation, gave their own, as did Jack. "Please, sir, what does the chap say?" asked Brown, when the officer addressed him. "He wishes to know your name," said Oliver. Captain Dupuis, twirling his moustaches, took them down as well as he could. "These names do not sound like those of Frenchmen," he said. "And such we do not pretend to be," replied Rayner, stepping forward. "We found it necessary to assume these disguises for the sake of escaping from prison. We are not spies, and have no desire to injure France or Frenchmen except in open warfare." He then gave an account of their object in approaching the coast and the way in which they had been so unwillingly compelled to land. "I am inclined to believe you, monsieur," said Captain Dupuis, more politely than at first. "But my duty is to convey you to Port Louis, where my regiment is stationed, and the colonel will decide on your case. We will march directly." Captain Dupuis appeared not to be ill-disposed, for he ordered some breakfast to be brought to them in the hall. "Thank you for your kindness, monsieur," said Rayner. "With your permission we will put on our proper dresses, which are contained in these bundles." "Assuredly you have my leave. It will show the people that we have two English officers in captivity, as well as some of their men, and probably the report will be spread that an English frigate and her crew have been taken," observed the captain, laughing. "Well, I do feel more like myself now," exclaimed Brown, as he put on his shirt and jacket, and tied his black handkerchief in a lover's knot round his throat. Rayner and Oliver, though they did not say so, felt very much as their men did, thankful to throw off their disguises. As soon as they had finished breakfast, the soldiers fell in, the prisoners being placed in the centre, and with the captain at their head they commenced their march to the southward. It was not until late in the evening that they arrived at their destination. There were three old-fashioned forts, one intended to support the other, commanding the entrance of the bay. Rayner and Oliver, as they approached, took note of their position, and they remarked that the water appeared to be deep close up to the heights on which the forts were situated. In the largest were several buildings, the residence of the commandant, the barracks, and a small edifice with strongly-barred windows, which they soon discovered to be a prison. They were halted in front of these buildings, while the captain went in to make his report to the commandant. After waiting some time they were marched in between guards with fixed bayonets. Their examination was very similar to that which they had before gone through. Rayner and Oliver, however, hoped that their account of themselves would be believed, and that they would, even at the worst, only be detained as prisoners-of-war. Still, they did not quite like the looks of the commandant, who was evidently of a more savage disposition than his subordinate. He glared at the English, and declared they he believed they were capable of the most abominable acts of treachery and deceit. Rayner replied calmly, and pointed out how improbable it was that he and his companions should have landed for any sinister object. "If you come not as spies yourselves, you come to land French spies. Miscreant traitors to their country!" exclaimed the commandant. "One of them has been caught. Death will be the penalty of his crime. Bring forward the witnesses." As he spoke the soldiers stepped aside and two black seamen were led forward. Rayner recognised them as the most ruffianly of the schooner's crew. First one, and then the other, swore that the vessel had been sent to the coast for the purpose of landing some French spies, that the schooner was to wait for them, and then when they had gained information as to the strength of the forts and vessels in the harbours they were to return to the frigate. In vain Rayner explained the truth. The commandant scornfully answered that he could not believe an English officer upon his oath, that he should send a report of their capture to Leogane, and that for his part he hoped that he should have orders to shoot them all forthwith. The mock examination terminated, they were marched away to the prison on the other side of the fort. The door being opened, they were unceremoniously thrust in, one after the other, and it was closed behind them. As it was by this time growing dusk, and there were only small, narrow windows close under the roof, they were left in almost perfect obscurity, so that they could not venture to move from the spot where they stood. As, however, their eyes got accustomed to the gloom, they found that they were in a room about twelve or fourteen feet square, the floor and sides being of roughly hewn stone. Round it ran a stone bench, just above which they could see several massive iron rings fixed in the walls. "While we have light we had better pick out the cleanest spots we can find," said Oliver. "We shall be kept here to-night, at all events, and the surly commandant will not allow us any luxuries." As they moved a few paces forward, they saw three persons chained to the wall at the farther end of the room. "Who are you?" "Alas! alas!" exclaimed one of them, leaning eagerly forward; and they recognised Le Duc's voice. "Ah, messieurs, you will understand the less said the better as to the past." Rayner took the hint, guessing that Le Duc was unwilling to have anything said in the presence of the two other prisoners which might implicate Madame La Roche or Francois. "You have heard, messieurs, that they have condemned me to death," continued Le Duc, "and the wonder is that they have not shot me already, but I know that at any moment I may be led out. I should wish to live that I may play the fiddle and make others happy as well as myself." "I am very sorry to hear this. If the commandant would believe us, we can prove your innocence, and, surely, our word ought to be taken instead of that of the two blacks," said Rayner. "So it would, according to law, for the evidence of the blacks is worth nothing, and is not received in a court of justice. It proves that the commandant has resolved, at all costs, to wreak his hatred of the English on your heads." Rayner and Oliver seated themselves on the stone bench near him. The men had drawn together on the opposite corner. Le Duc narrated how he had been captured just as he was quitting the village. His great fear had been lest he should be compelled to betray them; and he declared to Rayner, who believed him, that he would have undergone any torture rather than have done so. Le Duc whispered that the two other prisoners had been condemned for murder. "Pleasant sort of companions," observed Oliver. "We may as well let them have their side of the prison to themselves." The men in the meantime had scraped the seat as clean as they could with their knives. Tom, as usual, began to grumble. "We must take the rough and the smooth together," observed Jack. "I am hungry enough myself, and I hope the mounseers don't intend to starve us, though maybe we shan't get roast beef and plum pudding." "Don't talk of it," cried Brown; "I could eat half an ox if I had the chance." While they were talking the door opened, and a man appeared, carrying a lantern and a pitcher in one hand, and a basket in the other, which he placed on the bench near them. The pitcher contained water, and the basket some very brown, heavy-looking bread, with a couple of tin mugs. Having allowed the other prisoners to drink, and given each of them a piece of bread, he handed the basket with its contents to the Englishmen. "You Anglais like ros' beef. Here you eat this. Good enough for you," he said, in a surly tone. They were all too hungry to refuse the bread or the water, which, in spite of its brackish taste, quenched the thirst from which they had long been suffering. Their gaoler left them the lantern, in order that they might see how to divide the bread. It assisted them also to select places on which to stretch themselves round the room, and, in spite of the hardness of their couches, in a short time were all asleep. Some more bread and water was brought them in the morning, and a similar unpalatable meal was provided in the afternoon. This was evidently to be their only food during their imprisonment. They had no one to complain to, no means of obtaining redress; so, like wise men, they made up their minds to bear it, though Tom grumbled and growled all day long at the way in which he was treated. Rayner supposed that the commandant was waiting for a reply to the report he had sent to Leogane. Until that could arrive, no change either for the better or worse was likely to be made in their treatment. Le Duc was still allowed to live; but, in spite of his high spirits, the feeling that he might at any moment be led out and shot was telling upon him. The two officers and Jack did their best to encourage him, and, under the circumstances, it was wonderful how he kept up. In the evening the gaoler appeared with their usual fare. "There will be one less of you to feed to-morrow," he growled out, looking at Le Duc, "and I can't say but that you five others mayn't have to join him company, for while the firing party are out it is as easy to shoot six as one." Le Duc made no answer, but bent his head down on his manacled hands. It was the first sign of deep emotion he had exhibited. "I hope the fellow is only trying to alarm you for the purpose of exercising his own bad feelings," said Rayner, after the surly gaoler had gone. Again left in darkness, they prepared to pass another disagreeable night. Rayner felt that their position was critical in the extreme. He and his companions, accused as they were of being spies, might be led out at any moment and shot. He therefore considered it his duty to prepare his companions as best he could for the worst. Oliver he knew was as ready to die as he was himself. He spoke earnestly and faithfully to the others, pointing out the unspeakable importance of being prepared to stand in the presence of the Judge of all men. He was thankful to hear Jack's reply, which expressed the simple hope of the Christian--faith in Christ as a Saviour; but the other two were silent. After Rayner and his companions had talked for some time they stretched themselves on the bench to try and obtain some sleep. That was more easily sought for than found, for no sooner were they quiet than countless creatures began to sting, and bite, and crawl over them. Tom was continually slapping himself, and moaning and groaning. But, in spite of their hard stone couches and the attacks of the insects, they did manage to drop off occasionally. Rayner's eyes had been closed some time when he was awakened by the dull roar of a gun fired from seaward. He started up, as did his companions. "Where did that come from?" exclaimed Oliver. Before Rayner could answer, the sound of eight or nine guns, a sloop's whole broadside, was heard, followed by the crash of the shot as they struck the fortification. In an instant the whole fort was in an uproar, the officers shouting their orders to the men, and the men calling to each other, as they rushed from their quarters to the ramparts. They had evidently been found napping, for before a single gun had been discharged from the fort, the shot from another broadside came plunging into it. The game, however, was not to be all on one side. The Frenchmen's guns were heard going off as fast as they could get their matches ready. They could easily be distinguished by the far louder noise they made. Those from the two other forts at the same time could be heard firing away. Cries and shrieks rose from wounded men, and a loud explosion, as if a gun had burst, rent the air. "The vessel attacking is a corvette," cried Rayner. "She must have run close in for her shot to strike in the way they are doing. It is a bold enterprise, and I pray she may be successful for her sake as well as ours." "Can she be the _Ariel_ or _Lily_?" asked Oliver. "Whichever she is, the attempt would not have been made without good hope of success," remarked Rayner. "I wish that we were out of this, and aboard her," exclaimed Jack. "So do I," cried Brown. "I don't like being boxed up here while such work is going on. Couldn't we manage to break out?" "We are safe here, and we'd better remain where we are," said Tom; "only I hope none of those round shot will find their way into this place." On the impulse of the moment Jack and Brown made a rush at the door, but it was far too strongly bolted to allow them to break it open. The other prisoners sat with their hands before them, hoping probably, as Tom did, that no shot would find its way among them. Rayner and Oliver looked up at the windows near the roof, but they were strongly-barred and too narrow to enable a grown man to squeeze through them. To sit down quietly seemed impossible. They stood therefore listening, and trying to make out by the sounds which reached their ears how the fight was going. Presently some more guns were heard coming from the sea. "There must be another vessel!" exclaimed Rayner. "Hark! she must be engaging the upper fort. I thought that one would scarcely venture singly to attack the three forts." The roar of the artillery continued. Suddenly there burst forth a loud thundering sound. The ground beneath their feet shook, the walls trembled, and the roof seemed about to fall on their heads, while the glare of a vivid flame penetrating through the windows lighted up the whole interior of the building, shrieks, groans, and cries echoing through the fort. The magazine had blown up. It was a wonder that the prison itself had not been hurled to the ground. "Thank Heaven, we have escaped!" exclaimed Oliver. The attacking vessels still continued firing, and after a short interval the fort once more replied, but evidently with fewer guns than before. A crash was heard over their heads, and down fell a mass of timber, plank, and tiles just above the door. Looking up, the clear sky could be seen, from out of which a crescent moon shone brightly. No one was injured, for the shot, having torn its way through the roof, had fallen outside. "Hurrah! thanks to that shot, we may make our escape out of this, for the Frenchmen are too much engaged at the guns to see us!" cried Jack. "Let us get down to the shore, and when we are once there we may manage to find our way aboard the ship. The chances are we shall find some fishing boat or other on the beach. May we try, sir, what we can do?" "What do you say, Oliver? Shall we make the attempt Jack proposes?" asked Rayner. "If we go we must take Le Duc with us, I wish that we could find something to knock off his chains, and we might set the other poor fellows at liberty." To climb out would be no difficult matter, as Brown found that by standing on Tom's and Jack's shoulders he could reach the lower part of the roof. But Rayner positively refused to go without first setting Le Duc at liberty. He told Brown to try and dislodge a piece of stone from the wall with which they might break the prisoners' chains. Suddenly Tom recollected that he had stowed away one of the files which Le Duc himself had brought in his pocket. "Hand it here," cried Rayner; and heat once began filing away. In the meantime Brown managed to get hold of one of the upper stones of the wall. It was hard, and had a sharp side. "Here it is, sir," he said, clambering down and bringing it to Rayner. A few blows on the bench served to sever the link already partly filed through. "Oh! set us free, monsieur?" cried the other prisoners. "What does he say?" asked Brown. "There won't be time to set you both free, but I'll see what I can do for one of you;" and he began filing away, and with the help of the stone he managed to liberate the arm of one of the men. "Here, take the file and see what you can do for your comrade," he said. The rest of the party had in the meantime begun to mount the wall. CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. NEW ADVENTURES AND SUCCESSES. As Oliver, who went first, had just got to the top, his attention was attracted by loud shouts coming from the rear of the fort. Above them quickly rose a hearty British cheer. Showers of bullets came flying through the air. The shouts and cries increased. Amid the clash of steel, and the sharp crack of pistols, the voices of the officers reached him calling the men to abandon the guns and defend the fort. But it was too late. Already a strong party of blue-jackets and marines were inside. The gate in the rear, insufficiently protected, had evidently been taken by a rush. The Frenchmen, as they always do, fought bravely, but hurrying up without order, many of them without muskets, they were driven back. Even had they been better disciplined, nothing could have withstood the fierce onslaught of the British. Numbers of the defenders were seen to fall, their officers being killed or made prisoners. Most of the remainder, taking to flight, crept through the embrasures or leapt over the parapet. Directly Oliver announced what was going on, the rest of the party were more eager than ever to get out. Jack was the last drawn up, and they all, with Le Duc, dropped on the ground. "Hullo! here's a firelock, and a bayonet at the end of it," said Brown, picking up a musket which the sentry had probably thrown down when making his escape. "Hurrah, boys! we'll charge the mounseers, and make them wish they'd never set eyes on us." Brown, in his eagerness, would have set off without waiting for his companions. Three muskets were found piled close outside of the prison, and a little way off lay the body of an officer who had been shot while making his way to the rear. Rayner took possession of his sword. The victorious assailants were now sweeping onwards towards the farther end of the fort, in which direction most of the garrison had fled. At the other end Rayner observed a group of men, either undecided how to act or waiting an opportunity to attack the British in the rear, for they could now see by the increasing daylight that it was but a small party which had surprised the fort. Brown had seen them also, and, excited at finding himself at liberty, rushed forward with his musket at the charge, without waiting for his companions. They, however, coming out from behind the buildings, were following in the rear. On seeing them approach, a French officer, stepping forward, shouted out that they surrendered. Brown, not understanding his object, still charged on, and whisking his sword out of his hand, would have run him through had he not slipped and fallen, while the rest of the party, supposing he had been killed, retreated out of the way of the bold seaman. "Get up, old fellow, and defend yourself," cried Brown. "I'm not the chap to strike a man when he's down;" and as he spoke he picked up the officer's sword, and, helping him to his feet, presented it to him. All this was done so rapidly that Rayner and his companions arrived only just in time to prevent Brown, who had stepped back a few paces, from making a lunge with his bayonet at the astonished Frenchman, who, now seeing an officer, though he did not recognise Rayner, again cried out that he surrendered, and skipping out of Brown's way offered his sword. The rest of the garrison, seeing the storming party, who had now swept round, coming towards them, threw down their arms, and cried for quarter, while the officers, amongst whom were Captain Dupuis and Sergeant Gabot, presented their swords to Rayner and Oliver. They, turning round, had the satisfaction of greeting Lieutenant Horrocks and other officers of the _Lily_ and _Ariel_. "Glad to see you, Rayner and Crofton. We all thought you were dead. No time to ask how you escaped. We've got to take those two other forts. If you like you can come with us. Crofton, you can take charge of the prisoners. I'll leave Sergeant Maloney and a dozen men with you. The rest follow me." Saying this, the first lieutenant of the _Lily_ led his men on to the attack of the other fort still engaged with the _Ariel_, Rushing on, they were up to the rear of it before the garrison were aware of the capture of the larger fort. By a sudden dash it was taken as the former had been, the _British_ not losing a single man, though several of its defenders, attempting to stand their ground, were cut down. A rocket let off the moment they were in was the signal to the _Ariel_ to cease firing. The third fort higher up, towards which she had hitherto only occasionally fired a gun, now engaged her entire attention. The increasing light showed the garrison the _British_ flags flying above the ramparts of the two other forts, yet they showed no signs of giving in. Though the guns were well placed for defence on the west side, the rear offered a weak point. Without halting, Lieutenant Horrocks led his men towards it. "Lads, we must be over those ramparts in five minutes," he said, pointing to them with his sword. "In two, if you please, sir!" shouted the men. Rayner, who was among those leading, cheered, and springing forward, leapt into the ditch and began climbing up the bank on the opposite side. The blue-jackets of his own ship eagerly pressed after him. He was the first at the top, and with a dozen others who had followed him closely, leapt down among a number of the garrison who, leaving their guns, had hurriedly collected to oppose them. In vain the defenders attempted to resist the impetuous attack. Fresh assailants, among the first of whom was Lieutenant Horrocks, came on, and inch by inch driven back; and seeing that all further resistance was useless, the Frenchmen threw down their arms and cried for quarter. It was now daylight, and there was still much to be done. The prisoners had to be collected, the forts blown up, and the men embarked. Lieutenant Horrocks gave Rayner the satisfactory intelligence that two privateers had been captured at the entrance of the harbour by the boats without firing a shot. The crews, however, had resisted when boarded, and two officers, one of whom was Lieutenant Lascelles, had been badly wounded. "Poor fellow! if he recovers I don't think he will be fit for service for some time," said the first lieutenant. "I shall have to report the gallant way in which you assisted in the capture of the fort." The prisoners being collected from the three forts, and assembled on the beach, Captain Saltwell came on shore and offered the officers their liberty and permission to carry away any of their private property on condition of their pledging their word of honour not to serve against the English again during the war. This they willingly gave. The men also were to be dismissed, though it was useless to make terms which they would not have it in their power to keep. The wounded were collected, and the garrison were allowed to carry off such materials as could be easily removed for forming huts and tents to shelter them. On going through the fort, Rayner and Oliver looked into the prison. The two captives had made their escape. Le Duc had hitherto remained with the English. He naturally feared that he should be considered a traitor should he venture among his own countrymen. "But ah, messieurs, I love France as well as ever; and though I regard the English as brothers after the treatment I have received from them, I would not injure her or her people." Rayner therefore proposed that he should come on board the _Lily_ and remain at Jamaica until he could return home. The last scene had now to be enacted. The marines and parties of seamen had been employed for some hours in digging holes under the fortifications, which were then filled with casks of powder, the whole being connected by carefully laid trains. The men were next embarked. One boat alone remained under each fort, the gunner and boatswain of the _Lily_ and a warrant officer of the _Ariel_ being ordered to fire the trains. Rayner had taken command of one of the _Lily's_ boats. The men waited with their oars in their hands, ready to shove off at a moment's notice. Mr Coles, the gunnel, who was in Rayner's boat, ascended the bank match in hand. Presently he was seen rushing down again, faster probably than he had ever moved before. "No time to lose, sir," he shouted, as he leapt on board. "The fuse in this hot country burns faster than I calculated on." "Give way, lads!" cried Rayner. The men bent to their oars. The other boats were seen pulling away at the same time. They had not got twenty fathoms from the shore, when a thundering report was heard, and up rose a portion of the large fort, filling the air with masses of stone and earth, and dust and smoke. In another second or two the other forts followed suit. The whole atmosphere was filled with a dense black cloud and masses of lurid flame beneath, while thundering reports in rapid succession rent the air. A few seconds afterwards down came showers of stone and earth and pieces of burning timber, just astern of the boats. Had there been any delay they must have been overwhelmed. Fortunately they all escaped injury, and pulled away for their ships, which, with the prizes, had in the meantime got under way and were standing out of the harbour. After a quick run the _Ariel_ and _Lily_ reached Port Royal to repair damages. Rayner was sent for on board the flagship. "I have great pleasure in handing you your commission as lieutenant," said the admiral. "You have won it by your general meritorious conduct, as also by the gallantry you displayed in the capture of Fort Louis. I have appointed you as second lieutenant of the _Lily_, and shall be very glad in another year or two to hear that you have obtained your commander's rank." These remarks of the admiral were indeed encouraging. Rayner, of course, said what was proper in return, and pocketing his commission, bowed and took his departure for the shore, which he had to visit to obtain a new uniform and other articles. Lascelles had been removed to the hospital, where he was to remain until he was sufficiently recovered to go home. Rayner's only regret was being parted from Oliver, the dangers they had gone through together having united them like brothers. While, however, their ships were refitting they were constantly in each other's society. "I wish that I had the chance of getting appointed to your ship," said Oliver. "The _Ariel_ will soon be going home, but for the sake of being with you I should be glad to remain out another year or two. I am well seasoned by this time, and have no fear of Yellow Jack." Not many days after this the senior mate of the _Lily_ was taken very ill while on shore. His shipmates declared that it was in consequence of his chagrin at finding that Rayner had obtained his promotion before him. They were heartily sorry at having made so unkind a remark, when in two days news were received on board that the poor fellow had fallen a victim to yellow fever. Rayner at once advised Oliver to make application for the vacancy. He did so; the admiral appointed him to the _Lily_, and Captain Saltwell was very glad to have him on board. Le Duc, who had been landed at Kingston, came on board one day while the ship was fitting out and begged to speak to the second lieutenant, Monsieur Rayner. "Ah, monsieur, the first thing I did on landing was to purchase a violin, and the next to play it, and I have fiddled with such good effect that I have played my way into the heart of a Creole young lady whose father is wonderfully rich, and as I can turn my hand to other things besides fiddling, he has accepted me as his daughter's husband, and we are to be married soon. I propose settling at Kingston as professor of music and dancing, teacher of languages, and other polite arts; besides which I can make fiddles, harpsichords, and other instruments; I am also a first-rate cook. Indeed, monsieur lieutenant, I should blush were I to speak more of my accomplishments." "I congratulate you heartily," said Rayner, "and I sincerely hope that you will be successful in your new condition. You will, I doubt not, be far happier living on shore with a charming young wife, than knocking about at sea with the chance of being shot or drowned." Le Duc having communicated his good fortune to Jack and his other friends, and invited them to pay him a visit whenever they could get on shore, took his leave. CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. FRESH SUCCESSES AND PERILS. Our hero had now got the first step up the ratlines as an officer. As the _Lily's_ repairs were likely to occupy some time, Captain Saltwell had, by the admiral's permission, fitted out one of the prizes, a fine and fast little schooner, to which the name of the _Active_ had been given. He intended to man her from his own and the _Ariel's_ crews, and to send her cruising in search of the piratical craft which, under the guise of privateers, in vast numbers infested those seas. The admiral had intended to send a _protege_ of his own in charge of the vessel, but that officer was taken ill, and both Lieutenant Horrocks and the first lieutenant of the _Ariel_ were engaged in attending to their respective ships. Rayner was sent for, and the command was offered to him. He accepted it with delight, and begged that Crofton might be allowed to accompany him. He took also Jack and Brown, and though he did not ask for Tom Fletcher, Tom was sent among the men drafted for the purpose. The schooner was furnished with four carronades and two long six-pounders. Her crew mustered twenty men. "We can dare and do anything in such a craft as this," he exclaimed, enthusiastically, as he and Oliver were walking the deck together, while the schooner, under all sail, was steering a course for San Domingo. Before long they both dared and did several gallant actions. Just as they had sighted the land they fell in with three piratical feluccas, either one of which was a match for the _Active_. One, after a desperate resistance, was captured, another was sunk, and the third, while the British crew were securing their first prize, and endeavouring to save the drowning men, effected her escape. She was, however, shortly afterwards taken, and on the return of the _Active_ to Port Royal with her prizes, the thanks of the merchants of Jamaica were offered to Lieutenant Rayner for the service he had rendered to commerce. The admiral the next day sent for Rayner, and received him with more cordiality than is generally awarded to junior officers. Having listened to his report, and commended him for his gallantry. "How soon will you be ready to sail again?" he asked. "Directly our damages have been repaired, and they won't take long, sir," was the answer. "That is right. I have received information that a desperate fellow in command of a craft somewhat larger than the _Active_ has been pillaging vessels of all nations, and it will be a feather in your cap if you take her." "I'll do my best, sir," answered Rayner. In two days the _Active_ was again at sea. Within a fortnight, after a long chase, she had fought and driven on shore a large schooner, got her off again, and recaptured two of her prizes, returning in triumph with all three to Jamaica. He and Oliver were highly complimented on their success. The admiral, who was still in the harbour, invited them to dine on board the flagship. "Mr Horrocks has just obtained his promotion, and you are thus, Mr Rayner, first lieutenant of the _Lily_; and, Mr Crofton, I intend to give you an acting order as second lieutenant, and I hope that before long you will be confirmed in your rank." This was good news. With happy hearts the two friends went on board the _Lily_, which was now ready for sea. They found Lieutenant Horrocks packing up, ready to go on board a frigate just sailing for England. "I expect to enjoy a few weeks' hunting before I get a ship, and when I do get one I shall be very glad to have you, Rayner, with me, should you be unemployed," he said as they parted. Rayner would have preferred retaining the command of the _Active_, but an officer older than himself was appointed to her, and he could not complain. Once more the _Lily_ was at sea. She cruised for some months, during which she captured several prizes, and cut out two others in a very gallant manner under the guns of a strong battery. Oliver soon afterwards had the satisfaction of being confirmed in his rank as lieutenant. Though Commander Saltwell made honourable mention of our hero on each occasion, he received no further recognition of his services. "I have no business to complain," he observed. "My position is only that of many others who have done more than I have, but I should like to be wearing an epaulette on my right shoulder when we get home, and obtain a command with you, Oliver, as my first lieutenant." With this exception, Rayner never alluded to the subject. The _Lily's_ cruise was nearly up. She had lately sent away in her prizes her master and several petty officers and seamen, so that out of her establishment she could scarcely muster more than a hundred men. It was night, a light breeze blowing, the island of Desirade bearing south-east by south, distant six or seven leagues. The two lieutenants had been talking of home. In a few months they expected to be at Plymouth, and Rayner's thoughts had been occupied, as they often were, with his brother officer's sweet sister, Mary Crofton. Rayner had just come on deck to relieve Oliver, who had the middle watch. He had been pacing the deck, waiting for daylight, to commence the morning operation of washing decks, and was looking to windward, when, as the light slowly increased, at some little distance off he made out the dim outline of a large ship. Whether she was a friend or foe he could not determine; if the latter, the position of the _Lily_ was critical in the extreme. He instantly sent the midshipman of the watch to arouse the commander, who hurried on deck. After watching the stranger for a few seconds, they both came to the conclusion that she was a frigate, and, as they knew of no English vessel of her class likely to be thereabouts, that she was French. "Turn the hands up and make sail," said the commander. "We shall probably have to fight, but when the odds are so decidedly against us, it is my duty to avoid an action if I can." The crew at the boatswain's summons came tumbling up from below. All sail was immediately made, and the _Lily's_ head directed to the north-west. She was seen, however, and quickly followed by the frigate, the freshening breeze giving an advantage to the larger vessel, which, having the weather-gauge, and sailing remarkably fast rapidly approached. "We've caught a Tartar at last!" exclaimed Tom. "The sooner we go below and put on our best clothes he better; we shall be taken aboard her before the day's much older." "How do you dare to say that!" cried Jack. "Look up there, you see our flag flying aloft, and I for one would sooner have our tight little craft sent to the bottom than be ordered to strike it. Our skipper hasn't given in yet, and if he falls our first lieutenant will fight the ship as long as he has a plank to stand on." Some of the crew, however, appeared to side with Tom, and showed an inclination to desert their guns. Rayner and Oliver went among them and cheered them up. "Lads!" cried the commander, who had observed some of them wavering as they gazed with looks of alarm at their powerful enemy, "most of you have sailed in the _Lily_ with me since she was first commissioned. You know that I have never exposed your lives unnecessarily, and that we have always succeeded in whatever we have undertaken. You have gained a name for yourselves and our ship, and I hope you will not sully that name by showing the white feather. Although yonder ship is twice as big as we are, still we must try to beat her off, and it will not be my fault if we don't." The men cheered heartily, and went to their guns. Every preparation for battle being made--to the surprise of her own crew, and much more so to that of the Frenchman--the commandant ordered her to be hove-to. "Don't fire a shot until I tell you, lads!" he cried out. Many looked at the stranger with anxious eyes; the flag of France was flying from her peak. Eighteen guns grinned out from her ports on either side--twice the number of those carried by the _Lily_, and of a far heavier calibre. As she got within range she opened fire, her shot flying through the _Lily's_ sails, cutting her rigging and injuring several of her spars, but her guns were so elevated that not a man was hit on deck. "Steady, lads! We must wait until she gets near enough to make every one of our guns tell!" cried the commander. Even when going into action a British seaman often indulges in jokes, but on this occasion every man maintained a grim silence. "Now, lads!" shouted the commander, "give it them!" At the short distance the enemy now was from them the broadside told with terrible effect, the shot crashing through her ports and sides, while the shrieks and groans of the wounded were clearly distinguished from the _Lily's_ deck. The British crew, working with redoubled energy, hauled their guns in and out, and fired with wonderful rapidity, truly tossing them about as if they had been playthings. The French also fired, but far more slowly, sending hardly one shot to the _Lily's_ two. The officers went about the deck encouraging the men and laying hold of the tackles to assist them in their labours. At any moment a well-directed broadside from the frigate might leave the corvette a mere wreck on the ocean, or send her to the bottom. Every man on board knew this; but while their officers kept their flag flying at the peak, they were ready to work their guns and struggle to the last. An hour and a half had passed since the French frigate had opened her fire, and still the little sloop held out. Commander Saltwell's great object was to avoid being run down or boarded. This he managed to do by skilful manoeuvring. At length Rayner, through his glass, observed the crew of the frigate running about her deck as if in considerable confusion. Once more the _Lily_ fired, but what was the astonishment of the British seamen to see her haul her main-tack aboard and begin to make all sail, putting her head to the northward. To follow was impossible, as the _Lily_ had every brace and bowline, all her after backstays, several of her lower shrouds, and other parts of her rigging, shot away. Her sails were also torn, her mainmast and main-topsail yard and foreyard a good deal injured. Yet though she had received these serious damages aloft, strange to say one man alone of her crew had been slightly injured. "We must repair damages, lads, and then go and look after the enemy," cried the commander. The guns being run in and secured, every officer, man, and boy set to work, the commander with the rest. In a wonderfully short time the standing rigging was knotted or spliced, fresh running rigging rove, new sails bent, and the _Lily_ was standing in the direction in which her late antagonist had some time before disappeared. Not long after, however, the man at the mast-head discovered a large ship on the lee beam in the direction of Guadaloupe. The _Lily_ at once steered towards the stranger, when in the afternoon she came up with a vessel under French colours, which endeavoured to escape. Several shots were fired. The stranger sailed on. "She looks like an English ship," observed the commander. "It will never do to let her get away. See what you can do, Crofton." Oliver went forward and trained the foremost gun. He fired, and down came the stranger's main-topsail yard. On this she hauled down her colours and hove-to. She proved to be, as the commander had supposed, a large English merchantman, a prize to the French frigate. The prisoners were at once removed, and the second lieutenant sent with a prize crew on board, when the _Lily_ took her in tow. The wind was light, but a heavy swell sent the prize several times almost aboard the corvette, which was at length compelled to cast her adrift. The next morning the look-out from the mast-head of the _Lily_ announced a sail on the lee bow. In a short time, daylight increasing, she was seen to be a frigate, and no doubt her late antagonist. Captain Saltwell at once bore down on her, making a signal to the prize to do so likewise, and at the same time running up several signals as if speaking another ship to windward. On this the frigate, making all sail, stood away, and as she had the heels both of the _Lily_ and her prize, was soon out of sight. Captain Saltwell, satisfied, as he had every reason to be, with his achievement, ordered the course to be shared for Jamaica. On his arrival he found his commission as post-captain waiting for him. He had won it by constant and hard service. "As I cannot reward you for the gallant way in which you beat off the French frigate and recaptured the merchant ship worth several thousand pounds, I must see what can be done for your first lieutenant," said the admiral. "I will apply for his promotion, and in the meantime will give him an acting order to command the _Lily_, and to take her home." Captain Saltwell, thanking the admiral, expressed his intention to take a passage in his old ship. The news quickly spread fore and aft that the _Lily_ was to be sent home. Loud cheers rose from many a stout throat, the invalids, of which there were not a few, joining in the chorus from below. One-third of those who had come out had either fallen fighting in the many actions in which she had been engaged, or, struck down by yellow fever, lay in the graveyard of Port Royal. No time was lost in getting fresh water and provisions on board. Never did crew work with more good-will than they did on this occasion. The _Lily_ was soon ready for sea, and with a fair breeze ran out of Port Royal harbour. The war was still raging as furiously as ever, and the officers and crew well knew that before they could reach the shores of old England they might have another battle or two to fight. Perhaps, in their heart of hearts, they would have preferred, for once in a way, a peaceful voyage. A look-out, however, was kept, but the Atlantic was crossed, and the chops of the Channel reached, without meeting a foe. Here the _Lily_ encountered a strong easterly gale, and in vain for many days endeavoured to beat up to her destination. Having sighted Scilly, she was standing off the land, from which she was at a considerable distance under close-reefed topsails, when the wind suddenly dropped, and soon afterwards shifted to the southwards. The helm was put down, and the crew flew aloft to shake out the reefs. They were thus engaged when a sail was seen to the south-east. The _Lily_, standing on the opposite tack, rapidly neared her. Every glass on board was directed towards the stranger. She was a ship apparently of much the same size as the _Lily_, but whether an English cruiser or an enemy it was difficult to determine. The _Lily_, by keeping away, might have weathered the Lizard and avoided her. Such an idea did not enter the young commander's head. On the contrary, he kept the ship close to the wind, so that by again going about he might prevent the stranger from passing him. His glass had never been off her. Suddenly he exclaimed, "Hurrah! she's French. I caught sight of her flag as she luffed up! Hands about ship! We'll fight her, Captain Saltwell?" he added, turning to his former commander. "No doubt about it," said Captain Saltwell, "I should if I were in your place." The drum beat to quarters, the crew hurried to their stations, and every preparation was made for the expected battle. The stranger, after standing on some way, hauled up, so as to keep the weather-gauge, and, at the same time; to draw the _Lily_ farther away from the English coast. Once more the latter tacked, and passing under the stranger's stern, poured in a raking broadside. The stranger, coming about, returned the fire; but as the shot flew from her guns down came her mizenmast, and she fell off before the wind. The crew of the _Lily_ cheered, and running in their guns, quickly fired a third broadside. The two ships now ran on side by side, Rayner having shortened sail so as to avoid shooting ahead of his antagonist. Notwithstanding the loss of their mizenmast, the Frenchmen fought with spirit for some time, but their fire at length began to slacken, while the British seamen continued to work their guns with the same energy as at first. Rayner now ordered the mizen-topsail and spanker to be set, and directed the crews of the starboard guns to refrain from firing until he should give the word; then putting down the helm, he suddenly luffed up, and stood across the bows of his opponent. "Fire!" he cried; and gun after gun was fired in succession, the shot telling with fearful effect as they swept the deck of the French ship. The latter put down her helm in a vain attempt to avoid being raked, but her bowsprit catching in the mizen rigging of the _Lily_, Oliver, calling to Jack and several other men, securely lashed it there, in spite of the fire which the marines from the enemy's forecastle opened on him and his companions. The bullets from the Frenchmen's muskets came rattling sharply on board. Two of the seamen were hit, and just at the same moment their young commander was seen to fall. A midshipman and the purser, who were standing by his side, caught him in their arms. CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. CONCLUSION. "Keep at it, my lads, until she strikes!" cried the young commander, as he fell. Captain Saltwell had meantime, seeing what would occur, ordered two guns to be run out at the after ports. Scarcely had they been fired when an officer, springing into the forecastle of the French ship, waved his hat and shouted that they had struck. Oliver and Jack, on looking round for Rayner, and seeing him bleeding on the deck, forgetful of everything else, sprang aft to his side. At that moment the crew raised a cheer of victory; Rayner feebly attempted to join in it. He was carried below. With anxious hearts his officers and crew waited to hear the report of the surgeon. It was Oliver's duty to go on board and take possession of the prize. Unwillingly he left his friend's side. Of the _Lily's_ crew five had been killed, and many more beside her commander, wounded. But Oliver saw, as he stepped on board the prize, how much more severely she had suffered. Everywhere lay dead and dying men. How dread and terrible a fact is war! A lieutenant, coming forward, presented his sword. "My captain lies there," he said, pointing to a form covered by a flag. "The second lieutenant is wounded below; three other officers are among the dead. We did not yield while we had a chance of victory." "Yours is a brave nation, and I must compliment you on the gallant way in which you fought your ship," answered Oliver, in the best French he could command. To lose no time, the prisoners were removed, the prize taken in tow, and all sail made for Plymouth. At length the surgeon come on deck. "The commander will do well, I trust," he said; "but I shall be glad to get him on shore as soon as possible. As soon as I had extracted the bullet, he sent me off to look after the other wounded men, saying that they wanted my care as well as he did." The crew on this gave a suppressed cheer. It would have been louder and more prolonged, but they were afraid of disturbing the commander and the other wounded men. All were proud of their achievement as they sailed up Plymouth Sound with their prize in tow, but no one felt prouder than Jack Peek. "I knew Captain would do something as soon as he had the chance," he had remarked to Brown, who greatly shared his feelings. Rayner was at once removed to the hospital. As he was unable to hold a pen, Captain Saltwell wrote the despatches, taking care to give due credit to the active commander of the corvette. A short time afterwards Oliver carried to the hospital--to which he had never failed to pay a daily visit--an official-looking letter. "Ah! that will do him more good than my doctoring," said the surgeon, to whom he showed it. Oliver opened it at Rayner's request. It was from the Lords of the Admiralty, confirming him in his rank, and appointing him to command the _Urania_ (the English name given to the prize), which, being a fine new corvette, a hundred tons larger than the _Lily_, had been bought into the service. "It will take some time to refit her, and you will, I hope, be about again before she is ready for sea," said Oliver. "I have brought a message from my mother, who begs, as soon as you are ready to be removed, that you will come and stay at our house. She is a good nurse, and you will enjoy more country air than you can here." Rayner very gladly accepted the invitation. Neither Oliver nor Mrs Crofton had thought about the result, but before many weeks were over Commander William Rayner was engaged to marry Mary Crofton, who had given him as loving and gentle a heart as ever beat in woman's bosom. He told her how often he had talked about her when away at sea, and how often he had thought of her, although he had scarcely dared to hope that she would marry one who had been a London street boy and powder monkey. "I love you, my dear Bill, for what you are, for being noble, true, and brave, and such you were when you were a powder monkey, as you call it, although you might not have discovered those qualities in yourself." He was now well able to marry, for his agents had in their hands several thousand pounds of prize-money, and he might reasonably hope to obtain much more before the war was over. Our hero was well enough to assume the command of the _Urania_ by the time she was ready for sea. Oliver, as his first lieutenant, had been busily engaged in obtaining hands, and had secured many of the _Lily's_ former crew. The commander had some time before sent for Jack Peek, and urged him to prepare himself for obtaining a boatswain's warrant. "Thank you, sir," said Jack; "but, you see, to get it I must read and write, and that's what I never could tackle. I have tried pothooks and hangers, but my fingers get all cramped up, and the pen splits open, and I have to let it drop, and make a great big splash of ink on the paper; and as for reading, I've tried that too. I know all the letters when I see them, but I can't manage to put them together in the right fashion, and never could get beyond a, b, ab, b, o, bo. I might in time, if I was to stick to it, I know, and I'll try when we are at sea if I can get a messmate to teach me. But while you're afloat I'd rather be your coxswain, if you'll give me that rating; then I can always be with you, and, mayhap, render you some service, which is just the thing I should be proud of doing. Now, sir, there's Tom Fletcher; he's got plenty of learning, and he ought to be a good seaman by this time. If you were to recommend him to be either a gunner or a boatswain, he'd pass fast enough." Rayner shook his head. "I should be happy to serve Tom Fletcher for old acquaintance' sake, but I fear that although he may have the learning, as you say, he has not got the moral qualities necessary to make a good warrant officer. However, send him to me, and I'll have a talk with him on the subject." Jack promised to look after Tom, whom he had not seen since the _Lily_ was paid off. He returned in a few days, saying that he had long searched for him in vain, until at length he had found him in a low house in the lowest of the Plymouth slums, his prize-money, to the amount of nearly a hundred pounds, all gone, and he himself so drunk that he could not understand the message Jack brought him. "I am truly sorry to hear it," said Rayner. "But you must watch him and try to get him on board. If he is cast adrift he must inevitably be lost, but we will try what we can do to reform him." "I will gladly do my best, sir," answered Jack. When the _Urania_ was nearly ready for sea, Jack did contrive to get Tom aboard of her, but the commander's good intentions were frustrated, for before the ship sailed he deserted with could not again be discovered. Of this Rayner was thankful, as he must of necessity have done what would have gone greatly against his feelings--ordered Tom a flogging. Honest Brown, however, who had gone to school as soon as the _Lily_ was paid off; received what he well deserved, his warrant as boatswain of the corvette he had helped to win. He had shortly to go to sea in a dashing frigate, and from that he was transferred to a seventy-four, in which he was engaged in several of England's greatest battles. Some years passed, when after paying off the _Urania_, as Rayner was passing along a street in Exeter, he heard a stentorian voice singing a verse of a sea ditty. The singer, dressed as a seaman, carried on his head the model of a full-rigged ship, which he rocked to and fro, keeping time to the tune. He had two wooden legs in the shape of mopsticks, and was supporting himself with a crutch, while with the hand at liberty he held out a battered hat to receive the contributions of his audience. Occasionally, when numbers gathered round to listen to him, he exchanged his song for a yarn. As Rayner approached he was saying, "This is the way our government treats our brave seamen. Here was I fighting nobly for my king and country, when a Frenchman's shot spoilt both my legs, and I was left to stump off as best I could on these here timber toes without a shiner in my pocket, robbed of all my hard-earned prize-money. But you good people will, I know, be kind to poor Jack, and fill this here hat of his with coppers to give him a crust of bread and a sup to comfort his old heart. "`Come all ye jolly sailors bold, Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould, While England's glory I unfold, Huzza to the _Arethusa_!'" Suddenly he recognised Captain Rayner, who, from being dressed in plain clothes, he had not at first observed. He started, and then began, with an impudent leer, "Now, mates, I'll spin you another yarn about an English captain who now holds his head mighty high, and would not condescend to speak to poor Jack if he was to meet him. We was powder-monkeys together, that captain and I. But luck is everything. He went up, and I went down. That's the way at sea. If all men had their deserts I should be where he is, in command of a fine frigate, in a fair way of becoming an admiral. But it's no use complaining, and so I'll sing on-- "`The famed _Belle Poule_ straight ahead did lie, The _Arethusa_ seemed to fly, Not a brace, or a tack, or a sheet did we slack On board of the _Arethusa_.'" "No, no, mate, you was not aboard the _Arethusa_!" cried Jack Peek, who had followed his captain at a short distance, and looking Tom in the face. "You was not aboard the _Arethusa_. I'll tell you what kept you down. It was conceit, idleness, drink, and cowardice; and I'll tell you what gave our brave captain his first lift in the service. It was his truthfulness, his good sense, his obedience to the orders of his superiors. It was his soberness, his bravery; and if you, with your learning and advantages, had been like him, you too might have been in command of a dashing frigate, and not stumping about on one wooden leg, with the other tied up to deceive the people. It's hard things I'm saying, I know, but I cannot stand by and hear a fellow who ought to know better running monstrous falsehoods off his reel as you have been doing. You might have borne up for Greenwich, and been looked after by a grateful country; or you might have saved money enough to have kept yourself in comfort to the end of your days; but it all went in drink and debauchery, and now you abuse the government for not looking after you. Howsumdever, Tom Fletcher, I'm very sorry for you, and if you'll knock off this sort of vagabond life, which brings disgrace on the name of a British sailor, I'll answer for it our good captain will exert his influence and get you a berth in Greenwich or elsewhere, for he has often spoken about you, and wondered where you were a-serving." Jack Peek had probably never made so long a speech in his life. It was perhaps too long, for it enabled the old sailor to recover his presence of mind, and looking at Jack with a brazen countenance, he declared that he had never seen him before, when off he went as fast as he could walk on his wooden stumps, and turning down a by-lane was lost to view. Jack had to hurry on to overtake his captain. It was the last time he saw Tom Fletcher alive; but he afterwards heard that a man answering his description, who had been sent to prison as a rogue and a vagabond, had subsequently been killed in a drunken quarrel with another seaman of the same character. Jack had followed his old friend and captain from ship to ship, and at length having overcome the difficulty not only of the alphabet, but of pothooks and hangers, he obtained his warrant, and for several years had charge of one of the ships in which he had fought and bled, now laid up in Portsmouth harbour. In the course of years there was found in the list of English Admirals the names of Sir William Rayner, KCB, John Saltwell, and Oliver Crofton. THE END. 
21483	----	The Wanderers; or Adventures in the Wilds of Trinidad and up the Orinoco, by W.H.G. Kingston. ________________________________________________________________________ For political reasons the Macnamara family are forced to leave their old home in Pennsylvania, and elect to resettle in Trinidad. A big mistake because it is being administered by a bigoted Spanish religious government. The mother dies and is buried, but two Roman Catholic priests arrive with the intention of carrying out the funeral under their rites. So once again the family are displaced, this time for religious reasons. They escape to South America, and make their way into the Orinoco river. There follow innumerable adventures and near shaves of various kinds. But it was a mistake again, because the Spanish are administering the territory, and wish to root out anyone who has no business to be there. On escaping all this they hear that a new administration in Trinidad has abolished the malpractices of the Spanish priestly regime, and they are welcome to return. They sell the Trinidad plantation at a profit, and return to England, though always hankering after their original settlement in Pennsylvania. ________________________________________________________________________ THE WANDERERS; OR ADVENTURES IN THE WILDS OF TRINIDAD AND UP THE ORINOCO, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON. CHAPTER ONE. OUR OLD HOME IN PENNSYLVANIA--REVERSE OF FORTUNE--ARRIVAL IN TRINIDAD-- UNCLE PAUL AND ARTHUR FOLLOW US--SETTLED ON AN ESTATE--SUSPECTED OF HERESY--OUR MOTHER'S ILLNESS--DON ANTONIO'S WARNING--OUR MOTHER'S DEATH--THE PRIEST'S INDIGNATION--WE LEAVE HOME--ARTHUR'S NARROW ESCAPE. We lived very happily at the dear old home in the State of Pennsylvania, where my sister Marian and I were born. Our father, Mr Dennis Macnamara, who was a prosperous merchant, had settled there soon after his marriage with our mother, and we had been brought up with every comfort we could desire. Uncle Paul Netherclift, our mother's brother, who was employed in our father's house of business, resided with us; as did our cousin Arthur Tuffnel, who had lately come over from England to find employment in the colony. Our father was generally in good spirits, and never appeared to think that a reverse of fortune could happen to him. One day, however, he received a visit from a person who was closeted with him for some hours. After the stranger had gone, he appeared suddenly to have become an altered man, his vivacity and high spirits having completely deserted him--while both Uncle Paul and Arthur looked unusually grave; and young as I was, I could not help seeing that something disastrous had happened. My fears were confirmed on overhearing a conversation between my father and mother when they were not aware that I was listening. "We must start without delay. I must not allow this opportunity of retrieving my fallen fortunes to pass by," I heard my father observe, as he pointed to a paragraph in a newspaper which he held in his hand. "The Spanish Government have passed an edict, permitting all foreigners of the Roman Catholic religion to establish themselves in the beautiful and fertile island of Trinidad, where they are to be protected for five years from being pursued for debts incurred in the places they have quitted. Now, if we can manage to get there in safety, my creditors will be unable to touch me, and I shall soon have the means of paying my debts and recovering the position I have lost." "But, my dear husband, it would soon be discovered that we are not Roman Catholics; and we should be placed in an embarrassing, if not in a dangerous position, were we to do as you propose," observed my mother in a tone of expostulation. "You would not, surely, have us conform, even outwardly, to a religion in which we have no faith?" "Depend on it, no questions will be asked, as it will be taken for granted that all persons settling in the island belong to the ordinary form of religion sanctioned by the Government," answered my father. My mother sighed, for she saw that my father was wrong, and that, blinded like Lot of old by his desire to obtain worldly advantages, he was ready to sacrifice the religious principles he professed. I am compelled, though with much pain, to write this. It was settled that we should start at once for Baltimore, to embark on board a vessel bound from that place to Trinidad. Uncle Paul and Arthur were to remain behind to arrange my father's affairs, and to follow us as soon as possible. The only other person to whom my father made known his intentions, was Timothy Nolan, who had come out with him from Old Ireland, when quite a boy, as his servant. "I must leave you behind, Tim; but you will easily find a far better situation than mine, though I shall be sorry to lose you," said my father, after telling him of his intentions. "Shure your honour won't be after thinking that I would consent to lave you, and the dear young lady and Master Guy, with no one at all at all to take care of them," answered Tim. "It's myself would be miserable entirely, if I did that same. It isn't the wages I'd be after asking, for to make your honour doubt about the matter. The pleasure of serving you in the days of trouble will be pay enough; only just say I may go, master dear, and shure I'll be grateful to ye from the bottom of my heart." My father could not resist Tim's earnest entreaties, and so it was agreed that he should form one of the party. It was a sad day for us all when we set out on that rapid journey southward in the waggon, without wishing goodbye to any one. Baltimore, however, was safely reached, and without delay we got on board the good ship the _Loyal Briton_, which immediately set sail. My father seemed to breathe more freely when we were clear of the harbour. Our chief consolation was, that Uncle Paul and Arthur would soon rejoin us, as they expected to be ready for the next ship--to sail in about a month--and they would not have the difficulty in getting off which my father had experienced. It is a satisfaction to me to believe that, had they not been able to remain behind to make arrangements with his creditors, my father would not have left the country in the secret way he did; but the laws in those days were very severe, and had he not escaped, he might have been shut up in prison without the means being allowed him of paying his debts, while we all should have been well-nigh reduced to penury. Had such, however, been the case, I am very sure that Uncle Paul and Arthur would have done their utmost to support my mother and Marian, while I might soon have been able to obtain employment. This is a subject, however, I would rather not dwell upon. Whether my father acted wrongly or rightly, it is not for me to decide; but I hold to the opinion that a man under such circumstances should remain, and boldly face all difficulties. We had a prosperous voyage, and my father and mother appeared to recover their spirits. Marian and I enjoyed it excessively, as it was the first time we had been on the sea. We took delight in watching the strange fish which came swimming round the ship, or which gambolled on the waves, or the birds which circled overhead; or in gazing by night at the countless stars in the clear heavens, or at the phosphorescence which at times covered the ocean, making it appear as if it had been changed into a sea of fire. At length we sighted the northern shore of the island which for a time was to be our home. As we drew near we gazed at it with deep interest, but were sadly disappointed on seeing only a lofty ridge of barren rocks rising out of the water, and extending from east to west. "Shure it would be a hard matter to grow sugar or coffee on that sort of ground!" exclaimed Tim, pointing towards the unattractive-looking coast. "Stay till we pass through the `Dragons' Mouths' and enter the Gulf of Paria," observed the captain. "You will have reason to alter your opinion then, my lad." We stood on with a fair and fresh breeze through the "Boca Grande," one of the entrances into the gulf, when a scene more beautiful than I had ever before beheld burst on our view. On our right hand appeared the mountains of Cumana, on the mainland of South America, their summits towering to the clouds; on our left rose up the lofty precipices of Trinidad, covered to their topmost height with numerous trees, their green foliage contrasting with the intense blue of the sky. The shore, as far as the eye could reach, was fringed with mangrove-trees, their branches dipping into the sea. Astern were the four entrances to the bay, called by Columbus the `Dragons' Mouths,' with verdant craggy isles between them; while on our larboard bow, the western shore of the island extended as far as the eye could reach, with ranges of green hills intersected by valleys with glittering streams like chains of silver running down their sides, towards the azure waters of the gulf. We brought up in Chagaramus Bay, the then chief port of Trinidad, and the next morning we went on shore at Port Royal; for Port of Spain, the present capital, was at that time but a small fishing-village. Several other vessels having arrived about the same time, there was much bustle in the place; and although numerous monks were moving about, no questions were asked at my father as to the religion he professed. It was, as he had supposed would be the case, taken for granted that we were, like the rest of the people, Roman Catholics. He lost no time in selecting an estate at the northern end of the island, near the foot of the mountains, well watered by several streams, which descended from the heights above. A mere nominal rent was asked, and he had the privilege of paying for it by instalments whenever he should have obtained the means of doing so. Considering this a great advantage, he had sanguine hopes of success. He at once commenced a cacao plantation, of which some already existed in the island. It is a tree somewhat resembling the English cherry-tree, and is about fifteen feet in height, flourishing best in new soil near the margin of a river. It requires, however, shelter from strong sunshine or violent winds. For this purpose "plantain" or coral-bean trees are planted between every second row; and these, quickly shooting up above the cacao-trees, afford the most luxuriant appearance to a plantation, their long bare stems being contrasted strongly with the rich green of the cacao below. Nutmeg, cinnamon, and clove plantations were also formed; indeed, the utmost pains were taken to make the ground productive. Some progress had been made in the work before the arrival of Uncle Paul and our cousin Arthur. They had been delayed longer than we had expected, and we were for some time anxiously looking out for them. We were consequently delighted when at length they appeared. Marian threw her arms round Arthur's neck, and gave him the welcome of a sister, for she loved him dearly. Uncle Paul complimented our father on the energy he had displayed, and expressed his wonder that so much had been done. "My success is mainly owing to the way in which I treat those whom I employ," he answered. "The natives especially flock here in numbers, and are more ready to labour for me than for anybody else in the neighbourhood." With the assistance of Uncle Paul and Arthur, still greater progress was made. They also established a house of business in Port Royal, of which Uncle Paul took the chief management, while Arthur and I assisted. We exported numerous articles, and among other produce we shipped a considerable quantity of timber; for magnificent trees, fit for shipbuilding and other purposes, grew in the island--the red cedar and several species of palms being especially magnificent. Altogether, our house was looked upon as the most flourishing in the island, and, as might have been expected, we somewhat excited the jealousy of several of the native merchants. Our father, however, cared nothing for this, and dared the Spaniards to do their worst. Necessity made Uncle Paul, Arthur, and me live, during the weekdays, in the town, but we returned home every Saturday, where we received an affectionate welcome from my mother and Marian. It was, consequently, not remarked in the town that we did not attend mass; and as our house was at some distance from any church, we had a sufficient excuse for not going to one on the Sunday. We were aware, however, that the Inquisition existed in the island, though we could not ascertain who were the persons immediately connected with it. There were, we observed, in proportion to the population, a very large number of priests and friars, some of whom were constantly visiting the houses in the town and neighbourhood; but as we left our lodging at an early hour every day for the counting-house, and seldom returned till late in the evening, we had not hitherto been interfered with. One Saturday evening we were returning homeward, when we overtook a friar ambling along on his mule. We saluted him in the customary fashion, and were passing on, when he stopped Uncle Paul by asking a question which took some time to answer. The friar then, urging on his beast, kept pace with us. Arthur and I had dropped a little behind, so that we could only partly hear what was said, but enough of the conversation reached us to let us know that the friar was talking about religious matters, and was apparently endeavouring to draw out our uncle's opinions. He was always frank and truthful, so we knew that he would find it a difficult task to parry the friar's questions. "I feel almost certain that the friar knew we should pass this way, and came on purpose to fall in with us," observed Arthur. "I wish that Uncle Paul had galloped on without answering him. I don't like the tone of his voice, though he smiles, and speaks so softly." "Nor do I," I replied. "I only hope that he won't come and talk with us." "If he does, we must give him short answers, and say that the matter is too deep for us," observed Arthur. "We may perhaps puzzle him slightly, and at the worst make him suppose that we are very ill informed on religious matters; but we must be cautious what we say." Uncle Paul had from the first been endeavouring in vain to get ahead of the friar without appearing rude, but he did not succeed till the latter had got out of him all the information he wanted. The friar then allowed his mule to drop in between us, and at once addressed Arthur in a friendly way--inquiring of him how often he had attended mass since his arrival, and who was his father confessor. Arthur replied that, as he spent every Sunday in the country, and was occupied the whole of each weekday in business, he had to confess that he had not paid due attention to such matters. "And you," said the friar to me,--"are you equally careless?" "I hope that I am not careless," I answered; "but we Englishmen are not brought up exactly like Spaniards, and consequently you may not understand us clearly." "All true Catholics are the same," remarked the friar. "You may expect a visit before long from the Superior of my Order to inquire into your religious condition, which appears to me unsatisfactory. Good-day, young gentlemen; I cannot give you my blessing till I know more about you." Bowing to the friar, who, having gained all the information he required, now reined in his mule, we rode on to rejoin Uncle Paul. Arthur laughed. "I think we have somewhat puzzled the old fellow," he observed. "Depend upon it, though, that we shall before long receive the visit he promises from his Superior, who may manage by some means or other to find out the truth," I remarked. Though Uncle Paul made light of the matter, too, I saw that he was not altogether comfortable about it. As soon as we arrived, I told my father and mother and Marian, that they might be prepared. "We must not be entrapped by him," said my father; "and I will show my zeal by offering to assist in building a chapel in the neighbourhood." "I will not deny the truth," said my mother, with tears in her eyes. "Nor will I," exclaimed Marian. My father looked annoyed. "You must try then and keep out of the way of the man," he said. "I will manage him, should he come." I afterwards had a conversation with my young sister. "It will be cowardly and disgraceful to deny our faith," she said. "Let me entreat you, Guy, not to do so, whatever may be the consequences. Our father is still unhappily blinded by the hope of securing worldly advantages, or he would not think of acting as he proposes. He may thus secure his own safety, and perhaps, for his sake, the inquisitors may not interfere with us; but if they do, let us pray that we may be firm. It is very, very, very sad, and will break our poor mother's heart, for she already feels dreadfully the position in which we are placed. Oh, what shall we do?" "Trust in God," said Arthur, who just then came into the room, and had overheard Marian's last remark. "My uncle is undoubtedly wrong, and had I known before we left home the state of affairs in this island, and what we were to encounter, I would have implored him not to come to Trinidad; however, as we are here, we must seek for guidance how to act should we, as I fear we shall, be questioned as to our religious belief." We three talked the matter over, and determined, if questioned, to acknowledge ourselves Protestants, and refuse to attend the Roman Catholic Church. We felt sure that Uncle Paul would agree with us, and we proposed to get him to speak to our mother. We were not disappointed in Uncle Paul's reply. He blamed himself greatly for having yielded to our father's persuasions, and consented to urge on our mother the duty of adhering firmly to her religious convictions. On Monday morning, Uncle Paul, Arthur, and I set off to return to the city. On the way our uncle told us that our mother had solemnly promised him not to change her religion, and to suffer anything rather than be induced to do so. He had also spoken to our father, who seemed very anxious, but who declared that, rather than abandon his estate and the prospect of retrieving his fortunes, he would conform outwardly, if necessary, to the religion of the country; but that he would allow us, if we desired it, to quit the island. We reached the town, and carried on business as usual, without any interference from the officials of the Inquisition. We were about to leave our place of business on Wednesday evening, when Tim arrived with a message from my father, summoning us home on account of the dangerous illness of my mother. We immediately ordered our horses and rode off, accompanied by Don Antonio, a physician of great repute, to whom our uncle, on receiving the intelligence, forthwith sent requesting his assistance. We found, on our arrival, that our father, unhappily, had not been alarmed without reason. Our poor mother was dangerously ill, and the physician gave us but slight hopes of her recovery. He was necessitated to return at once to the town, but he promised to be back the next day. Our mother rallied greatly, and when Don Antonio again appeared she seemed to be much better. He, however, looked so grave, that on his following Arthur and me into the sitting-room, we expected to hear him express an unfavourable opinion of her case. But after looking about to see that none of the servants were within hearing, he closed the door, and said in a low voice:-- "It is not on account of your mother's health that I am anxious, but for your sakes, my friends. You are supposed to be rank heretics; and I have received information that unless you forthwith attend mass, go to confession, and in all respects conform to the obligations of the Catholic faith, the Inquisition intends to lay hands on you, and to punish you severely as a warning to others. Even should your father conform, he will be unable to shield you, and you will be equally liable to punishment. If you will be advised by me, unless you are prepared to adopt the religion of the country, you will, without delay, make your escape to some part of the sea-coast remote from the capital, where you may get on board a vessel bound to one of the neighbouring islands or elsewhere. You know not the fearful punishment to which you may be subjected, should you once fall into the hands of the Inquisition; and though I myself run the risk of losing my liberty, not to speak of other consequences, by thus warning you, I could not find it in my heart to leave without doing so." We warmly thanked our kind friend for the advice he had given us, and he repeated what he had said to our father, who shortly afterwards came into the room; but at the time he made no remark, though he was evidently greatly agitated. Scarcely had Don Antonio gone when my mother appeared to grow much worse; and Arthur, throwing himself on horseback, galloped off as hard as his horse could go to bring him back. We anxiously waited his return with the physician, for every moment my mother grew worse and worse. How thankful we were when Don Antonio arrived; but no sooner had he felt her pulse, than, calling my father out of the room, he told him that she was dying, and that he could do nothing for her. His words proved too true. As we all stood round her bed, she entreated us to adhere firmly to the faith in which we had been brought up; then, desiring us to go out of the room, she had a conversation with my father on the same subject, I suspect, for he seemed much moved when we again entered. As daylight streamed into the room, she breathed her last. We all felt her loss greatly, and poor Marian was so overwhelmed with grief that we were in serious anxiety on her account. In that latitude, burial rapidly follows death. It was a sore trial to us to see her carried to her grave, which had been prepared in a picturesque spot on the side of a hill not far from the house. Scarcely had the coffin been lowered into it, when two priests arrived to perform the burial-service. They appeared to be highly indignant that the funeral should have taken place without their presence, and, from expressions which they let drop, it was very evident that they looked upon us all as a family of heretics. My father tried to pacify them, however, and fancied that he had sent them away satisfied. "Remember the warning I have given you," observed Don Antonio, as he bade us goodbye. "Do not be deceived, even should the friars who may come here appear to be on friendly terms; their object will be to betray you." It had been arranged that Uncle Paul and Arthur should return to the town and attend to business next morning, while I was to remain with poor Marian to try and comfort her. Some time after dark, while we were all assembled in the sitting-room, there was a knock at the door, and Arthur went out to see who had come to visit us. He quickly returned with a note for my father in his hand, which he said Don Antonio had sent by his black servant. It contained merely the words, "Follow the advice I gave. It should on no account be put off till to-morrow." The negro having been sent back with a verbal message to the effect that the prescription should be strictly followed, my father sat down, with Uncle Paul and Arthur, to consider what was to be done. "For myself," he said, "I have resolved to remain. I cannot throw away the advantages I have gained; and circumstances, not my fault, will compel me to conform to the religion of the country. But you and Arthur may do as you think fit; and if you resolve to make your escape from the island, I will send Guy and Marian with you--and Tim also, if he wishes to go." Uncle Paul expressed his sorrow at having to leave our father; but as he had determined not to change his faith, he said he was ready to set off with us immediately, and to try to carry out the plan Don Antonio had proposed. Poor Tim, when he heard of our resolution, was sorely troubled what to do. "If you remain, you must become a Roman Catholic with me," said my father. "Then, your honour, with all respect to you, I'll be after going wherever Master Guy and Miss Marian go; though it will be a sad day that we have to leave you." "It must be done, however," said my father. "Now go and get the horses ready. We will have such things as may be required packed up forthwith." We had horses enough to mount the whole party, so arrangements were speedily made; and within half an hour after we had received Don Antonio's warning we were in the saddle, and, under the guidance of natives well acquainted with the country, were making our way along a narrow path up the side of the mountains which rose between our house and the sea. Uncle Paul and the guides went first. Marian rode next, mounted on a small pony, and attended by Arthur. I followed them; and Tim brought up the rear. Our great object was to get to the seaside, where we might remain concealed, in case the officials of the Inquisition should pursue us. The narrow and steep path on which we were travelling wound its way up the side of the hill till the summit was reached, when we began to descend towards the sea. It was generally too rugged to allow us to move out of a walk, for our horses might have fallen and sent us down a precipice either on one side or the other; still, whenever the ground allowed it, we pushed on as fast as we could venture. At length, after descending some distance, we found ourselves travelling along with the ocean on our left and the rugged sides of the hill rising on our right. The pathway seldom allowed two to ride abreast. Now it ran along scarcely eight or ten feet above the level of the water; now it ascended to the height of eighty or a hundred feet, with a steep precipice below us. Daylight had just broken, when, glancing over the ocean, I caught sight of a couple of vessels, which appeared to be standing in for the coast. I could not help crying out to Uncle Paul, in case he might not have observed them. My voice, unfortunately, startled Arthur's horse, which began to sidle and prance; when what was my horror to see its hinder feet slipping over the precipice! Marian shrieked out with alarm, and I expected the next moment that Arthur would be dashed to pieces on the rocks below. Such would have been his fate, had he not sprung from his saddle just as the animal went over the precipice. In vain the creature instinctively attempted to spring up again, desperately clinging to the rock with its feet. Arthur tried to seize its bridle to help it; but in another instant we saw it fall on the rocks below with a force which must have broken every bone in its body. So thankful did we feel that Arthur had been preserved, that we scarcely thought about the poor horse. "Go forward! go forward!" cried out Arthur. "I'll run on by Marian's side. You must not be delayed on my account." We accordingly pushed on, and at length came to a part of the coast where the road ceased, and it was impossible to proceed further with our horses. Our chief guide--who, knowing that we had strong reasons for wishing to escape, was anxious to assist us--advised that we should send the horses back over the mountains by a different road from that by which we had come, while we continued along the coast till we reached a place of concealment, which he said we should find some way further on; he himself proposing to accompany the horses, and to rejoin us when he had conveyed them to a place of safety, where the officials of the Inquisition were not likely to find them. CHAPTER TWO. OUR JOURNEY--THE PASSAGE OF THE STREAM--OUR FLIGHT DISCOVERED--ARRIVAL AT THE RETREAT--OUR FIRST NIGHT IN THE WILDS--CAMO'S ARRIVAL--THE SPIDER-MONKEYS--A CURIOUS SCENE--THE MONKEYS CROSSING A RIVER. We had now a toilsome journey to perform, partly along the coast and partly inland, where the rocks which jutted into the sea, were so precipitous that we were unable to climb over them. Still, though Marian was already much fatigued, we pushed forward, as it was of the greatest importance that we should reach a place of concealment before the officials of the dreaded Inquisition had discovered our flight. Even should they pursue us, and take natives with them as guides, we hoped that they might be deceived by our having sent the horses into the interior, and would follow their footsteps, supposing that we were still upon them, instead of continuing along the shore in the direction we were taking. The rocky character of the ground over which we passed after dismounting would, we believed, prevent any traces which even the keen eyes of Indians could discover, and we were careful not to break any branches or twigs as we passed along. When on the seashore, we kept either in the water or on the hard sand, which the tide, as it rose, would soon cover. But as we thus proceeded along the shore, or climbed over the rocks, where we could obtain no shelter from the sun's rays, we found the heat at times almost overpowering. To relieve Marian, Uncle Paul and Arthur joined their hands and insisted on carrying her between them. She soon begged to be put down, however, as she saw that the task much increased their fatigue. Having reached the north-eastern end of the island, the rocky range of mountains which extends along the northern shore terminated, and we entered a region covered with a dense and tangled forest. Uncle Paul and Tim had brought their guns and some ammunition with them, that we might kill game when the small stock of provisions we had been able to carry was exhausted. The larger portion of these provisions, with some cooking utensils, had been placed on the backs of the horses, and our native guides had promised to bring it on to us as soon as they had left the steeds in a place of safety. We were, however, likely to be somewhat badly off in the meantime; and as a considerable period might elapse before we could get on board a vessel, we should probably have to depend on our own exertions for obtaining a fresh supply. The two vessels we had seen when we were on the side of the mountain had tacked and stood away from the island, so that we had to abandon the expectation of getting on board either of them. I could not help expressing my doubts about the fidelity of the Indians; but Uncle Paul, who knew them better than I did, was convinced that they were honest, and would follow us as soon as they had secured the horses in a place of safety. We were now travelling southward along the coast, and at some little distance from the shore. We had the mountains rising above us on the right, while the lower ground was covered with a dense vegetation, through which it was often difficult to force our way. At length we reached a small river, the most northern of several which ran into the ocean on the eastern side of the island. Our guides had told us that we should find a secure place of concealment on the banks of another stream about a couple of miles beyond this, but without their assistance we had little hope of discovering it. However, we were unwilling to wait, and accordingly prepared to cross the river; Tim volunteering to go first, in order to ascertain the depth. We watched him anxiously. He sank deeper and deeper, till the water reached his armpits, and we began to fear that we should be unable to carry Marian over without wetting her. Still Tim went bravely on, feeling his way with a long stick which he carried, till once more he began to get higher and higher out of the water, and soon reached the opposite bank in safety. Unable, however, to divest myself of the idea that there might be sharks, or even alligators, in the river, I, imitating Tim's example, cut a long pole, which would enable me to defend my companions while they were crossing. Uncle Paul and Arthur then took up Marian and placed her on their shoulders, putting their arms round each other's necks to support her. Tim then waded back to meet them; while I went behind, beating the water furiously with my stick, so that no alligator or shark would have ventured near us. My uncle and Arthur, being both of good height, were able to keep Marian out of the water, and we happily got across without any accident. She then insisted on being put down, declaring that she was not tired, and could walk as well as any of us. Nearly the whole day had been spent on the journey, and we were anxious to find a place where we could rest. Had it not been for the somewhat exposed position, we would gladly have stopped on the banks of the river; but Uncle Paul thought it wiser to continue on till the natives should overtake us. Evening was approaching, and it would soon be dark, when, looking back along the forest glade through which we had come, we saw a person running towards us; we quickly made him out to be Camo, one of the native guides. He signed to us not to stop, and as he ran much faster than we could, he soon overtook us. "Hasten on," he exclaimed; "we are not far from the place to which I wish to lead you. Already your flight has been discovered, and the alguazils are searching for us." "If they come, I will be after giving them a taste of my shillelagh," exclaimed Tim, flourishing the thick stick he carried. "It will be far better to hide ourselves than to oppose them," observed the guide, in his peculiar dialect, which I cannot attempt to imitate. He went ahead, while Uncle Paul and Arthur helped on Marian between them, Tim and I bringing up the rear; Tim every now and then looking back and flourishing his stick, as if he already saw our pursuers, and was resolved to give them a warm reception. Though very tired, we made rapid progress; Camo guiding us through a part of the forest which we should have been unable to discover by ourselves. Just as the shades of evening were stealing amid the trees, we caught sight of the glimmer of water before us, and Camo led the way up a steep ascent to the right, amid the trunks of trees, through between which often only one person could pass at a time; and we soon found ourselves in a small open space, so closely surrounded by dense underwood that it would have been impossible for anyone to discover us, unless acquainted with the spot. Above us a precipitous hill rose to a considerable height; while the branches of the trees, joining overhead, would completely shut us out from the sight of any person looking down from the hill. "Here you will be perfectly safe, for there is no other path besides the one by which we have come," said Camo. "I will go back, however, and so arrange the branches and creepers that the sharpest eyes among our pursuers will be unable to discover that anyone has passed this way." An opening towards the east admitted the only light which reached the spot. Through it we could see the sea, from which we were not far distant. Uncle Paul expressed himself perfectly satisfied with the place of concealment which Camo had selected, and declared that he had little fear of our being discovered. Weary as we were, we were thankful to throw ourselves on the ground; and after we had eaten some of the provisions we had brought with us, we sought that rest we so much required. The wind being completely excluded from the place, it was almost as warm as inside a house, and we had no need of any covering. As our shoes and stockings were wet, however, we took them off and hung them up on the trees to dry, rather than sleep in them. Uncle Paul had placed Marian by his side, and allowed his arm to serve as her pillow. Poor girl, it was only now that, all cause for exertion being for the present over, she seemed to feel her sad bereavement, and the dangerous position in which we were placed. Her grief for a time prevented her from closing her eyes; but at length, overcome by fatigue, she dropped into a peaceful sleep. I sat for some time talking to Arthur; while Tim insisted on standing sentry at the entrance of the passage till the return of Camo, who had gone to look after his companions. We had great difficulty in keeping awake, and even Tim found it a hard matter not to drop down on the ground; but a sense of duty triumphed over his natural desire for rest, and he kept pacing up and down with his stout shillelagh in his hand, ready to do battle with any foes, either human or four-footed, which might approach our retreat. We also kept the guns ready, not to defend ourselves against our pursuers, for that would have been madness, but to shoot any wild beast which might approach us. "It's as well to be prepared," observed Arthur. "But though there are jaguars and pumas on the mainland, I am doubtful whether they exist in Trinidad." "I have heard that most of the animals on the opposite shore of South America are to be found in this island," I answered. "Both the jaguar and puma steal silently on their prey; and if one of them were to find us out, it might pounce down into our midst before we were prepared to defend ourselves. It will not do to risk the chance of there being no such animals in the island. Should we arrive at the conclusion that there are none, I should be very sorry to find, by positive proof, that we were wrong!" "Well, at all events, we will act on the safe side," observed Arthur. "It is wise to be prepared, even though we may find that our care has been unnecessary." An hour or more might have passed, when we heard a rustling in the neighbouring bushes. Arthur and I started to our feet, and Tim clutched his shillelagh more firmly. We listened. The sound came from the bottom of the path leading up to our hiding-place. We waited in perfect silence, for it was too dark to observe anything; but presently our ears caught the sound of light footsteps approaching, and, much to our relief, we heard Camo's voice. "All right!" he exclaimed. "The alguazils have turned back, afraid of trusting themselves to this part of the country in the dark. We may now all rest in quiet, for no one is likely to come near us--for some hours, at all events." This was satisfactory, and honest Camo and his two followers assured us that they would keep the necessary watch while we rested. Scarcely had a minute elapsed after this when Arthur and I were fast asleep; and I suspect that Tim was not long in following our example. Daylight streaming through the opening in our woody bower towards the east, aroused us from our slumbers. We were all very hungry, for we had taken but a small amount of food the previous evening; but we were afraid of lighting a fire, lest the smoke might betray us, should our enemies by any chance be in the neighbourhood. We were obliged to content ourselves, therefore, with our cold provisions, and a draught of water, which Camo brought from the neighbouring stream. Marian somewhat recovered her spirits, but we all felt very anxious about my father, and wondered how he might be treated when the inquisitors found that we had made our escape. The district we had reached was wild in the extreme; the footsteps of civilised men appeared never to have reached it, and the natives who once had their quiet homes in this part of the country had long since been carried off to labour for the ruthless Spaniards, who had already destroyed nearly nine-tenths of the original population. Our native attendants, from the kind way in which my father had treated them, were warmly attached to us, and proportionately hated the Spaniards, and we knew that we were perfectly safe under their care. We were afraid of moving out during the day, though Camo and the other natives made several exploring expeditions, and at length came back with the satisfactory intelligence that our pursuers were nowhere in the neighbourhood. They brought also a couple of ducks which they had killed with their arrows; and they assured us that there would be no danger in lighting a fire to cook them. We soon gathered a sufficient supply of broken branches and twigs to begin with; and while the natives were collecting more fuel from the neighbouring trees, and blowing up the fire, I sat down to pluck one of the ducks--Uncle Paul, with Arthur and Marian kneeling by his side, watching the process. We quickly had the ducks roasting on spits before the fire, supported by two forked sticks stuck in the ground. With these, when cooked, and some hot tea which was made in a tin kettle Tim had brought with him, with a small quantity of sugar which he had put up, as he said, for the young mistress--though we had no milk to drink with it--we made an excellent supper. It was a scene which to our eyes, unaccustomed to anything of the sort, was wild in the extreme; but we were destined to become acquainted with many even wilder and more romantic. That night was passed much as the preceding one had been, except that we were able to keep up a fire without the fear of betraying our retreat. Next morning, having left Marian in her bower, with Tim, armed with one of the guns, to keep guard, I accompanied Arthur--who carried the other gun--into the woods in search of game. Uncle Paul meanwhile went down to the seashore to look out for any vessel which might be approaching the coast; intending, should she prove to be English, to make a signal, in the hope that a boat might be sent on shore to take us off. We caught sight of him in the distance during our ramble, but as we looked seaward we could make out no vessel on any part of the ocean over which our eyes ranged. "Not much chance of getting off today," I observed. "Nor for many days, probably," answered Arthur. "The chances are against any vessel coming near enough to this exact spot to see us; so we must make up our minds, I suspect, to remain here for some weeks, or perhaps months, to come. However, the life may not prove an unpleasant one; and, at all events, it will be far better than being shut up in the dungeons of the Inquisition." "I should think so, indeed," I said. "And if I knew that my poor father was safe, I should not care, but rather enjoy it; and so, I am sure, would Marian." We made our way down to the bank of the river, which appeared to be broad and deep, and thickly shaded on both sides by trees. Knowing that all the rivers in Trinidad abound with fish, we regretted that we had neither spears, nor rods and lines, with which we might: easily have caught an ample supply. Arthur, however, made good use of his gun, and soon shot a number of birds; among which were several parrots with flaming scarlet bodies, and a lovely variety of red, blue, and green on their wings. Loaded with the results of our sport, we returned to the encampment, which by this time afforded us more comfort than at first. Uncle Paul, with the aid of the natives, had been busy at work erecting a small hut, or rather an arbour, for Marian; and they had also formed a bed-place for each of us, raised off the ground, and roofed over with palm-leaves. Uncle confessed that he could not tell when we might get off, and that it would be wise, for the sake of our health, to make ourselves as comfortable as we could. We might indeed remain where we were in safety, for if the inquisitors had given up the search for us, they had probably done so under the belief that we had already made our escape from the island. Camo and the other natives had during the day made a wide circuit without meeting with anyone, and they were more than ever convinced that our enemies were not likely to search for us in that neighbourhood. Uncle Paul was much inclined to send back to ascertain the fate of our father; but Camo declared that the risk would be very great, as in all probability a watch would have been set on the house, and whoever went would be traced back to our hiding-place. So the idea was accordingly abandoned. We sat round our campfire in the evening, and discussed all sorts of plans. Arthur proposed that we should move further to the south; Camo recommended that we should remain where we were. The district was thinly populated, and we might range for miles through the woods without meeting with anyone. "But how are we to procure provisions?" asked Arthur. "Our guns, as you have proved, will furnish us with an abundance of game," I answered. "The woods will afford us fruit, and we can do very well without bread or any luxuries. I shall always be ready to act as sportsman for the camp." "And I should like to accompany you," said Marian. "My eyes are very sharp; and I might be able to see the birds and animals, which you could then shoot." From the report given to us by our faithful Indians, we had no longer much fear of being discovered. We felt sure, also, that should we be seen by any of the natives, they would not betray us to the hated Spaniards. We agreed that we would go out the next morning, Arthur taking one gun and I the other, while Marian was to accompany me. Uncle Paul was too eager in watching for a vessel, willingly to leave the coast. Tim was to keep watch at the camp; and the natives were to act the part of scouts, so that we might have timely notice should the Spaniards approach the wood--in which case we were to hurry back to our place of concealment, where we had no fear of being discovered. The night passed away much as the former ones had done. On the following morning, Arthur, Marian, and I set out after breakfast, with the expectation of amply replenishing our larder; but as our supply of ammunition was small, we determined not to fire unless we could make sure of our game. I had not gone far, when I caught sight of a large parrot with beautiful plumage. I fired, and brought it to the ground. Though badly wounded and unable to fly, it pecked fiercely at Marian when she ran forward to pick it up. However, a blow which I gave it with the butt of my fowling-piece soon brought its struggles to an end. I afterwards killed three others in the same manner. We made our way on till we caught sight of the river below us; but, hoping to meet with more birds near it, we descended to the bank, and were making our way in silence through the thick jungle, which greatly impeded our progress, when Marian exclaimed-- "O Guy! what can that creature be, hanging to yonder bough?" We both stopped, peering ahead, when I caught sight of the animal of which Marian spoke. It looked like an exaggerated spider, with its enormously long arms, its equally long hinder legs, and its still longer tail, by which it was swinging from a branch overhanging the river. Suddenly it threw itself round, and caught the branch by its fore paws. Just then turning its head, it caught sight of us. Probably this was the first time it had ever seen any human beings,--or, at all events, civilised people with white skins. Uttering loud shrieks, the monkey-- for a monkey it was--sprang to the end of the branch, when, in its terror, it let go its hold, and plunged into the water. I should, I confess, have shot the creature; for I knew that the natives, and indeed many of the white inhabitants, of Trinidad, eat monkey flesh, though we had never had any on our table. Away the creature went, floating down the stream, and shrieking loudly for help. Its cries were answered by a number of its kind, of whom we caught sight in the branches directly above our heads. Without noticing us, they ran to the end of a long bough, which extended far over the water. Immediately one of them threw itself off, and caught with its fore paws a long sepo, or vine, which hung from the branch; another descended, hanging on with its tail twisted round the tail of the first; a third sprang nimbly down the living rope, and allowed the second to catch hold of its tail; while a fourth came down, immediately afterwards, almost as quick as lightning, the third catching hold of its tail and one of its arms, while its other arm reached down to the surface of the water, so that when its drowning companion came by it was able to grasp it and hold it tightly. The first now, with wonderful power of limb, hauled itself up, dragging the four monkeys hanging to it, till the second was able to grasp the vine. They then hauled away till the other monkeys in succession were drawn up, and the one which had been in the water was placed safely on the bough. The whole operation was carried on amid the most terrible howlings and cries, as if the creatures, all the time that they were performing this really heroic act, were suffering the greatest possible pain. The chatterings, shrieks, and cries continued after they were all seated on the bough, convincing us that the monkey which had tumbled into the water was telling its companions about the strange creatures it had seen; for they all cast eager glances around and below them, peering through the foliage, evidently endeavouring to catch a sight of us. Though I could have shot one of them, I could not bring myself to do so after seeing the way they had behaved. Presently they saw us, and one glance was sufficient; for, renewing their shrieks and cries, they sprang up the vines, like sailors swarming up ropes, and quickly disappeared amid the dense foliage. Still, we could hear them chattering away in the distance, and I have no doubt that they were communicating their ideas about us to each other, and all the monkeys they met. Having remained perfectly silent, we presently saw a little dark head, with bright eyes, looking out at us from among the boughs; then another, and another came; and as we did not move they gained courage, and crept nearer and nearer. They looked so comical that Marian could not help bursting into a fit of laughter, in which I joined; but no sooner did the monkeys hear our voices than off they scampered to the end of a bough which stretched a considerable way across the stream. They now, almost with the rapidity of lightning, formed a chain similar to the one they had made to drag up their companion, and began swinging backwards and forwards, each time approaching nearer the opposite shore. At last the monkey at the end of the chain caught, with his outstretched arms, a bough extending from that side, and then climbed up the trunk, dragging his companions after him, till the whole hung like a festoon across the river, or rather like a rope-bridge, for a bridge it was. A whole tribe of monkeys now appeared upon the bough on our side, and began to cross by the living bridge thus formed, chattering and shrieking as they ran till they reached the opposite bank. There were old monkeys, and mother monkeys with little ones on their backs, and young monkeys of all sizes. I observed that some of the latter gave a slight pinch, as they went along, to the backs of the big fellows, who could not, of course, retaliate. Probably the rascals took this opportunity of revenging themselves for the sundry beatings they had received for their misconduct on various occasions. When the whole tribe had passed over, with the exception of the living chain, the monkey holding on to the upper bough on our side let go, while those who had hitherto been holding on by the opposite lower branch began rapidly to scramble up the tree, so that the brave old fellow who had borne for the whole time the weight of his companions was for a minute in the water. Once safe, the whole of them scampered away amid the boughs, uttering loud shrieks, and apparently well-satisfied at having placed the river between themselves and us. We stood watching them, laughing heartily at their strange proceedings. Curiosity, however, soon again gained the victory over their fears, and they came back, peering at us amid the foliage; while we could see the young ones running up and down the vines, and playing all sorts of antics. We forgot, for the moment, our grief, and the dangerous position in which we were placed. These monkeys are known by the name of "ateles," or "spider-monkeys;" and certainly their long thin arms and legs, and longer tails, greatly resemble the legs of spiders. They continued to watch us, but did not recross the river, being evidently satisfied that they were safe on the further side; though, had I been anxious, I might easily have brought down one or two of them. Marian, however, charged me not to fire; indeed, it would have been almost like murder to have killed such apparently intelligent creatures. After watching them for some time, we turned our steps towards our retreat; and as we made our way through the forest, I added several more birds to stock of provisions. CHAPTER THREE. JOSE APPEARS--INTELLIGENCE OF OUR FATHER--HIS ARRIVAL--CATCHING THE MANATEE--SEARCH FOR A BOAT--JOSE'S TREACHEROUS DESIGN FRUSTRATED BY AN ANACONDA. We had already spent a week at our retreat, and no opportunity had as yet occurred of making our escape. So far as we could tell, we might live on where we were for many months without being discovered, if we could provide ourselves with food. That, of course, was a very important point. We might kill animals enough to supply ourselves with meat; but we required flour and vegetables, and our small stock of tea and sugar was diminishing. We had also made Marian's hut tolerably comfortable, and the rest of the party were content to sleep in the open air. Thoroughly trusting our faithful Camo, we consulted him as to the possibility of obtaining fresh supplies from home, especially of such things as Marian chiefly required. He answered that he would do everything we wished, but he again warned us of the danger we might incur of being discovered. "Oh, do not let any risk be run for me!" exclaimed Marian. "I would infinitely rather go without any luxuries, than feel that our friends had to incur any danger to obtain them. All I wish to ascertain is, how poor papa is getting on." "We will wait, at all events," said Uncle Paul. "If we find that no vessel approaches the coast, we must try and obtain a boat from the shore. It will not be safe, however, to go off in her without an ample stock of provisions and water, as some days may pass before we succeed in getting on board a vessel to carry us to the mainland or to one of the islands." Our chief object for the present was, therefore, according to Uncle Paul's advice, to obtain the provisions he thought necessary; while every day, as before, Camo and the other natives went out to watch for the approach of those who might be sent in search of us. One evening one of the two men came back reporting that all was safe, but Camo had not returned. Arthur and I had gone some little distance from our retreat, with our guns, when we caught sight of a person among the trees stealing towards us. We were convinced, by the cautious way in which he approached, that it was not Camo. We accordingly concealed ourselves; for had we retreated, the stranger would probably have observed us. As he drew nearer to us, we were convinced, by the way he looked about in every direction, that he by some means or other knew we had taken refuge in the neighbourhood. When he stopped at length, a short distance off, we recognised one of my father's servants--a half-caste named Jose. He was not a man in whom we had ever placed much confidence, though he was an industrious, hardworking fellow; and we were, therefore, doubtful whether we should speak to him, or endeavour to keep concealed. Still, we were both anxious to gain tidings from home; and we thought it probable that my father had sent him with a message for us. It was evident, indeed, that he must have known whereabouts to find us, or he would not have come so directly towards our hiding-place. Arthur put his mouth to my ear, and whispered-- "It will be better to show ourselves; and we must afterwards keep a watch on the man, to prevent him from going off and giving information to our enemies." I, of course, agreed to this proposal; so, stepping out from behind the tree where we had been hidden, we faced Jose, and asked him whether he had brought any message from my father. He seemed in no way astonished at seeing us, but replied that he was glad to find we had not left the island, as he had been sent expressly by my father to try and meet with us. He had been, he said, searching for us for some days; and at length catching sight of Camo, he knew that we were not likely to be far off. My father himself, he said, was in considerable apprehension of being denounced to the Inquisition, as he had received it warning from Doctor Antonio, and had thought it prudent in consequence to hide himself. "Will he not join us?" asked Arthur eagerly. "He will be safer where we are than anywhere else." "He does not know where to find you, senors; but if you will show me your place of concealment, I will try and find him, and bring him to you." Arthur looked at me, on hearing this, with an expression that showed he doubted the truth of what Jose said. "It will be better not to show any distrust," he whispered; "at the same time, it might be hazardous to lead Jose to our retreat." "What are we to do, then?" I asked. "We will tell him to go and find your father, and conduct him to this spot: if he comes, we need no longer have any doubts about Jose's fidelity." I thought Arthur's idea a good one, though we should have liked to consult Uncle Paul on the subject. Arthur asked Jose how long it would take to bring our father to the spot where we then were. He replied, "Certainly not before noon of next day;" and we accordingly agreed to meet him at that hour. "But will you not take me to your hiding-place?" he asked. "I am hungry and weary, and require rest and refreshment." I was much disposed to do as the man requested, but I waited to hear what Arthur would say before replying. "We regret that we cannot take you there at present," said Arthur; "others are concerned as well as ourselves. Do you go back and find your master, and tell him that we are well, and shall be rejoiced to see him." Jose looked somewhat disappointed. "Come," said Arthur, "we will accompany you a part of the way. Here are two birds which we have shot; they will help to support you and Senor Dennis till you reach this to-morrow." Still Jose lingered, evidently wishing to learn the way to our retreat; but Arthur had a determined manner about him, and Jose was at length compelled to turn back, whereupon we accompanied him. We walked on for about half a mile through the forest, but were unwilling to go further, for fear of losing our way. At length we bade Jose goodbye, and hurried back, occasionally looking behind us to ascertain whether he was following. It was dark by the time we reached our retreat. Camo had just before come in, and, strange to say, had not seen anything of Jose. Uncle Paul approved of what we had done, but expressed his doubts as to whether Jose was honest. "We shall know to-morrow," he observed. "If he is accompanied by your father, all may be right; but if not, we must take care that he does not discover our retreat. Having themselves failed to find us, the officers of the Inquisition are very likely to have bribed him; and they may possibly have let your father escape their clutches, for the sake of catching us all in one net." So impressed was Uncle Paul with this idea, that he proposed we should move further south, to some other safe place of concealment. Consulting Camo on the subject, the Indian replied that we could not hope to find a safer retreat than our present one, and suggested that he and his companions should be on the watch, some distance in advance of the spot to which we had told Jose to bring my father; promising that, should he be accompanied by strangers, they would immediately hasten to inform us, so that we might have time to escape. I earnestly hoped that my father would come; for, though he might run the risk of sacrificing his property, that would be far better than having to act the part of a hypocrite, or being shut up in the dungeons of the Inquisition. The night seemed very long; and I could scarcely go to sleep for thinking of what might happen on the morrow. At the hour appointed, Arthur and I went to the spot agreed on; Camo and the other natives having some time before set out to watch for Jose's approach. We waited anxiously; the hour for the meeting had arrived. At length we caught sight of two persons coming through the forest. My heart bounded with joy; my father was one of them, and Jose was his companion. Arthur and I hurried towards them, and were soon welcoming my father. He looked pale and ill, but expressed his thankfulness at having escaped; so we at once accompanied him to our retreat, followed by Jose. He was, as might be expected, very much cast down, and anxious about the future; but Uncle Paul did his utmost to raise his spirits, bidding him trust in God, and reminding him that everything would be ordered for the best. Our plans for the future were then discussed, as our father was eager to get off as soon as possible. As we spoke in English, Jose could not understand what was said; but he observed everything that took place with a look which I did not like--indeed, neither Arthur nor I were yet satisfied that he was acting an honest part. The means of obtaining provisions for the voyage next occupied our attention. Camo suggested that we should try and catch a cowfish, the flesh of which, when cut up into strips and dried in the sun, could be preserved for a considerable time, and would prove more serviceable than any other food we were likely to obtain. He offered at once to go down to the river and look out for one. Arthur, Tim, and I accompanied him and the two other natives. Tim had an axe, while we had our guns, and the natives had provided themselves with lances, to which long lines were attached. Camo took his post on the lower branch of a tree which projected over the water, while we stationed ourselves at some little distance, ready to render him assistance, if required; and we waited thus for some time, looking up and down the stream in the hope of seeing a cowfish come within reach of his lance. The creature of which we were in search is amphibious, and suckles its young like the whale. It is frequently found in pairs with its young, browsing on the marine plants, and sometimes on shore in the cocoanut groves. It is properly called the "manatee," or seacow; measures fifteen feet in length, has two fin-like arms, is covered with hair, and often weighs twelve hundred pounds. I had never seen one, but Camo had described it to us as we were on our way to the river. At length we caught sight of a dark object coming slowly up the stream; its head, as it approached, greatly resembling that of a cow, while its hairy body was raised considerably above the water. We knew from Camo's movements that he also had observed it. The question was whether or not it would pass near enough to him to allow him to strike it with his lance. As it drew nearer, we saw that it had a young one by its side. Now, greatly to our disappointment, it floated off to the opposite side of the stream, and we feared that it would be lost. It suddenly turned again, however, while its young one disappeared beneath it. For some time it remained almost stationary, then, unconscious of its danger, floated directly under where Camo stood. At that instant his long lance flew from his hand, and buried itself deep in the animal's back. The other natives, who had been watching eagerly, now sprang forward and hurled their lances, fixing them firmly, one in its neck, and another towards its tail. The creature, finding itself wounded, began to plunge violently, but made no other effort to escape. It seemed, however, as if the light lances would be unable to hold it. Arthur and I on this made our way as close to the water as we could; and when we got the creature clearly in sight, Arthur fired, and sent a bullet through its head. Its struggles instantly ceased, and without much difficulty we drew it up to the only part of the bank in the neighbourhood where we could land it. It was quite dead, but even then it required our united strength to drag it on shore. The young one followed, and tried to climb up the bank, when Tim despatched it with a blow of his axe. It seemed a cruel deed, but necessity, in such a case, has no law, and we were thankful to have obtained such an ample supply of meat. We at once set to work to cut up the creature, under Camo's directions, and soon had loaded ourselves with as much meat as we could carry. Leaving one of the natives to guard the carcass from the birds of prey, or any animals which might come to feed on it, we hastened back to our retreat, and then returned for a further quantity. Uncle Paul was delighted at our success; and we immediately set to work to cut the meat into thin strips, which we hung up in the sun. In the evening we cooked a portion of the young manatee for supper, and we all agreed that it tasted like the most delicate pork. We had now a supply of meat sufficient to last us for several days; and we hoped, with the aid of some cocoanuts, yams, plantains, bananas, and other fruits, to secure an ample supply of provisions for the longest voyage we were likely to take. Our hope was that we should quickly get on board a vessel. If not, Uncle Paul proposed that we should steer for Tobago, which we might expect to reach in a couple of days. Our chief difficulty was to obtain a boat; and Uncle Paul and Arthur agreed to set out to the south in search of one. Dressed in duck trousers, and with broad-brimmed hats on their heads, they would probably be taken for English sailors, and would not be interfered with. They hoped to hire a boat without difficulty; if not, they intended to run off with one, and to send back more than her value to the owner. Under the circumstances, they considered that they would be justified in so doing; though I am very sure that we must never do what is wrong for the sake of gaining an advantage of any sort. I may be excused, however, from discussing here the morality of their intended act. The world certainly would not have blamed them; but, as I now write in my old age, I have learned that there is a rule far above the world's laws, and that says, "Do no wrong, or be guilty of any appearance of wrong, however important may seem the object to be gained." But this is a digression. Camo and the two other natives agreed to accompany our uncle and Arthur. The latter took his gun with him, but I retained mine. They had been gone for some hours, when Tim and I agreed to go out into the woods and kill some birds for supper, whilst our father--who had not yet recovered from the fatigue of his journey, and was, besides, sorely distressed at the thought of all his hopes being destroyed--remained in the retreat with Marian. Jose undertook to stop and prepare the meat, which was to be packed up tightly in small bundles, and covered over with leaves. Tim and I took our way westward. I scarcely know what made us go in that direction; for before we left the camp we had intended to proceed to the river, and had said so in Jose's hearing. We had gone some distance, however, when we caught sight of a small deer known as the "mangrove stag." The creature did not perceive us, and we followed it for a considerable distance before I could get a favourable shot. At length, when we were little more than fifty yards off, I fired, and, greatly to my satisfaction, brought it to the ground. Tim having quickly despatched it, next skinned and cut it up; then loading ourselves with as much of the flesh as we could carry, we set off to return to the camp. We had made some progress on our way home, though with our load we moved but slowly--when we caught sight of Jose in the distance, running rapidly among the trees of the forest. At the same moment an object appeared directly in front of Jose sufficient to fill us with horror. It was a huge snake. Jose apparently had not seen it; for the next instant the creature seized him, and began to wind its folds around his body. He uttered a dreadful shriek of terror, not knowing that anyone was near. Tim and I rushed forward; he with his axe in his hand, I with a stick I had picked up--for I was afraid, should I fire, of killing the man. Jose had never been a favourite with Tim; indeed, he had suspected him from the first; and the man's appearance at that spot showed pretty clearly that Tim was right in his opinion. He now, however, dashed up to the huge snake in the most gallant way, and struck it a violent blow on the tail, almost severing the end. Still the monster kept firm hold of the terrified Jose, whose fearful shrieks were each instant becoming fainter as the creature pressed his body tighter and tighter in its encircling folds. "Do you, Master Guy, batter away at its tail, while I take its head," cried Tim; and springing towards the neck of the monster, just as it was on the point of seizing Jose's head in its mouth, he struck it a blow with his axe which well-nigh cut it through. Still it kept hold of the wretched man; till Tim repeating his blow, it rolled over to the ground with its victim, who, covered with its blood, presented a horrible spectacle as he lay gasping for breath. The blows had paralysed the serpent; and now, seizing Jose by the shoulders, we dragged him out from between its relaxed folds. We had expected to find every bone in his body broken, but, except that his breath had nearly been squeezed out of him, he did not appear to have suffered much. The anaconda, however, we saw from the movements of its body, still retained sufficient vitality to be mischievous. "We must finish off this gentleman before we attend to Master Jose," cried Tim. "If he comes to life again, he will be after taking us all three down his ugly mouth, like so many pills, at a gulp." "I suspect the gash you gave him must have somewhat spoiled his digestion, though, Tim," I observed. "Arrah, then, I will be after giving him another, to make sure," exclaimed my companion, severing the snake's head at a blow. "There! now I've done for him!" he cried, triumphantly holding up its head. We measured the anaconda, which was fully thirty feet long; and Tim having cut it open with his axe, we found the body of a young deer, and three pacas, each larger than a hare, perfectly entire, showing that the creature had only just swallowed them. Its appearance was most hideous, the creature being very broad in the middle, and tapering abruptly at both ends. It had probably come up a small stream which ran into the main river, and which passed at no great distance from the spot where it had attacked Jose. I was not before aware that anacondas of any size were to be found in Trinidad; indeed, Camo had told us that he had never seen one, and that at all events they were very rare. We now turned our attention to Jose, who had not yet recovered from his terror. He sat moaning on the ground, and feeling his limbs, as if still uncertain whether or not they were broken. We at length got him on his legs, and taking him to the water, washed off the serpent's blood, which abundantly besprinkled his face and shoulders. "And now, Jose, tell me, where were you going when the serpent stopped you?" I asked, when he had recovered sufficiently to speak. "Oh, don't ask me, Senor Guy! I will go back with you, and remain faithful to the end of my days." I thought it best not to put further questions to the man, intending to leave it to my father to do so; but I strongly suspected that had not the anaconda put a stop to his proceedings, we should not have seen him again. Indeed, I may say that I was certain he was on his way to give information to the Inquisition of our place of concealment. Assisting him along, we reached our sylvan home just as darkness set in. My father looked sternly at Jose, and asked where he had been going. The wretched man, falling on his knees, then acknowledged his intended treachery, and, begging my father to forgive him, said he would be faithful in future. "I will trust you thus far," said my father: "you must never leave this retreat while we remain here." Jose made no answer, but, sitting down on the ground, groaned as if in great pain. Indeed, the anaconda had given him a greater squeeze than we had at first supposed. "You may depend on it, your honour, that I will keep an eye on our friend here," said Tim, glancing at Jose. "If it had not been for the big serpent, he would have been after getting those `Inquisitive' gentlemen down upon us. I will make my shillelagh and his head wonderfully well acquainted, however, if I catch him trying to bolt again." After this discovery of the intended treachery of our servant, we felt more anxious than ever to escape from the island; and we eagerly looked for the return of Uncle Paul and Arthur, with the boat we hoped they would find. CHAPTER FOUR. UNCLE PAUL'S RETURN--WE EMBARK--OVERTAKEN BY A FURIOUS GALE--OUR PROVISIONS WASHED AWAY--JOSE'S DEATH--BURIAL AT SEA--OUR SUFFERINGS--A BREEZE--A SAIL--DISAPPOINTMENT--CATCHING FISH. Another day passed, and we became more and more anxious for the return of our uncle and cousin. Sometimes our father talked of going back and braving the worst; and sometimes he seemed eager to embark, to get clear away from the island in which his once bright hopes had been so completely destroyed. Frequently he spoke as if all happiness in life for him was over, and seemed only to wish for death as an end to his sorrows. He felt greatly the loss of our mother; and that alone would have been sufficient to cast him down. But he was also, it was evident, dissatisfied with himself. How could it be otherwise, when he reflected that he had, by his own act, brought his present misfortunes upon himself? We, however, did not and could not complain; and dear Marian did her utmost to soothe and comfort him, telling him in a quiet way to trust in God, and that all would be well. "But I have not trusted in God; I have only trusted in myself," answered our father bitterly, "and I have, in consequence, been terribly deceived." Though neither Marian nor I could offer sufficient consolation, we did all we could to keep him from going back, and were thus, at all events, of use. Several times during the day I went down to the beach and looked along the shore, in the hope of seeing the boat coming; but neither did she appear, nor was any sail in sight. Tim would not leave his post, even for the sake of getting some birds for our larder, but kept guard upon Jose; who, it was evident, he thought would run off should he find an opportunity. "If once we get on salt water, the spalpeen may go and give all the information he chooses; though it would be a pity to let him show this snug little hiding-place, in case some other honest folks might wish to take possession of it," he said to me. "I should just like to take him with us, if I wouldn't rather be without his company." We had been for some time shut up in our retreat that night, with the entrance carefully closed. Marian had retired to her hut, and our father to one we had built for him; Jose was lying asleep, or pretending to be so; while Tim sat up with me, it being my watch,--when we heard a slight sound, as of persons approaching the spot. The fire was burning brightly, so that we could easily have been seen by those who might find their way to the entrance. My anxiety was relieved, however, by the voice of Uncle Paul; and he soon appeared, followed by Arthur and Camo. "We have no time to lose," he said, after he had inquired if all had gone well. "We have been able to purchase a boat; and though she is not so large as I could wish, she will carry us all. We have brought her down to the mouth of the river, where she is moored in safety; also some casks of water, and all the provisions we have been able to procure. We should embark at once, so as to be away from the land before morning dawns." Our father, who had been sleeping lightly, awoke on hearing Uncle Paul's voice, and he seemed well-satisfied with the arrangements which had been made. "I am perfectly ready to start, and shall rejoice to get away from this unhappy country," he added. I awoke Marian, who was equally ready to start; and we at once set to work to pack up all the provisions we had collected. With these we loaded ourselves, Jose taking one of the heaviest packages. "You will accompany us," said my father to him. "If you have the regard for me you profess, you will willingly go; and should we hear favourable accounts of the progress of events in the island, you will be able to return, should you wish it." "It is my wish to obey you, senor," answered Jose. "Had it not been for Senor Guy and Tim, I should have been killed by that dreadful serpent; and I am thankful to them for saving my life." "Notwithstanding all he says, I will keep an eye on him," whispered Tim to me. "If he tries to give us leg-bail, I will be after him, and show him that I have as good a pair of heels as he has." We were quickly ready; and having extinguished the fire, to prevent the risk of it spreading to the forest, we all set out,--Camo leading the way, Arthur assisting Marion, while Tim and I brought up the rear. "Stop a moment," said Camo, when we all got outside. "I will close the entrance, so that no strangers may find it." Putting down his load, he drew together the bushes amid which we had passed, as had been our custom from the first. We walked in silence through the wood till we got down to the seashore, when, continuing along it for nearly a mile, we at length reached a little harbour formed by a bay at the mouth of the river. Here we found the boat, with the two natives guarding her. She appeared, indeed, very small for the long voyage we contemplated, though sufficiently large to hold all our party. Uncle Paul was the only seafaring person among us, for in his early days he had been a sailor; but my cousin and I, as well as Tim and Jose, could row, so that should the weather prove calm we might still be able to make good way. Camo and the other two natives would willingly have accompanied us; but it not being necessary for them to leave the island, as there was but little danger of their being captured provided they kept concealed, my father and uncle had agreed that it would be better to leave them behind. They shed tears as they assisted us to load the boat and bade us farewell. The oars were got out, and Uncle Paul gave the order to shove off; then, getting her head round, we pulled down the river. There was but little wind, and that was off the shore, so that the water at its mouth was perfectly smooth. Bending to our oars, we pulled out to sea; and as we left the shore astern, we all breathed more freely than we had done for many a day. We had, at all events, escaped from the dreaded Inquisition, and we thought, in comparison, but little of the dangers before us. Having got some distance from the shore we felt the breeze come stronger, and Uncle Paul desired us to step the mast and hoist the sail, when we glided much more rapidly through the water than we had done when rowing. The weather, too, promised to be fine, and Uncle Paul cheered us up by saying that he hoped we should fall in with a vessel during the morning; if not, he proposed steering a course for Tobago. The boat was pretty well loaded with provisions and water, so that there was not much space for lying down. We managed, however, to fit a small cabin for Marian in the afterpart with a spare sail, into which she could retire to rest. The task of navigating the boat fell most heavily on Uncle Paul, as neither Arthur nor I were accustomed to steer, while Tim and Jose knew nothing about the matter. Uncle, therefore, did not like us to take the helm. We glided on till the shores of the island could scarcely be perceived,--the weather having been remarkably fine ever since we had left home. Just before dawn, however, there were signs of it changing; and as the sun rose from its ocean-bed it looked like a huge globe of fire, diffusing a ruddy glow throughout the sky, and tingeing with a lurid hue the edges of the rapidly gathering clouds. The wind came in fitful gusts for some time from the westward; but soon after Uncle Paul had put the boat's head to the north, it suddenly shifted, and began to blow with considerable violence from that quarter. We had then, under his directions, to close-reef the sail; but even thus it was more than the boat could bear. In vain did we try to beat to windward. "We shall make no way in the direction we wish to go," said Uncle Paul at length. "We must either run before it, or stand back to the coast we have left, and try to enter some river or harbour where we can find shelter till the gale has passed." My father was very unwilling to return to the island, fearing that we should be suspected by the authorities of any place where we might land, and be delivered into the hands of the government. We were now steering to the southward, in a direction exactly opposite to what we wished, but the sea had got up so much, and the wind blew so violently, that it was the only one in which the boat could be steered with safety. The more the sea got up, the more necessary it became to carry sail, to avoid being swamped by the heavy waves which rolled up astern. Poor Uncle Paul had now been steering for some hours, but he could not trust the helm to anyone else. The wind continuing to increase, a stronger gust than we had before felt struck the sail. In an instant both it and the mast, which had given way, were carried overboard; and before we could secure them, they were lost. On this, Uncle Paul ordered us to get out the oars, and to pull for our lives. We did as he directed; but notwithstanding our efforts several seas which rolled up broke into the boat, carrying away all our water-casks and the larger portion of our provisions. While Arthur and Tim rowed, my father, Jose, and I, aided by Marian, set to work to bail out the boat, and it was with the greatest difficulty we could keep her clear. Our position had now become extremely critical. Uncle Paul kept as calm as at first, directing us what to do; but I knew by the tone of his voice that he had great fears for our safety. Indeed, had the gale continued to increase, no human power could have saved us. Providentially, after the last violent blast it began to subside; but the sea was still too high to allow us to make headway against it. As soon as we had somewhat cleared the boat of water, Jose and I resumed our oars; but, notwithstanding all our efforts, the summits of the foaming waves occasionally broke aboard, and we had to recommence bailing. We were thus employed when Uncle Paul cried out,--"Take to your oars! Pull--pull away for your lives!" We did our utmost, but the top of another heavy sea, like a mountain, which rolled up astern, broke aboard and carried away nearly the whole of our remaining stock of provisions; and had not Uncle Paul at the moment grasped hold of Marian, she also would, I believe, have been washed away. Another such sea would speedily have swamped us. We, of course, had again to bail away with all our might; but it took some time before the boat could be cleared of water. When we at length got her to rights, and looked round for our oars, we found, to our dismay, that both Jose's and mine had been carried overboard, thus leaving only two with which to pull on the boat; while we had only the small sail which had formed the covering to Marian's cabin. The gale continued for two days longer; and it seemed surprising that my young sister, poor girl, should have survived the hardships she had to endure. One small cask, only partly full of water, remained, with two packages of dried manatee flesh, and a few oranges and other fruits,-- which were, besides, fast spoiling. Uncle Paul served them out with the greatest care; giving Marian, however, a larger portion than the rest of us--though he did not tell her so, lest she should refuse to take it. Our poor father lay in the bottom of the boat, so prostrated, that had we not propped him up and fed him, he would soon have succumbed. Jose was in even a worse condition. He evidently had not recovered from the injuries he had received in the coils of the anaconda; and when I asked Uncle Paul if he thought he would recover, he shook his head. "He will be the first among us to go," he answered in a most dispirited way. Jose was groaning, crouched down in the bows of the boat. Tim's compassionate heart was moved; he went and placed himself by his side. "Cheer up," he said. "We may fall in with a vessel before long, when we shall have plenty of grub, and you will soon get all to rights." "No, no!" groaned Jose; "my doom is fixed; it serves me right, for I intended to betray you for the sake of the reward I expected to receive. I am dying--I know it; but I wish that I had a priest to whom I might confess my sins, and die in peace." "Confess them, my friend, to One who is ready to hear the sinner who comes to Him--our great High Priest in heaven," answered Tim, who, like most Irish Protestants, was well instructed in the truths of Christianity. "Depend on it, all here are ready to forgive you the harm you intended them; and if so, our loving Father in heaven is a thousandfold more willing, if you will go to Him." Jose only groaned; I was afraid that he did not clearly understand what Tim said, so Arthur endeavoured to explain the matter. "God allows all those who turn to Him, and place their faith in the all-perfect atonement of His blessed Son, to come boldly to the throne of grace, without the intervention of any human being," he said. "I see! I see!" said the dying man. "What a blessed truth is that! How dreadful would otherwise be our fate out here on the ocean, without the possibility of getting a priest to whom to confess our sins." I, of course, give a mere outline of what I heard, and cannot pretend to translate exactly what they said. Jose, however, appeared much comforted. The wind had by this time entirely gone down, and the sea was becoming smoother and smoother. At length night came on. Jose still breathed; but he was speechless, though I think he understood what was said. Either Arthur or Tim sat by him, while Marian and I supported our father. Uncle Paul, overcome by fatigue, had gone to sleep. Just as the sun rose, Jose breathed his last. Our father, who had slept for some time, by this time appeared greatly refreshed; and after he had taken some food, a little water, and an orange, he was able to sit up, and we began to hope that he would recover. We did not tell him of Jose's death, but soon his eye fell on the bow of the boat. "God is indeed merciful, to have spared me. I might have been like that poor man," he observed. We waited till Uncle Paul awoke, to learn what to do, and he at once said that we must bury poor Jose. I sat with Marian in the stern of the boat, while Uncle Paul and Tim lifted Jose's body up to the side; and the latter fastened a piece of stone, which served as ballast, to his feet. Our uncle having uttered an earnest prayer that we might all be preserved, they then let the corpse drop gently into the water, where it quickly disappeared beneath the surface. It was a sad sight, and poor Marian looked on with horror in her countenance. I wished that she could have been spared the spectacle. Our stock of provisions and water would now last us scarcely a couple of days, and no land was in sight. Uncle Paul calculated, however, that we must be some fifteen or twenty leagues to the south-east of Cape Galeota, the most southern point of Trinidad. The brown colour of the water also showed that we were off the mouth of the mighty Orinoco, though probably many leagues away from it. Had we possessed our full strength and four oars, we might in time have reached the shore; but, weak as we were, and with only a couple of oars, we could have but little hope of doing so. We still trusted to falling in with a vessel; but as we gazed round over the glittering surface of the ocean, not a sail appeared. While the calm lasted, none indeed could approach us; and too probably, before a breeze would spring up, our scanty stock of provisions might be exhausted. "Cheer up, my friends; let us still trust in God," said Uncle Paul at length. "It is wrong to give way to despair. There's One above who watches over us, and orders all for the best." "Let us pray to Him, then," exclaimed Marian, kneeling down; and following the example of the dear girl, we lifted up our voices together for safety and protection. We all felt comforted, and even our poor father's countenance looked less downcast than before. That which weighed most on his spirits was, I suspect, the thought that he had been the cause of our being placed in our present position. No one, however, uttered a word of reproach, and we all did our utmost to console him. Arthur tried to speak cheerfully: Tim attempted to sing one of the melodies of his native land, which he had learned in his boyhood; but his voice broke down, and he was well-nigh bursting into tears. The calm, though very trying, enabled us to obtain the rest we so much required; and the next morning, though suffering from hunger, Uncle Paul was quite himself again. After we had offered up our prayers, we took our scanty breakfast of water and a small piece of dried meat, with such parts of the rotten fruit as we could eat. Uncle Paul then stood up and looked about him. "We shall have a breeze, I think, before long," he said, "and we must at once prepare the sail. I am sorry, Marian, to deprive you of the covering of your nest; but we have no other means of making the boat go along." "I shall be thankful to give it up, if it will help on the boat," she answered, assisting to undo the lashing which secured the sail. It was old, and already torn, but with a strong breeze it would afford such canvas as the boat could carry. We had only an oar for a mast, and another for a yard. Uncle Paul stepped the first, and stayed it up carefully with such pieces of rope as could be found in the boat, while he joined two or three together to form a sheet. "We are now all ready for the breeze when it comes," he observed, having finished his work. "I cannot say much for the appearance of our sail, but we may be thankful if it enables us to reach a port in safety." He went and sat down again in the sternsheets, resting his hand on the tiller, so that not a moment might be lost after the breeze should reach us. "Here it comes!" he exclaimed at length. "But I wish it had been from any other quarter. We may, however, hope to beat up against it, if it proves light, as I expect." He pointed to the north-west, where a dark blue line was seen extending across the horizon, and rapidly approaching, every instant becoming broader and broader. Now some cat's-paws came blowing over the ocean, rippling it up into mimic waves; now they disappeared, now again came on, till the whole surface was crisped over by the breeze. Our small triangular sail bulged out, sending the boat along about a couple of miles an hour. Uncle Paul was standing up, looking in the direction from which the wind came, when he exclaimed, "A sail! a sail! She is coming from the northward, and must be bound either up the Orinoco, or to some port in the northern part of the continent." Arthur and I looked eagerly out, but we could just see a small patch of white rising above the horizon, which the eye of a sailor alone could have declared to be the topmost sails of a vessel. We stood on in the direction we were going, hoping to cut her off before she passed to the southward of us. How eagerly we watched her!--now gazing at her, now at Uncle Paul's countenance, which betrayed the anxiety he felt. By degrees her canvas rose above the horizon, and we saw that she was a schooner, under all sail, running rapidly through the water, and directly crossing our course. It soon became evident that we could not by any possibility cut her off, but we might be seen by those on board. At length she came almost ahead of us. Tim stood up and waved eagerly, and we all shouted at the top of our voices. We also attempted to fire our guns, but so wet were they that they would not go off. "Oh, let us pray!" cried Marian; and she and I knelt down. Still the schooner stood on. No eye on board was turned towards us. We must have presented, indeed, but a small speck on the wide ocean. Tim now waved violently, but all our shouting and waving was of no avail. Uncle Paul then kept the boat away, to obtain another chance of being seen; though, of course, there was no hope of overtaking the fast-sailing schooner. "God's will be done!" at length cried Uncle Paul. "We are only running further and further out of our course. We must hope that another vessel will come by, and that we may be seen by those on board. If not, while the wind holds as it now does we must endeavour to reach the northern part of Guiana." Though Uncle Paul said this, I could not help reflecting that our provisions would not hold out to keep us alive till then. For myself, I felt more hungry than I had ever before done in my life, and dreadfully thirsty; and I feared that Marian was suffering even more than I was, though she did not complain. I was careful, however, to say nothing to increase her alarm, though I mentioned my fears in a whisper to Arthur, as we were seated in the bows of the boat. "I do not despair altogether," he answered. "We may very likely, before long, be visited by birds, which, as we have our guns, we may be able to shoot; or, should a calm come on, possibly some flying-fish may leap on board, or we may be able to catch some other fish. Perhaps we may even be able to manufacture a hook and line." "What a fortunate idea!" I exclaimed. "I have got a file in my knife; and we may be able to find a nail, to which I can put a barb, and bend it into the proper shape." We lost no time in putting the idea just started, into execution. We hunted about, and fortunately discovered a long thin nail of tough iron, which I thought we could bend into the shape of a hook. I told no one what I was about, however, but at once began filing away so as to form the barb, the most difficult part of my task. Arthur, meantime, recollected that he had on a pair of strong thread socks; so, undoing the upper part, he produced a long line, which when doubled was of sufficient strength to bear a pretty strong pull. By the time I had prepared my hook, greatly to my satisfaction, his line was ready. It was not so long as we should have liked, but still long enough to allow the bait to sink sufficiently below the surface to attract the unwary fish. Tim, in the meantime, had been cleaning our guns, the locks of which, not having been covered up, had prevented their use at the moment they were so much required. We reloaded them, and put in fresh priming. Uncle Paul having noticed what we were about,--"That is right," he observed. "We are bound to make every effort to preserve our lives. While we put full trust in God, He will favour our efforts." The wind was again dropping, and the time, we thought, was favourable to commence fishing. We had to sacrifice a small piece of manatee flesh, but we trusted that it would give us a satisfactory return. So, having baited our hook, and put some lead on the line, we dropped it into the water, letting it tow astern. Never did fisherman hold a line with more anxious wish for success than did Arthur. He had not long to wait. "I have a bite!" he exclaimed in a tone of eagerness. "Hurrah! it's hooked!" Carefully he drew in the line, while Tim and I leaned over the side, to lift up the expected prize, for fear that it might break away at the last moment. It was a fish nearly two feet long; and it fortunately struggled but little, or I believe that it would have carried away the hook. How eagerly we clutched it!--literally digging our fingers into its flesh--and then with a jerk brought it safely aboard. We none of us knew its name; but as it was of the ordinary fishlike shape, we hoped that it would prove to be of a species fit for human food. "I wish we had a kitchen-fire at which to cook it," cried Marian. "We must manage to do without that," observed Uncle Paul; "and we shall not be the first folks who have been thankful to obtain raw fish for dinner." It is my belief that that fish saved our lives. Even Marian managed to eat a small portion, which was beaten up fine to enable her to swallow it. Strange to say, it was the only one we caught, though we had the line out for several hours afterwards. We were afraid of allowing it to remain unless one of us held it, lest some large fish, catching hold of it, should carry away the hook. We therefore hauled it in at night; and, it being calm, Arthur took the helm, while Uncle Paul lay down to sleep. CHAPTER FIVE. SHIP AHOY!--RESCUED--THE KIND SKIPPER--ENTER THE ORINOCO--THE HURRICANE--TWO MEN OVERBOARD--WRECKED ON A TREE--AN ANXIOUS QUESTION--A CURIOUS SCENE--WE OBTAIN FOOD--QUACKO, OUR NEW FRIEND. Uncle Paul had charged Arthur and me to call him should there be the slightest change in the weather. The wind, however, continued very light, and the boat glided forward, as well as we could judge, steering by the stars, towards the point we desired to gain. I kept my eyes about me as long as they would consent to remain open, though it was often a difficult task. Several times I was nodding, when Arthur aroused me with his voice. It must have been about midnight, when, looking astern, I saw a dark shadowy form gliding over the surface of the ocean. I rubbed my eyes, supposing it to be a thing of the imagination; but there it was, not many cable-lengths off, coming up towards us. "See! see, Arthur! What can that be?" I cried out. "A sloop or a small schooner!" he exclaimed. We at once called up Uncle Paul. "Can she be a vessel sent in chase of us?" I asked. "No fear of that. It could never have been supposed that we had got so far south; and they would not know in which direction to look for us," he answered. Still I could not help having some doubts on the subject. "We will hail the stranger, and learn what she is," said Uncle Paul; so, uniting our voices, we shouted out, "Ship ahoy! ship ahoy!" A voice replied, in Dutch; and my father, who understood the language, at once cried out,--"Heave to, for the love of Heaven, and receive us on board!" "Ya, ya," was the answer; "we will be up with you presently." In a few minutes we were alongside the stranger, a small Dutch trading-sloop. As soon as we were all on board our boat was dropped astern, and sail was made. Her skipper, Mynheer Jan van Dunk, gave us a kind reception, exhibiting the greatest sympathy when he heard of the sufferings we had endured, and seeming especially moved at hearing of those Marian had gone through. "I have one little maid just like her," he said, taking her in his arms. "She must go into my berth and sleep while we get supper ready. Poor little dear, she has had no food for so many days." "Thank you, I am not so very hungry," said Marian; "but I am very thirsty." "Well, well, then, we will get you some tea ready," he answered. "Peter," he cried to his mate, "get a fire lighted in the caboose. Quick, quick, now; they all want food--I see it in their looks." The skipper said this while we were seated round the table in his little cabin, pretty closely packed, as may be supposed. "We want water more than anything else," said Uncle Paul. "Ya, ya; but we will put some schiedam into it. Water is bad for starving people." Peter quickly brought in a huge jug of water, but the skipper would not allow him to fill our tumblers till he himself had poured a portion of schiedam into each of them. "There now," he said, "there will no harm come to you." Never had I taken so delicious a draught. It certainly had a very beneficial effect, and we set to with a will on some cold salt beef, sausages, and biscuits, which the kind skipper placed before us. By the time we had finished the viands we were quite ready for a fresh supply of liquid. Peter then brought in a large pot of hot tea, which perhaps really refreshed us more than anything else. Captain Jan had not forgotten Marian. All this time he had kept supplying her, till she assured him that she could eat and drink no more. After we had taken all the food we required, the skipper and his mate arranged the cabin to enable us all to sleep with as much comfort as possible. My father was put into the mate's berth, Uncle Paul slept on the after-locker, Tim and Arthur on either side, and I on the table. I should have said that Captain Jan's crew consisted of his mate Peter, another Dutchman, a black, and two Indians. Worn-out with fatigue as we were, we all slept on for several hours, and when we awoke our first impulse was to ask for some food, which, thanks to the honest mate, was quickly supplied to us. As the cabin was on deck, and the door and scuppers were kept wide open, though small, it was tolerably cool; and we felt, after being so long cooped up in the boat, as if suddenly transported to a luxurious palace. Captain Jan looked in on us very frequently, and did not appear at all to mind being turned out of his cabin, but, on the contrary, exhibited a genuine pleasure in attending to our wants. By the evening Marian was quite herself again, and wished to get up and go on deck; while our father was certainly very much better. He also wanted to get up, but the skipper insisted that he should remain quiet till his strength was perfectly restored. My father and Uncle Paul had been so prostrated mentally as well as physically, that it did not occur to them to ask where the vessel was bound to, nor had the captain asked us where we wished to go. Captain Jan was exactly what I had pictured a Dutch skipper--short, fat, and fond of a drop of schnapps, and fonder still of his pipe. He was kind-hearted and good-natured in the extreme, and was evidently pleased with the thought that he had been the means of saving our lives. His mate Peter was in appearance very unlike him: tall and thin, with a melancholy expression of countenance; which, however, belied his natural disposition, for he was really as merry and kind-hearted as the skipper. Arthur, Tim, and I went on deck for a short time, and found the sloop slipping pretty quickly through the water; but I cannot say that we took a "turn" on deck, for there was very little space to enjoy more than a fisherman's walk, which is three steps and overboard. We soon returned to the cabin to have supper, which Sambo the black, under Peter's supervision, had exerted all his skill to cook. It was not of a refined style of cookery, but we enjoyed it as much as if it had been the most magnificent banquet. We had not yet made up for our loss of sleep, so once more we all lay down in the little cabin, the kind skipper and his mate still refusing to occupy their own berths. Next morning, when I went on deck, I found that it was a perfect calm. After breakfast the oars were got out; and as none of us wished to be idle, we offered to take our turn with the rest. I should have said that the vessel belonged to Stabroek, Guiana, then a Dutch settlement. After having visited Trinidad, she was on her way up the Orinoco to trade with the natives. Had my father and Uncle Paul known this, they would certainly have requested the skipper to carry us to Stabroek. "I am afraid that we put you much out of your way, eat up your provisions, and keep you out of your cabin," said Uncle Paul to Captain Jan. "Oh no, no, my friends," answered the honest skipper. "I am glad of your company, and that little girl has won my heart; so, if you are pleased to remain, we will just run up the river for a week or two, and when we have done some trading with the natives I will carry you to Stabroek, or wherever else you may wish to go. We shall have no difficulty in obtaining provisions and water, and I have still a good store of schiedam, so, my friends, you will not starve, you see." Although my father and Uncle Paul would much rather have landed at once, they could not insist on the skipper going out of his course, and they accordingly agreed to his proposal. We had been rowing on for some time, the calm still continuing, when I saw Peter the mate eagerly looking out ahead. Springing up on heel of the bowsprit, he cried out, "Land ho! We shall soon be within the mouth of the river." "Faith, it's curious land now," exclaimed Tim. "My eyes can only make out a row of bushes floating on the top of the sea." "We shall find that they are pretty tall trees, by the time we get near them," observed Peter. All hands now took to the sweeps, and made the sloop walk through the water at the rate of three or four miles an hour. Still the current, which was running out pretty swiftly, would have prevented us from entering, had not a breeze sprung up. Sail was made immediately, and at length we found ourselves entering one of the many mouths of the mighty Orinoco, with mangrove-covered islands on either side. There was nothing either picturesque or imposing in the scenery, except the great width of the river. As we advanced, however, we caught faint glimpses of high mountains rising to the southward. Not a sail dotted the vast expanse, but now and then we saw native canoes paddling close to the wood-covered shore, though none of them came near us. The intention of our skipper was not to delay longer at the mouth of the river than to obtain provisions, but to proceed at once some hundred miles or so, to the district where the natives with whom he proposed trading resided. We had to keep the lead going, with a bright lookout ahead, to prevent the risk of running on any of the numerous shoals and sandbanks which impeded the navigation; and at length darkness compelled us to bring up and furl the sail, for it would have been dangerous to proceed on during the night without a pilot who was intimately acquainted with the channel. I was awakened during the night by a loud rushing sound, and on going on deck I found the captain and mate anxiously watching the cable. "What is the matter?" I asked. "Nothing as yet," was the reply; "but we shall be fortunate if our anchor holds, and we are saved from being carried down the stream. The river has risen considerably since we entered, and a strong current is coming down from the interior." Happily our anchor did hold. The skipper and his mate kept watching it the whole night through, and had a second one ready to let go should the first yield; so I felt no inclination to turn in again, though I would not awake the rest of our party. Next morning there was a strong breeze, and we were able to weigh anchor and run up against the current. When passing an island some way up, a couple of canoes came off with provisions to sell, when we readily became purchasers. Among other articles we bought a number of land-tortoises, which, when cooked, we found delicious. We had also a supply of very fine ripe plums, which grow wild in the forest on the banks of the stream. Altogether we fared sumptuously, and soon recovering our spirits, began to look more hopefully at the future. My father even talked of being able to return to Trinidad some day, should the Inquisition be got rid of. The people in the country generally detested it, and so especially did the new settlers, who had been accustomed to live in countries blessed with freer institutions. For fully a week more we ran on, the wind favouring us--otherwise we should have made no progress. By the appearance of the banks we saw that the river had risen very considerably, and in many places the whole forest appeared to be growing out of the water, which extended amid the trees as far as the eye could reach. We had thus an advantage, as we could make a straight course and pass over sandbanks and shallows; whereas in the original state of the river we should have had to steer now on one side, now on the other, to avoid them. The weather had hitherto been very fine; but at length one night, some hours after we had brought up, the wind began to increase, dark clouds gathered in the sky, the thunder roared, and vivid lightning darted through the air. A cry arose, "The anchor has parted!" Sail was instantly made, and we drove before the blast. The broad river, hitherto so calm, was lashed into fierce waves, amid which the little sloop tumbled and tossed as if she was in mid-ocean. To anchor was impossible, and no harbour appeared on either side into which we could run for shelter. The trees bent beneath the fierce blast which swept over them. Our only course was to keep on in the centre of the stream. Our brave skipper went to the helm, and did his best to keep up our spirits by assuring us that his sloop had weathered many a fiercer gale. The seas, however, continually broke aboard, and the straining mast and shrouds threatened every instant to yield to the fury of the tempest. If there was danger where we were, it was still greater near the submerged forest on either side; for the lofty trees, their roots loosened by the rushing water, were continually falling, and one of them coming down upon our vessel would quickly have crushed her, and sent her helplessly to the bottom. Marian behaved like a true heroine, and terrific as was the scene, she endeavoured to keep up her own courage and that of all on board. Hour after hour the little vessel struggled on amid the waves, till at length a blast more furious than any of its predecessors struck her, heeling her over, so that it appeared as if she would never rise again. Her sails were blown to ribbons, and the sea carried away her rudder. Now utterly helpless, she drove before the gale; which, shifting to the northward, blew directly across the stream, bearing us towards the submerged forest, where the waves as they rolled along dashed up amid the tall trees, sending the spray high over their branches. On and on the vessel drove. A heavy sea rolling up filled our boat, towing astern, and, for our own safety, we were compelled to cut her adrift. Before us arose out of the water a large tree with widespreading branches; and in a few minutes the vessel drove violently against it. Her bowsprit was carried away, and a huge rent made in her bows, when she bounded off; but it was only to drive helplessly further on. Every moment we expected to see the trees which were bending above our heads come down and crush us. Again the wind shifted, and we found ourselves drifting along by the edge of the forest. We endeavoured to get a rope round the trunk of one of the trees, but the effort was vain. Peter and another of the crew, in attempting to do so, were dragged overboard. We heard their cries, but we were unable to assist them, and they were quickly lost to sight in the darkness. On and on we drove. The water was now rushing into the vessel, and every instant we expected that she would go down. All chance of saving her was abandoned; and our only hope was that she might be driven against some tree, into the branches of which we might clamber for temporary safety. The roaring of the waves, the howling of the wind amid the branches, the dashing waters, and the crashing of the boughs torn off by the tempest, created a deafening uproar which almost drowned the sound of our voices. Uncle Paul, however, still tried to make himself heard. "Trust still in God. I will endeavour to save Marian," he said. "Be prepared, my friends, for whatever may occur; don't lose your presence of mind." Scarcely had he spoken when the sloop was dashed with great violence against the trunk of an enormous tree, which, with several others forming a group, stood out from the forest. The water rushed rapidly into her, and we felt that she was sinking. Uncle Paul, taking Marian in his arms, now sprang to the bows, followed by Arthur, who grasped my hand. "Come along, Guy; I must do my best to save you," he exclaimed, dragging me along. I did not at the moment see my father, who was in the after part of the vessel; but I knew that Tim would do his utmost to save him. Uncle Paul, in a manner a sailor alone could have accomplished, leaped on to a mass of hanging creepers which the sloop was at the moment touching; while Arthur and I found ourselves--I scarcely knew how we had got there--on another part of the vast trunk, when we instinctively began to climb up the tree. I saw that two other persons had reached the tree, when loud cries arose; and, to my dismay, as I looked down from the secure position I had gained, I could nowhere discover the vessel: she had disappeared. In vain I called to my father: no reply came. I now perceived the black man Sambo clinging to the upper part of a bough; and lower down, Kallolo the native holding on to a part above the water, out of which he had scrambled. Just then the cry arose from amid the surging water of "Help!--help! I shall be after being drowned entirely, if somebody doesn't pick me out of this!" I recognised Tim's voice; and Arthur and I were about to clamber down to help him, when Kallolo the native stretched out his hand, and catching Tim's as he floated by, dragged him out of the water. We went down to his assistance, and soon had him hauled up safe on the bough. Tim had just expressed his gratitude to Kallolo, when he missed my father. "Ochone! what has become of the master?" he exclaimed. "Shure, he hasn't been drowned? Ochone!--ahone! what will become of us?" None of us could answer Tim's question. My father and the brave skipper had disappeared with the vessel, which, with too much reason, we feared had gone down. Tim only knew that he had found himself suddenly swept off the deck, and struggling in the water. Probably an overhanging bough, as the vessel swept by, had caught him. But, believing his master to be lost, he seemed scarcely to feel any satisfaction at having been saved himself. With the fierce current rushing by the tree, and the heavy surges which dashed against it, we could not tell how long it might stand; indeed, every moment we expected to find it falling. Such must have been its fate, had not its roots been deeply planted in the ground. We now turned our attention to Uncle Paul and Marian, who stood in a sort of network but a few feet above the waves, which threatened to reach them. Our object was to get them at once into a more secure position. Day was just breaking, the light revealing a wild and fearful scene. On one side the broad river, lashed into fierce waves, foamed and leaped frantically; while on the other was the forest-region, the ground covered, as far as the eye could reach, with turbid waters, intermixed with fallen boughs and uprooted shrubs; while the trees sent down showers of leaves, fruit, and branches, rent off by the wind. But we had not much time to contemplate this scene. Arthur managed to reach a bough just above their heads, and then called to Uncle Paul, and begged him to climb up higher, so that he might get hold of Marian. It was no easy matter. But at last he succeeded; and with my help and her own exertions she was dragged up to the bough to which we clung. Uncle Paul soon followed; and we were now all able to rest and contemplate the future. Whether the waters would rise still higher, or how long they would cover the earth, we did not know. Of one thing we were certain, that they would not cover it altogether; but in other respects our position greatly resembled that of the inhabitants of the old world when the flood first began to rise, and they sought the hilltops and the highest branches of the trees for safety. With them the water continued to rise higher and higher, and they must have watched with horror and dismay their rapid progress. We knew, let the floodgates of heaven be opened ever so wide, that the waters must ere long be stayed. "Where is papa?--oh! what has become of him?" exclaimed Marian, looking round and not seeing our father among us. "I trust that he is still on board the sloop," answered Uncle Paul, wishing not to alarm her. "Had she gone down, we should have seen her masts above the water. Probably, lightened of so many people, she floated on, and may be even now at no great distance. We must not despair; though our position, I own, is very critical." "Shure, I think the master must have escaped," observed Tim. "He was at the other end of the vessel when the big bough knocked me overboard, and he and the skipper may even now be better off than we are; for if they get the craft in among the trees, they may stop without any trouble of anchoring; and they will have plenty of grub aboard, which is more than we are likely to find among these big trees, though we are much obliged to them for giving us shelter just now." Poor Marian seemed somewhat comforted by these assurances, and asked no further questions, but sat on the bough on which we had placed her, gazing down on the waters, which rolled in rapid eddies beneath us. We were talking of what we should next try to do, when we heard a loud chattering above our heads; and looking up, we saw several monkeys, which had descended from the topmost boughs, gazing down on us,--some inspecting us with all the gravity of Turks, others swinging backwards and forwards on the pendent vines, as if they felt themselves at home, and were perfectly indifferent to our presence. While we remained quiet, they held their posts. One big fellow, especially, with a long tail and huge bushy whiskers, was unusually bold; and having crept along a bough, sat himself down not a dozen yards from the native Kallolo, of whom he appeared not to have the slightest dread. Kallolo began talking to him in his own language, and as soon as he ceased the monkey chattered a reply. "He know me," said Kallolo. "We soon be great friends. Quacko!-- Quacko! Dat your name, I know. Come here, good Quacko. Tell me where you been since you ran away from your old master," he continued. "Quacko!--Quacko!" answered the monkey, imitating the Indian's tone of voice. Kallolo then began to work his way along the bough. The monkey, instead of retreating, came nearer and nearer; when Kallolo stopped, still speaking in the same soothing tone. Once more he moved on. It seemed as if the monkey were fascinated; for I could not suppose that the creature really understood the native, or that the native understood the meaning of the monkey's chattering. At length Kallolo got within reach of Quacko, when, gently stretching out his hand, he began to tickle the monkey's nose. Then he got a little nearer, till he could scratch its head and back. All this time the monkey sat perfectly still, although its companions were climbing here and there, some swinging backwards and forwards on the vines, others making all sorts of grimaces at us. At length, to our surprise, we saw Kallolo take Quacko in his arms, and quickly return with him into our midst. Quacko looked a little alarmed at us, but was speedily soothed, and in a few minutes he appeared quite at home. "He has been among white men before this," observed Kallolo, showing the monkey's ears, which had small gold earrings in them. "I thought so when him first come to look at us. He and I great friends before long." Thus was the extraordinary way in which Kallolo had apparently fascinated the monkey accounted for. As the native had predicted, the creature was soon as much at home with us as if we had been friends all our lives. Strange as it may seem, under the perilous circumstances in which we were placed this incident afforded us much amusement and considerable relief. Our thoughts, however, were soon turned to a more important subject,--the means of finding support. We agreed that the monkeys could not live in the trees without food; and what assisted to sustain them would help to keep us alive, though too probably we should soon produce a scarcity. Kallolo overheard us speaking on the subject. "We have plenty to eat, never fear," he observed. "I wish you could show us that same," said Tim. "Why, we catch the other monkeys, and eat them," said Kallolo. "You take care of Quacko, while I go and look for food." As Kallolo spoke, he began to ascend the tree, and was soon lost to sight amid the dense foliage. As we looked up we could not see anywhere near the summits of the trees. We might, as far as we could judge, be at the foot of "Jack's beanstalk." Taking Kallolo's hint, Tim tried to catch one of the other monkeys; but though Quacko remained quietly with us, they were far too cautious and nimble to allow him to get up with them, and I feared that in his eagerness he would tumble off into the foaming waters and be swept away. Uncle Paul at last called to him, and told him to give up the chase as utterly hopeless. Uncle Paul, however, advised us to search more carefully, in the hope that we might find either nuts or fruit of some sort or other, or bird's eggs, or young birds, which might serve us as food, while he remained to take care of Marian. I had not gone far when I heard a sound, coming from no great distance, of "Wow! wow! wow!" and looking along the bough, I caught sight of a bird rather smaller than the common pigeon, but of beautiful plumage. Its head and breast were blue, the neck and belly of a bright yellow; and, from the shortness of its legs, it appeared as if sitting, like a hen on her nest. It saw me, but made no attempt to move. I had little hope, however, of catching it with my hands, and suspected that it would fly away should I attempt to approach it nearer. I therefore retreated, and considered what was best to be done. Then, I bethought me that by cutting a long stiff sepo to serve as a wand, I might form a noose at the end of it, and thus catch not only the bird before me, but any others which might be in the trees. I immediately put my plan into execution; and a sepo suitable for the purpose being within my reach, I cut it. Fortunately I had a piece of string in my pocket, with which I manufactured a noose; and returning along the branch, I held my wand at an angle above me, so as to let the end drop down on the bird. I was more successful than I expected. Not till it actually felt the noose round its neck, did it attempt to fly; but it was then too late. As I jerked it towards me, a quantity of feathers fell from it. I got it speedily in my hands, and, influenced by feeling how acceptable it would be, immediately wrung its neck, and brought it down in triumph. Looking round, I saw several other birds of the same species, and was successful in catching three more; for they made not the slightest attempt to fly away till I was close upon them. I at length returned with my game to the large branch where I had left Uncle Paul and Marian. Arthur and Tim came back about the same time; the one with some eggs, and the latter with a couple of tree-frogs of huge size. "Faith, when a man's hungry he mustn't be particular," observed Tim; "and it seemed to me that though these beasts are not over pretty to look at, they might serve to keep body and soul together till better times come round." "Very right," said Uncle Paul. "I trust that these few trees will supply us with sufficient food if we search for it, and I am not very squeamish as to its character." Sambo brought in a very ugly-looking lizard; but he declared that it would prove as good to eat as anything else. We now somewhat anxiously awaited the return of Kallolo. The only articles which could be eaten with satisfaction, unless cooked, were the eggs which Arthur had brought, and these he and Uncle Paul insisted should be given to Marian. It required some persuasion to induce her to take them, as she was unwilling to deprive us of them; and it was only by assuring her that when our appetites were a little sharper we should eat the frogs and lizards with satisfaction, that we could induce her to consume the eggs. We now discussed the possibility of making a fire to cook our provisions. There was room enough in the fork of a large branch; but the danger was that we might set the whole tree alight, and burn it and ourselves. Still, we did not as yet feel inclined to eat the frogs and lizards, or even the birds, raw, though we knew that we might in the end be compelled to do so. At length we heard Kallolo's voice above us; and looking up, we saw him descending the tree. "Here, friends. See!" he exclaimed, "I have not made my trip up to the sky for nothing;" and he produced from a grass-formed pocket, which he always carried by his side, a supply of ripe figs. He parted them among us, offering Marian the largest share. How delicious those figs tasted! They were both meat and drink to us; and we felt that while a bountiful Providence supplied us with such food, we need have no fear of starving. I showed Kallolo the birds which I had caught. He called them bocloras, and observed that they were pretty good food, and he hoped that we might catch some others which would come to feed on the ripe figs. CHAPTER SIX. WE LIGHT A FIRE--A MORNING SCENE--DESCRIPTION OF "GROVE ISLAND"-- ATTACKED BY MACAWS--THE SLOTH--KALLOLO TAMES A PARROT. We had no fear of starving, even though we might not be able to quit our present abode for many days to come, but we were surrounded by dangers to which we could not shut our eyes. The trees, vast as they were, might be uprooted and hurled prostrate into the flood, should another storm come on; or the lightning might strike them, and every one of us be destroyed. Besides, many weeks might pass before we could descend and travel over the dry ground; and even then, in what direction should we go? Very probably we should fall into the hands of savages, who would keep us in slavery; at all events, we should have to encounter several wild beasts and venomous serpents,--the mighty boa, or anaconda, or the still more terrible bush-master, or labarri, so dreaded in this region. What had become of our father and the brave skipper, Jan van Dunk, we could not tell. Uncle Paul did his utmost to keep up our spirits, setting us the example by his cheerfulness, and by showing his perfect confidence in Providence. We had, as I have said, a supply of food; but how to cook it? was the question. Kallolo declared there would be no danger in lighting a fire in the fork of the tree, provided we did not allow it to burn longer than was necessary, and kept a watch to prevent its extending up the bark on either side. Uncle Paul always carried a small tinder-box and matches, so that we could at once obtain a light. We accordingly collected a supply of dry branches, of which there was an abundance attached to the various parts of the trees. Kallolo again set off, taking my wand and noose; and by the time the fire had been lighted and had burned up sufficiently, he returned with several birds, adding considerably to our stock of provisions. They were all quickly plucked and spitted, and we were soon busily engaged in cooking them. Tim insisted on dressing his frogs, and Sambo the lizard he had caught, both declaring that they would prove more tender than the birds. How they might have appeared had they been put into a pot and boiled, I cannot say; as it was, they certainly presented an unattractive appearance. Some large leaves served us as plates, and we had to use our fingers instead of knives and forks; but notwithstanding, we made a very hearty meal. I tasted part of the hind leg of one of the frogs, and I certainly should not have known it from a tender young chicken cooked in the same way. Kallolo in his last trip had brought down a few more figs, one of which he presented to each of us as a dessert. Tim declared that the banquet would have been perfect if we could have had a little of the "cratur," or, in the absence of it, a cup of hot coffee. We had to quench our thirst with some of the very turbid water surrounding us, which we brought up in our hats. The day passed far more rapidly than I could have supposed possible. The storm had completely subsided, but the waters in no way lessened; indeed, they were slightly higher than on the previous night. Uncle Paul advised that we should all look out for sleeping-places, where we might rest without the danger of tumbling off. Our first care was to find one for Marian. A mass of sepos hung down and formed a regular hammock close under a bough, and by carefully arranging a few more sepos, Uncle Paul and Arthur made it so secure that it was impossible for her to fall out. They told me to take a berth of a similar character close to her, while Uncle Paul formed one for himself on a bough, a little on one side. The rest of the party arranged themselves as they thought fit; Kallolo, with his new friend, climbing up to one of the higher boughs, on which he stretched himself, with the monkey crouching down close to him. The way in which he kept close to the native showed that he had long been accustomed to human society, and was delighted to find himself in it again. Our first night in our tree-home was passed in perfect tranquillity. Scarcely a breath of air moved the leaves. The sky was clear, and the crescent moon overhead afforded just sufficient light to enable us to get into our respective berths. We were all weary with the exertions and anxiety we had gone through, and the want of sleep during the previous night, and scarcely had we got into our nests when the eyes of most of us, I suspect, were closed. I just kept awake long enough to see that Marian had gone off into a quiet slumber, and then quickly dropped into the land of dreams; and I don't think I ever slept more soundly than I did in my strange resting-place. I might possibly have slumbered on till the sun was high in the sky, but I was awakened, ere the light of early dawn had penetrated amid the thick foliage which surrounded us, by a strange concert of sounds. Monkeys were jabbering overhead; tree-frogs were quacking; parrots were chattering and macaws were screeching more loudly than all, as they flew over the topmost boughs. For some time I was too much confused to remember where I was, or what was producing the strange din in my ears. In vain I tried to go to sleep again, and at length I was completely aroused. My first impulse was to look out for Marian. She was still sleeping calmly, while the rest of the party, as far as I could discern by the uncertain light, were resting in the positions in which I had seen them at night. Gradually the dawn drew on, and on sitting up I caught sight of half a dozen ugly-looking faces peering down on us. I knew that they were those of monkeys which had descended from the topmost boughs, whither they had retreated when we took possession of their abode. Two or three of them then approached Quacko, and tried to induce him to rejoin them. He answered their invitations by indignant gestures, which seemed to say that he had no intention, after finding himself again in civilised society, of returning to savage life. The noise he made awoke his new friend Kallolo, however, who began to talk to him in the language which he seemed to understand, and presently the monkey came down from his perch and nestled in his arms. The rays of the rising sun streaming amid the boughs awoke the rest of the party, who, getting out of their respective nests, scrambled on to the main bough. Uncle Paul suggested that we should set to work immediately to procure food for breakfast. My plan for noosing birds being generally adopted, Arthur, as well as Kallolo and Sambo, at once cut some wands and fitted them in a manner similar to mine. We agreed to let Marian sleep on till breakfast was ready. Before the food could be eaten, however, it had to be hunted for and cooked, and as we were all hungry, we set off among the branches in search of whatever we could find. I climbed higher than I had before done, and reached a small fig-tree growing in the fork of a large branch. A number of birds were perched on it, some with black and red plumage, others with heads and necks of a bright red, while the wings and tails were of a dark green and black. They were employed in eating the ripe fruit. I determined to catch as many as I could before securing some of the latter. Carefully climbing on, I set to work, and succeeded in noosing four of each species. Having filled my pockets and cap with as many of the ripe figs as I could carry, after I had driven the birds away with loud shouts, hoping they would not return till I had made a second visit to the fig-tree, I began to descend, though not without difficulty; for, as every one knows, it is easier to climb up than to get down a tree, and a fall from a branch would have been a serious matter. I reached our resting-place in safety, and found Marian seated by the side of Uncle Paul. The rest of the party came in soon after, all having had some success. Tim, however, had got only one bird, but he boasted of having collected half a dozen frogs; while Sambo had caught the same number of lizards. Arthur had secured a couple of good-sized parrots; and Kallolo had discovered a macaw's nest, the young of which he had taken, with a good supply of figs. Altogether, we had reason to be satisfied with our morning's hunt, as we had food enough to last us for the day. The birds I had caught were found to be manakins and tiger-birds. The latter were small, and though their bodies were ill-shaped, their flesh was tender and well-tasted. Though our position was full of anxiety, we should not have been unhappy could we have known that our father had escaped. Uncle Paul told us that he had been to the end of a bough from which he could obtain a view both up and down the stream, but that he had failed to get a sight of the sloop; neither could he see anything of the mate and the Indian, who had been carried overboard when attempting to secure the vessel to the trunk of a tree. We collected some more dried branches and withered leaves, sufficient to make a fire for cooking our provisions. "I wish we had a pot for boiling water," I remarked. "It would be a mighty good thing, Mr Guy, if we had any tay to make in it, and some sugar to sweeten it," observed Tim. "In the meantime, we should be thankful that we have got so much wholesome food, and cold water to quench our thirst; though, for Marian's sake, I should be glad to have had some tea," said Uncle Paul. "Oh, don't think about me," exclaimed Marian. "I am perfectly content to drink cold water, and do not wish for anything which it is impossible to obtain." "You are a sensible girl," said Uncle Paul, patting her cheek. "The uncomplaining spirit you possess will greatly aid you in going through the dangers and hardships we may have to encounter." I must confess that we made a very hearty meal, though it would have been more palatable had we possessed some salt. That I knew, however, it would be impossible to obtain, situated where we were. Having partly roasted the remainder of the birds, as well as the frogs and lizards, to assist in preserving them we hung them up in a shady place which we called our larder, under a thick branch, where we hoped they would keep sweet till they were required for food. Marian felt her position more irksome than did any one else, as she was unable to climb about, though Arthur and I helped her to walk up and down the thick bough; but it was very much like a fisherman's walk,--three steps and overboard. However, it was preferable to sitting still, and prevented her limbs from becoming cramped. She then went and sat down again, when Uncle Paul, Arthur, and I started off on an exploring expedition through our grove. There were not, altogether, more than seven main trunks; but numberless sepos interlaced the boughs, and striking downwards, where they had apparently taken root, had again sprung upwards, forming spiral stems, some considerably thicker than a man's body, others as thin as the smallest ropes of a ship's rigging. We had no great difficulty in making our way, but caution was necessary to save ourselves from tumbling down into the water. Among the trees was a beautiful cedar, three palm-trees of different species, and a cotton-tree of prodigious height, with widespreading top. Another was called the mulatto-tree; which had a tall, slim trunk, and leaves of a dark green, with branches spreading amid those of its neighbours, and covered with clusters of small white flowers. But I cannot attempt to describe either the trees or the numerous parasitic plants, some worthy to be called trees from their size, which formed this curious grove. Several besides the fig-trees bore fruit and nuts, affording food to monkeys and other animals, and to various species of birds. One end of the grove was less closely united than the main portion, but still two projecting boughs interlaced, and were joined likewise by chains of sepos, forming an easy communication between the two parts. Arthur and I, wishing to explore the whole of this somewhat confined region of which we were for a time the inhabitants, made our way across this natural bridge I have described. When we got to the further end we heard a concert of gentle "caws," far less sonorous than those made by the parrots we had seen passing near the grove on the previous day, the sounds now rising, now falling. Stopping to ascertain from what direction in the grove the noises proceeded, we soon discovered that they came from a tree which shot out several branches about a dozen or twenty feet from the surface of the water. "Those noises must come from parrots, I am sure," said Arthur, after we had listened a little time. "We shall be able to get a fine collection of young birds, which will be far more tender than the old ones. We will just take a few for supper to-night, and we can return when we want more." Accordingly, we climbed along among the branches. "I see some old birds there too," observed Arthur. "If they are parrots, they are very large ones. I suspect that they are macaws. We shall soon find out, however." We had stopped to rest, for that sort of climbing was somewhat fatiguing work; but again we went on, Arthur leading the way. He had a large sheath-knife, which Sambo the black had lent him, secured to his waist. The tree we had reached was of great age, and was full of holes and numerous hollow stumps of boughs broken off by tempests or lightning. In each of these hollows was a large nest with a couple of fledgelings; but no sooner did Arthur and I stretch out our hands to seize some of the young birds, intending to transfer them to the bags which we carried at our backs, than the old birds sitting on the branches above us set up a deafening screaming and screeching, while others appeared from all quarters. Some flew across, as it seemed, from the opposite forest; others came forth from various parts of the surrounding foliage, by which they had been concealed, with the evident intention of doing battle for their young. Down they flew, screaming loudly, with open beaks and fierce eyes, and surrounded us on all sides; some assailing our heads, and some our bare legs and feet, while others got hold of our shirts and pulled lustily at them. It was only with the greatest difficulty that we could defend our eyes, which they seemed resolved to tear out. "Leap, Guy--leap into the water; that is the only chance we have of saving ourselves!" exclaimed Arthur, drawing his knife and attempting to keep the savage birds at bay. I had no weapon to defend myself with, so, following his advice, I leaped down to a part of the tree whence I could spring into the water, and putting my hands above my head, plunged into the turbid flood, diving down some feet, regardless of the risk I ran of striking any concealed boughs beneath the surface. Escaping injury, I quickly rose again, in time to hear Arthur's plunge as he followed me. The macaws darted down upon us; but as we again dived, they flew up--to ascertain, we supposed, whether we had plundered their nests. Happily, the current not being very strong, we were able to stem it, and make good way, till we reached the main part of the grove, where, getting hold of some sepos which hung down into the water, we clambered up again to a branch, on which we were glad to rest after our exertions, having escaped a danger which might have been of a very serious nature. We agreed, however, that should we be pressed for food, we would, notwithstanding, make another attack on the "macawery," to coin a word, and carry off some of the young birds. We found that we had not escaped altogether free. I had received two or three ugly pecks from the birds' beaks, which had torn my flesh, the wounds now smarting considerably; while Arthur had fared even worse, two of them having made rents in his shirt, and pecked out three or four pieces of his flesh. Having rested, we now began to make our way back to our friends; but I had not gone far when I caught sight of a large hairy creature hanging on to a bough at no great distance, apparently watching us as we made our way amid the branches. "O Arthur!" I exclaimed, "there's a bear. He will be down upon us, and treat us much worse than the macaws have done." Arthur looked in the direction I pointed. "Don't be afraid," he answered. "It will not attack us. The animal is a sloth, as harmless as any living creature. We may consider him among the other beasts in our domain destined if necessary for our use. He cannot get away, so we will not attempt to interfere with him at present. He will not venture into the water; and even had we ground below us, he would not descend, as he would be sure to be caught if he did. We will climb nearer, so as to get a better view of him, for he seems to have no dread of us, and will not try to escape." We did as Arthur proposed, and found the creature had a short head, with a small round face, and was covered with coarse, shaggy hair, looking very much like withered grass. It had powerful claws and long arms, with which it clung to the branch; while its hinder legs, which were half the length of the others, had feet of peculiar formation, which enabled it to hold on to the bough. In truth, we discerned what we had before heard, that the sloth is especially formed to live in trees-- though not on the branches, like the squirrel, but under them; indeed, it generally moves suspended from the branch, and at night, when sleeping, rests in the same attitude, under the branch, hanging on by its powerful arms and legs. Its arms being very long and powerful, with strong claws instead of fingers, it is enabled to defend itself against the large snakes which frequently attack it. We could only hope that it was not alone, and that should we require sloth-steaks we might be able to have an ample supply. We had no fears, indeed, about obtaining as much animal food as we might require, though it was possible that we might, before we could escape, eat up all the food to be found in our domain. At length we got back to where we had left Uncle Paul and Marian. We recounted our adventures to them, when Marian was not a little agitated at hearing of our encounter with the macaws, and at our having been compelled to leap into the river. "Oh, how dreadful it would have been had you been drowned," she exclaimed; "or had a shark or alligator, or an anaconda, snapped you up!" "There was very little danger of that," answered Arthur. "We had not very far to swim before we got hold of a branch and drew ourselves out of the water." "I am not quite so certain about that as you are, Arthur," observed Uncle Paul. "We all have reason to be thankful that you escaped the danger in which you were placed." When Kallolo returned, after another exploring expedition, and heard of our adventures, he said that he would go at night and capture the young macaws, when the parents would not attempt to defend them; and that he should probably, at the same time, be able to catch some of the older birds. He had brought with him an ara parrot, as he called it, which, young as it was, had already grown to a considerable size. Though it had not yet obtained its full plumage, its colours were very beautiful. Its body was of a flaming scarlet, while the wings were red, yellow, blue, and green; its tail, which was of great length, being scarlet and blue. He had caught the bird with a noose, just as it was about to leave the nest, and he said that he had hopes of being able to tame it. The creature seemed but little disconcerted, and finding that it was treated kindly, at once fed willingly out of his hand. He secured it by a piece of string to a small branch near us, where it could perch at its ease. Quacko the monkey looked at it with a somewhat jealous eye, but Kallolo made him understand that he must not interfere with the new favourite, and Ara and Quacko soon became friends. The day passed away in our truly sylvan abode much faster than I could have expected; and could we but have been assured that my father was safe, we should, considering the circumstances, have been tolerably happy and contented. At night we all went to sleep in the positions we had before occupied. CHAPTER SEVEN. WE MAKE A PLATFORM--A SAIL!--THE MISSING ONES ARRIVE--MY FATHER DESCRIBES THEIR ADVENTURES--DUTCH DETERMINATION--VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY--A CALM--I CATCH A LARGE FISH--THE RAFT ON FIRE--ABOUT SHIP. Two days passed by, spent much as those I have before described. The calm continued; not a breath of air stirred the mud-tinted expanse of water stretching out to the northward. Up to this time the flood had not in the slightest degree decreased; indeed, the mark Uncle Paul had made on the first day showed that it had rather increased an inch or two. At all events, there was no present prospect, as far as we could see, of our getting away from our present abode. Arthur proposed that we should form a raft. This would not have been difficult, as we had several large knives among us, and with some labour we might have cut off branches from the trees and bound them together with sepos. But then the question arose, In what direction should we go, even supposing that we could form a raft to hold the whole party? We might have to paddle, for aught we knew to the contrary, for days and days together before we could reach dry land; and when there, were we likely to be better off than where we were at present? Taking all things into consideration, Uncle Paul decided, when his advice was asked, that it would be better to let well alone, and to remain in the grove. Vessels went occasionally up and down the river, and when the water subsided we might be seen by one of them, and be taken off. We should thus, however, run the risk of again falling into the hands of the Spaniards, and Uncle Paul especially was very unwilling to trust to their tender mercies. "My opinion is that we should remain here till we are compelled to move, and then make our way up one of the many streams to the south, which rise in the Dutch territories, where we are sure to meet with a friendly reception," he observed. Arthur agreed with him, and the rest of the party were willing to be guided by their decision. It was proposed, as there was a probability of our spending some weeks in our present abode, that we should endeavour to render it more habitable than at present. Kallolo described to us how a tribe of natives in the neighbourhood make platforms, resting on the trunks of the palm-trees, where they and their families live in comparative comfort during the whole period of the inundation. The idea, being started, was highly approved of, and we all immediately set to work to get long poles for the purpose. A spot was selected, higher up the tree, where a number of branches ran out horizontally, almost level with each other. As soon as a pole was cut it was secured with sepos, Uncle Paul and Sambo exercising their nautical knowledge for the purpose. It required no small number of poles, but the little forest afforded an abundant supply. Before the end of the day the platform was completed. We then built a hut on it, devoted to Marian's use. The only thing wanting was a quantity of clay to form a hearth; but clay, while the waters covered the earth, it was impossible to obtain. We had therefore to light our fire, as before, on the thick branch, on which it had as yet made no impression, beyond burning off the bark and blackening it. As soon as our platform was finished we moved on to it, though Kallolo and Sambo preferred sleeping among the boughs. I was very glad to get so comparatively comfortable a place for poor Marian; whose health, however, notwithstanding the hardships she had endured, remained unimpaired. Our first work being finished, we erected a lookout place at the end of a long bough, clearing away the branches which intercepted our view up and down the stream. Here one of us took post during daylight, that we might watch for any craft navigating the river. Should a Spanish vessel appear, we agreed that we would let her pass without making a signal; but should a Dutch or English one come in sight, though it was not likely that any of our own countrymen would visit the river, we determined to do our best to attract the attention of those on board. All this time there had been scarcely a breath of wind, and though our lookout place had been occupied, we knew that no vessel could pass up, and it was very unlikely that any would venture down the stream at the mercy of the current. Two days after the lookout post had been established, as I took my watch at daybreak, the bright sun rising above the distant horizon, I felt the breeze fan my cheeks. Every instant it increased, rippling the hitherto calm surface of the broad river into mimic waves. As I watched, now turning my eyes up, now down the stream, I saw, emerging from behind a projecting point of the forest, a white sail. From the progress it made towards me, it appeared to be that of a large boat, and was certainly not such as was likely to be used by Indians. At first I had hoped that it might be the sloop, but I soon saw, from the cut of the sail, and its size, that it was not such as she would carry. If the people on board were Spaniards, I was not to make a signal to them. How tantalising it would be to see her pass by, and yet I had no doubt that Uncle Paul was right in not wishing again to fall into their hands. I would not call to my friends till I had some more certain information to communicate, so I sat eagerly watching the sail. At length I saw that it was positively coming nearer. From its height out of the water, I again began to hope that it might after all be that of the sloop, which might have rigged a jury-mast. Nearer and nearer it came, and at length I saw that it was certainly not the sloop, but the oddest build of vessel I had ever set eyes on. As I gazed, I at last discovered that it was not a vessel at all, but part of the trunk of a huge tree, with a mast, to which a sail was spread, stepped on it. No wonder that it approached slowly! I now began to hope that my father and the skipper had escaped, and that it might be bringing them to us, so I could no longer resist shouting out to Uncle Paul, who quickly joined me. After examining it narrowly, he exclaimed: "I have no doubt about it; I am nearly certain that I can make out your father and Captain van Dunk, as well as the mate and the native. Most thankful am I that they have all been preserved, for I confess I did not expect to see them again." The breeze increasing, the log approached somewhat faster than at first, and all our doubts were soon set at rest. Uncle Paul and I, standing up, waved our handkerchiefs and shouted, to draw their attention. We were at length seen, and the course of the log, which was impelled by paddles as well as a sail, was directed towards us. Having communicated the joyful intelligence to the rest of the party, we all descended to the lowest branch, the only accessible part of the tree from the water. I need scarcely picture our delight when at length the log glided up, and we were able to welcome my poor father. He looked thin and careworn, as if he had gone through great hardships; and even the honest skipper was considerably pulled down. Having secured the log, which was of a peculiarly light and buoyant character, we invited my father and his companions up to our platform, where breakfast had just been prepared. They were greatly surprised to find that we had cooked food; and they were ready to do ample justice to it, as they had been living all the time on raw provisions. As soon as my father and the rest of us had satisfied our hunger, he described what had occurred to them. After we had escaped from the sloop, she had been driven down the stream for some miles along the forest; but at length, striking against a projecting point of a log, she had gone down in shallow water, my father and the skipper being providentially able to make their way to a large tree, a branch of which projected from the stem only a few feet above the surface. Here they rested till daylight. The skipper then managed to reach the vessel, which had sunk close below them, and got hold of some spars and one of the sails; which they hoisted up to their resting-place. The second trip he made he managed to get hold of a small cask of biscuits and a bottle of schiedam. This nourishment greatly revived them, and they began to consider how they could come to our assistance; for of course, not being aware that we should be able to obtain an abundant supply of provisions, they feared that we should perish from hunger. In vain, however, the skipper endeavoured to recover a sufficient number of spars to form a raft. On the third trip he made to the vessel he was nearly washed away, so my father entreated him not again to venture. He did so, however, and getting hold of a coil of rope, fastened one end of it to the branch and the other round his waist. He made several more trips, and recovered a cask of herrings, another of biscuits, and three more bottles of schiedam. The current, however, driving against the vessel, already fearfully damaged by the blows she had received, began to break her up; and although the brave skipper made several attempts to recover more articles, they were mostly unsuccessful. He had, however, got hold of Marian's small box of clothing, which had been saved when so many things were washed out of the boat. He had also saved a saucepan, some hooks and lines, an axe, a saw, a small auger, a few nails, and some other articles, which had been thrown into an empty cask. They had now no longer any dread of immediate starvation for themselves, but their anxiety about us was by no means lessened; and having sufficient provisions to last them for several days, they felt more eager than ever to reach us. They had seen several logs floating down the stream at a distance. At length it struck them that if they could obtain one of these, they might, with the aid of the sail and the spars they had saved, accomplish their object. It would have been madness to get upon one of them unless they could manage to secure it to their branch. At length an enormous log came floating by, evidently of very light wood, as it rose high out of the water, with a branch projecting from one end. Their anxiety was intense lest an eddy might turn it off and drift it from them. The gallant skipper stood, rope in hand, anxiously watching it. At length it came directly under them; so he leapt upon it, and with a sailor's dexterity immediately fastened the end of the rope round the branch. It was brought up, and they thus obtained what they so much desired. The wind, however, was contrary, and still blowing so strong that it might have been dangerous even had it been favourable for them to commence their voyage. The time, however, was spent by the skipper, aided by my father, in cutting a step in the log for the mast, which was at length fixed securely with wedges driven down on either side, and stayed up with a portion of the rope which could be spared. They had now a vessel of sufficient size not only to carry them, but to convey the whole of the party, should they find us. Still they had several days to wait before they could commence their voyage. They also formed a rudder with one of the spars; and out of a piece of plank which had been secured, along with two other spars, they constructed two oars to assist in impelling their unwieldy craft. At last a light breeze sprang up. There was no little difficulty in getting clear of the branch; but after all their stores had been placed on it, the skipper, by his good management, at last succeeded. The sail was hoisted, and to their great satisfaction the log went ahead. They had, of course, to keep close in by the forest, to avoid the strength of the current; but although a back eddy helped them now and then, their progress was very slow. Still they did go ahead. They had almost abandoned all hopes of finding the mate and the Indian, as the skipper fancied they had both been drowned. They had been coasting along for some hours, sometimes scarcely going ahead, at others not making more than half a knot or so an hour, when a voice, which seemed to come out of the forest, reached them; and, looking in the direction from which the sound came, they saw two men sitting on a projecting branch of a high tree, whom the skipper recognised as his mate Peter, and Maco the Indian. They being alive proved that they must have obtained food, and this raised their hopes that we also had not died of starvation. How the two men could get down and reach the log was now the question. Captain van Dunk and my father stood in as close as they could venture. Their fear was that the mast might be caught by some of the overhanging branches, or that some submerged bough might strike the log and upset it. Both dangers had to be guarded against. The log was moving very slowly. The skipper therefore hailed the men, telling them to come down and that he would pick them up. The Indian, Maco, was the first to follow his advice. Descending to the lowest branch, which was nearly thirty feet above the surface, he plunged headlong in; and though he disappeared for nearly a minute, he rose again, and soon reached the log. The skipper then told him to take the remaining piece of the rope, and, if possible, carry it up to the branch, so that Peter might have the means of descending. He willingly undertook the task, but expressed his fear that he would not succeed. Suddenly his eye fell on the axe. "I will do it now," he said, "without fear." Taking the implement in his hand, and the rope, which he fastened round his waist, he swam back to the tree. He was soon seen cutting notches in the trunk, one above the other, and clinging to them with his toes and one hand. He quickly ascended, dragging the rope up with him. Peter had, meantime, descended to the lowest branch, and by stooping down helped him up the last few feet. The rope was secured; then the Indian, giving the axe to Peter, told him to swim off with it to the log. Peter quickly descended, having only a few feet to drop into the water; and as he was a fair swimmer, though not a diver, he soon reached the log, and my father and the skipper hauled him up. The gallant Indian then casting off the rope plunged with it into the stream, towing it off to the log. He was not a minute behind Peter, and was hauled up somewhat exhausted by his exertions. The two men told my father and the skipper that, on being left behind, they had swum to a branch at some distance from where they had been left, and having climbed the tree to which it belonged, had wandered, by means of the sepos interlacing the boughs, some way through the forest, till they reached the tree on which my father and the skipper saw them. They had obtained an abundance of food; but having no means of lighting a fire, they had been compelled to eat it raw. Their animal food consisted chiefly of young birds, lizards, tree-frogs, and grubs; and their vegetable food, of some plums and other fruits, and the inside leaves of the assai palm, and various nuts. The sail, which had been lowered, was again hoisted, and the voyage was continued. Darkness came on, but the crew of the log was now sufficiently strong to be divided into two watches, and the skipper and my father were able to lie down and rest, while Peter took the helm, and Maco, the Indian, kept a lookout ahead, and stood ready to lower the sail if necessary. Thus all night long they continued gliding on, but very slowly. This, however, enabled them to keep a bright lookout in the forest. Great was their satisfaction when, the next morning, they caught sight of me,--their anxiety about us was relieved. So great was our joy on finding our poor father, that all the dangers in prospect were overlooked; and had we not still been mourning the loss of our dear mother, we should have been, I believe, perfectly happy. Our father was astonished at the comfortable abode we had erected, and at the ample supply of provisions we had obtained. The skipper and Peter were, however, anxious to continue the voyage; and Uncle Paul also wished to go with them, in the hope that the mouth of some stream might be found near at hand, up which they might proceed till they could get on dry land. The grand idea of the skipper was to reach firm ground, and then to build a vessel in which to return to Guiana. He felt confident that it could be accomplished. "Where there is a will there is a way. It can be done, and it shall be done, if health and strength be allowed us!" he exclaimed, with Dutch determination, which an enemy would have called obstinacy. My father, however, was unwilling to allow Marian to undertake the fatigue to which she would have been subjected. It was necessary, therefore, even though the log could have carried us all, that some should remain with her. He naturally resolved to do so. Tim, having found his master, was not willing to leave him; and Arthur decided also to stop and help my father in taking care of Marian. The skipper consented to leave Sambo to assist in hunting for food. I was eager for the adventure, and my father, after some little hesitation, allowed me to go. Kallolo had consented to leave the monkey for the amusement of Marian; but no sooner did Quacko see his master on the log, than he sprang off and took up his post on the further end, showing very clearly that he had no intention of being left behind. "Pray let him go," said Marian. "I would on no account detain him, for he probably would be very unhappy if separated from Kallolo." Quacko, therefore, became one of our crew, or rather a passenger, for it was not to be expected that he would do much towards the navigation of the log. The day was spent in making some preparations for the voyage and in exchanging provisions, the skipper generously offering to leave the cask of biscuits, some herrings, and a couple of bottles of his beloved schiedam with my father. "If we find the mouth of a river, and believe that we can easily sail up it, we will return for you, as it might take us some weeks to complete our craft, and you would not wish to live up the tree all that time," he said. At daybreak the next morning we commenced our voyage. A strong breeze filled our sail, and we glided on with greater speed than the log had before moved through the water. Among other articles which had been put on board were a number of large nuts from the cuja-tree, with which Uncle Paul proposed forming floats or lifebuoys for each of the party. "We might," he observed, "have to swim on shore, or they might help on some other occasion to save our lives." Kallolo had manufactured a quantity of line from the fibres of a tree of the palm species in our grove, so that we had an abundance of cordage. After we were afloat and on our voyage, I could not help thinking that we might have built a canoe, which would certainly have been more manageable than the unwieldy log; but Mynheer van Dunk preferred the more stable conveyance. As the wind continued fresh and favourable, we made pretty fair way, and were in good spirits. As we went along we kept a watchful eye for any indications of an opening on our larboard side; but mile after mile was accomplished, and only a long line of forest met our sight. We sailed on by night as well as by day, to take advantage of the favourable breeze; and by keeping close in, sometimes even between islands of trees, if I may so describe them, we escaped the strength of the current. The natives, I should have said, had brought a number of thin straight branches, with which to manufacture bows, and arrows, and lances, that we might have the means of killing game when our provisions should be expended. Kallolo, indeed, understood how to make the celebrated zabatana, or blowpipe, though he had not been able to obtain the wood he required. How could he, indeed, he observed, find the materials for concocting the woorali poison into which to dip the point of his darts? He hoped, however, when we reached the shore, to obtain the necessary ingredients, and to form a blowpipe, with which he promised to kill as much game as we should require. We had sailed on four days, when we reached a point, on rounding which we saw a wide expanse of water before us, with another point in the far distance. We knew therefore that we were at the mouth of a considerable river. It was what we were looking for, and the wind, which had changed to the northward, would enable us to sail up it. The current, however, was setting down the river, and just as we had eased off the sheet, intending to run up it, the wind failed and we were speedily drifted out again. We could not reach a tree to which to make fast, and there we lay, floating helplessly on the calm surface. After drifting for half a mile along the edge of the forest, we found ourselves in slack water, in which we lay, neither advancing nor receding. Our food was running somewhat short, but, fortunately, we had our hooks and lines, and taking some dried herrings as bait, we set to work to fish. We had not long to wait before we caught several somewhat curiously shaped creatures, which we should from their appearance have hesitated to eat; had not Kallolo, who knew most of them, told us which were wholesome and which poisonous. Some he immediately knocked on the head and threw overboard. As we were unwilling to light a fire on the raft, we cut them up and dried them in the sun. Though not very palatable, they enabled us to economise the rest of our provisions; and the natives, and even Peter, had no objection to eat them raw. For three days we lay totally becalmed. Fortunately we most of us had some occupation. Uncle Paul, the skipper, and I were engaged in making floats from the large nuts I spoke of. Having bored a hole, we scraped out the kernel, and then stopped up the orifice again with some resinous substance which Uncle Paul had brought for the purpose. The natives, assisted by the mate, were manufacturing spears and bows and arrows. When not thus occupied, we were engaged in fishing. Most of our hooks were small, and we could only venture to haul up moderately-sized fish with them. We had, however, one big hook with a strong line, and we hoped with it to catch a proportionately large fish. We were not disappointed. I had the line in my hand. Before long I felt a strong pull. I gave a jerk, and when I fancied that the unwary creature was firmly hooked, I began to haul away. I had, however, to call to my friends for assistance; for I thought it far more likely that the fish would pull me in, than that I should succeed in pulling him out. Uncle Paul and the skipper then took hold of the line. Our fear was that the fish would break away, for there was not line enough to play him, and our only way of securing him was by main force. At length we got his head out of the water, when the Indians exclaimed, "Periecu! periecu!" and stooping down, and putting their fingers in the fish's gills, they hauled it up. He was upwards of three feet in length, and covered with beautiful scales--indeed, I have never seen a finer fish. Some blows on the head finally secured him. The Indians said that his flesh might be preserved by drying, but thought some days would be required for the operation. We preferred eating some of it fresh, but not raw; so we began to think of lighting a fire. For some time we had been drifting much closer in with the forest, and we agreed that by a little exertion in rowing we might get up to some of the trees, from which we could obtain a supply of fuel. This we accomplished, and lowering our sail, and unstepping our mast, we got close in under the trees. With our axe and knives we soon got a supply of dry branches. As no place presented itself on any of the lower branches where we could light a fire, we resolved to do so on the log. Having piled up our fuel, we paddled out again into the open water. Uncle Paul had his tinder-box, and a few cherished matches--not that we were entirely dependent on them, as the natives could always, by a little exertion, kindle a flame. We did not step our mast, which, with the sail and yard, lay alongside. Our fire was soon lighted, and a portion of our periecu was spitted and placed over it to roast. The fish appeared to be cooking famously, as we sat on the log, some at one end and some at the other. Suddenly a light wind got up, and in an instant what was our dismay to see the whole centre part of the log on fire! Up it blazed, spreading so rapidly that we had scarcely time, some seizing one article and some another, to spring overboard with our floats round our waists. Quacko in a great fright clung to Kallolo's back, where he sat chattering away, loudly expressing his annoyance at what had occurred. Maco made a dash on the half-roasted periecu, which would otherwise have run a great risk of being overdone, and leaped after us. Happily nothing of value was left behind, while our mast and sail, being in the water, were also safe. There we were, floating about round the log, which, from the fierce way the flames blazed up, would, we feared, be soon burned to the water's edge. "This must not be!" cried the skipper and Uncle Paul almost at the same time. "Pipe all hands to extinguish the fire!" Suiting the action to the word, they setting the example, we all, as we floated about on our lifebuoys, began to throw water on the flames with our hands. "Heave away, my lads! heave away, and put out the flames!" cried Uncle Paul. Fortunately the fire had not got any real hold on the log, having fed chiefly on the dry mass of parasitic plants which thickly covered it, so that, by throwing water over it merely with the palms of our hands, we managed in a short time to put it out. Maco, who was the first to climb on to the deck, uttering a loud cry jumped off again still more rapidly, it being as yet far too hot to make a comfortable resting-place. We therefore continued for some time longer to throw up the water to cool it. At length we again ventured on board. It looked something like the bottom of a coal barge in a rainy day; it was covered with saturated cinders, which it took us a considerable time before we could sweep off into the water. Quacko looked with much suspicion at the burned embers, as if he thought they would blaze up again, and declined leaving Kallolo's shoulders, where alone he considered himself secure. Having put our craft right, we sat down to feast on the portion of the periecu we had been cooking, and very satisfactory food it proved. We then stepped our mast, and set up the rigging, so as to be ready to proceed on our voyage as soon as the wind should again spring up. It came sooner than we expected, but instead of blowing up the stream, it came directly down, and both the skipper and Uncle Paul agreed that it was likely to continue in the same quarter for several days. We had now run somewhat short of provisions, and had made but inconsiderable progress on our voyage of discovery. Uncle Paul therefore proposed that we should go back to our friends, and wait till the wind should again shift to its old quarter. Unless, indeed, we could secure the log to a tree, we should be drifted back several miles. We might obtain food by climbing the trees, but we were not likely to catch any fish while we remained close to them, and we should probably, after all, have to put back in want of provisions. These arguments prevailed with the skipper. The head of the log was got round, sail was made, and we glided back at a much faster rate than we had come up against the current. CHAPTER EIGHT. ARRIVAL AT GROVE ISLAND--SEARCH FOR PROVISIONS--CAPTURE OF THE SLOTH-- SMOKED SLOTH--DEPARTURE FROM GROVE ISLAND--A FEARFUL ATTACK--UP AN IGARAPE--THE INDIAN ENCAMPMENT. The sun was just setting when we reached the clump of trees where we had left our friends, and lowering our mast, we paddled on to the landing-place. As might be supposed, they were very much surprised at seeing us return, and naturally fancied that some accident had happened. "What is the matter?" asked Arthur, who hurried down to meet us. "Nothing the matter, my friends, only a foul wind has driven us back into port," answered the skipper, laughing. "Ya, ya! we shall sail again soon with a fair breeze, and we mean to complete our voyage the next time." We found that everything had been going on quietly during our absence. My father had gradually recovered his strength, and Marian felt much better from being able to take a walk on the platform. A hut had been constructed for her of palm-leaves, at Arthur's suggestion. Arthur, Tim, and the black had been successful in their hunting expeditions. They had, wisely, not ventured again into the macawery, but had caught in various parts of the grove several parrots and other birds. They had again seen the sloth; but, as they did not require the creature for food, they allowed it to enjoy its existence. Its chance of life, however, with the increased numbers in the settlement, was very small; for Kallolo and Maco undertook to capture the poor animal before dawn, if they could find it. They said they could do so at that time much more easily than in daylight, when it would be awake, and could scramble off much faster than they could follow. Kallolo observed, that with a blowpipe he could send a small dart into the body of the animal which would deprive it of life in the course of a few minutes; but having only spears and arrows, the business of catching it would take them a much longer time. The danger of shooting the sloth was, that it might fall into the water and be lost, should it be found on a bough overhanging the river. Arthur suggested that we should try to get a rope round the animal. "We kill him first, and then make him fast," observed Kallolo. "He will hold on with his claws till him quite dead." As the skipper was especially anxious to have a good supply of food in readiness for the voyage, it was finally decided that the sloth should die before daylight. Arthur and I told Kallolo that we wished to assist in its capture, and he promised to call us when it was time to set out to look for the beast. We all lay down as usual on the platform, our pillows consisting of bundles of sticks, with no other covering than the roof overhead. I was still sleeping soundly when I felt Kallolo's hand on my shoulder. "Get up, now! Time to be off!" He had previously awaked Arthur. We were immediately on our feet, and, led by the two natives, commenced our scramble among the boughs and interlacing sepos. Arthur carried one piece of rope, and I another. It was necessary to move with the greatest caution, else we might easily have had an ugly fall. Our guides moved noiselessly, for fear, as they said, of awaking their intended victim. It would certainly have gone to the furthest extremity of the grove--as far away as possible from the invaders of its native domain. I should have supposed that they would have had great difficulty in ascertaining in what direction it was to be found, had I not observed that they stopped every now and then and examined the leaves of some of the trees. At length we arrived at a large cecropia tree. We observed that some of the branches were almost stripped of their leaves, while those of others, a little further on, were only partly nibbled. "Him not far off," whispered Kallolo. "Stay here, me go see. Come when I call." And he and his companion silently made their way along an outspreading branch, holding their lances in their hands. The branch could not be reached from below, but I saw that another of smaller dimensions extended at no great distance above it. The Indians crept along the larger branch. I knew that the sloth was to be found under, not above, the branch, and therefore supposed that he was clinging to the smaller of the two, though I could not make him out. Presently I saw one of the natives spring up to the upper branch, and make his way along it; then he again dropped down to the lower one, while the other advanced as if to meet him. I could see their lances raised, and presently, at the same moment, they darted them down, when Kallolo shouted out, "Come on! come on!" and Arthur and I clambered along the upper branch, and, directed by Kallolo, we dropped the noose of our ropes, which he and Maco caught and passed round the lower bough, handing them up to us again. They then told us to move a little further on, and to draw the ropes tight and secure them. We did as they desired. "We got the sloth tight now," observed Kallolo. "Him not go away till we come back in the morning." We found that the ropes had been passed under the body of the sloth, which was thus tightly secured to the tree. After this, we returned to the platform. At daylight we again set off with Tim and Sambo, to bring down the body of the sloth. It was by this time quite dead, and had it not been fastened, would probably have fallen into the water. It was carried to the kitchen on the thick branch, where it was skinned and cut up; and we now found ourselves in possession of an ample supply of meat. I cannot say much in favour of its flesh. It was rather tough and sinewy; but under our circumstances we were very glad to get it. The only question was how it could be preserved. The skipper suggested that we should try to smoke our meat. The operation at first seemed impossible; but under his directions a large wickerwork basket was formed, which was thickly covered over with palm-leaves. The meat was hung inside, and the basket was then placed over the fire, which was well supplied with fresh twigs and leaves. By continually replenishing the fuel, we kept up an ample volume of smoke, in which we not only cured sloth meat, but a number of parrots and other birds, and several fish, which we caught by allowing the log to drift out into deep water, as far as the cable would admit. The skipper was very anxious that the whole party should accompany him on the next trip; and he asked my father to venture on board the log, assuring him that he and his daughter would be perfectly safe, and that we should thus be able to push into the interior to a spot where we might build a vessel, and so avoid the necessity of coming back for him. My father at length consented, and active preparations were made for the voyage. Before starting, we had a grand hunt, during which we made an onslaught on the macaws, which, frightened by our numbers, and by the weapons with which we assailed them, took to flight after several had been killed, leaving their young ones at our mercy. We caught a number of other birds, and obtained a considerable supply of figs, plums, and nuts. We had, also, a general washing of clothes; though, to be sure, some of our party had but few garments which required cleansing. But cleanliness we endeavoured to maintain; which tended much, I believe, to keep us in health. Hitherto no one had suffered, except from fatigue; and that, of course, was unavoidable. Our provisions being carefully packed, and other arrangements made, we only waited for a fair wind to recommence our voyage. We had an abundance of food. Our saucepan afforded us the means of obtaining hot water, and of boiling what required boiling. We had bows and arrows and spears to obtain more food, hooks and lines for catching fish, and two bottles of schiedam remaining; for the skipper, though very fond of it, husbanded it carefully, and resisted the temptation he felt to drink it himself. "We'll keep it, in case of the illness of any of the party," he remarked. The wind still continued blowing down the river. It had the effect of somewhat lowering the water. This we did not desire; for while it remained at its height we could with greater ease penetrate into the interior, and we knew that even long after it had subsided we should be unable to travel over the country it had left, with any degree of safety. Again it fell calm. We might perhaps have urged our log to the westward by means of the oars; but our progress would necessarily have been so slow that it would not have been worth while to make the attempt. We waited another day, when, to the satisfaction of all hands, a light breeze from the eastward sprang up soon after we had breakfasted. "On board now, my friends!" exclaimed the skipper; and we hastened down to our landing-place, each of us loaded with as many packages as we could carry. As before, Quacko clung to Kallolo's shoulders, while Ara perched on the head of Maco. Everything we possessed was placed in the centre of the log. Once more Uncle Paul ascended and took a glance round the platform, to see that nothing had been left behind. "And now, my friends," he said, "before we push off, let us offer up a prayer for protection against the dangers, foreseen and unforeseen, which we may have to encounter." Kneeling down and taking off his hat, Uncle Paul prayed in a firm, manly tone, all joining him in a hearty "Amen." Rising from our knees, the oars were got out, the painter cast off; and we paddled clear of the trees: then the mast was stepped and set up with shrouds and stays, wedges being driven in to secure it more firmly. The sail was hoisted and rigged out with a boom, and away we glided up the stream. Great care had been taken, in trimming the log, to prevent the risk of its upsetting. To each person was assigned his own proper place, from which he was on no account to move, unless directed by Uncle Paul or Captain van Dunk. Further to secure the log, outriggers had been fitted on either side; which gave it more stability without impeding its progress. All had been done, indeed, which good sense and forethought could suggest for securing a safe voyage in our, at the best, unwieldy craft. The extreme buoyancy of the cedar wood made it far more suitable for our purpose than that of any other tree. From its natural shape, also, which was flat on the upper side, and rounded at the bottom, it nearly resembled a vessel; and could we have hollowed it out, it might have been formed into a craft suitable for the navigation of a smooth river. We had, however, to make the best of it as it was. We had, I should have said, erected a small shed in the afterpart for Marian's accommodation, which served as her sleeping-place at night, and sheltered her somewhat from the heat of the sun by day. As before, we sailed on night and day. The craft was somewhat less buoyant than it had been; but as we had a fresh breeze, we made good progress, and in two days we reached the point where we had turned back. Marian was grateful for the care taken of her, and was in fair spirits; and even our poor father became more cheerful than he had been. Soon after we had doubled the point, the wind shifted a little to the northward, blowing directly up the stream we had now entered. As in the Orinoco, the trees, with the water many feet above their roots, bounded our prospect on either side. Day after day we sailed on, a sharp lookout being kept ahead for any danger which might appear. The chief risk was from submerged trees or floating logs; which might have quickly upset her, had our craft struck one of them. Happily we escaped all these dangers; and though we frequently passed very near floating logs, we did not receive any damage from them. At length we found the river narrowing considerably; but still no dry ground had appeared on either side,--which showed how perfectly level must be the region through which we were sailing. The wind, though it continued favourable, had fallen, and we found it necessary to keep close in by the shore, to avoid the current which we could no longer stem. Still, by keeping our paddles moving, we went ahead. So narrow had the stream become, that we thought we must be approaching its source, when suddenly we found ourselves entering a broad lakelike expanse, the opposite shore being scarcely visible. Captain van Dunk being unwilling, for fear of being caught in a gale, to stand across the lake, kept still coasting along, in the hope, he said, of discovering either a piece of firm ground or else another stream up which we might run. During the next night the wind was very light, and we made slower progress than we had hitherto done. I awoke just at daylight, and was sitting with Kallolo at the bow of our strange craft, over the stem of which the tack was made fast. He was employed in looking out ahead. Quacko, his constant companion, was in his arms, and I was amusing myself by talking to the monkey. "He no understand your lingo, Massa Guy," observed Kallolo. "Talkee as I do, and he know what you say." On this he uttered what seemed to me to be nothing but gibberish; but Quacko, in great delight, replied in what was evidently an imitation of his master's voice. Suddenly I saw the creature gaze into the water, and then, chattering louder than ever, it threw its arms around Kallolo's neck. "He see something!" exclaimed the native, gazing on the smooth surface. "Oh! what can it be?" I exclaimed. The native did not reply. At that instant, a long shining head rose above the surface, and came on with fearful rapidity towards the log. The Indian sat, it seemed to me, paralysed with terror. Beyond the head appeared a long thin body; and I now saw that it was an enormous snake--"a huge anaconda." To my horror the creature, reaching the log, began to climb it, exhibiting the folds of its huge body; while its mouth was open wide enough to swallow either of us at a gulp, though it might possibly have been contented with poor Quacko, had Kallolo been willing to sacrifice his favourite. "Fly, Massa Guy! fly!" he shouted, springing back himself, with Quacko in his arms. Our shouts aroused our sleeping companions, who sprang to their feet, Maco being the first to seize a lance and come to our assistance. The bravest man might well have been excused for not facing the hideous monster unarmed. The first impulse of everyone was to spring to the afterpart of our craft, as far as possible from its huge fangs. Our cries, and the row of bristling lances presented to the anaconda, made it hesitate to spring on us. Indeed, it had not as yet, I suspect, got firm hold of the log with its tail, which would have enabled it to do so. While the rest of us were presenting our lances, Maco seized a bow and sent an arrow directly down the creature's throat! With a loud hiss of rage and pain it drew back, when we all rushed forward, not without some risk of upsetting the log, which rocked fearfully from side to side. Had we been thrown into the water, the creature would have had us at its mercy; though, with an arrow in its mouth, it would not have been able to swallow even Quacko. A second arrow, sent from Maco's unerring bow, made it uncoil its huge body and slip off into the water, when, to our infinite satisfaction, it disappeared beneath the surface. Poor Quacko still trembled all over; for his instinct told him how quickly the anaconda would have gobbled him up. We speedily recovered our equanimity. "I wish he would come on again," cried our undaunted skipper. "If he do, we shall quickly have his head off, and cook some slices of his body for dinner." I don't think he exactly meant what he said; at all events, I must have been excessively hungry before I could have eaten any of the hideous creature, though its flesh might possibly not be poisonous. I believe, indeed, that even the natives, who eat nearly everything, would not have been inclined to feed on its rank flesh. As we had no wish to remain in the neighbourhood, we got out the oars and rowed lustily forward; and a fresh breeze springing up at about noon, we ran on at a good rate, though not even at the fastest did we ever make more than four knots an hour. Our average was perhaps about two, which gave twenty-four miles in the day. This, considering all things, was not bad progress. We sailed on till nightfall, in vain looking for a landing-place, while between the trees we could distinguish nothing but water extending as far as the eye could reach. As the wind was light, we did not attempt to bring up, but continued on our course; a crescent moon enabling us to see our way sufficiently to avoid any dangers ahead. Uncle Paul and Captain van Dunk took it in turn to act as officer of the watch. My father and Marian were rated as passengers, and the rest of us were divided into two watches. It may be supposed, after the visit of the anaconda, that we kept a bright lookout, lest any monster of the same species might take it in his head to come on board; and Kallolo and Maco kept their bows ready to send an arrow into the first pair of open jaws which appeared above the surface. The night, however, passed away without the appearance of any unwelcome visitor. The encounter we had had on the previous day seemed, indeed, like a horrible dream, and we could scarcely persuade ourselves of its reality. I was very glad when daylight returned, and a fresh breeze and bright sun stirred up our spirits. We had not again attempted to light a fire on board; indeed, without stopping among the trees we could not have obtained fuel. We were therefore compelled to subsist on the dried meat and fish and the various fruits and nuts we had brought with us; cold water being our sole beverage. Marian subsisted almost entirely on fruit and nuts, and for her sake especially I was anxious to reach dry ground, where we could cook some more wholesome provisions for her. We had now, by our calculations, got a considerable way from the Orinoco, but had not yet found the dry ground of which we were in search; nor had as yet any mountain ranges appeared over the tops of the lofty trees surrounding us. The noonday sun was shining with an intense splendour on the calm expanse of water over which we glided, when we saw before us an opening between the trees, through which we concluded the upper waters of the river we had been navigating flowed. The log was steered for it. It was of considerable breadth, though narrowed by the far-extending branches of the trees hanging over it, the lower portions of the stems being concealed by the water. We sailed on: Captain van Dunk thought we should, before long, reach a part with banks considerably above the water. On either side rose magnificent trees, some to the height of one hundred and fifty feet. Among the most remarkable were the white-stemmed cecropia; the cow-tree, of still loftier growth; and the indiarubber tree, with its smooth grey bark, tall erect trunk, and thick glossy leaves: while intermixed with them appeared the assai palm, with its slender stem, its graceful head, and its delicate green plumes; and the mirite, one of the most beautiful of the palm tribe, having abundant clusters of glossy fruit, and enormous spreading, fanlike leaves, cut into ribbons. Palms of various species predominated. The underwood was not very dense, but the sepos wove their tracery among the upper branches; some running round and round the trees, and holding them in a close embrace; others hanging from branch to branch in rich festoons, or dropping in long lines to the ground. Here, too, appeared numberless parasitic plants, with most beautiful and gorgeous flowers. Among the most lovely flowers was one of a yellow tint, apparently suspended between the stems of two trees, shining in the gloom as if its petals were of gold. In reality, as we afterwards discovered, it grows at the end of a stalk, a yard and a half long, springing from a cluster of thick leaves on the bark of a tree. Others had white and spotted blossoms; and still more magnificent than all was one of a brilliant purple colour, emitting a delicious odour. Here, too, we saw plants hanging in mid-air, like the crowns of huge pineapples; and large climbing arums, with their dark green and arrow-head-shaped leaves, forming fantastic and graceful ornaments amid the foliage; while huge-leaved ferns and other parasites clung to the sterns up to the very highest branches. These, again, were covered by creeping plants; and thus literally parasites grew on parasites; and on these parasites, again, leaves of every form were also seen--some beautifully divided, and others of vast size and fanlike shape, like those of the cecropias; and numerous others of intermediate forms added to the countless variety. Many of the trees bore fruit. Among the most tempting was that of the maraja, growing in large bunches. Most of the palms also had fruit; some like the cocoanut, others like small berries. Then there was the palmetto, with its tender succulent bud on the summit of the stem, used as a vegetable with meat. Others had bunches of bright chestnut-brown fruit hanging from between the leaves which form the crown, each bunch about a foot in length, massive and compact, like a large cluster of Hamburg grapes. Then there was another palm, bearing a greenish fruit not unlike the olive in appearance, which hung in large pendent bunches just below the leaves. There were bean-shaped pods, too, from one foot to three feet in length. The cuja-tree, which I have already mentioned, is of immense size. Its fruit is very much like that of a gourd of spherical form, with a light-green shining surface, growing from the size of an orange to that of the largest melon. It is filled with a soft white pulp, easily removed when the fruit is cut in halves. The Indians, I forgot to say, formed a number of cups and basins for us from the rind of this fruit. From them also we had manufactured the lifebuoys which I have described. As we sailed along, numerous birds of the most gorgeous plumage were seen either resting on the boughs or flying overhead across the stream. Among them were several species of trogons and little bristle-tailed manakins. We saw also the curious black umbrella-bird; which is so called from having a hood like an umbrella spread over its head. Flocks of paroquets were seen, and bright blue chatterers; and now and then a lovely pompadour, having delicate white wings and claret-coloured plumage. Monkeys of various sorts were scrambling among the boughs, coming out to look at us, and chattering loudly as if to inquire why we had come into their domains. Now and then we caught sight of a sloth rolled up on a branch of an imbauba tree, on the leaves of which the creature feeds; while butterflies of most brilliant hues and enormous dragonflies were flitting about in the sunshine. On and on we sailed, the passage between the trees now becoming narrower every mile we progressed, till at length they appeared almost to close us in, the branches completely interlacing overhead. Still, having gone so far, Captain van Dunk was unwilling to turn back, unless certain that there was no opening into some wider stream; but, from the depth of the water and the absence of any strong current, he fully believed we should meet with one. At length the branches extended so far across the passage that we were compelled to unstep the mast in order to pass under them. The sudden change from the bright glare of the open water to the solemn gloom of the forest was very remarkable. We had now to paddle slowly. We were frequently able to press our oars against the trunks of the trees, and thus to shove the log ahead. Though accustomed to tropical scenery, nothing we had before witnessed equalled the rich luxuriance of the vegetation--the numberless strange trees, and hanging plants, and creepers, and beautiful flowers of every hue, affording abundance of interest as we proceeded. Marian was delighted, and was continually crying out, "Oh, what a lovely flower!--what a graceful tree!--see that magnificent bird!--oh, what a gorgeous butterfly!" till she had exhausted her vocabulary of suitable epithets. At length we reached a spot where the far-extending buttressed roots of an enormous tree completely impeded our progress; and steering up to it, we made our log fast, and stepped, I cannot say on shore, but on the roots of the tree. We had little doubt, indeed, that could we have penetrated through the mass of foliage, we should soon have reached dry ground. It was now time for our evening meal, and therefore, before proceeding further, we sat down to partake of it. The captain intended, if possible, afterwards to try to work the log through by towing, or else to build a small raft, and, with one or two companions, explore the passage still further on. We had a number of spectators at our repast; for no sooner were we quietly seated, than troops of monkeys, attracted by the strange spectacle we presented--to their eyes, at all events--came from every side through the forest, swinging from bough to bough, or scrambling along the sepos, to have a look at us. There they sat above our heads, chattering away as if talking of us and making their observations. Quacko looked up, and answered them in their own language; at which they seemed very much surprised. Some were induced, by what he said, I suppose, to come down much closer; and had we been so inclined, we might have shot several with our arrows. That, however, would have been a treacherous return for the confidence they showed; and we did not, happily for them, require food. I very much doubt, had such been the case, that we should have allowed them to escape. Kallolo and Maco, observing that we had no fruit remaining, volunteered to make their way into the forest, to try to find some. Uncle Paul, for Marian's sake, accepted their offer. It required great agility and practical experience for anyone to scramble among the interlacing boughs and network of sepos, without the almost certainty of tumbling into the water. They went off armed with their spears, and their long knives stuck in their girdles, saying that they would soon make their appearance again. We meantime, having finished the more substantial part of our meal, scrambled up to the huge roots of the tree where we had first landed, and sat down to await their return. Uncle Paul, Captain van Dunk, and Peter talked over their plans. They did not conceal from themselves the difficulties of their project; but still, like brave men, they resolved to accomplish it. Though their saw was too small to cut out the planks of the proposed vessel, they might obtain them by splitting up trees with wedges, and then smoothing them down with the axe. Though they had no nails, the planks might be secured to the ribs with tree-nails or wooden pegs. "Ya, ya!" exclaimed the brave skipper for the hundredth time; "where there's a will there's a way. We will do it, we will do it; never fear." His confidence raised all our spirits. The day drew on, but the two natives did not appear, and we began to fear that they must have met with some accident, or lost their way. One thing was certain, we should have to spend another night on our log, instead of, as we had hoped, on dry ground under the shelter of leafy huts, which we had proposed building. My father's great wish, for Marian's sake, was to return as soon as possible to civilised parts. He said something to that effect. "Oh, don't think about me, papa," exclaimed Marian; "I really enjoy this sort of life; only I hope that we shall not meet with another anaconda, or boa, or any of those venomous serpents which are said to frequent this region." "I trust indeed that we shall not, my child," said our father; "but there are other dangers I fear for you, though I pray that you may be preserved from them also." "We will not talk of dangers nor of difficulties," observed Uncle Paul; "the great thing is to face them bravely when they come." My father remarked that it was time to return to our log, and to make arrangements for passing the night while there was daylight, as we should find the darkness much greater under the shelter of the trees than we had found it in the open part of the river. I had just got on my feet and was looking up the stream, when I observed a bright light burst forth from among the trees at a considerable distance. I called the attention of Uncle Paul to it, who was sitting near me. He also got up and looked in the direction to which I pointed. "It must be produced by a fire," he observed. "It is either just kindled on the branches of some high tree or else on ground rising considerably above the stream. Can Kallolo and Maco have got there and kindled it as a signal to us? For my part, I confess I cannot make it out?" The rest of the party now got up and looked in the direction in which we were gazing. They were greatly puzzled. "Can the fire have been lighted by natives?" asked Arthur. "Some of the tribes which inhabit these regions are accustomed to form their dwellings among the trees, I have heard; if so, we must be on our guard. It will be better, at all events, to avoid them; for though it is possible they may prove friendly, they may resent the intrusion of strangers into their territory, and attack us." Uncle Paul agreed with Arthur that in all probability the fire was lighted by natives. "They cannot, however, as yet have seen us," he remarked, "and it might be wiser to retreat while we have time, and to try to find another passage." "I cannot agree with you there," observed Captain van Dunk. "We have no reason to fear the natives, who are poor, miserable creatures; and as they believe that white men never go without firearms, they will not venture to attack us." "But, captain, if they find that we have no firearms, they will know that we are at their mercy, and may easily overwhelm us by numbers," observed Arthur. "But we have our spears, bows, and arrows, and we shall cut some stout cudgels, with which we could easily drive away such miserable savages as they are." "Suppose they possess the deadly blowpipe, with its little poisoned darts, they may attack us without giving us a chance of reaching them," said Arthur. "I am afraid that Arthur is right," remarked Uncle Paul. "It would be folly to expose ourselves to danger if it can be avoided." The discussion was still going on when we caught sight of two figures approaching through the fast increasing gloom. Could they be the savages of whom we were talking? I confess that I felt very uncomfortable,--not so much for myself as for Marian and my father; and for the first time since we reached the Orinoco I began to wish that we were safe among civilised people. I suspect that my companions shared my fears. No one spoke. At length our anxiety was set at rest by hearing the voices of Kallolo and Maco. They soon joined us, bringing a number of ripe purple plums, and some bunches of the delicious maraja, the fruit of several species of palms, which I may as well here say afforded an acceptable supper to all the party. We eagerly asked if they had seen any Indians. "We have," answered Kallolo; "but they are a long way off, and as they will not wander from their encampment during the night, we may, if necessary, avoid them. We will, however, first learn if they are friends or foes. If they are friends, they may assist us with their canoes in getting through the passage; but if they are foes, we must try to steal by them without being seen." We had now all collected on the log, and Marian having retired to her cabin, we sat down to discuss the best plan of proceeding. "I see we must do what I before proposed," said the skipper. "We will build a small raft, and Peter and I, with Maco and Sambo, will endeavour to push through the passage while you all remain concealed from the natives behind these thick trees. Should we get through, I will send Maco back to guide you; and you must build two other small rafts, which will be sufficient to carry you." Uncle Paul did not at first seem inclined to agree with the skipper. He was unwilling that our party should separate; for, should the natives discover us, and prove hostile, they were more likely to attack a small number than a large one. At the same time, he acknowledged that by remaining on the log we might be able to retreat on it down the stream should we be attacked, and, at all events, still have some chance of saving our lives. The skipper had at first proposed forming the raft immediately, and embarking on it during the night, so as to pass the neighbourhood of the Indian encampment before daylight; but so great was the darkness in the confined spot where we were, that we soon found it would be impossible to commence our building operations till the return of day, and he was therefore compelled to put off his expedition till the next night. CHAPTER NINE. HOWLING MONKEYS--A BEAUTIFUL SCENE--THE CURUPIRA--WE MAKE A RAFT-- CAPTAIN VAN DUNK AND HIS COMPANIONS DEPART ON IT--VISIT THE INDIAN ENCAMPMENT--WHITE UAKARI--ARRIVAL OF MACO--START ON A LONG SWIM. We kept a vigilant watch during the night, with the oars ready to shove off, should by chance any of the Indians approach us. Kallolo took post on the roots of the tree I have before described, whence we had at first seen the light which had given us an intimation of the neighbourhood of the savages, that he might give us timely warning should any of them quit their encampment and come towards us. Still there was but little probability of being disturbed during the hours of darkness. Scarcely had the sun sunk behind the trees when a deep gloom pervaded the surrounding atmosphere; and from a distance came the most fearful howlings, echoing through the forest. "Oh, surely the savages are upon us," I could not help exclaiming. "No, Massa Guy, no fear of that," answered Kallolo. "Dey only howling monkeys, which are shouting to each oder from de top branches of de trees, asking each oder how dem are dis fine ebening." After this assurance, the other noises which came out of the forest did not create so much feeling of alarm. I knew they were only the cries of animals or birds or insects, all of which were adding their voices to the wild, and certainly not harmonious, concert. Flocks of parrots and blue macaws flew overhead, the different kinds of cawing and screaming of the various species making a terrible discord. Then arose the strangely sounding call of the cicada, or cricket, one of the largest kind, perched high on the trees, setting up a most piercing chirp. It began with the usual harsh jarring tone of its tribe, rapidly becoming shriller, until it ended in a long and loud whistling note. Comparatively small as are these wonderful performers, their voices made a considerable item in the evening concert. Before they had ceased, the tree-frogs chimed in with their "Quack, quack! drum, drum! hoo, hoo!" accompanied by melancholy nightjars, which for long kept up their monotonous cries. While we were seated, the whole air above our heads suddenly became bright and glaring with lights of various hues; now darting here, now there; now for a moment obscured only to burst forth again with greater brilliancy. These beautiful lights were caused by fireflies and fire-beetles. The lights of the former were red, and bright as those of the brightest candle; and being alternately emitted and concealed, each of the tiny flames performing its own part in the mazy dance, they produced a singularly beautiful spectacle. The fireflies, however, disappeared shortly afterwards, when a number of large beetles, called elaters, took their place, displaying both red and green lights. The red glare, like that of a lamp, alternately flashed and vanished, as the insect turned its body in flight; and now and then a green light was displayed. The mingling of the two colours, red and green, in the evolutions of flight totally surpasses my power of description. We caught several, and had we possessed an uncoloured glass bottle we might have made a lantern which would have afforded us sufficient light to work by. Even through the thick glass of a schiedam bottle a strong light was emitted, but scarcely sufficient for our purpose, though it enabled us to see our way about the log. After some time all was silent, then suddenly came a loud yell, or scream, uttered probably by some defenceless fruit-eating animal which had been pounced upon by a tiger-cat or the stealthy boa-constrictor. It required the exercise of a considerable amount of nerve to keep up our spirits during those dark hours of the night. Now and then there came also a crash, resounding far through the wilderness, as some huge bough, or perhaps an entire tree, its roots loosened by the flood, fell into the water, striking the neighbouring trees with its branches in its descent. Most of these sounds, however, we could account for. At length, as we all lay awake, a noise reached our ears which made several of our party start up. I can describe it only as like the clang of an iron bar struck against a hard hollow tree, followed by a piercing cry. As it was not repeated, the dead silence which followed tended to heighten the unpleasant impression it had produced. "What can it be?" I asked Kallolo, who had just returned on board and was sitting by me. "Dat, Massa Guy? Dat de voice of de curupira. He bery bad man, with long shaggy hair, and live in de trees. He neber let anyone see him, but walk about all night, doing all the harm he can. Often he comes down to de plantations to steal de mandioca, and carry off young children when he can. Him got bright red face, and feet like de stag." "But if no one has seen him, how can you tell that he has got red face, cloven feet, and shaggy hair?" I asked. "Ah, Massa Guy, that is more than I know; but my fader tell me so, his fader tell him,--so I suppose some one saw him long, long ago." "I only hope, then, that he will not come and pay us a visit," I remarked. "I hope not, massa," said Kallolo, shuddering and looking round into the darkness as if he just then thought that such a thing was by no means improbable. Notwithstanding the dangerous position in which we were placed, I at length dropped off to sleep. When I awoke, the day was beginning to dawn; the birds were again astir; the cicadae had commenced their music; flocks of parrots and macaws, and other winged inhabitants of the forest, were passing overhead in countless numbers, seeking their morning repast; beautiful long-tailed and gilded moths, like butterflies, were flying over the tree-tops; the sky had assumed the loveliest azure colour, across which were drawn streaks of thin white clouds with Nature's most delicate touch. The varied forms of the trees, imperceptible during the gloom of night, now appeared, the smaller foliage contrasting with the large, glossy leaves of the taller trees, and the feathery, fan-shaped fronds of the palms. The air, for a short time, felt cool and refreshing; but almost before the sun had gilded the topmost boughs of the trees, the heat began to increase and give indication of a sultry day. All hands were speedily on foot. The skipper led the way on to the roots of the trees, (for I must not say, on to the shore), followed by Peter and the rest of his crew, and began to hew away at the smaller palms and other trees which they thought would serve to form the proposed raft. Tree after tree was cut down; but the felling of each occupied some time. Arthur, Tim, and I assisted in towing them out to the log, where we arranged them alongside each other, ready to receive the crosspieces by which the whole were to be bound together. Trees somewhat lighter, cut into lengths, were selected for the latter purpose. We looked out for the Indian encampment, but from no point we could reach was it visible; and we concluded, therefore, that we were not likely to be seen by any of the natives. Although a description of the operations we were employed in can be given in a few words, they occupied the whole day. After the logs had been cut we had to collect a quantity of the more flexible vines with which to bind them together; and this also took us a good deal of time. Thus, though we got over our meals as quickly as possible, it was again night before the raft was completed. Some long poles for propelling it had also been cut and shaped. The skipper contemplated the work with evident satisfaction. "There, my friends," he said, "this will carry more than half of our party; and if half of you will consent to embark, I will stop and assist in making another like it, so that we may all proceed together. I don't like the thought of leaving you behind." Uncle Paul and my father, however, firmly declined the skipper's offer. "I would much rather that you should go forward, Captain van Dunk, and explore the way; and should you be successful in finding an eligible spot for camping on and building a vessel, you could send back for us, and we would then construct one or more rafts for the voyage. The dangers of the expedition are too great for Marian and her father to encounter, unless with a definite object in view." "Well, well," answered the captain, "I trust that we shall meet again ere long. Now, my friends, we must go on board, and shove off." When this was said we were seated at supper. As soon as it was over, the various articles which the skipper intended to take with him were placed on board the raft. Shaking us all by the hand, he and his crew stepped on to it, each armed with a long pole, which assisted to steady them and at the same time to push on the raft. We did not cheer, as we might have done under other circumstances, for fear that our voices should reach the Indians, at no great distance, so in perfect silence our friends shoved off into the middle of the stream. Darkness having come on, they were speedily lost to sight. I had from the first contemplated the possibility of making an excursion through the forest, in order to ascertain, if possible, the exact position of the Indian encampment. There could be little doubt that it was constructed as ours had been at the grove on the Orinoco,--high up on the branches of some enormous tree, or on a platform supported by the stems of several trees; which is the way, Kallolo told me, the Indians inhabiting the region nearer the mouth of the river form their habitations. Arthur and I had been talking the matter over, and we proposed it to Kallolo. He said that he was quite ready to go alone, but that if we wished to accompany him he should have no objection. Could we have secured a band of elaters to go before us, we might, without difficulty, have found our way; but as neither they nor the fireflies could be depended on, we should have to make the expedition in darkness. There was, however, a bright moon in the sky, which, provided we kept along the edge of the river, would give us sufficient light. The only creatures we had to fear were the anacondas; but Kallolo averred that they were not often found in narrow streams, and that the alligators always forsook the flooded region and went further up the country, where they could find sunny banks to bask on during the day, and a more ample supply of food. We mentioned our wishes to Uncle Paul and my father. They at first objected, but on Kallolo's assuring them that there was no great danger, and that he would take good care of us, they consented to let us go, provided we did not extend our explorations to any great distance. Tim would have liked to go also, but Uncle Paul desired him to remain to assist him should his services be required. Accordingly, each of us taking a long pole as a weapon of defence, as well as to assist in making our way along the fallen logs and roots of the trees, we set out. Kallolo led, I went next, and Arthur followed. We carried also a long piece of rope, one end of which Kallolo held in his hand, and the other was fastened round Arthur's waist, while I secured myself by a separate piece to the middle. Should either of us slip into the water, we could thus easily be hauled-out again. I knew very well that our expedition would be a hazardous one, but I was scarcely prepared, I confess, for the difficulties we encountered and the fatigue we had to go through. Without Kallolo's guidance we should certainly not have been able to accomplish it. Sometimes we had to leap from root to root; at others, to walk along a fallen log, raised several feet above the surface; and often we had to wade in the water up to our knees, with the risk every moment of being soused overhead in it. Now and then we had to climb a tree. We were keeping all the while on the east side of the stream, as it was that on which we expected to find the encampment. Kallolo advanced cautiously, giving us time to obtain a firm footing before he again moved forward. Sometimes we were all three walking together along a fallen trunk, then we had to cling to the huge buttressed roots of a tree. We had gone on in this way for a considerable time, when we saw before us a wide space of water, which it would be necessary to cross ere we could again reach another mass of trees, over whose boughs we hoped to make our onward way. Kallolo sounded it with his pole. "We may, I think, wade across it," he said; "though it may be better to swim, lest we strike our feet against any stems remaining in the ground." We agreed to follow him, though I confess I had no great fancy for swimming through that ink-like water, and could not help fearing lest some monster lying at the bottom might rise up and seize us. However, it had to be done, unless we should make up our minds to return. "Are you ready to go?" he asked. "Yes, yes," answered Arthur. Kallolo entered the water and struck out. We followed, keeping close behind him and trailing our poles by our sides. I did my best to keep the end of mine down, so that any creature at the bottom might seize hold of it instead of my legs. Arthur said that he was doing the same; but Kallolo appeared to have no apprehensions on the subject. We soon reached a branch almost touching the water. We scrambled on to it, and then without difficulty made good progress, holding on to the hanging sepos amid which we passed. We had gone some way when my foot struck on a slimy substance, and I heard a loud hiss as I felt it glide from beneath me and splash into the water below. I knew that I had trodden on a snake, and was thankful that it had not sprung up and bitten me. I told Arthur. "I hope we shall not meet with another," he answered calmly. "It was one of the things we had to expect." The only object we had to guide us was the light from the Indian encampment, of which we occasionally caught glimpses. It seemed to be much further off than we had supposed. Indeed, sometimes I fancied that it was no nearer than when first we started! Occasionally I felt almost sorry that I had attempted the expedition. Then I remembered the importance of ascertaining the exact position of the encampment, and its distance from the river. Sometimes, as we went along, we disturbed huge frogs, which were seated on the low boughs and the floating logs, and which went off with loud splashes into the water. The croakings of others were heard on every side. Frequently a huge bat or bird of night flitted by. The wings of the former fanned our faces, while the latter uttered a harsh croak or shriek as it flew through the gloom. Generally all around us was silent and dark, an oppressive gloom pervading the atmosphere, except when we passed through a swarm of fireflies or elaters, as we now and then did. At length as we advanced we saw a light directly before us, and considerably above the level over which we were passing. We were anxious to get as near to it as we could without being seen, so as to ascertain its distance from the river. We went on some way further, when, to our surprise, we came upon a stream, which we found running between us and the Indian camp, (for so I may call it, for want of a better name). On we crept in silence, till, crawling along a bough which hung just above the water, we came full in sight of it. We now discovered, what I had before conjectured, that it was a platform erected upon the branches of an enormous tree. In the centre burned a fire, around which some thirty or forty natives were seated, while we could distinguish others scattered about,--some on the branches, and others on a mass of logs which formed a natural bridge at no great distance from us. The light of the fire above showed us two men standing on it. We dared scarcely move lest they should see us. What they were about we could not ascertain, but it seemed to us that they were watching for some one. Could they by any means have discovered our approach, I thought it would not take them many minutes to cross the stream and make their way to us. We could see no canoes. With a canoe they might have speedily overtaken us without our having the slightest chance of escape. Had Captain van Dunk and his companions come this way, they must to a certainty have fallen into the hands of the savages. We gazed up at the platform, and everywhere around--the figures of natives alone met our sight. I had been standing a little way behind my companions, who now drew back. I asked them what they thought about the matter. "This is not the main stream," answered Kallolo. "We must use great caution in proceeding, as it cannot be far off; but I hope, notwithstanding, that the captain managed to pass by without being seen. We must remember, when we attempt to make the passage, to keep to the right, which will carry us away from this spot." Arthur was of Kallolo's opinion; he acknowledged that he should feel very anxious till we had got a good distance from the encampment. It could scarcely be supposed that the savages were without canoes; and should they by any means discover that strangers were near them, they would probably follow us. Having now gained all the information we required, we agreed that it was time to return, and accordingly set out, Kallolo leading, as before. How he managed to guide us was more than I could discover, for I felt very sure that I should immediately have lost my way, unless I had turned constantly to observe the position of the camp. He went on steadily, without once, as far as I saw, looking round. He took a different course to that by which we had come; and though longer, it seemed to me that we had fewer difficulties to encounter than before. Perhaps we were more accustomed to them. We had, however, twice to swim across portions of the flooded land. Had it not been for the fear of being caught by an anaconda or alligator, this would have been the less fatiguing mode of proceeding; but as we made our way through the dark waters, I could not avoid having very uncomfortable feelings on the subject. In some places the water was sufficiently shallow to enable us to wade without difficulty, showing that the land must here be much higher, and giving us hopes that we should, before long, reach dry ground. The most difficult work was walking along the submerged logs, for we had carefully to balance ourselves, to prevent falling off. At the end we had generally to climb up the roots or branches, and make our way along the low boughs, sometimes having to swing ourselves off from one to the other by means of the sepos. Several times the boughs threatened to give way beneath our feet; and once Arthur and I were plunged into a mass of rotten brushwood and water, where we should certainly have lost our lives had not Kallolo quickly hauled us out again with the rope. At length, thoroughly fatigued, we saw, just as the dawn was breaking, the log and our friends on it, who were anxiously looking out for us, as we had been absent much longer than they had expected us to be. We were thankful to take off our wet trousers and shirts, and cover ourselves up in Uncle Paul's and my father's cloaks while our own clothes were hung up to dry. This did not take long in the hot air. We were too tired to eat, and therefore lay down to sleep till breakfast-time; while Kallolo, who was well accustomed to that sort of work, gave an account of our expedition to my father and Uncle Paul. When I awoke, I found breakfast prepared; and putting on my clothes, I sat down to eat it. We had ventured to light a small fire, as Kallolo assured us that the Indians would not observe the smoke at the distance they were from us. A decoction from some leaves, which served us as tea, had been boiled in the iron pot. I could have drunk any quantity of it, but found myself utterly unable to eat anything. Arthur was much in the same state; indeed, he felt even worse than I did. Our friends became very anxious, for, without shelter or any remedies against disease, should we become really ill the matter would be very serious. Kallolo, seeing the condition we were in, immediately set to work and cut a quantity of palm branches, with which, aided by Tim, he formed a sort of arbour to shelter us from the sun. He then started off, and returned shortly with the fruit of a certain palm--a decoction from which, he said, would afford a cooling drink--which he immediately put on the fire. After allowing the liquid to cool, he gave each of us a large cupful, and poured the remainder into one of the bottles formed from the cuja fruit, his countenance meanwhile expressing deep concern. All day we lay, our heads racked with pain. Had we been called upon to make any exertion, we should have found it impossible. Uncle Paul proposed to bleed us, but Kallolo entreated him not to do so, saying that if we persevered in following his plan of cure we should soon be well. We drank cupful after cupful of the decoction he had prepared; and towards evening the pain left my head, and though I felt a peculiar lassitude such as I had never before experienced, I had no other disagreeable sensation. By the next morning both Arthur and I were perfectly well, and able to do justice to the portions of fish and flesh cooked for us, and the ample supply of fruit Kallolo had collected in the forest. This was the only time during the period of our expedition that I had the slightest attack of illness. "I am so thankful that you are both well again!" exclaimed Marian, as she sat near us. "I was so miserable all yesterday; and thought how dreadful it would be should you die, and our father and uncle be left with me alone. I am not exactly tired of this sort of life, but I do heartily wish that we were safe again among friends." "It is better than being shut up in the Inquisition, at all events," said Arthur; "though for your sake I wish we were safe on shore. However, perhaps before long we may reach dry land; and then, if the brave skipper is able to carry out his intentions, we may soon get away. If we can reach a Dutch settlement, we shall be safe; for when the Hollanders hear that we have been flying from the Inquisition, they will, I am very sure, give us a friendly reception. You know how bravely they fought to overthrow it in their own country, under the brave William of Orange, when Philip of Spain and his cruel general the Duke of Alva tried to impose it on them. They have never forgotten those days; and their country is as purely a Protestant one as Old England and her colonies." I heard my poor father sigh; he was, I have no doubt, regretting having ventured under a government supporting that horrible system, so calculated to destroy all true religious principles, and to make the people become fanatics or hypocrites. Arthur heard him, and changed the subject, as he knew it must be one which could not fail to be painful. We were anxiously awaiting the return of Maco, whom we hoped would bring us tidings of Captain van Dunk. The heat, as may be supposed, was very great, for the sun having gained its greatest altitude, its rays fell down on the narrow stream undisturbed by the slightest breath of air. To shield us somewhat from it, Kallolo and Tim had collected a number of branches, and formed a complete arbour over our heads, in addition to the bed-places they had before made. We could thus lie in the shade, shielded from the burning sun. It served also to hide us from the view of any natives who might approach the neighbourhood. The lower part was left open, so as to allow the air to circulate freely; and we could thus see the forest on either side. We were all seated together; but most of us feeling drowsy, were disinclined for conversation. I was lying down near Marian, when she touched me, whispering, "Look, look, Guy, at those curious creatures!" I turned my eyes in the direction she pointed, and saw, peering at us from among the boughs of a neighbouring tree, a whole tribe of almost tailless monkeys. They were curious-looking creatures, with faces of a vivid scarlet hue; their bodies, about eighteen inches long, were clothed with long, straight, shining, whitish hair; their heads were nearly bald, and sprinkled over with a short crop of thin grey hair; whilst around their ruddy countenances were bushy whiskers of a sandy colour, leading under the chin. Though almost destitute of tails, they seemed to be active little creatures, as we saw them running up and down the larger branches; not leaping, however, from one to the other, as do most of the monkey tribes which we had seen. Several of them, evidently mothers, were carrying young ones on their backs; but they moved about quite as rapidly as the rest. We remained perfectly quiet, watching them at their gambols. Now and then several of them would come and have a look at us, and then run off--as if to give an account to their companions of the strange creatures they had seen. Soon others would come and gaze at us with their reddish-yellow eyes, evidently somewhat doubtful as to what we were, and as to our power to harm them; again to run off to a distance, jabbering and shrieking in the greatest excitement. Prompted by curiosity, others would quickly appear,-- especially mammas; accompanied by delicate-looking monkeys whom we took to be unmarried young ladies. Indeed, they showed that curiosity affects the breasts of female monkeys as powerfully as it is said to do that of human beings of the fair sex. They afforded us great amusement; till at last, after an hour or so, Uncle Paul, who had been sleeping, suddenly started up and gave a loud sneeze, when they all scampered up a tree; and as we looked up, we could see them making their way along the topmost branches, till they disappeared in the distance. Kallolo told us that this species of monkey is known as the white uakari. Marian said that she should like to have one. He replied that they were very difficult to catch, and that unless taken very young, being of a sensitive disposition, they speedily pine and die. He told us that the native, when he wishes to catch one alive, goes forth with his blowpipe and arrows tipped with diluted woorali poison. This poison, though it produces a deadly effect on all animals, as well as on the natives, who exist without salt, has very little effect on salt-consuming Europeans. Salt, indeed, is the only antidote to the poison. The hunter, therefore, when in search of the white uakari, supplies himself with a small quantity of salt. As soon as he has shot the monkey, he follows it through the forest, till, the poison beginning to take effect, it falls from the tree. He takes care to be close under the bough to catch it in his arms, and immediately puts a pinch of salt into its mouth. In a short time the little creature revives; and in most instances not appearing to be much the worse for the poison, it is led away captive. A young one thus entrapped speedily becomes tame, and is much prized, as an interesting pet, by the white inhabitants. Kallolo promised, as soon as he could manufacture a blowpipe, to try and catch a young uakari for Marian; and he said that he was sure, under the instruction of Quacko, it would soon become civilised. Hitherto Quacko and the ara parrot had been our chief sources of amusement. The two creatures had become great friends, though Quacko now and then showed an inclination to pick the feathers out of his companion's back; but when he made the attempt, she resented it by a severe peck on his head--and one day caught the tip of his tail, and gave it a bite which was calculated to teach him not to behave in the same manner again. Whenever we asked Kallolo to try and catch us some more pets, he invariably replied, "Wait till I can make my blowpipe and some poison, and then I will bring you as many creatures as you may wish for. Ah, the blowpipe is a wonderful instrument; it will serve to kill anything, from a big tapir or a fierce jaguar or puma, down to the smallest manakin or humming-bird." Frequently, during the day, Kallolo crept from our shelter and took a look round in the direction of the Indian camp, to make sure that none of the savages were approaching. He was certain, he said, that they had no canoes, or they would have found us out before this. Just at sunset he came back with the alarming intelligence that he had seen an Indian in the distance, who was evidently making his way towards us. He advised us to remain perfectly quiet, so that, unless he should really come close to the log, we might escape being seen. "As I saw but one man, he cannot be coming with any hostile intention; though he might possibly, should he discover us, go back and return with his companions," he added. We all accordingly withdrew within our leafy arbour, where, as the night was already casting its gloomy mantle over us, there was little probability of our being seen. We remained without speaking, for fear the stranger might hear our voices. The sounds I have before described began to issue from the forest, preventing us from hearing the noise he might make in approaching. We had begun to hope that he had turned back, when suddenly a voice close to us exclaimed, "Halloa! what has become of them all?" and to our great satisfaction we recognised it as that of Maco. Uncle Paul immediately called to him; and he soon scrambled on board, exhibiting infinite satisfaction at finding us. He had, he told us, many adventures to narrate, in addition to a message of importance which he brought from the captain. We replied that we were eager to hear what he had to say. "I must be a very short time about it," he answered, "as the captain begs that you will come forward at once and join him. You must know that we found the voyage on the raft, far more difficult than we had expected, on account of the number of large roots projecting into the stream, and the boughs which hung over it, almost close to the surface of the water. We frequently had to jump off our raft, and, where the water was shallow enough, drag it along. At other times we had to swim by its side, or push it before us; and even thus we had often difficulty in getting along. We believe that we were not discovered by the natives; at all events, they did not follow us. Twice we caught sight of them when we were in the water, and we could not account for their not having seen us. We found the channel extended for several miles, seldom being wider than it is here, and often much narrower. At its termination it widens into a succession of lakes; but for a long way we could not find firm ground. At length, after pushing up a stream, we reached a bank where the forest was much less dense than we had hitherto found it; and going on still further, we arrived at an open space of small size, exactly such as the captain was in search of. We here landed our stores; and he and Peter having begun to put up a hut, and to mark such trees as he considered would serve for a vessel, he sent Sambo and me back on the raft to the end of the narrow passage. I there left Sambo, to take care of the raft, and to catch fish and kill some birds for food, while I swam on here with the aid of my floats. Considering the difficulties we met with in getting through the passage on the raft, the captain advises that you should all make your way along it by swimming. We saw no alligators, which are the only creatures to be dreaded, and the captain is certain that they have all gone further into the interior; at all events, that none inhabit the passage. I am now well acquainted with the way; and if we pass the Indian encampment during the hours of darkness, we shall run no risk of being discovered. Should you decline coming on in the way I mention, the captain advises that you should go back on the log, and try to find the entrance of a much wider and deeper channel, which he is sure exists some way to the northward; and it is by this channel that the captain hopes to carry his vessel, when built, into the waters of the Orinoco." We all listened eagerly to Maco's account; of which I merely give a brief translation, for, of course, the language he used would be quite unintelligible to my readers. Uncle Paul was very doubtful about the plan proposed, and my father was very unwilling to expose Marian to so much risk. She herself, however, declared that she was quite willing to undertake the expedition. Both Kallolo and Maco very strongly urged that we should do as the captain advised. Were we to return down the stream on the log, a long time might be spent; and we should very likely fall in with other savages, who might be even less peacefully disposed than those in the camp near us. Their habits we had as yet had no opportunity of ascertaining. They might possibly be friendly, though, with the uncertainty, it was prudent to try and avoid them altogether. One thing was certain, they were not addicted to roaming about, or they could not have failed to find us; and we might certainly hope to pass by them unobserved. These arguments at length prevailed with my father and Uncle Paul, and they agreed to set out. The few things we had with us were done tightly up and placed on floats, which Kallolo and Maco agreed to push before them. Marian's gown and our jackets were done up in the same way, so that she only retained a tight-fitting under-dress, which would not impede her progress, while we wore our trousers. These arrangements being made, we fitted on our floats, of which each of us had four; and they were sufficient to keep our shoulders and arms well out of the water, while at the same time they did not impede our progress. We took our last meal on board the log which had carried us so well; then waiting for some time, till we believed that the natives would have retired to rest, we stood ready to set out on our dangerous and novel expedition. In no other climate could we have undertaken it. The water was here so warm, even at night, that there was no risk of our limbs becoming cramped by being long immersed in it; nor were we likely to suffer in any other way. Really, for the sake of protection from the cold, garments were altogether unnecessary; and it is not surprising that the dark-skinned natives should consider them an encumbrance, and generally dispense with them altogether. "Are you all ready?" asked Uncle Paul. "Yes!" was the general answer; "all ready." It was settled that he should take the command, though Maco acted as our guide. The Indian, slipping off into the water, struck out up the centre of the channel; our uncle and father followed; Kallolo went next, carrying Quacko on his head, with Tim, who had charge of Ara on his; Marian and I, with Arthur to support her in case of need, brought up the rear. The floats bore us up admirably; and we found swimming a far more easy mode of progression than we should have found walking over the logs through the mighty forest to be. We went on, keeping close together, without speaking, lest by any chance our voices might be heard by the Indians, whom we were anxious to avoid. Our progress was slow, of course, as the best swimmers had to wait for the rest. The time appeared to me to be very long; and I fancied that we had been swimming for more than an hour, when in reality we had not been half that time in the water. We could not, however, avoid every now and then looking up to the huge fire of the Indians, which could be discerned burning brightly in the distance; but instead of getting nearer to it, as I expected that we should, it became less and less distinct, and at last was to be seen almost behind us. I knew that we were turning off in an opposite direction; still we were too near the danger not to wish to get further from it. On our left I observed the mouth of a channel which we had reached on a former night, and which led, I have no doubt, close under the Indian encampment. Had we not possessed Maco as a guide, we should very naturally have gone up it, and thus found ourselves close to our supposed enemies. I was already beginning to feel somewhat fatigued, and I was afraid that Marian must be tired. I asked her how she felt. "I should much like to get a short rest, if it is possible," she answered; "but I can go on longer, though my arms and legs are beginning to ache." Just then Maco, who had been some way ahead, returned; and having spoken a few words to Uncle Paul, he led us to the side of the stream, where we found the buttress roots, as I have before described, of a large tree projecting into the water. We all climbed on it; and Arthur and I assisted Marian to a spot where she could rest with comparative comfort. We sat down by her side, but prudence prevented us from speaking above a whisper. We waited for some time, then Uncle Paul asked her if she was ready to go on. "Yes, yes!" she answered. "I already begin to feel more like a fish; and I think, after a little experience I shall be as much at home in the water as on dry ground." This answer showed that she was in good spirits; and once more the whole party slipped into the channel. We proceeded up it much in the same way as before. Quacko and Ara would have objected to this sort of progress, had they not been perched on the heads of those whom they knew to be their friends. There they sat with perfect composure, supposing that all must be right, and, I dare say, thinking themselves beings of no little importance. We had gone on for some time, when I perceived that the gloom of night was gradually disappearing, the light of dawn taking its place. I describe the change from night to day just as it appeared to me at the time. Looking up, I saw that the tops of the trees were already tinged with the glow of the rising sun. Rapidly it descended; and at length the trees, the tall stems and winding sepos, the rich foliage, and the calm water, were bathed in the warm light of day. No scene could have been more beautiful. Our spirits rose, and, strange as it may seem, I could scarcely help shouting out with delight. On one side of us floated a number of magnificent water-lilies with leaves of prodigious size, which I will afterwards describe. They were such as we had never seen before. Maco, who had gone ahead, was seated on a bough almost concealed by the foliage, beckoning us to come on. At that moment Uncle Paul pointed upwards towards the left; and looking over my shoulder, I saw through an opening in the forest a platform raised between several palm-trees, with a number of natives on it, while others, with spears in their hands, were standing on the lower boughs engaged in spearing either fish or turtles. They were apparently so occupied, that we hoped they had not seen us. Although we had already been swimming for some time, we could not venture to rest as we had intended doing; we therefore pushed on as rapidly as we could. In a short time Marian confessed that she could go no further. We had, fortunately, a small piece of rope, which the skipper had left us. It was uncoiled from the float which supported it, and one end fastened to Marian's floats; Kallolo taking the other end, towed her forward, while Arthur and I swam by her side. We were thus able to proceed much faster than before. At last we all got so tired, that even Arthur and I could not help crying out that we should like to rest; and as we had for some time lost sight of the Indians, there appeared to be no danger in our doing so. Reaching a widespreading bough, therefore, interlaced by a number of sepos not more than a foot from the water, those who were leading climbed on it, and assisted up Marian, Arthur and I following. Here we were all able to rest, sheltered from the rays of the sun, by this time striking down with great force, and concealed from anyone at a distance by the thick foliage which surrounded us. CHAPTER TEN. MAKE A RAFT FOR MARIAN--SAMBO'S RETURN--SAVAGES--CAPTURE OF MACO--HE ESCAPES, AND INTRODUCES HIS BROTHER--KALLOLO'S ACCOUNT OF HIS NATION AND PEOPLE--A NIGHT ALARM. Whenever my thoughts carry me back to that wonderful swim, it appears to me like a dream, and I begin to doubt its reality; yet all the incidents are vividly impressed on my mind, and I recollect perfectly the scenery, the actors, and what was said. So I come to the conclusion that it must have been performed. While we sat on the bough, we got out our provisions from one of the miniature rafts, and took our breakfast. The food restored our strength; but we required no liquid, for the moisture we had imbibed through our pores in swimming for so long prevented us feeling any sensation of thirst. Judging from myself, I could not help fearing that Marian must be very tired. I asked her if she did not feel so. "Yes, indeed; though I should like to go on, I am afraid I shall not be able to swim much further, and shall be the cause of stopping you all. My arms already ache; but still I will do my best, if it is necessary to swim on. Even should I lose my strength altogether, I can then lie on my back, and Kallolo can tow me." "We must not let you run the risk of becoming ill," exclaimed Arthur. "We must build a raft large enough to carry you, and we can tow you while you lie upon it. It will be far better than allowing you to swim on." Marian thanked him, and confessed that she should infinitely prefer that mode of progression, though she enjoyed swimming for a short time. Arthur at once told Uncle Paul and our father, and they agreed that we should build a raft large enough for the purpose proposed. We wished to have it of sufficient size to carry our father also; but he would not hear of it, declaring that he enjoyed the swimming, and had no fear of his strength failing him. We at once set to work; and as we had no axe, we were compelled to break off by main strength, having first deeply notched them with our knives, as many small palms of equal girth as we could collect. We then had to cut up a number into short lengths, to serve as crosspieces. Having collected our materials, we set to work to bind them together with thin sepos. The raft, though rather rough, was of sufficient strength for our purpose; and even had it come to pieces, Marian had lifebuoys with which to swim. We placed on it all our small bundles, which we had hitherto either towed or pushed before us; and again we asked our father if he would not allow us to build a smaller raft for himself. "No," he replied. "But I will accompany Marian, and it will afford me rest should I grow tired." While we had been employed in forming the raft, Kallolo and Maco had made an excursion into the forest to try and ascertain the whereabouts of the natives we had passed, and whether, from their appearance, they were likely to prove friendly or otherwise. This they could tell, they said, from their style of dress and their hair, from the marks on their bodies, and, above all, from their weapons. If they proved to be a friendly tribe, our friends intended to borrow a canoe, in which we might perform the remainder of our voyage in comparative comfort and safety. If the Indians were likely to be badly-disposed, they would steal away without communicating with them; and they assured us, from the precautions they would take, that there was no fear of our being discovered. They had been gone for some time, and the raft was nearly ready, when, as we were looking up the stream, we caught sight of a person swimming down the centre, towards us. We watched him, wondering who he could be. As he drew near, we recognised the woolly head and black face of Sambo. He had not seen us, nor did he when he was close under the bough. The raft, however, which was floating beneath, seemed to astonish him. He swam up to examine it. A hearty laugh, in which Arthur and I indulged, at the look of astonishment in his countenance, was the first intimation he had of our being close to him. "Oh, Massa Guy! where have you been all this time?" he exclaimed, as I lent him a hand to get up on the bough. "Hid away among the branches of this tree," I answered. "And pray, where have you come from?" "Well, Massa Guy, I wait some time; at last I think that the young lady and you and your father get tired with the long swim, so I thought I might as well bring the raft down the channel as far as I could tow it; but it stuck in the roots of a big tree which stretched nearly across the water, and so, as I could not by myself get it past them, I jumped overboard, and swam along to tell you. If you all come along, some can rest on it, and others can swim alongside, and we then go much faster than we can by swimming." My father and Uncle Paul thanked Sambo for coming; and had the two Indians returned, would at once have set out with him. He, however, required some rest and food, and was not disposed, he confessed, to start immediately. Uncle Paul, on this, proposed that Marian should commence the voyage without delay, with our father and Arthur as her attendants. I should have liked to go; but Arthur was a better swimmer, and was stronger than I was, and would thus be more able to take care of her. Marian, who was ever willing to do what was thought best, now, with Uncle Paul's assistance, took her seat on the raft; while my father and Arthur, descending from the bough into the water, placed themselves on either side of it, resting one hand on it, while with the other they struck out. Before they had gone far, they found the water far shallower than we had expected, and they were thus able to wade on, and make good progress. I could not help wishing that I had gone with them, to share the difficulties and dangers they might meet. In a short time they were hidden by the overhanging boughs and mass of creepers, which descended to the surface of the water. I expressed my fears to Sambo. "Don't trouble yourself about the matter, Massa Guy," he answered. "They will get on very well, and there are plenty of places to rest on; besides, we shall soon overtake them, and before long get safe on board the raft." Still I felt anxious, and asked Sambo if he would consent to accompany me, when he had rested sufficiently, should Uncle Paul not object to our starting. "With all my heart," he answered; "but I hope before long that Kallolo and Maco will come back, and then we may all set off together." We waited and waited, however, and still neither of the Indians appeared. Uncle Paul was himself beginning to grow anxious about them, still he felt very unwilling to start until they returned. At length I asked him if he would allow me to go on with Sambo, telling him my anxiety about Marian, my father, and Arthur. "It is very natural," he observed. "At the same time, I believe that they are as safe as they would be if we were all with them. However, if you still wish to go, I will not object to your doing so; and Tim and I will follow with the two Indians as soon as they return." Thanking him for the permission he had given me, I got my floats ready, and asked Sambo if he was prepared to start. "Yes," he said, "all ready, Massa Guy;" and raising himself from his nest among the sepos, he lowered his floats into the water, and slipped down after them. Wishing my uncle and Tim goodbye, though, as I observed, it would only be for an hour or two, I followed Sambo's example. Just then Uncle Paul cried out to me,--"Stop! stop! I hear the Indians coming, and we will all go together." "We will go slowly ahead, then," I answered, "and wait for you." Directly afterwards I heard Kallolo's voice crying out,--"Go on!--go on! No time to wait! The savages are coming!" and looking back, I caught sight of him through the gloom, springing along over the fallen logs and roots by the side of the channel. The same instant, Uncle Paul and Tim slipped into the water, and placed themselves on their floats, ready to strike out. "Where is Maco?" asked Uncle Paul. "He coming, close behind," answered Kallolo, who had thrown himself into the water. As he did so, Quacko, who had been forgotten, leaped off the branch and sprang on to his shoulder; while Ara, though her wings were clipped, managed to reach Tim's head. Shouting to Maco, who was, we believed, close behind, to follow, we struck out; but we had not gone many fathoms when we saw him, having passed the branch on which we had been seated, trying to make his way along a mass of logs and roots by the side of the channel, though greatly impeded in his progress. He would, we saw, have to take to the water without his floats, though, being a good swimmer, if the distance he had to go was not great that would be of little consequence to him. He was just about to spring into the channel, when a dozen dark-skinned savages, armed with clubs and spears, appeared, some bursting through the brushwood, others dropping down from the boughs above, through which they had apparently made their way. Several of them seized poor Maco before he could spring into the water; and I saw one of them lift a heavy club as if about to dash out his brains. It would have been hopeless to have attempted his rescue. Urged on by Kallolo, we rushed forward up the bed of the stream, where, fortunately, the water being shallow, we were able to wade at a pretty good rate. The Indians, catching sight of us, sprang into the stream, uttering loud shrieks and yells--in order, we supposed, to intimidate us. On we went, now wading, now swimming where the water was too deep to allow us to wade, and continuing to make good progress. Looking back, we could still see the dark forms of the savages moving about. It was a question now whether they were about to follow us, as they had approached among the boughs along the channel; and if so, whether they could make more rapid progress than we could by keeping in the stream, and swimming, or wading whenever the depth of water would allow us to do so. Although we had lost sight of them, we were not free from anxiety, as they might possibly at any time again burst out upon us. All we could do, therefore, was to continue going ahead as fast as possible. How thankful we felt that Marian had been sent on before us; for had we been compelled to tow or push the raft, our progress must of necessity have been much slower. We, of course, kept anxiously looking out for her and our father and Arthur, expecting every moment to come upon them; but we had not calculated sufficiently the time we had remained on the branch after they had left it, and consequently the distance they had probably got ahead. On and on we swam, or waded. The denseness of the vegetation on either side would have prevented us making our way along the bank, even had there been dry ground. We could only hope that this would effectually put a stop to the progress of our pursuers. At last, so great and continuous had been our exertions, we all began to feel tired. I should have been more so, had not Tim and Kallolo helped me along. Thankful we felt, I repeat, that Marian and our father had not been compelled to make the violent efforts we were doing. Marian could not possibly have kept up, and we must all have been delayed on her account. We now stopped to listen; and hearing no sounds, agreed that we might venture to rest on the projecting trunk of a tree till our strength had been somewhat restored. Going on a little way further, we found one which would accommodate us all, and from which we could obtain a view both up and down the channel. We climbed on it; and for the first time I felt my limbs trembling all over,--the result of the efforts I had made. Uncle Paul observed me, and taking my hand, said, "I am afraid, Guy, that these exertions will be too much for you." "Oh no, Uncle Paul; I shall soon be better," I answered. "I am more anxious about Marian and my father than about myself. If I knew that they were in safety, I could go through the same again without complaining." "As for them, I have no fear," he observed. "They had so long a start, that by this time they must be close to the raft, if they are not safe on it; and, depend upon it, we shall reach them soon after daylight." We sat for some time, when Uncle Paul suggested that we should take some refreshment before again starting; for, notwithstanding our hurry, we had kept our provision-raft and clothes attached to our floats; indeed, they were of too much value to admit of our abandoning them, unless in the last extremity. We got out some dried fish and fruit, of which we each of us partook, more from necessity than from feeling any inclination to eat. We had just again done up the packages, and were preparing to start, when Kallolo exclaimed, "I hear some one coming!" We listened; and in a few seconds we could distinguish the sound of a rustling of boughs, as if a person were making his way through them. "Stay a moment," said Kallolo. "There are but two people; and if they were foes, they would not approach in that manner.--Who is there?" he asked, in his native tongue. "Friends," answered a voice. "It is Maco!" he exclaimed, shouting a welcome to him; and in another minute Maco himself, working his way through some brushwood which had concealed him, climbed round the trunk of the tree, and joined us. He was closely followed by another native, whom he introduced to us. "He is more than a friend," he said; "he is my own brother, who had been taken prisoner by our foes, the Guaranis. They had compelled him to accompany them on their expedition; but he managed to escape when they retired to hold a war-council after their attack on you. On returning to the spot, he found me unconscious from loss of blood; but after he had bathed and bound up my wounds, my senses returned, and with his assistance I set out to overtake you. Fortunately, he had discovered a much shorter cut through the forest than that made by the channel of the river, and we were thus able to come up with you, though we scarcely expected it." We were thankful that Maco had escaped, and glad to get the assistance of his brother Polo. Such, he told us, was his name. He was, for an Indian, a remarkably strong-built, powerful man, and would prove a useful addition to our party. We had now to wait and afford Maco time to recover his strength. It seemed wonderful that, after the severe treatment he had received, he should have been able to move at all. Fortunately none of his bones had been broken, and the Indians care but little for bruises. The Guaranis, to which the tribe who attacked us belonged, are the most widely scattered of any of the Indian nations in South America. They are to be found, Uncle Paul told me, as far south as the Rio de la Plata, and on the banks of most of the rivers between it and the Orinoco, where the white man is not yet settled. They exist, however, in greater numbers on the swampy country bordering the banks of the latter river. Their lands being completely inundated by the overflowing of the rivers for some months in each year, they construct their dwellings above the water, among the mauritia palms, whose crowns of fanlike leaves wave above their heads, and shield them from the rays of the burning sun. Not only does this palm afford them shelter, and material for constructing their habitations, but it gives them an abundance of food for the support of life. To the upright trunks of the trees, which they use as posts, they fix horizontally a number of palms, several feet above the highest level of the water. On this framework they lay the split trunks of several smaller palms for flooring. Above it a roof is formed, thatched with the leaves of the same tree. From the upper beams the hammocks are suspended; while, on the flooring, a hearth of clay is formed, on which fires are lighted for cooking their food. They are celebrated for their canoes, which enable them to procure food from the water, and give them the means of moving from place to place. The tribe with which we had fallen in had, however, left their canoes in some other stream, or we could not possibly have escaped them. They were also, it was evident, of a more warlike and quarrelsome disposition than most of their people, who are noted for their peaceable behaviour. They are, however, in other respects utterly savage in their habits and customs. So little do they care for clothing, that even the females wear only a small piece of the bark of a tree, or the net-like covering of the young leaf of the cocoanut or cabbage palm; while their appearance is squalid in the extreme. However, they cultivate cassava and other vegetables on the drier lands bordering the river. From cassava they make an intoxicating liquor, the cause of many savage murders among them. They depend greatly on the pith of the mauritia, as it serves them for bread. No tree, indeed, is more useful to them. Before unfolding its leaves, its blossoms contain a sago-like meal, which is made into a paste and dried in thin slices. The sap is converted into palm-wine. The narrow scaled fruit, which resembles reddish pine-cones, yields different articles of food, according to the period at which it is gathered whether the saccharine particles are fully matured, or whether it is still in a farinaceous condition. Such was the account Uncle Paul gave me. Why these Guaranis had attacked us, it was hard to say, except that they had observed, when watching our movements, some persons of an enemy's tribe in our company. Kallolo and Maco belonged, they told us, to the Acawoios, a tribe living towards the head waters of the Essequibo. They are superior in domestic virtues to any other tribe, though warlike, and ready to defend their country as bravely as any people. Their women are virtuous, good housewives, and attentive to their husbands and male relatives, both in sickness and old age; while the men, in return, pay them more respect than do any other savage people. The young mother is never allowed to work, or to prepare food for her husband, in order that she may attend to her child. They are cleanly, hospitable, and generous, and passionately fond of their children. They seldom talk above a whisper among themselves, or get drunk or quarrel; nay, more, an angry look is never discernible among them. They use tobacco, but do not chew or smoke it; simply keeping it between the lips, for appeasing hunger and keeping their teeth clean. Altogether, a more orderly and peaceably-disposed people can scarcely be found anywhere. Such was the account which Kallolo gave of his nation. Allowances must, of course, be made; but still, from the specimens we saw, I am inclined to think that it was in the main correct. Uncle Paul was unwilling to delay any longer, and asked Maco if he was ready to proceed. As Kallolo and Polo agreed to assist him, he replied that he would do his best to get along, though he still felt very weak. "We will wait a little longer, then," said Uncle Paul; and we resumed our resting-place on the roots of the tree. Of such enormous size were they, that we could all find accommodation without any danger of slipping off. I got into a hollow of the roots, where I could rest with perfect ease with my legs stretched out; and Uncle Paul found a place of similar character close by me. He would, I believe, have given the final order to proceed much sooner, but, overcome with fatigue, he fell, as I did, fast asleep. I was awakened by hearing Kallolo's voice crying out, "They are coming!--they are coming! We must go on!" Opening my eyes, I saw that it was already daylight. Uncle Paul immediately started up. I was struck by his perfect presence of mind, though an instant before he had been fast asleep. He, as it were, in a moment gathered his wits about him, and inquired from what direction the savages were coming, and how far off they were. Kallolo pointed to the east. "They cannot be here for three or four minutes, at least," he answered. "Then, my friends, we will continue our course. We shall soon be at a distance from them. They have shown that they have no inclination to follow us in the water." As Uncle Paul spoke, I looked around, and found that Tim and Sambo were not with us. They had gone to a little distance in the wood, to gather some fruit which they had seen hanging temptingly within their reach. "I have called them, and they are coming back," said Kallolo. "It will not be wise to wait for them." Uncle Paul agreed with him, and ordered him to lead the way. We lost no time in slipping into the water. Kallolo did as he was directed, and led the way; Uncle Paul followed; I went close astern of him; and the Indians came next. We had not gone far when, looking round, to my satisfaction I saw Tim leaping off the root into the water, with Sambo close to him. They both struck out with all their might, and were soon up to us. Several times I turned my head, fully expecting to see the savages. On we swam, however; and still they did not appear. It then occurred to me that they might be making their way, as they had before done, either among the branches of the trees, or low down, amid the underwood and over the fallen logs; and I could not help feeling that every instant they would appear close to us, and attempt to stop our progress. Had we possessed firearms, and the means of preserving them fit for service, we might easily have kept the savages at bay, or have driven them back; but now, notwithstanding all our boasted civilisation, we were completely on a level with them, and were utterly unable to defend ourselves should they choose to attack us. Uncle Paul possibly thought just as I did; but not wishing to increase our fear by showing any himself, he continued to cheer us up. I felt greatly strengthened by our long rest, and much better able to proceed than I was at first; as, I believe, were the rest of the party. I heard Tim joking with Sambo. "Arrah now, sure, I am altogether turned into a big fish with this long swim, and it will be a hard matter to take to walking again on the dry earth!" he exclaimed. "How do you feel, Sambo?" "I verry like a fish too, Massa Tim," answered the black. "But still I hope to turn into man again." I felt much as Sambo said he did, and certainly should have been well content to find myself safe on shore, and in a comfortable abode--a luxury we were not likely to enjoy for many a day to come. As on the previous day, with the bright sun shining down upon us, I felt my spirits rise, and the dangers I had so dreaded in the dark appeared of a less terrific character. After all, should the savages come up with us, as Maco and his brother had escaped from them, so might we. Perhaps, too, they might not be quite so savage as we had supposed, and might have been prompted by curiosity, rather than from any hostile feelings, to pursue us. Still, of course, it would be prudent to keep out of their way. Uncle Paul thought so too, and told me to pass the word to those astern, that we must be prepared to swim on till we could come up with Marian and my father and Arthur. On, therefore, we went. It was swim, swim, swim, hour after hour. Of course, had we not had the gourds to support us, it would have been impossible to continue on so long as we did. Resting on them, there was no great difficulty, as we could drive ourselves on with our feet, while we merely guided our course with our arms. Still, even though thus supported, and without any actual danger of sinking, we at length again grew weary; and, in addition, we began to feel the pangs of hunger. Tim was the first to cry out. "Arrah, Master Guy! couldn't you just speak to Mr Paul, and tell him we are starving? If it's all the same to him, we will just put ashore on one of the big trunks and stow away a little food in our insides; for though it's something like the life of fishes we are leading, we cannot eat, as they do, in the water." I told Uncle Paul what Tim said; and we accordingly once more climbed on to a convenient resting-place, where food was served out to all hands. CHAPTER ELEVEN. WHERE ARE QUACKO AND ARA?--THE SWIM CONTINUED--ESCAPE FROM AN ALLIGATOR--MARIAN AND MY FATHER--REACH A LAKE--A CURIOUS SAIL--FISHING. We had been resting for some time, and now felt able to keep on swimming for many miles without stopping. We were in tolerable spirits, having every reason to believe that we should see no more of the savages. We hoped, too, that the next would be our last stage, and that at the end of it we should find Marian, with my father and Arthur, safe on the raft. Uncle Paul then proposed to construct an additional raft to carry the whole party. We had finished our meal, when Kallolo exclaimed, with an expression of grief on his countenance, "Oh! where is Quacko? Cruel, indeed, have I been to leave him behind; but my thoughts were so engaged with the dangers which threatened us, that for the moment I forgot all about him. I must go back and find the affectionate ape. Even though he may obtain subsistence in the forest, he will pine and die when he finds himself deserted by his friends." "Stay, stay, my friend," said Uncle Paul. "Much as I esteem your regard for the poor ape, and his extraordinary attachment to you, I would not have you risk your safety by attempting to recover him. The lives of all the party are of far more importance than that of the ape; and for your own sake as well as ours I must prohibit your going." Kallolo looked very unhappy on hearing this. "I shall run little or no risk, Senor Paul," he answered; "and, besides, Maco and Polo are as able to guide you as I am. I cannot bear the thought of losing my friend through my own negligence." Of course, it will be understood that I am merely translating what the Indian said, or rather giving the meaning of his words. Still, Uncle Paul was firm. "I cannot reconcile it to my conscience to allow you to go; and I should be unable to forgive myself should any accident happen to you," he answered. I also felt very sorry that Quacko was lost; but the anxiety about our own safety accounted fully for our having forgotten him. "Sure, now, I have been after forgetting Ara!" exclaimed Tim. "I left the poor bird on a branch fast asleep when those bastes of Indians sent us off into the water in such a hurry, and never a bit did I think of her till now. I am just as bad as you are, Kallolo; for, sure, hadn't I charge of the bird, till she flew out of my thoughts altogether?" "At all events, here she comes back to us again!" I exclaimed. At that moment Ara was seen approaching with rapid flight; and in an instant afterwards she perched on Tim's shoulder, and looking into his face, seemed, by the peculiar sounds she made, to be chiding him for his desertion. When he offered her some fruit, she declined to take it; evidently, however, not from anger, but because she had had an ample breakfast on something more to her taste which she had found on the way. Only a few minutes had passed, when I saw Maco and Kallolo looking anxiously through the trees to the eastward, and talking together, having caught sight of some object moving through the forest. From the few words I overheard, they were expressing their fears that the savages had again found us out. Suddenly their countenances brightened; and immediately afterwards we observed Quacko swinging himself amid the pendent vines, and running along the branches, making his way rapidly towards us! He sprang into Kallolo's arms, and began to chatter eagerly, as if he had had a great deal to communicate. Whether he was telling the native about the savages, or complaining that he had been deserted, and begging that it might not happen again, I could not ascertain, nor did Kallolo think fit to enlighten us; but he looked truly delighted at having got back his friend. Uncle Paul now gave the signal to start. Maco and Sambo led the way, as they had only lately passed down the channel, and were better acquainted with it than Kallolo, who brought up the rear. As before, my sensations were those of a person swimming in a dream. I felt myself floating through the smooth, dark waters, and striking out with my arms and legs, and moving onwards. I saw my uncle ahead; and the green trees, with their vast stems and intricate tracery of sepos and vines, with numberless parasites hanging from them of every variety of fantastic form, on either side of me; and the bright blue sky overhead; and birds of gorgeous plumage, uttering strange notes, flying backwards and forwards. Here and there, tall trunks had fallen prostrate, or were inclining at various angles, and suspended by a network of sepos to the boughs of their neighbours,--some actually crossing the stream and forming bridges from side to side. Occasionally, troops of monkeys came gambolling along among the branches, peering down upon us with curious eyes, skipping and frolicking about, and chattering and screeching as if angrily demanding what business we had to intrude on their retreats. Now we passed among cylindrical trunks, rising like columns out of the deep water. Then there came a splash of fruit falling around us, announcing that birds were feeding overhead; and looking up, we discovered flocks of parakeets, or bright blue chatterers, or pompadours having delicate white wings and claret-coloured plumage. Again, with a whir a trogon on the wing would seize some fruit, or a clumsy toucan would make the branches shake as he alighted above our heads. We saw several species of trogons, and frequently caught sight of that curious black umbrella-bird which I have before described. Clumps of the light and exquisitely graceful assai palm shot up everywhere. Here and there the drooping bamboos dipped their feathery branches into the water, frequently covered to their very tops with purple convolvuli; yellow bignonias carried their golden clusters to the very summit of the more lofty trees; while white flowering myrtles and orange-coloured mallows bordered the channel. Crabs of every variety of colour and size sat on decaying logs watching for their prey. No sooner, however, did we attempt to seize them than they made off with nimble feet. I saw all these sights and many more, and yet, as I have said, I gazed on them as in a dream, while with my companions I floated on and on through the silent water. When the sun's rays struck down on the surface of the river, it appeared bright and clear, and our eyes could frequently penetrate to the very bottom even where it was too deep to allow us to wade; but in other places, where overhung by the thick foliage, or after the sun had sunk behind the tall trees, it was as black as ink; and I could not help feeling a sensation of dread lest some ravenous monster was lurking beneath, ready to seize us as we passed by. I refrained from expressing my fears, as they did not appear to be entertained by the rest of the party. Perhaps they too felt as I did, but thought it better to say nothing about the matter, as the journey had to be performed, and there was no other way of accomplishing it. We began to feel anxious at not having come up with our friends ahead, and were eagerly looking out for them. Sambo assured us that we were not far from the spot where he had left the raft. As he and Tim swam faster than any of us--except Kallolo, who, carrying the monkey, was somewhat impeded in his progress--Uncle Paul directed them to push on ahead to tell our friends that we were coming. Maco and Polo would probably have been employed for the service; but the former, on account of his wounds, could only just manage to keep up with us; and the latter was required to remain, that he might render him assistance should it become necessary. Evening was approaching, and I began to feel that I should be unable much longer to continue this sort of work, and wished more earnestly than ever that I were once more safe on the raft. I suspect that Uncle Paul felt much as I did, though with that courage which distinguished him he made no complaint, but continued striking out as if it were his usual mode of progression. Not unfrequently thoughts as to what might have been the fate of those I loved more than any others on earth would occur to me, especially when I felt exhausted by my exertions; but I endeavoured to banish them from my mind, and answered Uncle Paul's inquiries with as hearty an "All right" as I could utter. The day wore on. In some of the bends of the river dark shadows had already begun to fall on the water and to mount up the trunks of the trees. The channel, or igarape, as such passages are called in some parts of the country, became narrower than ever. No current was perceptible: the lilies and other beautiful water-plants, little bladderworts, and bright blue flowers with curious leaves and swollen stalks, floated unmoved on the surface, with occasionally large circular leaves and flowers of a gigantic size, which were new to all of us when we first entered this region. Tim and Sambo had long ago got out of sight, and we hoped that ere this they had reached our friends. As we entered another bend of the channel, I caught sight of some figures in the far distance standing on one of those gigantic trunks I have so often mentioned. My first idea was that they were Indians, perhaps waiting to cut us off: and I asked Uncle Paul if he could see them. "Yes, yes; I am thankful to say I do," he answered. "They are your father and Arthur and dear Marian; but why they are not on the raft I cannot tell." The sight encouraged us, and, our strength restored, we struck out with renewed vigour. It was now literally a race among us all who should get there first. Uncle Paul beat me; and when I was still some distance off: I saw him scrambling up and shaking hands with all the party. Even Maco and Polo passed me, and I saw them make their way up the trunk of a tree which had fallen across the one on which the rest of the party were seated. As they reached the upper part, they eagerly looked up the channel. Anxious as I was to go ahead, I felt as if my arms and legs were so heavily weighted that I could only move them with a sensation I had sometimes experienced in my dreams when trying to overtake a person with whom I desired to communicate, or when pursued by some wild beast from which I was endeavouring to escape. My father and Marian were standing up; Arthur was lying on the trunk of the tree; and Uncle Paul was sitting down with his feet just above the water. Suddenly he started up, and cried out, "Quick, quick, Guy; strike out for your life!" I did my best, for I knew he had good reason for bidding me haste. Just as I reached the bank, looking back for an instant, I saw a dark object rise to the surface, and presently a long pair of jaws, with formidable rows of teeth, opened slowly! I sprang up, knowing at once that it was an alligator, and though one of moderate size, large enough to have given an ugly bite, even if it could not snap off a limb or carry its victim down to the bottom. Uncle Paul stretched out his arms; and Arthur, who had not till then seen my danger, stooped down to assist me. I had scarcely time to receive my father's and Marian's embraces before I sank almost fainting by the side of Arthur on the trunk of the tree. I saw, however, that they were still looking anxiously down the channel towards Kallolo, who had been some way behind me with Quacko on his back. They shouted to him, and pointed out the creature, whose wicked eye was turned towards the monkey; and he would very speedily have crunched him up in his jaws if he had not held tight hold of the Indian. Kallolo, nothing daunted, cast a glance at the amphibious animal, and instead of continuing his course, struck across the stream, drawing, as he did so, his long knife from his belt, ready to defend himself and his favourite should he be attacked. The shouts of my friends frightened the creature; which, instead of darting at Kallolo, as they expected it would, dived beneath the surface, probably to seek for shelter under the bank or to escape to a distance. Kallolo quickly gained a fallen stem, and made his way up to us. "What has become of Tim and Sambo?" I asked faintly; for though too weak to stand, I had not lost consciousness. "They have gone on ahead to the raft, which is only a little distance off," answered Arthur; "and we are now looking out for their return. So fatigued were your father and I, that, when we reached this convenient resting-place, we determined to remain here till your arrival. We have, indeed, cause to be thankful that we did not attempt to go further, now that we have seen the creatures which inhabit this part of the channel. Had we known it before, the fact would have tended to unnerve us." "I am indeed thankful that I did not know it," said Marian; "for I should have been miserable with the thought that at any moment my father or Arthur might have been attacked by one of the monsters." Kallolo took the matter very coolly. "If the cayman had come near me, he would have had to repent of his boldness," he observed. "My knife was ready for him, and I should have stuck it into his throat before he could have touched me. I should not fear to encounter a much larger one, provided I knew that he was approaching. These creatures are dangerous only when people are unprepared to meet them." "But as I had no knife ready, and should not have known where or how to strike him, I am very thankful that I got out of the water in time to avoid his sharp teeth," I observed. Marian shuddered. "Yes, indeed, it was dreadful even for the few moments in which I thought there was danger," she observed. "Oh, I am so thankful that when my father and Arthur were swimming by the side of my raft, they were not attacked by the monster." "We indeed ran a great risk," observed my father. "Probably the creature was frightened by the splashing we made in the water, and by the appearance of the raft; or possibly it may not have been in the neighbourhood at the time." "I suspect that it was not far off," observed Uncle Paul. "These creatures do not move much about; they frequent particular pools and parts of the river. However, its appearance must make us cautious how we venture into the water in future. We may be well-satisfied that our long swim is over.--Do you see anything of Sambo and Tim with the raft?" he shouted to the Indians, who were still looking out. "Yes, yes; they have this moment come in sight, and are standing on the raft poling it along,--so it seems to me," answered Maco, pointing along the igarape, down which a stream of light came from the setting sun, tingeing here and there the boughs on either side, and gilding the summits of the lofty trees. No scene of the same character could have surpassed it in beauty. "It is indeed lovely," exclaimed Marian. "Till we came here, perhaps the eyes of those capable of appreciating its beauties have never gazed on it. It seems strange that so many lovely spots, such as exist in these wilds, should be concealed from the eyes of civilised people." "Many things exist for which we cannot account," observed Uncle Paul. "Birds of the most gorgeous plumage are found in parts of the globe inhabited only by the lowest savages. Nothing can surpass the magnificence of the icebergs clustered at the arctic and the antarctic poles, where the feet of human beings never tread. What curious coloured fish swim far down beneath the surface, where the eye of man cannot penetrate! Indeed, we may believe that civilised men are not the only beings capable of enjoying the beauties of creation; which all, however, tend, when brought to light, to exhibit the power and beneficence of the Creator." Arthur listened attentively to what Uncle Paul was saying. "Yes, indeed, I agree with you," he observed. "There are numberless things which we see around us in nature, but cannot comprehend the reason of their existence, though we must acknowledge the wisdom of Him who made them all, and bow humbly to his will." Our attention was now turned towards the approaching raft. While it was coming, Uncle Paul inquired what provisions we had among us; and we found, on examination, that the stock was very limited, and that the fruit had come to an end. While there was still light, therefore, he sent the Indians to search for some more. We saw, not far off, several palms and other fruit-bearing trees with birds perched on them, showing that the fruit was ripe. Both Arthur and I were desirous to accompany them, but we felt much too weary to move. "You must take care not to get into the midst of the macaws' nests, else you may find yourselves attacked as we were," observed Arthur. "I see a number of those birds congregated about a tree in the distance, and possibly they have their homes thereabout; at all events, they may not like to be disturbed in their feast, and will do battle with the intruders." "Never fear," answered Uncle Paul; "the Indians know pretty well what they are about." We had not long to wait for Sambo and Tim, who managed to bring the raft close up to us. It was, however, so late in the day that Uncle Paul considered it best for us to remain where we were till the following morning, when he proposed that we should build another raft capable of carrying all the party who could not find room on the first. As we had no tools excepting our knives, the operation of cutting down the trees would not be an easy one; therefore Tim offered to commence at once, so that we might have some progress made before morning. Uncle Paul thanked him for his forethought. Sambo, aided by Kallolo, immediately set to work to break off by main force as many young palm-trees as they could meet with. Neither Arthur nor I felt that we had strength to assist them. Indeed, we could do nothing but lie stretched on the trunk of the tree; and had the Indians come in pursuit of us, I really believe that we should have been unable to make any efforts to escape. My father, also, was greatly exhausted; but Uncle Paul, though fatigued, was still able to exert himself, and to give any directions which were necessary. At length the two Indians returned with an ample supply of fruit. We enjoyed our supper. It was the first we had taken together for several days. When it was over it was high time to secure sleeping-places before the shades of night should come down upon us. By arranging some sepos which hung down from the boughs above, we formed a secure place for Marian; and then we looked out for similar places for ourselves, where we might rest without the danger of falling off into the water: and I could not help reflecting that if we should meet with such an accident, the creature we had seen would take the opportunity of biting off a foot or an arm, or of dragging us off to his den to devour us at his leisure. I had read of people sleeping over volcanoes: our fate would have been quite as unpleasant, had we fallen into the water, as that of persons found napping at the moment a volcano commenced sending forth its streams of lava or showers of ashes. Though we believed that we were already at a safe distance from the savages, Uncle Paul considered it prudent to set a watch, that we might have due notice of the approach of danger. Arthur and I begged that we might take our share of duty, with one of the men to assist us. Uncle Paul himself intended to keep the first watch, to give me time to obtain some rest. I did not sleep very soundly. Frequently I opened my eyes and saw the tall figure of Uncle Paul pacing up and down on the trunk of the tree, with a pole in his hand to balance himself, making only three or four paces between each turn, stopping every now and then to look up and down the channel, or to peer into the forest. While he was on the watch, I was sure that we should have timely warning of danger. At length his figure seemed to extend into gigantic proportions, and then grew more and more indistinct, till my eyes closed. Arthur at last awoke me. He had had his watch, and it was now time for me to take mine; but he warned me to be careful not to slip off the trunk, as he had nearly done, he said. I got up and took the pole he gave me. At one end was a sharp point, which would serve to give an effectual thrust to any wild beast, or to a human savage who might attack us. There was not much probability of our being assailed either by a jaguar or a puma, as these creatures were not likely to make their way across the water intervening between us and the dry land; but we were not safe from the stealthy approach of an anaconda, though we had seen no signs of such a creature since we had left the broad river. I could not, however, get out of my head the recollection of the monster which had attacked us; and very often, as I looked up and down the channel, I fancied that I saw one of the creatures swimming towards us, with its head above the surface. Greatly to my relief, on each occasion the object I had caught sight of resolved itself into the partly submerged root or branch of a tree. Very thankful I felt when at last the streaks of early dawn appeared in the eastern sky, and the noises of animated nature again burst on my ear. Parrots and macaws, and numberless other birds, began to utter their varied notes, and the sounds I have before described echoed through the forest. I called up my companions, and, without a moment's delay, all hands set to work to put together the raft for which we had collected part of the materials the previous evening. More were required; and while the Indians and Tim went into the forest to cut or break down the palms, Uncle Paul, assisted by Sambo, bound them together. Arthur and I employed ourselves in dragging the logs up to them, and in cutting the lianas or sepos, which my father and Marian unwound and prepared for use as cordage. The task was a far more difficult one than it would have been had we possessed axes. Our knives served only to cut off the smaller boughs, and slightly to trim the logs or cut the lianas. We worked away with so much energy, that by eight o'clock, as far as we could judge from the sun, we had put a raft together capable of carrying six persons. Pretty well tired by our exertions, and with good appetites, we sat down on the huge trunk to breakfast. The heat of the sun was already great; but, shaded by the overhanging branches, the spot we occupied felt delightfully cool, while the bunches of fruit the Indians had procured were most refreshing. At this meal we finished the last of the dried fish and meat we had brought with us, and we had henceforward to depend on the birds or animals we might trap or shoot in the forest, or the fish we might obtain from the water. We had, however, no fear of starving. Kallolo assured us that we should find turtle in abundance; and that, with the blowpipe he had undertaken to form, he should be able to kill as many birds and monkeys as we might require; while the produce of many varieties of palm-trees and the different fruits we were sure to discover would afford us an abundant supply of vegetable diet. Our final task was to cut some long poles, and to split up into thin boards, by means of wedges, a portion of a branch which had been torn off by a storm. These boards were secured to the ends of short poles, and thus formed as many rough paddles as we could use. All was now ready, and Uncle Paul gave the order to prepare for departure. The smaller raft was first drawn under the bough: Marian was placed on it as a passenger, Uncle Paul went as captain, Sambo as pilot, and Arthur and I as the crew. Our father consented to go on the newly-constructed raft, which was navigated by the three Indians and Tim. On board neither of them was there much room to spare; and considerable caution was necessary, when standing up, to avoid falling off into the water or upsetting it. All of us having taken our places, Uncle Paul exclaimed, "Now, my friends, we must commence our voyage; and I pray that we may be protected from all the dangers we may have to encounter." The channel, however, was narrow, and we had considerable difficulty in making our way along it. Our raft, being the smallest, glided very easily between the overhanging branches and roots; but the people of the other, with the exception of my father, had several times to jump overboard to work it through the narrow places. Our progress was thus but slow. The scenery was very similar to that which we had already passed; indeed, sometimes I scarcely knew whereabouts we were, so much did one part resemble another. We had been going on for some time under thick, overhanging boughs, when suddenly the bright shining waters of a lake opened out before us; and, greatly to our satisfaction, shortly afterwards we found ourselves free of the narrow igarape, or channel, through which we had been so long passing. The bright sunlight and the free air of the lake raised our spirits, and made us feel as if all our difficulties were over. Happily we did not then think of the many we had still to encounter. A slight breeze was blowing from the northward, and I suggested that we should try to rig a sail, with one of the poles as a mast and another as a yard. We had but scanty materials for forming it; but we all contributed our handkerchiefs, and Sambo offered his shirt! With some of the line we had prepared for fishing we stitched the whole together, and then secured it to the yard. A strong breeze would quickly have blown our sail into its original constituents of shirt and handkerchiefs; but the gentle air which favoured us served to send on the raft as fast as we could paddle it. The people on the other raft followed our example, and we saw two shirts stretched out, with a large handkerchief to form a topsail. Under this strange sail we glided smoothly over the calm surface of the lake. We had carefully preserved our fishing-lines and hooks, and Uncle Paul now distributed them between the two rafts. We got out ours as we went along, the rate at which we were moving not preventing us from having hopes that we might catch some fish. We were not disappointed. Before long I got a bite. The fish pulled lustily, but as the tackle was strong, it could not break away; and after it had been pretty well drowned by being towed, Sambo assisted me to haul it in. When we had got the fish up to the raft, the black stooped down, and, at no little risk of toppling off into the water, lifted it on board. It must have weighed at least several pounds, and it resembled in shape the black fish of our northern regions. Kallolo afterwards told me that this fish is called the tambaki, and is one of the best in this part of the world. The only pity was that we could not cook it till we reached dry land. As, however, we hoped to do so before long, we again threw out our lines. In a few minutes we caught another fish of the same species, not quite so large. The Indians on the other raft had, in the meantime, caught three fish of similar size, but of a different species; and not being so particular as we were, they cut one of them up, and, after having hung the pieces in the sun for a short time, ate it for dinner. We, however, contented ourselves with the fruits and nuts which had been collected in the morning. After having rested for some time, we again took to our paddles, and, the breeze remaining fair, the rafts made good progress. We earnestly hoped that the wind would continue in the same quarter, as we might thus before nightfall reach the spot where Captain van Dunk and Peter had been left. We now entered the igarape Sambo had described. As it was tolerably broad, and the wind still favoured us, we quickly got through it, and entered another lake somewhat similar to the one we had left. With much satisfaction we heard Sambo announce that in another half hour we should reach the end of our voyage. We paddled on even more eagerly than before, hoping soon to be shaking the honest skipper and his mate by the hand, and thinking how pleasant it would be to sleep comfortably in a hut, and to sup well-cooked provisions. CHAPTER TWELVE. A JOYFUL MEETING--THE NEW SETTLEMENT--A MIRACULOUS ESCAPE--KALLOLO MAKES A BLOWPIPE AND WOORALI POISON--PROGRESS OF OUR VESSEL--MEET WITH A JAGUAR--EFFECT OF TIM'S POLITENESS. As we sailed along about a hundred yards off the mighty trees whose branches overhung the lake, we looked out eagerly for the settlement our two friends had, we hoped, formed on the shore. Water-lilies with enormous leaves floated on the surface, showing that the depth could not be great. On the lower branches of the trees, and here and there where points of land ran out into the lake, were numerous magnificent birds. Among them, the scarlet ibis and roseate spoonbill excelled all others in gorgeousness of colouring. The ibises were of the brightest scarlet, except that the tips of their wings were black; the spoonbills were equally beautiful, their general colour being a delicate rose-tint, with a rich lustrous carmine on their shoulders and breast-tufts; the formation of their bills was also very singular. We saw them fishing for shrimps and other small creatures along the edges of the water. The wood ibis is larger than either of the other two; its general plumage is white, the tips of the wings and the tail being of a purplish-black. I cannot, however, attempt to describe the various birds of which we caught sight as we glided along. We were satisfied, however, that the forest and the water would supply us with an abundance of food. "We shall have, however, no little difficulty in replacing our clothing," I observed; "though, as fortunately Marian's box has been saved, she will be better off than any of us." "I don't despair of being able to manufacture clothing sufficient for our wants," said Uncle Paul,--"shoes, hats, and cloaks; but we must take to kilts when our trousers give way. We shall have, to be sure, somewhat the appearance of savages; but I hope that our manners will not become less civilised in consequence." "I can easily fancy how we can make dresses of leaves, or even of matting," said Arthur; "but how do you propose to manufacture shoes, unless we capture some wild beasts and tan their skins?" "I propose to make shoes of a vegetable substance," answered Uncle Paul. "I have already seen some trees which produce it, and I have no doubt that we shall find others near our settlement. Every sailor knows how to make hats from grass or leaves; and the rest of our dresses must be made, as you suppose, of matting. Depend on it we shall have plenty of occupation when once we get on shore, in order to supply our necessities; and we may be thankful for it, as it will prevent us from dwelling unduly on our past misfortunes, or on the dangers and difficulties we may have yet to encounter." "I wish we were on shore, then," I exclaimed; "for I cannot help thinking of the past, and on the dangers which may yet be in store for us." "Rouse up, Guy," exclaimed Uncle Paul. "Your wish will soon be realised; for see yonder hut on the shore, and the captain and Peter standing ready to welcome us." We urged on our raft, and our friends beckoned to us to come to a part of the bank where we could most easily land. We made for it, and soon reached the shore. The captain and his mate Peter were standing ready to secure the raft. "Welcome, friends, welcome to our new province of _terra firma_," exclaimed the former in a hearty tone, as he grasped Uncle Paul's hand. Then stooping down, he lifted Marian in his arms and placed her safely on the beach, exclaiming--"And you, my pretty maid, I am rejoiced to see you safe after all the perils you have gone through." "Indeed I am very thankful to have arrived here," answered Marian; "for I feared that we should never see you again." She had not before this said a word about the alarm she must have constantly felt during our passage up the igarape. "You don't look so much fatigued as I should have expected," observed the captain; "and a few days on shore, with the good cheer we can offer you, will set you all to rights." He then shook hands with Arthur and me, and giving a friendly nod to Sambo, turned round to welcome my father, the larger raft having closely followed us to the beach. All the party having landed, the two rafts were secured to the trunks of some trees growing at the water's edge. The worthy skipper now conducted us to two huts which he and Peter had erected. He exhibited them with no little satisfaction. One was small, but neatly built; the other was of considerable dimensions, and capable of containing several persons, somewhat thickly stowed. "I thought of the little maid, and my first care was to build a house which she might have entirely to herself. In it she may rest as long in the morning as she likes without being disturbed by us when we go to our work," he observed. Marian thanked him warmly as he led her towards the little hut, in which he had formed a bed-place, and put up a table and a three-legged stool; which, though roughly made, showed his desire to attend to her comfort. The bed-place was covered thickly with dry grass. Poor Marian expressed her pleasure at the thought of being able to rest in quiet on it. The larger hut was destitute of furniture. "We must be content, my friends, to sleep and take our meals on the ground till we can make some hammocks and form a table and benches," said the captain. "Peter and I could do no more; we have worked hard to accomplish this much, I can assure you." "That you have indeed, Captain van Dunk," observed Uncle Paul. "We are grateful to you for having laboured so hard for our benefit." "Peter and I knew that you would require a secure resting-place, where you might sleep in peace without the fear of being pounced upon by a jaguar or a puma," answered the skipper. "It will afford accommodation to you four gentlemen and Peter and me, and the other men will soon run up a hut for themselves. They must not spend much time on it, for all hands will have enough to do in building the vessel and procuring food. We can obtain an ample supply, but we must not sit down and expect it to drop into our mouths." "You will find everyone ready to assist you in carrying out your plans, captain, for a more obedient set of men I have never met with," said Uncle Paul. "Yes, yes, I am sure of that," said the captain. "Now, instead of losing more time in talking, let us go to supper. We have some parrots and macaws roasting, and a collection of ripe fruit for the little maid." "And we have brought some fine fish," I said, "to add to the feast." "Then we will put them on the spit at once," observed the captain; on which I ran down to the raft and returned with a big fish in each hand. Peter, who acted as cook, with Sambo's assistance soon had the fish cleaned and spitted, when the latter took his seat by the fire to keep the various roasts turning. Marian only partook of a little of the fish, and some cassava bread which the captain had prepared and baked for her beforehand. He then begged her to retire to her hut, and to take that rest she so much needed. Her trunk, which had come on in the raft, enabled her to obtain a change of clothing,--a luxury none of the rest of us could enjoy. We all enjoyed the feast, however; for we were thoroughly tired, and expected to obtain a comfortable night's rest after it. As soon as it was over, we thankfully entered our hut, where we found that the captain and Peter had thoughtfully collected a large supply of dry grass and leaves for our use. I can truly say that I have never since slept more soundly on feather-bed than I did during that first night in our new settlement, as the skipper called it. I dreamed not of Indians, nor of anacondas, nor of our long swim. Daylight was streaming in at the open door when I awoke. I found the rest of the party, with the exception of my father, on foot, and the captain giving directions to each one what to do. My father was going to get up. "No, no, my friend," said the skipper. "You are weary, and require a long rest; we must excuse you from working until you have sufficiently recovered to undertake it." "But _I_ am ready to work," I said, springing to my feet. "Tell me what to do and I will willingly perform it. If I had an axe I would quickly begin to cut down a tree." "Our first business will be to form tools to work with," answered the captain. "We must search for big stones of a proper shape to serve as hammers; although they are not common down here, they may be found in the interior. We must then form wedges to split the trees, which Peter, who is our best axe-man, will cut down. You will then find ample employment in forming tree-nails with your knife. We must be content to proceed by slow degrees, and each man must take the task for which he is best fitted." I saw the wisdom of Captain van Dunk's remarks, and felt more confident of success than I should have done had he undertaken to perform in a hurry the work he proposed. I begged that I might set out at once. "I shall send out three parties for that object," he said. "You with one of the Indians, your cousin with another, and Tim with the third." Having made a hurried meal of some of the provisions which remained from our supper of the previous night, we set out. Polo was my companion, Arthur took Maco, and Tim was accompanied by Kallolo. The Indians carried their bows and arrows, and we were each armed with long poles, which, being pointed at one end, would serve as spears as well as assist us in our progress. We had no fear of meeting with human foes, as the captain and Peter told us that they had seen no traces of inhabitants. After proceeding some way together we separated, Arthur and his attendant going towards some high ground which appeared beyond the forest-region in front of us, while I made my way up to reach a range of hills in front, Tim and Kallolo going in an opposite direction. After proceeding some distance we found ourselves on the border of a rapid and shallow stream, and I hoped that we should discover in its bed some stones of the shape and size we required. We made our way along it, and in a short time came upon one which seemed just adapted for the purpose in view. This encouraged me to search for more. I was not disappointed in my hopes, and before long found three others; one with a hole through the centre, the rest being somewhat long, with flat ends, and a narrow part conveniently shaped for attaching a handle. I gave two to Polo, and carried two myself. Feeling sure that the captain would be well-pleased with our success, we commenced our return journey. Supposing that the stream would lead us in the proper direction, we followed down its banks. We continued till we found ourselves in a thick part of the forest, but the underwood was not sufficiently dense altogether to stop our progress. Sometimes we were at a little distance from the stream, and then again we made our way close along the edge. The water was clear and bright, and the sun shone directly down upon the channel, which had now assumed the character of an igarape, the trees by it adorned with numberless creepers and parasitical plants, covered with gaily-coloured flowers, which hung in fantastic wreaths from the boughs. I felt that a swim would be very enjoyable. Being somewhat warm, however, I rested on an overhanging bough before taking off my trousers to plunge in, while Polo stood near me. "Well, I think I am cool enough now," I observed to him, and was about to stand up before taking a plunge into the tempting water, when I saw the surface disturbed, and presently the huge head and formidable jaws of an enormous alligator rose above it, his wicked eyes turned towards me as if he longed to have me in his maw! I shuddered as I gazed at him, for in another minute I might have been within that fearful mouth, and carried down beneath the surface, as has been the fate of many people in this part of the country. I was thankful that I had seen the creature, for his appearance was a warning to us all not to venture into the water. Polo, stooping down, assisted me to get off the branch, for fear I should by any chance slip, and become, after all, a victim to the monster. I had never before seen so hideous a creature. Though we shouted, he seemed in no way intimidated, and still floated on the surface, as if meditating an attack. Polo earnestly advised that we should retire from the bank, as he said that he had known instances when alligators, hard pressed by hunger, had rushed on shore, and seizing persons, had carried them off without a possibility of being rescued by their friends. I shuddered again as I listened to his account, and thought of the fearful risk I had run. We sat watching the monster for some time at a safe distance, with our spears in our hands; but he showed no inclination to follow us, and at length, turning round, he went swimming down the stream till he was lost to sight. We had some difficulty in making our way back through the forest, for the stream, we found, took a turn away from the settlement, and it led us further from it than we had supposed. The captain highly approved of the stones we had brought. Arthur and Tim had already arrived, each of them having found only one stone adapted to the purpose of hammers; but they were large and heavy, and were just what was wanted. They had, however, brought several large pieces of hard stone of flinty nature and wedge or axe-like form, which the captain pronounced to be of the greatest value. "I thought so when I discovered them," observed Arthur. "It seemed to me that by chipping or grinding them, sharp edges might be formed so as to serve either for wedges or perhaps even for axes." "They will form axes, though some labour will be required to sharpen them," exclaimed the captain. "We could then easily fix them in handles; and they will be of the greatest use, if not for cutting down the trees, at all events for scoring the trunks for the wedges, and for smoothing the planks when split. You must search for some more of the same character; and if you find them, as I have no doubt you will, we shall all have tools, and be able to make rapid progress." The three Indians at once undertook not only to put handles to the hammers, but to sharpen the stones intended for axeheads. "It will take some time," observed Kallolo; "but in our country we do not think much of time, and patience overcomes all difficulties." "We must not, however, forget the necessity of finding provisions for our settlement," observed Uncle Paul. "Kallolo has undertaken to supply us, if he can find time to form a blowpipe; it will be wise, I think, to allow him to do so before he attempts to execute any other work." The captain agreed to this, and begged that Kallolo would endeavour to find the materials for the instrument he proposed to make. The Indian's eye brightened. "Yes, yes, I will start to-morrow morning," he said. "I will search also for the ingredients for the poison, without which the blowpipe would be of little use. In the meantime I will labour at the hammers and axes, which Maco and Polo may complete while I am employed at the zabatana." Marian, on seeing all the rest of the party busy, begged that she also might have something to do. "I will gladly act as cook for you, though, unfortunately, I am very little acquainted with the art; but with some hints from Sambo, I may in time become proficient." "I think we may find pleasanter employment than that for you, my little maid," said the captain. "Some of us are in want of hats, and we shall require a large amount of matting to serve as bedding and clothing, and also to form sails for our vessel. I have thought that if you and your father, assisted by your brother Guy, would turn your attention to the matter, you would render great service to our little community." Marian said she should be delighted; and my father and I at once expressed our readiness to become plaiters and weavers, and to give our thoughts to the subject;--though, of course, we could not expect to accomplish much at first, as we had very little knowledge of the art we proposed to exercise. Kallolo, however, said that he would show us how matting was manufactured in his country. It could be made sufficiently fine for clothing, or thick and coarse for roofs of cabins on board river-boats, or very strong for sails. Some feathery-leaved reeds grew on the shore of the lake not far off, and as we were eager to begin, Arthur and I cut a few, and bringing them back to Kallolo, begged him to show us how to plait. He at once undertook to do so, observing, however, that the reeds were not fit for any other purpose than to make coarse hats; and that they must be first dried, and then split, before they could be fit for use. "However, they will do to learn with, and you can at once make hats with your plaiting," he added. Being anxious to learn, we kept hard at work, and before Marian repaired to her hut for the night we had made several yards of plaiting, and my father had designed a plan for manufacturing matting. I cannot attempt to describe the labour of each day, or the progress we made in our work. Kallolo, who had started as he intended at daybreak, returned in the evening with the materials for his blowpipe, and the ingredients for manufacturing the woorali poison. He had brought several stems of small palms, from which he selected two of different sizes. Outside they appeared rough from the scars of the fallen leaves; but he said that the soft pith within them would soon rot if steeped in water, and being easily extracted would leave a smooth polished bore. The smaller one was very delicate, being scarcely thicker than a finger; the other was an inch and a half in diameter. He explained that the smaller one was to be pushed inside the larger--this was to be done that any curve in the one might counteract that in the other. Having allowed his stems to remain in water two or three days, he was able to remove the pith, which had thus become rotten. He then fastened a cup-shaped wooden mouthpiece to one end, and bound the whole spirally with the long flat strips of the black bark of the climbing palm-tree. Among other materials, he had brought a quantity of wax of a dark hue, with which he smeared the whole of the outside. The tube he had thus formed tapered towards the muzzle, the mouthpiece being fitted to the upper end. Both ends were tightly bound round with a cord of silk grass; the butt being further secured by a nut cut horizontally through the middle, with a hole in the end forming a ring, which, should it strike the ground, would prevent it from splitting. About two feet from the mouth-end he fastened a couple of the teeth of the agouti to serve as sights. Kallolo having finished his blowpipe hung it up carefully by one end, as should it become in the slightest degree bent, it would be, he explained, completely spoiled. He then commenced manufacturing arrows. They were made out of the leaf of a species of palm-tree, hard, brittle, and pointed as sharp as needles. Having burned the butt end, he fastened round it some wild cotton of just sufficient thickness to fit the hole of the tube. As soon as he had formed an arrow he put it into the blowpipe, and aimed at an unfortunate parrot perched on a tree fifty yards off. The parrot, uttering a cry, flew away, and the arrow fell to the ground; but as no poison had as yet been used, the bird was little the worse for its wound. The case would have been very different had the arrow been dipped in the poison: the bird would have died in thirty or forty seconds, Kallolo told me. He was well-satisfied with his performance, and pronounced his blowpipe a certain killer. He had now to manufacture the poison. He had already procured all the ingredients, and three large bowls; but he confessed to the captain that all his efforts would be in vain unless he could obtain a vessel in which to boil it, as the wooden bowls would certainly not answer the purpose. His object was to obtain the loan of the saucepan! "Why, we shall all be poisoned if you use it," said the captain, starting back with dismay; "you had better go without your blowpipe than allow that to happen." Kallolo assured him that the vessel would not in any way be injured; and that should the white people even swallow a small portion of the poison, they would not suffer. "Ah, my friend, but I would rather not risk it," observed the captain. "However, if you can undertake to clean the pot thoroughly after you have used it, I will not hinder you, as I am well aware that you could procure more food with your blowpipe than all of us together, with our bows and arrows and fishing-lines." Having obtained the loan of the pot, Kallolo immediately commenced operations. He had, I should have said, formed a small hut at a little distance from the camp, in which to concoct the mixture. He had placed there the various ingredients he had collected. The first was composed of several bunches of the woorali vine; another was a root with a sharp, bitter taste. Besides these there were two bulbous plants, which contained a green and glutinous juice. He had also collected two species of ants: one large and black, with a sharp, venomous sting; the other a little red ant, which stings like the nettle. Having scraped the woorali vine and bitter root into thin shavings, he put them into a sieve made of leaves, which he held over a bowl, and poured water on them: a thick liquor came through, having the appearance of coffee. He then produced the bulbous plants, and squeezed a portion of the juice into the pot, adding the dried ants, as well as the pounded fangs of two venomous snakes. Clearing everything away, he made a fire in the centre of the hut, and pouring the mixture into the saucepan, he boiled it slowly for some hours. The scum was then taken off, when the liquid had become reduced to thick syrup of a deep brown colour. He now told me that it was fit for use; and his darts being ready, he dipped them into it, as he did also several large arrows, and the points of some of our spears. The remainder he poured off into some small gourds, which he covered carefully over with leaves, and hung up in the hut. "Now!" he said, "we are prepared for any enemies who may come near us; and we may be sure that we shall be able to procure as much game as we can desire." The last thing to be done was to cleanse the saucepan. He first boiled water in it several times, throwing each quantity away; he then scraped it with his knife all over, and rubbed it again and again with leaves, till, pronouncing it to be perfectly free from the slightest particle of poison, he took it to the skipper, who examined it with a suspicious eye. I told him all that I had seen done, and at last he seemed satisfied that no one would be the worse for food cooked in it. By this time a number of hammers had been formed, and no less than four axes. Maco and Polo, working under water, had sharpened them by means of some other hard stone which they found in the stream. For this purpose each of them dug a hole on the shore of the lake, into which they let the water, and seated over it performed the whole operation under the surface. I reminded them of the huge alligator I had seen. "No fear, Massa Guy," answered Maco; "while we make noise like this, the caymans take care not to come near us." "I hope that you will not be mistaken," I answered, advising them to place a number of small poles in the mud in front of them, which might prevent even a hungry cayman from landing, as he would probably be suspicious. A most important event now took place. It was laying the keel of our proposed vessel, which had been prepared with infinite labour, chiefly by a single axe. When we considered that we had to cut out the ribs with such tools, and then to shape and nail on the planks, we might well have despaired of accomplishing the work. "Have we not an auger, and a saw, and an axe? why then should we despair?" exclaimed the skipper over and over again. "Though we have no nails, we can make wooden ones; and though we have no iron, we will compel wood and fibre to take its place. We shall build a vessel, never fear." Having no paper for the plan, the captain had smoothed a piece of ground, on which he had drawn it out with great accuracy, so that the opposite timbers should be of the same shape, and agree with each other, expanding less and less towards the bow and stern, that when the planks were laid on they should remain even and be firmly fixed. Uncle Paul approved of Captain van Dunk's plan, and ably seconded him in every part of the work. All day long hewing and chipping went on. Each crooked piece of timber, as it was cut off, was brought to the plan to ascertain for which of the ribs it was most fitted. Tim proved himself one of the best workmen of the party. I suspect that had all possessed regular tools others might have excelled him, but his talent consisted in employing our very imperfect instruments, and in devising new methods of getting through the work. He was especially an adept at splitting trees. No sooner was one felled than he would set to work to scrape off the bark at the upper part, and to run deep and straight lines down it; he then fixed the wedges in a long row, and went from one to another, driving them in as if playing on a musical instrument. When they were all firmly fixed, he would call the rest of the party with their hammers, and at a signal make them all strike at once, seldom failing to separate an even plank. We had not hitherto been troubled by wild beasts, nor had even any serpents shown their ugly heads. I had one morning accompanied Tim into the forest, intending to look out for trees to fell, Tim carrying his axe to mark them. I had thoughtlessly left my bow and arrows behind, and had only a long pointed stick in my hand. We had reached a somewhat open space, and having passed across it, had arrived at a narrow glade,--probably the result of a hurricane. Just at the edge of it Tim had discovered one of the trees of which he was in search. We were going up to it when, not twenty yards off, a huge jaguar stalked out of the forest, and stood looking at us, apparently meditating a spring in our direction! "Do not run, as you value your life, Mr Guy," exclaimed Tim. "Stand still, and I will tackle the gentleman." I did as he advised, merely holding my pointed stick before me; though I knew that had the jaguar attacked us it would have been of little more use than a toothpick. Tim, however, ran boldly forward, and, to my surprise, doffing his hat, exclaimed-- "The top of the morning to ye, Mr Jaguar. You will please to say what you want, or take yourself out of this; for it's your room rather than your company we would be after wishing for." The jaguar, astonished at the coolness of the man, though he could not understand what was said, turned slowly round and went off, trailing his tail after him as if he felt himself conquered. On seeing this, Tim set up a wild shout, which sounded to my ears like "Wallop--ahoo--aboo--Erin-go-bragh!" in which I very heartily joined him, feeling no small satisfaction at the peaceable termination of this our first interview with one of the very few wild beasts we had to dread in the forests of the Orinoco. The puma, or American lion, though not in reality quite so formidable as a jaguar, is not a creature which an unarmed man would wish to meet when alone; though, except when very hard pressed by hunger, or when it can attack a person unprepared, it seldom destroys human beings. The savage jaguar, on the contrary, will follow with stealthy feet the trail of the Indian, and suddenly seizing him, deprive him of life. Though generally not much larger than a wolf, it occasionally reaches the size of the Indian tiger, and is often called the tiger or panther of the New World. It greatly resembles the leopard, especially in its forest habits, as by means of its powerful claws it can with ease spring up the trunk of a tree, and make its way along a branch, ready to pounce down upon a foe. It is truly the lord of the South American forests, as it often attacks the thick-skinned tapir, and even the largest alligator. In spite of the enormous jaws of the latter, the jaguar will leap towards the tail of the creature, tear open its side, and devour it even before life is extinct. Only two animals do not fear the jaguar; one is the great ant-eater, which is defended from the monster's attacks by its thick shaggy coat; the other is the little peccary. The latter, however, when caught singly is quickly despatched. When collected in a herd the case is very different. They then so fearlessly assail the jaguar with their sharp tusks, that though it may kill a few of them, it is usually pierced to death, or compelled to take to flight. We had good reason, therefore, to be thankful that the jaguar had not found us busy at work with our backs turned towards him; in which case he would probably have killed one or both of us. He must already, as Tim observed, have had his dinner, else he would not so readily have taken his departure. We found, indeed, not far off, the remains of a deer on which he had been feeding, several armadillos and a king-vulture being engaged in finishing what he had left of the feast. While Tim was at work, I kept watch in case another jaguar or any other foe should approach. I regretted not having brought my bow and arrows, and determined never to leave home again without them. The tree was soon cut down, for we were obliged to choose those of small size, which could be easily chopped through and split. As soon as it was down, Tim smoothed off the upper surface, and then drew lines along it to mark the divisions of the planks, scoring them deeply with his axe, ready for the wedges. Sometimes a tree split from one end to the other, and we quickly had a number of boards formed; which, however, required seasoning before they could be used. This operation took place more rapidly than in our northern climes; for by placing them in the shade, though exposed to the air, they quickly dried. Having cut a tree into planks, we each of us carried home a couple of them. I gave a description of Tim's encounter with the jaguar. Of course our friends congratulated us on our escape; and, taking warning, they determined to be on the lookout lest the creature should think fit to pay the settlement a visit. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. MARIAN'S FEARFUL DANGER--TIM'S WONDERFUL RIDE ON AN ALLIGATOR'S BACK-- MARIAN AND I RESCUED--DEATH OF THE ALLIGATOR. Our manufactures of various sorts went on with unabated vigour. We had already gained considerable skill in mat-making, and had tried various substances,--some produced from different species of palms, and others from grass and sedges growing on the banks of the neighbouring stream or lake. We had also made a quantity of string, or what sailors call sennit, which, twisted together, would serve as cordage for the vessel. One of our great wants had been hammocks in which to sleep, they being far cooler and more healthy than standing bed-places. There was an objection, also, to sleeping on the ground: for we were liable to be stung by insects; and indeed venomous snakes might enter and remain undiscovered, coiled in the heaps of grass and dry leaves which formed our mattresses. After we had made a quantity of sennit, Peter cut out some netting needles and pins, and set to work to net a hammock for himself. Others followed his example, and soon each of us had a hammock slung in the hut; which being stowed away in the daytime, gave us far more room than we had before enjoyed. Arthur and I made a sort of cot for Marian, in which she was able to sleep with more comfort than in the confined bunk the kind captain had at first made for her. Uncle Paul had not forgotten his intention of trying to supply us with garments; but as we had so many things to attend to, he had not as yet begun to make them. We had all, however, been supplied with straw-hats; which, working as we were in the sun, were absolute necessities. The Indians had also to make frequent excursions in search of game and fruit to supply the community with food, so that we were never without an abundance of what we considered the necessaries of life. Kallolo had also manufactured some palm-wine and several refreshing beverages from fruit, chiefly of palms. Occasionally, too, Uncle Paul with a companion launched out into the lake on the smaller raft with hooks and lines, and invariably returned with a good supply of fish. One day when he and Arthur had gone out for that purpose, Marian asked me to accompany her in search of a peculiarly elastic grass called the "capim grass," and two or three other sorts which grew on the banks of the stream. Tim and Sambo followed, to assist us in bringing back what we might collect; and Kallolo and Maco, wishing to shoot some birds, came with their blowpipes and bows and arrows. We had got nearly to the mouth of the stream, where there was some open ground, the trees not growing so closely down to the edge of the water as in other places. Tim and Sambo were together. I had gone a little way on, when Marian saw some of the grass of which she was in search. The Indians, who had just shot a toucan, were a little way behind me, waiting for the bird to drop. The waters having by this time considerably subsided, the stream was running much more rapidly than at first. I stopped to watch a log which was floating down, and I thought how convenient it would be to get hold of it and tow it on shore, as it would save us several hours' labour should it be fit for our shipbuilding purposes. Just then I caught sight of Uncle Paul and Arthur on the raft, they having come to the mouth of the stream; but of course they could not ascend it. I shouted to them, and pointed out the log. At that moment I heard a piercing cry, and to my dismay I saw that Marian had fallen into the stream from a projecting point on which she had been standing, and that she was being rapidly hurried down by the current. What also was my unspeakable horror, when, almost at the same moment I caught sight of a huge alligator, which, with open jaws, rose to the surface, and was making directly for her! I shrieked out to Kallolo, who had at the same instant caught sight of the creature. Quick as lightning he fixed an arrow to his bow, which he sent with unerring aim into the monster's eye. It had the effect he hoped for,-- it made the alligator turn aside; and apparently blinded, and unable to see where it was going, it darted up close to the bank. Tim and Sambo, seeing it coming, had sprung on to a tree which overhung the stream. Then Tim, instigated by an impulse for which he himself probably could not have accounted, leaped directly down on the creature's back, and digging the fingers of his left hand into its remaining eye, began so furiously to belabour it with a thick club he held in his right hand, that the astonished saurian dashed off through the water, madly lashing it into masses of foam with its huge tail. Under other circumstances I should have trembled for the gallant Tim's safety, but for the moment I could think of nothing but the fearful danger to which my dear young sister was exposed. I am very sure that it was the idea that he might help to save Marian which prompted him to the performance of the unexampled act of heroism. It may, however, be considered an Irish way of proceeding, as he would certainly have rendered her more service by swimming out and supporting her. As soon as I had recovered from my terror, which for the moment almost deprived me of reason, I leaped into the current and swam towards her. Though at first almost paralysed with fear, she had recovered her presence of mind, and had begun to strike out, so as to support herself above water. I swam with all my might to overtake her, dreading every moment lest another alligator should appear and seize one or both of us. The shouts and cries of the men, however, and the furious disturbance of the water caused by the monster Tim bestrode, effectually prevented any other from venturing out of its hiding-place, and therefore I believe Tim rendered us effectual aid. Now up the stream, now across from one side to the other, the alligator and his rider dashed at a tremendous speed. The creature would have dived had not Tim, exerting all his strength, held back its head, thus keeping its jaws open, and preventing it from plunging. All this time Tim had been shouting to Sambo to come and join him on the creature's back, and to the Indians to shoot at it again; but Sambo, though a brave fellow, not having been accustomed to steeplechasing in his youth, had no fancy for such a ride; and the Indians well knew that their arrows would glance harmlessly off the scaly back of the saurian, or that they were more likely rather to wound brave Tim himself. Still Tim held on in a way a practised fox-hunter could alone have done, hitting now on the monster's jaws, now behind him, and now on its side. It was a question who would first get tired, the Irishman or the alligator. Meantime I had got close to Marian, and knowing the importance of keeping up as much noise as possible, I shouted and shrieked, telling her to do the same, while Uncle Paul and Arthur were making the most strenuous efforts with their paddles to reach us. It was important, indeed, that they should do so, for Marian's strength, overcome by her terror, was rapidly failing her. I did my utmost to keep her head above water; for I am very sure had she been alone she must have sunk. The Indians, seeing Uncle Paul and Arthur coming to our assistance, and knowing that I was a good swimmer, hastened up the bank with Sambo to aid Tim: for they saw that should the alligator hold out much longer, he would be compelled to let go its head; in which case it would have immediately dived to the bottom, and very probably have given him a fatal blow with its tail, or dragged him down along with it. As I looked at Marian's countenance, I saw that it was becoming very pale. Her terror and the efforts she had made had completely overcome her. She fainted away. Still I kept her up, striking the water with my feet; for I could do no more. The current bore us rapidly down, and as I looked at the raft I feared that we should be swept past it. I knew that there was no use calling out to my friends, for they were already doing their very utmost. Those were indeed awful moments. The shouts and shrieks of Tim and the Indians sounding in my ears, I knew that they could not be far off. I could even hear the noise made by the alligator as it furiously lashed the water with its tail; and I expected every moment that it would rush down toward us, and perhaps strike us in its mad course, or dash against the raft and upset it. I dared not look around, but kept my eye on the raft, and with my right hand, (for the left arm sustained Marian), I endeavoured to direct my course towards it. My great dread was that the shock she had received would prove too much for her, and that she would succumb to it. Every moment she pressed more heavily on my arm. My own strength, too, I felt, was failing me. Still I was encouraged by seeing Uncle Paul and Arthur coming nearer and nearer; but even close though they were, there was still a possibility that Marian would slip from my grasp. My anxiety became almost greater than I could bear: a dimness came over my eyes--I was sinking. Then I felt that Marian was no longer on my arm. The next moment my hand was on the side of the raft, and I was safe in Uncle Paul's strong grasp. He was kneeling with Marian in his arms. I pressed my lips to hers to recall her to life. She opened her eyes,--my heart bounded with joy. She was still deadly pale, but she gently smiled, saying faintly, "I shall soon be well, Guy." "Yes, yes; our little maiden is safe, and will quickly be all right!" exclaimed Uncle Paul, though the tremor in his voice showed that he had not even yet recovered from the fearful agitation he had experienced at seeing our danger. From the time we had got on board the raft, Arthur had been paddling with might and main to regain the shore, where it now floated calmly out of the strength of the current. Having somewhat recovered, I was able to watch Tim and his strange steed. Whenever the alligator showed an inclination to go either up the stream or down to the lake, Tim turned it with a fierce blow of his shillelagh; and thus kept it moving backwards and forwards between the two banks. The Indians and Sambo had now got directly opposite the spot it generally reached in its rapid circuit, Kallolo carefully watching the movements of the monster while his companions were hastily cutting some long and tough trailing vines hanging from a neighbouring tree. "Bear a hand! bear a hand, or sure I will be after riding to `Davy Jones's locker' sooner than will be altogether pleasant!" shouted Tim, gasping for breath. "Keep up its head! keep up its head!" cried the Indians in return,--a piece of advice Tim fully intended to follow as long as he had the power. At length the alligator came directly towards Kallolo, who at that moment drawing his bow sent a poisoned arrow directly down its throat. The alligator, feeling the pain, turned round, and again dashed across the stream; but once more Tim managed to turn it with his well-dealt blows, and again it dashed back to the bank, close to where Kallolo stood. Throwing down his bow and quiver, the Indian, apparently doubting whether the poison would produce its usual effects on the monster, sprang forward into the water and drove his knife directly into its breast. As he did so it gave another fierce lash with its tail, but it was the last. The Indian drew out his knife, ready to repeat the blow, but there was no necessity for him to strike; the alligator rolled over from side to side, its head dropping in spite of Tim's efforts to keep it up. "Jump off, or it will carry you to the bottom!" cried Kallolo; who then, turning round, shouted to his companions to bring the rope. They came hurrying to the spot with a ready-made noose, which they dexterously slipped over the monster's head, Tim at the same moment, springing on its back, leaped from thence to the shore. "I have mounted many a skittish horse when I was a spalpeen of a lad, but never in all my born days have I ridden so ill-mannered a baste; and sure I hope as long as I live that I may not have to break in such another as this one," exclaimed the Irishman. The Indians, while Tim was speaking, were getting ready their ropes, which they managed to slip round the monster's forelegs; then, all hands hauling away, they dragged it by slow degrees up the bank. As its struggles were not over, the task was not so easy as it would have been had it been unable to offer any resistance. Its jaws continued to open, showing its captors that it would be wise to keep at a respectable distance. Kallolo, however, who did not fear to face it in the water, did not hesitate to rush in and give it several additional stabs. Tim's mind had been so entirely occupied with the strange situation in which he found himself, that he had almost forgotten the cause which first prompted him to leap on the monster's back. As soon, however, as he was again on his feet, he recollected all about the matter, and seeing Marian and me on the raft, with wild shouts he came rushing towards us, exhibiting, by the most vehement gestures and extraordinary antics, his delight at our safety. "Sure and she's safe, the darling Miss Marian!" he cried out as he sprang on board the raft; "and the brute of an alligator has not eaten her, as I was fearing he would have been after doing. It's a mighty fine counthry this, but it would be all the better if it was as free of them creatures as Ould Ireland is of snakes and sarpents,--blessings on the head of Saint Patrick who drove them all out." After he had calmed down a little, Uncle Paul directed him to take one of the paddles and to assist in navigating the raft home, while he himself attended to Marian. He was anxious to get her safely on shore, and placed in her cot, where she might enjoy that rest she so much required. He and I sat by her side chafing her feet and hands. We wished that we had had some of the skipper's schiedam to give to her; but Uncle Paul had brought none with him, and we could think of no other remedies than those we were already applying. The sun striking down on us with its usual force, she did not feel any bad effects from being wet. The colour gradually returned to her cheeks, and we trusted that she would not suffer materially from the accident. Arthur and Tim exerted themselves to the utmost to urge on the raft. We had no difficulty in getting out of the river, as the current carried us rapidly down to its mouth. We then made good progress along the shore. Uncle Paul felt even more anxious about Marian than I did. I had never seen him so affected. As she lay in his arms, he bent over her, uttering endearing expressions. "Cheer up, my little maiden," he said; "we shall soon be at home, and you will be all put right. We must not let you run such a risk again. These wilds are not suited for young girls to wander through alone, and you must remain in the encampment till we get our new craft ready for sea." "I am not much frightened, and shall soon be quite myself again, I assure you," said Marian faintly. "Still I cannot help thinking about that dreadful alligator. It won't come after us, will it?" "The young mistress need not be afraid of that, unless the baste has more lives than a Kilkenny cat," observed Tim, who had overheard her. "It's my belief that I'd have ridden the brute to death, even if Kallolo hadn't sent an arrow down its throat and stuck his long knife half a dozen times in it. The alligator is hauled up high and dry on shore, and the creature's ugly head is off its body by this time; so you may be pretty sure that it'll not be after troubling you again." Tim's account had at all events the effect of banishing from Marian's mind the idea that the alligator would follow us; and Uncle Paul and I did our best to keep up her spirits too, and prevent her thoughts from recurring to the fearful danger she had gone through. The time occupied in reaching our camp seemed very long; but Marian was conveyed much more easily on the raft than she would have been through the tangled forest. Our father saw us coming, and hurrying down to the beach, assisted us in carrying up Marian to her hut. When he heard what had occurred, he was greatly agitated, and blamed himself for having allowed her to go on such an expedition. He agreed with Uncle Paul that she must not in future be permitted to leave the village without an escort, which must never for a moment quit her side. The captain, who had been working at the vessel, hearing of the accident, came hurrying to the hut with a bottle of schiedam under his arm. "My little maid! what should we have done had she been seized by the alligator? We should have lost all heart for work, and left our bones to whiten on the beach!" he exclaimed in an agitated voice, which showed how much he felt. "She must take some of this: it's the great remedy for all diseases; and I have kept it on purpose, resisting the temptation, when I felt inclined to take a drop to comfort my heart as I thought of my home, and my dear frau, and the months and months that must pass before I can see her again." Uncle Paul gave Marian a small glassful of the schiedam, which undoubtedly had the good effect of sending her off into a sound sleep. In a short time the Indians arrived with the head of the alligator, which they and Sambo proposed to preserve, in order, the latter said, to make a figurehead for the new vessel! "We will think about it," answered Uncle Paul. "I doubt whether it would bring pleasant recollections to the mind of our little maiden. At any rate, we will carry it with us on board, and perhaps in after years she may be less unwilling to look at it than at present, when she may exhibit it to another generation as she describes our adventures in the wilds of the Orinoco." CHAPTER FOURTEEN. CAPTURE OF A YOUNG MACAW--THE POTTERY MANUFACTORY AND OTHER EMPLOYMENTS--THE INDIARUBBER OR SERINGA TREE--HOW UNCLE PAUL MADE OUR SHOES--THE IGUANA--CAPTURE A CURASSOW AND A TAPIR--MARIAN'S ENCOUNTER WITH THE LABARRI SNAKE--A LAUGHABLE SCENE. Quacko and Ara, though the only idle members on our estate, were, contrary to the usual rule, perfectly happy, and certainly afforded us all constant amusement. Tim observed that they were growing conceited, and thought too much of themselves. He proposed, therefore, to try to catch a few more pets, in order to teach them to behave properly, and to show them that they were not of so much importance as they were inclined to suppose. Tim, whenever he could get away from work, was fond of making exploring expeditions on either side of the settlement. He had discovered, not far off, the roosting-place of a flock of macaws, and had determined to capture one. I reminded him of the way Arthur and I had been attacked when we had attempted to rob their nests on Grove Island. "To be sure, Master Guy; but it will be a very different matter here," he answered. "We shall be on firm ground, and able to use our legs if they attack us; for, as you see, they are all perched up on the trees, and will not be inclined to come off for the sake of looking after a friend or two who may tumble to the ground." Tim had told Kallolo of his intention, and we all set off together, Kallolo with his blowpipe, Tim and I with our bows and arrows. Tim, in addition, carried a long mat fastened at one end, a string being drawn through the other. Kallolo told us, as he went along, that had he possessed some salt he should have had no difficulty in catching as many macaws alive as we might wish for; but as yet we had not discovered that necessary of life. We soon reached the birds' roosting-place; but no sooner did they see us than, contrary to Tim's expectations, they all arose and began circling round our heads, screaming vociferously. Kallolo, looking on calmly, did not shoot. Tim and I let fly a couple of arrows, but both missed. At last the birds began to settle down, and I again shot an arrow, when down tumbled a young macaw. The missile had passed through its wing. Away it scuttled, uttering loud shrieks from pain and terror. Tim and I made chase, he holding the mat with the joined part in front ready to throw over the bird. We quickly overtook it, when, finding that it could not escape, it turned round and did battle bravely for its liberty, attempting to bite our legs with its sharp beak; but Tim's sack was speedily over it, and drawing the string, he had it a close prisoner. Meantime Kallolo had brought down three of its companions with his deadly blowpipe. Though they struggled at first, they speedily succumbed to the effects of the poison, and were tied by the feet and slung over his back. Laden with our prizes we returned homewards. The dead birds were at once stripped of their feathers, spitted, and placed before the fire to roast for supper; for had they been allowed to cool they would have proved somewhat tough, but treated as they were they were perfectly tender. The live macaw was allowed to remain in the bag all night, when its spirit being somewhat quelled by hunger, we gave it some nuts, which it took readily; and in the course of the day it consented to come out and get a string tied round its leg. At night it went to roost; and by the next morning it was perfectly tame, and willingly took the fruit and nuts offered it. Its plumage was blue and yellow; and though not so pretty as some of its more gaily-coloured relatives, as its temper improved it became a great favourite. We had by this time erected a complete village of huts. The good captain and his mate, that we might have more room, had built one for themselves. Tim and Sambo put up another, and the three Indians erected a fifth. They had no pretensions to architectural beauty, but were quite sufficient for all the shelter required in that warm climate. For our dining-hall we had an open shed, where we were sheltered from the rays of the sun. We were also making good progress with the vessel: the stem and the stern, with several ribs, had already been fixed. Cutting out the ribs with the scanty tools we possessed was a slow process; and a Dutchman alone could have conceived the possibility of succeeding in such an undertaking, with the numerous difficulties to be encountered. "Never fear, my friends; we will do it," the skipper was continually saying. "Only take care not to break the axes. If we do, we shall have to work with our knives. But remember it could be done even then; only we should be much longer about the job. `Slow and steady wins the race.'" Slow our work certainly was, but every day saw some progress. While the captain and Peter were working at the timber, the rest of us were smoothing down the planks; and we had now a large pile ready to fix on as soon as the ribs were set up. My father, Marian, and I were improving in the manufacture of matting. We could not, however, make it of sufficient strength for the sails; still, the material we manufactured would serve to form a roof for the cabin, or it might do for kilts or for cloaks. We had established several other manufactories. A pottery was the first. Fortunately, we had found some clay well adapted for our purpose; and my father was acquainted with the principles of the art and the mode of working. A small kiln was first put up; and we then, kneading our clay, formed it into vessels of various shapes and sizes. Our great object was to burn some sufficiently hard to serve for cooking purposes. We cracked a good many, and it must be confessed they were all somewhat rough and unshapely; but we improved in that respect, and eventually succeeded in producing several pots which stood the fire remarkably well. At Uncle Paul's desire, we also formed a number of small cups, though he did not at the time tell us for what object he required them. He had not forgotten his promise to supply us with shoes when ours should be worn-out. We had for some time been going about with bare feet. We found it, however, both painful and dangerous to wander through the forest with our feet unprotected. I reminded him one day of what he had undertaken to do. "I have not forgotten it, and will at once fulfil my promise," he answered. "Come with me into the forest; before we start, however, you must pack up the small pots you made at my request the other day." "What are they for?" I asked. "You shall see when we arrive at the manufactory," he answered. We set out towards the west. After having proceeded some way we found, scattered here and there among the other trees, a number of trees of great height, and from two to three feet in diameter. The trunks were round and strong, and the bark of a light colour, and not very smooth. Their summits did not spread wide, but their appearance was especially beautiful, from their long, thin leaves, which grew in clusters of three together, and were of an ovate shape, the centre one rather more than a foot in length, the others a little shorter. "These are seringa trees," said Uncle Paul, pointing them out. "It is with the sap which proceeds from them that I purpose to manufacture our shoes." I stared with astonishment, for I saw that he was not joking. He now took the pots, to which strings had been fastened, and secured two or three to each tree by small pegs, which he took out of his pocket. Above each peg he made a deep incision with his stone axe, and almost immediately a milky substance began to ooze out and drop into the pots. Taking some himself, he bade me taste it, assuring me that it was perfectly harmless. Its taste was agreeable,--much like sweetened cream, which it resembled in colour. We went on from tree to tree, cutting deeply into the bark of each, and hanging up our pots till we had exhausted all we carried. This being done, all hands under his direction set to work to build a hut; and he then bade the Indians search for a nut of a peculiar palm which was required for the operation. These preliminary operations being concluded, we returned to the settlement, where Uncle Paul set us to work to form several lasts suited to the size of the feet of the different members of the party. He made a pair for Marian; but the rest of us, he said, must be content with shoes of the same shape for both feet; and though very rough, and not very well shaped, they would answer our purpose. We had not time to bestow much labour on them. Next morning we again set out, carrying this time a couple of large bowls, which, Uncle Paul said, would be required. On arriving at the hut, he placed one of them on the ground, and then piled up inside the hut a number of the palm-nuts collected on the previous day. Having surrounded them with stones, he placed the bowl, in the bottom of which a hole had been made, in an inverted position on the top of them. We next went out to collect the pots we had hung up on the seringa trees. They were all full of juice, and were brought to the hut and emptied into the other bowl. This done, we took the pots back and hung them up again. The lasts we now smeared with clay, of which some had been found at hand. The nuts were lighted, and a dense white smoke ascended through the hole in the bottom of the bowl. One of the lasts, to which wooden handles had been fixed, we now dipped into the bowl of indiarubber juice; and when it was drawn out, a thin layer of juice was found adhering to it. On being held over the smoke this quickly dried, and became rather darker than at first. The process was repeated a dozen times, till the shoe was of sufficient thickness; care being taken to give a greater number of coatings to the sole. We found, after a little time, that the various operations required about five minutes,-- then the shoe was complete. One after another the lasts were dipped in the same way; and the shoes were then hung on cross sticks which had been put up outside the hut, that they might be exposed to the sun. There being no risk of our shoes being stolen, we left them, and returned home as before, having plenty of occupation for the rest of the day. Next morning we went back to the hut, and having collected the juice which had in the meantime trickled into the pots, we finished off the shoes which had been made on the previous day; and having scored the soles to prevent them from slipping, we cut them off the lasts, which were thus ready again for use. We now manufactured some more shoes and left them to dry, carrying with us those which had just been finished. Marian was delighted with hers, which were very soft and elastic, though they would not do to walk far in. We had now not only the means of making shoes, but bottles and cups; and Uncle Paul even thought of manufacturing a material which would serve instead of cloth, and might be formed into cloaks and kilts, if not trousers--though, as he had no substance to lay it on, he was afraid that it would easily tear. We agreed, however, that, except in rainy weather, the matting was likely to prove the more useful article. We were returning from our indiarubber manufactory the next day, when we saw an object moving among the boughs of a tree at no great distance from us. Tim ran forward to ascertain what it was. "Arrah now, if it's not a live alligator, I don't know what it is," he exclaimed. "It's my belief that the baste has climbed up into the tree that he may pounce down upon us as we pass by." "No fear of that," answered Uncle Paul. "Alligators, although they venture out of the water, never go far from it. The creature you see, large as it looks, is only an iguana, a sort of lizard which lives in trees; and though it is ugly to look at, it is said to be very good to eat, so we will try to get the gentleman." On getting under the tree, we saw what certainly looked like a huge lizard, about four feet in length, including its long tail. The tree not being a large one, we shook it, when down came the creature to the ground. In spite of its rather formidable appearance, Tim dashed boldly forward and caught it by the neck and the small of the back, and held it fast. It lashed about very fiercely with its tail, its only weapon of defence, as its teeth, though numerous, were small. Uncle Paul having formed a noose, slipped it over the creature's head and told me to hold it tight while he made another, which he dexterously threw over its tail. Tim and I then going ahead began to drag it along; and though it made some resistance, we at length got it to the settlement. As we knew that Marian would like to see it alive, Uncle Paul went to call her. The creature, with its huge dewlap, ugly face, long claws, and row of spines on its back, looked indeed truly formidable. Marian, who with Arthur and our father soon came, recollecting all about the alligator, cried out under the idea that it might break loose and attack us. Just at that moment the after-rope, which Tim was holding loosely, slipped off the tail of the creature; when finding that member at liberty, it began to lash about with it on every side. Tim thoughtlessly rushed forward to seize it; but it gave him a cut on the leg, which brought him to the ground howling with pain; and had not Uncle Paul hauled him out of the creature's way, he might have received a still more serious blow. As it showed an inclination to inflict further damage, Sambo coming up speedily despatched it by a blow on the head. Ugly as it looked, he assured us that it would afford us most delicious food; and at dinnertime we found his prediction amply fulfilled. We had become so accustomed to eat odd-looking creatures, that however repulsive the appearance of an animal, we never hesitated to try it; and we agreed that we should have no objection to eat another iguana as soon as one could be caught. Kallolo was our chief hunter; and Arthur and I, when we could spare time from our regular work, were glad, for the sake of variety, to go out with him. We were walking along the shore of the lake, when from the top of a low tree a huge bird, its plumage chiefly black, with a crest of curled feathers on its head and a white breast, flew off over the water. "We have lost the bird, but we will try to find something instead," said Kallolo, giving me his blowpipe and bow to hold. He then climbed up the tree till he reached the bird's nest, from which he extracted two eggs, and brought them down safety. They were considerably larger than a duck's egg, white and granulated all over, though the bird itself did not appear to be above the size of an ordinary duck. It was, I found, a crested curassow. The eggs being newly laid were very palatable. Kallolo then ascended the tree again and laid a snare, hoping to catch the hen-bird; which, he said, might become domesticated, if carefully treated. As we were going through the forest shortly afterwards I heard a rustling sound among the underwood, and saw, close ahead of me, a dark-skinned creature about the size of a calf rush on towards the water. Its head, of which I caught a glimpse, was peculiarly long, with a proboscis-like snout. I guessed from this that the animal was a tapir. Calling to Kallolo, I told him what I had seen. He came up, and examining the ground, gave it as his opinion that the creature frequently passed that way, and that he had little doubt we should be able to catch it. On returning to the settlement he invited Tim and Sambo to accompany him, and to dig a pit in which to catch the animal. We had a short time before manufactured some wooden spades, which served very well for digging in soft ground: we each took one, and Kallolo having fixed on a spot over which he considered the tapir was accustomed to pass, we set to work to dig the pit. The tapir being unable to climb, we made our pit only about four feet deep, seven long, and four wide. Having shovelled away the earth as far as we could throw it, we covered the pit over with thin branches and light twigs, which would at once give way under the animal's weight. Next morning, as the rest of the party were busily employed, I alone accompanied Kallolo. We each carried a spade, with some rope and pieces of matting. We first visited the tree on which he had set the snare for the curassow. As we approached we observed a fluttering on the top of it, and there, sure enough, was the bird caught by the legs. Kallolo climbed up, and detaching the snare from the tree brought the bird safely to the ground. It was too much frightened to attempt resistance, and before it recovered, the Indian had covered its head up with a piece of matting, so that it could not see; and then taking it under his arm, we set off to examine our pit. Even before we got up to it, we saw that the covering had given way; and sure enough, there was the tapir safe within. The creature could not turn round, and was standing perfectly still, utterly unable to help itself. Kallolo had brought a bag, the mouth secured by a string; this he managed to slip over its head, so that it, like the curassow, was completely blindfolded. He then passed another rope round its forelegs, and passing the end round the trunk of a tree, hauled it tight. Putting the curassow on the ground, with its legs tied, Kallolo begged me to assist him in throwing a quantity of earth over the front of the pit. In a short time we had made an incline, up which the tapir of its own accord climbed; expecting, probably, when at the top to find itself free. In this it was disappointed; but its strength being considerable, it would speedily have broken loose had not its eyes been blindfolded. Kallolo now approaching, spoke to it in soothing terms, patted it on the back, and at length it stood perfectly still, its alarm having apparently been completely calmed. "We will now return home with our prizes, and I hope that in a short time they will become tame," he observed; and having transferred the rope from its legs to its neck, he led it along, while I followed with the curassow. On our arrival with our two prizes we were warmly greeted by all hands, and Marian begged that she might be allowed to tame the bird. "I should like to make friends with the tapir," she added; "but I am afraid that it would prove an unruly pupil." "You need not be afraid of that," said Kallolo. "In a short time the tapir will become as tame as a dog, and will follow you about wherever you go." Kallolo certainly exhibited a wonderful skill in taming animals. He managed to do so entirely by kindness, though in the first instance he starved them to make them ready to receive food from his hands. He did not, however, allow the tapir to go loose for some days, but regularly brought it the food he knew it liked best. He then took it down to the water to bathe, keeping the rope tight that it might not swim off. Marian imitated his example with regard to her curassow; and the bird soon knew her, and showed its pleasure when she approached with its favourite fruit. At length, feeling pretty sure that it would not fly away, she let it loose just before its usual feeding time, and then held out some fruit which she had got in readiness. The bird flew towards her; and from that day followed her about wherever she went. "Crass," (the name we gave to the curassow), soon became a great favourite, and made Quacko and Ara very jealous. The monkey would, now and then, steal down and slyly try to pluck the feathers out of Crass, which would immediately run for protection to Marian; while Ara would fly down and perch on its head, and peck at its crest. We had now a little menagerie. Three parrots, of different species, and another monkey, had been added to our collection. The tapir became perfectly domesticated, and could be trusted to go out and have a bathe by itself, when it would invariably come back and lie down in front of our hut, knowing that it was there safe from its arch enemy the jaguar. We, however, could not bestow much time on our animals, as we were employed in the more important business of building our vessel and supplying our larder. We were never, indeed, in want of food, but we had to consider the means of preserving a supply for our voyage. The days passed quickly by; and though the carpenters appeared to work very slowly, each day saw the vessel further advanced, and it was a satisfaction to count the numerous ribs which now rose from the keel of our vessel. We were all at work one day on the vessel, with the exception of Tim and Sambo, who had gone out to fish on the lake at a short distance from the shore, when cunning Master Quacko, observing us engaged, and catching sight of Crass feeding at a little distance from the huts, slyly stole towards her. Crass turned her head just in time to see him coming, and recollecting that she had wings as well as legs, rose in the air and flew towards a neighbouring tree. Quacko, who had not forgotten the art of climbing, made chase, and soon got up to the bough on which Crass was perched. Crass, who had been watching him, flew off to another tree close to the shore of the lake. Quacko, however, liking the fun, threw himself from bough to bough and drove Crass further and further off. Marian, who had been busy at her loom, looking up caught sight of Quacko and Crass flying away in the far distance. Guessing the cause of her favourite's flight, she ran to call Quacko back, and to try to recover her bird. As she was making her way through the thick underwood, I fortunately happened to see her, and calling to Arthur, we both ran to her assistance. So thick was the forest, however, at this spot, that we soon lost sight of her; and though we shouted to her to return, she made no reply. Recollecting the fearful danger to which she had before been exposed on the bank of the stream, I could not help fearing that some accident had happened to her. We went on till we saw Crass on the bough of a tree just ahead of us, and I was sure that Marian could not be far off. Just then it occurred to me that she was perhaps only trying to frighten us; so, instead of following her further, I resolved to climb the tree and secure the bird. Calling to Arthur, we both easily mounted by means of several sepos which hung down from it, and of three or four boughs which projected from the lower part of the trunk. No sooner had Arthur and I got up than we caught sight of Marian clinging to a palm-tree, horror depicted in her countenance as she gazed at something on the ground. At the same moment Crass flew off towards her; while Arthur, exclaiming, "A snake! a snake! it is about to attack her," leaped down to her assistance. It was a moment of fearful suspense. I expected to see the horrible reptile spring at my sister. It appeared to me, as I caught sight of its head, to be one of the most venomous species--the labarri. Just then I heard a voice shout out, "Stay quiet, Miss Marian, and keep your eye fixed on the creature." I did not till then observe that the raft had come close in, and I now saw Sambo, who had leaped from it, making rapidly towards the shore with a long stick in his hand. The snake, whose tail had been coiled round the root of a tree, had all the time remained perfectly still, though uttering ominous hisses. In another instant the reptile would have made its fatal spring; but Sambo, climbing up the bank, dealt it a furious blow on the head. This made it uncoil its tail; then he followed up the attack by a second blow. The snake dropped its head. Marian, relieved of her terror, fell fainting to the ground just as Arthur and I reached her, while Crass immediately came flying down to her feet. Having satisfied ourselves that the snake was really killed, we hastened back with Marian to the settlement, followed by Crass, which came willingly after its mistress. She was so nervous, however, that she could with difficulty walk. At every instant she started, as if expecting to see another snake appear before her to dispute her passage. Quacko, who knew very well that he had been misbehaving, made his way back before us; and when we arrived we found him seated in front of the hut, looking as sedate as a judge, evidently fancying that his conduct had been unobserved. We again charged Marian not to leave the camp by herself, warning her that she might not only meet with another snake, but might fall in, perhaps, with a prowling jaguar or puma, or an anaconda, such as had attacked us on the lake. "But I could not bear the thought of losing my dear Crass; and I had no idea that I should have been led so far away," she answered, almost crying, as if she had done something wrong. "We are not blaming you, my dear Marian," said Uncle Paul, "but cautioning you for your own benefit,--and ours, too, for we should be miserable should any harm happen to you. People, when they begin to act imprudently, never can tell where they may stop; and a very good lesson may be imparted to others from your adventure and the fearful danger to which you have been exposed. But do not suppose, my dear, that we blame you, though you did give us all a great fright. We must appoint a guard, not to watch you, but to protect you from danger." "Oh, do not draw anyone off from the important work in which you are all engaged, for my sake," exclaimed Marian. "I will be very prudent in future, indeed, I will; and if any of my favourites run away, I will immediately come to you, that, if you think fit, somebody may be sent to bring them back." Marian's resolution was sorely tried a few days afterwards. The Ara parrot, the companion of our troubles, which had learned to speak, as Tim averred, as well as a real Christian, and was so very affectionate and domesticated, took it into its head, from some unknown cause, to fly off before Marian's eyes. According to her promise, she did not follow it, though she believed that it had perched on a tree not far off, but hurried to where we were at work. When, however, Maco went to look for it, the bird was nowhere to be seen. The whole day passed by, and Marian began to give up all hopes of ever recovering her pet. The next morning our attention was attracted by the most extraordinary noises, arising from a flock of parrots at a little distance. Now all was hushed; then again there broke forth a torrent of screams, which reminded us of the noise made by a flock of crows gathered around a solitary owl found out of its ivy-mantled tower after sunrise. What was the cause of the noise? No one could decide. Arthur suggested that the tree-tops thereabout might form a parliament-house to the surrounding nation of parrots, and that, their session having commenced, they had met to discuss some new legislative act for the good of the community, or, perhaps, some point calculated to lead to a general war,--the overbearing conduct of the macaws, or the increasing insults of the parakeets. With bows and blowpipes in hand, Arthur, Tim, and I, and the three Indians, crept silently towards them, when, to our great astonishment, we discovered the cause of the hubbub. Mounted full in view on a treetop stood Master Ara; while around him, upon adjacent branches, were collected a host of his peers! There was a pause. "Haul away! ye ho, boys!" came down from the top of the tree, followed by bursts of imitative shrieks and vociferous applause. "Ha! ha! ha!" shouted Master Ara, as he rolled his head and doubled up his body quite beside himself with laughter. Then came tumultuous applause and encores, and further shouts of "Ha! ha! ha! Haul away! ye ho, boys!" Then Ara spread his wings, and began with evident delight to bow and dance, and to turn round and round on the bough he had chosen for his rostrum. The effect upon his auditory was remarkable. Every parrot began to twist and to turn about in the same fashion, endeavouring with very considerable success to utter the same sounds, till we might have supposed that the crew of a merchant ship were shouting together, and engaged in weighing anchor to put to sea. Presently one of the assembly caught sight of us, and giving the alarm to the others, they suddenly changed their hilarious notes to cries of alarm, when off they flew, leaving Ara to harangue to empty benches, or rather to vacant boughs; for he, not holding us in dread, did not deem it necessary to decamp. The question now was how to catch him. Kallolo's blowpipe could have brought him down from his lofty perch; but it would have been at the risk of preparing him for parrot-pie, and our object was to take him alive. Had we possessed any salt, Kallolo said that there would have been no danger, as a few grains would have effectually neutralised the effects of the poison. "Sure he would come if the mistress were to call him," observed Tim. Arthur, thinking so too, ran back and brought Marian; who, indeed, was very willing to come. On our retiring out of sight, she began to call to Ara, using the endearing expressions she had been accustomed to apply to him. He looked down and nodded, and then flew to a lower bough. She went on, and held out her hand with some palm-fruit, of which he was especially fond. Again he descended; and at length, attracted partly by her sweet voice, and partly, it may be suspected, by the sweet fruit, came and perched on her hand. Then she took him back in triumph to the settlement, telling him, as she did so, how imprudent he had been to run away so far. "Remember, Ara," I heard her say, with all the gravity possible, "people, when they begin to act imprudently, never can tell where they may stop. You might have been caught by a tree-snake, or by some savage vulture, and we should never have seen you more. Promise me never to go wandering again without a proper escort;--you will, won't you?" "Haul away! ye ho, boys!" answered Ara. "Ha! ha! ha!" This was the only reply she could obtain. She, however, as the bird nestled affectionately in her arms, seemed perfectly satisfied that he would not again go gadding. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. NAMING OUR VESSEL--SAMBO'S SUGAR MANUFACTORY--THE WONDERFUL COW-TREE-- TIM'S "BEAUTIFUL PIG?"--TREED BY PECCARIES--A JAGUAR RENDERS US A VALUABLE SERVICE--PEACH-PALMS--KALLOLO CAPTURES THE CURIOUS JACANA--A LUCKY FIND--IN SEARCH OF TURTLES--GOOD LUCK--LAUNCH OF THE "GOOD HOPE"--"FLY! FLY! THE SAVAGES ARE COMING!"--A NARROW ESCAPE--OUR VILLAGE SET ON FIRE. We had a grand discussion one evening as to the name to be bestowed on our new vessel. Various appellations were suggested. Arthur proposed that she should be called the "Marian;" Tim, who had a voice in the matter, suggested the "Erin." "The `Fair Maiden' would be a fitting name," said the mate Peter, bowing with the gallantry of a sailor to my young sister. "Oh no! pray don't name the vessel after me," exclaimed Marian; "for though I am obliged to Mr Peter, yet I am sure I am no longer a `fair maiden.'" It had never occurred to me to think about the matter; but now, as I looked at her sweet countenance, I saw that it was tanned almost to a nut-brown hue, and covered over with still darker freckles--the result of constant exposure to the air and hot sun. "Now, with all due respect for Miss Marian, I consider that we may find a better name than any hitherto suggested," observed the skipper. "I propose that our vessel be called the _Good Hope_. Although not yet finished, we have `good hope' that she will be; and we have also `good hope' that, escaping the Spanish cruisers, and storms and rocks and shoals, she will carry us safely to Stabroek. What say you, Mr Paul?" "The _Good Hope_--the _Good Hope_," said Uncle Paul, repeating the name several times. "I like it. Yes, yes; it is a fitting name--a good name. Our craft has been the result of faith in One who watches over us--of skill and energy and perseverance; and such must always afford `good hope' of success. What do you say, brother Dennis?" "I have felt too often that I have bidden farewell to `hope' in any form to venture on selecting such a name; and yet, if you are pleased so to call our craft, I should be content to embark on board the _Good Hope_; and should she carry us to civilised lands in safety, I might believe once more that there is hope for me, even in this world," answered my father. I had been inclined to agree with Arthur; but as the elders of the party seemed to consider that the name of _Good Hope_ was the proper one, I voted for it, and Marian did likewise. Thus it was settled that our vessel was to be called the _Good Hope_; and so we ever afterwards designated her. As she approached completion, the hunters were urged to be diligent in endeavouring to procure the means of provisioning her for the voyage. We at once built two kilns for drying fish and flesh, to assist the preserving powers of the hot sun. Several large periecus were caught, cut up, and dried in the sun, and then smoked; but though wholesome and nutritious, they were not considered very palatable. As fruits and nuts became ripe they were gathered in large quantities, and Marian exerted her skill in drying the former. "If I had some sugar, I would make a supply of preserves," she observed, as she examined a basket of palm-fruit, and several varieties of plums, which we had brought in. "I often assisted at home, and know perfectly well how to manage." I remembered one day having seen some long canes, which I took for ordinary reeds, growing among the abundant vegetation. I now tried to recollect whereabouts they were. "I know," exclaimed Sambo. "They be wild sugar-cane." "How do you know that?" I asked. "Because I suck 'em, and dey berry sweet," he answered, grinning as only a well-satisfied negro can grin, having, of all the human race, a mouth specially adapted for the purpose. "Then do you think you could find them again, Sambo?" I asked. "Oh yes, massa! I will bring home enough to make sugar for all the preserves Miss Marian can make." "But when we have cut the canes, how is the sugar to be manufactured?" I inquired. "I do dat," he answered. "I 'long on sugar plantation in Jamaica, and know how to make sugar as well as any nigger slave." Sambo at once set out, and soon brought back a load of sugar-canes--a convincing proof that they grew in the neighbourhood. We all tried them; and for several days each member of our community was to be seen walking about with a piece of sugar-cane in his mouth. Sambo was an ingenious mechanic, and forthwith set to work to construct a sugar manufactory. It was very simple, consisting of a number of our largest clay pots for boiling the juice, and a long trough with sides, and a board at each end, slightly inclining towards the pans. Into the trough fitted a huge stone,--a large round boulder, to which ropes were attached, for hauling it backwards and forwards. The canes being placed in the trough, the heavy weight passing over them pressed out the juice, which ran through holes in the lower end into the bowls. The fuel which had previously been placed under the bowls was then lighted. As soon as the juice became hot, the impure portions rose in the form of scum, which was skimmed off. Sambo had found some lime, with which he formed lime-water to temper the liquor. The boiling process over, the fires were allowed to go out, and the liquor was then poured out into fresh pans, in which it was again gently boiled. It was afterwards transferred to a number of open wooden boxes, where it was allowed to cool, while the molasses ran off into pans placed beneath them, the part remaining in the boxes being in the form of crystals. Another draining process was then gone through, when really very respectable-looking sugar was produced. "It would not fetch anything of a price in the market," observed my father; "but I have no doubt that Marian will find it good enough to preserve her fruit." Marian was delighted, and assured Sambo that his sugar would answer very well indeed. "If we could find some tea-plants, we might have a pleasanter beverage for breakfast than either cold water or palm-wine," observed Marian; "though, to be sure, we should have no milk to mix with it." "I don't despair of finding that," said Uncle Paul; "indeed, I can promise to bring you some fresh milk directly you can produce the tea. I only yesterday caught sight of the massaranduba, or cow-tree; and as it is not far off, I will this evening bring you a bowlful of the juice, which, when fresh, you will be unable to distinguish from the finest milk." Marian was of course very eager to see this wonderful vegetable milk; and in the evening Uncle Paul set out with a large bowl. Sambo and I accompanied him, Sambo carrying an axe. On going some distance through the forest, we saw a tree with deeply-scored reddish and rugged bark. "Surely nothing like white juice can come out of so rough a skin," I observed to Uncle Paul. "Wait till Sambo has put his axe through it.--Cut hereabouts, Sambo," he said, pointing to a part of the trunk under which he could hold the bowl. The black did as directed, and made a deep incision, following it up by other cuts. "That's enough," exclaimed Uncle Paul; and having, as he spoke, placed the bowl beneath the cut, there literally gushed forth a stream of the purest white milk, so rapidly that the bowl was quickly filled. I smelt it and tasted it; and though it might have been said to be a little coarse, I certainly should have supposed it to be pure milk. Uncle Paul cautioned us not to drink much, as, swallowed in any considerable quantity, it is looked upon as unwholesome. We returned with the bowl full, Sambo having carried it on his head. Marian was of course delighted with it, though she could not give us tea. Kallolo had brought her a berry, however, which he assured her was perfectly wholesome, and which, when pounded and boiled, afforded a fair substitute for coffee. I suspect, indeed, that it was wild coffee, and that the original seed had been brought to the spot by some bird. We had thus secured a very palatable beverage, and had obtained milk and sugar to mix with it; but my father still had a fancy for procuring tea, or at all events a substitute for it. "If we find any, it will be a satisfaction when we drink it to remember that it is not taxed," he observed, "and that the revenue derived from it will not be spent in a way over which we have no control." My poor father was alluding at the time to one of the grievances which the American colonies had already begun to feel very severely. We hunted in vain, however, for any shrub whose leaves were at all to be compared with those of the tea-tree of China, though we made several decoctions which afforded us refreshing beverages. On the borders of the small lake Kallolo had discovered a large quantity of wild rice, on which numberless waterfowl fed. We collected an ample supply of the seed, and found it very useful in lieu of other farinaceous food. After it had been well stewed, it assisted to fricassee macaws, parrots, and monkeys, which formed our staple diet. We had long got over anything like squeamishness as to what we ate; and it was evident that our food agreed with us, for we were all as fat and strong as we could desire--indeed, accustomed as we had become to the life we were leading, no one complained of hardships or scanty fare. We certainly had to work for our subsistence, and the food did not exactly drop into our mouths; but we were sure to get it by exerting ourselves. We caught two more tapirs in our pitfall; but being older than the first, they showed no inclination to become domesticated, so we were compelled to kill them, and to cut up and dry their flesh--which, though rather tough, was not otherwise unpalatable. Notwithstanding the quantity around him, Tim often sighed for a good fat pig. "Sure, there's nothing like pork after all; and I wish we could have two or three fat grunters to keep happy and contented in the corner of our hut, just as they may be seen in many cabins in the `ould country,'" he exclaimed one day. "They would remind us of home more than anything else." I recollected Tim's remark when, shortly afterwards, he came rushing in from the direction of our pitfall, exclaiming as he approached,--"Hurrah! hurrah!--a real `beautiful pig' has been caught; but the baste looked as if his mind was so ill at ease, that I thought it prudent not to slip down and help him out; so, if anyone will come and assist me, sure we'll soon make the beginning of a piggery." Uncle Paul, Sambo, and I, carrying some rope between us, hastened off to get out the pig. On reaching the pitfall, Uncle Paul, looking down, exclaimed,--"It was well, Tim, that you did not jump in to help out your friend. Just see his mouth!" And poking the end of his stick in front of the creature's nose, it exhibited a pair of tusks sharp as lancets. "It is a pig, certainly, but very unlike the pig of northern lands," he observed. "This creature is a peccary; and though it is of no great size, it is one of the most savage little animals in existence. A herd of them will run down a jaguar; and though he may slay a few with his paws, they will soon worry him to death with their sharp tusks, having nothing like fear in their composition. We will take the precaution of securing it before we haul it out, or it will be sure to do some of us an injury." A noose having been formed, it was slipped over the peccary's head, and the animal was hauled-out and quickly despatched. Uncle Paul then showed us a gland on the hinder part of the back, which he carefully cut out, remarking that unless this was done it would impart a disagreeable flavour to the rest of the meat. Tim and Sambo, after having secured it to the end of a long stick, carried it in triumph to the settlement. We found the meat excellent; and what we could not eat was smoked and laid by for the voyage. Tim was still dissatisfied at not being able to tame a few peccaries to keep in his hut. He had sallied forth at daybreak one morning, bow in hand, in search of game, promising to be back at breakfast. When breakfast-time came, however, Tim did not appear. Arthur and I waited for an hour or more, till we became somewhat anxious about our faithful follower, and at last determined to go in search of him. We had noted the direction he had taken, and hoped, therefore, to get upon his track. We first visited the pitfall. It was empty; but we caught sight of some recently broken twigs some way beyond, which showed that he had gone further. On we went, therefore, shooting several birds which came in our way. We were pushing on, when we heard a voice which we knew to be Tim's shouting out, "Up a tree! up a tree, gentlemen--for your lives!" We looked round. Fortunately one was near, the branches of which enabled us, without difficulty, to climb up it. At that instant we caught sight of several dozen black-skinned creatures rushing towards us. Up the tree we sprang; and scarcely had we got a few feet from the ground when a whole herd of peccaries came rushing towards us, ploughing up the ground with their tusks, and exhibiting other signs of rage. No sooner had we seated ourselves on a bough than we made out Tim a little way off, perched in the same manner upon another tree. It was pretty clear that he had been besieged by the herd, as we now were. We shouted to him, inquiring how long he had been there. "For the last two hours or more," was his answer. "I was just walking through the forest on my way home when these terrible little bastes caught sight of me; and if I had not sprung up this tree like lightning, they would have dug their sharp tusks into my legs. Though I have shot every arrow I had at my back, and have killed half a score of them, nothing I could do would make them go away; and by my faith, too, the brutes seem determined to starve us out." This was not pleasant, as we might expect to be treed in the same manner. We determined, however, to do what we could to put the peccaries to flight, and began shooting away; taking good aim, that we might not uselessly expend our arrows. The little brutes kept rushing about below us, now and then charging against the trunk of the tree, and then looking up at us with their wicked eyes, evidently wishing that we might slip and tumble down among them. "A pretty condition we should be in if we did so," I remarked to Arthur. "Take care what you are about, then," he answered. "Keep your feet firmly fixed on the branch below you before you shoot." We were standing up on one branch, leaning against another some way above it,--a good situation for our purpose. We had killed nearly a dozen peccaries; still the animals seemed totally to disregard the falling of their companions, and rushed about as fiercely as at first. We at length began to fear that they would remain till we were starved, for we had already expended the greater number of our arrows. Arthur at last advised that we should stop shooting, in the hope that, from some cause or other, the peccaries would raise the siege and take their departure. "Even could we cut up the slaughtered animals, we could not carry home a quarter of them, and it is evidently useless to shoot more of them," he observed. Arthur had turned round to speak to Tim, when I heard him whisper, "See, see! look at that creature!" Casting my eyes in the direction in which he pointed, I beheld a large jaguar stealing cautiously along towards one of the peccaries which lay wounded on the ground. We kept perfectly silent, as we hoped the jaguar would not only carry off the dying peccary, but a few of its living companions. The loud squeaks which the poor wounded peccary set up on finding itself in the claws of the savage jaguar, attracted the attention of the whole herd; but instead of running away, they rushed simultaneously towards him. He saw them coming, and lifting his victim in his jaws, he bounded off. They were not, however, to be disappointed of their revenge, and away they all started in chase. We watched them with no small interest, expecting, however, that when they found they could not overtake the jaguar they would quickly return and again lay siege to us. Greatly to our satisfaction, however, on they went. "Now is our time; let us run for it!" exclaimed Arthur, shouting to Tim, who speedily descended from the tree. "Sure, you would not be after leaving such a fine supply of good pork," said Tim, drawing his knife. "If the peccaries come back, we must just slip up our trees again; and as for the jaguar, there's little chance of his showing his nose here, for the brutes will soon kill him, if he has not got a fast pair of heels of his own." As there appeared little probability of the peccaries returning, we followed Tim's advice, and began cutting up the animals, so as to secure the best joints from each. We soon had three as heavy loads of meat as we could carry; and placing them on our shoulders, we set off towards the settlement looking back, every now and then to ascertain if we were followed. We hastened along as fast as we could, as we wished not only to escape from the living peccaries, but to bring our friends to carry off a further supply of the slaughtered meat. From some cause or other we were not pursued, and arrived safely at the settlement. Our friends immediately armed themselves with bows and arrows and spears, and got ready to return with us. Kallolo merely took his blowpipe; and giving a peculiar smile, he observed,--"If the creatures will kindly come near me, I will take good care that not one of them gets away." However, on reaching the spot where we had left the slaughtered peccaries no living ones were to be seen, nor did it appear that the jaguar had come back for any of them; so we concluded that he had either been killed, that the savage little brutes had driven him to a distance, or that he had crossed a piece of water, into which they themselves will never willingly enter. Several vultures and eagles had, however, collected to enjoy the feast we had prepared for them, while two armadillos and numerous insects had already attacked the carcasses. We found that several of those we had last killed were untouched, and each of us was able to carry back a heavy load of joints, to turn into hams and bacon in our smoking-house. We had now, we found after taking stock of our provisions, a supply sufficient to last for our voyage to Stabroek, even though it might prove longer than we calculated on. We had jars of clay and cuja-nuts to carry our stock of water, of which we did not require much, as we should not be compelled to use it till we got out of the river. As the earthen jars, however, were liable to be broken, Uncle Paul determined to manufacture a number of indiarubber bottles. They might possibly impart an unpleasant odour to the water, but would not render it unwholesome; and this supply would serve in case the rest should be exhausted. For this purpose he made a number of clay moulds, with round sticks for the mouths, and baked them slightly. He then covered the moulds to a sufficient thickness with the seringa juice, and dried them in the smoke as our shoes had been. The moulds were easily broken; and the pieces being taken out, the indiarubber bottles were completed, only requiring corks and pieces of string to make them suitable for our object. We were thus supplied with the chief means of supporting existence during our voyage. We had dried fish and flesh, nuts and preserved fruit, rice and the farinaceous produce of the palm-tree. We were more indebted to various species of palm than to any other tree, both for fruit, and flour to supply the place of wheat. In a spot once apparently inhabited by Indians, but long since abandoned, were several peach-palms,--tall and elegant trees, which rose to the height of sixty feet, and were perfectly straight. Each tree bore several bunches of fruit, a single bunch being as much as the strongest of our party could carry. The fruit takes its name from the colour of the peach, not from its flavour or nature, for it is dry and mealy, and we agreed, when tasting it, that it was like a mixture of chestnuts and cheese. On boiling the fruit it became nearly as mealy as a potato. Each fruit was about the size of a large peach. We found it very nutritious; and eight or ten were as much as one of us could eat at a meal. The appearance of the tree is very beautiful, owing to the rich colour of the foliage. The leaves are green, evenly arched over and forming a deep green vault, with the heavy clusters of ripe red fruit hanging beneath it. We were attracted to the spot by seeing numerous vultures hovering over it; and on reaching the tree we found that they had come not to devour a carcass beneath, as we had supposed, but to feed on the fruit. Another palm, the assai, afforded us an abundance of berries, about the size of a cranberry, and of a dark brown colour. From it we manufactured a refreshing beverage. The trunk is perfectly smooth, and the fruit grows in heavy clusters just below the long leaves which crown its summit. At first we thought it would be impossible to reach them, but Maco showed us how they were to be obtained. Binding his feet together by a strip of palm-leaves above his instep, he pressed his knees against the trunk, and quickly ascended the polished stem, till he reached the fruit at the summit. Although we could generally obtain as much game as we required in the immediate neighbourhood of the settlement, we occasionally made long excursions, for the purpose of seeking for a variety. I had one day accompanied Kallolo further to the north, along the shore of the lake, than we had hitherto gone. As we were pushing our way through the forest, we unexpectedly came upon the shores of a small lake, united, as we afterwards discovered, with several other lakes of a similar size and appearance. As we stood there, concealed by the trees which thickly covered its banks, Kallolo whispered to me, "Don't move or make the slightest sound, and we will quickly capture a bird which will be highly prized by our friends." He pointed, as he spoke, to the water, on which I observed a number of enormous circular leaves floating, like vast dishes, their edges turned up all round, and with beautiful flowers rising amidst them. But what was more surprising than the leaves, was to see a large bird with long legs calmly walking over them, and, as far as I could judge, scarcely making them sink in the slightest degree in the water. Kallolo, telling me to remain quiet, threw off his clothes, and having covered his head with a bunch of grass which he hastily plucked from the bank, he made his way amid the water towards the bird; which, standing on a leaf, was engaged in picking up aquatic insects floating by, and uttering a low-sounding "cluck, cluck" at short intervals. When the bird turned towards Kallolo, he immediately stopped; then on he went again, till he got close behind it, when, suddenly darting out his hand, he seized it by its long legs and drew it quickly under water. The bird struggled in vain to free itself, and Kallolo brought it to me in triumph. It was, he told me, called the oven-bird, because it walks over those enormous leaves shaped like the pans used for baking the mandioca. I at once recognised it as the jacana. It had black plumage, with a greenish gloss; its legs were very long and slight, as were its toes and claws, especially the hind toe. The body, though it appeared large, was of a singularly light construction, so that it weighs but little when pressing on the floating leaves. Indeed, on measuring it we found that it was about ten inches long; the beak, of an orange colour, being upwards of an inch in length. We carried home our captive; but though we were anxious to keep it and tame it, it died in a few days, probably from being unable to obtain the food to which it was accustomed. The day after this adventure I was in the woods, when I saw the grass close to me move; I started back, supposing that a serpent was crossing my path, and might spring on me. I stood prepared with my stick to strike it without any sensation of fear; indeed, no snakes need be dreaded by persons of good nerve and correct eye, if seen in time. I watched the spot, when, instead of a snake, a land-tortoise came creeping along. I immediately pounced upon it, and carried it off. It weighed, I judged, about twenty pounds. Sambo was well-pleased at seeing it. "This is better food than any we have yet found!" he exclaimed. "If we can catch a few more, we shall have enough fresh provisions during the voyage, for they will live a long time without eating." As it was possible that more might be found in the same spot, Sambo and Maco set off with me to hunt for them. We were more successful than we expected, for we had fallen, it appeared, on a colony of the creatures; and in a short time we captured six, of about the same size as the first. Maco said that, as they seldom move far from home, we should probably catch many more. We returned home with a tortoise under each arm; and we had now to consider how they were to be kept. They would not remain quietly on their backs, as turtle are wont to do; for immediately they were put in that position they managed to turn over, and began to crawl away. It was therefore settled that we should build a pen in which to confine them till we were ready to sail. We set to work at once, having in the meantime secured ropes round their bodies, and tethered them to sticks; and before night we had put up a pen of sufficient size to contain as many as we were likely to catch. As they cannot climb, the palings were of no great height; while, as the creatures require a good-sized hole to get through, we were able to put the stakes some distance apart. We at once turned in our tortoises, and gave them various fruits, all of which they ate willingly. The tortoises made us think of turtle. Though turtle flesh is not considered by many people to equal that of the tortoise, it was very desirable that we should obtain some, as they also can be preserved a long time on board ship. It was now about the time when they come on shore to lay their eggs, so we agreed to make an excursion along the borders of the lake, in the hope of finding some sandy beach which they might have chosen for that object. As it was a matter of importance, Uncle Paul determined to go himself on the smaller raft, taking Sambo, Kallolo, and me with him. We started at daybreak, provisioned for three days; but as Kallolo carried his blowpipe, and we our bows and arrows, with our long pointed sticks for spears, and some fishing-lines, we could obtain more food should we require it. We kept along the western shore of the lake towards the north, passing on our way several inlets, which led, we had no doubt, to other lakes in the interior, similar to the one in which we had caught the jacana. After we had gone some distance, no sandy beach appearing in which turtle were likely to lay their eggs, we began to despair of obtaining our object. Still Uncle Paul determined to go further. He expressed his regret that we had not built a canoe in the first instance. We might then have navigated the shores of the lake to a considerable distance; and it would also have served us far better than the raft for fishing. However, as it would have occupied not only our time, but engaged the tools which were required for building the vessel, it had not been considered advisable to attempt the construction of one. The wind being from the south, we glided calmly on before it. Sometimes, when the wind was fresh, we made good way; at others, when it fell, we had again to take to our paddles. We were thus moving forward, when Kallolo espied an object floating on the surface of the water. "Paddle slowly!" he said; "and make as little noise as possible. There is a sleeping turtle; and though we cannot catch it alive, we will have it notwithstanding." Saying this, he got his bow ready, with one of several large arrows which he had formed fixed in it. We had cautiously approached; when, standing up, he shot his arrow into the air, which formed a curve and came down perpendicularly on the shell of the turtle. "Paddle up rapidly!" he exclaimed. We did as he directed, but just as we got near it the turtle disappeared beneath the surface. The shaft of the arrow, however, remaining above it, Kallolo sprang into the water and caught it just as it was sinking, and towed it alongside. Passing a rope round the body of the turtle, we next hauled it on board, when Kallolo, breaking off the shaft, turned the animal on its back. It was alive, but from the weak way in which it moved its legs it was evident that life was ebbing fast. We should, at all events, not return empty-handed. We were at last thinking of putting about, when Uncle Paul, who was taking another look along the shore, announced that he saw just such a beach as we were in search of. We at once with renewed vigour paddled towards it, and as we drew nearer he declared his belief that we should find it frequented by turtle. Instead of landing on the beach, however, we paddled in on one side, and there saw an open space which would afford us camping-ground. As turtles are timid creatures, and will not lay their eggs on ground disturbed by the footsteps of their human or other foes, it was important not to walk over the ground until they had come on shore. This they do during the night, though they do not return to the water till after sunrise. We built a hut of boughs, and lighting a fire, cooked our provisions; then, having eaten our supper, we lay down to rest, one of us keeping watch while the rest slept. Uncle Paul, who had chosen the morning watch, called us just before daylight. We made our way along the shore, cautiously approaching the beach, on which, to our infinite satisfaction, we saw a number of dark objects crawling slowly along. We now hurried forward--Uncle Paul and Kallolo taking one side, Tim and I the other--and were soon among the turtle, which, with all the strength we could exert, we rapidly turned over on their backs. On seeing us, the creatures began to crawl away towards the water; but we were too quick for many of them, and in a short time had, between us, turned over twenty. There they lay, utterly helpless and at our mercy. But what to do with them, was the first question. We could not carry them all on the raft, and if we left them, they would certainly become the prey of jaguars or alligators, and probably vultures and eagles. Indeed, the poor turtle finds, from its birth to the day of its death, innumerable enemies ready to prey on it. I, as a joke, recommended harnessing them, and letting them tow us; but Sambo observed gravely that, as we could not guide them, they were very likely to carry us off in exactly the opposite direction to that we wished to go. As the raft, we calculated, could only carry six, we at last determined to build a pen in which to leave them, on their backs, and to cover it over with boughs, so as to protect them from the attacks of any of the foes I have mentioned. As it was only necessary to cut sticks for the purpose four or five feet long, we soon had enough prepared, with a number of the heaviest boughs we could manage to bring to the spot. We then dragged our captives to the pen, and covered them up. People in general do not take this precaution, but then they always leave some one to watch the turned turtles till they can carry them away. Placing the others on the raft, in high spirits we commenced our return voyage. We met with no accident by the way, and, of course, were heartily welcomed. While we set off again, the rest of the party commenced building a pen on the shore of the lake, by driving in sticks, so as to enclose a semicircular piece of water, in which the turtles might live at their ease. And on this occasion we carried with us a number of baskets, to fill with turtles' eggs. On reaching the spot where we had left our turtles, we found that our precautions had not been in vain. An alligator had apparently poked his nose against the sticks, but had been unable to uproot them; and one or more jaguars had certainly visited the spot, but had not succeeded in breaking through the thick roof. During the previous night more turtle had, we found, visited the spot, and we very speedily filled our baskets with eggs. We had also brought with us a large trough and several clay jars. We broke a considerable number of eggs into the trough, filling it to the brim. In a short time a rich oil rose to the surface. This we skimmed off and put into the jars; repeating the process till all our jars were full. We had thus a good supply of excellent oil, for any purpose for which it might be required. Then, somewhat heavily laden, we returned homewards. "Well done, my friends! you have amply provisioned the _Good Hope_; and, please Heaven, we will in a few days get her off the stocks and ready for rigging!" exclaimed the skipper. "That will not take long; and we may then, before the rain sets in, bid farewell to this place, which we shall ever remember with affection for the happy home it has afforded us for so many months." We were now more busy than ever. The last planks were put on. Our craft was completely decked over, and a cabin raised in the afterpart for Marian and my father. We had manufactured an ample supply of sailcloth, which, with the addition of the sail saved from the old craft, would be sufficient. Cordage and blocks had been made, and the masts and spars were already put up. The fibres of several plants served as oakum for caulking the planks; and two or three resinous trees afforded pitch for the seams, as also for paying over the outside. As we had no paint, the interior was covered over with a varnish which quickly became hard. The day for the launch was at last fixed. We had no gay-coloured flags, but Sambo had preserved a red handkerchief, which was hoisted to the head of the mainmast, and waved proudly in the breeze. The sky was bright, the wind light and balmy. The shores were then knocked away; and, with loud cheers, and prayers that the _Good Hope_ might have a prosperous voyage, we saw her glide gently into the waters of the lake, on which she sat, as Peter observed, like a wild duck ready to take wing. We had formed a rough pier with the trunks of two large trees, alongside of which she was hauled, for the greater facility of carrying her rigging and spars aboard. The rafts were drawn up on the other side for the same purpose--the last service they were likely to render us. Though we had an abundance of substantial provisions, we required for our daily wants a supply of fruit and vegetables, as also some wildfowl and other birds. For the purpose of obtaining them, Kallolo and I set out one morning, each of us carrying a large basket on our back; he with his blowpipe in his hand, and I with my bow in mine, and our pointed sticks, without which we never went out. We took the way towards the small lakes, where we were certain to find birds, and probably a variety of fruits, as so bountifully is that land supplied by nature, that some fruits are found in perfection all the year round, though we had to go further than usual to obtain them. We reached the lake where Kallolo had caught the jacana; and skirting its shore, we passed along a narrow causeway which separated it from another lake of smaller dimensions. We were still proceeding, when Kallolo stopped me, and pointed to a thin column of smoke which arose at some distance, apparently from a fire kindled close to the shore. "There must be natives there," he whispered; "but whether they are likely to prove friends or foes, I cannot say till I have got a sight of them. Stop here while I wade into the lake; I see by the character of the water-plants that it is shallow, and by keeping behind the bushes I may observe them without being seen myself." He did as he proposed, and, while I remained hidden behind the bushes, made his way, now swimming, now wading, towards the opening where he had seen the smoke. I watched him anxiously. He stopped, at length, resting his hand on a fallen trunk, and looking out eagerly before him; while I kept an arrow fixed in my bow, ready to shoot should the strangers discover him. Slowly sinking down, so as the more effectually to conceal himself, he made his way towards where I anxiously awaited his return. I saw by the caution he used that he was not satisfied. "We must hurry away from hence," he whispered. "I saw a large number of people; and, from their paint and the weapons they carry, I have no doubt that they are out on a warlike expedition. They probably are not aware that we are in the neighbourhood, and they may pass by without discovering us; but if they do so, and find how few we are in number, they may be tempted to attack us, under the belief that we possess such articles as they value." Kallolo said this as we hurried away. We were soon out of sight of the strangers, but he considered it imprudent to remain in their vicinity; and although we had collected only a portion of the fruit for which we had come, and killed but a few birds, we hurried back to the village. The account we gave made everyone more anxious than ever to get the vessel ready for sea without delay, so that, should the natives attack us, we might, as we had no adequate means of defence, hurry on board and push off into the lake, even though the rigging of the craft was not complete. All hands therefore worked away till darkness put an end to our labours. Kallolo and Maco then volunteered to go out as scouts, to ascertain if the strangers were approaching, that we might not be taken by surprise. The night, however, passed away as usual; and next morning, as soon as daylight returned we were all on foot--the seamen of the party engaged in rigging the vessel, while the rest of us carried provisions on board. Marian took her share in all our labours, as she had done in manufacturing the sails, the matting for making the baskets, and even the ropes, and in preparing the provisions. We were all, indeed, as busy as ants, going backwards and forwards from the storehouse to the vessel. The last of the provisions carried on board were the turtles and tortoises. The former were laid on their backs on deck, covered with a piece of matting; and the latter were shut up in a box formed for them in the hold. Another day came to an end, and the Indians, as before, went out to act the part of scouts. On their return they brought the intelligence that the strangers had kept on the other side of the lake, and would, they supposed, pass at a distance from the settlement. However, as we could not be certain that this would be the case, it was agreed that it would be wise to keep a sharp lookout as long as we remained on shore. We had now only to bend the sails. All who were required were engaged in the work, while the rest were employed in conveying on board the last remaining articles. Polo, who, never having been at sea, was the least handy on board, had gone a short distance from the huts to shoot some parrots from a flock which frequented the neighbourhood, and which had already supplied us with several of their number. They were to be cooked, with the flesh of one of the turtles, before we embarked, as our culinary appliances on board were limited. We had contrived a stove made of clay, but, as it was of small dimensions, it would only serve for boiling our kettle and preparing small dishes. I was assisting Marian to pack up some food for her favourites, which were standing around her: the ara parrot perched on her shoulder, the curassow running round and picking up the grain which I let drop, while Quacko was seated on the roof of her hut, munching a nut. My father and Arthur were engaged in some other way; and Tim had just got a load on his shoulders, when, hearing a shout, we looked round and saw Polo running at full speed towards us. "Fly! fly! Hasten, my masters; escape for your lives!" he exclaimed in eager tones. "The enemy have caught sight of me, and are following. There are hundreds of them; and they will destroy us all, if they catch us!" Though I was at first inclined to believe that there could scarcely be so much cause for Polo's alarm, yet I saw that my father and Arthur considered the matter in a serious light. "Guy, my boy, go at once on board with Marian. Arthur and I will follow," cried my father. Captain van Dunk, hearing Polo's shouts, inquired what was the matter. Polo repeated what he had said to us. "We will shove off at once, then," exclaimed the skipper. "If the people approaching prove friendly, we can return and get whatever remains. As prudent people, we should not longer delay." I took Marian's hand, and followed by our feathered pets and a couple of young monkeys in addition to Quacko, we hastened along the stage to the _Good Hope_. Having seen her safe on board, I was about to return and assist in bringing the few things which remained, when I caught sight of a number of dusky forms in the distance, a bristling array of bows and spears being visible above their heads. The captain shouted to my father and the rest to hasten their steps, while those on board got out some long poles prepared for impelling the vessel when in shallow water. The shouts of the savages rang through the forest. It was very evident that we had been discovered, and that they intended to attack us. My father and Arthur came hurrying to the beach; Maco came next, bearing a load; and Tim, who seemed to consider it a duty to remain till the last for the defence of his master, brought up the rear. There was no time to be lost. The captain and Peter stretched out their hands to help them on board; and no sooner had Tim leaped on the deck than the last warp was cast off, and the _Good Hope_ began to move into deep water. At that moment our poor tapir, which had been feeding at a safe distance, came trotting down to the beach. He could not under any circumstances have been taken on board, as from his bulk and weight he would have been too much in the way; but we were very sorry to leave him behind, especially when we saw him wading into the lake till his head alone appeared above water. Our attention, however, was occupied in watching the savages, who now, in overwhelming numbers, came rushing into the midst of our little village. On finding that we had escaped, they hurried down to the beach, uttering loud shrieks and cries, and ordering us to return; while some, drawing their bows, shot their arrows towards us. This, of course, increased our anxiety to escape from them; so the oars were got out and we pulled lustily away, till a light breeze getting up, we hoisted our sail, and the _Good Hope_ began to glide rapidly across the smooth waters of the lake. On looking back we saw the natives shooting their arrows towards us, and frantically waving their spears; while behind them rose a volume of smoke above the bright flames which were consuming our little village. I could not help fearing that they had vented their rage on the poor tapir, which could scarcely have had time to regain the shore before they reached it. Our huts, too, must have been completely consumed; but as we stood across the lake a point of land shut out for ever our little settlement from our eyes. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. OUR PETS--THE GALE--THE SKIPPER'S VEXATION--ALARMING INTELLIGENCE--THE CHASE--OUR PURSUERS ON SHORE--WE REACH STABROEK--WELCOME INTELLIGENCE-- OUR RETURN TO TRINIDAD--MY FATHER'S DEATH--CONCLUSION. We glided slowly across the lake during the night, and at early dawn came in sight of the entrance of a broad passage, which our good captain believed would lead us through a chain of lakes into the river by which we had come. The wind favoured us, and either the captain or his mate were continually sounding with long poles, to avoid the risk of running on any hidden sandbank which might lie in our course. The appearance of the banks was greatly changed: long grass and shrubs grew on spots before concealed by water; small islands covered with vegetation were seen where we had supposed no land existed. Navigation, therefore, was extremely difficult, and the greatest caution was necessary to escape running on shore. Still, the depth of water was considerable, so that we had no fear of being stopped by impassable sandbanks or shoals. In several places which had before been overspread by the water we saw native huts, with the inhabitants--who gazed at us with astonishment as we passed--collected round them. Some followed us in canoes, but ignorant that we were not possessed of firearms, they kept at a distance. Occasionally a few Indians came off to trade, bringing tortoises and fruit; but as we would not allow them on board, they did not discover our defenceless condition; and we took good care to hide our bows and arrows, which would have made them suspect that we had no firearms. We were somewhat closely packed on board the little vessel, what with twelve human beings, three monkeys, the curassow, the macaw, two parrots and three parakeets--one with a yellow top-knot, who, from his manners, showed that he considered himself the chief of the party, and deserving of the most attention; then there were ten turtles and a number of tortoises. The turtles, however, were stowed in the hold, and served as ballast. Quacko and the parrots afforded us constant amusement. The former generally took up his seat on the roof of the cabin, in front of the parrots, whose perches were fixed upon it. Arthur, Marian, and I took infinite pains to improve their manners and teach them all sort of tricks, so that they might be fit, as Marian observed, to appear in civilised society. Though we had been very happy during our long sojourn in the wilds of the Orinoco, the elders of the party especially looked forward with satisfaction to reaching a place where we could live without fear of attack from savages, anacondas, or wild beasts, and where we could hear what was going on in the world. Marian and I agreed, however, that we should have been very happy to have remained on at our settlement as long as our friends liked to stay. We now and then, I must confess, had some difficulty in keeping our pets in order. They had got on very well on shore, but in the close contact to which they were subjected on board their tempers were somewhat tried, and Uncle Paul suggested that we should take immediate steps for the setting up of family government. Jack, the macaw, though he had been placed on the highest perch as a post of honour, was continually climbing down to quarrel with the parrots, and creating a fearful hubbub with his hoarse screaming; while the parrots fought desperately over their food. One day they and the macaw, while wrangling together, in the blindness of their anger tumbled overboard; and had not Sambo jumped into the water and hauled them out, they would have all three been drowned, or fallen into the maw of some ravenous alligator. The parakeets were as quarrelsome as their larger brethren--yellow-top considered himself quite as good as a dozen green ones; while they, with their loud screeches, created such a disturbance that the skipper sometimes threatened to send them on shore, where they might settle their disputes by themselves. Sometimes the three parakeets would band together, and trotting up and down would insult the parrots. When a flock of their relatives passed over the vessel, the whole feathered community would set up so terrific a scream, that it might have been heard by every bird within the circuit of a mile. The curassow was the best behaved of the party. When her meals were over she would sit for hours together at Marian's feet, who was diligently endeavouring to repair some of her worn-out garments, so as to appear respectable on her arrival. Crass made herself very useful, also, in eating up the flies and other insects which came on board. At length we reached the main stream of the Orinoco, down which we glided rapidly with the current. We were not, however, destined to perform our voyage without further adventures. The weather, hitherto fine, suddenly changed, and a strong wind got up, which blew in our teeth. It increased to a gale, which sorely tried the little craft, and threatened to tear our sails into ribbons. Happily a deep bay, or the mouth of a river or igarape, appeared on our starboard hand; and running into it, we found shelter beneath a lofty bank, where there was deep water close to the shore. Recollecting our former escape, we could not help fearing that, should the wind change, we might meet with a similar accident. We had, I should have said, an anchor made of very heavy, hard wood, weighted with stones bound on by stout ropes. It was, as may be supposed, an unwieldy and ugly affair; and, as we could not have carried another, we had to be very careful not to lose it. The wind howled and the tall trees waved above our heads, but we lay secure; the only risk being from some giant of the forest, which, uprooted, might come crashing down upon our deck, or from some big limb torn off. But as there was not much probability of such an occurrence, we remained where we were, hoping that it might not happen. As the gale gave no signs of abating, our three Indians swam on shore, Kallolo with his blowpipe, and the other two with their bows, to kill some game. After safely landing, they were soon lost to sight amid the trees. The skipper would allow no one else to go. "It will not be wise to be left shorthanded, in case anything should happen," he observed. "We know not what may occur." As we saw no signs of inhabitants, we did not expect to be visited either by friends or foes; still, had the latter appeared, they might have been tempted to come on board from seeing but few people on the vessel's deck. Night came on, and the Indians not having returned, we began at length to grow anxious about them. The gale had not abated, and we thought that, knowing we should not move, they had been induced to go further than they had intended. They would not desert us--of that we were very sure; indeed, both Kallolo and Maco had their families residing in the neighbourhood of Stabroek, and were anxious to return to them. Half of our party kept watch at night, while the rest lay down, ready to start up in a moment. Towards morning the wind began to decrease, and the skipper did not conceal his vexation at the non-appearance of the Indians. "If the wind becomes fair, we must sail and leave them behind," he exclaimed. "They ought to have known better than to go so far away." Uncle Paul, however, tried to excuse them, and expressed his belief that they would not intentionally have delayed returning. "The wind has not yet gone down or changed," he said; "and as we cannot possibly sail, Kallolo, who knows this, sees that it is not absolutely necessary to return. Let us wait patiently; they will come back before long." The sun arose; the clouds dispersed, but still the wind blew against us. After an hour or more had passed, however, on looking out we perceived that the tree-tops no longer waved; and on glancing across the river we found that its surface, hitherto broken into foaming waves, had become perfectly calm. "The wind is about to change, and we ought to have been out of this place," exclaimed the skipper. "We must get up the anchor and row off into the channel. The fellows will have a longer swim, that's all." "You would not desert them, surely," said Uncle Paul. "Well, I should be sorry to do so. We will wait a bit, and see if they come. I hope nothing has happened to the poor men," said the kind-hearted skipper, who had never really intended to leave the Indians behind, and whose anger had now given way to anxiety on their account. He even proposed sending Sambo on shore to try and discover what had become of them; but Uncle Paul dissuaded him from this, as, had they been taken prisoners, or got into any other difficulty, the black would run a great risk of sharing their fate. Still we delayed. At last the skipper, with a sigh, exclaimed, "We must get up the anchor, Peter; the poor fellows would have come back before this if they were coming at all." Uncle Paul no longer made any objections. We shortened in the cable, but it required all our strength to haul up the ponderous anchor. We had managed to lift it out of its oozy bed, when we heard a shout, and looking up we saw the three natives rushing through the forest. Without stopping for a moment they dashed into the water. As they swam off they called out to us to heave them ropes. They were quickly alongside; and even before they had scrambled on board Kallolo cried out, "Get under way! get under way! No time to be lost!" "That's just what we were about to do," said the skipper; "but why, after keeping us so long, are you in so great a hurry?" "We could not help the delay; but there's no time to be lost. We will tell you all about it presently. Get under way! get under way!" repeated Kallolo. As he spoke, he and his companions sprang forward to assist in hoisting up and securing the anchor. The oars were then got out, and the vessel's head was so directed that she might get round the point of land which had served to shelter us. The sails were in the meantime loosed, so as to sheet home as soon as they filled. Kallolo and the other Indians were pulling so lustily at the oars, that they had no time to tell us what had happened; but I saw them looking anxiously up the river. As we got out into the stream, clear of the long point which had hitherto concealed the upper part of the river from our view, we saw a large vessel under all sail standing down towards us. Her appearance was sufficient to account for their alarm. There could be no doubt that she was Spanish, and that, should she overtake us, we should be captured and carried to their settlement of Angostura; where we should certainly be thrown into prison, and very probably lose our lives. As might be supposed, we all pulled away with redoubled efforts, till we made the long oars crack. Fortunately the Spaniard had but little wind, and we were well able to keep ahead of her; but should a breeze come she would probably get it first, and bring it up with her, and too probably overtake us. "Courage, my friends! courage!" exclaimed the brave skipper. "The _Good Hope_ is not captured yet. She will prove no laggard, depend on that, and may have as fast a pair of heels as our enemy." We turned our eyes anxiously at the vessel astern. It was possible that those on board might not suspect who we were, and that she might be only sailing down the river without the intention of chasing us. Still, should she come up with the _Good Hope_, they would certainly send on board and discover that we were foreigners, who had, according to their notions, no business to be in the Orinoco. At length we saw a light wind was playing across the stream, and our sails were rigged out. It came right aft. Away we flew, the canvas of the Spaniard filling at the same time. On and on we sped, but the Spaniard seemed to move through the water fully as fast. Kallolo now told us how, after having had a successful hunt, he and his companions were returning on the previous evening, expecting to get on board before nightfall, when they found themselves on the opposite side of the bay. Suddenly a party of white men, whom they took to be hunters, sprang out on them and made them prisoners. The strangers had seen the _Good Hope_, and had managed to draw from them the information that those on board were English and Dutch. On hearing this, their captors had despatched two of their party up the river, where a Spanish guardacosta lay at anchor. They pretended to be very indifferent as to what had happened; and the Spaniards, who in reality belonged to the vessel, were thrown off their guard. During the night Kallolo and his companions managed to make their escape, and finding no canoe in which to cross the bay, had hastened round by the shore to warn us of our danger. It was now clear that the Spanish vessel was following us with hostile intentions, and that should she overtake us we might suffer the fate we apprehended. But "a stern chase is a long chase," and the _Good Hope_ proved herself a fast little craft. As she drew but a few feet of water, we were able to keep a straight course, whereas the larger vessel had to deviate from hers several times; thus by nightfall we had drawn considerably ahead. On the previous night we had slept but little; this night not one of us closed our eyes. We could just see the lofty sails of the Spaniard gliding after us like some ferocious giant eager for our destruction. The wind increased, and she was evidently making more rapid way. On and on she came. Presently the loud sound of a piece of ordnance boomed through the night air, and the shot splashed into the water close astern of us. "A miss is as good as a mile," said the skipper, who was at the helm, in his usual quiet tone. "We will not give in, though a dozen such popguns as she carries should be fired at us." Another shot came whistling past our quarter, and dropped alongside; a third came, and that fell astern. "We passed over some shallow water just now," said Peter, who was sounding with a pole. "Ah, and the Spaniard too has found out that the water is shallow. See! see! she's on shore!" exclaimed the skipper. As we looked astern we saw that the vessel chasing us had let all her sails fly. On we glided. She grew fainter and fainter, till we could barely distinguish her outline. We all began to breathe more freely. In less than half an hour we could no longer discern her. We stood on, and when the sun rose right ahead no sail was in sight. The weather continued fine, and in a few days the _Good Hope_ was rising buoyantly on the ocean wave, her head directed to the southward. Stabroek was soon reached, and our brave skipper, who was well-known there, introduced us to his friends, to whom he recounted our adventures, and secured us a warm reception. I must not stop to describe our stay at the capital of the then Dutch colony of Guiana. My father at length received news from Trinidad which once more raised his drooping spirits. An enlightened naval officer, Don Josef Chacon, had been appointed governor. He had expelled the dissolute monks, and abolished the Inquisition; besides granting fertile lands to new colonists, assisting them with cattle and implements of husbandry, and providing for the free exercise of mercantile affairs. We might return in safety. We accordingly forthwith embarked on board a vessel commanded by our good friend Captain van Dunk, and arrived safely in the colony. Doctor Antonio had administered my father's affairs with honesty and wisdom, and at once delivered over his estate to him, refusing to receive more than a very moderate recompense for the services he had rendered. Our affairs flourished, but my father never entirely recovered his health. In a very few years he died, and was buried by the side of our poor mother. Uncle Paul had never lost his affection for our beloved Pennsylvania, nor had Arthur or I; so at my father's death we disposed of our property in Trinidad, which realised not only sufficient to pay off all my father's liabilities, but to secure the means for carrying on a mercantile business in our native land. Years have passed since then. The battle for independence has been fought and won. Marian long ago became Arthur's bride; and I have a wife of my own, who, although she has never stirred out of her native land, knows as much about our adventures as we do. Uncle Paul remained a bachelor to the end of his days, with Sambo as his attendant; and faithful Tim, who married a fair daughter of Erin from the "ould country," refusing to quit us, still remains in our service; while Captain van Dunk, who entered the American navy, after ploughing the seas for many a year has settled down on a farm near us, where he ploughs the land with the same energy and perseverance he ever exhibited. Of course, as may be supposed, Marian and I often narrate to our children the adventures we met with "in the wilds of Trinidad and the Orinoco." 
21238	----	The Castaways By Captain Mayne Reid ________________________________________________________________________ This is certainly not a very long book, being about a half to a third of most books of this genre. It starts off with a group of people in a ship's boat, the ship itself having foundered in a typhoon in the Celebes sea. The ship's captain and his two children, the Irish ship's carpenter, and the Malay pilot, are all that finally come to shore, though when the book starts there are a body that has to be thrown overboard, and a seaman who has gone mad and who throws himself there. Thereafter we are introduced to one natural history topic per chapter, be it a plant, a tree or an animal. There are various perils that have to be overcome--the upas tree, an ourang-outang, a tree that drops its fruit like a heavy bomb, a python, and quite a few more. Luckily they don't meet any unfriendly Dyaks during the journey they undertake to get from their landing-place to the town of Bruni, many hundreds of miles away. On the whole they are saved by the courage, knowledge and skill of the co-hero, the Malay pilot, who is one of the best in that region with a blow-pipe. He makes himself one, and it is just as well he did, as you will see. The book is well-written, and as it will only take you five hours or less, you could probably find the time to read it. NH ________________________________________________________________________ THE CASTAWAYS BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID CHAPTER ONE. A CASTAWAY CREW. A boat upon the open sea--no land in sight! It is an open boat, the size and form showing it to be the pinnace of a merchant-ship. It is a tropical sea, with a fiery sun overhead, slowly coursing through a sky of brilliant azure. The boat has neither sail nor mast. There are oars, but no one is using them. They lie athwart the tholes, their blades dipping in the water, with no hand upon the grasp. And yet the boat is not empty. Seven human forms are seen within it,-- six of them living, and one dead. Of the living, four are full-grown men; three of them white, the fourth of an umber-brown, or _bistre_ colour. One of the white men is tall, dark and bearded, with features bespeaking him either a European or an American, though their somewhat elongated shape and classic regularity would lead to a belief that he is the latter, and in all probability a native of New York. And so he is. The features of the white man sitting nearest to him are in strange contrast to his, as is also the colour of his hair and skin. The hair is of a carroty shade, while his complexion, originally reddish, through long exposure to a tropical sun exhibits a yellowish, freckled appearance. The countenance so marked is unmistakably of Milesian type. So it should be, as its owner is an Irishman. The third white man, of thin, lank frame, with face almost beardless, pale cadaverous cheeks, and eyes sunken in their sockets, and there rolling wildly, is one of those nondescripts who may be English, Irish, Scotch, or American. His dress betokens him to be a seaman, a common sailor. He of the brown complexion, with flat spreading nose, high cheek-bones, oblique eyes, and straight, raven black hair, is evidently a native of the East, a Malay. The two other living figures in the boat are those of a boy and girl. They are white. They differ but little in size, and but a year or two in age, the girl being fourteen and the boy about sixteen. There is also a resemblance in their features. They are brother and sister. The fourth white, who lies dead in the bottom of the boat, is also dressed in seaman's clothes, and has evidently in his lifetime been a common sailor. It is but a short time since the breath departed from his body; and judging by the appearance of the others, it may not be long before they will all follow him into another world. How weak and emaciated they appear, as if in the last stage of starvation! The boy and girl lie along the stern-sheets, with wasted arms, embracing each other. The tall man sits on one of the benches, gazing mechanically upon the corpse at his feet; while the other three also have their eyes upon it, though with very different expressions. That upon the face of the Irishman is of sadness, as if for the loss of an old shipmate; the Malay looks on with the impassive tranquillity peculiar to his race; while in the sunken orbs of the nondescript can be detected a look that speaks of a horrible craving--the craving of cannibalism. The scene described, and the circumstances which have led to it, call for explanation. It is easily given. The tall dark-bearded man is Captain Robert Redwood, the skipper of an American merchant-vessel, for some time trading among the islands of the Indian Archipelago. The Irishman is his ship-carpenter, the Malay his pilot, while the others are two common sailors of his crew. The boy and girl are his children, who, having no mother or near relatives at home, have been brought along with him on his trading voyage to the Eastern Isles. The vessel passing from Manilla, in the Philippines, to the Dutch settlement of Macassar, in the island of Celebes, has been caught in a _typhoon_ and swamped near the middle of the Celebes Sea; her crew have escaped in a boat--the pinnace--but saved from death by drowning only to find, most of them, the same watery grave after long-procrastinated suffering from thirst, from hunger, from all the agonies of starvation. One after another have they succumbed, and been thrown overboard, until the survivors are only six in number. And these are but skeletons, each looking as if another day, or even another hour, might terminate his wretched existence. It may seem strange that the youthful pair in the stern-sheets, still but tender children, and the girl more especially, should have withstood the terrible suffering beyond a period possible to many strong men, tough sailors every one of them. But it is not so strange after all, or rather after knowing that, in the struggle with starvation, youth always proves itself superior to age, and tender childhood will live on where manhood gives way to the weakness of inanition. That Captain Redwood is himself one of the strongest of the survivors may be due partly to the fact of his having a higher organism than that of his ship-comrades. But, no doubt, he is also sustained by the presence of the two children, his affection for them and fear for their fate warding off despair, and so strengthening within him the principle of vitality. If affection has aught to do with preserving life, it is strong enough in the Irishman to account also for the preservation of his; for although but the carpenter in Captain Redwood's ship, he regards the captain with a feeling almost fraternal. He had been one of his oldest and steadiest hands, and long service has led to a fast friendship between him and his old skipper. On the part of the Irishman, this feeling is extended to the youthful couple who recline, with clasped hands, along the sternmost seat of the pinnace. As for the Malay, thirst and hunger have also made their marks upon him; but not as with those of Occidental race. It may be that his bronze skin does not show so plainly the pallor of suffering; but, at all events, he still looks lithe and life-like, supple and sinewy, as if he could yet take a spell at the oar, and keep alive as long as skin and bone held together. If all are destined to die in that open boat, he will certainly be the last. He with the hollow eyes looks as if he would be the first. Down upon this wretched group, a picture of misery itself, shines the hot sun of the tropics; around it, far as eye could reach, extends the calm sea, glassed, and glancing back his lays, as though they were reflected from a sheet of liquid fire; beneath them gleams a second firmament through the pellucid water, a sky peopled with strange forms that are not birds: more like are they to dragons; for among them can be seen the horrid form of the devil-fish, and the still more hideous figure of the hammer-headed shark. And alone is that boat above them, seemingly suspended in the air, and only separated from these dreadful monsters by a few feet of clear water, through which they can dart with the speed of electricity. Alone, with no land in sight, no ship or sail, no other boat--nothing that can give them a hope. All bright above, around, and beneath; but within their hearts only darkness and the dread of death! CHAPTER TWO. THE HAMMER-HEAD. For some time the castaways had been seated in moody silence, now and then glancing at the corpse in the bottom of the boat, some of them no doubt thinking how long it might be before they themselves would occupy the same situation. But now and then, also, their looks were turned upon one another, not hopefully, but with a mechanical effort of despair. In one of these occasional glances, Captain Redwood noticed the unnatural glare in the eyes of the surviving sailor, as also did the Irishman. Simultaneously were both struck with it, and a significant look was exchanged between them. For a period of over twenty hours this man had been behaving oddly; and they had conceived something more than a suspicion of his insanity. The death of the sailor lying at the bottom of the boat, now the ninth, had rendered him for a time more tranquil, and he sat quiet on his seat, with elbows resting on his knees, his cheeks held between the palms of his hands. But the wild stare in his eyes seemed to have become only more intensified as he kept them fixed upon the corpse of his comrade. It was a look worse than wild; it had in it the expression of _craving_. On perceiving it, and after a moment spent in reflection, the captain made a sign to the ship-carpenter, at the same time saying,-- "Murtagh, it's no use our keeping the body any longer in the boat. Let us give it such burial as the sea vouchsafes to a sailor,--and a true one he was." He spoke these words quietly, and in a low tone, as if not intending them to be heard by the suspected maniac. "A thrue sailor!" rejoined the Irishman. "Truth ye're roight there, captin. Och, now! to think he's the ninth of them we've throwed overboard, all the crew of the owld ship, exceptin' our three selves, widout countin' the Malay an' the childer. If it wasn't that yer honour's still left, I'd say the best goes first; for the nigger there looks as if he'd last out the whole lot of--" The captain, to whom this imprudent speech was torture, with a gesture brought it to an abrupt termination. He was in fear of its effect not on the Malay, but on the insane sailor. The latter, however, showed no sign of having heard or understood it; and in a whisper Murtagh received instructions how to act. "You lay hold of him by the shoulders," were the words spoken, "while I take the feet. Let us slip him quietly over without making any stir. Saloo, remain you where you are; we won't need your help." This last speech was addressed to the Malay, and in his own language, which would not be understood by any other than himself. The reason for laying the injunction upon him was, that he sat in the boat beyond the man deemed mad, and his coming across to the others might excite the latter, and bring about some vaguely dreaded crisis. The silent Malay simply nodded an assent, showing no sign that he comprehended why his assistance was not desired. For all that, he understood it, he too having observed the mental condition of the sailor. Rising silently from their seats, and advancing toward the dead body, the captain and carpenter, as agreed upon, laid hold of and raised it up in their arms. Even weak as both were, it was not much of a lift to them. It was not a corpse, only a skeleton, with the skin still adhering, and drawn tightly over the bones. Resting it upon the gunwale of the boat, they made a moment's pause, their eyes turned heavenward, as if mentally repeating a prayer. The Irishman, a devout believer in the efficacy of outward observances, with one hand detached from the corpse, made the sign of the cross. Then was the body again raised between them, held at arm's length outward, and tenderly lowered down upon the water. There was no plunge, only a tiny plashing, as if a chair, or some other piece of light wood-work, had been dropped gently upon the surface of the sea. But slight as was the sound, it produced an effect, startling as instantaneous. The sailor, whose dead comrade was thus being consigned to the deep, as it were, surreptitiously, all at once sprang to his feet, sending forth a shriek that rang far over the tranquil water. With one bound, causing the pinnace to heel fearfully over, he placed himself by the side over which the corpse had been lowered, and stood with arms upraised, as if intending to plunge after it. The sight underneath should have awed him. The dead body was slowly, gradually sinking, its garb of dark blue Guernsey shirt becoming lighter blue as it went deeper down in the cerulean water; while fast advancing to meet it, as if coming up from the darkest depths of the ocean, was a creature of monstrous shape, the very type of a monster. It was the hideous hammer-headed shark, the dreaded _zygaena_ of the Celebes Sea. With a pair of enormous eyes glaring sullenly out from two immense cheek-like protuberances, giving to its head that singular sledge-hammer appearance whence it has its name, it advanced directly toward the slow-descending corpse, itself, however, moving so rapidly that the spectators above had scarce taken in the outlines of its horrid form, when this was no longer visible. It was hidden in what appeared a shower of bluish pearls suddenly projected underneath the water, and enveloping both the dead body of the sailor and the living form of the shark. Through the dimness could be distinguished gleams of a pale phosphoric sheen like lightning flashes through a sky cloud; and soon after froth and bubbles rose effervescing upon the surface of the sea. It was a terrible spectacle, though only of an instants duration. When the subaqueous cloud cleared away, and they again looked with peering eyes down into the pellucid depths, there was nothing there, neither dead body of man, nor living form of monster. The _zygaena_ had secured its prey, and carried the skeleton corpse to some dark cavern of the deep! [Note 1.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. The hammer-headed shark, in common language, is rightly designated one of the most hideous of marine animals. We mean hideous in outward appearance, for, of course, there is much both wonderful and beautiful in its internal organisation, and in the exquisite fitness of its structure for its peculiar part in the economy of nature. In the general outline of its body, which is something like that of a cylinder, it resembles the ordinary sharks; and its distinctive feature is its head, which, on either side, expands like a double-headed hammer. The eyes are very large, and placed at each extremity. It is found in the Mediterranean Sea, as well as in the Indian Ocean, and is noted for its fierceness and voracity. CHAPTER THREE. THE ALBATROSS. Captain Redwood and the Irishman were horrified at the sight that had passed under their eyes. So, too, were the children, who had both started up from their reclining attitude, and looked over the side of the boat. Even the impassive Malay, all his life used to stirring scenes, in which blood was often shed, could not look down into those depths, disturbed by such a tragical occurrence, without having aroused within him a sensation of horror. All of them recoiled back into the boat, staggering down upon their seats. One alone remained standing, and with an expression upon his face as if he was desirous of again beholding the sight. It was not a look that betrayed pleasure, but one grim and ghastly, yet strong and steady, as if it penetrated the profoundest depths of the ocean. It was the look of the insane sailor. If his companions had still held any lingering doubts about his insanity, it was sufficient to dispel them. It was the true stare of the maniac. It was not long continued. Scarce had they resumed their seats when the man, once more elevating his arms in the air, uttered another startling shriek, if possible louder and wilder than before. He had stepped upon one of the boat seats, and stood with body bent, half leaning over the gunwale, in the attitude of a diver about to make his headlong plunge. There could be no mistaking his intention to leap overboard, for his comrades could see that his muscles were strained to the effort. All three--the captain, Murtagh, and the Malay--suddenly rose again, and leant forward to lay hold on him. They were too late. Before a finger could touch him he had made the fatal spring; and the next moment he was beneath the surface of the sea! None of them felt strong enough to leap after and try to save him. In all probability, the effort would have been idle, and worse; for the mad fancy that seemed urging him to self-destruction might still influence his mind, and carry another victim into the same vortex with himself. Restrained by this thought, they stood up in the boat, and watched for his coming up again. He did so at length, but a good distance off. A breeze had been gradually springing up, and during his dive the pinnace had made some way, by drifting before it. When his head was again seen above the curling water, he was nearly a hundred yards to windward of the boat. He was not so far off as to prevent them from reading the expression upon his face, now turned toward them. It had become changed, as if by magic. The wild look of insanity was gone, and in its place was one almost equally wild, though plainly was it an expression of fear, or indeed terror. The immersion into the cold, deep sea, had told upon his fevered brain, producing a quick reaction of reason; and his cries for help, now in piteous tones sent back to the boat, showed that he understood the peril in which he had placed himself. They were not unheeded. Murtagh and the Malay rushed, or rather tottered, to the oars; while the captain threw himself into the stern, and took hold of the tiller-ropes. In an instant the pinnace was headed round, and moving through the water in the direction of the swimmer; who, on his side, swam toward them, though evidently with feeble stroke. There seemed not much doubt of their being able to pick him up. The only danger thought of by any of them was the _zygaena_; but they hoped the shark might be still occupied with its late prey, and not seeking another victim. There might be another shark, or many more; but for some time past one only had been seen in the neighbourhood of the boat; the shark, as they supposed, which had but recently devoured the dead body of the sailor. Trusting to this conjecture, they plied the oars with all the little strength left in their arms. Still, notwithstanding their feeble efforts, and the impediment of pulling against the wind, they were nearing the unfortunate man, surely, if slowly. They had got over half the distance; less than half a cable's length was now between the boat and the struggling swimmer. Not a shark was to be seen on the water, nor beneath it--no fish of any kind--nothing whatever in the sea. Only, in the sky above, a large bird, whose long scimitar-shaped wings and grand curving beak told them what it was--an albatross. It was the great albatross of the Indian seas, with an extent of wing beyond that of the largest eagle, and almost equalling the spread of the South American condor. [Note 1.] They scarce looked at it, or even glanced above, they were looking below for the _zygaena_--scanning the surface of the water around them, or with their eyes keenly bent, endeavouring to penetrate its indigo depths in search of the monstrous form. No shark in sight. All seemed well; and despite the piteous appeals of the swimmer, now toiling with feebler stroke, and scarce having power to sustain himself they in the pinnace felt sure of being able to rescue him. Less than a quarter cable's length lay between. The boat, urged on by the oars, was still lessening the distance. Five minutes more, and they would be close to their comrade, and lift him over the gunwale. Still no _zygaena_ in sight--no shark of any kind. "Poor fellow! he seems quite cured; we shall be able to save him." It was Captain Redwood who thus spoke. The Irishman was about making a little hopeful rejoinder, when his speech was cut short by a cry from Saloo, who had suspended his stroke, as if paralysed by some sudden despair. The Malay, who, as well as Murtagh, had been sitting with his back toward the swimmer, had slewed himself round with a quick jerk, that told of some surprise. The movement was caused by a shadow flitting over the boat; something was passing rapidly through the air above. It had caught the attention of the others, who, on hearing Saloo's cry, looked up along with him. They saw only the albatross moving athwart the sky, no longer slow sailing as before, but with the swift-cutting flight of a falcon pouncing down upon its prey. It seemed descending not in a straight line, but in an acute parabolic curve, like a thunderbolt or some aerolite projected toward the surface of the sea. But the bird, with a whirr like the sound of running spindles, was going in a definite direction, the point evidently aimed at being the head of the swimmer! A strange commingled shout arose over the ocean, in which several voices bore part. Surprise pealed forth from the lips of those in the boat, and terror from the throat of the struggling man, while a hoarse croak from the gullet of the albatross, followed by what appeared a mocking scream of triumph. Then quick succeeded a crashing sound, as the sharp heavy beak of the bird broke through the skull of the swimmer, striking him dead, as if by the shot of a six-pounder, and sending his lifeless body down toward the bottom of the sea! It came not up again--at all events, it was never more seen by his castaway companions; who, dropping the oars in sorrowful despair, allowed the boat to drift away from the fatal spot--in whatever direction the soft-sighing breeze might capriciously carry it. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. The albatross Is the largest of the ocean-birds. Its wings, when extended, measuring fifteen feet, and its weight sometimes exceeding twenty to twenty-four pounds. The common albatross is the _Diomedea exulans_ of naturalists. Its plumage, except a few of the wing feathers, is white; its long, hard beak, which Is very powerful, is of a pale yellow colour; and its short, webbed feet are flesh coloured. It is frequently met with in the Southern Ocean. The species mentioned in the text is the black-beaked albatross, which frequents the India waters. The albatross Is a formidable enemy to the sailor, for if one falls overboard, he will assuredly fall a victim to this powerful bird, unless rescued immediately by his comrades. Its cry has some resemblance to that of the pelican; but it will also, when excited, give rent to a noise not unlike the braying of an ass. The female makes a rude nest of earth on the sea-shore, and deposits therein her solitary egg, which is about four inches long, white, and spotted at the larger end. CHAPTER FOUR. THE CRY OF THE DUGONG. Until the day on which the ninth sailor had died of starvation, and the tenth had been struck dead by the sea-bird, the castaways had taken an occasional spell at the oars. They now no longer touched, nor thought of them. Weakness prevented them, as well as despondency. For there was no object in continuing the toil; no land in sight, and no knowledge of any being near. Should a ship chance to come their way, they were as likely to be in her track lying at rest, as if engaged in laboriously rowing. They permitted the oars, therefore, to remain motionless between the thole pins, themselves sitting listlessly on the seats, most of them with their heads bent despairingly downward. The Malay alone kept his shining black eyes on the alert, as if despair had not yet prostrated him. The long sultry day that saw the last of their two sailor comrades, at length came to a close, without any change in their melancholy situation. The fierce hot sun went down into the bosom of the sea, and was followed by the short tropic twilight. As the shades of night closed over them, the father, kneeling beside his children, sent up a prayer to Him who still held their lives in His hand; while Murtagh said the Amen; and the dark-skinned Malay, who was a Mohammedan, muttered a similar petition to Allah. It had been their custom every night and morning, since parting from the foundered ship, and during all their long-protracted perils in the pinnace. Perhaps that evening's vesper was more fervent than those preceding it; for they felt they could not last much longer, and that all of them were slowly, surely dying. This night, a thing something unusual, the sky became obscured by clouds. It might be a good omen, or a bad one. If a storm, their frail boat would run a terrible risk of being swamped; but if rain should accompany it, there might be a chance of collecting a little water upon a tarpaulin that lay at the bottom. As it turned out, no rain fell, though there arose what might be called a storm. The breeze, springing up at an early hour of the day, commenced increasing after sunset. It was the first of any consequence they had encountered since taking to the boat; and it blew right in the direction whither they intended steering. With the freshening of the wind, as it came cool upon his brow, the castaway captain seemed to become inspired with a slight hope. It was the same with Murtagh and the Malay. "If we only had a sail," muttered the captain, with a sigh. "Sail, cappen--lookee talpolin!" said Saloo, speaking in "pigeon English," and pointing to the tarpaulin in the bottom of the boat. "Why no him makee sail?" "Yis, indade; why not?" questioned the Irishman. "Comee, Multa! you help me; we step one oal--it makee mass--we lig him up little time." "All roight, Sloo," responded Murtagh, leaning over and seizing one of the oars, while the Malay lifted the tarpaulin from where it lay folded up, and commenced shaking the creases out of it. With the dexterity of a practised sailor, Murtagh soon had the oar upright, and its end "stepped," between two ribs of the boat, and firmly lashed to one of the strong planks that served as seats. Assisted by the captain himself, the tarpaulin was bent on, and with a "sheet" attached to one corner rigged sail-fashion. In an instant it caught the stiff breeze, and bellied out; when the pinnace feeling the impulse, began to move rapidly through the water, leaving in her wake a stream of sparkling phosphorescence that looked like liquid fire. They had no compass, and therefore could not tell the exact direction in which they were being carried. But a yellowish streak on the horizon, showing where the sun had set, was still lingering when the wind began to freshen, and as it was one of those steady, regular winds, that endure for hours without change, they could by this means guess at the direction--which was toward that part of the horizon where the yellowish spot had but lately faded out; in short, toward the west. Westward from the place where the cyclone had struck the ship, lay the great island of Borneo. They knew it to be the nearest land, and for this had they been directing the boat's course ever since their disaster. The tarpaulin now promised to bring them nearer to it in one night, than their oars had done with days of hopeless exertion. It was a long twelve-hour night; for under the "Line"--and they were less than three degrees from it--the days and nights are equal. But throughout all its hours, the wind continued to blow steadily from the same quarter; and the spread tarpaulin, thick and strong, caught every puff of it acting admirably. It was, in fact, as much canvas as the pinnace could well have carried on such a rough sea-breeze, and served as a storm-try sail to run her before the wind. Captain Redwood himself held charge of the tiller; and all were cheered with the fine speed they were making--their spirits rising in proportion to the distance passed over. Before daylight came to add to their cheerfulness, they must have made nearly a hundred miles; but ere the day broke, a sound fell upon their ears that caused a commotion among them--to all giving joy. It came swelling over the dark surface of the deep, louder than the rush of the water or the whistling of the wind. It resembled a human voice; and although like one speaking in agony, they heard it with joy. There was hope in the proximity of human beings, for though these might be in trouble like themselves, they could not be in so bad a state. They might be in danger from the storm; but they would be strong and healthy--not thirsting skeletons like the occupants of the pinnace. "What do you think it is, captin?" asked the Irishman. "Moight it be some ship in disthriss?" Before the captain could reply, the sound came a second time over the waters, with a prolonged wail, like the cry of a suffering sinner on his death-bed. "The _dugong_!" exclaimed Saloo, this time recognising the melancholy note, so like to the voice of a human being. "It is," rejoined Captain Redwood. "It's that, and nothing more." He said this in a despairing tone, for the dugong, which is the _manatee_, or sea-cow of the Eastern seas, could be of no service to them; on the contrary, its loud wailings spoke of danger--these being the sure precursors of a storm. [Note 1.] To him and Murtagh, the presence of this strange cetaceous animal gave no relief; and, after hearing its call, they sank back to their seats, relapsing into the state of half despondency, half hopefulness, from which it had startled them. Not so with Saloo, who better understood its habits. He knew they were amphibious, and that, where the dugong was found, land could not be a long way off. He said this, once more arousing his companions by his words to renewed expectancy. The morning soon after broke, and they beheld boldly outlined against the fast-clearing sky the blue mountains of Borneo. "Land!" was the cry that came simultaneously from their lips. "Land--thank the Lord!" continued the American skipper, in a tone of pious gratitude; and as his pinnace, still obedient to the breeze and spread tarpaulin, forged on toward it, he once more knelt down in the bottom of the boat, caused his children to do the same, and offered up a prayer--a fervent thanksgiving to the God alike of land and sea, who was about to deliver him and his from the "dangers of the deep." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. We are unwilling to interrupt the course of our narrative by disquisitions on subjects of natural history, and, therefore, relegate to a note the following particulars about the dugong. This strange mammal belongs to a genus of the family _Manatidae_, or Herbivorous Cetacea. The species of which a member was discovered by our castaways, is the _Halicore Indicus_, or dugong of the Indian Archipelago; and, as we have said, is never found very far from land. Its dentition resembles, in some respects, that of the elephant; and from the structure of its digestible organs it can eat only vegetable food; that is, the _algae_, or weeds, growing on submarine rocks in shallow water. When it comes to the surface to breathe, it utters a peculiar cry, like the lowing of a cow. Its length, when full-grown, is said to be twenty feet, but few individuals seem to exceed twelve feet. In its general appearance it is very much like the _manatee_, or manatus, which haunts the mouths of the great South American rivers. CHAPTER FIVE. RUNNING THE BREAKERS. The Almighty Hand that had thus far helped the castaways on their course, with a favouring wind bringing them in sight of Borneo's isle, was not going to crush the sweet hopes thus raised by wrecking their boat upon its shores. And yet for a time it seemed as if this were to be their fate. As they drew near enough to the land to distinguish its configuration, they saw a white line like a snow-wreath running between it and them, for miles to right and left, far as the eye could reach. They knew it to be a barrier of coral breakers, such as usually encircle the islands of the Indian seas--strong ramparts raised by tiny insect creatures, to guard these fair gardens of God against the assaults of an ocean that, although customarily calm, is at times aroused by the _typhoon_, until it rages around them with dark scowling waves, like battalions of demons. On drawing near these reefs, Captain Redwood, with the eye of an experienced seaman, saw that while the wind kept up there was no chance for the pinnace to pass them; and to run head on to them would be simply to dash upon destruction. Sail was at once taken in, by letting go the sheet, and dropping the tarpaulin back into the bottom of the boat. The oar that had been set up as a mast was left standing, for there were five others lying idle in the pinnace; and with four of these, Saloo and Murtagh each taking a pair, the boat was manned, the captain himself keeping charge of the tiller. His object was not to approach the land, but to prevent being carried among the breakers, which, surging up snow-white, presented a perilous barrier to their advance. To keep the boat from driving on the dangerous reef, was just as much as the oarsmen could accomplish. Weakened as they were, by long suffering and starvation, they had a tough struggle to hold the pinnace as it were in _statu quo_--all the tougher from the disproportion between such a heavy craft and the light oar-stroke of which her reduced and exhausted crew were capable. But as if taking pity upon them, and in sympathy with their efforts, the sun, as he rose above the horizon, seemed to smile upon them and hush the storm into silence. The wind, that throughout the night had been whistling in their ears, all at once fell to a calm, as if commanded by the majestic orb of day; and along with the wind went down the waves, the latter subsiding more gradually. It was easier now to hold the pinnace in place, as also to row her in a direction parallel to the line of the breakers; and, after coasting for about a mile, an opening was at length observed where the dangerous reef might perhaps be penetrated with safety. Setting the boat's head toward it, the oars were once more worked with the utmost strength that remained in the arms of the rowers, while her course was directed with all the skill of which an American skipper is capable. Yet the attempt was one of exceeding peril. Though the wind had subsided, the swell was tremendous; billow after billow being carried against the coral reefs with a violence known only to the earthquake and the angry ocean. Vast volumes of water surged high on either side, projecting still higher their sparkling shafts of spray, like the pillars of a waterspout. Between them spread a narrow space of calm sea--yet only comparatively calm, for even there an ordinary boat, well managed, would be in danger of getting swamped. What then was the chance for a huge pinnace, poorly manned, and therefore sure of being badly trimmed? It looked as if after all the advantages that had arisen--that had sprung up as though providentially in their favour--Captain Redwood and the small surviving remnant of his crew were to perish among the breakers of Borneo, and be devoured by the ravenous sharks which amidst the storm-vexed reefs find their congenial home. But it was not so to be. The prayer offered up, as those snow-white but treacherous perils first hove in sight, had been heard on high; and He who had guided the castaways to the danger, stayed by their side, and gave strength to their arms to carry them through it. With a skill drawn from the combination of clear intelligence and long experience, Captain Redwood set the head of his pinnace straight for the narrow and dangerous passage; and with a strength inspired by the peril, Murtagh and the Malay pulled upon their oars, each handling his respective pair as if his life depended on the effort. With the united will of oarsmen and steerer the effort was successful; and ten seconds later the pinnace was safe inside the breakers, moving along under the impulse of two pairs of oars, that rose and fell as gently as if they were pulling her over the surface of some placid lake. In less than ten minutes her keel touched bottom on the sands of Borneo, and her crew, staggering ashore, dropped upon their knees, and in words earnest as those uttered by Columbus at Cat Island, or the Pilgrims on Plymouth Rock, breathed a devout thanksgiving for their deliverance. CHAPTER SIX. A GIGANTIC OYSTER. "Water! water!" The pain of hunger is among the hardest to endure, though there is still a harder--that of thirst. In the first hours of either, it is doubtful which of the two kinds of suffering is the more severe; but, prolonged beyond a certain point, hunger loses its keenness of edge, through the sheer weakness of the sufferer, while the agony of thirst knows no such relief. Suffering, as our castaways were, from want of food for nearly a week, their thirst was yet more agonising; and after the thanksgiving prayer had passed from their lips, their first thought was of water--their cry, "Water! water!" As they arose to their feet they instinctively looked around to see if any brook or spring were near. An ocean was flowing beside them; but this was not the kind of water wanted. They had already had enough of the briny element, and did not even turn their eyes upon it. It was landward they looked; scanning the edge of the forest, that came down within a hundred yards of the shore-- the strip of sand on which they had beached their boat trending along between the woods and the tide-water as far as the eye could trace it. A short distance off, however, a break was discernible in the line of the sand-strip--which they supposed must be either a little inlet of the sea itself, or the outflow of a stream. If the latter, then were they fortunate indeed. Saloo, the most active of the party, hastened toward it; the others following him only with their eyes. They watched him with eager gaze, trembling between hope and fear-- Captain Redwood more apprehensive than the rest. He knew that in this part of the Bornean coast months often pass without a single shower of rain; and if no stream or spring should be found they would still be in danger of perishing by thirst. They saw Saloo bend by the edge of the inlet, scoop up some water in his palms, and apply it to his lips, as if tasting it. Only for an instant, when back to them came the joyful cry,-- "_Ayer! ayer manis! sungi_!" (Water! sweet water! A river!) Scarce more pleasantly, that morning at day-break, had fallen on their ears the cry of "Land!" than now fell the announcement of the Malay sailor, making known the proximity of water. Captain Redwood, who was acquainted with the Malay language, translated the welcome words. Sweet water, Saloo had described it. Emphatically might it be so termed. All hastened, or rather rushed, toward the stream, fell prostrate on their faces by its edge, and drank to a surfeit. It gave them new life; and, indeed, it had given them their lives already, though they knew it not. It was the outflow of its current into the ocean that caused the break in the coral reef through which their boat had been enabled to pass. Otherwise they might have found no opening, and perished in attempting to traverse the surging surf. The madrepores will not build their subaqueous coral walls where rivers run into the ocean; hence the open spaces here and there happily left, that form deep transverse channels admitting the largest ships. No longer suffering from thirst, its kindred appetite now returned with undivided agony, and the next thought was for something to eat. They again turned their eyes toward the forest, and up the bank of the stream that came flowing from it. But Saloo had seen something in the sea, near the spot where the pinnace had been left; and, calling upon Murtagh to get ready some dry wood and kindle a fire, he ran back toward the boat. Murtagh, the rest accompanying him, walked to the edge of the woods where the stream issued from the leafy wilderness. Just beyond the strip of sand the forest abruptly ended, the trees standing thick together, and rising like a vast vegetable wall to a height of over a hundred feet. Only a few straggled beyond this line. The very first of them, that nearest the sea, was a large elm-like tree, with tall trunk, and spreading leafy limbs that formed a screen from the sun, now well up in the sky, and every moment growing more sultry. It offered a convenient camping-place; and under its cool shadow they could recline until with restored strength they might either seek or build themselves a better habitation. An ample store of dry faggots was lying near; and Murtagh having collected them into a pile, took out his flint and steel, and commenced striking a light. Meanwhile their eyes were almost constantly turned toward Saloo, all of them wondering what had taken him back to the boat. Their wonder was not diminished when they saw him pass the place where the pinnace had been pulled up on the sand, and wade straight out into the water--as if he were going back to the breakers! Presently, after he had got about knee-deep, they saw him stoop down, until his body was nearly buried under the sea, and commence what appeared to be a struggle with some creature still concealed from their observation. Nor was their wonder any the less, when at length he rose erect again, holding in his hands what for all the world looked like a huge rock, to which a number of small shells and some sea-weed adhered. "What does the Malay crather want wid a big stone?" was the interrogatory of the astonished Irishman. "And, look, captin, it's that same he's about bringin' us. I thought it moight be some kind of shill-fish. Hungry as we are, we can't ate stones?" "Not so fast, Murtagh," said the captain, who had more carefully scrutinised the article Saloo had taken up. "It's not a stone, but what you first supposed it--a shell-fish." "That big thing a shill-fish! Arrah now, captin, aren't you jokin'?" "No, indeed. What Saloo has got in his arms, if I'm not mistaken, is an oyster." "An oysther? Two fut in length and over one in breadth. Why, it's as much as the Malay can carry. Don't yez see that he's staggerin' under it?" "Very true; but it's an oyster for all that. I'm now sure of it, as I can see its shape, and the great ribs running over it. Make haste, and get your fire kindled; for it's a sort of oyster rather too strong-flavoured to be eaten raw. Saloo evidently intends it to be roasted." Murtagh did as requested, and by the time the Malay, bearing his heavy burden, reached the tree, smoke was oozing through a stack of faggots that were soon after ablaze. "Tha, Cappen Ledwad," said the Malay, flinging his load at the captain's feet. "Tha plenty shell-fiss--makee all we big blakfass. Inside find good meat. We no need open him. Hot coalee do that." They all gathered around the huge shell, surveying it with curiosity, more especially the young people. It was that strange testaceous fish found in the Indian seas, and known to sailors as the "Singapore oyster"--of which specimens are not rare measuring a yard in length, and over eighteen inches in breadth at the widest diameter. Their curiosity, however, was soon satisfied; for with stomachs craving as theirs, they were in no very fit condition for the pursuit of conchological studies; and Saloo once more lifting the large oyster-- just as much as he could do--dropped it among the faggots, now fairly kindled into a fire. More were heaped around and over it, until it was buried in the heart of a huge pile, the sea-weeds that still clung to it crackling, and the salt water spurting and spitting, as the smoke, mingled with the bright blaze, ascended toward the overshadowing branches of the tree. In due time Saloo, who had cooked Singapore oysters before, pronounced it sufficiently roasted; when the faggots were kicked aside, and with a boat-hook, which Murtagh had brought from the pinnace, the oyster [Note 1.] was dragged out of the ashes. Almost instantly it fell open, its huge valves displaying in their concave cups enough "oyster-meat" to have afforded a supper for a party of fifteen individuals instead of five--that is, fifteen not so famished as they were. With some knives and other utensils, which the Irishman had also brought away from the boat, they seated themselves around the grand bivalve; nor did they arise from their seats until the shells were scraped clean, and hunger, that had so long tortured them, was quite banished from their thoughts. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. Strictly speaking, the Singapore oyster is a gigantic species of Clam, (_Tridacna_). CHAPTER SEVEN. A DANGEROUS LOCALITY. After their ample meal of oyster "roasted in the shell," which was a breakfast instead of a supper, they rested for the remainder of the day, and all through the following night. They required this lengthened period of repose, not because they stood in need of sleep, but from the exhaustion of weakness, consequent upon their long spell of hunger and thirst. They slept well, considering that they had no couch, nor any covering, but the tattered clothes they wore upon their bodies. But they had become accustomed to this kind of bed; as to one even less comfortable, and certainly not safer--on the hard planks of the pinnace. Nor did the cold discomfort them; for although the nights are colder on land than at sea, and in the tropics sometimes even chilly, that night was warm throughout; and nothing interfered with their slumbers except some horrid dreams, the sure sequence of suffering and perils such as they had been passing through. The morning rose bright and beautiful, as nearly all Bornean mornings do. And the castaways rose from their recumbent position, feeling wonderfully restored both in strength and spirits. Henry and Helen-- these were the names of the young people--were even cheerful, inclined to wander about and wonder at the strange objects around: the beautiful beach of silvery sand; the deep blue sea; the white breakers beyond, rising over it like along snow-wreath; the clear fresh-water stream alongside, in which they could see curious fish disporting themselves; the grand forest-trees, among them stately palms and tall lance-like bamboos;--in short, a thousand things that make tropical scenery so charming. Notwithstanding the scenic beauty, there was something needed before it could be thoroughly enjoyed, and this was breakfast. The contents of the great oyster had given full satisfaction for the time; but that was nearly twenty-four hours ago, and the appetites of all were once more keenly whetted. What was to take the edge off them? This was the question that occupied their thoughts, and the answer was not so easy. Saloo went in search of another Singapore oyster; Murtagh started along the bank of the stream, in the hope of beguiling some of the red and gold fish he saw playing "backgammon" in it, as he had seen the trout and salmon in his native Killarney; while the captain, having procured a rifle, that had been brought away in the boat, and which he well knew how to handle, wandered off into the woods. Henry and Helen remained under the tree, as their father did not think there could be any danger in leaving them alone. He was well enough acquainted with the natural history of Borneo to know that there were neither lions nor tigers in the island. Had it been on the neighbouring island of Sumatra, or some desert coast of the mainland--in Malacca, Cochin-China, or Hindustan--he might have dreaded exposing them to the attack of tigers. But as there was no danger of encountering these fierce creatures on the shores of Borneo, he told the children to stay under the tree until he and the others should return. The young people were by this time rather tired of remaining in a recumbent position. It was that to which they had been too long constrained while in the boat, and it felt irksome; moreover, the oyster, wonderfully restoring their strength, had brought back their wonted juvenile vigour, so that they felt inclined for moving about a bit. For a time they indulged this inclination by walking to and fro around the trunk of the tree. Soon, however, weariness once more came upon them, and they desired to have a seat. Squatting upon the ground is an attitude only easy to savages, and always irksome to those accustomed to habits of civilised life, and to sitting upon chairs. They looked about for something upon which they might sit but nothing appeared suitable. There were neither logs nor large stones; for the beach, as well as the adjacent shore, was composed of fine drift sand, and no trees seemed to have fallen near the spot. "I have it!" exclaimed Henry, after puzzling his brains a bit, his eye guiding him to a settlement of the difficulty. "The shells--the big oyster shells--the very things for us to sit upon, sister Nell." As he spoke, he stooped down and commenced turning over one of the shells of the immense bivalve--both of which had been hitherto lying with their concave side uppermost. It was nigh as much as the boy, still weak, could do to roll it over, though Helen, seeing the difficulty, laid hold with her little hands and assisted him. Both the huge "cockles" were speedily capsized; and their convex surfaces rising nearly a foot above the level of the ground, gave the young people an excellent opportunity of getting seated. Both sat down--each upon a shell--laughing at the odd kind of stools thus conveniently provided for them. They had not been long in their sedentary attitude, when a circumstance occurred which told them how unsafe a position they had chosen. They were conversing without fear, when Henry all at once felt something strike him on the arm, and then, with a loud crash, drop down upon the shell close under his elbow, chipping a large piece out of it. His first impression was that some one had thrown a stone at him. It had hit him on the arm, just creasing it; but on looking at the place where he had been hit, he saw that the sleeve of his jacket was split, or rather torn, from shoulder to elbow, as if a sharp-tooth curry-comb had been drawn violently along it. He felt pain, moreover, and saw blood upon his shirt underneath! He looked quickly around to ascertain who had thus rudely assailed him-- anxiously, too, for he was in some dread of seeing a savage spring from the bushes close by. On turning, he at once beheld the missile that had rent his jacket-sleeve lying on the sand beside him. It was no stone, but a round or slightly oval-shaped ball, as big as a ten-pound shot, of a deep-green colour, and covered all over with spurs like the skin of a hedgehog! He at once saw that it had not been thrown at him by any person; for, with the sharp, prickly protuberances thickly set all over it, no one could have laid hand upon it. Clearly it had fallen from the tree overhead. Helen had perceived this sooner than he; for sitting a little way off, she had seen the huge ball drop in a perpendicular direction-- though it had descended with the velocity of lightning. Beyond doubt, it was some fruit or nut, from the tree under which they were seated. From the way in which the jacket-sleeve had suffered, as well as the skin underneath--to say nothing of the piece chipped out of the shell--it was evident, that had the ponderous pericarp fallen upon Henry's skull, it would have crushed it as a bullet would the shell of an egg. Young as the two were, they were not so simple as to stay in that spot an instant longer. On the tree that could send down such a dangerous missile there might be many more--equally ready to rain upon them--and with this apprehension both sprang simultaneously to their feet, and rushed out into the open ground, not stopping till they believed themselves quite clear of the overshadowing branches that so ill protected them. They looked back at the seats they had so abruptly vacated, and the green globe lying beside them, and then up to the tree; where they could see other similar large globes, only at such a vast height looking no bigger than peaches or apricots. They did not dare to venture back to their seats, nor, although tempted by a strong curiosity to examine it, to approach the fallen fruit. In fact, the arm of Henry was badly lacerated; and his little sister, on seeing the blood upon his shirt sleeve, uttered an alarm that brought first Saloo, and then the others, affrighted to the spot. "What is it?" were the interrogations of the two white men, as they came hurrying up, while the impressive Malay put none--at once comprehending the cause of the alarm. He saw the scratched arm, and the huge green globe lying upon the ground. "_Dulion_!" he said, glancing up to the tree. "Durion!" echoed the captain, pronouncing the word properly, as translated from Saloo's pigeon English. "Yes, cappen; foolee me no think of him befole. Belly big danger. It fallee on skull, skull go clashee clashee." This was evident without Saloo's explanation. The lacerated arm and broken shell were evidences enough of the terrible effects that would have been produced had the grand pericarp in its downward descent fallen upon the heads of either of the children, and they all saw what a narrow escape Henry had of getting his "cocoa-nut" crushed or split open. CHAPTER EIGHT. SHOOTING AT FRUIT. As soon as the three men had got well up to the ground and ascertained the cause of Helen's alarm, and the damage done to Henry's jacket and skin, Murtagh was the first to make a demonstration. He did so by running in under the tree, and stooping to lay hold of the fruit that had caused the misfortune. Saloo saw him do this without giving a word of warning. He was, perhaps, a little piqued that the Irishman should make himself so conspicuous about things he could not possibly be supposed to understand, and which to the Malay himself were matters of an almost special knowledge. There was a twinkle of mischief in his eye as he contemplated the meddling of Murtagh, and waited for the _denouement_. The latter, rashly grasping the spiny fruit, did not get it six inches above the ground, before he let go again, as if it had been the hottest of hot "purtatees." "Och, and what have I done now!" he cried, "I'm jagged all over. There isn't a smooth spot upon it--not so much as a shank to take howlt of!" "You takee care, Multa," cautioned Saloo. "You lookee aloff. May be you get jagee in de skull!" Murtagh took the hint, and, giving one glance upward, ran back with a roar from under the shadow of the tree. The Malay, seemingly satisfied with his triumph, now glided underneath the durion, and keeping his eye turned upward, as if intently watching something, he struck the fruit with the piece of pointed stick which he had been using in the search after Singapore oysters, and sent it spinning out upon the open sand beach. Then following, he took out his knife, and inserting the blade among its thickly set spines, cleft it open, displaying the pulp inside. There was enough to give each person a taste of this most luscious of fruits, and make them desirous of more; even had they not been hungry. But the appetites of all were now keen, and neither the chase nor the fishery had produced a single thing to satisfy them. All three had returned empty-handed. There were many more nuts on the durion-tree. They could see scores of the prickly pericarps hanging overhead, but so high as to make the obtaining of them apparently impossible. They were as far away as the grapes from the fox of the fable. The stem of the tree rose over seventy feet before throwing out a single branch. It was smooth, moreover, offering neither knot nor excrescence for a foothold. For all this Saloo could have climbed it, had he been in proper strength and condition. But he was not so. He was still weak from the effects of his suffering at sea. Something more must be had to eat--whether game, fish or shell-fish. The one great oyster appeared to be a stray. Saloo had begun to despair of being able to find another. The fruit of the durion proved not only pleasant eating, but exceedingly nutritious. It would sustain them, could they only get enough of it. How was this to be obtained? For a time they stood considering; when Captain Redwood became impressed with an original idea. In addition to his own rifle, a large ship's musket had been put into the pinnace. He thought of chain-shot, and its effects; and it occurred to him that by this means the durions might be brought down from their lofty elevation. No sooner conceived than carried into execution. The musket was loaded with a brace of balls united by a piece of stout tarred string. A shot was fired into the tree, aimed at a place where the fruit appeared thickest. There was havoc made among the adjacent leaves; and five or six of the great pericarps came crashing to the earth. A repetition of the firing brought down nearly a dozen, enough to furnish the whole party with food for at least another twenty-four hours. Having collected the fallen pericarps, they carried them to another tree that stood near, amid whose leafy branches appeared to be no fruits either so sweet to the lips or dangerous to the skull. Thither also they transferred their quarters, along with the paraphernalia brought up from the boat, intending to make a more permanent encampment under the newly chosen tree. For the time they kindled no fire, as the weather was warm enough, and the durions did not require cooking; and while making their mid-day meal of the raw fruit, Saloo interested them by relating some particulars of the tree from which it had been obtained. We shall not follow the Malay's exact words, for, as spoken in "pigeon English," they would scarce be understood; but shall lay before our readers some account of this strange and valuable fruit-tree, culled partly from Saloo's description and partly from other sources. The durion is a forest tree of the loftiest order, bearing resemblance to the elm, only with a smooth bark, which is also scaly. It is found growing throughout most of the islands of the Indian Archipelago; and, like the mangosteen, does not thrive well in any other part of the world. This is perhaps the reason its fruit is so little known elsewhere, as when ripe it will not bear transportation to a great distance. The fruit is nearly globe-shaped, though a little oval, and in size equals the largest cocoa-nut. As the reader already knows, it is of a green colour, and covered with short stout spines, very sharp-pointed, whose bases touch each other, and are consequently somewhat hexagonal in shape. With this _chevaux-de-frise_ it is so completely armed, that when the stalk is broken close off it is impossible to take up the fruit without having one's fingers badly pricked. The outer rind is so tough and strong, that no matter from what height the fruit falls it is never crushed or broken. From the base of the fruit to its apex, five faint lines may be traced running among the spines. These form the divisions of the carpels where the fruit can be cut open with a sharp knife, though requiring a considerable exertion of strength. The five cells found within are of a silken white colour, each filled with an oval-shaped mass of cream-coloured pulp containing several seeds of the size of chestnuts. The pulp forms the edible portion of the fruit, and its consistence and flavour are both difficult to be described. Mr Wallace, the celebrated hunter naturalist, thus quaintly describes it:-- "A rich, butter-like custard, highly flavoured with almonds, gives the best general idea of it; but intermingled with it come wafts of flavour that call to mind cream-cheese, onion-sauce, brown-sherry, and other incongruities. Then there is a rich glutinous smoothness in the pulp, which nothing else possesses, but which adds to its delicacy. It is neither acid, nor sweet, nor juicy; yet one feels the want of none of these qualities, for it is perfect as it is. It produces no nausea, or other bad effects; and the more you eat of it the less you feel inclined to stop. In fact, to eat durions is a new sensation, worth a voyage to the East to experience. When the fruit is ripe it falls of itself; and the only way to eat durions to perfection is to get them as they fall, and the smell is then less overpowering. When unripe, it makes a very good vegetable if cooked, and it is also eaten by the Dyaks raw. In a good fruit season large quantities are preserved salted, in jars and bamboos, and kept the year round, when it acquires a most disgusting odour to Europeans, but the Dyaks appreciate it highly as a relish with their rice. There are in the forest two varieties of wild durions with much smaller fruits, one of them orange-coloured inside. It would not perhaps be correct to say that the durion is the best of all fruits, because it cannot supply the place of a sub-acid juicy kind; such as the orange, grape, mango, and mangosteen, whose refreshing and cooling qualities are so wholesome and grateful; but as producing a food of the most exquisite flavour, it is unsurpassed. If I had to fix on two only as representing the perfection of the two classes, I should certainly choose the durion and the orange as the king and queen of fruits. "The durion is however sometimes dangerous. When the fruit begins to ripen it falls daily and almost hourly, and accidents not unfrequently happen to persons walking or working under the trees. When the durion strikes a man in its fall it produces a dreadful wound, the strong spines tearing open the flesh, whilst the blow itself is very heavy; but from this very circumstance death rarely ensues, the copious effusion of blood preventing the inflammation which might otherwise take place. A Dyak chief informed me that he had been struck by a durion falling on his head, which he thought would certainly have caused his death, yet he recovered in a very short time." Both the natives of the Malayan Archipelago and strangers residing there regard the durion as superior to all other kinds of fruit--in short, the finest in the world. The old traveller, Luischott, writing of it as early as 1599, says that in flavour it surpasses all other fruits. While another old traveller, Doctor Paludanus, thus speaks of it: "This fruit is of a hot and humid nature. To those not used to it, it seems at first to smell like rotten onions, but immediately they have tasted it they prefer it to all other food. The natives give it honourable titles, exalt it, and make verses on it." [Note 1.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. To these particulars we may add that the durion (_Durio zibethinus_) belongs to the natural family of _Sterculiaceae_, of the same sub-order (_Bombaceae_) as the silk-cotton tree. It grows to a great stature; its leaves are like those of the cherry, and its pale yellow flowers hang in large bunches. Each tree yields about two hundred fruit in a year. The fruit contains ten to twelve seeds, as large as pigeons' eggs, and these, when roasted, are as good as, and taste very much like, roasted chestnuts. CHAPTER NINE. GAGGING A GAVIAL. After finishing their dinner of durions, the three men again sallied forth, to see whether something more substantial could be found for a later repast--either flesh, fowl, or fish. As before, they went in different directions--Captain Redwood into the forest, Murtagh up the stream, and Saloo along the sea-beach, where he waded out into the water, still in the hope of picking up another large oyster. He took with him a stalk of bamboo, pointed at one end, to be used as a probe in the soft bottom in case any oysters might be lying _perdu_ beneath the sand. Henry and Helen were again left to themselves, but this time they were not to remain seated under any tree--at least, not all the time. The father, before leaving, had enjoined upon both of them to take a bath; ablution having become very necessary on account of their having been so long cribbed up in the somewhat dirty pinnace. It would be also of service in promoting their restoration to health and strength. They went into the water, not together, but at some distance apart--Henry choosing to go down to the sea, while Helen entered the stream close by, as it had clear water with a smooth, sandy bed; besides, she thought it was safer, being free from surf or currents. It was only safer in appearance, as the sequel proved; for the hunters and fisherman had scarce scattered off out of hearing, when a cry broke upon the still air of noon that startled the bright-winged birds of the Bornean forest, and stopped their songs as quickly as would have done a shot from Captain Redwood's rifle. It was heard by the captain himself, strolling among the tree trunks, and looking aloft for game; by Murtagh on the river bank, endeavouring to beguile the sly fish to his baited hook; by Saloo, wading knee-deep in search of Singapore oysters; and by Henry swimming about upon the buoyant incoming tide. More distinctly than all the rest, the little Helen heard it--since it was she who gave it utterance. It was a cry of distress, and brought all the others together, and running toward the point whence it came. There was no difficulty about their knowing the direction, for one and all recognised Helen's voice, and knew where she had been left. In less than sixty seconds' time they stood together upon the bank of the stream, on the same spot from which they had parted; and there beheld a spectacle that thrilled them with fear, and filled them with horror. The girl, finding it not deep enough by the edge of the stream--at this point nearly a hundred yards in width--had waded midway across, where it came quite up to her neck; and there she stood, her head alone showing above the surface. Beyond her, and coming from the opposite side, showed another head, so hideous it was no wonder that, on first perceiving it, she had given way to affright, and voice to her terror. It was the head of an enormous reptile, of lizard shape, that had crawled out from a reedy covert on the opposite side of the river, and having silently let itself down into the water, was now swimming toward the terrified bather. There could be no mistaking the monster's intent, for it was coming straight toward its victim. "_A gavial_!" cried Saloo, as his eyes rested on the body of the huge saurian, full twenty feet in length, with its head over a yard long, and jaws nearly the same, the upper one surmounted by a long knob-like protuberance, that distinguishes it from all other reptiles. "A gavial!" echoed the others, though not inquiringly; for they knew too well both the shape and character of the creature that was crossing the river. As all four first reached the bank--arriving nearly at the same instant of time--there were about twenty yards between the hideous saurian and her who seemed destined to destruction. On first perceiving her danger, the girl had made a few plunges to get back to the bank; but, hindered by the depth to which she had unwarily waded, and overcome by terror, she had desisted from the attempt; and now stood neck-deep, giving utterance to cries of despair. What was to be done? In less than a minute more the jaws of the saurian would close upon her crashing her fair, tender form between its teeth as though she were only some ordinary prey--a fish, or the stem of some succulent water-plant! Her father stood on the bank a very picture of distress. Of what use the rifle held half-raised in his hands? Its bullet, not bigger than a pea, would strike upon the skull of such a huge creature harmlessly, as a drop of hail or rain. Even could he strike it in the eye--surging through the water as it was, a thing so uncertain--that would not hinder it from the intent so near to accomplishment. The Irishman, with only fish-hooks in his hand, felt equally impotent; and what could the boy Henry do, not only unarmed but undressed--in short, just as he had been bathing--_in puris naturalibus_! All three were willing to rush into the water, and getting between the reptile and its victim, confront the fierce creature, even to their own certain sacrifice. And this, one, or other, or all of them, would have done, had they not been prevented by Saloo. With a loud shout the Malay, hitherto apparently impassive, called upon them to hold back. They obeyed, seeing that he intended to act, and had already taken his measures for rescuing the girl. They could not tell what these were, and only guessed at them by what they saw in his hands. It was nothing that could be called a weapon--only a piece of bamboo, pointed at one end, which he had taken from among the embers of last night's fire and sharpened with his knife, when he went off in search of the Singapore oysters. It was the same stick he had been using to probe for them under the sand. On seeing the gavial as it started toward the girl, he had quickly drawn out his knife, and sharpened the other end of the stake while coming across the beach. With this sorry apology for a weapon, and while they were still wondering, he dashed into the stream; and almost before any of the others had recovered from their first surprise, they saw him plunge past the spot where stood the affrighted girl. In another instant his black head, with the long dark hair trailing behind it, appeared in close juxtaposition to the opened jaws of the reptile. Then the head was seen suddenly to duck beneath the surface, while at the same time a brown-skinned arm and hand rose above it with a pointed stake in its grasp--like the emblematic representation seen upon some ancient crest. Then was seen an adroit turning of the stick, so quick as to be scarce perceptible--immediately followed by a backward spring upon the part of the lizard, with a series of writhings and contortions, in which both its body and tail took part, till the water around it was lashed into foam. In the midst of this commotion, the head of the Malay once more appeared above the surface, close to that of the girl; who, under the guidance of her strangely-skilled and truly courageous rescuer, was conducted to the bank, and delivered safe into her father's arms; stretched open to embrace her. It was some time, however, before the stream recovered its wonted tranquillity. For nearly half an hour the struggles of the great saurian continued, its tail lashing the water into foam, as through its gagged jaws a stream rushed constantly down its throat, causing suffocation. But, in spite of its amphibious nature, drowning was inevitable; and soon after became an accomplished fact--the huge reptilian carcass drifting down stream, towards the all-absorbing ocean, to become food for sharks, or some other marine monster more hideous and ravenous than itself. If, indeed, a more hideous and ravenous monster is to be found! It is sometimes called the Gangetic crocodile, but it is even uglier than either crocodile or alligator, and differs from both in several important particulars. As, for instance, in its mouth--its jaws being curiously straight, long, and narrow; and in the shape of its head, which has straight perpendicular sides, and a quadrilateral upper surface. It has double, or nearly double, the number [Note 1.] of the teeth of the crocodile of the Nile, though the latter is well enough supplied with these potent implements of destruction! It is an amphibious animal, and fond of the water, in which its webbed hind feet enable it to move with considerable celerity. The huge reptile which threatened Helen's safety was twenty feet in length, but the gavial sometimes attains the extraordinary dimensions of eight to nine yards. Sincere was the gratitude of Captain Redwood for the address and courage displayed by the Malay in rescuing his daughter, and his regret was great that he had no means of rewarding his faithful follower. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. As many as one hundred and twenty. CHAPTER TEN. BURROWING BIRDS. The fruit diet, however delicious, was not strengthening. Saloo said so, and Murtagh agreed with him. The Irishman declared he would rather have a meal of plain "purtatees and buttermilk," though a bit of bacon, or even ship's "junk," would be more desirable. All agreed that a morsel of meat--whether salted or fresh--would be highly beneficial; indeed, almost necessary to the complete restoration of their strength. How was animal food to be procured? The forest, so far as Captain Redwood had explored it, seemed altogether untenanted by living creature. He had now been tramping for upwards of an hour among the trees without seeing either bird or quadruped. And although there were fish in the stream, and should have been shell-fish along the sea-beach, neither Murtagh nor Saloo had succeeded in procuring any. A keen craving for animal food had grown upon them, and they were not without some regretful thoughts at having permitted the dead gavial to drift out to sea. Even from the carcass of the saurian they might have obtained steaks that, if not very dainty or delicate, would at least have been eatable. Discouraged by their want of success, and still feeling feeble, they did not go out again that day, but remained resting under the tree. While they were munching their evening meal--of durions, as the dinner had been--the Malay commenced discoursing upon eggs, which set them all thinking about them. If they only had a few, it would be just the very thing to nourish and give them strength. But where were the eggs to be obtained? This was the question asked him by the Irishman, who could at that moment have eaten a dozen, boiled, fried, poached, in omelette, or even, as he said himself, have "sucked" them. "Iggs indade!" he exclaimed, as Saloo made mention of the article; "I'd loike to see one, an could ate a basketful of them, if they were as big as swans'. What puts iggs in your head, nigger?" "Eggs no long way off," rejoined the Malay. "Plenty egg if we knowee whale find 'em." "How do you know that? Ye're ravin', Saloo." "No lavin, Multa. You heal lass night the malee? All night longee he cly wail." "Hear the malee. What's that?" "Biggee fowl like tulkey. Saloo heal him. Make moan likee man go die." "Och, thair was that, thrue enough. I heerd something scramin' all the night. I thought it might be a banshee, if thair is that crayther in this counthry. A bird, you say? What of that? Its squalling won't give us any iggs, nor lade to its nest nayther." "Ness not belly fal way. Malee make ness in sand close to sea-shole. Mollow mornin' I go lookee, maybe findee." All throughout the previous night they had heard a voice resounding along the shore in loud, plaintive wailings, and Captain Redwood had remarked its being a strange note to him, never having heard the like before. He believed the cries to come from some species of sea-fowl that frequented the coast, but did not think of the probability of their nests being close at hand. As day broke he had looked out for them in hopes of getting a shot. Even had they been gulls, he would have been glad of one or two for breakfast. But there were no birds in sight, not even gulls. Saloo now told them that the screams heard during the night did not come from sea-fowl, but from birds of a very different kind, that had their home in the forest, and only came to the sea-coast during their season of breeding; that their presence was for this purpose, and therefore denoted the proximity of their nests. While they were yet speaking on the subject, their eyes were suddenly attracted to a number of the very birds about which they were in converse. There was quite a flock of them--nearly fifty in all. They were not roosted upon the trees, nor flying through the air, but stepping along the sandy beach with a sedate yet stately tread, just like barn-door fowl on their march toward a field of freshly-sown grain, here and there stooping to pick up some stray seed. They were about the size of Cochin-Chinas, and from their flecked plumage of glossy black and rose-tinted white colour, as well as from having a combed or helmeted head, and carrying their tails upright, they bore a very striking resemblance to a flock of common hens. They, in fact, belonged to an order of birds closely allied to the gallinaceous tribe, and representing it on the continent of Australia as also in several of the Austro-Malayan islands, where the true gallinaceae do not exist. There are several distinct species of them; some, as the _tallegalla_ or "brush turkey" of Australia, approaching in form and general appearance to the turkey, while others resemble the common fowl, and still others might be regarded as a species of pheasant. They have the singular habit of depositing their eggs in mounds of rubbish, which they scrape together for this purpose, and then leave them to what might appear a sort of spontaneous incubation. Hence they are usually called "mound-builders," though they do not all adhere to the habit; some of them choosing a very different though somewhat analogous mode of getting their eggs hatched. Naturalists have given them the name of _megapoda_, on account of their very large feet, which, provided with long curved claws, enable them to scratch the ground deeply and rake together the rubbish into heaps for the safe deposit of their eggs. Sometimes these megapodes, as the Australians call them, for they are as common in Australia as Borneo, raise heaps of fifteen feet in height, and not less than sixty feet in circumference at the base. They are large and heavy birds, unwieldy in their motions, slow and lumbering in their flight. Their legs are thick, and their toes are also thick and long. There is some difference between their nest-building ways and those of the tallegalla; yet, on the whole, the similarity is very striking, as may be seen from the following account. Tracing a circle of considerable radius, says Mr Wood, the birds begin to travel round it, continually grasping with their large feet the leaves, and grasses, and dead twigs which are lying about, and flinging them inwards towards the centre. Each time they finish their rounds they narrow their circle, so that they soon clear away a large circular belt, having in its centre a low, irregular heap. By repeating the operation they decrease the _diameter_ of the mound while increasing its _height_, until at length a large and rudely conical mound is formed. Next they scrape out a cavity of about four feet in the middle of the heap, and here deposit the eggs, which are afterwards covered up, to be hatched by the combined effects of fermentation and the sun. But the bird does not thus escape any of the cares of maternity, for the male watches the eggs carefully, being endowed with a wonderful instinct which tells him the temperature suitable for them. Sometimes he covers them thickly with leaves, and sometimes lays them nearly bare, repeating these operations frequently in the course of a single day. The eggs at last are hatched, but when the young bird escapes from the shell it does not leave the mound, remaining therein for at least twelve hours. Even after a stroll in the open air it withdraws to its mound toward evening, and is covered up, like the egg, only not to so great a depth. It is a singular fact that in all cases a nearly cylindrical hole, or shaft, is preserved in the centre of the heap, obviously intended to admit the cooling air from without, and to allow of the escape of the gases fermenting within. In each nest as much as a bushel of eggs is frequently deposited. As these are of excellent flavour, they are quite as much esteemed by the white man as by the aborigine. The tallegalla has a habit of scratching large holes in the ground while dusting itself, says Mr Wood, after the manner of gallinaceous birds; and these holes often serve to guide the egg-hunter towards the nest itself. After this digression let us return to the megapodes of Borneo, whose appearance had strongly excited the curiosity of Captain Redwood and his party. The birds that had now displayed themselves to the eyes of our party of castaways were of the species known as "maleos," by Saloo called malee. They had not just then alighted, but came suddenly into view around the spur of a "dune," or sand-hill, which up to that moment had hindered them from being observed. As the spectators were quietly reclining under the obscure shadow of the tree, the birds did not notice them, but stalked along the shore about their own business. What this business was soon became apparent; for although one or another of the birds made occasional stop to pick up some worm, weed, or seed, it was evident they were not making their evening promenade in search of food. Now and again one would dart quickly away from the flock, running with the swiftness of a pheasant, then suddenly stop, survey the ground in every direction, as if submitting it to examination, and finally, with a cackling note, summon the others to its side. After this a general cackle would spring up, as if they were engaged in some consultation that equally regarded the welfare of all. It was noticed that those taking the initiative in these prospecting rushes and summonings, differed a little from the others. The casque or bonnet-shaped protuberance at the back of their heads was larger, as were also the tubercles at their nostrils; the red upon their naked cheeks was of brighter and deeper hue; while their plumage was gayer and more glossy, the rufous-white portion of it being of a more pronounced rose or salmon colour. These were the male birds or "cocks" of the flock, though the difference between them and the hens was much less than that between chanticleer and the ladies of his barn-yard harem, and only noticeable when they drew very near to the spectators. They were still two hundred yards from the spot where the latter lay watching them, and by the direction in which they were going it was not likely they would come any nearer. Captain Redwood had taken hold of the musket, intending to load it with some slugs he chanced to have, and try a long shot into the middle of the flock; but Saloo restrained him with a word or two spoken in a whisper. They were,-- "Don't try shot, cappen. Too long way off. You miss all. Maybe they go lookee place for billy eggs. Much betta we waitee while." Thus cautioned, the captain laid aside the gun, while they all remained silently watching the maleos, which continued their course, with its various divergences, still unconscious of being observed. When they were nearly in front of the camping-place, at a spot where the sand lay loose and dry, above the reach of the ordinary tidal influx, all made a stop at the summons of one who, from the superior style of his plumage and the greater grandeur of his strut, appeared a very important individual of the tribe--in all likelihood the "cock of the walk." Here a much longer period was spent in the cackling consultation, which at length came to an end, not as before in their passing on to another place, but by the whole flock setting to, and with their great clawed feet scratching up the sand, which they scattered in clouds and showers all around them. For a time they were scarce visible, the sand dust flying in every direction, and concealing the greater portion of them beneath its dun cloud; and this sort of play was continued for nearly half an hour. It was not intended for play, however, for when it at length came to a termination the spectators under the tree could perceive that a large cavity had been hollowed out in the sand, of such extent, as to diameter and depth, that more than half the flock, when within its circumference, were invisible from their point of observation. From that moment it could be noted that several birds were always down in the pit thus excavated, some going in, others coming out, as if taking their turn in the performance of a common duty; and it was further noticed that the ones so occupied were those of less conspicuous plumage--in fact the hens; while the cocks strutted around, with their tails elevated high in the air, and with all the pride and importance usually assumed by masters of a grand ceremonial. For another hour this singular scene was kept up, Saloo hindering his companions from making any movement to interrupt it, by promising them a great reward for non-interference. The scene at length terminated in another grand scraping match, by which the sand was flung back into the pit with the accompanying storm of dust, and then emerging from the cloud there commenced a general stampede of the megapodes, the birds separating into parties of two and three, and going in different directions. They rushed away at lightning speed, some along the smooth sand beach, while others rose right up into the air, and on loud whirring wings flew off into the forest. "Now!" said Saloo, with joy gleaming in his dark, Oriental eyes. "Now we getee pay for patient waitee--we hab egg--better than dulion--belly bess solt of egg malee." As there was no need for further concealment or caution, all started to their feet and hastened out to the spot where the departed fowls had been at work. There was no longer any signs of a hollow, but a level surface corresponding with that around, and but for the fresh look of the recently disturbed sand, and the scoring that told of claws having disturbed it, no one could have thought that a flock of birds resembling barn-door fowl had just made such a large cavity in the ground, and then filled it up again. Saloo and Murtagh ran down to the pinnace, and each brought back an oar. With these used as shovels, the loose sand was once more removed, and nearly three dozen large eggs of a reddish or brick colour were exposed to view, lying in a sort of irregular stratification. They were of the usual ovoid form, smaller at one end than the other, though but slightly elongated. What was most notable was their immense size, considering the bulk of the birds that voided them; for while the latter were not larger than common hens, the eggs were as big as those of a goose. The contents of one which Murtagh, in his careless Hibernian way, accidentally broke--and which were caught in a tin pannikin that held as much as a good-sized breakfast cup--filled the pannikin to its brim. It was quite a seasonable supply. These fine eggs proved not inferior to those of the common hen; indeed they were thought superior, and in flavour more like the eggs of a guinea-fowl or turkey. About a dozen of them were cooked for breakfast, and in more ways than one. Some were boiled, one of the half shells of the same Singapore oyster serving for a saucepan; while in the other, used as a frying-pan, an immense omelette was frittered to perfection. It was quite a change from the fruit diet of the durion, reversing our present as well as the old Roman fashion of eating, though not contrary to the custom of some modern nations--the Spaniards, for example. Instead of being _ab ovo ad malum_, it was _ab malo ad ovum_. [Note 2.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. The Banshee, or Benshie, sometimes called the Shrieking Woman, is an imaginary being, supposed by the Irish to predict, by her shrieks and wails, the death of some member in the family over which she exercises a kind of supervision. To this fable Moore alludes in one of his songs-- "How oft has the Benshee cried." Note 2. The Romans began their noonday meal with eggs, and ended with a dessert; _ab ovo ad malum_. CHAPTER ELEVEN. THE LANOONS. Certainly the most nutritious of all things eatable or drinkable is the substance, or fluid, called milk. It becomes blood almost immediately, and then flesh, or muscle, as was designed by the Creator. Hence it is the first food given to all animated creatures--not alone to the _mammalia_, but to the oviparous animals--even to the infantile forms of the vegetable itself. To the first it is presented in the form of simple milk, or "lacteal fluid;" to the second in the "white" of the egg; while the young tree or plant, springing from its embryo, finds it in the farina, or succulent matter, with which it is surrounded, and in which it has hitherto lain embedded and apparently lifeless, till the nursing sun calls it into a growing existence. It is albumen, gluten, and other substances combined, all existing in the udder, in the egg-shell, in the seed, root, or fruit; from which springs the progeny, whether it be man or beast, flying bird or swimming fish, creeping reptile or fast-rooted forest tree. The meal of oyster-meat had restored to healthy action the long-fasting stomachs of the castaways; the durion fruit, coming like a _dessert_, had no doubt acted with an exceedingly beneficial effect; but not till they had partaken of the true "staff of life"--represented in one of its elementary forms, the egg--did they feel their blood running in its right channels, alike restoring their vigour and strength. Murtagh was one of the first to feel revivified, and declare himself ready for anything. But they were all much invigorated, and began to think and talk of plans for the future. The question, of course, was, how they should quit the shore on which shipwreck, and afterwards a chance wind, had cast them? So far the coast appeared to be uninhabited, and although not so very inhospitable, as their experience had proved, still it would never do for them to remain there. The American merchant-skipper had no ambition to match the Scotchman Selkirk, and make a second Crusoe of himself. Neither would Murtagh or the Malay have cared to act as his man Friday for any very prolonged period of hermitage, so long as there was a mode of escaping from it. During the remainder of that evening, therefore, they talked of a change of quarters, and discussed various plans for bringing this about. It was a question whether they should take to their boat and again put out to sea, or endeavour, by an overland expedition, to reach some part of the coast where they might find a European, and therefore a civilised, settlement. Captain Redwood knew there were more than one of these on the great island of Borneo. There were the Dutch residencies of Sambas and Sarabang; the English government depot on the islet of Labuan; and the strange heterogeneous settlement--half colony, half kingdom--then acknowledging the authority of the bold British adventurer, Sir James Brooke, styled "Rajah of Sarawak." If any of these places could be attained, either coastwise or across country, our castaways might consider their sufferings at an end; and it was only a question which would be the easiest to reach, and what the best way of reaching it. After due consideration, Labuan was the point decided upon. From that part of the coast Captain Redwood supposed himself to be, it was by far the nearest civilised settlement--in fact, the only one that offered a chance of being reached by travellers circumstanced as they. Of course they had no intention to start immediately. Their strength was not sufficiently restored, and they were only discussing the question of a journey to be undertaken before long, and the probabilities of their being able to accomplish it. Although they were now safe on land, and need no longer dread the "dangers of the deep," they did not yet believe themselves delivered from all peril. The part of the coast on which they had landed appeared uninhabited; but it was not this that made them uneasy. On the contrary, human beings were the very things they did not desire just then to see. From the place where his ship had been struck by the typhoon, and the distance and direction in which they had since drifted, Captain Redwood conjectured--was indeed almost sure of it--that they were on some part of the north-eastern coast of Borneo, where it fronts the Celebes Sea; and he had traded long enough among the islands of the Malayan Archipelago to know that this was a most dangerous locality, not from beasts of prey, but fierce, predatory men; from pirates, in short. These sea-robbers, issuing from their hiding-places and strongholds among the lagoons of many of the Malayan islands--more especially Mindanao--are to be met with all through the Indian Archipelago; but their most favourite cruising-grounds are in the seas lying around the Sooloo isles, and stretching between Borneo and New Guinea. They are usually known as "Lanoons," from Illanon, the southern peninsula of Mindanao, their principal place of refuge and residence. But they have also other haunts and ports where they make rendezvous-- many on the shores of the Celebes Sea, in the island of Celebes itself, and also along the eastern and northern coast of Borneo. In this last they are usually known as "Dyak pirates," a name not very correct; since most of these freebooters are of pure Malayan race, while the Bornean Dyaks take but little part in their plundering, and are themselves often its victims. The craft in which they carry on their nefarious calling are large junk-like vessels termed "praus," with short, stumpy masts and huge square sails of woven matting stuff. But they place more dependence upon their broad paddle-bladed oars and skilled oarsmen, each prau having from thirty to forty rowers, and some very large ones a much greater number. These, seated in double rows along each side of the vessel, take no part in the fighting, which is done by the chiefs and warriors stationed above on a sort of platform or upper deck that extends nearly the whole length of the prau. The advantage derived from the oars is, that in the tropical seas very light winds and calms are of common occurrence, during either of which the prau can easily overtake an ordinary sailing-ship. And when a brisk wind arises, and it is desirable to avoid any vessel that may be endeavouring to come up with them, they can, by means of their strong rowing force, get to windward of the chasing craft, and so out of harm's way. Ships are not always the objects of their piratical cruisings, or they might at times find it but an unprofitable business. Combined with sea piracy, they make frequent land expeditions along the coasts of the different islands, going up the inlets and rivers, and plundering the towns or other settlements situated on their banks. And their booty does not always consist of goods, chattels, and money, but of men, women, and children; for they are men-robbers as well as murderers and pirates. Their captives are carried off to their places of rendezvous, and there kept until they can be sold into slavery--a market for this kind of commodity being easily found in almost every island of the Malayan Archipelago--whether it be Dutch, Spanish, Portuguese, or under the dominion of its own native rulers, the sultans and rajahs. Well aware of all these circumstances, Captain Redwood knew the danger he and his party would incur should they fall into the hands of the Lanoons. So long as they were out upon the open sea, and in fear of perishing by starvation, they had never had a thought about pirates. Then the sight of a prau--even with the certainty of its being a piratical craft--would have been welcome; since death by the Malay kris, or slavery to the most cruel taskmaster, would have been a relief from the sufferings they were enduring, from hunger as from thirst. Now, however, that these were things of the past, and they were not only safe delivered from the perils of the deep, but seemed in no farther danger of starvation, the pirates had become the subject of their gravest fears, and their eyes were habitually on the alert--now scanning the sea-shore on both sides, and now directed toward the forest, whenever any noise from that quarter occurred to excite suspicion. While in this frame of mind, the boat which had brought them safely ashore caused them a good deal of apprehension. They might themselves have easily found concealment among the trees that stood thickly on the land-side; but the large pinnace lying upon the open beach was a conspicuous object, and could be seen miles off by any one straying along the shore, or coming abruptly out of the forest. If there were any pirates' nest near, the boat would surely betray them, and the question arose as to what should be done with it. To have dragged it up the sand, and hidden it among the underwood, is probably what they would have done had they been possessed of sufficient strength. But they knew that they were not, and therefore the thing was not thought of. It was as much as they could yet do to drag their own bodies about, much less a heavy ship's boat. Murtagh suggested breaking it up, and letting the fragments float off upon the waves. But Captain Redwood did not approve of this mode. The craft that had so long carried them through an unknown sea, and at length set them safely ashore, deserved different treatment. Besides, they might again stand in need of it; for it was not yet certain whether they were on the coast of the Bornean mainland, or one of the numerous outlying islets to be found along its eastern side. If an island, the boat would still be required to carry them across to the main. While they were engaged in discussing this subject on the day they had made discovery of the maleos' eggs, Saloo's sharp eye, wandering about, caught sight of something that promised a solution of the difficulty. It was the little stream not far off, or rather, the estuary formed by its current, which, flowing out through the sands, had cut a channel deep enough for the keel of a much larger craft than a ship's pinnace. "Why we no blingee boat up libba?" he asked. "Saloo is right; it may be done," assented the captain. "Troth an' that may it. It's clivver of the nigger to be the first of us to think of that same. Then we'd betther set about it at once-- hadn't we, captin?" "By all means," was the reply; and the three men, rising to their feet, walked off toward the boat, leaving the young people under the tree. CHAPTER TWELVE. KRISSING A CONSTRICTOR. It took them nearly an hour to get the pinnace round into the stream, and opposite the place they had fixed upon for their temporary encampment. The current acting against their feeble efforts at rowing, was the cause of delay. They succeeded, however, and the boat was made safe from being observed by the eye of any one going along the beach. But, to make it still more secure, they poled it in under the branches of an over-hanging tree not far off--a large Indian fig, or _banyan_, whose umbrageous top overshadowed the water nearly half-way across the stream. To one of its numerous root-stems the craft was made fast by means of the tiller-ropes; and they were stepping out of it to return to their camping-place, when a shout from Saloo warned them of some danger ahead. It was not ahead, but _overhead_; for, as his companions looked up-- following the example of the Malay--they saw what at first appeared to be one of the stems of the banyan in motion, as if endowed with life! They were soon convinced of their mistake; for instead of the moving thing being part of the fig-tree, its supple, cylindrical body and glittering scales showed it to be a serpent. It was a python, and one of enormous dimensions, as they could tell by what they saw of it, knowing that this was only a portion of the whole; at least ten feet of it were depending from the tree, while, judging by the taper of its body, and applying the ordinary rule as to serpent shape, there could not be less than ten or twelve other feet concealed among the branches above. As Saloo first caught sight of it, it was descending from the tree, no doubt having been disturbed by the noise made in mooring the boat, and tempted to forsake its perch for some purpose unknown. It was coming down head foremost--not along any of the stems, but in an open space between them--its tail coiled round a branch above, affording it a support for this descent, monkey or 'possum-fashion. Its snout had already touched the ground, and perhaps its whole body would soon have been elongated upon the earth but for the shout of Saloo. At this it suddenly jerked up its head, but without taking in any of its coils above; and with jaws agape and tongue protruding, it commenced oscillating around as if trying its range, and ready to pounce upon any creature that came within the radius of that wide circle of which its forked tongue was describing the circumference. The warning of the Malay was given soon enough to save Captain Redwood, but not the ship-carpenter. Murtagh was either too long in hearing, or too slow in giving heed to it. He was a step or two in advance of the others, carrying in his arms some implements from the boat. In looking around and above he saw the snake sweeping about in its grand circular vibrations, and at the same time perceived that he was within their range. It was but the simple obedience of instinct to leap to one side, which he did; but as ill luck would have it, hampered by the _impedimenta_ carried in his arms, he came in violent collision with one of the stems of the banyan, which not only sent him back with a rebound, but threw him down upon the earth, flat on his face. He would have done better by lying still, for in that position the snake could not have coiled around and constricted him. And the python rarely takes to its teeth till it has tried its powers of squeezing. But the ship-carpenter, ignorant of this herpetological fact, and as an Irishman not highly gifted either with patience or prudence, after scrambling a while upon his hands and knees, stood once more upon his feet. He had scarcely got into an erect attitude when his body was embraced by a series of spiral annulations that extended from head to foot--huge thick rings, slimy and clammy to the touch, which he knew to be the foldings of the python. Had there been any Lanoons, or Dyak pirates, within a mile's distance, they might have heard the cry that escaped him. The forest birds heard it afar off, and ceased their chatterings and warblings, so that there was no sound for some time save the continuous shrieks and ejaculations that came from Murtagh's lips. Captain Redwood, altogether unarmed, leaped back into the pinnace to seize the boat-hook, thinking it the best weapon for the occasion. It might have been of service if obtainable in time. But long before he could have returned with it the ship-carpenter's ribs would have been compressed into a mass of broken bones, and the breath crushed out of his body. This would certainly have been the lamentable result but for a weapon with which a Malay is always armed, carrying it on his body nearer than his shirt, and almost as near as his skin. It was the _kris_. As a matter of course, Saloo had one, and luckily for his old shipmate, "Multa," he knew how to handle it with skill, so that, in driving its twisted blade through the python's throat, he did not also impale upon its point the jugular vein of the Irishman. He did the one dexterously without doing the other, and the consequence was that the huge snake, suffering keenly from having its throat pierced through, quickly uncoiled itself from the body of its intended victim, glad to let the latter escape, and only thinking of getting free itself by scuttling off into the thickest of the underwood, where it disappeared evidently writhing in pain. Too anxious about the condition of their comrade, neither Captain Redwood nor Saloo thought of pursuing it, but stooped down over the released body of the Irishman, who had fallen prostrate to the earth. On due examination it proved that there was not much harm done beyond a terrible fright; and after some congratulations, he was induced to get once more upon his feet and accompany them to the camp. But for Saloo and his kris, beyond doubt he would never have returned to it alive. For the python in the Old World is quite as formidable as the boa in the New. Perhaps it is even more to be dreaded; for, notwithstanding its great length--twenty-five to thirty feet--it is exceedingly nimble and its muscular strength is immense. There are numerous authentic stories on record of its having crushed the buffalo and the tiger in its huge constricting folds. The _python reticulatus_ is probably the largest species. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. CHICKS QUICK TO TAKE WING. Two more days passed without any occurrence of an unusual nature, though the castaways made several short excursions and explorations into the forest, and also up and down the shore, keeping, however, close to the edge of the timber. These ended without any important discovery being made, but confirmed them in their conjecture that the coast on which they had been cast was uninhabited, at least for a considerable distance on each side of the place where they had landed. The most disappointing thing about these exploratory trips was their fruitlessness in obtaining food, the chief object for which they had been made. Excepting some stray roots and berries of an esculent nature, they had nothing to eat after the maleos' eggs were consumed; and these had lasted them only into the second day. It is true the durion stood near, and its fruit would for a time keep them from starving. Still it would do little for the restoration of their strength; and upon such diet it would be a long time before they could undertake the arduous journey contemplated with any fair prospect of being able to finish it. No more Singapore oysters could be found, no fish caught; and such birds and beasts of the forest as Captain Redwood had accidentally got a glimpse of, had either flown or fled away without giving him as much as the chance of a snap shot. At night they again heard the stridulous clamour of the maleos, and every morning looked out for them; but these fine fowls did not put in another appearance, much less deposit three dozen eggs right under their eyes, and in a convenient spot for being gathered. Saloo, however, who knew all about their habits, believed he might yet find another ovarium; and with this view, on the morning of the third day, after giving up all further attempts at getting shell-fish, he started upon a "prospecting" expedition after eggs, the others going with him. Their route led along the shore, and among the dry sand-wreaths, swirled up near the selvedge of the woods. If another egg depository existed, it was there it should be found. He told his companions that not only did different gangs of the maleos bury their eggs in different places, but the same tribe or flock had the habit of returning to the beach at different times, each time laying their collected eggs in a new and separate pit. That, moreover, these curious birds, guided by instinct or cunning, are accustomed to conceal the place of deposit, which might be easily recognised by their tracks and scratchings. This they do by scoring the ground in other places, and giving to the surface the same appearance as it bears over the spot where their eggs have been left to the hatching of the sun. In this searching excursion Saloo had brought with him a boat-hook; and it was not long before he had an opportunity of proving the truth of his words. A place where the sand was very much tracked by the huge feet of the megapodes soon presented itself, exactly resembling the spot where they had procured the first supply of eggs. But on probing it with the boat-hook, Saloo at once pronounced it one of the sham nests. After all, the creatures did not show too much cunning; for the presence of this pretended place of deposit told the Malay that a real one would not be far off; and, sure enough, another was soon after discovered, which, on being sounded by the iron point of the boat-hook, gave back a firm feel and a sharp metallic click, that told him there were eggs underneath. The sand as before, was carefully removed--Murtagh having brought with him an oar for the purpose--when, for the second time, nearly three dozen beautiful salmon-coloured eggs were disclosed to their view. These were carefully taken up, and carried back to the place of encampment, where they were left lying upon the ground, the party resuming their quest, in hope of being able to lay in a larger and more permanent supply. As it chanced, another considerable receptacle was struck, giving back sweet music to the probing of the boat-hook; and its contents were also added to the larder. As the last lot had been found under sand that appeared but recently stirred, it followed that they were fresher than those of the second finding, and therefore was it determined upon that they should be first eaten. The egg-gatherers having been now several hours engaged, and again become almost as hungry as when first cast upon the shore, once more kindled a fire, set the huge shells upon it, and using the one as a boiling-pot, and the other as a frying-pan, prepared themselves a meal of two courses--_oeuf bouille_ and _omelette_. Next day they again went in search of other eggs, intending to lay in a store against the eventuality of any possible period of famine. But although they discovered several scratched places, and carefully "sounded" them, no more maleos' eggs could be found; and they came to the conclusion that they had despoiled all the "incubator" beds existing on that section of the Bornean coast. By reason of their rapidly-increasing strength, their appetites were by this time almost insatiable. They were, therefore, not long in using up all the "setting" last gathered, and were about to begin upon the other lot that did not seem so "newly laid." These had been kept separate, and permitted to lie where they had first placed them--out on the open surface of the sand, some fifteen or twenty yards beyond the shadow of the tree. Negligently, and somewhat unwisely, had this been done; for during the day the hot sun shining down upon them would naturally have a tendency to spoil and addle them. Still the time had not been very long; and as no one thought of their being damaged, they were preparing to turn them into eggs poached, fried, boiled, or otherwise. Saloo had rekindled the fire, and got ready his pots and pans; while Murtagh, who had stepped out to the "larder", was about to take up one of the eggs, and carry it to the "kitchen." But at that moment a sight met the eyes of the Irishman, that not only astonished, but caused him to sing out so excitedly as at once to attract the attention of the others to the same singular spectacle. It was that of an egg rolling, as it were, spontaneously over the ground? And not only one egg; for, as they continued to gaze a while, the whole lot, as if taking their cue from it, commenced imitating the movement, some with a gentle, others a more violent motion! Murtagh sprang back affrighted, and stood with his red hair on end, gazing at the odd and inexplicable phenomenon. The others were as much puzzled as he--all except the Malay, who at a glance understood the philosophy of the movement. "Young malee inside," he cried in explanation. "We no eat egg, we get chickee. Wait little minnit. You him see come out full featha." Truly enough the "chicks" did come out, not as down-covered helpless creatures, but pults in full plumage, as Saloo had predicted: at all events, full enough to enable them to fly; for as the shells one after another commenced crackling--burst outward by the young birds' strength--each showed a perfect fledgling; that, springing forth from the shivered encasement, like Jack out of his box, at once flapped its little wings, and essayed short flights over the surface of the sand. So much were the spectators taken by surprise, that one and all of the new-born but completely equipped birds, would have winged their way into the forest and been lost, had it not been for Saloo, who, accustomed to such transformations, was in no way discomposed, but preserved his coolness and equanimity. Fortified by these, and armed with the boat-hook, which he had suddenly seized, he struck down the precocious chicks one after another, and put an end to their aspiring flights by laying them lifeless upon the sand. In the end it was neither eggs nor omelettes, but tender, delicate "squabs" the castaways had for their prandial repast. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. A GRAND TREE-CLIMBER. The castaways having made a repast on chicks instead of eggs, as they had been expecting, were for the time satisfied, so far as concerned their appetites. But aware that these would ere long recommence their craving, they could not be contented to remain inactive. It would be necessary to procure some other kind of provisions, and, if possible, a permanent stock on which they could rely until ready to set out on their journey, with a surplus to carry them some way along it. Although in Borneo there are many kinds of strange birds, and some of them large ones, they are not to be found everywhere, and when seen, not so easily caught or shot. There are some large quadrupeds too, as the Indian rhinoceros, and the Sumatran tapir; and although the flesh of these great thick-skinned animals is neither tender nor delicate, yet men who can get no other soon find themselves in a position to relish it, despite its toughness and its coarse texture. But neither rhinoceros nor tapir was seen by our castaways; neither seemed to frequent that part of the coast, as no tracks of them were observed during their excursions. If they had fallen in with a rhinoceros, they would have had some difficulty in killing it; seeing that this enormous brute is as large as a small elephant, its body protected by a thick hide embossed with hard knob-like protuberances, like those upon shields, giving to the animal the appearance of being encased in a full suit of ancient armour. The Sumatran tapir, too, is a creature that does not readily succumb to its assailant, being larger and stronger than its namesake of South America. There are two species of deer known in Borneo; one of them, the "rusa," a fine large animal. Captain Redwood was in hopes he might meet with an individual of either species; and with this object in view, he continued to make short excursions into the woods, taking his rifle along with him, occasionally accompanied by Murtagh, with the ship's musket. But they always returned empty-handed, and a good deal down-hearted, having seen nothing that could be converted into venison. Saloo had again tried for eggs and shell-fish, but was unsuccessful in his search after both; evidently there were no more depositories of maleos' eggs, nor Singapore oysters, nor, indeed, any kind of shell-fish, on that part of the shore. They did not again see any of the mound-making birds--not even those they had despoiled; for it is not the habit of the megapodes to return to their eggs, but to leave them to be hatched under the hot sand, and the chicks to scratch their way upward to the surface, thus taking care of themselves from the very moment of their birth, and, indeed, we may say, before it, since it can scarcely be said they are born before breaking through the shell; and this they have to do for themselves, else they would never see daylight. Talk of precocious chicks! There are none anywhere to be compared with the megapodean pullets of the Malayan Archipelago, no birds half so "early" as they. For some days, after eating up the last chicken of the flock, our castaways could get nothing to live upon but durions; and although these formed a diet sufficiently agreeable to the palate, they were not very strengthening. Besides, they were not so easily gathered; the few they had found on some trees, which Saloo had conveniently climbed, being quickly exhausted. The large durion-tree under which they had first encamped was well furnished with fruit. But its tall stem, nearly a hundred feet, without a branch, and with a bark smooth as that of a sycamore, looked as if no mortal man could ascend it. Captain Redwood had fired several rounds of his chain-shot up into it, and brought down many of the grand spinous pericarps; but this cost an expenditure of ammunition; and, circumstanced as they were, they saw it would never do to waste it in such whimsical fashion. Still, for want of food, the fruit must be obtained some way or other, and the question was how to "pluck" it. In their dilemma the Malay once more came to their aid. Fortunately for all, Saloo was a native of Sumatra, and had been brought up among its forests, much resembling those of Borneo. He was skilled in the wood-craft common to both islands; and, perhaps, of all the crew of the castaway ship, not one could have survived whose services would have been of more value to Captain Redwood and his party than those of the brown-skinned pilot;--especially since it had been their fate to be cast upon the shores of Borneo. His companions had already experienced the benefit to be derived from his knowledge of the country's productions, and were beginning to consult him in almost every difficulty that occurred. He appeared capable of accomplishing almost anything. For all this, they were no little surprised and somewhat incredulous when he declared his intention of climbing the great durion-tree. Murtagh was very much inclined to deny that he could do it. "The nigger's makin' game of us, captin," he said. "It would be as much as a squirrel could do to speel up that tall trunk. Why, it's as smooth as the side of a copper-bottomed ship, an' nothin' to lay howlt on. He's jokin'." "No jokee, Mista Multa. Saloo that tlee climb soon. You help you see." "Oh, be aisy now! I'll help you all I can, if that'll do any good. How do you mane to set about it?" To this Saloo made no verbal rejoinder, but laying hold of a small axe, that had been brought away in the boat, he walked off toward a clump of bamboos growing near the spot where they had made their camp. The first thing he did was to cut down five or six of the largest of these canes, some of them being several inches in diameter, directing Murtagh to drag them off, and deposit them close to the durion-tree. As soon as he had felled what he deemed a sufficient number, he returned to the spot where the Irishman had deposited them, and commenced chopping them into pieces of about eighteen inches in length. In this the ship-carpenter, by reason of his calling, was able to give him efficient aid; and the ground was soon strewed with disjointed bamboos. Each of the pieces was then split into two, and sharply pointed at one end, so as to resemble a peg designed for being driven into the ground. But it was not into the ground Saloo intended driving them, as will be presently seen. While Murtagh was engaged in splitting and sharpening the sections of bamboo, the Malay went off once more into the woods, and soon came back again, bearing in his arms what looked like a quantity of rough packing-cord. The freshly-cut ends of it, however, with their greenish colour and running sap, told it to be some species of creeping-plant-- one of the parasites, or epiphytes, that abound everywhere in the forests of Borneo, as in those of all tropical countries, and render the trade of the ropemaker altogether superfluous. Throwing down his bundle of creepers, Saloo now took up one of the pointed pegs, and, standing by the trunk of the durion, drove it into the soft sapwood, a little above the height of his own head. The axe, which was a light one, and had a flat hammer-shaped head, served him for a mallet. As soon as the first peg had been driven to the depth of several inches, he threw aside the axe, and laid hold of the stake with both hands. Then drawing his feet from the ground, so that all his weight came upon the peg, he tried whether it would sustain him without yielding. It did, and he was satisfied. His next movement was another excursion into the forest, where he found some bamboo stems of a slenderer kind than those already cut, but quite as tall. Having selected three or four of these, he chopped them down, and dragged them up to the durion. Then taking one, he set it upright on its butt-end, parallel to the trunk of the tree, and at such a distance from it as to strike near the outer extremity of the peg already driven home, close to the end of which he had already cut a couple of notches. Some of the vegetable twine was next prepared by him, and taking a piece of the proper length, he made the upright bamboo fast to the horizontal peg by a knowing knot, such as only a savage or sailor can tie. Captain Redwood and his ship-carpenter having now obtained an inkling of his design, stood by to render every assistance, while the young people as spectators were very much interested in the proceeding. As soon as the upright cane was securely lashed to the cross piece, and also made safe against shifting by having its lower end "stepped" or embedded in the ground, Saloo prepared to ascend, taking with him several of the pegs that had been sharpened. Murtagh "gave him a leg," and he stood upon the first "round" of the ladder. Then reaching up, he drove in a second peg--not quite so far above the first as this was from the ground. With another piece of creeper he made it also fast to the perpendicular pole, and the second round was formed, upon which he had to climb without any helping hand, and with the agility of an ape. A third step was similarly established; then a fourth and fifth, and so on, till the pegs and cordage carried up with him gave out, when he came back to the ground to provide himself with a second supply. Obtaining this, he once more ascended, and continued to carry aloft his singular "shrouds." The next thing to be exhausted was the upright piece, which, being only about thirty feet in length, and requiring a surplus to be left, of course came far short of reaching to the lowest limbs of the durion. Another similar stem of bamboo had to be added on by splicing; but for this he did not need to descend, as Murtagh, stretching to his arm's length, handed it up to him, so that he was enabled to lay hold of and draw it up of himself. Giving the two pieces a good length of double for the splice, he bound them securely together, and then went on with the driving of his pegs, to complete the remaining rounds of the ladder. In a space of time that did not in all exceed twenty minutes, he had got up to within ten or twelve feet of the lower branches of the durion--to such a height as caused those looking at him from below to feel giddy as they gazed. It was, indeed, a strange and somewhat fearful spectacle-- that slight human form, sixty or seventy feet above their heads, at such a vast elevation so diminished in size as to appear like a child or a pigmy, and the more fearful to them who could not convince themselves of the security of the slender stair upon which he was standing. They were half expecting that, at any moment, one of the pegs would give way, and precipitate the poor fellow to the earth, a crushed and shapeless mass! It was just as when some courageous workman in a manufacturing town-- bricklayer or carpenter--ascends to the top of one of its tall factory chimneys, to repair some damage done by fire-crack or lightning, and the whole populace of the place rushes out of doors, to look up at the strange spectacle, and admire the daring individual, while trembling in fear for his fate. So stood the little party under the tall durion-tree, regarding the ascent of Saloo. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. SOMETHING SHARP. The Malay had ascended, as already said, to within ten or twelve feet from the lower limbs of the tree, and was still engaged driving in his pegs and binding on the upright bamboo to continue his ascent, when all at once he was seen to start and abruptly suspend operations. At the same time an exclamation escaped his lips, in a low tone, but seemingly in accents of alarm. They all looked up apprehensively, and also started away from the tree; for they expected to see him come tumbling down in their midst. But no; he was still standing firm upon the last made round of the ladder, and in an erect attitude, as if he had no fear of falling. With one hand he held the axe, the other gently grasping the upright bamboo that served him for a support. Instead of looking down to them, to call out or claim their assistance, they saw that his eyes were turned upward and fixed, as if on some object directly over his head. It did not appear to be among the branches of the durion, but as if in the trunk of the tree; and in the interval of silence that succeeded his first quick exclamation, they could hear a hissing sound, such as might proceed from the throat of a goose when some stranger intrudes upon the domain of the farmyard. As it was carried down the smooth stem of the durion, which acted as a conductor, the spectators underneath guessed it was not a goose, but some creature of a less innocent kind. "A snake, be japers!" was the conjecture that dropped from the ship-carpenter's lips, while the same thought occurred simultaneously to the others; for they could think of no living thing, other than a serpent, capable of sending forth such a sibilant sound as that just heard. "What is it, Saloo?" hailed Captain Redwood; "are you in any danger?" "No dangee, cappen; only little bit good luck, that all," was the cheering response that restored their confidence. "How good luck?" asked the captain, puzzled to think of what fortune could have turned up in their favour so high above their heads. "You see soon," rejoined the Malay, taking a fresh peg from his girdle, and once more resuming his task at stair-making. While he was engaged in hammering, and between the resounding strokes, they at the bottom of the tree repeatedly heard the same hissing sound they had taken for the sibilations of a snake, and which they might still have believed to be this, but for a hoarse croaking voice, mingling with the sibilation, which reached their ears at intervals, evidently proceeding from the same throat. Moreover, as they continued to gaze upward, watching Saloo at his work, they caught sight of something in motion on the trunk, and about a foot above his face. It was something of a whitish colour and slender shape, pointed like one of the bamboo pegs he was busily driving at. Now they saw it, and now they did not see it; for whatever it was, it was sunk inside the trunk of the durion-tree, alternately protruding and drawing back. It was also clear to them, that from this sharp-pointed thing, whether beast, bird, or reptile, came the hissing and hoarse croaking that puzzled them. "What is it?" again asked the captain, now no longer anxious or alarmed, but only curious to know what the strange creature could be. "Buld, cappen--biggee buld." "Oh, a bird, that's all; what sort of bird?" "Honbill; ole hen hornbill. She on ha ness inside, hatchee egg; she built up in dat; ole cock he shuttee up with mud." "Oh, a hornbill!" said the captain, repeating the name of the bird for the information of those around him; and now that they more narrowly scrutinised the spot where the white-pointed beak was still bobbing out and in, they could perceive that there was a patch or space of irregular roundish shape, slightly elevated above the bark, having a plastered appearance, and of the colour of dry mud. They had barely time to make this last observation, when Saloo, having got another peg planted so as to enable him to ascend high enough, turned the edge of his axe against the trunk of the durion, and commenced chipping off the mud, that now fell in flakes to the bottom of the tree. It took him only a very short time to effect a breach into the barricaded nest--one big enough to admit his hand with the fingers at fall spread. His arm was at once thrust in up to the elbow; and as his digits closed fearlessly around the throat of the old hen hornbill, she was drawn forth from her place of imprisonment. For a time she was seen in Saloo's hands, convulsively writhing and flopping her great wings, like a turkey gobbler with his head suddenly cut off. There was some screaming, hissing, and croaking, but to all these sounds Saloo quickly put an end, by taking a fresh grasp of the throat of the great bird, choking the breath out of it until the wings ceased fluttering; and then he flung its body down at the feet of the spectators. Saloo did not descend immediately, but once more thrust his hand into the nest, hoping, no doubt, to find an egg or eggs in it. Instead of these, the contents proved to be a bird--and only one--a chick recently hatched, about the size of a squab-pigeon, and fat as a fed ortolan. Unlike the progeny of the megapodes, hatched in the hot sand, the infant hornbill was without the semblance of a feather upon its skin, which was all over of a green, yellowish hue. There was not even so much as a show of down upon it. For a moment Saloo held it in his hand, hissing as it was in his own tiny way. Then chucking it down after its murdered mother, where it fell not only killed, but "squashed," he prepared to descend in a less hasty manner. He now saw no particular need for their dining on durions, at least on that particular day; and therefore discontinued his task upon the bamboo ladder, which could be completed on the morrow, or whenever the occasion called for it. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. AN ENEMY IN THE AIR. Though the old hen hornbill, after her long and seemingly forced period of incubation, might not prove such a tender morsel, they were nevertheless rejoiced at this accession to their now exhausted larder, and the pilot at once set about plucking her, while Murtagh kindled a fresh fire. While they were thus engaged, Henry, who had greatly admired the ingenuity displayed by Saloo in the construction of his singular ladder, bethought him of ascending it. He was led to this exploit partly out of curiosity to try what such a climb would be like; but more from a desire to examine the odd nest so discovered--for to him, as to most boys of his age, a bird's nest was a peculiarly attractive object. He thought that Saloo had not sufficiently examined the one first plundered, and that there might be another bird or an egg behind. He was not naturalist enough to know--what the ex-pilot's old Sumatran experience had long ago taught him--that the hornbill only lays one egg, and brings forth but a single chick. Whether or no, he was determined to ascend and satisfy himself. He had no fear of being able to climb the tree-ladder. It did not seem any more difficult than swarming up the shrouds of a ship, and not half so hard as going round the main-top without crawling through the "lubber's hole"--a feat he had often performed on his father's vessel. Therefore, without asking leave, or saying a word to any one, he laid hold of the bamboo pegs and started up the tree. None of the others had taken any notice of him. Captain Redwood was engaged in wiping out his gun, with little Helen attending upon him, while Saloo was playing poulterer, and Murtagh, a little way off in the woods, gathering faggots for the fire. Henry kept on, hand over hand, and foot after foot, till he at length stood upon the topmost round of the unfinished ladder. Being almost as tall as Saloo himself, he easily got his arm into the cavity that contained the nest, and commenced groping all over it. He could find no other bird, nor yet an egg. Only the dried-up ordure of the denizens that had lately occupied the prison cell, along with some bits of the shell out of which the young hornbill had been but recently hatched. After a moment or two spent in examining the curious cavity, and reflecting on the odd habit of a bird being thus plastered up and kept for weeks in close confinement--all, too, done by its own mate, who surely could not so act from any intention of cruelty--after in vain puzzling himself as to what could be the object of such a singular imprisonment, he determined upon returning to the ground, and seeking the explanation from Saloo. He had returned upon the topmost step, and was about letting himself down to that next below, when not only were his ears assailed by sharp cries, but he suddenly saw his eyes in danger of being dug out of their sockets by the sharp beak of a bird, whose huge shadowy wings were flapping before his face! Although somewhat surprised by the onslaught, so sudden and unexpected-- and at the same time no little alarmed--there was no mystery about the matter. For he could see at a glance that the bird so assailing him was a hornbill; and a moment's reflection told him it was the cock. Afar off in the forest--no doubt in search of food--catering for his housekeeper and their new chick, of whose birth he was most probably aware, he could not have heard her cries of distress; else would he have rushed to the rescue, and appeared much sooner upon the scene. But at length he had arrived; and with one glance gathered in the ruin that had occurred during his absence. There was his carefully plastered wall pulled down, the interior of his domicile laid open, his darlings gone, no doubt dragged out, throttled and slaughtered, by the young robber still standing but a step from the door. The enraged parent did not pause to look downward, else he might have seen a still more heart-rending spectacle at the bottom of the tree. He did not stay for this; on the instant he went swoop at the head of the destroyer, with a scream that rang far over the forest, and echoed in a thousand reverberations through the branches of the trees. Fortunately for Henry, he had on his head a thick cloth cap, with its crown cotton-padded. But for this, which served as a helmet, the beak of the bird would have been into his skull, for at the first dab it struck right at his crown. At the second onslaught, which followed quick after, Henry, being warned, was enabled to ward off the blow, parrying with one hand, while with the other supporting himself on his perch. For all this the danger was not at an end; as the bird, instead of being scared away, or showing any signs of an intention to retreat, only seemed to become more infuriated by the resistance, and continued its swooping and screaming more vigorously and determinedly than ever. The boy was well aware of the peril that impended; and so, too, were those below; who, of course, at the first screech of the hornbill, had looked up and seen what was passing above them. They would have called upon him to come down, and he would have done so without being summoned, if there had been a chance. But there was none: for he could not descend a single step without using both hands on the ladder; and to do this would leave his face and head without protection. Either left unguarded for a single instant, and the beak of the bird, playing about like a pickaxe, would be struck into his skull, or buried deep in the sockets of his eyes. He knew this, and so also they who looked from below. He could do nothing but keep his place, and continue to fight off the furious assailant with his free arm--the hand getting torn at each contact, till the blood could be seen trickling from the tips of his fingers. It is difficult to say how long this curious contest might have continued, or how it would have terminated, had the combatants been left to themselves. In all probability it would have ended by the boy's having his skull cleft open or his eyes torn out; or, growing feeble, he would have lost his hold upon the ladder and fallen to the foot of the tree--of itself certain death. It in reality looked as if this would be the lamentable result, and very quickly. Saloo had sprung to the tree, and was already ascending to the rescue. But for all that he might be too late; or even if successful in reaching the elevated point where Henry struggled against danger, he might still be unable to effect his deliverance. The alarmed father seemed to fear this, as he stood gazing, with agony depicted on his face--agony at the thought of seeing his dear boy exposed to such a fearful peril, and feeling himself so helpless to rescue him. All at once a thought flashed into his mind, that at least gave him some relief through the necessity of action. His rifle, which fortunately after cleaning he had reloaded, stood resting against the trunk of the tree. He sprang toward and seized hold of it. In another second it was raised to his shoulder; its muzzle pointed almost vertically upward, and circling around to get bearing upon the body of the bird. It was a dangerous shot to take, like that of Tell with the arrow and the apple. But it seemed yet more dangerous not to venture it; and with this reflection passing through his mind he watched the hornbill through several of its swoopings, and when at length in one of these it receded to some distance from Henry's face, he took quick sight upon it, and pulled trigger. A splendid shot--a broken wing--a huge bird seen fluttering through the air to the earth--then flopping and screaming over the ground, till its cries were stilled and its strugglings terminated by a few blows from a boat-hook held in the hands of the ship-carpenter;--all this was the spectacle of only a few seconds! CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. SITTING BY THE SPIT. Saloo had by this time climbed to the topmost rounds of the ladder; and was able to assist Henry in descending, which he did without further difficulty or danger. No great harm had happened to him; he had received only a few scratches and skin-wounds, that would soon yield to careful treatment and the surgical skill which his father possessed, along with certain herbal remedies known to Saloo. They were soon restored to their former state of equanimity, and thought nothing more of the little incident that had just flurried them, except to congratulate themselves on having so unexpectedly added to their stock of provisions the bodies of two great birds, each of respectable size; to say nothing of the fat featherless chick, which appeared as if it would make a very _bonne bouche_ for a gourmand. As we have said, Saloo did not think any more of ascending the durion-tree, nor they of asking him to do so. Its fruits might have served them for dessert, to come after the game upon which they were now going to dine. But they were not in condition to care for following the usual fashion of dining, and least of all did they desire a dinner of different courses, so long as they had one sufficiently substantial to satisfy the simple demands of hunger. The two hornbills promised, each of them, a fair _piece-de-resistance_, while the fat pult was plainly a titbit, to be taken either _hors d'oeuvres_, or as an _entree_. They were not slow in deciding what should be done with the stock so unexpectedly added to their larder. In a trice the cock bird was despoiled of his plumage; the hen having been well-nigh dismantled of hers already. The former was trussed and made ready for the spit, the latter being intended for the pot, on the supposition that boiling might be better for her toughness. Murtagh had taken to finishing the plucking of the hen, while Saloo set about divesting the old cock of his feathers. The chick needed no plucking, nor even to be singed. Its skin was as free of covering as the shell of the egg lately containing it. It was tender enough to be cooked in any way. It could be boiled over the embers, and would make a nice meal for the two young people, and doubtless greatly benefit their strength. When the bodies of the old birds were unmasked of their feathery envelopment, it was seen that they were much smaller than supposed; and, moreover, that the hen was by many degrees larger in size and fatter than the cock. It was but natural, and was due to her sex, as well as to her long confinement in a dark cell of but limited dimensions, where she had nothing to do but to rest. But as the cock bird, after all, was quite as large as a Cochin-China fowl, and, moreover, in good condition, there would be enough of him to supply a full repast, without touching either the hen or chick. So it was determined that both should be reserved till the following morning, when no doubt all hands would be again hungry enough for the toughest of fowls. This point settled, the old cock was staked upon a bamboo spit, and set over the fire, where he soon began to sputter, sending out a savoury odour that was charmingly appetising. The hen was at the same time chopped into small pieces, which were thrown into one of the great shells, along with some seasoning herbs Saloo had discovered in the neighbouring woods; and as they could now give the stew plenty of time to simmer, it was expected that before next day the toughness would be taken out of the meat, and after all it might prove a palatable dish to people distressed as they had been, and not caring much for mere dainties. As they had nothing else to do but watch the spit, now and then turn it, and wait till the roast should be done, they fell into conversation, which naturally turned upon hornbills and their habits, Saloo furnishing most of the information concerning these curious birds. Captain Redwood had not only seen them before, in the course of his voyages among the Malayan Archipelago, but he had read about their habits, and knew that they were found in various parts of the African continent. They are there called _Korwe (Tockus erythrorhynchus_), and Dr Livingstone gives an interesting account of them. He says,--"We passed the nest of a korwe, just ready for the female to enter; the orifice was plastered on both sides, but a space left of a heart shape, and exactly the size of the bird's body. The hole in the tree was in every case found to be prolonged some distance above the opening, and thither the korwe always fled to escape being caught." The first time that Dr Livingstone himself saw the bird, it was caught by a native, who informed him that when the female hornbill enters her nest, she submits to a positive confinement. The male plasters up the entrance, leaving only a narrow slit by which to feed his mate, and which exactly suits the form of his beak. The female makes a nest of her own feathers, lays her eggs, hatches them, and remains with the young till they are fully fledged. During all this time, which is stated to be two or three months, the male continues to feed her and her young family. Strange to say, the prisoner generally becomes fat, and is esteemed a very dainty morsel by the natives, while the poor slave of a husband gets so lean that, on the sudden lowering of the temperature, which sometimes happens after a fall of rain, he is benumbed, falls down, and dies. It is somewhat unusual, as Captain Redwood remarked, for the prisoner to fatten, while the keeper pines! The toucan of South America also forms her nest in the cavity of a tree, and, like the hornbill, plasters up the aperture with mud. The hornbill's beak, added Captain Redwood, is slightly curved, sharp-pointed, and about two inches long. While the body of the rooster was sputtering away in the bright blaze, Saloo entertained the party by telling them what _he_ knew about the habits of the hornbills; and this was a good deal, for he had often caught them in the forests of Sumatra. It may be remarked here, that many of the natives of the Malayan Archipelago possess a considerable knowledge of natural history, at least of its practical part. The reason is, that the Dutch, who own numerous settlements throughout these islands, have always been great taxidermists and skin-preservers, and to procure specimens for them and obtain the reward, has naturally originated a race of collectors among the native people. Saloo himself had been one of these bird-hunters, in early life, before taking to the sea, which last, as a general thing, is the favourite element and profession of a Malay. He told them that he knew of two kinds of hornbill in his native island of Sumatra, but that he had seen the skins of several other species in the hands of the taxidermists, brought from various islands, as well as from the mainland of India, Malacca, and Cochin-China. They were all large birds, though some were smaller than the others; mostly black, with white markings about the throat and breast. He said that their nests are always built in the hollow of a tree, in the same way as the one he had robbed, and the entrance to them invariably plastered up with mud in a similar fashion, leaving a hole just big enough to allow the beak of the hen to be passed out, and opened a little for the reception of the food brought to her by her mate. It is the cock that does the "bricking up," Saloo said, bringing the "mortar" from the banks of some neighbouring pool or stream and laying it on with his beak. He begins the task as soon as the hen takes her seat upon her solitary egg. The hen is kept in her prison not only during the full period of incubation, but long after; in fact, until the young chick becomes a full fledgling, and can fly out of itself. During all this time the imprisoned bird is entirely dependent on her mate for every morsel of food required, either by herself or for the sustenance of the nursling, and, of course, has to trust to his fidelity, in which he never fails. The hornbills, however, like the eagles, and many other rapacious birds, though not otherwise of a very amiable disposition, are true to the sacred ties of matrimony. So said Saloo, though not in this exact phraseology. "But what if the ould cock shud get killed?" suggested Murtagh. "Supposin' any accident was to prevint him from returnin' to the nest? Wud the hen have to stay there an' starve?" Saloo could not answer this question. It was a theory he had never thought of, or a problem that had not come under his experience. Possibly it might be so; but it was more likely that her imprisonment within the tree cave, being an act agreed to on her part, was more apparent than real, and that she could break through the mud barricade, and set herself free whenever she had a mind to do so. This was the more probable view of the case, and terminated the discussion on natural history; or rather, it was brought to a close by their perceiving that the bird upon the bamboo stake was done to a turn, and they were by this time too hungry to think of anything else than eating it. So off it came from the spit, and at it they went with a will, Saloo acting as carver, and distributing the roast joints all around, taking care to give the tenderest bits of breast to the children, and to Helen the liver wing. They were all very cheerful in commencing their supper, but their strain was changed to sadness even before they had finished it. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. SICK AFTER SUPPER. It was near upon sundown when the roast fowl was taken from the spit, carved, and distributed among them. The fire over which they had cooked it was close to the trunk of the tree under whose shade they intended to pass the night. It was not the one they had chosen after being driven from the durion, but another, with far-spreading branches and green glossy leaves growing thickly upon them, which promised a better protection from the dews of the night. They needed this, as they had not yet thought of erecting any other roof. The only thing in the shape of shelter they had set up was the tarpaulin, spread awning fashion over four uprights, which held it at the four corners; but this was barely sufficient to furnish the two young people with a sleeping-place. After removing the roast fowl from the spit, they had not permitted their fire to die out. On the contrary, Murtagh, in whose charge it was, threw on some fresh faggots. They intended keeping it up through the night, not to scare away wild beasts, for, as already said, they had no fear of these; but because the atmosphere toward midnight usually became damp and chilly, and they would need the fire to keep them warm. It was quite sunset by the time they had finished eating the roast hornbill, and as there is but little twilight under or near the equator, the darkness came down almost instantaneously. By the light of the blazing faggots they picked the bones of the bird, and picked them clean. But they had scarce dropped the drumsticks and other bones out of their fingers, when one and all fell violently sick. A sensation of vertigo had been growing upon them, which, as soon as the meal was over, became nausea, and shortly after ended in vomiting. It was natural they should feel alarmed. Had only one been ill, they might have ascribed the illness to some other cause; but now, when all five were affected at the same time, and with symptoms exactly similar, they could have no other belief than that it was owing to what they had eaten, and that the flesh of the hornbill had caused their sickness-- perhaps poisoned them. Could this be? Was it possible for the flesh of a bird to be poisonous? Was that of a hornbill so? These questions were quickly asked of one another, but more especially addressed to Saloo. The Malay did not believe it was. He had eaten hornbills before, and more than once; had seen others eat them; but had never known or heard of the dish being followed by symptoms similar to those now affecting and afflicting them. The bird itself might have eaten something of a poisonous nature, which, although it had not troubled its own stomach, acted as an emetic upon theirs. There was some probability in this conjecture; at all events the sufferers thought so for a time, since there seemed no other way of accounting for the illness which had so suddenly seized upon them. At first they were not so very greatly alarmed, for they could not realise the idea that they had been absolutely poisoned. A little suffering and it would be all over, when they would take good care not to eat roast hornbill again. No, nor even stewed or broiled; so that now the old hen and her young one were no longer looked upon as so much provision ahead. Both would be thrown away, to form food for the first predatory creature that might chance to light upon them. As time passed, however, and the sufferers, instead of feeling relieved, only seemed to be growing worse--the vertigo and nausea continuing, while the vomiting was renewed in frequent and violent attacks--they at length became seriously alarmed, believing themselves poisoned to death. They knew not what to do. They had no medicine to act as an antidote; and if they had been in possession of all the drugs in the pharmacopoeia, they would not have known which to make use of. Had it been the bite of a venomous snake or other reptile, the Malay, acquainted with the usual native remedies, might have found some herbaceous balsam in the forest; though in the darkness there would have been a difficulty about this, since it was now midnight, and there was no moon in the sky--no light to look for anything. They could scarcely see one another, and each knew where his neighbours lay only by hearing their moans and other exclamations of distress. As the hours dragged on wearily, they became still more and more alarmed. They seriously believed that death was approaching. A terrible contemplation it was, after all they had passed through; the perils of shipwreck, famine, thirst; the danger of being drowned; one of them escaping from a hideous reptile; another from the coils of a serpent; a third from having his skull cracked in by a fallen fruit, and afterwards split open by the beak of an angry bird. Now, after all these hairbreadth perils and escapes, to be poisoned by eating the flesh of this very bird--to die in such simple and apparently causeless fashion; though it may seem almost ridiculous, it was to them not a whit the less appalling. And appalled they were, as time passed, and they felt themselves growing worse instead of better. They were surely poisoned--surely going to die. CHAPTER NINETEEN. AN UNEASY NIGHT. Long with the agonising pain--for the sensations they experienced were exceedingly painful--there was confusion in their thoughts, and wandering in their speech. The feeling was somewhat to that of sea-sickness in its worst form; and they felt that reckless indifference to death so characteristic of the sufferer from this very common, but not the less painful, complaint. Had the sea, seething and surging against the beach so near them, broken beyond its boundaries, and swept over the spot where they lay, not one of them, in all probability, would have stirred hand or foot to remove themselves out of its reach. Drowning--death in any form--would at that moment have seemed preferable to the tortures they were enduring. They did not lie still. At times one or another would get up and stray from under the tree. But the nausea continued, accompanied by the horrid retching; their heads swam, their steps tottered, and staggering back, they would fling themselves down despairingly, hoping, almost praying, for death to put an end to their agonies. It was likely soon to do so. During all, Captain Redwood showed that he was thinking less of himself than his children. Willingly would he have lain down and died, could that have secured their surviving him. But it was a fate that threatened all alike. On this account, he was wishing that either he or one of his comrades, Murtagh or Saloo, might outlive the young people long enough to give them the rites of sepulture. He could not bear the thought that the bodies of his two beautiful children were to be left above ground, on the desolate shore, their flesh to be torn from them by the teeth of ravenous beasts or the beaks of predatory birds--their bones to whiten and moulder under the sun and storms of the tropics. Despite the pain he was himself enduring, he secretly communicated his wishes to Murtagh and the Malay, imploring them to obey what might be almost deemed a dying request. Parting speeches were from time to time exchanged in the muttered tones of despair. Prayers were said aloud, unitedly, and by all of them silently in their own hearts. After this, Captain Redwood lay resignedly, his children, one on each side of him, nestling within his arms, their heads pillowed upon his breast close together. They also held one another by the hand, joined in affectionate embrace across the breast of their father. Not many words were spoken between them; only, now and then, some low murmurs, which betokened the terrible pain they felt, and the fortitude both showed in enduring it. Now and then, too, their father spoke to them. At first he had essayed to cheer them with words of encouragement; but as time passed, these seemed to sound hollow in their ears as well as his own, and he changed them to speeches enjoining resignation, and words that told of the "Better Land". He reminded them that their mother was there, and they should all soon join her. They would go to her together; and how happy this would be after their toils and sufferings; after so many perils and fatigues, it would be but pleasure to find rest in heaven. In this way he tried to win their thoughts from dwelling on the terrors of death, every moment growing darker and seeming nearer. The fire burned down, smouldered, and went out. No one had thought of replenishing it with fuel. Though there were faggots enough collected not far off, the toil of bringing them forward seemed too much for their wasted strength and deadened energies. Fire could be of no service to them now. It had done them no good while ablaze; and since it had gone out, they cared not to renew it. If they were to die, their last moments could scarcely be more bitter in darkness than in light. Still Captain Redwood wished for light. He wished for it, so that he might once more look upon the faces of his two sweet suffering pets, before the pallor of death should overspread them. He would perhaps have made an effort to rekindle the fire, or requested one of the others to do it; but just then, on turning his eyes to the east, he saw a greyish streak glimmering above the line of the sea-horizon. He knew it was the herald of coming day; and he knew, moreover, that, in the latitude they were in, the day itself would not linger long behind. "Thank God!" was the exclamation that came from his lips, low muttered, but in fervent emphasis. "Thank God, I shall see them once more! Better their lives should not go out in the darkness." As he spoke the words, and as if to gratify him, the streak on the eastern sky seemed rapidly to grow broader and brighter, its colour of pale grey changing to golden yellow; and soon after, the upper limb of the glorious tropical sun showed itself over the smooth surface of the Celebes Sea. As his cheering rays touched the trees of the forest, then eyes were first turned upon one another, and then in different directions. Those of Captain Redwood rested upon the faces of his children, now truly overspread with the wan pallor of what seemed to be rapidly approaching death. Murtagh gazed wistfully out upon the ocean, as if wishing himself once more upon it, and no doubt thinking of that green isle far away beyond it; while Saloo's glance was turned upward--not toward the heavens, but as if he was contemplating some object among the leaves of the tree overhead. All at once the expression upon his countenance took a change-- remarkable as it was sudden. From the look of sullen despair, which but the moment before might have been seen gleaming out of the sunken orbits of his eyes, his glance seemed to change to one of joy, almost with the quickness of the lightning's flash. Simultaneous with the change, he sprang up from his reclining position, uttering as he did so an exclamation in the Malayan tongue, which his companions guessed to be some formula of address to the Deity, from its ending with the word "Allah." "De gleat God be thank!" he continued, returning to his "pigeon English," so that the others might understand. "We all be save. Buld no poison. We no die yet. Come away, cappen," he continued, bending down, and seizing the children by the hands. Then raising both on their feet, he quickly added, "Come all away. Unda de tlee death. Out yonda we findee life. Come away--way." Without waiting for the consent either of them or their father, he led-- indeed, almost dragged--Helen and Henry from under the shadow of the tree and out toward the open sea-beach. Though Captain Redwood did not clearly comprehend the object of Saloo's sudden action, nor Murtagh comprehend it at all, both rose to their feet, and followed with tottering steps. Not until they had got out upon the open ground, and sat down upon the sand, with the fresh sea-breeze fanning their fevered brows, did Saloo give an explanation of his apparently eccentric behaviour. He did so by pointing to the tree under which they had passed the night, and pronouncing only the one word--"Upas." CHAPTER TWENTY. THE DEADLY UPAS. "Upas!" A word sufficient to explain all that had passed. Both Captain Redwood and his ship-carpenter understood its signification; for what man is there who has ever sailed through the islands of the India Archipelago without having heard of the upas? Indeed, who in any part of the world has not either heard or read of this poisonous tree, supposed to carry death to every living thing for a wide distance around it, not even sparing shrubs or plants--things of its own kind--but inflicting blight and destruction wherever its envenomed breath may be wafted on the breeze? Captain Redwood was a man of too much intelligence, and too well-informed, to have belief in this fabulous tale of the olden time. Still he knew there was enough truth in it to account for all that had occurred--for the vertigo and vomiting, the horrible nausea and utter prostration of strength that had come upon them unconsciously. They had made their camp under one of these baneful trees--the true upas (_antiaris toxicaria_); they had kindled a fire beneath it, building it close to the trunk--in fact, against it; the smoke had ascended among its leaves; the heat had caused a sudden exudation of the sap; and the envenomed vapour floating about upon the air had freely found its way both into their mouths and nostrils. For hours had this empoisoned atmosphere been their only breath, nearly depriving them of that upon which their lives depended. If still suffering severely from the effects of having inhaled the noxious vapour, they were now no longer wretched. Their spirits were even restored to a degree of cheerfulness, as is always the case with those who have just escaped from some calamity or danger. They now knew that in due time they would recover their health and strength. The glorious tropical sun that had arisen was shining benignantly in their faces, and brightening everything around, while the breeze, blowing fresh upon them from a serene sapphire-coloured sea, cooled their fevered blood. They felt already reviving. The sensations they experienced were those of one who, late suffering from sea-sickness, pent up in the state-room of a storm-tossed ship, with all its vile odours around him, has been suddenly transferred to _terra firma_, and laid upon some solid bank, grassy or moss-grown, with tall trees waving above, and the perfume of flowers floating upon the balmy air. For a long while they sat upon the sands in this pleasant dreamy state, gazing upon the white surf that curled over the coral reefs, gazing upon the blue water beyond, following the flight of large white-winged birds that now and then went plunging down into the sea, to rise up with a fish glistening in their beaks, half unconscious of the scene under their eyes and the strife continuing before them, but conscious, contented, and even joyous at knowing they still lived, and that the time had not yet come for them to die. They no longer blamed the hornbill for what had happened. The cause was in their own carelessness or imprudence; for Captain Redwood knew the upas-tree, and was well aware of its dangerous properties to those venturing into too close proximity. He had seen it in other islands; for it grows not only in Java, with which its name is more familiarly identified, but in Bali, Celebes, and Borneo. He had seen it elsewhere, and heard it called by different names, according to the different localities, as _tayim, hippo, upo, antijar_, and _upas_; all signifying the same thing--the "tree of poison." Had he been more careful about the selection of their camping-place, and looked upon its smooth reddish or tan-coloured bark and closely-set leaves of glossy green, he would have recognised and shunned it. He did not do so; for who at such a time could have been thinking of such a catastrophe? Under a tree whose shade seemed so inviting, who would have suspected that danger was lurking, much less that death dwelt among its leaves and branches? The first had actually arisen, and the last had been very near. But it was now far away, or at least no longer to be dreaded from the poison of the upas. The sickness caused by it would continue for a while, and it might be some time before their strength or energies would be fully restored. But of dying there was no danger, as the poison of the upas does not kill, when only inhaled as a vapour; unless the inhalation be a long time continued. Its sap taken internally, by the chewing of its leaves, bark, or root, is certain death, and speedy death. It is one of the ingredients used by the Bornean Dyaks for tipping their poisoned spears, and the arrows of their _sumpitans_ or blow-guns. They use it in combination with the _bina_, another deadly poison, extracted from the juice of a parasitical plant found everywhere through the forests of Borneo. It is singular that the upas-tree should belong to the same natural order, the Artocarpaceae, as the bread-fruit; the tree of death thus being connected with the tree of life. In some of the Indian islands it is called _Popon-upas_; in Java it is known as the _Antijar_. Its leaves are shaped like spear-heads; the fruit is a kind of drupe, clothed in fleshy scales. The juice, when prepared as a poison, is sometimes mixed with black pepper, and the juice of galanga-root, and of ginger. It is as thick as molasses, and will keep for a long time if sheltered from the action of the air. The upas does not grow as a gregarious tree, and is nowhere found in numbers. Like the precious treasures of nature--gold, diamonds, and pearls--her poisons, too, happily for man, are sparsely distributed. Even in the climate and soil congenial to it, the _antiaris toxicaria_ is rare; but wherever discovered is sure to be frequently visited, if in a district where there are hunters or warriors wishing to empoison and make more deadly their shafts. A upas-tree in a well-known neighbourhood is usually disfigured by seams and scars, where incisions have been made to extract its envenomed juice. That there were no such marks upon the one where they had made their camp, was evidence that the neighbourhood was uninhabited. So said Saloo, and the others were but too glad to accept his interpretation of the sign. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. STARTING FOR THE INTERIOR. Reclining on the soft silvery sand, inhaling the fresh morning breeze blowing in from the Celebes Sea, every breath of it seeming to infuse fresh blood into their veins and renewed vigour into their limbs, the castaways felt their health and strength fast returning. Saloo's prognosis was rapidly proving itself correct. He had said they would soon recover, and they now acknowledged the truth of his prediction. Their cheerfulness came back along with their returning strength, and with this also their appetites. Their dinner-supper of roast hornbill had done them little good; but although for a time scared by such diet, and determined to eschew it when better could be had, they were now only too glad to resort to it, and it was agreed upon that the old hen, stewed as intended, should supply the material of their breakfast. A fresh fire was kindled far away from the dangerous upas; the huge shell, with its contents, was hastily snatched from the deadly shade, and, supported by four large pebbles to serve as feet for the queer stew-pan, it was placed over the burning embers, and soon commenced to steam and squeak, spreading around an odorous incense, far pleasanter to the olfactories of the hungry party than either the fresh saline breeze, or the perfume of tropical flowers now and then wafted to them from the recesses of the forest. While waiting for the flesh of the old hen to get properly and tenderly stewed, they could not resist the temptation of making an assault upon the chick; and it, too, was hurriedly rescued from the tainted larder beneath the upas-tree, spitted upon a bamboo sapling, and broiled like a squab-pigeon over the incandescent brands. It gave them only a small morsel each, serving as a sort of prelude to the more substantial breakfast soon to follow, and for which they could now wait with greater composure. In due time Saloo, who was wonderfully skilled in the tactics of the forest _cuisine_, pronounced the stew sufficiently done; when the stew-pan was lifted from the fire, and set in the soft sand for its contents to cool. Soon gathering around it, each was helped to a share: one to a wing with liver or gizzard, another to a thigh-joint with a bit of the breast, a third to the stripped breast-bone, or the back one, with its thin covering of flesh, a fourth to a variety of stray giblets. There was still a savoury sauce remaining in the pan, due to the herb condiments which Saloo had collected. This was served out in some tin pannikins, which the castaway crew had found time to fling into the boat before parting from the sinking ship. It gave them a soup, which, if they could only have had biscuits or bread with it, would have been quite as good as coffee for their breakfast. As soon as this was eaten, they took steps to change their place of encampment. Twice unfortunate in the selection of a site, they were now more particular, and carefully scrutinised the next tree under whose shadow they intended to take up their abode. A spreading fig not far off invited them to repose beneath its umbrageous foliage; and removing their camp paraphernalia from the poison-breathing; upas, they once more erected the tarpaulin, and recommenced housekeeping under the protecting shelter of a tree celebrated in the Hindu mythology as the "sacred banyan." "It was a goodly sight to see That venerable tree For o'er the lawn, irregularly spread. Fifty straight columns propt its lofty head; And many a long depending shoot, Seeking to strike its root, Straight like a plummet grew towards the ground. Some on the lower boughs which crost their way, Fixing their bearded fibres, round and round, With many a ring and wild contortion wound; Some to the passing wind at times, with sway Of gentle motion swung; Others of younger growth, unmoved, were hung Like stone-drops from a cavern's fretted height." The banyan often measures thirty feet in girth; the one selected by Captain Redwood was probably not less than twenty-five feet. Its peculiarity is that it throws out roots from all its branches, so that as fast as each branch, in growing downwards, touches the ground, it takes root, and in due time serves as a substantial prop to the horizontal bough, which, without some such support, would give way beneath its own weight. They intended it for only a temporary dwelling-place, until their strength should be sufficiently established to enable them to start on their contemplated overland journey, with a prospect of being able to continue it to its end. It seemed, at length, as if fortune, hitherto so adverse, had turned a smiling face toward them; and they were not much longer to be detained upon that wild and dangerous shore. For the same day on which they removed from the upas to the fig-tree, the latter furnished them with an article of food in sufficient quantity to stock their larder for nearly a week, and of a quality superior in strengthening powers to either roast or stewed hornbill, and quite equal to the eggs of the mound-making birds. It was not the fruit of the fig that had done this; but an animal they had discovered crawling along one of its branches. It was a reptile of that most hideous and horrid shape, the _saurian_; and only the hungriest man could ever have looked upon, with thoughts of eating it. But Saloo felt no repugnance of this kind; he knew that the huge lizard creeping along the limb of the banyan-tree, over five feet long, and nearly as thick as the body of a man, would afford flesh not only eatable, but such as would have been craved for by Apicius, had the Roman epicure ever journeyed through the islands of the Malayan Archipelago, and found an opportunity of making trial of it. What they saw slowly traversing the branch above them was one of those huge lizards of the genus _Hydrosaurus_, of which there are several species in Indian climes--like the _iguanas_ of America--harmless creatures, despite their horrid appearance, and often furnishing to the hunter or forester a meal of chops and steaks both tender and delicious. With this knowledge of what it would afford them, Saloo had no difficulty in persuading Captain Redwood to send a bullet through the skull of the _hydrosaurus_, and it soon lay lifeless upon the ground. The lizard was nigh six feet from snout to tail; and Saloo, assisted by Murtagh, soon slipped a piece of his vegetable rope around its jaws, and slung it up to a horizontal branch for the purpose of skinning it. Thus suspended, with limbs and arms sticking out, it bore a very disagreeable resemblance to a human being just hanged. Saloo did not care anything about this, but at once commenced peeling off its skin; and then he cut the body into quarters, and subdivided them into "collops," which were soon sputtering in the blaze of a bright fire. As the Malay had promised, these proved tender, tasting like young pork steaks, with a slight flavour of chicken, and just a _soupcon_ of frog. Delicate as they were, however, after three days' dieting upon them all felt stronger--almost strong enough, indeed, to commence their grand journey. Just then another, and still more strengthening, kind of food was added to their larder. It was obtained by a mere accident, in the form of a huge wild boar of the Bornean species, which, scouring the forest in search of fruits or roots, had strayed close to their camp under the fig-tree. He came too close for his own safety; a bullet from Captain Redwood's rifle having put an abrupt stop to his "rootings." Butchered in proper scientific fashion, he not only afforded them food for the time in the shape of pork chops, roast ribs, and the like; but gave them a couple of hams, which, half-cooked and cured by smoking, could be carried as a sure supply upon the journey. And so provisioned, they at length determined on commencing it, taking with them such articles of the wreck-salvage as could be conveniently transferred, and might prove beneficial. Bidding adieu to the pinnace, the dear old craft which had so safely carried them through the dangers of the deep, they embarked on a voyage of a very different kind, in the courses of which they were far less skilled, and of whose tracks and perils they were even more apprehensive. But they had no other alternative. To remain on the eastern coast of Borneo would be to stay there for ever. They could not entertain the slightest hope of any ship appearing off shore to rescue them. A vessel so showing itself would be, in all probability, a prau filled with bloodthirsty pirates, who would either kill or make captives of them, and afterwards sell them into slavery: and a slavery from which no civilised power could redeem them, as no civilised man might ever see them in their chains. It was from knowing this terrible truth that Captain Redwood had resolved upon crossing the great island overland at that part where he supposed it to be narrowest,--the neck lying between its eastern coast and the old Malayan town of Bruni on the west, adjacent to the islet of Labuan, where he knew an English settlement was situated. In pursuance of this determination, he struck camp, and moved forward into a forest of unknown paths and mysterious perils. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. ACROSS COUNTRY. In undertaking the journey across Borneo, Captain Redwood knew there would be many difficulties to encounter, as well as dangers. There was first the great distance, which could not be much less than two hundred and fifty miles, even if they should succeed in making it in a straight line--as the crow flies. But, no doubt, obstructions would present themselves along the route to cause many a detour. Still this was an obstacle which time would overcome. At the rate of ten miles a day, it would be conquered in a month; and if two months should have to be spent, it would not be a very formidable hardship, considering that it was a journey overtaken to carry them through a savage wilderness, and restore them to civilisation--nay, almost to life. That it was to be made on foot did not dismay them, they had quite recovered from the effects of their sea-suffering, as also from the poisonous breath of the upas, and felt strong enough to undertake any great feat of pedestrianism. And, as they were under no limits as to time, they could adopt such a rate of speed as the nature of the paths would permit. On this score there was neither apprehension nor uneasiness; there might have been about provisions, as the cured hams of the wild boar could not possibly last longer than a week; and what were they to eat after these were consumed? Saloo set their minds at rest on this matter, by telling them that the interior forests of Borneo--which he did not know--if they at all resembled those of Sumatra--which he did know--would be found full of fruit-bearing trees; and, besides, numerous chances would arise for killing or capturing birds and other small game, even if a deer or a second wild boar did not present himself. In order to be prepared for any such that might come in his way, as well as to save their ammunition, of which they had but a limited supply, Saloo had spent the last few days of their sojourn upon the coast in the manufacture of a weapon well suited for such a purpose, even better than musket or rifle. It was the "Sumpitan," or blow-gun. This the Malay had made, along with a complete set of "sumpits," or arrows, and a quiver to contain them. The sumpitan itself--eight feet in length--he fashioned from a straight sapling of the beautiful _casuarina_ tree, which grows throughout the islands of the Malayan Archipelago; while the little arrows, only eight inches long, he obtained from the medium of the leaflets of the _nibong_ palms, many of which were found near the spot where they had encamped. The pith of the same palm served him for the swell of the arrow, which, being compressible like cork, fills up the tube of the sumpitan, and renders the shaft subject to propulsion from the quick puff of breath which the blow-gun marksman, from long practice, knows how to give it. Saloo had been one of the best sumpitan shooters in all Sumatra, and could send an arrow with true aim a distance of a hundred and fifty yards. But to make its effect deadly at this distance, something more than the mere pricking of the tiny "sumpit" was needed. This something was a strong vegetable poison which he also knew how to prepare; and the upas-tree, that had so nearly proved fatal to all of them, was now called into requisition to effect a friendly service. Drawing upon its sap, and mixing it with that of another poisonous plant--the _bina_-- Saloo gave the points of his sumpits a coating of the combined juices, so that they would carry death into the veins of any animal having the ill-fortune to be pierced by them. Thus armed and equipped, he had little fear on the score of a scarcity of provisions during the journey. On the contrary, he declared himself confident of being able to keep the commissariat up to a point of supply sufficient for the whole party. It may be thought strange that they did not speculate on the chances of arriving at some town or settlement of the natives. Indeed they did so, but only with the thought of avoiding them; for the minds of all--the Malay not excepted--were filled with apprehensions respecting the Dyak and other savage tribes, which report places in the interior of Borneo, and to whom long accredited, though perhaps only imaginative, stories have given a character alike terrible and mysterious. They could think of them only as savages--wild men of the woods--some of them covered with hair, and whose chief delight and glory are the cutting off men's heads, and not unfrequently feasting on men's flesh! No wonder that, with these facts, or fancies, acting upon their imagination, our travellers set forth upon their journey determined to give a wide berth to everything that bore the shape of a human being. It was a strange commentary on man's superiority to the lower animals, and not very creditable to the former, that he himself was the thing they most feared to meet with in the wooded wilderness. And yet, humiliating as the reflection may appear, it depressed the minds of the castaways, as, looking their last upon the bright blue sea, they turned their faces toward the interior of the forest-covered land of Borneo. For the first day they pursued a course leading along the bank of the stream at whose mouth they had been sojourning ever since their arrival on the island. They had more than one reason for keeping to the stream. It seemed to flow in a due easterly direction, and therefore to ascend it would lead them due west--the way they wanted to go. Besides, there was a path along its banks, not made by man, but evidently by large animals; whose tracks, seen here and there in soft places, showed them to be tapirs, wild-boars, and the larger but more rare rhinoceros. They saw none of these animals during their day's journey, though many of the traces were fresh. Generally nocturnal in their habits, the huge pachydermatous creatures that had made them were, during daylight, probably lying asleep in their lairs, amid the thick underwood of the adjacent jungles. The travellers might have brought the pinnace up the river--so far it was deep enough to be navigated by a row-boat; and they had at first thought of doing so. But for several reasons they had changed their minds, and abandoned their boat. It was too heavy to be easily propelled by oars, especially against the current of a stream which in many places was very rapid. Besides, if there should be a settlement of savages on the bank, to approach in a boat would just be the way to expose themselves to being seen, without first seeing. But to Captain Redwood the chief objection was, that a mountain-range rose only a short distance off, and the stream appeared to issue from its steep sloping side; in which case it would soon assume the character of a headlong torrent utterly unfit for navigation. Even had water travel been easier, it could not have been long continued--perhaps not beyond a single day; and it was not deemed worth while to bring the pinnace with them. So thought the captain, and the others agreeing, the boat was left where they had long since concealed her--under the banyan-tree. The captain's conjectures proved correct. The evening of the first day's march brought them to the base of the mountain-ridge, down whose rocky flank the stream poured with the strength and velocity of a torrent. No boat could have further ascended it. As the path leading along its edge, and hitherto comparatively level and smooth, now changed to a difficult ascent up a rough rock-strewn ravine, they encamped at the mountain-foot for the first night of their journey. Next day was spent in ascending the mountain; following the ravine up to its head, where were found the sources of the stream. Staying only for a short noon-tide rest, they kept upward, and reached the highest point of the ridge just as the sun was again sinking into the depths of the forest before them. At their camping-place on the second night no water was near; and they might have suffered from the want of it, had they not taken the precaution to provide against such a deficiency. Their experience as castaways, especially the memory of their sufferings from thirst, had rendered them wary of being again subjected to so terrible a torture. Each of the three men carried a "canteen" strung to his waist--the joint of a large bamboo that held at least half a gallon; while the boy and girl also had their cane canteens, proportioned to their size and strength. All had been filled with cool clear water before leaving the last source of the stream, a supply sufficient to serve during their transit of the dry mountain-ridge. The remainder of that night was spent upon its summit; but as this proved of considerable breadth, and was covered with a thick growth of jungle-trees, it was near sunset the next day before they arrived at the edge of its eastern declivity, and obtained a view of the country beyond. The sun was descending behind the crest of another mountain-ridge, apparently parallel with that upon which they were, and not less than twenty miles distant from it. Between the two extended a valley, or rather a level plain, thickly covered with forest, except where a sheet of water gleamed in the setting sun like a disc of liquid gold. Nor was the plain all level. Here and there, above the wooded surface, rose isolated hills, of rounded mound-like shape, also clothed with timber, but with trees whose foliage, of lighter sheen, showed them to be of species different from those on the plain below. Through a break among the branches of those now shadowing them on the mountain brow, the travellers for some time contemplated the country before them, and across which, upon the morrow, they would have to make their way. At this moment Saloo muttered some words, which, coupled with the expression upon his countenance as he gave utterance to them, alarmed his companions. The words were,-- "It lookee like countly of _mias lombi_. Cappen Ledwad, if dat wild debbel lib in dem wood below, bettel we go all lound. We tly closs it, may be we get eat up. Singapo tiga not so dang'lous as _mias_--he not common kind, but gleat _mias lombi_--what Poltugee people callee `_led golilla_.'" "The _red gorilla_!" ejaculated Captain Redwood. "Is it the _ourang-outang_ you mean?" "Same ting, Sahib cappen. Some call him _oolang-ootang_, some say _led golilla_. One kind belly big--belly bad--he call _mias lombi_. He cally away women, childen; take 'em up into top ob de highest tallee tlee. Nobody know what he do then. Eat 'em up may be. What fol else he want 'em? Ah! Cappen Ledwad, we dlead de oolang-Dyak. He no half dang'lous like oolang-ootang led golilla." Notwithstanding the _patois_ of his speech, what Saloo said was well enough understood by his companions, for in the _led golilla_ or _oolang-ootang_ of his peculiar pronunciation, they recognised the long known and world-renowned ape of Borneo, which, although safe enough when seen inside the cage of the showman, is a creature to be dreaded--at least the species spoken of--when encountered in its native haunts, the forests of Sumatra and Borneo. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. TOUGH TRAVELLING. Next morning they did not start so early, because the great plain before them was shrouded under a fog, and they waited for it to pass off. It was not dispelled until the sun had risen in the heavens behind them, for their backs were still to the east, their route lying due westward. During the night, and again in the morning, they had discussed the question of striking straight across the plain, or making a circuitous march around it. When the fog at length lifted, this point was definitely settled by what they saw before and on each side of them, that the great valley plain extended both to right and left beyond the limits of their vision. To go round it might add scores of miles and many days to their journey. They could not think of taking such a circuitous route, even with the fear of the wild men before them; a danger Captain Redwood believed to be greatly exaggerated by the Malay, who in such matters was of a somewhat imaginative turn. Throwing aside all thought of such an encounter, they struck down the mountain slope, determined on crossing the plain. It was sunset when they arrived at the mountain-foot, and another night was passed there. On the following morning they commenced the passage of the plain; which introduced them to a very different and much more difficult kind of travelling than any they had experienced since leaving the sea-coast. Some parts of their journey, both in the ascent and descent, had been toilsome enough; but the slopes, as well as the summits, were comparatively clear of underwood. On the low level it was quite another affair. The huge forest-trees were loaded with parasitical creepers, which, stretching from trunk to trunk in all directions, formed here and there an impenetrable net or trellis-work. In such places the kris of Saloo, and the ship's axe carried by Murtagh, were called into requisition, and much time was expended in cutting a way through the tangled growth. Another kind of obstacle was also occasionally met with, in the brakes of bamboo, where these gigantic canes, four or five inches in diameter, and rising to a height of over fifty feet, grew so close together that even a snake would have found difficulty in working its way through them. Fortunately, their stems being hollow, they are easily brought down, and a single stroke from the axe, or even Saloo's sharp kris, given slantingly, would send one of them crashing over, its leafy top bearing along with it the long ribbon-like leaves of many others. One of these cane brakes proved to be upwards of a mile in width, and its passage delayed them at least three hours. They might have attempted to get round it, but they did not know how far it extended. Possibly ten or twenty miles--for the bamboo thickets often run in belts, their growth being due to the presence of some narrow water track, or the course of a stream. In the Indian Archipelago are several species of these tall canes, usually known by the general name of _bamboo_, though differing from each other in size and other respects. They furnish to the inhabitants of these islands the material for almost every article required for their domestic economy--as the various species of palms do to the natives of South America--more especially the denizens of the great Amazon valley. Not only are their houses constructed of bamboo, but the greater portion of their praus; while utensils of many kinds, cups, bottles, and water-casks of the best make, are obtained from its huge joints, cheaply and conveniently. A bare catalogue of bamboo tools and utensils would certainly occupy several pages. Notwithstanding its valuable properties, our travellers hated the sight of it; and more than once the Irishman, as he placed his axe upon the silicious culms, was heard to speak disrespectfully about it, "weeshin' that there wasn't a stalk of the cane in all Burnayo." But another kind of obstruction vexed Murtagh even more than the brakes of bamboo. This was the webs of huge spiders--ugly tarantula-looking animals--whose nets in places, extending from tree to tree, traversed the forest in every direction, resembling the seines of a fishing-village hung out to dry, or miles of musquito-curtain depending from the horizontal branches. Through this strange festoonery they had to make their way, often for hundreds of yards; the soft silky substance clutching disagreeably around their throats and clinging to their clothes till each looked as though clad in an integument of ragged cotton, or the long loose wool of a merino sheep yet unwoven into cloth. And as they forced their way through it--at times requiring strength to extricate them from its tough retentive hold--they could see the hideous forms of the huge spiders who had spun and woven these strangely patterned webs scuttling off, and from their dark retreats in the crevices of the trees looking defiant and angry at the intruders upon their domain--perhaps never before trodden by man. Yet another kind of obstruction our travellers had to encounter on their way across the great plain. There were tracts of moist ground, sometimes covered with tall forest-trees, at others opening out into a sedgy morass, with perhaps a small lake or water-patch in the centre. The first required them to make way through mud, or thick stagnant water covered with scum, often reaching above their knees. These places were especially disagreeable to cross; for under the gloomy shadow of the trees they would now and then catch a glimpse of huge newt-like lizards of the genus _hydrosaurus_--almost as large as crocodiles--slowly floundering out of the way, as if reluctant to leave, and half-determined to dispute the passage. Moreover, while thus occupied, they lived in the obscurity of an eternal twilight, and could travel only by guess-work. They had no guide save the sun, which in these shadows is never visible. Through the thick foliage overhead its disc could not be seen; nor aught that would enable them to determine its position in the sky, and along with it their direction upon the earth. It was, therefore, not only a relief to their feelings, but a positive necessity for their continuance in the right direction, that now and then a stretch of open swamp obstructed their track. True, it caused them to make a detour, and so wasted their time; but then it afforded them a glimpse of the sun's orb, and enabled them to pursue their journey in the right course. During the mid-day hours they were deprived of even this guidance: for the meridian sun gives no clue to the points of the compass. They did not much feel the disadvantage; as at noon-tide the hot tropical atmosphere had become almost insupportable, and the heat, added to their fatigue from incessant toiling through thicket and swamp, made it necessary for them to take several hours of rest. They resumed their journey in the evening, as the sun, declining toward the western horizon, pointed out to them the way they were to go. They aimed to reach the sheet of water seen by them from the brow of the mountain. They wished to strike it at its southern end, as this was right in the direction westward. It appeared to lie about midway between the two mountain-ranges; and, in such a case, would be a proper halting-place on their journey across the plain. On starting from the higher ground, they expected to reach it in a few hours, or at the latest by sunset of that same day. But it was twilight of the third day, when, with exhausted strength and wearied limbs, their clothing torn and mud-stained, they stood upon its nearest shore! They did not stand there long, but dropping down upon the earth, forgetful of everything--even the necessity of keeping watch--they surrendered themselves over to sleep. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. A RED SATYR. They slept until a late hour of the morning; when, rousing themselves with difficulty, they kindled a fire and cooked a breakfast of the boar's ham cured by them before leaving the coast. It was the second, and of course the last, already becoming rapidly reduced to a "knuckle;" for their journey was now entering upon the second week. They bethought them of making a halt on the bank of the lake; partly to recruit their strength after the long-continued fatigue, and partly, if possible, to replenish their larder. Saloo got ready his blow-gun and poisoned arrows; Captain Redwood looked to his rifle; while the ship-carpenter, whose speciality was fishing, and who for this purpose had brought his hooks and lines along with him, determined on trying what species of the finny tribe frequented the inland lake, in hopes they might prove less shy at biting than their brethren of the sea-coast stream. Again the three men started off, Murtagh traversing in solitude the edge of the lake, while Captain Redwood, with his rifle--accompanied by Saloo, carrying his sumpitan and quiver of poisoned arrows--struck direct into the woods. Henry and Helen remained where they had passed the night, under the shadow of a spreading tree; which, although of a species unknown to the travellers, had been cautiously scrutinised by them, and seemed to be neither a durion nor a upas. They were cautioned not to stir a step from the spot till the others should return. Though in other respects a good, obedient boy, Henry Redwood was not abundantly gifted with prudence. He was a native-born New Yorker, and as such, of course, precocious, courageous, daring, even to a fault--in short, having the heart of a man beating within the breast of a boy. So inspired, when a huge bird, standing even taller than himself on its great stilt-like legs--it was the adjutant stork of India (_ciconia argalia_)--dropped down upon the point of a little peninsula which projected into the lake, he could not resist the temptation of getting a shot at it. Grasping the great ship's musket--part of the paraphernalia they had brought along with them, and which was almost as much as he could stagger under--he started to stalk the great crane, leaving little Helen under the tree. Some reeds growing along the edge of the lake offered a chance by which the game might be approached, and under cover of them he had crept almost within shot of it, when a cry fell upon his ear, thrilling him with a sudden dread. It was the voice of his sister Helen, uttered in tones of alarm? Turning suddenly, he wondered not that her cries were continued in the wildest terror, mingled with convulsive ejaculations. A man had drawn near her, and oh! such a man! Never in all his experience, nor in his darkest and most distorted dreams, had he seen, or dreamt of, a human being so hideous, as that he now saw, half-standing, half-crouching, only a short distance from his sister's resting-place. It was a man who, if he had only been in an erect attitude, would have stood at least eight feet in height, and this would have been in an under-proportion to the size of his head, the massive breadth of his body across the breast and shoulders, and the length of his arms. But it was not his gigantic size which made him so terrible, or which electrified the heart of the boy, at a safe distance, as it had done that of the girl, nearer and in more danger. It was the _tout ensemble_ of this strange creature in human shape--a man apparently covered all over with red hair, thick and shaggy, as upon the skin of a wolf or bear; bright red over the body and limbs, and blacker upon the face, where it was thinnest--a creature, in short, such as neither boy nor girl had ever before seen, and such as was long believed to exist only in the imagination of the ancients, under the appellation of "satyr." CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. SILENCE RESTORED. At first sight of the brute, notwithstanding its strangely monstrous appearance, Henry had really mistaken it for a man; but a moment's reflection convinced him that he was looking upon an ape instead of a man, and one of such gigantic size as to make him certain it must be the animal spoken of by Saloo under the various appellations of _mias rombi_, _ourang-outang_, and _red gorilla_. Saloo's remarks concerning this ape, and his emphatic warnings, were not at all pleasant to be now recalled. Though brave as a young lion, he looked upon the shaggy monster with fear and trembling. Far less for himself than for his sister; who, being nearer to it, was, of course, in greater peril of an attack. This, indeed, seemed imminent, and his first thought was to rush to the spot and discharge his musket into the monster's face. He was restrained only by seeing that Helen, moved by an instinct of self-preservation, had made an effort to save herself by gliding round the trunk of the tree, and seeking concealment on its opposite side. At the same time she had prudently ceased her cries; and as the animal did not show any intention of following her, but rather seemed inclined to keep toward the edge of the lake, the boy bethought him that his best course would be not to discharge his musket until the ape should make some hostile demonstration. Saloo had told them that the brute is not always disposed to commence the attack upon man. If left alone, it will go its own way, except during certain seasons, when the females are fearful for their young offspring. Then they will assail every intruder that comes near, whether man or animal. But when wounded or enraged they will not only act on the defensive, but attack their enemies in the most spiteful and implacable manner. Remembering these things, and hoping the huge creature might take a peaceful departure from the place, Henry, who had already held his musket at the level, lowered its muzzle, at the same time dropping upon his knees among some tall grass, which, in this attitude, tolerably well concealed him. He soon saw that he had acted wisely. The hairy monster seemed altogether to ignore the presence of his sister and himself; and as if neither were within a thousand miles of the spot, kept on its course toward the margin of the water. Fortunately for Henry, it went quite another way, which, widening diagonally, did not bring the creature at all near him. It was evidently directing its course toward some liliaceous plants with large succulent stems, which formed a patch or bed, standing in the water, but close to the brink of the lake. In all probability there was not enough fruit in the neighbourhood to satisfy the hirsute gentleman now passing before their eyes; or else he had a fancy to vary his diet by making a meal upon simple vegetables. He soon reached the patch of tall water-plants; waded in nearly knee-deep; and then with arms, each of which had the sweep of a mower's scythe, drew in their heads toward him, and with a mouth wide as that of a hippopotamus, cropped off the succulent shoots and flower-stems, and munched them like an ox in the act of chewing its cud. Seeing the huge hairy creature thus peaceably disposed, and hoping it would for some time continue in this harmless disposition, Henry rose from his kneeling attitude, and glided silently, but swiftly, toward the tree. Joining his sister Helen, he flung his arms around her as he rose erect, and kissed her to chase away the effects of the terrible fright she had sustained. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. IN FEAR AND TREMBLING. The kiss which Henry gave his little sister was not one of congratulation. He was not yet sure of her safety, or of his own. The hairy monster was still in sight--not more than a hundred yards off--and though apparently busy with his banquet on the tender shoots of the water-plants, might at any moment discontinue it, and spring upon them. What was the best thing to be done in order to escape him? Run off into the forest, and try to find their father and Saloo? They might go the wrong way, and by so doing make things worse. The great ape itself would soon be returning among the trees, and might meet them in the teeth; there would then be no chance of avoiding an encounter. To go after Murtagh would be an equally doubtful proceeding; they were ignorant of the direction the ship-carpenter had taken. Young as they were, a moment's reflection admonished them not to stir from the spot. But what, then? Cry out, so that the absent ones might hear them? No; for this might also attract the attention of the ourang-outang, and bring it upon them. Besides, Helen had shrieked loudly on the first alarm. If any of the hunters had been within hearing, they would have needed no further signal to tell them that some danger threatened her. If not within hearing, it would be worse than idle for either of them to cry out again. They determined, therefore, to remain silent, and keep to their position, in the hope that either their father, the Malay, or Murtagh, might come to their speedy relief. But they were prudent enough not to expose themselves to any wandering glance of the red gorilla's. The moment Henry had joined his sister he had hurried her behind the trunk of the tree, and they were now on the side facing toward the forest. There, by looking through the leaves of some orchideous creepers that wreathed the great stem, they could see the dreaded creature without being seen by it. Hand in hand, still trembling, they stood silently and cautiously regarding the gorilla and its movements. Under other and safer circumstances it would have been a curious and interesting spectacle: this gigantic, human-like ape, stretching forth its hairy arms, each full four feet in length--gathering in the heads of the tall water-plants, and munching them in great mouthfuls, then letting the stalks go and sweeping round to collect a fresh sheaf, at intervals wading a pace or two to reach some that were more tempting to its taste. For several minutes they remained looking at this rare sight, which would have absorbed the attention of the spectators could it have been witnessed in a menagerie. But they regarded it with fear and awe. Their eyes and ears were at the same time more occupied in looking and listening for some sign that might veil them of the return of their protectors. Time passed; none was seen, none heard. A long time passed, and no sound from the forest; no murmur of men's voices, or cry of scared bird, to proclaim that any one was approaching the spot. The brute was still browsing, but with less apparent voracity. He drew the shoots toward him with a gentler sweep of his arms, selecting only the most succulent. His appetite was on the wane; it was evident he would soon leave off eating and return to his roosting or resting-place. In the forest, of course, though they knew not where. It might be on the tree over their heads, or on one close at hand; or it might be afar off. In any case, they felt that a crisis was approaching. Both trembled, as they thought how soon they might be face to face with the hideous creature--confronting it, or perhaps enfolded in its long hairy arms. And in such an embrace, how would it fare with them? What chance of escape from it? None! They would be crushed, helpless as flies in the grasp of a gigantic spider. If the creature should come that way, and resolve upon assailing them, one or other, or both of them, would surely be destroyed. If only one, Henry had fully made up his mind who it should be. The brave boy had determined to sacrifice his own life, if need be, to save his sister. Firmly grasping the great musket, he said:-- "Sister Nell, if it come this way and offer to attack us, you keep out of the scrape. Leave everything to me. Go a good way off when you see me preparing to fire. I shan't draw trigger till it is close up to the muzzle of the gun. Then there'll be no fear of missing it. To miss would only make it all the madder. Saloo said so. If the shot shouldn't kill it right off, don't mind me. The report may be heard, and bring father or some of the others to our assistance. Dear sis, no matter what happens, keep out of the way, and wait till they come up. Promise me you will do so!" "Henry! I will not leave you. Dear, dear brother, if you should be killed I would not care to live longer. Henry! I will die with you!" "Don't talk that way, sis. I'm not going to be killed; for I fancy that we can run faster than it can. It don't appear to make much speed--at least along the ground; and I think we might both escape it if we only knew which way it was going to take. At any rate, you do as I say, and leave the rest to me." While they were thus discussing the course to be pursued--Henry urging his sister to retreat in the event of his being attacked, and Helen tearfully protesting against leaving him--a movement on the part of the mias claimed all their attention. It was not a movement indicating any design to leave the spot where it had been browsing; but rather a start, as if something caused it a surprise. The start was quickly followed by a gesture, not of alarm, but one that plainly betokened anger. Indeed, it spoke audibly of this, being accompanied by a fierce growl, and succeeded by a series of hoarse barkings, just like those of a bull-dog or angry mastiff, whose mouth, confined in a muzzle, hinders him from giving full vent to his anger. At the same time, instead of rising erect, as a human being under similar circumstances would have done, the frightful ape, that had been already in the most upright position possible to it, dropped down upon all fours, which still, however, from the great length of its arms, enabled it to preserve a semi-erect attitude. With its huge cheek callosities puffed out beyond their natural dimensions--(they far exceed a foot in breadth)--its crested hair thrown forward in a stiff coronal ruff; underneath a pair of eyes, gleaming like two coals of fire, and, further down, its mouth wide agape, displaying two rows of great glistening teeth, it stood--or rather crouched--as if awaiting for the onset of some well-known enemy; a dangerous enemy, but yet not so dangerous that it need be avoided. On the contrary, the attitude now assumed by the red gorilla, as also its voice and gestures, told them that it was affected by no fear, but breathed only fury and defiance. Why should it fear? Was there any living thing in the forests of Borneo--biped, quadruped, or reptile possessed of sufficient powers to cope with the hairy colossus now before their eyes, which seemed to partake of the characters of all three, and twice the strength of any of them individually? Saloo had said there was none. But it was not from the forests of Borneo its enemy was to come. Out of its waters was approaching the antagonist that had caused it to assume its attitude of angry defiance; and the spectators now saw this antagonist in the shape of an enormous lizard--a crocodile larger than they had ever seen before. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. A SPECTACLE RARELY SEEN. When the huge reptile first unfolded itself to their view, it was already close to the spot where the ourang-outang, knee-deep in the water, stood awaiting it. They naturally expected to see the land animal effect a retreat from an antagonist even more formidable-looking than itself. And in reality it did give ground at first; but only for a few long scrambling strides, made as much on its arms as legs--just far enough to place itself high and dry upon the bank. There it came to a stop, and stood firmly facing the foe. They now perceived the truth of what Saloo had been telling them: that there is no animal in all Borneo, either in its forests or its rivers, of which the mias feels fear. Certainly there is none more to be dreaded than the gavial crocodile; yet the great ape, judging by its present attitude, was in no sense afraid of it. Had it been so, it would have retreated into the woods, where, by climbing a tree, it might easily have shunned the encounter. Even if it had retired a little upon _terra firma_, the amphibious animal would not have thought of following it, and it could at once have avoided the conflict, if desirous of doing so. On the contrary, it seemed rather to court it; for not only did it take a firm stand on the approach of the saurian, but continued to emit its hoarse cough and bark, which, as we have said before, closely resembled the growlings of an angry mastiff with his jaws held half-shut by the straps of a muzzle. At the same time it struck the ground repeatedly with its fore-paws, tearing up grass and weeds, and flinging them spitefully toward the crocodile, and into its very teeth, as if provoking the latter to the attack. Undismayed, the scaly reptile continued to advance. Neither the strange noises nor the violent gesticulations of its four-handed enemy seemed to have any effect upon it. To all appearance, nothing could terrify the gigantic saurian. Confident in its great size and strength--above all, in the thick impenetrable skin that covered its body like a coat of shale armour--conscious of being so defended, the crocodile also believed that there was no living thing in all the land of Borneo, or in its waters either, that could withstand its terrible onslaught. It therefore advanced to the attack with no idea of danger to itself, but only the thought of seizing upon the half-crouching, half-upright form that had intruded upon its domain, and which possibly appeared to it only a weak human being--a poor Dyak, like some of its former victims. In this respect it was woefully deceiving itself; and the slight retreat made by the mias toward the dry land no doubt further misled its assailant. The reptile paused for a moment, lest the retreat should be continued, at the same time sinking its body beneath the water as low as the depth would allow. Remaining motionless for a few seconds, and seeing that its victim was not only not going any further, but maintained its defiant attitude, the gavial crawled silently and cautiously on till the reeds no longer concealed it. Then suddenly rising on its strong fore-arms, it bounded forward--aiding the movement by a stroke of its immense tail--and launched the whole length of its body on the bank, its huge jaws flying agape as they came in contact with the shaggy skin of its intended prey. For an instant of time its snout was actually buried in the long red hair of the gorilla, and the spectators expected to see the latter grasped between its jaws and dragged into the lake. They were even congratulating themselves on the chance of thus getting rid of it, when a movement on the part of the mias warned them they were not to be so conveniently disembarrassed of its dangerous proximity. That movement was a leap partly to one side, and partly upward into the air. It sprang so high as completely to clear the head of its assailant, and so far horizontally, that when it came to the ground again, it was along the extended body of the crocodile, midway between its head and its tail. Before the unwieldy reptile could turn to confront it, the ape made a second spring, this time alighting upon the gavial's back, just behind his shoulders. There straddling, and taking a firm hold with its thick short legs, it threw its long arms forward over the crocodile's shoulder-blades, as with the intent to throttle it. And now commenced a struggle between the two monstrous creatures--a conflict strange and terrible--such as could only be seen in the depths of a Bornean or Sumatran forest, in the midst of those wild solitudes where man rarely makes his way. And even in such scenes but rarely witnessed; and only by the lone Dyak hunter straying along the banks of some solitary stream, or threading the mazes of the jungle-grown swamp or lagoon. On the part of the crocodile the strife consisted simply in a series of endeavours to dismount the hairy rider who clung like a saddle to its back. To effect this purpose, it made every effort in its power; turning about upon its belly as upon a pivot; snapping its jaws till they cracked like pistol shots; lashing the ground with its long vertebrated tail, till the grass and weeds were swept off as if cut with the blade of a scythe; twisting and wriggling in every possible direction. All to no purpose. The ape held on as firmly as a Mexican to a restive mule, one of its fore-arms clutching the shoulder-blade of the reptile, while the other was constantly oscillating in the air, as if searching for something to seize upon. For what purpose it did this, the spectators could not at first tell, it was not long, however, before they discovered its intention. All at once the disengaged arm made a long clutch forward and grasped the upper jaw of the gavial. During the struggle this had been frequently wide agape, almost pointing vertically upward, as is customary with reptiles of the lizard kind, the singular conformation of the cervical vertebrae enabling them to open their jaws thus widely. One might have supposed that, in thus taking hold, the gorilla had got its hand into a terrible trap, and that in another instant its fingers would be caught between the quickly-closing teeth of the saurian, and snapped off like pipe-stems, or the tender shoots of a head of celery. The inexperienced and youthful spectators expected some such result; but not so the cunning old man-monkey, who knew what he was about; for, once he had gained a good hold upon the upper jaw, at its narrowest part, near the snout, he made up his mind that those bony counterparts, now asunder, should never come together again. To make quite sure of this, he bent himself to the last supreme effort. Supporting his knees firmly against the shoulders of the saurian, and bending his thick muscular arms to the extent of their great strength, he was seen to give one grand wrench. There was a crashing sound, as of a tree torn from its roots, followed by a spasmodic struggle; then the hideous reptile lay extended along the earth, still writhing its body and flirting its tail. The red gorilla saw that it had accomplished its task; victory was achieved, the danger over, and the hated enemy lay helpless, almost nerveless, in its hairy embrace. At length, detaching itself from the scaly creature, whose struggles each moment grew feebler and feebler, it sprang to one side, squatted itself on its haunches, and with a hoarse laughter, that resembled the horrid yell of a maniac, triumphantly contemplated the ruin of its prostrate foe! CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. STILL TRUSTING IN GOD. The reader may suppose the strange conflict we have described to be a thing of the author's imagination. Some will, no doubt, pronounce it a story of the sensational and fabulous kind--in short, a "sailor's yarn." So may it seem to those who give but little attention to the study of nature. To the naturalist, however, this chapter of animal life and habits will cause no astonishment; for he will know it to be a true one; and that the spectacle described, although perhaps not one coming every day under the eye of man, and especially civilised man, has nevertheless been witnessed by the inhabitants of the recesses of the Bornean forest. Ask any old Bornean bee-hunter, and he will tell you just such a tale as the above; adding that the ourang-outang, or red gorilla, which he calls _mias_, is a match, and more than a match, for any animal it may encounter in forest or jungle; and that the only two creatures which dare attack it are the crocodile and the great _ular_ or _python_, the latter a serpent of the boa-constructor kind, with one of which our castaways had already formed acquaintance. But the Bornean bee-hunter, usually a Dyak, will also tell you that in these conflicts the red gorilla is the victor, though each of the two great reptile antagonists that attack it is often thirty feet in length, with a girth almost equalling its own. Only fancy a snake ten yards long, and a lizard the same; either of which would reach from end to end of the largest room in which you may be seated, or across the street in which you may be walking! You will seldom find such specimens in our museums; for they are not often encountered by our naturalists or secured by our travellers. But take my word for it, there are such serpents and such lizards in existence, ay, and much larger ones. They may be found not only in the tropical isles of the Orient, but in the Western world, in the lagoons and forests of Equatorial America. Many of the "sailors' yarns" of past times, which we have been accustomed so flippantly to discredit, on account of their appearing rather tough, have under the light of recent scientific exploration been proved true. And although some of them may seem to be incorporated in this narrative, under the guise of mere romance, the reader need not on this account think himself misled, or treat them with sublime contempt. If it should ever be his fate or fortune to make a tour through the East Indian Archipelago, he will cease to be incredulous. Henry Redwood and his sister Helen had no such tranquil reflections, as they stood under the shadow of the great tree, concealing themselves behind its trunk, and watching the terrible conflict between the two huge creatures, both in their eyes equally hideous. Giving way to an instinct of justice, they would have taken sides with the party assailed and against the assailant. But, under the circumstances, their leanings were the very reverse; for in the triumphant conqueror they saw a continuance of their own danger; whereas, had the amphibious animal been victorious, this would have been at an end. The strife now terminated, they stood trembling and uncertain as ever. The crocodile, although crushed, and no longer dangerous for any offensive manoeuvre, was not killed. Its body still writhed and wriggled upon the ground; though its movements were but the agonised efforts of mortal pain, excited convulsively and each moment becoming feebler. And the red gorilla stood near, squatted on its haunches; at intervals tossing its long hairy arms around its head, and giving utterance to that strange coughing laughter, as if it would never leave off exulting over the victory it had achieved. How long was this spectacle to last? It was sufficiently horrid for the spectators to desire its speedy termination. And yet they did not; they were in hopes it might continue till a voice coming from the forest, or the tread of a foot, would tell them that help was near. Tremblingly but attentively they listened. They heard neither one nor the other--neither voice nor footstep. Now and then came the note of a bird or the cry of some four-footed creature prowling through the glades; but not uttered in accents of alarm. The hunters must have wandered far in their search for game. They might not return in time. Again Henry bethought him of firing the musket to give them a signal. But even if heard, it might not have this effect. They knew that he was able to hold and handle the great gun, and might think some bird or animal had come near and tempted him to take a shot at it. On the other hand, the report would strike upon the ears of the mias, might distract it from the triumph in which it was indulging, and bring it to the spot where they were standing. Then, with an empty gun in his hand, what defence could the youth make, either for himself or for his sister? To fire the gun would never do. Better leave the trigger unpulled, and trust to Providence for protection. And then, as the brave boy reflected on the many dangers through which they had passed, and how they had always been delivered by some fortunate interposition, he knew it must be the hand of Providence, and was content to rely upon it again. He said so to his little sister, whispering consolation, as with one hand he drew her close to him, the other resting upon the musket. And Helen whispered back a pious response, as she nestled upon the breast of her brother. A moment more, and the faith of both was submitted to a severe trial. The red gorilla, after gloating for a long time over the agonised contortions of its disabled enemy, seemed at length satisfied that it was disabled to death, and facing toward the forest, showed signs of an intention to take its departure from the spot. Now came the crisis for Henry and Helen. Which way would the animal take? They had not time to exchange question and answer--scarce time even to shape them in their thoughts--when they saw the red satyr turn to the tree behind which they were standing, and come directly toward them. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. A CAPTIVE CARRIED ALOFT. "We are lost!" were the words that rushed from Henry Redwood's lips. They came involuntarily; for, as soon as said, he regretted them, seeing how much they added to the alarm of his sister. It was a crisis in which she needed rather to be inspired to confidence by words of encouragement. They were said, however, and he could not recall them. He had no time to speak of anything, or to think of what course they should now pursue. Coming straight toward the tree with an awkward, shambling, but speedy gait withal, the monster would soon reach the spot where they stood. Its movements showed it to be in a state of excitement--the natural consequence of its late conflict with the crocodile. If seen, they would come in for a share of its anger, already roused. If seen! They were almost sure of being seen. They were endeavouring to avoid it by keeping on the other side of the tree, and screening themselves among the parasitical plants. But the concealment was slight, and would not avail them if the animal should pass the trunk and look around after passing. And now it was making straight for the tree, apparently with the design of ascending it. At this crisis Henry once more bethought him of running away and taking Helen with him. He now regretted not having done so sooner. Even to be lost in the forest would have been a less danger than that which now threatened them. A glance told him it would be too late. There was an open space beyond and all around the trunk behind which they had taken shelter. Should they attempt to escape, the ape would be certain of seeing them before they could get under cover of the woods, and, as they supposed, might easily overtake them in their flight. Another tree was near, connecting that under which they stood with the adjoining forest. But it was in a side direction, and they would be seen before reaching it. There was no alternative but to risk a chase, or stay where they were, and take the chances of not being seen by the horrid creature that was approaching. They chose the latter. Silently they stood, hands clasped and close to the stem of the tree, on the side opposite to that on which the gorilla was advancing. They no longer saw it; for now they dared not look around the trunk, or even peep through the leaves of the orchids, lest their faces might betray them. After all, the ape might pass into the forest without observing them. If it did, the danger would be at an end; if not, the brave boy had summoned up all his energies to meet and grapple with it. He held the loaded musket in his hand, ready at a moment's notice to raise it to the level and fire into the face of the red-haired satyr. They waited in breathless silence, though each could hear the beating of the other's heart. It was torture to stand thus uncertain; and, as if to continue it, the animal was a long time in getting to the tree. Had it stopped, or turned off some other way? Henry was tempted to peep round the trunk and satisfy himself. He was about to do this, when a scratching on the other side fell upon their ears. It was the claws of the mias rasping against the bark. The next moment the sound seemed higher up, and they were made aware that the creature was ascending the tree. Henry was already congratulating himself on this event. The ape might go up without seeing them; and as the tree was a very tall one, with a thick head of foliage and matted creepers, once among these, it might no longer think of looking down. Then they could steal away unobserved, and, keeping at a safe distance, await the return of the hunters. At this moment, however, an incident arose that interfered with this desirable programme, in an instant changing the position of everything that promised so well into a sad and terrible catastrophe. It was Murtagh who caused, though innocently, the lamentable diversion. The ship-carpenter, returning from his excursion, had just stumbled upon the crocodile where it lay upon the shore of the lake, which, though helpless to return to its proper element, was not yet dead. With jaw torn and dislocated, it was still twisting its body about in the last throes of the death-struggle. Not able to account for the spectacle of ruin thus presented, it caused the Irishman much surprise, not unmingled with alarm--the latter increasing as he looked towards the tree where Henry and Helen had been left, and saw they were no longer there. Had he prudently held his peace, perhaps all might have been well; but, catching sight of the huge hairy monster ascending the trunk, the thought flashed across his mind that the young people had been already destroyed, perhaps devoured, by it; and, giving way to this terrible fancy, he uttered a dread cry of despair. It was the worst thing he could have done; for, despite the discouraging tone of his voice, it seemed joyful to those crouching in concealment; and, yielding to an instinct that they were now saved by the presence of a stanch protector, they rushed from their ambuscade, and in so doing discovered themselves to the ourang-outang. Its eyes were upon them--dark, demon-like orbs, that seemed to scintillate sparks of fire. The gorilla had only gone up the trunk to a height of about twenty feet, when the cry of the alarmed ship-carpenter brought its ascent to a sudden stop; then, bringing its body half round, and looking below, it saw the children. As if connecting them with the enemy it had just conquered, its angry passions seemed to rekindle; and once more giving utterance to that strange barking cough, it glided down the tree, and made direct for the one who was nearest. As ill luck would have it, this chanced to be the little Helen, altogether defenceless and unarmed. Murtagh, still shouting, rushed to the rescue; while Henry, with his musket raised to his shoulder, endeavoured to get between the ape and its intended victim, so that he could fire right into the face of the assailant, without endangering the life of his sister. He would have been in time had the gun proved true, which it did not. It was an old flint musket, and the priming had got damp during their journey through the moist tropical forest. As he pulled trigger, there was not even a flash in the pan; and although he instinctively grasped the gun by its barrel, and, using it as a club, commenced belabouring the hairy giant over the head, his blows were of no more avail than if directed against the trunk of the tree itself. Once, twice, three times the butt of the gun descended upon the skull of the satyr, protected by its thick shock of coarse red hair; but before a fourth blow could be given, the ape threw out one of its immense arms, and carrying it round in a rapid sweep, caught the form of the girl in its embrace, and then, close hugging her against its hairy breast, commenced reascending the tree. Shouts and shrieks were of no avail to detain the horrid abductor. Nor yet the boy's strength, exerted to its utmost. His strength alone; for Murtagh was not yet up. Henry seized the gorilla's leg, and clung to it as long as ever he could. He was dragged several feet up the trunk; but a kick from the gorilla shook him off, and he fell, stunned and almost senseless, to the earth. CHAPTER THIRTY. WHAT WILL BECOME OF HER? It would be impossible to paint the despair that wrung her brother's heart, as he stood with upturned face and eyes bent upon a scene in which he had no longer the power to take part. Not much less intense was the agonised emotion of Murtagh; for little Helen was almost as dear to the Irishman as if she had been his own daughter. Neither could have any other thought than that the child was lost beyond hope of recovery. She would either be torn to pieces by the claws of the monster, or by its great yellow teeth, already displayed to their view, and flung in mangled fragments to the ground. They actually stood for some time in expectation of seeing this sad catastrophe; and it would be vain to attempt any description of their emotions. It was no relief when the two hunters came up, as they did at that instant, on their return from the chase. Their approach for the last two or three hundred yards had been hastened into a run by the shrieks of Helen and the shouts of Henry and Murtagh. Their arrival only added two new figures to the tableau of distress, and two voices to its expression. The ape could still be seen through the foliage ascending to the top of the tree; but Captain Redwood felt that the rifle he held in his hands, though sure of aim and fatal in effect, was of no more use than if it had been a piece of wood. Saloo had the same feeling in regard to his blow-gun. The rifle might send a deadly bullet through the skull of the gorilla, and the latter pierce its body with an arrow that would carry a quick-spreading poison through its veins. But to what purpose, even though they could be certain of killing it? Its death would be also the death of the child. She was still living, and apparently unhurt; for they could see her moving, and hear her voice, as she was carried onward and upward in that horrible embrace. Captain Redwood dared not send a bullet nor Saloo an arrow. Slight as the chances were of saving the girl, either would have made them slighter. A successful shot of the rifle or puff of the blow-gun would be as fatal to the abducted as the abductor; and the former, with or without the latter, would be certain to fall to the foot of the tree. It was a hundred feet sheer from the point which the ape had attained to the ground. The child would not only be killed, but crushed to a shapeless mass. Ah me! what a terrible scene for her father! What a spectacle for him to contemplate! And as he stood in unutterable agony, his companions gathered around, all helpless and irresolute as to how they should act, they saw the ape suddenly change his direction, and move outward from the trunk of the tree along one of its largest limbs. This trended off in a nearly horizontal direction, at its end interlocking with a limb of the neighbouring tree, which stretched out as if to shake hands with it. A distance of more than fifty feet lay between the two trunks, but their branches met in close embrace. The purpose of the ape was apparent. It designed passing from one to the other, and thence into the depths of the forest. The design was quickly followed by its execution. As the spectators rushed to the side by which the gorilla was retreating, they saw it lay hold of the interlocking twigs, draw the branch nearer, bridge the space between with its long straggling arm, and then bound from one to the other with the agility of a squirrel. And this with the use of only one arm, for by the other the child was still carried in the same close hug. Its legs acted as arms, and for travelling through the tree-tops three were sufficient. On into the heart of the deep foliage of the second tree, and without a pause on into the next; along another pair of counterpart limbs, which, intertwining their leafy sprays and boughs, still further into the forest, all the time bearing its precious burden along with it. The agonised father ran below, rifle in hand. He might as well have been without one, for all the use he dared to make of it. And Henry, too, followed with the ship's musket. True, it had missed fire, and the damp priming was still in the pan. Damp or dry, it now mattered not. Saloo's sumpitan was an equally ineffective weapon. Murtagh with his fishing-hooks might as well have thought of capturing the monster with a bait. On it scrambled from tree to tree, and on ran the pursuers underneath, yet with no thought of being able to stay its course. They were carried forward by the mere mechanical instinct to keep it in sight, with perhaps some slight hope that in the end something might occur--some interruption might arise by which they would be enabled to effect a rescue of the child from its horrible captor. It was at best but a faint consolation. Nor would they have cherished it, but for their trust in a higher power than their own. Of themselves they knew they could not let or hinder the abductor in its flight. All felt their own helplessness. But it is just in that supreme moment, when man feels his utter weakness, that his vague trust in a superior Being becomes a devout and perfect faith. Captain Redwood was not what is usually called a religious man, meaning thereby a strict adherent to the Church, and a regular observer of its ordinances. For all this he was a firm believer in the existence of a providential and protecting power. His exclamations were many, and not very coherent; but their burden was ever a prayer to God for the preservation of his daughter. "Helen, my child! Helen! What will become of her? O Father! O God, protect her!" CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. THE PURSUIT ARRESTED. From branch to branch, and tree to tree, the red gorilla continued its swift advance; still bearing with it the little Helen. From trunk to trunk, the pursuers crawled through the underwood beneath, feeling as helpless as ever. What was to be the end of this strangely singular pursuit they could not tell, for they had never before--and perhaps no man at any time had-- taken part in such a chase, or even heard of one so terrible. They could offer no conjecture as to what might be its termination; but moved forward mechanically, keeping the gorilla in sight. Was Helen yet living, or was she dead? No cry came from her lips, no word, no sound! Had the life been crushed out of her body by the pressure of that strong muscular arm, twined round her like the limb of an oak? Or was the silence due to temporary loss of feeling? She might well have swooned away in such a situation; and her father, struggling with faint hopes, would have been glad to think this was indeed the case. No signs could be gained from what they heard, and none from what they saw. They were now passing through the very depth of the forest--a tropical forest, with the trees meeting overhead, and not a speck of sky visible through the interwoven branches, loaded with their thick festoons of leaves and lianas. They were gliding through dense arcades, lit up with just sufficient sunshine to wear the sombre shadows of a dusky twilight. There were even places where the retreating form of the ape could not have been distinguishable in the obscurity, but for the white drapery of the child's dress, now torn into shreds, and flaunting like streamers behind it. These luckily served as a beacon to guide them on through the gloom. Now and then the chase led them into less shady depths, where the sunlight fell more freely through the leafy screen above. At such points they could obtain a better view, both of the red abductor and its captive. But even then only a glimpse--the speed at which the gorilla was going, as well as the foliage that intervened, preventing any lengthened observation. Nor were the pursuers at any time able to get sight of the child's face. It appeared to be turned toward the animal's breast, her head buried in its coarse shaggy hair, with which her own tresses were mingled in strange contrast. Even her form could not be clearly distinguished. As far as they could decide by their occasional glimpses, they thought she was still alive. The brute did not seem to treat her with any malevolent violence. Only in a rude uncouth way; which, however, might suffice to cause the death of one so young and frail. To depict the feelings of her father, under such circumstances, would be a task the most eloquent pen could not successfully attempt. Agony like his can never be described. Language possesses not the power. There are thoughts which lie too deep for words; passions whose expression defies the genius of the artist or the poet. Perhaps he was hindered from realising the full measure of his bereavement during the first moments of the pursuit. The excitement of the chase, and the incidents attending it--the hope still remaining that some chance would arise in their favour--the certainty, soon ascertained, that they could keep up with the ape, which, despite its agility in the trees, cannot outstrip a man pursuing it along the ground,--all these circumstances had hitherto withheld him from giving way to utter despair. But the time had come when even these slight supports were to fail. It was when they arrived upon the brink of a lagoon, and a water-surface gleamed before their eyes; reflected by a daylight that struggled dimly down through the tops of the tall trees. The trees rose out of the water, their trunks wide apart, but their branches intermingling. The path of our pursuers was interrupted--they saw it at once--but that of the pursued seemed continuous as before. They were arrested suddenly on the brink of the lagoon, apparently with no chance of proceeding farther. They saw the red gorilla still climbing among the trees, with the white drapery streaming behind it. Soon they saw it not--only heard the crackle of twigs, and the swishing recoil of the branches, as its huge body swung from tree to tree. The monster was now out of sight, along with its victim--a victim, in very truth, whether living or dead! But for the support of Murtagh and Saloo, Captain Redwood would have fallen to the earth. In their arms he sobbed and gasped,-- "Helen! my child, Helen! What will become of her? O Father! O God, protect her!" CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. LISTENING IN DESPAIR. For some seconds Captain Redwood was powerless in a frenzy of despair. Henry was equally overcome by grief truly agonising. It was to both father and son a moment of the most unutterable anguish. Helen, the dear daughter and sister, carried out of their sight, apparently beyond reach of pursuit. And in the arms of a hideous creature which was neither wholly man nor wholly beast, but combined the worst attributes of each. Perhaps she was already dead within the loathsome embrace--her tender body soon to be torn to pieces, or tossed from the top of some tall tree; to be crushed and mangled on the earth, or thrown with a plunge into the cold dark waters of that dismal lagoon, never more to be seen or heard of. These were horrid thoughts and hideous images which rushed rapidly through their minds as they stood in the sombre shadow, picturing to themselves her too probable fate. It was no longer a question about her life. They knew, or believed, her to be dead. They only thought of what was to become of her body; what chance there might be of recovering and giving it the sacred rights of sepulture. Even this slight consolation occupied the mind of the distracted father. The Malay, well acquainted with the habits of the great man-ape, could give no answer. He only knew that the child's body would not be eaten up by it; since the red gorilla is never known to feed upon flesh--fruit and vegetables being its only diet. The whole thing was perplexing him, as an occurrence altogether unusual. He had known of people being killed and torn to pieces by the animal in its anger; but never of one being carried up into the trees. Usually these animals will not volunteer an attack upon man, and are only violent when assailed. Then, indeed, are they terrible in their strength as in their ferocity. The one now encountered must have been infuriated by its fight with the crocodile; and coming straight from the encounter, had in some way connected the children with its conquered enemy. Murtagh's shout might have freshly incensed it; or, what to Saloo seemed more probable than all, the seizure of the child might be a wild freak suddenly striking the brain of the enraged satyr. He had heard of such eccentricities on the part of the ourang-outang, and there is a belief among the Dyak hunters that the mias sometimes goes _mad_, just as men do. This reasoning did not take place on the edge of the lagoon, nor any discussion of such questions. They were thoughts that had been expressed during the pursuit, at no time hurried. The captain and his companions had easily kept pace with the pursued, while passing through the dry forest; and time enough was allowed them to think and talk of many things. Now that they could no longer follow, scarce a word was exchanged between them. Their emotions were too sad for utterance, otherwise than by exclamations which spoke only of despair. It was well they were silent, for it gave Saloo the opportunity of listening. Ever since the ape had passed from their sight, his ear had been keenly anxious to catch every sound, as he still entertained a hope of being able to trace its passage through the trees. Thoroughly conversant with the animal's habits, he knew that it must have an abiding-place--a nest. This might be near at hand. The proximity of the lagoon almost convinced him that it was so. The mias makes a temporary roost for his repose anywhere it may be wandering--constructing it in a few moments, by breaking off the branches and laying them crosswise on a forked limb; but Saloo was aware that, for its permanent residence, it builds a much more elaborate nest, and this, too, always over water or marshy ground, where its human enemy cannot conveniently follow it. Moreover, it chooses for the site of its dwelling a low tree or bush with umbrageous boughs, and never retires among the taller trees of the forest. This it does to avoid exposure to the chill winds, and the inconvenience of being shaken to and fro during storms or typhoons. With all this knowledge in his memory, the Malay had conceived a hope that the monster's nest might not be far off, and they would still be able to follow and find it--not to rescue the living child, but recover her dead body. Keenly and attentively he listened to every sound that came back through the water-forest--cautioning the others to be silent. A caution scarce needed, for they too stood listening, still as death, with hushed voices, and hearts only heard in their dull sad beatings. But for a short time were they thus occupied; altogether not more than five minutes. They still detected the crackling of branches which indicated the passage of the ape through the tree-tops. All at once these sounds suddenly ceased, or rather were they drowned out by sounds louder and of a very different intonation. It was a chorus of cries, in which barking, grunting, growling, coughing, cachinnation and the squalling of children seemed all to have a share. There were evidently more than one individual contributing to this strange _fracas_ of the forest; and the noises continued to come apparently from the same place. "Allah be thank!" exclaimed Saloo, in a subdued tone. "He home at lass. Him family makee welcome. Maybe chile be live yet. Maybe mias no killee after all. Trust we in Allah, what you Inglees people callee God. Who know he yet help us!" These last words came like a renewal of life to the despairing father. He started on hearing them; fresh hope had sprung up in his breast, at the thought that his beloved child might yet be alive, and that a chance of rescuing her might still be possible. "In thy mercy, O God, grant it may be so!" were the words that fell from his lips: Murtagh, with equal fervour, saying "Amen!" CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. STRIKING OUT. Inspired to renewed energy, Captain Redwood rushed to the edge of the lagoon, with the view of ascertaining its depth, and seeing whether it might possibly be waded. He soon discovered that it could not. In less than ten paces from the edge he was up to the arm-pits, and from thence it seemed to deepen still more abruptly. Another step forward, and the water rose over his shoulders, the bottom still sloping downwards. The lagoon was evidently impassable. He drew back despairingly, though not to return to the shore. He stood facing the centre of the lagoon, whence still came the strange noises: though scarce so loud or varied as before, they did not appear to be any more distant. Whatever creatures were making them, it was evident they were stationary, either in the trees or upon the ground. They did not sound as if they came from on high; but this might be a deception, caused by the influence of the water. One of the voices bore a singular resemblance to that of a child. It could not be Helen's; it more resembled the squalling of an infant. Saloo knew what it was. In the plaintive tones he recognised the scream of a young ourang-outang. It was a proof his conjecture was true, and that the mias had reached its home. All the more anxious was Captain Redwood to reach the spot whence the sounds proceeded. Something like a presentiment had entered his mind that there was still a hope, and that his child lived and might be rescued. Even if torn, injured, disfigured for life, she might survive. Any sort of life, so long as she could be recovered; and if she could not be restored, at least she might breathe her last breath in his arms. Even that would be easier to bear than the thought that she had gone to rest in the grasp of the hirsute gorilla, with its hideous offspring grinning and gibbering around her. The lagoon could not be waded on foot; but a good swimmer might cross it. The captain was an experienced and accomplished swimmer. The voices came from no great distance--certainly not above half a mile. On one occasion he had accomplished a league in a rough sea! There could be no difficulty in doing as much on the smooth, tranquil water of that tree-shaded lake. He had opened his arms and prepared to strike out, when a thought stayed him. Saloo, who had waded to his side, also arrested him by laying a hand on his shoulder. "You try swimmee, cappen, no good without weapon; we both go togedder-- muss take gun, sumpitan, kliss, else no chance killee mias." It was the thought that had occurred to Captain Redwood himself. "Yes, you are right, Saloo. I must take my rifle, but how am I to keep it dry?--there's not time to make a raft." "No raff need, cappen; givee me you gun--Saloo swim single-hand well as two; he cally the gun." Captain Redwood knew it to be true that Saloo, as he said, could swim with one hand as well as he himself with both. He was a Malay, to whom swimming in the water is almost as natural as walking upon the land. His old pilot could scarcely have been drowned if he had been flung into the sea twenty miles from shore. He at once yielded to Saloo's counsel; and both hastily returned to the edge of the lagoon to make preparations. These did not occupy long. The captain threw off some of his clothes, stowed his powder-flask and some bullets in the crown of his hat, which he fastened firmly on his head. He retained a knife--intended in case of necessity--to be carried between his teeth, giving his gun to Saloo. The Malay, having less undressing to do, had already completed the arrangements. On the top of his turban, safely secured by a knotting of his long black hair, he had fastened his bamboo quiver of poisoned arrows; while his kris--with which a Malay under no circumstances thinks of parting--lay along his thigh, kept in position by the waist-strap used in suspending his _sarong_. With his sumpitan and the captain's gun in his left hand, he was ready to take to the water. Not another moment was lost; the voices of the ourangs seemed to be calling them; and plunging through the shallow, they were soon out in deep water, and striking steadily but rapidly, silently but surely, towards the centre of the lagoon. Henry and Murtagh remained on the shore looking after them. The ship-carpenter was but an indifferent swimmer, and the youth was not strong enough to have swam half a mile. It was doubtful if either could have reached the spot where the apes seemed to have made their rendezvous. And if so, they would have been too exhausted to have rendered any service in case of a sudden conflict. The brave Irishman, devoted to his old skipper, and Henry, anxious to share his father's fate, would have made the attempt; but Captain Redwood restrained them, directing both to await his return. They stood close to the water's edge, following the swimmers with their eyes, and with prayers for their success, scarcely uttered in words, but fervently felt; Murtagh, according to the custom of his country and creed, sealing the petition by making the sign of the cross. CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. SWIMMING IN SHADOW. Silently and swiftly the two swimmers continued their course through the shadowy aisles of the forest. Twilight, almost darkness, was above and around them; for the trees meeting overhead caused an obscurity sombre as night itself. No ray of sunlight ever danced upon the surface of that dismal lagoon. They would have lost their way, had not the noises guided them. Should these be discontinued, their exertions might be all in vain. They thought of this as they proceeded, and reflected also on the course to be adopted when they reached the rendezvous of the gorillas. Supposing there could be no footing found, how were they to use either gun or sumpitan? The question passed between them in a whisper as they swam side by side. Neither knew how to answer it. Saloo only expressed a hope that they might get upon the limb of a tree near enough to send a bullet or arrow into the body of the mias, and terminate his career. There seemed no other chance, and they swam on, keeping it before their minds. About the direction, they had no difficulty whatever. Although the surface of the water was of inky blackness, from the shadowing trees above, and the huge trunks standing out of it now and then forced them into an occasional deviation, they advanced without any great difficulty. They swam around the tree trunks, and, guided by the voices of the gorillas, easily regained their course. The noises were no longer sharp screams or hoarse coughs, but a kind of jabbering jargon, as if the apes were engaged in a family confabulation. The swimmers at length arrived so near, that they no longer felt any fear about finding the way to the place where the reunion of the _quadrumana_ was being held; and which could not be more than a hundred yards distant. Silently gliding through the water, the eyes of both peered intently forward, in an endeavour to pierce the obscurity, and, if possible, discover some low limb of a tree, or projecting buttress, on which they might find a foothold. They had good hope of success, for they had seen many such since starting from the shore. Had rest been necessary, they might have obtained it more than once by grasping a branch above, or clinging to one of the great trunks, whose gnarled and knotted sides would have afforded sufficient support. But they were both strong swimmers, and needed no rest. There was none for the bereaved father--could be none--till he should reach the termination of their strange enterprise, and know what was to be its result. As they swam onward, now proceeding with increased caution, their eyes scanning the dark surface before them, both all of a sudden and simultaneously came to a stop. It was just as if something underneath the water had laid hold of them by the legs, checking them at the same instant of time. And something _had_ impeded their farther progress, but not from behind. In front was the obstruction, which proved to be a bank of earth, that, though under the water, rose within a few inches of its surface. The breast of each swimmer had struck against it, the shock raising them into a half-erect attitude, from which they had no need to return to the horizontal. On the contrary, they now rose upon their feet, which they felt to be resting on a firm hard bottom. Standing in pleased surprise, they could better survey the prospect before them; and after a minute spent in gazing through the gloom, they saw that dry land was close to the spot where they had been so abruptly arrested. It appeared only a low-lying islet, scarce rising above the level of the lagoon, and of limited extent--only a few rods in superficial area. It was thickly covered with trees; but, unlike those standing in the water, which were tall and with single stems, those upon the islet were supported by many trunks, proclaiming them to be some species of the Indian fig or _banyan_. One near the centre, from its greater width and more numerous supporting pillars, seemed the patriarch of the tribe; and to this their eyes were especially directed. For out of its leafy shadows came the strange sounds which had hitherto guided them. Among its branches, without any doubt, the red gorilla had his home; and there he would be found in the bosom of his family. Grasping his gun, and whispering to Saloo to follow him, Captain Redwood started towards the tree so clearly indicated as the goal of their expedition. CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. THE FAMILY AT HOME. Soon after the intended assailants stood among the rooted branches of the banyan. The gloom underneath its umbrageous branches was deepened by what appeared to be an immense scaffolding constructed near the top of the tree, and extending far out along the horizontal limbs. Saloo at once recognised the permanent nest or roosting-place of a _mias rombi_--such as he had often seen in the forests of Sumatra, where the same, or a closely allied species, has its home. The tree was not a tall one, but low and widespreading; while the broad platform-like nest, formed by interwoven branches, upon which lay a thick layer of grass and leaves, was not more than twenty feet above the surface of the earth. The obscurity which prevailed around favoured their stealthy approach; and like a pair of spectres gliding through the upright pillars, Captain Redwood and his old pilot at length found a position favourable for a survey of the platform erected by the gorilla. The father's heart was filled with strange indescribable emotions, as with eye keenly bent he stood upon a projecting branch, that brought his head on a level with this curious structure. There he saw a scene which stirred his soul to its deepest depths. His daughter, appearing snow-white amid the gloom, was lying upon the scaffold, her golden hair dishevelled, her dress torn into ribbons-- portions of it detached and scattered about. To all appearance she was dead; for, scanning her with the earnest anxious glance of a keen solicitude, he could not detect any movement either in body or limbs; and it was too dark for him to tell whether her eyes were open or closed. But he had now very little hope. He was indeed too certain they were closed in the sleep of death. Around her were assembled three human-like forms, monstrous withal, and all alike covered with a coating of red hair, thick, long, and shaggy. They were of different sizes, and in the largest one he recognised the abductor of his child. The second in size, whose form proclaimed it to be a female, was evidently the wife of the huge man-ape; while the little creature, about eighteen inches in height--though a perfect miniature likeness of its parents--was the infant whose squalling had contributed more than anything else to guide them through the shades of the lagoon. The old male, perhaps suffering fatigue from its fight with the crocodile, as well as from the chase he had sustained, crouched upon the scaffold, seemingly asleep. The other two were still in motion, the mother at intervals seizing her hairy offspring, and grotesquely caressing it; then letting it go free to dance fantastically around the recumbent form of the unconscious captive child. This it did, amusing itself by now and then tearing off a strip of the girl's dress, either with its claws or teeth. It was a spectacle wild, weird, altogether indescribable; and by Captain Redwood not to be looked upon a moment longer than was necessary to embrace its details. Having satisfied himself, he raised his rifle to fire upon the family party, intending first to aim at the father, whose death he most desired, and who living would no doubt prove by far the most dangerous antagonist. In another instant his bullet would have sped towards the breast of the sleeping giant, but for Saloo, who, grasping his arm, restrained him. "Tay, cappen," said the Malay in a whisper; "leave me kill em. Sumpit bettel dun bullet. De gun makee noise--wake old mias up, an' maybe no killee em. De upas poison bettel. It go silent--quick. See how Saloo slay dem all tlee!" There was something in Saloo's suggestions which caused Captain Redwood to ground his rifle and reflect. His reflections quickly ended in his giving place to his old pilot, and leaving the latter to work out the problem in his own way. Stepping up to the branch assigned to him, which commanded a view of the spectacle so torturing to his master, the Malay took a brief glance at the scene--only a very brief one. It enabled him to select the first victim for his envenomed shaft, the same which Captain Redwood had destined to receive the leaden missile from his gun. Bringing to his mouth the sumpitan, in whose tube he had already placed one of his poisoned arrows, and compressing the trumpet-shaped embouchure against his lips, he gave a puff that sent the shaft on its deadly way with such velocity, that even in clear daylight its exit could only have been detected like a spark from a flint. In the obscurity that shrouded the gorilla's roost, nothing at all was seen, and nothing heard; for the sumpit is as silent on its message as the wing of an owl when beating through the twilight. True, there was something heard, though it was not the sound of the arrow. Only a growl from the great red gorilla, that had felt something sting him, and on feeling it threw up his paw to scratch the place, no doubt fancying it to be but the bite of a mosquito or hornet. The piece of stick broken off by his fingers may have seemed to him rather strange, but not enough so to arouse him from his dreamy indifference. Not even when another and another sting of the same unusual kind caused him to renew his scratching--for by this time he was beginning to succumb to the narcotic influence that would soon induce the sleep of death. It did thus end: for after a time, and almost without a struggle, the red-haired monster lay stretched upon the platform which had long been his resting-place, his huge limbs supple and tremulous with the last throes of life. And beside him, in the same condition, was soon after seen his wife, who, of weaker conformation, had more quickly yielded to the soporific effect of the upas poison, from which, when it has once pervaded the blood, there is no chance of recovery. Saloo did not deem the infant mias worthy a single arrow, and after its parents had been disposed of, he sprang upon the scaffold, followed by Captain Redwood, who, the moment after, was kneeling by his child, and with ear closely pressed to her bosom, listened to learn if her heart was still beating. _It was_! CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. AN IMPROVISED PALANQUIN. "She lives! thank God, she lives!" These were the words that fell upon the ears of Henry and Murtagh, when Saloo, swimming back to the shore, related to them what had transpired. And more too. She had recovered from her swoon, a long-protracted syncope, which had fortunately kept her in a state of unconsciousness almost from the moment of her capture to that of her rescue. With the exception of some scratches upon her delicate skin, and a slight pain caused by the compression to which she had been subjected in that hideous hug, no harm had befallen her--at least no injury that promised to be of a permanent nature. Such was the report and prognosis of Saloo, who had swam back to the shore to procure the ship-carpenter's axe, and his aid in the construction of a raft. This was to carry Helen from the islet--from a spot which had so nearly proved fatal to her. A bamboo grove grew close at hand, and with Saloo's knowledge and the ship-carpenter's skill, a large life-preserver was soon set afloat on the water of the lagoon. It was at once paddled to the islet, and shortly after came back again bearing with it a precious freight--a beautiful young girl rescued by an affectionate father, and restored to an equally affectionate brother. Long before the raft had grounded against the shore, Henry, plunging into the shallow water, had gone to meet it, and mounting upon the buoyant bamboos, had flung his arms around the form of his little sister. How tender that embrace, how fond and affectionate, how different from the harsh hostile hug of the monster, whose long hairy arms had late so cruelly encircled her delicate form! As the child was still weak--her strength prostrated more by her first alarm when seized, than by aught that had happened afterwards--Captain Redwood would have deemed it prudent to make some stay upon the shore of the lagoon. But the place seemed so dismal, while the air was evidently damp and unhealthy, to say naught of the unpleasant thoughts the scene suggested, he felt desirous to escape from it as soon as possible. In this matter the Malay again came to his assistance, by saying they could soon provide a litter on which the child might be transported with as much ease to herself as if she were travelling in the softest sedan-chair that ever carried noble lady of Java or Japan. "Construct it then," was the reply of Captain Redwood, who was altogether occupied in caressing his restored child. Saloo needed no further directions: he only requested the assistance of Murtagh, along with what remained to him of his tools; and these being as freely as joyfully furnished, a score of fresh bamboos soon lay prostrate on the ground, out of which the palanquin was to be built up. Lopped into proper lengths, and pruned of their great leaf-blades, they were soon welded into the shape of a stretcher, with a pair of long handles projecting from each end. The palanquin was not yet complete, and by rights should have had a roof over it to shelter its occupant from rain or sun; but as there was no appearance of rain, and certainly no danger of being scorched by the sun in a forest where its glowing orb was never seen nor its rays permitted to penetrate, a roof was not thought necessary, and Saloo's task was simplified by leaving it a mere stretcher. He took pains, however, that it should be both soft and elastic. The latter quality he obtained by a careful choice of the bamboos that were to serve as shafts; the former requisite he secured by thickly bedding it with the lopped-off leaves, and adding an upper stratum of cotton, obtained from a species of bombyx growing close at hand, and soft as the down of the eider-duck. Reclining upon this easy couch, borne upon its long shafts of elastic bamboo, Saloo at one end and Murtagh at the other, Helen was transported like a queen through the forest she had lately traversed as a captive in a manner so strange and perilous. Before the sun had set, they once more looked upon its cheering light, its last declining rays falling upon her pale face as she was set down upon the shore of the lake, beside that same tree from which she had taken her involuntary departure. CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. THE JOURNEY CONTINUED. The captain's daughter, with the natural vigour of youth, soon recovered from the slight injuries she had sustained in her singular journey through the maze of boughs. The previous perils of shipwreck, and the various hairbreadth escapes through which she had more recently passed, made her last danger all the lighter to bear; for by these her child's spirit had become steeled to endurance, and her courage was equal to that of a full-grown woman. Otherwise the fearful situation in which she had been placed, if leaving life, might have deprived her of reason. As it happened, no serious misfortune had befallen, and with Helen's strength and spirits both fully restored, her companions were able on the third day to resume their overland journey. And, still more, they started with a fresh supply of provisions--enough to last them for many long days. Captain Redwood and Saloo in their hunting excursion had been very successful. The captain had not been called upon to fire a single shot from his rifle, so that his slender store of ammunition was still good for future eventualities. Saloo's silent sumpits had done all the work of the chase, which resulted in the death of a deer, another wild pig, and several large birds, suitable for the pot or spit. The hunters had been returning from their last expedition heavily loaded with game, when the cries of Helen, Henry, and Murtagh, had caused them to drop their booty and hasten to the rescue. Now that all was over, and they were once more reminded of it, Saloo and Murtagh went in search of the abandoned game, soon found it, gathered it again, and transported it to their camping-place by the side of the lake. Here, during the time they stayed to await the recovery of Helen's health, the pork and venison were cut up and cured in such a manner as to ensure its keeping for a long time--long enough indeed to suffice them throughout the whole duration of their contemplated journey; that is, should no unexpected obstacle arise to obstruct or detain them. The fowls that had fallen to Saloo's arrows were sufficient to serve them for a few days, and with the fine supply of lard obtained from the carcass of the pig, they could be cooked in the most sumptuous manner. In the best of spirits they again set forth; and it seemed now as if fate had at last grown weary of torturing them, and daily, almost hourly, involving one or other of them in danger of death. From the edge of the lake, where their journey had been so strangely interrupted, they found an easy path across the remaining portion of the great plain. Several times they came upon the traces of red gorillas, and once they caught sight of a member of the horrid tribe speeding along the branches above their heads. But they were not so much afraid of them after all; for Saloo admitted that he did not deem the _mias pappan_ so dangerous; and he had ascertained that it was this species of ourang-outang they had encountered. He confessed himself puzzled at the behaviour of the one that had caused them so much fear and trouble. It was another species, the _mias rombi_, of which he stood in dread; and he could only account for the _mias pappan_ having acted as it had done, by supposing the animal to have taken some eccentric notion into its head--perhaps caused, as we have already hinted, by its conflict with the crocodile. Dangerous these gigantic _quadrumana_ are, nevertheless;--their superhuman strength enabling them to make terrible havoc wherever and whenever their fury becomes aroused. But without provocation this rarely occurs, and a man or woman who passes by them without making a noise, is not likely to be molested. Besides the large species, to which belonged the ape that had attacked them, the travellers saw another kind while passing across the plain. This was the _mias kassio_, much smaller in size, and more gentle in its nature. But they saw nothing of those, tallest of all, and the most dreaded by Saloo--the _mias rombis_--although the old bee-hunter still maintained his belief that they exist in the forests of Borneo as well as in the wilds of Sumatra. The plain over which they were making their way, here and there intersected with lagoons and tracts of tree-covered swamp, was the very locality in which these great apes delight to dwell; their habit being to make their huge platforms, or sleeping-places, upon bushes that grow out of boggy marsh or water--thus rendering them difficult of access to man, the only enemy they have need to dread. CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT. THE FRIENDLY FLAG. The travellers had taken their departure from the lake-shore at an early hour of the morning; and before sunset they had traversed the remaining portion of the plain, and ascended a considerable distance up the sloping side of the mountains beyond. Another day's journey, during which they accomplished a very long and tiresome march, brought them to the summit of the ridge, the great dividing chain which strikes longitudinally across the whole island of Borneo, so far as the geographers yet know it. They could see far to the northward, dimly outlined against the sky, the immense mountain of Kini-Balu--which rises to a height of nearly 12,000 feet; but they derived their principal gratification from the fact that, in the country stretching westward, appeared nothing likely to prevent them from reaching the destined goal of their journey, the old Malay capital town of Bruni--or rather the isle of Labuan, which lies along the coast a little to the north of it, where Captain Redwood knew that a flag floated, which, if not that of his own country, would be equally as certain to give him protection. From the position of Kini-Balu, whose square summit they could distinguish from all others, he could see the point to steer for as well, or even better, than if he had brought his ship's compass with him, and they would no longer be travelling in any uncertainty as to their course. From where they were it could be distinguished to a pointy without any variation; and after a good night's rest upon the mountain-ridge, they commenced descending its western slope. For a time they lost sight of the sun's orb, that, rising behind their backs, was hidden by the mountain mass, and casting a purple shadow over the forest-clad country before them. Soon, however, the bright orb, soaring into the sky, sent its beams before them, and they continued their journey under the cheering light. Had it not been for fear of their fellow-beings, they would have advanced on without much further apprehension; for one and all were now rejoicing in a plentitude of restored health, and their spirits were consequently fresh and cheerful. But they still had some dread of danger from man--from those terrible enemies, the Dyaks, of whom Bornean travellers have told such ghastly tales. It seemed, however, as if our adventurers were not destined to discover whether these tales were true or false, or in any way to realise them. The evil star that had hung over their heads while on the eastern side of the island, must have stayed there; and now on the west nothing of ill appeared likely to befall them. For all this they did not trust to destiny, but took every precaution to shun an encounter with the savages, travelling only at such times as they were certain the "coast was clear;" and lying in concealment whenever they saw a sign of danger. Saloo, who could glide through the trees with the stealth and silence of a snake, always led the advance; and thus they progressed from hill to hill, and across the intervening valleys, still taking care that their faces should be turned westward. At length, after many days of this cautious progress, they ascended a steep ridge, which, rising directly across their route, made it necessary for them to climb it. It caused them several hours of toil; but they were well rewarded for the effort. On reaching its summit, and casting their glances beyond, they saw below, and at a little to the left, the strange old wooden-walled town of Bruni; while to the right, across a narrow arm of the sea, lay the island of Labuan, and on its conspicuous buildings waved the glorious old banner of Britannia. Captain Redwood hailed it with almost as much joy as if it had been the flag of his native land. He was not then in the mood to dwell on any distinction between them; but, flinging himself on his knees, with Henry on one side, and Helen upon the other--Murtagh and the Malay a few paces in the rear--he offered up a prayer of devout and earnest gratitude for their great deliverance to Him who is ever powerful to save, their Father and their God. 
40941	----	THE WRECK OF THE RED BIRD A STORY OF THE CAROLINA COAST BY GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON _Author of "The Big Brother," "Captain Sam," "The Signal Boys," etc., etc._ NEW YORK G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 27 & 29 WEST 23D STREET 1882 COPYRIGHT BY G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 1882 _Press of G. P. Putnam's Sons New York_ [Illustration: THE "BONES" OF THE RED BIRD] I intended to dedicate this book to my son, GUILFORD DUDLEY EGGLESTON, to whom it belonged in a peculiar sense. He was only nine years old, but he was my tenderly loved companion, and was in no small degree the creator of this story. He gave it the title it bears; he discussed with me every incident in it; and every page was written with reference to his wishes and his pleasure. There is not a paragraph here which does not hold for me some reminder of the noblest, manliest, most unselfish boy I have ever known. Ah, woe is me! He who was my companion is my dear dead boy now, and I am sure that I only act for him as he would wish, in inscribing the story that was so peculiarly his to the boy whom he loved best, and who loved him as a brother might have done. It is in memory of GUILFORD that I dedicate "The Wreck of the Red Bird" to CHARLES PELTON HUTCHINS. G. C. E. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. MAUM SALLY'S MANNERS 1 CHAPTER II. ON THE JOGGLING BOARDS 10 CHAPTER III. AFLOAT 15 CHAPTER IV. PLANS AND PREPARATIONS 28 CHAPTER V. THE SAILING OF THE "RED BIRD" 35 CHAPTER VI. ODD FISH 40 CHAPTER VII. AN ENEMY IN THE CAMP 52 CHAPTER VIII. THE BEGINNING AND END OF A VOYAGE 59 CHAPTER IX. THE SITUATION 68 CHAPTER X. PLANS AND DEVICES 79 CHAPTER XI. SOME OF NED'S SCIENCE 88 CHAPTER XII. JACK'S DISCOVERY 101 CHAPTER XIII. AN ANXIOUS NIGHT 109 CHAPTER XIV. IN THE GRAY OF THE MORNING 120 CHAPTER XV. CHARLEY BLACK'S ADVENTURES 125 CHAPTER XVI. ON GUARD 134 CHAPTER XVII. A NEW DANGER 147 CHAPTER XVIII. A CAMP-FACTORY 155 CHAPTER XIX. A NIGHT OF ADVENTURE 166 CHAPTER XX. A CALCULATION OF PROFIT AND LOSS 177 CHAPTER XXI. CHARLEY'S SECRET EXPEDITION 184 CHAPTER XXII. THE LAUNCH OF THE "APHRODITE" 193 CHAPTER XXIII. THE VOYAGE OF THE "APHRODITE" 201 CHAPTER XXIV. MAUM SALLY 212 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. THE "BONES" OF THE RED BIRD _Frontispiece._ "LOOK OUT! HOLD THAT FELLOW AWAY FROM YOU!" 23 THE ELOQUENT LANGUAGE OF GESTURE 128 "GIVE HIM A VOLLEY AND THEN CHARGE!" 150 THE END OF CHARLEY'S ADVENTURE 190 "HI! MAUM SALLY" 214 The Wreck of the Red Bird CHAPTER I. MAUM SALLY'S MANNERS. "Bress my heart, honey, wha'd you come from?" It was old "Maum" Sally who uttered this exclamation as she came out of her kitchen, drying her hands on her apron, and warmly greeting one of the three boys who stood just outside the door. "Is you done come to visit de folks? Well, I do declar'!" "Now, Maum Sally," replied Ned Cooke, "stop 'declaring' and stop asking me questions till you answer mine. Or, no, you won't do that, so I'll answer yours first. Where did I come from? Why from Aiken, by way of Charleston and Hardeeville. Did I come to visit the folks? Well, no, not exactly that. You see, I didn't set out to come here at all. I have spent part of the summer up at Aiken with these two school-mates of mine, and they were to spend the rest of it with me in Savannah. We were on our way down there when I got a despatch from father, saying that as yellow fever has broken out there I mustn't come home, but must come down here to Bluffton and stay with Uncle Edward till frost or school time. So we got off the train, hired a man with an ox-cart to bring our trunks down, and walked the eighteen miles. The man with the trunks will get here sometime, I suppose. There! I've made a long speech at you. Now, answer my questions, please. Where is Uncle Edward? and where is Aunt Helen? and why is the house shut up? and when will they be back again? and can't you give us something to eat, for we're nearly starved?" Ned laughed as he delivered this volley of questions, but Maum Sally remained perfectly solemn, as she always did. When he finished, she said: "Yaller fever! Bress my heart! It'll be heah nex' thing we knows. Walked all de way from Hardeeville! an' dis heah hot day too! e'en a'most starved! Well, I reckon ye is, an' I'll jes mosey roun' heah an' git you some supper." It must be explained that Maum Sally, although she lived on the coast of South Carolina, and was called "Maum" instead of "Aunt," was born and "raised," as she would have said, in "Ole Firginny," and her dialect was therefore somewhat as represented here. The negroes of the coast speak a peculiar jargon, which would be wholly unintelligible to other than South Carolinian readers, even if I could render it faithfully by phonetic spelling. As Maum Sally ceased speaking, she turned to go into her kitchen, which, as is usual in the South, was a detached building, standing some distance from the main house. "But wait, Maum Sally," cried Ned, seizing her hand; "I'm not going to let you off that way. You haven't answered my questions yet." "Now, look heah, young Ned," she said, with great solemnity, "does you s'pose Ole Sally was bawn and raised in Ole Firginny for nothin'? I aint forgot my manners nor hospitality, ef I _is_ lived nigh onto twenty-five years in dis heah heathen coast country whah de niggas talks monkey language. I'se a gwine to git you'n your fr'en's--ef you'll interduce 'em--some supper, fust an' foremost. Den I'll answer all de questions you're a mind to ax, ef you don't git to conundrumin'." Ned acknowledged Maum Sally's rebuke promptly. "I did forget my manners," he said, "but you see I was badly flustered. This is my friend Jack Farnsworth, Maum Sally, and this," turning to the other boy, "is Charley Black. Boys, let me make you acquainted with Maum Sally, the best cook in South Carolina, or anywhere else, and the best Maum Sally in the world. She used to give me all sorts of good things to eat out here when I didn't get up to breakfast, and was expected to get on till dinner with a cold bite from the store-room. I'll bet she'll cook us a supper that will make your mouths water, and have it ready by the time we get the dust out of our eyes." "Git de dus' out'n de all over you, more like. Heah's de key to de bath-house. You jes run down an' take a dip in de salt water, an' den git inter yer clo'es as fas' as you kin, an' when you's done dat, you'll fin' somethin' to eat awaitin' for you in de piazza. Git, now, quick. Ef I'se got to plan somethin' for supper, I'se got to hab my wits about me an' don' want no talkin' boys aroun'." "It's of no use, boys," said Ned. "I know Maum Sally, and we're not going to get a word more out of her till supper is ready, so come on, let's have a plunge. It's all right, anyhow. My uncle and aunt have gone away for the day somewhere, I suppose, and will be back sometime to-night. If they don't come, I'll find a way to break into the house. It's my father's, you know, and one of my homes. In fact, I was born here. Uncle Edward lives here a good part of the time, because he likes it, and father lives in Savannah a good part of the year, because he doesn't like it here. Come, let's get a bath." With that Ned conducted his guests to a pretty little bath-house which stood out over the water, and was approached by a green bridge. Bluffton abounds in these well-appointed, private bathing-houses, which, with their ornamental approaches, add not a little to the beauty of the singular town, which is scarcely a town at all in the ordinary sense of the word, as Ned explained to his companions while they were dressing after their bath. "This coast country," he said, "is plagued with country fever." "What's country fever?" asked Jack Farnsworth. "It's a very severe and fatal form of bilious fever, which one night's exposure--or even a few hours' exposure after sunset--brings on." "Then why did you bring us here?" asked Charley. "Are we to find ourselves down with country fever to-morrow morning?" "No, not at all," replied Ned. "Country fever stays strictly at home. It never goes to town; it never visits high ground where there are pines, white sand, and no moss; and it never comes to Bluffton. That's why there is any Bluffton. All along the coast the planters have their winter residences on their plantations, but in the summer they go off to little summer villages in the pines to escape the fever. In the region just around us, it is so much easier and pleasanter to live here in Bluffton that they build permanent residences here and live here all the year around. There is no trade here, no shops--except a blacksmith shop out on the road--no stores, no any thing except private houses, and the private houses are all built pretty nearly alike. Each stands alone in a large plot of ground, which is filled with trees and shrubs just as all the streets are. Each house has a piazza running all the way around it, or pretty nearly that, and each has two or three joggling boards." "What in the world is a joggling board?" asked Charley. "I'll introduce you when we get back to the house," said Ned. When the boys returned to the house, Ned's prediction was abundantly fulfilled. Maum Sally had spread a tempting, if somewhat incongruous supper in the piazza. There was a piece of cold ham, some fried fresh fish, a dish of shrimps stewed with tomatoes, a great platter of rice cooked in the South Carolinian way, and intended for use in lieu of bread, some boiled okra, roast sweet potatoes, and a pot of steaming coffee. It was a miscellaneous sort of meal, compounded of breakfast, dinner, and supper in about equal proportions, but it was such a meal as three healthy boys, who had walked eighteen miles and had then taken a sea bath, were not in the least disposed to quarrel with. "Now, Maum Sally," said Ned, after he had complimented the supper and taken his seat at the table, "tell me where Uncle Edward and Aunt Helen are, and when they will get back?" "Ain't ye got no manners at all, young Ned?" asked Sally, with an air of profound surprise; she always called the boy "Young Ned" when she wished to put him in awe of her; "ain't ye got no manners at all, or is you forgot 'em all sence I seed you last? Don' you know your frien's is a starvin'? and here you is a plaguin' me with questions insti'd o' helpin' on 'em. Mind yer manners, young gentleman, an' then I'll answer yer questions." "All right, Maum Sally," said Ned; "Charley, let me give you some cold ham. Jack, help yourself to some fish. There are the shrimps, boys, between you. Maum Sally, pour out some coffee, please. Jack, you'll find the okra good; here, Charley, let me help you to rice." Maum Sally, meanwhile, was pouring coffee and filling plates; when supper was well under way, she stood back a little way, placed her hands on her hips, her arms akimbo, and said with the utmost solemnity: "Seems 's if somebody axed me somethin' or other 'bout de folks when I was too busy to ten' to 'em. Ef you'll ax me agin now, I'll be obleeged." "Yes, upon reflection," said Ned, "I am inclined to think that I ventured to make some inquiry concerning my uncle and aunt. If I remember correctly, I asked where they are, and at what time they are likely to return." "Whah is dey? Well, I don' rightly know, an' I can't say adzac'ly when dey'll be back agin. But I specs deys somewhah out on de sea, an' I s'pose dey'll be back about nex' November." "What!" cried Ned, in surprise, suspending his attention to supper, and forgetting to maintain his pretence of dignified indifference. "What do you mean, Maum Sally?" "Well, what I mean is dis heah. Yo' uncle an' aunt lef' here three days ago to go north. Dey said dey was a gwine to de centenimental expedition, an' to Newport an' somewhahs else--I reckon it was to some sort o' mountains--White Mountains, mebbe, an dey said dey'd be back agin in November, ef dey didn't make up dere minds to stay longer, or come back afore dat time. So now you knows as much about it as I does." CHAPTER II. ON THE JOGGLING BOARDS. To say that Ned was surprised is to describe his feeling very mildly. Knowing his uncle's easy, indolent mode of life, his contentment with home, his lazy love of books and pipes and ease generally, Ned would as soon have expected to hear that the organ in the little church had gone off summering, as to learn that his uncle and aunt were travelling. The other boys were in consternation. "What on earth shall we do?" asked Jack Farnsworth. "Better eat supper, fust an' fo'most," replied Maum Sally, whose theory of life consisted of a profound conviction that the important thing to be done was to eat an abundance of good food, well-cooked. "That's so," said Ned. "We can't bring my uncle back by neglecting our supper, but we can let the coffee get cold, and that would be a pity. Let's eat now while the things are hot." "Yes," replied Charley Black, "that's all right, but after that?" "Why, after that we'll try the joggling boards." "But, Ned," remonstrated Charley, "this won't do. Your uncle has gone away, and the house is shut up and so we can't stay here. Now, I move that you go back to Aiken with us." "Not a bit of it," answered Ned. "I've visited at your house and at Jack's, and now you're my guests. Do you think I've 'forgot my manners,' as Maum Sally says?" "But, Ned," said Jack, "you see the situation has changed since we started to go home with you. You can't go home, and now you can't stay here." "Can't I though?" asked Ned; "and why not? I know a way into the house, and if you'll stay where you are for five minutes, I'll have the big doors unbarred and invite you in." With that Ned stepped upon the piazza railing, caught a timber above, and easily swung himself up to the roof of the porch. Thence he made his way quickly to a round window in the garret--the house was only one story high, with a high garret story for the protection of the rooms from the heat of the sun. Pushing open this round window he sprang in, descended the stairs, and a moment later the boys heard him taking down the wooden bar which kept the great double doors fast. Then drawing the bolts at top and bottom, he swung the doors open without difficulty. "Come in, boys," he cried. "I'll open the doors at the other side, and we'll have a breeze through the hall." "But I say, old fellow," said Charley, "I don't like this. What will your uncle think of us for making free with his house in this way?" "What, Uncle Edward? Why, he wouldn't ask how we got in if he were to get home now. He never troubles himself, and he's the best uncle in the world; so is Aunt Helen, or, I should say, she is the best aunt. And, besides, I tell you, this isn't Uncle Edward's house. It's my father's, and all the furniture is his too. Uncle Edward lives here just because he likes it here, and because father likes to have him here. But the house is ours, and sometimes we all come here without warning, and stay for months. It don't make any difference, except that more plates are put on the table. Every thing goes on just the same, and if Uncle Edward were to come in now he would hardly remember that we weren't here when he went away. So make yourselves easy. You're in my home just as much as if we were in Savannah, and there's nobody here to be bothered by our fun. We'll stay here and fish and row and bathe, and have a jolly time. The servants have all gone away, I suppose, except Maum Sally, but she'll take good care of us. You see, I'm her special pet. She has thought it her duty to coddle me and scold me and regulate me generally ever since I was born, and she likes nothing better. So come on out here and I'll introduce you unfortunate up-country boys to that greatest of human inventions, a joggling board. There are four or five of them on the front piazza." This hospitable harangue satisfied the scruples of the boys, and the house was so pleasant, with its large, high rooms, wide hall, and broad piazzas--one of which looked out over the water,--the grounds were so tasteful, the trees so large and fine, and the whole aspect of Bluffton was so quiet and restful, that they were glad to settle themselves contentedly after their long tramp from the railroad at Hardeeville. "The best way to get acquainted with a joggling board," said Ned, approaching a queer-looking structure on the piazza, "is to get on it. Try it and see, Charley. Don't be afraid. It won't turn over, and it can't break down. There," as Charley seated himself upon the board, "lie down now, and move almost any muscle you please the least bit in the world, and you'll understand what the thing is for." "Oh! isn't it jolly!" exclaimed Charley, as the board began to sway gently under him and the breeze from the sea fanned him. "It is all of that," replied Ned. "I'll get some pillows as soon as I get Jack to risk his precious neck on a board, and then we'll all be comfortable, like clams at high-tide. Jump up, Jack; it won't tip over. Now swing your legs up and lie down. There, how's that?" Jack gave a sigh of satisfaction, while Ned ran into the house for sofa pillows. The three boys, tired as they were, soon ceased to talk, and fell asleep to the gentle swaying of the joggling boards. CHAPTER III. AFLOAT. Once asleep on the cool, breeze-swept piazza, the three tired boys were not inclined to wake easily. The sun went down, but still they slept. Finally the teamster from Hardeeville arrived with the trunks on an ox-cart, and his loud cries to his oxen aroused Charley, who sprang up suddenly. Forgetting that his couch was a joggling board more than three feet high he undertook to step upon the floor as if he had been sleeping on an ordinary sofa. The result was that his feet, failing to reach the floor at the expected distance, were thrown backward under the board by the forward motion of the upper part of the body, and Master Charles Black, of Aiken, fell sprawling on the floor, waking both the other boys in alarm. "What's up?" cried Ned. "Nothing. I'm down," replied Charley. "I thought you said the thing wouldn't turn over." "Well, it hasn't," said Ned. "Look and see. It's you that turned over. Are you hurt, old fellow?" Charley was by this time on his feet again, and declared himself wholly free from hurt of any kind. The trunks were brought in, the driver turned over to Maum Sally's hospitality, and Ned declared it to be time for bed. "Whew! how cold it is!" exclaimed Jack. "Do you have such changes of weather often, down here on the coast?" "Only twice in twenty-four hours at this season," answered Ned, as they went into the house. "Twice in twenty-four hours! What do you mean?" "I mean once in twelve hours," answered Ned. "How is that? I don't understand." "Well, you see our late summer dews have begun to fall. If you were to go out now, you would find the water actually dripping from the trees. From this time on it will be chilly at night, almost cold, in fact, but hot as the tropic of Cancer in the daytime. So we have a sudden change of temperature twice a day--once from cold to hot, and once from hot to cold." The boys were too sleepy to talk long, and the sun was shining in at the east windows when Maum Sally waked them the next morning for a breakfast as miscellaneous as the supper had been; sliced tomatoes and figs, still wet with the dew, being prominent features of the meal. After breakfast Ned looked up a great variety of fishing tackle and got it in order. "Where are your fish poles?" asked one of the boys. "Fish poles! we don't use them in salt water. We fish with tight lines." "What are they?" "Why, long lines with a sinker at the end and no poles." "Do you just hold the line in your hand?" "Certainly. And another thing that we don't use is a float. We just fish right down in the deep water--or the shallow water rather, for the best fishing is on bars where the water isn't more than twenty feet deep; but deep or shallow, the fish are at the bottom, except skip-jacks; they swim on top, and sometimes we troll for them. They call them blue fish up North, I believe, but we call them skip-jacks or jack mackerel." "What's that?" asked Jack, as Ned spread out a round net for inspection. "A cast net." "What's it for?" "Shrimps." "But I thought we were going fishing." "So we are. But we must go shrimping first. We must have some bait." "Oh, we are to use shrimps for bait, are we?" "Very much so indeed," answered Ned. "They are capital bait--the best we have, unless we want to catch sheephead; then we use fiddlers." "What are fiddlers?" "Little black crabs that run about by millions over the sand. They have hard shells that whiting and croakers can't crack, while the sheephead, having good teeth, crush them easily. So when we want to catch sheephead, and don't want to be bothered with other fish, we bait with fiddlers." "Then I understand that fish are so plentiful here and so easily caught that they bother you when you want to catch particular kinds?" said Jack, incredulously. "If you mean that for a question," answered Ned, "I'll let you answer it for yourself after you've had a little experience." "Well, if we don't get any shrimps," said Charley, "we'll fish for sheephead with musicians." "Musicians? oh, you mean fiddlers," said Ned. "But we'll get shrimps enough." "Do they bother you, too, with their abundance?" asked Jack, still inclined to joke his friend. "Come on and see," said Ned, who had now prepared himself for wading. Taking the cast net in his hand, and giving a pail to Jack, he led the way to the sea. Wading into the mouth of a little inlet he cast the net, which was simply a circular piece of netting, with a string of leaden balls around the edge. From this lead line cords extended on the under side of the net to and through a ring in the centre where they were fastened to a long cord which was held in Ned's hand. A peculiar motion in casting caused the net to spread itself out flat and to fall in that way on the water. The leaden balls caused it to sink at once to the bottom, the edges reaching bottom first, of course, and imprisoning whatever happened to be under the net in its passage. After a moment's pause, to give time for the lead line to sink completely, Ned jerked the cord and began to draw in. Of course this drew the lead line along the bottom to the centre ring, and made a complete pocket of the net, securely holding whatever was caught in it. It came up after this first cast with about a hundred shrimps--of the large kind called prawn in the North--in it. The boys opened their eyes in surprise, and Ned cast again, bringing up this time about twice as many as before. "They have hardly begun to come in yet," said Ned. "The tide is too young." "Hardly begun to come in?" said Jack, "why, the water's alive with them. Let me throw the net." "Certainly," said Ned, "if you know how." "Know how? Why, there's no knack in that; anybody can do it." With this confident boast Jack took the net and gave a violent cast. Neglecting to relax the rope at the right moment, however, the confident young gentleman made trouble for himself. The lead line swung around rapidly, the net wrapped itself around Jack, and the leaden balls struck him with sufficient violence to hurt. He lost his balance at the same instant, and, his legs being held close together by the wet net, he could not step out to recover himself. The result was that he fell sprawling into the water and was fished out in a very wet condition by his companions. Jack was a boy capable of seeing the fun even in an accident of which he was the victim. He stood still while the net was unwound, and for a moment afterward. Then, seeing that the other boys were too considerate to laugh at him while in trouble, he quietly said: "I told you I could do it." "Well, you caught more in the net than I did," said Ned. "Now take hold again and I'll show you how to manage it. Your wet clothes won't hurt you. Sea-water doesn't give one cold." A few lessons made Jack fairly expert in casting, but Charley had no mind to court mishaps, and would not try his skill. The pail was soon well filled with shrimps, and the boys returned to the boat house, where Jack changed his wet clothes for dry ones. Then all haste was made to get the boat out, in order that they might fish while the tide was right. The boat was a large launch named _Red Bird_; a boat twenty-four feet long, very broad in the beam, and very stoutly built. It was provided with a mast and sail, but these were of no use now as there was no wind, and the bars on which Ned meant to fish were only a few hundred yards distant. No sooner was the anchor cast than the lines were out, and the fish began accepting the polite invitation extended to them. "What sort of fish are these, Ned?" asked Charley, as he took one from his hook. "That," said Ned, looking round, "is a whiting--so called, I believe, because it is brown, and yellow, and occasionally pink and purple, with changeable silk stripes over it. That's the only reason I can think of for calling it a whiting. It is never white. It isn't properly a whiting for that matter. It isn't at all the same as the whiting of the North, at any rate." "Why, they're changing color," exclaimed Jack. "Look! they actually change color under your very eyes." "Yes, it's a way whiting have," said Ned. "And some other fish do the same thing, I believe." "Dolphins do," said Charley. "Yes, but the whiting isn't even a second cousin to the dolphin. That's a croaker you've got, Jack; spot on his tail--splendid fish to eat--and he croaks. Listen!" The fish did begin to utter a curious croaking sound, which surprised the boys. Other croakers were soon in the boat, and the company of them set up a croaking of which the inhabitants of a frog pond might not have been ashamed. "They call croakers 'spot' in Virginia," said Ned, "because of the spot near the tail. Look at it. Isn't it pretty? and isn't the fish itself a beauty?" "But the whiting is prettier," said Charley; "at least in colors. I say, Ned, do you know if whiting ever dine on kaleidoscopes?" "Look out! hold that fellow away from you! hold the line at arm's length and don't let the brute strike you with his tail for your life!" exclaimed Ned, excitedly, as Charley drew a curious-looking creature up. [Illustration: "LOOK OUT! HOLD THAT FELLOW AWAY FROM YOU!"] "What is the thing?" asked both the up-country boys in a breath. "A stingaree," replied Ned, "and as ugly as a rattlesnake. See how viciously he strikes with his tail! Let him down slowly till his tail touches the bottom of the boat. There! Now wait till he stops striking for a moment and then clap your foot on his tail. Ah! now you've got him. Now cut the tail off close to the body and the fellow's harmless." "What is the creature anyhow?" asked Jack, who had suspended his fishing operations to observe the monster. "What did you call it?" "Well, the gentleman belongs to a large and distinguished family. To speak broadly, he is a plagiostrome chondropterygian, of the sub-order _raiiæ_, commonly called skates. To define him more particularly, he is a member of the trygonidæ family, familiarly known as sting rays, and called by negroes and fishermen, and nearly every body else on the coast, stingarees." "Where on earth did you get that jargon from?" asked Charley. "It isn't jargon, and I got it from my uncle. He told me one day not to call these things stingarees, but sting rays, and then for fun rattled off a lot of scientific talk at me, which I made him repeat until I knew it by heart. What I know about sting rays is this: there are a good many kinds of them in different quarters of the world. In the North they have the American sting ray, which is much larger than ours down here, though we sometimes catch them two or three feet wide. Ours is the European sting ray, I believe; at any rate, it isn't the American. They are all of them closely alike. They are brown on top and white beneath. You see the shape--not unlike that of a turtle, but with something like wings at the sides, and with a skin instead of a shell, and no legs. The most interesting things about them are their long, slender tails. See," picking up the amputated tail and turning it over; "see the gentleman's weapons. Those bony spikes, with their barbed sides, make very ugly wounds whenever the sting ray gets a good shot at a leg or an arm. The negroes say the barbs are poisonous, like a rattlesnake's fangs; but the scientific folk dispute that. However that may be, a man was laid up for three months right here in Bluffton, during the war, with a foot so bad that the surgeons thought they would have to cut it off, and all from a very slight wound by a sting-ray." "Ugh!" cried Jack. "It isn't necessary to suppose poison; to have one of those horrible bones driven into your flesh and then drawn out with the notches all turned the wrong way, is enough to make any amount of trouble, without adding poison." "Perhaps that accounts for the stories told of the Indians shooting poisoned arrows," said Ned. "They used sting-ray stings for arrow-heads at any rate." "And very capital arrow-heads they would make," said Charley, examining the spikes, which were about the size of a large lead-pencil, about three or four inches long, and barbed all along the sides, so that they looked not unlike rye beards under a microscope. These spikes are placed not at the end of the tail, but near the middle. "Are sting rays good to eat?" asked Jack, examining the slimy, flabby creature. "It all depends upon the taste of the eater," replied Ned. "The negroes sometimes eat the flaps or wings, and most white people on the coast have curiosity enough to taste them. They always say there's nothing bad about the taste, but I never knew anybody to take to sting rays as a delicacy. Some people say that alligator steaks are good, and a good many people eat sharks now and then. For my part good fish are too plentiful here for me to experiment with bad ones." The fishing was resumed now, and it was not long before Jack confessed that the fish were beginning to "bother" him by their abundance and eagerness. "Ned," he said, "I apologize. If you've any fiddlers about your clothes, I believe I'll confine my attention to sheephead; I'm tired of pulling fish in." "Well, let's go ashore, then," said Ned, laughing, "and have dinner." "Do fish bite in that way generally down here?" asked Charley. "Yes, when the tide isn't too full. Fishing really gets to be a bore here, it is so easy to fill a boat; anybody can do that as easily as throw a cast net." "Now hush that," said Charley. "Jack has owned up and apologized, and agreed that he knows more than he did this morning." CHAPTER IV. PLANS AND PREPARATIONS. After dinner the boys lolled upon the piazza, and Ned answered his companions' questions concerning Bluffton and region round about. "The water here is called South May River," he said, "but why, I don't know. It certainly isn't a river. This whole coast is a ragged edge of land with all sorts of inlets running up into it, and with islands, big and little, dotted about off the mainland. Yonder is Hilton Head away over near the horizon. Hunting Island lies off to the left, and Bear's Island further away yet. The little marsh islands have no names. They are simply bars of mud on which a kind of rank grass, called salt marsh, grows. Some of them are covered by every tide; others only by spring-tides, while others are covered by all except neap-tides." "Is there any land over that way, to the right of Hilton Head?" Charley asked. "Good idea!" exclaimed Ned. "I say, let's go buffalo-hunting and crusoeing and yachting all at once." "What sort of answer is that nonsense to my question?" asked Charley, with mock dignity and real doubt as to his friend's meaning. "Well, I jumped a little, that's all," said Ned. "Your question suggested my answer. Bee Island lies over there, out of sight. It's my uncle's land. It used to be a sea-island plantation, but was abandoned during the war and has never been occupied since. It has grown up and is as wild as if it had never been cultivated at all. The cattle were left on it when the place was abandoned, and they went completely wild. During the war parties of soldiers from both sides used to go over there to hunt the wild cattle. Sometimes they met each other and hunted each other instead of the cattle. Now it just occurred to me that we might have jolly fun by fitting out an expedition, sailing over there in the _Red Bird_--you see these land-locked waters are never very rough or dangerous--and camping there as long as we like. When we are in the boat, we will be yachtsmen of the 'swellest' sort; when we're on the desert island--or deserted, rather, for it is desert only in the past tense--we'll be Robinson Crusoes; and when we want beef we'll kill a wild cow, if there are any left, and be buffalo hunters, for what's a buffalo but a sort of wild cow?" "Is the fishing good over there?" asked Jack, "for I'm not so much bothered by the fish yet that I want to quit catching them." "As good as here." "All right, let's go," said Jack. "So say I," responded Charley. "When shall we start?" "To-morrow morning. It will take all this afternoon to get ready," said Ned. With that they set to work collecting necessary materials. "We must have all sorts of things," said Ned. "Yes," answered Jack, "particularly in our characters as Robinson Crusoes." "How's that?" asked Charley. "He had nothing. He was shipwrecked, you know." "Yes, I know. But did you never notice what extraordinary luck he had? Absolutely every thing that was indispensable to him came ashore or was brought ashore from that accommodating wreck. Why, he even got gunpowder enough to last him, and whatever the ship didn't yield the island did. I always suspected that Robinson Crusoe loaded that ship himself with special reference to his needs on the island, and picked out the right island, and then ran the ship on the rocks purposely." This interpretation of Robinson Crusoe's character and life was a novel one to Jack's companions; but their plan for their expedition did not include any purpose to deny themselves needed conveniences. The large duck gun was taken down from its hooks in the hall, and a good supply of ammunition was put into the shot pouches and powder flask. This included one pouch of buckshot and one of smaller shot for fowls. The fishing tackle was already in the boat house, as we know. An axe, a hatchet, a piece of bacon, to be used in frying fish, a small bag of rice, another of flour, and another of sweet potatoes, a box of salt, another of sugar--both water-tight,--and some coffee, completed the list of stores as planned by the boys. Maum Sally contemplated the collection, after the boys had declared it to be complete, and exclaimed; "Well, I 'clar now!" "What's the matter, Maum Sally?" asked Ned. "Nothin', on'y it's jis zacly like a passel o' boys, dat is." "What is?" "W'y wot for is you a takin' things to eat?" asked Sally. "Because we'll want to eat them," said Ned. "Raw?" asked Sally. "That's so," said Ned, with a look of confusion. "Boys, we haven't put in a single cooking utensil!" Laughing at their blunder, the boys set about choosing from Maum Sally's stores what they thought was most imperatively needed. Two skillets, one to be used for frying and the other for baking bread; a kettle, to be used in boiling rice, in heating water for coffee, and as a bread pan in which to mix corn bread; a coffee pot; some tin cups; three forks and three plates, constituted their outfit. Each boy had his pocket knife, of course, and Ned had put into the boat a large hunting knife from the house. When all was stored ready for the morning's departure, the boys ate their supper and betook themselves to the piazza. "I hope there'll be a fair breeze in the morning," said Ned, "for it will be a frightful job to row that big boat to Bee Island if there isn't wind enough to sail." "How far is it?" asked Jack. "About a dozen miles. But there is nearly always, breeze enough to sail, after we get away from the bluffs here; but the tide will be against us." "How do you know?" asked Charley. "Why it will begin running up about eight o'clock to-morrow, and of course it won't turn till about two." "How do you know it will begin running up about eight o'clock?" "Why, because it began running up a little after seven this morning." "Well, what has that got to do with it? Don't it all depend on the wind?" "What a landlubber you are!" exclaimed Ned. "No, it don't depend on the wind. It depends on the moon and the sun. I'll try to explain." "No, don't," said Jack; "let him read about it in his geography, or explain it to him some other time. Tell us about something else now. Isn't the country fever likely to bother us over there on the island?" "No, not if we select a good place to camp in. We must get on pretty high ground near the salt water. I know the look of healthy and unhealthy places pretty well, and we'll be safe enough." "All right. When we get into camp you can deliver that lecture on tides if you want to, but just now we wouldn't attend to it. We're apt to be a trifle cross in the evenings over there if we get tired. Tired people in camp are always cross, and it will be just as well to save whatever you have to say till we need something to talk about. Then you can tell us all about it." "Well, now, I've something interesting to tell you without waiting," said Ned; "something very interesting." "What is it?" "That it is after nine o'clock; that we want to get up early; and that we'd better go to bed." "Agreed," said his companions. CHAPTER V. THE SAILING OF THE "RED BIRD." The boys were out of bed not long after daylight the next morning. The sky was clear, but there was not a particle of breeze, and even before the sun rose the air was hot and stifling to a degree never before experienced by either of Ned's visitors. "I say, Ned, this is a frightful morning," said Jack. "I feel myself melting as I stand here in my clothes. I'm already as weak as a pound of butter looks in the sun. How we're going to breathe when the sun comes up, I'm at a loss to determine. Whew!" and with that Jack sat down exhausted. "A nice time we'll have rowing," said Charley. "I move we swim and push the boat. It'll be cooler, and not much harder work. Does it ever rain here? because if it does I'm waiting for a shower. I'm wilted down, and nothing short of a drenching will revive me." "Well," said Ned, "come, let's take a drenching. I'm going to take a header off the boat-house pier. It's low-water now, and there's a clear jump of ten feet. A plunge will wake us up, and by that time breakfast will be ready, and what is more to the point, the tide will turn. That's a comfort." "Why?" asked Charley. "Because when it turns a sea-breeze will come with it. This sort of heat is what we'd have here all summer long if it wasn't for land- and sea-breezes. As it is we never have it except at dead low water, and it is always followed by a good stiff sea-breeze when the tide turns. We'll be able to sail instead of swimming over to the island. But come, let's have our plunge now." After breakfast the boys went to the boat house to bestow their freight in the boat. The tide had turned, and, as Ned had predicted, a cool, stimulating breeze had begun to blow, so that the strength returned to Jack's knees and Charley's resolution. "It will be best to fill the boat's water kegs," said Ned; "partly because we'll want water on the way, partly because we'll want water on the island, while we're digging for a permanent supply." "By the way," said Jack, "what are we going to dig with?" "Well, there's another blunder," said Ned. "If Robinson Crusoe had forgotten things in that way, he never would have lived through his island experiences. We must have a shovel and a pick. I'll run up to the house and look for them while you boys fill the water kegs." When Ned got back to the boat he was confronted by Maum Sally with a big bundle. "What is it, Maum Sally?" "Oh nothin', on'y I spose you young gentlemen is a gwine to sleep jes a little now an' then o' nights, an' so, as you hasn't thought on it yerse'fs, I's done brung you some bedclo'es." "Now look here, boys," said Ned; "we'll go off without our heads yet. We've lost our heads several times already, in fact. There's nothing for it except just to imagine ourselves at the island, and run through a whole day and night in our minds to see what we're going to need." "That's a good idea," said Charley. "I'll begin. I'll need my mother the first thing, because here's a button off my collar." The party laughed, of course, but there was force in the suggestion. A few buttons, a needle or two, and some stout thread were straightway added to the ship's stores. "Now let's see," said Ned. "We'll need to build a shelter first thing, and we've all the tools necessary for that, because I've thought it out carefully. Then we have our digging tools. Very well. Now, for breakfast we need, let me see," and he ran over the materials and utensils already enumerated. Going on in this way through an imaginary day on the island, the boys found their list of stores now reasonably complete. From Maum Sally's bundle they selected three blankets, which they rolled up tight and bestowed behind the water keg at the stern. Maum Sally had brought pillows, sheets, and a large mattress, which she earnestly besought them to take, but they declined to add to their cargo any thing which could be dispensed with. At the very last moment one of the boys thought of matches. It was decided that three small boxes would be sufficient, as they could keep fire by the exercise of a little caution. Thus equipped, they bade Maum Sally good-by, and cast the boat loose. The sail filled, the _Red Bird_ lay a little over upon one side, with the wind nearly abeam, and the boys settled themselves into their places. "I say, young Ned," called Maum Sally, "how long's ye mean to be gone?" "Oh, I don't know. May be a month," was the reply. "Well, not a day longer 'n dat, now mind." CHAPTER VI. ODD FISH. The sea-breeze was fresh and full, and it blew from a favorable quarter. There were various windings about among the small islands to be made, and now and then the course for a brief distance was against the wind, and as this was the case only where the channel was narrow, it was necessary to make a series of very short "tacks," which gave Ned an opportunity to instruct his companions in the art of sailing a boat. In the main, however, there was an abundance of sea-room, and Ned could lay his course directly for Bee Island and keep the wind on the quarter. It was barely eleven o'clock, therefore, when the _Red Bird_ came to her moorings on the island, and the boys went ashore. "Now the first thing that Robinson Crusoe did after he got his wits about him," said Jack, "was to build his residence. Let's follow the example of that experienced mariner, and choose our building-site before we begin to bring away things from the wreck; I mean, before we unload our plunder." "Yes, that's our best plan," said Ned. "We don't want to do any more carrying than we must. Let me see. We're on the north side of the island. If I remember right, the negro quarters used to be to the east of this spot, and the negroes must have got water from somewhere, so we'd better look for the ruins of that African Troy, in search of the ancient reservoirs." "How far from the shore were the quarters?" asked Charley. "I don't remember, if I ever knew; but why?" "Well, it seems to me this island has grown up somewhat as the hair on your head does, in a shock. The large trees, as nearly as I can make out, think six feet or so to be a proper interval between themselves, and the small trees have disposed themselves to the best of their ability between the big ones; then all kinds of vines have grown up among the big and little trees, as if to make a sort of shrimp-net of the woods, and cane has grown up just to occupy any vacant spaces that might be left. It occurs to me that if we're to hunt anywhere except along shore for the old quarters, we'd best make up our minds to clear the island as we go." "I say, Charley," said Jack, "if you were obliged to clear an acre of this growth with your own hands what would you do first?" "I'd get a good axe, a grubbing hoe, some matches, and kindling wood; then I'd take a good look at the thicket; and then I'd take a long, long rest." "Yes, I suppose you'd need it. But that isn't what I meant. Never mind that, however. Ned, I don't see why this isn't as good a place as any for our camp. There's a sort of bluff here, and we can clear away a place for our hut and get the hut built with less labor than it would take to find traces of negro quarters that were destroyed twelve or fifteen years ago." "Yes, but how about water?" "Well, I don't think it likely that we'd find any visible remains of a well in the other place, and if we did we'd have to dig it all out again. Why not dig here?" After some discussion, and the examination of the shore for a short distance in each direction, this suggestion was adopted. The building of a shelter was easy work. It was necessary only to erect a framework of poles, to cut bushes and place them against the sides for walls, and to cover the whole with palmete leaves--that is to say, with the leaves of a species of dwarf palm which grows in that region in abundance. These leaves are known to persons at the North only in the form of palm-leaf fans. On the coast of South Carolina they grow in all the swamps and woodlands. A little labor made a bunk for the boys to sleep upon, and while Ned and Charley filled it with long gray Spanish moss, Jack got dinner ready, first rowing out from shore and catching fish enough for that meal while his companions finished the house. "Now," said Jack, when dinner was over and the boys had stretched themselves out for a rest, "it's nearly sunset, and we're all tired. We've got the best part of two kegs of water left, so I move that we don't begin digging our well till morning." "Agreed," said the other boys, glad enough to be idle. "Now, I've got something I want you to tell me about," said Jack. "Two things, in fact." With that, he went to the boat and looked about. Presently he came back and said: "One of 'em's dried up. Here's the other." He handed Ned a queer-looking fish, almost black, about eight inches long, very slender, and very singularly shaped. "See," he said; "its jaw protrudes in so queer a way that I can't make out which side of the creature is top and which bottom. Turn either side you please up, and it looks as if you ought to turn the other up instead; and then the thing has a sort of match-lighter on top of his head, or on the bottom--I don't know which it is. Look." He pointed to the creature's head. There was a flat, oval figure there, made by a ridge in the skin, and the flat space enclosed within this oval line was crossed diagonally by other ridges, arranged with perfect regularity. The whole looked something like the figure on the opposite page. [Illustration] "Now, what I want to know," said Jack, "is what sort of fish this is, which side of him belongs on top, and what use he makes of this match-lighter." "I'm afraid I can't help you much," said Ned. "A year ago I would have told you at once that the fish is a shark's pilot, so called because he follows ships as sharks do, and the sailors think he acts as a pilot for the sharks. But now I don't know what to call it." "Why not?" asked Charley. "Because I don't know. I've been reading up in the cyclopædias and natural histories and ichthyologies about our fishes down here, and have found out that whatever I know isn't so." "Why, how's that?" "Well, take the whiting, for example. When I began reading up to see if there was any sort of cousinship between him and the dolphin, I soon found that the whiting isn't a whiting at all, but I couldn't find out any thing else about him. The whiting described in the books is a sort of codfish's cousin, and he lives only at the North. Neither the pictures nor the descriptions of him at all resemble our whiting, so I don't know what sort of fish our whiting is. I only know that he isn't a whiting, and isn't the remotest relation to the dolphin, because he is a fish and has scales, while the dolphin is a cetacean." "What's a cetacean?" asked Charley. "A vertebrated, mammiferous marine animal." "Well; go on; English all that." "Well, whales, dolphins narwhals, and porpoises are the principal cetaceans. They are not fish, but marine animals, and they suckle their young." "Well, that's news to me," said Charley. "Now, then," said Jack, "if you two have finished your little side discussion, suppose we come back to the subject in hand. What do you know, Ned, about this fish that I have in my hand, and why don't you call him a shark's pilot now, as you say you did a year ago?" "Why, because the books treat me the same way in his case that they do in the whiting's. They describe a shark's pilot which is as different from this as a whale is from a heifer calf, and so I don't know what to call this fellow. Did he make a fight when you caught him?" "Indeed he did. I was sure I had a twenty-pound something or other on my hook, and when I pulled up this insignificant little creature, with the match box on his head, I was disgusted. I looked at him to see if he hadn't a steam-engine somewhere about him, because he pulled so hard, and that's what made me observe his match box and his curious up-side-down-itiveness." "I say, Ned," said Charley, "why is it that our Southern fishes are so neglected in the books?" "Well, I've asked myself that question, and the only answer I can think of is this: in the first place, there is no great commercial interest in fishing here as there is at the North; and then the natural history books and the cyclopædias are all written at the North or in Europe, and so there are thousands of curious fish down here which are not mentioned. There's the pin-cushion fish, for example. I can't find a trace of that curious creature in any of the books." "What sort of thing is a pin-cushion fish?" asked Jack. "He's simply a hollow sphere, a globular bag about twice the size of a walnut, and as round as a base ball." "Half transparent, is he? Red, shaded off into white? with water inside of him, and pimples, like pin-heads, all over him, and eyes and mouth right on his fair rotundity, making him look like a picture of the full moon made into a human face?" asked Jack eagerly. "Yes, that's the pin-cushion fish." "I thought so. That's my other one," said Jack. "What do you mean?" asked Ned. "Why, that's the other thing I had to show you, but couldn't find. I caught him with the cast net." "And kept him to show to me?" asked Ned. "Yes, but he disappeared." "Of course he did. He spat himself away." "How's that?" "Why, if you take a pin-cushion fish out of the water, and put him down on a board, he'll sit there looking like a judge for a little while; then he'll begin to spit, and when he spits all the water out, there's nothing left of him except a small lump of jelly. They're very curious things. I wish we had a good popular book about our Southern fishes and the curious things that live in the water here on the coast." "Don't you suppose these things are represented at all in scientific books?" asked Jack. "I suppose that many of them are, but many of them are not, and those that are described, are described by names that we know nothing about, and so only a naturalist could find the descriptions or recognize them when found. With all Northern fishes that are familiarly known, the case is different. If a Northern boy wants to find out more than he knows already about a codfish, he looks for the information under the familiar name 'Codfish,' and finds it there. He does not need to know in advance that the cod is a fish of the _Gadus_ family, and the _Morrhua vulgaris_ species. So, when he wants to know about the whiting that he is familiar with, he finds the information under the name whiting; but the scientific men who wrote the books, however much they may know about the fish that we call whiting, do not know, I suppose, that it is anywhere called whiting, and so they don't put the information about it under that head. They only come down South as far as New Jersey, and tell about a species of fish which is there called whiting, though it isn't the real whiting. If they had known that still another and a very different fish goes by that name down here, they would have told us about that too, in the same way." "What's the remedy?" asked Charley. "For you, or Jack, or me," answered Ned, "to study science, and to make a specialty of our Southern fishes. When we do that and give the world all the information we can get by really intelligent observation, all the scientific writers will welcome the addition made to the general store of knowledge. That is the way it has all been found out." "Why can't we begin now?" "Because we haven't learned how to observe. We don't know enough of general principles to be able to understand what we see. Let's form habits of observation, and let's study science systematically; after that we can observe intelligently, and make a real contribution to knowledge." "You're not going to write your book on the Marine Fauna of the Southern States to-night, are you?" asked Jack. "No, certainly not," said Ned, with a laugh at his own enthusiasm. "Then let's go to bed; I'm sleepy," said Jack. CHAPTER VII. AN ENEMY IN THE CAMP. The three tired boys went to sleep easily enough, and the snoring inside their hut gave fair promise of a late waking the next day. But before long Jack became restless in his sleep, and began to toss about a good deal. Charley seemed to catch his restlessness, and presently he sat up in the bunk and began to slap himself. This thoroughly aroused him, and as Jack and Ned were tossing about uneasily he had no scruple in speaking to them. "I say, fellows, we're attacked." "What's the matter?" muttered Ned, at the same time beginning to rub himself vigorously, first on one part of the body, then on another. "Mosquitoes," said Jack, violently rubbing his scalp. "Worse than mosquitoes," said Charley; "they feel more like yellow jackets or hornets, I should say; and they're inside our clothes too." "Whew!" exclaimed Ned, leaping out of the bunk, "I didn't think of that." "What is it?" asked both the other boys in a breath. "A swarm of sand-flies." "Sand-flies! what are they?" asked Jack. "Wait, and I'll show you," replied Ned, going out and stirring up the fire so as to make a light. Meantime the boys rubbed and writhed and turned themselves about in something like agony, for, though they suffered no severe pain at any one spot, their whole bodies seemed to be covered with red pepper. Every inch of their skins was inflamed, and the more they rubbed the worse the irritation became. When Ned had made a bright light, he showed his companions what their tormentors were. Jack and Charley saw some very minute flying insects--true flies indeed--not much larger than the points of pins. There were millions of the creatures. The whole air seemed full of them indeed, and wherever one rested for a moment upon the skin of its victim, there was at once a pricking sensation, followed by the intolerable burning and irritation already mentioned. Charley was at first incredulous. "You don't mean to tell me," he said, "that those little gnats have done all this." "Yes, I do," answered Ned, "and more than that, I have known them to kill a horse, tormenting him to death in a few hours. They'll get under a horse's hair by millions and literally cover him, until you can see the hair move with them. But they are not gnats." "But, see here, Ned," said Jack; "when I barely touch one of the creatures, it not only kills him but distributes him pretty evenly over the surrounding surface. They haven't strength enough to hang together." "Yes, I know," replied Ned; "what of that?" "Why, how can such things bite so? and especially how can they force their way through our blankets and clothes? I should think they'd tear themselves to pieces in the attempt." "So should I, if I didn't know better; but as a matter of fact they do manage to get through without dulling their teeth, as we have proof." "Have the creatures teeth?" asked Charley. "No, of course not; but they have a sort of rasping apparatus which is just as bad. They have an acrid kind of saliva too, which they put into the wounds they make, and that is what smarts so. But come, this won't do. We must make a good smudge." "What's a smudge?" asked Jack. "I'll show you presently," answered Ned, while he began to build a small fire immediately in front of the tent. When it had burned a little, he smothered it with damp leaves and moss, so that it gave off a dense cloud of smoke which quickly filled the hut. "Now the tent will soon be clear of them," said Ned. "Sand-flies object to smoke, I suppose," said Jack. "Very much indeed," answered Ned, "and it is customary here on the coast to have a pair of smudge boxes in front of every house." "I don't blame them for objecting," grumbled Charley, coughing and wiping his smoke-inflamed eyes; "I can't say that I find smoke the most delightful atmosphere myself. But what is a 'smudge box,' Ned?" "Simply a shallow box of earth set upon a post, to build a smudge upon." "I say, Ned," asked Jack, "what do you mean by saying that sand-flies aren't gnats?" "Simply that they aren't," said Ned. "What are they, then?" "Flies." "Well, what is a small fly but a gnat?" "And what is a gnat but a small fly?" added Charley. "The two are not at all the same thing," answered Ned. "That is a popular mistake. I have heard people say they could stand mosquitoes, but couldn't endure gnats; and yet the mosquito is a gnat, and what these people call gnats are not gnats at all, but simply small flies." "What constitutes the exact difference?" "The shape of the body. All flies are two-winged insects, and gnats are flies in that sense, of course; but gnats are those flies that have long bodies behind their wings, to balance themselves with. Mosquitoes are our best example of them. These sand flies, you see, have very short bodies." "Yes, but very long bills, I fancy," said Charley. "Well," said Jack, "all that is news to me." "I suppose it is. Most people think a whale is a fish, too, but for all that it is nothing of the kind. What are you doing, Charley?" "Tossing up heads or tails for it," answered Charley, who had left the tent and gone to the large fire. "Tossing up for what?" "To determine the method and manner of my death," answered Charley, with profound gravity. "If I stay in the hut I shall die of suffocation in the smoke, and if I stay out here the sand flies will kill me. I can't quite make up my mind which death I prefer, so I'm tossing up for it." "Good! there's a breeze," said Ned; "if it rises it'll relieve you of the necessity of choosing." "How? By blowing the smoke away, and so giving the sand flies a fair field?" "No; by blowing the sand flies away; they can't stand much of a breeze. It is coming up, too, and we shall get some sleep after all." The breeze did indeed rise after a time, but the dawn was almost upon them before the boys really slept again, so severely were their skins irritated by their small enemies. They had learned a lesson, however, and during the rest of their stay on the island they never neglected to make a smudge in front of the hut before attempting to sleep. It was not often that the sand flies appeared in such numbers as on this night, and hence it was not often necessary to fill the tent too full of smoke for comfort. CHAPTER VIII. THE BEGINNING AND END OF A VOYAGE. The first care of the boys the next morning was to dig their well. This was a comparatively trifling task, as they had only to dig four or five feet through soft alluvial soil and sand. Instead of making perpendicular sides to their well, they dug it out in the shape of a bowl, so that they could walk down to the water and dip it up as they needed it. Having a hut to live in and a well from which to get fresh water, they were now free to begin the sport for which they had come to the island. They went fishing first, of course, that being the obvious thing to do, but after a few hours of this the tide became too full, and the fish ceased to bite satisfactorily. "Let's crusoe a little," said Jack, winding up his line. "In what particular way?" asked Ned. "Why, let's sail around our domain and see how the island looks on its other sides. Perhaps we may discover the savages, or find some game." "A good idea; but we must go back to camp first, to leave our fish and get the gun and the sail; and while we're there we'd better get some dinner." So said, so done. Dinner was very hastily dispatched, as the boys were anxious to get off, in order that the circuit of the island might be completed before night. "It looks like rain," said Ned, as he shook out the sail, "but we don't mind a wetting." There was a good breeze, and the boat bounded away, rocking a good deal, for the wind had been blowing all day, and there was more sea on than was usual in those quiet waters. Ned let the centre-board down, which steadied the boat somewhat, and enabled her to carry her sail without danger. The plan was to coast along about half a mile off shore in order that the island might be seen to good advantage; but as the eastern shore was reached the sea became heavier, and the roar of the surf on shore warned Ned of broad sands upon that side. "I've got to make more offing here," he said. "What do you mean by that? turn it into English," said Charley Black, who persistently refused to understand any thing that sounded like a nautical term. "Well, I mean I've got to sail farther away from the shore." "'Cause why?" asked Jack. "Because of two things," replied Ned. "In the first place the sea comes in between those two islands over there, and has a fair sweep at about half a mile of our island's coast, and so for the next half mile we shall have some pretty rough water, and I prefer to be well off shore." "I should think you'd prefer to be close inshore if there's danger. Then if any thing happens we can land." "That's all you know about it," said Ned. "I don't think there's the least danger, so long as we keep off shore, because this boat, with her centre-board down, is seaworthy; but as she isn't beach-worthy--and no vessel is that--I don't want to get her upon a beach. That brings me to my second reason. I want to take a good offing, because by the way the surf roars here, and by the look of it, I judge that there's a long sandy beach running out from this part of the island, and I don't want to risk getting into too shallow water." "But why couldn't we land if there were danger?" asked Jack Farnsworth. "If I had the helm that would be the first thing I'd try to do." "So should I if I had a harbor to run into," replied Ned. "But don't you see that if we ran upon a sandy beach when there was a sea on, we should soon come to a place where there wouldn't be water enough except as a wave came in? Then the boat would be lifted up by every wave, and suddenly dropped upon the hard sand, and I can tell you she wouldn't stand much of that. Did you never notice that nearly all shipwrecks occur along shore?" "Yes, that's true," replied Jack. "Ships that come to grief nearly always run on breakers or something; but I never thought of it before." By this time Ned had secured at least a mile of offing but the sea grew every moment heavier. The wind had risen to half a gale, and in spite of the close reefing of the sail the boat lay far over and Ned directed his companions to "trim ship" by sitting upon the gunwale. Jack Farnsworth soon discovered that Ned was becoming anxious. He quietly said: "You suspect danger, Ned?" "Oh, no," replied Ned, "at least I think not." "Yes you do. I see it in your face. Now I want to say at once that whatever the danger is, we can only increase it by losing our wits. The important thing is for you to keep perfectly cool, because you know more than we do about sailing. Then you can tell us what to do, if there's any thing." "Thank you," said Ned; "the fact is this: I think by the look of the horizon out there at sea, that we are likely to have a squall--that is, a sudden and very violent blow, added to the steadier wind that blows now. If we can run across this open space before it comes, we'll be all right under the lee of that island over there, and if no squall comes we're safe enough even here, because the boat is seaworthy. But a knock-over squall might capsize us. It's coming, too--let go the sheet--cut it--any thing!" As he said, or rather shouted this, Ned tried to head the boat to the wind, while Jack and Charley let go the sheet, and thus set the sail free. If the squall had struck the boat with the sheet fastened and the sail thus held in position, the _Red Bird_ would have capsized instantly; but with the sail swinging freely, less resistance was offered, and Ned expected in this way to avoid a catastrophe. He headed the boat to the wind, which was the best thing to do. The squall struck just as the sail swung free, but before the _Red Bird_ could be brought completely around. It seemed to the boys that the boat had been struck violently by a solid ball of some kind, so sharply did the squall come upon it. Having her head almost to the wind, she reared like a horse, swung around, and very nearly rolled over, but she did not quite capsize. The mast, however, snapped short off, and the sail fell over into the water, being held fast to the boat only by the guys. "Cut the guys, Jack," cried Ned, "or that sail will swamp us! There! now all sit down in the bottom of the boat; no, no, Charley, not on the thwart, but on the bottom!" Ned had to shriek these orders to be heard above the roar of the squall, which had not yet subsided. He knew that the immediate danger now was that the boat might turn over, and to prevent this, he ordered his companions to sit upon the bottom, as he himself did, in order that their weight might be where it would best serve as ballast. This brought the three very nearly together, so that they could speak to each other without shouting quite at the top of their voices. "Well, Ned?" said Charley Black. "Well," replied Ned, "we shan't capsize now. That danger is over; but there's another before us that is just as bad." "What is it?" asked Charley. "And what shall we do toward meeting it?" asked Jack, whose superb calmness and manly resolution to look things in the face and to make fight against danger won Ned's heart. "We're being driven at railroad speed upon the beach," answered Ned, "and we'll strike pretty soon. We've already lost the oars, and we couldn't use them if we had them in this sea; so we have nothing to do but wait. When we strike, the boat will be mashed into kindling wood. Every thing depends then upon where we strike. If it is far from shore the big waves will beat us to a jelly on the sand. Our only chance will be, as soon as the boat strikes, to catch the next wave, swimming with it toward shore, taking care, when it recedes, to light on our feet, and then run with all our might up the sand. If we can get inside the break of the surf before the next wave catches us we're safe; but that's the only chance. Every thing depends now on where we strike." "Boots off," cried Jack; "we may have to swim." Ned and Charley accepted the suggestion. All now anxiously scanned the shore, which seemed to be coming toward them at a tremendous speed. Suddenly Ned cried out: "There's a reef just ahead; when we strike try to cross it into the stiller water." At that moment it seemed as if the sandy reef had suddenly shot up from below, striking the bottom of the boat as a trip-hammer might, and shivering it into fragments. What had really happened was this: the boat, driving forward on the crest of a wave, had been carried to a point immediately over the sand ridge or reef, and there suddenly dropped by the receding of the wave. It had struck the sandy bottom with sufficient violence to crush its sides and bottom into a shapeless mass. The boys were wellnigh stunned by the blow, but rallying quickly they ran forward in water only a few inches deep, and before the next incoming wave struck, they had crossed the narrow sand reef, and plunged into the deep, but comparatively still water that lay inside. The surf was broken, of course, upon the reef, and although the waves passed completely over it, their force was expended upon it, so that inside the barrier the boys found the water disturbed by nothing more than a swell. The distance to the shore was small, and they soon swam it, pulling themselves out on the sand, drenched, bare-headed, bootless, and weary beyond expression, not so much from exertion as from the strain through which their brains and nerves had passed. CHAPTER IX. THE SITUATION. The first thing to be done was to rest. Utterly exhausted, the lads dragged themselves a few feet from the water and threw themselves down upon the sand, thinking of nothing and caring for nothing except to lie still. The squall had passed away as quickly as it had come, and although a stiff breeze was still blowing the afternoon sun beating down upon them warmed as well as dried them rapidly. Jack Farnsworth was the first to recover his wits. "I say, fellows, this won't do," he said, raising himself to a sitting posture. "The day is waning and we've got to get back to our camp before night." Ned and Charley tried to rise. Ned accomplished the feat, but poor Charley found it impossible. "Why, boys," he said, sinking back upon the sand, "I'm all of a tremble; I don't know what's the matter." "Reaction," said Ned. "What's that?" "Why, under all that excitement you kept your strength up by a tremendous effort, and now you're paying the bill you owe your nerves." "But I'm sure I didn't tremble when we were in danger." "No, because you wouldn't give way then. Your will was master. It ordered your nerves to furnish strength enough to keep still, and commanded your muscles to do what was necessary to get you safe ashore. They obeyed, and now your will is in their debt. It took more than was due, and your nerves and muscles have presented their bill. They are bullying your will in return for the bullying it gave them a little while ago. That's the way my father explained it to me once when I trembled after a big scare. Only lie still awhile and you'll come round. I was as weak as water five minutes ago, but I'm getting my strength back again now." "'As weak as water,'" said Jack Farnsworth meditatively. "I used to think that a good comparison, but I've altered my opinion. Water is the strongest thing I know." "How is that?" asked Ned. "Why, think how it picked the _Red Bird_ up and flung her down on the sand like an angry giant--but with ten thousand times a giant's strength! And it picks great ships up in the same way and dashes them to pieces as I might do with an egg-shell or a China cup. Water is a giant, a demon of angry strength. I shall never think of it again as a thing of weakness. It means infinite power to me now." "Poor old _Red Bird_!" said Ned; "there are her bones!" There indeed lay what was left of the boat, where it had been drifted upon the sands by the swell. The tide, which had now begun to run out, had left the wreck "high and dry," and instinctively the boys went to look at it, Charley managing now to stagger forward slowly. The wreck was a mass of timbers, ribs, and planking, looking like a boat that has been crushed flat under some enormous weight. "What kept her from going all to bits?" asked Charley. "Her copper bolts," answered Ned. "You see, she was particularly well built. There wasn't a nail in her. From stem to stern all the fastenings were of copper, and copper is so tough that no ordinary wrenching will break it. It bends instead. But if we had simply run upon a beach in that sea, even copper bolts wouldn't have held the pieces together. Every wave would have lifted the wreck up and dashed it down on the sand until the planks and ribs were beaten into bits. As it is, the _Red Bird_ struck only once. The next wave that came lifted her up and carried her clear across the reef into deep water before it dropped her, and so she received only that one blow. Once inside the reef, she drifted with the swell toward shore. She is an utter wreck though, and will never sail again." There was a melancholy tone in the boy's voice as he said this, for he had sailed in this boat many and many a time, and had come to love her as if she had been a live thing. "I'll tell you what, boys," said Jack; "we've got to start toward camp. It won't do to be caught out to-night without supper or fire. Weary and soaked as we are, we shall be sick if we don't get something to eat and a fire to sleep by. Let's get a vine and tie the wreck here so that it can't drift away with the next tide, and then be off at once. It's nearly sunset." When the "bones" of the boat were well secured, the boys set out; Charley having recovered his strength somewhat, they walked at a good pace along the shore, and reached camp just at dark. Building a large fire they soon had a hearty supper, with plenty of hot coffee, and when supper was done, they gladly put themselves to bed, aching a good deal from exhaustion, but really unharmed by their adventure. Jack was the first to wake the next morning, but he did not get up immediately. He lay still, evidently thinking. After a while he arose quietly and, before dressing himself, made an examination of the stores of food on hand. Finally he roused his companions, and the three took a dip into the water. "Now," said Jack, when all were seated at breakfast, "I want you boys to help me think a little, and you, Ned, to answer some questions." "All right," said Ned, "I'm thinking already." "What are you thinking?" asked Charley. "That these fish aren't as fresh as they might be; so I'm going fishing before dinner." "What in?" asked Jack. "That's a fact," said Ned and Charley in a breath. "We haven't a boat now." "No," said Jack. "We have no boat, and that's what I want to think about. How far is it to Bluffton, Ned?" "About twelve miles." "Is that the nearest point on the mainland?" "Yes." "Then we've got to stay here till we can build a boat with such tools and materials as we have, if we can do it at all," said Jack. "We can't do it," said Ned, with a look of consternation on his face; "we lack nearly every thing. We haven't even the plank!" "Now don't let's become demoralized," said Jack, who, ever since the accident of the day before, had been the leading spirit of the party. "We must keep our wits about us and lay our plans intelligently. But first of all we must look the facts in the face. We are on a deserted island twelve miles from the mainland, without a boat. We must stay here until we can make arrangements of some kind for getting away, and that will be a good deal longer than we thought of staying when we came, for I don't suppose you meant it, Ned, when you told Maum Sally that we'd be gone a month." "No, I hadn't a thought of staying more than a few days, or a week at most. We didn't bring enough provisions to last for more than a week." "That is what I was coming to," said Jack. "I've been looking over our stores this morning. We've got to face the fact that we haven't nearly enough, and we must use what we have judiciously, taking great care to add other things as we can. Unluckily we lost our best friend when the gun went down in the wreck of the _Red Bird_. We can't hunt, but must depend upon other sources of supply. I suppose, Ned, there's very little to be done fishing from the shore?" "Nothing at all, I imagine," replied Ned; "but I may possibly catch a few mullets with the cast net. You see mullets run up into little bays to feed, and we sometimes go after them with the net, especially at night. Then I can catch shrimps and some few crabs, and I suppose we shall find an oyster bank somewhere." "Yes," said Jack, "I suppose we can manage somehow to get enough food; the trouble will be to get variety enough. Shrimps and crabs and oysters and fish are good food, but one doesn't want to make them an exclusive diet. For health we must have variety." "That is true," said Ned, "and our greatest trouble will be about bread. We haven't flour or rice or sweet potatoes enough to last more than a few days." "No," said Jack, "and we have nothing to substitute for them. We must have everything of the vegetable kind that we can get. Now what is there? I don't know, and can't think of a thing." "There are several things," said Ned, "such as they are." "Well, we'll hunt for them. What are they?" asked Jack. "There may possibly be wild sweet potatoes somewhere on the island, though that is doubtful. The soft parts of most roots are edible; there are plenty of wild grapes in the woods, I suppose, and for a good substantial vegetable, we can eat an occasional dish of algæ." "What's that?" "'What are they,' you should say; noun of the first declension,--alga, algæ, algæ, algam, etc.,--so algæ is the nominative plural." "Oh, stop the declension--we have enough of that at school--and tell us what algæ are," said Charley. "Sea-weeds. There are a great variety of them, and many kinds are eaten in different parts of the world. They are all harmless and more or less nutritious. We can try the different sorts that come ashore here and use the best that we can get." "Shall we boil them?" asked Jack. "I don't know. We'll try that and see, at any rate." "All right. Now we must manage each day to get as much food, of one kind and another, as we eat; it won't do to run short and trust to the future. We must save our flour and bacon for special occasions and as a reserve to fall back upon if at any time the supplies of other food fail us. We must keep our coffee, too, for use in case of sickness, or a bad drenching in a cold rain. There may be times when we shall need it badly, and so we must do without it now. I think we shall get on pretty well for several weeks, and by that time I hope we shall be ready to leave the island." "How?" "Well, I've a plan, but I'm not sure about it yet. I thought of it yesterday, just after we came ashore. You two see what you can do toward getting some food, while I go off to inspect and lay my plans. When I come back I'll tell you about them." When Jack departed without telling his companions what he meant to do, Ned and Charley went up the shore with the cast net, and managed, within an hour or two, to secure a good supply of shrimps, one or two mullets, and a few oysters, though they discovered no oyster bed, as they had expected to do. They hoped to accomplish this by a longer journey along the shore, to be made on some other day. Having enough fish and shrimps for immediate use, they wished now to see what could be done toward securing a supply of vegetable food. They discovered no palmetto trees, but gave their attention to the wild grapes, of which there were a good many in the woods. It was well past mid-day when Ned and Charley, loaded with their spoils of sea and land, returned to the camp. There they found Jack, sitting on a log meditating. "Boys," he said, "the important thing is not to let any thing discourage us. We must keep a stiff upper lip, no matter what happens." "Yes, certainly," said Charley, "but what's the special occasion of this lecture?" "You are sure that no matter what happens, you'll not give up, or grow scared, or get excited in any way?" asked Jack. "Well, I must say--" began Charley. "Hush, Charley," said Ned; "something's wrong. Let's hear what Jack has to say." "What is it, Jack? Tell us quick." "Well, only that we're out of food." "What do you mean?" "Why, that some animal or other has robbed us while we were all away from camp! Every thing's gone, even to the box of salt and the coffee. We haven't a thing to eat except what you've brought with you." CHAPTER X. PLANS AND DEVICES. To say that the boys were shocked and distressed by their new mishap, is very feebly to express their state of mind. There was consternation in the camp, from which Jack alone partially escaped. Jack had an uncommonly cool head. In ordinary circumstances there was nothing whatever to distinguish him from other boys. He rushed into difficulties as recklessly as anybody--as he did on the first day when he tried to use the cast net,--and joined in all sports and boyish enterprises with as little thought as boys usually show. But in real difficulty Jack Farnsworth was seen in a new light. He was calm, thoughtful, resolute, and full of resource. Ned had his first hint of this during that last voyage of the _Red Bird_, and as their difficulties multiplied both Ned and Charley learned to look upon Jack as their leader. They turned to him now precisely as if he had been much older than themselves, and asked: "What on earth are we to do, Jack?" "First of all," Jack replied, "we are to keep perfectly cool. Excitement will not only keep us from doing the best that we can, but it will weaken us and unfit us for work, even if it doesn't bring on actual sickness, which it may do. Care killed a cat, you know. We positively must not get excited. After all, what occasion for uneasiness is there? We are pretty genuine Crusoes now, but we can stand that. We are literally wrecked upon a deserted island. We have lost our boat and our boots, our hats, our gun and our supply of provisions, and so we are not quite so well situated as Robinson Crusoe was; but on the other hand we're not going to stay here year after year as he did, and besides there are three of us to keep each other company." "Well, company's good, of course," said Charley Black, "but I'm not so sure on the other points." "How do you mean?" asked Ned. "I'm not so sure about our getting away sooner than Crusoe did. I don't see how we're to get away at all for that matter, but may be somebody will rescue us after twenty-eight years or so." "Well, if they do," said Ned, "won't it be jolly fun to go back to school then, with long whiskers, and make old Bingham take us through the rest of Cæsar!" Ned was naturally buoyant in spirits, and the spice of difficulty and danger in their situation had now begun to stimulate his gayety instead of depressing him. He was of too hopeful a nature to believe that their enforced stay upon the island was likely to be very greatly prolonged, although, if put to the proof, he had no more notion than Charley Black had, of a possible means of escape. "Yes," answered Jack Farnsworth, "and after that length of time we'll have a lot of things to learn besides Latin. We'll have to study geography all over again to find out how many States there are in the Union, and whether France has swallowed Germany, or Russia has conquered England and moved her capital to London. Then, again, Ned, your science will be out of date, and you won't dare to mention oxygen even, for fear that somebody has found long ago that there isn't any such thing as oxygen. We'll be regular Rip Van Winkles. Who knows? Perhaps we shall find the United States turned into an empire, and steam-engines forgotten, and electricity, or something that we've never heard of, doing the world's work. On the whole, I think if we stay here twenty-eight years, it will be better not to leave the island at all." The banter between Ned and Jack was kept up in this way for some time, Ned talking for fun merely, while Jack talked for the purpose of overcoming poor Charley's evident depression of spirits. Finally Jack said: "But we're not going to be Rip Van Winkles or even Crusoes very long. We'll have our lark out and then go back home in time for school--say about three weeks or a month hence, keeping Ned's appointment with Maum Sally." "But how on earth are we to get back?" asked Charley. "In a boat, to be sure; we can't walk twelve miles on the water," answered Jack, "particularly now that we're barefooted. We'd get our feet wet, without a doubt." "Where are we to get a boat?" "Well, that is what I've been thinking about," said Jack, "and I think I've worked the problem out." "All right, what's the answer?" asked Ned. "Why, that we must rebuild the _Red Bird_." "How can we? She is mashed into kindling wood," said Charley. "No, not quite," answered Jack. "She is badly mashed, certainly, but it's simply mashing. I have been to look at her. She lies there as flat as if a steam-ship had sat down upon her, but I have carefully examined every stick of her timber, and while the _Red Bird_ is no more a boat than a lumber pile is a house, still she is a pretty good pile of lumber. Comparatively few of her planks are badly split or broken, while her ribs seem to be broken only in one or two places each. After examining her very carefully I am satisfied that her timbers will furnish us enough material for a new boat. We must build a smaller boat out of her bones--particularly a shorter boat. She was twenty-four feet long, and by shortening her in the middle--that is, by leaving out the middle ribs--we shall have enough planking to make a new boat. Patching up the ribs will be the most difficult job, but I think we can manage it. Most of the planks are broken in two, but we can join the ends on ribs, and, if we are patient, we can make a pretty good boat. Patience is the one thing needful, especially for inexperienced workmen with a scanty supply of tools. We must make good joints if we have to work a week over the joining of two boards." "What are we to do for nails?" asked Ned; "we haven't more than a pound or two here." "We haven't a single nail," said Jack; "the wild animal, whatever it was, that robbed us, seems to have had a very miscellaneous appetite. It not only took our flour and bacon, our salt and our coffee and sugar; it seems to have had an appetite for nails and blankets too. At any rate, it stole them all, but luckily it didn't find the tools, because you had the hatchet with you, and I had the axe." "The mischief!" exclaimed Ned. "Yes, it's mischief enough for that matter, but it might have been worse. I suppose some rascals landed here while we were away and robbed us. Of course it couldn't have been an animal, although that was my first thought when I found the provisions gone. Whoever it was he isn't likely to come again, but we must watch our camp now, and particularly we must take care of our tools." "But you haven't answered my question about nails," said Ned. "We must make them of the _Red Bird's_ copper bolts," answered Jack; "and if we run short we can use wooden pins; but I think there is an abundance of the copper. Luckily the anchor came ashore entangled in the wreck, and that will serve us for an anvil. We can hammer the bolts into nails, using the hatchet for a hammer. It will be slow work, because while the hatchet is in use making nails we can't use it in building the boat." "I'll tell you what," said Charley, whose spirits began now to revive; "we'll work hard of nights making nails, and have them ready for the next day." "Yes, and we shan't want any nails for a day or two, while we're making preparations to begin, and so we can get a good supply in advance." "That's so," said Ned; "but do you know we're wasting precious time? It is nearly sundown, and we have a lot to do before we go to bed. We haven't thought of dinner yet, and we can't now till after our work is done. We must bring the wreck around here to-night. The fellow that robbed our camp was probably some negro squatter from some of the islands around us, and if he got sight of the wreck on his way back, he is sure to come over and carry away all that is valuable of the _Red Bird's_ bones to-night. We must get ahead of him, and bring the wreck around to the camp the first thing we do." This suggestion commended itself to Ned's companions, and the boys set off at once, taking the axe and hatchet with them. When they arrived at the wreck the tide was very nearly full, so that there was not much difficulty in getting the remains of the _Red Bird_ afloat. It was a mere raft of plank and timbers, of course, which must be dragged through the water along the shore by means of the anchor rope and some wild vines cut in the woods. For a time the still incoming tide was in their favor, and they travelled the first half mile pretty rapidly. When the tide turned, however, the labor became very severe, and it was ten o'clock at night when the wreck of the _Red Bird_ was safely landed at the camp. The boys were exhausted with work, and very hungry. Ned stirred up the fire and put on a kettle of salt water, into which, as soon as it boiled, he poured a quart or two of shrimps. "We'll make a shrimp dinner to-night," he said, "and that will leave us the mullets and wild grapes for breakfast." "All right," answered Jack; "I'm hungry enough not to care for variety to-night; speed is the word just now." Dinner over, the boys had still to collect a large mass of the long gray moss to serve instead of the stolen blankets, so that it was quite midnight when they finally got to sleep. CHAPTER XI. SOME OF NED'S SCIENCE. "How shall we cook our fish, Ned?" asked Charley, the next morning. He had already thrown wood upon the embers when Ned and Jack came out of the hut. "We must roast them," said Ned, "now that we have no bacon to fry them with. We can broil sometimes and roast sometimes, for variety. Without butter broiled fish are rather dry. I'll be cook this morning, and show you how to roast small fish." With that he went to the beach and walked along the water's edge till he found a bunch of clean, wet sea-weed. Returning to the fire, he carefully wrapped the mullets in this, and placed them in the hot ashes, covering them with live coals to a depth of several inches. Half an hour later he took them carefully out of their wrappings, and placed them on the log that did duty for a table. The fish were beautifully done, and looked as tempting as possible, but, upon tasting them, a look of consternation came over Jack's countenance. "I never thought of that," said Jack, "but we are out of salt! What shall we do? We can't live altogether on shrimps and oysters; and fish without salt is a difficult dish to eat." "We must make some salt," said Ned. "Out of the sea-water?" asked Charley. "Yes. It is slow work, and without clarifying materials we'll get a rather black product, but it will be salt for all that." "What will make it black?" asked Jack. "Impurities. The sea-water is filled with various things--common salt, mostly, of course, but there are Glauber's salts, Epsom salts, magnesia, and many other things, including salts of silver and iron. In making salt out of sea-water, these impurities must be got rid of, or the salt will be of a dirty brownish color. We can't clarify it, but we can use it very well for all our purposes. We'll have to put up with a poor breakfast, but we'll do better by night. I'll start our salt-works immediately after breakfast, and then I'll leave Charley in charge of the business, because I have an idea of my own that I want to carry out. We must devote ourselves to-day exclusively to the business of getting food, I suppose." "Yes, that is the first thing to be done. We are at the starvation point and must get something to eat before we begin on the boat. What is the plan that you speak of?" "I shan't tell you, because it may come to nothing, though I'm hopeful." "All right, I hope it will turn out well. Meantime, I'll take the cast net and get some shrimps and possibly some fish, and then if I had any thing to bait with, I would set some rabbit traps or something of that sort. But I haven't, and so I can't. Charley can carry on the salt-works while you do whatever it is you mean to do." The salt-works consisted of nothing more than the kettle. Filling this with clear sea-water, Ned set it to boil, saying: "Now, Charley, as it boils down add more water, and toward night we can stop adding water and let the salt settle. It will begin to settle before that time, and when it does you can dip the wet salt up from the bottom and spread it out on a plank to dry." "All right. I'll make a dipper out of a tin cup by fastening a stick to it for a handle. But what makes the salt settle?" "Why, don't you see? You can only dissolve a certain amount of salt in a certain amount of water; if you put more in it sinks to the bottom, being heavier than water, and stays there. When a liquid has as much of any thing dissolved in it as it can hold, it is said to be saturated; we call it a saturated solution. Now when you boil sea-water it evaporates, and the quantity of water steadily decreases. After awhile so much of the water is evaporated that we have a saturated solution, and then if you evaporate half a pint more of it the salt that a half pint of water can hold in solution must settle to the bottom. It is a curious fact that water which is saturated with one substance, so that it can not hold any more of it, is still capable of dissolving other substances and holding them in solution. Sometimes, in making salt, men take advantage of that fact." "How?" asked Jack, who had become interested in Ned's explanation. "Why, by washing out the impurities of the salt with salt water. Having a quantity of impure salt they put it into a funnel-shaped vessel with a small hole in the bottom; then they take clear water and pure salt and make a saturated solution of that; this water cannot dissolve any more salt, but it is still capable of dissolving the other substances which constitute impurities; so it is poured into the vessel that contains the impure salt, and as it passes through it dissolves and carries off the impurities, but doesn't dissolve any of the salt." "Why can't we purify our salt in that way?" asked Charley. "Because we have no pure salt with which to make the solution." "That's so, but I didn't think of it. I wish I knew as much as you do about such things." "I don't know much," answered Ned. "I have always been curious to know facts of the sort, and my father has encouraged me to find them out. I ask questions and read what books I can on such subjects; but I learn most by looking and thinking for myself. Still I know very little about scientific matters; really I do. But we're wasting time; I must be off and so must you, Jack. Keep the salt kettle boiling, Charley, and don't forget to add water to it from time to time. When you pour cold water in you can skim the scum off, and in that way you'll get rid of a good deal of impurity." With that the boys separated. Jack went down along the shore, with the cast-net in his hand; while Ned struck off into the woods with the coffee-pot, which, now that the boys had no coffee, was no longer in use at camp. Jack returned about noon, bringing back a fine lot of shrimps, half a dozen fish, a few crabs, and some oysters, together with the news that he had discovered a large oyster bank which could be reached by wading at low tide. Charley greeted him with a smiling face on which there was a look of triumph. "Look here, Jack," he said, going to a plank upon which there were two or three little white heaps; "Ned is out in his science this time; I've got beautifully white salt as you see, and not the dark, impure stuff he said I would get; but that isn't all; instead of settling to the bottom of the kettle, it rises to the top to be skimmed off." "Yes, I could have told you that," said Ned, who had arrived unobserved. "It's a way that it has. Taste your salt, Charley." Charley did so, looked puzzled, and then turned to Ned. "What is it, old fellow?" he asked. "Why, beautifully white salt to be sure," answered Ned; "isn't that what you said it was?" "Yes, I said that," answered Charley, "but now I know better. It is tasteless." "Magnesia usually is," said Ned. "Is that magnesia?" "Yes, in the main. It is mixed a little with other things perhaps, but it is mostly magnesia. That is why I told you to skim it off. We don't want it in the salt." "But I haven't any salt," said Charley, "I've filled the kettle up every fifteen minutes but no salt has settled yet." "Your solution isn't saturated yet," said Ned. "This water contains only about two per cent of salt, or possibly in its impure state three per cent. To make one kettleful of salt we must boil away from thirty to fifty kettlefuls of water. The kettle holds two gallons, and so, in order to get a pint of salt we must boil away two or three kettlefuls of water. You have filled it up enough for to-day; now keep it boiling and we'll get a pint or two of salt, before night, and meantime we can pour a little of the boiled-down water on our fish for dinner, for I'm hungry." "By the way, Ned," said Jack, "what luck have you had?" "Good. I've brought back a coffee-pot half full, and have made arrangements for more to-morrow." "Well, I like puzzles and riddles and things of that sort," said Jack, "but I hate to wait for 'our next month's number' for the answer. What is it you've got in the coffee-pot?" "Bread," answered Ned, "or a substitute for it. I've been gathering the seeds of grasses and weeds." "Seeds of grasses!" exclaimed Charley; "why, who ever heard of anybody eating grass seeds?" "You've turned sceptic, Charley, since your faith in your beautiful white salt received such a shock," said Ned; "but still I think some grass seeds are occasionally eaten by men,--wheat, for example, and rice and corn." "That's so," said Charley, abashed; "only I never thought of wheat and rice, etc., as grasses. But are wild grass seeds good to eat?" "Yes, of course. All ordinary grass seeds are composed of substantially the same materials, and they are all nutritious. I have gathered about a quart, meaning to mash them up and make a sort of bread out of them; but there isn't time for that now, so I mean to boil them for dinner. The important thing is to have some kind of grain food to eat, and in that way we'll get it somewhat as if we had rice." "That's a capital idea, Ned," said Jack. "Is there plenty of seed to be had?" "Yes, now that I know where it is, though it is very slow work gathering such seed. I have only to gather it and winnow it. I can winnow a little faster next time, because I shall take something along to winnow upon, if it is only a clean handkerchief. I've thought of something else too." "What is that?" asked Charley. "Acorns and other nuts. They are rather green yet, but they are nutritious, and we can beat them into a palatable bread. Hogs grow fat on them, and there is no reason why they should not prove nutritious to us. I'm going to find some edible roots, too, if I can." "What a splendid provider you are, Ned," said Charley, "particularly as we have the oysters, shrimps, etc., for a foundation to build upon." "Well," replied Ned, "do you know I have been thinking that we should not starve even if we hadn't the water for a source of supply?" "How is that?" "In casting about for a variety of things to eat, I have naturally tried to think of every thing that could support life, and have been surprised to find how many things there are that can be eaten in extreme cases. If we were in real danger of starving we could eat snails and earthworms for meat----" "Ugh!" exclaimed Charley. "Well, snails and earthworms are both regarded as delicacies by many people in France. They actually have snail farms, where the creatures are fattened for market." "As a business?" "Yes, as a business. There is a demand for snails at high prices, because people who can pay well for them are fond of them. Then we could kill a few snakes and lizards here, I suppose. In fact, I killed a snake this afternoon, and if I hadn't been afraid of disgusting you fellows, I should have brought it home as a valuable contribution to our larder, for snakes are uncommonly good eating." "Did you ever eat one?" asked Jack. "Yes; or at least a part of one. There is no reason why snakes should not be eaten, except a groundless prejudice. Their flesh is both good and wholesome." "Hurrah for our scientist!" said Jack. "I begin to see now, that our supplies are a good deal greater than I supposed. For my part, I mean to have a snake breakfast some of these mornings just for variety's sake. Why, we shall begin to live like princes presently." "Will you really lay aside prejudice, Jack, and eat a well-cooked snake?" asked Ned. "Certainly I will," said Jack. "And you, Charley?" "I see no objection, now that I think of it," said Charley. "Very well; then I'll go for my snake. It isn't a hundred yards away, and it will furnish us meat, which is much more strengthening than an exclusive diet of fish and such things can be." The snake--a large one--was brought to camp, skinned, dressed, and broiled to a crisp brown on a bed of coals. When done it was appetizing both in appearance and in odor, and the boys, who, naturally, were very hungry after their scanty breakfast and diligent work, ate it with keen relish, eating with it some boiled grass seeds. The only complaint made concerning the grass seeds was that there was not half enough of them. The salt kettle had been filled more frequently than Ned had supposed, and the yield for the day was more nearly a quart than a pint. "Now we are beginning to know how to live," said Jack. "We have only to get a good start and keep a fair supply of food ahead. But we must lay in a good stock of seeds to-morrow. I'll go with you, Ned, and we'll both work at that, while Charley minds camp and makes salt." "To-morrow will be Sunday," said Charley. "No it won't; this is Friday," said Jack. "Let's see," said Ned. "We got to Bluffton on Monday evening, didn't we? Well, the next day we went fishing; that was Tuesday. The next day we came over here; that was Wednesday. The next day, Thursday, the wreck of the _Red Bird_ occurred. Friday we spent in getting food and bringing the wreck around here to the camp. That was yesterday, and so to-day is Saturday. Lucky that Charley thought of it. We mustn't work to-morrow, and so we must catch a lot of shrimps and fish with the net to-night." The boys worked with the net until nearly midnight, and slept late the next morning. They observed Sunday as a day of rest, and rest was a thing that they greatly needed just at that time. It was agreed that on Monday morning Jack and Ned should go after grass seed, while Charley should mind camp, make salt, and use the net. CHAPTER XII. JACK'S DISCOVERY. The harvest of seeds from which Ned and Jack were to draw their supplies, was found in an abandoned field, half a mile from the camp. Here various wild grasses and weeds grew in rank profusion, and had already ripened in the sun. Some yielded seeds so small and so few in number that it was a waste of time to thresh them; others were richer in larger seeds; while many of the weeds, particularly, gave a profuse supply of seeds almost as large as grains of wheat, but these were mostly worthless. Ned was the recognized "scientist" of the party, and upon him devolved the task and responsibility of determining what kinds of seed to gather and what to leave. He was familiar with the ordinary plants of the country, and knew which of them were poisonous. It remained only to determine whether or not a seed, known to be harmless, was of any value as food, and Ned's method of doing this was very simple. He bit the seed to discover what he could about its flavor and general character in that way; then he split a seed and inspected it. If it seemed to consist principally of starch, gluten, and fruity matter, he accepted that kind of seed; if it appeared dry, hard, and black upon the inside, he deemed it unworthy. Passing the point at which he had gathered seeds on the day before, Ned selected a good spot for a threshing-floor, and said: "Now, Jack, I'll clear a space here and get ready for threshing; we'll get on faster in that way. You go off out there and gather grasses. Pretty soon I'll join you, and when we get a supply, we'll thresh awhile." With this the boys separated. Ned worked diligently at his clearing, and Jack brought in armfuls of grass. After awhile Ned finished his task and began to wonder what had became of Jack, who had been absent for a considerable time. He called, but Jack did not answer. Thinking nothing of the matter he went on with the work of gathering grass. Still Jack did not return, and after an hour had passed Ned became positively uneasy. He again called aloud, and Jack answered, but his voice came from a considerable distance. Continuing his work Ned waited, and after awhile he heard Jack coming through a briar thicket, muttering complaints of some sort with a good deal of vigor. "What's the matter, old fellow?" he asked. "Matter enough," answered Jack, from the depths of the briar patch in which he was completely hidden; "I'm torn to pieces by the briars, and by the time I get to you I shan't have enough skin left on me to serve for patches." "Nonsense!" said Ned; "shield your face with your arm and break right through. Your clothes are thick and stout." "Yes," answered Jack, "so they are; but I haven't got them on." Ned leaped to his feet, for he had been kneeling to arrange the grass for threshing. He remembered how rapidly he and his companions had been reduced in their possessions, until now they were boatless, bootless, hatless, and without regular supplies of food; and so when Jack declared that he had no clothes on, Ned at once imagined that some new calamity had befallen him. "What!" he exclaimed. "No clothes! Why, we'll be naked savages before another week is out." "I didn't say I had no clothes," answered Jack, still picking his way carefully through the briars. "I only said I had no clothes on, or at least none to speak of." "Well, then, you must be out of your head," answered Ned. "Why don't you put them on?" "Because I can't till we get to camp," and with that Jack made a final leap into the open space and stood before his astonished companion. He presented a queer appearance. For clothing he had on only his drawers and a thin undershirt. These were torn and stained with blood from many scratches. Jack's face, too, was a good deal scratched, but there was a triumphant look in his eyes which made Ned forget to look at the briar wounds. Jack's trowsers, tied at bottom and stuffed full of some heavy material, sat astride his neck, looking for all the world like the lower half of a very fat boy. His shirt, also well filled, was carried in one hand, while his coat, made into a bundle and likewise filled, was held in the other. "What in the name of common-sense have you been stuffing your clothes with, Jack?" asked Ned in astonishment. "Grass seed," answered Jack, throwing his burden on the ground. "Not much," said Ned; "why it would take both of us a month to gather and thresh out that quantity." "I thought you scientific people always recognized one fact as worth more than any number of 'must be's'; here I have the facts--a trowsers-full, a shirt-full, and a coat-full,--and yet you argue about what must be and what can't be." "I admit the trowsers and the shirt and the coat, and I see that they are full," said Ned; "I only doubt the character of their contents. I don't believe you could have gathered such a quantity of grass seed within so short a time." "Not of the kind that grows here, but mine are not of that kind." "Let me look at them," said Ned. "Not till we get to camp; I can't open the bags without spilling a lot." "Well, tell me about it then." "Well, I was gathering grasses over there by those tall trees, when I happened to look away toward the south. There I saw, about half a mile away, what looked like a patch of ripe wheat or oats. There were two or three acres of it down in a sort of marsh, so I went over there to see what it was. I found the little marsh covered thickly with a tall grass somewhat like oats, and all had gone to seed. The seeds are about the size of grains of wheat, but rather longer, and each grain, when threshed out, is covered with a brown husk that clings closely to the body of the grain. The seeds themselves are starchy, glutinous, and, if I am not mistaken, excellent food. It was too far to call you, so I made up my mind I would thresh some of the grass and bring away what I could of the result. I filled my shirt, coat, and trowsers, and I should have used my drawers in the same way if I could have carried any more. As it is, I've a big load." "I should say so," answered Ned, "and a mighty good load, too, if I'm not mistaken." "Why, what do you suppose it is?" "Grass seed," answered Ned, "of the kind that we call _rice_." "But how did it come there?" asked Jack. "Does rice grow wild?" "Yes, sometimes. When a rice field is allowed to stand too long before cutting, the grain drops out of the heads, of course, and the next year a fair volunteer crop comes up. In this case, I suppose, the explanation is simple. When the island was abandoned during the war, there was probably a growing crop of rice in that little swamp. If so, it went to seed, and not being harvested, the seed fell to the ground, coming up again the next year only to repeat the process year after year. That's my explanation at any rate, and the only one I can think of. But come! let's go to camp. It isn't worth while now to fool away time over this grass. Now that you have found a rice field, we'll eat rice instead, and some day soon we'll go there and bring back enough to last us till we leave the island." Upon their arrival at camp the contents of Jack's clothes proved to be, as Ned had conjectured, rough rice; that is to say, rice from which the outer husks have been removed, leaving only the closely clinging inner husk on the grain. The amount secured was sufficient to last the boys for a considerable time, and in the absence of bread, it was a thing of no little moment to them. CHAPTER XIII. AN ANXIOUS NIGHT. Dinner was cooked and eaten as soon as possible after the return of Ned and Jack to camp, because all three of the boys were eager to make the long-deferred beginning upon the new boat. "The _Red Bird_ was wrecked last Thursday," said Charley, "and now it is Monday, and yet we haven't even begun to get ready to prepare to commence to build." "Yes we have, Charley," said Jack. "We have worked diligently at the most important part of the task. We have made first-rate arrangements for food, and that is a good beginning. But we'll actually begin on the boat itself to-day. By the way, Ned, you're to be the master-builder." "Well, I don't know about that," said Ned; "you were bragging the other day about your mechanical skill, and I'm very modest in that direction. I'm actually a clumsy hand with tools." "No, I didn't brag," said Jack; "I only stated facts. I believe I am a better workman with tools than either of you fellows, and for that reason I'm willing to take the most difficult jobs on myself, but you must be the superintendent." "I don't see why," said Ned. "Because, even if you are clumsy with tools, you know more about a boat in a minute than Charley and I do in a year, and it's a good rule to put each fellow at the thing he can do best." "All right," said Charley; "I'm the best hand you ever saw at sitting on a log and watching you fellows work, so I'll take that for my share." "No, you won't," said Ned. "If I'm to superintend this job I'll find something better than that for you to do. But I say, Jack, it's absurd for me to try to tell you how to do things that you can do ten times as well as I." "I don't want you to tell me how to do, but what to do; then we'll all do it. I'll take the most difficult parts, and besides that I'll give you and Charley some hints about how to do your share, perhaps." "All right," said Ned, "I'll be superintendent if you wish." "Very well," said Jack. "Now plan the boat, determine the dimensions, and tell us how to begin." "Well, let me see," said Ned. "The _Red Bird_ was twenty-four feet long in the keel--twenty-five feet over all,--and five feet wide amidships. We must allow liberally for waste in trying to use the old materials, so we'll take off six feet of length, giving the new boat a keel of eighteen feet, a total length of nineteen feet, and let the beam width take care of itself." "How do you mean?" "Why, we shorten amidships only; that is to say we omit the six or eight ribs that were in the middle of the old boat, and bring the next ribs forward and aft to the middle. Whatever width they give will be the width of the boat amidships. In that way we shall preserve the old proportions, while changing the old dimensions. The new boat will be, in shape, precisely what the _Red Bird_ would have been if we had cut out six feet of her length amidships, and had then brought the two ends together." "Yes, I see," said Charley. "What is the first thing to be done?" "To lay a keel," said Ned. "The old keel is broken, so we must have a new one. Besides, that was double, for a centre-board, and we'll have to build without a centre-board." "What are the dimensions of the keel?" asked Jack. "Eighteen feet long, as nearly as we can guess, and about three inches by six or seven." "To be set on edge?" "Yes, and to project below the bottom. That will give steadiness to the boat." "What is the best timber for the keel?" asked Jack. "White oak, if we had it, but we haven't. The long-leaf yellow pine is very nearly as good, and for our purposes it is really better, because we can work it more easily. There's a fine, small, straight tree trunk just beyond the camp that will suit us precisely. It has been lying for several years apparently, and is well seasoned. We have only to cut it off the right length, split off slabs till we get a rude square, and then hew it down to the right dimensions with the axe and hatchet. That will occupy us for two days at least, so let's get to work." The event proved that Ned had underestimated the length of time necessary for this work. The hard, flinty yellow pine, seasoned as it was, was very difficult to work. The axe and hatchet were not very sharp at the outset, and before night both were distressingly dull. The next day, what edges they had were worn away, and it was difficult to cut with them at all. Charley declared that he could do nearly as well with his teeth, but he did not try that experiment. There was no grindstone in the camp, and none to be had, of course, and so the weary boys had to make the best of a bad matter and work on as they could with the dull tools. On Thursday the keel was not yet quite done, and the rice began to show the effects of the boys' appetites. "I say, fellows," said Charley, "one of us must go for a fresh supply of rice." "Yes," said Ned, "it is ripening now, and will all fall if we don't secure a good supply. You go, Charley, won't you?" "Yes. I'm worth less at carpenter's work than either of you, so I'll go. Pull off your trowsers, both of you." "Why, what's--" began Ned. "Yes, I know," interrupted Charley, "I ought to take a bag, or a sheet, or, still better, the spring wagon; but seeing that we haven't any wagon, or bag, or sheet, or any thing else to carry rice in, except trowsers, I'm going to use trowsers; and remembering the tattered condition of Jack's skin after his trowserless stroll through the briars, I'm not going to use my own trowsers for a bag. So off with your pantaloons, young men, and be quick about it, for I'm going to make two trips to-day and bring in rice for the whole season." Laughing, the boys obeyed, and Charley left them at work in their shirts and drawers. He got back to camp at dinner-time, fully loaded. After dinner he made his second trip, saying that he would return about sunset. Sunset came at its appointed time, but Charley was not so punctual. It grew dark, and still Charley did not appear. Ned and Jack began to grow uneasy. They went out into the woods in rear of their camp and called at the top of their voices, but received no answer. "I'll tell you what, Ned," said Jack; "we must build a beacon fire. Charley has stayed late to fill his trowser-bags, and has lost his way trying to get back." It was no sooner said than done. Pitch pine was piled on the fire, and a blaze made that might have been seen for many miles. The boys shouted themselves hoarse too, but got no answer. After an hour of waiting, Ned said: "Jack, I'm going over to the rice patch to look for Charley. Something serious must have happened. You stay here and keep up a big fire. If I need you I'll call at the top of my voice, and you will hear me I think." "But, Ned, it's an awful undertaking to go from here to the rice field on such a night. It's as black as pitch, and you are barefooted and almost naked; let me go." "I know all that," said Ned, "but it would be cowardly to abandon Charley, and for my life I can't see that you are any better equipped for the journey than I am. You're barefooted too, and as nearly naked as I am." "Yes, I suppose so," answered Jack, "but I don't mind for myself." "You stay here, you great big-hearted, generous fellow!" was all that Ned said in reply, as he started away. Both Jack and Ned knew that the journey thus undertaken would be attended by no little danger as well as sore discomfort and suffering. The deadly moccasin and rattlesnake lurk in the grass and weeds of that coast country, and the unshod boy was in peril of their fangs at every step. He was too brave a boy, however, to shrink from danger when a real duty was to be done, and so he set forth manfully. Taking a stick he struck the ground frequently, as a precaution against the danger of stepping upon any snake that might be in his path, and more than once he heard the venomous creatures hiss angrily before scurrying away. He pressed forward too eagerly to pay due attention to briars and brushwood, and so before he reached the rice swamp his scanty clothing was nearly torn from his body and his skin was badly lacerated. His coat protected his shoulders and arms, of course, but his legs, hands, and face suffered not a little. Meantime Jack kept up the beacon fire, suffering scarcely less with anxiety and impatience than Ned suffered from physical hurts. Poor Jack had the hard task of waiting in terror and uncertainty. He imagined all manner of evils that might have happened to Charley; then he became anxious about Ned. He shuddered to think of the dangers through which his companion must be passing. The necessity of inactivity was intolerable; Jack could not sit or stand still. He felt that he should go mad if he did not keep in motion. He paced up and down by the fire, as a caged tiger does. Finally, morbid fancies took possession of him. He imagined that he heard Ned groan in the bushes on his left. Then he seemed to hear a cry of agony from Charley in the woods on his right. Investigation revealed nothing, and Jack returned to his waiting in an agony of suspense. It was after midnight when Ned returned, torn, bleeding, worn out with exertion, and very lame from a wound in his foot. He had trodden upon some sharp thing, a thorn or sharp spike of wood, which had thrust itself deep into the flesh of his heel, and the wound was now badly inflamed. "Thank heaven, you are safe at any rate!" exclaimed Jack fervently. "Did you find out any thing about poor Charley?" "Nothing," answered Ned, returning Jack's warm hand-clasp. "I went to the rice field and found the place where he had been threshing, but no other trace of him. He must have finished threshing, however, and started homeward, as he left no threshed rice there. I could not find a trail in the dark, of course, and I can't imagine what has become of Charley. I called him repeatedly, and went all around the marsh, but it was of no use. Besides, if he were anywhere in that region he would know the way home, for I could see not only the light from this fire but the blaze itself." "Well, you stay here now and let me go," said Jack, preparing to set out. "What's the use?" asked Ned. "I tell you I have done all that can be done until daylight. If you go you'll only run the risk of laming yourself, and then there'll be nobody fit to take up the search when morning comes to make it hopeful." This was so obviously a sensible view of the situation, that Jack was forced, though reluctantly, to remain where he was. Hour after hour the two boys waited and watched, keeping up the beacon fire, and occasionally investigating sounds which they heard or thought that they heard in the woods and thickets around them. Naturally they talked very little. There was nothing to talk of except Charley's disappearance, and there was little to be said about that. It began to rain, slowly at first, and in torrents toward morning, but neither boy thought of going into the hut for shelter. Indeed, neither boy seemed conscious of the fact that it was raining at all. They were aware only of the horrible suspense in which they were passing the hours of a night which seemed almost endless. CHAPTER XIV. IN THE GRAY OF THE MORNING. As the first flush of dawn appeared Ned said: "Jack, we mustn't lose our heads. You know what you said after the wreck. You and I have to look after Charley to-day, and we may have need of all our wits and all our strength; so, for his sake, if not for our own, we must force a full breakfast down our throats. It will steady as well as strengthen us. I don't want any thing to eat, and I suppose you don't, but we must eat for all that. We haven't had a mouthful since noon yesterday, and we'll be fit for no exertion if we go on in this way." "That is true," answered Jack; "we must eat breakfast." "Very well; then let's be about it, so that we may have it over by the time that it is fairly light, and then we'll lose no time in setting out." "You can't leave camp," said Jack; "your foot is awfully swollen and your leg too." "Yes, I know," answered Ned, "but I am going anyhow. We must find Charley, and maybe both of us will be needed when we do." While this discussion was going on the breakfast preparations were advancing, and it was not long before the two disconsolate fellows began the difficult task of forcing food down their unwilling throats. "What is our best plan of operations, Jack?" asked Ned. "I scarcely know. Perhaps we'd best go round the island, one one way and the other the other, shouting and looking. Then, if either finds Charley and needs assistance the other will of course be there soon afterward." "Hardly," said Ned. "The island is pretty large, and I suppose it is a good many miles around it. Wouldn't it be better to take a direct course?" "How?" "Why, by going first to the rice swamp. There we shall almost certainly be able to find and follow Charley's trail." "Of course," answered Jack. "What an idiot I was not to think of that first! The fact is, I believe last night's anxiety, particularly while you were away, was too much for me. I lost my head a little, I think, and haven't quite found it again." "Listen! What's that?" exclaimed Ned, rising to look. As he did so, the bushes near the shore on the left of the camp parted, and---- "Bless me! it's Charley!" shouted both boys in a breath. "Did you think I had run away with your trowsers?" asked the cause of all their anxieties, throwing down the two pairs of pantaloons stuffed full of wet rice. "Gracious! Charley, where have you been?" "We've had an awful night!" exclaimed Ned. "Do I look as though I had had a particularly pleasant one?" responded Charley. "Do my dress and general appearance indicate that I dined last evening in the mansions of the great and slept upon a bed of down?" "Well, no," said Ned, unable as yet to share Charley's cheerfulness of mood; "but really, Charley, we have suffered a good deal. You ought to have come back to camp." "Now, look here, fellows," said Charley, more seriously than he had yet spoken, "if you think I haven't known by instinct how much you would suffer because of my unexplained absence, you do me great injustice. My situation through the night has been none of the pleasantest, but the worst part of it has been what I have suffered thinking of your anxiety. Pray, don't imagine that I'm totally destitute of feeling." There was a hurt tone in Charley's voice as he said this, to which Ned responded at once. "Forgive me, Charley," he said, holding out his hand, which the other took. "I did not mean to reproach you wrongfully. I know your warm heart and generous soul." "Yes," added Jack, "and nothing in the world could have made us so happy as your safe return. But tell us what has happened. Where have you been?" "Not a word until food is set before me," said Charley, relapsing into his playful mood again. "I am famished." "All right," said Ned; "we cooked enough to take with us, and we didn't eat much, so your breakfast is ready. In fact I begin to be hungry myself, now that you've got back in safety." "So do I," said Jack; "let's begin over again, and all breakfast together." CHAPTER XV. CHARLEY BLACK'S ADVENTURES. "Now then," said Jack, when breakfast was fairly begun, "tell us all about it, Charley." "Well," replied Charley, "you know we're Robinson Crusoes." "Oh! stop your nonsense and tell your story," said Ned, who was wildly impatient to hear of Charley's adventures. "That's just what I am telling," answered Charley. "As I said, we're Robinson Crusoes and I've seen the savages." "What _do_ you mean?" asked Jack. "Why, Friday, of course, but that's a mistake too. His real name must be Thursday, and he isn't tame either. Really I begin to believe Robinson Crusoe fibbed." "Have you gone crazy, Charley, or what is the matter?" asked Ned, beginning now to be really alarmed lest his comrade's experience, whatever it had been, had unsettled his mind. "I never was more rational in my life," replied the boy, with a smile; "but you won't let me tell my story in my own way. Listen now and don't interrupt. You remember how frightened Crusoe was when he discovered the footprint in the sand?" "Yes, certainly." "And how he afterward found the savage who made it, and how disturbed he was to learn that he was not really monarch of all he surveyed? "Yes; well?" "Well, I've been through a similar experience, only more so. This island is not uninhabited as we supposed. There are savages on it, and they are not tame savages either, like Crusoe's man Friday, but decidedly savage savages. My man Thursday is, at any rate. You see I call him Thursday because I first saw him yesterday, and that was Thursday. That's the way Crusoe hit upon a name for his savage, you remember?" "Yes, but tell us about it," said Jack. "Listen, then. You know I went out to the rice patch and brought in one load. Then I went for another, and after I filled the trowsers, I concluded that I'd walk down toward the shore and return by that route. As I went along by the edge of the rice patch about sunset, I saw a footprint, just as Crusoe did, but I didn't study it long, for presently its owner appeared. He was a big savage, and black as night, and not in the least peaceful. Indeed he seemed very angry with me for some reason, for he came running toward me, jabbering in his strange language and setting his dog on me. I ran as fast as I could toward that piece of woods over beyond the rice swamp--more than a mile away from here, you remember, and on the other side of the island. I had a good start, but it was a close shave. As I approached the woods I picked out the tree I meant to climb, and when I got to it I went up faster than I ever climbed before, for the big ugly dog was close behind me. He jumped up after me, but I drew up my leg and he missed the foot he wanted. "I was tired, and was awfully out of breath; but I thought I had only to wait until the big negro should come up--I could see him coming. Then I would argue the matter with him and get him to be reasonable and call off his dog. You see I took him for a negro, and didn't suspect that he was a savage. I soon found out my mistake, however, for when he came up and began swearing at me--I'm sure it was swearing, though, of course, I couldn't understand a word of it--I found that he talked Savage and didn't understand a word of English. "I was in a fix. My tree was about a mile and a half from camp, even if you measure the distance in a bee line, so there was no use in shouting for assistance. There stood the raving savage jabbering at me, and threatening me with his club; and, worse still, there stood his dog at the foot of the tree waiting for a dish of Charley Black for supper. I reasoned with the savage, but he didn't understand me any more than I understood him. The more I talked the madder he got. Then I remembered having read somewhere something about the 'eloquent language' of gestures, signs, and all that, which all human beings are supposed to understand, so I tried that awhile. I shrugged my shoulders, waved my hands about, motioned to him to call off his dog and go home, and did other things of the sort; but it wasn't of the least use. That savage persisted in misunderstanding me, and his dog got madder and madder. Finally, just to see if the benighted idiot could understand sign language at all, I put my thumb to my nose and twiddled my fingers at him, at the same time shaking my other fist. He understood that, and took further offence at it. In his rage he tried to climb my tree to get at me, but he was a rather clumsy climber and made little head-way. When he got within reach I struck him a sudden blow with your trowsers, Jack, which, being filled chock full of rice, made a pretty good club. He dropped like a shot squirrel, and his dog, thinking that I had fallen, made a rush for him. For a moment I flattered myself that now I should get away while the savage and the dog were explaining matters to each other; but in that I was disappointed. The dog found out his mistake instantly, and the savage got up, madder than ever. It was getting dark by that time, but the savage thought he would have a game of bat and ball with me while the light lasted, anyhow, so he took good aim and threw his club at me. I caught it a sharp blow with your trowsers, and knocked it back to him. He threw again with the same result. The third throw went wide of the mark, and so I missed, but it didn't matter, for there was no catching out to be done in that game--I suppose the savage don't understand the rules of bat and ball. [Illustration: THE ELOQUENT LANGUAGE OF GESTURE.] "Finally, after he had thrown a good many times, his club lodged in the tree, and I climbed up and got it. It was a good stout club--there it lies by the fire--and I thought I might have use for it, so I didn't throw it back at the savage's head, as I at first intended, but kept it for future use. "Night came on and the savage seated himself to watch me. He kept very quiet, and made his dog stop growling and snarling. At first I didn't understand this. I began to think that he was going to offer me terms, but he didn't. At last I saw what he was at. He was waiting for me to fall asleep and drop down! "There was nothing for it but to keep awake, and as it was very cold I had to climb about a little to keep myself comfortable, and that kept me me from falling asleep. "The worst of it all was that I could see the big fire you fellows made, and knew what anxiety you were suffering. I sat there in the dark, hour after hour, worrying and wondering if the daylight had forgotten to come, and it was an awful time. The rain came on at last, and I was quickly wet through. The savage couldn't sit long on the ground when the floods came, so he got up and moved uneasily about, but he wouldn't go away. His persistence was 'worthy of a better cause.' After a little while he began to collect bushes to make himself a shelter, I suppose, or to sit on, or stand on--I don't know what. It was slow work in the dark, and he had to go away some little distance to get what he wanted. While he was away on one of these little trips an idea occurred to me, but as he was already on his way back I could not act upon it at once, so I sat still and waited. He went away again, fifty or seventy-five yards into the woods--I could tell by the noise he made breaking bushes. Then I tried my plan. Climbing down to the lowest limb of the tree, I could see the dog, dark as it was, standing ready to receive me. Grasping the club in my right hand, I dropped a pair of trowsers full of rice. The dog, mistaking the bundle for me, was on it in an instant, and the next instant I was on him. I dropped on him purposely, and luckily my left foot struck his neck. Of course I could not hold him long in that way, but still it gave me a moment's advantage, and during that moment I managed to deal the brute two or three blows over the head which, I think, must have crushed his skull. At any rate he grew limber under me and never uttered a sound. Hurriedly picking up the trowsers and swinging them around my neck, I was about to run when Mr. Savage came running out of the woods. I still had the club in my hand, and quick as lightning I struck him with it and took to my heels. How badly I hurt him I don't know, but not so badly as could have been wished, for he paused only for a few seconds. Then he gave chase. I ran with all my might, with him just behind. Presently I struck something with my foot--a grape-vine I suppose--and came very near to falling, but managed to save myself. Mr. Savage Thursday was not so lucky. He struck the vine fairly and came down like a big tree trunk. For a second he uttered no sound. Then I could hear him swearing in Savage, but by this time I was fifty yards ahead of him, and by the time that he decided whether to resume the chase or not I was too far away to inquire what his decision was. It was so dark that if he had followed he couldn't have found me, so I slackened my pace, and not long afterward dropped into a walk, listening occasionally to hear if he was coming. Hearing nothing, I plodded on. I didn't know just where I was, so I thought my best plan was to keep straight on until I struck the shore. I passed a group of huts about a mile from my tree, and I suppose the savages live there, as I heard dogs barking, but I didn't stop to inquire. Finally I came to the beach, and, believing that I was more than half way round the island, I turned to the right and followed the shore till I got to camp. There, that's the whole story of the strange adventures of Master Charles Black, of his exploration of Bee Island, his encounter with the savage, and his fortunate escape and return to his companions. How did you hurt your foot, Ned?" Ned, who had risen and was limping about the fire, explained his mishap, and in their turn he and Jack told Charley of the events of the night as seen from their point of view. Their story was less exciting than Charley's, but he was deeply interested in it. CHAPTER XVI. ON GUARD. "Who in the world can Charley's 'savages' be, Ned?" asked Jack, when the story was finished. "Negro squatters," answered Ned; "I didn't think there were any on Bee Island." "What do you mean by negro squatters?" "Why, negroes who, instead of hiring themselves out or renting land, have simply squatted on the island, cultivating little patches, and living by hunting and fishing. There are a good many on plantations that haven't been cultivated since the war. You see, when the war ended there were many men who had large bodies of land--some of them owning half a dozen big plantations--but with very little capital. They have not been able, for want of money, to resume the cultivation of all their abandoned plantations, so there are many large tracts still lying idle and unoccupied, and some of the negroes, not caring to hire as hands, or to rent land, have squatted here and there. They are generally the worst of the negroes; men without thrift, and almost untouched by civilization. They prefer a wild life, and live by fishing, hunting, and stealing from choice." "But, I say," said Charley, "my savage wasn't a tame negro at all. He couldn't speak English I tell you." "No more can many others of the old sea-island and rice-field negroes. They talk a jargon which only themselves and the old-time overseers ever understood. The fact is that many of them really were savages before the war,--untamed Guinea savages. They or their parents were brought here from Africa, and they lived all their lives here on these coast plantations, rarely seeing a white person except their overseers, and learning scarcely any thing of civilized life. They were not at all like the negroes up in Aiken, and all over the South for that matter. They were simply savages who had learned to work under an overseer, and when the war ended the worst of them relapsed into the ways of savage life instead of trying to improve themselves as the negroes everywhere else did. They hadn't learned enough to want to be civilized." "But what did that fellow get after Charley for?" "Because we've been robbing their rice field without knowing it." "I didn't think of that. I thought the rice was wild--self-seeded." "Probably it is," answered Ned, "but they regard it as theirs for all that, just as they think this island is theirs, although it belongs to my uncle." "Now I know who stole our provisions," said Charley. "But I say, boys, what's to be done? Suppose the savages should attack us here?" "They may do that," answered Ned, "though I don't think it likely. They want us away; perhaps, but they chiefly want us to let them and their rice alone, and now that we know that it's theirs by some sort of right, we'll let it alone and get on with what we have on hand. The main thing now is to build our boat. We must get on as fast as we can with that." "That's so," said Jack. "That must be the first thing thought of, but still it seems to me we should do something for our own defence. You see, Ned, if they should attack us, we are helpless. We haven't a thing to defend ourselves with, now that the gun is gone, and it isn't right to trust too much to those people's good-nature." "Well, what can we do?" "A good many things; I don't know exactly what will be best as yet, but we must think it out while we work on the boat. Then we can compare notes and do whatever is best. We'll work on the boat until dinner-time, and then give the afternoon to our defences. Perhaps we can make so good a beginning that we needn't spend more than an hour or two each day on that work after to-day." "All right," said Ned; "now let's get to work on the boat." With a will the three boys set to work. The stem- and stern-posts of the new boat were securely fastened to the keel, and the difficult task of setting up the ribs was begun. These ribs were so broken that it required not a little planning and contriving to make them answer the purpose; but Jack was very ingenious, and under his direction Ned and Charley managed to do some very clever splicing and bracing, while Jack himself dealt with the most difficult problems. By mid-day about half the ribs were in their place. "We can begin to see the shape of our new boat," said Ned, "and I'm not sure she isn't going to be prettier than the old _Red Bird_." "By the way," said Jack, "what are we to name her?" "The Phoenix," suggested Charley; then he added: "No that won't do, because it isn't a case of rising from ashes. The _Red Bird_ wasn't burned." "No," said Ned, "that would be very absurd. Suppose we call her Sea-Gull, because she came to us--in her timbers at least--from the sea." "Better call her 'axe, hatchet, and hunting-knife,'" said Jack, "because we are making her with those tools. But if we must be poetical and suggestive, why not call her Aphrodite? She, like that fabled goddess, is sprung from the foam of the sea." "_Aphrodite_ it is," shouted Jack's companions, and Charley added: "You're the most classical and poetic youth of the party, Jack, if you do pretend to sneer at us for our sentimental fancy for an appropriate name." "Very well," replied Jack, "you're welcome to think so; but just now I want my dinner worse than any thing else, and that isn't a mere sentiment I assure you." Dinner over, the preparations for defence were begun. "What plan have you thought of, Jack?" Charley asked. "Let me hear from you and Ned first," answered Jack. "Well, I've thought of earthworks," said Charley; "they say they are the best fortifications." "Against cannon, yes," said Ned; "but it's only because cannon can't batter them down as they can masonry. Our problem is a very different one, because our savages haven't any cannon. What we have got to do is not to make fortifications that can't be battered down by artillery, but to fence ourselves in in some way so that the negro squatters can't get at us." "Well, what's your idea for that?" asked Charley. "A stockade." "Details?" queried Jack. "My notion is," answered Ned, "to set a line of stockade around the camp, running it out into the water on each side, making a big 'C' of it. If we make it ten feet high and slope it outward, it will puzzle the squatters to get over it, and from the inside we can beat them off." "But how shall we make the stockade?" asked Jack. "Why, by digging a trench first, and setting timbers in it, sloping them at the proper angle, and filling in with earth." "But couldn't a strong man pull a timber down by jumping up and hanging to it with his hands?" asked Charley. "Perhaps so, if each timber stood alone," said Ned, "but we'll set a row of them in the ditch, and then roll a log in behind them before filling up. Then we'll set another row and roll in another log, and so on. Then, in order to pull down a post it will be necessary to lift the whole of the log that is behind it, together with all the earth that lies on top of the log, and that is more than any half dozen men can do." "That's an excellent idea," said Jack, after thinking awhile, "but the job is too big to be completed to-day. We'd better follow my plan first, and make the stockade hereafter." "What's your plan?" "To build a sort of wall of timber around the camp. It isn't half so good as a stockade, because of course it is easily climbed over; but it is better than nothing, and will do for one night." "But I don't see," said Charley, "that we can build a timber wall half so quickly as we can make the stockade. To do it we have got to cut enough logs to make a pile all around the camp, and that will take ten times as many logs as it will to make the stockade." "That is true," said Jack, "and, besides, small timbers, five or six inches in diameter, will do as well for the stockade as big logs, and in the present state of our axe that is a consideration not to be despised. I surrender. Ned's plan is by odds the best one. Let's get to work at it, and if we don't finish it to-day, we'll patch up the deficiency in some way. Luckily we have digging tools." The soil of the coast and islands of South Carolina is a light vegetable mould, mixed with sand, and below it there is sand only. There are no rocks, no stones, no pebbles even, and no stiff clay; and all this was greatly in the boys' favor. The trench grew very rapidly as they worked. Jack and Ned dug, while Charley, who was more expert with the axe than either of his companions, cut down small trees and trimmed them into shape for the stockade, making each about fourteen feet long, so that when set in the ditch it would project about ten feet above ground. The digging of the ditch was the smallest part of the task. Its length, in order to enclose the hut, the well, and the boat, had to be about one hundred and fifty feet, so that a great many sticks of timber were necessary. "We must set them about six inches apart," said Jack, "so as to use as few as we can at first. If necessary, we can fill in the gaps afterward; but a man can't get through a six-inch crack, and by setting them in that way each post, with its half of the two cracks, will occupy about a foot of space." But to cut a hundred and fifty pieces of timber with a dull axe was no small job, and when night came on the boys had only twenty-five of them set up in their places, while as many more were ready for use. This was discouraging, and in their weariness Ned and Charley felt very much disheartened indeed. Jack alone kept his spirits up. "It's very good work so far as it goes," he said, looking at the line of timbers all leaning outward from the camp, "and when we get it done it will puzzle all the squatters in South Carolina to take our fort." "Yes, if we ever do get it done," said Charley, despondently. "Now, Charley," said Jack, "none of that. We've been in a tighter place than this, and you especially ought not to be downhearted. You're ever so much better off than you were this time last night, when that darkey had you treed; and you're better off now than Ned is, with his game foot." "Poor fellow," said Charley, looking at Ned as he limped into the hut with difficulty. "The fact is," continued Jack, "we're tired out, and so things look blue to us, but they'll look better in the morning. You see we got no sleep last night, besides wearing ourselves out with anxiety and excitement, and we have worked like convicts all day. We'll feel better and brighter after we get some sleep, and things that look gloomy and discouraging now will look bright and hopeful enough to-morrow morning." "That's true," said Ned, coming out of the hut again, "and it would be much better for us if we could quit work right now, and sleep for ten hours without waking, but we can't." "Why not?" asked Charley, who was utterly worn out. "Because we've some more work to do that must be done before we sleep," answered Ned. "What we have done for defence is of no good at all as it stands. We must have a barrier around the camp to-night." "How shall we make one?" asked Jack. "With brush. We have plenty of it already cut in the shape of the tree tops we've trimmed off in getting our stockade poles." "Brush won't make a very good defence," muttered Charley. "No, but it will be much better than no defence at all," replied Ned. "It isn't easy to climb over a well-packed brush pile, particularly if the brush is so laid that all the branches point outward, and that's the way we'll lay it. It won't take long to make a wall of that kind, and we can remove it little by little, as we set the poles hereafter." This plan commended itself to Jack, and Charley submitted. Poor fellow, he was too weary to take any active interest even in plans for defence. The brushwood was brought and carefully placed in position. It was not sufficient to make a wall all the way around, but only a small gap was left near the water. "Shall we cut more brush to-night, Jack?" asked Ned. "No, I think we needn't. When we go to setting poles to-morrow, the brush we remove will do to close the gap with, and for one night we can watch so small an opening. We need rest and sleep now more than any thing else. You and Charley lie down. I'm the freshest one of the party, I think, and so I'll stand guard for a good while before calling either of you." "Stand guard?" asked Ned; "what for?" "Why, it won't do at all for all three to sleep at once. We might be attacked while asleep. If there were no danger of that we needn't have thought of a stockade at all." Sleepy and tired as Ned and Charley were, they recognized the necessity for this watchfulness. It was very hard for the three weary fellows to take their turns at standing guard that night, but they did their duty. Jack took a long turn first, and Ned followed him, so that Charley got a good sleep of several hours, and was much refreshed before his period of watching began. CHAPTER XVII. A NEW DANGER. The night brought its alarms with it. Every noise in the woods round about startled the alert sentinel, and there always are noises at night, not only in the woods but in houses also, as we all find out, when for any reason we are awake and on the alert. It seemed to each of the boys during this night, that there never were so many sounds which could not be explained: crackling noises, like those which are produced by the breaking of dry sticks under foot; sounds of footsteps, and of hard breathing; a thousand different sounds, in short, each of which seemed for the time being surely to indicate the stealthy approach of some foe. Morning came at last, however, and no ill had befallen the camp. It was voted at breakfast that this day should be devoted exclusively to fortification, security being deemed of more pressing importance than escape from the island. By steady persistence the work was carried forward until the line of tall, leaning pickets was more than half-way round the camp. This at least reduced the space to be watched through the night to less than half its former length, and as the night passed quietly with no sign of an enemy about, it was unanimously resolved, the next morning, that Sunday should be kept as a day of rest, the opinion being that the completion of the stockade could not now be called a work of necessity. During Sunday night, however, the boys had reason to modify this opinion somewhat. About two o'clock Ned, who was on guard at the time, armed with a big club, awoke his companions, saying, in a whisper: "Get up, quick! There's somebody about." The two sleepers sprang to their feet quickly, and, seizing their clubs, joined Ned outside the hut. By way of precaution the boys had cut a considerable number of short, thick, and very heavy clubs, which could be made to serve a good purpose as missiles. Thrown with violence from the hand they were likely to be of much greater service than stones or brickbats would have been, if such things had been at hand. Armed with these clubs the boys peered and listened. For a while they heard nothing. Then a low growl came from the bushes, and the sound of a sharp blow followed it immediately. Evidently one of the squatters was sneaking around the camp, and when his dog growled he struck it to secure silence. The boys waited a long time but heard nothing more. Finally, in a low whisper, Ned said: "There can't be more than one of them here." "No, I suppose not," answered Jack, "but let's be quiet and see what he wants." All became still again, and as the boys from their hiding-place could not be seen by any one in the bushes, the prowler had every reason to suppose that they were asleep. After perhaps an hour's waiting, Jack whispered: "I see him; he is crawling on his stomach to the fire. H--sh! let's see what he wants." The man could be seen only in dim outline until he reached the fire, and, taking a smouldering brand, blew it to quicken its burning. The light thus created revealed his face, and the sight was not a pleasant one to the boys. They saw in their visitor as ugly and forbidding a specimen of untamed humanity as one often meets. He was a negro of the small, ugly, tough-looking variety, seen nowhere in this country except on the South Carolina and Georgia coast. About five feet two inches high, he had a small, flat head, large, muscular arms and body, short legs, and no clothing except a sort of sack with head- and arm-holes in it, worn as a shirt. His brow was so low and retreating, that his eyes seemed to project beyond it. His nose was flattened out as if it had tried to spread itself evenly all over his face. His thick lips were too short to cover his big teeth, and it is hardly necessary to add that he looked far less like a rational human being than like some wild animal. When he had satisfied himself that his brand was burning, he crept a few paces further, and his purpose was revealed. He meant to set fire to the pile of plank that the boat was to be built of. "Quick now," said Jack, "give him a volley of clubs and then charge!" [Illustration: "GIVE HIM A VOLLEY AND THEN CHARGE!"] It was no sooner said than done. Standing at less than twenty feet distance, the boys threw one club each at the intruder, and then, snatching other clubs, one in each hand, rushed upon him. Rising, he knocked Jack down, but was brought to his own knees by Charley's club. At that moment the man's dog, a surly-looking brute, seized Charley, and it required the combined efforts of all three boys--for Jack was up again in an instant--to beat the creature off. While they were engaged in this, the dog's master, finding himself outnumbered and overmatched, took to his heels and the camp was clear, for the dog quickly followed, howling with pain. "Are you much hurt, Charley?" was the first question asked when the enemy's retreat left the boys free to think of themselves. "I'm pretty severely bitten," was the reply, "but luckily it's in the fleshy part of my thigh, and the flesh isn't torn. One of you must have struck very quickly, or I shouldn't have got off so easily. See," he continued, when the fire had been stirred into a blaze, "the brute buried his teeth, but let go again without shaking me." "Yes, I saw him jump at you, and tried to hit him before he got hold," said Ned. "I must have struck him just as he seized you--half a second too late to save you entirely, but I hit him fairly on the head." "And he had to let go of me to howl," said Charley, who, in spite of his pain, was in good spirits after the exciting encounter. "By the way, are you hurt, Jack?" "I've an earache," said Jack, turning his head and showing an inflamed and swollen ear; "but I'm glad that fellow didn't hit me fairly in the face, as he meant to do. It would have settled the question of photographs for me for all time, I think. Why, if I had caught that blow on the face my nose would have been distributed over the rest of my countenance as evenly as his is." "You look solemn, Ned," said Charley; "are you hurt too?" "No, but I'm thinking." "Well, out with your thought then. What is it?" "Only that we're fairly in for it now." "In for what?" "War." "War?" "Yes. You don't suppose we're going to have peace with the squatters now, do you? They'll attack us in force as sure as sunrise and sunset." "Well, it's my opinion that one of them, at least, has got as much of us as he wants," said Charley. "Very likely," answered Ned; "but now he'll want to give us something, by way of returning the compliment. He'll bring all his friends with him next time." "But I don't see what we've done that they should interfere with us." "Oh! don't you? Well, that's because you don't look at the matter with their eyes. You see, when we first came here they didn't object. They took a fancy to our coffee and flour and bacon, and the rest of it, and helped themselves, but they didn't in the least object to us or our presence. Having got all we had for them to steal, they let us alone. But when they found that we were getting rice out of what they called their field, it put a new face on the matter, and they objected. You baffled the one that got after you, and he hurt himself trying to catch you. That was another offence on our part, and so this fellow that was here to-night determined to get even with us by burning us out. He has been pretty badly whipped, and he isn't likely to forget it. He'll bring all his friends here and we must take care of ourselves, for we shan't get any coddling, I can assure you, if we fall into their hands." "You are right, Ned," said Jack; "and now we must really take care of ourselves. It's nearly morning, and we may as well get breakfast at once and get an early start. We must be ready to receive those fellows when they come." CHAPTER XVIII. A CAMP-FACTORY. Breakfast was finished before daylight that morning, and when it was over the three companions resumed work upon their fortification. Ned stopped long enough to catch some shrimps for dinner, but with that exception there was no break at all in the morning's work, and dinner-time found the boys tired as well as hungry. The afternoon was spent quite as industriously, and when night came the fort, though still incomplete, was well advanced toward security. "Now," said Ned, when supper-time came, "we have had rather too much of shrimps, I think, and of oysters too. I'm going out with the net to-night to catch some fish for to-morrow. What do you two propose to do?" "I'm going to make some more clubs," said Charley. "We've something like a fort now, and the next thing is to provide an abundance of ammunition." "By the way," said Ned, "why can't we make some better arms?" "Of what sort?" asked Jack. "Well, bows and arrows, for example. We can make arrow-heads out of some of our copper bolts, and they are weapons not to be despised--what are you smiling at, Charley?" "Oh! nothing; I was only wondering what good bows and arrows would do without bowstrings." Ned's countenance fell; then he joined in the smile of his companions, and admitted that his little plan had been very imperfectly worked out in his head. "I might make some blow-guns out of the canes," he said, "but they're not worth making. I have killed birds with them, but I've tried them thoroughly and they won't shoot hard enough to drive an arrow-head half an inch into a pine plank; so they would be worthless for our purposes." "Yes," said Jack, "I think we may make up our minds that we've got to get on with no better weapons than our clubs for general use, with the axe, hatchet, and digging tools to fall back upon as a last resort. To use such things means to kill, and of course we don't want to do that." "No, of course not. We only want to protect ourselves and make these squatters let us alone. We don't want to do the poor creatures any unnecessary harm." Saying this, Ned took the net and went away in search of fish. When he had gone Jack said: "Charley, let's build a platform to fight from." "I don't quite understand you," said Charley. "Well, you see the stockade is ten feet high, and slopes outward, and so it won't be easy for anybody to scale it; but it isn't impossible, particularly if one has time to put up a pole or two to climb on. My notion is that we must be prepared to interfere with anybody who tries to do that. We must build a sort of platform all around inside the stockade, about six feet from the ground; it needn't be any thing more than a row of poles laid against the stockade and supported by some forked stakes. We can then stand up on these poles and look over the top of the stockade. If anybody tries to climb up, we can beat him back from there, while if we were on the ground inside here, we should be nearly helpless. It won't take you and me more than half an hour or so to rig the thing up." "That's a good idea," replied Charley; "and we need the platform more to-night than we shall at any time hereafter." "Why?" "Because if those fellows mean to attack us they will do so at once. If we escape to-night we're not likely to be attacked at all." "I don't know about that," answered Jack. "On the contrary, I think they'll let us alone to-night, because they'll expect us to be on the lookout for them. They have no special fancy for getting their heads broken, and when they come they will try to take us by surprise. At least that's my notion." "Then you think they are likely to attack us later this week or next?" "Yes, at any time except to-night. They will wait for us to make up our minds that they aren't coming at all." "Well--that _fabula docet_ that we mustn't make up our minds in that direction at all." "Exactly. We must be as alert two weeks hence as we are now--if we're here so long. But come, let's get to work." Cutting some forked stakes, which did not need to be driven far into the ground, because they were to be leant toward the sloping stockade, the boys placed them in position, and laid poles from one to another until the line stretched all the way around the enclosure. It was easy to walk upon these poles all the way around, and when standing upon them the boys' shoulders were above the top of the stockade. Near the water, on each side, an entrance to the stockade had been made, and a movable piece of timber, with a notch in it and a brace behind, served to close each of these gates; and when thus closed and fastened from the inside, the gates were as secure as any other part of the fortress. Jack's prediction that the enemy would not appear on Monday night was verified. The whole of that week, indeed, was passed in complete quietude. Having made their fortress reasonably secure, the boys resumed work upon the boat on Monday and continued it throughout the week; but they gave only one half of each day to that task, devoting the other half to the work of strengthening their fort. The posts, as we know, were originally set six inches apart for the sake of hurrying the work, but this was not intended to be a permanent arrangement. As fast as they could the boys filled up the spaces thus left, and by Saturday night the fort was complete, so that its inmates felt entirely confident of their ability to beat off any attack the negro squatters might choose to make. Meantime the boat approached completion, though there was, perhaps, a week's work, or a little less, still to be done upon her. "We must caulk her seams," said Ned on Sunday, as the boys sat chatting round their fire, "with moss instead of oakum, and then we'll coat her all over with pitch." "By the way," answered Charley, "we've got to make the pitch. Do you know how, Ned?" "Not very well," replied Ned, "but I think we can make out." "I know," said Jack; "I've seen tar made in the North Carolina tar country, and pitch is only boiled tar." "Very well, then, you shall superintend that job," said Ned; "you know that was our bargain, to make each fellow manage the things he understood best." "You'd better make a lot of salt, then, right away, beginning to-morrow morning." "Why? You don't use salt in making pitch, do you?" "No; but I shall want the big kettle to boil the tar in, and it won't be fit for use as a salt kettle after that." "Then we must cook up all our rice too," said Charley. "No, we needn't," said Ned; "it would spoil if we did, and we can cook it, as we need it, in the coffee-pot." Early the next morning these preparations were begun. Charley got his salt factory at work, Ned worked at the boat, and Jack made preparations for tar-burning. He began by digging a pit about four feet square and two feet deep. Then--at a distance of about a foot--he dug another pit about three feet square and four feet deep. He packed the wall of earth that separated the two pits as firmly as he could, and then, cutting a long joint of cane for a tar pipe, he passed it through this wall, from a point exactly at the bottom of the shallow pit. He inclined it downward a little, so that the tar might easily run though it and fall into the deeper pit. Having finished this part of his work, Jack went into the woods near the camp and prepared a large quantity of "fat" pine for burning. Piling this in the shallow pit, and heaping it two or three feet above the level ground, he took the shovel and covered the pile with earth to a depth of a foot or more, leaving a single opening through which he could set fire to the mass. His object was, by smothering the flames in this way, to make the fat, resinous pine burn slowly, creating a roasting heat under the earth, and thus, as it were, melting the tar out of the pine. If he had not covered the wood with earth, it would have blazed up and burned to smoke, resin and all, making no tar at all. When all was ready the pile was set on fire, and as soon as it had caught well, Jack covered the single opening with earth, and the mound smoked like a volcano. Pretty soon a little stream of smoking-hot tar began trickling through the cane-tube into the deep pit. Night had now come on, and the smoke from the tar-kiln, catching the light from the camp-fire, glowed with a peculiar red color, and gave a picturesque air of strangeness to the camp. "You've started a young volcano, Jack," said Charley, as he looked at the smoking mound. "Yes. An improvement on Crusoe," said Ned; "he had no volcano on his island. But what a quantity of smoke the thing does make. It looks as if more material came out of the mound in that way than you put into it in the shape of wood." "Yes, and so a gallon of water will fill a big room if you make it into steam." "What is smoke anyhow?" asked Charley. "It is composed of several things," answered Ned, "but chiefly of carbon. Indeed, all that you can see in smoke is carbon." "Then why doesn't it burn?" "It would if it were kept in the fire long enough; but the light vapors that rise from the fire carry the particles of carbon with them, and so they get out of the fire before they are burned. The smoke is simply so much wasted fuel, and many plans have been made to save it in factories where the cost of fuel is great." "There's a big waste in making tar, then," said Charley. "Not half so much as you think," said Jack. "They don't waste the smoke up in the North Carolina tar country." "How do they burn it?" "They don't burn it, but they catch it and sell it." "How do you mean?" "Why, they have wire screens stretched over the tar-kilns, and as the smoke strikes them the fine particles of carbon stick to them. I have seen masses of them hanging down many inches from the screens, and very pretty they are too." "But what do they do with the stuff?" asked Charley. "Sell it. It is called lamp-black, and it brings a pretty good price." "That is close economy, isn't it?" "Yes, but it is frequently by just such 'margins' as that that manufacturing becomes profitable. It is a very poor and desolate-looking country up there in the tar-making districts, and I remember hearing a man say once, as we passed through it: 'This is the country where they waste nothing; they bark the trees to get resin: they distil the resin and make turpentine; what's left is rosin; when the trees die they burn them to make tar, catch the smoke for lamp-black, and there aren't any ashes.'" CHAPTER XIX. A NIGHT OF ADVENTURE. The tar flowed freely during Monday night and Tuesday, and by the time that Tuesday's labors were finished, there was enough in the deep vat to make all the pitch that was required. The salt-making was finished too, and the big kettle was ready for use the next day in boiling the tar to make pitch of it. On Tuesday evening Ned determined to go fishing, as he did nearly every night when the tide was at a proper stage. He had learned now the spots most frequented by the mullets, and usually succeeded in bringing back a good supply of them to camp. The boys had grown very tired indeed of their restricted diet. For three weeks now they had not tasted meat of any kind--for they never repeated their snake supper,--but had lived on fish, shrimps, oysters, and a few crabs; and being without bacon or any other kind of fat with which to fry their fish, they could not make an appearance of variety by changing the way of cooking them. They had to eat every thing boiled, or roasted, or broiled on the coals, and in the absence of butter and other seasoning for broiled fish, the roast, baked, broiled, and boiled all tasted alike. They had lost their relish for such food as they could get, but having nothing else they were forced to eat it. On this Tuesday night Ned remained away from camp longer than usual, and at about eleven o'clock Charley went to bed, Jack mounting guard. About an hour later Jack waked Charley, saying: "I'm uneasy about Ned, Charley. It must be midnight and he hasn't come in yet." Charley sprang up quickly, and the two looked and listened. Finally it was decided that as Charley was less able to run than Jack--because of the dog-bite, which had not yet entirely healed,--he should remain on guard while Jack should go out in search of Ned. Ten minutes later Jack came back, running as quietly as he could, and hastily pushed through the eastern gate. Fastening this, he exclaimed in an excited way: "The squatters are all around us, and I'm afraid they've captured Ned." "Why? Where are they? Tell me all about it, quick." "I don't know much about it myself," answered Jack. "I only know that as I walked down along the shore in the direction that Ned took, I almost stumbled over one of the squatters. I retreated, of course, and by keeping in the bushes and looking and listening, I made out that there were at least half a dozen of them about. As I could see nothing, and hear nothing of Ned, I'm afraid they've caught him. You see they came right along the shore where he was wading about and fishing, and if they hadn't caught him, of course he would have run in to give us the alarm. Poor fellow! I wonder if they'll kill him?" "I'm afraid of worse than that," said Charley, solemnly "What?" asked Jack. "I'm afraid they'll flog him. That would be horrible! for my part I'd a good deal rather be killed, and I'm sure Ned would." "Yes, of course," said Jack. Then, after a pause, he added: "I'll tell you what, Charley, we mustn't let that happen." "How'll we help it?" "Well, they won't try that till after they've made their attack on the fort. They'll simply tie Ned, and keep him till they're through with us, and so we have time to make a diversion in his favor. We've got to give them battle outside the fort. If we can drive them off we may find Ned. When he finds what's up he'll let us know where he is quickly enough." "Yes, if he hasn't been carried too far away already," said Charley. "At any rate, we'll try. Where were the darkies when you saw them?" "About two hundred yards away, in the woods near the shore." "All right. Now let's remember that we've got to stick together, and that our object is to do not as much but as little fighting as necessary, and to get past the enemy if we can, and go on down the shore in search of Ned. We mustn't stop to do any unnecessary fighting." "No, we'll try first to creep past without any fighting at all," said Jack. Arming themselves with their best clubs the two boys crept out of the eastern gate and made their way as secretly as they could through the woods. They saw two of the squatters, but managed to slip past them without discovery, and when they had got well beyond them they made their way rapidly along the beach, calling Ned at the top of their voices and listening for his answer. At last they heard a shout in reply, but it seemed a long way off, and singularly enough it was in the direction of the camp. Turning around, they were filled with horror and amazement at what they saw. A great red blaze was shooting up from the camp. "They're burning us out!" exclaimed Jack. "Yes, and they must have Ned there with them. His shout came from that direction." "Come, let's run with all our might. We may get there in time to save Ned at any rate!" They ran like deer-hounds and were quickly at the burning camp. They encountered three of the negroes just outside the camp, but coming upon them by surprise they were able to run past and to enter the gate before their enemies could lay hold of them. Once inside they fastened the gate log. As they did so and turned they discovered that they had caught one of their assailants--a negro boy not older than themselves--inside. This lad showed fight, but with two against him he was quickly secured, and tied with the boat's anchor rope. Then Jack and Charley had time to see the extent of the mischief done. The stockade itself was uninjured, and thus far the boat also was safe, but the vat of tar was afire, and the bush hut in which the boys slept had either caught from the blazing tar or been set on fire by the negro boy. It was obviously too late to save the hut, even if the boys had been free to work upon it, as they were not, for the danger to the boat, which lay very near the fire and was already scorching, was too great to be trifled with. Jack managed to rescue the salt from the hut, and then he and Charley began wetting moss and laying it over the boat. "This won't do, Jack," said Charley; "those rascals outside will make their way over the stockade if they aren't watched. Can't you keep the moss wet now?" "Yes, I'll attend to that. You go to the platform at once. If you need me call out and I'll come." Charley sprang to the platform, and was none too soon. The negroes outside, hearing the cries of their imprisoned companion, were already trying to make their way within the enclosure. One of them having climbed upon the shoulders of another, had taken hold of the top of the stockade, and in another second would have drawn himself up. In that case the boys would have had to encounter him on equal terms, and perhaps another squatter would have been over the wall by that time. Luckily the light from the burning tar revealed the situation to Charley in an instant. Running along the platform to the point of danger, he rapped the knuckles of the climber with a degree of violence which at once ended his climbing. He dropped to the ground as if his hands had been cut off at the wrists, and then Charley began offensive measures. Throwing his clubs one after another--for a large supply of them had been stored along the platform--he compelled the assailants to beat a retreat. They threw some sticks at him in return, but he managed to dodge them, and Jack joining him for a few minutes, the pair fairly drove the assailants off. Then Jack returned to his task of protecting the boat, while Charley, promenading all the way around the barrier, kept guard against surprises. No further assault being made, and the fire gradually dying down until the boat was no longer in danger, Jack and Charley had time to think of Ned again, and their anxiety was intense. "At least we've got a hostage," said Jack, "and perhaps poor Ned will be able to arrange for an exchange. At any rate I hope so. There must be some of them who can speak English, and, besides, Ned understands their jargon a little." "Well, we'll hope for the best," said Charley, "but oughtn't we to make another effort to find Ned?" "I don't see what we can do," said Jack. "They've carried him off by this time, and to follow in the dark would be useless." "Yes, that's true. Listen! What was that?" Jack listened, but could hear nothing. "What did you hear?" asked he. "I thought I heard Ned shout." Jack gave a loud, long call, and then the two listened again. A shout in reply was this time distinctly heard. "That's Ned," said Charley. "Yes," answered Jack. "He's making all the trouble he can, I suppose, to delay their march and give us time to catch up. Come, Charley, we _must_ rescue him." Again the boys sallied out, this time through the western gate. They ran along the shore, stopping occasionally to halloo and to listen for Ned's replies, which came promptly now. "They aren't getting on very fast with him," said Jack; "we're gaining on them at any rate." Again the boys ran. When they made their next pause to shout, they were astonished to hear Ned cry out, in his natural voice, from no great distance: "Is every thing burnt up?" Strangely enough the voice seemed to come from the water on the right, and both Jack and Charley were bewildered by the fact. "Where on earth are you?" called Jack. "Here," answered Ned, "out here on the oyster reef." The moon was near the zenith, and by carefully scanning the sea the boys could make out the figure of Ned, standing knee-deep in water, about fifty yards from shore. What to make of the situation they did not know. "What are you doing out there, Ned?" cried Jack. "I'm waiting for the tide to go down. Never mind me, but tell me about the fire. Did it burn the boat?" "No, only the tar in the vat and our hut. The boat is safe, and so is the stockade." "How did it catch fire?" "Why, the squatters set it afire while we were out hunting for you." "Have they been there, then?" "Yes. Haven't they had you prisoner?" "Not a bit of it. But don't stand there talking. Go back and take care of the camp. When the tide goes down I'll return. Hurry now, or those rascals will get in again and burn the boat." "But what in the world----" "Never mind that now. Go on to camp. You've no time to lose. I'll make explanations when I get there." The necessity for hurrying back was plain enough, and so, without further delay, Jack and Charley started toward the camp at a brisk trot. CHAPTER XX. A CALCULATION OF PROFIT AND LOSS. When they arrived at camp Jack and Charley found every thing as they had left it, except that their prisoner was gone. Examination showed that he had gnawed the rope with which he had been bound, and thus had set himself free. At first the boys were disposed to regard this as a mishap, but a moment's reflection convinced them of their error. "Now that we know that Ned is safe," said Charley, "we have no use for that rascal. We should have set him free in the morning at any rate." "By the way," said Jack, "what do you make of Ned's performance?" "I can't make it out at all," said Charley. "He must have been cut off from camp by the squatters and forced to take refuge out there on the oyster reef." "No, the squatters came from the other direction, don't you remember? And, besides, Ned didn't know there had been any of them about until we told him." "I'll explain all that for myself," said Ned from the outside, "if you'll be good enough to take down the gate log and let me in." This was quickly done, and Ned entered, first pushing in the cast net well filled with fish. As he straightened himself up a glad "hurrah!" came from both his companions, who saw in his hands a turtle weighing at least twenty-five pounds. "Hurrah! Now we shall have a taste of meat again. Where did you get that fine fellow, Ned?" "On the oyster reef," answered Ned; "that's how I came to be out there." "Well, tell us all about it now." "Oh, there isn't a great deal to tell. When I left camp, I went down along the shore to the east and caught a few fish, but not many. Then I determined to try the other side of the camp. I strung my fish on a limber switch and came back, intending to leave them here before going on; but as I passed I saw that the gate was closed, so I walked around without bothering you fellows, and went on toward the west. I fished along at one place and another, and finally I got to fishing in the shallow water between the oyster reef and the shore, where the mullets seemed to be holding a public meeting or something of that sort. The tide was low then, though it was coming in, and the oyster reef was out of water. Finding that my switches were full of fish, and being nearer the reef than the shore, I thought I'd just take a look over the reef to see if I could find a small turtle. I had seen one out there several days ago, and my mouth watered so for a piece of meat that the thought of turtle made me wild. So, swinging my strings of fish over my neck, I crept about in the moonlight--for the moon showed a little through the trees by that time,--and after a pretty thorough search I spied this fellow scrambling along over the oyster bed. It seemed, from the slow progress he made, that the shells hurt his bare feet as much as they did mine; but that was probably only in appearance, for when he saw me creeping up on him he made better time, and if I hadn't been so bent upon having some meat for breakfast, he would have got away. As it was I forgot my bare feet long enough to catch the gentleman. Then I tried to go ashore, but the tide had come up and I couldn't. That is to say, I couldn't wade ashore, and to swim was to lose my turtle; so I made up my mind to stick it out till the tide turned. I had to stand in water up to my waist at high tide, but I didn't mind that. I wasn't worried till I saw the blaze here at camp, and heard you fellows yelling. I answered, but you stopped calling, so I supposed it was all right. I waited two or three hours longer, till the blaze began to die down. Then you fellows began calling again, and you came to me. You know the rest. I came ashore as soon after you left as the water would let me. Now tell me all about matters here. Where's your prisoner?" The boys soon recounted the adventures of the night. "What is the measure of damage?" Ned asked when the story was ended. "The hut is destroyed," said Charley; "and the tar," added Jack. "We can make another hut in an hour, but the destruction of the tar just as we were ready to use it is a more serious matter." "Yes, it will delay us a couple of days longer with the boat," said Ned, "and that's a pity. Let's see, this is Wednesday morning--for it's nearly daybreak now. If this hadn't happened we might have got away from here by next Wednesday,--just four weeks from the day we came. Now, however, we shan't get away before the Friday or Saturday following." "Well, that will be the appointed time," said Charley. "The appointed time?" asked Ned, "what do you mean?" "Why, don't you remember? You told Maum Sally we'd be gone a month, and she warned you not to stay a day longer than that." "Oh, yes, I forgot that! It will be curious, won't it, if we get away Saturday? I hadn't the least thought of staying a week when we came." "Nor I," said Jack. "If we had suspected what we were coming to we never would have come at all, I imagine." "I don't know about that," said Charley, doubtfully. "We came for adventures, and we've had them, if I know what such things are. And we've really had a good deal of fun." "That's true," said Ned; "we couldn't expect to sleep on feather beds, or to have much luxury of any kind on such an expedition. And, after all, our little hardships haven't hurt us. My foot is about well now, and your dog-bite, Charley, is in a fair way to heal. So, if we get away safely we're all the better for the trip. It will all seem like fun when we get back to school and think about it." "I dare say we've sharpened our wits a trifle too," said Jack. "We've learned how to take care of ourselves in the woods, and we shall be a good deal quicker and sounder in our thinking for this experience." "Well, it's clear that we are not sufficiently sharpened up yet," said Charley, "or else some one of us would have seen before this precisely what the fire has done for us." "What is it, Charley?" "Why, every grain of rice that we had in the world was in the hut, and of course it is all burnt up." "The mischief!" exclaimed Ned. "That's a calamity," added Jack, "but we must get more to-day." "Yes," said Ned, "if the squatters haven't gathered it all." "Don't let us meet trouble half way," said Jack; "it will be time enough to give up the rice when we find that we can't get it. Meantime, let's have some turtle steak for breakfast. Then we'll see what is to be done." In spite of the lack of rice and all other substitutes for bread, the boys enjoyed the broiled turtle more than any thing they had eaten for a fortnight at least. After breakfast they "scouted" a little, to make sure that there were none of the squatters on their side of the island. Then Charley climbed a tall tree, the plan being that he should watch for squatters while Ned and Jack should gather rice, so that they might not be surprised at their work. The rice had been cut, and very little remained of it; but here and there a little clump of it was still standing in the grass and bushes around the patch, and a hard morning's work enabled the boys to secure enough of these gleanings to last them for ten or twelve days. CHAPTER XXI. CHARLEY'S SECRET EXPEDITION. While Charley sat in the tree-top scanning the island in search of possible squatters who might interfere with the gathering of the rice, he saw something else that put a new idea into his head, and before his watch was done he had quite made up his mind to do something brilliant which would surprise and delight his companions. What he saw was nothing more remarkable than a calf, or rather a young bull, perhaps a year old, browsing in the edge of a thicket half a mile or more to the west of the camp, and not many hundreds of yards from the shore. There is nothing remarkable in such a sight as that, but the circumstances of this case were peculiar, and so the sight set Charley, thinking. In the first place, he remembered what Ned had told him and Jack about the wild cattle on the island, and reflecting that it had been a good many years since the original stock of animals were abandoned, he could not help regarding this yearling bullock as something more than a mere bullock. It was game; a wild animal roaming at will over unoccupied lands, and to kill it would be quite as good sport as deer-stalking or bear-hunting. Then, too, Charley and his companions were really in sore need of meat. An exclusive diet of fish, oysters, and other such things soon wearies the palate, and becomes exceedingly distasteful. It is true that Ned's turtle had somewhat broken this monotony, but the relief had been only partial, and the boys very eagerly craved meat--beef, mutton, or pork. They had made no effort to get such meat, only because they had no idea that any such was to be had. The snake dinner had never been repeated. It is true that the snake was savory, and the boys had spoken truthfully when they declared themselves pleased with it. But that was while their hunger lasted, and when they had finished they had no longer a keen appetite to oppose to prejudice, so that, with full stomachs, the old objections returned, and all three boys were seized with a peculiar loathing for the food they had eaten. Perhaps it was only because they had eaten too much; but, whatever the reason was, the fact remained that they were all sickened by the thought of what they had eaten, and, while they said nothing about this feeling, no one of them ever proposed to repeat the experiment of eating snake. Now Charley meant to have an abundance of meat against which no such objection could be urged. Here was a fat young steer whose beef was to be had for the taking. How to get it was at first a perplexing question. There was no gun with which to shoot the bullock, and there were no dogs in camp with which to chase it; but after some reflection Master Charley was confident that he could kill the animal with the means at disposal. He said nothing about either his discovery or his purpose when his companions returned to camp, because he wished to give them a complete surprise. He merely said that he wanted to make a little hunting expedition, and that perhaps he might succeed in knocking over a rabbit or some other animal good to eat. His companions had little hope of any such good luck, but they offered no objection, and Charley, arming himself with the hunting-knife and the hatchet, set forth on his quest. He found the bullock not far from the place at which he had seen it before, quietly browsing in the edge of the timber. After carefully reconnoitering the position, Charley went into the woods and crept upon the animal very cautiously through the thick undergrowth. His plan was to creep up in this way until he should be within a few feet of his prey, and then, springing forward suddenly, to strike the bullock between his young horns with the hatchet. Charley had seen a butcher kill a large steer by a comparatively slight blow, delivered at the right place on the animal's head, and he was very sure that he knew where to strike. As he crept up he carefully avoided making any kind of noise, but when within a dozen feet of the place from which he meant to spring, he made a misstep, broke a stick, and alarmed the bullock, which quietly trotted away. Charley was disappointed, but by no means disheartened. He had only to begin over again, and proceed more cautiously next time. He crept very slowly and consumed nearly half an hour in his approach. This time he broke no sticks and made no noise of any kind. Nearer and nearer he drew. He could hear the bullock's breathing, but still he must get nearer. A log lay just in front of him, and he could not well spring over it before striking, without alarming the animal and missing his aim. He must creep around this obstruction first, and this he did successfully, but the bullock, though not alarmed, moved away just before Charley reached a position from which to strike. It did not run, but quietly walked away to nibble some grass which grew at a spot a dozen paces distant. This second disappointment shook Charley's already strained nerves considerably, but, impatient as he now was, he controlled himself and resumed his silent advance. Luckily the animal's head was turned directly away from him, and that fact greatly lessened the danger of his discovery. His chance was now so good, indeed, that a few moments more might have brought his attempt to a completely successful issue, if he had been content to follow his original plan. But just as he was in the act of springing forward to deliver his blow, with every prospect of success, a new thought struck Charley. It was easy to spring upon the bullock's back, and from that point Charley thought he could deal not one, but many successive blows, thus making sure work of what might not otherwise be sure. Accordingly he leaped upon the animal's back, and as he did so the startled creature sprang forward through the bushes, nearly unseating his rider. The blow which Charley tried to deliver was a disastrous failure. He missed the brute's head, and the hatchet slipping from his hand, was hurled into the thicket. Charley had no time to think of the hatchet, however. The infuriated bullock plunged headlong through the thicket and then across an open glade and into the woods again, going in the direction of the camp, and Charley had all that he could do to keep his seat. He was beaten black and blue by the saplings encountered; his face was scratched, and his clothes torn almost to shreds. Still, seeing that the bullock was going toward the camp, he held on, with an unreasoning impression that, once at the camp, the animal would be secured. Jack and Ned happened to be outside the stockade when Charley came dashing past, but of course they could do nothing, and a moment after they caught sight of their companion, he was swept from his seat by an overhanging branch of a tree, and the frightened bullock continued his impetuous flight alone. Jack and Ned hastened to their friend's assistance. For a moment Charley seemed stunned, but he soon came to himself sufficiently to ask in a querulous tone: "Why didn't you head him off?" It was not easy to convince Charley that they had been entirely powerless to capture the bullock, so fixed had been his determination to secure so valuable a prize; but after a while he began to see matters in their true light, and to understand that Ned and Jack could not have stopped the animal, even if they had been prepared for his coming, as in fact they were not. Then Charley examined his own bruises, which were pretty severe, though no bones were broken. "The worst of the damage," he said, after awhile, "is the loss of the hatchet, and I suppose we shall find that." [Illustration: THE END OF CHARLEY'S ADVENTURE.] "Did you lose the hunting-knife too?" asked Jack. "There!" exclaimed Charley; "what an idiot I am, to be sure! I had that in my belt all the time, and I might have got the beef if I had only thought to use it!" This was true enough. While going through the thicket, Charley had enough to do to cling to the back of the bullock, but while crossing the open glade he might easily have drawn and used the long hunting-knife if he had thought of it. But he had not thought of it, and it was now too late for the thinking to do any good. "It is just as well as it is," said Ned. "Just as well!" exclaimed Charley; "well, I don't see that. I don't know how it is with you, but for my part, I'd relish a beefsteak just now." "So would I," answered Ned; "but that yearling isn't ours, and we've no right to kill it, I suppose." "Why not? It's a wild animal, isn't it?" "I hardly think so. The squatters must have killed all the wild cattle long ago, and this tame calf probably belongs to them." "Well, they helped themselves pretty freely to our things, so I shouldn't be a bit sorry if I had killed the animal while I thought it a wild one," said Charley, rather ruefully. The search for the hatchet was a somewhat protracted one, but that important tool was found at last, and so, if Charley's effort to replenish the camp larder did no good, it at least did no harm beyond bruising that young huntsman's limbs, scratching his face, and tearing his clothes. CHAPTER XXII. THE LAUNCH OF THE "APHRODITE." Contrary to their expectations, the boys were left in peace by their enemies after that last unsuccessful attempt to burn their camp. The tar-kiln was promptly rebuilt, and by Saturday night a new supply of tar was ready. Early on Monday morning the work of converting this tar into pitch, by boiling it, was begun. This was necessarily a slow process, because the kettle was small and the space to be covered was large, for the plan was to paint the whole outside surface of the boat with the pitch, in order to make it as water-tight as possible. As soon as the first kettleful of pitch was ready, it was carefully applied while smoking hot, care being taken to work it well into the seams. Then another kettleful was set to boil, and so the work went slowly forward. As the pitch cooled it became hard, like varnish, and the effect was to stop all leaks pretty thoroughly. At first the boat sat right side up, but raised upon the blocks on which she had been built, so that it was easy to pass under her; but in applying the first kettleful of pitch the boys discovered the awkwardness of this position, and determined to turn the _Aphrodite_ bottom upward, for the sake of convenience. This was a difficult task, as the boat was too heavy for the combined strength of the three young ship-builders; but it was necessary to accomplish it, and Jack's mechanical skill devised means for the purpose. Cutting some long poles to serve as levers, and a large number of short, stout sticks, he directed his companions to raise one side of the boat with the levers. While they held it up he quickly built two cribs of the short sticks, one at the bow and the other at the stern, and when the levers were removed the boat rested easily upon these. Then a new bight was taken with the levers, and the side of the boat was raised a few inches further. Building the cribs up to support her in this position, Jack directed the boys to repeat the operation again and again, each time supporting the boat by increasing the height of the cribs. Finally he said: "Now one more bight will throw her over, but we must get ready first to ease her down, or else we shall strain her." "How can we do it?" asked Ned. "By setting some poles up at an angle on cribs. I'll show you." With that he went to the other side of the boat and built some cribs about five or six feet away from the gunwale on which the boat rested; carrying these up as high as his head, he took a number of straight poles and placed their ends on the ground just under the gunwale, resting the other ends upon the tall cribs. This made a slanting framework, the bottom of which was against one gunwale, while the top was not more than a few feet distant from the other edge of the boat. "Now," he said, when this was done, "she has only to fall a foot or two forward; her weight will be on her face then, and we'll ease her down by drawing out the crib-sticks." "I see a better way than that," said Ned. "Very well. What is it?" "Let's throw her forward first; then I'll show you." Resting, as the boat was, almost upon her gunwale, it was easy to push her forward, and when that was done she was a little more than half-way over. "Now," said Ned, "instead of lowering that upper gunwale, let's lift the lower one with the levers, and block it up. We needn't raise it more than a foot; then she'll show her whole under-side to us just as well as if she lay flat on her face." "Yes," said Jack, after studying the matter, "and it will be all the easier to turn her back again." "Have we got to turn her back again?" asked Charley, whose arms and back had been pretty severely taxed in the effort to reverse the position of the boat. "Well, no," said Ned, "not if we can make up our minds to launch her, bottom upward, and to ride back to Bluffton on her keel. Otherwise we must turn her right side up before we launch her." "It won't be hard to turn her back, Charley," said Jack. "She'll be nearly on edge, you see, and it won't require lifting--only a little pushing. But come, let's raise this gunwale. Six inches will do, I think." One more application of the levers served the purpose, and the work of applying the pitch was resumed. No other difficult problem presented itself, and by noon on Thursday the pitching was complete. Before turning the _Aphrodite_ back again, Jack and his companions cut some long, straight poles, and made an inclined plane of them from the blocks on which the boat rested to the water. They removed all the bark from these poles, so that they should be as smooth as possible. Then the boat was turned back into position, her side toward the water. It was necessary now to lift her up until her keel should rest upon the inclined plane, down which she was to slide, of her own weight, into the sea. This was a somewhat difficult task, requiring the use of the levers and a good deal of blocking up as the levers raised the boat, inch by inch. It was accomplished at last, however, and, suffering neither strain nor other injury, the _Aphrodite_ slipped into the sea, and rode gracefully upon the water. "Three cheers for the new boat!" cried Charley, and with a will they were given. "Now, then," said Ned, "we can begin to see the end of our adventures. Let's see. We've only to make some oars, and then we can be off." "When shall we start?" asked Jack. "Well, this is Thursday evening. We can finish three oars--two for rowing and one for steering--by to-morrow evening." "Then we can make an early start on Saturday morning," said Jack. "Not very well," said Ned. "The tide will be against us until about one o'clock or half-past, and the _Aphrodite_ is too heavy for two oars against tide." "Why can't all three row?" asked Charley, who persistently refused to understand any thing about the management of boats. "Because then we should have two oars on one side and only one on the other, and we'd go around in a circle. We can only use two oars, while the odd fellow steers. We'll be able to rest in that way, too, by taking the steering-oar turn and turn about." "Then we'll get away when the tide turns on Saturday," said Jack. "Yes, or a little before,--say at noon. That will give us plenty of time." "And we'll get back to Bluffton," said Charley, "exactly at the time appointed with Maum Sally, I wonder if she'll have some supper ready for us." "If she don't she'll have to get some pretty quick," said Ned. "I won't let her scold me till she sets supper before us, and she won't be happy till she gives me a good 'settin' to rights,' as she calls it." "Hadn't we better wait until we get to Bluffton before we order that supper?" said Jack; "there's 'many a slip,' you know." "What a croaker you're getting to be, Jack!" exclaimed Charley. "What's to bother us now, I'd like to know? We've got a good boat, we can make oars to-morrow, and Ned knows the way." "Oh, certainly!" replied Jack. "I suppose we shall get there safely, and I'm not in the least disposed to croak. I only thought that you and Ned were a trifle hasty in your assumption that every thing is to go perfectly smooth with us. For the last month things have had a pretty fixed habit of going the other way." "Well, but we've conquered our difficulties now, and there's nothing that I can think of to stand in the way of our getting off at the appointed time. And if we leave here at noon on Saturday, what can happen to prevent our arrival at Bluffton that evening?" "I'm sure I don't know," said Jack; "nothing at all, I hope. But when I think what a chapter of accidents we've been through, I am disposed to wait till I see Maum Sally, before I get my mouth ready for the supper she's to cook." CHAPTER XXIII. THE VOYAGE OF THE "APHRODITE." Saturday dawned soft and warm. After breakfast the boys cooked the few provisions that remained, intending to eat their mid-day meal in the boat, as a mere luncheon, and to satisfy their appetites with better food of Maum Sally's preparing, when they should arrive at Bluffton. They filled the coffee-pot with drinking water--for the water kegs of the _Red Bird_ had been lost in that boat's mishap,--and bestowed their other scant belongings on board. The moment that the outgoing tide grew slack they began their homeward voyage, giving the old camp three lusty, farewell cheers, and parting with their old associations there with a touch of real regret. For the first mile or two Ned and Jack were at the oars. Then Charley relieved Ned, as the boat drew out from among the low-lying marsh islands into a broad stretch of water. The wind was blowing in from the sea, not strongly, but steadily, and after an hour's rowing Jack saw that Ned was rather uneasily watching some light, low-flying banks of mist which were scudding along overhead. "What is it, Ned?" he asked. "Nothing of importance--or at least I hope so." "Well, what is it? Do those little clouds mean rain?" "I wish they did," said Ned; "but they're not clouds, at least in the usual sense, and I'm afraid they don't mean rain." "Out with it. We're partners in all our joys and sorrows," said Charley, "so let's hear all about the clouds that aren't clouds but something else. What are they?" "A sea fog," answered Ned; "this breeze is coming in from the sea laden with moisture, and those clouds just above us are banks of fog." "Well, what of it?" "We shall be shut in in five minutes," said Ned. "Look! you can't see half a mile now, and it is settling right down upon us, growing thicker every minute." It was as Ned said. The wall of thick fog was closing in, and it was already impossible to see any thing except the waste of water around them. A few minutes later even the water could be seen for only a few yards around. "Lie on your oars, boys," said Ned. "Why not row on?" asked Charley. "Because I don't know which way to steer, and rowing may only take us out of our course." "Can't you hold your course straight ahead?" "No. That would be possible in a fog if rowing always drove a boat straight ahead, and if there were no cross currents in the water; but both 'ifs' stand in the way. Without a compass nobody can keep a boat in any thing like a straight course in such a fog. The tide is running up, and so if we don't row at all we shall drift in the right direction, at least in a general way, while if we row, we may go all wrong." "How long is such a fog likely to last?" asked Jack. "It is impossible to tell. A change in the wind or in the state of the atmosphere may clear it away at any moment; or it may last a week." "A week!" exclaimed Charley; "what shall we do if it does? We haven't an ounce of food left, and only a little water," looking into the coffee-pot. "We needn't manage the whole week this afternoon," said Jack. "It will be better to keep cool and do the best thing that can be done every minute. Just now, Ned says, the best thing is to drift with the tide, so we'll drift, and wait, and keep our wits about us so as to see any chance that offers for doing better." Jack spoke in a cheerful voice, and his tone of courage served to brace his companions somewhat, but it was plain to all three that their position was really one of great danger and uncertainty. It was Jack's excellent habit, however, to grow strong and courageous in difficulty or danger; he never allowed himself to become panic-stricken, or to do foolish, frantic things. "Jack," said Charley after a while, "I don't believe there's any whine in you." "I don't know," replied Jack; "I hope there isn't. What good would whining do?" An hour passed, and still the fog grew thicker. Another hour; the breeze had ceased to blow, and the gray mist lay like a blanket over the water. It seemed piled in thick layers, one on top of another. It was so dense that it could be seen floating between one of the boys and another, like smoke from a cigar. The boys could see its slow writhing and twisting in the still air, moved as it was only by their breath, or by the occasional movements of their bodies. It would have been impossible in such a fog to see a ship twenty feet distant. For still another hour and another the boys sat still in the boat, rarely speaking or in any way breaking the awful silence of the fog-bound solitude. At last Ned bent his head down close to the gunwale to scan the surface of the water. "I see marsh grass here," he said, "but it is completely under water. Watch for any that shows above the surface, and if you see any catch hold of it and hold on." The boys bent over, one on one side, the other on the other. Presently the protruding tops of the tall marsh grass appeared above the water, and seemed to float slowly by. Several times Jack and Charley caught small bunches of it, but the impetus of the drifting boat was too great, and the grass was pulled up from the muddy bottom. After a little while, the water growing shallower, the grass showed higher above the surface, while it increased also in quantity, impeding the motion of the boat. Then each of the boys seized a bunch and the boat was brought to a stand. "There, that's better," said Ned, as the motion of the boat ceased. "Why don't you want to drift?" asked Jack. "Because it is about the turn of the tide," answered Ned, "and I don't want to drift in the wrong direction." "Then why didn't you cast anchor when you first saw from the grass that we were in shallow water?" "Because I don't want to be caught here on a marsh island if I can help it." "I don't understand," said Jack. "Well, you see it is about high tide now, and we have drifted upon one of the many mud banks covered with this marsh grass. Some of them are covered with water at high tide, as this one is, but quite bare when the tide is out. When I saw that we were drifting over one I wanted to stop the boat, to avoid being carried back again toward the sea; but we're in danger of getting left here high and dry on a mud bank when the tide runs out, and that would be a bad fix to get into. So instead of dropping anchor, we'll simply hold on by the grass, and as the tide goes out we'll try to work off into deeper water." "I see," said Jack. "I wish I could, then," said Charley, who had recovered his spirits; "if I could see I'd steer for Bluffton." "Come, Charley," said Ned, "this is no joking matter, I can assure you. It's growing quite dark now, and unless the fog lifts very soon we may be stuck here in the mud, for the night at least; suppose you give her a few stokes with the oars, boys; the tide is falling rapidly, and we must get off this bank." The boys rowed slowly, Ned steering and watching the water. It grew steadily shallower, so he turned the boat about, convinced that the direction he had taken was toward the centre of the bank, instead of toward the deep water. He had not gone far in the new direction however, before the keel scraped the mud, and another change had to be made in the course. Still the keel scraped, in whatever direction he turned. "Pull away with all your might, boys!" he cried; "if we don't reach deep water in five minutes we're stuck!" Jack and Charley bent to their oars, and for a few minutes the boat slipped forward through the tall marsh grass. But her keel was dragging in the soft mud, and as the tide was rapidly running out, the boat sank deeper every minute. "Pull away, as hard as you can!" cried Ned, seeing that the speed was rapidly growing less. "Here, you're exhausted, Jack; let me take your oar. Now, Charley, give it to her!" The oarsmen bent to their work with the strength of desperation, but the keel was now completely buried in the mud, and the whole bottom of the boat rested in the slimy ooze. Do what they would, the boys could drive her no further. "Stuck!" cried Jack. "Yes, stuck, fairly stuck, and in for a night of it, fog or no fog," said Ned. "What's to be done?" asked Charley. "Nothing now, except go to sleep if we can. It's so cold and raw that we'll find that pretty hard work. I wish we had brought a lot of moss for blankets." "But what if the fog lifts in the night?" asked Charley. "Well, what if it does? We can do nothing now till the tide comes in to-morrow morning. We're high and dry now, and the tide will continue to run out until one or two o'clock to-night. Then it will turn, but we shan't be afloat again till very nearly high tide,--say about seven or eight o'clock to-morrow morning." "Yes," said Jack, "and as we have eaten nearly nothing since morning, and have nothing to eat till we get to Bluffton, we shall need all the strength we can get from sleep. So let's sleep if we can." Bestowing themselves as comfortably as they could, the three worn-out, half-famished lads did their best to sleep; but there was very little chance of that. No sooner had they ceased to exert themselves, than the penetrating cold of the fog, which had already saturated their scanty clothing, made them shiver and shake as with an ague fit. They were obliged occasionally to go to the oars for exercise, in order to keep their blood in circulation, and so there was no chance of any thing like sleep beyond an occasional cat nap. Not long before dawn it began to rain, and Ned, who had been dozing, suddenly sprang up, crying out: "What's that? Rain? Good!" "Why, 'good'?" asked Charley, shivering; "I'm damp enough already." "Good, because if it rains hard the fog will disappear." "Why?" "Because it will be converted into rain, and fall. A fog disappears always either by rising and floating away, or by falling in the shape of rain; and this one means to fall, I should say, if I may judge by the way it is coming down now." It had, indeed, begun to pour. The condition of the boys was thus rendered still more uncomfortable than before, but at least their prospects were brightened by way of compensation, and as the steady downpour cleared the air of the dense fog, their spirits bounded up again in spite of all the discomforts of their situation. "I say, Jack," said Charley, "are you a prophet or a weather witch?" "Neither, so far as I am informed," replied Jack; "why do you ask?" "Only because I suspect that you either foresaw this fog or created it." "I don't see the force of your suspicion," said Jack. "Don't you remember how you croaked about slips between the cup and the lip when Ned and I were so sure of getting to Bluffton?" "Yes, of course; but I didn't really expect any thing of this nature. I only spoke generally." "Out of the abundance of your wisdom. But I won't make fun, for you were right." "And, besides," said Ned, "the situation just now isn't a bit funny. There's a young river running down my back, and I'm in for a good scolding from Maum Sally when I see her. She'll scold me for overstaying my time, for wrecking the boat, for losing my boots, for spoiling my clothes, and for every thing else she can think of. And yet, though you'll hardly believe it, I heartily wish I could be sure of getting that scolding very early this morning." CHAPTER XXIV. MAUM SALLY. Daylight came about five o'clock, and Ned made use of the earliest light for looking about him and determining his position. So buried was the boat in the tall marsh grass, that he had to stand upon the highest part of the bow in order to see at all. At first he could make out very little, but as it grew lighter--for, the rain having ceased, the light gained rapidly toward six o'clock--he was able to make out the bearings pretty well. "I say, fellows," he said, turning to his companions, "we made a centre shot. If we had tried, in the broadest light of the clearest day, we couldn't have put the _Aphrodite_ more exactly in the middle of this marsh bank." Further inspection showed that this judgment was accurate. The boat lay precisely in the middle of the little island, which stretched away two or three hundred yards on each side. The tide had risen enough by half-past six for the water to lick the sides of the boat, but it would be a full hour or more before the _Aphrodite_ would float up out of the mud, and even then it would be necessary to wait awhile longer for deeper water, before trying to push her great bulk through the rank marsh grass. "Why not hurry matters by getting out and pushing the empty boat?" asked impatient Charley, who had already declared himself to be in a state of actual starvation. "Just take one of the oars, Charley," said Ned, "and feel of the bottom we should have to walk on." Charley took the oar, pushed it through the roots of the grass, and then, with scarcely an effort, plunged its whole length straight downward through the soft mud. "Ya--as, I see," he drawled, as he drew the oar out again; "it isn't precisely the sort of lawn that one would choose for walking about on in slippers." Just then oars were heard, and looking in the direction from which the sound came, Ned suddenly cried out: "Hi! Maum Sally! Hi there! Here we are, out here in the marsh!" Then turning to his companions, he said: "It's Maum Sally in the little boat. I wonder where she's going this early on Sunday morning." [Illustration: "HI! MAUM SALLY!"] Maum Sally did not leave him long in doubt on this head. Rowing her boat as far into the grass and as near to them as she could, she came to a stop at about a hundred and fifty yards from the _Aphrodite_. Then standing up in her boat, placing her bare arms akimbo, and tossing her red-turbaned head back, she began: "Now, look heah, young Ned! What you mean by dis heah sort o' doins? Didn't you promise me faithful to be back agin in a month? An' ain't de month done gone, an' heah you is a idlin' about on a ma'sh, an' it Sunday mawnin' too? Jes' you come straight 'long home now." After she had spent her first breath in a tirade which was half scolding and half coddling,--for that was always her way with Ned, whom she had spoiled all his life, from the cradle upward,--she paused long enough for Ned to explain that he and his companions could not go to her until the tide should rise at least a foot more. "Now listen, boys," he said; "she'll keep it up till the rising tide brings her to us, and we're in for an hour of it." "Why not persuade her to go back and get breakfast ready by the time we get there?" asked Jack. "Go back? Not she. My month was up yesterday, and as I didn't put in an appearance, she set out to find me and bring me home this morning, and you just bet she won't go home without me. She'll row this way as fast as the rising water will let her, and she'll keep on scolding and coddling me all the time. Then she'll jump in here and hug me as if I were her long-lost baby boy. Hear her!" Maum Sally fulfilled Ned's prediction to the letter. As she drew nearer, and made out the forlorn condition of the young Crusoes, discovering, little by little, how ragged they were, she scolded more and more savagely, while Ned laughed and heartily enjoyed it all, taking pains to direct her attention to the various losses he had sustained, and hinting now and then at the difficulties he had encountered and the dangers he had passed. Each word of his gave Maum Sally a new theme for her scolding, and as the little boat pushed itself up to the big one she leaped from the one into the other, changing her tone, manner, and expression in the very middle of a sentence, somewhat thus: "I tell you, young Ned, ef I gits my han's on you, you ugly, provokin', no 'count young scape--darlin', blessed boy, aint ole Sally happy to git her arms roun' you agin, and hug you jis like you was a baby agin; an' now I's got you safe in these arms agin, I tell you I's happy." The sudden change in the sentence occurred just as Maum Sally stepped from one boat into the other, and fell upon Ned with that savage fury of affection which only a dear old black nurse can feel. To row out of the marsh when the water grew a little deeper, and then to row home to a late but toothsome breakfast, was easy enough now. Then a long day of complete rest followed, and the whole story of the wreck of the _Red Bird_ was a memory merely. THE END. 
26653	----	file was produced from scans of public domain material produced by Microsoft for their Live Search Books site.) Transcribers note: In this text the breve has been rendered as [)a] and the macron [=a] * * * * * [Illustration: YOUNG AMERICA IN NORWAY. Page 159.] [Illustration] YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD UP THE BALTIC BOSTON LEE & SHEPARD. _YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD--SECOND SERIES._ UP THE BALTIC; OR, YOUNG AMERICA IN NORWAY, SWEDEN, AND DENMARK. A STORY OF TRAVEL AND ADVENTURE. BY WILLIAM T. ADAMS. (_OLIVER OPTIC_), AUTHOR OF "OUTWARD BOUND," "SHAMROCK AND THISTLE," "RED CROSS," "DIKES AND DITCHES," "PALACE AND COTTAGE," "DOWN THE RHINE," ETC. BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. NEW YORK: LEE, SHEPARD AND DILLINGHAM, NOS. 47 AND 49 GREENE ST. 1875. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, BY WILLIAM T. ADAMS, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. Electrotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry, No. 19 Spring Lane. TO MY EVER-CHEERFUL AND GOOD-NATURED FRIEND SHEPARD K. MATTISON, WHOM I MET FOR THE FIRST TIME AT TROLLHÄTTEN, ON THE GÖTA CANAL, AND WITH WHOM I JOURNEYED THROUGH SWEDEN, RUSSIA, AUSTRIA, SPAIN, AND PORTUGAL, _This Volume_ IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD. BY OLIVER OPTIC. A Library of Travel and Adventure in Foreign Lands. First and Second Series; six volumes in each Series. 16mo. Illustrated. _First Series._ I. _OUTWARD BOUND_; OR, YOUNG AMERICA AFLOAT. II. _SHAMROCK AND THISTLE_; OR, YOUNG AMERICA IN IRELAND AND SCOTLAND. III. _RED CROSS_; OR, YOUNG AMERICA IN ENGLAND AND WALES. IV. _DIKES AND DITCHES_; OR, YOUNG AMERICA IN HOLLAND AND BELGIUM. V. _PALACE AND COTTAGE_; OR, YOUNG AMERICA IN FRANCE AND SWITZERLAND. VI. _DOWN THE RHINE_; OR, YOUNG AMERICA IN GERMANY. _Second Series._ I. _UP THE BALTIC_; OR, YOUNG AMERICA IN NORWAY, SWEDEN, AND DENMARK. II. _NORTHERN LANDS_; OR, YOUNG AMERICA IN RUSSIA AND PRUSSIA. In preparation. III. _CROSS AND CRESCENT_; OR, YOUNG AMERICA IN TURKEY AND GREECE. In preparation. IV. _SUNNY SHORES_; OR, YOUNG AMERICA IN ITALY AND AUSTRIA. In preparation. V. _VINE AND OLIVE_; OR, YOUNG AMERICA IN SPAIN AND PORTUGAL. In preparation. VI. _ISLES OF THE SEA_; OR, YOUNG AMERICA HOMEWARD BOUND. In preparation. PREFACE. UP THE BALTIC, the first volume of the second series of "YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD," like its predecessors, is a record of what was seen and done by the young gentlemen of the Academy Squadron on its second voyage to Europe, embracing its stay in the waters of Norway, Sweden, and Denmark. Agreeably to the announcement made in the concluding volume of the first series, the author spent the greater portion of last year in Europe. His sole object in going abroad was to obtain the material for the present series of books, and in carrying out his purpose, he visited every country to which these volumes relate, and, he hopes, properly fitted himself for the work he has undertaken. In the preparation of UP THE BALTIC, the writer has used, besides his own note-books, the most reliable works he could obtain at home and in Europe, and he believes his geographical, historical, and political matter is correct, and as full as could be embodied in a story. He has endeavored to describe the appearance of the country, and the manners and customs of the people, so as to make them interesting to young readers. For this purpose these descriptions are often interwoven with the story, or brought out in the comments of the boys of the squadron. The story is principally the adventures of the crew of the second cutter, who attempted "an independent excursion without running away," which includes the career of a young Englishman, spoiled by his mother's indulgence, and of a Norwegian waif, picked up by the squadron in the North Sea. The author is encouraged to enter upon this second series by the remarkable and unexpected success which attended the publication of the first series. Difficult as it is to work the dry details of geography and history into a story, the writer intends to persevere in his efforts to make these books instructive, as well as interesting; and he is confident that no reader will fail to distinguish the good boys from the bad ones of the story, or to give his sympathies to the former. HARRISON SQUARE, BOSTON, May 10, 1871. CONTENTS. PAGE I. A WAIF ON THE NORTH SEA 11 II. OFF THE NAZE OF NORWAY 27 III. AN ACCIDENT TO THE SECOND CUTTER 43 IV. NORWAY IN THE PAST AND THE PRESENT 59 V. MR. CLYDE BLACKLOCK AND MOTHER 76 VI. A DAY AT CHRISTIANSAND 92 VII. UP THE CHRISTIANIA FJORD 110 VIII. SIGHTS OF CHRISTIANIA, AND OTHER MATTERS 128 IX. THE EXCURSION WITHOUT RUNNING AWAY 146 X. GOTTENBURG AND FINKEL 164 XI. ON THE WAY TO THE RJUKANFOS 181 XII. THE BOATSWAIN AND THE BRITON 201 XIII. THE MEETING OF THE ABSENTEES 218 XIV. THROUGH THE SOUND TO COPENHAGEN 237 XV. COPENHAGEN AND TIVOLI 255 XVI. EXCURSION TO KLAMPENBORG AND ELSINORE 274 XVII. TO STOCKHOLM BY GÖTA CANAL 292 XVIII. UP THE BALTIC 310 XIX. THE CRUISE IN THE LITTLE STEAMER 329 XX. STOCKHOLM AND ITS SURROUNDINGS 349 * * * * * UP THE BALTIC; OR, YOUNG AMERICA IN NORWAY, SWEDEN, AND DENMARK. CHAPTER I. A WAIF ON THE NORTH SEA. "Boat on the weather bow, sir!" shouted the lookout on the top-gallant forecastle of the Young America. "Starboard!" replied Judson, the officer of the deck, as he discovered the boat, which was drifting into the track of the ship. "Starboard, sir!" responded the quartermaster in charge of the wheel. "Steady!" added the officer. "Steady, sir," repeated the quartermaster. By this time a crowd of young officers and seamen had leaped upon the top-gallant forecastle, and into the weather rigging, to obtain a view of the little boat, which, like a waif on the ocean, was drifting down towards the coast of Norway. It contained only a single person, who was either a dwarf or a boy, for he was small in stature. He lay upon a seat near the stern of the boat, with his feet on the gunwale. He was either asleep or dead, for though the ship had approached within hail, he neither moved nor made any sign. The wind was light from the southward, and the sea was quite calm. "What do you make of it, Ryder?" called the officer of the deck to the second master, who was on duty forward. "It is a flat-bottomed boat, half full of water, with a boy in it," answered Ryder. "Hail him," added the officer of the deck. "Boat, ahoy!" shouted Ryder, at the top of his lungs. The person in the boat, boy or man, made no reply. Ryder repeated the hail, but with no better success. The officers and seamen held their breath with interest and excitement, for most of them had already come to the conclusion that the occupant of the boat was dead. A feeling akin to horror crept through the minds of the more timid, as they gazed upon the immovable body in the dilapidated craft; for they felt that they were in the presence of death, and to young people this is always an impressive season. By this time the ship was within a short distance of the water-logged bateau. As the waif on the ocean exhibited no signs of life, the first lieutenant, in charge of the vessel, was in doubt as to what he should do. Though he knew that it was the first duty of a sailor to assist a human being in distress, he was not sure that the same effort was required in behalf of one who had already ceased to live. Captain Cumberland, in command of the ship, who had been in the cabin when the excitement commenced, now appeared upon the quarter-deck, and relieved the officer of the responsibility of the moment. Judson reported the cause of the unwonted scene on deck, and as the captain discovered the little boat, just on the weather bow, he promptly directed the ship to be hove to. "Man the main clew-garnets and buntlines!" shouted the first lieutenant; and the hands sprang to their several stations. "Stand by tack and sheet." "All ready, sir," reported the first midshipman, who was on duty in the waist. "Let go tack and sheet! Up mainsail!" continued Ryder. The well-trained crew promptly obeyed the several orders, and the mainsail was hauled up in much less time than it takes to describe the manoeuvre. "Man the main braces!" proceeded the officer of the deck. "Ready, sir," reported the first midshipman. "Let go and haul." As the hands executed the last order; all the yards on the mainmast swung round towards the wind till the light breeze caught the sails aback, and brought them against the mast. The effect was to deaden the headway of the ship. "Avast bracing!" shouted the first lieutenant, when the yards on the mainmast were about square. In a few moments the onward progress of the Young America was entirely checked, and she lay motionless on the sea. There were four other vessels in the squadron, following the flag-ship, and each of them, in its turn, hove to, or came up into the wind. "Fourth cutters, clear away their boat!" continued the first lieutenant, after he had received his order from the captain. "Mr. Messenger will take charge of the boat." The young officer indicated was the first midshipman, whose quarter watch was then on duty. "All the fourth cutters!" piped the boatswain's mate, as Messenger crossed the deck to perform the duty assigned to him. "He's alive!" shouted a dozen of the idlers on the rail, who had not removed their gaze from the waif in the small boat. "He isn't dead any more than I am!" added a juvenile tar, springing into the main rigging, as if to demonstrate the amount of his own vitality. The waif in the bateau had produced this sudden change of sentiment, and given this welcome relief to the crew of the Young America, by rising from his reclining posture, and standing up in the water at the bottom of his frail craft. He gazed with astonishment at the ship and the other vessels of the squadron, and did not seem to realize where he was. "Avast, fourth cutters!" interposed the first lieutenant. "Belay, all!" If the waif was not dead, it was hardly necessary to lower a boat to send to his relief; at least not till it appeared that he needed assistance. "Boat, ahoy!" shouted Ryder. "On board the ship," replied the waif, in tones not at all sepulchral. "What are you doing out here?" demanded the first lieutenant. "Nothing," replied the waif. "Will you come on board the ship?" "Yes, if you will let me," added the stranger, as he picked up a broken oar, which was floating in the water on the bottom of his boat. "Yes, come on board," answered the first lieutenant, prompted by Captain Cumberland, who was quite as much interested in the adventure as any of his shipmates. The waif, using the broken oar as a paddle, worked his water-logged craft slowly towards the ship. The accommodation ladder was lowered for his use, and in a few moments, with rather a heavy movement, as though he was lame, or much exhausted, he climbed up the ladder, and stepped down upon the ship deck. "Fill away again!" said the captain to the first lieutenant, as a curious crowd began to gather around the stranger. Ryder gave the necessary orders to brace up the main yards, and set the mainsail again, and the ship was soon moving on her course towards the Naze of Norway, as though nothing had occurred to interrupt her voyage. "What are you doing out here, in an open boat, out of sight of land?" asked Captain Cumberland, while the watch on deck were bracing up the yards. The waif looked at the commander of the Young America, and carefully examined him from head to foot. The elegant uniform of the captain seemed to produce a strong impression upon his mind, and he evidently regarded him as a person of no small consequence. He did not answer the question put to him, seeming to be in doubt whether it was safe and proper for him to do so. Captain Cumberland was an exceedingly comely-looking young gentleman, tall and well formed in person, graceful and dignified in his manners; and if he had been fifty years old, the stranger before him could not have been more awed and impressed by his bearing. So far as his personal appearance was concerned, the waif appeared to have escaped from the rag-bag, and to have been out long enough to soil his tatters with oil, tar, pitch, and dirt. Though his face and hands, as well as other parts of his body, were very dirty, his eye was bright, and, even seen through the disguise of filth and rags that covered him, he was rather prepossessing. "What is your name?" asked Captain Cumberland, finding his first question was not likely to be answered. "Ole Amundsen," replied the stranger, pronouncing his first name in two syllables. "Then you are not English." "No, sir. Be you?" "I am not; we are all Americans in this ship." "Americans!" exclaimed Ole, opening his eyes, while a smile beamed through the dirt on his face. "Are you going to America now?" "No; we are going up the Baltic now," replied Captain Cumberland; "but we shall return to America in the course of a year or two." "Take me to America with you--will you?" continued Ole, earnestly. "I am a sailor, and I will work for you all the time." "I don't know about that. You must speak to the principal." "Who's he?" "Mr. Lowington. He is in the cabin now. Where do you belong, Ole?" "I don't belong anywhere," answered the waif, looking doubtfully about him. "Where were you born?" "In Norway, sir." "Then you are a Norwegian." "I reckon I am." "In what part of Norway were you born?" "In Bratsberg." "That's where all the brats come from," suggested Sheridan. "This one came from there, at any rate," added Mayley. "But where is Bratsberg, and what is it?" "It is an _amt_, or province, in the south-eastern part of Norway." "I came from the town of Laurdal," said Ole. "Do the people there speak English as well as you do?" asked the captain. "No, sir. I used to be a _skydskarl_, and--" "A what?" demanded the crowd. "A _skydskarl_--a boy that goes on a cariole to take back the horses. I learned a little English from the Englishmen I rode with; and then I was in England almost a year." "But how came you out here, alone in an open boat?" asked the captain, returning to his first inquiry. Ole put one of his dirty fingers in his mouth, and looked stupid and uncommunicative. He glanced at the young officers around him, and then over the rail at the sea. "Were you wrecked?" inquired the captain. "No, sir; not wrecked," replied Ole. "I never was wrecked in my life." "What are you doing out here, out of sight of land, in a boat half full of water?" persisted the captain. "Doing nothing." "Did you get blown off from the shore?" "No, sir; a southerly wind wouldn't blow anybody off from the south coast of Norway," answered Ole, with a smile which showed that he had some perception of things absurd in themselves. "You are no fool." "No, sir, I am not; and I don't think you are," added Ole, again glancing at Captain Cumberland from head to foot. The young tars all laughed at the waif's retort, and the captain was not a little nettled by the remark. He pressed Ole rather sharply for further information in regard to his antecedents; but the youth was silent on this point. While the crowd were anxiously waiting for the stranger to declare himself more definitely, eight bells sounded at the wheel, and were repeated on the large bell forward by the lookout. From each vessel of the fleet the bells struck at nearly the same moment, and were followed by the pipe of the boatswain's whistle, which was the signal for changing the watch. As the officers of the ship were obliged to attend to their various duties, Ole Amundsen was left alone with the captain. The waif still obstinately refused to explain how he happened to be alone in a water-logged boat, asleep, and out of sight of land, though he promptly answered all other questions which were put to him. Mr. Lowington, the principal of the Academy Squadron, was in the main cabin, though he had been fully informed in regard to the events which had transpired on deck. The young commander despaired of his own ability to extort an explanation from the waif, and he concluded to refer the matter to the principal. "How long have you been in that boat?" asked Captain Cumberland, as he led the way towards the companion ladder. "Eighteen hours," answered Ole, after some hesitation, which, perhaps, was only to enable him to count up the hours. "Did you have anything to eat?" "No, sir." "Nothing?" "Not a thing." "Then you are hungry?" "I had a little supper last night--not much," continued Ole, apparently counting the seams in the deck, ashamed to acknowledge his human weakness. "You shall have something to eat at once." "Thank you, sir." Captain Cumberland therefore conducted the stranger to the steerage, instead of the main cabin, and directed one of the stewards to give him his supper. The man set half a cold boiled ham on one of the mess tables, with an abundant supply of bread and butter. Cutting off a large slice of the ham, he placed it on the plate before Ole, whose eyes opened wide with astonishment, and gleamed with pleasure. Without paying much attention to the forms of civilization, the boy began to devour it, with the zeal of one who had not tasted food for twenty-four hours. Captain Cumberland smiled, but with becoming dignity, at the greediness of the guest, before whom the whole slice of ham and half a brick loaf disappeared almost in a twinkling. The steward appeared with a pot of coffee, in time to cut off another slice of ham, which the waif attacked with the same voracity as before. When it was consumed, and the young Norwegian glanced wistfully at the leg before him, as though his capacity for cold ham was not yet exhausted, the captain began to consider whether he ought not to consult the surgeon of the ship before he permitted the waif to eat any more. But the steward, like a generous host, seemed to regard the quantity eaten as complimentary testimony to the quality of the viands, and helped him to a third slice of the ham. He swallowed a pint mug of coffee without stopping to breathe. As the third slice of ham began to wax small before the voracious Norwegian, Captain Cumberland became really alarmed, and determined to report at once to the principal and the surgeon for instructions. Knocking at the door of the main cabin, he was admitted. Dr. Winstock assured him there was no danger to the guest; he had not been without food long enough to render it dangerous for him fully to satisfy himself. The quantity eaten might make him uncomfortable, and even slightly sick, but it would do the gourmand no real injury. The captain returned to the steerage, where Ole had broken down on his fourth slice of ham; but he regarded it wistfully, and seemed to regret his inability to eat any more. "That's good," said he, with emphasis. "It's the best supper I ever ate in my life. I like this ship; I like the grub; and I mean to go to America in her." "We will see about that some other time; but if you don't tell us how you happened to be off here, I am afraid we can do nothing for you," replied the captain. "If you feel better now, we will go and see the principal." "Who's he?" asked Ole. "Mr. Lowington. You must tell him how you happened to be in that leaky boat." "Perhaps I will. I don't know," added Ole, doubtfully, as he followed the commander into the main cabin. Captain Cumberland explained to the principal the circumstances under which Ole had come on board, and that he declined to say anything in regard to the strange situation in which he had been discovered. "Is the captain here?" asked the midshipman of the watch, at the steerage door. "Yes," replied Captain Cumberland. "Mr. Lincoln sent me down to report a light on the lee bow, sir." "Very well. Where is Mr. Beckwith?" "In the cabin, sir." The captain left the main cabin, and entered the after cabin, where he found Beckwith, the first master, attended by the second and third, examining the large chart of the North Sea. "Light on the lee bow, sir," said the first master. "Do you make it out?" "Yes; we are all right to the breadth of a hair," added the master, delighted to find that his calculations had proved to be entirely correct. "It is Egero Light, and we are about fifty miles from the Naze of Norway. We are making about four knots, and if the breeze holds, we ought to see Gunnarshoug Light by one o'clock." Captain Cumberland went on deck to see the light reported. Though it was half past eight, the sun had but just set, and the light, eighteen miles distant, could be distinctly seen. It created a great deal of excitement and enthusiasm among the young officers and seamen, who had read enough about Norway to be desirous of seeing it. For weeks the young gentlemen on board the ship had been talking of Norway, and reading up all the books in the library relating to the country and its people. They had read with interest the accounts of the various travellers who had visited it, including Ross Brown, in Harper's Monthly, and Bayard Taylor, and had studied Harper, Murray, Bradshaw, and other Guides on the subject. The more inquiring students had read the history of Norway, and were well prepared to appreciate a short visit to this interesting region. They had just come from the United States, having sailed in the latter part of March. The squadron had had a fair passage, and the students hoped to be in Christiansand by the first day of May; and now nothing less than a dead calm for forty-eight hours could disappoint their hopes. Five years before, the Young America and the Josephine, her consort, had cruised in the waters of Europe, and returned to America in the autumn. It had been the intention of the principal to make another voyage the next year, go up the Baltic, and winter in the Mediterranean; but the war of 1866 induced him to change his plans. Various circumstances had postponed the cruise until 1870, when it was actually commenced. The Young America was the first, and for more than a year the only, vessel belonging to the Academy. The Josephine, a topsail schooner, had been added the second year; and now the Tritonia, a vessel of the same size and rig, was on her first voyage. The three vessels of the squadron were officered and manned by the students of the Academy. As on the first cruise, the offices were the rewards of merit bestowed upon the faithful and energetic pupils. The highest number of merits gave the highest office, and so on through the several grades in the cabin, and the petty offices in the steerage. The routine and discipline of the squadron were substantially the same as described in the first series of these volumes, though some changes had been made, as further experience suggested. Instead of quarterly, as before, the offices were given out every month. Captains were not retired after a single term, as formerly, but were obliged to accept whatever rank and position they earned, like other students. There was no change from one vessel to another, except at the end of a school year, or with the permission of the principal. The ship had six instructors, three of whom, however, lectured to all the students in the squadron, and each of the smaller vessels had two teachers. Mr. Lowington was still the principal. He was the founder of the institution; and his high moral and religious principles, his love of justice, as well as his skill, firmness, and prudence, had made it a success in spite of the many obstacles which continually confronted it. As a considerable portion of the students in the squadron were the spoiled sons of rich men, who had set at defiance the rules of colleges and academies on shore, it required a remarkable combination of attributes to fit a gentleman for the difficult and trying position he occupied. Mr. Fluxion was the first vice-principal in charge of the Josephine. He was a thorough seaman, a good disciplinarian, and a capital teacher; but he lacked some of the high attributes of character which distinguished the principal. If any man was fit to succeed Mr. Lowington in his responsible position, it was Mr. Fluxion; but it was doubtful whether, under his sole administration, the institution could be an entire success. His love of discipline, and his energetic manner of dealing with delinquents, would probably have increased the number of "rows," mutinies, and runaways. The second vice-principal, in charge of the Tritonia, was Mr. Tompion, who, like his two superiors in rank, had formerly been an officer of the navy. Though he was a good sailor, and a good disciplinarian, he lacked that which a teacher needs most--a hearty sympathy with young people. The principal and the two vice-principals were instructors in mathematics and navigation in their respective vessels. Mr. Lowington had undertaken this task himself, because he felt the necessity of coming more in contact with the student than his position as mere principal required. It tended to promote friendly relations between the governor and the governed, by creating a greater sympathy between them. The Rev. Mr. Agneau still served as chaplain. In port, and at sea when the weather would permit, two services were held in the steerage every Sunday, which were attended, at anchor, by the crew of all the vessels. Prayers were said morning and evening, in the ship by the chaplain, in the schooners by the vice-principal or one of the instructors. Dr. Winstock was the instructor in natural philosophy and chemistry, as well as surgeon and sanitary director. He was a good and true man, and generally popular among the students. Each vessel had an adult boatswain and a carpenter, and the ship a sailmaker, to perform such work as the students could not do, and to instruct them in the details of practical seamanship. After the lapse of five years, hardly a student remained of those who had cruised in the ship or her consort during the first voyage. But in addition to the three vessels which properly constituted the squadron, there were two yachts, each of one hundred and twenty tons. They were fore-and-aft schooners, of beautiful model, and entirely new. The one on the weather wing of the fleet was the Grace, Captain Paul Kendall, whose lady and two friends were in the cabin. Abreast of her sailed the Feodora, Captain Robert Shuffles, whose wife was also with him. Each of these yachts had a first and second officer, and a crew of twenty men, with the necessary complement of cooks and stewards. They were part of the fleet, but not of the Academy Squadron. CHAPTER II. OFF THE NAZE OF NORWAY. Mr. Lowington examined Ole Amundsen very carefully, in order to ascertain what disposition should be made of him. He told where he was born, how he had learned English, and where he had passed the greater portion of his life, just as he had related these particulars to Captain Cumberland. "But how came you out here in an open boat?" asked the principal. Ole examined the carpet on the floor of the cabin, and made no reply. "Won't you answer me?" added Mr. Lowington. The waif was still silent. "You have been to sea?" "Yes, sir; I was six months in a steamer, and over two years in sailing vessels," answered Ole, readily. "What steamer were you in?" "I was in the Drammen steamer a while; and I have been three trips down to Copenhagen and Gottenburg, one to Lübeck, one to Stettin, and one to Stockholm." "Have you been in a steamer this season?" "No, sir." "Then you were in a sailing vessel." Ole would not say that he had been in any vessel the present season. "Where is your home now?" asked the principal, breaking the silence again. "Haven't any." "Have you a father and mother?" "Both dead, sir." "Have you any friends?" "Friends? I don't believe I have." "Any one that takes care of you?" "Takes care of me? No, sir; I'm quite certain I haven't any one that takes care of me. I take care of myself, and it's heavy work I find it, sometimes, I can tell you." "Do you ever go fishing?" "Yes, sir, sometimes." "Have you been lately?" Ole was silent again. "I wish to be your friend, Ole." "Thank you, sir," added Ole, bowing low. "But in order to know what to do for you, I must know something about your circumstances." "I haven't any circumstances, sir. I lost 'em all," replied Ole, gravely and sadly, as though he had met with a very serious loss. Dr. Winstock could not help laughing, but it was impossible to decide whether the boy was ignorant of the meaning of the word, or was trying to perpetrate a joke. "How did you happen to lose your circumstances, Ole?" asked Mr. Lowington. "When my mother died, Captain Olaf took 'em." "Indeed; and who is Captain Olaf?" Ole looked at the principal, and then returned his gaze to the cabin floor, evidently not deeming it prudent to answer the question. "Is he your brother?" "No, sir." "Your uncle?" "No, sir." Ole could not be induced to say anything more about Captain Olaf, and doubtless regretted that he had even mentioned his name. The waif plainly confounded "circumstances" and property. Mr. Lowington several times returned to the main inquiry, but the young man would not even hint at the explanation of the manner in which he had come to be a waif on the North Sea, in an open boat, half full of water. He had told the captain that he was not wrecked, and had not been blown off from the coast. He would make no answer of any kind to any direct question relating to the subject. "Well, Ole, as you will not tell me how you came in the situation in which we found you, I do not see that I can do anything for you," continued Mr. Lowington. "The ship is bound to Christiansand, and when we arrive we must leave you there." "Don't leave me in Christiansand, sir. I don't want to be left there." "Why not?" Ole was silent again. Both the principal and the surgeon pitied him, for he appeared to be a friendless orphan; certainly he had no friends to whom he wished to go, and was only anxious to remain in the ship, and go to America in her. "You may go into the steerage now, Ole," said the principal, despairing of any further solution of the mystery. "Thank you, sir," replied Ole, bowing low, and backing out of the cabin as a courtier retires from the presence of a sovereign. "What do you make of him, doctor?" added Mr. Lowington, as the door closed upon the waif. "I don't make anything of him," replied Dr. Winstock. "The young rascal evidently don't intend that we should make anything of him. He's a young Norwegian, about fifteen years old, with neither father nor mother; for I think we may believe what he has said. If he had no regard to the truth, it was just as easy for him to lie as it was to keep silent, and it would have been more plausible." "I am inclined to believe that he is a runaway, either from the shore or from some vessel," said the principal. "He certainly cannot have been well treated, for his filthy rags scarcely cover his body; and he says that the supper he had to-night was the best he ever ate in his life. It was only coffee, cold ham, and bread and butter; so he cannot have been a high liver. He seems to be honest, and I pity him." "But he is too filthy to remain on board a single hour. I will attend to his sanitary condition at once," laughed the doctor. "He will breed a leprosy among the boys, if he is not taken care of." "Let the purser give you a suit of clothes for him, for we can't do less than this for him." The doctor left the cabin, and Ole was taken to the bath-room by one of the stewards, and compelled to scrub himself with a brush and soap, till he was made into a new creature. He was inclined to rebel at first, for he had his national and inborn prejudice against soap and water in combination; but the sight of the suit of new clothes overcame his constitutional scruples. The steward was faithful to his mission, and Ole left dirt enough in the bath-tub to plant half a dozen hills of potatoes. He looked like a new being, even before he had donned the new clothes. His light hair, cut square across his forehead, was three shades lighter when it had been scrubbed, and deprived of the black earth, grease, and tar, with which it had been matted. The steward was interested in his work, for it is a pleasure to any decent person to transform such a leper of filth into a clean and wholesome individual. Ole put on the heavy flannel shirt and the blue frock which were handed to him, and smiled with pleasure as he observed the effect. He was fitted to a pair of seaman's blue trousers, and provided with socks and shoes. Then he actually danced with delight, and evidently regarded himself as a finished dandy; for never before had he been clothed in a suit half so good. It was the regular uniform of the crew of the ship. "Hold on a moment, my lad," said Muggs, the steward, as he produced a pair of barber's shears. "Your barber did not do justice to your figure-head, the last time he cut your hair." "I cut it myself," replied Ole. "I should think you did, and with a bush scythe." "I only hacked off a little, to keep it out of my eyes. Captain Olaf always used to cut it." "Who's Captain Olaf?" asked Muggs. Ole was silent, but permitted the steward to remove at will the long, snarly white locks, which covered his head. The operator had been a barber once, and received extra pay for his services on board the ship in this capacity. He did his work in an artistic manner, parting and combing the waif's hair as though he were dressing him for a fashionable party. He put a sailor's knot in the black handkerchief under the boy's collar, and then placed the blue cap on his head, a little on one side, so that he looked as jaunty as a dandy man-of-war's-man. "Now put on this jacket, my lad, and you will be all right," continued the steward, as he gazed with pride and pleasure upon the work of his hands. "More clothes!" exclaimed Ole. "I shall be baked. I sweat now with what I have on." "It's hot in here; you will be cool enough when you go on deck. Here's a pea-jacket for you, besides the other." "But that's for winter. I never had so much clothes on before in my life." "You needn't put the pea-jacket on, if you don't want it. Now you look like a decent man, and you can go on deck and show yourself." "Thank you, sir." "But you must wash yourself clean every morning." "Do it every day!" exclaimed Ole, opening his eyes with astonishment. "Why, yes, you heathen," laughed Muggs. "A man isn't fit to live who don't keep himself clean. Why, you could have planted potatoes anywhere on your hide, before you went into that tub." "I haven't been washed before since last summer," added Ole. "You ought to be hung for it." "You spend half your time washing yourselves--don't you?" "We spend time enough at it to keep clean. No wonder you Norwegians have the leprosy, and the flesh rots off the bones!" "But I always go into the water every summer," pleaded Ole. "And don't wash yourself at any other time?" "I always wash myself once a year, and sometimes more, when I get a good chance." "Don't you wash your face and hands every morning." "Every morning? No! I haven't done such a thing since last summer." "Then you are not fit to live. If you stay in this ship, you must wash every day, and more than that when you do dirty work." "Can I stay in the ship if I do that?" asked Ole, earnestly. "I don't know anything about it." "I will wash all the time if they will only let me stay in the ship," pleaded the waif. "You must talk with the principal on that subject. I have nothing to do with it. Now, go on deck. Hold up your head, and walk like a man." Ole left the bath-room, and made his way up the forward ladder. The second part of the starboard watch were on duty, but nearly every person belonging to the ship was on deck, watching the distant light, which assured them they were on the coast of Norway. The waif stepped upon deck as lightly as a mountain sylph. The influence of his new clothes pervaded his mind, and he was inclined to be a little "swellish" in his manner. "How are you, Norway!" shouted Sanford, one of the crew. "How are you, America," replied Ole, imitating the slang of the speaker. "What have you done with your dirt?" added Rodman. "Here is some of it," answered Muggs, the steward, as he came up the ladder, with Ole's rags on a dust-pan, and threw them overboard. "If you throw all his dirt overboard here, we shall get aground, sure," added Stockwell, as Ole danced up to the group of students. "No wonder you feel light after getting rid of such a load of dirt," said Sanford. "O, I'm all right," laughed Ole, good-naturedly; for he did not seem to think that dirt was any disgrace or dishonor to him. "How came you in that leaky boat, Norway?" demanded Rodman; and the entire party gathered around the waif, anxious to hear the story of his adventure. "I went into it." "Is that so?" added Wilde. "Yes, sir." "I say, Norway, you are smart," replied Rodman. "Smart? Where?" "All over." "I don't feel it." "But, Norway, how came you in that old tub, out of sight of land?" persisted Rodman, returning to the charge again. "I went into it just the same as one of you Americans would have got into it," laughed Ole, who did not think it necessary to resort to the tactics he had used with the principal and the captain. "You could have done it if you had tried as hard as I did." "After you got in, then, how came the boat out here, so far from land?" "The wind, the tide, and the broken oar brought it out here." "Indeed! But won't you tell us your story, Ole?" "A story? O, yes. Once there was a king of Norway whose name was Olaf, and half the men of his country were named after him, because--" "Never mind that story, Ole. We want to hear the story about yourself." "About myself? Well, last year things didn't go very well with me; the crop of potatoes was rather short on my farm, and my vessels caught but few fish; so I decided to make a voyage up the Mediterranean, to spend the winter." "What did you go in, Norway?" asked Wilde. "In my boat. We don't make voyages on foot here in Norway." "What boat?" "You won't let me tell my story; so I had better finish it at once. I got back as far as the North Sea, and almost into the Sleeve, when a gale came down upon me, and strained my boat so that she leaked badly. I was worn out with fatigue, and dropped asleep one afternoon. I was dreaming that the King of Sweden and Norway came off in a big man-of-war, to welcome me home again. He hailed me himself, with, "Boat, ahoy!" which waked me; and then I saw this ship. You know all the rest of it." "Do you mean to say you went up the Mediterranean in that old craft?" "I've told my story, and if you don't believe it, you can look in the almanac, and see whether it is true or not," laughed Ole. "But I must go and show myself to the captain and the big gentleman." "He's smart--isn't he?" said Sanford, as the young Norwegian went aft to exhibit himself to the officers on the quarter deck. "Yes; but what's the reason he won't tell how he happened out here in that leaky tub?" added Rodman. "I don't know; he wouldn't tell the captain, nor the principal." "I don't understand it." "No one understands it. Perhaps he has done something wrong, and is afraid of being found out." "Very likely." "He's just the fellow for us," said Stockwell, in a low tone, after he had glanced around him, to see that no listeners were near. "He speaks the lingo of this country. We must buy him up." "Good!" exclaimed Boyden. "We ought not to have let him go till we had fixed his flint." "I didn't think of it before; but there is time enough. If we can get hold of his story we can manage him without any trouble." "But he won't tell his story. He wouldn't even let on to the principal." "No matter; we must have him, somehow or other. Sanford can handle him." "I don't exactly believe in the scrape," said Burchmore, shaking his head dubiously. "We've heard all about the fellows that used to try to run away from the ship and from the Josephine. They always got caught, and always had the worst of it." "We are not going to run away, and we are not going to make ourselves liable to any punishment," interposed Sanford, rather petulantly. "We can have a good time on shore without running away, or anything of that sort." "What's the use?" replied Burchmore. "The principal isn't going to let us see anything at all of Norway. We are going to put in at Christiansand, and then go to Christiania. We want to see the interior of Norway, for there's glorious fishing in the lakes and rivers--salmon as big as whales." "I like fishing as well as any fellow, but I don't want to get into a scrape, and have to stay on board when the whole crowd go ashore afterwards. It won't pay." "But I tell you again, we are not going to run away." "I don't see how you can manage it without running away. You are going into the interior of Norway on your own hook, without the consent or knowledge of the principal. If you don't call this running away, I don't know what you can call it." "No matter what we call it, so long as the principal don't call it running away," argued Sanford. "How can you manage it?" inquired Burchmore. "I don't know yet; and if I did, I wouldn't tell a fellow who has so many doubts." "I shall not go into anything till I understand it." "We don't ask you to do so. As soon as we come to anchor, and see the lay of the land, we can tell exactly what and how to do it. We have plenty of money, and we can have a first-rate time if you only think so. Leave it all to me, and I will bring it out right," continued the confident Sanford, who appeared to be the leader of the little squad. The traditions of the various runaways who had, at one time and another, attempted to escape from the wholesome discipline and restraint of the Academy, were current on board all the vessels of the squadron. The capture of the Josephine, and her cruise in the English Channel, had been repeated to every new student who joined the fleet, till the story was as familiar to the present students as to those of five years before. There were just as many wild and reckless boys on board now as in the earlier days of the institution, and they were as sorely chafed by the necessary restraints of good order as their predecessors had been. Perhaps it was natural that, visiting a foreign country, they should desire to see all they could of its wonders, and even to look upon some things which it was the policy of the principal to prevent them from seeing. Whenever any of the various stories of the runaways were related, Sanford, Rodman, Stockwell, and others of similar tendencies, were always ready to point out the defects in the plan of the operators. They could tell precisely where Wilton, Pelham, and Little had been weak, as they termed it, and precisely what they should have done to render the enterprise a success. Still, running away, in the abstract, was not a popular idea in the squadron at the present time; but Sanford believed that he and his companions could enjoy all the benefits of an independent excursion without incurring any of its perils and penalties. Let him demonstrate his own proposition. Ole Amundsen walked aft, and was kindly greeted by the officers on the quarter-deck, who commented freely upon his improved personal appearance, though they did it in more refined terms than their shipmates on the forecastle had done. Some of them tried to draw from him the explanation of his situation in the leaky boat, but without any better success than had attended the efforts of others. He yielded an extravagant deference to the gold lace on the uniforms of the officers, treating them with the utmost respect. "Well, Ole, you look better than when I saw you last," said Mr. Lowington. "Yes, sir; and I feel better," replied Ole, bowing low to the "big gentleman." "And you speak English very well, indeed." "Thank you, sir." "Can you speak Norwegian as well?" "Yes, sir; better, I hope." "Monsieur Badois, will you ask him a question or two in Norwegian," added the principal, turning to the professor of modern languages, who prided himself on being able to speak fourteen different tongues; "I begin to doubt whether he is a Norwegian." "I will, sir," replied monsieur, who was always glad of an opportunity to exhibit his linguistic powers. "_Hvor staae det til?_" (How do you do?) "_Jeg takker, meget vel._" (Very well, I thank you), replied Ole. "_Forstaaer De mig?_" (Do you understand me?) "_Ja, jeg forstaaer Dem meget vel._" (Yes, I understand you very well.) "That will do," interposed Mr. Lowington. "He speaks Norsk very well," added the professor. "So do you, sir," said Ole, with a low bow to Monsieur Badois. "_Meget vel_," laughed the professor. "I am satisfied, Ole. Now, have you concluded to tell me how you happened to be in that boat, so far from the land." The waif counted the seams in the quarter-deck, but nothing could induce him to answer the question. "I have given you a suit of clothes, and I desire to be of service to you." "I thank you, sir; and a good supper, the best I ever had, though I have often fished with English gentlemen, even with lords and sirs." "If you will tell me who your friends are--" "I have no friends, sir." "You lived on shore, or sailed on the sea, with somebody, I suppose." Ole looked down, and did not deny the proposition. "Now, if you will tell me whom you lived with, I may be able to do something for you." Still the waif was silent. "Berth No. 72 in the steerage is vacant, and I will give it to you, if I can be sure it is right for me to do so." But Ole could not, or would not, give any information on this point, though he was earnest in his desire to remain in the ship. "Very well, Ole; as you will not tell me your story, I shall be obliged to leave you on shore at Christiansand," said the principal, as he walked away. Dr. Winstock also tried to induce the youth to reveal what he plainly regarded as a secret, but with no different result. Ole passed from the officers to the crew again, and with the latter his answers were like those given to Sanford and his companions. He invented strange explanations, and told wild stories, but not a soul on board was the wiser for anything he said. The waif was permitted to occupy berth No. 72, but was distinctly assured that he must leave the ship when she arrived at Christiansand. The wind continued light during the night, but at four o'clock in the morning the squadron was off Gunnarshoug Point, and not more than four miles from the land. The shore was fringed with innumerable islands, which made the coast very picturesque, though it was exceedingly barren and desolate. Most of the islands were only bare rocks, the long swells rolling completely over some of the smaller ones. The students on deck watched the early sunrise, and studied the contour of the coast with deep interest, till it became an old story, and then whistled for a breeze to take them along more rapidly towards their port of destination. The fleet was now fully in the Skager Rack, or Sleeve, as it is also called on the British nautical charts. At eight bells, when, with the forenoon watch, commenced the regular routine of study in the steerage, all the students had seen the Naze, or Lindersnaes, as the Norwegians call it--the southern cape of Norway. It is a reddish headland, beyond which were some hills covered with snow in the spring time. Ole Amundsen remained on deck all day, and had a name for every island and cliff on the coast. He declared that he was competent to pilot the ship into the harbor, for he had often been there. But when the fleet was off Ox-Oe, at the entrance to the port, a regular pilot was taken, at three o'clock in the afternoon. The Josephine and the Tritonia also obtained pilots soon after. The recitations were suspended in order to enable the students to see the harbor. Ole was wanted to explain the various objects which were presented to the view of the young mariners, but no one had seen him since the pilot came on board. All the habitable parts of the vessel were searched, and the stewards even examined the hold; but he could not be found. Mr. Lowington was anxious to see him, to ascertain whether he had changed his mind in regard to his secret; but Ole had disappeared as strangely as he had come on board of the ship. CHAPTER III. AN ACCIDENT TO THE SECOND CUTTER. The gentle breeze from the southward enabled the fleet to proceed without delay up the fjord to the town of Christiansand; and, as there was very little ship's duty to be done under such circumstances, the students had an excellent opportunity to examine the islands and the main shore. On board the ship and her two consorts the boys swarmed like bees in the rigging, eagerly watching every new object that was presented to their view. As nautical young gentlemen, they criticised the Norwegian boats and vessels that sailed on the bay, comparing them with those of their own country. The two yachts, which were not restrained by any insurance restrictions, stood boldly up the fjord, following closely in the wake of the two schooners. The course of the vessels up the fjord was through an archipelago, or "garden of rocks," as it is styled in the Norwegian language. The rocky hills in the vicinity were of a reddish color, with a few fir trees upon them. The country was certainly very picturesque, but the students did not regard it as a very desirable place of residence. The fleet passed between the Island of Dybing and the light on Odderö, and came to anchor in the western harbor. For half an hour the several crews were occupied in furling sails, squaring yards, hauling taut the running rigging, and putting everything in order on board. The accommodation ladder of the ship, which was a regular flight of stairs, had hardly been rigged before a white barge, pulled by four men, came alongside. The oarsmen were dressed in blue uniform, and wore tarpaulin hats, upon which was painted the word "Grace," indicating the yacht to which they belonged. The bowman fastened his boat-hook to the steps, and the rest of the crew tossed their oars in man-of-war style. In the stern-sheets, whose seats were cushioned with red velvet plush, were three persons, all of whom were old friends of our readers. Captain Paul Kendall, the owner and commander of the Grace, though he is a few inches taller and a few pounds heavier than when we last saw him, was hardly changed in his appearance. Even his side whiskers and mustache did not sensibly alter his looks, for his bright eye and his pleasant smile were still the key to his expression. The Grace carried the American yacht flag, and her commander wore the blue uniform of the club to which he belonged. Three years before, Paul Kendall had experienced a heavy loss in the death of his mother. She had inherited a very large fortune, which, however, was held in trust for her son, until he reached his majority. At the age of twenty-one, therefore, Paul came to an inheritance bequeathed by his grandfather, which made him a _millionnaire_. His fortune had been carefully invested by the trustees, and now all he had to do was to collect and spend his income, of which there was a considerable accumulation when he attained his majority. Paul was a young man of high moral and religious principle. He had never spent a dollar in dissipation of any kind, and though he knew the world, he was as child-like and innocent as when he was an infant. His tastes were decidedly nautical, and the first large expenditure from his ample wealth was in the building of the yacht Grace, which was now anchored near the Young America. She was a beautiful craft in every respect, constructed as strong as wood and iron could make her. As her cabin was to be Paul's home during a portion of the year, it was fitted up with every appliance of comfort, convenience, and luxury. It contained a piano, a large library, and every available means of amusement for the hours of a long passage. At the age of twenty-one, Paul was more mature in experience and knowledge than many young men at twenty-five; and hardly had he been placed in possession of his inheritance than he sailed for Europe, and, of course, hastened from Queenstown to Belfast, where Mr. Arbuckle, father of the lady who occupied the stern-sheets of the barge, resided. Six months later he was married to Grace, who still regarded him as "the apple of her eye." On his return to New York his yacht was finished, though too late in the season for use that year. Her first voyage in the spring was to Brockway, which was the residence of Mr. Lowington, and the headquarters of the Academy Squadron. Learning that his old friend the principal was about to sail for Europe with his charge, he promptly decided to accompany him, and the Grace was one of the fleet that crossed the Atlantic in April. Mrs. Kendall was dressed in a plain travelling suit. She was taller and more mature than when she went down the Rhine with the Young Americans, but she was not less beautiful and interesting. If Fortune had been very kind to Paul Kendall, she had not been so constant to all who formerly sailed in the Young America, and who had then basked in her sunny smile. The third person in the stern-sheets of the barge was Mr. Augustus Pelham. He was a fine-looking fellow, with a heavy mustache, dressed like his commander, in the uniform of the yacht club. By one of those disasters common in American mercantile experience, Pelham's father had suddenly been hurled from apparent affluence to real poverty. Being well advanced in years, he could do nothing better for himself and his family than to accept a situation as secretary of an insurance company, which afforded him a salary only sufficient to enable him to live in comfort. Augustus had completed his course in the Academy ship when the change of circumstances compelled him to abandon all luxurious habits, and work for his own living. This was by no means a calamity to him, any more than to other young men. Doubtless it was annoying to have his allowance of pocket money suddenly stopped, and to find himself face to face with one of the sternest realities of life. His training in the Academy ship had been a blessing to him, for it had reformed his life, and elevated his tastes above the low level of dissipation. It had made a new man of him, besides preparing him for a useful calling. He was competent, so far as nautical skill and knowledge were concerned, to command any vessel to any part of the world, though he lacked the necessary experience in the management of a miscellaneous crew, and in the transaction of business. He was ready to accept a situation as chief or second mate of a ship, when he happened to meet Paul Kendall, and was immediately engaged as chief officer of the Grace, at a salary of one hundred dollars a month. Another ex-student of the ship, Bennington, upon whose father fickle Fortune had not continued to smile, had been appointed second officer. Pelham had shipped the crew of the Grace, and no better set of men ever trod a deck. The barge came up to the steps, and Paul and Pelham assisted Mrs. Kendall out of the boat, and the three went upon the deck of the ship. Mr. Lowington, who had not seen them, except at a distance, since the fleet sailed from Brockway harbor, gave them a warm greeting, shaking hands heartily with the lady first, and then with her companions. "I am glad to see you looking so well, Mrs. Kendall," said the principal. "I have enjoyed myself every moment of the voyage, and have never been sick a single hour," she replied. "We have had a fine passage, and there was no excuse for an old salt like you to be sick," laughed the principal. "But I think we shall go on shore, and stay at a hotel a few days, just for a change," added Paul. "That's a good plan; of course you will see more of the town and the people, than if you remain in your yacht." "I am sure I like the cabin of the yacht better than any hotel I ever visited," laughed Mrs. Kendall. "But a change will do you good, my dear," suggested Paul. "What did you pick up last evening, when you hove to, Mr. Lowington?" "We picked up a young Norwegian, about sixteen years old," answered the principal, detailing the circumstances under which Ole had been taken on board. "Where is he now?" asked Paul, looking about him to obtain a sight of the stranger. "We clothed and fed him, and had become quite interested in him; but just as the pilot came alongside we missed him. I have had the ship searched for him, but we have not been able to find him, though he must be concealed somewhere on board." "That's strange!" exclaimed Mrs. Kendall, glancing at her husband. "Perhaps not very strange," continued the principal. "The boy refused to tell us how he came in an open boat, half full of water, and out of sight of land. Probably he has run away from his friends, and has concealed himself to avoid being recognized by the pilot, or other Norwegian people who may come on board. I judged by his appearance that he had some reason for running away from his master or his friends, for he was only half clothed, in the filthiest rags that ever covered a human being." "I should like a Norwegian in my yacht, to act as interpreter for us," added Paul. "I intended to keep him for that purpose myself, if I could ascertain who his friends were, and make an arrangement with them, for I will not encourage any boy in running away from his employers. Very likely we shall find him again in the course of the day." "Very well, sir; if you want him, I will look out for some one on shore," added Paul. "At what time do you pipe to lecture, Mr. Lowington?" "Not before to-morrow forenoon, at two bells." "I want to hear the lecture." "So do I," laughed Mrs. Kendall. "I think it is a capital idea to have a professor tell us all about a country before we attempt to see it. I used to read about the Norsemen, but I have forgotten all about them now, and I want to refresh my memory." "I wish all our boys had the same view of the matter," said Mr. Lowington. "We will come on board before nine to-morrow morning, sir," added Paul, as he handed his lady up the steps over the rail. Descending to the boat, the three oarsmen shoved off, and pulled for the shore, where they landed. The boat had not reached the land, before another barge, the counterpart of the first, and similarly manned, left the Feodora, and pulled alongside the ship. Mr. Robert Shuffles, the owner and commander of the second yacht, assisted his wife up the ladder to the deck of the ship, where they were cordially received by the principal. The yacht Feodora was only six months older than the Grace, for which she had served as the model. Shuffles had not come into possession of any inheritance yet, but his father was as liberal as he was wealthy, and gave his son an annual allowance, which enabled him to marry and keep a yacht. He and Paul had been intimate friends since they were graduated from the Academy ship, and they had made their plans in concert. He had married Lady Feodora a year before, and she had now dropped her aristocratic title, and become a republican lady. Like her husband, she had acquired nautical tastes, and was even more enthusiastic than he in anticipating the pleasures of a yacht cruise up the Baltic, and up the Mediterranean. Shuffles had not been so fortunate as Paul in finding needy graduates of the Academy to officer his yacht, and a fat old shipmaster served as first officer in the Feodora, while the second mate was a young tar, not yet of age. Having paid their respects to the principal, the young couple returned to the boat, and followed Paul to the hotel on shore. "That's the way to go about Europe," said Sanford, who was sitting on the rail with several of his shipmates. "What's the way?" asked Stockwell. "Why, as Kendall and Shuffles do it--in a yacht, with no Latin and geometry to bother their heads, and no decks to wash down on a cold morning." "That's so; but those fellows were the lambs of the squadron, we are told," laughed Stockwell. "They didn't have black marks; didn't pick upon the professors, and didn't run away from the ship." "What has all that to do with yachting?" asked Rodman. "They were good boys, and therefore they have yachts as their reward," replied Stockwell, laughing. "Pelham was as good as Shuffles, but he has no yacht, and has to work on a salary for his living." "He has the fun of it all the same, and Paul Kendall will not overwork him. But I haven't a word to say against them. They were all good fellows, if they were the ship's lambs." "All the second cutters!" shouted the boatswain's mate, after his pipe had sounded through the ship. "That means us," said Sanford. "Take your money and pea-jackets, fellows. Something may turn up before we come back." "Ay, ay," replied Stockwell. "Pass the word to all our fellows." In a few moments the fourth cutters appeared in the waist, with pea-jackets on their arms, and touched their caps to De Forrest, the fourth lieutenant, who appeared as the officer detailed to go in the boat, which now, as formally, was called the professors' barge, because it was generally appropriated to the use of the instructors. It was pulled by eight oarsmen, and Sanford was the coxswain. The party who had been considering the plan for an independent excursion on shore without incurring the perils and penalties of running away, were the crew of the second cutter. The fact of being together so much in the boat, had united them so that they acted and plotted in concert. "What are you going to do with those pea-jackets?" asked De Forrest, when he saw their extra clothing. "It's rather chilly up here in the evening, and we thought we might want them, while we were waiting," replied Sanford. "I don't think it is very cold, and as to the evening, the sun don't set till about eight o'clock," added the officer, as he went aft to the professors who were going on shore, and reported that the boat was ready; for it had already been lowered into the water, and made fast to the swinging boom. Her crew went over the side, and seated themselves in the cutter. "Ready!" said the coxswain, as the stern-sheets of the barge ranged alongside the little stage at the foot of the ladder. "Up oars!" Up went the eight oars to a perpendicular position, where they were held till the boat should be ready to go. "I wonder where Ole is," said Sanford. "Sh!" whispered Stockwell, who pulled the bow oar, shaking his head with energy. "What do you mean?" demanded the coxswain, in a low tone, for he was very much mystified by the pantomime of the bow oarsman. "Don't say a word." "Where is he?" persisted Sanford, who was not willing to have a secret kept from him even for a moment. Stockwell pointed into the bottom of the boat, and then looked up at the sky, with an affectation of cunning, while the rest of the crew smiled as though they were in possession of the secret. Sanford said no more, and joined the bowman in studying the aspect of the sky. Ole was in the boat to act as guide and interpreter, and if they chose to leave without running away, everything seemed to be favorable to the enterprise. Mr. Mapps and Dr. Winstock presently descended the steps, and seated themselves in the boat, followed by De Forrest. "All ready, coxswain," said the latter. "Ready! Let fall!" said Sanford, as he shoved off the stern of the cutter. "Give way--together!" The well-trained crew bent to their oars, and the boat shot away from the ship towards the shore. Mr. Mapps was going to the town to obtain some additional material for his lecture the following morning, and the surgeon intended to call on Paul Kendall and lady at the hotel. "This is a very picturesque town, doctor," said Mr. Mapps, as he gazed at the high, rocky steeps which surround Christiansand. "Very; and I am rather sorry we are not to see more of the environs of the place," replied the surgeon. "I understand we sail to-morrow night." "I dare say the students will see enough of Norway before they leave it." "We want to go into the interior," said De Forrest. "There is fine fishing in the streams of Norway." "Very likely Mr. Lowington will take you into the interior from Christiania," suggested Dr. Winstock. "I don't exactly see how it is possible to do so," added Mr. Mapps. "The only conveyance of the country is the cariole, which seats but one person--perhaps two boys; and our squadron has nearly two hundred students. I am afraid there are not carioles enough in Christiania to carry the whole of them." "I think it's too bad we can't have a trial at the salmon," pouted De Forrest. "Perhaps, if you waited till July, you might catch them," replied Mr. Mapps. "We should be contented with trout, then." "I have no doubt Mr. Lowington will do the best he can for you," said Dr. Winstock, as the boat neared the pier. "In, bows!" called the coxswain; and the two bowmen tossed and boated their oars, taking their stations in the fore-sheets, one of them with the boat-hook in his hand. "Way enough!" added Sanford; and the rest of the crew tossed their oars, and then dropped them upon the thwarts, with a precision which seemed to astonish the group of Norwegians on the wharf, who were observing them. The two gentlemen landed, and walked up to the town together, leaving the barge to wait for them. "Part of you may go on shore for half an hour, if you wish, and walk about," said De Forrest to his crew. "I don't care about going ashore," replied Sanford. "Nor I either," added Stockwell; and so they all said, very much to the astonishment of the fourth lieutenant, who naturally supposed that boys who had been at sea about four weeks would like to stretch their legs on the solid land for a short time. "Don't any of you wish to go on shore?" he inquired. "Not yet," replied Sanford. "If you wish to take a walk, I will push off from the shore, and wait till you return," said Sanford, very respectfully. "What's up? You won't go on shore, and you wish me to do so!" exclaimed the suspicious officer. "Nothing, sir," protested Sanford. "We don't intend to run away. We think that is played out." "If you wanted to do so in this desolate country, I would let you do it, if I were the principal. But you are up to some trick, I know." "What trick, sir?" demanded the coxswain, innocently. "I don't know, but it is your next move," replied De Forrest, as he seated himself, and seemed confident of his ability to check any mischief which might be in the minds of his crew. "Shove off, bowman! Up oars! Let fall! Give way together!" The oarsmen, rather vexed at the turn of events, obeyed the several orders, and the boat was again cutting the still waters of the fjord. All around them were rocks, with several large and small islands in sight. In various places on the rocks were affixed iron rings, to which vessels could make fast in warping out of the bay when the wind was light or foul. A portion of the rock to which they were attached was whitewashed, so that the rings could easily be found, even in the night. To one of these rings, on a small island near Odderö, which commanded a full view of the landing-place, De Forrest directed the coxswain to steer the boat. "Make fast to that ring," said the officer. "Ay, ay, sir," replied the bowman. "Perhaps you would like to land here," added the lieutenant, in a jeering tone, as though he felt that he had checkmated his crew in any evil purpose they entertained. "Whether you do or not, I think I shall stretch my legs on these rocks." De Forrest leaped from thwart to thwart, and then over the bow upon the island, as though he felt nothing but contempt for the power of the boat's crew to do mischief. He walked up the rough rocks to the summit of the islet, where he paused, and for the first time glanced at his companions, whom he suspected of harboring some design against the peace and dignity of the ship. As he did so, he discovered a steamer, which had just passed through the narrow opening between Odderö and the main land, and whose course lay close to the point of the island where the cutter was moored. He saw that the swash of the steamer was likely to throw the boat on the rocks, and grind her planking upon the sharp points of the island. "In the boat!" he shouted, lustily. "Shove off!" Sanford saw the danger which the lieutenant wished to avert, and promptly obeyed the orders. "Shove off, Stockwell!" he promptly shouted. "Up oars! Stern, all! Give way!" Stockwell gave a tremendously hard push when he shoved off, and the cutter shot far out upon the still waters; in fact, so far that she was forced directly into the way of the approaching steamer. [Illustration: THE ACCIDENT TO THE SECOND CUTTER. Page 57.] "Oars!" yelled the coxswain furiously, when he saw that he had overdone the matter. "Hold water! Go ahead! Give way!" The crew, even in this moment of deadly peril,--for it looked as though, in another instant, they would all be under the wheels of the steamer,--obeyed every command with their wonted precision. But it was a second too late to take the back track. If the boat had continued to back as at first, she would probably have escaped, for the steamer put her helm a-starboard a little, in order to favor her manoeuvre. When a collision seemed inevitable, the steamer's bell was rung to stop her, and then to back her. She struck the cutter; but as her progress had been powerfully checked, the blow did not carry her under, though it stove in the side of the boat. The water poured in through the broken broadside, and the crew sprang for their lives. They leaped upon the guys and bob-stays of the steamer, and were hauled in by the people on the bow. "Come out of there, Ole," said Stockwell, as he pulled the boat's sail from the extended form of the waif, who was concealed in the bottom of the boat. Ole lost not a moment in following the example of his companions. As the steamer's headway had now been entirely checked, Stockwell held the wrecked cutter in her position, while Rodman passed the pea-jackets up to the forecastle of the steamer. Having done this, they abandoned the boat, and followed the example of their companions. No one was drowned, or even wet above his knees, for the steamer had struck the boat just hard enough to stave in her side, without carrying her under. The Norwegians hooked up the boat's painter, and taking it in tow, proceeded on her course; for the captain--as interpreted by Ole--declared that his boat carried the mail, and he could not wait for anything. CHAPTER IV. NORWAY IN THE PAST AND THE PRESENT. "Clear away the first cutter!" shouted the first lieutenant of the Young America, from whose deck the catastrophe to the second cutter had been observed. "All the first cutters!" piped the boatswain, with an energy inspired by the stirring occasion. "That was very carelessly done," said Mr. Lowington, whose attention had been called to the scene. "The steamer ran within a couple of rods of the island," added Captain Cumberland. "I saw the fourth lieutenant order the boat to shove off; I suppose he did it to prevent the swash of the steamer from grinding the cutter on the rocks." "What is he doing among those rocks?" asked the principal. "I don't know, sir. He landed Mr. Mapps and the doctor, and was ordered to wait for them. I don't see why he went over to that island." The second lieutenant was directed to take charge of the first cutter; Peaks, the adult boatswain, and Bitts, the carpenter, were ordered to go also, to render any assistance which might be required in succoring the stove boat. The cutter shoved off, her twelve oars struck the water together, and the crew gave way with an energy which caused their oars to bend like twigs, while the barge leaped through the water as though it was some monster of the deep goaded to his utmost to escape the wrath of a more potent pursuer. "With a will, my lads!" shouted the coxswain. "Steady! Keep the stroke, but use your muscle!" "There's a job for you, Bitts," said the boatswain, as the Norwegian took the second cutter in tow. "And a heavy job it will be, too," replied Bitts. "I wonder there is anything left of the boat." "The steamer stopped her wheels, and backed some time before she struck, or there would not have been much left of the boat, or her crew," added Peaks. "Thank God, the boys are all safe." "It's a lucky escape for them." "So it was; and we needn't say anything about the boat." "The steamer is going ahead," said the carpenter. "No matter for that, so long as the boys are all safe," replied Peaks. The people in the steamer seemed to take no notice of the first cutter, appearing not to understand that it had come out for the wrecked crew. But as the boat pulled towards her, she cast off the cutter in tow. "Steamer, ahoy!" shouted Norwood, the second lieutenant, as he saw the cutter cast adrift. She made no reply, but hoisted a flag, on which appeared the word "Post," with something else which none in the first cutter could understand. "She's a mail boat," said the boatswain; "and I suppose she intends to say she is in a hurry." "Does she mean to carry off the crew of that boat?" demanded the second lieutenant, not a little vexed at the conduct of the Norwegians. "She will not carry them far," suggested Dunlap, the coxswain. "She may take them to Bergen." "I think not, sir. If she is a mail steamer, she stops at all the ports on the coast. I don't think she will carry them far. Very likely they will be sent back, on some other steamer, before night," added Dunlap, who had studied the coast of Norway more carefully than the lieutenant in command. "First cutter, ahoy!" shouted De Forrest, on the island. "On shore!" replied Norwood. "We can't catch the steamer--that is certain; steer for the island, coxswain." The first cutter ran up to the rocky island, and as soon as the bow touched the rocks, De Forrest leaped into the fore-sheets. He was nervous and excited, feeling, perhaps, that he had failed in his duty, and was, therefore, responsible for the accident to the second cutter. From feeling that he had circumvented his crew in carrying out some unexplained trick, he realized that he had led them into a trap, from which they had narrowly escaped with their lives. "What are you doing on this island, De Forrest?" asked Norwood, as the discomfited officer took his place in the stern-sheets, and the boat shoved off again. The second lieutenant declared that he had come over to the island to prevent his crew from running away, or from carrying out some trick whose existence he suspected, but whose nature he could not comprehend. "Sanford wanted I should go ashore at the town, and offered to look out for the crew while I did so," he continued. "Of course I wouldn't leave my crew; but I told them that half of them might go on shore and take a walk. None of them wanted to go, and then I was satisfied they were up to something. I went on the island for the sole purpose of watching them. I wanted to know what their plan was." "Well, what did you discover?" "Nothing at all. I saw that steamer coming, and I ordered Sanford to shove off, so that her swash should not damage the boat." "I don't believe they intended to play any trick," added Norwood. "You are too suspicious, De Forrest." "Perhaps I am; but fellows that have been at sea for a month are rather glad of a chance to stretch their legs on shore. They wouldn't do so, when I told them they might; and I don't believe such a thing was ever heard of before. Besides, they all looked as though they were up to something, and just as though they had a big secret in their heads." "Perhaps you were right, but I don't believe you were," said Norwood, too bluntly for good manners, and too bluntly for the harmony of the officers' mess. "I suppose I am responsible for the smashing of the second cutter, but I was trying to do my duty," replied De Forrest, vexed at the implied censure of his superior. "If you had staid at the pier this could not have happened." "But something else might have happened; and if my crew had run away, I should have been blamed just as much," growled the second lieutenant. "You were too sharp for your own good--that is all. But I don't mean to blame you, De Forrest," said Norwood, with a patronizing smile. "Perhaps I should have done the same thing if I had been in your place." "Stand by to lay on your oars!" shouted the coxswain, as the boat approached the water-logged second cutter. "Oars!" The crew stopped pulling, and levelled their oars. "In, bows! Stand by the boat-hooks!" continued the coxswain; and the two forward oarsmen grasped the boat-hooks, and took their station in the fore-sheets. "Hold water." And the ten oars dropped into the water as one, checking the onward progress of the cutter. The bowmen fastened to the second cutter, and recovering her painter, passed it astern to the coxswain, who made it fast to a ring on the stern-board. By this time the steamer, with the luckless crew of the stove boat, had disappeared behind an island. The first cutter pulled back to the ship, and De Forrest immediately reported to the first lieutenant, and explained his conduct in presence of the principal and the captain. He detailed his reasons for supposing his crew intended to run away, or to play some trick upon him. "I think you have done all that a careful and vigilant officer could, De Forrest; and so far as I can see, you are free from blame," replied Mr. Lowington. The fourth lieutenant glanced at Norwood. "Just what I said," added the latter, in a low tone. "If you made any mistake, it was in leaving your boat at the island," continued the principal. "Just exactly my sentiments," whispered Norwood. "I don't blame the fourth lieutenant, but I shouldn't have done just as he did." "Where is that steamer bound?" asked Mr. Lowington of the pilot, who had not yet left the ship, and was really waiting to be invited to supper. "To Christiania, sir," replied the pilot, who, like all of his class on the coast of Norway, spoke a little English. "Where does she stop next?" "At Lillesand." "How far is that?" "About two miles." "Two miles! Why, it is farther than that to the sea," exclaimed Mr. Lowington. "He means Norwegian miles," suggested one of the instructors, who was listening with interest to the conversation. "True; I did not think of that. A Norwegian mile is about seven English miles. It is fourteen miles, then, to Lillesand." With the assistance of Professor Badois, who acted as interpreter, the pilot explained that the steamer which had just left was several hours late, and would go that night to Frederiksværn, where the steamers from Bergen and Christiania made connections with the boat for Gottenburg and Copenhagen. The Christiania steamer would reach Christiansand the next evening, and the boys who had been carried away could return in her. "Why did she carry them off? It would not have taken five minutes to land them," added the principal. "She was very late, and her passengers for Gottenburg and Copenhagen would lose the steamer at Frederiksværn if she does not arrive in season," the pilot explained through Professor Badois. But Mr. Lowington was so grateful that the crew of the second cutter had all escaped with their lives, that he was not disposed to be very critical over the conduct of the Norwegian steamer. The boys were safe, and would return the next night at farthest. The accident was talked about, during the rest of the day, on board of all the vessels of the squadron. The officers and seamen on board of the ship had witnessed the accident, and had seen all the crew of the second cutter go over the bows of the steamer. They had not observed, in the excitement of the moment, that ten, instead of nine, had left the wrecked boat; and as Ole Amundsen was dressed precisely like the crew, his presence in the cutter was not even suspected. The first cutter was sent to the town for Dr. Winstock and Mr. Mapps, and in an hour or two the excitement had entirely subsided. The routine of the ship went on as before, and as there was little work to be done, the absentees were hardly missed. At half past eight the next morning, the signal, "All hands, attend lecture," was flying on board of the Young America. The boats from the Josephine and the Tritonia came alongside the ship, bringing all the officers and crews of those vessels. Paul Kendall and lady, and their friends, were brought off from the shore; Shuffles and his wife also appeared, and a further delegation from each of the yachts asked admission to the ship to hear the lecture, or rather to attend the exercise in geography and history, for the occasion was even less formal than on the first cruise of the ship. The steerage was crowded, after the boatswain had piped the call, and Mr. Mapps was doubtless duly flattered by the number of his audience. On the foremast hung a large map of Sweden and Norway. "If you please, young gentlemen, we will begin with Scandinavia," said the professor, taking his place near the foremast, with the pointer in his hand. "What was Scandinavia?" "The ancient name of Norway, Sweden, and Denmark," replied one of the students. "The barbarous tribes from the northern part of Europe at different times invaded the southern sections, conquering various other tribes, occupying their territory, and thus mingling with all the people from whom originated the present nations of Europe. Thus, in remote ages, the Scandinavians, among others, by their conquests and their emigration, have contributed largely to the modern elements of society. With this explanation we will look at Scandinavia in detail, beginning with Norway. Between what degrees of latitude does it lie?" "Between forty and ninety," replied an enthusiastic youth. "True--quite right; and a safe answer. If you had said between one and ninety, the answer would have been just as good for any other country as for Norway. I would like to have the jacket fit a little closer." "Between fifty-eight and seventy-one, north," answered one who was better posted. "Exactly right; about the same latitude as Greenland, and our newly-acquired Alaska. Our ship is anchored in the same parallel as the northern part of Labrador, and one degree south of the southern point of Greenland. But it is not as 'cold as Greenland, here,' the temperature being some twelve degrees milder, because the warm waters of the Gulf Stream are discharged upon its shores. You know its boundaries. It is one thousand and eighty miles from the Naze to the North Cape, and varies from forty to two hundred and seventy miles in width. How many square miles has it?" "One hundred and twenty-three thousand square miles." "Or a little larger than the six New England States, New York, and New Jersey united. The country is mountainous, and abounds in picturesque scenery. Precipices, cataracts, and rushing torrents are very numerous in the central and northern parts. The Vöringfos is a waterfall, and the Rjukanfos, near the central part, are cataracts of about nine hundred feet perpendicular descent; but of course the volume of water is not very large. The highest mountains are between eight and nine thousand feet high. Norway has an abundance of rivers, but none of them are very long. The coast, as you have seen, is fringed with islands, which, with the numerous indentations, form a vast number of bays, straits, channels, and sounds, which are called _fjords_ here. One of the principal of these is Christiania Fjord, which you will ascend in a few days. The country also abounds in lakes, which, as in most mountainous regions, are very narrow, being simply the widenings of the rivers. The largest of these is Miösen Lake, fifty-five miles long, and from one to twelve wide. "The soil is not very good, and the Norwegians are not progressive farmers. They cling to the methods of their sires, and modern improvements find but little favor among them. The winter is long, and the summer short; but by a provision of provident nature, the crops mature more rapidly than in some of the southern climes, as grain has been reaped six weeks after it was sowed. The principal crops are the grains; but the supply is not equal to the demand, and considerable importations are received from Denmark and Russia. In the south the farmers devote themselves to stock-raising, while in the north the Lapps derive nearly all the comforts of life from the reindeer, the care of which is their chief industry. "The extensive product of pine and fir have created a vast trade in lumber, which constitutes three fourths of the exports to the United Kingdom, and a considerable portion of the inhabitants in the wooded districts are employed in cutting, sawing, and sending to market the wealth of the forests. Next in importance to this are the fisheries, which yield about five million dollars a year. Cod, haddock, and herring are cured for exportation, and are an important source of revenue. Besides these, the roe of the cod is sent to France, Italy, and Spain, as bait for sardines. Norway supplies London with lobsters. Norway iron, as well as Swedish, is very celebrated; but the mines are poorly managed, as are those of copper and silver. "The kingdom of Norway is divided into eighteen provinces, which are called Amts. Its population, in 1865, was one million seven hundred thousand, showing an increase of about two hundred thousand in ten years. The government is a constitutional monarchy." "I thought it was a part of Sweden," said one of the students. "Not at all. The King of Sweden is also the King of Norway; but each country has its own independent and separate government. Each has its own legislature, makes its own laws, and raises and expends its own revenues. The king exercises his functions as ruler over both kingdoms through a council of state, composed of an equal number of Swedes and Norwegians, whose duty it is to advise the sovereign, and, in accordance with a peculiar feature of monarchy, to take the responsibility when any blunder is made; for "the king can do no wrong." If anything is wrong, some one else did it. Having the same king, who rules over each nation separately, is the only connection between Norway and Sweden. The former pays about one hundred and twenty thousand dollars of his civil list, and he is obliged to reside in Norway during a small portion of each year. "The constitution of Norway is one of the most democratic in Europe. The legislative and part of the executive power is vested in the Storthing, which means the 'great court,' composed of the representatives of the people. The king has but little power, though he has a limited veto upon the acts passed by the legislative body. He can create no order of nobility, or grant any titles or dignities. The members of the Storthing are elected indirectly by the people; and when they assemble, they divide themselves into two houses, corresponding to our Senate and House of Representatives. All acts must pass both chambers, and in case of disagreement, the two bodies come together, and discuss the subject. "The religion of Norway is Lutheran, and few of any other sect are to be found; formerly, no other was tolerated, but now religious freedom prevails, though Jesuits and monks of any order are sternly excluded. The clergy, who are generally very well educated, have an average income of about a thousand dollars a year, and I think are better paid than even in our own country. The people are well instructed, and one who cannot read and write is seldom found. "The early history of Norway is that of most of the countries of Europe--a powerful chief subjugated his neighbors, and united the tribes into a nation. Harold the Fair-haired, whose father had conquered the southern part of the country, fell in love with Gyda, the daughter of a petty king, who refused to wed him till he had absolute sway over the entire country. Pleased with the lady's spirit, he vowed never to cut or comb his hair till all Norway lay at his feet. It appears that he eventually had occasion for his barber's services, and wedded the lady. This was in the ninth century; and the victories of Harold drove many of the Norsemen, or Northmen, to seek their fortunes in other lands. They discovered and colonized Greenland and Iceland, and even established settlements on the continental portion of North America. Traces of them have been found on the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and some claim that they founded settlements farther south. They figure largely in the early history of England and Scotland, and even carried their piratical arms into Russia, Flanders, France, Italy, and other territories. "A son of Harold, who had been educated in England, brought Christianity into Norway; but, it was three centuries before the new faith had established itself. Like the Hindoos, Greeks, and Romans, the ancient Scandinavians had a mythology, upon which their religion was based. They believed that in the beginning all was chaos, in which was a fountain that sent forth twelve rivers. These streams flowed so far from their source that the waters froze, and the ice, defying the modern law of nature, sank till the fathomless deep was filled up. Far south of the world of mist, in which this miracle was wrought, was a world of fire and light, whence proceeded a hot wind that melted the ice, from the drops of which came the ice-giant, whose name was Ymir, and from whom proceeded a race of ice-giants. From the wedding of the ice and heat of the two extremes of the world came a cow, from which ran four streams of milk, the food of the ice-giants. While this wonderful beast was licking the salt stones in the ice, which formed her diet, a quantity of human hair grew out of them, and the next day a human head was developed, and then appeared a whole man. Bör, the son of this man, married a daughter of one of the ice-giants, and they had three children, the oldest of whom was Odin, who became the rulers of heaven and earth, because they were all good, while the children of Ymir, the ice-giant, were evil. Then, as now, the Good and the Evil were at war. Finally the ice-giant was slain, and being thrown into space, the world was created from his body; his blood forming the sea and the rivers; his flesh the earth; his hair the grass; his bones the rocks; his teeth and broken jaws the stones; and of his head the heavens, at the four ends of which were placed four dwarfs, called North, South, East, and West. Of this giant's brains, thrown into the air, they formed the clouds, while of the sparks from the land of fire were made the stars. "As the sons of Bör, who, you must remember, were the gods of heaven and earth, were walking on the shore of the sea, they discovered two blocks, whereof they created a man and a woman. Odin gave them life and souls, while his brothers endowed them with other human faculties and powers. Odin was the Jupiter, the chief, of the northern gods. He is the god of song and of war, and was the inventor of the Runic characters, or alphabet. He was the ruler of Valhalla, the home of heroes slain in battle. There is much more that is curious and interesting in the mythology of the Scandinavians, which I must ask you to read for yourselves. "Olaf II. propagated Christianity with fire and sword. He demolished the temples of paganism, and founded Trondhjem, or Drontheim, as it is called on our maps. His successor, St. Olaf, followed his example, till his cruelty excited a rebellion, and Canute the Great, of Denmark, landing in Norway, was elected king. Olaf fled into Sweden, where he organized an army, and attempted to recover his throne; but he was defeated and slain in a battle near Trondhjem. His body was found, a few years later, in a perfect state of preservation, which was regarded as a miracle, and Olaf was canonized as a saint. His remains are said to have wrought many miracles, and up to the time of the Reformation, thousands of pilgrims annually visited his shrine at Trondhjem. Even in London churches were dedicated to this saint. "Canute gave Norway to his son Sweyn, who, upon the death of his father, was dispossessed of the throne by Magnus I., the son of St. Olaf. He was succeeded by Harold III., a great warrior, who founded Osloe, now Christiania. After Olaf III. and Magnus III. came Sigurd, who, in 1107, made a pilgrimage of four years to Jerusalem, with a fleet of sixty vessels, and distinguished himself in the holy wars. His death was followed by civil dissensions, until Hako IV. obtained the throne. He lost his life in an attempt to retain the Hebrides Islands, claimed by Scotland. Then war with Denmark, the monopoly of trade by the Hanse towns, and a fearful plague, which depopulated whole sections, produced a decline in the national prosperity of Norway. Hako VI., who died in 1380, had married the daughter of the King of Denmark, and the crown of Norway descended to his son, Olaf III., of Denmark, in whom the sovereignties of Norway and Denmark were united. Olaf was succeeded by his mother Margaret, celebrated in history as 'the Semiramis of the North.' She conquered Sweden, and annexed it to her own dominions. By the 'Union of Calmar,' signed by the principal nobles and prelates of the three Scandinavian kingdoms, the three crowns were united in one person, the subjects of each to have equal rights. This compact was disregarded, and Norway was hopelessly oppressed by the ruler. The Union, however, continued till 1623; but Norway was subject to Denmark till 1814. "When the allied powers of Europe, which were engaged in putting down the first Napoleon, rearranged the map of Europe, the destiny of Norway was changed. Russia wanted Finland, and she offered Norway in compensation for it to Sweden, with the further condition that Bernadotte should join the allies. He accepted the terms, and the King of Denmark was compelled, by force of arms, to cede Norway to Sweden. The Norwegians would not submit to the change, and declared their independence. Prince Christian, of Denmark, who was then governor general of Norway, called a convention of the people at Eidsvold, and a new constitution was framed, and the prince elected King of Norway. Bernadotte invaded Norway with a Swedish army, while the allies blockaded the coast. Resistance was hopeless, and as Sweden offered favorable terms, Christian abdicated, and an arrangement was immediately effected. The constitution was accepted by the king, and Norway became an independent nation, united to Sweden under one king. Bernadotte became King of Sweden and Norway under the title of Charles XIV., John. He refused the Norwegians a separate national flag; but when he attempted to alter the constitution to suit his own views, the Storthing resolutely and successfully resisted his interference. This body abolished titles of nobility--an act which the king vetoed; but three successive Storthings passed the law, and thus, by the constitution, made it valid in spite of the veto. The Norwegians were not to be intimidated even by the appearance of a military force, and have ever been jealous to the last degree of their rights and privileges as a nation. "Bernadotte was succeeded by his son Oscar I., who gave the Norwegians a separate national flag; and he flattered the vanity of the people by allowing himself to be styled the 'King of Norway and Sweden' in all public acts relating to Norway, instead of 'Sweden and Norway.' In 1859, Oscar was succeeded by his son Charles XV., who is now the King of Sweden and Norway. In the history of Denmark and Sweden, more will be said of this kingdom. "In French, Norway is _Norvège_; in German, _Norwegen_; in Spanish, _Noruega_; and _Norge_ in the Scandinavian languages. Now, I dare say you would like to visit the shore." The professor closed his remarks, and the several boatswains piped away their crews. CHAPTER V. MR. CLYDE BLACKLOCK AND MOTHER. Belonging to the squadron were fourteen boats, ranging from the twelve-oar barge down to the four-oar cutter. In the waters of Brockway harbor, rowing had been the principal exercise of the students, though the daily evolutions in seamanship were well calculated to develop the muscles and harden the frame. They had been carefully trained in the art, and, enjoying the amusement which it afforded, they were apt scholars. As the safety of the squadron and the saving of life at sea might often depend upon the skill with which the boats were handled, the principal devoted a great deal of attention to this branch of nautical education. To give an additional zest to the exercise, he had occasionally offered prizes at the boat-races which the students were encouraged to pull; and the first cutter was now in possession of a beautiful silk flag, won by the power of the crew in rowing. Every boy in the squadron was a swimmer. In the summer season this accomplishment had been taught as an art, an hour being devoted to the lesson every day, if the weather was suitable. Cleats, the adult boatswain of the Josephine, was the "professor" of the art, having been selected for the responsible position on account of his remarkable skill as a swimmer. The boys were trained in diving, floating, swimming under water, and taught to perform various evolutions. Not alone in the tranquil bay were they educated to the life of the fishes, but also in the surf, and among the great waves. They were taught to get into a boat from the water in a heavy sea. A worn-out old longboat had done duty during the preceding summer as a wreck, in order to familiarize the students with the possibilities of their future experience. It was so prepared that a portion of its planking could be suddenly knocked out, and the boat almost instantly filled with water; and the problem was, to meet this emergency in the best manner. Other boats were at hand in case of a real accident, or if any naturally timid fellow lost his presence of mind. While the "wreck," as the practice boat was called, was moving along over the waves, pulled by half a dozen boys, Cleats, without warning or notice of his intention, opened the aperture near her keel. Sometimes she was loaded with stones, so that she went to the bottom like a rock, though this part of the programme was always carried out on a beach, where the receding tide would enable the professor to recover the boat. The crew were then to save themselves by swimming ashore, or to another boat. Sometimes, also, the "wreck" was loaded with broken spars, pieces of board, and bits of rope; and the problem was for the crew to construct a raft in the water, often in a rough sea. All these exercises, and many others, were heartily enjoyed by the boys, and a ringing cheer always announced the safety of a crew, either on the shore, in a boat, or on the raft. Many persons, and even those who are tolerable swimmers, have been drowned simply by the loss of their presence of mind. The dashing of the waves, or the great distance of the land or other place of safety, intimidates them, and they are unable to use their powers. But the students of the squadron were gradually and carefully accustomed to the water, so that they could swim a reasonable distance without wearing themselves out, could rest their limbs by floating, and were taught to avail themselves of any expedient to secure their safety. If a boat was stove on the rocks in a surf, or was run down by a vessel, the fact of being in the water did not frighten them out of their wits, for they had been trained to feel quite at home, as in their native element. They were actually drilled to confront danger in every imaginable form. But a gentle and timid boy was not pitched into the water, even after he had learned to swim. His constitutional shrinking was slowly and skilfully overcome, so that even the most delicate--though but few such ever found their way into the ranks of the squadron--took to the water as a pastime. Of course the degree of proficiency in the art of swimming, and of the acquired ability to meet danger in the water, differed very widely in different boys; but all were accustomed to the waves, and, in a measure, to leading the life of a duck or a fish. The crews of the several boats piped over the side, and took their places, the rest of the students being distributed in the barges and cutters, till only the adult officers remained in the ship. Each one, as it was loaded, pulled off, and took its station in the order in which the boat squadron usually moved. The commodore's barge and the ship's first cutter, each twelve oars, led the van, while the other boats came in four ranks of three each. All the boats carried the American flag at the stern, and each one had its number at the bow. All the Young America's boats had their numbers on a white, the Josephine's on a green, and the Tritonia's on a blue flag. The tactics of the boat squadron were many and various, which had been adopted more to give interest to the exercise than for any inherent utility. These movements were regulated by signals from the commodore's barge. Mr. Lowington had decided to make an excursion among the islands in the Fjord before dinner, and visit the town in the afternoon. A pilot was put in the commodore's barge, and Captain Cumberland, as acting flag officer, was in command of the squadron. The principal and Professor Badois were passengers in his barge. The cutters were formed in their usual array, and the two boats from the yachts brought up the rear. The signal officer, who was a quartermaster from the ship, at the order of the captain, elevated the white flag crossed with red, with which all the signals were made. The coxswains of the several boats could see this flag, while the oarsmen could not, being back to the barge, and not allowed to look behind them. "Oars!" said each coxswain, as soon as the signal appeared. At this command the several crews, who had been laying on their oars, prepared for the stroke. The signal officer dropped the flag to the port side of the barge. "Give way!" added each coxswain; and the boat squadron moved off. In order to keep the lines full, the larger quarter boat of the Grace had been borrowed and manned, and now took the place of the second cutter, which had been stove, and upon which the three carpenters of the squadron were now at work, making the necessary repairs. The fleet made a splendid appearance, with the flags flying, and with the officers and crews in their best uniforms. The people on the shore, and on board of the various vessels in the harbor, gathered to see the brilliant array. The crew of an English steamer cheered lustily, and the lady passengers waved their handkerchiefs. Suddenly the signal on the commodore's barge went up again. "Stand by to toss!" said the several coxswains, as the fleet of boats came abreast of the steamer, which was the Orlando, bound from Hull to Christiania. The signal went down to the port side. "Toss!" continued the coxswains, only loud enough to be heard by the crews, for they had been taught that the unnecessary screaming of orders makes an officer seem ridiculous, and injures the effect of the manoeuvre. At the word every oar went up, and was held perpendicularly in the air with the left hand. A bugle blast from the barge at this moment brought every student to his feet, with his right hand to his cap. "One!" said the coxswain of each boat, at a dip of the signal flag. A rousing cheer, accompanied by a swing of the cap, followed, and was twice repeated, making up the complement of the three cheers, in return for the salutations of the steamer's people. Her crew returned the compliment in like manner. At another blast of the bugle, the crews were seated with their oars still up. Again the signal in the barge was elevated. "Stand by!" said the coxswains, which was only a warning to be ready. The flag dropped to port. "Let fall!" added the coxswain; and all the oars dropped into the water together, while the flag was again elevated. "Give way!" and the stroke was resumed. The passengers of the Orlando clapped their hands vigorously, as they witnessed the perfection of the movements. The fleet proceeded up the bay towards the west front of the town, where a considerable collection of people had assembled to witness the novel parade. The barge led the way to the extreme west of the bay, where the signal flag was again exhibited, and then swung first to the port and then to the starboard. This was the signal for coming into single line, and the coxswain of each boat gave the orders necessary to bring it into range. It was so managed that each boat came into the new order as it turned to pass in front of the town; so that they proceeded in a single line before the people, but not more than twenty feet apart. Once more the signal flag appeared, with a double motion upwards. "Stand by to lay on your oars!" said the coxswains. "Oars!" they continued, as the flag swung down to starboard. "Hold water!" These orders soon brought the boats to a stand. The signal flag moved in a horizontal circle. "Pull, starboard; back, port. Give way!" continued the coxswains; and the effect of this evolution was to turn the boats as on a pivot. "Oars!" and the crew ceased pulling, with their oars all on a level, and the blades feathered. The boats had been turned half round, and each coxswain aligned his own by the barge on the right. In this position three cheers were given in compliment to the people on the shore, though the Norwegians seemed to be too dull and heavy to comprehend the nature of the movement. The boats swung again, and continued on their way, in single line, through the narrow passage between Odderö and the main land. Under the direction of the native pilot, the barge led the way among the islands, affording the students an opportunity to see the shores. When the fleet came into the broad channel, the order was resumed, as at first, and after various manoeuvres, it was dismissed, each boat returning to the vessel to which it belonged. The appearance of the fleet, including the two beautiful yachts, and the evolutions of the boats, had created a decided sensation on board of the Orlando, which was crowded with passengers, most of them tourists on their way to the interior of Norway. The crews of the several vessels piped to dinner as soon as they returned from the excursion; but the meal was hardly finished before visitors from the steamer began to arrive, and the boatmen in the harbor made a good harvest on the occasion. Among those who came to the ship was an elegantly dressed lady, with her son and daughter, attended by a servant man in livery. Mrs. Garberry Blacklock was duly presented to the principal by one of the gentlemen who had introduced himself. She was evidently a very fine lady; for she was "distinguished" in her manners as well as in her dress. And her son, Clyde Blacklock, was as evidently a very fine young gentleman, though he was only fourteen years of age. It is doubtful whether Miss Celia Blacklock could be regarded as a very fine young lady, for she appeared to be very pretty, and very modest and retiring, with but a very moderate estimate of her own importance. For the tenth time Mr. Lowington briefly explained the nature of the institution over which he presided; and the fine lady listened with languishing _ennui_. "But it is a very rough life for young gentlemen," suggested Mrs. Blacklock. "I should fancy they would become very, _very_ rude." "Not necessarily," replied the principal. "We intend that the students shall behave like gentlemen, and we think the discipline of the ship has a tendency to promote good manners." "They must live like sailors, and sailors are very, _very_ rude." "Not necessarily, madam. There is nothing in the occupation itself that--" "But I wish to know what the fellows do," interposed Mr. Clyde Blacklock. "There is nothing in the occupation itself that begets rudeness," added Mr. Lowington, giving no attention to the young gentleman, who had so impolitely broken in upon the conversation of his elders. "I see no reason why a young man cannot be a gentleman in a ship as well as on shore." "I dare say you have sailors to do the dirty work." "No, madam; our students do all the work." "Do they put their own fingers into the pitch and the tar?" inquired the lady, with a curl of the lip which indicated her horror. "Certainly; but we think pitch and tar are not half so defiling as evil thoughts and bad manners." "They are very, _very_ disagreeable. The odor of tar and pitch is intolerable." "We do not find it so, for--" "I say, I wish to know what the fellows do." "We are accustomed to the odor of them," continued the principal. "To some people the scent of musk, and even otto of roses, is not pleasant; and, for my part, I rather enjoy that of tar and pitch." "That is very, _very_ singular. But Clyde desires to know what the young gentlemen do," added the lady, glancing at her son, behind whom stood the man in livery, as though he were the boy's exclusive property. "They have a regular routine of study," replied Mr. Lowington, addressing the lady, and declining even to glance at the original inquirer, for the rudeness of Mr. Clyde in interrupting the conversation seemed to merit a rebuke. "They attend to the studies usually pursued in the highest class of academies, including the modern languages and navigation, the latter being a speciality in the course." "I don't care what they study," said Clyde. "What do they do in the ship?" "We prepare boys for college, and beyond that pursue a regular college course, so far as our facilities will permit. Our students have the advantage of travel; for, in the present cruise, we shall visit all the principal nations of Europe." "What do they do in the ship?" "Clyde desires to know what the boys do in the ship," added the lady. "They learn good manners, for the first thing, madam. There are fifteen officers in this vessel, and nine in each of the others. They are all students, who take their rank according to their merit. The best scholar in each is the captain, and so on." "Does the captain manage the ship?" asked Clyde. "Certainly." "I should like to be the captain," exclaimed the young gentleman. "Do you think you could manage the ship?" asked his mother, with a smile which expressed the pride she felt in the towering ambition of her son. "I could, if any fellow could." "Clyde is very fond of the sea; indeed, he worries me sadly by his adventurous spirit," said his mother. "I think it would do him good to go to sea," added the principal, rather dryly. "The students made a beautiful appearance in their boats to-day," continued Mrs. Blacklock. "It was really very, _very_ wonderful." "They handle the boats very well indeed, but their skill was only acquired by long and careful training. As we have a considerable number of visitors on board, madam, we will show you a little seamanship. Captain Cumberland," he added, turning to the young commander, who had been making himself agreeable to Miss Celia Blacklock. The captain asked the young lady to excuse him, and stepping up to the principal, bowed gracefully, and raised his cap. "He's a regular swell," said Clyde to his man. "He's a young gentleman as is highly polished, which these naval officers is generally," replied Jeems. Mr. Lowington directed the captain to call all hands, and go through the evolutions of loosing and furling, for the gratification of the guests of the ship. Captain Cumberland bowed and raised his cap again as he retired, and the principal hoped that Clyde would take a lesson in good manners from him. "Will you walk to the quarter-deck, Miss Blacklock," said the captain, touching his cap to the young lady, to whom he had been formally introduced by the principal. "We are going to loose and furl, and you can see better there than here." "With pleasure," replied Miss Celia. "But what did you say you were going to do?" "Loose and furl the sails," replied the captain, as he conducted the fair miss to the quarter-deck, where they were followed by Mr. Lowington and the rest of the party. "Mr. Judson," said the commander. "Here, sir," replied the first lieutenant. "Call all hands to loose and furl." "All hands, sir," responded Judson, touching his cap to his superior, as all on board were required to do. "They are all swells," said Clyde to his man. "All hands, loose sails!" shouted the boatswain, as he blew the proper blast on his whistle. In a few moments every officer and seaman was at his station for the manoeuvre indicated by the call. The students, aware that they were simply to "show off," were fully determined to astonish the wondering crowd on the decks. "Stand by to lay aloft, the ready-men!" shouted the first lieutenant, as he received the order from the captain. It was repeated by the second lieutenant on the forecastle, the third in the waist, and the fourth on the quarter-deck. "All ready, sir!" reported the several officers. "Lay aloft!" At the command those whose duty it was to prepare the sails and rigging for the manoeuvre sprang up the rigging, and in three minutes the midshipman aloft reported that all was ready. "Lay aloft, sail-loosers!" continued the first lieutenant. The seamen, who were arranged in proper order on deck, the royal yard men first, then those who belonged on the top-gallant yards, the topsail, and the lower yards, placed in succession, so that each could reach his station without passing others, leaped into the rigging, and went up like so many cats. "Man the boom tricing-lines!" These are ropes by which the studding-sail booms, which lie on the yards, are hauled up out of the way. "Trice up!" The studding-sail booms were drawn up. "Lay out! Loose sails!" The hands jumped upon the foot-ropes, and worked themselves out to their places on the yards, where they loosed the sails, overhauled the rigging, and made everything ready for the final evolution. The midshipman in the tops reported to the officers on deck when the preparations were completed, and the lieutenants on deck, in their turn, reported to the first lieutenant. "Let fall!" said the executive officer; and all, as one, the sails dropped from the yards. The precision of the movement called forth a demonstration of applause from the visitors. Mr. Clyde Blacklock stood with his mouth open, looking up at the students on the yards, but occasionally glancing at the "swellish" first lieutenant, who seemed to be the master-spirit of the occasion, because he spoke in a loud voice, while the captain, who really controlled the evolutions, could hardly be heard, except by the executive officer, to whom alone his order was given. "Lay in! Lay down from aloft!" said the first lieutenant; and in a moment more all hands were on deck again. "Do you ever man the yards, sir?" asked a gentleman of the principal. "Occasionally, sir--not often. You are aware that it requires some preparation, for we are obliged to extend life-lines over the yards," replied Mr. Lowington. "We are not in condition to do it now. If we should happen to be visited by the king at Copenhagen or Stockholm, and had previous notice, we should certainly do it." The crew were then required to go through the manoeuvre of furling sails, which was performed with the same precision as the first evolution, and to the great satisfaction of the guests, who were then invited to visit the cabins and steerage of the ship. "Mother, I like this thing," said Mr. Clyde Blacklock. "It's all very, _very_ fine, Clyde," replied the tender mother. "And the ship's going up the Baltic, and then up the Mediterranean." "Yes, Clyde." "And I want to go in her." "You, Clyde!" "Yes, that's what I say." "And be a sailor?" "I always told you I wanted to be a sailor. Didn't that head master, or whatever he is, say it would do me good to go to sea?" "Perhaps he did, but I can't go with you, my dear." "I don't want you to go with me. I'm not a baby!" protested the indignant youth. "But you are my only son, dear." "If you had forty only sons, it would be all the same to me. I say I want to go in this ship, and be a sailor." Mrs. Blacklock was appalled, and was sorely disturbed by the announcement of her son. The young gentleman insisted that he should be entered at once as a member of the ship's company. He suggested to his anxious mother that she could travel by land while he went by sea, and that she could see him every time the ship went into port. The lady appeared to see no alternative, but evidently felt compelled to yield to her son's demand. It was plain enough, even to a casual observer, that Clyde was the head of the family. Mrs. Blacklock promised to speak to the principal, but she hoped he would not be able to take her son. Before she had an opportunity to make the application, the Orlando's bell rang for her passengers to return. The sound seemed to be a relief to the lady; but Mr. Clyde put his foot down just there, and upset all her hopes. "Come, Clyde; the Orlando is ready to go," said she. "Let her go," replied the hopeful son. "But we must go on board." "You may go. I'm off to sea in this ship." "Not now, my dear," pleaded Mrs. Blacklock. "Now's the time. If you don't speak to that head master yourself, I shall do so." "Not now, my dearest boy. This ship is going to Christiania, and we will speak to the gentleman on the subject when she arrives. Come, Clyde; the boat is waiting for us, and all the other passengers have gone." "You can't fool me, mother. I'm going to sea now. I like this ship, and I rather like those swells of officers." Clyde positively refused to leave the ship, though his mother, almost in tears, begged him to accompany her. "My son won't go with me," said she, as Mr. Lowington came towards her to ascertain the cause of their delay. "If you desire, madam, the boatswain will put him into the boat for you," replied the principal. "Put me into the boat!" exclaimed the indignant youth. "I should be glad to see him do it!" "Should you? Peaks!" "On deck, sir," replied the big boatswain, touching his cap to the principal. "Pray, don't, sir--don't!" begged the lady. "Clyde wants to go to sea in your ship." "O, does he, indeed!" exclaimed the principal. "We have a vacant place, and he can be accommodated." The fond mother's heart sank at this announcement. Mr. Lowington, though his experience with students of this description had been far from satisfactory, felt that his duty to humanity required him to take this boy, who was evidently on the high road to ruin through the weak indulgence of his mother. CHAPTER VI. A DAY AT CHRISTIANSAND. "But, madam, your steamer seems to be on the point of starting," suggested Mr. Lowington, as the Orlando rang her bell, and whistled violently. "I cannot help it," replied the lady, apparently taking no notice of the steamer. "I came over here on a pleasure excursion, and now I feel as though I had lost my son." "Lost him, madam! We intend to save him," laughed Mr. Lowington. "But we have no claim upon him. If you desire to leave in the steamer, the boatswain shall put the boy on board whether he is willing or not." "No, no; that would be very, _very_ harsh. Let the steamer go. This matter is of vastly more consequence than going to Christiania. James," she added, turning to the man in livery, "you will take the boat, get our baggage from the steamer, and take it to the hotel on shore." "Yes, mem," replied James, as he very deliberately went over the side into the boat. "This will be a sad day to me, sir," continued Mrs. Blacklock, as she glanced at her son, who was whistling an air from the last opera, as indifferent as though his mother had been at peace in her own drawing-room. "I beg to repeat, madam, that I have not the slightest wish to take your son into this institution." "But Clyde insists upon joining the ship, and what can I do?" "You can say no, if you please." "You had better not say it, mother; if you do, I will run away, and go to sea in a merchant ship," added Clyde, shaking his head. "You hear, sir, what he says," replied Mrs. Blacklock, with a long and deep sigh. "That would be the very best thing in the world for a boy troubled with his complaint," answered Mr. Lowington. "I have no complaint; I'm not sick," growled Clyde. "I'm afraid you are, my boy, though you don't know it. The most dangerous maladies often make great progress even before their existence is suspected." "Nothing ails me," added Clyde. "This seems to be a very nice ship, and you say the students are all gentlemen," continued the lady, glancing around her at the ship and the crew. "If Clyde must go to sea--" "I must, mother," interposed the young gentleman, very decidedly. "If he must go to sea, he had better go with you, sir." "If you will walk into the cabin, madam, I will show you our regulations," said the principal, leading the way down the steps. Clyde followed, apparently unwilling that a word should be said which he could not hear. "I want to speak with your mother alone," interposed Mr. Lowington. "I'm going too," persisted Clyde, after Mrs. Blacklock had descended the stairs. "I prefer to see your mother alone," added the principal, firmly. "You are going to talk about me, and I want to hear what is said," replied the youth, rudely. "Peaks, remain here," said the principal to the big boatswain, who had followed them to the companionway. Mr. Lowington descended the steps, and Peaks slipped in behind him, fully understanding his duty without any explanations. Clyde attempted to follow, but the entrance was effectually blockaded by the stalwart forward officer. "Get out of my way; I want to go down there," said Clyde, in no gentle tones. "It can't be done, my hearty," replied Peaks. "I'm going down, any way." "I think not, my little gentleman." "Yes, I am! Get out of my way." "Ease off, my hearty. Don't get up a squall." "I want to see my mother," growled Clyde. "You were not invited to the cabin, and your mother was," answered Peaks, very mildly. "I don't care if I wasn't; I'm going down." "So you said before;" and the boatswain tried to pacify the youngster, and to induce him to be reasonable; but Clyde had always had his own way, and was ready to fight for it now, even though he had nothing to gain by it. Captain Cumberland was still walking with Miss Celia, explaining to her the nature of the discipline on board, and giving her an account of the voyage across the Atlantic. A group of the officers had collected on the quarter-deck, and, much amused at the scene, were observing the conduct of Clyde. As he became more violent, his sister tried to quiet him, and induce him to behave like a gentleman; but he replied to her in a tone and with words which made the captain's cheeks tinge with indignation. Finally, when he found that abuse had no effect upon the stout boatswain, he drew back, and made a desperate plunge at his heavy opponent. Peaks caught him by the shoulders, and lifted him off his feet like a baby. Taking him in his arms, with one hand over his mouth, to smother his cries, he bore him to the waist, where his yells could not be heard by his mother. "Be quiet, little one," said Peaks, as he seated himself on the main-hatch, and twined his long legs around those of the prisoner, so that he was held as fast as though he had been in the folds of an anaconda. "Hold still, now, and I'll spin you a sea-yarn. Once on a time there was a little boy that wanted to go to sea--" "Let me go, or I'll kill you!" sputtered Clyde; but the boatswain covered his mouth again, and silenced him. "Kill me! That would be wicked. But I'm not a mosquito, to be cracked in the fingers of such a dear little boy as you are. But you snapped off my yarn; and if you don't hold still, I can't spin it ship-shape." Clyde had well nigh exhausted his breath in his fruitless struggle, and before his sister went far enough forward to see him, he was tolerably calm, because he had no more strength to resist. Then the boatswain told his story of a boy that wanted to go to sea, but found that he could not have his own way on board the ship. In the cabin, Mrs. Blacklock told a pitiful story of the wilfulness of her son; that she was obliged to do just as he said, and if he wanted anything, however absurd it might be, she was obliged to give it to him, or he made the house too "hot" for her. Her husband had died when the children were small, and the whole care of them had devolved on her. Clyde had made her miserable for several years. She had sent him to several celebrated schools; but he had got into trouble immediately, and she had been compelled to take him away, to prevent him from killing himself and her, as she expressed it. Her husband had left her a handsome property, but she was afraid her son would spend it all, or compel her to do so, before he became of age. Mr. Lowington repeated only what most of her friends had told her before--that her weak indulgence would be the ruin of the boy; that he needed a strong arm. He was willing to take him into the Academy ship, but he must obey all the rules and follow all the regulations. The perplexed mother realized the truth of all he said. "You will take him as an officer--won't you, sir?" she asked, when she had in a measure reconciled herself to the discipline proposed. "Certainly not, madam," replied the principal. "If he ever becomes an officer, he must work himself up to that position, as the other students do." "But you could let him have one of the rooms in the cabin. I am willing to pay extra for his tuition." "No, madam; he must go with the other students, and do precisely as they do." "Where will his servant lodge?" "His servant?" "Yes, James. He will want a servant, for I don't know that he ever dressed himself alone." "He can have no servant, except those of the ship." "That's very, _very_ hard." "Perhaps it is, but if the boy can't dress himself alone, he must lie in his berth till he acquires the art by hard thinking. I wish you to understand the matter thoroughly before you leave him, madam." Mrs. Blacklock struggled with the hard terms; but even to her the case seemed like a desperate one, and she was willing at last to try the experiment, though she intended to follow the ship wherever she went, to save him from suicide when his situation became absolutely hopeless. The terms arranged, she followed Mr. Lowington on deck, where Clyde was discovered in the loving embrace of the big boatswain, who released him as soon as he saw the lady. "Now, Clyde, my dear, we have arranged it all," said Mrs. Blacklock; and it ought to be added that such a result would have been utterly impossible if the subject of the negotiations had been present. "I don't care if you have," replied Clyde, bestowing a fiery glance upon the boatswain, who was smiling as blandly as though earth had no naughty boys. "Why, what's the matter, Clyde!" demanded the anxious mother. "I've had enough of this ship," howled the little gentleman, as he glanced again at the stout forward officer. The complacent face of Peaks maddened him, and Clyde felt that, perhaps for the first time in his life, he had lost a battle. He could not bear the sight of the boatswain's placid features, unruffled by anything like anger or malice. He felt that he had not even provoked his powerful adversary. He howled in his anger, and then he cried in his desperation. Suddenly he seized a wooden belaying-pin from the rail, and shied it at the boatswain's head. Peaks caught it in his hand, as though he had been playing toss-ball with his victim; but the next instant his anaconda fold encircled the youth again. Mrs. Blacklock screamed with terror. "There is no harm done, madam," interposed the principal. "We don't allow boys to throw things here." "You are very, _very_ harsh with the poor boy." "And the poor boy is very, very harsh with us. He throws belaying-pins at our heads." "He did not mean any harm." "Perhaps not; but that's an unpleasant way of manifesting his regard." "I've had enough of this ship! I won't go in her!" howled Clyde, struggling to escape from the grasp of the officer. "Do you hear that, sir? Poor boy!" "He will soon learn better than to behave in this violent manner. We can cure him in ten minutes after you have left the ship." "What! whip him?" exclaimed the mother, with horror. "No, madam; we never strike a student under any circumstances, unless it be in self-defence; but if a boy won't go when ordered, we carry him. We always have force enough to do this without injury to the person." "But see the poor boy struggle!" "It will do him no harm." "He says now that he will not go in the ship." "If I were his parent, it would be as I said, not as he said, after he had ceased to be reasonable. I would consult the wishes and opinions of a boy of mine, as long as he behaved properly--no longer. You have only to leave him, and I assure you he shall be treated as kindly as he will permit us to treat him. I do not wish to influence you, but I am confident that ruin lies in that boy's path, unless he is reformed." Mrs. Blacklock actually wept. She loved the boy with a blind affection in spite of the disrespect and even abuse that he heaped upon her. It was a terrible struggle to her, but she finally decided to leave him on board of the ship, perhaps satisfied that nothing else could ever save him from himself, and her from the misery his reckless conduct constantly occasioned her. "You wished to go to sea, Clyde, and I have decided to leave you in this ship," said the poor mother, trembling with emotion. "But I tell you I won't stay in this ship," roared Clyde, as Peaks, at a signal from the principal, released his prisoner. "I can do nothing with you, my dear boy. You won't obey me, and I must leave you to those who can control you. I am going on shore now, but I shall see you again at Christiania." "I won't stay!" howled Clyde. "Good by, Clyde," said Mrs. Blacklock, desperately, as she folded her son in her arms, and kissed him on both cheeks. "I tell you I won't stay!" cried the angry youth, breaking away from his mother's embrace. "Make it short, madam," suggested Mr. Lowington. "Do try to be good, Clyde, and then you can come home very, _very_ soon," added Mrs. Blacklock, as the principal conducted her to the accommodation ladder, where the first cutter had been manned to put her on shore. "I tell you again, I won't stay! If you leave me, I'll jump overboard." "O!" groaned the weak mother. "If you do, young man, we will pick you up with the greatest pleasure," said Mr. Lowington, as he hurried the lady to the side. "O, if he should!" gasped she. "There is not a particle of danger, madam; Mr. Peaks will take excellent care of him," replied her comforter. The boatswain, at a nod from Mr. Lowington, again embraced Clyde, but did not injure him, nor permit him to injure himself. The lady was handed into the boat, and Captain Cumberland politely performed this service for Miss Blacklock. Of course the poor mother was in an agony of doubt and anxiety, but the students in the cutter seemed to be so cheerful, contented and gentlemanly, that she hoped for the best. Clyde was appalled at the situation, and one of the stern realities of life seemed suddenly to dawn upon him. As soon as his mother disappeared over the side, he ceased to struggle, for he gained nothing by it, and the students appeared to be amused by his sufferings. Peaks released him, and the victim of wholesome discipline looked about him with a wondering stare; but there was no mother to cajole or intimidate, and he was thrown entirely upon his own resources for the means of resistance, if he purposed to resist. He appeared to be stupefied by the situation, and Mr. Lowington, taking advantage of his bewilderment, invited him into the main cabin, where he kindly but firmly "laid down the law" to him. Clyde was by no means conquered, but was rather considering how he should escape from this trying position. At the close of the interview, the principal handed the patient over to one of the stewards, and requested him to see the new comer clothed in the uniform of the ship. Peaks was directed to keep an eye on the victim while the crew were on shore. All hands were soon seated in the boats, and in half an hour all the students in the squadron were turned loose in the streets of Christiansand. Though the instructors were of the party, they were not required to exercise any particular supervision over their pupils. There was hardly anything to be seen, and as a large number of the students had never crossed the Atlantic before, they wanted to know if they had come so far to see such a town. Most of the houses were of wood, but they were neat and well kept. As the capital of the province of Christiansand, the town was the residence of the Stift Amtmand, or governor, and of the bishop of the diocese. It was founded in 1641, and having an excellent harbor, it is a place of considerable commercial importance, having a population of about ten thousand. The boys visited the cathedral, which is a fine building of gray stone, and being the first which most of them had seen, it had a considerable interest to them. They observed the people, and their manners and customs, so far as they could, with more interest than the buildings, which differed in no important respect from those in the United States. Passing across the water front of the town, they came to the Torrisdal River, over which there is an excellent bridge. They crossed the stream, and walked to an antiquated church. Some of the houses on the way were very neat, pretty structures, not unlike the one-story dwellings seen all over New England. "Here's a Runic stone," said Dr. Winstock, as the captain and several of the officers followed him into the burying-ground connected with the ancient church. "What is a Runic stone?" asked Lincoln, the third lieutenant. "A stone with Runic characters upon it." "I haven't the least idea what the word means, though Poe sings, in the 'Bells,'---- 'Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme!' Runic is derived from a word which means secret; and a Runic stone is any memorial, table, or column, on which Runic characters are inscribed, as a tombstone, a boundary mark. There are sixteen of these characters, forming an alphabet, which were used by the ancient Scandinavians, and were thought by them to possess magical properties, and willow wands inscribed with them were used by the pagans of the north in their magic rites. Sticks were used as almanacs, to keep the account of the days and months, and also constituted the day-books and ledgers of the ancients. In Germany, in modern times, the baker, for example, and the purchaser of bread, each had a stick, and the number of loaves delivered was notched upon both. Scarcely less primitive was the custom of some of our American farmers, who kept their accounts on the barn door; and I have heard a story of one who, when required to produce his books in court at a lawsuit, carried in the barn door, and held it up before the judge and jury. In Denmark and Sweden you will see more Runic writings, especially in the museum at Copenhagen." "They seem to bury people here, in about the same manner as with us," said Captain Cumberland. "There is not half so much difference between things here and those at home as I expected to find," added Judson. "The houses are almost the same, and so are the people," continued Norwood. "People coming to Europe are often disappointed because they find almost everything so near like what they have been accustomed to," replied the doctor. "You will find Norway and Sweden more like New England than any other countries on the continent. But I think you will find differences enough to excite your interest and attention before you return." The students walked back to Christiansand, and having exhausted the town, went on board the vessels of the squadron, ready and even anxious to continue the voyage. The pilots were on deck, Paul Kendall and lady had returned to the Grace, and the principal only waited the arrival of the steamer Moss, from Frederiksværn, to give the order to get under way. The boats were all hoisted up except the first cutter, which was to bring off the unfortunate crew of the professor's barge, as soon as they arrived. At eight o'clock the steamer came in, and the first cutter, with the principal on board, hastened to her landing-place, to meet Sanford and his companions. To his great astonishment and regret, they were not on board of the Moss. The captain, who spoke English very well, knew nothing about the absentees, and was quite confident they were not on board of the Foldin, the boat which had picked them up. Captain Hoell had said nothing to him about the accident, but then the Foldin had arrived only that morning, instead of the night before, when she was due, and their interview had been very hurried. "Did any person in the Moss know anything about the unfortunates?" the captain was kind enough to inquire; and a passenger was found who heard some one say that a party of young men had been landed by the Foldin at Lillesand. But the Moss had left Lillesand at six o'clock, and her captain had not seen or heard of the persons described. Mr. Lowington was very anxious about the fate of the second cutter's crew, and feared that some of them had been injured by the collision, so that they were unable to take the steamer back to Christiansand. He returned to the cutter and pulled off to the Tritonia, and directed Mr. Tompion, the second vice-principal, in charge of her, to run into Lillesand, and ascertain what had become of the absentees. Without waiting for the signal, the Tritonia got under way, and under full sail, with a fresh breeze, stood out of the harbor. The other vessels followed her soon after, the principal intending to lay off and on till the Tritonia reported. The ship had been searched from keel to truck for Ole Amundsen on the day before. Of course he was not found, and the conclusion was that he had dropped into the water and swam ashore, though it was difficult to understand how he had accomplished the feat without detection. Inquiries in regard to him were made on shore, but if any one knew him, application was not made to the right persons. Mr. Clyde Blacklock had not yet jumped overboard, and during the busy scene of getting under way, he stood with his mouth agape, watching the proceedings with wondering interest. He was not quite sure, after his anger had subsided, that he had made a bad bargain. There was something rather pleasant in the motion of the ship, and the zeal and precision with which the students worked, showed that they enjoyed their occupation. No one noticed Clyde, or even seemed to be aware of his presence. Before, when he behaved in an extravagant and unreasonable manner, the boys only laughed at him. They did not beg him to be pacified, as his mother and James always did; on the contrary they seemed to enjoy his chagrin. As soon as the ship was under way, the new student was informed that he belonged to the port watch, second part, and the silver star, which designated his watch, was affixed to his left arm. He was told that he would be called with the others to take his turn on deck during the night. "What am I to do?" he asked, rather blankly. "Just the same as the others do?" replied De Forrest, the fourth lieutenant, who had the deck with the second part of the port watch. "I have your station bill." "What's that?" "It is a card on which all your duties are explained. Here it is," added De Forrest, producing the station bill. "You are No. 71; all the even numbers belong to the starboard watch, and all the odd numbers to the port." These cards were all printed; for among the various amusements provided for the students, a couple of octavo Novelty presses, with a sufficient supply of type and other printing material had been furnished. All the blanks for use in the ship were printed on board, and the Oceanic Enterprise, a weekly Journal, had been regularly issued during the voyage across the Atlantic, though a gale of wind, which disturbed the equilibrium of the press and the printers, had delayed its publication a couple of days on one occasion. Clyde read the station bill which was handed to him by the officer, but it would have been just as intelligible to him if it had been in Runic character. "'Reefing, main-topsail, and main-topsail halyards,'" said Clyde, reading from the card. "What does all that mean?" "You mind only what you have to do yourself, and not trouble your head about orders that have nothing to do with your work; for the orders come as thick as snow flakes at Christmas. When all hands are called to reef topsails, you are one of them, of course. When any thing is said about topsails, or topsail-halyards, you are the man." "Good; I understand that, and I shall make a sailor, I know," added Clyde. "I hope you will. The order will come to 'settle away the topsail halyards.' Be ready to help then." "But I don't know the topsail halyards from a pint of soup." "Here they are," added the lieutenant, conducting his pupil to the rail, and pointing out the main-topsail halyards. "Then, when the officer says, 'Aloft, top-men,' you will run up the main rigging here, and the midshipman in the top will tell you what to do. At the word, you will lay out on the yard, and do as the others do. At the words, 'Lay down from aloft,' you will come on deck, and hoist up the main-topsail. Nearly all your duty is connected with the main-topsail. In tacking, you will go to the clew-garnets." "What are they?" "These ropes, by which the corners of the mainsail are hauled up," answered De Forrest, pointing out the clew-garnets. "You will also let go the main tack. In getting under way, you will help loose the main-topsail. In anchoring, you are at the main clew-lines, and the main brace. Here they are. In loosing and furling you are on the main-topsail. In boat service, you are attached to the third cutter. You sleep in berth No. 71, your ship's number, and eat with mess No. 6." De Forrest, as instructed by the principal, carefully explained the duties of the new comer, indicating every rope as he mentioned it, and describing its use. He was prudent in his manner, and tried to give the proud youth no offence by making him feel the superiority of an officer. The lieutenant then conducted him to his mess room, and pointed out his berth. The wind was still from the southward, and quite fresh; and though the squadron went under short sail, it was off Lillesand in a couple of hours. The Tritonia, which was a fast vessel, did not detain her consorts more than a couple of hours. Mr. Tompion boarded the ship, and reported that the crew of the second cutter had landed at Lillesand, and fearing that they should miss the ship if they returned to Christiansand, had taken carioles, and left early in the morning for Christiania. There were ten of the party, and one of them was a Norwegian, though he was dressed like the others. Mr. Lowington could not imagine who the Norwegian was that wore the Academy's uniform, for it did not occur to him that Ole could have joined them. He was glad to hear that all of them were well, and able to travel; and had no doubt they would arrive in safety at Christiania. He was aware that the crew of the second cutter were rather wild boys; but as there were no large towns in the interior, he had no fear that they would be led astray among the simple Norwegians. The fleet filled away again, and at eight bells the following morning was off Frederiksværn. CHAPTER VII. UP THE CHRISTIANIA FJORD. "I should like to know where this place is," said Ryder, the second master, as he appeared upon the quarter-deck of the ship, with one of the forty bound volumes of Harper's Magazine, which were contained in the library. "What place?" asked Lincoln, the third lieutenant, as he glanced at the volume. "That's more than I know; but here is a picture of a steamer between two high bluffs of rock, and under it, she is said to be entering the fjord." "We are just at the mouth of the fjord now, and if there are any such rocks as those here, I should like to see them. Why, you see they rise above the steamer's main-topmast." Lincoln took the book, and read the description; but he was none the wiser for his labor, for the narrow strait through which the steamer in the picture was passing was not particularly described. The book was shown to the pilot, who did not know just where the place was; but after he had been told that the steamer came from Gottenburg, and was on her way to Christiania, he thought that the bold rocks must be in the vicinity of Frederiksværn. He offered to take the ship through the pass, as the wind was fair, and Mr. Lowington consented that he should do so, for in order to enable the students to see the fine scenery on the fjord, the studies were to be laid aside for the day. "I don't see where there can be anything like this," said Ryder, as he surveyed the shores. "There are plenty of islands here, but certainly none of them rise to any such heights as those in the picture," replied Lincoln. "They are bare rocks out at sea, but some of them are a little green farther in. It don't begin to be so wild as I supposed it was in these parts. Why, I have read and heard so much about the Christiania Fjord, that I supposed it was the grandest scenery in the world." "It don't look much like the picture--does it?" laughed Ryder. In a short time the ship was approaching the narrow pass. The cliffs on each side were very bold and rugged, and if the students had not been feasting themselves with grand anticipations, they would have appreciated the scenery much better. Ryder and Lincoln laughed when they compared the reality with the pictures they had. The scenery could not be called grand, though it was certainly very fine. The strait was very narrow, and on each side of it rings were fastened in the rocks, which were painted white around them, for the convenience of vessels warping out in a calm or against the wind. On the high rock,--it could not have been a hundred feet high,--at the right, was a small fort, which looked grim and terrible in its way, but which any well-ordered man of war, with modern ordnance, could have battered down in half an hour. Passing through the strait, the ship came in sight of the small village of Frederiksværn, which is a naval station, where a number of gunboats are housed in a series of uniform buildings. The town itself is only a hamlet, but as the vessels proceeded, those on board saw Laurvig at the head of the bay, which is a place of considerable importance. "Little Foerder," said the pilot, an hour later, as he pointed to a tall, red light-house, at the entrance of the fjord. "Then the land we see beyond must be Sweden," added Ryder. "_Sverige_," nodded the pilot. "I suppose that is Sweden, but I don't see the use of having half a dozen names to a country." "And this is _Norge_," added the second master, pointing to the other side. "Yes, _Norge_," answered the pilot, pleased to hear the young officer apply the Norwegian name. On the port hand of the ship was a vast sea of rocky islands, of all shapes and sizes. Those farthest from the mainland were entirely destitute of soil or verdure; but in the distance a few pines, and the fresh tints of the early grass, could be seen. "Keep her north-north-east," said the pilot. "Man the weather and stand by the lee braces!" shouted the first lieutenant. Clyde Blacklock took out his station card, and looked to see whether the order applied to him. "You are on the main brace," said Scott, a good-natured young tar, who happened to be near the new student. "There you are, on the weather side." "Who spoke to you?" demanded Clyde, dropping his card, and looking Scott in the face. "I haven't been introduced to you, I know; but I thought you wanted to know your duty," laughed Scott. "You take care of yourself, and I'll mind my own duty," growled Clyde. "All right, my lad," replied the good-natured student, whose station was at the weather fore brace. Clyde walked aft, and placed himself in the line of those who were to haul on the weather main brace. "Slack the lee, and haul on the weather braces," said the first lieutenant, and the other officers repeated the order. "Walk away with it!" shouted the fourth lieutenant to those at the main brace. Clyde took hold, and tugged with all his might; but the brace would not come away. To tell the exact truth, there was a disposition among the students to haze the new comer, and the main brace men had agreed among themselves to let him do the whole of the work. They pretended to haul, but not one of them bore a pound upon the brace. "Pull!" shouted Clyde, at the top of his lungs, as he strained at the rope. "Why don't you pull, boys?" "Silence on the quarter-deck!" cried the executive officer--for all work was required to be performed in silence. "Walk away with the main brace." "Come, boys, why don't you pull?" roared Clyde, who was blest with a pair of hearty lungs. "Silence, Blacklock! You mustn't hollo like that when you are on duty," interposed De Forrest. "Who says I mustn't?" demanded Clyde, dropping his hold upon the brace, and walking up to the officer who had dared to give him these words of counsel, which were uttered in a mild and pleading tone, rather than in those of authority. "Starboard the helm," said the executive officer. "Starboard, sir," repeated the quartermaster at the wheel. "Walk away with that main brace!" added the first lieutenant. The main brace men, finding that Clyde was at issue with the fourth lieutenant, applied themselves to their work, and the main yard swung round. "Steady!" said the executive officer. "Steady, sir." "Avast hauling! Belay, all." By these manoeuvres the ship had been kept away, and was now headed directly up the fjord. "I don't allow any fellow to speak to me like that," blustered Clyde. "I want you to understand that I am a gentleman." "Go forward, Blacklock, and don't make a row on the quarter-deck," replied De Forrest, mildly. "I'll not go forward!" "Then I must report you to the first lieutenant." "I'm willing to do my work, but I won't be fagged by any nob in gold lace." "You are making a mistake, Blacklock," said De Forrest, in a low tone, as he walked towards the angry Briton, with the intention of reasoning with him upon the absurdity of his conduct. Mr. Lowington had cautioned him and other officers to be very prudent in dealing with the new student till he had become accustomed to his duty, and certainly De Forrest was prudent in the extreme. Perhaps Clyde misunderstood the purpose of this officer when approaching him, and suspected that he intended to use violence, for, drawing back, he made a pass at De Forrest with his fist. But the latter detected the nature of the demonstration in season to ward off the blow, and, still in the exercise of the extreme prudence which had before characterized his conduct, retreated to the other side of the quarter-deck. "Enough of that," said Judson, the first lieutenant, as he stepped between Clyde and De Forrest. Clyde was very angry. Though he had made up his mind to perform his duty in the beginning, he fancied that no one had the right to command him to be silent. In his wrath he pulled off his blue jacket, tossed it upon the deck with a flourish, and intimated that if the first lieutenant wanted to fight, he was ready for him. Happily the first lieutenant did not wish to fight, though he was fully prepared to defend himself. At this crisis, the principal observed the hostile attitude of the young Briton, and quietly ordered Peaks to interfere. "Go forward, Blacklock," said Judson, calmly. "I won't go forward! I have been insulted, and I'll break the sconce of the fellow that did it," added Clyde, glancing at the fourth lieutenant. "Come, my hearty, let us go forward, as we are ordered," interposed Peaks, as he picked up Clyde in his arms, and in spite of his struggles, carried him into the waist. It was useless to resist the big boatswain, and the pressure of Peaks's arms soon crushed out Clyde's anger, and like a little child, he was set down upon the deck, amid the laughter of his companions. He felt that he was not getting ahead at all; and though he reserved the expression of his anger, he determined at the first convenient opportunity to thrash both Judson and De Forrest. He had also decided to run away at the first chance, even if he had to camp on a desolate island in doing so. He regarded Peaks as a horrible ogre, whose only mission in the ship was to persecute and circumvent him. "I'll have it out with those nobs yet," said Clyde, as Peaks left him, restored to his senses, so far as outward appearances were concerned. "Have it out! Have what out?" asked Scott, the good-natured. "I'll whip that nob who told me to be silent." "Don't you do it, my jolly Briton," laughed Scott. "I can do it." "Do you mean the first lieutenant?" "Yes, that I do; and I'll teach him better manners." "I wouldn't hurt him; Judson's a good fellow." "I don't care if he is; he'll catch it; and De Forrest, too. They insulted me." "I dare say they didn't mean to." "If they didn't, I'll give them a chance to apologize," added Clyde, a little mollified by the mild words of his companion. "That's very kind of you; but officers don't often apologize to seamen for telling them of it when they disobey the rules of the ship." "Rules or not, I'll hammer them both if they don't apologize." "Don't be cruel with them," laughed Scott. "And that big boatswain--I'll be even with him yet," blustered Clyde, as he shook his head menacingly. "Are you going to thrash him too?" asked Scott, opening his eyes. "I'll take care of him. He don't toss me round in that way without suffering for it." "Well, don't hurt him," suggested the good-natured seaman. "He'll get a broken head before he grows much older," added Clyde, drawing out a belaying-pin from the fife-rail. "I shall not be in this ship a great while longer; but I mean to stay long enough to settle my accounts with the big boatswain and the two nobs on the quarter-deck." "How are you going to do it, my dear Albion?" "Leave that to me. No man can insult me without suffering for it." "Perhaps the officers will apologize, but I don't believe Peaks will. He's an obstinate fellow, and would do just what the principal told him to do, even if it was to swallow you and me, and half a dozen other fellows. You don't mean to lick the principal too--do you?" "I haven't had any trouble with him." "But he is at the bottom of it all. He told Peaks to persecute you. I'm not sure that the principal isn't more to blame than all the others put together." "No matter for him; he has done very well." "Then you mean to let him off?" "I say I've nothing against the head master." "Don't be too hard on Peaks," added Scott, as he climbed upon the rail to see the scenery of the fjord. "I suppose all these islands, points, bays, and channels have names, just as they do on the other side of the ocean," said Laybold, at whose side the good-natured tar seated himself. "Of course," nodded Scott. "I wonder what they are." "Don't you know?" "Certainly not--how should I?" "I didn't know but you might have seen the chart," added Scott, gravely. "There's a town!" exclaimed the enthusiastic Laybold, as the progress of the ship opened a channel, at the head of which was a village, with a church. "I see; that's Bossenboggenberg," said Scott. "O, is it? Is that a river?" "Not at all. That's only a channel, called the Hoppenboggen, which extends around the Island of Toppenboggen. That channel is navigable for small vessels." "Where did you learn all those names?" demanded Laybold, amazed at the astonishing words which his companion rolled off so glibly. "My father had to send me to sea to keep me from learning too much. My hair all fell off, and the schoolmasters were afraid of me." "There's another town ahead on the port hand," said Laybold, a little later. "That is Aggerhousenboggen, I think. Let me see; here's Cape Tingumboggen, and that must be the opening to the Stoppenboggen Fjord. Yes, that must be Aggerhousenboggen." "Where did you learn to pronounce Norwegian so well, Scott?" "O, I learned Norwegian when I was an infant. I could speak it first rate before I learned to utter my mother tongue." "Go 'way!" protested Laybold. "Do you know what island that is on the starboard hand." "To be sure I do. Do you think my education has been neglected to that extent? That's Steppenfetchenboggen. A very fine island it is, too," continued Scott, rattling off the long names so that they had a decidedly foreign ring. "I don't see how you can pronounce those words," added Laybold. "They would choke me to death." "I don't believe they would," laughed Scott. The squadron passed through several narrow passages, and then came to a broad expanse of water at the mouth of the Drammen River. The students were perched on the rail and in the rigging of the various vessels, observing with great interest the development of the panorama, which seemed to be unrolled before them. "It is rather fine scenery," said Lincoln, who still carried the book in his hand, and occasionally glanced at the pictures; "but I think the artist here must have multiplied the height of the cliffs by two, and divided the height of houses, men, and masts by the same number." "It certainly looks like an exaggeration," replied Ryder. "Look at this," added Lincoln, pointing to a scene on the coast of Norway. "There's a large steamer carrying a top-gallant yard on the foremast. That mast is probably a hundred and fifty feet high, and there are hills and bluffs beyond it--which would lose by the perspective--five times as high." "Still it is very fine scenery." "So it is; but no finer than we have on the coast of Maine. You remember last summer we went through the Reach, down by Machias? That was something like this, and quite as pleasant." "We mustn't be too critical, Lincoln," laughed Ryder. "I don't intend to be critical; but I had an idea, from the pictures I have seen, that Christiania Fjord was something like the Saguenay River, where the cliffs rise perpendicularly four or five hundred feet high. These pictures would certainly lead one to expect such sights." "Horton," said the pilot, pointing to a town which now came into view, as the vessel passed beyond a point of land. It was a small place, in appearance not unlike a New England village. At the wharf were a couple of small steamers, one of which had come down the Drammen, and the entire population of the town seemed to have turned out on the occasion, for the shore was covered with people. They were all neatly dressed. On the opposite side of the fjord was the town of Moss, where the convention by which Norway and Sweden were united was drawn up and agreed upon. The fleet sailed rapidly before the fresh breeze across the broad expanse, and then entered a narrow passage. There was a gentle declivity on each side of the fjord, which was covered, as far as the eye could see, with pines. Dröbak, on the right, is a village of one street, on the side of the hill. The houses are mostly of one story, painted yellow, with roofs covered with red tile. Before noon the passage began to widen, and the fleet entered another broad expanse of water, filled with rocky islands, at the head of which stood the city of Christiania. Some of the islets were pretty and picturesque, in some instances having a single cottage upon them, with a little garden. The rocks were often of curious formation, and the shore of one island was as regular and smooth as though it had been a piece of masonry. After rounding a point of rocks, the fleet came into full view of Christiania. The city and its environs are spread out on the southern slope of a series of hills, and presents a beautiful landscape to the eye. On the left the country was covered with villas, prominent among which was Oscarshal, a summer palace of the late king. On the right was the castle of Agershuus, rising abruptly from the water. At a little distance from the town was a kind of hotel, built on a picturesque island, with its pretty landing-place, not unlike some similar establishments near the head of Narragansett Bay. At the wharf in front of the city, and lying in the bay, was a considerable number of steamers, some of them quite large. The fleet ran up to the front of the city and anchored. "This is the end of my voyage," said Clyde Blacklock, when everything had been put in order on board of the ship. "You are not going yet--are you?" laughed Scott. "Very soon." "I thought you were going to stop, and whip Peaks and the two lieutenants." "Time enough for that. I suppose the ship will stay here two or three days--won't she?" "Perhaps a week. I suppose we shall go on shore this afternoon, and see the sights." "I say, Scott, if you tell those officers what I've been saying to you, I'll serve you in the same way," added Clyde, as for the first time it occurred to him that he had been imprudent in developing his plans to another. "No! You won't lick me, too--will you?" "Not if you behave like a man, and don't peach," answered Clyde, in a patronizing tone. "I will try to be a good boy, then," laughed Scott. "I only want to catch them on shore, where I can have fair play. I'm not to be fagged by any fellow that ever was born." Clyde walked uneasily about the deck till the crew were piped to dinner, evidently thinking how he should carry his big intentions into execution. To one less moved by fancied insults and indignities the case would have looked hopeless. He devoured his dinner in a much shorter period than is usually allotted by well-bred Englishmen to that pleasing diversion, and hastened on deck again. Peaks was there, acting as ship-keeper, while the carpenter was painting the second cutter, the repairs upon which had been completed. The big boatswain was seated on one of the cat-heads, where he could see the entire deck of the ship, and observe every craft that approached her. The new student observed his position, and thought he was seated in a very careless manner. A very wicked thought took possession of the Briton's mind, and he ascended to the top-gallant forecastle. The boatswain sat very composedly on the cat-head, with his feet hanging over the water, and was just then studying the beauties of the landscape. A very slight exercise of force would displace him, and drop him into the water. "Well, my hearty, you stowed your grub in a hurry," said Peaks, when he discovered the new pupil. "I was not very hungry, and thought I would take another look at the town," replied Clyde. "What's that big building off there, near the hills?" "That may be the county jail, the court-house, or the lunatic asylum. I haven't the least idea what it is," answered Peaks, indifferently. "The professors can tell you all about those things." "I wonder where that ship came from?" added Clyde, pointing to a vessel which was standing in ahead of the Young America. "That isn't a ship," replied Peaks, as he turned partly round, so that he could see the craft. "That's a 'mofferdite brig; or, as bookish people would say, an hermaphrodite brig--half brig and half schooner. You must call things, especially vessels, by their right names, or you will fall in the opinion of--" At that instant the big boatswain dropped into the deep waters of the fjord. "And you will fall, in my opinion," said Clyde, as, taking advantage of his antagonist's attention to the brig, he gave him a smart push, which displaced him from the cat-head. But Peaks, who was half man and half fish, was as much at home in the water as on the deck, and struck out for the cable, by which the ship was anchored, as the nearest point of support. Clyde walked along the rail till he came to the swinging-boom, where the boats which had been lowered for use after dinner were fastened. Climbing out on the boom, he dropped down by the painter into the third cutter, one of the four-oar boats. Bitts, the carpenter, who had been the only person on board except the boatswain, was in the waist busily at work upon the boat, and did not observe that anything unusual had transpired. Clyde had practised gymnastics a great deal, and was an active, agile fellow. Casting off the painter of the third cutter, he worked her astern, so as to avoid Peaks. Then, shipping a pair of oars, he pulled for the shore. In the mean time, the boatswain, disdaining to call for assistance, and not having observed the movements of Clyde, climbed up the cable to the hawse-hole, and then, by the bowsprit guys, made his way to the top-gallant forecastle, where he discovered the Briton in the cutter, pulling with all his might for the shore. Shaking the water from his clothes, he hastened to the main cabin, and informed the principal that the new scholar had left the ship. "Left the ship!" exclaimed Mr. Lowington. "Were you not on deck while the students were at dinner?" "Yes, sir, most of the time; but just at the moment when the young sculpin left the ship, I happened to be in the water," answered Peaks, shrugging his shoulders like a Frenchman, and glancing at his wet garments. "How came you in the water?" "The little Britisher pushed me overboard, when I was sitting on the cat-head." "I see," added the principal. "We must get him back before his mother arrives." By this time most of the students had come up from the steerage, and the order was given to pipe away the first cutter. Peaks was directed to change his clothes, and go in her. He was ready by the time the crew were in their seats, for, as he was not a fashionable man, his toilet was soon made. The boats from the other vessels of the fleet, including those of the yachts, were already on their way to the town. The first cutter pulled to the shore; but Clyde had already landed, and disappeared in the city. As at Christiansand, Paul Kendall and lady decided to remain on shore during the stay of the fleet. They had several pieces of baggage, and the custom-house officers on the wharf were obliged to examine them, after which they followed a porter to the Victoria Hotel, which was said to be the best in the place. Peaks found a man who could speak English, and immediately applied himself to the business of finding the runaway. Clyde had been seen going up one of the streets, but no one knew anything about him. The fugitive felt that he had achieved a victory. He had "paid off" the big boatswain, and no fellow on board of the ship could believe that he had not kept his word. He walked up the street till he came to Dronningensgaden. People looked at him as though he were a stranger, and he became aware that his uniform was exciting attention. In the Kirkegade he found a clothing store, in which the shop-keeper spoke English. In changing his dress on board of the ship, he had retained the contents of his pockets, including a well-filled purse. He selected a suit of clothes which pleased him, and immediately put it on. At another store he bought a hat, and then he appeared like a new being. With the bundle containing his uniform, he walked till he found a carriage, in which he seated himself, and ordered the driver to leave him at the Victoria Hotel. He thought it would only be necessary for him to keep out of sight till evening, when his mother would probably arrive in the Foldin, and he was confident he could induce her to withdraw him from the Academy. He would stay in his room the rest of the day, and by that time the search for him, if any was made, would be ended. "I want a nice room for myself, another for my mother and sister, who will arrive this evening, and a place for the man," said Clyde, as the porter of the hotel touched his cap, and helped him out of the carriage. The young man was evidently a person of some importance. The porter, the clerk, and the head waiter, who came out to receive him, bowed low. A man took his bundle, and he was ushered to a room on the ground floor. As he crossed the court, he discovered several of the Orlando's passengers in the reading-room. He had not entered his chamber before there was another arrival,--Paul Kendall and lady,--who were assigned to the next room. CHAPTER VIII. THE SIGHTS OF CHRISTIANIA AND OTHER MATTERS. As there was in Christiania much to be seen that needed explanation, the students were required to keep together, and several guides from the hotel were obtained, to conduct the party to the various objects of interest in the city. A walk through some of the principal streets brought them to the new Parliament house, which is called the _Storthingsbyggningen_. It is a fine building, but with nothing remarkable about it. In the lower house, the students seated themselves in the chairs of the members, and Mr. Mapps took the speaker's desk. "Christiania was founded in 1624, on the site of the ancient city of Osloe, which was destroyed by fire. It is the residence of the king during his sojourn in Norway, and the new palace, which you saw on the hill, was completed for his use in 1848. The city, as you have seen, is regularly laid out, and the buildings are either of brick or stone. Formerly the dwellings were of wood, but the frequent fires caused the adoption of a law that no more wooden buildings should be erected within the precincts of the city. The place has considerable commerce, and now contains nearly sixty thousand inhabitants. "A street here is called a _gade_, and you observe that the street and its name form one word, as Carl-Johansgade, or Charles John Street; Kongensgade, or King Street; Kirkegaden, or Church Street. The same word is used in German. "The money of Norway is different from that of Sweden or Denmark. The specie dollar, which is generally called a 'specie,' is the unit, and contains five marks of twenty-four skillings each. A specie, or _specie-daler_, as it is written, is worth about one dollar and eight cents of our money. It is near enough for our purpose to say that a mark is twenty-two cents, and a skilling one cent. The coins in circulation are the mark, the two, the four, and the twelve skilling piece. Species and half species are coined, but paper money is generally used for large sums, each denomination being printed on a particular colored paper. "It is probable that the French system of weights and measures will soon be introduced in Sweden and Norway; but now a Norwegian _pund_ is one and one tenth pounds avoirdupois; a _fod_ is twelve and two hundredths inches; and a _kande_ is three and three tenths pints." Mr. Mapps descended from the rostrum, and after the party had looked at the chamber of the upper house, and other apartments, they walked to the king's palace--the first royal dwelling which most of the students ever saw. They passed through the throne room, the court saloon, the dining room, and other rooms, and some of them concluded that royalty was not half so splendid as they had supposed. But Norway is a poor country compared with many others in Europe, and it is a pity that she ever thought it necessary to spend a million and a half of dollars in a weak attempt to imitate the grandeur of other realms. There was nothing in the palace to astonish even our young republicans, though the rooms of the queen, on the first floor, were pretty and prettily furnished. The building, which is a great, overgrown structure, without symmetry or elegance, is in a beautiful situation, and surrounded by pleasant grounds, well laid out, from which a fine view of the city and fjord is obtained. Connected with the university are several museums and cabinets, which are open to the public, and well worth a visit, though they do not compare with those of the great cities of Europe. The party walked through all these rooms, one of which contained a small collection of northern antiquities. From the university the students went to a kind of garden, which is a weak imitation of "Tivoli," in Copenhagen, containing promenades, concert room, a small opera house, and a drinking saloon. The castle of Agershuus, on a hill at the southern side of the city, was next visited. Its guns command the harbor, and it is regarded as a place of great strength, for it has successfully resisted several sieges. Climbing a long flight of steps, the party reached the ramparts, which are laid out in walks, and are much resorted to by the citizens, as they command a lovely view of the fjord and the surrounding country. A portion of the castle is used as a prison, and the convicts work in gangs about the premises. "This was Robin Hood's prison--wasn't it, Mr. Mapps?" asked Lincoln, who had an inquiring mind, after he had enjoyed the prospect from the ramparts for a while. "I think not," replied the instructor. "Höyland, sometimes called the Robin Hood, but, I think, more properly the Baron Trenck, of Norway, was sentenced to imprisonment for life in this castle." "What for?" inquired Norwood. "For robbery and other crimes. Like Robin Hood and Mike Martin, he robbed the rich and gave to the poor, which none of you should believe makes the crime any less wicked; especially as he did not scruple to use violence in accomplishing his purpose. For some small theft he was shut up in this prison; but while the overseer was at church, Höyland broke into his room, stole some of his clothes, and quietly walked out of the castle and out of the town. He was recaptured, but repeatedly made his escape. Though he was heavily ironed, this precaution was found to be useless, and he was placed in solitary confinement in the lowest room of the citadel, where he was kept securely for several years. One evening his jailer told him that he could never get out of this room, and that he might as well promise not to attempt such an impossible feat; but Höyland replied that it was the turnkey's duty to keep him in prison if he could, and his to get out if it were possible. The next day the prisoner was missing, and the means of his escape were not at first apparent; but on further examination it was found that he had cut through the thick plank flooring of his cell, under the bed, and tunnelled under the wall into the yard of the prison. He had replaced the planks when he left, and passing over the ramparts without difficulty, dropped into the ditch, and departed without bidding any one good by. All attempts to find him were unsuccessful, and it was believed that he had left the country. "A year afterwards the National Bank of Norway was robbed of sixty thousand _specie-dalers_, in the most adroit and skilful manner, even without leaving any marks of violence on the iron box in which the money was kept. Not long after this occurrence, in the person of a prisoner who had been committed to the castle for a petty theft, the officers recognized Höyland. He was considerate enough to inform the authorities that his late escape had been effected, after three years of patient labor, with no other tool than a nail, while others slept. As a portion of his ill-gotten wealth was concealed in the mountains, he had the means of making friends in Christiania, where he had hidden himself. Making the acquaintance of the bank watchman, he cunningly obtained wax impressions of the key-holes of the locks on the money-chest, by which he made keys, opened the box, took the money, and locked it after him. But, like all other evil-doers, he came to grief at last. Though he was a skilful carver in wood and stone, he was not allowed to have tools, of which he made a bad use, and he was compelled to amuse himself by knitting socks on wooden pins. Unable to escape again, and not having the patience to exist without something to do, in utter despair he committed suicide in his prison." After the visit to the fortress, the boys were allowed to walk about the city at their own pleasure; and a few of the officers went with Mr. Lowington and the doctor to the establishment of Mr. Bennett, an Englishman, who fitted out travellers intending to journey in the interior with carioles and all the other requisites. His rooms were stored with books and Norwegian curiosities and antiquities. In the court-yard of the house was a large number of second-hand carioles, which are the sole vehicles used for crossing the country. A traveller, wishing to go to Trondhjem or Bergen, would purchase the cariole in Christiania, and when he had done with it, dispose of it at the other end of his route, horses between being supplied according to law at the post stations on the road. Travellers coming from Trondhjem or Bergen sell their vehicles to Mr. Bennett. In his rooms are miniature models of the cariole for sale, which visitors purchase as a memento of their tour; as those who climb Pilatus and Rhigi, in Switzerland, buy an alpenstock on which are printed the names of the mountains they have ascended with its help. The principal and his companions walked up to the Victoria Hotel, and inquired for Captain Kendall. He had just returned from a ride, and while the waiter was taking Mr. Lowington's card to him, Peaks presented himself in the court-yard. "Can't find him, sir," said the boatswain, touching his hat. "He must be somewhere in the city." "This man has toted me all over the town, but we can't hear a word of him. He wore the uniform of the ship, and people can't tell one student from another." "I am confident he has not left the city." "Perhaps he has," replied Peaks, as the servant returned, followed by Captain Kendall. "Have you lost anything or anybody?" asked Paul, laughing, after he had saluted the principal. "Yes, we have lost a student; an English boy we shipped at Christiansand. Have you seen him?" "Yes, sir; his room is No. 32--next to mine," replied Paul, still laughing, as though he were much amused. He was much amused; and that others may sympathize with him, let the reader return to Clyde Blacklock, who had shut himself up in his room to await the arrival of his mother. He had not been in the house ten minutes before he began to be impatient and disgusted with his self-imposed confinement. He examined himself carefully in the looking-glass, and was satisfied that his new clothes disguised him from his late shipmates, and also from those whom he had met on board of the Orlando. Certainly they had wrought a very great change in his appearance, and with the round-top hat on, which was entirely different from anything he had worn before, even his mother would not recognize him, unless they came near enough together to enable her to scrutinize his features. Of course none of the people from the squadron would come to the hotel, and he had not yet been called upon to register his name. He unlocked his door, and went into the long entry which opened into the court-yard. It was stupid to stay alone in his chamber. It was some relief even to promenade the hall, for one so nervous as he was at this time. If any of the Orlando's passengers came near him, he could retreat into his room. He walked up and down several times, but this soon became stale amusement. "Who's in the next room to mine?" he asked, as one of the waiters passed him in his promenade. "Gentleman and lady from America, sir," replied the man; "an uncommon handsome young woman, sir." Before the waiter could further express his opinion of the guests in No. 31, Paul Kendall came out of the room, and, seeing the servant, ordered a carriage to be ready in half an hour. "Is there much to see in this place, sir?" asked Clyde, politely. "Not much, I think," replied Paul. "I dare say you are going into the interior, sir." "Not far." "There is fine fishing there," persisted Clyde. "So I am told; but I haven't much time to spend in such sport, and I am afraid my wife would not enjoy it as well as I should. Do you go to the interior?" "Yes, sir; I intend to do so when my mother and sister arrive. My mother goes a-fishing with me." "Does she, indeed? You are from England, I suppose," added Paul, who suspected that the young man was one of those lonesome travellers eager to make a friend, and actually suffering from the want of one. "Yes; Mockhill Manor, New Forest, Hampshire." "Are you travelling alone?" asked Paul, who was full of sympathy for the apparent loneliness of the young man. "I am alone just now, but I expect my mother and sister from Christiansand to-night," replied Clyde. "Can I do anything for you?" inquired Paul, who, after this explanation, did not regard the young gentleman's situation as so hopeless. In his own travels he had himself experienced that sense of loneliness which is a decided misery, and had met others afflicted with it. From the manner of Clyde, he concluded he had an attack of it, and he desired to alleviate his sufferings; but if the young man's friends were coming that night, his case could not be desperate. "No, sir; I don't know that you can. I thought, as your room is next to mine, we might make it jolly for each other. You are an American, sir, the waiter says." "Yes, I am," laughed Paul. "But you don't talk through the nose." "Don't I? Well, I don't perceive that you do, either." "I'm not a Jonathan," protested Clyde. "I dare say you are a fine gentleman, but I can't say that of all the Americans." "Can't you? Well, I'm sorry for them. Can you say it of all the Englishmen?" "Yes, sir; I think I can of all we meet travelling. The Americans are big bullies. I settled accounts with one of them this very day," chuckled Clyde. "Ah! did you, indeed?" "I think some of them know what it is to bully and insult an Englishman by this time," added Clyde, rubbing his hands, as he thought of poor Peaks, floundering in the waters of the Fjord. "Perhaps you've heard of that American Academy ship that came into Christiania to-day." "Yes, I have heard of her," answered Paul, curiously. "I saw her first at Christiansand, and went on board of her with my mother and sister. I liked the looks of her, and fancied the young chaps on board of her were having a nice time. I wanted to ship in her, and I did so; but I was never among such a set of tyrants in the whole course of my life." "Then you joined the ship," replied Paul, who had heard of the new addition to the Young America's crew, but had not seen him. "I'm blamed if I didn't; but before my mother left the ship, a big bully of a boatswain insulted me, and I changed my mind. Yet the head master persuaded my mother to let him keep me in the ship, and I'm blamed if she didn't leave me there." "Left you there," added Paul, when Clyde paused, apparently to give his auditor the opportunity to express his sympathy for his unfortunate situation. "Yes, sir; she left me there, and she won't hear the last of it for one year," replied Clyde, shaking his head. "It was a mean trick, and I'll pay her for it." "Probably she did it for the best," suggested Paul, disgusted with the assurance, and especially with the want of respect for his mother which the youth manifested, though he was anxious to hear the conclusion of his story. "I don't care what she did it for; it was a scurvy trick. I told her I wouldn't stay in the ship, any how, and she permitted the big boatswain to hold me while she went ashore in a boat. But I knew myself, if my mother didn't know me, and I determined not to stay in her three days; and I didn't," chuckled Clyde, as he thought of what he called his own cleverness. "What did you do?" asked Paul, deeply interested. "I was willing to bide my time, and so I hauled sheets, and luffed, and tacked, and all that sort of thing, till we got to Christiania. When I was pulling the main boom, or something of that kind,--I don't just know what it was now,--one of the fellows in gold bands insulted me." "What did he say to you?" "He ordered me to be silent, and another nob did the same thing. I offered to fight them both, and I would have liked to show them what an English boy's fist is made of; but the cowards set the boatswain on me again. I would have licked him if he had fought fair; but he caught me foul, and I could do nothing. I meant to be even with that big boatswain, and I think I am," said Clyde, rubbing his hands again with delight, and laughing heartily when he thought of his brilliant achievement. "Well, what did you do?" "I just waited till the ship got to Christiania; and then, when all the students were at dinner, I found the big boatswain sitting on a beam that runs out over the water--I forget what they call the beam, but it's at the bow of the ship." "The bowsprit," suggested Paul. "No; I know the bowsprit. It wasn't that. There was another beam like it on the other side." "O, the cat-head!" "That's just it. Well, I went up to the big boatswain, and asked him to look at a ship,--or a 'mofferdite brig, he called it. He looked, and I just gave him a push, which dropped him off the cat's head into the bay," continued Clyde, who told his story with many a chuckle and many a laugh, seeming to enjoy it hugely himself, in spite of the want of sympathy on the part of his listener. "You pushed him overboard!" exclaimed Paul. "That I did, and did it handsomely, too. He never knew what hurt him till he struck the water. He swam for the bow, and I dropped into a boat, and came ashore. I saw him climb up to the deck, but I was out of his way then. Wasn't that cleverly done?" "Rather," replied Paul, concealing his indignation. "I think it was very cleverly done," added Clyde, annoyed at the coolness of his companion. "You couldn't have done it better yourself, sir." "I don't think I could," replied Paul, dryly. "And you expect your mother this evening." "Yes; and she shall take my name off the books of the ship." "Perhaps she will not." "O, but she will. Then the two nobs that insulted me on the ship shall hear from me." "What do you intend to do with them?" "I'll whip them both; if I don't my name isn't Clyde Blacklock!" "But they will take you back to the ship before your mother arrives." "I dare say they will, if they see me; but I don't intend to go out of the hotel till my mother comes. I shall stay in my room, or near it, the rest of the day." The conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Mrs. Kendall, who had been preparing for a ride about the city. Paul conducted her to the carriage, satisfied that the new scholar could be found when wanted. During their excursion he told his wife the adventures of Clyde. "But what a simpleton he was to tell you these things!" added Grace. "He did not suspect me of knowing anything about the ship. He is one of those fellows, who, having done what he regards as a good thing, cannot help boasting of it. He considers himself a first-class hero." When Paul returned from the ride, he found Clyde still walking about the hall, as uneasy as a fish out of water. "Did you see anything of the Academy ship, sir?" asked he, after Mrs. Kendall had gone to her room. "I saw her at anchor in the harbor, and all her people are walking about the town," replied Paul. "I've kept clear of them so far; but I want to catch the two fellows with the gold bands." "Perhaps some of them will catch you." "Not they! I'm too cunning for clumsy fellows like them." "I see you are," laughed Paul, amused at the assurance of the young Briton. "If I see them, I'll settle the Alabama claims with them on my own account. But you ought to have seen the big boatswain floundering in the water, sir." "No doubt it was very funny." "It was, indeed," added Clyde, as the waiter appeared, and handed a card to Captain Kendall. "In the court yard, sir," said the servant; and Paul followed the man to the place where the visitors were waiting. Peaks, as dry, clean, and good-natured as ever, was talking to Mr. Lowington. Paul could not help laughing as he thought of the confidence which Clyde had reposed in him, and that the fugitive had voluntarily, and without any precautions, told his adventures to one who really belonged to the fleet. "He has told me all about it," said Paul. "Told you?" exclaimed Mr. Lowington. "Yes, sir; how he pushed Peaks overboard, and then ran away," laughed Paul. "I don't often wear my uniform on shore, for my wife thinks it attracts too much attention; so that he did not suspect me of any connection with the fleet." "But where is he now?" asked the principal. "I left him in the hall only a moment since." "Show me his room, my hearty," said Peaks to the waiter. "Call a carriage," added Mr. Lowington. "He will make a disturbance in the streets." The servant led the way to the room of Clyde, followed by the rest of the party. All were rather anxious to see the clever Briton, who had done such wonders of valor and cunning, captured. But Clyde had a pair of eyes, and, withal, a pair of ears. From the hall where he promenaded were several doors opening into the court-yard. Perhaps the youth had a Yankee's curiosity to see who called upon his new acquaintance, and he went to one of these doors. He saw Paul walk up to the principal, and shake hands with him. There was the big boatswain too, and there were two of the nobs with the gold bands. It was evident enough to Clyde, then, that he had made a blunder in relating his exploits to a stranger. But the battle was not lost yet. His chamber was on the ground floor, and had a window which opened into Dronningensgaden. Without losing another instant, he opened the window, and dropped out into the street. He did not even wait to take the bundle which contained his ship's uniform. When Peaks entered the chamber, the bird had flown, and the open window indicated the means by which he had escaped; but Clyde had several minutes the start of his pursuers, and had made good use of his time. The boatswain dropped out of the window, followed by Norwood and Lincoln, while the principal and the doctor went round by the doors as the more dignified means of egress. Peaks went one way, and the two lieutenants the other way. Clyde, fearful that haste might look suspicious, walked a short distance, till he came to a building on which was a sign, _Hôtel du Nord_, and which appeared to be under repairs. He stepped in at the open door, and went up stairs. Men were at work in some of the rooms; but he avoided them, and appeared to be looking over the building. At last he came to an open window on the street from which he had entered. He looked out, and in the distance saw his pursuers running rapidly in opposite directions. After he had remained in the hotel about an hour, he ventured to leave, and walked very cautiously up the street. Feeling the need of an overcoat, he entered a store, and purchased one, which still further disguised him, so that if he met any of his late shipmates, they would be still less likely to recognize him. He walked till he came to a carriage stand; where, entering a vehicle, he pointed in the direction he wished to go, which was towards the king's palace. When the driver stopped at the gate, he pointed towards the hills in the rear of the city. The Norwegian looked astonished, and could not understand him. "I want to go out of town." The driver drove his horse to the other side of the street, and hailed a short, stout man, who was passing at the time. "Do you want a guide, sir?" asked the stranger. "Yes," promptly replied Clyde. "Where do wish to go?" "Over there," replied Clyde, pointing again in the direction he wished to go. "To Sandviken?" "Yes; that's the place," added the youth, who did not care where he went, if he could only get out of the city. "It is more than eight miles," suggested the guide. "I don't care if it is eighty; that's where I want to go. Are you a _commissionaire_?" "Yes. I belong to the Victoria Hotel." "All right; jump in." The man made a bargain with the driver, and in a few moments Clyde was on his way to Sandviken, confident that he had escaped any further pursuit. He had already come to the conclusion not to see his mother until after the Young America had left Christiania. In the mean time, Peaks had given up the chase. Paul assured the principal that Clyde would come back as soon as his mother arrived. Mr. Lowington did not care to have the new scholar see his mother again if he was to be a student in the Academy; but as Clyde could not be found, there appeared to be no alternative. In a couple of hours, the fugitive reached Sandviken, where he informed his astonished guide that he intended to proceed to Christiansand by land. His courier was willing to go with him so long as he was paid; and as Clyde had plenty of money, and disbursed it freely, there was no difficulty. Though the next day was Sunday, the young traveller continued his journey, and on Monday afternoon arrived at Apalstö, at the head of one of the inland lakes, where he intended to sleep; but the station-house was full. Clyde was tired, and did not feel like going any farther. While he was sending his courier to look up a bed for him, about a dozen boys wearing the uniform of the Academy ship flashed upon his view. He was astonished and alarmed. He suspected that this party had been sent to the interior to head him off. He was determined not to be an easy victim. One of the party had a good-sized salmon in his hand, which indicated that they had been a-fishing. They took no notice of him, though they could not help seeing him, and Clyde took courage from this circumstance. The fishing squad was composed of the crew of the second cutter--the unfortunates who had been run down by the steamer. CHAPTER IX. THE EXCURSION WITHOUT RUNNING AWAY. The second cutter was a wreck on the water, and the crew saved themselves by climbing up the bow of the steamer which had run down the boat. They received prompt assistance from those on board, and, as the cutter did not sink, and would not have done so, having no ballast, even if she had been cut in two, the crew were so well trained that not one of them was guilty of the absurdity of jumping overboard, and therefore no one was even very wet. It appeared to be one of those cases where both parties had struggled to avoid the catastrophe, but the more they struggled the worse was the situation. If the cutter, on the one hand, had continued on her course, she would have escaped. If the steamer, on the other hand, had not changed her course when the calamity was threatened, the boat could have avoided her. The change of purpose in each had confused the other, and rendered unavailing the attempt to avoid the collision. The boat would have gone clear of the steamer if the latter had not put her helm to starboard. But the catastrophe was accomplished so quickly that there was not much time to philosophize; and as nothing worse than a stove boat had resulted from it, there was not much reason to complain. We are not aware that any one did complain; and we only state the appearances, not the facts. The steamer started her wheels again after the cutter had been secured and made fast astern. The captain spoke only a few words of English, and Sanford found it quite impossible to hold a conversation with him. But Ole Amundsen was at hand in this emergency. "Tell him he needn't stop for us, Ole," said the coxswain. "Don't you want to return to the ship?" asked the astonished waif. "No, no," replied Sanford, in a low tone, so that some of the doubtful members of his crew might not hear him. "Where is the steamer going, Ole?" "To Christiania, stopping at all the ports on the coast," answered Ole, when he had obtained the information from the captain. "All right; we will go to the first place where she stops," added Sanford. "Don't say a word to the rest of the fellows, Ole." "The first port she stops at is Lillesand," said Ole. "Very well; we will go there." Ole explained to the captain that the boys he had picked up wished to go to Lillesand, where they could join their ship. This plan exactly suited the young Norwegian, for he did not like the idea of being landed at Christiansand, or taken back to the ship. "Where are we going? Why don't he put us on shore, or on board of the ship?" demanded Burchmore. "It's a mail steamer; she is very late," replied Ole. "But is she going to carry us off, because she is in a hurry?" "Only to a port up here a little ways. We can come right back in another steamer," Ole explained; and Burchmore was satisfied. Now, the captain had certainly declared that he was in a great hurry, and was not willing to wait for the boat which had put off from the ship; but he proposed to hail a boat which was passing, and send his involuntary passengers to the town in her. Ole assured him his companions wished to go to Lillesand, and he was too glad to avoid any delay. As the first cutter followed the steamer, it was decided, after consultation with the captain, to turn the stove boat adrift, so that it could be towed back to the ship by the first cutters. Sanford cast off the painter, and the pliant master of the steamer was glad to get rid of this check upon the speed of his boat. The boys watched the water-logged craft till it was picked up by the first cutter, and then passing behind an island, the squadron was out of view. "How came you here, Ole?" asked Rodman. "Came in the boat; but I didn't think you were going to smash her. I thought I was killed that time, sure," laughed the waif. "But how came you in the boat?" inquired Wilde. "I got in, of course; nobody put me in." "When?" "When it hung at the davits in the ship, just before the pilot came on board." "What do you get in there for?" "My education has been neglected, and I have to do a great deal of thinking to make up for it. I don't like to be disturbed when I'm thinking; so I got into the boat, and covered myself with the sail." "Tell that to the fishes," snuffed Wilde. "You can, if you wish; I don't speak their language," laughed Ole. "But really, Norway, what did you get into the second cutter for?" said Sanford. "The pilot was a first cousin of mine, and I was afraid he would whip me for making faces at him when I was a baby. He never forgets anything." "Nonsense!" "Well, if you know better than I, don't ask me any more about it." Ole was no more inclined to explain how he came in the second cutter than he had been to solve the mystery of being in a water-logged bateau, out of sight of land. It only appeared that while the students covered the rail and crowded the rigging to see the land, he had put himself into the boat. When the hands were called to man the braces, he, having no duty to perform, had not answered the call, and was left alone in the cutter. At sea, every precaution was taken to provide for the safety of the crew in case of any calamity. Each boat was provided with a sail, a mast, a compass, and several breakers of water, and a quantity of provisions was ready to be put in when needed. Ole stowed himself beneath the sail, which lay under the middle board, extending fore and aft. Before De Forrest took his place in the stern-sheets, Stockwell had discovered the absentee, and communicated the fact of his presence to those near him. The crew of the second cutter were entirely willing to keep his secret, as they were that of any one who needed their help. Among such boys it was regarded as dishonorable in the highest degree to betray any one; and, indeed, the principal discountenanced anything like "tale-bearing," to which the students gave a very liberal construction. Sanford had proposed that De Forrest should take a walk on shore, in order to give Ole an opportunity to escape from his confinement, which, on account of the singular obstinacy and suspicion of that officer, had threatened to be indefinitely continued, till the collision came to his aid. "How's this?" said Stockwell, as he seated himself by the side of the coxswain, on one of the settees on the quarter-deck of the steamer. "How's what?" asked Sanford. "It seems to me that we are clear of the ship, and without running away." "Don't say a word. We got spilled out the boat, and it was not our doing. We obeyed De Forrest's orders to the very letter, so that no fault can be found with us." "Of course not." "If De Forrest had not ordered me to shove off, I shouldn't have done so." "Then the boat might have been ground up on the rocks." "Do you see anything green in my eye?" replied Sanford, suggestively. "You don't mean to say that you smashed the boat on purpose?" "Certainly I don't mean to _say_ anything of the sort. I obey orders if I break owners, or boats either, for that matter." "What are you going to do next?" "I don't know. The programme is to go back in the steamer that returns to Christiansand to-morrow night." "O, then you mean to go back." "Your head's as thick as the broadside of an iron-clad. Of course I mean to go back." "Immediately?" "In the next boat." Stockwell did not exactly like the sharp way with which Sanford dealt with his innocence. Certainly the coxswain and himself had talked about an excursion to the interior of Norway without running away; but now, though the circumstances favored the plan, his friend plainly announced his intention to return to Christiansand and join the ship. But it could be said of the coxswain that his ways were dark, and Stockwell was more inclined to wait than to question him. In two hours the steamer arrived at Lillesand, and the party went on shore. The place was only a small village, but they found accommodations for the night. "What time does the steamer for Christiansand leave this place?" asked Sanford, as the party gathered at the station-house, which is the hotel, post-office, and establishment for furnishing horses to travellers. "To-morrow evening," replied Ole. "To-morrow evening!" exclaimed the coxswain. "That will never do! What time?" "About eight o'clock," answered the waif, whose devotion to the truth did not prevent him from stating the time two hours later than the fact warranted. "She may be two or three hours later." "The squadron sails for Christiania to-morrow afternoon," added Sanford. "The ship will be gone before we can get there." "She will not go without us," suggested Burchmore. "Yes, she will," said Stockwell, who was beginning to fathom the dark ways of the coxswain. "The principal will suppose we have gone on to Christiania." "That's so." "But what are we to do?" demanded Tinckner. "That's the question," added Sanford, with a blank look, as though he considered the situation as utterly hopeless. "We are not so badly off as we might be," said Boyden. "I don't see how it could be any worse," replied Sanford. "But I don't know that it is our fault. The captain of the steamer would not stop, after he had picked us up; at least, I don't know anything about it; but Ole said he wouldn't stop." "He could not stop," protested the waif, vehemently. "He had only just time enough to reach Frederiksværn in season for the other steamer. If he lost her, he would be turned off. He wouldn't stop for love or money." "No matter, for that; here we are, and what are we going to do? It's no use to cry for spilled milk," continued Stockwell. "The ship will go to Christiania, and won't come near this place. Mr. Lowington will expect to find us there when he arrives, and all we have to do is to make good his calculation. We have plenty of money, and we can get there somehow or other." Involuntarily, every fellow put his hands into his pocket; and then, if not before, they recalled the suggestion of the coxswain, made before they took their places in the cutter, that they should bring their money and their pea-jackets; but then, it seemed simply absurd that the boat had been smashed by his contrivance. "Was it for this, Sanford, that you told us to bring our money?" said Burchmore. "I should say a fellow ought always to carry his money with him. No one can tell what will happen to him when he goes away from the ship," replied the coxswain. "You can see that it's lucky you have it with you. We might have to spend the summer here if we had no money. When will a steamer go from here to Christiania, Norway?" "Next Friday--just a week from to-day," replied the Norwegian, very seriously. "A week!" exclaimed Burchmore. "That is not long; a week is soon gone." "But we can't stay here a week," protested Tinckner. "I don't want to do it," added Sanford; "but if we have to do it, I suppose I can stand it as well as the rest of you." "We can't any of us stand it," said Wilde. "Who's going to stay a week in such a place as this? I'm not, for one. I'll swim up to Christiansand first." "Can't we hire a boat, and go back to Christiansand?" Burchmore proposed. "It is not more than twenty miles, and it would be a fine sail among these beautiful islands." "All right; look up a boat, Norway," replied Sanford, as though entirely willing to adopt this plan. Ole walked about the place for half an hour, accompanied by three of the boys. Perhaps he was careful not to find what he wanted; at any rate, no boat seemed to be available for the purpose desired, and when the excursionists met again, it was reported that no boat suitable for the accommodation of the party could be found. "Then can't we engage horses, and go round to Christiansand by land?" inquired Burchmore. "In carioles?" queried Ole, with an odd smile. "Carioles or wagons; anything we can find." "You can, but it will take you a day and a half," replied Ole. "A day and a half to go twenty miles." "About seventy miles by land," added Ole. "You must go almost up to the north pole before you can cross the river." "O, nonsense!" exclaimed Burchmore, who could not help feeling that Ole was not altogether reliable on his figures and facts. "If you don't believe it, go and ask the postmaster, or any one in the town," continued the waif. "That's all very well to talk about asking any one, when no one speaks a syllable of English." "I will do the talking for you." "Of course you will; you have done it all thus far." "I don't mean to say that you must really double the north pole, or that it is just seventy miles by land; but it's a long distance," Ole explained. "No matter how far it is; we will go," added the pliant coxswain. "I'm willing to do whatever the fellows wish. It shall not be said that I was mulish." "But if it is seventy miles, or anything like it, we couldn't get to Christiansand before the ship left." "That's just what I was thinking," answered Sanford, with a puzzled expression on his face. "Ole says it is a long way, and I have been told that these Norwegians are very honest, and will not lie; so I suppose he has told the truth." It was barely possible that the waif had learned to lie in England, where he had acquired his English. "I suppose we must give up the idea of going in a boat, or going by land. We can only wait till the steamer comes," continued Burchmore, putting on a very long face. "We can't stand that," protested Wilde. "Well, what are you going to do?" demanded Burchmore. "Can't you tell us, Norway?" said Tinckner. "I know what I should do if I were in your situation, and wanted to make a sure thing of it." "Well, what?" asked Burchmore, gathering a hope from the words of the waif. "I should go to Christiania." "But how?" "By land, of course." "It's up by the north pole." "It is about a hundred and fifty miles from here by water, and it can't be any more by land," said Sanford. "But I don't care what you do; I will do as the others say." "I like the idea," added Stockwell. "It is the only safe thing we can do. If we go back to Christiansand, we shall be too late for the ship. If we wait for a steamer to Christiania, she will be gone when we get there." "How much will it cost to go to Christiania in this way?" inquired Wilde, who did not feel quite sure that his funds would stand such a drain. "Here are the prices in the post-house," said Ole, as he led the way to a partition on which the posting was put up. "For one mile, one mark six skillings." "We know all about it now," laughed Rodman. "What's a mark, and what's a skilling?" "Twenty-four skillings make a mark, and a skilling is about a halfpenny English," Ole explained. "About a cent of our money," continued Rodman. "One mark and six skillings would be thirty skillings, or about thirty cents." "That will never do," interposed Wilde, shaking his head. "One hundred and fifty miles, at thirty cents a mile, would be forty-five dollars; and I suppose we have to pay for our grub besides." "It would come to ten or twelve pounds, and Wilde has only ten pounds," added Rodman. "No, no; you are all wrong. That means a Norwegian mile--about seven of ours. It would be only four and two sevenths cents a mile; say, six or seven dollars to Christiania; and the grub would cost as much more," said Stockwell. "Three pounds will cover the whole expense, and that won't break any body." After considerable discussion, it was agreed to adopt the plan proposed, and Ole was instructed to make the necessary arrangements with the station-master. The party went out to the stable to examine the carioles. They were a kind of gig, without any hood or top, with a small board behind, on which stands or sits the boy who drives the team back to the station after it has left the passenger. Tourists generally purchase the carioles in which they ride, and are not bothered with the boys. The students were not very nice about their accommodations; and finding that when two persons went in the same vehicle only half a fare extra was charged, they decided to engage but five carioles. As the law did not require the station-master to keep this number of horses in waiting, it was necessary to send "forbud" before the party started. This was an order to all the stations on the road to have five horses ready, and may be forwarded by mail or by special messenger, the expense of which was paid by the young tourists. It was solemnly agreed that the expense should be equally divided, and Burchmore was elected cashier and paymaster. With the assistance of Ole, he changed twelve pounds into Norwegian money, and found himself heavily loaded with the small coins of the country, which would be needed in making change at the stations. After all this important business had been disposed of, the party walked all over the town and its suburbs, and were duly stared at by the astonished people. "We ought to write a letter to Mr. Lowington, and tell him how we are situated," suggested Churchill, as they were returning to the station. "Exactly so; and carry it to him ourselves," replied Stockwell. "I move you that Burchmore be appointed bearer of despatches." "I mean to have the letter sent by mail," added Churchill. "We shall be in Christiania as soon as any mail, if there is no steamer for a week," said Sanford. "True; I didn't think of that," continued the proposer of this precaution. "The principal will be worried about us." "Let him worry," replied the coxswain; "that is, we can't do anything to relieve his mind." "I don't see that we can," added Churchill. For the want of something better to do, the students turned in at an early hour in the evening, and turned out at an early hour in the morning. They all slept in the same room, some of them in beds, and the rest on the floor; but those who slept on the floor were just as well satisfied as those who slept in the beds. After a breakfast consisting mainly of fish, they piled into the carioles. They were all in exceedingly jolly humor, and seated themselves in and on the vehicles in various uncouth postures. One boy in each cariole was to drive the horse, and he was carefully instructed to do nothing but simply hold the reins, and let the well-informed animal have his own way. The horses were rather small, and very shaggy beasts; but they went off at a lively pace. At the first hill they insisted upon walking up, and most of the boys followed their example. Behind three of the carioles were the small boys who were to bring the teams back. These juvenile Norwegians were as sober and dignified as though they had been members of the Storthing, refusing to laugh at any of the wild tantrums of the crazy students. At the first station, where the road from Lillesand joins that from Christiansand to the north, the horses ordered by "forbud" were in readiness, and the party had only to pass from one set of carioles to another. The grim post-boys did smile faintly when they received their perquisites, and others, just as immovable, took their places for the next post. The road now lay along the banks of a considerable river, and the scenery was rather interesting, though by no means grand. They passed an occasional farm; but generally the buildings were of the rudest and shabbiest description, though occasionally there was a neat residence, painted white or yellow, with roof of red tile. The boys walked up all the hills, leaving the sagacious horses to take care of themselves. All the students voted that it was jolly to travel in this manner, and there was no end to the sky-larking and racing on the road. At noon, they stopped long enough to dine, and at night found themselves at Tvetsund, at the foot of Nisser Lake, where they lodged. As this was as far as they had sent their "forbud," they decided to proceed by boat through the lake, a distance of about twenty miles. The next day was Sunday, which was always observed with great strictness on board of the ship, no play and no unnecessary work being permitted. There was a little church in the village, but none but Ole could understand a word of the preacher's prayer or sermon; so that the students voted it would be useless for them to go there. Four of the party, still controlled by the influences which prevailed on board of the ship, did not wish to travel on Sunday; but when it was represented that the ship might leave Christiania before the party arrived, they yielded to the wishes of the other five, and procuring boats, they proceeded on their way. At the head of the lake they took the road, and walked about seven miles to Apalstö. "We are stuck here," said Sanford, after they had taken supper at the station-house. "This posting is a first-class fraud." "Why, what's the matter?" demanded Burchmore, alarmed by the manner of the coxswain. "No horses to be had till Tuesday morning." "That's a fraud." "Well, it can't be helped," added Sanford, philosophically. "I'm willing to walk, if the rest of the fellows say so." "We can't walk to Christiania." "That's so; and we should not find any more horses at the next station than here. Norway says we didn't send 'forbud,' which must be done when more than three horses are wanted." "Why didn't Ole send 'forbud,' then?" "He said we had better go by boat part of the way; it would be easier. But part of us can take the three horses that are ready, and go on with them." "I don't believe in separating." "We are only a day and a half from Christiania, and we shall arrive by Wednesday noon. The ship won't leave before that time." So Burchmore was persuaded to submit to his fate like a philosopher, which, however, was not considered very hard, when it was announced that there was excellent fishing in the vicinity. It is to be feared that Ole and the coxswain had created this hinderance themselves, for the law of the country allows only three hours' delay in the furnishing of horses. The farmers are compelled to supply them, and doubtless twenty could have been provided in the time allowed, though the young tourists were able to give twelve hours' notice. This, however, did not suit the coxswain's purposes, and as he and Ole had occupied the same cariole, there was no want of concert in their words and actions. On Monday the students went a-fishing, paying a small sum for a license to do so, though this is not necessary in all parts of Norway. The united catch of the whole party was one salmon, taken by Burchmore, and weighing about eight pounds. It was voted by the party, before this result was reached, in the middle of the afternoon, that fishing in Norway was "a first-class fraud." We heard of a party of three, who fished two weeks, and caught eight salmon, though this want of luck is the exception, rather than the rule, in the north. As the party returned from their excursion, bearing the single trophy of their patience, Clyde Blacklock discovered them. He was alarmed at first, but when he recognized no one among them whom he had seen on board of the ship, he concluded they did not belong to her. "Good evening, sir," said he, addressing Sanford, who seemed to be the chief of the excursionists. "You have been a-fishing?" "Yes; and ten of us have one fish to show for a whole day's work," laughed the coxswain. "Poor luck; but you seem to be sailors," continued the Briton. "We belong to the ship Young America." "Ah, indeed!" "That's so." In half an hour Clyde and Sanford were on excellent terms. The former, when he learned that his new acquaintance had not been sent after him, was quite communicative, and even told the story of his experience on board of the ship, and of his escape from bondage. Sanford laughed, and seemed to enjoy the narrative; but straightway the coxswain began to tremble when he learned that Clyde had with him a Norwegian who spoke English. It was necessary to get rid of so dangerous a person without any delay. The Briton liked Sanford so well that he was not willing to leave him; and, indeed, the whole party were so jolly that he desired to join his fortunes with theirs. Sanford wrote a brief letter to Mr. Lowington, stating the misfortunes of the party, and that they expected to arrive in Christiania on Wednesday or Thursday. "Now, Mr. ----, I don't know your name," said Sanford, when he found Clyde, after he had written the epistle. "Blacklock," replied the Briton--"Clyde Blacklock." "Well, Blacklock, if you want an up-and-down good time, come with us." "Where? To Christiania? into the lion's den?" "Not yet, but--don't open your mouth; don't let on for the world," whispered the coxswain, glancing at his companions. "Not a word," added Clyde, satisfied he had found the right friend. "We are going to the Rjukanfos to-morrow, but only one or two of us know it yet. Your man will spoil all. Send him back to Christiania this very afternoon. Here's a blind for him; let him take this letter." Clyde liked plotting and mischief, and as soon as his guide had eaten his supper, he was started for his home in the capital, glad enough to go, for he had been paid for all the time agreed upon; and Sanford ceased to tremble lest he should expose to his companions the mistake in regard to horses, or another blunder which was to be made the next morning. CHAPTER X. GOTTENBURG AND FINKEL. On Saturday night, as Clyde had anticipated, his mother arrived at Christiania; and the people at the Victoria informed her of the disappearance of her son. The next morning she hastened on board of the ship, and heard the principal's story. Mrs. Blacklock wept bitterly, and was fearful that her darling boy was forever lost; but Mr. Lowington assured her that no serious harm could befall him. He spoke very plainly to her in regard to Clyde's character and his ungovernable passions, assuring her that he must certainly come to an evil end within a few years, if he was not restrained and controlled. The poor mother felt the truth of all he said, and was willing that he should continue the beneficent work upon which he had commenced. She spent the forenoon on board, and was introduced to Kendall and Shuffles and their ladies. The principal illustrated what he had said about Clyde by relating the history of the present captain and owner of the Feodora, and Mrs. Blacklock went away even hopeful that her boy might yet be saved to her. On Monday, the first secular day of the month, the new list of officers was announced in each vessel of the squadron. The changes on board of the ship were not very violent, though the third lieutenant became captain, while Cumberland became the commodore. "I congratulate you, Captain Lincoln," said Dr. Winstock to the new commander, when he appeared in the uniform of his new rank. "Thank you, sir," replied Lincoln. "I have been satisfied for some time that you would attain this position." "I am only sorry to be promoted over Judson and Norwood, for they have always been good friends of mine." "If they are good and true friends they will rejoice at your success, though it places you over them. You have worked very hard, and you are fully entitled to your rank." "Thank you, sir. I have tried to do my duty," replied Lincoln, modestly. "When I see a young gentleman use the library as freely as you do, I am always tolerably confident that he will attain a high rank. We go on shore this forenoon, I believe." "I heard we were to make an excursion to-day, and another to-morrow." "You will see something of the interior of Norway, after all, though it is not quite possible to transport two hundred boys over a country where the facilities for travel are so meagre," added the surgeon. "For my part, I should like to walk, even a hundred miles." "That is not practicable. How could such a crowd be lodged and fed, in some of the small villages where you would be compelled to pass the night?" "I suppose it would not be possible, and I shall be satisfied with whatever the principal thinks best," replied the captain. The students were called to muster, and Mr. Lowington explained that he proposed to spend the day, in picnic style, at Frogner Sæter, and that the party would walk. The boats were then prepared, and the crews of the several vessels went on shore. Captains Kendall and Shuffles procured carriages, for the ladies were not able to walk so far. Passing out of the more densely settled portions of the city, the excursionists came to a delightful region, abounding in pleasant residences, some of which were grand and lofty. For a time the landscape was covered with small cottages, painted white or yellow; but as they proceeded they came to a country very sparsely settled, and very similar to that of New England. The road lay through woods of pine and fir, and had been constructed by Mr. Heftye, a public-spirited citizen, who owned a large estate at the summit of the hill. "This looks just like Maine," said Captain Lincoln, who walked at the side of Dr. Winstock. "Exactly like it. There is a house, however, which is hardly so good as those you see in Maine," replied the doctor. "It isn't any better than a shanty, and the barn is as good as the house. I wonder what that is for;" and Lincoln pointed to a bunch of straw, on the top of a pole, at the entrance of the barn. "I have seen two or three of those here, and near Christiansand." "It was grain placed there for the birds during the winter." "That's very kind of the people, I must say." "They are very kind to all their animals." Near the summit of the hill, the party came to the summer-house of Mr. Heftye, a very neat structure of wood, with a piazza, from which is obtained a beautiful view of the surrounding country. Another half hour brought them to the top of the hill, where the proprietor had erected a wooden tower, or observatory. It was some sixty or seventy feet high, and was stayed with rope guys, extending to the trees on four sides, to prevent it from being blown over. Only twenty of the boys were permitted to go up at one time, for the wind was tolerably fresh, and the structure swayed to and fro like the mast of a ship in a sea. From the top, mountains fifty miles distant could be seen. Christiania Fjord lay like a panorama in the distance, stretching as far as the eye could reach. To the west the country looked wild and desolate, and was covered with wood-crowned mountains, though none of any considerable height could be seen. It was a magnificent view, and some of the most enthusiastic of the students declared that it was worth a voyage to Norway; but boys are proverbially extravagant. A couple of hours were spent on the hill, the lunch was eaten, and the boys declared that they were well rested. The return walk was not so pleasant, for the novelties of the region had been exhausted. The road passed through private property, where there were at least a dozen gates across it in different places; and as the party approached, a woman, a boy, or a girl appeared, to open them. Kendall or Shuffles rewarded each of them with a few skillings for the service. When their two and four skilling pieces were exhausted, they were obliged to use larger coins, rather than be mean; but it was observed that the Norwegians themselves, though able to ride in a carriage, never gave anything. It was amusing to see the astonishment of the boys and girls when they received an eight skilling piece, and the haste with which they ran to their parents to exhibit the prize. The party reached the vessels at five o'clock, and after supper the boats were again in demand for a visit to Oscarshal, the white summer palace, which could be seen from the ship. Mr. Bennett had provided the necessary tickets, and made the arrangements for the excursion. It is certainly a very pretty place, but there are a hundred country residences in the vicinity of New York, Boston, or any other large city of the United States, which excel it in beauty and elegance, as well as in the expense lavished upon them. Before returning to the anchorage, the boat squadron pulled about for a couple of hours among the beautiful islands, and when the students returned to the fleet, they felt that they had about exhausted Christiania and its environs. The next day they went by the railroad train to Eidsvold, and there embarked in the steamer Kong Oscar for a voyage of sixty-five miles up the Mjosen Lake to Lillehammer, where they arrived at half past five in the afternoon. The scenery of the lake is pleasant, but not grand, the slope of the hills being covered with farms. Near the upper end, the hills are higher, and the aspect is more picturesque. Some of the western boys thought it looked like the shores of the Ohio River, others compared it with the Delaware, and a New Hampshire youth considered it more like Lake Winnipiseogee. Lillehammer is a small town of seventeen hundred inhabitants. M. Hammer's and Madame Ormsrud's hotel were not large enough to accommodate the party, and they began to experience some of the difficulties of travelling in such large numbers; but Mr. Bennett had done his work well, and sleeping-rooms were provided in other houses for the rest. The tourists rambled all over the town and its vicinity, looked into the saw-mills, visited the farms, and compared the agriculture with that of their own country; and it must be added that Norway suffered very much in the comparison, for the people are slow to adopt innovations upon the methods of their fathers. Early in the morning--for steamers in Norway and Sweden have a villanous practice of starting at unseemly hours--the students embarked for Eidsvold, and were on board the vessels long before the late sunset. On the quarter, waiting for the principal, was Clyde's courier, who had arrived that morning, after the departure of the excursionists. He evidently had not hurried his journey, though he had been told to do so. He delivered Sanford's brief note, which was written in pencil, and Mr. Lowington read it. The absentees were safe and well, and would arrive by Thursday. He was glad to hear of their safety, but as the squadron was now ready to sail, he regretted the delay. "Where did you leave the boys?" asked the principal of the courier. "At Apalstö," replied the guide, whose name was Poulsen. "Do you belong there?" "No, sir; I live in Christiania. I went down there with a young gentleman last Saturday." "Who was he?" "Mr. Blacklock, sir; a young English gentleman." "Ah! did you? And where is Mr. Blacklock now?" "I left him at Apalstö with a party of young gentlemen who were dressed like the people here; and he sent me back with this letter," replied Poulsen, who proceeded to explain that Clyde had engaged him as courier for Christiansand, but had changed his mind when he met the party belonging to the ship, and had concluded to return to Christiania with them. This was precisely what he had been told to say by the young Briton, and probably he believed that it was a correct statement. The principal saw no reason to doubt the truth of it, for Clyde must be satisfied that his mother was in Christiania by this time, and would naturally wish to join her. Anxious to console Mrs. Blacklock, Mr. Lowington called for a boat, and hastened on shore to see her. He found her, her daughter, and Paul Kendall and lady, in the reading-room at the Victoria--a unique apartment, with a fountain in the centre, a glass gallery over the court-yard, and lighted with many-colored lamps. The principal communicated the intelligence he had received of her son to Mrs. Blacklock, whose face lighted up at the news. "Then you have heard from the absentees, Mr. Lowington," said Paul Kendall. "Yes; they are on their way to Christiania, and Sanford says they will arrive to-morrow, at farthest; but they may be delayed," replied the principal. "No one need worry about them if they are safe and well," added Paul, glancing at Clyde's mother. "They are safe and well, but I intended to sail for Gottenburg to-morrow morning. I have almost concluded to do so, and leave some one to accompany the boys to Gottenburg in the steamer. I do not like to delay the whole fleet for them." "It would take a long time to beat out of the fjord against a head wind," added Paul. "If the wind is fair to-morrow morning, I shall sail, whether they arrive or not." "A steamer leaves for Gottenburg on Saturday morning, and she may arrive as soon as your ship," added Paul. "Very true. I think I will leave Peaks to look out for the absentees. Are you sure the steamer goes on Saturday?" "Yes, sir; here is the time table," replied Paul, producing a paper he had obtained at Mr. Bennett's. "Dampskibet Kronprindsesse Louise." "That's Norwegian, Paul. Can you read it?" laughed Mr. Lowington. "A little. 'Hver Löverday;' that means on Saturday; 'at 6 fm.,' which is early in the morning. She arrives at Gottenburg about midnight." "That will answer our purpose very well. We shall get under way early in the morning, Paul." "Then I will go on board of the yacht to-night, sir; but you need not wait for me, for I think I can catch you if you should get two or three hours the start of me. I haven't used my balloon jib yet, and am rather anxious to do so." "I shall not wait for you, then, Paul." After a long conversation with Mrs. Blacklock, in which he assured her again that nothing but firmness on her part could save her son from ruin, the principal left the hotel, and returned to the ship. In the evening Mr. and Mrs. Kendall went on board of the Grace. On the following morning, the wind being a little north of west, the signal for sailing was displayed on board of the Young America, and at six o'clock the fleet were under way. The weather was beautiful, and the fresh breeze enabled all the vessels to log eight knots an hour, which brought them fairly into the Skager Rack early in the afternoon. "I suppose we are off the coast of Sweden now," said Norwood, as he glanced at the distant hills on the left. "The pilot said Frederikshald was in this direction," replied Captain Lincoln, pointing to the shore. "It is at the head of a small fjord, and is near the line between Norway and Sweden." "Charles XII. was killed there--wasn't he?" "That's the place. The fortress of Frederiksteen is there, on a perpendicular rock four hundred feet high." "I wish we went nearer to the Swedish coast," added Norwood. "We shall see enough of it before we leave the Baltic," said Lincoln. "Probably we shall not care to see it after we have been looking at it a week." "According to the chart, this part of the coast is fringed with islands, but they don't look so bare and desolate as those of Norway. I had an idea that everything on this side of the ocean was entirely different from what we see on our side," added the captain. "That was just my idea." "But it isn't so. It is almost the same thing here as the coast of Maine. The shore here is hilly, and through the glass it looks as though it was covered with pine forests." "I expect to see something different before we return." "Not in the Baltic; for I fancy most of the southern coast looks like that of our Middle and Southern States." "Up here, even the houses look just as they do at home." "I don't believe we shall find it so in Denmark." As there was little to be seen, the regular routine of the squadron was followed, and those who were in the steerage, attending to their recitations, did not feel that they were losing anything. Later in the day, the wind was light, and the vessels made very little progress, though the course brought them nearer to the coast, where on the port bow appeared a high promontory, extending far out into the sea. The wind died out entirely just before sunset, and the sails hung motionless from the spars; for there was no swell to make them thrash about, as at sea. It was utter silence, and it was hard to believe that very ugly storms often made sad havoc in this channel. When the sun rose the next morning it brought with it a light breeze from the west, and the fleet again skimmed merrily along over the water. Its course was near the town of Marstrand, a noted Swedish watering-place, situated on an island. Soon after, pilots were taken, and the vessels stood into the harbor of Gottenburg, which is formed by the mouth of Göta River. Along the sides of the channel were posts set in the water, for the convenience of vessels hauling in or out of the harbor. The fleet came to anchor in a convenient part of the port, and those on board proceeded to take a leisurely survey of the city. The portion of the town nearest to them was built on low, flat land, and they could see the entrances of various canals. Farther back was a series of rugged hills, which were covered with pleasant residences and beautiful gardens. After dinner the students were mustered on deck, to listen to a few particulars in regard to the city, though it was understood that the general lecture on Sweden would be reserved until the arrival of the squadron at Stockholm. "What city is this?" asked Mr. Mapps. "Gottenburg," replied a hundred of the students. "That is plain English. What do the Swedes call it?" "G-ö-t-e-b-o-r-g," answered Captain Lincoln, spelling the word. "Perhaps I had better call on Professor Badois to pronounce it for you." "Y[=a]t-a-borg," said the instructor in languages, repeating the pronunciation several times, which, however, cannot be very accurately expressed with English characters. "And the river here is Ya-tah." "The French call the city _Gothembourg_. It is five miles from the sea, and is connected with Stockholm by the Göta Canal, which is a wonderful piece of engineering. Steamboats ply regularly between Gottenburg and the capital through this canal, the voyage occupying three or four days." "I intend to make a trip up this canal as far as the Wenern Lake, with the students," said Mr. Lowington. A cheer greeted this announcement, and then the professor described the canal minutely. "The principal street of Gottenburg," he continued, "is on the canal, extending through the centre of the city. There are no remarkable buildings, however, for the city is a commercial place. It was founded by Gustavus Adolphus, and, like many other cities of the north, being built of wood, it has several times been nearly destroyed by fire. The buildings now are mostly of stone, or of brick covered with plaster. The environs of the city, as you may see from the ship, are very pleasant. Now a word about the money of Sweden. The government has adopted a decimal system, of which the unit is the _riksdaler_, containing one hundred _öre_. The currency in circulation is almost entirely paper, though no bills smaller than one riksdaler are issued. The silver coins in use are the half and the quarter riksdaler, and the ten-öre piece; the latter being a very small coin. On the coppers, the value in öre is marked. A riksdaler is worth about twenty-seven cents of our money. Sweden is a cheap country." The signal was made for embarking in the boats, and in a few moments the Gottenburgers, as well as the people on board of the foreign vessels in the harbor, were astonished by the evolutions of the squadron. The students landed, and dividing into parties, explored the city. Their first care was to examine the canal, and the various craft that floated upon it; but the latter, consisting mainly of schooners, were not different from those they saw at home. They visited the exchange, the cathedral, the residence of the governor of the province, and other principal edifices. "How do you feel, Scott?" asked Laybold, after they had walked till they were tired out, and it was nearly time to go to the landing-place. "Tired and hungry," replied the wag. "I wonder if these Swedishers have anything to eat." "Probably they do; here's a place which looks like a restaurant." "I feel as though I hadn't tasted food for four months. Let's go in." They entered the store, which was near the _Bourse_. A neatly-dressed waiter bowed to them, and Scott intimated that they wanted a lunch. The man who understood English, conducted them to a table, on which a variety of eatables was displayed, some of which had a familiar look, and others were utterly new and strange. The waiter filled a couple of wine-glasses from a decanter containing a light-colored fluid, and placed them before the boys. "What's that?" asked Scott, glancing suspiciously at the wine-glass. "_Finkel_," replied the man. "Exactly so; that's what I thought it was," replied Scott, who had never heard of the stuff before. "Is it strong?" "No," answered the waiter, shaking his head with a laugh. "Everybody drinks it in Sweden." "Then we must, Laybold, for we are somebody." Scott raised the glass. The fluid had the odor of anise-seed, and was not at all disagreeable. The taste, too, was rather pleasant at first, and Scott drank it off. Laybold followed his example. We must do them the justice to say that neither of them knew what "finkel" was. Something like strangulation followed the swallowing of the fluid. "That's not bad," said Scott, trying to make the best of it. "No, not bad, Scott; but what are you crying about?" replied the other, when he recovered the use of his tongue. "I happened to think of an old aunt of mine, who died and left me all her money," added Scott, wiping his eyes. "But you needn't cry; she didn't leave any of the money to you." "What are you going to eat?" "I generally eat victuals," replied Scott, picking up a slice of bread on which was laid a very thin slice of smoked salmon. "That's not bad." The waiter passed to Laybold a small plate of sandwiches, filled with a kind of fish-spawn, black and shining. The student took a huge bite of one of them, but a moment elapsed before he realized the taste of the interior of the sandwich; then, with the ugliest face a boy could assume, he rushed to the door, and violently ejected the contents of his mouth into the street. "What's the matter?" demanded the waiter, struggling to keep from laughing. "What abominably nasty stuff!" exclaimed Laybold. "It's just like fish slime." "Don't you like it, Laybold?" asked Scott, coolly. "Like it? I don't like it." "Everybody in Sweden eats it," said the waiter. "What's the matter with it? Is it like defunct cat?" asked Scott. "More like defunct fish. Try it." "I will, my lad," added Scott, taking a liberal bite of one of the sandwiches. "How is it?" inquired Laybold. "First rate; that's the diet for me." "Very good," said the waiter. "You don't mean to say you like that stuff, Scott." "The proof of the pudding is the eating of the bag. I do like it, even better than 'finkel.'" "I don't believe it. No one with a Christian stomach could eat such stuff." "You judge by your own experience. I say it is good. Yours isn't a Christian stomach, and that's the reason you don't like it." "You are a heathen, Scott." "Heathen enough to know what's good." "Some more finkel, sir?" suggested the waiter. "No more finkel for me," replied Scott, whose head was beginning to whirl like a top. "Better take some more," laughed Laybold, who was in the same condition. "I can't stop to take any more; I'm hungry," replied Scott, who continued to devour the various viands on the table, till his companion's patience was exhausted. "Come, Scott, we shall be late at the landing." "We won't go home till morning," chanted the boozy student. "I will go now;" and Laybold stood up, and tried to walk to the door--a feat which he accomplished with no little difficulty. "Don't be in a hurry, my boy. Come and take some finkel." "I don't want any finkel." "Then come and pay the bill. I shall clean out this concern if I stay any longer." "How much, waiter?" stammered Laybold. "One riksdaler." "Cheap enough. I should have been broken if they charged by the pound for what I ate." "That's so," added Laybold, as he gave the waiter an English sovereign, and received his change in paper. "Now, my boy, we'll go to sea again," said Scott, as he staggered towards the door. "See here, Laybold." "Well, what do you want?" snarled the latter. "I'll tell you something, if you won't say anything about it to any one." "I won't." "Don't tell the principal." "No." "Well, then, we're drunk," added Scott, with a tipsy grin. "You are." "I am, my boy; I don't know a bob-stay from a bowling hitch. And you are as drunk as I am, Laybold." "I know what I am about." "So do I know what you are about. You are making a fool of yourself. Hold on a minute," added Scott, as he seated himself on a bench before a shop. "Come along, Scott." "Not for Joseph." "We shall be left." "That's just what I want. I'm not going to present myself before the principal in this condition--not if I know it." Laybold, finding that it was not convenient to stand, seated himself by the side of his companion. Presently they discovered a party of officers on their way to the boats, and they staggered into a lane to escape observation. The two students, utterly vanquished by "finkel," did not appear at the landing, and the boats left without them. CHAPTER XI. ON THE WAY TO THE RJUKANFOS. "What may the Rjukanfos be?" asked Clyde Blacklock, after his courier had started on his return to Christiania. "O, it's a big thing," replied Sanford. "You can bet high on it." "Doubtless I can; but is it a mountain, a river, or a lake?" "'Pon my word, I don't know. Here, Norway!" he shouted to Ole, who was with the rest of the party. "I'm here, Mr. Coxswain," replied the waif. "What's the Rjukanfos? You told me we ought to go there; but I'll be hanged if I know whether it's a lake or a river." "Neither a lake nor a river," replied Ole. "It's a big waterfall. _Fos_, on the end of a word, always makes a waterfall of it. There's another, the Vöringfos; but that's too far away." "How far is it?" "I don't know; but it's a long distance," added Ole. "All the other fellows think we are going to Christiania in the morning." "All but Stockwell and Rodman," answered Sanford, who had told Ole about the new recruit. "So you are going to play it upon them--are you?" laughed Clyde. "Just a little. We don't want to leave Norway without seeing something of the country, and the rest of the fellows won't go. So we are going to take them along with us." "Excellent! That will be a magnificent joke," exclaimed Clyde. "I'm with you. I suppose you all ran away from the ship when you found the tyranny was too much for you." "O, no! We didn't run away. We wouldn't do that. Somehow, by an accident, our boat was stove, and we were carried off by a steamer. Then we couldn't get back to Christiansand before the ship sailed, and we were obliged to come across the country to Christiania, you see." "I see," replied Clyde, knowingly. "But you don't mean to go back to the ship--do you?" "Certainly we do," protested Sanford. "Then you are bigger spoonies than I thought you were." "But we are afraid the ship will be gone before we can reach Christiania." "O, you are afraid of it." "Very much afraid of it." "You wouldn't cry if you found she had gone--would you?" "Well, perhaps we should not cry, for we think we ought to be manly, and not be babies; but, of course, we should feel very bad about it." "O, you would!" "Certainly we should; for if we were caught running away, staying away longer than is necessary, or anything of that sort, our liberty would be stopped, and we should not be allowed to go on shore with the rest of the fellows." "You are a deep one, Mr. Coxswain," added Clyde. "O, no! I'm only a simple-minded young man, that always strives to do his duty as well as he knows how." "I dare say you think it is your duty to visit the--what-ye-call-it?--the waterfall." "You see it is just as near to go that way as the other." "Is it?" "Well, if it isn't, we shall not know the fact till after we have been there." "I think I understand you perfectly, Mr. Coxswain; but I don't intend to return to the ship under any circumstances." "You can do as you please, but if we should happen to miss the ship, why, we shall be obliged to travel till we find her." "Exactly so," laughed Clyde. "But don't understand me that we mean to run away, or to keep away from the ship any longer than is absolutely necessary; for we are all good boys, and always mean to obey our officers." "I don't mean to do any such thing. After I hear that the ship has left Christiania, I shall go there, find my mother, and travel where I please." The next morning the party started on their journey, and by the middle of the afternoon arrived at a station between Lysthus and Tinoset, where the road to the Rjukanfos branched off from that to the capital. They were compelled to wait an hour here for a change of horses. Rogues rarely believe that they are suspected, and Sanford was confident that his companions, with the exception of Rodman and Stockwell, had no idea of his intentions. Burchmore had not failed to notice the repeated conferences between those who were plotting the mischief. He was not quite satisfied with the delay which had enabled the party to catch that solitary salmon at Apalstö. He was one of the first to enter the station-house where the carioles stopped. On the table he found "The Hand-book of Norway," which contained a large map. He was anxious to possess this book. "_Hvor_?" said he, using a word he had learned of Ole, which meant "how much," at the same time holding up the book, and exhibiting his money. "_Tre_," replied the woman in the room; by which he understood her to mean three marks, for at the same time she laughingly held up three fingers. Burchmore paid the money, and put the book into his pocket. Retreating behind the stable with Churchill, who rode in the cariole with him, he produced the volume, and spread out the map. Without much difficulty he found the road by which the party had come. Everything was right so far, and he was satisfied that they should arrive at Kongsberg that night. "Can you make out what's up, Burchmore?" asked Churchill, with whom the former had discussed his doubts and fears. "No; everything is right. Here we are, at the branching off of these two roads," replied Burchmore, indicating the locality with the point of his knife. "But Sanford is up to something. He, and Ole, and Stockwell are whispering together half the time. Perhaps they mean to leave us somewhere on the road." "They can, if they like," added Burchmore. "I am cashier, you know. Each fellow has paid me seven pounds, which I have changed into species and marks. No other one has any Norwegian money, or, at least, not more than a specie or two. They won't leave me." "They wouldn't make anything by it." "And Sanford runs with that English fellow, who seems to be a little fast." "He's a hard one," added Churchill, shaking his head. "Let them go it; I can keep the run of them now," said Burchmore, as he folded up the map, and put the Hand-book in his pocket. "Don't say anything about this book, Churchy." "Not a word." "I know where we are now, and I think I shall know better than to wait a whole day for horses again. That was a sell." "Do you think so?" "I thought so at the time, but I didn't want to make a fuss. I changed a sovereign for Ole yesterday, and I believe Sanford has bought him up. Never mind; we take the right hand road here, and as long as we keep moving I haven't a word to say." In less than an hour the horses were ready, and the procession of carioles moved off. Ole and Sanford led the way, and turned to the left, instead of the right. "That's wrong," said Burchmore, very much excited. "But what do they mean by going this way?" added Churchill. "I don't know, and I don't care; I only know it is the wrong way. Hallo!" he shouted to Sanford, and stopped his pony, which compelled three others behind him to stop also. "What's the matter?" called Sanford. "You are going the wrong way," replied the cashier. "No, this is right; come along;" and the coxswain started his team again. But Burchmore refused to follow him, and continued to block the way against those behind him. "Out of the way!" cried Clyde, who was in the rear. "This is not the right way to Kongsberg," said Burchmore. "Out of the way, or I'll smash you!" added the imperious Briton. The cashier was a peaceable young gentleman, and turned his horse out of the road. The cariole of Sanford was now out of sight. "Why don't you go ahead?" demanded Tinckner. "How do you know it is the wrong road?" "I am certain of it. Those fellows are up to some trick." As a portion of the procession did not follow its leader, Sanford and his companions turned back. "What's the matter, Burchmore? Why don't you come along?" cried the coxswain, angrily. "This is not the right road." "Isn't it, Ole?" added the coxswain, turning to his companion in the cariole. "Certainly it is." "I know it isn't," protested the cashier, vehemently. "You are up to some trick." "What trick?" asked Sanford, mildly, as he put on his look of injured innocence. "I don't know what; but I know this is not the right road to Kongsberg." "Who said anything about Kongsberg? We intend to go by the shortest way. Don't we, Ole?" "To be sure we do," replied the ready waif. "We are not going way round by Kongsberg." "You can't bluff me." "Don't want to bluff you. Go whichever way you like; and the one who gets to Christiania first is the best fellow. That's all I have to say." Sanford turned his pony, and drove off again, followed by Clyde, Stockwell, and Rodman. "How do you know this isn't the right way?" inquired Tinckner. "I'll tell you," replied the cashier, jumping out of the cariole, and taking the Hand-book from his pocket. The others soon joined him, and exhibiting the map, he explained his position to his friends. "Here's another road to Kongsberg," said Summers, indicating its direction on the map. "They may be going that way." "It is possible," added Burchmore, puzzled by this discovery. "It is farther that way than by Lysthus." "Not much; there's hardly any difference. I'm in favor of following Sanford." So were nearly all of them, and the cashier finally yielded. The tourists resumed their seats, and soon overtook the coxswain, who had evidently expected to be followed. Burchmore was annoyed by the discovery he had made, but as the pony attached to the cariole slowly climbed the hills, he studied the map and the text of the book he had bought. "We can't go much farther on this tack," said he, as he folded up his map. "What's to prevent us from keeping on to the north pole?" asked Churchill. "It is almost night, in the first place, and in the second, we shall come to a lake in the course of an hour, where we must take boats." "I don't believe anything is wrong about the matter." "Don't you? Then what are we doing up here?" "Never mind; we shall soon come to that other road, and then we shall know whether Sanford means to go to Kongsberg or not." "He has stopped ahead of us. He is waiting for us to come up," added Burchmore. "Yes; and there is the road which turns off to the right." "Why don't he go ahead?" Sanford and those who had arrived with him left the carioles, and gathered at the junction of the two roads. Burchmore followed their example. "What's the matter? What are you stopping here for?" demanded Clyde Blacklock, rather imperiously. "Some of the fellows think we are going to play them a trick," said Sanford, with his sweet and innocent smile. "Who thinks so?" asked Clyde. "Burchmore." "Which is Burchmore?" "That's my name," replied the cashier, rather indifferently. "Are you the fellow that wants to break up the party?" blustered Clyde. "No, I'm not. I'm the fellow that wants to go to Christiania. We ought to have kept to the right at the last station." "I insist on going this way." "I don't object; you can go whichever way you please," added the cashier, very gently. "But we mean to keep the party together; and we might as well fight it out here as in any other place." Clyde threw off his overcoat, as though he intended to give a literal demonstration of his remark. "I don't consider you as one of the party," added Burchmore. "Don't you?" "No, I do not. You don't belong to our ship, and I don't pay your bills." "No matter for that. If you are not willing to go the way the rest of us wish to go, I'll pound you till you are willing." "No, no, Old England; we don't want anything of that sort. Burchmore is a first-rate fellow," interposed the politic Sanford. "You leave this fellow to me; I'll take care of him. I can whip him out of his boots." "I shall stick to my boots for the present," replied Burchmore, who did not seem to be intimidated by the sharp conduct of the Briton. "I am willing to listen to reason, but I shall not be bullied into anything." "What do you mean by bullied? Do you call me a bully?" foamed Clyde. "You can draw your own inferences." "Do you call me a bully?" demanded Clyde, doubling his fists, and walking up to the cashier. "Enough of this," said Sanford, stepping between the Briton and his intended victim. "We shall not allow anybody to lick Burchmore, for he is a good fellow, and always means right." "I don't allow any fellow to call me a bully," replied Clyde. "He didn't call you a bully. He only said he would not be bullied into anything." "It's the same thing." "No matter if it is, Old England. You volunteered to pound him if he wouldn't go with us; and it strikes me that this is something like bullying," added the coxswain, with a cheerful smile. "I shall thrash him for his impudence, at any rate." "It isn't exactly civil to tell a fellow you will pound him if he won't go with us; and who shall thrash you for your impudence, eh, Old England?" "I mean what I say." "We shall allow no fight on this question, my gentle Britisher. If you should happen to hit Burchmore, I have no doubt he would wallop you soundly for your impudence." "I should like to see him do it," cried Clyde, pulling off his coat, and throwing himself into the attitude of the pugilist. "No, you wouldn't, Albion; and if you would you can't have that pleasure. There will be no fight to-day." "Yes, there will," shouted Clyde. "Not much;" and Sanford, Rodman, and Stockwell placed themselves between Burchmore and Clyde. "Dry up, Great Britain!" added Wilde. "We have a point to settle here," continued Sanford, taking no further notice of the belligerent Briton. "The right hand road goes to Kongsberg; but there is no hotel in that direction where we could sleep to-night. I propose, therefore, that we go on to--what's the name of the place, Norway?" "Tinoset," replied Ole. "To Tinoset, where there is a big hotel." "How far is it?" asked Churchill. "Only two or three miles. Then to-morrow we can go on to Kongsberg, unless you prefer to go a better way. I'm always ready to do just what the rest of the fellows say," added Sanford. The matter was discussed in all its bearings, and even Burchmore thought it better to sleep at Tinoset. "All right," said Sanford, as he moved off towards his cariole. "Not yet," interposed Clyde, who still stood with his coat off. "I haven't settled my affair with this spoony." Burchmore and Churchill walked leisurely towards their vehicle, while Rodman and Stockwell covered the retreat. "If you thrash him, you thrash the whole of us, Great Britain," said Rodman. "What kind of a way is that?" demanded the disgusted Briton. "We won't have any fight over this matter," added Stockwell. "Jump in, and let us be off." "We'll settle it when we get to that place," replied Clyde, seeing that this opportunity was lost. The procession resumed its journey, and in half an hour arrived at Tinoset. As it was early in the season, the hotel was not crowded, as it sometimes is. The town is at the foot of Lake Tins, upon which the little steamer Rjukan made three trips a week each way. The boat was to depart the next morning for Ornæs, which is only a few miles from the Rjukanfos. Sanford declared that the most direct route to Christiania was by steamer through this lake, and then by cariole the rest of the journey. Ole, of course, backed up all he said, and most of the boys wished to go that way. For some reason or other, Burchmore kept still, though he did not assent to the coxswain's plan, and the question was still open when the tourists were called to supper. "Ole, I want to see you alone," said the cashier, after the meal was finished. "What for?" asked Ole. "I have some money for you." "For me?" "Come along." Burchmore led the way to the lake, where they found a retired place. "What money have you for me?" demanded the astonished Norwegian. "How much did Sanford give you for humbugging us?" "For what?" "For playing this trick on us?" "I don't know what you mean." "The coxswain gave you a sovereign for fooling us. I'll give you five species, which is more than a sovereign, if you do what I want." "I will," replied Ole, promptly. "In the first place, where are you taking us?" "To Christiania." "Nonsense!" exclaimed the cashier, producing his book. "I know all about it. You ought to have gone to Lysthus, instead of taking the left hand road. We are two Norwegian miles out of our way now. Sanford has paid you a sovereign to lead us to some place he wishes to visit. Where is it?" "I only do what's right," protested Ole. "Bah! I know better! The story that no horses could be had at Apalstö was a humbug. I'll give you five species if you will do as I tell you." Ole looked complacent, and held out his hand for the money. "I don't pay till the work is done; but my word is as good as my bond." The waif had an "itching palm," and, after considerable discussion, the terms of payment were settled. "Now, where are we going?" asked the cashier. "To the Rjukanfos. It is a big waterfall, with high mountains--one of the finest places in Norway." "Exactly so; but we are not going there," added Burchmore, decidedly. "You will engage the carioles for to-morrow morning, and we must be in Kongsberg by noon, and near Christiania by night." "Sanford will kill me," replied Ole. "No, he won't; we will take care of him." "I can manage it, first rate. I will tell Sanford that we can go up quicker on the other side of the lake, and then cross over." "Tell him what you please, but my plan must be carried out," answered Burchmore, who, perhaps, believed that he should be justified in fighting the coxswain with his own weapons. "Here you are; I've been looking for you," said Clyde, presenting himself sooner than he was wanted. "You thought you would keep out of my way--did you?" "I have not given that subject any attention," replied Burchmore, coolly. "Yes, you have; you sneaked off here to keep out of my way." "As you please," replied Burchmore, who began to walk slowly towards the road. "You don't escape me this time," added Clyde, placing himself in front of the cashier. "I have no wish to escape you." "Yes, you have; you are a Yankee coward!" "Perhaps I am; but I'm not afraid of a British bully." "Do you call me a bully?" "Most distinctly I do, and I can prove my words." Clyde was rather startled by this exhibition of pluck, which he had not expected. "You call me a bully--do you?" "I do." "Then we'll settle it here. Off with your coat," blustered Clyde, as he divested himself. "I never fight if I can help it; but I always defend myself," replied Burchmore, resuming his walk towards the road. "Do you mean to run away?" demanded Clyde. "No; I mean to walk very leisurely back to the station-house." "No, you don't!" said the Briton, again placing himself before the cashier. Ole, who did not care, under the circumstances, to be seen with Burchmore by any one of the party, had disappeared by this time; but meeting Sanford near the lake, he had informed him what Clyde was doing. The coxswain hastened to the spot, with Stockwell and two or three others. But they were a little too late; for Clyde, feeling that he had gone too far to recede with honor, had struck Burchmore. When Sanford and the rest of the party reached the place, the belligerent Briton lay on the ground, where, after a sharp set-to and a black eye, he had been thrown by his cool opponent. He picked himself up, and was preparing for another onslaught, when the coxswain stepped between the combatants. "Enough of that, Albion," said he. Clyde made a rush towards Burchmore, but the others interfered, and held him back. In vain he struggled in his wrath, but the stout coxswain and his companions threw him upon the ground, and held him there till his anger had in a measure subsided. "Be off, Burchmore," said Sanford. "We will take care of him." "I am not afraid of him," replied the cashier. "Of course you are not; but clear out, and let us have peace." "He is afraid of me!" roared Clyde. "Nonsense, Great Britain! He would have mauled you to death if we hadn't interfered. He can whip his weight in wildcats." Burchmore walked away, and soon disappeared beyond the houses. Clyde foamed in his wrath for a while, but finally consented to be pacified, promising, very faithfully, to whip the cashier the next time he caught him alone. "Don't you do it, Albion. You never will see your mother again if you attempt it. Wait a few days, and then, if you insist upon it, we will let Burchmore thrash you all you want," replied Sanford, as they walked back to the station-house. Clyde had a bad-looking eye, and perhaps believed that he had had a narrow escape; but he still maintained his credit as a bully. At the hotel, the question of the route for the next day came up. Burchmore insisted upon going to Christiania by the way of Kongsberg, and Sanford, who had consulted Ole again, assented. The waif had assured him that they could reach the Rjukanfos quicker and better by the road than by the lake. The next morning the carioles were ready, and the tourists renewed their journey, and went back on the road by which they had come, till they came to that which led to Kongsberg. The "forbud" had been duly forwarded, and there were no delays or interruptions. "Where's the lake?" asked Sanford, when they had been riding about two hours. "O, the road don't go near the lake, till we get to the place where we cross," replied Ole, who was carrying out in good faith the arrangement he had made with the cashier. "How shall we cross the lake?" "In a steamer which goes at seven o'clock in the morning." "All right," replied the unsuspecting Sanford. "We shall come to a large town at noon; and we musn't stop a minute there, or those fellows will find where they are. We can tell them it is Kongsberg, you know," added the wily waif. "Just so," laughed Sanford; "we'll tell them it is Kongsberg, and they won't know the difference." "I don't think they will." At noon, agreeably to the promise of Ole, the travellers arrived at the large town, where they were obliged to change horses. "This is Kongsberg, Burchmore," said the coxswain. "Is it, really? or are you playing some trick upon us?" replied the cashier. "'Pon my word this is Kongsberg. Isn't it, Ole?" "Yes, certainly," answered the waif, winking slyly to Burchmore. "All right, Sanford; if you are satisfied, I am." "I know it is Kongsberg. I have been here before," added Clyde, wishing to give his testimony in carrying out the deception. It was quite true that he had been in Kongsberg, but Ole took care that he should not go to the part of the town he had visited before. The road looked familiar to him; but as he rode alone, he had no opportunity to state the fact to others. Before night the party arrived at Drammen, where a regular line of steamers runs to Christiania. "That's the lake--is it?" said Sanford, pointing to the Drammen River, which, below the town, is nearly two miles wide. "That's it." "What does Burchmore say? Does he know where he is?" "Not yet; I shall tell him this is Drammen, and he will believe me." "Good! and we will all stick to it that this is Drammen," added Sanford. "But suppose we should meet some one here who knows about the ship? This is a large town--bigger than that other which we called Kongsberg." "Whom can we meet?" "I don't know." "I should hate to have any one tell the principal that we have been to the Rjukanfos." "Some of the officers may come up here." "We must keep out of sight, then." Others thought this would be good policy in a large town. As they were fatigued, they retired early, and did not come down the next morning till it was nearly time to leave in the steamer. They all went on board, and were soon moving down the river. "Are we going across the lake, Ole?" asked Sanford. "This is a kind of arm of the lake, about a dozen miles long. We shall come to the lake in a couple of hours," replied the waif. "All right; but it must be a very large lake." "The biggest in Norway." In a couple of hours the steamer arrived at Holmsbo, on the Christiania Fjord. "Now you can see that this is a large lake," said Ole. "But where are we?" demanded Burchmore. "Is this the way to Christiania?" "Certainly it is," replied Sanford, who did not yet recognize the fjord, though the truth could not be much longer concealed. "Don't you know this water?" "No, I don't." "This is Christiania Fjord." "Is it, really?" "Yes, it is; you can bet your life upon it." "I am satisfied then." In another hour the steamer was fairly in the fjord; Sanford and Stockwell began to rub their eyes; for the scenery looked strangely familiar, though they could not fully identify anything. "What place is that ahead?" asked Sanford. "I am almost sure I have seen it before." "So am I," replied Stockwell. "That place?" added the cashier. "Yes; what is it?" "If this is Christiania Fjord, that must be Dröbak. I have a map here," said Burchmore, producing his book, and displaying the map. "Here we are; there's Holmsbo, and this must be Dröbak." "I don't understand it," replied the perplexed coxswain. "Don't you? Why, I think it is as clear as mud," laughed Burchmore. "We shall be in Christiania in a couple of hours. I thought you were playing some trick upon us, Sanford; but I see now that you were all right. There's the captain; he speaks English." "What town is that, captain?" asked the coxswain. "Dröbak; we shall be in Christiania in about two hours," answered the master. "Where's Ole?" demanded the coxswain, much excited. "What does it mean?" said Clyde. "I don't know. Where's Ole?" The waif evidently considered discretion the better part of valor, for he could not be found; and the coxswain and those in his confidence realized that they had been "sold" in their own coin. CHAPTER XII. THE BOATSWAIN AND THE BRITON. "Where's Ole? I don't understand it," repeated Sanford, after he had made another ineffectual search for the missing waif. "We have been sold, instead of selling those fellows," added Stockwell. "That's so; and I should rather like to know how it was done. Ole has sold us out." "Is this your Rjukanfos?" demanded Clyde Blacklock, who had been looking for some one upon whom to pour out his wrath. "Not exactly," answered Sanford, indifferently, for he did not particularly enjoy the airs of the Briton. "But what do you mean by bringing me here?" added Clyde. "I didn't bring you here. You came of your own free will and accord." "No, I didn't; you said we were going to the waterfall." "We thought so ourselves; but we have been deceived. Ole has sold out and made fools of us. You are no worse off than the rest of us." "To whom did he sell out?" asked Clyde, appeased when he learned that he was not the only sufferer. "I don't know. I don't understand it at all. We have been cheated out of the Rjukanfos, and brought to Christiania." "Well, what are you going to do about it?" inquired Stockwell. "We can't do anything about it. I suppose we shall be on board of the ship in an hour or two, telling the principal how hard we tried to be here before." "But I'm not going back to Christiania," protested Clyde. "I don't see how you can help yourself. This boat don't stop again till she arrives there." "I will not go to the ship again, at any rate," added Clyde. "Do as you like about that; it isn't our business." Clyde was much disturbed by the situation. As he always regarded himself as the central figure of the group, he began to suspect that the apparent miscarriage of the plan was a trick to lure him back to the ship; but Sanford seemed to be honest, and to be entirely discomfited by the discovery. Burchmore and Churchill were highly elated at the success attending their scheme, which had, indeed, exceeded their expectations; but they were as much mystified by the disappearance of Ole as the victims of the trick. Being unable to speak the language, they could not inquire for the absentee; but they made a very diligent search for him. They were more successful than Sanford's party had been, for, in going forward, they heard some high words in the quarters of the steamer's crew, in the forecastle. Listening for a moment, they heard the voice of Ole, who appeared to have concealed himself in that part of the vessel, and was properly regarded as an intruder by the rightful occupants thereof. "Come out here, Ole," shouted Burchmore. "We want you." Ole turned from the Norwegian sailors, who were scolding at him for taking possession of their quarters, to his friends and allies. "Where's Sanford?" he asked, rather timidly. "On deck." "He'll kill me." "Nonsense! We will take care of you against any odds," said the cashier, laughing heartily at the fears of the waif. "They have only just ascertained where they are. Come up, Ole." Thus assured, the young Norwegian climbed up the ladder, much to the satisfaction of the sailors. Burchmore was too well pleased with the trick he had played upon the conspirators to confine the knowledge of it to Churchill and himself, and had explained it to all who were not actually in the confidence of the coxswain. A majority of the party were thus arrayed on his side, though two or three of them would as readily have chosen the other side. The cashier was evidently the safer leader. "Sanford and that Englishman will pound me for the trick," repeated Ole, as he glanced at the quarter-deck, where his victims were considering the situation. "No, they won't; we are able and willing to protect you," replied Burchmore. "Come, we will go aft, and hear what they have to say." The cashier led the way, and the waif reluctantly followed him. "I believe you wanted to see Ole," said Burchmore, who could hardly look sober, he was so pleased with the result of his operations. "Yes; I did wish to see him," answered Sanford, rather coldly. "I will see him some other time." "O, I thought you wanted him now," laughed Burchmore. "I am satisfied that this is really Christiania Fjord." "So am I," added the coxswain, with a sickly smile. "And you were quite right, too, in saying that large place was Drammen," chuckled Burchmore. "Certainly I was." "Neither were you mistaken in regard to Kongsberg." "I find that I was not." "I suppose you remember the Irishman's turtle, that swallowed his own head, Sanford?" "Of course." "I don't mean to say that you swallowed your own head; but you found it just where you didn't expect to find it. Isn't that so?" "We are going to talk the matter over with Ole by and by." "Do it now. I know all about it. You and Ole arranged the first part of our journey, including the day's fishing we had at Apalstö; and Ole and I arranged the last part of it. It is an even thing now, and if you won't complain of the last part, I won't say a word about the first." "I don't understand it." "Don't you! Well, you gave Ole a sovereign to arrange things for you in the beginning, and I gave him five species to arrange them for me afterwards. You can't complain of a fellow, who sells himself at all, for making as much money as he can. Ole only did that." "He sold us out," growled Sanford. "Of course he did; if you buy a man, you mustn't grumble when he does a second time what you encouraged him to do in the first instance. But you were going to take us off to the Rjukanfos, fifty or sixty miles out of our way, without our knowledge or consent. I smelt a mice, and turned the tables," laughed the cashier. "Yes, and you cheated me," interposed Clyde. "I had nothing whatever to do with you," answered Burchmore, mildly. "You led me here when I wanted to go another way." "You went where you pleased, so far as I was concerned. I never invited you to come with me, or even consented to your doing so." "Did you say the place we came to yesterday was Kongsberg?" "I did, and so it was. But I think it was Sanford who first proclaimed the fact, and I cheerfully assented to its correctness," chuckled Burchmore. "But you deceived me, and I'll have it out with you," continued Clyde. "Just as you please about that; but you had better let that black eye bleach out before you begin again." "I can whip you!" blustered Clyde. "I'll meet you anywhere." "No, I thank you. If we meet for any such purpose as you suggest, it will be by accident." "See here, Great Britain; you needn't make another row," said Sanford. "I'm going to whip this fellow for what he has done, and for calling me a bully." "You are a bully," added Sanford. "That's so," exclaimed Stockwell. "Now you can lick the whole of us, if you insist upon it," continued the coxswain. "Perhaps I will," retorted Clyde, shaking his head fiercely. "You have got me into a pretty scrape." "You are in the same boat as the rest of us." "The squadron isn't here," shouted Wilde; for the steamer had by this time arrived within sight of the harbor. "Can the ship have sailed?" asked Sanford, after the party had satisfied themselves that not one of the vessels of the little fleet was there. "I suppose she has," replied Burchmore. "To-day is Friday, and she didn't intend to lie here all summer." "Good!" exclaimed Clyde. "That makes everything all right for me. I'm satisfied now." Indeed, he was so delighted with the discovery that the ship had sailed, as to be even willing to forego the pleasure of thrashing his companions. The steamer went up to the wharf, and the party landed. Sanford and his friends appeared to be willing to take a reasonable view of the situation, and to accept it without grumbling, satisfied that they had been beaten with their own weapons. They were not sorry that the squadron had departed, for this circumstance gave them a new respite from the discipline of the ship, and enabled them to prolong "the trip without running away." "What are you going to do now?" asked Clyde, as they landed. "We shall follow the ship, and try to join her," replied Sanford. "That's what we've been trying to do ever since we left Christiansand--isn't it, Burchmore?" "Certainly it is," replied the cashier; "though we were detained one day at Apalstö, and narrowly escaped being carried by accident to the Rjukanfos." "Are you going to blow upon us, Burch?" demanded Stockwell, warmly. "Am I? Did you ever know me to do such a thing?" added Burchmore, earnestly. "No! no!" replied the whole party. "I don't think it was just the thing to cheat some of us as you did; but I believe we are about even on that now." "Of course we all want to get back to the ship as soon as possible," added Sanford, rubbing his chin, significantly. "Certainly. She has gone to Gottenburg, and all we have to do is to follow her," said Churchill. "But if you want to go there by the way of the Cape of Good Hope, Sanford, it will be better to have the matter understood so in the beginning," added Burchmore. "I, for one, don't like to be bamboozled." "I won't try it on again," said Sanford. "All right, then; if you do, you may fetch up at Cape Horn." "Where shall we go now?" asked Sanford. "To the Victoria Hotel. It is the best in the place," replied Clyde. "That's the very reason why we don't want to go there. We are not made of money, and we may run out before we are able, with our utmost exertions, to reach the ship," added the cashier. "But my mother is there," continued Clyde. "Go to your mother, Great Britain, if you like. We shall stay at some cheap hotel," added Sanford. Clyde protested in vain against this arrangement, and the Americans, with the aid of Ole, found a small hotel, suited to their views of economy. The Briton went with them; but when they were installed in their new quarters, he left them to find his mother, at the Victoria. After dinner, the coxswain and his party wandered all over the city. At the Castle of Agerhaus, they saw an English steamer receiving freight. They ascertained that she was bound to Gottenburg, and would sail at seven o'clock that evening. They immediately decided, as they had seen enough of Christiania, to take passage in her. The arrangement was speedily made, and they went on board, without troubling themselves to inform Clyde of what they intended to do. When the sun went down that evening the party were far down the fjord. Sanford had ascertained that the ship sailed early on Thursday morning, and the steamer on which they had taken passage could not arrive at Gottenburg till nearly noon on Saturday. It was understood that the squadron would remain but a short time at this port, and it was possible that it would have departed for Copenhagen before the steamer arrived. He hoped this would prove to be the case; but he studied a plan by which the excursion of the party could be prolonged, if the hope should not be realized. He did not wish to return to the ship, because he thought it was pleasanter to travel without the restraints of discipline. Perhaps most of his party sympathized with him, and thought they could have a better time by themselves. Sanford desired to inform Clyde of the intention of the party to leave in the English steamer, and to take him along with them; but his companions overruled him unanimously, for they were too glad to get rid of an impudent, overbearing, and conceited puppy, as he had proved himself to be. The coxswain had no better opinion of him than his friends; but as Clyde was a runaway, according to his own confession, it might smooth their own way, in returning to their duty, if they could deliver him up to the principal. He was even willing to resort to strategy to accomplish this end; but Clyde was so disagreeable that he was saved from this trap. The ship had gone, and every vessel of the squadron had departed with her. Clyde felt that all his trials were ended, and he had nothing more to fear from the big boatswain. He walked confidently to the Victoria Hotel, where he was sure to find his mother. He had even arranged in his mind the reproaches with which he intended to greet her for delivering him over to the savage discipline of the Young America, as he regarded it, and as, doubtless, it was for evil-doers. He passed into the passage-way which led to the court-yard. As he entered the office on the right to inquire for Mrs. Blacklock, he encountered Peaks, who no sooner saw him than he laid violent hands upon him. "Let me alone!" shouted Clyde, struggling to escape from the grasp of his powerful antagonist. "Not yet, my beauty," replied the boatswain, as he dragged his victim into his own room, which was near the office. "I've been looking for you." "I want to see my mother," growled Clyde, when he had exhausted his strength in the fruitless struggle to escape. "I dare say you do; babies always want to see their mothers." "I'm not a baby." "Then behave like a man." Peaks deposited him on a chair, and permitted him to recover his breath. "Where is my mother?" demanded Clyde. "She is safe and well, and you needn't bother your head to know anything more about her," answered Peaks. "She has turned over a new leaf, so far as you are concerned, youngster, and is going to have us make a man of you." "Where is she?" "No matter where she is." "Can't I see her?" "No, sir." "I must see her." "Perhaps you must, my hearty; but I don't think she wants to see you till you are a decent young gentleman. She told me to be sure and put you on board of the ship, and I'm going to do it." "Where is the ship?" "She sailed for Gottenburg yesterday morning; but we shall find her in good time," replied Peaks, taking a bundle from the bureau, which contained the young Briton's uniform. "Now, my bantam, you don't look like a gentleman in that rig you've got on. Here's your gear; put it on, and look like a man again, whether you are one or not. Those long togs don't become you." The boatswain unfolded the uniform of Clyde, which he had left in his chamber when he leaped out of the window. "I'm not going to put on those clothes," protested the unhappy youth. "No?" "I'm not!" "Then I'm going to put them on for you." "I'll cry murder." "If you cry anything, I shall put a dirty handkerchief in your mouth. Look here, my chicken; don't you know that you are making a fool of yourself? You mean to strain your own timbers for nothing. You'll put this rig on anyhow, and it depends on yourself whether you will do it with or without a broken head." Clyde looked at the clothes and then at the brawny boatswain. It was foolish to resist, and he yielded to the force of circumstances. He put on the ship's uniform, and threw himself into a chair to await the further pleasure of his tyrant. "Now you look like a respectable young gentleman, my lad," said Peaks. "What are you going to do with me?" demanded Clyde, in a surly tone. "I'm going to keep my eye on you every moment of the time till you are on board of the ship again." "I want to see my mother before I go." "It can't be done." Clyde relapsed into silence. He had never before been subjected to such unheard-of tyranny. It was useless to resist, and the future looked as dark as the present. Probably his mother was in the hotel, but he was not permitted even to see her. Though the boatswain seemed to have it all his own way, he was not at all satisfied with the situation. Mrs. Blacklock and her daughter had gone to ride, but in the course of an hour or two they would return. The waiters would inform her that Clyde had arrived, and she would insist on seeing him. Though she had fully given up the control of him to the ship, the weakness of the mother might induce her to change her mind. Peaks only desired to discharge the duty with which he had been intrusted. The crew of the second cutter had not yet arrived, and he could not depart with his prisoner before they came. He was perplexed; but being a man of expedients, he decided upon his course in a short time. It was absolutely necessary to seek another hotel, where the dangerous proximity of Mrs. Blacklock might be avoided. The boatswain rang his bell, and sent for the _commissionnaire_ whom he had employed while prosecuting his search for the runaway. When this man came, he ordered a carriage, and paid his bill. "Now, youngster, we are going to take a ride," said Peaks to his victim. "Where are you going?" "That's my affair. If you make a row in the street, I shall just hand you over to the police, who will lock you up in that stone castle over there. You must understand that you are a deserter from your ship, and will be treated so, if you don't behave like a man. Now come with me." As a deserter from his ship! The boatswain certainly had the weather-gage of him, and the idea of being thrown into prison was absolutely startling to Clyde. He had no doubt the savage boatswain would do all he threatened, and, almost for the first time in his life, he felt no inclination to bully. He stepped quietly into the carriage with Peaks and the _commissionnaire_. The driver was directed to convey the party to the landing-place. The steamer would sail the next morning; but unless the absent crew of the cutter arrived before that time, he could not go in her. Remaining in Christiania, he feared to encounter Mrs. Blacklock, for the honest tar dreaded a lady's power more than the whole battery of a ship of the line. He was fully resolved, if he passed through fire and water in doing it, to discharge the duty intrusted to him by the principal. The lady was in the city, and the problem was to keep his charge out of sight of her during the rest of his stay. He might meet her; some one at the hotel might, and probably would, inform her of the arrival of Clyde. After deliberating for some time, he directed his _commissionnaire_ to procure a boat, in which he embarked with his prisoner and interpreter. By his order the two oarsmen pulled over to the hotel which was located so picturesquely on the island. Taking a room, he ordered dinner for his little party, and contrived to pass away the afternoon till sunset, when he returned to the city. His man, at his request, conducted him to an obscure hotel, which happened to be the one which Sanford and his friends had just left, to depart by the English steamer. The landlord recognized the uniform which Clyde wore. "We had more of the young gentleman here," said he, in broken English. "More of them!" exclaimed Peaks, interested in the intelligence. "Yes; more as ten of them," added the landlord. "Arn't they here now?" asked Clyde, who had felt a ray of hope when Peaks brought him to the hotel where he had left his late companions. "All gone; no more here." "Where have they gone?" asked the boatswain. "To Gottenburg. They eat some dinner in my hotel, and at seven o'clock they go in the steamer." "I saw that steamer go out, but I didn't think the cutter's crew were in her. I'm sorry I didn't know it before," said Peaks, chagrined by this tardy discovery. "How many were there of them?" "Ten." "That couldn't be; there were only nine of the crew." "There was more as ten, but one of them went away." "I went away," said Clyde. "You! Were you with them?" demanded Peaks. "I was." "Why didn't you say so before?" "You didn't ask me; and as you were not remarkably civil to me, I didn't feel obliged to tell you the news." "But there were not ten of them." "Yes, ten," said Clyde. "There were only nine when they left the ship." "I know there were ten with me. One of them was a Norwegian, and a rascal; but he wore the same uniform as the rest of them." "What was his name?" "Ole." "Ole! Why, he's the fellow we picked up out at sea," exclaimed the astonished boatswain. "Where have they been all this time?" But Clyde suddenly bethought himself that he was altogether too communicative, considering the relations that subsisted between himself and his great enemy and persecutor, and he decided to answer no more questions. "All right, my hearty," laughed the boatswain, when the Briton declined to answer. "They are on their way to the ship, and you will be very soon." Peaks was cunning enough to detain his interpreter so that he should not return to the Victoria and inform Mrs. Blacklock where her son was. The way was clear now, for he had no further responsibility in regard to the cutter's crew, and his spirits rose accordingly. He sent his man to engage a "hütte," or state-room, in the steamer, and then, at a late hour in the evening, paid and discharged him. He compelled Clyde to sleep in the same chamber with him, for it contained three beds, and it is probable that the boatswain kept one eye open during the night, for every time the prisoner moved, his tyrant was on his feet. The Kronprindsesse Louise sailed at six o'clock in the morning, and Peaks and his victim were betimes on board. The boatswain was a happy man when the boat was clear of the wharf, and on her way to Gottenburg. He flattered himself that he had managed the affair very well indeed, for he was not above the vanities of the flesh. It was midnight when the Kronprindsesse arrived at her destination. Peaks had kept one eye on Clyde all the time, and brought him in safety to his journey's end. Late as was the hour, the first person he saw at the landing was Mr. Blaine, the chief steward of the ship. "I'm glad to see you, Blaine," shouted the boatswain when he identified his shipmate, and grasped his hand. "Shiver my timbers if I'm not rejoiced to see a man that speaks plain English! Where's the ship?" "She sailed for Copenhagen this evening." "No; you don't say so!" "It's a fact. The students went up the canal as far as the falls, and returned about dark. The squadron got under way at once. I suppose you have the cutter's crew with you, Peaks?" "No; arn't they on board yet?" "I haven't seen them." "But they came down on an English steamer that left Christiania last night." "An English steamer came in this forenoon, but we haven't seen the cutter's crew." "That's strange. I shouldn't wonder if those fellows were cutting up a little." "But we lost two students yesterday, Scott and Laybold. I suppose they ran away." "There's a screw loose somewhere. These boys have too much money," added Peaks. "But what are you going to do, and what am I to do?" "I was left here to look out for Scott and Laybold, and meet you when you came. Now, it seems that about a dozen of the rascals are missing." "I have the Briton here." "If I were you, Peaks, I should go right on to Copenhagen in this steamer, and you can report the facts to the principal." The boatswain decided to do this, while the head steward remained to search for the absentees; and in due time Peaks delivered his prisoner on board of the ship in the harbor of Copenhagen. CHAPTER XIII. THE MEETING OF THE ABSENTEES. Scott and Laybold, after imbibing a single glass of "finkel" each, which proved to be more than they could carry, retreated into a narrow lane, to escape the observation of a party of officers who were on their way to the landing. Neither of them had any inclination for intoxicating drinks, and had taken the stuff without knowing what it was. But they were conscious that everything was not right with them. They found it quite impossible to walk in a straight line, and even the problem of standing up was not demonstrated to the entire satisfaction of either of them. Talking was not without its difficulties, for their tongues seemed to be double their ordinary thickness, and their lips and other organs of speech were not as manageable as usual. For a time the effects of the potent liquor increased upon them, and as they had taken it in a hungry condition, they realized its full power. They staggered up the lane, conscious that they were making a ridiculous figure, though the solemn Swedes hardly smiled as they observed the effects of the national beverage. They dreaded an encounter with any of the officers, or others connected with the squadron; but in this unfrequented lane they were not likely to meet any of their shipmates. As there is more power in four legs than in two, however weak in detail they may be, the tipsy students locked arms, and leaned on each other, one attempting to counteract the obliquities of the other. They wandered along without knowing whither they were going, till they came to a small public house, which had a bench in front of it for the accommodation of the topers who frequented the bar-room. By mutual consent, and without argument, the unfortunate couple aimed for this seat as soon as they saw it, for it promised a grateful respite from the perils of locomotion. The "finkel" was now doing its utmost upon them. Their heads were dizzy, and everything was wofully uncertain; still they knew what they were about, and had sense enough left to dread the consequences of their indiscretion. After they had seated themselves, they glanced at each other, as if to ascertain the condition one of the other. "Lay--bold," said Scott. "Well, old fellow," replied the other, with a desperate attempt to stiffen his muscles. "We're zrunk," added Scott, trying to laugh. "I know that." "We're very zrunk." "I'm not zbad zyou." "I don't zknow." The conversation extended no further then, for speech required an effort they were incapable of making. Scott gaped violently, and seemed to be sick; but his contortions ended in his falling asleep, with his head tipped back against the wall. Laybold, more nice in the disposition of his helpless body, stretched himself on the bench, and was soon lost to all consciousness of the outer world. The publican who kept the house came out and looked at the juvenile tipplers. Doubtless he had seen too many drunken sailors to misapprehend their condition. He understood the matter perfectly, and being a thrifty Swede, he was disposed to turn their condition to his own emolument. He had sundry vacant chambers in his hotel, whose revenues swelled the sum total of his annual profits, and it hurt his feelings to have them remain unoccupied. Besides, the air was chilly, and the young strangers might take cold, and contract a severe illness by such exposure. But whether he was a publican or a Samaritan in his intentions, he decided to remove the strangers to the rooms beneath his hospitable roof. Summoning the porter to his aid, they jointly bore Laybold to his apartment, and laid him on the bed, which, in spite of the low character of the house, was a model of Swedish neatness. When Scott's turn came, he offered some resistance to the good intentions of the publican; but his head was too thoroughly muddled for successful opposition. Between the effects of sleep and "finkel" he could not obtain a very clear idea of what was going on. He was placed on another bed in the room with his shipmate. They were both comfortably disposed on their clean couches, the pillows nicely adjusted beneath their heads, and their bodies covered with blankets. The two students were very tired as well as very tipsy, and their slumbers were deep and heavy. It was after nine o'clock, though it was still light in the chamber, and the young tars usually retired, when not on watch, before this seemly hour. "Finkel" and fatigue did the rest, and they slept, without rocking, till long after the early sun broke into the windows of their apartment. We have seen the effect of "finkel" upon one unaccustomed to the use of liquor, and upon boys of fifteen or sixteen it could not but be entirely overpowering. It is a dangerous fluid, and is taken by the Swedes at all times, being the first thing at meals, and especially at the inevitable "snack" that precedes a regular dinner. There is, doubtless, good ground for the fear which has been expressed that the people of Sweden are in danger of becoming "a nation of drunkards." Scott was the first to open his eyes and come to his senses. He raised himself in the bed, shook off the blanket, and then jumped out upon the floor. He did not comprehend the situation, and was unable, in his own words, to "figure up how he happened to be in that room." "Laybold, ahoy!" shouted he, after he had examined the apartment, and mentally confessed his inability to solve the problem. "Laybold! All hands on deck!" "What is the matter?" cried Laybold, springing up, only half awake. "I'll be muzzled if I know what the matter is, but I believe that the Norway god--what's his name?--Odin, came aboard the ship last night, and turned her into a country tavern," replied Scott, going to the window, and looking down into the lane below. "How came we here?" asked Laybold, rubbing his eyes. "That's more than I know; but I think we have been transplanted by the spirits." "The spirits?" gaped Laybold. "Yes; I believe they call them 'finkel.' We were tight last night, my boy." "I remember all about it now. I dreamed that somebody lugged me in here." "You didn't exactly dream it, for here we are. We are in a pretty scrape." "That's so," added Laybold, shaking his head. "We didn't mean to run away, but that's just what we have done." "We didn't run a great way; for, if I remember rightly, running wasn't our _forte_ last evening. Who runs may reel, if he can't read, and I reckon we did more reeling than running. But what's to be done?" "I don't know." "In the first place, where are we? It's no use to lay out a course till we know the ship's position." They were utterly unable to determine this question. Each of them had a tolerably vivid recollection of their unfortunate condition on the preceding evening, and even that he had been carried by a couple of men; but they had no idea of time or locality. They washed themselves at the sink in the room, combed their hair with their pocket-combs, and looked then as though nothing had happened. Their heads were a little light, but they did not absolutely ache, and they realized but a small portion of the after effects of a regular "spree." Having made their simple toilet, they decided to explore the premises, and make their way back to the ship. Leaving the chamber, they descended a flight of steps, and, in the hall below, encountered the Samaritan landlord. "_God morgon_," said the latter, with a jolly smile on his face; and it was probable that he had taken his morning dose of "finkel." "_Hur star det till?_" (How are you?) "Nix," replied Scott, shrugging his shoulders. "You are English," added the landlord, a large portion of whose customers were foreign sailors. "No; Americans." "I'm glad to see you." "I'm glad to see you, too, if you can tell us how we happen to be here." "Too much 'finkel,'" laughed the publican, as he proceeded to explain the situation, and to enlarge upon the fatherly interest which had induced him to take them in for the night. "All right, my hearty. I see you can keep a hotel," added Scott. "How much have we to pay?" "Two rigsdalers; but you want some breakfast." "I do, for one," replied Scott. "So do I," said Laybold. "We only had a little lunch last night, and that 'finkel' spoiled my appetite--or the fish spawn. I don't know which." About five o'clock they sat down to breakfast, which consisted of a great variety of little things, such as the small fishes, herrings, smoked salmon, sausages. The coffee was magnificent, as it generally is in Sweden, even on board of steamers, where, in our own country, it is least expected to be good. "What is this?" said Scott, taking up half a great brown biscuit. "That's Swedish bread. We bake it once in six months," replied the landlord. "Not bad," added Scott, as he tasted the article. "This is Graham bread, I suppose," said Laybold, as he took a slice of the coarse brown bread. "Bah! it's sour." It always is; and both the students rejected it, though they ate a hearty meal of white bread, herring, salmon, and sausage. "Now, how much?" asked Scott, when they were ready to go. "One rigsdaler and fifty öre each--three rigsdalers in all." "Cheap enough," said Scott. "Two lodgings and two breakfasts for eighty-one cents." The students walked through the lane in which they had made their devious way the night before, to the main street on the canal. At the landing-place there were no boats belonging to the squadron, and everything looked exceedingly quiet on board of the ship. Seating themselves on the pier, with their legs hanging over the water, they decided to wait till a boat came to the shore. "We shall catch it for this," said Laybold. "No more liberty for a month at least," said Scott, shrugging his shoulders after his fashion. "I don't think it's fair. We didn't mean to get drunk, and didn't know what 'finkel' was," added Laybold. "I don't half like to go on board again." "Nor I; but I suppose we must face the music," answered Scott, dubiously. "I'm glad we didn't go on board while we were boozy. The fellows would have laughed at us for a year, if we had." "That's so; and Lowington would have put us in the brig." "I don't exactly like to explain the reason why we didn't go on board last night; I always was a bashful fellow." "You didn't go with the others," said a man, coming up to them at this moment, and speaking in broken English. "What others? Where?" replied Scott. "The other students. They took the steamer up the canal at two o'clock this morning." "Whew!" whistled Scott. "We have lost Göta Canal and the falls." "They will return to-night by the railroad from Wenersberg," added the man, who was an agent of the canal steamers. "That's too bad!" exclaimed Laybold, as the man walked away. "I don't know that it is too bad. Our leave would have been stopped if we had gone on board," laughed Scott, who generally took the most cheerful view of any disagreeable subject. "Why can't we go on our own hook?" "I like that idea," added Laybold. But inquiring of the agent, they learned that the canal steamers left only at two o'clock in the morning. "There's a railroad, or the fellows couldn't come back that way," suggested Laybold. "That's so; you have more wisdom than a Duxbury clam." They ascertained that a train left Gottenburg at noon, by which they could reach Wenersberg the same day. They knew nothing of the plan of the principal, which included a special train from the canal to the main line of railway; but they desired to see more of the interior of Sweden, and they were confident they should see the excursionists either at Wenersberg or on the way. It suited them better to make a trip even for a few hours, than to wander about a city which they had already exhausted. But they were obliged to wait some time for the train, and, after a couple of hours of "heavy loafing" about the streets, they returned to the pier. An English steamer had just arrived, and a boat was landing her passengers. "Who are those fellows?" said Laybold, pointing to the steamer's boat. "They wear the ship's uniform." "Right; they do, and they came from that steamer," replied Scott. "There's Sanford! I should know him a mile off. They are the second cutters, or I am a Dutchman." "Right again," added Scott, as the passengers landed. The steamer was the one in which Sanford and his companions had taken passage at Christiania the evening before. The absentees, "on a cruise without running away," were sorry to see the ship at anchor in the harbor, for some of them had hoped to be too late for her. When they landed, the first persons they encountered were Scott and Laybold, who gave them a very cordial greeting. Each party had a story to tell of its own adventures, and Scott knew Sanford and his associates too well to think it necessary to conceal from them the fact that he and Laybold had been the sad victims of "finkel." "But why don't you go on board?" asked Burchmore. "What's the use? All the fellows have gone up to Wobblewopkins, or some other place, to see the falls, and take an inside view of Sweden," replied Scott. "We intend to go and do likewise." "Won't you go with us?" added Laybold. The intentions of the two were explained to the others, and they all decided to join the party. Sanford was not without a hope that something would occur to prolong the "independent trip without running away." "How are you off for stamps?" asked Burchmore of the two who were by this arrangement added to his party, for which he had thus far done the financiering. "We have a little Swedish money, and some sovereigns," replied Scott. "But how many sovereigns? We may be prevented from joining the ship for a few days, and we want to know where we are in money matters," interposed Sanford. "We have enough to buy out one or two of these one-horse kingdoms, like Denmark and Sweden. I have twenty sovereigns, and Laybold has about a thousand," answered Scott. "No I haven't," protested Laybold, laughing at the extravagance of his friend. "I have only twenty-five sovereigns." "And a letter of credit for a thousand more; so it's the same thing." "No, no; knock off one cipher, Scott." "Well, seeing it's you, I'll knock off just one; but not another to please any fellow, even if he were my grandmother's first cousin," added Scott. "There's some difference between a hundred and a thousand pounds," suggested Sanford. "A slight difference," said Laybold. "I don't expect any of us will live long enough to spend a hundred pounds in this country, which is about eighteen hundred of these tricks-bunker dollars, to say nothing of a thousand. Why, we paid only three bunkers for two lodgings and two breakfasts. How's a fellow ever to spend eighteen hundred bunkers? For my part, I think I'm lucky in having less than four hundred of the things to get rid of." "But you needn't feel under the necessity of spending all your money in this country," laughed the cashier. "My father promised to send me some more; but I hope he won't do it till I get out of Sweden. If he does I shall be ruined. Here's poor Laybold, with a letter of credit for a hundred pounds, besides twenty-five in cash. I pity the poor fellow. It wouldn't be so bad in London, where it costs a fellow from ten to twenty shillings a day to breathe." "I think I shall be able to survive," added Laybold. "I hope so; but you ought to hear him talk about his bankers. Topsails and topping-lifts! His bankers! Messrs. Pitchers Brothers & Co." "No! Bowles Brothers & Co," interposed Laybold. "It's all the same thing; there isn't much difference between bowls and pitchers. One breaks as easy as the other." "But my bankers don't break." "His bankers! Do you hear that? Well, I don't believe they'll break, for all my folks, when they travel in Europe, carry the same letter of credit in their trousers pocket. I had to write to my paternal parent all last year, care of Bowles Brothers & Co., 449 Strand, Charing Cross, W. C. London, England. You see I've learned my lesson." "My letters from home come through the same house," said Laybold, "and so do those of fifty other fellows." "About the money matters," interposed Burchmore. "Shall I act for the crowd, as I did in Norway?" "For me, yes; and I hope you'll help Laybold out on the big financial job he has on his hands," said Scott. "All right," added Laybold. "I have settled up for the fellows on the Norway trip. Now, each of you give me a couple of sovereigns, which I will change into Swedish money." This arrangement was made to the satisfaction of all, and the cashier went to an exchange office, where he procured Swedish paper for the gold. "Scott, I shouldn't wonder if the principal saved you the trouble of spending your twenty pounds before we go much farther," said Sanford. "I shall thank him with tears in my eyes if he does," replied Scott, with a solemn look. "I don't believe you will. When the ship came over before, every fellow had to give up his money, and the purser doled it out to the fellows in shillings or sixpences when they went ashore." "I'm sure it was very kind of him to take so much trouble." "You don't think so." "Of course I do. Only think of poor Laybold, with a letter of credit for a hundred pounds on his hands! I'm thankful I haven't the responsibility of spending so much money on my conscience. I should apply for admission to the first lunatic asylum, if I had to spend so much." "Nonsense! I made up my mind not to give up my money," said the coxswain. "That rule made plenty of rows on the other cruise, and I expect the fellows on this cruise will be called upon to give up their stamps very soon." "I was going to say we could get even with the principal by spending it all before we go on board again; but we are in Sweden, and it is quite impossible. They won't let you pay more than seventy-five cents or a dollar for a day's board in this country." "You went to a sailor's boarding-house, Scott. When you are at a first-class hotel, you will find that they bleed you enough." "I hope they do better than the landlord where we staid last night; if they don't I shall make money in Sweden. Why, they wouldn't even pick our pockets when we were boozy on 'finkel.' I'm sure they are a great deal more accommodating at sailors' boarding-houses in Boston and New York." "Come, be serious, Scott. Shall you give up your money when you return to the ship?" "Cheerfully, for there is no chance to get rid of it in this country." "But you will want some in Russia, where everything is dear." "I'm afraid my letter of credit will arrive by that time, and I shall be burdened with new trials." "Poor fellow!" The old rule of the ship had not been enforced on the present cruise, and the principal did not intend to renew it until it was absolutely necessary. It had caused much complaint among the wealthy parents of the former students, while it had wonderfully improved the discipline; but Mr. Lowington consented to make the experiment of permitting every boy to manage his own finances. At noon the party took their places in a second-class compartment of the carriage on the railway, and started for Wenersberg. Ole spoke Swedish as well as Norwegian, and acted as interpreter. Sanford had made peace with the waif, who was now as popular as ever with all the party. Each of them, in turn, had tried to induce Ole to tell how he happened to be in that boat at sea; but he still refused to explain. The train moved off, and the tourists observed the country through which it passed; but Scott could not help grumbling because the fare was only about a dollar and a quarter for fifty miles, declaring that he should never be able to get rid of his twenty sovereigns at this rate, and that he was threatened with a letter of credit for a hundred more at St. Petersburg. At Herrljunga, the junction of the branch to Wenersberg and the main line, the guard insisted that the tourists should leave the carriage. "How's this, Ole?" asked Sanford. "Change for Wenersberg; but the train don't start till five o'clock. We must wait two hours." "But what time does it get to Wenersberg?" "About half past eight." "That's a pretty go!" exclaimed the coxswain. "You made a beautiful arrangement for this trip, Scott." "What's the matter now?" "We cannot get to Wenersberg till half past eight; and of course that will be too late to join the ship's company there." "It isn't necessary to join them there. We shall meet them on the way, and go back with them. They will be at this place some time this afternoon." "What did we come up here for?" asked Sanford. "In the first place, to get rid of four or five rix-bunkers; and in the second, to see something of this part of Sweden. We have done both, and ought to be satisfied." "O, I'm satisfied!" "You ought to be; you have four and a half bunkers less to spend. We will loaf about this place till the principal comes with the crowd, and when he sees what good boys we have been to look him up, and see that he didn't get lost, he'll forgive Laybold and me for drinking 'finkel.'" "All right. What time does the train leave for Gottenburg, Ole?" added the coxswain, turning to the interpreter. "Half past five," replied the waif. No one took the trouble to examine the time-table in the station-house, which, though in Swedish, was perfectly intelligible so far as it related to hours and towns. The tourists decided to improve the time they were obliged to wait by taking a walk about the country, examining Swedish houses and investigating Swedish agriculture. Doubtless this was a very interesting amusement; but at quarter past five, the party returned to the station. A long train was just departing in the direction of Gottenburg. "What train's that?" demanded Sanford. "I don't know," replied Ole, with a look of alarm. "Inquire, then," added the excited coxswain. The party hastened into the little station. It was the regular train for Gottenburg. "But how's that?" cried Sanford. "You said it left at half past five." "Yes; I looked at the time-table in Gottenburg, and it said half past five," replied Ole. "Here is one, and I will look again." "Better wait till morning before you look again," said Scott. "Here it is; five--" "That's all, Norway." "I'm sure it was half past five in Gottenburg," pleaded Ole, whom the coxswain had privately requested to make this blunder. "What sort of chowder do you call this, son of Odin?" demanded Scott. "He has made a blunder; that's all," laughed Burchmore, who, though not in the confidence of the coxswain, at once suspected the trick, and, to tell the truth, was not sorry for the mistake. The mishap was discussed for an hour, and poor Ole was severely blamed, especially by Sanford, for his carelessness; but he bore the censure with becoming meekness. "What's to be done?" inquired Scott, at last. "Here's another train at 8.56," replied Ole, pointing to the time-table. "We can return to Gottenburg in that." "Right, Norway," added Scott. They found a small hotel in the place, where they obtained a supper, and at the time indicated returned to Gottenburg, where they arrived at about one in the morning. It was too late to go on board of the ship, and they went directly to the little hotel in the lane, where Scott and Laybold had passed the preceding night. It was closed, but they easily roused the landlord. "So you have again come," said the good-natured host. "Yes; we have again come. It is too late to go on board of the ship," replied Scott. "Your ship have sail to-night to Copenhagen." "No! Impossible!" "I have seen her sail," persisted the landlord. "I have make no mistake." "We are dished!" exclaimed Sanford. "The young gentleman come down at seven o'clock, and the ship have sail at nine o'clock. I know it so well as I know how to speak the English." "It must be so, then," laughed Scott; "for you have spoke the English more better as nice." "What shall we do?" continued Sanford, who seemed to be positively distressed at the unfortunate circumstance. "Do? Go to bed, and go to sleep. What else can we do? You are too big a boy to cry over your misfortunes," replied Scott. "I don't intend to cry; but I feel very bad about it." "Dry your tears," said Burchmore. "We may as well take a biscuit, turn in, and call it half a day." "But when will there be a steamer to Copenhagen?" asked Sanford. "The Najaden must go Monday afternoon," answered the landlord, who, for some reason best known to himself, did not deem it prudent to mention the fact that the Kronprindsesse Louise would sail within half an hour. "This will never do," interposed Rodman. "We have been chasing the ship now for a week, and by the time we get to Copenhagen she will be gone. I move we go to Stockholm. We shall be sure to catch her there." "Good!" exclaimed Wilde. The proposition was fully discussed, and when a majority favored the movement, the others, among whom was Sanford, yielded an apparently reluctant assent. The Wadstena would start at two o'clock, and there was not a moment to lose. The landlord was astonished at the decision, and his hotel was not filled that night, as he intended it should be. Just as the canal steamer was starting, the young tourists hurried on board, and were soon on their way to Stockholm. Not a quarter of a mile distant at this moment were Peaks and his prisoner, and Blaine, the head steward, who was on the lookout for them. CHAPTER XIV. THROUGH THE SOUND TO COPENHAGEN. Mr. Lowington was almost forced to the conclusion that the experiment of permitting the students to manage their own finances was a failure. If it could be a success anywhere, it must be in the northern countries, where none of the boys spoke the language, and where the lighter intoxicants were not so common as in the more southern portions of Europe. Though he was not aware that any pupils had made an improper use of their money, the non-arrival of the crew of the second cutter, and the disappearance of Scott and Laybold in Gottenburg, seemed to have some relation to the condition of their funds. But he was willing to carry the experiment as far as practicable, and to restore the obnoxious rule only when it was absolutely necessary to do so. Two thirds of the students could be safely trusted to manage their money matters, and it was not pleasant to restrain the whole for the benefit of the minority. After the boys had walked all over Gottenburg, they were weary enough to retire at eight bells in the evening, especially as they were to turn out at two o'clock the next morning, for the trip up the Göta Canal. At the appointed time, the steamer came alongside the ship, where she took the excursionists on board, the boats of the other vessels conveying their crews to the Young America. As it was still dark, not a few of the boys finished their nap in the little steamer. About eight o'clock, she reached the long series of locks by which the canal passes the Falls of Trollhätten, and the excursionists walked for a couple of hours through the beautiful scenery, and embarking again in the steamer, arrived at Wenersberg, where they obtained a view of the Wenern Lake, and proceeded by special train to Herrljunga, and thence, by regular train, to Gottenburg, where they arrived before eight in the evening. The wind was fair, and the squadron immediately sailed to the southward. The principal was annoyed by the absence of not less than a dozen of the students; but he had every confidence in the zeal and discretion of Peaks, who was to take charge of the cutter's crew, and he left the head steward at Gottenburg to find Scott and Laybold. He feared that the success of these wanderers would encourage others to follow their example, and increased vigilance seemed to be necessary on the part of the instructors. The next day was Sunday, and it was doubly a season of rest. The breeze was fair, but very light, so that the squadron made only about four knots an hour; but on Monday morning she was fairly in the Sound, which is about three miles in width. On the left was the town of Helsingborg, in Sweden, and on the right Kronberg Castle, with Elsinore, on a kind of land-locked basin, behind it. The vessels continued on their course, keeping within a short distance of the shore, so that those on board could distinctly see the towns and villages. The houses were neat, with red roofs, each one having its little garden. There were plenty of groves and forests, and the trees were oaks and beeches, instead of pines and firs which the voyagers had seen in Norway and Sweden. The country was flat, with nothing like a hill to be seen. The breeze freshening, the squadron hastened its pace, and in the middle of the forenoon the spires of Copenhagen were in plain sight. Off in the water were several detached forts, built on small islands. The Young America led the way, and soon dropped her anchor off the citadel of Frederikshavn, and near the landing-place, where a crowd of small steamers were lying at the wharf. "Have you been here before, Dr. Winstock?" asked Captain Lincoln, as he saw the surgeon examining the aspect of the city. "Yes; several years ago. I have been in every country in Europe." "Copenhagen don't look just as I expected it would," added the commander. "I thought it must be a very old, black, and musty-looking place." "You see that it is not,--at least not from the water; but you will find plenty of dismal and gloomy-looking buildings in it. The fact is, Denmark is too small a kingdom to support all the show and expense of royalty: its palaces are too large and costly to be retained as such, and many of them have been permitted to fall into partial decay. But I will not anticipate Mr. Mapps' lecture, for I see the signal is flying." "She makes a tremendous display of forts and guns," added Lincoln, glancing from the batteries of Trekroner and Lynetten to the bristling guns of Frederikshavn. "Doubtless it is a strong place, but the English have twice captured the city. Here are the boats from the other vessels. I suppose we shall go ashore after dinner." The steerage was soon crowded with students, and Mr. Mapps took his usual position at the foremast, on which appeared the map of Denmark. "In English this country is called Denmark," said the professor; "but it has this name in no other language. The Danes call it _Danmark_, the adjective of which is _Danske_; and the country is also called the _Danske Stat_, or Danish States. In German it is _Dänemark_; in French, _Danemark_; in Italian, _Danimarca_. It is bounded on the north by the Skager Rack, or Sleeve; on the east by the Cattegat, the Sound, and the Baltic Sea; on the south by the Duchy of Schleswig and the Baltic; and on the west by the North Sea. When this ship was in Europe before, Schleswig-Holstein and Lauenburg belonged to Denmark; but now they belong to Prussia, and Jutland is all that remains of continental Denmark. This peninsula has an area of nine thousand six hundred square miles, or about the size of the State of New Hampshire. With the several islands, the entire area of Denmark is fourteen thousand five hundred square miles. Greenland, Iceland, the Faroe Islands, and several small islands in the West Indies, belong to her. The population is nearly one million eight hundred thousand--about equal to that of Massachusetts and New Hampshire united. "The country is flat, or gently undulating, and the highest hill is only five hundred and fifty feet high. The soil is sandy on the peninsula, and not very fertile, but very rich on some of the islands. It is indented to a remarkable degree with bays and inlets, and the whole interior is dotted with small lakes, usually connected by a river, like a number of eggs on a string. The Lim Fjord, which you see in the north, formerly only extended to within a short distance of the North Sea; but in 1825 a tempest broke through the narrow neck of land, and opened a passage for small vessels. These inland lakes are full of fish, and salmon was once so plenty that householders were forbidden by law to feed their servants with this food more than once a week. "The two largest islands are Fünen and Seeland, which are separated by the Great Belt, and the former from the main land by the Little Belt. In winter these are frozen over, as is the Sound in the severer seasons, and have been crossed by armies engaged in military operations. The country is well wooded, and you will find plenty of large oaks and beeches. This morning you passed Elsinore, where Shakespeare locates Hamlet; but you cannot find where 'the morn walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill,' for there are no hills there; nor 'the dreadful summit of the cliff, that beetles o'er his base into the sea.' It is a flat region, with only a low cliff to border the sea; certainly with no such tremendous steeps as the poet describes. Besides, Hamlet lived and died in Jutland. But Shakespeare used the poet's license. "Nearly all of Denmark lies between latitude fifty-five and fifty-eight; but, though the thermometer sometimes falls to twenty-two degrees below zero in winter, the average temperature is mild. The climate does not materially differ from the eastern coast of Massachusetts. The air is so humid that the grass and trees have a livelier green than the countries farther south, and droughts are almost unknown. When France and Germany are parched and dry, Denmark is fresh and green. The people are engaged principally in agriculture and commerce. The chief exports are grain, cattle, and horses. "The government is a constitutional monarchy. The king is assisted in the executive department by a 'Royal Privy Council' of seven ministers. The legislature is called the Rigsdag, and consists of the Landsthing, or upper house, and the Folkething, or lower house. Of the former, twelve are nominated for life, by the king, from the present or past members of the lower house, and the remaining fifty-four are elected, in four classes, by the largest tax-payers in country districts, in towns, in cities, and by deputies representing the ordinary voters. The members of the lower house are chosen directly by the people. All male citizens of twenty-five, except paupers, and servants who are not householders, are voters. "The established religion of the state is Lutheran, and the king must be of this church. He nominates the bishops, who have no political power, as in England. They have the general supervision and management of all the affairs of the church in the kingdom. Although there are only about thirteen thousand non-Lutherans in Denmark, entire religious toleration prevails, and no man can be deprived of his civil and political rights on account of his creed. "Free education is provided by the government for all children whose parents cannot afford to pay for tuition, and attendance at school, between the ages of seven and fourteen, is compulsory. All the people, therefore, are instructed in the elementary branches; and, besides the University of Copenhagen, there is a system of high and middle schools, available for the children of merchants, mechanics, and the more prosperous of the laboring classes. "Every able-bodied man in Denmark, who has attained the age of twenty-one, is liable to serve as a soldier for eight years in the regular army, and eight more in the army of the reserve. In preparation for this duty, every man is enrolled, and required to drill for a period of from four to six months, according to the arm of the service in which he is placed; and those who do not become proficient in this time are required to drill for another and longer period. The kingdom is divided into military districts, and all the soldiers are required to drill from thirty to forty-five days every year. The navy of Denmark consists of thirty-one steamers of all classes, six of which are iron-clads, carrying three hundred and twelve guns, and manned by nine hundred men. "Little is known of the history of this country before the eighth century, but the Cimbri occupied it before the time of Christ. The Danes conquered portions of England, and in the eleventh century, Canute, who introduced Christianity into his realm, completed the conquest. Norway was also included in his kingdom, and under him and his successors, during the next two hundred years, Denmark attained the summit of her power and glory. Holstein, Lauenburg, and several other of the northern provinces of Germany, and even a portion of Prussia, were subjected to her sway. Waldemar II., a successor of Canute, with his eldest son, was daringly captured, while resting from the fatigues of the chase, one evening, by Count Schwerin, whom the king had provoked to wrath by some flagrant injustice. This bold act of retaliation was carried to a successful issue, and the king and his son were transported by water to Castle Schwerin, in Mecklenburg, where they were kept as prisoners for three years--a most remarkable instance of retribution, if we consider that Waldemar was the most powerful sovereign of the north. By threats and bribes his release was procured; but during his confinement the conquered provinces had revolted, and the king was unable to recover his lost possessions. Denmark was thus reduced from her lofty position by the injustice of her king. "Towards the close of the fourteenth century, Margaret--the Semiramis of the North--succeeded to the thrones of Norway and Denmark, and added Sweden to her dominions by conquest, in the compact of Calmar. The Swedes, under Gustavus Vasa, established their independence after the union had existed for one hundred and twenty-five years. At the death of the last of Margaret's line, in 1439, the states of Denmark elected the count of Oldenburg their king, who reigned as Christian I. He was made duke of Schleswig and count of Holstein, and thus the sovereign of Denmark became the ruler of these duchies, about which there has been so much trouble within the last ten years, and which caused the war of 1866 between Prussia and Austria. He was followed by his son Hans, or John, whose heir was Christian II., deposed in 1523. This prince was a tyrant, and was kept a prisoner for twenty-seven years. His crown was given to Frederick, Duke of Schleswig and Holstein, in whose reign Sweden established her independence. His son Christian III. succeeded him. In the great wars which followed the Reformation, the kings of Denmark took the Protestant side. In repeated conflicts with the Swedes, Denmark lost much of her territory. After Christian III. came Frederick II., and then Christian IV., who was followed by Frederick III., in whose reign the crown, which had been nominally elective, was made hereditary in the Oldenburg line. Under Christian V. the country was at peace; but Frederick IV., who came after him, brought on a war with Sweden by invading the territory of the Duke of Holstein, an ally of the King of Sweden, which continued till 1718. Under Christian VI. and Frederick V. the country was at peace. Christian VII. married the sister of George III. of England, and was followed, in 1808, by Frederick VI., their son. "In 1780, Russia, Sweden, and Denmark, under the influence of France, established a new code of maritime laws, which operated against the interests of England. This action in convention was called 'Armed Neutrality,' and in 1800, during the reign of Christian VII., its principles were revived, and a new agreement was signed by Russia, Prussia, Denmark, and Sweden. It declared that arms and ammunition alone were contraband of war, that merchandise of belligerents, except contraband of war, was to be protected by a neutral flag, and that 'paper blockades' should be regarded as ineffectual. England immediately laid an embargo on the vessels of the powers signing it. In 1801, a British fleet under Sir Hyde Parker, with Nelson as second in command, bombarded Copenhagen. Again, in 1807, England, fearing that Denmark would be compelled by Napoleon to take part against her, bombarded Copenhagen, and compelled the government to give up its entire fleet, which was sent to England. This ended the armed neutrality. At the final treaty of peace, in 1814, Norway was ceded to Sweden, which, in return, gave to Denmark Pomerania, and the Island of Rügen; but the next year Pomerania was passed over to Prussia, in exchange for the Duchy of Lauenburg. "Frederick VI. reigned till 1839, when he was followed by Christian VIII. The two Duchies of Schleswig and Holstein were still subjects of dispute. The king claimed them, but the people of Holstein were German in sentiment, and objected to the incorporation of their country in the Kingdom of Denmark, to which the continued efforts of the latter were directed. The Danish language was required to be used to the exclusion of the German. In 1848, Frederick VII. came to the throne, and was more energetic in pushing his claims to the duchies than some of his predecessors had been. The people of Holstein, which was a member of the German Confederation, were in a state of insurrection, when the King of Denmark virtually annexed both duchies to his kingdom. War ensued, and continued for three years. The interference of some of the great powers restored peace, but left the question in dispute unsettled." "What was the question in dispute?" asked Captain Lincoln. "I will explain it, though there are so many complications to it, that only a general view of the subject can be given. For four hundred years the line of Oldenburg has occupied the throne of Denmark. Schleswig and Holstein were governed by the same rulers, though each country was separately organized. But the law of succession was different. In Denmark a female could rule, while in the duchies the line was limited to males. Frederick VII. had no children, and it was seen that the direct line of the house of Oldenburg would be extinct at his death. A treaty made by the several powers interested gave the succession to Prince Christian, whose wife was entitled to the throne by right of her descent from Christian III., who died in 1559; but she yielded her right to her husband, who ascended the throne in 1863, as Christian IX., and is the present king. At the death of Frederick VII., the Duke of Augustenburg claimed the duchies. Germany desired to separate Schleswig-Holstein from Denmark. The German troops entered Holstein, which was a member of the Confederation, and entitled to its protection. Denmark refused to yield her title to the duchies, and war ensued. The Danes were overwhelmed, and repeatedly defeated. England declined to assist Denmark, as had been expected by the latter, and Denmark was compelled to renounce all her claims to Schleswig-Holstein and Lauenburg, in favor of Prussia and Austria. The main question in regard to the final disposition of the duchies was left open for future adjustment, and Prussia took temporary possession of Schleswig, and Austria of Holstein. The Duke of Augustenburg was permitted to remain in the latter, but forbidden to get up any demonstration in aid of his own claims. "Austria favored the claim of the duke, while Prussia denied it, and accused her then powerful rival of encouraging revolutionary movements in Holstein dangerous to the thrones of Europe. Then followed the great war of 1866, which resulted in the utter humiliation of Austria, and the annexation of all the disputed territories to Prussia. Denmark, thus shorn of her territories and her power, has become an insignificant kingdom. With less than two million inhabitants, she supports all the costly trappings of royalty, and keeps an army and navy. The king has a civil list of nearly three hundred thousand dollars, and the heir apparent has an allowance exceeding the salary of the President of the United States, while the entire revenue of the nation is only about thirteen million dollars. Prince Frederick, the king's oldest son, who succeeds to the throne, married the daughter of the King of Sweden and Norway. The princess Alexandra, the oldest daughter, is the wife of the Prince of Wales. Prince Wilhelm, the second son, was elected King of Greece, under the title of Georgios I. in 1863. The Princess Dagmar is the wife of the Grand Duke Alexander, of Russia, heir of the throne. By their connections two of the sons are, or will be, kings, one daughter Queen of England, and another Empress of Russia. "In 1348, the King of Denmark levied duties on all vessels passing through the Sound, at the Fortress of Kronberg, which were applied to the expenses of the light-houses, and the protection of shipping from pirates. The United States first objected to the payment of this tax, and called the attention of the commercial nations of Europe to the annoyance. All vessels were obliged to anchor, and submit to vexatious delays; but none doubted the right to levy the dues, which had been formally regulated by treaties. Denmark consented to abandon her claims on the payment of about fifteen millions of dollars by the nations of Europe, and about four hundred thousand on the part of the United States." The professor completed his lecture, and the students separated. Most of them climbed into the rigging, or seated themselves on the rail, where they could see the city and the various objects of interest in the harbor. The view shoreward from the ship was very unsatisfactory, for the city, built on a dead level, presented but little to challenge the attention of the voyager. While they were observing the surroundings, a shore boat approached the vessel, in which were two persons wearing the uniform of the squadron. One of them was a stout man, in whom the students soon recognized Peaks. "But who is that with him?" asked Norwood. "It's one of the second cutter's crew, I suppose," replied De Forrest. "I didn't think, when I went ashore with them, that I shouldn't see any of them again for so long a time. I wonder where the rest of them are." "That's not one of the second cutters," added Judson. "It is the English fellow." "So it is." Peaks came alongside, and directed Clyde Blacklock to mount the accommodation ladder, which he did without making any objection. They had arrived the day before. The prisoner seemed to have lost some portion of his stubborn spirit. The boatswain followed him to the deck, and touching his cap to the captain and other officers on the quarter-deck, went aft, where the principal was talking with the surgeon. "We have come on board, sir," said the boatswain, as he took off his cap and pointed to Clyde. "I see you have," replied Mr. Lowington. "I'm glad to see you again, Clyde." The young Briton nodded his head with a jerk, but made no reply. "Have you seen Mr. Blaine, Peaks?" asked the principal. "Yes, sir; I met him on the wharf night before last at Gottenburg." "But where are the crew of the second cutter? I expected you to bring them." "They came back to Christiania on Friday, and took the steamer for Gottenburg the same evening; but Mr. Blaine had not seen them. Their steamer arrived in the forenoon, and the ship did not sail till night." "I am afraid there is something wrong about it." "I left Mr. Blaine in Gottenburg. I suppose he will find them." Peaks reported in detail the result of his mission on shore. So far as Clyde was concerned it was entirely satisfactory; but the continued absence of the second cutter's crew was very annoying to the principal. "How do you feel, Clyde?" asked Mr. Lowington, turning to the new student. "I feel well enough," replied the runaway, roughly. "I am glad you do. I hope you feel better than when you left the ship." "I don't." "While you were on board before, I neglected to explain to you the consequences of leaving the ship without permission." "It wouldn't have made any difference. I should have gone just the same," answered Clyde, doggedly. "The less trouble you make, the better it will be for you." "Perhaps it will; but I don't intend to stay in this ship a great while." "I intend that you shall stay here; and since you avow your purpose to run away again, I must see that you are put in a safe place. Peaks, the brig." "The brig? What's that?" demanded Clyde, who was very suspicious of the calm, unmoved tones of the principal. "Come with me, my lad, and I will show you," replied the boatswain. The Briton knew by sad experience how useless it was to contend against this tyrant, who, however, always used him well when he behaved in a reasonable manner. He followed the boatswain into the steerage, and the door of the brig, which was a small prison formed of plank slats, set upright under the steps, about three inches apart, was opened. "That's the brig, my boy," said Peaks. "It's a regular institution on board a man-of-war; but this one has not been opened for months." "Well, what's it for?" asked Clyde, who even yet did not seem to comprehend its use. "Walk in, and I will make it all plain to you in a moment." "I don't know what you mean." "Sail in!" shouted a student, who, with others, was observing the treatment. "On deck, sir!" said the boatswain, sternly, to the speaker. "Report yourself." It was a principle in the discipline of the ship that no person should say or do anything to irritate a student undergoing punishment, and no one was permitted, on such occasions, to take part on either side, unless called upon by the officer or instructor to do so. In ordinary cases no boy was required, or permitted, to be a "tell-tale," and all were expected to remain neutral. The student who had spoken left the steerage, and went on deck, before Clyde had time to "open upon him," as he intended to do. "Step in, my lad," added Peaks. "What for?" asked the Briton, as he obeyed the order, but not without a suspicion that he was to step upon a red-hot gridiron, or be precipitated through some opening in the deck into the dark depths beneath. No such calamity happened to him, and he was rather astonished to find that no harsher punishment was used for the flagrant offence he had committed. He had pushed the boatswain overboard, and then run away. Peaks had never manifested any resentment towards him on account of his cowardly trick; but he anticipated some severe discipline on board of the ship. The boatswain closed and locked the door of the brig, and then looked in at the prisoner through the slats. "Do you understand what the brig is for now?" asked Peaks. "You have locked me in--that's all." "That's all, my lad." "How long am I to stay here?" "Till you make up your mind not to run away." "This isn't a bad place, and I shall stay here till I grow gray before I promise not to be off when I get a chance." "All right, my hearty. Think of it a few weeks." To one who had expected some horrible punishment for his misdemeanors, the brig seemed like very mild discipline. Clyde seated himself on the stool in his prison, and leisurely surveyed the surroundings. He was an enterprising youth, and the bars of his cage looked small and weak. At dinner time, the meal was handed in to him, and he ate with an excellent appetite. Soon after, he heard the call for all hands, and then the waiter in the steerage told him they had gone on shore to see the city. Everything was quiet and still, and he devoted himself to a more particular examination of the bars of the brig. They were two inches thick, but the case looked hopeful. Pursuing his investigations still farther, he found, under the steps, a saw, a hammer, a chisel, and some other tools, which Bitts, the carpenter, had placed there a few days before, and forgotten to remove. Clyde took up the saw; but just then, Peaks, with a book in his hand, seated himself at a table near the brig, and began to read. CHAPTER XV. COPENHAGEN AND TIVOLI. All the boats of the squadron came into line, each with the flag in the bow and stern. They pulled along the water front of the city, around a couple of Danish men-of-war, and of course created a sensation. One by one the boats rowed up to the landing, and the students went on shore, each crew securing its cutter at the wharf, near the steps. The custom-house officers were on the alert; but as no one had parcels of any kind, the students were not detained. Mr. and Mrs. Kendall landed, and as they intended to spend a few days in the city, they had a couple of valises, which the porters, who are always in waiting at all the ports in Europe, conveyed into the custom-house. The Toldbod, as this edifice is called by the Danes, is surrounded by a high wall, which also encloses the entire landing-place, so that none can visit the city from the sea without passing through its gates. One of the officers spoke English very well, and evidently took pride in doing so, for he asked a great many questions so pleasantly, that it was impossible to explain his object in any other way. He wished to know whether the travellers had any clothing they had not worn, and whether Mrs. Kendall had any tobacco or liquor. She protested that she did not use tobacco or liquor; and the actual examination of the baggage was a mere form. The man was so polite, that Paul at once concluded he was only practising his English. A carriage was procured, and Dr. Winstock and Captain Lincoln were invited to join the party. The inquiring students deemed it a great privilege to be permitted to go with the surgeon, for he was a walking encyclopædia of every city and country in Europe. As Paul Kendall had been before, Captain Lincoln was now, the favorite of the doctor, and the little party were to see the city together. The carriage went out at the gate, and passed into Amaliegade. The houses were plain and substantial, without much ornament. They were of brick, but most of them were covered with stucco. "What's this?" asked Paul, as the carriage entered an open space, with an equestrian statue in the centre. "Frederiksplads," replied the doctor; "and that is the statue of Frederik V., who came to the throne in 1746, and in whose reign this palace was erected." The place was an octagon, surrounded on all sides by public buildings. "This is the residence of the king on the left. On the other side is the palace of the crown prince. There is the foreign office, and on the other side lives the queen dowager." "They are not very elegant buildings," said Captain Lincoln. "No; there are no very fine buildings in Copenhagen, though the Exchange is a very curious structure, and some are very large and unwieldy. There's the Casino," added the doctor. "What's a casino?" inquired the captain. "Here it is a building for dancing, concerts, theatrical performances, and similar amusements in the winter season. Everything is cheap here, and the price of admission to the Casino, where one joins the dance or sees a play, is two or three marks." "How much is that? I haven't looked up the money yet," said Paul. "A rigsbank dollar is the unit, worth about fifty-four cents of our money. It is divided into six marks, of nine cents each, and a mark into sixteen skillings, of about half a cent each. When the Italian opera is at the Casino, the prices are only three or four marks. This is Gothersgade," added Dr. Winstock, as the carriage turned into another street. "In plain English, Gothic street." "There's another equestrian statue," added Captain Lincoln, pointing to a large, irregular space, surrounded by public buildings. "The statue of Christian V. This is Kongens, or King's Square. There are the Academy of Arts, the Royal Theatre, the Guard House, the New Market--none of them very fine, as you can see for yourselves." The carriage crossed this square, and came out at a canal, on the other side of which was the vast palace of Christiansborg. A short distance farther brought the party to the Royal Hotel. The carriage stopped at the door in the arch, and the two landlords, the porter, the waiters, and the clerk, half a score strong, turned out to receive its occupants. All of them bowed low, and all of them led the way up stairs. Paul took a parlor and chamber for himself and lady. "Now, where's Joseph?" asked Dr. Winstock. "Who's Joseph?" inquired the captain. "He is the guide at this hotel, if he is still living." Joseph was sent for, and soon made his appearance. He was an elderly man, with gray hair and whiskers, neatly dressed in black. His manners were very agreeable, and he exhibited a lively zeal to serve the tourists. Mr. Lowington had been courteously waited upon by an officer of the government, who had volunteered to have the various palaces, museums, and other places of interest, opened during the afternoon and the next day. Joseph had procured a two-horse carriage, and the party at the hotel seated themselves in it, with the guide on the box with the driver. "That's the Slot," said Joseph, pointing across the canal. "The what?" exclaimed Captain Lincoln. "The Slot, or Palace of Christiansborg." "Slot! What a name!" "But not any worse than the German word _Schloss_," added Joseph, laughing. "Do you speak German, sir?" "Not much." The guide uttered a few sentences in German, evidently for the purpose of demonstrating that he spoke the language. "The palace is on an island called Slotsholm, and is as big as it is ugly. Shall we go there now?" "No; we want a general view of the city first," replied Dr. Winstock. "I think we had better ascend to the top of the Round Tower." Joseph gave the order, and the carriage proceeded to the tower. The canal in front of the hotel was filled with small craft, which had brought pottery and various wares from other parts of Denmark, to sell. The goods were arranged on the decks and on the shore of the canal. Near were groups of women, who were selling fish, vegetables, and other articles, around whom was a crowd of purchasers. "I suppose you have heard of Andersen?" said Joseph to the captain. "Heard of him! I have read all his books which have been translated into English," replied Captain Lincoln. "He has rooms in that building some of the time. Do you see that sign--Melchoir?" "Yes." "This Melchoir is a very dear friend of Andersen, who lives with him a portion of the time." "Is it possible to see Hans Christian Andersen?" asked Mrs. Kendall. "Quite possible, madam. I will see about it to-day. He is a very agreeable man, and willing to meet all who wish to see him," answered Joseph. "There's the Town Hall," he added, as the carriage passed a large building, with an extensive colonnade in front. "'_Med Lov skal man Land bygge_,'" said Lincoln, reading an inscription on the front. "Those are my sentiments exactly." "'With law must the land be built' is the English of that," laughed Joseph. "All the Jutland laws begin with this phrase, which was spoken by Waldemar II. We Danes believe in law, and everything that is good. Copenhagen is a very fine city, and everything is remarkably cheap here." "What do you call your city in your own lingo, Joseph?" "Kjöbenhavn; pronounce it Chép-en-ahn." "Chepenahn," repeated Lincoln. "Speak it a little quicker, and you will have it right. It was first called simply the Haven; then in Danish, when many merchants carried on business here, _Kaupmannahöfn_, or merchants' haven, from which it was shortened into _chepenahn_. Here is the Round Tower," added Joseph, as the carriage stopped. The party alighted and entered the structure, which was the tower of the Church of the Trinity. "This used to be the watch tower, where men were kept to give the alarm in case of fire; but the observatory has been moved to the tower of St. Nicholas, and now we have a telegraphic fire alarm. Won't you walk up to the top of this tower, where you can have a fine view of the whole city? The ascent is very easy," continued Joseph. There were no stairs, but an inclined plane, gradual in its rise, permitted the tourists to ascend to the summit with very little labor. "We might have driven up in the carriage," said Captain Lincoln. "There would be no difficulty at all in doing so. In fact, Peter the Great, when he was in Copenhagen, in 1716, drove to the top with the Empress Catharine, in a coach and four." "Is that so?" asked the captain. "I can't remember so far back myself," chuckled Joseph, "for I'm not much over a hundred years old; but everybody says it is true, and I see no reason to doubt the story. Peter the Great liked to do strange things, and you can see for yourself that a carriage would run very well here." "If he went up with a coach and four, of course he must have come down, unless the carriage and horses are up there now. How did he turn his team?" "It is easier to ask some questions than to answer them," replied Joseph. "History does not say that he drove down, only that he drove up." "Perhaps he backed down, which kings and emperors are sometimes obliged to do, as well as common people," suggested Paul Kendall. "Very likely he did; I don't see any other way for the team to descend," added Joseph. "This tower was begun in 1639." At the top of the structure the travellers took a general survey of the city, and then proceeded to examine it in detail. "Do you remember the latitude of Copenhagen, Captain Lincoln?" asked Dr. Winstock. "About fifty-five and a half." "The same as the middle of Labrador. Quebec is about forty-seven, and this is a long way farther north. What is the population of this city, Joseph?" asked the doctor. "One hundred and eighty-one thousand," replied the guide, giving the census of 1870. "Formerly the city was a walled town, with ramparts and moats. It was built partly on Seeland, and partly on the small island of Amager. The channel between them is the harbor. You can see where the old line of fortifications was. The old town lies nearest to the sea, but the city is now spreading rapidly out into the country." "What is that broad sheet of water, with two bridges over it?" asked Lincoln, pointing to the land side. "That is the reservoir. Formerly the water in the city was bad, but now it has an excellent system of water-works. The water comes in from the country, and is pumped up by steam before it is distributed. Beyond that, for miles, the country is covered with beautiful villas and country residences. You must ride out there, for the environs of Copenhagen are as fine as anything in Europe." "You are right, Joseph," added the doctor. "Some parts of the city are not unlike Holland, you see. The Slotsholm canal gives that part of the town a decidedly Dutch look." "The part on Amager, called Christianshavn, is all cut up by canals," added the guide. "Now, we will take a ride around the city," said Paul Kendall. The party descended, and having driven through some of the principal streets, and obtained a very good idea of the city, returned to the hotel. "Now you can dismiss the carriage, and we will go to some of the museums and churches," suggested Joseph. "We don't care to walk far; we will retain the carriage," replied Paul. "It will be much cheaper to walk, as you have to pay four marks an hour for the carriage," pleaded the economical guide. "Thorwaldsen's Museum and the Northern Antiquities are only a few steps from here." "Very well; we will walk, then, if you insist upon it," laughed Paul. "I thought these guides made you spend as much money as possible," said Captain Lincoln to the surgeon. "I never found it so. I think they are a very useful class of men. They charge here about two rigsdalers a day, and I remember that Joseph would not let me throw away a single mark. They know the prices for carriages and everything else, and it is for their interest not to let any one cheat their employers. Perhaps it is not well to make purchases with them, for they compel the merchant to pay them a commission, which increases the price charged for the articles. But I think, in many places, I have done better with a _commissionnaire_ than without one, in making purchases." Joseph led the way across the bridge to Slotsholm, which was nearly covered by the immense palace of Christiansborg and its dependencies. The first building was Thorwaldsen's Museum, the outer walls of which were covered with an Etruscan fresco of the arrival and debarkation of the great sculptor and his goods, mostly works of art. The figures are about life size, and the situation in which the pictures are placed is novel and quaint. The work was done by inlaying cement of different colors in the wall. Joseph described the various scenes. Thorwaldsen is still held in the highest regard and veneration by all Denmark, and especially by all Copenhagen; indeed, he seems to be the great genius of the country. He was born in 1770, near the city. His father was an Icelander, and a carver in wood--a calling in which the son assisted him when he was only a dozen years old. At seventeen he received the prize of a silver medal from the Academy of Arts, and at twenty-three the grand prize, which carried with it a royal pension, that enabled him to go abroad for the study of his art. He went to Rome in 1796, where he had but little success, and was reduced almost to despair, when his model of Jason and the Golden Fleece attracted the attention of an English gentleman, who commissioned him to complete the work in marble. This event was the dawn of success, and orders continued to pour in upon him from the rich and the powerful, including kings and emperors, until his fortune was made. His works adorn many of the great cities of Europe, and Canova was his only actual rival. His fame extended to every nation, and a visit to his native land in 1819 was a triumphal progress through Italy and Germany. In 1838 he returned to Copenhagen, to pass the remainder of his days, in a frigate sent to Italy for his use by the Danish government. On one side of his museum are depicted his arrival in this ship, and his reception by the citizens; and on the other side, the conveyance of his works from the ship to their final destination. Thorwaldsen went to Rome again on a visit for his health, and died in Copenhagen in 1844. He was a modest, generous, and amiable man. The museum was erected by subscription, though the sculptor gave a fourth part of the sum necessary for its erection, and in his will bequeathed to it the works of art from his cunning brain, of which its contents are almost entirely composed. His biography has been written by Hans Christian Andersen. After examining the frescoes on the outer wall, the party entered the building. It is an oblong structure, with a court-yard in the middle. It is two stories in height, with connected rooms extending entirely around it. The works of art, and memorials of the sculptor, are classified in these apartments, forty-two in number. "That is the grave of Thorwaldsen," said Joseph, leading the way into the court-yard. "His body lies there, surrounded by his works, as he requested." The grave is an oblong enclosure of polished granite, raised a few inches above the ground, and covered over with ivy. At the foot of it is a black cross, with the date of his death inscribed upon it. The tourists walked through the various rooms, and examined the works of the immortal genius, most of which were in plaster, being the models of all his great achievements set up in marble in various parts of Europe. His pictures, his library, his collections of coins, vases, and antiquities, are placed in the museum. One room is fitted up with his furniture, precisely as he used it, and various interesting mementos of the man are to be seen there. Among the pictures are some mere daubs, which are preserved only because they belonged to Thorwaldsen; but they have an interest as an illustration of the benevolent character of the great sculptor, who ordered many of them merely to save the artists from starvation. "Did you ever see Thorwaldsen?" asked Lincoln, as Joseph conducted his charge from the building. "Often," replied the guide. "He was a venerable-looking old man, with long, white hair. He made a statue of himself, which is very like him. He died suddenly in the theatre, and the king and royal family followed his remains to the church." The Museum of Northern Antiquities was in the old palace of a prince, on the other side of the canal. On the front of the building were some quaint carvings, which gave it a picturesque appearance. Joseph seemed to be in his element at this museum. He spoke glibly and learnedly of "the stone age," "the bronze age," and "the iron age," each designated by the material of which the implements used for domestic purposes, in war and agriculture, were composed. Numberless utensils of all kinds are contained in the cabinets, classified with rare skill, and arranged with excellent taste. All these objects were found below ground, in various parts of Scandinavia. In Denmark the law requires that all antiquities of metal shall belong to the government, which, however, pays the full value of the articles to the finder. In 1847 a pair of solid gold bracelets, very heavy, and elegantly wrought, were dug up from the earth, and added to this collection. There is a great variety of ornaments, in gold and silver, consisting of necklaces, rings, bracelets, and similar trinkets. One necklace contains three pounds of pure gold. There are plenty of knives, arrow-heads, hatchets, hammers, chisels, and other implements, skilfully made of stone. Runic writings, the most valuable in the world, are collected here. Joseph said that certain long pieces of wood, with signs carved upon them, were Icelandic Calendars. The remains of a warrior, who had fought and died in the ancient time, with the iron mail of his day, were examined with interest, as were also a number of altars, coffers containing relics, and some gold crosses, one of which is said to contain a splinter from the true cross, which were exhibited as specimens of the Catholic form of worship in remote times. Recrossing the bridge over the canal, the party entered the great, barn-like palace of Christiansborg. It consists of several connected buildings, containing a theatre, riding-school, stables, coach-houses, bake-house, and the usual royal apartments. In 1168 a castle was erected on this spot, as a protection against pirates, which was repeatedly demolished, rebuilt, altered, and enlarged, till it was levelled to the ground in 1732, and a new palace erected, but was destroyed by fire in 1784. It was rebuilt, in its present cumbrous proportions, in 1828. The visitors entered the large court-yard, passed through the picture gallery, the "Hall of the Knights," the throne-room, looked into the riding-school,--which is a large, oblong room, with an earth floor, where the royal family may practise equestrianism,--the arsenal, the legislative chambers, and other rooms, none of which were very striking to those who had visited the palaces of Paris, London, Berlin, and St. Petersburg. In front of the palace is a beautiful green, beyond which is the Exchange, or Börsen, built by Christian IV. It is the most picturesque edifice in the city, though the interior is entirely commonplace. It is long and very narrow, and ornamented with a vast number of figures cut in the stone, with elegantly-wrought portals at the entrances. But the spire is the most remarkable portion of the building, and consists of four dragons, the heads at the apex looking towards the four points of the compass. From the Exchange the party walked to the Fruekirke, or Church of our Lady, which is interesting only on account of the works of Thorwaldsen which it contains. Behind the altar is the majestic and beautiful statue of Christ, which stretches out its wounded hands, as if he were saying, "Come unto me, ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest." On each side of the church are the figures of the twelve apostles, placed against the walls at equal distances, so as to include the whole extent. In the middle of the choir, in front of the altar, is the figure of an angel, holding a baptismal font, in the shape of a shell, which some call Thorwaldsen's masterpiece. In the sacristy of the church are several other works of the great sculptor, who was first interred in this place, before the museum was ready to receive his remains. Mrs. Kendall declared she had seen enough for one day, for sight-seeing is the hardest work one can do when it is overdone. After supper, when the lady was rested, she consented to visit Tivoli, where the students were to spend the evening. This celebrated resort of the Copenhageners is situated just outside of the old walls of the city, near the arm of the sea which divides Amager from Seeland. One of the two horse-railways, which the people in Europe generally persist in calling "tramways," extends through the city, passing the gates of this garden. Several of the officers and seamen of the ship came by the cars, which hardly differ from those in use in the principal cities of the United States; but all of them have accommodations for passengers on the top. Captain Lincoln--who had been on board of the ship since he left the party with whom he had spent the afternoon--and Norwood were passengers in a car; but though they could not speak a word of Norsk, they were not disturbed by the situation. Presently the conductor presented himself, which caused a general sounding of pockets among the occupants of the car. He had a tin box, suspended by a strap, which passed around his neck, to contain the money he received. In his hand he held a compact little roll of yellow paper, an inch and a half in width, across which was printed a succession of little tickets, each with a number. The fare was four skillings, or two and one fourth cents, and, as each person paid, the conductor handed him one of these papers, torn from the roll. Captain Lincoln gave him a piece of money, and held up two fingers, pointing to his companion at the same time, to indicate that he paid for both. The man gave him his change, and two of the yellow tickets. [Illustration: Kjobenhavns Sporvei. 4 Skilling. 904] "What are these for?" asked Lincoln, glancing at the little papers. "They are tickets, of course," replied Norwood. "I don't think so," added the captain. "All the people seem to throw them away, and the floor of the car is covered with them." "O, I know now what they are!" exclaimed Norwood. "I have heard of such things." "I never did." "I suppose you know what 'knocking down' means--don't you?" laughed the second lieutenant. "It means stealing." "Precisely so. It is said that conductors and omnibus drivers at home 'knock down' a good deal, which is the technical name for taking a portion of the fares. They use 'spotters' in our country to keep the conductors and drivers honest." "Spotters?" "Yes, that's the name of them. They are men and women, whom the conductors cannot distinguish from other passengers, employed by the railway companies to ride in the cars, and report the number of passengers on certain trips, so that the agents can tell whether the fares are all paid over. These tickets are used for the same purpose." "I don't see what good they do. They certainly can't keep the men honest, for almost everybody throws away his ticket." "They are called control-marks," said a gentleman next to the captain, who had been listening with interest to the conversation, and who spoke good English. "The man has to tear one of them off every time a passenger pays him." "They are all numbered, I see; mine is nine hundred and four," added Lincoln. "When the man gives up this roll at night, the next number will show how many he has torn off. If he began at No. 200 this morning, he has taken seven hundred and four fares." "But he might neglect to tear off fifty or a hundred in the course of a day," suggested Lincoln, "and put the money for them in his pocket." "If he does so, everybody is watching him, and anybody may report him to the agent. I am a share-owner of the company, and for aught the conductor knows, there may be one in every car. If the man neglects his duty, my interest would prompt me to look after him." "I see; thank you, sir." "Here is Tivoli," added the gentleman. "I suppose you are going there." "Yes, sir." "It is a fine garden, and very cheap." The young officers left the car, and bought tickets at the gate, for which they paid one mark, or nine cents, each. Near the entrance they found a man selling programmes of the evening's entertainment, at two skillings each. Captain Lincoln bought one, for he carefully preserved every handbill, ticket, or programme for future reference. He could read a little of it. The performances were varied, and covered the time from six o'clock till midnight. But the young officers preferred to take a general view of the premises. It was an extensive garden, prettily and tastefully laid out, with accommodations for concerts, circus, and theatrical performances. In the centre was a "beer garden," with table and seats, for little parties, who drank their beer and chatted, while a band played in a kiosk. Near it was a bazaar, where all kinds of fancy articles were arranged for sale, with the attendant raffles and lotteries. Farther removed from the centre was a theatre, consisting, however, of only the stage, the audience seating themselves in the open air. The performance, from six to seven, as the captain read in his programme, was R1. 6. Entrée gymnastique af Brodrene Hermann. Or, in plain English, a gymnastic exhibition by the brothers Hermann. In the circus there was a performance at half past seven, such as one sees in the United States, and "Hr. Wallet" was clown. At half past nine o'clock, another exhibition was given in an enclosed building, to which an extra admission fee was charged. At the theatre, dancing by some "celebrated sisters" was in progress at nine o'clock. A Russian mountain was in operation during the whole evening. It was a railroad down one inclined plane, and up another, and back over the same track, a ride costing a few skillings. The concert was continued at intervals during the entire evening. The "_café chantant_" was in full blast after nine o'clock, in two places, one of which was a small hall, with a bar, and the other the interior of a Swiss cottage, with a gallery surrounding it. In each of these were tables, where the audience seated themselves, and drank brandy, wine, beer, and milder beverages. The singers, who are all females, stood upon a stage, and were accompanied by a piano. After one or two songs had been sung, one of the singers passed around among the audience with a plate to receive their contributions, each person generally giving a small copper coin. This order was continually repeated, and the money thus received is the only salary of the performers, whose singing is villanously vile, and whose character is worse than their singing. A canal, extending from the sea, comes up to Tivoli, and passes around an island. Boats are to let here; and, indeed, there is no end to the variety of amusements, and "all for nine cents," as Joseph had said half a dozen times during the afternoon to his party, and a dozen times more during the evening. At half past ten the students returned to the squadron, for by that time they had seen all they desired. CHAPTER XVI. AN EXCURSION TO KLAMPENBORG AND ELSINORE. Peaks sat near the brig and read his book, which he had procured from the librarian in anticipation of a dull and heavy afternoon. Clyde sat in his cage, watching the boatswain. The book was evidently a very interesting one, for the reader hardly raised his eyes from it for a full hour, and then only to bestow a single glance upon the occupant of the ship's prison. The volume was Peter Simple, and the boatswain relished the adventures of the hero. Once in a while his stalwart frame was shaken by an earthquake of laughter, for he had a certain sense of dignity which did not permit him to laugh outright all alone by himself, and so the shock was diffused through all his members, and his body quaked like that of a man in the incipient throes of a fever and ague fit. The magnanimous conduct of O'Brien, who flogged Peter for seasickness, simply because he loved him, proved to be almost too much for the settled plan of the boatswain, and it was with the utmost difficulty that he restrained an outbreak of laughter. For a full quarter of an hour Clyde convinced himself that he was entirely satisfied with the situation. The brig was not a bad place, or, at least, it would not be, if the boatswain would only leave the steerage and allow the prisoner to be by himself. He wished very much to try the carpenter's saw upon the slats of his prison. At the end of the second quarter of an hour, the Briton was slightly nervous; the close of the third found him rather impatient, and at the expiration of an hour, he was decidedly provoked with Peaks for staying where he was so long. When the stout sentinel glanced at him, he flattered himself with a transitory hope; but the boatswain only changed his position slightly, and still appeared to be as deeply absorbed as ever in the book. Clyde was disgusted, and emphatically angry at the end of another half hour. The brig was a vile place, and putting a free-born Briton into such a den was the greatest indignity which had yet been offered to him. It was even worse than ordering him to be silent, or to go forward. It was an insult which required both redress and vengeance. He rose from his seat, and walked to the door of his prison, but with his gaze still fixed upon his jailer. He had come to the conclusion that, if he moved, Peaks would, at least, look at him; but that worthy did not raise his eyes from his book. Clyde took hold of the barred door and began to shake it, making considerable noise by the act. Peaks took no notice whatever of him, and it seemed just as though the boatswain intended to insult him by thus disregarding him. He shook the door again with more violence, but did not succeed in attracting the attention of his custodian. Then he began to kick the door. Making a run of the length of the brig, he threw himself against it with all the force he could, hoping to break it down; but he might as well have butted against the side of the ship. It yielded a little, and rattled a great deal; but it was too strong to be knocked down in any such manner. The prisoner was boiling over with wrath, as much because Peaks did not notice him, as on account of the indignity of his confinement. He kicked, wrenched, and twisted at the door, till he had nearly exhausted his own strength, apparently without affecting that of the door. The boatswain still read, and still shook with suppressed laughter at the funny blunders and situations of Peter Simple. He had seen just such fellows as Clyde in the brig; had seen them behave just as the present prisoner did; and he had learned that it was better to let them have their own way till they were satisfied, for boys are always better satisfied when they solve such problems for themselves. "I'm not going to stay in this place!" howled Clyde, when he had wasted all his powers upon the obstinate door. "No?" The boatswain happened to be at the end of a chapter in his book, and he closed the volume, uttering only the single negative participle, with the interrogative inflection, as he glanced at his charge in the brig. "No, I'm not!" roared Clyde, rousing from his seat, upon which he had dropped in sheer exhaustion, and throwing himself desperately against the unyielding door. "I won't stay in here any longer!" "Well, now, I thought you would," added Peaks, with the most provoking calmness. "I won't!" "But it seems to me that you do stay there." "I won't any longer." "Well?" "I'll send for the British minister." "Do." "I won't stand it any longer." "Sit down, then." Clyde dashed himself against the door again with all the remaining force he had; but the boatswain, apparently unmoved, opened his book again. It was terribly lacerating to the feelings of the Briton to be so coolly disregarded and ignored. Clyde had the saw, but he had sense enough left to know that any attempt to use it would attract the attention of his jailer, and end in the loss of the implement, with which he could remove a couple of the slats when left alone, or when all hands were asleep at night. Finding that violence accomplished nothing, he seated himself on his stool,--which, however, was far from being the stool of repentance,--and considered the situation more calmly. He was in a profuse perspiration from the energy of his useless exertions. Perhaps he was conscious that he had made a fool of himself, and that his violence was as impolitic as it was useless. In a few moments he was as quiet as a lamb, and remained so for half an hour, though his bondage was no less galling than before. "Mr. Peaks," said he, in the gentlest of tones. "Well, my lad, what shall I do for you?" replied the boatswain, closing his book, and going to the door of the brig. "I'm very thirsty, and want a glass of water. Will you give me one?" "Certainly, my boy." The boatswain passed a mug of water through the bars, and Clyde drank as though he was really thirsty. "You have worked hard, and it makes you dry," said Peaks. "You can keep a mug of water in the brig if you like." "I will," replied Clyde, as he placed the mug on the deck, after the boatswain had filled it. "Can't you let me out, Mr. Peaks?" "Certainly I can." "You will--won't you?" "With all my heart." "Do, if you please." "On certain conditions, you know." "What conditions?" "That you won't attempt to run away. But, my lad, it is only a few hours since you said the brig was a very nice place, and you would grow gray in it before you would promise not to leave when you got a good chance." "I hadn't tried it, then. But I think it is an insult to a fellow to put him in here. I would rather be flogged outright." "We don't flog the boys." "I would rather take a flogging, and have it done with." "That's one of the reasons why we don't do it. We don't want to have it done with till the boy means to do about right. You are a smart boy, my lad; but you have got a heap of bad blood in your veins, which ought to be worked off. If you would only do your duty like a man, you would be comfortable and happy." "I never can stay in this ship." "Why not?" "I don't understand the duty." "You will soon learn all the ropes in the ship, and they will all come as handy to you as the key of your own watch." Clyde pulled out his watch, and glanced at the boatswain. "That's a nice time-keeper you have, my lad; gold, I suppose." "Yes; it cost thirty pounds. Wouldn't you like it?" "I?" "Yes." "Well, I have a pretty good silver one, which answers my purpose very well," replied Peaks, smiling. "I'll give it to you, if you will let me out, and permit me to go on shore," added Clyde, in an insinuating tone. "Thank you, my lad, I don't want it bad enough to do that." "You can sell it, you know. Or I will give you thirty pounds in cash, if you prefer." "I can't afford to do it for that," laughed the boatswain. "I'll give you fifty pounds then," persisted Clyde. "Can't afford to do it for that, either." "Say sixty, then." "Say a hundred, if you like, my lad; and then say a thousand. I can't afford to do it for all the money your mother is worth. You are on the wrong tack, my lad. I can't be bought at any price." "I won't ask you to let me out. If you will only go on deck, and keep out of the way, I will manage it all myself." "No, no; sheer off, my hearty. When I have a duty to do, I always mean to do it; and if it isn't done, it isn't my fault. You can't leave the ship with my consent." "I can't stay here, I say. I should die in a month." "Very well, die like a man, then," said Peaks, good-naturedly; for, though he could not be bought at any price, he did not indulge in any righteous indignation against his victim. "Learn your duty, and then do it. There is plenty of fun going on in the ship, and you will enjoy yourself as soon as you get on the right tack. That's the up and down of the whole matter." "I can't take off my cap to these young squirts of officers, and be ordered around by them. It isn't in an Englishman to do anything of the sort." "Upon my word, I think it is in them. They make first-rate sailors, and always obey their officers." "Common sailors do; but I'm a gentleman." "So am I; but I always obey orders," replied the democratic Peaks, warmly. "The officers of this ship are required to behave like gentlemen, and give their orders in a gentlemanly manner. If they don't do it, they are liable to be reduced. Do your duty, and you may be an officer yourself." Peaks continued for some time to give the prisoner good advice, assuring him that he was no better than the rest of the crew, and that it would not hurt him any more than others to obey the orders of the officers. But it was sowing seed in stony ground, and Clyde, finding he could make nothing out of the honest boatswain, decided to await his time with what patience he could command, which, however, was not much. Peaks was permitted to follow Peter Simple in his stirring career during the rest of the afternoon. The crew returned from Tivoli at eleven in the evening, and soon the ship was quiet, with only an anchor watch, consisting of an officer on the quarter-deck, and two seamen on the forecastle. Clyde's supper was given to him in his prison, and a bed made up for his use. He kept awake till all the students came on board, and while he was waiting for the crew to slumber, he dropped asleep himself, and did not wake till all hands were called in the morning. He was vexed with himself for his neglect, and afraid that the carpenter would miss the saw, and remember where he had left it. He was determined to keep awake the next night, and make his escape, even if he was obliged to swim to the land. After breakfast, all the students went on shore for an excursion to Klampenborg and Elsinore. In the custom-house enclosure, a procession of four in a rank was formed, to march to the railroad station, which was near the Tivoli Garden. The students were generally rather fond of processions, not at home, but in the streets of foreign cities. The parade was quite imposing, when every officer and seaman wore his best uniform. They had been carefully taught to march, and Professor Badois had organized a band of eight pieces, which performed a few tunes very well. Unfortunately, on the present occasion, the band was not available, for Stockwell, the cornet player, and Boyden, the bass drummer, belonged to the absent crew of the second cutter, and the procession moved to the sterling notes of the drum and fife. On parades of this kind, the first and second pursers acted as the fleet staff of the commodore, who would otherwise have been "alone in his glory," and these two useful officers seemed like "odds and ends" in any other position. As this procession was frequently formed, and marched through the streets of various cities, the order is given to satisfy the reasonable curiosity of the reader. Music. The Commodore, And Staff of the Fleet. The Captain of the Young America. The Four Masters. The Four Midshipmen. The First Lieutenant. The First Part of the Starboard Watch, Consisting of Eighteen Seamen. The Second Lieutenant. The Second Part of the Starboard Watch. The Third Lieutenant. The First Part of the Port Watch. The Fourth Lieutenant. The Second Part of the Port Watch. The Captain of the Josephine. The Four Masters. The First Lieutenant. The First Part of the Starboard Watch, Consisting of Eight Seamen. The Second Lieutenant. The Second Part of the Starboard Watch. The Third Lieutenant. The First Part of the Port Watch. The Fourth Lieutenant. The Second Part of the Port Watch. The Captain of the Tritonia. The Four Masters. The First Lieutenant. The First Part of the Starboard Watch, Consisting of Eight Seamen. The Second Lieutenant. The Second Part of the Starboard Watch. The Third Lieutenant. The First Part of the Port Watch. The Fourth Lieutenant. The Second Part of the Port Watch. Sometimes the order was varied by placing all the officers at the head of the procession, except the lieutenants in command of sections, as,-- The Commodore and Staff. The three Captains. Three ranks of Masters. One rank of Midshipmen. But keeping all the officers and seamen of each vessel together, as in the first order, was generally preferred. Of course the ranks were not always full, as on the present occasion; but even when the full band was at the head of the column, there were enough for four full ranks in each half-watch of the ship, and two ranks in those of the other vessels. The students had practised so much that they marched exceedingly well, and being aligned according to their height, the effect was very fine. The Copenhageners left their occupations, and hastened to the doors and windows of their houses and shops to see the procession; and even the king and royal family were spectators at the palace windows, as the column moved through Frederiksplads. As it passed the Royal Hotel, Mr. and Mrs. Kendall, with Dr. Winstock and Joseph, were entering a carriage, in which they intended to ride to Klampenborg, in order to see more of the country. At the railroad station, the officers and seamen took seats in the third-class carriages, which were two stories high, the upper as well as the lower one having a roof. The distance to Klampenborg is eight and a half English miles, and the fare is sixteen skillings, or nine cents, third class; twenty-four skillings, or thirteen and a half cents, second class; and thirty-two skillings, or eighteen cents, first class. The third-class compartments are clean and neat, but there are no cushions on the seats. An aisle extends through the middle of them, but the seats are placed in pairs, on each side, so that half the passengers are compelled to ride backwards. In about half an hour the train arrived at Klampenborg. Paul Kendall's party drove first to the summer residence of Mr. Melchoir, which was in the suburbs of the city, near the sea-shore. The house was a very pretty one, with a neat garden, not unlike the little country places one sees in the vicinity of the large cities of the United States. Joseph rang the bell, and stated the errand of the party to the servant. They were shown up one flight of stairs, where the girl knocked at the door, which was immediately opened by Hans Christian Andersen, and the tourists were ushered into a plainly-furnished room, with a few engravings on the walls. On a table were the writing-materials of the great author, and Paul looked with interest at the little pile of letter sheets, closely written over, and the unfinished one, on which the ink was not yet dry. Mr. Andersen's face was covered with a smile as he greeted the party. Dr. Winstock had met him before, and stated the fact. "O, I'm very glad to see you again," said the author, grasping the doctor's hand with both of his own. "My young friend here, and his lady, have both read all your books, and desired to see you even more than to look upon the beautiful works of your great sculptor." "Ah, you are very kind," added Mr. Andersen, again grasping the doctor's hand with both of his own. Then, darting nervously to Paul, he seized his hand in the same manner. "This is Captain Paul Kendall, commander of the yacht Grace," added Dr. Winstock. "I am so pleased to see you!" said Mr. Andersen. "I have read all your books with the most intense pleasure." "O, you are too kind, Captain Kendall," replied the genial author, smiling all over his face, and once more grasping his hand as before. "Mrs. Kendall," added Paul, presenting Grace. "I am so pleased to see you! You are very kind to take so much trouble to visit me." "Indeed, sir, you are very kind to permit us to trouble you, when you are so busy," continued Paul. "O, I have plenty of time to see my good friends." "In America we love your books, and they are in all our libraries and most of our houses." "You are so kind to speak so pleasantly of my works!" replied Mr. Andersen, grasping Paul's hand again. "We value them very highly." The conversation continued for a few moments, in which Paul and the doctor expressed the high appreciation of the reading public of the great writer's works. At least a dozen times more he grasped the hand of the speaker with both his. Mr. Andersen is a tall gentleman, with a thin face,--the features of which are far from handsome,--and iron-gray hair. His countenance is always covered with smiles when he speaks, and his whole manner is child-like and simple. He is full of the love of God and of man, which seems to shine out in his face, and to be the interpretation of his ever-present smile. His dress was scrupulously neat and nice in every detail. The doctor told him about the Academy squadron, of which he had read a brief notice in the newspapers, and invited him to visit the ship, which he promised to do, on the following day. The party took their leave of him, and continued on the way to Klampenborg. The road was on the margin of the sea, and was lined with small country houses, with pleasant gardens. It was a lovely region, with an occasional large villa, and even a summer palace or two. All along this road, called the Strandway, are small and large houses of entertainment, on the sea-side, each one of which has a bathing establishment on a very small and simple scale. "Here is Charlottelund Castle, in this park," said Joseph, as they passed what seemed to be merely a grove, with a rather dilapidated fence. "It was formerly the country-seat of the Landgrave of Hesse, I believe," added Dr. Winstock. "Yes, sir; but it is now the summer residence of the crown prince. He comes out here in June." "These carriages are called 'privateers,'" continued the guide, pointing to several vehicles like a small omnibus with no top. "They formerly went by the name of 'coffee-mills,' because they made a noise like those machines." Constantia Tea-Garden, where the Copenhageners go to spend the evening in hot weather, and several fishing villages, were passed, and then the carriage reached the Deer Park, where the students had already arrived, which is a very extensive enclosure, with a few roads extending through it. A portion of it is covered with groves, and it contains about a thousand deer, which are quite tame, and may be seen grazing in herds on the gentle slopes. There is nothing very attractive in the park, though it is much frequented by the people from the city. Neither the roads nor the grounds are well kept, and the government "turns an honest penny" by the letting of it out for the pasturage of horses. On some rising ground, which Denmarkers call a hill, is a large, square, barn-like building, known as the "Hermitage," which was built by Christian VI. for a hunting lodge. This park and that at Charlottelund contain thousands of acres of excellent land, which is almost useless, and which the government cannot afford to keep in condition as pleasure-grounds. They would make thousands of farms, and thus increase the productive industry and the revenues of the nation, if they could be cut up and sold. Royalty is an expensive luxury, which a small kingdom like Denmark cannot afford to support. Near the entrance to the park is the garden proper of Klampenborg, where music is provided on summer evenings, and refreshments sold. What is called a Norwegian house is erected in the middle of the grounds, which contains a bar and private rooms, and is surrounded by tables and chairs, where the pleasure-seekers may sit and enjoy their beer and the music. A small fee for admission is paid at the gate, where the ticket-seller is kept honest by the aid of the "control-mark." Near this garden is a hotel built for a water-cure establishment, though it is now mainly used as a summer boarding-house. Close by it is a village of small cottages, devoted to the same use, with concert-rooms and bathing-houses in abundance. This place is a favorite resort of the Copenhageners in summer,--in fact, their Newport or Long Branch. For a couple of hours the students wandered through the park and gardens. The railroad station is very near the entrance, where, indeed, the whole beauty of the place is concentrated. The railway to Klampenborg is a branch of the one which extends from Copenhagen to Elsinore, and in another hour the entire party were transported to the latter place. This town has nine or ten thousand inhabitants, and is located on a basin of the Sound, nearly land-locked by natural and artificial dikes. The Danish name of the place is Helsingör, and is the scene of Shakespeare's tragedy of Hamlet. The excursionists visited the cathedral, which is the principal object of interest in Elsinore, and contains several very old tombs. Near the town, and on the shore of the Sound, is the Castle of Kronberg, erected in 1580. It is a large, oblong, Gothic structure, built of a whitish stone. It contains a chapel and other apartments. Those occupied by the commandant were the prison of Caroline Matilda, who was confined here for a high crime, of which she is now universally believed to be innocent. Under the castle are casemates for a thousand men, one of which is said to be the abode of _Holger Danske_, who was the Cid Campeador of Denmark, and the hero of a thousand legends. When the state is in peril, he is supposed to march at the head of the armies, but never shows himself at any other time. A farmer, says the story, happened into his gloomy retreat by accident, and found him seated at a stone table, to which his long white beard had grown. The mystic hero demanded the hand of his visitor, who was afraid to trust flesh and blood in the grasp of one so mighty, and offered the iron bar used to fasten the door. Holger Danske seized it, and squeezed it so hard that he left the print of his fingers on the iron. "Ha, I see there are still _men_ in Denmark!" said he, with a grim smile of satisfaction. Near the castle are a couple of natural ponds, small and round, which are called "Holger Danske's Spectacles." "This is where Hamlet lived, I suppose," said Captain Lincoln. "Where Shakespeare says he lived," replied Dr. Winstock. "But I was told his grave was here." "Perhaps Hamlet divided himself up, and occupied a dozen graves, for I think you may find a dozen of them here," laughed the doctor. "A resident of this vicinity had what was called the grave of Hamlet in his grounds, which proved to be a nuisance to him, on account of the great number of visitors who came to see it. In order to relieve himself of this injury to his garden, he got up another 'grave of Hamlet,' in another place, which he proved to be the authentic one." "It is too bad to trifle with history in that manner," protested the captain. "There is no history about it, Lincoln. His residence in this part of Denmark is all a fiction. Shakespeare makes terrible blunders in his allusions to this place; for there is no 'eastern hill,' no 'dreadful summit of the cliff,' or anything of the sort. Hamlet lived in Jutland, not in Seeland, about four centuries before Christ, and was the son of a pirate chief, instead of a king, who, with his brother, was governor of the province. He married the daughter of the king, who was Hamlet's mother. The chief was murdered by his brother, who married the widow, and was then the sole governor. Hamlet, in order to avenge his father's death, feigned madness; but his uncle, suspecting the trick, sent him to England, with a message carved in wood, requesting the king to destroy him. During the voyage, he obtained the wooden letter, and altered it so as to make it ask for the killing of the two men, creatures of his uncle, who had charge of him, which was done on their arrival. According to the style of romances, he married the king's daughter, and afterwards returned to Jutland, where, still pretending insanity, he contrived to surprise and slay his uncle. He succeeded his victim as governor, and married a second time, to a queen of Scotland, and was finally killed in battle. The main features of the tragedy correspond with the incidents of the story, but the locality is not correct." The party walked to Marienlyst, a pleasant watering-place, which contains a small royal chateau. The view from this place, as from the tower of Kronberg, is very beautiful. At four o'clock the party took the steamer, and arrived at Copenhagen before dark. CHAPTER XVII. TO STOCKHOLM BY GÖTA CANAL. The Wadstena, in which the absentees had taken passage at Gottenburg, was a small steamer, but very well fitted up for one of her size. Forward was the saloon, in which meals were taken, and saloon passengers slept. Aft was the cabin, on each side of which were state-rooms, called "hütte." They were not made with regular berths, but had a sofa on each side of the door, on which the beds were made up at night, with a wash-stand between them. Between this cabin and the forward saloon the main deck was raised about three feet, so as to cover the engine and boilers. On each side of this higher deck were more "hütte," which were the best rooms on board. The hurricane-deck, over the after cabin, was the favorite resort of the passengers. It was two o'clock in the morning, and the independent excursionists were tired and sleepy. They had taken first-class tickets, and two of them had been assigned to each "hütte." As soon as they went on board, therefore, they retired, and most of them slept, in spite of the fleas and other vermin that revelled in their banquet of blood. None but very tired boys could have slumbered under such unfavorable circumstances, and it is a great pity that a steamer otherwise so neat and comfortable should be given up to the dominion of these sleep-destroying insects. At seven the party turned out, anxious to see the scenery on the banks of the canal. The steamer was still in the river, a stream not more than a hundred and fifty feet wide, with occasional rapids, which are passed by canals, with locks in them. The scenery was pleasant, with rocky hills on each side. Schooners and other craft were continually met, loaded with lumber and other articles from the lakes. The scene was novel and interesting, and though the boys gaped fearfully, they enjoyed the view. Presently one of the women, who do all the work of stewards and waiters, appeared with coffee on deck, passing the cups to the passengers first, and then filling them. The coffee was delicious, served with the whitest of sugar and the richest of cream, with some little biscuits. It waked the boys up, and seemed to make new beings of them. "How's this, Sanford?" said Scott. "First rate! That's the best coffee I ever drank in my life," replied the coxswain. "Is it a free blow?" "I don't know. How is it, Ole?" "No; you pay at the end of the trip for all you have had," replied the waif. "But who keeps the account?" asked Scott. "Nobody," laughed Ole. "On the boats from Christiania every passenger tells what he has had, and pays for it." "Do they think everybody is honest?" "Certainly; everybody is honest." "Not much," added Sanford, shaking his head. "Of course you don't pretend to be honest, Norway." "But I do." "You didn't take a sovereign from me, and another from Burchmore--did you?" "I take what you give me." "It may be honest, but I don't see it in that light, Norway." "Never mind that now, Sanford," interposed Burchmore. "He sold out the last time for the public good." "Do you expect to find the ship in Stockholm when we get there?" asked Scott. "Of course I do," replied Sanford. "We shall not get there till Tuesday." "Then our cruise is almost ended." "I suppose so. I have been trying hard to join the ship ever since we left her at Christiansand," continued the coxswain, solemnly. "Over the left," chuckled Scott. "Honor bright! I don't believe in running away." "Nor I; but Laybold and I have put our foot into it. I suppose we shall have to spend a week in the brig, and make love to Peaks while the rest of the fellows are seeing Russia." "You will find some way to get out of the scrape." "I don't know. We have lost Copenhagen and Denmark already, and I suppose we shall not see much of Russia." "We will help you out." "I don't think you can do it," added Scott, who had evidently come to the conclusion that running away "did not pay." The steamer stopped, and the captain informed the party that passengers usually walked three miles around the series of locks, by which they were enabled to see the Falls of Trollhätten. The carrying of the canal around these falls was the most difficult problem in engineering in the construction of the work. It is cut through the solid rock, and contains sixteen locks. The passage of the steamer occupies an hour and a half, which affords ample time for the voyagers to see the falls. The party immediately landed, and were promptly beset by a dozen ragged boys, who desired to act as guides, where no such persons are needed. Not one of them spoke a word of English; but they led the way to the path, each one selecting his own victims, and trusting to the magnanimity of the passengers for their pay. A walk, covered with saw-dust, has been made by some public-spirited persons, and the excursion is a very pleasant one. The entire fall of the river is one hundred and twelve feet; but it is made in four principal cataracts, and three smaller ones. The scenery in the vicinity is rather picturesque, and at one point the path goes through a grove, on the banks of a rivulet, where the water dashes over large cobble-stones, with an occasional pretty cascade. The walk leads to various eligible spots for examining the falls and the rapids. On the way, the tourist passes _Kungsgrottan_, or King's Grotto. It is a hole in the solid rock, in the shape of half a globe, on the sides of which are inscribed the names of the various sovereigns of Sweden, and other distinguished persons who have visited the spot. Near the village of Trollhätten, which contains several founderies and saw-mills, the finest part of the falls is seen by crossing an iron foot-bridge, at the gate of which stands a woman, who collects a toll of fifty öre for the passage to the little island. "I don't think much of these falls," said Scott, as he returned from the island. "I think they are rather fine," replied Laybold. "You could cut up the rapids of Niagara into about two hundred just such falls, to say nothing of the big cataract itself," added Scott. "It is pleasant, this walk along the river, but you can't call the Falls of Trollhätten a big thing." "Of course they don't compare with Niagara." "Certainly not." The party walked through the yards of the manufactories, and came to a small hotel on the bank of the canal. The place looked very much like many American villages. The canal steamer did not appear for half an hour, and some of the boys strolled about the place. The regiment of ragged boys who had followed the tourists, or led the way, pointing out the various falls and other points of interest in an unknown tongue, begged lustily for the payment for their services. One of them, who had taken Scott and Laybold under his protection, was particularly urgent in his demands. "Not a red, my hearty," replied Scott. "I didn't engage you, and I shall not pay you." The boy still held out his hand, and said something which no one of the party could understand. "Exactly so," replied Scott. "You told me the names of all the places, but I did not understand a word you said. I say, my lad, when did you escape from the rag-bag?" The boy uttered a few words in Swedish. "Is that so?" The boy spoke again. "Stick to it, my hearty; but I don't believe a word of it." "What does he say, Scott?" "He says the moon is made of green cheese. Didn't you, my lad?" The boy nodded, and spoke again. "It is a hard case, Young Sweden; but I can't do anything for you." "What's a hard case, Scott?" asked Laybold. "Why, he says he has six fathers and five mothers, and he has to support them all by guiding tourists round the falls." "Get out!" "I am afraid they don't have roast beef for dinner every day." "Here's the steamer," added Laybold. The boy became more importunate as the time came to go on board, but Scott was obstinate. "Now, out of my way, my lad. Give my regards to your six fathers and five mothers, and I'll remember you in my will; but I won't give you a solitary red now, because I don't like the principle of the thing. I didn't employ you, and I didn't want you. I told you so, and shook my head at you, and told you to get behind me, Satan, and all that sort of thing; and now I'm not going to pay you for making a nuisance of yourself. On the naked question of charity, I could do something for you, on account of your numerous fathers and mothers. As it is, good by, Sweden;" and Scott went on board of the steamer. The boat started again, and soon the bell rang for breakfast. The boys hastened to the forward saloon, where they found two tables spread. At a sideboard was the Swedish lunch, or snack, of herring, sliced salmon, various little fishes, sausage, and similar delicacies, with the universal decanter of "finkel," flanked with a circle of wine glasses. The tourists partook of the eatables, but most of them were wise enough to avoid the drinkable. The Swedish bread, which is a great brown cracker, about seven inches in diameter, was considered very palatable. Ordinary white bread is served on steamers and at hotels, and also a dark-colored bread, which looks like rye, and is generally too sour for the taste of a foreigner. The breakfast at the tables consisted of fried veal, and fish, with vegetables, and all the elements of the snack. When the boys had finished, one of the women handed Scott a long narrow blank book. "Thank you, marm; I am much obliged to you," said he. "Will you have the kindness to inform me what this is for?" The woman laughed, and answered him in her native tongue. "Precisely so," added Scott. "What does she say?" asked Sanford. "She wants me to write a love letter in this book to her; but as she is rather ancient, I shall decline in your favor, Sanford." "Don't do it, old fellow! Face the music." "Not for Joseph!" "What did she say, Ole?" inquired Sanford. "She said you were to keep your account in that book," replied the interpreter. "Are we to keep our own reckoning?" "Yes; every one puts down in this book what he has had." "That means you, Burchmore. You are the cashier for the party." "How many fellows had coffee this morning?" asked the cashier, as he took the book. "All of them, of course." Burchmore made the entries for the coffee and the breakfasts of the whole party. "Well, that's one way to do the thing," said Scott. "Every man his own book-keeper. I'll bet everybody doesn't charge what he has had." Ole was requested to ask the woman about the matter. She said the Swedes were honest, but the waiters were required to see that everybody paid for what he had had before leaving the steamer. The having of this book is certainly a better plan than that of the Norwegian steamers, by which the passenger, if he means to be honest, is compelled to recollect all he has had in a passage of thirty hours. The Wadstena continued on her course through a rather flat country, just coming into the greenness and beauty of the spring time, till she came to Wenersberg, a town of five thousand inhabitants, which is largely engaged in the lumber and iron trade. The boat stopped there a short time, and the party had an opportunity to examine the lake craft at the wharves; but, after seeing them, it was difficult to believe they were not in some New England coast town. The steamers, however, were very different, all of them being very short, to enable them to pass through the locks in the canal, and most of them having the hurricane deck forward and aft, to afford sufficient space for the cabins. All of them were propellers. The Wadstena started again, the bridges opening to permit her passage. The great Wenern Lake lay before them, which is the third in size in Europe, Onega and Ladoga alone exceeding it in extent. It is about a hundred miles long by fifty in breadth, very irregular in shape, and portions of it are densely crowded with islands. Its greatest depth is three hundred and sixty feet near the Island of Lurö, but a considerable part of it is very shallow, and difficult of navigation. It is one hundred and forty-five feet above the level of the Baltic. Thirty rivers flow into it, and sometimes cause it to rise ten feet above its ordinary level. But the Göta River is its only outlet, and is always supplied with an abundant volume of water. The wind was fresh when the Wadstena steamed out upon the broad expanse, and the lake had a decidedly stormy aspect. "Will you be seasick?" asked the captain, as the little steamer began to bob up and down with a very uncomfortable jerk. "Seasick!" laughed Scott. "We are all sailors, sir, and we don't intend to cave in on a fresh-water pond." "But the lake is very rough to-day." "If your little tub can stand it, captain, we can." "I am very glad, for some people are very sick on this part of the passage. It is sometimes very bad, the worst we have in the whole trip." "How long are we on the lake?" asked Scott. "About seven hours; but not all of it is so bad as this. We go among the islands by and by." Doubtless the Wenern Lake fully maintained its reputation on the present occasion, though none of the young salts were sick. The boat stood to the northward, and the short steamer and the short chop sea would have made the passage very trying to landsmen. Nothing but the distant shores were to be seen, and the monotony of the passage was the only disagreeable circumstance to our tourists. For the want of something better to do, they went below, and, lying down on the sofas in their state-rooms, went to sleep without much difficulty, for the red-backs and fleas kept shady in the daytime. The boys were accustomed to being "rocked in the cradle of the deep;" but at the expiration of three hours, the heavy motion ceased, and the change waked them. Going on the hurricane deck again, they found the steamer was among the islands, which were generally low, rocky, and covered with firs and pines. A crooked channel was carefully buoyed off, and the boat was threading its tortuous way with no little difficulty. Presently the Wadstena made a landing at a rude pier on an island where only a rough shanty was in sight. Several row-boats at the wharf indicated that passengers came to this station from other islands. Again the steamer went out upon the open lake, and soon after entered another group of islands, among which she made a landing at a small town. Passing over another open space, the entrance to the canal was discovered, marked by two low light-houses, in the form of the frustum of a pyramid. As the Wadstena entered a lock, the captain told the party they might take a walk if they pleased, as there were several locks to pass in the next three miles. This was a grateful relief to the voyagers, and they gladly availed themselves of the opportunity. The country was a dead level, with an occasional small farm-house, and with many groves and forests. But the walk was interesting, and the boys would gladly have continued it longer; but at the last lock of the series, the gate-man told them, through Ole, that they must wait here in order to go on board, for the steamer could not make a landing again for several miles. The party remained on the hurricane deck till the cold and the darkness drove them below. Turning in at an early hour, they slept as well as the vermin would allow, until six o'clock the next morning, when the steamer was approaching the Wettern Lake, the second in size in Sweden. The boat was on a broad arm of the lake, called the Viken, for the canal is built only across the narrowest section of country, between two natural bodies of water. The Wettern Lake is ninety miles long and fifteen miles wide, surrounded by hills, from which sudden gusts of wind come, producing violent squalls on the water. This lake is noted for big trout. After crossing the Wettern, the steamer approached Wadstena, which contains an ancient church and convent, and a castle built by Gustavus Vasa, and often occupied by his family. Ten miles farther brought the steamer to Motala, which contains several iron founderies and manufactories. Many iron steamers and steam engines are built at this place. The scenery on this portion of the canal is very beautiful, though not grand. Going through another portion of the artificial canal, the boat enters the Roxen Lake, perhaps the most beautiful in Sweden, and makes a landing at Linköping. There are half a dozen towns with this termination in the country, as Norrköping, Söderköping, Jönköping, the last two syllables being pronounced like _chepping_; as, Lin-chep-ping. Leaving the Roxen Lake, the steamer passes through more canals into an arm of the Baltic, and then into the sea itself, voyaging among a thousand small islands, stopping at Söderköping and Nyköping, important commercial and manufacturing towns. Night came, and our tourists did not stay up to see the lights on the way. The steamer leaves the Baltic, and passing another piece of canal, enters the waters of the Mäler Lake, seventy-five miles long, and containing fourteen hundred islands. The boys were up in season to see the beauties of this lake. Many of the islands rise to a considerable height above the water, and are so thick that one hardly believes he is sailing on a large lake. For quiet beauty and "eternal stillness," the Mäler can hardly be surpassed. In the middle of the forenoon, the spires of Stockholm were to be seen, and the tourists were all attention. From the lake the city presents a fine appearance. Indeed, Stockholm, seen from either of its water approaches, is hardly excelled in beauty by any city in Europe. The Wadstena made her landing at the Island of Riddarholm. As the party were not burdened with any baggage, they decided to walk to the hotel. Ole inquired the way to the Hotel Rydberg, where they had agreed to go; and crossing a bridge to the largest of the three islands of the city, called Stadeholm, they arrived at the palace, beyond which is the quay. Between this island and the main land, on which the greater portion of the town is built, is the passage from the Baltic to the Mäler Lake, and in the middle of it is the Island of Helgeandsholm, or Holy Ghost's Island, with two bridges connecting it with either side. On it are the king's stables, and a semicircular garden, improved as a _café_, with a handsome face wall on the water side. "This isn't bad," said Scott, as the party paused to look down into the garden. "Not at all," replied Sanford. "I suppose they have music here in the evening, and it would be a capital place to loaf." "See the steamers!" exclaimed Laybold, as a couple of the miniature craft, which abound in the waters of Stockholm, whisked up to the quay. "A fellow could put half a dozen of them into his trousers pocket," laughed Scott. "We must go on a cruise in some of them, as soon as we get settled." "Well, where's the hotel?" asked Sanford. It was in plain sight from the bridge, which they crossed to the Square of Gustavus Adolphus, on which the hotel faced. "Good morning, young gentlemen. I am happy to see you," said Mr. Blaine, the head steward of the ship, who was the first person to greet them as they entered the hotel. "Ah, Mr. Blaine!" exclaimed Sanford, his face glowing with apparent satisfaction. "I am delighted to see you; for I was afraid we should never find the ship." "Were you, indeed? Well, I had the same fear myself. I have been looking for you ever since the ship sailed." "We have done our best to find the ship, Mr. Blaine," added Sanford. "O, of course you have; but of course, as you didn't find her, you were not so babyish as to sit down and cry about it." "Certainly not; still we were very anxious to find her." "Mr. Peaks says you came down from Christiania before he did." "Yes, sir." "And you were so anxious to find the ship, that you took a train to the interior of the country, expecting, no doubt, to come across her on some hill, or possibly on some of these inland lakes," continued Mr. Blaine. "We were looking for the ship's company. We met Scott and Laybold, who were going into the interior, and we concluded to join them, as they wanted to find their shipmates," replied Sanford, who was now not entirely confident that "the independent excursion without running away" was a success. "Ah! so you have picked up those two young gentlemen, who ran away," added the head steward, glancing at Scott and Laybold. "Not exactly, sir; they picked us up," answered the coxswain. "I think it was a mutual picking up, and we picked each other up," laughed Scott. "We knew that Sanford and his crew were extremely anxious to find the ship's company, and if we joined them we should be sure to come out right." "Exactly so," laughed Mr. Blaine. "Let me see; after our first day's run on shore, by some mistake you neglected to come on board at night, with the others." "That was the case exactly. The fact is, we were too drunk to go on board with the others." "Drunk!" exclaimed Mr. Blaine. "Such was our melancholy condition, sir," added Scott, shaking his head. "We were invited, in a restaurant, to drink 'finkel,' and not knowing what finkel was, we did drink; and it boozed us exceedingly." "You are very honest about it, Scott." "We are about everything, sir. We slept at a hotel, and when we went down to the wharf to go on board, we learned that the ship's company had gone to Trolldoldiddledy Falls. As we felt pretty well, we thought we would take a train, see a little of the inside of Sweden, and meet the ship's company at Squozzlebogchepping." "Where's that?" asked Mr. Blaine. "I can't give you the latitude and longitude of the jaw-breaker, but it was at the junction of the two railways, where the party came down from the canal. We were sure we should find our fellows there, but the Swedish figures bothered us, and we made a mistake in the hour the train was due." "But the Swedish figures are the same as ours," suggested the head steward. "Are they? Well, I don't know what the matter was, except that we were five minutes too late for the train. That's what's the matter." "How very unfortunate it was you lost that train!" "It was, indeed; I couldn't have felt any worse if I had lost my great-grandmother, who died fifty years before I was born. These honest fellows felt bad, too." "Of course they did." "We took the next train to Gottenburg; but when we arrived, the ship had sailed for Copenhagen, which I was more anxious to see than any other place in Northern Europe." "And for that reason you came on to Stockholm." "No, sir; you are too fast, Mr. Blaine. Your consequent does not agree with the antecedent. There was no steamer for Copenhagen for a couple of days." "There was a steamer within an hour after you reached Gottenburg in that train, and an hour before the sailing of the canal steamer; and Mr. Peaks went down in her," said Mr. Blaine. "We didn't know it." "Certainly you did not." "We knew of no steamer till Monday, and we were afraid, if we went in her, that we should be too late to join the ship in Copenhagen; and with heroic self-denial, we abandoned our fondly-cherished hope of seeing the capital of Denmark, and hastened on to Stockholm, so as to be sure and not miss the ship again. These honest fellows," said Scott, pointing to Sanford and his companions, "agreed with us that this was the only safe course to take." "I see that you struggled very violently to join your ship, and I only wonder that such superhuman efforts should have failed." "They have not failed, sir," protested Scott. "The ship will come here, and we will join her then, or perish in the attempt." "Are you not afraid some untoward event will defeat your honest intentions?" "If they are defeated it will not be our fault." "No, I suppose not; but whom have you there?" inquired the head steward, for the first time observing Ole, who had pressed forward to hear Scott's remarks. "Ole?" "Yes, sir; that's the valiant Ole, of Norway," replied the joker. His presence was satisfactorily explained by the coxswain. "Why did you desire to leave the ship, Ole? Didn't we use you well?" asked Mr. Blaine. "Very well indeed, sir; but I was bashful, and did not wish to see some people in Christiansand," replied the waif. "What people?" Ole evaded all inquiries, as he had a dozen times before, and declined to explain anything relating to his past history. Mr. Blaine said he had heard the party had taken the canal steamer, and he immediately proceeded to Stockholm by railroad. He at once telegraphed to Mr. Lowington at Copenhagen, that he had found all the absentees, and asked for instructions. "Here's a go, and the game is up," said Sanford, in a whisper, when he met Stockwell alone. "That's so; what will he do with us?" "I don't know; I rather like this mode of travelling. But we are caught now." "Perhaps not; we may find some way out of it. According to Blaine's cue we are to be regarded as runaways. If that is the case, I don't join the ship this summer," said Stockwell, very decidedly. "Nor I either," added Sanford. Before dark, Mr. Blaine received a despatch from the principal, directing him to take the next train to Malmö, which is the town in Sweden opposite Copenhagen. The head steward did not communicate its contents to his charge that night, but he called all of them at four o'clock the next morning, and by good management on his part, they were on the train which left Stockholm at six o'clock. At Katherineholm, where the party ate an excellent breakfast, Mr. Blaine unhappily missed three of his company. CHAPTER XVIII. UP THE BALTIC. The excursionists of the squadron slept soundly after their trip to Elsinore, and Clyde Blacklock, true to the promise he had made to himself, kept awake to watch his chances to escape. Not a sound was to be heard in the ship, and the intense silence was even more trying to the prisoner in the brig than the noise and bustle of the whole crew when awake. Ryder, the fourth lieutenant, and two seamen had the anchor watch on deck. Each officer served two hours, and was required at the stroke of the bell, every half hour, to walk through the steerage, where no light was permitted after nine o'clock. Clyde took the saw from its hiding-place under the stairs, and commenced work on one of the slats. The instrument was very sharp, but the noise it made promised to betray him, and he was obliged to use it with extreme caution. Bracing the slat with one shoulder, he worked the saw very slowly, so that the wood should not vibrate. The process was very slow, and twice he was obliged to conceal his saw and lie down on the bed at the approach of the officer of the watch. After working more than an hour, he succeeded in cutting off one of the slats, just far enough above the deck to avoid the nails with which it was secured. But it was fastened at the top as well as at the bottom, and when he pulled it in to wrench it from its position, it creaked horribly, and he was obliged to labor with it another half hour, before he could pull it in far enough to permit his exit. In the middle of the operation he was obliged to restore it partly to its position, and lie down again, to escape the observation of the officer of the anchor watch. His care and patience were finally successful, though, if the sleepers around him had not been very tired, some of them must have been disturbed even by the little noise he made. The removal of the single slat gave him an opening of about nine inches, which was narrow even for him; but he contrived to work himself through it. Putting the slat back into its original position, and wedging it down with a copper, so that the means of his escape might not readily be seen, he crept carefully forward to the ladder under the forecastle, where he paused to consider the means by which he should escape from the vessel. He began to realize that this was a more difficult matter than getting out of the brig. He knew that the anchor watch consisted of an officer and two seamen. While he was thinking of the matter, eight bells struck; and he was aware that the watch was changed at this hour. Retiring to the kitchen to wait for a more favorable moment, he heard the two seamen come down the ladder to call the relief. As they entered one of the mess-rooms, he ran up the ladder, and concealed himself under the top-gallant forecastle. In a few moments he heard the relief on deck, and from his hiding-place saw the officer on the quarter-deck with a lantern in his hand. The two seamen took their places on the top-gallant forecastle, where they could see the entire deck, and any boat or vessel that approached the ship. Clyde did not regard the situation as very hopeful. The night was chilly, and he did not feel at all inclined to swim ashore, which he had intended to do, as a last resort. The boats were all hoisted up at the davits, as if to provide for just such cases as his own. He listened with interest to the conversation of the watch above him; but he could not identify their voices, and was unable to determine whether it was safe for him to address them. In fact he was unable to determine upon anything, and bell after bell struck without finding him any better prepared to make a move. At four bells, or two o'clock in the morning, the watch was relieved again, and Clyde remained in the same unsettled state of mind. But when the two seamen went below to call the relief, he changed his position, crawling into the waist, where he disposed himself under the lee of the rail. Over his head was the fourth cutter, one of the smallest of the boats. Clyde could see the dark form of the officer walking to and fro on the quarter-deck, and his presence was not favorable to any movement. He found the cleats where the falls of the boat were made fast, and he was considering the practicability of casting them off, letting the cutter drop into the water, and then sliding down on a rope. The officer of the anchor watch seemed to be the only obstacle in his way. He began to experiment with the falls. Casting off one of them, he carefully let the rope slip over the cleat till he had lowered the bow of the cutter about two feet. He repeated the operation upon the stern fall. He let off the rope so gradually that the noise did not attract the attention of any of the watch. Five bells struck, and the officer descended to the steerage. While he was absent, Clyde dropped each end of the boat about four feet more, and then coiled himself away until the officer had returned to his station. But it was nearly daylight, and he was compelled to hurry on with his work. Little by little he let out the falls, till the fourth cutter floated in the water. When the officer went below, at six bells, he climbed upon the rail, and slid down on the bow fall into the boat. Casting off the falls, he pushed the cutter astern of the ship, and for the first time began to feel as though he were free. He was afraid to use an oar, lest the noise should attract the attention of the watch on deck. He felt that he had managed his escape with exceeding cleverness, and was unwilling to risk anything now in the moment of success. The wind carried the boat clear of the ship, and he lay down in the stern sheets, so that if the officer on the quarter-deck discovered the cutter, he might suppose no one was in her. He had occupied this position but a moment before he heard a rushing noise near him, and, raising his head, discovered a small schooner, under full sail, headed directly upon him. He had hardly time to stand up before the bow of the vessel was within his reach. "Hallo!" shouted he, in terror, for the thought of being carried under the keel of the schooner was appalling. But the cutter was crowded aside by the vessel, and Clyde sprang upon her deck, while his boat went astern of her. Too late, the schooner luffed up, and Clyde seated himself on the rail to catch his breath. Two men came to him, and spoke in Norwegian. "I speak English," replied Clyde. "You are English?" said the captain. "Yes; I don't speak anything else." "I speak English," replied the skipper, as he went back to the helm, and Clyde followed him. "Where are you bound?" asked the runaway. "To Stockholm." "You are Danish, I suppose." "No, Norwegian." "All the same." "What shall I do with you?" "I will go to Stockholm with you, and pay my passage, if you like," added Clyde, who wished to get as far as possible from the ship. "You shall, if you like; or you shall work, if you please. I lose a young sailor, and I want another, to work in his place." "No; I will go as a passenger, or not at all," replied Clyde, very decidedly. "What you do in a boat so late in the night?" asked the skipper. "I was going on shore to find a steamer for Stockholm. I will pay you twenty species for my passage," added the runaway. "You are very kind to pay so much. You shall have my berth; but it will be long time to Stockholm in my vessel." "No matter; I am satisfied." "I shall pick up the boat you lose?" "No; never mind the boat," answered Clyde, impatiently, as he glanced at the ship. The captain questioned him about the boat more particularly; but the fugitive gave such answers as he pleased. Though the skipper was very rough and savage to the two men who formed his crew, he treated his passenger at first with much consideration. The little cabin of the schooner was a nasty hole, and if Clyde had not been very sleepy, he could hardly have closed his eyes there; but before the vessel was out of sight of Copenhagen, his slumber was deep and heavy. The shout of the fugitive when he was in danger of being run down had been heard by the officer on the quarter-deck of the Young America. He saw the collision, and discovered the cutter when it went astern of the vessel; but he did not suspect that it belonged to the ship. The schooner filled away on her course again, after she had luffed up, and the boat was adrift. He deemed it his duty to secure it before it was stove by some early steamer from Malmö, or elsewhere, and calling the two seamen, he directed them to lower the fourth cutter. But the fourth cutter was already lowered, and the officer began to think that the boat adrift was the missing one. The third cutter, therefore, was used, and when the two seamen had pulled off in her, the officer went below and called Peaks. The boatswain took his lantern, and went to the brig, as soon as he was told that the fourth cutter was adrift. The bird had flown. The door was secure, and all the slats were apparently in their place; but the appearance of a small quantity of saw-dust indicated where the breach had been made. A little pressure forced in the sawn slat, and Peaks understood why the prisoner had only desired to be left alone. "Were you all asleep on deck?" asked Peaks of the officer. "No, sir; I have not been asleep on duty," replied Beckwith, the officer. "Didn't you see him lower the boat?" "Of course I did not." "I don't see how it was done, then," added Peaks. "But where is the prisoner?" "I don't know. I suppose he went on board that small schooner that run down the cutter." "Where is she?" Beckwith pointed to a sail headed to the south-east, which was just visible in the faint light of the early morning. "He is out of our reach for the present," said Peaks, in utter disgust, as he descended the steps to the main cabin. Mr. Lowington was informed of the escape of Clyde, but no steamer could be obtained at that early hour to chase the schooner, and the matter was permitted to rest as it was. When all hands turned out in the morning, a strict investigation was made; but no one who had served on the anchor watch was able to give any information. No one had seen the boat lowered, and no one had heard the saw. Peaks went on shore, and ascertained that the Norwegian schooner Rensdyr had sailed at an early hour. She had cleared for Stockholm, and was doubtless on her way there. The principal was so much interested in the fate of Clyde, or rather in his reformation, that he determined to follow up the fugitive. The English steamer Newsky, from London to Stockholm, was then in port, and when she sailed that day, Peaks was sent in her to intercept the runaway on his arrival at Stockholm. After breakfast, Mr. Andersen came on board, inspected the ship, and witnessed some of the evolutions in seamanship, which included the manning of the yards in honor of his visit. At the invitation of Paul Kendall he went on board of the Grace, and took a sail up the Sound, dining on board, and returning in the afternoon. The students again went on shore, and visited the Rosenberg Palace, an irregular structure of red brick, with a high peaked roof and four towers. Connected with it is an extensive and beautiful garden, adorned with statues. The palace was built for Christian IV., in 1604, but is no longer a royal residence, being filled with various national collections of arms, medals, and antiquities, including many historical mementos of kings and other great men of Denmark. Among them are the saddle, bridle, and caparisons, the sword and pistols, presented by King Christian IV. to his eldest son at his marriage. They are adorned with diamonds, pearls, and gold, and cost a million francs in Paris. In the afternoon the students marched to the Palace of Frederiksberg, whose park is a favorite resort of the people of the city. The building contains nothing worth seeing; indeed, portions of it have been rented for the use of private families; but the garden is beautifully laid out with kiosks, bridges over the winding canal, on which float a great number of white swans, with little islands, studded with groves and pleasant grassy slopes. The palace stands on the only eminence near Copenhagen. On pleasant days, especially on Sundays, this park is filled with family picnics, little parties bringing their own lunch, and spending the day in these delightful groves. During the remainder of the day the students wandered over the city, each seeking what pleased him most. When they went on board the vessels, they were entirely satisfied with what they had seen of Copenhagen, and were ready to visit some other city. Very early the next morning, Mr. Blaine, with all but three of the absentees, came on board. The head steward told his story, and Scott and Laybold told their story; the former, as usual, being the spokesman. The wag told the whole truth, exactly as it was; that they were ashamed to come on board while so tipsy, and had missed the train at the junction. "Have you drank any finkel since?" asked the principal. "No, sir; not a drop. One glass was enough for me," replied Scott. "And you, Laybold?" "No, sir." "You may both return to your duty," added the principal. Both were astonished at being let off so easily; but Mr. Lowington was satisfied that they spoke the truth, and had not intended to run away. The others were also ordered to attend to their duty, but with the intimation that their conduct would be investigated at the return of Sanford and Stockwell, who, with Ole, had left the party at Katherineholm. The signal for sailing was flying on board of the Young America, and at seven o'clock the squadron was under way, continuing the voyage "up the Baltic." No notice seemed to be taken of the absence of Sanford and Stockwell, but everybody believed that the principal knew what he was about. The wind was tolerably fresh from the west-south-west, and the squadron made rapid progress through the water, logging ten knots all day. The students watched with interest the villages on the coast of Denmark, with their sharp, red roofs, and the swarms of fishing-boats moored in front of them. The shores of Sweden were in sight all the time, and at three o'clock in the afternoon land was also seen on the starboard bow. But the masters, who were constantly watching the chart, were not at all astonished, though the seamen were. "What land is that, Scott?" asked Laybold. "That? Why, don't you know?" "I'm sure I don't. I know Germany is over there somewhere, but I didn't expect to run into it so near Sweden." "That's Gabogginholm." "Is it in Germany?" "No; it's an island, at least a hundred and fifty miles from Germany. The Baltic is rather a big thing out here." "How do you remember those long names, Scott?" "What long names?" "Such as the name of that island. I couldn't recollect such a word ten minutes." "Nor I either. I know them by instinct." "What did you say the name of the island is?" "Gastringumboggin." "That isn't what you said before." "I've forgotten what I did say it was. You musn't ask me twice about a name, for I say I can't remember," laughed Scott. "You are selling me." "Of course I am; and you go off cheaper than any fellow I ever saw before. I haven't the least idea what the land is, except that it must be an island not less than a hundred and fifty miles from Prussia." "That's Bornholm," said Walker, a seamen, who had heard the name from the officers. "It's an island twenty-six miles long and fifteen wide, belongs to Denmark, and has thirty-two thousand inhabitants, and a lot of round churches on it. That's what the fellows on the quarter-deck say." "Precisely so," replied Scott. "You have learned your lesson well. What is the principal town on that island?" "I don't know," answered Walker. "Stubbenboggin," said Scott. "Who told you so?" "My grandmother," laughed the wag, as he turned on his heel, and walked away. Towards night the wind subsided, and the squadron was almost becalmed; but a light breeze sprang up after dark, and in the morning the ship was off the southern point of Oland, an island ninety miles long by ten wide, and well covered with forests. On the narrow strait which separates it from the main land is Calmar, a town of historic interest, in Sweden. At noon the southern point of Gottland was seen, and Scott insisted upon calling it "Gabungenboggin," though the real name was soon circulated. It is eighty miles long by thirty-three wide, and contains fifty-four thousand inhabitants. Wisby is the only town. The island is noted for its beautiful climate, which makes it a pleasant resort for summer tourists. At sunrise on the following morning, the ship leading the squadron was approaching the islands which cover the entrance to the harbor of Stockholm. Pilots were taken by the several vessels, and the fleet entered the archipelago, through which it was to sail for thirty miles. At first the openings were very wide, and not much of the shore could be seen; but soon the distances grew less, and the shores were studded with villages and fine residences. The little steamers--some of them not so large as the ship's first cutter--began to appear; and at eight o'clock the Young America let go her anchor between Staden and Skeppsholm, off the quay near the palace, which was crowded with steamers. "Here we are, Laybold," said Scott, when the sails had been furled, and every rope coiled away in its place. "That's so. What's that big building on the shore?" "That's the Slottenboggin," laughed Scott. "No, you don't! You can't sell me again with your boggins." "I'll bet half a pint of salt water it is the king's palace." "Very likely it is; and here is a fine building on the other side." "That must be the Wobbleboggin." "No, it isn't." "Perhaps it isn't; but twig these little steamers," added Scott, pointing to one of the snorting miniature boats that plied across the arm of the sea opposite the quay. "The pilot and engineer, and a boy to take the fares, seem to be the officers, crew, and all hands." "And in some of them all hands are boys." The boats seemed to contain nothing but the engine and boiler, which were in a compact mass, without covering. All around them were seats. Forward of the engine was a little steering-wheel, hardly more than a foot in diameter, at which the pilot--often a boy--was seated. "I want a complete view of the city," said Captain Lincoln, at this moment coming into the waist with the surgeon and Norwood. "I think I can get it from the main cross-trees." "I am too stiff to go aloft," replied Dr. Winstock; "but I commend your plan." "I'm with you," added Norwood, as he followed the captain up the main rigging. From this lofty position on the cross-trees the two officers obtained a good idea of the situation of the city. The three islands which form the central portion of the city lay in the strait leading to the Mäler Lake. The north and south suburbs were on each side of it. Skeppsholm, Castellholm, and the Djurg[)a]rden--Deer Garden--were other islands, lying nearer the Baltic. The finest portion of the city seemed to be the northern suburbs. While they were studying the panorama of the place, all hands were called to lecture, and they hastened to their places in the steerage. Professor Mapps was at his post, with the map on the foremast. "Sweden is called _Sverige_ by the natives; La_ Suède_ by the French; _Schweden_ by the Germans; _La Svezia_ by the Italians; and _Suecia_ by the Spaniards. It contains one hundred and sixty-eight thousand square miles--a territory equal in extent to the six New England States, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Delaware united. Its population is a little over four millions--about the same as that of the State of New York. It is nearly a thousand miles long from north to south, with an average breadth of two hundred miles. By far the greater portion of it is very sparsely settled, for it extends from fifty-five degrees of north latitude up to the arctic regions. It contains no important rivers, though its large lakes and arms of the sea are valuable as avenues of navigation. Over eighty lakes are mentioned." The instructer described the Wenern and Wettern Lakes, and the Göta Canal, which passes through them. "Sweden is an agricultural country, and its principal manufactures are lumber and iron. It has six hundred and thirty-eight miles of railway, and the steamers which you see at the quay, mostly of iron, and built in Sweden, ply to all parts of the country. "The average of the temperature in Stockholm is forty-two degrees, or twenty-five degrees for winter, and sixty-two degrees for summer. From what you have already seen of Sweden, I think you will consider it very like New England. The interior has about the same physical features, and you will see there similar houses, barns, and fences. "The government is a limited monarchy, based on the constitution of 1809, and since amended. The king must be a Lutheran. He has an absolute veto on the acts of the legislature. The Diet, or Parliament, consists of two houses, the upper of which is composed of one hundred and twenty-seven members, or one for every thirty thousand inhabitants. The lower house consists of one hundred and eighty-eight members, fifty-five of whom are elected by the towns, and the rest by the rural districts, at the rate of one for every forty thousand people. Property qualifications are required for either house, and all members must be Protestants. They are paid a salary of three hundred and thirty-five dollars of our money, and their travelling expenses, for the session of four months. "I have incidentally spoken of the history of Sweden in connection with that of Norway and Denmark. The kingdom was founded by Odin, and for a long period the history of the country is a record of the wars with Norway and Denmark, and it was finally conquered by Margaret, and by the Union of Calmar the three kingdoms were consolidated in 1397. It became a Christian nation early in the eleventh century. Sweden was doubtless the first anti-slavery power; for, during the reign of Birger II., about 1300, a law against the sale of slaves was enacted, with the declaration that it was 'in the highest degree criminal for Christians to sell men whom Christ had redeemed by his blood.' "In 1520 Gustavus Ericsson excited a rebellion against Christian II., of Denmark, who had murdered his father and many other Swedes. This revolution was successful three years later, and its leader made king, under the title of Gustaf I., often called Gustavus Vasa, or Wasa. He was succeeded by his son, and the throne continued in his family; but the next notable sovereign was Gustaf II., or Gustavus Adolphus. His grandfather, Gustavus Vasa, had established the Protestant religion in Sweden; but his nephew, Sigismond, who had been elected king of Poland, and had become a Catholic, succeeded to the throne. Endeavoring to change the established religion, he was deposed, and the succession changed. This caused a war between Sweden, and Russia, and Poland. Gustavus was only eighteen when he came to the throne, with this war bequeathed to him. He was full of energy, and defeated his enemies on all sides. Austria was the leader of the Catholic party in Europe, which was striving to restore the papal supremacy. Gustavus Adolphus held a similar relation to the Protestant party. He was engaged in the Thirty Years' War, and won many decisive victories. He captured Munich, and overran Bavaria, but was finally killed in the battle of Lützen, in 1632. By his prowess and skill he raised Sweden to the rank of one of the first kingdoms of Europe. "He was succeeded by his daughter, Christina, then only six years old. She reigned but seven years after she became of age, abdicating in favor of her cousin Charles X. She died in Rome, after a dissolute and shameful life, and was interred in St. Peter's Church. Charles was at war with the Danes during his brief reign, and achieved the daring military feat of crossing the Great and Little Belts on the ice, which enabled him to dictate his own terms of peace with the Danes. The Swedes consider him one of their greatest kings. His son, Charles XI., followed him, and ruled for thirty-seven years. After a brief period of peace, another war with Denmark ensued, which resulted to the ultimate advantage of Sweden. This king contrived to obtain from the Diet the gift of absolute power, which, in the hands of his son and successor, Charles XII., nearly ruined the nation. Russia, Poland, and Denmark combined to rob him of a considerable portion of his kingdom, and Charles XII., at the age of sixteen, displayed an energy and a skill far beyond his years. He conquered a peace with Denmark first, and then turned his attention to the rest of his enemies, whom he overwhelmed and subdued. With nine thousand men he defeated a Russian army of forty thousand, under Peter the Great, at Narva. He vanquished the armies of Poland and Saxony, and attempted the conquest of Russia, but was utterly defeated in the battle of Pultowa, and escaped into Turkish territory, where he remained for five years. Here he brought about a war between Turkey and Russia, and the army of the former shut up that of Peter the Great in the Crimea. The lady who was afterwards Catharine I. bribed the grand vizier with all her jewels to allow the Russians to escape, and this event utterly ruined the hopes of the monarch of Sweden. Finally the Turks drove him from their country, and, after various vicissitudes, he arrived in his own, and was killed, in 1718, at Frederikhald, in Norway. While he was away, his enemies had been appropriating his territory, and Sweden was reduced to a second-class power. "The Diet elected Ulrica Eleonora, sister of Charles, queen, who resigned in favor of her husband, Fredrik I. Another war with Russia followed, and Sweden lost more of her territory. Adolf Fredrik succeeded to the throne in 1751, who was elected by the Diet. Still another war with Russia was carried on during his reign. His son, Gustaf III., with the aid of his soldiers, increased the powers of the crown; but he was assassinated at a ball, in 1792, and his son, Gustaf Adolf IV., came to the throne. His policy involved the nation in a war with the allies, and he lost Finland and Pomerania. He was so unpopular that he was compelled to abdicate, and his uncle, Charles XIII., was raised to the throne in 1809. He had no children, and the Prince of Holstein-Augustenburg was elected as his successor; but he was assassinated, and one of Napoleon's generals, Bernadotte, was chosen crown prince, and in 1818 he succeeded to the throne as Charles XIV. His reign was a successful one, and his efforts to secure Norway to his adopted country made him popular even before he was king. He espoused the cause of the allies against Napoleon, and was well cared for by them when the affairs of Europe were finally settled. "His son Oscar was his heir, and came to the throne at the death of his father in 1844. He was followed by his son, Charles XV., the present king, in 1859. "The army organization is similar to that of Denmark, and about one hundred and fifty thousand men are available for service. The navy contains four monitors on the American plan, which were invented by John Ericsson, a Swede, two iron-clad gunboats, twenty-one steamers, and sixteen sailing vessels, besides a great number of floating batteries, and other stationary craft. Although only about six thousand sailors are actually in the navy, nearly thirty thousand can be had in case of war." The professor finished his lecture, and the students hastened on deck, to see more of the sights which surrounded them. CHAPTER XIX. THE CRUISE IN THE LITTLE STEAMER. "What's the use, Stockwell?" said Sanford, as the absentees seated themselves on the train for Malmö, under the charge of the head steward. "Blaine got his despatch from the principal last night, but he didn't say a word to us till this morning. He's playing a sharp game." "That's so," replied Stockwell. "He don't mean to trust us out of sight again." "Don't say a word to any fellow," whispered the coxswain. "You and I will fight it out on our own hook." "I understand. It is plain enough that Blaine regards us as runaways, and I suppose the principal will do the same." "Very likely; and when we get to Russia, all we shall have to do will be to count our fingers in the steerage, while the rest of the fellows are seeing the Russians," continued Sanford, who now appeared to regard "the independent excursion without running away" as a failure. "We shall not even see anything more of Stockholm. I don't like the idea." "Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked Stockwell. "At the first chance we will leave this train, and make our way back to Stockholm," whispered Sanford. "There is a steamer to St. Petersburg twice a week, and we have money enough to carry us through." "Right; I am with you." "We will take Ole, if you like, to do the talking for us." "I don't object." The train stopped at Katherineholm about half past nine. The boys had taken nothing but the Swedish early breakfast of coffee and a biscuit, and the head steward allowed them to have a more substantial meal, each paying for himself. They entered the restaurant, where, on a large table in the centre of the room, were great dishes of broiled salmon and veal cutlets, with high piles of plates near them. Each passenger helped himself at these dishes, and then seated himself at one of the little tables. When he had finished his salmon, he helped himself to veal cutlets; beer and coffee were served by the waiters. Sanford and Stockwell hurried through the meal, and went to the counter where the woman received payment. She asked them some question and they were obliged to call Ole, to know what she said. She asked if they had had beer or coffee, which was extra, the meal being one and a half rix dalers. She gave them a tin check; for at this place they seemed to be sharper than the Swedes usually are, and the check was to enable them to get out of the restaurant. A man at the door received it, and no one was allowed to pass without it; and thus none could leave without paying for the meal. "Finished your breakfast, Ole?" said Sanford, carelessly. "Yes; and that salmon was very good." "First rate. Come with us, Ole," added the coxswain, as he led the way out of the restaurant. The trio entered the station, and as no one followed them, they left by the front door. Dodging behind the buildings, they soon cleared the station. Taking the public road, they walked for half an hour at a rapid pace, and then halted to consider the situation. The train had gone, for they had heard its departure; but whether Mr. Blaine had gone or not was an open question. "What next?" said Sanford, as he seated himself at the side of the road. "Take the train back to Stockholm," replied Stockwell. "Perhaps Blaine did not go on, after he missed us." "Of course he did. But whether he did or not, the train has gone, and he cannot take us to Copenhagen. If we find him at the station, why, we took a little walk, and lost the train, you know." "That's played out," replied Sanford. "We have missed the train too many times, already. What time does the next one return to Stockholm?" "I don't know. Let's go back to the station." This course was adopted, and on their arrival they learned that they could return to Stockholm at half past two in the afternoon. The man in charge said that the gentleman with the young men had been looking for them. Sanford replied, through Ole, that they had lost the train, but would return to Stockholm, and start again the next morning. After dining in the restaurant, the runaways--as they certainly were now, if not before--departed, and arrived at their destination in about three hours. They immediately went to the office on the quay, and learned that a steamer would leave for St. Petersburg at two o'clock on Friday morning. "Can we engage places now?" asked Sanford,--for the clerk in charge spoke English. "Certainly." "We will take three places in one room," added the coxswain. "Have you passports?" asked the clerk. "No, sir." "We cannot sell you tickets then." "Not without passports?" exclaimed Sanford, appalled at this new difficulty. "No; and passports must be _visé_ by the Russian consul before we can issue a ticket." "We are down then," added the coxswain. "My passport is on board of the ship." "So is mine," added Stockwell. "And I never had any," said Ole. The party left the steamer's office, and were unable to devise any means of overcoming the obstacle. They went to the Hotel Rydberg again, and consulted the porter, who had been very kind to them before. This functionary is entirely different in European hotels from those of the same name in the United States. He stands at the entrance, usually dressed in uniform, to answer all inquiries of guests, and to do all that is required of the clerks in American hotels. He assured the anxious inquirers that, even if they got into Russia, their passports would be immediately demanded, and that no one could remain in any city there over night without one. The American minister in Stockholm would give them the required documents. "But Ole, here, is a Norwegian," suggested Sanford. "No matter. Have him put into your passport as your courier or servant." "All right; we will see him to-morrow," replied the coxswain; and the problem seemed to be solved. The next day they went to the American legation, but the minister had gone to Upsala for a week, and the secretary declined to issue the passports, because the boys could not prove that they were citizens of the United States. Vexed and discouraged, they wandered about the city till Friday noon, when an English steamer came into port. They stood on the quay, watching the movements of the passengers as they landed. They had almost concluded to take a steamer to Stettin, Lübeck, or some other port in Germany; but Russia was a strange land, and they were not willing to abandon the idea of seeing its sights. "I wonder whether this steamer goes any farther," said Stockwell. "I don't know," added Sanford. "Perhaps she goes to St. Petersburg. It may be her officers are not so particular about the confounded passports." "But you can't stay in Russia over night without one, even if you get there." "The American minister will fit us out with them. I expect to find a letter of credit in St. Petersburg, and that will prove that I am an American." "Let us go on board of the steamer and ascertain where she is going," continued Sanford, as he led the way across the plank, which had been extended from the deck to the stone pier. The boys went upon the hurricane deck, where they had seen an officer who looked as though he might be the captain. "Do you go to St. Petersburg, captain?" asked the coxswain. "No; we return to London, touching only at Copenhagen," replied the officer. "That's too bad!" exclaimed Stockwell. "So it is," said a tall man, who had followed the runaways up the steps from the lower deck. "But you are not going to St. Petersburg without the rest of us--are you?" Sanford was startled, and turning sharp around, saw Peaks, who had come out of the cabin as the boys stepped on board. He had followed them to the hurricane deck, and suspecting that something was wrong, he had waited till the coxswain's question betrayed their intention. "No, we are not going to St. Petersburg; we are waiting for the ship," replied Sanford, recovering his self-possession in an instant. "O, you are? All right, then. But the last I heard of you was, that you were all on your way to Copenhagen to join the ship," added the boatswain. "So we were, Mr. Peaks; but after we had taken breakfast at a station on the railroad, we went to have a little walk, and see something of the country. We thought we had time enough, but the train--confound it!--went off without us. We were terribly provoked, but we couldn't help ourselves, you know; so we made our way back to this city." "I think you must have been very badly provoked," said Peaks. "O, we were,--honor bright." "But you thought you would go over to St. Petersburg before the ship arrived?" "Certainly not; we had no idea of going to St. Petersburg." "And that's the reason you asked whether this steamer was going there,--because you hadn't any idea of going." "We know very well that we can't go to St. Petersburg without our passports, which are on board of the ship," protested Sanford. "Yes, I understand; but who is this?" asked Peaks, as he glanced at Ole. "That's Ole Amundsen; don't you remember him?" "I think I do. And he is on a lark with you." "We are not on a lark. We have been trying with all our might to find the ship, for the last fortnight; and we are bound to do so, or die in the attempt," said Stockwell. "And Ole has been with you all the time?" "Yes, sir; we couldn't have done anything without him." "And would have been on board the ship long ago, if you hadn't had him to speak the lingo for you." "When we tell you our story, you will see that we have done our best to find the ship." "I don't know that I care to hear any more of your story; it's too much story for me, and you can tell it to Mr. Lowington, who will be here by to-morrow, I think. Very likely you can take me to a good hotel." "Yes, sir; we are staying at the Hotel Rydberg, which is the best in Stockholm." "Heave ahead, then." The runaways led the way. "Do you talk the Swedish lingo, Ole?" asked the boatswain. "Yes, sir." "Where did you stow yourself, when we went into Christiansand?" "In the second cutter, sir," replied the waif, laughing. "Exactly so; you were to go with her crew when they left." "No, sir; I didn't know a single one of them." "What did you hide for, then?" "Because I didn't want the pilot to see me." "Why not?" asked the boatswain. But this was as far as Ole would go in that direction. Neither man nor boy could extort from him the secret he so persistently retained. A short walk brought the party to the Hotel Rydberg. "This gentleman wants a room," said Sanford to the porter. "No. 29," said the man, calling a servant. "Did you get your passports, young men?" Sanford drew back, and made energetic signs to the porter to keep still; but the official failed to understand him. "No; they haven't got them yet," replied Peaks. "The fact is, all the passports are on board the ship." "But the young gentlemen were very anxious to obtain new ones, so that they could go to St. Petersburg. They intended to leave by this morning's steamer, but no tickets can be had without passports." Both Sanford and Stockwell shook their heads to the stupid porter, who was remarkably intelligent on all other points; but somehow he did not see them, or could not comprehend them. "It's too bad about those passports--isn't it, my lads?" laughed Peaks, turning to the runaways. "Here's more proof that you hadn't the least idea of going to St. Petersburg." "I was very sorry for the young gentlemen, and did the best I could for them," added the gentlemanly porter. "No doubt you did; and I'm very much obliged to you for the trouble you took," replied the good-natured boatswain. "No. 29, sir?" interposed the servant, with the key in his hand. "Ay, ay, my hearty. But, young gentlemen, I want to save you from any more terrible disappointments and awful vexations in finding the ship. I'm going up to my bunk, and if I don't find you here when I come down, I shall call on the American consul, and ask him to put the police on your track. You shall find the ship this time, or perish in the attempt, sure." "Here's a go!" exclaimed Stockwell, as the servant conducted the boatswain up the stairs to his chamber. "What did you say anything to him about the passports for?" snapped Sanford to the porter. The official in uniform by this time understood the matter, and apologized, promising to make it all right with the tall gentleman, and to swear that not a word had been said to him or any one else about passports. It was his business to please everybody, and his perquisites depended upon his skill in doing so. "What did Peaks mean about police?" said Sanford, as the trio seated themselves near the front door of the hotel. "He means what he says; confound him, he always does!" replied Stockwell. "He intends to treat us as runaway seamen, and have us arrested if we attempt to leave." "We are trapped," muttered Sanford. "What's Peaks doing up here?" "I don't know, unless he is looking for us." "It makes no difference now. We are caught, and we may as well make the best of it." "It's all up with us," added the coxswain. "Peaks knows what he is about, and there isn't much chance of getting the weather-gage of him." The boatswain came down in a short time. He was cool and good-natured, and knew exactly how to deal with the parties in hand. "Now, young gentlemen, if you are going to Russia, don't let me detain you. If you wish to go any where else, I shall not meddle myself. I shall let the American consul attend to the matter. I have business here, and I can't keep an eye on you. But if you want to be fair and square, and not break your hearts because you can't find the ship, just be in sight when I want to know where you are." "We shall be right on your heels all the time, Mr. Peaks. If you don't object, we will go with you. We know the way round Stockholm, and will help you all we can," said Stockwell. "That's sensible." "We will show you out to the Djurgarden," added Sanford. "Never mind the shows. I want Ole to talk for me, and I don't object to your company," replied the boatswain. "I beg your pardon, sir," said the porter, presenting himself to Peaks at this moment. "I made a bad mistake. It was not these young gentlemen who wanted the passports. It was another party." "Exactly. I understand," replied the boatswain, turning to the boys with a significant smile on his bronzed face. "They were waiting for you, and were very anxious to join their ship." "It was very kind of them to wait for me, when they hadn't the least idea I was coming. All right, my hearty; you needn't trouble yourself to smooth it over. How much did you pay him for those lies, Sanford?" "Not a cent, sir!" "Never mind; don't bother your heads any more about it. I understand the matter now as well as I shall after you have explained it for a week," answered Peaks, as he left the hotel, followed by the discomfited trio. The boatswain did not deem it expedient to explain to them his business in Stockholm. He found people enough who spoke English, so that he was able to dispense with the services of Ole as interpreter. He ascertained that no such vessel as the Rensdyr had yet arrived, and satisfied with this information, he went out to the Djurgarden with his charge, dined at Hasselbacken, and made himself quite comfortable. After breakfast the next morning, with Ole's assistance, he chartered one of the little steamers, which was about the size of the ship's second cutter, and, taking the trio with him, sailed out towards the Baltic. "Where are you going, Mr. Peaks?" asked Sanford, deeply mystified by the movements of the boatswain. "I'm going to make a trip down to the Baltic, to see what I can see," replied Peaks. "Are you going for the fun of it?" "Well, that depends upon how you view it. I suppose you are going for the fun of it, whether I am or not." "But we would like to know what is up," added Sanford. "Young gentlemen should not be inquisitive," laughed the old salt. "Because, if you are going out to meet the ship, in order to put us on board--" "I'm not going for any such purpose," interposed the boatswain. "I shouldn't take all that trouble on your account." "But where are you going?" "That's my affair, my lad." "We don't mean to give you any trouble on our account," said Sanford, who could not readily dispossess himself of the belief that the expedition was to put his party on board of the ship when she hove in sight. "Of course you don't, my tender lambs. You have been so anxious to find the ship, and get on board, it would be cruel to suspect you of any mischief," laughed Peaks. "But, honor bright, Mr. Peaks, whatever we intended, we are ready now to do just what you say, and return to the ship as soon as we can." "You are all nice boys. You have had a good time, and I think you ought to be satisfied." "We are satisfied; but I suppose we shall have no liberty again, after we go on board." "Perhaps you will; the principal isn't hard with the boys when they come right square up to the mark; but you can't humbug him." "But, honestly, Mr. Peaks, we tried to find the ship, and--" "There, there, lads," interposed the boatswain, "I don't believe you will have any liberty." "Why not?" "Because you want to humbug the principal; and me, too--but that's no account. If you want to make the best of it, toe the mark. Don't have any lies in your heart or on your tongue. Tell the whole truth, and you will make more by it; but tell the truth whether you make anything or not." "You won't believe anything we say," protested Sanford. "Of course I won't, when you are lying. I call things by their right names." "We didn't stave the boat at Christiansand." "Yes, you did," replied Peaks, plumply. "If you think so, it's no use talking." "Certainly not; don't talk, then." Sanford was not prepared for so grave a charge as that of causing the accident to the second cutter; and if the principal was of the same mind as the boatswain, the case would go hard with the runaways. The coxswain and Stockwell went into the bow of the little steamer to discuss their situation, which they did very earnestly for a couple of hours. "There's the ship!" exclaimed Sanford, as he identified the Young America, half a mile distant, leading the squadron into the harbor of Stockholm. "So it is; now we are in for it. Peaks has come out here with us to make sure that we don't get away from him," added Stockwell. "If I had known as much last night as I know now, I would have cleared out, in spite of consul and police. If we are to be charged with smashing the second cutter, we shall not go on shore again this summer." "That's so. But this boat is not headed for the ship. Peaks don't see her." "Yes, he does; there isn't a craft of any sort within five miles of us that he don't see." "There's the ship, Mr. Peaks," shouted Stockwell. "I see her." But the boatswain continued on his course, paying no attention to the ship. The squadron disappeared among the islands, and the steamer went out into the Baltic, keeping well in towards the shore. When any small schooner appeared, he ran up and examined her very carefully, overhauling three in this manner in the course of the forenoon. At noon the boatswain piped all hands to dinner, for he had procured a supply of provisions at the hotel. Though he had chartered the steamer with Ole acting as an interpreter, he gave no hint of his plans or purposes. He made signs to the helmsman where to go, and occasionally gave directions through Ole. The fourth small schooner that he examined proved to be the Rensdyr, and Peaks identified her by seeing Clyde Blacklock, who stood on the forecastle, looking out for the approaches to Stockholm. Possibly he had seen the Young America, which passed the schooner, though a mile distant. "Lay her alongside that small vessel," said Peaks to Ole. "That one!" exclaimed Ole, whose brown face seemed to grow pale, as he looked at the Rensdyr. "That's what I say, my lad." The waif actually trembled; but he spoke to the helmsman, who immediately put the boat about, and headed her towards Stockholm. "No," said Peaks, sternly. "That vessel." He pointed to her, and Ole spoke again to the steersman, but without any better result. The boatswain was not to be thwarted. Going forward, he took the little wheel into his own hands, and headed the steamer towards the Rensdyr. Indicating by his signs what he wanted, the man at the helm seemed to be quite willing to obey orders when he knew what was wanted. "Don't go to that vessel, Mr. Peaks," cried Ole, in an agony of terror. "Why, my lad, what's the matter with you?" "That's the Rensdyr!" "I know it." "He will kill me," groaned Ole. "Who will?" "Captain Olaf." "Well, who's he?" "He is the captain of the Rensdyr. He will kill me." "No, he won't, my hearty. You shall have fair play. Who is he?" "My step-father, Olaf Petersen. He beat me and starved me, and I ran away from the Rensdyr in the boat." "O, ho! The story is out--is it?" "That's the whole truth, sir; it is, Mr. Peaks," protested Ole. "Don't go to her!" "Don't you be alarmed. You shall have fair play," added the stout boatswain, as the steamer ran alongside the schooner, and the man at the bow made her fast. [Illustration: BOARDING THE RENSDYR. Page 344.] Peaks was on her deck in another instant, and had Clyde by the collar. "I want you, my lad," said he. "Let me alone!" cried the Briton, who had not recognized his tyrant till he was in his grasp, for the simple reason that he did not expect to see him at that time and place. "No use to kick or yell, my jolly Briton. I never let go," added the boatswain. At this moment there was a yell from the steamer. Captain Olaf no sooner discovered his lost step-son, than he sprang upon him like a tiger. Ole howled in his terror. Peaks dragged Clyde on board the steamer, and tossing him on the seat at the stern, turned his attention to the skipper of the schooner. "Steady! hold up, my hearty," said he, pulling the old Norwegian from his prey. "My boy! My son! He steal my boat, and leave me," said Olaf, furiously. "He says you didn't treat him well; that you starved and beat him." "I'll bet Ole told the truth," interposed Clyde, who seemed suddenly to have laid aside his wrath. "Captain Olaf is a brute." "How's that, my lad? Do you know anything about it?" asked Peaks. "I know the skipper is the ugliest man I ever met in my life," answered Clyde. "Won't you except me, my bold Briton?" "No; I paid my passage, and haven't had enough to eat to keep soul and body together. Besides that, he tried to make me work, and I did do some things. If I had been obliged to stay on board another day, I should have jumped overboard," continued Clyde. "I begin to think I was a fool for leaving the ship." "I began to think so at the first of it," added Peaks. "Ole is my son; I must have him," growled the skipper. "I have nothing to do with Ole; he may go where he pleases," said the boatswain. Olaf spoke to his step-son in his own language, and for a few moments the dialogue between them was very violent. "Cast off, forward, there; give them the Swedish of that, Ole," shouted Peaks. "Must I go on board of the Rensdyr?" asked the trembling waif. "Do just as you please." "Then I shall stay, and go to the ship." "No, he shall not; he shall come with me," said Olaf, making a spring at Ole. But Peaks, who had promised to see fair play, interfered, and with no more force than was necessary, compelled the skipper to return to the schooner. The steamer shoved off, and amid the fierce yells of Olaf, steamed towards Stockholm. As she went on her way, Ole told his story. At the death of his father, who was the master of a small vessel, he had gone to England with a gentleman who had taken a fancy to him, and worked there a year. The next summer he had accompanied his employer in an excursion through Norway, and found his mother had married Olaf Petersen. She prevailed upon him to leave his master, and he went to sea with her husband. Then his mother died, and the skipper abused him to such a degree, that he determined to leave the vessel. Olaf had twice brought him back, and then watched him so closely, that he could find no opportunity to repeat the attempt when the Rensdyr was in port. On the day before the ship had picked him up, Olaf had thrashed him soundly, and had refused to let him have his supper. Olaf and his man drank too much finkel that night, and left Ole at the helm. Early in the evening, he lashed the tiller, and taking to the boat, with the north star for his guide, pulled towards the coast of Norway. Before morning he was exhausted with hunger and fatigue. He had lost one oar while asleep, and the other was a broken one. At daylight he saw nothing of the Rensdyr, and feeling tolerably safe, had gone to sleep again, when he was awakened by the hail from the ship. "But why did you leave the ship?" asked Peaks. "Because I was afraid of the pilot. I thought he and other people would make me go back to Olaf." "Olaf has no claim upon you. He is neither your father nor your guardian." "I was afraid." "Where was your vessel bound?" "To Bremen, where she expected to get a cargo for Copenhagen. I suppose she found another cargo there for Stockholm." "I don't blame you, Ole, for leaving him," said Clyde. "Olaf is the worst man I ever saw. When he got drunk, he abused me and the men. I had to keep out of his way, or I believe he would have killed me, though I was a passenger, and paid my fare." At three o'clock in the afternoon, the little steamer ran alongside the ship, and the party went on board, though the principal and all the officers and crew were on shore. CHAPTER XX. STOCKHOLM AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. After the professor's lecture on board of the ship, the students were piped to dinner. According to his usual custom, Paul Kendall, with his lady, took rooms at the hotel, and in this instance his example was followed by Shuffles. Dr. Winstock and Captain Lincoln had already accepted an invitation from Paul to spend the afternoon with him in a ride through the city; and as soon as the boats landed at the quay, they hastened to keep the appointment, while the students scattered all over the city to take a general view. "Well, Paul, how do you find the hotel?" asked the doctor, when the party were seated in the carriage. "Very good; it is one of the best hotels I have seen in Europe." "It has an excellent location, but I think there was no such hotel when I was here before, and I staid at the Hötel Kung Carl." "This is a bath-house," said the _commissionnaire_, as the carriage turned the corner at the hotel, and he pointed to a large, square building, with a court-yard in the middle. "That looks well for the cleanliness of the people, if they support such fine establishments as that." "Three classes of baths, sir," added Möller, the guide. "In the first class you have a dressing-room, and an attendant to scrub you, and showers, douches, and everything of the sort. This is Drottninggatan, the principal street of the city," added the man, as the carriage turned into another street. "In other words, Queen Street," explained the surgeon. "It is rather a narrow street for the principal one," said Paul. "All the streets of Stockholm are narrow, or nearly all; and very few of them have sidewalks." "This street looks very much like the streets at home. The shops are about the same thing. There's a woman in a queer dress," added Captain Lincoln. "That's a Dalecarlian woman. They used to row the boats about the waters of the city, coming down from Dalecarlia to spend the summer here; but the little steamers have taken the business all away from them. They hired a boat for the season, and paid the owner one half of the fares." "Their costume is rather picturesque," added Paul. "But that woman is far from handsome," laughed Mrs. Kendall. "None of them are pretty," replied the doctor. The dress was a rather short petticoat, with a fanciful bodice, in which red predominated. Quite a number of them were seen by the party during their stay in Stockholm, but all of them had coarse features and clumsy forms. The carriage returned to the centre of the city by another street, passing through Carl XIII. Torg, or square, where stands the statue of that king. "There is the Café Blanche, where they have music every afternoon in summer, with beer, coffee, and other refreshments. The Swedes are very fond of these gardens," said Möller. "Here is the Hotel Rydberg. This is Gustaf Adolf Torget, and that is his statue." Crossing the bridge to the little island in the stream, the carriage stopped, to enable the party to look down into the garden, which is called Strömparterren, where a band plays, and refreshments are dispensed in the warm evenings of summer. Passing the immense palace, the tourists drove along the Skeppsbron, or quay, which is the principal landing-place of the steamers. Crossing another bridge over the south stream, or outlet of Lake Mäler, they entered the southern suburb of the city, called Södermalm. Ascending to the highest point of land, the party were conducted to the roof of a house, where a magnificent view of the city and its surroundings was obtained. "We will sit down here and rest a while," said the doctor, suiting the action to the words. "This promontory, or some other one near it, was formerly called Agne's Rock, and there is a story connected with it. Agne was the king of Sweden about 220 B.C. In a war with the Finns, he killed their king, and captured his daughter Skiolfa. The princess, according to the custom of those days, became the wife, but practically the slave, of her captor. She was brought to Sweden, where Agne and his retainers got beastly drunk on the occasion of celebrating the memorial rites of her father. Skiolfa, with the assistance of her Finnish companions, passed a rope through the massive gold chain on the neck of the king, and hung him to a tree, beneath which their tent was pitched. Having avenged the death of her father, the princess and her friends embarked in their boats, and escaped to Finland." "They finished him, then," laughed Captain Lincoln. "But what sort of boats had they?" "I don't know," replied Dr. Winstock. "Could they cross the Baltic in boats?" "Yes. When you go to Finland you will find that the course will be through islands nearly all the way. There is no difficulty in crossing in an open boat." "What is the population of Stockholm?" asked Paul. "One hundred and thirty-five thousand," replied Möller. "It was founded by King Birger in 1250." "There is a monitor," said Paul, pointing to the waters near Castelholmen, not far from the anchorage of the squadron. "We have four in the Swedish navy, and Russia has plenty of them. Ericsson, who invented them, was a Swede, you know." After the tourists had surveyed the panorama to their satisfaction, they descended, and entering the carriage, drove over to the Riddarholm, where the guide pointed out the church, the statue of Gustavus Vasa, the house of the Nobles, and other objects of interest. Returning to the quay, they stopped to look at the little steamers which were whisking about in every direction. "That is the National Museum," said Möller, pointing to a large and elegant building across the stream. "I should like to sail in one of those little boats," said Mrs. Kendall. "We can go over and back in ten minutes, if you like," added the guide. "Let us go." The party alighted from the carriage, and entered the little boat. "How much did you pay, Paul?" asked Grace. "The fare is no larger than the boat. It is three öre each person." "How much is that?" "Let me see; eight tenths of a cent, or less than a halfpenny, English." The excursionists returned without landing. "I should like to go again," said Grace. "It is delightful sailing in such dear little steamers." "If you please, we will ride over to the Djurgarden, and return by the steamer, which will land us at the Strömparterre," said the guide. This proposition was accepted, and by a circuitous route they reached the place indicated, which, in English, is the Deer Garden. It is on an island, separated from the main land by a channel. The southern portion of it is a thickly-populated village, but the principal part of the island is laid out as a park, of which the people of Stockholm are justly proud. It was originally a sterile tract of land: the first improvements converted it into a deer park for the royal use; but Gustaf III. and Charles (XIV.) John, as Bernadotte was styled, turned it into a public park. It is laid out in walks and avenues beautifully shaded with oaks and other trees. The land is undulating, and parts of it command splendid views of the islands and watercourses in the vicinity. On the outskirts is an asylum for the blind and for deaf mutes. Rosendahl, a country house, built by Charles John in 1830, and often occupied by him, is quite near the park. The party drove through the principal avenues of the garden, and stopped at the bust of Bellman, the great poet of Sweden, whose birthday is annually celebrated here with music and festivities. Around the park are various tea-gardens, cafés, and other places of amusement, including a theatre, circus, and opera-house for summer use. There is an Alhambra, with a restaurant; a Tivoli, with a concert-room; a Novilla, with a winter garden, and a concert hall for summer. The tourists stopped at Hasselbacken, which is celebrated for its good dinners at moderate prices. The visitors seated themselves in a broad veranda, overlooking a garden filled with little tables, in the centre of which was a kiosk for the music. The viands, especially the salmon, were very nice, and the coffee, as usual, was excellent. After dinner a short walk brought the party to the landing-place of the little steamers, where, paying eight öre, or about two cents, each, they embarked. The boat flew along at great speed for such a small craft, whisked under the Skeppsholm bridge, and in a few moments landed the tourists at the circular stone quay, which surrounds the Strömparterre. Paul and his lady walked to the hotel, and the doctor and the captain went to the Skeppsbron, where a boat soon conveyed them to the ship. Sanford and Stockwell had been on board several hours, and had had time to make up their minds in regard to their future course. They had considered the advice of the boatswain, and finally concluded to adopt it. Clyde Blacklock was as tame as a parlor poodle. His experience in running away, especially after his three days on board of the Rensdyr, was far from satisfactory. "I suppose I must go into that cage again," said he, when he went on board. "That depends on yourself," replied Peaks. "If you say that you don't intend to run away again, we shall not put you in the brig." "I think I won't," added Clyde. "You think?" "Well, I know I won't. I will try to do the best I can." "That's all we ask," said Peaks. "You can say all this to the principal." Mr. Lowington returned earlier than most of the ship's company, and Peaks reported to him immediately. The coxswain and his associate were called up first. "We have come on board, sir," said Sanford, touching his cap. "I see you have. You have been gone a long time, and I have been told that you had some difficulty in finding the ship," added the principal. "We have concluded to tell the whole truth, sir," said Sanford, hanging his head. "I am very glad to hear that." "We didn't wish to find the ship." "Can you explain the accident by which the second cutter was stove at Christiansand?" "I did it on purpose; but no other fellow was to blame, or knew anything about it." "I am astonished to think you should expose the lives of your crew, by pushing your boat right into the path of a steamer." "I didn't do it, sir, till the steamer had stopped her wheels. I wanted to get on board of her, and leave the ship. In Norway, I cheated the rest of the party, and led them out of the way." "How could you do that?" "I told Ole what to say." "Then you wished to travel alone?" "Yes, sir." Sanford and Stockwell made a clean breast of it, explaining how they had lost trains and steamers, and thus avoided returning to the ship. "Then Ole is a rogue as well as the rest of you, it seems." "He did what I told him to do, and paid him for doing," replied Sanford. "He is a runaway, too," interposed the boatswain, who proceeded to tell the story of the waif. "The boy has suffered a good deal from the ill-treatment of his step-father." "I am sorry for him; but his character does not seem to be up to the average of that of his countrymen. I don't think we want him on board," replied Mr. Lowington. "As you say this Olaf has no claim for his services, we will see about him." The Rensdyr had by this time arrived at the quay, and it was not believed that Captain Olaf would permit his step-son, whose services seemed to be of so much value to him, to escape without making an effort to reclaim him. After all hands had returned from the shore, he put in an appearance, and seeing Peaks in the waist, directed his steps towards him. The profusion of fine uniforms, the order and discipline that reigned on deck, and the dignified mien of the instructors who were walking back and forth, seemed to produce an impression upon the mind of the rough skipper, for he took off his hat, and appeared to be as timid as though he had come into the presence of the king. "Good evening, Captain Olaf," said the boatswain. "I want the boy Ole," replied the skipper, bowing, and returning the salutation. "You must talk with the principal about that." "I don't understand." Peaks conducted Olaf to the quarter-deck, where Mr. Lowington was conversing with Mr. and Mrs. Kendall, who had come on board to visit their old friends. "This is the man that claims Ole," said the boatswain. "I want the boy, sir," added Captain Olaf, bowing as gracefully as he knew how. "If Ole chooses to go with you, he may go," replied the principal. "He does not choose to go." "I certainly shall not compel him to go," continued Mr. Lowington. "I will make him go." "I shall allow no violence on board of this ship." "But he is my boy; the son of my wife that is dead." "He is not your son, and you have no more claim on him than I have. The boy is an orphan. Have you been appointed his guardian?" This question was out of Olaf's depth in the English language; but it was translated into Danish by Professor Badois, and the skipper did not pretend that he had any legal authority over the boy. "But I have fed and clothed him, and he must work for me," said he. "Ole says you did not feed him, and he had nothing but a few dirty rags on when we picked him up. I have nothing to do with the matter. Ole is free to go or stay, just as he pleases," replied the principal, turning away from the skipper, to intimate that he wished to say nothing more about the matter. "The boy is here, and I shall make him go with me," said Olaf, looking ugly enough to do anything. Mr. Lowington glanced at Peaks, and appeared to be satisfied that no harm would come to Ole. Olaf walked back into the waist, and then to the forecastle, glancing at every student he met, in order to identify his boy. "See here, Norway; there comes your guardian genius," said Scott, who, with a dozen others, had gathered around the trembling waif, determined to protect him if their services were needed. "Bear a hand, and tumble down the fore-hatch. Herr Skippenboggin is after you." Ole heeded this good advice, and followed by his supporters, he descended to the steerage. Olaf saw him, and was about to descend the ladder, when Peaks interfered. "You can't go down there," said he, decidedly. "I want the boy," replied Olaf. "No visitors in the steerage without an invitation." "I will have Ole;" and the skipper began to descend. "Avast, my hearty," interposed the boatswain, laying violent hands on Olaf, and dragging him to the deck. Bitts, the carpenter, and Leach, the sailmaker, placed themselves beside the boatswain, as the Norwegian picked himself up. "You may leave the ship, now," said Peaks, pointing to the accommodation stairs. Olaf looked at the three stout men before him, and prudence triumphed over his angry passions. "I will have the boy yet," said he, as he walked to the stairs, closely attended by the three forward officers. He went down into his boat, declaring that he would seize upon Ole the first time he caught him on shore. "Where is Clyde?" asked Mr. Lowington, as soon as the savage skipper had gone. "He is forward, sir; he behaves like a new man, and says he will not run away," replied Peaks. "Send him aft." "Ay, ay, sir." Clyde went aft. He was a boy of quick impulses and violent temper. He had been accustomed to have his own way; and this had done more to spoil him than anything else. He had to learn that there was a power greater than himself, to which he must submit. He had twice run away, and failed both times. Three days of fear and absolute misery on board of the Rensdyr had given him time to think. He determined, when he reached Stockholm, to return to his mother, and try to be a better boy. Peaks, in the little steamer, had come upon him like a ghost. He had expected never again to see the ship, or his particular tormentor; and to have the latter appear to him in such an extraordinary manner was very impressive, to say the least. He realized that he must submit; but this thought, like that of resistance before, was only an impulse. Clyde submitted, and was even candid enough to say so to the principal, who talked to him very gently and kindly for an hour, pointing out to him the ruin which he was seeking. "We will try you again, Clyde," said Mr. Lowington. "We will wipe out the past, and begin again. You may go forward." The next day was Sunday, and for a change, the officers and crews of the several vessels were permitted to land, and march to the English church in Stockholm. The neat and pleasant little church was crowded to its utmost capacity by the attendance of such a large number. Mr. Agneau, the chaplain, was invited to take a part in the service, and as Mrs. Kendall, Mrs. Shuffles, and many of the ship's company were good singers, the vocal music was better than usual. On Monday morning commenced the serious business of sight-seeing in Stockholm. The royal palace, one of the largest and finest in Europe, and the most prominent building in the city, was the first place to be visited. It is four hundred and eighteen feet long, by three hundred and ninety-one wide, with a large court-yard in the middle, from which are the principal entrances. The lower story is of granite; the rest of brick, covered with stucco. The students walked through the vast number of apartments it contains; through red chambers, green chambers, blue chambers, and yellow chambers, as they are designated, through the royal chapel, which is as large as a good-sized church, and through the throne-room, where the king opens the sessions of the Diet. Several were devoted to the Swedish orders of knighthood. The ceilings and walls of the state apartments are beautifully adorned with allegorical and mythological paintings. The chamber of Bernadotte, or Charles John, remains just as it was during his last sickness. On the bed lies his military cloak, which he wore in his great campaigns. His cane, the gift of Charles XIII., stands in the room. The walls are covered with green silk, and adorned with portraits of the royal family. The apartments actually occupied by the present king were found to be far inferior in elegance to many republican rooms. His chamber has a pine floor, with no carpet; but it looked more home-like than the great barn-like state-rooms. In a series of small and rather low apartments are several collections of curious and antique articles, such as a collection of arms, including a pair of pistols presented to the king by President Lincoln; and of pipes, containing every variety in use, in the smoking-room. The king's library looks like business, for its volumes seemed to be for use rather than ornament. The billiard-room is quite cosy, and his chamber contains photographs of various royal personages, as the Prince of Wales, the Queen of England, and others, which look as though the king had friends, and valued them like common people. His majesty paints very well for a king, and the red cabinet contains pictures by him, and by Oscar I. The queen's apartments, as well as the king's, seemed to the boys like a mockery of royalty, for they were quite plain and comfortable. The entire palace contains five hundred and eighty-three rooms. The whole forenoon was employed in visiting the palace, and the students went on board the vessels to dinner. As the day was pleasant, a boat excursion to Drottningholm was planned, and the fourteen boats of the squadron were soon in line. A pilot was in the commodore's barge, to indicate the course. Passing under the North Bridge, the excursion entered the waters of the Mäler Lake. A pull of two hours among beautiful islands, covered with the fresh green of spring, through narrow and romantic passages, brought them to their destination. In some places, within five miles of Stockholm, the scene was so quiet, and nature so primitive, that the excursionists could have believed they were hundreds of miles from the homes of civilization. Two or three of the islands had a house or two upon them; but generally they seemed to be unimproved. The boats varied their order at the command of Commodore Cumberland, and when there were any spectators, nothing could exceed their astonishment at the display. At Drottningholm, or Queen's Island, there is a fine palace, built by the widow of Charles X., and afterwards improved and embellished by the kings of Sweden. Attached to it is a beautiful garden, adorned with fountains and statues. The party went through the palace, which contains a great many historical paintings, and some rooms fitted up in Chinese style. As the students were about to embark, a char-a-banc, a kind of open omnibus, drawn by four horses, drove up to the palace, and a plainly-dressed lady alighted. She stood on the portico, looking at the students; and the pilot said she was the Queen Dowager, wife of Oscar I. Of course the boys looked at her with quite as much interest as she regarded them. The commodore called for three cheers for the royal lady, who was the daughter of Eugene Beauharnais, and granddaughter of the Empress Josephine. She waved her handkerchief in return for the salute, and the students were soon pulling down the lake towards Stockholm. The next forenoon was devoted to the Royal Museum, which has been recently erected. It contains a vast quantity of Swedish antiquities and curiosities, with illustrations of national manners and customs. It contains specimens of the various implements used in the ages of wood, stone, bronze, and iron, collections of coins and medals, armor, engravings, sculptures, and paintings, including a few works of the great masters of every school in Europe. The students were particularly interested in what Scott irreverently called the "Old Clothes Room," in which were deposited in glass cases the garments and other articles belonging to the Swedish kings and queens, such as the cradle and toys of Charles XII., and the huge sword with which he defended himself against the Turks at Bender; the sword of Gustavus Vasa; the costume of Gustaf III., which he wore when he was shot in the opera-house by Ankarström; the baton of Gustaf Adolf, and the watch of Queen Christina. In the afternoon the students made an excursion by steamer to Ulriksdal, the summer residence of Bernadotte, Oscar I., and of the present king. It is a beautiful place, and is filled with objects of historical interest. The furniture is neat, pretty, and comfortable. The chamber of the king is the plainest of all, but the bed was used by Gustaf II. in Germany. Every chair, table, and mirror has its history. There is a collection of beer mugs in one chamber, and of pipes in another. The place is full of interest to the curious. In the water in front of the palace were several gilded pleasure-boats, and a fanciful steamer for the use of the royal family. The steamer in which the party had gone to Ulriksdal was one of the larger class, though the company was all she could carry. She made her way through the several arms of the sea, between the islands, passing through two drawbridges. For the return trip four of the smaller steamers had been engaged, each of which would carry about fifty boys. A short distance from the palace, the boats turned into a narrow stream, passing under bridges, in places so contracted that the engine had to be stopped, and the banks were thoroughly washed. Then they entered a lagoon, bordered with villas, and surrounded by pleasant scenery. Landing at a point in the northern suburb, most of the students walked through the city to the quay, though several omnibuses ply between this point and the centre of the city. The next day opened with a visit to Riddarholm. The church, or Riddarholmskyrkan, on this island, was formerly a convent, but is now the mausoleum of the most celebrated kings of Sweden. It was once a Gothic structure; but the addition of several chapels on the sides, for monuments, has completely changed the appearance of the structure. It is remarkable for nothing except the tombs within it. Formerly it contained a number of equestrian figures, clothed in armor, which was valued as relics of the ancient time, including that of Birger Jarl, the founder of the city, and of Charles IX.; but all these have been removed to the National Museum, which is certainly a more appropriate place for them. On each side of the church are the sepulchral chapels of Gustavus Adolphus, Charles XII., Bernadotte, and Oscar I. The Queen Désirée, wife of Bernadotte, and sister-in-law of Joseph Bonaparte, with others of the royal family, and some of the great captains of the Thirty Years' War, are buried here. In the chapels of Gustavus and Charles XII. are placed many of the trophies of their victories, such as flags, drums, swords, and keys. The party then visited the Riddarhus, where the nobles meet, which is the scene of several great historical events, and contains the shields of three thousand Swedish nobles. From this point the tourists went to Mosebacke, a celebrated tea garden, on the high land in the southern suburb, where they ascended to the roof of the theatre in order to obtain a view of the city and its surroundings. On Thursday, the students made an excursion to Upsala, the ancient capital of Sweden, which contains a fine old cathedral, where Gustavus Vasa and two of his wives are buried. His tomb was hardly more interesting to the Americans than that of Linnæus, the great botanist, who was born in Upsala, and buried in this church. Other Swedish kings are also buried here. The party visited the university, which contains some curious old books and manuscripts, such as an old Icelandic Edda; the Bible, with written notes by Luther and Melanchthon; the Journal of Linnæus, and the first book ever printed in Sweden, in 1483. The house of the great botanist and the botanical garden were not neglected. The tourists returned to Stockholm in a special steamer, through an arm of Lake Mäler, and landed at the Riddarholm. On Friday some of the students went to the Navy Yard, and on board of a monitor, while others wandered about the city and its suburbs. After spending a week in the harbor, the voyagers felt that they had seen enough of Sweden; and early on Saturday morning, with a pilot on board of each vessel, the squadron sailed for the Aland Islands, in the Baltic, where the principal decided to pass a week. The vessels lay in the channels between the islands, and the students attended to the regular routine of study and seamanship. Occasional excursions were made on shore, mostly at the uninhabited islands. Journals of what had been seen in Norway, Denmark, and Sweden were written up; but the students were very anxious to visit Russia. Ole Amundsen was very careful to avoid his step-father while he remained in Stockholm. He hardly went on shore, so great was his dread of the cruel skipper of the Rensdyr; and no one rejoiced more heartily than he to leave the Swedish waters. Mr. Lowington did not desire to retain him on board; but the waif begged so hard to remain, and the students liked him so well, that he was finally engaged as an assistant steward in the steerage, at twelve dollars a month; but he made double this sum, besides, out of the boys, by the exercise of his genius in mending clothes, cleaning shoes, and similar services, which the students preferred to pay for, rather than do themselves. Clyde Blacklock kept his promise as well as he could, and soon learned his duty as a seaman. Though he certainly improved, his violent temper and imperious manners kept him continually in hot water. He could not forget his old grudge against Burchmore, and during an excursion on one of the Aland Islands, he attacked him, but was soundly thrashed for his trouble, and punished on board when his black eye betrayed him. While he is improving there is hope for him. The runaways promised so much and behaved so well, that none of them were punished as yet, though Sanford was deprived of his position as coxswain of the second cutter; but whether they were to be allowed any liberty in Russia, they were not informed. At the close of the week among the islands, the squadron was headed for Abo, in Finland, which is now a province of Russia; and what they saw and did there, and in other parts of the vast empire, will be related in NORTHERN LANDS, OR YOUNG AMERICA IN RUSSIA AND PRUSSIA. 
45192	----	Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed. Words printed in italics are marked with underscores: _italics_. Words printed in bold are marked with tildes: ~bold~. [Illustration: "NO USE, LADS! THE BOAT HAS BEEN SWEPT AWAY" (See page 37)] Among the Esquimaux OR Adventures under the Arctic Circle BY EDWARD S. ELLIS, A.M. AUTHOR OF "The Campers Out," Etc., Etc. PHILADELPHIA THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 1894 COPYRIGHT 1894 BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I TWO PASSENGERS ON THE "NAUTILUS" 7 II A COLOSSAL SOMERSAULT 16 III AN ALARMING SITUATION 27 IV ADRIFT 38 V AN ICY COUCH 46 VI MISSING 55 VII A POINT OF LIGHT 64 VIII HOPE DEFERRED 73 IX A STARTLING OCCURRENCE 82 X AN UGLY CUSTOMER 91 XI LIVELY TIMES 99 XII FRED'S EXPERIENCE 108 XIII THE FOG 117 XIV A COLLISION 126 XV THE SOUND OF A VOICE 135 XVI LAND HO! 144 XVII DOCAK AND HIS HOME 153 XVIII A NEW EXPEDITION 162 XIX A WONDERFUL EXHIBITION 171 XX THE HERD OF MUSK OXEN 180 XXI CLOSE QUARTERS 189 XXII FRED'S TURN 198 XXIII IN THE CAVERN 207 XXIV UNWELCOME CALLERS 216 XXV THE COMING SHADOW 225 XXVI WALLED IN 234 XXVII "COME ON!" 243 XXVIII A HOPELESS TASK 251 XXIX TEN MILES 260 XXX THE LAST PAUSE 269 XXXI ANOTHER SOUND 278 XXXII THE WILD MEN OF GREENLAND 287 XXXIII CONCLUSION 301 AMONG THE ESQUIMAUX CHAPTER I TWO PASSENGERS ON THE "NAUTILUS" The good ship "Nautilus" had completed the greater part of her voyage from London to her far-off destination, deep in the recesses of British America. This was York Factory, one of the chief posts of the Hudson Bay Company. Among the numerous streams flowing into Hudson Bay, from the frozen regions of the north, is the Nelson River. Near the mouth of this and of the Hayes River was erected, many years ago, Fort York, or York Factory. The post is not a factory in the ordinary meaning of the word, being simply the headquarters of the factors or dealers in furs for that vast monopoly whose agents have scoured the dismal regions to the north of the Saskatchewan, in the land of Assiniboine, along the mighty Yukon and beyond the Arctic Circle, in quest of the fur-bearing animals, that are found only in their perfection in the coldest portions of the globe. The buildings which form the fort are not attractive, but they are comfortable. They are not specially strong, for, though the structure has stood for a long time in a country which the aborigines make their home, and, though it is far removed from any human assistance, its wooden walls have never been pierced by a hostile bullet, and it is safe to say they never will be. Somehow or other, our brethren across the northern border have learned the art of getting along with the Indians without fighting them. The voyageurs and trappers, returning from their journeys in canoes or on snow-shoes to the very heart of frozen America, first catch sight of the flag floating from the staff of York Factory, and they know that a warm welcome awaits them, because the peltries gathered amid the recesses of the frigid mountains and in the heart of the land of desolation are sure to find ready purchasers at the post, for the precious furs are eagerly sought for in the marts of the Old and of the New World. It is a lonely life for the inhabitants of the fort, for it is only once a year that the ship of the company, after breasting the fierce storms and powerful currents of the Atlantic, sails up the great mouth of Baffin Bay, glides through Hudson Strait, and thence steals across the icy expanse of Hudson Bay to the little fort near the mouth of the Nelson. You can understand how welcome the ship is, for it brings the only letters, papers, and news from home that can be received until another twelvemonth shall roll around. Such, as I have said, is the rule, though now and then what may be termed an extra ship makes that long, tempestuous voyage. Being unexpected, its coming is all the more joyful, for it is like the added week's holiday to the boy who has just made ready for the hard work and study of the school-room. You know there has been considerable said and written about a railway to Hudson Bay, with the view of connection thence by ship to Europe. Impracticable as is the scheme, because of the ice which locks up navigation for months every year, it has had strong and ingenious advocates, and considerable money has been spent in the way of investigation. The plan has been abandoned, for the reasons I have named, and there is no likelihood that it will ever be attempted. The "Nautilus" had what may be called a roving commission. It is easy to understand that so long as the ships of the Hudson Bay Company have specific duties to perform, and that the single vessel is simply ordered to take supplies to York Factory and bring back her cargo of peltries, little else can be expected from her. So the staunch "Nautilus" was fitted out, placed under the charge of the veteran navigator, Captain McAlpine, who had commanded more than one Arctic whaler, and sent on her westward voyage. The ultimate destination of the "Nautilus" was York Factory, though she was to touch at several points, after calling at St. John, Newfoundland, one of which was the southern coast of Greenland, where are located the most famous cryolite mines in the world, belonging, like Greenland itself, to the Danish Government. There is little to be told the reader about the "Nautilus" itself or the crew composing it, but it so happened that she had on board three parties, in whose experience and adventures I am sure you will come to feel an interest. These three were Jack Cosgrove, a bluff, hearty sailor, about forty years of age; Rob Carrol, seventeen, and Fred Warburton, one year younger. Rob was a lusty, vigorous young man, honest, courageous, often to rashness, the picture of athletic strength and activity, and one whom you could not help liking at the first glance. His father was a director in the honorable Hudson Bay Company, possessed considerable wealth, and Rob was the eldest of three sons. Fred Warburton, while displaying many of the mental characteristics of his friend, was quite different physically. He was of much slighter build, not nearly so strong, was more quiet, inclined to study, but as warmly devoted to the splendid Rob as the latter was to him. Fred was an orphan, without brother or sister, and in such straitened circumstances that it had become necessary for him to find some means of earning his daily bread. The warm-hearted Rob stated the case to his father, and said that if he didn't make a good opening for his chum he himself would die of a broken heart right on the spot. "Not so bad as that, Rob," replied the genial gentleman, who was proud of his big, manly son; "I have heard so much from you of young Mr. Warburton that I have kept an eye on him for a year past." "I may have told you a good deal about him," continued Rob, earnestly, "but not half as much as he deserves." "He must be a paragon, indeed, but, from what I can learn, my son, he has applied himself so hard to his studies while at school that he ought to have a vacation before settling down to real hard work; what do you think about it, Robert?" "A good idea, provided I take it with him," added the son, slyly. "I see you are growing quite pale and are losing your appetite," continued the parent, with a grave face, which caused the youth to laugh outright at the pleasant irony. "Yes," said the big boy, with the same gravity; "I suffer a great loss of appetite three or four times every day; in fact, I feel as though I couldn't eat another mouthful." "I have observed that phenomenon, my son, but it never seems to attack you until the table has been well cleared of everything on it. Ah, my boy!" he added, tenderly, laying his hand on his head; "I am thankful that you are blessed with such fine health. Be assured there is nothing in this world that can take its place. With a conscience void of offense toward God and man, and a body that knows no ache nor pain, you can laugh at the so-called miseries of life; they will roll from you like water from a duck's back." "But, father, have you thought of any way of giving Fred a vacation before he goes to work? You know he is as poor as he can be, and can't afford to do nothing and pay his expenses." "The plan I have in mind," replied the father, leaning back in his chair and twirling his eyeglasses, "is this: next week the 'Nautilus,' one of the company's ships, will leave London for York Factory, which is a station deep in the heart of British America. She will touch at St. John, Greenland, and several other points on her way, and may stop several weeks or months at York Factory, according to circumstances. If it will suit your young friend to go with her, I will have him registered as one of our clerks, which will entitle him to a salary from the day the 'Nautilus' leaves the dock. The sea voyage will do him good, and when he returns, at the end of a year or less, he can settle down to hard work in our office in London. Of course, if Fred goes, you will have to stay at home." Rob turned in dismay to his parent, but he observed a twitching at the corners of his mouth, and a sparkle of the fine blue eyes, which showed he was only teasing him. "Ah, father, I understand you!" exclaimed the big boy, springing forward, throwing an arm about his neck and kissing him. "You wouldn't think of separating us." "I suppose not. There! get along with you, and tell your friend to make ready to sail next week, his business being to look after you while away from home." And that is how Rob Carrol and Fred Warburton came to be fellow-passengers on the ship "Nautilus" on the voyage to the far North. CHAPTER II A COLOSSAL SOMERSAULT The voyage of the "Nautilus" was uneventful until she was far to the northward in Baffin Bay. It was long after leaving St. John that our friends saw their first iceberg. They should have seen them before, as Captain McAlpine explained, for, as you well know, those mountains of ice often cross the path of the Atlantic steamers, and more than once have endangered our great ocean greyhounds. No doubt numbers of them were drifting southward, gradually dissolving as they neared the equator, but it so happened that the "Nautilus" steered clear of them until many degrees to the north. The captain, who was scanning the icy ocean with his glass, apprised the boys that the longed-for curiosity was in sight at last. As he spoke, he pointed with his hand to the north-west, but though they followed the direction with their eyes, they were disappointed. "I see nothing," said Rob, "that looks like an iceberg." "And how is it with you, Mr. Warburton?" asked the skipper, lowering his instrument, and turning toward the younger of the boys, who had approached, and now stood at his side. "We can make out a small white cloud in the horizon, that's all," said Fred. "It's the cloud I'm referring to, boys; now take a squint at that same thing through the glass." Fred leveled the instrument and had hardly taken a glance, when he cried: "Oh! it's an iceberg sure enough! Isn't it beautiful?" While he was studying it, the captain added: "Turn the glass a little to the left." "There's another!" added the delighted youth. "I guess we've struck a school of 'em," remarked Rob, who was using his eyes as best he could; "I thought we'd bring up the average before reaching Greenland." "It's a sight worth seeing," commented Fred, handing the glass to his friend, whose pleasure was fully as great as his own. The instrument was passed back and forth, and, in the course of a half-hour, the vast masses of ice could be plainly discerned with the unaided eye. "That proves they are coming toward us, or we are going toward them," said Rob. "Both," replied Captain McAlpine; "we shall pass within a mile of the larger one." "Suppose we run into it?" The old sea-dog smiled grimly, as he replied: "I tried it once, when whaling with the 'Mary Jane.' I don't mean to say I did it on purpose, but there was no moon that night, and when the iceberg, half as big as a whole town, loomed up in the darkness, we hadn't time to get out of its path. Well, I guess I've said enough," he remarked, abruptly. "Why, you've broken off in the most interesting part of the story," said the deeply interested Fred. "Well, that was the last of the 'Mary Jane.' The mate, Jack Cosgrove, and myself were all that escaped out of a crew of eleven. We managed to climb upon a small shelf of ice, just above the water, where we would have perished with cold had not an Esquimau fisherman, named Docak, seen us. We were nearer the mainland than we dared hope, and he came out in his kayak and took us off. He helped us to make our way to Ivignut, where the cryolite mines are, and thence we got back to England by way of Denmark. No," added Captain McAlpine, "a prudent navigator won't try to butt an iceberg out of his path; it don't pay." "It must be dangerous in these waters, especially at night." "There is danger everywhere and at all times in this life," was the truthful remark of the commander; "and you know that the most constant watchfulness on the part of the great steamers cannot always avert disaster, but I have little fear of anything from icebergs." You need to be told little about those mountains of ice which sometimes form a procession, vast, towering, and awful, that stream down from the far North and sail in all their sublime grandeur steadily southward until they "go out of commission" forever in the tepid waters of the tropic regions. It is a strange spectacle to see one of them moving resistlessly against the current, which is sometimes dashed from the corrugated front, as is seen at the bow of a steamboat, but the reason is simple. Nearly seven-eighths of an iceberg is under water, extending so far down that most of the bulk is often within the embrace of the counter current below. This, of course, carries it against the weaker flow, and causes many people to wonder how it can be thus. While the little group stood forward talking of icebergs, they were gradually drawing near the couple that had first caught their attention. By this time a third had risen to sight, more to the westward, but it was much smaller than the other two, though more unique and beautiful. It looked for all the world like a grand cathedral, whose tapering spire towered fully two hundred feet in air. It was easy to imagine that some gigantic structure had been submerged by a flood, while the steeple still reared its head above the surrounding waters as though defying them to do their worst. The other two bergs were much more enormous and of irregular contour. The imaginative spectator could fancy all kinds of resemblances, but the "cold fact" remained that they were simply mountains of ice, with no more symmetry of outline than a mass of rock blasted from a quarry. "I have read," said Fred, "that in the iceberg factories of the north, as they are called, they are sometimes two or three years in forming, before they break loose and sweep off into the ocean." "That is true," added Captain McAlpine; "an iceberg is simply a chunk off a frozen river, and a pretty good-sized one, it must be admitted. Where the cold is so intense, a river becomes frozen from the surface to the ground. Snow falls, there may be a little rain during the moderate season, then snow comes again, and all the time the water beneath is freezing more and more solid. Gravity and the pressure of the inconceivable weight beyond keeps forcing the bulk of ice and snow nearer the ocean, until it projects into the clear sea. By and by it breaks loose, and off it goes." "But why does it take so long?" "It is like the glaciers of the Alps. Being solid as a rock while the pressure is gradual as well as resistless, it may move only a few feet in a month or a year; but all the same the end must come." The captain had grown fond of the boys, and the fact that the father of one of them was a director of the company which employed him naturally led him to seek to please them so far as he could do so consistent with his duty. He caused the course of the "Nautilus" to be shifted, so that they approached within a third of a mile of the nearest iceberg, which then was due east. Sail had been slackened and the progress of the mass was so slow as to be almost imperceptible. This gave full time for its appalling grandeur to grow upon the senses of the youths, who stood minute after minute admiring the overwhelming spectacle, speechless and awed as is one who first pauses at the base of Niagara. Naturally the officers and crew of the "Nautilus" gave the sight some attention, but it could not impress them as it did those who looked upon it for the first time. The second iceberg was more to the northward, and the ship was heading directly toward it. It was probably two-thirds the size of the first, and, instead of possessing its rugged regularity of outline, had a curious, one-sided look. "It seems to me," remarked Rob, who had been studying it for some moments, "that the centre of gravity in that fellow must be rather ticklish." "It may be more stable than the big one," said Fred, "for you don't know what shape they have under water; a good deal must depend on that." Jack Cosgrove, the sailor, who had joined the little party at the invitation of the captain, ventured to say: "Sometimes them craft get top-heavy and take a flop; I shouldn't be s'prised if that one done the same." "It must be a curious sight; I've often wondered how Jumbo, the great elephant, would have looked turning a somersault. An iceberg performing a handspring would be something of the same order, but a hundred thousand times more extensive. I would give a good deal if one of those bergs should take it into his head to fling a handspring, but I don't suppose--" "Look!" broke in Fred, in sudden excitement. To the unbounded amazement of captain, crew, and all the spectators, the very thing spoken of by Rob Carrol took place. The vast bulk of towering ice was seen to plunge downward with a motion, slow at first, but rapidly increasing until it dived beneath the waves like some enormous mass of matter cast off by a planet in its flight through space. As it disappeared, two-fold as much bulk came to view, there was a swirl of water, which was flung high in fountains, and the waves formed by the commotion, as they swept across the intervening space, caused the "Nautilus" to rock like a cradle. The splash could have been heard miles away, and the iceberg seemed to shiver and shake itself, as though it were some flurried monster of the deep, before it could regain its full equilibrium. Then, as the spectators looked, behold! where was one of those mountains of ice they saw what seemed to be another, for its shape, contour, projections, and depressions were so different that no resemblance could be traced. "She's all right now," remarked Jack Cosgrove, whose emotions were less stirred than those of any one else; "she's good for two or three thousand miles' voyage, onless she should happen to run aground in shoal water." "What then would take place, Jack?" asked Fred. "Wal, there would be the mischief to pay gener'ly. Things would go ripping, tearing, and smashing, and the way that berg would behave would be shameful. If anybody was within reach he'd get hurt." Rob stepped up to the sailor as if a sudden thought had come to him. Laying his hand on his arm, he said, in an undertone: "I wonder if the captain won't let us visit that iceberg?" CHAPTER III AN ALARMING SITUATION The boldness of the proposition fairly took away the breath of the honest sailor. He stared at Rob as though doubting whether he had heard aright. He looked at the smiling youth from head to foot, and stared a full minute before he spoke. "By the horned spoon, you're crazy, younker!" "What is there so crazy about such an idea?" asked Fred, as eager to go on the excursion as his friend. Jack removed his tarpaulin and scratched his head in perplexity. He voided a mouthful of tobacco spittle over the taffrail, heaved a prodigious sigh, and then muttered, as if to himself: "It's crazy clean through, from top to bottom, sideways, cat-a-cornered, and every way; but if the captain says 'yes' I'll take you." Rob stepped to where the skipper stood, some paces away, and said: "Captain McAlpine, being as this is the first time Fred and I ever had a good look at an iceberg, we would be much obliged if you will allow Jack to row us out to it. We want to get a better view of it than we can from the deck of the ship. Jack is willing, and we will be much obliged for your permission." Fred was listening breathlessly for the reply, which, like Rob, he expected would be a curt refusal. Great, therefore, was the surprise of the two when the good-natured commander said: "The request doesn't strike me as very sensible, but, if your hearts are set on it, I don't see any objection. Yes, Jack has my permission to take you to that mass of ice, provided you don't stay too long." "He's crazy, too!" was the whispered exclamation of the sailor, who, nevertheless, was pleased to gratify his young friends. The preparations were quickly made. Fred had heard that polar bears are occasionally found on the icebergs which float southward from the Arctic regions, and he insisted that they ought to take their rifles and ammunition along. Rob laughed, but fortunately he followed his advice, and thus it happened that the couple were as well supplied in that respect as if starting out on a week's hunt in the interior of the country. When Jack was urged to do the same he resolutely shook his head, and then turned about and accepted a weapon from the captain, who seemed in the mood for humoring every whim of the youths that afternoon. "Take it along, Jack," he said; "there may be some tigers, leopards, boa-constrictors, and hyenas prowling about on the ice. They may be on skates, and there is nothing like being prepared for whatever comes. Good luck to you!" Rob placed himself in the bow of the small boat, and Fred in the stern, while the sailor, sitting down near the middle, grasped the oars and rowed with that long, steady stroke which showed his mastery of the art. There was little wind stirring, and the waves were so slight that they were easily ridden. The sea was of a deep green color, and when the spray occasionally dashed over the lads it was as cold as ice itself. By this time the iceberg had drifted somewhat to the southward, but its progress was so slow as to suggest that the two currents which swept against it were nearly of the same strength. Had it been earlier in the day it would probably have remained visible to the "Nautilus" until sunset. Meanwhile, a fourth mass rose to sight in the rim of the eastern horizon, so that there seemed some truth in Rob's suggestion that they had run into a school of them. They felt no interest, however, in any except the particular specimen before them. How it grew upon them as they neared it! It seemed to spread right and left, and to tower upward toward the sky, until even the reckless Rob was hushed into awed silence and sat staring aloft, with feelings beyond expression. It was much the same with Fred, who, sitting at the stern, almost held his breath, while the overwhelming grandeur hushed the words trembling on his lip. The mass of ice was hundreds of feet in width and length, while the highest portion must have been, at the least, three hundred feet above the surface of the sea. What, therefore, was the bulk below. Its colossal proportions were beyond imagination. The part within their field of vision was too irregular and shapeless to admit of clear description. If the reader can picture a mass of rock and _débris_ blown from the side of a mountain, multiplied a million times, he may form some idea of it. The highest portion was on the opposite side. About half-way from the sea, facing the little party, was a plateau broad enough to allow a company of soldiers to camp upon it. To the left of this the ice showed considerable snow in its composition, while, in other places, it was as clear as crystal itself. In still other portions it was dark or almost steel blue, probably due to some peculiar refraction of light. There were no rippling streams of water along and over its side, for the weather was too cold for the thawing which would be plentiful when it struck a warmer latitude. But there were caverns, projections, some sharp, but most of them blunt and misshapen, steps, long stretches of vertical wall as smooth as glass, up which the most agile climber could never make his way. Courageous as Rob Carrol unquestionably was, a feeling akin to terror took possession of him when they were quite near the iceberg. He turned to suggest to Jack that they had come far enough, when he observed that the sailor had turned the bow of the boat to the right, though he was still rowing moderately. He was the only one that was not impressed by the majesty of the scene. Squinting one eye up the side of the towering mass, he remarked: "There's enough ice there to make a chap's etarnal fortune, if he could only hitch on and tow it into London or New York harbor; but being as we've sot out to take a view of it, why we'll sarcumnavigate the thing, as me cousin remarked when he run around the barn to dodge the dog that was nipping at his heels." The voice of the sailor served to break the spell that had held the tongues of the boys mute until then, and they spoke more cheerily, but unconsciously modulated their voices, as a person will do when walking through some great gallery of paintings or the aisles of a vast cathedral. They were so interested, however, in themselves and their novel experience that neither looked toward the "Nautilus," which was rapidly passing from sight, as they were rowed around the iceberg. Had they done so, they would have seen Captain McAlpine making eager signals to them to return, and, perhaps, had they listened, they might have heard his stentorian voice, though the moderate wind, blowing at right angles, was quite unfavorable for hearing. Unfortunately not one of the three saw or heard the movement or words of the skipper, and the little boat glided around the eastern end of the mountainous mass and began slowly creeping along the further side. "Hello!" called out Rob, "there's a good place to land, Jack; let's go ashore." "Go ashore!" repeated the sailor, with a scornful laugh; "what kind of a going ashore do you call that?" While there was nothing especially desirable in placing foot upon an iceberg, yet, boy-like, the two friends felt that it would be worth something to be able to say on their return home that they had actually stood upon one of them. Inasmuch as the whole thing was a fool's errand in the eyes of Jack Cosgrove, he thought it was well to neglect nothing, so he shied the boat toward the gently sloping shelf, which came down to the water, and, with a couple of powerful sweeps of the oars, sent the bow far up the glassy surface, the stoppage being so gradual as to cause hardly a perceptible shock. "Out with you, younkers, for the day will soon be gone," he called, waiting for the two to climb out before following them. They lost no time in obeying, and he drew the boat so far up that he felt there was no fear of its being washed away during their absence. All took their guns, and, leaving it to the sailor to act as guide, they began picking their way up the incline, which continued for fully a dozen yards from the edge of the water. "This is easy enough," remarked Rob; "if we only had our skates, we might--confound it!" His feet shot up in the air, and down he came with a bump that shook off his hat, and would have sent him sliding to the boat had he not done some lively skirmishing to save himself. Fred laughed, as every boy does under similar circumstances, and he took particular heed to his own footsteps. Jack had no purpose of venturing farther than to the top of the gentle incline, since there was no cause to do so; but, on reaching the point, he observed that it was easy to climb along a rougher portion to the right, and he led the way, the boys being more than willing to follow him. They continued in this manner until they had gone a considerable distance, and, for the first time, the guide stopped and looked around. As he did so, he uttered an exclamation of amazement: "Where have been my eyes?" he called out, as if unable to comprehend his oversight. "What's the matter?" asked the boys, startled at his emotion, for which they saw no cause. "There's one of the biggest storms ever heard of in these latitudes, bearing right down on us; it'll soon be night, and we shall be catched afore we reach the ship, lads! there isn't a minute to lose; it's all my fault." He led the way at a reckless pace, the youths following as best they could, stumbling at times, but heeding it not as they scrambled to their feet and hurried after their friend, more frightened, if possible, than he. He could out-travel them, and was at the bottom of the incline first. Before he reached it, he stopped short and uttered a despairing cry: "No use, lads! the boat has been swept away!" Such was the fact. CHAPTER IV ADRIFT Jack Cosgrove, of the "Nautilus," was not often agitated by anything in which he became involved. Few of his perilous calling had gone through more thrilling experiences than he, and in them all he had acquired a reputation for coolness that could not be surpassed. But one of the few occasions that stirred him to the heart was when hurrying to disembark from the iceberg, in the desperate hope of reaching the ship before the bursting of the gale and the closing of night, he found that the little boat had been swept from its fastenings, and the only means of escape was cut off. There was more in the incident than occurred to Rob Carrol and Fred Warburton, who hastened after him. He had been in those latitudes before, and the reader will recall the story Captain McAlpine told to the boys of the time Jack was one of three who escaped from the collision of the whaling ship with an iceberg in the gloom of a dark night. Had it been earlier in the day, and had no storm been impending, he could have afforded to laugh at this mishap, for at the most, it would have resulted in a temporary inconvenience only. The skipper would have discovered their plight sooner or later, and sent another boat to bring them off, but the present case was a hundred-fold more serious in every aspect. In the first place, the fierce disturbance of the elements would compel Captain McAlpine to give all attention to the care of his ship. That was of more importance than the little party on the iceberg, who must be left to themselves for the time, since any effort to reach them would endanger the vessel, the loss of which meant the loss of everything, including the little company that found itself in sudden and dire peril. What might take place during the storm and darkness his imagination shuddered to picture. Had the boat been found where he left it a short time before, desperate rowing would have carried them to the "Nautilus" in time to escape the full force of the storm. That was impossible now, and as to the future who could say? The rowboat, as will be remembered, was simply drawn a short distance up the icy incline, where it ought to have remained until the return of the party. Such would have been the fact under ordinary circumstances, for the mighty bulk of the iceberg prevented it feeling the shock of any disturbance that could take place in its majestic sweep through the Arctic Ocean, except from its base striking the bottom of the sea, or a readjustment of its equilibrium, as they had observed in the case of the smaller berg. It might crush the "Great Eastern" if it lay in its path, but that would have been like a wagon passing over an egg-shell. In leaving the boat as related, the stern lay in the water. Even then it would have been secure, but for the agitation caused by the coming gale. That began swaying the rear of the craft, whose support was so smooth that it speedily worked down the incline and floating into the open water instantly worked off beyond reach. The boys knowing so little what all this meant and what was before them, were disposed to make light of their misfortune. "By the great horned spoon, but that is bad!" exclaimed Jack, pointing out on the water, where the boat was seen bobbing on the rising waves, fully a hundred yards away, with the distance rapidly increasing. It seems as if in the few minutes intervening, night had fully descended. The wind had risen to a gale, and, even at that short distance the little craft was fast growing indistinct in the gathering gloom. "It isn't very pleasant," replied Rob, "but it might be worse." "I should like to know how it could be worse," said the sailor, turning reprovingly toward him; "I wonder if I can do it." The last words were uttered to himself, and he hastily laid down his gun on the ice by his side. Then he began taking off his outer coat. "What do you mean to do?" asked the amazed Fred. "I believe I can swim out to the boat and bring it back," was the reply, as he continued preparations. "You musn't think of such a thing," protested Rob; "the water is cold enough to freeze you to death. If you can't reach it, you will have to come back to us, with your clothing frozen stiff, and nothing will save you from perishing." "I'll chance that," said Jack, who, however, continued his preparations more deliberately, and with his eye still on the receding boat. He was about to take the icy plunge, in the last effort to save himself and friends, when he stopped, and, straightening up, watched the craft for a few seconds. "No," said he, "it can't be done; the thing is drifting faster than I can swim." Such was the evident fact. While the vast mass of ice, as has been explained elsewhere, was under the impulse of a mighty under-current, the small craft was swept away by the surface current which flowed in the opposite direction. Even while the party looked, the boat faded from sight in the gloom. "I can't see it," said Rob, who, like the others, was peering intently into the darkness. "Nor I either," added Fred. "And what's more, you'll never see it again," commented Jack, who began slowly donning his outer garments; "younkers, I've been in a good many bad scraps in my life, and more than once would have sworn I was booked for Davy Jones' locker, but this is a little the worst of 'em all." His young friends looked wonderingly at him, unable to understand the cause of such extreme depression on the part of one whom they knew to be among the bravest of men, and in a situation that did not strike them as specially threatening. "Don't you think this iceberg will hold together until morning?" asked Rob. "It'll hold together for months," was the answer, "and like enough will travel hundreds of miles through the Gulf Stream before it goes to nothing." "Then we are sure of a ship to keep us from drowning." "I aint meaning that," said Jack, who was rapidly recovering his equanimity, though it was plain he was strongly affected by the woful turn the adventure had taken. "And," added Fred, "Captain McAlpine knows where we are; he will remain in the neighborhood until morning--" "How do you know he will?" broke in Jack, impatiently. "What's to hinder him?" asked Fred, in turn, startled by the abrupt question; "he knows how to sail the 'Nautilus,' and has taken it through many gales worse than this." "How do you know he has?" "Gracious, Jack, I don't know anything about it; I am only saying what appears to me to be the truth." "I don't want to hurt your feelings, lads, but I can't help saying you don't know what you're talking about. A couple of young land lubbers like you don't see things as they show themselves to one who was born and has lived all his life on the ocean, as you may say. I don't mean to scare you more than I oughter, but you can just make up your minds, my hearties, that you never was in such a fix as this, and if you live to be a hundred years old you'll never be in another half as bad." These were alarming words, but, inasmuch as Jack did not accompany them with any explanation, neither Rob nor Fred were as much impressed as they would have been had he explained the grounds for his extreme fear. What they saw was an enforced stay on the iceberg until the following day. Although in a high latitude, the night was not unusually long, and, though it was certain to be as uncomfortable as can well be imagined, they had no doubt they would survive it and live to laugh at their mishap. CHAPTER V AN ICY COUCH By this time the sailor felt that he had forgotten himself in the agitation caused by the loss of the boat. Although he might see the dark future with clearer vision than his young friends, it was his duty to keep their sight veiled as long as he could. Time enough to face the terrors and their direful consequences when the possibility of avoiding them no longer existed. It will be recalled that when the little party stepped out from the small boat upon the iceberg they did so on the side farthest from the "Nautilus," so that all view of the ship was shut off, and neither Captain McAlpine nor any of his crew could observe the action of Jack and the boys. The skipper had warrant for supposing that such an experienced sailor as the one in charge of the lads would be quick to notice the threatening change in the weather, and would make all haste to return. Inasmuch as he had failed to do so, the party must be left to themselves for the time, while the commander gave his full attention to the care of the ship--a responsibility that required his utmost skill, with no slight chance of his failure. The storm or squall, or whatever it might be termed, was one of those sudden changes, sometimes seen in the high latitudes, whose coming is so sudden that there is but the briefest warning ere it bursts in all its fury. By the time our friends reached the spot where they expected to find their boat it was almost as dark as night. This darkness deepened so rapidly, after losing sight of the craft, that they were unable to see more than fifty feet in any direction. Fortunately, before leaving the "Nautilus," they had donned their heaviest clothing, so that they were quite well protected under the circumstances. Had they neglected this precaution they must have perished of the extreme cold that followed. Accompanying the oppressive gloom was a marked falling of the temperature, and a fierceness of blast which, so long as they were exposed to it, cut them to the bone. The gale, instead of blowing in their faces, swept along the side of the iceberg. They had but to withdraw, therefore, only a short distance when they were able to take shelter behind some of the numerous projections, and save themselves from its full force. All at once the air was full of millions of particles of snow, which eddied and whirled in such fantastic fashion that when they crouched down they were so blinded that they could not see each other's forms, although near enough to clasp hands. This lasted but a few minutes, when it ceased as suddenly as it began. The air was clear, but the gloom was profound. They could see nothing of the raging ocean, nor of a tall spire-like mass of ice, which towered a hundred feet above their heads, within a few yards of them, and which had attracted their admiration on their first visit. It was blowing great guns. The sound of the waves, as they broke against the solid abutment of ice, and were dashed into spray and spume, was like that of the breakers in a hurricane. Inconceivable as was the bulk of the berg, they plainly felt it yield to the resistless power of the ocean. It acquired a slow sea-saw motion, more alarming than the most violent disturbance they had ever known on the "Nautilus" in a storm. The movement was slight, but too distinct to be mistaken. For some time the three huddled together, under the protection of the friendly projection, and no one spoke a word. They had laid down their guns, for there was no need of keeping them in their hands. The metal was so intensely cold that it could be noted through the protection of their thick mittens, and they needed every atom of vitality in their shivering bodies. They pressed closer together and found comfort in the mutual warmth thus secured. The sky was blackness itself. There was no glimpse of moon or friendly star. They were adrift on an iceberg in darkness and gloom in the midst of a trackless ocean. Whither they were going, when the terrifying voyage should end, what was to be the issue, only One knew. They could but pray and trust and hope and await the end. It is a curious feature of this curious human nature of ours that the most hopeless depression of spirits is frequently followed by a rebound, as the highest spirits are quickly succeeded by the deepest dejection. Our make-up is such that nature reacts, and neither state can continue long without change, unless the conditions are exceptional. Were it otherwise, many a strong mind would break down under its weight of trouble. The three had remained crouching together silent and motionless for some minutes, no one venturing to express a hope or opinion, when Rob Carrol suddenly spoke, in the cheeriest tones. "I'll tell you what we'll do, fellows." "What's that?" asked Fred, quick to seize the relief of hearing each other's voices. "Let's start a fire." "A good idee," assented Jack Cosgrove, falling into the odd mood that had taken possession of his companions; "you gather the fuel and I'll kindle it. It happens I haven't such a thing as a match about me, but I'll find a way to start it." "Rob and I have plenty, but, if we hadn't, we could rub some pieces of ice together till the friction started a flame." "The Esquimaux have another plan," added Rob. "They will trim a piece of ice in the form of a convex lens and concentrate the sun's rays on the object they want to set on fire. Why not try that?" "I am afraid there isn't enough sunlight to amount to anything," replied Fred, craning his head forward and peering through the gloom, as if searching for the orb of day. "That isn't the only way of getting up steam," remarked Jack, who, just like his honest self, was striving to dispose of his body so as to give each of the boys the greatest possible amount of warmth; "I know a better one." "Let's hear it." "Race back and forth along the side of the berg till we start the blood circulating; nothing like that." "Suppose we should slip, Jack?" "Then you'd flop into the sea; it's a good thing to take a bath when your blood is heated too much." "If there was only a footpath where we could do that, it would be a good plan," observed Rob, "but, as it is, we shall have to huddle together till morning, when I hope Captain McAlpine will send a boat after us." The boys noticed that Jack made no reply to this. They expected an encouraging response, but he remained silent, as though he was considering difficulties, dangers, complications, and perils of which they could form no idea. Meanwhile the gale raged with resistless fury. There was no more fall of snow, but the wind was like a hurricane. The most vivid idea of its awful power was gained when the friends, far removed from the water's edge, and at no small elevation above it, felt drops of spray flung in their faces. The thunder of the surges, shattered into mist and foam against the adamantine side of the iceberg, was so overpowering that, had not the heads of the three been close, they would not have heard each other's voices. The see-sawing of the colossal mass was more perceptible than ever, and caused them to think, with unspeakable dread, of the possibility of the berg breaking apart, or overturning like the other, in the effort to preserve its equilibrium. The gale whistled around and among the projections of the ice with a weird, uncanny sound, alike and yet different from that heard when it moans through the network of ropes and rigging of a great ship. The question was whether such a vast volume of wind, impinging against the thousands of square feet of ice, would not affect the course and speed of the mass. If the hurricane drove in the same direction as the controlling current, it ought to be of much help. If opposed, it might check it; if quartering, it might make a radical change in its course. All these speculations were in vain, however, and, as has been said, there was nothing to be done, but to wait and trust in the only One who could help them, and who had been so merciful in the past that their faith in His goodness and protecting care could not be shaken. "My lads," said Jack, when the silence which followed their brief conversation had lasted some minutes, "there's only one thing to do, and that's to make ourselves as comfortable as we can where we are." "Isn't that what we are doing?" asked Rob. "Of course it is, but I didn't know but what you was trying to conjure up some other plan. If so, give it up, say your prayers, and go to bed." CHAPTER VI MISSING It is at such times that a person realizes his helplessness and utter dependence on the great Father of all. Too much are we prone to forget such dependence, when all goes well, and too often the prayer for help and guidance is put off until too late. It was a commendable trait in all three of the parties whose experience I have set out to tell that they never forgot their duty in this all-important matter. Rob and Fred were full of animal life and spirits, and the elder especially was inclined, from this very excess of health and strength, to overstep at times the bounds of propriety, but both remembered the lessons learned in infancy at the mother's knee, and never failed to commend themselves to their heavenly parent, not only on waking in the glad morning, but on closing their eyes at night. Jack Cosgrove had one of those impressionable natures, tinged with innocent superstition, which is often seen in those of his calling. His faith possessed the simplicity of a child, and, though many of his doings might not square with those of a Christian, yet at heart he devoutly believed in the all-protecting care of his Maker, and was never ashamed, no matter what his surroundings, to call upon Him for help and guidance. And so, as the three pressed closer together, adjusting themselves as best they could to pass the long, dismal hours ere the sun would shine upon them again, they were silent, and all, at the same time, communed with God, as fervently and trustfully as ever a dying Christian did when stretched upon his bed of mortal illness. Had they possessed a blanket among them they could have spread it upon the ice, lain down upon it, and, wrapping it as best they could, passed the night with a fair degree of comfort. That, however, was out of the question. They, therefore, seated themselves under the lee, as may be said of the mass of ice, which protected them against the gale, their bodies pressed as closely together as well could be, and in this sitting posture prepared to go to sleep, if it should so prove that the blessing could be won. One can become accustomed to almost anything. An abrupt change from the comfortable cabin of the "Nautilus" to the bleak situation on the iceberg would have filled them with a dread hardly less trying than death itself; but they had already been in the situation long enough to grow used to it. The ponderous swaying of the frozen structure, the thunderous dash and roar of the waves against its base, the screaming of the gale and the darkness of the arctic night; all these were sounds and sensations which in a certain sense grew familiar to them and did not disturb them as the hours passed. It cannot be said that an icy seat or rest forms the most comfortable support for the body, whose warmth is likely to melt the frozen surface, but the thick clothing of the party did much to avert unpleasant consequences. Had Jack or Rob or Fred been alone, the penetrating cold most likely would have overcome him, but as has been shown, the mutual warmth rendered their situation less trying than would be supposed. When an hour had passed, with only an occasional word spoken, Jack addressed each of the boys in turn by name. There was no response, and he spoke in a louder tone with the same result. "They're asleep," he said to himself, "and I'm glad of it, though the sleep that sometimes comes to a chap in these parts at such times is the kind that doesn't know any waking in this world. I've no doubt, howsumever, that they're all right." With a vague uneasiness, natural under the circumstances, he passed his hands over their faces and pinched their arms, as if to assure himself there was no mistake. The boys were so muffled up in their thick coats and sealskin caps that were drawn about their ears, behind which the collars of their coats were raised, that only the ends of their noses and a slight portion of their cheeks could be felt. He removed his heavy mitten from one hand, and, reaching under the protecting covering about the cheeks and neck, found a healthy glow which told him all was well, and, for the time at least, he need feel no further anxiety, so far as they were concerned. "Which being the case," he added, drawing on his mitten again, and making sure their coverings were adjusted, "I'll take a little trip myself into the land of nod." But this trip was easier thought of than made. His rugged body, with its powerful vitality, would have soon succumbed to drowsiness, could his mind have been free of its distressing fear for the two young friends under his charge. But, though he had said little, he knew far more than he dare tell them. He had shown his alarm on discovering the loss of the boat, but though some impatient expressions escaped him, he did not explain what was in his mind. His belief was that before morning should come the "Nautilus" would be driven so far from her course that she would be nowhere in sight, and, towering as was the iceberg in its height and proportions, it would be invisible from the deck of the ship, or, if visible, could not be identified among the others drifting through the icy ocean. Well aware, too, he was of the terrific strength of the gale sweeping across the deep, he trembled for the safety of the "Nautilus" and those on board, hardly less than he did for himself and friends. The hurricane was resistless in its power, and would drive the ship whither it chose like a cockle-shell. Icebergs were moving hither and thither through the darkness, less affected by the wind and waves than the vessel, and a collision was among the possibilities, if not the probabilities. Inasmuch as the "Nautilus" was likely to go down under the fury of the elements, or, if she rode through it, was certain to be too far removed to be of help to the three, the question to consider was what hope of escape remained to the latter. Although vessels penetrate Baffin Bay and far into the Arctic Ocean, they are so few in number that days and weeks may pass without any two of them gaining sight of each other. A shipwrecked sailor afloat in the South Sea, on a spar, was as likely to be picked up by some trading ship as were Jack and his companions, by any of the whalers or ships in that high latitude. And then, supposing they did catch sight of some stray vessel, who of the captain and crew would be looking for living persons on board an iceberg? Why would they give the latter any more attention than the scores of the mountainous masses afloat in their path and which it was their first care to avoid? If a ship should pass so near to them that they could make their signals seen there would be hope; but the chances of anything of that kind were too remote to be regarded. Such being the outlook, where was there ground for hope? They were beyond sight of the Greenland coast, and were doubtless drifting farther away every hour. Nothing in the nature of succor was to be hoped for from land, and the brave-hearted Jack was obliged to say to himself that, so far as human eye could see, there was none from any source. Cold, starvation, and death seemed among the certainties near at hand. And having reached this disheartening belief, he closed his eyes and joined his young friends in the land of dreams. Having sunk into slumber, the sailor was likely to remain so until morning, unless some unexpected circumstance should break in upon his rest, and it did. It was Rob Carrol, who, probably because of his cramped position, first regained consciousness. As his senses gradually came back to him, and the thunder of the surges and the shrieking of the gale broke in upon his brain, he stretched his benumbed limbs and yawned in an effort to make his situation more comfortable. It struck him that there had been a change in their relative positions while asleep. Not wishing to awake his companions, he carefully shifted his limbs and body, so as not to disturb them. While doing so, he extended his hand to touch them. He groped along one figure, which he knew at once was Jack, but he felt no other. With a vague fear he straightened up, leaned over, and hastily extended his arms about him, as far as he could reach. The next moment he roughly shook the shoulder of the sailor, and called out in a husky voice: "Jack! Jack! wake up! Fred is gone!" CHAPTER VII A POINT OF LIGHT Jack Cosgrove was awake on the instant. Not until he had groped around in the darkness and repeated the name of Fred several times in a loud voice would he believe he was not with them. "Well, by the great horned spoon!" he exclaimed, "that beats everything. How that chap got away, and why he done it, and where he's gone to gets me." "I wonder if he took his gun," added Rob, stooping over and examining the depression in the ice, where the three laid their weapons before composing themselves for sleep; "yes," he added directly after, "he took his rifle with him." As may be supposed, the two were in a frenzied state of mind, and for several minutes were at a loss what to do, if, indeed, they could do anything. They knew not where to look for their missing friend, nor could they decide as to what had become of him. One fearful thought was in the minds of both, but neither gave expression to it; each recoiled with a shudder from doing so. It was that he had wandered off in his sleep and fallen into the sea. Despite their distress and dismay, they noticed several significant facts. The wind that blew like a hurricane when they closed their eyes, had subsided. When they stood up, so that their heads arose above the projections that had protected them, the breeze was so gentle that it was hard to tell from which direction it came. It would be truth to say there was no wind at all. Further, there was a marked rise in the temperature. In fact, the weather was milder than any experienced after leaving St. John, and was remarked by Rob. "You don't often see anything of the kind," replied the sailor; "though I call something of the kind to mind on that voyage in these parts in the 'Mary Jane,' which was smashed by the iceberg." But their thoughts instantly reverted to the missing boy. Rob had shouted to him again and again in his loudest tones, had whistled until the echo rang in his own ears, and had listened in vain for the response. The tumultuous waves did not subside as rapidly as they arose. They broke against the walls of the iceberg with decreasing power, but with a boom and crash that it would seem threatened to shatter the vast structure into fragments. There were occasional lulls in the overpowering turmoil, which were used both by Rob and Jack in calling to the missing one, but with no result. "It's no use," remarked the sailor, after they had tired themselves pretty well out; "wherever he is, he can't hear us." "I wonder if he will ever be able to hear us," said Rob, in a choking voice, peering around in the gloom, his eyes and ears strained to the highest tension. "I wish I knew," replied Jack, who, though he was as much distressed as his companion, was too thoughtful to add to the grief by any words of his own. "I hope the lad is asleep somewhere in these parts, but I don't know nothing more about him than you." "And I know nothing at all." "Can you find out what time it is?" That was easily done. Stooping down so as to protect the flame from any chance eddy of wind, Rob ignited a match on his clothing and looked at his watch. "We slept longer than I imagined, Jack; day-break isn't more than three or four hours off." "That's good, but them hours will seem the longest that you ever passed, my hearty." There could be no doubt on that point, as affected both. "Why, Jack," called out Rob, "the stars are shining." "Hadn't you observed that before? Yes; there's lots of the twinklers out, and the storm is gone for good." Every portion of the sky except the northern showed the glittering orbs, and, for the moment, Rob forgot his grief in the surprise over the marked change in the weather. "This mildness will bring another change afore long," remarked Jack. "What's that?" "Fogs. We'll catch it inside of twenty-four hours, and some of them articles in this part of the world will beat them in London town; thick enough for you to lean against without falling." As the minutes passed, with the couple speculating as to what could have happened to Fred Warburton, their uneasiness became so great that they could not remain idle. They must do something or they would lose command of themselves. Rob was on the point of proposing a move, with little hope of its amounting to anything, when the sailor caught his arm. "Do you see that?" The darkness had so lifted that the friends could distinguish each other's forms quite plainly, and the lad saw that Jack had extended his arm, and was pointing out to sea. The fellow was startled, as he had good cause to be. Apparently not far off was something resembling a star, low down in the horizon and gliding over the surface of the deep. Now and then it disappeared, but only for a moment. At such times it was evidently shut from sight by the crests of the intervening waves. It was moving steadily from the right to the left, the friends, of course, being unable to decide what points of the compass these were. Its motion in rising and sinking, vanishing and then coming to view again, advancing steadily all the while, left no doubt as to its nature. "It's the 'Nautilus'!" exclaimed Rob; "Captain McAlpine is looking for us." "That's not the 'Nautilus'," said Jack; "for she doesn't show her lights in that fashion. Howsumever, it's a craft of some kind, and if we can only make 'em know we're here they'll lay by and take us off in the morning." As the only means of reaching the ears of the strangers the two began shouting lustily, varying the cries as fancy suggested. In addition, Jack fired his gun several times. While thus busied they kept their gaze upon the star-like point of light on which their hopes were fixed. It maintained the same dancing motion, all the while pushing forward, for several minutes after the emission of the signals. "She has stopped!" was the joyful exclamation of Rob, who postponed a shout that was trembling on his lips; "they have heard us and will soon be here." Jack was less hopeful, but thought his friend might be right. The motion of the star from left to right had almost ceased, as if the boat was coming to a halt. Still the sailor knew that the same effect on their vision would be produced if the vessel headed either away from or toward the iceberg; it was one of these changes of direction that he feared had taken place. Up and down the light bobbed out of sight for a second, then gleaming brightly as if the obscuring clouds had been brushed aside from the face of the star, which shone through the intervening gloom like a beacon to the wanderer. "Yes, they are coming to us," added Rob, forgetting his lost friend in his excitement; "they will soon be here. I wonder they don't hail us." "Don't be too sartin, lad," was the answer of the sailor; "if the boat was going straight from us it would seem for a time as though she was coming this way; I b'lieve she has changed her course without a thought of us." They were cruel words, but, sad to say, they proved true. The time was not long in coming when all doubt was removed. The star dwindled to a smaller point than ever, seemed longer lost to view, until finally it was seen no more. "Do you suppose they heard us?" asked Rob, when it was no longer possible to hope for relief from that source. "Of course not; if they had they would have behaved like a Christian, and stood by and done what they could." "Ships are not numerous in this latitude, and it may be a long time before we see another." "The chances p'int that way, and yet you know there's a good many settlements along the Greenland coast. It isn't exactly the place I'd choose for a winter residence--especially back in the country--but there are plenty who like it." "In what way can that affect us?" "There are ships passing back and forth between Denmark and Greenland, and a number v'yage to the United States, and I'm hoping we may be run across by some of them--Hark!" CHAPTER VIII HOPE DEFERRED A hoarse, tremulous sound came across the ocean. There was no mistaking its character; it was from the whistle of a steamer, the one whose light led them to hope for a time that their rescue was at hand. It sounded three times, and evidently the blasts were intended as a signal, though, of course, they bore no reference to the two persons listening so intently on the iceberg. "That was the last thing I expected to hear in this latitude," remarked Rob, turning to his companion. "I don't know why," replied Jack; "they have such craft plying along the Greenland coast. What's more, I've heard that same whistle before and know the boat; it's the 'Fox'." "Not the 'Fox' I have read about as having to do with the Franklin expedition?" said the youth, in astonishment. "The identical craft." "You amaze me." Those of my readers who are familiar with the history of Arctic exploration will recall this familiar name. It was the steam tug in which sailed the party that succeeded in finding traces of the ill-fated Franklin expedition of near a half century ago. It afterward came into the possession of the company that owns the cryolite mine at Ivigtut, and is now used to carry laborers and supplies from Copenhagen to that place. While at Ivigtut, it is occasionally employed to tow the Greenland ships in and out of the fiord. Ah, if its crew had only heard the shouts and signals of the couple on the iceberg, how blessed it would have been! But its lights had vanished long ago, and, if its whistle sounded again, it was so far away that it could not reach the listening ears. The restlessness of the friends, to which I have referred, now led them to attempt a search, if it may so be called, for the missing Fred. This of necessity was vague and blind, and was accompanied with but a grain of hope. Neither had yet referred to the awful dread that was in their thoughts, but weakly trusted they might find the poor fellow somewhere near asleep or senseless from a fall. Morning was still several hours distant, but the clearing of the air enabled them to pick their way with safety, so long as they took heed to their footsteps. "I will go down toward the spot where the boat gave us the slip," said Jack, "and I don't know what you can do, unless you go with me." "There's no need of that; of course I can't make my way far, while the night lasts, but I remember that we penetrated some way beyond this place before camping for the night; I'll try it." "Keep a sharp lookout, my hearty, or there'll be another lad lost, and then what will become of Jack Cosgrove?" "Have no fear of me," replied Rob, setting out on the self-imposed expedition. He paused a few steps away and turned to watch the sailor, who was carefully descending the incline, at the base of which they had landed. "I hope he won't find Fred, or rather that he won't find any signs of his having gone that way," said Rob to himself with a shudder. As the figure of the man slowly receded, it grew more indistinct until it faded from sight in the gloom. Still the youth looked and listened for the words which he dreaded to hear above everything else in the world. Jack Cosgrove received a good scare while engaged on his perilous task. He was half-way down the incline, making his way with the caution of a timid skater, when, like a flash, his feet flew from under him, and, falling upon his back, he slid rapidly toward the waves at the base of the berg. But the brave fellow did not lose his coolness or presence of mind. His left hand grasped his rifle, and, throwing out his right, he seized a projection of ice, checking himself within a few feet of the water and near enough for the spray from the fierce waves to be flung over him. "This isn't the time for a bath," he muttered, carefully climbing to his feet and retreating a few paces; "it would have been a pretty hard swim out there with my heavy clothing, though I think I could manage it." After all, what could he hope to accomplish by this hunt for Fred Warburton? If he had wandered in that direction and fallen into the sea, he had left no traces that could be discovered in the gloom of the night. He could not have gone thither and stayed there that was certain. The sailor having withdrawn beyond the reach of the waves, sat down in as disconsolate a mood as can be imagined. A suspicion that Rob might follow caused him to turn his head and look over his shoulder. "I don't see anything of him, and I guess he'll stay up there; I hope so, for Jack Cosgrove isn't in the mood to see or talk with any one 'cepting that lad which he won't never see nor talk to agin." Convincing himself that he was safe against a visit from the elder youth, the sailor bowed his head, and, for several minutes, wept like one with an uncontrollable grief. When his sorrow had partially subsided, he spent a brief while with his head still bowed in communion with his Maker. "I don't know but what the lad is luckier than me or Rob," he added, reviewing the situation in his mind; "for we've got to foller him sooner or later. It isn't likely that any ship will come as nigh to this thing as the 'Fox' did awhile ago, and I can't see one chance in ten thousand of our being took off. We haven't a mouthful of food, and there's no way of our getting any. After a time we will have to lay down and starve or freeze to death, or both. Poor Fred has been saved all that--" He checked his musings, for at that moment a peculiar sound broke upon his ear. It resembled that caused by the exhaust of a steamer at low pressure. One less experienced than he would have been deceived into the belief that such was its source, but Jack did not hold any such false hope for a minute even. He understood it too well. It was made by a whale "blowing." One of those monster animals was disporting himself in the vicinity of the iceberg, and the sailor had heard the same sound too often to mistake it. Shifting his position so as to bring him nearer the sea, he stooped and peered out in the gloom, in the direction whence came the noise. There was enough starlight for him to trace the outline of the mountainous waves, as they arose against the sky, though they were dimly defined and might have misled another. While gazing thus, a huge mass took vague form. It was the head of a gigantic leviathan of the deep, which for a moment was projected against the sky and then sank out of sight with the same noise that had attracted Jack's notice in the first place. The blowing was heard at intervals, for several minutes, until the distance shut it from further notice. "I wonder if Rob noticed it," the sailor asked himself; "for if he did, he will make the mistake of believing the 'Fox' has come to take us off, and we're done with this old berg." But nothing was heard from the youth, and the sailor remained seated on the shelf of ice, a prey to his gloomy reflections. He had made up his mind to stay where he was until the coming of day, when the question of what was to be done would be speedily settled. Meanwhile, he wanted no company but his own thoughts. He had kept up with the elder youth, and carefully withheld his fears and beliefs from him. He felt that he could do so no longer. The farce had been played out, and the truth must be spoken. It was impossible to note the passage of time. Jack carried no watch, but each of the boys owned an excellent timepiece. He probably fell into a doze, for, when he roused himself once more, he saw that the night was nearly over. "I wonder what Rob is doing," he said, rising to his feet, stretching his arms, and looking in the direction where he expected to see his friend; "I hope nothing hain't happened to him." This affliction was spared the sailor, for while he was peering through the increasing light, he caught sight of the figure of Rob making his way toward him. "Hello, Jack, have you found anything?" "No; have you?" "I think I have; come and see." CHAPTER IX A STARTLING OCCURRENCE As may be supposed, Jack Cosgrove was all excitement on the instant. He had not expected any such reply, and he was eager to learn the cause. As he started forward, he instinctively glanced down in quest of evidence that Fred had passed there. There was none so far as he could see, and, if there had been, it is not likely he would have been able to identify it, since all the party had been over the same spot, and some of them more than once. "What is it?" he asked, as he reached his friend. "It may mean nothing, but a little distance beyond where we camped the ice is broken and scratched as though some one has been that way." "So there has, we were there yesterday afternoon." "I haven't forgotten that, but these marks are at a place where we haven't been, that is unless it was Fred." "How did you manage to find them in the dark?" "I didn't; I groped over the ice as far as I could, and then sat down and waited for day. I must have slept awhile, but when it was growing light I happened to look around, and there, within a few feet of me, on my right hand, I noticed the ice scratched and broken, as though some one had found it hard work to get along. I was about to start right after him, when I thought it best to tarry for you. It is now so much lighter that we shall learn something worth knowing." Even in their excitement they paused a few minutes to gaze out upon the ocean, as it was rapidly illumined by the rising sun. Before long their vision extended for miles, but the looked-for sight was not there. On every hand, as far as the eye could penetrate, was nothing but the heaving expanse of icy water. Whether they were within a comparatively short distance of Greenland or not, they were not nigh enough to catch the first glimpse of the coast. Several miles to the eastward towered an iceberg, apparently as large as the one upon which they were drifting. Its pinnacles, domes, arches, plateaus, spires, and varied forms sparkled and scintillated in the growing sunlight, displaying at times all the colors of the spectrum, and making a picture beautiful beyond description. To the northward and well down in the horizon, was another berg, smaller than the first, and too far off to attract interest. A still smaller one was visible midway between the two, and a peculiar appearance of the sea in the same direction, Jack said, was caused by a great ice field. Not a ship was to be seen anywhere. Their view to the southward was excluded by the bulk of the iceberg, on which they were floating. "There's nothing there for us," remarked Rob with a sigh. "You're right; lead the way and let's see what you found." It took them but a few minutes to reach the place the lad had in mind, and they had no sooner done so than the sailor was certain an important discovery had been made. Where there was so much irregularity of shape as on an iceberg, a clear description is impossible; but, doing the best we can, it may be said that the spot was a hundred feet back from where the three huddled together with an expectation of spending the night until morning. It was only a little higher, and was attained by carefully picking one's way over the jagged ice, which afforded secure footing, now that day had come. Adjoining the place, from which the party diverged to the left, was a lift or shelf on the right, and distant only two or three paces. It was no more than waist high, and, therefore, was readily reached by any one who chose to clamber upon it. It is no easy matter to trace one over the ice, but the signs of which Rob had spoken were too plain to be mistaken. There were scratches, such as would have been made by a pair of shoes, a piece of the edge was broken off, and marks beyond were visible similar to those which it would be supposed any one would make in clambering over the flinty surface. Jack stood a minute or two studying these signs as eagerly as an American Indian might scrutinize the faint trail of an enemy through the forest. "By the great horned spoon!" he finally exclaimed; "but that does look encouraging; I shouldn't wonder if the chap did make his way along there in the night, but why he done it only he can tell. Howsumever, where has he gone?" That was the question which Rob Carrol had asked himself more than once, and was unable to answer. The ice, for a distance of another hundred feet, looked as if it might be scaled, but, just beyond that, towered a perpendicular wall, like the side of a glass mountain. There could be no progress any farther in that direction, nor, so far as could be judged, could any one advance by turning to the right or left. There must be numerous depressions and cavities, sufficient to hide a dozen men, and it was in one of these the couple believed they would find the dead or senseless body of their friend. "Jack," said Rob, "take my gun." "What for?" "I'll push on ahead as fast as I can; I can't wait, and the weapon will only hinder me." "I've an idee of doing something of the kind myself, so we'll leave 'em here. I don't think they'll wash away like the boat," he added, as he carefully placed them on the shelf, up which they proceeded to climb. But Rob was in advance and maintained his place, gaining all the time upon his slower companion, who allowed him to draw away from him without protest. "There's no need of a chap tiring himself to death," concluded Jack, as he fell back to a more moderate pace; "he's younger nor me, and it won't hurt him to get a bump or so." Rob was climbing with considerable skill. In his eagerness he slipped several times, but managed to maintain his footing and to advance with a steadiness which caused considerable admiration on the part of his more sluggish companion. He used his eyes for all they were worth, and the signs that had roused his hope at first were still seen at intervals, and cheered him with the growing belief that he was on the right track. "But why don't we hear something of him?" he abruptly asked himself, stopping short with shuddering dread in his heart; "he could not have remained asleep all this time, and, if he has been hurt so as to make him senseless, more than likely he is dead." The youth was now nearing the ice wall, to which we have referred, and beyond which it looked impossible to go. The furtive glances into the depressions on his right and left showed nothing of his loved friend, and the evidences of his progress were still in front. The solution of the singular mystery must be at hand. Unconsciously Rob slowed his footsteps, and looked and listened with greater care than before. "What can it mean? Where can he have gone? I see no way by which he could have pushed farther, and yet he is not in sight--" He paused, for he discovered his error. The path, if such it may be termed, which he had been following, turned so sharply to the right that it could not be seen until one was upon it. How far it penetrated in that direction remained to be learned. Rob turned about and looked at Jack, who was several rods to the rear, making his way upward with as much deliberation as though he felt no personal interest in the business. "I'm going a little farther, Jack, but I think we're close upon him now. Hurry after me!" "Ay, ay," called the sailor, in return; "when you run afoul of the lad give him my love and tell him I'm coming." This remark proved that he shared the hope of Rob, who was now acting the part of pioneer, and it did not a little to encourage the boy to push on with the utmost vigor at his command. The sailor was somewhat winded from his unusual exertions, and, believing there was no immediate need of his help, sat down for a few minutes to regain his breath. "He'll yell the moment he catches sight of anything, and he can do that so well that he don't need any help from me--by the great horned spoon! what's the meaning of that?" Rob Carrol, who had been out of sight but a few seconds, now burst to view again, the picture of terror. He was plunging toward the sailor with such desperate haste that he continually stumbled and bruised himself. But he instantly scrambled up again, glancing in mortal fright over his shoulder, and barely able to gasp as he dashed toward the sailor: "O Jack! we're lost! we're lost! Heaven help us!" CHAPTER X AN UGLY CUSTOMER Rob Carrol had good cause for his panic. Full of high hope, he hurried along the ice between crags which shut him out of sight, for the time, from Jack Cosgrove, who was resting himself after his hard climb. The youth was thinking of no one and nothing else, except his friend Fred Warburton, who had vanished so mysteriously the night before. The signs in the icy track he was following convinced him that he was close upon the heels of his chum, who could not have wandered much farther in advance. His hope was tinged with the deepest anxiety, for it was impossible to account for Fred's long absence and silence, except upon the theory that some grievous injury had befallen him. The searcher's nerves were strung to the highest point, and he was pushing forward with unabated vigor, when his heart almost stood still, as he caught a peculiar sound among the masses of ice. "That's Fred," he concluded; "he's alive, thank God!" and then he called to his friend: "Fred! Fred, old fellow, where are you? Speak, I beg of you." The words were trembling on his lips, when what seemed to be a huge pile of snow just in advance, arose from the ice and began swinging toward him. Paralyzed for the moment by the amazing sight, and wondering whether his senses were not betraying him, Rob stood motionless, as if rooted to the spot. But the next minute that same mass of snow assumed more definite shape, and an unmistakable growl issued from somewhere within the interior. That was enough. Rob knew what it was that was sweeping down upon him like a young avalanche. He had almost stumbled over a huge polar bear, ravenous and fierce with hunger, and with a courage that made him afraid of neither man nor beast. He must have been half asleep when roused by the approach and the voice of the lad. Opening his great eyes, he saw before him a fine breakfast in the shape of a plump lad, and he proceeded to go for him with a vim and eagerness that would not be denied. It was about this time that Rob whirled on his heel and started on the back track, with all the desperate hurry at his command. It will be remembered that he had no gun with him, he and Jack having left the weapons on the ice a considerable distance away. Both were without any means of defense, unless the sheath knife which the sailor always carried may be considered a weapon, and the only possible hope for them was to secure their rifles before the monster secured them. When the lad's frenzied cry broke upon Jack, he sprang from the seat where he had been resting, and stood staring and wondering what it all could mean. He saw the boy's cap fly from his head, and he noted his terrified glances behind him. The next moment the polar bear plunged into sight, and the sailor grasped the situation. Even then he failed to do the wisest thing. Instead of realizing that but one course could save them, and that was by dashing back to the guns, he hastily drew his knife and awaited the coming of the brute with a view of checking his attack upon the lad. It was more creditable to Jack's chivalry than to his sagacity that he should do this thing. Even Rob, despite his extreme fright, saw the mistake his friend was making, and called to him: "Quick, Jack! Get the guns and shoot him!" "I shouldn't wonder now if that was a good idea," reflected the sailor, shoving his knife back, and whirling about to do as urged. The situation was so critical that even his sluggish blood was stirred, and he never moved so fast as he did for the succeeding seconds. Indeed, it was altogether too fast, for he fell headlong with such violence that he was partially stunned, and by the time he regained his feet Rob was upon him. Meanwhile the polar bear was making matters lively. He was hustling for his breakfast, and he kept things on the jump. He was at home amid the snow and ice, and, with little effort, got forward faster than the fugitives possibly could; he was overhauling Rob hand over hand. To continue his flight, even for the brief remaining distance, was to insure his certain death. Rob saw him, and, when the ponderous beast was almost upon him, he made a desperate leap from the icy path, landing on his hands and knees several feet to the left, and instantly scrambling up again. The manoeuvre was so unexpected by the pursuer that he passed several paces beyond before he could stop. Turning his head, with his huge jaws so far apart that his red tongue and long white teeth showed, he prepared to continue his pursuit of the lad who had escaped him for the moment by such an exceedingly narrow chance. But it so happened that Jack Cosgrove just then was also climbing to his feet from his thumping fall, and, being but a short way from the brute, he drew his attention to himself. The bear's appetite was in that rugged state that he was not particular as to whether his meal was made from a boy or full-grown man, and, since the latter was within most convenient reach, he shifted his design to him. "By the great horned spoon!" muttered the sailor, quick to see how matters had turned; "but it's Jack Cosgrove that is to have all this fun to himself, and he's enjoying it." The single recourse still presented itself; nothing could be done to check the furious beast until one of the rifles was turned against him, but it did seem for a time as if fate itself was fighting in favor of the brute. Jack's tumble and flurry had so mixed him up that the rifles were forgotten, until he took several steps on his flight, when he recalled the fatal oversight, and hastily turned to rectify it; but the precious moments wasted made it too late. The bear was actually between him and the weapons, and, to attempt to reach them, except by a roundabout course, was to fling himself into the embrace of those resistless claws. He was too wise to attempt it. The first thing to do was to get himself out of reach of the terror that was bearing down upon him with the certainty of death. "If there was only a tree that I could climb," he reflected, leaping, tumbling, and laboring forward as best he could; "he couldn't nab me, but I don't see any tree, and that chap's hungry enough to eat a stewed anchor." In the fearful hurry and panic some moments passed before Rob Carrol comprehended the abrupt change in the plan of campaign. At the moment he expected to feel the claw of the brute, he looked back and saw he was pressing Jack hard. Furthermore, the latter, instead of hurrying for the guns, was drawing away from them. That was a bad outlook, but it suggested to the youth that the chance had come for him to do something effective. He lost no time in seizing the chance. He turned again in his course, and moved around toward the spot where the weapons had been left near at hand. Could he have been sure of a few minutes there would have been no trouble in managing it, but events were going with such a rush that there was not a spare second at command. The guns being near and lower in elevation than themselves, were in plain sight. Rob saw the barrels and the iron work gleaming in the morning sunlight, so that he could make no mistake in locating them, but his attention was so riveted on the prizes that he paid no heed to his footsteps, or, rather, he paid less heed than was necessary. He was within fifty feet, and was counting upon the quickness with which he would end the sport of the brute when he discovered that he was on the brink of an irregular depression in the ice. He tried desperately to check himself or turn aside, but it was beyond his ability and over he went. CHAPTER XI LIVELY TIMES Rob's fall was not far, and his heavy clothing saved him from the bruises that otherwise might have disabled him. He stared about him and saw that he had fallen into a rough depression of the ice from six to eight feet in depth, and of about the same diameter. "Here's a go," he reflected; "I wonder whether the bear will follow me here, but he's giving his full attention to poor Jack, and won't hunt for me until he is through with him." It was characteristic of the lad that, knowing the imminent peril of his friend, he should feel more anxious about him than himself. All thought of the missing Fred was shut out for the moment. The first thing for Rob to do was to get out of the hole into which he had fallen. He did not wait, but, throwing off his outer coat, flung it upon the edge of the depression, and then, leaping upward, caught the margin with his mittened hands. As I stated at the beginning, he was a fine athlete, but the task was almost impossible. The purchase was so slight that when he put forth his strength and attempted to draw himself upward, his mittens slipped, as though they were oiled. Then he snatched off the mittens, threw them upon his coat, and again made the attempt; he failed as before. "I've got to stay here while the bear kills poor Jack," was his despairing thought; "I can do nothing, when, if I were up there, I could lay hold of one of the guns and save him." The reflection was so bitter that he could not rest. Walking rapidly around the depression, he jumped upward at every step or two and repeated the effort. Failure followed failure, and he was once more in despair. Again he made the attempt, and his hand struck a knob-like projection, which afforded just the purchase wanted. Grasping it with all his might, he quickly drew himself upward, and was once more on what might be considered the surface proper of the iceberg. At the moment of climbing into sight he heard the report of a gun. "Ah, Jack has managed to reach his rifle, and has given the brute a shot--no, he hasn't, either!" To his unbounded amazement, he saw the sailor fleeing and dodging for life, with the bear still at his heels. But he had no gun in his hand, and, casting his eye below him, Rob observed both weapons lying where they were placed by the owners a short time before. Who had fired that gun whose report he just heard? It was an absorbing question, indeed, but there was no time just then to give it a thought. Rob was much nearer the rifles than either Jack or the bear, and he now hastened thither, taking care that his last mishap was not repeated. From what has been told it will be understood that Jack Cosgrove found no time for the grass to grow under his feet. He had pulled himself through many a narrow peril, but he was sure he was never quite so hard pressed as now. He tried dodging and sudden turns in the line of his flight, and doubtless saved himself more than once by such means; but the discouraging fact was ever with him that his relentless enemy could travel tenfold faster and better than he over the ice, and sooner or later was certain to run him down unless turned aside by some one else. Jack naturally wondered what had become of Rob, who was so active only a short time before. His furtive glances showed him nothing of his friend, but he had no chance to speculate, nor did he call upon him for help, as the lad had appealed to him but a short time before. The sorely pressed fugitive drew his knife to be prepared for the final struggle that was at hand. He had met polar bears before, and he knew what such a conflict meant. He was wise enough, too, not to postpone the struggle until his own strength was exhausted by running. He whirled about, when the brute was no more than ten feet distant, and grasping his knife by the tip of the blade, drove it with all the vicious fury at his command straight at the head of the bear. The sailor was an adept at this species of throwing, and had often given exhibitions of his skill on shipboard. It was not to be expected that he could kill such a gigantic animal by flinging his sheath knife at him, but it sped so true and with such power, that, striking his neck, it inflicted a deep wound, sinking so deep, indeed, that it remained in the wound. At this juncture the rifle, whose report Rob heard, was fired. The sailor supposed, as a matter of course, that Rob discharged it, for there could be no doubt the bear was the target. The bullet struck him near the junction of the left leg, and there could be no mistake about his being hit hard. He uttered a peculiar whining moan, stopped for the moment, and then resumed his pursuit with such a marked limp that his progress was perceptibly decreased. Seeing his own advantage, Jack was wise enough to use it. In his desperation he had deprived himself of his only weapon, and he was defenseless. But with a limping bear lumbering after him, and with the short respite he had gained, he fancied he could hold his own in a foot-race. So he wheeled and went at it again. By this time, and, indeed, a minute before, Rob had reached the spot where the two guns lay, and with both in his grasp he set off in hot haste to overtake the brute. He meant to get so near that when he fired there could be no miss. To his exasperation, he stumbled and came within a hair of going into the very hole from which he had extricated himself with so much difficulty. But he escaped, and finding neither weapon injured, he resumed his pursuit, cheered by the apparent fact that the bear was no longer able to gain upon the fugitive. Jack had run as close to the edge of the iceberg as possible, and to venture nearer would be at the imminent risk of going into the icy sea. He perforce turned, and sped in the direction of the lad, who was hastening to his help. This suited Rob, for there was no call for him to continue his pursuit, since the bear was approaching "head on." The youth stopped as soon as he saw the change, and prepared to close matters. The opening could not have been better, and, dropping one rifle at his feet, Rob steadied himself and took careful aim at the beast. He pointed the gun not at his head, but at a point just below, hoping to reach his heart. He saw the snowy coat stained crimson from the wound made by Jack's knife, and he limped heavily. "Look out you don't hit me!" called the panting sailor, whose grim humor showed itself at the most inopportune times. "Get out of the way, then!" called Rob, in turn; "you're right in front of me." Jack dodged to one side, being at the moment about midway between his friend and pursuer, and less than twenty feet from either. The next instant the lad pulled trigger. But the bear did not stop, and showed no evidence of having been so much as harmed. "You missed him, you lubber! Let me have the other gun, and show you how to bring down game." There was no time for any such proceeding, and, dropping the discharged weapon, Rob instantly stooped and caught up the second. [Illustration: JUST THEN THE REPORT OF ANOTHER GUN SOUNDED (See page 106)] Just then another gun sounded from a point higher up the berg, and the huge brute stopped. He seemed dazed, and, half-rearing on his haunches, picked at the wound, as though he fancied a splinter was there, which he could draw from his flesh. "He's going to attack us with the knife!" called Jack, who saw that the danger was over; "and I shouldn't wonder if he knows how to do it better than you can manage your gun." "Keep out of the way, Jack, and I'll finish him." Rob had brought the second weapon to a level, and the opening was, if possible, more favorable than before. Again he pulled trigger, and this shot did the business. The monster, one of the largest and fiercest of his species, went down in a helpless mass, and expired before their eyes. "Hello, you chaps would be in a pretty scrape if it wasn't for me!" Jack and Rob turned toward the point whence the voice came and saw Fred Warburton hastening toward them with his smoking rifle in hand. CHAPTER XII FRED'S EXPERIENCE Both Jack Cosgrove and Rob Carrol could have shouted with joy at the sight of the missing boy, and the sound of his voice. More than once, during the stirring minutes that they were trying to save themselves from the irrestrainable bear, they thought of the shot that was fired by neither of them, and which, therefore, they naturally attributed to their friend. The second shot left no doubt of its source, and here now was the youth hurrying down from some point near where the brute had come, laughing like his own natural self. It need not be said that his hand was shaken heartily by the sailor and his companion, and that he was overwhelmed with questions as to his singular action. The story of Fred was curious, and yet it had been partially discounted by his chum. It was not to be supposed that he would leave the comparative comfort he enjoyed when huddled close to his friends without good cause, and in that case he would have notified them of his intention, to save them from alarm. The experience of the day disturbed him, and caused him to dream dreams of the most vivid nature. Several times, during the preceding years, he had walked in his sleep, and his departure from the camp, as they called it, was as unknown to himself as to his friends. It was evident that he managed the business with great skill, since neither of the others was disturbed. He picked up his gun and went off in the direction followed by Rob, clambering farther up the side of the iceberg than was supposed possible. "I think," said Fred, "that I can read the cause for what I did while unconscious. You remember we had much to say about the 'Nautilus' being driven out of sight by the gale, and I recall that, before going to sleep, I wondered whether we could not climb to a higher portion of the berg and signal to them. "I suppose that was what set my mind and muscles to work when unconscious, and impelled me to try what I never would have tried with my full senses about me. "When I came to myself I was in a cavity in the ice, where the protection against the gale was much better than our camp. It was a regular bowl or hollow, which would have been just the place for us three. But daylight had come, the weather was so moderate that I did not suffer from cold, and there was nothing, therefore, to be feared from that cause. "As you may suppose, it took me sometime before I could recall myself, but I was not long in suspecting the truth. I was so comfortable in the position involuntarily assumed that I lay still while pondering matters. When ready, I was on the point of rising, when I heard a slight noise on the ice above me. "'That's Jack or Rob,' I thought; 'they are looking for me, and I will give them a scare.' "I lay still, expecting one of you to pass so close that you would discover me, but though I could follow the movement by sound, and though the object passed close to me it was not quite close enough to be seen, I rose softly to my feet and peered over the edge of the cavity in which I was resting. "Well, Rob was startled when he stumbled over that polar bear, but he was no more frightened than I, when I discovered that instead of it being one of you, it was that frightful brute which had swung by within a few feet of where I lay. "You can see the curious shape of matters. The bear had come from some point beyond where I lay, and, making his way down the ice, had now placed himself between me and you. The only means of my reaching you was by passing close to him. That meant a fight to the death. "I noticed his tremendous size, and from what I have heard they are among the most dangerous beasts in the world--" "You're right there, my hearty," interrupted Jack; "if there was ever any doubt in my mind, which there wasn't, it was settled by that little scrimmage awhile ago." "I had my gun, and, at first, was half-disposed to take a shot, but the chance was a poor one, for he was walking straight away, and it was impossible to do more than sound him. That would render him furious and cause him to attack me. Our rifles were not repeating ones, and before I could get another charge ready, he would be upon me, and it might be that several well-aimed shots would be necessary to finish him." "You had good sense," said Rob; "he would have made mince-meat of you in a fight." "You must remember that while I could see the bear from where I peered over the edge of the ice, I could not catch the first sight of you. The brute seemed to be following some sort of a path, while the masses of ice were so piled upon both sides and beyond him that all farther view was shut off. "While I was watching the enormous white body swinging along, it stopped, and then to my dismay, he turned about and started back. "'He's coming for me!' was my conclusion, 'and now there will be a row sure.' "I braced myself to receive him, but, inasmuch as he had not yet seen me, and, inasmuch as he had once passed my shelter, without discovering me, there was hope that he would do the same again. So 'Brer rabbit, he lay low,' and I listened for him to go by. As soon as he was at a safe distance, I intended to climb out and hurry to you. We three ought to be enough for him, and I had no fear but that you might manage him between you without my help." "That was my opinion at that time," added Fred, with a twinkle of his eye, "but it isn't now. While I was crouching there I heard you calling me. You can understand why I didn't answer. I preferred to remain mum so long as that bear was between me and you and coming toward me." "We did a lot of shouting last night," said Rob. "That's the first I knew of it. But the minutes passed without the bear being heard. I listened as intently as I knew how, but no sound reached me. "'I wonder if he intends to promenade back and forth,' was my thought, as I ventured to peep out once more, with great caution; 'this is getting interesting.' "Well, I was surprised when I saw him. He was less than a dozen yards off, and lying down, with his head still turned away from me. His action was just as if he had learned that his breakfast was going to come up that path, and he intended to wait until it walked into his arms." "And that is pretty nearly what I did," said Rob, with a smiling glance at the carcass. "His head being still away I dared not fire, nor would it have done for me to call to you or answer your signals. It was plain to me that he had no suspicion that the choicest kind of meal was right near him, and it wouldn't have been wise for me to apprise him of the fact; it might have made things unpleasant all around. "You needn't be told what followed. I watched him a few minutes, during which he was as motionless as the iceberg itself, and then I settled down to await developments. "While seated, of course I saw nothing of him, and the first notice I received of what was going on was when I heard Rob shouting. I sprang out of my shelter, and, as you will remember, saved you both from being devoured by the monster. Isn't he, or, rather, wasn't he a big fellow?" added Fred, stepping over to the enormous carcass and touching it with his foot. "He's the biggest I've ever seen," assented Jack, "and I'm thankful that we got off as well as we did. It's no use of denying that your shots helped us through." "Possibly, but it was Rob after all who wound up the business," Fred hastened to say, lest he might be thought of wishing to take undue credit to himself. "There's worse eating, too, than bear meat." It was Jack who made this remark, and the others caught its significance. They were thus provided with the means of living for a long time on the iceberg, and might hope for some means of rescue in the course of a week or two. Rob was about to make some characteristic reply, when the sailor pointed out to sea. "Do you obsarve that?" he asked. "It's just what I was afeared of, and I don't like it at all." CHAPTER XIII THE FOG It will be recalled that when Jack and Rob awoke, during the preceding night, they noticed a marked change in the temperature, and the sailor prophesied an unwelcome change in the weather. Following the direction pointed by him, his friends saw what he meant. The rise had caused one of those fogs that have been fatal so often to ships off the banks of Newfoundland, and which frequently wrap the southern coast of Greenland in a mist as impenetrable as that which overshadows at times the British metropolis. "You see," added Jack, "it might be that some whaler or other vessel is cruising in these latitudes, and will come close enough for us to observe 'em and they us, provided the sun was shining, but, the way matters are turning out, they might pass within a biscuit's toss 'out either of us knowing it." "Well," was the philosophical comment of Fred, "we have so much to be thankful for that I can't complain over a small matter like that." "It may be a bigger matter than you think, but I'm as thankful as you, all the same." "Gracious!" exclaimed Rob, with a sigh; "I'm hungry." "There's your supper." Both boys, however, shook their heads, and Rob replied: "I'm not hungry enough to eat raw bear's meat." "It's a thousand times better than starving to death." As the sailor spoke, he walked to the carcass and withdrew his knife from the wound. "You'll come to it bime-by; I've seed the time when I was ready to chaw up a pair of leather breeches, but that isn't half as bad as being in an open boat under the equator, with not a drop of water for three days." "We can never suffer from that cause so long as this iceberg holds out. How is it with you, Fred? Are you ready for bear steak?" "I would be too glad to dine on it, if there was some means of cooking it, but that is out of the question. I think I'll wait awhile." "I'll keep you company," remarked Jack, who felt no such repugnance against the primitive meal, but was willing to defer the feast out of regard for them. The party watched the fog settling over the sea, until, as the sailor had told them it would do, it shut out all vision beyond a hundred feet or less. "I would give a good deal to know one thing," said Fred, after several minutes' silence, as he seated himself, "and that is just where we are." "I can tell you," said Rob. "Where?" "On an iceberg in the Greenland Sea." "I am not so sure of that, my hearty," put in Jack; "there's no doubt, of course, that we're on the berg, but I wouldn't bet that we're drifting through the Greenland Sea." "Why, the 'Nautilus' was so far north when we left it, and this iceberg was moving so slowly that we couldn't have gone as far as all that." Jack saw that his meaning was not understood. "What I was getting at is this: Of course, when them bergs slip off into the ocean, most of them start southward for a more congen'l clime, but all of 'em don't do it by any means. There is a current off the western coast of Greenland which runs toward the North Pole, and we may be in that." "But this extends so far down that it must strike the other current, which flows in the opposite direction." "That may and may not be, and it may be, too, that if it does, the upper current is the stronger. I've been calling to mind the bearing of the ship and berg, and I've an idee we're going northward. Bime-by the berg may change its mind and flop about and start for New York or South America, but I don't believe it's doing so now." This was important information, provided it was true, and there was good reason to believe that Jack Cosgrove knew far better than they what he was talking about. "Then if we keep on we'll strike the North Pole," remarked Rob, gravely. "Yes, if we keep on, but we're pretty sure to stop or change our course before we get beyond Davis Strait or Christianshaab or Ivignut. Anyway, this old berg will keep at it till she fetches up in southern waters." The words of Jack had opened a new and interesting field for discussion. Its ending had not been thought of by the boys in their calculations; and, despite their faith in their more experienced companion, they believed he was mistaken. They had never heard of anything of the kind he had mentioned, and it did not seem reasonable that such a vast mass, after heading southward, should change its direction. Even though it was drifting north when first seen, it must have started still farther north in order to reach the latitude where first observed. By this time all hope of being rescued by the "Nautilus" had been given up, unless some happy accident should lead it to come upon the iceberg. The party, therefore, began considering other means of escape from their unpleasant quarters. As is well known, there are a number of Danish settlements scattered along the west coast of Greenland, the bleak, desolate eastern shore being inhabited only by wandering Esquimaux. It might be that the berg would sweep along within sight of land, and the friends would be able to attract the attention of some of the native fishing boats, or possibly larger craft. It was a remote hope, indeed, but it was all they saw before them. At any rate, the polar bear had provided them with the means of postponing starvation to an indefinite period, for there was enough meat in his carcass to afford nourishment for many days to come. "I wonder whether there are more polar bears on this craft?" remarked Rob, rising to his feet and looking around as if he half expected to discover another of the monsters making for them. "Little danger of that," replied Jack, "and it's so mighty seldom that any of 'em are fools enough to allow themselves to be carried off like this one did that I never dreamed of anything of the kind. It does happen now and then, but not often, though you may read of such things." "I suppose he would have stayed here until he starved to death," was the inquiring remark of Fred. "He might and he might not; when he had got it through his skull that there was nothing to eat on the berg he would have plunged into the sea and started for land, provided it was in sight, and he would have reached it, too. When he landed he would have been hungry enough to attack the first saw-mill he came to, and I wouldn't like to be the first chap he met." "I don't see how he could have been fiercer than he was." "He meant business from the first; and, if he had caught sight of you when you lay asleep in that cavity in the ice he would have swallowed you before you could wake." "Well, he didn't do it," replied Fred, with a half-shudder and laugh, "so what's the good of thinking about it? Rob, it strikes me," he added, with a quizzical look at the boy, "that raw bear's meat might not be so bad after all." "Of course it isn't!" Jack was quick to say, springing to his feet and stepping forward, knife in hand. It was evident from the manner in which he conducted the business that he had done it before. He extracted a goodly-sized piece from near the shoulder, and dressed it as well as he could with the only means at command. Rob had hit upon what might be called a compromise. When one of the three slices, into which the portion was divided, was handed to him, he struck match after match from the rubber safe he carried, and held the tiny flame against different portions of the meat. Anything like cooking was out of the question, but he succeeded in scorching it slightly, and giving it a partial appearance of having seen the fire. "There!" he exclaimed, in triumph, holding it aloft; "it's done to a turn, that is the first turn. It's cooked, but it's a little rare, I'll admit." Meanwhile, Fred imitated him, using almost all the matches he possessed. CHAPTER XIV A COLLISION Jack scorned everything of the kind, and he ate his piece with as much gusto as if it had passed through the hands of a professional cook. The boys managed to dispose of considerable, so that it may be said the little party made a fair meal from the supply so unexpectedly provided them. The primitive meal finished, the three friends remained seated and discussed the future, which was now the all-important question before them. "How long is this fog likely to last?" asked Fred. "No one can answer that," replied Jack; "a brisk wind may drive it away, a rain would soon finish it, or it may go before colder weather, or it may last several days." "Meanwhile we can do nothing but drift." "That's about all we can do any way," was the truthful remark of the sailor; "we'll make the bear last as long as we can." "I think he will last a good while," observed Rob, with a half-disgusted look at the carcass; "it will do when there's nothing else to be had, but I never can fancy it without cooking." At that moment they received a startling shock. A peculiar shiver or jar passed through the iceberg, as though from a prodigious blow that was felt through every part--an impossible occurrence. "What can that mean?" asked the lads, in consternation. "By the great horned spoon!" was the reply of the frightened Jack; "I hope we won't feel it again." "But what is it?" "The berg scraped the bottom of the sea just then. There it goes again!" A shock, fully as violent as before, went through and through the vast mass of ice. It lasted only a second or two, but the sensations of the party were like those of the housekeeper who wakes in the night, to feel his dwelling swaying under the grasp of the earthquake. None needed to be told of the possible consequences of drifting into shallow water. If the base of the iceberg, extending far down into the depths of the ocean, should strike some projecting mountain peak of the deep, or a plateau, the berg was liable to overturn, with an appalling rush, beyond the power of mind to conceive. In such an event there was no more chance of the party saving themselves than there would be in the crater of a bursting volcano. Well might they look blankly in each other's faces, for they were helpless within the grasp of a power that was absolutely resistless. They sat silent and waiting, but, as minute after minute passed, without the shock being repeated, hope returned, and they ventured to speak in undertones, as though fearful that the sound of their voices would precipitate the calamity. "That satisfies me I was right," said Jack, compressing his lips and shaking his head. "In what respect?" asked Fred. "We're drifting toward the North Pole, and we are not far from the Greenland coast." "But are there not shallow places in the ocean, hundreds of miles from land, where such a great iceberg as this might touch bottom?" "Yes, but there are not many in this part of the world. The thing may swing out of this current, or get into another which will start it southward, but I don't believe it has done it yet." "Sailing on an iceberg is worse than I imagined," was the comment of Rob; "I'm more anxious than ever to leave this; it isn't often that a passenger feels like complaining of the bigness of the craft that bears him over the deep, but that's the trouble in this case." "If the capsize does come," said Jack, "it will be the end of us; we would be buried hundreds of fathoms under the ice." "There can be no doubt of that, but I say, Jack, isn't there something off yonder? I can't make it out, but it seems to me that it is more than the fog." While the three were talking, Fred Warburton was seated so as to face the open sea, the others being turned sideways and giving no heed to that point of the compass. It will be remembered that at this time they were inclosed in the all-pervading fog, which prevented them seeing as far as the length of the mountain of ice on which they were seated. Turning toward the water and peering outward, they saw the cause of the boy's question. The vapor itself appeared to be assuming shape, vague, indistinct, undefined, and almost invisible, but nevertheless perceptible to all. The sailor was the first to see what it meant. Leaping to his feet he emitted his favorite exclamation: "By the great horned spoon! it's another berg!" With awful slowness and certainty the mass of fog disclosed more and more distinctly the misty contour that had caught the eye of Fred Warburton. At first it was like a pile of denser fog, rolling along the surface of the sea, but the outlines became more distinct each moment, until the form of an iceberg was clearly marked in the wet atmosphere. The new one was much smaller than that upon which they were afloat, but it was of vast proportions for all that, enough to crush the largest ship that ever floated, as though it were but a toy in its path. But the fearful fact about its appearance was that the two bergs were approaching each other, under the influence of adverse currents! A collision was inevitable, and the boys contemplated it with hardly less dismay than they did the overturning of the larger one a short time before. "This is no place for us!" called out Jack, the moment after his exclamation; "let's get out!" He started up the path from which the polar bear had come, with his young friends at his heels. They did not stop until they could go no farther, when they turned about and shudderingly awaited the catastrophe that was at hand. Their withdrawal from the edge of the iceberg to a point some distance away dimmed their vision, but the smaller berg was easily distinguished through the obscurity. The two continued to approach with a slowness that could hardly have caused a shock in a couple of ships, but where the two masses were so enormous the momentum was beyond calculation. The frightful crisis was not without its grim humor. The boys braced themselves against the expected crash as if in a railway train with a collision at hand. They lost sight of the fact that no force in nature could produce any such sudden jarring and jolting as they apprehended. The two bergs seemed to be lying side by side, within a few inches really, but without actually touching. "Why don't they strike?" asked Rob, in an awed whisper. "There it comes!" exclaimed Fred; "hold fast!" The smaller berg was seen to sway and bow, as if that, too, had swept against the bottom of the sea, and it was shaken through every part. But amazing fact to the lads! they felt only the slightest possible tremor pass through the support upon which they had steadied themselves against the expected shock. The smaller berg acted like some monster that has received a mortal hurt. It seemed to be striving to disentangle itself from the fatal embrace of its conqueror, but was unable to do so. Nearly conical in shape, a peak rose more than a hundred feet in air, ending in a tapering point almost as delicate as a church spire. The crash of the immense bodies caused the breaking off of this icy monument a couple of rods from the top, and the mass, weighing many tons toppled over and fell upon the larger berg with a violence that shattered it into thousands of fragments, bits of which were carried to the feet of the awed party. Then, as if the smaller one saw that it was idle to resist longer, it began moving with the larger, which forced it along its own course as a tug pushes a floating chip in front of it. The danger was over, if, indeed, there had been any danger. It was a minute or two before the boys comprehended it all, but when Rob did, he sprang to his feet and swung his cap over his head. "Hurrah for our side! We beat 'em hands down!" "I fancy it is quite safe to count on our keeping the right of way," added Fred, whose mental relief at the outcome was as great as his companion's. "I thought we would be tumbled about when the two came together, as if we were in an overturned wagon, but I can understand now how that could never be." "But wait till we butt against an iceberg bigger than ours," said Rob, with a shake of his head. CHAPTER XV THE SOUND OF A VOICE For hours the fog showed no signs of lifting. The three remained seated near the carcass of the polar bear, discussing the one question that had already been discussed so long, until there really seemed nothing left to say. Not long after the collision between the icebergs a singular thing took place. It was evident that the two were acted upon each by a diverse current, but the preponderating bulk of the greater was not disturbed by the smaller. The latter, however, as if anxious to break away from its master, began slowly grinding along the face, until, after awhile, it swung clear and gradually drifted out of sight in the misty vapor. "She will know better than to tackle one bigger than herself," was the remark of Rob Carrol, "which reminds me that if there should happen to be a bigger iceberg than this floating around loose we sha'n't be in any danger." "And why not?" "Because being so big it will be under the influence of the same current as this and going in the same direction, so there won't be much chance of our coming together." "Unless the big one should overtake us," suggested Fred. "Even then it would find it hard to run over us, so there isn't much to be feared from that; what I do dread is that we shall strike some shallow place in the sea that will make this thing turn a somersault." "It would be a terrible thing," said Fred, unable to drive it from his thoughts. "Is it possible for the berg to strike something like that and stick fast, without shifting its centre of gravity?" The question was addressed to Jack Cosgrove, but he did not attempt to answer until the last clause was explained to him. "Oh! yes; that has been seen many times. A berg will ground itself just like a boat, and stay for days and weeks until a storm breaks it up, or it shakes itself loose. I don't believe if we do strike bottom again that there's much danger of capsizing." "Why didn't you tell us that before?" asked Rob, reprovingly; "we might have been saved all this worry." "It's only guesswork, any way, so you may as well keep on worrying, for, somehow or other, you seem to enjoy it." "I think there is a thinning of the fog," remarked Fred, some time later. "A little, but not much; it's growing colder, too; we'll run into keen weather afore reaching the Pole." "I shouldn't wonder if it came pretty soon. Hello!" added Rob, looking at his watch; "it is past noon." "Do you want your dinner?" asked Jack, with a grin. Both lads gave an expression of disgust, the elder replying: "I can stand it for twenty-four hours before hankering for another slice of bear steak, and I shouldn't be surprised if Fred feels the same way." "You are correct, my friend." "Ah, you chaps can get used to anything!" was the self-complacent remark of the sailor, as he assumed a comfortable attitude on the ice. While the boys talked thus, Jack was carefully noting the weather. He saw with pleasure that the fog was steadily clearing, and that, before night, the atmosphere was likely to be wholly clear again. That fact might avail them nothing, but it was a thousand-fold better than the mist, in which they might drift within a hundred feet of friends without either party suspecting it. From what has been told, it will be understood that no one of the three built any hope of a rescue by the "Nautilus." The violent gale had driven her miles away, and a search on her part for this particular iceberg would be like the hunt of one exploring party for another that had been lost years before. But it was not to be supposed that Captain McAlpine would quietly dismiss all care concerning the lads from his mind. One of them was a son of a leading director of the Hudson Bay Company, and the other was a favorite of the son and his father. For the skipper to return to London at the end of several months with the report that he had left them on an iceberg in the Greenland Sea would be likely to subject him to unpleasant consequences. The most natural course of the captain, as it seemed to the sailor, after making the best search he could, was to put into some of the towns along the coast, and organize several parties to go out in search of them. "He is no fool," thought Jack, as he turned the subject over in his mind without speaking, "and he must have took the bearings of the ship and the berg as I did. He won't be able to keep track of us, but he will know better than to sail exactly in the wrong direction, as most other folks would do. Yes," he remarked to his friends, as he looked off over the sea, "the weather is clearing and the fog will be all gone before night." This was gratifying information, though neither youth could tell precisely why it should give them special ground for hope. You will understand one of the trials of the boys when adrift on the iceberg. The latter was moving slowly, and, though in a direction different from the surface current, yet it was barely perceptible. No other objects were in sight than the berg itself, which gave the impression to the passengers that it was motionless on the vasty deep. You know how much harder it is to wait in a train at a station than it is in one in motion. If they could have realized that the berg was actually moving, no matter in what direction, the relief would have been great. As it was, they felt as though they were simply waiting, waiting for they knew not what. The afternoon was more than two-thirds gone when the last vestige of the fog vanished. The sun shone out, and, looking off to sea, the power of the eye itself was the only limit to the vision. Without explaining the meaning of his action, Jack Cosgrove made his way down the path to the place where they had spent most of the preceding night, and climbing upon a slight elevation, stood for a full minute looking fixedly off over the sea. He shaded his eyes carefully with his hand, and stood as motionless as a stone statue. "He either sees or expects to see something," said Rob, who, like his companion, was watching him with much interest. "He is so accustomed to the ocean that his eyes are better than ours," said Fred. "I can't make out anything." Suddenly Jack struck his thigh with his right hand and wheeled about, showing a face aglow with feeling. "By the great horned spoon, I knowed it." "What have you discovered, Jack?" "You chaps just come this way," he said, crooking his stubby forefinger toward them, "and put yourself alongside of me and take the sharpest squint you can right over yonder." Doing as directed, they finally agreed, after some hard looking, that they saw what seemed to be a long, low, white cloud in the horizon. "That's Greenland," was the astonishing reply; "I don't know what part, but it's solid airth with snow on it." This was interesting, indeed, though it was still difficult to understand what special hope the fact held out to them. It seemed to grow slightly more distinct as the afternoon advanced. Since it was hardly to be supposed that the iceberg was approaching land, this was undoubtedly caused by the contour of the coast. When night began closing in the party fired their guns repeatedly, thinking possibly the reports might attract notice from some of the natives fishing in the vicinity. The chance, however, was so exceedingly slight that they made preparations for spending the night as before--that is, huddled together against the projecting ice. There was hardly a breath of air stirring, though the temperature continued falling. "I hear it!" exclaimed Fred, starting to his feet, within five minutes after seating themselves as described. "What's that?" asked the amazed Rob; "are you crazy?" "Listen!" They did so. There was no mistake about it. They caught the sound of a vigorously moved paddle, and, had any doubt remained, it was dissipated by the loud call in a peculiar voice, and with an odd accent: "Holloa! holloa! holloa!" CHAPTER XVI LAND HO! The boys could hardly credit their senses. Just as they had settled themselves to spend another long, dismal night on the iceberg, the sound of a paddle broke upon their ears, followed, the next moment, by a hail in unmistakable English. "It's Captain McAlpine or one of the men!" exclaimed Rob, breaking into such a headlong rush down the incline that it threatened to precipitate him into the sea before he could check himself. Fred was at his heels, and Jack tumbled against him. He knew that that voice was no Caucasian's. Despite the English word, he recognized it as belonging to a native Esquimau. "We're coming!" called back Jack, in turn; "just hold on a few minutes and we'll be there--by the great horned spoon!" He bumped flat on his back, and shot down the incline so fast that he knocked the heels from under Fred, and the two, impinging against Rob, prostrated him also, the three shooting forward like so many sleighs going down a toboggan slide. "Never mind, lads; we'll stop when we strike water," called the sailor, so pleased that he recked little of the consequences. All the same, however, each exerted himself desperately to stop, and, barely succeeded in doing so, on the very edge of the incline. Then they perceived one of the long, narrow native boats, known as a kayak, drawn up alongside the wharf, as it may be called, with the Esquimau in the act of stepping out. He contemplated the sight in silent wonderment, for, it is safe to say, he had never been approached in that fashion before. Jack was the first to recover the perpendicular, and he impulsively reached out his mittened hand to the native, who was clad in furs, with a short jacket and a hood, which covered all his head, excepting the front of his face. "How do you do, my hearty? I never was so glad to see any one in my life as I am to see you." "Glad to meet you," replied the Esquimau, somewhat abashed by the effusive greeting; "where you come from?" "From the iceberg," and then reflecting that this good friend was entitled to a full explanation, the sailor added: "We visited this berg, yesterday, from the ship "Nautilus;" our boat was carried away before we knew it, and the gale drove the ship so far out of her course that we haven't seen a thing of her since. How came you to know we were here?" "Heard gun go off--didn't know where it be--hear it again--then know it here--then come to you." "Were you ashore?" "Started out to fish--you go ashore with me?" "You can just bet we will; your kayak is strong enough to take us all, isn't it?" "If sit still--make no jump," was the reply of the native, who was plainly pleased at the part of the good Samaritan he was playing. "These are my friends, Rob Carrol and Fred Warburton," said Jack, introducing the lads, each of whom shook the hand of the native, whom they felt like embracing in a transport of pleasure. Since the native had come out for the purpose of taking them off, there was no delay in embarking. The long boat, which the Esquimau handled with such skill, was taxed to carry the unusual load, and Jack suggested that he should wait till the boys were taken ashore, when the native could return for him, but their friend said that was unnecessary, and, inasmuch as the land was fully three miles distant, the task would have been a severe one. The sea was not ugly, and the Esquimau assured them there would be no trouble in landing them safely, if they "dressed" carefully and guarded against any sudden shifting of position. All understood the situation too well to make any mistake in this respect, and, in a few minutes, everything was in readiness. The native sat in the middle of the boat and swayed his long paddle with a dexterity that aroused the admiration of his passengers. It was not the kind of paddling to which Jack Cosgrove was accustomed, though he could have picked it up with readiness, and he was just the one to appreciate work of that kind. Rob was nearest the prow, and, as the craft whirled about and headed toward land, he caught a shower of spray which was dashed over his clothing and in his face. That, however, meant nothing, and he gave no heed to it. Immediately the craft was skimming over the waves at a speed of fully five knots. The occasion was hardly one for conversation, and Rob cautiously moved sideways and turned his head, so as to watch the advance. The weather, as will be remembered, was perfectly clear; the stars were shining and he could see for a considerable way over the water. It was trying to the nerves of so brave a lad as he to observe a huge wave rushing like a courser straight toward them and looking as if nothing could save the boat from swamping; but, under the consummate handling of its owner, it arose to meet the wall of water and rode it easily. Then, as it plunged into the trough on the other side, it seemed as if about to dive into the depths of the sea, but immediately arose again with inimitable grace and readiness. Then, perhaps, would follow a short distance of comparatively smooth water, quickly succeeded by the plunging and rising as before. All at once the surface became smooth. Before Rob could guess its meaning something grated against the front of the kayak and slid along the side, followed by another and another. The native slowed his paddling and pushed on with extreme care. He had entered a field of floating ice, through which it was necessary to force his way with all caution. This was proven by the many turns he made, and it was then that his skill showed in a more striking light than before. He sat facing the prow and was obliged to look over the head of Rob and along each side of him. His quick eye took in the size and contour of the drift ice, and, hardly checking his own progress, he shot to the right, then to the left, turning so quickly that the bodies of his passengers swayed under the sudden impulse, but all the time he continued his advance, apparently with undiminished speed. Meanwhile Jack Cosgrove, from his seat at the rear, was looking still farther ahead in the effort to gain sight of the welcome land, which never was so dear to him as when on the iceberg. Once he fancied he caught the twinkle of a light so low down that it was on shore, but it vanished quickly and he believed he was mistaken. It was not long, however, before his penetrating vision discovered that for which he was yearning. The unmistakable outline of the coast arose to view, rising gradually from the edge of the water until lost in the gloom beyond. It was white with snow, as a matter of course, the depth probably being several feet. The sight of any considerable portion of Greenland free of its snowy mantle would be a sight, indeed. The floating ice continued all the way to land, and the closer the latter was approached the more difficult became the progress. But the native was equal to the task. He had been through it too often to hesitate more than a few seconds when some larger obstacle than usual interposed across his path. It was very near land that the greatest peril of all was encountered. The kayak glided over a cake of ice, the Esquimau believing it would pass readily underneath the craft and out beyond the stern, but its buoyancy was greater than he supposed, and it swayed the boat with such force that it came within a hair of capsizing. "All right!" he called, cheerily, righting the craft with several quick, powerful strokes of his paddle. Then he shot between two other enormous cakes, wedged his way through a narrow passage, and the prow crunched into the snow that came down to the water's edge. "Here we are, and thank the Lord!" called out Rob, leaping with a single bound upon the solid earth; "I feel like giving three cheers, for if ever Providence favored a lot of scamps, we are the ones." Fred followed as the kayak turned sideways, so as to permit all to step out, but Jack paused, opposite the native, and peered into his face. Something in the Esquimau's voice struck him as familiar. "What's your name?" he asked, still scrutinizing him as closely as he could in the gloom. "Docak," was the reply. CHAPTER XVII DOCAK AND HIS HOME "By the great horned spoon, I suspected it! Docak, I'm mighty glad to see you; I'm Jack Cosgrove, and put it there!" The native was not so demonstrative as his English friend, but he certainly was as delighted and surprised to meet him in this extraordinary manner as was the sailor to meet him. They shook hands heartily, and Docak indulged in his peculiar laugh, which was accompanied by little, if any noise, but was indicative of genuine pleasure. The reader will recall that this was the second time Docak had rescued Jack Cosgrove, the other instance having occurred a number of years before, when Captain McAlpine's ship was destroyed by collision with an iceberg. "You're my guardian angel!" was the exclamation of the happy sailor; "I might have known that if anybody was to save us you was the chap to do it. Come up here, boys, and shake hands with Docak ag'in, for he's one of the best fellows living." Rob and Fred were only too glad to do as invited, and cordial relations were at once established. "Is your home where it was when I was here last?" Jack asked. "Yes, off dere," replied Docak, turning about and pointing inland; "not far--soon get dere." Jack gave a low whistle expressive of astonishment. "Now, lads," he said, addressing the youths, "I rather think you'll own that Jack Cosgrove knows a thing or two about icebergs." "I think Fred and I have also learned something, but what are you driving at?" "We're well up toward Davis Strait, and there's more than a hundred miles of Greenland coast to the south of us. That old berg has struck a bee line for the North Pole, but it won't reach there, eh, Docak?" "No; soon turn around--go back." "Now, isn't that one of the strangest things you ever heard of, lads? The place where the 'Mary Jane' went down, afore that berg, three years ago, was mighty nigh the very spot where Docak found us. I remember he brought us ashore in his kayak--" "Dis same boat," interrupted the native with a grin, perceptible in the twilight. "There you are, and, if he keeps on, I'll begin to think that one of you chaps is Captain McAlpine himself, and the other Bill Hardin, who was saved with us." "It is a most remarkable coincidence," said Fred, and Rob added that he had never read or heard anything like it. But it occurred to Docak that he was not acting the part of hospitable host, by keeping his friends standing on the edge of the sea, while the reminiscences went on. He stooped and drew his boat far up the bank. The tide was at its height, so there was no fear of its playing the trick our friends had suffered. Then he turned about and started inland, the others following in Indian file. He was treading a path, a foot or more deep in the snow, and worn as hard as a rock. The ascent was gentle, and a hundred yards from the shore he arrived at the entrance to his home, where a surprise awaited the boys. When seen for the first time the hut of the Esquimaux suggest the sod houses common on the Western plains of our country, except that the homes of the far North are entered by means of a burrow. Where such frightful cold reigns for months every year the first consideration with the native is to secure protection against it; everything is sacrificed to that. The walls are of alternate layers of stone and sod, and are about three feet in thickness. The highest clear space within is from four to five feet. The building contains an entry-way, a kitchen, and a living room. The entry is four or five yards in length, two feet or less wide, and no more than a yard in height. It will thus be seen that even a small boy would have to stoop to pass through it, while the interior of the hut itself will not allow a full-grown Esquimau to stand erect. To this fact may be attributed in some degree the stoop shoulders so common among the men. Half-way between the beginning of the entry and the main rooms was an opening leading to the kitchen. This was small, shaped like a bee-hive, and with a hole at the apex for the escape of the smoke. The floor was bare ground, the hearth consisting of a number of stones placed close together, on which the iron kettles sat, while the fire of driftwood burned beneath. The height of the kitchen is less than that of the main room, so that only the women can stand erect in the highest portion. When the weather is very severe the cooking is done in the main room, by means of the big oil-lamp, while the thick walls and the heavy furs of the inmates enable them to laugh at the raging blizzard outside. It was along such a passage as the one described that Docak led the way, followed by Jack Cosgrove, Rob, and Fred, each trailing his rifle, and happy beyond measure that everything with them had turned out so well. The main room into which the little party entered was about four yards square. It had a board floor and a ceiling--luxuries not generally found in the native homes except in the settlements. The walls were furred off and ceiled, and the spaces closely stuffed with moss. The wall on the right of the main room had a single window with twelve panes of glass. The main room was the most interesting part of the structure. Along the front of the window ran a wooden bench, near the end of which, toward the entrance, stood a Danish stove. In the corner beyond the other end of the bench was a table. To the left of that was the lamp-stand, directly opposite to which on the other side of the room was a second and shorter bench. The whole left-hand side of the room, as you entered, consisted of a platform, about six feet long. It was elevated a foot above the floor, the side next to the wall being a few inches higher. At night it was covered with feather beds, which are rolled back during the day, so that the front may be used for other purposes. The lamp used in the Esquimau houses is simply a large, green stone, with a hollow scooped in the top. This contains seal oil, a piece of moss serving as a wick. It may be well to tell you something in this place about the dress of the Esquimaux, referring now to those who live near the settlements, most of whom are of mixed blood. In the interior, and, along the east coast of Greenland, are met the wild natives, who are muffled in the thickest furs, and bear little resemblance to the class to which Docak and his acquaintances belonged. These men wore jackets, trousers, moccasins, and generally undershirts, drawers, and socks. The rule is for them to go bareheaded, though a hat or cap is frequently seen. The clothing, except the moccasins, is made from woolen or cotton stuff, bought off the Danish Governor. The jacket is of gingham, with sleeves and a hood that can be drawn over the head, and fitted in place by drawing and tying a string that passes under the chin. When venturing out in his kayak, or in severe weather, Docak, like most of his friends, wore a jacket and hood combined. This was of sealskin, with the leather side out. The trousers are constructed of the same material with the hair out. Sometimes they are lined with sealskin, with the hair in. The moccasins are well-shaped sealskin boots, reaching nearly to the knees. When the socks are not woolen, the hair is turned toward the skin. The mittens are of seal leather, with no hair on either side, and are much inferior to many of our own country, for purposes of warmth and comfort. The Esquimau women are shorter of stature than the men, and walk with short, mincing steps, showing a stoop similar to their husbands. They have small hands and feet, with faces that any one would pronounce good looking. They comb their hair to an apex, which, if the woman is married, is tied with a blue ribbon; if a widow, with black; and if a maiden, with green. The females generally wear collars of beads, with lace-work patterns and vivid colors. The waist is generally of woolen stuff, and here the same fondness for bright colors displays itself. It has no buttons, and is donned and doffed by passing over the head, and is fastened at the waist with a belt. Then come a pair of short trousers of sealskin, which are tastefully ornamented. Below these are the long-legged moccasins, also ornamented by the deft handiwork of the native owners. The dress of the children is the same as the parents. CHAPTER XVIII A NEW EXPEDITION Docak had no children, the single son born to him ten years before having died in infancy. His wife was about his age, and had noticeably lighter skin and bright brown eyes. It was evident that she had more white blood in her veins than her husband, who was of mixed breed. Docak did not knock before entering. His wife was trimming the lamp at the moment, and looked around to see whom he had brought with him. She must have felt surprised, but, if so, she concealed all evidence of it. She smiled in her pleasant way, showing her fine white teeth, and said in a low, soft voice, "Con-ji-meet," which is the native word for welcome. Her first curiosity was concerning the boys, with whom she shook hands, but, when she turned to the grinning Jack, she made no effort to hide her astonishment, for he had addressed her by name. "Crestana, I guess you haven't forgot Jack Cosgrove?" "Oh! oh! oh! dat you--much glad! much glad!" she said, laughing more heartily than her husband had done. She was very vivacious, and, though she could not speak the English tongue as well as he, she made it up by her earnestness. "So glad--much glad--whale kill vessel ag'in? Docak bring no ice? Where capen? How you be? Crestana glad to see you--yes, heap much glad." "By the great horned spoon," said Jack, holding the small hand of Crestana in his hearty grasp, and looking around at the others with one of his broadest grins; "the women are the same the world over; they can talk faster than a Greenland harrycane, and when they're glad they're glad all over, and clean through. Docak, you're a purty good chap, but you aint half good enough for such a wife as Crestana, and that reminds me we're as hungry as git out." The wife evidently thought the sailor was a funny fellow, for she broke into merry laughter again, and, disengaging her hand, hurried into the kitchen, where she had been busying herself with her husband's supper. The visitors, knowing how heartily welcome they were, seated themselves on the benches, doffed their heavy outer clothing, and made themselves as much at home as if in the cabin of the "Nautilus." They leaned their rifles in the corner near the table, alongside of the long muzzle-loader and several spears belonging to Docak. A large supply of dry driftwood was piled near the window, and from this the native kept such a glow in the stove that the whole interior was filled with grateful warmth. In the course of a few moments Crestana bustled in, her pretty teeth showing between her lips as she chatted with Jack and her husband. She drew the table out near the middle of the room, and quickly brought in some fish, "done to a turn." She furnished coffee, too, and the three guests who partook of her hospitality insist to this day that never in the wide world will they ever taste such fragrant coffee and such delicately-flavored fish as they feasted upon that night in Docak's hut. But we must not forget that they had the best sauce ever known--hunger. The meal was enlivened by lively conversation, in which Jack managed to tell the story of the mishap that had befallen himself and companions. She showed less interest in the boys than in the sailor, though, as may be supposed, Rob and Fred were charmed with her simplicity and good-nature. She placed spoons, knives and forks, cups, saucers, and plates before them, and there was a neatness about herself and the room which added doubly to its attractiveness, and did much to enlighten the youths about these people, whom they supposed to be barely half civilized. When the meal was finished, and the wife occupied herself in clearing away things, Docak brought out a couple of pipes, filled with tobacco, and offered one each to Rob and Fred. They, declining with thanks, he did the same to Jack, who accepted one, and a minute later the two were puffing away like a couple of veteran devotees of the weed. The boys felt some curiosity to learn how it was that Docak, whose manner of living proved that he knew the ways of the more civilized people among the settlements, made his home in this lonely place, far removed from all neighbors. They could not learn everything that evening but they ascertained it afterward. Docak had lived awhile in Invernik, and then took up his residence at Ivigtut, where he lived until four or five years before Rob and Fred met him. It was in the latter place he married Crestana, and it was there that his only child died. The loss of the little one made him morose for awhile, and he got into a difficulty with one of his people, in which, in the eyes of the law, Docak was wholly to blame. He was punished, and, in resentment, he withdrew to a place on the west coast, about sixty miles north of the famous cryolite mines. There he lived, alone with his wife, as serenely contented as he could be anywhere. He made occasional visits to Ivigtut, to Invernik, Julianshaab, and other settlements, but it was only for the purpose of getting ammunition and other supplies which could be obtained in no other way. Docak was not only a skilled fisherman, but, what is rare among his class of people, he was a great hunter. He was sometimes absent for days at a time in the interior, traveling many miles on snow-shoes, forcing his way over the icy mountains and braving the Arctic blasts that had driven back many a hardy European from his search for the North Pole. While he was absent his wife went about her duties with calm contentment, where a more sensitive person would have gone out of her mind from very loneliness and desolation. Our friends having effected their escape from the iceberg, it was time to decide what next should be done. The most obvious course was to go to Ivigtut, where they could obtain the means of returning to England, most likely by way of Denmark, and possibly might hear something of the "Nautilus," if she had survived the gale which caused her to part company with Jack and the boys. The kayak was strong enough to carry them, and Docak could make the voyage in a couple of days. This Rob and Fred supposed would be the plan adopted, but the native put another idea into their heads which caused in a twinkling a radical change of programme, and brought an experience to the two of which neither dreamed. While Docak and Jack sat beside each other on the longer bench, smoking and talking, the native frequently cast admiring glances at the rifles leaning against the wall in the corner. Finally he rose, and, walking over, examined the three weapons, taking up each in turn and holding it so the light from the lamp fell upon it. He was most struck with Rob's, which had more ornamentation than the others. It was a modern loader, but not a repeater. "He berry good," he remarked, setting it down again in the corner and resuming his place on the bench beside his friend; "why you not go hunting with me 'fore go to Ivigtut?" Jack saw the eyes of the boys sparkle at the suggestion. Why not, indeed, go on a hunting excursion into the interior before they returned to the settlement? What was to prevent? It would take but a few days, and there is royal game to be found in Greenland. Docak explained that this was the time of the year when he was accustomed to indulge in a long hunt. Twelve months before he had brought down some animals rarely ever encountered in that portion of the country, and he was hopeful of doing the same again, when he could have his friends to help. So the matter needed only to be broached to be settled. The whole party would go on a hunt, and they would start the following morning, returning whenever they deemed best, and then making their way to Ivigtut at a leisurely rate, set about their return home, if that should be deemed the best course. The warmth and smoke in the room led the boys to decide to step outside a brief while, to inhale the crisp air, and, inviting Fred to follow, Rob sprang up and hurried in a stooping posture through the long entry-way. Fred stopped a minute in the road to peep through the opening into the kitchen, where the thrifty housewife was busy. She smiled pleasantly at him, and he might have lingered had he not heard the voice of his friend. "Hurry out, Fred! Here's the most wonderful sight you ever saw. Quick, or you will lose it!" Fred lost no time in rushing after Rob, whose excitement was fully justified. CHAPTER XIX A WONDERFUL EXHIBITION Unto no one, excepting him who journeys far into the Northland, is given it to view such an amazing picture as was now spread out before the enraptured gaze of Rob Carrol and Fred Warburton. In Northern Siberia, the Scandinavian Peninsula, the upper portion of the American Continent, and the Arctic Sea, the traveler learns in all its wonderful fullness of glory the meaning of the Aurora Borealis or Northern Lights. The boys had had partial glimpses of the scene on their voyage through the Greenland Sea, and there were flickerings of light which caught their eye on the trip from the iceberg to the mainland, and the short walk to Docak's hut, but it was during their short stay in the rude dwelling that the mysterious scene-shifters of the skies unfolded their magnificent panorama in all its overwhelming grandeur. Radiating from a huge nucleus, which seemed to be the North Pole itself, shot the streamers of light, so vast in extent that their extremities struck the zenith, withdrawing with lightning-like quickness, and succeeded by others with the same celerity and displaying all the vivid hues of the rainbow. At times these dartings resembled immense spears, and then they changed to bands of light, turning again into ribbons which shivered and hovered in the sky, with bewildering variation, turning and doubling upon themselves, spreading apart like an immense fan, and then trembling on the very verge of the horizon, as if about to vanish in the darkness of night. At the moment the spectators held their breath, fearing that the celestial display was ended; the streamers, spears, bands of violet, indigo, blue, orange, red, green, and yellow, with the innumerable shades, combinations, and mingling of colors, shot out and spread over the sky like the myriad rays of the setting sun. This continued for several minutes, marked by irregular degrees of intensity, so impressive in its splendor that neither lad spoke, for he could make no comment upon the exhibition, the like of which is seen nowhere else in nature. But once both gave a sigh of amazed delight when a ribbon, combining several vivid colors, quivered, danced, and streamed far beyond the zenith, with a wary appearance that suggested that some giant, standing upon the extreme northern point of the earth, had suddenly unrolled this marvelous ribbon and was waving it in the eyes of an awestruck world. One of the most striking features of those mysterious electrical phenomena known as the Northern Lights is the absolute silence which accompanies them. The genius of man can never approach in the smallest degree the beauties of the picture without some noise, but here nature performs her most wonderful feat in utter stillness. The panorama may unfold, roll together, spread apart again with dazzling brilliancy and suddenness, but the strained ear catches no sound, unless dissociated altogether from the phenomenon itself, such as the soft sighing of the Arctic wind over the wastes of snow, or through the grove of solemn pines. There were moments when the effulgence spread over the earth, like the rays of the midnight sun, and the lads, standing in front of the primitive dwelling of the Esquimau, resembled a couple of figures stamped in ink in the radiant field. For nearly an hour the rapt spectators stood near the entrance to the native dwelling, insensible to the extreme cold, and too profoundly impressed to speak or stir; but the heavens had given too great a wealth of splendor, brilliancy, color, and celestial scene-shifting to continue it long. The subtle exchange of electrical conditions must have reached something like an equipoise, and the overwhelming beauty and grandeur exhausted itself. The ribbons and streamers that had been darting to and beyond the zenith, shortened their lightning excursions into space, leaping forth at longer intervals and to a decreasing distance, until they ceased altogether, displaying a few flickerings in the horizon, as though eager to bound forth again, but restrained by a superior hand with the command, "Enough for this time." Fred drew a deep sigh. "I never dreamed that anywhere in the world one could see such a sight as that." "It is worth a voyage from home a hundred times over, and I don't regret our stay on the iceberg, for we would have been denied it otherwise." "If there are any people living near the North Pole, it must be like dwelling in another world. I don't see how they stand it." "I believe that the Northern Lights have their origin between here and the Pole," said Fred; "though I am not sure of that." "The magnetic pole, which must be the source of the display, is south of the earth's pole, and I suppose that's the reason for the belief you mention. But it is enough to fill one with awe, when he gazes on the scene and reflects that the world is one great reservoir of electricity, which, if left free for a moment by its Author, would shiver the globe into nothingness, and leave only an empty void where the earth swung before." "I pity the man who says, 'There is no God,' or who can look unmoved to the very depths of his soul by such displays of infinite power." "There are no such persons," exclaimed Rob, impatiently; "they may repeat the words, because they think it brave and smart before their companions, but they don't believe themselves. It is impossible." "Why didn't we think to tell Jack and Docak, that they might have enjoyed the scene with us?" "The native Esquimaux see it too often to care about it. It is hard to understand how any one can become accustomed to it, but we know it is so. As for Jack, he must have looked upon it many times before, when he was in this latitude. Gracious! but it has become cold," added Rob, with a shiver. "It isn't any colder than it has been all the evening, but we forgot about it while the exhibition was going on." The boys turned about, and, ducking their heads, made their way along the long entry, quickly debouching into the warmth and glow of the living room, where Docak and the sailor, having laid away their pipes, were talking like a couple of old friends who had not seen each other for years and were exchanging experiences. Crestana had finished her work in the kitchen and joined them. She was sitting on the shorter bench, and, like a thrifty housewife, was engaged in repairing some of her husband's bulky garments, with big needles and coarse thread. She looked up with her pleasant smile, as the boys entered, their bodies shivering and their teeth chattering from the extreme cold. "You chaps must have found it mighty pleasant out-doors," remarked the sailor. "Ah! Jack, if you had been with us, you would have seen a sight worth a journey around the world." "What was it? Another polar bear, or two of them?" "The Northern Lights, and O--" "The Northern Lights," interrupted their friend, with a sniff of disgust; "is that all?" The boys looked at him, too horrified to speak. "I'll own that they are rather purty, and the first two or three times a chap looks onto 'em he is apt to hold his breath, and rub his eyes, but, when you've seed 'em as often as me, it'll get to be an old story. Besides Docak and me had more important bus'ness to talk about." "What was that?" "This hunting trip; it's all fixed." "When do we start?" "To-morrow morning. There's no saying how long we'll be gone, and I've told him that it doesn't make any difference to us, so we get back some time this year." "Can we travel without snow-shoes?" "Luckily we can, for Docak has only two pair. This fog and a little rain we've had have formed a crust on the snow hard enough to bear a reindeer, so that we can travel over it as easy as if it were solid ice. The only thing to be feared is another deep fall of snow afore we can get back. That would make hard traveling, but then a hunter must take some risk and who cares? We may see sights and meet fun that will last us a lifetime." CHAPTER XX THE HERD OF MUSK OXEN One of the most interesting animals found in the frozen regions of the North is the musk ox, his favorite haunt being on the mainland of the Continent in the neighborhood of the Arctic circle, though he is occasionally met in Greenland. The fact that the animal has no muzzle has led some naturalists to separate him from the ox species and give him the name of Ovibos. He is smaller in size than his domestic brother, very low on his legs, and covered with a wealth of wool and dark brown hair, which, during the cold weather, almost touches the ground. A whitish spot on the back is called the saddle, though it is not to be supposed that it is ever intended for that purpose. One of the most striking features of the musk ox is his horns, which sometimes weigh fifty or sixty pounds. They are flattened at the base, the flat sides turned outward, and form a sort of shield or protection for the face. At certain seasons he is one of the most odoriferous animals in creation. During the spring the musky odor is so strong that it can be detected on the first knife thrust into his body. At other seasons it is hardly perceptible, and the eating is excellent. Although his legs are so short he can travel swiftly, and shows a facility in climbing mountains that no one would suspect on looking at the animal the first time. It suggests the chamois in this respect. He feeds on lichens during a part of the year, and on grass and moss during the rest. Some distance back of the native Esquimau's hut, the land inclined upward, becoming quite rough and mountainous not far from the coast. It was among these wild hilly regions that a herd of musk oxen, numbering eleven, were browsing one afternoon, with no thought of disturbance from man or beast. Perhaps the last should be excepted, for the oxen are accustomed to herd together for the purpose of mutual protection against the ravening wolves who would make short work of one or two of them, when detached from the main herd. But it is not to be supposed that the thought of bipedal foes entered their thick skulls, for the Esquimau is not a hunter as a rule, and confines his operations to fishing in the waters near his home. The herd referred to had gradually worked their way upward among the mountains, until they reached a plateau, several acres in extent. There a peculiar swirling gale had, at some time or other, swept most of the space quite clear of snow, and left bare the stubby grass and moss, which, at certain seasons, formed the only sustenance of the animals. It was a lucky find for the oxen, for in the far North, with its ice and snow, it is an eternal battle between the wild animals and starvation, the victory not infrequently being with the latter. It was rare that the oxen found food so plentiful, and they were certain to remain there, if permitted, until hardly a spear was left for those who might come after them. The largest ox of the party was grazing along the upper edge of the plateau, some rods removed from the others. He had struck a spot where the grass and moss were more abundant, and he was putting in his best work. Suddenly he caught a suspicious sound. Throwing up his head, with the food dripping from the motionless jaws, he stared in the direction whence it came, possibly with the fear of wolves. Instead of seeing one of the latter he descried an object fully as terrifying in the shape of a young man, clad in thick clothing from head to foot, and with a rifle in his hands. The name of this young man was Fred Warburton, and he had reached this advantageous spot after long and careful climbing from the plain below. He was studying the creatures closely, now that he had succeeded in gaining a nearer view, for, on the way thither, Docak had told him much concerning them, and they had become objects of great interest. Fred was alone, and had spent several minutes in surveying the brutes before he coughed with the purpose of attracting attention for a few seconds. Then, slipping his mitten from his right hand, the lad brought his rifle to his shoulder and sighted at the animal. He had forgotten to inquire at what part to aim, but it seemed to him that the head was the most vulnerable, and he directed his weapon at a point midway between the eyes and near the centre of the forehead. At the very instant of pressing the trigger the ox slightly lowered his head, and, instead of boring its way through the skull, the bullet impinged against the horny mass above, and glanced off without causing injury. Fred was startled when he observed the failure, for his friends were too far away to give him support, and it was necessary to place another cartridge in the chamber of his weapon before it could be used. He proceeded to do so, without stirring a foot, and with a coolness which no veteran hunter ever excelled. But if Fred stood still the musk ox was very far from doing so. One glance only at the youth was enough, when, with a snort, he whirled about, galloped a few paces, and then wheeled with marked quickness, and faced the young hunter again. While engaged in this performance his snortings drew the attention of his companions, who, throwing up their heads, galloped to him, and the whole eleven speedily stood side by side, facing the point whence the attack had come. They were of formidable appearance, indeed, for, with lowered heads, they pawed up the earth and began cautiously advancing upon the boy, who had his cartridge in place and was ready for another shot. But instead of one musk ox he was confronted by eleven! "My gracious!" he said to himself; "this is a larger contract than I thought of. If they will only come at me one at a time I wouldn't mind. I wonder where the other folks are?" He glanced right and left, but nothing was to be seen of Rob or Jack or Docak. It looked as if a line of retreat should be provided, and he ventured a glance to the rear. He saw a mass of rocks within a hundred yards, against which a good deal of snow had been driven, and he concluded that that was the only available refuge, with no certainty that it would prove a refuge at all. "Being as I shall have to fetch up there to save myself, and being that those beasts can travel faster than I, it wouldn't be a bad idea to begin edging that way now." He would have been glad to whirl about and dash off, reserving his shot until he reached the rocks, but for his belief that such an attempt would be fatal to himself. Nothing encourages man or animal so much as the sight of a flying foe, and he was sure that he would instantly have the whole herd at his heels, and they would overhaul him too before he could attain his shelter. It was a test of his nerves, indeed. There were eleven musk oxen, heads lowered, eyes staring, with low, muttering bellows, pawing and flinging the dirt behind them, while they continued advancing upon the motionless lad, who, having but one shot immediately at command, sought to decide where it could be sent so as to do the most good. The fellow at which he fired was the largest of the herd, and it was plain to see that he was commander-in-chief. Upon receiving the shot on his horns he had summoned his followers about him, and no doubt told them of the outrage and whispered in their ears the single word "Vengeance." It naturally struck Fred that the single shot should be directed at the leader, for possibly, if he fell, the others would be thrown into a panic and scatter. At any rate, it was the only hope, and, without waiting a tenth part of the time it has taken us to tell it, he brought his rifle to a level and aimed at the big fellow. The distance was so short that there was no excuse for repeating his blunder, or, rather, accident. He sighted the best he knew how, and, while the fellow was still pawing and advancing, let fly, hitting him fairly between the eyes. The lad paused just long enough to learn that his shot was effective, when he whirled on his heel, without waiting for more, and ran as he never ran before. CHAPTER XXI CLOSE QUARTERS At this moment, when it would be thought that the incident was at its most thrilling crisis, it assumed a ludicrous phase, at which any spectator must have laughed heartily. Fred, as I have said, made for the protecting rocks, with all the energy of which he was capable. On the way thither he dropped one mitten, then his gun flew from his grasp, and a chill passed through his frame, at the consciousness that he had lost his only means of defense; but he dared not check himself long enough to pick it up, for in fancy he heard the whole ten thundering after him and almost upon his heels. The distance to travel was short, but it seemed twice its real extent, and he feared he would never reach it. He was running for life, however, and he got over the ground faster than would be supposed. Panting and half-exhausted, he arrived at last, and darted breathlessly behind the rugged mass of boulders. His heart almost gave way when he found it what he feared; a simple pile of stones, partly covered with snow, but presenting nothing that could be used for protection. The only portion was the top, but that was too high for him to climb the perpendicular sides. It was at this moment he cast a terrified glance behind him, and uttered the single exclamation: "Well, if that doesn't beat all creation!" What did he see? The whole ten musk oxen scampering in the opposite direction, apparently in as great a panic as himself. The truth of it is the musk ox is one of the most cowardly animals in existence. All the pawing of dirt, the bellowing, and threatening advance upon an enemy is simply "bluff." At the first real danger he takes himself off like the veritable booby that he is. As soon as Fred could recover his wind he broke into laughter at the thought of his causeless scare. He might as well have stood his ground and fired into them at his leisure. "I'm glad Rob didn't see me," he reflected as he came from behind the rock and set out to regain his lost weapon and mitten; "he would have had it on me bad--" A shiver ran through him, for he surely heard something like a chuckle that had a familiar sound. He looked around, but could discover no cause for it. "No; it wouldn't have done for him or Jack to have had a glimpse of me running away from the oxen that were going just as hard from me--" "Hello, Fred, where's your gun?" It was Rob Carrol and no one else, who stepped into sight from the other side of the rocks and came toward him, shaking so much with mirth that he could hardly walk. "What's the matter with you?" demanded Fred, savagely; "you seem to find cause for laughter where no one else can." "O Fred! if you only could have seen yourself tearing for the rocks, your gun flying one way, your mitten another, your eyes bulging out, and you too scared to look behind at the animals that were going still faster right from you, why you would have tumbled down and called it the funniest sight in the world." "If I had seen you with your life in danger I wouldn't have stopped to laugh, but would have gone to your help." "So would I have gone to yours, but the trouble was your neck wasn't in danger, though I guess you thought it was." "Why didn't you fire into the herd?" "What for? They were too far off to take the chances of bringing them down, and you had killed the leader." "Why, then, didn't you yell to me to stop my running?" "I tried to, but couldn't for laughing; then, too, Fred, it wasn't long before you found it out yourself. If, when we get home, you want to enter the races as a sprinter, I will back you against the field. I tell you, old fellow, you surpassed yourself." By this time the younger lad had rallied, and saw that his exhibition of ill-temper only made him ridiculous. He turned toward his companion with a smile, and asked, in his quaint way: "What'll you take, Rob, not to mention this to Jack or any of the rest of our friends?" "I'll try not to do so, but, if it should happen to drop from me some time, don't get mad and tear your hair." "Never mind," said Fred, significantly; "this hunt isn't finished yet, and I may get a chance to turn the laugh on you." "If you do, then I'll make the bargain." "Perhaps you will, but that will be as I feel about it. But, I say, did you ever know of any such cowardly animals as the musk ox? If they had gone for me, where would I have been?" "I doubt whether they could have caught you, but they are stupid cowards, who don't know their own strength." "I wonder whether they always act this way." "Most of the time, but not always. I heard Docak telling Jack how he once put two bullets into a bull, which kept on for him like a steam engine. He flung himself behind a lot of rocks, just as you did, when the beast was right upon him. He struck the stones with such force that he shattered his horns and was thrown back on the ground like a ball. Before he could rise his wounds overcame him, and he gave it up, but it was a narrow escape for the Esquimau." "It might have been the same with me," added Fred, who could not recall, without a shudder, those few seconds when he faced the leader with his herd ranged alongside of him; "but all's well that ends well. Where are Jack and Docak?" As if in answer to the question the reports of the guns broke upon their ears at that moment, and they saw the two hunters standing on the lower edge of the plateau, firing into the terrified animals that were almost upon them. Instead of turning to run, as Fred had done, immediately after firing, they quietly held their places and began coolly reloading their pieces. There was good ground for their self-confidence. Their shots were so well aimed that two of the oxen tumbled to the ground, while the others, whirling again, came thundering in the direction of the rocks, near which the lads were watching them. "That sight is enough to scare any one," remarked Fred. "If you want to turn and run again," said Rob, "I'll pick up your gun and both of your mittens, if you drop them." "Don't fret yourself; if I can beat you when you had that polar bear at your heels no beast could overtake me." "The difference between that and this was that the brute was at my heels, while your pursuers were running the other way. However, we'll drop the matter, old fellow, since I have had all the fun I want out of it. It may be upon me next time." "I hope it will, and, if so, I won't forget it; but, Rob, this begins to look serious." Although the youths were in plain view, the musk oxen continued their flight straight toward them. Unless they changed very quickly or the lads got out of the way a collision was certain. "You may stay here if you think it smart," said Fred, a second later, "but I don't." Despite the exhibition he had made of himself a few minutes before he moved briskly toward the rocks, behind which he whisked like one who had no time to waste. To show him how causeless was his alarm, Rob raised his gun, and, taking a quick aim at the foremost, let fly. "That'll settle them!" he called out; "see how quickly they will turn tail." But they did not adopt this course as promptly as Rob expected. He had struck one of them, but without inflicting much hurt. There is a latent courage in every beast, which, under certain stress, can be aroused to activity, and this shot had done it. Rob stood his ground for an instant or two. Then he awoke to the fact that his shot was not going to turn a single one of the eight musk oxen from his course. They thundered toward him like so many furies, and were almost upon him before he realized that he had already waited too long. CHAPTER XXII FRED'S TURN At the moment Rob Carrol wheeled to run the foremost of the musk oxen was upon him. This animal was the largest of the herd, after the fall of the leader, whose place he had undoubtedly taken by the unanimous wish of the survivors. Perhaps he was eager to prove to his companions his worthiness to fill the shoes of the late lamented commander, for, although one of the most dreaded of enemies stood directly in his path, and had just emptied his gun at him, he charged upon him like a cyclone. Meanwhile, Fred Warburton, having darted behind the rocks, lost no time in slipping another cartridge in his gun. He would have assumed any risk before permitting harm to come to his friend, but, somehow or other, he yearned for the chance of saving him from just such a disaster as was now upon him. [Illustration: THE OX BOUNDED DIRECTLY OVER HIS BODY (See page 199)] Had Rob started a moment sooner he would have escaped, but in his desperate haste he fell headlong, and the ox bounded directly over his body, fortunately, without touching him. The other animals were unequal to the draught upon their courage, and diverged sharply, some to the right and the rest to the left, circling back over the plateau on whose margin Jack Cosgrove and Docak were waiting until they came within certain range. "Fred, fire quick! my gun's unloaded!" called Rob from where he lay on the ground; "don't wait a second or it'll be too late!" Fred did fire, sending the bullet with such accuracy that it wound up the business. Precisely the same catastrophe, described by the Esquimau to the sailor took place. The ox, coming with such desperate speed, was carried forward by its own terrific momentum. It may be said that he was dead before he could fall; he certainly was unconscious of what he was doing, for he crashed against the rocks, as if driven from an enormous catapult and then collapsed, in a senseless heap, with his flat horns smashed and broken to fragments. Fred Warburton saw that his "turn" had arrived, and he made the most of it. Rob had been merciless to him, and he was now ready to pay him off in his own coin. "I wouldn't lie down there, Rob," he said, gravely, "for the ground must be cold." "It does seem rather chilly--that's a fact," replied his friend, who, knowing what was coming, slowly climbed to his feet; "I didn't think of that when I lay down." "What made you lie down at all?" "You see I noticed that the creature didn't mean to turn about and travel the other way as yours did; there was the difference. Then I knew, too, that he must be tired from running so hard, and it struck me as a kind thing to do to serve as a rug or carpet for him." "You did so, and no mistake. If I'm not in error," continued Fred, with a quizzical expression, "I heard you call out a minute ago something about my hurrying up and firing so as to save your life." "I say anything like that! What put such an idea in your head? It must have been the echo of your voice, when you were running away from the ox that was running away from you." And Rob assumed an expression of innocent surprise that would have convinced any one else than Fred of his mistake. "It is singular, but no doubt I am in error," said he, resignedly. "It must have been some one else that sprawled on the ground, and begged me to shoot quick or he was a goner; it must have been another vaunting young man, who looked up so pityingly, and was too scared to try to get on his feet until I shot the ox for him, just as I did the polar bear, when another minute would have finished him; but I'd like to see that other fellow," added Fred, looking around, as if in quest of him. "I'll help you search," said Rob, in the same serious manner; "and as soon as I run across him I'll introduce you two. You'll be congenial to each other. Until then suppose we let the matter rest." "I won't promise that," returned Fred, following up his advantage; "it depends on whether certain other matters are referred to." Rob now laughed outright and offered his hand, which his friend readily took. The words were uttered hurriedly, for it was hardly the time or place for conversation. The popping of rifles was renewed from another part of the plateau, and several other musk oxen had tumbled to the ground. A half-dozen survivors managed to get it through their heads that they had enemies on both sides, and, seeing an opening, they plunged through it and were seen no more. The boys devoted some minutes to inspecting the two animals that had fallen by the rifle of Fred Warburton. They were a couple of the largest specimens of their kind, but the description already given renders anything like a repetition unnecessary. Although it was the favorable season of the year, the youths detected a slight musky odor exhaling from the bodies, which was anything but pleasant. Docak and Jack were observed approaching across the plateau. Both were in high spirits over the success that had marked this essay in hunting the musk ox, and the Esquimau assured them that despite the odor to which they objected, he would furnish them with one of the best suppers they had ever eaten. The lads, however, could not feel quite assured on that point. It may as well be stated in this place that the spot where the animals were shot was about thirty miles inland from the home of Docak, and a great many leagues south of Upernavik, the most northernmost settlement on the Greenland coast. It is beyond this quaint Arctic town, in the neighborhood of Melville Bay, that the musk ox has his true _habitat_. There, although the animals are diminishing in number, he may be found by any one who chooses to hunt for him. The fact that Docak had met them so far south was extraordinary, and, up to the previous year, he had never known of such a thing, nor did he believe there were any besides this particular herd within hundreds of miles of the spot, nor that they were likely ever to be seen there again. It took our friends two days and a part of a night to reach this portion of the Arctic highlands. They had looked for foxes, reindeer, ptarmigan, hares, and other game on the way, but failed to run across any game until they came upon the musk oxen. Had not the Esquimau been thoughtful enough to bring a lunch of cold fish, they would have suffered from hunger. As it was, all felt the need of food, and the prospect of a dinner upon the game at their feet was inviting, indeed. The Esquimau would not have bothered with the cooking had he been alone, but, out of deference to his friends, he prepared to make a meal according to their tastes. Inasmuch as so much game had been bagged, they could afford to be choice. They cut the tongues from the animals, together with some slices from the tenderest portion of their bodies, and had sufficient to satisfy all their appetites and leave something over. No better place for camping was likely to be found than these hills, but a shelter was desirable, and Docak set out to lead the way further among them. His manner showed that he was familiar with the section, for he did not go far before he came upon the very place for which Fred Warburton longed when making his desperate flight from the bull that he supposed was at his heels. It was a cavern among the rocks, as extensive as his own living room at home, and approached by an entrance, which if not so extended as his own entry, was of still less dimensions, causing them to stoop and creep for part of the way. "Me be here 'fore," said he; "like de place?" "I should say we did," replied the pleased Rob, echoing the sentiments of his friends; "but we shall need some fuel to cook the food and keep warm, and wood isn't very abundant in this part of the world." "We git wood," was the rather vague reply, whose meaning was not understood until they had penetrated into the cavern, which was lightened by a crevice on one side of the entrance. This permitted enough daylight to enter to reveal the interior quite plainly. It took the boys a few minutes to accustom their eyes to the gloom, but when they did so they were no less pleased than surprised at what they saw. CHAPTER XXIII IN THE CAVERN That which the astonished visitors looked upon was a pile of wood at one side of the cavern big enough to build a roaring fire that would last for hours. This place must have formed the headquarters of Docak when indulging in the occasional hunts that are anything but popular among the coast natives. The Esquimau did not carry lucifer matches with him, but, on the other hand, he was not forced to use the primitive means common among savages. He possessed a flint and tinder such as our forefathers used and are still popular in some parts of the world. But Rob and Fred did not exhaust their supply of matches in trying to scorch the bear steak on the iceberg, and when everything was ready to start the blaze they did so with little trouble. The smoke bothered them at first, but it gradually wound its way through the opening, so that breathing became quite comfortable. Docak cooked the tongues with a skill born of long experience. There was just the faintest trace of musk, but not enough to interfere with the vigorous appetites, which could afford to disregard trifles. The meal proved to be what he had promised--one of the most grateful they had ever eaten. There was a good deal left after the supper was finished, and this was laid aside for future contingencies, since the experience of their approach to this spot taught them to be prepared for an extended deprivation of food. Indeed, the native Esquimau sometimes goes for days, apparently with no craving in that direction, though it must be there all the same. When he finally secures nourishment, he stuffs prodigiously--so much so indeed that a civilized person would die of gluttony. He calmly waits, however, until able to hold a little more, when he resumes cramming the food down his throat, keeping it up until at last he is satisfied. Then he sleeps, hour after hour, and, on waking, is ready to resume his frightful gormandizing. By the time the meal was finished the long Arctic night began closing in. Looking through the crevice on the side, and the entrance, they saw that the day was fast fading. The air was as clear as crystal and very cold. The boys had no extra garments to bring with them, but Docak, despite his cumbrous suit, carried the fur of a polar bear that he had shot a couple of years before. This was not only warm, but had the advantages over many pelts of being vermin proof. When traveling over the snow Docak had a way of using this extra garment, like a shawl, so that his arms were free. It was now spread upon the solid rock, and, though it was not extensive enough to wrap about the forms of the four, it furnished a couch for all, as they lay with their bodies near together, and it was most welcome indeed. It might seem that our friends ran an imprudent risk in venturing this far from the coast without snow-shoes; for, in the event of a thaw, the work of traveling the thirty miles would tax their endurance to the utmost. The snow was several feet deep on a level, and was drifted in places as high as a house. Who could make his way through instead of over this? But all misgivings on that score were ended by Docak telling his friends there would be no thaw for days, weeks, and, perhaps, not for months. It was more likely to be the other way. The surface, as I have intimated, was as easily walked upon as the floor of a house. So long as it remained thus there was no need of snow-shoes or anything like artificial help. The fire made it so cheerful and the warmth was so pleasant that it was decided to keep it going for an hour or two, and then let it die out after they fell asleep. There would be considerable fuel left for morning, and the blaze was not really necessary, unless the weather should take one of those appalling plunges during which a red-hot stove seems to lose all power. As was Docak's custom, when staying in an inclosed place like this, he sauntered out doors before lying down to slumber, in order to take a look at the weather and the surroundings. The life of the Esquimaux makes them wonderfully skillful readers of impending changes of temperature. Signs which are invisible to others are as intelligible to them as the pages of a printed book to us. The native remained absent a considerable while, until his friends began speculating as to the cause. "Maybe he has caught sight of another of those musk oxen, and wants to bring him down," suggested Rob. "There is no call to do that when so many of them lie on the frozen ground, where they will keep for months unless the wolves find them." "They'll be pretty certain to do that," continued Rob; "but then he may have caught sight of a bull, and both may want to try a race by starting in opposite directions and seeing which can travel first around the world." "That would be a sight worth seeing," Fred hastened to say, "unless he fell down and bawled for some one to come to his help, after firing his gun and missing the game by about a rod." Jack Cosgrove looked wonderingly at his young friends, puzzled to know what this curious talk meant. To him there was no sense in it. Rob and Fred thought they had ventured as far upon forbidden ground as was prudent, so they veered off. While they were talking Docak reappeared. His feet were heard on the crust of the snow for several seconds before he was visible, for there was no call to guard against noise. As he straightened up in the cavern he stood a moment without speaking. Then, stepping to the wood, he threw a number of sticks on the blaze, causing an illumination that made the interior as light as day. Jack was better acquainted with the native's moods than the boys could be expected to be, and the first sight of the honest fellow's countenance by the added light told him he was troubled over something. Evidently he had made some unpleasant discovery. "He'll let me know what it is," concluded the sailor, deeming it best not to question him; "I can't imagine what would make him feel so uneasy, but he's got something on his mind--that's sartin." Docak was on the point of speaking more than once, but some impulse led him to close his lips at the moment the all-important matter was about to become known. He probably would have kept it to himself altogether had not a question of Rob given him an opportunity too inviting to be resisted. "Which course will we take to-morrow, Docak?" "Dat way--we trabel fast as can, too." The astonishment of the three may be understood when they saw him point directly toward his own home--that is, in the direction of the seacoast, and over the course they had just completed. Their purpose when they set out was to penetrate at least double the distance in the interior, and now he declared for a withdrawal. Not only that, but the manner of the native proved that he considered the crisis imminent, and that no time was to be lost in carrying out his unexpected decision. Jack knew him so well that he was right in deciding that his hesitancy of manner was caused by his doubt whether he should insist upon his friends starting at once, or allow them to defer it until morning. "What's the trouble, Docak?" asked the sailor, now that the subject was broached; "I never saw you look so scared--" At that moment the dismal cry of a wolf reached their ears, quickly followed by others. The gaunt creatures that seem born ravenously hungry, and always remain so, had scented the rich feast that awaited them on the plateau, and were hurrying thither from all directions. Soon nothing would be left but the bones of the game brought down by the rifles of the hunters. Rob and Fred naturally concluded the moment these sounds were identified that it was because of them the native was frightened, he having discovered them before the rest; but Jack knew it was from some other reason. He saw nothing alarming in the approach of a pack of wild animals. The four were well armed, they had a fire, were in a cavern, and could stand off all the wolves in Greenland for a time at least. "No, it isn't that," muttered the sailor; "but if he doesn't choose to tell I sha'n't coax him." CHAPTER XXIV UNWELCOME CALLERS Within the following fifteen minutes it seemed as if a thousand wolves had arrived on the plateau, and were fighting, feasting, snarling, and rending the bodies of the musk oxen to fragments. They were far enough removed from the cavern for the inmates to hear each other readily, while discussing the curious occurrence. The boys could not contemplate a visit from the ravening beasts with the indifference of their companions. To them it seemed that the brutes would be rendered ten-fold fiercer by their taste of blood, and would not stop until they had devoured them. "Do you think they will visit us?" asked Rob of Docak. The latter was standing in the middle of the cavern, in the attitude of listening. He nodded his head, and replied: "Yes--eat ox--den come here." "If that is so I think we ought to prepare for them," suggested Fred, who shared the nervousness of his friend. "How can we prepare more than we're prepared now?" asked Jack; "they've got to come in that opening one at a time, and it will be fun for us to set back here and pick 'em off." "Provided they don't crowd in so fast that we can't do it." "With four guns, I reckon we oughter take care of ourselves." "Dere fire, too," remarked the Esquimau, jerking his head in the direction of the flames. "Ah, I forgot that," said Rob, with a sigh of relief, recalling the dread which all animals have of fire. Indeed, he felt certain at the moment that the burning wood would prove far more effective than their weapons in keeping off the wolves. It would be supposed that the bodies on the plateau were enough to keep the brutes occupied for a long time, and to afford them a meal sufficient to satisfy them for the night; but who ever saw a wolf when not ravenously hungry? They howled, and snarled, and fought, and pressed around the carcasses in such numbers that, when only the bones remained, it may be said that their appetites were but fairly whetted, and they were more eager than ever after additional prey. Fully a score, in their keenness of scent, had been quick to strike the trail of the surviving musk oxen that had fled from the hot fire of the hunters. The scent was the more easily followed since a couple of the animals had been wounded, and there can be little doubt that all fell before the ferocity of their assailants, though the musk ox makes a brave fight ere he succumbs to those cowardly creatures. Darting hither and yon, with their pointed snouts skimming over the ground, it was not Long before several struck the footprints of the party that had taken refuge in the cavern. A dozen or, perhaps, a score would not have dared attack them had they not been inflamed by the taste of food already secured. As it was, they were aroused to that point that they were ready to assail any foe that could help to satisfy their voracity. "Here they come!" exclaimed Rob Carrol, springing to his feet, with rifle ready. "Yes--dey come--dat so." While the native was speaking he stood motionless, but with inimitable dexterity brought his gun to a level, and, apparently without any aim at all, let drive into the pack crowding toward the entrance to the cavern. No aim was necessary, for the wolves pressed so close that no one person could fail to bring down one at least of them. Amid the snarling and growling rang out a single sharp yelp, which proved that some member of the pack was "hit hard." Whether struck mortally or not made no difference, for the moment blood appeared upon him his comrades fell upon him with unspeakable ferocity and tore him limb from limb. The shot had the effect, too, of driving them away from the entrance for a brief while, but they speedily returned, crowding so far forward that their eyes, lank jaws, and noses showed plainly in the reflection of the firelight. It was evident that the shot of the Esquimau produced no permanent effect upon them. It may have been, indeed, that they wished for a second that it might afford them the pretext for feasting upon another of their fellow-citizens. But the fire was burning brightly, and they dreaded that. So long as it was going and the hunters kept close to the flame, they were safe against the fangs of the wolves. "That's too good a chance to be lost," remarked Rob, discharging his rifle among the animals. Fred was but a moment behind him, so that two, if not more, of the brutes were slain and afforded an appetizer for the rest. Docak had lost no time in ramming another charge into his gun, while Jack Cosgrove held his fire, as if expecting some emergency, when a quick shot was likely to be necessary. "It don't strike me as a good thing for all our guns to be empty at the same time," was his sensible remark, "so s'pose we take turns in banging into 'em." "Dat right--dat good," commented the Esquimau, and the boys promised to follow the suggestion. The scene at this time was striking. Looking toward the entrance to the cavern, nothing could be observed but the fronts of the fierce animals, all fighting desperately to get at the opening, all eager beyond expression to reach the serene hunters within, but restrained by the glowing fire beyond, to which they dared not go. Quick to note their dread of this element, the boys became more composed, though both could not help thinking how it would be if there were no fire. The fuel if judiciously used was sufficient to last until daylight, by which time the courage of the brutes would ooze away to that extent that they would be likely to withdraw. But the party could not spend all their time in the cavern, and, if attacked on the open plain, it would require the hardest kind of fighting to beat off their assailants. "But what is the use of speculating about the future?" Rob asked himself, as, seeing that it was his turn, he drove another bullet among the brutes, doubling up one like a jack-knife, while his comrades proceeded to "undouble" him in the usual style. "Suppose," said Fred, "we should keep this up until we killed a hundred, wouldn't the rest have enough to eat by that time?" "No," replied Jack, who had seen the animals before; "the rest of 'em would be as hungry as ever after eating 'em. You may keep the thing going till there is only two left, and then shoot one of 'em; the other will gulp him down in a dozen mouthfuls, and then lick his chops and whine for more." Docak looked at his friend and grinned at this graphic illustration of the voracity of the lupus species. However, it was quite clear that our friends were wasting a good deal of ammunition, which might be needed before their return. So they seated themselves on the floor of the cavern near the fire, that was kept going with moderate vigor, and exchanging a few words now and then as the turmoil permitted, they sent a shot into the pack, when some of the foremost ventured to thrust their snouts too far into the cavern. "If they only had sense enough to combine into one rush," said Fred, "they could wipe us out in a twinkling." "That's just what they would do if it wasn't for the fire," was the reply of his friend; "but it does seem to me that they must get tired after awhile." "I can't detect any signs of it yet. Let me try something." Catching a brand from the fire, Rob whirled it about his head until it was fanned into a roaring blaze, when he hurled it right among the howling horde. The scampering that followed was laughable. In a second or two not a wolf was visible, and only the smoking torch lay on the ground where it had fallen just outside the entrance. It was expected they would soon return, and some of them did sneak back within a short distance, but the smoldering brand was a terror to them so long as it held any life, and they waited until it was utterly extinguished before venturing closer. Meanwhile, Docak showed such disquiet and concern over something else that Jack Cosgrove, well knowing it must be serious, determined to force him to an explanation, for he had racked his brain in vain to think what grisly dread was looming in front of them. CHAPTER XXV THE COMING SHADOW Docak, the Esquimau, had no wish to affect any mystery as to the cause of his misgiving. He had not mentioned it of his own accord, because he was debating in his mind which of two courses to adopt: to remain longer in the cavern or to set out at once for his home on the coast. It may be said that except for the appearance of the wolves he would have insisted that the start should be made without delay, and pushed with the utmost vigor until their destination was reached. But this was not to be thought of under the circumstances. To venture outside the cavern was to invite an instant attack by the brutes who were in that state that they possessed a daring foreign to their nature. Docak explained that an alarming change of weather was at hand. He knew the signs so well that there was no mistake on his part. As he had promised, it was not in the nature of a thaw or rising temperature, but may be explained by that expressive word with which the reader is familiar--blizzard. Whoever has gone through one of those frightful visitations will never forget it. That one of a few years ago was so general throughout our country that the memory must remain through life with us. But a blizzard in the Arctic regions is a terror, indeed. It meant in the present instance a snowstorm that might last for days, a hurricane of wind, and a temperature of such fearful cold that would consume almost like fire. With several feet of snow on the surface of that which now covered the ground, and too fine to bear the weight of the lightest animal, with the air white with billions of particles, eddying, whirling, and flying hither and thither, so that one could not see a step in advance--with the gale careering like a demon across the snowy wastes--the strongest hunter might well shrink from attempting a journey one-tenth of that which lay between them and the coast. When Jack suggested that Docak might be mistaken, he shook his head so decisively that it sent a chill through the boys, who were watching his dusky countenance and listening to his words. Such a man spoke that whereof he knew. He would hold out hope, if he had justification for doing so, but he saw none. That the blizzard was at hand, that it was already careering from the far North and must speedily arrive, was as good as demonstrated. The only chance that Docak saw was that it might prove of shorter duration than he feared. If it should last no more than twelve or possibly twenty-four hours, they might struggle through it, without serious consequences, but if beyond that (as he was almost certain it would be), there was little hope. However, since they must stay where they were until the following morning, preparations were made for spending the night, which, it will be borne in mind, was by no means as long as many which they have at certain seasons in the high latitudes. It was decided that Rob should sit up until midnight and then awake Fred, who, after standing guard for several hours, would arouse Jack to take charge until daylight. Inasmuch as this was the Esquimau's own proposition, which, as will be perceived, relieved him of duty for any part of the night, the others understood its significance. He was reserving himself for the time when there was likely to be more urgent need of his services. No comment was made on the fact, and the simple preparations were quickly finished. Docak added a caution to his friends that they should be as sparing as possible in the use of the fuel. They had already consumed a moiety of it, and the approach of the blizzard would render it valuable beyond estimate. Enough only to hold the wolves at a safe distance was to be burned. Thus it came about that an hour later Rob Carrol was the only one awake in the cavern. The others were huddled together on the bear skin, quietly sleeping, while he kept off drowsiness by pacing slowly back and forth over the brief space within. "It's getting colder," he said to himself more than once; "I had a hope that Docak might be wrong, but he isn't; we shall catch it within a few hours. This is a bad place to be snowed up." He glanced continually toward the entrance, for he could not forget the wolves which were the indirect cause of their coming peril. They seemed, in spite of the disgusted remarks of Jack, to have become satisfied that nothing was to be gained by hovering about the refuge. So many of their comrades had fallen, and the fire burned so persistently, that the others must have felt a certain degree of discouragement. Now and then a howl echoed among the desolate hills, with a strange power, and was immediately answered by scores from as many different points, but there was no such eager crowding as marked the first appearance of the brutes. Rob glanced repeatedly at the opening without seeing one of them. But the youth was too wise to be caught off his guard. He allowed the fire to smolder until the figures of his friends were only barely visible in the gloom, and his own form became shadowy, as it slowly moved back and forth over the floor of the cavern, with his rifle ready for instant use. He heard a soft tip tipping on the snow, and there was no mistaking its meaning. "They're there," he said, peering outward in the gloom and listening intently, "and are as watchful for a chance as ever." Turning toward the crevice which admitted light, and was too straight to allow the smallest wolf to pass through, he caught the glow of a pair of eyes. They were motionless, and the wolf evidently was studying the interior with a view of learning the prospect for an excursion within. The temptation to fire was strong, but the eyes noiselessly vanished before the gun could be brought to a level. Rob stood intently listening. He heard the stealthy footsteps pass along the side of the cavern toward the front, and he moved in that direction, but placed himself at one side, so as to be out of sight of any one looking directly into the mouth. He had not long to wait, when the same keenness of ear told him that the brute was cautiously entering. The fire was smoldering lower than ever, the brand at the entrance had died out long before, and no one could be seen on guard. The brute must have made up his mind that he had "struck it rich." In his selfishness he did not summon his friends to the feast, but resolved to devour the four persons all by himself, and that, too, after having had his full share of the musk ox and his fallen friends! There was just enough light in the cavern for Rob to note everything. Being at one side of the entrance, he could not be detected by the sneaking brute, which also was invisible to him. He must come further forward before they could discern each other. The wolf, one of the largest of his species, stood just outside with his ears pricked, his head raised, and his eyes roaming over the interior. Everything looked promising, but he had learned to be suspicious of those bipeds, whose hands were always against them. He stood in this attitude for several minutes, as stationary as if carved in stone. Then he lifted one of his fore-feet, held it suspended, as though he were pointing game, and then advanced a couple of steps. This brought him far enough into the cavern for the lad to see the end of his nose, but the beast still failed to detect that shadow at one side of the entrance that was calmly awaiting the critical moment. But he saw the dimly outlined forms near the smoldering fire, and licked his chops in anticipation. Nothing could be more favorable for the grandest feast of his life. [Illustration: THE WOLF LICKED HIS CHOPS IN ANTICIPATION (See page 232)] At that moment a howl rent the air at no great distance. It must have startled this prowler, and told him that, if he delayed his meal any longer, he must share it with an unlimited number. He started on a silent walk, straight for the forms, heedless of the figure that had pointed the rifle at him, while he was yet out of sight. All was like the tomb until the gun was fired. Then since the muzzle almost touched the brute, why--enough has been said. CHAPTER XXVI WALLED IN By daybreak, when all the party were awake, the blizzard foretold by the native had fully arrived. It was a terror, indeed. The cold was frightful, and the air outside was white with snow, which was driven horizontally by the hurricane, as though shot from the mouths of myriad pieces of ordnance. It shrieked about the cavern, and drove the white particles so fiercely through the narrow crevice that Docak hastened to shove his bear-skin into it. This only partially filled the opening and the snow spun in around it clean across the flinty floor. The regular entrance was partly protected by its own projection, but, at times, a blast entered that fairly took away their breath. The fire was necessary to keep from freezing, but the supply of fuel was growing low, and the last stick must soon be reached. What then would be the fate of the party if the blizzard continued? It was useless to discuss the future and no one did so; the present was with them, and the question was how to live from hour to hour. On shooting the intruding wolf, Rob had flung his carcass away. The report awakened the others, and, rising to his feet, Docak passed far enough outside to bring it in again. He did not speak, but all understood the meaning of the action; that body might be the means of saving them from starvation. Enough of the previous night's meal remained to afford a nourishing breakfast, but they partook sparingly, preferring to use that in preference to the new supply. Happily thirst was a torture that need never be apprehended. Jack Cosgrove braved the blast to that degree that he forced himself through the opening and stood several minutes outside, shading his eyes and striving to pierce the blinding turmoil. All in vain. The gale almost carried him off his feet, and his vision could no more penetrate the furious swirl of snow than if it were the darkest night that ever covered the earth. The cold was so piercing that he was glad to hasten back among his friends, and shiver and crouch over the fire. "By the great horned spoon, Docak! s'pose we had started for home last night?" "Wish had," was the sententious response. "Why, we wouldn't have been half-way there by this time, and we would have perished all together." "We trabel fast--mebbe storm not dere yet." This intimation that the blizzard might be less terrific at so slight a distance was incredible, but the Esquimau was positive that it would have been far better had they set out early in the evening. By rapid traveling they might have covered the greater part of the distance before morning, and could have fought the few remaining miles in the teeth of the gale. But it was equally useless to discuss what might have been. They were imprisoned in the cavern, thirty miles from succor and with no possibility that any friends would ever take the trouble to search for their bodies. All they could do was to rely upon Heaven and their own exertions. Without any explanation as to his intentions, and leaving his gun behind him, the native plunged through the opening and disappeared in the blizzard outside. Born and reared in Greenland, amid Arctic snows and appalling tempests, the hardy Esquimau was far better fitted to undergo such trials of endurance than could be any native of a temperate clime. "Where do you suppose he has gone?" asked Rob, wonderingly. "I don't know," replied Jack; "but if he goes far he'll never come back again." "It doesn't seem to me," said Fred, coming to the question of the present for the first time, "that the outlook is as bad as he would make us believe." "Why not?" "We have enough food to last a week or two, or even longer, and the blizzard certainly won't keep it up that long." "You can't be sartin about that," said Jack; "it may last for several weeks, but s'pose it's only for three or four days, there are two big things that we must face." "What are they?" "What to do after it stops; the snow will be several feet deep on top of that which is now on the ground; it will be too fine and soft to bear our weight, and can be traveled over only with snow-shoes which we haven't got. How then are we going to fight our way thirty miles through it?" "It will be a hard job, but no greater than that which many explorers have undergone. With Docak as our guide, I think we can pull through." "But what is the other matter you refer to?" asked Rob. "This wood will soon go, and then how are we going to keep from freezing to death?" "If we will huddle together as closely as we can with the bear-skin wrapped about us I think we can stand it." "I like the way you chaps talk," said the sailor, admiringly, "and if we have to go down we'll do so with colors flying. It's the downheartedness of Docak that knocks me askew; if he would show a braver front I would feel better." "Possibly he is more hopeful than he pretends." "No, he isn't that sort of chap; he knows better than we just what all this means. Whew!" The exclamation was caused by a sudden outburst that sent the snow whirling through the opening and the crevice, from which the bear-skin dropped, as if struck a blow from the other side. Jack ran forward, picked it up, and thrust it back, hardly able to breathe from the fury of the gale in his face. The snow shot through the opening, too, scattering the brands of fire in every direction. Had the shelter been anything else excepting the solid rock that it was, it must have been swept like chaff from its foundations. The explosion, as it may be called, lasted but a minute or so. The boys hastily gathered up the scattered brands and flinging them together they were fanned by the tempest into a vigorous flame, whose warmth, slight as it was, was grateful beyond measure to the three gathered around it. "Docak is wrong in regretting that we did not start last night," said Jack Cosgrove; "that style of storm is raging at this moment over hundreds of miles, and it would have made short work of us." "What about the 'Nautilus,' if she is in it?" "She can manage it if she has plenty of sea room, but I hope she is far enough off to dodge this blizzard. She ought to be at any rate." The gale did the party an unexpected favor. It was a substantial one, too, which they appreciated. It drove the snow against the troublesome crevice with such fury that it quickly formed a solid bank, extending far above it. This ended the drifting of the particles inside and protected them from the cutting wind. At the same time it did something of the same nature with the entrance, where it soon became banked to that extent that little blew within, and the gale hardly disturbed them. Seeing what had taken place, Jack withdrew the bear-skin from where it had been stuffed into the opening and spread it in the farthermost corner of the cavern. "Come, my hearties," said he, cheerfully, "we've got nothing to do but to make ourselves comfortable. We won't burn any more wood till Docak comes back." They huddled together, and, though the cold made their teeth chatter and their bodies shiver, they found considerable relief and were willing to hope on. They could feel no anxiety about the absent native. It was certain he would not go far enough from the cavern to endanger his safety or to imperil his return. Some definite object must have led him forth. "I wonder if it is for food," suggested Fred. "No; for there's no possibility that the wolves left anything," replied Rob; "and then, too, we have enough to last a good while." At that moment there was a flurry at the entrance and the Esquimau, resembling a snow man, stooped and pushed his way in. Entering, he flung a half-dozen small sticks upon the tiny pile at the side of the cavern. He had gone forth in quest of fuel and was able to secure only that miserable supply, really not worth taking into account. CHAPTER XXVII "COME ON!" The Esquimau's depression continued. After flinging down the few bits of wood he looked across the cavern to where the friends were huddled together, but did not speak. Then he glanced at the crevice, now so completely blocked with snow that they were protected against any more drifting in upon them. The three respected his silence, and held their peace. He stood a minute or two, looking gloomily into the fire, which he replenished, partly from the scant supply he had brought. While it was gaining strength he drew his knife, deftly cut a number of pieces from the frozen body of the wolf, and proceeded to cook them over the blaze. Had he been alone he would have devoured them raw, but he knew the sentiments of his companions. "Well, Docak," said Jack, feeling that the silence ought not to continue, "it looks as if we are in for a long stay. We shall have enough to keep us alive a good while, and, when you're ready, you can come and snuggle down beside us." "Not now," he replied, continuing his culinary work, with what seemed a wasteful disregard of fuel until he was through. When nothing more remained worth attention he held up a piece, considerably scorched, and, looking at the others, asked: "Eat now?" "No; we'll wait till morning," replied Rob, speaking for the rest. "All right." But he was not disposed to wait if they were. He made quite a meal, with as much evident enjoyment as if it had been upon the choicest part of the musk ox. He took care, however, to leave a good supply against the "rainy day" that he felt no doubt would come to them all. The dismal day wore slowly away, and with a feeling of unutterable loneliness they saw the second night of their enforced stay in the cavern close around them. The cold seemed to intensify with the approach of darkness, and the supply of wood had grown so slight that the warmth was barely perceptible. The blizzard raged with unabated fury. The gale shrieked around the rocks, the blinding snow whirled and eddied until it seemed that it must bury them out of sight, and the outlook was woeful enough to chill the bravest heart. The three in the corner adhered to their resolution not to eat any of the food prepared before the morrow. They might need it then to aid their systems in withstanding the terrific strain, but, as in the case of the bear on the iceberg, it must be the last resort. The Esquimau declined their invitation to join them in the corner. He was thickly clad, and was so accustomed to the rigors of the Arctic winter that he needed no such help. He seated himself near by, and talked a little, until, at a late hour, troubled sleep settled over all. A gleam of hope came with the break of day. Docak was the first to awake, and, without disturbing the others, he forced his way through the entrance and took a survey of the weather and his surroundings. The blizzard was over. The fall of snow had ceased, little wind was stirring, but the cold was terrible. Toughened as he was, he shrank when first exposed to it. The party had been walled in so tightly that the warmth of their bodies was of more help than would be suspected. Quick to note the change in the weather the native studied the sky with its numerous signs in the effort to learn what was likely to come in the near future. Great as was his skill at this it was now taxed to the utmost. The sun was not visible, and the difficulty became the greater; but he tarried until he had perfected his theory. The discouraging feature which the native saw about the matter was that the blizzard had ceased for a time only. He believed it would soon resume its fury, fully as great, if not greater than before, and it might continue for days and possibly weeks. If, when that time should come, it found them in the cavern they were doomed beyond the power of mortal man to save themselves. But the prospect was equally hopeless, if the lull lasted only a few hours, for, when it should break forth again it would overtake them in the open plain (provided they made the start he had in mind), where no screen against its resistless power could be secured. It should be understood that Docak's solicitude was on account of his friends. Had he been alone he would not have hesitated to set out for the coast, and with every reason, too, to believe he could make it, even, if the battle of the elements were renewed when but a small part of the way thither. But he had three others in charge, and it was hard to decide whether to urge them to make the attempt now or wait awhile, in the hope that he could settle with certainty the extent of the cessation of the blizzard. The additional snow was between two and three feet deep, where it had not been drifted by the gale. With the help of snow-shoes it would have been an easy matter to skim over it, but there were no snow-shoes to be had, as has been shown, the new fall was of such fine character that they would sink its full depth when essaying to walk upon it. When he turned about and re-entered the cavern his friends were astir. Their appetites had assumed that edge that they eagerly attacked some of the meat prepared the night before. The few embers had been stirred into a sickly blaze, but not another stick remained. The warmth was only perceptible when the chilled hands were held almost against it. The Esquimau smiled grimly when he saw what they were doing, but with the reticence that had marked his course since refuge was taken in the cavern, he held his peace. Jack greeted him pleasantly, and he nodded in return, and then again passed outside. The sailor and lads had peeped after him, and discovered that the fall of snow was over, and the wind was not blowing. This gave them considerable hope, inasmuch as they were unable to read its full meaning like the native. "It's easy enough to see what he has on his mind," remarked Jack. "What is it?" queried Rob. "He is considering whether we shall make a start now for the coast or wait awhile longer." "What's the use of waiting," asked Rob, "when it can't be any better and may grow worse? The snow that has fallen will stay where it is for months, so we can gain nothing there. I'm in favor of starting for home while it is yet morning." "That's the way it strikes me, but he'll make up his mind, and whatever he says we'll do. He isn't in the mood to take any advice from us; I never seed him so glum before." "We're quite well protected," added Fred, who was eager to be off if that should be the decision; "we have the thickest kind of clothing, heavy shoes, and warm undergarments. Then we mustn't forget that when we start through the snow the labor will help to warm us. Fact is, I don't understand why Docak hesitates." The Esquimau used less time than they supposed in reaching his conclusion. But, with a view of giving him a hint of their wishes, Jack and the boys prepared themselves as if it had been settled that they should venture at once upon the perilous attempt. They carefully adjusted their clothing, tying the lower parts of their trousers about their ankles, so as to keep out the snow, buttoned their heavy coats to their chins, pulled up the collars more carefully, and fixed their caps in place, though all this had been done to a certain extent before. When nothing remained they ranged themselves in a row beside the entrance and awaited the appearance of their guide. He came in the course of a few minutes. He started slightly when he read the meaning of it all. "We're ready," said Jack, with a smile. "All right--we go--foller me--come on!" and he led the way out, and they turned their backs on the cavern forever. CHAPTER XXVIII A HOPELESS TASK A fearful task confronted the little party. Thirty miles of snow, several feet deep, lay between them and their only haven of refuge, and they were without sled or snow-shoe. If they succeeded in their prodigious task, it must be done by sheer strength and the power of continued desperation. But, with compressed lips and the resolution to do or die, they bent to the work without faltering. The Esquimau naturally took the lead to break the way so far as he could; Jack Cosgrove came next, then Rob Carrol, while Fred Warburton brought up the rear. The first move that the native made proved he was a veteran. He plunged in, following the decline down to the plateau, which was the scene of their adventures two days before. He walked like one who had only an ordinary tramp before him. In truth, he could have gone faster and done better, but he accommodated himself to his friends, to whom the labor was new and trying to a degree. None spoke for a long time. It requires strength to do even so slight a thing as that, and no one had an ounce to spare. The question that was uppermost in the minds of the three was whether they would be able to hold out to the end. "I don't see why we can't," reflected Fred, who, being at the rear, had an easier task than any of the others; "it would be well enough if we had snow-shoes, but neither Jack nor Rob nor I can use them, and we would flounder around a good deal worse than we are doing now and likely enough wouldn't get ahead at all." The meditations of Rob Carrol were of a similar strain. "I've seen better fun than this, but it beats staying in the cavern and freezing to death on wolf steak. I believe I'm strong enough to see the business through; I hope Fred won't give out, for he isn't as strong as Jack and I. I believe Docak enjoys it. Gracious! if I ever live to get out of this outlandish country, I'll never set foot in it again. I haven't lost any North Pole, and those that think they have can do their own hunting for it." The sun still remained obscured, and the wonder of the three was how their guide kept his bearings, after debouching from the highlands and entering upon the broad, undulating plain which stretched away to Davis Strait and Baffin's Bay. There was no misgiving, however, in that respect. Docak could not go astray, or, at least, if there was any likelihood of his doing so, not one of his friends was able to help him. As the boys had anticipated, the labor of walking in this difficult fashion soon generated a warmth in their bodies that was a vast comfort, after sitting benumbed and shivering so long in the cavern. Despite the extreme cold they felt no discomfort, for the air was quite dry, and less trying, therefore, than a damp atmosphere would have been, even though twenty-five degrees higher. But it is in such an Arctic climate that one can have his limbs or a portion of his body hopelessly frozen without suspecting it. All were so effectually protected that only a small portion of their faces, their eyes, and tips of their noses were exposed. The bear-skin, which has been referred to as belonging to Docak, was carried by him after his usual manner. He would have offered it to his friends in turn, had he not known that it would soon have become a burden which he could carry better than they. Jack, who trod close on the heels of the Esquimau, was admiring the sturdy manner in which he plowed through the snow, his labor being much greater than any one of those who followed him, when the native turned his head and scanned his face with curious intensity. Pausing for the moment in his labor, he leaned to one side, and did the same to the others. His act was all the more singular since he did not speak. The lads smiled under their head-coverings, but their faces were so wrapped up that the relaxation of the features could not be perceived. "I wonder why he did that," thought all three. "The chap has been acting curious ever since this trouble began," continued the sailor, "and I wouldn't be s'prised if he's just a little off." "Can it be," asked Rob, following up a whimsical idea, "that he fears we aren't ourselves? He has started out to take us to the seacoast, and doesn't mean that anybody else shall rope himself in on him. I guess he's satisfied, though we're so covered up that our nearest friends wouldn't know us." For fully an hour the party toiled on, and all, with the exception of the leader, began to feel the effects of the severe exertion. Still, no one protested or asked for rest; each determined to keep it up, if possible, until the leader chose to halt. But Docak did not forget them. At the end of the time named he turned about, and, with something of his old pleasantry, said: "Much tired--wait while--den go on." Each of the boys longed to ask him what he thought of the prospect of getting through, but forebore, recalling his moodiness, which might be still upon him despite his present manner. "I think we're doing quite well, Docak," said Jack; "it's a little hard, but we can take a breathing spell now and then, and keep at it till we strike your home." Had the Esquimau made any response to this half-inquiring remark the sailor would have followed it up, but he did not. On the contrary, he was busy studying the sky and the surrounding landscape, doubtless with a view of determining what weather changes impended. The others did the same, but though Jack had learned a good deal of the science at sea he was now at a loss. The dull, leaden sky, so obscured that it was impossible to tell in what part of the heavens the sun was, told him nothing beyond the fact that more snow was likely to fall before many hours. As the best thing that could be done, the friends studied the actions of the Esquimau. The result of his survey was not satisfactory--that was clear. He shook his head and muttered something in his own language, which had anything but a pleasant effect on the others. The scene was one of utter loneliness and desolation. North, east, south, and west stretched the snowy plain, unrelieved by tree, house, or sign of a living creature. Far up in the sky sounded the honk of some wild fowl, and, looking aloft, a line of black specks could be seen, sailing swiftly southward through space, as if to escape the Arctic cold that would soon smother everything in its icy embrace. The rest was barely ten minutes, when Docak, looking at his companions, asked: "Be rested? We go on?" "Yes; we're ready," replied Jack. "All right--work hard now--don't get tired." "I won't, if I can help it; but the only way I know of is to stand still, which don't pay in this kind of business." The Esquimau bent to his work, as if striving for a wager. He had a way not only of stepping down in the soft snow, but of shoving it partly aside from his path. It would have been the severest kind of labor for anyone else, and it is hard to understand how he managed it so well. It was a great help to the one immediately behind him. Jack would have been glad to lighten the task for the boys, but that was out of his power, and he wasted no strength in the attempt. The party was becoming accustomed to the work. That the guide was aware of this was proven when he kept at it fully twice as long as before. They were going slowly--very slowly--but there was comfort in the consciousness that every step taken was toward safety, and the task before them was lessened, even to that small extent. At the moment the boys were beginning to think it about time another halt was called, Docak stopped in his former abrupt way, and, leaning to one side, peered into each face in turn. Something in Fred's appearance caught his attention, and, with an exclamation, he sprang out of the path, and hurried back to where the lad stood, wondering what was the matter with the fellow. CHAPTER XXIX TEN MILES Docak, when flurried, generally forgot his broken English, and spoke in his own tongue. Before Fred could divine his intention he had slipped off one of his mittens, grasped a handful of snow, and throwing one arm about the boy's neck, began rubbing his nose as though he meant to rub it out of existence. The watchful native was on the watch for the first sign of freezing in the case of his companions, and, discovering that the youngest member was becoming a victim without himself or friends suspecting it, he resorted to heroic measures, with no unnecessary delay. Fred understood what it all meant, and, like the sensible boy he was, submitted with good grace, though the vigorous handling to which that organ was subjected made it hard for him to keep from protesting. Not only that, but, when the Esquimau, pausing to inspect his work, said: "All right," Fred thanked him. Jack and Rob, who looked grinningly on, while the performance lasted, now asked Docak whether they were in need of a similar manipulation. He took another look at the faces, and gave Rob's a slight rubbing, but said nothing more was needed. It was a piece of thoughtfulness on the part of the native, for which he deserved to receive gratitude. But for him Fred Warburton, and probably the others, would have suffered injuries from which they never could have recovered. Having rested but a brief while, Docak moved on, and the dismal procession wound its way slowly through the snow, which clogged their feet and obstructed their path to that extent that more than once the hardy guide had to come to a full halt that he might decide in what way to flank the obstacle. The blizzard had played fantastic tricks with the snow. In many places it was drifted to a depth of six or eight feet, through which, as may be supposed, it was the severest labor to force a path. In others, again, it had swept the crust entirely clear of the new layer, so that they walked as easily as when making their way from the coast. Unfortunately, these bare places, as they may be called, were not only few and far apart, but of such slight extent that their aid counted for little. There is nothing more cheering than the certainty that we are approaching our goal, even though the rate of progress is more tardy than we wish. As the afternoon drew to a close Fred was positive they had made fully twenty miles. Rob believed it was more, but, to be on the safe side, fell in with his friend's figures. When Jack was appealed to he declined to hazard a guess, saying he preferred to wait till the halt for the night, when he would leave it to Docak. "He'll tell you within a quarter of a mile," added the sailor, "and he won't make a mistake. I can let you know one thing, howsumever, my hearties, and that is that you'll find it a good deal less than you think." "I don't know about that," said Rob; "Fred and I have calculated the matter pretty closely." "You may think so, but you haven't. We have worked hard enough to tramp a hundred miles, but we haven't been able to use it in the best way." Another fact, which might mean a good deal or little, was that a marked moderation in the temperature took place in the course of the afternoon. What this portended was left to the Esquimau to determine. Toiling through the snow was not favorable to conversation, and it was dropped. With only short halts the party pushed onward, until night began settling over the dreary landscape. They would have kept on had not the darkness been impenetrable. The sun had not shown itself during the day, and the obscurity was so dense that not a solitary star twinkled overhead. "Besides," as the boys concluded, "the rest of the distance is so brief that we can afford to leave it until morning, by which time we will be fully rested. Inasmuch as it is necessary to pass a night on the road, one spot is as good as another." Camping at such times is simple. They were in the middle of a snowy waste, without tree or rock to shelter. Starting a fire, of course, was out of the question. A slight wind was blowing, and though less rigorous than that of the preceding night, it was necessary to protect themselves from its force while they were idle. For a few minutes Docak acted like a man seized with convulsions or the St. Vitus' dance. He leaped about, kicked, and swung his arms, the snow flying in a storm from him, until, at the end of a few minutes, he had scooped out a bowl-like space, large enough to hold the party. In doing this he cleared the way down to the lower crust only, which was strong enough to bear their weight. To have dug to the ground would have been too laborious, and no special advantage was to be gained by doing so. This completed, he carefully spread his bear-skin on the hard surface, and the four seated themselves back to back. They had camped for the night. The discomforts of this primitive method were less than would be supposed. There is warmth in snow, as you are well aware, cold being a negative existence, and, so long as they were below the surface, they could not be reached by the wind that swept across the dismal waste. Then, too, the change in the temperature was in the right direction as affecting their comfort, so there was little fear of suffering before morning. When they were adjusted for the night, Rob asked the question of Docak which had been in his mind for hours: "How far have we got toward home?" Fred was confident the answer would be twenty miles; while Rob was quite hopeful it would be more. Judge, therefore, their consternation when the reply struck their ears: "Purty near ten mile--not quite--purty near." The hopes of the boys sank to zero. Jack, knowing they had placed their estimate too high, still believed it greater than was the fact. Ten miles! Barely a third of the distance between the cavern and the first place that could offer refuge. They had used a day in advancing thus far. At that rate two more days, and possibly nights, remained ere the terrible task would be ended. They had eaten the last mouthful before starting, leaving behind some food which they might have brought, but which was not deemed necessary. It was not the prospect of hunger that appalled them. In such a severe climate they could go a couple of days without food, and not suffer greatly, though the draught upon their strength would be trying to the last degree. The great question was whether the task they had essayed was a possible one. Recalling the terrific exertions of the day, their exhaustion, and the repeated rests that were necessary, they might well doubt their ability, though it need not be said there was no thought of giving up so long as life and strength held out. "Ten miles," repeated Fred Warburton; "are the Esquimau miles the same as our English, or aren't they double their length?" "I don't know about that," said Rob; "they must get their ideas from the Danes, who have a system of measurement different from ours, but it don't matter in this instance." "Why not?" "When we set out, and after reaching the hills, Docak told us we were thirty miles from home; he tells us now that we are ten miles less." "Not quite ten mile--purty near," interrupted the native. "Well, calling it ten miles, we have come about one-third of the way to the coast. No matter what system of measurement is followed we can't figure out that we have gone further than that." "And not quite that far," suggested Jack, who was not less disappointed than they, but was quicker to rally. "It isn't the thing calculated to make a chap feel good to learn a thing like that," he added; "but all we've got to do is to buckle down to it and we'll get there one of these days, with fair sailing and no more squalls." "It is those squalls or blizzards, Jack, that are the real danger before us." It was Rob who made this remark, and his friends knew he spoke the truth. CHAPTER XXX THE LAST PAUSE The night slowly settled over the snow waste, and the little party, feeling no discomfort because of the cold, gradually sank into unconsciousness. Just before slumber weighed down their eye-lids the dismal howl of a wolf echoed faintly across the plain. All heard it, and Jack and the boys believed that one of the brutes had struck the trail of the hunters, and would soon be hot upon it, with an eager pack at his heels. Jack asked the Esquimau whether they ought not to prepare for a fight, but he replied that there were no preparations to make. Each had his loaded gun and a good supply of ammunition; they could fight as well there as in any other place. Docak showed no trepidation of voice and manner, and his coolness had a good effect upon the others. They were sure that, if there was any cause for alarm, he would feel it. This confidence proved well placed; for that single cry was all that reached their ears. They slept, and were not molested. But sometime during the night the fine snow began sifting downward, falling so gently that even the Esquimau was not disturbed. Through the long gloomy hours it silently descended, until when the daylight stole over the desolate plain, fully six inches had been added to the mass that covered the earth long before. Sitting nearly upright and back to back, the pressure upon the sleepers was so slight and gradual that no discomfort resulted. All were so worn out that their slumber was profound, doubtless lasting as long as it would have done had no such snowfall taken place. It was Jack Cosgrove who first opened his eyes, and his amazement may be imagined when he saw their laps buried out of sight, only the outlines of their limbs showing, while head and shoulders were weighted down with the feathery mass. "By the great horned spoon!" he called, shaking himself free and rising to his feet, with such a flurry that the others were aroused; "wake up, for we're all snowed under, and, if we wait a few minutes longer, we'll be buried clean out of sight." "What's the matter?" called Rob, being the next to climb to his feet; "has the snow tumbled in on us?" "Yes; and more of it is tumbling every minute." Docak was astonished that he had not been the first to awake, for his mind was burdened with anxiety for the rest. He forgot that, inasmuch as his labors had been far greater than theirs, his weariness of body was in more need of rest. "What time be it?" he asked of the boys, who carried watches. The answer showed that day had dawned more than two hours before. He sighed at the knowledge of the precious time wasted. Harder work than ever was before them, and when night came again they might count themselves fortunate if one-half the remaining distance was accomplished. Rising to their feet, with their heads above the surface, they found the snow falling so fast that they could not see fifty feet in any direction. "How can Docak keep his bearings?" asked Rob, in a low voice, of the others, when the native, walking a few feet, paused and looked earnestly about him. "It doesn't seem to me that it is any harder for him to do so than it was yesterday when there was no snow falling." "There is a big difference. We couldn't have done any better in the one case than the other, but he could see the sky. He knew where the sun was, though we did not; and there must have been something in the looks of the landscape to help, but there is none of that now." "I can give you the right answer to Fred's question," said Jack, in the same guarded undertone. "What is it?" "When you ask whether Docak can keep the p'ints of the compass in his mind, and make sure that he is heading straight for home, the real answer is--he can't." There could be no denying that the sailor spoke the truth. The native, like the Indians further south, may have possessed a subtle skill in the respect named beyond the comprehension of his more civilized neighbors, but, in all cases, there is a limit to such ability. Where there is nothing to afford guide or clue no living man can walk in a straight line--hour after hour, or hold his way undeviatingly toward a fixed point of the compass. But, admitting this unquestioned truth, nothing was more self-evident than that it was sure death to stay where they were; the one and only thing left to them was to push on while the opportunity was theirs. The Esquimau was a man of deeds rather than words. He showed no disposition to discuss the situation, and, beyond a few insignificant words, said nothing to his companions, who were as eager to be on the move as he. He stood a minute or two in study, and then, uttering the words: "Come on--work hard--neber stop," began pushing through the snow with the vigor shown the day before. The others followed in the order named, and with a resolution as strong as his to keep it up to the last verge of endurance. It was necessary. In no other way could they escape the frightful doom that impended. Another condition was equally necessary; their efforts must be rightly directed. The guide must lead them toward the sea-coast. Had he the power to do so? The test was now going on, and the question would soon be settled. They were terrible words spoken by Jack, but the time had passed when he felt it necessary to mince matters. He had done so at the beginning, but his companions were not children unable to bear the truth, however unpleasant it might be. But, despite the good reason in what he said, neither Rob nor Fred quite credited its full meaning. While they could not explain how any person could guide himself unerringly, when there was no visible help for the eye, they believed that somehow or other he would "get there just the same." They proved their own earnestness when Docak, after a long struggle through the clogging snow, stopped, turned about, and said: "You be tired--then rest awhile." "No," responded Fred, "I want no rest." "Push on, then," added Rob, "unless you are tired yourself, Docak." The idea that the native needed rest caused him a half-smile, as he faced forward and resumed his weary plowing through the snowy mass. There was no call now to watch the countenances of the youths to protect them against freezing. The weather was so moderate that they would have felt more comfortable with their outer covering removed. If the blizzard had come back, it was in such a mild form that it could lay no claim to the name. It was simply snowing hard, and there was only a breath of air at intervals. Had there been anything approaching the hurricane of two days before, they could not have fought their way for a single rod. When the guide, after another long interval, proposed a brief rest, it was acquiesced in by all. They had kept at it longer than before, and the pause must have been grateful to Docak himself. "We are not going fast," remarked Rob, "but I am sure we have covered a good deal of ground since starting, and when we go into camp to-night there ought not to be many miles between us and the sea." "Remember the mistake we made in our calculations," said Fred, warningly, "and don't count too much." "How far have we come?" asked Jack, putting the question directly to the Esquimau. "Dunno," he answered, turning about and resuming his labor. "That's the last time I will ask him anything," growled the sailor, displeased at the curt treatment. A sad story awaits our pen. The poor hunters toiled on, on, on, slower and still more slowly, with the snow falling thicker and still more thickly, and the uncertainty growing more intensified as the day wore away. With short intervals of rest they kept at it with heroic courage, until at last the shades of night began closing once more around them. Then, all of a sudden, the Esquimau uttered a despairing cry and threw himself down in the snow. [Illustration: THE ESQUIMAU UTTERED A DESPAIRING CRY AND THREW HIMSELF IN THE SNOW (See page 277)] He had made a terrifying discovery. They had come back to the very spot where they spent the previous night. All day long they had journeyed in an irregular circle, as lost persons almost invariably do, and the dreadful labor was utterly thrown away. The Esquimau had essayed a task beyond his power, and he now threw up his hands and would struggle no more. CHAPTER XXXI ANOTHER SOUND The little party were overwhelmed with dismay. The very man on whom they had relied from the beginning, the one who had conducted them thus far, and the one who, under heaven, could alone guide them to safety, had thrown up his hands and yielded the struggle. He lay on the snow limp, helpless, and despairing. The new fall of snow had almost obliterated their trail, but enough remained to identify it beyond mistake. The cavity which Docak had scooped out, and in which they slept, was recognized on the first glance. The whole day, from the moment of starting, had been wasted, in laboring to their utmost strength, in getting back to the very point from which they set out, and which itself was twenty miles from the sea-coast. The tendency that every one shows to travel in a circle, when lost, has been explained in various ways. It is probably due to the fact that one side of every person is more developed than the other. A right-handed individual gradually veers to the left, a left-handed one to the right, while a really ambidextrous one ought to keep straight ahead. Jack and the boys remained silent for a moment. They looked down on the prostrate figure, and finally Fred asked: "What's the matter, Docak?" "Gib up--no use--we die--neber see home 'gin." The words were uttered with all the dejection that it is possible to conceive, and the native did not move. He acted as if the power to do so had gone from him. Suddenly, to the astonishment of the others, Jack Cosgrove gave him a thumping kick. "Get up!" he commanded; "if you're such a lubber as all this, I'll take you by the neck and boot you all the way across Greenland." And as a guarantee of his good faith he yanked Docak to his feet, and made ready for a still harder kick, when the fellow moved nimbly out of the way. "If you are too big a calf to go on, I'll take the lead, and when I flop it'll be after all the rest of you've gone down." The breezy style in which the sailor took hold of matters produced an inspiriting effect on the others. Despite the grim solemnity of the moments, both Rob and Fred laughed, as much at the quickness with which Docak responded as anything else. "Since we are here at the same old spot," said Rob, "and it is growing dark, we might as well go into camp." "That's the fact, as we won't have to scoop out a new place to sleep in. I suppose, Docak, you're able to sleep, aint you?" The native made no answer, and the party silently placed themselves in position for another night's rest, Docak not refusing to huddle in among them. But there was little talking done. No one could say anything to comfort the others, and each was busy with his own thoughts. It need not be said that, despite the fearful gloom and these forebodings, they were ravenously hungry. Their bodies were in need of sustenance, and the probability that they could not get it for an indefinite time to come was enough to deepen the despair that was stealing into every heart. It was unto Fred Warburton that something in the nature of a revelation came in the darkness of that awful night. His senses remained with him for some time after the others were asleep, as he knew from their deep, regular breathing. The snowfall had almost ceased, and he sat wondering whether, after all, the end was at hand, and he was asking himself whether, such seeming of a surety to be the fact, it was worth while to rise from their present position and try to press on further. If die they must, why not stay where they were and perish together? These thoughts were stirring his mind, with many other solemn meditations, which crowd upon every person who, in his right senses, sees himself approaching the Dark River, when it seemed to him that there was sounding, at intervals, an almost inaudible roar, so faint and dull that for awhile he paid no heed to it, deeming it some insignificant aural disturbance, such as causes a buzzing or ringing at times in the head. But it obtruded so continually that he began to suspect it was a reality and from some point outside of himself. It was a low, almost inaudible murmur, sometimes so faint that he could not hear it, and again swelling out just enough to make it certain it had an actuality. Suddenly the heart of the lad almost stood still. "It's the ocean!" he whispered; "the air has become so still that I can hear it. The plain is open, there has been a big storm, and the distance is not too great for it to reach us. But, no, it is from the wrong direction; it can't be the sea." The next moment he laughed at himself. Having fixed in his mind the course to the home of Docak, and, hearing the roar from another point of the compass, it did not at once occur to him that he himself might be mistaken. "If Docak, with all his experience could not keep himself from going astray, what wonder that I should drift from my moorings? Yes, that is the sound of the distant ocean or that part known as Davis' Strait and Baffin's Bay. We can now tell which course to take to get out of this accursed country." He wished to awake his friends, and in view of their hungry condition, urge that they should set out at once; but they were so wearied that the rest would be grateful, and it was needed. And so, while not exactly clear as to what should be done, he fell asleep and did not open his eyes until morning. Docak was the first to rouse himself. He found that the snow was falling again, with the prospect worse than ever. Fred sprang to his feet and quickly told what he had discovered the evening before. "It was the ocean," he added, with a shake of his head: "I have heard it too often to make a mistake--listen!" All were silent, but the strained ear could catch no sound like the hollow roar which reached the youth a few hours before. "I don't care; I was not mistaken," he insisted. "Why don't we hear it now?" asked Rob, anxious to believe what he said, but unable fully to do so. "There was no snow falling at the time; the air was clearer then, and what little wind there was must have been in the right direction." "Where did sound come from?" asked the Esquimau, looking earnestly at Fred and showing deep interest in his words. "From off yonder," replied the lad, pointing in the proper direction. "He right--dat so--he hear sea," said Docak, who, to prove the truth of his words, pointed down at the dimly marked trail. It led in the precise course indicated by Fred. In other words, when the Esquimau resumed the journey on the preceding morning, at which time his bearings were correct, he went of a verity directly toward his own home, which was the route now pointed by Fred Warburton. The others saw the point, and admitted that the declaration of the lad had been proven to be correct beyond question. And yet, while all this was interesting in its way, and for the time encouraged the others, of what possible import was it? The conditions were precisely the same as twenty-four hours before, except they were less favorable, for the comrades in distress were hungrier and weaker. But they could not hear the ocean, the snow was falling, and there was no way of guiding themselves. They could only struggle on as before, hoping that possibly before wandering too far astray they might be able to catch the roar that would be an infallible guide to them in their despairing groping for home. The three looked at Docak, expecting him to take the lead, as he had done from the start. It may be said that Jack Cosgrove had kicked the Esquimau into his proper place and he was prepared to stay there as long as he could. But the native, instead of moving off, stood with his head bent and his ears bared in the attitude of intense attention. They judged that he was striving to catch a sound of the ocean. But he was not. Truth to tell, Docak had detected another sound of a totally different character, but far more important than the hollow roar of the far-away Arctic Sea. CHAPTER XXXII THE WILD MEN OF GREENLAND A sharp bark broke the stillness, a peculiar cry followed, and then, out from the swirl and flurry of the eddying snow, came a string of Esquimau dogs. There were six couples fastened to a rude sleigh, and at the side of the frisky animals skurried one of the wild men of Greenland on snow-shoes, and with a whip in hand having a short stock and a very long lash. Directly behind him followed two similar teams, and then a fourth emerged with seven spans of dogs. There was a driver to each, and the sleighs were loaded with pelts intended for the nearest settlement. Not one of the Esquimaux was riding, though it was their custom to do so for a goodly portion of the way. This singular collection of men and animals were approaching in a line that would have carried them right over the amazed party that were about to start on their hopeless attempt to reach the sea coast, had they not veered to one side. When the foremost driver discerned the four figures through the snow he emitted a sharp cry, not dissimilar to that of his own dogs, and the obedient animals halted. The others did the same, and in a few minutes the four teams, with their drivers, were ranged about the others. These individuals were genuine Esquimaux, the real wild men of Greenland. Their homes were far in the interior, and only at rare intervals did they venture forth with their dogs and sleighs to the coast settlements, where they were welcome, for they never failed to bring a good supply of peltries with them, for which they found ready barter among the agents of the Danish government. There was no mixed blood among these Esquimaux. They were copper-colored, short, of stocky build, and with more muscular development in the lower limbs than is seen among the coast natives. The latter, giving most of their time to fishing and the use of the paddle, have powerful arms and shoulders, but as a rule are weak in the legs. They were warmly clad in furs, their heads being covered with hoods similar to that worn by Docak, but there was nothing in the nature of the dress ornamentation which he displayed. None of the party could speak English, but that made no difference, since Docak understood their curious gibberish. An animated conversation began at once between him and the four, who gathered about him while Jack and the boys stood silently listening and looking upon the singular scene. What the guide said was in the nature of "business." They had talked but a short while when one of the wild men went to his sleigh and brought forth a big piece of cooked reindeer meat, evidently a part of their own liberal supply of provisions, and offered it to Jack. The latter accepted with thanks, shown more plainly by manner than his words. And didn't those three fellows have a feast, with Docak himself as a participant? You need to be told no more on that point. The guide, after the brisk interview, explained the meaning of the conversation to his friends. The Esquimaux were on their way to Ivigtut, some forty miles in a southwest direction. They had come a long way from the interior, having been three days on the road, and it was their intention to push matters so vigorously that they would reach the famous mining town that night. But, best of all, they agreed to carry the three whites as passengers. They could be stowed in the sleighs among the peltries, as the drivers were accustomed to do at times, though they were capable of keeping pace with the dogs hour after hour without fatigue. They would do so now on their snow-shoes, and the three could ride all the way to Ivigtut. It meant the rescue and salvation of the party, who were in the uttermost depths of despair but a few minutes before, and tears of thankfulness came to the eyes of all three. "We haven't much money with us," said Rob, addressing Docak, "but we will pay them as well as we can when we reach Ivigtut." "Don't want much," replied the grinning guide, "jes' little money--two, t'ree bits." "We'll give 'em all we've got," added Jack; "but what about you, Docak?" "Me go home," was the answer, accompanied by one of his pleasing grins. "Can you find the way?" "Me all right now--hark! hear de water?" He spoke the truth, it being a singular fact that the atmospheric conditions had changed to that degree that the dull, hollow moaning for which they had listened so long in vain was now audible to all. It was like a beacon light, which suddenly flames out on the top of a high hill, for the guidance of the belated traveler. There could be no going astray, with that sound always in his ears, and strengthened by his meal of venison, the hardy native would press on until he ducked his head and passed through the entry of his home. It might well be questioned how the wild men could maintain their bearings, but they had come unerringly across the snowy wastes from their distant homes, and the boom of the ocean was as sure an aid to them as it was to Docak. No fear but that they would go as straight as an arrow to Ivigtut. There was no call for delay or ceremony. A long journey was before them, and it being the season when the days were not unusually long, they must be improved to the utmost. The wild men beckoned to the three to approach the sleighs, where, with a little dexterous manipulation of the bundles, they made room for each. Jack found himself seated at the rear of one of the odd vehicles, which consisted mainly of runners, but had a framework at the back that gave grateful rest to the body. The peltries were fastened in front and around him, some being used to cover his limbs, and a part of his body, so that he could hardly have been more comfortable. The runners were made very broad to prevent them sinking in the snow. But for that, it would have been hard work for the nimble dogs to drag them and their loads with any kind of speed. The situation of the boys was similar to the sailor's. The arrangement left one of the sleighs without an occupant. This was well, since the wild men could take turns in riding, when they felt the need, and the whites need not walk a step of the way to Ivigtut. While the confab was going on, the dogs were having their own fun. Quick to obey the order to halt they squatted on their haunches facing in all directions, and for a time were quite motionless and well behaved, but it was not long before their natural mischievousness asserted itself, and they began frolicking with each other. They were snapping, barking, snarling, and then half of them were rolling over in the snow, fighting with good nature, the evil of which was that it tangled the simple harness into the worst sort of knots, which undoubtedly was just what the canines wanted to do. The head driver spoke angrily to them, cracked his long whip, and, bringing the knot down on their bodies, or about their ears, added their yelps of pain to the general turmoil, while the confusion was greater than before. He was used to the dogs, knowing every one of the half-hundred, and was quick to detect which was the ringleader. This canine belonged to the rear team, and not only started the rumpus, but kept it going with the utmost enthusiasm. He knew the driver would be after him, and he dodged and whisked among the others so dexterously that the well-aimed lash cracked against the side of some innocent spectator more than it touched him. But the driver was not to be baffled in that fashion. Dropping the whip, he plunged after the criminal, and, seizing him with both hands, gave him several vigorous bites on the nose, which made him howl with pain. When released he was the meekest member of the party, all of whom sat quiet, while the angry Esquimau devoted himself to unraveling matters. Rob Carrol had not forgotten the admiration which Docak showed more than once for his rifle. When the native came over to the sleigh to shake his hand, as he was bidding all good-bye, the boy said: "Docak, I meant that you should have this on our return from the hunt. I sha'n't need it any more; accept it as a reminder of this little experience we had together." The Esquimau was so taken aback that for a moment he could not speak. Before he recovered himself, Jack and Fred added their requests that he would not refuse the present. His gratitude was deep, and found expression only in a few broken words as he turned away. It had been on the point of the sailor's tongue several times to apologize for the kick of the evening before, but he felt that the result of it all was a sufficient apology of itself. Besides, there are some matters in life which it is best to pass over in silence. The wild men showed little sentiment in their nature. Seeing that all was ready, they cracked their whips, called out to their dogs, and off they went. Jack and the boys turned their heads to take a last look at Docak, who had served them so faithfully and well. As they did so, they observed him plowing through the snow again to the westward, his form quickly disappearing among the myriad snowflakes. They never saw him again. The first thought that came to each of the passengers, after the start was fairly made, was that the forty miles' journey could not be accomplished before nightfall. The sleighs were so heavily loaded with pelts and themselves that they formed quite a task for the dogs, which of necessity sank deep in the snow. But they tugged and kept at it with a spirit worthy of all admiration. But one of the remarkable features of the blizzard and snow storm that had come so near destroying our friends quickly made itself apparent, and raised their hopes to the highest point. The fall of snow decreased until at the end of half an hour not an eddying flake was in the air. The sun, after struggling awhile, managed to show itself, and the glare of the excessively white surface fairly blinded the passengers for a time. They noticed, however, that the depth of the last fall continued to grow less, until to their unbounded amazement and relief it disappeared altogether. They struck the hard surface, which was like a smooth floor, and capable of bearing ten times the weight of the sleighs without yielding. This proved that the blizzard was of less extent than supposed. The wild men more than likely were beyond its reach, while Docak and his companions were caught in its very centre. Its fury extended southward but a short way, and the party had now crossed the line. The country before them was like that over which Jack and the boys set out to prosecute their hunt for game. The travelers were like athletes, who, emerging from a struggle with the angry waters, find themselves on solid land, free to run and leap to their heart's content. They had shaken off the incubus, and now sped forward with renewed speed and ease. The small feet of the dogs slipped occasionally, but they readily secured enough grip, and the sleighs, hardly scratching the frozen surface, required but a fractional part of their strength. Several uttered their odd barks of pleasure, at finding their labor so suddenly turned into what might be called a frolic. But the wild men were a source of never-ending wonder to the whites. They sped forward through the soft snow, with no more apparent effort than the skilled skater puts forth, and when they struck the smooth surface, they became more like skaters than snow-shoe travelers. They cracked their whips about the ears of the dogs, called sharply, and made them yelp from the stinging bites of the whips handled with a dexterity that would have flicked off a fly from the front dog's ears, had there been one there. (If we were not opposed to all forms of slang, we would be tempted to say just here that there are no flies on the Esquimaux canines.) The brutes were quick to respond, and galloped swiftly with their drivers skimming by their side, holding them to the task by their continued orders and cracking of whips. They gave no more attention to the passengers than if they were not present. The latter were delighted, for there was every reason why they should be. Their limbs still ached from the severe exertion through which they had gone, and the sensation of being wrapped about with furs and fixed in a comfortable seat was pleasant of itself. Then to know that they were speeding toward safety--what more could be asked? The sleigh containing Jack Cosgrove was in the advance; Rob came next, then Fred, while the one loaded only with peltries held its place at the rear. When the smooth surface was reached, they drew quite near each other, the friends finding themselves almost side by side. "This is what I call ginooine pleasure," said the sailor, turning his head and addressing the boys. "Yes, I'm enjoying it," replied Rob. "So am I," added Fred; "it makes up for what we suffered." "We'll skim along in this style all day as if we was on the sea in a dead calm; nothing like a capsize--" At that very moment, the sailor's sleigh went over. CHAPTER XXXIII CONCLUSION No one can question that many animals have the propensity to fun and frolic. It may be absent in some, but it certainly is not lacking in the canine species. It didn't take three teams of dogs long to discover that their passengers belonged to the most verdant specimens of their kind, and when the brutes struck the smooth surface, where traveling was but a pastime, they decided to have some sport at their expense. At the moment Jack Cosgrove was uttering his words to his young friends, he failed to notice a small hillock just ahead and at one side of the course they were following. But the leading dogs saw it, and, veering off, they made straight for it with increased speed, heedless of the shouts and cracking of the driver's whip. Before he could restrain them, the sleigh collided with the obstruction, overturned in a twinkling and Jack found, as he after described it, that his nose was plowing through the snow with the whole plaguey load on top of him. He was dragged a hundred feet before extricating himself, and before the driver could check the animals, who looked so meek and sorrowful that he visited them with slight punishment. Matters, however, were soon righted and the journey resumed, amid the laughter of the boys in which the sailor heartily joined. Within the next hour Rob's sleigh went over and he had an almost similar experience. But he was expecting something of the kind, and prepared for it, so that he emerged from underneath before being dragged far. Fred got it, too, despite the apparent efforts of the drivers to restrain the dogs. By the time matters were once more righted and under way, the suspicion was confirmed among the passengers that the wild men were in the plot and enjoyed the ludicrous turn of affairs as much as did the brutes themselves. But Jack and the lads were the last to complain, and were quite willing that such good allies should have a little sport at their expense. It was noticeable that after all had been capsized, nothing of the kind took place again. At noon an hour's halt was made. The Esquimaux produced their cooked venison and all ate. The snow, although it seems to add to one's thirst, when first used, served excellently in the place of water. As well as they could by signs, the passengers offered to walk and allow the Esquimaux to ride. Where the surface was so favorable this would have imposed no hard work, but the natives refused, even declining to ride alternately in the rear sleigh. The dogs were tired enough to give no trouble during the noon halt. They sat around on their haunches and eagerly devoured the bits of raw meat tossed to them. When one or two showed a disposition to stir up matters, an angry warning and snap of the whip from one of the drivers brought him to his senses, and he deferred the amusement to a more convenient season. The Esquimaux chatted volubly among themselves, and, although our friends could not catch the meaning of anything said, they were sure they had made good progress toward Ivigtut, which, barring accident, would be reached by nightfall. The journey was pressed with the same vigor through the afternoon, the men seeming as tireless as the dogs, who trotted along as they might have done over the bare ground without any load impeding their movements. The sun was still above the horizon when the party reached the crest of the mountains near the coast, and saw before them, nestling at the curve of a fiord, a collection of low, weather-beaten houses, dispersed along the slope of the hills, with a wharf at the water's edge, on which lay a large number of blocks of the peculiar white ore known as cryolite. "Vee-tut, vee-tut!" exclaimed one of the drivers, addressing the passengers with great animation. This was the nearest he was able to come to pronouncing the name "Ivigtut." Yes, this was the mining town famous the world over as containing the only cryolite mines so far discovered on the globe. Ivigtut is in latitude sixty-one degrees and twelve minutes north, its climate being severe at certain seasons, but comparatively moderate during summer. Then there are one hundred and thirty picked men from Copenhagen engaged in the quarries, the number being a little more than one-half as great in winter. Only one or two Esquimaux are to be found about the place, and the only family that of the superintendent, who has his wife and her maid with him. The principal work of the employees is in quarrying the cryolite and piling it on the wharf, ready for shipment both to the Old and New World. And now how many of my readers can tell me what cryolite is? Shall I explain? Do you know that most of the sal-soda, the bicarbonate of soda, the alum, and the caustic soda used in your homes is dug out of a mountain in Greenland? In 1806, a German named Giesecke, believing that valuable minerals might be found in Greenland, applied to the Danish Government for permission to prospect the mountains. He did so, all the way from Cape Farewell, living with the Danish governors or among the Esquimaux, as circumstances required, until he reached Arsuk Fiord. At this place he heard of a deposit of ice that never melted and which was on the edge of the fiord. It was powdered, was used by the natives in tanning skins, and acted on a greasy hide like soap. The prospector gathered a number of specimens and started with them for Germany, for the substance was entirely new and required analysis. On the homeward voyage the Danish ship was captured by a British man-of-war and the specimens of cryolite went to an English institution, where they were analyzed for the first time. It was interesting of itself, but pronounced comparatively worthless. It remained for a distinguished chemist named Thomson to discover that sal-soda and bicarbonate of soda can be made cheaply from the substance. It is free from all impurities, and steps were taken to develop the quarry. The first attempt was in 1852, but regular work did not begin until six years later, and more years passed before any money was made out of the mine. Up to 1864 the entire product of the quarry went to Europe. In that year the American firm known as the Pennsylvania Salt Manufacturing Company, of Natrona and Philadelphia, began to import it. The ships used are made as strongly as possible, for they have to force their way through fields of floating ice, craunch into huge blocks, and keep a sharp lookout for icebergs. Small quantities of cryolite have been found in the Ural Mountains and a trace was discovered at Pike's Peak, in our own country, some years ago, but it did not pan out. A genuine cryolite mine within easy reach would prove a bonanza to the discoverer. Cryolite in appearance resembles white quartz or ice, with a mixture of snow in it. Although generally white, it is not always so. It is sometimes a light brown or a dark color, due either to vegetable matter that has soaked into it or the presence of iron. What I have related and considerably more, our friends learned during their stay at Ivigtut. Finding themselves at the end of their journey, the three climbed out of the sleighs, their limbs considerably cramped from their long-constrained posture. They shook hands with the Esquimaux, who understood that form of salutation, and who grinned the delight they could not form the words to speak. To one of them Jack presented his gun and Fred gave his to another. This quite overwhelmed them, but the whites divided nearly all the money they had among them between the other two. The wild men were paid triple what they expected for the inestimable service rendered the party, who regretted that they could not do a good deal more for them. They parted on the edge of the town, and, just as night began settling over Ivigtut, the three came down the slope and showed themselves among the employees, where their appearance attracted considerable curiosity. Rob's first inquiry was for the superintendent of the mines. He was directed to a one-story house painted blue, near the rear of which rose a staff from which the flag of Denmark floated. At the eastern end of the settlement was a somewhat similar house painted black, where the comptroller, or representative of the king lived, while near the centre were two other structures, from which puffs of steam rose. The visitors received the kindest hospitality from the superintendent, whose name was G. E. Schmidt. He listened to their story with deep interest, and insisted that they should make their home with him as long as they could stay in Ivigtut. He brought in his wife and introduced them to her. They found her a most pleasant lady, and the three soon felt entirely at home. "By the way," he asked, as the preparations for supper progressed, "what did you say was the name of the ship on which you left London?" "The 'Nautilus,'" replied Rob; "we fear she foundered in the gale a few days ago which separated us from her." "I'm not so fearful about that," put in Jack; who felt that such remarks were a slight upon the ship to which he was attached; "she has rid out a good many tough storms, and I don't see why she couldn't pull through that one." "Let us hope that she did," said the superintendent, kindly, and with a twinkle of his fine eyes which the others did not notice. "I was hopeful that she had possibly made her way to Ivigtut," added Fred, who continued, turning to the sailor, "we forgot to take a look in the harbor." "No use of that," replied Jack; "she might have come in at some of the other ports, but not here." "I suppose, Mr. Schmidt, that we can go home by way of Denmark?" "There will be no trouble about that; the only inconvenience is that it will extend the trip much longer than is pleasant, but I understand that you contemplated a visit to one of the posts of the Hudson Bay Company." "Yes, the destination of the 'Nautilus' is York Factory." "Then your friends at home will feel no alarm, since you will be the first to carry the news there, unless possibly Captain McAlpine turned immediately about and started for England." It struck Rob Carrol as singular that the superintendent should mention the name of the skipper of the "Nautilus" when no one of the visitors had yet done so. Where could he have learned it? His companions did not notice the odd fact and he was too polite to ask their host to explain. "We rarely receive a visit from the English vessels," continued Mr. Schmidt, "though now and then one drops down on us, but there is an American line, inasmuch as a good deal of cryolite goes to the United States. How would you like to make a voyage to that part of the country?" "It would be pleasant, but hardly practicable," replied Rob, who could not forget that the funds of the company were at a frightfully low ebb. "We shall have to defer that treat to some more convenient season." "I cannot tell you how pleased I am to receive this visit," said the superintendent; "you must stay several weeks with me, and visit the mines and see all there is to be seen. I hardly suppose you would care to make a hunting trip into the interior?" he added, with a smile. "No, we have had enough of that to last several lifetimes," replied Jack, uttering at the same time the sentiments of his friends. "I don't wonder; there is too much snow and cold weather for real sport, except at certain seasons. I must see the men who brought you in. The real wild Esquimaux live on the east coast, where the climate is so terrible that the whites rarely, if ever, visit them, and they are beyond the control of all except their own. If these fellows of yours make their homes in the interior, they are very different from all the Esquimaux of which I know anything. I think there is some mistake about it." "We know nothing, of course, beyond what Docak told us." "He is an unusually intelligent native, and I know him very well. He is a little morose at times, and I understand has caused some trouble at the other settlements, but he is a worthy fellow for all that. By the way, I have a friend who is expected to supper with me this evening. It will be a pleasure, I am sure, for you to meet him." "It will be a pleasure to meet any of your friends," Rob hastened to say, for his heart had already warmed to the genial and hospitable gentleman. "If I am not mistaken, he has arrived," added Mr. Schmidt, rising from his chair and stepping to the door. The next moment he admitted a stalwart, whiskered, sun-browned man, in middle life, and, shaking his hand, turned to his other guests. "Permit me, captain, to introduce you to Messrs. Cosgrove, Carrol, and Warburton." "Wal, by the great horned spoon!" exclaimed the sailor, springing to his feet and striding across the room, "where did you come from, captain?" It was Captain McAlpine, of the "Nautilus," standing before them, smiling, bewildered, and happy, as he gazed into the faces of his friends whom he had mourned for days under the fear that they were dead. The laughing Rob and Fred were right behind Jack, and they shook the hands of the good old sailor, and felt like throwing their arms about his neck and hugging him. "I must apologize for this little joke," said Superintendent Schmidt, who enjoyed it fully, "but really I couldn't help it. Captain McAlpine arrived at Ivigtut yesterday, and came straight to me with news of what had happened. He was driven far away from the iceberg, as you know, and had searched for it in vain. At a loss what to do, he put into Ivigtut to consult with me." By this time the excitement was about over, and all seated themselves as the servant came in and lighted the lamps. Mr. Schmidt continued: "The occurrence was so extraordinary that I was at a loss how to advise him, and his purpose in coming here this evening was that we might discuss the question and decide it." "You see," observed the captain (and he thereby verified the words of Jack Cosgrove, uttered several days before), "I observed that that iceberg wasn't sailing straight for the Equator, and I got the idea that it was to be looked for further up north, though as likely as not it would change its course and head south again. The only thing for me was to try to get another ship or two to jine me in a search for you. I was going to find out whether that could be done, but now there isn't any need of it." "Thank Heaven, no!" fervently responded Rob Carrol; "we have had a close call, and the only regret we shall feel in leaving Greenland is that it will take us away from our friends." "It is I who feel that, but it is one of the sure penalties of our existence. Supper, I see, is ready; will you kindly walk out with me?" he asked, rising to his feet, and leading the way. And perhaps it is as well that we should say good-bye to the party, now that they are seated around the board with keen appetites, cheerful conversation, and happy hearts; for of the visit made to the cryolite mines the next day, the sailing of the "Nautilus" two days later, the voyage through Hudson Bay to York Factory, the visit there, the safe return to England, and the settling down of Rob Carrol and Fred Warburton to the sober business of life--why, all these may be covered in a paragraph, and so we say, "Good-bye." THE END ~The Young Boatman~ BY HORATIO ALGER, JR. 369 Pages Illustrated Cloth, $1.25 This is an interesting story of a boy who is obliged to support himself and his mother by rowing passengers across the Kennebec River. To add to his trials, his intemperate stepfather, after serving a term of imprisonment, returns home and endeavors to compel the boy to pay over his small earnings to him. This the boy, who was appropriately nicknamed Grit, refuses to do, and after a struggle the stepfather retires from the conflict and returns to his thieving habits. Shortly after Grit discovers a conspiracy to rob the bank and promptly communicates his knowledge to the president, who succeeds in frustrating the plans of the robbers and secures their arrest. Grit's cheerful manner and kindly good nature, coupled with the most sterling honesty, cause him to be held in high esteem by all who know him. His manly courage and self-reliance are often sorely tested, but his indomitable pluck transmutes calamity into success. The book is full of incident and adventure of just the right sort to hold the attention of any bright boy. Sold by all booksellers, or sent, prepaid, upon receipt of price. ~The Penn Publishing Company~ ~1020 Arch Street, Philadelphia~ ~The Moncasket Mystery~ ~AND~ ~How Tom Hardy Solved It~ BY SIDNEY MARLOW 375 pages Illustrated Cloth, $1.25 The tone of this book is earnestly and emphatically moral, and the author understands that nothing makes morality so attractive to youth as to find it coupled with ingenuity, energy, and pluck. There is no "cant" and no "can't" about Tom Hardy, the decidedly vigorous hero of this story. He is a safe and worthy companion of any boy or girl, and it is predicted that he will not only win a warm place for himself in the hearts of all who make his acquaintance, but that he will gallantly retain it long after the covers shall have closed upon this chronicle of his efforts and adventures. He is an admirable boy, yet the author, in defiance of the usual method in modern juvenile fiction, has refused to sacrifice all of the other characters to the single hero. Even those whose parts are but the slightest have been so attractively presented that the reader feels that if the events had chanced to require it each one of them would have become a hero. Sold by all booksellers, or sent, prepaid, upon receipt of price. ~The Penn Publishing Company~ ~1020 Arch Street, Philadelphia~ ~Chasing a Yacht~ BY JAMES OTIS Author of "The Braganza Diamond," "Toby Tyler," etc. 350 pages Illustrated Cloth, $1.25 Two boys have engaged to run a steam yacht for the double purpose of pleasure and profit, and after carefully fitting her up they launch her, only to find the next morning that she is gone--stolen--as they later discover, by two other boys who had been refused a half-interest in her. The rightful owners start in hot pursuit, and in an attempt to recapture the steamer are themselves made prisoners. It is the intention of the thieves to hold the owners prisoners until the Hudson River is reached and then put them ashore, but their plans miscarry owing to the intervention of two rather rough citizens who find their way aboard the yacht and make themselves generally at home. Fortunately one of the owners manages to effect his escape, and gaining the assistance of the authorities the little vessel is speedily restored to them. The story is full of adventure, and the heroes are both bright and manly fellows, who make the best of their temporary hardships. The story will be found to enlist the interest at the outset, and to hold it until the last page is turned. Sold by all booksellers, or sent, prepaid, upon receipt of price. ~The Penn Publishing Company~ ~1020 Arch Street, Philadelphia~ ~The Braganza Diamond~ BY JAMES OTIS Author of "Chasing a Yacht," "Toby Tyler," etc. 383 pages Illustrated Cloth, $1.25 Long before the opening events of this story the fragments of this celebrated gem are supposed to have been taken from a wreck by an old sea captain, and secreted by him on a lonely island in Roanoke Sound. This aged captain, now quite feeble, sends for his niece and her daughter. They invite two bright boys to accompany them, and engaging a steam launch the four, in company with the owner--a trusty sailor--set out for the lonely island. Arriving there they are distressed at finding the captain already dead. To add to their discomfort they also discover that the former owners of the diamond have appeared upon the scene. The little party is forcibly made prisoner, and their captors demand that they forthwith produce the precious stone. This, of course, they are unable to do, but discovering among the old captain's effects a curious cryptogram, they are led to hope that its solution may reveal the secret hiding place of the diamond, and thus restore to them their freedom. This theory eventually proves correct, but not until after the party has endured many hardships, and passed through many exciting experiences. Sold by all booksellers, or sent, prepaid, upon receipt of price. ~The Penn Publishing Company~ ~1020 Arch Street, Philadelphia~ ~The Odds Against Him, or Carl Crawford's Experience~ BY HORATIO ALGER, JR. 350 pages Illustrated Cloth, $1.25 The hero of this story had to leave home on account of the ill-treatment he received from his stepmother, who had a son of her own about the same age. Dr. Crawford, a man of considerable wealth, but of weak, vacillating mind, loved his son, but was afraid to show his true feelings in the presence of his wife. After leaving home and meeting with a number of adverse experiences, Carl eventually obtained employment in a factory. He soon gained the confidence of his employer, and after frustrating an attempt of the book-keeper to rob the safe, he was appointed as a traveler, and, visiting Chicago, he discovered that his stepmother had another husband living. Her success in getting a will made in her own favor, an attempt on the life of her husband, etc., are all defeated, and Carl came out victorious in the end. The book is full of bright, cheerful, and amusing incidents, showing that a boy of good, honest, sterling, industrious habits can always secure friends, and succeed in earning a good living. Sold by all booksellers, or sent, prepaid, upon receipt of price. ~The Penn Publishing Company~ ~1020 Arch Street, Philadelphia~ ~The Story of the Iliad~ FOR BOYS AND GIRLS BY DR. EDWARD BROOKS, A.M. 370 pages Profusely Illustrated Cloth Binding, $1.25 White and Silver Edition, $1.50 This is a story of absorbing interest both to young and old. It relates in a simple prose narrative the leading incidents of one of the greatest literary works of the world--the Iliad of Homer. Many of its names are household words among educated people, and its incidents are a constant source of allusion and illustration among the best speakers and writers. No one with any claim to literary culture can afford to be ignorant of them. The object of the work is two-fold--first, to present to young people an interesting story which will be read with pleasure and at the same time cultivate a taste for good literature; second, to give a popular knowledge of this famous work of Homer and thus afford a sort of stepping-stone to one of the grandest poetical structures of all time. It is thus a book for the home circle, and should be in every household in the land. It is recommended especially for School Libraries and young folks' Reading Circles, and also to schools as a Supplementary Reader. Sold by all booksellers, or sent, prepaid, upon receipt of price. ~The Penn Publishing Company~ ~1020 Arch Street, Philadelphia~ ~The Story of the Odyssey~ FOR BOYS AND GIRLS BY DR. EDWARD BROOKS, A.M. 370 pages Profusely Illustrated Cloth Binding, $1.25 White and Silver Edition, $1.50 The Odyssey of Homer combines the romance of travel with that of domestic life, and it differs from the Iliad, which is a tale of the camp and battle-field. Although the ancient author concentrates the attention on a single character--Ulysses--he refers to several beautiful women, including some of the goddesses. After the siege of Troy, Ulysses started on a voyage of discovery and adventure in unknown lands, which, although described with poetic exaggeration, "has been a rich mine of wealth for poets and romancers, painters and sculptors, from the date of the age which we call Homer's down to our own." In this wonderful poem lie the germs of thousands of volumes which fill our modern libraries. Without some knowledge of it, readers will miss the point of many things in modern art and literature. Ulysses was brave and valiant as a soldier, and was distinguished for his wisdom and shrewdness which enabled him to extricate himself from the difficulties which to others would seem insurmountable. Sold by all booksellers, or sent, prepaid, upon receipt of price. ~The Penn Publishing Company~ ~1020 Arch Street, Philadelphia~ ~Harry Ambler, and How He Saved the Homestead~ BY SIDNEY MARLOW 350 Pages Illustrated Cloth, $1.25 This is a narrative of a bright, active, and courageous boy, suddenly thrown upon his own resources and subjected to the malicious plots of a powerful enemy. The effectual and yet not unnatural manner in which the hero turns his enemy's weapons to his own defence, constitutes, perhaps, the chief charm of the book. The story abounds in humorous and exciting situations, yet it is in no objectionable way sensational. There is nothing in it that will tend to create or encourage a taste for mere reckless adventure. The author has given more attention to the delineation of his characters than is usual in juvenile literature, thus making the story pleasant reading, even for those who have passed the outer line of boyhood. He believes in a "moral," but not in those bits of abstract virtue which are so frequently forced into juvenile stories, only to be "skipped" by the youthful reader. He would create a personal sympathy with the best efforts of fallible boys and girls, rather than an admiration for the mere name of virtue. Sold by all booksellers, or sent, prepaid, upon receipt of price. ~The Penn Publishing Company~ ~1020 Arch Street, Philadelphia~ ~The Campers Out~ ~OR~ ~The Right Path and the Wrong~ BY EDWARD S. ELLIS, A.M. 363 pages Illustrated Cloth, $1.25 This is one of the most interesting works of an author whose productions are widely read and deservedly popular on both sides of the Atlantic. Mr. Ellis has in perfection the faculty of making his stories not only entertaining in the highest degree but instructive and elevating. A leading journal truthfully stated that no mother need hesitate to place any story of which Mr. Ellis is the author in the hands of her boy, for he is sure to be instructed as well as entertained. "The Campers Out" is bright, breezy, and full of adventure of just the right sort to hold the attention of any young mind. It is clean, pure, and elevating, and the stirring incidents with which it is filled convey one of the most forceful of morals. It traces the "right path" and the "wrong path" of several boys with such striking power that old and young will be alike impressed by the faithful portrayal of character, and be interested from beginning to end by the succession of exciting incidents. Sold by all booksellers, or sent, prepaid, upon receipt of price. ~The Penn Publishing Company~ ~1020 Arch Street, Philadelphia~ 
21702	----	Shifting Winds, by R.M. Ballantyne ________________________________________________________________________ As so often with Ballantyne's books there are really several tales all told in parallel in this book. There is the story of the seaman Gaff and his son Billy, there is the story of Mrs Gaff, there is Haco Barepoles, there is Captain Bingley and his son Gildart, there is the Stuart family. All these characters are very well drawn, and their lives merge together and move apart to a surprising degree. With a fundamentally Christian message, this book also depicts the work of the Shipwrecked Mariners and Fishermen Institution. Although there are incidents at sea, most of the action takes place in the small fishing village of Wreckumoft, and the town of Athenbury. One of the great values of Ballantyne's books is the insight he gives into life in Britain in the nineteenth century, not just the day-to-day lives of the actors, but the motives that propel them, and the upbringing that these actors had. We are, however, mystified by the title, which made one think that the book might be something to do with ballooning! Robert Michael Ballantyne was born in 1825 and died in 1894. He was educated at the Edinburgh Academy, and in 1841 he became a clerk with the Hudson Bay Company, working at the Red River Settlement in Northen Canada until 1847, arriving back in Edinburgh in 1848. The letters he had written home were very amusing in their description of backwoods life, and his family publishing connections suggested that he should construct a book based on these letters. Three of his most enduring books were written over the next decade, "The Young Fur Traders", "Ungava", "The Hudson Bay Company", and were based on his experiences with the HBC. In this period he also wrote "The Coral island" and "Martin Rattler", both of these taking place in places never visited by Ballantyne. Having been chided for small mistakes he made in these books, he resolved always to visit the places he wrote about. With these books he became known as a great master of literature intended for teenagers. He researched the Cornish Mines, the London Fire Brigade, the Postal Service, the Railways, the laying down of submarine telegraph cables, the construction of light-houses, the light-ship service, the life- boat service, South Africa, Norway, the North Sea fishing fleet, ballooning, deep-sea diving, Algiers, and many more, experiencing the lives of the men and women in these settings by living with them for weeks and months at a time, and he lived as they lived. He was a very true-to-life author, depicting the often squalid scenes he encountered with great care and attention to detail. His young readers looked forward eagerly to his next books, and through the 1860s and 1870s there was a flow of books from his pen, sometimes four in a year, all very good reading. The rate of production diminished in the last ten or fifteen years of his life, but the quality never failed. He published over ninety books under his own name, and a few books for very young children under the pseudonym "Comus". For today's taste his books are perhaps a little too religious, and what we would nowadays call "pi". In part that was the way people wrote in those days, but more important was the fact that in his days at the Red River Settlement, in the wilds of Canada, he had been a little dissolute, and he did not want his young readers to be unmindful of how they ought to behave, as he felt he had been. Some of his books were quite short, little over 100 pages. These books formed a series intended for the children of poorer parents, having less pocket-money. These books are particularly well-written and researched, because he wanted that readership to get the very best possible for their money. They were published as six series, three books in each series. Re-created as an e-Text by Nick Hodson, October 2003. ________________________________________________________________________ SHIFTING WINDS, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE. CHAPTER ONE. THE COTTAGE AND ITS INMATES. The family board was spread; the family kettle--an unusually fat one-- was singing on the fire, and the family chimney was roaring like a lion by reason of the wind, which blew a hurricane outside, and shook the family mansion, a small wooden hut, to its foundations. The hour was midnight. This fact was indicated by the family clock--a Dutch one, with a face which had once been white, but was now become greenish yellow, probably from horror at the profanity of the artist who had painted a basket of unrecognisable fruit above it, an irate cockatoo below it, and a blue church with a pink steeple as near to the centre of it as the hands would admit of. The family circle, consisting of a stout good-looking woman of thirty or thereabouts, and a little boy and girl, were of the fisher class, obviously so to the senses of sight and smell. They sat by the fire. It was an unusual hour for supper, but then it was an unusually wild night, and the frequent glance cast by the woman at the Dutch clock with the horrified countenance, showed clearly that the board was not spread for the family meal, but that they waited up for some absent one. I have said that the family circle sat by the fire, but this is not strictly correct. One member of it, the little boy, stood in the middle of the room, howling!--howling so violently that his fat face had changed from its wonted bright red to deep purple. Looking at him--as he stood there arrayed in his uncle's red night-cap, his own night-shirt, which was also a day-shirt and much too small, and his father's pea-jacket, which was preposterously too large--one could not avoid the alarming surmise that there _might_ be such a thing as juvenile apoplexy, and that that boy was on the point of becoming a living, if not a dead, example of the terrible disease. Oh! it was a sweet child, a charming infant, altogether a delightful creature to look upon, that son of Stephen Gaff, as it stood there yelling like a hyena, stamping like a mad bull, washing its dirty hands in tears on its dirtier cheeks, cramming its little knuckles into its swollen eyes as if it sought to burst the organs of vision in their sockets, and presenting, generally, an appearance of rampant rage and woe that baffles all capacity of conception, and therefore defies all power of description. This cherub's name was Billy,--Billy Gaff; more familiarly known amongst his friends as "The Bu'ster," owing to his tendency to explode into tears, or laughter, or mischief, or fun, as the case might be. He was about eleven years of age. My own name, reader, is Bingley. Having retired on half-pay from the Royal Navy, I reside in a pleasant cottage in the suburbs of the well-known and important seaport town of Wreckumoft, situate on the east coast of England. My front windows command a magnificent view of the sea; my back windows command an equally magnificent view of landscape. I have a magnificent wife, and she commands the household, myself included. There was a time--I reflect on it with melancholy pride and subdued satisfaction--when I commanded a British seventy-four. I command nothing now but my temper. That, however, is a stronghold from which nothing terrestrial can drive me. My friends style me "The Captain," but I am not the hero of this tale. No, by no means. I am altogether unheroic in my nature, commonplace in my character. If a novelist were to describe me, he would write me down a stout little old gentleman, with a bald head and a mild countenance; mentally weak in expression, active in habits, and addicted to pipes and loose clothing. Do not imagine that this is my account of myself; no, it is an ideal resulting from the oft-repeated assurances of my wife, who is a strong-minded woman, a few inches taller than myself, somewhat raw-boned and much more powerful, physically, though less rotund. In fact, if I were to attempt a brief comprehensive description of her, I would say, without the most distant feeling of disrespect of course, that she is square and skinny--singularly so! Mrs Bingley's contempt for my intellect is excelled, I might almost say redeemed, by her love for myself. How she manages to separate between myself and my intellect I have never been able to understand; but then she _is_ strong-minded, which perhaps accounts for her seeing farther into this millstone than I can. She tells me, not unfrequently, that I am weak-minded. She even goes the length at times of calling me imbecile; but she is a dear good affectionate woman, and I have no sympathy with the insolent remark I once overheard made by an acquaintance of mine, to the effect that it was a pity Mrs Bingley had not been born with a man's hat and trousers on--no, none whatever. Before dismissing myself, descriptively at least, (for, being an honorary agent of the Shipwrecked Fishermen and Mariners' Society, and an actor in some of the scenes which I am about to describe, I cannot conveniently dismiss myself altogether); before dismissing myself, I say, it may be as well to explain that my strong-minded wife, in concert with a number of variously-minded women, (all more or less strong), and a good many weak and otherwise minded men, have come to form their opinion of me in consequence of my holding rather strongly a few opinions of my own--to the effect that there are a good many wrong things in this world, (admittedly wrong things); a good many muddles; a good many glaring and outrageous abuses and shameful things the continuance of which reflects discredit on the nation, and the wiping out or putting right of which ought, by all means, to be set about earnestly and at once. Now, curiously enough, it is the idea conveyed in the last two words--at once--which sticks in the throats of my strong-minded opponents! They agree with me as to the existence of the evils, they honestly deplore them, but they charge me with mental imbecility when I suggest that things should be put right _at once_. They counsel delay, and when the dispute reaches a certain stage they smile at me with contempt, or pity, or they storm, according to individual temperament, and usually wind up with a rasping reiteration of their original opinions, highly peppered and salted, and an assurance that I have been born at least a century before my time. If the men of the next century are destined to do good, "as their hands find opportunity," without previous delay until thousands of opportunities are lost and gone for ever; if those who put their hands to a piece of work shall carry it out with vigour in their _own_ lifetime; if those who counsel delay shall mean due time for full consideration by _themselves_, and shall _not_ mean an extended procrastination which shall free themselves from worry, and leave their work to be handed down as a legacy to their children, who shall likewise hand it down to _their_ children, and so on _ad infinitum_ until "delay" shall become a synonym for death and destruction to tens of thousands of better men than themselves,--if this shall be the sentiment and practice of the men of next century, then I confess that my sympathies are with them, and I really suspect that I must have got into the wrong century by mistake. But as the position is irremediable now, I suppose I must, in an imbecile sort of fashion, go on my way rejoicing--if I can-- sorrowing if I cannot rejoice. Mrs Bingley having more than once threatened to scratch my face when I have ventured to express the last sentiment, it may be perhaps as well to change the subject and return to Billy Gaff, the charming child, _alias_ the Bu'ster. Billy deserves to be somewhat particularly introduced, because, besides being an actor in this tale, he was a boy of strong character. If I were to sum him up and reduce the total to a concentrated essence, the result would be a sentence to the following effect:--Billy Gaff had a will of his own! Perhaps I should say a very strong will of his own. For instance, he, on several different occasions, willed to screw off the spout of the family tea-pot, a pewter one, and, having willed to do it, he did it. Again he willed, more than once, to smash a pane of glass in the solitary window of the family mansion, and he _did_ smash a pane of glass in that window; nay, more, in consequence of being heartily whacked for the deed, he immediately willed to smash, _and_ smashed, a second pane, and was proceeding to will and smash a third when he was caught up by his mother, beaten almost into the condition of a mummy, and thrust under the clothes of the family bed, which immediately creaked as if with convulsions, and tossed its blankets about in apparent agony. On the present occasion the Bu'ster had awakened out of a sound sleep to the conviction that he was hungry. Observing the loaf on the table, he immediately willed to have a second supper, and arising, donned his father's pea-jacket, in order to enjoy the meal more thoroughly. It was the sudden removal of the said loaf by his mother to an unreachable shelf that induced the youthful Billy to stand in the middle of the room and howl, as already described. He was still engaged in emulating the storm, and Mrs Gaff, utterly indifferent to him, had cast another glance at the horrified clock, and remarked to her little girl Tottie, that "Uncle John must have found work on the shore, for he was long of coming," when a heavy tread was heard in the little porch outside the door. "Hold yer noise," said Mrs Gaff sternly. Billy obeyed, not by any means in consequence of the command, but because he was curious to know who was about to enter, and meant to resume yelling immediately after his curiosity on this point should be satisfied. The door opened, and a strong-built seaman stepped into the room, and looked at the family with a quiet smile on his sunburnt face. His hair and garments were dripping with water, as if he had just walked out of the sea. On beholding him the family rose and stood for a moment speechless. Billy sat down on the floor in that prompt manner which is peculiar to young children when they lose their balance; simultaneously with the shock of being seated the word "faither" burst from his lips. Mrs Gaff uttered a suppressed cry, and ran into the wet man's arms. Tottie and the Bu'ster each ran at a leg, and hugging it violently, squeezed a cataract of salt water into their respective bosoms. "Stephen, lad, is't you?" said the wife, raising her head for a moment and looking up in the man's face. "Ay, dear lass, wrecked again; but safe home, thank God." Mrs Gaff was not wont to give way to the melting mood, but she could not restrain a few tears of joy. Tottie, observing this, cried from sympathy; and the Bu'ster, not to be outdone, willed, began, and carried into execution, a series of true British cheers, that could not have been surpassed, perhaps could not have been equalled, by any boy of his age in or out of the Royal Navy. CHAPTER TWO. WRECKED, RESCUED, AND RESUSCITATED--MRS. NIVEN RECEIVES A SURPRISE, ALSO THE GIFT OF A CHILD. On the same dark tempestuous night of which I write, a little ship was wrecked on the east coast of England. She had sailed from the antipodes, had weathered many a gale, had crossed the great ocean in safety, had sighted the lights and the cliffs of "home," and was dashed to pieces at last on the rocks within two hours' sail of the port to which she was bound. Hundreds of ships, great and small, were wrecked on the coasts of Britain during that memorable gale. The little ship to which I refer was one of the many in regard to which the newspapers said, "she was dashed to pieces, and all hands perished." But in this particular case all hands had not perished: two lives had been spared, unknown to journalists and coastguardsmen. It was the dead of night when the vessel struck. The spot was lonely, at least a mile distant from human habitations. No anxious eyes on shore saw her quiver as each successive billow lifted her up and hurled her cruelly down; no sorrowing ear heard the shriek of despair that rose above the yelling storm, when, in little more than ten minutes, the vessel broke up, and left the crew and passengers to perish within sight of their native land. There was one man among the number who did not shriek, who did not despair. He was not a hero of romance whose soul raised him above the fear of sudden death--no, he was only a true-hearted British tar, whose frame was very strong, whose nerves were tightly strung and used to danger. He had made up his mind to save his life if he could; if he should fail--what then? He never thought of "what then," because, in regard to terrestrial matters, he had not been accustomed to cast his thoughts so far in advance of present exigencies. Just before the ship broke up, this man was standing on the lee bulwark, holding by the shrouds of the mainmast, the lower part of which was still standing. A lady and gentleman clung to each other, and to the rigging close beside him. They were husband and wife. Both were comparatively young, and up to that night had been full of hope and high spirits. The husband with his right arm encircled his wife, and grasped the rigging; with his left, he pressed their little girl to his breast over which flowed the fair hair of the little one, drenched and dishevelled. The father was a brave man and strong, but his face was very pale, for he felt that courage and strength could not avail to save both wife and child in such a raging sea. An occasional upward glance of his eye seemed to indicate that he sought comfort from God in his extremity. "You'll never manage 'em both, sir; let me have the child," said the strong seaman, suddenly grasping the little girl, and attempting to unlock her arms which were tightly clasped round her father's neck. The father hesitated, but a terrific wave was rushing towards the doomed ship. Without even the comfort of a hurried kiss he resigned the child. The young mother stretched out her arms towards her, uttering a piteous cry. At that moment the ship rose on the billow's crest as if it were no heavier than a flake of the driving foam--a crash followed--it was gone, and the crew were left struggling in the sea. The struggle was short with most of them. Previous exposure and anxiety had already quite exhausted all but the strongest among the men, and even these were unable to withstand the influence of the ice-cold water more than a few seconds. Some were struck by portions of the wreck and killed at once. Others sank without an effort to save themselves. A few swam with unnatural vigour for a yard or two, and then went down with a gurgling cry; but in a very few minutes the work of death was complete. All were gone except the strong seaman, who clasped the little child in his left arm and buffeted the billows with his right. Once and again were they overwhelmed; but as often did they rise above the foam to continue the battle. It was a terrible fight. A piece of wreck struck the man on his back and well-nigh broke it; then a wave arched high above them, fell with a crash, and drove them nearly to the bottom, so that the child was rendered insensible, and the strong man was nearly choked before he rose again to the surface to gasp the precious air. At last a wave broke behind them, caught them on its crest, and hurled them on a beach of sand. To cling to this while the water retired was the fiercest part of the conflict--the turning-point in the battle. The wave swept back and left the man on his hands and knees. He rose and staggered forward a few paces ere the next wave rushed upon him, compelling him to fall again on hands and knees and drive his bleeding fingers deep down into the shingle. When the water once more retired, he rose and stumbled on till he reached a point above high-water mark, where he fell down in a state of utter exhaustion, but still clasping the little one tightly to his breast. For some time he lay there in a state of half-consciousness until his strength began to revive; then he arose, thanking God in an audible voice as he did so, and carried the child to a spot which was sheltered in some degree by a mass of cliff from the blinding spray and furious gale. Here he laid her with her face downwards on a grassy place, and proceeded to warm his benumbed frame. Vitality was strong in the sailor. It needed only a few seconds' working of the human machine to call it into full play. He squeezed the water out of his jacket and trousers, and then slapped his arms across his chest with extreme violence, stamping his feet the while, so that he was speedily in a sufficiently restored condition to devote his attention with effect to the child, which still lay motionless on the grass. He wrung the water out of her clothes, and chafed her feet, hands, and limbs, rapidly yet tenderly, but without success. His anxiety while thus employed was very great; for he did not know the proper method to adopt in the circumstances, and he felt that if the child did not revive within a few minutes, all chance of her recovery would be gone. The energy of his action and the anxiety of his mind had warmed his own frame into a glow. It suddenly occurred to him that he might make use of this superabundant heat. Opening the little frock in front, he placed the child's breast against his own, and held it there, while with his right hand he continued to chafe her limbs. In a few minutes he felt a flutter of the heart, then a gentle sigh escaped from the blue lips; the eyelids quivered, and finally the child revived. "D'ye feel gettin' better, Emmie?" said the man, in a low, soft voice. A faint "yes" was all the reply. The seaman continued his efforts to instil warmth into the little frame. Presently the same question was repeated, and the child looking up, said-- "Is that 'oo, Gaff?" "Ay, dear, 'tis me." "Where am I--where's mamma?" inquired Emmie, looking round in some degree of alarm. "Hush, dear; don't speak just now. I've just brought 'ee ashore fro' the wreck, an' am goin' to tak 'ee home. Try to sleep, dear." Gaff wrapped his jacket round the child, and hurried away in search of the highroad. He knew the place well. He had been wrecked on a reef within two miles of his native hamlet, and within three of the town of Wreckumoft. He soon found the road, and broke from a fast walk into a run. The child lay quietly in his arms, either being too much exhausted to speak, or having fallen asleep. The man muttered to himself as if in perplexity-- "It'll never do to tak 'er home wi' me. She'd remember us, and that would let the secret out. No, I'll tak 'er straight there." Gaff reached his native village as he came to this resolve. It was all astir. Three ships had been cast on the rocks there within a hundred yards of each other. The lifeboat was out; the rocket apparatus had that moment arrived from the neighbouring town, and was being dragged on its waggon through the village to the scene of danger. All the men, and many of the women and children of the place, were on the beach, while eager groups of those who could not face the storm were collected in doorways and sheltered places, awaiting news from the shore. Many of these had anxious faces, for they knew their kinsmen, the fishermen of the place, to be bold, daring fellows, who would not hesitate to risk life and limb to save a fellow-creature from death. Stopping a moment at the outskirts of the village, Gaff laid down his burden, and tied a large blue cotton kerchief round his neck, so as to cover his mouth and chin. By pulling his sou'wester cap well over his eyes, he concealed his face so effectually that little more than the point of his nose was visible. Not satisfied, however, with his disguise, he climbed a fence and struck into a bypath, which enabled him to avoid the village altogether. Setting off at a quick pace, he soon regained the highroad beyond the village, and did not pause until he came to a large iron gate which opened into the shrubbery in front of a handsome villa. He went straight up to the front door and rang the bell. Of course, at such an hour, the family had retired to rest, and it is probable that in ordinary circumstances Gaff would have had to wait a considerable time before an answer should have been given to his summons. But on this night, the only son and heir of the family, Kenneth by name, knowing that wrecks were likely to occur on the coast, and being of a bold, romantic, restless disposition, had mounted his horse and ridden away, accompanied by his groom, in search of adventure. The housekeeper of the family, usually styled Mrs Niven, being devotedly attached to this son and heir, had resolved to sit up all night and await his return. Mrs Niven had prophesied confidently for the previous ten years, that "Master Kenneth was certain to be drownded sooner or later, if 'e didn't come to die before;" and being fully persuaded of the truth of her prophetic powers, she conscientiously waited for and expected the fulfilment of her own prophecy. At the moment when Gaff rang the bell she was awaiting it in a chair in front of a good fire, with her feet on the fender and sound asleep. It would be more correct to say that Mrs Niven was in a state of mixed sleep and suffocation, for her head hung over the back of the chair, and, being very stout, there was only just sufficient opening in the wind-pipe to permit of her breath passing stertorously through her wide-open mouth. The first summons passed unheard; the second caused Mrs Niven to open her eyes and shut her mouth, but she could not rise by reason of a crick in her neck. An angry shout, however, of "why don't you answer the bell?" from the master of the family, caused her to make a violent struggle, plunge her head into her lap, by way of counteracting the crick, rush up-stairs, and fling open the door. "I know'd it," exclaimed Mrs Niven wildly, on beholding a wet sailor with a bundle in his arms; "I always said he would be--goodness me! it's only his trunk," she added in horror, on observing that the bundle was a rough jacket without head or legs! "Clap a stopper on your jaw, woman," said Gaff impatiently. "Is this Seaside Villa--Mr Stuart's?" "It is," replied Mrs Niven, trembling violently. Gaff quickly removed the jacket, kissed the child's pale cheek, and laid her in Mrs Niven's ready arms. "She ain't dead surely, sir?" inquired the housekeeper. "No, bin saved from a wreck an' half drownded! She'll come to in a bit--tak' care of 'er." Gaff turned on his heel as he hastily uttered these words, ran down the garden walk and disappeared, leaving Mrs Niven standing at the open door in a state of speechless amazement, with the unconscious Emmie in her arms and pressed, by reason of an irresistible impulse of motherly sympathy, to her bosom. CHAPTER THREE. THE COTTAGE AT COVE INVADED--DAN HORSEY SPEAKS "TOORKO" TO RUSSIANS, AND FAILS TO ENLIGHTEN THEM. Retracing his steps hastily to the village of Cove, Stephen Gaff sought out his own humble cottage, which, during his absence on his frequent voyages, was left under the charge of his fisherman brother-in-law, John Furby. Presenting himself at the door, he created the family sensation which has been described at the end of the first chapter. The first violent demonstrations of surprise and joy over, Mrs Gaff dragged her husband into a small closet, which was regarded by the household in the light of a spare room, and there compelled him to change his garments. While this change was being made the volatile Bu'ster, indignant at being bolted out, kicked the door with his heel until he became convinced that no good or evil could result from the process. Then his active mind reverted to the forbidden loaf, and he forthwith drew a chair below the shelf on which it lay. Upon the chair he placed a three-legged stool, and upon the stool an eight-inch block, which latter being an unstable foundation, caused Billy to lose his balance when he got upon it. The erection instantly gave way, and fell with a hideous crash. Tottie, who stood near, gazing at her brother's misdeeds, as was her wont, in awe-stricken admiration, was overwhelmed in the debris. Nothing daunted, the Bu'ster "returned to the charge," and fell a second time,--with the loaf, however, in his arms. "Hah!" exclaimed Mrs Gaff, issuing from the spare room, and rushing at her offspring with uplifted hand. "Stop, lass," said Stephen, arresting her, and catching up the boy, whom he placed on his knee as he sat down in a chair beside the fire. "How are 'ee, Billy, my lad?" Billy, glaring defiance at his mother, who returned the glare with interest in the shape of a united shake of the fist and head, replied that he was "fuss'rate." Tottie having immediately claimed, and been put in possession of the other knee, divided her father's attention, and while the goodwife busied herself in preparing the supper, which had been originally intended for "Uncle John," a quick fire of question and reply of the most varied and unconnected sort was kept up by the trio at the fire, in tones, and accompanied by hugs and gestures, which proved beyond all doubt that Stephen Gaff was a father of the right kind, and that the little ones hailed him as an inestimable addition to their household joys. It would be unjust to Mrs Gaff were I to permit the reader to suppose that she was a disagreeable contrast to the father. She was true-hearted and loving, but she had been born and bred in the midst of a class of people whose manners are as rough as their calling, and was by no means tender or considerate. A terrific scream, or a knock-down slap, from Mrs Gaff, was regarded both by giver and recipient in much the same light as is a mild reproof in more polite society. "Wrecked again, Stephen," said Mrs Gaff, pausing in her occupation, and recurring to the remark made by her husband when he first entered the room, "where have 'ee bin wrecked this time?" "A'most at the door, lass, on the Black Rock." "Ay, an' was all the rest saved?" inquired the wife. "No, none of 'em. A' lost save one, a little child." "A child, lad!" exclaimed the wife in surprise; "what have 'ee done wi' it?" "Took it to its friends." As he said this the sailor gave his wife a look which induced her to refrain from further questioning on that subject. "An' who saved ye, Stephen?" "God saved me," replied the man, earnestly. "True, lad; but was there none o' the boys there to lend a hand?" "No, none. It puzzled me a bit," said Stephen, "for the lads are wont to be on the look-out on a night like this." "It needn't puzzle ye, then," replied the wife, as she set a chair for her husband at the table, and poured out a cup of tea, "for there's bin two sloops an' a schooner on the rocks off the pier-head for three hours past, an' a' the lads are out at them,--Uncle John among the rest. They've made him coxswain o' the new lifeboat since ye last went to sea." Stephen set down the cup, which he had just raised to his lips, untasted, and rose hastily. "Wrecks at the pier-head, lass," he exclaimed, "and you let me sit here idle!" "Don't go, Stephen," entreated Mrs Gaff; "you're not fit to do anything after sitch a night, an' its o'er late." The man paid no attention to the remonstrance, but buttoned up his coat, and seized his cap. Mrs Gaff promptly locked the door with an air of thorough determination, put the key in her bosom, and crossed her arms thereon tightly. Stephen smiled slightly as he turned, raised the window, and leaped through it into the road, followed by a vociferous cheer from Billy, whose spirit was wildly stirred by the boldness and success of the movement, and mightily rejoiced at the discomfiture of his mother. Mrs Gaff relieved her feelings by slapping the Bu'ster's face, and was about to close the window when her husband quietly stepped through it again, saying-- "Open the door, lass, you've no need to fear; I'll remain now." There was a trampling of many feet outside. The door had scarcely been unlocked when they were in the passage. Next moment four fishermen entered, bearing the figure of a man in their arms. "He an't drownded, lass, only swownded," said one of the men to Mrs Gaff, with the view of relieving the good woman's anxiety, as they laid a seaman on the bed. "Look alive now, old girl, an' git hot blankets an' bottles." While Mrs Gaff obeyed in silent haste, the room was filled with men, some of whom supported or half-carried others, whose drooping heads, torn garments, and haggard faces, showed that they had just been rescued from the angry sea. None of them were more than partially clothed; some were nearly naked. With excited haste the fishermen crowded the wrecked men round the fire, and spread blankets and sails, or whatever came first to hand, on the floor for those who were most exhausted to lie down upon, while Stephen Gaff poured hot tea and hot grog indiscriminately into cups, saucers, pannikins, and soup-plates, and urged them to drink with rough but kindly hospitality. The wrecked men, (there were twelve of them), were Russians, and as a matter of course could not understand a word that was said to them, although some of the fishermen asked them, with as much earnestness as if their lives depended on the answer, "Who--they--wos--an'--whar'-- they--com'd--fro'?" Receiving for reply a stare and a shake of the head from such of the men as were able to attend, one of the fishermen tried them again with great precision and slowness of speech, and with much solemnity of manner, "What--part--o' the arth--d'ye hail fro',--lads?" No answer, accompanied by a stare and a shake. "Oh, it's o' no use," cried one, "let the poor lads a-be." "Hallo! Dan," cried another, as a man forced his way through the crowded room towards the fire, "you've bin in Toorkey, I believe; I say, try them fellers wi' a screed o' Toorko. P'raps they'll make _that_ out." The individual addressed was very different from the men amongst whom he stood. He was a thin, slightly-made, yet strong and active young man, in a very short grey coat, a very long striped vest, and very tight corduroy trousers--a sort of compound of footman and jockey. In truth, Daniel Horsey was both; being at once valet and groom to the romantic Kenneth, whose fate it was, (according to the infallible Mrs Niven), to be "drownded." Dan's first inquiry was as to whether any one had seen his master, and the tones in which the question was put betokened him, beyond all doubt, a son of the Green Isle. Being told that no one had seen his master, he was about to leave the hut in quest of him when he was collared by several stout men, and placed forcibly in front of a Russian with a huge red beard, who appeared to be the least exhausted of the party. "Come now, Dan, say somethin' to them Roosians." "Arrah! d'ye think I'll spake a word av ye stick yer great ugly fists into my jooglar veins like that? Hands off," he cried indignantly, "or niver a taste o' spaitch ye'll git from me, bad or good. Besides, what duv _I_ know about Roosian?" "Ye've bin in Toorkey, han't ye?" inquired a fisherman. "Troth I have, an' what o' that?" replied Dan, as his captors released their hold of his collar. "Ye can speak Toorko, can't ye?" "Maybe I can," he replied cautiously. "Well, I'm told that Toorkey lies to the suthard o' Roosia, just as England lies to the suthard o' Scotland, an' so, mayhap, they'll understand a bit Toorko." "Faix, av they don't understand Thoorko better nor the English understand Scotch, it's little speed I'll come wi' them," said Dan with a leer. "Howsomediver, I'll give 'em a trial. I say, Mr Red-beard, hubba doorum bobble moti squorum howko joski tearum thaddi whak? Come, now, avic, let's hear what ye've got to say to that. An' mind what ye spake, 'cause we won't stand no blarney here." Dan uttered this with immense volubility and assurance, and the fishermen regarded him with deepening respect, as they awaited the Russian's answer. He replied by a stare and a shake of the head as before. "Hookum daddy," resumed Dan, stooping to gaze earnestly into the man's face, and placing the thumb of his right hand into the palm of his left, by way of emphasising his remark, "Hookum daddy, saringo spolli-jaker tooraloo be japers bang falairo--och!" he added, turning away with a look of disgust, "he don't understand a word. I would try him wi' Frinch, but it's clear as ditch wather that he's half drownded still." Convinced that Dan Horsey's "Toorko" was of no use, the fishermen at length allowed him to retire. CHAPTER FOUR. THE RESCUE. While this scene was enacting in the cottage, I was hasting up from the beach, where the lifeboat men had rendered good service that night. As the honorary agent for the Shipwrecked Mariners' Society, I had been summoned by a special messenger as soon as it was known that vessels were on the rocks off the entrance to our harbour. I was accompanied by my niece, Lizzie Gordon, who always joined me on such occasions, carrying with her a basket in which were a flask of brandy, another of port wine, a bottle of smelling salts, and several small articles which she fancied might be of use in cases of emergency. We had called at the Sailors' Home in passing, to see that they were astir there, and ready to receive shipwrecked people. We afterwards remained on the beach, under the lee of a boathouse, while the lifeboat men saved the crews of the wrecked vessels. The work was nobly done! John Furby, the coxswain, with a sturdy crew of volunteers--twelve in all--were ready for action, with cork life-belts and oilskin coats on, when the team of four stout horses came tearing along the sands dragging the lifeboat after them, assisted and cheered on by a large crowd of men and boys. No unnecessary delay occurred. Opposite the first wreck, the carriage was wheeled round, so that the bow of the boat pointed to the sea. The crew sprang into their seats, and, shipping the oars, sat ready and resolute. Immense breakers thundered on the beach, and rushed inland in fields of gurgling foam that looked like phosphoric light in the darkness. Into this the carriage was thrust as far as it could be with safety by many strong and willing hands. Then the men in the surf seized the launching lines, by means of which the boat could be propelled off its carriage. A peculiar adaptation of the mechanism enabled them, by _pulling backward_, to force the boat _forward_. For a moment they stood inactive as a towering wave rolled in like a great black scroll coming out of the blacker background, where the sound of the raging storm could be heard, but where nothing could be seen, save the pale red light which proved that the wreck still held together. The sea flew up, almost overwhelming the carriage. John Furby, standing at his post by the steering oar, with the light of the small boat-lamp shining up into his rugged face, gave the word in a clear, strong voice. "Hurrah!" shouted the men on shore, as they ran up the beach with the ends of the launching ropes. The boat sprang into the surf, the crew bent to their oars with all their might, and kept pace with the rush of the retreating billow, while the sea drew them out as if it were hungry to swallow them. The lifeboat met the next breaker end-on; the men, pulling vigorously, cleft it, and, passing beyond, gained the deep water and disappeared from view. The minutes that followed appeared like hours, but our patience was not long tried. The boat soon re-appeared, coming in on the crest of a towering wave, with six saved seamen in her. As she struck the beach she was seized by the crowd on shore, and dragged out of danger by main force. Thus far all was well. But there was stern work still to be done. Having ascertained that the vessel was a collier, and that none of her crew were lost, I sent the six men with an escort to the Sailors' Home, and followed the lifeboat, which was already on its way to the second wreck, not more than five hundred yards from the first. Here they were equally successful, three men and a boy being rescued from the vessel, which also proved to be a small collier. Then the boat was conveyed to the third wreck, which turned out to be a brig, and was nearly a mile removed from the harbour, just opposite the fishing village of Cove. The crew of the lifeboat being now much exhausted, were obliged to give up their oars and life-belts to fresh men, who volunteered for the service in scores. Nothing, however, would persuade John Furby to resign his position, although he was nearly worn out with fatigue and exposure. Once more the lifeboat dashed into the sea, and once again returned with a crew of rescued men, who were immediately led up to the nearest hut, which chanced to be that of Stephen Gaff. One of the saved men, being insensible, was carried up and laid in Stephen's bed, as I have already described. There was still some uncertainty as to whether all those on board the wreck had been rescued, so the boat put off again, but soon returned, having found no one. As she struck the shore a larger wave than usual overwhelmed her, and washed the coxswain overboard. A loud cry burst from those who witnessed this, and one or two daring fellows, running into the surf up to their waists, nearly perished in their brave but vain efforts to grasp the drowning man. Furby did not struggle. He had been rendered insensible by the shock, and although several ropes were thrown to him, and one actually fell over him, he could make no effort to save himself, as the waves rolled him inshore and sucked him back again. At this moment the sound of horses' hoofs was heard on the sands, and my young friend Kenneth Stuart dashed past us, at full gallop, into the sea! Kenneth was a splendid and a fearless rider. He kept the finest horses in the neighbourhood. On this occasion he was mounted on a large strong chestnut, which he had trained to gallop into a foaming surf. Checking his pace suddenly, when about knee-deep in the foam, he took up such a position that the next billow would wash the drowning man within his reach. The wave came on. When about a hundred yards from the spot where the young horseman stood, it fell with a prolonged roar, and the foam came sweeping in like a white wall, with the dark form of Furby tossing in the midst. The sea rushed furiously upon horse and rider, and the terrified horse, rearing almost perpendicular, wheeled round towards the land. At the same instant the coxswain was hurled against them. Kenneth seized the mane of his steed with one hand, and grasping Furby with the other, held on. The noble charger, swept irresistibly landward, made frantic efforts to regain his footing, and partially succeeded before the full force of the retreating water bore back upon him. For one moment he stood quivering with the strength of his effort. Kenneth was very strong, else he had never maintained his grasp on the collar of the coxswain. A moment more, and the horse made a plunge forward; then a dozen hands caught him by bridle and saddle-girth, and almost dragged the trio out of the sea, while a loud cheer greeted their deliverance. I ordered four stout men to carry the coxswain to Gaff's cottage, remaining behind for a few minutes in order to congratulate my young friend on his escape and success, as well as to see that no other wrecks had occurred in the neighbourhood. Having satisfied myself as best I could on this latter point, I was about to proceed to the cottage when Kenneth came forward, leading his good horse by the bridle, and offered his disengaged arm to my niece. Lizzie thanked him and declined, observing that, after his gallant and successful rescue of Furby, he must himself stand in need of assistance, or something to that effect. I cannot say what his reply was, but I observed that she immediately afterwards took the proffered arm, and we all walked up to the hut together. On reaching it we met Kenneth's groom coming out, he having failed, as has been shown, to make any impression on the Russians with his Turkish! I found the place completely filled with men and women, the latter being in a state of great excitement. "Here's the agent! make way, lads! here comes Cap'n Bingley," several voices exclaimed as I entered. Going to the bed and seeing how matters stood with poor Furby, who had been placed on his back, I ordered the people to leave the hut, and had the half-drowned man turned instantly on his face. The other half-drowned man, having recovered, was lying on a blanket before the fire. "Clear the room, lads," said I firmly, "the man wants fresh air; open the window, and take these wrecked men up to the Home in town. Everything is prepared for them there, hot coffee and beds, and a hearty welcome. Away with you, now; carry those who can't walk." With the assistance of Kenneth and his man the hut was soon cleared, only a few being allowed to remain to aid me in my efforts to recover the coxswain. "You see," said I, as I rolled Furby gently and continuously from his face to his side, in order to produce what I may term artificial breathing, "it is not good to lay a half-drowned man on his back, because his tongue will fall into his throat, and prevent the very thing we want to bring about, namely, respiration. Go to the foot of the bed, Kenneth, put your hands under the blankets, and chafe his legs with hot flannel. Hold the smelling salts to his nose, Lizzie. That's it, now. Mrs Gaff, put more hot bottles about him; see, he begins to breathe already." As I spoke the mysterious vital spark in the man began to revive, and ere long the quivering eyelids and short fitful gasps indicated that "Uncle John," as the coxswain of the lifeboat was styled by the household, had recovered. We gave him a teaspoonful or two of hot coffee when he was able to swallow, and then prepared to take our leave. I observed, while I was busy with Furby, that my niece took Mrs Gaff aside, and appeared to be talking to her very earnestly. Lizzie was a lovely girl. She was tall and slightly formed, with rich brown hair and a dark clear complexion that might have been almost styled Spanish, but for the roses which bloomed on her cheeks. I could not help admiring the strong contrast between her and the fair face and portly figure of worthy Mrs Gaff, who listened to what she said with an air of deep respect. Little Tottie had taken Lizzie's hand in both of hers, and was looking up in her face, and the boy Billy was gazing at her with open-mouthed admiration. I observed, too, that Kenneth Stuart was gazing at her with such rapt attention that I had to address him several times before he heard me! This I was not surprised at, for I remember to this day the feelings of pleasure with which I beheld my pretty niece, when, having lost her father and mother, poor dear! she came to find a home under my roof, and it was natural she should inspire admiration in a young man like Kenneth. My family and the Stuarts had become acquainted only a few weeks before the events of which I am now writing, and this was the first time that the young people had met. They were not altogether unknown to each other, however, for Lizzie had heard of Kenneth from the fishermen, who used to speak with interest of his horsemanship and his daring feats in rescuing drowning people from the sea during the storms that so frequently visited our coast, and Kenneth had heard of Lizzie, also from the fishermen, amongst whom she was a frequent visitor, especially when sickness entered their cots, or when the storm made their wives widows, and their little ones fatherless. I had set my heart on seeing these two married. My dear wife, for the first time in her life I believe, thoroughly agreed with me in this wish. I mention the fact with unalloyed pleasure, as being what I may term a sunny memory, a bright spot, in a life of subdued though true happiness. We neither of us suspected at that time what bitter opposition to our wishes we were to receive from Kenneth's father, who, although in many respects a good man, was very stern--unpleasantly stern. Having done all that could be done for the wrecked people, Lizzie and I returned to our residence in Wreckumoft at about four in the morning. Kenneth insisted on walking with us, sending his man home with his horse, which Lizzie patted on the neck, and called a noble creature. It was quite evident that Kenneth wished that he himself was his own horse on that occasion--so evident that Lizzie blushed, and taking my arm hurriedly urged me to go home as it was "very late." "Very early would be more correct, my dear," said I, "for it is past four. You must be tired, Lizzie; it is wrong in me to allow you to subject yourself to such storms. Give her your arm, Kenneth." "If Miss Gordon will accept of it," said the youth approaching her promptly, "I shall be--" "No, thank you," said Lizzie, interrupting him and clinging closer to me; "I am not in the least tired, and your assistance is quite sufficient, uncle." I must confess to being surprised at this, for it was quite evident to me that Kenneth admired Lizzie, and I was pretty certain--so was my dear wife--that Lizzie admired Kenneth, although of course she never gave us the slightest hint to that effect, and it seemed to me such a good and reasonable opportunity for--well, well, I need not bore you, reader, with my wild ideas, so peculiarly adapted it would seem for the twentieth century--suffice it to say, that I _was_ surprised. But if truth must be told, I have always lived in a state of surprise in regard to the thoughts and actions of women, and on this particular night I was doomed to the unpleasant surprise of being received with a sharp rebuke from Mrs Bingley, who roundly asserted that she would stand this sort of thing no longer. That she had no notion of being disturbed at such unearthly hours by the noisy advent of a disagreeably damp and cold husband, and that if I intended to continue to be an agent of the Shipwrecked Mariners' Society, she would insist upon a separate maintenance! I was comforted, however, by finding a good fire and a hot cup of coffee in the parlour for myself and Lizzie, provided by our invaluable housekeeper, Susan Barepoles, a girl who was worthy of a better name, being an active, good-looking, cheerful lass. She was the daughter of the skipper of one of our coal sloops, named Haco Barepoles, a man of excellent disposition, but gifted with such a superabundance of animal spirits, courage, and recklessness, that he was known in the port of Wreckumoft as Mad Haco. Much exhausted by one of the hardest nights of toil and exposure I ever spent, I retired to my room and sought and found repose. CHAPTER FIVE. THE BREAKFAST PARTY AT SEASIDE VILLA. The morning after the storm was bright and beautiful. The breakers, indeed, were still thundering on the shore, but otherwise the sea was calm, and the sun shone into the breakfast parlour of Seaside Villa with a degree of intensity that might have warmed the heart of an oyster. It certainly warmed the heart of the household cat, which, being an early riser, was first down-stairs, and lay at full length on the rug, enjoying at once the heat of the glowing fire which tinged its brown back with red, and the blazing sun which turned its white breast yellow. Presently a dark cloud entered the room. It sat on the brow of George Stuart, Esquire, of Wreckumoft, the head of the family. Mr Stuart walked up to the fire and turned his back to it, as if to offer it a deliberate insult, while yet he accepted all the benefit it could afford him on that cold December morning. The cat being in his way, he moved it out of his way with his foot. He did it roughly, but he did not exactly kick it, for he was not a cruel, or naturally unkind man. Having disposed of the cat, and looked twice at his watch, and blown his nose three times--the last twice unnecessarily--Mr Stuart rang the bell with violence. Mrs Niven entered. "Why is breakfast not ready?" said the master with asperity. "Breakfast _is_ ready, sir," replied the housekeeper with dignity. "Where is my sister, then, and the rest of them?" The questioner was partly answered by the abrupt and somewhat flurried entrance of the sister referred to. "What's the meaning of this, Peppy?" demanded Mr Stuart with a frown. "My dear George," said Miss Peppy, bustling about actively, "I really _am_ sorry, but you know things can't always be just as one would wish, and then when things _do_ turn out occasionally as one would _not_ wish, and as one had no expectation of, and, so to speak, without consulting one at all, (dear me, where _is_ that key?)--and when one can't help things turning out so, you know, it's really too much to--to--you know what I mean, brother; come now, be reasonable." "I do _not_ know what you mean, Peppy," (the lady's name when unabbreviated was Penelope, but as she never was so named by any one, she might as well not have had the name at all), "and," continued Mr Stuart, emphatically, "I would advise _you_ to be reasonable and explain yourself." "Dear George, how _can_ you," said Miss Peppy, who talked with great volubility, and who never for a moment ceased to bustle about the room in a series of indescribable, as well as unaccountable, not to say unnecessary, preparations for the morning meal, which had already been prepared to perfection by Mrs Niven; "you surely don't forget--things do happen _so_ surprisingly at times--really, you know, I _can not_ see why we should be subjected to such surprises. I'm quite sure that no good comes of it, and then it makes one look _so_ foolish. Why human beings were made to be surprised so, _I_ never could understand. No one ever sees pigs, or horses, or cows surprised, and they seem to get through life a great deal easier than we do, at all events they have less worry, and they never leave their children at their neighbour's doors and run away--what _can_ have got it?--I'm quite sure I put it there last night with the thimble and scissors." Miss Peppy thrust her right hand deep into that mysterious receptacle of household miscellanies her pocket, and fingered the contents inquiringly for a few moments. "What are you looking for?" inquired her brother impatiently. "The key of the press," said Miss Peppy with a look of weariness and disappointment. "What key is that in your left hand?" said Mr Stuart. "Why, I declare, that's _it_!" exclaimed his sister with a laugh; "there _is_ no accounting for things. My whole life is a series of small surprises and perplexities. I _wonder_ what I was born for! It seems to me so ridiculous that so serious a thing as life should be taken up with such little trifles." "What's that you say about trifles, aunt?" asked Kenneth, who entered the room at the moment, and saluted Miss Peppy on the cheek. "Nothing, Kennie, nothing worth mentioning," (she seated herself at the table and began to pour out the tea): "it seems that you have been saving more lives last night." "Well, yes, at least I saved _one_," said Kenneth, with a look of mingled pride and pleasure; "stout John Furby, the coxswain of the new lifeboat, was knocked overboard and nearly drowned. Bucephalus and I chanced to be near the spot at the time, so we managed to pull him out between us." "I don't like Bucephalus," observed Miss Peppy, stirring her tea with her egg-spoon by mistake. "Don't you, aunt--why?" "Because he's so big and strong and fierce. I wonder you can take pleasure in riding such a great cart-horse, Kennie." Miss Peppy at this moment discovered her mistake in regard to the egg-spoon, and rectified it, observing with a look of resignation, that there _was_ no accounting for the way in which things happened in this world. "Don't call my Bucephalus a cart-horse, aunt," said Kenneth, beginning to eat languidly; "true, he is uncommonly big and strong, but then I am unusually big too, so we're well matched; and then his limbs are as delicately turned as those of a racer; and you should see him taking a five-barred gate, aunt!--he carries me over as if I were a mere feather. Think of his swimming powers too. John Furby is not the first man he has enabled me to drag out of the stormy sea. Ah! he's a noble horse-- worthy of higher praise than you seem inclined to give him, believe me." "Well I'm sure I have no objection to the horse if you have none, Kennie, and it's a good thing for a beast to be able to save human lives, though why human lives should require to be saved at all is a mystery that I never could fathom; surely if men would only agree to give up going to sea altogether, and never build any more ships, there would be no more drowning, and no need of lifeboats and cork boots--or coats, I forget which--that enable them to walk on the water, or float in it, I don't remember which. I'm sure with all that I have to remember it's no wonder--what with ridiculous little trifles to worry one, such as keys, and thimbles, and scissors, when we should be giving our minds to the solemn realities of life--and then,--as if that were not enough for any woman's shoulders,--to have a little child left at one's door." "Oh, by the way," interrupted Kenneth, "I had quite forgotten the child. Mrs Niven told me about it, and I looked into the crib as I went up to bed last night, or rather this morning, and saw that it was sleeping-- somewhat restlessly I fancied. Who brought it here?" Mr Stuart, who had hitherto eaten his breakfast in silence, looked at his sister as if the reply would interest him. Before the answer could be given the door opened, and a smart handsome youth of apparently eighteen years of age entered. His dress bespoke him a midshipman in the navy, and the hearty familiarity of his manner showed that he was on intimate terms with the family. "Gildart, my boy, how are you?" cried Kenneth, springing up and shaking the youth warmly by both hands. "Hearty, old fellow, and happy to see my ancient chum. How d'ye do, Miss Penelope? How are ye, Mr Stuart?" My son Gildart had been Kenneth's favourite companion when they were boys at school. They had not met for many years. "Sit down," said Kenneth, pressing his friend into a chair; "when did you arrive; where did you come from; what brought you home?--your appearance is so unexpected!--hope you've come to stay with _us_. Had breakfast?" "Well, now, such a string of 'em to answer all at once," replied Gildart Bingley, laughing. "Suppose I try to reply in the same order--came this morning; direct from China, where we've been sinking junks and peppering pirates; got leave of absence for a few weeks to run down here and see the old folks at home; whether I stay with _you_ will depend on the treatment I receive; I have had breakfast, and came down here supposing that yours would have been over--but I'm capable of a second meal at any time; have tried a third occasionally with reasonable success. Now, Kennie--I'm not afraid to call you by the old name, you see, although you _have_ grown so big and manly, not to say fierce--having answered your questions, will you be so good as to tell me if it's all true that I hear of your having saved the life of a fisherman last night?" "It is true that I pulled him out of the sea, aided and abetted by Bucephalus, but whether all that you have heard of me is true I cannot tell, not knowing what you have heard. Who told you of it?" "Who? why the household of the Bingleys, to be sure--all speaking at once, and each louder than the other, with the exception of my pretty coz, by the way, who did not speak at all until the others were out of breath, and then she gave me such a graphic account of the affair that I would certainly have forgotten where I was, and been transported to the scene of action, had not her pretty flushed face and blazing black eyes riveted me to the spot where I sat. I actually gave vent to an irresistible cheer when she concluded. D'ye know, Kennie, you seem to have made an impression in that quarter? I wish I were you!" The little midshipman sighed, and helped himself to a second slice of buttered toast. Kenneth laughed lightly, glanced askance at his father, and requested another cup of tea. Mr Stuart glanced at his son, frowned at his finished egg, and stuck the spoon through the bottom of the shell as he would have struck a dagger into the hopes of Kenneth, had he possessed the power. "Peppy," he said, pushing his cup from him, "before our young friend arrived, you were speaking of the little boy who was left mysteriously here last night--" "It's a girl," interrupted Miss Peppy, "not but that it might have been a boy, brother, if it had been born so, but one cannot ignore facts, and to the best of my belief it was a girl last night. To be sure I was very sleepy when I saw it, but it may be a boy this morning for all I know to the contrary. I'm sure the perplexities that _do_ surround us in this world!" (Here Miss Peppy sighed.) "But if there is any doubt on the question we had better ring for Mrs Niven, and send her up-stairs to ascertain." At that moment Mrs Niven entered, and handed a letter to Mr Stuart. "Niven," said Miss Peppy, who spoke so fast, all in one tone, that no one had a chance of interrupting her,--"Niven, will you be so good as to go up-stairs and inquire whether the girl--no, the boy--I--I mean the young human being, that--" "La! ma'am," exclaimed the housekeeper in surprise, "why do you call her a boy? She's as sweet and lovely a girl as ever my two heyes looked on. I never saw nothink like 'er golden 'air--it's quite 'eavenly, ma'am, if I may use the hexpression." "Oh! she _is_ a girl then? ah! I thought so," said Miss Peppy, with a sigh of resignation, as if the fact were a perplexity too deep for investigation, at least at that time. "It matters nothing to me," said Mr Stuart sternly, "whether she be a boy or a girl, I mean to send her to the workhouse." "Workhouse, brother!" exclaimed Miss Peppy in surprise. "Workhouse, sir!" echoed Mrs Niven in horror. "Father!" said Kenneth, remonstratively. "Mrs Niven," said Mr Stuart, breaking the seal of the letter very slowly, "you may leave the room. Sister, I do not choose to have my intentions commented on in such a manner, especially before the domestics. This child I have nothing whatever to do with; it has no claim on me, and I shall certainly hand it over to the parochial authorities to be dealt with--" "According to law," suggested the middy. "Yes, according to law," assented Mr Stuart with much severity, applying himself to the letter while the rest of the party rose from table. "Dear me!" he exclaimed, with an expression of annoyance, as his eye fell on the first lines, "I find that Emma and her good-for-nothing husband will, in all likelihood, be here to-night." "To-night, father!" said Kenneth, with a look of gladness. "Probably," replied Mr Stuart. "The vessel in which they sailed from Australia was seen off the Lizard yesterday, at least my agent writes that he thinks it was the `Hawk,' but the fog was too thick to permit of a clear sight being obtained; so, I suppose, we shall be inflicted with them and their child to-night or to-morrow." "To-night or to-morrow, it may be so, _if they have weathered the storm_," muttered Kenneth in a deep, sad tone. CHAPTER SIX. KENNETH INDULGES IN SUSPICIONS AND SURMISES. "Will you walk or ride?" said Kenneth Stuart as he and Gildart issued from Seaside Villa, and sauntered down the avenue that led to the principal gate. "Ride, by all means," said Gildart, "if you have a respectable horse. I love to ride, not only on the `bursting tide,' but on the back of a thoroughbred, if he's not too tough in the mouth, and don't incline to shy." Kenneth replied that he had a mount to give him, which, although not quite thoroughbred, was nevertheless a good animal, and not addicted to the bad qualities objected to. As he spoke Daniel Horsey walked up, and, touching his hat, asked if the horses would be required. "Yes, Dan. Is Bucephalus none the worse of last night's work?" "Niver a taste, sur. He's like a lark this mornin'." "Well, saddle him, and also the brown horse. Bring them both over to Captain Bingley's as soon as you can." "Yis, sur." Dan touched his cap, and walked smartly away. "Why to my father's?" asked Gildart. "Because, after your father and Miss Gordon were exposed to such unwonted fatigue, I wish to inquire for them personally." "Humph! you're not satisfied with my assurance that they are well?" "Not quite, my boy," said Kenneth, with a smile; "I wish to have the assurance from the lips of your sweet cousin." "Whew! in love!" exclaimed Gildart. "No; not in love _yet_," replied the other; "but, to change the subject, did you observe the manner in which my father received the news of the arrival of the `Hawk?'" "Well, it did not require a fellow to have his weather eye _very_ wide-open to perceive that your father has a decided objection to his son-in-law, and does not seem over anxious to meet with him or his wife or child. What have they been up to, Kennie--eloped, eh?" "No, they did not exactly elope, but they married without my father's consent, or rather against his wishes, and were discarded in consequence. You must not think my father is an unkind man, but he was deeply disappointed at poor Emma's choice; for, to say truth, her husband was a wild harum-scarum sort of fellow, fond of steeple-chasing--" "Like you," interpolated Gildart. "Like me," assented Kenneth, with a nod, "and also of yachting and boating, _like you_." "Like me," assented the middy. "Nevertheless," resumed Kenneth, "a good-hearted fellow in the main, who, I am certain, would have acted his part in life well if he had been better trained. But he was spoiled by his father and mother, and I must admit that poor Tom Graham was not over fond of work." "Ha!" ejaculated Gildart. "Hum!" responded his friend, "do either of us, I wonder, perceive in ourselves any resemblance to him in this latter point? I suppose it would require a third party to answer that question truly. But, to continue--My father gave Emma, (for he would not consent to see Tom), a thousand pounds, and dismissed her from his presence, as he said, `for ever,' but I am convinced that he did not mean what he said, for he paced about his bedroom the whole of the night after his last interview with poor Emma, and I heard him groan frequently, although the partition that separates our rooms is so thick that sounds are seldom heard through it. Do you know, Gildart, I think we sometimes judge men harshly. Knowing my father as I do, I am convinced that he is not the cold, unfeeling man that people give him credit for. He acted, I believe, under a strong conviction that the course he adopted was that of duty; he hoped, no doubt, that it would result in good to his child, and that in the course of time he should be reconciled to her. I cannot conceive it possible that any one would cast off his child deliberately and _for ever_. Why, the man who could do so were worse than the beasts that perish." "I agree with you. But what came of Tom and Emma?" asked Gildart. "They went to Australia. Tom got into business there. I never could make out the exact nature of it, but he undoubtedly succeeded for a time, for Emma's letters to me were cheerful. Latterly, however, they got into difficulties, and poor Emma's letters were sad, and came less frequently. For a year past she has scarcely written to me at all. Tom has never written. He was a high-spirited fellow, and turned his back on us all when my father cast him and Emma off." "Humph!" ejaculated Gildart, "nevertheless his high spirit did not induce him to refuse the thousand pounds, it would seem." "You wrong him, Gildart; Emma knew him well, and she told me that she had placed the money in a bank in her own name, without telling him of it. Any success that attended him at first was the result of his own unaided energy and application to business. It is many years now since they went away. Some time ago we heard that they, with their only daughter, little Emma, were coming back to England, whether in wealth or in poverty I cannot tell. The vessel in which they were to sail is named the `Hawk,' and that is the ship that my father has heard of as having been seen yesterday." "How comes it, Kenneth, that you have never opened your lips to me on this subject during our long acquaintance? I did not know even that you had a sister." "Why, to say truth, the subject was not one on which I felt disposed to be communicative. I don't like to talk of family squabbles, even to my most intimate friends." "So we may look for some family breezes and squalls ere long, if not gales," said Gildart with a laugh. Kenneth shook his head gravely. "I fear much," said he, "that the `Hawk' was exposed to last night's gale; she must have been so if she did not succeed in making some harbour before it came on; but I cannot shake off the feeling that she is wrecked, for I know the vessel well, and practical men have told me that she was quite unseaworthy. True, she was examined and passed in the usual way by the inspectors, but every one knows that _that_ does not insure the seaworthiness of vessels." "Well, but even suppose they _have_ been wrecked," suggested Gildart, "it does not follow that they have been drowned." "I don't know," replied the other in a low voice--"I have a strange, almost a wild suspicion, Gildart." "What may that be?" "That the little girl who was left so mysteriously at our door last night is my sister's child," said Kenneth. "Whew!" whistled the midshipman, as he stopped and gazed at his friend in surprise; "well, that _is_ a wild idea, so wild that I would advise you seriously to dismiss it, Kennie. But what has put it into your head?--fancied likeness to your sister or Tom, eh?" "No, not so much that, as the fact that she told Niven last night that her name is Emmie." "That's not Emma," said Gildart. "It is what I used to call my sister, however; and besides that there is a seaman named Stephen Gaff, who, I find, has turned up somewhat suddenly and unaccountably last night from Australia. He says he has been wrecked; but he is mysterious and vague in his answers, and do what I will I cannot get rid of the idea that there is some connexion here." "It is anxiety, my boy, that has made you think in this wild fashion," said Gildart. "Did I not hear Mrs Niven say that the child gave her name as Emmie Wilson?" "True, I confess that the name goes against my idea; nevertheless I cannot get rid of it, so I mean to canter to-day down to Cove, where Gaff stays, and have a talk with him. We can go together by the road along the top of the cliffs, which is an exceedingly beautiful one. What say you?" "By all means: it matters nothing to me what course you steer, so long as we sail in company. But pray don't let the fascinating Lizzie detain you too long. Oh! you need not laugh as if you were invulnerable. I'll engage to say that you'll not come away under an hour if you go into the house without making me a solemn promise to the contrary." "Why, Gildart, it strikes me that _you_ must be in love with your fascinating cousin from the way in which you speak." "Perhaps I am," said the middy, with a tremendous sigh; "but come, here we are, and the horses at the door before us; they must have been brought round by the other road. Now, then, promise that you'll not stay longer than half an hour." Kenneth smiled, and promised. On entering my residence, which had been named, by Mrs Bingley's orders, "Bingley Hall," the young men found my pretty niece coming down the staircase in that most fascinating of all dresses, a riding-habit, which displayed her neat and beautifully rounded figure to perfection. Lizzie could not be said to blush as she bowed acknowledgment to Kenneth's salutation, for a blush, unless it were a _very_ deep one, usually lost itself among the blush roses that at all times bloomed on her cheek; but she smiled with great sweetness upon the stalwart youth, and informed him that, having just been told that John Furby was still suffering from the effects of his recent accident, she had ordered out her pony and was about to ride down to Cove to see him. Kenneth began to remark on the curious coincidence that he too had come out with the intention of riding down to the same place; but the volatile middy burst in with-- "Come, Lizz, that's jolly, we're bound for the same port, and can set sail in company; whether we keep together or not depends on circumstances, not to mention wind and weather. I rather think that if we take to racing, Bucephalus and Kenneth will be there first." "Bucephalus is always well behaved in the company of ladies, which is more than I can say of you, Gildart," retorted his friend, as he opened the door to let Lizzie Gordon pass out. "And we won't race, good cousin," said Lizzie, "for my uncle is to ride with me, and you know he is not fond of going very fast." "How d'ye know that, lass?" said I, coming down-stairs at the moment; "not a few of my friends think that I go much too fast for this century--so fast, indeed, that they seem to wonder that I have not ridden ahead of them into the next! How d'ye do, Kenneth? Gildart was not long of finding you out, I see." Saying this, I mounted my cob and cantered down the avenue of Bingley Hall, followed by the young people, whose fresh and mettlesome steeds curvetted and pranced incessantly. It may be as well to remark here, good reader, that at the time of which I write I was unacquainted, as a matter of course, with many of the facts which I am now narrating: they were made known to me piecemeal in the course of after years. I feel that this explanation is necessary in order to account for my otherwise unaccountable knowledge of things that were said and done when I was not present. CHAPTER SEVEN. LIZZIE GORDON IS RUN AWAY WITH, AND GAFF IS "PUMPED". The road to the Cove lay along the top of the cliffs, and was in many parts exceedingly picturesque; now passing, in the form of a mere bridle-path, along the verge of the precipices, where thousands of sea-gulls floated around the giddy heights, or darted down into the waves which fell on shingly beach, or promontory, or bay of yellow sand, far below; anon cutting across the grassy downs on some bold headland, or diverging towards the interior, and descending into a woody dell in order to avoid a creek or some other arm of the sea that had cleft the rocks and intruded on the land. The day was sunny and sufficiently warm to render a slow pace agreeable to my nag, which was a sedate animal, inclined to corpulency like myself. My young companions and their horses were incapable of restraining themselves to my pace, so they dashed on ahead at intervals, and sometimes came back to me at full gallop. At other times they dismounted and stood on the cliffs looking at the view of the sea, which appeared to them, as it has always been to me, enchanting. I think a view from a high cliff of the great blue sea, dotted with the white and brown sails of ships and boats, is one of the grandest as well as the most pleasant prospects under the sun. Kenneth Stuart thought so too, for I heard him make use of that or some similar expression to Lizzie as he stood beside her talking earnestly, in spite of the light and jocular remarks of my son, who stood at Lizzie's other side commenting on things in general with that easy freedom of speech which is characteristic of middies in the British navy, although not entirely confined to them. The party had dismounted, and Kenneth held Lizzie's horse by the bridle, while Gildart held his own. Bucephalus was roaming at large. His master had trained him so thoroughly that he was as obedient as a dog. He followed Kenneth about, and would trot up to him when he whistled. I don't think I ever saw such a magnificent horse, as to size, beauty, and spirit, coupled with docility, either before or since. "Why, uncle, we thought you must have gone to sleep," said Lizzie, turning towards me with a laugh as I rode up. "Or fallen over the cliffs," added Gildart. "In either case you would not have taken it much to heart, apparently," said I; "come, mount and push on." Lizzie placed her little foot in Kenneth's hand, and was in the saddle like a flash of thought, and with the lightness of a rose-leaf. Gildart, being a little fellow, and his horse a tall one, got into the saddle, according to his own statement, as a lands-man clambers into the main-top through the "lubber's hole" in a squall; and I think the idea was not far-fetched, for, during the process of mounting, his steed was plunging like a ship in a heavy sea. Bucephalus came up at once when whistled to. "You seem very fond of your horse," said Lizzie, as Kenneth vaulted into the saddle. "I _love_ him," replied the youth enthusiastically. "You love other creatures besides horses," thought I; but the thought had barely passed through my brain when Lizzie went off like an arrow. Kenneth sprang forward like a thunderbolt, and Gildart followed--if I may so speak--like a zig-zag cracker. Now, it chanced that Lizzie's horse was in a bad humour that morning, so it ran away, just as the party came to a grassy slope of half a mile in extent. At the end of this slope the road made a sharp turn, and descended abruptly to the beach. Kenneth knew that if the horse came to this turn at a furious gallop, nothing could save Lizzie from destruction. He therefore took the only course open to him, which was to go by a short cut close along the edge of the cliff, and thus overshoot and intercept the runaway. He dashed spurs into Bucephalus, and was off like an arrow from a bow. There was but one point of danger--a place where the bridle-path was crossed by a fence, beyond which the road turned sharp to the left. The risk lay in the difficulty of making the leap and the turn almost at the same instant. To fail in this would result in horse and man going over the cliff and being dashed to pieces. On they went like the wind, while my son and I followed as fast as we could. "Bravo, Kenneth!" shouted Gildart, as Bucephalus took the fence like a deer, and disappeared. Gildart did not know the dangers of the leap: I did, and hastened to the spot with a feeling of intense alarm. On reaching it I saw Kenneth flying far down the slope. He was just in time; a few seconds more, and Lizzie would have been lost. But the bold youth reached the road in time, caught her bridle, reined the horse almost on his haunches, then turned him gradually aside until he galloped with him to a place of safety. This episode induced us to ride the rest of the way in a more leisurely fashion. Arrived at Cove, we each went on our several pieces of business, arranging to meet at the north end of the village in about an hour afterwards. Kenneth found Stephen Gaff at home. Leaving Lizzie to make inquiry as to the health of John Furby, he took the seaman out and walked towards the Downs. "Well, Stephen, you have been wrecked again, I am told?" said Kenneth. "So I have, sir; it's the sixth time now. It's quite plain I ain't born to be drownded. I only hope as how I won't live to be hanged." "I hope not, Stephen. What was the name of the ship?" "The `Fairy Queen.'" "The `Fairy Queen,'" echoed Kenneth, with a slight feeling of disappointment; "from Australia?" "Yes, from Australia." "Did she go to pieces?" "Ay, not an inch of her left. She was an old rotten tub not fit for sea." "Indeed! That's by no means an uncommon state of things," said Kenneth, with some degree of warmth. "It seems to me that until men in power take the matter up, and get a more rigid system of inspection instituted, hundreds of lives will continue to be sacrificed every year. It is an awful thing to think that more than a thousand lives are lost annually on our shores, and that because of the indifference of those who have the power, to a large extent, to prevent it. But that is not the point on which I want to speak to you to-day. Was the `Fairy Queen' bound for this port?" "No; for the port of London," said Gaff, with a cautious glance at his questioner. "Then why did she make for Wreckumoft?" inquired Kenneth. "That's best known to the cap'n, who's gone to his long home," said Gaff gravely. "Were _all_ lost except yourself?" pursued Kenneth, regarding his companion's face narrowly; but the said face exhibited no expression whatever as its owner replied simply-- "It's more than _I_ can tell; mayhap some of 'em were carried away on bits o' wreck and may turn up yet." "At all events none of them came ashore, to your knowledge?" "I believe that every mother's son o' the crew wos lost but me," replied Gaff evasively. "Were none of the children saved?" "What child'n?" asked the other quickly. "I didn't say there was child'n aboord, did I?" Kenneth was somewhat confused at having made this slip; and Gaff, suddenly changing his tactics, stopped short and said-- "I tell 'ee wot it is, young man--seems to me you're pumpin' of me for some ends of yer own as I'm not acquainted with; now, I tell 'ee wot it is, I ain't used to be pumped. No offence meant, but I ain't used to be pumped, an' if you've got anything to say, speak it out fair and above board like a man." "Well, well, Gaff," said Kenneth, flushing and laughing at the same moment, "to say truth, I am not used to pump, as you may see, nor to be otherwise than fair and aboveboard, as I hope you will believe; but the fact is that a very curious thing has occurred at our house, and I am puzzled as well as suspicious, and _very_ anxious about it." Here Kenneth related all that he knew about the little girl having been left at Seaside Villa, and candidly admitted his suspicion that the child was his niece. "But," said Gaff, whose visage was as devoid of expression as a fiddle figure-head, "your brother-in-law's name was Graham, you know." "True, that's what puzzles me; the child's Christian name is Emma--the same as that of my niece and sister--but she says her last name is Wilson." "Well, then, Wilson ain't Graham, you know, any more nor Gaff ain't Snooks, d'ye see?" "Yes, I see; but I'm puzzled, for I _do_ see a family likeness to my sister in this child, and I _cannot_ get rid of the impression, although I confess that it seems unreasonable. And the thought makes me very anxious, because, if I were correct in my suspicion, that would prove that my beloved sister and her husband are drowned." Kenneth said this with strong feeling, and the seaman looked at him more earnestly than he had yet done. "Your father was hard on your sister and her husband, if I bean't misinformed," said Gaff. "He thought it his duty to be so," answered Kenneth. "And you agreed with him?" pursued Gaff. "No, never!" cried the other indignantly. "I regretted deeply the course my father saw fit to pursue. I sympathised very strongly with my dear sister and poor Tom Graham." "Did you?" said Gaff. "Most truly I did." "Hum. You spoke of suspicions--wot was your suspicions?" "To be candid with you, then," said Kenneth, "when I came to see you I suspected that it was _you_ who left that child at our house, for I heard of your sudden re-appearance in Cove, but I am convinced now that I was wrong, for I know you would not tell me a falsehood, Gaff." "No more I would, sir," said Gaff, drawing himself up, "and no more I _did_; but let me tell to you, sir, nevertheless, that your suspicions is c'rect. _I_ left Emmie Wilson at your house, and Emmie Wilson _is_ Emma Graham!" Kenneth stopped and looked earnestly at his companion. "My sister and brother?" he asked in a low suppressed voice. "Dead, both of 'em," said Gaff. With a mighty effort Kenneth restrained his feelings, and, after walking in silence for some time, asked why Gaff had concealed this from his family, and how it happened that the child did not know her proper name. "You see, sir," replied the sailor, "I've know'd all along of your father's ill-will to Mr Graham and his wife, for I went out with them to Australia, and they tuk a fancy to me, d'ye see, an' so did I to them, so we made it up that we'd jine company, pull in the same boat, so to speak, though it _was_ on the land we was goin' and not the sea. There's a proverb, sir, that says, `misfortin makes strange bed fellows,' an' I 'spose it's the same proverb as makes strange messmates; anyhow, poor Tom Graham, he an' me an' his wife, we become messmates, an' of course we spun no end o' yarns about our kith and kin, so I found out how your father had treated of 'em, which to say truth I warn't s'prised at, for I've obsarved for years past that he's hard as nails, altho' he _is_ your father, sir, an' has let many a good ship go to the bottom for want o' bein' properly found--" "You need not criticise my father, Gaff," said Kenneth, with a slight frown. "Many men's sins are not so black as they look. Prevailing custom and temptation may have had more to do with his courses of action than hardness of heart." "I dun know _that_," said Gaff, "hows'ever, I don't mean for to krittysise him, though I'm bound to say his sins is uncommon dark grey, if they ain't black. Well, I wos a-goin' to say that Mr Graham had some rich relations in Melbourne as he didn't want for to see. He was a proud man, you know, sir, an' didn't want 'em to think he cared a stiver for 'em, so he changed his name to Wilson, an' let his beard an' mowstaches grow, so that when he put his cap on there was nothin' of him visible except his eyes and his nose stickin' out of his face, an' when his hair grew long, an' his face was tanned wi' the sun, his own mother would have cut him dead if she'd met him in the street. "Well, we worked a year in Melbourne to raise the wind. Tom, (he made me call him Tom, sir), bein' a clever fellow, got into a store as a clerk, an' I got work as a porter at the quays; an' though his work was more gentlemanly than mine, I made very near as much as him, so we lived comfortable, and laid by a little. That winter little Emma was born. She just come to poor Tom and his wife like a great sunbeam. Arter that we went a year to the diggin's, and then I got to weary to see my old missus, so I left 'em with a promise to return. I com'd home, saw my wife, and then went out again to jine the Grahams for another spell at the diggin's; then I come home again for another spell wi' the missus, an' so I kep' goin' and comin', year by year, till now. "Tom was a lucky digger. He resolved to quit for good and all, and return to settle in England. He turned all he had into gold-dust, and put it in a box, with which he shipped aboard the `Fairy Queen,' of which I was one o' the crew at the time. The `Fairy Queen,' you must understand, had changed owners just about that time, havin' bin named the `Hawk' on the voyage out. We sailed together, and got safe to British waters, an' wos knocked all to bits on British rocks, 'cause the compasses wasn't worth a button, as no more wos our charts, bein' old ones, an' the chain o' the best bower anchor had bin got cheap, and wasn't fit to hold a jolly-boat, so that w'en we drove on a lee-shore, and let go the anchor to keep off the reefs, it parted like a bit o' packthread. I took charge of Emmie, and, by God's blessin', got safe to land. All the rest went down. "Now, sir," continued Gaff, "it came into my head that if I took the little gal to her grandfather, he, bein' as hard as nails, an' desp'rit unforgivin', would swear I wos tellin' a lie, and refuse to take her in. So I thought I'd just go and put her down in the passage an' leave her, so that he'd be obleeged to take her in, d'ye see, not bein' able to see what else to do wi' her. You know he couldn't throw her out, and let her die in the street, could he, sir?" "Not exactly," replied Kenneth, with a sad smile, "nevertheless he would not find it difficult to dispose of her in some other way; in fact, he has already spoken of sending her to the workhouse." "You don't say so, sir?" "Indeed I do, but keep your mind easy, Gaff, for, without telling my father who little Emmie is, I will see to it that she is properly cared for." Kenneth rode back to town that day with a heart so heavy that the bright eyes of Lizzie Gordon failed to rouse him to even the semblance of cheerfulness, and the effervescing small-talk of the volatile Gildart was almost intolerable. CHAPTER EIGHT. DAN HORSEY DOES THE AGREEABLE IN THE KITCHEN. "Captain Bingley," said Kenneth, entering my study somewhat hastily on the following morning, "I am going to carry off Gildart for the day to have a ride with me, and I looked in on you in passing to tell you that Haco has arrived in his schooner, and that he is going to sail this evening for London and will take your Russians to their consul if you wish it." "Thank you, lad; many thanks," said I, "some of them may be able to go, but others, I fear, are too much hurt, and may require to be nursed in the `Home' for some time yet. I will consider it; meanwhile will you carry a note to your father for me?" "With pleasure; at least I will send Dan Horsey with it, if that will do as well." "Quite as well, if you can spare him; send him into the kitchen while I write the note. Adieu, lad, and see that you don't break Gildart's neck. Remember that he is not much accustomed to horses." "No fear of him," said Kenneth, looking back with a laugh as he reached the door, "he is well used to riding out hard gales, and that is more arduous work than steeple-chasing." When Dan Horsey was told to go to the kitchen and await further orders, he received the command with a cheerful smile, and, attaching the bridle of his horse to a post, proceeded to obey it. The kitchen of Bingley Hall was the abode of two females who severally owned a distinct and dissimilar character, both mental and physical. The first female--first in most senses of the word--was Bounder the cook, who was fat, as cooks ought to be in order to prove that their productions agree with them; and self-opinionated, as cooks generally are, in order, no doubt, to prove that they know their business. The second female was Susan Barepoles, a slim, graceful housemaid, apparently modest, (cook did not even pretend to that virtue), and wonderfully sharp-eyed. Both females were good-looking and young, and both were desperately in love with Daniel Horsey. Each knew the fact, and so did Dan. Each was mortally jealous of the other, and Dan was dreadfully perplexed in consequence. Not that he was uncertain as to which of the two he preferred, for Susan's image was "engruven," as he expressed it, deeply on his heart, to the exclusion of all other images, but he found that the jealousy of the two interfered somewhat with the course of true love, causing it to run in its proverbially rough channel. "It's a fine mornin', my darlints," said Dan, as he entered the kitchen with a swagger, and laid his hat and riding-whip on the dresser, at the same time seating himself on the edge of a small table that stood near the window. This seat he preferred to a chair, partly because it enabled him to turn his back to the light, and partly because it afforded him an opportunity of swinging his legs gently with an easy motion that was agreeable, and, at the same time, in his opinion, graceful. "None o' yer imperance," said cook, stirring the contents of a large pan carefully. Susan tossed her head slightly, but admitted that the morning _was_ good. "He's a-writin' of a letter to Grumpy," said Dan, pointing with his thumb towards the ceiling, in order to indicate that the "he" referred to was myself. "Who's Grumpy?" inquired cook, with a look of interest. "Arrah, now, don't ye know it's old Stuart?" Susan laughed, and cook observed that the name seemed to her an extremely disrespectful one. "It's not bad enough for him, the old pair o' tongs," said Dan, taking up his whip with a gentlemanly assumption of ease, and flipping the toe of his boot with it; "av it wasn't for the love that my master Kenneth bears me, I'd have left 'em long ago. But, you see, the young master is a first-rater, and couldn't get on without me no how, so I'm willin' to stop. Besides," continued Dan, with a _very_ small sigh, "I have private raisons for not carin' to leave just now." He accompanied the latter remark with a sly glance at Susan, who chanced quite accidentally to cast a sly glance at Dan, so that their eyes met, and the result was that Susan blushed and began to rub the silver tea-pot, which she was cleaning, unmercifully, and Dan laughed. Whereupon cook looked round hastily and asked what he was laughing at, to which Dan responded that his own imagination, which happened to be a brilliant one, had just then suggested a train of comical ideas which had tickled his risible muscles so that he couldn't help it! "I don't believe it," said cook, who observed Susan's confusion of face, and became internally red hot with jealousy, "I b'lieve you was larfin' at me." "Och, Miss Bounder!" exclaimed Dan, looking at her with an expression so awfully reproachful that cook instantly repented and laughed. "There's bin some strange doin's up at the Villa," said Susan, by way of changing the subject, while she polished the tea-pot yet more unmercifully. "Ah," exclaimed cook, "that's true; what does it all mean, Mr Horsey?" "That's more nor myself can tell," said Dan; "the facts o' the case is clear, so far as they come'd under our obsarvation. But as to the circumstances o' the case, 'specially those of 'em as hasn't yet transpired, I don't rightly know myself wot opinions I ought to entertain." Susan listened to these remarks with profound admiration, chiefly because she did not understand them; but cook, who was more matter-of-fact in her nature, and somewhat demonstrative in her tendencies, advised Dan not to talk gammon, but to explain what he meant. "Explain what I mean, coolinary sunbeam!" said Dan; "isn't it explainin' that I am as plain as the nose on yer face, (an' a purty wan it is), though I haven't got the powers of a lawyer, nor yit a praist? Didn't a drippin' wet sailor come to our door at the dead o' night an' ring the bell as bowld as brass, an' when Mrs Niven, whose intellect was niver much beyond that of a poplypus--" "What's a poplypus?" interrupted cook. "Well now," remonstrated Dan, "I ain't 'xactly a walkin' dictionary; but I b'lieve it's a baist o' the say what hain't got nothin' but a body an' a stummik, indeed I'm not sure but that it's all stummik together, with just legs enough to move about with, or may be a fin or two, an' a hole to let in the wittles; quite in your line, by the way, Miss Bounder." "Imperance!" ejaculated cook. "No offence," said Dan; "but `to resoom the thread o' the narrative,' as the story books say, Mrs Niven she opened the door, and the drippin' wet sailor he puts a little wet spalpeen in her arms, an' goes right off without so much as by your lave, an' that's all we know about it. An' Grumpy he goes ragin' about the house sayin' he'll have nothin' to do wi' the poor little thing--who's not so little naither, bein' a ten-year-old if she's an hour, an' a purty sweet face to boot--an' that he'll send her to the workus' or pris'n, or anywhere; but in his house she's not to stop another day. Well, not havin' the management o' the whole of this world's affairs, (fort'nately, else a scrubbily managed world it would be), Grumpy finds out that when he wants to send little Emmie, (as she calls herself), off, she's knocked down by a ragin' fever, an' the doctor he says it's as much as her life is worth to move her. So Grumpy has to grin and bear it, and there's little Emmie lyin' at this minit in our best bed, (where Mrs Niven put her the moment she was took bad), a-tossin' her purty arms in the air, an' makin' her yellow hair fly over the pillows, and kickin' off the close like a young angel in a passion, and callin' on her mama in a voice that would make a stone immage weep, all the while that Miss Penelope is snivellin' on one side o' the bed, an' Mrs Niven is snortin' on the other." "Poor dear," said Susan in a low voice, devoting herself with intensified zeal to the tea-pot, while sympathetic tears moistened her eyes. I interrupted the conversation at this point by entering the kitchen with my note to my friend Stuart. I had to pass through the kitchen to my back garden when I wished to leave my house by the back garden gate. I had coughed and made as much noise as possible in approaching the cook's domains, but they had been so much engrossed with each other that they did not hear me. Dan sprang hastily off the table, and suddenly assumed a deeply respectful air. "Dan," said I, "take this note to Mr Stuart as quickly as possible, and bring me an answer without delay. I am going to see Haco Barepoles at--" "Oh, sir!" exclaimed Susan with a start, and looking at me interrogatively. "Oh, I forgot, Susan; your father has just arrived from Aberdeen, and is at this moment in the Sailors' Home. You may run down to see him, my girl, if you choose." "Thank you, sir," said Susan, with a glow of pleasure on her good-looking face, as she pushed the tea-pot from her, and dropt the cloth, in her haste to get away to see her sire. "Stay, Susan," said I; "you need not hurry back. In fact, you may spend the day with your father, if you choose; and tell him that I will be down to see him in a few minutes. But I shall probably be there before you. You may take Mr Stuart's answer to the Home," I added, turning to Dan; "I shall be there when you return with it." "_Yes_, sir," said Dan in a tone so energetic as to cause me to look at him. I observed that he was winking towards the kitchen door. Casting my eyes thither I saw that Susan's face was much flushed as he disappeared into the passage. I also noted that the cook's face was fiery red, and that she stirred a large pot, over which she bent, with unnecessary violence--viciously, as it were. Pondering on these things I crossed my garden and proceeded towards the Home, which stood on a conspicuous eminence near the docks, at the east end of the town. CHAPTER NINE. THE SAILORS' HOME AND THE MAD SKIPPER. The Sailors' Home in Wreckumoft was a neat, substantial, unpretending edifice, which had been built by a number of charitable people, in order to provide a comfortable residence, with board at moderate terms, for the numerous seamen who frequented our port. It also served as a place of temporary refuge to the unfortunate crews of the numerous wrecks which occurred annually on our shores. Here I found Haco Barepoles, the skipper of a coal sloop, seated on the side of his bed in one of the little berths of the Home, busily engaged in stuffing tobacco into the bowl of a great German pipe with the point of his little finger. Susan, who had outstripped me, was seated beside him with her head on his shoulder. "Oh, father!" I heard Susan say, as I walked along the passage between the rows of sleeping berths that lined each side of the principal dormitory of our Home; "I shall lose you some day, I fear. How was it that you came so near bein' wrecked?" Before the skipper could reply I stood in the doorway of his berth. "Good-day, Haco," said I; "glad to see you safe back once more." "Thankee, Cap'n Bingley--same to you, sir," said Haco, rising hastily from the bed and seizing my hand, which he shook warmly, and, I must add, painfully; for the skipper was a hearty, impulsive fellow, apt to forget his strength of body in the strength of his feelings, and given to grasp his male friends with a gripe that would, I verily believe, have drawn a roar from Hercules. "I've come back to the old bunk, you see," he continued, while I sat down on a chest which served for a chair. "I likes the Home better an' better every time I comes to it, and I've brought all my crew with me; for you see, sir, the `Coffin's' a'most fallin' to pieces, and will have to go into dock for a riglar overhaul." "The Coffin?" said Susan, interrogatively. "Yes, lass; it's only a nickname the old tub got in the north, where they call the colliers coal-coffins, 'cause it's ten to one you'll go to the bottom in 'em every time ye go to sea." "Are they _all_ so bad as to deserve the name?" inquired Susan. "No, not 'xactly all of 'em; but there's a good lot as are not half so fit for sea as a washin' tub. You see, they ain't worth repairin', and owners sometimes just take their chance o' makin' a safe run by keepin' the pumps goin' the whole time." I informed Haco that I had called for the purpose of telling him that I had applied to Mr Stuart, who owned his little coal sloop, to give a few wrecked Russians a passage to London, in order that they might be handed over to the care of their consul; but that I would have to find a passage for them in some other vessel, as the "Coffin" was so unseaworthy. "Don't be in too great a hurry, sir," said Haco, with a peculiar smile and twinkle in his eye; "I'm inclined to think that Mr Stuart will send her back to London to be repaired there--" "What!" exclaimed Susan, with a flush of indignation, "an' risk your life, father?" "As to that, lass, my life has got to be risked anyhow, and it ain't much worth, to say the truth; so you needn't trouble yourself on that pint." "It's worth a great deal to me," said Susan, drawing herself closer to the side of her rugged parent. I could not help smiling as I looked at this curious specimen of a British seaman shaking his head gravely and speaking so disparagingly of himself, when I knew, and every one in the town knew, that he was one of the kindest and most useful of men. He was a very giant in size, with a breadth of shoulder that would have made him quite ridiculous had it not been counterbalanced by an altitude of six feet four. He had a huge head of red hair, and a huge heart full of tenderness. His only fault was utter recklessness in regard to his own life and limbs--a fault which not unfrequently caused him to place the lives and limbs of others in jeopardy, though he never could be brought to perceive that fact. "Whatever your life may be worth, my friend," said I, "it is to be hoped that Mr Stuart will not risk it by sending you to sea in the `Coffin' till it is thoroughly overhauled." "Come in!" shouted the skipper, in answer to a rap at the door. The invitation to enter was not accepted, but the rap was repeated. "Go, Susan," said I, "see who it is." Susan obeyed--with unusual alacrity, as I fancied, but did not return with equal quickness. We heard her whispering with some one; then there was a sound as if of a suppressed scream, followed by something that was marvellously like a slap applied to a cheek with an open hand. Next moment Susan re-appeared with a letter and a very flushed face. "A letter, sir," said Susan, dropping her eyes. "Who brought it?" I inquired. "Mr Horsey, sir." Susan stammered the name, and looked confused. "He waits an answer, sir." Haco Barepoles had been eyeing his daughter gravely the while. He now sprang up with the wild energy that was his peculiar characteristic, and flinging the door wide-open with a crash that shook the whole framework of the berth, stood face to face with Dan Horsey. Intense gravity marked the features of the groom, who stood, hat in hand, tapping the side of his top-boot with a silver-mounted riding-whip. He met Haco's steady frown with a calm and equally steady gaze of his clear grey eyes; and then, relaxing into a smile, nodded familiarly, and inquired if the weather was fine up there, bekaise, judgin' from his, (Haco's), face he would be inclined to think it must be raither cowld! Haco smiled grimly: "Ye was to wait an answer, was ye?" "If I may venture to make so bowld as to say so in the presence of your highness, I was." "Then wait," said Haco, smiling a little less grimly. "Thank ye, sir, for yer kind permission," said Dan in a tone and with an air of assumed meekness. The skipper returned to the bed, which creaked as if taxed to its utmost, when he sat down on it, and drew Susan close to his side. "This is from Mr Stuart, Haco," said I, running my eye hastily over the note; "he consents to my sending the men in your vessel, but after what you have told me--" "Don't mind wot I told ye, Captain Bingley. I'll see Mr Stuart to-day, an'll call on you in the afternoon. The `Coffin' ain't quite so bad as she looks. Have 'ee any answer to send back?" "No," said I, turning to Dan, who still stood at the door tapping his right boot with a jaunty air; "tell your master, with my compliments, that I will see him about this matter in the evening." "And hark'ee, lad," cried Haco, again springing up and confronting the groom, "d'ye see this young 'ooman?" (pointing to Susan.) "Sure I do," replied Dan, with a smile and a nod to Susan, "an' a purty cratur she is, for the eye of man to rest upon." "And," shouted Haco, shaking his enormous fist within an inch of the other's nose, "d'ye see them there knuckles?" Dan regarded them steadfastly for a moment or two without winking or flinching. "They're a purty bunch o' fives," he said at length, drawing back his head, and placing it a little on one side in order to view the "bunch," with the air of a connoisseur; "very purty, but raither too fat to do much damage in the ring. I should say, now, that it would get `puffy' at the fifth round, supposin' that you had wind and pluck left, at your time of life, to survive the fourth." "Well now, lad," retorted the skipper, "all I've to say is, that you've seed it, an' if you don't mind yer eye ye'll _feel_ it. `A nod's as good as a wink to a blind horse.'" Haco plunged the "bunch of fives" into his coat-pocket, and sat down again beside his agitated daughter. "I can speak purfessionally," said Dan, "in regard to yer last obsarvation consarnin' blind hosses, and I belave that ye're c'rect. It _don't_ much matter whether ye nod or wink to a blind hoss; though I can't spake from personal exparience 'caise I niver tried it on, not havin' nothin' to do with blind hosses. Ye wouldn't have a weed, would ye, skipper?" he added, pulling out a neat leather case from which he drew a cigar! "Go away, Dan, directly," said I with some asperity, for I was nettled at the impudence of the man in my presence, and not a little alarmed lest the angry Haco should kick him down-stairs. Dan at once obeyed, bowing respectfully to me, and, as I observed, winking to Susan as he turned away. He descended the stair in silence, but we heard him open the door of the public room and address the Russians, who were assembled there, warming themselves at the fire, and enjoying their pipes. "Hooray! my hearties," said Dan; "got yer broken legs rewived I hope, and yer spurrits bandaged up? Hey,--och! I forgot ye can swaller nothin' but Toorko--cum, squaki lorum ho po, doddie jairum frango whiskie looro--whack?--eh! Arrah! ye don't need to answer for fear the effort opens up yer wounds afresh. Farewell, lads, or may be it's wishin' ye fair-wind would be more nat'ral." So saying he slammed the door, and we heard him switching his boots as he passed along the street under the windows, whistling the air of "The girls we left behind us," followed, before he was quite out of earshot, by "Oh my love is like the red red rose, that's newly sprung in June." Immediately after Dan's departure I left Haco and Susan together, and they held the following conversation when left alone. I am enabled to report it faithfully, reader, because Susan told it word for word to her mistress, who has a very reprehensible habit of listening to the gossip of her maid. Of course Mrs B told it to me, because she tells everything to me, sometimes a good deal more than I care to hear. This I think a very reprehensible habit also. I am bound to listen, because when my strong-minded wife begins to talk I might as well try to stop a runaway locomotive as attempt to silence her. And so it comes about that I am now making the thing public! "Susan," said Haco, earnestly looking at his daughter's downcast face, on which the tell tale blood was mantling. "Are you fond o' that--that feller?" "Ye-yes, father," replied Susan, with some hesitation. "Humph! an' is he fond o' _you_?" "Oh, isn't he, just," said Susan, with a little confused laugh. "Susan," continued Haco, with increasing earnestness, "Are ye sure he's worthy of you?" "Yes, father, I'm _quite_ sure of that." "Well then, Susan, you're a sensible girl, and you ought to know best; but I don't feel easy about ye, 'cause you're just as like as two peas to your dear mother, what went to the bottom in the last coal-coffin I commanded, an' you would ha' gone too, darlin', if I hadn't bin spared to swim ashore with ye on my back. It was all I could do. Ah, Susan! it was a black night for you an' me that. Well, as I was a sayin', you're as like yer mother as two peas, and she was as trustful as you are, an' little knew wot a bad lot she got when she set her heart on me." "Father, that's not true." "Ain't it, lass? Well, let it pass, but then this feller, this Dan Hursey--" "Horsey, father," said Susan. "Well, well, it ain't much better; this Horsey is an Irishman, an' I don't like Irishmen." "Father, you'd get to like 'em if you only knew 'em better," said Susan earnestly. "What bell's that?" she added, as a loud ringing echoed through the house. "The dinner bell, lass. Come an' see wot a comf'rable feed they git. I can tell 'ee that them Sailors' Homes is the greatest blessin' that was ever got up for us sea-dogs. We ain't 'xactly such soft good natur'd ignorant big babies as some o' your well-meanin' pheelanthropists would make us out; but we _are_ uncommon hard put to it when we git ashore, for every port is alive with crimps an' land-sharks to swaller us up when we come off a long voyage; an' the wust of it is, that we're in a wild reckless humour for the most part when we git ashore with our pockets full o' yellow boys, an' are too often quite willin' to _be_ swallered up, so that lots of us are constantly a-goin' to sticks an' stivers. An' then before the Homes was set a-goin', the fellers as wanted to get quiet lodgin's didn't find it easy to know where to look for 'em, an' was often took in; an' when they wanted to send cash to their wives or mothers, they didn't well know how to manage it; but now, wherever there's a Home you can git cheap board, good victuals, help in the way o' managin' yer cash, an' no end of advice gratis. It's only a pity there ain't one or two of 'em in every port in the kingdom. "See here," continued Haco, warming with his subject as he led Susan past the dormitories where the Russians, who had been maimed during the recent wrecks, were being supplied with dinner in their berths, "see here,--another o' the best o' the institootions o' this land looks arter them poor fellers, an' pays their shot for 'em as long as they're here, an' sends them to their homes free of expense--that's the Shipwrecked Fishermen's and Mariners' Society. You've heerd o' that Society, Susan, haven't 'ee?" "No father, never." "What, never heerd o' the Shipwrecked Mariners' Society with its hundreds o' honorary agents all round the coast, who have done more to dry the tears o' orphans an' comfort widders' hearts than tongue can tell?--Never heerd o' it, an' you a sailor's daughter?" "I daresay I'm very stupid for being so ignorant, father; but I never heard of it. You know I've spent most o' my life inland with old Auntie Bess, an' only come here this year. "Mayhap," continued Haco, shaking his head gravely, "you've never heer'd, neither, o' the Lifeboat Institootion." "Never," said Susan meekly. "I've seen the lifeboat we have here, you know, but I never heard of the Institootion." "Well, well, Susan, I needn't be surprised, for, to say truth, there's many in this country, who think no small beer o' theirselves, that know precious little about either the one or the other, although they're the most valooable Institootions in the country. I'll tell 'ee about 'em, lass, some other time--how they saves hundreds o' lives, an' relieves no end o' distress annooally. It's enough just now to say that the two Institootions is what I calls brother an' sister--the Lifeboat one bein' the brother; the Shipwrecked Mariners' one bein' the sister. The brother, besides savin' thousands o' pounds worth o' goods, saves hundreds o' lives every year. But when the brother has saved the shipwrecked sailor, his work is done. He hands him over to the sister, who clothes him, feeds him, warms him--as you see bein' done to them there Roosians--and then sends him home. Every sailor in the country should be a member o' the Shipwrecked Mariners' Society, say I. I've been one myself for many years, an' it only costs me three shillings a year. I'll tell 'ee some other time what good it does me; but just now you an' I shall go an' have some grub." "Where shall we go to get it, father?" "To the refreshment room below, lass. It won't do to take ye to the dinin' hall o' the Home for three reasons,--first, 'cause ye're a 'ooman, an' they ain't admitted; second, 'cause it wouldn't be pleasant for ye to dine wi' forty or fifty Jack-tars; and, thirdly, if ye wanted it ever so much yer old father wouldn't let ye--so come along, lass, to dinner." CHAPTER TEN. THE DINNER IN THE RESTAURANT--HACO MEETS AN OLD FRIEND AND BECOMES COMMUNICATIVE. The room to which Haco led his daughter was a small oblong one, divided off into compartments similar to those with which we are familiar in eating-houses and restaurants of the poorer class. It formed part of the Home, but was used by the general public as well as by seamen, who wished to order a meal at any time and pay for it. Haco Barepoles, being at the time a boarder in the home, was entitled to his dinner in the general mess-room, but being bent on enjoying his meal in company with Susan, he chose to forego his rights on that occasion. Being the hour at which a number of seamen, labourers, clerks, and others were wont to experience the truth of the great fact that nature abhors a vacuum, the room was pretty full, and a brisk demand was going on for soup, tea, coffee, rolls, and steaks, etcetera, all of which were supplied on the most moderate terms, in order to accommodate the capacities of the poorest purse. In this temple of luxury you could get a small bowl of good soup for one penny, which, with a halfpenny roll, might form a dinner to any one whose imagination was so strong as to enable him to believe he had had enough. Any one who was the fortunate possessor of threepence, could, by doubling the order, really feel his appetite appeased. Then for those whose poverty was extreme, or appetite unusually small, a little cup of tea could be supplied for one halfpenny--and a good cup of tea too, not particularly strong, it is true, but with a fair average allowance of milk and sugar. "Waiter," cried Haco Barepoles in a voice that commanded instant attention. "Yessir." "Soup for two, steaks an' 'taties for ditto to foller." "Yessir." "Please, father, I would like a cup of coffee after the soup instead of a steak. I don't feel very hungry." "All right, lass. Waiter, knock off one o' the steaks an' clap a cup o' coffee in its place." "Yessir. Roll with it, Miss?" "Of course," said Haco. "Butter, Miss?" "Sartinly. An' double allowance o' milk an' sugar," replied the skipper. "S'pose you han't got cream?" "No sir." "Never mind. Look alive now, lad. Come, Susan, here's a box with only one man in't, we'll--Hallo! shiver my timbers if it ain't--no--it can't be--Stephen Gaff, eh! or his ghost?" "Just so," said Stephen, laying down his knife and fork, and shaking warmly the hand which Haco stretched across the table to him; "I'm always turnin' up now an' again like a bad shillin'. How goes life with 'ee, Haco? you don't seem to have multiplied the wrinkles since I last saw ye." "Thank 'ee, I'm pretty comf'rable. This is my darter Susan," said Haco, observing that his friend glanced inquiringly at his fair companion--"The world always uses me much the same. I find it a roughish customer, but it finds me a jolly one, an' not easily put out. When did I see ye last? Let me see,--two years come Christmas. Why, I've been wrecked three times since then, run down twice, an' drownded at least half-a-dozen times; but by good luck they always manages to bring me round--rowsussitate me, as the doctors call it." "Ay, you've had hard times of it," observed Gaff, finishing his last morsel of meat, and proceeding to scrape up the remains of gravy and potato with his knife; "I've bin wrecked myself sin' we last met, but only once, and that warn't long ago, just the last gale. You coasters are worse off than we are. Commend me to blue water, and plenty o' sea-room." "I believe you, my boy," responded the skipper. "There's nothin' like a good offing an' a tight ship. We stand but a poor chance as we go creepin' 'long shore in them rotten tubs, that are well named `Coal-Coffins.' Why, if it comes on thick squally weather or a gale when yer dodgin' off an' on, the `Coal-Coffins' go down by dozens. Mayhap at the first burst o' the gale you're hove on your beam-ends, an' away go the masts, leavin' ye to drift ashore or sink; or p'raps you're sharp enough to get in sail, and have all snug, when, just as ye're weatherin' a headland, away goes the sheet o' the jib, jib's blowed to ribbons, an' afore ye know where ye are, `breakers on the lee bow!' is the cry. Another gust, an' the rotten foretops'l's blow'd away, carryin' the fore-topmast by the board, which, of course, takes the jib-boom along with it, if it an't gone before. Then it's `stand by to let go the anchor.' `Let go!' `Ay, ay, sir.' Down it goes, an' the `Coffin's' brought up sharp; not a moment too soon, mayhap, for ten to one but you see an' hear the breakers, roarin' like mad, thirty yards or so astern. It may be good holdin' ground, but what o' that?--the anchor's an old 'un, or too small; the fluke gives way, and ye're adrift; or the cable's too small, and can't stand the strain, so you let go both anchors, an' ye'd let go a dozen more if ye had 'em for dear life; but it's o' no use. First one an' then the other parts; the stern is crushed in a'most afore ye can think, an' in two minutes more, if not less, it's all up with ye, unless there's a lifeboat at hand." "Ah! pity there's not more of 'em on the coast," said Gaff. "True," rejoined Haco, "many a poor feller's saved every year by them blessed boats, as would otherwise have gone to the bottom, an' left widder and childer to weep for him, an' be a burden, more or less, on the country." The waiter appeared at this point in the conversation with the soup, so Haco devoted himself to dinner, while Gaff ordered a plate of bread and cheese extra in order to keep him company. For some minutes they all ate in silence. Then Haco, during the interval between the courses, informed Gaff that he expected to return to the port of London in a day or two; whereupon Gaff said that he just happened to be lookin' out for a ship goin' there, as he had business to do in the great city, and offered to work his way. The skipper readily promised to ship him as an extra hand, if the owner chose to send the `Coffin' to sea without repairs, "which," observed Haco, "is not unlikely, for he's a close-fisted customer." "Who is he?" inquired Gaff. "Stuart of Seaside Villa," said Haco. "Ha! he _is_ a tough un," observed Gaff, with a significant grin. "I knows him well. He don't much care riskin' fellers' lives, though I never heard of him riskin' his own." "He'd very near to answer for mine this voyage," said Haco, as well as he could through a mouthful of steak and potato. "How was that?" "This is how it was," answered the skipper, bolting the mouthful, "you see the `Coffin's' not in a fit state for sea; she's leaky all over, an' there's a plank under the starboard quarter, just abaft the cabin skylight, that has fairly struck work, caulk it and pitch it how you please, it won't keep out the sea no longer, so when we was about to take in cargo, I wrote to Mr Stuart tellin' him of it, an' advisin' repairs, but he wrote back, sayin' it was very awk'ard at this time to delay that cargo, an' askin' if I couldn't work the pumps as I had used to do, besides hintin' that he thought I must be gettin' timid as I grew old! You may be sure I didn't think twice. Got the cargo aboard; up sail an' away. "Well, it was blowin' a stiff nor'-wester when we got away, an' we couldn't have beat into port again if our lives depended on it. So I calls the crew aft, an' told 'em how the matter stood. `Now, lads,' says I, `to speak plain English, the sloop is sinkin' so you had as well turn to an' pump for yer lives, an' I'll show ye how.' With that I off coat an' set to work, an' took my turn the whole voyage. But it was touch an' go with us. We nigh sank in the harbour here, an' I had to run her ashore to perwent her goin' down in deep water. They're patchin' up the rotten plank at this minute, an' if old Stuart won't go in for a general overhaul, we'll be ready for sea in a day or two, and you'll have the pleasure o' navigatin' a lot o' wrecked Roosians to London. Now, waiter, ahoy!--" "Yessir." "Fetch me a pannikin o' tea, for it's dry work tellin' a anikdot. You see, Gaff, I'm a reg'lar teetotaller--never go the length o' coffee even without a doctor's surtificate. Another cup, Susan?" "No thank 'ee, father, I couldn't." "Werry good. Now, Gaff, what's the 'ticklers o' _your_ case. Time about's fair play, you know." Gaff, feeling a gush of confidence come over him, and having ascertained that, in regard to secrecy, Susan was as "safe as the bank," related the circumstances of the wreck, and his having left Emmie at her grandfather's villa; the relation of all which caused Haco Barepoles to give vent to a series of low grunts and whistles, expressive of great surprise. "Now," said Gaff in conclusion, "there's a land-shark, (by which I means a lawyer), in London what writes to me that there's somethin' I'll hear of to my advantage if I calls on him." "Don't go," said Haco, stoutly, as he struck the table with his fist, causing the crockery to rattle again; "take the advice of an old friend, an' _don't go_. If you do, he'll _do_ you." "Thank'ee, an' I'd foller yer advice, but I happens to know this land-shark. He's an old acquaintance, an' I can trust him." "Oh, that alters the case--well?" "Well, but before I go," continued Gaff, "I wants to write a letter to old Stuart to warn him to look arter Emmie; a very partikler letter." "Ay, how much partikler a one?" inquired Haco. "A hambigoo-ous one," replied his friend. "A ham--what?" said Haco interrogatively. "A ham-big-oo-ous one." "What sort of a one may that be, mate?" "Well," said Gaff, knitting his heavy brows, and assuming altogether a learned aspect, "it's a one that you can't make head nor tail of nohow; one as'll read a'rnost as well back'ard as for'ard, an' yet has got a smack o' somethin' mysterious in it, w'ich shows, so to speak, to what pint o' the compass your steerin' for--d'ye see?" "H'm--rather hazy ahead," answered the skipper with a deeply sagacious look; "a difficult letter to write in my opinion. How d'ye mean to do it?" "Don't mean to do it at all. Couldn't do it to save my life; but I'll get a clerk to do it for me, a smart young clerk too; _you_ know who I mean." "Ay, who'll it be? I'll never guess; never guessed a guess in my life." "You know my darter Tottie?" "What, blue-eyed Tottie? oh, yer jokin'!" "Not a bit. That child's a parfec' cooriosity of intelligence. She can write and read most wonderful for her age." "But she'll never be able to do the ham--what d'ye call it?" suggested Haco. "Of course not; she's too young for that, but the wife'll do that. You've no notion how powerful hambigoo-ous she is now an' again. We'll manage it amongst us. Tottie can write like a parson, my wife can read, though she can't write, an'll see that it's all c'rect, specially the spellin' an' the makin' of it hambigoo-ous; an' I'll supply the idees, the notions like, an' superintend, so to speak, an' we'll make little Billy stand by wi' the blottin'-paper, just to keep him out o' mischief." Haco regarded his friend with deepening admiration. The idea of producing a "hambigoo-ous" letter by such an elaborate family combination, in which each should supply his co-labourer's deficiency, was quite new and exceedingly interesting to him. Suddenly his countenance became grave, as it occurred to him that there was no call for such a letter at all, seeing that Kenneth Stuart was sure to do his best to induce his father to take care of the child. On observing this to his friend, the latter shook his head. "I'm not quite sure o' Mister Kenneth," said he, "it's likely that he'll do the right thing by her, but `like father, like son' is an old proverb. He may be a chip o' the old block." "That he is not," interrupted Haco warmly. "I know the lad well. He takes after his poor mother, and I'm sartin sure ye may trust him." "Well, I _must_ trust him," said Gaff, "but I've had no experience of him; so I mean to `make assurance doubly sure,' as the prophet says, if it wasn't the poet--an' that's why I'll write this letter. If it don't do no good, it won't do no harm." "I'm not so sure o' that," said Haco, shaking his head as they rose to depart, "hows'ever, you know best. Now mind, Susan, not a word o' this to any one." Susan promised, and in the course of the evening related the whole affair to Daniel Horsey "_in confidence_;" her conscience being apparently relieved by the idea that having told it only in strict confidence she had not broken her word! Dan made her promise solemnly that she would tell the tale to no one else on earth, either in confidence or otherwise, and thus he checked the stream of gossip as close to its fountain-head as possible. CHAPTER ELEVEN. THE WRITING OF THE "HAMBIGOO-OUS" LETTER. When Stephen Gaff approached his own cottage, he beheld his wife belabouring the Bu'ster with both hands and tongue unmercifully. What special piece of mischief Billy had been doing is not of much consequence. It is enough to state that he suddenly planted the heel of his naked foot somewhat effectively on his mother's little toe, which chanced to be resting on a sharp stone at the moment, burst from her grasp, and rushed down the steep bank to the beach cheering, weeping, and laughing all at once, in a sort of hysterical triumph. Mrs Gaff shouted at the top of her voice to the cherub to come back and get mauled; but the cherub declined the invitation until he heard his father's voice, when he returned joyously, and took shelter under his wing. Mrs Gaff, who could change at a moment's notice from the extreme of anger to perfect quiescence, contented herself with shaking her fist at the Bu'ster, and then relapsed from the condition of a fury into a quiet, good-looking dame. This appears to be the normal condition of fisher-folk, who would seem to require to make use of an excessive amount of moral and physical suasion in order suitably to impress their offspring. "Now, Jess," said Gaff, leading his son by the hand; "let's set to work at once wi' that there letter." "What's all the hurry, Stephen?" "I've just seed my old shipmate, Haco Barepoles, an' it's not unlikely he'll be ready for sea day arter to-morrow; so the sooner we turn this little job out o' hands the better. Come, Tottie, you're a good _girl_; I see you've purvided the paper and ink. Get the table cleaned, lass, and you, Billy, come here." The Bu'ster, who had suddenly willed to have a shy at the household cat with a small crab which he had captured, and which was just then endeavouring vainly to ascend the leg of a chair, for a wonder did not carry out his will, but went at once to his sire. "Whether would ye like to go play on the beach, lad, or stop here and hold the blottin'-paper while we write a letter?" Billy elected to hold the blotting-paper and watch proceedings, being curious to know what the letter was to be about. When all was ready--the table cleared of everything except what pertained to the literary work then in hand--Stephen Gaff sat down at one end of the table; his wife drew her chair to the other end; Tottie, feeling very proud and rather nervous, sat between them, with a new quill in her hand, and a spotless sheet of foolscap before her. The Bu'ster stood by with the blot-sheet, looking eager, as if he rather wished for blots, and was prepared to swab them up without delay. "Are ye ready, Tot?" asked Gaff. "Yes, quite," answered the child. "Then," said Gaff; with the air of a general officer who gives the word for the commencement of a great fight, "begin, an' fire away." "But what am I to say, daddy?" "Ah, to be sure, you'd better begin, Tottie," said Gaff, evidently in perplexity; "you'd better begin as they teach you to at the school, where you've larnt to write so butiful." Here Mrs Gaff advised, rather abruptly, that she had better write, "this comes hoping you're well;" but her husband objected, on the ground that the words were untrue, inasmuch as he did not care a straw whether the person to be written to was well or ill. "Is't to a man or a 'ooman we're a-writin', daddie?" inquired the youthful scribe. "It's a gentleman." "Then we'd better begin `dear sir,' don't you think?" "But he an't dear to me," said Gaff. "No more is he to me," observed his wife. "Make it `sir,' plain `sir' means nothin' in partickler, I b'lieve," said Gaff with animation, "so we'll begin it with plain `sir.' Now, then, fire away, Tottie." "Very well," said Tottie, dipping her pen in the ink-bottle, which was a stone one, and had been borrowed from a neighbour who was supposed to have literary tendencies in consequence of his keeping such an article in his cottage. Squaring her elbows, and putting her head _very_ much on one side, to the admiration of her parents, she prepared to write. The Bu'ster clutched the blotting-paper, and looked on eagerly, not to say hopefully. "Oh!" exclaimed Tottie, "it's _red_ ink; see." She held up the pen to view, and no one could deny the fact, not even Billy, who, feeling that he had repressed his natural flow of spirits rather longer than he was accustomed to, and regarding the incident as in some degree destructive of his mother's peace of mind, hailed the discovery with an exulting cheer. Mrs Gaff's palm instantly exploded like a pistol-shot on Billy's ear, and he measured his length--exactly three feet six--on the floor. To rise yelling, and receive shot number two from his mother, which sent him headlong into the arms of his father, who gave him the red ink-bottle, and bade him cut away and get it changed as fast as he could scuttle--to do all this, I say, was the work of a moment or two. Presently Billy returned with the same bottle, and the information that the literary neighbour had a black-ink-bottle, but as there was no ink in it he didn't think it worth while to send it. A kind offer was made of a bottle of shoe-blacking if the red ink would not do. "This is awk'ard," said Gaff, rubbing his nose. "Try some tar in it," suggested Mrs Gaff. Gaff shook his head; but the suggestion led him to try a little soot, which was found to answer admirably, converting the red ink into a rich dark brown, which might pass for black. Supplied with this fluid, which having been made too thick required a good deal of water to thin it, Tottie again squared her elbows on the table; the parents sat down, and the Bu'ster re-mounted guard with the blotting-paper, this time carefully out of earshot. "Now, then, `dear sir,'" said Tottie, once more dipping her pen. "No, no; didn't I say, plain `Sir,'" remonstrated her father. "Oh, I forgot, well--there--it--is--now, `_Plane sur_,' but I've not been taught that way at school yet." "Never mind what you've bin taught at school," said Mrs Gaff somewhat sharply, for her patience was gradually oozing out, "do you what you're bid." "Why, it looks uncommon like _two_ words, Tottie," observed her father, eyeing the letters narrowly. "I would ha' thought, now, that three letters or four at most would have done it, an' some to spare." "Three letters, daddie!" exclaimed the scribe with a laugh, "there's eight of 'em no less." "Eight!" exclaimed Gaff in amazement. "Let's hear 'em, dear." Tottie spelled them off quite glibly. "P-l-a-n-e, that's plane; s-u-r, that's sur." "Oh, Tot," said Gaff with a mingled expression of annoyance and amusement, "I didn't want ye to _write_ the word `plain.' Well, well," he added, patting the child on the head, while she blushed up to the roots of her hair and all down her neck and shoulders, "it's not much matter, just you score it out; there, go over it again, once or twice, an' scribble through it,--that's your sort. Now, can ye read what it was?" "No, daddie." "Are ye sure?" "Quite sure, for I've scratched it into a hole right through the paper." "Never mind, it's all the better." "Humph!" interjected Mrs Gaff. "He'll think we began `dear sir,' and then changed our minds and scratched out the `dear!'" To this Gaff replied that what was done couldn't be undone, and ordered Tottie to "fire away once more." "What next," asked the scribe, a good deal flurried and nervous by this time, in consequence of which she dipped the pen much too deep, and brought up a globule of ink, which fell on the paper just under the word that had been written down with so much pains, making a blot as large as a sixpence. The Bu'ster came down on it like lightning with the blot-sheet, and squashed it into an irregular mass bigger than half-a-crown. For this he received another open-hander on the ear, and was summarily dismissed to the sea-beach. By this time the family tea-hour had arrived, so Mrs Gaff proposed an adjournment until after tea. Tottie, who was now blotting the letter with an occasional tear, seconded the motion, which was carried by acclamation. While the meal was being prepared, Gaff fondled Tottie until she was restored to her wonted equanimity, so that after tea the task was resumed with spirit. Words and ideas seemed to flow more easily, and the letter was finally concluded, amid many sighs of relief, about bed-time. Much blotted, and almost unreadable though it was, I think it worthy of being presented to my readers without correction. "I beggs to stait that ittle bee for yoor int'rest for to look arter that air gurl cald Eme as was left yoor doar sum dais bak, if yoo doant ittle bee wors for yer, yood giv yer eer an noas too to no wot i nos abowt that gurl, it's not bostin nor yet threttenin I am, no, I'm in Downrite arnist wen I sais as yool bee sorrie if yoo doant do it." (This part was at first written, "if you doant look arter the gurl," but by the advice of Mrs Gaff the latter part was cut out, and "doant do it" substituted as being more hambigoo-ous and alarming! The letter continued:--) "Now sur, i must cloas, not becaws my papers dun, no nor yet my idees, but becaws a nods as good as a wink--yoo no the rest. Wot ive said is troo as gospl it's of no use tryn to find owt hoo _i_ am, caws whi--yoo kant, and if yoo cood it wood doo yoo no good. "Yoors to comand, "The riter." When this letter was placed in Mr Stuart's hands the following morning he was in the act of concluding a conversation with Haco Barepoles. "Well, Haco," he said, regarding the ill-folded and dirty epistle with suspicion, as it lay on the table before him; "of course I have no wish that men should risk their lives in my service, so you may lay up the sloop in dock and have her overhauled; but I have always been under the impression until now that you were a fearless seaman. However, do as you please." Mr Stuart knew well the character of the man with whom he had to do, and spoke thus with design. Haco fired at once, but he displayed no temper. "Very likely I _am_ gittin' summat fusty an' weak about the buzzum," he said, almost sadly. "A man can't expect to keep young and strong for ever, Mr Stuart. Hows'ever, I'll look at her bottom again, an' if she can float, I'll set sail with the first o' the ebb day arter to-morrow. Good-day, sir." Haco bowed and left the room quite modestly, for he hated the very appearance of boasting; but when he was in the passage his teeth snapped together like nut-crackers as he compressed his lips, and on gaining the street he put on his hat with a bang that would have ruinously crushed it had it not been made of some glazed material that was evidently indestructible. Going straight to the docks he gave orders to the carpenter to have all tight before next morning--this in a tone that the carpenter knew from experience meant, "fail if you dare." Then he went up to the Home, and ordered his men and the Russians to get ready for sea. Thereafter he went away at full speed to Cove, with his red locks and his huge coat-tails flowing in the breeze. Rapping at the door he was bid to enter. "How are 'ee, lad?" said Haco to Uncle John, who was seated at the fireside smoking. "Thank'ee, rather shaky. I must ha' bin pretty nigh finished that night; but I feel as if I'd be all taught and ready for sea in a few days." "That's right!" said Haco heartily. "Is Gaff hereabouts to-day?" The man in request entered at the moment. "Good-day, skipper," said Gaff, "I seed 'ee comin'. Ony news?" "Ay, the `Coffin' starts day arter to-morrow. I just run down to let you know. Sink or swim, fair or foul, it's up anchor with the first o' the mornin' ebb. I'm goin' up to see Cap'n Bingley now. Not a moment to spare." "Avast heavin'," said Gaff, pulling on a pilot coat; "I'm goin' with 'ee. Goin' to jine the Shipwrecked Mariners' Society. Since my last swim I've bin thinkin' that three shillin's a year is but a small sum, and the good that they'd do to my widder and childer, if I was drownded, would be worth while havin'." "Right, lad, right; every sailor and fisherman should jine it. But come along; no time for talkin' here. My respects to the missus. Good-bye, lad." Shaking hands with Uncle John, the restless skipper once more put on the imperishable hat with inconceivable violence and left the hut, followed by his friend. Returning to Mr Stuart, we find him perusing the ambiguous letter. His first glance at the contents called forth a look of indignation, which was succeeded by one of surprise, and that was followed by a smile of contempt, mingled with amusement. "Kenneth," he said, tossing the letter to his son, who entered at the moment, "can you make anything of that?" "Not much," replied Kenneth, who at once guessed that it came from Gaff. "The persons who left the child here would appear to be mad, and anxious to get rid of their own offspring. But I came to tell you of sad forebodings that fill my breast, father." "Don't give way to forebodings, Kenneth," said the father gravely; "it is unmanly, unreasonable." "Well, suspicions, if you think the word more appropriate. I fear much, _very_ much, that my dear sister and poor Tom Graham were lost in the last storm--" "Why do you omit the child?" asked Mr Stuart quietly, almost coldly. "I was thinking only of those whom I had known and loved when I spoke," replied Kenneth with some emotion. "There is no _certainty_ that they are lost," observed Mr Stuart. Kenneth thought there was a slight tremor in his father's voice, but, on glancing at his stern features, he felt that he must have been mistaken. "We know that the ship was telegraphed as having been seen in the Channel; we have heard that they were passengers in her, and nothing has been heard or seen of her since the night of the storm." "There is no _certainty_ in all that," reiterated the other; "they may not have come in that vessel; if they did, some of them may have escaped. We cannot tell." Mr Stuart looked so cold and so sternly immovable as he said this, while carelessly turning over some papers, that Kenneth, who had come prepared to reveal all, resolved to keep his secret, believing that there was no pity left in his father's breast. As he lay awake and sorrowing that night he heard his father's step pacing to and fro incessantly during the whole night, and hoped that the loss he had in all probability sustained would break up the ice; but next morning at breakfast he was as cold as ever. He looked very pale, indeed, but he was sterner and even more irascible than usual in regard to the merest trifles, so Kenneth's resolution not to confide in his father was confirmed. CHAPTER TWELVE. THE BU'STER WILLS TO ACCOMPLISH MISCHIEF, AND GETS INTO TROUBLE. "At sea."--How differently do human beings regard that phrase! To one it arouses feelings akin to rapture; to another it is suggestive of heavings and horror. To him whose physical condition is easily and disagreeably affected by aquatic motion, "at sea" savours of bad smells and misery. To him who sings of the intensity of his love for "a ride on the fierce, foaming, bursting tide," "at sea" sounds like the sweet ringing of a silver bell floating towards him, as if from afar, fraught with the fragrance and melody of distant climes--such as coral isles, icy mountains, and golden sands. Let us regard the phrase in its pleasant aspect just now, good reader. I have always loved the sea myself, from the hour I first set foot on board a man-of-war and skylarked with the middies, to that sad and memorable day when, under the strong--I might almost say irresistible-- influence of my strong-minded wife, I bade adieu to the royal navy for ever, and retired into private life. Alas! But what is the use of sighing? If a man _will_ get born in his wrong century, he ought to lay his account with being obliged to suffer much from the strange, I had almost said childish, fallacies, follies, and inconsistencies peculiar to the more early period in which his lot has been cast by mistake. You see, reader, I have accepted my position. There is a bare possibility that those who have assigned it to me may be wrong, but I have long ago ceased to dispute that point. At sea! Haco's sloop is there now, just out of sight of land, although not far from it, and resting on as glassy a sheet of water as is ever presented by the ocean in a deep dead calm. Haco himself, big, hairy, jovial, ruddy, is seated on the after skylight, the sole occupant of the deck. To look at him one might fancy that Neptune having found a deserted ship, had clambered upon deck and sat him down to take a complacent view of his wide domains, and enjoy a morning pipe. It is early morning, and the other inhabitants of that floating house are asleep below. The "Coal-Coffin," albeit an unseaworthy vessel, is a picturesque object. Its dirty sails are of a fine rich colour, because of their very dirtiness. Its weather-worn and filthy spars, and hull and rigging, possess a harmony of _tone_ which can only be acquired by age. Its cordage being rotten and very limp, hangs, on that account, all the more gracefully in waving lines of beauty and elegant festoons; the reef points hang quite straight, and patter softly on the sails--in short, the _tout ensemble_ of the little craft is eminently picturesque-- draped, as it were, with the mellowness of antiquity; and the whole-- hull, spars, sails, cordage, and reef points,--clearly and sharply reflected in the depths below. "Wot a splendid mornin'!" said Stephen Gaff, putting his head and shoulders out of the after hatchway, and yawning violently. "So 'tis, shipmet," responded the skipper, "a'most too butiful for this world." Both men spoke in subdued tones, as if unwilling to disturb the delightful stillness of nature. Gaff, having slowly raised himself out of the hole in the deck which served as a door to the bandbox, termed, out of courtesy, the cabin, looked up at the mast-head to see if the vane indicated any wind; then he gazed slowly round the horizon. Meeting with nothing particular there to arrest his eyes, he let them fall on Haco, who was gazing dreamily at the bowl of his German pipe. "Dead calm," said Gaff. "Won't last long," said Haco. "Won't it?" "No. Glass fallin' fast." This seemed to be as much mental food as Gaff could comfortably digest at that time, for he made no rejoinder, but, drawing a short black pipe from his vest-pocket, sat down beside his friend, and filled and smoked it in silence. "How's the Roosians?" he inquired, after a long pause. "All square," said the skipper, who was addicted somewhat to figurative language and hyperbole in the form of slang, "another week in the doctor's hands, an' the grub of the London Home, will set 'em up taught an' trim as ever." "Goin' to blow hard, think 'ee?" asked Gaff. "Great guns," said Haco, puffing a cloud of smoke from his mouth, which was at that time not a bad imitation of a _little_ gun. "Soon?" inquired Gaff. "P'r'aps yes, p'r'aps no." Once more the seamen relapsed into a silence which was not again broken until two of the crew and several Russians came on deck. Haco gave orders to have the topsail reefed, and then commencing to pace to and fro on the small deck, devoted himself entirely to smoke and meditation. Soon after, there was a loud cheer from Billy Gaff. The Bu'ster had suddenly awakened from an unbroken sleep of twelve hours, tumbled incontinently out of his berth, rushed up the ladder, thrust his head above the hatchway, and, feeling the sweet influences of that lovely morning, vented his joy in the cheer referred to. Billy had begged hard to be taken to London, and his father, thinking that, the sooner he began the seafaring life to which he was destined, the better, had consented to take him. Billy willed to accomplish a great number of pieces of mischief during the five minutes which he spent in gazing breathlessly round the ship and out upon the glittering sea; but he was surrounded by so many distracting novelties, and the opportunities for mischief were so innumerable, that, for the first time in his life, he felt perplexed, and absolutely failed to accomplish anything for a considerable time. This calm, however, like the calm of nature, was not destined to last long. "Daddy," said the cherub suddenly, "I'm a-goin' up the shrouds." "Very good, my lad," said Gaff, "ye'll tumble down likely, but it don't much matter." Billy clambered up the side, and seized the shrouds, but missing his foothold at the first step, he fell down sitting-wise, from a height of three feet. There was a sounding thud on the deck, followed by a sharp gasp, and the boy sat staring before him, considering, apparently, whether it were necessary or not to cry in order to relieve his feelings. Finding that it was not, he swallowed his heart with an effort, got up, and tried it again. The second effort was more successful. "That'll do, lad, come down," said Gaff, when his son had got half-way up the mast, and paused to look down, with a half-frightened expression. Contrary to all precedent, Billy came down, and remained quiet for ten minutes. Then he willed to go out on the bowsprit, but, being observed in a position of great danger thereon, was summarily collared by a sailor, and hauled inboard. He was about to hurl defiance in the teeth of the seaman, and make a second effort on the bowsprit, when Haco Barepoles thrust his red head up the after-hatch, and sang out--"breakfast!" "Breakfast, Billy," repeated Gaff. To which the cherub responded by rushing aft with a cheer, and descending the square hole after his father. Having been horribly sea-sick the first day of his voyage, and having now quite recovered, Billy was proportionably ravenous, and it was a long time before he ceased to demand and re-demand supplies of biscuit, butter, and tea. With appetite appeased at last, however, he returned to the deck, and, allowing quarter of an hour for digestion and reflection, began to consider what should next be done. The opportunity for some bold stroke was a rare one, for the crew, consisting of five men and a boy, were all forward, earnestly endeavouring to pick acquaintance by means of signs with the convalescent Russians, while Gaff and Haco were still below at breakfast, so that Billy had the after part of the sloop all to himself. He began operations by attempting to get at the needle of the compass, but finding that this was secured powerfully by means of glass and brass, he changed his mind, and devoted himself heart and soul to the wheel. Turning it round until the helm was hard down, he looked up at the sails, and with some curiosity awaited the result, but the vessel having no motion no result followed. Failing in this he forced the wheel round with all his might and let it go suddenly, so that it spun round with the recoil, and narrowly missed knocking him down! This was a pleasant source of amusement, uniting, as it did, considerable effort and some danger, with the prospect of a smash in some of the steering tackle, so Billy prepared to indulge himself; but it struck him that the frequent recurrence of the accompanying noise would bring the skipper on deck and spoil the fun, so on second thoughts he desisted, and glanced eagerly about for something else, afraid that the golden opportunity would pass by unimproved. Observing something like a handle projecting from a hole, he seized it, and hauled out a large wooden reel with a log-line on it. With this he at once began to play, dipping the log into the sea and hauling it up repeatedly as though he were fishing, but there was want of variety in this. Looking about him he espied a lead-line near the binnacle; he cut the lead from this, and fastening it to the end of the log-line, began forthwith to take deep-sea soundings. This was quite to his taste, for when he stood upon the vessel's side, in order to let the line run more freely, and held up the reel with both hands, the way in which it spun round was quite refreshing to his happy spirit. There must have been a hitch in the line, however, for it was suddenly checked in its uncoiling, and the violence of the stoppage wrenched the reel from his grasp, and the whole affair disappeared beneath the calm water! The Bu'ster's heart smote him. He had not meant anything so wicked as _that_. "Ha! you young rascal, _I_ saw you," said one of the men coming up at that moment. Billy turned round with a start, and in doing so fell headlong into the sea. The sailor stood aghast as if paralysed for a moment, then--as Billy rose to the surface with outstretched hands and staring eyes, and uttered a yell which was suddenly quenched in a gurgling cry--he recovered himself, and hastily threw a coil of rope towards the boy. Now it is a curious and quite unaccountable fact, that comparatively few sailors can swim. At all events no one can deny the fact that there are hundreds, ay, thousands, of our seafaring men and boys who could not swim six yards to save their lives. Strange to say, of all the men who stood on the deck of that sloop, at the time of the accident to Billy, (Russians included), not one could swim a stroke. The result was that they rushed to the stern of the vessel and gazed anxiously over the side; some shouting one thing, and some another, but not one venturing to jump overboard, because it was as much as his life was worth to do so! Several ropes were instantly thrown over the drowning boy, but being blinded both by terror and salt water, he did not see them. Then one of the men hastily fastened the end of a line round his waist, intending to spring over and trust to his comrades hauling him on board. At the same moment several men rushed to the stern boat, intent on lowering her. All this occurred in a few brief seconds. Billy had risen a second time with another wild cry when his father and the skipper sprang up the after-hatch and rushed to the side. Haco dashed his indestructible hat on the deck, and had his coat almost off, when Gaff went overboard, head first, hat, coat, and all, like an arrow, and caught Billy by the hair when he was about four feet below the surface. Of course Gaff's re-appearance with his son in his arms was greeted with heartfelt and vociferous cheers; and, of course, when they were hauled on board, and Gaff handed Billy to the skipper, in order that he might the more conveniently wring a little of the superabundant water from his garments, another and a still more hearty cheer was given; but Gaff checked it rather abruptly by raising himself and saying sternly-- "Shame on you, lads, for not bein' able to swim. The child might ha' drownded for all _you_ could do to help him. A soldier as don't know how to shoot is not much wuss than a sailor as don't know how to swim. Why, yer own mothers--yer own _sweet-hearts_--might be a-drownin' afore yer eyes, an' you'd have to run up an' down like helpless noodles, not darin' to take to the water, (which ought to be your native element), any more than a blue-nosed Kangaroo. Shame on ye, I say, for not bein' able to swim." "Amen to that, say I," observed Haco with emphasis. "Shame on stout hulkin' fellers like you for not bein' able to swim, and shame on them as steers the ship o' State for not teachin' ye. You can put that in yer pipes and smoke it, lads, an' if it don't smoke well, ye can make a quid of it, and chew it. If I could make quids o' them there sentiments, I'd set up a factory an' send a inexhaustible supply to the big-wigs in parlymint for perpetooal mastication. There now, don't stare, but go for'ard, an' see, two of you take in another reef o' the mains'l. If the glass speaks true, we'll be under my namesake-- barepoles--before long; look alive, boys!" It was something new to the crew of the "Coal-Coffin" to be thus checked in an enthusiastic cheer, and to be rebuked by the object of their admiration for _not being able to swim_. Deep and long was the discussion they had that evening around the windlass on this subject. Some held that it was absurd to blame men for not being able, "when p'raps they couldn't if they wor to try." Others thought that they might have tried first before saying that "p'raps they couldn't." One admitted that it was nothing but laziness that had prevented _him_ from learning, whereupon another opined that dirtiness had something to do with it too. But all agreed in wishing earnestly that they had learned the noble and useful art, and in regretting deeply that they had not been taught it when young. The boy, who formed one of the crew, silently congratulated himself that he _was_ young, and resolved in his own mind that he would learn as soon as possible. The sun set in the west, and the evening star arose to cheer the world with her presence, while the greater luminary retired. Slowly the day retreated and dusky night came on. One by one the stars shone out, faintly at first, as if too modest to do more than glimmer, but stronger and brighter, and more numerous by degrees, until the whole sky became like a great resplendent milky way. Still there was no evidence that a double-reef in the mainsail was necessary; no indication that the weather-glass had told a truthful tale. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. THE STORM, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. It came at length with awful speed and fury. At first there was a stifling heat in the atmosphere; then clouds began to dim the sky. Mysterious and solemn changes seemed to be taking place in nature--noiselessly for a time. Ere long the war began with a burst of heaven's artillery. It was distant at first; muttering, prolonged, and fitful, like the rattling musketry of advancing skirmishers. Soon a roar of deafening thunder rent the sky. Another and another followed, with blinding flashes of lightning between, while rain came down in torrents. The order had been given to take in the mainsail, and the little vessel was almost under bare poles, when the storm burst upon it, and threw it nearly on its beam-ends. Righting from the first shock, it sprang away like a living creature trying to escape from some deadly foe. Ere long the waves were up and the storm was raging in all its fury. "If it holds like this till to-morrow, we'll be in port by noon," said Haco Barepoles to Gaff as they stood near the wheel, holding on to the backstays, and turning their backs to the seas that swept heavily over the side from time to time. "You speak as if you wor _sure_ o' gettin' in," said Gaff. "Well, we an't sure o' nothin' in this world," replied the skipper; "if Providence has willed it otherwise, we can't help it, you know. We must submit whether we will or no." "D'ye know," rejoined Gaff, "it has often bin in my mind, that as Christian men, (which we profess to be, whether we believe our own profession or not), we don't look at God's will in the right way. The devil himself is obliged to submit to God whether he will or no, because he can't help it. Don't 'ee think it would be more like Christians if we was to submit _because_ it is His will?" Before Haco could answer, an enormous wave came curling over the stern. "Mind your helm, lad!" The words were scarce uttered when a heavy mass of water fell inboard, almost crushing down the deck. For some moments it seemed as if the little vessel were sinking, but she cleared herself, and again rushed onward. That night the wind chopped round, and Haco was obliged to lay-to until daylight, as the weather was thick. Before morning the gale took off and at sunrise had moderated into a stiff breeze. All that day they beat slowly and heavily against the wind, which, however, continued to decrease. At night the wind again veered round to the northward, enabling the "Coal-Coffin" to spread most of her canvass, keep her course, and bowl pleasantly along before the breeze. But the weather was still thick, necessitating a sharp look-out. During most of this time our friend Billy was confined, much against his will, to the bandbox cabin, where he did as much mischief as he could in the circumstances. Towards midnight, while Haco and Gaff were standing by the man on the look-out, who was on the heel of the bowsprit, they fancied they observed something looming up against the dark sky on the weather bow. The look-out gave a shout. "Port! port! hard a-port!" roared the skipper, at the same moment bounding aft. "Port it is!" replied the man at the wheel, obeying with promptitude. The sloop sheered away to leeward. At the same instant the hull of a great vessel bore right down upon them. The yell of the steam-whistle betrayed her character, while the clanging of the fog-bell, and shouts of those on board, proved that the sloop had been observed. At the same time the seething sea that flowed like milk round her bow, showed that the engines had been reversed, while the captain's voice was heard distinctly to shout "starboard! starboard hard!" to the steersman. The promptitude with which these orders were given and obeyed, prevented the steamer from running down the sloop altogether. A collision, however, was unavoidable. The crew of the sloop and the Russians, seeing this, rushed to the place where they expected to be struck, in order to leap, if possible, into the head of the steamer. Even the steersman left his post, and sprang into the weather shrouds in the hope of catching some of the ropes or chains below the bowsprit. On came the steamer like a great mountain. Her way had been so much checked that she seemed merely to touch the side of the sloop; but the touch was no light one. It sent the cutwater crashing through bulwark, plank, and beam, until the "Coal-Coffin" was cut right down amidships, within a foot of the water-line. There was a wild cry from the men as they leaped towards their destroyer. Some succeeded in grasping ropes, others missed and fell back bruised and stunned on the sloop's deck. Billy had been standing beside his father when the steamer was first observed, and naturally clung to him. Gaff put his left arm tight round the boy, and with the others prepared for a spring, believing, as did all the rest, that the sloop would be sunk at once. Not so Haco Barepoles, who went to the wheel of his little vessel, and calmly awaited the result. Gaff's spring at the chains of the cutwater was successful, but in making it he received a blow on the head from one of the swinging blocks of the sloop which almost stunned him, insomuch that he could only cling to the chain he had caught with the tenacity of despair. One of the sailors observed him in this position of danger, and instantly descending with a rope fastened it under his chest, so that he and Billy were safely hauled on board, and the former was led below to have his head examined by the surgeon. Meanwhile the men in the bow of the steamer shouted to Haco to come on board. "No, thank'ee," replied the skipper, "shake yourself clear o' my riggin' as fast as ye can, and let me continoo my voyage." "Your sloop is sinking," urged the captain of the steamer. "Not sinkin' yet; I'll stick to her as long as she can float." "But you've none of your men left on board, have you?" "No; better without 'em if they're so easy frightened." As he said this one of his own men slid quickly down a rope that hung from the steamer's bowsprit, and dropt on the deck of the sloop, exclaiming-- "It'll never be said o' Tom Grattan that he forsack his ship so long as a man wos willin' to stick by her." Haco took Tom by the hand as he went aft and shook it. "Any more comin'?" he said, glancing at the faces of the men that stared down upon him. There was no reply. "You can't expect men to volunteer to go to the bottom," said the captain of the steamer. "You're mad, both of you. Think better of it." "Back your ship off, sir!" said Haco in a deep stern voice. The order was given to back off, and the vessels were soon clear. Haco put his sloop at once on the larboard tack, and looking over the side observed that the bottom of the yawning gap was thus raised nearly three feet out of the water. "Tom," said he, resuming his place at the wheel, "go and nail a bit of canvas over that hole. You'll find materials down below. We'll have to steer into port on this tack, 'cause if we try to go on the other, she'll sink like a stone. I only hope the wind'll hold as it is. Look alive now!" In a few minutes the little craft was away and the captain of the steamer, seeing that she did not sink, continued his course. Next day Haco Barepoles steered the "Coal-Coffin" triumphantly into the port of London, with a hole in her side big enough, if Tom Grattan's report is to be believed, "to admit of a punt bein' row'd d'rect from the sea into the hold!" CHAPTER FOURTEEN. GAFF AND BILLY BECOME THE SPORT OF FORTUNE, AND SEE STRANGE THINGS. The steamer which had run down the sloop of Haco Barepoles was a large iron one, which had just set out on a voyage to the West Indies. Being anxious to send on shore the men whom he had so unexpectedly picked up at sea, the captain hailed the first inward-bound vessel he met with, and put them on board. It was found, however, that the blow received by Stephen Gaff had been more severe than was at first imagined, and the doctor advised that he should not be moved until farther down the Channel. He and Billy were therefore retained on board; but when the steamer passed the Isle of Wight, the weather became thick and squally, and continued so for several days, so that no vessel could be spoken with. In these circumstances the captain was compelled to carry Gaff and his boy away to sea, much to the regret of the former, who was curious to know what the news could be that was to be to his advantage in London, besides being grieved at the anxiety his sudden disappearance with Billy would cause to his wife. The Bu'ster did not by any means share the regret or grief of his father. To that amiable cherub the whole affair was a piece of unexpected and unparalleled good fortune. It was the realisation to some extent of his rapturous dreams of travel and adventure in foreign lands, and it freed him, at one fell swoop, from the iron yoke of his mother. Billy, although he congratulated himself on the deliverance, did, strange to say, shed a few tears in memory of his mother, for the boy had an affectionate disposition, and really loved his mother, and would have shown his love too if she would have let him. Gaff feared there was but little prospect of being speedily delivered from the steamer; nevertheless he begged the captain to put him on board the first homeward-bound vessel they should meet with. To this request the captain agreed. An opportunity occurred sooner than had been expected. On the afternoon of the fifth day out, a large barque hove in sight. On nearing this vessel the captain ran up his colours, and the signal was replied to by the Union Jack. On being asked as to where they were bound, the port of Liverpool was signalled in answer. "You're in luck. Gaff," said the captain; "I'll put you on board of that barque if you choose." "Thank 'ee, sir, I'd like it well." "I rather think that your little boy would prefer to go with _us_," added the captain, laughing. Billy at once admitted that he would, and begged to be allowed to stay where he was, but this request could not be granted. "Now, Gaff," said the captain confidentially, "if you're short o' cash I'll be happy to--" "Thank'ee, sir, I've as much as I require." "Very well, then, you'd better get ready, and I'll order a boat to be lowered." Half an hour afterwards Gaff stood on the deck of the barque, waving his hat to the few friends he had made during his short stay in the steamer. The barque turned out to be a South Sea whaler from New York, which had suffered severely in a recent gale which had driven her far out of her course to the northward. She was obliged to run to Liverpool for repairs. The captain, whose name was Graddy, and who was one of the most ill-favoured and ill-mannered men that Gaff had ever set eyes on, agreed to take the newcomer to England on condition that he should work his way besides paying for his rations. There was something about this vessel which was very offensive to the critical eye of Gaff. The nature of her work might account for her being so dirty; but that was no reason for the slovenliness of her rigging and general management, the surliness and tyranny of her captain, and the semi-mutinous condition of her crew. The crew was a mixed one. There seemed to be representatives of at least half a dozen nations. The captain himself was of mixed blood, and no one could have told from his look or speech to what nation he belonged. He was a big powerful man, much feared by the crew, who hated him cordially. He was well aware of this, and returned the hatred with interest. Besides this, being monarch of the ship, he worried them in every way that lay in his power. It is awful to think of the ruinous effects of sin, and how nearly men can come to resemble devils. This monster actually laid plots to entrap his men in order that he might have an excuse to vent his hatred on them. Gaff soon found that he had got into a nest, so to speak, of evil spirits. Before he had been two days with them, he would have given all he possessed, or ever hoped to possess, in order to escape from the "Rattlesnake," which was the vessel's name. As for Billy, his heart sank to a depth of woe he had never hitherto conceived of. Every one kicked and cuffed him and swore at him for being in the way, and when he was wanted he was kicked, cuffed, and sworn at for being out of the way. Poor boy! his dreams had never presented him with _this_ species of adventure. So bad did the state of things become that the men began to talk among themselves of deserting the moment they should reach port, no matter what should be the consequences. This threat reached the captain's ears, and he frustrated it by telling the mate that he thought the needful repairs could be managed on board by the ship's carpenters; and so gave orders to alter the course for South America! Deep and fierce were the counsels that went on in the forecastle that night among the men. Some hinted darkly at murder. Others suggested that the captain should be put on shore on a desert island and left to his fate. All agreed that something must be done, that a decisive blow must be struck, with the exception of Gaff, who remained silent while his shipmates were discussing the matter. Observing this they called upon him for his opinion. "Lads," said he in decided tones, "I've got no opinion to offer. I am-- at least I strive to be--a Christian man; an', to be plain with ye, I won't go for to consult or act with murderers, or mutineers, or pirates, which it appears you intend to become, if you're not that a'ready. One opinion I will give ye, however, an' one piece of advice I'll offer. The opinion is, that if you go on as you've bin a-goin' on since I came aboard, you'll all live to be hanged. The advice is, that you should face yer troubles like men--take things as ye find 'em, an' if ye can't mend 'em, why grin and bear 'em." The crew received this in varied mood. Some laughed, others swore, and one suggested that Gaff should be thrown overboard. This latter, who was a big strong man, and a sort of bully among his mates, shook his fist at Gaff, and said-- "Now, I'll tell ye wot it is, Mister Toogood, if you go for to tell the cap'n wot we've bin a-talkin' about, I'll knock yer two daylights into one, so see that ye keep yer tongue in order." "What's past is past," said Gaff quietly; "but I tell ye plainly, that if you let _your_ tongues go the same pace again in my hearin', I'll go aft and report ye. I'll be no spy, but I give ye fair warnin'." At this the bully lost command of himself. Seizing an iron bar that lay on a chest close by, he rushed at Gaff with the evident intention of felling him. But the latter was on his guard. He was active and powerful too, besides being quite cool. Leaping nimbly aside, he avoided the bully's onset, and at the same moment laid him flat on the deck with one blow of his fist. "Sarves him right!" "So it does!" exclaimed several of the men, who were not sorry to see one whom they disliked so roughly handled. "Well, so it does sarve him right," added one who had been a prominent speaker in the recent debates; "but hark'ee, friend," he said, turning to Gaff with a scowl, "you can't knock the whole crew down in that fashion. I advise ye, for your own sake, to mind what ye're about." "I means to do so," said Gaff; "I'll stick to my dooty and to the cap'n." "Very good," replied the other with a sneer, "then wotiver is the cap'n's fate you'll have the pleasure of sharin' it with him." "Tumble up there! tumble up, an' reef tops'ls!" roared the captain down the hatch at that moment. The men obeyed, and for the time their mutinous intentions seemed to have been dismissed. For many weeks after this Gaff heard nothing that could lead him to suppose that the men still harboured their dark designs. Yet the state of affairs on board became worse and worse. The captain cursed and tyrannised more than ever, and the men grew sulkier and more wretched, but no word of a murderous nature was ever uttered in the hearing of Gaff or his little son. As for Billy his small mind had received such a rude shock by the sudden and terrible change in his circumstances, that he seemed to have lost all his wonted vivacity as well as his mischief. In fact, both qualities, or tendencies, had been thoroughly kicked out of him before he had been a week on board. He was protected to some extent by his father, who one day quietly knocked another of the men down for giving Billy an undeserved beating; but some of them kicked and cuffed the poor boy when his father was not present. Billy was found to be active and useful in small matters and light duties suited to his age, and in the course of time was appointed to the position of steward's assistant, in which capacity he became deeply learned in the matter of washing cups, dishes, etcetera, besides acquiring a knowledge of baking, pudding-making, and many other useful arts more or less allied to cookery; in addition to which he had the inestimable benefit of being taught thoroughly submission and obedience--a lesson which the Bu'ster found very hard to learn, and thought particularly grievous, but which at his age, and considering his previous training, was an absolute blessing. The way in which that cherub went about that ship in a little blue jacket, straw hat, and canvas trousers, rubbing and cleaning, and according prompt obedience at all times to every one, would have charmed his mother as much as it gratified his father, who was in consequence somewhat reconciled to his otherwise hard lot. Now, philosophical reader--if such you be--do not suppose that I advocate kicking and cuffing as the best possible cure for general mischievousness and badness in a boy. By no means. My strong-minded wife says I do; but then she always forms, or rather partially forms, her opinions on assumptions, retains them in confusion, states them at haphazard, according to her mood at the time being, and, having stated them, sticks to them like a limpet to a rock. You will judge differently when I explain my ideas on this point. I maintain that Billy Gaff, _alias_ the Bu'ster, was taught to accord obedience--simple obedience and nothing else--by means of the kicking and cuffing he received on board of that whaler; and, further, that the method is a sure one. I do not say that it is the _best_ one, but that does not affect the fact that it is almost infallible. It was reserved for Billy's father, however, by means of wise counsels, kindly given advice, and otherwise affectionate treatment, to save Billy from being turned into an obedient but misanthropic brute, and to lead him to accord his obedience, not because he could not help it, but because his father wished him to do it. This appeal went right home to Billy's heart, because he loved his father fervently. He had always loved him in time past, now more than ever, for the poor boy regarded him much as a drowning man regards the solitary plank to which he clings as his last hope. Thus did Billy practically learn the great truth, that "Love is the fulfilling of the law." Weeks rolled on; gales succeeded calms, and calms succeeded gales. The "line" was passed; southern seas were reached; new constellations glittered overhead; strange fish and luminous creatures gambolled in the sea, and the whalers' fishing-ground was entered. Latterly the men had ceased to grumble at the captain, although he had by no means ceased to swear at and bully the men, and Gaff began to hope that they had got over their bad fit, and were going to settle down to work peaceably. The calm, however, was deceitful; it preceded a storm. One sultry afternoon when Gaff was standing at the helm and the captain beside him, the men came aft in a body, and two of their number, with pistols in their hands, advanced to seize the captain. He saw at once what they meant to do, and, springing back, seized a handspike. "Lay that down and surrender, else I'll blow out yer brains," said one of the two, levelling his pistol. Instead of obeying, the captain raised the heavy handspike, and the man pulled the trigger. At the same instant Gaff struck up the muzzle with his hand; the ball passed over the captain's head, and the handspike descended on the seaman's crown felling him at once. Upon this the entire crew made a rush and overpowered Gaff and the captain. The latter, who struggled with the fury of a tiger, was kicked while down until he was nearly dead. Gaff at once gave in, knowing that any attempt at further resistance, besides being hopeless, would only render matters worse. He was therefore allowed to rise, and his hands were tied behind his back. The captain, being similarly secured, was raised to his feet. "Now, you tyrant," said the ringleader of the crew with a terrible oath, "how would you like to have your throat cut?" The man slowly opened a long clasp-knife as he spoke, and felt its keen edge with his thumb. Blood was flowing down his face and breast from the wound inflicted by the handspike, and the fiendish expression of his countenance, added to the terribleness of his aspect, while it showed that his sarcastic question would certainly be followed by the murderous deed. But the other mutineers restrained him. "It's too good for him, make him walk the plank and drown like a dog--as he is," cried one. "Hang him up to the yard-arm," said another. Several voices here expressed dissent, and an elderly seaman stepped forward and said that they didn't intend to become pirates, so they had better not begin with murder. "Hear, hear!" from several voices emphatically. "What'll we do with him, then?" inquired one in angry excitement. Upon this they all began to consult noisily, and they were so much engrossed that they failed to perceive the movements of Billy, who, when his first alarm at the uproar was over, began to feel deep anxiety in regard to his father's bound and helpless condition. His active mind did not remain long paralysed; pulling out the clasp-knife which he always carried in his pocket, he quickly cut the cords that fastened Gaff's wrists. Before the latter could avail himself of his freedom the act was discovered, and he was secured again more firmly than before, while Billy was favoured with a slap on the ear so tremendous that it threw all those he had ever received from his mother utterly into the shade! Recovering from this, he sat down on the deck at his father's feet, and wept silently. In a few minutes the mutineers agreed among themselves. One of the smallest boats in the ship was lowered, and the captain and Gaff having been cast loose were ordered to get into it. The former obeyed at once, pronouncing a terrible curse on the crew as he went down the side. One of the men at the same time threw a bag of biscuit into the boat. "Come along, Billy," said Gaff, as he followed the captain. The boy was about to do so, when one of the men seized him and pulled him back. "No, no," said he, "the lad's useful, and will only eat up your biscuit faster than need be. We'll keep him aboard." Gaff listened to this with an expression of agony on his rugged features. "Oh, have mercy on my son!" he cried, as they cast the boat adrift. Then feeling that an appeal to such desperadoes was useless, he clasped his hands, and, looking up to Heaven, prayed God, for Christ's sake, to deliver him from the company of sinful men. A light breeze was blowing, and the ship, which had been hove-to while the boat was being lowered, soon gathered way, and left the boat behind. All of a sudden Billy broke away, and, rushing towards the stern, sprang wildly into the sea! "Down with the helm! heave-to!" shouted some of the men. "No, no, let the whelp go," cried others; "besides, he'd be able to peach on us." This last argument was all-powerful. The ship held on her course, and Billy was left to his fate. The moment that Gaff saw him take the leap he seized the oars, and applying all his strength to them, succeeded in catching hold of his son before his struggles had ceased. Billy was none the worse for his adventure beyond the ducking. Gaff soon wrung the water out of his garments, and then placing him on his knee, sat down to watch the ship as it sailed slowly away. The captain, who sat in the stern with his chin resting in his hand, and a dark scowl on his face, also watched the retreating vessel. Soon it glimmered like the wing of a sea-mew on the horizon, and then, just as night began to set in, it disappeared, leaving the boat a solitary speck in the midst of the great wide sea. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. THE DINNER PARTY--A SUDDEN PIECE OF QUESTIONABLE GOOD FORTUNE BEFALLS MRS. GAFF. "It is a most unfortunate piece of good fortune this that has befallen Mrs Gaff," said Mr George Stuart, "a very unfortunate thing indeed." "Dear me, do you think so? Now I don't agree with you at all, brother," observed Miss Peppy. "I think that good fortune is always good fortune, and never can be bad fortune. I wish it would only come to me sometimes, but it never does, and when it does it never remains long. Only think how she'll flaunt about now, with a coach-and-four perhaps, and such like. I really think that fortune made a mistake in this case, for she has been used to such mean ways, not that I mean anything bad by mean, you know, but only low and common, including food and domestic habits, as well as society, that--that--dear me, I don't exactly know how to express myself, but it's a puzzle to me to know how she'll ever come to be able to spend it all, indeed it is. I wonder why we are subjected to such surprises so constantly, and then it's _so_ perplexing too, because one will never be able to remember that she's not a fisherwoman as she used to be, and will call her Jessie in spite of one's-self; and how it ever came about, that's another puzzle. But after all there is no accounting for the surprising way in which things _do_ come about, dear me, in this altogether unaccountable world. Take a little more soup, Captain Bingley?" The above observations were made by Miss Peppy and my friend Stuart, from the head and foot respectively of their dinner-table, around which were assembled my wife, my niece Lizzie Gordon, an elderly spinster named Miss Eve Flouncer, a Miss Martha Puff, (niece to Miss Flouncer), a baronet named Sir Richard Doles, my son Gildart, and Kenneth Stuart. I was seated beside Miss Peppy, opposite to Sir Richard Doles, who was one of the slowest, dullest, stupidest men I ever met with. He appeared to me to have been born without any intellect. When he told a story there was no end to it, indeed there seldom was anything worthy the name of a beginning to it, and it never by the remotest chance had any point. In virtue of his rank, not his capacity of course, Sir Richard was in great demand in Wreckumoft. He was chairman at every public meeting; honorary member of every society; a director in the bank, the insurance company, the railway, the poorhouse, and the Sailors' Home; in all of which positions and institutions he was a positive nuisance, because of his insane determination to speak as long as possible, when he had not the remotest notion of what he wished to say, so that business was in his presence brought almost to a dead lock. Yet Sir Richard was tolerated; nay, courted and toadied, because of his title. My wife was seated opposite to Miss Eve Flouncer, who was one of the strong-minded women. Indeed, I think it is but just to say of her that she was one of the strongest-minded women in the town. In her presence the strength of Mrs Bingley's mind dwindled down to comparative weakness. In form she was swan-like, undulatory, so to speak. Her features were _prononce_; nose, aquiline; eyes, piercing; hair, black as night, and in long ringlets. Miss Flouncer was, as I have said, an elderly spinster. Sir Richard was an elderly bachelor. Miss Flouncer thought of this, and often sighed. Sir Richard didn't think of it, and never sighed, except when, having finished a good dinner, he felt that he could eat no more. By the way, he also sighed at philanthropic meetings when cases of distress were related, such as sudden bereavement, coupled, perhaps, with sickness and deep poverty. But Sir Richard's sighs were all his contributions to the cause of suffering humanity. Sometimes, indeed, he gave it his blessing, though it would have puzzled the deepest philosopher to have said what that consisted in, but he never gave it his prayers, for this reason, that he never prayed for himself or anybody else. He held that this world was in a sufficiently satisfactory condition, and advised that men should let well alone, and contended that any attempt to interfere with its arrangements in the way of prayer was quite indefensible. He did indeed read his prayers in church on Sundays, in a very loud and distinct voice, to the great annoyance and distraction, not to say irritation, of all who sat within fifty yards of him, but this he regarded as a commendable institution of the country. But to return to Miss Flouncer. This state of affairs between Sir Richard and herself did not augur much for her prospects; but then she was a very strong-minded woman, and had hopes; whereas Sir Richard was a very weak-minded man, and had no hopes of any kind worth mentioning, being perfectly satisfied--good, easy man--with things as they then stood. Miss Martha Puff was niece to Miss Flouncer--age apparently sixteen. It struck me, as I sat looking at her placid face, that this young lady was well named. Her pink round visage was puffed up with something so soft that I could scarcely venture to call it fat. Her round soft arms were so puffy to look at, that one could not help fearing that an accidental prick from a pin would burst the skin and let them out. She seemed so like trifle in her pink muslin dress, that I could imagine a puff of wind blowing her away altogether. She could not be said to be puffed up with conceit, poor girl; but she dined almost exclusively on puff paste, to the evident satisfaction of my gallant son Gildart, who paid her marked attention during dinner. Miss Puff never spoke except when spoken to, never asked for anything, never remarked upon anything, did not seem to care for anything, (puff paste excepted), and never thought of anything, as far as I could judge from the expression of her countenance. Gildart might as well have had a wax doll to entertain. "To what unfortunate piece of good fortune does your brother refer, Miss Stuart?" asked Sir Richard when Miss Peppy had concluded her observations in regard to it. "Is it possible that you have not heard of it?" exclaimed Miss Peppy in surprise. "Why, the town has been ringing with it for a fortnight at least, and those odious creatures, the gossips, (who never come near me, however, because they know I will not tolerate them), have got up all sorts of wild stories, showing that the man must have got the money by foul means, though I don't know, I'm sure, why he shouldn't have got a surprise as well as anybody else, for the unaccountable and astonishing way in which things _do_ happen in this world, at least to human beings, for I do not believe that cows or sheep or horses ever experience them; the want of expression on their faces shows that, at all events they never leave their offspring at people's doors, and then go away without--" "You'd better tell Sir Richard what piece of news you refer to, my dear," interrupted Mr Stuart, somewhat testily. "Ah yes, I was forgetting--(a little more fowl, Captain Bingley? May I trouble you _again_, Sir Richard? thank you--a leg, if you please, I know that the Captain prefers a leg)--well, as I was saying--let me see, what _was_ I saying?" "You had only got the length of forgetting, ma'am," observed the baronet. "Ah, to be sure, I was forgetting to tell you that Mrs Gaff has fallen heir to ten thousand pounds." Sir Richard exclaimed, with an appearance of what might have been mistaken for surprise on his face, "Indeed!" Miss Flouncer, to whom the news was also fresh, exclaimed, "You _don't_ say so!" with strong emphasis, and an immensely swan-like undulation of her body. "Indeed I do," continued Miss Peppy with much animation; "Mrs Gaff, the fisherman's wife, has got a fortune left her amounting to ten thousand pounds, which, at five per something or other, as my brother tells me, yields an annual income of 500 pounds." "But who left it to her, and how?" asked Sir Richard. "Ah, who left it, and how?" echoed Miss Flouncer. "What a jolly thing to be left five hundred a year!" whispered Gildart. "Wouldn't you like some one to leave that to you, Miss Puff?" "Yes," said Miss Puff. "Have you any rich East Indian uncle or aunt who is likely to do it?" inquired Gildart with a desperate attempt at jocularity. "No," answered Miss Puff. These two words--yes and no--were the utmost extent to which Miss Puff had yet ventured into the dreaded sea of conversation. I could perceive by the fagged expression of his face that the middy was beginning to lose heart. "Brother," said Miss Peppy, "you had better tell Sir Richard how it happened. I have _such_ a memory--I really don't remember the details. I never _could_ remember details of anything. Indeed I have often wondered why details were sent into this world to worry one so. It _is_ so surprising and unaccountable. Surely we might have got on quite well without them." "Well, you know," observed Gildart in a burst of reckless humour, "we could not get on very well, Miss Stuart, without some sorts of details. Ox-tails, for instance, are absolutely necessary to the soup which we have just enjoyed so much. So, in like manner, are pig-tails to Chinamen." "Ay, and coat-tails to puppies," added Kenneth slyly, alluding to a bran new garment which the middy had mounted that day for the first time. "Perhaps," interposed Miss Flouncer, "after such bright coruscations of wit, Mr Stuart may be allowed to go on with his--" "Wittles," whispered Gildart in Miss Puff's ear, to the alarm of that young lady, who, being addicted to suppressed laughter, was in horror lest she should have a fit. "Allowed to go on," repeated Miss Flouncer blandly, "with his tale of this unfortunate piece of good fortune, which I am sure Sir Richard is dying to hear." "It can hardly be called a tale," said Mr Stuart, "but it is a curious enough circumstance. You remember Stephen Gaff, Sir Richard?" "Perfectly. He is the man who appeared in the village of Cove rather mysteriously some months ago, is he not?" "The same," returned Mr Stuart; "and it was he who accompanied Haco Barepoles in my sloop, which he persists in naming the `Coffin,' although its proper name is the `Betsy Jane,' on that memorable voyage when Haco sailed her into port on the larboard tack after she had been cut down to the water's edge on the starboard side. Well, it seems that Gaff went with him on that occasion in consequence of having received a letter from a London lawyer asking him to call, and he would hear something to his advantage. "You all know the way in which the people were taken out of the sloop by the steamer which ran into her, and how they were all landed safely except Gaff and his son William, who were carried away to sea. You are aware, also, that the steamer has since then returned to England, telling us that Gaff and his boy were put on board a barque bound for Liverpool, and that this vessel has never made its appearance, so that we have reason to believe that it has perished in one of the great storms which occurred about that time. "Well," continued Mr Stuart, helping Mrs Bingley to a glass of sherry, "not long ago I had occasion to send Haco Barepoles to London, and he bethought him of the lawyer who had written to Gaff, so he called on him and told him of his friend's disappearance. The lawyer then asked if Gaff's wife was alive, and on being informed that she was, he told Haco that Gaff had had a brother in Australia who had been a very successful gold digger, but whose health had broken down owing to the severity of the work, and he had left the diggings and gone to Melbourne, where he died. Before his death this brother made a will, leaving the whole of his fortune to Stephen. The will stated that, in the event of Stephen being dead, or at sea on a long voyage, the money should be handed over unconditionally to his wife. About three weeks ago the lawyer came here to see Mrs Gaff, and make arrangements and inquiries, and in the course of a short time this poor woman will be in possession of ten thousand pounds." "It will be the ruin of her, I fear," said Sir Richard. "No doubt of it," observed Miss Flouncer, emphatically. "It is always the way," said my wife. "D'ye think it would ruin _you_?" whispered Gildart. This being an impertinent question, Miss Puff blushed, and made no reply. "You need not be at all afraid of Mrs Gaff being ruined by prosperity," said Lizzie Gordon, with sudden animation. "I have seen a good deal of her during her recent sorrows, and I am quite sure that she is a good sensible woman." "What sorrows do you refer to, Miss Gordon?" asked Sir Richard. "To her husband and son's sudden disappearance, and the death of her brother-in-law John Furby," replied Lizzie. "Uncle, you can tell more about the matter than I can." "Yes," said I; "it has been my lot to witness a good many cases of distress in my capacity of agent for the Shipwrecked Mariners' Society, and I can answer for it that this has been a very severe one, and the poor woman has borne up against it with Christian fortitude." "How did it happen? Pray _do_ tell us about it," cried Miss Flouncer, with an undulating smile. "How does it happen, Miss Flouncer, that you are not already acquainted with these things?" "Because I have been absent from home for more than two months, and, if I mistake not, Sir Richard's ignorance rests on somewhat similar foundation." Miss Flouncer smiled and undulated towards the baronet, who, being thus pointedly appealed to, smiled and bowed in return, and begged that I would relate the facts of the case. I observed that my son Gildart pressed Miss Puff to attempt another tart, and whispered something impertinent in her ear, for the poor thing's pink round face suddenly became scarlet, and she puffed out in a dangerously explosive manner with suppressed laughter. "Well then," said I, addressing myself to Miss Flouncer, "a month or so before the lawyer brought Mrs Gaff tidings of her good fortune, her brother-in-law John Furby was drowned. The brave fellow, who, you are aware, was coxswain of our lifeboat, and has helped to save many a life since he was appointed to that post of danger, went off in his own fishing-boat one day. A squall upset the boat, and although the accident was seen from the shore, and several boats put off at once to the rescue, four of the crew perished, and Furby was one of these. "The scene in Gaff's cottage when the body was carried in and laid on the bed, was heartrending for the woe occasioned to poor Mrs Gaff by the recent loss of her husband and little boy was, as it were, poured upon her head afresh, and for some time she was inconsolable. My good niece went frequently to read the Bible and pray with her, and I believe it was the blessed influence of God's word that brought her at length to a state of calm resignation. What made her case worse was the fact, that, both husband and brother-in-law being taken away, she was left in a state of absolute destitution. Now, at this point she began to feel the value of the noble institution of which I have the happiness of being an honorary agent--I mean the Shipwrecked Fishermen and Mariners' Society. Poor Furby had been a member for several years, and regularly paid his annual sum of three shillings. Stephen Gaff had also become a member, just before starting on his last voyage, having been persuaded thereto by Haco Barepoles, who is a stanch adherent and advocate of our cause. Many a sailor has Haco brought to me to enrol as a member, and many a widow and fatherless child has had occasion to thank God that he did so. Although Gaff had only paid his first year's contribution of three shillings, I took upon me to give the sum of 5 pounds to Mrs Gaff and her little girl, and the further sum of 3 pounds because of Furby's membership. This sum was quite sufficient to relieve her from want at the time, so that, in the midst of her deep affliction, she was spared the additional pains and anxieties of destitution." "The society is a most noble one," said Miss Flouncer, with a burst of enthusiasm. "It is," said I, much pleased with her warmth of manner; "I think--at least if my memory does not play me false--you are a contributor to its funds, are you not?" "Well, a--no. I have not the pleasure--a--" Miss Flouncer was evidently a little put out. "Then I trust, my dear madam," said I, hasting to her relief by affording her an opportunity of being generous, "that you will allow me to put down your name as an annual subscriber." Miss Flouncer, being a _very_ strong-minded woman, had recovered herself very suddenly, and replied with calm deliberation, accompanied by an undulation-- "No, Captain Bingley, I have made it a rule never to give charity from impulse; I always give, when I _do_ give--" "Ahem!" coughed Gildart slightly. "When I _do_ give," repeated Miss Flouncer, "from principle, and after a careful examination of the merits of each particular case." "Indeed!" said Sir Richard, with an appearance of faint surprise; "what a bore you must find the examination of the cases!" "By no means, Sir Richard. _Very_ little time suffices for each case, for many of them, I find, almost intuitively, merit dismissal on the spot; and I assure you it saves a great deal of money. You would be surprised if you knew how little I find it necessary to give away in charity in the course of the year." Miss Flouncer undulated at Sir Richard as she gave utterance to this noble sentiment, and Mrs Bingley applauded it to Mr Stuart, who took no notice of the applause, and indicated no opinion on the point whatever. "Now," continued Miss Flouncer, firmly, "before I become a subscriber to your society, Captain Bingley. I must be quite certain that it accomplishes much good, that it is worthy of support." Being somewhat fired by the doubt that was implied in this speech, I replied with warmth-- "My dear madam, nothing will gratify me more than to enlighten you." Hereupon I began an address, the substance of which is set down in the following chapter. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. JACK TAR BEFORE AND AFTER THE INSTITUTION OF THE S.F.M.S. One beautiful evening in autumn, many years ago, a sailor was observed to approach an English village which lay embosomed among trees, near the margin of a small stream whose waters gleamed in the rays of the setting sun. The village was an inland one, far removed alike from the roar and the influences of the briny ocean. It must have cost the sailor some pain to reach it; for he walked with a crutch, and one of his bare feet was bandaged, and scarcely touched the ground at each step. He looked dusty and fatigued, yet he was a stout, well-favoured, robust young fellow, so that his hapless condition was evidently the result of recent misfortune and accident--not of prolonged sickness or want. He wore the picturesque blue jacket, wide trousers, and straw hat of a man-of-war's man; and exposed a large amount of brown chest beneath his blue flannel shirt, the broad collar of which was turned well over. Going straight to the inn of the village, he begged for a night's food and lodging. Told a sad story, in off-hand fashion, of how he had been shipwrecked on the western isles of Scotland, where he had lost all he possessed, and had well-nigh lost his life too; but a brave fisherman had pulled him out of the surf by the hair of the head, and so he was saved alive, though with a broken leg, which took many weeks to mend. When he was able to travel, he had set out with his crutch, and had walked two hundred miles on his way to Liverpool, where his poor wife and two helpless children were living in painful ignorance of his sad fate! Of course this was enough to arouse all the sympathies of the villagers, few of whom had ever seen a real sailor of any kind in their lives--much less a shipwrecked one. So the poor fellow was received with open arms, entreated hospitably, lodged and fed at the public expense, and in the morning sent on his way rejoicing. All the forenoon of that day the shipwrecked sailor limped on his way through a populous district of old England in the midst of picturesque scenery, gathering pence and victuals, ay, and silver and even gold too, from the pitying inhabitants as he went along. Towards the afternoon he came to a more thinly peopled district, and after leaving a small hamlet in which he had reaped a rich harvest he limped to the brow of the hill at the foot of which it lay, and gazed for a few minutes at the prospect before him. It was a wide stretch of moorland, across which the road went in almost a straight line. There were slight undulations in the land, but no houses or signs of the presence of man. Having limped on until the village was quite hidden from view, the sailor quietly put his crutch across his broad shoulder, and brightening up wonderfully, walked across the moor at the rate of full five miles an hour, whistling gaily in concert with the larks as he sped along. An hour and a half of such walking brought him to a small patch of scrubby underwood, from the neighbourhood of which a large town could be seen looming against the evening sky in the far distance. The sailor entered the underwood with the air of a man who had aimed at the spot as a goal, and who meant to rest there a while. He reached an open space, in the centre of which grew a stunted tree. Here he sat down, and taking off his wallet, ate a hearty supper of scraps of excellent bread, cheese, and meat, which he washed down with a draught of gin. Afterwards he lit his pipe, and, while enjoying himself thus, reclining at the foot of the tree, proceeded to increase his enjoyment by counting out his gains. While thus agreeably engaged, a rustling of the bushes caused him to bundle the gains hastily up in a handkerchief, which he thrust into his pocket, while he leaped nimbly to his feet, and seized his crutch. "Oh, it's only you, Bill! why, I declare I thought it was--well, well, never mind. How have ye got on?" The individual addressed entered the enclosure, and sat down at the foot of the tree with a sigh, which might, without much exaggeration, have been termed a growl. Bill was also, strange to say, a sailor, and a wounded one, (doubtless a shipwrecked one), because his left arm was in a sling. "It's tough work, Jim, an' little pay," said the newcomer. "Why, I've walked twenty mile good, an' only realised two pun' ten. If it don't improve, I'll take to a better trade." "You're a discontented dog," replied Jim, spreading out his treasures. "Here have I limped the same distance, an' bin an' got five pun' two." "Whew!" whistled the other. "You don't say that? Well--we go 'alves, so I'm better--'ere pass that bottle. I'll drink to your good 'ealth. 'Ow did you ever come by it, Bill?" To this Bill replied that he had fallen in with several ladies, whose hearts were so touched by his pitiful tale that most of them gave him crown pieces, while two, who actually shed tears while he spoke, gave him half a sovereign each! "I drink to them 'ere two ladies," exclaimed Bill, applying the gin bottle to his mouth, which was already full of bread and beef. "So does I," said Jim, snatching the bottle from his comrade, "not so much for the sake of them there ladies, 'owever, as to get my fair share o' the tipple afore you." The remainder of the sentence was drowned by gin; and after they had finished the bottle, which was only a pint one however, these two men sat down together to count their ill-gotten gains; for both of them were vile impostors, who had never been on the salt water in the whole course of their worthless lives. "Now, madam," said I, pointedly addressing Miss Flouncer, who had listened with rapt attention, "this circumstance happened _before_ the existence of the Shipwrecked Mariners' Society, and similar cases happened frequently. In fact, the interior of our land was at that time constantly visited by shipwrecked sailors of this kind." "Indeed!" said Miss Flouncer, undulating to me, with a benignant smile. "Yes, madam," said I. "Now observe another side of this picture." Hereupon I resumed my address, the substance of which was as follows: It chanced that when impostor Jim started away over the moor at the slapping pace I have already referred to, he was observed by two of the village boys, who were lying in a hollow by the road-side amusing themselves. These urchins immediately ran home, and told what they had seen. The gossips of the place congregated round the inn door, and commented on the conduct of the pretended seaman in no measured terms-- at the same time expressing a wish that they only had him there, and they would let him smell the peculiar odour of their horse-pond. At this point the courage and the ire of three stout young ploughmen, who had been drinking deeply, was stirred up so much that they vowed to be revenged, and set off in pursuit of the offender. As they ran nearly all the way, they soon came to the spot where Jim and Bill had been enjoying themselves, and met these villains just as they were issuing from the underwood to continue their journey. A fight immediately ensued, but Jim made such play with his crutch that the ploughmen were driven back. Bill, too, who had been a London prize-fighter, unslung his left arm, and used it so vigorously that the rustics, after having had all their eyes blackened and all their noses bled, were fain to turn round and fly! This event, as you may suppose, made a considerable sensation in the neighbourhood; travellers and carriers conveyed the news of it along the road from village to village; and the thing was thoroughly canvassed, and the impostors duly condemned. Well, about three weeks afterwards a great storm arose; a ship was wrecked on the coast, and all the crew and passengers drowned except one man--a powerful seaman, who chanced to be a good swimmer, and who nearly lost his own life in his gallant efforts to save the life of the only female who was on board. This man swam to the shore with one arm, while with the other he supported the woman. He could barely crawl up the beach through the heavy surf, dragging his burden after him. But he succeeded, and then lay for some time insensible. When he recovered, he found that the woman appeared to be dead. Anxious, however, to do all in his power to restore her, he tried to chafe her limbs; but seeing that he could make no impression, he hastened away to search for human dwellings and send help. Four miles did he stagger along before he came to a fishing village. Here he told his tale; the men of the place hurried away to the scene of the wreck, but arrived too late to be of any use. The sailor remained some days with the fishermen, who received him kindly, and gave him a few pence to help him on his way to the nearest town, where he received a few shillings from some charitable persons, and then set off to walk on foot to his native place, which happened to be on the opposite coast of England. The poor fellow got on very well until he came to the road which led to the village where Jim had been so successful. All along this road he was scouted as an impostor, and, but for his imposing size and physical strength, would doubtless have received more kicks than halfpence. As it was he was well-nigh starved. Arriving one afternoon, famishing and almost knocked up, at the village, he went in despair to the inn door, and began to tell his sorrowful tale. He told it to unsympathetic ears. Among his auditors were the three ploughmen who had been so roughly handled by Jim and Bill. These only heard the first two or three sentences when they rushed upon the sailor, calling on their comrades, who were numerous, to help them to duck the rascal in the horse-pond. The stout tar, although taken by surprise and overpowered, was not disposed to submit without a struggle. He was a very Samson in strength. Rising up by main force with two of his foes on his back, he threw them off, drove his right fist into the eye of one, his foot into the stomach of a second, flattened the nose of a third on his face with a left-hander, and then wheeling round at random, plunged his elbow into the chest of another who was coming on behind, and caused him to measure his length on the ground. Before the rustics recovered from their surprise at the suddenness of these movements, two more of their number were sprawling in the dust, and the rest stood off aghast! "Now, then," shouted the indignant tar, as he clapped his back to the side of the inn, "come on! the whole of 'ee. I hope yer wills is made. What! ye're afeard, are ye? Well, if ye won't come on I'll bid ye good afternoon, ye low minded, cowardly land-lubbers!" And with that he made a rush at them. They tumbled over each other in heaps, trying to get out of his way, so that he could only get a passing dig at one or two of them, and cleared away as fast as he could run. They did not follow him far, so Jack soon stopped and sat down on the road-side, in a very savage state of mind, to wipe the blood from his face and knuckles. While he was thus engaged, an elderly gentleman in the garb of a clergyman approached him. "What has happened to you, my man?" he asked. "That's none o' your business," answered Jack with angry emphasis. "Ax no questions, an' you'll be told no lies!" "Excuse me, friend," replied the clergyman gently, "I did not mean to annoy you; but you seem to have been badly wounded, and I would assist you if you will allow me." "I ax yer parding, sir," said Jack, a little softened, though by no means restored to his wonted good-humour; "no offence meant, but I've been shamefully abused by the scoundrels in yonder village, an' I am riled a bit. It's only a scratch, sir, you don't need to consarn yerself." "It is more than a scratch, if I may judge from the flow of blood. Permit me to examine." "Oh, it'll be all right d'rectly," said Jack; but as he said so he fell back on the grass, fainting from loss of blood which flowed from a large wound on his head. When the sailor's senses were restored, he found himself in a bed in the clergyman's dwelling, with his head bandaged up, and his body a good deal weaker than he had ever before felt it. The clergyman took care of him until he recovered; and you may be sure that he did not miss the opportunity to urge the sailor to think of his soul, and to come to Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the world, whose name is Love, and whose teaching is all summed up in this, "Do unto others as ye would that they should do unto you." When Jack was quite recovered, the clergyman gave him some money to enable him to reach his home without begging his way. Now this case also occurred _before_ the Shipwrecked Mariners' Society was instituted. I cannot say that such cases of rough handling were frequent; but cases in which true-blue shipwrecked tars were treated as impostors were numerous, so that, in those days, knaves and rascals often throve as wrecked seamen, while the genuine and unfortunate men were often turned rudely from door to door. This state of things does not exist now. It _cannot_ exist now, for honorary agents of the society are to be found on every part of our coasts, so that the moment a wrecked man touches the land, no matter whether he be a Briton or a foreigner, he is at once taken care of, clothed, housed, fed, supplied with a little money, and forwarded to his home, or to the nearest consul of his nation. The society has therefore accomplished two great and good objects, for which the entire nation owes it a debt of gratitude; it has rid the land of begging impostors clad in sailors' clothes, and it has provided relief and assistance to the shipwrecked among our brave and hardy seamen who are in every sense the bulwarks of our island, and without whose labours, in the most perilous of all callings, Great Britain would be one of the poorest and most uninfluential kingdoms on the face of the earth. But the society does a great deal more than that, for it comforts and assists with money and advice hundreds and thousands of widows and orphans whose husbands, fathers, or brothers have been drowned; and this it does from year to year regularly--as regularly as the storms come and scatter death and destruction on our shores. It cannot be too earnestly impressed on the people of England, and especially on those who dwell inland, that at least a thousand lives are lost, two thousand ships are wrecked, and two millions sterling are thrown away upon the coasts of this country _every year_. It is owing to the untiring energy of the National Lifeboat Institution that those figures are not much, _very_ much higher; and it is the Shipwrecked Mariners' Society that alleviates much, _very_ much, of the woe resulting from storms and wrecks upon our shores. Sailors and fishermen know this well, and support both institutions largely. I would that ladies and gentlemen knew this better, and felt that they have a positive duty incumbent on them in regard to these societies, for they are not local but _national_. "Now, madam," said I, again addressing myself pointedly to Miss Flouncer, "would you like to hear a few interesting facts in reference to the objects of this Society?" Miss Flouncer smiled and undulated in order to express her readiness to listen; at the same time she glanced at Sir Richard, who, I observed, was sound asleep. I also noticed that Mrs Bingley sniffed impatiently; but I felt that I had a duty to perform, so with unalterable resolution I prepared to continue my address, when Miss Peppy, who had been nearly asleep during the greater part of the time I was speaking, suddenly said to Miss Flouncer-- "Well, it _is_ a most surprising state of things that people _will_ go to sea and get wrecked just to let societies like these spring up like mushrooms all over the land. For my part, I think I would rather do without the things that ships bring to us from foreign lands than always hear of those dreadful wrecks, and--but really one cannot expect the world to alter just to please one, so I suppose people must go on being drowned and saved by rocket-boats and lifeboats; so we had better retire to the drawing-room, my dear." The last observation was addressed to Mrs Bingley, who responded to it with a bow of assent as she drew on her gloves. Immediately after, the ladies rose, and I was thus constrained to postpone my narration of interesting facts, until another opportunity should offer. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. MRS. GAFF ENDEAVOURS FRUITLESSLY TO UNDERSTAND THE NATURE OF CASH, PRINCIPAL, AND INTEREST. At first, as I have said, poor Mrs Gaff was quite inconsolable at the bereavements she had sustained in the loss of her husband and son and brother. For a long time she refused to be comforted, or to allow her spirit to be soothed by the visits, (the "angel visits" as she styled them), of Lizzie Gordon, and the entrance of God's Word into her heart. Much of the violence of the good woman's character was the result of training and example on an impulsive and sanguine, yet kindly spirit. She had loved Stephen and Billy with a true and ardent love, and she could not forgive herself for what she styled her "cruelty to the dear boy." Neither could she prevail on herself to enjoy or touch a single penny of the money which ought, she said, to have been her husband's. Night after night would Mrs Gaff sit down by the cottage fireside to rest after her day of hard toll, and, making Tottie sit down on a stool at her feet, would take her head into her lap, and stroke the hair and the soft cheek gently with her big rough hand, while she discoursed of the good qualities of Stephen, and the bravery of her darling boy, to whom she had been such a cruel monster in days gone by. Poor Tottie, being of a sympathetic nature, would pat her mother's knee and weep. One evening while they were sitting thus she suddenly seemed to be struck with a new idea. "Maybe, mother," said she, "Daddy an' Billy will come back. We've never hearn that they's been drownded." "Tottie," replied Mrs Gaff earnestly, "I've thoughten o' that afore now." Little more was said, but from that night Mrs Gaff changed her manner and her practice. She set herself earnestly and doggedly to prepare for the return of her husband and child! On the day that followed this radical change in her feelings and plans, Mrs Gaff received a visit from Haco Barepoles. "How d'ye find yerself to-day, Mrs Gaff?" said the big skipper, seating himself carefully on a chair, at which he cast an earnest glance before sitting down. This little touch of anxiety in reference to the chair was the result of many years of experience, which told him that his weight was too much for most ordinary chairs, unless they were in sound condition. "Well and hearty," replied Mrs Gaff, sitting down and seizing Tottie's head, which she began to smooth. She always smoothed Tottie, if she were at hand, when she had nothing better to do. "Heh!" exclaimed Haco, with a slight look of surprise. "Glad to hear it, lass. Nothin' turned up, has there?" "No, nothin'; but I've bin busy preparin' for Stephen and Billy comin' home, an' that puts one in good spirits, you know." A shade of anxiety crossed Haco's brow as he looked earnestly into the woman's face, under the impression that grief had shaken her reason, but she returned his glance with such a calm self-possessed look that he felt reassured. "I hope they'll come, lass," he said sadly; "what makes ye think they will?" "I feel _sure_ on it. I feel it here," replied the woman, placing her hand on her breast. "Sweet Miss Lizzie Gordon and me prayed together that the Lord would send 'em home if it was His will, an' ever since then the load's bin off my heart." Haco shook his head for a moment, then nodded it, and said cheerily, "Well, I hope it may be so for your sake, lass. An' what sort o' preparations are ye goin' to make?" Mrs Gaff smiled as she rose, and silently went to a cupboard, which stood close to the Dutch clock with the horrified countenance, and took therefrom a tea-caddy, which she set on the table with peculiar emphasis. Tottie watched her with an expression of awe, for she had seen her mother weeping frequently over that tea-caddy, and believed that it must certainly contain something very dreadful. "The preparations," said Mrs Gaff, as she searched her pocket for the key of the box, "will depend on what I'm able to afford." "You'll be able to afford a good deal, then, if all that's reported be true, for I'm told ye've got ten thousand pounds." "Is that the sum?" asked Mrs Gaff, still searching for the key, which, like all other keys in like circumstances, seemed to have gone in for a game of hide-and-seek; "I'm sure I ought to know, for the lawyer took great pains to teach me that; ay, there ye are," (to the key); "found ye at last. Now then, Haco, we'll have a look at the book and see." To Tottie's surprise and no small disappointment, the only object that came out of the mysterious tea-caddy was a small book, which Mrs Gaff, however, seemed to look upon with respect, and to handle as if she half-expected it would bite. "There, that's my banker's book. You read off the figures, Haco, for I can't. To be sure if I had wanted to know, Tottie could have told me, but I haven't had the heart to look at it till to-day." "Ten thousand, an' no mistake!" said Haco, looking at the figures with intense gravity. "Now, then, the question is," said Mrs Gaff, sitting down and again seizing Tottie's head for stroking purposes, while she put the question with deep solemnity--"the question is, how long will that last?" Haco was a good deal puzzled. He bit his thumb nail, and knit his shaggy brows for some time, and then said-- "Well, you know, that depends on how much you spend at a time. If you go for to spend a thousand pounds a day, now, it'll just last ten days. If you spend a thousand pounds a year, it'll last ten years. If you spend a thousand pounds in ten years, it'll last a hundred years--d'ye see? It all depends on the spendin'. But, then, Mrs Gaff," said the skipper remonstratively, "you mustn't go for to live on the principal, you know." "What's the principal?" demanded Mrs Gaff. "Why, the whole sum; the money _itself_, you know." "D'ye suppose that I'm a born fool, Mr Barepoles, that I should try to live on the money itself? I never heerd on anybody bilin' up money in a kettle an' suppin' goold soup, and I'm not a-goin' for to try." With infinite difficulty, and much futile effort at illustration, did Haco explain to Mrs Gaff the difference between principal and interest; telling her to live on the latter, and never on any account to touch the former, unless she wished to "end her days in a work'us." "I wonder what it's like," said Mrs Gaff. "What what's like?" inquired the skipper. "Ten thousand pounds." "Well, that depends too, you know, on what it's made of--whether copper, silver, goold, or paper." "What! is it ever made o' paper?" In attempting to explain this point, Haco became unintelligible even to himself, and Mrs Gaff became wildly confused. "Well, well," said the latter, "never mind; but try to tell me how much I'll have a year." "That depends too--" "Everything seems to depend," cried Mrs Gaff somewhat testily. "Of course it does," said Haco, "everything _does_ depend on somethin' else, and everything will go on dependin' to the end of time: it depends on how you invest it, and what interest ye git for it." "Oh, dearie me!" sighed Mrs Gaff, beginning for the first time to realise in a small degree the anxieties and troubles inseparable from wealth; "can't ye tell me what it's _likely_ to be about?" "Couldn't say," observed Haco, drawing out his pipe as if he were about to appeal to it for information; "it's too deep for me." "Well, but," pursued Mrs Gaff, becoming confidential, "tell me now, d'ye think it would be enough to let me make some grand improvements on the cottage against Stephen and Billy's return?" "Why, that depends on what the improvements is to be," returned Haco with a profound look. "Ay, just so. Well, here are some on 'em. First of all, I wants to get a noo grate an' a brass tea-kettle. There's nothing like a cheery fire of a cold night, and my Stephen liked a cheery fire--an' so did Billy for the matter o' that; but the trouble I had wi' that there grate is past belief. Now, a noo grate's indispens'ble." "Well?" said Haco, puffing his smoke up the chimney, and regarding the woman earnestly. "Well; then I want to get a noo clock. That one in the corner is a perfit fright. A noo table, too, for the leg o' that one has bin mended so often that it won't never stand another splice. Then a noo tea-pot an' a fender and fire-irons would be a comfort. But my great wish is to get a big mahogany four-post bed with curtains. Stephen says he never did sleep in a four-poster, and often wondered what it would be like--no more did I, so I would like to take him by surprise, you see. Then I want to git--" "Well?" said Haco, when she paused. "I'm awful keen to git a carpit, but I doubt I'm thinkin' o' too many things. D'ye think the first year's--what d'ye call it?" "Interest," said Haco. "Ay, interest--would pay for all that?" "Yes, an' more," said the skipper confidently. "If I only knew how much it is to be," said Mrs Gaff thoughtfully. At that moment the door opened, and Kenneth Stuart entered, followed by his friend Gildart Bingley. After inquiring as to her welfare Kenneth said: "I've come to pay you the monthly sum which is allowed you by the Shipwrecked Mariners' Society. Mr Bingley asked me to call as he could not do so; but from all accounts I believe you won't need it. May I congratulate you on your good fortune, Mrs Gaff." Kenneth took out his purse as he spoke to pay the sum due to her. Mrs Gaff seemed to be struck with a sudden thought. She thanked Kenneth for his congratulations, and then said: "As to my not needin' the money you've brought me, young man, I take leave to say that I _do_ need it; so you'll obleege me by handin' it over." Kenneth obeyed in surprise not unmingled with disappointment in finding such a grasping spirit in one whom he had hitherto thought well of. He paid the money, however, in silence, and was about to take his leave when Mrs Gaff stopped him. "This sum has bin paid to me riglarly for the last three months." "I believe it has," said Kenneth. "And," continued Mrs Gaff, "it's been the means o' keepin' me and my Tottie from starvation." "I'm glad to hear it," returned Kenneth, who began to wonder what was to follow; but he was left to wonder, for Mrs Gaff abruptly asked him and Gildart to be seated, as she was anxious to find out a fact or two in regard to principal and interest. Gildart could scarce avoid laughing as he glanced at his companion. "Now," began Mrs Gaff, seating herself opposite Kenneth, with a hand on each knee, "I wants to know what a principal of ten thousand pounds comes to in the way of interest in a twel'month." "Well, Mrs Gaff," said Kenneth, "that depends--" "Dear me!" cried Mrs Gaff petulantly, "every mortial thing that has to do with money seeps to _depend_. Could ye not tell me somethin' about it, now, that doesn't depend?" "Not easily," replied Kenneth with a laugh; "but I was going to say that if you get it invested at five per cent, that would give you an income of five hundred pounds a year." "How much?" inquired Mrs Gaff in a high key, while her eyes widened with astonishment. Kenneth repeated the sum. "Young man, you're jokin'." "Indeed I am not," said Kenneth earnestly, with an appealing glance at Gildart. "True--as Johnson's Dictionary," said the middy. Mrs Gaff spent a few moments in silent and solemn reflection. "The Independent clergyman," she said in a low meditative tone, "has only two hundred a year--so I'm told; an' the doctor at the west end has got four hundred, and he keeps a fine house an' servants; an' Sam Balls, the rich hosier, has got six hundred--so they say; and Mrs Gaff, the poor critter, has only got five hundred! That'll do," she continued, with a sudden burst of animation, "shake out the reefs in yer tops'ls, lass, slack off yer sheets, ease the helm, an' make the most on it while the fair wind lasts." Having thus spoken, Mrs Gaff hastily folded up in a napkin the sum just given her, and put it, along with the bank-book, into the tea-caddy, which she locked and deposited safely in the corner cupboard. Immediately after, her visitors, much surprised at her eccentric conduct, rose and took their leave. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. MRS. GAFF BECOMES A WOMAN OF BUSINESS, AND FINDS IT AWFULLY HARD WORK. Soon after the conversation narrated in the last chapter, the clerks in the bank of Wreckumoft were not a little interested by the entrance of a portly woman of comely appearance and large proportions. She was dressed in a gaudy cotton gown and an enormously large bonnet, which fluttered a good deal, owing as much to its own magnitude and instability as to the quantity of pink ribbons and bows wherewith it was adorned. The woman led by the hand a very pretty little girl, whose dress was much the same in pattern, though smaller in proportion. Both woman and child looked about them with that air of uncertainty peculiar to females of the lower order when placed in circumstances in which they know not exactly how to act. Taking pity upon them, a clerk left his perch, and going forward, asked the woman what she wanted. To this she replied promptly, that she wanted money. She was much flushed and very warm, and appeared to have come some distance on foot, as well as to be in a state of considerable agitation, which, however, she determinedly subdued by the force of a strong will. "If you go to yonder rail and present your cheque," replied the clerk kindly, "you'll get the money." "Present what, young man?" "Your cheque," replied the clerk. "What's that?" "Have you not a cheque-book--or a slip of paper to--" "Oh! ay, a _book_. Of course I've got a book, young man." Saying this, Mrs Gaff, (for it was she), produced from a huge bag the bank-book that had erstwhile reposed in the mysterious tea-caddy. "Have you no other book than this?" "No, young man," replied Mrs Gaff, feeling, but not exhibiting, slight alarm. The clerk, after glancing at the book, and with some curiosity at its owner, then explained that a cheque-book was desirable, although not absolutely necessary, and went and got one, and showed her the use of it,--how the sum to be drawn should be entered with the date, etcetera, on the margin in figures, and then the cheque itself drawn out in words, "_not in figures_," and signed; after which he advised Mrs Gaff to draw out a cheque on the spot for what she wanted. "But, young man," said Mrs Gaff, who had listened to it all with an expression of imbecility on her good-looking face, "I never wrote a stroke in my life 'xcept once, when I tried to show my Billy how to do it, and only made a big blot on his copy, for which I gave him a slap on the face, poor ill-used boy." "Well, then, tell me how much you want, and I will write it out for you," said the clerk, sitting down at a table and taking up a pen. Mrs Gaff pondered for a few seconds, then she drew Tottie aside and carried on an earnest and animated conversation with her in hoarse whispers, accompanied by much nodding and quivering of both bonnets, leading to the conclusion that what the one propounded the other heartily agreed to. Returning to the table, Mrs Gaff said that she wanted a hundred pounds. "How much?" demanded the clerk in surprise. "A hundred pound, young man," repeated Mrs Gaff, somewhat sternly, for she had made up her mind to go through with it come what might; "if ye have as much in the shop just now--if not I'll take the half, and call back for the other half to-morry--though it be raither a longish walk fro' Cove and back for a woman o' my size." The clerk smiled, wrote out the cheque, and bade her sign it with a cross. She did so, not only with a cross, but with two large and irregular blots. The clerk then pointed to a partition about five feet six in height, where she was to present it. Going to the partition she looked about for a door by which to enter, but found none. Looking back to the clerk for information, she perceived that he was gone. Pickpockets and thieves instantly occurred to her, but, on searching for the bank-book and finding that it was safe, she felt relieved. Just as she was beginning to wonder whether she was not being made game of, she heard a voice above her, and, looking up, observed a man's head stretched over the top of the partition and looking down at her. "Now, then, good woman, what do you want?" said the head. "I wants a hundred pound," said Mrs Gaff, presenting her cheque in a somewhat defiant manner, for she began to feel badgered. The head put over a hand, took the cheque, and then both disappeared. Mrs Gaff stood for some time waiting anxiously for the result, and as no result followed, she began again to think of thieves and pickpockets, and even meditated as to the propriety of setting up a sudden cry of thieves, murder, and fire, in order to make sure of the clerk being arrested before he should get quite clear of the building, when she became aware of a fluttering of some sort just above her. Looking up she observed her cheque quivering on the top of the partition. Wondering what this could mean, she gazed at it with an expression of solemn interest. Twice the cheque fluttered, with increasing violence each time, as though it were impatient, and then the head re-appeared suddenly. "Why don't you take your cheque?" it demanded with some asperity. "Because I don't want it, young man; I wants my money," retorted Mrs Gaff, whose ire was beginning to rise. The head smiled, dropped the cheque on the floor, and, pointing with its nose to a gentleman who stood behind a long counter in a sort of stall surrounded with brass rails, told her to present it to the teller, and she'd get the money. Having said which the head disappeared; but it might have been noted by a self-possessed observer, that as soon as Mrs Gaff had picked up the cheque, (bursting two buttons off her gown in the act), the head re-appeared, grinning in company with several other heads, all of which grinned and watched the further movements of Mrs Gaff with interest. There were four gentlemen standing behind the long counter in brazen stalls. Three of these Mrs Gaff passed on her way to the one to whom she had been directed by the head's nose. "Now, sir," said Mrs Gaff, (she could not say "young man" this time, for the teller was an elderly gentleman), "I hope ye'll pay me the money without any more worrittin' of me. I'm sure ye might ha' done it at once without shovin' about a poor ignorant woman like me." Having appealed to the teller's feelings in this last observation, Mrs Gaff's own feelings were slightly affected, and she whimpered a little. Tottie, being violently sympathetic, at once began to weep silently. "How would you like to have it, my good woman?" asked the teller kindly. "Eh?" exclaimed Mrs Gaff. "Would you like to have it in notes or gold?" said the teller. "In goold, of course, sir." Tottie here glanced upwards through her tears. Observing that her mother had ceased to whimper, and was gazing in undisguised admiration at the proceedings of the teller, she turned her eyes in his direction, and forgot to cry any more. The teller was shovelling golden sovereigns into a pair of scales with a brass shovel as coolly as if he were a grocer's boy scooping out raw sugar. Having weighed the glittering pile, he threw them carelessly out of the scale into the brass shovel, and shot them at Mrs Gaff, who suddenly thrust her ample bosom against the counter, under the impression that the coins were about to be scattered on the floor. She was mistaken. They were checked in their career by a ledge, and lay before her unbelieving eyes in a glittering mass. Suddenly she looked at the teller with an expression of severe reproof. "You've forgot to count 'em, sir." "You'll find them all right," replied the teller, with a laugh. Thereupon Mrs Gaff, in an extremely unbelieving state of mind, began to count the gold pieces one by one into a little cotton bag which had been prepared by her for this very purpose, and which Tottie held open with both hands. In ten minutes, after much care and many sighs, she counted it all, and found that there were two sovereigns too many, which she offered to return to the teller with a triumphant air, but that incredulous man smiled benignantly, and advised her to count it again. She did count it again, and found that there were four pieces too few. Whereupon she retired with the bag to a side table, and, in a state of profuse perspiration, began to count it over a third time with deliberate care. Tottie watched and checked each piece like a lynx, and the sum was at last found to be correct! Mrs Gaff quitted the bank with a feeling of intense relief, and met Lizzie Gordon walking with Emmie Wilson just outside the door. "My dear Miss Gordon," exclaimed the poor woman, kissing Lizzie's hand in the fulness of her heart, "you've no ideer what agonies I've bin a-sufferin' in that there bank. If they're a-goin' to treat me in this way always, I'll draw out the whole o' my ten hundred thousand pound--if that's the sum--an' stow it away in my Stephen's sea-chest, what he's left behind him." "Dear Mrs Gaff, what have they done to you?" asked Lizzie in some concern. "Oh, it's too long a story to tell ye here, my dear. Come with me. I'm a-goin' straight to yer uncle's, Captain Bingley. Be he to home? But stop; did ye ever see a hundred golden pounds?" Mrs Gaff cautiously opened the mouth of her bag and allowed Lizzie to peep in, but refused to answer any questions regarding her future intentions. Meanwhile Emmie and Tottie had flown into each other's arms. The former had often seen my niece, both at the house of Mr Stuart and at my own, as our respective ladies interchanged frequent visits, and Miss Peppy always brought Emmie when she came to see us. Lizzie had taken such a fancy to the orphan that she begged Miss Peppy to allow her to go with her and me sometimes on our visits to the houses of distressed sailors and fishermen. In this way Emmie and Tottie had become acquainted, and they were soon bosom friends, for the gentle, dark-eyed daughter of Mrs Gaff seemed to have been formed by nature as a harmonious counterpart to the volatile, fair-haired orphan. Emmie, I may here remark in passing, had by this time become a recognised inmate of Mr Stuart's house. What his intentions in regard to her were, no one knew. He had at first vowed that the foundling should be cast upon the parish, but when the illness, that attacked the child after the ship-wreck, had passed away, he allowed her to remain without further remark than that she must be kept carefully out of his way. Kenneth, therefore, held to his first intention of not letting his father or any one else know that the poor girl was indeed related to him by the closest tie. Meanwhile he determined that Emmie's education should not be neglected. Immediately on arriving at my residence, Mrs Gaff was, at her own request, ushered into my study, accompanied by Tottie. I bade her good-day, and, after a few words of inquiry as to her health, asked if I could be of any service to her. "No, capting, thank 'ee," she said, fumbling with her bag as if in search of something. "No news of Stephen or Billy, I suppose?" said I in a sad tone. "Not yet, capting, but I expect 'em one o' these days, an' I'm a-gettin' things ready for 'em." "Indeed! what induces you to expect them so confidently?" "Well, capting, I can't well tell 'ee, but I do, an' in the meantime I've come to thank 'ee for all yer kindness to Tottie an' me when we was in distress. Yer Society, capting, has saved me an' Tottie fro' starvation, an' so I've come for to give ye back the money ye sent me by Mr Stuart, for there's many a poor widder as'll need it more nor I do." So saying, she placed the money on the table, and I thanked her heartily, adding that I was glad to be able to congratulate her on her recent good fortune. "Moreover," continued Mrs Gaff, taking a small bag from the large one which hung on her arm, and laying it also on the table, "I feel so thankful to the Almighty, as well as to you, sir, that I've come to give ye a small matter o' goold for the benefit o' the Society ye b'longs to, an' there it be." "How much is here?" said I, lifting up the bag. "A hundred pound. Ye needn't count it, capting, for it's all c'rekt, though it _was_ shovelled out to me as if it war no better than coals or sugar. Good-day, capting." Mrs Gaff, turning hastily round as if to avoid my thanks, or my remonstrances at so poor a woman giving so large a sum, seized Tottie by the wrist and dragged her towards the door. "Stop, stop, my good woman," said I; "at least let me give you a receipt." "Please, capting, I doesn't want one. Surely I can trust ye, an' I've had my heart nigh broke with bits o' paper this good day." "Well, but I am required by the rules of the Society to give a receipt for all sums received." Mrs Gaff was prevailed on to wait for the receipt, but the instant it was handed to her, she got up, bounced out of the room, and out of the house into the street. I hastened to the window, and saw her and Tottie walking smartly away in the direction of Cove, with their enormous bonnets quivering violently, and their ribbons streaming in the breeze. Half an hour afterwards, Dan Horsey, who had been sent to me with a note from my friend Stuart, went down into my kitchen, and finding Susan Barepoles there alone, put his arm round her waist. "Don't," said Susan, struggling unsuccessfully to get free. "What d'ye think Mrs Gaff has bin an' done?" "Don't know, my jewel, no more nor a pig as has niver seen the light o' day," said Dan. "She's bin--and gone--and given--" said Susan, with great deliberation, "one--hundred--gold sovereigns--to the Shipwrecked thingumbob Society!" "How d'ye know that, darlint?" inquired Dan. "Master told Miss Lizzie, Miss Lizzie told missis, and missis told me." "You don't say so! Well, I wish I wor the Shipwrecked thing-me-bob Society, I do," said Dan with a sigh; "but I an't, so I'll have to cut my stick, clap spurs to my horse, as the story books say, for Capting Bingley towld me to make haste. But there's wan thing, Susan, as I wouldn't guv for twice the sum." "An' what may that be?" asked Susan shyly. "It's _that_," said Dan, imprinting a kiss on Susan's lips, to the dismay of Bounder, who chanced to be in the back scullery and heard the smack. Cook rushed to the kitchen, but when she reached it Dan was gone, and a few minutes later that worthy was cantering toward Seaside Villa, muttering to himself: "Tin thousand pound! It's a purty little bit o' cash. I only wish as a brother o' mine, (if I had wan), would leave me half as much, an' I'd buy a coach and six, an' put purty Susan inside and mount the box meself, an' drive her to Africay or Noo Zealand, (not to mintion Ottyheity and Kangaroo), by way of a marriage trip! Hey! Bucephalus, be aisy now. It isn't Master Kenneth that's on yer back just now, so mind what yer about, or it'll be wus for ye, old boy." CHAPTER NINETEEN. THE OPEN BOAT ON THE PACIFIC--GAFF AND BILLY IN DREADFUL CIRCUMSTANCES-- A MESSAGE FROM THE SEA, AND A MADMAN'S DEATH. While these events are taking place in the busy seaport of Wreckumoft, let us return to the little boat which we left floating, a solitary speck, upon the breast of the great Pacific Ocean. As long as the whale-ship continued visible, the three occupants of the boat sat immovable, gazing intently upon her in deep silence, as if each felt that when she disappeared his last hold upon earth was gone. Billy was the first to break silence. "She's gone, father," he whispered. Both men started, and looked round at the boy. "Ay, she's gone," observed Gaff with a sigh; "and now we'll have to pull for it, night an' day, as we are able." He began slowly to get out one of the oars as he spoke. "It would have been better if they had cut our throats," growled Captain Graddy with a fierce oath. "You'd have been worse off just now if they had, captain," said Gaff, shaking off his depression of spirits by a strong effort of will. "Come, Cap'n Graddy, you an' I are in the same fix; let's be friends, and do our best to face the worst, like men." "It makes little matter how we face it," said the captain, "it'll come to the same thing in the long run, if we don't manage to make it a short run by taking strong measures. (He touched the hilt of a knife which he wore at all times in his belt.) However, we may as well pull as not." He rose and sulkily took an oar, while Gaff took another. "Now, captain," said Gaff, "you know better than me how far we be fro' land, an' which is the way to pull." "I should think we're five hundred miles from the nearest land," said Graddy, "in a nor'-east direction, an' there's no islands that I know of between us an' South America, so we may just pull about for exercise till the grub's done, an' then pull till we're dead." The captain burst into a loud, fierce laugh, as if he thought the last remark uncommonly witty. Presently he said, "You may as well see how much we've got to eat an' drink before beginnin' our work." "All right, my hearty!" cried Gaff, rising with alacrity to examine their store of provisions; "here's a small bag o' biscuit as'll last us three days, mayhap, on half allowance, so we'll be able to do with quarter allowance for the first few days, an' then reduce to an eighth, which'll make it spin out a few days longer. By that time we may fall in with a sail, who knows?" "We're far beyond the track o' ships," said the captain bitterly. "Is there never a drop o' water in the boat?" "Not a drop," replied Gaff, "I've searched all round, an' only found a empty bottle." "Ay, meant for to smuggle brandy aboard when they got the chance, the brutes!" said the captain, referring to his recent crew. "Well, it don't matter. We've now the prospect of dyin' o' thirst before we die of starvation. For my part, I prefer to die o' starvation, so ye may put yourself an' your brat on full allowance as long as it lasts." Poor Billy's horror at the prospect before him was much aggravated by the fierce and brutal manner of Graddy, and he would fain have gone and hid his face in his father's bosom; but he had been placed at the helm while the two were pulling, so he could not forsake his post. It was a calm evening when they were thus cast adrift on the boundless sea, and as night advanced the calm deepened, so that the ocean became like a sea of ink, in which the glorious host of stars were faithfully mirrored. Hour after hour the two men pulled at the oars with a slow-measured steady stroke, while Billy sat at the helm, and kept the boat's head in the direction of a certain star which the captain pointed out to him. At length the star became like a moon to Billy's gazing eyes; then it doubled itself, and then it went out altogether as the poor boy fell forward. "Hallo, Billy! mind your helm!" cried his father. "I felled asleep, daddy," said the Bu'ster apologetically, as he resumed his place. "Well, well, boy; lie down and take a sleep. It's too hard on you. Eat a biscuit first though before you lie down, and I'll keep the boat's head right with the oar." The captain made no remark, but the moon, which had just arisen, shone on his hard features, and showed that they were more fierce and lowering than at the beginning of the night. Billy gladly availed himself of the permission, and took a biscuit out of the bag. Before he had eaten half of it he fell back in the stern-sheets of the boat, dropt into a sound sleep, and dreamed of home and his mother and Tottie. Hour after hour the men pulled at the oars. They were strong men both of them, inured to protracted exertion and fatigue. Still the night seemed as if it would never come to an end, for in those high southern latitudes at that time of the year the days were very short and the nights were long. At last both men stopped rowing, as if by mutual consent. "It's a pity," said Gaff, "to knock ourselves up together. You'd better lie down, cap'n, an' I'll pull both oars for a spell." "No, no, Gaff," replied Graddy, with sudden and unaccountable urbanity; "I'm not a bit tired, and I'm a bigger man than you--maybe a little stronger. So do you lie down beside the boy, an' I'll call ye when I want a rest." Gaff remonstrated, protesting that he was game to pull for hours yet, but the captain would take no denial, so he agreed to rest; yet there was an uneasy feeling in his breast which rendered rest almost impossible. He lay for a long time with his eyes fixed on the captain, who now pulled the two oars slowly and in measured time as before. At last, in desperation, Gaff gave Billy a poke in the ribs which roused him. "Come, boy," said his father almost sternly, "you've slept long enough now; get up an' steer. Don't you see the cap'n's pullin' all alone!" "All right, daddy," said Billy, uttering a loud yawn and stretching himself. "Where am I? Oh! oh!" The question was put before he had quite recovered consciousness; the terminal "oh!" was something like a groan of despair, as his eye fell on the forbidding countenance of the captain. Billy took the tiller in silence. After a little while Gaff drew his son's ear near to his mouth, and said in a low whisper-- "Billy, my lad, I _must_ have a sleep, but I dursn't do it unless you keep a sharp eye on the captain. He's after mischief, I'm quite sure o' that, so give me a tremendous dig in the ribs if he offers to rise from his seat. Mind what I say now, lad. Our lives may depend on it." Billy promised to be watchful, and in less than two minutes afterwards Gaff was sunk in deep repose. The boy was faithful to his trust. Without appearing to be watching him, he never for one moment removed his eyes so far from where the captain sat labouring at the oars as to give him a chance of moving without being seen. As time passed by, however, Billy found it difficult to keep awake, and, in proportion as this difficulty increased, his staring at the captain became more direct and intense. Of course Graddy perceived this, and the sneering smile that crossed his visage showed that he had made a shrewd guess at the cause of the lad's attentions. By degrees Billy's eyes began to droop, and he roused himself frequently with a strong effort, feeling desperately alarmed lest he should be overcome. But nature was not to be denied. Again and again did his head fall forward, again and again did he look up with a startled expression to perceive that Graddy was regarding him with a cold sardonic smile. Gradually Billy's eyes refused to convey a correct impression of what they rested on. The rower's head suddenly became twice as large as his body, a sight which so alarmed the boy that he started up and could scarce restrain a cry, but the head had shrunk into its ordinary proportions, and the sardonic smile was there as before. Oh! what would not Billy have given at that time to have been thoroughly wide-awake and fresh! He thought for a moment of awaking his father, but the thought was only half formed ere sleep again weighed down his spirit, causing his eyelids to blink despite his utmost efforts to keep them open. Presently he saw Graddy draw the right oar quietly into the boat, without ceasing to row with the left one, and slowly draw the knife which hung at his belt. The boy tried to shout and arouse his father, but he was paralysed with horror. His blood seemed to curdle in his veins. No sound would issue from his lips, neither could he move hand or foot while the cold glassy eye of the captain rested on him. Suddenly Graddy sprang up, and Billy's voice found vent in a shrill cry. At the same moment Stephen Gaff awoke, and instinctively his hand grasped the tiller. He had no time to rise, but with the same force that drew the tiller from its socket in the helm he brought it forward with crashing violence on the forehead of Graddy, who was stooping to plunge the knife into his breast. He staggered beneath the blow. Before he could recover himself it was repeated, and he fell heavily back into the bottom of the boat. "Thank the Lord," murmured Gaff, as he leaned over his fallen foe, "the villain's hand has bin stopped short this time. Come, Billy, help me to lift him up." Gaff's blows had been delivered with such vigour that Graddy's head was much damaged, and it was a long time before the two could get him restored sufficiently to sit up. At length, however, he roused himself and looked with a bewildered air at the sun, which had just risen in a flood of golden light. Presently his eyes fell on Gaff, and a dark scowl covered his face, but being, or pretending to be unable to continue long in a sitting posture, he muttered that he would lie down and rest in the bow of the boat. He got up and staggered to the spot, where he lay down and soon fell fast asleep. "Now, Billy lad, we'll let him rest, an' I'll take the oars. You will lie down and sleep, for you've much need of it, my poor boy, and while I'm pullin' I'll consider what's best for to be done in the circumstances." "Better let me take one o' the oars, daddy. I'm wide-awake now, and not a bit tired." "No, boy, no. Lay down. The next time I require to sleep I must have you in a more wakeful condition--so turn in." Gaff said this in a tone of command that did not admit of remonstrance; so Billy lay down, and soon fell into a deep slumber. For a long time Gaff rowed in silence, gazing wistfully up into the sky, which was covered with gorgeous piles of snowy clouds, as if he sought to forget his terrible position in contemplating the glories of heaven. But earth claimed the chief share of his thoughts. While he rowed with slow unflagging strokes during these calm morning hours, he did indeed think of Eternity; of the time he had mis-spent on earth; of the sins he had committed, and of the salvation through Jesus Christ he had for so many years neglected or refused to accept. But invariably these thoughts diverged into other channels: he thought of the immediate danger that menaced himself and his son; of death from thirst and its terrible agonies--the beginning of which even at that moment were affecting him in the old familiar way of a slight desire to drink! He thought, too, of the fierce man in the bow of the boat who evidently sought his life--why, he could not tell; but he surmised that it must either be because he had become deranged, or because he wished to get all the food in the boat to himself, and so prolong for a few days his miserable existence. Finally, his thoughts reverted to his cottage home, and he fancied himself sitting in the old chimney-corner smoking his pipe and gazing at his wife and Tottie, and his household goods. "I'll maybe never see them agin," he murmured sadly. For some minutes he did not speak, then he again muttered, while a grieved look overspread his face, "An' they'll never know what's come o' me! They'll go on thinkin' an' thinkin', an' hopin' an' hopin' year after year, an' their sick hearts'll find no rest. God help them!" He looked up into the bright heavens, and his thoughts became prayer. Ah! reader, this is no fancy sketch. It is drawn after the pattern of things that happen every year--every month--almost every week during the stormy seasons of the year. Known only to Him who is Omniscient are the multitudes of heartrending scenes of protracted agony and dreary death that are enacted year by year, all unknown to man, upon the lonely sea. Now and then the curtain of this dread theatre is slightly raised to us by the emaciated hand of a "survivor," and the sight, if we be thoughtful, may enable us to form a faint conception of those events that we never see. We might meditate on those things with advantage. Surely _Christians_ ought not to require strong appeals to induce them to consider the case of those "who go down into the sea in ships, who do business in the great waters!" And here let me whisper a word to you ere I pass on, good reader:--Meditation, unless it results in action, is worse than useless because it deepens condemnation. While Gaff was gazing upward a bright look beamed in his eyes. "That's not a bad notion," he muttered, drawing in both oars, and rising. "I'll do it. It'll give 'em a chance, an' that's better than nothin'." So saying he put his hand into the breast-pocket of his jacket, and drew out a letter, which he unfolded, and tore off a portion of the last leaf which was free from writing. Spreading this upon the thwart, he sought for and found a pencil which he was in the habit of carrying in his vest-pocket, and prepared to write. I have shown elsewhere that Gaff could neither read nor write. Yet it does not follow that he had no knowledge whatever of these subjects. On the contrary, he understood the signification of capital letters when printed large and distinct, and could, (with inconceivable pains and difficulty no doubt), string a few simple words together when occasion required. He could also sign his name. After much deep thought he concocted the following sentence:-- AT SEE IN PASIFIK. NO LAND FOR 5000 MILES. OPN BOET. THE SKIPER, BILLY, AND MEES KAST ADRIFT BY KREW. SKIPER MAD, OR ELSE A VILIN. FOAR OR FIVE DAIS BISKIT; NO WATTER. JESS, DEAR LAS, MY LAST THOATS ARE OF YOO. STEPHEN GAFF. He meant to put down 500, and thought that he was right! Having completed his task, he folded up the letter carefully, and addressed it to "Mrs Gaff, sailor's wife, The Cove, England." Then he inserted it into the empty bottle to which reference has been made, and corking it up tight committed it to the waves with an earnest prayer for its safe arrival at its destination. He then resumed his oars with a feeling of great relief, as if a heavy weight had been taken off his mind, and watched the precious bottle until it was out of sight astern. By this time the face of nature had changed somewhat. With the advancing day the wind arose, and before noon it was blowing a stiff breeze. The rolling of the boat awoke Billy, who looked up anxiously. "Ay, it'll be all over sooner than I thought on," murmured Gaff, as he glanced to windward. "What'll be all over, daddy?" inquired the boy, who, being accustomed to boating in rough weather, thought nothing of the threatening appearance of things. "Nothin', lad, nothin'; I was only thinkin' aloud; the wind's freshenin', Billy, an' as you may have to sit a long spell at the tiller soon, try to go to sleep agin. You'll need it, my boy." In spite of himself, Gaff's tone contained so much pathos that Billy was roused by it, and would not again try to sleep. "Do let me pull an oar, daddy," he said earnestly. "Not yet, lad, not yet. In a short time I will if the breeze don't get stiffer." "Why don't _he_ pull a bit, daddy?" inquired Billy pointing with a frown at the figure that lay crouched up in the bow of the boat. Just then a wave sent a wash of spray inboard and drenched the skipper, who rose up and cursed the sea. "You'd better bale it out than curse it," said Gaff sternly; for he felt that if there was to be anything attempted he must conquer his desperate companion. The man drew his knife. Gaff, noticing the movement, leaped up, and catching hold of the tiller, which Billy handed to him with alacrity, faced his opponent. "Now, Graddy," he said, in the tone of a man who has thoroughly made up his mind, "we'll settle this question right off. One of us must submit. If fair means won't do, foul shall be used. You _may_ be bigger than me, but I don't think ye're stronger: leastwise ye'll ha' to prove it. Now, then, pitch that knife overboard." Instead of obeying, Graddy hurled it with all his force into Gaff's chest. Fortunately the handle and not the point struck him, else had the struggle been brief and decisive. As it was, the captain followed up his assault with a rush at his opponent, who met him with a heavy blow from the tiller, which the other received on his left arm, and both men closed in a deadly struggle. The little boat swayed about violently, and the curling seas came over her edge so frequently that Billy began to fear they would swamp in a few moments. He therefore seized the baling-dish, and began to bale for his life while the men fought. Gaff soon proved to be the better man, for he finally flung the captain over the middle thwart and almost broke his back. "Now, do ye give in?" he shouted fiercely, as he compressed the other's throat with both hands. Graddy gasped that he did; so Gaff allowed him to rise, and bade him take the baling-dish from the boy and set to work without delay. The wretched man was so thoroughly cowed that he thereafter yielded instant obedience to his companion. The wind was blowing furiously by this time, and the waves were running high, so that it required constant baling, and the utmost care in steering, to keep the boat from being swamped. Fortunately the storm was accompanied by heavy rain, so that by catching a little of this in their jackets and caps, they succeeded in quenching their thirst. Hunger they had scarcely felt up to this time, but soon the cravings of nature began to be imperious, and Gaff served out the first ration, on the short allowance scale, which was so small that it served only to whet their appetites. There was no need to row now. It was absolutely necessary to run before the wind, which was so strong that a single oar, set up in the place where the mast should have been, was sufficient to cause the light craft to fly over the waves. Each took the helm for a couple of hours by turns. Thus employed they spent the day, and still thus employed the dark night found them. Bad though things looked when there was light enough to enable them to see the rush of the black clouds overhead, the bursts of the driving spray and the tumultuous heavings of the wild sea, it was inconceivably worse when the darkness settled down so thick that they could barely see each other's faces, and the steering had to be done more by _feeling_, as it were, than sight. Gaff took the helm during the greater part of the night, and the other two baled incessantly; but the gale increased so much that the water at last came in faster than it could be thrown out, and they expected to be swamped every instant. "We're goin' down, daddy," said Billy, while a strong inclination to burst into tears almost choked him. "Here, lad," shouted Gaff in a loud voice, for the noise of the wind and waves rendered any other sound almost inaudible, "take the helm and keep her right before the wind. Ye used to steer well; do yer best now, my boy." While he spoke Billy obeyed, and his father sprang into the middle of the boat, and grasped the three oars and boat-hook with which the boat was supplied. There were two small sails, which he wrapped hastily round these, and then tied them all together tightly with a piece of rope. In this operation he was assisted by Graddy, who seemed to understand what his comrade meant to do. The boat was now half full of water. "Down the helm--hard down," roared Gaff. "Ay, ay, sir," responded Billy, with the ready promptitude of a seaman. The boat flew round; at the same moment Gaff hurled the bundle of sails and spars overboard, and eased off the coil of rope to the end of which it was attached. In a few seconds it was about forty yards away to windward, and formed a sort of floating breakwater, which, slight though it was, proved to be sufficient to check the full force of the seas, so that the little boat found partial shelter to leeward. The shelter was terribly slight, however; only just sufficient to save them from absolute destruction; and it was still necessary for one of their number to be constantly employed in baling out the water. During the night the clouds cleared away, but there was no abatement of the wind; and having no water they were obliged to eat their allowance of biscuit either in a dry state or moistened in the sea. Next day the sun rose in a cloudless sky, and all day it shone upon them fiercely, and the wind moderated enough to render baling unnecessary, but still they did not dare to haul in their floating bulwark. Extreme thirst now assailed them, and Graddy began in an excited state to drink copiously of salt water. "Don't go for to do that, cap'n," remonstrated Gaff. A derisive laugh was the only reply. Presently Graddy arose, and going into the head of the boat, took up the baling-dish and again drank deeply of the sea-water. "Ha! ha!" he laughed, tossing his arms wildly in the air, and gazing at Gaff with the glaring eyes of a maniac, "that's the nectar for me. Come, boys, I'll sing you a ditty." With that he burst into a roaring bacchanalian song, and continued to shout, and yell, and drink the brine until he was hoarse. But he did not seem to get exhausted; on the contrary, his eyes glared more and more brightly, and his face became scarlet as the fires that were raging within him increased in intensity. Billy clung to his father, and looked at the captain in speechless horror. Even Gaff himself felt an overpowering sense of dread creep over him, for he now knew that he had to deal with a raving maniac. Not knowing what to do, he sat still and silent in the stern of the boat with the tiller in his hand, and his eyes fixed immovably on those of the madman, who seemed to feel that it was a trial as to which should stare the other down, for he soon gave up singing and drinking, and devoted all his energies of body and soul to glaring at his enemy. Thus they continued until the sun began to set. Then Gaff's heart sank within him, for he felt sure that, whenever it was too dark for each to see the other, the madman would summon up courage to make a sudden attack. The attack, however, was precipitated by Gaff inadvertently glancing over his shoulder to observe how far the sun had yet to descend. Instantly, with the leap of a panther, Graddy was upon him with both hands grasping tightly at his throat. Down, down, he pressed him, until Gaff lay on his back with his head over the gunwale. His strength now availed him nothing, for unnatural energy nerved the madman's arm. Billy sprang up and tried to disengage him from his grasp. As well might the rabbit try to unlock the boa's deadly coil. Wrenching the tiller from his father's grasp he hit the madman on the head with all his might; but the poor boy's might was small. The blow seemed to have no effect at all. Again and again he brought it down in an agony of haste lest his father should be strangled before the other was felled. At last he hit him with all his force behind the ear, and Graddy's grasp relaxed as he fell prone on the body of his insensible victim. To pull him off and haul his father into a more convenient position was the work of a few seconds. "O daddy, daddy, speak to me," he cried, loosening his father's neckcloth and unbuttoning his shirt. "Oh, quick! get better before _he_ does," cried Billy wildly, as he shook his father and laved water on his face; "oh! he'll get well first and kill you." In order to do all that lay in his power to prevent this, Billy suddenly sprang up, and, seizing the tiller, dealt the prostrate Graddy several powerful blows on the head. It is not improbable that the frightened boy would have settled the question of his recovery then and there had not his father revived, and told him to stop. For some minutes Gaff sat swaying about in a confused manner, but he was roused to renewed action by seeing Graddy move. "We must hold him now, Billy. Is there a bit of rope about?" "Not a inch, you tied it all round the oars." "It's awkward. However, here's my necktie. It an't strong, but it's better than nothin'." Gaff was about to take it off when Graddy recovered suddenly and attempted to rise. The others sprang on him and held him down; but they did so with difficulty, for he was still very strong. All that night did they sit and hold him, while he raved and sang or struggled as the humour seized him. They did not dare to relax their hold for a moment; because, although he lay sometimes quite still for a lengthened period, he would burst forth again without warning and with increased fury. And still, while they sat thus holding down the maniac, the wind blew fiercely over the raging sea, and the waves curled over and burst upon their tiny breakwater, sending clouds of spray over their head, insomuch that, ere morning, the boat was nearly half full of water. When morning at last broke, father and son were so much exhausted that they could scarcely sit up, and their cramped fingers clung, more by necessity than by voluntary effort, to the garments of the now dying man. Graddy was still active and watchful, however. His face was awful to look upon, and the fire of his restless eyes was unabated. When the sun rose above the horizon both Gaff and Billy turned their weary eyes to look at it. The madman noted the action, and seized the opportunity. He sprang with an unearthly yell, overturned them both, and plunged head foremost into the sea. Twice he rose and gave vent to a loud gurgling cry, while Gaff and his son seized the rope attached to the oars, intending to pull them in and row to his assistance, for he had leaped so far out that he was beyond their reach. But before they had pulled in half of the cable the wretched man had disappeared from their view for ever. Slacking off the rope they let the boat drift astern again to its full extent. Then, without a word, without even a look, father and son lay down together in the stern-sheets, and were instantly buried in a profound deathlike slumber. CHAPTER TWENTY. THE VOYAGE OF THE BOTTLE. The little fragile craft which Stephen Gaff sent adrift upon the world of waters freighted with its precious document, began its long voyage with no uncertainty as to its course, although to the eye of man it might have appeared to be the sport of uncertain waves and breezes. When the bottle fell upon the broad bosom of the South Pacific, it sank as if its career were to end at the beginning; but immediately it re-appeared with a leap, as if the imprisoned spirit of the atmosphere were anxious to get out. Then it settled down in its watery bed until nothing but the neck and an inch of the shoulder was visible above the surface. Thus it remained; thus it floated in the deep, in storm and calm, in heat and cold; thus it voyaged more safely, though not more swiftly, than all the proud ships that spread their lofty canvas to the breeze, night and day, for weeks and months, ay, and years together--not irregularly, not at haphazard, but steadily, perseveringly, in strict obedience to the undeviating laws which regulate the currents in the ocean and the air as truly and unchangeably as they do the circulation of the blood in the human frame. The bottle started from that part of the South Pacific which is known to mariners as the Desolate Region--so called from the circumstance of that part of the sea being almost entirely destitute of animal life. Here it floated slowly, calmly, but surely, to the eastward with the great oceanic current, which, flowing from the regions of the antarctic sea, in that part sweeps round the southern continent of America, and makes for the equator by way of the southern Atlantic Ocean. Now, reader, allow me to screw up a little philosophy here, and try to show you the why and the wherefore of the particular direction of our bottle's voyage. Man has been defined by some lexicographer as a "cooking animal." I think it would be more appropriate to call him a _learning animal_, for man does not always cook, but he never ceases to learn--also to unlearn. One of the great errors which we have been called on, of recent years, to unlearn, is the supposed irregularity and uncertainty of the winds and waves. Nothing is more regular, nothing more certain--not even the rising and setting of the sun himself--than the circulation of the waters and the winds of earth. The apparent irregularity and uncertainty lies in our limited power and range of perception. The laws by which God regulates the winds and waves are as fixed as is the law of gravitation, and every atom of air, every drop of water, moves in its appointed course in strict obedience to those laws, just as surely as the apple, when severed from the bough, obeys the law of gravitation, and falls to the ground. One grand and important fact has been ascertained, namely, that all the waters of the sea flow from the equator to the poles and back again. Disturbed equilibrium is the great cause of oceanic currents. Heat and cold are the chief agents in creating this disturbance. It is obvious that when a portion of water in any vessel sinks, another portion must of necessity flow into the space which it has left, and if the cause which induced the sinking continue, so the flow to fill up will continue, and thus a current will be established. Heat at the equator warms the sea-water, and makes it light; cold at the poles chills it, and makes it heavy. Hot water, being light, rises; cold water, being heavy, sinks. Here, then, is a sufficient cause to produce the effect of currents in the sea. But there are other causes at work. Excessive evaporation at the equator carries off the water of the sea, but leaves the salt behind, thus rendering it denser and heavier; while excessive influx of fresh water at the poles, (from rain and snow and melting ice), renders the sea light;--in addition to which corallines and shell-fish everywhere abstract the lime that is in the sea, by secreting it on their bodies in the form of shells, and thus increase the lightness of those particles of water from which the lime has been abstracted. The other particles of water being generous in their nature, hasten to impart of their lime and salt to those that have little or none. Here, then, we have perpetual motion rendered absolutely certain, both as to continuance and direction. But the latter causes which I have named are modifying causes which tend to counteract, or rather to deflect and direct currents in their flow. Besides which, the rotation of the earth, the action of the winds, and the conformation of continents and islands, have a powerful influence on currents, so that some flow at the bottom of ocean, some on the surface, some from east to west or west to east, or aslant in various directions, while, where currents meet there is deflection, modification, or stagnation, but there is no confusion; all goes on with a regularity and harmony which inconceivably excels that of the most complex and beautiful mechanism of man's constructing, although man cannot perceive this order and harmony by reason of his limited powers. Now, these are facts, not theories founded on speculation. They have been arrived at by the slow but sure method of induction. Hundreds of thousands of practical men have for many years been observing and recording phenomena of every kind in connexion with the sea. These observations have been gathered together, collated, examined, and deeply studied by philosophers, who have drawn their conclusions therefrom. Ignorance of these facts rendered the navigation of the sea in days of old a matter of uncertainty and great danger. The knowledge of them and of other cognate facts enables man in these days to map out the so-called trackless ocean into districts, and follow its well-known highways with precision and comparative safety. Our bottle moved along with the slow but majestic flow of one of those mighty currents which are begotten among the hot isles of the Pacific, where the corallines love to build their tiny dwellings and rear their reefs and groves. In process of time it left the warm regions of the sun, and entered those stormy seas which hold perpetual war around Cape Horn. It passed the straits where Magellan spread his adventurous sails in days of old, and doubled the cape which Byron, Bougainville, and Cook had doubled long before it. Ah! well would it be for man if the bottle had never doubled anything but that cape! And alas for man when his sight is doubled, and his crimes and woes are doubled, and his life is halved instead of doubled, by--"the bottle!" Off Cape Horn our adventurous little craft met with the rough usage from winds and waves that marked the passage of its predecessors. Stormy petrels hovered over it and pecked its neck and cork. Albatrosses stooped inquiringly and flapped their gigantic wings above it. South Sea seals came up from Ocean's caves, and rubbed their furred sides against it. Sea-lions poked it with their grizzly snouts; and penguins sat bolt upright in rows on the sterile islands near the cape, and gazed at it in wonder. Onward it moved with the north-western drift, and sighted on its left, (on its port bow, to speak nautically), the land of Patagonia, where the early discoverers reported the men to be from six to ten feet high, and the ladies six feet; the latter being addicted to staining their eyelids black, and the former to painting a red circle round their left eyes. These early discoverers failed, however, to tell us why the right eyes of the men were neglected; so we are forced to the conclusion that they were left thus untouched in order that they might wink facetiously with the more freedom. Modern travellers, it would seem, contradict, (as they usually do), many of the statements of ancient voyagers; and there is now reason to believe that the Patagonians are not _much_ more outrageous in any respect than ordinary savages elsewhere. Not long after doubling the Cape, the bottle sailed slowly past the Falkland Islands, whose rugged cliffs and sterile aspect seemed in accordance with their character of penal settlement. Sea-lions, penguins, and seals were more numerous than ever here, as if they were the guardians of the place, ready to devour all hapless criminals who should recklessly attempt to swim away from "durance vile." Indeed, it was owing to the curiosity of a sea-lion that at this point in its long voyage the bottle was saved from destruction. A storm had recently swept the southern seas, and the bottle, making bad weather of it in passing the Falklands, was unexpectedly driven on a lee-shore in attempting to double a promontory. Whether promontories are more capable of resisting the bottle than human beings, I know not; but certain it is that the promontory arrested its progress. It began to clink along the foot of the cliffs at the outermost point with alarming violence; and there can be no reasonable doubt that it would have become a miserable wreck there, if it had not chanced to clink right under the nose of a sea-lion which was basking in the sunshine, and sound asleep on a flat rock. Opening its eyes and ears at the unwonted sound, the lion gazed inquiringly at the bottle, and raised its shaggy front the better to inspect it. Apparently the sight stimulated its curiosity, for, with a roar and a gush of ardent spirit, it plunged into the sea and drove the bottle far down into the deep. Finding, apparently, that nothing came of this terrific onslaught, the lion did not reappear. It sneaked away, no doubt, into some coral cave. But the force of the push sent the bottle a few yards out to sea, and so it doubled the promontory and continued its voyage. Shortly after this, however, a check was put to its progress which threatened to be permanent. In a few places of the ocean there are pools of almost stagnant tracts, of various sizes, which are a sort of eddies caused by the conflicting currents. They are full of seaweed and other drift, which is shoved into them by the currents, and are named Sargasso seas. Some of these are hundreds of miles in extent, others are comparatively small. They bothered the navigators of old, did those Sargasso seas, uncommonly. They are permanent spots, which shift their position so little with the very slight changes in the currents of the sea, that they may be said to be always in the same place. Columbus got into one of these Sargassos--the great Atlantic one that lies between Africa and the West Indies,--and his men were alarmed lest this strange weedy sea should turn out to be the end of the world! Columbus was long detained in this region of stagnation and calm, and so were most of the early navigators, who styled it the "Doldrums." Now-a-days, however, our knowledge of the currents of ocean and atmosphere enables us to avoid the Sargasso seas and sail round them, thereby preventing delay, facilitating trade, saving time, and greatly improving the condition of mankind. Now, our bottle happened to get entangled in the weed of the Sargasso that exists in the neighbourhood of the Falkland Islands, and stuck fast there for many months. It was heaved up and down by the undulations, blown about a little by occasional breezes, embraced constantly by seaweed, and sometimes tossed by waves when the outskirts of a passing gale broke in upon the stagnant spot; but beyond this it did not move or advance a mile on its voyage. At last a hurricane burst over the sea; its whirling edge tore up the weed and swept the waters, and set the bottle free, at the same time urging it into a north-easterly current, which flowed towards the coast of Africa. On its way it narrowly missed entanglement in another Sargasso,--a little one that lies between the two continents,--but fortunately passed it in safety, and at last made the Cape of Good Hope, and sighted the majestic Table Mountain which terminates the lofty promontory of that celebrated headland. Here the bottle met with the wild stormy weather that induced its Portuguese discoverer, Bartholomew Diaz, to name it the "Cape of Tempests," and which cost him his life, for, on a succeeding voyage, he perished there. King John the Second of Portugal changed its name into the Cape of Good Hope, and not inappropriately so, as it turned out; for, a few years after its discovery in 1486, Vasco de Gama doubled the Cape of Good Hope and discovered the shores of India, whence he brought the first instalment of that wealth which has flowed from east to west ever since in such copious perennial streams. There was a perplexing conflict of currents here which seemed to indicate a dispute as to which of them should bear off the bottle. The great Mozambique current, (which, born in the huge caldron of the Indian Ocean, flows down the eastern coast of Africa, and meets and wars with the currents coming from the west), almost got the mastery, and well-nigh swept it into an extensive Sargasso sea which lies in that region; in which case the voyage might have been inconceivably delayed; but an eccentric typhoon, or some such turbulent character, struck in from the eastward, swept the bottle utterly beyond Mozambique influence, and left it in the embrace of a current which flowed northward toward the equator. Thus the bottle narrowly missed being flung on "India's coral strand," and voyaged slowly northward in a line parallel with that coast where "Afric's sunny fountains roll down their golden sands,"--where slavers, too, carried off the blacks in days happily gone by, to toil in slavery among the fields of cotton and sugar-cane, and where British cruisers did their best, (but that wasn't much!) to prevent the brutal traffic. The chief point of interest in this part of the voyage was touching at Saint Helena, touching so sharply on the western promontory of that dreary islet, that the bottle again nearly made ship-wreck. Admirably well chosen was this prominent, barren, isolated rock to be the prison of "Napoleon the Great," for he was a conspicuous, isolated specimen of humanity, barren of those qualities that constitute real greatness. Great he undoubtedly was in the art of shedding human blood and desolating myriads of hearths and hearts without any object whatever beyond personal ambition; for the First Napoleon being a Corsican, could not even urge the shallow plea of patriotism in justification of his murderous career. So, let the bottle pass! Its career has not been more deadly, perchance, than was his during the time that the earth was scourged with his presence! On reaching the hot region of the equator, our little craft was again sadly knocked about by conflicting currents, and performed one or two deep-sea voyages in company with currents which dived a good deal in consequence of their superior density and inferior heat. At one time it seemed as if it would be caught by the drift which flows down the east coast of South America, and thus get back into the seas from which it set out. But this was not to be. Owing to some cause which is utterly beyond the ken of mortals, the bottle at last got fairly into the great equatorial current which flows westward from the Gulf of Guinea. It reached the north-west corner of South America, and progressing now at a more rapid and steady rate, progressed along the northern shore of that continent-- passed the mouth of the mighty Amazon and the Orinoco, and, pushing its way among the West India Islands, crossed the Carribean Sea, sighted the Isthmus of Darien, coasted the Bay of Honduras, and swept round the Gulf of Mexico. Here the great current is diverted from its westward course, and, passing through the Gulf of Florida, rushes across the Atlantic in a north-easterly direction, under the well-known name of the Gulf Stream. Men of old fancied that this great current had its origin in the Gulf of Mexico; hence its name; but we now know that, like many another stream, it has many heads or sources, the streams flowing from which converge in the Gulf of Mexico, and receive new and united direction there. With the Gulf Stream the bottle pursued its voyage until it was finally cast ashore on the west of Ireland. Many a waif of the sea has been cast there before it by the same cause, and doubtless many another shall be cast there in time to come. An Irishman with a jovial countenance chanced to be walking on the beach at the moment when, after a voyage of two years, our bottle touched the strand. He picked it up and eyed it curiously. "Musha! but it's potheen." A more careful inspection caused him to shake his head. "Ah, then, it's impty." Getting the bottle between his eyes and the morning sun, he screwed his visage up into myriads of wrinkles, and exclaimed-- "Sure there _is_ something in it." Straightway the Irishman hurried up to his own cabin, where his own wife, a stout pretty woman in a red cloak, assisted him to reach the conclusion that there was something mysterious in the bottle, which was at all events not drinkable. "Oh, then, I'll smash it." "Do, darlint." No sooner said than done, for Pat brought it down on the hearthstone with such force that it was shivered to atoms. Of course his wife seized the bit of paper, and tried to read it, unsuccessfully. Then Pat tried to read it, also unsuccessfully. Then they both tried to read it, turning it in every conceivable direction, and holding it at every possible distance from their eyes, but still without success. Then they came to the conclusion that they could "make nothing of it at all at all," which was not surprising, for neither of them could read a word. They wisely resolved at length to take it to their priest, who not only read it, but had it inserted in the _Times_ on the week following, and also in the local papers of Wreckumoft. Thus did Mrs Gaff, at long last, come to learn something of her husband and son. Her friends kindly told her she need not entertain any hope whatever, but she heeded them not; and only regarding the message from the sea as in some degree a confirmation of her hopes and expectations, she continued her preparations for the reception of the long absent ones with more energy than ever. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. THE FORTUNES OF GAFF AND BILLY CONTINUED. Now, while the bottle was making its long voyage, Stephen Gaff and his son Billy were exposed to the vicissitudes of strange and varied fortune. We left them sound asleep in the stern of the little boat, tossed on the troubled breast of the Pacific. They never knew how long they slept on that occasion, but when they awoke the sun was high in the heavens, and the breeze had considerably abated. Gaff was the first to shake off the lethargy that had oppressed him. Gazing round for some time, he seemed to hesitate whether he should lie down again, and looked earnestly once or twice in the face of his slumbering boy. "'Tis pity to rouse him," he muttered, "but I think we must ha' had a long sleep, for I feel rested like. Hallo, Billy boy, how are 'ee?" Billy did not respond to the greeting. Indeed, he refused to be moved by means of shouts of any kind, and only consented to wake up when his father took him by the coat-collar with both hands, and shook him so violently that it seemed as if his head were about to fall off. "Hallo! faither," he cried in a sleepy voice, "wot's up?" "Ha! you're roused at last, lad, come, it's time to have a bit breakfast. It ain't a heavy un you'll git, poor boy, but 'tis better than nothin', and bigger men have throve upon less at times." Billy was awake and fully alive to his position by this time. He was much depressed. He would have been more than mortal had he been otherwise, but he resolved to shake off the feeling, and face his fortune like a man. "Come along, daddy, let's have a spell at the oars before breakfast." "No, lad, take a bit first," said Gaff, opening the sack which contained the biscuit, and carefully measuring out two small portions of the crumbs. One of the portions was rather larger than the other. Billy observed this, and stoutly refused to take his share when Stephen pushed the larger portion towards him. "No, daddy," said he, "you're not a fair divider." "Am I not, lad?" said Stephen meekly. "I thought I'd done it pretty eekal." "No, my half is the biggest, so you'll have to take some of it back." Gaff refused, but Billy insisted, and a small piece of the precious biscuit was finally put back into the bag. The meal was then eaten with much display of satisfaction by father and son, (a blessing having been first asked on it), and it was prolonged as much as possible in order to encourage the idea that it was not such a small one after all. Billy had not been particular as to his crusts and fragments of victuals in days of yore, but it was wonderful how sharp his eye was on this occasion to note and pick up every minute crumb, and transfer it to his hungry mouth. "Now, daddy, I'm ready." He swelled out his little chest, and gave it a sounding thump as he rose, and, rolling up his shirt-sleeves to the shoulder, seized an oar. Gaff took the other, and both sat down to the slow, dreary, monotonous toil of another day. At first the Bu'ster was chatty, but by degrees his tongue flagged, and ere long it became quite silent. For six or eight hours they pulled without intermission, except for a few minutes at a time, every hour or so, and Gaff directed the boat's head in the direction to which the captain had pointed when he said the land might be about five hundred miles off. When the sun was getting low on the horizon, Billy stopped with a sigh-- "Ain't it time for dinner, daddy, d'ye think?" "Hold on a bit, lad, I'm goin' to let ye tak' a sleep soon, an' it'll be best to eat just afore lyin' down." No more was said, and the rowing was continued until the sun had set, and the shades of night were beginning to descend on the sea. "Now, lad, we'll sup," said Stephen, with a hearty air, as he pulled in his oar. "Hooray!" cried Billy faintly, as he jumped up and went to the stern, where his father soon produced the biscuit-bag and measured out the two small portions. "Cheatin' again, daddy," cried the Bu'ster with a remonstrative tone and look. "No, I ain't," said Gaff sharply, "eat yer supper, you scamp." Billy obeyed with alacrity, and disposed of his portion in three mouthfuls. There was a small quantity of rain-water--about half a pint--which had been collected and carefully husbanded in the baling-dish. It was mingled with a little spray, and was altogether a brackish and dirty mixture, nevertheless they drank it with as much relish as if it had been clear spring water. "Now, boy, turn in," said Gaff earnestly; "you'll need all the sleep ye can git, for, if I know the signs of the sky, we'll have more wind afore long." Poor Billy was too tired to make any objection to this order, so he laid his head on a fold of the wet sail, and almost immediately fell asleep. Gaff was right in his expectation of more wind. About two hours after sunset it came on to blow so stiffly that he was obliged to awaken Billy and set him to bale out the sprays that kept constantly washing over the gunwale. Towards midnight a gale was blowing, and Gaff put the boat before the wind, and drove with it. Hour after hour passed away; still there was no abatement in the violence of the storm, and no relaxation from baling and steering, which the father and son took alternately every half hour. At last Billy's strength was fairly exhausted. He flung down the baling-dish, and, sitting down beside his father, laid his head on his breast, and burst into tears. The weakness, (for such Billy deemed it), only lasted a few moments however. He soon repressed his sobs. "My poor boy," said Gaff, patting his son's head, "it'll be soon over wi' us, I fear. May the good Lord help us! The boat can't float long wi' such sprays washin' over her." Billy said nothing, but clung closer to his father, while his heart was filled with solemn, rather than fearful, thoughts of death. Their danger of swamping now became so imminent that Gaff endeavoured to prepare his mind to face the last struggle manfully. He was naturally courageous, and in the heat of action or of battle could have faced death with a smile and an unblanched cheek; but he found it much more difficult to sit calmly in the stern of that little boat hour after hour, and await the blow that seemed inevitable. He felt a wild, almost irresistible, desire to leap up and vent his feelings in action of some kind, but this was not possible, for it required careful attention to the helm to prevent the little craft from broaching-to and upsetting. In his extremity he raised his heart to God in prayer. While he was thus engaged the roar of the storm increased to such a degree that both father and son started up in expectation of instantaneous destruction. A vivid flash of lightning glared over the angry sea at the moment, and revealed to their horrified gaze a reef of rocks close ahead, on which the waves were breaking with the utmost fury. Instant darkness followed the flash, and a deafening peal of thunder joined in the roar of breakers, intensifying, if possible, the terrors of the situation. Gaff knew now that the crisis had certainly arrived, and for the next few moments he exerted every power of eye and ear in order to guide the boat into a channel between the breakers--if such existed. "Jump for'ard, lad," he shouted, "and keep yer eye sharp ahead." Billy obeyed at once, with the seamanlike "Ay, ay, sir," which he had acquired on board the whaler. "Port, port! hard-a-port!" shouted the boy a moment after taking his place in the bow. "Port it is," answered Gaff. Before the boat had time, however, to answer the helm, she was caught on the crest of a breaker, whirled round like a piece of cork, and, balancing for one moment on the foam, capsized. The moment of hesitation was enough to enable Gaff to spring to his son's side and seize him. Next instant they were buffeting the waves together. It is not necessary to remind the reader that Gaff was an expert swimmer. Billy was also first-rate. He was known among his companions as The Cork, because of his floating powers, and these stood him in good stead at this time, enabling him to cling to his father much more lightly than would have been the case had he not been able to swim. At first they found it impossible to do more than endeavour to keep afloat, for the surging of the breakers was so great, and the darkness so intense, that they could not give direction to their energies. But the increasing roar of the surf soon told them that they were near the rocks, and in a few seconds they were launched with tremendous force amongst them. Well was it for them at that moment that the wave which bore them on its crest swept them through a gap in the reef, else had they been inevitably dashed to pieces. As it was, they were nearly torn asunder, and Gaff's shoulder just grazed a rock as he was whirled past it; but in a few seconds they found themselves in comparatively still water, and felt assured that they had been swept through an opening in the reef. Presently Gaff touched a rock and grasped it. "Hold on, Billy my lad!" he exclaimed breathlessly, "we'll be safe ashore, please God, in a short bit." "All right, daddy," gasped the boy; for to say truth, the whirling in the foam had well-nigh exhausted him. Soon the two were out of the reach of the waves, clinging to what appeared to be the face of a precipice. Here, although safe from the actual billows, they were constantly drenched by spray, and exposed to the full fury of the gale. At first they attempted to scale the cliff, supposing that if once at the top they should find shelter; but this proved to be impossible. Equally impossible was it to get round the promontory on which they had been cast. They were therefore compelled to shelter themselves as they best might, in the crevices of the exposed point, and cling to each other for warmth. It was a long long night to those castaways. Minutes appeared to pass like hours, and it seemed to them as if night had finally and for ever settled down on the dreary world. The wind too, although not very cold, was sufficiently so to chill them, and long before day began to break they were so much benumbed as to be scarcely able to maintain their position. During all this time they were harassed by uncertainty as to the nature of the rock on which they were cast. It might be a mere barren islet, perhaps one which the sea covered at high-water, in which case there was the possibility of their being swept away before morning. When morning came, however, it revealed to them the fact that they were upon a small promontory, which was connected by a narrow neck of sand with the land. As soon as the light rendered this apparent, Gaff put his hand on Billy's head and spoke softly to him-- "Now then, lad, look up--ye an't sleepin', sure, are ye?" "No, daddy, only dozin' and dreamin'," said Billy, rousing himself. "Well, we must stop dreamin', and git ashore as fast as we can. I think there's dry land all the way to the beach; if not, it'll only be a short swim. Whether it's an island or what, I don't know; but let's be thankful, boy, that it looks big enough to hold us. Come, cheer up!" To this Billy replied that he was quite jolly, and ready for anything; and, by way of proving his fitness for exertion, began to crawl over the rocks like a snail! "That'll never do," said Gaff with a short laugh; "come, wrestle with me, youngster." The Bu'ster accepted the challenge at once by throwing his arms round his father's waist, and endeavouring to throw him. Gaff resisted, and the result was that, in ten minutes or so, they were comparatively warm, and capable of active exertion. Then they clambered over the rocks, traversed the neck of sand, and quickly gained the shore. Ascending the cliffs with eager haste, they reached the summit just as the sun rose and tinged the topmost pinnacles with a golden hue. Pushing on towards an elevated ridge of rock, they climbed to the top of a mound, from which they could obtain a view of the surrounding country, and then they discovered that their place of refuge was a small solitary island, in the midst of the boundless sea. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. THE ISLAND-HOME EXAMINED. For a long time father and son stood on the elevated rock gazing in silence on the little spot of earth that was to be their home, it might be, for months, or even years. The island, as I have said, was a solitary one, and very small--not more than a mile broad, by about three miles long; but it was covered from summit to shore with the richest tropical verdure, and the trees and underwood were so thick that the cliffs could only be seen in places where gaps in the foliage occurred, or where an aspiring peak of rock shot up above the trees. In order to reach the ridge on which they stood, the castaways had passed beneath the shade of mangrove, banana, cocoa-nut, and a variety of other trees and plants. The land on which these grew was undulating and varied in form, presenting in one direction dense foliage, which not only filled the little valleys, but clung in heavy masses to rocks and ridges; while in other places there were meadows of rich grass, with here and there a reedy pond, whose surface was alive with wild ducks and other water-fowl. Only near the top of the island--which might almost be styled a mountain ridge--was there any appearance of uncovered rock. There were two principal peaks, one of which, from its appearance, was a volcano, but whether an active one or not Gaff could not at that time determine. Unlike the most of the South Sea islands, this one was destitute of a surrounding coral reef, so that the great waves caused by the recent storm burst with thunderous roar on the beach. At one point only was there a projecting point or low promontory, which formed a natural harbour; and it was on the outer rocks of this point that the father and son had been providentially cast. The whole scene was pre-eminently beautiful; and as the wind had gone quite down, it was, with the exception of the solemn, regular, intermittent roar of the breakers on the weather side, quiet and peaceful. As he sat down on a rock, and raised his heart to God in gratitude for his deliverance, Gaff felt the spot to be a sweet haven of rest after the toils and horrors of the storm. A single glance was sufficient to show that the island was uninhabited. The silence was first broken by Billy, who, in his wonted sudden and bursting manner, gave vent to a resonant cheer. "Hallo! ho! hooray!" he shouted, while a blaze of delight lit up his face; "there's the boat, daddy!" "Where away, lad?" demanded Gaff, rising and shading his eyes from the sun, as he looked in the direction indicated. "There, down i' the cove; bottom up among the rocks; stove in, I daresay. Don't 'ee see'd, faither?" "Ay, lad; and mayhap it bean't stove in; leastwise we'll go see." As the two hastened down to the beach to ascertain this important point, Gaff took a more leisurely survey of things on the island, and Billy commented freely on things in general. "Now, daddy," said the Bu'ster, with a face of beaming joy, "this is the very jolliest thing that ever could have happened to us--ain't it?" "Well, I'm not so sure o' that, lad. To be cast away on a lone desert island in the middle o' the Pacific, with little or no chance o' gittin' away for a long bit, ain't quite the jolliest thing in the world, to my mind." "Wot's a _desert_ island, daddy?" "One as ain't peopled or cultivated." "Then _that's_ no objection to it," said Billy, "because we two are people enough, and we'll cultivate it up to the mast-head afore long." "But what shall we do for victuals, lad?" inquired Gaff, with a smile. The Bu'ster was posed. He had never thought of food, so his countenance fell. "And drink?" added Gaff. The Bu'ster was _not_ posed at this, for he remembered, and reminded his father of, the pond which they had seen from the ridge. "Aha!" he added, "an' there was lots o' ducks on it too. We can eat them, you know, daddy, even though we han't got green peas or taties to 'em." "We can have other things to 'em though," said Gaff, pointing to a tall palm-tree; "for there are cocoa-nuts; and farther on, to this side o' the hollow there, I see banana-trees; and here are yams, which are nearly as good as taties." "I told ye it would be jolly," cried Billy, recovering his delight, "an' no doubt we'll find lots of other things; and then we'll have it all to ourselves--you and me. You'll be king, daddy, or emperor, and I'll be prince. Won't that be grand?--Prince of a South Sea island! What would Tottie and mother say? And then the boat, you know--even if it do be stove in, we can patch it up somehow, and go fishin'." "Without hooks or lines?" said Gaff. Billy was posed again, and his father laughed at the perplexed expression on his countenance, as he said, "Never mind, boy, we'll find somethin' or other that will do instead o' hooks an' lines." "To be sure we will," assented the other encouragingly; "an' that'll be one of the jolliest bits of it all, that we'll spend lots of our time in tryin' to find out things that'll do instead o' other things, won't we? And then--hallo! was that a grump?" "It sounded uncommon like one." "An' that's a squeal," said Billy. In another moment both "grump" and "squeal" were repeated in full chorus by a drove of wild pigs that burst suddenly out of a thick bush, and, rushing in mad haste past the intruders on their domain, disappeared, yelling, into a neighbouring thicket. "Pork for our ducks, daddy!" shouted Billy, when the first burst of his surprise was over; "we'll have plenty of grub now; but how are we to catch them?" "Ha! we must find that out," replied Gaff cheerfully; "it'll give us summat to think about, d'ye see? Now then, here we are at the beach, an' as far as I can see we have bright prospects in regard to victuals of another sort, for here be crabs an' oysters an' no end o' cockles. Come, we'll not be badly off, if we only had a hut o' some sort to sleep in; but, after all, we can manage to be comfortable enough under a tree. It will be better than the housin' we've had for the last few nights, anyhow." To their great delight they found that the boat had been cast ashore on a sandy place, and that it was uninjured. A short way beyond it, too, the oars were found stranded between two rocks. This was a piece of great good fortune, because it placed within their reach the means of an immediate circumnavigation of their island. But before entering on this voyage of discovery they resolved to explore the woods near the place where they had landed, in search of a cavern, or some suitable place in which to fix their home. Acting on this resolve they pulled the boat up the beach, placed the oars within it, and returned to the woods. As they went they picked up a few shell-fish, and ate them raw. Thus they breakfasted; but although the meal was a poor one it was unusually pleasant, because of the hunger which had previously oppressed them, and which Billy, in a fit of confidential talk with his father, compared to having his "interior gnawed out by rats!" Passing through the woods they found a quantity of ripe berries, of various kinds, of which they ate heartily, and then came to a spring of clear cold water. Gaff also climbed a cocoa-nut tree and brought down two nuts, which were clothed in such thick hard shells that they well-nigh broke their hearts before they succeeded in getting at the kernels. However, they got at them in course of time, and feasted sumptuously on them. It was half an hour, or perhaps three-quarters of an hour, after the gathering of the cocoa-nuts, that they came suddenly on a spring of water above which there was a cloud of vapour resembling steam. "It's bilin'," exclaimed Billy, as he ran forward and eagerly thrust his hand into the water. Billy had said this in joke, for he had never conceived of such a thing as a spring of hot water, but he found that his jest might have been said in earnest, for the spring was almost "bilin'," and caused the Bu'ster to pull his hand out again with a roar of surprise and pain. Just beyond the hot spring they found a small cavern in the face of a cliff, which appeared to them to be quite dry. "Here's the very thing we want, daddy," cried Billy in gleeful surprise. "Don't be too sure, lad; p'raps it's damp." "No, it's dry as bone," said the boy, running in and placing his hands on the floor; "it's wide inside too, and the entrance is small, so we can put a door to it; and look there! see--an't that a hole leadin' to some other place?" Billy was right. A small hole, not much larger than was sufficient to admit of a man passing through, conducted them into a larger cave than the first one, and here they found another hole leading into a third, which was so large and dark that they dared not venture to explore it without a light. They saw enough, however, to be convinced that the caverns were well ventilated and free from damp, so they returned to the entrance cave and examined it carefully with a view to making it their home. Billy's romantic spirit was filled to overflowing with joy while thus engaged, insomuch that Gaff himself became excited as well as interested in the investigation. They little knew at the time how familiar each rock and crevice of that cave was to become, and how long it was destined to be their island-home! CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. RELATING TO IMPROVEMENTS IN THE HUT, AND MRS. GAFF'S PERPLEXITIES. While Stephen Gaff and his son were busy preparing their residence in the South Sea island, Mrs Gaff was equally busy in preparing her residence for their reception on their return to Cove. The little cottage had undergone so many changes during the past few months that it is doubtful whether its rightful owner would have recognised his own property,--internally at least; externally it remained unaltered. Having, with much pains, ascertained that she might venture to launch out pretty freely in the way of expenditure without becoming absolutely bankrupt, Mrs Gaff had supplied herself with a handsome new grate, a large proportion of which was of polished brass, that cost herself and Tottie much of their time to keep clean and brilliant; there were also fender and fire-irons to match, adorned with brass knobs and points, which latter were the special admiration of Tottie. There was a carpet, too, straight from the looms of Turkey--as the man who sold it informed Mrs Gaff--which was the admiration of all Cove, for it was divided into squares of brilliant colours, with huge red roses in the centre of each. It was positively a superb, a resplendent, carpet, and rejoiced the hearts and eyes of Mrs Gaff and her child every time they looked at it, which you may be sure was pretty often. It kept them indeed in a constant state of nervous dread lest they should spill or capsize anything upon it, and in this respect might almost be said to have rendered their lives a burden, but they bore up under it with surprising cheerfulness. There was also a new eight-day clock, with a polished mahogany case and a really white face, which by contrast made the old Dutch clock more yellow and bilious than ever, and if possible more horrified in its expression. Mrs Gaff had allowed the old clock to retain its corner, wisely concluding that it would be a pleasantly familiar sight and sound to her husband and son when they returned. It was quite apparent to the meanest capacity that there was a rivalry between the two timepieces; for, being both rather good timekeepers, they invariably struck the hours at the same time, but the new clock struck with such a loud overbearing ring that the old one was quite overpowered. The latter had the advantage, however, of getting the first two strokes before the other began, besides which it prefaced its remarks every hour with a mysterious hissing and whirring sound that the new clock could not have got up to save its life. There were also half-a-dozen new cane chairs. The shopman who had sold Mrs Gaff the carpet told her that they would look more elegant and drawing-room-like than the six heavy second-hand mahogany ones, with the hair-cloth seats, on which she had set her heart. Mrs Gaff would not at first agree to take the cane chairs, observing truly that they "was too slim," but she was shaken in her mind when the shopman said they were quite the thing for a lady's boudoir. She immediately demanded to know what a "boodwar" was. The shopman told her that it was an elegant apartment in which young ladies were wont to sit and read poetry, and think of their absent lovers. On hearing this she retired into a corner of the shop, taking refuge behind a chest of drawers, and held a long whispered conversation with Tottie, after which she came forth and asked the shopman if married ladies ever used boodwars where they might sit and think of their absent husbands. The shopman smiled, and said he had no doubt they did--indeed, he was sure of it; for, said he, there was a certain apartment in his own house in which his own wife was wont to sit up at night, when he chanced to be absent, and think of _him_. The uncandid man did not add that in the same apartment he was in the habit of being taken pretty sharply to task as to what had kept him out so late; but, after all, what had Mrs Gaff to do with that? The result was that the six cane chairs were ordered by Mrs Gaff, who remarked that she never read "poitry," but that that wouldn't matter much. Thenceforth she styled the cottage at Cove the Boodwar. It is worthy of remark that Mrs Gaff, being a heavy woman, went through the bottom of the first of the cane chairs she sat down on after they were placed in the boudoir, and that her fisher-friends, being all more or less heavy, went successively through the bottoms of all the rest until none were left, and they were finally replaced by the six heavy mahogany chairs, with the hair seats, which ever afterwards stood every test to which they were subjected, that of Haco Barepoles' weight included. But the chief ornament of the cottage was a magnificent old mahogany four-poster, which was so large that it took up at least a third of the apartment, and so solidly dark and heavy that visitors were invariably, on their first entrance, impressed with the belief that a hearse had been set up in a corner of the boudoir. The posts of this bed were richly carved, and the top of each was ornamented with an imposing ball. The whole was tastefully draped with red damask so dark with age as to be almost black. Altogether this piece of furniture was so grand that words cannot fully describe it, and it stood so high on its carved legs that Mrs Gaff and Tottie were obliged to climb into it each night by a flight of three steps, which were richly carpeted, and which folded into a square box, which was extremely convenient as a seat or ottoman during the day, and quite in keeping with the rest of the furniture of the "boodwar." In addition to all these beautiful and expensive articles, Mrs Gaff displayed her love for the fine arts in the selection and purchase of four engravings in black frames with gold slips, one for each wall of the cottage. The largest of these was the portrait of a first-rate line-of-battle ship in full sail, with the yards manned, and dressed from deck to trucks with all the flags of the navy. Another was a head of Lord Nelson, said to be a speaking likeness! This head had the astonishing property of always looking at you, no matter what part of the room you looked at it from! Tottie had expressed a wish that it might be hung opposite the new clock, in order that it might have something, as it were, to look at; but although the eyes looked straight out of the picture, they refused to look at the clock, and pertinaciously looked at living beings instead. Mrs Gaff asserted that it had a squint, and that it was really looking at the Dutch clock, and on going to the corner where that timepiece stood she found that Lord Nelson _was_ gazing in that direction! But Tottie, who went to the opposite corner of the room, roundly asseverated that the head looked at _her_. There was no getting over this difficulty, so Mrs Gaff gave it up as an unsolvable riddle; but Tottie, who was fond of riddles, pondered the matter, and at length came to the conclusion that as Lord Nelson was a great man, it must be because of his greatness that he could look in two directions at the same moment. Mrs Gaff furthermore displayed her taste for articles of _vertu_ in her selection of chimney-piece ornaments. She had completely covered every inch of available space with shells of a brilliant and foreign aspect, and articles of chinaware, such as parrots and shepherds, besides various creatures which the designer had evidently failed to represent correctly, as they resembled none of the known animals of modern times. From this abode of elegance and luxury Mrs Gaff issued one forenoon in her gay cotton visiting dress and the huge bonnet with the pink bows and ribbons. Tottie accompanied her, for the two were seldom apart for any lengthened period since the time when Stephen and Billy went away. Mother and daughter seemed from that date to have been united by a new and stronger bond than heretofore; they walked, worked, ate, slept, and almost thought together. On the present occasion they meant to pay a business visit at the house of Mr Stuart. While they were on their way thither, Miss Penelope Stuart was engaged in the difficult and harassing work of preparing for a journey. She was assisted by Mrs Niven, who was particularly anxious to know the cause of the intended journey, to the great annoyance of Miss Peppy, who did not wish to reveal the cause, but who was so incapable of concealing anything that she found it absolutely necessary to take the housekeeper into her confidence. "Niven," she said, sitting down on a portmanteau, which was packed, beside one which was packing. "Yes, ma'am." "I may as well tell you why it is that I am going to visit my brother-in-law--" "Oh, it's to your brother-in-law you're goin', is it?" "Yes, I forgot that you did not know, but to be sure I might have known that you could not know unless you were told, although it's difficult to understand why people shouldn't know what others are thinking of, as well as what they are looking at. We can see them looking, but we can't hear them thinking--really it is very perplexing--dear me, where can they be?" "What, ma'am?" "My thick walking-shoes. I'm quite sure that I had them in my hand a minute ago." "Ho! ma'am," exclaimed Mrs Niven suddenly, "if you aren't bin an' put 'em into your bonnet-box among the caps." "Well now, that _is_ odd. Put them into the bag, Niven. Well, as I was saying--where was I?" "You was goin' to tell me why you are goin' to your brother, ma'am," observed the housekeeper. "Ah! to be sure; well then--. But you must never mention it, Niven." Miss Peppy said this with much solemnity, as if she were administering an oath. "On my honour, ma'am; trust me. I never mentions hanythink." Mrs Niven said this as though she wondered that the supposition could have entered into Miss Peppy's head for a moment, that she, (Mrs Niven), could, would, or should tell anything to anybody. "Well then, you must know," resumed Miss Peppy, with a cautious glance round the room, "my brother-in-law, Colonel Crusty, who lives in the town of Athenbury, is a military man--" "So I should suppose, ma'am," observed Mrs Niven, "he being called Kurnel, w'ich is an army name." "Ah, yes, to be sure, I forgot that; well, it is two hours by train to Athenbury, which is a dirty place, as all seaports are--full of fishy and sailory smells, though I've never heard that such smells are bad for the health; at least the Sanitary Commissioners say that if all the filth were cleaned away the effluvia would be less offensive, and-- and--. But, as I was saying, for those reasons I mean to pay my brother-in-law a short visit." "Beg parding, ma'am," said Mrs Niven, "but, if I may remark so, you 'ave not mentioned your reasons as yet." "Oh, to be sure," said the baffled Miss Peppy, who had weakly hoped that she could escape with an indefinite explanation; "I meant to say, (and you'll be sure not to tell, Niven), that the Colonel has a remarkably pretty daughter, with _such_ a sweet temper, and heiress to all her father's property; though I never knew rightly how much it was, for the Crustys are very close, and since their mother died--" "Whose mother, ma'am? the Colonel's or his daughter's?" "His daughter's, of course--Bella, she is called. Since she died, (not Bella, but her mother), since then I've never heard anything about the family; but now that Bella is grown up, I mean to get her and Kenneth to see each other, and I have no doubt that they will fall in love, which would be very nice, for you know Kenneth will have a good income one of those days, and it's as well that the young people should be--be married if they can, and indeed I see nothing in the way; though, after all, they would probably be happier if they were _not_ to marry, for I don't believe the state to be a happy one, and that's the reason, Niven, that I never entered into it myself; but it's too late now, though I cannot conceive why it should ever be too late, for if people can be happy at all, any time, what's to hinder?" Miss Peppy paused abruptly here, and Mrs Niven, supposing that she awaited a reply, said-- "Nothing whatever, ma'am." "Exactly so, Niven, that's just what I think. Kenneth is young and tall and handsome, Bella is young and small and pretty, and that's the reason the match is so suitable, though, to be sure, there are many people similarly situated whose union would not be suitable; dear me, this world of perplexities! No one can read the riddle, for this world is no better than a big round riddle, flattened a little at the poles, to be sure, like an orange, though to _my_ eyes it seems as flat as a pancake, except in the Scotch Highlands, where it's very irregular, and the people wear kilts; still, upon the whole, I think the match will be a good one, so I am going to try to bring it about." "But are you sure, ma'am, that Master Kenneth will go to visit Colonel Crusty?" "O yes, he has promised to escort me there, and then he'll see Bella, and, of course, he won't wish to leave after that." Mrs Niven shook her head, and observed that she rather feared Miss Lizzie Gordon's image was already indelibly impressed on Master Kenneth's heart, but Miss Peppy replied that that was all nonsense, and that, at all events, her brother, Mr Stuart, would never permit it. She did not find it difficult to gain over Mrs Niven to her views, for that worthy woman, (like many other worthy women in this world), held the opinion that a "good match" meant a match where money existed on one or both sides, and that love was a mere boyish and girlish idea, which should not be taken into consideration at all. The two were still discussing this important subject when Mrs Gaff laid violent hands on the door-bell. On being admitted to the presence of Miss Peppy, Mrs Gaff sat down on the packed trunk, and all but stove in the lid; whereupon she rose hastily with many apologies, and afterwards in her confusion sat down on the bonnet-box, which she stove in so completely as to render it _hors-de-combat_ for all future time. "I'm awful sorry," she began. "Oh, no harm; at least no matter," said Miss Peppy, "it's quite a useless sort of thing," (this was literally true), "and I mean to get a new one immediately." Mrs Gaff became suddenly comforted, and said, with a bland smile, that, having heard only that morning of her intention to visit the town of Athenbury, she had called to ask her to do her a great favour. "With the greatest pleasure; what can I do for you?" said Miss Peppy, who was the essence of good-nature. "Thank 'ee, ma'am, it's to take charge o' a bit parcel, about the size of my head, or thereaway, and give it to a poor relation o' mine as lives there when he an't afloat." "A seaman?" said Miss Peppy. "Yes, ma'am." "Very well; but," continued Miss Peppy, "you say the parcel is the size of your head: do you mean your head with or without the bonnet? Excuse me for--" "La! ma'am, _without_ the bonnet, of course. It may perhaps be rather heavy, but I an't quite sure yet. I'll let you know in an hour or so." Mrs Gaff rose abruptly, left the house, with Tottie, precipitately, and made her way to the bank, where she presented herself with a defiant air to the teller who had originally supplied her with a hundred pounds in gold. She always became and looked defiant, worthy woman, on entering the bank, having become unalterably impressed with the idea that all the clerks, tellers, and directors had entered into an agreement to throw every possible difficulty in the way of her drawing out money, and having resolved in her own determined way that she wouldn't give in as long as, (to borrow one of her husband's phrases), "there was a shot in the locker!" "Now, sir," she said to the elderly teller, "I wants twenty pounds, if there's as much in the shop." The elderly teller smiled, and bade her sit down while he should write out the cheque for her. She sat down, gazing defiance all round her, and becoming painfully aware that there were a number of young men behind various screened rails whose noses were acting as safety-valves to their suppressed feelings. When the cheque was drawn out and duly signed, Mrs Gaff went to the rails and shook it as she might have shaken in the face of her enemies the flag under which she meant to conquer or to die. On receiving it back she returned and presented it to the elderly teller with a look that said plainly--"There! refuse to cash that at your peril;" but she said nothing, she only snorted. "How will you have it?" inquired the teller blandly. "In coppers," said Mrs Gaff stoutly. "Coppers!" exclaimed the teller in amazement. "Yes, coppers." "My good woman, are you aware that you could scarcely lift such a sum in coppers." "How many would it make?" she inquired with an air of indecision. "Four thousand eight hundred pence." Mrs Gaff's resolution was shaken; after a few moments' consideration she said she would take it in silver, and begged to have it mixed--with a good number of sixpences amongst it. "You see, my lamb," she whispered to Tottie, while the teller was getting the money, "my poor cousin George is a'most too old to go to sea now, and he han't got a penny to live on, an' so I wants to gladden his heart and astonish his eyes wi' a sight o' such a heap o' silver. Mix it all together, sir," she said to the teller. He obeyed, and pushed the pile towards Mrs Gaff, who surveyed it first with unmixed delight; but gradually her face was clouded with a look of concern as she thought of the counting of it. If the counting of the gold was terrible to her, the counting of the silver was absolutely appalling, for the latter, consisting as it did of half-crowns, shillings, and sixpences, numbered nearly five hundred pieces. The poor woman applied herself to the task with commendable energy, but in ten minutes she perceived that the thing was utterly beyond her powers, so she suddenly exclaimed to Tottie, who stood looking on with tears in her eyes,--"Surely the elderly teller must be an honest man, and would never cheat me;" having come to which conclusion she swept the silver into the bag previously prepared for it, and consigned that to the basket which was the inseparable companion of her left arm. Thereafter she left the bank and hastened to a grocer in the town with whom she was acquainted, and from whom she obtained brown paper and twine with which she made the money up into a parcel. Her next act was to purchase a new bonnet-box, which she presented to Miss Peppy with many earnest protestations that she would have got a better if she could, but a better was not to be had in town for love or money. Having executed all her commissions, Mrs Gaff returned to Cove and spent an hour or two with Tottie in the four-poster--not by any means because she was lazy, but because it afforded her peculiar and inexpressible pleasure to stare at the damask curtains and wonder how Gaff would like it, and think of the surprise that he would receive on first beholding _such_ a bed. So anxious did the good woman become in her desire to make the most of the new bed, that she once or twice contemplated the propriety of Stephen and herself, and the Bu'ster and Tottie, spending the first night, "after their return," all together in it, but on mature consideration she dismissed the idea as untenable. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. MISS PEPPY UNDERTAKES A JOURNEY. The scene is changed now to the railway station at Wreckumoft, where there is the usual amount of bustle and noise. The engines are shrieking and snorting as if nothing on earth could relieve their feelings but bursting. Bells are ringing; porters are hurrying to and fro with luggage on trucks, to the risk of passengers' shins and toes; men, women, and children, young and old, high and low, rich and poor, are mixed in confusion on the platform, some insanely attempting to force their way into a train that is moving off, under the impression that it is _their_ train, and they are too late "after all!" Others are wildly searching for lost luggage. Many are endeavouring to calm their own spirits, some are attempting to calm the spirits of others. Timid old ladies, who _cannot_ get reconciled to railways at all, are convinced that "something is going to happen," and testy old gentlemen are stumping about in search of wives and daughters, wishing that railways had never been invented, while a good many self-possessed individuals of both sexes are regarding the scene with serene composure. When Miss Peppy made her appearance she was evidently not among the latter class. She was accompanied by Kenneth, and attended by Mrs Niven. Neither mistress nor maid had ever been in a railway station before. They belonged to that class of females who are not addicted to travelling, and who prefer stage-coaches of the olden times to railways. They entered the station, therefore, with some curiosity and much trepidation--for it chanced to be an excursion day, and several of the "trades" of Athenbury were besieging the ticket-windows. "It is very good of you to go with me, Kennie," said Miss Peppy, hugging her nephew's arm. "My dear aunt, it is a pleasure, I assure you," replied Kenneth; "I am quite anxious to make the acquaintance of Colonel Crusty and his pretty daughter." "O dear! what a shriek! Is anything wrong, Kennie?" "Nothing, dear aunt; it is only a train about to start." "What's the matter with you, Niven?" inquired Miss Peppy with some anxiety, on observing that the housekeeper's face was ashy pale. "Nothink, ma'am; only I feels assured that _everythink_ is a-goin' to bu'st, ma'am." She looked round hastily, as if in search of some way of escape, but no such way presented itself. "Look-out for your legs, ma'am," shouted a porter, as he tried to stop his truck of luggage. Mrs Niven of course did not hear him, and if she had heard him, she would not have believed it possible that he referred to _her_ legs, for she wore a very long dress, and was always scrupulously particular in the matter of concealing her ankles. Fortunately Kenneth observed her danger, and pulled her out of the way with unavoidable violence. "It can't 'old on much longer," observed Niven with a sigh, referring to an engine which stood directly opposite to her in tremulous and apparently tremendous anxiety to start. The driver vented his impatience just then by causing the whistle to give three sharp yelps, which produced three agonising leaps in the bosoms of Miss Peppy and Mrs Niven. "_Couldn't_ it all be done with a little less noise," said Miss Peppy to Kenneth, "it seems to me so aw--oh! look! surely that old gentleman has gone mad!" "Not he," said Kenneth with a smile; "he has only lost his wife in the crowd, and thinks the train will start before he finds her; see, she is under the same impression, don't you see her rushing wildly about looking for her husband, they'll meet in a moment or two if they keep going in the same direction, unless that luggage-truck should interfere." "Look-out, sir!" shouted the porter at that moment. The old gentleman started back, and all but knocked over his wife, who screamed, recognised him, and clung to his arm with thankful tenacity. A bell rang. The crowd swayed to and fro; agitated people became apparently insane; timid people collapsed; strong people pushed, and weak folk gave way. If any man should be sceptical in regard to the doctrine of the thorough depravity of the human heart, he can have his unbelief removed by going into and observing the conduct of an eager crowd! "What a hinfamous state of things!" observed Mrs Niven. "Yell!--shriek!" went the engine whistle, drowning Miss Peppy's reply. "Take your seats!" roared the guard. The engine gave a sudden snort, as if to say, "You'd better, else I'm off without you." "Now aunt," said Kenneth, "come along." In another moment Miss Peppy was seated in a carriage, with her head out of the window, talking earnestly and rapidly to Mrs Niven. It seemed as if she had reserved all the household directions which she had to give to that last inopportune moment! "Now, take good care of Emmie, Niven, and don't forget to get her--" The remainder was drowned by "that irritating whistle." "Get her what, ma'am?" "Get her shoes mended before Sunday, and remember that her petticoat was torn when she--bless me! has that thing burst at last?" "No, ma'am, not yet," said Niven. "Now then, keep back; show your tickets, please," said the inspector, pushing Niven aside. "Imperence!" muttered the offended housekeeper, again advancing to the window when the man had passed. As the train was evidently about to start, Miss Peppy's memory became suddenly very acute, and a rush of forgotten directions almost choked her as she leaned out of the window. "Oh! Niven, I forgot--the--the--dear me, what is it? I know it so well when I'm not in a flurry. It's awful to be subjected so constantly to-- the Child's History of England! that's it--on the top of my--my--which trunk _can_ it be? I know, oh yes, the leather one. Emmie is to read-- well now, that is too bad--" As Miss Peppy stopped and fumbled in her pocket inquiringly, Mrs Niven asked, in some concern, if it was her purse. "No, it's my thimble; ah! here it is, there's a corner in that pocket where everything seems to--well," (shriek from the whistle), "oh! and-- and--the baker's book--it must be--by the bye, that's well remembered, you must get money from Mr Stuart--" "What _now_, ma'am," inquired Mrs Niven, as Miss Peppy again paused and grew pale. "The key!" "Of the press?" inquired Niven. "Yes--no; that is, it's the key of the press, and not the key of my trunk. Here, take it," (she thrust the key into the housekeeper's hand, just as the engine gave a violent snort.) "What shall I do? My trunk won't open without, at least I suppose it won't, and it's a new lock! what shall--" "Make a parcel of the key, Niven," said Kenneth, coming to the rescue, "and send it by the guard of next train." "And oh!" shrieked Miss Peppy, as the train began to move, "I forgot the--the--" "Yes, yes, quick, ma'am," cried Niven eagerly, as she followed. "Oh! can't they stop the train for a moment? It's the--it's--dear me-- the pie--pie!" "What pie, ma'am?" "There's three of them--for my brother's dinner--I forgot to tell cook-- it'll put him out so--there's three of 'em. It's not the--the--two but the--the--_other_ one, the what-d'ye-call-it pie." Miss Peppy fell back on her seat, and gave it up with a groan. Suddenly she sprang up, and thrust out her head--"The _deer_ pie," she yelled. "The dear pie!" echoed the astonished Mrs Niven interrogatively. Another moment and Miss Peppy vanished from the scene, leaving the housekeeper to return home in despair, from which condition she was relieved by the cook, who at once concluded that the "dear pie" must mean the venison pasty, and forthwith prepared the dish for dinner. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. PERPLEXITIES AND MUSICAL CHARMS. My son Gildart, with his hands in his pockets and his cap very much on one side of his head, entered my drawing-room one morning with a perplexed air. "What troubles you to-day?" asked Lizzie Gordon, who was seated at the window winding up a ball of worsted, the skein of which was being held by Miss Puff, who was at that time residing with us. "What troubles me?--everything troubles me," said the middy with a stern air, as he turned his back to the fire; "the world troubles me, circumstances trouble me, my heart troubles me, my pocket troubles me, my friends and relations trouble me, and so do my enemies; in fact, it would be difficult to name the sublunary creature or thing that does _not_ trouble me. It blows trouble from every point of the compass, a peculiarity in moral gales that is never observed in physical breezes." "How philosophically you talk this morning," observed Lizzie with a laugh. "May it not be just possible that the trouble, instead of flowing from all points to you as a centre, wells up within and flows out in all directions, and that a warped mind inverts the process?" "Perhaps you are right, sweet cousin! Anyhow we can't be both wrong, which is a comfort." "May I ask what is the heart-trouble you complain of?" said Lizzie. "Love and hatred," replied Gildart with a sigh and a frown. "Indeed! Is the name of the beloved object a secret?" "Of course," said the middy with a pointed glance at Miss Puff, who blushed scarlet from the roots of her hair to the edge of her dress, (perhaps to the points of her toes--I am inclined to think so); "of course it is; but the hated object's name is no secret. It is Haco Barepoles." "The mad skipper!" exclaimed Lizzie in surprise. "I thought he was the most amiable man in existence. Every one speaks well of him." "It may be so, but I hate him. The hatred is peculiar, though I believe not incurable, but at present it is powerful. That preposterous giant, that fathom and four inches of conceit, that insufferable disgrace to his cloth, that huge mass of human bones in a pig-skin--he--he bothers me." "But how does he bother you?" "Well, in the first place, he positively refuses to let his daughter Susan marry Dan Horsey, and I have set my heart on that match, for Susan is a favourite of mine, and Dan is a capital fellow, though he is a groom and a scoundrel--and nothing would delight me more than to bother our cook, who is a perfect vixen, and would naturally die of vexation if these two were spliced; besides, I want a dance at a wedding, or a shindy of some sort, before setting sail for the land of spices and niggers. Haco puts a stop to all that; but, worse still, when I was down at the Sailors' Home the other day, I heard him telling some wonderful stories to the men there, in one of which he boasted that he had never been taken by surprise, nor got a start in his life; that a twenty-four pounder had once burst at his side and cut the head clean off a comrade, without causing his nerves to shake or his pulse to increase a bit. I laid him a bet of ten pounds on the spot that I could give him a fright, and he took it at once. Now I can't for the life of me think how to give him a fright, yet I _must_ do it somehow, for it will never do to be beat." "Couldn't you shoot off a pistol at his ear?" suggested Lizzie. Miss Puff sniggered, and Gildart said he might as well try to startle him with a sneeze. "Get up a ghost, then," said Lizzie; "I have known a ghost act with great effect on a dark night in an out-of-the-way place." "No use," returned Gildart, shaking his head. "Haco has seen ghosts enough to frighten a squadron of horse-marines." Miss Puff sniggered again, and continued to do so until her puffy face and neck became extremely pink and dangerously inflated, insomuch that Gildart asked her somewhat abruptly what in the world she was laughing at. Miss Puff said she wouldn't tell, and Gildart insisted that she would; but she positively declined, until Gildart dragged her forcibly from her chair into a window-recess, where she was prevailed on to whisper the ideas that made her laugh. "Capital!" exclaimed the middy, chuckling as he issued from the recess; "I'll try it. You're a charming creature, Puff, with an imagination worthy the owner of a better name. There, don't pout. You know my sentiments. Adieu, fair cousin! Puff, good-bye." So saying, the volatile youth left the room. That afternoon Gildart sauntered down to the Sailors' Home and entered the public hall, in which a dozen or two of sailors were engaged in playing draughts or chatting together. He glanced round, but, not finding the object of his search, was about to leave, when Dan Horsey came up, and, touching his hat, asked if he were looking for Haco Barepoles. "I am," said Gildart. "So is meself," said Dan; "but the mad skipper an't aisy to git howld of, an' not aisy to kape howld of when ye've got him. He's goin' to Cove this afternoon, I believe, an'll be here before startin', so I'm towld, so I'm waitin' for him." As he spoke Haco entered, and Dan delivered a letter to him. "Who from?" inquired the skipper sternly. "Mr Stuart, _alias_ the guv'nor," replied Dan with extreme affability; "an' as no answer is required, I'll take my leave with your highness's permission." Haco deigned no reply, but turned to Gildart and held out his hand. "You've not gone to stay at Cove yet, I see," said Gildart. "Not yet, lad, but I go to-night at nine o'clock. You see Mrs Gaff is a-goin' to visit a relation for a week, an' wants me to take care o' the house, the boodwar, as she calls it, though why she calls it by that name is more than I can tell. However I'll be here for a week yet, as the `Coffin' wants a few repairs, (I wonder if it ever didn't want repairs), an' I may as well be there as in the Home, though I'm bound to say the Home is as good a lodgin' as ever I was in at home or abroad, and cheap too, an' they looks arter you so well. The only thing I an't sure of is whether the repairs is to be done here or in Athenbury." "The letter from Mr Stuart may bear on that point," suggested Gildart. "True," replied the skipper, opening the letter. "Ha! sure enough the repairs _is_ to be done there, so I'll have to cut my visit to Cove short by four days." "But you'll sleep there to-night, I suppose?" asked Gildart, with more anxiety than the subject seemed to warrant. "Ay, no doubt o' that, for Mrs G and Tottie left this mornin', trustin' to my comin' down in the evenin'; but I can't get before nine o'clock." "Well, good-day to you," said Gildart; "I hope you'll enjoy yourself at Cove." The middy hastened away from the Sailors' Home with the air of a man who had business on hand. Turning the corner of a street he came upon a brass band, the tones of which were rendering all the bilious people within hearing almost unable to support existence. There was one irascible old gentleman, (a lawyer), under whose window it was braying, who sat at his desk with a finger in each ear trying to make sense out of a legal document. This was a difficult task at any time, for the legal document was compounded chiefly of nonsense, with the smallest possible modicum of sense scattered through it. In the circumstances the thing was impossible, so the lawyer rose and stamped about the floor, and wished he were the Emperor of Russia with a cannon charged with grape-shot loaded to the muzzle and pointed at the centre of that brass band, in which case he would--. Well, the old gentleman never thought out the sentence, but he stamped on and raved a little as the band brayed below his window. There was a sick man in a room not far from the old lawyer's office. He had spent two days and two nights in the delirium of fever. At last the doctor succeeded in getting him to fall into a slumber. It was not a very sound one; but such as it was it was of inestimable value to the sick man. The brass band, however, brayed the slumber away to the strains of "Rule Britannia," and effectually restored the delirium with "God Save the Queen." There were many other interesting little scenes enacted in that street in consequence of the harmonious music of that brass band, but I shall refrain from entering into farther particulars. Suffice it to say that Gildart stood listening to it for some time with evident delight. "Splendid," he muttered, as an absolutely appalling burst of discord rent the surrounding air and left it in tatters. "Magnificent! I think that will do." "You seem fond of bad music, sir," observed an elderly gentleman, who had been standing near a doorway looking at the middy with a quiet smile. "Yes, on the present occasion I am," replied Gildart; "discord suits my taste just now, and noise is pleasant to my ear." The band ceased to play at that moment, and Gildart, stepping up to the man who appeared to be the leader, inasmuch as he performed on the clarionet, asked him to turn aside with him for a few minutes. The man obeyed with a look of surprise, not unmingled with suspicion. "You are leader of this band?" "Yes, sir, I ham." "Have you any objection to earn a sovereign or two?" "No, sir, I han't." "It's a goodish band," observed Gildart. "A fus'-rater," replied the clarionet. "No doubt the trombone is a little cracked and brassy, so to speak, because of a hinfluenza as has wonted him for some weeks; but there's good stuff in 'im, sir, and plenty o' lungs. The key-bugle is a noo 'and, but 'e's capital, 'ticklerly in the 'igh notes an' flats; besides, bein' young, 'e'll improve. As to the French 'orn, there ain't his ekal in the country; w'en he does the pathetic it would make a banker weep. You like pathetic music, sir?" "Not much," replied the middy. "No! now that's hodd. _I_ do. It 'armonises so with the usual state o' my feelin's. My feelin's is a'most always pathetic, sir." "Indeed!" "Yes, 'cept at meal-times, w'en I do manage to git a little jolly. Ah! sir, music ain't wot it used to be. There's a general flatness about it now, sir, an' people don't seem to admire it 'alf so much as w'en I first began. But if you don't like the pathetic, p'raps you like the bravoory style?" "I doat on it," said Gildart. "Come, let's have a touch of the `bravoory.'" "I've got a piece," said the clarionet slowly, looking at the sky with a pathetic air, "a piece as I composed myself. I don't often play it, 'cause, you know, sir, one doesn't 'xactly like to shove one's-self too prominently afore the public. I calls it the `Banging-smash Polka.' But I generally charge hextra for it, for it's dreadful hard on the lungs, and the trombone he gets cross when I mention it, for it nearly bu'sts the hinstrument; besides, it kicks up sich a row that it puts the French 'orn's nose out o' jint--you can't 'ear a note of him. I flatter myself that the key-bugle plays his part to parfection, but the piece was written chiefly for the trombone and clarionet; the one being deep and crashing, the other shrill and high. I had the battle o' Waterloo in my mind w'en I wrote it." "Will that do?" said Gildart, putting half-a-crown into the man's hand. The clarionet nodded, and, turning to his comrades, winked gravely as he pronounced the magic word--"Banging-smash." Next moment there was a burst as if a bomb-shell had torn up the street, and this was followed up by a series of crashes so rapid, violent, and wildly intermingled, that the middy's heart almost leapt out of him with delight! In a few seconds three doors burst open, and three servant-girls rushed at the band with three sixpences to beseech it to go away. "Couldn't go under a shillin' a head," said the clarionet gravely. A word from Gildart, however, induced him to accept of the bribe and depart. As they went along the street Gildart walked with the clarionet and held earnest converse with him--apparently of a persuasive nature, for the clarionet frequently shook his head and appeared to remonstrate. Presently he called on his comrades to stop, and held with them a long palaver, in which the French horn seemed to be an objector, and the trombone an assenter, while the key-bugle didn't seem to care. At last they all came to an agreement. "Now," said the middy, taking out his purse, "that's all fixed; here is five shillings in advance, and twenty shillings will follow when the performance is over. Don't forget the time and place: the village of Cove, the rear of Stephen Gaff's cottage--everybody knows it--and eight o'clock precisely." CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. MAD HACO STARTLED AT LAST. That evening Haco Barepoles was seen on the road to Cove, with his coat-skirts, his cravat-ends, and his hair streaming in the breeze. An hour previously, however, a brass band was seen walking towards the same place, and, half an hour after that, a young midshipman was observed posting rapidly in the same direction. It was dark when Gildart entered the village, and all the inhabitants were in their dwellings, so that he reached Gaff's cottage unperceived. The village was a primitive one. Locks were deemed unnecessary in most of the cottages, probably because there was nothing worth stealing within them. Gildart lifted the latch and entered. A fire, nearly out, with a large piece of coal on it, burned in the grate. The flicker of this was sufficient to illuminate the boudoir faintly. Having surveyed the apartment, examined the closet, and looked under the bed, he went out, and, going to the back of the cottage, found the band waiting in some anxiety. "Now, lads, come this way," said Gildart; "and there's only one piece of advice I've got to give you: don't stir hand or foot after Haco enters the cottage. He's as big as an elephant, and strong as a lion. If you stir, and he finds you out, he won't spare you." "But you promise to come to the rescue, master," said the French horn in some alarm. "Ay, that will I; but he'll have two of you floored, another strangled, and the fourth half-skinned before I can get him to stop." "I don't half like it," said the clarionet anxiously. "Pooh! pooh!" exclaimed the key-bugle, "we'll be more than a match for him; come on; it's worth riskin' for twenty-five bob." "Hear! hear!" cried the trombone. "Well, then, enter," said Gildart, pushing open the door, and holding it while the band filed into the passage. He followed them and closed the door. In a short time Haco Barepoles made his appearance. He also passed through the village unobserved, and, entering the cottage, closed the door. Thereafter he proceeded to make himself comfortable. The "boodwar" was empty--at least of human beings, though there was the Dutch clock with the horrified countenance in the corner, and the new clock near it, and the portraits and the great four-poster, and all the other articles of elegance and luxury with which Mrs Gaff had filled her humble dwelling. "A queer place," muttered the mad skipper in a soft voice to himself, as he moved about the room, poked up the fire, and made preparations for spending the night. "Gaff wouldn't know the old cabin--humph! but it's all done out o' kindness; well, well, there's no accountin' for women, they're paridoxies. Hallo! this here closet didn't use to be bolted, but it's bolted now. Hows'ever here's the loaf and the tea-pot an' the kettle. Now, Mrs Gaff, you're an attentive creetur, nevertheless you've forgot bilin' water, an', moreover, there an't no water in the house. Ah, here's a bucket; that'll do; I'll go to the well an' help myself; it's _well_ that I can do it," said Haco, chuckling at his own pun with great satisfaction as he went out to the back of the house. There was a sudden, though not loud, sound of hollow brass chinking under the four-post bed. "Now then, _can't_ you keep still?" said the clarionet in a hoarse whisper. "It's cramp in my leg," growled the trombone. "I'd have had to come out if he hadn't guv me this chance." "_Won't_ you hold your tongues?" whispered Gildart from the closet, the door of which he opened slightly. He shut it with a sudden clap, and there was another clanking of brass as Haco's footsteps were heard outside, but dead silence reigned within the hut when the skipper re-entered, and set down on the floor a large bucket full of water. "Now then for tea," said Haco, rubbing his hands, as he set about the preparation of that meal. Being acquainted with the ways and localities of the cottage, he speedily had the board spread, and the tea smoking thereon, while the fire flared cheerfully on the walls, casting fine effects of light and shade on the pictures, and sprinkling the prominences of the clocks, bed, and furniture with ruddy gleams. Having devoured his meal with an appetite and gusto worthy of his size, Haco filled his much-loved German pipe, and, selecting the strongest chair in the room, sat cautiously down on it beside the fire to enjoy a smoke. Meanwhile the brass band endured agonies unutterable. The trombone afterwards vowed that he "wouldn't for fifty sovs" again go through what he had suffered during the hour that the mad skipper sat by that fire enjoying his evening pipe! At last the pipe was smoked out, and Haco began to divest himself of his upper garments. Being an active man, he was soon undressed and in bed, where he lay for a long time perfectly still. Presently he gave vent to a deep sigh, and turned on his back, in which position he lay quite still for at least five minutes. At last he gave a soft puff with his lips, and followed it up with a mild snort from his nose. This was immediately followed by a light single tap at the closet door. Instantly the first bar of the Banging-Smash Polka burst from beneath the bed with such startling suddenness and energy that Gildart was himself rendered almost breathless. Haco awoke with a yell so dreadful that the brass band stopped for a single instant, but it burst forth again with a degree of fury that almost rent the trombone in twain! The appalled skipper uttered another yell, and sprang up into the air. The four-poster could not stand the test. Haco went crashing through the bottom of the bed, flattened the French horn, and almost killed the trombone, while the broken ends of the planking of the bed pinned them to the floor. Escape was impossible. Haco perceived the joke, and instantly recovered his self-possession. Springing from the bed, he seized the bucket of water which he had recently drawn, and dashed its contents on the struggling band. Thereafter he hauled the trombone out of the _debris_ by the neck, flattened his instrument on his head, and twisted it round his neck. The key-bugle, who had struggled to his feet, fell before a well-aimed backhander, and the French horn was about to perish, when Gildart succeeded in restraining and pacifying the giant by stoutly asserting that he had won his bet, and insisted on having payment on the spot! Haco burst into a loud laugh, flung the key-bugle from his grasp, and pulled on his nether garments. "I confess that you've won it, lad, so now I'll have another pipe." He proceeded to fill the German pipe, and stirred up the fire while the band made good its retreat. Gildart paid the clarionet the stipulated sum of twenty shillings outside the door, after which he returned and seated himself beside the mad skipper. Haco's laugh had changed into a good-humoured smile as he gazed into the fire and puffed volumes of smoke from his lips. "It was a risky thing to do, lad," he observed, as Gildart sat down; "it's well for that feller wi' the long trumpet that the brass was so thin and his head so hard, for my blood was up, bein' taken by surprise, you see, an' I didn't measure my blows. Hows'ever, `it's all well that ends well,' as I once heard a play-actor say." "But it's not ended yet," said Gildart with decision. "How so, lad?" "You've got to pay up your bet." Haco's brow became a little clouded. The bet had been taken more than half in joke, for he was not given to betting in earnest; but he was too proud to admit this on finding that Gildart took it in earnest. "You'll not want it for a short while, I daresay?" he asked. "Captain Barepoles--" "Skipper, lad, I don't like to be cap'ned." "Well, Skipper Barepoles," said the middy with much solemnity, "I always pay my debts of honour on the spot, and I expect gentlemen who bet with me to do the same." Haco grinned. "But I an't a gentleman," said he, "an' I don't set up for one." "Still, as a man of honour you must feel bound--" "No, lad, not as a man of honour," interrupted the skipper, "but as a British seaman I'll hold the debt due; only, not bein' in the habit o' carrying the Bank of England in my weskit-pocket, you see, I must ask you to wait till to-morrow mornin'." Haco said this with a slightly disappointed look, for he thought the middy rather sharp, and had formed a better opinion of him than his conduct on this occasion seemed to bear out. "Now, skipper, I'll tell you what it is. I am not fond of betting, and this bet of mine was taken in jest; in fact my usual bet is ten thousand pounds, sometimes a million! Nevertheless, you have admitted the debt as due, and although I do not mean to claim payment in the usual way, I don't intend to forego my rights altogether. I'll only ask you to do me a favour." "What may it be, lad?" "Will you grant it?" "Well, that depends--" "No, it doesn't; say Yes, or I'll claim the ten pounds." "Well, yes, if it's right and proper for me to do it. Now, what d'ye want?" "Humph! Well then," said Gildart, "I want you to let your daughter Susan get spliced to Dan Horsey." Haco frowned, and said, "Unpossible." "Come now, don't be hard on them, skipper; Dan is a good fellow and a first-rate groom." "He's an Irish blackguard," said Haco, "and not worth a pinch of his namesake." "You're quite mistaken," said Gildart, who went on to speak so highly of the groom, that Haco, if not made to change his opinion, was so much impressed as to agree at least to take the whole subject once again into consideration. "Another thing I wish you to do, skipper, which is to give me a passage in your sloop to Athenbury. You spoke of running round there for repairs soon, and I would rather go by sea than by that snorting railway. Will you do it?" "With pleasure, lad." "Thank'ee; now I'll bid you good-night. You may depend upon it that you won't be disturbed again by a band," said Gildart, laughing. "I know that," replied Haco with a grin; "it's my opinion they've had enough of me for one night. But won't ye stop an' share the four-poster, lad? It's big enough, an' we'll soon repair the damage to its bottom-timbers. There's a knuckle o' ham too, an' a flask o' claret. I brought it with me, 'cause I never drink nothin' stronger than claret--vang ordinair they calls it in France. What say you; you'll stop?" "No, thank'ee, skipper, much obliged, but I've business on hand elsewhere. Good-night, old boy." CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT, ENDING IN A LONG CHASE. One day, not long after his arrival at Athenbury, Kenneth Stuart was seated in Colonel Crusty's drawing-room, awaiting the summons to dinner. Pretty Bella sat beside him, endeavouring to get up a flirtation--for Bella was an inveterate flirt. Besides being pretty, she was sprightly and full of life--a giddy gay thing, much addicted to that dangerous practice of fluttering round improprieties with cheerful recklessness. She was one of those human moths whose wings, alas! are being constantly singed, sometimes burned off altogether. Kenneth was not so stern as to object to a little of what the world calls innocent flirtation, but he did not like Bella's style of procedure; for that charming piece of wickedness made it her aim in life to bring as many lovers to her feet as she could, and keep them there. She never had too many of them, never tired of conquering them. In the language of pugilists, "One down another come on," was her motto. She had just floored a captain of dragoons, who was expected that day to dinner, and was now engaged at her fortieth round with Kenneth; but he was too strong for her--at least she began to suspect so, and felt nettled. "I never met with such a provoking man as you," said Bella, pouting; "you _promised_ to go round by Simpson's and bring me a bouquet, and now you tell me you had not time. That is not what I would have expected of _you_. Sir Kenneth." Bella had knighted him with the poker the evening before! "Well, really, I am sorry," said Kenneth in a deprecating tone, "but I'm sure you will forgive me when I tell you that--" "I won't forgive you," interrupted Bella pettishly. "You are a false man. _Nothing_ should have prevented you from walking round by Simpson's, as you said you would do." "Indeed!" said Kenneth, smiling, "suppose I had broken my leg, now, would that not have--" "No, it wouldn't have been any excuse at all. You would have hopped there if you had been a good and true man, like the knights of the olden time. Oh! how I love that olden time, and wish that I had been born in it." Captain Bowels was announced at this moment. He was a tall handsome man, with a heavy dark moustache and a set of brilliant teeth. Bella instantly put the question to him whether, in the event of his being interrupted in the fulfilment of a promise to a lady by the accident of having his leg broken, he would not deem it his duty, as a man of honour, to _hop_ out the engagement. The captain expressed his earnest belief that that would be his duty, and added that if both legs happened to be broken, he would deem it his duty to walk out the engagement on his hands and knees, always assuming that the lady to whom the promise was made should be young and beautiful, and that the engagement did not involve dancing! From this point Bella and the captain of dragoons cantered off into a region of small-talk whither it is not necessary that we should follow them. They were interrupted by the entrance of Colonel Crusty and Miss Peppy. The former shook hands with the captain somewhat stiffly, and introduced him to Miss Peppy. "Dinner late as usual, Bella," said the colonel, taking out his watch. "Now, papa, don't begin," cried Bella, running up to her father and kissing his cheek, "because when you do begin to scold you never stop, and it takes away your appetite. Dinners were meant to be late--it's the nature of such meals. No dinner that is ready at the appointed time _can_ be good; it _must_ be underdone." The colonel was prevented from replying by the entrance of the footman with a letter, which he presented to Kenneth. "No letters for me!" cried Miss Peppy, with a slight look of disappointment; "but, to be sure, I'm not at home, though, after all, letters might come to me when I'm away if they were only rightly addressed, but letters are never legible on the back; it is a perfect mystery to me how the postmen ever find out where to go to with letters, and they are such illiterate men too! But what can one expect in a world of inconsistencies, where things are all topsy-turvy, so to speak, though I don't like slang, and never use it except when there is a want of a proper what-d'ye-call-it to express one's thingumy-jigs. Don't you think so, Captain Bowels?" "Certainly; I think your observations are very just, and much to the point." Kenneth Stuart retired to a window and read his letter, which ran as follows:-- "Wreckumoft, _etcetera_. "My Dear Kenneth--Since you left I have been thinking over your affairs, and our last conversation, (which you must allow me to style disagreeable), in regard to Miss Gordon. I trust that you have now seen the impropriety of thinking of that portionless girl as your wife. At all events, you may rest assured that on the day you marry her you shall be disinherited. You know me well enough to be aware that this is not an idle threat. "In the hope and expectation that you will agree with me in this matter, I venture to suggest to you the propriety of trying to win the affections of Miss Crusty. You already know that her fortune will be a large one. I recommend this subject to your earnest consideration. "Your affectionate father, George Stuart." "Deary me, Kennie," said Miss Peppy, in some alarm, "I hope that nothing has happened! You seem so troubled that--" "Oh! nothing of any consequence," said Kenneth with a laugh, as he folded the letter and put it in his pocket. "Ha! your lady-love is unkind," cried Bella; "I know it is from _her_." "The writing is not lady-like," replied Kenneth, holding up the back of the letter for inspection. "It is a gentleman's hand, you see." "Ladies sometimes write what I may call a masculine hand," observed the captain. "You are quite right, Captain Bowels," said Miss Peppy; "some write all angles and some all rounds. One never knows how one is to expect one's correspondents to write. Not that I have many, but one of them writes square, a most extraordinary hand, and quite illegible. Most people seem to be proud of not being able to write, except schoolboys and girls. There is no accounting for the surprising things that are scratched on paper with a pen and called writing. But in a world of things of that sort what is one to expect? It is just like all the rest, and I have given up thinking about it altogether. I hope _you_ have, Captain Bowels?" "Not quite, but very nearly," replied the gallant captain. "Dinner at last," said Colonel Crusty, as the gong sounded its hideous though welcome alarm. "Captain Bowels, will you take my daughter? Miss Stuart, allow me. Sorry we've got no one for _you_, Mr Stuart." Kenneth fancied there was a touch of irony in the last observation, but he did not feel jealous, for two reasons--first, he knew, (from Miss Peppy), that the captain was no favourite with Colonel Crusty, and was only tolerated because of having been introduced by an intimate friend and old school companion of the former; and, second, being already in love with another, he did not wish to have the honour of handing Bella down to dinner at all. During dinner Miss Peppy reminded Kenneth that he had promised to go to the Sailors' Home that evening with the parcel which Mrs Gaff wished to be delivered to her cousin George Dollins. Bella remarked, in a sweet voice, that Sir Kenneth's promises were not to be relied on, and that it would be wiser to transfer the trust to Captain Bowels, a proposal which the gallant captain received with a laugh and a _sotto voce_ remark to Bella that his fidelity to promises depended on the youth and beauty of the lady to whom they were made. Soon after the ladies retired Kenneth rose, and, apologising for leaving the table so early, set forth on his mission. The night was calm and pleasant, but dark--a few stars alone rendering the darkness visible. Kenneth had to pass through the garden of the colonel's house before reaching the road that led to the heart of the town where the Sailors' Home was situated. He felt sad that evening, unusually so, and wandered in the grounds for some time in a meditative mood. There was a bower at the extremity of the garden to which, during the few days of his visit, he had frequently repaired with the volatile Bella. He entered it now, and sat down. Presently there was a rustle among the leaves behind him, and a light hand was laid on his shoulder. "Faithless man!" said Bella in a tremulous voice, "I have been expecting you for half-an-hour at least. My portmanteau is packed, and I only await the word from you, dearest Charles--" "Charles!" exclaimed Kenneth, starting up. Bella uttered a suppressed scream. "Oh! Mr Stuart, you won't tell my father? I mistook you for capt--." "Hold, Miss Crusty; do not speak hastily. I know nothing of that of which you seem desirous that I should not speak. Pray be calm." "Of course I know that you don't know," cried Bella passionately, "but you are capable of guessing, and--and--" The poor girl burst into a flood of tears, and rushed from the bower, leaving Kenneth in a most unenviable state of perplexity. The words that she had uttered, coupled with what he had seen of the intimacy subsisting between her and Captain Bowels, and the fact that the name of the captain was Charles, were quite sufficient to convince him that an immediate elopement was intended. He entertained a strong dislike to the captain, and therefore somewhat hastily concluded that he was a villain. Impressed with this conviction, his first impulse was to return to the house, and warn the colonel of his daughter's danger; but then he felt that he might be mistaken, and that, instead of doing good, he might lay himself open to severe rebuke for interfering in matters with which he had nothing to do. After vacillating therefore, a few minutes, he at last made up his mind first to execute his errand to the cousin of Mrs Gaff, and then consider what should next be done. He resolved on this course all the more readily that he was sure the mistake Bella had made would frustrate the elopement, at least on that night. Kenneth carried the parcel, which Mrs Gaff had put up with so much care and anxiety, under his arm, and a thick stick in his right hand. He was so passionately fond of the sea and all connected with it, that he liked to dress in semi-sailor costume, and mingle with seamen. Consequently he went out on this occasion clad in a rough pea-jacket and a sailor's cap. He looked more like a respectable skipper or first-mate than a country gentleman. Passing rapidly through the streets of Athenbury, he soon reached the docks, where he made inquiry for the Sailors' Home. He found it in a retired street, near the principal wharf. A group of seamen were collected round the door, smoking their pipes and spinning yarns. The glare of a street-lamp shone full upon them, enabling Kenneth to observe their faces. He went up to one, and asked if a sailor of the name of Dollins was in the Home at the time. The man said Dollins had been there that day, but he was not within at the present time. He was usually to be found at the tavern of the "Two Bottles." Kenneth being directed to the "Two Bottles," made his way thither without delay. It was a low public-house in one of the dirtiest localities of the town,--a place to which seamen were usually tempted when they came off a voyage, and where they were soon fleeced of all their hardly-earned money. Sounds of dancing, fiddling, and drinking were heard to issue from the doorway as Kenneth approached, and, as he descended the stair, he could not help wondering that any man should prefer such a place of entertainment to the comfortable, clean, and respectable Home he had just left. He was met by the landlord, a large, powerful, and somewhat jovial man, whose countenance betrayed the fact that he indulged freely in his own beverages. "Is there a sailor here of the name of Dollins?" inquired Kenneth. The landlord surveyed the questioner with a look of suspicion. Being apparently satisfied that he might be trusted, he replied that Dollins was not in the house at that moment, but he was expected in a few minutes. Meanwhile he advised that the visitor should wait and enjoy himself over "a pot o' beer, or a glass o' brandy and water, 'ot." Kenneth said he would wait, and for this purpose entered one of the numerous drinking-stalls, and ordered a pot of porter, which he had no intention whatever of drinking. Seated in the dirty stall of that disreputable public-house, he leaned his head on his hand, and began to meditate how he should act in regard to Bella Crusty on his return to the colonel's house. His meditations were interrupted by the entrance of three men into the adjoining stall. Two of them belonged to the class of men who are styled roughs; one being red-haired, the other bearded; the third was a gentlemanly sort of man, about forty years of age, with a dissipated aspect. They did not observe Kenneth, who had placed himself in the darkest corner of his stall. "Now, lads, we'll talk it over here, and settle what's to be done; for whatever we do it must be done to-night." This much he heard of the conversation, and then his mind wandered away to its former channel. How long he might have meditated is uncertain, but he was suddenly aroused by the sound of his own name. "We'll have to do it to-night," said a voice which Kenneth knew belonged to the gentlemanly man of dissipated aspect; "the young fellow won't likely go back for a day or two, and the old 'un an't over stout. There's only one man in the house besides him, and he ain't much worth speakin' of; a groom, not very big, sleeps in the lower part o' the house. Old Stuart himself sleeps in a wing, a good bit off from the servants. In fact, there's nothing easier than to get into the house, and there's no end of silver plate. Now, what say you to start by the nine o'clock train to-night? We'll get there by eleven, and have supper before goin' to work. You see, I think it's always well to feed before goin' at this sort o' thing. It don't pay on an empty stomach. Shall we go?" Kenneth's heart beat fast as he listened for the reply. "Wall, I doan't much loik it," said one of the roughs, in a coarse Yorkshire dialect; "but I'm hard oop for tin, so I says Yes." "Agreed," said the other rough, who was evidently not a man of many words. For some time Kenneth sat listening to the plans of the burglars, and considering how he should best frustrate their designs. He at length made up his mind to return the parcel to his aunt, say that unexpected and pressing business called him home, and start by the same train with the burglars for Wreckumoft. His intentions, however, were interfered with by the abrupt entrance of Dollins, who was drunk, and who, on being told that a friend wanted to see him within, came forward to Kenneth, and asked, "Wot it wos 'e wanted?" Kenneth explained that he had been sent by a lady to deliver a parcel, which he presented, and, having fulfilled his mission, was about to return when the man caught him by the sleeve-- "Wot, are you Mister Stuart? Jess Gaff wrote me a letter a day or two ago, tellin' me you and yer aunt, Miss Peppy, as they calls her, wos a-comin' here, and would send me a parcel." "Never mind, my good fellow, who I am," said Kenneth sharply; "I've delivered the parcel, so now I'll bid ye good-night." "It's just him!" said one of the burglars in a hoarse whisper, as Kenneth reached the door. The latter could not avoid turning round at this. "Yes," he cried sternly; "and I'll spoil your game for you to-night." "Will you?" shouted the gentlemanly house-breaker, as Kenneth sprang into the street, closely followed by the three men. Kenneth regretted deeply that he had so hastily uttered the threat, for it showed that he knew all, and set the men upon their guard. He looked over his shoulder, and observed that they had stopped as if to consult, so he pushed on, and, soon reaching one of the principal thoroughfares, walked at a more leisurely pace. As he went along he was deeply perplexed as to what course he ought to pursue, and while meditating on the subject, he stopped almost unintentionally in front of a brilliantly lighted window, in which were hanging a rich assortment of watches, gold chains, and specimens of jewellery. The gentlemanly house-breaker, who had followed him up, observed this. A sudden thought flashed across his mind, and he at once acted upon it. Stepping quickly up to Kenneth's side he stumbled violently against him, at the same time smashed a pane of glass in the shop-window with his gloved hand, turned quickly round, seized Kenneth by the collar, and shouted "Thief! help!" at the full pitch of his voice. The red-haired and bearded accomplices at once responded to the call, came up behind, and also collared him, while a policeman, who chanced to be passing at the moment, seized him in front. The shopman ran out in a frantic state, and at once swore that he was the man, for he had seen him looking through the window a moment before. The whole scene passed in a few seconds, and Kenneth, thoroughly taken by surprise, stood in motionless and speechless amazement. It is said, and apparently with truth, that thought flashes through the mind more rapidly than lightning darts through the sky. Kenneth had only a few moments to think, for the policeman was applying that gentle force to his collar which was meant as a polite hint to "come along" quietly, else stronger force should be applied; yet, before he had taken the first step towards the police-office, the extreme awkwardness of his position was fully impressed on him. He perceived that he should certainly be locked up for the night and brought before a magistrate next morning, and that, although his accusers would of course not appear against him, and his friends would be there to testify to his character and get him off, the consequence would be that the burglars would be able to start by the nine o'clock train and accomplish their purpose while he was in jail. It did occur to him that he could warn the authorities, but he feared that they might refuse to believe or act upon the statements of a supposed thief. The occasion was not a favourable one to correct or clear reasoning however, and as the policeman had applied a second persuasive pull to his collar, he suddenly made up his mind what he would do. Grasping the gentlemanly house-breaker by the waist, he suddenly hurled that unfortunate heels over head into the kennel, tripped up the policeman, knocked the bearded accomplice into the arms of the jeweller, the red-haired one into the broken window, and bolted! Instantly a wild chase began. The crowd that had assembled on the first sound of the smash ran yelling after him, headed by the gentlemanly house-breaker, whose fall had been partially broken by a little boy. The accomplices were too much damaged to do more than keep up with the tail of the crowd. At first Kenneth ran without regard to direction, and with the simple view of escaping, but as he neared the head of the main street he determined to make for the house of Colonel Crusty. Being fleet of foot he soon left behind the mass of the crowd that followed in full cry, with the exception of a few young men who were more of a match for him. Ahead of all these ran the gentlemanly house-breaker and the policeman, both of whom were strong and supple. The roar of the augmenting crowd, however, soon became so great that people in advance of him heard it, and some of these made demonstrations of a wish to try to stop him as he passed, but most of them wisely concluded that it would be nearly as safe to place themselves in the way of a runaway locomotive engine. One man proved an exception. He was a butcher, of great size and strength, who, being accustomed to knock down horned cattle with a hammer, naturally enough thought it not impossible to knock down a man with his fist, so he tried it. Standing in the doorway of his own shop when Kenneth came tearing along, he waited until he was within four yards of him, and darted out. Kenneth had fortunately observed the man. He stooped, without slackening his pace, to let the blow delivered by his opponent pass over his head, and drove his right shoulder into the butcher's broad chest. The shock was so great as to completely check his career, while it sent the butcher back into his shop, over his own bench, and prostrated him on the carcase of a slaughtered ox which had been carried in just two minutes before, as if to form a bloody and congenial bed for its owner. Kenneth instantly started off again and doubled suddenly down a by-street which led to the colonel's residence. Here he was smitten with a feeling of shame at the idea of appearing before his friends in such a plight, so, changing his mind, he doubled again into another by-street. This chanced to be an unfortunate turn, for the policeman saw him take it, and, knowing every intricacy of the town, he was enabled to take a cross cut by a lane, accompanied by several of his brother constables, who had joined him by this time, and by such of the crowd as were good runners. The worst runners now came in for an unexpected share of the sport in consequence of this new turn of affairs, for the by-road conducted Kenneth back to the main street, and when he debouched into it he ran into and overturned a number of those who had just made up their minds that it was useless for them to run any farther. The tide was now turned. The head of the crowd came rushing back, led by the policeman and the gentlemanly burglar. Kenneth thus found himself between two fires, so, like a wise general, he made a flank movement, crossed the street, and darted down a dark lane. Here the crowd gave in, but the policeman and the burglar continued the pursuit. The lane led to the suburbs of the town, and the fugitive soon gained the open country, which in that part was a sort of uncultivated moorland. The excitement of the chase and the suddenness of it had told upon the youth at first so much that he had been somewhat distressed while running; but this feeling now began to wear off. Like a true thoroughbred, he improved in condition the longer he ran, and when at last the perspiration began to pour over his cheeks he felt as if he could have run on for ever! To some extent this feeling was also experienced by a few of his pursuers, who kept him well in view. On passing over a rising ground which for some minutes concealed him, Kenneth suddenly resolved to strike aside from the high road and cross the moor. It was sufficiently light, he thought, to enable him to do this with safety. He was wrong, however, for he had not run a hundred yards when he went splashing into a boggy place, and his pursuers, who had again caught sight of him, instantly followed. The running now became very severe, and tested Kenneth's powers to the utmost. Of course it also proved as hard on the others, and he had at least the satisfaction of hearing them shout and gasp as they tumbled over stones and into hollows. Still they held on with unflagging vigour, until they were almost exhausted and quite covered with mud. To Kenneth's relief he unexpectedly stumbled on the high road again. Here he sat down for a few seconds to recover breath on one of the grey boulder stones with which the whole country was covered, and while wiping the perspiration from his brow his thoughts were busy. Having left his pursuers far behind, he felt sure that he could afford to rest for a few moments. It occurred to him that even although he should succeed in escaping, there was no chance of his being able to get away by the train from Athenbury, for the burglars and police would certainly be at the station on the look-out for him. He remembered suddenly that there was a station twenty miles from Athenbury at which the ten o'clock train usually stopped. It was two hours yet to the starting of the train, so that he might count on nearly three to get to the station. "I'll do it!" he exclaimed, starting up with animation, and looking in the direction of the moor. The pursuers were now pretty close to him. They panted much and ran very heavily. A quiet smile lit up Kenneth's countenance, for he felt his strength recruited even with the few minutes' rest he had obtained. "Now, then, let the memory of Eton days come over me," he muttered, as he tied his pocket-handkerchief tightly round his waist. Pulling his hat firmly down over his brows, he prepared to start, just as the policemen and the gentlemanly burglar stumbled on to the road, in a state of complete exhaustion, and covered from head to foot with mud! Kenneth could not repress a cheer as he waved his hat to them and shouted farewell. He then turned, and, stooping low, sped over the country like a greyhound. He had not gone above four miles when he overtook a stout countryman in a smock-frock and slouch-hat plodding heavily along the road. A new idea flashed into Kenneth's mind. He resolved to change costumes with this man; but felt that he had no time to waste in talking over the subject or explaining why he wanted to do so. He therefore stopped abruptly when close to him, and said-- "My man, I've a fancy for your clothes." "You'll ha' to foight for 'em then." "Very well, begin at once," said Kenneth, buttoning his coat, and suddenly seizing the countryman by the throat with a grip that made his eyes almost start out of their sockets. "How shall it be, wrestling or fisticuffs? But let me advise you to do it at once without fighting, for I _don't_ want to hurt you, and I _do_ mean to have your clothes. Besides, I'll give you mine in exchange. There now, strip!" There was a fiery vehemence about Kenneth's manner and look, and a tone of command in his voice that there was no resisting, especially when it was coupled with such physical strength, so the countryman heaved a sigh and took off his smock-frock and hob-nailed boots, while the supposed highwayman took off his coat and shoes. "That'll do, you needn't mind the stockings," said Kenneth, as he pulled on his new garments. "You'll find that you gain considerably by the exchange. That's it; now here's a sovereign for you, my fine fellow, and many thanks." He finished by lifting the slouch-hat off the countryman's head and placing his own thereon in its stead. "Now, good-night." "Good-noight," replied the man, from the sheer force of innate politeness, for he stood in such a condition of open-mouthed amazement that it was quite plain he did not very well know what he said or did. In another minute Kenneth was again coursing along the road at full speed. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. PLOTTERS COUNTERPLOTTED. Meanwhile the gentlemanly house-breaker, returning to Athenbury, rejoined his rude colleagues, and these three choice spirits, after partaking of some refreshment, and treating the policeman who first came to their aid to a glass of gin, betook themselves to the railway station. "He won't come here, you may depend on't," observed the policeman to the gentlemanly burglar, when he had taken his ticket, "he's too wide-awake for that." "Perhaps not; but it's as well to watch." "Yes, it's as well to watch," assented the policeman. "Besides, wide-awake fellows over-reach themselves sometimes," continued the other. "I shouldn't wonder, now, if he had the impudence to come straight here and denounce _me_ as a thief, just by way o' stoppin' me from goin' by the train, and so having some sort o' revenge." "Ha!" exclaimed the policeman, in a tone and with a slight but peculiar look that made the gentlemanly man feel a little uneasy. The fugitive did not appear, however. Every face that came on the platform was carefully scrutinised without any result, and at length the bell rang. "Good-night, friend," said the burglar, slipping a half-crown into the policeman's hand as he was about to jump into the carriage. "It was no fault of yours that we didn't catch him. You did your best." "Yes, I did my best." "Hallo! are _you_ going by this train?" exclaimed the burglar. "Yes, I've got business in Wreckumoft, so we'll have the pleasure o' travellin' together." The gentlemanly man felt that the pleasure would be entirely confined to one side. However, he expressed much joy at the prospect of such good company, as the policeman sat down beside him. The train gave a pant, then a snort, then an impatient whistle. Then the bell rang a second time, the whistle sounded a single note, and the carriages moved slowly away. A moment more, and they were sweeping out of the station; a moment more and they were rushing over the moor; another moment, and they were dashing through space, setting all terrestrial things at naught, until a station came in view; then the whistle uttered a prolonged shriek, and the train began to slow. Up to this point the policeman and his friends had sat together in comparative silence. The former put his head out of the window, and remarked that, "there was a feller as would be too late for the train." The moonlight enabled him to perceive that the late man was a labourer of some sort. The train ran into the station and stopped. "Tickets ready!" shouted the guard. "That'll give him a chance," observed the gentlemanly burglar. "All right?" inquired the guard. "All right," replied the ticket-inspector. The bell rang, the guard whistled, so did the engine; it puffed too, and the train began to move. "Look sharp now," cried the station-master eagerly to some one outside the office. "Athenbury? Here you are--four shillings; run!" The guard knew that it was a late passenger, and, being a good-hearted fellow, held the door of a carriage open, even although the train was on the move. A man in a smock-frock and slouch-hat rushed across the platform at this moment, and made for the door which the guard held open. "Jump!" said the guard. The gentlemanly burglar and the policeman lent their aid to pull the man into the train; the door banged, and they were away. "You've all but missed it," said the burglar. The man in the smock-frock pulled his slouch-hat well over his eyes, and admitted that it was a "close shave." Then he laid his head on the side of the carriage and breathed hard. "Take a drop o' gin," said the burglar in a patronising way, "it'll bring you to in a minute." Kenneth knew by his manner that he did not guess who it was that sat beside him, so he resolved to accept the offer. "Thank'ee, I loik gin. It waarms the cockles o' yer 'art, it do," said Kenneth. "Goin' far?" inquired the policeman. "To Wreckumoft." "You seems to have got on yer Sunday trousers?" observed the policeman. "Wall, there an't no sin in that," replied the supposed labourer, somewhat sharply. "Certainly not," said the policeman. "It's a fine night, an't it?" "It _is_ a foine night," responded the labourer, putting his head out of the window. "Yes, a very fine night," repeated the policeman, also thrusting his head out at the same window, and holding a _sotto voce_ conversation with Kenneth, the result of which was that he became very merry and confidential, and was particularly polite to the burglars, insomuch that they thought him one of the jolliest policemen they had ever had to do with--and this was not the first they had had to do with by any means! In course of time the train ran into the station at Wreckumoft, and the occupants poured out on the platform, and took their several ways. The three friends kept together, and observed that the policeman, after bidding them good-bye, went away alone, as if he had urgent business on hand, and was soon lost to view. This was a great relief to them, because they could not feel quite at ease in his presence, and his going off so promptly showed, (so they thought), that he had not the remotest suspicion of their errand. As for the country fellow in the smock-frock, they took no further notice of him after quitting the carriage. Had they known his business in Wreckumoft that night, they might, perchance, have bestowed upon him very earnest attention. As it was, they went off to the Blue Boar Tavern and ordered three Welsh rabbits and three pots of porter. Meanwhile Kenneth took the road to Seaside Villa. On the way he had to pass Bingley Hall, and rang the bell. The door was opened by Susan Barepoles. "Is Maister Gildart to hoam?" Susan said he was, and Kenneth was delighted to find that his change of voice and costume disguised him so completely that Susan did not recognise him. "I wants to see him." Susan bade him wait in the lobby. In a few minutes Gildart came down, and the country fellow asked to have a word with him in private! The result of this word was that the two sallied forth immediately after, and went towards Seaside Villa. Here, strange to say, they found the policeman standing at the outer gate. Kenneth accosted him as if he had expected to meet him. "They ain't abed yet," observed the policeman. "No; I see that my groom is up, and there is a light in my father's study. I'll tap at the groom's window." "Come in av yer feet's clean," was Dan's response to the tap, as he opened the shutters and flattened his nose against a pane of glass in order to observe the intruder. "Dan, open the back door and let me in!" "Hallo! Mister Kenneth!" Dan vanished at once, and opened the door. "Hush, Dan; is my father at home?" "He is, sur." "Come in, Gildart. Take care of that constable, Dan; give him his supper. There's work both for him and you to-night. He will explain it to you." Saying this Kenneth took Gildart to the drawing-room, and left him there while he went to his father's study. At first Mr Stuart was alarmed by the abrupt entrance of the big labourer; then he was nettled and disgusted at what he deemed a silly practical joke of his son. Ultimately he was astonished and somewhat incredulous in regard to the prospects of housebreaking which his son held out to him. He was so far convinced, however, as to allow Kenneth to make what preparations he pleased, and then retired to rest, coolly observing that if the burglars did come it was evident they would be well taken care of without his aid, and that if they did _not_ come there was no occasion for his losing a night's rest. Between two and three o'clock that morning three men climbed over the garden wall of Seaside Villa, and, having deposited their shoes in a convenient spot, went on tiptoe to the dining-room window. Here they paused to consult in low whispers. While they were thus engaged, three other men watched their movements with earnest solicitude from a neighbouring bush behind which they lay concealed. After a few moments one of the first three went to the window and began to cut out part of a pane of glass with a glazier's diamond. At the same time, one of the second three--a tall stout man in a smock-frock-- advanced on tiptoe to watch the operation. When the piece of glass was cut out the first three put their heads together for farther consultation. Immediately their respective throats were seized and compressed by three strong pair of hands, and the heads were knocked violently together! Gildart addressed himself to the red-haired man; the policeman devoted himself to the one with the beard; and Kenneth paid particular attention to the gentlemanly burglar, whose expression of countenance on beholding into whose hands he had fallen, may be conceived, but cannot be described. Dan Horsey, who had also been on the watch, suddenly appeared with three pair of handcuffs, and applied them with a degree of prompt facility that surprised himself and quite charmed the policeman. Thereafter the three astounded burglars were led in triumph into Mr Stuart's study, where that sceptical individual received them in his dressing-gown and slippers, and had his unbelieving mind convinced. Then they were conveyed to the lockup, where we shall now leave them in peace--satisfied that they are safely in the hands of justice. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. DREADFUL SUSPICIONS AROUSED IN ANXIOUS BOSOMS. When Miss Peppy came down to breakfast next morning she found that she was the first of the household to make her appearance. This, however, was the natural consequence of her commendable desire to be always in good time--a desire which resulted in her being at least a quarter of an hour too soon for everything, except on those occasions, of course, when she over-slept, or was detained by unavoidable circumstances. On the present occasion Miss Peppy, having had a remarkably good night's rest, felt placid, and looked serene. She passed the spare quarter of an hour in perambulating the room, looking at the books and pictures, smoothing her cuffs, arranging her cap, and paying marked attention to a beautiful little dog which was Bella's own particular pet, and the colonel's particular abhorrence, because of its tendency to bark suddenly, sharply, and continuously at every visitor who entered the house. Rosebud, (for thus was it misnamed), seemed to be, however, in no mood to receive attentions that morning. It was evidently ill at ease, without apparently knowing why. "Did it growl, then?" said Miss Peppy in a reproachful tone, as she stooped to pat the head of the spoiled creature. "Ah, it mustn't growl, for that is naughty, you know, darling Rosebud. Eh! doing it again? Oh! bad little snarley-warley, growly-wowly. Doesn't it know that the poet says `dogs delight to bark and bite?' and that--that--he means that they shouldn't delight to do such naughtinesses, although, after all, why they shouldn't when it's natural to them _I_ don't know; and, besides, how does _he_ know that they delight to do it? I never saw them look delighted in my life; on the contrary, they're very fierce, are they not, Rosebud? especially the big ones that sometimes try to worry you. How they can ever want to worry such a pitty-itty, dear, naughty growly-wowly, snarley-warley as you, is quite beyond my comprehension; but then, you see, we live in a world of puzzles, you and I, Rosebud, and so it's of no use being puzzled, because that does no good, and only worries one. Don't it, deary sweety petty? Well, you can't answer of course, though I _know_ that you understand every word I say." Miss Peppy suddenly shrieked, for the "sweety petty" bit her with sufficient force to show that he was not in a mood to be played with, and would do it harder next time. Just then the colonel entered, and Rosebud at once received him with a tornado of maddening yelps, so that for at least five minutes it had the entire monopoly of the conversation, and Miss Peppy was obliged to say good-morning in dumb show. At the same time, the colonel frowned fiercely at Rosebud, and said something which Miss Peppy could not hear because of the noise, but which, from the abrupt motion of the lips, she suspected must be something very wicked indeed. When the darling creature at last consented to hold its tongue, the colonel said-- "Are you aware, Miss Stuart, that your nephew has been out all night?" "No, colonel, I was not aware of it," said Miss Peppy with a slight elevation of her eyebrows; "I wonder at it, for although he often goes out all night to ride wild horses into the sea, and save drowned people, and things of that sort, he never goes out without telling Niven, and saying whether or not he's likely to be back soon. Besides, he always has the door-key in his pocket, when he doesn't forget it, which is pretty often. Perhaps he had _your_ door-key in his pocket, but after all, even if he had, that wouldn't alter the fact that he's been out all night. But maybe he's in bed--did you look?" "Yes, I looked, and he has evidently not lain on the bed at all last night." "Under it?" suggested Miss Peppy. The colonel smiled slightly, and said that it had not occurred to him to look under the bed. At that moment the door burst open, and Bella's maid, rushing in, flung herself on her knees at the colonel's feet, and, clasping her hands, cried in piteous tones-- "Oh! sir, please, mercy please." "Are you mad, girl?" said the colonel, with a look of mingled displeasure and anxiety. "Oh, sir, no sir, but,"--(sob),--"she's gone." "Who's gone, girl; speak!" "Miss Bella, sir; oh sir, run away, sir, with Mr Stuart!" Colonel Crusty turned pale, and Miss Peppy fell flat down on the rug in a dead faint, crushing Rosebud almost to death in her fall. Instantly the entire house was in confusion. Every one rushed into every room, up and down every stair, looked into every closet and cupboard, and under every bed, as well as into every hole and crevice that was not large enough to conceal a rabbit, much less a young lady, but without avail. There could be no doubt whatever on the subject: Bella and Kenneth were both gone--utterly and absolutely. Miss Peppy alone did not participate in the wild search. That worthy lady lay in a state of insensibility for about five minutes, then she suddenly recovered and arose to a sitting posture, in which position she remained for a few minutes more, and became aware of the fact that her cap was inside the fender, and that her hair was dishevelled. Wondering what could have caused such an unwonted state of things, she gazed pensively round the room, and suddenly remembered all about it! Up she leaped at once, pulled on her cap with the back to the front, and rushed up to her own room. On her way, and once or twice afterwards she met various members of the household, but they were much too wild and reckless to pay any regard to her. She was therefore left unmolested in her farther proceedings. Having tied on her bonnet very much awry, and put on her shawl exceedingly askew, Miss Peppy went out into the street, and going straight up to the first man she saw, asked the way to the railway station. Being directed, she ran thither with a degree of speed that any school-girl might have envied. A train was on the point of starting. "Ticket to Wreckumoft," she almost screamed into the face of the ticket-clerk. "Which class?" demanded the clerk, with the amiable slowness of a man whose interests are not at stake. "First!" exclaimed Miss Peppy, laying down her purse and telling the calm-spirited clerk to help himself. He did so, returned the purse, and Miss Peppy rushed to the train and leaped into the first open door. It happened to be that of a third class, which was full of navvies and mechanics. "You seems to be in a 'urry, ma'am," said one of the former, making way for her, and wiping the seat beside him with the sleeve of his coat. Miss Peppy could only exclaim, "Ho, yes!" and cover her face with her handkerchief, in which position she remained immovable until the train arrived at Wreckumoft, despite the kindly efforts at consolation made by the navvy, who arranged her shawl and offered her a glass of gin from his own private bottle; and, finally, seeing that all his efforts were fruitless, wound up by patting her on the shoulder, and advising her to cheer up, for "wotever it was that ailed her, there was sure to be better luck next time." Arrived at Wreckumoft, Miss Peppy hastened to her brother's residence. On the way she had to pass Bingley Hall, and, feeling that it would be an unutterable relief to her feelings to tell somebody something, or, more correctly, to tell anybody anything, she darted in and met my niece Lizzie, to whom she stated wildly that Bella Crusty had run off with Kenneth Stuart, and that in all probability the colonel was mad or dead by that time. Having thus let off a little steam, the worthy lady rushed out of my house, entered the dining-room of Seaside Villa, where she found Kenneth and his father seated at breakfast, and related to them in wild surprise how that Bella and Kenneth had run away together the night before, and that she had come in hot haste to tell them so, but how it happened that Kenneth was there and Bella not there, she could not understand at all; and concluding that the incomprehensibilities of the world were culminating, and that the sooner she prepared for the final winding up of all terrestrial things the better, she ran to her own room, embraced the wondering Emmie, burst into a flood of tears, rummaged her pocket for her thimble, scissors, and key, and, not finding them there, fell into the arms of Mrs Niven, and fainted dead away for the second time that morning. CHAPTER THIRTY. STRANGE SCENES AND DOINGS FAR AWAY. Let us turn, now, to a very different region of the world from that in which the events just narrated took place. It is an island of the sea. Nature has been bountiful to that island, for there is redundant verdure on every side. Paradise of old may have been something like it,--could not have been much better, physically, although it was so in a moral point of view. Yet, even in that aspect our island is superior to many others, for there are only two human beings upon it, and these are less sinful specimens of humanity than one usually meets with. They are peculiar, too. One is an athletic middle-aged man, whose clothing is goat-skin, evidently home-made, and cut in sailor fashion. Magnificent shaggy locks fall in heavy masses from his head, lip, and chin. Robinson Crusoe himself could not have looked grander or more savage in outward aspect. The other is a boy--a lad. He is a stout well-grown fellow, neither so tall nor so muscular as his companion, but giving promise that he will excel him in due time. In the matter of hair, his head exhibited locks if possible more curly and redundant, while the chin and lip are not yet clothed with young manhood's downy shadow. Both, the middle-aged man and the youth, have a pensive expression of countenance; but there is a gleam of fire in the eye of the latter, and a spice of fun about the corners of his mouth, which are wanting in his companion. "Faither," said the lad, rising from the rock on which they were seated, "what are 'ee thinkin' on?" "I've bin thinkin', Billy, that it's nigh five years sin' we come here." "That's an old thought, daddy." "May be so, lad, but it's ever with me, and never seems to grow old." There was such a tone of melancholy in the remark of our old friend Gaff, that Billy forbore to pursue the subject. "My heart is set upon pork to-day, daddy," said the Bu'ster with a knowing smile. "We've had none for three weeks, and I'm gettin' tired o' yams and cocoa-nuts and crabs. I shall go huntin' again." "You've tried it pretty often of late, without much luck." "So I have, but I've tried it often before now with pretty fair luck, an' what has happened once may happen again, so I'll try. My motto is, `Never say die.'" "A good one, Billy; stick to it, lad," said Gaff, rising. "And now, we'll go home to supper. To-morrow we'll have to mend the fence to keep these same wild pigs you're so anxious to eat, out of our garden. The nets need mendin' too, so you'll have to spin a lot more o' the cocoa-nut fibre, an' I'll have to make a fish-hook or two, for the bones out o' which I made the last were too small." Father and son wended their way down the steep cliffs of the mountain at the foot of which was their cavern home. "What's that?" exclaimed Gaff in a low whisper, as they passed along the top of a precipice. "Pigs," said Billy with glee; "hold on now, daddy, and let me go at 'em." The Bu'ster was no longer the little boy whom I introduced to the reader at the commencement of this narrative. Five years' residence in the desert island had made him such a strapping young fellow that he seemed much more fitted to cope with a lion than a wild pig! He was not indeed tall, but he was unusually strong. Gaff sat down on a ledge of rock while Billy crept cautiously to the edge of the precipice and looked down. A smile of satisfaction lit up the lad's countenance as he beheld a big sow and six young pigs busily engaged in digging up roots directly below him. To seize a large stone and drop it into the centre of the group was the work of a moment. The result was in truth deadly, for the heavy stone hit one of the little pigs on the nape of the neck, and it sank to the ground with a melancholy squeak which proved to be its last. The crash of the stone and the squeak of the pig caused the rest of the family to turn and fly from the fatal spot with porcine haste, filling the air as they ran with shrieks and yells, such as only pigs--and bad babies--know how to utter. "Got him, daddy--Hooray!" shouted the Bu'ster, as he leaped up and ran by a circuitous route to the foot of the precipice, whence he speedily returned with the pig under his arm. "A fat 'un, daddy," he observed, holding it up by the tail. "Capital!" said Gaff, pinching the pig's sides, "we shall grub well for some days to come." "I should think so, daddy; why, we've more than we know what to do wi'; for, what with the crab-pies you made this mornin', and the cocoa-nut soup and yams and dove-hash left fro' yesterday's dinner, an' this little grumpy, we stand a good chance o' aperplexy or somethin' o' that sort." "Was there many more o' 'em, lad?" "Ay, five moloncholly brothers and sisters, an' a hideously fat mother left to mourn the loss o' this chap. I'll be after them to-morrow. They won't go far, for I've noticed that when pigs take a fancy to a spot they don't leave it for a good while. Here we are at home, an' now for a splendid roast. There's nothin' like grub when ye're hungry." "'Xcept drink when ye're dry," observed Gaff. "Of coorse, an' a snooze when ye're sleepy; but don't let's git too pheelosophical, daddy; it an't good for digestion to argufy on a empty stummik. An' I see ye wants me to argue, but I won't do it; there now!" It was one of Billy's devices to keep himself and his father cheery in their prolonged exile, to pretend that he didn't like to argue, and to stoutly assert that he would not do it, while at the same time he led his parent into all sorts of discussions. On the present occasion, while he was engaged in preparing the pig for the spit, and his father was mending the handle of a fish-spear of his own fabrication, the discussion, or rather the conversation, turned upon the possibility of two people living happily all their days on a desert island. Billy thought it was quite possible if the grub did not fail, but Gaff shook his head, and said it would be a blue look-out if one of them should get ill, or break his leg. Billy did not agree with this at all; he held that if one should get ill it would be great fun for the other to act the part of nurse and doctor, while the sick one would learn to value his health more when he got it back. As to breaking a leg, why, it was no use speculating how things would feel if that should occur; as well speak of the condition of things if both of them should break their necks. The discussion diverged, as such discussions usually did, to home and its inmates, long before any satisfactory conclusion was come to, and it was brought to a close in consequence of Billy having to go out of the cave for firewood to roast the pig. The cavern home had assumed a very different aspect from that which it presented when Gaff and his son took possession of it five years before. It now bore, externally and internally, the appearance of an old much-used dwelling. The entrance, which was an irregular archway of about ten feet in diameter, had been neatly closed up with small trees, over which strong banana leaves were fastened, so as to make it weather-tight. In this screen two holes were left--a small one for a door, and a still smaller one for a window. Both were fastened with a goat-skin curtain, which could be let down and fastened at night. In the daytime both door and window were always left wide-open, for the island on which our friends had been cast was one of a group of uninhabited islets, the climate around which is warm and delightful during the greater part of the year. The ground outside of the cave was trodden by long use to the hardness of stone. The small vegetable garden, close to the right of the door, was enclosed by a fence, which bore evidence of having been more than once renewed, and frequently repaired. Some of the trees that had been cut down--with stone hatchets made by themselves--when they first arrived, had several tall and sturdy shoots rising from the roots. There was a flat stone deeply hollowed out by constant sharpening of the said hatchet. There was a rustic seat, the handiwork of Billy, that bore symptoms of having been much sat upon. There were sundry footpaths, radiating into the woods, that were beginning to assume the hardness and dimensions of respectable roads; while all round the place there were signs and symptoms of the busy hand of man having been at work there for years. High up, on a mighty cliff that overlooked and almost overhung the sea, a rude flagstaff had been raised. This was among the first pieces of work that Gaff and his son had engaged in after landing. It stood on what they termed Signal Cliff, and was meant to attract the attention of any vessel that might chance to pass. To Signal Cliff did Gaff and Billy repair each morning at daylight, as regularly as clockwork, to hoist their flag, made from cocoa-nut fibre; and, with equal regularity, did Billy go each night at sunset to haul the ensign down. Many an anxious hour did they spend there together, gazing wistfully at the horizon, and thinking, if not talking, of home. But ships seldom visited that sea. Twice only, during their exile, did they at long intervals descry a sail, but on both occasions their flag failed to attract attention, and the hopes which had suddenly burst up with a fierce flame in their breasts were doomed to sink again in disappointment. At first they had many false alarms, and frequently mistook a sea-gull in the distance for a sail; but such mistakes became less frequent as their hopes became less sanguine, and their perceptions, from practice, more acute. Sometimes they sat there for hours together. Sometimes, when busy with household arrangements, or equipped for fishing and hunting, they merely ran to hoist the flag; but never once did they fail to pay Signal Cliff a daily visit. On Sundays, in particular, they were wont to spend the greater part of their time there, reading the New Testament. It happened that, just before Gaff left Cove in the sloop of Haco Barepoles, Lizzie Gordon had presented him with a Testament. Being a seriously-minded man, he had received the gift with gratitude, and carried it to sea with him. Afterwards, when he and poor Billy were enduring the miseries of the voyage in the whale-ship, Gaff got out the Testament, and, aided by Billy, tried to spell it out, and seek for consolation in it. He thus got into a habit of carrying it in his coat-pocket, and it was there when he was cast on the desert island. Although, of course, much damaged with water, it was not destroyed, for its clasp happened to be a very tight one, and tended greatly to preserve it. When father and son finally took up their abode in the cavern, the former resolved to devote some time night and morning to reading the Testament. He could spell out the capital letters, and Billy had, before quitting home, got the length of reading words of one syllable. Their united knowledge was thus very slight, but it was quite sufficient to enable them to overcome all difficulties, and in time they became excellent readers. The story of Christ's redeeming love wrought its legitimate work on father and son, and, ere long, the former added prayer to the morning and evening reading of the Word. Gradually the broken sentences of prayer for the Holy Spirit, that light might be shed upon what they read, were followed by earnest confessions of sin, and petitions for pardon for Christ's sake. Friends, too, were remembered; for it is one of the peculiar consequences of the renewal of the human heart that the subjects of this renewal begin to think of the souls of others as well as of their own. Unbelievers deem this presumptuous and hypocritical, forgetting that if they were called upon to act in similar circumstances, they would be necessarily and inevitably quite as presumptuous, and that the insulting manner in which the efforts of believers are often received puts hypocrisy out of the question. Be this as it may, Gaff prayed for his wife and child at first, and, when his heart began to warm and expand, for his relatives and friends also. He became more earnest, perhaps, when he prayed that a ship might be sent to take them from the island, (and in making this and his other petitions he might have given an instructive lesson to many divines of the present day, showing how wonderfully eloquent a man may be if he will only strive after _nothing_ in the way of eloquence, and simply use the tones and language that God has given him); but all his prayers were wound up with "Thy will be done," and all were put up in the name of Jesus Christ. To return from this digression. The inside of the cavern bore not less evidence of long-continued occupation than the outside. There was a block of wood which served father and son for a seat, which had two distinct and highly-polished marks on it. There was a rude table, whose cut, scratched, and hacked surface suggested the idea of many a culinary essay, and many a good meal. There was a very simple grate composed of several stones, which were blackened and whitened with soot and fire. There was no chimney, however, for the roof of the cave was so high that all smoke dissipated itself there, and found an exit no one knew how! In a recess there was a sort of small raised platform, covered with soft herbage and blankets of cocoa-nut fibre, on which, every night, father and son lay down together. The entrance to the inner cave, which formed a store-room and pantry, was covered with a curtain, so that the habitation with its rocky walls, earthen floor, and stalactite roof had quite a snug and cosy appearance. Soon Billy returned with an armful of dry wood. "Have ye got a light yet, daddy?" Gaff, who had been endeavouring to produce a light by using his knife on a bit of flint for five or ten minutes, said he had "just got it," and proved the truth of his assertion by handing his son a mass of smoking material. Billy blew this into a flame, and applied it to the wood, which soon kindled into a roaring fire. "Now, then," cried the Bu'ster, "where's the spit? Ah! that's it; here you go; oh dear, how you would yell just now, Mister Grumpy, if you were alive! It's a cruel thought, but I can't help it. There, now, frizzle away, and I'll go clean up my dishes while you are roasting." No sooner had the pig been put on the spit, and the first fumes arisen, than there was a loud yell in the forest, followed immediately by the pattering of small feet, as if in tremendous haste. "Aha! Squeaky, I knew _you_ would smell out the supper double quick," cried Billy with a laugh, as he looked towards the door. "He never misses it," said Gaff with a quiet smile. Next moment a small pig came scampering into the cave and rushed up to the fire, where it sat down promptly as if the sole object it had in view were to warm itself! And this was indeed its only object, for that pig was passionately, ludicrously fond of the fire! It was a pet pig. One day when Billy was out hunting, he had caught it in a somewhat singular fashion. He usually went out hunting with a bow and arrow of his own making, and was very successful in bringing down white doves, parroquets, and such creatures, but could make nothing of the pigs, whose skins were too tough for his wooden and unshod arrows. He let fly at them, nevertheless, when he got a chance. Well, on the day referred to, Billy had shot nothing, and was returning home in a somewhat pensive mood when he heard a squeak, and at once fitted an arrow to his bow. A rush followed the squeak, and dreadful yells accompanied the rush--yells which were intensified, if possible, when Billy's arrow went into an old sow's ear after glancing off the back of one of her little ones. Billy ran after them in wild despair, for he knew that the shot was thrown away. One of the pigs had sprained its ankle, apparently, for it could only run on three legs. This pig fell behind; Billy ran after it, overtook it, fell upon it, and almost crushed it to death--a fact which was announced by an appalling shriek. The mother turned and ran to the rescue. Billy gathered up the pig and ran for his, (and its), life. It was a hard run, and would certainly have terminated in favour of the sow had not the greater part of the chase been kept up among loose stones, over which the lad had the advantage. In a few minutes he descended a steep cliff over which the bereaved mother did not dare to run. Thus did Billy become possessed of a live pig, which in a few weeks became a remarkably familiar and fearless inmate of the cavern home. Billy also had a pet parroquet which soon became tame enough to be allowed to move about at will with a cropped wing, and which was named Shrieky. This creature was a mere bundle of impudent feathers, and a source of infinite annoyance to the pig, for, being possessed of considerable powers of mimicry, it sometimes uttered a porcine shriek, exciting poor Squeaky with the vain hope that some of its relations had arrived, and, what was far worse, frequently imitated the sounds of crackling fire and roasting food, which had the effect of causing Squeaky to rush into the cave, to meet with bitter disappointment. "Now, Squeaky," said the Bu'ster, hitting the pig on its snout with a bit of firewood, "keep your dirty nose away from yer cousin." Squeaky obeyed meekly, and removed to another spot. "Isn't it a strange thing, daddy, that you and I should come to feel so homelike here?" "Ay, it is strange," responded Gaff with a sigh, as he laid down the hook he was working at and glanced round the cavern. "Your mother would be astonished to see us now, lad." "She'll hear all about it some day," said Billy. "You've no notion what a splendid story I'll make out of all this when we get back to Cove!" It was evident that the Bu'ster inherited much of his mother's sanguine disposition. "P'raps we'll never git back to Cove," said Gaff sadly; "hows'ever, we've no reason to complain. Things might ha' bin worse. You'd better go and haul down the flag, lad. I'll look arter the roast till ye come back." "The roast'll look after itself, daddy," said the Bu'ster; "you look after Squeaky, however, for that sly critter's always up to mischief." Billy hastened to the top of Signal Cliff just as the sun was beginning to descend into the sea, and had commenced to pull down the flag when his eye caught sight of a sail--not on the far-off horizon, like a sea-gull's wing, but close in upon the land! The shout that he gave was so tremendous that Gaff heard it in the cave, and rushed out in great alarm. He saw Billy waving a shred of cocoa-nut cloth frantically above his head, and his heart bounded wildly as he sprang up the hill like a stag. On reaching the flagstaff he beheld the vessel, a large full-rigged ship, sailing calmly, and, to his eye, majestically, not far from the signal cliff. His first impulse was to wave his hand and shout. Then he laid hands on the halliards of the flag and gave it an extra pull to see that it was well up, while Billy continued to stamp, cheer, yell, and wave his arms like a madman! Only those who have been long separated from their fellow-men can know the wild excitement that is roused in the breast by the prospect of meeting with new faces. Gaff and Billy found it difficult to restrain themselves, and indeed they did not try to do so for at least ten minutes after the discovery of the ship. Then a feeling of dread came suddenly upon the former. "Surely they'll never pass without takin' notice of us." "Never!" exclaimed Billy, whose sudden fall of countenance belied the word. Gaff shook his head. "I'm not so sure o' that," said he; "if she's a whaler like the one we came south in, lad, she'll not trouble herself with us." Billy looked very grave, and his heart sank. "My only consolation is that she looks more like a man-o'-war than a whaler." "I wish we had a big gun to fire," exclaimed Billy, looking round in perplexity, as if he half hoped that a carronade would spring up out of the ground. "Could we not make a row somehow?" "I fear not," said Gaff despondingly. "Shoutin' is of no use. She's too far-off for that. Our only chance is the flag." Both father and son stood silent for some moments earnestly gazing at the ship, which was by this time nearly opposite to their flagstaff, and seemed to be passing by without recognising the signal. This was not to be wondered at, for, although the flag was visible enough from landward, being well defined against the bright sky, it was scarce perceptible from seaward, owing to the hills which formed a background to it. "_I_ know what'll do it!" exclaimed Billy, as he leaped suddenly to one side. "Come along, daddy." A few yards to one side of the spot on which the flagstaff was reared there was a part of the precipice which sloped with a steep descent into the sea. Here there had been a landslip, and the entire face of the cliff was laid bare. At the top of this slope there was a great collection of stones and masses of rock of considerable size. At various points, too, down the face of the steep, masses of rock and _debris_ had collected in hollows. Billy now went to work to roll big stones over the edge of this cliff, and he did it with such good-will that in a few minutes masses of a hundred weight were rolling, bounding, and crashing down the steep. These, in many cases, plunged into the collections of _debris_, and dislodged masses of rock that no efforts of which Billy was capable could have otherwise moved. The rattling roar of the avalanche was far more effective than a salvo of artillery, because, besides being tremendous, it was unceasing, and the result was that the vessel ran up a flag in reply to the strange salute. Then a white puff of smoke from her side preceded the roar of a heavy gun. Immediately after, the vessel's head came round, and she lay-to. "It's a man-o'-war," cried Billy excitedly. "Ay, and a British one too," exclaimed Gaff; "let's give him a cheer, lad." Billy complied with a will! Again and again did they raise their strong voices until the woods and cliffs became alive with full, true, ringing British cheers! CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. DELIVERED, WRECKED, AND RESCUED. It is unnecessary, indeed impossible, to describe the feelings with which Gaff and Billy descended from Signal Cliff to the beach to meet the boat which put off from the man-of-war and made for the little creek just below the cave. As the boat's keel grated on the sand, the midshipman in command leaped ashore. He was a particularly small and pert midshipman, a smart conceited vigorous little fellow, who delighted to order his big men about in the voice of a giant; and it was quite interesting to observe how quietly and meekly those big men obeyed him, just as one sometimes sees a huge Newfoundland dog or mastiff obey the orders of a child. "Why, where on earth did you come from, and what are you doing here?" demanded the little middy, as he approached Gaff, and looked up in that man's rugged and unshorn countenance. Poor Gaff could scarce command himself sufficiently to reply-- "We're Englishmen--bin cast away--five years now--" He could go no farther, but, seizing the boy's hand, shook it warmly. The Bu'ster, being equally incapable of speaking, seized the hand of the sailor next him, and also shook it violently. Then he uttered a cheer, and turning suddenly round ran along the beach for half a mile like a greyhound, after which he returned and asserted that his feelings were somewhat relieved! Meanwhile the middy continued to question Gaff. "What! d'ye mean to say you've been five years here--all alone?" "Ay, all but a few days," said Gaff, looking round on the men with a bewildered air. "How strange yer voices sound! Seems as if I'd a'most forgotten what men are like!" "Well, you _are_ a queer fish," said the boy with a laugh. "Are there no more here but you two?" "No more; just Billy and me--also Squeaky and Shrieky." Gaff said this quite gravely, for nothing was farther from his thoughts at that time than jesting. "And pray, who may Squeaky and Shrieky be?" "Squeaky's a pig, and Shrieky's a little parrot." "Well," observed the middy with a laugh, "that's better than no company at all." "Yours is an English man-o'-war, I think?" said Gaff. "You're right, old fellow; she's the `Blazer,' 74, Captain Evans, bound for England. Took a run farther south than usual after a piratical-looking craft, but missed her. Gave up the chase, and came to this island to get water. Little thought we should find _you_ on it. Astonish the captain rather when we go back. Of course you'll want us to take you home. Will you go off with me at once?" Gaff and Billy hesitated, and both looked back with a strange mixture of feelings at their island-home. "Oh, we won't hurry you," said the boy, with a kindly and patronising air; "if there are any traps you want to pack up, we'll wait for you. It'll take us some time to get the breakers filled. Can you show me a good spring?" "Ay, an' we can show you a hot one," cried Billy, with a smile. "But come up to the cave with us and have some grub." The midshipman expressed his readiness to comply, and ordered one of the men to stay and watch the boat. "You needn't leave any one with the boat," said Gaff; "there's nobody here to touch it." "Nevertheless I will leave a guard. Now, then show us the way." It is needless to describe the surprise of the sailors at everything they saw and heard; and the mixed feelings that agitated the breasts of Gaff and his son--anxiety to return to England, with regret to quit the cavern home where they had spent so many quiet and comparatively happy years. Suffice it to say that they, and the few things they possessed, were speedily transferred to the "Blazer," on board of which they received the most considerate attention and kindness. And you may be sure, reader, that Billy did not forget to take the pig and the parroquet along with him. Fair winds sprang up, and for many weeks the "Blazer" bowled along steadily on her course. It seemed as if the elements had agreed to be favourable, and expedite the return of the exiles. But this state of things did not last. Towards the end of the voyage fogs and gales prevailed, and the "Blazer" was driven considerably out of her course to the northward, insomuch that she finally made the land on the north-western coast of Scotland. This induced the captain to run through the Pentland Firth, after passing through which they were beset by calms. One day a small steamer passed close alongside the "Blazer." "That's an Aberdeen steamer," said the captain; "would you like to be put on board, Gaff?" Gaff said that he would, as it was probable he should reach home sooner by her than if he were to accompany the "Blazer" to London. Accordingly the steamer was signalled, and Gaff and Billy were put on board. Scarcely had this been done when a stiff easterly gale set in, and before morning a heavy sea was running, before which the steamer rolled heavily. It seemed as if Gaff and his son were doomed to be drowned, for disaster by sea followed them wherever they went. At last, however, the morning broke bright and clear, and the wind abated, though the sea was still running very high. That forenoon the steamer sighted the coast of Aberdeenshire and the tall column of the Girdle-ness lighthouse came into view. "We'll be home soon now, daddy," said Billy, as they walked the quarter-deck together. "P'raps, but we an't there yet," said Gaff; "an' I never count my chickens before they are hatched." Gaff and his son no longer wore the rough skin garments which had clothed them while in their island-home. They had been rigged out in man-o'-war habiliments by the kindness of those on board the "Blazer," but they had steadily refused to permit the barber to operate upon them, and still wore their locks shaggy and long. They were, perhaps, as fine specimens of a hardy and powerful man and boy as could be found anywhere; for Gaff, although past his prime, was not a whit less vigorous and athletic than he had been in days of yore, though a little less supple; and Billy, owing probably to his hardy and healthy style of life on the island, was unusually broad and manly for his age. In a few hours the steamer made the harbour of Aberdeen. The passengers, who had been very busy all the morning in packing up the things they had used on the voyage, were now assembled in groups along the side of the vessel trying to make out objects on shore. The captain stood on the bridge between the paddles giving directions to the steersman, and everything gave promise of a speedy and happy landing. A heavy sea, however, was still running, filling the bay to the northward of the harbour with foaming breakers, while the pier-head was engulfed in clouds of spray as each billow rolled past it and fell in thunder on the bar. Every one on board looked on with interest; but on that clear bright day, no one thought of danger. Just as the steamer came close up to the bar, a heavy sea struck her on the port bow, driving her a little too near the pier. The captain shouted to the steersman, but the man either did not understand him, or did not act with sufficient promptitude, for the next wave sent them crashing on the portion of bulwark or breakwater that juts out from the head of the Aberdeen pier. The consternation and confusion that ensued is beyond description. The women screamed, the men shouted. The captain ordered the engines to be reversed, and this was done at once, but the force of the next billow was too great. It lifted the vessel up and let her fall heavily again on the pier, where she lay hard and fast with her back broken. Another wave lifted her; the two halves of the vessel separated and sank on each side of the pier, leaving the passengers and crew in the waves. It would be difficult to say whether the shouts of the multitudes who stood on the pier-head or the shrieks of the wrecked people were loudest. Instantly every exertion was made to save them. Boats were launched, ropes were thrown, buoys were cast into the sea, and many of the people were saved, but many were also drowned before assistance reached them. Gaff and Billy, being expert swimmers, seized the persons nearest to them, and took them safe to the pier, where ready hands were stretched out to grasp them. The former saved a lady, the latter a little girl. Then they plunged back into the sea, and saved two more lives. While this was going on, several of the passengers were swept round into the bay, where they would have perished but for the prompt and able assistance of a man who was known as "The Rescue." This man was so named because he undertook the dangerous and trying duty of watching the bathers during the summer months, and rescuing such of them as got out of their depth. In this arduous work that heroic man had, during five years of service, saved with his own hands between thirty and forty lives--in some cases with a boat, but in most cases by simply swimming out and seizing the drowning persons, and without using corks or floats of any kind. When asked why he did not use a lifebelt, he said that it would only impede his motions and prevent him from diving, which he was often compelled to do when the drowning persons had sunk. His usual method was to swim off when there was a shout for help, and make for the struggling man or boy so as to come up behind him. He then seized him under the armpits, and thus effectually prevented him from grasping him in any way. Drawing him gently upon his breast while he lay over on his back, he then made for the shore, swimming on his back and using his feet only. On the present occasion the "Rescue" saved four or five of those who were washed into the bay, and then ran out to the end of the pier to render assistance there. In height he was not above the middle size, but he had a very muscular and well-knit frame. Just as he drew near, Gaff, who was bearing a little boy through the surf in his arms, was hurled against the stones of the pier, rendered insensible, and sucked back by the retreating water. Billy was farther out at the moment, and did not see what had occurred. The shout of alarm from those in front of the crowd was almost immediately answered by a cry from behind of: "The Rescue! The Rescue! This way!" Without checking his speed, the Rescue sprang into the sea, caught Gaff by the hair of the head, and was next moment hurled on the breakwater. He was prepared for the shock, and caught the hands of two men, who, with ropes round their waists, waded into the water as far as they dared. Billy was washed ashore at the same moment, almost in a state of helpless exhaustion, and all were hauled out of the sea amid the wild cheers of the excited crowd. Gaff, being laid under the lee of the pier-wall, soon recovered, and then he and Billy were led tenderly up to the town, where they were kindly entertained and cared for during several days, by the hospitable Rescue, in whose house they lodged during their stay in the fair city of Aberdeen. Most of the cattle that happened to be on board the ill-fated steamer were saved, and among them was Squeaky. Shrieky, too, managed to escape. His cage having been smashed in the general confusion he was set free, and flew wildly towards the pier, where he took refuge in the bosom of a sailor, who took care of him. Ultimately he and his companion in distress were restored to their friends. CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. HOME AGAIN. A few days after the events narrated in the last chapter, Gaff and his son arrived by stage-coach in the town of Wreckumoft, and at once started off for the village of Cove. It was night. There was no moon, but the stars shone brightly in a clear sky, affording sufficient light to show them their road. Neither of them spoke. Their minds were filled with anxiety, for the thought that was uppermost and ever-present in each was, "Are they well? are they _alive_?" They did not utter the thought, however. "It's a long bit since you an' I was here, Billy," observed Gaff in a low voice. "Ay, very long," replied the lad. They walked on again at a smart pace, but in silence. Presently they heard footsteps approaching, and a man soon came up from the direction of Cove. "Foine noight," said the man. "Fine night it is," responded Gaff and Billy in the same breath. Gaff suddenly turned and accosted the stranger just as he had passed them. "D'ye belong to Cove?" "No, I doan't; only stoppin' there a bit." "Ye don't happen to know a 'ooman o' the name o' Gaff, do ye?" "Gaff--Gaff," repeated the man, meditating; "no, I niver heern on her." "Hm; thought pr'aps ye might--good-night." "Good-noight." And the man went his way. "Ah! Billy, my heart misgives me, boy," said Gaff after a pause. It was evident that Billy's heart misgave him too, for he made no reply. The distance to Cove being only three miles, they were not long in reaching the cottage, although their pace had become slower and slower as they approached the village, and they stopped altogether when they first came in sight of their old home. A light shone brightly in the little window. They glanced at each other on observing this, but no word escaped them. Silently they approached the cottage-window and looked in. Gaff started back with a slight exclamation of surprise, for his eye fell on the new and strange furniture of the "boodwar." Billy looked round with a searching eye. "There's nobody in," he said at length, "but look, daddy, the old clock's there yet." Gaff did not know whether this was a good or a bad omen, for any one who had taken and refurnished the cottage might have bought the old clock and kept it as a sort of curiosity. While they were gazing, the door of the closet opened and Mrs Gaff came out. She was a little stouter, perhaps, than she had been five years before, but not a whit less hale or good-looking. "Mother--God bless her!" murmured Billy in a deep earnest voice. "Where can Tottie be?" whispered Gaff anxiously. "Maybe she's out," said Billy. The lad's voice trembled while he spoke, for he could not but reflect that five years was a long long time, and Tottie might be dead. Before Gaff spoke again, the closet door once more opened, and a slender sprightly girl just budding into womanhood tripped across the room. "Hallo!" exclaimed Billy, "who can that--surely! impossible! yes it is, it _must_ be Tot, for I could never mistake her mouth!" "D'ye see any sign of--of--a man?" said Gaff in a voice so deep and peculiar, that his son turned and looked at him in surprise. "No, daddy--why? what d'ye ask that for?" "'Cause it's not the first time a sailor has comed home, after bein' many years away, and found that his wife had guv him up for dead, an' married again." Gaff had often thought of the possibility of such a thing during his prolonged residence on the island, and the thought had cost him many a bitter pang, but he had never mentioned it to Billy, on whom the idea fell for the first time like a thunderbolt. He almost staggered, and put his hand quickly on the window-sill. "But come, lad, let's bear up like men. I'll go in first. Don't let on; see if they'll remember us." So saying, Gaff lifted the latch of the door and stood before his wife and child. Billy also entered, and stood a pace behind him. Mrs Gaff and Tottie, who were both engaged about the fireplace at the time, in the preparation of supper, turned and looked at the intruders in surprise, and, for a few seconds, in silence. The light that fell upon father and son was not very strong, and the opening of the door had caused it to flicker. "Come in, if ye wants a word wi' me," said Mrs Gaff, who was somewhat uneasy at the rugged appearance of her visitors, but was too proud to show it. "Hast forgotten me, Jess?" Mrs Gaff rushed at once into his arms. "`Bless the Lord, O my soul,'" murmured Gaff, as he smoothed the head that lay on his shoulder. Tottie recognised her brother the instant he advanced into the full light of the fire, and exclaiming the single word "Billy," leaped into his open arms. "Not lost after all, thank God," said Gaff, with a deep prolonged sigh, as he led his wife to a chair and sat down beside her. "Lost, Stephen, what mean ye?" "Not married again," said Gaff with a quiet smile. "Married again! an' _you_ alive! oh, Stephen!" "Nay, lass, not _believin'_ me alive, but ye've had good reason to think me dead this many a year." "An' d'ye think I'd ha' married agin even though ye was dead, lad?" asked the wife, with a look of reproach. "Well, I believe ye wouldn't; but it's common enough, ye must admit, for folk to marry a second time, an' so, many and many a long day I used to think p'raps Jess'll ha' found it hard to keep herself an' Tottie, an' mayhap she'll have married agin arter givin' me up for dead." "Never!" exclaimed Mrs Gaff energetically. "Well, forgive me for thinkin' it, lass. I've been punished enough, for it's cost me many a bitter hour when I was on the island." "On the island!" exclaimed Tottie in surprise. "Ay, Tot, but it's an old story that, an' a long one." "Then you'll have to tell it to me, daddy, and begin at once," said Tottie, leaving the Bu'ster--who was more entitled to his nickname on that evening than he had ever been in all his life,--and sitting down beside her father on the floor. "Come, let's have fair exchange," said Gaff, pushing his wife towards Billy, who grasped his mother round her ample waist, and pulled her down upon his knee! "You're so big and strong an' handsome," said Mrs Gaff, running her fingers through her son's voluminous locks, while a few tears tumbled over her cheeks. "Mother," said Billy with a gleeful look, "give me a slap on the face; do, there's a good old woman; I want to feel what it's like now, to see if I remember it!" "There!" cried Mrs Gaff, giving him a slap, and no light one--a slap that would have floored him in days of yore; "you deserve it for calling me an old woman." Mrs Gaff followed up the slap with a hug that almost choked her son. "Make less noise, won't you?" cried Tottie. "Don't you see that daddy's going to begin his story?" Silence being with difficulty obtained, Gaff did begin his story, intending to run over a few of the leading facts regarding his life since he disappeared, but, having begun, he found it impossible to stop, all the more so that no one wanted to stop him. He became so excited, too, that he forgot to take note of time, and his audience were so interested that they paid no attention whatever to the Dutch clock with the horrified countenance, which, by the way, looked if possible more horrified than it used to do in the Bu'ster's early days. Its preliminary hissing and frequent ringings were unheeded; so were the more dignified admonitions of the new clock; so was the tea-kettle, which hissed with the utmost fury at being boiled so long, but hissed in vain, for it was allowed to hiss its entire contents into thin air, and then to burn its bottom red hot! In like manner the large pot of potatoes evaporated its water, red-heated its bottom, and burned its contents to charcoal. This last event it was that aroused Mrs Gaff. "Lauks! the taties is done for." She sprang up and tore the pot off the fire. Tottie did the same to the kettle, while Gaff and Billy looked on and laughed. "Never mind, here's another kettle; fill it, Tot, fro' the pitcher," said Mrs Gaff; "it'll bile in a few minutes, an' we can do without taties for one night." On examination, however, it was found that a sufficient quantity of eatable potatoes remained in the heart of the burned mass, so the misfortune did not prove to be so great as at first sight it appeared to be. "But now, Jess, let me pump _you_ a bit. How comes it that ye've made such a 'xtraornary affair o' the cottage?" Mrs Gaff, instead of answering, hugged herself, and looked unutterably sly. Then she hugged Billy, and laughed. Tottie laughed too, much more energetically than there was any apparent reason for. This caused Billy to laugh from sympathy, which made Mrs Gaff break out afresh, and Gaff himself laughed because he couldn't help it! So they all laughed heartily for at least two minutes--all the more heartily that half of them did not know what they were laughing at, and the other half knew particularly well what they were laughing at! "Well, now," said Gaff, after a time, "this may be uncommonly funny, but I'd like to know what it's all about." Mrs Gaff still looked unutterably sly, and giggled. At length she said-- "You must know, Stephen, that I'm a lady!" "Well, lass, you an't 'xactly a lady, but you're an uncommon good woman, which many a lady never wos, an' never will be." "Ay, but I _am_ a lady," said Mrs Gaff firmly; "at least I'm rich, an' that's the same thing, an't it?" "I'm not so sure o' that," replied Gaff, shaking his head; "seems to me that it takes more than money to make a lady. But what are ye drivin' at, Jess?" Mrs Gaff now condescended on explanation. First of all she made Gaff and Billy go round the apartment with her, and expounded to them the signification of the various items, after the manner of a showman. "Here, you see," said the good woman, pointing to the floor, "is a splendid carpit strait fro' the looms o' Turkey; so the man said as sold it to me, but I've reason to believe he told lies. Hows'ever, there it is, an' it's a fuss-rater as ye may see. The roses is as fresh as the day it was put down, 'xceptin' that one where Tottie capsized a saucepan o' melted butter an' eggs last Christmas day. This," (pointing to the bed), "is a four-poster. You've often said to me, Stephen, that you'd like to sleep in a four-poster to see how it felt. Well, you'll git the chance now, _my_ man! This here is a noo grate an' fire-irons, as cost fi' pun' ten. The man I got it fro' said it wos a bargain at that, but some knowin' friends o' mine holds a different opinion. Here is a noo clock, as goes eight days of his own accord, an' strikes the halves an' quarters, but he's not so good as he looks, like many other showy critters in this world. That old farmiliar face in the corner does his dooty better, an' makes less fuss about it. Then this here is a noo set o' chimbley ornaments. I don't think much o' them myself, but Tot says they're better than nothing. Them six cheers is the best I ever sat on. Nothin' can smash 'em. Mad Haco even can't--" "Ah! is Haco alive still?" interrupted Gaff. "Alive, I should think so. Nothin' 'll kill that man. I don't believe buryin' him alive would do it. He's up at the Sailors' Home just now. But I'm not done yet. Here's a portrait o' Lord Nelson, as can look all round the room. See, now, git into that corner. Now, an't he lookin' at ye?" "That he is, an' no mistake," replied Gaff. "Well, git into this other corner; now, an't he lookin' at ye still?" "To be sure he is!" "Well, well, don't go for to puzzle yer brains over it. That pictur' has nearly druv all the thinkin' men o' Cove mad, so we'll let it alone just now. Here's a man-o'-war, ye see; an' this is the steps for mountin' into the four-poster. It serves for a--a--some sort o' _man_, I forget--Tot, _you_ know--" "An ottoman," said Tottie. "Ay, a ottyman by day, an' steps-an'-stairs at night. Look there!" Mrs Gaff opened up the steps and said, "What d'ye think o' that?" Gaff said, "Wonderful!" and Billy exclaimed, "Hallo!" "Yes, Stephen," resumed Mrs Gaff, going to the cupboard and fetching the tea-caddy, from which she extracted her banker's book, "all them things was bought for you with your own fortin', which is ten thousand pound, (an' more, for I've not lived up to the interest by no manner o' means); an' that there book'll show ye it's all true." Having reached this point, Mrs Gaff was seized with a fit of laughter, which she stifled on her husband's breast, and then, flinging herself into the four-poster, she burst into a flood of tears. This was the first time in her life that she had given way to such weakness, and she afterwards said to Tottie, in reference to it, that she couldn't help it, and had made up her mind to have a good cry once for all, and be done with it. Gaff and his son examined the bank-book, and listened with wonder to Tottie's account of the manner in which their wealth had come to them. Before the recital was completed, Mrs Gaff had had her cry out, and dried her eyes. "What think ye of that, Stephen?" she said, pointing to the book. Gaff shook his head slowly, and looked very grave. "I don't much like it, Jess." "What, don't like money?" "Too much of it is dangerous. I hope it won't harm us, lass." "It's done no harm to me yet, as I knows of," said Mrs Gaff firmly. "What says the Bible, Tot, about that?" asked Gaff. "Money's the root o' all evil, an't it?" "No, daddy, it's _the love_ o' money that's the root of all evil." "Ah, to be sure. Well, there's a difference there. Hows'ever, we can't help it, so we must larn to bear it. Come along now, Jess, and let us have supper." To supper they sat down, and long they sat over it, and a hearty one they ate. It was not till they began to think of retiring for the night that it was remembered that there was no possibility of putting up Billy in the cottage, for Tottie occupied the closet of the "boodwar." The Bu'ster relieved his parents from their difficulty, however, by asserting that he had taken a wild desire to see Mad Haco that night; so, declining the offer of a shake-down made up under the four-poster, he started for Wreckumoft, and took up his quarters in the Sailors' Home. CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. THE SAILORS' HOME AND THE NEW SECRETARY. Great changes had taken place in the Sailors' Home at Wreckumoft since Billy Gaff last saw it. A new wing had been added to it, and the original building had been altered and repaired, while every convenience in the way of ventilating and heating had been introduced, so that the sailors who frequented this admirable Home found themselves surrounded by comforts and luxuries such as, in former days, they had never dreamed of. Fortunately for this valuable institution, Sir Richard Doles, Bart, had not been made a director, consequently the business of the Home was not impeded. Fortunately, also, the secretary who had been recently appointed to the Home was a man of ability and energy, being none other than our friend Kenneth Stuart. That incorrigible young man had ventured one day to say to his father that he could not make up his mind to give up the "portionless girl," Lizzie Gordon; that he considered her anything but portionless, seeing that she possessed an earnest, loving, Christian heart, and a wise thoughtful mind; qualities which wealth could not purchase, and compared with which a fortune was not worth a straw. Mr Stuart, senior, thereupon dismissed Mr Stuart, junior, from his presence for ever, and told him to go and beg his bread where he chose! Curiously enough, Mr Stuart, senior, happened to dine that day with Colonel Crusty at the club where the latter put up when in town, and the valiant colonel told him that he had that morning dismissed his daughter from his presence for ever, she having returned to the parental home as Mrs Bowels. The two, therefore, felt a peculiar sort of sympathy, being, as it were, in the same boat, and cracked an additional bottle of claret on the strength of the coincidence. When they had finished the extra bottle, they ordered another, and became exceedingly jocose, insomuch that one vowed he would leave his fortune to the Church, but the other preferred to leave his to a Lunatic Asylum. On receiving his dismissal, Kenneth left his father's house with words of regret and good-will on his lips, and then went to tell Lizzie, and seek his fortune. He had not to seek long or far. Being a director of the Sailors' Home, I chanced to be in search of a secretary. A better man than Kenneth could not be found, so I proposed him, and he was at once appointed. The salary being a good one, he was enabled to retain Dan Horsey and Bucephalus. He also obtained permission to remove Emmie to his house, having told his father who the child was, and having been told in return that he, (the father), had become aware of the fact long ago, and that he was welcome to her! Kenneth then set himself earnestly to work to promote the interests of the Sailors' Home, and to prepare his house for the reception of Lizzie, who had agreed to marry him whenever he felt himself in a position to ask her. Lizzie was a peculiar girl. She had, indeed, permitted Kenneth to visit her as a lover; but she resolutely refused to accept him as long as his father continued adverse to the union. The moment, however, that she heard of his being cast off and disinherited, she agreed, with tears in her eyes, to marry him whenever he pleased. But to return from this digression: the new secretary of the Sailors' Home of Wreckumoft became the guardian spirit of the place. He advised all the arrangements which the Board made. He drew up all the rules that the Board fixed. An "Address" which he issued to officers and seamen frequenting the port of Wreckumoft, wound up with the following words: "The Directors of the Sailors' Home are anxious that seamen should clearly understand that the institution was designed for their sole benefit, and established with the view of protecting them from the systematic extortion of crimps and other snares, to which their circumstances and calling render them peculiarly liable; and, above all, to promote their moral elevation, social improvement, and religious instruction. The rules by which the institution is governed are, as far as practicable, adapted to meet the habits of all who participate in its benefits, and to further their best interests. It is conducted on principles of order, comfort, and liberality; and no restraint is exercised beyond that which common prudence and mutual interest require. In the `Home' thus provided; which embraces security, freedom of action, and social enjoyment, the Directors desire to create and sustain mutual sympathy, trust, and good-will, and to employ those agencies which tend most to mature habits of frugality, self-respect, and the love of God." Immediately after the appearance of this address, seamen flocked to the "Home" for lodgings, and those who did so found the place so uncommonly pleasant that they brought their messmates, so that for months afterwards not only was every bed taken, but the very stairs and landings of the building were occupied by men who preferred to sleep there, and enjoy the advantages of the Institution, rather than go back to the dens which they had frequented in former days. On the night when Billy went to the Home it was very full, and he stumbled over more than one recumbent seaman on the landings before he reached the hall, where, late though it was, a number of men were playing chess, draughts, and bagatelle, or reading books and papers. Here he found Haco Barepoles, as rugged as ever, seated by the fire and deeply engaged in a copy of the "Pilgrim's Progress." "Wonderful book; wonderful book!" exclaimed Haco, laying the volume on the table and scratching his head, as if to stir up the brain inside. Just then Billy came up. "Hallo, Haco!" "Hallo, stranger! You've the advantage of me, lad, for I don't know ye." "Yes, ye do." "Eh! do I? Let me see." Here the mad skipper scrutinised the lad's face earnestly. "Well, I _have_ seen ye afore now, but you've 'scaped from me, youngster." "I'm Billy, _alias_ the Bu'ster, _alias_ the Cork, _alias_ Gaff--" "What, Billy Gaff? Dead and come alive again!" cried Haco, springing up and seizing the youngster's hand. Having wrung Billy's arm almost off his shoulder, Haco took him up to his berth, where he made him sit down on the bed and recount all his and his father's adventures from beginning to end. When Billy had concluded the narrative, which of course he gave only in brief outline, Haco said-- "Now, lad, you and I shall go have a pipe outside, and then we'll turn in." "Very good; but I have not yet asked you about your daughter Susan. Is she still with Captain Bingley?" "Ay, still with him, and well," replied Haco, with a look that did not convey the idea of satisfaction. "Not goin' to get married?" inquired Billy with caution. Haco snorted, then he grunted, and then he said-- "Yes, she _was_ goin' to get married, and he wished she wasn't, that was all." "Who to?" inquired the other. "Why, to that Irish scoundrel Dan Horsey, to be sure," said Haco with a huge sigh of resignation, which, coming from any other man, would have been regarded as a groan. "The fact is, lad, that poor Susan's heart is set upon that fellow, an' so it's no use resistin' them no longer. Besides, the blackguard is well spoken of by his master, who's a trump. Moreover, I made a kind o' half promise long ago that I'd not oppose them, to that scapegrace young Lieutenant Bingley, who's on his way home from China just now. An' so it's a-goin' to be; an' they've set their hearts on havin' the weddin' same week as the weddin' o' Master Kenneth and Lizzie Gordon; so the fact is they may all marry each other, through other, down the middle and up again, for all I care, 'cause I'm a-goin' on a whalin' voyage to Novy Zembly or Kumskatchkie--anywheres to git peace o' mind--there!" Saying this Haco dashed the ashes out of his big German pipe into his left palm, and scattered them to the winds. "Now, lad," he said, in conclusion, "we'll go turn in, and you'll sleep with me to-night, for ye couldn't get a bed in the Home for love or money, seein' that it's choke full already. Come along." CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. FAILURES AND HOPES DEFERRED, AND CONSEQUENCES. Now, it chanced that, about the time of which I write, a noted bank failed, and a considerable sum of money which had been temporarily deposited in it by the committee of the Sailors' Home at Wreckumoft was lost. This necessitated retrenchment. All the salaries of officials were lowered--among them Kenneth's, although the directors assured him that it would be again raised as soon as the Institution recovered from the shock of this loss. Meanwhile, however, the secretary was compelled to postpone his marriage indefinitely. Perhaps the shortest way to convey a correct idea of the dire effects of this failure to my reader will be to detail several conversations that took place in regard to it by various parties. Conversation first was held between the head cook and head waiter of the Sailors' Home. These worthies were seated on one of the dressers in the kitchen of the establishment;--and a wonderful kitchen it was, with culinary implements so huge as to suggest the idea of giant operators. There was a grate that might have roasted an ox whole. There were pots big enough to have boiled entire sheep, caldrons of soup that a little boy might have swum in, rolls and loaves that would, apparently, have made sandwiches for an army, and cups and saucers, plates and dishes that might have set up any reasonable man for life in the crockery line. But the most astounding vessels in that amazing place were the tea-pot and coffee-pot of the establishment. They stood side by side like giant twins; each being five feet high by a yard in diameter, and the pounds of tea and gallons of water put into these pots night and morning for tea and breakfast seemed almost fabulous. (See note 1.) "It's werry unfortinet, werry," said the presiding spirit of this region. "So 'tis," observed the head waiter. "Werry hard, too," said the cook, "on a man like me, with a wife and six childer, to have his wages docked." "So 'tis--even for a man with a wife and four child'n like me," said the head waiter; "but it comes hardest on the secretary, poor feller. He was just a-goin' to get spliced, an' there he's 'bliged to put it off. He's such a good feller too." "Ah--it's werry hard," said the cook. "Werry," said the head waiter. Having shaken their heads in concert, these worthies dropped the subject as being an unpleasant one. In Mr Stuart's drawing-room, referring to the same subject, Miss Penelope Stuart said to Mr George Stuart-- "Well, I'm sure, George, it seems to me that it would be only right and proper to forgive poor Kenneth, not that he's done anything exactly wrong, but forgiveness is a Christian duty, whether it's an enemy you've hurt, or a friend who has hurt you, that--that, how could he help it, you know, brother, now do be reasonable, and only think of the poor boy having to part with that great cart-horse--though it'll be the death of him some day whether he parts with it or not, for it's a dreadful creature, and Dan too--I'm sure the perplexities people are put to by banks failing. Why don't people prevent them from failing? But the worst is his marriage being put off, and it so near. I do think, brother, you might take him back and--" "Pray hold your tongue, Peppy," said Mr Stuart, who was attempting to read the _Times_, "I'm not listening to you, and if you are pleading for my son Kenneth, let me say to you, once for all, that I have done with him for ever. I would not give him a sixpence if he were starving." "Well, but," persevered the earnest Miss Peppy, "if he were to repent, you know, and come and ask pardon, (dear me, where are those scissors? ah, here they are), surely you would not refuse, (the thimble next--what a world of worries!) to--to give him--" "Peppy, I have stated my sentiments, pray do not trouble me further in regard to this matter. _Nothing_ can move me." Miss Peppy sighed, and retired to pour her regrets into the sympathetic ear of Mrs Niven. Gaff sat in the chimney-corner of the "Boodwar" smoking his pipe and staring at Shrieky, which, having survived the voyage home, had been hung up in a cage in the little window, and was at that time engaged in calling loudly for Squeaky, who, having also survived the voyage, was grubbing up stones and mud at the front door. Mrs Gaff was seated opposite to him, with Tottie's head in her lap; for she still solaced herself by smoothing her hair. Billy was sitting on one of the six chairs whittling a piece of wood. "It's a bad business," said Gaff; "bad for everybody consarned; but wust for Mr Stuart." "An' his man," said Billy. "And Susan," said Tottie. "Gaff," said Mrs Gaff, "it's my advice to you to go up to the bank, ask them for a thousand pounds, (if they have as much in the shop at the time, if not, ye can take what they have, and call again for the rest), give it all to Miss Lizzie Gordon, and tell her to go and get married right off. We won't miss it, Gaff. In fact it seems to me that the more we give away the more we have to give. It's an _awful_ big fortin' we've comed into. But that's what I advise." "I doubt she wouldn't take it," said Gaff. "Oh yes, she would," cried his better half. Billy and Tottie being of the same opinion, Gaff laid aside his pipe, got out the tea-caddy, from which he took his cheque-book, and made Tottie write out a cheque for 1000 pounds, payable to Miss Lizzie Gordon. "She deserves it well o' me," observed Gaff, as he slowly printed his signature on the cheque, "for she gave me the Noo Testament, that's bin o' more valley to me than thousands o' gold an' silver--God bless her." The cheque was taken up and presented by Gaff on the following morning, but to the honest man's dismay, Lizzie declined it positively, though she accompanied her refusal with many earnest expressions of gratitude, and kissed the seaman's hard hand at parting. Gaff returned to the "Boodwar," lit his German pipe with the cheque, and said, "I _knowed_ she wouldn't tak' it--dear girl." Kenneth was standing in the bower at the foot of my garden, looking pensively on the distant landscape, which was bathed in the rich glow of the setting sun. His right arm embraced the slender waist of Lizzie-- his left encircled the shoulder of Emmie Graham. "We must have patience, darling," said Kenneth, with an effort at cheerfulness. "Our hopes were as bright as that lovely sky some days ago," said Lizzie. While she was speaking the sun descended behind a bank of heavy clouds. "And thus have our hopes gone down," murmured Kenneth sadly. "But, uncle," observed Emmie, "the sun is still shining behind the clouds." "Thank you, Emmie, for the comforting word," said Lizzie, "and our sun is indeed shining still." The trio left off contemplating the sky, and returned in improved spirits to Bingley Hall, where my strong-minded wife had just delivered herself of the following oration:-- "It's of no use talking to me," (she was right; I never found it to be of the least use to talk to her.) "Old Stuart is a monster--nobody will convince me to the contrary. I only wish I had the making of the laws, and I would have powerful cures got up for such as he. And his brother-in-law is no better--Crusty indeed, bad though it is, the name is too good for him. Don't interrupt me. He is _not_ like many of his neighbours, for he has had no provocation. The captain of dragoons has turned out a very good husband, and poor Bella is as happy with him as such a flirt could expect to be." I ventured to remark at this point that my wife was wandering from the subject from which she started, but she became extremely angry, and finally put me down and snuffed me out by assuring me that I had been born at least a generation before my time. Dan Horsey sat on the dresser of my kitchen, switching his boot with a riding-whip, and looking at Susan with an extremely melancholy expression of countenance. Susan was cleaning a silver tea-pot--her usual occupation when Dan was present. Cook--now resigned to her fate-- was sighing and peeling potatoes in the scullery. "Och! darlint, me heart's heavier than a cart o' coals," said Dan. "Bucephalus is to be sowld next week, and I'm to quit in a month!" Susan sighed. "To be sure, I'd aisy git another place, but in the meantime that'll put off our weddin', jewel, till I don' know when." Susan sighed again, and Dan hit his boot somewhat smartly, as if he were indignant with Fate. "But it's wus," continued Dan, "for masther an' Miss Gordon than for us, darlint--there, now, don't toss yer head, mavourneen, ye know we can git spliced av we like whenever I git a noo sitiwation; but masther can't well throw up the wan he's got, an' yit it won't kape him an' his wife. Och! worse luck! Av we could only diskiver a goold mine now, or somethin' o' that sort." "Well, I _am_ sorry for them," said Susan, with another sigh; "an' I'm sure I hope that we'll get over our troubles, all of us, though I don't see very well how." "Arrah! now, don't look so blue, me angel," said Dan, rising and putting his arm round Susan. "Me heart is lighter since I comed here and saw yer sweet face. Sure there's midcine in the glance o' yer purty blue eye. Come now, cheer up, an' I'll ventur a prophecy." "What may that be?" asked Susan with a smile. "That you and I shall be spliced before two months is out. See if we won't." Susan laughed; but Dan stoutly asserted that his prophecies always came true, and then, saying that he was the bearer of a letter to Miss Peppy, he bade Susan adieu, and took himself off. I turn now to Miss Puff, who happened about this time to be on a visit to us. She was seated one forenoon alone in the dining-room of Bingley Hall, when a loud ring came to the door-bell; a quick step was heard on the stair, and next moment the dining-room door burst open, and my son Gildart rushed into the room. Gildart was wonderfully changed since the day he had sailed for China. He had grown tall and stout. Moreover he had whiskers--not very bushy, perhaps, but, undeniable whiskers. "Hallo! Puff!" he exclaimed, rushing towards his old friend with the intention of kissing her; but when Miss Puff rose to receive him, he felt constrained to check himself. "Why, how you are grown, and _so_ changed!" he said, shaking her hand warmly. Miss Puff was indeed changed, so much so that her old friends who had not seen her for some time could scarcely have known her. She was no longer fat and inane. Her figure had become slim and graceful; her face had become expressive and remarkably pretty, and her manners were those of a well-bred and self-possessed lady. Gildart felt that he could no more have taken the liberties he had ventured on in former years than he could have flown. He soon became very chatty, however, and speedily began to question her in regard to his father and mother, (who, she told him, were not at home), and old friends. "And what of my friend Kenneth Stuart?" said he. "He is well, poor fellow," replied Miss Puff; "but he is in unhappy circumstances just now." Here she related the circumstances of the bank failure, and the evil consequences that followed, and were still pending over Kenneth and many of their other friends in Wreckumoft. "That's a sad business," said Gildart; "but I don't see how it can be mended. I fear me it is a case of `grin and bear it.' And your aunt, Miss Puff, what of the adorable Miss Flouncer?" "She is now Lady Doles." "You _don't_ say so! Well, I had given Sir Richard credit for more sense. How long is it since they married?" "About two years." "Is Sir Richard dead?" "No, why should you think so?" "Because if it had been me, I should have succumbed in three months. It's an awful thing to think of being married to a she-griffin." "She is my aunt, Mr Bingley," said Miss Puff. "Ah, to be sure, forgive me. But now I must go and search for my father. Adieu. Miss Puff--_au revoir_." Gildart left the room with a strange sensation of emptiness in his breast. "Why, surely--it _cannot_ be that I--I--am in love with that girl, that stupid, fat--but she's not stupid and not fat _now_. She's graceful and intelligent and pretty--absolutely beautiful; why, botheration, I _am_ in love or insane, perhaps both!" Thus soliloquising my son entered my study. The last conversation that I shall record, took place between Mr Stuart senior and Colonel Crusty. It occurred about two weeks after those conversations that have just been narrated. The colonel had been suddenly summoned to see his brother-in-law, "on his death-bed,"--so the epistle that summoned him had been worded by Miss Peppy. That dinner at which these two friends had enjoyed themselves so much happened to disagree with Mr George Stuart, insomuch that he was thrown into a bilious fever--turned as yellow as a guinea and as thin as a skeleton. He grew worse and worse. Wealth was at his command--so was everything that wealth can purchase; but although wealth procured the best of doctors in any number that the patient chose to order them, it could not purchase health. So Mr Stuart pined away. The doctors shook their heads and gave him up, recommending him to send for his clergyman. Mr Stuart scorned the recommendation at first; but as he grew worse he became filled with an undefinable dread, and at last did send for his pastor. As a big cowardly boy at school tyrannises over little boys and scoffs at fear until a bigger than he comes and causes his cheek to blanch, so Mr Stuart bullied and scorned the small troubles of life, and scoffed at the anxieties of religious folk until death came and shook his fist in his face; then he succumbed and trembled, and confessed himself, (to himself), to be a coward. One result of the clergyman's visit was that Mr Stuart sent for Colonel Crusty. "My dear Stuart," said the colonel, entering the sick man's room and gently taking his wasted hand which lay outside the counterpane, "I am distressed to find you so ill; bless me, how thin you are! But don't lose heart. I am quite sure you have no reason to despond. A man with a constitution like yours can pull through a worse illness than this. Come, cheer up and look at the bright side of things. I have seen men in hospital ten times worse than you are, and get better." Mr Stuart shook, or rather rolled, his head slowly on the pillow, and said in a weak voice-- "No, colonel, I am dying--at least the doctors say so, and I think they are right." "Nonsense, my dear fellow," returned the colonel kindly, "doctors are often mistaken, and many a man recovers after they have given him up." "Well, that may be or it may not be," said Mr Stuart with a sudden access of energy, "nevertheless I believe that I am a dying man, and I have sent for you on purpose to tell you that I am an ass--a consummate ass." "My dear Stuart," remonstrated the colonel, "really, you are taking a very warped view of--" "I--am--an--ass," repeated the sick man, interrupting his friend; "more than that, _you_ are an ass too, colonel." The colonel was a very pompous and stately man. He had not been honoured with his true title since he left school, and was therefore a good deal taken aback by the plain-speaking of his friend. He attributed the words, however, to the weak condition of Mr Stuart's mind, and attempted to quiet him, but he would not be quieted. "No, no, colonel; it's of no use trying to shut our eyes to the fact. You and I have set our hearts on the things of this world, and _I_ have now come to see that the man who does that is a fool." "My dear fellow," said the colonel soothingly, "it is bodily weakness that induces you to think so. Most people speak thus when they are seriously ill; but they invariably change their opinion when they get well again." "You are wrong, colonel. I am now convinced that they do _not_ change their opinions. They may change their _wills_, but their opinions _must_ remain the same. The conclusion which I have now come to has been forced upon me by cool, logical reasoning; and, moreover, it has more than once flashed upon me in the course of my life, but I shut my eyes to it. The approach of death has only opened them to see _very_ clearly what I was more than half aware of before. Do not suppose that I make this confession of my folly to you in order to propitiate the Deity. I do not for a moment expect that the God whom I have neglected all my life can be humbugged in this way. No, I have deliberately cast Him off in time past, and I recognise it as my due that He should cast _me_ off now. It is too late to repent, so I suppose that there is no hope for me." Mr Stuart paused here a few minutes. The shade of doubt expressed in his last words was occasioned by the recollection of the clergyman's assurance that it was _never_ too late to repent; that the finished work of Jesus Christ, (which leaves nothing for a man to do but to "believe and live"), would avail the sinner at the latest hour. The colonel sat gazing at his friend in silence. Presently the sick man resumed as though he had not paused:-- "Therefore what I say to you now is not intended as a propitiatory offering, but is the result of clear and calm conviction. Now listen to me, for I feel getting weak. Let me entreat you to forgive your daughter. Will you take that entreaty into earnest consideration? I do not ask you to promise. It is folly to make men promise what they don't want to do. The chances are that they'll break the promise. I only ask you to take this subject into your serious consideration. It is the request of a dying man. Will you grant it?" The colonel coughed, and looked troubled. "Colonel," said Mr Stuart, "I have forgiven Kenneth--that is to say, we are reconciled; for I can scarcely be said to forgive one who never offended me. The gladness that has ensued on that reconciliation is worth more to me than all the gold I ever made." "Stuart," said the colonel, somewhat suddenly, "I'll do what you ask." "Thank you; you're a good fellow. Squeeze my hand--there now, go away; I'll sleep for a little. Stay, perhaps, I may never waken; if so, farewell. You'll find a fire in the library if you choose to wait till it's over. God bless you." The sick man turned on his side with a sigh, and fell into a sleep so deep and quiet that the colonel left the room with some uncertainty as to whether his friend were still in the land of the living. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. If the reader would see a somewhat similar kitchen, let him visit the Sailors' Home, Well Street, London Docks. CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. CONCLUSION. Gladness is a source of life. It is probable that the joy which filled Mr Stuart's heart, in consequence of being reconciled to Kenneth, and having induced his brother-in-law to promise to consider the possibility of forgiving Bella, was the cause of a favourable turn in his malady. At all events he did recover, to the surprise of every one, and the utter discomfiture of the doctors who had given him up! The sentiments which Mr Stuart had expressed when, as was supposed, in a dying state, did not forsake him when he was restored to health, for, whereas in former days all his time, health, and wealth, were dedicated to himself, now they were all devoted to God. Mr Stuart's face, so to speak, had been turned south before his illness; after his illness it was turned north. There was no other change than this. He did not change his nature, nor did he change his pursuits. Even those of them which were sinful were not changed--they were given up. He did not cease to be an irascible man, but he fought against his temper, (which he had never done before), and so became less irascible. He did not give up his profession, but he gave up the evils which he had before permitted to cling to it. He did not cease to make money, but he ceased to hoard it, and devoted the money made to higher ends than heretofore. He did not think of the world and its affairs less, but he thought of his Maker more, and in so doing became a better man of the world than ever! Gloom and asceticism began to forsake him, because the Bible told him to "rejoice evermore." Philanthropy began to grow, because the Bible told him to "look not upon his own things, but upon the things of others." He had always been an energetic man, but he became more so now, because the Bible told him that "whatever his hand found to do, he ought to do it with his might." In short, Mr Stuart became a converted man, and there was no mystery whatever in his conversion. Great though its effects were, it was simply this,--that the Holy Spirit had enabled him to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ. Many results followed from this change in the old man. One of the first was that Kenneth and Lizzie Gordon were married, Bucephalus was not sold, and Dan Horsey was retained in the service of his young master. Miss Peppy came out very strong on that occasion of Kenneth's marriage. She laughed, and then she wept, and then, by way of variety, she did both at once. She kissed everybody that came within arm's-length of her, partly because her heart was very full, partly because her tears blinded her, so that she could not easily distinguish who was who. She made an effort once or twice to skip, and really, considering her age and infirmities, the efforts were wonderfully successful. She also sang a little; attempted to whistle, but failed, and talked straight on for several days without cessation, (except when asleep and at meals), the most extraordinary amount of nonsense that ever came from the lips of woman. True to their resolve, Dan Horsey and Susan Barepoles were married at the end of the same week. And it is worthy of remark that mad Haco danced at their wedding, and by so doing, shook to its foundation the building in which it occurred. Strange to say, my son, Lieutenant Bingley, arrived from China on the morning of the wedding, so that he had the unexpected pleasure of dancing at it too, and of chaffing Haco on being "done out of his daughter!" The "Boodwar" was the scene of the festivities at Dan's wedding. It was more; it was also the locality in which the honeymoon was spent. Mrs Gaff had insisted on taking a little jaunt to Ramsgate, with her husband, son, and daughter, in order that she might give up her abode to Dan and Susan, who were favourites with her. Thus it came to pass that when the festivities of the wedding drew to a close, the bride and bridegroom, instead of leaving their friends, were left by their friends in possession of the "Boodwar." It now remains for me, reader, to draw this veracious narrative to a close. My son Gildart married Miss Puff, and ultimately became a commander in the navy. My wife's strength of mind gave way before increasing years, and she finally became as gentle as she was when I first paid my addresses to her! Emmie Graham became a permanent inmate of Kenneth's home. The shock that she had sustained when Gaff saved her life told upon her constitution so severely that she fell into bad health, but there was a sunny cheerfulness of disposition about her which induced those with whom she came in contact to regard her as a sunbeam. Lady Doles became stronger-minded day by day, and finally reduced Sir Richard to the condition of a mere human machine, with just enough spirit left to enable him to live and do her bidding. Colonel Crusty forgave Bella, and, as is not infrequently the case in similar circumstances, he and his son-in-law the major, (for he rose to that rank), became bosom friends. When the latter retired on half-pay they all took up their abode in Wreckumoft. Kenneth retained his old post, for, although independent of its salary, he would not eat the bread of idleness. As Secretary to the Sailors' Home he frequently met me while I was going about in my capacity of honorary agent of the Shipwrecked Mariners' Society. Billy Gaff went to sea, and ultimately became captain of an East Indiaman, to his mother's unspeakable delight. Gaff and his wife and Tottie remained in the "Boodwar" for many years. They did not find their fortune too much for them, being guided in the use thereof by the Bible. In regard to the state of things that had come about, Miss Peppy used to say confidentially, to Mrs Niven, that she never knew anything like it. It beat all the novels she had ever read, not that she had read novels much, although some of them were good as well as bad, but she felt that too many of them were hurtful; of course, she meant if taken immoderately, but people were always taking things _so_ immoderately. How could it be otherwise in a world where surprise was the chronic condition of the mind, and events were always happening in a way that led one to expect that everything would likely turn out in a manner that was most improbable, if not impossible, which she wouldn't wonder at, for it was enough to fill the lower animals themselves with amazement to see the way in which scissors and thimbles and keys worried people whose whole beings ought to be bent on far higher matters--not to mention people being left at other people's doors by people whom one didn't know at the time, but came to know afterwards, as well as--dear! dear! it was of no use talking; for things had gone on so, no doubt, ever since Adam and Eve walked about in Eden, and doubtless things would continue to go on so, more or less, to the end of time. THE END. 
16476	----	THE ROVER BOYS ONLAND AND SEA or The Crusoes of the Seven Islands by Arthur M Winfield CONTENTS I. The Rover Boys on San Francisco II. The Turning up of Dan Baxter III. A Discovery and What Followed IV. Good Times at Santa Barbara V. On Board the Yacht VI. Adrift on the Pacific Ocean VII. Dismaying News VIII. From One Ship to Another IX. In Which the Enemy Is Cornered X. A Blow in the Darkness XI. A Call from the Stern XII. Another Accident at Sea XIII. The Crusoes of Seven Islands XIV. Settling Down on the Island XV. Another Castaway Brought to Light XVI. Sam and the Shark XVII. Exploring the Seven Islands XVIII. Unexpected Visitors XIX. Hot Words and Blows XX. The Mate Tries to Take Command XXI. The Attack on the Wreck XXII. A Heavy Tropical Storm XXIII. What Happened on the Bay XXIV. In Close Quarters XXV. Trying to Come to Terms XXVI. The Cave on the Island XXVII. A fight with a Wild Beast XXVIII. The Burning of the Wreck XXX. The Defense of the Cave--Saved! INTRODUCTION. MY DEAR BOYS: "The Rover Boys on Land and Sea," is a complete story in itself, but forms the seventh volume of the "Rover Boys Series for Young Americans." As I mentioned in a previous volume of this series, when I began this set of books I had in mind to write no more than three volumes, relating the adventures of Dick, Tom, and Sam Rover, at home, at school, and elsewhere. But the publication of "The Rover Boys at School," "The Rover Boys on the Ocean," and "The Rover Boys in the Jungle," immediately called for more stories of the same sort, so year after year I have followed with "The Rover Boys out West," "The Rover Boys on the Great Lakes," "The Rover Boys in the Mountains," and now the volume before you, which relates the adventures of the three brothers, and some of their friends and enemies, on the sea and on a number of far away islands, where, for a time, all lead a sort of Robinson Crusoe life. In writing this tale I had in mind not alone to please my young readers, but also to give them a fair picture of life on the ocean as it is to-day, in distinction to what it was years ago, and also to acquaint the boys and girls with some of the beauties of those mid-ocean lands which are generally, so strange to all of us. The boys see much that is new, novel, and pleasing--new fruits, new flowers, new animals--and have often to use their wits to the utmost, to get themselves out of serious difficulty and also to make themselves, and those under their protection, comfortable. Once again I thank my young friends for the interest they have shown in my previous stories. I trust that all who peruse this volume will find it equally to their liking. Affectionately and sincerely yours, ARTHUR M. WINFIELD. THE ROVER BOYS ON LAND AND SEA CHAPTER I THE ROVER BOYS IN SAN FRANCISCO "Well, Dick, here we are in San Francisco at last." "Yes, Tom, and what a fine large city it is." "We'll have to take care, or we'll get lost," came from a third boy, the youngest of the party. "Just listen to Sam!" cried Tom Rover. "Get lost! As if we weren't in the habit of taking care of ourselves." "Sam is joking," came from Dick Rover. "Still we might get lost here as well as in New York or any other large city." "Boston is the place to get lost in," said Tom Rover. "Got streets that curve in all directions. But let us go on. Where is the hotel?" "I'm sure I don't know," came from Sam Rover. "Cab! carriage! coupe!" bawled a cabman standing near. "Take you anywhere you want to go, gents." "How much to take the three of us to the Oakland House?" "Take you there for a dollar, trunks and all." "I'll go you," answered Dick Rover. "Come on, I'll see that you get the right trunks." "I think we are going to have some good times while we are on the Pacific coast," observed Tom Rover, while he and Sam were waiting for Dick and the cabman to return. "I shan't object to a good time," replied Sam. "That is what we came for." "Before we go back I am going to have a sail up and down the coast." "To be sure, Tom. Perhaps we can sail down to Santa Barbara. That is a sort of Asbury Park and Coney Island combined, so I have been told." Dick Rover and the cabman soon returned. The trunks were piled on the carriage and the boys got in, and away they bowled from the station in the direction of the Oakland House. It was about ten o'clock of a clear day in early spring. The boys had reached San Francisco a few minutes before, taking in the sights on the way. Now they sat up in the carriage taking in more sights, as the turnout moved along first one street and then another. As old readers of this series know, the Rover boys were three in number, Dick being the oldest, fun-loving Tom next, and sturdy-hearted Sam the youngest. They were the only offspring of Anderson Rover, a former traveler and mine-owner, who, at present, was living with his brother Randolph and his sister-in-law Martha, on their beautiful farm at Valley Brook, in the heart of New York State. During the past few years the Rover boys had had numerous adventures, so many, in fact, that they can scarcely be hinted at here. While their father was in the heart of Africa, their Uncle Randolph had sent them off to Putnam Hall Academy. Here they had made many friends among the boys and also among some folks living in the vicinity, including Mrs. Stanhope and her daughter Dora, a girl who, according to Dick Rover's idea, was the sweetest creature in the whole world. They had also made some enemies, the worst of the number being Dan Baxter, a fellow who had been the bully of the school, but who was now a homeless wanderer on the face of the earth. Baxter came from a disreputable family, his father having at one time tried to swindle Mr. Rover out of a rich gold mine in the West. The elder Baxter was now in prison suffering the penalty for various crimes. A term at school had been followed by an exciting chase on the ocean, and then by a trip through the jungle of Africa, whence the Rover boys had gone to find their long-lost father. After this the boys made a trip West to establish their parent's claim to the gold mine just mentioned, and this was followed by a grand trip on the Great Lakes in which the boys suffered not a little at the hands of the Baxters. On an island on one of the lakes the Rover boys found a curious casket and this, on being opened, proved to contain some directions for locating a treasure secreted in the heart of the Adirondack Mountains. "We must locate that treasure," said Tom Rover, and off they started for the mountains, and did locate it at last, but not before Dan Baxter had done everything in his power to locate it ahead of them. When they finally outwitted their enemy, Dan Baxter had disappeared, and that was the last they had seen of him for some time. The Rover boys had expected to return to Putnam Hall and their studies immediately after the winter outing in the Adirondacks, but an unexpected happening at the institution of learning made them change their plans. Three pupils were taken down with scarlet fever, and rather than run the risk of having more taken sick, Captain Victor Putnam had closed up the Academy for the time being, and sent the pupils to their homes. "The boys will have to go to some other school," their Aunt Martha had said, but one and another had murmured at this, for they loved Captain Putnam too well to desert him so quickly. "Let us wait a few months," had been Dick's suggestion. "Let us study at home," had come from Sam. "Let us travel," Tom had put in. "Travel broadens the mind." He loved to be "on the go" all the time. The matter was talked over for several days, and Tom begged that they might take a trip across the continent and back, using some of the money derived from the old treasure. At last Anderson Rover consented; and two days later the three boys were off, going by way of New York City, on the Chicago Limited. They had spent two days in the great city by the lakes, and then come direct to the Golden Gate city. "I wonder if we will meet anybody we know while we are out here," said Tom, as the carriage continued on its way. "If we get down to Santa Barbara I think we'll meet somebody," answered Dick, and he blushed just a trifle. "I got a letter in Chicago, as you know. It was from Dora Stanhope, and she said that she and her mother were traveling again and expected to go either to Santa Barbara or Los Angeles. Her mother is not well again, and the doctor thought the air on the Pacific coast might benefit her." "Oh, my, but won't Dick have an elegant time, if he falls in with Dora!" cried Sam. "Tom, we won't be in it." "Now don't you start to tease me," returned Dick, his face redder than ever. "I guess Dora always gave you a good time, too." "That's right, she did," said Tom. And then he added: "Did she say anything about the Lanings?" For the Laning girls, Nellie and Grace, were cousins to Dora Stanhope, and Tom and Sam thought almost as much of them as Dick did of Dora. "To be sure she did," replied Dick. "But I guess it's--well, it's a secret." "A secret!" shouted Sam. "Not much, Dick! Let us in on it at once!" "Yes, do!" put in Tom. "But it may prove a disappointment." "We'll chance it," returned Tom. "Well then, Dora wrote that if she and her mother could find a nice cottage at Los Angeles or Santa Barbara they were going to invite Nellie and Grace to come out and keep house with them for six months or so." "Hurrah!" cried Sam enthusiastically. "I hope they come. If they do, won't the six of us just have boss times!" And his face glowed with anticipation. "We can certainly have good times if Mrs. Stanhope's health will permit," said Dick. "Here we are at the hotel." He uttered the last words as the carriage came to a stop at the curb. He leaped out and so did the others; and a few minutes later found them safe and sound in the hotel. They were assigned to a large room on the third floor, and hither they made their way, followed by their trunks, and then began to wash and dress up, preparatory to going down to the dining room, for the journeying around since breakfast had made them hungry. "I think I am going to like San Francisco," said Tom, as he was adjusting a fresh collar and gazing out of the window at the same time. "Everything looks so bright and clean." "They have some pretty tall buildings here, the same as in Chicago and New York," came from Dick, as he, too, gazed out of the window. "Oh, all the big cities are a good deal alike," put in Sam, who was drying his face on a towel. "San Francisco is a mighty rich place," continued Tom. "They are too rich even to use pennies. It's five cents here, or a bit there, or two bits for this and two bits for that. I never heard a quarter called two bits in New York." "I've been told that is a Southern expression, and one used in the West Indies," said Dick. "The early Californians--My gracious!" Dick broke off short and leaned far out of the window, which they had opened to let in the fresh spring air. "What's up?" queried Tom. "Don't fall out." And he caught his elder brother by the arm. "I must have been mistaken. But it did look like him," said Dick slowly. "Look like whom?" asked Sam, joining the pair. "Dan Baxter." "Dan Baxter! Here?" shouted the others. "I am pretty sure it was Dan Baxter." "Where is he?" asked Tom. "He is gone now--he just disappeared around the hotel corner." "Well, if it really was Dan Baxter, we want to keep our eyes open," was Sam's comment. CHAPTER II THE TURNING UP OF DAN BAXTER The boys were very curious concerning their old enemy, and on going below took a walk around several squares in the vicinity, in the hope of meeting the individual who had attracted Dick's attention. But the search proved unsuccessful, and they returned to the hotel and went to dinner, with a larger appetite than ever. "It would be queer if we met Dan Baxter out here," said Tom, while they were eating. "He seems to get on our heels, no matter where we go. "If he came to San Francisco first, he'll think we have been following him up," said Sam. "He must have come here before we did," said Dick. "Our arrival dates back but three hours," and he grinned. The meal over the boys took it easy for a couple of hours, and then prepared to go out and visit half a dozen points of interest and also purchase tickets for a performance at one of the leading theaters in the evening. As they crossed the lobby of the hotel they almost ran into a big, burly young fellow who was coming in the opposite direction. "Dan Baxter!" ejaculated Dick. "Then I was right after all." The burly young fellow stared first at Dick and then the others in blank amazement. He carried a dress-suit case, and this dropped from his hand to the floor. "Whe--where did yo--you come from?" he stammered at last. "I guess we can ask the same question," said Tom coldly. "Been following me, have you?" sneered Dan Baxter, making an effort to recover his self-possession. "No, we haven't been following you," said Sam. "Supposing you tell us how it happens that you are here?" "Suppose you tell us how it happens that you are here," came from Dick. "That is my business." "Our business is our own, too, Dan Baxter." "You followed me," growled the big bully, his face darkening. "I know you and don't you forget it." "Why should we follow you?" said Tom. "We got the best of you over that treasure in the Adirondacks." "Oh, you needn't blow. Remember the old saying, 'He laughs best who laughs last.' I aint done with you yet--not by a long shot." "Well, let me warn you to keep your distance," said Dick sternly. "If you don't, you'll regret it. We have been very easy with you in the past, but if you go too far, I, for one, will be for putting you where your father is, in prison." "And I say the same," said Tom. "Ditto here," came from Sam. At these words a look of bitter hatred crossed Dan Baxter's face. He clenched his fists and breathed hard. "You can brag when you are three to one," he cried fiercely. "But wait, that's all. My father would be a free man if it wasn't for you. Wait, and see what I do!" And so speaking he caught up his dress-suit case, swung around on his heel, and left the hotel before anybody could stop him. "He's the same old Baxter," said Tom, with a long sigh. "Always going to square up." "I think he is more vindictive than he used to be," observed Sam. "When Dick spoke about his father being in prison he looked as if he would like to strangle the lot of us." "Well, I admit it would be rough on any ordinary boy to mention the fact that his father was in prison," said Dick. "But we all know, and Dan Baxter himself knows, that one is about as wicked as the other. The only thing that makes Arnold Baxter's case worse is that he is old enough to know better." "So is Dan old enough to know better," was Tom's comment. "I believe he was coming here to get accommodations," said Dick. "If he was, that would tend to prove that he had just arrived in San Francisco, Dick." "True. But he may have been in this vicinity, perhaps in Oakland, Alameda, or some other nearby town." "What do you suppose could have brought him here?" "That's a conundrum. Maybe he thought the East was getting too hot to hold him." "I wish we knew where he was going." "Let us see if we can follow him up." But to follow Dan Baxter up was out of the question, as they speedily discovered when they stepped out on the sidewalk. People were hurrying in all directions, and the bully had been completely swallowed up in the crowd. "We must watch out," said Dick. "Now he knows we are here he will try to do us harm, mark my words." The walk that afternoon proved full of interest, and in the evening they went to see a performance of a light opera at the Columbia Theater. The performance gave them a good deal of pleasure. "Quarter past eleven!" exclaimed Dick, when they were coming away. "That's the time we got our money's worth." "I thought it must be late," said Tom. "I was getting hungry. Let us get a bite of something before we go back to the hotel." The others were willing, and they entered a nearby restaurant and seated themselves at one of the tables. As they did this, a person who had been following them stopped at the door to peer in after them. The person was Dan Baxter. "They are going to dine before retiring," he muttered to himself. "The Old Nick take the luck! They have all the good times, while I have only the bad!" Dan Baxter had followed the boys from the hotel to the theater and had also waited around for them to come out. He wanted to "square up" with them, but had no definite plan of action, and was trusting to luck for something to turn up in his favor. He had drifted to the West for a double reason. The one was, as the boys had surmised, because the East seemed to be getting too hot to hold him. His second reason was that he hoped to get passage on some vessel bound for Sydney, Australia. He had a distant relative in Australia, and thought that if he could only see that relative personally he might be able to get some money. He was nearly out of funds, and so far the relative, although rich, had refused to send any money by mail or express. "They have everything they want, while I have nothing," he went on savagely. "And they don't deserve it, either. Oh, how I wish I could wring their necks for 'em!" Suddenly an idea struck him and without waiting for the boys to come out of the restaurant he hopped on board of a street car running in the direction of the Oakland House. Entering the hotel office he asked to look at the register. "Room 324," he said to himself. "That is on the third floor, I suppose, since they generally start a new hundred for every floor. Wonder if I can get up without being noticed?" He watched his chance, and slipping past the bell boys, made his way up the stairs, which, on account of the elevators, were but little used. In a few minutes he was in front of the door to Room 324. He tried it cautiously, to find it locked. "Now if only the keys will work," he muttered, breathing hard, and taking a bunch of keys from his pocket he tried them, one after another. He had tried four keys without success, when he saw a waiter approaching with a trayful of good things for a late supper in a nearby apartment. At once he moved away down the hallway and did not return until the servant had disappeared from view. He had five other keys and the third fitted the lock, although rather crudely; so crudely in fact that once the lock bolt was turned the key could not be withdrawn. "That's bad," he thought. "But as it cannot be helped I'll have to make the best of it. I mustn't stay here too long," and going into the room he closed the door after him. There was a faint light burning at one of the gas jets and this he turned up, and pulled down the shades of the windows. Then he gazed swiftly around the large room, noting the boys' trunks and traveling bags and several articles of wearing apparel scattered about. "Oh, if only I can find what I am after," he muttered. "But more than likely they carry their money with them, or else they left it at the hotel office." All of the trunks and traveling bags were locked, and to force the trunks open seemed at first impossible. One of the traveling bags was slit open with a sharp pocket-knife the bully carried and the contents emptied on one of the beds. "Not much that I want," muttered Dan Baxter, as he gazed at the collection. Then a jewel case caught his eye and he opened it. "A diamond stud and a diamond scarf pin! Not so bad, after all!" And he transferred the jewelry to his pocket. A second later he came upon a bunch of keys. They proved to belong to the trunks and bags, and soon he had the trunks open and the contents scattered in all directions. Then he went down on his knees, examining everything brought to light. It must be confessed that he was in a fever of excitement. The Rover boys might return at any moment, and he knew full well that to be caught would mean a term in prison. He kept his ears on the alert while his heart thumped loudly within his bosom. "A pocketbook at last!" he cried softly, and snatched it up. One look showed him a, small pile of five and ten-dollar bills, exactly two hundred and seventy-five dollars in all. Then he found another jewel case, and from it extracted a second diamond stud and a pair of very fine cuff buttons. "That is all I guess I can get," he muttered, as he stood up. "But I might as well take a new outfit while I am at it," he added, and picked up several articles of wearing apparel. These he stuffed in one of the bags which had not been cut, and around it put a small strap. Tiptoeing his way to the door, he opened it and listened. Nobody was within hearing or sight. But as he stepped out, the waiter he had before seen came once more into view, this time carrying a tray with some bottles and a box of cigars. The waiter eyed him curiously again, but said nothing. "Too bad he saw me, but it can't be helped," thought Dan Baxter, and made his way downstairs with all possible speed. Once in the lower hall he lost no time in gaining the street. In another moment he was swallowed up in the darkness of the night. CHAPTER III A DISCOVERY AND WHAT FOLLOWED "Hullo, what does this mean? Here is a key in the door." It was Dick Rover who spoke. He stood in the hallway of the hotel, and beside him were Tom and Sam. They had eaten rather heartily at the restaurant and taken more time than they had anticipated. "I didn't leave the key there," came from Tom. "Here it is," and he brought it out of his pocket. "I meant to leave it at the desk, but it slipped my mind." Dick found the door open and walked into the room, followed by his brothers. Baxter had extinguished the gas and they stood in the dark until Sam found a match and lit up. Then a cry went up from all three: "We have been robbed!" "This is some sneak thief's work," came from Dick. "Run down and tell the hotel clerk at once." Tom bolted from the room and went down the stairs three steps at a time. The clerk sat dozing in his chair and was roused up with difficulty. But as soon as he realized that something was wrong he was wide-awake. "A robbery, eh?" he queried. "What have you lost?" "We've got to find that out," answered Tom. In less than a quarter of an hour they knew the extent of their loss--three diamonds and a pair of cuff buttons, in all worth over two hundred dollars, and two hundred and seventy-five dollars in cash--not to mention a ruined valise and one missing, and the loss of a light overcoat, some silk handkerchiefs and some underwear. "A total loss of over five hundred dollars," said Tom. At this the hotel clerk gave a long whistle. "As much as that?" "Yes," said Dick. "We must get on the track of the thief, and without delay." "I reckon I know the thief," said Sam. "You think it was Dan Baxter?" questioned his elder brother. "I do." "Perhaps you are right. But there is no proof that he did it." The hotel clerk found the windows closed and locked. "The thief came in and went out by the door," he said. "The hall boys or somebody else must have seen him. This key is stuck in the lock, which proves that it is not a regular hotel key." Without delay the story of the robbery was telephoned to the nearest police station, and soon two detectives appeared. By this time some of the servants noticed that something was wrong, and the waiter who had seen Dan Baxter come in and go out told his story, to which the boys, the hotel clerk, and the detectives listened with interest. "Tell us just how that fellow looked," said Dick, and the waiter gave a very good description of the person he had seen. "I imagine Sam is right," said Dick. "If it wasn't Dan Baxter it was his double." Upon hearing this the hotel clerk and the detectives insisted upon knowing who Dan Baxter was, and the boys told as much of the bully as they deemed necessary. "Of course, if he is guilty the chances are that he will leave San Francisco as soon as possible," said one of the detectives. "The best we can do is to try to head him off." "And we'll do our best to find him, too," added Tom. "I think the hotel ought to be responsible for this robbery," said Dick. "You didn't leave your key at the desk when you went out," cried the hotel clerk, struck by a sudden idea. "What of that?" asked Tom. "That makes the guest responsible." "What!" cried Tom, aghast. "We are responsible only when the key is left at the desk. And jewels must be left for keeping in one of our safes," went on the clerk. "There are our rules," and he pointed to the printed form tacked on the inside of the door. "Don't let us talk about that just now," said one of the detectives. "I think we can get hold of this thief, and if we are quick about it we'll get everything he took, too." The matter was talked over for a quarter of an hour longer and then the detectives went off to make their report and to follow on the trail of Dan Baxter, if such a thing was possible. It must be confessed that the three Rover boys slept but little that night. The loss of the cash was something of a serious matter to them, even though they still possessed a hundred odd dollars in cash between them, and could easily telegraph home for more. More than this, the diamonds and cuff buttons had been gifts of which they were very proud. "And to think that Dan Baxter should get them," said Tom. "I wouldn't feel half so bitter if it had been just some ordinary sneak thief." And the others said the same. Two days went by and nothing was learned concerning Dan Baxter further than that he had put up at the Montgomery Hotel for one night and had left early in the morning. "He is hundreds of miles away from here by this time," said Dick sadly. "He said he would get square, and I guess he has done it," returned Tom. But Dan Baxter had not gotten as far as they supposed. He was in hiding in Oakland, across the bay, having pawned the diamonds at a pawn-broker's of shady reputation for seventy-five dollars. This gave him three hundred and fifty dollars in cash, which made him, for the time being, feel quite rich. But he was afraid to take a train to some other town, and so remained in the boarding house for nearly a week, under the assumed name of Robert Brown. At the end of the fifth day Dan Baxter became acquainted with a seafaring man named Jack Lesher. Lesher was a rough fellow, who had sailed to many ports on the Pacific Ocean. He had now obtained the position of first mate on a large schooner which was to sail in a few days from San Francisco to several ports in Australia. "I'd like to go on that trip to Australia," said Baxter, thinking of his distant relative. "Do you want a passenger?" "I'll see about it, my hearty," replied Jack Lesher, and on the following day said that Captain Blossom would take him for an even hundred dollars. A bargain was struck at once, and Dan Baxter went on board of the schooner _Golden Wave_ that afternoon. "I'm glad I am out of it," he told himself, when snug on board of the craft. "I'll get to Australia after all, and I'm considerably richer than I thought I would be. More than that, I've got in on those Rover boys in a way they won't forget in a hurry." While the detectives looked for the thief, the boys had small heart to go sight-seeing. Every time they, went out they looked for Dan Baxter. "If only I could meet him!" cried Tom. "Oh, but wouldn't I just punch him good before I passed him over to a policeman." During those days the lads received several letters from home, and also three communications from the Stanhopes and the Lanings. "The Stanhopes have gone to Santa Barbara," announced Dick, after perusing an epistle from Dora. "And she says her mother is slightly better." "Nellie Laning is coming out, and so is Grace," said Tom. "When?" questioned Dick. "They have already started, according to the letter I have," put in Sam. "Boys, I think we can have just the jolliest time ever was when the girls are all together." "Right you are," came from Tom. "What a pity we had to have that robbery to darken our fun." "I am not going to let it darken my fun," said Dick. "Don't worry but what some day we'll get the best of Dan Baxter. That stolen stuff will never do him much good." The very next morning came word from the detectives. One of them called at the hotel. "I am afraid the case is queered," said he. "We tracked the rascal to Oakland, and now it looks as if he had given us the slip for good." "Can't you find any trace of him?" questioned Sam. "Oh, yes! but he has shipped on a vessel which is bound for Australia, and as she is already two days out of port he is out of our reach." "You are certain he went on that vessel?" cried Tom. "Yes. He went as a passenger, under the name of Robert Brown." "And did he take the jewels and money with him?" "More than likely. At any rate, we can find no trace of the jewels." "Then that chase is done for," said Dick, "and we shall have to pocket our loss." The detective was chagrined to think that he had tracked Dan Baxter only to lose him, and promised to see if anything more could be done in the matter. But nothing could be done, as there was no telling when the Golden Wave would arrive at Australia, and what port the craft would first make. "We have seen the last of Dan Baxter," said Sam. But the youngest Rover was mistaken. They were to meet the bully again, and under circumstances as astonishing as they were perilous. CHAPTER IV GOOD TIMES AT SANTA BARBARA "What a land of plenty!" It was Tom who made the remark. The Rover boys were on their way to Santa Barbara, after having spent three weeks at San Francisco and vicinity. They had received word that Dora Stanhope and her mother and the two Laning girls were at the fashionable watering place, and they were anxious to meet their old friends. On sped the luxurious train, over hills and through the valleys, past heavy woodlands and by rich fruit farms. It was a scene which interested them greatly, and they never tired of sitting at the windows, gazing out. Presently the car door opened and a tall young fellow, carrying a valise, stepped inside and walked down the aisle. As he came closer Dick Rover leaped up. "Bob Sutter!" he cried, with a smile of pleasure. "Who would ever dream of meeting you out here?" "Is it really Dick Rover?" questioned the newcomer, as he shook hands. "And Tom and Sam, too! I must be dreaming. Is Putnam Hall on its travels?" "We are on our travels," replied Tom, also shaking hands, followed by Sam. "But what are you doing here?" Bob Sutter, a former scholar at Putnam Hall, smiled broadly. "I live in California now. My father is interested in real estate in Los Angeles, Ventura, and Santa Barbara. Our home is in Santa Barbara." "That is where we are going," came from Sam. "What are you doing just traveling around?" "Yes; we thought we'd put in time until the Hall opens again." "I heard it had been closed. Too bad! If you are going to Santa Barbara, you must call and see me by all means," went on Bob Sutter. "To be sure we will," said Tom, and his brothers nodded. "We were going down there now to call on the Stanhopes," said Dick. "They have come here for the benefit of Mrs. Stanhope's health, and Nellie and Grace Laning are with them. I guess you know them all." "I know the Laning girls, and I think I did meet Miss Stanhope once--at a football game. I'll be glad to meet them again. But tell me about yourselves." Bob Sutter sat down, and soon all were talking at a lively rate. The newcomer was astonished to hear of the doings of Dan Baxter. "The Baxters always were a hard crowd," he said. "I hope you'll get back your stuff some time." It was late at night when Santa Barbara was reached, yet many of the hotels were a blaze of light from top to bottom. At the depot the Rover boys parted with Bob Sutter, but promised to call upon him in a day or two. "I've got a fine yacht," said Bob Sutter. "Some time I want to take you for a trip." "Just what we were wishing for!" cried Tom. "Just name your time, that's all." "How will next Monday suit?" "Will your yacht hold us?" asked Sam. "The Old Glory will hold ten passengers on a pinch," answered Bob Sutter. "Then you don't sail the craft alone." "I can sail her in fair weather. But father makes me take an old sailor named Jerry Tolman along with me. Jerry is a character--a regular old salt, and I love to have his company. And that makes me think! Why can't we make up a party and go out? You can bring the three girls you are going to visit, and I can bring my cousin, Mary Parloe." "Now you are talking!" shouted Sam. "What a jolly trip it will be!" The proposal met with immediate approval, and it was decided that the boys should meet not later than Saturday afternoon to complete arrangements. The Rover boys had received word that Mrs. Stanhope had rented a furnished cottage not far from one of the leading hotels. The lady was very nervous, and did not like too much noise and confusion about her. Meals were brought in from the hotel, which made it very pleasant. When the three boys drove up in a carriage from the depot, three girls came rushing out to greet them. The three were Dora Stanhope and her two cousins, Nellie and Grace Laning. "So here you are at last!" cried Dora Stanhope, as she gave Dick's hand a tight squeeze. "We almost made up our mind you had missed the train," said Nellie Laning to Tom, giving him a bright smile as she spoke. "How fine you are looking," said Grace to Sam. "Traveling must agree with you." "Traveling does agree with us," said Sam. "We would have been here sooner, only we stopped to talk to an old schoolmate," said Dick, and then he told about Bob Sutter. "Oh, I remember Bob Sutter," said Nellie. "We went on a straw-ride together once--before you came to Putnam Hall," she added, to Tom. "I know him, too," put in Grace. "He's a nice boy." "Of course he is," said Sam pointedly. "But he isn't as nice as some boys," went on Grace in a lower tone, and giving Sam an arch smile that made him feel very happy. They were soon in the cottage and greeting Mrs. Stanhope, who had been lying on a couch. The lady greeted them in a motherly way that made them feel more at home than ever. She thought a great deal of the Rover boys, and especially of Dick, and did not object in the least to the marked attention Dick bestowed upon her only child. As my old readers know, the Rover boys had, in the past, done mother and daughter more than one valuable service. The boys were fortunate in obtaining rooms in the hotel close to the cottage, which would make it possible for them to run in and out as they pleased. "It's like old times to be together again," said Tom, when he and his brothers were retiring that night. "And, as Mrs. Stanhope is feeling so well, I guess we can have lots of fun." And fun they did have. There were bathing in the surf, and lawn tennis, and dancing at the hotel in the evening, and also lovely walks and drives, and once they went out on horseback to a large fruit farm some miles away, and were royally entertained by some of Bob Sutter's friends. Bob Sutter and his cousin, Mary Parloe, went along, and proved first-class company. The idea of a trip on Bob's yacht suited everybody, and it was decided that the whole party should go out early Monday morning, taking old Jerry Tolman with them. They were to load down well with provisions and visit not only several points along the coast, but also one or two of the islands lying twenty-five to thirty miles south of Santa Barbara. The Rover boys had already inspected the Old Glory and found her to be a first-class yacht in every respect. The craft was about sixty feet in length and correspondingly broad of beam. She carried a tall mast, but the lead in her keel was amply sufficient to keep her from going over unless under full sail in a very heavy wind. The cabin was fairly large and richly furnished, for the Sutters were a family of means, and desired everything of the best. If the boys liked the yacht they also liked the man who had charge of her, bluff and hearty Jerry Tolman--Captain Jerry, as Bob Sutter called him. He was truly an old salt, having sailed the ocean since his tenth year, on both whalers and merchantmen. Captain Jerry lacked a book education, but he was naturally shrewd, and far from being a fool. "Downright glad to meet ye, my hearties," he said, when the boys were brought on board. And he gave each hand a grip like that of iron. "Want to look over my lady, eh? Well, she's a putty one to inspect, take my word on't." And he showed them over the craft with pleasure. They found the yacht clean "as a whistle," and each particular bit of brasswork polished like a mirror. By Saturday evening all was ready for the trip. On Sunday morning the Rover boys went to church with the Stanhopes and the Lanings, and rested in the afternoon. They were just about to go to supper, when a note came for Dick. It was from Bob Sutter, and ran as follows: "MY DEAR DICK: My cousin and I have been in an accident. We went driving to church this morning and the horse ran away and threw us both out on the rocks. Miss Parloe had her collar bone broken, and I broke my left ankle. Kindly come and see me if you can." "An accident!" cried Tom. "That is too bad." "Let us all go and see him," suggested Sam, and this plan was carried out. They found that Bob Sutter was resting easily on his bed. The doctor had set the broken ankle, and put it in plaster, and he had told Bob that he must keep quiet for several weeks. "This ends that yacht trip, so far as I am concerned," said Bob ruefully. "Never mind, we can wait until you get well," said Dick cheerfully, although he did not expect' to remain at Santa Barbara more than ten days longer. "No, I don't want you to wait," answered Bob Sutter. "My cousin won't be well, so they tell me, for several months, and I won't want to go without her. I've been thinking that you had better take the trip without us. Captain Jerry can easily run the yacht with your aid." "That's very kind of you," said Tom. "But we'd rather have you along." The matter was talked over for an hour. The Rover boys knew that Dora, Nellie, and Grace would be sorely disappointed if the yacht trip was given up. At last they decided to accept Bob Sutter's kind suggestion and make the trip without the company of the young owner and his cousin; and then they withdrew, wishing Bob a speedy recovery. CHAPTER V ON BOARD OF THE YACHT "What a glorious day for the trip!" "We are going to turn real sailors, aren't we?" "Can't I help pull up a sail or something, Tom?" Such were the remarks of Dora, Nellie, and Grace as they boarded the Old Glory early on Monday morning. The boys and Captain Jerry were there to receive them, having arrived an hour before, to see that all the provisions were stowed away, and that the craft was in prime condition for sailing. By a curious combination of circumstances Bob Sutter had ordered far more provisions than were necessary for such a short trip, but Captain Jerry had found a place for everything, remarking that they might come in useful after all, but never dreaming how useful, as later events were to prove. Mrs. Stanhope had come down in a carriage to see them off. She kissed all of the girls an affectionate good-by. "Have a good time," she said. "And be sure and come back safe and sound." "Don't ye worry but what I'll bring 'em back safe enough, ma'am," said Captain Jerry, as he tipped his cap respectfully. When the girls were safe on board, the boys waved an adieu to Mrs. Stanhope. Then they ranged up in a row in front of old Jerry and each touched his forelock and gave a hitch to his trowser leg. "Ready for orders, cap'n," they said, in unison, having practiced this little by-play in secret. "Wh--what?" stammered Captain Jerry, gazing at them in bewilderment. "Ready for orders, sir," they said. "Shall we shake out the mainsail?" asked Dick. "Shall I hoist the jib?" came from Tom. "Can I set the topsail, captain?" put in Sam. "Well, by the son o' Neptune!" gasped Captain Jerry. "Got a real, generwine crew, aint I? All right, my hearties, I'll set ye to work fast enough." And then followed a string of orders in true nautical style, and the Rover boys flew in one direction and another to execute them. Up went the mainsail and the jib, and the top-sail followed, and soon the Old Glory was standing off into Santa Barbara Channel, with Mrs. Stanhope in the carriage waving them an adieu, and the girls and the boys waving their handkerchiefs in return. It certainly was a glorious day, as Dora had said, and after the sails were set, there was nothing to do but to take it easy on the cushions of the rail seats. Captain Jerry was at the wheel, but he promised to let each of them "take a trick" in his place before the trip should come to an end. "I jest wish we had another yacht to race with," said the old sailor. "Then I could show ye what sort o' a clean pair o' heels the Old Glory could show the other craft." "It is easy to see the yacht is speedy," replied Dick. "She cuts the water like a thing of life. And you know just how to get her best speed out of her," he went on, a remark that pleased old Jerry very much. "Will we have more breeze, do you think?" asked Tom, later on, as he observed some in clouds to the westward. "Can't say as to that, lad. Those clouds may come this way and they may blow north'ard. If they come down here, we'll catch it putty lively." "I like a good, stiff breeze," came from Sam. "Oh, don't run us into a storm," cried Grace in alarm. "We might all get seasick." "Don't be alarmed," said Dick. "We are a very long way from a storm, to my way of thinking." The morning passed quickly enough, and at noon they ran into a small harbor on one of the islands and had dinner in true picnic style. At one o'clock they packed up once more, went on board of the Old Glory, and stood off to the westward, for all wanted a run "right on the ocean," as Tom expressed it. Captain Jerry was just a bit doubtful of the trip, for the clouds in the western sky had grown considerably larger than when first noticed. Not that he did not think the yacht could weather a blow, but he was afraid the young ladies would get seasick. However, as he did not wish to put a damper on their fun, he said nothing, resolved to turn back at the first sign of any "inward upsettin'," as he expressed it. The breeze had increased, and as it was directly from off shore the Old Glory bowled along merrily over the waves. Nobody showed the least sign of seasickness, and they talked, laughed, and sang as if they had not a care in the world. Tom also did some fishing, and caught a string of the finny tribe, of which he was justly proud. "You can bake them for us when we get back," he said to Nellie. "And then we can all have a fish party." "I could go on sailing like this for a week," said Dick to Dora, as they moved forward. "I mean if you were along with me," he added, in a lower tone, and she gave him a look that meant a good deal. When three o'clock came Captain Jerry announced that they must turn back. They were far out of sight of land, with nothing but the blue ocean around them. Overhead the sky was still clear, but the clouds on the horizon were rapidly increasing. "Oh, let us keep on a while longer," pleaded Tom. "This is just glorious!" And the others said the same. So they kept on, although somewhat against Captain Jerry's better judgment. The old sailor was watching the clouds. Presently there came an extra heavy puff of wind, and then the clouds seemed to rush up with lightning-like rapidity. "Got to go back, now," said the sailor. "Going to have a big blow afore night." And he threw over the tiller and gave the necessary commands to change the sails. "By Jove, but those clouds are coming up fast!" exclaimed Dick, after a careful survey. "I ever saw them come up like that on the Atlantic, or on the Great Lakes." "It's unusual," replied Captain Jerry, with a shake of his head. "Never seen it afore myself. The wind is coming around, too. It's goin' to be a different storm from what we generally git around these waters." The black clouds soon obscured the sun, and the wind began to blow stronger than ever, sending the whitecaps rolling over the ocean, and causing the spray to fly over the deck of the yacht. Nellie clutched Tom by the arm. "Oh, Tom, what does this mean?" she asked in a trembling voice. "It means that we are going to have a storm, that's all," he answered as lightly as he could. "But--but will it hurt us?" came from Grace. "I don't think so," put in Sam. "But we may get wet, unless we go into the cabin." "I vote the girls all go into the cabin," said Dick. "Sam can go with them if he wants to. Tom, you and I can stay on deck to look after the sails." "I'm going to do my duty on deck, too," came from Sam promptly. Another rush of wind now sent the spray flying in all directions, and to keep from being drenched the girls retired to the tiny cabin, or, rather, cuddy, of which the Old Glory boasted. "I am sure it is going to be an awful storm," said Dora. "I wish we were safe on land once more." "Oh, dear! do you think we'll go to the bottom?" asked Nellie. "The boys won't let the yacht go down," answered Dora. "They are all good sailors, and Captain Jerry must know all about handling this craft. But we may have a very bad time of it before we get back to Santa Barbara." It was dark in the cabin, but the yacht pitched and plunged so violently that they were afraid to light the lantern. So they huddled together, each holding another's hand. On deck Captain Jerry gave orders to lower the topsail and haul in the jib. Several reefs were also taken in the mainsail, and the boys stood ready to bring down the rest of the sheet with a rush at the first word from the old sailor. "It's a re-markable storm--re-markable," said Captain Jerry, chewing vigorously on the quid of tobacco in his cheek. "Aint never seen no sech storm here afore. Puts me in mind o' a blow I stood out in onct off the coast o' Alaska when I was in a whaler. Thet storm caught us same time as this an' ripped our mast out in a jiffy and drowned two o' the sailors." "I hope nothing like that happens to us," said Dick, with a shudder. He was not thinking of himself, but of the three girls in the cabin. "Well, lad, it aint goin' to be no easy blow, I kin tell ye that," responded Captain Jerry. Soon the wind began to whistle shrilly through the air, and the sky became so black they could scarcely see a hundred yards in any direction, Then came some distant flashes of lightning and rolling thunder, and soon the patter of rain. "Now we are going to catch it," said Tom, and he was right. Ten minutes later it was pouring in torrents, and the rain continued to keep coming down as if there was to be no end of it. "Boys, aren't you most drowned?" asked Nellie, peeping out of the cabin door. "No, but you'll be if you come out here," called back Tom. "We can't stand up and we can't sit still," came from Grace. "Sorry, but you'll have to make the best of it," answered Sam. "Oh, we won't mind, if only we reach shore in safety," put in Dora, and then the door was closed again. On and on swept the Old Glory, through the wind, the rain, and the darkness. As there was no land near, Captain Jerry paid his whole attention to making the yacht ride easily, an almost impossible task in such a sea as was now raging. Suddenly from somewhere out of the air came a humming sound. It grew louder and louder, and the boys felt a strange suction of wind which made them hold tightly to the rail for fear of being pulled overboard by some uncanny force. There followed a loud snap and a crash, and the mast began to come down. "Look out for the mast!" screamed Captain Jerry, and all jumped just in the nick of time. Down came the stick, to strike the rail and shatter it like a pipe stem, and then lay over the deck and over the waves beyond. CHAPTER VI ADRIFT ON THE PACIFIC OCEAN "The mast has gone by the board!" screamed Dick, on rising to his feet. "That stick will turn the yacht over!" gasped Tom. Poor Sam could not speak, for a wave had struck him full in the mouth, and he had all he could do to keep from being washed overboard. The girls in the cabin heard the crash above the roaring of the elements, and let up a scream of alarm. "Are we going down?" "Shall we come out on deck?" "Stay where ye are!" shouted back Captain Jerry, clinging to the wheel with a grip of steel. Then he turned to Dick: "Can ye git an ax and clear away the wreck?" "I'll try it," replied the eldest Rover, and he moved cautiously to where an ax rested in a holder. Soon he had the article in hand, and was chopping away as fast as he could, while Tom, holding to the bottom of the mast with one hand, held Dick with the other. Sam, in the meantime, cut away some.. cordage with a hatchet which was handy. It was truly a perilous moment, and it looked as if the mighty waves would swamp the Old Glory before the wreckage could be cleared away. The girls stood at a cabin window watching the work and ready to leap out if the yacht should start to go down. "There it goes!" cried Dick, at last, and gave another stroke with the ax. There followed a snap and a crack, and overboard slid the broken mast, carrying a mass of cordage with it. At once the Old Glory righted herself, sending a small sheet of water flowing from one side of the deck to the other. Some of the water swept into the cabin, and the girls were alarmed more than ever. "A good job done that it's overboard," said Captain Jerry. "Another plunge or two and we would have gone over, sure pop!" With the wreckage cleared away the boys breathed more freely. But the peril was still extreme, for it was no easy matter to keep the craft from taking the mighty waves broadside. But the force of the wind drove them on, and Captain Jerry handled the wheel as only a veteran tar could. "I guess it's a hurricane," was Tom's comment. "Looks more like a cyclone to me," spluttered Sam. "I'd give a good deal to be out of it." To keep from, being swamped they had to run out to sea. This was no pleasant prospect to the boys, but it could not be helped. "We needn't tell the girls," said Dick. "It will only worry them more, without doing any good." Two hours went by, and the storm kept on as madly as ever. Night was now coming on, and soon it was impossible to see a hundred feet in any direction. The yacht's lanterns were lit, and one was hoisted on a stick which Dick nailed to the stump of the mast. "We've got to, have some sort o' light," said Captain Jerry. "If not, we may run afoul o' some other craft." The time went by slowly, each hour seeming an age. Nobody felt like eating, and nothing was said about supper until nearly nine o'clock, when Dora opened the cabin door and called Dick: "We thought we would get to shore before eating," she said. "How much longer will we be out, do you think?" "There is no telling, Dora," he replied evasively. "No telling? Doesn't Captain Jerry know where we are?" "Hardly. You see it is so dark, and we can't make any headway with the mast gone." "How stupid of me! I should have known that. Shall we try to fix up some supper?" "You might pass some sandwiches. But, no, we had better come down, one at a time," returned Dick. This suggestion was carried out, Captain Jerry being the last to go down, leaving the wheel in the hands of Dick and Tom. "Don't ye let it git away from ye," was his caution. "If ye do it will be good-by, 'Liza Jane, an' all of us goin' slam bang to Davy Jones' locker!" From old Jerry the girls learned that they would probably have to remain on the yacht all night. "Don't ye git alarmed," he said. "The storm's goin' down, an' we'll come out all right when the sun rises." The prospect of remaining on the ocean all night was dismaying, and all of the girls wondered what Mrs. Stanhope would say when they did not return. "I know mother will be very much worried," said Dora soberly. It was decided by the boys that they should take turns at lying down, each being given two hours in which to rest. Sam was the first to turn in, but it is doubtful if he slept to any extent. Tom followed, and then came Dick. Captain Jerry declined, stating he could sleep when he had the party safe on shore once more. By morning the storm had taken another turn. It no longer rained, but the sky was murky, and there was a dense fog, which the wind blew first in one direction, and then another. They were still running to sea, with small prospect of being able to turn back. "This is certainly more than I bargained for," observed Dick to Tom, in a low voice. "To me it looks mighty serious." "Oh, the storm is bound to go down." "Yes, Tom, but how long do you suppose the provisions and water will last?" At this question Tom's face fell. "I hadn't thought of that, Dick. I don't suppose we have more than enough for to-day, have we?" "Well, we might make it last two days on a pinch--we brought quite a lot along. But after that--" "Do you think we'll have to stay out here more than two days?" demanded Sam. "I don't know what to think, Sam." "Can't we rig up some sort of a jury-mast?" "Captain Jerry mentioned that. We'll try." There was no stick on board of the _Old Glory_ outside of the bowsprit, and at last they decided to saw this off and put it up as a small mast. The task was no easy one, and just as the temporary mast was being fitted into place there came an extra heavy puff of wind which sent the yacht far over on her side. "Hold fast, all of ye!" roared Captain Jerry, and they obeyed, and the stick went rolling over the side and out of sight in the billows. "Gone!" gasped Tom. "That ends putting up another mast." Slowly the day wore along. The girls were silent, and if the truth be told more than one tear was shed between them, although before the boys they tried to put on a brave face. There were no regular meals, and by the advice of Captain Jerry and Dick they were sparing of the provisions and the water. "Our only hope now is for the storm to go down, or else to sight some passing ship," said Dick. "Getting back to Santa Barbara at present is out of the question. For all we know, we may be a hundred or two hundred miles from the coast." About two o'clock in the afternoon the sky cleared a little. But as the fog lifted, the wind blew with greater force, sending them reeling and plunging into the mighty waves. "It looks as if we should be swamped after all," said Tom dolefully. "Never say die, Tom," came from Sam resolutely. "I suppose Mrs. Stanhope will be worried half to death." "No doubt of it." Nobody had any heart to talk, and each watched eagerly for some sign of a sail. Tom had a spyglass, and just before sunset he let out a shout: "A ship! A ship!" "Where?" came from the others. "Off in that direction," and Tom pointed with his hand. All took a look through the glass, and saw that he was right. There was a steamer approaching. "If only they see us." said Dick, and his brothers nodded. The girls had heard the cry, and now came on deck to learn what it meant. "Oh, I hope they take us on board and back home," said Nellie. "I must say I am heartily tired of this yacht." The wind was increasing, and the girls had to go back to the cabin to keep from getting wet. The boys put up a flag, upside down, on a piece of planking, and waited eagerly for the steamer to come nearer. "The yacht is settling," cried Dick, a little while later. "Don't you notice it?" "The Old Glory has sprung some leaks," responded Captain Jerry sadly. "Take the wheel while I go and look them over." Tom and Sam, took the wheel, while old Jerry and Dick inspected the leaks. They soon reported that two seams had opened at the bow, and that there was a bad break at the stern, which was bound soon to interfere with the rudder. "I believe that steamer is going to leave us!" cried Sam, a little while later. "Oh, don't say that," said Dick. "We must signal her somehow." "We'll fire some rockets," said Captain Jerry. This was done, and a little later they saw that the steamer was heading in their direction. By this time the Old Glory showed unmistakable signs of being on the point of foundering, and the girls were told to come on deck. Everybody was given a life preserver, which had been kept close at hand since the beginning of the trouble. "We are seen!" cried Sam joyously, as a signal came from the steamer. Gradually the strange vessel drew closer, and they saw that she was a rather clumsy affair of the "tramp" pattern, used to carry all sorts of cargoes from one port to another. "They are lowering a small boat," said Sam, a little later. "I wish they would hurry," returned Tom, in a low voice. "I believe this yacht is going to go down very soon." At last the small boat was close enough to be hailed, and preparations were made for transferring the girls first. It was no easy matter to make the change, and it took a good quarter of an hour to land the girls on the steamer's deck. By this time the Old Glory was completely water-logged. "We have got to jump for it, lads!" cried Captain Jerry, "unless you want to go down with her!" And jump they did, into the mighty waves, and none too soon, for a minute later the yacht went down, out of their sight forever. The small boat was not far away, and soon Sam and Tom were picked up. To get Dick and Captain Jerry was not so easy, but the task was finally accomplished, and soon all of our friends stood on the deck of the tramp steamer, safe and sound once more. CHAPTER VII DISMAYING NEWS "Thank fortune we got away from the yacht just in time!" exclaimed Tom, as he shook the water from his clothes. "I'm sorry to see the Old Glory go," said Captain Jerry sadly. "I thought a heap o' that craft, I did. It will be sorry news to take back to Master Bob." "Never mind, we'll help pay for the loss," put in Dick. "Where are you folks from?" questioned the captain of the steamer, as he came up to, the crowd. "We came from Santa Barbara. The storm took our mast, and blew us out to sea," answered Dick. "We owe you something for, picking us up." "You're welcome for what I've done," answered Captain, Fairleigh. "Come with me, and I'll try to get you some dry clothing. I can trick out the men folks, and the young ladies will have to see my wife, who happens to be with me on this trip." "What steamer is this?" asked Tom. "The Tacoma, lad." "Are you bound for San Francisco?" questioned Sam. "No, we are bound for Honolulu, on the Hawaiian Islands." "Honolulu!" burst out the others. "Do you mean to say that the first port you will make will be Honolulu?" demanded Dick. "That's my orders, lad. I must get there just as quick as I can, too, for a cargo of sugar." "But we don't want to go to the Hawaiian Islands!" put in Dora. "Mercy! It's two thousand miles away!" At this Captain Fairleigh shrugged his broad shoulders. "I am sorry for you, but I can't put back, miss. Perhaps we'll meet some vessel bound for some port in the United States. If so, I can ask the captain to take you back." "And if you don't meet any vessel?" came from Grace. "Oh, I think we'll pass some vessel," returned the captain. He took the girls and introduced them to, his wife, and then turned the boys and old Jerry over to the first mate, who obtained for them some dry clothing. After this all were provided with a hot supper, which did much toward making them comfortable, at least physically speaking. But not one of them was comfortable mentally. To be carried to the Hawaiian Islands, two thousand miles away, was no pleasant thought. Besides, what would their folks think of their prolonged absence? "Mother will think that we have all been drowned," said Dora. "And that is what our folks will think, too," said Nellie. "Oh, it is terrible, simply terrible!" And she wrung her little hands. By making inquiries Dick learned that the steamer was expected to reach Honolulu inside of two weeks, if the weather was not too, bad. From Honolulu they could get passage to San Francisco on the mail steamer, the trip lasting exactly seven days. "We'll have to get some money first," said Tom. "And we can't cable for it, either," he went on, for the cable to the Hawaiian Islands from the United States had not yet been laid. "Let us hope that we will see some ship that will take us back," said Sam. Day after day they watched eagerly for a passing sail. But though they sighted four vessels and hailed them, not one was bound for the United States, outside of a whaler, and that craft intended to stay out at least three months longer before making for port. "We are booked for this trip, and no mistake," sighed Tom. "Well, since that is so, let us make the best of it." The Tacoma was heavily laden, and though the storm cleared away and the Pacific Ocean became moderately calm, she made but slow progress. "Our boilers are not in the best of condition," said Captain Fairleigh. "I trust there is no danger of their blowing up," returned Dick. "Not if we don't force them too much." It had been arranged that the boys and girls should pay a fair price for the trip to Honolulu, the money to, be sent to the captain of the Tacoma later on. As for old Jerry, he signed articles to work his passage to the Hawaiian Islands and back again. As Captain Fairleigh was rather short of hands he was glad to have the old sailor join his crew. The days slipped by, and, having recovered from the effects of the storm, the Rover boys became as light hearted as ever. Tom was particularly full of pranks. "No use of crying over spilt milk," he declared. "Let us be thankful the pitcher wasn't broken, or, in other words, that we are not at this moment at the bottom of the Pacific." "Right you are," replied Sam. There was an old piano on board, and the boys and girls often amused themselves at this, singing and playing. As there were no other passengers, they had the freedom of the ship. "This would be real jolly," said Tom, "if it wasn't that the folks at home must be worried," and then he began to sing, for he really could not be sad: "A life on the ocean wave, A home on the rolling deep, A house in a watery cave-- Where I might rest in sleep!" "Did you ever hear such a song?" cried Nellie, and Tom went on: "The boy stood on the burning deck, Munching apples by the peck; The captain yelled, he stood stock-still, For of those apples he wanted his fill!" "Tom Rover!" burst out Dora. "I believe you would sing at your own funeral!" And Tom continued gayly: "Sailing, sailing, over the bounding main, For many a stormy wind shall blow, Ere the Rovers get home again!" "Tom lives on songs," said Sam slyly. "He'd rather sing than eat a pie." "Pie!" thundered Tom tragically. "Who said pie? I haven't seen a home-made pie since--since--" "The time you went down in the pantry at midnight and ate two," finished Dick, and then there was a burst of laughter. "Never mind, Tom, I'll make you half a dozen pies--when we get home," came from Nellie. "Will you really?" said Tom, and then he began once more, as gayly as ever: "You can give me pudding And give me cake, And anything else You care to bake; But if you wish To charm my eye, Just hand me over Some home-made pie!" "That's all right," said Dick. "But in place of eye you should have said stomach." "Stomach doesn't rhyme with pie," snorted 'Tom. "I'm a true poet and I know what I am doing." "Talking about pie makes me think of pie-plates," said Sam. "Let us play spinning the plate on deck. It will be lots of fun trying to catch the plate while it is spinning and the steamer is rolling." "Good!" cried Grace, and ran to get a plate from the cook's galley. Soon they were playing merrily, and the game served to make an hour pass pleasantly. When the forfeits had to be redeemed, the girls made the boys do several ridiculous things. Tom had to hop from one end of the deck to the other on one foot, Sam had to stand on his head, and recite "Mary had a Little Lamb," and Dick had to go to three of the sailors and ask each if they would tie the ship to a post during the night. "I'll wager you are a merry crowd on land," .said Captain Fairleigh, as he paused to watch the fun. "Takes me back to the time when I was a boy," and he laughed heartily. Even the captain's wife was amused. She was particularly fond of music, and loved to listen to the playing and singing. The days slipped by one after the other, until Captain Fairleigh announced that forty-eight hours more ought to bring them in sight of Diamond Head, a high hill at the entrance to Honolulu harbor. But another storm was at hand, and that night the wind blew more fiercely than ever. The Tacoma tossed and pitched to such a degree that standing on the deck was next to impossible, and all of the boys and the girls gathered in the cabin and held fast to the posts and the stationary seats. "It feels as if the steamer would roll clear over," said Sam. "Here we go again!" There was thunder and lightning, and soon a deluge of rain, fully as heavy as that experienced while on board of the ill-fated Old Glory. This continued all of the night, and in the morning the storm seemed to grow worse instead of better. "We are in a run of bad luck," said Dick. "I really believe we will have all sorts of trouble before we get back to the United States." Toward noon a mist came up, and it grew dark. Lanterns were lit, and the Tacoma felt her way along carefully, for Captain Fairleigh knew that they were now in the track of considerable shipping. By nightfall the steamer lay almost at a stand-still, for the mist was thicker than ever. For safety the whistle was sounded at short intervals. The girls were the first to retire, and the boys followed half an hour later. The staterooms of all were close together. Dick Rover was the last to go to sleep. How long he slept he did not know. He awoke with a start. A shock had thrown him to the floor of the stateroom, and down came Sam on top of him. There were hoarse cries from the deck, a shrill steam whistle, and the sound of a fog horn, and then a grinding thud and a bump that told the Tacoma had either run into some other ship or into the rocks. CHAPTER VIII FROM ONE SHIP TO ANOTHER "We struck something!" "What is the matter?" "Are we going down?" These and a score of other cries rang out on board the steamer. The thumping and bumping continued, followed by a crashing that could mean but one thing--that the ship was being splintered, and that her seams were being laid wide open. As soon as possible the Rover boys slipped into some clothing and went on deck. They were quickly followed by the three girls, who clung tight to them in terror. "Oh, Dick, this is the worst yet!" came from Dora. "What will be the end?" "The Tacoma is sinking!" was the cry from out of the darkness. "Are we really sinking?" gasped Nellie as she clutched Tom. "Yes, we are," came from Sam. "Can't you feel the deck settling?" They could, only too plainly, and in a minute more the water seemed to be running all around them. The cries continued, but it was so black they could see next to nothing. What happened in the next few minutes the Rover boys could scarcely tell, afterward. An effort was made to get out a life-boat, and it disappeared almost as soon as it left the side, carrying some sailors with it. Then some red-fire blazed up, lighting up the tragic scene, and revealing a schooner standing close by the steamer. The sailing vessel had her bowsprit broken and part of her forward rail torn away. "If we must die, let us die together!" said Dick, and they kept together as well as they could. Old Jerry was with them, and said he would do all he could for them. He had already passed around life-preservers, and these they put on with all possible speed. Then followed a sudden plunge of the steamer and all found themselves in the waves of the ocean. They went down together, each holding the hand of somebody else. When they came up, Tom was close to a life-line thrown from the sailing vessel and this he clutched madly. "Haul us in!" he yelled. "Haul us in!" And the line was pulled in with care, and after ten minutes of extreme peril the boys and the girls and Captain Jerry found themselves on board of the sailing vessel, which proved to be a large three-masted schooner. All of our friends were so exhausted that they had to be carried to the cabin and here Dora and Grace fainted away completely, while Nellie was little better off. Tom had had his left arm bruised and Dick was suffering from an ugly scratch on the forehead. It was fully an hour before any of them felt like moving around. In the meantime the two vessels had separated, and though red fire was burned twice, after that, and rockets sent up, nothing more was seen or heard of the Tacoma or those left on board. "But I don't think she went down," said Captain Jerry. "She was too well built for that." And he was right, as events proved. Much crippled the steamer two days later entered Honolulu harbor, where she was laid up for repairs. Worn out completely by what they had passed through, the boys slept heavily for the rest of the night, not caring what ship they were on or where they were going. Everybody was busy with the wreckage, so they were left almost entirely to themselves. Tom was the first to get up, and going on deck found that the storm had cleared away and that the sun was shining brightly. Without delay he halted a sailor who happened to be passing. "What ship is this?" he questioned. "Dis ship da _Golden Wave_," replied the sailor, who was a Norwegian. "And where are you bound?" "Da ship sail for Australia." "Great Scott! Australia!" gasped Tom. "This is the worst yet." "What's up, Tom?" asked Sam, who had followed his brother. "This sailor tells me this ship is bound for Australia." "Why, that is thousands of miles away!" "I know it." "If we go to Australia, we'll never get back." "Not quite as bad as that, Sam. But we certainly don't want to go to Australia." "Who is the captain?" "Captain Blossom," replied the sailor. "Where is he?" The sailor said he would take them to the captain and did so. He proved to be a burly fellow with rather a sober-looking face. "Got around at last, eh?" he said, eying Tom and Sam shrewdly. "We have, and we must thank you for rescuing us," replied Tom. "That's all right." "One of your sailors tells me you are bound for Australia," put in Sam. "He told you the truth." "Won't you stop at some port in the Hawaiian Islands?" "No." "But you might put us off." "Can't spare the time. As it is, this storm blew me away out of my course," answered Captain Blossom. He had a twofold reason for not putting them ashore at or near Honolulu. It would not only take time, but it might also lead to questioning concerning the fate of the steamer, and he was afraid he would be hauled into some marine court for running into the Tacoma, for that was what he had done. "Do you know anything about the steamer?" asked Sam. "No, she got away from us in the darkness, after we hauled seven of you aboard." "The steamer lost some of her crew," said Tom, shuddering. "Did you lose any men?" "One sailor, and one of my passengers got hurt in the leg by the collision." By this time Dick joined the party, followed by old Jerry and the three girls. "Will the captain carry us away to Australia?" asked Dora, when the situation was explained. "I suppose so," said Dick soberly. "If I had some money I might buy him off, but I haven't a dollar. What little I did have I left on board of the Tacoma." The others were equally destitute, and when Captain Blossom heard of this his face grew dark. He was a close man, and his first mate, Jack Lesher, was no better. "If you haven't any money, you'll have to work your passage," he growled. "I can't afford to carry you to Australia for nothing." "Then let us off at some port in the Hawaiian Islands," said Tom. "Can't do it, I told you," retorted Captain Blossom angrily. "And you'll either work while you are on board or starve." "My, what a Tarter!" whispered Sam. "Well, we'll work," said Dick. "But you must not force the young ladies to do anything." "I'm a sailor and will do my full share," said old Jerry. But he did not like the situation any better than did the Rovers. The matter was talked over, and seeing that they were willing to work, Captain Blossom became a little milder in his manner. He said he would give the three girls one of the staterooms, but the boys and old Jerry would have to join the crew in the forecastle. Fortunately the sailors on board the _Golden Wave_ were a fairly clean lot, so the forecastle was not so dirty a place as it might otherwise have been. The boys did not like to be separated from the girls, however, and Dick called the girls aside to talk the matter over. "I want to know if anything goes wrong," said he. "If there is the least thing out of the way, let us know at once," and the girls promised to keep their eyes open. Once in the forecastle the boys were given three rough suits of clothes to wear while working. Then they were called out to work without delay, for the storm had left much to do on board the Golden Wave. "We have only one passenger," said one of the sailors, in reply to a question from Tom.. "He is a young fellow named Robert Brown. He was hurt during the storm, but I reckon he's all right now." Tom was set to coiling some rope and Sam and Dick had to scrub down the deck. This was by no means an agreeable task, but nobody complained. "We must take what comes," said Dick cheerfully. "So long as we get enough to eat and are not abused I shan't say a word." The boys had been to work about an hour when Sam saw a young fellow limping around the other end of the deck. There was something strangely familiar about the party, and the youngest Rover drew closer to get a better look at him. "Dan Baxter!" he cried in astonishment. "Dan Baxter!" At this cry the person turned and his lower jaw dropped in equal astonishment. "Who--er--where did you come from?" he stammered. "So this is the vessel you shipped on?" went on Sam. And then he called out: "Dick! Tom! Come here." For a brief instant Dan Baxter's face was a study. Then a crafty look came into his eyes and he drew himself up. "Excuse me, but you have made a mistake in your man," he said coldly. "What's that?" came from Sam in bewilderment. "I am not the party you just named. My name is Robert Brown." "It is?" came from the youngest Rover. "If that is so, you look exactly like somebody I know well." By this time Dick and Tom came hurrying to the spot, followed by Dora, who happened to be on deck. "Dan Baxter!" came from Tom and Dick simultaneously. "He says he isn't Dan Baxter," said Sam. "Isn't Dan Baxter? Why, Baxter, you fraud, what new wrinkle is this?" said Dick, catching him by the arm. "Let go of me!" came fiercely from Baxter. "Let go, I say, or it will be the worse for you. You have made a mistake." "No mistake about it," put in Tom. "He is Dan Baxter beyond a doubt." CHAPTER IX IN WHICH THE ENEMY IS CORNERED The loud talking had attracted the attention of Captain Blossom, and now the master of the _Golden Wave_ strode up to the crowd. "What's going on here?" he demanded of the Rover boys. "Why are you not at work, as I ordered?" "I have made an important discovery," answered Dick. "Is this your passenger, Captain Blossom?" "He is. What of him?" "He is a thief and ran away from San Francisco to escape the police." "It's a falsehood!" roared Dan Baxter. "They have made a mistake. I am a respectable man just out of college, and my father, Doctor L. Z. Brown, is a well-known physician of Los Angeles. I am traveling to Australia for my health." "His real name is Daniel Baxter and his father is now in prison," said Tom. "He robbed us of our money and some diamonds while we were stopping at a hotel in San Francisco. The detectives followed him up, but he slipped them by taking passage on your ship." "I tell you my name is Brown--Robert Brown!" stormed Baxter. "This is some plot hatched up against me. Who are these fellows, anyway?" he went on, turning to the captain. "They came from the steamer we ran into," answered Captain Blossom. "I never saw them before." At this moment Dora touched the captain on the shoulder. "Please, captain," she said, "I knew Dan Baxter quite well and I am sure this young man is the same person." "It aint so. I tell you, captain, it is a plot." "What kind of a plot could it be?" asked Captain Blossom. He scarcely knew what to say. "I don't know. Perhaps they want to get hold of my money," went on Baxter, struck by a sudden idea. "That's right, we do want to get hold of the money!" cried Sam. "For it belongs to us--at least two hundred and seventy-five dollars of it--not counting what he may have got on the diamonds and the cuff buttons." "You shan't touch my money!" screamed Baxter. "Captain, he ought to be placed under arrest," said Dick. Dora had gone back to the cabin and now she returned in great haste with Nellie and Grace. "To be sure, that is Dan Baxter," said Nellie. "There can be no mistake," put in Grace, "We all know him only too well." "You see, Captain Blossom, that we are six to one," said Tom. "And you will surely believe the ladies." "How is you all happen to know him so well?" demanded the captain curiously. "We know him because we all went to school together," answered Dick. "These young ladies lived in the vicinity of the school. We had trouble with Baxter at school and later on out West, and ever since that time he has been trying to injure us. We met him in San Francisco in the hotel lobby and at night he went to our room, cut open a traveling bag and unlocked our trunks and robbed us of two hundred and seventy-five dollars in cash, some diamond studs, a pair of cuff buttons, and some clothing." "I've got an idea!" almost shouted Sam. "Maybe he has some of the stolen stuff in his stateroom." "Yes, yes, let us search the stateroom: by all means!" exclaimed Tom. "You shall not touch my room!" howled Baxter, turning pale. "I have nothing there but my own private property." "If that is so, you shouldn't object to having the stateroom searched," observed Captain Blossom. "If we get back our money we may be able to pay you something, captain, for our passage," said Dick. This was a forceful argument and set Captain Blossom to thinking. He was a man who loved money dearly. "I will go along and we will look around the stateroom," he said, after a pause. "This is an outrage!" cried Dan Baxter. "I will have the law on you for it." "Shut up! I am master on my own ship," retorted Captain Blossom, and led the way to the stateroom Dan Baxter occupied. The door was locked and Baxter refused to give up the key. But the captain had a duplicate, and soon he and the Rover boys were inside the room. Baxter followed them, still expostulating, but in vain. "Here is a pocketbook full of bills!" cried Tom, bringing the article to light. "Here is my light overcoat!" came from Dick. "See, it has my initials embroidered in the hanger. Aunt Martha did that for me." "Here are my gold cuff buttons!" exclaimed Sam. "They were a present from my father and they have my monogram engraved on each." And he showed the articles to the captain. "I reckon it's a pretty clear case against you," said Captain Blossom, turning to Dan Baxter. "Here are half a dozen letters," said Tom, holding them up. "You can see they are all addressed to Daniel Baxter. That's his name, and he'd be a fool to deny it any longer." "Well, I won't deny it," cried the big bully. "What would be the use--you are all against me--even the captain." "I am not against you," retorted Captain Blossom. "But if you are a thief I want to know it. Why did you give me your name as Robert Brown?" "That's my business." Baxter paused for a moment. "Now you have found me out, what are you going to do about it?" he went on brazenly. "You can't arrest me on shipboard." "No, but we can have you arrested when we land," said Dick. "And in the meantime we will take charge of what is our own." "Here are some pawn tickets for the diamonds," said Sam, who was continuing the search. "They show he got seventy-five dollars on them." "We will keep the tickets--and the seventy-five dollars, too--if we can find the money," said Tom. But the money could not be found, for the greater part had been turned over to Captain Blossom for Baxter's passage to Australia and the rest spent before leaving shore. The pocketbook contained only two hundred and thirty dollars. "What did he pay you for the passage?" questioned Dick of the captain. "One hundred dollars." "Then you ought to turn that amount over to our credit." "Why, what do you mean?" "I mean that Dan Baxter has no right to a free passage on your ship, since he bought that passage with our money. Let him work his way and place that passage money to our credit." "That's the way to talk," put in Tom. "Make him work by all means." "He deserves good, hard labor," came from Sam. "I don't think you can make me work!" burst out Dan Baxter. "I am a passenger and I demand that I be treated as such." "You are an impostor!" returned Captain Blossom bluntly. "The fact that you used an assumed name proves it. If I wanted to do so, I could clap you in the ship's brig until we reach port and chain you into the bargain. I want no thieves on board my ship." "Here is more of our clothing," came from Tom. "Pick out all the things that are yours," said the captain. "And take the other things that are yours, too." This was done, nobody paying any attention to Baxter's protests. When the Rovers had what there was of their things the captain turned to the bully. "I've made up my mind about you," he said, speaking with great deliberation. "I am master here, and a judge and jury into the bargain. You can take your choice: Either sign articles as a foremast hand for the balance of the trip, or be locked up as a prisoner, on prison rations." "Do you mean th--that?" gasped Baxter, turning pale. "I do." "But the passage money Goes to the credit of these young fellows." "It's an outrage!" "No, it's simply justice, to my way of thinking. I'll give you until to-morrow to make up your mind what you will do." This ended the talk with Dan Baxter. The captain said he wanted to see the Rover boys in the cabin, and they followed him to that place. "Captain, I feel I must thank you for your fair way of managing this affair," said Dick, feeling that a few good words at this point would not go amiss. "I hope you treat Baxter as he deserves." "I will try to do right," was Captain Blossom's answer. "But what I want to know now is, What do you intend to do with that money? It seems to me I should be paid something for keeping you on board." "I have a proposition to make, captain. We will give you two hundred dollars if you will allow us to consider ourselves passengers. And by 'us' I mean the young ladies as well as ourselves." "It's not very much." "If we pay you that amount it will leave us but thirty dollars, hardly enough with which to cable home for more. Of course, when we get our money in Australia we will pay you whatever balance is due you,--and something besides for saving us." This pleased Captain Blossom and he said he would accept the offer. The matter was discussed for half an hour, and it was decided that the boys should have two staterooms, the one occupied by Baxter and another next to that given over to the girls. When Dora, Nellie, and Grace heard of the new arrangement that had been made they were highly pleased. "I didn't want to see you do the work of a common sailor," said Dora to Dick. "Oh, it wouldn't kill me," he returned lightly. "Even as it is, I'll give a hand if it is necessary." "It's a wonder Captain Blossom took to your offer so quickly." "He loves money, that's why, Dora. He would rather have that two hundred dollars than our services," and with this remark Dick hit the nail squarely on the head. CHAPTER X A BLOW IN THE DARKNESS It would be hard to describe Dan Baxter's feelings after Captain Blossom and the Rover boys left him alone in his stateroom. At one instant he was fairly shaking with rage, and at the next quaking with fear over what the future might hold in store for him. "They have got the best of me again!" he muttered, clenching his fists. "And after I felt sure I had escaped them. It must have been Fate that made Captain Blossom pick them up. Now I've either got to work as a common sailor or submit to being locked up in some dark, foul-smelling hole on the ship. And when we get to Australia, unless I watch my chance to skip out, they'll turn me over to the police." He could not sleep that night for thinking over the situation and was up and dressed before daylight. Strolling on deck, he came face to face with Sam, who had come up to get the morning air. "I suppose you think you have got the best of me," growled Baxter. "It looks like it, doesn't it?" returned Sam briefly. "The game isn't ended yet." "No, but it will be when you land in prison, Baxter." "I'll get square." "You have promised to get square times without number--and you have failed every time." "I won't fail the next time." "Yes, you will. Wrong never yet triumphed over right." "Oh, don't preach, Sam Rover." "I am not preaching, I am simply trying to show you how foolish it is to do wrong. Why don't you turn over a new leaf?" "Oh, such talk makes me sick!" growled the bully, and turned away. A little while later Captain Blossom appeared and hunted up Dan Baxter, who sat in his state-room, packing up his few belongings. "Well, have you decided on your course, young man?" demanded the master of the _Golden Wave_. "Do you mean to lock me up if I refuse to become a sailor?" asked Dan Baxter, "I do, and I won't argue with you, either. Is it yes or no?" "I don't want to be locked up in some dark hole on your ship." "Then you are willing to become a sailor?" "I--er--I suppose so." "Very well, you can remove your things to the forecastle. Jack Lesher, the first mate, will give you your bunk." This was "adding insult to injury," as it is termed, so far as Baxter was concerned, for it will be remembered that it was Jack Lesher who had obtained the passage on the _Golden Wave_ for the bully. But Dan Baxter was given no chance to demur. Taking his traps he went on deck, where Jack Lesher met him, grinning in sickly fashion. "So you are going to make a change, eh?" said the mate. "You needn't laugh at me, if I am," growled Baxter. "I shan't laugh, my boy. It's hard luck," said Lesher. "Come along." He led the way to the forecastle and gave Baxter a bunk next to that occupied by old Jerry. Then he brought out an old suit of sailor's clothing and tossed it over. "You've run in hard luck, boy," he said in a low voice, after he had made certain that nobody else was within hearing. "I am sorry for you." "Really?" queried Dan Baxter, giving the mate a sharp look. "Yes, I am, and if I can do anything to make it easy for you, count on me," went on Jack Lesher. "Thank you." "I suppose taking that money and the other things was more of boy's sport than anything, eh?" "That's the truth. I wanted to get square with those Rover boys. They are my bitter enemies. I didn't want the money." Just then old Jerry came in and the conversation came to an end. But Baxter felt that he had a friend on board and this eased him a little. He did not know that the reason Jack Lesher liked him was because the first mate was a criminal himself and had once served a term in a Michigan jail for knocking down a passenger on a boat and robbing him of his pocketbook. As the old saying goes, "Birds of a feather flock together." When the girls came on deck they found Baxter doing some of the work which Dick and Tom had been doing the morning before. At first they were inclined to laugh, but Dora stopped herself and her cousins. "Don't let us laugh at him," she whispered. "It is hard enough for the poor fellow as it is." "I am not going to notice him after this," said Nellie. "To me he shall be an entire stranger." And the others agreed to treat Dan Baxter in the same manner. But the boys were not so considerate, and Tom laughed outright when he caught sight of Baxter swabbing up some dirt on the rear deck. This made the bully's passion arise on the instant and he caught up his bucket as if to throw it at Tom's head. "Don't you dare, Baxter!" cried Tom. "If you do we'll have a red-hot war." "I can lick you, Tom Rover!" "Perhaps you can and perhaps you can't." Baxter put up his fists, but on the approach of Dick and Sam he promptly retreated. But before he went he hissed in Tom's ear: "You wait, and see what I do!" "He had better keep his distance," said Dick. "If he doesn't, somebody will get hurt." "I suppose it galls him to work," said Sam. "He always was rather lazy." The day proved a nice one, and the Rover boys spent most of the time with the three girls, who were glad of their company once more. All speculated on the question of what had become of the Tacoma, and of what the folks at home would think concerning their prolonged absence. "I'd give a good deal to send a message home," said Dick. "We must cable as soon as we reach shore," added Dora. They saw but little of Dan Baxter during the day and nothing whatever of him the day following. "He is trying to avoid us," said Sam. "Well, I am just as well satisfied." Through old Jerry they learned that Baxter hated the work given to him and that he was being favored a little by the first mate. "Tell ye what, I hate that mate," said Jerry. "He's got a wicked eye, and he drinks like a fish." "I know he drinks," answered Tom. "I smelt the liquor in his breath." They were now getting down into warmer latitudes and the next night proved unusually hot. It was dark with no stars shining, and the air was close, as if another storm was at hand. "I can't sleep," said Tom, after rolling around in his berth for half an hour. "I'm going on deck." And he dressed himself and went up for some air. He walked forward and leaned over the rail, watching the waves as they slipped behind the noble ship. Tom's coming on deck had been noticed by Dan Baxter, who sat on the side of the fore-castle, meditating on his troubles. As the bully saw the youth leaning over the rail, his face took on a look of bitter hatred. "I'll teach him to laugh at me!" he muttered. Gazing around he saw that nobody was within sight and then he arose to his feet. With a cat-like tread he came up behind Tom, who still looked at the waves, totally unconscious of danger. Baxter's heart beat so loudly that he was afraid Tom would hear it. Again he looked around. Not a soul was near, and the gloom of the night was growing thicker. "He'll laugh another way soon!" he muttered, and stepped closer. His fist was raised to deliver a blow when Tom happened to straighten up and look around. He saw the form behind him and the upraised arm and leaped aside. The blow missed its mark and Tom caught Baxter by the shoulder. "What do you mean, Dan Baxter, by this attack?" he began, when the bully aimed another blow at him. This struck Tom full in the temple and partly dazed him. Then the two clenched awl fell heavily against the rail. "I'll fix you!" panted Baxter, striking another blow as best he could, and then, as Tom struck him in return, he forced Tom's head against the rail with a thump. The blow made Tom see stars and he was more dazed than ever. "Le--let up!" he gasped, but Baxter continued to crowd him against the rail, which at this point was very weak because of the collision with the steamer. Suddenly there was a snap and a crack and the rail gave way. Baxter leaped back in time to save himself from falling, but Tom could not help himself, and, with a wild cry, he went overboard! CHAPTER XI A CALL FROM THE STERN For the instant after Tom slipped over the side of the _Golden Wave_, Dan Baxter was too dazed to do more than stare at the spot where he had last seen the boy with whom he had been struggling. "Gone!" he muttered presently. "Gone!" he repeated and crouched back in the darkness. The great beads of perspiration came to his brow as he heard rapid footsteps approaching. Would he be accused of sending Tom Rover to his death? "What's the trouble?" came in the voice of Captain Blossom. Instead of answering, Dan Baxter crept still further back. Then, watching his chance, he darted into the forecastle. "Hullo, the rail is broken!" he heard the captain exclaim. "Bring a lantern here, quick!" A sailor came running with a lantern, which lit up the narrow circle of the deck near the rail and part of the sea beyond. "Somebody gave a cry," said the captain, to those who began to gather. "Looks to me as if the rail gave way and let somebody overboard." "Tom Rover was on deck," came from old Jerry. "Do you reckon as how it was him?" "I don't know. It was somebody, that's certain. Call all hands at once." This was done, and Dan Baxter had to come out with the rest. He was pale and trembled so he could scarcely stand. "All here," said Captain Blossom. "Must have been one of the Rover boys or one of the young ladies." Word was passed along and soon Sam and Dick came rushing on deck. "Tom is missing!" cried Sam. "If that is so, I'm afraid, boys, you have seen the last of your brother," said Captain Blossom. He turned to his crew. "Do any of you know anything of this affair?" There was a dead silence. Then he questioned the man at the wheel. "Don't know a thing, cap'n," was the answer. "It's queer. He must have pressed on the rail very hard.. Here are half a dozen nails torn from the wood." While this talk was going on Dick and Sam had passed along the rail from the place of the accident to the stern. "Perhaps he caught hold somewhere," said Sam, who was unwilling to believe that his brother had really perished. They had just gained the stern and were looking over when a call came from out of the darkness. "He--help! Help!" "It's Tom!" screamed Dick in delight. "Tom, is that you?" "Yes! Help!" "Where are you?" "Holding on to a rope. Help me quick. I--I can't hold on mu--much longer!" "We'll help you," answered Dick. Captain Blossom was called and more lanterns were lit, and then a Bengal light, and Tom was seen to be holding fast to a rope which had in some manner fallen overboard and become entangled in the rudder chain. By the aid of the boat-hook the rope was hauled up and to the side of the _Golden Wave_. At the same time the sails were lowered, and then a rope ladder was thrown down. Dick descended to the edge of the waves, and, watching his chance, caught Tom by the collar of his coat. Then the brothers came slowly to the deck. A cheer went up when it was found that Tom was safe once more, and Nellie Laning could not resist rushing forward and catching the wet youth in her arms. Tom was so exhausted he dropped on the nearest seat, and it was several minutes before he had recovered strength enough to speak. "I would have been drowned had it not been for that rope," he said when questioned. "As I slid along the side of the ship the rope hit me in the face. I clutched it and clung fast for dear life. Then when I came up and swept astern I called as loudly as I could, but it seemed an age before anybody heard me." "It was a narrow escape," said Dick. "You can thank a kind Providence that your life was spared." "You must have leaned on the rail awfully hard," put in Nellie. "Leaned on the rail?" repeated Tom. "It wasn't my fault that I went overboard. It was Dan Baxter's." "Dan Baxter!" came from several. "Exactly. He tackled me in the dark, and we had it hot and heavy for a minute. Then he crowded me on the rail, and it gave way. He jumped back and let me go overboard." "The rascal! I'll settle with him!" cried Dick. "I'll teach him to keep his distance after this!" He knew Baxter was still forward, and ran in that direction. The bully saw him coming and tried to hide in the forecastle, but Dick was too quick for him and hauled him back on the deck. "Take that for shoving my brother overboard, you scoundrel!" he exclaimed, and hit Baxter a staggering blow straight between the eyes. "Stop!" roared the bully, and struck out in return. But Dick dodged the blow, and then hit Baxter in the chin and on the nose. The elder Rover boy was excited, and hit with all of his force, and the bully measured his length on the deck. "Good fer you!" cried old Jerry, who stood looking on. "That's the way to serve him, the sarpint!" Slowly Baxter arose to his knees, and then his feet, where he stood glaring at Dick. "Don't you hit me again!" he muttered. "But I will," retorted Dick, and struck out once more. This time his fist landed on the bully's left eye, and once again Baxter went down, this time with a thud. The sailors were collecting, and soon Jack Lesher rushed up. He stepped between Dick and the bully. "Stop it!" he ordered harshly. "We don't allow fighting on board of this craft." "I wasn't fighting," answered Dick coolly. "I was just teaching a rascal a lesson." "It amounts to the same thing. If you have any fault to find tell the captain, or tell me." "Well, I'll go to the captain, not you," retorted Dick. "All right," growled the first mate. "But just remember you can't boss things when I'm around." When Captain Blossom understood the situation he was thoroughly angry. "Baxter certainly ought to be in prison," he said. "I'll clap him in the brig and feed him on bread and water for three days and see how he likes that." "He ought not to be left at large," said Dora, with a shudder. "He may try to murder somebody next." "We'll watch him after this," said the captain. He kept his word about putting Baxter in the ship's jail. But through Lesher the bully, got much better fare than bread and water. Strange as it may seem, a warm friendship sprang up between the bully and the first mate. "I aint got nothing against you, Baxter," said Jack Lesher. "When we get to Australia perhaps we can work together, eh?" and he closed one eye suggestively. Baxter had told him of his rich relative, and the mate thought there might be a chance to get money from Baxter. "He'd rather give me money than have me tell his relation what sort of a duck he is," said Lesher to himself. After this incident the time passed pleasantly enough for over a week. When Baxter came from the brig he went to work without a word. Whenever he passed the Rovers or the girls he acted as if he did not know they were there, and they ignored him just as thoroughly. But the boys watched every move the bully made. As mentioned before, Jack Lesher was a drinking man, and as the weather grew warmer the mate increased his potions until there was scarcely a day when he was thoroughly sober. Captain Blossom remonstrated with him, but this did little good. "I'm attending to my duties," said Lesher. "And if I do that you can't expect more from me." "I thought I hired a man that was sober," said Captain Blossom. "I won't place my vessel in charge of a man who gets drunk." Yet he was not willing to do the mate's work, or put that work onto others, so Jack Lesher had to take his turn on deck, no matter in what condition. "I must say I don't like that first mate at all," said Tom to Sam. "He is very friendly with Baxter." "I have noticed that," replied the youngest Rover. "Such a friendship doesn't count in the mate's favor." "Last night he was thoroughly drunk, and wasn't fit to command." "Well, that is Captain Blossom's lookout. The captain can't be on deck all of the time." Two nights after this talk Jack Lesher was again in command of the ship, Captain Blossom having retired after an unusually hard day. It was hot and dark, and the air betokened a storm. The man at the wheel was following a course set by the captain, and the sailors whose watch was on deck lay around taking it as easy as they could. The mate had been drinking but little in the afternoon, but before coming on deck he took several draughts of rum. He was in a partiallarly bad humor and ready to find fault with anybody or anything. Some of the sails had been reefed, and these he ordered shaken out, although there was a stiff breeze blowing. Then he approached the man at the wheel and asked for the course. "Southwest by south," was the answer. "That aint right," growled the mate. "It should be south by west." "The captain gave it to me southwest by south," answered the man. "Don't talk back to me!" roared Jack Lesher. "I know the course as well as the captain. Make it south by west, or I'll flog you for disobeying orders." "Aye, aye, sir," answered the man at the wheel, and the course was changed, for the sailor stood greatly in fear of the mate. Then the mate sent below for another drink of rum. CHAPTER XII ANOTHER ACCIDENT AT SEA It was four hours later, and Captain Blossom was just preparing to come on deck, when there, came a fearful shock which threw the Golden Wave back and over on her side. "We have struck! We are on the rocks!" came a shrill cry from the deck, and immediately there was an uproar. The Rover boys were thrown to the floor from their berths, and it was several seconds before they could realize what had happened. "We have struck something, that is sure!" gasped Sam. As quickly as they could they donned their clothing and made their way to the large state-room occupied by the girls. "Oh, what a shock!" came from Nellie. "Are you safe?" asked Tom. "I am, but poor Grace struck her head on the wall, and is unconscious." Without ceremony Tom picked up the unconscious girl, wrapped her in a blanket, and, aided by Sam, carried her to the deck, the others following. A minute later Grace revived. On deck they found all in confusion. The bowsprit of the _Golden Wave_ was gone, and also the main topmast, while a mass of the rigging littered the forecastle. It was also announced that the rudder was broken and the vessel was pounding helplessly on the rocks, with a big hole in the bow directly below the waterline. "Who changed the course?" demanded Captain Blossom. "We should be fifty miles away from these rocks." "The first mate made me change the course," said the man who had been at the wheel. "I told him you had said southwest by south, and he made it south by west." "He don't know what he's talking about!" howled Jack Lesher. The shock had partly sobered him. "He was steering due south, and I told him to make it southwest by south." But little more could be said on the point, for it was feared that the schooner would go down at any moment. "We must man the boats," said the captain. "Bring up the provisions and the kegs of water, and be quick about it." "Are we near land?" asked Dick. "There should be some islands four or five miles south of this spot," answered Captain Blossom. Now that there was danger of going down some of the sailors seemed to grow crazy. Half a dozen tumbled into one of the boats and began to lower it of their own accord. "Stand back there!" shouted the captain. "The girls must go first." "Not much!" shouted one of the sailors. "It's everybody for himself now!" And in a moment more the small boat had left the ship's side and disappeared in the darkness. There were three other boats and the remaining sailors, along with the first mate and Dan Baxter, wanted to crowd into these. But Captain Blossom said he would shoot the first man who tried to row away without his orders. Then some provisions were put into the boats, and the captain divided the whole company among the three boats. "Let us stay together, captain," pleaded Dick. "We can row." "And what of the girls, Rover?" "Let us go with the Rover boys," pleaded Dora, and Nellie and Grace said the same. Old Jerry also stood by his friends. While this talk was going on there was a rush for two of the boats, and before Captain Blossom could do anything his men were off, taking Jack Lesher and Dan Baxter with them. "You can go down with the ship!" cried Dan Baxter mockingly. An instant later the darkness hid the speaker from view. "They have left us," cried Captain Blossom. "But, thank fortune, the best and largest boat is also left." Some provisions had been tumbled into this boat, and a cask of water followed. Then the girls were placed on board, the Rover boys followed, and the captain and old Jerry came behind, to cut away. Down went the small boat into the mighty waves, and each of the boys caught up an oar. "Pull!" roared Captain Blossom. "Pull for your lives!" And they did pull, two boys on one side, and Sam and old Jerry on the other. The girls huddled in the stern, expecting every moment to see the little craft turn bottom side up. They scraped along the side of the doomed ship, and then along some rocks. Captain Blossom was in the bow, peering ahead. "To the left!" he yelled. "Quick!" And then came a shock, and the captain disappeared beneath the waves. "The captain is gone!" screamed Dora, but she was hardly heard, for the ship was pounding on the rocks, and the spray was flying in all directions. The boys and old Jerry continued to pull, knowing not what else to do, and at last the spot was left behind and they found themselves on the bosom of the mighty Pacific, in the black darkness, out of sight of everything, with only the sounds of the wind and the waves filling their ears. "Do you think we will ever get out of this alive?" asked Grace of Dora. "Let us pray that we may all be spared," answered Dora, and they did pray, more earnestly than they had ever before prayed in their whole lives. It was a moment that put their faith to a supreme test. The boys did not dare to stop rowing, and they kept on until their backs ached and their arms seemed ready to drop from their sockets. "We had better take turns," said Dick, at last. "We can't keep this up all night.." And his suggestion was followed out, two, rowing at a time, for a space of fifteen or twenty minutes. They thought they might see something of the other boats, but nothing came to view, and when they set up a shout at the top of their lungs, no answer came back. "They have either gone down or else got out of this neighborhood," said Tom. "It was too bad to lose Captain Blossom," said Sam. "He was not such a bad sort, after all." It was not long after this that a mass of wreckage drifted past them. There was a bit of broken spar and some other woodwork, but no human being, and they let the wreckage go. By looking at his watch Dick saw that it was three o'clock in the morning. "It will be light in another couple of hours," he said. "If we can keep on top of the waves until then perhaps we can sight the islands the captain mentioned." "I wish it was daylight now," sighed Nellie. Fortunately a bundle of clothing had been brought along, and as the water was warm, nobody suffered much from the wetting received. Care was taken to keep the provisions as dry as possible, for there was no telling how long it would be before they would be able to get more. Slowly the night dragged by, and, with the coming of morning, the wind went down, the storm passing to the northward. "It is growing lighter," announced Dora. "The sunlight is beginning to, show over the rim of the sea." Half an hour later the sun came up, like a great ball of fire from a bath in the ocean, capping the high waves with gold. As the light spread around them, Dick stood up on a seat and gazed eagerly in all directions. "What do you see?" demanded the others. "Nothing," he answered, with a sinking heart; "nothing but water on all sides of us." "The islands--they must be somewhere!" cried Tom, and he, too, took a look, followed by the others. The last to look was old Jerry. "Can't see much," said the old sailor slowly. "But I kind of reckon there's a dark spot directly southward." "It must be one of the islands the captain mentioned!" exclaimed Dora. "We might as well row in that direction," said Dick. "There is nothing else to do." "It's queer what became of the other boats," said Sam. Some of the provisions were brought forth and they ate sparingly, and drank a little of the water. Then the boys and old Jerry took up the oars once more and began to pull as nearly southward as they could make it, steering by the sun. When the sun grew higher it became very warm, so that the rowers were glad enough to lay aside their jackets. By noon they reckoned that they had covered six or eight miles. One after another stood up on the seats to take a look around. "Nothing in sight yet," said Dick, with a sorry shake of his head. "We must have been mistaken in that dark spot." "What will you do now?" asked Grace. "The hot sun is beginning to make my head ache." Sam's head also ached, but he said nothing. Nobody knew what to suggest. "One thing is certain; we can't remain out on the bosom of the ocean," said Dick. "Better continue to pull southward," came from old Jerry. "There are lots of islands down that way. The map is full of 'em." "Yes, the map is full of them," answered Dick. "But a quarter of an inch on the map means a hundred miles or two in reality." Yet it was decided to row on, trusting to luck to strike some island, either large or small. It was now fiercely hot, and all hands perspired freely. By the end of the afternoon the boys were worn out, and had to give up rowing. The girls were dozing in the stern, having covered their heads with a thin shawl, stretched from one gunwale to another. Tom and Sam were dizzy from the glare of the sun on the water. "Another day like this will set me crazy," said the youngest Rover. "I'd give ten dollars for a pair of blue goggles." Old Jerry had been looking intently to the westward. Now he pointed in that direction. "See that trail of smoke," he said. "Unless I am mistaken a steamship is sailing toward us!" "A steamship!" cried Tom, and the words awoke the girls. "We must hail the vessel by all means." "If she comes close enough," said Captain Jerry pointedly. "Don't be too hopeful, my lads. She may pass us by." CHAPTER XIII THE CRUSOES OF SEVEN ISLANDS All on board of the rowboat watched the thin trail of smoke with interest. "I believe it is going away from us," said Dora. "No, it is coming closer," said Nellie. "It is certainly moving to the northward," put in Sam. A quarter of an hour went by and the smoke came only a little nearer. "She is a big steamer," said Captain Jerry. "But she aint comin' jest this way." "You are sure?" cried Tom. "Yes, lad. It's too bad, but it can't be helped." The old sailor was right; half an hour later the smoke had shifted, and after that it faded gradually from sight. It was a heavy blow, after their expectations had been raised so high, and tears stood in the eyes of all of the girls, while the boys looked unusually sober. What was to do next? All asked that question, yet it was only Captain Jerry who answered it. "Let us pull southward," said he. And they did so, although with hearts that were as heavy as lead in their bosoms. Slowly the night came on. Shortly after the sun set the moon showed itself and the sky became studded with stars, the Southern Cross standing out boldly among them. The pale light made the bosom of the ocean glisten like silver. "A beautiful night," said Dora. "But who can enjoy it when we do not know what to-morrow will bring forth," and she sighed deeply. The boys and old Jerry continued to take turns at rowing, while the girls sank into fitful slumber. Presently the old sailor raised his head. "Listen!" he said, and they did so, and far away heard a strange booming. "What's that?" questioned Sam. "It's breakers!" cried Tom. "We must be near some coast!" "The lad is right," came from Captain Jerry. "We are near an island, after all!" Dick stood on a seat, and, as the boat rode to the top of a wave, took a look around. "An island!" he cried. "Dead ahead!" "Hurrah! We are saved!" ejaculated Sam. "What is the matter?" questioned Dora, rousing up, followed by the other girls. "There is an island ahead." "We must be careful how we approach the shore, lads," cautioned Jerry. "If we strike the rocks, it may cost us our lives. Perhaps we had better hold off until daylight." "I see a stretch of sand!" came from Tom, who was standing up. "If we can reach that, we'll be all right." Old Jerry took a careful look. The sand was there, true enough, but there were dangerous breakers between the boat and that shore. "If you say so, we can run our chances," he said. "The young ladies must hold tight, and not mind a good ducking." The force of the waves was now carrying them closer and closer to the breakers. Under old Jerry's directions the boys took a short, sharp stroke, keeping the rowboat straight up to the waves. The noise was like thunder, and soon the spray was flying all over them. "Now pull!" cried Captain Jerry. "One, two, three! Hold tight, girls!" And away they went into the breakers. One wave dashed over the craft, but it was not swamped, and before another could hit them they darted up a swell and onto a long, sandy beach. In a twinkle the old sailor was out, along with Dick, and, aided by another wave, they ran the boat well up the beach, out of the harm of the waves. It was a hard struggle, and when it was over Dick sank down almost exhausted. "Saved!" murmured Dora, as she leaped out on shore. "Thank Heaven!" And all of the others echoed the sentiment. The empty boat was pulled up out of harm's way and chained fast to a palm tree growing near, and then the party of seven sat down to rest and to talk over the new condition of affairs. They were on a wild, tropical coast, with a long, sandy beach running to the ocean, and back of this a dense mass of tropical vegetation, including palms, plantains, cocoanuts, and date trees. Back of the heavy growth was a distant hill, standing out dimly in the moonlight. "This looks like a regular Crusoe-like island," said Dora, as she gazed around. "There is not a sign of a habitation anywhere." "A good many of the South Sea islands are not inhabited," said Dick. "The natives won't live on them because they are subject to volcano eruptions, earthquakes, and tidal waves." "Well, I hope we don't have any of those things while we stay here," came from Nellie. "An earthquake would scare me almost to death." "I do not see that we can do better than to stay right here for the rest of the night," said Tom. "I am too tired out to walk very, far." It was decided to follow Tom's advice, and all made themselves as comfortable as circumstances permitted. They had some matches in a waterproof safe, and soon a camp-fire was started, at which they dried some of their garments. Then, after eating some of the provisions that were left, they laid down to rest. Strange as it may seem all slept soundly until sunrise, and nothing came to disturb them. When the girls arose they found the boys and Captain Jerry already preparing breakfast. On the shore Tom, had found some oysters and shell-fish, and these were baking. Among the provisions were a little tea and coffee, and old Jerry had made a pot of coffee, which did one good to smell. Sam had brought down some cocoanuts from a nearby tree, and also found some ripe bananas. "We won't starve' to death here, that's certain," said Dick, when they all sat down to eat. "The island is full of good things. If I had a gun I could bring down lots of birds, and monkeys, too." "I don't think I'd care to eat a monkey," said Grace. "But I wouldn't mind eating birds." "There must be plenty of fish here, too," said Tom. "In fact I saw some sporting in the waters of a little bay up the coast." "Shall we go up and down the coast after breakfast?" asked Sam. "My advice is to climb yonder hill and take a squint around," came from Captain Jerry. "That's a splendid idea, providing we can get to the tap," said Dick. "There is no use of all of us going, lad. You can go with me while the rest stay here." "What shall we do in the meantime?" asked Sam. "Better try your hand at fishin', lad, and see if you can knock some birds over with sticks and stones. If ye get anything, let the girls cook us somethin', for we'll be powerful hungry by the time we get back." Half an hour later Captain Jerry and Dick set out. Each carried a few ship's biscuits and also a heavy stick which had been cut in the thickets. Each wished he had a gun or a pistol, but those articles were not to be had. The climb up the hill was by no means an easy one. The rocks were rough and in many spots the jungle of brush and vines was so thick that to get through was next to impossible. It was very warm, and they had to stop often to cool off and catch their breath. "I don't wonder that people in hot countries move slowly," said Dick. "I feel more like resting than doing anything else." It was almost noon when they came in sight of the top of the hill. There were still some rough rocks to climb, and these they had to ascend by means of some vines that grew handy. "What a magnificent view!" cried Dick. It certainly was magnificent. Looking back in the direction they had come they could see the Pacific Ocean, glittering in the bright sun-light and stretching miles and miles out of sight. The island they were on looked to be about half a mile in diameter. Northward, eastward, and westward was the ocean, but to the southward was a circlet of six islands, having a stretch of calm water between them. Between some of the islands the water was very shallow, while elsewhere it looked deep. "Seven islands in all," said old Jerry. "And not a sign of a house or hut anywhere." "We are the Crusoes of Seven Islands," said Dick. "But do you really believe they are uninhabited?" "Do ye see any signs of life, lad?" "I must say I do not. It's queer, too, for I rather imagined one at least of the other boats had reached this place." "I thought the same. But it looks now as if they all went to Davy Jones's locker, eh?" "It certainly does look that way." From the top of the hill they took a careful survey of the situation. The elevation was in the very center of the island. Down toward the other islands the slope was more abrupt than it was in the direction from which they had come. "We can take a look at those other islands later on," said old Jerry. "Reckon as how we have done enough for one day. If we don't git back soon, they'll become anxious about us." "I wish we had a flag," said Dick. "Here is a tall tree. We could chop away the top branches and hang up a signal of distress. If we did that, perhaps some ship would come this way and rescue us." "Right ye are, lad, but it aint many ships come this way. They are afraid o' the rocks we run on." Having looked around once more, to "git the lay o' the land," as Captain Jerry expressed it, they started to descend the hill. This proved as difficult as climbing up had been. Dick went in advance, and was half-way down when he stepped on a loose stick and went rolling into a perfect network of vines and brushwood. "Are ye hurt?" sang out old Jerry. "No--not much!" answered the eldest Rover. "But my wind--Oh, goodness gracious!" Dick broke off short, and small wonder. As 'he arose from the hole into which he had tumbled, a hissing sound caught his ears. Then up came the head of a snake at least eight feet long, and in a twinkle the reptile had wound itself around the boy's lower limbs! CHAPTER XIV SETTLING DOWN ON THE ISLAND "What's wrong, lad?" "A snake! It has wound itself around my legs!" "Ye don't say!" gasped Captain Jerry, and then leaped down to the hollow. "Well, by gosh! Take that, ye beast!" "That" was a blow aimed at the reptile's head with the sailor's stick. Old Jerry's aim was both swift and true and the head of the reptile received a blow which knocked out one eye and bruised its fang. But the body wound itself around Dick tighter than ever. Fortunately the youth had not lost his wits completely, and as the neck of the reptile came up, he grasped it in his hand with the strongest grip he could command. "Cut it--cut its head off!" he panted. "Get your pocket-knife!" At once Captain Jerry dropped his stick and pulled out his jack-knife, a big affair, such as many old sailors carry. One pull opened the main blade, and then old Jerry started in to do as Dick had suggested. It was no easy job and the body of the snake squirmed and whipped in every direction, lashing each on the neck and the cheek. But the head came off at last and then they left the body where it fell, and leaped out of the way of further danger. "A close shave, lad," said the old sailor, as he peered around for more snakes. "I--I should sa--say it wa--was," panted Dick. He was deadly pale. "I--I thought it would strangle me sure!" "If it had got around your neck, that is what would have happened. Reckon as how we had better git out o' this neighborhood, eh?" "Yes, yes, let us go at once," and Dick started off once more. After that both were very careful where they stepped and kept their eyes wide open for any new danger which might arise. So they went on until they came in sight of the seashore. "We had better say nothing about the snake," said the eldest Rover. "It will only scare the girls to death." "No, lad, you are wrong. We must warn them of danger. Otherwise they may run into it headlong." All of the others were glad to have them back and plied them with questions. "So there are seven islands," said Tom. "Well, as there are seven of us, that is one island apiece. I don't think we need complain," and his jolly manner made all laugh. When Jerry told the story about the snake Dora set up a scream. "Oh, Dick, if it had really strangled you!" she gasped. "You must be very, very careful in the future!" "Yes, and you must be careful, too, Dora," he answered. "There is a nice beach right around the edge of the island," said old Jerry. "So, when we want to visit the other islands, we can walk around on the sand. That is better than climbing the hill." "But the beach doesn't run to the other islands, does it?" asked Sam. "No, but we can carry our rowboat around with us, to that bay between the islands. There the water is smooth enough for anybody to row in." "The six islands are shaped exactly like a ring," said Dick. "And this island is the big stone on top." "As the island is uninhabited I suppose we'll have to settle down and build ourselves huts or something," came from Nellie. "To be sure. We'll be regular Robinson Crusoes," answered Tom. "Why, I can tell you it will be jolly, when we get used to it." "Where will we build our huts?" asked Sam. "We can build them here, if we wish," replied Dick. "But I rather favor the side fronting the other islands." "Yes, that's the best side," said Captain Jerry. "If we build here, a strong storm may knock our huts flat. That side is more sheltered and, consequently, safer. Besides, there is more fruit there, and I'm sure better fishing in the bay, and that's what counts, too." "Of course it counts--since we must live on fruits, fish, and what birds and animals we manage to knock over," said Tom. The boys had been fairly successful in hunting and fishing, having knocked over half a dozen birds and caught four fair-sized fish. Everything had been done to a turn over the camp-fire, and Dick and old Jerry did full justice to what was set before them--on some dried palm leaves Nellie had found. Their coffee they drank out of some cocoanut shells. They had no forks, but used sharp sticks instead, and the knives the boys carried in their pockets. The weather continued fine and that night the moon shone as brightly as ever. The boys took a stroll on the beach to talk over their plans. "I am sorry to say there is no telling how long we may have to stay here," said Dick. "It may be a day, a week, or for years." "Oh, some ship is bound to pick us up some day," returned Tom. "And if we can find enough to live on in the meantime, what is the use of complaining? I am glad my life was spared." "So am I, Tom." "I would like to know what became of Dan Baxter," put in Sam. "Can it be possible that all of the rest perished?" "Certainly it is possible, Sam. You know what a time we had of it." "It is an awful death to die--in the midst of the ocean," and the youngest Rover shuddered. "I agree with you," said Tom. "But I am more sorry for Captain Blossom than for Baxter." "The wrecking of the ship was the fault of the mate. He was drunk," said Dick. "The man at the wheel was doing what was right until Jack Lesher came along." "Well, I guess the mate went down with the rest." "Look!" cried Sam, pointing to sea. "I see something dark on the water." All gazed in the direction he pointed out and made out a mass of wreckage. They watched it steadily until the breakers cast it almost at their feet. "Some wreckage from the ship!" cried Dick, on examination. "See, here is the name on some of the woodwork. I reckon the vessel went to pieces on the rocks." The wreckage consisted mainly of broken spars and cordage. But there were also some boxes, which, on being opened, proved to contain provisions. "It's not such a bad find, after all," said Tom. "I hope some more comes ashore." But though they waited the best part of the night, nothing more came to view. In the morning the boys felt tired and they did not rouse up until nearly noon. They found old Jerry at the beach, inspecting the wreckage. "The ropes may come in handy," he said. "But the wood is of small account, since' we have all we want already to hand." It was decided to remain at the beach for the next day, to look for more wreckage. But none came in, and then they started in a body to skirt the shore around to the South Bay, as old Jerry called it. At first they thought to carry the boat around, but concluded to come back for that later. It was a journey full of interest, for the sandy beach was dotted with many strange and beautiful seashells, and just back of the sand was the rich tropical growth already mentioned. The woods were full of monkeys and birds, and once Tom thought he caught sight of some goats or deer. They reached an ideal spot fronting the little bay a little before noon, and then the girls were glad enough to sit down in the shade and rest. The bay was full of fish, and before long they had caught three of the finny tribe. Fruit was also to be had in plenty, and a spring of fresh water gushed from the rocks of the hill behind them. "This is certainly a beautiful place," murmured Dora, as she gazed around. "Were it not for the folks at home worrying about us, I could spend quite some time here and enjoy it." "Well, as our situation cannot be helped, let us make the best of it," said Dick cheerfully. "There is no use in being downhearted when we ought to be glad that we were saved." Close to the rocks they found several trees growing in something of two circles, and they decided that these trees should form the corner posts of a double house or cabin. "If we had an ax we might cut down some wood, but as it is we will have to use strong vines and cover the huts with palm leaves," said Captain Jerry. The boys were soon at work, cutting the vines and gathering the palm leaves, and the girls assisted as well as they were able in fastening up the vine-ropes and binding in the leaves. It was slow work, yet by nightfall one half the house was complete and the other had the roof covered. "Now, if rain comes, we can keep fairly dry," said Tom. It rained the very next day and they were glad enough to crowd into the completed part, while the rain came down in torrents. When the worst of the downpour was over the wind arose and it kept blowing fiercely all of the afternoon and the night. "We can be thankful we are sheltered by the hill," said Sam. "Were we on the other side of the island, the wind would knock the hut flat and drench us in no time." The storm kept all awake until early morning and when it went down they were glad to sink to rest. All slept soundly and it was not until ten o'clock, when the sun was struggling through the clouds, that Tom arose, to find the others still slumbering. "I'll let them sleep," he said to himself "They need it and there is no need for them get to up." Stretching himself, he walked quietly from the hut and down to the beach. His first thought was to try to collect some wood, more or less dry, and start a fire. Gazing across the bay to one of the other islands, he saw a sight which filled him with astonishment. There, on the beach of the island, lay the wreck of the _Golden Wave_. CHAPTER XV ANOTHER CASTAWAY BROUGHT TO LIGHT "The _Golden Wave_! Hurrah!" Tom could not resist setting up a shout when he saw the familiar hull of the schooner, resting quietly on the beach of an island on the other side of the bay. The cry awoke Sam, Dick, and old Jerry, and they came running out to learn what it meant. "The schooner!" came from Sam. "How did that get there?" "The storm must have driven her off the rocks and into this bay," answered Dick. "She didn't go down, after all." "It's a fine thing for us," put in Captain Jerry, his broad face beaming with pleasure. "Now we can have all the provisions we want, and clothing and guns, and if we can anchor the wreck in some way, we can live on her just as comfortably as in a house at home." The excited talking brought the girls out one after another, and they were equally pleased over the stroke of good fortune. "She seems to be cast up pretty high on the sand," said old Jerry. "But even so, the sooner we get to her the better, or the sea may carry her off." "I am ready to go now," said Tom. "But how are we to get to that island? It's a pity we didn't bring our boat around." "There are two islands of the circle in between," came from Sam. "Why can't we swim from one to the next and get around that way?" "We can try it, lad. But we want to be careful. There may be sharks around in these parts." "Oh, don't let the sharks eat you up!" cried Grace. "We'll keep our eyes open, never fear," said Dick. A vote was taken, and it was decided that Sam should remain with the girls, to protect them in case of unexpected danger, while Tom, Dick, and old Jerry should make their way as best they could to the wreck. The old sailor and the two boys were soon off. They tramped down the beach a short distance and then reached a coral reef leading to the next island. Here the water was not over a foot and a half deep, and as clear as crystal, so the passage to Island No. 2, as Tom named it, was comparatively easy. The second island crossed they followed the shore around until they came opposite to the island upon which the wreck rested. Here there was a channel sixty or eighty feet wide and of unknown depth, the channel through which the wreck had most likely entered the bay. The water here was by no means smooth and Captain Jerry shook his head doubtfully. "It won't be no easy swim," he said. "Reckon as how I'll try it first." "I can get over easily enough," said Dick, and threw off part of his clothing and his shoes. He was soon in the water and striking out boldly, and the others followed. Short as was the distance, the swim was as hard as any of them looked for, and when they reached the other side of the channel all were out of breath and had to rest for a moment. "It's a good thing no shark happened to be near," said Tom. "The monster would certainly have had us at his mercy." When they reached the wreck they found the stern well out of the water. The _Golden Wave_ lay partly on her left side and it was a comparatively easy matter to, gain the deck. The masts were gone and there was a big hole in the bow, but otherwise the craft had suffered little damage. Why she had not sunk was a mystery until, later on, old Jerry discovered that some of the cargo, consisting of flat cases, had got wedged into the break, thus cutting off a large portion of the leak. "We can anchor her without trouble," said the old sailor. "And perhaps straighten her up too, so the deck won't be so slanty. Then she'll be a reg'lar hotel for all hands." "Let us go below and see how things are down there," said Dick, and he at once led the way. At that instant a loud sneeze reached their ears, causing Dick to pause on the companion way. Looking into the cabin he saw a man standing there, partly dressed. "Captain Blossom!" he ejaculated. "Is it really you or your ghost?" "Dick Rover!" cried the master of the schooner. "Then you weren't drowned, after all?" "No, captain. But--but how did you escape?" "Is it really Captain Blossom?" came from Tom, and he rushed down into the cabin, followed by old Jerry. All shook hands, and the face of the captain showed his pleasure over the meeting. "So you all escaped and are here," he said. "I am downright glad to know it. What of the others?" "We don't know what became of the other boats," answered Dick. "Saw nothing at all?" "Not a thing." The captain shook his head sorrowfully. "But how did you escape?" asked Dick again. "That is a short story, lad. When I went overboard from the rowboat, I caught hold of some of the wreckage from the schooner. This was still fast to the deck, and by hauling myself in I soon got on board again. As I had no boat, I remained on board, for I soon saw that the schooner would not go down immediately. At daylight the ship left the rocks and drifted around on the ocean until the wind came up last night, when we struck this island and got beached, as you see. I was worn out with watching, and as soon as I found the boat was safe from sinking I went to bed, and slept soundly until I heard you three tramping around the deck." "We are stopping over on yonder island," said Tom, when all went on deck, and he pointed in the direction. "See, Sam and the girls are waving to us. Let us wave in return, and stand apart, so they can see that there are four of us." They did as the youngest Rover advised and soon saw that they were seen. Then Captain Blossom held up his spyglass. "I reckon they will know who I am by that," he said, and he was right, for Sam told the girls that the fourth man was Captain Blossom beyond a doubt. "How is your stock of provisions?" asked old Jerry. "We are getting just a bit tired of living on birds and fish. And we want a gun or a pistol with which to protect ourselves." "The _Golden Wave_ has enough provisions to last this party a year," answered the captain. "We haven't anything very fine, but we have plenty of flour, dried beans, salt and smoked meats, and a good many cases of canned vegetables, as well as sugar, tea, coffee, salt, and pepper. With fresh fish and some game we'll be able to live as well here as if we were on shore,--that is, if we can find fresh water." "We have all the fresh water we want,--on the large island," said Tom. "And lots of tropical fruit--cocoanuts, bananas, and the like." "If we are going to live on the ship, we'll have to bring fresh water over from the other island in a cask," said Dick. "That will not be very handy." "Can't we move the wreck over?" came from Tom. "No, lad," answered Captain Blossom. "She is here to stay until her timbers rot. But if we wish, we can move some of the provisions ashore. There are the parts of a rowboat below, and I reckon I am carpenter enough to put the parts together in a day or two." "We have a boat on the north beach," said old Jerry; "we can bring it around." "To do that, we'll have to swim the channel again," came from Dick. "And I must say I don't like that." "Let us make a raft," cried Tom. "There must be plenty of material on board of the schooner for that." "There certainly is," answered Captain Blossom. "Come, we can make a raft in less than an hour." All set to work, and in a short space of time they had the material together. Ropes and spikes were there a-plenty, and as Captain Blossom laid out one stick and another, the boys and old Jerry either nailed or tied them together. A board flooring was placed on top of the spars and then the whole affair was dumped into the bay with a loud splash. It floated very well, with the flooring a good ten inches above the surface of the water, and as the raft was nearly twenty feet long by ten wide, it was capable of carrying considerable weight. "That's better than a boat," said Dick. "We can pile a good deal more stuff on it." "Let us get on and paddle to where we left the others," said Tom. "They will be anxious to learn the news." Captain Blossom was willing, and they took with them a variety of provisions and also some extra clothing and some firearms. Then the raft was moved to where the boys had left part of their own clothing when they had started to swim the channel. The coming of the big raft and its passengers to the shore where the cabin was located was greeted with shouts of joy from Sam and the three girls. "Hurrah for the captain of the _Golden Wave_!" cried Sam, swinging his cap in the air. "We are very glad to see you safe and sound." "And I am glad to see you," answered Captain Blossom, as he leaped ashore and grasped one and another by the hand. "Last night I was thinking I would be a lonely castaway; now I find I shall have plenty of company." "We have brought along some provisions," put in Tom. "And in honor of this reunion, and also in honor of the fact that the Golden 'Wave has not been sunk, I move we invite the girls to get us up a regular feast. I think all bands deserve it." "Second the motion!" cried Sam. "All right, we'll cook you anything you want," said Nellie. "That is, if you will supply the things." "I will," answered Tom. Then he scratched his head. "Well, by gracious!" "What's the trouble, Tom?" asked Grace. "Did you forget to bring along some sugar?" "Worse than that. I brought along all sorts of good things to eat, and not a single knife, fork, spoon, or dish outside of some cooking utensils." "Oh, dear!" burst out Dora. "It will be a sorry feast if we haven't anything to eat from!" "I'll go back for the dishes," replied Tom promptly. "Sam, do you want to visit the wreck? We can go and come by the time the things are cooked." "To be sure I'll go," said Sam; and in a few minutes more the two boys were off on the clumsy raft. CHAPTER XVI SAM AND THE SHARK "The _Golden Wave_ looks like an old friend," said Sam as they paddled across the smooth waters of the bay. "Her coming here is the finest thing that could have happened," answered his brother. "I didn't want to say anything before, but if she hadn't come what would we have done for clothing and for eating? We couldn't live on fish all the time, and one can do mighty little hunting without a gun." "We would have had to set traps, Tom, and dig pitfalls for larger game. But I admit it would have been hard work, and I fancy a suit of goatskins, like Robinson Crusoe wore, wouldn't be half as comfortable as a suit of clothes such as I am wearing." "If we could only float the schooner and sail away to some nearby port." "There is no port' within three hundred miles of us, so the captain says." Soon the boys were halfway across the bay. But moving the big raft was a laborious task, and they were glad enough to sit down and rest for a few minutes. "There is no use of our hurrying," said Tom. "Our time is our own in this out-of-the-way place, and as we have next to nothing to do we want to make what little work there is last us." "Like a lazy man working by the day," laughed Sam. "I'm afraid I can't work that way. When I have something to do I'm not content until it is done." "Are you hot, Sam? Here is something to cool you off." As Tom spoke he playfully scooped up a handful of water and threw it at his brother. Soon the two boys were having lots of sport, throwing handfuls of the salty water at each other. Then Sam made a motion as if he was going to push Tom overboard with his paddle. "Hi! none of that!" cried Tom. "I don't mind a wetting by retail, but I don't want it by wholesale." He continued to throw water at Sam and the youngest Rover tried to dodge. The raft began to rock, and of a sudden Sam lost his balance and went into the bay with a splash. Tom set up a laugh, for it was a comical sight, and it had been Sam's own fault that he went overboard. But then Tom's laughter came to an end as he saw the form of a shark moving swiftly toward the spot. "A shark! a shark!" he screamed. "Sam, get on board, quick! A shark is after you!" Sam had gone far down beneath the surface and he did not reappear at once. Then he came up spluttering. "Gosh! I didn't want a bath! Tom, you--" "Hurry and get aboard, Sam! A shark is after you!" Sam was about ten feet from the raft, and running to the spot nearest to him, Tom held out the end of his paddle. "A shark?" gasped the youngest Rover. "Yes! yes! Catch the end of the paddle!" Sam made a frantic effort to do so. In the meantime the shark came closer and Tom could see his enormous mouth and sharp teeth clearly. His blood turned to ice in his veins. Sam made a clutch at the paddle, missed it, and disappeared once more from sight. The shark rushed to the spot and turned in dismay, and driven to desperation, Tom hit the monster over the head with the paddle. Then the shark disappeared also. The next few seconds were full of agony for poor Tom. He gazed in all directions for Sam, and for the shark, but neither one nor the other was to be seen. "He must have caught Sam under the water!" he muttered. "Oh, Sam, what an awful death to die!" A slight noise at the upper end of the raft disturbed him. He turned swiftly, to see a wet hand glide over the woodwork. He made a leap and clutched the hand, and then Sam's head appeared. He gave a frantic yank, and both lay on the flooring of the raft. Sam was saved. "The shark!" gasped Tom, when he could speak. "Did it--it--bite you?" "No, but it grazed my shoulder," answered Sam. "If I had not dived down, I would have lost an arm at the very least." When they felt able they looked around, but the shark had disappeared. "That settles it," said Tom. "We must be careful and keep out of this water in the future. If we want to bathe, we will have to build a pool." During the remainder of the trip to the wreck both were careful not to run the slightest chance of falling overboard. "Not such a very lovely place to live in, after all," said Tom. "Snakes on land and sharks in the water, ugh!" And Sam agreed with him. Once on the wreck it was an easy thing to obtain the dishes and the knives, forks and spoons, and also some other things they thought they might require. They also brought away another gun, loading it up before leaving the ship. "Now, if Mr. Shark comes around again, we can give him a dose of buckshot," said' Tom. But the shark did not appear, excepting at a great distance. When Sam. told his story all congratulated him on his narrow escape. "Tom is right," said old Jerry. "Ye mustn't do no bathin' in the bay. We can fix two pools, one for the ladies and one for ourselves, and make another pool for fish, and another for turtles, if we can find any." The girls had cooked a splendid meal, and soon the table was set on a big flat rock lying near the beach. All sat down and Captain Blossom asked a blessing, and then they all fell to with vigor, for all were hungry. "The salt air gives one an appetite," said Dick. The meal lasted the best part of an hour, for, as Tom said, there was no use of hurrying. As they ate, and for some time afterward, they discussed their situation and tried to arrange plans for the future. It was decided that first of all Dick and old Jerry should climb to the top of the hill, taking with them an ax and a flag and some halyards, and fasten the flag to the top of the tree, stars down, as a signal of distress. Then the whole party was to assist in bringing from the wreck as much building material as was necessary to construct a comfortable dwelling of three large rooms, one for the girls, one for the boys and men, and one as a general living room. A store-house was also to be built, in which could be stored such provisions as were brought away from the wreck from time to time. Then they could live on shore or on the ship, as they pleased. The following day was Sunday and all rested. The girls thought there should be some sort of religious exercises and all went to the wreck, where Captain Blossom read some chapters from the Bible and the others sang hymns. The week to follow was a busy one and the time slipped by rapidly. A visit was paid to the hilltop and the flag raised, and Tom and old Jerry also went to the north shore and brought around the rowboat beached there. In the meantime Captain Blossom put together the rowboat parts stored on the _Golden Wave_, so they now had two boats and the raft for service across the bay and to other points on the water. Building the house was by no means an easy task, but the Rover boys thought it more fun than work, especially with the girls to look on, and by the end of the second week the building looked quite presentable. When the two bedrooms were finished, some berths were brought over from the wreck, along with bed-clothing, and also some furniture for the living apartment. Outside the latter room a large porch was built, where they might eat and rest when the weather was fine. Not to run the risk of burning down the building in a high wind, it was decided that the cooking should be done in a shed some distance away, in the shelter of the rocks and handy to the spring. "Who is going to be the cook?" asked Dick. "It won't be fair to put it off on one person." "We have decided to take turns," said Dora. "Each one will be the main cook for a day at a time, with the others to help, and to wash the dishes. We are going to do all the housework, too, so you men folks can hunt and fish, and make garden if you will, to your hearts' content." "What a lazy time we will have of it," laughed Dick. "Captain Blossom says that as soon as we are settled we can explore all of the seven islands. Who knows we may find out something of importance," came from Tom, who stood near. "Cannibals, for instance," put in Sam. "Oh, do you really think there are any cannibals here?" asked Grace. "I believe he is fooling," said Nellie. "He only wants to scare us!" And she tossed her pretty head. "Perhaps we'll stir up some lions or tigers," said Tom. "Or an elephant," added Dick. "But I don't think we will. My opinion is that these islands have nothing on them but birds, monkeys, small game, and snakes." "You've forgotten one thing," said Dora, with an odd smile. "What, Dora?" "Castaways." CHAPTER XVII EXPLORING THE SEVEN ISLANDS Another rainy spell, lasting three days, followed, but after that the sky cleared in a fashion which Captain Blossom thought betokened good weather for some time to come. "We can now explore the seven islands and learn just what they contain," he said. The question now arose as to who should go along and who should stay at home with the girls. Lots were cast, and by this it was decided that the exploring party should consist of Captain Blossom, Sam, and Tom, leaving Dick and old Jerry with Dora, Nellie, and Grace. It was decided that the exploring party should take the lightest of the rowboats and enough provisions to last for a week. Each was also provided with a pistol, and Captain Blossom carried a rifle in addition. "If all goes well we will be back inside of four days," said the captain, when he and Tom and Sam were ready to depart. "But if we are not back at that time do not worry until at least a week has gone by." And so it was arranged. It was also arranged that three shots fired in succession should be a signal that one party or the other was in trouble. Tom and Sam were pleased over the prospect of going with the captain and they willingly took up the oars to row to the nearest island, which, as we already know, was close at hand. The boat was left on the beach and without delay the captain and the two boys plunged into the interior. The island was small, with but a slight rise of ground in the center. It was of small importance and they soon came out on the ocean side, where there was a beach strewn with shells and with oysters scarcely fit to eat. The growth on this island was mostly of young palms and the captain was of the opinion that the ground was not many years old. "This has been thrown up by an earthquake or a volcano," he said. "There is nothing here to interest us," and he turned back. They already knew something of the island on which the wreck was located, but, nevertheless, made a trip across it and up the outward coast. Here they found a number of orange and lemon trees, and also a great quantity of tropical nuts and some spices. The lemons proved to be very refreshing, and Tom said he meant to come back some day and get a bagful for general use. The next island was visited the next day, the party spending the night on the wreck. The passage to this island was rather a rough one, and they had all they could do to keep from having their provisions spilt overboard. "It is a blessing that the sea is comparatively calm," said Captain Blossom. "Otherwise we could never make such a trip in a small boat." This island was the largest of the group outside of the one on which the castaways had settled. It was almost square in shape and had a double hill with a tiny valley running between. In this valley the tropical growth was very dense, and the monkeys and birds were thicker than they had before seen them. There were also large quantities of blue and green parrots, filling the air with their cawing and screaming. "This is a very nice island," said Tom, while they were resting under some calabash trees. "The wood is very valuable--indigo, rosewood, mahogany, and lots of others. And what a sweet smell!" And he drew in a long breath of satisfaction. "It is certainly a lazy man's paradise," re-turned Sam. "A fellow need do next to nothing to feed and clothe himself here, and a house isn't absolutely necessary excepting when it storms real hard." On this island they found numerous land crabs, some as large as their two hands, and many fierce-looking spiders, with long, hairy legs and bulging eyes. Ants were also numerous, and in one spot they located fifteen anthills, each as large as a big beehive. Insects of all sorts were numerous, and they had to continually slap at a specimen of red fly that annoyed them greatly. "How those ants would like to get at our provisions," said Tom. "We can be thankful that we didn't locate here. Once they got at the stuff, they would eat us out of house and home." After resting, and partaking of some of the food brought along, they continued their journey across the island. The way was up one of the hills, and Tom was slightly in advance, when a noise ahead attracted his attention. "Something is there," he called out, as he came to a halt. "What is it?" asked Sam. "I don't know. Perhaps some wild animal, or else a snake." "Go slow there," cautioned Captain Blossom, coming up. "We don't want to run into unnecessary danger." "What did it sound like, Tom?" "I can't describe it. Something like a snarl, I guess." "Perhaps it was only a monkey." All stopped to listen, but no, sound reached their ears but the hum of insects and the chirping of some distant birds. "I reckon I had best go first," said Captain Blossom, but he did not seem to relish the task. Gun in hand, the captain advanced very cautiously. The boys came close behind him, each with his pistol ready for use. Of a sudden there was a snarl with a strange "yow-yawing," and a great beast leaped up on all-fours directly in their path and darted through the bushes. The captain raised his gun and the boys their pistols, but before they could fire the beast had disappeared. "What was it?" asked Sam, trembling with excitement. "I give it up, unless it was a bear," said Tom. "I think I know what it was," said the captain. "A big baboon or a gorilla." "I guess you are right, captain," answered Tom. "I saw a gorilla in a menagerie, and it was exactly like that beast. But what a big fellow he was!" "Gorillas are highly dangerous, especially when cornered," said Captain Blossom. He himself was more frightened than he cared to admit. "They have been known to carry a man off in their arms and bite him to death." "Thanks, but I want no gorillas around me," declared Sam. They waited several minutes before advancing again. But the gorilla had disappeared, nor did it show itself again during that trip on the island. Half an hour brought them in sight of the seashore once more. They were gazing at the sea when Tom happened to glance back, and on the hill behind them saw four goats standing in a bunch, looking at them in astonishment. "Quick! out of sight!" he cried, and dragged the others behind some trees. "What did you see?" "Several goats. Perhaps, if we are careful, we can get a shot at them. Fresh goat meat won't go bad." "What's the matter with capturing some of the goats and getting the milk?" came from Sam. "You'll have a job catching wild goats," answered Captain Blossom. "They are as fleet of foot as deer." It was decided to try two shots at the goats, providing they could get close enough. With care they plunged into the undergrowth and made their way back up the hillside until they thought they must be within fifty yards of the game. "There they are!" cried Tom softly. Bang! went the captain's gun, and crack! Tom fired immediately after. Two of the goats were hit, and one fell dead. The other staggered away with a broken foreleg. "We must get that second fellow!" cried Sam, and rushed after the game. The goat tried to turn on him, but Sam hit the beast over the head with a club he carried. Two other blows finished the animal. "That isn't bad," said the captain. "They both look to be young. They ought to make good eating." "We are going to have no easy work of it, getting these animals down to the shore," said Tom. "After we get them to the shore, what then?" questioned his brother. "We can't keep them in the boat all the time that we are exploring the other islands." "We had best make a trip back to the house," answered Captain Blossom. "If the others heard the shots they'll be wondering what has happened; besides, a storm is coming up." The captain said he would carry the smaller of the goats alone, leaving the two Rovers to carry the larger game between them. After a rest and another look around the vicinity, they started for the boat and reached it after a walk which almost exhausted every one of the party. "I'll be glad enough to lay around our camp and rest for a day," announced Sam. "This task of exploring is not as easy as it looks." A little later they were in the boat and rowing back to where they had left the others, little dreaming of the strange events that had happened in their absence. CHAPTER XVIII UNEXPECTED VISITORS It had been decided by the castaways to enlarge one of the rooms of the house, and as soon as the captain, Tom, and Sam had departed on their exploring tour, Dick and old Jerry set to work to cut down the posts necessary for the building. While this was going on the three girls were by no means idle. There were meals to get, dishes to wash, and it had been found that outdoor life was very rough on clothing, so there was a good bit of sewing and darning to be done. Fortunately all of the girls were handy with a needle, so that a rent in a coat or a dress received immediate attention. "Now you must make the alteration in the house very nice," said Dora to Dick. "Remember, we want a regular Queen Anne building, with round bay windows, and--" "And inlaid floors," finished Dick, "not to mention steam heat, and--" "Mercy on us!" burst in Grace. "Don't mention steam heat in this climate." "Of course we want hot and cold water in the kitchen," put in Nellie. "What sort of a mansion would it be without hot and cold water,--and a dumb waiter from the cellar, too," and then all began to laugh. "I know what I should like," said Dora, after a pause. "That would be a refrigerator." "If we had the ice," finished Nellie. "Dick, isn't there any ice on board of the _Golden Wave_?" "By Jove! I think there is," cried the oldest Rover boy. "I never once thought of it before." "If there is, I wish you'd bring some the next time you go over. We have lemons, and we could make delicious lemonade." "And we could make orange ice, too," put in Grace. "I know there was an ice-cream freezer on board of the ship. It was in the cook's galley." Old Jerry was coming to the house with a small tree he had cut down, and Dick sounded him about the ice. "To be sure there was ice, several tons of it," said Jerry. "It was stowed away near the bow. I don't believe it's all melted, either." "I'm going over to see," cried Dick. "We've got plenty of lemons and sugar; and lemonade, not to mention orange ice, would just strike the spot in this awfully hot weather." But as it was now noon, with the sun directly overhead, Dick decided to remain in the shade until four or five o'clock. Dinner was had, and then the work of enlarging the house went on as before. At half-past four Dick got out the rowboat and started for the wreck. He had first thought to go alone, but old Jerry wanted to pick out certain tools needed for the house-building, as well as hunt for a keg of nails, and the two decided to go together, going and coming as quickly as possible. "You won't be afraid to be alone, will you?" asked Dick, of the girls. "Not if you hurry," answered Nellie. "But don't stay away after dark." Left to themselves, the three girls swept up the chips the builders had left and started up the camp-fire. Then they tidied up the house generally, and soon set about preparing the supper. Dora was at the spring getting a pail of water when a sound on the rocks nearby caused her to look around in wonder. To her amazement Dan Baxter stood there, staring at her in open-mouthed astonishment. "Dan Baxter!" she gasped. "Where in the world did you come from?" For a moment the bully did not answer, so great was his amazement. Dora noted that he was dirty and unkempt, and that his clothing was almost in rags. "Is it you, Dora Stanhope?" came slowly from the fellow's lips. "Is it really you?" "Yes," she answered. "How did you get here? Are you alone?" went on Baxter, coming closer. And then before she could answer, he added: "Got anything to eat?" At the last question she looked at him more closely, and saw that he appeared half starved. She pitied him despite his character. "Yes, we have plenty to eat," she said. "Then give me something at once," he cried. "Give me something at once!" "Come with me." There was now a crashing in the bushes back of Dan Baxter, and in a second more Jack Lesher appeared on the scene. He too was haggard and dirty, and his eyes were much blood-shot, the result of living almost entirely on liquor for several days after being wrecked on the islands. "Well, is it possible!" cried the mate of the _Golden Wave_. "They've got lots to eat," muttered Dan Baxter. "I'm going to have something to fill me up before I start to talk." "How many more of you are here?" asked Dora, in something of dismay. "We came along alone," said Baxter. "Show us that grub." Dora led the way to the camp-fire, where Nellie and Grace were also surprised at the unexpected visitors. Some food was brought forth, and both Baxter and Lesher ate like two famished wolves. "Got any liquor?" questioned the mate, casting his eyes toward the house. "We have a little," answered Nellie, for Captain Blossom had brought over several bottles from the wreck. "Bring it out." When the liquor was brought Jack Lesher took a long draught and then handed the bottle to Dan Baxter. "That's the stuff!" cried the mate, with a sly wink at Dora. "Better than eatin,' twice over," and he took another drink. The manner of the two newcomers was not at all pleasing to the girls, and they were sorry that none of the men folks were at hand. They asked the pair to tell their story, and Baxter spoke up, while Lesher applied himself to the bottle. "We floated around the ocean for several days," said the bully. "One sailor went crazy from the sunshine and leaped overboard, and was drowned. Then a heavy wind came up and drove the boat, in the night, onto an island close to this one. We were cast ashore with hardly any provisions, and two of the sailors were sick. We had to live on fish, birds, and fruit, and we've had a hard lot of it, I can tell you that. Yesterday Lesher and I resolved to explore this island, thinking that perhaps some of the wreckage from the schooner had washed ashore here. We came over in the afternoon and tramped along the north shore until it grew dark, but without finding anything. We slept at the shore last night, and this morning started to go over the hill back there. But the snakes chased us off, and then we came around over some rough rocks, where both of us got our clothing torn. We thought we saw a flag up there somewhere, but we weren't sure." "Yes, we have a signal of distress up there," answered Dora. She hardly knew how best to reply. "Who is here?" "Captain Blossom, old Jerry Tolman, and the three Rover boys. Old Jerry and Dick have just gone over to the wreck en an errand. The others have gone on an exploring tour among the islands, which are seven in number." "Got the wreck, have yer!" came in almost a grunt from Jack Lesher. "Sure enough!" He staggered down to the beach. "Don't see why you stay here when you might be aboard of her." "It is cooler here," answered Nellie. "How many sailors were saved?" asked Grace. "Nine were saved, besides Lesher and myself," answered Dan Baxter. "You see, we picked up some of the men from one of the other boats." "Then your party numbers eleven in all," said Dora. "Yes," came from Jack Lesher. "An' I am the cap'n of the lot," and he bobbed his head in satisfaction. He had partaken of just enough liquor to make him foolish. "I wish Dick and old Jerry would come back," whispered Grace to Dora. "I do not like Mr. Lesher at all." "I never liked him," replied Dora. "When he gets intoxicated he is a bad fellow to deal with." "Reckon we'll make ourselves comfortable here," said Lesher, staggering to a hammock Dick had put up for the girls to rest in. He pitched into the hammock, carrying a bottle of liquor with him. Another drink was taken, and soon he was fast asleep, snoring loudly. CHAPTER XIX HOT WORDS AND BLOWS "What a shame!" said Nellie, pointing to the slumbering mate. "That shows what liquor will do," came from Dora. "Oh, you mustn't blame him too much," returned Dan Baxter, who also liked the taste of the liquor. "Remember that we have been living a dog's life since we came on shore, while you have been living on the best the ship affords." "I wouldn't touch liquor if I was starving!" cried Grace. "And neither would the Rover boys," added Dora. "Oh, you think the Rover boys are regular saints!" grumbled the bully. "You don't know what they would do behind your back." "If they said they wouldn't drink they wouldn't," cried Nellie, her eyes flashing. "We can trust them every time." "I suppose the Rover boys run this place to suit themselves," went on Baxter, eying the house and the general appearance of the camp sharply. "We all run it together," came from Grace. "Isn't Captain Blossom, in command?" "After a fashion, yes. We haven't tried to decide that point yet. Have you a leader in your camp?" "Not much of a one. Lesher is leader when he is sober. Of course we'll all come over here, now we've found you and the wreck," went on Dan Baxter. "But why should you come here?" asked Dora, not at all pleased by the prospect. "We can let you have your share of what's on board of the schooner." "Don't want me here, eh?" "I don't care for all of those rough sailors." "Well, they are Captain Blossom's men, you mustn't forget that." "I suppose that is true," and Dora sighed. With the coming of the sailors she was certain the camp would not be as pleasant as formerly. "I don't think you ought to be down on me, Dora," continued Dan Baxter, after a pause. "I always liked you, and you know it." "Thank you for nothing," she replied coldly. "I'm just as good a fellow as Dick Rover," went on the bully, and laid his hand on the girl's shoulder. "Don't touch me, Dan Baxter!" she cried. "I won't hurt you. Come, let us be friends. Surely you don't want any enemies here, where there are only a handful of us, all told." "I want you to leave me alone." She tried to move away from him, but he caught her by the arm and tried to hold her hands. Grace and Nellie were out of sight, the one having gone into the house for some dishes, and the other to the spring for some water. "Say that you'll be friends, and I'll let you go," he said, drawing her closer. "I won't be friends with you, Dan Baxter, so there!" she cried. "Now let me go!" And she tried to push him away. "You--you little cat!" he cried, and then, as she let out a loud cry, he let go of her. "What a little fool you are!" And he walked away to the trees, and threw himself down to rest. Red in the face and ready to cry, Dora ran into the house. Grace looked at her in wonder. "What is the trouble, Dora?" "Nothing." "Did Dan Baxter try to--to--" "He wants to be--be friends!" sobbed Dora. "He held my hand so I couldn't get away. Oh, how I despise him!" "Just wait till Dick comes back; he'll make Baxter mind his own business." "Oh, don't tell him, Grace." "But I shall, Dora. Baxter has got to keep his distance. I hate him myself, and so does Nellie." "I wish he and Mr. Lesher had kept their distance." "Do you think they will really come here--I mean all of the sailors?" "More than likely." The girls continued their work, and for the time being Dan Baxter kept his distance. Jack Lesher continued to snore away in the hammock, nor did he rouse up when Dick and old Jerry returned. "Dan Baxter!" cried Dick, as he leaped from the rowboat. "Where did you come from?" And then the story of the newcomers had to be told over again. Dick eyed Jack Lesher with open disgust. "A man who will act like that has no welcome in our camp," he said to Baxter. "You don't mean you are going to turn him out," said the bully, in alarm. "If he stays here he must behave himself." "You forget that he was the first mate of the schooner, Dick Rover." "We are not on the schooner now." "No, but you are getting your living--or the largest part of it--from the schooner." "What do you mean, Baxter?" "I mean that it's the same as if you were on the schooner. And that being so, Mr. Lesher is the second in command here." At this statement the girls looked alarmed, and even old Jerry's face showed his uneasiness. But Dick's face was full of contempt. "Do you mean to say that thing "--pointing to the drunken mate--" that thing can command any of us? If you do, let me say right now that you are mistaken." "We'll see about that later." "This is our camp, and it is not for you, the mate, or anybody else to come here and dictate to us. If you try that, we'll send you off in double-quick order." There was a pause, and Dick and old Jerry began to unload the things they had brought from the wreck. They had found a large cake of ice. But the coming of Baxter and Jack Lesher had taken away the pleasure of making lemonade and orange ice, and the lump was placed in some water to cool it for drinking purposes. As soon as Grace could get the chance she told Dick of the way Dan Baxter had treated Dora. At once Dick's face took on a stern look that boded the bully no good. "I'll have a talk with him and come to an understanding," said the eldest Rover, and strode out of the house and to where Baxter was walking up the beach, picking up fancy-colored sea-shells. "Look here, Baxter, I want to have an understanding with you," he said, catching the bully by the arm. "What do you want now?" "I want you to promise to leave Dora Stanhope alone in the future." "How I treat her is none of your business," blustered the bully. "But it is my business, Baxter." "See here, Dick Rover, I won't be bossed by you!" howled the tall youth. "You mind your own business." "If you touch her again, there will be trouble." "What will you do?" "I'll give you the worst thrashing you ever had in your life." "Two can play at that game." "There will be only one in this game." "Do you want to fight me?" "I am perfectly willing," responded Dick recklessly. His anger was deep at that moment. "All right then, come on!" howled Baxter savagely, and, squaring off, he aimed a blow at Dick's face. The attack was so sudden that Dick could scarcely prepare for it, and though he dodged, Baxter's fist landed glancingly on his cheek. "There you are, and here's another!" cried the bully, and his other fist shot out, catching Dick on the shoulder. But now the oldest Rover was on his guard, and in a twinkle he let drive, taking Dan Baxter in the eye. It was a staggering blow, and made the bully gasp with pain. Then Dick followed it up by a crashing blow on the chin, which sent the bully reeling into the low water on the beach. "Don't--don't run me into the ocean!" he spluttered, and, watching his chance, ran out of the water and up the beach. But Dick was now thoroughly aroused, and he made after Baxter. When he got close enough, he put out his foot and sent the bully sprawling. Baxter came down on some rough sea-shells, cutting his face and hands in several places. "Oh! oh!" he howled. "Stop it!" "I will not stop it, Dan Baxter, until you promise to let Dora Stanhope and the other girls alone in the future. They want nothing to do with you, and you must keep your distance." "I--I didn't hurt anybody." "Do you promise to let them alone?" Without replying, the bully staggered to his feet. The blood was running from his nose and from a cut on his chin, and both of his hands were also bleeding. "Do you want to kill me, Dick Rover?" "I want you to behave yourself. Come, now, are you going to promise?" "What if I don't?" "Then I'll give you the thrashing I promised." "All right, I'm cornered, and can't help myself." "Will you let the girls alone in the future?" "Yes. If they don't want to be friends, I'm sure I can get along without them," answered Baxter sulkily. "Very well; now see that you keep your promise. If you don't, I'll run you out of camp and never let you come near us again." With these words Dick turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Baxter to wash his cuts and bruises in the ocean and otherwise care for them as best he could. CHAPTER XX THE MATE TRIES TO TAKE COMMAND The fight had taken place around a bend of the shore, so that it was not observed by old Jerry and the girls. But when Dick got back to camp Dora at once noticed that something unusual had happened. "What is wrong, Dick?" she asked. "Oh, nothing much, Dora. I merely made Dan Baxter promise to keep his distance in the future." "Did you have a fight?" "It didn't amount to much. He had to give in pretty quickly." "Oh, Dick!" She caught his arm. "I won't have him annoying you, or the others, Dora." "You are so good!" she whispered. Supper was ready, and they sat down, leaving Jack Lesher still in the hammock. They had nearly finished when Dan Baxter came shuffling along. "Do you want some supper?" asked Dick. "If you do, come on." "I don't want anything more to-night," growled the bully, and sat down beside Jack Lesher. It was rather an uncomfortable evening. The thoughts of each of the party were busy. At the first opportunity Dick called old Jerry to one side. "Jerry, we must watch those two fellows closely," he said. "Right ye are, Dick." "I am afraid Lesher will be ugly when he wakes up." "More'n likely, lad--he always was on board ship. The drink gives him an awful temper." "I am, going to put the liquor where he can't get it." "He'll make ye give it to him." "Will he? Just you wait and see," replied Dick firmly. It was decided to let Lesher rest in the hammock all night. Baxter was given a cot in the living room of the house. Soon all had retired, and the camp was quiet for the night. Dan Baxter was the first to stir in the morning. His cuts smarted so he could not sleep, and he walked out to bathe them and put on some salve Nellie had generously turned over to him. He found Jack Lesher stirring. "Hullo!" grumbled the mate, sitting up and yawning. "Where am I?" "Don't you know we struck camp?" answered Baxter. "Oh, yes, I remember now. Got some good liquor, too. Where is that bottle?" "You emptied it, Lesher." "Did I? Too bad! I'll have to find another. Where are the girls?" "Asleep in the house, and so are Dick Rover and old Jerry Tolman." "What of Cap'n Blossom and them other Rover boys?" "They are not expected back for several days." "Humph! Say, I feel bad, I do. I must have something to brace me up." "You'd better not disturb them, Lesher. They are mighty stiff-necked since they landed here." "What do you mean?" "They gave me to understand yesterday that they were going to run things to suit themselves. They are not going to let us interfere in anything." "I like that!" The mate yawned again, rose, and stretched himself. "Baxter, do you know where they keep the liquor?" "No." "I'm bound to have what I want. Didn't it all come from the Golden Wave, and aint I the first mate of that craft?" "To be sure you are, Lesher." "They can't make me take a back seat," went on the mate. His head was still far from clear. "I told them that you were second in command--Captain Blossom being first--but they wouldn't listen. They said they were on land, and you didn't count." "Don't I count!" cried Jack Lesher, his blood-shot eyes taking on an ugly look. "I'll show 'em!" Just then old Jerry came from the house. Jack Lesher staggered toward him. "Ahoy there!" he called out. "What do you want, Mr. Lesher?" questioned old Jerry, and touched his forelock. "Bring me some liquor, and be quick about it." "I haven't any liquor." "What's that?" "I said I haven't any liquor." "Aint there any more liquor ashore?" "If there is, I don't know where it is." "Then find out, and be quick about it, or I'll give you the rope's-end!" roared the unreasonable mate. The loud talking aroused Dick, and he soon came out. "What's the matter here?" he asked. "Oh, so you have woke up," he went on to Jack Lesher. "Yes, I'm awake, Rover. And I want to know where the liquor has been placed." "It's been placed where you won't get hold of it, Mr. Lesher." "What! This to me!" yelled the mate, in fury. "To me, the first mate!" "A first mate doesn't count for anything here. This is a private camp, and if you don't behave yourself we'll pitch you out of it." "You--you--" Jack Lesher could not go on, and shook his fist in Dick's face. "I told you what they intended to do," whispered Dan Baxter in Lesher's ear. "They have the upper hand and mean to keep it. But don't forget that we have nine sailors in our camp to back us up," he went on suggestively. "Don't grow abusive, Mr. Lesher," said Dick as calmly as he could. "Just think the matter over. It may save a good deal of trouble." "I don't have to think it over!" bellowed the mate. "During Cap'n Blossom's absence I am in command, just as much as if we were on the deck of the wreck over there. You were only passengers, but Jerry Tolman was a sailor, and he's under my command. I told him to bring me some liquor, and he has got to do it. If he won't obey, it's mutiny, just you remember that!" And he shook his finger warningly in old Jerry's face. "I told ye I don't know where the liquor is," answered old Jerry doggedly. "And he tells the truth," said Dick. "I put it away myself." "Then I command you to bring it to me." "I told you before your commands don't hold water here. Even old Jerry hasn't got to obey you. When the _Golden Wave_ was abandoned that ended your authority. We have simply made Captain Blossom our leader because he acted fair and square. But we don't have to obey him if we don't want to." "What of the nine sailors who are with me?" "We'll be pleased to give them their full share of what is on the wreck, and if they behave themselves they can build a camp right next to this one. But you must remember that we discovered the wreck first, and that Captain Blossom was the only man left on board." "We'll see what the men have to say about this," growled Lesher. "Then you aint going to give me no liquor?" "You can have one glass with your breakfast, and that is all. After this you can have the regulation ship's grog, with the other sailors. But getting drunk has got to be stopped, even if we have to dump all the liquor into the ocean." By this time the girls had appeared on the scene, and the talk came to an end, Dick turning in to help get breakfast. Jack Lesher walked down to the beach, followed by Dan Baxter. "You see, it is just as I told you," said Baxter. "They are going to ride right over us." "They wouldn't ride over us if I had those other sailors here," growled the mate. "Or if we were armed," went on the bully. "I tried to get hold of a pistol, but Dick Rover watches me like a cat watches a mouse." "If we could get to the wreck we might arm ourselves," said Lesher. "Here is a boat; let us row over." "I'm willing," answered the bully. They walked to the boat, shoved it into the water, and leaped in. Just as Lesher picked up the oars Dick saw what they were doing. "Stop!" he cried. "What do you want?" growled the mate. "Where are you going?" "Over to the wreck." "What for?" "That is our business," put in Dan Baxter. "You shan't go over there until Captain Blossom comes back." "We'll go when we please," said Lesher, and started to row away. "Come back, I say!" cried Dick, and, rushing into the house, he appeared with a shot-gun. "What are you going to do, Dick Rover?" questioned Baxter in alarm. "I am going to make you come back," was the oldest Rover's very quiet, but determined, answer. CHAPTER XXI THE ATTACK ON THE WRECK The appearance of Dick with the shot-gun disturbed Jack Lesher quite as much as it did Dan Baxter, and the mate stopped rowing instantly. "Hi! don't you fire at us!" he cried. "Then come back here," said Dick. "Haven't I a right to visit the wreck?" "I am not sure that you have. Anyway, you must wait until Captain Blossom returns." "It seems to me that you are carrying matters with a high hand, young fellow." "Oh, Dick, be careful!" whispered Dora. "They may become desperate." "Don't worry, Dora," he whispered in return. Unless I miss my guess, one is as big a coward as the other." "I hope ye aint goin' too far, Dick," said old Jerry, in a low tone. "Don't you intend to stand by me, Jerry?" "To be sure I do; but the mate is the mate, ye know." There was an uncertain pause all around. "There is no harm in my visiting the wreck," growled Jack Lesher presently. "Perhaps not, but you had better wait until Captain Blossom gets back." "I only want to get some things that belong to me." "And I want to get my extra clothes," said Baxter. "These are in rags, as you can see." "Then wait until after breakfast and we'll all go over," said Dick, but he had scarcely spoken when he felt sorry for the words. "Oh, Dick, don't trust yourself with them!" cautioned Dora. "We want to hurry, for I want to go back to where I left the sailors before night," answered Lesher. "Then we'll have breakfast at once." Rather reluctantly the mate turned back to the shore and he and Baxter left the boat. Then the girls prepared breakfast with all haste. Lesher ate but little, but eagerly tossed off the glass of liquor Dick allowed him. "Give me one more," he pleaded, but Dick was firm, and the mate stalked away muttering under his breath. Before Dick entered the rowboat he called Jerry aside, and handed the old sailor a pistol. "We had better go armed," he said. "Keep your eyes open, for they may try to play us a foul trick. And don't let Lesher talk you into obeying him. He has no authority whatever over you." "All right, Dick, I'll stand by ye always from this minit on," said Jerry, and the compact was sealed by a handshake. The girls came down to see them off, and Dora warned Dick again to be on guard. It was decided that Lesher and old Jerry should do the rowing. Baxter sat in the bow of the boat, and Dick in the stern. The trip to the wreck was accomplished in almost utter silence. Everybody was busy with his thoughts. As they drew near Dick showed the mate where a ladder hung from the side, and as they drew close to this Baxter was the first to mount to the deck. As Dick had surmised, Lesher's first hunt was for liquor, and he drank several glasses at a gulp. Then he began to roam around the wreck, noting the damage that had been done and the amount of stores still on board. "Might float her, if the tide got extra high," he said. "Eleven men in our crowd and five in your own ought to be able to do something, surely." "The captain says the ship is too deep in the sand," answered Dick briefly. "Blossom don't know everything," growled the mate. Both he and Baxter soon found some comfortable clothing, and put it on. Then they made up a bundle of things they said the other sailors needed. When arming themselves, the Rovers and Captain Blossom had placed all of the remaining firearms in a stateroom and locked the door. "What did you do with all of the guns and pistols?" asked Lesher presently, after looking in vain for them. "They are packed away in a stateroom. Captain Blossom thought it wouldn't do to leave them lying loose. Some savages might come to the islands and steal them, and then we'd be in a bad hole." "We've got to have some guns and pistols, Rover." "Well, you can see the captain about that." "I shan't wait. Which stateroom are they in?" Dick would not tell the mate, and Lesher went around trying the various doors. Coming to one that was locked he burst it open with his shoulder. Dick scarcely knew what to do, and while he was trying to make up his mind Jack Lesher secured a pistol and a rifle, and also a pistol for Dan Baxter. He would have taken more fire-arms, but Dick stopped him. "That is enough," he said. "I want some for the men," said the first mate. "They can get pistols from Captain Blossom when they get here." "Humph! You think you are in sole command, don't you?" "I am not going to allow you to take away all the firearms that are here, Mr. Lesher." "We'll see:" The mate went into the pantry and secured another glass of liquor. Then he ordered old Jerry to take the bundle of clothing and put it in the rowboat. "I've got some money on this schooner," he said. "I want to see if that's safe, or if you have stolen it." "We haven't touched any money," answered Dick, his face flushing. "It would be of no use to us on these islands." "You come with me while I take a look," said Lesher. Behind his back he waved his hand for Baxter to follow. All three went below again, and into a stateroom the mate had occupied. "The money was in that chest," said the mate. He threw open the lid. "It's gone!" he cried. Interested for the moment, Dick bent forward to look in the chest. As he did so, Lesher suddenly hit him a savage blow over the head with the butt of a pistol. The blow was a heavy one, and Dick fell like a log to the floor. "Oh!" came from Baxter. "Have you killed him?" "No; only knocked the senses out of him," answered Lesher, bending over his victim. "What did you do it for?" "To teach him a lesson. He shan't boss me, Baxter. Come, help me put him in the brig, and be quick, before Jerry comes back." They lifted up the insensible form and made their way to where the ship's brig was located, a dirty closet once used for oil and lanterns. Dick was thrown on the floor, and the mate shut the door on him and locked it. "Now he can stay there for a day or two," he snarled. "Reckon it will teach him a lesson." "What will you do with the sailor?" Before Lesher could answer old Jerry appeared. "Where is Dick Rover?" he asked. "None of your business," growled Jack Lesher. "See here, Tolman, are you going to obey me after this?" "I want to know where Dick is?" said old Jerry stubbornly. "I put him in the brig to cool off. He's too hot-headed for his own good." "You had no right to lock him up, Mr. Lesher. You must let him out at once." "Git out of here, quick!" roared Lesher. "On deck, or I'll flog you well!" "Ye won't tech me!" cried Jerry, his temper rising. "I aint under orders no more, mind that. Now you let him out, or I'll do it. You was a fool to lock him up in the first place." He moved toward the brig, but Lesher caught him by the arm. "Let's teach this chap a lesson, too!" came from Baxter, and, like a flash, he struck old Jerry in the back of the head. The first blow was followed by a second, and down went the tar, the blood oozing from one of his wounds. "Don't hit him again!" cried Lesher hastily. "He's out already." Baxter grew pale, thinking he had gone too far. But he soon discovered that Jerry still breathed, and then he felt relieved. It was decided by the pair that they should place old Jerry beside Dick in the brig, and this was quickly done. Then they put into the prison a bucket of drinking water and a can of ship's biscuits, and another of baked beans. "They won't starve on that," said Lesher. "And when they get out they'll understand that I am as much of a master here as anybody." "It serves Dick Rover right," said Baxter. "He's the kind that ought to be kept under foot all the time." CHAPTER XXII A HEAVY TROPICAL STORM "Those girls will ask some awkward questions, I reckon," said Jack Lesher, as the two prepared to leave the wreck. "We had better not say too much," answered Baxter. They were soon over the side and in the rowboat, which contained the bundle of clothing and a number of other articles. Then an idea struck the mate. "Wait; I am going back," he said, and disappeared on the deck one more. Dan Baxter imagined that Lesher had gone for more liquor. But he was mistaken. When the mate reappeared, he carried a box containing half a dozen pistols, two guns, and a quantity of ammunition. "I am going to hide this in the woods on the other side of this island," he said. "The firearms may come in handy before long." "A good idea," replied Baxter, and helped him place the case in a desirable spot, under some rocks, where the rain could not touch it. "We are going to have a storm before long," said the mate, as they started to row back to the camp. "And if it is a heavy one we'll have to wait till it clears off before we rejoin the rest of our crowd." The sky was growing dark, and by the time the beach in front of the house was gained the rain was falling. "Where are Dick and, old Jerry?" asked Dora in quick alarm. She had noted long before that only Baxter and the mate were in the rowboat. "They stayed behind on the wreck," answered Lesher. "Come, help get the bundles out of the wet," he added to his companion. "Why did they stay?" asked Nellie. "Don't ask me," growled Lesher. He and Baxter took the bundle to the house and dumped it on the floor of the living room. Then they brought in the other things from the boat. By this time it was raining in torrents, and from a distance came the rumble of thunder and occasionally the faint flash of lightning. Not wishing to remain out in the storm, the three girls came into the house.--"Dora was very much disturbed, and Nellie and Grace were also anxious. "It is queer that Dick and old Jerry remained behind," whispered Dora to her cousins. "They were so anxious to protect us before." "I cannot understand it, Dora," returned Nellie. "There has been foul play somewhere," came from Grace. "Oh, do you think--" Dora could not finish. "See here!" burst in the voice of Jack Lesher. "We want some dinner. Don't be all day getting it for us." The liquor he had imbibed was beginning to tell upon him.. He looked ugly, and the girls trembled before him. "Dinner will be ready in a quarter of an hour," said Grace, who had been doing the cooking. "All right." Lesher turned to the bully: "Baxter, join me in a glass of rum for luck." "Thanks, I will," answered Dan Baxter, who did not particularly want the liquor, but did not dream of offending the mate. Lesher produced a bottle he had brought away from the wreck, prepared two glasses of rum, and drank with great relish. Then he threw himself into a chair at the rude dining-table. "I am the master here, and I want everybody to know it!" he exclaimed, banging his fist savagely. "There is dinner," said Grace, and brought it in. "You can help yourself." And she went into the next room to join Nellie and Dora. "Aint going to wait on us, eh?" grumbled Lesher, with a hiccough. "All right, my fine ladies. But I am master, don't you forget that!" He began to eat leisurely, while Dan Baxter began to bolt his food. In the meantime the sky grew darker and the flashes of lightning more vivid. The girls were greatly frightened, and huddled together, while tears stood on Grace's cheeks. "Oh, if only somebody was with us," sighed Nellie. By the time Lesher and Baxter had finished eating the storm was on them in all of its violence. The wind shrieked and tore through the jungle behind them, and often they could hear some tall tree go down with a crash. "This will tear our flag of distress to shreds," said Nellie. "And just when we need it so much, too!" "I am thinking of the future as well as the present," said Dora. "What a rough time there will be if Lesher brings those other sailors here. Some of them were heavy drinkers like himself, and only two or three were Americans." The storm had whipped the waters of the bay into a fury, and the rain was so thick that to see even the island on which the wreck rested was impossible. "Dick can't come now," said Dora. "A boat on the bay would surely go down." Having finished the meal, Lesher and Baxter sat down in the living room to smoke and to talk over the situation. The mate continued to drink, and half an hour later he fell asleep, sitting on the bench, and with his head on the table. "The beast!" said Dora, as she peeped out at him. "Well, there is one satisfaction," she continued: "he cannot harm us while he is asleep." "You girls better have your own dinner," called out Baxter. "I aint going to eat you up." "We will get our dinner when we please," said Nellie, as she came out. "We are not afraid of you, Dan Baxter." No more was said for a long time. The girls ate what little they wished and washed up the dishes. The rain still continued to fall in torrents, but the thunder and' lightning drifted away to the eastward. Dora was the most anxious of the trio, and at every opportunity she tried to look through the driving rain toward the wreck. "I'd give almost anything to know if Dick is safe," she murmured. "Don't be discouraged, Dora," said Grace. "Perhaps he will return as soon as the storm is over." The girls were huddled close to a window, looking out into the rain, when Dan Baxter threw aside the pipe he had been smoking and approached them. "See here, girls," he said, "why can't we be friends? What is the use of being enemies in such a place as this?" "Dan Baxter, we want you to keep your distance," said Nellie coldly. "And if you do not, it will be the worse for you when the others come back," put in Grace. "Humph! I reckon you think it is fine to ride such a high horse," sneered the bully. "What are you going to do when we bring the rest of the sailors over here? We'll be eleven to seven then." "Never mind what we'll do," said Dora. "I would rather have the company of some of those sailors than your company." "That is where you make a mistake. The sailors are all rough fellows, some of them worse than Jack Lesher. Now, if you are willing to count me as a friend, I'll stand by you when the crowd comes over." "We don't want your friendship, Dan Baxter, so there!" cried Nellie. "We know your past, and we know that you cannot be trusted." "Don't think I am as good as the Rovers, eh?" "We all know that you are not," answered Grace. "What have you done to Dick Rover?" questioned Dora. "He ought to be here long before this." "Oh, I guess the storm is holding him back," said Baxter, shifting uneasily as she gazed earnestly into his eyes. "If anything has happened to Dick, I shall hold you responsible," said Dora. At that moment the fury of the storm cut off further talking. A sudden rush of wind had come up, whistling through the jungle and bringing down a palm close to the house with a crash. The fall of the tree made Baxter jump in alarm. "The house is coming down!" he cried, and ran outside. The wind made the waves in the bay rise higher and higher until they lashed furiously in all directions. Then came another downpour of rain, which caused the bully to seek shelter again. "Hark!" said Nellie suddenly, and raised her hand for silence. "What did you hear?" asked Grace. "Somebody calling. Listen!" All were silent once more, and just then the wind fell a little. "I don't hear anything," said Dora. But then followed a distant voice--two voices calling desperately: "Help! help! Our boat is sinking! Help!" CHAPTER XXIII WHAT HAPPENED ON THE BAY To go back to Tom, Sam, and Captain Blossom at the time that they placed the two dead goats in their rowboat and prepared to return to the camp. It was already raining by the time the shore of the bay was reached, and scarcely had they begun to row when the water came pouring down in torrents. "Gracious! I must say I don't like this!" cried Tom. "The rain is running down my neck in a stream." "I move we row into shore over yonder," said Sam, pointing up the coast. "There are some trees which will shelter both us and the boat nicely." Captain Blossom was willing, and in a few minutes they were under the trees and wringing out their clothes as best they could. "If I know anything about it, this storm is going to last for some time," said the captain, after a long look at the sky. "Such a downfall as this can't last," said Sam. "Perhaps we can get home between showers." It was dry under the trees for about half an hour, but then the water began to reach them once more, and they had to shift their position again. This kept up for some time, until all were wet through and thoroughly uncomfortable, when Tom proposed that they start for home regardless of the storm. "We can't get any wetter than we are," he declared. "And the sooner we reach the house the sooner we'll be able to change our clothes." The others agreed, and when the worst of the lightning and thunder had passed they set off once more, two rowing and the third steering the boat and bailing out the water, which came in faster than was desirable. "When it rains in the tropics, it rains," observed Tom. "Puts me in mind of that storm we met when we were in Africa. Do you remember, Sam?" "Indeed, I do," answered his brother. "I thought we'd all be killed by the trees that fell in the jungle." "Have you been in Africa?" came from Captain Blossom in astonishment. "Yes," answered Tom. "Our father got lost there once, and we went in search of him," and he gave a few of the particulars, as already related in another volume of this series, entitled "The Rover Boys in the Jungle." "Well, you boys have had some ups and downs," said the captain. "But I reckon you weren't cast away before like this." "Not like this," answered Sam. "But we were left on a lonely island once in Lake Huron," and he related a few particulars of their exciting experiences with the Baxters while on the Great Lakes. Another downpour of rain cut off the talking, and Tom was kept busy bailing out the row-boat. With three persons and the two dead goats the craft was pretty heavily loaded, and more than once the rising wind swept some water over the bow. "I'd give a little to be ashore again," said Tom presently. "It seems to me that the rain is shutting out everything." "We'll have to land again, lads," put in the captain, with a grave shake of his head. "This wind is growing worse. We don't want to be swamped." They turned to what they thought must be the direction of the nearest shore, but though they pulled with might and main for nearly quarter of an hour no land appeared. "We're mixed," cried Sam. "The storm has twisted us up." By this time the wind was blowing a regular gale on the bay. It took off Tom's cap, and in a twinkle the headgear was out of sight. "My cap's gone!" groaned the youth. "The water is coming in over the bow!" came from Sam. "We will be swamped!" "We must throw the goats overboard," said the captain, and overboard went the game, much to the boys' sorrow. This lightened the craft a little, but still the waves swept over the gunwale, and now both Sam and Tom set to bailing, while the captain took both oars. Then came another blast of wind, worse than before. "I see land!" cried Sam. "We are going over!" yelled Tom, and the wind fairly whipped the words from his lips. Then came a mighty wave, and on the instant the rowboat was upset, and all three found themselves in the waters of the bay. As they went under the same thought was in the mind of each: Were there any sharks around? "Help! help!" cried Sam, as soon as he came up. "Our boat is sinking. Help!" And Tom soon joined in the cry. They had caught hold of the overturned boat, but the craft, for some reason, failed to support them. Captain Blossom was close at hand, and he advised them to strike out for the shore. "It's in this direction," he said, and led the way. "I--I can't swim very far with my clothes on," gasped Sam, yet he struck out as best he could. "Hullo! Who calls?" came a cry from the shore, and, looking up, they saw Dora standing there, with Nellie and Grace Laning close beside her. "It's Tom and Sam!" cried Nellie. "And Captain Blossom," added Grace. "Perhaps we can throw them a rope," came from Dora, and she ran to get the article she had mentioned. But by the time she returned the three swimmers had reached a point where they could touch bottom with their feet, and, watching for a favorable opportunity, they rushed ashore, almost into the arms of the girls. "Oh, Tom, how glad I am that you are safe!" cried Nellie, while Grace caught hold of Sam and asked if he was all right. "Yes, I am--am all right, but--but pretty well fagged out," gasped Sam. "It was a close shave," said Captain Blossom. "And our guns are gone." "We had two dead goats, too," put in Tom. "They went overboard first, and--goodness gracious--is that really Dan Baxter?" "Dan Baxter!" ejaculated Sam, and even Captain Blossom stared in amazement. "I see you've had a rough time of it," said Baxter, coming forward coolly. "How are you?" He shook hands with Captain Blossom, while the Rover boys continued to stare at him. "Are you alone?" asked the master of the _Golden Wave_. "No, Jack Lesher is with me, and we left nine of the sailors on another island." "Is that so? Where is Lesher now?" "In the house, asleep." "He is intoxicated," said Nellie. "We has been drinking ever since he put in an appearance." "Humph! That's like Lesher," muttered the captain, and his brow darkened. All moved toward the house, and entered to get out of the wet. The mate was still at the table, snoring loudly. "Might as well let him sleep it off," said the captain. "But when he is sober I'll have a talk with him." Wet clothing was changed for dry, and then the captain and the boys listened to what Baxter and the girls had to tell. The captain was glad to learn that so many of his men had been saved, and asked for the names. "I don't care much about Peterson and McGlow," he said. "They are tough customers. I would rather have heard from Peabody, Dickson, and Fearwell. You don't know anything about them?" "No," said Dan Baxter. "This news about Dick and old Jerry worries me," said Tom. "Dan Baxter, I think you know more than you care to tell," said Sam boldly. The bully hardly knew how to reply. He could not now fall back on Jack Lesher for support, and he had thought to be on his way to rejoin the sailors ere this. The storm had upset all of his calculations. It had been a foolish movement to attack Dick and old Jerry, and it now looked as if he must suffer for it. "Well--er--I don't mind telling you that Dick and the mate had something of a quarrel," he said hesitatingly. "How did it end?" asked Tom. "I can't say exactly." "Why not? You were with Lesher at the time." "No, I wasn't. He ordered me to get into the rowboat and wait for him while he went back to get a pistol or a gun. I heard loud talking on the deck of the schooner, and I knew a row was on. I was just going back to the deck when the mate came and leaped into the rowboat. He said the sailor and Dick were going to remain behind, and that we wouldn't wait any longer. Then we rowed over here." "If that's the case I'll make Lesher tell us what happened," cried Tom, and shook the mate roughly. "Wake up here!" he cried. "Wake up and give an account of yourself!" CHAPTER XXIV IN CLOSE QUARTERS Slowly Dick came to his senses. He remembered little or nothing, and only knew that all was dark around him, and that his head was spinning like a top. For several minutes he remained quiet, trying to collect his thoughts. Then he sat up and passed one hand slowly over his forehead. "Oh, how my heed aches!" he murmured. It was fully five minutes before he felt like moving around. Then he arose and took a step forward and stumbled over old Jerry's body. "Oh!" he murmured, and felt of the body in the dark, "Who is this? Can it be Jerry?" he asked himself. Then came a recollection of the cowardly attack. But what had followed was a blank, and he could not imagine where he was. Dick remembered that he had a match safe in his pocket, and soon he made a light. By this he caught sight of a lantern in the brig and lit it. Then he bent over old Jerry, and saw that the sailor was still alive, but suffering from his treatment. "He must have been attacked, too," murmured Dick. The bucket of water was at hand, And he took a drink and bathed Captain Jerry's forehead. It was fully half an hour before the old sailor felt at all like himself. Both sat down to review the situation. "The cowards!" said Dick. "What do you suppose they attacked us for?" "Can't say as to that," replied old Jerry. "Perhaps Lesher wanted to show us he was master." "He'll settle with me if I ever get out of this hole, Jerry. What place is this?" "The lock-up of the _Golden Wave_. I think it used to be an oil room." They gazed around them, and soon discovered the can of ship's biscuits and also the beans. "They evidently meant to keep us prisoners for some time," said Dick. "Hark, what is that?" Both listened, and made out the sounds of distant thunder and heard the patter of rain on the deck. "A storm is brewing," said old Jerry. "It sounds as if it was putty heavy, too." They tried the door to the brig, but found it locked and bolted. In vain Dick kicked against it, and shoved with his shoulder. It refused to budge. "This looks as if we'd have to stay here--at least for the present," said Dick, with a sigh. "I must say I don't like the prospect." "How long do ye calculate we've been here, lad?" "There is no telling, unless by my watch." But when he looked at the timepiece, he found that it had stopped. They ate some of the biscuits and drank some water and rested for a while longer. Outside the wind blew furiously and they heard the rain and the waves dash in all directions. Then some water came trickling in slowly, at one corner. "It seems to me as if the wreck was shifting," cried Dick presently. "It won't shift very far in this bed o' sand, lad. But she may break up and go to pieces," added old Jerry. "If she goes down, we'll be drowned like rats in a trap," said Dick. "We must get out somehow." They talked the matter over and began a systematic examination of their prison. The four walls were solid and so was the ceiling above them. "The flooring has a couple of loose planks in it," announced. Dick. "If we can get them up, where will the opening lead to?" "The forward hold, lad, and that is now half full of sand and water." "Never mind, I'm going to get the planks up if I can." With his head still aching Dick set to work and old Jerry helped him. It was no easy matter to shift the heavy planking, but after a while they got one plank up and then used this as a pry to bring up the second. A dark hole was revealed, covered at the bottom with water. Then Dick took the lantern and let himself down cautiously. "The water is only about a foot deep," he announced. "I'm going to make a search around with the lantern." "Hold on, I'll go with ye," cried old Jerry, and came down with a splash. With great caution they moved around the hold, wading through sand and water, and climbing over boxes, barrels, and crates. "What a mixture of cargo," said Dick. "And what a pity so much of it is going to ruin," and he pointed to some valuable mining machinery which was rusting in the salt water. Fortunately old Jerry had been in the hold before the _Golden Wave_ was wrecked, so he knew something of the surroundings. He led the way to some boxes directly beneath the forward hatch. "I don't reckon the hatch is fastened down," he said. "An' if it aint we may be able to shove it up by standing one box on top of another." This was tried, and after much difficulty the hatch was thrown to one side, and they crawled to the deck of the schooner. "I'm glad I am out of that!" ejaculated Dick. "But how it's raining! Let us go to the cabin for shelter." Once in the cabin they proceeded to make themselves as comfortable as the state of affairs permitted. "With no boat it is going to be no easy matter getting back to the house," said Dick. He was much worried concerning the girls. "We'll have to stay here until the storm is over," said old Jerry. But Dick demurred and at last it was decided to try getting to the house by journeying from one island to the next. This was a dangerous proceeding, as we already know. They had to build themselves a small raft and carry this from one crossing to the next. By the time the last crossing was made the storm was clearing and the day was drawing to a close. "We had best not show ourselves until we are sure how the land lays," said Dick, as they came up the beach. Captain Jerry thought this good advice and they proceeded with caution until they came in sight of the house. Then Dick set up a shout. "Tom, Sam, and Captain Blossom are back! Hurrah!" "They look as if they were having a row with Baxter and the mate," came from old Jerry. A row certainly was in progress, and as they came closer they heard Tom talking. "Yes, Lesher, I want to know all about this quarrel with my brother Dick. I am sure he was not in the wrong." "See here, I know my own business," the mate growled. "You shut up and leave me alone." "We won't leave you alone," came from Sam. "We want to know the truth." "Yes, tell us the truth, Lesher," said Captain Blossom sternly. "All against me, aint you?" "We want the truth," answered Tom. "Well, if you must have it, all right. He got cheeky and hit me on the head with an oar. Then I hit back and knocked him down. Then he got mad and so did Jerry Tolman, and both refused to come back in the boat with Baxter and me." "I'll wager you started to boss things," said Sam. "Dick doesn't raise a row without just cause." "Good for Sam," murmured Dick. "Your brother was entirely to blame," grunted the mate. He was still far from sober. "Jack Lesher, you tell what is not so," said Dick loudly, and joined the group, followed by old Jerry. Had a bombshell exploded, Lesher and Baxter would not have been more astonished. Then stared at the newcomers as if they were ghosts. "How--er--how did you get here?" stammered Baxter, while the mate continued to stare, in open-mouthed astonishment. "That is our affair," responded Dick. He strode up to Lesher. "You miserable villain. How dare you say that I was to blame when you attacked me without warning? Take that for what you did." And hauling off, Dick hit the mate a fair and square blow in the nose which sent Lesher flat on his back. CHAPTER XXV. TRYING TO COME TO TERMS As the mate went down the girls gave a scream, and even Tom and Sam looked at Dick in wonder. Never had any of them seen the eldest Rover so aroused. "My lad, that was a hard blow," observed Captain Blossom, as Jack Lesher lay where he had fallen. "Not half as hard as the blow he struck me," answered Dick. "Not hard as hard as thet chap hit me," put in old Jerry, and turning quickly he flew at Dan Baxter and bore him to the ground. "Hi! hi! let up!" roared the bully. "Let up! Take him off!" "I'll let up, when I'm done," panted old Jerry, and he gave him a thump in the cheek, another in the eye, and a third on the chin. "Now, then, Dan Baxter, see how you like that!" And then the old sailor arose once more. "I'll--I'll--" began Baxter, in a terrible rage. "I'll--" "Shut up, Baxter, until we hear what they have to say," put in Tom. "If you are not quiet, I'll give you a thumping on general principles." "No more fighting," commanded Captain Blossom. "Dick Rover, tell us what happened on the wreck." Dick told his story, and then all listened to what old Jerry had to say. In the meantime Jack Lesher arose unsteadily to his feet. "Where is that boy?" he roared. "I'll fix him." And then he made a movement as if to draw his pistol, but discovered that the weapon had been taken from him. "Who took my pistol?" he demanded. "Be quiet, everybody," said Captain Blossom. "Lesher, there will be no shootng here, unless I have to make an example of somebody. You had no business to attack Dick Rover on the wreck, nor attack Jerry Tolman, either. It was a mean thing to do. If we are to remain on these islands together, we ought to keep friendly." "I know my business," growled the mate. "And I know mine, Lesher. Please remember that I am captain." "And I am first mate." "Your being first mate doesn't count with us," came from Tom. "Not for a minute," added Dick. "If I had my own way, I'd pitch you out of this camp in double-quick order." "And Dan Baxter with him," put in Sam. "Why cannot both of them go and live with the other sailors who were saved?" asked Dora. "They could have their share of what is on the wreck." "I see you don't care for their company," said Captain Blossom. "Well, I can't say that I blame you, miss. After this they shall keep their distance. They can either live on the wreck or build themselves their own house, and so can the other sailors who were saved." "You are not my master!" cried Dan Baxter. "On these islands all are equal." "That may be so, but you have got to let the others alone," answered Dick. "If you don't--" "What will you do?" "We'll punish you in a way you least expect." After this there was a general talk which almost ended in another all-around row. But the Rovers and Captain Blossom were firm, and at last Dan Baxter and Jack Lesher said no more. "We ought to remain on guard after this," said Dick to Tom, when they and Sam were alone. "I don't want to trust our enemies for a single moment." And it was agreed that one or another should watch constantly. The storm cleared away as suddenly as it had come, and the next morning the sun shone as brightly as ever. When Baxter and Lesher came to breakfast both were sullen. The mate had wanted more liquor, but Captain Blossom had refused to give him more than a single glass. "You had better return to the others at once," said the captain. "Tell them they can come over here, and then we will make arrangements as to how all hands shall live until some ship comes to take us away." The Rovers suspected that Dan Baxter wished to remain behind, leaving the mate to go after the others. But Lesher would not go alone, and off they started at noon, each carrying a good supply of food with him, and also a pistol and some ammunition. "I wish they weren't coming back," murmured Dora. "I wish the same, Dora," said Dick. "But it can't be helped and we must make the best of it." There was a general air of relief when the two had departed. Later on each told his or her story once more, and a general conversation ensued regarding the future. "Lesher is not the man I thought he would, be," said Captain Blossom. "If he insists on getting drunk he will surely cause us a good deal of trouble, and if I try to keep the liquor from him he will get ugly. More than that, he has several sailors with him who are old friends, and they like their liquor just as much as he does." It was seen that the flag of distress was down, as already mentioned, and after Baxter and Lesher had departed, Tom and Dick set off to put the flag up once more. The way was by no means easy, for the storm had washed the dirt and stones in all directions and the path was strewn with broken branches and torn-up bushes. On the way they picked up hard a dozen dead birds and also saw three dead monkeys. When the spot where the flag had been was reached they found the tree still standing. The halyard of the flag had snapped and the colors lay in a mass of bushes a hundred feet away. To get to the bushes the boys had to leap over something of a gully. Tom took the leap in safety, but Sam went down out of sight. "Help! help!" cried the youngest Rover. Tom looked back, to see Sam's fingers clutching at some brushwood which grew at the edge of the gully. Then the hand disappeared and he heard a crashing far below, for though the gully was not wide, it was very deep. "Sam! Sam!" he called. "Are you hurt?" No answer came back, and much alarmed, Tom got on his knees and tried to look into the opening. At first he could see nothing, but when his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he made out the form of his brother lying on some broken brushwood which the storm had swept into the opening. How to get down to Sam was a problem, and Tom was revolving the matter in his mind when Sam let out another cry. "Are you hurt, Sam?" "N--not much, but m--my wind was kno--knocked out of me." "Can you climb up to the top?" "Hardly, Tom, the sides are very steep, and--yes, there is a regular cave down here," went on Sam. "A cave?" "Yes." "Where does it lead to?" "I don't know. It's on the south side of the opening." Tom's curiosity was aroused, and bringing forth the new rope they had brought along for hoisting the flag, he tied one end to a tree and lowered himself to his brother's side. By this time Sam was on his feet and inspecting some scratches his left hand had received. "Where is the cave, Sam?" "There," and the youngest Rover pointed it out. The opening was about two feet above the bottom of the gully. It was perhaps four feet in diameter, but appeared to grow larger within. "If we had a torch we might investigate a bit," said Tom. "I'd like to know if the cave amounts to anything." "It might have a pirate's treasure in it, eh?" "Not likely, Sam. I don't believe it has ever been used. But if it was of good size it might prove handy for us at some time or another." They looked around, and finding some dry brushwood made two rude torches. With these flaring brightly they entered the opening, the flooring of which was of rock and tolerably smooth. "We could live in this cave, if it wasn't that the opening to it is in the gully," said Sam as they advanced. "There may be another opening at the other end," said Tom. "It is certainly quite long." They had advanced fully a hundred feet, and now found themselves in a chamber forty or fifty feet square. The ceiling was arched and so high that they could not touch it without jumping up. "This is as good as a house," said Tom. "See how dry the flooring is. That proves that it is waterproof." From the large chamber there were several passageways, all leading toward the bay. "Which shall we investigate first?" asked Sam. "Let us start at the right." "All right, Tom; the right ought to be right," answered Sam lightly. On they went once more, the flooring now sloping before them. Here there was considerable moisture, and they had to walk with care for fear of slipping down. Suddenly a number of bats flew out of a hole nearby, dashing against the torches and against the boys themselves. The rush was so unexpected that each youth dropped his light and put up his hands to protect himself. "Get out! Let me alone!" spluttered Sam. "Whoop!" roared Tom. "Confound the bats anyway! Get along and let us alone!" Lying on the flooring the torches soon went out, and in their efforts to protect themselves from the bats the boys rushed blindly down the passageway. Then of a sudden both slipped on the wet rocks, slid a distance of several yards, and went down and down, landing into a well-like opening with a loud splash! CHAPTER XXVI THE CAVE ON THE ISLAND "Tom!" "Sam!" "Are you safe?" "Yes, but I wasn't looking for such a cold bath as this." "I guess we must have fallen into a regular well of spring water." "Never mind what we are in. The question is, how are we to get out?" "Can you touch the top of the opening?" "No." "Neither can I." Luckily the two boys could touch the bottom of the hole, so they were in no danger of drowning. They were in water up to their waists and calculated they had dropped a distance of two or three yards. All was pitch dark around them and as silent as a tomb, save for some water which trickled close at hand. The bats had departed, leaving them to their fate. "This is cave-investigating with a vengeance," said Tom, with something like a shiver. "Never mind, Tom, we won't die of thirst anyway." "Do you think this is a laughing matter, Sam?" "No, I don't. I'd give a good deal to be out of this hole and out of the cave also." "I've got an idea. Let me climb on your shoulders and see if I can reach the top that way." Sam was willing, and soon Tom was balancing himself as best he could. He felt around with care, Sam moving from point to point as directed. "Here is a sharp rock; I think I can pull myself up on that," said Tom. He tried with all of his strength and went up off Sam's shoulders. Then the youngest Rover heard him crawling around the wet flooring carefully. When Tom felt fairly safe he brought out his waterproof match safe and lit a match. Then one of the torches was picked up and he lit that, but kept it partly sheltered, fearing another attack from the bats. By the aid of the torch, Sam was able to reach a sharp rock quite low down in the well hole, and when Tom gave him a hand he came up with ease. Both saw that the passage ended at the hole and hurried back to the main chamber of the cave. "That's the time that right was not right," said Sam, wringing the water from his trousers, while Tom did the same. "Let us try the left after this." "I trust we don't get left by it," added Sam. The passageway was small and winding, but fairly level. There were several sharp rocks to pass and then Tom gave a cry. "I see a light ahead!" "It must be an opening, Tam." "Exactly what I think." Both hurried forward. As they did this, the opening appeared to grow larger and they saw a number of bushes ahead of them. They pushed these aside and saw beyond a clear stretch of the bay and to the northward the house they had built. The opening was twenty or thirty feet above the beach and hidden in the rocks and bushes. "This is a short cut to the beach from the flagstaff," said Sam. "I wish we had put up the flag. Then we could carry the news of the cave to the others." "Let us hurry back, Sam. It won't take so very long to put up the flag, with the tree still standing." When they reached the gully they were careful that no further mishaps should befall them. Having picked up the flag they hoisted it once more, stars down, and then went back through the cave to the beach. As they had imagined, the others were greatly interested in the news. All left the house and visited the place. The girls did not go any further than the main chamber, but the captain, Dick, and old Jerry made a complete investigation, taking care not to fall into the well-hole or any other unsafe place. "As the boys say, this cave may come in very handy some time," said Captain Blossom. "In case of a very heavy wind storm it would be a good place for shelter." "Why couldn't the sailors, Lesher, and Baxter live here?" asked Dick. "We don't want them, and it will save them the trouble of building a house, in case they don't want to live on the wreck." "No, I advise that we tell them nothing about the cave," said Tom. "If we should have a fight and get the worst of it, we could hide here and they wouldn't be able to find us very readily." "Do you think it will get as far as that?" asked Dora, and her face showed she was much disturbed. "I hope not, Dora," said Dick. "But you must remember that we have had some pretty sharp quarrels already." "I think Tom is right," came from Sam. "We'll not tell the others anything about the cave. If they don't want to live on the wreck, they can build a house or two, just as we did." On returning to the shore of the bay, Captain Blossom and Tom went on a hunt along the beach and presently discovered the rowboat that had overturned with them during the storm. The craft was but little damaged and they soon had it mended, and then the captain brought it around to the anchorage in front of the house. "I wonder when Baxter and Lesher will arrive with the sailors?" said Nellie. "Not before to-morrow night," answered Tom. "Then do you know what I would do if I were you?" went on the girl. "What, Nellie?" "I'd bring some stores away from the wreck and hide them in the cave. If you did that, it might save us a good deal of trouble. For all we know, that mate might try to take command and refuse to let us get anything more from the ship." "Do you think he'd do that while Captain Blossom was around?" came from Grace. "Oh, he might do anything when he is half full of liquor," answered Tom. "I think Nellie is right. I'll talk it over with the others." Tom lost no time in the matter, and Dick, Sam, and old Jerry agreed that Nellie's idea was very good. Captain Blossom shrugged his shoulders and looked ugly. "Jack Lesher shall not take the command from me," he said. "If he tries it, he'll find himself in the biggest kind of a row." "But you must admit that there is grave danger," said Dick. "Yes, I admit that." "Then you are willing that we shall hide the stores?" "If you want to." "Won't you help us, Captain Blossom? Of course, we recognize the fact that those things belong to you, since you remained on the ship up to the time she struck the island." This speech pleased the captain, and he said he would help them willingly. Without delay the two rowboats and the raft were called into commission, and an hour later the men and boys were hard at work transferring goods from the wreck to the beach in front of the cave. Five trips were made back and forth, the boats and the raft bringing over each, time as much as could be conveniently floated. By the time the last trip was made and the goods piled on the beach and covered with a large tarpaulin, it was dark and all were utterly worn out by their labors. The girls had prepared an extra good supper, and of this they ate heartily and then sat around a little while, when they went to bed. At the beginning the castaways had kept guard during the night, but of late this had been done away with, everybody being satisfied that no harm could befall them during the darkness. But as the doorway to the house was an open one it had been considered the duty of one or the other to sleep directly in the opening. This was Dick's night, and the eldest Rover lay there sleeping soundly until about two in the morning. By this time the moon had disappeared and the stars were partly hidden by some clouds. The night was quiet, save for the hum of insects in the jungle back of the house and the soft lap-lap of the waves on the beach of the bay. Suddenly Dick awoke with a start. He sat bolt upright, wondering what had brought him to his senses so quickly. He listened intently, but nothing unusual greeted his ears. "I must have been dreaming, or something," he thought. "But is queer I should be so wide.. awake." At first he was on the point of lying down again, but then concluded to get up and get a drink of water. He arose to his feet and stood in the open doorway, gazing into the darkness. The faint light of a few stars shone in the waters of the bay, and between the waters and himself he presently saw a dark form stealing along, close to the ground. What could that be? Was it something real or only a shadow? Dick rubbed his eyes and peered out more sharply than ever. It was not a shadow, but a real form, slowly moving around to the rear of the house. "An animal, or else a man crawling along," said Dick to himself, and reached for his gun, which stood close at hand. Then he made up his mind to investigate, and stepped outside of the doorway for that purpose. CHAPTER XXVII A FIGHT WITH A WILD BEAST As Dick stepped out of the house, gun in hand, the form disappeared behind a small clump of bushes growing not fifty feet away. "It's gone," he said to himself, but waited patiently, with his gun ready for use. The clouds were increasing, making it darker than ever. Almost holding his breath, the youth took several steps forward. Then he waited again. At last the form reappeared, crouched lower than ever, so that it was almost hidden by the rocks and low brushwood leading to the jungle. At first Dick imagined the beast, or whatever it was, was going to retreat to the timber, but soon it appeared to turn back, as if to make another semicircle, this time around to the rear of the house. It must be admitted that Dick's heart thumped madly in his breast. The gun was raised and he kept his finger on the trigger. But he did not dare to shoot until he was certain of the object of his aim. "I don't want to kill anybody," he reasoned. And he thought of a story he had once read of a hunter shooting his companion who had got the nightmare and was crawling around in his sleep. For all he knew, it might be Sam or Tom, or one of the others. But now came a sound which was not to be mistaken. It was a low, savage growl, followed by the rustling of a bushy tail among the brushwood. It was a wild animal, and it was getting ready to make a leap for the boy! Taking aim as best he could, Dick pulled the trigger. Bang! went the firearm, and a snarl of pain and rage rang out. Then the beast made its leap, striking Dick in the breast and knocking him over. "Hullo! what's the row?" The cry came from old Jerry, who had been sleeping next to Dick. "Who fired that shot?" "Help!" answered Dick. "A wild beast has attacked me." "A wild beast!" came from several throats at once. "Let me get a shot," came from Tom, as he bounced out of the house, pistol in hand, followed by Sam and Captain Blossom. By this time Dick had gotten to his knees and was trying to fight off the animal which had fastened its teeth in the youth's trouser leg, for the boys slept with part of their garments on them. "Shoot him! Hit him over the head with a club!" screamed the eldest Rover. He expected every moment to have the beast fly at his throat, and he knew that that would be his death. Old Jerry turned back to get a pistol or a club. As he did this Tom rushed past him and up to Dick's side. Taking a hasty aim, Tom discharged the pistol twice. Another growl rang out and the beast dropped back, shot through the foreshoulder and the neck. Then Tom let drive once more and the beast fell forward, shot through the left front leg. "Good for you, Tom!" cried Dick, as he arose. "What is it?" came from Captain Blossom, as he appeared with a shotgun. A shot from this finished the beast and it rolled over and over in its death agonies, and Sam finished it with a blow on the head with a big club. By this time the girls were crowding outside, having clothed themselves with whatever was handiest. Torches were lit, and a ship's lantern, and all went to examine the creature. "It looks like a tiger," declared Tom. "Only it is not quite so large." "I should say it was a California puma," came from old Jerry. "He's a bad one, too." "I think they call them jaguars out here," said Dick. "They all belong to the same family, you know. Some old American hunters would call it a painter." "Never mind what it is," said Dora, with a shudder. "I am thankful that it is dead." "You can be thankful that it didn't chew Dick up," added Tom. "He was in a tight corner, I can tell you that." "I didn't want to shoot until I was certain of what I was shooting at," answered Dick. "Then, just as I fired, the beast leaped for me. If I hadn't wounded it, it would have had me by the throat sure. But my shot kind of made it fall back, and it caught me by the trouser leg." "Are you sure you are not hurt, lad?" asked the captain. "Not hurt in the least," answered Dick, and all were thankful that this was so. The animal was dragged close to the cabin. It measured about five feet in length, regardless of the tail, and was of a dull yellowish color. Its teeth were long and sharp, and its face had a fierce, blood-thirsty look about it that made all the girls shiver. "I must confess that I am surprised to find such a beast on these islands," said Captain Blossom. "Usually they are to be found only on the mainland or on large islands." "What I am wondering is, are there any more around?" came from Sam. "If there are, we'll have to be careful how we move around," put in old Jerry. "I don't want any of 'em to leap out at me from behind a rock." "We'll have to be on the watch," said Tom. "I'm sure I don't want to furnish any tropical tiger cat with a square meal." "Oh, Tom, how awful to even mention it!" cried Nellie. "I think I know a way to keep 'em away from the house at night," said old Jerry. "How?" questioned several. "Keep a camp-fire burning close to the door. All wild animals hate a fire." "Jerry is right," said Captain Blossom. "We'll do it after this." "What shall we do with the beast?" asked Dick. "I don't think it is good to eat." "Save the skin," said Dora. "That will surely make an elegant rug." "Leave the carcass until morning," said Captain Blossom. "We must get some more sleep if we want to go to work to-morrow." "To-day, you mean," said Tom, looking at his watch. "It is already three o'clock." A camp-fire was lit and then all but Jerry retired, it being agreed that the old sailor was to turn in once more when the others arose for breakfast. All but Dick slept soundly, but even the eldest Rover was benefited by the additional rest. The first work in the morning was to skin the wild beast. This was rather a difficult task since no one had had any experience, outside of the Rover boys, on small game. Old Jerry said he would try a steak cut from the best part of the the animal, but when he did he said it was too tough to eat. Then the carcass was dragged away and flung into a hole between the rocks. After breakfast, the men and boys began in earnest to place the stores brought to the beach in the cave. It was hard work getting the boxes and barrels up the incline to the mouth of the cave, and the work took until the middle of the afternoon. Once at the entrance, the stores were speedily shifted to the chamber previously mentioned, and covered again with the tarpaulin. With the stores were placed a cask of fresh water, some dry pine torches and a box of matches. Captain Blossom left a gun and some ammunition in the cave, and the Rover boys added two pistols and a couple of swords taken from the ship. "Now we will re-arrange the entrance to the cave as it was before," said Dick. "Then the sailors will never suspect what we have done." By sunset the work was over and all hands were back at the house, taking it easy. Supper was ready, but they waited hard an hour, thinking that Baxter, Lesher, and their party would put in an appearance at any moment. "I reckon they aren't coming just yet," said Captain Blossom, at length. "Let us wait no longer." "I'm willing," said Tom. The extra work had sharpened his appetite wonderfully. The evening passed quietly and soon one after another retired. As agreed, the camp-fire was left burning, and each took his turn at remaining on guard. In the morning it was Dora who made an announcement that startled all of them. The girl had taken Captain Blossom's spyglass and was looking across the bay in the direction of the wreck. "There are men on board of the _Golden Wave_" she announced. "I can see them quite plainly." "Men on board of the wreck!" cried Dick. "Are you sure, Dora?" "Look for yourself, Dick." The youth did so and saw that Dora was right. Half a dozen figures could be seen walking to and fro. "Who are they?" asked Tom. "Lesher and his crowd?" "That I can't make out," answered Dick, and handed over the glass to his brother. All could see the men on the wreck, but at such a distance it was impossible to make out any faces. "Maybe they are savages," came from Grace. "No, they are dressed like white people," said Captain Blossom.. "Perhaps another ship has come in!" ejaculated Tom. "If it has, we are saved!" "I don't see any other ship," said old Jerry. "It may be on the other side of yonder island," came from Sam. "The best thing we can do is to row over and investigate," said Captain Blossom. "If another ship has come in, the captain may claim that wreck and everything on board." A hasty breakfast was prepared and eaten, and it was agreed that the captain, Dick, and old Jerry should row over to the wreck in the best of the boats. The three were soon on the way, wondering whom they were to meet and what sort of a reception would be tendered to them. CHAPTER XXVIII THE MATE SHOWS HIS HAND Captain Blossom had taken the spyglass along, and as they drew closer to the wreck he gazed long and earnestly at the men walking the deck of the _Golden Wave_. "They are my crew," he announced at last. "And they are in tatters." "They must have had a hard time of it since you were cast ashore," said Dick. "Unless I am mistaken, not a one of them is sober," went on the captain. "They are cutting up like a band of wild Indians." Before long they were within hailing distance of those on the wreck. Then a voice from the rail hailed them. "Boat ahoy!" "Ahoy!" answered the captain. "What do you want?" demanded the sailor on the wreck. He could scarcely talk straight. "We want to come on board." "Sorry, cap'n, but I can't let you come aboard," answered the sailor, with something of a hiccough. "Can't let me come aboard?" repeated the captain. "Why not?" "Cause it's ag'in orders." "Whose orders?" "Captain Lesher's." "Captain Lesher!" ejaculated Captain Blossom indignantly. "How long has he been a captain?" "We made him cap'n yesterday." "That's right," put in another sailor. "We 'lected him unan--nan-- nan'mously; yes, sir, unan--nan--nan'mously." "You are drunk, Bostwick." "No, sir, aint drunk at all.--Lesher, he's drunk--but he's cap'n all the same." "That's right," put in a third sailor. "Hurrah for Captain Lesher and the rum he let us have!" "Got to keep off, I tell you," went on Bostwick. "If you don't, we have--er--we have strict orders to fire on you, yes, sir." "To fire on us!" cried Dick.--"Do you mean to say you would fire on us?" "Now, see here, don't you put in your oar," said a fourth sailor. "You don't count with us. It's the cap'n that was we're talkin' to." "I am captain still," said Captain Blossom firmly. "If you don't want to obey me, you must leave the ship." "Aint going to leave no ship!" was the cry. "She belongs to us. You keep off!" "Yes, yes, keep off!" added the others on the deck. "The ship is mine," said the captain. "If you refuse to let me come on board--" At that moment two other figures appeared on deck. "Dan Baxter and Jack Lesher!" murmured Dick. "Captain Blossom, you had better keep your distance," said Lesher in a voice that showed he was just getting over a spell of drunkenness. "So you too refuse to let me come on board?" "I do. The boys have made me their captain, and as such I am bound to look after their interests. I have told them what you proposed to do, and they don't intend to stand it." "Didn't I tell you we'd get square?" put in Dan Baxter, his evil face glowing with triumph. "We have all that is on board, and we mean to keep everything." "This is mutiny!" stormed Captain Blossom. "Call it what you please," answered Lesher recklessly. "I reckon I and the boys know what we are doing!" "That's right!" cried the half-drunken sailors. "Hurrah for Cap'n Lesher. He's a man after our own hearts!" "Supposing I demand to be let on board?" went on Captain Blossom. "Don't ye go, cap'n," whispered old Jerry. "They are in jest a fit mood to kill ye. The rum has put the Old Nick in 'em." "You can't come on board, and that settles it," roared Jack Lesher, drawing a pistol. "Keep your distance." "Yes, keep your distance," added Baxter, and also showed a firearm. "This is a fine way to treat us, after what we did for you," said Dick. "But, wait, Baxter, the end is not yet." "Bah! I am not afraid," said the bully. "These men are all my friends, and we know exactly what we are doing." "Do you expect to remain on the wreck?" asked the captain, after a moment of silence. "That is our business," answered Lesher. "I think you will find that you are making a great mistake, men, to follow Lesher when you ought to follow me. I have always treated you fairly, and--" "Hi! none of that!" roared the mate. "We won't listen to it." "The men shall listen, if they will. I "Say another word and I'll fire!" cried the mate, and pointed his pistol at Captain Blossom's head. "Do-do you mean that?" asked the captain, in as steady a voice as he could command. "Of course he means it," said Dan Baxter. "He isn't a fool. We are all going to stand by him, too," he added. "That's right," came from part of the crew. Dick noticed that a few of the others looked doubtful. "I mean it, and I want you to leave right now," stormed Jack Lesher. "I'll give you one minute in which to turn your boat around," and he pulled out his watch. "Might as well go back," whispered old Jerry. "You can't reason with a lot of half-drunken men." "Very well, we'll go back," said Captain Blossom loudly. "But, remember, you haven't seen the end of this affair." "And remember another thing," added Dick, in an equally loud voice: "Don't any of you dare to come anywhere near our house. If you do, you'll be sorry for it." Then the three turned the boat around and rowed slowly back whence they had come. "The rascals!" muttered Captain Blossom, when they were out of hearing. "Lesher and Baxter have poisoned the minds of the crew against me, and have bought over the men with liquor." "It's a mighty good thing ye put them stores in the cave," came from old Jerry. "If ye hadn't we'd be a-wantin' a good many things in a few days." "That is true," answered Dick. "Dora told me they must have another barrel of flour by day after to-morrow." "How many at the cave?" "Two." "Well, it certainly was a good job done," said the captain. "But it makes me boil to think they want to keep me off my own ship. On the ocean that would be mutiny, and I could hang every mother's son of them from the yardarm for it." "Lesher must have told 'em some putty strong stories," said old Jerry. "Otherwise the men wouldn't be so dead set ag'in ye, cap'n." "No doubt he made out the strongest possible case." "I wonder if they will stick to the wreck all the time," said Dick. "They'll find it mighty hot when the sun shines." "Oh, they'll most likely take some of the things ashore, and set up a camp nearby, Rover." "We'll have to watch them closely." "I agree with you. Now we have two kinds of enemies--beasts and men," and the captain laughed bitterly. The others were gathered on the shore awaiting their return, and they listened attentively to what was told them. "Oh, Lesher wanted to be leader, you could see that right off," declared Tom. "And Baxter will do anything to make it disagreeable for us boys," he continued. "Well, there is one satisfaction," said Nellie. "We haven't Baxter with us." "If only a ship would stop here and take us away!" sighed Dora. To her it seemed like an age since they had landed on the seven islands. "After this we must keep a regular guard," announced Dick. "Unless we do that, somebody may play us foul when we least expect it." Slowly the day wore away. By the aid of the spyglass they could see the sailors still on the deck of the wreck. Nobody appeared to go ashore. That night it fell to Sam's lot to be on guard from nine to ten o'clock. The camp-fire was left burning brightly, and the youngest Rover sat near it on a log, a gun in his lap. "No wild beast shall surprise me," he told himself, and kept his eyes on the jungle back of the house. His time for guard duty had almost come to an end when a noise down on the beach attracted his attention. By the faint light he made out a raft, which had just come in, bearing the figures of two sailors. "Stop!" he called out. "Do not come closer at your peril!" "Don't shoot!" called back one of the sailors. "Don't shoot! We mean no harm." Sam had backed up toward the house, and now he called to those within. He was soon joined by Captain Blossom, Dick, and several of the others. "Who is it?" asked the captain, as he came forth, pistol in hand. "Two of the sailors from the wreck, I think." "Don't shoot us, captain," called one of the men. "We are unarmed and want to talk with you." "They are Gibson and Marny," said Captain Blossom. "They were generally pretty good sort of fellows. I reckon we have nothing to fear from them." "Are you alone?" called out Dick. "Yes." "Then come up to the fire. But mind, no treachery." "We don't wonder at your being on guard," said the sailor named Gibson, a tall, thin Yankee. "The others treated you like so many dogs." "We have deserted Lesher," put in Marny. "We came over here on the raft to see if you wouldn't take us in." "Were you alone?" asked Captain Blossom. "No, we had Hackenhaven with us. But he fell overboard just after we left the wreck, and the sharks caught him," answered Gibson, with a bitter shake of his face. "What did Lesher say to your leaving?" asked Tom. "He didn't know it until after we were a hundred yards or more from the wreck. You see, he and the others were drinking in the cabin, so we got away without much trouble," answered Marny. "They might have shot at us, but it was too dark for them. We had a hard pull to get over here, and when poor Hackenhaven was gobbled up both of us felt bad, I can tell you." It was now seen that both sailors were almost exhausted, and Captain Blossom allowed them to rest, while Dick prepared a pot of coffee. While they were drinking, Gibson told them the particulars of how the mate had made himself leader of the sailors now left on the wreck. CHAPTER XXIX THE BURNING OF THE WRECK "When Lesher and Baxter got back to where they left us they were very bitter against you," began Gibson. "They told us that you had tried to make them work like niggers, fixing up this house. They said that they wanted to come right back and bring us here, but you wouldn't let them go until the house was finished." "Which is not true, as all of us here know," said Captain Blossom. "Lesher also said that you were angry at us for leaving the ship before the rest, and that you had said you would have us all tried for mutiny the first chance you got. Baxter said the same, and also told us that you were going to dump all the rum and other liquor into the ocean, so that the mate and none of the others could get a drop of it while they stayed on the islands." "I didn't say that, but I did say that Lesher Shouldn't have all he wanted," replied the captain. "This sort of talk made most of the sailors wild," went on Gibson. "Then Lesher made a speech to them, and they voted to stick by him through thick and thin and not let you rule them. He promised them all the liquor they wanted, and told them that if they stuck by him the whole lot could swear in court that they had found the wreck deserted, so that they could get whatever was coming in the way of salvage. Then he handed around some liquor he had brought along, and some pistols, and most of them said they would stick to him, as I said before." "What about going directly to the wreck?" asked Tom. "That was Baxter's idea, and it wasn't thought of until we were on our way to this spot. Baxter said that if we captured the ship we would have you at our mercy, for sooner or later your provisions would run out, and you'd be begging for something to eat." "The scoundrel!" cried Dick. "So he thought to starve us into submission, eh? Well, he shan't do it." "I said I didn't think it would be fair on the young ladies," continued Gibson. "But he told me he'd take care of the girls after he had brought you to your knees." "He'll never take care of me!" cried Dora. "Nor me!" came from Nellie. "I'd rather die than leave this place in Dan Baxter's company," added Grace. "Captain, I want you to understand that Gibson and I didn't agree to what they wanted to do," came from Marny. "But we were overruled, and we had to hold our tongues for fear of being knocked down or shot." "Do you want to join our crowd?" asked Dick bluntly. "We do, and if you'll take us in we'll promise to stand by you to the end, no matter what comes. We know they've got the best of it--having the ship's stores--but we don't care for that. They are a drunken, good-for-nothing crowd, and we are done with them." "All right, men, I think we can trust you," said Captain Blossom. "It's a pity that Hackenhaven was lost overboard and eat up by the sharks. We could rather have spared Lesher." "Or Dan Baxter," observed Tom. "With three gone they have but eight men left on the wreck," said Sam. "And we now number seven men and three ladies. If we stand our ground, I can't see as we have much to fear from them." "It will be all right so long as they keep their distance," said Captain Blossom. "But if they come over here in a body when they are half full of drink, there is sure to be a row and probably some shooting. Still, we needn't try to meet trouble halfway." The sailors gave some more of the details of their doings while in Lesher's company, and then they were provided with additional clothing, and each was given a pistol and some ammunition. Nothing was said to them about the cave or the provisions stored there, Captain Blossom deeming it best to wait and make sure if they were to be thoroughly trusted. "You see," said he, "they may be straight enough, or they may be spies sent by Lesher to find out just what we propose to do." "They look honest," said Dick. "I should trust them." The long pull on the bay had worn the two sailors out, and they were soon sleeping soundly. The girls followed, and then the boys started to turn in. Sam had just gone to rest, and Tom was following, when Dick, who had stepped out on the beach, uttered a cry. "What's up?" asked Captain Blossom. "Look toward the wreck. What does that light mean?" The captain looked, and then ran for his spy-glass. "The _Golden Wave_ is afire!" he exclaimed. "That light is coming up out of the cabin!" "The wreck is on fire!" shouted Tom, and this cry brought everybody out once more. With remarkable rapidity the light grew brighter, until the heavens and the entire bay were lit up by the conflagration. There was a strong wind blowing, which carried the sparks to the jungle back of the ship. Listening intently, they could occasionally hear the roaring and crackling of the flames. "The ship is doomed, that is certain," said Sam. "I wonder if all who were on board escaped?" "The fire has caught in the brushwood on the shore," announced Captain Blossom, who had continued to use the spyglass. "Can you see any of the men moving around?" questioned Dora. "I thought I saw one or two, but I am not certain. Most of the men must have escaped, but if they were drunk, as Gibson says, perhaps some have been caught like rats in a trap." The flames continued to roar upward, and toward the island back of the ship, for over an hour. During that time they heard two dull explosions, caused by some barrels of chemicals catching fire. The second explosion sent the bits of burning wood and rigging flying in all directions. "That will leave the mutineers without a home and without stores," said old Jerry. "They're in a poor fix now." "I'd like to know how the fire started," said the captain. "Can you explain it?" he went on, to Gibson and Marny. "I've got an idea," said Marny. "Just before we came away old man Shular went down in the hold with a light to look for some certain brand of liquor we were carrying. He was more than half drunk, and he most likely dropped his lantern and set something on fire." At the end of an hour and a half the flames had died down to the water's edge. A few small bits of wreckage continued to burn, and also a grove of trees and brushwood on the island. But before morning every bit of the fire was out, and only a heavy smoke showed where the _Golden Wave_ had once rested. No one had thought of retiring again, and sunrise found them all worn out, and anxious to know what was going to happen next. "You can rest assured that some of them will be over here sooner or later," said Dick. "Now they have no place to shelter them, and no provisions, they will want us to help them out." "What will you do, Dick?" asked Dora. "That depends on Captain Blossom, Dora. Personally I want nothing to do with any of them." "But some may be badly burnt, and they may need medicine and bandages," came from Nellie. "We can send them whatever we can spare," said Tom. "But I object strongly to letting anybody come here." It was decided to remain on guard during the day, and all were cautioned to keep within call of the house. The bay was scanned for the sight of a rowboat, but none put in an appearance. "I'll wager that those who did escape are sorry they quarreled with us," said Sam. "Especially Dan Baxter," answered Grace. "He'll find that living out in the woods isn't so pleasant as it looks." By nightfall all grew anxious, and sat in front of the house to discuss the situation. "It can't be possible that all on board were burnt up," said Dick. "That would be horrible." "Oh, some must have escaped," answered Captain Blossom. "But they may be suffering from burns, or they may have no means of getting here. With the ship burnt up, and all the tools gone, it would be no easy matter to build even the roughest kind of a raft." "What do you think about some of us rowing over to what is left of the wreck?" asked Sam. "I was thinking of that. But, if we do that, we had better wait until to-morrow morning. You can't see much in the dark." "If I thought anybody was dying for the want of aid, I'd go over," said Tom. "We all know what brutes Lesher and Baxter are. They wouldn't hesitate to go off and leave some of the others to die where they had fallen." "I think Tom is right, and some of us ought to go over," said Dick. "I'm willing to go," announced old Jerry. "We can move around like cats in the dark, so they won't know we are near until we tell 'em." "You might take some medicines along, and some bandages," said Nellie. "Take a bottle of sweet oil and some flour," put in Grace. "They are both good for burns." The matter was talked over until midnight, and then it was settled that Dick, Tom, and old Jerry should take the largest rowboat and some bandages and medicines and row over to the vicinity of the fire. They were to land on the beach below what was left of the wreck and crawl through the bushes on a tour of discovery. If they found that they were not absolutely needed, they were to return without making their presence known to the mutineers and Dan Baxter. The two boys and the old sailor were soon on the way. Care had been taken to wrap cloth around the oars where they slipped in the row-locks, so that the boat moved through the water, as noiselessly as a shadow. Once out in the bay the boys and old Jerry, pulled with a will, and in less than half an hour the beach north of what was left of the wreck was gained. They approached with great caution. "Do you see or hear anything?" whispered Tom. "No," answered Dick, and then the rowboat grated on the sand, and all leaped ashore. With their medicines and bandages in their pockets, and pistols in hand, they commenced to crawl through the bushes. Before long they came to a point from which they could look toward the wreck. All was dark and deserted and the air was filled with the smell of burnt wood and water. "I don't see anybody, do you?" whispered Dick. "Nary a soul in sight," answered old Jerry. With equal care they moved around to the other side of the wreck, over a mass of burnt brushwood. "Hark!" said Tom. They listened, and, from a distance, made out a faint groan. "That is somebody, and in great pain," said Dick. "Come on," and he led the way. Around a pile of rocks they found a sailor. He was propped up against a tree, and was suffering from some burns on his legs and feet. "Bostwick!" said old Jerry. "Oh! oh! Help me!" groaned Bostwick piteously. "Give me a drink of water!" "Where are the others?" asked Dick. "Gone! They left me to take care of myself. Oh, the wretches! Please help me; won't you, for the love of Heaven!" "Yes, we will help you," answered Tom. "You are certain they have all gone?" went on Dick, as he got out some oil and bandages, while Tom ran for water. "Yes, yes!" "Where did they go?" "They went--oh, my legs and feet! How they smart! They went to the--the--house! Lesher said you must have set the ship on fire, and Baxter said the same. They--oh, what a pain! Please be careful!" Bostwick gulped down the water Tom gave him. "That is good." "What did they say, Bostwick?" asked Dick, as he continued to work over the hurt man. "They said they were going to pay you back. They all went armed; that is, all but me and Shular. Shular was burnt up. They said they were going to shoot you down on sight, and then run the house to suit themselves. I said--oh, the pain. I--I--how weak I am!" And with those words the burnt sailor fell back in a dead faint. CHAPTER XXX THE DEFENSE OF THE CAVE--SAVED! "He has fainted, poor fellow!" said Dick, as he bent over the unconscious form of Bostwick. "We ought to git back to the house at once!" put in old Jerry. "We must warn the cap'n and the others of what Lesher and his crowd intend to do." "That is true, but we can't leave this poor chap here. He might die for the want of care," came from Tom. "We'll take him along," said Dick. "Come, lift him up." As carefully as they could they lifted the unconscious form up and bore it to where the rowboat was lying. Soon all were on board, and while Tom did his best to revive Bostwick, Dick and old Jerry bent their back to the oars, pulling as they had seldom pulled before. The beach in front of the house was almost gained when they heard a shot ring out, followed by several others. "Just as I feared!" groaned Dick. "Lesher and the others have begun the attack!" "Then we'll have to be careful how we land," said old Jerry. "If we aint, we may run right into 'em!" There was no moon, but the stars shone brightly, so the beach line was dimly visible in the distance. Standing up in the bow, Tom saw a flash of fire from the jungle below the house, and heard the crack of a firearm. Then he saw some dark forms running along the beach. "Our party is making for the cave!" he cried. "We had better turn in that direction." Several other shots followed, but they could not tell if anybody was hit. In the distance several rum-crazed sailors were yelling like so many Indians. Bostwick came to his senses just as the sand was reached. "Whe--where am I?" he asked feebly. "Oh, my feet!" "We have brought you with us, Bostwick," answered Dick. "Keep still, and we will do what we can for you." As soon as possible they took the hurt man up, and all started for the entrance to the cave. "Who goes there?" cried a voice out of the darkness. "Is that you, Sam?" called back Dick. "Dick! I am glad you are back. They attacked the house, and we are going to the cave to--" "Yes, we know all about it, Sam. We have brought one of the sailors along. He is badly, burnt. Are the girls safe?" "I guess so. We told them to go ahead," answered Sam. Carrying Bostwick between them, Dick and old Jerry soon reached the cave, where they found the three girls standing in a group, each full of dread over what was occurring. Hardly had they gotten inside when Captain Blossom came up on a run, accompanied by Gibson and Marny. "Back, are you?" he said. "I am glad to see it. But it may put you in a tight hole. Hullo, so you've got Bostwick with you, eh? Everybody get into the cave, just as quick as you can." Once inside of the cave Captain Blossom commanded everybody to he silent. The hurt sailor was carried to the inner chamber, where a lantern was lit, for it would be impossible to see this light from outside. Then the girls set to work to make Bostwick comfortable. "Has anybody been shot?" asked Tom. "I got a bullet scratch on the arm," answered the captain. "And Marny got a few buck-shot in his shoulder. But neither of the hurts amount to anything." "What do you think the mutineers will do next?" "Ransack the house first," said Sam. "Oh, but they are a bad crowd! They came on like a lot of demons." "Of course Baxter was with them." "Yes, but he kept in the background, for fear, I suppose, of being shot." With caution one after another left the mouth of the cave to look in the direction of the house. No one outside of their own party was visible. Suddenly a glare lit up the scene, growing brighter each instant. "By the great boots!" ejaculated Captain Blossom. "They have set the house on fire!" "That shows how crazy they are," declared Dick. "In their rage they are liable to do anything. Ten to one they get to fighting between themselves before this is over." The house, being built of semi-green logs, burnt slowly. As it was consumed, they heard some of the sailors singing and yelling, and heard several pistol shots and a scream of pain. "Some of them are coming now!" announced Sam, half an hour later. "Everybody get back out of sight," cried Captain Blossom. There was a wild scramble, and in the rush Tom tripped and fell. His foot struck a stone, which went rolling down to the mutineers' feet. "Hi! hi! there they are!" came in a rough, thick voice. "Where?" roared back the voice of Jack Lesher. "Up there, among the rocks and bushes." "Let's go after 'em!" "Shoot 'em down, boys! They deserve it for burning up the ship!" Up the rocks came the hard-drunken sailors, accompanied by Lesher, and with Dan Baxter in their rear. "Back! back! All of you, stand back!" cried Captain Blossom. "Come a step nearer at your peril. We are all armed and ready to fire!" At these words the sailors halted for a moment. "Say, cap'n, why did you set the ship afire?" asked an unsteady voice. "We had nothing to do with that," answered Captain Blossom. "We were all over on this island when the blaze started." "It's a lie!" came in the voice of Lesher. "Of course it's a lie," added Dan Baxter. "They did their best to burn every one of us up. "It is the truth," cried Dick. "Now stand back, or we shall fire on you." "Come on!" yelled Lesher, and fired a pistol at those near the mouth of the cave. "If ever I get the chance to have you tried, every one of you shall be hung for mutiny and murder!" cried Captain Blossom, and then fired in return. The bullet hit Dan Baxter in the arm, and he fell back with a shriek of pain. "I am killed! I am killed!" he moaned, and ran down toward the beach. Then came a volley from the mutineers, followed by one from those in the cave. "Oh, what a close 'shave!" muttered Tom. A bullet had grazed his ear, cutting away one of his curly locks. Lesher was wounded in the shoulder, and in a moment more of the mutineers ran off, feeling that they were at a disadvantage. "They can see us out in the open, while we can't see them for the rocks and bushes," said one sailor. "Let us wait till morning "; and so it was decided. Inside of the cave a council of war was held, and it was decided to block up the entrance fronting the bay with large rocks, leaving only two loopholes open, for watching and for possible shooting. All of the wounded ones were cared for, and then a watch was set. In the meantime Bostwick was put at ease, and he told the particulars of what happened on the burning wreck, and how Lesher and Baxter had urged the mutineers to attack those at the house. The remainder of the night wore away slowly. Nothing more was seen of the mutineers, who had retired to the jungle, drank more liquor, and gone to sleep, Baxter with them, moaning and groaning over his wound. "I am going to take a look around," said Tom, early in the morning. "A look around where?" asked Dick. "From where we have the signal of distress. I don't believe any of the mutineers are in that vicinity." "I'll go with you," put in Sam, and so it was decided. It was an easy matter for the two boys to make their way to the gully entrance, and with great caution they climbed out of the opening and walked to where the flag of distress floated in the breeze. Not a sight of the mutineers or Dan Baxter was to be had in any direction. "They are either sleeping, or else they are afraid we'll shoot at them if they show themselves," said Tom. And he added: "I am going to climb the tree and take a look around." "Be careful," cautioned Sam; nevertheless, he went up the tall tree with his brother. Once in the tree, directly under the flag, they took a careful look around the island and then out to sea. "My gracious, Sam, look!" screamed Tom suddenly, and pointed out to the ocean. "A ship! A ship!" ejaculated Sam. "Yes, and do you see what kind of a ship it is? A warship, and an American warship at that!" "Hurrah, Tom; we are saved!" "Yes! yes! They are sailing this way. Our flag of distress has been seen! Hurrah!" "We must tell the others right away." Both slid down the tree with all haste. As they reached the bottom a gun boomed out across the waves. "That is to let us know that our signal has been seen," said Tom. "Won't the others be delighted when they know a ship, an American ship at that, is so close at hand!" As quickly as they could they reentered the cave and ran to where they had left the others. The good news spread like lightning. "A ship! an American warship is coming!" was the cry. "Oh, how thankful I am," came from Dora. "What shall we do next?" asked Nellie, with tears of joy streaming down her cheeks. "We'll go to the shore and meet the small boat that is sent in," answered Captain Blossom. Without delay he set out, accompanied by Dick and old Jerry, leaving the others to defend the cave during his absence. It was nearly two hours before he returned. "The ship is the cruiser _Jefferson_," he said. "She is bound for Honolulu, to await orders. The captain says he will take us on board willingly, and he will do what he can to help us bring those other fellows to justice." "Hurrah!" cried Tom. "If that is so, then our troubles as castaways are over." "And we are not sorry," said Grace. "Not a bit sorry." And all of the others agreed with her. A few words more and I will bring to a close this story of the Rover boys' adventures on land and sea. The captain of the warship was true to his word, and before nightfall all who had been in the cave were safe on board of the Jefferson. Those who were wounded or hurt were given the best of medical attention, and everybody was made comfortable. "What attracted me to the islands was the bright reflection in the sky when the wreck was burnt," said the captain of the cruiser. "I thought perhaps that a volcano had become active. But at daybreak we saw nothing unusual, and were about to turn away when the lookout discovered your flag of distress." "What will you do about the mutineers and Dan Baxter?" asked Dick. "We'll bring them to justice, if we can, lad." When a visit was paid to the burnt house nobody was in sight. But in the woods nearby a wounded sailor was discovered. He was badly hurt, and, though given every care, died two days later while on shipboard. "You'll have a job finding Lesher, Baxter, and the others," he said, when being attended. "They said they wouldn't give in to anybody, and when they learned the warship was here they rowed away in a boat for one of the other islands, They'll hide away until after you are gone." "If that's the case, let them stay here," said Captain Blossom. "It will be punishment enough for them to live here without any stores." "They may find those at the cave," said Tom. "Even so, those stores won't last forever," said Dick. "Yes, they will be punished enough, for there is no telling when another ship will stop here and take them away." "More than likely they'll have to remain here a year or two," said Captain Blossom. Everything of value was taken to the warship, and twenty-four hours later the Jefferson steamed away on her journey to the Hawaiian Islands. "How glad mother will be to learn that I am safe!" said Dora to Dick. "It will be good news to all of our folks," answered Dick. "They will welcome us as from the grave." "I hope we can get a steamer directly from Honolulu to San Francisco," said Tom. "Our little vacation has proved unusually long." "Do you think that we will ever see Dan Baxter again?" questioned Sam. "I hardly think so," said Dick. "After what has happened he will not dare to show his face again." But Dan Baxter did show himself, and what he did to harm the Rover boys in the future will be told in another volume of this series, entitled "The Rover Boys in Camp; or The Rivals of Pine Island," in which we shall meet many of our old friends again. It may be as well to mention here that Baxter and two sailors escaped from the seven islands just one week after our friends left it. The others, including Jack Lesher, lost their lives while in a quarrel over the last bottle of rum which the mate had brought with him from the burning wreck. Their taking off was an awful example of the evils of intemperance. It was soon seen that Bostwick was not seriously burnt, and before the trip to Honolulu was over he was able to sit up and to walk a little. The wounds of those who had been shot proved slight. "We are well out of that adventure," said Tom one evening, as the Rover boys and the girls sat on the deck in the starlight. "And I don't know as I want to go through anything like it again." "All I am thinking of is home, sweet home," said Sam. "Just what was in my mind," answered Dick. "How father and Uncle Randolph and Aunt Martha will welcome us!" "Let us sing," put in Dora, and in a moment more all were singing the first verse of "Home, Sweet Home"; and here let us bid them good-by. 
21358	----	The Ocean Cat's Paw, the Story of a Strange Cruise, By George Manville Fenn. ________________________________________________________________________ Here we have a full-length book by an excellent author at the very top of his powers. The time is set at the end of the Napoleonic War, and continues into the ensuing peace. The young hero is first found fishing in a Dartmoor stream, when he is interrupted by the arrival of a young Frenchman, who, it turns out, has just escaped from Dartmoor, where the prisoners-of-war were being kept. Rodd helps him to hide from pursuit. Rodd is living with his uncle, who is a doctor, but who also is a researcher in Natural History. He receives a Government grant to buy a ship and travel about in it collecting specimens. On the first trip the weather turns nasty and they have to take shelter in a French port. Later in the voyage they meet up with a strange brig, which they realise they had seen while in France. But she is in difficulty, having been holed below the waterline in an engagement. At this point they discover that her officers include the boy we met in Chapter One, and his father, the Count. The hole is repaired by the skill of the British seamen. There's lots more to the story, and we won't spoil it for you, but we do full-heartedly recommend it to you. The problem in transcribing the book was tearing oneself away from it, for meals, rest, and other duties. ________________________________________________________________________ THE OCEAN CAT'S PAW, THE STORY OF A STRANGE CRUISE, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN. CHAPTER ONE. RODD THE PICKLE. "Here's another, uncle." This was shouted cheerily, and the reply thereto was a low muttering, ending with a grunt. It was a glorious day on Dartmoor, high up in the wildest part amongst the rugged tors, where a bright little river came flashing and sparkling along, and sending the bright beams of the sun in every direction from the disturbed water, as an eager-looking boy busily played the trout he had hooked, one which darted here and there in its wild rush for freedom, but all in vain, for after its little mad career it was safely brought to bank, and landed. There was no need to use the light net which hung diagonally and unnecessarily across its owner's back, for the glittering little speckled trout was only about the size of a small dace, though it fought and kicked as hardily as if it had weighed a pound, and indulged in a series of active leaps as it was slipped through the hole in the lid of a creel, to drop into companionship with half-a-score of its fellows, which welcomed the new prisoner with a number of leaps almost as wild as its own. The utterer of the grunt, a stoutly-built man who might have been of any age, though he could not have been very young, judging from his bristly greyish whiskers, was also busily occupied, but in a calmer, more deliberate way. He had no creel slung from his shoulder, but a coarse clean wallet that was rather bulgy, its appearance suggesting that it was carried because it contained something to eat, while its owner held in one hand, slung by a stoutish lanyard, a big, wide-mouthed glass bottle half full of water, and in the other hand a little yellow canvas net attached to a brass ring at the end of a stick, the sort of implement that little boys use when bound upon the chase and capture of the mighty "tittlebat." And as his younger companion shouted and landed his little mountain trout, the net was being carefully passed under water, drawn out and emptied upon the fine lawn-like grass, and what looked like a little scrap of opalescent jelly was popped into the wide-mouthed bottle. "You got one too, uncle?" shouted the boy, who was higher up the stream. "Yes; some very nice specimens down here. Are you getting plenty of sport, Rodd?" "Yes, uncle," replied the boy, who was carefully examining his tiny artificial gnat before beginning to whip the stream again. "They are rising famously; but they are awfully small. I shall get a dish, though, for supper." "Uncle," as he was called, grunted again, and went on searching amongst the water-weeds with his net, his tendency being with the stream, while the boy, who did not scruple about stepping into the shallows from time to time, went on whipping away upward towards where one of the tors rose in a chaotic mass of broken, lichen-covered, fragmentary granite, apparently hiding in the distance the source of the little bubbling and sparkling stream. Sometimes, as the boy struck in unison with the rise, he missed his fish, at others he hooked and held it till it broke away, and then again he transferred another to his creel, as intent upon his sport as his uncle was upon his pursuit, but still adding and adding to the contents of the creel for quite an hour. Then, in an interval when the fish had ceased to rise, the boy began to look downward, finding to his surprise that he was quite alone and close up to the towering mass of time-worn granite, many of whose blocks sparkled in the summer sun with crystals of quartz, and specks of hornblende, and were rendered creamy by the abundant felspar which held the grains together in a mass. "I wonder what's become of Uncle Paul," muttered the boy. "Have I lost him, or has he lost me? What stuff! One's only got to go down the stream, and he's sure to be there somewhere, dipping for his what-do-you-call-'ems--hydras and germs and buds, and the rest of them. But oh, what a jolly morning it is, and what a jolly place Dartmoor is now the sun shines! Not very jolly yesterday, though, when the wind was sweeping the rain across in clouds and you couldn't see the tops of the tors for the mist. Oh, but it is beautiful to-day. I do feel jolly!" The boy let his light tapering rod fall into the hollow of his arm, swung round his creel to the front, and, raising the lid, peered down at his speckled prizes lying upon a bed of newly-picked bracken fronds. "Why, there must be fifty," he cried. "There, I won't stop to count. I'll catch a few more, and guess at fifty. That'll be enough for a nice lot for tea and some more for to-morrow morning's breakfast. Uncle Paul does enjoy a dish of trout. Humph! So do I. I suppose it's this beautiful fresh air up among the tors, and the tramping. It was a good long way up here from the cottage. I suppose it's that makes me feel so jolly hungry. Oh, look at that now! Uncle would carry the wallet, and he's got all the sandwiches. Never mind; I'll catch a few more of the little beauties, and then toddle back to meet him." But the boy did not begin to fish directly, but stood gazing round at the glorious prospect of hill and dale and miniature mountain, here grey and sparkling, there flushed as if with the golden sheen of blossoming furze, while the lower slopes were of the magnificent purple of the abundant heath. "Beautiful!" cried the boy ecstatically. "I am glad that we came up here to stay. So is dear old uncle. He's revelling in the specimens he gets, and we shall have another jolly night with the microscope. He'll give me a lecture upon all the little Latin beggars he pops into his bottle, and another for being so stupid in not recollecting all their cranky names. Never mind; it is jolly. Pity it isn't later, for then there'd be plenty of blackberries and whorts. I dare say there'd be lots of the little tiny button mushrooms, too, in the lower parts among the soft grass. But what's the use of grumbling? Uncle says that I am never satisfied, and that I am always restless, and I suppose it's because I am a boy. Well, I can't help being a boy," he mused thoughtfully. "I might have been a girl. Well, girls are restless too. I say, what's that?" He shaded his eyes again and gazed at a speck of something that looked bright scarlet in the distance, and then not very far away he made out another, and again another speck or blotch of bright red. "Now, I wonder what's growing there," muttered the boy. "I don't remember anything scarlet growing and blowing. Poppies? No, I don't think they are poppies. They are at the edges of the cornfields, and there are no cornfields up here." He fixed his eyes more intently upon the scarlet specks, and then burst out laughing. "Well, they are not poppies," he said aloud. "Poppies don't move, and those are moving, sure enough. There, one of them has gone behind that block of stone. Pooh, how stupid! Why, of course!" He jerked himself round to look in another direction, so sharply that his creel swung out for a moment from the strap, and came back against his hip with a bang, as he stood with his back to the sun, gazing at a distant grey, gloomy-looking pile of stone building, and then nodded his head with satisfaction. "Poppies, indeed! My grandmother! That's what they are. Soldiers from over yonder. Part of the guard from the great prison, I suppose. Oh, poor beggars! How miserable, when you come to think of it--shut up yonder in that great gloomy place, for I don't suppose they let them come out much without soldiers to watch them--and all for doing nothing. Doing nothing! Mustn't say that, though, before Uncle Paul, or he'll go into a rage and begin preaching about Bony and the war, and going on about the French. Hullo!" The boy started, for there was a dull thud, apparently from the prison, miles away, followed by a loud echo which seemed to come from close at hand, making him turn again as if to look for the spot from which it came, and seeing it too, for the report of the gun had as it were struck against the face of the tor above him, and then glanced off to strike elsewhere. "How queer echoes are!" he muttered. "Yes, and how queer I feel--all hollow. That's made me think about it. I suppose that means twelve or one o'clock dinner-time. Oh, how stupid to go right away from uncle like this! I wish he'd come. But I won't go till I have made my fifty trout." Turning his attention now to the stream, he began whipping away again, and finding that the little trout were rising as well as ever, with the result that Rodney Harding once more forgot everything else in his pursuit and went on up-stream nearer and nearer to the great tor, till at last he found himself in a little hollow amongst the rocks where the river had widened into a pool, hollowed out as it were at the base of a great cliff. "Why, this is the end of it," he said, pausing to look round and upward at the towering pile of rocks. "No, it isn't. It must be the beginning--the source, I suppose they call it. Yes, the stream begins here, comes right from under that cliff. Why, it's like a little cave out of which the water streams." He stopped short and threw his fly once or twice without effect, and then, moved by curiosity, waded into the shallow rippling water, which rose a little way above his boots, but as it began to invade his trousers he rolled them up to his knees, before wading onward till he was stopped by the piled-up cliff face where the water came gliding out and rippled about his legs. "Why, it ought to be quite cold," he muttered, "instead of which it is warm." Then, standing up his rod so that the top rested among the stones, he stooped down, bending nearly double before he could pass in beneath a rough stony natural arch and slowly force his way along a narrow passage for a few feet, before stopping short where the water nearly reached his knees. "Oh, I say! I am not going to break my back short off at the hips by squeezing in here," he grumbled. "Besides, it's all dark; and what's the good? Here, I know! This isn't the source. This tor is only a piled-up heap of stones, and I dare say if I go round I shall find the little river coming in on the other side, and this is where it comes out. Well, let it. Here, I want my lunch." He made his way back into the sunshine where all was bright and clear again, and, taking his rod, stepped out to the edge of the pool, where the dry sand felt pleasant and comfortable to his feet, and there he went on fishing again with more or less success, till he passed out of the little amphitheatre to where the rocks fell away on either side, half hidden by the heath and furze. "Must have got fifty by this time," muttered the boy. "Now just one more to make sure, and then I'll be off, and--Ugh! Who are you? How you made me jump!" The Ocean Cat's Paw--by George Manville Fenn CHAPTER TWO. AFTER FRENCH PRISONERS. There was some reason in Rodney Harding's words, for as he turned from the little river he had come suddenly face to face with a thin gaunt-looking lad of about his own age, very shabbily dressed and almost ragged, who was gazing at him fiercely, and stood with one hand as if about to strike. Recovering himself on the instant, Rodney, obeying his first impulse, began to loosen the bottom joint of his rod ready to use it as a weapon--a defence against the expected attack--but in an instant the strange new-comer dropped his hand to his side, turned quickly away to look outward across the moor, and then cried wildly, his voice sounding strange of accent, and husky as if from exhaustion-- "No, no, don't hit! I am so weak and so helpless. Help me. Tell me, which way can I go? They are close after me, and I can run no farther. Help!" The poor wild-looking creature ended by sinking upon his knees amongst the heath, and raising his hands with a piteous gesture, while his imploring looks were quite sufficient to move the young fisherman's heart. "Why, who are you?" he cried. "You are not a beggar." "No, no! I confess. Oh, _mon ami_--I beg your pardon--sir! I forgot. I confess everything. It was for liberty; we were escaping, but the guard--the soldiers! They have been hunting us down like dogs." "A French prisoner?" cried the boy. "Ah, _oui_--yes, monsieur. It is my misfortune. But the soldiers. We have been separated." "Who's `we'?" said Rodney sharply. "My father and I. I don't know which way he has gone. They have taken him perhaps, and now it is no use; I may as well give up, for I can go no farther." He sank sideways amongst the heath and fern. Rodd looked at him in horror, for the poor fellow seemed as if he was about to faint with weakness and misery, while he kept giving utterance to hysterical gasps as he was plainly enough struggling hard to avoid bursting into a passion of weak girlish tears. "Here, I say, don't do that!" cried Rodd, stooping and catching him by the arm to shake him violently. "You don't know that the soldiers have caught your father." "No, but I feel sure that they must have done so," cried the poor fellow, rising a little and gazing wildly in the speaker's eyes, while Rodd's energy seemed to galvanise him into action. "Well, suppose they have? They'd only take him back into the prison again, would they?" "I--I don't know," faltered the lad. "I heard firing, and they may have shot him down and taken him." "Yes--may, may, may!" cried Rodd angrily. "But I don't believe our soldiers would be such brutes. It's only Frenchmen that do such things as that." "What!" cried the lad, struggling to his feet. "How dare you speak so of our brave fellows! I appealed to you for help, and you insult me. Do you think if you were in France and flying for your life with your father--" "Haven't got one," said Rodd shortly. "Died before I was born." "Do you think then that if you alone had appealed to me for help I would have treated a poor escaping prisoner like this?" "Oh, come, I say, don't go on like that. Any one would think you were a great girl. How can I help you? I daren't. What would my uncle say if he knew I'd helped a French prisoner to escape from his guards? You shouldn't, you know. It isn't right nor fair. Just because you have got into trouble, that's no reason why you should drag another fellow down too. Look here, what are you running away for?" "Why?" cried the lad bitterly. "Because I am a prisoner, and I wanted to see my poor father free." "Well, look here," said Rodd huskily; "I am very sorry, you know, and I'd help you if I could, but it's against the law, and--I say! Quick! Don't speak aloud. I can hear some one coming. Yes, it's the soldiers, I think." "Oh!" cried the French lad wildly, and he gazed about him with every nerve quivering, his whole aspect being that of some hunted beast with the dogs close upon his track. "Don't get up," cried Rodd. "I tell you, I mustn't help you; it's against the law; but if I were in your fix I know what I should do. Not afraid of the water, are you?" "What, swim for my life? Nonsense! In a stream like this!" "No, no. Wade into that hole opposite yonder, and hide there till the soldiers are gone." "But they'd be sure to look there." "Not they! They'd be afraid of spoiling their breeches and gaiters and washing out the pipe-clay." "Ready for you to betray me to them," whispered the lad bitterly. "No; I'll surrender like a man." "Oh!" growled Rodd, between his teeth. "If you weren't such a poor, weak, helpless-looking chap I'd hit you on the nose. How dare you speak to me like that?" He raised his hand as if to strike, but there was a ring in his words which had thrilled the fugitive, who to Rodd's astonishment caught the hand in his, and quick as thought pressed it to his lips, and then dashed into the water and splashed his way to the mouth of the hole. The next moment the disturbed stream was the only trace left, for the fugitive had disappeared. The young fisher stood gazing blankly at the low dark mouth of the hole, listening with every nerve on the strain for some sound from the hiding-place to strike his ear; but there was none. From behind, though, there came a loud voice, shouting-- "Here, this way; up by the stream!" In an instant Rodd was full of action. Turning his back to the hole across the pool, he began to whip the surface with such effect that at the third cast there was a quick rise and he was fast in by far the biggest trout he had caught that day, though small enough all the same; and with knit brows he was playing it carefully just as a redcoat, followed by three or four more, came up at the double to the exit end of the pool and halted to stare at him wonderingly. "Hi, young fellow!" shouted the leader, whose stripes betokened the sergeant. "What are you doing here?" Rodd, whose heart was thumping against his ribs from excitement, did not so much as raise his eyes from the surface of the pool, but with teeth set, lips pursed up, and brows heavily knit, kept on playing his fish, paying not the slightest heed to the speaker and his companions. "Fishing, eh?" said the sergeant, who, in spite of his important errand, could not take his eyes from the darting trout. "I say, we are after an escaped prisoner, and he came somewhere up here. Which way has he gone?" Rodd did not take his eyes from the frantic darting of the fish, but gave line in silence as it flashed through the water to the far side of the pool, while the soldiers grounded arms and looked on with the deepest interest. "Prisoners escaped," said the sergeant loudly, as he, too, still gazed at the rushings of the trout--"Frenchman--came up this way--Yes, a big 'un, youngster--Mind! You'll lose him!--One was quite a lad, and--Well done! You have got him yet!--We saw him run up this way, and--Well done!--You have handled a fly-rod before--Did you see anything of him?" "Eh? What?" said another voice sharply, and a fresh comer suddenly appeared upon the scene in the shape of Uncle Paul, who stared in astonishment at the group as he stepped into the little amphitheatre from behind the rocks. His appearance acted like magic upon the soldiers, who brought their muskets to the carry, while the sergeant sprang to attention and saluted. "After escaped prisoners, sir. Asking the young gentleman if he had got one of them up here." "Pooh! Nonsense! Absurd!" cried the gentleman addressed, just as Rodd brought his fish to land and went down on one knee to grip it in his left hand. "Prisoners, no!" literally barked the fresh comer, setting down his bottle and net, and taking off his straw hat to wipe his streaming face with a big yellow and red bandanna handkerchief. "Here, Rodd, boy," he cried, with a chuckle, "empty your pockets and then open your creel and show the sergeant how many prisoners you have caught. Hot up here, my lad!" he continued, and the sergeant and men grinned. "Thirsty?" "Yes, sir," said the sergeant, grinning; "pretty tidy. We have had a precious good run." "Well, there's plenty of beautiful water. Shall I lend you my drinking-cup?" "Thankye, sir," said the sergeant. "Thankye, indeed!" said the bluff speaker, with a chuckle, and he thrust his hand into his pocket. "There you are; there's a shilling for you to get some cider. I dare say you know where better than I can tell you. No, we have seen no prisoners." "Thank you, sir! You are a gentleman," said the sergeant. "Didn't want to interfere with the young gent's sport, but we had got our duty to do. Left face, my lads! Forward!" And the next minute the military party were on the tramp, to pass through the entrance to the little amphitheatre and disappear, just as Uncle Paul was lowering himself gently down upon a huge boulder stone and dragging round the wallet which hung from his right shoulder. "Phew!" he gasped. "Pretty job I have had to find you, Pickle! I took a short cut, as I thought, and it proved a long one. I have had a round. Aren't you hungry, boy?" "Starving, uncle," replied the lad, as he dropped the fish into the creel, hooked his fly on to one of the rings, and tightened the line. "But let's come out here on to the heath. It will be more soft and comfortable to sit down." "Bah!" barked Uncle Paul. "I am not going to stir again till I have had something to eat and a rest. There, lay your rod down. Bother the soldiers! There was another party of them out yonder, shouted at me to stop, and because I didn't, made as if they were going to fire. Yes, they had better! But I had to stop; and then they began questioning me about their escaped French prisoners, and wanted to know who I was and where I was going, and I thought that they were going to make me a prisoner and march me off yonder, only I showed them my card and asked them if I sounded like a French prisoner. They were civil then, and I gave them a shilling. That's two shillings I have fooled away out here on this moor, where I should have said it wasn't possible for a man to spend a farthing. Come on; help yourself," and he held out the wallet for his companion to take one of the big sandwiches it contained. "I think we had better go on outside, uncle," said the boy. "There's more breeze out there, and the rocks don't reflect the heat." "Do you?" said Uncle Paul, with his mouth full. "There's quite wind enough in here to keep me alive, and I am so hot I don't want to go out to be blown on and catch cold.--My word, the old lady didn't forget the mustard! Come, eat away, Pickle. Let's start fair, or you will soon be a sandwich behind. My word, what an appetite this air does give one!" "Yes, uncle," said the boy, who, in spite of an effort to control himself, could not help darting an anxious glance from time to time at the opening between the rocks. "Capital sandwiches, Pickle," continued the uncle, eating away with the most intense enjoyment. "One doesn't want any other pickle with these. What does the old proverb say--Hunger's sweet sauce. Hullo! what are you getting up for?" "Oh, I am going on eating, uncle," replied the boy. "I was only going to walk to the end and see how far the soldiers had gone." "Hang the soldiers, sir!" cried the elder irascibly. "I wish they'd keep in their barracks instead of coming hunting their prisoners all over this beautiful countryside. Sit down and go on eating." The boy resumed his place, and began making half-moons in the edge of his sandwich and trying to munch hard; but somehow his appetite was gone, and before he was half through the second sandwich he watched his opportunity, slipped it into his pocket, and as his uncle turned round to look at him he leaned forward and helped himself to a third from the wallet. "Ah, that's better! Eat away, boy. We have got a long walk back, and you will have plenty of appetite for a good high tea. Hang the prisoners as well as the soldiers. If I had known that this great cage full of Bony's French frogs was up here I don't believe I should have come--that is, unless I thought that Nap himself was a prisoner here too, when I might have been tempted to come and have a grin at the wild beast in his cage. Eh, what? What did you do that for?" He looked curiously at his nephew, who, after a glance across the pool, had involuntarily stretched out one hand to grip his elder's arm. "Do you hear me, sir?" he cried sharply. "Why did you pinch my arm like that?" The boy, whose face had looked rather white the moment before, flushed scarlet, and stammered out something confused and strange. "Why, hullo, boy!" cried his uncle sharply, and he leaned forward in turn and caught the lad by the wrist. "Why, what's the matter with you? Haven't been overdoing it in the sun, have you? Here, take my cup and have a glass of water." "No, no, uncle; I am quite right. There's nothing the matter with me. It's--it's--it's--" "It's what?" said Uncle Paul sharply, as he gazed full in the boy's eyes and held tightly by his wrist. "Well, it's what?" "Perhaps I am a bit tired, uncle. I have been working very hard, and I turned faint and hungry a little while ago." "Humph!" grunted Uncle Paul. "Then do as I tell you. Drink a cup of that clear cold water." "That's better," he continued, a few minutes later. "Now eat another sandwich. No nonsense, sir! Do as I tell you!" The boy sighed and helped himself to another of the double slices and their contents, and for the next few minutes no word was spoken, the pair sitting opposite to one another and munching or ruminating steadily away, the younger feeling as if every mouthful of which he partook would choke him. "Hah!" said Uncle Paul, at last; "it is a drawback to this beautiful place. The colours of the heath are glorious, and the views from up here are grand. I got some good specimens too, ready for our microscopic work to-night; and that was a nice trout you caught. How many did you get, boy?" "Only one, uncle," said the boy vacantly. "What!" "I didn't see the other, uncle." Uncle Paul drew a deep breath and fixed the boy with his eyes, as he said quietly-- "I asked you how many trout you got, Pickle." "Oh, about fifty, uncle. Creel's half full." "Ah! Then we will have some for high tea to-night, and some for breakfast in the morning, and give our landlady the rest. Nice woman that; full of stories about the prisoners, and Bony and his wretched scum. Ugh! The very name of the rascal raises my bile, and--There, I think I had better take you home and give you a dose." "Yes, let's go on back now, uncle," said the boy eagerly, "but indeed, indeed I don't want a dose." "Humph! Then pray why did you grip hold of my arm again like that, and stare across yonder over my shoulder as if you could see a raven hiding in one of the holes?" "Oh no, uncle," cried the boy, with a forced laugh. "I couldn't see anything." "Ha, ha!" ejaculated Uncle Paul. "Now, look here, Pickle; you and I have always had a sort of tacit agreement that we'd play fair together, and that there should be a mutual confidence." "Yes, uncle, of course," cried the boy, whose face was burning. "Very well, then, you are breaking truce. You are not playing the game, sir." "Uncle!" "Pickle! Now then, sir, out with it. You have seen those French prisoners." "Uncle!" "Yes, sir. Why did you pinch my arm--twice? Now then, honour!" "I--I--You were talking about Bonaparte." "Well, what of that?" "I was afraid he'd hear you, uncle." "What!" cried the other, and his mouth opened wide. "Bony! Here?" "No, uncle, of course not, but one of the young prisoners. He was escaping." "And you--you have turned traitor to your King, and been hiding a prisoner of war from his guard! Why, you young scoundrel! You lied to that sergeant, and said you hadn't seen them." "I didn't, uncle!" cried the boy hotly. "It was you." "Eh? What?" roared the elder. "You dare to! Eh?--Ah--so I did! But then I didn't know." "No, uncle, and if you had seen and heard the poor lad as I did, I am sure you wouldn't have betrayed him." "Betray! It isn't betraying, sir, to give up a prisoner of war." "I felt as if it would be, uncle, under such circumstances," said Rodd, who began noting that his uncle had lowered his voice, and that his angriest words had been uttered in a whisper. "Look here, my boy," he said now quite softly, "I knew that there was something up, or you would have been wolfing more than your share of those sandwiches. I saw you keep squinting at that hole over yonder. So you have hid him away there?" "No, uncle," said Rodd; "I did nothing, but just as the soldiers were coming up, and he'd been begging and praying me to save him, I just said that that would be a good place to hide." "Humph!" grunted Uncle Paul. "It was very wrong, my boy--very wrong; but look here, Pickle, is the poor fellow badly wounded?" "No, uncle; only exhausted. He looked just like that hunted deer we saw the other day." "Hah!" said Uncle Paul, nodding his head. "Humph! Well, you know, my boy, it isn't the thing, and we should be getting into no end of trouble if it were known. It's against the law, you know, and if you had caught him and held him you would have got a big reward." Rodd got up and laid his hands upon his elder's shoulders as he looked him fixedly in the eyes. "I say, uncle," he said, "you have been questioning me. It's my turn now." "Yes, Pickle; I'll play fair. It's your turn," said Uncle Paul. "What is it you want to say?" "Only this, uncle. Would you have liked me to earn that reward?" "Hah! I say, Pickle, my lad, would you like any more sandwiches?" "No, uncle." "Then isn't it about time we began to make for home?" Uncle Paul rose and led the way down-stream, gazing straight before him, and though he must have seen, he took no notice of the fact that Rodd did not throw the strap of his creel of fish over his shoulder, but left it by the side of the stone, along with the wallet, through whose gaping mouth a second packet of big sandwiches could still be seen. CHAPTER THREE. MRS. CHAMPERNOWNE'S PAN. Mr Robson, when he came up from Plymouth for a natural history expedition into Dartmoor, did not select a hotel for his quarters, for the simple reason that such a house of accommodation did not exist, but took what he could get--a couple of tiny bedrooms in the cottage of a widow whose husband had been a mining captain on the moor; and there after a long tramp they returned on the evening after the adventure, to find their landlady awaiting them at the pretty rose-covered porch, eager and expectant and ready to throw up her hands in dismay. "Why, where are the fish?" she cried--"the trout?" "Eh?" said Uncle Paul. "The fish, sir--the fish. I've got a beautiful fire, and the lard ready in the pan. I want to go on cooking while you both have a good wash. You told me that you would be sure to bring home a lot of trout for your supper, and I haven't prepared anything else." "Bless my heart! So I did," said Uncle Paul. "Here, Pickle, where are those trout?" Rodd gave his uncle a comical look, and stood rubbing one ear. "Ah, uncle," he cried, "where are those trout?" Uncle Paul screwed up one eye, and he too in unconscious imitation began to rub one ear. "Ah, well; ah, well," said the landlady, "I suppose you couldn't help it. I have had gentlemen staying here to fish before now, and it's been a basketful one day and a basket empty the next. Fish are what the Scotch call very kittle cattle. Never mind, my dear," she continued to Rodd. "Better luck next time. Fortunately I have got plenty of eggs, and there's the ham waiting for me to cut off some more rashers." As she spoke the woman hurried into her kitchen, from which sharp crackling sounds announced that he was thrusting pieces of wood under the kettle, and as she busied herself she went on talking aloud so that they could hear-- "Did you hear the gun fire, sir, somewhere about one o'clock?" "Yes," grunted Uncle Paul. "Dinner-time, and we ate your sandwiches, Mrs Champernowne. They were delicious." "I am very glad, sir. But, oh dear no, that wasn't the dinner-bell. That meant that some of the prisoners had escaped. Poor fellows! I always feel sorry for them." "Mrs Champernowne!" cried Uncle Paul, and Rodd, who was in his room with his face under water, raised it up, grinning, for he knew his uncle's peculiar ways by heart, and he went on listening to what was said. "Oh, yes, sir," cried the landlady, with her voice half-drowned by a sudden flap and a sizzling noise which indicated, without the appetising odour which soon began to rise to Rodd's nostrils, that their landlady had vigorously slapped a thick rasher of pink-and-white ham into the hot frying-pan; "I know what you think, sir, and what you told me only last night about being a loyal subject of King George, and these being our natural enemies, whom we ought to hate." _Ciss_! went the ham, and Rodd felt as if he should like to shout "Hear, hear!" "But I can't help remembering what I hear at church about forgiving our enemies; and I am sure you would, sir, if you knew what I do about those poor fellows, torn away from their own people and shut up behind prison bars, and all for doing nothing." Just then there was a little spluttering noise as if the pan were chuckling. "For doing nothing!" shouted Uncle Paul, and a sound from his room suggested that he had set down the washhand jug with a bang. "The scoundrels who invaded our shores?" _Ciss_! said the pan. "That they didn't, sir!" cried the landlady. "They didn't even try; and even if they had there were all our brave fellows round the coasts who would soon have stopped them." "Hear, hear!" cried Rodd, very softly, for he was speaking into his sweet-scented towel, whose scent was that of fresh air and wild thyme. "Well, well, that's right," shouted Uncle Paul; "but they wanted to." _Whish-ish_, went the pan, and there was a good deal more spluttering, and in his mind's eye Rodd saw the great rasher turned right over, to begin sizzling again. "And I don't believe that, Dr Robson," cried the landlady sturdily. "Don't you know that the poor fellows over yonder never get good honest shillings given to them and are enlisted of their own free will like our lads at home, but they are dragged away and are obliged to fight; and it was all owing to the angry jealousy and covetousness of that dreadful man, Bony, who has been the cause of all the trouble." "Hah!" roared Uncle Paul, in a voice that almost shook the diamond-paned casement. "Say no more, Mrs Champernowne. You are quite right, and I admire your sympathies. Madam, you are a lady!" "Oh, really, Dr Robson--" "I repeat it, madam, you are a lady, and I applaud everything you have said. But what about that gun?" "Oh, dear me, yes, sir; I was just going to tell you, but you put it all out of my head. It was the alarm gun to tell everybody that prisoners had escaped, so that all the people on the moor could join the soldiers in scouring the place as they called it, and hunting the poor Frenchmen down for the sake of the reward. Yes, I'd reward them if I had my way! Hunting their poor fellow-creatures, who are only trying for their liberty!" "H'm! Ha!" grunted Uncle Paul, and there was a huckabacky sound about his words. There was another furious hissing from the pan, followed by a fresh slap, for a second great rasher had been thrust in _vice_ number one nicely cooked and just placed in the hot dish that had been intended for trout. "Did they catch them, Mrs Champernowne?" shouted Uncle Paul. "I haven't heard, sir," was the reply; "but dear, dear, they are pretty well sure to, for there's not much chance for the poor fellows. Oh, it makes my heart bleed when I hear sometimes that one of them has been shot down by the soldiers." Rodd went on tip-toe across the creaking floor to open his door a little farther, listening with strained ear, for his bright young imagination pictured the thin pale youth, wild-eyed and breathless, out of his hiding-place and running for liberty across the open moor, and hearing again the distant reports of the muskets. "But that doesn't often happen, sir, for between you and me and the post, seeing that the prisoners are only soldiers, after all, I don't believe that though they have their orders, our men ever try to hit them; and very glad I am." "Ah, ah, ah, Mrs Champernowne, that isn't loyal, you know, that isn't loyal to his Majesty the King and your country." "I can't help that, Dr Robson, and I am not speaking, sir, as a subject, but as a woman and a mother who has a brave stout boy in our good King's Guards. Now suppose, sir, that you were a mother." Uncle Paul grunted audibly. "And had a boy the same as I have, and Bony Napolyparty had taken him prisoner. How would you like him to be shot down?" Rodd literally jumped in his alarm, for there was a tremendously wild cissing from the pan and a horrible suggestion therewith that Mrs Champernowne had been turning the rasher with so much energy that she had thrown the cooking slice on to the fire itself instead of into its native pan, while a sudden gush as of hot burning fat came up the little stairs. But the pleasant sizzling sounds began again directly, and Rodd, who was ravenously hungry, consequent upon the bad part he had played over the sandwiches beneath the tor, sighed in relief as he realised that the widow's energetic treatment had only splashed a little of the fat over the side of the pan. As Rodd listened for a continuation of the political discussion, in which it seemed to him that Uncle Paul had got the worst of it, for neither the widow nor he spoke for the next three or four minutes, and the pan had it all its own way, there was some creaking of the boards as the naturalist stumped about, and when he did speak it was evident that he thought it wise to change the subject. And it was the inner man who now spoke-- "Our tea-supper nearly ready, Mrs Champernowne?" "Oh yes, sir. The second rasher's about done. How many eggs shall I cook?" "Oh, one, or perhaps two, for me," shouted Uncle Paul. "Oh, I say!" muttered Rodd. "Better cook eight or ten for my nephew," cried the doctor dryly. "He'll eat like a young wolf." "What a shame!" muttered Rodd. "I'll serve him out for this." "Fried, of course, sir?" came from the kitchen. "Murder, woman, no!" roared Uncle Paul. "Fry! That is wild west-country ignorance, madam! Are you not aware, madam, that the action of boiling fat upon albumen is to produce a coagulate leathery mass of tough indigestible matter inimical to the tender sensitive lining of the most important organ of the human frame, lying as it does without assimilation or absorption upon the epigastric region, and producing an irritation that may require medical treatment to allay?" "Dear, dear, dear, dear me, no, sir! Really, you quite fluster me with all those long words. Who ever heard that fried ham and eggs were bad for anybody?" "Then I tell you now, madam," shouted the doctor, "that--" "Don't you take any notice, Mrs Champernowne," shouted Rodd. "It's only uncle's fun." "Wuff!" went Uncle Paul, with a snap like that of an angry dog. "Wuff!" "Fried, please, Mrs Champernowne; four for uncle and three for me." "Umph!" grunted the doctor, and a few minutes later he and his nephew, hunger-sharpened and weary-legged, were seated facing one another in the widow's pleasant little parlour, hard at work, and risking all the direful symptoms upon which the elder had discoursed, and thoroughly enjoying hearty draughts of Mrs Champernowne's fragrant tea. There was silence in the kitchen, following the final hissings and odours emitted by the hard-worked pan, but a great deal of business went on in the little parlour, the first words that were spoken being by Uncle Paul, who growled out-- "Here, I suppose you had better tell the old lady to put on another rasher of ham to fry." "For you, uncle?" said Rodd archly. "No, sir, for you. You traitorous young dog, leaving all those beautiful trout up on the moor to be devoured by the enemies of your country!" "Well, they can't eat them raw, uncle." "Why not, sir? They are only so many ravening savages, ready to breathe out battle and slaughter if they got free." "That poor boy didn't seem much of a savage, uncle," said Rodd quietly; and after a sidelong glance to see whether he dared say it, the boy continued tentatively, "I wish the poor fellow had been here to have this ham." "What!" roared his uncle fiercely. "Bah! You wouldn't have left him a mouthful. Wolf--raven!" "Yes, I would, uncle. I'd have left him all." "Umph!" grunted Uncle Paul, taking up a very thin, old, much-worn silver table-spoon and looking at it with the eye of a connoisseur. "H'm! Ha! Queen Anne." "She's dead, uncle," said the boy. "Well, I know that, don't I?" growled Uncle Paul, as he tilted the empty dish, and carefully scraped all the golden brown fat and gravy to one side, getting together sufficient to nearly fill the spoon, and then making as if to put it upon his own plate, but with a quick gesture dabbing it down upon Rodd's. "Fair play, uncle!" shouted the boy. "Bah!" grunted the doctor. "Cut me a thin slice of bread, all crumb, Pickle. Thunder and lightning! I have got the best share, after all;" and then, with his face puckered up into a pleasant smile, he inserted a fork into the newly-cut slice of home-made bread, and began passing it round and round the dish until it had imbibed the remains of the liquid ham and the golden new-laid eggs, when he deposited it upon his own plate with a triumphant smile which seemed to Rodd to make him look five-and-twenty years younger. "Shall I fill another cup of tea for you, uncle?" cried Rodd; and by the way, they were breakfast cups. "No, no, Pickle; I--I--er--well, say half." At that moment the door was opened, and, looking hot and out of breath, their landlady entered. "I hope you haven't been waiting for anything, gentlemen," she cried, giving the table a comprehensive glance. "I am so sorry. I will cook another rasher or two directly." "Madam, no," said Uncle Paul didactically. "What does the great classic author say?" "Really I don't know, sir," cried Mrs Champernowne, with a perplexed look wrinkling up her pleasant face. "But it won't take many minutes." "Enough, madam, is as good as a feast. This has been a banquet, eh, Pickle? I never enjoyed anything half so much before in my life. The ham was tenderness itself, the eggs new-laid--the bread--the butter--the tea--eh, Pickle?" "Delicious, uncle." "The fat of the land, Mrs Champernowne," continued the doctor; "the riches of these smiling pastures. Now if your friend Napoleon Bonaparte had come with his locusts to devastate the land, his hordes such as we have seen safely imprisoned yonder--" "Yes, sir," interrupted Mrs Champernowne eagerly; "that's what I came to tell you. I thought I might just run over to my neighbour's, whose master has come back from the hunt, and I thought that you would like to hear. Those two French prisoners have got right away." "Hooray!" shouted Rodd, springing from the chair, and to Mrs Champernowne's astonishment catching her round the waist and waltzing her about the room. "Three cheers for the poor prisoners! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" And Uncle Paul pushed back his chair, puckered up his forehead, stared hard at his nephew, and grunted out-- "Humph!" "Oh, my dear, don't! Pray don't!" panted Mrs Champernowne, whom Nature had made middle-aged, round and plump. "You are taking away all my breath. But my neighbour's master says that he thinks they have made for Salcombe, where they will perhaps get aboard one of the orange boats and be put back in their own country." "Hah!" said Uncle Paul, leaning back in his chair to take hold of his bunch of seals and haul up by the broad watered silk ribbon the big double-cased gold watch that ticked away from where it reclined warm and comfortable at the bottom of his fob. "Confound their politics, Frustrate their knavish tricks!" "That was a very fine tea, Mrs Champernowne. Now, Pickle, my boy, I think it would be very nice to go and sit for half-an-hour in the arbour under the roses, while I kill the green fly--the aphides, Mrs Champernowne--which increase and multiply at a rate which is absolutely marvellous. Pickle, my boy, I hope you will never grow up as weak and self-indulgent as your uncle. Fill me my long clay pipe." CHAPTER FOUR. OH, SUMMER NIGHT! Mrs Champernowne's arbour was a very homely affair, consisting of four fir poles to form as many corners, and a few more nailed and pegged together to form gables. Nature built all the rest with roses and honeysuckle and some vigorous ivy at the back, the roses spiring up, the honeysuckle creeping in and out among the long strands and holding them together, while the ivy ran rapidly up the back till it could grow no higher, and then began to droop down till it had formed itself into a thick curtain which kept out the wind. There was a very rustic table in the middle, formed by nailing two pieces of plank on to a tree stump, and a couple of seats, one on each side, pierced with holes that had once upon a time been made by ship carpenters' augers, when the wood was built up over the ribs of some stout ship which long years after was bumped to pieces by the waves upon the rocks and then cast up upon the southern shore, to be bought up and carted all through the county. Yes, it was a very rustic place, but it suited its surroundings, and Uncle Paul looked supremely happy as he sat there slowly smoking his pipe and gazing dreamily before him at the beautiful landscape stretching far, and the garden of the one cottage within reach only a short distance away from the plot of ground where by the help of the neighbour sufficient potatoes were grown for the widow's use. "What a silent, peaceful evening, Pickle," said Uncle Paul. "Look yonder in the east; the moon will be up soon, and then it will be night, and we have done no work. How do you feel, my boy?" "Tired and stupid, uncle. My legs ache right down to the ankles." "No wonder, hopping about amongst those granite boulders. My back's a bit stiff too. There, let's go into the parlour, light up, and then you shall fetch down the microscope." "Oh, not yet, uncle!--I say, have another pipe." "A vaunt, you young tempter! Trying to lead me astray into idleness! No, let's get in. We have been playing all day; now let's go and get a bit of work done before we lie down to sleep." "But I say, uncle, do you think that Napoleon will ever start another war in France?" "Who knows, boy? His goings-on have brought nearly everything to a standstill, and there has been war enough to last for a hundred years." "Yes, uncle; but do you think that Napoleon and the war put a stop to your expedition that you were to make in a vessel of your own?" "Of course I do, Pickle," said Uncle Paul, smoking very slowly now, with his eyes shut, so as to make the little incandescent mass at the bottom of his bowl last for a few minutes longer. "Government promised me and my friends to make a grant for the fitting out of a small vessel, and for the payment of a captain and crew, and it was voted that we should have it; but do what we might, my friends and I could never get the cash, and it has always been put off, put off, on account of the expenses of the war." "But, uncle--" began Rodd. "No, you don't, sir," said Uncle Paul, with a soft chuckle. "None of your artfulness! You are trying to lead me on to prattle about Bony, so as to avoid my lecture upon the fresh-water polypes I have taken to-day. Get out, you transparent young scrub! In with you, and fetch down the case, and light the two candles on the parlour table. Nice innocent way of doing it. Think I couldn't see through you, sir? Be off!" A few minutes later Uncle Paul's pipe was cooling on the parlour chimney-piece, kept almost upright by the waxy end leaning against a glass tube which had been formed into a sort of ornamental rolling-pin to be suspended over the fire, and to be much treasured by its owner. It was not a very aesthetic piece of art or ornamentation, being only composed of coloured flowers carefully cut out of a piece of chintz, before being gummed upon the inside of the glass tube. This was then filled up with salt, and the ornament was complete. The candles were burning brightly after each application of the snuffers; the polished mahogany microscope case stood on a side-table, and the brass tube that had been taken out was ready to receive one of the many slips of glass, some of which had little cup-like hollows ground out of one side ready for receiving a tiny drop of water and one or other of the specimens, the result of the past day's search. Uncle Paul was on one side of the table with his big glass bottle; Rodd sat on the other, with his chin resting in his hands, trying to listen to his uncle's discourse, and with his eyelids drooping down now and again. "Bother the flies and moths!" said Uncle Paul testily. "Who's to work with them circling round and round the candles, trying to singe themselves to death? What's that white one, boy?" "Ghost moth, uncle," replied Rodd sharply, his uncle's question seeming to rouse him up to attention. "Good boy! Well named. Trying hard to make a ghost of itself too. Why, there's a great Daddy Longlegs now! Here, you'll have to shut the window." "Oh, don't, uncle! It will make the room so hot." "Umph! So it will. Very tiresome, though, when one's trying to work. Now then, let me see; let me see. I want to examine this hydra, but I must put on a lower power, and--Oh, dear, dear, dear! Gnats! Moths! Tipulae and--Really, really, Pickle, that lamp gives no light at all;" and Uncle Paul leaned forward, took a pin out of the edge of his waistcoat, and began to prick at and try to raise the wick of the reflecting microscope lamp. Then there was a little catastrophe, for after a most vigorous application of the pin the wick seemed to resent it as if it were some kind of sea worm, and drew back out of reach into its little brass cell. "There, now I've done it!" said Uncle Paul. "Did you ever see anything so tiresome in your life, Pickle?" "Yahah!" sighed the boy slowly. "Why, what are you doing? Yawning!" cried Uncle Paul. "You are about the sleepiest chap I ever knew. There, I am afraid I shall have to wait for to-morrow morning's sunshine. Clear away, or help me. Let's put everything on a side-table, and I'll tell Mrs Champernowne that she isn't to touch what she sees there." "Yes, uncle," said the boy, with something like alacrity, as the table was cleared and the candles re-snuffed, the effect of opening and shutting the snuffers seeming to act upon Rodd and making him yawn widely, while quite involuntarily Uncle Paul did the same. "Now then," said Uncle Paul. "Aren't we going to bed, uncle?" said Rodd eagerly. "Bed? Nonsense! Because we are in a country place where people like going to bed almost in the middle of the day and getting up in the middle of the night, do you think we need follow their example? Absurd! I want to talk to you about some of the wonderful things I captured to-day. The waters on the moor swarm with the most beautiful limpid specimens." Rodd sighed softly, and put his hand before his mouth to stop a yawn. "Oh, by the way," said Uncle Paul, "did you change your trousers when you went up to wash?" "No, uncle; they didn't want it." "Weren't they damp?" "No, uncle; I only got my shoes wet, and they were pretty well dry when I got home. Besides, you had got my other trousers in the big portmanteau in your room." "Well, you could have come and fetched them. Always be careful to change damp things.--Come in!" There had been a soft tap at the door, and Mrs Champernowne appeared. "I beg pardon, sir, but what would you like for breakfast in the morning?" "Breakfast, Mrs Champernowne? Nothing." "Oh, I say, uncle!" said Rodd sharply. "We seem to have eaten enough this evening to last us for twenty-four hours." "Oh no, sir," said the landlady. "Excuse me, but our moorland air will make you think very differently to-morrow morning." "Humph!" grunted Uncle Paul. "You see, sir, I did think that you'd bring home enough trout this evening to do for your breakfast too, and I am afraid there's nothing but ham and eggs. Would you mind them?" "I'll tell you to-morrow morning, madam," said Uncle Paul. "Then if you wouldn't mind, sir--I don't want to hurry you and the young gentleman--but it's my time, and if you will excuse me I'll say good-night." "Good-night, Mrs Champernowne; good-night, and pleasant rest to you," said Uncle Paul heartily, "and--Yes? You were going to say something?" "If you wouldn't mind, sir, being sure that the candles are well out." "Oh, of course; of course." "And it's a very hot night, sir." "Yes, madam; we have found that out." "So if you'll be kind enough to shut and slip the bolt of the front door I'll leave it for you to do so when you go up to bed." "Certainly, Mrs Champernowne, certainly. Once more, good-night." Their landlady smiled benevolently on both, and the next minute they heard the little old staircase creaking beneath her tread, this being followed by the cracking of the boards in the little room over the kitchen, the visitors both listening till all was silent again. Somehow as Rodd sat opposite to his uncle, his head seemed to be unusually heavy, and he rested more and more upon his two thumbs, which he had placed for support beneath his chin. There was a faint pinging sound, the trumpeting of a gnat flitting about the room, and then the deep boom of a beetle somewhere outside the open window. There was a hot delicious odour, too, floating in over the flowers in the garden, a portion of whose scent the warm air seemed to be taking up to mingle with that which it had swept off the moor. And then as Rodd listened and gazed across the table between the two candles, whose tops were growing tiny brown mushrooms as they silently asked to be snuffed, it seemed to the boy that his uncle's face looked dim and misty, and then that it swelled and swelled and began to float up like a faintly seen balloon, till it died right away. And all was still but the _um-um-um_ of the great beetle or chafer which had passed in through the window, and began circling round just below the whitewashed ceiling, against which its wings brushed from time to time with a faint fizz, till all at once Rodd started up, for his uncle exclaimed-- "Why, Pickle, what are you about?" "I--I--nothing, uncle," said the boy hastily. "Why, I believe, sir, you were going to sleep!" "Oh, I am quite wide awake, uncle," cried the boy. "Humph, yes--now. You see, my boy, these hydras are most extraordinary things, and to-morrow morning in the bright sunshine we will get the microscope to work, and I'll show you how they--" _Burr_--_burr_--_burr_--_hum_--_hum_--_hum_--_um_--_um_. Was that Uncle Paul talking in a low tone with his voice getting farther and farther away, or was it that big chafer spinning round and round the room? Now it nearly died out, and then it grew louder again and seemed to double into a duet, just as if the great stag beetle had whisked in at the casement and had joined in the nocturnal valse, the duet seeming to be intended to lull the naturalist and his nephew to sleep in the soft musky sweetness of that delightful summer's night. How long it lasted, who could say, but all at once there was a sudden start, and Uncle Paul's hand came down with a thump upon the tablecloth after he had knocked over one of the candlesticks, making so much noise that, wide awake now, Rodd made a dash and stood the candlestick up again, before snatching the candle from where it lay singeing the lavender and red-check cotton table-cover and beginning to deposit a big spot of grease. "Bless my heart, Pickle!" cried Uncle Paul. "I believe I was going to drop asleep." "I am afraid I was asleep, uncle," replied the boy. "You were saying that hydras--that hydras--er--er--er--something about hydras." "Yes, yes, yes, but never mind. Perhaps we had better go to bed, and I'll finish what I was saying in the morning. There, light the two flat candlesticks, and we will have a good long snooze. That's right; put out the others. No, no; use the extinguisher! Don't blow them out, or there will be such a smell." Then-- "Shall I shut the window, uncle?" "Oh, no, I don't think you need. The place is like an oven. Heigho-- ha--hum! Yes, I am sleepy. Come along. Good-night, my boy. I am going to sleep with my chamber window wide open, and you'd better do the same." "But I say, uncle, we shall hardly want our candles. Look at the moon. It is almost as light as day." All the same they took the candles up with them, the stairs creaking again beneath their tread as if uttering a protest against them for their forgetfulness in not attending to their hostess's request to close and bolt the door; but they were too sleepy to do anything more than slip off their things on reaching their rooms, while almost directly after, the moon was shining in right across Rodd's snowy white bed, the pillow being in the darkness, which also formed a black bar across the foot, so that only the boy's hands and breast lay in the light. One moment after laying his head down in that black velvety darkness Rodd Harding was wide awake and thinking that all outside the window was silver, a broad streak of which came straight over him to die away in the wall on his left; the next, he was far away in the land of dreams, wandering over the moor, his confused visions taking the form of escaping prisoners flying before soldiers in scarlet coats. And then after a blank pause which seemed to have lasted only a few minutes, Rodd opened his eyes upon the bright silvery light once more, to find that it struck across from the window in the opposite direction, for he was wide awake, listening to a soft tap, tap, tap, evidently administered by a knuckle upon his door. CHAPTER FIVE. THE MILK IN THE COCOA-NUT. "Yes, all right, Mrs Champernowne; get up directly. I say, what's o'clock?" "Oh, I don't know, my dear," came in agitated tones, "but would you come to the door and speak to me a minute?" There was a bump on the floor as Rodd sprang out of bed, and then-- "What is it?" whispered the boy, who was moved by his caller's evident distress. "Don't say uncle's ill!" "No, no, my dear, but I am in great trouble. You--you didn't shut the front door." "Oh!" ejaculated Rodd. "And--and, my dear, there have been thieves and robbers in the night. They have stripped my little larder, and I don't know what they haven't taken besides. Do, pray, make haste and dress, and come down and help me! I am in such trouble, I don't know what I shall do." "All right; I'll make haste and come down," cried Rodd, feeling guilty all over, and then trying to excuse himself by shuffling the blame on to the right shoulders. "It was uncle she asked," he muttered, as he ran round to the other side of the bed for the chair upon which he had hang his clothes when he undressed. "Why, hallo!" He stood staring at the chair for a moment or two, and then ran round the foot of the bed, opened the door two or three inches, and called in a subdued tone so as not to awaken his uncle, though if he had been asked why, he could not have told, beyond saying that he felt then that it was the right thing to do-- "Mrs Champernowne! Mrs Champernowne!" "Yes, my dear," came from the foot of the stairs. "Oh, you have been quick!" "No, no, I haven't," cried Rodd pettishly. "Here, I say, have you taken away my trousers?" "Gracious me, no, my dear! What should I want with your trousers?" "Take them down to brush perhaps," muttered the boy to himself, as he ran back to the other side of the bed and raised the counterpane. "Haven't slipped off and gone under," he muttered, and then as a fresh thought struck him he clapped his hands to his forehead and stood staring before him. "The thieves!" he exclaimed. "They haven't been in here and taken all my clothes?" He was silent for a few minutes, as he stared vacantly about the room. "They have, though!" he cried. "Here, Mrs Champernowne!--Boots and all. Oh, I can't tell her. Here, I must get my other suit out of the portmanteau. I won't wake uncle, because it's so early. Why, it can be only just sunrise; and he'd sit up and laugh at me. Oh, bother!" Rodd ran round to the door again, opened it about an inch, and listened. "She's in the kitchen," he muttered to himself, and slipping out on to the little landing he raised the latch of his uncle's door, glided in, and made for the big portmanteau that lay unstrapped beneath the window. Raising the one half quickly, he twisted the whole round so that the two halves might lie open upon the whitely-scrubbed boards as silently as he could; but one corner caught against the leg of the dressing-table, jarring it so violently that a hair-brush fell on to the floor with a bang, and Uncle Paul sprang up in bed. "Hullo, you sir! What are you doing there?" he cried. "Getting out my other suit, uncle," said the boy quickly. "What for? Don't do that! We are going over the moor again to-day." "But I must, uncle," cried Rodd. "Mush!" "Yes. Oh, I shall be obliged to tell you. It was all your fault, uncle; you didn't fasten the door as Mrs Champernowne told you, and there have been thieves in the night." "Been grandmothers in the night!" cried Uncle Paul contemptuously. "It's true, uncle, and they came up into my room while I was asleep and took away all my clothes--boots and all." "You don't mean that, Pickle! Here, I say, where are mine?" Rodd sprang to his feet from where he was kneeling by the portmanteau, and ran round to the side of the bed, just as his uncle turned and faced him. "Every blessed thing gone, boy. Why, Rodney, my lad, we have fallen into a den of thieves--robbed, and we may thank our stars we haven't been murdered!" "Why, it's horrid, uncle! Didn't you hear them, then?" "Hear them, no! I heard nothing till you knocked something off on to the floor. Here, stop a moment, boy! My purse! It was in my trousers pocket." "Then it's gone, uncle," cried Rodd. "Ah! Horror! My gold watch and seals!" "Well, they weren't in your trousers, uncle." "No, boy; I remember winding it up and laying it on the chimney-piece." "It isn't there, uncle." "My gold presentation watch, that I wouldn't have lost for five hundred pounds! Call up that wretched woman." "Uncle, I can't!" "Do as I tell you, sir! She's in league with the thieves." "But, uncle!" "Oh yes, I forgot. There, don't stand staring there like a bull calf that has lost its mother. Turn that portmanteau upside down. Put on some things yourself, and throw me some more. You can dress quicker than I can, for you haven't got to shave. Look sharp, and then run for the village constable." "Why, there isn't one, uncle," grumbled Rodd, as he began to scramble into his other clothes. "No, of course there isn't, sir. A miserable one-eyed place with only two cottages in it, and I dare say that old woman's in the other, sharing the plunder? What a fool I was to come!" "No, you weren't, uncle, and Mrs Champernowne isn't sharing the plunder, for she came and woke me up to say that the thieves had been and carried off everything there was down-stairs. I say, uncle, it was all your fault." "Don't you dare to say that to me again, sir!" roared Uncle Paul. "It is insolent and disrespectful. Oh, hang the woman's door! Why didn't she bolt it herself? Why, I'd got twenty guineas in that purse, besides a lot of silver. There, there's somebody knocking at the door! Who's there?" "Please, sir, it's me. They've taken the bread and the butter, and a piece of freshly-boiled ham that I meant for you to have cold." "And pray who's _they_, madam?" shouted Uncle Paul, who was in difficulties with buttons. "Well, sir, I was thinking it must be the smugglers. They've been here several times before, when they have been crossing the moor with cargo; but it couldn't be them, for they always leave a little box of tea or a bit of silk, to pay for what they take. It must have been thieves, sir--thieves." "Yes, madam; and they have taken my purse and gold watch too, besides two suits of clothes. There, go on down. We'll join you soon. I want to think what's to be done." The stairs creaked as Mrs Champernowne descended, and just then something caught Rodd's eye--something bright and shiny, against the leaves of a big old gazetteer lying upon the side-table. Rodd uttered an ejaculation. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "Something more gone?" cried the Doctor. "No, uncle; there's your watch. And here's your gold pencil-case too," continued the boy, as he raised the corner of the book. "Why, they have been turning the watch-ribbon into a marker, and somebody has been writing here on the fly-leaf." "Thank goodness!" grunted Uncle Paul. "That's something saved out of the fire. Never mind the writing. But they have taken our clothes." "It's in French, I think, uncle, but I can't quite make it out." "French!" cried Uncle Paul fiercely. "Why, of course! How stupid! I might have known. We have been attacked in the night by a gang of old Napoleon's scum. That man's bound to be the curse of my life. Don't stand staring there, boy. Can't you see?" "No, uncle," said the boy sturdily. "What nonsense! Napoleon couldn't have invaded England in the night to come and steal our clothes." "Bah! Idiot! Can't you see it's some of those scoundrelly French prisoners who escaped yesterday? That vagabond of a boy perhaps that you pampered off and were feeding with our good English provisions. Now you see the consequences. The ungrateful rapparee--Oh no, but that's Irish, and he'd be French." "Yes, uncle," said the boy thoughtfully, for his uncle's fulminations fell blankly upon his ears as he stood trying to puzzle out some of the pencilled words upon the fly-leaf of the book. "Here's _pardon_, uncle, and something else I can't make out, and _changer_. Why, that means exchange! Yes, and lower down here's _sous_ something, only it's written over `John Champernowne' and `his book'; but that's in ink. What does _oreiller_ mean, uncle?" "Bolster," said Uncle Paul. "No: pillow," and he turned involuntarily towards the bed, where, unperceived before, a scrap of something red peered from beneath the clean white pillow-case. "Under the pillow," said Uncle Paul, and stepping to the side of the bed he snatched up the soft down cushion deeply marked by the pressure of his head. Catching up what lay beneath, he uttered a loud ejaculation and tapped it sharply against the bed-post. "What have you got there, uncle?" "Pickle, my boy, it's my twenty guineas that we thought they'd stolen. What in the name of forceps and lancets did they tie them up in this old silk rag for? It's a bit of a pocket-handkerchief." "Why, uncle," cried Rodd, laughing, "it isn't going to be so bad, after all. Somebody's been having a game with us." "Game, eh? Queer sort of a game, Pickle," cried Uncle Paul; and with very little effort he tore open the silk envelope and poured out a little heap of bright gold coins upon the bed. "Napoleons, by all that's wonderful!" he cried. "Exchange! I begin to see now, boy. He's taken my good gold money, whoever he is, and left this French trash. Here, give me that book. Mind--don't drop my watch." "I have got it safe, uncle," replied the boy, handing the big book to his uncle. "Humph!" grunted Uncle Paul. "Not quite such a scoundrel as he might have been, whoever it is that wrote it. Exchange, eh? But there's been no exchange about our clothes. Humph! All in French, of course. If he had been a gentleman, and he couldn't understand plain English, he would have written it in Latin. Bah! How I do hate that pernicketty French! Let's see--let's see. Oh yes, here it all is. Ask pardon for two poor prisoners trying to escape--um, um, um--years of misery. Generous Englishman--some day--_remerciments_. Ah, it's all scribbled horribly-- in the dark, I suppose. Oh, he's signed it, though, Pickle. `Des Saix, Comte.' Oh, there are two of them, then. The other's signed his name too--quite a different hand. `Morny des Saix, Vicomte.' H'm! Well, I suppose they are gentlemen." "Noblemen, uncle." "Bah! Noblemen wouldn't do a thing like that!" "What are those other words, uncle, under the last name?" "Um--um--um! `May God bless you for what you did to-day. Your friend till death.' Why, Pickle, you ought to have been able to read that yourself." "I did, uncle, but I wanted to be sure that I was right. Why, that must have been the boy I helped to escape." "Yes, and he dodged us home, and as good as robbed us." "Oh, uncle! Shame!" "How dare you, sir! What do you mean by it, Rodney? Do you forget who I am, sir?" "No." "And pray who am I then, sir?" "Dear old Uncle Paul, who has got out of bed the wrong way this morning!" "H'm--ha! Well, I suppose you are right, Pickle. I did feel in an awful temper; but I don't feel quite so bad now that I have found my watch." "And pencil-case, uncle." "Ah, yes, my boy. That was the gift of a very grateful old patient." "And then there are all those gold napoleons, uncle." "Bah! Trash! Base counters, good for nothing, like the ugly head that's upon them," cried Uncle Paul irascibly. "But I say, uncle; it might have been worse." "But the clothes, my boy! The scoundrels! They'll go masquerading about in our things, and escaping, I'll be bound. But stop a minute. What did he say about exchange?" "Oh, that meant about the money." "Hullo! There's that wicked old woman again!--Well, Mrs Champernowne, what is it now?" "The wood-shed, sir." "Well, I don't want the wood-shed. Light the fire yourself." "You don't understand me, sir. I went round there to get some kindling, and there's quite a heap of old clothes there that these wicked people have left behind." Uncle Paul chuckled, for he was beginning to beam again. "I say, Pickle, that accounts for the milk in the cocoa-nut. They must have taken our things down into the old lady's wood-shed, and turned it into a dressing-room." "Yes," cried Rodd; "and that young Viscount is quite welcome to mine." "Most generous, I am sure, sir," cried Uncle Paul sarcastically, "but would you be kind enough to tell me who pays the bills for your clothes?" "Why, you do, uncle, of course. But I say, uncle, I do hope they'll escape; don't you?" "Wha-a-at!" "You do, uncle, only you pretend that you don't." "Pretend!" "Yes. Poor fellows! How horrible! To have to stoop to such a scheme as that to get away! But after all, uncle, it's glorious and brave. What an escape! Oh, how I should like to meet that poor fellow again!" "What, to give him up to the soldiers?" said Uncle Paul sarcastically. "Give him up to the soldiers!" cried the boy indignantly. "Why, I'd sooner put on his old clothes, and tell them a lie!" "What!" cried Uncle Paul. "Well, I'd pretend to be him so as to cheat them, and make them take me instead." CHAPTER SIX. WHAT DOES THAT SERGEANT WANT? "Humph!" grunted Uncle Paul, as they descended at last, to hear the fire crackling in the kitchen, and the bright old copper kettle singing its morning song. It was a lovely morning, with the sweet scents of the garden and moor floating in at the little parlour window, and as Uncle Paul took what his irreverent nephew called a good long sniff, he slowly and ostentatiously, moved thereto by the sight of the clean white cloth and the breakfast things, hauled up his great gold watch and examined its face. "Twenty-five minutes, thirty-seven seconds, past six, Pickle. Rather early for breakfast. Well, I suppose we must take things as they are; but I am very, very sorry that they took away my old coat; it was a great favourite. And those things of yours, sir, are much too good to go climbing about tors and wading in streams. I wish that Count had knocked at my door like a gentleman and asked me, as he should. He should have had this suit instead. I'd a deal rather he had it than my old shooting jacket." "Ha, ha!" "What are you laughing at, sir?" "Uncle Paul eating his words." "What, sir?" "You mean, uncle, that if Count de Saix had come and knocked at the door and asked you to help him, you'd have called me up and sent me to the prison for the soldiers." "Now look here, Rodney, that's impudence, sir, and--Ah! There's the microscope, and the slides and the glasses. Have they been disturbed?" "No, uncle. Just as we left them. I almost wonder they didn't carry off all those hydras." "_Hydrae_. Be careful about your Latin plurals. But look here, do you want me to box your ears?" "No, uncle." "Then don't give me any more of your impertinent allusions. Hum--hum-- hum! Half-past six. Very early for breakfast. But I begin to feel a little _appetitlich_, as the Germans call it; don't you?" "Oh no, uncle," said Rodd, very mildly. "You said last night that we had eaten enough to last twenty-four hours." "Now, look here, Rodney, you had the impudence to tell me a short time ago that I'd got out of bed the wrong way. I am afraid it's you, sir, that have done that, and if you don't take care we shall be having a very serious quarrel.--There! Run, quick! That kettle's boiling over." But Rodd was half-way to the kitchen, and had snatched the kettle off before his uncle had finished speaking, warned of what was happening as he had been by the first angry hiss. "It's all right, uncle," he cried. "No harm done!" "But what's become of that old woman? She ought to be here now, seeing about our breakfast." "Here she comes, uncle," and through the window they could see their hostess hurrying back with a big basket from the direction of the neighbour's cottage, and the next minute they heard her setting her load upon her white kitchen-table. "Oh, I didn't know you were down, gentlemen," she cried, as she hurried into the parlour. "I have been over to my neighbour's to see if she could help me now that I am in such a fix." "Well, could she?" said Uncle Paul. "Oh yes, sir. As luck had it, she was baking yesterday, and she had plenty of butter and eggs, besides a small ham which had just been smoked." "Oh, come," said Uncle Paul, "we shall be able to keep you alive for a few days longer, Pickle; and I suppose you will soon be able to let us have breakfast, Mrs Champernowne?" "Oh yes, sir, very quickly. I shall only want time to fry the ham." Uncle Paul gave an involuntary sniff, as if the aroma of the fragrant brown had floated to his nostrils. "But you can't tell, sir, how sorry I am that such a thing should have happened to gentlemen staying in my house;" and the poor woman looked appealingly to uncle and nephew, and back. "Don't you say another word about it, madam," replied Uncle Paul. "You make us a nice clear cup of coffee to take away the taste of the night's adventures." "I will indeed, sir, and I won't say another word, only thank you for taking it so patiently and, if I might make the observation, in such a lamb-like way." Rodd turned round very quickly, walked to the window, and began to whistle softly. "I went over this morning to my neighbour's, sir, as you may see by the basket." "Yes, madam," said Uncle Paul, who was staring hard at his nephew's back and scratching one ear vigorously. "I told her all about it, of course, sir, and her master was there having his breakfast before he went out peat-cutting, and if you'll believe me, sir, he did nothing but laugh, and said he knew it was the prisoners, sure enough, and he had the impudence to say that it was a great blessing that they came to my cottage instead of to his, and lucky for the prisoners too, for they'd got a better fit." "Ah, yes, Mrs Champernowne," said Uncle Paul, pulling out his watch and frowning very hard in its face; "but do you think your neighbour's ham will be as good as yours?" "Oh yes, sir--better, I expect, for it was a lovely little pig when it was fatted up and killed last Christmas; one of those little fat, short-legged, dunkey ones with turn-up snouts. My husband used to say they were the Chinese breed, and that was why the ham and bacon always went so well with China tea. You may depend upon that ham, sir, being beautiful." "Very singular fact, Mrs Champernowne," said Uncle Paul blandly. "Then perhaps you wouldn't mind cutting the rashers a little thicker. I am rather ashamed of my nephew's appetite; but then you see he's only a hungry, growing boy." Uncle Paul took out his watch again, and this time their landlady took the hint, and hurried into the kitchen, from which delicious odours soon began to escape, and in the midst of the examination upon the window-sill, where the bright sun lit up the lenses of the microscope, the magnified hydrae, with their buds and wondrous developments, were set aside, to be superseded by the morning meal. "Ah, yes," said Uncle Paul, thoroughly mollified now by Mrs Champernowne's preparations, "there are worse disasters at sea, Pickle, and I'd worn that old coat off and on for a good many years." "You couldn't have worn it off and on, uncle," said Rodd dryly. "Look here, sir; if your mother, my dear sister, had had the slightest idea that you would have grown up into such an impertinent, two-edged-tongued young scrub, I don't believe she'd have died and left you in my charge. I suppose you meant that to be very witty, sir. Please understand that I was only speaking figuratively. Now we will just spend about an hour over those specimens, and then, as it is so beautiful and fine, we will be off on to the moor again. You will take your fishing-rod, of course?" "Oh yes, uncle." "Then turn up the bottoms of those trousers before we start." "No, uncle; I shall put my leggings on over these," said Rodd coolly, "and I should advise you to do the same." Both Uncle Paul's ears seemed to twitch, and he scratched one as if it itched; but he said nothing, for just then Mrs Champernowne tapped at the door, to enter smiling, with a packet of letters. "Postman, sir," she said, placing the letters upon the table. "You won't mind me speaking another word, sir?" she said. "Oh no, Mrs Champernowne," said her visitor, rather gruffly. "What is it?" "I think you told me, sir, that the prisoners did not take any of your valuables, your money, or anything of that sort?" "No, Mrs Champernowne," cried Rodd eagerly. "They took uncle's money, but they left a lot of French napoleons instead." Uncle Paul made a snatch at a very big blue letter, and darted a furious look at his nephew. "I am very, _very, very_ glad, sir," cried Mrs Champernowne, "and, poor things, they are to be pitied, after all." She backed smilingly out of the room, and Uncle Paul held the big blue letter, which was doubly sealed with red wax, edgewise at his nephew, as if he were going to make a sword-cut at him. "Now, look here, Rodney," he said; "it has been dawning upon me for a long time past that I have indulged and spoiled you, with the result that you are growing into a most impertinent young rascal. Have the goodness for the future, sir, to allow me to speak for myself. When I require your conversational assistance, I will ask you for it." "Yes, uncle, and--" "Well, sir, what?" "Aren't you going to open that big letter, uncle? I want to know what's the news." "What is it to you, sir?" cried Uncle Paul, who had been opening a very keen-looking, peculiarly-shaped, ivory-handled knife. "Have the goodness to let my business be my business. I have a very great mind to put this letter,"--and as he spoke he carefully cut round the seals--"and the other missives away in my writing-case until I am alone--" Here Uncle Paul unfolded a letter upon the top of which was stamped the Royal Arms, and smoothed it out upon the tablecloth--"and read it in peace, without being pestered by an impertinent boy. Bless my heart! Why, Pickle, my boy! Hark here! It's a letter from the Government. Jump up and shout, you young dog! Hang Bony and all his works! It's all right at last." "Why, what is it?" cried the boy excitedly, as his uncle went on eagerly reading the bold round hand that formed the formal contents. "Hark here! `His Majesty's advisers see their way to recommend that the long-deferred grant for the sea-going natural history expedition to the West Coast of Africa to be carried out by Dr Robson at his earliest convenience be made, and that the grant to the full amount will be paid in to Dr Robson's bank as soon as formal application has been received.' There, sir, what do you think of that? At last! At last! Pickle, my boy, they say that everything comes at last to the man who waits, and here it is." "Oh, Uncle Paul!" cried the boy, with sparkling eyes. "I am so glad--so glad!" And as he spoke he dashed at the reader, to catch him tightly by the two sides of the collar of his coat. "Mind my clean cravat, Pickle." "Bother your clean cravat, uncle!" shouted the boy. "Look here, sir; you always promised me that if ever that money came and you went on that expedition, you'd play fair." "What do you mean, sir, by your playing fair?" "You said, uncle," cried the boy, sawing the collar he held to and fro, "that I should be very useful to you, and could help you no end over the netting and dredging and bottling specimens, and that you'd take me with you." "Ah," cried Uncle Paul, "that was when you were a nice, good, obedient boy, and hadn't learnt to say sharp impertinent things, and didn't go about setting free escaped prisoners and getting your uncle robbed." "Gammon, uncle! I see through you, and--I say, what does that sergeant want?" For there was the tramp of heavy feet, and the non-commissioned officer who had been at the head of the squad of men they had met, marched past the cottage window. CHAPTER SEVEN. HE SAYS. "Eh? What?" exclaimed Uncle Paul excitedly. "You don't mean that he is coming here?" "He is, uncle," replied the boy nervously, and his colour began to go and come. "Tut, tut, tut, tut!" ejaculated Uncle Paul. "This looks serious, my boy. Well, I don't know. Perhaps he's only heard of the visit that has been paid here." "I beg pardon, sir; here is Mr Windell, one of the sergeants of the prison guard. Could he see you for a few minutes?" "Well, I'm rather--Yes, yes, show him in, Mrs Champernowne. Rodney, my boy, you sit still and hold your tongue. I don't know what this man wants; but you leave it to me." Rodd nodded his head, and fancied that he felt relieved, but he did not, for his heart was beating faster than usual, and he was suffering from a strange kind of emotion. "Good-morning, gentlemen," said the sergeant, saluting stiffly as he was shown in. "Good-morning," said Uncle Paul stiffly. "Do you wish to see me?" "Yes, sir; only about a little matter upon the moor yesterday. After we left you I did not feel satisfied about those prisoners." "Indeed?" said Uncle Paul coldly. "No, sir. The governor yonder likes to have things thoroughly done, so about three hours afterwards I went over the ground again." "Yes," said Uncle Paul, without taking his eyes from the sergeant's face. "And there I found out something else." Uncle Paul was silent, and Rodd's heart went on now in a steady _thump_--_thump_--_thump_--_thump_. "Thought I'd come on, sir," said the sergeant, turning back to the door, going outside, and returning with Rodd's creel, which he slowly opened and took from within, neatly folded up, the canvas wallet. "Belong to you gentlemen, don't they?" "Yes," said Uncle Paul slowly; "those are ours. Well?" Rodd's heart now seemed to stand quite still till the sergeant replied to his uncle's query. "That's all, sir; that's all," said the sergeant, and Rodd's heart went on again. "You had left them behind, and I thought I'd bring them on." "Thank you," said Uncle Paul quietly. "Very good of you, and I am much obliged." "Don't name it, sir. Going to have another fine day, and hope the young gentleman here will have plenty more sport. There's a lot of trout up there, only they are terrible small. Good-morning, gentlemen." "Good-morning, sergeant," said Uncle Paul quietly, and Rodd's mouth opened a little and then shut, but no sound came. "Wait a moment, sergeant," continued Uncle Paul, thrusting his hand into his pocket and feeling about amongst some five-and-twenty or thirty coins, all of which felt too small, for he wanted a larger one; but feeling that, he took hold of three together, when something made him stop short with his hand half out of his pocket, and he thrust it back again. "Dear me," he said, quickly now, "I really have no change." "Oh, there's no need for that, sir," said the sergeant. "Yes, yes," said Uncle Paul. "Rodd, my boy, have you half-a-crown in your pocket?" "I think so, uncle," said the boy quickly; and then his face looked blank. "No, uncle; I haven't anything at all," he cried in dismay. "Oh, pray don't mind, sir," said the sergeant, moving to the door. "Good-morning, sir; good-morning. I don't want paying for a little thing like that." "Stop, please," said Uncle Paul hurriedly. "Rodd, my boy, go and ask Mrs Champernowne if she'll be kind enough to lend me half-a-crown." Rodd hurried out, feeling exceedingly hot, and with a peculiar moisture in the palms of his hands, returning directly afterwards with the required coin, though the unexpected demand had made their landlady open her eyes rather widely. "There, that's right, sergeant," said Uncle Paul, "and I am sure my nephew is much obliged. He wouldn't have liked to lose that creel." "Thank you, sir. Very glad I found it. Good-morning once more." The man saluted both, giving Rodd a very peculiar look which seemed to go through him, and then turning upon his heels, he marched out of the room and shut the door, while Uncle Paul sank back in his chair, took out a clean red and yellow silk handkerchief, and wiped his forehead. "Rodney, my boy," he said, "I felt as if we had been doing something underhanded, and nearly brought out three of those napoleons to pay that man." "Oh, uncle," said the boy huskily; "it would have been like telling him that the poor fellows had been here." "Yes, my boy, and that you had been helping them to escape." "Oh!" ejaculated Rodd, and he darted to the window. "No," he gasped, with a sigh of relief. "He's gone." "Well, we knew he'd gone, boy." "Yes, uncle, but I was afraid that he'd stop talking to Mrs Champernowne, and she would tell him about their coming here. But he didn't stop, and he has gone right away." "Hah!" ejaculated Uncle Paul. "Well, you see how near we have been to getting into trouble with the authorities; for of course they are very strict over such things as these. There, now I must write an important letter to send off in acknowledgment of that despatch; so you be off now for about half-an-hour, and go and play like a good boy." "Yes, uncle," said Rodd, rather grumpily; and he went slowly out, with the intention of getting somewhere on to the high ground where he could watch the sergeant's red coat till he was out of sight. "I wish Uncle Paul wouldn't talk to me like that," he muttered, as he went out of the garden gate. "Go out and play like a good boy! It does make me feel so wild! He'll be saying good little boy next, and I am past sixteen; and he wasn't doing it to tease me either, for he was quite serious, what with the prisoners, and the sergeant coming like that. Bother him! He looked at me as he went away just as if he suspected that I'd left the sandwiches and the fish where that poor fellow could get them. Here, I mustn't let him see that I am following him. I'll go round by that other track and get up behind those stones. Then I can see the whole way to the prison. Oh, he didn't know anything, or else he'd have spoken out. But that's the worst of doing what you oughtn't to. You always feel as if everybody suspects you. Well, I didn't want to do any harm, and Uncle Paul didn't think it was very wrong, in spite of his grumbling about the French. If he had he wouldn't have called me Pickle. It would have been Rodney, and his voice would have sounded very severe, for he can be when he likes. Spoiled and indulged me! That he hasn't!" The ascent was so steep by the track he had chosen that the boy was soon high above the cottages, hurrying along by a ridge of stones which led up to what looked like a young tor, so situated that it sheltered the two cottage gardens, and the enclosed field or two where the neighbour's cow was pastured, from the north and east wind, and also acted as a lew for Mrs Champernowne's bees, which could reach their straw hive homes comfortably without being blown out by the wanton breezes which travelled across the moors. Rodd was pretty well out of breath when he reached the little tor, and so he drew in a fresh supply as he dropped upon his knees and crawled round the last stone to his proposed look-out, feeling certain he would be able to see the sergeant's bright scarlet coat with its white belts, as he marched straight away for the prison. He did see him, but not so far off as he had anticipated, and the sight took his breath completely away again, for as he crept round he became conscious of a peculiar scent that was not wild thyme but tobacco, and before he realised what it was, he came plump face to face with their late visitor, who was seated upon the soft close turf with his back against a stone, basking in the sunshine, and evidently enjoying a rest. "Here we are again, then, sir!" he cried, in his sharp military way. "I thought I'd just sit down here for a bit on the chance that you might come up and like to have a word or two to say to me." He looked very hard at Rodd as he spoke, and the boy felt his face burn, while the next moment there was a sensation as if the cool wind were fanning his hot cheeks. "Come out to speak to me, didn't you, sir?" said the sergeant. Rodd was silent for a few moments, for his throat felt dry, while he passed his tongue over his lips to moisten them. "No," he said, at last, with an effort. "I came up here to see if you had gone, and watch you back to the prison." The sergeant laughed softly, and thrust one finger into the bowl of his pipe, before sending out a fresh cloud of smoke. "Ah," he said, "I am not surprised. Well, here we are. Do you want to say anything to me?" Rodd opened and shut his lips again, but no words came till he made an effort, and then said, with his utterance sounding very dry-- "You want to speak to me?" "Right, sir. Yes, I do. You remember when I came upon you up yonder by that pool?" Rodd nodded and frowned. "Well, I suppose you noticed that there was a hole at the bottom of those rocks across there, where the little stream came out?" "Yes," said Rodd, with his brow puckering up. "Well, yesterday evening, as I said to your uncle, I went over the ground again to see if I could find any track of those escaped prisoners." Rodd nodded shortly. "Well, I took off my gaiters and shoes and stockings and waded across the pool, and nearly doubled myself up to get into that hole; and after I had gone a little way I found that there was quite a dry cave there with streaks of light coming down from above between the piled-up stones." Rodd nodded again. "Just in the highest part where the water did not reach, some one had lit a fire with bits of ling and dry peat. It was still warm--at least, the ashes were, and somebody had been busy cooking trout there, grilling them, thriddled on a stick of hazel; and very curious it was too, for somehow or other, the water, instead of running down, had been running up backwards like, and carried with it that there fishing-basket of yours, and the wallet, and laid them upon that nice dry sandy place close up to the fire along by which there were ever so many heads of those little fish, and their backbones. Rum, wasn't it? Do you think an otter could have done that?" "No," said Rodd, after a few moments' pause; and he spoke sharply and angrily. "No, I don't think that." "More don't I," said the sergeant dryly, and he half closed his eyes and sent a faint little curl of smoke into the air. "Now, young gentleman, what do you think would happen if I was to go yonder to the governor at the prison, and say that I believed you had helped the King's enemies to escape? You didn't, of course, eh?" Rodd moistened his lips again, and his frank young face looked very much puckered and wrinkled as he pulled himself together and looked almost defiantly at his questioner, who exclaimed-- "Well, you heard what I said." The boy nodded. "Well, speak out. You didn't, of course?" Rodd drew a deep breath, moistened his lips again, and then out the words came. "Yes," he said, "I did!" "Hah!" said the sergeant, as he fixed the boy with his keen grey eyes and spoke to him as if he were one of his recruits. "Well, I like that. Spoken like a man. My old mother used to say, `Speak the truth, Tom, and then you needn't be afraid of any man.' Look here, youngster, I am only a soldier, and you are a young gentleman, or else you wouldn't be visiting and making holiday here; but do you mind shaking hands?" "Yes," said Rodd hotly, "I know: I suppose I have done wrong, and you have got your duty to do; so go and do it." "Here," cried the sergeant, "grip, boy, grip! I like you for all this more and more. I had my duty to do, and I did it as far as I could; but I was too late. The prisoners had escaped, and we have heard this morning, the news being brought by a miserable-looking sneak of a fellow who had come to the governor to ask for the reward for not taking them, that they got down to Salcombe very late last night and boarded one of the orange boats in the little harbour, where I expect they had friends waiting for them, for the schooner sailed at once, and I dare say they are within sight of a French port before now. Yes, I had my duty to do, me and my lads, but the prisoners escaped, same as I would if I had been in a French prison, shut up for doing nothing, and because our two countries were at war. There, I am not going to blame you now it's all over, as you own to it like a man. They both came to you, I suppose, for a bit of help, and you gave it to them. But when I was on duty I should have nailed you if I had caught you in the act. There, that'll do. Thought I should like to tell you about it, and hold you like at the point of the bayonet, and see what you'd say. I know it's precious hard to tell the truth sometimes, and it must have been very hard here. But you did it like a man. But I say: you never thought that basket and wallet would tell tales when you left those poor beggars a mouthful to eat; and I hope if there's any more war to come and I'm took, and make a good try to slip away--I hope, I say, that I shall come upon some brave young French lad who will do as good a turn to me as you did to those poor fellows, who were making a run for freedom, and to get out of the reach of our bayonets and guns." Rodd thrust his hand into his pocket, and flushed up now more than ever, for the sergeant caught him by the wrist. "No, no, my lad," he cried; "none of that! I didn't come here to get money out of you. I was a boy once myself. Only a common one, but pretty straightforward and honest, or else I don't suppose I should have won these three gold chevrons which I have got here upon my arm. Well, I wouldn't have taken pay then for doing a dirty action, fond as I was of coppers with the King's head on; and I wouldn't do it now. So don't you make me set up my hackles by trying to offer me anything for this. Besides, I've got a whole half-crown your uncle gave me, and I am not even going to ask you whether he had a finger in this pie." "No, he hadn't--he hadn't indeed," cried Rodd warmly. "On my honour, sergeant, I did it all." "All right, my lad, I'll take your word; but just you take my advice. The law's law, and they're pretty sharp about here, so if you hear the gun fire and the soldiers are out after any poor fellows who have escaped, don't you get meddling with 'em again. Time I was off back." And without another word the sergeant sprang up and strode away, leaving Rodd watching him for a time and admiring the man's upright carriage and bold elastic step, till happening to cast his eyes in another direction, he found himself looking down upon Mrs Champernowne's cottage, and, with letter in hand and straw hat on head, Uncle Paul, looking in all directions as if in search of his missing boy. CHAPTER EIGHT. THE SALCOMBE BOATS. "I am very, very sorry, sir," said Mrs Champernowne. "Of course I am only a poor widow, and I let my apartments to gentlemen who come down fishing or to take walks for their health over the moor. But your stay down here has been something more than that. It has been a real pleasure to me ever since you and the young gentleman have been here. And not only am I very sorry that you are going away, but it has quite upset me to hear that you are going sailing away over the stormy seas, searching for all kinds of strange things in foreign abroad." "Oh, come, come, Mrs Champernowne," cried Uncle Paul, as he saw the poor woman lift up her apron and put one corner to her eye. "There oughtn't to be anything in a naturalist's expedition to upset you." "Ah, you don't know, sir," said Mrs Champernowne, speaking to Uncle Paul, but shaking her head sadly at Rodd all the while. "I have had those who were near and dear to me go sailing away quite happy and joyful like, just the same as you and Mr Rodney might, and never come back again, for the sea is a very dangerous place." "Oh, perhaps so, and of course there are exceptions," said Uncle Paul; "but as a rule people do come back safe." "I don't know, sir," said the old lady, shaking her head sadly. "The sea is very unruly sometimes. Hadn't you better take my advice, sir, and stop here? The moor's very big, and surely if you and the young gentleman look well you'll be able to find plenty of things to fill your bottles, without going abroad." "Can't be done, Mrs Champernowne," said Uncle Paul smiling. "Dartmoor isn't the West Coast of Africa, nor yet the Cape of Good Hope, so, much as we have enjoyed being here, we shall have to say good-bye, and live in hopes of coming to see you again some day, for I haven't half worked out the moor, nor yet a hundredth part." "I am very, very, very sorry," said the old lady again, "but no doubt, sir, you know best. When do you think of going, sir?" "To-morrow morning, Mrs Champernowne. We can't let the grass grow under our feet, can we, Rodd?" "No, uncle," was the reply; and the next morning the portmanteau was packed, the fishing-rod and naturalist's nets tied up in a neat bundle, a light spring cart was drawn up at the door, and uncle and nephew were soon on their way to the cross roads to take their chance of finding room upon the Plymouth coach, which came within a few miles of the widow's cottage. They were fortunate, as it happened, and that evening they were safely back at Uncle Paul's home, a pleasant little country house on the high grounds overlooking the glorious harbour dotted with vessels, which included several of the King's men-of-war, and within easy reach of the docks. "Ah," cried Uncle Paul that evening, as he strolled out into his garden, in company with Rodd, who was carrying a telescope that looked like a small cannon; "that was a fine air up on the moor, my boy, but nothing like this. Take a good long deep breath. Can't you smell the salt and the seaweed? Doesn't it set you longing to be off?" "Well--yes, uncle," replied the boy, smiling and screwing up his face till it was all wrinkled about the eyes; "but I begin to be a bit afraid." "Afraid, sir? What of?" "That I shan't turn out such a good sailor as I should like to be." "Why, what do you mean? Now, look here, Rodd; don't you tell me that you want to back out of going upon this trip." "Oh no, uncle," cried the boy eagerly. "I want to go, of course!" "But what are you afraid of?" "Well, you see, uncle, coasting about with you in a fisherman's lugger for a few days, and always keeping within sight of land, is one thing; going right away across the ocean is quite another." "Well, sir, who said it wasn't?" cried Uncle Paul. "What then?" "Suppose I turn ill, uncle?" "Well, sir, suppose you do. Am I not doctor enough to put you right again?" "Oh, I don't mean really ill, uncle. I mean sea-sick; and it would seem so stupid." "Horribly; yes. You'd better be! Pooh! Rubbish! Nonsense! You talk like a great Molly. Now, no nonsense, Rodney. Speak out frankly and candidly. You mean that now it has come to the point you think it too serious, and you want to shirk?" "I don't, uncle; I don't, indeed, and I do wish you wouldn't call me Rodney!" cried the boy earnestly. "I shall, sir, _as long as I live, if you play me false now_." "Oh, uncle, what a shame!" cried the boy passionately. "Play you false! Who wants to play you false? I only wanted to tell you frankly that I felt a bit afraid of not being quite equal to the sea. I want to go, and I mean to go, and you oughtn't to jump upon me like this, and call me Rodney." The boy stood before the doctor, flushed and excited, as he continued-- "You talk to me, uncle, as if you thought that I was a regular coward and afraid of the sea." "Then you shouldn't make me, sir. Who was it said afraid? Why, you have been out with me for days together, knocking about, in pretty good rough weather too." "Yes, uncle, but that was all within sight of land." "What's that got to do with it? It's often much rougher close in shore, especially on a rocky coast, than it is out on the main." "I wish I hadn't spoken," cried Rodd passionately. "So do I, sir." "I couldn't help thinking I might turn very sick for days, and get laughed at by the crew and called a swab." "Oh," said Uncle Paul, laughing, "you talked as if you were afraid of the sea, and all the time, you conceited young puppy, you mean that you are afraid of the men." "Well, yes, uncle, I suppose that that really is it." "Humph! Then why didn't you say so, and not talk as if you, the first of my crew that I reckoned upon, were going to mutiny and give it all up?" "Give it up, uncle?" cried the boy. "Why, you know that I am longing to go." "Ah, well, that sounds more like it, Pickle," said Uncle Paul, looking sideways at the boy through his half-closed eyes. "Then I suppose it is all a false alarm." "Of course it is, uncle," cried Rodd. "Well, we may as well make sure, you know, because once we are started it won't be long before we are out of sight of land, and there'll be no turning back." "Well, I don't want to turn back, uncle." "Then you shouldn't have talked as if you thought you might. Are you afraid now?" "Not a bit, uncle. I am ready to start to-morrow morning." "Ah, well, you won't, my boy, for there's everything to do first." "Everything to do?" "Of course. It's not like taking a few bottles and pill-boxes and a net or two to go up on the moor. Why, there's our ship to find first, and then to get her fitted with our nets and sounding-lines and dredges and all sorts of odds and ends, with reserves and provisions for all that we lose. Then there's to collect a crew." "Oh, there'll be plenty of fellows down by the Barbican or hanging about down there who will jump at going." "Don't you be so precious sanguine, my fine fellow. This will be all so fresh that the men won't be so ready as you expect. The first thing a seaman will ask will be, `Where are we bound? What port?'" "Well, uncle; tell them." "Tell them what I don't know myself unless I say Port Nowhere on the High Seas! It will be all a matter of chance, Pickle, where we go and what we do, and I may as well say it now, if any one gets asking you what we are going to do, your answer is included in just these few words--We are going to explore." Rodd nodded in a short business-like way. "All right, uncle; I'll remember," he cried promptly. "Then you are going to hire a ship and engage a crew?" "Well," said Uncle Paul thoughtfully, "we are landsmen--I mean landsman and a boy--but we may as well begin to be nautical at once and call things by the sea-going terms. No, my boy, I am not going to engage a ship--too big." "Why, you won't go all that way in a lugger, uncle?" "Bah! Rubbish!" cried Uncle Paul shortly. "Here, give me hold of that glass." He took the telescope, drew out the slide to a mark upon the tube which indicated the focus which suited his eye, and then as he began slowly sweeping the portions of the harbour which were within reach he went on talking. "Isn't there anything between a lugger and a ship, sir? You know well enough if you talk to a sailor about a ship he'd suppose you meant a full-rigged three-masted vessel." "Yes, of course, uncle. And a barque is a three-master with a mizzen fore-and-aft rigged." "That's better, my lad. But what do you mean by fore-and-aft rigged?" "Well, like a schooner, uncle." "Good boy! Go up one, as you used to say at school. Well, what do you think of a large schooner for a good handy vessel that can be well managed by a moderate crew?" "Oh, I should think it would be splendid, uncle; and she'd sail very fast." "That depends on her build and the way she is sailed, my boy. But that's what I am thinking of having, Pickle." "But with a good crew, uncle." "Yes; I want the best schooner and the best crew that are to be had, my boy." "But it will cost a lot of money, uncle." "Yes, Pickle; but I am proud to say that the Government has not been mean in that respect, and if what they have granted me is not enough, I shall put as many hundreds as are required out of my own pocket to make up the deficiency, so that in all probability I shan't have a penny to leave you, Pickle, when I die." "When you die!" cried the boy scornfully. "Who wants you to die? And who wants you to leave me any money? I say, Uncle Paul, who's talking nonsense now?" "How dare you, sir!" "Then you shouldn't say such things, uncle. Talking about dying! There will be plenty of time to talk about that in a hundred years." "Well, that's a very generous allowance, Pickle, and if we get such a schooner as I want, with a clever crew, and you work hard with me, why, we ought to make a good many discoveries by that time. A hundred years hence," continued Uncle Paul thoughtfully, as he apparently brought his telescope to bear upon a sloop of war whose white sails began to be tinged with orange as the sun sank low; but all the time he was peering out through the corners of his eyes to note the effect of his words upon his nephew. "But let me see--a hundred years' time. Why, how much older will you be then, Pickle?" "Why, just the same as you would, uncle; a hundred years older than I am now. Pooh! You are making fun of me. But I say, uncle, be serious. How are you going to manage to get your schooner?" "Set to work, and lose no time, my boy. But I am rather puzzled at the present moment, and I am afraid--" Uncle Paul lowered the glass as he spoke, and turned his eyes thoughtfully upon his nephew, who had uttered a low peculiar sound. "Of being sea-sick, uncle?" Uncle Paul smiled. "I suppose that's what you call retaliation, young gentleman. Well, no, sir, I'm not afraid of that--at least, not much. I remember the first time I crossed the Channel that I was very ill, and every time I have been at sea since I have always felt that it would be unwise to boast; but I think both you and I can make our voyage without being troubled in that way. But we won't boast, Pickle, for, as they say, we will not holloa till we are out of the wood. Let me see; isn't there an old proverb something about a man not boasting till he taketh off his armour?" "I think so, uncle, but I cannot recollect the words." "Well, I don't want any armour, my boy, but I do want a well-found schooner--a new one if I can get it; if not, one that will stand a thorough examination; and I don't know that such a boat's to be got just now it's wanted. There are plenty of ramshackle old things lying about here, but I want everything spick-and-span ready for the extra fitting out I shall give her. Copper-fastened, quick-sailing, roomy, and with good cabin accommodation so that we can have a big workshop for the men who help us, and a sort of study and museum for ourselves. Now, Pickle, where shall we have to go to find such a craft? Portsmouth--London? What about Southampton?" "Southampton. Yes. Some fine yacht, uncle." "No, boy. She'd be all mast and sails. Do well for a coaster, but I want an ocean-going craft, one that will bear some knocking about. A cargo boat whose hold one could partition off for stores. Now then?" There was silence for about a minute, and then Uncle Paul spoke again. "There, out with it, boy, at once. Don't waste time. Say you don't know." "But I think I do know, uncle," cried the boy. "Eh? What? Where? Tchah! Not you!" "But what about one of those boats the French prisoners escaped in?" cried Rodd eagerly. "Eh? What? One of those trim orange boats that go on the Mediterranean Trade, that they build at Salcombe?" "Yes, uncle. Don't you remember that one we were looking at a few months ago, that came in here after the storm, to get a new jibboom?" "Why, of course I do, Pickle!" cried Uncle Paul eagerly. "Think of that, now! Why, I might have been fumbling about with a hammer for months and not found what I wanted, and here are you, you impudent young rascal, proving that you are not quite so stupid as I thought, for you hit the right nail on the head at once." CHAPTER NINE. CAPTAIN CHUBB. The next day was spent in Plymouth, and letting the idea of a visit to Salcombe rest in abeyance for a time, Uncle Paul called on different shipping agents, made inquiries in the docks, looked over two or three small vessels that he was assured would be exactly the thing he wanted, and which could be handed over to him at once if decided on; and at last, utterly wearied out, he returned home with Rodd very much impressed by the feeling that it was much easier to say what he required, than to get his wants supplied. He was a little better after they had had a good hearty tea meal, but there was a great deal of truth in Rodd's mental remark that Uncle Paul was as cross as two sticks. Rodd quite started, feeling as he did that he must have spoken aloud, and Uncle Paul have heard his words, for the doctor turned upon him sharply, stared him full in the face, and exclaimed-- "Now, look here, sir; didn't I explain to each of those agents exactly the sort of vessel I wanted before they gave me their orders to go and view the craft where they lay in dock or on the mud?" "Yes, uncle, you told them exactly," replied Rodd. "Do I look like an idiot, Rodd?" "No, uncle. What a question!" "Then how dare the scoundrels deal with me as if I didn't know what I was about! I said a schooner as plain as I could speak." "You did, uncle." "And one sent me to see that ramshackle old brig that looked as if it might have been a tender out of the Armada, and the two others sent me to see a barque that would want twice as big a crew as I should take, and the other to look over that abominable old billy-boy that you couldn't tell bow from stern, which so sure as she bumps upon a sandbank would melt away like butter. Thinking of nothing else but making a bit of commission, ready to sell one anything; but I am not going to be tricked like that.--Yes, what do you want? What is it?" For the neat handmaid who attended on the doctor's wants had tapped at the door, and receiving no answer from her master, whose voice she could hear declaiming loudly, opened the door and walked in, with-- "Somebody wants to see you, sir, if you please." "Then tell somebody I don't please," said the doctor shortly. "Yes, sir," said the maid, going. "No, stop! I don't want to be rude, even if people have put me out. What does Mrs Somebody want?" "Please, sir, it isn't a Mrs, it's a Mister," said the girl. "Go and see him, Rodd," said the doctor shortly. "I expect it's somebody wants subscriptions, and I haven't got any." "Please, sir," interposed the maid, "the--er--gent--person--said he'd heard say that you wanted a captain." Uncle Paul grunted, frowned, and then in a surly tone exclaimed-- "Well, there, show him in." The next minute the maid re-opened the door, showing in a heavy, sun-tanned, middle-aged man, who thrust the cap he carried into the yawning pocket of a dark blue pea-jacket, stared hard at the doctor, glanced at Rodd, and then turning sharply on his heels he stood with his back to the latter, stiff, squared, and sturdy, looking as the boy thought like a hop-sack set on end, and stared at the maid where she stopped, literally fixing her with his eyes for a few moments, before, quite startled at the fierceness of his gaze, she darted out, closing the door loudly. "Business. Private!" literally growled the visitor. "Well, what is it?" said the doctor shortly. "'Eard you wanted a skipper, and come up." "Well," said Uncle Paul, looking very hard at his unprepossessing visitor, while Rodd felt as if he wanted to laugh, but held the desire in check, "I may want one by and by, and a crew too; but I must have a ship first." "What sort?" "Well, you are pretty blunt," said the doctor. "Yes," said the visitor, with a nod; and he waited, but turned his eyes from the doctor and looked very hard at the nearest chair. "Ah, yes," said the doctor. "Sit down, Captain--Captain--" The doctor waited for an answer, but the only answer made was by a movement, his visitor taking two steps towards the chair, and plumping down so heavily that the brass casters creaked. The doctor glanced at his nephew, and then at the stranger, who seemed to be frowning at him with all his might. "Er--what did you say your name was, captain?" "Didn't say," said the visitor huskily. "Wanter know?" "Well--yes," said the doctor. "I don't see how we are to transact business without." "Chubb, Jonathan." "Well, Captain Chubb?" "Plymouth." "Oh, I see; Captain Chubb, of Plymouth," continued the doctor. "Right. Go on." "Well, I gave you to understand that I wanted a ship before I engaged a captain." "Skipper; not R.N." "I see; but I wished to be polite," said the doctor. "Skipper," grunted the man. "Where have you sailed?" asked the doctor. "Everywhere." "Ah! Then you have had plenty of experience." The visitor nodded, and the doctor was going to speak again, but the visitor interposed with a sidewise nod in the direction of Rodd, and said-- "Your boy?" "Well, yes, in a way," replied the doctor. The captain grunted. "Boys always are," he said, and Rodd turned upon him angrily. "I said in _a_ way, not in _the_ way," muttered the doctor. "'Most the same," growled the captain. "A boy, the boy, means boy. What sort of a ship? First, where do you want to go?" "I don't quite know myself," replied the doctor, "so we will say as you did, everywhere." "Right," said the captain. "What for?" "Why do you ask?" replied the doctor, rather tartly. "Had four offers. Wouldn't take them." "Why?" asked the doctor. "Smuggling contraband." "Oh, I see," said the doctor quickly. "Well, it's nothing of that sort." "When do you sail?" "As soon as I can get a ship." "Plenty lying about waiting for cargo. Take your choice." "That seems to be easier said than done, captain, for I am hard to please." "So'm I," said the visitor, staring hard at Rodd, beginning with the crown of his head and then looking him slowly down where he sat till he reached the carpet by Rodd's right foot, and then making his eyes cross over, he began at the toe of the boy's left foot and slowly looked him up to where he had started at the top of the boy's forehead, where a tickling sensation had commenced, consequent upon the starting out of a faint dew of perspiration. "I'm glad to hear it," said the doctor, "for I want a well-found craft, new or nearly so, built of the best materials." "Good; ought to be. What sort?" "Well, I should like a large schooner, fast and with plenty of room below." "Cargo?" grunted the captain. "No. Provisions, etcetera," said the doctor, who was beginning to feel annoyed. "Ho!" came in a grunt, and then after a keen look at Rodd's uncle, he uttered the one word, "Weepens?" "Weepens?" said the doctor. "Yes. Long Tom and small-arms." "Oh, arms. Yes, I should certainly have one of those big swivel guns amidships, and a couple of smaller ones, as well as muskets, cutlasses and boarding pikes." So far the captain's features seemed as if they had been carved out of solid mahogany, but now they began to relax; his lips parted, and he showed a small even set of beautifully white teeth, while his eyes looked brighter to Rodd and seemed to twinkle; but he remained silent. "Well," said the doctor, "what are you laughing at?" He checked the word which had nearly escaped his lips, because he thought it would be rude, and he did not say grinning. "Cat," said the man solemnly, and to Rodd's great discomposure he turned to him and winked. "Cat?" said the doctor sharply. "Ay, ay! Out of the bag." "I don't understand you," said the doctor warmly. "Won't do for me, master. Not in my way." "Well," said the doctor, "I am afraid I must say you are not in my way." "Poor beggars!" "Well, really, my good man," began the doctor, "I am a bit of a student, and take a good deal of interest in natural history. Cats may be poor beggars, but that is no business of mine." "Yes, if you are going to sail. Think of your crew." "I am thinking of my crew, and I want to engage one," said the doctor. "Men hate black cats. Unlucky." "I have heard of that superstition before, Captain Chubb," said the doctor, "but that seems to be quite outside our business now. As a captain--or skipper--I should have thought you would have been above such childish notions." "Am," said the man. "T'other won't do for me. I've seen it all. Won't get a skipper from this port." "Why?" said the doctor indignantly. "I am ready to give an experienced captain good payment." "Want commission." "Oh, nonsense! I couldn't pay on commission." "Nowt to me. That's what a skipper would want. Ought to be ashamed of yourself." "Well, of all--" began the doctor; but the skipper did not let him finish. "Too bad," he said, growling; "and to take a boy like that!" "My good fellow," said the doctor, "if I choose to take my nephew with me upon a natural history expedition--" "Natural history expedition! Catching blackbirds! Oh, I say!" He shook his head slowly at the doctor, whose face grew so red with wrath as he turned towards Rodd, and looked so comical, that the boy could not contain himself, but bent his face down into his hands and burst into a roar of laughter. "You are a nice 'un," grunted the captain, shaking his head now at Rodd. "You'll grow into a beauty!" It was the boy's turn to look angry now, and he glanced from the captain to his uncle and back. "Look here, youngster," cried the captain; "Guinea Coast, eh?" "Possibly," said the doctor. "Bight of Benin?" "Maybe," said the doctor, the short speech seeming contagious. "Ketch the fever?" "Probably," said the doctor. "Both on yer." "Well, sir, I shall risk that," continued the doctor. "Both on yer off your heads, seeing niggers. Rattling their chains." "Are you mad, man?" cried the doctor. "Yes." "I thought so." "Makes me. Call yourself a Christian! Give it up, and do something honest." "Well, of all--" cried the doctor again. "Good five guineas better than five hundred got by buying and selling your fellow-creatures," continued the captain, who was growing quite fluent. "Go to Bristol with you! Won't do for me." "Mr--I mean, Captain Chubb," began the doctor, "allow me to tell you that you have done nothing but insult me ever since you have been here." "Honesty," grunted the captain. "Honesty is no excuse for rudeness, sir. Now have the goodness to go." "Going," said the captain, rising. "But you are a bad man. To take that boy with you too! Shame!" "Will you have the goodness to tell me what you mean, sir?" "No good to bully, sir. I know. Off on the slave trade." "What!" cried the doctor. "But look out. King's cruiser will nab you. Sarve you right." He moved stiffly, and took two steps towards the door, but stopped and turned sharply upon Rodd, clapped his big hairy hand on the boy's shoulder, and gripped it fast. "He's a bad 'un, boy. Don't go." Rodd glanced at his uncle, who was staring with bewilderment, while he, who during the last few minutes had seen clearly what their visitor meant, burst into another roar of laughter and gripped the skipper by the jacket, as he turned to the doctor. "No, no," he stuttered. "No, no; don't go, captain! Uncle Paul, can't you see? He thinks you are going to the West Coast to buy slaves!" "Well!" cried Uncle Paul, his voice sounding like ten ejaculations squeezed into one--"Well!" CHAPTER TEN. AT CROSS PURPOSES. Captain Chubb stood looking back at Uncle Paul, then at Rodd, then back at Uncle Paul. After that he gave a slow, puzzled scratch at his shaggy head as if hard at work trying to make out a mystery, before turning once more to Rodd. "I say, youngster," he cried, "you don't mean that, do you?--Warn't I right?" "Right? No!" cried Rodd, laughing more heartily than ever. "The idea of Uncle Paul going out with a slaver!" "Did you mean that, Captain Chubb?" said Uncle Paul, beginning indignantly, and then softening down as he caught sight of his nephew's mirthful face. "Allus says what I mean," grunted the captain. "Then I was all wrong?" "Wrong, yes," said Uncle Paul. "We were all at cross purposes." "Ho!" ejaculated the captain, and he took off his cap that he had put on with a fierce cock, turned it over two or three times in his hands, and then looking into it read over the maker's name to himself, as if fully expecting that that would help him out of his difficulty. "Say, squire," he said; "I didn't mean to be so rude." "No, no, of course not," cried Uncle Paul. "There, there; sit down again. It was all a mistake. Perhaps we shall understand one another better now." "Well, I don't know," grunted the skipper. "Better go perhaps." "No, no, man; I'm not offended. You thought I was a blackguardly ruffian who wanted to trap you into commanding a slaving craft for me, so that I could engage in that horrible trade of baying and selling my fellow-creatures; and you spoke out like a man. Here, shake hands, Captain Chubb. I honour you for your outspoken manly honesty." "Mean it?" grunted the skipper, hesitating. "Mean it, yes," said Uncle Paul, "and I hope this will be the beginning of our becoming great friends." "Humph!" grunted the captain, and extending his heavy hand he gave Uncle Paul a shake with no nonsense about it, for though Rodd's uncle did not wince, he told the boy afterwards that it was the most solid shake he had ever had in his life. Rodd fully endorsed it, as he knew directly after exactly what the skipper's salute meant, for Captain Chubb, after releasing the uncle's hand, extended what Rodd afterwards said was a paw, to the lad himself. "Well, now then, Captain Chubb." "Very sorry, sir, I'm sure. Thought I saw broken water and a shoal. Hadn't I better go?" "No, no, captain," cried Uncle Paul. "I am beginning to think you are just the man I want." "Ho!" said the skipper. "Mebbe. Let's see." "Well," continued Uncle Paul, "I want a vessel, a schooner. Do you know of a likely one that could be purchased and made ready at once for a trip down the West Coast?" Captain Chubb looked hard at the speaker, then at Rodd, with the effect of making the boy feel as if he must laugh, for there was something so thoroughly comical in the stolid face, that nothing but the dread of hurting the visitor's feelings kept him from bursting into a roar, especially as, after fixing him with his eyes, the skipper seemed to be taking careful observations, looking up at the ceiling as if in search of clouds, at the carpet for sunken rocks, and then, so to speak, sweeping the offing by slowly gazing at the four walls in turn. "Schooner," he said at last gruffly. "Yes," said Uncle Paul; "a smart, fast-sailing schooner." "Well-found," grunted the skipper. "Of course, and with a good crew." "_And_ a good crew," growled the skipper. "Yes. Can you show me where I can get such an one?" "No. Look-out." He picked up and put on his cap again, took it off, and looked in the lining, and then gave his right leg a smart slap. "Dunno as I don't," he roared. "What do you say to a horange boat?" "Orange boat?" cried Rodd. "Why, uncle's been thinking of one of those!" "Well, why not?" said the captain; "a Saltcomber?" "Yes," cried Rodd. "Well-built, fast, plenty of room below for cargo or what not, plenty of provisions and water, but no guns." "That's just the sort of vessel I want," cried Uncle Paul. "Do you think one's to be had over there?" "Sure on it. See one last week as they was just getting up her standing rigging." "What, a new one?" cried Rodd. "Ay. Fresh launched, and being made ready for sea." "Capital!" cried Uncle Pad. "Who does she belong to?" "Ship-builder as yet." "And what would be her price?" "Dunno. All depends," grunted the captain. "Most likely as much as the builder could get; but if a man went with the money in his pocket, or say in the bank, ready to pay down on the nail, he could get a smart craft that would do him justice at a fair working price. What do you say to coming over and having a look at her?" "Yes. How are we to get there? By coach?" "Tchah!" ejaculated the skipper. "Who's going in a coach when he can be run over in one of our luggers? You say the word, and I have got a friend with a little fore-and-after as only wants him and a hand and mebbe me to give a pull at a sheet. He'd run you over in no time." "By all means, then, let's go," said Uncle Paul, to Rodd's great satisfaction. "Well, yes," growled the skipper. "But who's a-going with you?" "My nephew," said Uncle Paul. "Ah, yes; and I suppose he's a good judge of such a craft, and could vally her from keel to truck. Don't seem a bad sort of boy, but he won't do. Nay, squire, you want somebody as you can trust. A'n't you got an old friend, ship-owner or ship's husband--man who's got his head screwed on the right way, one you knows as honest and won't take a hundred pounds from t'other side to sell the ship for them?" "Well, no; I'm afraid I don't know such a man," said Uncle Paul. "Have to find one," grunted the skipper. "Won't do to buy a ship with your eyes shut. Got yourself to think of as well as your money. You don't want to engage a skipper and a crew of good men and true, and drownd them all at sea." "Well, no," said Uncle Paul dryly; "our ambitions don't lie in that direction, do they, Rodd?" "No, uncle, but no man would be such a wretch as to sell you a ship that wasn't safe." "Not unless he got the chanst," said the skipper, frowning. "I know some on them, and what they have done, and I don't want to command a craft like that. Been at sea too long." "Well, then," said Uncle Paul, "you must have had great experience, and could judge whether a schooner's good or not." "Dessay I could," said the skipper, "but I aren't perfect." "But you ought to be a good judge," said Uncle Paul. "Mebbe, but I wouldn't go by my own opinion if it was my trade instead of yourn." "But look here," cried Uncle Paul, "I should like you to see the vessel and act for me." "Tchah! Not likely, squire. What do you know about me?" "Well, not much, certainly," said Uncle Paul, "and I should want a character with you as to your being a good seaman." "Of course; and if you didn't like me, and I warn't up to my work, why, you could get rid of me. But that's a very different thing to buying a ship." "Yes," said Uncle Paul, "but what about the ship-builder? Is he an honest man?" "Oh yes, I think so." "Couldn't he give good references?" "Well, yes. Old established; built a lot of craft. Dessay he'd find a few to say a word for him." "And I suppose I could have the opinion of some well-known ship valuer?" "Yes," grunted the skipper, "but he's only in trade. You want to know what some old sailor says." "Such as you," cried Rodd. The skipper looked at the boy and smiled. "Well, mebbe," he said, "but I don't want the job." "Well, we'll talk about that another time," said Uncle Paul. "What I want is for you to help me by going over with us to have a look at the schooner." "Ah!" said the skipper. "And you may as well give me a reference or two to somebody who knows your abilities--somebody well-known in Plymouth, a ship-owner, somebody for whom you have sailed. Will you do this?" "Ay," said the skipper. "Well, whose name will you give me? To whom shall I apply?" "Anybody. Everybody in Plymouth." "That's rather wide," said Uncle Paul. "Wider the better," said the skipper. "You ask the lot what they thinks of Captain Chubb." As he spoke the skipper rose and put on his cap, but took it off again quickly. "Time to-morrow will you be ready to start?" he said. "At your time," said Uncle Paul promptly. "Say nine?" asked the captain. "Certainly; nine o'clock to-morrow morning," replied Uncle Paul. "Good. I will be off the landing-place at the Barbican with a boat. Night, sir. Night, youngster. Natural history expedition, eh? And I thought you was going blackbirding! Haw, haw, haw!" This last was intended for a derisive laugh at himself, but it sounded like three grunts, each louder than the last. The next minute the skipper was outside, and his steps were heard growing distant upon the gravel path. "Well, what do you think of our captain, eh, Rodd?" "I think he's a rum 'un, uncle; but he isn't our captain yet." "No, my boy, but if I have my way he will be, and if I hear that he's a skilful navigator, for I want no further recommendation. The way in which he, an old experienced hand, one who would be able to see at a glance how thoroughly I should be at his mercy if he were a trickster whose aim was to make as much money out of the transaction as he could, proved that he was as honest as the day and ready to lay himself open to every examination, that alone without his display of honest indignation when he suspected me of being about to engage in that abominable traffic--there, I want no more. As these sea-going people say, Pickle, Captain Chubb is going to hoist his flag on board my schooner, for as far as I can judge at present he seems to be the man in whom we shall be able to trust." CHAPTER ELEVEN. THROUGH THE STORM. "It's enough to make a man say he'll throw up the whole affair," cried Uncle Paul, running his fingers in amongst his grizzly hair and giving it a savage tug. "Uncle! Why, what's the matter now?" "Yes, you may well say what's the matter now! Everything's the matter. The worry's almost maddening." "What, is there anything fresh, uncle?" "There, don't you take any notice, boy. I get regularly out of heart. There's always something wrong. It's as if we were never to be off. All these weary, weary months gone slowly dragging on." "Why, uncle, they seem to me to go like lightning," cried Rodd. "Oh, yes, of course. You are a boy, with plenty of time before you. I am getting an old man, and with little time to spare to do all the work I want to. I seem to get not a bit farther." "Why, you do, uncle. It's astonishing what a lot we have done. Let's see; it's just fifteen months since you bought the schooner." "Fifteen, boy? You mean fifty." "Fifteen, uncle; and she was nothing like finished then." "No, and as soon as the men knew that she was sold, I believe they made up their minds to spin the job out as long as they could." "Oh, but, uncle, they did it all very beautifully; and see what a lot of alterations you had made." "Had made, indeed! Wasn't I led on into having them done by that old scoundrel Chubb?" "No, uncle. He always consulted with you first, and advised this and that so as to make the vessel better." "Humph!" grunted Uncle Paul. "Then see what a lot you had done, fitting up the work-room, and the bottles and tanks, and getting in the dredging apparatus. It does seem a long time to you, but see what a lot there was to do. You know you were never satisfied." "I was, sir! Don't you get accusing me of such things, Rodney. You grow more impertinent every day. Now put a regular check upon yourself, sir. If you are like this as a boy I don't know what you are going to be when you grow to be a man." "Well, uncle, I won't say another word about it." "Ah! No sulking, sir! I command you to go on speaking at once." "Very well, uncle; but you did say that you would have everything of the best, and that nothing should be left undone, to hinder the expedition from being successful." "Did I say so, Rodd?" "Why, yes, uncle, over and over again." "Well, well, I did mean it. But I am getting quite out of heart. Every day it seems as if there is something fresh to throw us back. Now it's stores; now it's something else wants painting; now one of the crew wants a holiday, just at a time too when things are so nearly ready that I might want to start at any moment." "Well, I shall be glad when we do get off now, uncle," said the boy thoughtfully. "Then you had better give up thinking about it, boy. It looks to me like another six months before we can be ready." "Oh no, uncle! Captain Chubb said to me yesterday that if I wanted to get anything else to take with me I must get it at once." "Then don't you believe him, Rodd. He's a dilatory old impostor. I don't believe he means for me to go at all. By the way, did you have the men up and give them that big medicine chest?" "Yes, uncle; the day before yesterday." "Oh, and were those little casks of spirits got into the store-room?" "Yes, uncle. I saw the men get them on board myself." "That's right. But look here, Pickle; were you with them all the time?" "Yes, uncle. You told me to be, before you went up to London." "That's right, Rodd. But--er--did you--did you hear the men make any remark about them?" "No, uncle; but I saw them smell the bung-holes and look at one another and laugh." "Humph!" said the doctor, smiling. "By the way, I think I'll go on board now and have a look round. There are several things I want to see to, those casks and kegs among the rest." "They were all put just as you gave orders, uncle." "Yes; but I want to test the spirits all the same. Here, we may as well go on board at once." "Very well," cried the boy eagerly. "Is there any little thing we can take with us?" "No, my boy. As far as I am concerned, I think I can say everything is ready." It was not long before the doctor and his nephew were down at the landing-place and being rowed across the harbour to where a beautifully trim full-sized schooner lay moored to one of the great buoys; and on coming alongside they were hailed by Captain Chubb, whose face seemed to shine with animation as he helped his chief on board. "Morning, sir!" he cried. "I was just wishing that you would come on board." "Bah!" exclaimed Uncle Paul. "What wants doing now?" "Nothing. Not as I know of." "Oh, are you sure?" said Uncle Paul sarcastically, "Sartin, unless you have got some more bottles or cranky tackle to be stowed away, sir." "Oh, indeed," said Uncle Paul shortly. "You don't mean to say you have done at last?" "Me, sir? Why, I was ready six months ago, only you had always got some new scheme you wanted fitted in." "Ah, well, never mind about that now," cried Uncle Paul. "Then we may set sail any day?" "'Cept Friday, sir. The men wouldn't like that. To-night if you like." "Ah, well, we won't go to-night," said the doctor. "Only give your orders, sir," said the captain shortly. "Like to take a look round now? Fresh provisions are all on board." "Oh no," said Uncle Paul, "I know it all by heart." "Looks a beauty now, don't she, sir?" "Oh yes, she looks very well. Here, Rodd, come down with me into the work-room." The doctor strode off aft at once, the captain following slowly with the boy; and as their chief descended the cabin stairs Captain Chubb cocked his eye at his young companion. "Bit rusty this morning," he whispered. "Yes; uncle's getting out of patience," whispered back Rodd. "No wonder," said the captain. "Well, 'tarn't my fault. I never see such a doctor's shop and museum as he's made of the craft." "Now, Rodney!" came from below sharply. "Coming, uncle!" cried the boy, snatching at the brass rail, which, like every bit of metal about the beautiful vessel, shone as brightly as if it were part of a yacht. The doctor was standing at the foot of the stairs with his hand upon a door, which he had just unlocked, and he led the way into a well-lit portion of the vessel which had originally been intended for the stowage of cargo, but which was now fitted up with an endless number of arrangements such as had been deemed necessary for the carrying out of the expedition. One portion was like a chemical laboratory. Upon dresser-like tables fitted against the bulkhead were rows of railed-in bottles and jars, and beneath them new bright microscopes and other apparatus such as would gladden the heart of a naturalist. But the doctor gave merely a cursory glance at these various objects, with whose arrangement he had long been familiar, and made his way to where, set up on end upon a stout bench, were about a dozen specially made spirit casks, each fitted with its tap and a little receptacle hung beneath to catch any drops that might leak away. "Here, I want to test these," said the doctor; "and, by the way, ask Captain Chubb to step down." There was no need, for almost at the same moment the captain's heavy step was heard upon the metal-covered cabin stairs. "Anything I can do, sir?" he asked, in his gruff way. "Yes, look here, captain," said the doctor, and he took a bright glass measure from where it hung by its foot in a little rack, safe from falling by the rolling of the vessel; "I was just going to test these spirits, and I thought I should like you to be here." "Hah!" said the captain. "I've thought a deal about all them little barrels put so handy there, ready on tap, and it's the only thing I don't like, Dr Robson." "Why?" said Uncle Paul shortly. "Why, it's just like this, sir. I have picked you out as sober a crew as ever went on a voyage, but sailors are sailors, sir, and I don't think it's right to be throwing temptation in their way." "But this, my workshop, where I bottle my specimens, will always be kept under lock and key." "Nay!" snorted the captain. "But I tell you it will," cried Uncle Paul. "Nobody will have any business here but my nephew and me." "That's what you mean," said the captain, "but how about times when you are busy, or forget and leave it open? Can't warrant always to keep it shut." "Well," said Uncle Paul, with a curious smile, "I have thought of that," and going to one of the little casks he turned the tap and let about a couple of tablespoonfuls of liquid that looked like filtered water flow into the little glass measure, covering the bottom to about an inch in depth. "There," said the doctor, holding up the glass to the light; "just taste that, captain." "Nay. I don't mind a drop of good rum at the proper season, but I don't care about spirits like that." "I only want you to taste it," said the doctor. "It's too strong to drink." "I know," said the captain. "Burns like fire." "Just taste, but don't swallow it." "Nay--Well, I'll do that. But it looks like physic." The speaker just dipped his fore-finger into the liquid, and touched his lips, to cry angrily-- "Why, it's pison!" "No," said the doctor; "proof alcohol for preserving my specimens. If by accident any of the men taste that they won't want any more, will they?" "Don't know," said the captain. "Maybe they'd water it down." "Fill that measure with water, Rodd," said the doctor. The boy took the glass to a big stone filter covered with basketwork, and filled the measure to the brim. "Now try it, captain," said the doctor. This time with a scowl of dislike, the captain raised the glass to his lips, but set it down again quickly and hurried to a little leaden sink in one corner of the laboratory. "Worse than ever, doctor." "Well, do you think the men will water that down?" "Not they! One taste will be quite enough." "You don't think I need label those casks `Temptation,' do you?" "Nay, sir. If you want to be honest to the lads, I should put `Pison' upon them in big letters." "I would," said the doctor dryly, "but, as you say, sailors are sailors, and I don't think they'd believe it if I did." "What have you put in it, sir?" "Ah! that's my secret, Captain Chubb." "Well, I hope none of the lads will touch it; but it's sperrits, you know. Won't answer for it that if one of them was helping you to bottle up some of them things as we shall fish up when we gets into the Tropics, he wouldn't be trying a sip." "I shouldn't be surprised either," said the doctor, "but if he did he wouldn't do it again." The skipper looked at him sharply. "Don't mean that, do you, sir?" he cried. "Indeed, but I do," replied the doctor. "Going too far," growled the skipper. "Look here, doctor; I've fell into all your ways like a man, and have helped to drill the chaps into handling your tackle, which is outside an able seaman's dooties; but I don't like this 'ere a bit." "I can't help that," said the doctor, bristling up. "I shall of course tell them that they must not touch this stuff, of which no doubt I shall use a great deal, and it will be in direct opposition to my orders if they give way to the temptation." "Right enough," said the skipper, "but seamen's weak--like babies in some things--and a good skipper has to be like a father to them, to keep them out of mischief. Don't know no better, doctor. You do, and it's too strong, sir; it's too strong." "Then let them leave it alone," said the doctor hotly. "That's right, sir, but maybe they won't. Don't mean to say that I am stupid over them, but when I get a good crew I like to take care of them. Here, I'm getting out of breath. Can't make long speeches. Cut it short." "Then say no more about it," said the doctor. "Nay, it won't do. Taking out a good crew of smart lads. Want to bring them all back, not leave none of them sewed up in their hammocks and sunk in the sea with a shot at their heels. Look here, sir; how many of them there kegs have you doctored?" "All of them. Why, my good fellow, you don't think I have put poison in, do you?" "Said you had." "Pooh! Nonsense! My boy Rodd and I tried experiments to see how nasty we could make the spirits without being dangerous. There's nothing there that would hurt a man; only you mustn't tell them so." "Oh-h-h! That's another pair of shoes, as the Frenchies say;" and the skipper went up on deck. "Thick-head!" growled the doctor. "Did he fancy I was going to kill a man for meddling? Bah!" "He did, uncle. He doesn't know you yet." "Well, I suppose not, my boy, but I am beginning to think that we are getting to know the crew pretty well by heart. Well, all we want now is a favourable wind, then we will hoist our sailing flag; and then--off." "For how long, uncle?" "Ah, that's more than I can say, Rodd, my boy. We'll see what luck we have, and how the stores last out. We'll get started, and leave the rest." Two days later the start had been made, with everything as ready as the combined efforts of the doctor's and Captain Chubb's experience could contrive, and with his face all smiles Dr Robson stood beside Rodd, watching the receding shore as they, to use the skipper's words, bowled down Channel. "Good luck to us, Pickle, my boy!" cried the doctor. "It's been a long weary time of preparation, but it has been worth it. We have got a splendid captain--a man in whom I can thoroughly trust, and a crew of as smart, handy, useful fellows as I could have wished for." "Yes, uncle; and haven't they taken to all the arrangements about the tackle!" "Yes, Pickle. They have all proved themselves not only eager and active, but as much interested as so many boys. Splendid fellows; and old Chubb knows how to handle them too. Fetch my glass up, Pickle. Let's have a look at the old country as long as we can." Rodd darted off to the cabin hatch, but he staggered once or twice, for the schooner as she rose and fell kept on careening a little over to leeward, and in passing one of the sailors--a fine bluff-looking young fellow--the man smiled. "Here, what are you grinning at, Joe Cross?" cried Rodd, who, after many months of intercourse with the crew, was fully acquainted with all, and knew a good many of their peculiarities. "Oh, not at you, Mr Harding, sir. It was a little bit of a snigger at your boots." "What!" cried Rodd. "Just a little guffaw, sir. You see, the deck's as white as a holystone will make it, and your boots is black, and black and white never did agree. It's beginning to get a bit fresh, sir, and if I was you I'd striddle a bit, so as to take a bit better hold of the deck with your footsies. I shouldn't like to see you come down hard." "Oh, I shan't come down," said Rodd confidently; but as he was speaking the schooner gave a sudden pitch which sent the boy into the sailor's arms. "Avast there!" cried the man. "Steady, sir!--Steady it is! There, let me stand you up again on your pins. You mustn't do that, or you'll have the lads thinking you're a himmidge, or a statty, a-tumbling off your shelf." "Thank you. I am all right now," said Rodd. "My boots are quite new, and the soles are slippery." "I see, sir, but it wasn't all that. You see, our Sally's been tied up by the nose for so many months in harbour yonder, that now she's running free she can't hold herself in. Ketch hold of the rail, sir. That's your sort! There she goes again, larking like a young kitten." "I didn't know she'd dance about like this on a fine day," said Rodd rather breathlessly. "Bless your heart, sir, this arn't nothing to what she can do. See how she's skipping along now. Aren't it lovely?" "Well, yes, I suppose so," said Rodd; "but if it's like this in fine weather, what's it going to be in a storm?" "Why, ever so much livelier, sir. She'll dance over the waves like a cork. She's a beauty, that's what she is. Mustn't mind her being a bit saucy. There's nothing that floats like a Salcombe schooner, and I never heard of one as sank yet." "Yes, uncle; back directly!" cried the boy; and he made his way onward to the cabin stairs without mishap, and re-appeared directly afterwards with the doctor's big telescope under his arm, to make his way as well as he could to where Uncle Paul was standing forward at the side with his left arm round one of the stays. "Walk straight, boy--walk straight!" cried the doctor, laughing. "What made you zigzag about like that?" "Didn't want to come down on the deck and break the glass, uncle," said Rodd rather sulkily. "The schooner oughtn't to dance about like this, ought she?" "Oh, yes. It's no more than the lugger used to do when we have been out fishing." "Oh, yes, uncle; and she's so much bigger too. Besides, we were sitting down then, and here one has to stand." "You can sit down if you like," said Uncle Paul. "What, and have the sailors laugh at me? That I won't! I want to get used to it as soon as I can." "Then go and get used to it," said Uncle Paul. "You can't do better. I should like to do the same, but a man can't hop about at fifty, or more, like a boy at fifteen." "Why, uncle, I am nearly eighteen." "Then go and behave like it, boy. Look at the sailors. They keep their feet well enough, without seeming as if they are going to rush overboard." "Oh, I shall soon get used to it, uncle," cried Rodd. But instead of improving that day his progress about the deck was decidedly retrograde, for as the time went on and the Channel opened out, the wind from the north-west grew fresher and fresher, and the captain from time to time kept the men busy taking in a reef here and a reef there. Topgallant sails came down; flying jib was hauled in; and towards evening, as she span along as fast or faster than ever, not above half the amount of canvas was spread that she had skimmed under earlier in the day. Every now and then too there was a loud smack against the bows, and a shower of spray made the deck glisten for a few minutes; but it rapidly dried up again, and as the schooner careened over and dashed along, Rodd stood aft, looking back through the foam to see how the waves came curling along after them, as if in full chase of the beautiful little vessel and seeking to leap aboard. The sun had gone down in a bronzy red bank of clouds, and after being below to the cabin tea Rodd had eagerly hurried on deck again, to find that the sea around was beginning to look wild and strange. Whether he made for Josiah Cross, or Joe, as he was generally called, came up to him, Rodd did not know, but as he stood with one arm over the rail he soon found himself in conversation. "Are we going to have a storm?" he said. "Well, I dunno, sir, about storm. More wind coming." "How do you know?" "How do I know, sir?" cried the man. "Why, if you come to that, I don't know. Seem to feel it like. I don't say as it will. Wind's nor'-west now, and has been all day, but I shouldn't wonder if it chopped right round, and then--" "There'll be a storm," said Rodd eagerly. "Well, I don't say that, sir; but like enough there will be more wind than we want to use, and we might have to put back." "What, now that we have started at last?" cried Rodd. The man nodded. "Oh, that would be vexatious," cried Rodd, "to find ourselves back in Plymouth again!" "There, you wouldn't do that, my lad," said the man. "If we did have to put back, I should say the skipper would run for Penzance. But there, the wind hasn't chopped round yet, and it's just as likely to fall as it gets dark and we will get our orders to hoist more sail." But the sailor's first ideas proved to be right, and not only did the wind veer round, but it increased in force and became so contrary and shifty that during the night it began to blow a perfect hurricane, and gave Captain Chubb a good opportunity of proving that he was no fine-weather sailor. It proved to be a bright night, being nearly full moon, with great flocculent silvery and black clouds scudding at a tremendous rate across the planet, while one minute the schooner's rigging was shadowed in black upon the white, wet deck, at another all was gloom, with the wind shrieking through the rigging, and the _Maid of Salcombe_ proving the truth of the sailor's words, as she was literally dancing about; like a cork. "Hadn't you better come below, Rodd?" said the doctor. "No, uncle; don't ask me. I couldn't sleep, and I want to look at the storm. It's so grand." "Grand? Well, yes," said the doctor; "but we could have dispensed with its grandeur, and it seems very unlucky that after all these weeks of glorious weather it should have turned like this. Ah, here's Captain Chubb. Well, captain," he continued, "where are we making for? Mount's Bay?" "No. Give it up. Nasty rocky bit about there, so I laid her head for Plymouth; but we shan't get in there to-night." "Where then?" asked the doctor. "Wouldn't it be better to run for the open sea?" "No," said the skipper shortly. "This wind's come to stay, and we must get into port for a bit. We don't want to get into the Bay of Biscay O with weather like this. It's going to be a regular sou'-wester." "What port shall we make for, then?" asked the doctor, while Rodd caught all he could of the conversation, as the wind kept coming in gusts and seemed to snatch the words and carry them overboard in an instant. "Havre," grunted the captain laconically. There was silence for some time, for it became too hard work to talk, but in one of the intervals between two gusts, a few words were spoken, the doctor asking the skipper if he was satisfied with the behaviour of the schooner. "Oh yes," He grunted; "she's right enough." "You are not disappointed, then?" "No. Bit too lively. Wants some more cargo or ballast to give her steadiness; but she'll be all right." All the same this was an experience very different from anything that Rodd had had before, and it was not without a severe buffeting that in the early dawn of the morning Captain Chubb had succeeded in laying the little vessel's head off Havre, so that, taking advantage of a temporary sinking of the wind, he was able to run her safely into the French port, and this at a time when it was a friendly harbour, the British arms having triumphed everywhere, the French king being once more upon the throne, and he who had been spoken of for so long as the Ogre of Elba now lying duly watched and guarded far away to the south, within the rockbound coast of Saint Helena. CHAPTER TWELVE. PRIVATE EARS. The schooner was run safely into port, but just before she cleared the harbour mouth, down came a tremendous squall of wind as if from round the corner of some impossible solid cloud behind which an ambush of the storm had been lying in wait for the brave little vessel. Down it came all at once, just when least expected, and in a few seconds as it struck the little vessel, rushing, in spite of the small amount of canvas spread, rapidly for the shelter, every one on deck snatched at the nearest object to which he could cling. The schooner bravely resisted for a while, careening over and then rising again, and then down she went with her masts almost flat upon the foam, and then lying over more and more as Rodd clung hard with one hand and involuntarily stretched out the other to his uncle as if to say good-bye. For he felt certain as the water came surging over the leeward rail that the next minute their voyage would be ended, and the _Maid of Salcombe_ be going down. It was one horror of breathlessness in the shrieking wind, while the storm-driven spray cut and lashed and flogged at the crew. "It's all over," gasped the boy, in his excitement, though somehow even then there was no feeling of fear. Another minute as she still dashed on, plunging through the waves, the vessel began to right again, the masts rising more and more towards the perpendicular, and the water that seemed to have been scooped up in the hollows of the well-reefed sails came streaming back in showers upon the deck. Another minute and Rodd began to get his breath again, panting hard and feeling as if some great hand had been grasping him by the throat and had at last released its hold, while as the schooner now skimmed on, every furlong taking her more into shelter, the squall had passed over them and went sweeping along far away over the town ahead, and the boy felt a strong grip upon his arm. Rodd turned sharply, to face Cross the sailor, who held on to him with his left while he used his right hand to clear his eyes from the spray. "All right," he said, with his lips close to the boy's ear, so as to make himself heard, while Rodd winced, for as the man leaned towards him he poured something less than a pint of salt water from off his tightly-tied-on oilskin sou'-wester right into his eyes. Rodd nodded without attempting to speak, and the sailor laughed. There was something so genial and content in the man's looks, that it sent a thrill of satisfaction through the boy's breast, telling as it did that they were out of danger, while, as they rapidly glided on, the shrieking of the wind through the rigging grew less and less and the motion of the schooner more and more steady as the harbour was gained. "Say, my lad," said Cross, "I thought we was going to make our first dive after specimens, and the _Saucy Sally_ seemed to be holding her breath as she stuck her nose down into it and then jibbed and threw herself over sideways as if she knowed there wasn't depth enough of water for the job." "Hah!" gasped Rodd hoarsely, for he had been taking in spray as well as wind, and he had now nearly recovered the power of breathing easily and well. "Why, Joe, I thought we were sinking." "Nay, my lad; not us! The _Sally_ was too well battened down, and couldn't have sunk; but I was getting a bit anxious when it looked as if we was going to miss the harbour mouth and go floating in ashore lying down as if we had all gone to sleep." "Yes, it was horrible," said Rodd, with a sigh of relief. "But what would have happened if we had missed the mouth and gone ashore?" "Why, what does happen, my lad, when a ship does that? Bumps, and a sale arterwards of new-wrecked timber on the beach. But here we are all right, and instead of being ashamed of ourselves we can look the mounseers full in the face and tell 'em that if they can manage a better bit of seamanship than the skipper, they had better go and show us how." Joe Cross said no more, for Captain Chubb was roaring orders through a speaking trumpet, the last bit of canvas was lowered down, and before long the schooner was safely moored in the outer harbour as far away as she could safely get from the vessels that had taken refuge before them, some of them grinding together and damaging their paint and wood, in spite of their busy crews hard at work with fenders and striving to get into safer quarters, notwithstanding the efforts of the heavy gusts which came bearing down from time to time. The nearest vessel was a handsome-looking brig which they had passed as they glided in, noting that she was moored head to wind to a heavy buoy. As they passed her to run nearer into shelter Rodd had noticed the name upon her stern, the _Jeanne d'Arc_, which suggested immediately the patriotic Maid of Orleans. He had forgotten it the next moment, the name being merged with the thought that while the schooner had had so narrow an escape of ending her voyage, the brig had been lying snugly moored to the buoy. But now as they glided on it became evident that the brig had broken adrift, for all at once, as she lay rolling and jerking at her mooring cable, the distance between her bows and the huge ringed cask seemed to have grown greater, and from where Rodd stood he could see the glistening tarpaulins of her crew as they hurried forward in a cluster, and Captain Chubb bellowed an order from where he stood astern, to his men. "Aren't coming aboard of us, are they?" thought Rodd, as, heard above the wind during a comparative lull, Captain Chubb was roaring out fresh orders to his crew; for he had fully grasped the danger, and the men were ready to slip their cable moorings and glide farther in under bare poles. But fortunately this fresh disaster did not come to pass, for as the brig bore down upon them there was a rush and splash from her bows, an anchor went down, checking her progress a little, then a little more, as she still came on nearer as if to come crash into the schooner's bows, and Captain Chubb raised his speaking trumpet to his lips to bid his men let go, prior to ordering them to stand by ready to lower their own anchor in turn when at a safe distance, when the brig's progress received a sudden check, her anchor held, and she was brought up short not many yards away. "Smart," said Captain Chubb, "for a mounseer;" and he looked at Rodd as he spoke, before tucking his speaking trumpet under his arm and then giving himself a shake like a huge yellow Newfoundland dog to get rid of the superabundant moisture. "Well, squire," he continued, as he came close up, "what should you do next?" Rodd looked at him as if puzzled by the question. Then putting his hands to his mouth he shouted back-- "I should get farther into the harbour, in case that brig broke away again." "Of course you would," said the captain, with a grim smile. "Now, don't you pretend again that you aren't a sailor, because that was spoken like a good first mate. But we will wait for a lull before we let go, for I don't want to lose no tackle. But the gale aren't over yet." "But we are safe, captain?" said the boy. "Yes," grunted the captain. "Better off than them yonder," and he pointed to a good-sized vessel which had been running for the harbour, but in vain, for she had been carried on too far and was swept away, to take the shore a mile distant. The lull foretold by Captain Chubb enabled him to slip from his moorings and get the schooner into a sheltered position which he deemed sufficiently snug and far enough away from the brig, whose captain did not manifest any intention of coming farther in. As they were parting company Rodd was standing right forward close to Cross, who stood spelling out the name of the brig they were leaving behind. "_Jenny de Arc_" he grunted to Rodd. "That's a rum name for a smart brig like that. Wonder what she is. I never see'd Jenny spelt like that afore. That's the French way of doing it, I suppose." Rodd took upon himself to explain whose name the brig bore, and the sailor gave vent to a musical growl. "Shouldn't have knowed it," he said; "but as I was a-saying, I wonder what she is. Looks to me like what they calls a private ear." "Why, that's a man-of-war, isn't it, Joe?" "Well, a kind of a sort of one, you know, sir. One of them as goes off in war times to hark in private for any bit of news about well-laden merchantmen, and then goes off to capture them." "But what makes you think that, Joe?" asked Rodd. "Why, look at her rig, sir. See what a heap of sail she could carry. I don't hold with a brig for fast-sailing, but look at the length of them two masts, and see how she's pierced for guns. She has shut up shop snug enough on account of the storm, but I'll wager she could run out some bulldogs--I mean, French poodles--as could bark if she liked. Then there's a big long gun amidships." "I didn't see it," said Rodd. "Maybe not, my lad, but I did." "Well, but a merchantman might carry guns to defend herself, Joe." "Ay, she might, sir; but she wouldn't, unless she was going on a job like ours and wanted to scare off savages; and that aren't likely, for I should say we are the only vessel afloat as is going on such a fishing expedition as ours. And then look at her crew." "What about her crew?" said Rodd. "It seemed to be a very good one so far as I could see." "A deal too good, sir. Who ever saw a merchantman with such a crew as that? Didn't you see how smart they were in obeying orders and getting down that anchor?" "Why, no smarter than our crew," said Rodd rather indignantly. "Smarter than our crew, Mr Rodd, sir! I should think not!" cried the sailor. "Why, they are French! Still it was very tidy for them. I should like to know, though, what they are. I do believe I'm right, and that she is a private ear. Not been watching us, has she? Seems rather queer." "Why should she be watching us?" "Why should a private ear be watching any smart schooner, except to make a prize of her?" "Oh, but that's in time of war," cried Rodd. "Ay, sir, but your private ears aren't very particular about that. This is near enough to war time still, and if I was our skipper I should keep a good sharp eye on that craft. But he knows pretty well what he's about. His head is screwed on the right way. But I say, Mr Rodd, how should you like a bit of the real thing, same as we used to have when I was in a King's ship?" "What, a naval action?" "Oh, you may call it that, sir, if you like. I mean a bit of real French and English, and see which is best man." "Oh, nonsense! That's all over now, Joe." "I don't know so much about that, sir." "But we are in a friendly port, Joe, and no French ship would dare attack one of ours." "No, sir, I know they daren't do it," said the man stubbornly; "but if they could catch us asleep they might have a try. But there, don't you be uncomfortable. There's too much of the weasel about our skipper, and he'll be too wide awake to let any Frenchman catch him asleep." "Ah, you are thinking a lot of nonsense, Joe," said Rodd. "The war is all at an end, and Napoleon Bonaparte shut up in prison at Saint Helena. There'll be no more fighting now." "Well, sir, I suppose you are right," said the man, with something like a sigh; "but you see, like some of my mates, I have seen a bit of sarvice in a King's ship, and we have got our guns on board, and we have just now been lying alongside--I should say bow and stern--of a Frenchman so as we could slew round and rake her; and it sets a man thinking. But there, I suppose you are right, and there will be no fighting for us this voyage." "Of course there won't be. We are friends now with France." "Yes, sir, and the French pretends to be friends with us; but all the same if I was the skipper I should double my night watch and be well on the look-out for squalls.--Ay, ay, sir!" Joe Cross answered a hail from the skipper, and was directly after busy at work helping his mates to make all snug aloft, for the wind had sunk now into a pleasant soft gale which seemed to suggest fine weather; but Captain Chubb shook his head and frowned very severely as he looked out to windward. "Nay, my lad," he said, "we have made our start and got as far as here, but it don't seem to me like getting away just yet, for there's a lot of weather hanging about somewhere, and as we are in no hurry and are snug in port, I am not going to run the risk of losing any of my tackle while the wind is shifting about like this. If I was you I should go in for a general dry up, and maybe you and your uncle, if the rain holds off, would like to go and have a look round the town." The skipper moved away, and Rodd went to the side to have another look at the French brig, and then, not satisfied, he went below to fetch the small spy-glass, finding his uncle busy re-arranging some of his apparatus in the laboratory, and as he did not seem to be required, the boy took the small telescope from where it hung and made his way back again on deck, where he focussed the glass and began to scan the brig, scrutinising her rig and everything that he could command, from trucks to deck, making out the long gun covered by a great tarpaulin, and then bringing the glass to bear upon such of the crew as came within his scope. And as he watched the well-built, smartly-rigged vessel with such knowledge as he had acquired during his life at the great English port, he made out, though fairly distant now, that there seemed to be something in Joe Cross's remarks, so that when he closed his glass to go down below, he began to dwell on the possibility of the smart brig being indeed a privateer, and this set him thinking of how horrible it would be if she did turn inimical and make an attempt at what would have been quite an act of piracy if she had followed the _Maid of Salcombe_ out to sea and seized her as a prize. "Why, it would break uncle's heart, after all his preparations for the expedition," mused the boy; "and besides it would be so treacherous. But Captain Chubb would not give up, I am sure. I never thought of it before, but he must have thought a good deal more about an accident such as this happening when he was taking such pains to drill and train the men. What did he say--that as we were going along a coast where the people were very savage and spent most of their time in war and fighting, we ought to be prepared for danger, in case we were attacked. Was he thinking of the French as well as the savages when he said this? Perhaps so. If one of his men thought so, why shouldn't he? Well, I will ask him first time I get him alone. Hullo! What are they doing there? Somebody going ashore from the brig." Rodd could see with the naked eye the lowering down of a ship's boat over the brig's side, and that made him quickly focus his glass again, and while he was busy scanning the boat as it kissed the water and the oars fell over the side, Joe Cross came up behind him and made him start. "Well, sir," he said, "what do you make of her now?" "Nothing, Joe," said the boy, "only that it seems a very nice brig." "Very, sir, and well-manned. Look at that." "What?" asked the boy. "That there boat they've lowered down, and how she's manned. She's no merchantman. Look at the way they are rowing. Why, they're like men-of-war's men, every one. I don't like the looks of she, and if the old skipper don't get overhauling her with them there eyes of his I'm a Dutchman; and that's what I ain't." "Ah, you make mountains of molehills, Joe," said Rodd. "Maybe, sir; maybe. But I suppose it's all a matter of eddication and training to keep watch. There, you see, it's always have your eyes open, night or day. For a man as goes to sea on board a man-of-war, meaning a King's ship, has to see enemies wherever they are and wherever they aren't, for even if there bean't none, a chap has to feel that there might be, and if he's let anything slip without seeing on it, why, woe betide him! There y'are, sir! Look at that there boat. You have hung about Plymouth town and seen things enough there to know as that there aren't a merchant brig." "Well, she doesn't look like a merchant's shore boat, certainly," said Rodd, with his eyes still glued to the end of the telescope. "Right, sir," cried Joe Cross. "Well, then, sir, as she aren't a merchant brig's boat, and the brig herself aren't a man-of-war, perhaps you will tell me what she is? You can't, sir?" "No, Joe." "No more can I, sir; but if we keeps our eyes open I dare say we shall see." CHAPTER THIRTEEN. IN THE FRENCH PORT. In spite of the knocking about by the storm, the schooner was none the worse, and in the course of the day as the weather rapidly settled down and the western gale seemed to have blown itself out, while the sailors had been busy swabbing the rapidly drying planks, and, the wind having fallen, shaking out the saturated sails to dry, Uncle Paul strolled with his nephew up and down the deck, waiting till the skipper seemed to be less busy before going up to him. "Well," said Uncle Paul; "are we damaged at all?" "Not a bit," was the gruff reply. "It's done her good--stretched her ropes and got the canvas well in shape." "But how do you feel about the schooner?" "As if she was just what we wanted, sir. Given me a lot of confidence in her." "Then as the weather is settling down you will sail again to-night?" "No; I want to get a little more ballast aboard, and this is all a little bit of show. We shall have more weather before long. I shan't sail yet." The work being pretty well done--that is, as far as work ever is done in a small vessel--Rodd noticed that some of the men had been smartening themselves up, and after hanging about a bit watching the captain till he went below, Rodd saw them gather in a knot together by the forecastle hatch, talking among themselves, till one of the party, a heavy, dull-looking fellow, very round and smooth-faced and plump, with quite a colour in his cheeks, came aft to where Rodd and his uncle were standing watching the busy scene about the wharves of the inner harbour, and discussing as to whether they should go ashore for a few hours to look round the town. "I am thinking, Pickle, that after such a bad night as we had, we might just as well stay aboard and rest, and besides, as far as I can see everything's muddy and wretched, and I fancy we should be better aboard." "Oh, I don't know, uncle. We needn't be long, and it will be a change. But here's the Bun coming up to speak to you." "The what!" cried Uncle Paul. "That man--Rumsey." "But why do you call him the Bun?" "Oh, it's the men's name for him," said Rodd, laughing. "They nicknamed him because he was such a round-faced fellow." "Beg pardon, sir," said the man, making a tug at his forelock. "Yes, my man; you want to speak to me?" "Yes, sir; the lads asked me to say, sir, that as it's been a very rough night--" "Very, my man--very," said Uncle Paul, staring. "They'd take it kindly, sir, if you'd give about half of us leave to go ashore for a few hours." "Oh, well, my man, I have no objection whatever," said Uncle Paul. "As far as I am concerned, by all means yes." "Thankye, sir; much obliged, sir," said the man eagerly, and pulling his forelock again he hurried forward to join the group which had sent him as their spokesman to ask for leave. Rodd turned to speak to his uncle, and caught Joe Cross's eye instead, wondering at the man's comical look at him as he closed an eye and jerked one thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the group forward as they began whispering together, and then, thrust forward towards the side by his companions, the Bun began to signal towards the Frenchmen hanging about the nearest landing-place, where several boats were made fast to the side of the dock. Just at that moment the skipper came up from below, saw what was going on at a glance, strode towards the group, which began to dissolve at once, the Bun being the only man whose attention was taken up by a boatman who was answering his signal. Just while the signaller was making his most energetic gestures he leaped round in the most startled way, for the skipper had closed up and given him a very smart slap on the shoulder. "Now, Rumsey, what's this?" he cried. "Boat, sir. Going ashore, sir." "Who is?" said the skipper, frowning. "Us six, sir." "Us six! Why, you're only one." "Yes, sir. These 'ere others too, sir." "What others?" cried the captain, and Rumsey, looking anxiously around, found for the first time that he was alone. "The lads as was here just now, sir--six on us." "Oh, indeed!" said the skipper sarcastically, and raising his cap he gave his rough hair a rub. "Let me see; when did I give you leave to go ashore?" "No, sir; not you, sir. Dr Robson, sir." "Oh, I see," said the skipper. This was all said loud enough for Rodd and Uncle Paul to hear, and Rodd began to grin as he looked at his uncle, whose face assumed a perplexed aspect, one which increased to uneasiness as the captain came up to them at once. "Just a word, sir," he said. "Did you order these men to go ashore?" "Oh no," cried Uncle Paul. "One of them came up to me, asking if I had any objections to their going ashore, and I said, not the least. I supposed, of course, that they had got leave from you." "Of course, sir. Bless 'em for a set of artful babies! They aren't learned discipline yet. You, Rumsey, go and tell your messmates that if they try that game again with me they'll stand a fine chance of not going ashore for the rest of the voyage." "Yes, sir, I'll tell them, sir," cried the man hurriedly; and he shuffled off as hard as he could to find those who had left him in the lurch. "Here, you, Joe Cross," continued the captain, "you signal to that Frenchy boatman that he is not wanted." "Ay, ay, sir!" cried Cross, hurrying to the side, where he began gesticulating angrily, in spite of which the boatman persisted in coming alongside and in voluble French declaring that he was ordered to come and would not go back until he was paid. Meanwhile a little explanation was going on between the skipper and Uncle Paul. "Don't want to be bumptious, sir," said the former, "but there's only room on board a craft for one captain. Those fellows jump at any chance to get ashore, and when they are there, there's no knowing when you'll get them on board again, besides which, they wouldn't be careful, and French and English don't get on very well together after all that's gone by. Here, Cross, tell that jabbering Frenchman if he isn't off, he'll have to go back with a hole through the bottom of his boat. No, stop. Go and find Mr Craig. Tell him to set those six men something to do." "Ay, ay, sir!" cried the sailor, hurrying off. "There, it was all my fault, captain," said Uncle Paul, smiling. "I won't offend again. Here, Rodd, my boy, give that poor fellow a shilling for his trouble." Rodd hurried to the side, hailed the man, and held out the coin, telling him in very bad French what it was for; but the fellow shook his head, held up four fingers, and began shouting "_Quatre_!" so loudly that the skipper heard. "Cat, indeed!" he shouted. "Just what I should like to give him. Here, come away, Mr Rodd; he shan't have anything now." But Rodd did not obey at once. "One or nothing," he cried to the man, in French. "_Quatre! Quatre_!" shouted the man. Rodd shook his head and was turning away, but the boatman swarmed up the side, and reaching over the rail, shouted "_Quatre_!" again, till the skipper made so fierce a rush at him that he lowered his feet quickly down into his boat, catching the shilling that Rodd pitched to him, and then hurriedly pushing off for the landing-place. "Oh, it's all right, Dr Robson," said the skipper, "only you must leave all this shore-going to me. I know my lads; you don't." Just then Craig, the mate, came up on deck, looking very sour at having been awakened from a comfortable sleep, and did not scruple about setting the delinquents to work upon some very unnecessary task, to the great delight of their messmates, who, headed by Joe Cross, gave them pretty freely to understand what their opinion was of the scheme to get a run ashore. It was towards evening that, after a hasty meal, partaken of in peace in the still waters of the harbour, tempted by a few gleams of sunshine, and for Rodd's gratification, Uncle Paul and Rodd were rowed ashore in the same boat as the skipper, who had business with the English Consul about his papers, the understanding being that the boat was to go back and meet them at nine o'clock. "That's as long as we shall want to stay, Rodd," said Uncle Paul. "Yes, sir," said the skipper; "and if I were you I'd turn in early for a good night's rest, for I'm thinking we shall have dirty weather again to-morrow, and there's no knowing how long it will last." "But it looks so bright to-night," cried Rodd. "Just here, sir," cried the skipper, "and it may be fine enough to tempt me off in the morning; but I don't feel at all sartain, and to-morrow night we may be having another knocking about." They separated at the landing-place, and for the next two hours Rodd was making himself acquainted with the principal streets of the old seaport, time going very rapidly and the night coming on. It was growing pretty dark, and after making two mistakes as to their direction, Rodd declared that he knew the way, and his uncle yielding to his opinion, the boy led on, till, turning a corner sharply, they almost came in contact with a couple of French officers walking in the opposite direction, the one a tall, stern, elderly-looking man, talking in a low excited tone to his young companion, whose attention was so much taken up as he deferentially listened to his elder, that he started back to avoid striking against Rodd, who also gave way. It was now almost dark, and the next moment the French officers had passed on, as Uncle Paul exclaimed-- "Yes, I believe you are right, Pickle. You are. Those are ships' lights hoisted up to the stays. Well, don't you see?" "Yes, uncle, but--" The boy said no more, and Uncle Paul laid his hand upon his shoulder. "What's the matter?" he cried. "Why don't you speak? Those are the lights in the harbour." "Yes--yes. Yes, uncle, I see," said the boy hastily; "but--er--but-- er--" "Why, what's the matter with you? Don't feel done up?" "No, uncle," replied Rodd hurriedly. "I was only puzzled; it seemed so strange." "You mean you seem so strange," said the doctor, laughing. "Yes, uncle, I feel so." "Well, come along, and let's make haste aboard. I don't want to keep the captain waiting. We have lost so much time by missing our way. It's past nine, I'm sure." "Yes, uncle," said the boy, speaking more like himself; "it must be. But I felt so startled in coming suddenly upon those two officers." "Why, there was nothing to startle you, my boy." "No, uncle, I suppose not; but somehow I felt that I had been close to that one who nearly ran up against me before, and when he said `_Pardon_'--" "I didn't hear him say `_Pardon_,'" said Uncle Paul. "But he did, uncle, just in a low tone so that I could hardly hear him, and then I felt sure we had met before." "Nonsense!" cried Uncle Paul. "Look here, my boy, how much sleep did you have last night?" "Sleep, uncle!" cried the boy, in a voice full of surprise. "Why, none at all. Who could sleep through that storm?" "I'll answer for myself," said the doctor; "I could not. Well, you were completely tired out, and are half dreaming now. Come along; let's find the boat and get on board for a light supper and a good night's rest." "Yes, uncle," said Rodd quietly; "but take care; we are on the wharf. I can make out the shipping plainly now;" and as he spoke a familiar hail came out of the darkness, while as they answered the captain strode towards them. "Thought you were lost, gentlemen. Been waiting half-an-hour. Take care; the boat's down here;" and striding along the top of the harbour wall the skipper led the way to the descending steps, where the boat was waiting, and they were rowed aboard. An hour later Rodd was plunged in the deepest of deep sleeps, but dreaming all the same of the storm and of getting into difficulties with some one who was constantly running against him and whispering softly, "Pardon!" CHAPTER FOURTEEN. THE SUSPICIOUS CRAFT. "Oh, I say, Uncle Paul, isn't it horrible?" cried Rodd the next morning. Breakfast was just over, and Captain Chubb had gone on deck, while the wind was howling furiously as if in a rage to find its playthings, some two or three hundred vessels of different tonnage, safely moored in the shelter of the harbour, and out of its power to toss here and there and pitch so many helpless ruins to be beaten to pieces upon the shore. Down it kept coming right in amongst them, making them check at their mooring cables and chains, but in vain, for their crews had been too busy, and the only satisfaction that the tempest could obtain, was to hearken to the miserable dreary groans that were here and there emitted as some of the least fortunate and worst secured ground against each other. "Isn't it horrible, uncle?" shouted Rodd, for the rain just then was mingled with good-sized hailstones, and was rattling down upon the deck and skylight in a way that half-drowned the lad's voice. "Miserable weather, Pickle; but never mind. We must settle down to a good morning's work in the laboratory." "Oh no, not yet, uncle; we don't seem to have started. It will only be a makeshift." "But we might put things a little more straight, boy." "Oh no, uncle; they are too straight now, and I want to go on deck." "Bah! It isn't fit. Wait till the weather holds up." "Oh, I shall dress up accordingly, uncle. But I say, where does all the rain come from? It must be falling in millions of tons everywhere." "Ah, you might as well ask me where the wind comes from. Study up some book on meteorology." "Oh yes, I will, uncle; but not yet." "Very well; be off." Rodd hurried out of the cabin, and five minutes later came back rattling and crackling, to present himself before his uncle, who thrust up his spectacles upon his forehead and stared. "There," cried Rodd; "don't think I shall get wet. I wish I'd had it the other night. It's splendid, uncle, and so stiff that if I like to stoop down a little and spread my arms, I can almost rest in it. I say, don't I look like a dried haddock?" "Humph! Well, yes, you do look about the same colour," grumbled the doctor, for the boy was buttoned up in a glistening oilskin coat of a buff yellow tint; the turned-up collar just revealed the tips of his ears, and he was crowned by a sou'-wester securely tied beneath his chin. "I say, this will do, won't it?" "Yes, you look a beauty!" grunted the doctor; "but there, be off; I want to write a letter or two." Rodd went crackling up the cabin stairs, clump, clump, clump, for he was wearing a heavy pair of fisherman's boots that had been made waterproof by many applications of oil--a pair specially prepared for fishing purposes and future wading amongst the wonders of coral reef and strand. The deck was almost deserted, the only two personages of the schooner's crew being the captain and Joe Cross, both costumed so as to match exactly with the boy, who now joined them, to begin streaming with water to the same extent as they. They both looked at him in turn, Cross grinning and just showing a glint of his white teeth where the collar of his oilskin joined, while his companion scowled, or seemed to, and emitted a low grumbling sound that might have meant welcome or the finding of fault, which of the two Rodd did not grasp, for the skipper turned his back and rolled slowly away as if he were bobbing like a vessel through the flood which covered the deck and was streaming away from the scuppers. As the skipper went right forward and stood by the bowsprit, looking straight ahead through the haze formed by the streaming rain, Rodd was thrown back upon Joe Cross, with whom, almost from the day when the man had joined, he had begun to grow intimate; and as he went close up to him, the sailor gave his head a toss to distribute some of the rain that was splashing down upon his sou'-wester, and grinning visibly now, he cried-- "Why, Mr Rodd, sir, you've forgot your umbrella." "Get out!" cried Rodd good-humouredly. "But I say, Joe, how long is this rain going to last?" "Looks as if it means to go on for months, sir, but may leave off to-night. I say, though, that's a splendid fit, sir. You do look fine! Are you comfortable in there?" Rodd did not answer, for he was trying to pierce the streaming haze and make out whether the brig was visible. For a few moments he could not make it out, but there it was, looking faint and strange, about a hundred yards away. "That's the brig, isn't it, yonder?" he said at last. "Yes, sir, that's she, and they seem to have got her fast now; but she wouldn't hurt us if she broke from her moorings, for the wind's veered a point or two, and it would take her clear away." Rodd remained silent as he stood thinking, he did not know why, unless it was that the vessel with the tall, dimly-seen tapering spars bore a French name, and somehow--again he could not tell why, only that it seemed to him very ridiculous--the shadowy vessel associated itself with the two French officers he had encountered in the darkness of the previous night, when he heard one of them after brushing against him murmur the word "Pardon!" And he found himself thinking that if the vessel had been swept up against the schooner when her anchor was dragging, it would have been no use for her crew to cry "Pardon!" as that would not have cured the damage. "Well, sir, what do you make of her?" cried the sailor, putting an end to the lad's musings. "Can't see much," said Rodd, "for the rain, but she seems beautifully rigged." "Yes, sir, and she can sail well too--for a brig--but I should set her down as being too heavily sparred, and likely to be top-heavy. If she was going along full sail, and was caught in such a squall as we had yesterday, and laid flat like the schooner, I don't believe she'd lift again. Anyhow, I shouldn't like to be aboard." "No, it wouldn't be pleasant," said Rodd; "but I say, I can't see anything of that long gun you talked about." "No wonder, sir. You want that there long water-glass, as you called it--that there one you showed me as you was unpacking it. Don't you remember? Like a big pipe with panes of glass in it as you said you could stick down into the sea and make out what was on the bottom. You want that now." The man passed his hand along the brow edge of his sou'-wester to sweep away the drops, and then took a long look at the deck of the brig. "No, sir; can't make it out now; but I see it plainly enough this morning, covered with a lashed down tarpaulin as if to hide it, and I knew at once. I can almost tell a big gun by the smell--I mean feel it like, if it's there." "But do you still think she's a privateer?" "Well, I don't say she is, sir, for that's a thing you can't tell for sartain unless you see a ship's papers; but she is something of that kind, I should say, and--Ay, ay, sir!--There's the skipper hailed me, sir. I say, Mr Rodd, sir, do mind you don't get wet!" This was as the man rolled away sailor fashion, and emitting a crackling whishing sound as he made for the vessel's bows, where he received some order from his captain which sent him to the covered-in hatchway of the forecastle, where he slowly disappeared into a kind of haze, half water, half smoke, for several of the water-bound crew had given up the chewing of their tobacco to indulge in pipes. But Rodd was in a talkative humour, and made his way to the skipper, saluting him with-- "I say, Captain Chubb, how do you manage to do it?" "Do what, my lad?" "Why, say for certain what the weather's going to be." There was a low chuckling sound such as might have been emitted by a good-humoured porpoise which had just ended one of its underwater curves, and thrust its head above the surface to take a good deep breath before it turned itself over and dived down again. "Second natur', youngster, and that's use. Takes a long time to learn, and when you have larnt your lesson perfect as you think, you find that you don't know it a bit." "But you did know it," said Rodd. "You said that the storm would come on again, when it was beautiful and fine yesterday evening; and here it is." "Well, yes, my lad, if you goes on for years trying to hit something you must get a lucky shot sometimes." "Oh yes, but there's something more than that," said Rodd. "When I have been amongst the fishermen in Plymouth, and over in Saltash, I have wondered to find how exact they were about the weather, and how whenever they wouldn't take us out fishing they were always right. They seemed to know that bad weather was coming on." "Oh, of course," said the skipper. "Why, my lad, if you got your living by going out in your boat, don't you think the first thing you would try to learn would be to make it your living?" "Why, of course," cried Rodd. "Ah, you don't mean the same as I do. I mean, make it your living and not your dying." "Oh, I see." "You wouldn't want," continued the skipper, "to go out at times that might mean having them as you left at home standing on the shore looking out to sea for a boat as would never come back." "No," said the boy, with something like a sigh. "I know what you mean. Ah, it has been very horrible sometimes, and all those little churchyards at the different villages about the coast with that regular `Drowned at sea' over and over and over again." "Right, my lad. Things go wrong sometimes; but that's what makes sailors and fishermen get to learn what the moon says and the sun and the clouds, and the bit of haze that gathers sometimes off the coast means. Why, if you'd looked out yesterday afternoon when the wind went down and the glint of sunshine come out, there was a nasty dirty look in the sky. You wait a bit and keep your eyes open, and put that and that together, and as you grow up you'll find that it isn't so hard as you'd think to say what the weather is going to be to-morrow. You'll often be wrong, same as I am." "Ah! then I shall begin at once," cried Rodd eagerly, as he looked sharply round. "Well, it can't go on pelting down like this with hail coming now and then in showers. Showers come and go." "Right!" said the skipper, clapping him on the shoulder. "Oh!" cried Rodd sharply. "Hullo! Why, you don't mean to say that hurt?" "Hurt! No," cried Rodd, shaking his head violently. "You shot a lot of cold water right up into my ear." "Oh, that will soon dry up. Well, what do you say the weather's going to be?" "The storm soon over, and a fine day to-morrow." "Done?" asked the skipper. "Oh yes; but mind, that's only a try." "Then it's my turn now, youngster, so here goes. I say we shall have worse weather to-morrow than we have got to-day." "Oh, it can't be!" cried Rodd. "Well," cried the skipper, chuckling, "we shall see who's right." "Oh, but I don't want for us to have to stop here in this French port." "More don't I, my lad, so we think the same there. You going to stop on deck?" "Yes, till dinner-time," cried Rodd, and just then the haze of rain out seaward opened a little, revealing the brig with its tall spars and web of rigging. This somehow set the boy thinking about the escape from accident when they came into port, and then of the encounter ashore, and he began talking. "It's no use to go down below. It's so stuffy, and I want to chat. I say, captain, what do you think of that brig?" "Very smartly built craft indeed, my lad--one as I should like to sail if I could do as I liked." "Do as you liked?" asked Rodd. "Yes; alter her rig--make a schooner of her. But as she is she's as pretty a vessel as I ever see--for a brig. Frenchmen don't often turn out a boat like that." "What should you think she is?" asked Rodd. "A merchantman?" "No, my lad; I should say she was something of a dispatch boat, though she aren't a man-of-war. I don't quite make her out. She's got a very smart crew, and I saw two of her officers go aboard in some sort of uniform, though it was too dark to quite make it out." "But if she's a man-of-war she would carry guns, wouldn't she?" asked Rodd. "Well, I don't think she's a man-of-war, my lad," replied the skipper; "but she do carry guns, and one of them's a big swivel I just saw amidships. But men-of-war, merchantmen, and coasters, we're all alike in a storm, and glad to get into shelter." "Yes, it is a fine-looking brig. Is she likely to be a privateer?" "Eh? What do you know about privateers?" "Oh, not much," said Rodd. "But going about at Plymouth and talking to the sailors, of course I used to hear something about them." "Well, yes, of course," said the skipper thoughtfully, as he too swept the drops from the front of his sou'-wester, and tried to pierce the falling rain. "She might be a French privateer out of work, as you may say, for their game's at an end now that the war's over. Yes, a very smart craft." "But do you think she's here for any particular purpose?" "Yes, my lad; a very particular purpose." "Ah!" cried the boy rather excitedly. "What?" "To take care of herself and keep in harbour till the weather turns right. Why? What were you thinking?" "I was wondering why she came in so close after us, and then anchored where she is." "Oh, I can tell you that," said the skipper, chuckling. "It was because she couldn't help herself." "Then you don't think she was watching us?" "No-o! What should she want to watch us for?" "Why, to take us as a prize, seeing what a beautiful little schooner it is." "Bah! She'd better not try," said the skipper grimly. "Why, what stuff have you got in your head, boy? We are not at war with France." "No-o," said Rodd thoughtfully; "but her captain might have taken a fancy to the _Maid of Salcombe_, and I've read that privateers are not very particular when they get a chance. And the war's only just over." "No. But then, you see, my lad, even if you were right, that brig wouldn't have a chance." "Why, suppose she waited till we had sailed, and followed till she thought it was a good opportunity, and then her captain led his men aboard and took her?" "Oh, I see," said the skipper dryly. "Well, my lad, as I say, she wouldn't have a chance. First, because she couldn't catch us, for give me sea room I could sail right round her." "Ah, but suppose it was a calm, and she sent her boats full of men on board to take us?" "Well, what then?" "What then? Why, wouldn't that be very awkward?" asked Rodd. "Very, for them," said the skipper grimly. "What would my boys be about?" "Why, they'd be taken prisoners." "I should just like to see her try," said the skipper. "If the boats' crews of that brig were to get a lodgment aboard my craft, how long do you think it would take our lads to clear them off?" "Oh, I am sure our crew would be very brave, but I should say that brig's got twice as many men as we have." "What of that?" said the skipper contemptuously. "Well, then," said Rodd argumentatively, "she's got her guns, and might sink us." "And we've got our guns, and might sink her," growled the skipper. "Look here, my lad; why did I give my lads gun drill and cutlass and pike drill, while you and the doctor were taking in your tackle and bags of tricks?" "Why, to defend the schooner against any savages who might attack us when we are off the West Coast or among the islands." "Right, my lad. Well, as Pat would say, by the same token couldn't they just as well fight a pack of Frenchies as a tribe of niggers? Bah! You're all wrong. It's quite like enough that yon brig may have been fitted out for a privateer, though I rather think she wouldn't be fast enough. But that game's all over, and we are all going to be at peace now we have put Bony away like a wild beast in a cage and he can't do anybody any hurt. There, you needn't fidget yourself about that. All the same, I don't quite understand why a craft that isn't a man-of-war, but carries a long gun amidships and has officers in uniform aboard, should be taking refuge in this port. I dunno. She looks too smart and clean, but it might mean that she's going to the West Coast, blackbirding." "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Rodd. "Why, that's what you thought about us, Captain Chubb." "So I did; so I did, my lad," said the skipper good-humouredly. "You see, I am like other men--think I am very wise, but I do stupid things sometimes. Well, I'll be safe this time, and say I don't know what she is, and I don't much care. But I am pretty sure that she aren't after us, and I dare say, if the truth's known, she don't think we are after her. There, squint out yonder to windward. That don't look like fine weather, does it?" "No; worse than ever!" cried Rodd. "That's so, my lad, and you may take this for certain; we shan't sail to-day, and you won't see another vessel put out to sea. Take my word for it." "That I will, Captain Chubb!" cried the boy earnestly, and the skipper nodded his head so quickly that the water flew off in a shower. But, as some wag once said, the wisest way is to wait till after something has happened before you begin to prophesy about it. Captain Chubb had probably never heard about the wisdom of this proceeding in foretelling events, for it so happened that in spite of the storm increasing in violence for many hours, his words proved to be entirely wrong. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. AN EXCITING TIME. About mid-day there was a sudden lull. The wind blew nearly as hard as ever, but the clouds were broken up, allowing a few gleams of sunshine to pass through, and soon after the sky seemed to be completely swept; the streaming wharves and streets began to show patches of dry paving, and nearly every vessel near was hung with the men's oilskins, Rodd being one of the first to shed his awkward garments and come out looking more like himself. There was such a transformation scene, and all looked so bright in the sunshine, that the boy took the first opportunity to ask the skipper what he thought of it now. "Just the same as I did before, my lad," he replied bluntly. "Here, it's only mid-day, and mid-day aren't to-night, and to-night aren't to-morrow morning. Just you wait." "Oh, I'll wait," said Rodd, "but I think we ought to start off as soon as we can, and get right away to sea." "Do you?" said the captain gruffly. "Well, I don't." After dinner Uncle Paul had a few words with the skipper, and then shook his head at his nephew, who was watching them inquiringly. "No, my lad," he said, "it won't do; the captain says there's more bad weather coming; but we'll go and have a look round the town if you like." Rodd did like as a matter of course, and with the sun now shining brightly as if there were no prospect of more rain for a month, they were rowed ashore, Rodd noticing as they went that the crew of the brig seemed to be very busy, a couple of boats going to and fro fetching stores of some kind from the nearest wharf, but what he could not make out. Then came a good ramble through the busy place, where everybody seemed to be taking advantage of the cessation of the storm, and Rodd noted everything to as great an extent as a hurried visit would allow. There was plenty to see, the forts, one each side of the harbour, and a couple more on the higher ground, displaying their grinning embrasures and guns commanding the harbour and the town, while soldiery in their rather shabby-looking uniforms could be seen here and there, and sentries turned the visitors back upon each occasion when they went near. "Rather an ugly place to tackle, Rodd, from the sea, but I suppose our fellows wouldn't scruple about making an attack if there were any need. But here, I think we had better get back on board." "Oh, not yet, uncle. I haven't half seen enough." "But I am getting sick of this tiresome wind," said Uncle Paul. "One can't keep on one's hat, and it is just as if these gusts were genuine French, and kept on making a rush at us from round the corners of the streets as if they wanted to blow us into the harbour." "Yes, it is rather tiresome," replied Rodd. "But I should have liked to have had a look inside one of those batteries." "Pooh! What do you want to see them for?" "Why, just because they are French, uncle." "Nonsense! You have seen all ours on the heights of Plymouth, and they are a deal better-looking than these. We have a good way to walk, so let's go down at once. There, look yonder." "What at, uncle?" "What at? Why, at the clouds gathering there in the wind's eye. You see Captain Chubb's right, and we shall have the rain pouring down again before long." Rodd laughed as if he did not believe it, but making no farther opposition, they began to descend towards the harbour; but before they were half-way there the wind had increased to a furious pitch, the sea became a sheet of foam, and with wonderful rapidity the clouds had gathered overhead, till a black curtain was sweeping right over, and a few heavy drops of rain began to fall. Then down came a drenching shower, and they were glad to run for refuge to the nearest shelter, which presented itself in the shape of a great barrack-like building that seemed to be built about a square, and at whose arched entrance a couple of sentries with shouldered muskets were pacing up and down. As Uncle Paul and Rodd approached at a trot, with the intention of getting under the archway, both sentries stopped short, and one of them held his weapon across breast high, scowling fiercely, and barred their way. "Here, it's all right," cried Rodd. "We only want to shelter out of the rain for a few minutes;" and he pressed forward. "Come on, uncle. Never mind him!" "_Halte la_!" cried the sentry. But Uncle Paul's hand went to his pocket, and drawing out half-a-crown he pointed quickly at the falling rain and the archway under which they now stood, taking out his handkerchief the while, and beginning to brush off the drops which bedewed his coat. The man glanced at the coin, then at his brother sentry, and both looked inward at the square behind them. The exchange of glances was very quick, and then the first sentry opened one hand, but kept it very close to his side, again looking inward to see that he was not observed, before grumbling out-- "_Eh bien! Restez_!" And then as if perfectly unconscious of the bribe he had received, he resumed his slow pace up and down under the shelter of the great archway. It was all a matter of minutes, but long enough for the wind and rain to have gathered force, and while the former raved and shrieked, down came the latter in a sheet, or rather in a succession of sheets which made the roadways seem as if full of dancing chess pawns, and the gullies turn at once into so many furious little torrents tearing down the slopes towards the harbour. "Nice, isn't it, uncle?" said Rodd merrily. "Nice!" grumbled Uncle Paul. "I don't know what I was thinking about to give way to you in such treacherous weather. Why, it's worse than ever. How are we going to get back to the schooner?" "Oh, it will soon be over, uncle, and if it isn't we must get to know where the nearest place is from that sentry, and make a rush for it to get some tea, and wait there till the shower is over." "Shower!" said Uncle Paul. "It looks to me like a night of storm coming on, and as if we shan't get back to the schooner to-night." "Well, it doesn't matter, uncle," cried the boy coolly. "There's sure to be a good hotel, and Captain Chubb will know why we haven't come back. As soon as there's a bit of a lull we will make a run for it, and we shall be able to get a lesson in French." "Bah!" said Uncle Paul impatiently. "How the wind comes whistling through this archway! We shall be getting wet even here." The two men on guard were evidently of the same opinion, for they turned to their sentry boxes and began to put on their overcoats, after standing their muskets inside. But before this was half done, each snatched up his piece again and faced the entrance, for all at once there was the clattering of hoofs in the cobbled paved street, and a cavalry officer, followed at a short distance by a couple of men, dashed up to the front and turned in under the archway, drenched with rain, the officer saying something sharply to one of the sentries. The man replied by pointing to a doorway at the back of the great entrance, while the officer swung himself from his horse, threw the rein to one of his men, and then lifting his sabre-tache by the strap he gave it a swing or two to throw off the water from its dripping sides, and then opened the great pocket to peer inside as if to see that its contents were safe. The next moment, as if satisfied, he let it fall to the full length of its slings, gave a stamp or two to shake off the water that dripped from him, and then raised his hands to give a twist to the points of his wet moustache. He scowled fiercely at Rodd the while, and then marched towards the doorway with the steel scabbard of his sabre clinking and clanking over the stones. "Pretty good opinion of himself, Pickle," said Uncle Paul quietly. "Yes, uncle; but what a pair of trousers--no, I mean long boots--no, I don't; I mean trousers.--Which are they, uncle?" added the boy, who was rather tickled by the size and the way in which they were finished off at the bottoms with leather as if they were jack-boots. "Wait till he comes out, Pickle, and ask him," said the doctor dryly. "No, thank you, uncle; my French is so bad," said the boy, with his eyes sparkling. "But, my word, they must have been galloping hard to escape the rain! Look at those poor horses. They are breathed." Rodd had hardly spoken when they became fully aware that they had taken refuge in the entrance to the town barracks, for the notes of a bugle rang out, echoing round the inner square of the building, and seeming to be thrown back in a half-smothered way from wall to wall, while the wind and rain raged down more fiercely than ever. "Something must be the matter," said Rodd, with his lips close to his uncle's ear. "Seems like it, boy. That officer must have brought a dispatch." The object of the bugle was shown directly, for in spite of the rain the interior of the barracks began to assume the aspect of some huge wasps' nest that had suddenly been disturbed. Soldiers came hurrying out into the rain, hurriedly putting on their overcoats; the great arched gateway filled up at once with men seeking its shelter, and the sentry who had received his half-crown came to roughly order the English intruders to go elsewhere; but it was only outside militarism, for he said in a low hurried tone in French-- "Run outside to the end of the barracks. Grand cafe." "Come along, uncle. Never mind the rain," cried Rodd, catching at his uncle's wrist, as he fully grasped the sentry's meaning; and stepping outside the archway they ran together, or rather, were half carried by the shrieking wind, for some thirty or forty yards, almost into the doorway of a large lit-up building, for already it seemed to be almost night. "Never mind the rain, indeed!" grumbled Uncle Paul. "Why, I'm nearly soaked. Oh, come, we have got into civilised regions, at all events;" for a couple of waiters, seeing their plight, literally pounced upon them and hurried them through the building into a great kitchen where a huge fire was burning and the smell of cookery saluted their nostrils. The attentions of the waiters of what was evidently one of the principal hotels of the town were very welcome, and a glance teaching them that their visitors were people of some standing, they made use of their napkins to remove as much of the superabundant moisture as was possible, and then furnished themselves with a fresh relay to operate upon their backs. "Queer, isn't it, uncle? I am quite dry in front. My word, how the rain did come down!" "Messieurs will dine here?" said one of the waiters smilingly. "_Oh, oui, pour certain_" replied Uncle Paul. "If you don't mind, Pickle." "Mind, uncle? Oh, yes, of course. I am horribly hungry." "You always are, my boy. Well, we must make the best of a bad business," continued the doctor, as, nodding to the waiter, he moved a little closer to the fire and turned his back, an example followed by Rodd. "It makes a dreadful time, monsieur," said the smiling waiter. "Will he choose, or trust his servant to prepare a dinner upon the field of which the English milor' will be proud?" "You speak capital English," said the doctor, rather sarcastically. "I have been many times in public in London." "Ah, that's right. Then give us a snug little dinner while we dry ourselves. But what's the meaning of all that upset at the barracks next door?" "It is not quite that I know, sir," said the man eagerly; "but two officers came in upon the instant to put their cloaks where they should not water themselves so much, and I hear them say, a dispatch come quickly for monsieur the Governor to seize upon a ship. Oh, faith of a man! Hark at that!" For there was a sudden crash and an echoing roar, while some of the utensils in the great kitchen clattered together, and a piece of earthenware fell from a shelf upon the stone floor, to be shivered to atoms. "_Tonnerre, eh_?" said the doctor. "_Non, non, monsieur_" cried the man, relapsing into his native tongue for a moment. "It is what you English gentlemen call a great gun from the fort; and look, look! The poor _cuisiniere_ much alarm, as you call it." For just then, as if catching the contagion from the shrieking of the storm, one of the cook-maids threw herself back into a chair and began to scream. It was a busy scene for a few minutes while the frightened hysterical woman was hurried out, while with the storm seeming to increase in violence, and amid the trampling of armed men outside, who were hurrying from the barracks, the two English visitors gradually picked up scraps of information which explained the excitement that in spite of the storm was going on outside. "Messieurs would like to see," said the friendly waiter. "They will come up-stairs to the long _salle_ whose windows give upon the harbour." "But what's the matter?" cried Rodd. "Is there a wreck?" "A wreck, sare?" said the waiter, shaking his head. "No, I know not wreck." "Has a ship come ashore and is breaking up?" "Ha, ha! No, no, no, no, no, no, no! You would say _naufrage. Non, non, non_! It is a sheep in the harbour; a foreign spy. They say it has come to set fire to the town." "Then they have chosen a very bad night for it," said Uncle Paul, laughing. "Monsieur is right. Nosing would burn. But the enemies of la France, my great country, not stop to think of zat." "Oh, but that must be a rumour, Rodd," said Uncle Paul uneasily. "Why, surely they are not going to fancy that our English schooner is a spy and an enemy!" The waiter's ears were sharp, and he cried at once-- "English! Oh non, monsieur. You are from the little two-mast. It is not you. It is some enemy of the King whose sheep is in the harbour, and great dispatches have come to the Governor that she is to be seized. Ah, there again, monsieur! Anozzer gun from the fort." It was plain enough to hear, for the windows of the big badly-lit room into which the man had conducted them clattered in their frames, while the dull, heavy report was preceded by a vivid flash as of lightning. "Ha, ha! You see. The sheep will not get away, for at the forts they are alert and will sink her if she try." "Oh, but no vessel could try to put out in a storm like this, Rodd," said Uncle Paul. "No, sare," continued the waiter excitedly; "the boats will go out with the soldiers and take the sheep." "She is a man-of-war, I suppose?" "Yes, sare. Not very big, but an enemy; but if she fight they will shoot from all the forts and sink her." "But how do you know all this?" said Rodd. "Many soldiers, horsemen, came galloping up to bring dispatches to the Governor. There, sare; you will look from the window," continued the man, using a clean serviette that he took from under his arm to rub the steamy window-panes, for the cold blast of the storm had caused the warm air inside to blur the glass with a thick deposit of vapour. "There, sare," continued the man; "zat is ze sheep." "Oh, it's too thick to see for the rain." "Yes, sare; but you see out zare in ze arbour ze two lights." "Nonsense man!" cried Uncle Paul, half angrily. "That is the English schooner--ours." "Oh, non, non, non, monsieur! Away to ze _gauche_--ze left hand. Ze sheep with two high, tall mast, that we all see here when she come in ze storm yesterday. We all here with ze officer of ze regiment see you come in through ze storm, and ze enemy sheep, a stranger, come after, and ze officer say she will run you down and sink you in ze harbour!" "Oh, that one!" cried Rodd excitedly. "Ah, I see, monsieur knows. You see her lights swing in the wind--two;" and the man held up a couple of fingers. "Yes, I see where you mean," cried Rodd; "but she has only one light." "Ah, ha! Monsieur is right. Zare is only one. Ze vind storm has blow out ze uzzer. Look, now zare is no light at all. Ze sheep put im out." The violence of the rain was now abating, but the wind beat against and shook the window-panes and shrieked as it rushed by. It was evening, and a few minutes before it had been dark as night, but with the cessation of the rain the heavy forms and light rigging of the many vessels gradually became more and more visible, while fresh lights began to come into view, but in every case not moving and swinging about like those in the rigging of the safely moored ships, but gliding about from various directions as if they were in the sterns of boats that had put off from the harbour side. "Messieurs see?" said the waiter excitedly. "Two boats come now from the fort on ze uzzer side. Look, look! Ze lights shine on ze soldiers' bayonet. They go to take ze sheep." As the man was speaking the brig that had previously taken up so much of Rodd's attention stood out more clearly. Her riding lights were indeed gone, but there was a peculiar misty look forward, and it was now Rodd's turn to speak excitedly about what he saw. "Why, uncle," he cried, "she's moving! They've slipped their cable and hoisted the jib!" "Nonsense, boy! Not in a storm like this." "I don't care, uncle; she has. Look; you can see her gliding along." "Impossible!" "It isn't, uncle. Look, you can see them plainly now; two boats full of men, and they are rowing hard, but getting no nearer to the brig. Here, I want to see; let's get right down to the harbour." "What, to get wet again?" cried Uncle Paul. "It doesn't rain now a drop. There's nothing but wind; and look, look; the people are running down now in crowds, and there goes a company of soldiers at the double. Oh, there's going to be something very exciting, uncle, and we must see." "But the dinner, boy, the dinner! What is this to us?" "Dinner, uncle!" cried the lad indignantly. "Who's going to stop for dinner when there are boats out yonder full of men going to board and take a ship?" "Humph! Well," grunted Uncle Paul, "I suppose it would be rather exciting, and we shall be able to see; but I don't know, though. There'll be firing, and who knows which way the bullets will fly?" "Oh, they; won't hit us, uncle. Come on." Uncle Paul was rapidly growing as excited as his nephew, while the waiter, if it were possible, was as full of eagerness as both together, and forgetting all his duties and the dinner that he had ordered to be prepared, he cried-- "Ze rain is ovare; you come vith me. I take you out ze back way and down ze little rue which take us to the quay." That was enough for Rodd, and the next minute they were following the waiter down the big staircase through the great kitchen once more, which was now quite deserted, and out into a walled yard to a back gateway, beyond which, mingling with the roaring of the wind, they could hear the trampling of many feet. "Zis way; zis way!" the bare-headed waiter kept crying, as he put his serviette to quite a new use, battling with the wind as he folded it diagonally and then turned it into a cover for his head by tying the corners under his chin. "Here, I say," cried Rodd, as the man kept on at a trot; "I want to get to the harbour." "_Oui_, _oui_; zis way!" panted their guide, who nearly put the visitors out of patience by turning off two or three times at right angles and apparently taking them quite away from where they wished to go. "Zis way! Zis way!" he kept on crying, till at last the trio were alone, others who had been hurrying onward having taken different directions. Bang went another gun from the fort, a report which seemed to be sent back instantly from the harbour walls, apparently close at hand. "Yes, zis way; zis way!" shouted the man. "I show you before zey sink ze sheep." And now he suddenly turned into a narrow alley formed by two towering warehouses so close together that there was not room for two people to walk comfortably abreast; but "Zis way, zis way," shouted the guide, "and you shall be zere upon ze field--_sur le champ, sur le champ_. Ah ha!" he cried directly after, as he suddenly issued from out of the darkness of the alley into the comparative light of a narrow wharf encumbered with casks, just beyond which was the dripping stone edge of the great harbour, and below them boats, barges, and lighters swinging from the great rusty iron rings and mooring posts of the quay. "Vat you say to dat?" cried the waiter, turning round to face his companions, beginning loudly and ending in a choking whisper, for he had met a gust of wind face to face which stopped him for the moment from taking his breath and forced him to turn his back and make a snatch at the corner of one of the warehouses. "Faith of a good man!" he panted. "The vind blow me inside out! Aha! What did I say?" "Capital!" panted Rodd, almost as breathlessly as the waiter, at whom upon any other occasion he would have burst out into a roar of laughter, so grotesque was his appearance with the white napkin tied under his chin. "Oh, this is a splendid place!" "Here, you look out, Pickle," cried Uncle Paul. "Lay hold of something, or we shall be blown right off." "All right, uncle. Why, if one of those gusts sent us into the harbour we should be drowned." "Come a little farther this way, then, and if the wind is too much for us, why we shall only go down into this barge." At that moment, as they looked across and downward towards the mouth of the harbour, there were the flashes of bright light to illumine the gloom of the evening, and the reports of a ragged volley of musketry coming from one of the two boats which they could now make out being rowed hard after the brig, as it glided rapidly along in the direction where the watchers now stood. Then for a short space it passed out of sight behind a group of four vessels which were safely moored. Then it was out again, and as the lookers-on excitedly watched, they made out dimly that the vessel answered her helm readily and was gliding round in a tack for the other side of the harbour, while the two boats in pursuit altered their direction, the men rowing with all their might, as if to cut the brig off during her next tack. There was another ragged volley, this time from the second boat; but if they were firing to bring down the steersman, it was in vain, for the brig sailed swiftly on, gaining a little way, as she made for the mouth of the harbour. This was far distant yet, and her chances of reaching it even in the shelter of the harbour, with such a gale blowing, were almost nil. "She'll do it, though, uncle," shouted Rodd, with his lips close to Uncle Paul's ear. "Yes, my boy, I expect she will," was the reply; "but they've got some daring people on board, and I shouldn't like to be the man at the wheel." "Ah, why don't they shoot? Why don't they shoot?" cried the waiter. "She is an enemy, and--" The rest of his speech was unheard, for another flash cut the darkness, followed by the thud of a big gun, the shot coming as it were instantly upon the waiter's question; but it had no effect upon the brig, which came nearer and nearer to the pier-like wharves of the harbour, glided round again with the two stay-sails rilling upon the other tack, and then went off once more. "She'll get away, uncle," cried Rodd excitedly, "and I don't know what they are, but one can't help admiring such a brave deed." There was another report, this time from quite another direction. "That must be from the fort up behind the town, Rodd," cried Uncle Paul. "It's too thick to see any splash, but they must be in earnest now, and will not be firing blank charges. It looks as if they mean to sink her if she doesn't stop." "They've got to hit her first, uncle," cried Rodd excitedly. "Oh, I can't help it, uncle," he continued, with his lips close to his uncle's ear so that the waiter should not catch his words, "but I do hope they won't." "Well, my boy, I can't help feeling the same, though she's neither enemy nor friend of ours, and we don't know what it all means; for I don't suppose," he said, with a half-laugh, "that she has got Napoleon Bonaparte on board." Uncle Paul had not taken his nephew's precaution, and as a heavy gust was just dying out, the excited waiter caught a part of his speech. "Ha, ha!" he cried. "You sink so? You say le Petit Caporal is on board?" "No, no," cried Uncle Paul; "I didn't say so." "No, sare; you think so, and zat is it. He has escape himself from ze place where you English shot him up safe, and he come in zat sheep to burn down ze town. But ah-h-h, again they will sink him. Faith of a man, no!" he cried angrily, for there was a shot from another battery, this time nearer the harbour mouth. "They cannot shoot straight." For onward glided the brig, making tack after tack, and zigzagging her way through the narrow entrance of the harbour, at times partly sheltered by the great pier to windward, then as she glided farther out careening over in spite of the small amount of reefed sail she carried, but all the while so well under control that she kept on gaining and leaving the two boats farther and farther behind. "Oh, if it were only lighter!" cried Rodd, stamping his foot with vexation. "Why, she'll soon be out of sight." "Before she gets much farther," said Uncle Paul gravely, "she'll be getting within the light cast by one or other of the harbour lights, and that will be one of her critical times." "Why critical, uncle?" cried the boy earnestly. "Because the men in the fort will have a better chance of hitting her, I should say." "Oh, I hope they won't," said Rodd beneath his breath. "Why, it would be horrible, uncle," he half whispered, with his lips close to his uncle's face. "She must have a brave captain to dare all this." "A very brave captain," said Uncle Paul earnestly. "But you think she'll get away, uncle?" "No, Rodney," said the doctor, laying his hand with a firm grip upon his nephew's shoulder. "She may pass through the harbour mouth without being hit by the gunners, for it would require a clever marksman to hit so swiftly moving an object, rising and falling as the brig does now that she is getting into the disturbed water near the mouth." "But suppose she passes through untouched, uncle? What then?" "What then, boy? She will be out of the shelter given by the end of the jetty. It's too dim now to see, but once or twice I had just a glimpse of the waves washing over the harbour light, and there must be a terrific sea out there. Why, you can hear it plainly even here." "No, uncle; that's the wind." "And waves, my boy. Why, trying to sail out there in the teeth of such a gale as this, it will be almost impossible for her to escape. It seems to me to be an act of madness to attempt such an escapade, and cleverly as the brig is handled I think it is doubtful whether she will ever clear the mouth. But if she does she will catch the full force of the storm and--" "And what, uncle?" "Be carried away yonder to the east somewhere and cast ashore." "Oh-h!" sighed Rodd; and it was almost a groan. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. ESCAPE. Three more shots were fired at intervals, as the brig kept making short tack after tack, and with each report the flash appeared to be brighter, indicative of the increasing darkness, while now a pale lambent light seemed to be dawning at times and making the shape of the brig stand out more clearly at intervals, but only to fade away again quickly, while there were moments when the vessel quite disappeared. "Why is that, uncle?" asked Rodd quickly, as he looked vainly now in search of the flying craft. "Ah, there she is again! I began to think she had gone down. Why is she seen so dimly sometimes?" "Hidden by the flying spray, I think," said Uncle Paul. "Oh yes, of course," cried the boy. "Ah, there she is, quite clear now, and still going on nearer and nearer to the harbour mouth. No--now it's getting darker than ever.--There, now she's coming into sight again quite clearly." "Yes, she's getting out where the harbour lights are full upon her," said Uncle Paul. As he spoke there were two more reports, almost simultaneous, and Rodd felt a peculiar sense of pain attacking him, for at one moment when the two guns flashed, the brig could be plainly seen; the next, as the boy strained his eyes, all was black darkness, and he caught at his uncle's arm with his hands trembling and an intense longing upon him to speak; but no words would come. It seemed like some minutes before a word was uttered, and then it was the doctor who spoke. "I haven't caught sight of the boats lately," he said. "It is evident that they have given up the chase." "Oh, uncle, uncle," cried Rodd, "I was not thinking about them, but of those poor fellows in the brig. One of those last shots must have hit, and they have gone down." "Oh no," cried Uncle Paul; "I saw her once again. Just now.--Yes, there she is, tossing wildly in the waves. She must be beyond the mouth of the harbour, and--" "Yes, I see her! I see her!" cried Rodd wildly. "No, she's gone again; but she was pitching and tossing horribly." "Yes," said Uncle Paul. "It's going to be hard work for them now, for the waves out there must be tremendous. Well, my boy, it was a daring attempt, and whoever they are let's hope they may escape, but--" Uncle Paul was silent, and once more the boy uttered a low groan. Then no one spoke, but all stood straining their eyes to try and catch sight again of the vessel, which had seemed to be pitching wildly in the darkness; but they looked in vain, for all now seemed to be rapidly growing black. The boy tried to speak, but no words would come, and even the waiter was silent, as he stood trying to catch sight of the vessel once more; but the darkness now was rapidly increasing, and though from time to time they could make out the faint outline of the lights, all seemed to become more dense and obscure, and the boy started violently as their guide suddenly exclaimed-- "It is no use now, sare. I sink she must have gone down." Silence; but as Uncle Paul pressed his nephew's arm Rodd followed him slowly without a word, while the waiter shook his head and suggested that they should return to the _cafe_. The boy gave one glance before stirring, and then uttered a sigh. "Come, my boy," said his uncle; "perhaps there is no occasion to despair. It is quite evident that the captain of the brig knows what he is about, and may escape." Rodd followed his uncle without a word, the waiter going on before them to show the devious ways along by the harbour and the old town. As they drew near the yard Rodd felt a sense of hesitation. "I think I would rather get back on board the schooner, uncle," he said. "Oh, but we couldn't do that, my boy," cried Uncle Paul. "I gave an order for dinner to be prepared." "Yes, uncle, but I don't feel as if I could eat anything now." "Why?" "It seemed so horrible watching that vessel trying to escape under fire." "It was evidently not hit, my boy." "But it was going right out into the face of this storm, and even you thought she'd be driven ashore." "Yes; perhaps I have been thinking the worst; but the brig's captain is evidently a clever sailor and knows what he's about. It is rather jumping at conclusions to consider that he will let his vessel be wrecked. Yes, it was nervous work watching a vessel like that; but there, we must hope for the best, and possibly there is no reason to despond. Whoever the brig belonged to had good reason for getting away, and they have succeeded in that. There, come along; let's have our dinner, and think no more about it. But hallo! What's the matter here?" Uncle Paul's remark was caused by a loud angry voice scolding in French at the waiter who had just led them to the yard door, and it was evident that the man was in difficulties for absenting himself from his duties after giving the order that the visitors' dinner should be prepared. "But I have been in attendance upon the gentlemen," he protested, with not much truth in his utterance. "I had to take them down to the side of the harbour to see the firing at the spy. Is everything ready? Because the gentlemen are anxious for their dinner." Uncle Paul nudged his nephew, glad of the opportunity to change the bearing of the boy's thoughts, and shortly after the good meal prepared in the snug, warm room diverted Rodd's mind from the roaring of the storm, which was still beating round the great hotel; and they had just finished and were talking about going outside to see what the weather was like, when a very familiar gruff voice saluted their ears, as the waiter showed Captain Chubb into the room. "Oh, here you are," he grunted. "Come ashore to look after you. 'Fraid you were lost." "We are very glad to see you," said Uncle Paul. "Sit down. We thought it was not safe to try and get aboard." "Well, it aren't very," said the skipper; "but we come in the boat to make sure you weren't both drowned, and if you'll risk it I think I can get you round by keeping under the lee of two or three vessels." "What do you say, Rodd?" asked Uncle Paul. "Shall we risk it?" "Oh, I don't think that there'll be much risk, uncle, if Captain Chubb considers it safe. I don't mind going with him." The skipper gave the boy a nod and looked pleased; then nodding at Uncle Paul he said quietly-- "As we were ashore I told the men to get a few stores down to the boat, and that I'd meet them here. I dare say Joe Cross will be an hour, and by that time it will have lulled a bit, or else be a deal worse, and we'll see." It took very little persuasion to make the skipper partake of some of the hotel fare, and naturally enough the conversation turned upon the incident that had lately taken place. "Yes," said Captain Chubb, "the skipper of that craft has got some stuff in him, and he knew how to navigate his boat. I could have done it if I'd been obliged, but I should have wanted a deal of shoving before I hoisted sail. Storm was bad enough, and no room to tack; but what I shouldn't have liked was being fired at by two boats' crews and three or four forts. I know what being fired at is, young squire," continued the captain, giving Rodd a very peculiar look out of one eye, after closing the other, "and you may take my word for it it aren't nice." "What, have you been out in a man-of-war?" asked Rodd eagerly. "Nay, my lad, but several of our fellows have, and if you ask them, they can tell you what it's like too." "Then you never were fired at?" said Rodd questioningly. "Who says I warn't? I tell you I was, though it wasn't by forts. It was a Revenue cutter got trying to hit me." "What, smuggling?" cried Rodd. "Nay! Smuggling, indeed! It was her skipper--Lieutenant somebody or another--I forget his name--say Smith. He made a blunder, same as I did in taking you and the doctor here for slavers." "Oh!" cried Rodd, laughing. "Ah, it warn't anything to laugh at, my lad, with round shot coming a-splashing right across your bows. Certainly it was in a fog, and my craft didn't get hit, but more than once the balls came pretty near, and I remember thinking whether if the cutter did sink us we should all be able to swim ashore, and I come to the conclusion that we couldn't in our boots, for it was about nine miles." "I should think not," replied Rodd dryly. "But, Captain Chubb--about that brig; do you think they'd get right away to sea?" "I shouldn't think they'd try to, my lad." "They seemed to be trying to." "Not they. Her skipper, as soon as he got outside the harbour, would try to creep under the lee of the high ground somewhere out west. Whether he'd do it or not is quite another thing. Let's hope he did, for I don't care about hearing that good men and true have been drowned in a storm, even if they are French. I am not like your uncle here." "Come, I say, Captain Chubb," cried the doctor indignantly, "how dare you say that! Surely a thinking man can have a feeling of antipathy against Napoleon Bonaparte and all his works without being accused of liking to see brave Frenchmen drowned." "Beg pardon, sir. I suppose you are right," granted the skipper; "but I should like to hear that that there smart brig got safe away." "Well, I hope so too," said Uncle Paul shortly, and with a look in his countenance that made Rodd think about some words a friend had once said about a red rag to a bull. "But I suppose you don't believe that vessel had some emissaries of Napoleon on board, come to set fire to the port of Havre?" "Nay," said the skipper, drawing out the negative very deliberately. "Don't see any likelihood of their doing such a thing. What for? Suppose they did get it alight, that wouldn't bring Bony back. Nay, his game's about up now, and there will be quiet again over here for a bit, though I wouldn't venture to say for how long. Keeping quiet isn't in a Frenchman's nature." "But there was evidently something very special about the vessel, or else the French Government wouldn't have sent orders for her to be seized." "French Government did?" "Yes, I believe so," replied Uncle Paul. "We saw the officer and his men come riding in with the dispatch." "Nay. Order for the Revenue to put men on board." "Oh no," replied Uncle Paul. "From what we saw and what we heard, it was something much more important than that. Why, hang it, captain, they wouldn't have turned out the garrison and manned all the forts to stop the progress of a smuggler, would they?" "We wouldn't at Plymouth, sir; but there's no knowing what Frenchmen will do. But there, I give in. It must have been something stronger than that, and I am beginning to think that squire here's right, and that yon vessel, the--the--the--" "_Jeanne d'Arc_" cried Rodd. "Right," snorted the skipper. "She was something of a privateer, on mischief bent, and I shouldn't be a bit surprised if we was to hear something more about her. I don't know, though; if the storm blows itself out before morning we shan't lie long here in harbour, but make away south as fast as I can make the schooner bowl along." "Then you think the weather will hold up soon?" said Rodd. "Nay, I am not going to think, squire; I'll wait until I can be sure. Anyhow, I won't fill my pipe till we get aboard." "Then you mean to try soon?" cried Rodd eagerly. "Why not?" replied the skipper gruffly. "Look yonder; what do you say to that?" "That" was the presence of Joe Cross, who was being ushered into the dining-saloon by the waiter, to announce that the wind had sunk a bit and only came in squalls, between two of which he thought he could easily run the boat alongside of the schooner. And he did--while the next morning broke almost absolutely calm. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. A QUESTION OF FEAR. It was as if all the bad weather had been left behind, for after a little snatch or two, as Joe Cross called them, the cruise down south had been glorious. The bluff, good-humoured sailor explained to Rodd what he meant by a snatch, something after this fashion. "You see, sir, after we started from Havre the weather seemed to be a bit sorry for itself for being so dirty, and you know how we bowled along down south till the wind got into a tantrum again--got out of bed the wrong way, as you may say, and then everything was wrong. We were getting into the Bay, you see, where it comes quite natural to lay all that day. In the Bay of Biscay O! Then Nature got all out of sorts again. It seemed as if she was waxy to let us have it so comfortable, and made a snatch to drag us back again. But the old man was one too many for her, and kept on for them two bad days, when we sailed out of her reach and everything was fine." "Yes, Joe, it was fine. All that coast of Spain and Portugal was lovely." "Yes, sir, and you got grumbling 'cause your uncle wouldn't give orders for us to let go the anchor for you to go fishing." "Well, see how grand it was, and how calm the sea used to get of an evening before we put in to Gibraltar." "And then you weren't half satisfied, sir. You'll excuse me, Mr Rodd, sir, but you do make me laugh;" and to the boy's great annoyance the man half turned from him, leaned over the taffrail, laughed till his sides shook, and then pulling himself up suddenly wiped his eyes. "I am very sorry, sir," he said. "Doesn't seem like it," cried Rodd warmly, as he made as if to go away. It was one evening when the calm sea as it heaved seemed in places to glint forth all the glorious colours of a beautiful pearl shell, and the east wind was of a different complexion to that familiar to an English lad, for it was soft, balmy and sweet, suggestive of its having been blowing gently for miles and miles over beds of flowers. "Oh, don't go away in a tiff, Mr Rodd, sir. It was only me, and you know what I am. I didn't mean no offence." "Well, it was offensive," said Rodd. "How would you like to be laughed at?" "Me, sir?" cried the man merrily. "Me who has been knocking about the sea nearly all my life, first in a west-country fishing-boat, and then in a King's ship, and been in action! Like being laughed at! Why, bless your heart, sir, it suits me down to the deck. I like it. Deal better than having the old man dropping on to me about something being wrong aloft." "Well, I don't see that there was anything to laugh at," cried Rodd, softening down a little, for somehow the liking he had felt for the sturdy-looking sailor ever since he had come on board had gone on increasing, and Rodd affected Joe's society more than that of any one in the ship. At least he said so to Uncle Paul, who shook his head and with a grim smile joined issue. "No, Pickle," he cried, "I won't have that. You seem to make better friends with the cook than with anybody." "Oh, uncle," replied the boy, "you always do tease me about my appetite." "Never mind, Pickle," said Uncle Paul good-humouredly. "Go on eating, and grow." But to return to the conversation by the taffrail. "No, sir," said Joe Cross, "of course you don't, sir. It'd be contrairy to nature if you did. We chaps can't see ourselves. There's the old Bun. He's been offended over and over again because people told him he was so fat. He can't see it, sir." "Oh, he must," cried Rodd, laughing. "There aren't no must in it, sir. He can't. He might find it out perhaps if he tried to get into a pair of boy's trousers--yours, for instance; but then that aren't likely, because you won't give him the chance, and what's more, he wouldn't want to. You try him some day about being too fat, and you see if he don't stare at you." "He will, Joe, when I'm so rude to him. But come now, you are shuffling. Why is it that you laugh at me?" "Well, sir, because I like you, for one thing, and another is because you are such an unreasonable chap." "I? Unreasonable?" cried Rodd hotly. "That I'm sure I'm not!" "Why, sir, wasn't you put out because your uncle and the old man wouldn't sail right into the Mediterranean Sea?" "Well, there was nothing unreasonable in that. I am sure it would have been very interesting." "Not it, sir. I've been there over and over again, and it always seemed to me just like any other sea, only a bit rougher sometimes, and it aren't got hardly any tide. You wait till we get a little further on, and you'll find plenty to make you open you eyes wider than ever you opened them before. I don't know a finer place for seeing wonders of the deep than along where we are going, as you say we are to, right along the West Coast of Afriky. Why, you might begin fishing and dredging directly after we had put in at Mogador, where the fish are wonderful, and you can't drop in a line without hauling something out." "That's good," cried Rodd eagerly; "but I am afraid uncle won't let us have much time for ordinary fishing. He will be more on the look-out for curiosities." "Ah, well, there's plenty of them too, sir--all sorts, and the farther you gets into warmer water the more there are." "What sort?" asked Rodd. "All sorts, and the nearer you are to land the more you get. Then I suppose some time we shall come upon that there Sargassey Sea." "Where's that?" asked Rodd. "Right away down south, sir. Let's see, if I remember right we falls in with that soon after you pass the islands." "What islands?" "Let's see; I ought to know, sir. The fust that comes near Europe is the Azores; then farther south there's that there island where all the sick people goes, Madeiry; then there's the Canaries, where the birds come from; only they aren't all yaller like people keeps in their cages. Most I seed there was green, and put me in mind of them little chaps as we have at home with the yaller heads--you know, sir; them as cries, `A little bit of bread and no cheese.' And you see them up country, a-twittering among the hedges." "Yes, I know," said Rodd sharply; "but what about the Sargassey Sea?" "Ah! I'm thinking it was after that we come to that sea, only I aren't quite sure, sir. But if I recollect right, they say it shifts about according to what sort of weather we have." "Well, so does every sea," cried Rodd, "when the waves are running high." "Ah, but they don't run high here, sir. You see, the Sargassey Sea aren't like other seas, and I suppose it's only part of the Atlantic after all. It's all smooth like because as far as you can see it's all like one great bed of floating seaweed, so thick that you can hardly sail through it at times, and if you go out into it in a boat it's as much as you can do to dip your oars." "Have you been out amongst it then?" asked Rodd. "Yes, sir, more'n once. It was when I was in the _Prince George_ off the West Coast of Africa, and we had got a surgeon on board there, and him and our second lieutenant had both got it badly." "What, West African fever?" cried Rodd. "No, no, sir; same as your uncle's got--looking after strange things as lives in the sea. I was one of the crew of the second cutter then, and in the beautiful calm weather we used to take the doctor and the second luff out in this Sargassey Sea, which used to look sometimes as if we were floating about in green fields." "Oh, you mean the Sargasso Sea!" cried Rodd. "Nay, I don't, sir; I means the Sargassey Sea." "Well, that's the same thing, only you spell it differently," cried Rodd. "Oh no, sir; that I don't. That's a thing as I never pretended to do. I can take my spell at the pump or at any other job; but what you call spelling was never in my way." "But you mean the same thing," cried Rodd. "It isn't Sar-gass-ey; it's Sar-gass-o." "Ho! Sar-gass-ho, is it, sir?" "Yes, of course." "All right, sir; I'm willing. But my one was all alive with little things, little fish and slugs and snails of all kinds of rum sorts; and our second luff used to make us haul in great lengths of the seaweed as was floating about, and then help him to pick 'em out into bottles till they were quite full, and looking just as if they was pickles same as you see in the grocers' shops in Plymouth town." "Well, the same as you saw uncle and me do that day during the calm?" "Yes, sir, just like that, only yours as you did were small shop and ours was like big warehouse, though I don't think our doctor did much good with them, because so many of them used to go bad, and our cook and his mate used to have to throw no end away and wash the bottles." "Ah, ours won't go bad," said Rodd confidently. "My uncle will preserve them differently to that." "Oh, yes, I suppose so, sir. You see, we've all come out this time ready for the job; our officers on the _Prince George_ only did their bit just for a day or two's holiday like, and our job was to look after the mounseers' cruisers, not to catch tittlebats and winkles, and it wasn't so very long after that we was at it hammer and tongs with a big French frigate, making work for the doctor of a precious different kind, and for our ship's carpenters too. Different sort of nat'ral history that was, sir, I can tell you, for we lost nineteen of our men and had a lot wounded; but we took the frigate, and carried her safe into Portsmouth Harbour." "Ah!" cried Rodd softly, as his eyes flashed at the thoughts of the deeds of naval daring carried out by our men-of-war. "I wish I'd been there!" "You do, sir?" said Joe. "Mean it?" "Mean it? Of course! There, don't look at me like that. I wasn't thinking of being a man, but a reefer--one of those middies that we used to see at Plymouth." "Ah, it's all very fine, sir," said Joe, shaking his head, "and it sounds very nice about firing broadsides and then getting orders to board when the two big men-of-war get the grappling-irons on board and you have to follow your officers, scrambling with your cutlass in your hand out of the chains from your ship into the enemy's; and all the time there's the roaring of the guns and the popping away of the marines up in the tops, and the men cheering as your officers lead them on. It's a very different thing, sir, to what you think, and so I can tell you." "Why, Joe," cried Rodd, almost maliciously, "you talk as if you felt afraid!" "Afraid, sir?" said the man, quietly and thoughtfully. "No, sir. No, sir; I never felt afraid, and I never knowed one of my messmates as said he was." "Oh no, of course they wouldn't say so," cried Rodd, laughing. "No, sir, that's right. But I aren't bragging, sir. I've been in several engagements like that, and my messmates always seemed to feel just as I did. You see, they'd got it to do, sir, and we always felt that it was only mounseers that we'd got to beat and captur' their ship; and then as soon as we had begun, whether we was crews of guns, stripped and firing away, or answering the orders to board, why, then we never had time to feel afraid." "What, not when you saw your messmates shot down beside you?" cried Rodd. "My word, no, sir!" cried Joe, laughing. "We none of us felt afraid then; it only made us feel wild and want to sarve the other side out. No, sir," continued the bluff fallow, in a quiet matter-of-fact way, and his voice utterly free of vaunt, "whether it's a sea-fight or things are going wrong in a storm, we sailor fellows are always too busy to feel afraid. You see, I think, sir, it has something to do with the drill and discipline, as they calls it, training the lads all to work together. You see, it makes them feel so strong." "I can't say I do see," said Rodd. "No, sir, because you haven't been drilled; but it's like this 'ere. One man's one man, and a hundred men's a hundred men--no, stop; that aren't quite what I mean. It aren't in my way, Mr Rodd, sir; I never was a beggar to argue. The fat Bun can easily beat me at that. This 'ere's what I mean. One man's one man, and a hundred men's a hundred one men. That's if they aren't drilled and trained like sailors or soldiers; but if they are trained, you see each one man feels as if he has got a hundred men with him all working together, and con-se-quently, sir, every chap aboard feels as if he's as strong as a hundred men. Now don't you see, sir?" "Well, yes," said Rodd quietly; "I think I begin to see what you mean." "Why, of course you do, sir. Say it's heaving a boat aboard, and it takes twenty men to do it. Why, if they go and try one at a time, where are you? But if you all go and take hold together, and your officer says to you, `Now, my lads, with a will, all together! Heave ho!' why then, up she comes. Well now, I do call that rum! Look at that, sir. If here aren't the old man, just as if he had heard what we was talking about, passing the word for gun drill, or else a bit of knicketty knock with the cutlasses and pikes!" CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. A STRANGE VISITOR. Upon hearing Joe Cross's announcement Rodd eagerly turned, to find his uncle just coming on deck to take his evening walk after a busy day with his specimens that he had dragged and trawled from the calm sea. The captain had just given orders to the mate to summon all hands on deck, and one of the first proceedings was to call the men to attention, the next to send them to the small-arms chest, from which each returned with cutlass buckled on and carrying a boarding pike, which were placed in a rack round the mainmast. Rodd took his position just opposite as the men fell into line; Uncle Paul seated himself as far off as he could get, in a deck-chair, where he sat and frowned; and then Captain Chubb diligently put his men through all the evolutions of cutlass drill over and over again, till he was satisfied, when he bade them fall out for a few minutes to rid themselves of their cutlasses. In the interval Rodd went up to where his uncle was seated. "I say, uncle," he said, "how the men have improved!" Uncle Paul grunted, and just then Captain Chubb strolled up. "Well, sir," he said, "we shall soon have a crew now as smart as a man-of-war's." "So I see," grumbled Uncle Paul; "and when you have got them perfect what are you going to do with them?" "Ah, that remains to be seen, sir. There's nothing like being prepared." "Better let the men rest after all they have done to-day. What with their deck cleaning and the work they have done for me, they don't want setting to play at soldiers." "Playing at soldiers, eh, sir? I call it playing at sailors. No use to lock the stable-door after the steed's stolen. My lads may never be called upon to fight, but if by bad luck we are, I should like them to be able to use their fighting tools like men." "Oh, it isn't likely," said Uncle Paul, "in a peaceful voyage like ours." "Most unlikely things are those that happen first," growled the captain. "But you worry the men with too much work, and I want them to be fresh and ready for me to-morrow morning. I don't want the poor fellows to be discontented." "Discontented, sir!" cried the skipper hotly. "I should like to see them look discontented! But not they! They like it. Puts them in mind of their old fighting days. Now you shall see them go through their drill with the boarding pikes, and see how smart I have made them. I say they like it, sir; and I know." "Then I suppose," said Uncle Paul, "you will set them to work lumbering about that great gun, pretending to load and fire it. Why, who in the world do you expect we are going to encounter out here on the high seas? We are not at war with the French." "Captain Chubb thinks we may meet with the privateer," said Rodd merrily. "Don't you make rude remarks, Rodney!" cried Uncle Paul angrily. "Well, there, captain, I suppose you will have your own way, but it seems to me great waste of time." "Oh no, sir," said the skipper good-humouredly. "I suppose you mean to run in and up some of those rivers we shall pass by and by?" "Most certainly," cried the doctor. "Well, and what then, sir? You are going right out of civilisation there, and among black tribes and warlike people who are ready for anything, from attacking another tribe and bringing the prisoners down the river to sell for slaves, up to taking a fancy to any smart craft they can master, and then stripping her and burning her to the water's edge." "And what becomes of the crews?" cried Rodd sharply. "Well, Mr Rodd, that's rather a hard question to answer. If ever you go to Liverpool or Bristol and you get asking questions amongst the merchants there, you will find they have got some queer tales to tell. Sorry you don't like my plans, Dr Robson, but even if we never get into trouble we shall be none the worse for being prepared." "Oh, I am not going to complain, Captain Chubb. Drill away as much as you like. You say the men like it, and it satisfies you. Then my boy Rodd, here, nothing will please him better than letting him have a canister of gunpowder to play with and pop off that gun. So I am in a minority, and I will give in. There, you'd better take Rodd and drill him too." "I'll take you at your word, sir," said Captain Chubb, laughing, and making Rodd start with eagerness. "Fall in, my lads. Pikes." The drilling went on till it was beginning to grow dusk, and then pikes were laid aside and orders given for the gun crew to take their places, Rodd closing up quickly in anticipation of something coming off. "Rather warm weather, Mr Rodd, sir," whispered Joe Cross, as, aided by another of the crew, he proceeded to cast loose the lashings and strip the tarpaulin off the long gun. "If it warn't for the showers this 'ere pocket pistol might very well do without her greatcoat. I say, sir, didn't I hear your uncle tell the old man that you were to have a canister of powder just to fire her off once or twice?" "Yes, Joe, but I think it was only to tease me." "You ask the skipper to let you have one. It's all very well to go on ramming and sponging and making believe to load, but it is like having your grog served out in an empty glass. And if the old man grunts and shakes his head and grumbles about waste of ammunition, you just ask him if he'd mind you bringing one of your canisters of powder as you and your uncle's got for your double guns. He might let you then, if your old man don't mind. We could divide it into about four goes as wouldn't make much noise, and there'd be some sense in it. There would be something to ram down; and the lads would like it." "But the captain wouldn't let you fire away any cannon balls, Joe." "Well, no, sir, I suppose not, unless we got the cook up with a pudding-bag to hold it over the muzzle and catch them again." "Wouldn't a straw hat be better, Joe?" said Rodd dryly. "Well, now you talk of it, sir," replied the man, grinning, "I never thought of that. Perhaps it would if one of us held it lightly in his hand and eased off a good deal when we fired. If you didn't do that of course the ball might go right through." "Well, I'll ask the captain, Joe." "Yes, sir; do, sir. As I said afore, it would please the lads, and do good too, for it would clean the gun's teeth, sweep away all the scales and rust." "Scales and rust!" cried Rodd. "Why, it isn't an iron gun; it's brass." "Why, so it is, Master Rodd, sir. Why, only fancy me not thinking of that! But here he comes. Try it on, sir." "Shall I, Joe?" "Yes, do, sir; as I said, it would please the lads. They're just like a lot of school-boys when they gets a chance of a change." "And Joe Cross doesn't care a bit," said Rodd. The man gave the speaker a comical look as he replied-- "Well, sir, you see, I was a boy once, and I was born with a lot of human natur' in me, and I never got rid of it, and I am afraid I never shall. There, go on, sir," whispered Joe. "Pitch it into him at once." Rodd moved towards the skipper as he came up, and as the latter looked at him inquiringly he began-- "You heard what my uncle said, captain?" "What about, my lad?" "Letting me have some powder to play with." "Ay, ay! But you don't want that?" "Oh, I don't know. I wish you would have a canister and let the men load the gun properly." "Eh?" "It would be like practice." "Well, that's true. But it would be only waste of powder; and I'm not going to waste any of the cannon balls." "No, I don't want you to do that." "Besides, I don't want to use either of the powder-bags, and they're made for a regular charge." "Beg pardon, sir," cried Cross. "Might make small charges up with a snuff of powder wrapped up in paper; and then I could prick and prime." "Um-m-m!" the captain growled, and frowned, while the gun crew stood with parted lips, looking as eager as so many boys on the Fifth of November. Then the captain grunted. "There, Mr Rodd," he said, "it will be a bit of practice for the lads, and it won't please you, of course. You don't want to see the gun really fired?" "Oh, I have seen salutes fired, at Plymouth." "Ah, so you have, of course, my lad. But those are bangs, and this would be a bit of a whiff." "That doesn't matter," said Rodd. "It will be real, and not pretending to fire." "Very well," said the captain, smiling grimly. "Maybe you'd like to fire?" "Yes, I should," cried Rodd. "No; let Joe Cross and the other men do that. I'll stand aside." There was a little more discussion, quite in opposition to ordinary drill, while the skipper went below and then returned with a pound gunpowder canister painted red. "I say, look here, Chubb," cried the doctor. "Shall I have to move?" "Oh no, sir; we shan't shoot you," replied the skipper grimly. "You'll be safe enough, unless the long gun bursts. But she's too new and strong for that. Here you are, Cross. Make that into four charges." The speaker was in the act of passing the canister to the man, when the look-out man from forward suddenly shouted-- "Sail ho!" "Where away?" cried the captain. "About five points off the starboard bow, sir. Leastwise, sir, it aren't a sail. It's a big boat, bottom upwards and just awash." "Stop a minute," cried Rodd. "I'll fetch our glass." "Bring mine too, my lad," cried the captain, and Rodd raised his hand in token of his having heard the order, as he dashed to the cabin hatch, to return directly after and find that his uncle was forward along with the skipper scanning the object about a quarter of a mile away. "Catch hold, uncle," cried Rodd, and he held out the telescope with one hand, and the captain's big mahogany tubed spy-glass, decorated with coloured flags, with the other. "No, focus it and use it yourself, boy. I'll have a look afterwards." Rodd raised the glass at once to his eye, but by this time the skipper had caught the object, and began to growl remarks. "Capsized long-boat," he muttered. "No, it's a fish--sick whale, I think. But I don't know. It's moving pretty well through the water. What do you make of it, my lad?" "It's very big and long," cried Rodd excitedly, "and it may be part of a whale's back just showing above the water. I don't know, though. I never saw a whale swimming before. Here, I know! I think it's five or six porpoises swimming one after the other and close together." "Nay!" growled the captain. "It's something--" "It's gone!" shouted Rodd. "Oh, uncle, I wish you'd seen it. It seemed to sink down out of sight all at once." "'Cause it didn't like to be looked at, sir," whispered Joe Cross. "But look out, sir," he cried eagerly. "There it is again, a little farther off." "Have a look, doctor," said the skipper, passing the glass to Uncle Paul. "Is it a whale?" asked the doctor. "Nay, that's no whale, sir," replied the captain. "A whale don't go under water like that when she sounds. Down goes her head, and she throws her flukes up in the air." "Then what is it?" cried Uncle Paul, with the glass now glued to his eye. "It's something very big. Yes, I can see plainly now-- blackish-grey, and shiny as if slimy. It seems to undulate, for one minute the back seems to be only a few feet long, then three or four parts are above the surface at once, as if the creature were twenty or thirty feet long." "Yes, sir; I can see that with the naked eye.--Nay, nay, sir; you keep the glass. It's more in your way than mine. Seems to me as if we have hit a curiosity for you, only it's rather too big to tackle." "I think it's a great snake," cried Rodd excitedly. "I mean, a very large eel, swimming on the top, and he keeps throwing his head about as if he were feeding in the middle of a shoal of fish." "Yes, it is something like that, Rodd," said the doctor; "but no conger eel could be as large as that, and really I don't know." "Sea-sarpint, sir," whispered Joe Cross to Rodd, and looking longingly at the glass the while. "Nonsense!" cried Rodd. "Here, you have a look, Joe," and he passed the glass to the sailor. "Now then," he said, "what do you make of it?" "I say sea-sarpint, sir." The captain growled more deeply than ever. "Sea-sarpint!" he said, in a tone of disgust. "There, hold your tongue, my lad. You're a naturalist, doctor; you haven't got no sea-sarpints in your books, have you?" "No," replied the doctor, handing the glass to one of the men, as he caught his longing eye. "But this must be a very curious fish, and it is evidently feeding. I wish it were coming this way, so that we could have a better view." Joe Cross lowered the boy's glass and looked questioningly at Rodd, giving at the same time a wag of his head in the direction of the nearest man. "Yes, let him have a look," said Rodd hoarsely, and as the glass was passed the boy caught the sailor by the sleeve, and whispered, making Joe start and gaze at him inquiringly, before stooping down and giving his thigh a slap with his right hand. "Ay, ay, sir!" he whispered. "Ask the skipper." "Ask the _captain_ what?" said the skipper sharply. "I have been thinking, Captain Chubb," panted Rodd. "Have the long gun loaded with a ball, and let the men try and hit that thing. 'Tisn't above a quarter of a mile away." "Eh? Have a shot at it, my lad?" said the captain, staring, and then shading his eyes to watch the object that was gliding along, making the water ripple strangely, while all around it was in violent ebullition, betokening that a large shoal of fish was feeding there. "Well, I don't know. What do you say, doctor?" continued the speaker. "I don't say that the lads could hit it, but they might." "Certainly," said the doctor eagerly. "Try." There was no occasion to give orders for a ball to be fetched up. Joe Cross and Rodd had darted off together, plunged down the hatchway, and were back again in an incredibly short space of time, the sailor carrying the ball, while Rodd had snatched up three or four big sheets of paper from off one of the laboratory lockers, and then as rapidly as possible a good charge of powder was emptied into one of the sheets, the gun's crew fell into place and rammed the charge home in the most business-like manner, the ball followed, Joe Cross thrust the pricker down into the touch-hole and primed, while another of the men ran with a piece of slow match to the cook's galley, where the water was being boiled for tea. Everything was done skilfully and with speed, while all on deck were in a state of profound excitement and dread lest the great creature should disappear from sight and rob the spectators of their looked-for sport. "Oh, do be quick!" cried Rodd. "Yah-h-h!" came in a groan, for as the words left the boy's lips there was a violent ebullition where the great serpent or whatever it was had been playing, the beautiful ripple of the shoal of fish died out, and in the fast-fading light of the evening the sea all around lay gleaming and grey, as it gently heaved, with no other movement now. "Oh, what a pity we were so long," said Rodd dismally. "I believe we should have hit it. I am disappointed!" "Well, so am I, if you come to that, Rodd, my boy," said the doctor, "though I don't think the men could have made a successful shot. You see, it requires a great deal of practice to hit an object like that with a big gun." "Whatever it was," growled the captain, "it was feeding on that shoal of fish, and when it made that dash it scared the lot away. There it is again! You, Joe Cross, take a good long careful sight. Don't hurry. Slow and sure. My word, you ought to hit that, my lad! It's a big 'un and no mistake. Silence there! Every man in his place. Slew the muzzle round a little more. Ready, Cross?" "No, sir; want to lower a little;" and as he spoke the sailor thrust in one of the wedges a trifle. "That's about got it, sir." "Looks as if he'd come to stay, doctor," said the captain excitedly, as he bent down to glance along over the gun's two sights, for the shoal of fish had risen once more, turning the beautiful smooth sea into a diaper-like pattern, while the strange object seemed as far as they could make out to be making a snatching dart here and another there, seeming to be like some whale-like creature with a long neck. "Now she's steady, sir," whispered Joe Cross huskily, after taking the captain's place for another sight. "It's as near as I can get, sir. If you'll give me the word." As he spoke the sailor drew back slightly, the captain cried "Fire!" and with a heavy, sharp crack a puff of white smoke darted from the muzzle and began to expand forward like a grey balloon, obscuring everything from the sight of the lookers-on for about a minute, before it rose clear, and then the darkening sea was all grey once more. CHAPTER NINETEEN. CHUBB RE SEA-SERPENTS. "Hah! Very disappointing--very," said the doctor. "Yes, it's gone, I suppose, sir. One couldn't see where the shot hit for smoke, but I expect it turned up the water and scared the thing away. Well, it's best as it is. A great thing like that might have grown very dangerous if it had been hit." "Oh, we don't know that," cried the doctor. "Well, I suppose we can do nothing more," he continued, as, following his nephew's example, he strained his eyes over the darkening plain. "No," said the captain. "Cover up that gun, my lads, and break off. You, Cross, take charge of the gun, and well sponge her out. You others, pikes; fall in. Now then, right face. March!" "I'm disappointed," said the doctor, as the men were marched off. "I should have liked to have had a closer examination of that creature. Well, captain, what next?" "Tea," said the skipper bluntly. The tropics were very near, and the night began to come on rapidly, so that the tea meal was partaken of by the light of the swinging lamp. But before it was over the moon rose above the sea very bright and silvery, and getting rapidly near the full, while later on as it rose higher it was nearly as light as day. Rodd was anxious to get on deck again, to see if by any possibility the weird-looking object that they had seen that evening might rise to the surface; but anxious as he was to join the sailors and question them as to whether they had seen anything more, the conversation between his uncle and the skipper kept him below, where he listened to their different expressed opinions. At last, though, he went on deck, and found all the men grouped together forward, and whispering to themselves about the visitor they had seen. One man said it was a sign, and another grunted, while a third turned to Joe Cross to ask his opinion. It was the stout heavy member of the crew who went by the name of the Bun, and seeming the most impressed of the whole crew he asked Joe Cross as above. "Yes," said Cross slowly, "you are quite right, Ikey Gregg. It's a sign." "What's a sign?" asked Rodd, coming up. "The--the--Bun--Ikey Gregg says it is a sign, sir, that we see that big squirming wormy thing, and I says he's quite right, sir. It is a sign." "Why, what can it be a sign of, Joe?" "Sea's calm, sir, and that brings all the shoals of young fish up to the top to feed, and that there thing that feeds on them come up to the top to get a regular tuck out." "Oh, that won't do," said Gregg the fat. "Things like that only come up to the top at particular times, and you mark my words, it means a storm." As the man finished, he turned his eyes to right and left, scanning the beautiful silvery water before him, and then uttering a loud yell, he dashed by his companions, made for the forecastle hatch, and without troubling himself about the steps, leaped right down. "What's the matter with Ikey?" said one of the men. "Showing us how he can jump?" "Nonsense!" said Rodd. "It was as if he had been scared by something. He looked quite wild." The boy walked close up to the rail and looked over, to see that the whole of the water right away from the bows was apparently ablaze with fire; but for a time he could make out nothing else, in spite of its crystal clearness and the way in which in addition it was laced and latticed as it were by the rays of the moon. Seeing nothing for the moment likely to have alarmed the sailor, he was about to turn off, but only to start the next minute, and stand clinging with both hands to the rail, for some fifteen or twenty yards away the erst calm, heaving sea began to be violently agitated, running as it were with the swiftness of a mill-stream; and then something dull and glistening and shining like a halo appeared just beneath the surface, rising till it was quite clear of the water, and passing the schooner in one broad pale streak. He was too much astonished to be startled, and for a few moments the only idea that he could form was that a good-sized vessel had careened over on to its side and was swiftly gliding along almost level with the water. Then all at once something of the same moonlit glistening tint, but long and sinuous, slowly rose up eight or ten feet above the sea; then higher and higher till it was double that altitude, and in his excitement and agitation he realised that it was ended or begun by a snake-like head something after the fashion of that of a huge conger, the eyes being many inches across and dull and heavy after the fashion seen in a deep-sea fish. One moment he thought it eel-like, the next that it was some serpent, while to his utter astonishment what he took to be its neck rose higher in a graceful swan-like shape, beautiful in curve as it was horrible in its gleaming, pallid, slimy aspect. One of the great eyes seemed turned to him with a peculiar glare, while as he fixed his own upon it as if unable to resist the attraction, he made out that from behind the curve the elongated body of the creature rose just above the surface, carrying out the semblance on a great scale to some swan-like half-fishy creature, and then with a quick rush as if the water were being hurled from it by enormously powerful fin-like paddles, the strange fish, reptile, or whatever it was, had passed on into the hazy moonlit night and was gone. "Hullo here! Anything the matter, Rodd?" cried the familiar voice of Dr Robson, as he came quickly forward, followed by the skipper. "Where is it?" "Where is it, uncle?" faltered the boy. "Yes; that man Cross came running down to us in the cabin to say that they had seen the sea-serpent again." Rodd slowly raised one hand from the rail to which he had been holding, and pointed outward over the sea. "Well," said Uncle Paul, "what are you pointing out? Plenty of moonlight, and glorious phosphorescence, but where's the sea-serpent? Where did it show again? Why, what's the matter, boy?" he continued, catching his nephew by the arm and taking his hand. "Don't stand staring like that. Your hand's all wet, and like ice! Have you been frightened?" "I--don't know, uncle, I suppose so," said the boy slowly and dreamily. "I never saw anything like it before, and--and--it came so close to the schooner. I think I thought it was going to make a snatch at me and take me under water. But don't ask me now, please. I don't feel quite right. I suppose I am cowardly; but it made Gregg run away." "Then why didn't you," said the doctor jocularly, "if it was so horrible as that?" "I couldn't, uncle," cried the boy passionately. "I turned cold all over and couldn't stir." "Well, come down below for a bit," continued the doctor. "Why, Chubb, the boy's had a regular scare." "Ah! and no wonder," said the skipper gruffly. "It scared the men too. They saw it." "What, the same thing that you fired at?" "Ah, that I don't know. That was a great long eely thing; but Joe Cross here says this was more like a great turtle, with flippers and a long neck, and a head like a snake." No more was said till they were in the cabin, where soon after he had found himself in safety, shut in and with the swinging lamp burning above his head, Rodd heaved a deep sigh and then uttered a forced laugh. "I couldn't help it, uncle," he said, "and I didn't think I could have been such a coward; but I am all right now. The other men did see it too, didn't they?" "Yes, my lad; they saw it too," replied the skipper; "and next time we goes ashore, if we are stupid enough to talk about it every one will laugh and say we are making up tales for the marines. I've known skipper after skipper who has seen something of the kind in the warm seas and has told yarns about them. But men don't often do so now, no matter what they see, for one don't like to be laughed at. Well, sir, I suppose you believe there's more queer things in the sea than most people know of?" "Well, yes," said Uncle Paul, "I am beginning to believe more and more that we who follow out natural history have a great deal to learn." "Take my word for it, sir, you have. But I dare say you will be disposed to laugh at me and think that I am making up a bit of gammon, when I ask you if you remember what a frigate looks like when she has got all her ports open and her lanterns lit." "I don't see why I should," said Uncle Paul quietly. "But of course I have seen a man-of-war like that by night; and a very beautiful object she is." "Very, sir. But what should you say if I was to ask you if you had seen a fish looking like a little frigate with her ports all open and her lights shining in a couple of rows along her sides--lights that don't burn, sir, but shine brightly as if they did?" "Well, I am not a man to laugh at anything new in science, Chubb," said the doctor quietly, "but between ourselves, your description is a bit too flowery." "Not a bit, sir." "I have seen," continued the doctor, "phosphorescent fish and insects, and even now, swimming round us, the sea is full of light-giving creatures, but nothing approaching your frigates with the ports open, or anything near them." "Well, sir, I could take you right away to the eastward into the Indian seas--and I am not romancing, mind, but talking honest truth--I could take you and squire here, where you could drag up fishermen sort of fish, big-mouthed fellows ready to swallow what they catches, fish that guide themselves down in the dark deeps of the sea amongst the seaweed at the bottom, and there they hang out from the tops of their heads long barbels that look like worms, and fish with them for other fishes, to catch them to eat." "Oh yes, that's right enough, captain," replied the doctor. "You know, Rodd, that great frog fish, the Father Lasher, as the fishermen call him. Why, captain, we have got them at home off the Devon coast." "I know," said the skipper. "I have seen them; but those are not what I mean. He didn't give me time to finish, squire," continued the skipper, facing round to Rodd. "My ones out yonder in the Eastern seas always live down below where it's deep and dark, and where the fishes couldn't see their baits. So what do you think they do?" "Swim up to where it's lighter," said Rodd. "Not they, sir. They grows a little bait as might be a little bit of meat at the end of their barbel-like fishing-lines, and wave it about in the water for the fish they want to catch to see." "You said it was all black darkness deep down there," cried Rodd. "So it is, my lad, and so that the fish may see it those little baits of theirs all glow with light, and shine out in the dark black water. Now, doctor, what do you think of that for a bit of nature?" "Extraordinary!" cried the doctor. "But who told you that?" "Nobody, sir. I have seen them with my own eyes." "Yes, but what about the men-of-war with their ports lit up?" "Of course I didn't mean men-of-war, sir. I thought I made you understand I meant fish. Fish about two foot long, with a row of lights down each side like lamps to see their way in the darkness. There, gentlemen, that's no story to tell to the marines, but a fact that I have seen with my own eyes; and if there's things like that deep down in the seas, I don't see anything wonderful in there being what some people calls sea-sarpints that might be as big as a great sparmacetti whale; and if you put some of them beside a cable a hundred foot long there isn't much rope to spare. I knew of a ninety-footer once, though they don't often get so long as that." CHAPTER TWENTY. A WARM BLUSH. Uncle Paul sat very quietly thinking for some time, while the other occupants of the cabin were waiting for him to deliver himself of what seemed to be gathering in his brain. "You see, Captain Chubb," he said at last, "human nature has always been prone to exaggerate. If a boy like my nephew here hooks a fish and loses it, he goes home and tells everybody that it was about five times as big as it really was." "Oh, uncle!" cried Rodd indignantly. "I am sure I never did!" "Well, well, perhaps not," said Uncle Paul shortly. "Don't say `perhaps not,' uncle. That isn't fair. You know I always try to tell the truth." "Well, well; yes, yes, yes, yes," said Uncle Paul testily. "I am not accusing you, Rodney. I am only alluding to what people who tell stories do." "Why, of course, uncle, they say what isn't true if they tell stories." "Will you oblige me, Rodney, by letting me continue what I was about to say?" "I beg pardon, uncle." "Yes, Captain Chubb," continued Uncle Paul, "there is that natural disposition born with us, one which requires a great deal of education to eliminate; that disposition to exaggerate in talking about things we have seen and others have not." "Yes, sir, I know," grunted the skipper. "People will stretch." "Exactly," said Uncle Paul--"magnify wonders that they have seen." "Quite right, sir. I did just now about that sparm whale. I don't believe after all that they get to a hundred foot." "Still," said the doctor, "we know what a spermaceti whale is; but this supposed creature which has been reported of over and over again under the name of the sea-serpent still lives only in the land of doubt--" "Oh, uncle!" cried Rodd. "Well, sir, I didn't see much doubt about that thing." "H'm! no," replied the doctor thoughtfully; "but still you must grant that we did not have a fair examination, and that neither of us, even if we were clever with our pencils, could sketch an exact representation of the natural phenomenon." "Nat'ral, sir?" said the skipper gruffly. "Well, to my mind it is a very unnatural sort of thing." "I think I could sketch it, uncle, if I were clever with my pencil, which I am not, for I can seem to see it quite plainly now, as it raised its neck out of the water when it swam by." "You think you could, my boy; but a great deal of it must have been under water, and your representation would be open to doubt." "Humph! What was it like, youngster?" said the skipper gruffly. "Just the same shape as a swan," said Rodd, with something like a shudder, "only enormously, big; but instead of having wings and feet it was just as if it had four great paddles." "That's right," grunted the skipper; "just like what I see about ten years ago in the Indian seas. I didn't see enough of this one to be able to tell." "Well," said the doctor gravely, "I for a long time have been of opinion that the reports that reach us from time to time about the sea-serpent must have some truth in them, though they have doubtless been greatly exaggerated." "Don't hear of many reports now, sir," said Captain Chubb. "We sea-going people have been laughed at too much." "Yes, I know," said the doctor, "and I have thought over these matters a great deal, and fully believe that we have a great many things to discover, both at sea and on land, quite as wonderful as the so-called sea-serpent. There's plenty of room, and I see no reason to doubt that there are great fish--" "This warn't a fish," growled the skipper. "Reptiles, then," grunted Uncle Paul, "which as a rule dwell far down in the depths of ocean, and which only occasionally seek, or are forced up to, the surface." "Forced up, uncle? What could force up a great thing like that?" "You ask that, Rodd? Why, what forces a fish up sometimes, to float upside down on the surface?" "Oh yes, I know," replied Rodd; "something wrong with its swimming bladder." "Exactly; and I should say such a creature as you saw would in its natural state be always living deep down in the ocean." "'Cept when he comes up to feed," growled Captain Chubb. "This 'ere one was hard at work in that shoal of fish." "I don't see that that interferes with my argument, Captain Chubb," said the doctor; "but what I was going on to say was this. There was a time in the history of this earth, when just such creatures as my nephew here described used to be plentiful." "How long ago?" asked the skipper. "Ah, that's more than any one of us can say; but I have seen their remains turned to stone, laid bare in a stone quarry--that is to say, their skeletons, which show pretty well what must have been their shape; and if they existed once there is no reason why some of their descendants, though very rarely seen, may not still survive, though I am half afraid that my nephew here must have some half-forgotten lingering memories of one of these creatures that he has seen in some geological work, and upon seeing that fish or reptile let his imagination run riot and finished it off by memory." Rodd shook his head. "I saw it plainly enough, uncle." And the skipper gave his head a sapient nod, while the doctor shook his. "What were you going to say, Captain Chubb?" "Only this 'ere, sir. I have 'eard more argufying and quarrelling about sea-sarpints than about almost anything else. I say sarpints, but I mean these things, and I say this. It will never be settled properly till one of 'em is caught--which aren't likely--or one of them is cast ashore so as everybody can see fair and square. I believe in 'em, and I've good reason to." "So do I, uncle," cried Rodd. "Well," said Uncle Paul, "I have for a long time had my doubts, and now I am no longer a sceptic." He looked very hard at the skipper as he spoke, and feeling that he was called upon to answer, the sturdy captain shook his head and brought his big hand down heavily upon the cabin table. "That you are not, sir," he said; "your head's too full of science and knowledge and larning to be what you say. I don't quite exactly know what it means, but I'll answer for it you are not that; and now if you don't mind I should like for us to go up on deck again and have a good look round. It's 'most as light as day, and if a thing like that is playing around we are just as likely as not to sight it again. What do you say, sir, to taking your glass and being on the look-out?" "By all means," said the doctor. "Get the glass, Rodd. Hullo! What's the matter with you?" "Oh, nothing, uncle," said the boy, hastily rising. "Why, you took hold of the table as if you felt dizzy." "No, no, uncle. I am all right." "Not afraid, are you?" "I--I was for a moment, uncle." "Good lad and true! Naught to be ashamed on, and spoke out like a man," grunted the skipper. "But I tell you I am all right now," cried Rodd angrily, and he darted a fierce look at the speaker. "Of course you are, youngster; but you felt a bit skeart again, and 'nough to make you." "Yes," said Rodd sharply, "I did feel startled for a moment, but it's all gone now. Come on, uncle; I have got the glass;" and the boy made a dash for the cabin stairs. "I say," whispered the skipper, "that's better than brag, doctor." "Yes," said Uncle Paul, drawing a deep breath; "a great deal." They both then hastened up the stairs, to find Rodd half-way along the deck, hurrying with the glass under his arm to join the men, who were all gathered together at the bows, save their solitary messmate at the wheel. "Well, my lads, did you make it out again?" shouted the skipper. "No, sir," replied Joe Cross, who took upon himself the part of spokesman. "Aren't seen a sign of it. We have been casting it up among us that it got more than it liked in the shape of that bullet, and after going down, it turned waxy-like and come up again to have something to say to us, but turned worse and went down." "Humph!" grunted the skipper. "Then you think we hit it?" "Yes, sir; and some of the lads have been saying that if they was you they'd load the big gun well with a lot of grape-shot, and if the beggar come up again be on the look-out and let him have it." "Some on us, Joe Cross; not all." "Nay, but you meant it, Ikey Gregg," said Joe. "Not me, messmate. I says it's dangerous to be safe to get meddling with things like that." "Ay, ay!" came from two or three of the other men, but only in a half-hearted way. But it was encouragement enough for slow, quiet, fat Isaac Gregg to continue-- "You see, gentlemen, it's like this. That there long-necked sarpint thing has only got to make a rush and chuck itself out of the water aboard us here, and break the schooner's back, and where should us be then?" "I don't know," said the skipper shortly. "But what do you say, doctor?" "Well, for my part, speaking for the advancement of natural history, Captain Chubb, I should like to see that creature lying dead upon the surface, and left floating long enough for you and your men to take measurements, while my nephew and I did the best we could with pen and pencil to describe what might very well be called one of the wonders of the world." "And what do you say, squire?" asked the skipper, speaking eagerly. "I say you'd better load the gun again, Captain Chubb," replied Rodd, speaking very hurriedly. "We might hit it if it came up, and then we could try and do what my uncle says." "Right," growled the skipper. "Man the gun again, and you, Cross, come below with me and fetch a canister of grape-shot and a full business charge to load the piece. You lads who are not wanted for the gun, each of you take a musket and an axe. It aren't likely that we shall come to close quarters, but if we do--well, you know what." Every man on board joined in a hearty cheer, and in a very short time the preparations were made, even the cook playing his part of keeping the galley fire ready, while directly afterwards he edged up to where Joe Cross was in conversation with Rodd. "Thought I would come the old-fashioned dodge as well, sir," he said. "Old-fashioned? What do you mean?" "For firing the gun, sir. I've left the poker in between the bars to get red-hot. Put that to your touch-hole. Beats slow match hollow; don't it, Joe?" "Ay, that it do, mate, if you have got the fire, and the poker's hot; but you have to come back to the slow match if neither one nor t'other's ready. Well, Mr Rodd, sir, it don't look as if any of us is going to have the watch below to-night." "No, Joe, it doesn't. Do you think the monster will come up again?" "Can't say, sir, I'm sure, and to speak honest, there are times when I hope it will and there are times when I hope it won't. Sea-sarpints aren't much in my line. I have had a turn in a whaler, and though a right whale is a nasty kind of a bird to tackle when she is in her flurry, you know what you are about. There's the harpoon in her, and you have got her at the end of your line, and you're waiting for her with your lances ready to put her out of her misery. But even if you have got a few shot in her, a sea-sarpint's different sort of cattle altogether, and I didn't like the looks of this 'ere one at all. She came up quite vicious-like to look after us. You see her eye, Mr Rodd, sir? I did, sir, for a moment. There was a sort of leery look about it, and it seemed to me as if she had just picked you out and meant to have you. All the lads here know I'm one as never brags, but if there's a bit of fighting on I am always ready to stick to my mates, just as I would now." "Ay, ay, Joe! That's a true word," came in chorus. "Thank you, messmates," said Joe modestly. "Well, then, I'll speak out. Between you and me and the post, my lads, I hope this 'ere annymile won't come up to give us a shot." There was a low murmur at this which sounded very much like assent. "It's narvous sort of work, you see. If the schooner had been fitted out as a sea-sarpinter with the right and proper sort of tackle, why, that's another thing. But then you see, she aren't been. We haven't got the proper sort of tools, and we aren't been drilled to use them even if we had." "That's a true word, messmate," came in chorus. "And that's why I says I hope she won't look us up to-night; but if she is following us up and keeping one of them great sarcer eyes upon our keel somewheres far away down below, I hope she'll leave it till morning. After sunrise we shall be able to see better, and have had time to get rid of a nasty unked sort of feeling which rather bothers me just now, though I don't know how it is with you. There, Mr Rodd, sir, you faced the thing splendid. I see you, sir. You didn't turn round and run away like Ikey Gregg. You stood fast there with your hands resting on the rail, staring the thing straight in the face. How you managed to do it I don't know. But do it you did, and I admired you, sir." It was moonlight, and the change in Rodd's face passed unobserved, but it was scarlet, and felt so hot that the boy involuntarily raised his hand to his cheek, while a feeling of annoyance pervaded him as he looked at Joe Cross suspiciously, in the belief that the man must be bantering him; but as far as the boy could make out, Joe Cross's frank countenance was quite innocent of guile and he was speaking exactly as he felt. But Rodd was not at rest, and in the calm still watch that followed, with every one on the look-out and ready to imagine that each phosphorescent flash in the sea meant the moving upwards of the uncanny enemy, Rodd waited till all was still and restful and they seemed likely to be undisturbed, to make his way to Joe Cross's side and get him alone. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. QUERY--A COWARD? Joe had stationed himself on the larboard bow with his elbows resting upon the bulwark and his chin in his hands, gazing straight away to sea, his eyes fixed a little to the left of the dazzling path of light that extended from the moon to the schooner. So intent was he upon something he fancied he saw, that he did not hear Rodd's approach, and started violently upon being touched. "All right, sir; not asleep," he cried. "Oh, it's you, Mr Rodd! I fancied that it was the skipper, who thought he had caught me napping. Just you look yonder, sir. You are coming fresh to it. I have been staring till the little flashes of light make my eyes swim. Now then, just you look about half a cable's length left of that line of light, and see if you can't see something breaking water there." Rodd gazed intently in the direction indicated for some little time without speaking. "See anything, sir?" said Joe at last. "No." "That'll do then, sir. It was my fancy. Well, we are having a quiet night of it, sir. No more signs of that old sea bogy, and like enough we shan't get a squint at it again." "I don't suppose we shall now, Joe." "Sleepy, sir?" "Not a bit, Joe. Here, I want to speak to you about that thing." "I am listening, sir. Talk away. Rather queer, warn't it, to come upon a thing like that just when you didn't expect it?" "Yes, Joe; and you said something about my not being frightened." "Yes, sir. You quite capped me." "Stop a minute, Joe. I want to say something to you." "All right, sir," cried the sailor, looking wonderingly at the lad, who was speaking to him in a husky impressive tone. But Rodd remained speechless, and it was the sailor who broke the silence. "I'm a-listening, sir. Heave ahead." "Yes," cried Rodd desperately. "Look here, Joe; were you making fun of me?" "Fun of you? No, sir. It was only my way, just to make things a bit more cheery, for every one on deck seems to be in the doldrums, all on account of that great squirmy thing." "No, no, I don't mean that," cried Rodd. "I mean, making fun of me when you told the men I wasn't frightened." "Fun on you? No, sir. Why, it was as I said. You quite capped me, to see you standing facing that thing without shrinking a bit. I should have expected to see you frightened to death." "Then it was because you didn't look well, Joe," said Rodd, in a low hoarse voice, as he made a brave effort to set himself right with the man. "I was frightened--so horribly frightened that I couldn't stir." "Well, and no wonder, sir. Enough to make you. Why, it would have frightened a brass monkey, let alone a man. Look at Ikey Gregg. I believe if you'd ha' 'eard him you would have found he was calling `Mother!' Poor old chap. There aren't no way of proving it, as one don't know how heavy he was afore, but I believe he melted away a bit. Why, we was all like it, sir. It was a regular startler and no mistake." "Do you mean honestly that all the men were very much frightened?" "Why, of course, sir. I telled you I was as bad as bad could be, and my hair stood right up on end--leastwise, it felt as if it did; and I can tell you this: I didn't feel like that when we were going into action, and that's saying a good deal, when a fellow didn't know whether the first sixty-four pounder that was fired wouldn't send its shot right into his chest. And so you felt regular skeart, did you, sir?" "Yes, Joe; and it made me ashamed to hear you talking about me to the men as you did." "Oh, well, I don't know as it matters, sir. I said just what I thought, and I rather like to hear what you say, because it seems to brighten me up a bit." "Why? How?" "Oh, because it makes me feel that I wasn't quite such a cur as I thought I was. There, it's all right, sir, and I suppose it's quite nat'ral for any one to feel afraid when there's something really worth feeling afraid on. I dare say we should both be just as bad again if that thing was to shove its head out of the water again close by here." "Then you don't think I was such a coward, Joe?" "You! You a coward! Tchah! Let me hear any fellow say you are, and I'll hit him in the eye. But there, it's just as if that thing knowed we were all ready and waiting for it, and so it won't show. I'm beginning to wish that the skipper would send everybody but the watch for their spell below; but I don't suppose he will, and so we must make the best of it. But if I was you, sir, and didn't belong to the crew, I should just slip off below and turn into my bunk till breakfast-time in the morning. What do you say?" "No," said Rodd shortly; and he stopped on deck and watched with the men till the sun was well on high. Then the suggestion of breakfast seemed so full of promise that after partaking thereof he went back on deck, to stand scanning the beautiful sunlit plain with the glass; but no further glimpse was seen of the strange monster that day, nor yet during the next six weeks, during which time they glided into port for fresh provisions twice, the second time in that of the sunny Canary Islands. There a week was spent in inspecting the beauties and the wonders of the old volcanic caverns, before they were well at sea again with the sun daily growing hotter and sea and sky more beautiful. Days upon days were spent in exploring the attractions of the Sargasso Sea, till the doctor cried "Hold! Enough!" For the bottles in the laboratory were being filled up too fast, and there was too much to do yet in the farther south, towards which they sailed slowly and steadily on, till one day a holiday was announced, for the men had been hard at work rowing here and rowing there, hauling in drag and dredge, sounding and hoisting, harpooning fish, and busying themselves with the spoil they dragged on board, while Captain Chubb stumped up and down with his hands very deep in his pockets, scowling at his sullied deck, and wearing clouds upon his sun-tanned brow, till Dr Robson bade the men throw all the rest overboard, this order, for which the skipper had been impatiently waiting, being immediately supplemented by another, brief and prompt. "Buckets! Swabs!" And then as the slime of mollusc, fish and seaweed was washed away, and the deck of the schooner rapidly grew white again, the skipper smiled and entered into a pleasant chat with the tired naturalist and his nephew. The men's holiday was spent after the fashion of such holidays, over the buffoonery enjoyed by the crew, especially in olden days, in crossing the line; and then it was onward again amidst glorious sunrises and sunsets, amidst calms and fervent seas that seemed to blaze back the heat of the sun. It was all new to Rodd, and all glorious. He was never tired of seeing the flying-fish skim out of the water to seek safety, scattered by the pursuit of some bonito or dolphin, watching them till they dipped down into the smooth surface, as if to gather new strength, and then skim out again. The dolphins and bonito were caught, the boy growing skilful in darting down the harpoon-like "grains," the modern form of Neptune fish-spear. There were times too when the boy expressed his wonder that in spite of all the time they had been sailing south, it had been such a rare thing to meet or overtake another vessel. "A pretty good proof," the doctor would say, "of the vastness of the ocean." "And of how there is plenty of room, uncle, for any number of wonderful creatures such as we have never seen yet. But are you always going sailing on like this?" "Why, aren't you satisfied?" said Uncle Paul. "Satisfied, uncle? Oh yes, with what we are doing. But I haven't had nearly enough. I should like to go oil sailing like this for--" "Ever?" said the doctor dryly. "Oh no, uncle; I mean for long enough yet. But I say, isn't the world beautiful?" "More beautiful, boy, than words can express," replied the doctor gravely. "But no. Now we are getting into the Southern Tropics I am thinking of going more to the east and into the great bay, so as to get within range of the African shores. Perhaps we shall make for the mouths of one or two of the rivers, and get within soundings where we can do more dredging. I anticipate some strange discoveries in those portions of the ocean; but at present we will keep on skimming the surface and finding what we can." And so during the next two or three days they went sailing on, and found something that they had least expected, to Rodd Harding's great wonder and delight. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. THE KING'S SHIP. It was the afternoon of a blazing hot day, when the pitch was oozing out in drops in every exposed place, and Rodd had found it exceedingly unpleasant to touch any piece of the brass rail, bolt, the bell, or either of the guns, for the schooner was gliding on southward with every scrap of her white sails spread, and the wind that wafted her onward sent a feeling of lassitude through all on board. Some days before, Captain Chubb had set his men to work to rig up a small awning aft, and the doctor having declared that it was too hot for work, he and Rodd had spent most of their time beneath this shelter, till the latter had struck against it, declaring it was all nonsense, for the sun came hotter through the canvas than it did where there was no shade at all, or else it seemed to, for there was no breeze in the shelter, and though what wind there was seemed as if it had come past the mouth of a furnace, still it was wind, and the lad declared that it was far preferable to stewing under the awning. It was a lazy time, and the men, who had dressed as lightly as they could contrive, went very slowly about their several tasks, and at last when Rodd strolled towards the man at the wheel, he had to listen to a petition. It was fat Isaac Gregg who was taking his trick, as he called it, and he began at Rodd at once. "I've got something to ask you, sir," he said. "Oh, bother!" cried Rodd, taking off his straw hat to turn it into a fan. "It's too hot to listen. Don't ask me anything, because if you do, I shall be too stupid to tell you." "Oh, it aren't hard, sir," said the man innocently, as he let a couple of spokes pass through his hands and then ran them back again. "It's only as the lads asked me--" "Well, well, go on," said Rodd, for the man stopped. "Phew! It's just as if the tops of the waves where they curl over were white hot." "Yes, sir, it is a bit warm," said the man; "but I've felt it warmer." "Couldn't," said Rodd abruptly. "Oh yes, sir; much hotter than this." "What! You've felt it hotter than this?" "Oh yes, sir." "Then why didn't you melt away? I should have thought you would run like a candle all into a lump." "Ah, that's your fun, sir. Some of the lads has been telling you that I am fat. That's a joke they have got up among them, just because I'm a little thicker than some of the others. But as I was a-saying, sir, they ast me to ast you--" "Now it's coming then," sighed Rodd. "Phew! Wish all my hair had been cut off. It gets so wet, and sticks to my forehead." "Yes, sir, it's best short," said the man. "Just you look at mine. You should have it done like this." As he spoke the sailor took off his hat and exhibited a head which had been trimmed down till all the scalp resembled a dingy brush, for it was cut with the most perfect regularity, for the hair to stand up in bristly fashion for about a quarter of an inch from the skin. "Why, who cut that?" cried Rodd, with something approaching to energy, this being the first thing that had taken his attention that day. "Joe Cross, sir. He's a first-rate hand with a comb and a pair of scissors. You let him do your head, sir and you won't know yourself afterwards." "Oh yes, I should," said the boy sleepily, gazing down at the quivering compass and its many points. "I mean you would feel so comfortable, sir." "Oh, well, then, I will. Anything," cried Rodd--"anything not to be so hot!" "That's right, sir. Ast me to ast you, sir." "Well, you've been asking for the last half-hour. What is it?" cried Rodd peevishly. "To ast the doctor, sir--" "For some physic to make them cool?" snapped out Rodd. "Tell them to go and ask him themselves, and he'll say what I do--that they are not to eat so much nor drink so much, and not to work in the sun. There, that's all uncle would say." "Yes, sir, but that aren't it," cried Gregg, making one of the spokes of the wheel swing from hand to hand. "Then what do they want?" "Why, sir, it seems rum, but Joe Cross and the other lads know better what's good for them than I do. You see, sir, they want to get to work again at your fishing and hauling, or rowing about, for they says they can keep much cooler when they are moving about and got to think what they are doing than when there's no work on hand and nothing to think about at all." "Oh, very well," said Rodd grumpily, "I'll go and ask him, for I am about sick of this. I think there must be some volcanoes here, or something of that kind, for I never felt it so hot before." "You aren't used to it, sir; but I thought you would, sir, and the lads said they thought you would too. Thank you, sir." Rodd yawned, turned slowly on his heels, and strolled away to where Uncle Paul was sitting back in an Indian cane chair, resting the carefully-focussed spy-glass upon a half-opened book standing upon its front edges propped upon four more in the middle of a little table. "Ah, Pickle, my lad! You had better stop in the shade. I don't want you to be getting any head trouble in this torrid sun." "Oh, I am all right, uncle; but the men want to begin fishing or doing something again, keeping cool." "Too hot till towards evening, my boy," replied the doctor. "But look here; you were saying only the other day how strange it was that we saw so few vessels. Well, here's one at all events--a three-master." "Oh, whereabouts, uncle?" cried the boy eagerly. "Away to the west yonder, hull down. There, take the glass." As Rodd was arranging it to his own satisfaction the doctor went on quietly-- "Out here I am not going to give an opinion, but if we were in the garden at home in the look-out I should say that was a man-of-war coming into Plymouth port." "Yes, that she is, uncle," cried Rodd, who had forgotten the heat in this new excitement. "A man-of-war--that she is!" said Uncle Paul quietly. "That sounds ridiculous, Pickle. But one has to give way to custom." "Yes," said Rodd--"a frigate. I can tell by her white sails." "Not big enough for a frigate, my boy. A sloop of war, I should think. Now, what can she be doing down here?" "I know, uncle," cried the boy excitedly--"looking after the slave ships." "Ah, very likely," cried Uncle Paul. "I shouldn't be surprised. We are pretty near to that neighbourhood; and if she is it's quite likely that she'll overhaul us. Ah, here's Captain Chubb coming up. Look here, skipper!" The captain, who looked very hot, and whose face proclaimed very plainly that he had been having an after-dinner nap, came slowly up, stooped within the awning, and in silence took hold of the spy-glass, whose glistening black sides were quite hot, and which Rodd thrust into his hands. He wanted no telling what for, but raised and adjusted the glass to his own sight, took a quick shot at the distant object upon the horizon, and then lowered it directly. "British man-of-war," he grunted. "That's bad." "Why?" cried Rodd sharply. The skipper turned upon him, looked at him fiercely, and then almost barked out-- "You don't know, youngster?" "No. What do you mean?" "Means that I've got as smart a picked crew as a man need wish to have." "To be sure," said Rodd; "of course you have. I do know that." "Well," said the skipper gruffly, "I don't want to lose them; that's all." Rodd and his uncle exchanged glances, while the skipper went and stood at the side and began scanning the sky, to come back shaking his head. "No more wind, and not likely to be." "Well, we don't want any more, do we?" said Uncle Pad. "Ay; if a good breeze would spring up I'd show them a clean pair of heels." "Oh, I see," cried Rodd excitedly. "You think that they would press some of our men and take them aboard. Oh, Captain Chubb, you mustn't let them do that!" "I don't mean to, my lad, if I can help it. I hadn't reckoned on seeing one of them down here." "Uncle thinks they're after the slavers." "Nay, my lad, I don't think that. More likely after one of the palm-oil craft to see if they can pick up a few men out of them." "Oh, that's a false alarm, captain," said Uncle Paul. "My papers and the work we're upon with a grant from Government would clear us." "Ought to, sir," said the skipper gruffly, "but I wouldn't trust them. If a King's ship wants men, good smart sailors such as ours, men who have served, her captain wouldn't be above shutting his eyes and making a mistake. Anyhow I'm going to crack on as hard as I can till she brings us up with a gun, and then I suppose I shall have to heave to or risk the consequences." "Hadn't you better risk the consequences, Captain Chubb?" said Rodd, in a half-whisper. "Here you, Rodney, mind what you are saying, sir! It's the duty of every Englishman to respect the law, and I feel perfectly certain, Captain Chubb, that there is nothing to fear in that direction, so go quietly on as you are, unless you are obliged to heave to. Seeing how little wind there is, and how distant that sloop, I think it's very probable that she'll not overhaul us before it grows dark." "Oh, uncle," cried Rodd, "she'll have plenty of time. The sun won't go down for an hour or so." "Well, how long will it be before it's dark afterwards?" cried Uncle Paul. "You forget that we are in the tropics, and how short a time it is between sunset and darkness." "Yes, sir; you are quite right there," said the skipper, "and that's what I'm hoping for. If we can only get the bit of time over 'twixt this and the dark, I shan't care, for she won't see us in the morning." By this time one of the sailors forward had noticed the skipper using the glass, seen what took his attention, and communicated it to his messmates, with the result that all who had been below gathered forward and stood anxiously watching the beautiful vessel, whose sails glistened in the sunshine as if their warp was of silver and their woof of gold. Rodd noticed at once what a change had taken place amongst the men. All listlessness had gone, and they were watching the King's ship, for such Captain Chubb had declared her to be at once, and were talking in excited whispers together, their manner showing that whatever the captain's opinion might be, theirs was, as sailors, that they would not trust a King's ship that was in want of men. After a time Rodd was attracted towards them, and he strolled up, Joe Cross turning to him at once, to begin questioning him in a low tone. "What does the skipper say, sir?" "He said it was a sloop of war, Joe." "Oh yes, sir, we know that," said the man irritably; "but we've been 'specting him here ever so long. So's our bo'sun. There, look; he's got his pipe in his hand. Didn't he say nothing about no orders?" "No, Joe." "Didn't he say nothing about hysting another stunsail or two?" "No, Joe." "Oh-h-h!" came in a groan from the men; and Rodd felt for them, for of late they had become more and more attached to their position, and seemed as happy as a pack of school-boys on board the beautiful little schooner. "But he has been saying something, lads," continued Rodd, in a low tone. "Ay, ay, of course," cried Joe. "Our old man don't want to lose us, and he knows best what he ought to do. Go on, Mr Rodd, sir; tell us what he means." "I think he means to keep on quietly, in the hope of the schooner not being signalled to heave to." "Go on, sir, please, quick!" panted one of the men. "You don't know what it means to us." "Before it becomes dark," continued Rodd. "Ay, ay, my lad! That's right, sir. Why, of course," cried Joe exultingly. "Trust our old man, boys;" and whistling loudly a few bars of the Sailor's Hornpipe, he snatched off his straw hat, dashed it down upon the deck, and began to cut and shuffle and heave and turn, going through all the steps as if it were cool as an early spring, while his messmates formed in a ring about him, half stooped with bended knees, joined in the whistle, and beat time upon their knees and clapped hands, till the figure was gone through, and Joe Cross brought his terpsichorean bit of frantic mania to an end, by bringing his right foot down upon the deck with a tremendous stamp which was followed by a hearty cheer. "That's your sort, Mr Rodd, sir! It's all right," cried Joe, panting, and wiping his streaming face. "If anybody had told me that I could do that ten minutes ago, when I felt as if I had hardly stuff enough in me to lift a leg, I should have told him he was going off his head. Didn't think you could put sperrits into us like that, sir, with just a word, now did you?" "I am very glad, Joe," said Rodd. "Glad, sir? So's we--every man Jack on us. You see, it means a lot. When you have got a comfortable mess, and a skipper as makes you haul together in a brotherly sort of fashion, it aren't nice for a King's ship to come down and take its pick of the men. We as is able seamen don't want to shirk, and if we are obliged to go in time of war, why, we are ready to go and do our duty like men; but it do nip a bit at first, sir, 'specially at a time like this." "Ay, ay, Joe!" came in chorus. "You see, sir, mostlings life on board a ship is so much hard work, and you has a lot of weather of some sort or another to fight agen; but with the 'ception of that bit of rough time getting into the French port, this 'ere's been a regular holiday, and--Oh my! There she goes, lads!" groaned the poor fellow, for the hull of the sloop had been gradually rising more and more into sight, rapidly at last from the refraction as she had glided into a hotter stratum of air while nearing the schooner, and all at once a white puff of smoke had darted out of her bows, to be followed by a dull heavy thud, when the men turned as with one accord to gaze at their captain, as if hoping against hope that he would still hold on instead of giving an order to fat Gregg, the steersman, to throw the schooner up in the wind. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. SUSPICIOUS VISITORS. There was a dead silence among the men as the soft white ball of smoke rose slowly and steadily, expanding the while and changing its shape till it became utterly diffused. The occupants of the schooner's deck were statuesque in their rigidity, the crew to a man gazing hard at the captain as they strained their hearing to catch his next command; the captain fixed his eyes from one side upon Uncle Paul, while Rodd stood upon the other with his lips apart, gazing questioningly in his uncle's half-closed lids, as the doctor leaned back in his deck-chair with a thoughtful frown upon his brow. Then he started slightly, for the captain spoke. "Well, sir," he said, "what's it to be?" "What's it to be, Captain Chubb? I do not quite understand you." "It's plain enough, sir. If I throw the schooner up in the wind we shall have a man-of-war's boat aboard us and some young officer in command in less than half-an-hour. First thing will be he'll ask for our papers, and then fall in the lads, run his eye along them, take his pick, and order the poor fellows down into the boat; and that means sending us back to port to fill up the best way we can, and perhaps not do it. On the other hand, I can make believe a bit and still keep forging on a little till the darkness comes, and then--" The captain stopped. "Yes," said the doctor; "and then--" "Well, sir, it would go very hard if that sloop of war wasn't out of sight at daybreak to-morrow morning, and even if she wasn't I don't think she'd overtake us again." "I feel sure you are wrong, Captain Chubb," said the doctor. "I repeat; my papers and the grant I have had from his Majesty's Government will, I feel sure, be sufficient to protect my schooner and crew from any action in the way of pressing from one of his Majesty's ships. You will have the goodness to obey the signal, and wait and see what follows." "You mean to risk it, then, sir?" "I mean to do my duty as a subject of his Majesty the King," said Uncle Paul gravely. "Very well, sir. I am captain of this schooner, but I am your servant, and it is my duty to obey your orders," said the captain, in his gruffest tones; and he walked heavily to the man at the wheel. The time had been short, but too long for the patience of the man-of-war, for before the skipper had opened his mouth to give his order to the steersman, another puff of white smoke darted from the sloop's bows, there was a heavy thud, and a cannon ball came skipping over the heaving sea like a flat stone thrown by a clever boy across the waters of a pond--dick, duck and drake fashion--while a thrill ran through all on board as they watched the shot pass right in front of the schooner's bows and give its final splash as it disappeared far away. Then the captain spoke, the stem of the schooner gradually bore round, with the sails beginning to shiver as she faced more and more to the wind, and finally flapping to and fro; but almost at once as the spokes turned rapidly through Isaac Gregg's hands, a deep low murmur ran through the crew, while a pang-like spasm seemed to shoot upward to cause a choky sensation in Rodd Harding's throat. "Silence there, my lads," said the skipper sternly, and Rodd noticed the gloomy look upon his countenance as he turned his back to the doctor and walked to the side to stand gazing at the distant ship. Many minutes had not elapsed before Rodd, who had turned his back to the men so as not to see their faces, and to hide his own, saw through the telescope he was busily using, something moving at the side of the sloop--a something which glided down her side and which was soon afterwards succeeded by a faint glitter as of the movement of rays. Then there was a splash, followed by the regular dipping of oars which seemed to throw up so much golden spray on either side, and the boy could plainly make out the sloop's boat being rowed out clear of the man-of-war, and gradually increasing its distance. Rodd watched them for some time, and what was but a speck to his naked eye plainly showed in the field of the glass the regular movements of the men, and now and then a flash suggestive of the rowers wearing something brightly polished. There were more flashes too caused by the sun's nearly horizontal rays, and these came from right astern, where the golden orange sunshine seemed to be intensified, looking wonderfully red; but ere long the watcher had grasped the fact that he was looking at the bright scarlet coats of so many marines, and then he was able to note the figures of two of the boat's occupants seated together. "The officers in command," he said to himself. It was a long row from vessel to vessel, and the sun had begun to dip, and sank quite out of sight as the sloop's cutter came alongside, the men tossed up their oars, and a smart-looking officer of about thirty sprang up the side, followed by a lad of Rodd's own age, who took his attention from the first. The officer was received at the side by the doctor and captain, Rodd standing slightly behind looking hard at the midshipman, who stared harder, frowning and putting on an air of the most consequential kind, while, presumably involuntarily, his left hand played with the ivory and gilt hilt of a curved dirk, suggestive of a strong desire to draw it out of its sheath and flourish it before the schooner's crew. The officer nodded importantly at the doctor, and then turned frowningly upon the skipper with the angry question-- "What's the reason you didn't heave to?" "Didn't give me time," growled the captain surlily. "No insolence, sir! You ought to have obeyed the first gun. You are an Englishman, and by the look of you have been long enough at sea to know the rules when you encounter a man-of-war. Now then, what ship's this?" "_Maid of Salcombe_, Plymouth." "Owner?" "I am," said the doctor quietly. "Oh! What are you trading in?" "I am not trading," said the doctor quietly. "This schooner is upon a scientific expedition, under the auspices of the English Government." "Oh," said the officer suspiciously; and he looked from the doctor to the skipper, and from thence ran his eye over the crew gathered forward, while the midshipman altered the pitch of his hat, turned towards Rodd, whom for the last few moments he had been ignoring, and looked him up and down in a supercilious manner which made the blood mount to the boy's forehead, and set him staring down at the middy's bright shoes, from whence he slowly raised his eyes as far as the belt which supported the dirk, and from there higher up to his hat, where he fixed his eyes upon the officer's cockade and kept them obstinately there, till the lad's nostrils began to expand, he grew as red in the face as Rodd, and his menacing eyes seemed to say, You insolent young civilian, how dare you! "Rather a strong crew, skipper," said the lieutenant sharply. "Yes, sir; picked men," replied Captain Chubb. "And there's a look about them of the able seaman, R.N." "Perhaps so, sir," replied the skipper, who gazed bluntly back at the intruder. "Well-found schooner, skipper, and carries a press of sail." "Yes, sir. Very smart craft," replied the skipper. "Long gun amidships and a couple of small brass guns forward," continued the lieutenant, who seemed to miss nothing. "Very roomy hold below, I should say." "Yes, sir. Built for a Mediterranean orange boat." "And no cargo, I think you said." "No, sir; only scientific traps, as Dr Robson here calls them." "Yes," said the doctor, interposing. "I am not talking to you, sir," said the lieutenant haughtily. "Your turn will come." Rodd's uncle bowed, and turned away, frowning. "Stop, sir!" cried the officer sharply. "What insolence, uncle!" said Rodd aloud; and he turned away from the midshipman, to cross to his uncle's side. "What's that?" shouted the lieutenant, and the middy clapped his hand to the hilt of his dirk. "I said what insolence, sir. My uncle is a gentleman." "And it seems that his nephew is not. Be silent, boy, and recollect in whose presence you stand. I am a King's officer.--Now, Mr--what is your name? Robson? Have the goodness to tell me how it is that, with a light, fast-sailing schooner, well-armed, and with a crew evidently fighting men, you are found here in the neighbourhood of one of the notorious slave-supplying rivers? You may just as well speak the truth, for in all probability your schooner will be a prize to his Majesty's sloop of war _Diadem_." "I beg your pardon," said the doctor quietly. "Suspicious appearances can always be found by those who seek for them. If you will have the goodness to step below with the captain you can examine the papers and the scientific fittings of portions of the hold which were prepared under my instructions when I started upon the voyage. I don't think, sir, you will find any accommodation has been made for the reception of a black living cargo of those poor unfortunate objects of humanity in whom a certain vile nefarious traffic is carried on. Captain Chubb, pray take this gentleman below and show him everything he desires." "Oh," said the lieutenant sharply, "if this is so, Mr Rodson--" "Dr Robson, at your service," said the owner of the name, glancing sharply at his nephew, with a faint smile upon his lips, for at the utterance by the lieutenant of the syllable _Rod_ the boy had started violently. As the doctor spoke he took out his pocket-book, drew forth a card, and held it between two fingers in doctor's fashion towards the officer. "Humph! MD, Plymouth. Oh, well, Dr Robson, I hope to find that I have been labouring under a mistake;" and he raised his hand to his cocked hat. "But I have my duty to do." "Don't apologise, sir," said the doctor, who had changed as in a moment from the sturdy naturalist into the urbane medical man. "I quite see your necessity for guarding against imposture. Pray proceed." The lieutenant nodded sharply, and leaving his guard of a couple of marines at the gangway, and the boat's crew ready to spring up the side at the slightest alarm, he followed the skipper to the cabin hatch, the doctor hesitating as if in doubt for a moment or two, and then following deliberately down the cabin stairs. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. THE KING'S MIDDY. Rodd, full of excitement, was burning to follow too and see what he looked upon as the officer's discomfiture; but there was that middy, who seemed to be left in command of the marines, and he felt a peculiar sensation which completely mastered him, filling him as it did with a desire to have what he afterwards called a good fall out with that fellow, who seemed to make him metaphorically set up his feathers all round his neck and go at him as a strange young cockerel of a different breed who had suddenly appeared in the poultry-yard where he dwelt. So Rodd stayed on deck, thrust his hands into his pockets, ignored the presence of the middy, and with something of a strut marched up to the two marines in the gangway, whistling softly the while, gave each a friendly nod, examined their grounded arms and their stiff uniform with its abundant pipe-clay, and ended by spreading his legs a little, swinging himself slowly toe and heel, and saying patronisingly-- "Rather hot toggery that, my lads, for weather like this." "Well, of all the impudence!" cried the young officer hotly; and he took a step towards where Rodd was standing. Rodd faced slowly round, looked at the boy superciliously, then said as coolly as could be-- "Hullo, midshipmite! Not gone below?" "No, puppy, I have not gone below," and as he spoke the lad pressed the hilt of his dirk involuntarily and sharply downward. "Ha, ha!" laughed Rodd. "Why, that looks like wagging your tail like a moorhen. I say, why didn't you draw that skewer just now? My word, you did look fierce!" One of the marines tittered, and the other spread his mouth into a broad grin, while, convulsed with rage, the young officer turned upon both furiously, making them draw themselves up as stiff as their muskets. "How dare you!" cried the middy, turning back to Rodd, and now becoming fully conscious of the fact that the schooner's crew gathered forward were gazing at the scene with intense enjoyment. "What's the matter, reefer?" said Rodd, whose face was scarlet, but whose words sounded as cool and indifferent as if he were calm in the extreme. "Matter, you insolent blackguard!" cried the midshipman. "If I were not on duty, and too much of a gentleman to soil my hands with a schooner's loblolly boy, I would give you a sound thrashing with my belt." "Would you?" said Rodd coolly. "That's the worst of you reefers. You are nearly all of you like that when you come ashore at Plymouth. It's your uniform and the wearing of a skewer that makes you all so cocky. Now, do you know you have said what a fellow just your age once said to me at Saltash--but he didn't. He had an accident, and then we shook hands, and I took him home to my uncle's and helped him to bathe his face. It was such a hot day that his nose bled a good deal. But we stopped it. Nice fellow he was too, afterwards. So I dare say you'd be if I had taken you in tow a bit." "I understand you, sir," panted the middy; "and look here, I shall not forget this." "Pooh! Yes you will," said Rodd, with a mocking laugh. "I wish you were going to stop on board. We have got a spare cot here. Get your old man to give you leave when your lieutenant has done smelling in all the lockers below. You come while the two vessels are in company, and I'll teach you how to use the gloves." "Oh, if I wasn't on duty!" panted the middy furiously. "I haven't got a card with me, but give me yours. We may meet again." "Hope we shall, I'm sure," said Rodd. "I say, reefer, don't be so jolly disappointed because you won't have the price of half a nigger for prize-money." "Pah!" ejaculated the middy furiously; and turning his back upon Rodd he stepped to the side and looked over into the boat, to run his eye furiously over her crew, who were all sitting upon the alert, ready for any order that might be given. But as he turned away and faced inboard, to his annoyance he found Rodd close up, smiling carelessly in his face. "I say, reefer," he said, "you do look hot." "Sir!" snapped out the middy, trying to look the boy down. "I say, don't be so waxy because you are disappointed." "I beg, sir, that you will not address your remarks to me; and please recollect that you and yours are not out of the wood yet." "All right; only look here; your lads have had a long row, and you have got another one back. Let's give the poor fellows a bucket of water, and I'll pour a bottle of our lime-juice in and some syrup. It makes a splendid drink. Look there; those two red herrings of yours have begun licking their dry lips at the very thought of it." The midshipman seemed to give himself a snatch, but he glanced at the two marines, and then turned and looked over into the boat, for he was horribly thirsty himself. "Dry, my lads?" he said. "Like some water?" "Thankye, sir!" came in chorus, and Rodd called out at once-- "Joe Cross! Bucket of fresh water--two pannikins! And is the steward there?" "Ay, ay, sir!" "Two bottles of lime-juice and some syrup for the boat's crew and marines." Just then Uncle Paul's head appeared above the cabin hatch, and he stepped on deck, coming forward to where the two lads were, Rodd smiling and good-humoured, the middy wearing the aspect of the celebrated dog which had been pelted with big marrow-bones, upon each of which reposed a thick juicy bit of beef. "Lieutenant Branscombe says will you step down and join us for a few minutes, Mr Lindon." "Does he want me, sir?" "Only to partake of a little refreshment this thirsty night." "That's right," cried. Rodd. "You go on down with uncle. I'll see that your lads have plenty." "Er--er--no grog, please," said the middy hastily. "Not a drop, honour bright," said Rodd, laughing. "You shan't be mastheaded for that;" and he clapped the young officer merrily on the back. The stay would have been longer, but the darkness was coming on fast; still it had been long enough for all to become the best of friends, and when the two officers came on deck it was to find the two crews engaged in a hearty game of repartee, the schooner's men casting jokes down into the boat, and the man-of-war's men hurling them back. "Yes, a very smart crew, Captain Chubb," said the lieutenant, "but if it hadn't been for the doctor's papers here, we should have been obliged to lighten you of about half-a-dozen, for you know you have no business to have such men as this whilst his Majesty runs short." Just then the two lads were talking together hard. "Oh, don't you take any notice of that, Harding. Cocky, you called it. You should drop that; it's too schoolboy-like. You know a fellow may be only a midshipman, still the ship's roll does call him a man, and when a fellow's an officer in command of a lot of sailors, he's obliged to put it on a bit, else he'd never be able to keep them in their places." "Yes, I see," said Rodd. "That's right; and before I go I just want to say it was very thoughtful of you to promise that the lads shouldn't have any drink. I got into several rows when I was young and green, and went ashore with boats' crews. They used to try on all sorts of dodges to get away to the public-house. I say, get that uncle of yours to stop about here fishing for a bit. I want to get you aboard the _Di_ and spend an evening with us at the mess. Do. I shall get to like you." "All right; I will try," said Rodd. "It wouldn't be the first time I've been aboard a man-of-war." "Eh? Where?" "Plymouth harbour." "Oh yes, I forgot. That's where you live when you are at home. Why don't you join altogether? You are just cut out for a middy." "Couldn't leave uncle. Going to be a naturalist." "A what?" "Scientific gentleman." "But serve the King!" "What, and be sent down here hunting after the blackbirding blackguards?" "Pshaw! That's not really what we are here for; only if we see a suspicious-looking craft we board her." "Then what are you here for?" "King's business. Mum. Mustn't say." "Now, Mr Lindon! Good-evening, Captain Chubb; and good-evening, doctor. Glad to have met you, sir, and I hope you won't put me down in your black books as _homo durissimus_, or some other scientific name. Give way, my lads. Mr Lindon! Do you want to be left behind?" "All right, sir," cried the middy, springing into the boat and coming down into the arms of a couple of the men. "Good-night, Harding! We shall expect you on board the _Di_." Down dropped the oars on either side, and then splash, splash, in regular movement the blades tossed up the beautiful pale lambent water, while here and there they broke up the reflection of the stars that were gradually appearing in the soft violet sky, while the boat glided on farther and farther from the schooner, making its way towards the lights of the sloop, from which all of a sudden there was a sharp flash, followed at a perceptible interval by the report of a musket. This was answered a few seconds later by a flash and smart crack from the sloop's cutter, whose course Rodd leaned over the side to watch till it was invisible, when he turned from the side, to find Joe Cross waiting and evidently watching him. "Rather close shave, sir," he said. "I began to feel as if some of us was going to have our 'oliday come to an end. Wouldn't have been so bad, though, for there are some very jolly fellows there, and it aren't half a dusty life aboard a man-of-war when you have got over the first few days, and being what they calls homesick. Aren't no fear of their coming back for us, is there?" "Not the least, Joe. You are all safe enough." "We are a-going to give the doctor, sir, such a cheer when he comes on deck again--three times three, and one in for you. My word, sir, the lads did laugh to see you take the starch out of that there young reefer! It was fine!" "Oh, never mind about that, Joe. But I say, you have been aboard a man-of-war. What would a sloop like that be doing down here?" "Why, you know, sir; looking after the blackbird catchers--the slavers." "Oh no; they are not on this station for that." "Must be, sir." "No, Joe." "Well, but, sir, you heard what the lufftenant said to our old man. That's what they were after, sir, and a bit disappointed too, until you and the doctor made them so friendly. They thought they'd got hold of this fine craft, nice little prize, for she'd sell well just as she stands after being condemned. Handy little bit of pocket-money for them in these days when the war is over. Rather a puzzler to them at first. The second luff--that's what he was--had never tackled a natural history craft before, and he wouldn't believe it. That's what they are here for, sir, trying to put a stop to the slave trade. We come upon one in the _Naaera_ once--the nearer and dearer we used to call her, sir. Just about such a sloop as that is. It wasn't our business, but we boarded her, the slave ship, I mean, in a calm, and the blackguards aboard of her showed fight and beat our boat off in trying to get away with their sweeps. They were making for one of these swampy rivers out eastward, rowing as hard as they could, and bringing up a lot of the poor niggers from below to help pull at the sweeps. Sweeps, indeed! Nice sweeps they were! And if they once got into the river we should have lost them." "Well?" said Rodd. "And they beat you back?" "That they did, sir. Took us quite by surprise. We never thought they would have the cheek to resist; and we lay off, rubbing our sore ears and growling and spitting like angry cats, not knowing what to do, feeling that we should get worse off if we pursued, and ashamed to go back to face our old man; and just as we were feeling at our worst we knew that our skipper had been watching us all the time with his glass, and there was our launch coming full swing, chock-full of men showing their teeth. That set us all up again, and we were like new men. Round went our boat's head, and we were off in full pursuit of the slaver, the lads pulling so hard that we got alongside before the launch could overtake us, swarmed over her low gunwale, and went at the slaver's crew tooth and nail, so savage that every man of us showed them the cutlass practice in fine style, driving them back step by step till if we had had strength enough we should have driven them overboard or down below; but they were too strong for us. Put half-a-pound weight in a scale, sir, if there's a pound in t'other it is too much for it, and so it was here, sir. We boarded her from the starn, and had driven them right up into the bows, but being a bit india-rubbery, when they could get no farther they bounced back on us and we were being driven step by step along the deck, farther and farther aft, till they gathered theirselves together with a rush, yelling like demons, and the next thing would have been that such of us as could stand would have been driven over into our boat again. But there was a regular hearty British cheer when we least expected it, for we had forgotten all about our other boat, and there were the launchers swarming over her bows and taking them in the rear. That made our lads take heart again. We cheered back, and charged, and there were the slavers, blacks, half-breeds and Portuguese, took, as you might say, between the jaws of a big rat-trap, every one of whose teeth was a British sailor; and to save being chopped in two, down they all tumbled into the slaver's hold, trapped themselves like the poor wretches the hold was packed with. My word, Mr Rodd, sir, there are some things as a fellow never can forget, and that was one of them. It was just awful, sir!" "What, did you kill them all?" cried Rodd, horror-stricken. "Nay, sir, not one. We might have killed some of them if they had kept on showing fight; and I don't say, mind you, as some of them hadn't got some very awkward cuts, for when a British tar's fighting in a good cause, and been knocked about till his monkey's well up, his habit is to hit hard; but there, as soon as we had driven that lot below they chucked their knives and axes and pikes away and began to howl for mercy. What I meant was so awful was that place down below--that there hold with the slaver's crew trampling about and trying to hide themselves amongst the chained-up cargo. Awful aren't the word for it, sir! The lads couldn't stand it: let alone the sick and dying, there were some there that must have been dead for days, and that in a close hold in a sea like this! But I believe it was much hotter. Even the slaver's crew themselves begged to be let out--and there, I won't say any more about it. It was quite time even then that our old country began to put a stop to the slave trade, and I am sorry to say they aren't done it yet. That's what made us chaps to-night so free-and-easy with that there boat's crew. You see, you can't help liking fellows who are trying to put a stop to things like that." "No, Joe, of course not. But that's not what they are down here for." "Who says so, sir?" "Why, that midshipman, Mr Lindon, told me so." "Well, he ought to know, sir. What did he say they were here for, then?" "He didn't say, only that it was private and he couldn't speak." "Well, I don't know, then, only a man-of-war wouldn't be down here for nothing; that's pretty sure. Maybe we shall run into company with them again some day, and then I dare say we shall know. They gave us lads a fright, but I aren't sorry we met them, sir, for it was a bit of a change. Yes, Mr Rodd, sir, they are down here on some business pertickler secret and sealed orders; but you wait a bit, sir, and I dare say one of these days you'll find out." CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. OH, MURTHER! Rodd was early on deck next morning for his bath, which consisted of so many buckets of water fresh fished up and dashed upon him by the men as a makeshift, consequent upon Captain Chubb telling him that he could not have any swims on account of the sharks. "Can't spare you, my lad," he had said. "But I haven't seen a shark," grumbled Rodd. "No, my lad, but they would very soon see you. You never know where those gentlemen are." So Rodd went on deck when sea and sky looked dim and a faint mist lay low upon the surface of the ocean, making everything indistinct. "She's gone, sir; she's gone!" "Who's she, and where has she gone?" said Rodd, rather sleepily. "The _Diadem_, sir." "What, the sloop of war? Not she! You will see her come peeping out of the fog yonder before long." "Nay, sir; she's gone right off, and it's all right. My word, I wish we had got a fiddle here!" "A fiddle! What for?" "Hornpipe, sir. The boys are all bubbling over and don't know how to bear themselves. Nothing like a few kicks up and down the deck to a well-played old tune, to get rid of it all." "Why, what are you talking about?" cried Rodd. "Talking about, sir? Ah, you never knowed what it was to be a sailor, and when you are free never knowing for a moment how soon you may be pressed. Why, I don't believe there was a man Jack on us as slept a wink last night with thinking about this morning." "What, for fear you would be pressed, after what uncle said?" "Ay, ay, sir. Your uncle meant right enough, and he believed what he said, and that there lieutenant was civil enough; but a second lieutenant aren't a first lieutenant, sir, and a first lieutenant aren't a post-captain. We all talked a bit last night, and put that and that together, and Isaac Gregg, who aren't a very wise chap--you see, sir, he's got too much fat about him to leave room for anything else--but he said something smart last night. `Yes,' he says, `my lads, that all sounds right enough, but suppose when that boat got back the captain says, Yes, he says, it's all very well, and I dare say that there gent got leave from Government to man his schooner and come down here bottling sea-leeches and other insects of that kind; but I am short of men for the King's ship, and that's more consequence than what he's doing of. So you just start back at daybreak in the boat with my compliments to Dr Robson, saying I'm very sorry, but he must please hand over six of the best lads he's got.'" "Oh, nonsense, Joe! The captain would be too much of a gentleman." "Being a gentleman, sir, is being a gentleman, but duty's duty, and officers and sailors have to give up everything to that. Last night, whether we was on the watch, or turned in to our hot bunks, every man Jack of us felt that the Bun was right, and a bit envious of him, because, poor chap, he would have been safe. They wouldn't have took him; but we all of us fully expected to see that boat coming back for us this morning. But not only aren't there no boat, but the sloop's slipped away in the night and gone." "Where's she gone, then?" "Well, that's what we don't know, sir, and we don't care." "But are you sure, Joe? She may be lying off yonder in the mist." "Oh no, she aren't, sir. Two on us have been up right aloft till we could lay our hands on the main truck; and when you are up there you are looking right over the fog. It's wonderful how close it lies to the water. It's all right, sir, and I believe we are safe. Aren't you glad?" "Of course I am, Joe." "I know you are, sir. But just you think what we must be, just about five hundred times as glad as you are, and we are all ready for anything you like. What's it to be to-day?" "Well, I don't think we shall do much. Uncle will consider it too hot." "Hot, sir? Not it! Just right. We shan't mind. Fishing, netting, rowing. You tell him not to think about us. It will just warm us up, for most on us had the shivers all night." The low mist began to lift soon after Rodd had had his bath, for the level rays of the sun began to pierce the grey haze as the great orange orb slowly rolled up from the depths of ocean, investing it with the loveliest of pearly tints and iridescent hues, while not a speck of sail or the clearly marked lines of topmasts could be seen upon the horizon line. "Well," said the doctor, at breakfast, as Rodd told him what the men had said, "the heat will be very great, but I shouldn't spare myself. If I gave up my researches to-day it would be for the sake of the men." "You needn't consider them that way, sir," said Captain Chubb. "They would rather you didn't. But couldn't you do something that would spare my deck a little?" "Well, I am afraid that's impossible, Captain Chubb," said the doctor. "Ah, well, sir," said the captain, with a sigh, "I suppose you must go on; but it seems a pity when everything's so white and clean." So the captain's decks suffered all day, and were swabbed clean again, while that evening before the mists began to gather there was a fresh surprise. Rodd took it into his head to go up to the main cross-trees with the glass. He had said nothing, but he had some idea as to the possibility of the sloop coming into sight again, and he had made up his mind if he could see her in the distance to give Captain Chubb a broad hint, and urge him to press on full sail right through the night. It was very glorious, Rodd thought, as he perched himself up aloft on the cross-trees, after finding the heavy glass very much in his way as he climbed. "It's beautiful up here; but--" He did not finish his remark to himself, but got his left arm well round the mast, adjusted the glass, and began slowly to sweep the horizon. He felt in a state of doubt and suspicion, fully expecting that at any moment the tapering masts of the sloop might slowly creep into the field ready to damp his hopes, for his feelings were completely on the side of the men. But as slowly and carefully he ran the glass along what seemed to be the very edge of the world, his spirits rose. "Nothing--nothing," he kept on muttering to himself. "Oh, how big the world is, after all! Here we are, just like a speck on the ocean, quite alone, and though there must be thousands of ships and boats sailing about, not one in sight, and in about another ten minutes all will be bright starlight again--and let's see, I began here, and I've swept the sea right round, and just in time, for before I could go round again or half-way it will be quite dark--and--What's that?" he cried excitedly. He started violently, and his hands trembled so that he had great difficulty in steadying the glass to fix it upon that which had suddenly caught his eye. "Nothing!" he muttered impatiently. "It was my fancy. I made as sure as possible, just as I was going to lower the glass, that I could see the three masts of the sloop standing right out yonder towards the west. All rubbish and imagination," he muttered. "I pictured that because it was what I was afraid of seeing when--Oh-h-h! It wasn't fancy! There she is! Oh, there she is, after all!" He looked sharply down at the deck, which was occupied only by four of the men, the skipper and Uncle Paul being in the cabin. But one of these men was Joe Cross, and Rodd chirruped faintly to attract's the sailor's attention. "Make out anything, sir?" "Come up here, Joe," replied Rodd, in a low tone, and the man sprang to the ratlines and began rapidly to ascend till he was nearly on a level with the occupant of the cross-trees. "See a whale spouting, sir? I should have thought it was getting too dark." "No, Joe; but I have just made out the sloop with the glass." "Nay, sir! Don't say that!" cried the man, in a startled tone. "Take the glass, Joe. I am afraid it's true." "Oh, murther! as Pat says," groaned the sailor, as he hurriedly adjusted the glass and began to sweep the horizon in the direction Rodd pointed out, a few points on the starboard bow. "Can't see nothing, sir. Were you sure?" "Yes, Joe; quite." "But it's getting dark too fast, sir. I can make nothing out. If you are right, though, she mayn't have seen us and may be out of sight again by morning.--Ah, I've got her!" "There, I knew I was right, Joe." "Not quite, sir. Yes, I've got her quite plain now, but she's dying out fast. It aren't a man-of-war. It's a two-master of some kind. A big schooner or a brig. It's all right, sir. There's life in a mussel, after all. My word, though, didn't it bring my heart up into my mouth!" "Are you sure it's not a three-master, Joe?" cried Rodd joyously. "Sartin sure, sir. Why, you talk as frightened like as we poor lads were." "What vessel was it, then?" "Oh, I don't know what she was, sir. I only know what she warn't. That's enough for us, eh, sir? I say, sir; what weather! Rather different to what we had in the French port. Looks settled too. Nice and cool the air feels. There, it's only fancy, but it's just as if I could sniff the land." "How far are we away, Joe?" asked Rodd. "Long way, sir. But I say, Mr Rodd, sir, I wouldn't say anything down below. It'd only skeer the lads and set them thinking all night." "But wouldn't you say anything about having seen that ship?" "Oh, if you like, sir. The skipper ought to know. But I can swear she warn't a man-of-war, and that's enough for us. Oh, there is the skipper. My word, though, you can hardly see him! Curus, isn't it, how the mist begins to gather? Pretty good sign we are not so very far off the shore. Will you hail him, sir, or shall I?" "You, Joe." A brief conversation ensued, question and answer ending by Joe's declaration that he believed it was a brig; and then they descended to the deck. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. DREAMY. Very curious incidents are sometimes invented, but the most extravagant can be matched by others that have really occurred. One of the last things that had been talked about that evening had been the vessel of which Rodd had caught a glimpse in the short tropic twilight just as it was being swallowed up by the darkness and mist of night. Joe Cross had incidentally said that he believed it was a brig, and that night as Rodd lay half asleep, half wakeful, in his cot, kept from finding the customary repose of a tired lad by the heat of the narrow cabin below, the word brig brought to mind the vessel that had so nearly run upon them in Havre-de-Grace, and in a drowsy stupid way he had pictured her tall tapering spars, the flapping of her stay-sail, and the rush of the storm. Then all was blank, till all at once it seemed as if time had elapsed and he was picturing the French brig once more, knowing that it was the _Jeanne d'Arc_, though all was darkness and he only caught sight of the vessel now and then, by the flashing of the fort guns, while the roar of their reports echoed loudly above the rush of the wind as the brave vessel tacked from side to side of the harbour, striving to reach the mouth and escape out to sea. It was all very vivid as in a dream. Flash went the fort gun, there was the roar of the report, and all was darkness, again and again, while somehow--he could not tell how it was-- the heat was intense, and Rodd threw up one hand, which came in contact with the top of his cot with a sharp rap. "Bah! It hurts," muttered the boy; and then dream and reality merged in one, for there was another flash and the roar as if of half-a-dozen guns. But the boy was awake now to the fact that he was not dreaming of the escape of the French brig, but far south of the Equator, lying half stifled in his cot, listening to the roar of a tropic storm, while every now and then the cabin which he shared with his uncle was lit up by the vivid flashes, which were succeeded by fresh roars. "What a storm," thought Rodd, "and how hot!" He slipped out of his cot to go and thrust open the cabin window. "Hear the thunder, uncle?" he said. But it had ceased for the moment, the last peal dying softly away, and for answer to his question he had only the deep regular breathing of a sound sleeper. "He must have been tired," thought the boy, and creeping closer to the cabin window he thrust out his hand to let in more air, but found the window wide open as it could be. "He must have found out how hot it was and done that himself," thought Rodd, as he knelt softly upon the bulkhead to try and breathe the fresh air; but it was hot and half suffocating, while the blackness was intense. One moment there was a faint quivering somewhere above, and just enough to show him the murkiness of the sea which spread out from beneath him far away like so much blackened oil touched for a few brief instants with streaks of gold. "Why, there isn't a breath of air," thought Rodd, and then he started back, dazzled by the brilliant glare of the lightning, which made him involuntarily close his eyes and keep them shut till the terrific crash of thunder, which seemed to burst exactly over his head, had gone rolling away as if its echoes were composed of gigantic cannon balls passing slowly down metallic tunnels right away into space. "That was a startler," said the boy to himself. "How awful, but how grand! It's rather hard to think that the danger's in the lightning, and that there is nothing in the thunder to hurt." Then once more all was black silence above and below, and all beyond the cabin window seemed to be solid. "I never saw a storm like this at home," thought the boy. "Uncle can sleep!" There was another brilliant flash, but this time Rodd felt prepared and did not shrink. He only knelt, gazing out of the stern window, impressed by the grandeur of that which he had seen. Behind him he felt that everything in the cabin had been as light as day, but away from him all around he had looked upon a vivid picture, a gloriously wondrous cloudscape stretching far above and reflected far beneath in the smooth, oily, gently heaving sea--a grand vision of mountains of blue and gold and purple, which quivered before his eyes for a few moments in such vivid intensity that his eyeballs ached; then all was black again for a few moments, and then came the deep-toned roar as of hundreds of distant mighty cannons; not a sudden, sharp, metallic crash as in the last instance, but a deep murmurous intonation which made the woodwork of the schooner tremble. Rodd felt no fear--nothing but a sense of awe at the grandeur of the storm, and it was with a feeling of eagerness that he waited for the next flash. But a minute passed before there was a faint quivering which slightly lit up the sea, to give place to blackness, silence and darkness. Then there was another faint quivering light that seemed to come from somewhere behind where he stood, and again he waited for one of those vivid flashes that should show up the configuration of the clouds shaped in mountain and valley and distant cave. And many minutes must have passed, during which time Rodd listened in the appalling silence for the distant soft and increasing rushing sound of the coming rain, even as he had listened before in far-off Devon to the coming of some summer storm. "There will be wind too," he thought. "I wonder whether all is made fast aloft; for a storm like this," he continued, in his ignorance, "can't come without a tremendous wind and a rush of rain." His next thought was that he would go on deck and see what the watch were about; but he hesitated to stir, for the thought of the gorgeous cloudscape he had seen fascinated him and held him to his place. "I needn't worry about that," he thought. "Captain Chubb's sure to be on deck. He wouldn't sleep like we do. If I go and open the cabin door it will wake uncle up. Hah! It's quivering again. The storm can't be over like this. Now there's another big flash coming." He had hardly formed the thought when from quite up in the zenith down into the depths of the sea the arch of heaven seemed to open out in a sharp jagged line of vivid blue light, shutting again instantaneously, and the boy knelt gazing before him in wonder, for there, about a mile away, with every spar and yard and rope standing out black against the blue light, was the picture--the model, it seemed to him to be--of a tall-masted brig sitting motionless upon the water; and then it was gone. "Why, that must have been the one we saw," thought Rodd, and he strained his eyes again as he listened for the roar of the thunder that should have succeeded the vivid zigzag flash of electricity; but it did not come, and he waited and waited in the darkness in vain, trying to grasp how it could be that a storm should come to an end in so strange and unsatisfactory a way according to his lights, and why there should be neither rain nor wind. He waited, trying hard now to pierce the black darkness, but trying in vain. There was nothing to see, nothing to hear, and in spite of the wonder and awe that had pervaded him, Rodd Harding now behaved like a very ordinary human being, for he yawned, felt sleepy and that he was not so hot as he was before, and thinking that it was no use to stop there any longer, and that he might as well dress, he crept softly back to his cot and stood thinking again. "Can't be anything like morning," he said to himself, "and I shall be able to see that brig then. Why, I remember now; I was dreaming about the storm at Havre, and that vessel--what was it? The _Jeanne d'Arc_-- escaping, and the forts firing at her; and I saw the flashes from the guns. Of course; how absurd! That was the thunder and lightning, and--" Rodd slipped slowly on to his pillow, yawned again, muttered something about how sleepy he felt, and the next moment he was off as soundly as his uncle; but only, it seemed to him, to begin dreaming directly after about the escaping of the brig, and the storm, mingled with the noise and the shouting of people ashore, and a heavy bump from somewhere close at hand; and then the boy was wide awake again, springing up so suddenly in his cot that it was not his hand but his head that struck with a rap against the woodwork, as a voice that he hardly recognised in the confusion shouted-- "Rodd, boy! Quick--on deck! The schooner's going down!" CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. STRANGE PROCEEDINGS. "Is it a wreck, uncle?" panted Rodd. "I thought so, boy," cried Uncle Paul; "but don't talk. Slip on two or three things." He was still speaking, when there was a rush down the cabin stairs, and the captain shouted-- "Quick, doctor! Your pistols and a gun! We are attacked!" The words thrilled through Rodd, and the next minute he had seized a double gun and was ready to follow his uncle and the skipper on deck, where in the faint light of morning he found nearly the whole of the crew gathered across the after part of the deck, armed with capstan bars for the moment, while the mate and Joe Cross were rapidly handing round cutlasses and pikes. The forward part of the schooner was in the hands of strangers, all well-armed; others were climbing over the bows from a boat which was made fast alongside, while hurried orders were being given to them in French by a tall, dark, grey-haired man, sword in one hand, pistol in the other. "What's the meaning of this?" panted Uncle Paul to the skipper, while Rodd felt as if he were not yet awake, and suddenly recalled the fact that he had armed himself with a perfectly useless weapon, for in his excitement he had forgotten powder flask and bullets, having instead of the latter brought a belt containing small shot. "Pirates or privateers, sir," replied the skipper hotly, "but just give us time. Be smart, my lads. Pikes and cutlasses, and then all together with a will!" "For heaven's sake let's have no bloodshed, Captain Chubb!" cried Uncle Paul, catching the skipper by the arm. "Not my wish, sir," said the captain shortly; "but this is my schooner while I command her, and I'm going to clear this deck." "Ay, ay, sir!" came in a low, eager murmur from the men. "There, sir," said the skipper; "you and the lad stand back. Ready, my lads?" "No, no!" cried Uncle Paul, who saw that the strangers forward, all as well-armed as the schooner's crew, were eagerly waiting for the order to advance from their leader, each party being ready to be let slip for what might prove to be a desperate encounter. Rodd grasped this, and then felt puzzled as he saw a youth of about his own age suddenly elbow his way to the front to stand beside the leader. Suddenly awakened as he had been from sleep, Rodd felt more confused than ever, for the sight of the youth, who from his dress seemed to be the second officer, added to his confusion, though for the moment he could hardly tell why. And this just as Uncle Paul was grasping the skipper's arm and saying-- "Don't be hasty. These cannot be pirates. There must be some mistake." "Maybe, sir, but these fellows who have boarded us have made it. Now, sir, once more, stand back and let us clear the deck. They can talk when they are back in their boats." There was a few moments' silence, each side seeming unwilling to begin, and taking advantage of an apparent hesitancy on the part of the strange leader, Uncle Paul instead of stepping back raised his hand and advanced, Rodd springing to his side, while their movement was exactly followed by the chief intruder and the youth who stepped to his side. "Now, sir," cried Uncle Paul firmly, in French. "I understand English," was the reply. "I am very glad," said Uncle Paul. "Now, sir, you see that we are well-armed and prepared. What is the meaning of this attack?" "Ah, I am glad, sir," said the stranger courteously. "Pray keep your men back, and I will mine." "Tell them to clear off the deck, then, doctor. There must be no talk here." "Be silent, Captain Chubb!" cried Uncle Paul sternly. "We must have no bloodshed." "No, sir," cried his opponent quickly, and in very excellent English. "We are no pirates. I am the captain of that brig, and in urgent need of help." "And this is a very strange way of asking for it, sir." "Yes, yes, I know, my friend," cried the other hotly, "but it was forced upon me by circumstances. I have need of your vessel, and I must have it at all costs--peacefully if you will, and I am ready to recompense you, the owner, for any loss of cargo at your destination which you may incur; but I must have the use of this little ship." "Indeed, sir!" said Uncle Paul, with a peculiar smile. "And if I say you cannot have it; what then?" "Then, sir," said the stranger haughtily, "you see we are prepared. I shall be compelled to take it from you by force." "Ah-h-h!" came like a low growl of satisfaction from the schooner's crew, and Rodd was conscious of a rather ominous movement on the part of the men, who began moistening their hands and taking a firmer grip of their weapons. Rodd was drinking in this colloquy, which filled him with wild excitement; but all the time he kept glancing from the young officer who stood sword in hand to the brig he had seen over-night and again thrown up by the storm, still lying about the same distance away from the schooner, and then with his head suddenly seeming to become clearer he cried out aloud-- "Uncle, those are the officers we saw at Havre, and that's the brig that escaped." "You--you were at Havre!" cried the elder officer excitedly; and he stepped closer to Rodd, his young companion, watchful and on the alert, following his example and keeping close as if to defend him from any attempted seizure. "Yes, yes, of course," cried Rodd, without looking at the speaker, his eyes being fixed upon the young man. "Then this is a French vessel?" cried the officer. "No, sir," replied Uncle Paul. "It is my schooner, and I am not in pursuit of your brig." "Why, it is!" cried Rodd suddenly, as he dropped the butt of his unloaded gun with a thud upon the deck. "I thought I knew you again!-- Uncle, this is the young French prisoner I helped to escape from Dartmoor." Before he could say another word the sword the young Frenchman held dropped from his hand to the extent of its gold-laced knot, and to Rodd's confusion a pair of thin arms were flung about his neck and he was held tightly to the young stranger's breast. "Oh, _mon ami_! _mon ami_! My dear friend!" he cried. "Do we meet once more like this? _Mon pere, c'est le jeune Anglais qui nous a sauves dans cet affreux temps_." "Moray!" cried the officer, looking stunned. "Is this true?" "True? Oh yes! Oh yes!" cried the lad, speaking now in English. "You, young angler, fisherman, this is my dear father." To Rodd's false shame and confusion, he had to submit to another embrace, for before he could realise what was about to happen the officer had followed his son's example and not only embraced him, but kissed him on both cheeks. "Well, this is a queer set out," said Uncle Paul. "Then you are the two fellows who broke into my bedroom and helped yourselves to my purse?" "Ha, ha! Yes, my friend," cried the officer, laughing; "but you and your brave son will forgive. We were poor exiles and prisoners fighting for our liberty, and you will let us make amends." "Oh, well, you did," said Uncle Paul bluffly; "but that is no excuse for turning pirates and trying to rob me of my ship at the point of the sword." "No, no," cried the officer hastily, "but you are a brave Englishman, and you and your son--" "No, sir, my nephew." "--will forgive. One moment; let me think!" cried the officer, as he dragged his hand from out of his sword-knot and thrust the blade into its sheath. "Yes, yes, let me think. I have it, Morny," and turning to his followers he uttered a short sharp command which resulted in his men swinging themselves over the side and entering the two boats in which they had effected the surprise of the schooner. At their first movement in retreat the skipper's crew burst into a loud jeering laugh, and made as if to rush forward; but at a word from Captain Chubb they were silenced and held back. "I thank you, sir," said the French officer, raising his hat to the skipper. "It was well done. Now let me speak; let me explain," and he looked from Rodd to his uncle and back, and then gave a glance at the skipper, while the two lads stood hand in hand. "It was like this," he said; "you saw us at Havre that stormy day, and of course my brig nearly crushed into your vessel. Then we lay at anchor close together till that order came down from a vile insensate Government to seize upon my vessel and my crew. It was the work of enemies, and I had to set sail at once, or once more my son and I would have had to pass years in the inside of a prison, not as culprits, monsieur, but as honourable gentlemen, French nobles, whose only crime was fidelity to one,"--and as he spoke he stopped short, uttering the word _one_ with grave reverence, as he took off his hat--an example followed by his son. "Well, gentlemen, I cannot explain to you. There is not time. Only this--you saw that I made what you English call a dash for it--for freedom. It was like madness, but we said we would rather trust the storm than the French Government. They sent boats full of soldiers to seize us, but we kept on. They opened fire upon us from the forts, but we did not shrink." "Yes, yes, we saw all," cried Uncle Paul, "and a very brave dash you made." Captain Chubb, who had listened, frowning heavily the while, uttered a low grunt. "And a very fine bit of seamanship, sir," he said, and the officer turned to him and raised his hat. "It was desperate, sir," he said gravely, "and I knew that I was risking the lives of my dear son and all on board; but no man there shrank. Well, sir, my story is long, but I must excuse myself for my conduct here. It is enough. We battled with the storm, as you saw, and escaped." "I always said you had gone down," grunted Captain Chubb. "No, sir. We escaped with but one wound, and that was to my poor vessel; and since the night when we left Havre-de-Grace upon my mission it has been one long struggle, as you would say, for life." "Indeed, sir?" "Yes," said the officer sadly, and he pointed over the side towards where the beautiful duck-like brig with its taper spars sat the smooth sea, but with a steady stream of water trickling down her side. "My chief officer and my men have worked in every way they knew long days and weeks; but it is of no use. I would not give up the great object upon which I have come, but it is forced upon us at last that before many days have gone over our heads that vessel will lie far down in the depths of the ocean. Do you not see how low she is in the water?" "Eh?" cried the skipper eagerly. "Eh? I thought she was low down with cargo. You've sprung a leak?" "A cannon ball crashed through her, sir, and we have never been able to master that leak." "Then why in the name of thunder didn't you put into port?" cried the skipper contemptuously. The officer smiled. "I cannot explain," he said. "There was not time. I had work to do--a task that I had promised to fulfil, and we held on till it was forced upon me that I must get another vessel or stand with my men upon the deck and let our brave _Roi Dagobert_ sink beneath our feet." "That wasn't her name at Havre," said the downright skipper. "No, sir," said the officer, smiling; "but were we not pursued? Would not news of our escape be sent far and wide? We were obliged to assume another disguise. The _Jeanne d'Arc_, we said, sank at Havre. That is the _Roi Dagobert_ floating still; but for how long?" "I don't quite see that," said the skipper bluntly. "No?" said the officer. "Monsieur has never passed long years as a prisoner of war." "Well, no," grunted the skipper. "Maybe that might have made me a bit shifty." "There, sir," said the officer, turning now to Uncle Paul; "that is my excuse for this desperate venture--this attempt to seize your vessel. My business is urgent. I am a nobleman, a count of the French Empire, and I offer you any recompense you like to name if you will give up to me your vessel, leaving me full command for a week--a month--such time as I may need." "And if I say, sir, that I cannot accede to what you must own are wild demands," said Uncle Paul, "what then?" "What then?" said the officer slowly. "You mean that you will attack us, and the strongest wins?" The officer was silent, and he turned his eyes upon his son, who left Rodd and took his extended hands, both standing silent for a few moments. "No, sir," he said at last, slowly and gravely. "Neither my son nor I can raise our hands against those who gave us liberty, almost life. Morny, my boy, we will do our duty to the last, and try to keep the poor _Roi Dagobert_ afloat. She may live long enough, even as she has kept afloat so long. If she sinks with us--well, my boy, we shall have done our duty to him we serve, and our names may not be forgotten in our country's rolls." There was silence for a few moments, which was broken at last by Rodd. "But I say, uncle," he cried eagerly, "you always said you had plenty of time, and--" The young officer turned quickly upon the speaker with an eager questioning look, but before Uncle Paul could speak, Captain Chubb took off his cap and stood scratching his head in the now bright morning sunshine. "Look here, Mr Count," he said; "I am only a rough Englishman, and a lot of what you have been saying about mission and that sort of thing is just so much Greek to me. But do you mean to tell me that you got a ball through the bottom of your smart brig that night in Havre, and have never been able to stop the leak?" "Yes, yes; that is so, my friend. My chief officer has tried everything that he could do, but we could not get at the place. And look yonder! The pump has been kept going ever since." "Well, sir," continued Captain Chubb, "I don't know your first mate, and I don't want to say hard things of a man who could take that there smart craft out of the French harbour as he did that night. He is a very fine sailor, sir. But if I aren't got a carpenter on board this schooner as would give him ninety out of a hundred and then beat him, without bringing to work the little bit I knows myself, why, I'm a Dutchman, and that I aren't." "Ah!" cried the Count excitedly. "You think--" "No, sir; I don't say I think anything without having a look. But as there don't seem to be any fighting going on, and you and the doctor here turns out to be old friends, why, before you talk of throwing up your job and taking to your boats--which would be a much more sensible thing to do than going down with colours flying when there warn't no need, and setting aside getting some fresh water and provisions into your boats and making for a place on the West Afric coast--I should just like to come on board your craft with my man and see what mightn't be done by stopping that there leak." "My friend!" cried the Count excitedly, and he caught the skipper by the hands. "Well, sir," said the skipper, with a grim smile, "if you are Mr Rodd's and the doctor's friend and wants to be friends with me, why, Tom Chubb aren't the man to say no and want to keep enemies. So there's my fin. But look 'ere, you know," he continued, as he gave the Count's thin white hand a tremendous grip, "yours was a very queer way of coming upon us, and might have meant some nasty marks on my white decks. You can't help being a Frenchman, but do you know what an Englishman would have done? He'd have just come here civil like and said, `Look here, strangers, we have sprung a leak, and we are going down. Come and lend us a hand at the pumps.'" "Ah, yes, of course," said the Count warmly. "It is what I should have done." "And you would like me to come aboard and see if there's anything we can do?" "Yes, yes!" cried the Count eagerly. "All right, then, sir," said the skipper coolly; "I am sailing under the doctor's orders, and if he's willing, I'm your man." CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. A SHIP SURGEON. "Well, Mr Rodd, sir," said Captain Chubb, as he and the lad stood watching the regular dip of oars in the brig's two boats as they glided back over the tranquil sea to where their vessel lay motionless in the calm. "Well, Mr Rodd, sir, don't you wish you'd been born a Frenchman?" "No," cried the boy sharply. "I am thankful I was born English." "And so you ought to be, my lad. Of all the crackbrained, sentimental, outrageous chaps I ever met there's none of them comes up to a Frenchman." "Oh, you are too bad, Captain Chubb." "Too bad, eh? Why, aren't they always kicking up a dust and making revolutions, cutting off their kings' and queens' heads, and then going to war with all the world, with their Napoleons and Bonapartes and all the rest of them? Call themselves men!" "Why, you are as bad as uncle," cried Rodd merrily. "You and he ought to be always the best of friends. But, if you speak fairly you must own that they are very gallant men." "Gallant men!" cried the skipper scornfully. "I don't call them men. I call them monkeys! Men! Butchers, as cut off the head of their beautiful Queen Mary What-you-may-call-it, and then after shedding blood like that, sending no end of poor women who never did them a bit of harm to that guillotine. I'd be ashamed of myself, Mr Rodd, to take their part." "Oh, nonsense!" cried Rodd warmly. "I say that the Count and his son have proved themselves to be very brave fellows. Why, you owned as much yourself about the way in which they escaped with the brig." "Oh, that was right enough," grumbled the skipper. "I am not going to deny," continued Rodd, "that there are plenty of horrible wretches amongst the French. And that Revolution was awful; but haven't we plenty of bad men amongst the English?" The skipper chuckled. "Well, yes, we have had some pretty tidy ones, if you come to read your histories. But I don't know so much about those chaps being brave. It was a very clever bit of seamanship, mind you, that taking the brig out in the teeth of the storm with hardly room to tack. I am not a bad pilot in my way when I like to try, but I will be honest over it; I daren't have tried that job. It was a very clean thing. But look here, my lad. It's no use for you to try and crack that up, because him who did it must have been as mad as a hatter, and between ourselves, that's what I think that Count is." "Oh, fudge, captain!" cried Rodd. "No more mad than you or I." "Well, I can answer for myself, my lad," said the skipper, with a chuckle, "but that's more than I'd do for you, for you do some precious outrageous things sometimes." "I?" cried Rodd. "Yes, you, my lad." "What a shame!" cried Rodd indignantly. "I defy you to prove that I have done anything that you could call mad. Now tell me something. What have you ever known me do that wasn't sensible?" "Oh, that's soon done," cried the skipper. "Didn't you go and gammon the soldiers when they were after the escaped French prisoners? Don't you call that a mad act? Fighting against the laws of your country like that!" "Ah, well, I suppose I oughtn't to have helped them, captain; but I couldn't help it." "No, sir, and that's what the Frenchmen would say. Now, what in the world is that chap after, with his mission, as he calls it? What does he mean by coming rampaging out south with a hole in the bottom of his brig and the pumps going straight on to keep the water down? Would any one but a lunatic go risking his crew and his vessel like that?" "Well, it does seem rather wild," replied Rodd thoughtfully. "Wild? Well, that's only your way of saying he's stick, stark, staring mad. And here he's been out weeks and weeks, knowing as he says that his brig was sinking, when he could have put in at Gib, or the Azores, or Las Palmas, or brought up in one of the West Coast rivers, where he could run up on the tidal mud, careened his vessel, and set his ship's carpenter to work to clap patches upon her bottom outside and in. Don't you call that mad?" "No. He might have had reasons for not doing so." "Ah, that's right, sir; argufy. You young scholarly chaps who have been to big schools and got your heads chock-full of Latin and Greek, you are beggars to argufy--chopping logic, I suppose you calls it--and I give in. You could easily beat me at that; just as easily as I could turn you round my little finger at navigation. But I'll have one more go at you; I says that there French Count is mad." "And I say he is not," said Rodd, "only a brave, eccentric nobleman who may have a good many more reasons for what he does than we know." "All right, youngster. I give you my side. Now that's yours. Now, just answer me this. Warn't it the crack-brainedest bit of ask-you-to-go-and-borrow-a-new-strait-waistcoat-to-put-me-in sort of a job for him to bring his two boat-loads of men, like a black-flag-and-cross-boned Paul Jones sort of a pirate, aboard our schooner in the dark, thinking he's going to take possession of it to use instead of his own brig, when if he'd had any gumption he might have managed to patch her up, and--Here, I say, I can't go on talking like this before breakfast, my lad. I must have my bowl of coffee and a bit of salt pork and biscuit before I say another word." "Oh, very well," cried Rodd merrily. "I see we shan't agree; and we don't want to quarrel, do we, captain?" "Quarrel? Not us, my lad! It takes two to do that, and we knows one another too well." "Then look here," cried Rodd, "you are taking it very coolly and talking about breakfast; aren't you going to order the boat out and go aboard the brig at once?" "I aren't a-going to do anything till I have had my breakfast," said the captain. "They've spoilt my morning snooze, but I aren't going to let them spoil my morning meal, nor my lads' neither." "But it's urgent," cried Rodd. "Suppose while you are thinking of eating and drinking the brig goes down?" "Yah! She won't go down. If she's floated for weeks like that she'll keep her nose above water while I swallow two bowls of coffee. I can't work without something to keep me going. Let them pump for another half-hour, and then we'll go." "We!" said Rodd sharply. "That means me too?" "Oh, ah, if you like to come; only we shall have to keep a sharp look-out." "What, for fear it should sink under us?" "Nay, I didn't mean that, my lad. I mean, you see, we are dealing with a lunatic." "Captain!" cried Rodd indignantly. "Ay, but we are, and there's no knowing what sort of games fellows like that will be up to. I mean to give the mate strict orders to load all three guns, and if he sees the Count coming off again with his two boats full of men to take possession while he's got us tight, to sink them without mercy. Ah, here's the stooard, welcome, as you might say, as the flowers in spring. Come along, my lad, and let's lay in stores." In spite of his words and deliberate way of proceeding, Captain Chubb had made his arrangements so that within half-an-hour of going down to breakfast he had the schooner's boat lowered down with Joe Cross, five men, and the carpenter, who had already handed into the boat what he called his bag of tricks, the said tricks being composed of an adze, saws, chisels, augers, and nails, and very shortly afterwards the oars were dipping, and with Uncle Paul and Rodd in the stern-sheets they were gliding over the glittering sea and rapidly shortening the distance between them and the beautiful brig, which won a string of encomiums from the skipper as they drew near. "Yes, she is a beauty," he said. "It would be a pity to let her go down. Look at her lines, and the way she's rigged. If I wanted to sail a brig I wouldn't wish for a better; but then, you see, I don't. She's a bit low in the water, though, and no mistake. Well, we shall see; we shall see." The Count and his son were eagerly awaiting their coming, and welcomed them warmly as they mounted the side, while, casting off his show of indifference, the skipper cast an admiring glance round the deck of the brig, and then gruffly exclaimed-- "Now then, sir, I want your bo'sun. But look here, can he parley English?" "No," said the Count, "but my son and I will interpret everything you wish to hear." "I don't know as I want to hear anything, sir," growled the skipper. "I want to see for myself, and after that mebbe I shall want to give a few orders, which I will ask you to have carried out." "Yes; everything you wish shall be done directly." "Umph!" grunted the skipper, looking round. "Pump rigged, and two men trying to keep the water under. Ought to be four." "Yes, of course," cried the Count, and he turned to give an order; but Captain Chubb clapped his hand upon his arm. "Hold hard," he said. "They'll do for a bit. Now then, I want to go below and sound the well." The Count and his son led the way below, the French crew standing aloof and displaying the discipline of a man-of-war, no man leaving his place while the skipper made all the investigations he required, and then came up on deck with his mahogany face more deeply lined with wrinkles than before. "Well, captain," said Uncle Paul, while Rodd, who had kept close to his young friend of the Dartmoor stream, eagerly listened for what their expert had to say. "Well, sir," he said, at last, as he took out a little seal-skin bag and deliberately helped himself to a little ready-cut scrap of pigtail tobacco, "your craft's in a bad way, and if something isn't done pretty smart she'll be down at the bottom before long." "Yes, yes," cried the Count impatiently, "but we have tried everything, and it is impossible to get at the leak." "Hah! Tried everything, have you, sir?" "Yes, yes," cried the Count. "Some of my brave fellows have been half-drowned in diving, trying to plug from inside, using yards to force bags of oakum into the holes." "Yes," said the skipper. "The ball went right through, I suppose?" "Yes, yes," cried the Count, and Rodd noted that he was having hard work to master his impatience and annoyance at the skipper's annoyingly deliberate treatment of their urgent needs. "So I suppose," said the skipper coolly, "but mebbe you haven't done quite all; leastwise I should like to try my little plan, and if it don't answer, why, you won't be any worse off than you are now; and when I give it up as a bad job, why, you will have to take to your boats and we shall have to find room for you aboard the schooner. Now then, please, you will just order two more men at that pump, and four more ready to take their places so as to keep on pumping hard." "Yes, yes," cried the Count eagerly. "What next?" "Order up what spare sails you've got from the store-room, and a few coils of new line." The Count gave his orders quickly, and his men went off to carry them out. "Good," said the skipper coolly. "That's smart." "What next?" cried the Count. "Well, sir, as quickly as I can, I want to do something to lighten the ship." "No; I must protest!" cried the Count excitedly. "You are going to throw the guns overboard?" "Humph!" grunted the captain. "Who said so? I didn't. Nay, that'd be a pity. I wouldn't do that till the very last." "Ah!" sighed the Count, as if deeply relieved. "Well, the next thing is, sir, just you leave me and my men alone and let yours look on till I want their help." The Count was silent, and all looked on whilst in obedience to the skipper's orders the English sailors, led by the carpenter, set busily to work, seized upon the new spare sails that were brought up on deck, and cast loose the coils of fresh hemp line that were placed ready. Then with the skipper putting in a word here and there, resulting in the lines being attached to the corners of the largest square-sail, these latter were seized by a couple of the men, who dragged the sail forward as the brig glided very gently along, for it was nearly calm, and then passing the new sail deftly beneath the bowsprit, two of the men climbing out and seeming to cling with their feet to the bobstay until little by little they had got the edge right beneath the stay. Then while their mates at the corners helped at the lines, they passed down the sail right into the sea till they had lowered it to its full extent and they could do no more, save once or twice when they hung down from the stay and gave the canvas, which was slowly growing saturated, a thrust or two with the foot where it seemed disposed to hitch against the brig's keel. And now the skipper took his post upon the bowsprit and gave his orders by word or sign to the men who governed the movement of the great square of canvas by means of the lines attached to the corners, the two at the fore corners of the sail getting outside the bulwarks, barefooted, to walk along the streak, and hauling just as much as was necessary to drag the sail right beneath the keel, their two messmates preparing to follow, and under the captain's guidance keeping all square and exact in the effort to get the keel to act as the dividing line to mark the oblong into two exact portions. It was very slow work, for the canvas was stiff and moved unwillingly downward beneath the keel; but after a time it began to yield to the steady drag of the ropes upon the two fore corners, and, once started, progress began to be faster. For, so to speak, the brig began to help, sailing as it were gently more and more over the canvas, till at the end of about half-an-hour it was in the position at which the skipper had aimed, having while below in the hold pretty well marked down the position of the two holes made by the shot from the fort. These were about amidships, some few feet, as far as he could make out, on either side of the keel, one naturally being much higher than the other in the diagonal course taken by the heavy ball. At last he called to his men to halt, and took off his cap, to stand thinking, the position now being that the sail was drawn right under the brig, and the sailors at the four corners were holding on tight to prevent the vessel from sailing clear. So far not a word had been uttered by the Frenchmen, all of whom had stood clear or mounted the rigging or deck-house, so as to give the Englishmen ample room; but now in the silence Rodd advanced to the skipper eagerly, to say-- "Are you sure you have got the canvas well over the holes?" Captain Chubb made no reply, but stood with his cap in his left hand gazing aft, and then he moved his right arm two or three times, as if forming an imaginary line through the brig's hull. "Did you hear me, captain?" said Rodd eagerly. "Are you sure you have got the sail over the holes?" "No," granted the skipper. "Are you?" "No; but I thought--" "Yes, my lad; so did I. You thought we ought to get the sail in the right place." "Yes," said Rodd. "Well, then, now, my lad, I should be much obliged to you if you'd tell me which is exactly the right place." Rodd looked at him in despair. "Thank you, my lad," said the skipper dryly. "I am much obliged. But all right, Mr Rodd; you can't tell, and I can't tell. We know that the ball that came from the fort must have gone downwards a bit, so that it went out from lower than where it went in; but there's no knowing whether she was hit from starboard or from larboard, and that's where I'm bothered. But never say die. I think we will make this bit of canvas fast now, for I'm pretty sure of one thing; it will be a plaister for one hole if it isn't for the other." "But look here, captain," cried Rodd. "What now?" "Won't the water run under the canvas just the same as it did before?" "No, my lad, it won't; and I'll tell you the reason why when we have done. Of course you know I am not going to stop all the water from coming in below, but if I can get it checked a bit so that they can keep it down easy with one man at the pump instead of two, she won't go to the bottom just yet, and they will have time enough to get into port to set the carpenter at work." "Then you won't let our carpenter try to stop the holes?" "No, my lad. You see, he never learned to be a fish, so that he could work under water; and though he's a bit of a crab in his way, I don't think he could manage it for all that. Now I'm ready to go on. Come, my lads, put your backs into it and haul them sheets tight. Here, master, let two of your men go to each corner and help my lads. All together as hard as they can!" shouted the skipper, and the Count quickly translated his order. "That's right! Haul away, my lads!" shouted the skipper. "That new canvas won't give. Harder! Harder! Now then, one more--all you know!--Make fast!" "Excellent! Superb!" cried the Count, as the men ceased from making fast the ropes, which were brought over the bulwarks and passed round the belaying pins. "Do you think that will stop the leak?" "Maybe yes, sir; maybe no. If it don't do it we will put another plaister on, and another, and another. You have got plenty of spare sails and rope, and when we have used all yours I dare say we can find some more in the schooner. Now then, set your men going at that pump, and rig up another as quick as you can." One pump began to clank heavily at once, and a short time after another was at work, and the clear bright water began to sparkle out of the scuppers, while, moved as it were by the same spirit, the French crew burst into a shrill involuntary cheer. "How can I ever thank you, captain?" cried the Count, while his son snatched at Rodd's hand. "Ah, I haven't done yet, sir," said the skipper coolly. "This is only a try." "Oh, it's grand," cried the French lad, clinging to Rodd's arm. "You have saved our ship." "Don't you holloa till you are out of the wood, young fellow," said the skipper, as he heard the words. "Now, Mr Rodd, sir, what was it you wanted to know?" "Why the water will not still rim in underneath the canvas." "Only because of this, my lad. Aren't they pumping the water out now as fast as ever they can?" "Yes," cried Rodd; "but more will run in." "Yes, my lad, and as it runs in won't the weight of the water outside push the canvas closer and closer in round the leak?" "Yes, of course," cried Rodd. "I didn't think of that. And as there gets less inside it will seem to suck the canvas closer to." "Quite right, my lad. That's about the way it works; and now we have got to wait for about an hour before we can know whether we have got both holes covered, or only one." "Wait for an hour?" cried Rodd. "Well, perhaps, before we are sure; but I dare say I shall be going down and sounding the well a time or two before that." But long before the hour had elapsed the skipper found that though the water in the brig had subsided to a certain extent, one of the holes must be still uncovered, and he began at once to repeat his proceedings, coming to the conclusion that one of the bullet-holes was beyond the reach of the canvas. This time, after all was drawn tight, half-an-hour's pumping proved that his surmises were correct, and the skipper smiled with satisfaction as the Count and his men cheered them in delight on finding after a good deal of pumping that there was a very perceptible diminution of the water in the hold. "It is superb, and so simple," cried the Count to Uncle Paul; "but I feel humbled, sir. Why could not our French sailors have been able to do this?" "Well," said Uncle Paul good-humouredly, "the only reason I can give is that they were not English." "That's it, sir," said the skipper. "You have hit the right nail on the head. But look here, Mr Count--I don't know your name." "Des Saix," said the Count, smiling. "Look here, sir; this is nothing to make a fuss about. It will keep you afloat while the weather's fine, but just come a rough time, those sails will be ripped off as easily as pocket-handkerchiefs. Besides, they will hinder your sailing no end." "Ah, that is bad," said the Count, changing countenance. "Oh no, not it. There's worse disasters than that at sea." "But will it not be possible for the carpenters to stop the leaks?" "No, sir; not unless you do what I say." "Ah! What is that?" "Run your craft up one of the rivers to where you can careen on the mad, and then a few hours between tides will be enough to put everything straight." "Is there no other way?" asked the Count. "Only downwards, sir," cried the skipper; and the French lad glanced questioningly at Rodd, who shook his head. "No," said the boy, almost in a whisper. "I don't think there is any other way. He is quite right." After another hour's pumping, the skipper gave out his intention of going back to the schooner; but the Count would not hear of it. He begged and implored Uncle Paul to give him their company at the breakfast he was having prepared, and after a little hesitation the doctor gave way, and suggested to the skipper that they should leave their departure till late in the afternoon, when a far better opinion could be given of the state of the brig. "What do you say, squire?" said the skipper, looking at Rodd. "Oh yes, let's stay!" And his impulsive young French friend grasped him by the wrist. "Very well, gentlemen, I have only one thing to say, for I don't suppose the schooner will sail away and leave us behind. Let them call it dinner, and I'll stop. I aren't been in the habit of eating my breakfast at two o'clock in the day." CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. THE COUNT CAN'T FIND WORDS. That afternoon, after what had proved to be a very friendly, pleasant breakfast, through which nothing could have been more courteous and hospitable than the conduct of the Count and his son towards those with whom they had become so strangely intimate, the skipper hurried the end of the meal by suggesting that he should once more sound the well. They went on deck at once, to find both pumps were being kept energetically going, the half-dozen men from the schooner taking their turns in the heartiest way, a general fraternisation having taken place, while on seeing the result of the skipper's examination, the delight of the Count and his son seemed unbounded. "There you are, then, sir," said the skipper, in answer to a look from the doctor, "and now we will leave you to it." "And I suppose," said Uncle Paul, "that you will have no hesitation, sir, in following Captain Chubb's advice?" "And making for the mouth of some river," said the Count, glancing at his son, "to get the brig ashore, so as to repair her?" "Exactly," said Uncle Paul. "You must see that there is nothing else that you can do." "Nothing else that I can do," said the Count slowly, and Rodd gave him a wondering glance, for the skipper's remarks about the brig's owner being out of his mind came to his memory. "You intend to cruise about here, then, Dr Robson?" "Here or anywhere," was the reply. "Probably here until I seem to have exhausted the natural history specimens that I can collect." "Yes," said the Count, gazing fixedly at his son, "until you have exhausted the natural history specimens that you can collect." He spoke in a curious dreamy way as if he were thinking hard, while Rodd coloured a little as he saw that the young Frenchman was gazing at him fixedly, for once more he could not help thinking of the skipper's words. "Do you know of a place that would be likely, doctor?" said the Count. "I mean a river that we could sail up into shallow water, if we were so fortunate as to reach one without sinking first." "Not I," said the doctor, "but my captain here has cruised along this coast in by-gone days, and he tells me that it would be easy enough to find inlet after inlet, and deltas with streams, running up through the muddy mangrove swamps." "But then we might never reach the shore," said the Count slowly--"not with the brig--in spite of your kindly, I may say brotherly aid." Rodd felt that the Count's son was still gazing at him searchingly, but he did not turn his head, for the doctor began speaking at once. "Really, my dear sir," he said almost curtly, "national dislike seems to exist to a great extent amongst your countrymen. Do you really think we English should be such barbarians as to sail away and leave a crippled ship to its fate?" "No, no, no, doctor!" cried the Count warmly. "But how could I be so grasping as to ask you, full of your scientific pursuits as you are, to stand by us till we can reach the shore in safety?" "You would not ask it, sir," said the doctor warmly. "There would be no need. Of course my schooner will stand by you, ready to give you help until your brig is once more fit for sea." "Forgive me, doctor!" cried the Count eagerly. "There is nothing to forgive, sir," replied the doctor, "only I think I may say that saving in times of war there is no such thing as nationality amongst those who go to sea. My experience is that they are always brethren in times of distress." The Count held out his hand, which was warmly grasped, while the young French ex-prisoner looked at Rodd with eyes that seemed to speak volumes. At this moment the skipper gave a grunt of satisfaction and broke in. "There's plenty of choice, gentlemen," he said. "I'd venture to say I could find you the mouths of a dozen sluggish rivers up which you could go with the tide as far as you liked, and then moor our vessels to the forest trees, easily finding places close in shore where the tide as it went out would leave the brig here softly in the mud ready for careening over in a cradle where she wouldn't strain or open a single seam; and the doctor here being willing, I'll promise to take the job in hand and make the brig's bottom as sound as ever it was, even if we have to strip off a little copper from along the top streak, where it isn't so much wanted, so as to put new plates where the damaged ones have been." "I shall be only too glad, Count," said the doctor; "and now I think we will get back to the schooner, and Captain Chubb here will shape his course somewhere to the south-east, till within the next few days we near the coast, when he will select a suitable place for his purpose." "I cannot find words," said the Count, in a husky voice. "Don't try," said the doctor. "No, but--er,"--continued the Count, in rather a hesitating tone, "you do mean to keep cruising about here--and farther south or west?" "Don't you give that another thought," said the doctor frankly. "The schooner is my own, and almost any portion of the ocean or the shore offers attractions to me and my nephew. We can find interest anywhere. I only hope that you will not find our society dull." The Count made a gesture, and then, after a word or two to the skipper, the latter gave his men orders, and they took their places in the boat. It was then that the Count's son, who had been very silent for some time, looking at Rodd as if longing to speak, suddenly turned and whispered something to his father, who replied with a comprehensive gesture, and the lad immediately approached the doctor. "It will be hours yet, sir, before it is dark, and I have so much I should like to say to your nephew. Can he not stay till evening, and then our boat shall bring him to your vessel? You will not," he continued playfully, turning to Rodd, "be afraid of going down?" "My nephew is at liberty to do as he pleases," replied the doctor frankly. "What do you say, Rodd?" "Oh, I want to stay, uncle. I should like to hear all about the escape." A few minutes later the two lads were leaning together over the rail watching the departing boat, and chatting together as if they were old schoolfellows who had met again after a long separation, Rodd delighted with his companion, and disposed to feel disappointed in himself lest the refined, polished young officer--one, evidently, of the _haute noblesse_--should look down upon him as a rough, rather boorish young Englishman. Somehow that evening, with its rapid change from glowing sunset light to purple violet darkness, seemed wonderfully quick in coming, and as the brig's well-manned boat grazed against the schooner's stern and Rodd turned in climbing up the side to hang by his left hand and extend his right, the feeling of inferiority melted away in the young Frenchman's warm grasp, as the latter said-- "I suppose we shall be sailing very slowly till we reach the shore, and I want to see more of you. I shall come and fetch you first thing in the morning. Don't say anything; you must come. _Au revoir_!" The brig's boat pushed off as soon as Rodd had swung himself on deck, and as it glided away into the soft darkness with the regularly handled oars dipping up from the surface of the sea what seemed to be like so much lambent liquid gold, suggesting to Rodd as he gazed after his new friend that the stars might have been melting all day in the torrid sun, and that this was their pale golden light floating upon the sea, a hand was laid upon his shoulder. CHAPTER THIRTY. THE DOCTOR PAINTS PICTURES. "Back again, then, Rodd!" "Oh yes, uncle. Did you think me long?" "So long, my boy, that I was thinking of sending the boat to fetch you, for fear you should be converted into a Frenchman. Hang them all! How I do hate them and their nasty, smooth, polished ways!" "Oh, uncle, you don't!" cried the boy indignantly. "I do, sir. How dare you contradict me! And I won't have you getting too fond of that French boy. He and his father set me thinking about old Bony, and as soon as I begin thinking about Bony I have a nasty taste in my mouth.-- Well, how did you get on?" "I had a most delightful afternoon, uncle. Young Morny--let's see, he's Viscount Morny--" "Viscount grandmother!" snapped out the doctor. "Anybody can be a viscount in France if he's got an income of a few hundred francs--francs in France of common silver. They rank with golden guineas in your grand old home." "Oh, well, I don't know, uncle I only know that he's the nicest fellow I ever met." "Gush!" cried the doctor. "I won't have it, Rodd. I won't have you making too much of these French people. I don't like them." "But you don't know them, uncle. Both the Count and his son are the most gentlemanly men I ever met." "The most gentlemanly men you ever met!" cried Uncle Paul mockingly. "Nice puppy you are to set yourself up for a judge! Very gentlemanly, to come in the dark with two boat-loads of savage-looking buccaneers to seize our schooner! And they would, too, if it hadn't been for Captain Chubb's courage." "Oh, uncle, don't be unreasonable. The poor fellows were desperate. Suppose you had been in such a position as they were." "I am not going to suppose anything of the sort, sir," cried the doctor indignantly; "and look here, Rodney, I will not have you setting up your feathers like the miserable young cockerel you are, and beginning to crow at me, just as if you were full grown. It's growing unbearable, Rodney, and I won't have it, sir. I am very much displeased with you, and you had better be off to your bunk at once before we come to an open quarrel. It is too much, sir, and if your poor mother were alive and could hear you talking like this she'd--she'd--she'd--there, I don't know what she wouldn't say." "I do," said the boy. "What would she say, sir?" snapped out the doctor. Rodd stood silent in the darkness for a few moments as he stole his hand under the irate doctor's arm. "She'd say that dear Uncle Paul had been thinking about old Bony, and that it had made him very cross with me about nothing at all." Uncle Paul made a sound like the beginning of a speech that would not come, and the silence seemed deeper than ever, nothing being heard but the soft lapping of the water under the vessel's counter, as she glided slowly through the sea. But Rodd felt the warm arm under which his hand nestled press it closer and closer to the old man's side, and that he was urged along the deck to keep pace with his elder slowly up and down, up and down, from stem to stern, for some minutes before that speech came--one which was quite different from that which Rodd fully expected to hear, for it was in Uncle Paul's natural tones once more, as he said very thoughtfully and in quite a confidential manner-- "Yes, very gentlemanly, Pickle, my boy; quite the nobleman, I might say, and I am not at all surprised that you helped that poor lad to escape. A little effeminate, but certainly a very nice lad. But I have been thinking about them ever since I came on board this afternoon, and I can't quite make out that Count. What's he doing here, my boy? On some mission, and connected with some jealousy and a stop being put to his cruise. I am not quite sure, Pickle." "Rodney, uncle," said the boy mischievously. "Pickle, you dog! Be quiet. I am talking sense. But I think I have worked it out. He betrayed himself. He's a naturalist, boy. He betrayed it in his looks and words as soon as he learned what I was about. Didn't you notice how eager he was to know about our pursuits?" "Yes, uncle; I noticed that directly." "Ah, I thought so. A naturalist--a born naturalist, Pickle, and in spite of his being a Frenchman I shall begin to feel a brotherly respect for a follower of the only pursuit worthy of a gentleman. Well, we had a very short sleep last night, so we have got a long one due to our credit to-night, and on the strength of that Captain Chubb has arranged to have supper quite early. This has been a queer day, Pickle, a very queer day, and I am not at all displeased, for I am beginning to think that we have got a very good time before us." "What time, uncle?" "Ashore, my boy. What do you say to having a couple of the sailors with guns to keep us company while the rest are new-bottoming that brig? Walks in the primeval forest, Rodd, wonderful botanical rambles, shooting birds of glorious plumage, most likely coming across the great man-ape, the chimpanzee. What do you say to that, my boy? Won't that be a grand change from fishing and dredging and bottling specimens?" "Uncle Paul, don't!" cried the boy. "Don't? What do you mean, sir?" "You were talking just now of our having a good long sleep to-night to make up for all we lost since we went to bed last." "Well, sir, what of that?" "How's a fellow to sleep, uncle, with such things as that to think of? Why, I shan't get a wink for thinking of the big chimpanzees; and as for eating any supper now, why, my appetite has completely gone." "Stuff!" cried Uncle Paul, pressing the lad's arm to his side. "Rodd, my boy, we must cork a bottle or two and throw them overboard to-morrow, and then have a little practice with bullets in our guns. We may come across dangerous beasts there, leopards and the like, while that there are great man-apes in those forests of the West Coast there is not a doubt." "Well, I think I could shoot at one of those great spotted cats, uncle, all tooth and claw; but wouldn't it be rather queer to shoot one of those big monkeys which look so much like human beings? I mean those big ones with ears like ours, and no tails." "Humph! Ha! Well, I--Yes, all right, captain! We are coming down." CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. GREAT FRIENDS. The days that followed the attempt to salve the brig after so strange an introduction to her commander and his son, fell calm all through the hot sunny time, and only that a pleasant cool breeze ushered in the evening and continued till the sun rose again, very little progress would have been made by the schooner and its consort, sailing east and south. But nobody seemed troubled. When the French and English sailors were together they were the best of friends; while long conversations and arguments often took place between the doctor and his new friend, the skipper generally letting them have the cabin to themselves. Sometimes they drifted into political questions and came very near to losing their tempers; but each mastered and kept down his opinions, for a genuine feeling of liking had arisen between them, and the Count seemed never weary of listening to Uncle Paul's disquisitions upon the marvels of natural history, nor of studying with him the wonders of creation which he had collected and had to show. Then day by day the brig, which was freed every day from as much water as she had gained during the night, sailed steadily on in the schooner's wake in full charge of her stern fierce-looking French mate--one of the most silent of men. And while the Count was mostly with the doctor, literally taking lessons in pelagic lore, the two lads had become inseparable. "Look here," said Rodd, almost hotly, one day, "if ever you say a word again about my helping you to escape at Dartmoor, you and I are going to leave off being friends." Morny laughed, a pleasant, almost girlish smile lighting up his well-cut Gallic features. "Why, Rodd," he cried, "isn't that rather hard? I used to think that was the most horrible time in my life, but I feel now that one part of it was the most delightful." "There you go again," cried Rodd. "You are beginning." "No, no, I wasn't. But I can't forget being a prisoner in England, and about all that I went through there with my father when he was bad so long with his wound." "Bad so long with his wound?" said Rodd eagerly. "Ah! You may talk about that. Yes, I should like to hear. Tell me all about your being taken prisoners, and how it happened." "For you never to be friends with me any more?" said the French lad maliciously. "No, no, no. But I hate for you to be what you call grateful. You are quite a good sort of chap, and you speak our language so well that I forget you are not English sometimes, till you begin to be grateful to me for saving you, and then I feel that you are French. There, now you may tell me all about it--I mean about before you met me fishing." The two lads were under the awning upon this particular day just amidships. It was a hot and breathless time, but both were pretty well inured to the weather, and were so interested in the subjects supplied to them by Nature in the way of floating wonders that they never troubled themselves about the heat. Upon this occasion they were lying together upon the deck, suffering to a certain extent from lassitude consequent upon the heat. There was a man at the wheel, and Joe Cross was seated upon the main cross-trees with a spy-glass across his legs, ready to raise it from time to time and direct it eastward to try and pierce the faint silvery haze that lay low upon the horizon. The boys had grown very silent and thoughtful, Moray trying to recall memories of the past so that he might respond to his English friend's demand upon him that he should relate something of his old experiences in connection with the war and his being brought over to England, and so deep in thought that he paid no heed to his companion. Meantime, Rodd, without any desire to play the eavesdropper, lay listening to the scraps of conversation which came up through the cabin skylight, growing a little louder than usual, for, as was occasionally the case, an argument was afloat respecting the late war, the doctor according to his wont growing wroth upon an allusion being made by his guest to the ex-Emperor Napoleon; and there were evidently threatenings of a storm, which was, however, suppressed by the grave dignity of the Count and a feeling of annoyance which attacked Uncle Paul upon realising that he had ventured upon dangerous ground. "Oh, Uncle Paul," said Rodd to himself, and he lay and laughed softly, making Morny start. "Was I talking aloud?" said the French lad, flushing. "You? No! Didn't you hear? It was Uncle Paul. Your father was talking about Napoleon, and directly his name is mentioned uncle begins to boil over." "Ah, yes, so you have told me, and I gathered something of the kind. My father should not have spoken about the Emperor, though he venerates his name." "Do you?" said Rodd. "I?" replied Morny proudly. "Of course. He is the greatest man who ever lived." "I say; I'm not Uncle Paul." "Of course not. But why do you say that?" "Because it seems as if you were trying to lead me on, like your father did with uncle." "Ah, no, no, don't think that. Better to let such things rest." "Yes," said Rodd. "I didn't hear much of what they were saying, only they talked loudly sometimes about the way the French and English hate one another. It seems so stupid. Why should they? I don't hate you; and I suppose you don't hate me." "Of course not! You have given me plenty of cause." "Whoa!" shouted Rodd. "You are getting on dangerous ground again. Now, look here; why should the French hate the English?" "Because the English never did us anything but harm." "Nonsense!" said Rodd coolly. "Now, look here, suppose you and I had a good fight, and I got the best of it--gave you an unlucky crack on the bridge of your nose, and made both your eyes swell up so that you couldn't see." "Well, it would be very brutal," said Morny. "Gentlemen should fight with the small sword." "Oh, I like that!" said Rodd merrily. "And then one of them sticks it in the other's corpus and makes him bleed, if he does nothing worse. Why, people have been killed." "Yes, in the cause of honour," said Morny, slowly and thoughtfully. "But that wouldn't have happened if they had been fighting with their fists." "It's of no use to argue a matter like this with an Englishman," said Morny. "He cannot see such things with the eyes of a Frenchman." "And a jolly good job too," said Rodd. "But we are running away from what we have been talking about. I was saying, suppose you and I were fighting and I hit you on the bridge of the nose and made your eyes swell up so that you couldn't see; that would be no reason why you should always hate me afterwards. Wouldn't it be much better if the one who was beaten owned it and shook hands so as to be good friends again?" "Hah!" said Morny, giving vent to a long deep sigh. "Uncle Paul always says that there is so much good to do in the world that there is no room for animosity or hatred, especially as life is so very short. Here, I don't see that we English have done anything worse to you French than conquering you now and then." "What!" cried Morny. "What have you to say to the way in which you treated your prisoners? You were never taken captive with your father-- I mean your uncle, and shut up in a great cheerless building right out upon a cold, bleak, dreary moor." "No," said Rodd gravely. "My father and I were, after a sea-fight in which one of your great bullying ships battered our little sloop of war almost to pieces and took us into Plymouth, not conquered, for our brave fellows fought till nearly all were killed or wounded." "I say," cried Rodd earnestly, "I didn't know about this! Were you wounded?" For answer Morny with flashing eyes literally snatched up his shirt-sleeve, baring his thin white left arm and displaying in the fleshy part a curious puckering and discoloration, evidently the scar of a bad wound. "Poor old chap!" said Rodd softly. "I say, how was that done?" "Grape-shot," replied Morny, drawing himself up proudly and deliberately beginning to draw down and button his sleeve. "Did it hurt much?" "Yes," said Morny rather contemptuously. "My father was wounded too, so that he had to be carried below, or else we should never have struck, but he would have gone down as a brave captain should with colours flying, fighting for the Emperor to the very last." "Then I am precious glad that the Count was taken below," said Rodd. "Why?" snapped out the French lad fiercely. "Because of course you would have sunk with him, for you couldn't have swum for your life with a wounded arm." "No; but shouldn't I have had my name written in history?" "Perhaps. But you and I would never have met and become such good friends; for you know we are precious good friends when we can agree." Morny laughed. "Yes," he said pleasantly, "when we can agree. But do you think it was good treatment to keep us shut up there as prisoners on that dreary moor?" "Let's see," said Rodd; "Dartmoor--all amongst the streams and tors, as they call them?" "Yes; a great granite desert." "Oh, but it was very jolly there," said Rodd. "I don't know what you mean by jolly," said Morny contemptuously. "Why, they didn't keep you shut up. They let you roam about as you liked, didn't they, as long as you didn't try to escape?" "Well--yes; but it was a long time before I went out at all," replied Morny sadly. "For months I never left my father's side, and for a long time I never expected that he'd recover; and as I used to sit there by his bedside, watching, I began to get to hate the English more and more, and long to get away so as to begin righting for my country again. But of course I couldn't leave my wounded father's side." "No," said Rodd slowly and in a low voice, as if repeating the words to himself. "Of course you couldn't leave your father's side." "No," repeated Morny softly, "I couldn't leave my father's side. But after a time he made me go. He said my wound would never heal--for the surgeon had told him so--if he kept me shut up day after day, and that I must go out with the other prisoners and roam about on the moor; but I said I wouldn't leave him, and I didn't till he told me one day that I was growing white and thin and weak, and that he could see how I was suffering from the pain in my wound." "Ah, yes," said Rodd, in a low tone full of earnestness. "It must have given you terrible pain." "And at last he said," continued Morny, "that if he saw me getting well it would be the best cure for his injuries, but that if I were obstinate and refused to obey him now that he was lying there weak and helpless, it would surely send him to his grave." "And then of course you went?" replied Rodd excitedly. "Yes, I went then," replied Morny, "for at last I had begun to see that he was right. And then every morning after we had been all mustered, as you call it, and were free to go outside the gates, I went out with a lot more right on to the wild desert. But I wanted to be alone, and as soon as I could I wandered away up amongst the great stones, and sat down to think and rage against myself for feeling so happy when I wanted to be miserable and in despair about our fate. For it was as if something within me was mocking at my sufferings and trying to make me laugh and feel bright and joyous, for--Oh, how well I can remember it all up there! The sun was shining brightly, and the great block of stone upon which I sat down felt hot and so different to the cold cheerless prison inside. Every here and there amongst the stones there was the beautiful soft green grass, and little low shrubs were in full blossom, some a of rich purple, and some of the brightest gold, while in two or three places far up in the blue sky the _alouettes_ were singing like they do in France; and every puff of soft warm wind that floated by was scented with the sweet fragrance of that little herb--I forget its name--that which the bees buzz about." "Wild thyme?" said Rodd quickly. "Ah, yes; wild thyme. And there for a long time I sat nursing my left arm, fighting against what seemed to be a feeling of happiness, and trying to think of all the evil that the English had done us, and what I would do as soon as I got free. But it was too much for me. I couldn't do it, and what I had looked upon from the prison windows from between the bars would not seem to be the same wild stony desert, but beautiful and full of hope and joy." "Ah!" cried Rodd. "That's because you were getting better. I know what you felt. I was like that once after a bad fever, and when I was taken out one fine morning for the first time, though I was weak as a rat I felt as if I must run and jump and shout all about nothing; but it was because everything looked so beautiful, and I knew that I must be getting well." The boys' eyes met for a few moments, and then Morny bowed his head slowly and went on. "Yes," he said quietly, "I suppose it was a beautiful healthy place, and it began to make me feel like that; and as I looked round--for I had climbed very high--I could see right down into parts of a valley that was all full of sunshine and flashing light, for there was a little dancing stream running swiftly along, and as I looked down into it and saw how it widened here and narrowed there as it flashed amongst the great rocks of granite, it set me thinking about home, and instead of going on planning how I would revenge myself upon the English, I began to wonder whether there would be trout there too, and soon afterwards I began to creep slowly down so as to see. And then I remember that I burst out laughing at myself, for it seemed so droll. My legs would keep on bending under me, and I had to sit down and rest every now and then." "You were so weak," said Rodd earnestly. "Yes, that was it," cried Morny; "but I didn't understand at first, and somehow I didn't seem to mind a bit, but sat down and rested time after time, till at last I got right down to the edge of the little river, all shallow and dotted with blocks of stone; and there at first were the little trout darting about to hide themselves, scared away by my shadow upon the water. But as I sat down to watch they soon came out again, and began leaping at the little gnats that were flitting about the surface. Then do you know how that made me feel?" "Well," said Rodd, "I know how it would make an English boy feel-- myself, for instance." "How?" "As if he'd like to have my namesake with only one _d_ in his hand, and begin whipping the stream." "Yes, that's how I felt," said Morny softly. "I know about those trout on Dartmoor," cried Rodd, "right up on the moor. I know somebody who used to go and fish there, and he told me that he could go and catch dozens and dozens and dozens of them whenever he liked. But they were so very small." "Yes," said Morny, speaking dreamily now, with his eyes so lit up, that as Rodd watched his thin delicate face, he thought how handsome and well-bred he looked. "Too good-looking for a boy, but more fitted for a girl," he mused. "And did you go and fish?" he cried, as he suddenly caught Morny's eyes gazing at him questioningly. "Oh yes. I went back to the prison and spoke to one of our guards--a frowning, fierce-looking fellow--and I told him how ill my father was, and that he never seemed as if he could eat the prison rations, as they called them, and that I wanted to try and catch some of the little fish on the moor and cook them, and try if I could tempt him with them." "And what did he say?" cried Rodd, for Morny had stopped. "He made my heart feel on fire at first, for he growled out `Bah! Rubbish! There, go on in.' `Savage!' I said to myself. `Just like an Englishman!'" "What a brute!" cried Rodd. "But I say, old chap, our fellows are not all like that." "No," said Morny. "But I hadn't done. Next minute he shouted after me, `Halt!' and when I stopped and looked round he called out, `Ahoy! Jim!' and another of the guards with his piece over his shoulder marched up to where we stood, and the man I had first spoken to turned to me and said, `Here, you tell him what you said to me.'" "And did you?" cried Rodd. "I felt as if the words would choke me at first, but just then I seemed to see the trout hot and brown upon a dish and my father, sick and pale, looking at them longingly, and that made me speak to the other guard, who was scowling at me. And as I spoke a grim smile came over his face, and his eyes twinkled, and he showed his teeth. `All right, youngster,' he said. `Got a rod?' I shook my head. `No line? No flies?' I shook my head again and again. `All right, young 'un,' he said. `You come to me two hours before sundown; I shall be on duty then. I'll set you up with a bit of tackle. But I say, you Frenchies don't know how to throw a fly!' `I used to,' I replied, `at home, in France.' `Lor', did you?' he said. `Hear that, Billy? I never knew as a Frenchman knew how to fish. But that's all right, youngster--only my ignorance. A fisherman's a fisherman the wide world round.'" "Well?" said Rodd, for his companion had stopped. "Well?" said Morny. "Go on." "What about?" "Well, you are a chap! Don't you know I was always very fond of fishing?" "I know you like fishing, for I saw you enjoying it that day when--" "Steady!" cried Rodd. "I've done," said Morny. "But I don't want you to have done." "Why, you forbade me to touch upon what you call dangerous ground." "Bah! That's another thing. I don't want you to be grateful. But of course I like to hear about you going fishing. I could almost wish that you and I could go and have a few hours together on Dartmoor now." "And we cannot," said Morny quietly. "No; but we might try for bonito or dolphins. But go on. I want you to tell me about how you got on. Did you go to that prison guard two hours before sundown?" "Oh yes. He was as friendly as ever he could be, just because he found that I was fond of fishing, and lent me his rod and line and flies that he made himself, and told me the best places to go to, and he was as pleased as I was when I came back to the prison with a dozen and a half of little trout. Oh, I remember so well almost every word he said." "Well, what did he say?" cried Rodd eagerly. "Oh, he was a good-humoured droll fellow, though he looked so gruff, for when I showed him my fish he slapped me on the shoulder and said, `Well done, young 'un! You are one of the right sort after all.' And then he told me to take the fish into his quarters, and his missus, as he called her, would cook them for me so that I could take them to my sick father; and when I thanked him he said it was all right, and that he and his `missus' had been talking together about how bad the French captain looked, and that I had better get him a nice little dish like that as often as I could." Morny stopped again, and Rodd gazed at him impatiently. "Here, I say," he cried, "what a tantalising sort of chap you are! Why, I could tell a story better than you." "Why, I have told you the story," said Morny. "No, you haven't. You keep stopping short when you come to what interests me most." "Nonsense! You don't want me to go on telling you about catching more fish and getting them fried day after day, and about taking them up to my father." "What do you know about it?" cried Rodd. "It's just what I do want you to tell me. Did he like them and eat them, and did they do him good? Those are the best bits." "You are a droll of boy," said Morny, laughing. "I'm a what?" cried Rodd. "Droll of boy--_drole de garcon. C'est juste, n'est-ce pas_?" "Oh, if you like," cried Rodd merrily; "but if you don't think those are the best parts of the story, which are?" "Ah!" said Morny thoughtfully. "The part that I remember most is feeling that somehow things are not always so black as they look, that Dartmoor was not such a dreary desert, and that the fierce frowning guards were not so hard and unpleasant as they seemed. There were times after that when I was very happy there, for my father's wound began to get better, and I found myself strong and well again. But after a time there was a new governor there, who behaved very harshly to the prisoners, and as we got well the great longing for freedom used to grow within us, and some of the men tried to escape. This made the governor more harsh and stern. We were kept more shut up--" "And I suppose that made you long all the more to get free?" "Of course," replied Morny; "and at last there came a time when we heard a little news from across the sea--news which seemed to make my father the Count half wild with longing, and one day he told me that he had had a lot of napoleons sent to him to help him to escape, and that the first fine day we were allowed out for exercise upon the moor we would make a dash for liberty." "You should have done it when you were out fishing," said Rodd. "Oh no. The fishing had been stopped for a long time--ever since the first attempts had been made to escape." "Oh, I see," said Rodd. "And at last the day came," continued Morny, "and we made our attempt, but only to find that we were very closely guarded, and that soldiers were on the look-out in all directions; and in the attempt my father and I became separated, and I should have been taken if it had not been that--" "Look here," cried Rodd, springing up, "there's Joe Cross signalling to me from the maintop. He can see something. I say, that happened luckily for you, young fellow, for you were just getting on to dangerous ground." CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. LAND HO! "What is it, Joe?" cried Rodd. "Easy, sir!" said the man softly. "Not too loud," he continued, from where he was seated upon the cross-trees. "I don't want to give the skipper a false alarm, else he won't believe me next time." "What about?" "Easy, my lad! Just in a whisper like. I aren't sure, but to you I says, Land ho!" "Whereabouts, Joe?" cried Rodd excitedly. "Ah!" cried Morny, springing up. "Land!" And he faced round to gaze towards the brig that was sailing very slowly after them some three hundred yards away--sailing, but doing little more than forge her way through the water. "Nay, not that way, sir," said Joe softly, "but doo east. You can't see anything from down there, Mr Rodd, sir. I can't even make certain with the glass." "Hold hard, Joe! I am coming up," cried Rodd. "All right, sir; but you will be disappointed when you do." "I won't be long, Morny," said Rodd eagerly. "No; be quick," whispered Morny excitedly. "I want for my father to know. He is so anxious about the brig." Rodd gave him a quick jerk of the head as he went on climbing the ratlines as quickly as he could, forgetting all about the heat and the silvery glare of the piercing sunshine. He was not long mounting to the sailor's side, seating himself on the opposite side of the mast. "Now then," he cried, as he shuffled into his place; "let me look." "All right, sir. Ketch hold," replied the sailor stolidly. "You'll do it; your eyes are so much younger and sharper than mine." "None of your gammon, Joe!" cried the boy sharply, as he focussed the glass to suit his eyes, while with one arm embracing the butt of the main-topgallant-mast he held the tube steadily to his eye, asking for guidance the while. "Now then," he said; "whereabouts?" "Right straight ahead, sir. You can't miss it if it's there, for it stretches away as far as you like to left and right!" "Why, there's no land, Joe." "Not looking down low enough, sir, perhaps. It aren't right up in the sky." "Well, who's looking up in the sky?" cried Rodd irritably.--"I am looking right down to the horizon line." "Well, that's right, sir. Take a good long look. Now then, can't you see it?" There was silence for a few moments, and Morny, who was gazing upwards, seemed to be all eyes and ears. "Can't you see it, Master Rodd?" repeated Joe. "No." "Perhaps 'tarn't land, then, sir." "No. It was all your fancy. There's nothing to be seen." "Where are you looking, sir?" "At a little low bank of pale misty cloud. That's all, Joe. Your eyes want a good rub." "Dessay they do, sir. They aren't much account," said the man; "but that caps what I saw," and putting his hands to the sides of his mouth he yelled out in stentorian tones, "Land ho!"--a signal that was followed by the hurried shuffling sound of feet ascending to the deck. "Here, what are you doing?" cried Rodd angrily. "Spreading a false alarm like that!" "Oh, it's right enough, sir." "But there's nothing but a cloud there, Joe." "Looks like it, sir, but land it is all the same." "Where away?" came in the skipper's hoarse voice. "Dead ahead, sir," replied the sailor, and Rodd steadied the glass again, bringing it to bear upon what looked more than ever like the faintest of faint hazes upon the surface of the distant sea. "Can you make it out, Rodd?" cried Uncle Paul, who had hurried on deck with the Count. "Well, I can just see something, uncle, and I suppose it's land." "Oh, that's right enough, my lad," cried the captain. "Can't be anything else." "Not clouds?" "Ah, I don't say that," cried the skipper. "You may see a bit of haze too, but there's solid land beneath. There, sir," continued the skipper, "that's what we are looking for. Now the next thing we want to see is water." "Well, we can see that plainly enough, Joe," said Rodd, speaking with his eyes still to the glass. "Ay, but he means dirty water, sir." "What do you want to see dirty water for?" "Muddy, then, sir, showing as there's a river coming out there. I say, sir, wouldn't t'other young gent like to come up and have a squint?" "Oh, of course. I forgot. Below there! Morny! Come on up and have a look." The lad sprang to the main shrouds and began to hurry up, while Joe Cross, who had finished the task to achieve which he had been sent, began to lower himself down, leaving space for the young Frenchman, to whom the glass was handed in turn, ready for him to declare that he could make out the distant land. "Ah," he panted, as he handed back the glass, "how I have longed to see that! Now, Rodd, we shall soon get the brig careened over and the leaks repaired, and then--" "Well," said Rodd, "what then?" "Be off to sea again," cried Morny excitedly. "Well, you seem in a precious hurry," grumbled Rodd. "Wouldn't you be if your schooner was like our brig?" "No. Uncle and I are reckoning upon making a lot of discoveries ashore. If you are on a scientific expedition, wouldn't that do as well for you?" "No," replied the French lad shortly. "We must follow out our researches by sea." "Then what is it you are looking for? I thought you were going to tell me the other day." "Yes, my father," cried Morny, answering a hail from below. "I am coming down." When the two lads descended it was to find that the Count had been speaking to the skipper, who had given orders for the schooner's boat to be lowered so that the two visitors could return at once to the brig, with the understanding that both vessels were to send up studding sails and use every possible speed now to get within touch of the shore, before making south and keeping a bright look-out for some estuary or river mouth. "You will follow me, sir," said the skipper; "but do you know what this coast line will be like?" "I cannot say I do," replied the Count. "Cliff and hill, with mountains farther in?" "Nay, sir; all muddy shore, covered with dark green mangrove forest. I don't suppose we shall be long before I send you up a signal; and then we can sail right in. There will be nothing to mind in the way of rocks, for where I lead it will be all mud." Very shortly afterwards the lads parted, and as Rodd stood looking after the boat that was bearing their two visitors to the brig, Uncle Paul came up close behind him. "Pity those two were born Frenchmen, Rodd, my boy," said the doctor, "for there is something very gentlemanly about the Count, and I like that lad Morny too. There is something about him, Rodney, that you might very well copy." "Is there, uncle?" "Yes, sir, there is. Certainly. I am not your father, but I am your uncle, and it gratifies me very much to see the polished, almost reverent way in which that lad behaves towards the Count. It's polite, and it's respectful, and it's--er--it's--er--" "Why, you wouldn't like it, uncle, if I were to behave to you just as he does to the Count." "Well, not exactly, Rodney, but there's something very nice about it. Great pity, though, that they are French, and so corroded, so crusted over, as I may call it, with a sort of hero-worship for that tyrannical usurper. There, I won't mention his name." "That's right, uncle; don't, please." "Why, sir?" "Because it always makes you so cross, uncle." "Now, Rodney, that's what I don't like. If I have an antipathy to a scoundrel, and speak out firmly as an Englishman should, it is not for a boy like you to say I am cross; and I am quite sure that young Morny would have had too much common-sense to speak out like that to his father. It is a great pity, though, that they are both, as I say, so eaten up with that hero-worship, and I am very much afraid that I spoke a little too plainly to the Count to-day. It was rather unfortunate too. It was just when we had been having a very interesting conversation upon the medusae, especially those of a phosphorescent nature. By the way, has Morny said much to you about the object of their research?" "No, uncle. He always seems disinclined to speak." "Humph! Yes, he does seem very reticent. His father as good as said, as I think I told you, that this was a voyage of discovery, a search for something he wanted to take back, and which was to make his country very great. But he has never said what, and it would be so very ungentlemanly to seem curious." "But you do feel curious to know, don't you, uncle?" "Well, I must confess, my boy, that I do--a little jealous, perhaps, of another man's success, for I did learn as much as this, that he felt pretty sure of being successful if he could get the brig sound again. Well, I suppose we shall know some day." "I don't like to say any more to Morny, uncle. It would seem so small; and besides, he never questions me anything about what we are doing-- only seems very much interested." "You are quite right, Rodd. It would be mean and petty. Leave it to them, and if they like to take us into their confidence, well and good. If they do not, well, it is no business of ours." "Why, uncle," cried Rodd suddenly, and then he stopped. "It isn't because--" Rodd stopped short again, looking straight away over the sea, as if in deep thought. "Well, my boy? It isn't because what?" "Oh, I don't like to say, uncle. You would laugh at me." "How do you know that? Wait and see," cried Uncle Paul. "Now then, what were you thinking?" "I was wondering whether they could be trying to discover that which we found quite by accident." "That which we found quite by accident, Pickle?" "Yes, uncle, and that may be the reason why they don't like to talk about it. You see, all ships' captains and people have been so laughed at, and told that they are inventing fables, that they are very quiet and like to keep things to themselves, just the same as Captain Chubb was when we saw that thing. You see, uncle--" "Go on, Pickle! Go on!" cried Uncle Paul. "Oh, I haven't much more to say, uncle, only this--if ordinary captains are so particular about speaking, and so afraid of ridicule, wouldn't a big scientific man like the Count, who has fitted out an expedition for the discovery, be very careful too, lest the object of his voyage should get about? But oh, nonsense! It's ridiculous. It can't be that. Don't laugh at me, uncle. It's only what I thought." "I was not going to laugh at you, Rodney, my boy," said the doctor quietly, "for the simple reason that I do not see anything to laugh at. It's a very clever, good idea, and quite possible. Yes, my boy, it's more than possible. I don't say that you are right, but very likely to be. The Count and his son are French, and, like their countrymen, very touchy and sensitive and afraid of ridicule. I shouldn't be at all surprised, my boy, if that really is the reason for their being so secretive in their ways." "I am glad you think so, uncle," cried the boy. "No, no, no; don't take it like that. It may be after all only a fancy of yours." "Yes, uncle, but if that's what they are searching for, to prove that there are such--such--er--what-you-may-call-'ems in the sea--" "Phenomena, boy--phenomena," said the doctor shortly. "Yes, uncle; phenomena--wouldn't it be an act of kindness to tell them that we have already made the discovery, and try to show them the part of the ocean where such creatures are to be found?" "Hum! No, my boy. No. We should be making matters worse. Not only should we be showing the Count and his son that we have found out what they want to keep secret, but we should be robbing them of the honour of their discovery as well. No; let them take us into their confidence if they like, and if they do, so much the better. If they do not--well, the loss is theirs." CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. COAST LAND. "Our skipper's as right as can be, Morny," said Rodd the next evening, as the lad was once more on board the schooner, and they were sailing gently along about a mile from shore, the brig following pretty close behind with the water streaming down from her scuppers as the work at one of the pumps was still kept up. For there was the coast, much as he had described, an undulating line of the singular dark green mangrove forest that looked low and dwarfed, and, now that the tide was low, showed to full advantage, the singular ramification of its roots giving the bushy forest the appearance of standing up upon a wilderness of jagged and tangled scaffolding through which the sea washed over the muddy shore. "Not pleasant-looking, gentlemen," said the skipper, coming up to them. "Not the sort of place where you would like to settle down and build a country house." "Why, it's horrible," cried Rodd. "But why should it be so muddy here, instead of being all nice clean sand?" "Because it's the edge of a low swampy country, my lad, where great rivers come from inland and bring down the soil of thousands of miles." "But I always thought Africa was a sandy desert place where lions were roving about, and where Mungo Park went travelling to Timbuctoo and places like that." "Yes, my lad," said the skipper; "but that's the Africa of the old books, and there's plenty of it like that on the east side and up in the north and where old Mungo Park went to, no doubt; but all along this coast it isn't a dry and thirsty land, but as soon as you get through the mangroves, full of great forests and big rivers. Why, look at the sea here. Right away out it was all as clear as crystal; now here there's mud enough for anything." "But we shan't want to stop long in a muddy river with banks like this, captain," said Morny. "Don't you be in too great a hurry to judge, sir," said the skipper. "I have sailed up one or two of these rivers in my time, and when you get higher up you will find it very different: big forests with grand trees, rivers with fine water, and places beautiful enough for anything, such as will satisfy travellers who don't want ports and towns. You and the doctor, Mr Rodd, will be able to get some fine shooting up there, if you like, and fine fishing too. Do you want to get any birds of all the colours of the rainbow?" "Why, of course!" cried Rodd eagerly. "Well, there you'll find them, sir--singing birds too, green and gold and scarlet and grey, and some with long tails, and some with short. Only," continued the skipper dryly, and with a grim smile at the two lads, "they don't sing like our birds at home, but in a foreign lingo, all squeak and scream and squawk, through their having crooked hook beaks. They are what people at home call parrots and parakeets." "Oh, that's what you mean!" cried Rodd, laughing. "Of course, sir--them as you teaches to talk. Wicked 'uns, some of them, ready enough to learn anything the sailors teach them, but sulky as slugs when you want them to learn anything good." "But there are plenty of them, captain?" said Rodd. "Thicker than crows at home, sir. Then what do you say to monkeys?" "That I should like to see them alive in the forest." "Well, there you have them, sir; and you could come across plenty, if you went far enough, big as boys." "Ah, now you are telling travellers' tales, captain," said Rodd. "Nay, my lad, not I. I have seen them as big as boys, only not so tall, because their legs have all gone into arms. Little, short, crooked legs, they have got, as makes them squatty. But when they stand up their arms are so long that they nearly touch the ground. Big as boys? Why, they are bigger! I never saw boys with such big heads. And they all look as if they had been born old; wrinkled faces and long shaggy black hair." "Now, look here, captain, I don't mind you joking me, but don't play tricks with the Viscount here." "Not I, my lad. I am just telling you the honest truth, and you may believe me." "But where's the river where these things are?" "We shall come across one of them before long, sir," said the skipper. "I expected to have found one that suited my book hours ago. I was very nearly going up that one just about dinner-time." "Oh, but that was only a little inlet," said Rodd. "Looked so to you, sir, but all along here the shore's full of inlets, as you call them; but they are deep water and go winding in and out, and perhaps open out into big sheets of water like lagoons, as they call them. But I am of opinion that if we don't turn into one to-night we shall do so some time to-morrow, and perhaps find just the sort of spot we want. It we don't we will go a bit farther south." "But take us up beyond all this horrible mangrove swamp," said Rodd. "You leave that to me, sir," said the skipper. "We have got a good bit of work to do with that brig, and I want to bring my lads out again, and the Count's too, well and hearty, not half of them eaten up with fever and t'other half sucked into dry skins by the mosquitoes. No, we shall have to sail right up to where it gets to be a forest and park-like country." "There'll be no towns?" said Rodd. "No, sir, but we might come across a blacks' village, and if we do we can anchor somewhere on the other shore." Another afternoon had come before the mangrove forest seemed to turn inland and run right up the country, just as if they had come to the end of that portion of the land; but miles away the skipper pointed out that the forest began again and also swept inland, while by using the glass the lads were able to trace the configuration of the coast, and saw that the two lines of coast north and south came together away east. "There," said the skipper, "what do you say to this for the mouth of a big river?" "River?" said the doctor, coming up. "Yes, sir--or estuary, which you like. This is the sort of one that will suit us, though as far as I can make out it is not down in my chart. So all the more likely to suit our book." "But do you think it's a river, and not a bend of the coast?" asked the doctor. "If it was a bend of the coast, sir, the tide wouldn't be flowing in like that. It's a good-sized tidal river, sir, and we are going to sail in as far as we can get before dark, and if all turns out as I expect, we shall be carried in past the mangroves and be able to moor to-night perhaps to forest trees." "And if we don't?" said Rodd. "Why, then we shall anchor, and find plenty of good holding ground." The tide carried them in rapidly, and a nice soft breeze filled the sails, bearing them onward till the mangrove swamp on either hand began to close in rapidly, while towards evening they were gliding where the banks were about a mile apart, and just at sunset muddy patches began to make their appearance, upon which Rodd noticed three times over, portions of the rugged trunks of trees that had been denuded of every branch as they floated down with the stream. All at once, just where the mud glistened ruddily in the rays of the setting sun, Rodd started, for a thick stumpy tree trunk suddenly began to move gently, then glided a few feet over the mud, and finally went into the river with a tremendous splash. "Why, what's that?" cried Rodd excitedly. "Croc," grunted the skipper gruffly. "Thousands of them along here." CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. HOW TO GET BACK? "Almost as bad as you tacking out of the harbour, Morny," said Rodd that evening, as the two vessels glided up the rapidly narrowing and greatly winding river. "Oh no," replied the French lad. "There is no tremendous storm of wind blowing, threatening to tear the sails to ribbons, no soldiers in boats using their muskets, no big guns sending heavy balls from the forts." "No," said the skipper, who had overheard the remarks; "not a bit like it, Mr Rodd. It is rather awkward work, though, and we have to be always on the dodge, else the next thing would be we should go ramming our noses right in the muddy banks and getting stuck fast; and that wouldn't do." "Oh, you would get off again next tide," said Rodd carelessly. "Mebbe," said the skipper. "As the old country chaps at home say, we mought and we moughtn't." "Look, Morny," cried Rodd. "There's another of those great crocs. What a thick one! Why, that one must be five-and-twenty feet long." "Fourteen," grunted the skipper. "No, no; it must have been twenty," cried Rodd. "Fourteen, outside," growled the skipper. "How can you tell when you only catch sight of them on the move?" "Well, it was a tremendous thickness," said Rodd. "Ay, it was thick enough, and heavy enough; and they are stronger than horses. And just you look here, youngster, while we are up this river, where I dare say they swarm, you had better keep your eyes open, for those chaps will pull a deer or a bullock into the water before the poor brute knows where it is, and as to human natur', they lie waiting close to the banks for the poor niggers, men, women or children, who come down to get water, and they nip them off in a moment." "Ugh! Horrible!" cried Rodd. "Yes, and what made me speak to you was that we are going to settle down for a bit up here in the forest where the sun will be very hot, and where there'll be no end of great shady trees hanging over the river side and seeming to ask folks to jump in and have a nice cooling swim." "I say, captain!" "Oh, I'm not laughing at you, my lads," said the skipper sharply. "When we are lying moored or at anchor up here it's just the sort of thing that you might make up your minds to do without saying a word to anybody. I know I should have done so when I was your age. But I just say to you now solemn like--don't you do it. For if there's anything one of these great reptiles likes it's a nice clean French or English boy." "Oh, come now," cried Rodd merrily, "you don't call that talking solemn like, captain?" A grim smile dawned upon the old sailor's countenance. "Well, no," he said; "but I mean it solemn like. I don't suppose one of they crocs would study about what colour it was, but they go for anything that's alive and moving, hold on with those great teeth of theirs, and whatever it is they catch, it's soon drowned when it's pulled below, and never heard of again.--Starboard, my lads! Starboard!" he shouted, with both hands to his mouth, and the schooner curved round and went off on another tack in obedience to the helm.--"It's rather an awkward job, my lads," continued the skipper. "You see, we have to sail to all points of the compass, and one minute you have got the wind blowing gently fair and free from right ahead or dead astarn, and the next you are going into shelter and got no wind at all." "But we keep on going steadily up the river, captain," said Rodd. "Yes, my lad; we have got this strong tide in our favour. I am reckoning that if we drop anchor soon we shall be able to get as far as we want next tide." "But how far do you mean to go?" asked Morny anxiously. "Oh, a good way up yet," replied the skipper. "But why not keep on now?" asked Rodd. "Because I want to pick a good berth before the dark comes down and catches and leaves us nohow. Got any more questions to ask?" "Hundreds," cried Rodd merrily. "Humph! Then I think I ought to have my pay raised. I joined the _Maid of Salcombe_ to sail her, not to give you lessons in jography, etymology, syntax, and prosody, as it used to say in my lesson book when I was a little 'un." "Ah, well, I won't bother you any more to-day, captain," said Rodd; "only one always wants to know what things are when they are quite fresh." Captain Chubb did not answer for the moment, for he had to shout another order to the steersman and make two or three signals with his hand to those on board the brig, which was following in the schooner's track, keeping as close as it could to be safe. At the end of five minutes, though, he had returned to his old position, and grunted out with a look as if he wanted to be questioned more-- "Well, I suppose such youngsters as you like to know." Then all at once he shouted out a fresh order, which was followed by the rattling out of the cable through the hawse-hole as the anchor splashed and went down to a pretty good depth before the rope was stopped, one order having acted for both vessels, and just before dark they swung round head to stream, with the water lapping loudly against their bows. "That's enough for one day," grunted the captain. "Safe and snug a harbour as any one could wish to be in, and there's the trees, you see, on both sides, good, sound, solid forest trees such as would cut up into fine timber, and all the mangroves left far enough behind." In a remarkably short time, as the two lads stood watching the shores, the forest on either side grew intensely black, and though the steward announced that the evening meal was ready, no one seemed disposed to go below, for, succeeding to the solemn evening silence, they seemed to be surrounded by strange sounds from the depths of the forest as well as from the river, whose current began to grow sluggish, suggesting that before long the tide would be at its height, and ready to turn with the rushing of the water outward to the sea. "Why, it's awful," said Morny, in a subdued tone, as he stood with Rodd gazing at the nearest shore. "Yes, not very nice," replied Rodd. "You and your father had better stop on board here to-night." "Oh no. Our boat is hanging astern. We shall go back." Rodd thought that he should not like to attempt to row from vessel to vessel in the darkness of such a night, for something seemed to suggest to him the possibility of being swept out to sea; but he did not say so, for fear of making his companion nervous, and they stood listening and whispering together, trying to give names to some of the uncouth noises which floated to their ears. Many were sharp quick splashes as if some great fish had sprung out of the water in pursuit of prey, or in a desperate effort to escape a pursuer. Then every now and then there would be a resounding slap, as if one of the great reptiles that haunted the river had struck the surface a tremendous blow with its tail. "What's that?" asked Rodd, directly after, as a low, deep, mournful sound came from amongst the trees upon the shore, sounding like a piteous cry for help from some woman in distress. This was succeeded by a painful silence, and then Rodd raised his voice-- "Captain! Captain Chubb! Do you hear that? Are you there?" "Oh yes, here I am, my lad," came from out of the darkness. "And I should be precious deaf if I hadn't heard it." "Well, ought we to take the boat and try and save her?" cried the boy passionately. "How do you know it's a _her_, my lad? I should say it was a _him_. It's the cock birds and not the hens that shout like that." "Bird!" cried Morny. "It was a human being." "Ah, it do sound something like it, my lad, but that aren't a human. It's one of them great long-legged storky chaps with the big bills, calling to his wife to say he's found frogs, or something of that kind. You wait a minute, and if she don't come you will hear him call `Quanko!'--There, what did I say?" said the skipper, with a chuckle, as in trumpet tones came the cry of the great long-legged creature in a sonorous _Quang, quang, quang, quang_! "Why, the captain seems to know everything," said Morny admiringly. "I say, how did you know that, sir?" "Oh," said the skipper modestly, "one just picks up these sort of things a little bit at a time. Now then, do you hear that?" The two lads did hear it--a peculiar musical (?) wailing cry which was repeated again and again and then died out, half-smothered by a chorus of croaking from the swampy river banks. "Oh yes, we can hear," cried Rodd. "We can do nothing else but listen. But what was it made that cry?" "Ah! That's one of the things I don't know," said the skipper, chuckling. "What should you think it was?" "Oh, I don't want to be laughed at again," cried Rodd, "for making another mistake. Perhaps it's some other kind of stork." "Nay, you don't think it is," said the skipper. "You think different to that. Come, have a guess." "Well," said Rodd, "I should say it was some kind of great cat." "Right, my lad; not much doubt about that. I don't know what sort it is, but it's one of them spotted gentlemen. I should say there'd be plenty of them here. Well, I have had about enough of it for to-day. I am just going to see about the watch, and to say a few words below to your father about having a good look-out kept, and then it won't be very long before I turn in to my cot, for I am tired. This has been a rather anxious day." "You are going to speak to my father about having a good look-out kept?" "Well, yes, my lad, and with our men well-armed. I don't say as it's likely, and we are too near the sea for any villages of blacks; but it wouldn't be very nice to have two or three big canoes come and make fast to us in the night, and find the decks swarming with niggers who might think that we were made on purpose for them to kill." "Why, you don't think that's likely, do you?" cried Rodd. "Not at all, my lad. But safe bind, safe find. What I have always found is this--that when you keep a very strict look-out nothing happens, and when you don't something does. Are you lads coming down?" "Not yet," said Rodd. "I suppose you will be going soon, won't you, Mr Morny?" said the skipper, who somehow always forgot their visitor's title. "I am expecting my father will be coming up soon to say it is time." "Yes; I shouldn't leave it much longer," said the skipper. "I'll tell him.--Joe Cross, there!" "Ay, ay, sir!" "You and four men stand by with the gig to take the Count aboard his vessel. You will just drop down head to stream ready to pull hard if the tide seems a bit too heavy; and you, my lad, be ready forward with the end of the line made fast to the thwart and the grapnel clear, ready to drop overboard to get hold of the mud if you find the current too strong." "Ay, ay, sir!" cried the man; and the skipper went below. "I am glad of that, Joe," said Rodd eagerly. "I was thinking whether there was any risk of the boat being swept away." "So was I, sir; but it's always the same. Whenever I think of something that ought to be done I always find that our old man has thought of it before. Did you see that we have swung round to our anchor?" "No," said Rodd. "We have, sir, and the tide's running out like five hundred million mill-streams. You come for'ard here and feel how the cable's all of a jigger, just as if the river had made up its mind to pull it right out of the mud." The two lads followed, and it was exactly as the man had said, for the great Manilla rope literally thrilled as if with life, while the river glided by the schooner's cutwater with a loud hiss. "Why, Joe," cried Rodd, as he gazed in the sailor's dimly-seen face, "how are you going to manage to row back?" "Well, sir, that's one of the things I have been asking myself." "Well, you had better speak to the skipper." "Not me, sir. I'm not going to try to teach him. If I was to say a word he'd jump down my throat bang. Oh, he knows what he's about, or he wouldn't have told me to stand by with that there grapnel." "Yes, of course he'd know," said Rodd quietly. "I should like to know how you'd got on." The two lads stood listening to the weird sounds from the shore, every now and then being puzzled by something that was entirely fresh, while the swiftly running water gleamed dimly with the faintly seen reflection of the stars, showing that a mist was gathering overhead, while Joe Cross and the men lowered down the boat and hauled her up to the gangway, ready to convey the visitors to the brig. They had hardly finished preparations before the voices that had come before in murmurs from the cabin were heard ascending to the deck, and the Count cried out of the darkness-- "Are you ready there, Morny, my son?" "Yes, my father," replied the lad, and Rodd walked with him to the side. The men were in their places, with their oars ready to hand to lower at once, Joe Cross holding on in front with his boat-hook through a ring-bolt. A few more words passed between the Count and Uncle Paul, and then the former bade his son descend into his place, following slowly directly after. "Good-night," he said. "Good-night, Rodd!" cried Morny. "We shan't be long getting to the brig." "No," cried Rodd. "Good-night! Here, one moment; I'll slip down and come back with the gig." Before any one else could speak he had dropped into the boat, his feet touching the nearest thwart as the skipper cried "Let go!" and almost the next moment the men were pulling hard, while Joe Cross dropped upon his knees to feel for the grapnel so as to make sure it was at hand, while to Rodd it seemed that the boat was motionless in the rapid river and that the schooner had been suddenly snatched away. CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. UP A TREE. "Put your backs into it, my lads," cried Joe Cross, almost fiercely. "Steady! Steady all, and look out that you don't have a smash. Pull! Hard! Here, I shall be tugged out of the boat!" For it seemed almost directly after that the dimly-seen hull of the brig rose up out of the darkness close at hand, while from where he knelt-- fortunately for himself--the coxswain felt his arms being jerked out of their sockets as he caught with the boat-hook at the brig's main chains. "Stand by there!" he roared, as he held on. "Lend a hand here to help the gentlemen on board! Somebody say it in French! Up with you!" There was no need for the use of another tongue, for a lantern shed its light down upon them, willing hands were ready, and the Count and Morny scrambled aboard. The next moment the Count was giving orders for a rope to be passed down to the boat. "Make fast, and come on board!" he shouted. "You'll never get back to-night." The order came too late, for as he spoke another order was given out by Joe Cross, who had loosed the precarious hold he had with the boat-hook, as he shouted while giving the boat a thrust away-- "Now for it, my lads! Pull for all you know!" Almost the next moment Rodd dimly saw that they were clear, and as the men tugged at their oars with all their might he dropped upon his knees in front of stroke, clapped his hands against the oar, and swinging with the man, thrust with all his force. Five minutes of desperate tugging at the oars in the midst of darkness which seemed to rapidly increase. The men had rowed with all their force--not to get back to the schooner, but to reach the brig and one of her ropes that they knew would be thrown to their help; but to Rodd, as he strained his eyes from where he knelt striving to give force to the stroke oar, it was like catching so many glimpses, first of the brig's side, then of its stern, and then once more it was as if they were standing still in the water and the brig was rushing away. "Steady, my lads! Don't break your hearts!" cried Joe Cross firmly, his voice ringing clearer out of the black silence. "It aren't to be done. Mid-stream's our game. If we try to get ashore we shall be among the branches, capsized in a moment, and--" The sailor did not finish his speech then, but Rodd did to himself, and hot though he was with his exertions, a cold shiver seemed to run through him, as he mentally said-- "The crocodiles!" "That's better, my lads. Just a steady pull, and I'll keep as I am with the boat-hook. We mustn't have a capsize." "What are you going to do, Joe?" cried Rodd. "Don't know, sir," said the man gruffly. "Perhaps you can tell me." "I? No," cried Rodd. "Ah! That's awkward," said the man. "I don't know what the skipper was about to set us on this job. That's the worst of being a sailor. They trains us up to 'bey orders directly they're guv, and we does them, but one never knows how to be right. I oughter ha' told the old man as this was more'n men could do; 'cause I half thought it were. But then I says to myself, the skipper knows best; and here we are in a nice hole." "A nice hole!" cried Rodd angrily. "Why, we shall be swept out to sea." "Looks like it, sir--I mean seems." "But why not make for the shore, where we could catch hold of some of the overhanging branches?" "I telled you, sir. 'Cause we should be capsized before we had time to wink. Steady, my lads--steady! It's no use to pull, Mr Rodd; four times as many of us couldn't stem a stream like this." "Will they come down after us? Yes, my uncle is sure to." "Not he, sir. It would be just about mad to try it, and our old man will be so wild at being caught like this that he won't let him stir. 'Sides that, sir, what are you talking about? How are they to know we have been swept away?" "Because we don't come back, of course," cried Rodd angrily. "That won't do, sir. Skipper knows, of course, after the way we went off, that it's just impossible." "But the Count will tell him." "Too far off for shouting, sir. You take my word for it that the skipper will make up his mind that we are stopping on board the brig till the tide runs slack again. If anything's done it will be by the Frenchies, and I don't believe they'll try." "Oh, but the Count would. His son would make him." "No, sir. The Count's a fine naval officer who has seen service, and he knows too well what he's about to send a boat's crew swirling down this river to go nobody knows where. The only folks as can help us is--" "Yes--who?" cried Rodd, for the man broke off in his speech. "Ourselves, sir; and we shall find it precious hard." "That's right, Joe," said one of the other sailors. "Better speak out, mate, and say the worst on it." "Say it yourselves," cried Joe Cross roughly. "Yes, speak out," cried Rodd. "What do you think?" "We can do nothing, sir, but keep her head straight and go down with the tide, doing all we can to keep from being sucked into the shore among the trees." "But look here, Joe, aren't we very close in now?" cried Rodd, who had just noticed in the darkness that the sailor he addressed was leaning over the bows and straining his eyes in one particular direction. For answer the man yelled to his messmates to pull with all their might. The oars dipped, but at the second stroke there was a crashing rustling sound of twigs, followed by a sharp crackling and snapping, as they were swept in amongst the pendant branches of some huge forest tree, one bough striking Rodd across the shoulders and holding him as it were fast, so that the boat was being dragged from beneath him. Then there was more grinding of the gunwale of the boat amongst the boughs, the water came swishing in over the side, and directly after the frail vessel partly turned over, with her keel lying sideways to the rushing tide. Then more crackling and rustling amongst the boughs, mingled with shouting from the boat's crew, and from out of the confusion, and somewhere above him in the pitchy darkness and low-lying night mist, came the voice of Joe Cross-- "Now then, all of you! Where away?" "Here!" "Here!" "All right, mate!" "Lend a hand, some one!" "Are you all here?" cried Joe Cross again. "Ay, ay, ay, ay!" came in chorus. "But I don't hear the young guvnor." There was silence. "Where's Mr Rodd?" A moment's pause, and then-- "Mr Rodd! Ahoy!" "Here, Joe, here!" came in half-suffocated tones. "Wheer, my lad?" cried the man excitedly. "Here! Here! Help!" "But where's yer _here_, lad? I can't see you.--Can any of you? Oh, look alive, some on you! Get hold of the boy anywhere--arms or legs or anything--and hold on like grim death." There was a sharp rustling of leaves and twigs which pretty well drowned Rodd's answer-- "I'm down here." "Where's _down here_, my lad? Are you under the boat?" "No, no. Hanging to a bough, with the water up to my chest, and something's tugging at me to drag me away." "Oh, a-mussy me!" groaned the sailor. "Why aren't it to-morrow morning and sun up? Can't any of you see him?" "No, no, no, no!" came back, almost as dismally as groans. "Well, can't you feel him, then?" "No." "I am here, Joe--here!" panted the lad. "Higher up the river than you are. A big branch swept me out of the boat." "Ah, yes, we went under it," groaned Joe. "Well, lads, he must be the other side of the tree. Here, where's that there boat? Can any of you see it?" "No; we are all on us in the tree?" "Well, I don't suppose you are swimming," roared Cross savagely. "Do something, some on you! Thinking of nothing but saving your own blessed lives! Are you going to let the poor lad drown?" "Here, coxswain, why don't you tell us what to do?" snarled one of the men. "How can I," yelled Joe, "when I don't know what to do mysen? Oh, don't I wish that I had got the skipper here! I'd let him have it warm!" "Joe! Joe!" came out of the darkness. "I can't hold on! I can't hold on!" "Yah, you young idgit!" roared the sailor. "You must!" "I can't, Joe--I can't!" cried Rodd faintly, and there was a gurgling sputtering sound as if the water had washed over him. "Oh-h!" groaned Joe. "Don't I tell you you must! Hold on by your arms and legs--your eyelids. Stick your teeth into the branch. We are a-coming, my lad.--Oh my! what a lie!" he muttered. Then aloud, and in a despairing tone, "Can any one of you get up again' the stream to where he is?" "No!" came in a deep murmur. "If we go down we shall be washed away." "Same here," groaned Joe. "I'm a-holding on with the water right up to the middle, and just about ready to be washed off. I can't stir. Oh, do one of you try and save the poor dear lad! I wish I was dead, I do!" "Joe!" came faintly. "Ay, ay, my lad!" "Tell Uncle Paul--" The words ended in a half-suffocated wailing cry, and almost the next moment there was a tremendous splashing of water, and the snapping of a good-sized branch, followed by sounds as of a struggle going on upon the surface of the rushing stream as it lapped and hissed amongst the tangled boughs and twigs. "Hold hard!" yelled Joe. "Anywhere.--Got him, boys--_urrrrr_!--" It was as if some savage beast had suddenly seized its prey. Then there was a loud panting and more crackling as of branches giving way, and directly after, in answer to a volley of inquiries, Joe Cross panted out-- "Yes, I've got him, my lads, and he's got his teeth into me; but I don't know how long we can hold on." "You must hold on, Joe!" shouted a voice. "Stick to him, messmate! I'm a-trying to get to you." There was more crackling in the darkness, and a peculiar subdued sound as of men panting after running hard; but it was only the hard breathing of excitement. "Have you got him still, Joe?" came in gasps. "Yes, my lad, but he's awful still and I don't know that he aren't drowned.--No, he aren't, for he's got his teeth into my shoulder, and he's gripping hard. But the water keeps washing right up into my ear." "Hoist him up a little higher," panted the other speaker. "How can I? I've got my arm round him, but if I stir it means let go. What are you doing, mate?" "Trying to get down to you, but as soon as I stir the bough begins to crack." "Steady, mate, steady! I can't see you, but I can hear, and if you come down on us we are gone. Here, I say, it will be hours before it's morning, won't it?" There was a groan in reply--a big groan formed by several voices in unison. "But how long will it be before, the tide goes down and leaves us?" There was no reply, and a dead silence fell upon the occupants clinging to different portions of the tree, all of whom had managed with the strength and activity of sailors to drag themselves up beyond the reach of the water and at varying distances from where Joe Cross clung with one messmate hanging just above his head. "Well, look here, messmates," said Joe at last, "it's no use to make the worst on it. I've got the young skipper all right, and he's growing more lively, for he just give a kick. Now who's this 'ere? It's you, Harry Briggs, aren't it?" "Ay, ay, mate; me and water, for I swallowed a lot before I got out of it." "Now, look here; how are you holding on?" "Hanging down'ards, my lad, with my hind legs tied in a knot round a big bough; and I keep on trying to get hold of you by the scruff, but I can't quite reach." "Why, that's a-hinging like the bees used to do outside my old mother's skep. Well, you mustn't let go, my lad, else down you come." "Well, I know that, mate," growled the man. "But I say, can't you reach up to my hands?" "Yah! No!" growled Joe. "I've only got two. Can't you reach down a little further and get hold of my ears, or something?" "My arms aren't spy-glasses, and they won't reach within a foot of you. Can any of you swarm out above us here?" "No--no--no!" came in voice after voice, from points that were evidently fairly distant. "Oh!" groaned the sailor addressed as Harry. "Fust time in my blessed life I ever wished I was a 'Merican monkey." "What for, mate?" panted Joe. "So as to make fast round this 'ere branch with my tail." "Joe! Joe!" came in a low hoarse tone. "Where am I!" "Well, you are here, my lad; but don't let go with your teeth. Take another good fast hold, but more outside like. Keep to the wool of the jumper--if you can." "Hah! I recollect now. We are in the water, and I have got hold of you." "That's right, my lad, and I'd say take a good fast holt of my hair, only Ikey Gregg scissored it off so short when it turned so hot that there's nothing to hold. But can you hyste yourself up a bit higher?" "I'll try, Joe; but the water drags at me so. But, Joe, what are you holding on to?" "What they'd call a arm of the tree, sir." "But if I try to climb up you shan't I drag you loose?" "Oh, I'm no consequence, my lad. If I'm washed off I shall get hold again somewheres. Never you mind me. There's Harry Briggs up aloft a-reaching down a couple of his hands. If you feel you've got stuff enough in you.--Take your time over it, my lad--you see if you can't swarm a bit up me and then stretch up and think you are at home trying to pick apples, till Harry gets a big grip of your wristies; and then you ought to be able to swarm up him. Now then, do you think you can try?" "Yes, Joe; I think so," panted the boy. "That's right, my lad. I'd give you a lift, only I can't, for I'm in rotten anchorage, and we mustn't get adrift." About a minute passed, in which little was heard but the whishing of the water through the leaves and twigs, and the sound of hard breathing. Then Joe spoke again-- "I don't want to hurry you, my lad, but if you think you can manage it I'd say, begin." "I'm ready now, Joe," said the boy faintly. "But do you think you can hold on?" "Aren't got time to think, my lad. You go on and do it. That's your job, and don't you think as it's a hard 'un. Just you fancy the doctor's yonder getting anxious about you, and then--up you goes." "Yes, Joe," panted Rodd. "And once you get hold of Harry Briggs' hands he'll draw you up a bit. He's a-hinging down like one of them there baboons, tail up'ards. Then, once he hystes you a bit, you get a good grip of him with your teeth anywhere that comes first. He won't mind. That'll set your hands free, and then up you goes bit by bit till you gets right into the tree." "Yes, Joe; and then?" "Well, my lad, then I'd set down striddling and have a rest." "Below there! Ready!" cried Briggs. "I can't reach no further, youngster, but I think if you can climb up and grip we might manage it." "Yes! Coming!" cried Rodd. And then no one saw, and afterwards Rodd could hardly tell how he managed it, but with the water pressing him closer as he clung face to face with the partially submerged coxswain, he managed to scramble higher, clinging with arms and legs, till he occupied a hazardous position astride of the sailor's shoulder, holding on with his left hand and reaching up with his right, snatching for a few moments at nothing. "Where are you, my lad?" came from above. "Here! Here!" panted Rodd, and then, "Ah, it's of no use!" As he spoke he felt himself going over, but at that moment his fingers touched the sleeve of a soft clinging jersey, a set of fingers gripped hard at his arm, and in a supreme effort he loosened his other hand, made a snatch, and then began swinging gently to and fro till another hand from above closed upon his jacket and lightened the strain. "Got you, my lad!" came from overhead. "Now look here; I'm not going to hyste you up, 'cause I can't, but I am going to swing you back'ards and for'ards like a pendulo till you can touch this 'ere bough where I am hanging, and then go on till you can get your legs round it and hold fast. Understand?" "Yes," panted Rodd. "Now then. Belay, and when you get hold you shout." It was the work of an acrobat, such as he would have achieved in doubt and despair. The sailor began swinging the boy to and fro, to and fro, with more and more force, till Rodd felt his legs go crashing in amongst the thick twigs of the great bough that was drawn down by the weight of the two upon it a good deal below the horizontal. "Harder!" he cried, as he swung back, and then as his legs went well in again he felt that a thick portion was passing between his knees, and thrusting forward his feet with all his might he forced them upwards and directly afterwards passed them one across the other in a desperate grip which left him dragging on the sailor's hands. "Fast, my lad?" "Yes." "Can you hold on?" "Yes." "Then good luck to you!" cried the sailor, as, relieved of the boy's weight, he too swung head downwards for a moment or two, then with a quick effort wrenched himself upwards, got hold of the branch with both hands, and after hanging like a sloth for a few moments, succeeded in dragging himself upon the bough, which all the while was swaying heavily up and down and threatening to shake Rodd from where he hung, but at the same time inciting him so to fresh desperate action, that with all a boy's activity he too had succeeded in perching himself astride of the branch. "All right, my lad?" cried Briggs. "Ye-es!" came gaspingly. "Then you wait a bit and get your wind, my lad.--Joe Cross! Ahoy!" he yelled, as if his messmate were half-a-mile away. "Right ho!" came from below. "Where's the boy?" "Here, Joe--here!" shouted Rodd, the sound of the man's voice seeming to send energy through him. "Hah-h-h!" came from the sailor, and directly after from different parts of the tree there was a cheer. "Now then, what about you, matey?" shouted Briggs. "Well, I dunno yet, my lad; I'm just going to try and shape it round. I want to know where some of the others are, and whether if I let go I couldn't manage to make a scramble and swim so as to join a mate." "No, no, no!" came in chorus. "Don't try it, lad. Aren't you safe where you are?" "Well, I don't know about being safe," replied the sailor. "Mebbe I could hold on, but here's the water up to my chesty; and don't make a row, or you'll be letting some of those crocs know where I am. Look here, Mr Rodd, sir; are you all right?" "Yes, Joe; I can sit here as long as I like.--That is," he added to himself, "if the branch doesn't break." "Well, that's a comfort, sir. And what about you, Harry Briggs?" "Well, I'm all right, mate; only a bit wet." "Wet! You should feel me!" cried Cross, quite jocularly. "How about the rest on you?" "Oh, we are up aloft here in the dark, mate," said one of the men. "I dunno as we should hurt so long as we didn't fall asleep." "Oh, I wouldn't do that, mates," said Cross. "You might catch cold. You hang yourselves out as wide as you can, so as to get dry." "But look here, Joe Cross," shouted Rodd, who was rapidly recovering his spirits, "you mustn't sit there in the water. Can't you manage to climb up?" "Oh yes, sir, I can climb up easy enough, only it don't seem to me as there's anything to climb." "But doesn't the branch you are sitting on go right up to the tree?" "No, sir; it goes right down into it, and I'm sitting in a sort of fork, like a dicky bird as has been picking out a handy place for its nest." "Then what are you going to try to do?" "Nothing, sir, but think." "Think?" "Yes, sir--about what I'm going to say to the skipper if ever we gets back." "Why, what can you say?" "That's what I want to know, sir. I know what he'll say to me. He'll say, Look here, my lad, you were coxswain; I want to know what you have done with my gig." "Ah, the boat!" said Rodd. "Do any of you know what's become of the boat?" "I don't," said Briggs. "Oh, she's half-way to South Ameriky by this time, sir," said Joe, "and I shall get all the credit of having lost her." "Never mind about the boat, Joe." "Well, sir, if you talk like that, I don't. But it's the skipper who will mind." "It's nothing to do with him, Joe. It's uncle's boat; and it wasn't your fault." "Thank you, sir. That's a bit comforting like, and warms one up a bit; but if it's all the same to you I'd raither not talk quite so much, for I don't know as crocs can hear, but if they can it mightn't be pleasant. Well, my lads, just another word; we have got to make the best of it and wait for daylight, and I suppose by that time the tide will have gone right down, and some on you will be getting dry." There was silence then, and the men sat holding on to their precarious perches, listening to an occasional sound from the river or the shore, loud splashings right away out in the direction of what they supposed to be the main current, and an occasional trumpeting wail or shriek from the forest--sounds that chilled and produced blood-curdling sensations at the first, but to which the men became more and more accustomed as the hours slowly glided on. "Look here," said Joe Cross, at last, "because I said I didn't want to talk, that wasn't meant for you who are all right up above the water. It's bad enough to be keeping a watch like this on a dark night, but that is no reason why you chaps shouldn't tell stories and talk and say something to cheer Mr Rodd up a bit. He had about the worst of it, swep' out of the boat as he was. So let go, some on you. You've got to do something, as you can't go to sleep. But I tell you one thing; you chaps are all much better off than I am. I shan't fall out of my bunk on the top of any of you. But look here, Harry Briggs, you always want a lot of stirring up before one can get you to move. Now then; you have got a bit of pipe of your own. Sing us a song. Good cheery one, with a chorus--one that Mr Rodd can pick up and chime in. Now then, let go." "Who's a-going to sing with the water dripping down out of his toes?" "Why, you, mate," cried Joe. "There, get on with you. You chaps as knows the best songs always wants the most stirring up, pretending to be bashful, when you want to begin all the time!" "I tell you I don't, mate. I'm too cold." "Then heave ahead, and that'll warm you up. You tell him he is to sing, Mr Rodd, sir. You're skipper now, and he must obey orders. It'll do us all good." "Well," said Rodd, "it doesn't seem a very cheerful time to ask people to sing in the dark; but perhaps it will brighten us all up." "Ay, ay, sir!" came from the rest. "Am I to, Mr Rodd?" said the man appealingly; and after a little more pressing he struck up in a good musical tenor the old-fashioned sea song of "The Mermaid," with its refrain of-- "We jolly sailor boys were up, up aloft, And the land lubbers lying down below, below, below, And the land lubbers lying down below!" right on through the several verses, telling of the sailors' superstition regarding its being unlucky to see a mermaid with a comb and a glass in her hand, when starting upon a voyage, right on to the piteous cry of the sailor boy about his mother in Portsmouth town, and how that night she would weep for him, till the song ended with the account of how the ship went down and was sunk in the bottom of the sea. It was a wild sad air, sung there in the branches of that tree amidst the darkness and night mist, and in spite of a certain beauty in the melody the singer's voice assumed a more and more saddened tone, till he finished with the water seeming to hiss more loudly through the lower branches and the inundated trunks around, and then there was a sharp slapping noise on the surface of the stream that might very well have been taken for plaudits. Then there was a strange braying sound like a weirdly discordant fit of laughter; and then perfect silence, with the darkness more profound than ever. "I'm blessed!" came at last from Joe. "Hark at him, Mr Rodd. He calls hisself a messmate! Ast him, I did, to sing us a song to cheer us up. Why, it was bad enough to play for a monkey's funeral march. It's all very well for you others to join in your chorus about jolly sailor boys sitting up aloft, but what about poor me sitting all the time in a cold hipsy bath, as they calls it in hospitals, expecting every moment to feel the young crocs a-tackling my toes? Why, it's enough to make a fellow call out for a clean pocket-handkerchy. Here, some on you, set to and spin us a yarn to take the taste of that out of our mouths." CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. THE DOCTOR PRESCRIBES. And so that awful night wore on, one story bringing forth another, and the spinning of one yarn being followed by the spinning of one perhaps longer. It was anything to relieve the terrible tedium and beguile their thoughts from the peril in which they were placed. The lapse of time was discussed, and the possibility of the slackening of the furious flow of the falling river so that a boat might come down in search of the unfortunates, but to a man all came to the conclusion that nothing could be expected until daylight, and that they must bear their fate as best they might. The most cheerful thing that fell to their lot during the weary hours was the announcement made from time to time by Joe Cross, that the water was sinking a little lower and a little lower, so that he had room to hope that after a while he too would be able to, as he put it, drip himself dry. But the monotony was terrible, and the morning seemed as if it would never come. For it was far different from being in the temperate region of the world, where in the summer months the darkness was slow to come and was succeeded by a very early dawn. There in that tropical southern land they were where the twenty-four-hours day was pretty equally divided into light and darkness, with scarcely any twilight to soften down the division. But still as everything comes to those who wait, so it was there, and Joe Cross announced at last that he was sitting quite clear of the water, and therefore, as he judged it, they had not very much longer to wait before it would be day. But he was wrong. What seemed to be an interminable time elapsed before the watchers could see for certain that a faint light seemed to be piercing the dense grey mist that covered the river. But this did at last become a certainty. Before long, on one side, grey and grim-looking beneath a heavy mist, the great river could be seen gliding steadily along, while away to their right rose the primeval forest, rising as it were out of a sea of shadow. The change came quickly then through a rapid twilight to the bright rays of the sunshine, which seemed to attack the river mist, piercing it through and through, routing it, and sending it in clouds rolling along the stream, while, now glistening and muddy, the banks showed out beyond the trees amidst which the huge monarch in which they had taken refuge stood towering almost alone. "Why, we must have come inshore for some distance last night," cried Rodd, in wonder. "Ay, my lad. Banks flooded. High tide perhaps," said Joe bluffly. "Well, the sooner we gets down into this mud and stretches our legs the better; and if they don't come down in the boats, how we are going to get back is more than I know." "Look! Look yonder!" cried Rodd, as, sweeping the park-like stretch around him, he suddenly caught sight of an object that filled his breast with joy. "Three cheers, my lads," shouted Joe, waving his hand, "and--Oh, hold hard! Avast there! Gig's safe to have a hole through her bottom." For there, about a hundred yards away, between the trees, lay something gleaming amongst the mud. He could only see a portion, but that was enough, and one by one, stiff and cold, the unfortunate party lowered themselves down from their perches to drop into a thin surface of soft mud, the swift rush of the tide preventing it from accumulating to any depth. Their fortune was better than they anticipated, for on reaching the boat's side it was to find that, though bottom upward, she had escaped any serious injury, the yielding boughs into which she had been swept having checked the force of the concussion and left her to glide from tangle of boughs to tangle, until she had been wedged into a huge fork and had from there slowly settled down. But there was neither oar nor boat-hook, and the line fastened to her foremost thwart had been snapped in two. "All her tackle gone," said Joe grimly. "Well, we must try and find and hack off some big bamboo canes with our jack-knives, and then try if we can't punt her up against the tide, which ought to be pretty slack by now--that is, if they don't come to find us." "But look here, Joe," cried Rodd, as he stood shading his eyes from the horizontal sunbeams; "there's the river, and the mist's rolling along with the tide. Here, I'm puzzled. Which way did we come?" "Why, that's plain enough, Mr Rodd, sir. Down with the stream yon way." "But that must be down-stream." "Nay, not it, my lad. The river winds, and so did my head. Here, I'm all of a maze still. No, I aren't. Here, I'm blest! Why, you are right, sir. That is up-stream, and--Hooray, my lads! One pole will do, to steer. We are going to be carried back again, for the tide's turned and running up steady." A very little search resulted in their coming upon a bed of canes, out of which four were cut and trimmed, supplying them with good stout poles twelve or fourteen feet long, and laying these along the thwarts the men, glad now of the exercise to drive out the chill, insisted upon Rodd getting into the boat while they waded through the mud by her side, half lifting, half thrusting, and succeeded at last in getting her to where a sloping portion of the bank ran down to the river. "Now all together, my lads," cried Joe. "Keep step, and hold her well in hand, for she'll soon begin to slide; and as soon as she reaches the water, jump in. Make ready. I'll give the word." "Stop!" shouted Rodd. "What about the crocodiles?" "Oh, murder!" cried Joe. "I forgot all about them. Well, never mind. This aren't no time to be nice. It's got to be done, so here goes." Rodd seized one of the poles, and going right to the bows knelt down in the bottom, and holding the pole lance fashion, prepared to try and use it. "That won't be no good, my lad," cried Joe. "Now, my lads--one, two, three! Off she goes!" They ran the gig quickly down the muddy slope, and as they touched the water and the foremost part began to float they took another step or two, gave her a final thrust, and sprang in, just as Rodd realised the truth of the sailor's words, for as they glided out with tremendous force, before they were a dozen yards from the water's edge the gig's stem collided just behind two muddy-looking prominences that appeared above the surface of the water, and as the shock sent the boy backwards over the next thwart the boat, which was bounding up and down with the result of the men springing in, received another shock from something dark which rose out of the water, and then they glided on past a tremendous ebullition and were carried onward by the rising tide. "Here, let me come, Mr Rodd," cried Joe Cross, as he scrambled forward. "Here, catch hold, sir, and help me drag my jersey over my head. The brute's stove us in, and if I don't look sharp--Pull, sir, pull--right over my head! That's got it," he cried, and he set to work thrusting the woollen knitted shirt bit by bit along between the edges of two of the planks, through which the water was rapidly gurgling in. "There," he said; "that'll keep some on it out; but don't all on you stand looking at me as if I was playing a conjuring trick. Get a couple of those poles over the sides. Nay, nay, it's no use to try to punt. Dessay the water's fathoms deep. Just keep her head straight, and let the tide carry us on. Look out, my lads! There's another of them up yonder. See, Mr Rodd, sir--them two nubbles? Them's his eyes. He just keeps his beautiful muddy carcase all hid under water and squints along the top with them pretty peepers of hisn to look out for his breakfast. Keep back, sir; I believe he's coming on at us, big as the boat is. Oh, this is a pretty place, upon my word! He means me, because he can see my white skin." Instead of answering, Rodd picked up the bamboo pole, which had been jerked from his hands when they encountered the other reptile. Three of the men followed his example of holding them ready to strike at what they could see of the crocodile, and as they were carried closer by the tide and Rodd could just make out below the muddy surface that the water was being stirred by the undulation of the tail of the monster, which was apparently fourteen or fifteen feet long, three poles were sharply thrust together, two of them coming in contact with the creature's head just behind its eyes. The blows were heavy, having behind them the weight and impetus of the loaded boat, and once more there was a tremendous swirl in the water, as the crocodile raised its head right out, turned completely over, displaying its pallid buff under portion, and then curved itself over, and in the act of diving down threw up its tail and struck the surface of the water with a blow that deluged the occupants of the cutter with spray. "Well," cried Joe, as the boat glided on, "I don't know what you chaps think of it, but I am getting warm again, and I call this 'ere sport. But I say, Mr Rodd, I am beginning to wish you was aboard the _Maid of Salcombe_, and you'd took me with you." "Same 'ere, sir," cried the men, in chorus. "See any more, Mr Rodd?" "No, not yet, Joe." "Well, there's no hurry, sir. Let's get our breath. But do you call this 'ere fishing or shooting?" "There's another," cried Rodd excitedly; "but it's going the other way." "Got to know perhaps, sir, how we upset t'other. But we can spare him, for I'll be bound to say there's plenty more of them. Now I wonder what they are all for--pretty creatures!" "What they are for, Joe?" cried Rodd, without taking his eyes from the surface of the muddy stream which was carrying them onward. "Yes, sir; I don't see as they are much good. I say, there's another one! No, he's ducked his head down. Ah, he's coming up again. Look out, my lads!" cried the man. "I wish there was another pole. There's nothing left for me but my knife, and they are as hard as shoehorns, I know. I don't want to break my whittle against his skin. No, he's going to let us go by. Ah! Look out!" For as they drew nearer the sun flashed off the reptile's muddy skin, and they could see it glide round rapidly and strike two tremendous blows on the surface with its serrated tail--blows that had been probably directed at the boat, but which fell short, while in its blind stupidity it kept on thrashing the water several times after the vessel had passed. "Ahoy! Ahoy!" came from somewhere, seeming to echo from the trees that covered the bank. "Ahoy! Ahoy!" shouted Joe Cross back. "Why, that means help, sir. The brig must be lying there, just round that bend beyond the trees." "Oh no," cried Rodd excitedly. "We must have gone down miles with the tide." "Ahoy! Ahoy!" came again. "Boat ahoy!" from somewhere out of sight; and glancing back Rodd made out that they were passing along what seemed to be a rapid bend. "Ahoy!" was shouted back, and then all at once, to the astonishment of the sufferers, a couple of boats came into sight from right astern, their occupants sending the spray flying as they bent to their oars and seemed to be racing to overtake the gig. For the moment the boats, quite a quarter of a mile behind, took up all their attention, and Rodd stood up in the bows waving his hand wildly. "There's Uncle Paul, and the skipper, in one!" he cried. "Ay, ay, my lad; that's our old man," shouted Joe. "And there's the Count, and eight men rowing hard, in the other, but-- but--oh, I say, Morny isn't there!" "Oh, he's being skipper and taking care of the brig, sir," cried Joe sharply, as he noted the boy's disappointed tone of voice. "No, he isn't," shouted Rodd, signalling with his pole, as he saw one of the rowers rise up in the brig's boat and begin waving an oar; "he's pulling with the men!" And his voice sounded hoarse and choking, while, realising this fact, the boy coughed loudly and forcibly, as if to clear his throat. "Here, you've ketched a cold, Mr Rodd, sir," cried Joe. "But never mind them behind in the boats. They'll ketch us up soon. There's another of them beauties coming at us. The beggars do seem hungry this morning. We hardly seed any of them when we were coming up yesterday. Why, of course, this is their breakfast-time, and the sight of us has made them peckish. Now then, all together, lads! Let him have it." Four poles were thrust together, with somewhat similar effects to those on the last occasion, for the onset of the great reptile was diverted, the boat's head turned aside, and the blows aimed at them by the creature's tail fell short, though to the men's dismay their efforts had driven them towards another of the monsters, which was gliding towards them from their left. But here again they successfully turned the creature aside, and Rodd exclaimed-- "Suppose we missed!" "Oh, the beggars are too big to miss, sir," cried Briggs. "But suppose we did; what then, sir?" "I don't know," cried Rodd excitedly. "What do you say, Joe?" "I don't know, sir. I never learned crocodile at school, though there was one in my spelling-book, and I 'member I couldn't understand why a four-legged chap like him, as lived in the water, should make a nest and lay eggs like a bird. Here, Harry, let me handle that pole for a few minutes. I should like to have a turn. Thank you, lad," he continued. "Yes, they're rum beasts, Mr Rodd, sir, and I dare say they are very slippery; but I don't suppose I shall miss the next one--Ah! Would yer!" he shouted as one of the reptiles rose suddenly, open-mouthed, close to the boat's head. As the man spoke he made a heavy thrust with his pole, his companions having no time to take aim, and the next moment the hideous jaws snapped to, there was a fresh swirl, the bamboo pole was jerked out of Joe's hand, and he would have overbalanced himself and gone overboard had not those nearest to him seized him and snatched him back. "Well, now," he cried, "just look at that!" For about half of the bamboo remained visible and went sailing up the stream. Just then there was the sharp report of a gun from behind, followed by another, while before there was time for re-loading there was the loud _crack, crack_ of a double fowling-piece. "Hurrah! That's uncle!" cried Rodd. "They are firing at the crocodiles, and it will be with bullets." "And sarve them jolly well right, Mr Rodd, say I," cried Joe, "for I call it taking a mean advantage of a man to sneak off like that with his pole. Why, look at him, sir. He's having a regular lark with it-- picking his teeth, or something. Look how he's waggling the top of it about. What do you say to try and steer after him and get it back?" "Ugh! No!" cried Rodd. "It would be madness." "Well, not quite so bad as that, sir. Say about half-cracked; and that's about what I'm beginning to think. I say, they are getting all the fun behind there." "Look out; here comes another!" cried Rodd, for there was a pair of eyes in front gliding rapidly towards them just above the water, but apparently not satisfied with the appearance of the boat, or perhaps less ravenous, the two prominences softly disappeared before they were close up, and Joe Cross, evidently divining what might happen, suddenly caught Rodd round the waist and forced him down into the bottom of the boat. "Look out, my lads!" he yelled. As he spoke the hinder part of the boat began slowly to rise, showing that they were gliding right over a reptile's back. Then it was turned to starboard, the water coming almost to the edge; but as it glided on it began to sink to the level again, just as it received a heavy shock from below and was driven forward with a jerk just far enough to escape a blow from a serrated tail which rose astern and showered the water over them in so much blinding spray. "Here, ahoy there!" shouted Joe. "Look alive, and bring up them guns! There's more sport up here than we want. I wouldn't care, Mr Rodd, if we had got our oars and my boat-hook. Nay, I don't know, though. It's just as well I haven't, for I should be getting it stuck perhaps, and never see that no more." A few minutes after, while the firing was kept up from astern, the two boats came up on either side, and amidst the heartiest of congratulations Rodd cried-- "Ah, uncle, you have overtaken us at last! I am glad you have come!" "Overtaken you, my boy! Why, we have been miles down the river towards the mouth. We started as soon as the tide was slack enough for us to leave the vessels. We must have passed you in the fog, and we were beginning to despair. But we came upon one of the sailors' caps hanging in a bough, when, thinking that perhaps we had gone too far, and Captain Chubb feeling sure that you had run ashore somewhere in the darkness, perhaps been carried right into the flooded forest, we came back and--" He ceased speaking, took a quick aim over the side of the boat, and discharged the contents of his double gun into the head of a reptile which rose three or four yards away. "The brutes!" he went on. "But there don't appear to be so many here. We seem to have been coming through quite a shoal." "There's plenty of them," growled the skipper, "but three boats together scares them a bit. Here, my lads, lay hold of this line and make fast, and we will give you a tow back to the schooner. We shan't be long getting up to it with this tide. Why, hallo here! Not content with losing the oars and boat-hook, you've been and got the gig stove in! And the grapnel gone too! Here, you Joe Cross, what's the meaning of all this?" "I'll tell you about that, captain, by and by," said Rodd quickly. "What's that? You want to come aboard, Morny? No, you had better not. It's all muddy, and we shall have to begin baling. Pitch us in a couple of tins." "I'll bring them," cried the young Frenchman, rising in the boat.--"Yes, my father, I wish to go. Hook on, and let me get aboard," he continued to the French coxswain. Half-an-hour later, with the men taking it in turns to bale, and with the crocodiles seeming to have become more scarce, they ran up alongside of the two anchored vessels, cheering and being cheered from the moment they came into sight. "Now, my lads," cried the doctor, "every one of you take what I'll mix up for you directly, and have a good bathe and rub down. I am not going to have you all down with fever if I can stave it off." CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. TALKING LIKE A BOY. Perhaps it was nearly all weariness and the result of the excitement, but it may have been due to Uncle Paul's potion; at any rate Rodd went off fast asleep, and when he awoke it was to find Morny sitting by his cot. "Hullo!" he cried. "You here!" "Yes, I am here," was the reply. "How are you?" "Oh, I am all right. Have I been to sleep?" "Well, yes, you have been to sleep," said Morny, smiling at him in a rather peculiar way. "What are you laughing at?" "Oh, I was only smiling at you." "What, am I scratched and knocked about?" "Oh, very slightly." "But I say, I am so precious hungry. What time is it?" "Just upon six. Some bells or another, as you call it." "Get out! Why, it was seven o'clock this morning when I lay down to sleep after my bath; so how can it be six o'clock? You don't mean to say that it is six o'clock in the evening?" "Indeed, but I do. You had better jump up, or it will soon be dark." "What a nuisance! Why, I must have slept twelve hours." "Oh, you think so, do you? Yes, a good deal more than that. I was getting quite alarmed about you, only your uncle said you were quite right and you were to have your sleep out." "I say, look here," cried Rodd; "am I dreaming, or are you playing tricks? I am getting muddled over this. I lay down this morning, and as soon as my head was on the pillow I must have gone off fast asleep." "Yes, but it was yesterday morning." Rodd sat up quickly in his cot and screwed himself round to stare hard in his companion's face. "Look here," he cried, "you are playing tricks!" "Indeed I'm not! You've been sleeping for about a day and a half." "Well!" cried Rodd, beginning to dress hurriedly. "But never mind. I will make up for it by not going to sleep for a whole day. Look here, you know what's been going on. Where are we? Going up farther so as to get a mooring-place?" "We came up yesterday, miles higher up the river, and the brig's moored close by an open part of the shore. There, make haste and finish dressing and come and look." The lad dressed himself probably more quickly than he had ever achieved the performance before in his life, and in the process he learned that his uncle and Captain Chubb were on board the brig with several of the men, the skipper superintending the moorings and the arranging of cables from the brig to a couple of great forest trees, with tackle so ordered that the vessel could be careened over to any extent desired, and that the next morning she was to be allowed to sink with the tide so as to be bedded in the mud and laid over until the bottom was so exposed that the carpenter and his mates could get to work. As soon as Rodd had hurried on deck he found all as his companion had described, while he had just mastered these facts when there was the sharp report of a gun. "What's that?" he cried. "Oh, only your uncle having a shot at a crocodile. Both he and my father have been at it all day, sending bullets into them whenever a head appeared on the surface of the water." "But I say, look here, Morny; why didn't this wake me?" "Oh, you were shut up down here and too fast asleep." "Then that would be uncle's dose," cried Rodd. "He must have given me too much. Why, he might have killed me." "Oh no. I expect he knew too well what he was about. He seems to have kept off the fever." "Fever, yes! Has anybody else got it?" "No. Your men are quite well." "But they didn't sleep as long as I have?" cried Rodd anxiously. "Not quite; but they all had very long sleeps, and my father says that they would have been longer if their messmates had not disturbed them. Now then, you had better go back to your cabin again. The steward told me that he was keeping some breakfast ready for you to have at any time." "Wait a bit," cried Rodd, and he hailed his uncle and Captain Chubb before having a good look round at their position, and finding that they were in a beautiful open reach of the river, with the forest overhanging the stream on one side, while on that where the brig was seated close in shore there were only a few scattered trees, and those of large size, for the main portion of the forest had retired back nearly a quarter of a mile. The next morning, as arrangements had been made to begin work at daylight, Captain Chubb and certain of the men, including Joe Cross, had their breakfasts by lamplight, and were on board the brig long before the sun rose. Then came a busy time, with everybody anxiously watching for the success of Captain Chubb's plans. He took his place upon the brig with the schooner's carpenter, the two lads bargaining that they might stay too, and as the tide sank the brig, which had been hauled in close to the bank at high water, soon touched bottom, her keel settling down steadily into the mud, and in due time began to careen over more and more, her progress being governed by a couple of capstans that had been arranged upon the shore. This went on until long before low water she was lying so much over on her side away from the shore that the sail that had been used as a plaister, as Rodd called it, was slackened off, and one of the holes made by the cannon ball fully exposed to view. Then followed a busy time, the carpenter and his mates stripping off the copper and using their saws hour after hour as long as the tide left the leak bare, while after working as long as was possible, pieces of new thin plank were temporarily nailed on over the now much-enlarged opening, which was carefully caulked and all made as secure as possible. This done, the capstans were manned again, and with the rising tide the brig raised to her proper position, and secured for the night, but hauled in as close to the shore as was possible, with the consequence that though the water rose through the untouched leak considerably, it never reached so high within as the point it had occupied with the pumps hard at work. It proved to be a much longer job than had been anticipated, though the men worked as hard as was possible while the tide was low. But the time passed very pleasantly for Rodd and his uncle, for they took their stations on board the anchored schooner, firing at every crocodile that showed itself, the presence of the men at work upon the muddy exposed shore proving an irresistible attraction during the first part of the time. But so many had been sent writhing and lashing the water, to float down-stream, that at last they began to grow shy, and the sportsmen were enabled to direct some of their charges of small shot at specimens of beautiful birds that came within range, as well as at the abundant waterfowl--ducks and geese--that gathered morning and evening to feed, but often to become food for the hideous reptiles that lurked beneath the trees close in shore. This latter sport proved highly welcome to the crews of both vessels, providing as it did a pleasant change of diet after so much salt provision, for very few fish were caught, consequent upon the way in which they were persecuted by the reptiles. "I wish you would join in. I am sure you can shoot well," said Rodd; but Morny shook his head. "No," he said; "my father is so anxious to see the brig repaired." "Yes, I suppose so," said Rodd, "but that wouldn't make any difference. You can't help." "No, I cannot help," replied the lad, "and I should like to be with you all the time, but I can't leave his side. It would seem so hard if I didn't stay with him to share his anxiety." "Well, but you might have a few shots at the crocodiles. That's helping to protect the men who are at work." "True," replied Morny, smiling. "But you two are such clever shots. You can do all that. Don't ask me again, please." Rodd was silent. But during the long dark evenings in that grand and solitary reach of the river, which looked as if it had never been visited by human beings before, there would have been most enjoyable times had not the Count seemed so preoccupied and thoughtful. Still it had become the custom that there should be a constant interchange of courtesies between the occupants of the two vessels, the sailors thoroughly fraternising, while their superiors alternately dined together upon schooner or brig, and a thorough rivalry sprang up between the English and French cooks as to who should provide the best meals for officers and men. "I should like for us to make an excursion right up the river as far as we could go in the boats," said Rodd one evening, to his French companion. "Uncle wants to go." "Then why don't you?" said Morny. "You have plenty of time," he added, with a sigh, "for the repairs go on very slowly. One of the leaks is not stopped yet." "They are not going on slowly," retorted Rodd. "I talked to Captain Chubb about it, and he said the work must be thoroughly done, so as to make the brig as good as ever she was." "Yes, they are doing it well," said Morny sadly. "He said--" continued Rodd, with a laugh; and then he stopped short. "Well, why don't you go on?" "Oh, never mind. You wouldn't like it. You are sensitive, and it might hurt your feelings." "I promise you it shall not. Tell me what the captain said." "Well, he said he wasn't going to have any Frenchmen throw it in his teeth that he hadn't done his best because it was a French boat, and that he was taking more pains over it than he should have done if it had been ours." Morny laughed. "Oh yes," he said, "I know he is doing his best, and I wouldn't care, only my father is so anxious to get to sea again." "Well, all in good time," cried Rodd. "They are fitting the copper sheathing on again, and to-morrow they will begin careening the brig over so as to get at the other side." "Ha! Yes," said the French lad, with a sigh of satisfaction. "Well, you take your boat to-morrow, and plenty of men and ammunition, and go on a good long excursion." "Shan't," said Rodd gruffly. "But why not?" "Aren't going without you." "What nonsense! I'm busy. You are free." "I am not. If we went away leaving you alone with a brig that won't swim, who knows what would happen? The crocs would send the news all up and down the river that we were gone away, and come on at you with a rush." "That's absurd! You talk like a boy." "Well, I am one. Yes, that is nonsense. But suppose a whole tribe of niggers came down out of the forest to attack you." "They couldn't. You know yourself that the forest is impassable except to wild beasts." "Well, then, perhaps they would come down, or up--yes, up; they wouldn't come down, and find you helpless, because we should meet them and come back to help you." "We could fight," said Morny coolly, "and sink their canoes with the big guns." "What, when they are fast lashed to one side, and your deck all of a slope? No, we are not going, so don't bother about it any more. Who knows but what there may be towns of savages right up inland, or up some other river farther along the coast? I dare say it's a beautiful country--and there, I won't hear another word. We are not going away to leave you in the lurch. Uncle said as much. He likes the Count too well." Morny laughed merrily. "Why," he said, "he's always quarrelling with my father and hurting his feelings by the way in which he speaks about our great Emperor." "Stuff!" cried Rodd indignantly. "That's only Uncle Paul's way. He always talks like that when he gets on to politics. Why, I have a sham quarrel with him sometimes about Napoleon. I pretend that I admire him very much." "Pretend!" cried Morny eagerly. "Well, I tell uncle that he was a very great general and soldier." "Yes, yes! Grand!" said the French lad, flushing. "And that I shouldn't have wondered at all if he had conquered the whole world." "Yes, yes!" cried Morny excitedly. "That was brave of you! And what did your uncle say?" "Said I was a young scoundrel, and that if I wasn't so big, and that he disliked corporal punishment, he'd give me a good thrashing to bring me to my senses." "And you--you--" cried Morny, grasping him by the arm, "what did you say to that?" "Nothing at all. Only burst out laughing." "Burst out laughing?" "Yes, and then Uncle Paul would grunt out `Humbug!' and we were good friends again." The young Frenchman shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. "Ah, yes," he said. "Even those who worshipped him mock at the Emperor now that he is in misfortune--even you, Rodd. But I can forgive you, because you are English and the natural enemies of our great Emperor. But those of our countrymen--cowards and slaves--parasites of the new King. _Laches_! Cowards! But let us talk of something else. You make me like you, Rodd. You always did, and--" "Ah-h-h! Getting on dangerous ground. Now look here; will you come with us shooting?" "No. I have told you why." "Well, I am horribly disappointed. But I like you for it all the more, Morny. You are a regular trump to your father." "I!" cried the young man fiercely. "I play the trumpet to my father! Never! If I praise him it is all the truth, because he is so honest and brave and good." "Why, what's the matter now?" cried Rodd in astonishment. "Oh, I see-- trump! You don't know all our English expressions yet. Where's your dictionary?" "There was no such word in it that I do not understand," cried the lad. "Then it isn't a good one," said Rodd merrily. Explanations followed, and the two lads parted that evening, both eager for the coming of the following day and the attack that was to be made upon the second leak where the ball from the fort had made its exit on the other side nearer the keel. CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT. A PROPOSED ADVENTURE. It was a busy and an anxious day. The brig's guns had been carefully ran to starboard and firmly lashed, and the yards lowered down, her topmasts struck, and all made ready for laying her right over in the mud at low water, so that her spars should be upon the shore. "It wouldn't do to lay her over like this," said the skipper gruffly, "if she were full of cargo. It would mean a bad shifting. But I think we can manage, and I'll risk it. We can easily start her water casks." There was no question of shooting that day, Rodd preferring to stay with his French friend; and the doctor seemed to quite share the Count's anxiety as they watched the proceedings of the sailors while the tide went down. But everything went on admirably. As the water sank a steady strain was kept upon the cables, and by slow degrees the brig careened over towards the land till the newly-repaired side sank lower and lower, and she lay more and more over, till at last the water that had flooded the hold began to flow out with the tide till the beautiful vessel lay perfectly helpless upon her side, with the whole of her keel visible upon the long stretch of mud. Then Captain Chubb, taking hold of a rope which he had made fast to the larboard rail, climbed over on to the brig's side, and steadying himself by the cord, walked right down and stood shaking his head at the ghastly wound which the vessel had received. For after passing right through the hold, the cannon ball had struck upon and shattered one of what are technically called the ship's knees, ripping off a great patch of the planking and tearing through the copper sheathing, which was turned back upon the keel, making a ragged hole several times the size of the fairly clean-cut orifice by which the shot had entered. "You had better come and have a look here, Count," cried the captain--an invitation which was accepted by several of those interested, and in a very short time an anxious group was gathered round the vessel's injury. "Well, sir," said the skipper, in his rough, brusque way; "what do you say to that?" "Horrible!" groaned the Count. "My poor vessel!" And he looked at the captain in despair. "Well, sir," said the latter, "if anybody had told me that I could make a patch with sails over the bottom of your brig so as to keep her afloat as I have, I should have felt ready to call him a fool. It's a wonder to me that you kept her afloat as you did, before you came to us for help." "But now, captain," cried the Count, as his son looked anxiously on, "is it possible, away from a shipyard, to mend this as well as you have done the other injury?" "Well, sir, if we were close to some port I should say, no, certainly not; but seeing where we are, there's only one thing to be done." "Yes? And that--?" cried the Count. "Do it, sir. But it will take some time." The Count made an impatient gesticulation, and then threw his hands apart in a deprecating way, as if he accepted the position in despair. "Yes," he said; "you brave Englishmen, you never give up. You will do it, then?" "Oh yes, sir; we've got to do it; and what do they say? Time and tide wait for no man; so I'll thank you all to clear off and let me and my lads get to work. Only look here, sir; there's going to be no hoisting and lowering here. We shall have to keep the brig lying on her side without any temporary patches, and the tide will have to flow in and out, even if it does some damage to your stores. So while my lads are stripping off the copper, you will keep your men busy with your hatches open to make a pretty good clearance inside, so that we can work in there as well as out here." "Yes, yes," said the Count, who seemed to quite resign himself in full obedience to the skipper's wishes. "But you will use all the speed you can?" "You may trust me for that, sir," said Captain Chubb; for after two or three attempts in the early parts of the proceedings connected with the repairs, and saying Monsieur le Count, the blunt Englishman gave it up in favour of plain straightforward "sir," and stuck to it; while the titled captain seemed to like the Englishman none the less. "Now," said the captain, as he climbed back on to the sloping deck, following the others, "I didn't know that your brig would be so bad as this, but I had my suspicions, and when I have not been busy here I have been casting my eye round for a good crooked bit of timber that would make a ship's knee if I wanted one." "And do you know where there is one?" "Yes," said the skipper; "and I think it will make a very good makeshift, for the wood's as hard as hard. But what wouldn't I give for a good old crooked piece of Devon oak from out of Dartmoor Forest!" Shortly afterwards he had set the carpenter and his mates to strip off the copper sheathing, while he led off Joe Cross and another man about a quarter of a mile away from the river bank to where a huge pollard-like tree was growing at the edge of the forest, all gnarled and twisted in the most extraordinary way. The two lads had followed them, and Rodd looked at the selected tree aghast. "Why, you are never going to set the men to cut down that tree, captain?" he cried. "Why not, my lad? Do you know a better bit?" "Better bit!" cried Rodd. "Why, the men can hardly get through that with those axes. Most likely take them a fortnight--I might say a month." "Ah, well, I don't want it all. I am not going to load up the brig with a cargo of timber. I only want that big dwarf branch from low down there where it starts from close to the root; and you will mind and get that big elbow-like piece as long as you can, Joe Cross." "Ay, ay, sir! Just you mark out what you want, and we'll cut accordin'. Better take all the top off first, hadn't us?" "Why, of course, my lad. One of you use the saw while the other works away with an axe. You quite understand?" "Ay, ay, sir; me and my mate has seen a ship's knee afore now;" and rolling up their sleeves, they soon made the place echo with the blows of the axe, while the rasping harsh sound of the saw seemed to excite a flock of beautifully-plumaged parrots, which began to circle round the head of the tree, before finally settling amongst the branches uttering their sharp screeching cries, and giving vent to croaking barks, as if resenting this attack upon their domain. The carpenter and his men were meanwhile hard at work at the copper sheathing, making such progress that they were busy with their saws, dividing plank and trenail and working their way round the hole by the time the tide had risen sufficiently to drive them back, and then the Count and his party grouped themselves as best they could about their old quarters, looking despondently at what seemed like the beginning of a very hopeless wreck, a good deal of confidence being needed on their part to feel that all would come right in the end. Fortunately the tide during the next two or three days did not rise so high, and good progress was made, while, thanks to the way in which the French crew had worked, the damage done by the water as it flowed in through the gap that was made was principally confined to its leaving a thick deposit of mud. The doctor tried all he could to persuade the Count to take up his abode upon the schooner, and offered to accommodate as many men as he liked to bring with him, but he would not hear of it, and, as Rodd said laughingly to Morny, insisted upon living all upon one side and climbing instead of walking about the deck. Then all at once there was a surprise. It was on the third day, when Joe Cross and his mate had called in the aid of a couple more to help drag the ponderous roughed-out piece of crooked timber to the waterside ready for the carpenter and his men to work into shape with their adzes, and while the latter were slaving away at high pressure to get all possible done before they were stopped by the tide, that, in obedience to a shout from Captain Chubb, all the men of the schooner's crew hurried to their boat to get on board, while those of the brig hurried to their arms ready for any emergency. For coming up with the tide and round a bend of the river, a large three-masted schooner made its appearance with what seemed to be quite a large crew of well-armed men clustering forward, and apparently surprised at seeing that the river had its occupants already there. "What do you make of them, sir?" shouted the skipper through his speaking trumpet. "A foreigner--Spanish, I think," shouted back the Count, after lowering his spy-glass. "Same here, sir. Slaver, I think." The fact of her proving to be a slaver did not mean that an attack was looming in the future, but slaving vessels upon the West Coast of Africa bore a very bad reputation, and the preparations that were rapidly made did not promise much of a welcome. As the stranger drew near it was evident that busy preparations were being made there too, but in his brief colloquy with Uncle Paul the skipper grunted out that he did not think the foreign vessel meant to attack, but to be ready to take care of herself in case the English schooner tried to surprise her and make her a prize. "We ought to have taken the boat," he said, "and gone up. It seems to me that there must be a town up there somewhere--savage town, of course, belonging to some chief, for it aren't likely that there can be three of us all coming out here into this river on a scientific cruise. Two's curious enough, English and French, but a Spaniel won't do at all. For that's what she is, sir, plain enough. Well, if she means fight, sir, you mean business, I suppose?" "Of course," said the doctor sternly; "and I am quite sure that we can depend upon the Count's help." "Ay, ay, sir; but it's a bad job the brig can't manoeuvre at all." "But I should say," said the doctor, "that when these men see how firm we are and well prepared, they will prove peaceable enough." As it proved in a short time after colours had been hoisted, those of the French brig being raised upon a spare spar, the stranger came steadily on in the most peaceable way till the tide had carried her within reasonable distance of the schooner's anchorage, when an order rang out, an anchor was lowered with a splash, and as she swung slowly round, a light boat was dropped from the davits, and a swarthy-looking Spaniard, who seemed to be an officer if not the skipper of the swift-looking raking craft, had himself rowed alongside the schooner. A brief colloquy took place in which questions and answers freely passed, Captain Chubb speaking out frankly as to the object of their mission there, an avowal hardly necessary, for the appearance of the brig with the newly-cut hole, and her position, told its own story. The Spanish skipper, for so he proved to be, was just as free in his announcements as soon as he found that the brig and schooner were friendly vessels, and began to explain that he was on a trading expedition, that there was a king of the country up there, a great black chief, who had a large town, and that he came from time to time with stores to barter, which he always did with great advantage, going away afterwards pretty well laden with palm-oil and sundries, which the blacks always had waiting for his annual visit, these sundries including, he said, with a meaning laugh, ostrich feathers, choice dye woods, ivory, and a little gold. He spoke strongly accented but very fair English, and made no scruple about coming on board the schooner and examining her critically as he talked. "I thought at first, captain, that you had found out my private trading port and were going to be a rival;" whereupon the doctor began chatting freely with him and asking questions about the natural products of the place; and Rodd listened eagerly, drinking in the replies made by the Spanish captain as soon as he thoroughly realised the object of the schooner's visit and the bearing of the doctor's questions. He soon became eagerly communicative regarding the wild beasts that haunted the forests, the serpents that were found of great size, the leopards and other wild cats that might be shot for their skins, the beauty of the plumage of the birds, and above all the wondrous size of the apes that haunted the trees. "There's gold too to be washed out of the soil," he said, looking hard at Rodd; "but don't you touch it. Leave that to the blacks." "Why?" said Rodd. "Because," said the man, shaking a fore-finger at him, upon which was a thick gold ring, "the white men who turn up the wet earth to wash it out get fever." "But," said the doctor, "we have not come gold-hunting. And so there are great apes in these forests? Have you seen them?" "Oh, yes," said the Spanish captain. "I have been coming here for ten years, and never saw another vessel up here before--only the big canoes of the blacks. Why, I could take you into the forest and show you plenty of beautiful birds and flowers, and all kinds of wonders." "But the forest seems to be impassable," put in Rodd. "Yes," said the Spaniard, with a laugh--"to those who don't know their way. Higher up there are small rivers which run into this, where boats can go up and get to where the trees are not all crowded together, but more open like this patch here," he continued, waving his hand to where the forest retired back. "There are sluggish streams where you can wander for days, and camp ashore, and shoot all kinds of things. I used to at one time, when it was all new to me; and I collected skins and sent them to Cadiz and other European cities, where they sold well. But I have given all that up long enough. The black king--bah!--chief--he's only a savage. He makes his people collect the palm-oil and other things for me, and I load up and take them back." "Then you would make a good guide," said the doctor. "I, captain?" said the man eagerly. "Oh yes. A man could not come here for ten years, and stay a month or two each time, without getting to know the country well." "I suppose not. But this is the captain. I am only a doctor, travelling to make discoveries." "Ah, a doctor!" cried the Spaniard eagerly. "Then you will help me and one or two of my men! Yes? I will pay you well." "Oh," said the doctor quietly, "if I can help you, or any one with you who needs assistance, I will do so, of course. I want no pay, but I might ask you to guide me and my nephew here in a little expedition or two into the forest." "Uncle," said Rodd quickly, "we mustn't leave the Count and Morny." "Well, well," said the doctor, "we'll see about that." "I am glad to know you, Senor Medico," said the Spaniard, patting on the stiffness of the formal Don and bowing profoundly, "and I will gladly help you in any way I can. But I am only a poor trader, and glad to do any business I can when I meet a strange ship that has needs. Do you want powder? I see you have guns," he said sharply. "Oh yes," said the doctor. "One never knows what enemies one may meet with among savage people; so we are well-armed, and as you see have a good crew." "Yes, yes," said the Spaniard, looking sharply round. "But I thank you. We have plenty of powder." "So have I," said the Spaniard. "The black chief is always glad to buy it, and guns too. That is my money--that and rum. Those will always buy palm-oil. But I have plenty of ship stores; canvas, oakum, and pitch. You are mending the other ship, I see. Can I sell you some?" "I thank you, no," said the doctor. "We are well supplied, I think, with everything; and in reply, if there is anything you want that we can supply to you I shall be pleased." "Then I should like a few canisters of your good English powder." "Thought you said you'd plenty," said Captain Chubb gruffly. The Spaniard closed his eyes slowly till they were like two narrow slits, and he gave the skipper a meaning nod. "Yes," he said significantly, "I have plenty. It is good for the black man's guns. But if you fired it from yours--pff! It makes much smoke, and the barrel very wet, and the shot do not go too far. But the black men know no better. I do. Ha, ha! You will let me have a few pounds for my own pistols?" "And that long gun of yours too?" said the skipper. "Yes," said the Spaniard. "As your medico says, one never knows what savage people one may meet. It is good too behind a bullet for our friends here in the river. You have seen them?" He put his wrists together with his palms closed, and then slowly opened them widely in imitation of a crocodile's jaws, and closed them with a snap. "Oh yes," said Rodd, "we have met them, and found out how horny their skins are." "Ugh! Beasts!" said the Spaniard. "Last time I was here they swept two of my men out of a boat, and I never saw them more. We caught some fish as we came up the river, at the mouth. _Adios, senores_; I will send you some. We shall meet again. I do not hurry for some days, for I am before my time." "How far is it up to the town?" asked Captain Chubb. "Three days' journey. This is a great river, and the water is deep right up into the country till you reach the mountains, far beyond the town." "Well," said the doctor, "let's go ashore, Rodd, and tell the Count. We didn't bargain for this, eh, captain?" "No," said the skipper gruffly, as he watched the departing boat, after ordering the crew back into their own so as to row the doctor and his nephew to the brig. "Well, Rodd," continued the doctor, "it would be a grand chance for us to have some expeditions with a good guide. What do you think of the Spanish captain?" "Don't like him at all, uncle. There's a nasty, catty, foxy look about him." "A mixture of the feline and the canine, eh, my boy? Well, he must be a bad one! Ah! British prejudice is as strong in you as it is in me." CHAPTER THIRTY NINE. SPANISH LIQUORICE. There was quite a discussion when the doctor joined those waiting by the brig, the Count being bitterly annoyed and displaying more excitement than the others had seen in him before, while Morny kept close to his side, and whispered to him from time to time, as if trying to calm him down. "Yes, yes, my son," he cried passionately, and speaking to him in French; "but you are a boy, and do not think. Look here," and he pointed to the helpless brig, "how do we know but that he may be an enemy? And we are in this helpless state, quite at his mercy." The doctor was listening attentively, and understood every word. "I know," he said soothingly, "this must be very painful for you; but Captain Chubb believes that before many days are over the brig will be as strong as ever. I answer for him that he is making every effort to finish what he has undertaken." Uncle Paul directed a glance at the skipper, who stood scowling close by. "Thank you, doctor," he granted, as he gave a nod. "And I feel sure that this Spanish captain, who is evidently an ordinary trader, will prove perfectly inoffensive; and besides, my dear sir, we are not at war now, and what enemies can you have to fear?" "Ah, yes," said the Count bitterly, as he made a deprecating gesture with his hands, turning and directing his words at his son; "what enemies can we have to fear?" "Well, I am glad you look upon it in that light," said the doctor. "Now, if it had been years ago, with your smart little craft, and you had been followed up here by a small sloop of war, or an English letter of marque, you might have expected to be made a prize. But this is an ordinary Spanish schooner, and though I suspected it at first, I don't think she is tainted by the slave trade, but engaged in traffic with the natives for the sake of palm-oil." "Perhaps you are right, sir," said the Count. "I feel sure I am," said the doctor, "and I must confess to having hailed this man's coming, from the help he will be to me in a little expedition I propose to make when we have seen the brig restored and all set right." "I thank you," said the Count, "but I am so anxious for the success of my own scientific search that I have got into the habit of seeing enemies in every one, even as I did, doctor, in you and your men. And you see this is an armed vessel with a very strong crew." "Well," said the doctor good-humouredly, "we have armed vessels with very strong crews. Anxiety has made you nervous, Count. Here's your doctor," he said, turning to Captain Chubb, "and before many days have passed he will have cured all your trouble, and we can get to sea again." "Ah, yes, that will be better," said the Count, wiping his moist brow. "You must forgive me, doctor--and you too, Captain Chubb. I am impatient, I know. But I see now all will be well. One moment, though: you said we can get to sea again. _We_? You will sail with me?" "My dear sir," said the doctor, "you need have no fear. Captain Chubb will make your brig as sound as ever. You will need to look for no further assistance from me." "I did not mean that," said the Count hastily. "I meant brotherly help--the help that one devoted to research could give to another." "But," said the doctor, laughing, "you have never confided to me what particular form of research yours is." "No, I have not," said the Count hurriedly, "and I ask you to spare me from explanation. Be satisfied if I say that we are both bound upon great missions, and that you, a brother scientist, can give me enormous help by working in company with me for the next few weeks at most. Is this too much to ask of a learned doctor like you?" "Oh no," said Uncle Paul good-humouredly; "I do not see that it is. You are not going to ask me to help you to escape from an English prison." The Count gave an involuntary start. "Of course not," said the doctor, "for I am thankful that all that kind of trouble is at an end, and that France and England are at peace; and besides, you are free to come and go where you please. Well, as your son and my nephew have become such inseparable friends, and my time is my own, I will ask no questions, but sail where you sail, and pick up what I can to complete my specimens while you continue your research; and believe me, I wish you every success." "Ah," said the Count, with a sigh of satisfaction; and with all a Frenchman's effusiveness he laid his hands on the doctor's shoulders and said, with some little show of emotion, "I thank you. You are making me as great a friend as my son is to your nephew." Watch was mounted on both vessels at night as if they were in the presence of a dangerous enemy; but there in the great solitude of that forest through which the river ran, there was nothing human to disturb the night. Savage nature was as busy as ever during the dark hours through which the creatures of land and water fled for their lives or pursued their prey. Otherwise everything was wondrously still, and those upon schooner or brig who might have felt doubtful about the Spanish craft saw or heard nothing save the low murmur of voices in conversation and the occasional opening or shutting of a dull lantern, whose use was explained by the sudden glow cast upon the face of some swarthy sailor as he lit a fresh cigarette, after which a couple of faint points of glowing light rising and falling might have been seen passing to and fro upon the Spaniard's deck. Then as daylight came again there was the busy sound of the saw, chipping of the adze, the creak of auger, and the loud echoing rap of the mallet, as some tree-nail was driven home. On the previous evening the conversation that had gone on between the doctor and the Count had hardly ended before the Spaniard's boat, rowed by a couple of men, came as near as they could get to the brig, and one of the bare-legged men, after giving a sharp look round into the shallow water, as if in search of danger from one of the hideous reptiles on the look-out for prey, stepped over into the mud, and came up, bearing a basket of large, freshly-caught fish, which he placed in the hands of a couple of the sailors, and then stood waiting. "Ah!" cried the doctor. "The fish the Spanish captain promised me. Our thanks to your master, and I will not forget what he wanted." The man answered him in Spanish. "Ah, now you are taking me out of my depth," said the doctor. "Do you speak French?" The man shook his head. "English, then?" "_No comprende, senor_," replied the man hurriedly--or what sounded like it. "Never mind, then," said the doctor. "I'll send your skipper some powder to-morrow." The man shook his head and made signs, repeating them persistently, frowning and shaking his head. "I think he means, uncle," cried Rodd, "that he won't go away until you have paid him in powder for the fish." "Hang the fellow!" cried the doctor petulantly. "Why hasn't he been taught English? I don't carry canisters of gunpowder about in my pockets. Can any one make him understand that the powder is in the little magazine on the schooner?" "What does he want? Some gunpowder?" said the Count. "Yes. I promised him a present of a few pound canisters." "We can get at ours," said the Count quietly, and giving an order to the French sailor who acted as his mate, the latter mounted into the brig, disappeared down the cabin hatchway, and returned in a few minutes with half-a-dozen canisters, with which the man smilingly departed, after distributing a few elaborate Spanish bows. The weather was glorious, and all that next day good steady progress was made with the brig repairs, while Rodd and his uncle spent most of the time keeping guard over the workmen and sending crocodile after crocodile floating with the tide, to the great delight of the grinning crew of the Spaniard, who lined the new-comer's bulwarks as if they were spectators of some exhibition, and clapped their hands and shouted loud _vivas_ at every successful shot, while all the time tiny little curls of smoke rose at intervals into the sunny air as the men kept on making fresh cigarettes as each stump was thrown with a _ciss_ into the gliding stream. "Quiet and lazy enough set, Pickle," said the doctor. "How they can bask and sleep in the sunshine! It's an easy-going life, that of theirs. Ah, there's the skipper! Fierce-looking fellow. He looks like a man who could use a knife. But you don't half read your Shakespeare, my boy." "What's Shakespeare got to do with that fierce-looking Spaniard using his knife, uncle?" "Only this, my boy," said the doctor, drawing the ramrod out of his double gun and trying whether the wads were well down upon the bullets, for a couple of the ugly prominences that arched over a big crocodile's eyes came slowly gliding down the stream; "I mean that a Shakespeare-reading boy clever at giving nicknames--and that you can do when you like--would have called that fellow Bottom the Weaver." "I don't see why, uncle. Bottom the Weaver?" said the boy musingly, as he slowly raised his gun. "No, no; stop there, Rodd! That's my shot. I saw the brute first." "All right, uncle; only don't miss;" and the boy lowered his gun. "But who was Bottom the Weaver?" "Tut, tut, tut!" ejaculated the doctor. "I say, this is a big one, Rodd--a monster." "Here, I recollect, uncle. He was the man who was going to play lion." "Good boy, Pickle; not so ignorant as I thought you were. Well, didn't he say he'd roar him as gently as any sucking dove, so as not to frighten the ladies?" "Yes, uncle." "Well, didn't our knife-armed Spaniard roar to us as gently as--" _Bang_. "Got him!" cried the doctor. "No, no; a miss," cried Rodd. _Bang_, again. "That wasn't," said the doctor, and as the smoke drifted away there was a burst of _vivas_ again from the Spaniards as they saw their dangerous enemy writhing upon the surface with the contortions of an eel, as it turned and twined, and then lashed the water up into foam, till in a spasmodic effort it dived out of sight and was seen no more. "Poor fellow!" said Joe Cross from the brig, in the most sympathetic of tones. "Such a fine handsome one too, Mr Rodd, sir! Talk about a smile, when he put his head out of the water, why, a tiger couldn't touch it! It must have been three times as long." So the work went on, and the tyrants of the river perished slowly, but did not seem to shrink in numbers. But the carpentering party were able to do their work in safety, and when, after the interval for dinner had ended, Uncle Paul and his nephew carried on what Rodd called a reptilian execution, the Spaniard's crew were lying about in the sunshine asleep upon their deck. They were too idle to take any interest in the shooting, while their captain, a rather marked object in the sunshine from the bright scarlet scarf about his waist, worn to keep up his snowy white duck trousers, lay upon the top of the big three-masted schooner's deck-house with his face turned to the glowing sun, and with a cigarette always in his mouth. "I believe he goes on smoking when he's asleep, uncle," said Rodd. "Yes, Pickle, and if I were an artist and wanted to paint a representation of idleness, there's just the model I should select. They are a lazy lot." "Yes, uncle, and twice over to-day I saw them talking together, and I feel sure that they were laughing at our men because they worked." No communication whatever took place between the strangers and the first occupants of the anchorage till after dark, when, as Rodd was leaning over the taffrail talking to Joe Cross, who said he was cooling himself down after a hot day's work, the Spaniard's boat was dimly seen putting off from the big schooner, and was rowed across, to come close alongside as Joe hailed her. The Spanish skipper looked up, cigarette in mouth, and nodded to Rodd. "You tell your ship-master," he said, "that I have been thinking about the birds and the spotted leopards and the big monkeys. I know a place where they swarm. Good-night!" And at a word his boat was thrust off again and rowed back towards the gangway from which they came. "Well, let 'em swarm," said Joe Cross, as if talking to himself. "I don't mind. This 'ere's a savage country, and 'tis their nature to. He seems a rum sort of a buffer, Mr Rodd, sir. What does he mean by that? Was it Spanish chaff?" "Oh no, Joe. My uncle was asking him about what curiosities there are in the country. That's why he said he had been thinking about them." "Oh, I see. But how rum things is, and how easy a man can make mistakes! Now, if I had been asked my opinion I should have said that that there was a chap as couldn't think even in Spanish; sort of a fellow as could eat, sleep and smoke, and then begin again, day after day and year after year. This is a rum sort of a world, Mr Rodd, sir, and there's all sorts of people in it. Now look at that there skipper. He fancies hisself, he does, pretty creature! White trousers, clean shirt every morning, and a red scarf round his waist. 'Andsome he calls hisself, I suppose. He don't know that even a respectable dog as went to drink in a river and saw hisself, like that there other dog in the fable, would go and drown hisself on the spot if he found he'd a great set of brown teeth like his!" "Ah, Joe, Spaniards are not like Englishmen." "Oh, but I don't call him a Spaniard, sir. I've seen Spaniards--regular grand Dons, officers and gentlemen, with nothing the matter with them at all, only what they couldn't help, and that's being Spaniards instead of Englishmen. These are sort of mongrels. Some of this 'ere crew are what people call mollottoes. They are supposed to be painted white men, but payed over with a dirty tar-brush. Talk about a easy-going lot! Why, I aren't seen one of them do a stroke of work to-day. They are in the ile trade, aren't they, sir? Palm-oil." "Yes, Joe; I suppose so." "Ah, that accounts for it, sir. Handling so much ile that it makes them go so easy." The sailor burst into a long soft laugh, "What are you laughing at, Joe?" "That warn't laughing, sir; that was smiling. When I laugh hearty you can hear me a long way off." "Well, what were you smiling at?" "I was thinking, sir, about how it would be if our old man had that lot under him. My word, how he'd wake them up! Poor, simple, sleepy beggars! It would set them thinking that they hadn't took a skipper aboard, but a human hurricane. I wonder who owns that there craft, and whether he gets anything out of the oil trade. _Viva_, indeed! Yes, our old man would give them something to _viva_ about. Their skipper too--nice way of coming up a river to get a cargo. Well, I suppose they get their tobacco pretty cheap; and that's how the world turns round." Another day glided by, with steady visible progress in the brig's repairs; and the Count seemed in better spirits, and said a few complimentary words to the skipper. On board the schooner Captain Chubb appeared to be setting an example to the Spaniards, for those of his crew who were not helping the carpenters at the brig were kept busy holystoning, polishing, and coiling down ropes into accurate concentric rings, till the _Maid of Salcombe_ was as smart as any yacht. Meanwhile the Spaniards lined the bulwarks of their vessel, smoked and yawned, and watched the reptile shooting, and then stared in sleepy wonderment at the busy smartening up of the English schooner. The evening came, and this time the Spanish captain had himself rowed across again, to find that it was the doctor who was leaning over the side with his nephew, and, cigarette in mouth still, the man said slowly-- "He tell you about the birds and the monkeys up the little river?" "Yes," said the doctor, "and I've been thinking about it." "Ah, yes," said the Spaniard. "I am going to stop a fortnight yet before it's time to go up with my cargo. I'll make my men row you up to the mouth of that little river; and I could show you something you'd like, but you would have to take your guns--you and him too. But maybe the boy would be afraid." "That I shouldn't!" cried Rodd hotly. "Oh! Then you could come," said the Spaniard. "But you'd be in the way if you were afraid. Think about it. Good-night." The doctor was ready to enter into conversation, and question him; but the boat went off back at once, leaving Uncle Paul mentally troubled, for the idea of an excursion into the depths of the forest wilds was exciting in the extreme. "He needn't have been in such a hurry, Pickle," said the doctor. "I should have liked to have questioned him a little." "Yes, uncle. I should like to hear about such things; but it was like his impudence to say that I should be afraid!" "Yes, my boy; it was rude," replied the doctor thoughtfully, "Ah! It's such a chance as might never occur again. A guide like that isn't always to be picked up." "No, uncle," replied the boy; "and it must be very wonderful in the depths of the forest, where you can get through, because you would be able to row." "Yes, my boy; wonderfully interesting," said the doctor eagerly. "But we couldn't go, uncle." "Why, Pickle? Why?" "Because we couldn't go away and leave the brig like that." "No; of course not, my boy. It would be too bad, wouldn't it? And of course we couldn't go and trust ourselves to a pack of strangers, eh?" "We shouldn't be afraid, should we, uncle?" "Well, no, my boy; no. But I don't think it would be prudent. But there, there, we mustn't think of it. We can't do everything we like." CHAPTER FORTY. THE DOCTOR'S CHARGE. It was very tempting, and, like most lovers of natural history, the deeper he plunged into his pursuit, with its wonders upon wonders, the more infatuated Uncle Paul grew. The nephew was quite as bad, though, boy-like, his was more the natural love of novelty than that of science. Who among you is there who has not revelled in the thought of something new, the eager desire to see something fresh? The country boy to see vast London with all its greatness and littleness, its splendour and its squalor, its many cares and too often false joys--the town boy to plunge into that home of mystery and wonder, the country. And though as a rule the country boy is disappointed, he of the town, when once he has tasted the true joys of the country and seen Nature at her best, is never satiated. But that love of the novel and the fresh is in us all--the desire for that which in Saint Paul's days the men of Athens longed for: something new. Hence then it was no wonder that Rodd, as he paced the schooner's deck and looked across to either side of the river where the primeval forest commenced, felt the strange longing to go and see, to hunt and find the myriads of fresh things upon which he had never set eyes before--wonders that might be more than wonderful--dangers which would be exciting, possibly without danger; in short, all the boy's natural love of adventure was stirring within him--that intense longing to cast away culture in every shape and to become, if for ever so short a time, something of the natural savage once more; and he was ready to urge on his uncle to go for just one expedition, only there was a sense of duty to hold him back. And as the time went on, and the brig was rapidly approaching completion, Uncle Paul more than once angrily exclaimed to his nephew-- "Pickle, I wish that abominable Spaniard was on the other side of the world!" "So do I, uncle," cried the boy. "We were getting on as nicely as could be, with plenty to interest us, and fresh adventures, and then he comes here setting us longing to go off into the wilds." "Yes, my boy, and if it wasn't for the Count and the sense of duty we feel towards him? we would be off to-morrow morning." "Well, why not go?" said a voice just behind them. Rodd and his uncle started round in astonishment, for they were both so intent upon their conversation, as they leaned over the rail talking together, that they had not heard anybody approach, and for a moment they were utterly speechless as they stood staring at the Count, who had just come on board, while Morny was climbing up the side to join him. "I--I didn't know you were here," said the doctor confusedly. "Why, you asked me to come on board and dine and spend the evening with you," replied the Count good-humouredly. "Had you forgotten?" "Well--well," said the doctor, "I--Really, I'm afraid I had. What--what have you been about?" he continued, turning angrily upon Rodd. "It's a strange thing, Rodney, that when you know of some engagement that I have made, and it slips my memory, you never remind me of it." "Well, uncle--I--" "Well, uncle--you! I remember now well enough. You were there this morning when I asked the Count and--Ah, Morny, my lad! How are you? Glad you have come.--But, as I was saying, what were you thinking about?" "Expedition into the forest, uncle," said the boy frankly. "Expedition into the forest, sir! Um--ah! Well.--Yes, I'm afraid I was thinking about it too. I am so sorry, Des Saix. But welcome all the same, if you will forgive me." "Forgive you, yes!" said the Count warmly. "That and a great deal more. But I am very glad that you have so strangely led up to the subject upon which I wish to talk to you." "What, my forgetfulness?" "No, no! That expedition into the forest." "No, no; don't talk about it. I have thought about it too much, and it worries me." "Well, I want to put a stop to its worrying you. Morny here has been telling me how anxious you both are to go." "Morny! Why, what did he know about it? He couldn't tell. Here, you, Rodney, have you been letting your tongue run, sir, exposing all my weaknesses?" "No, sir, that he has not," replied the French lad eagerly; "but I have gathered from your remarks, and words that Rodd has more than once let drop, how anxious you both are to have a run up country and see something of what the wilds are like." "Oh, fudge! Stuff! Nonsense!" cried the doctor petulantly. "That's quite out of the question." "Why?" said the Count. "Why?" cried the doctor. "Oh, because it's--that is--er--I feel--" "Bound by a sense of imaginary duty," said the Count, smiling. "You think it would be unfriendly to me and my son here to leave us in what you English people call the lurch; and therefore you are depriving yourself of what would be a great pleasure as naturalists and hunters in which you would indulge if we were not here." "My dear Des Saix, I do wish you would not talk about it," cried the doctor. "There, I confess that if we were alone I should probably take advantage of the Spanish captain's knowledge of the country, and go a little way up with him; but as matters are, with your brig still unfinished, and so much to do, I consider it would be an act of disgraceful selfishness to go away and leave you alone here." "Absurd!" said the Count. "You would be going into wilder parts while we should be quite at home here, in the nearly finished brig, and have her in the best of trim by the time you came back." "Impossible!" snapped out the doctor. "Nothing of the sort." "What do you say, Morny?" continued the Count. "You feel that they are both eager to go?" "Yes, father; and I am sure that Rodd is burning with desire." "You don't know anything about it," cried Rodd. "Well," said the Count, "ever since we met I have given way, and taken your advice, doctor, in all things; but we have come to a time now when I think I have a right to assert myself. Captain Chubb thinks that he will have finished in two days more. He is certain that he will have all done, caulked, tarred, and the copper replaced, in three days; so I have come to the conclusion that you people, who have been quite slaves in the way of sharing my troubles, thoroughly deserve a holiday. So I set you free--you too, Morny." "Me, father!" cried the lad in astonishment. "Yes; I am sure you would enjoy a trip with Rodd as much as he would like you to go with him." "Yes, that I should," cried Rodd; "but--" "Yes," said Morny gravely; "but--you would not wish me to leave my father like this. Thank you, my father. I could not go, and I will stay." "No, Morny; you will obey my wishes. You have your young life saddened enough with disappointments, so that when there is an opportunity to keep one away I call upon you to accompany young Harding here as his companion, and I wish you both a very enjoyable trip." "That's very nice of you--very nice indeed," cried the doctor; "but I cannot sanction it. I think we should be doing very wrong if we let those boys go alone." "But they would not go alone. You would have full charge of your nephew." "Now, Des Saix!" snorted the doctor. "Let me finish," said the Count good-humouredly; "and as a man in whom I place full confidence I entrust you with the care of my son. Now, doctor, please, no more excuses. I will not deprive you of the pleasures a naturalist would enjoy in such an excursion. Your preparations could be soon made; so send over for the Spaniard to-night and tell him you will be ready to start at the turn of the tide to-morrow, so that it may bear you up into these unknown regions-- unknown to us--and a pleasant trip to you!" "No," said the doctor, "I shall certainly not think of trusting ourselves to that man and his crew." "There I agree with you," said the Count; "with a good crew of your own trusted men." "And if he could be spared," cried Rodd, "I should like for us to have Joe Cross." "Now, look here," cried Uncle Paul, "this is taking a weak man at his weakest time. Really, Count, we ought not to go. Look at what your position would be in case anything should happen." "Nothing is likely to happen," said the Count, "and if it did, though my brig is still helpless I should have your vessel, with about half your crew, and my own. So now not another word." "There," said the doctor, "I am afraid I am beaten." CHAPTER FORTY ONE. REPTILIAN. It was just about the same time as the Spaniard had chosen for his other visits, after dark, that his boat was again rowed across to the schooner's anchorage, the man asking for the doctor. "I'm here," said Uncle Paul, going to the side, from where he had been talking to the Count. "What's the matter?" "Matter?" said the Spaniard wonderingly. "Oh, there's nothing the matter. I thought I'd tell you that those two men of mine you gave the physic to are quite well again, and don't want any more. That's all. Go on shooting the crocodiles. Good-night!" He gave an order to his men, and the boat's head was turned, but as soon as they had proceeded a little way back the Spaniard gave another order, and his men checked the boat and kept on gently dipping their oars to keep her in the same place. "Doctor there?" shouted the Spaniard. "Yes." "Haven't thought any more about going up the river, have you?" There was dead silence for a few moments, and then Uncle Paul said sharply, as if making an effort-- "Yes; I shall start as soon as the tide turns to-morrow morning." "Very well," said the man carelessly. "I will come across with my long-boat and eight of my men. They want a job to keep them awake." Then he grumbled out some words in Spanish to those who were with him, while, as if annoyed at what he had heard, Captain Chubb uttered a low growl. "No, you needn't do that," cried Uncle Paul. "Our men would like to go up the river. If you will come across to act as guide I will use my own boat, and take all provisions that are necessary." "Very well," said the Spaniard. "Perhaps that will be best. Your boat's lighter than mine. Take plenty of powder and shot. Like some of my men to come and help?" "Oh no; it will not be necessary," replied the captain. "Bring blankets," shouted the Spaniard. "Dew's heavy. Good-night!" Then the boat was rowed away. "You mean to go?" grunted the skipper. "Yes; I don't like to lose this opportunity, and our friends here would like us to go." "Well," grunted the skipper, after a few moments' thought, "he's only one, and you'll be how many?" "I was taking eight of the men to row; that is to say, four rowers, and their relief; Cross for coxswain--nine; and our three selves." "Nay, I'm not going till that brig's finished," said the skipper angrily. "I felt assured of that," said the doctor. "The young Count is going to join us." "Ah, that's better," said the skipper. "But look here, gentlemen, I only look upon myself as a servant." "Not as mine," said the Count gravely. "I shall always look upon you, Captain Chubb, as one of my most valued friends." "And I am sure Captain Chubb knows that I do," said the doctor, "and that I have ever since he set me down as a scoundrelly slaver." "Oh, don't bring that up again, sir," grunted the skipper. "That was a blunder, and every man makes them. Well, that's very nice of you, gentlemen--very nice indeed; and I was going to speak out a bit nervously,--as I consider it to be my duty to do as Dr Robson's servant; but as you both speak of me as you do, I hope you won't be offended when I say outright that I don't like that Spanish chap at all." "Well, I don't know that I particularly like him," said the doctor; "but he will be very useful to me, and show me what I want. I shall pay him for his services, and there'll be an end of it." "Yes, gentlemen, that's right enough, but I wouldn't trust him a bit. The doctor will say that it is British prejudice. Perhaps it is; but here's my crew; there isn't a man among them as I'd say was perfect, but same time I'd lie down and go to sleep quite comfortable and feeling safe, if I knew any one of them was on the watch; and it did me good when I heerd you say, sir, that you wouldn't have any of the mongrel crew. If it had been the other way on, and you'd said you were going to take Mr Rodd and the young French gentleman and trust yourselves up the country in their boat, I'll tell you outright, sir, I should have struck against it, and if you'd held out and rode the high horse as master, why, there'd have been a mutiny. The men would have took my side, and we wouldn't have let you go." "And quite right too, Chubb," said the doctor, clapping him on the shoulder. "It would have been a good proof that I had done wisely in making you my friend. What do you say, Count?" "Quite right," was the reply. "Well, captain," continued the Count, "I don't see that the party can come to much harm with nine of your stout men to act as bodyguard, if this Spanish captain is used as a guide." "No, sir, I don't see as they can; and as the doctor's come out on purpose to collect all kinds of curious things and see some of the wonders of the world, I suppose it is right that he should make use of a chance like this. But I wouldn't trust that man, gentlemen, farther than I could see him, and that's what, with your leave, I am going to say to my lads. I am just going to tell 'em that they have got to bring the three gentlemen back safe and sound, even if it means that some of them is going to lose the number of their mess, and that means this too, that if Mr Spanish skipper don't play his game fair--well then--" The skipper ceased speaking, and screwed up his lips very tightly just in the light shed by the swinging lantern. "Well, captain," put in Rodd, who felt rather amused at what he called the fuss the skipper was making, "why don't you finish what you were going to say?" "Because I didn't think it was needed, my lad," was the reply. "What I meant was, that if the doctor here didn't think it was his duty to give that yellow chap a very strong dose, one of my lads would." The doctor was in as high glee the next morning as the two lads, and, it might be added with justice, the nine sailors who were to form their crew, for to a man they were bubbling over with excitement and delight. The moment they had heard that they were to go they began making their preparations; all their weapons were already in a perfect state of cleanliness, and shone as much as hands could make them, but every pistol and gun-lock was carefully re-oiled, every flint taken out and tightly replaced, while the blades of their cutlasses, that literally glittered, had a final touch given to them and the edges passed along the grindstone, which was sent spinning round in the little armoury as hard as it could go. The skipper himself spent half the night with the steward, packing provisions, Joe Cross helping, for though he was to be coxswain of the boat, he said he came in there, for after the cook he held that he knew more about cooking "wittles" than any fellow in the ship, and this was acknowledged without dissent, though one of the men did say that Joe Cross took more than his share, since in addition to other duties he had the canisters of gunpowder in charge. The morning was glorious, the sun and the early breeze soon chasing away the river mist, and before the tide had turned, everything was ready, the well-stored boat alongside, and an awning rigged up over the after-part big enough not merely to act as a screen for the gentlemen, but to shade those who were not rowing, while they were having their rest, while by a little addition the boat's sail could be spread over the little unshipped mast and used as a covering from the night dews when the boat was moored somewhere to the bank after the day's work was done. "There, gentlemen," said the skipper, "I think that's about as near as we can get it; but I don't see no sign of your Spanish guide as yet. It seems to me as if every one yonder is asleep. Here, you, Joe Cross, I knowed there'd be something. You've forgotten that screwdriver and the little bottle of oil." "That I aren't, sir! They're in the fore-locker in the little bag of tools." "Good," grunted the skipper; "and I suppose you'll help the doctor and young Mr Rodd skin the birds they shoot?" "That's right, sir, and Mr Rodd's been laying down the law to me to take care and keep that there soapy stuff covered over as he dresses the inside of the skins with, 'cause he says it's pison." The skipper grunted again as he stood at the side and scowled down into the boat. "Spun yarn?" he said sharply. "Plenty, sir." "But you lads never thought to give your jack-knives a whet, I'll be bound." Joe Cross turned to the crew. "Show knives, lads!" he shouted. "The skipper wants to try them all on his beard." "Steady!" growled the skipper. "That's right, then. Well, Mr Rodd," he continued, "I suppose everything's all right. No; where's that there extra coil of new signal line?" "Starn locker, sir," said Joe. "And an extra line with new grapnel?" "Fore-locker, sir," said Joe. The captain grunted. "Here, get the grapnel out of the jolly-boat and lash it under one of the thwarts. You might lose one again." "There it is, sir," said Joe--"lashed just amidships out of the way." "Come, come, captain," said the doctor good-humouredly as he took off his straw hat and wiped his moist brow, for he too had been as busy as the rest, "you have had your innings; I want to have mine. You, Rodney, you never thought to see that the quinine bottle in the little leather medicine chest was re-filled." "Rammed it in tight, uncle," said the boy triumphantly, "and saw to all the other bottles." "Then," said the doctor, "we'll say all is ready. Only look here, my lads; I'll give you half-an-hour before we start, so you had better go down below and have some more breakfast, for it will be a good many hours before we have another meal." No one stirred. "Well," said the doctor impatiently, "did you hear what I said?" This time a low murmur ran through the crew, and Joe Cross took a step forward and touched his hat. "Beg pardon, sir," he said; "the lads' respects, and they says they're all tight, cargo well stowed." "Then you don't want the extra half-hour?" said the doctor, looking at his watch. "So there's nothing to do, then, my dear Count, and you, Captain Chubb, but for us to shake hands and say good-bye." "Where's your guide?" grunted the captain. "Ah, where's our guide?" said the doctor, looking in the direction of the Spanish three-master. "He said at the turn of the tide. I ought to have asked him to come here to breakfast." "Here he comes, uncle," cried Rodd, for at that moment the head of the Spaniard's boat was rowed out from the other side of the anchored vessel, which might have been quite deserted, for not a head was to be seen. "Hah!" cried the doctor. "I like that. It tells well for his being a trustworthy guide. So now good-bye, Count. Your son's mine till we come back." The Count mastered his desire to embrace the doctor, and grasped his hand in regular English fashion, and by the time the Spaniard's little gig, rowed by two men, had come alongside, the last farewell had taken place with the captain, who then looked over the rail and grunted out-- "Coming aboard, senor?" "No, no; but just one word. I have been talking to my crew, and told them they are to take their orders from you till I come back. They won't give you any trouble. Let them smoke and sleep as much as they like." "All right," growled the skipper. "When shall we see you back?" "When your senor likes," said the Spaniard, lighting a fresh cigarette from the one which had threatened to burn his moustache. "I take the boat as far up into the forest along the little rivers till he tells me to turn back, and then we will begin to row or sail the other way." A few minutes later the French crew of the brig, and the men of the schooner who were to stay and help the carpenter and his mate, stood ready to give a farewell cheer. The travellers were on the boat, the rowers in their places, with their oars held upright ready to drop into the rowlocks, the little sail rolled round the mast was lying ready for use if a breeze sprang up, and Joe Cross stood right forward, boat-hook in hand, looking as smart as the rest of the crew, that is to say, just as if they had stepped off a man-of-war's deck, and then every one well-armed, ready for the attack upon any wild creatures they encountered, or for the defence of their lives against an enemy, waited for the skipper to give the signal to start, which he did at last by raising his hand. Then, as the boat was pushed off into the now rising tide, a mingled French and English cheer arose, full of good wishes, while of the Spaniard's crew not a man was visible save the two in the captain's boat, who had just reached the three-master's stern and had begun to make fast. The cheer was repeated as the Devon boat, in obedience to the dipping of the oars, glided farther out into mid-stream, while directly after there was a heavy swirl just beneath her bows, followed by the sudden protrusion of the huge grinning head of a fierce crocodile, the monster bent on mischief, and receiving a most unexpected salute, for Joe Cross was standing balancing his boat-hook in his hands, ready to lay it down along the thwart, but, quick almost as lightning, he gave it a twirl as he rested one foot upon the gunwale and drove it, harpoon fashion, crash into the reptile's head. "He's got it!" cried the man, as he started back; but he did not escape the shower of water that was sent flying over the boat, the crocodile vigorously lashing the surface with its serrated tail as it floated astern. "Yes," said the Spanish captain quietly, "but you had better shoot them, _senores_, and keep a little back from the side. There's plenty of them up the river, and one of you might get swept out of the boat." CHAPTER FORTY TWO. NIGHT IN THE JUNGLE. In spite of the risks run from the ravenous reptiles, whose daring proved that they had a hard struggle for existence, familiarity soon bred contempt, and the sailors laughed, as they proceeded up the beautiful river, at perils which not many days before would have made them turn pale. For they were enjoying an excursion that seemed to present fresh beauties at every yard. As a rule the forest came down to the flowing water on both sides in waves of verdure, with grand trees which every now and then presented the aspect of some gorgeous flower garden, here red, there blue, at other times in lovely wreaths of white, while it seemed, Joe Cross said to the lads, as if one of the blossoming trees took flight every now and then and came skimming over the boat, filling the sky with flowers, so beautiful were the flocks of parrots and other birds that, apparently attracted by the strangers, flew screaming and whistling overhead. There was no question about getting a shot at some beautiful green and orange long-tailed paroquet, or at one of the soft grey scarlet-tailed parrots which, as they flew across the river, shrieking at those who had interrupted their solitude, gave place to others of a delicate pink; but upon seeing Rodd raise his gun, the Spaniard laughed and said-- "Never mind them. I could fill my schooner with those things at any time. You wait till we get up into the little side river. There will be something better worth shooting then; or perhaps you would like to kill a few as you are coming back." "Yes, Rodd," said the doctor; "that would be wiser, my lad." "But suppose we don't see them as we come back," said the lad. "Not see them?" said the Spaniard, laughing. "Why, the country's alive with them!" Then as the party sated their eyes upon the various objects they passed, a light soft breeze arose when they turned into a bend of the river, and the Spaniard expressed his satisfaction, and suggested that the sail should be hoisted. This was rapidly done, the oars were laid in, and Joe Cross came aft to preside at the newly-shipped rudder, while all through the rest of the day, and after the tide had run its course and become adverse, they tacked from side to side, or glided onward with the wind astern, the men only having at very rare intervals to take to their oars. It was soon after mid-day that the doctor proposed that the boat should be run ashore and that they should land to dine at a lovely park-like opening where the dense portion of the forest had receded farther from the bank; but the Spaniard shook his head. "No," he said, "don't do that. It looks very nice, but it isn't safe. There are the crocodiles basking about the bank, snakes and serpents nearly everywhere, and the leopards and other great cats hanging about among the trees. Keep aboard. It's safer here." "He means to take care of us, Morny," said Rodd, in French, and directly after he gave his companion a meaning look, for the Spanish skipper turned to the doctor and said-- "Tell your men to have their guns handy." "What for?" said the doctor. "Do you scent danger?" "Nothing particular," replied the man, "but up here in these parts you never know what may happen next. Something may come just when you think you are safe, and it's best to be always ready." So that and the following meal were eaten in the boat, which just before dark was at the Spaniard's suggestion run up into a calm reach where the forest had become very distant, while the river seemed to have widened out to double its former size. Here he proposed that they should anchor for the night and wait for the morning before continuing their journey. This was disappointing to the lads, who looked longingly at the shore, while Rodd suggested that there were several places that looked level, and where it would be easy to rig up a tent where they might sleep. The Spaniard laughed, and with a grim smile said-- "You wanted a guide for coming up here, young man. If we did what you say we shouldn't all be ready to go on again in the morning." "What, because of the wild beasts?" said Rodd eagerly. The Spaniard nodded. "He is quite right, Rodd," said the doctor. "And I suppose we might catch fever here?" he continued. "Bad," said the Spaniard laconically. "Keep to the boat." The night came down dark and beautiful; the great purple velvet arch that spread from side to side of the river was gloriously spangled with stars, for in the day's ascent the little party seemed to have left the river mists behind, and as they sat together the doctor and his young companions revelled in the loveliness of the scene, while they listened to the strange sounds from forest and river which constantly smote upon their ears and now seemed wondrously near. "It seems very different," whispered Rodd to Morny, for something preyed upon his spirits and stayed him from speaking aloud. "Yes," said Morny, in the same subdued tone; "it is very different from being aboard the vessels. I shan't go to sleep to-night; shall you?" "No. Who could go to sleep? Why, as soon as one lay down I should expect to see the great slimy snout of a crocodile thrust over the boat's gunwale, and then--" "I say," said Morny, "don't!" But nothing worse than sounds troubled the party that night, as not long after this conversation the two lads obeyed the doctor's suggestion that they should creep under the awning, whose canvas sides were tightly belayed to the gunwale; and though both declared that they would never close their eyes, they and the watches into which the little crew was divided followed the Spanish skipper's example, and in turn slept heavily till sunrise, the great orange globe slowly rolling up over the edge of the forest and shining brilliantly down upon the glittering river, for as over-night there was not a sign of mist. About half the day passed with plenty of favouring gales to help the boat along, and spare the men's arms, and Rodd commented on this to their guide. "Wait a bit," he said. "A little farther on, and we shall turn into one of the little rivers where the high trees are close together at the sides. There won't be much wind there, and the men will have to row." Everything was as he said, for as they passed out of the main stream the banks were but a little way apart, and in place of the full flow of the great river the stream grew sluggish; but everything being so close at hand the beauties of the forest became far enhanced. "You said rivers," said the doctor suddenly. "Are there more than this one?" "Plenty," replied the man, and he made himself a fresh cigarette as he sat back in the boat, to go on smoking. "Not so many crocodiles here," he said, "and they are smaller. More birds too. Look!" And as the men dipped their oars to row slowly up the winding stream, which often seemed to turn back upon itself, the Spaniard pointed now to tiny bee-like sunbirds with their dazzling metallic casques and gorgets--the brilliant little creatures that take the place of the humming-birds of the New World. At another time, though the two lads, eagerly observant and with the doctor to back them, needed no showing, their guide pointed to the many brilliantly-tinted birds of the thrush family, at the barbets and trogons, not so brilliant as those of the Western world, but each lovely in itself, while as they went on and on along their meandering river path, the birds that struck them as being most novel and at the same time tame in the way in which they came down the overhanging branches of the great forest trees, as if their curiosity had been excited by the strangers, were the many-tinted plantain eaters, with their crested heads, and the lovely green and crimson touracoos, which, while their violet and crimson relatives wore, as it were, a feather casque, displayed on their part a vivid green ornamentation that passed from beak to nape, which when they were excited looked more like a plume. They had come thus far without firing a shot, for the doctor had said-- "Let us leave the shooting till our return, and be contented with charging our memories and feasting our eyes, for no dried skins, however carefully they are preserved, will ever display the beauties of these birds' nature as we watch them here in life. But we must have a skin or two of these touracoos, for I want to show you lads the wonders of that vivid crimson upon their underparts." "Oh, I can see it plainly enough, uncle," said Rodd. "Yes," said Uncle Paul, "but you don't notice what I mean. Instead of that crimson being a beautiful dye fixed in the feathers, it is a soft red pigment which can be washed out into water and--I saw something moving up that creek," he added, in a low voice. "Niggers perhaps," said the Spaniard, without turning his head. "Likely to attack?" asked Rodd. "Pish!" said the Spaniard contemptuously. "Harmless. Fishing perhaps. We shall see more, I expect, farther on." He did not trouble himself to turn his head, though the rest in the boat kept a sharp look-out for what had attracted the doctor's attention up a narrow inlet arched over by the overhanging trees, but it was not until close upon evening that, as they pursued their winding way, this side stream opened out more into a reach, and then for the first time a movement some hundreds of yards behind brought forth a warning from Joe Cross, who was seated with the tiller in his hand. "Just cast your eye back, Mr Rodd, sir," he said; "yonder there where the stream opened out it seems to me there's a canoe with a couple of Indians in it. Nay, I mean blacks." "Yes; look, captain," said Rodd eagerly; and the Spaniard slowly raised himself up from where he was leaning back, took his cigarette from his lips, shaded his eyes, and then after a cursory glance replaced the cigarette and sank back. "Niggers," he said. "Fishing." Then they rowed on, leaving the two occupants of the canoe behind, till, coming to what he considered to be a suitable place, the Spaniard suggested that they should stay there for their meal upon an open sandy little beach some fifty yards across, beyond which the forest rose dark and thick again. "We can land and light a fire," he said, "and make coffee and stretch our legs." "It would not be safe," said the doctor, "to rig up a tent here, would it?" "Oh yes," said the captain. "The only thing to trouble us here might be a leopard or two; but a shot would scare them away." This was good news, and heartily welcomed by the whole party, and in a short time cooking was going on in the glowing embers of a fire, for which there was abundant fuel close at hand, while a canvas tent, strengthened by branches thrust deep in the sand, was cleverly contrived by the sailors. "I say, Morny, this is something like!" cried Rodd, as they sat together watching the men finishing their meal, with their jovial contented faces lit up by the glowing fire which flashed and cast shadows and sent up golden clouds dotted with tiny spark-like embers, as it was made up from time to time, according to the Spanish captain's suggestion that it would keep away all wild beasts and clear off the snakes. "Yes; my legs were beginning to feel cramped. I wonder how my father is." "Oh, he's happy enough," said Rodd, "and enjoying himself with the thought that Skipper Chubb has had a good day's work getting on a new outer skin over the hole." "Ah, yes, I hope so," cried Morny eagerly, his friend's suggestion seeming to brighten him up. "And I say," cried Rodd, "shan't we sleep to-night! How I shall stretch! I don't think I should much mind a great spotted cat coming and sniffing round the tent. Of course it would be very horrid to be clawed or bitten, but there's something natural about that. The idea of being grabbed by one of those great slimy reptiles and dragged under water, and before you have had time to squeak--" "Rodd, don't, please!" cried Morny, with a shudder. "It makes my flesh creep." "Yes; I was going to say it's time you lads changed your conversation," said the doctor quietly, "for none of the forest creatures are likely to disturb us to-night with a watch-fire kept up like this." "But I say, uncle," said Rodd mischievously, later on--when the watch had been set, with a big pile of dead firewood laid ready to replenish the fire, and Uncle Paul was about to follow the example of the Spanish captain and select his patch of dry sand covered with canvas, beneath the extemporised tent. "Well, what, my boy?" said the doctor drowsily. "Don't talk now. I am sure every one wants to go to sleep." "Yes, uncle; I am sure I do," said the boy, who was already fitting the projecting bones of his back into the yielding sand; "but do you think it's likely--" Rodd stopped to give Morny, who was beside him, a nudge with his elbow. "Do I think what's likely, Pickle?" replied the doctor. "That those two black fellows we saw in the canoe will sneak ashore to come and do anything to us with their spears?" "Rodney!" cried the doctor indignantly. "But they are sure to have spears, uncle, or else they couldn't be sticking the fish." "Go to sleep, sir!" said the doctor angrily. Rodd went at once, and did not stir again, till an extra loud crackling of burning wood made him start up in wonder and alarm. But it was only the morning watch, in the persons of Joe Cross and the appointed cook, making up the fire afresh in view of what Joe called boiling the billy and to give the cook some good broiling embers, for it was the break of day once more. CHAPTER FORTY THREE. THE STRANGERS. Rodd's toilet did not take him long, for though the water was clear and tempting as it rippled on the sand, the recollection of what might possibly be there in the way of ravenous fish, if even there were no reptiles, kept him from venturing for a swim, while when he suggested to the Spaniard the possibility of bathing in safety, the man looked at him in surprise, and his words were tinged with contempt as he said-- "Bathe! What for?" Rodd did not answer, but turned his back quickly and hurried away to where Morny was questioning Joe Cross and the cook about whether the men they had succeeded in the watch had heard anything in the night. "Here, catch hold of me, you two," Rodd gasped out, "and help me away there among the trees." "Hah! What's the matter?" cried Morny. "Are you taken bad?" "Horrid. Don't talk to me. Get me out of sight. I am going off." Morny and Joe each caught him by an arm and hurried him in amongst the trees. "Don't be frightened," gasped out Rodd. "Oh, that Spanish chap! He'll be the death of me!" "Why, you are laughing!" cried Morny angrily. "How dare you frighten us like this!" "I--I--I--I--" gasped out Rodd--"couldn't help it, old fellow. Oh, that Spaniard!" Morny was really angry, but Joe Cross's frank face had expanded into a grim smile. "What game's he been up to, Mr Rodd, sir?" "Oh, it was very stupid of me," said Rodd, wiping his eyes; "but I was afraid of laughing in his face, and the more I tried to look serious the more it would come; and I didn't want to offend him." "Just like 'em, sir," said Joe, as Rodd explained himself more fully. "'Tis their natur' to; and besides, it's what an old woman I used to know called being codimical. Yes, sir, I've watched 'em aboard that there three-masted schooner. Them there mongrel chaps, they must save a wonderful lot of money every year in soap." "There," said Rodd, wiping his eyes again, "I am all right now; but it's very comic. The more you feel you mustn't laugh, the worse you are. I suppose laughing must do one good. I always feel so much better after having a good grin." "Do you good, Mr Rodd, sir! I should just think it does! Why, it's natur'. Does you good to have a long talk sometimes, don't it; eh, Mr Morny, sir?" "Oh yes, I suppose so," replied the lad. "And you know it does you a lot of good to get your teeth to work when you are hungry, Mr Rodd." "Yes, Joe," cried the lad eagerly. "What's for breakfast?" "Ah, you wait a bit, sir, and you will see. But as I was saying about laughing, what's your smiling tackle for, and your grinning kit for, if they aren't to use and set you right when otherwise you would be all in the dumps? Yes, sir; give me a good laugh. But one don't always get one's share along with our old man. Still we like him, for he always means right by us. Ay, there's worse chaps in the world than old Chubb, and I'm just ready and waiting to drink his health and long life to him in a pannikin of the finest coffee a coxswain ever brewed; and as for the frizzled ham that cookie's got thriddled on sticks over them embers to eat with the dough-cakes he's baking in the ashes--Here, let's get back, for fear there's an accident." "Accident?" said Morny. "Why, what accident could happen?" "Out of sight, sir, out of mind; and that aren't a French proverb, but you might like to turn it into one as your countrymen could use. They might forget, sir, as we are here." Well rested, in high spirits, and with a good breakfast waiting, the morning meal was eaten with the greatest of gusto, while to every one the expedition wore more and more the appearance of a delightful holiday. There was an exception, though, and that was in the person of the Spanish captain, who looked grim and sombre, and ate little, but smoked a great deal. Just as the tent was being struck and a clearance being made of the remains of the breakfast, Rodd suddenly called out-- "There they are again!" And he called attention to the two nearly nude blacks, who were creeping along the edge of the bank opposite to them in their canoe. "Why, they are watching us," said Uncle Paul. "Hungry," said the Spanish skipper laconically. "Yes, that's it," cried Rodd, and after a glance at his uncle he tore down a wild banana leaf, turned it into a natural green dish, heaped upon it some of the remains of the breakfast, and carried it a short distance along the bank, where he placed it close to the water's edge, signed to the blacks, and then joined his companions, who were about to enter the boat. Very soon afterwards they were gliding along the stream again, after the sailors, by Uncle Paul's orders, had carefully extinguished the remains of the fire. "We don't want to start a conflagration, my boys," he said. As the men slowly dipped their oars, for there was not a breath of wind, the two lads had to make an effort to, as it were, drag their eyes from the lovely floral scene on either side of the little river, while they watched the proceedings of the blacks. "Well, they are a pair of stupids," said Rodd. "What is it--ignorance or suspicion?" For the two dark objects remained on the farther bank, one seated with a paddle, the other upright, spear in hand, holding on by an overhanging bough to keep their boat from drifting on with the current. "Suspicion," said Morny quietly. "Miserable wretches! Do they think I want to poison them?" "No. I'll tell you," said Morny. "Poor creatures, they have been so ill-used by the white people with black hearts who come to these shores that they think the food you have put there is the bait of a trap." "To catch blackbirds! Why, of course! They think we want to carry them off for slaves. They're as bad as old Captain Chubb; eh, uncle? He took us for slavers, Morny, when uncle wanted to engage him. Well, I forgive them, poor chaps.--Ah, they think it's safe now. They're going to risk taking the bait." For all at once the two negroes began to paddle themselves slowly across the river to where the bright green banana leaf lay glistening upon the sand, and the last the two lads saw then of those they had tried to benefit, as the boat glided on with four oars dipping and making the water flash like silver, was with the canoe drawn up on to the sands, the two savage-looking blacks squatting on their heels, eagerly devouring the remains of the breakfast. "Oh, never mind the sun being hot, uncle," cried Rodd, as they went on and on. "I don't mind if I'm half roasted. Look, Morny; did you ever see anything so lovely? Look at the flowers on that great tree. Why, it seems to blaze with scarlet." "Yes, and look at the birds," was the reply. "I wish my father were here, with his mind at rest, to enjoy all this as I do, or should if he were with us. There, quick! What's that--running in there among the leaves on that tree?" "Snake," cried Rodd, who just caught sight of the movement. "No. Who ever saw a snake with four legs? Why, it's a great lizard of a thing! Why, uncle, that must be one of those queer chaps that turn all sorts of colours." "Yes," said the doctor, "you are right, Pickle," and he focussed upon it a little old-fashioned single opera-glass which he carried in his pocket. "That's a chameleon, sure enough; and a big one too, I should say, though it's the first one I ever saw alive." "What's he after?" said Rodd. "Having a game, catching butterflies, I think, sir," suggested Joe Cross. "So he is, Joe." "Why, Master Rodd, it makes us chaps wish we was boys again and ashore there running after them butterflies with our caps; only one couldn't run among the trees, and they fly too high. I never see flutterbies, as we used to call them, with colours like these, though. We used to catch white 'uns, and yaller ones, and sometimes what we used to call tortoiseshells. But I call all this 'ere--Look there, sir; there's one as big as my hand--two--lots on 'em! Yes, I do call this 'ere dead waste both of the butterflies and the birds." "Why, my man?" said the doctor quietly. "Why, sir, everything you see flying about in the air is as lovely as lovely, and no one to look at them. Why, if I had my way I'd have all these sort of things flying about in old England. Yes, sir, they are all wasted here." "That they aren't, Joe," cried Rodd. "We are looking at them, and enjoying them; and I say, uncle, isn't it time we began to get some specimens?" "Plenty of time yet, my boy. Why, captain, the country here on either side is very beautiful." "Satisfied, then?" said the Spaniard coolly. "Thoroughly," replied the doctor, "and very glad to have met with such a guide." "But I say, captain," cried Rodd, "don't forget the big monkeys and the leopards." "Oh no," said the Spaniard. "Farther on yet; and I can't be sure. There are plenty in the woods one day, and the next they are gone. But we shall come across some of them." And he sank back smoking again. "Just look at him," said Rodd. "He doesn't seem to take notice of anything." "These things have grown common to him," replied Morny quietly; "but don't look only at the trees on the banks. Cast your eyes down sometimes into the clear water." "Don't say there are any of those great reptiles here," said Rodd hurriedly. "No, I have not seen one to-day; but look at the fish we disturb. They go gliding away to right and left like so many flashes of silver and gold." "Now, boys, there's something," said the doctor. "Right across the river." For there was a rush and a splash as some animal that had evidently been wading close in under the bank sprang out of the water with a rush, and disappeared amongst the low growth. "What's that, captain?" cried Rodd, making a snatch at his gun. "Hog," said the Spaniard quietly. "Did you see it?" asked Rodd. "No; I know the noise they make. Plenty here." And then it was birds, anon flowers, and some two or three miles farther on Joe Cross, who sat just behind the boys, tiller in hand, glanced at the doctor and asked--"Which way?" For the river forked into two of equal size, and at his question the Spaniard raised his eyelids a little and made a sign with his left hand. This branch proved to be if anything more rich in its objects of beauty than the winding stream they had left, for there was enough to sate even the most exacting lover of nature, while there always seemed to be something fresh. One minute a sailor would be pointing out a brilliantly-scaled thin green serpent gliding along the surface of the water, eel-like in motion, but with its back quite exposed to the sunshine, giving it the look of frosted silver, while before long another man made his discovery, the whole party being eagerly on the watch for fresh objects of interest, and at this, without waiting for orders, the rowers ceased dipping their oars, to let the boat drift slowly by a lovely curtain of fine strands and leaves dotted with flowers which hung down from some fifty feet up, till the tips of the twigs touched the water. In amongst these vine-like branches a vividly-coloured serpent that appeared to be some six or eight feet long, and but little thicker than a man's thumb, was deliberately climbing and twining, its eyes having first attracted attention by sparkling in the sunshine. "Don't seem afraid of tumbling into the water," suggested Joe. "Wouldn't matter if it did," said Rodd. "You saw that one a little while ago, how it could swim." "So, I did, sir; so I did," replied the man, who was as much interested as the naturalists of the party. "But there are such a lot of good things to see that one seems to shove the other out of your head. Now, what will that chap be doing there, slithering about over the water? Out for a walk?" "Trying to catch one of those bright little sunbirds, I suppose," said Rodd. "No," said the doctor, who was watching the serpent through his glass. "I should say that one is after birds' nests." "Think of that!" cried Joe. "But he wouldn't blow the eggs, sir, would he, and make a string?" "No, my man," said the doctor, smiling, "but swallow them, I should say, or the young birds that he might find in the nest. Why, Rodd, my boy, one wants three or four lives here, and then one wouldn't see half the wonders of this paradise. Here's world within world of wonder and beauty." "Row away, my lads," said the Spaniard, who seemed to have only one object in life, and that the re-lighting of cigarettes. "Ay, ay, sir!" cried the men, and they dipped their oars again. Then on turning a bend of the stream there was a waft of warm wind to fan their cheeks, when the sailors forward stepped the mast, and hoisted the yard of the lug-sail, which filled out at once, the rowers laid in their dripping oars, which seemed to shed diamonds and pearls back into the stream, and away they glided among the glories of the low flat land, through which streams seemed to run like veins, forming a perfect maze of waterways, each if possible more beautiful than the other, while proving wonderfully similar in width and depth, so much so that at last, after winding round bend after bend of the last stream they had entered, the doctor turned suddenly to their guide and said-- "Why, captain, how are we going to find the way back again?" The captain opened his eyes slightly and smiled, as he took a little compass from his pocket. "With this," he said; "but--pah! I could find my way here with my eyes shut. Look; there's a good place for a fire, and the boys here can get plenty of good fish, if you have a line, for the men to cook." At this suggestion Joe Cross handed the tiller to Rodd and made his way forward to the locker, from which he produced a couple of fishing-lines. The boat was run ashore at a similar patch of sand to that where they had made their previous halt, and while some of the men were collecting dead wood from beneath the trees, there was a sudden rush, and something yellowish dropped with a thud from the nearest great fork, made four or five great bounds through the low bushes, and disappeared. "Leopard," said the Spanish captain quietly. "Get out your gun, sir. His mate will not be far away." He had hardly spoken before another of the great cats leaped from bough to bough of the huge forest tree they had approached, and disappeared in turn, escaping unscathed. "You are keeping your word, sir," said Rodd. The Spaniard smiled, and remained in his place, while Joe Cross and the lads paddled the boat out again to a spot the Spaniard pointed out, and there dropped the grapnel, before beginning to fish, using small pieces of fat pork for their bait. Long before the fire had burnt up enough for cooking purposes or the great kettle had boiled in the shade of the huge tree that had been chosen for kitchen, bites had become frequent, and fine carp-like fish, whose golden scales glittered in the light, were being hauled into the boat; but eager though the lads were, and full of enjoyment of their sport, it was hot out there in the sun, and arms were beginning to ache, while hunger asserted itself more and more. "I say, Morny," cried Rodd, "enough's as good as a feast." "Yes, sir," cried Joe, "and we have got enough and the feast to come, for these look as if they'd be good. Shall we put ashore?" Rodd nodded assent, and soon after Joe and a couple of his mates had been busy with their knives on the sandy river bank, the unwonted sound made by a frying-pan arose from the fire, with the result that there was no doubt about the carp-like fish being good, and the _al fresco_ dinner proving a success. The afternoon was wearing on when the preparations for a fresh start were made, the Spaniard promising the doctor that he would point out another good resting-place for the night before it was dark. "All aboard!" cried Joe just then. "Why, look at that now! Well, there's plenty of fish left, Mr Rodd, and in this 'ere hot country we had better have it fresh." "Why, I didn't expect to see them again, uncle," cried Rodd, and he pointed across the river to where the two blacks with their canoe had suddenly appeared, as if they had been in hiding and watching the cooking going on till it seemed to them that their time had come, when they lay there with their boat just as before, apparently waiting till the strangers had gone on. "Do they mean to keep on following us like this, captain?" asked Rodd. "_Quien sabe_?" he said. "It is a free country, and you will not mind?" "Mind! No," cried Rodd. "But they will have to cook what are left for themselves. I say, uncle, can we trust them to put the fire out afterwards?" "Oh yes, my lad. I suppose we must." "That's right, Mr Rodd, sir. They'll take care not to fry themselves. But here, cookie, don't you leave them our pan." Once more as the boat swept round a bend a glimpse was caught of the two blacks, who had no hesitation now about paddling across to the deserted halting-place. The Spaniard was as good as his word that evening in guiding them to another bivouac, and that night, feeling perfectly secure, the lads lay down to sleep, looking forward to another day of intense enjoyment in the wondrous labyrinth of Nature's beauties, far from feeling satisfied with what had gone before. Three more days passed, and halt after halt had been made at spots which always presented just the right facilities required, the Spaniard proving how great was his knowledge of the geography of the country through which they rowed or sailed, while the two blacks, who over and over again seemed to have disappeared, always turned up again ready for the departure of the travellers, who now took it as a matter of course to leave plenty of fish or flesh collected by the guns for the poor savages' support. More than once the lads had made advances to these men, to try and get them to approach, but their shyness and suspicion were most marked, and they never came near till the departing boat was some distance off. "Now," said the doctor, one evening, "I have been mentally marking down such birds and insects as I wish for us to collect, so to-morrow morning all this pleasure-seeking must come to an end, and we'll all work hard, shooting, skinning, and boxing a few butterflies as well." "What a pity!" said Rodd. "I should like to go on yet for weeks." "So should I, Pickle, but we must get back to the schooner." "And the brig," cried Morny eagerly. "Yes, my lad," said the doctor, "and I am afraid the Count will think we have exceeded our time; but we shall be going steadily back from to-morrow morning, collecting as we go, and I am sure you will agree that we have had a grand excursion, everything having been most successful." The following morning broke as gloriously fine as ever. The fire was crackling, and Joe Cross announced that it was not fish that morning, but fried bacon, and soon after the pleasant aromatic scent of the coffee was rising in the morning air as they took their seats in the shade of a great fig-like tree whose boughs seemed to be full of twittering and whistling love-birds gathered in a huge flock to feed upon the saccharine embedded seeds of the little fruit. "Hullo!" said the doctor suddenly, turning to Rodd. "Where's the Don?" "Having another cigarette somewhere, I suppose, uncle," said Rodd, laughing. "I thought he was along with you." "No, my boy," replied Uncle Paul. "I thought he went with you this morning when you made the men row a little farther along the stream." "That was only to take a last look upward and see what it was like farther on before we turned back; and it is so beautiful up there-- better than anything we have seen. I say, uncle, let's have another day." "No, no, Rodd," cried Morny, catching him by the arm. "I couldn't bear it. We must go back now." "Quite right, Morny, my boy," said the doctor quietly. "Yes, we have come to the end of our tether. Let's get back to the Count and Captain Chubb." "Well, all right," said Rodd. "Never mind what I said, Morny, old chap. I always was a pig when I was getting anything I liked. Let's have breakfast, and then-- "Huzza! We're homeward bound--ound--ound! Huzza! We're homeward bound!" he trolled out merrily; and then, clapping his hands to his lips, "_Espanol_ ahoy!" he shouted. "Ahoy!" came back from the bank of trees across the little river. "_Espanol_ ahoy!" shouted the boy again, and there was the answering echo. "Well, I hear you!" cried Rodd merrily. "But how did you get there without the boat?" There was no answer to this. "Coffee and fried ham!" roared Rodd. "'Am!" came back. "Yes, but it's only bacon!" shouted Rodd. "'Acon!" "Well, why don't you come?" "Don't be stupid, Rodney," cried the doctor shortly. "Here, Cross-- cook--any of you; have you seen the Spanish skipper?" "No, sir!" came in chorus. "Dear me," said the doctor thoughtfully; "now I come to think of it I don't remember seeing him this morning." "No, uncle; nor I neither. Did you see him, Morny?" "No, not this morning. I saw him talking with you last night, sir." "Yes; that was when I was saying that we should start back for certain, and he went and lay down in his usual place, close to the side of the tent, directly afterwards." "Oh yes; he was there when we lay down, wasn't he, Morny?" "Yes; I remember that." "But we have not seen him since, uncle." "Very strange," said the doctor, and turning to the men he questioned them in turn, with the result that all were sure that they had not seen the Spaniard since over-night. The doctor and the two lads stood gazing at one another for some minutes in silence. "Do you think anything could have happened to him?" said Morny at last. "Oh no," cried the doctor sharply. "He's too much at home here in these wild parts for that." "But I was thinking, uncle--" said Rodd, in a hesitating way. "Thinking of what, my boy?" "That there might be some few crocodiles up here in this narrow part of the river, after all." "Absurd, Rodney! Don't jump at conclusions like that!" cried the doctor. "But they are such horribly fierce creatures, uncle." "Don't be absurd, sir! Is it likely that one of those reptiles could have come up out of the river, crawled into the tent, and dragged him out again, without some one knowing it? No; he must have got up early and gone off by himself somewhere, as this is as far as we were to go, meaning to see if he could find the traces of a chimpanzee, so as to show us one or more before we start back." "Yes, that's possible, uncle," said Rodd. "And perhaps he has found one." "Very likely; and if he has he'll soon be back to take us on the trail." "Perhaps so, uncle," said Rodd meaningly. "Why do you speak like that, sir?" "Because I say he may have found one, uncle." "Well--and then?" "The chimpanzee won't let him come back." "Really, Rodney, you make me very angry sometimes," cried the doctor. "If ever there happens to be a little hitch of any kind you immediately clap it under your mental microscope and try to make it as large as you possibly can. That's it for certain, Morny. He wants to keep perfect faith with us, and so he has gone to see whether he can find any signs of these great apes. Well, we won't let the breakfast spoil, and it would be a sort of madness to go hunting about in the forest for his tracks; so come along. I dare say he'll be back long before we have done." But the breakfast was eaten without any sign of the Spaniard, and now the doctor began to be thoroughly uneasy, for the time was there when they ought to be starting on their backward journey, and minute by minute he grew more impatient. His excitement was shared by the two lads, and the men were questioned again and again, while all joined in searching round the little encampment as far as was possible; and that was a very short distance, for almost directly after the stretch of sand was passed they came upon dense shrubby growth, and beyond this there were the huge forest trees matted together by vines and lianas into an impassable wall, while as far as could be made out there was no trace of any one having tried to force his way through. "Most singular thing," said the doctor. "We can't go away and leave him alone in these wilds. But have everything ready for an immediate start, and we must wait." "I say, Morny," said Rodd, "what do you make of this? Here, stop a minute, though. Can you think of any way by which he could go?" Morny shook his head. "There's no path into the forest," he said, "and it's just as dense on the other side if any one ventured to swim across the river to go from there." "To go where?" said Rodd sharply. "I don't know. I was only thinking of what any one might try to do." "And then," said Rodd, "there's only up the river and down the river, and he had no boat. But it's no use to bother; we have got to wait and see; and we mustn't forget those two poor niggers. I wonder whether they will follow us back?" "Sure to," said Morny; "right back to the vessels." "Hi! Joe Cross!" cried Rodd. "Put what's left of the breakfast in a wild banana leaf again and leave it on the bank." "Got it all ready here, sir," was the reply. "Why, Morny," cried Rodd, catching his companion sharply by the arm, "where are the niggers?" "Where are the niggers?" said the young Frenchman, staring. "Yes; they have always been ready waiting till we finished our meals. They were there last night." "Yes," said Morny; "they were there last night." "Then where are they this morning?" Morny looked across the river and back at his companion, while the doctor, who had been conversing with the men, came hurriedly up and joined them. "What are you two talking about?" he said. "About those two blacks, uncle," said Rodd, whose voice sounded rather husky. "What about them, sir?" "They have always been hanging about, uncle, till we had done our meals, and then waited for what was left." "Yes. True. I saw them paddle across last night in the dark and fetch what was put for them, in a curious animal-like way." "But you didn't see them go back, uncle?" "Yes, I did, sir, and I remember thinking how cat-like they were in their actions, pouncing upon the food and eating it there and then. I watched them till they had done, so as to see them steal off again with their boat, and I meant to write a note about it in my paper regarding this trip." "Well, they are not waiting this morning, uncle," said the boy meaningly. "No," said the doctor, glancing in the direction of the wild banana leaf. "Well, uncle, what do you make of that?" "I don't know, my lad. What do you make of it?" "I don't quite know, uncle. They are savages." "Yes, boy, they are savages." "And they've got spears, uncle," said the boy meaningly. "There you go again, sir!" cried Uncle Paul, irascibly now. "You know perfectly well, Rodney, how this sort of thing annoys me. I suppose the next thing you will be telling me is that one of them came with his spear and behaved as one of Captain Cook's friends says the Australian blacks behaved to the girls they wanted to steal for their wives." "No, I don't, uncle," cried the boy ill-humouredly. "I don't know what Captain Cook's friends say. I hardly know who Captain Cook is--Yes, I do: he's the man who sailed round the world." "Well, then, I'll tell you, sir. He said the blacks come in the dark, twist their spears in the girls' hair, and carry them away. And I suppose you mean to infer that that's what has become of the Spanish captain?" "I don't, uncle," cried Rodd. "But if you do, sir, you are wrong; for the Don, as you two lads nicknamed him, had hardly a bit of hair on his head. There, there, there; being cross won't make any better of it. Hope to goodness that nothing has happened to the poor fellow. Can't have got up in the night and walked away in his sleep, can he?" "Well, but if he had, uncle, he must have woke up by this time, and then he'd walk back again." "Well, we can't go without him, my dear lads. He has been a very faithful servant to us, and it would be a mean, cowardly, despicable act for us to leave him in the lurch. Oh, it's impossible. It would be little better than murder to leave a man here without a boat." Rodd looked hard at Morny, as if questioning him with his eyes; and so the French lad took it to be, for he made a deprecating gesture with his hands. The doctor was watching his nephew keenly, and now clapped him sharply on the shoulder. "What are you thinking about, sir?" he cried. "About what you said, uncle," said the lad, rather confusedly. "I didn't say anything, sir. I was listening to you." "Yes, you did, Uncle Paul," said the boy sternly. "You said that it would be murder to leave a man here without a boat." "Oh, of course. So I did. And so it would be, sir. But now look here, Rodd. I haven't known you, sir, since you were little more than a baby without being able to read some of the changes which come over your face. What were you thinking about that boat?" "I was thinking, uncle, suppose he had one." "But he hadn't one. Look here, sir; you are thinking something, and suspecting something." "Yes, uncle, I am; but I don't know what." "I suppose that's because you were prejudiced against the Spaniard by what Chubb said." "I suppose so, uncle. You know how he said he wouldn't trust that man a bit?" "Yes, yes." "Well, I always felt that I couldn't trust him a bit." "Prejudice, boy--prejudice." "I dare say it was, uncle; and when I found how he showed us everything we wanted I tried to believe in him; but my head felt as if it wouldn't go." "He hadn't got a boat; he hadn't got a boat," said the doctor, as if to himself. "No, uncle; but suppose he had got a canoe?" "That's it," cried Morny excitedly. "You are right, Rodd. You think those were his two men?" "Yes," said Rodd. "Two black fellows out of his schooner." "And--and--" panted Morny, as the doctor's jaw fell and he stood staring at the two lads, utterly speechless--"you believe that he has led us right out here in this wild maze of a place to lose us, while he goes back to--to--" The poor fellow broke down, and Rodd caught him by the hand; but Morny in the passion of his emotion snatched his away. "Don't--don't say it!" he cried.--"While he has gone back for who knows what? Oh, father, father, why did I come away?" "Stop, boys, stop!" cried Uncle Paul; and to the surprise of both he plumped himself down upon the sand, drawing up his knees, planting his elbows upon them, and resting his burning head upon his hands. "Wait a bit," he said. "I want to think; I want to think; I want to think. Ah-h-h!" he groaned, at last. "Who could have imagined it? Who could have thought it? A trick--a ruse!" Then springing up he looked sharply round, to see that the boat's crew were grouped together watching him wonderingly, and that seemed to bring him to himself at once. He turned sharply upon Rodd and gave him a grave nod of the head, and said quietly-- "I am afraid you are right, my boy. Morny, my lad, I told your father that in this expedition you should be to me as my son. Let me play the father to you now, and tell you that it is your duty to act as a man." "Act as a man, sir--" began Morny. "Yes, my boy; act and not talk. Aboard, every one of you, my lads," he continued, to the sailors. "I am afraid we have been wiled away here by a cunning trick, for what reason remains to be proved. But whatever it means, we are twelve staunch men with our duty before us, and that is, to get back as quickly as possible to the schooner and the brig. I may be deceived, but I believe we are the victims of a plot, and if so I am afraid it will go hard with that Spaniard when we meet. Now, then, I don't know how long it will take, but we have got to do it, and when we get back to our schooner, no matter what has happened, there's ten guineas apiece as a sort of prize-money for the brave lads who have helped to pull us through." A loud excited cheer burst from the crew, and several voices broke in afterwards with something indistinguishable amidst the noise. "What's that? What's that I hear?" cried the doctor sharply to Joe Cross. "The lads say they don't want no ten guineases, sir, but they'd all give as much as that to get hold of that dirty Spaniel by the neck." "Hah!" ejaculated the doctor. "Now then, not ten guineas, but twenty, for the man among you who can guide us through this wilderness of waters back to our stout Devon boat. Now then, who's the one among you who can act as guide?" A dead silence fell upon the group, and for the first time since their start a black storm-cloud began to spread slowly over the sky. CHAPTER FORTY FOUR. WET DUST IN THE EYE. It was the precursor of a terrible tropic tempest, with bluish lightning that was blinding, while the roar of heaven's artillery was incessant. But not a man blenched as the rowers bent to their oars, gladdened by the feeling that the current was with them, as they sent the boat rapidly along for their last halting-place. But a mile had hardly been covered when, with a wild shriek and roar, down came the rain, not in showers or in drops, but in sheets so heavy that before a minute had elapsed every one was drenched, and soon after two of the men had to begin to bale. To proceed was impossible, and braving the risk, the boat was rowed beneath the overhanging branches of one of the monarchs of the primeval forest which reached its limbs far out over the stream, and there, somewhat protected, the boat was moored. For quite a couple of hours the little party crouched in the bottom, aiding the shelter by spreading the sail over the awning, the men holding on to keep the canvas from being swept off by the howling gale, while the rain poured off in buckets-full, as the men said. Then a new danger attacked them. The stream swelled and swelled till the boat rose feet higher and was forced in among the low-hanging branches, while the great risk now was that they might be swept out and along the furious torrent into which the sluggish river had been turned. But just as it seemed impossible to hold on any longer, and when the forest on either side had become river too, the rain ceased as suddenly as it had begun, the wind dropped, and the clouds began to pass away, while in less than an hour the sun was shining brightly down, and huge clouds of steam floated over the flooded land. It was impossible to cast off from their mooring, for every man agreed that to follow the course of the rushing water would mean that they would be swept away from the river and in all probability be capsized before they had gone many hundred yards. There was nothing for it, then, but to bale hard and free the boat from water, wring out and try to dry their saturated garments, and do what they could in the way of drying the sail and awning, in the hope that the flood would soon pass away. Fortunately Cross was soon able to announce that the water was sinking, and this continued so rapidly that before many hours had passed they were able to put off once more into the stream, which had pretty well returned to the limits of its banks; and the drying of their clothes and of such stores as had suffered followed in rapid course. But it was a disheartening commencement of their journey back to the main river, and darkness fell upon a desolate and terribly depressed company, who passed the night of solitude and despair wondering what had happened at the anchorage where the brig had been left careened. Rodd had tried to whisper comfort to his comrade, but only to be met with imploring words, the lad begging to be allowed to sit and think; and Rodd respected his prayer. No better fortune attended him with Uncle Paul, who sternly bade him be silent. "I too must think, my lad," he said--"and pray." The silence was shared by the sailors, who only indulged in a whisper now and then. And how the rest of that night passed away Rodd hardly knew. Of one thing only was he quite certain, and that was that sleep never visited the occupants of that boat. Daylight at last, when such provisions as were absolutely necessary were partaken of as the boat went steadily down-stream, for there was water enough in the river still to have completely changed its sluggish character, while this was hailed by the men with delight, seeing that it helped their course, while wherever the wind was available the sail was hoisted and they sped along, every one keeping a sharp look-out for their last bivouac but one, it having been decided amongst them that they must have been swept by that one, which was hidden by the swollen stream. But in spite of the keen observation of the sailors and the sharp look-out by the doctor and the two lads, that day passed without the familiar sandy embayment among the trees being sighted, and before long it became a certainty that they were gliding along a different channel to any they had passed before. The flood might have altered the stream to a certain extent, but they passed banks that were certainly different, and just at dusk when a brisk breeze was blowing they glided through an opening among the trees which did not seem familiar, and the question arose, should they turn back? But before it was settled, darkness fell, and another dismal night was passed. The next day broke bright and fine, and encouraged thereby, every man was keenly on the alert to try and sight one of the Spaniard's halting-places; but it was long before such an opening was found, and then when it was hailed with delight as their resting-place at the end of that day's work, it was forced upon them that they had never been there before. Fortunately, though their stores were diminished in quantity, fish were plentiful, and every now and then a bird fell to Rodd's or the doctor's gun, for it was felt to be a necessity, as more and more all realised that they were involved in a perfect labyrinth or network of watery ways, and that their stores should be supplemented. For opening after opening in the great walls of verdure kept presenting itself, nearly always involving the party in a dispute as to whether they had been there before, till their mental confusion became greater, their ideas more sadly confused, and the tract of low-lying water-netted country, far from seeming the paradise through which they had glided on their way up, now seemed the dwelling-place of despair. "Isn't there one of you who can guide us aright?" cried the doctor despairingly. "Is it possible that what seemed so easy to that treacherous Spanish wretch should prove such a horrible problem to us all?" For a time no one spoke, the men hanging their heads, and by way of showing their earnestness tugging harder at their oars. But at the next appeal Joe Cross was egged on to make some answer. "You see, sir," he said, "there isn't anything we wouldn't do for you. The lads here are sharp enough, but they wants a handle to work them. We are only sailors, used to having an officer over us, and without him we aren't much account." "Oh," groaned the doctor to Rodd, "and I cannot direct them! Rodd, boy, my brain feels as if it were giving way." "Don't be down-hearted, sir. Don't chuck up your pluck, young gentlemen," continued the poor fellow earnestly. "We must get out at last. It all seemed so easy as we come up; but without that Spanish chap, and now that it seems to be all turned upside down like, as we are coming back'ards, it's like looking for a needle in a bottle of hay. You see, me and my messmates have turned it all over in our heads, and it always comes to this, that that storm either made us take a wrong turning, or else that that Spaniard took us into a tangle of watercourses out of which no one but him and them niggers could find the way." "Yes, yes," said the doctor; "we were thoroughly trapped into what has proved to be a horrible maze." "Ay, ay, sir!" cried Joe. "And amazing it is; but we are not going to give up, sir. Wish we may all die if we do; for you see, it must all come right at last. We have a lot of provisions, plenty of powder and shot; we can't fail for fresh water, which is a great thing for sailors; there's wood enough to make fires for five hundred years; and as for good fish to eat, why, you could almost catch them with your hands." "No, my men," said the doctor, more firmly, "we are not going to despair, for if we keep going down-stream we must reach the main river at last." "That's what I keep thinking, uncle," cried Rodd; "but every time we turn out of one of these rivers we seem to get into another, and I want to know why it is that we have never yet come upon a sandy patch where we made a fire." Embayments of this kind they found again and again during the next few days of their, so to speak, imprisonment in this labyrinth, and in which they were fain to halt for food and sleep; but whether the flood had obliterated all signs of their occupation, or whether the places were absolutely fresh, they never knew. One thing was determined on, and that to keep on with dogged British obstinacy till the problem was solved, and after losing count of the days that they had spent in the forest, and after vain usage of the compass, which had only seemed to lead them more and more astray, they had their reward one noon, when the boat was run up on to the sand of a forest nook which seemed strikingly familiar, and Rodd and Morny both sprang out, gun in hand, followed by Joe Cross, who excitedly cried-- "All right, gentlemen! Here we are at last! I'd just swear to this tree and that other big one right across the river." "Yes," cried the doctor; "this, I am quite certain, is where we set up our tent the night we missed our guide." "The morning, uncle," cried Rodd. "Yes, boy; I should have said the morning. Look, Morny! You do not speak. Isn't this our last halting-place on our way up?" The French lad gave his hands a despairing wave in the air. "Yes," he said; "that's what I feel, sir. Why, we have been all these weary, weary days trying to get back to the river so that we might row away to the brig, and this is the spot from which we started!" "Well, gentlemen," cried Joe Cross, "I say hooray to that. Yes, this is the place, aren't it, messmates?" "Yes, yes," came in an excited chorus, for the discovery seemed to have sent a thrill of joy through all the men. "That's right, messmates," cried Joe. "Then all we have got to do now, gentlemen, is to try and take our bearings right, rub the wet dust out of all our eyes, and make a fresh start." "The wet dust, Joe!" cried Rodd, with the nearest approach to a smile which had appeared upon his face for many days. "Here, uncle, get out the compass, and let's see what we can do with that." "No," said the doctor quietly. "We must make a fresh start, but it must be calmly and well, and after food and a good night's rest. Collect wood, my lads, to make a fire. Boys, take your guns and go up-stream a little higher where we have never been before, and shoot what birds you can. Two or three of you men do what you can from the shore with the fishing-lines. To-morrow morning we will start calmly and trustingly to the river once again. Be of good heart, Morny, my lad, for the end of our awful struggle must be coming near, and every one of us must do all he can to help his brother for the one great end." A cheer rose at the doctor's words, and the change in the whole party was wonderful. All worked with such energy that long before darkness set in the tent was rigged up for the night, a good meal had been prepared, and almost as full of hope as on the night when they had last encamped there for their rest, a couple of hours were pleasantly passed before the fire was once more made up and the watch set. Very soon afterwards all were plunged in a deep and restful sleep, one from which Rodd and Morny were startled by a terrific clap of thunder. Then the interior of their tent was lit up by a vivid blue flash of lightning, by which they saw the watch--Joe Cross and one of the sailors leaning over them, the former saying-- "There's going to be an awful--" "Storm," he would have said, but his words were drowned by another crash which came instantly upon a sheet of lightning, and pretty well stunned them with its roar. CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. STORM WATERS. In the intervals between the almost incessant peals of thunder Joe Cross informed the lads that the storm had been coming on for the last three hours, faint and distant at first, the merest mutterings, and gradually increasing till it was the terrific tempest now raging. "They must have had it horrid, sir, somewhere, only I don't suppose there's no people. What we had before was nothing to it." "There," cried the doctor, "something must be done to the boat in the way of making it thoroughly secure." "Can't be no securer, sir. We've got her moored head and stern to a tree, and two grapnels down as well." "Capital," cried the doctor. "Well thought of! But we must have the sail and some of the canvas that we have got here spread over the boat to keep the water out." "That's done, sir, as far as the stuff would go, and now I want what we have got up here, before the rain comes." "Down with it at once," said the doctor; and in an incredibly short space of time the tent was struck, what they had ashore was transferred to the boat, and she was covered in as much as was possible. And none too soon, for the party had only just embarked when a few heavy drops of rain came pattering down upon the tightened canvas, soon increasing to quite a deluge, but, with the peculiarity of a tropic storm, just when it was beginning to try the canvas and threatening to soak the interior of the boat, it ceased almost instantaneously, and they sat listening to the rushing sound of the rain as it swept over the forest, rapidly growing more distant till it died away. "Gone!" cried Rodd excitedly. "We didn't want any more troubles, and it would have been dreadful to have been wet through again." "Don't be too hopeful, my boy," said Uncle Paul. "That may only be the advance guard of a far worse storm. It seems too much to think this is the end." "It might be all, sir," said Joe Cross, "for it's been an awful bad 'un, going on for hours in the distance." "Then we shall be having the water rise again," cried Uncle Paul. "Yes, sir; that's what I thought," replied the man, "and why I moored the boat so fast." "Quite right," cried the doctor, "for likely enough we shall be having the water coming down from far away, and we must hold on here at any cost, or we shall be lost again." "What time do you suppose it is, Joe?" asked Rodd. "Wants about a couple of hours to daylight, sir." "Morning!" cried the lads together. "Ah, then it will be easier to bear!" During the rest of the darkness it was evident that the storm had passed over them. There were a few distant mutterings of thunder and little flickerings of lightning which grew fainter and fainter, to die away in the west. The sailors crept out from beneath their awning on to the sand, and were able to announce that the river had only risen a few inches, and the rain that had fallen had rapidly soaked in and drained off, while a pleasant cool air swept briskly over them from the east, heralding a fresh bright dawn, which came at last with all the promise of a glorious day. With some difficulty a fire was started, but once begun the men soon contrived to get up sufficient for the hurried breakfast; the canvas was struck where necessary, and the rest spread to dry in the coming sunshine; and then all being ready for their next start, the doctor consulted with the coxswain, who after a little pressing gave his opinion as to what would be the best course to take. "You see, sir," he said, "I have been thinking that I could get us back to our last camping-place; I mean, before we came here." "Well, that's what we all thought before, Joe," cried Rodd pettishly. "Wait, Rodney, my boy, and let Cross finish," said the doctor. "I've about done, sir," said the man. "What Mr Rodd says is quite true, but he aren't quite got what I mean. You see, sir, when we come up here with the Spanish skipper aboard I sat astarn steering, and when we went away again I had hold of the tiller once more, same as before." "Well, we know that," said Rodd shortly. "Be silent, Rodney!" cried the doctor. "Go on, Cross." "Well, sir, when we come I was looking this 'ere way; when we started back I was looking t'other way. Now it seems to me, now we are going to start again, if instead of sitting astarn and looking straight forward, if I was to go and sit right in the bows and left somebody else to steer while I looked over his head, I should be looking up both sides of the river just as it was when we were coming, and I should see the landmarks again as I saw them when we were coming here, and consekently I should know my way better, and I don't think I should miss the next landing-place again." "Yes, I see what you mean," cried Rodd excitedly. "Why, to be sure, Joe! Don't you see, uncle?" "Yes," cried the doctor. "Quite right, Cross. We will start at once, going as slowly as we can, and we will, all but the steersman, ride backwards, keep a sharp look-out, and help.--What's the matter, Morny?" For the young Frenchman had suddenly started up in the boat, to stand peering in the direction that they were about to take, and held up his hand as if to command silence. "What's that?" cried Rodd, leaping up too. "What?" asked the doctor. "Sounds like distant roaring of some kind of wild beast, sir," said one of the men. "That it aren't, messmate," said Joe, who had also risen to his feet, and stood with his hand behind his ear. "It's another storm coming. Nay, it aren't. It's all bright and clear that way. Why, it's water, gentlemen, coming with a rush from just the way we want to go." "Impossible!" cried the doctor. "Why, it would be against the stream." "I don't care, sir, begging your pardon. I've been in the Trent and the Severn and the Wye. It was only when I was a boy, but I recollect right enough. It's what they used to call a bore, with a great wave of water coming up the river like a flood and washing all before it." "Had we better land?" cried the doctor. "And lose our boat, sir? No. Be smart, my lads. It can't be very far away. All eight of you, oars out, and we must keep our head to it so as we can ride over the big wave and let it pass under us. I don't suppose there will be much of it. It's a sort of flood water coming down from yonder after the storm, and it will soon be over. Don't you worry about it, gentlemen. It will be nothing to a big wave at sea." The men made ready with all the discipline of a trained crew, and heads were turned in the direction of the increasing sound, while it seemed hard to believe, in the midst of the brilliant sunshine, with the smooth river gliding onwards as if to meet the supposed wave, that there could be anything wrong. The expected danger had seemed to be close at hand, but it had been far more distant than the party had supposed, for the roar went on steadily increasing, but with no other suggestion of peril save the noise, though that was enough to make the stoutest-hearted there quail. It seemed an age, but was certainly less than an hour, before the dull heavy roar began to be mingled with a strange crashing and breaking sound which puzzled all, till the coxswain, who was standing up in the bows, boat-hook in hand, announced that it was the breaking of trees and crashing together of their branches as they were being torn up by the roots. "Impossible!" said the doctor impatiently. "Nay, sir, it aren't," said the man. "I don't mean the big trees, but the little 'uns along the banks; and it's getting close here, sir. It's a big flood, that's what it is, coming down from the mountains, for there must be some inland. There! Look yonder. Can't you see the trees beginning to wave? It's just as if a lake had broke loose and was coming sweeping over the country. You, Harry Briggs, hold fast to that tiller. You others, look at your work, and pull. Turn your heads, you lubbers! I'll do all the looking out. And when I say row, every mother's son of you pull for his life." Joe Cross's words were beginning to sound indistinct before he had finished, half-smothered as they were by the increasing roar, as from far down the river a dark line of something could be seen rising some six or eight feet like a huge bank extending right across the river and apparently into the forest on both sides. For as far as eye could reach the trees seemed to be in a strange state of agitation, the lower branches bending towards the party in the boat, as if beneath the blast of a tremendous gale. "Sit fast, boys, every one!" yelled Joe; but he stood upright himself, and the next minute with a wild rush a great bank of water was upon them, seeming to come with a leap and dash, to plunge beneath the boat's bows as if to toss her on high and roll her over and over in the flood. But as it struck them the trained men sat for a moment or two, till in little more than a whisper above the roar of water, Joe Cross's voice was heard to give the order "Pull," when seven balanced oars dipped together, and the bows began to sink. The men got well hold of the water, and after three or four rapid tugs the boat sat level once more upon the surface of the flood, obeyed her helm, and though being carried rapidly along stern on, she shipped very little water, and in a very few minutes the greater peril was passed. The crashing roar and rush of the water was almost deafening, but Joe retained his upright position and signalled with one hand to the steersman, while he followed suit to the rowers, who kept up a steady pull against the furious stream, with the result that now the boat sped on stern foremost at the same rate as the flood. But the frail craft was exposed to endless risks as the water rushed along between the two great walls of verdure which marked out the devious winding course of the river. Time after time they were within an ace of being swept amidst the boughs of some towering tree; at others they were brushing over the tops of the shrub-like growth; and yet amidst the many dangers the crew never flinched, but kept on for hour after hour, head to stream, with the boat always being borne onward along straight reaches and round winding curves which looped and almost doubled back, till at last the violence of the flood grew less, leaving them more and more behind, till the greatest danger was over and the speed at which they glided was reduced to nearly half that of the first rush of the flood. Another hour passed, and they were still gliding on, and now as they were swept into a wider reach, it was plain to see how the whole forest was flooded on either side, apparently to the depth of some six or eight feet, as near as the coxswain could judge. Four times over he had drawn attention to the fact that they were passing the entrances to similar rivers to that down which they sped, one of them being remarkable for the fact that a portion of their stream set right into it, while from the others it glided out in the opposite way. Soon afterwards, with a little clever scheming, the boat was guided into an eddy where the water swirled round comparatively slack; and here her head was turned and she resumed her strange journey onward in the normal way. The men's labour too now had pretty well ceased, only a dip or two of the oars being required occasionally to keep the boat's head straight and make her answer her helm. And now conversation became more general. The danger being evidently over, one man hazarded a joke, something about a near shave, while another said it was a pity because they would have all this 'ere work to go over again. Joe Cross heard the remark, and this started him talking, as he laid down his boat-hook and wiped his streaming face. "Yes, Mr Rodd," he said, "you wanted to come farther up the river, and here you have had it. Well, I suppose when the flood's spread all over it will do same as they always does, begin to drain off again and carry us back. But I am afraid, Dr Robson, sir, that I must give up what I undertook to do." "What?" cried the doctor. "Ride back'ards, sir, and find the way out of this wet cat's-cradle of a place. I am very sorry, sir." "Sorry!" cried the doctor cheerily. "My good fellow, what you have done during the last few hours has earned the lasting gratitude of us all." "Has it, sir?" said the man, staring. "Why?" "Haven't you saved all our lives," cried the doctor, "by your clever management of the boat?" "Oh, that's what you mean, sir! But you must play fair, sir. You mustn't blame me for that. Part on it's my being on board a man-of-war; part on it's due to Captain Chubb. So you must thank him." The doctor smiled, and noting this absence of anxiety, Rodd broke out with-- "I say, uncle, Morny's starving. Isn't it time we had something to eat?" "Oh, Rodd!" cried Morny. "Yes, of course," replied the doctor. "See what you can do, cook, at once. But surely, Cross, some of the men might lay in their oars?" "Yes, sir, and if it goes on like this I don't see that we need let this flood keep on carrying us farther away. There's a nice wind, and not so much washed-out wood afloat. I am thinking I might have the sail hoisted and begin to sail back. But my word, look here: how we are widening out, sir! Look ahead yonder. It's getting 'most like a lake. Perhaps it is one." "No," cried Rodd; "it's the river still. Look yonder at the forest right along the bank." "Yes, sir, but I was looking at the forest on both sides here where we are. Why, we are running into another river. It aren't a lake, but it's ten times as big as this one that we've been spinning along, and-- Well! it's a rum 'un! No; it's unpossible." "What's impossible?" cried Rodd sharply, and all gazed at the sailor, who sat looking forward, holding on by one ear and scratching the other. "Why, this 'ere, Mr Rodd, sir. Just you look, Dr Robson, and see what you think on it." "Of what, my man?" "Why, this 'ere, sir, what I am asking you of. Can't you see, Mr Rodd, sir?" "I can see that we are gliding out of a muddy stream covered with green twigs and great tufts of jungle grass, into a big river flowing right across us and all thick with what seems to be a different-coloured mud." "That's right, sir; and didn't you see that splash, just as far off as you could look?" "No, Joe." "Would you mind lending me that there glass of yourn, sir?" said Joe to the doctor, who passed the little field-glass to the man, whose hands trembled as he focussed it to suit his eye, and he once more stood up in the boat and swept the water as far as he could see. "Thank you, sir," he said, handing it back. "Perhaps you would like to have a look yourself. But it's all right, gentlemen, and my lads. Them's crocs out yonder, and we have been washed out into the big river again with no more trouble; and if we don't see our brig and our schooner again before many hours, why, my name aren't Joe!" CHAPTER FORTY SIX. A KNOT IN THE NETWORK. Incredulity was impossible, although at first it was very hard to believe. But there was the fact. They had been wandering through the sluggish network of streams of a vast tropic, marshy forest, until a tremendous storm in the hinterland had flooded the low country and they had been swept out again far away from the spot where the Spanish captain had guided them in, and, as they were soon to learn, for reasons of his own. Without question they had descended some miles along the main river, which ran swiftly, burdened as it was by the waters of the flood, but not sufficiently to do more than raise it to a rather abnormal height. Still it was not safe to continue their journey downward by night, and in spite of the anxiety of all, the boat was moored to a huge tree up which the water had risen some three or four feet, and all anxiously watched for the coming of the next day. They slept but little, for there was so much to discuss, the doctor feeling now sure that when they missed the Spanish captain it must have been because when all were asleep he had stolen down to where the two blacks would be waiting for him with their canoe, and then gone on up the river beyond their camp. "But I don't see quite what for, uncle," said Rodd. "I do," cried Moray. "He knew the country so well, and our ignorance, which would make us go wandering helplessly about, while he knew of a nearer way out into this river again, through which we seem to have been providentially swept." "That's right--quite right, Moray," said the doctor. "You see now, Rodd?" "Yes, uncle, it's quite clear now. I wish I wasn't so dense. Do you see, Joe?" "I didn't afore, sir; but it's all as clear as crystal now, and I should just like to explain it to the lads. My word, gentlemen! That chap's been running up a big bill again hisself, and when we get hold of him he'll have to pay!" "What are you thinking of, Moray?" said Rodd, a little while after, while they were sitting listening in the darkness to the murmur of Joe's voice forward as he was explaining matters to the men. "I was thinking," said Moray gravely, "of how long it would be before it is day." The longest night comes to an end, and the breaking of that next day showed the river much sunken and pretty well at its normal tidal height; and with four men rowing steadily the boat glided downward, with the sun when it rose showing first one and then another landmark which seemed familiar; but after their one journey upward no one present could recall how far they were above the careening place. Again and again as they passed round some great bend Moray rose from his seat, and, as Rodd afterwards told him, made them all miserable by gazing wildly downwards in the expectation of catching sight of the brig, or of seeing his father in his boat coming upward in search of the missing ones, who had quite outstepped the time that their stay was to last. It was always the same; the poor fellow sank back into his place wearily, his countenance drawn and a look of despair in his eyes. At such times Rodd would watch his opportunity, steal his hand quietly along, and give Morny's arm a long and friendly grip, with the result that the dim eyes would brighten a little and dart a grateful glance in the English lad's direction. The journey downwards seemed endless, and proved to be far longer than any one there anticipated. But just as the longest and darkest watch nights come to their end, so it was here, when, skimming along under sail, taking long reaches, for the wind was abeam, all at once Joe Cross, who was the first to see, sang out a loud and hearty-- "Ship ahoy!" "Hah!" cried Morny. "Do you see the brig?" "No, sir," replied the man, as Morny, the doctor and Rodd shaded their eyes and gazed down-stream; "I can't make out the brig." "Oh, you don't half look," cried Rodd. "There's the Spanish schooner, and ours, and just beyond them, half hidden by the trees and land, there are the tops of the masts of the brig. Hurrah, Morny! She's all right, afloat, and--Here, what are you looking that way for?" "Because I can't see her," said the French lad despairingly. "There is something wrong." "Why, my dear old chap," cried Rodd, "you can't see well, because of the trees, but as we get farther out, there she lies, to the left, with her two masts as plain as plain." "I can see those two masts you mean," said Morny sternly, "but they are low-down raking masts; the _Dagobert's_ are much higher, and stand up stiffer than those. Do you forget she's square-rigged? Why, that's a schooner." "So it is," cried Rodd. "I was deceived by the two yards on her foremast. But look here, it can't be another schooner. Captain Chubb may have been altering her rig when he got her upright again. Why, of course! It must be so. There can't be three schooners there. They must have had some accident to the brig's mainmast when they raised her again. Broke her topgallant, perhaps, and rigged her fore and aft." "Not they, Mr Rodd, sir. Our old man would have cut a spar somewhere from the forest and rigged her square, if it was only a jury-mast. 'Sides, they'd got spare spars on board, same as we. That's another schooner. You can see her clearer now--a long low one, with masts that rake more than the Spanish skipper's vessel. Strikes me as we shall find that for some reason or another they haven't got the brig afloat." "Another schooner, Joe?" cried Morny passionately. "The brig not finished? For some reason or another! What reason? What does it all mean?" "Be calm, my lad; be calm," cried the doctor. "In a very little while we shall know the worst, or the best. Mind, we know nothing as yet. It is all suspicion. For aught we can say to the contrary, that man whom we have condemned may be innocent, misjudged by us, and now be lying at the bottom of the river where we missed him in that mysterious way." Morny bowed his head and tried to look gratefully at the doctor; but his agony was too great, and he stood there till their boat had got to the end of its tack and swung round in the other direction, when with shaded eyes he gazed before him wildly, trying to get a view beyond where the three schooners could now be plainly seen, anchored in mid-stream. But for some time the curvature of the river put this out of the question, and to break the painful silence the doctor said quietly-- "Another long low schooner, with raking masts. But it may be only another trader, anchored in company with the rest." "Ah," cried Morny to Joe Cross, "you see something more than we do!" For the man, who was looking out from beyond the sail, suddenly gave a start and angrily slapped his thigh. "Well, I'm very sorry, sir; but yes, I do. The brig's lying careened right over, just as she was when we started on our trip." "But look here, Morny," cried the doctor; "that may mean nothing more than that she is not finished yet. Remember, to those we left we are missing, and in their anxiety about our lengthened stay they may have started up-stream to find us." "You are saying this to comfort me," cried Morny passionately. "No, doctor; we have got to face the worst. It is not so." It seemed cruelty to prolong the conversation, and soon after the order was given to lower the sail and unstep the mast, for the wind had pretty well dropped as they swept in towards where the vessels were anchored, and the distance being short, the men took to their oars once more, while, with no impediment to their view, the doctor took out his glass and offered it to Morny. But the lad made a quick gesture, and sat back looking straight before him, while the doctor used the glass himself, gazing with it first at the brig, about whose hull no one was visible, while all seemed still on board the three schooners. "Take a look, Rodney," said the doctor aloud, as he handed the glass. "I can see nothing wrong." Rodd eagerly took the glass, raised it to his eyes, and said quietly-- "Why, I can't see a soul on board the _Sally_, uncle, and the people on the other schooners must be asleep. They haven't seen us yet--Yes, they have!" he cried. "The men are hurrying up on our vessel from below, but--" "But what, my boy?" "I--I don't quite know, uncle. Something isn't right. Oh, Morny, what have I said?" As the boy spoke he let the glass drop to the full length of his arm, and in all probability it would have fallen to the bottom of the boat had not Joe Cross caught it in his hand. "May I look, sir?" he said sharply, and without waiting for consent, he raised it to his eyes and quickly scanned all three of the schooners in turn. "It's no use beating about, gentlemen," he said sharply. "Something is wrong, for all three decks are swarming now with men like bees--wasps, I ought to say," he muttered, as he concentrated his gaze upon the _Maid of Salcombe_. "Our vessel, doctor, is in the hands of pirates, or slavers, and they are making ready the long gun. Now, my lads, look alive. Every man buckle on his arms and then load." The oars were allowed to swing from the tholes, and the boat was left to glide slowly downwards, while in their smart orderly way her crew prepared for action. "You will load too, gentlemen--with ball. Now, doctor, will you take command and lead us?" "What to do?" asked the doctor. "Why, to take our schooner again, sir. She's in the hands of an enemy." "But is it possible that we can do this, Cross?" cried the doctor. "I don't know, sir, for she's got a lot of men on board; but we have got to try." "Stop. Let me think," said the doctor. "I am no man of war, and this is not in my way. If any unfortunate fellow were wounded I could do my best. But look here, my lads; you are nearly all men-of-war's men, and you, Morny, you are a naval officer. Seeing the odds before us, what is our duty here?" "To fight," cried the young man passionately, through his clenched teeth. "Ay, ay, sir!" came heartily from the men; and as the doctor turned his eyes inquiringly upon Rodd, who was fiercely ramming the second bullet upon the small shot already in the two barrels of his gun, he saw a look in the lad's face that he had never seen there before, and in spite of the pain of the situation, he felt a thrill of satisfaction running through his breast at the thought that, young as his nephew was, he was English to the core. "Yes," said the doctor, "we must fight; but with such odds against us we must bring cunning to bear." "Ay, ay, sir! That's right," cried Cross. "But perhaps, as we've got right on our side and only a set of mongrels before us, a good bold dash to board them will make us as strong as they. I say, sir, if you will let me lead, we will try and take our schooner, give them a broadside of bullets when we get close up, and then out steel and board her like men. Once over her side, there won't be many of them left on deck at the end of five minutes; and as soon as we have got her and the use of her guns, if we don't sink them other two pirates I have never been to sea." "That's right, Joe," came in chorus, as, standing in the bows with one hand upon his gun, the other upon his right hip, he looked the very perfection of a British man-of-war's man, ready to lead or be led, wherever duty called. Then, as if inspired by his appearance, the crew burst out into a ringing cheer, helped by the two lads, while the doctor took off and waved his straw hat as he joined in. _Bang_--_thud_! A great grey puff of smoke started from the schooner's deck and a ball came skipping in their direction over the smooth stream. "Well, I do call that too bad," cried Joe, as the men uttered a deep-toned "Yah-h-h!" "Arter the way in which I cared for you and kept you clean, to go and behave like that!" "Well, poor dumb beast," growled Briggs, "she don't know no better." "Do you call that dumb?" cried Joe, merrily enough. "Well, I s'pose she was obliged; but I don't think much of their gunnery, messmates," continued the man, as he made use of the glass again. "Oh, they're all at work, sir, re-loading, and it will soon be our turn. I propose, sir, that we let them give us another shot, and then dash in before they have time to re-load. They won't hit us; will they, boys?" "Not they!" came in chorus; but the next moment there was another report, and a smaller ball struck the water so near the boat that the spray was sent flying over them. "They've got the two small guns to bear, sir," said Joe quietly, "and there's somebody aboard as knows how to aim." He had hardly ceased speaking when there was another puff of smoke from the schooner's deck, accompanied by a whizzing, shrieking sound through the air just above their heads, while before they had glided with the stream another dozen yards there was a puff of smoke from the three-master's deck, followed directly after by a puff from the strange schooner, and as the reports of the two heavy guns were echoed from the great walls of verdure upon the river's bank, the air over their heads seemed full of shrieking missiles. "Grape and broken iron," growled Joe Cross. "Take the tiller, Harry Briggs. Step the mast, my lads, and run up the sail. Don't take no notice of their shot. It don't do to go mad, even if we do want to fight. Don't go to sleep over it, boys. We are in the breeze again, and we must run into shelter and think." A low growl came from the men as they rapidly obeyed orders, and not a man seemed to flinch as the long gun of the English schooner sent forth its heavy missile again, this time to strike the water some distance ahead and then rise and go crashing amongst the trees, whose leaves could be seen to come pattering down. Three more shots came skipping over the river before the boat began to glide swiftly, under the pressure of her sail, and yells of derision came ringing from the enemy as they saw the effect of their fire and the effort being made to escape. "Ah!" half sighed Rodd. "They've left off." "Ay, sir," said the coxswain. "They know they can't hit us now we are flying through the water; and the worst of it is, they think we are afraid and that we English dogs are running away as hard as we can, with our tails between our legs. But they aren't, sir; they're a-standing up stiff and at right angles, as our old man calls it, to our backs; eh, messmates?" "Ay, ay, Joe!" came from the crew, with a roar of laughter. "And as for my teeth--our teeth, I mean--they are about as sharp as sharp. But we have got the wind with us, gentlemen, and we will just run up-stream and round the bend yonder, so as to get behind the trees just somewhere where we can keep watch with that there little spy-glass, and by and by we will have another try. This go they a'n't played fair, but next time we'll make 'em." "How, Joe?" cried Rodd. "Well, sir, my idea is to tackle 'em man to man when they can't use their guns. I mean when it's too dark for them to aim; and then we can drop down upon them, or sail up to them fore or aft or either side, and them not know where to have us. It won't be shooting then, but cold steel, as we know how to use. Well, think of that now!" cried the man, as the boat was now literally skimming over the surface. "Call myself a leader! Why, as true as I am here, I never once thought of firing a shot. Why, we might have given them one volley, messmates. I don't suppose we should have hit, with them behind the bulwarks, but we might have startled the beggars at the guns. Never mind; we have saved our gunpowder. A man must miss sometimes, and this has been a bad 'un. Next time, though, my lads, we must make it a hit." The sailor ceased speaking, for his eyes had suddenly lighted upon Morny's face, and, as he afterwards said to Rodd, "Blest, sir, it sent a regular chill through me, for in all the hooroar of that job I forgot all about his father and our old man. But never say die, sir. They may have got away in one of the boats and be coasting along out to sea." CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN. FIREWORKS. The boat was well run up out of reach and sight of the enemy, a spot being selected where by a little manoeuvring beneath the shade of an overhanging tree a few boughs could be pressed aside and a watch kept upon the movements of those on board the schooners, in case of their boats coming in pursuit, or, what was quite probable, one or other of the vessels heaving anchor and coming up with the tide. But the time wore on without any sign being made, and as far as could be made out through the glass, the Spaniards seemed to be quite content with beating off the attack, and from their movements they had apparently come to the conclusion that they had seen the last of the occupants of the boat. But they did not know the temper of those on board, nor that a quiet little council of war had been going on, till, feeling the necessity for the men being properly prepared ready for any fresh attempt, the doctor suggested that a substantial meal should be made; and this was partaken of with a far better appetite than could have been expected. More than one plan had been suggested regarding the next proceedings. One was that they should steal down the river under cover of the darkness and go in search of their friends; another, that an attempt should be made, when the tide was flowing most swiftly, to cut the cables, in the hope that the vessels might drift ashore; but Joe Cross disposed of this directly as not likely to be of any permanent advantage, and declared that there was only one thing to be done, and that was, to follow up with another bold attempt to board. "You see, gentlemen," he said, "we never had a chance to get within touch of the Spanish mongrels. I don't want to brag, but with a fair start there aren't one of our chaps here as wouldn't take a good grip of his cutlass and go for any three of them; eh, messmates?" "In an or'nary way, Joe," said Harry Briggs. "Well, this is an or'nary way, messmate." "Nay; I call this a 'stror'nary one." "Well, speak out, messmate, and say what you mean." "Well, same as you do, Joe, only I put it a little different. Win or lose, I'd go in for tackling three of them in an or'nary way, but I says this is a 'stror'nary one, and you may put me down for six, and if I get the worst of it, well, that'll be a bit of bad luck. But anyhow I'd try." "And so say all of us," came from the rest. "Well," said Joe, laughing, "I never knew afore that I was the most modest chap in our crew." "Oh, I have no doubt about your courage, my lads," said the doctor, "nor that my nephew here, though he is a boy, will fight like a man; but if we are to do any good we must work with method against such great odds. So now, Cross, let us hear what you propose to do." "Try again, sir--in the dark--and play a bit artful." "But how?" cried Rodd eagerly. "Well, I'll tell you, Mr Rodd. I proposes that we just show ourselves once or twice towards evening, and then make a dash right across the river to hide again among the trees. That'll set 'em all thinking and asking one another what our game's going to be. Then we will lie up till it's dark, up with the grapnel, and steal quietly down the river, keeping pretty close to the trees, till we are about opposite the enemy, and then we'll make a mistake." "Make a mistake?" said Rodd. "I don't understand you." "Well, sir, I aren't done yet. What I mean is, have an accident like; one of us sneeze, or burst out a-coughing, and me break out into a regular passion, calling him as coughed a stoopid lubber and a fool for showing the enemy where we are. It will be best for me to be him as coughs or sneezes, and do it all myself so as not to have any muddle over it. Then I shouts out, `Pull for your lives, boys--pull!' And we makes no end of splashing as we goes on down the river, and all the time as supposing that it's going to be dark enough so as they can't fire at us. Then it seems to me, Dr Robson, sir, that the enemy will say to theirselves, `They want to get out to sea, and they are gone,' while as soon as we have got a bit lower down we'll lie up under the trees and wait till about an hour before daylight, and all as quiet and snug as so many rats. They'll think they have got rid of us, and all the while we shall be waiting our time to steal up again right by 'em and begin to come down once more from where they don't expect; and then--board." "Hah!" cried Rodd. "Capital!" "You see, gentlemen, it'll all have to be done as quiet as quiet, for they're sure to have a watch set. I know what out-and-outers they are to sleep, but it's too much to expect that they will have both eyes shut at a time like this. One way or t'other we shall have the tide with us, but even if we don't I think it might be managed, and anyhow we shall have no big guns at work upon us, and watch or no watch we'll manage to lay this 'ere boat alongside of our schooner, and if any one says anything again' our getting aboard, I should like to know why, and if we do get aboard I don't think it's in the schooner's new crew to drive us back again into the boat. There, gentlemen, that's all I know, and if some one else--the doctor here, or Mr Rodd, or Mr Morny, who is a French naval officer--can give us a better way, I'll follow anywhere, and I know the lads will come after me like men." There was silence for about a minute, and then the doctor coughed, drawing all eyes upon him. "There is no better way," he said. "It's a splendid plan." A murmur of assent arose, and Joe Cross looked quite modest. "But it will be some time yet before we can make our attempt," said the doctor; "and how are we to pass the weary time till then?" "Oh," said Joe cheerily, "we can watch these 'ere great smiling efts till then. They seem to be sailing about and watching us as if they'd got some sort of an idea that they were to have us to eat by and by, which I don't mean that they shall. And then there'll be making the false starts. I think, sir, as we'll make one or two, as if we was half afraid to make a dash for it, and that'll draw their fire." "But suppose they hit us, Joe," cried Rodd. "Oh, we must chance that, sir. They can't hit us. They couldn't hit a hay-stack in a ten-acre field; let alone a boat being pulled hard across stream. That'll be all right." And so it proved when Joe Cross put his tactics into force, making the men row out into the river, and then ordering them to lie on their oars, while Rodd watched the schooner's decks and announced that some of the men were busy about the guns and all crowding to the bulwarks to watch the proceedings of the boat. Then a feint was made in one direction, then in another, and at last Joe stood up in the stern, to begin gesticulating to the men, as if bullying them into making a bold dash to row swiftly down as near the farther shore as they could go. A minute later two puffs of smoke from different vessels shot out into the clear evening air, the balls ricochetting from the water in each case a few yards away. Then, with the men pulling as hard as ever they could, the boat's head was swung round, and rowing diagonally across the stream they made for the shelter of the shore from which they had come, the sail was hoisted, filled, and away they went till they were right round the bend and the anchored schooners were out of sight. "There, Mr Rodd, sir, what did I tell you?" cried Joe triumphantly. "I knew they couldn't hit us. Chaps like them ought never to be allowed to handle a gun." "Well, my man," said the doctor, "if the rest of your plan will only succeed like this we shall achieve a victory." "Nay, nay, sir; only a little boat action. There, my lads, now we'll have a rest. They're sure to think we have gone right up the river." "But they may send boats to follow us," suggested Rodd. "Certainly, sir, they may; but I don't think they will. They won't come to close quarters so long as they have got bulwarks to fight from behind and the guns to tackle us when we show. They think that we can't face the pieces. Well, I don't say as we are very ready to when there's another way round, but we haven't got long to wait before we must make another move, for the sun's down behind the trees, and I shouldn't be sorry if it was to come on a fog." But no fog came, only darkness the blackest of the black, and the few stars that peered out only looking strangely dim. The wind had fallen soon after the sail had been lowered and the mast laid well out of their way. One of the balls of spun yarn they had in the locker had been brought into use, cut into lengths, and the oars secured so that they could not slip away when they were left to swing, and at last under cover of the night the next part of Joe's programme was begun. It was harder work than had been anticipated, for though the current close in shore was slack, it was very difficult to keep at a respectable distance from the bank as they glided down-stream, while every now and then there was a swirl in the water suggesting that one of the great reptiles had been disturbed. But still the adventurers progressed, and their leader was keenly on the alert, looking out for the lights of the anchored vessels, ready to raise his false alarm as soon as he got abreast. But he looked in vain; the Spaniards had taken the precaution to cover their riding lights, and Joe Cross was about to draw his bow at a venture, when a sharp shock which made the boat thrill suggested that they had struck upon a floating tree trunk, washed probably out of the bank during the past flood. But the next moment they were aware that the boat's stem had come in contact with one of the crocodiles, which gave a tremendous plunge and began to send the water flying in all directions as it beat heavily upon the surface with its tail. "Starn all!" roared Joe Cross involuntarily, and then recollecting himself, he roared out, "Pull, lads! Pull for your lives!" For a light suddenly appeared some thirty or forty yards to their left, followed by another lower down the river. There was the buzz of voices upon the anchored vessels' decks, and Joe kept on yelling wildly to the men to pull, the noise and excitement being increased by the reports of muskets fired at them in a hurried ungoverned way, the flashes of light giving them faint instantaneous glimpses of the vessels and the faces of the men on board. "Steady, my lads, steady! Ease off," said Joe, "gently. We have got to come back again, you know, so we needn't go too far. Two or three cables' lengths is plenty. How do you think we're getting on, sir?" "Is it possible they may come in pursuit?" whispered the doctor. "Nay, sir, I don't think it's likely. If it was us aboard those schooners we should think that we--meaning us--there, sir--you know what I mean--we should think t'other side was making for the sea. Well, that's what they think, and now, sir, if they'll only show their lights for the rest of the night, why, so much the better for we." "I don't see why, Joe," said Rodd, after a few minutes' thought. "Well, I'll tell you, my lad," whispered Joe.--"Steady there--steady! I am going to lower down the grapnel, for I dursen't run in among the trees. They'd crackle too much if we tried to moor to a branch, and we don't want to capsize. Harry Briggs, look alive, and drop the flukes overboard; make fast, and let us swing." This was all done almost without a sound, and just then a faint gleam of light as the boat swung round showed them that certainly one of the anchored vessels was still showing her light, while as it swung round a little farther there were a couple more gleams higher up, as of distant stars. "That's all right, gentlemen. Now, Mr Rodd, sir, I haven't answered your question. Here's just enough breeze blowing to make me alter my plans, so after a bit we'll step the mast again and have the sail ready for hoisting, for we shall be able, with the lights to guide us, to sail close up under the farther shore and come down again from just the way they don't expect, run the boat alongside our schooner, and then one on us will hold on by the boat-hook, while with the rest it's all aboard, and the schooner's ours." That night seemed to Rodd almost as long, at times longer than the one he had passed in the tree. But here it certainly was shorter, as he afterwards declared, for about a couple of hours before daylight Joe whispered his belief that they had none of them heard the slightest sound from the direction of the lights, that if any one on board the schooner's deck would be sleeping it would be then, and that they must start at once. There was no question of all being ready, and at the whispered orders Harry Briggs hauled softly upon the grapnel line, while very slowly and silently the yard ran up the little mast, and the boat began to careen over as the sail filled. Then with Joe Cross at the tiller she began to glide up-stream, the grapnel was lifted on board without a sound, and silently and steadily they began to cross the river diagonally till they were as near as the steersman dared lay the little craft to the farther shore. Under his skilful management all went well, and so silently that nothing but the faint pattering lap of the water against the bows could be heard. To the two lads, though, that sounded unusually loud, as they crouched down involuntarily but quite unnecessarily lower and lower in the boat lest they should be seen, the light hoisted in each schooner seeming bound to show the white sail to the watch of each vessel in turn. But no alarm was raised; not a sound reached the adventurers, and to Rodd it seemed as if, after terrible periods of agony, three heavy loads had been lifted from his breast. He wanted to whisper a few words to Morny, who all through had been seated by his side, but nothing but the pressure of hand upon arm passed between them, while they could hardly hear the doctor breathe. At last, though, that period of the terrible suspense was at an end, and the third light they had passed, that of the _Maid of Salcombe_, was beginning to grow fainter, and being left behind. "Now, what next?" thought Rodd. "How much longer shall we have to wait before the attack is made?" The answer came very shortly after, for Joe Cross bore lightly upon the tiller, sent the boat gliding round in a wide circle which ended by bringing the three mooring lights they had left behind all in a line, and then as they began to glide down-stream he whispered-- "It's now or never, sir.--Cutlashes, my lads; in five minutes we shall be alongside. You, Harry Briggs, shy the grapnel on deck and make fast; we shall soon be all aboard. Then come and help us all you can." There was a low deep breath like a thrill passing through the boat, a peculiar sound of movement which Rodd knew was the men drawing their cutlasses, and then as his heart went heavily thump, thump, thump within his breast, he felt that two hands were seeking for his, and as he raised it towards the right it was grasped firmly a moment by Uncle Paul's, and the next moment, as it was released, by that of Morny. It was short work, for the boat was gliding steadily down, and directly after the lad felt Joe Cross bending over him. "She's just right, sir," he whispered. "Ketch hold of the tiller, and keep her as she is. I must go for'ard now to lead." The boat swayed a little as the man stepped between his mates to the front. Then as soon as the distance was considered right a light rattling sound was heard, and Rodd was conscious of the sail being lowered, though he could see nothing of it, while almost the next minute there was a faint shock as the boat glided against the side of the schooner. Then Joe Cross's cry, "All aboard!" rang out, followed by a stentorian cheer, and amidst the rush and hurry the tiller slipped from the boy's hand and he was climbing over the thwarts to spring into the fore-chains. Then he tottered as if about to fall back into the boat, but a big hand grasped him by the shoulder, steadied him for a moment, and then he was with the little party dashing side by side into what seemed to be a chaos of savage yells and shrieks which rose in wild confusion from the gang of Spaniards who had sprung up from their sleep, where they lay scattered about the deck. English shouts to come on, Spanish yells, wild mongrel cries, a shriek or two of despair, a heavy plunge followed by another and another, savage blows, and utterances such as fierce men make in the wild culmination of their rage; then plunge after plunge in the water alongside and astern, the splash of swimmers, strange lashings about in the river, followed by shrieks and gurgling cries, and then, heard over all, the combined voices of so many stout Englishmen in a fierce-- "_Hurrah_!" "Now then, all of you," shouted Joe Cross. "There's a lot of them down below. Close that cabin hatch. Two on you to the fo'c'sle; serve that the same. If you run against anybody in the dark, tell the beggar he'll be safer overboard than here." But there proved to be no one below in the men's quarters, and after making quite sure the two men returned to their comrades. Then-- "Where's Mr Rodd?" shouted Joe. "Here, Joe," came out of the darkness. "Mr Morny?" "I'm here," came in a breathless voice. "And the doctor?" "Helpless, Joe. My ankle's sprained." "Bad luck to it," cried the man. "Where's Harry Briggs?" "All right, mate," came in a gruff surly voice; "but you needn't have been in such a hurry to get it done." "Hurry?" cried Joe. "Why, it's only just in time. Later than we thought. It's getting light. Now then, who else is hurt?" There was a growl or two, and Joe shouted again-- "Is any one killed? Bah! Won't say so if he is! What about that boat, Harry?" "She's fast enough, messmate." "Hah! That's right. Now then, hold hard a moment. Hear 'em aboard the other boats?" The question was unnecessary, for shouts and yells for help were evidently rising from men who had swum down-stream to the sides of their consorts, and ceased as they were dragged on board. But a low buzzing murmur kept on, as from a couple of wildly-excited crowds. Then a sharp shrill voice began giving orders in Spanish, one being followed up with a pistol shot, which was succeeded by a yell and a partial cessation of the buzz of excitement that sounded as if coming from a swarm of human hornets. "That was the Spanish captain's voice, I am sure," cried Rodd. "Eight, sir," shouted Joe. "I'd swear to it. Well, he's getting part of his dose. Oh, if it wasn't so dark! Big gun's crew!" he cried. "Is the tackle with her?" "Ay, ay!" came in answer, after a short bustle of movement, in which trained men took their places. "Here, run the rammer down her throat, my lads. She may be loaded." There was the sound of the stout ash staff passing down the bore of the gun, and the answer came-- "Right!" "Good," replied Joe. "Lower down that light. We must use that--if we fire. But we want fresh charges, and there will be no more here." There was a quick search made, but without result, and Joe Cross stood silent for a few moments. "Well," cried the doctor, "why don't you send below, to the magazine?" "Cabin hatch is closed, sir, and some of the slavers are below. This way, my lads--cutlashes. We must have them out." "Of course!" cried Rodd excitedly, and Morny uttered a suppressed hiss, as he pressed forward, sword in hand. "Yes, gentlemen," said Joe; "it's their doing, and they must chance the crocs, for we must clear the vessel before it's broad day." At that moment there was a crashing sound as if the cabin hatch was being forced open, and as Joe Cross, followed by the rest, dashed aft, there was a yell, a rush, and some eight or ten of the mongrel enemy forced their way on deck, to be met at once by the schooner's crew, who charged at them as men-of-war's men know how to charge. There was a short encounter, the clash of steel against steel, and the fresh-comers who had taken refuge below began to give way, and in a couple of minutes more the deck was once more cleared, the splashing and plunging of swimming men making for the rapidly dimming light of the next schooner being followed by more blood-curdling yells and groans, mingled with cries for help, while a few minutes later a boat could be faintly seen and efforts were evidently being made to drag the swimmers on board. "Now then for the gun!" cried Joe. "What are you going to do?" asked Rodd, who with Morny kept close to the coxswain's side. "Fight, sir," replied Cross fiercely, "before they begin to fight us. See to the other guns, my lads. The way's open to the magazine now. It'll be light directly, and that Spanish skipper won't leave us long before he begins.--There, what did I say?" For all at once the meaning of the Spaniards' orders, enforced by a pistol shot, was explained by a bright flash, the roar of a heavy gun, and the whistle of a shot just over the speaker's head. A dead silence now fell for a few moments upon the deck of the _Maid of Salcombe_. There was a little bustle of preparation, and then a period of waiting, during which Joe Cross carefully sighted the loaded gun, depressing her muzzle all he could, the two lads the while listening excitedly to the stir and orders which came from the Spanish three-master's deck. "Oh, fire, Joe--fire!" whispered Rodd. "We shall have another shot from her directly." "Yes, my lad, I know; but I want to make sure of a little more light.--_Fire_!" he said, directly afterwards. A spark was seen to sink at once upon the touch-hole of the long gun, there was a deep roar as she seemed to leap from the deck, a heavy instantaneous crash, and then a return shot which went wide of their schooner. "You've hit, Joe," cried Rodd excitedly, as he stood amidst the smoke, which began to spread about where they gathered. "Yes, sir, I hit," said the man, with a half-laugh, as the crew of the gun busied themselves sponging out and preparing to re-load. "They pretty well filled her to the muzzle, but they got what they meant for us. But hallo! what's the meaning of this 'ere? What's the matter with us now?" Only this, that the _Maid of Salcombe_ was adrift and threatening, if something were not done to bring her up, to drift ashore not far from where the faint morning light revealed the brig lying right over on her side as helpless as any hulk. Joe Cross, closely followed by the lads, ran forward to the bows, Rodd one side, Joe and Morny the other. "Why, the cable must have broke adrift," cried the coxswain, leaning over, to see that the great rope was hanging down straight from the starboard hawse-hole. "Cut, Joe, cut," shouted Rodd. "Quick! Look out!" For as he had leaned over the bulwarks just above the larboard hawse-hole, a great swarthy mulatto, knife in hand, was climbing up, and as soon as he caught sight of the lad he made for him at once. Rodd stood upon his guard and managed to strike aside the thrust made at him by the mulatto; but the latter was lithe and active as a monkey. He struck at the boy again, and as Rodd gave way the fellow threw himself on to the rail and sprang over, but only to be cut down by Joe Cross, who had answered the boy's call. It was the saving of Rodd's life, but the mulatto was dangerous still, and recovering himself he made a dash at Morny, who stepped aside, while, with all the ferociousness of a Malay running amok, the man sprang aft, avoided two or three cuts made at him by the sailors, and then plunged over the side, to begin swimming towards the three-master, which was in the act of sending another shot at the doctor's vessel. This one crashed through the bulwarks, sending the splinters flying in all directions, and making the coxswain shout to his men to stand firm, as, seeing their perilous position, he hurried to their help, for the big schooner had slipped her cable, a sail had been run up, and she was beginning to answer her helm, while the _Maid of Salcombe_ was drifting helplessly towards the shore. It was a choice between hoisting sail and letting go another anchor while the chance was there, as the two vessels forged slowly ahead preparing to send in another shot. This latter in his excitement Joe Cross essayed to do, striking their enemy just at the water-line as she passed them, while now the slaver's sister craft began firing as she too, hoisting sail, was coming up-stream. "Ah!" panted the sailor, as he turned to Uncle Paul. "Here's your peaceful schooner, sir, as trades in palm-oil! Why, they are pirates and slavers, sir, and I've done it now. Too late, my lads--too late!" he cried to the men, who had let go the other anchor. "Nothing can save us now. We are going ashore." "Oh, don't give up, man," cried the doctor angrily. "I won't, sir. None of us will; but--There, I said as much. We just touched bottom then. There she goes again! And in another minute we shall be fast in the mud, and they'll have nothing to do but powder away at us till we are a wreck. Slew that there gun round, boys, and let's give her another shot or two while there's a chance." "No, no," cried Rodd. "Not at that! Fire at the other. Can't you see, Joe? Uncle! Morny! The three-master's going down!" It was quite true, for the first shot from the _Maid of Salcombe_, that sent from the long gun, crammed as Joe had said almost to the muzzle, had torn into the slaver just below water-line. The second had been just as effective in its aim, the water had been pouring in ever since, and now, as she was evidently settling down by the head, her guns were forsaken, all discipline was at an end, and her crew had made a rush for the boats, which were soon after overcrowded and being pushed off by their occupants to make for the third schooner. This last, fairly well managed, came slowly on, firing from time to time at the English craft, which, had now swung round upon her heel and lay bowsprit to the shore in a falling tide. As far as was possible her guns were slewed round, and a steady reply to the enemy's fire was kept up; but her doom seemed to be sealed, the Spaniard being able to choose her own position, while minute by minute the English vessel was getting more helpless. "Well, gentlemen, what's it to be?" said Joe, as he stood coolly wiping the blackened perspiration from his forehead. "Keep on firing to the last," said the doctor sternly. "Better die like men than surrender and be murdered, for after what has passed there can be no mercy here." "That's right, sir," said the man, "but there's the young gentlemen, and we don't any of us want to die if we can help it." "Why, you are not beaten, are you, Joe?" cried Rodd fiercely. "Not a bit of it, sir, but here's our schooner, and there's Mr Morny's brig. It's no use to make an ugly face over a nasty dose. We are beaten, and nothing that we could do could keep that slaver from seeing that she's won." "Go on firing, and sink her," cried Rodd. "Look at the other one," and he pointed to the three-master, whose decks looked as if they were awash. "Well, sir, that's what we have been trying to do; but she won't sink. How so be, here goes, my lad, for another try, and--What's the meaning of that?" For all at once through the smoke that rose from the schooner they could see that something fresh had taken place--what, they could not make out, but it was something important, and one of the enemy's smaller guns was fired in the other direction. "Why, there must be help coming from down the river," cried the doctor excitedly. "Yes, hark at that!" For in reply to the schooner's gun a desultory series of musket shots began to ring out, and encouraged by this and the knowledge that help must be at hand, the little English crew sent forth a cheer, dragged the long gun more and more round, and sent one of the most successful shots they had fired crash into the enemy's stern. To the astonishment of all, the firing on board the enemy ceased; another sail was run up, and as it filled the schooner swung round upon another tack and began to sail steadily down the river, clearing the way for those on board the English vessel to see a couple of well-manned boats being rowed steadily up-stream, with men in the stern-sheets keeping up a musketry fire. "Quick!" shouted Moray. "Another shot! Friends! Friends!" "Yes, sir," said Joe quietly, "but I don't see how it's to be done. Yes, we might do it from a little gun;" and he ran with a part of the crew to try and slew her round. "No good, gentlemen," he said. "By the time we can get a shot off we shall risk hitting those boats, whatever they are, and they are coming to our help. Here, hasn't anybody got a glass?" "No," cried Rodd; "it was left in the boat." "Well, there's one in the cabin. Here, one of you run down." "No, no," cried Morny excitedly; "they're our boats. Look! That's my father in one," he cried hysterically. "And if that aren't our old man in the other my name aren't Joe Cross!" CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT. THE HELP THAT CAME. In those brief few minutes despair and dogged determination were turned into the mingled emotions of triumph and delight, for the two boats, after giving two or three volleys at the schooner, whose crew contented themselves with hoisting a couple more sails to increase their speed, came on as hard as the men could row, their crews cheering in French and English with all their might, while in the stern of one the Count stood up waving his cap; in that of the other Captain Chubb, looking grim and stern, stood like a statue, his left foot on the thwart before him, his right resting upon the muzzle of a musket. "Here, I don't feel as if I'd got a cheer left in me, lads," cried Joe Cross to his tired companions on board the stranded schooner; "but we must give them one, or they'll think we aren't much obliged to them for coming, and there's no gammon about it, we are, and no mistake." "Cheer, yes!" cried Rodd. "With all your might, my lads. Take your time from me. Now then, as you never cheered before--Hooray!" There was no want of heartiness either in that or in those which followed, to be returned as enthusiastically from the two boats, which were rapidly nearing, so that in a few minutes Rodd and his uncle were wringing the hands of the bluff old skipper, while it was observable that all three kept their backs to the French Count and his son till they came up together, when the three started round in surprise, going through a curious kind of pantomime as if they were astonished to see the Frenchmen there. Meanwhile a regular fraternisation had gone on between the crews, and after a mere glance at the three masts of the schooner, which were standing out of the water about a couple of hundred yards away, the skipper's whole attention was directed to their own vessel, whose keel was now fast in the mud, and which was beginning to heel over slightly. "Then I suppose you took her again, doctor?" he said gruffly. "Well, hardly," said Uncle Paul. "It was Cross and the lads who did that." "More shame to him, then," growled the skipper. "I should have thought you were seaman enough, Joe Cross, to have kept her afloat and not run her aground like this." "Well, I do call that ungrateful," cried Rodd. "I say, uncle, oughtn't he to have saved the schooner from being taken?" "That's one for me, doctor," said the skipper, with a grim smile and a twinkle in his eye. "The boys of this here generation seem to grow up pretty sharp. But he's quite right. They pretty well caught a weasel asleep that time." "But how was it?" cried Rodd. "How was it, my lad? Why, we was hard at work one morning, when up the river comes another of them nice respectable schooners in the oil trade. Oil trade, indeed! Rank slavers, that's what they were, carrying on trade with one of those murderous chiefs up country! Set of black Satans as attack villages and carry off the poor wretches to sell to your oil traders for sending off to the plantations. Well, one don't like killing fellow-creatures, or seeing them pulled down below by the crocs, but somehow I don't feel so very uncomfortable about them as we had to fight with and have got the worst of it. What are you smiling at, young Squire Rodd?" "I was only thinking how you always hated the slave trade, captain." "Right," said Captain Chubb, with a friendly nod. "Well, the schooner sends her skipper aboard the three-master. Then he comes to where I was busy at work with the men, putting the finishing touches to the brig, and tells me and the Count a long tale about his having come up to join his friend the Spanish captain, who he hears has gone up the river for a row. Then he goes back to his schooner, makes her snug, and it seemed as if him and his men had all gone to sleep, when it was me." "You?" cried Rodd wonderingly. "Well, what they call metyphorically, my boy, for I was wide awake enough; but I couldn't see anything beyond the _Dagobert_, nor the Count neither, for he wanted her afloat. Then the time went on, and all very quiet, till just in the middle of one of the hottest days when I was in full feather, thinking that I could tell the Count that night that the job was done, and we could let her sit the water again next day when the tide served, all at once we had a surprise. There were only four or five men aboard the schooner, and I suppose they were keeping their watch, but just all at once a couple of boats rowed up to them, one from one schooner, one from the other, and before any of us knew what was up, our fellows were swimming for the shore, and if it hadn't been for the Count, who was on the look-out for crocs, and let them have two barrels twice over, neither of the poor fellows would have joined their mates as had been working with me." The speaker turned to the Count, who nodded his head quickly, and then looked at his son as much as to say, Yes, this is quite true. "Well," continued the skipper, "I felt as if all the wind had been knocked out of me, and as soon as I could speak and quite understand that my schooner had been took, I began to bully-rag the poor lads who had just escaped with their lives, for, not having time to get a gun or a cutlass, they had been almost as helpless on board as they were in the water among them reptiles. I couldn't even believe it then, and began questioning the lads, and you might have knocked me down with a feather, as people say, and the Count there with another, when they all swore that our Spanish skipper had led the men from his three-master in one of the boats. Then we began to see the worst." The skipper turned with a questioning look at the Count again, to receive a second grave nod, while this time the latter laid his hand upon his son's shoulder, and a long eager glance passed between them. "Well, I don't know that I have much more to say," said the skipper, "only that it was a bad job, being a fresh one we had got to tackle and meant to do. The Count here fitted me and my lads up with some weepuns, and we settled that as soon as it was dark we'd man two of the brig's boats, and board first one and then the other of the two schooners. Well, we tried, but they were waiting for us, and I don't know how we escaped, for they met us with such a fire that if we had kept on both boats must have been sunk, and we never got within touch of either of the enemy, but drifted down with the tide; and somehow just then I suppose there must have been a flood somewhere up the river, down came the water in a way that we couldn't meet, and it was only by pretty good seamanship on the part of the Frenchmen more than ours, though we helped all we knew, that we were able to keep afloat; and since then we have been right down to the sea, and it's been very hard to get enough to eat. But somehow we managed to keep alive, shooting what we could and catching a fish or two now and then as we came up the river again. For of course we were not going to give up without finishing our job; and it seems to me that we got here just at the right time, and found that things weren't half so bad as we thought; eh, Count?" "My friend," replied the latter, "how can I ever repay you?" "Oh, let's talk about that, sir, when I have done something to keep the _Maid of Salcombe_ upright and finished my other job and the brig's afloat, which it seems to me we can manage at high water; but I never bargained for having our schooner to set right too through the lubberly management of that chap Joe Cross. There," he cried angrily, "I can't and won't say another word till I have had something to eat, for we are all half starved." "Get on board the schooner, then, every one," cried the doctor, "for I have got my work here." It was a fact, for now the fight was over the men began to stiffen, and several unexpectedly turned faint, it proving that though not a single man was seriously wounded, nearly every one of those who had followed Joe Cross in his gallant achievement of boarding the schooner, and in beating down the slaver's crew when they forced their way out of the cabin, was more or less injured and had been doing his best to hide the knife stabs and contusions he had received. It was during the next two or three days that the doctor proved that he was in his element, and that his knowledge of natural history was not confined to his ordinary scientific pursuits, for no surgeon could have been more skilful in his treatment of wounds, no physician more able in alleviating the fever which supervened. It was a busy time for all, for not only was there the grounded schooner to guard from going over, but strict watch to keep for the return of enemies, and then, when the high tide served, all hands were at work, save the poor disappointed fellows whose injuries kept them to their bunks, in raising the brig to her old proud position. As she floated out, herself once more, and dropped anchor in the stream, the men literally yelled themselves hoarse, while on the following day at the Count's request both vessels were dropping down with the tide, all on board eager to leave behind the river, which in spite of its many beauties was too full of painful recollections for its waters to be recalled without horror and disgust. CHAPTER FORTY NINE. THE COUNT'S APPEAL. The south-west coast of Africa was fading away in the distance as the two consorts with their natural history seekers rode over the dazzling silver sea. The lads were abaft the schooner's wheel, quite inseparable now, looking down through the eddying water at the fish, which seemed to have taken the swift vessel for some mighty companion of their own nature, in whose wake they could swim along in peace without fear of lesser enemies. About an hour before, the brig's gig had brought the Count and his son alongside the schooner, and the former was below in the doctor's museum-like laboratory, listening to his learned friend's remarks upon some fresh object that, now they had returned to the ways of peace, had been fished up from just below the surface of the sea. Four of the schooner's crew were under an awning, lying upon a couple of doubled-up spare sails which had been spread upon the deck, and the two lads had been seated with them chatting for some little time before they strolled aft. "How well your men look," Morny said suddenly--"all except Joe Cross." "Yes, he looks rather thin and pale, doesn't he?" said Rodd quickly; "but he isn't ill. You saw how full of fun he was, and ready to joke about having been bled too much. Uncle says he'll soon be well again, for he's in such good spirits. But uncle told me quietly that it was a wonder to him none of the poor fellows were killed. But oh, I say, isn't this nice!" "Lazy," said Morny. "Oh, I don't call it lazy. It's so jolly to be able to hang about in the sunshine without feeling that there's some great trouble coming on directly." "Ah, yes," replied Morny, with a sigh, "and that perhaps you may not live to see me next day." "Well," said Rodd, "I don't think it's lazy. Uncle says that after you have been at work very hard it's like unstringing the bow; and so it is. I want to begin fishing or dredging or sounding again. I don't want any more shooting. Now, do you know what I should like just now?" "No." "I'd soon show you then that I wasn't lazy. I should like to see one of those beautiful ripples two or three hundred yards off which show that there's a shoal of fish feeding on the transparent what-you-may-call-'ems--I forget Uncle Paul's name for them." "Well, if that would give you any satisfaction," said Morny, laughing, "I wish that a shoal would rise." "Don't you be in such a hurry; I hadn't finished. I was going to say I should then like to see one of those great sea-serpent-like creatures rise slowly from below, to begin feeding on the fish--one of those great scientific wonders that you and your father are trying to discover and capture; for that's it, I suppose, though you do keep so squat about it." "Ah-h-h!" said Morny, with a sigh; and he glanced sidewise at his young English companion. "It is quite a joke, that it is," continued Rodd. "It's just as if you were jealous and afraid that uncle and I would get beforehand with you, and win the credit of the discovery for old England, instead of you carrying it off for your _la belle France_." "Ah!" sighed Morny again, with a sad smile upon his lips. "You French chaps are so sentimental. _La belle France_ indeed! Just as if old England or the British Isles weren't quite as beautiful! Only we don't go shouting about it everywhere. I say, Morny, you don't half believe in me." "It is false!" cried the young Frenchman angrily. "Why, I believe in you more than in any one living--except my father." "Oh, indeed!" cried Rodd banteringly. "And here since I have known you I have told you everything till I haven't a secret that I have kept from you." "Why, you have had no secrets," said Morny. "Well--no; I suppose you couldn't call them secrets. But you've got one, and you have never let it out to me." "No," said Morny gravely, "because it was not mine to tell. You don't want me to be dishonourable, Rodd?" "Why, of course I don't, old chap. I don't want you to tell me till you like, only it is rather a joke sometimes that you make such a mystery of what uncle and I know as well as can be." "You know!" cried Morny sharply. "Why, of course I do. It's what I say. You want--I mean, your father does--to carry off the honour of having solved the mystery of the great fish or reptile that has been talked about for the last hundred years. I say, though, there's that other great old-world thing that they find in the rocks. What's his name?" Morny shook his head. "Here, I've got it--the sea-sawyer! That isn't quite right, but it sounds something like it. Why, he must have been just like a great crocodile." "Ugh! Don't talk about them," said Morny, with a shudder. "Eh, why not? There are none of them here. I wish we could have caught one to dry or stuff, or keep in spirits. I mean quite a little one, you know. Ah, those were rather horrid times, though, and I shan't want a specimen reptile to make me remember them." "No," said Morny musingly; "we want nothing to make us recollect them." "But I suppose it is nearly all over now, for our voyages will soon come to an end." "Oh no?" cried Morny eagerly. "Why should they, now that your uncle and my father have become such friends?" The lads both started, for those of whom they were speaking just then strolled up behind them. "Well, boys," said the Count gravely, "what are you two talking about?" "Rodd was saying that he supposed our friendship would soon come to an end." "Indeed?" cried the Count, raising his eyebrows and turning to give a meaning glance at Uncle Paul. "Why should it, eh, my lad? I thought you and Morny had become such fast friends." "Yes, so we have, sir," cried Rodd, flushing; "but I didn't quite mean that, for I hope we shall often meet; but I thought that now we are out at sea again we should be separating. The brig will be going one way, and we shall be going another." "Do you wish this to be so?" said the Count, after another glance at Uncle Paul. "I? Oh no, sir." "And you, Morny, my son?" "I, my father? They should not go away if I could stop it." "You hear, doctor? Is not this strange after what we have been saying in the cabin. I tell you again, before long I will be quite open with you about the object of my voyage. At present I ask you not to press me." "I have told you," said the doctor, smiling, "that I will not. I have told you also that my object for the short time that I shall stay down here in the south is to keep close inshore, while you tell me that you wish to be able to sail right out to sea, and free to carry out your project, whatever it may be." "Yes, yes, and I have told you too that you could be of the greatest service to me by following close at hand, and that I should always be most grateful if without injury to your own cruise you would keep in company with me for the present." "Ready to help in case of further emergencies?" "No," cried the Count warmly; "my ideas were not so selfish as that. But tell me this--is it urgent that we should part company now? I mean, would you suffer loss, or would your own researches be injured by keeping in company with us for say another month?" "No-o," said the doctor carelessly; "I am just as likely to make discoveries far out to sea as close inshore." "Then stay with us for the present. I ask it as a friend, while I guarantee that you shall not suffer by what you do for me." "Well," said the doctor, slowly and thoughtfully, as he looked at the two lads, who were intently listening for his words, "what do you think, Rodd? Shall we sail in company with the brig for a little longer?" "Am I to be judge, uncle?" said the boy merrily. "Yes, if you like." "Well, then," said the lad, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, as he found that Morny with lips parted was gazing at him with a look of appeal, "you see, uncle, we have been together a good while now, and though we tried to help the brig we seem to have dragged it into a good deal of mischief." "What are you saying, Rodd?" cried Morny passionately. "Oh, I mean that we have helped you a bit, but you have been very unlucky since we have been together. Still, if Morny doesn't mind risking it, and doesn't mind putting up with my jokes about _la belle France_, and yours, uncle, about the Emperor Napoleon--" Morny started, and looked sharply at his father. "--though by this time," continued Rodd, "I suppose you, sir, have found out that at heart uncle is very fond of the Emperor, and admires him very much--" "You impudent young scoundrel, how dare you!" growled the doctor. "Bah!" he muttered to himself, "Temper!" Then turning quickly to the Count, he said almost apologetically, "Don't take any notice. I have spoilt him, sir; I have spoilt him. Look here, my dear sir; I shall very much regret the day when we have to part, for my own sake and for my nephew's, for since he has had the advantage of your son's companionship I have been in hopes that he would acquire something of his refinement and polish, and that it might lead in time to his achieving to somewhat of the carriage of a gentleman. I regret to say that so far he is as rough and boorish as ever. Still, in the hope that every one of his opportunities may not be thrown away, I shall be glad to prolong the intimacy a little longer. There, sir," he snapped out, as he turned sharply upon Rodd, "what do you say to that?" "It's all right, Morny," said the boy quietly. "Go on polishing. I'll be more attentive now, uncle." Morny gave him a quick nod, and turned then to grasp Uncle Paul's hand, while the brig and the schooner went sailing on westward ho! CHAPTER FIFTY. THE DOCTOR WILL NOT BELIEVE. It was about a fortnight later, during which time, in deliciously calm weather, the two vessels had been cruising here and there, to the great satisfaction of the doctor, who was in a high state of delight, for he had been harvesting, as he termed it--bottling, Joe Cross said-- numberless specimens of the strange creatures that swarm upon the surface of the southern Atlantic. And as they had got out so far, the doctor had been sounding Captain Chubb as to the possibility and advisability of making for that strange volcanic island known as Trinidad--not the richly verdant island of the same name that seems as if it had been once a portion of the north-east shoulder of leg-of-mutton-like South America, but the solitary island right away south-east from Bahia, which stands lonely in the ocean, the remains of the great volcanic eminence swept by the terrific seas and tempests that come up from the South Polar Ocean--an island that is the habitat of strange sea-birds, the haunt of fish, and the home and empire of those most hideous of the crustaceans, the land crabs. Captain Chubb grunted and said he would think about it and consult the chart. As for the brig, Rodd did not banter Morny upon the subject when he came aboard, as he did pretty well every day when Rodd and his uncle had not visited the brig; but it was a standing joke between the lad and Uncle Paul that King Dagobert had not sighted the sea-serpent as yet. "And it's my belief, Pickle, that they are going the wrong way to work." "Why, what would you do, then, uncle?" "Well, I'll tell you, my boy. He's a very shy bird, and if he knows you are looking for him he won't show. If you and I take up the search I tell you what we'll do; we won't look for him; we'll let him look for us." "According to that, then, uncle, we are more likely to find him than they are." "Of course, my boy. Why, haven't we proved it?" They were down in the laboratory, where Joe Cross had been helping them over the bottling, but he had gone up on deck, the day's task being over, and the skipper now came down, looked and snorted at the fresh regiment of bottles, and made some remark about the doctor seeming out of spirits. But he did not mean it for a joke. Captain Chubb never did joke, for he was one of those men who pass their lives looking out for squalls, and his allusion was to the emptiness of the doctor's set of kegs. "Well, it doesn't matter," said the doctor. "Sit down and let's talk. I have got quite as many preparations in spirits as will last me for years. By the way, did you think any more about Trinidad?" "Deal," said the skipper shortly, and he gave the fixed table a rap with a roll of paper which he had brought down tucked under his arm. "Here's the chart." "Well?" said the doctor, wincing, as the skipper unrolled the map on the dresser-like table, and catching up first one specimen bottle and then another used them as paper-weights to keep the chart flat, while he began to operate with his big rough, brown, index finger. "Here y'are," he said, "and its character written about it: currents, shoals, stormy seas, all kinds of dangers. Bad landing-place; very rocky--place if you go to you ought to stop away." "Sounds hopeful; eh, Pickle?" "Oh, but curious, uncle. I should like to go." "Well, then, you won't," said the skipper gruffly, "because your uncle's too wise to tell me to risk the schooner in such a sea." "Humph!" grunted the doctor. "I'll obey your orders, sir, and sail anywhere," continued the skipper, frowning very heavily, "but it's my duty to tell you when you are going wrong." "Of course," said the doctor, "and as you give the place such a bad character, captain, we'll disappoint Rodd and stay away." "Right," cried the skipper. Then after drawing a deep breath he looked fiercely at Rodd, and then glared at the doctor, who opened his eyes a little, wonderingly. "Do you know where you are now?" said the skipper. "Well, not exactly, only that we have been on ground rich in objects such as I wish to collect, and--excuse me, captain--that bottle--your elbow. I wouldn't have an accident to that for the world." "Well, then," continued the skipper, very gruffly, as he dabbed his big finger down in the middle of the chart, "you are here." "Saint Helena," said Rodd, after a quick glance at the chart. "Right," grunted the skipper. "Now, Dr Robson, am I to speak out, or will you send young Mr Rodd here up on deck first?" The doctor stared. "I see no reason for sending my nephew away," he said coldly. "He and I have the fullest confidence in one another." Rodd, who was standing leaning over the map, moved very slightly, but somehow his left hand stole on to his uncle's shoulder. "Right, then," said the skipper harshly. "It is my duty, Dr Robson, to tell you that you are in a false position." "Then, Captain Chubb, as my navigator in whom I have the most perfect trust, it is my duty to tell you that you ought to be on deck sailing us out of it as soon as you can." "Come down here on purpose," said the skipper shortly, "and here goes. Now then, doctor, you are such a busy man, and you are so wrapped up in your fads about natural history and that sort of thing, that anybody artful could take you in and cheat you as easy as swallowing a gooseberry." "Well, you have a nice opinion of me, Captain Chubb!" "I have, sir--a splendid opinion of you," cried the skipper, "and I'd say it before all the judges in the land--I mean at home--that there was never a more straightforward gentleman made than you. I'd do anything for you." "Hear, hear! Bravo, Captain Chubb!" cried Rodd. "What about me?" "You, youngster? Well, you aren't half a bad 'un as boys go. But look here, doctor; time's come for me to speak out. You are a bit too innocent." "Am I? Well, captain, that's better than being a bit too guilty; eh, Rodd?" "A deal, uncle. But what's the matter, captain?" "Why, this here, my lad. I can't stand still no longer and see your uncle being made a cat's-paw of." "Cat's-paw, eh, captain?" said the doctor. "Let's see, that means to fetch the roasted chestnuts out of the fire. This must apply to you, Master Rodd." "To me, uncle?" cried the boy, aghast. "Yes; I don't know anybody else whom Captain Chubb looks upon as a monkey." "Nay-y-y! I mean that there French Count." "Stop!" cried the doctor sternly. "Mind what you are saying, Captain Chubb. Count Des Saix is my friend--a gentleman, a nobleman." "I dessay he may be at home," said the skipper, meeting Rodd's indignant eyes, "but he aren't a gentleman, or he wouldn't be making such a tool of you. Now, don't you put yourself in a fury, doctor, or you'll be saying words you'll be sorry for arter. A gentleman like you as thinks, and is scientific too, has no business to go in a passion. That's all very well for a skipper as has got to manage a lot of awkward sailor chaps; if he didn't use words sometimes there'd be no getting a ship along. But you have got to take it cool like a Ann Eliza, and hear it right through, and then set yourself down and judge according." "But look here, Captain Chubb," said the doctor angrily, "I cannot be silent and let you malign my friend." "He aren't your friend, sir; he's only a Frenchman, and though I've done my duty by him right through, I allers felt as if I couldn't trust him." "Why not?" said the doctor hotly. "Because he being a natural born enemy of an Englishman, it didn't seem right that he should pretend to be such a friend of yourn." "Why not, sir?" cried the doctor warmly. "Now, none of that, doctor. I did warn you about not getting put out. Don't you call me, _sir_, 'cause I don't like it." "Look here, Captain Chubb," cried the doctor, "I am sure you mean well." "Thankye, sir; I do." "Then why have you taken this prejudice against the Count?" "That's a straight question, sir. Now let me ask you one. What's he doing here?" "Upon some kind of research." "Not him, sir! That's what he's told you, and it aren't honest. He's carrying on a game of his own behind you; and the boy's as bad as the old man." "How dare you!" flashed out Rodd. "Silence, Rodney!" "I can't be silent, uncle. I won't stand here and listen to such an outrageous charge against those two gentlemen. I don't know what has come to Captain Chubb, but he ought to be made to apologise before he leaves this place." "Well, he aren't going to be made to, young pepper-caster," growled the captain. "Honest men don't apologise for telling the truth, even if it don't taste nice." "Look here, Chubb," said the doctor, "we are having too many words. Let's have a clear understanding about what you think." "Right, sir. Let's get to the bottom of it at once. You want an explanation. It's this now. I have been very suspicious from the first. What about this 'ere Count and his son? First you knowed of 'em was as they was prisoners at Dartmoor. Well, it sounds bad for a man to be a prisoner, but as he was took in war that don't count for much, so we'll let that go. Next thing is, you runs agen 'em at Havre, cutting their cable and running for it when Government gives orders for them to stop. Next thing is, they boards our schooner like a set of pirates, only we seem too many for them; and then they cackles up a cock-and-bull story about wanting help, when they see they couldn't seize the schooner." "Look here, Captain Chubb--" began the doctor. "Give me my chance, sir, and let me finish, and then have your say. Help they had, and plenty on it, and I will say that a nicer, more gentlemanly-tongued chap than the Count I never met, nor had to do with a pleasanter nor nicer young fellow than his son." "Thank you," said Rodd sarcastically. "Now, don't you sneer, youngster," growled the captain, "for it aren't clever, nor it aren't nice. Well, now, doctor, we all went through a deal all along of these Frenchies, for I don't see how it could have happened if it hadn't been for them." "Why, you took us up the river, captain," cried Rodd indignantly. "That's true, sir, but it was to do the best for their leaky brig, and I made her as good a craft as ever she was; so you needn't chuck that in my teeth." "Be silent, Rodney, and let the captain speak." Rodd gave himself a snatch and clenched his fists. "Well, sir, to make a long story short, the Count gammoned you into keeping company with him, and brought you here--here, of all places in the world--here, to Saint Helena," and he thumped the chart just where the island was marked. "Yes," said the doctor thoughtfully--"here, to the neighbourhood of Saint Helena; upon a scientific research." "Scientific research!" growled the skipper scornfully. "Look here, sir, don't you be so innocent. You make me wild. What's this 'ere Count? A Frenchman, aren't he?" "Well, plenty of clever Frenchmen have followed science," said the doctor indignantly. "Chinese too, sir, though they can't dress like Christians," cried the skipper. "But just you tell me this 'ere, sir; who lives at Saint Helena? Don't old Bony? Him as we shut up like the warlike lunatic he is, to keep him out of mischief?" "Well, yes," said the doctor, much more suavely; "there is something in that." "I should think there is, sir! Haven't I heard you carry on dozens of times about what a bad 'un he's been to the whole world?" "Yes, yes, Chubb; I certainly do entertain strong feelings against that tyrant and usurper." "You do, sir. I've heard you say things at times as have sounded red-hot." "And I'm not ashamed of them, Captain Chubb," cried the doctor warmly. "'Shamed on 'em! Not you, sir! They're a honour to you as an English gentleman. Not much of the innocent in you about that." "Thank you, Captain Chubb; thank you," said the doctor. "Oh, uncle!" cried Rodd, between his teeth. "You let your uncle alone, youngster; I aren't done with him yet. Now then, doctor, your eyes aren't quite open now, but you are beginning to peep. Now, just have the goodness to tell me what you are a-doing here at Saint Helena--a place that a gentleman with your sentiments ought to have kept clear of like pison." "Well," cried the doctor, warming up again, "you know I have accompanied my friend the Count upon his scientific expedition." "Your friend the Count, sir! His scientific expedition!" snarled the skipper. "Do you call old Bony a scientific expedition?" "I don't understand you, captain." "Then here you have it, sir, plain. Your friend the Count is a Bony party, and as the French Government knew what game he was on and tried to stop him from running out of Havre, when he come upon us and found out what we were doing, `Here's my man,' he says; `I will just creep under his cloak and carry on my little game to carry off Bony. No one will suspect me if I am in good company, and on what he calls scientific research.' Consekens, here's you, sir, off the island of Saint Helena in co and company with this 'ere Bony party come to carry off and set free the man of all others you hate most in the world. Now you understand what you have come to do." "I'll be hanged if I have!" cried the doctor, bringing his fist down with a tremendous thump upon the table, making one of the bottles leap up, fall over upon its side, and discharge its stopper at Rodd, who fielded it cleverly, though the contents--gelatinous infusoria and spirit of wine--were scattered all over the map. "That's spoke like you, sir," cried the skipper; "but you needn't have spoiled my chart." "Confound your chart, man! Here, Rodney, you hear all this? Do you think it's true?" "No, uncle, I can't." "Neither can I, sir. I cannot. I will not. You, Captain Chubb, you mean well, I know, but--Oh, it's outrageous! That I, Paul Robson, a man of my sentiments, should come to do such a disloyal thing as this-- this--this--this treachery against my country and my King! Here, Captain Chubb, are you mad, or--" "Drunk, sir? Say it out. I don't mind. It does me good to see you come to your senses like this. Brayvo, sir! That's the way to take it." "Oh, uncle!" panted Rodd. "You let him alone, sir. He's all right," cried the skipper. "I've stuck the harpoon into him. You give him line, and you'll see we shall have him in his flurry directly." "Stop, man! Where are your proofs?" "Yes," cried Rodd, stamping excitedly about the cabin; "where are your proofs?" "Proofs?" said the skipper. "I d'know. Yes, I do. You ask the Count to his face, and his boy with him, whether what I say aren't true." "Yes," cried the doctor. "Go on deck, and take that confounded speaking trumpet of yours. Hail the brig, and ask the Count to come on board." "Yes--with his son!" stormed Rodd. "How can I? They went off this afternoon on some game or another, and haven't been in sight since." "Hah!" said the doctor, fanning himself with one hand, wiping his face with the other, and then shaking his bandanna silk handkerchief up and down to try and get cool. "There, I am not going to be in a passion, Rodney. I am not going to say angry words to you, Chubb, for you believe all this, while I--I--I can't believe it. The Count is too grand a gentleman to have made a--a--what you said, of me. But I will have this matter cleared up, and you will have to apologise to me and the Count." "And to Viscount Morny des Saix," cried Rodd. "Yes, my boy; exactly," said the doctor; and then to the skipper--"If you are wrong!" Saying this, he literally stamped out of the cabin. "Where are you going, uncle?" cried Rodd, following. "Up on deck, my boy," cried the doctor, without turning his head. "I feel like a furnace, and if I speak any more words they'll be like the skipper said--red-hot." "Well," said the captain, as he stood staring towards the cabin stairs, "I never see'd the doctor with his monkey up like that afore. Anyhow, he aren't afraid to trust me with his bag of tricks down here, and bottles of mixture. But he needn't have spoiled my chart!" CHAPTER FIFTY ONE. THAT'S SAINT HELENA. Night, and no sign of the brig. Morning, and the doctor and his nephew both on deck, with a sail in sight upon the distant horizon, while just beyond it, looming up, was what seemed to be a dark cloud. "There she is!" cried the doctor, glass in hand. "We will soon know the truth now, Rodd." "That, sir?" said a voice close behind them. "That's Saint Helena." The doctor started round as though he had been stung, to stare fiercely in the frank face of Joe Cross, who looked rather thin and hollow-cheeked, but had declared himself well enough to take the morning watch. "It is, sir," said the man, who took the doctor's angry stare for a look of doubt. "That's right enough, though it don't look like an island. It's the big rock where they've got Bony shut up." "Bah!" snapped the doctor, and he turned on his heel and walked away. "Turned out of his bunk wrong side up'ards, sir?" asked the man, with a smile. "Pah!" ejaculated Rodd, and he stamped off in the other direction. "Old 'un's been giving it to him, I suppose," said Joe to himself. "Oh, I know; he'd been upsetting that bottle of fish soup as the skipper fetched me down to swab up last night--that as went all over the skipper's chart. Pore young chap! I'll go and smooth him down." "What do you want?" cried Rodd angrily. "Oh, nothing, sir. I only wanted to say I'm sorry I put your uncle out about the island. I'm a bit deaf in one ear since I got hurt over that fight, and I mis-underconstumbled him. He said, `There she is,' and I thought he was talking about Bony's island, and he meant the brig." "Well, suppose he did? There she is." "Nay, sir; you take another look. That's a three-master, sir. Don't you see?" "Oh yes, I see now, Joe," said Rodd, who was rather ashamed of his petulance to the man. "She was end on to us, and I didn't see the mizzen. Why, she's in full sail!" "Yes, sir, a regular crowd of canvas, topgallants and stunsles all up, and if I haven't forgotten all about a man-of-war, that's what she is, as we used to say, by the cut of her jib, which is a very sensible remark, sir, as from here her jib's quite out of sight." The doctor kept on deck till breakfast-time, sweeping the horizon with his glass, while the skipper walked up and down with his long mahogany-covered glass tucked under his left arm, and his hands very deep down in his pockets, while his shoulders were hitched up to his ears. Then breakfast, with everything hot except the conduct of the occupants of the cabin. This was almost icy, and hardly a word was spoken. Up on deck again, with the schooner careening over to the pleasant breeze, but no sign of the brig; but the three-masted vessel was overhauling them fast, and before long a gun said, Heave to, in the very emphatic monosyllable so well understood in the Royal Navy. The skipper gave a glance at Uncle Paul with one eye, and that morning it seemed if as he had been suddenly afflicted with a cast, for the other eye turned outward and looked at Rodd. Then he gave the order to the man at the wheel, who with a few turns of the spokes ran the swift little vessel well up into the wind, her sails began to flap, and she quietly settled down into a gentle rock upon the beautifully rippled heaving sea. Then time went on, with the man-of-war bearing down upon them rapidly, while the doctor stood scowling angrily at the rock which had so much to do with the fate of nations standing out more clearly in the sunlit air. In due time a boat full of men was swung down from the davits of the cruiser, the oars dipped, and she came skimming along with a steady pull, and every stroke pulled clean and with hardly a splash, till she came alongside, when, to the delight of Rodd, there in the stern-sheets were the same officer and middy who had overhauled them off the African coast. Rodd was all eagerness, and advanced ready to grasp hands with the reefer, but to his great surprise everything was coldly stern and formal. Two marines followed the officers on board, and the skipper, doctor, and Rodd were ordered down into the boat as prisoners, while a prize crew under the command of the middy, who looked more important than he did upon his first visit to the schooner, and stared at Rodd as if he had never seen him before, was left on board. Uncle Paul spoke to the lieutenant, but his words were received almost in silence, while no explanation being forthcoming, he sat still and frowned. The sloop of war, their old friend, was soon reached, and the prisoners were marched up to the quarter-deck where the captain stood waiting for them, scanning them sternly before beginning to question the skipper as to the name of the schooner and their object in those waters. Questions were answered and explanations given in Captain Chubb's most blunt and straightforward way, before the captain turned his searching eyes upon Uncle Paul. "Then you are Dr Robson, sir?" he said. "Yes. May I ask--" "You are here carrying out a scientific research?" "Yes." "In company with your consort, Count Des Saix, of the French brig _Dagobert_?" "That's quite right, sir; but may I ask--" "Why you are my prisoners? Certainly. But I will shorten matters by telling you that your scientific research was a plot to carry off the prisoner of the British Government, the ex-emperor Napoleon Bonaparte." "No, sir, I'll be hanged if it was!" cried the doctor. "Which plot has completely failed," added the captain. "As I have said, sir, you are my prisoner." "And what about Captain Chubb, here, and my nephew?" "They are prisoners too, of course." "But my schooner--my pleasure yacht?" said the doctor. The captain slightly shrugged his shoulders, as he smiled-- "That will be well taken care of, sir, you may depend." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Ah, Rodd, my boy," said the doctor, shortly afterwards, "you are getting plenty of adventures; but you needn't be uncomfortable. This will all be cleared up. Well, Chubb, I am afraid you were right; at any rate the King's officer seems to be quite of your opinion." "Yes, sir, but wait a bit," said the captain. "I suppose they'll get us close in, and I shouldn't be at all surprised if we find, when we get to the other side of the island, that they've got the brig snug in shelter there." "What, captured too?" cried Rodd excitedly. "Yes, sir. This sloop of war is kept here to cruise about the island and keep strangers off. That's what she's for." CHAPTER FIFTY TWO. I HAVE SINNED--FORGIVE. That same afternoon the sloop of war was lying close inshore, with the brig and schooner near at hand, when a barge put off from the landing-place bearing the Governor and other officials, who were received at the gangway of the sloop with the customary salute, and shortly afterwards a little informal court was held, with the prisoners present, while the First Lieutenant of the sloop gave evidence to the effect that just after dark he had observed, from the anchorage where the sloop lay, a light, evidently intended for a signal, exhibited in a peculiar way from the masthead of some vessel. He had noticed the brig now lying at anchor some distance in the offing early in the evening, but an adverse wind had prevented the sloop from going out. This light appeared at intervals during the next two hours, and on reporting the matter to the captain it was considered sufficiently suspicious for the brig from which it evidently came to be overhauled. This was done during the night; the prisoners brought in; and they were here to give an account of themselves. Upon being asked if there was any difficulty in overhauling and seizing the brig, which appeared to be well manned and armed, the lieutenant smiled and said no, for the simple ruse of answering the brig's signal by the exhibition of lights in a similar way brought her close inshore, and then in the darkness the rest was easy, for it fell perfectly calm, and the sudden advance in the darkness of three well-armed boats made resistance vain. "They offered no resistance, then?" asked the Governor. "Oh yes," was the reply; "a very brave resistance; but they were overpowered by numbers and brought in." As this evidence was given the Count and his son stood together, the former looking calm and dignified, the latter defiant, and when asked what defence he had to make for his clandestine approach to a place where it must have been well-known to him landing could be only allowed by the special permission of the Governor, and told that it was perfectly evident his coming could have but one intent, to aid in the escape of the prisoner who had been so long in the island--the Count spoke out at once bravely and earnestly in the defence of those who were there standing as fellow-prisoners. He wished, he said, to exonerate the English doctor and the captain of the schooner from all participation in his attempt. They had met on the high seas quite by accident, and finding how carefully the prison of his august master was watched, he had led the doctor into the belief that he too was engaged upon a scientific expedition. Just then the eyes of the two lads met, and as Rodd darted an angry indignant look at Morny, the latter made a deprecating gesture, while he seemed to say, Be merciful; you do not know all. The Count went on, taking the whole blame of the proceedings upon himself, and asking for mercy for his son, who had acted entirely under his orders and had been perfectly obedient, as a son should be. As he spoke these words he looked hard at Rodd, and then at his uncle, who stood frowning there. "I failed in my enterprise," continued the Count, "for I was growing desperate at the difficulties which surrounded me. Certain signals should have answered mine, and the lights which were shown from the direction of the shore were not exactly those which I anticipated. But, as I have said, I was growing desperate at my want of success, and in the hope that after all these signals might mean that my august master would be brought off in a fishing-boat, I risked all and allowed myself to be deluded, as it were, into what proved to be a trap. I have no more to say, gentlemen, save this, that I ask no mercy for myself. Whatever the English laws award to one who has acted as I have done, I accept. But my son, as I have said, was entirely under my orders, and as for my crew, they have only been my faithful servants, and tried to carry out my will. England must be too brave to wish to punish such as these. As to the doctor, his nephew, and the crew of the schooner, it would be absurd for England after my explanation to say more to them than `Go in peace.'" There was perfect silence for a minute or so, and then the Governor, one of his staff, an officer of foot who was the commander of the military force stationed in the island, and the captain of the sloop, held a short consultation together, after which the officers drew back into their places and left the Governor to speak. "Dr Robson," he said, "Captain Ellison, in command of the sloop of war, has told me of his previous meeting with you at the mouth of one of the West African rivers, and the way in which your vessel was fitted out, and of the state of your papers. Everything, in fact, goes to prove the perfect truth of your story and the fact of your ignorance of the plan for the escape of the prisoner. I can offer you no apology for your being made prisoner and brought here, for I think that due consideration will prove to you that you were somewhat imprudent in your action and choice of friend. You and yours, sir, are perfectly at liberty to leave the island at once. As for you, Count Des Saix," he continued, "as the Governor of this island I have certain duties to perform, and after such an important and daring attempt as yours, I must tell you that in spite of peculiar circumstances which I will refer to shortly, this matter cannot end here. It is an affair of diplomacy in which others are concerned as well as England. For the present you and your people must consider yourselves prisoners pending the arrival of the dispatches that I must send to the British Government. Yours, sir, was a daring and extremely hazardous plot, designed in extravagance and I may say in ignorance of the impossibility of its execution. The prisoner was too closely guarded and watched, and, as you have seen, it was quite impossible for your vessel to approach this island without being seized. I gather that you have been a naval officer in the service of the late Government of France, and I presume that it was from a feeling of devotion to the Emperor Napoleon--I should say, our prisoner here--that you and your friends devoted yourselves to this task, which has proved so signal a failure. Sir, I can only admire your act and the devotion of the followers of the late Emperor." "Sir, to us," cried the Count, "your way of speaking of our august master is little better than an insult. With us there is no late Emperor; he is still the ruler of the French Empire, our august master while he lives." "Sir," said the Governor, slowly and gravely, "mine is the painful duty to announce to you that my words were well chosen and correct, that your designs were as hopeless as they were vain; the late Emperor Napoleon died two nights since." The Count gave a violent start, gazing wildly in the Governor's eyes, as if asking whether his words were true. Then turning to his son he took off his cap and stood in silence with his head bowed down, before saying in a low broken voice that reached no farther than the ears of Uncle Paul and Rodd-- "Morny, my son, we were faithful to the end, even though we failed. Our august master is free at last. But our country lives, and in the future there is always for us _la France_." There were several meetings between Uncle Paul, Rodd, and the prisoners--if prisoners they could be deemed, for their captivity was of the easiest kind--before the schooner set sail for England and home, and during one of these, when all seemed once more the best of friends, the doctor was heard to say-- "Yes, of course, I forgive him now, and you know, Des Saix, since that sort of a trial we had I have never said one word of reproach. I was not going to trample on a fallen man. But, you know, all that business, to use a coarse old English expression, sticks in my gizzard. It was not honourable, nor gentlemanly; I won't add noble. I don't think you ought to have done it to one who trusted you and helped you as I did. Now, look here; do you think it was a good example to set your son?" "My friend," said the Count humbly--"May I still call you my friend?" "As long as you live, sir!" cried the doctor warmly. "Then I say to you, No; it was dishonourable, treacherous, and vile. But my sword was devoted to the service of my dead master, my life was his, and I was ready to give all to save him from his unhappy fate. Can I say more than this: I have sinned. Forgive." As matters turned out it was many, many months, owing to an accident to the schooner and the delays in re-fitting at Las Palmas, and long stays made in the Mediterranean--the entrance to which could not be passed without a cruise within--before the _Maid of Salcombe_ approached the English coast, and, oddly enough, once more Captain Chubb was driven to take refuge for a few hours at Havre-de-Grace, where one of the first things to be noticed was the familiar brig. Inquiries followed at last, and Rodd and his uncle learned that the vessel had been lying there for some time while her captain, the Count, and his son were at Paris. No: the officer in charge of the brig could give no information about their residence in Paris, but he had heard that they were not going to sail in the brig again, as they were about being appointed to a large ship in the King's Navy. "Humph, Rodd!" said the doctor. "This sounds like good news." "Yes, uncle, but we must try and see them again." "Would you like to?" "Of course!" cried Rodd warmly. "For a good long talk about old days." "Perhaps," said the doctor, "they may hear of our return, and may try to see us." "And if they do, uncle?" "Well," said the doctor, smiling, "they know our address." THE END. 
50598	----	THE DARK FRIGATE Wherein is told the story of _Philip Marsham_ who lived in the time of King Charles and was bred a sailor but came home to England after many hazards by sea and land and fought for the King at Newbury and lost a great inheritance and departed for Barbados in the same ship, by curious chance, in which he had long before adventured with the pirates. BY CHARLES BOARDMAN HAWES _Frontispiece in Color by_ ANTON OTTO FISCHER _AN ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS BOOK_ LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY BOSTON _Copyright, 1923_, BY THE TORBELL COMPANY (Publishers of _The Open Road_) _Copyright, 1923_, BY THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS, INC. _Copyright, 1934_, BY LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY _All rights reserved_ _Twentieth Printing_ THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS BOOKS ARE PUBLISHED BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY IN ASSOCIATION WITH THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY COMPANY PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA [Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] [Illustration: _With her great sails spread she thrust her nose into the heavy swell._] TO GEORGE W. CABLE WITH WARM ADMIRATION AND FILIAL AFFECTION From _curious old books, many of them forgotten save by students of archaic days at sea, I have taken words and phrases and incidents. The words and phrases I have put into the talk of the men of the Rose of Devon; the incidents I have shaped and fitted anew to serve my purpose_. C. B. H. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I FLIGHT 3 II A LEAL MAN AND A FOOL 11 III TWO SAILORS ON FOOT 26 IV THE GIRL AT THE INN 35 V SIR JOHN BRISTOL 45 VI THE ROSE OF DEVON 57 VII THE SHIP'S LIAR 75 VIII STORM 83 IX THE MASTER'S GUEST 94 X BETWEEN MIDNIGHT AND MORNING 101 XI HEAD WINDS AND A ROUGH SEA 108 XII THE PORCUPINE KETCH 120 XIII A BIRD TO BE LIMED 137 XIV A WONDERFUL EXCELLENT COOK 144 XV A LONESOME LITTLE TOWN 158 XVI THE HARBOUR OF REFUGE 171 XVII WILL CANTY 182 XVIII TOM JORDAN'S MERCY 192 XIX A MAN SEEN BEFORE 198 XX A PRIZE FOR THE TAKING 208 XXI ILL WORDS COME TRUE 215 XXII BACK TO THE INN 231 XXIII AND OLD SIR JOHN 237 XXIV AND AGAIN THE ROSE OF DEVON 242 THE DARK FRIGATE CHAPTER I FLIGHT Philip Marsham was bred to the sea as far back as the days when he was cutting his milk teeth, and he never thought he should leave it; but leave it he did, once and again, as I shall tell you. His father was master of a London ketch, and they say that before the boy could stand unaided on his two feet he would lean himself, as a child does, against the waist in a seaway, and never pipe a whimper when she thrust her bows down and shipped enough water to douse him from head to heels. He lost his mother before he went into breeches and he was climbing the rigging before he could walk alone. He spent two years at school to the good Dr. Josiah Arber at Roehampton, for his father, being a clergyman's son who had run wild in his youth, hoped to do better by the lad than he had done by himself, and was of a mind to send Philip home a scholar to make peace with the grandparents, in the vicarage at Little Grimsby, whom Tom Marsham had not seen in twenty years. But the boy was his father over again, and taking to books with an ill grace, he endured them only until he had learned to read and write and had laid such foundation of mathematics as he hoped would serve his purpose when he came to study navigation. Then, running away by night from his master's house, he joined his father on board the Sarah ketch, who laughed mightily to see how his son took after him, do what he would to make a scholar of the lad. And but for the mercy of God, which laid Philip Marsham on his back with a fever in the spring of his nineteenth year, he had gone down with his father in the ketch Sarah, the night she foundered off the North Foreland. Moll Stevens kept him, while he lay ill with the fever, in her alehouse in High Street, in the borough of Southwark, and she was good to him after her fashion, for her heart was set on marrying his father. But though she had brought Tom Marsham to heel and had named the day, nothing is sure till the words are said. When they had news which there was no doubting that Tom Marsham was lost at sea, she was of a mind to send the boy out of her house the hour he was able to walk thence; and so she would have done, if God's providence had not found means to renew his strength before the time and send him packing in wonderful haste, with Moll Stevens and certain others after him in full cry. For the third day he had come down from his chamber and had taken the great chair by the fire, when there entered a huge-bellied countryman who carried a gun of a kind not familiar to those in the house. "Ah," Phil heard them whispering, as he sat in the great chair, "here's Jamie Barwick come back again." Then they called out, "Welcome, Jamie, and good-morrow!" Philip Marsham would have liked well to see the gun himself, since a taste for such gear was born in him; but he had been long bedridden, and though he could easily have walked over to look at it, he let well enough alone and stayed where he was. They passed it from one to another and marvelled at the craftsmanship, and when they let the butt fall on the floor, the pots rang and the cans tinkled. And now one cried, "Have care which way you point the muzzle." But the countryman who brought it laughed and declared there was no danger, for though it was charged he had spent all his powder and had not primed it. At last he took it from them all and, spying Moll Stevens, who had heard the bustle and had come to learn the cause, he called for a can of ale. There was no place at hand to set down his gun so he turned to the lad in the chair and cried, "Here, whiteface with the great eyes, take my piece and keep it for me. I am dry--Oh, so dry! Keep it till I have drunk, and gramercy. A can of ale, I say! Hostess! Moll! Moll! Where art thou? A can of ale!" He flung himself down on a bench and mopped his forehead with his sleeve. He was a huge great man with a vast belly and a deep voice and a fat red face that was smiling one minute and frowning the next. "Ho! Hostess!" he roared again. "Ale, ale! A can of ale! Moll, I say! A can of ale!" A hush had fallen upon the room at his first summons, for he had been quiet so long after entering that his clamour amazed all who were present, unless they had known him before, and they now stole glances at him and at one another and at Moll Stevens, who came bustling in again, her face as red as his own, for she was his match in girth and temper. "Here then!" she snapped, and thumped the can down before him on the great oaken table. He blew off the topmost foam and thrust his hot face into the ale, but not so deep that he could not send Phil Marsham a wink over the rim. This Moll perceived and in turn shot at the lad a glance so ill-tempered that any one who saw it must know she rued the day she had taken him under her roof in his illness. He had got many such a glance since word came that his father was lost, and more than glances, too, for as soon as Moll knew there was nothing to gain by keeping his good will she had berated him like the vixen she was at heart, although he was then too ill to raise his head from the sheet. It was a sad plight for a lad whose grandfather was a gentleman (although he had never seen the old man), and there had been times when he would almost have gone back to school and have swallowed without a whimper the Latin and Greek. But he was stronger now and nearer able to fend for himself and it was in his mind, as he sat in the great chair with the gun, that after a few days at longest he would pay the score in silver from his chest upstairs, and take leave for ever of Moll Stevens and her alehouse. So now, giving her no heed, he began fondling the fat countryman's piece. The stock was of walnut, polished until a man could see his face in it, and the barrel was of steel chased from breech to muzzle and inlaid with gold and silver. Small wonder that all had been eager to handle it, the lad thought. He saw others in the room furtively observing the gun, and he knew there were men not a hundred leagues away who would have killed the owner to take it. He even bethought himself, having no lack of conceit in such matters, that the man had done well to pick Phil Marsham to keep it while he drank his ale. The fellow had gone to the opposite corner of the room and had taken a deep seat just beneath the three long shelves on which stood the three rows of fine platters that were the pride of Moll Stevens's heart. The platters caught the lad's eye and, raising the gun, he presented it at the uppermost row. Supposing it were loaded and primed, he thought, what a stir and clatter it would make to fire the charge! He smiled, cocked the gun, and rested his finger on the trigger; but he was over weak to hold the gun steady. As he let the muzzle fall, his hand slipped. His throat tightened like a cramp. His hair, he verily believed, rose on end. The gun--primed or no--went off. He had so far lowered the muzzle that not a shot struck the topmost row of platters, but of the second lower row, not one platter was left standing. The splinters flew in a shower over the whole room, and a dozen stray shots--for the gun was charged to shoot small birds--peppered the fat man about the face and ear. Worst of all, by far, to make good measure of the clatter and clamour, the great mass of the charge, which by grace of God avoided the fat man's head although the wind of it raised his hair, struck fairly a butt of Moll Stevens's richest sack, which six men had raised on a frame to make easier the labour of drawing from it, and shattered a stave so that the goodly wine poured out as if a greater than Moses had smitten a rock with his staff. Of all in the room, mind you, none was more amazed than Philip Marsham, and indeed for a moment his wits were quite numb. He sat with the gun in his hands, which was still smoking to show who had done the wicked deed, and stared at the splintered platters and at the countryman's furious face, on which rivulets of blood were trickling down, and at the gurgling flood of wine that was belching out on Moll Stevens's dirty floor. Then in rushed Moll herself with such a face that he hoped never to see the like again. She swept the room at a single glance and bawling, "As I live, 't is that tike, Philip Marsham! Paddock! Hound! Devil's imp!"--at him she came, a billet of Flanders brick in her hand. He was of no mind to try the quality of her scouring, for although she knew not the meaning of a clean house, she was a brawny wench and her hand and her brick were as rough as her tongue. Further, he perceived that there were others to reckon with, for the countryman was on his feet with a murderous look in his eye and there were six besides him who had started up. Although Phil had little wish to play hare to their hounds, since the fever had left him fit for neither fighting nor running, there was urgent need that he act soon and to a purpose, for Moll and her Flanders brick were upon him. Warmed by the smell of the good wine run to waste, and marvellously strengthened by the danger of bodily harm if once they laid hands on him, he got out of the great chair as nimbly as if he had not spent three weeks in bed, and, turning like a fox, slipped through the door. God was good to Philip Marsham, for the gun, as he dropped it, tripped Moll Stevens and sent her sprawling on the threshold; the fat countryman, thinking more of his property than his injury, stooped for the gun; and those two so filled the door that the six were stoppered in the alehouse until with the whoo-bub ringing in his ears Phil had got him out of sight. He had the craft, though they then came after him like hounds let slip, to turn aside and take to earth in a trench hard by, and to lie in hiding there until the hue and cry had come and gone. In faith, he had neither the wind nor the strength to run farther. It was "Stop thief!"--"Murder's done!"--"Attach the knave!"--"Help! Help!" Who had dug the trench that was his hiding-place he never knew, but it lay not a furlong from the alehouse door, and as he tumbled into it and sprawled flat on the wet earth he gave the man an orphan's blessing. The hue and cry passed him and went racing down the river; and when the yells had grown fainter, and at last had died quite away, he got up out of the trench and walked as fast as he could in the opposite direction, stopping often to rest, until he had left Moll Stevens's alehouse a good mile behind him. He passed a parish beadle, but the fellow gave him not a single glance; he passed the crier calling for sale the household goods of a man who desired to take his fortune and depart for New England, and the crier (who, one would suppose, knew everything of the public weal) brushed his coat but hindered him not. In the space of a single furlong he met two Puritans on foot, without enough hair to cover their ears, and two fine gentlemen on horseback whose curls flowed to their shoulders; but neither one nor other gave him let. The rabble of higglers and waggoners from the alehouse, headed by the countryman, Jamie Barwick, and by Moll Stevens herself, had raced far down the river, and Phil Marsham was free to go wherever else his discretion bade him. Now it would have been his second nature to have fled to the docks, for he was bred a sailor and could haul and reef and steer with any man; but they whom he had no wish to meet had gone that way and in his weakness it had been worse than folly to beard them. His patrimony was forfeit, for although his father had left him a bag of silver, it lay in his chest in Moll Stevens's alehouse, and for fear of hanging he dared not go back after it. She was a vindictive shrew and would have taken his heart's blood to pay him for his blunder. His father was gone and the ketch with him, and, save for a handful of silver the lad had about him, he was penniless. So what would a sailor do, think you, orphaned and penniless and cut off from the sea, but set himself up for a farmer? Phil clapped his hand on his thigh and quietly laughed. That a man needed money and skill for husbandry never entered his foolish head. Were not husbandmen all fond fellows whom a lively sailor man might fleer as he pleased? Nay, they knew not so much as one rope from another. Why, then, he would go into the country and set him up as a kind of prince among husbandmen, who had, by all reports, plenty of good nappy liquor to drink and bread and cheese and meat to eat. With that he turned his back on the sea and London and on Moll Stevens, whom he never saw again. His trafficking with her was well ended, and as well ended his father's affair, in my belief; for the woman had a bitter temper and a sharp tongue, and there are worse things for a free-hearted, jovial man such as Tom Marsham was, than drowning. The son owed her nought that the bag in his chest would not repay many times over, so he set out with all good courage and with the handful of silver that chanced to be in his pocket and, though his legs were weak and he must stop often to rest, by nightfall he had gone miles upon his way. CHAPTER II A LEAL MAN AND A FOOL Clouds obscured the sun and a gusty wind set the road-side grasses nodding and rustled the leaves of oak and ash. Phil passed between green fields into a neat village, where men and women turned to look after him as he went, and on into open country, where he came at last to a great estate and a porter's lodge and sat him down and rested. There was a hoarse clamour from a distant rookery, and the wind whispered in two pine trees that grew beside the lodge where a gentleman of curious tastes had planted them. A few drops of rain, beating on the road and rattling on the leaves of a great oak, increased the loneliness that beset him. Where he should lie the night he had no notion, or whence his supper was to come; but the shower blew past and he pressed on till he came to a little hamlet on the border of a heath, where there was a smithy, with a silent man standing by the door. As he passed the smithy the lad stumbled. The man looked hard at him as if suspecting some trickery; but when Phil was about to press on without a word the man asked in a low voice, who the de'il gaed yonder on sic like e'en and at sic like hoddin' gait. At this Phil sat down on a stone, for his weakness had grown on him sorely, and replied that whither he was going he neither knew nor cared. Whereupon the man, whom he knew by his tongue to be a Scot, cried out, "Hech! The lad's falling!" And catching the youth by the arm, he lifted him off the stone and led him into the smithy. Phil found himself in a chair with straight back and sides, but with seat and backing woven of broad, loose straps, which seemed as easy as the best goose-feathers. "It is nought," he said. "A spell of faintness caught me. I'll be going; I must find an inn; I'll be going now." "Be still. Ye'll na be off sae soon." The man thrust a splinter of wood into the coals, and lighting therewith a candle in a lanthorn, he began rummaging in a cupboard behind the forge, whence he drew out a quarter loaf, a plate of cheese, a jug, and a deep dish in which there was the half of a meat pie. Placing before his guest a table of rough boards blackened with smoke, a great spoon, and a pint pot, he poured from the jug a brimming potful of cider, boiled with good spices and fermented with yeast. "A wee healsome drappy," said he, "an' then the guid vittle. Dinna be laithfu'." Raising the pot to his lips the lad drank deep and became aware he was famished for food, although he had not until then thought of hunger. As he ate, the quarter loaf, the cheese, and the half of a meat pie fell victims to his trenchering, and though his host plied the jug to fill his cup, when at last he leaned back he had left no morsel of food nor drop of drink. Now, for the first time, he looked about him and gave heed to the smoking lanthorn, the dull glow of the dying sea-coals in the forge, the stern face of the smith who sat opposite him, and the dark recesses of the smithy. Outside was a driving rain and the screech of a gusty wind. It was strange, he thought, that after all his doubts, he was well fed and dry and warm. The rain rattled against the walls of the smithy and the wind howled. Only to hear the storm was enough to make a man shiver, but warmed by the fire in the forge the lad smiled and nodded. In a moment he was asleep. "Cam' ye far?" his host asked in a rough voice. The lad woke with a start. "From London," he said and again he nodded. The man ran his fingers through his red beard. "God forgie us!" he whispered. "The laddie ha grapit a' the way frae Lon'on." He got up from his chair and led Phil to a kind of bed in the darkest corner, behind the forge, and covered him and left him there. Going to the door he looked out into the rain and stood so for a long time. Two boys, scurrying past in the rain, saw him standing there against the dim light of the lanthorn, and hooted in derision. The wind swept away their voices so that the words were lost, but one stooped and, picking up a stone, flung it at the smithy. It struck the lintel above the man's head and the boys with a squeal of glee vanished into the rain and darkness. The blood rushed to the man's face and his hand slipped under the great leathern apron that he wore. By morning the storm was gone. The air was clean and cool, and though puddles of water stood by the way, the road had so far dried as to give good footing. All this Philip Marsham saw through the smithy door, upon waking, as he raised himself on his elbow. He had slept that night with his head behind the cupboard and with his feet under the great bellows of the forge, so narrow was the space in which the smith had built the cot; and where his host had himself slept there was no sign. The smith now stood in the door. "Na, na," he was saying, "'tis pitch an' pay--siller or nought. For the ance ye hae very foully deceived me. Ye shall hence-forth hae my wark for siller; or, an ye like--" A volley of rough laughter came booming into the smithy, and then a clatter of hoofs as the man without rode away; but the face of the smith was hot as flame when he turned to the forge, and, as he thrust his fingers through his red beard, an angry light was in his eyes. Reaching for the handle of the bellows, he blew the fire so fiercely that the rockstaff and the whole frame swayed and creaked. He then took up a bar of metal and, breaking it on the anvil with a great blow of the up-hand sledge, studied the grey surface and smiled. He thrust the bar into the white coals and with the slicer he clapped the coals about it. Now drawing out the bar a little way to see how it was taking its heat, and now thrusting it quickly back again, he brought it to the colour of white flame, and, snatching it out with his pliers and laying it on the face of the anvil, he shaped it with blow after blow of the hand hammer, thrust it again into the coals and blew up the fire, again laid it on the anvil, and, smiting it until the sparks flew in showers, worked it, with a deftness marvellous in the eyes of the lad, who sat agape at the fury of his strokes, into the shape of a dagger or dirk. At last, heating it in the coals to the redness of blood and throwing it on the floor to cool, he paced the smithy, muttering to himself. After a time he took it up again and with the files in their order--the rough, the bastard, the fine and the smooth--worked it down, now trying the surface with fingertips, now plying his file as if the Devil were at his elbow and his soul's salvation depended upon haste, until the shape and surface pleased him. He then thrust it again into the coals and blew up the fire softly, watching the metal with great care till it came to blood-red heat, when he quenched it in a butt of water and, laying it on the bench, rubbed it with a whetstone until the black scurf was gone and the metal was bright. Again he laid it in the coals and slowly heated it, watching with even greater care while the steel turned to the colour of light gold and to the colour of dark gold; then with a deft turn of the pliers he snatched it out and thrust it deep into the water. As he had worked, his angry haste had subsided and now, drawing out the metal, he studied it closely and smiled. Then he looked up and meeting the eyes of Philip Marsham, who had sat for an hour watching him, he gave a great start and cried, "God forgie us! I hae clean forgot the lad!" Laying aside his work he pushed before the chair the smoke-stained table he had used the night before, placed on it a bowl and a spoon, and, setting a small kettle on the forge, blew up the fire until the kettle steamed. He then poured porridge from the kettle into the bowl, and bringing from the cupboard a second quarter-loaf, nodded at the lad and, as an afterthought, remarked, "There's a barrel o' water ahint the smiddy, an ye'd wash." Rising, Phil went out and found the barrel, into which he thrust head and hands to his great refreshment; and returning, he sat down to the bread and porridge. While Phil ate, the smith worked at a bit of bone which he shaped to his desire as a handle for the dirk. With light taps of the riveting-hammer he drove it into place and bound it fast with ferules chosen from a box under the cot. He then sat looking a long time at Phil, nodded, smiled, ran his fingers through his beard, smiled again and, with a fine tool, fell to working on the ferules. There had been a friendly look in the lad's eyes, and of friendly looks the smith had got few in England. People bought his work because he was a master craftsman, but the country folk of England had little love for the Scots who came south in King James's time and after, and a man had need to look sharp lest he fall victim to theft or worse than theft. He stopped and again looked at his guest, ran his fingers through his beard and demanded suddenly, "Thy name, laddie?" "Philip Marsham." "Ye'll spell it out for me?" This Phil did. After working a while longer he said as if in afterthought, "Ye'll bide wi' me a while?" "No, I must be on my way." The man sighed heavily but said only, "I hae ta'en a likin' to ye." Rising, the lad thrust his hand into his bosom and stood as if to take his leave. "Na, na! Dinna haste! I'll ask ye to gie me help wi' a bit that's yet to be done." The smith turned his work over and over. He had made a dirk with a handle of bone bound with silver, and, as he turned it, he examined it with utmost care. "'Twill do," he said at last, "and noo for the wark that takes twa pair o' hands." He pointed to a great grindstone. 'He that will a guid edge win, Maun forge thick an' grind thin.' Sitting down at the grindstone, the lad began to turn it while the smith, now dashing water over it, now putting both hands to the work, ground the dirk. An hour passed, and a second, with no sound save the whir of steel on stone and now and again the muttered words:-- 'He that will a guid edge win, Maun forge thick an' grind thin.' Leaning back at last, he said "'Tis done! An' such wark is better suited to a man o' speerit than priggin' farriery." He tried the edge with his thumb and smiled. From a chip he sliced a thin circular shaving that went with and across and against the grain. Laying a bit of iron on a board, he cut it clean in two with the dirk and the edge showed neither nick nor mark. Phil rose now, and drew from inside his shirt his small pouch of silver. "I'll pay the score," he said. The Scot stared at him as if he would not believe his ears, then got up as if to thrust the dirk between the lad's ribs. "Those are very foul words," he said thickly. "Nae penny nor plack will I take, and were ye a man bearded, I'd leave ye a pudding for the hoodie-craw." The lad reddened and stammered, "I--I--why, I give you thanks and ask your pardon." The smith drew himself up and was about to speak harshly, but he saw the lad's eyes filling and knew no harm was intended. He caught his breath and bit his beard. "'Tis forgi'en an' forgot," he cried. "I hae ta'en a likin' to ye an' here's my hand on't. I hae made ye the dirk for a gift an' sin ye maun be on your way, ye shall hae my ane sheath, for I've no the time to mak' ye the mate to it e'er ye'll be leavin' me." With that he drew out his dirk, sheath and all, and placing the new blade in the old leather, handed it to the lad, saying, "'Tis wrought o' Damascus steel and there's not twa smiths in England could gi'e ye the like." So with few words but with warm friendliness they parted, and Philip Marsham went away over the heath, wondering how a Scottish smith came to be dwelling so many long leagues south of the border. In those days there were many Scots to be found in England, who had sought long since to better their fortunes by following at the heels of their royal countryman; but he had chanced to meet with few of them. Not until he had gone miles did he draw the dirk and read, cut in fine old script on the silver ferule, the legend, _Wrought by Colin Samson for Philip Marsham_. There are those who would say it was a miracle out of Bible times, but neither Philip Marsham nor I ever saw a Scot yet who would not share his supper with a poorer man than himself. At the end of the day he bought food at a cottage where the wife did not scruple to charge him three times the worth of the meal, and that night he lay under a hedge; the day thereafter he chanced upon a shepherd with whom he passed the night on the hills, and the third day he came to an inn where the reckoning took all but a few pence of his silver. So as he set out upon his way in the morning, he knew not whence his supper was to come or what roof should cover his head. It was a fine day, with white clouds blowing across a blue sky and all the colors as bright as in a painted picture, and there was much for a sailor to marvel at. The grass in the meadows waved in the great wind like running water. The river in the valley was so small and clear and still that, to a man bred at sea, it appeared to be no water at all but a toy laid between hills, with toy villages for children on its banks. Climbing with light quick steps a knoll from which there was a broader prospect, Phil came unawares upon a great thick adder, which lay sunning its tawny flanks and black-marked back but which slipped away into a thicket at the jar of footsteps. The reptile gave him a lively start, but it was soon gone, and from the knoll he saw the valley spread before him for miles. It was a day to be alive and, though Philip Marsham was adrift in a strange world, with neither chart nor compass to show the way, his strength had at last come back to him and he had the blithe spirit that seasons a journey well. His purse was light but he was no lad to be stayed for lack of wind, and seeing now a man far ahead of him on the road, and perceiving an opportunity to get sailing directions for the future, he leaped down from the knoll and set off after the fellow as hard as he could post. The man had gone another mile before Phil overhauled him and by then Phil was puffing so loudly that the fellow, who carried a huge book under his arm and bore himself very loftily, turned to see what manner of creature was at his heels. Although he had the air of a great man, his coat was now revealed as worn and spotted and his wristbands were dirty. He frowned, bent his head, and pursued his journey in silence. "Good morrow to you!" Phil cried and fell into step beside him. The man answered not a word but frowned and hugged his book and walked the faster. At that Phil bustled up and laid hand on his dirk. "Good morrow, I say. Hast no tongue between thy teeth?" The fellow hugged his book the tighter and frowned the darker and fiercely shook his head. "Never," he cried, "was a man assaulted with such diversity of thoughts! Yet here must come a lobcock lapwing and cry 'Good morrow!' I will have you know I am one to bite sooner than to bark." Already he was striding at a furious gait, yet now, giving a hitch to his mighty book, he made shift to lengthen his stride and go yet faster. Unhindered by any such load, Phil pressed at his heels. "'A lobcock'? 'A lapwing'?" he cried. "Thou puddling quacksalver--" Stopping short and giving him a look of dark resentment, the fellow sadly shook his head. "That was a secret and most venomous blow." "I gave you good morrow and you returned me nought but ill words." "The shoe must be made for the foot. I have no desire to go posting about the country with a roystering coxcomb but--well--as I say, I have no liking for thy company, which consorts ill with the pressure of many thoughts; but since you know what you know (and the Devil take him who learned you it!), like it or not, I must even keep thy company with such grace as may be. Yea, though thou clappest hand to thy weapon with such facility that I believe thee sunk to thy neck in the Devil's quagmire, bogged in thy sin, and thy hands red with blood." With that, he set out again but at an ordinary pace, and Phil, wonderfully perplexed by his words, fell into his step. Again the fellow shook his head very sadly. "A secret and most venomous blow! Th' art a Devon man?" "Nay, I never saw Devon." The fellow shot him a strange glance and shifted the book from one arm to the other. "And have never seen Devon? Never laid foot in Bideford, I'll venture." There was a cunning look in his eyes and again he shifted the book. "'Tis even so." "A most venomous blow! This wonderfully poseth me." After a time he said in a very low voice, "There is only one other way. Either you have told me a most wicked lie or Jamie Barwick told you." The fellow, watching like a cat at a rat-hole, saw Phil start at the sound of Jamie Barwick's name. "I knew it!" he cried. "He'd tell, he'd tell! He's told before--'twas he took the tale to Devon. He's a tall fellow but I'll hox him yet. It was no fault of mine--though I suppose you'll not believe that." Upon the mind of Philip Marsham there descended a baffling array of memories. The name of the big countryman with the gun carried him back to that afternoon in Moll Stevens's alehouse, whence with good cause he had fled for his life. And now this stray wight, with a great folio volume under his arm, out of a conglomeration of meaningless words had suddenly thrown at the lad's head the name of Jamie Barwick. "We must have this out between us," the fellow said at last, breathing hard. "I'll not bear the shadow longer. Come, let us sit while we talk, for thereby we may rest from our travels. You see, 'twas thus and so. Jamie Barwick and I came out of Devon and took service with Sir John--Jamie in the stables, for he has a way with horses, and I as under-steward till my wits should be appreciated, which I made sure, I'd have you know, would be soon, for there are few scholars that can match my curious knowledge of the moon's phases and when to plant corn or of the influence of the planets on all manner of husbandry; and further, I have kept the covenant of the living God, which should make all the devils in hell to tremble; and if England keeps it she shall be saved from burning. So when I made shift to get the ear of Sir John, who hath a sharp nose in all affairs of his estate, said I,--and it took a stout heart, I would have you know, for he is a man of hot temper,--said I, if he would engage a hundred pounds at my direction I would return him in a year's time a gain of a fourth again as much as all he would engage. "'Aha!'" quoth he, "'this is speech after mine own heart. A hundred pounds, sayest thou? 'Tis thine to draw upon, and the man who can turn his talents thus shall be steward of all mine estates. But mind,'--and here he put his finger to his nose, for he hath keen scent for a jest,--'thou shalt go elsewhere to try the meat on the dog, for I'll be no laughingstock; and if thou fail'st then shalt thou go packing, bag and baggage, with the dogs at thy heels. Is 't a bargain?' "Now there was that in his way of speech which liked me little, for I am used to dealing with quieter men and always I have given my wits to booklearning and to Holy Writ rather than to bickering. But I could not then say him nay, for he held his staff thus and so and laughed in his throat in a way that I have a misliking of. So I said him yea, and took in my own name fifty acres of marsh land, and paid down more than thirty pound sterling, and expended all of eight pound sterling for the ploughing and twice that for the burning, and sowed it with rape-seed at ninepence the acre, and paid twelve pound for the second ploughing and eleven pound for the fencing--all this did I draw from Sir John, who, to pay the Devil his due, gave it me with a free hand; and if God had been pleased to send the ordinary blessing upon mine acres I should have got from it at harvest three hundred or four hundred or even five hundred quarters of good rape-seed. And what with reaping and threshing and all, at four and twenty shillings the quarter I should have repaid him his hundred pounds, threefold or fourfold. All this by the blessing of God should I have done but for some little bugs that came upon mine acres in armies, and the fowls of the air that came in clouds and ate up my rape-seed and my tender young rape, so that I lost all that I laid out. And Sir John would not see that in another year I ought, God favouring me, to get him back his silver I had lost, even as the book says. He is a man of his word and, crying that the jest was worth the money, he sent me out the gate with the dogs at my heels and with Jamie Barwick laughing till his fat belly shook, to see me go; for I was always in terror of the dogs, which are great tall beasts that delight to bark and snap at me. And the last word to greet my ears, ere I thought they would have torn me limb from limb, was Sir John bawling at me, 'Thou puddling quacksalver!' which Jamie Barwick hath told in Bideford, making thereby such mirth that I can no longer abide there but must needs flit about the country. And lo! even thou, who by speech and coat are not of this country at all, dost challenge me by the very words he used." Phil lay meditating on the queer fate that had placed those words in his mouth. "Who," he said at last, "is this Sir John?" "'Who is Sir John?'" The fellow turned and looked at him. "You have come from farther than I thought, not to know Sir John Bristol." "Sir John Bristol? I cannot say I have heard that name." "Hast never heard of Sir John Bristol? In faith, thou art indeed a stranger hereabouts. He is a harsh man withal, and doubtless my ill harvest was the judgment of God upon me for hiring myself to serve a cruel, blasphemous knight who upholdeth episcopacy and the Common Prayer book." "And whom," asked the lad, "do you serve now?" "Ah! I, who would make a skillful, faithful, careful steward, am teaching a school of small children, and erecting horoscopes for country bumpkins, so low has that harsh knight's ill-considered jest cast me. ''Twas worth the money,' quoth he; but it had paid him in golden guineas had he had the wit and patience to wait another year." The fellow closed his eyes, tossed back his long hair, and pressed his hands on his forehead. "Never, never," he cried, "was a man assaulted with such diversity of thoughts!" Philip Marsham contemplated him as if from a distance and thought that never was there a long-haired scarecrow better suited for the butt of a thousand jests. There were people passing on the road, an old man in a cart, a woman, and two men carrying a jug between them, but Phil was scarcely aware of them, or even of the lank man beside him, so absorbing were his thoughts, until the man rose, clasping his book in both hands and running his tongue over his lips. His mouth worked nervously. "I must be off, I must be off. There they are again, and the last time I thought I should perish ere I got free of them. O well-beloved, O well-beloved! they have spied me already. If I go by the road, they'll have me; I must go by wood and field." Turning abruptly, he plunged through a copse and over a hill, whence, his very gait showing his fear, he speedily disappeared. And the two men, having set their jug down beside the road, were laughing till they reeled against each other, to see him go. CHAPTER III TWO SAILORS ON FOOT As the two men roared with laughter by the wayside so that the noise of it made people a quarter-mile away turn round to see what was the matter, those who passed eyed them askance and gave them the width of the road. But to the few passers the two paid no heed at all. Pointing whither the lank fellow with the book had gone, they roared till they choked; then they fell on each other's necks, and embracing, whispered together. Separating somewhat unsteadily, they now looked hard at Philip Marsham who knew their kind and feared them not at all. Shifting his dirk within easy reach of his hand, and so drawing his knees together that he could spring instantly to one side or the other, he coolly waited for them to come nearer, which they did. The foremost was a fat, impudent scoundrel with very red cheeks and a very crafty squint. The other was thin and dark, less forward, but if one were to judge by his eyes, by far the braver. Both had put on long faces, which consorted ill with their recent laughter, and both, it was plain, were considerably the worse for strong drink. The first glanced back over his shoulder at the second, who gave him a nudge and pushed him forward. "Ahem," he began huskily. "You see before you, my kind young gentleman, two shipwrecked mariners who have lost at sea all they possess and are now forced to beg their way from London into Devon Port where, God willing, they will find a berth waiting for them. They--ahem--ahem--" He scratched his head and shut his eyes, then turning, hoarsely whispered, "Yea, yea! So far is well enough, but what came next?" The other scowled blackly. "Bear on," he whispered. "Hast forgot the tale of calamities and wrecks and sharks?" "Yea, yea! Troubles, my kind young gentleman, have somewhat bepuzzled my weary wits. As I was about to say, we have journeyed into those far seas where the hot sun besetteth a poor sailor with calentures, and nasty rains come with thunder and flash, and the wind stormeth outrageously and the poor sailor, if he is spared falling from the shrouds into the merciless waves,--for he must abide the brunt of those infectious rains upon the decks to hand in the sails,--goeth wet to his hammock and taketh aches and burning fevers and scurvy. Yea, we have seen the ravenous shark or dog-fish (which keepeth a little pilot-fish scudding to and fro to bring it intelligence of its prey) devour a shipmate with its double row of venomous teeth. Surely, then, young gentleman, kind young gentleman, you for whom we have brought home curious dainties from that strange and fearful sea, will give us a golden guinea to speed us on our way; or if a guinea be not at hand, a crown; or sparing a crown, a shilling; or if not a shilling, sixpence. Nought will come amiss--nay, even a groat will, by the so much, help two poor sailors on their way." As the two looked down at Philip Marsham, a score of old tales he had heard of worthless sailors who left the sea and went a-begging through the kingdom came to his mind. It was a manner of life he had never thought of for himself, nor had he a mind to it now. But he knew their game and, which was more, he knew that he held a higher trump than they. He leaned back and looked up at them and very calmly smiled. "How now!" the spokesman blustered. "Dost laugh at a tale so sad as mine? I ha' killed an Italian fencing-master in my time. I ha' fought prizes at half the fairs in England." His companion laid a hand on his arm and whispered in his ear. "Nay," he retorted angrily, "'tis nought but a country fellow. I'll soon overbear him." Again Phil smiled. "Hast thou never," he said in a quiet voice, "heard the man at the mainmast cry, 'A liar, a liar!' and for a week kept clean the beakhead and chains? Nay, I'll be bound thou hast sat in bilbowes or been hauled under the keel. The marshal doubtless knew thee well." The faces of the two men changed. The fat man who had been the spokesman opened his mouth and was at loss for words, but the thin, dark man began to laugh and kept on laughing till he could hardly stand. "We ha' reached for a pheasant and seized a hawk," he cried. "Whence came you, my gay young gallant, and what are you doing here?" "Why, I am here to set myself up for a farmer. I had a reason for leaving London--" Again the thin man burst out laughing. "Why, then," quoth he, "we are three men of like minds. So had Martin and I a reason for leaving London, too. And you are one who hath smelt salt water in your time. Nay, deny it not. Martin's sails are still a-flutter for wind, so sorely did you take him aback. 'Twas a shrewd thrust and it scored. Why, now, as for farming,"--he spread his hands and lifted his brows,--"come with us. There's a certain vessel to sail from Bideford on a certain day, and for any such tall lad as thou I'll warrant there'll be a berth." Leaning back against a little hill, the lad looked from the red, impudent face of the fat man to the amused, lean, daring face of his companion and away at the hills and meadows, the green trees and ploughed fields, and the long brown road that would lead the man who followed its windings and turnings, however far afield they might wander, all the way across England from the Channel to the Severn. He had made port, once upon a time, in Bristol and he remembered lifting Lundy's Island through the fog. A fair countryside lay before him, with the faint scent of flowered meadows and the fragrance of blossoming fruit-trees on the wind, but the sea was his home and the half-witted creature with the book and the ranting talk of ploughing and planting had made the lad feel the more his ignorance of country matters, a suspicion of which had been growing on him since first he left the town and port behind him. These were not men he would have chosen, but he had known as bad and he was lost in a wilderness of roads and lanes and never-ending hills and meadows and woods, with villages one after another. Any port in a storm--any pilot who knew his bearings! And for the matter of that, he had seen rough company before. Though his grandparents were gentlefolk, his father had led a rough life and the son had learned from childhood to bear with low humour and harsh talk. The lean man still smiled, and though Martin was angry still, neither the lad nor the man heeded him. "I could bear you company, but--" A doubt crept on him: when sober they might be of quite another mind. "Nay, say us no buts." "I have neither money nor gear for a journey." "Nor we--come!--Nay, I am not so deep in my cups that I do not know my own mind." The man chuckled, perceiving that his intuition had fathomed the lad's hesitation. Rising, Phil looked at the two again. He was as tall as they, if not so broad. After all, it was only Martin whose head was humming with liquor; the lean man, it now appeared, was as sober as he pleased to be. "And if I have no money?" "We are the better matched." They returned to the highway, where Martin and the thin man took up the jug between them, each holding by his forefinger one of its two handles, and together all three set out. But the jug was heavy and they progressed slowly. "In faith, the day's warm and the road is dusty and I must drink again," said Martin at last. They stopped and set the jug down in the road. "You must pay," said the thin man. Taking from his pocket a penny, Martin handed it to his companion and filling a great cup, drained it to the bottom. He then shook the jug, which showed by the sound that there was little left. They walked on a while; then the thin man stopped. "I'll take a bit of something myself," he said. He took the penny out of his pocket, handed it to Martin, filled the cup and drained it. Both then looked at Phil. "It is tuppence a quantum," said the thin man. "Have you tuppence?" Phil shook his head, and the three went on together. Three times more they stopped. The penny changed hands and one or the other drank. Martin's speech grew thicker and his companion's face flushed. "Neither one of us nor the other," said the thin man, with a flourish of his hand, "is often seen in drink. There is a reason for it this time, though. 'If any chuff,' say I, 'can buy good wine for a half crown the jug and sell it at profit for tuppence the can, why cannot we?' So we ha' laid down our half crown and set out upon the road to peddle our goods, when Martin must needs drink for his thirst, which, as the Scripture hath it, endureth forever. 'But,' quoth I, 'for every pot a penny to him and a penny to me.' 'Why,' quoth he,"--lowering his voice, the thin man whispered to Phil, "He is a rare fool at times," then resumed in his ordinary voice,--"'Why,' quoth he, 'here's thy penny for thee.' So, presently, I to him: his penny for the wine that I drink. Before we have gone far it comes upon me as a wondrous thrifty thought, that the more we drink the more we earn."--Again he whispered to Phil, drawing him aside, "When I had drunk a few cans, which much enlivened my wits, I saw he was not so great a fool as I had thought;" and resumed his ordinary voice--"'Tis little wonder that all the world desires to keep an alehouse or a tavern!" Never was there plainer example of befuddled wits! Passing back and forth, from one to the other, the single penny, the two had consumed their stock in trade, believing that they were earning great profit on their investment. Perceiving that the jug was nearly empty, Phil waited with quiet interest for the outcome. They stopped again in the road. Martin handed the penny to the thin man and poured from the jug into the cup. There was a gurgle or two and the jug was empty. The cup was but half full. "'Tis not full measure," he muttered, "but let it be." He emptied the cup and wiped his lips. "Now," said the thin man, his face by this time fully as red as his fellow's, "where's thy store of silver? Count and share, count and share." "Thou hast it, pence and pounds." Martin's eyes half closed and his head nodded. Breathing hard, he sat down beside the road. "Nay, th'art drunk. Come, now, thy purse and a just division." Out of a fog of wild notions the befuddled thin man had pitched upon this alone, that Martin withheld from him their common profit from their adventure into trade. He had keen mind and strong will, and his head had long resisted the assaults of the wine; but wine is a cunning, powerful foe and not easily discouraged, which by sapping and mining can accomplish the fall of the tallest citadel; and now, although steadier on his feet, the fellow was nearly as drunk as his mate and in no condition to perceive the flaw in his own logic. To all this Martin gave no heed at all. He covered his eyes with his hands and uttering a prolonged groan, cried thickly,--apparently to Phil,--"And did you ever see a man dance on air! Ah, a hanging is a sight to catch the breath in your throat and make an emptiness in a man's belly!" "Tush!" the thin man cried. Leaning over Martin he thrust his hands into pocket, pouch and bosom. "Where hast thou hid it?" he fiercely whispered. Martin tried to stand and fell weakly back, but slapped the thin man across the face as he did so. In an instant the thin man had out a knife and was pressing the point firmly against Martin's ribs. Over Martin's florid face there came a ghastly pallor. "Let me go!" he yelled. "Take away thy knife, thou black-hearted, thrice accurst old goat! I've nought of thine. O Tom, to use me thus basely!" And sprawling on his back, he wriggled under the knife like a great, helpless hog. The thin man smiled. To Phil Marsham his face seemed to have grown like pictures of the Devil in old books. He held the knife against the shrieking fat man's breast and pressed it the harder when Martin clutched at his wrist, then with a fierce "Pfaw!" of disgust released his victim and stood erect. "Pig!" he whispered. "See!" The point of the knife was red with blood. "Th'art not worth killing. Thy thin blood would quench the fire of a fleshed blade." With that, he deliberately spat in the man's face, and turning, went off alone. They were two sober men that watched him go, for the fumes of liquor had fled from the fat man's brain as he lay with the knife at his heart, and of their wine Phil Marsham had taken not a drop. Striding away, the thin man never looked behind him; and still showing them only his back, he passed out of sight. Martin remained as pale as before he had been red. He rubbed his sore breast where the knife had pricked him, and gulped three or four times. "Ah-h-h!" he breathed. "God be praised, he's gone!" He made the sign of the cross, then cast a sharp glance at Phil to see if he had noticed. "God be praised, he's gone! He hath a cruel humour. He will kill for a word, when the mood is on him. I thought I was a dead man. Ah-h-h!" The colour returned to his round face and the sly, crafty look returned to his eyes. "We'll find him at Bideford, though, and all will go well again. He'll kill for a word--nay, for a thought! But he never bears a grudge--against a friend. We'll lie tonight, my lad, with a roof over our heads, and by dawn we'll take the road." CHAPTER IV THE GIRL AT THE INN As they came at nightfall to the inn whither Martin had been determined they should find their way, a coach drawn by two horses clattered down the village street and drew up at the inn gate before them. There was calling and shouting. Hostlers came running from the stables and stood by the horses' heads. The landlord himself stood by the coach door to welcome his guests and servants unloaded their boxes. The coachman in livery sat high above the tumult, his arms folded in lofty pride, and out of the coach into the light from the inn door there stepped an old gentleman who gallantly handed down his lady. The hostlers leaped away from the bridles, the coachman resumed the reins, and when the procession of guests, host, and servants had moved into the great room where a fire blazed on the hearth, the horses, tossing their heads, proceeded to the stable. All this the two foot-weary travellers saw, as unobserved in the bustle and stir, they made their way quietly toward the rear of the building. When they passed a dimly lighted window Martin glanced slyly around and with quick steps ran over to it and peeped in. Whatever he sought, he failed to find it, and he returned with a scowl. The two had chosen the opposite side of the house from the stable and no one perceived their cautious progress. Martin repeated his act at a second window and at a third, but he got small satisfaction, as his steadily darkening frown indicated. They came at last to a brighter window than any of the others, and this he approached with greater caution. He crouched under it and raised his great head slowly from the very corner until one eye saw into the room, which was filled with light and gave forth the clatter and hum of a great domestic bustling. Here he remained a long time, now ducking his head and now bobbing it up again, and when he came away a smile had replaced his frown. "She's here," he whispered. "From now on we've a plain course to sail, without rock or sandbar." They retraced their steps and went boldly round the inn to the kitchen door. There were lights in the stable and men talking loudly of one thing and another. From the kitchen door, which stood ajar, came the rattle of dishes and the smell of food and a great bawling and clamouring as the mistress directed and the maids ran. With a jaunty air and an ingratiating smile, Martin boldly stepped to the door. He knocked and waited but no one heeded his summons. A scowl replaced his smile and he knocked with redoubled vigour. The sound rang out clearly in the inn yard. Several men came to the door of the stable to see what was the matter and the clamour in the kitchen ceased. Steps approached, a firm hand threw wide the door, and a woman cried with harsh voice, "Well, then, what'll you have, who come to the back when honest folk go to the front?" There was for a moment a disagreeable cast in Martin's eyes, but his facile mouth resumed its easy smile. "An it please you, mistress, there are two gentlemen here would have a word with Nell Entick." "Gentlemen!" she cried with a great guffaw. "Gentry of the road, I make no doubt, who would steal away all the girl has--it's little enough, God knows." A couple of men came sauntering out of the stable and the kitchen maids stood a-titter. Martin sputtered and stammered and grew redder than before, which she perceiving, bawled in a great voice that rang through the kitchen and far into the house, "Nell Entick, Nell Entick! Devil take the wench, is she deaf as an adder? Nell Entick, here's a 'gentleman' come to the kitchen door to see thee, his face as red as a reeky coal to kindle a pipe of tobacco with." A shrill chorus of women's laughter came from the kitchen, echoed by a chorus of bass from the stable, and Phil Marsham stepped back in the dark, unwilling to be companioned with the man who had drawn such ridicule upon himself. But as Martin thrust himself forward with a show of bluster and bravado, the click of light footsteps came down the passage, and through the kitchen walked a girl whose flush of anger wondrously became her handsome face. "Where is the wretch," she cried, and stepping on the doorstone, stood face to face with Martin. "So, 'tis thou," she sneered. "I thought as much. Well--" she suddenly stopped, perceiving Phil, who stood nearly out of sight in the shadow. "Who is that?" she asked. The mistress had returned to the kitchen, the girls to their work, the men to the stable. "Th'art the same wench," Martin cried in anger, seizing at her hand. "Hard words for old acquaintance, and a warm glance for a strange face." She snatched her hand away and cuffed him on the ear with a force that sent him staggering. Though he liked it little, he swallowed his wrath. "Come, chuck," he coaxed her, "let bygones lie. Tell me, will he turn his hand to help his brother?" She laughed curtly. "The last time he spoke your name, he said he would put his hand in his pocket to pay the sexton that dug your grave and would find pleasure in so doing; but that he'd then let you lie with never a stone to mark the place, and if the world forgot you as soon as he, the better for him." "But sure he could not mean it?" "He did." Martin swore vilely under his breath. From the kitchen came the landlady's voice. "Nell Entick, Nell, I say! Gad-about! Good-for-nought!" "Go to the stable," she whispered, "and tell them I sent you to wait there. She'll be in better humour in an hour's time. It may be I can even bring you in here." She shot another glance over Martin's shoulder at the slim form of Phil Marsham and went away smiling. Few in the stable looked twice at the two strangers in worn coats and dusty shoes who entered and sat on a bench by the wall, for there is as much pride of place in a stable as in a palace. There was talk of racing and hunting and fairs, and the beasts champed their oats, and everywhere was the smell of horses and harness. Presently there came from the inn a coachman in livery and him they greeted with nods and good-morrows, for he was sleek and well fed and, after a manner, haughty, which commanded their respect. He sat down among them affably, as one conscious of his place in the world but desiring--provided they recognized him as a man of position--to be magnanimous to all; and after inquiring into the welfare of his horses he spoke of the weather and the roads. "Hast come far?" a wrinkled old man asked. "Aye, from Larwood." "The horses stood the day's travel well?" "Aye, they are good beasts. But much depends on proper handling. It makes a deal of difference who holds the reins." He looked about with an air of generous patronage. "That, and their meat." He nodded toward one of the men. "'Tis well, though, when at night they are well fed, to fill the rack with barley-straw or wheat ere leaving them, as I showed thee, that perceiving it is not pleasant they may lie down and take their rest, which is in itself as good as meat for the next day's work." A general murmur of assent greeted this observation. "Goest far?" another asked. "Aye, to Lincoln." A rumble of surprise ran about the stable and the deference of the stablemen visibly increased. "Hast been long away?" "Aye, six weeks to the day." "It do take a deal of silver to travel thus." "Aye, aye." He condescended to smile. "But there are few of the clergy in England can better afford a journey to the Isle o' Wight than the good Dr. Marsham, and he is one who grudges nought when his lady hath been ill. 'Tis wonderful what travel will do for the ailing. Aye, he hath visited in many great houses and I have seen good company while we have been on the road." Phil had looked up. "Where is this Doctor Marsham's home?" he asked. All frowned at the rash young man's temerity in thus familiarly accosting the powerful personage in livery, and none more accusingly than the personage himself; but with a scornful lift of his brows he replied in a manner to tell all who were present that such as he were above mere arrogance. "Why, young man, he comes from a place you doubtless never heard of, keeping as you doubtless do, so close at home: from Little Grimsby." Martin glanced at Phil. "The name, it seems, is thine own. Hast ever been at Little Grimsby?" "Never." And with that they forgot Philip Marsham, or at all events treated him as if he had never existed. "'Tis few o' the clergy ride in their own coaches," someone said, with an obsequiousness that went far to conciliate the magnificent coachman. "Aye, very few," he said smiling, "but Dr. Marsham is well connected and a distant relation some years since left him a very comfortable fortune--not to mention that in all England there are few better livings than his. There is no better blood in the country than runs in his veins. You'd be surprised if I was to tell you of families he's connected with." So the talk ran. Presently a little boy appeared from the darkness beyond the door and hunting out Martin, touched his shoulder and beckoned. Martin, having long nursed his ill temper, rose. "It is time," he said, "yea, more than time." With swagger and toss he elbowed his way out past the liveried coachman; but missing Phil he turned and saw him still sitting on the bench, his eyes fixed on the harness hanging on the opposite wall. "Come, come," he called loudly. "Come, make haste! Where are thy wits? Phil, I say!" Starting suddenly awake from his revery, Phil got up and followed Martin out of the stable, seeing no one, and so blindly pressed at his heels, so little heeded what went on about him, that the sudden burst of laughter his absence of mind had occasioned passed unheard over his head. In the kitchen, whither the boy led them, they found places laid at one end of a great table and Nell Entick waiting to serve them, who gave Martin cold glances but looked long and curiously at Phil Marsham. The mistress and the other girls were gone. The boy sat in the corner, by the great fireplace where the roast had been turning on the now empty spit. Nell set before them a pitcher of beer and all that was left of a venison pasty. Martin ate greedily and whispered to her and talked in a mumbling undertone, but she gave him short answers till his temper flew beyond his grasp and he knocked over his beer in reaching for her. "Witch!" he snarled. "Yea, look him in the eye! His wits are a-wandering again." Looking up, Phil met her eyes staring boldly into his. He leaned back and smiled, for she was a comely lass. "Have the two guests who came tonight in a coach gone yet to bed?" he asked. "How should I know that?" His question baffled her and she looked at him from under her long lashes, half, perhaps, in search of some hidden meaning in his words, but certainly a full half because she knew that her eyes were her best weapons and that the stroke was a telling one. She made little of his meaning but her thrust scored. He looked at her again and marked the poise of her shapely head, the curves of neck and shoulders, the full bosom, the bare arms. But his mind was still set on that other matter and he persisted in his design. "I want," he said slowly, "to see them--to see them without their knowing or any one's knowing--except you and me." Here he met her at her own game, and he was not so far carried away but that he could inwardly smile to see his own shot tell. "They have supped in the little parlor and are sitting there by the fire," she whispered. "It may cost me my place--but--" Again she looked at him under her long lashes. He gave her as good as she sent, and she whispered, "Come, then--come." Martin gave an angry snort over his beer, but she returned a hot glance and an impatient gesture. With Phil pressing close at her heels she led the way out of the kitchen and down a long passage. Stopping with her finger on her lips, she very quietly opened a door and motioned him forward. Again her finger at her lips! With her eyes she implored silence. Without so much as the creaking of a board he stepped through the door. A second door, which stood ajar, led into the little parlor and through the crack he saw an old man with long white hair and beard--an old man with a kindly face mellowed by years of study, perhaps by years of disappointment and anxiety. The old man's eyes were shut, for he was dozing. In a chair on the other side of the hearth a lady sat, but only the rich border of her gown showed through the partly open door. The lad stood there with a lump in his throat and a curious mingling of emotions in his heart and head. It had happened so suddenly, so strangely, he felt that baffling sense of unreality which comes sometimes to all of us. He touched the wall to make sure he was not dreaming. Had he but stayed in school, as his father had desired, and gone back to Little Grimsby, who knew what might have come of it? But no! He was a penniless vagabond, a waif astray on the highroads of England. He was now of a mind to speak out; now of a mind to slip like a fox to earth. His gay, gallant ne'er-do-weel of a father was gone. He was alone in the world save for his chance acquaintance of the road, which was perhaps worse than being entirely alone. What madness--he wondered as he looked at the kindly face of the drowsy old man--had led Tom Marsham away from his home? Or was it more than a mere mad prank? Had the manners of a country vicarage so stifled him that he became desperate? As Phil thought of Martin drinking in the kitchen, a wave of revulsion swept over him; but after all, his father had kept such company in his own life, and though he had brought up the boy to better things, the father's reckless and adventurous nature, in spite of his best intentions, had drawn the son into wild ways. Something rose in Phil's throat and choked him, but the hot pride that came straightly and honestly from his father now flamed high. He knew well enough that Tom Marsham had had his faults, and of a kind to close upon him the doors of such a home as the vicarage at Little Grimsby; but he had been a lovable man none the less and Tom Marsham's son was loyal. The girl, daring not speak, was tugging at Phil's coat in an agony of misgivings. He stepped softly back, closed the door on a world he might have entered, and carried away with him the secret that would have brought peace--if a sad, almost bitter peace--to two lonely souls. He paused in the passage and the girl stopped beside him. There was no one in sight or hearing, and he kissed her. Such is the curious complexity with which impressions and emotions crowd upon one, that even while the vicarage at Little Grimsby and his dead father were uppermost in his thoughts, he was of a mind then and for many a long day thereafter to come back and marry her. Since he had closed the door through which he might have passed, this was a golden dream to cling to in hard times and glad, he thought. For he had caught her fancy as well as she his and she kissed him full on the lips; and being in all ways his father's son, he fell victim to a kitchen wench's bright eyes at the very moment when Little Grimsby was within his reach, as has father had done before him. Then they walked out into the kitchen, trying to appear as if nothing had happened, and Martin, perceiving their red cheeks, only sneered. "You must sleep on the hay," she whispered; and to Martin, "I'll send him word before morning and give you his reply." So they again followed the little boy through the darkness to the stable by a back way, and climbed a ladder to the great mow and crawled behind a mountain of hay, and lay with their thoughts to bear them company while men far below talked of country affairs, horses were trampling uneasily in their stalls, and the little boy was off through the night with a message. CHAPTER V SIR JOHN BRISTOL There was not a cloud in the sky at dawn. Cocks crowed lustily, near and loud or far and faint. The blue light grew stronger and revealed the sleeping village and the rambling old inn and the great stable, where the horses stood in their stalls and pulled at the hay and pease in the racks or moved uneasily about. The stars became dim and disappeared. The rosy east turned to gold and the dark hills turned to blue and the village stirred from its sleep. The master of the inn came down, rubbing his eyes and yawning, to the great room where one of the maids, bedraggled with sleep, was brushing the hearth and another was clearing a table at which two village roysterers had sat late. The master was in an evil temper, but for the moment there was no fault to be found with the maids, so he left them without a word and went through the long passage to the kitchen. Seeing there a candle, which had burned to a pool of tallow, still guttering faintly in its socket, he cried out at the waste and reached to douse the feeble flame, then stopped in anger, for in a chair by the table, on which he had rested his head and arms, the little boy sat fast asleep. "Hollo!" the master bawled. Up started the little boy, awake on the instant and his eyes wide with fear. "What in the fiend's name hast thou been up to, this night?" quoth the master in a fierce bellow. The little boy burst into tears. "He'll have nought to do with him," he wailed. "'Twas a long way and fearful dark but I went it, every step, and ferreted him out and gave him the message; and he swore most wickedly and bade me tell the man go to a place I don't like to name, and bade me tell Nell Entick he took it ill of her to traffic with such as that brother of his." "Ah-ha!" cried the host, belting his breeches tighter. "Most shrewdly do I suspect there have been strange doings hereabouts. Where's Nell Entick? Nell Entick, I say, Nell Entick!" His voice went through the house like thunder. The sashes rattled and the little boy quaked. Down came the hostess and in came the maids--all but Nell Entick. "Nell Entick! Where's Nell Entick, I say! Fiend take the wench--where's Nell Entick?" Then in came the sleepy hostlers, and the coachman, his livery all awry from his haste--but not Nell Entick. For Nell Entick, a-tremble with well-founded apprehensions, having gone late to bed and slept heavily, had risen just after the host, had followed him down the passage and, after listening at the door until she made sure her worst fears were realized, had darted back along the passage and out through the inn yard to the stable where as loudly as she dared, but not loudly enough to rouse the weary sleepers above, she was calling, "Martin! Martin! Awake, I say, or they'll all be upon thee! Martin, awake!" The host in fury seized the little boy by the ear and dragged him shrieking across the table. "Now, sirrah," quoth he, "of whom mak'st thou this squalling and squealing? A stick laid to thy bum will doubtless go far to keep thy soul from burning." "Unhand me!" he squalled. "She'll kill me, an I tell." "An thou tellest not, thou slubbering noddy, I'll slice thee into collops of veal." And still holding the unhappy child by the ear, the host, making a ferocious face, reached for a long and sharp knife. "I'll tell--I'll tell--'Tis the two men that slept in the hay." "Ha! The hounds are in cry." And with that the host released his victim and dashed, knife in hand, out the kitchen door. The household trailed at his heels. The sleeping guests woke in their chambers and faces appeared at curtained windows. Nell Entick fled from the stable as he came roaring, but seeing her not, he mounted the ladder and plunged into the hay with wild thrusts of his knife in all directions. "Hollo! Hollo!" he yelled. "At 'em, dogs, at 'em!" And the two sleepers in the far corner of the mow, as the household had done before them, started wide awake. For the second time since they had met, Martin, crouching in the hay, crossed himself, then shot a scared glance at Phil. Martin was white round the lips and his hands were shaking like the palsy. "Said he aught of hanging?" he whispered. But Philip Marsham was then in no mood to heed his chance companion, whose bubble of bluster he had seen pricked three times. What had occurred was plain enough and the two were cornered like rats; but Phil got up on his toes, shielded from sight by a mound of hay, and squatting low, got in his arms as much of the hay as he could grasp. Bawling curses and thrusting this way and that with his knife, the host came steadily nearer. He passed the mound. He saw the two. Knife in hand he plunged at them over the hay, with a yell of triumph. But his footing was none of the best, and as he came, Phil rose with a great armful of hay to receive the knife-thrust and sprang at him. Thus thrown off his balance, the man fell and the lad, catching his wrist and dexterously twisting it, removed the knife from his hand and flung it into the darkest corner of the great mow. "Help! Treason! Murder! Thieves!" With his hand on the host's throat, Phil shoved him deeper in the hay and held him at his mercy, but Martin was already scrambling over the mow, and with a last thrust Phil left the blinded and choking host to dig himself out at his leisure and followed, dirk in hand. As the two leaped down on the stable floor, the flashing dirk bought them passage to the rear, whither they fled apace, and out the door and away. They passed Nell Entick at the gate, her hands clasped in terror, who cried to Martin, "He'll have nought of you. Hard words were all he sent." To Phil she said nothing but her glance held him, and he whispered, "I will come back and marry you." She smiled. "You will wait for me?" he whispered, and kissed her. She nodded and he kissed her again ere he fled after Martin. When they had left the village behind them they stopped to breathe and rest. Leaning against a tree, Martin mopped the sweat from his brow. "Had I but a sword," he cried, "I'd ha' given them theme for thought, the scurvy knaves!" "It seems thy brother, of whom we were to have got so much, bears thee little love." And Phil smiled. For this Martin returned him an oath, and sat upon a stone. On the left lay the village whence they had come, and, though the sun was not yet up, the spire of the church and the thatched roofs of the cottages were very clearly to be seen in the pure morning air. Smoke was rising from chimneys and small sounds of awakening life came out to the vagabonds on the lonely road, as from the woods at their back came the shrill, loud laugh of the yaffle, and from the marsh before them, the croaking of many frogs. Martin's shifty eyes ranged from the cows standing about the straw rack in a distant barton in the east to a great wooded park on a hill in the west. "I will not go hungry," he cried with an oath, "because it is his humour to deny me. We shall see what we shall see." He rose and turned west and with Phil at his heels he came presently to the great park they had seen from a distance. "We shall see what we shall see." With that he left the road and following a copse beside a meadow entered the wood, where the two buried themselves deep in the shade of the great trees. The sun was up now and the birds were fluttering and clamouring high overhead, but to the motion and clamour of small birds they gave no heed. From his pocket Martin drew a bit of strong thread, then, looking about, he wagged his head and pushed through the undergrowth. "Hare or pheasant, I care not which. Here we shall spread our net--here--and here." Whereupon he pulled down a twig and knotted the thread and formed a noose with his fingers. "Here puss shall run," he continued, "and here, God willing, we shall eat." Having thus set his snare, he left it, and sulkily, for the sun was getting up in the sky and they had come far without breaking their fast. So Phil followed him and they lay on a bank, with an open vale before them where yellow daffodils were in full bloom, and nursed their hunger. After a while Martin slipped away deftly but returned with a face darker than he took, and though he went three times to the snare and scarcely stirred a leaf,--which spoke more of experience in such lawless sports than some books might have told,--each time his face, when he returned, was longer than before. "A man must eat," he said at last, "and here in his own bailiwick and warren will I eat to spite him. Yea, and leave guts and fur to puzzle him. But there's another way, quicker and surer, though not so safe." So they went together over a hill and down a glade to a meadow. "Do thou," he whispered, "lie here in wait." With a club in his hand and a few stones in his pocket he circled through the thicket, and having in his manner of knowing his business and of commanding the hunt, resumed his old bravado, he now made a great show of courage and resourcefulness; but Phil, having flung himself down at full length by the meadow, smiled to hear him puffing through the wood. Off in the wood wings fluttered and Martin murmured under his breath. Presently a stone rapped against a tree-trunk and again there was the sound of wings. Then the lad by the meadow heard a stone rip through the leaves and strike with a soft thud, whereupon something fell heavily and thrashed about in the undergrowth, and Martin cried out joyously. He had no more than appeared, holding high a fine cock-pheasant, with the cry, "Here's meat that will eat well," when there was a great noise of heavy feet in the copse behind him, and whirling about in exceeding haste, he flung the pheasant full in the face of the keeper and bolted like a startled filly. Thereupon scrambling to his feet, Phil must needs burst out laughing at the wild look of terror Martin wore, though the keeper was even then upon him and though he himself was of no mind to run. He lightly stepped aside as the keeper rushed at him, and darting back to where Martin had dropped his cudgel, snatched it up and turned, cudgel in hand. He was aware of a flash of colour in the wood, and the sound of voices, but he had no leisure to look ere the keeper was again at him, when for the first time he saw that the keeper was the selfsame red-faced countryman who had brought the gun to Moll Stevens's alehouse by the Thames--that it was Jamie Barwick. Now the keeper Barwick was at the same moment aware of something familiar about his antagonist, but not until he was at him a second time in full tilt did he recollect where and when he had last seen him. He then stopped short, so great was his amazement, but resumed his attack with redoubled fury. His stick crashed against the cudgel and broke, and ducking a smart rap, he dived at Phil's knees. To this, Phil made effective reply by dropping the cudgel and dodging past the keeper to catch him round the waist from behind (for his arms, exceeding long though they were, were just long enough to encompass comfortably the man's great belly), and the lad's iron clutch about the fellow's middle sorely distressed him. As they swayed back and forth the keeper suddenly seized Phil's head over his own shoulder and rose and bent forward, lifting Phil from the ground bodily; then he flung himself upon his back and might have killed the lad by the fall, had Phil not barely wriggled from under him. Both were on their feet in haste, but though the keeper was breathing the harder, Philip Marsham, having come far without food, was the weaker, and as Barwick charged again, Phil laid hands on his dirk, but thought better of it. Then Barwick struck from the shoulder and Phil, seizing his wrist, lightly turned and crouched and drew the man just beyond his balance so that his own great weight pitched him over the lad's head. It is a deft throw and gives a heavy fall, but Phil had not the strength to rise at the moment of pitching his antagonist,--which will send a man flying twice his length,--so Barwick, instead of taking such a tumble as breaks bones, landed on his face and scraped his nose on the ground. He rose with blood and mud smearing his face and with his drawn knife in his hand; and Philip Marsham, his eyes showing like black coals set in his stark white face, yielded not a step, but snatched out his dirk to give as good as he got. Then, as they shifted ground and fenced for an opening, a booming "Holla! Holla!" came down to them. They stopped and looked toward the source of the summons, but Phil, a shade the slower to return to his antagonist, saw out of the corner of his eye that Barwick was coming at him. He leaped back and with his arm knocked aside Barwick's blow. "Holla, I say! Ha' done, ha' done! That, Barwick, was a foul trick. Another like that, and I'll turn you out." A crestfallen man was Barwick then, who made out to stammer, "Yea, Sir John--yea, Sir John, but a poacher--'e's a poacher, Sir John, and a poacher--" "A foul trick is a foul trick." The speaker wore a scarlet cloak overlaid with silver lace, and his iron-grey hair crept in curls from under a broad hat. His face, when he looked at Barwick, was such that Barwick stepped quietly back and held his tongue. The man had Martin by the collar (his sleek impudence had melted into a vast melancholy), and there stood behind them a little way up the bank, Phil now saw, a lady no older than Phil himself, who watched the group with calm, dark eyes and stood above them all like a queen. "Throw down those knives," the knight ordered, for it took no divining to perceive that here was Sir John Bristol in the flesh. "Thrust them, points into the ground. Good! Now have on, and God speed the better man." To Philip Marsham, who could have expected prison at the very least, this fair chance to fight his own battle came as a reprieve; and though he very well knew that he must win the fight at once or go down from sheer weakness and want of food, his eyes danced. The knight's frown darkened, observing that Barwick appeared to have got his fill, and he smote the ground with his staff. Then Barwick turned and Philip Marsham went in upon him like a ray of light. Three times he threw the big man, by sheer skill and knowledge, for the other by his own weight hindered himself, but after the third time the world went white and the lad fell. He sat up shortly and looked into Sir John's face. "'Tis the lack of food," he stammered, "or I'd out-last him as well as out-wrestle him." Sir John was laughing mightily. "You gave him full measure, and thank God you are fresh from a fast or I'd ha' lost a keeper. As for food, we shall remedy that lack. Two things I have to say: one to you, Barwick. You attempted a foul trick. I'll have none such in my service. If it happens again, you go. And as for you, you white-livered cur, that would leave a boy to a beating and never turn a hand to save him, I'll even take you in hand myself." And with that, Sir John flung back his cloak and raising his staff with one hand while with the other he kept hold of Martin's coat-collar, he thrashed the man till he bellowed and blubbered--till his coat was split and his shirt was bloody and his head was broken and his legs were all welts and bruises. "Help! Help! O Holy Mary! Saints in Heaven! Help! O Jamie, Jamie, Jamie! O sir! Kind sir! let me go! Let me go!" Sir John flung him away with a last whistling stroke of the great staff. "That," said he, "for cowardice." And Jamie Barwick, having already forgotten his own rebuke, was broadly smiling. Sir John turned then and looked Philip Marsham in the eye. "It was a good fight," he said, and smiled. "Courage and honour will carry a man far." He then looked away across his wide acres to the distant village. For a while he was lost in revery and the others waited for him, but he came to himself with a start and turned brusquely, though not unkindly, to Philip Marsham. "Come now, begone, you vagabond cockerel! If a farm is robbed from here to the Channel, or a hundred miles the other way, I'll rear the county upon your track and scour the countryside from the Severn to the Thames. I'll publish the tale of you the country over and see you hanged when they net you." He stood there looking very fierce as he spoke, but there was a laugh in his eyes, and when Phil turned to go, he flung the lad a silver coin. Phil saw the gesture and picked the money from the air, for he was quick with his fingers, but before he caught it Sir John seemed to have forgotten him; for he bent his head and walked away with his eyes on the ground. There was something in the knight's manner that stung the lad, who looked at the coin in his hand and almost as quick as thought hurled it back at Sir John. "How now?" cried Sir John, turning about. "I'll take no money that is thrown me," Phil replied. "So!" Sir John stood looking at him. "I have a liking for thee," he said, and smiled. But he then, it seemed, again forgot that there was such a lad, for he once more bent his head and walked away with the lady who had stood above them in the wood. As for Phil, he did not so lightly forget Sir John. He watched him until he had fixed in his mind every line of his tall, broad figure, every gesture of his hand and every toss of his head. He then walked off, and when he turned to look back a last time Sir John was gone. "What was that he said of hanging?" Martin whispered. The fellow's face was so white and his lips and his bruises were so blue that Phil laughed at him before his eyes, who thereupon lost his temper and snarled, "It's all well enough to take things lightly, you who got no beating; but hanging is no laughing matter." He then looked cautiously around and ran back the way they had come. When he returned he held between thumb and forefinger the silver coin Phil had thrown back at the burly knight. Martin bought food with it and Phil, though he thought it would have choked him, helped him eat it; and so they survived the day. "That keeper, Barwick," Martin said that evening as the two tramped west along the highway, "is my brother, and an ungrateful wretch he is." "I knew he was your brother," Phil said. But he was not thinking of Martin or his brother. He was thinking of the old knight in the scarlet cloak so bravely decked with silver lace. There was only one man Philip Marsham had ever known, who had such a rough, just, heavy-handed humour as Sir John Bristol or any such indomitable sense of fair play, and that man was Phil's dead father. CHAPTER VI THE ROSE OF DEVON They came to Bristol over the hills that lie to the south of the town. They had lost time on the way and had grown weary and sore of foot; and finding at last that there was little hope of overtaking at Bideford the thin man with whom they had parted on the road, they had turned north in Somerset at the end of Polton Hill. They passed first across a lonely waste where for miles the only human being they saw was an aged man gathering faggots; then over the Mendip Hills and through rough valleys and rougher uplands, and so at last to the height whence Bristol and Avon Valley and Bristol Channel in the east lie spread in a vast panorama. Far away in Hungroad and Kingroad ships were anchored, but the vessels at the wharves of Bristol lay with their keels in mud, for the tide was out and the tides of Bristol, as all know, have a wonderful great flow and ebb. The two went on into the town, where there were seafaring men standing about and talking of ships, which gave Phil Marsham a feeling of being once more at home after his inland travels; and passing this one tavern and another, they came to a square where there was a whipping-post and a stocks, and a man in the stocks. Now a man in stocks was a pleasing sight to Phil, for he was not so old that he missed the humour of it, and he paused to grin at the unlucky wight who bore with ill grace the jeers of the urchins that had assembled to do him honour; but when Martin saw the fellow he looked a second time and turned very hastily round. Straightway seizing Phil by the arm he whispered hoarsely, "Come now, we must hie us away again, and that speedily." "Why in so great haste?" Phil returned. "Here is a pleasant jest. Let us stay a while. Who knows but some day we may ourselves sit in the bilboes and yonder ballad-maker may take his fill of pleasure at our misfortune. Why, then, turn about is fair play. Let us enjoy his while there's time." And he waited with quiet glee for Martin's angry reply. "Fool!" Martin whispered. "Stay and be hanged, an thou wilt." Thereupon Martin posted in all haste back the way he had come and Phil, of no mind to be left now, since they had journeyed together thus far, followed at his heels with a curiosity that he was intent on satisfying. "'Sin,' according to the proverb," he called after Martin, "'begins with an itch and ends with a scar,' but methinks thy scars, which are numerous, are all an-itch." "Hist, fool," Martin snarled. "Be still! For ha'pence I'd slit thy throat to still thy tongue. I swear I can already feel the hemp at my weasand. It burns and spreads like a tetter." And he made haste up out of the town till despite his great weight and short wind he had Phil puffing at his heels. "This is queer talk of ropes and hangings. It buzzeth through thy noddle like bees in clover. In faith, though thy folly be great, yet it sorely presses upon thee, for I have seldom seen a man walk faster. Yet at thine ordinary gait a tin-pedlar's broken-down jade can set a pace too fast for thee to follow." "Yea, laugh at me! Wouldst thou stay for sugared pills of pleasure with the hangman at thy heels?" "What has a poor devil in stocks to do with the hangman, prithee? And why this fierce haste?" "Th' art no better than a gooseling--fit for tavern quarrels. And did you never see a man dance on air? 'Tis a sight to catch the breath in the throat and make an emptiness in a man's belly." "There be no hangings without reason." "Reason? Law, logic, and the Switzers can be hired to fight for any man, they say. 'Tis true, in any event, of the law. I've seen the learned men in wigs wringing a poor man's withers and shaping the halter to his neck." They had talked breathlessly at long intervals in their hasty flight, and thus talking they had come out of the town and up from the valley; nor would Martin stay to rest till from the southern hill that had given them their first prospect of Bristol city they looked back upon the houses and the river and the ships. Martin breathed more easily then and mopped his forehead and sat down until his wildly beating heart was quieter. "To Bideford we must go, after all," said he, "and 'twere better by far had we never turned from the straight road." "I am of no mind to go farther," Phil replied, looking back. "There will be more vessels sailing out of Bristol than out of Bideford. A man can choose in which to go." Martin gulped and rubbed his throat. "Nay, I'll not hear to it. Daniel went but once into the lion's den." He sighed mightily as he thought of begging his long way through Somerset and Devon, for he was a big heavy man and lazy and short of wind; but he would not go back, though he refused to speak further of his reason for it; and Phil, though in truth he liked Martin little, was too easy-going to part thus with his companion of the road. The lad was young, and the world was wide, and it was still spring in England. So they turned toward the hills, which were blue and purple in the setting sun,--a shepherd, did he but know it, lives in halls more splendid than a king's,--and set forth upon their journey through the rough lands of Somerset. They went astray among the mines but found their way to Wells where, as they came out from the town, they passed a gallows, which gave Martin such a start that he stopped for neither breath nor speech until he had left that significant emblem of the law a mile behind him. They went through Glastonbury, where report has it that Joseph of Arimathea and King Arthur and King Edgar lie buried, and through Bridgewater, where to their wonder there was a ship of a hundred tons riding in the Parret. They went through Dulverton on a market day, and crossed the Dunsbrook by the stone bridge and so passed into Devon. They went on over heath and hill and through woods and green valleys until at the end of seven days from Bristol--for time and again they had lost their way, and a sailor on shore is at best like a lame horse on a rough road--they crossed the Taw at Barnstable. Again going astray, they went nearly to Torrington before they learned their blunder and turned down the valley of the Torridge. But all things come to an end at last, and one pleasant evening they crossed the ancient bridge built on stately Gothic arches into the populous town of Bideford. At the river front there lay a street the better part of a mile long, in which were the custom house and a great quay, and there they saw ships of good burden loading and unloading in the very bosom of the town, as the scribe hath it. Thither Phil would have gone straightly but Martin shook his head. So turning up from the river, they passed another long street, where the houses of wealthy merchants stood, and this, too, Martin hastened quickly by. He shot glances to one side and the other as if fearing lest he see faces that he knew, and led his companion by an obscure way, as night was falling, to a cottage whence a dim light shone through a casement window. Standing on the rough doorstone under the outcropping thatch, which projected beyond the line of the eaves to shield the door from rain, he softly knocked. There was no answer, no sound, but the door presently moved ajar as if by its own will. "Who knocks?" an old woman whispered. "'Tis that dark I cannot see thy face." "'Tis thine eyes are ailing. Come, open the door and bid us enter." "Thy voice hath a familiar ring but I know thee not. Who art thou?" "We be two honest men." "Ah, two honest men? And what, prithee, are two honest men doing here?" "Yea, 'tis a fair thrust and bites both ways! Thou old shrew, dost bar the door to Martin Barwick?" "So 'tis thou. I believe it even is. Enter then, ere the watch spy thee. Th' art a plain fool to stand here quibbling thus, though 'tis to be expected, since thou wert ever quicker of thy tongue than thy wit. But who's thy fellow?" "Nay, thou old shrew, open to us. He is to be one of us, though a London man by birth." "One of us, say'st thou? Enter and welcome, then, young sir. Mother Taylor bids thee welcome. One of us? 'Tis the more pity so few of the gentlemen are left in port." "The Old One?" "He hath sailed long since." She closed the door behind them, and the three stood together in the dark passage. "Hast money?" "Not a groat." She sighed heavily. "I shall be ruined. Seven o' the gentlemen ha' sailed owing me." "Yea, thou old shrew, had I a half--nay, had I the tenth part of the gold thou hast taken from us and laid away wherever thy hiding-places are, I'd go no more to sea. But thou know'st what thou know'st, and there's not one among us but will pay his score. The wonder is that of them thou could'st hang by a word none has slit thy scrawny throat." "Aye, they pay, they pay. And the gentlemen bear Mother Taylor nought but love. How else could they do their business but for good Mother Taylor?" She led them into a little back room where there was a fire and a singing kettle; and as she scuttled with a crooked, nimble gait from one window to another to make sure that every shutter was fast closed, in her cracked old voice she bade them sit. To his prudent companion, whose quick glance was marking every door and window,--for who knows when a man shall have need to leave in haste a sailor's inn?--quoth Martin, "The old witch is a rare hand to sell a cargo got--thou can'st guess well enough how; and the man who would bring a waggon-load of spirits past the customs on a dark night or would bargain with a Dartmoor shepherd for wool secretly sheared, can lay the matter before her and go his way, knowing she will do his business better than he could do it himself. Yea, a man's honour and life are safer with her than with any lord in England." She showed by a grunt that she had heard him but otherwise paid no attention to what he said. She brought food from a cupboard and laid the table by the fire, and going into a back room, she drew a foaming pitcher of beer. "No wine?" cried Martin. "Mother Taylor has no wine? Come, thou old beldame, serve us a stronger tipple." She laughed shrilly. "The beer," said she, "is from Frome-Selwood." "Why, then, I must needs drink and say nought, since it is common report that the gentry choose it, when well aged, rather than the wine of Portugal or France. But my heart was set on good wine or stronger spirits." "He who sails on the morning tide must go sober to bed else he may rue his choice. Aye, an' 'tis rare fine beer." Her old bent back fitted into her bent old chair. Her face settled into a myriad wrinkles from which her crooked nose projected like a fish in a bulging net. She was very old and very shrewd, and though there was something unspeakably hard in her small, cold eyes, Martin trusted her as thus far he had trusted no one they had met. Even to Phil she gave an odd sense of confidence in her complete loyalty. At Phil she cast many glances, quick and sharp like a bird's, but she never spoke to him nor he to her. It was Martin who again spoke up, having blunted the edge of his hunger. "And now, you old witch, who's in port and where shall we find the softest berths? For you've made it plain that since trust us you must, you will trust us little--that is to say, it is not in thy head that our score shall mount high." She chuckled down in her skinny old crop. "Let us see. The Old One has gone and that's done. You were late." "'Tis a long road and we went astray." "There's the Nestor and the Essay. They will be off soon; the one to Liverpool for salt, t' other to Ireland for wool." Martin thereupon set down his pot of beer and significantly rubbed his throat, at which the old woman cackled with shrill laughter. "Aye, th' art o'er well known in Liverpool. Well, let us consider again. There's the Rose of Devon, new come from Plymouth. I hear she's never touched at Bideford before and her master hails from Dorset." "His name?" "'Tis Candle." Martin laughed boisterously. "A bright and shining name! But I know him not and will chance a singeing. What voyage does she make?" "She goeth to fetch cod from Newfoundland." The old woman saw him hesitate. "A barren voyage, think'st thou? Nay, 'twere well for one of the gentlemen to look into that trade. Who knows?" "True, old mother witch, who knows?" Martin tapped the table. "Can'st arrange it?" "Nay. But I can start the wedge." "We'll go," said Martin at last. "But now for bed. We've been a weary while on the road." It was a great bed in a small room under the thatch; and as they lay there on the good goose-feathers in the dark, Martin said, "We'll sail in this Rose of Devon, lad." Phil, already nearly asleep, stirred and roused up. "Any port in a storm," he mumbled. Then, becoming wider awake, he asked, "What is all this talk of 'the gentlemen' and who, prithee, is the Old One?" "Ah, a natural question." Though the room was dark as Egypt, Phil knew by Martin's voice--for he could recognize every inflection and change in tone--that the sly, crafty look was creeping over his fat, red face. "Well," Martin continued after a moment of silence, "by 'the gentlemen' she means a few seafaring men that keep company together by custom and stop here when ashore--all fine, honest fellows as a man may be proud to know. I have hopes that some day you'll be one of us, Phil my lad, and some day I'll tell you more. As for the Old One, it very curiously happens that you have met with him. Do you recall to mind the thin man I quarrelled with, that first day?" "Yea." "That is the Old One, and Tom Jordan is his proper name." It was Martin, after all, who fell asleep first, for Phil lay in the great bed in the small room, thinking of all that had happened since the day he fled from Moll Stevens's alehouse. There was Colin Samson, whose dirk he wore; there was the wild-eyed, black-haired man with the great book and the woeful tale; there were Martin, and Tom Jordan, "the Old One"; there were the inn and the old lady and gentleman--it all seemed so utterly unreal!--and Nell Entick, and Sir John Bristol. He fell asleep thinking of Nell and Sir John and dreamed of marrying Nell and keeping a tavern, to which the bluff old knight came in the guise of a very aged gentleman from Little Grimsby with a coachman who went poaching pheasants in the tavern yard. It was early morning when Mother Taylor called them down to breakfast at a table burdened with good food such as they had not eaten for many long days. She sat by the fire, a bent old woman in a round-backed little chair, watching them with keen small eyes while they ate, and smiling in a way that set her wrinkles all a-quiver to see them empty dish after dish. "Th' art a good old witch, Mother Taylor, though the Devil cry nay," said Martin. "Though thy score be high never did'st thou grudge a man the meat he ate." "'Tis not for nought the gentlemen love Mother Taylor," she quavered. "What can a woman do when her beauty's gone but hold a man by the food she sets before him? 'Tis the secret of blessed marriage, Martin, and heaven send thee a wife as knows it like I!" "Beauty, thou old beldame! What did'st thou ever know of beauty? But beauty is a matter of little moment. Hast thou prepared the way for us?" She laughed in shrill delight at his rough jesting. "Aye, I ha' sent a messenger. Seek out the Rose of Devon and do thy part, and all shall be well." "And whence does good Captain Candle expect his men?" "Say to Captain Candle that thou and this handsome young gentleman who says so little are come from the Mersey, where thy vessel, the Pride o' Lancashire, lies to be repaired, and that Master Stephen Gangley sent thee." She looked at Phil, who had learned long before to hold his tongue in strange places, and he smiled; but Martin laughed hoarsely. "Th' art the Devil's own daughter. And does this Master Stephen Gangley in all truth dwell in Liverpool?" "Dost think my wits are wandering, Martin? Nay, I be old, but not so old as that. Go hastily through the town lest thou be seen and known. Thou, of all the gentlemen, most needs make haste." The two stopped just inside the door. "You have chalked down the score against us?" She laughed in her skinny throat. "I be old, but not so old as to forget the score. The gentlemen always pay." She pushed Martin out and shut the door behind him, then, seizing Phil by the arm, she whispered, "Leave him." Martin angrily thrust the door open again and she gave Phil a shove that sent him stumbling over the threshold. The door slammed shut and they heard the bolt slide. "They pay," Martin muttered. "Yea, they pay in full and the old witch hath got rich thereby, for 'tis pay or hang. So much does she know of all that goes on at sea! In faith, I sorely mistrust she is a witch in all earnest; but even be it so, a most useful witch." As the two came into the town they saw at a distance a crowd gathering. Dogs barked and boys shouted and men came running and laughing, which seemed to give promise of rare sport of one kind or another. "See!" cried Phil, catching Martin by the arm. "Here's a game. Come, let us join the cry." "Thou art a very pattern of blockishness," quoth Martin. "Would'st see us in pillory, egged, turnipped, nay, beaten at the post?" "Come, old frog, I for one will run the hazard." "Old frog, is it?" Martin's face flamed redder than before. "An we loiter there'll be sharp eyes upon us. My very throat is itching at the thought. Justice is swift. Who knows but we'll swing by sundown? Hast never considered the pains of hanging? The way they dance and twitch is enough to take the sap out of a man's legs." Martin's fears were an old story and the lad heeded them so little, save when he would make game of them, that he never even smiled. "See!" he cried. "There's a man in their midst. Stay! Who is he? He is--yea, he is the very one, come back to Bideford despite his fears. And it seems the townsfolk know him well." The jeering mob parted and revealed a lank man with a great book. His voice rose above their clamour, "O well beloved, O well beloved, never was a man perplexed with such diversity of thoughts!" But Martin was gone, and Phil hastening after him saw a face in a window, which was watching Martin hurry through the town. And when Phil pursued Martin the eyes in the window scanned the lad from head to foot. They found lying at the quay the vessel they sought, and a brave frigate she was, with high poop and nobly carved fiddlehead and sharp, deep cutwater. The gun-deck ports were closed, but on the main deck was a great show of ordnance with new carriages and new yellow breechings. There were swivel-guns on the forecastle and the quarter-deck and there was a finely wrought lantern of bronze and glass at the stern. But as they came up to her, a cloud hid the sun and the gilded carving ceased to shine and the bright colours lost their brilliance and her black, high sides loomed up sombrely, and to Phil she seemed for the moment very dark and forbidding. Of this Martin appeared to have no perception, for he smiled and whispered, "Mother Taylor hath done well by us. This Rose of Devon is a tall ship and by all the signs she will be well found." There were men standing about the capstan on the main deck and voices came from the forecastle; but on the poop there leaned against the rail to watch the two come down the quay a single man, of an age in the middle-thirties, with a keen, strong face, who wore a good coat on his back and had the manner of a king in a small island. They stepped under the poop and Martin doffed his hat, having assumed his most ingratiating smile. "An it please you, sir," said he, "have I the honour to address Captain Candle of the Rose of Devon frigate?" "I am Captain Candle." "Good morrow to thee, sir, and Master Stephen Gangley of Liverpool sent us--" "Yea, I received his letter. I know him not, but it seems he knows friends of mine. You are over heavy for a good seaman but your fellow takes my eye." Martin stammered and flamed up with anger, and perceiving this, the captain smiled. "Let it be," he said. "I can make room for the two, and to judge by your looks, if you are slow aloft at handling and hauling, we can use you to excellent purpose as a cook. Of good food and plenty it is plain you know the secret." He watched policy contend with anger in Martin's face and his own expression gave no hint of what went on in his mind; but there was that about him which made Phil believe he was inwardly laughing, and Phil had an instant liking for the man, which, if one might judge by the captain's glance or two, was returned. "You may sign the articles in the tavern yonder," he said. "You are none too early, for we sail in an hour's time to get the tide." As Phil followed Martin into the tavern he saw a bustle and flurry in the street, but it passed and while they waited by the fire for the captain and the agent to come with the articles he thought no more of it. They came at last, and other seamen with them, and spread the articles on the oaken table where one man might sign after another. And when Martin's turn was come, he tried to speak of wages, but the captain named the figure and bade him sign, and before he thought, he had done so. He stood back, cursing under his breath, and when the captain named a higher wage for Phil, Martin's cursing became an audible mumble, which drew from master and agent a sharp glance. Though Martin smiled and looked about as if to see whence the sound came, he deceived no one. The men filed out of the tavern, walking soberly behind the master, and proceeded down the quay to their ship. Their feet clattered on the cobbles and they swung along at a rolling gait. Some were sober and some were drunk; and some were merry and some were sad. Some eyed one another with the curiosity that a man feels if he must sit, for months to come, at cheek and jowl with strangers; and some bent their eyes on the ground as if ill at ease and uncertain of their own discretion in thus committing themselves to no one knew what adventures in distant seas and lands. Thus they came to the ship, following at the master's heels, and thus they filed on board, while Captain Candle stood at one side and looked them over as they passed. To a young fellow leaning over the waist one of the men called, "Well met, Will Canty!" Looking up, Phil himself then caught the eye of a lad of his own years who was returning the hail of a former shipmate, and since each of the youths found something to his taste in the appearance of the other, on the deck of the ship they joined company. "You come late," said the one who had answered to the name of Will Canty. "Unless I am much mistaken, you were not on board yesterday." He was tall and slender and very straight, and he carried his head with an erectness that seemed at first glance to savour of vanity. His face, too, was of a sober cast and his expression restrained. Yet he seemed a likable fellow, withal, and one whom a man could trust. "I have not until now set foot on this deck," Phil replied. "But having seen many vessels in my time, I venture that the Rose of Devon is a staunch ship, as Captain Candle, it is plain to see, is a proper master." "Yea, both sayings are true. I know, for I have sailed before in this ship with Captain Candle." An order bawled from the quarter-deck caused a great stir, and for the moment put an end to their talk, but they were to see more of each other. Casting off the moorings in answer to the word of command, the men sprang to the capstan. It was "Heave, my bullies!" and "Pull, my hearts of gold!" Some, in a boat, carried out an anchor and others laboured at the capstan. The old frigate stirred uneasily and slipped away from the wharf, rolling slightly with the motion of the sea, and thus they kedged her into the tide. "Bend your passeree to the mainsail!" Back came a roaring chorus, "Yea, yea!" "Get your sails to the yards there--about your gear on all hands!" "Yea, yea!" men here and there replied. "Hoist sails half-mast high--make ready to set sail!" "Yea, yea!" "Cross your yards!" "Yea, yea!" "Bring the cable to the capstan--Boatswain, fetch the anchor aboard!--Break ground!--Up there, a hand to the foretop and loose the foretopsail!" "Yea, yea!" And the first man to set foot on the ratlines was running up the rigging. It was Philip Marsham, for to him the sea was home and there was no night so dark he could not find his way about a ship. Nor did his promptness escape the sharp eye of Captain Candle. Now, while the captain stood with folded arms at the poop, his mate cried, "Come, my hearts, heave up your anchor! Come one and all! Who says _Amen_? O brave hearts, the anchor a-peak!" "Yea, yea!" "Heave out your topsails!--Haul your sheets!--Let fall your foresail!--You at the helm, there, steer steady before the wind!" On all the vessels in the harbour, and all along the quay and the streets, men had stopped their work to see the Rose of Devon sail. But though most of them stood idle and silent, there was a sudden flurry on the quay where but now she had been lying, and two men burst out, calling after her and waving their arms. "'Tis the beadle and the constable," the men muttered. "Who of us hath got to sea to escape the law?" The mate turned to the master, but the master firmly shook his head. "Come, seize the tide," he called. "We will stay for no man." "Heave out the foretopsail--heave out the main topsail--haul home your topsail sheets!" The men aloft let the lesser sails fall; the men on deck sheeted them home and hoisted them up. The mate kept bawling a multitude of orders: "Haul in the cable there and coil it in small fakes! Haul the cat! A bitter! Belay! Luff, my man, luff! You, there, with the shank painter, make fast your anchor!" Then came the voice of the master, which always his mate echoed, "Let fall your mainsail!" And the echo, "Let fall your mainsail!" "Yea, yea!" "On with your bonnets and drabblers!" And again came the echo from the mate, "On with your bonnets and drabblers!" "Yea, yea!" The great guns ranged along the deck--each bound fast by its new breechings--with their linstocks and sponges and ladles and rammers, made no idle show of warlike strength. There was too often need to let their grim voices sound at bay, for those were wild, lawless days. Such a ship as the Rose of Devon frigate, standing out for the open sea, is a sight the world no longer affords. Those ships are "gone, gone, gone with lost Atlantis." Their lofty poops, their little bonaventure masts, their lateen sails aft, their high forecastles and tall bowsprits with the square spritsail flaunted before the fiddlehead, came down from an even earlier day; for the Rose of Devon had been an ancient craft when King James died and King Charles succeeded to the throne. But she was a fine tall ship and staunch notwithstanding her years, and there was newly gilded carving on bow and stern and a new band of crimson ran her length. With her great sails spread she thrust her nose into the heavy swell that went rolling up the Bristol Channel, and nodding and curtseying to old Neptune, she entered upon his dominions. She was, as I have said, a brave tall ship, yet, despite her gilded carving and her band of crimson, her towering sides which were painted black gave her a singularly dark appearance, and she put to sea like a shadow out of older days. CHAPTER VII THE SHIP'S LIAR Death by land is a sobering thing and works many changes; but to my thought death at sea is more terrible, for there is a vast loneliness, with only a single ship in the midst of it, and an empty hammock for days and weeks and even months, to keep a man in mind of what has happened; and death at sea may work as many changes as death by land. Now the Rose of Devon was a week from England when a footrope parted and the boatswain pitched down, clutching at the great belly of the sail, and plunged out of sight. And what could a man do to save him? They never saw him after that first wild plunge. There, aloft, was the parted rope, its ends frayed out and hanging. Below decks was the empty berth. The blustering old boatswain, with his great roaring voice and his quick ear for a tune, had gone upon the ultimate adventure which all must face, each man for himself; but they only said, "Did you see the wild look in his eyes when he fell?" And, "I fear we shall hear his pipe of nights." And, "'Tis a queer thought that Neddie Hart is to lie in old Davy Jones's palace, with the queer sea-women all about him, awaiting for his old shipmates." Presently the master's boy came forward into the forecastle, where the men off duty were sitting and talking of the one who had fallen so far, had sunk so deep, had gone on a journey so long that they should never see him again; and quietly--for the boy was much bedevilled and trembled with fright to think of putting his head, as it were, into the mouth of the lion--he crept behind Philip Marsham and whispered in his ear, "The master would see thee in the great cabin." They sat at close quarters in the forecastle of the Rose of Devon, and the boy had barely room to pass the table and the benches, for the men had crowded in and put their heads together; but for once they were too intent on their own thoughts to heed his coming or his going, which gave him vast comfort. (Little enough comfort the poor devil got, between the men forward and the officers aft!) So Phil rose and followed. The great cabin, when he entered, was empty. He stood at loss, waiting, but curiously observed meanwhile the rich hangings and the deep chairs and the cupboards filled with porcelain ware. There was plate on the cabin table and a rich cloak lay thrown loosely over a chair; and he thought to himself that those deep-sea captains lived like princes, as indeed they did. He shifted his weight from foot to foot in growing uneasiness. The boy had disappeared. There was no sound of voice or step. Then, as the ship rolled and Phil put out a foot to brace himself, a door swung open and revealed on the old-fashioned walk that ran across the stem under the poop, the lean, big-boned figure of Captain Francis Candle. The master of the Rose of Devon stood with folded arms and bent head, but though his head was bent, his eyes, the lad could see, were peering from under his heavy brows at the horizon. He swayed as the ship rolled, and remained intent on his thoughts, which so absorbed him that he had quite forgotten sending the boy for Philip Marsham. So Phil waited; and the broad hat that hung on the bulkhead scraped backward and forward as the ship plunged into the trough and rose on the swell; and Captain Candle remained intent on his thoughts; and a sea bird circled over the wake of the ship. After a long time the master turned about and walked into the cabin and, there espying Philip Marsham, he smiled and said, "I was remiss. I had forgotten you." He threw aside the cloak that lay on the chair and sat down. "Sit you down," he said with a nod. "You are a practised seaman, no lame, decrepit fellow who serves for underwages. Have you mastered the theory?" "Why, sir, I am not unacquainted with astrolabe and quadrant, and on scales and tables I have spent much labour." "So!" And his manner showed surprise. Then, "Inkpot and quill are before you. Choose a fair sheet and put down thereon the problem I shall set you." The captain leaned back and half closed his eyes while Phil spread the paper and dipped the quill. "Let us say," he finally continued, "that two ships sail from one port. The first sails south-south-west a certain distance; then altering her course, she sails due west ninety-two leagues. The second ship, having sailed six-score leagues, meets with the first ship. I demand the second ship's course and rhomb, and how many leagues the first ship sailed south-south-west. Now, my man, how go you to work?" Phil studied the problem as he had set it down, and wrinkled his brows over it, while Captain Candle lay back with a flicker of a smile on his lips and watched the lad struggle with his thoughts. After a time Phil raised his head. "First, sir," said he, "I shall draw the first ship's rhomb thus, from A unto E, which shall be south-south-west. Then I shall lay a line from A unto C as the ninety leagues that she sailed west. Next I shall lay my line from C to D, and further, as her south-west course. Then I shall lay from A a line that shall correspond to the six-score leagues the second ship sailed, which cuts at D the line I drew before." As he talked, he worked with his pen, and the master, rising as if in surprise, bent over the table and watched every motion. The pen drew lines and arcs and lettered them and wrote out a problem in proportions. Hesitating, the point crawled over columns of figures. "The rhomb of the second ship," said Phil at last, "is degrees sixty-seven, and minutes thirty-six. Her course is near west-south-west. And the first ship sailed forty-nine leagues." Tapping the table, as one does who meditates, Captain Candle looked more sharply at the lad. "You are clever with your pen." "'Tis owing to the good Dr. Arber at Roehampton," Phil replied. "Had I abode with him longer, I had been cleverer still, for he was an able scholar; but there was much in school I had no taste for." The captain's eyes searched his face. "I sent for you," he said, "because I was minded to make you my boatswain. But now, if my mate were lost, I swear I'd seat you at mine own table." Phil rose. "Go then, Master Boatswain. But stay! You and your comerado make a strange pair. How came you bedfellows?" "Why, sir, we met upon the road--" "Yea, not at sea! Not at sea! Enough is said. Begone, Master Boatswain, begone!" "How now," cried Martin when Phil passed him on the deck. "Art thou called before the mast?" And he laughed till he shook. "Nay, he hath made me his boatswain." "Thou?" "Yea, comerado." "Thou? A mere gooseling? The master's on the road to Bedlam! Why here am I--" Martin's red face flamed hot. "Yea, he spoke of thee." "Ah!" "Quoth he, thou art a fine fellow, but hot-tempered, Martin, and overbold." "Ah!" The crafty, sly look came upon Martin's face and he puffed with pride; but Phil, delighting to see the jest take effect, laughed before his eyes, which sorely perplexed him. "A fine fellow, but overbold," Martin muttered, as he coiled the cable in neat fakes. "Yea, I did not believe he thought so well of me. From the glances he hath bestowed upon me, it was in my mind he was a narrow man,--" Martin smiled and dallied over his work,--"one with no eye for a mariner of parts and skill. 'A fine fellow, but overbold!' Nay, that is fair speech and it seems he hath a very searching observation." Standing erect, Martin folded his arms and swelled like a turkey-cock. His eyes being on the horizon and his back toward the watchful mate, he remained unaware that he had attracted the mate's attention. "A fine fellow, but overbold," he repeated and smiled with a very haughty air. The mate, casting his eyes about the deck, picked up a handy end of rope and made a knot in it. One man and another and another became aware of the play that the mate and Martin were about to set and, grinning hugely, they paused in their work to watch, even though they risked getting themselves into such a plight as Martin's. The captain came to the break of the quarter-deck and, perceiving the fun afoot, leaned on the swivel-gun. Slowly his humour mastered his dignity and a smile twitched at his lips. "A fine fellow, but overbold," Martin was murmuring for the fourth time, when the rope whistled and wound about his ribs and the knot fetched up on his belly with a thump that knocked his wind clean out. He made a horrible face, gasping for breath, and his ruddy colour darkened to purple. Reaching for his knife he whirled round and drew steel. "What rakehell muckworm, what base stinkard, what--" He met the cold eye of the mate and for a moment flinched, then, burning with his own folly, he cried, "Thou villain, to strike thus a man the captain himself called a fine fellow but overbold!" A snicker grew in the silence and swelled into a rumble of laughter; then, by the forecastle bulkhead, a man began to bawl, "A liar! A liar!" The mate stopped short and his hand fell. A score of voices took up the cry--"A liar! A liar!"--and Martin turned pale. Captain Candle on the quarter-deck was laughing softly and the mate in glee slapped his thigh. "Thou yerking, firking, jerking tinker," said he, "dost hear the cry? 'Tis a Monday morning and they are crying thee at the mainmast." "A liar! A liar!" the men bawled, crowding close about. "But 'tis no lie. Or this foully deceitful comerado, this half-fledged boatswain--" It came suddenly upon Martin that he had been sorely gulled, and that to reveal the truth would fix upon him the lasting ridicule of his shipmates. He swelled in fury and gave them angry glances but they only laughed the louder, then, rope in hand, the mate stepped toward him. Though he made a motion as if to stand his ground, at sight of the rope Martin's hand shook in his haste to thrust his knife back into the sheath. It was the old custom of the sea that they should hail as a liar the man first caught in a lie on a Monday morning and proclaim him thus from the mainmast, and unhappy was the man thus hailed, for thereby he became for a week the "ship's liar" and held his place under the swabber. "For seven days, thou old cozzener," said the mate, "thou shalt keep clean the beakhead and the chains, and lucky art thou to be at sea. Ashore they would have whipped thee through the streets at the cart's tail." Again a great wave of laughter swept the deck and by his face Martin showed his anger. But though he was "a fine fellow" and "overbold," he kept his tongue between his teeth; and whatever he suspected of Philip Marsham, he held his peace and went over the bow with ill grace and fell to scraping the chains, which was a task to humble the tallest pride. There was that in the laughter of the crew which had taught discretion to even bolder men than Martin Barwick. "I have seen his kind before," a voice said low in Phil's ear. "But though there be much of the calf in him, beware lest you rouse him to such a pitch that he will draw and strike." It was Will Canty, the youth who had already won the young boatswain's liking, spoke thus. He was a comerado more to Phil's taste than was the luckless Martin; but fate is not given to consulting tastes, and necessity forces upon a traveller such bedfellows as he meets by the way. CHAPTER VIII STORM The storm brewed long in gray banks of cloud that hung in the west and north. It drew around the Rose of Devon from north to east with a slow, immutable force, as yet perceived rather than felt, till she sailed in the midst of a circle of haze. At night the moon was ringed. The sun rose in a bank of flaming red and the small sea-birds that by their presence, mariners say, tell of coming gales, played over the wake. Captain Candle from the poop sniffed at the damp air: and studying the winds as they veered and rose in brisk flourishes and fell to the merest whisper of a breeze, he puckered his lips, which was his way when thoughts crowded upon him. Martin on the beakhead pursued his noisome task of cleaning it under the watchful eye of the swabber (who took unkind joy in exacting from him the utmost pains), and cast furtive glances at the gray swell that came shouldering up from the east. "Holla, boatswain," the captain cried. "Yea, yea!" "Our foresail is old and hath lost its goodness. Look to thy stores and see if there be not another. Have it ready, then, to bend in haste if there be need." "Yea, yea!" "And lay out thy cordage, boatswain, that if sheet or halyard or tackling shall part, we may be ready to bend another in its place." Descending thereupon into the forehold with his boatswain's mate to fetch and carry, Boatswain Marsham fell to work overhauling the bolts of sail-cloth and the hanks of cordage and the coils of rope, till he had found a new foresail and laid it under the hatch, and had placed great ropes and such cordage as headlines and marlines and sennets so that a man could lay hands on them in a time of haste and confusion. For the Rose of Devon was heavily pitching and the seas crashed on her three-inch planks with a noise like thunderclaps; and when she lifted on the swell, the water rumbled against her bilge and gurgled away past her run. Very faintly he heard a sailor's voice, "The pump is choked." There was shouting above for a time, then the cry arose, which brought reassurance to all, "Now she sucks," and again there was quiet. Climbing through the hatch and passing aft along the main deck, he heard for himself the _suck-suck_ from the pump well, then the rattle of tiller and creak of pintle as the helmsmen eased her off and brought her on to meet a rising sea. "Holla, master!" "Holla, is all laid ready below?" "Yea! Ropes and cordage and sail are laid ready upon the main deck and secured against the storm." "And seemeth she staunch to one in the hold?" "Yea, master." "Then, boatswain, call up the men to prayer and breakfast, for we shall doubtless have need of both ere the day is done. Boy, fetch my cellar of bottles, for I would drink a health to all, fore and aft, and I would have the men served out each a little sack." By midday the veering winds had settled in the east and the overcast sky had still further darkened. The ship, labouring heavily, held her course; but as the wind blew up a fresh gale, the after sails took the wind from the sails forward, which began to beat and thresh. Swarming aloft, the younkers handed the fore-topsail-steering-sail, the fore and main topsails, and the main-topsail-staysail. But as they manned the foreyard, the ship yawed in such a manner that the full force of the wind struck the old foresail and split it under their fingers. Philip Marsham on the weather yardarm, with the grey seas breaking in foam beneath him at one minute and with the forecastle itself seeming to rise up at him the next minute, so heavily did the old ship roll, was reaching for the sail at the moment it tore to ribands; and a billow of grey canvas striking him in the face knocked him off the yard; but as he fell, he locked his legs round the spar and got finger hold on the earing, and crawled back to the mast as the sailors stood by the ropes to strike the yard and get in the threshing tatters of the sail. The mate, going aft, was caught in the waist when the ship gave a mighty lurch, and went tumbling to lee-ward where the scupper-holes were spouting like so many fountains all a-row. The fall might well have ended his days, had he not bumped into the capstan where he clung fast with both arms, and twice lucky he was to stay his fall thus, for a sea came roaring over the waist and drowned the fountains in the scuppers and in a trice the decks were a-wash from forecastle to poop. But the old ship shook her head and righted and Captain Francis Candle, leaning against the wind, his cloak flapping in the gale and his hat hauled hard down over his eyes, descended from the poop and braced himself in its lee. "The wind blows frisking," the mate cried, scrambling up the ladder and joining the master. "Yea, it is like to over-blow. She took a shrewd plunge but now. We shall further our voyage by striking every sail. Go thou, mate, and have them secure the spritsail-yard, then take thy station on the forecastle." For an hour or two the old Rose of Devon went plunging through the seas; and there was much loosing and lowering of sails. For a while, then, the wind scanted so that there was hope the storm had passed, and during the lull they bent and set the new foresail and must needs brace and veer and haul aft. But ere long the gale blew up amain, and in the late afternoon Captain Candle, sniffing the breeze, called upon all to stand by and once more to hand both foresail and mainsail. "Cast off the topsail sheets, clew garnets, leechlines and buntlines!" The order came thinly through the roar of the wind. "Yea, yea!" a shrill voice piped. "Stand by the sheet and brace--come lower the yard and furl the sail--see that your main halyards be clear and all the rest of your gear clear and cast off." "It is all clear." "Lower the main yard--haul down upon your down-haul." As the yard swayed down and the men belayed the halyards, one minute staggering to keep their feet, the next minute slipping and sliding across the decks, the captain's sharp voice, holding them at their work, cut through the gale, "Haul up the clew garnets, lifts, leechlines and buntlines! Come, furl the sail fast and secure the yard lest it traverse and gall!" "'Twas a fierce gust," an old sailor cried to Phil, who had reached for the rigging and saved himself from going down to the lee scuppers. "We best look the guns be all fast. I mind, in the Grace and Mary, my second Guinea voyage, a gun burst its breechings--" "Belay the fore down-haul!" the mate thundered, and leaving his tale untold, the old man went crawling forward. The men heard faintly the orders to the helmsman, "Hard a-weather!--Right your helm!--Now port, port hard! More hands! He cannot put up the helm!" Then out of the turmoil and confusion a great voice cried, "A sail! A sail!" "Where?" "Fair by us." "How stands she?" "To the north'ard." She lay close hauled by the wind and as the Rose of Devon, scudding before the sea, bore down the wind and upon her, she hove out signs to speak; but though Captain Candle passed under her lee as near as he dared venture and learned by lusty shouting that she was an English ship from the East Indies, which begged the Rose of Devon for God's sake to spare them some provisions, since they were eighty persons on board who were ready to perish for food and water, the seas ran so high that neither the one vessel nor the other dared hoist out a boat; and parting, the men of the Rose of Devon lost sight of her in the gathering dusk. Still more and more the storm increased. Darkness came, but there was no rest at sea that night. Thanks to the storm, and the labour and anxiety it brought all hands, Martin, the latter part of that day, escaped the duties of ship's liar, and glad was he of the chance to slip unobserved about the deck with no reminder of his late humiliation. But by night he was blue with the cold, and drenching wet and so hungry that he gnawed at a bit of biscuit when he needed both hands to haul on a rope. Finding Phil Marsham at his shoulder and still resenting bitterly the jest to which he had fallen victim, he shot at him an ill-tempered glance and in sullen silence turned his back. "Belay!" A line of struggling men tripped and stumbled as they secured the rope and went swaying and staggering across the deck when the ship rolled; for the weight of her towering superstructure and her cannon would set her wallowing fearfully in the merest seaway. One caught up the rope's end in loose coils; another, having fallen, got clumsily on his feet and staunched his bleeding nose; the rest shivered as the icy wind struck through their wet shirts. Martin again turned his back on the boatswain and hugged himself, but to little profit, although his fat arms covered a goodly area. Phil laughed softly at Martin's show of spleen and was about to warm the man's temper further by a thrust well calculated to stir him to fury, when the ship rose with a queer lurch and descended into a veritable gulf. They saw above them a sea looming like a black cloud. It mounted slowly up, hung over them, curled down a dark tongue of water and, before the Rose of Devon had righted from her plunge into the trough, broke upon the ship and overwhelmed her. The waist was flooded from the head of the forecastle to the break of the poop. Water, licking across the quarter-deck, rose in a great wave that drenched the captain to his thighs and poured into the steerage room, momentarily blinding the men at the helm,--for in those old ships they stood with their faces on a level with the quarter-deck,--and, following whipstaff and tiller, spilled into the main deck and hold. Philip Marsham, as the water washed him off his feet, made shift to lay hands on the shrouds, and though he had no footing and was washed far out over the side, his grasp was strong and he held himself against the rush of water as the ship rose like a dog shaking its head and coming up through a wave. In very truth she seemed to shake her head and struggle up to the black night above. But as Phil saved himself he saw Martin cowering by a gun and striving to reach the breeching; and as the ship rose, the lad half felt, half saw, some great body washed past him and over the side. There was no one beside the gun: Martin was gone. Though a man were a knave and liar, Phil Marsham had no stomach to see him drown thus; and though he held old Martin in contempt and bedevilled him night and day, yet he had a curious liking for the fellow. Overhead there hung from the maintop a loose rope. He faintly saw it swinging against the leaden-black sky. By a nimble leap there was a fair chance a man might reach it and if it did not part, an active man might by a stroke of fortune regain the ship. All this Phil saw in the falling of a single grain of sand, then the rope swung within reach of his hand and he seized it. Spared the hazard of leaping for it, he let go the shrouds and swung with all his strength out into the night. Swinging high over the sea he saw for an instant, while he was in mid-air, the Rose of Devon surging away from under him. The single great lanthorn was burning on her poop, and dim lights in forecastle and cabin showed that those parts of the ship, at least, had come up through the sea unflooded. He thought he saw a cloaked figure like a shadow on the quarter-deck. Then he slid down into darkness till the rope burned his hands, then he struck the water and went under, gasping at the shock, for the sea was as cold as a mountain stream. He caught a last glimpse of the great ship, now looming high above him, then clutching fast the rope with one hand and wildly kicking out, he felt with his knees what might be a man's body. With his free hand he reached for the body. He snatched at an arm and missed it, then felt hair brushing his fingers and tangled them in it and gripped it. He went down and down; then the drag of the water, for the ship was scudding fast, raised him to the surface. The ship rolled toward him and he again went under, overshadowed by the lofty poop which leaned out so far that notwithstanding the tumble home he thought the poop would come down and crush him. The ship then rolled away from him, and the rope brought up on his arm so hard that he feared the bones would pull from their sockets; but if he died in doing it he was bound he would hold the rope and keep his man. The ship rolled till he bumped against her side and was lifted half out of water. "Help!" he cried. "Help or we die!" He heard voices above and felt the rope move as if some one had seized it, then the looming bulk of the ship rolled back and drove him again down into the sea. He had no wind left for calling when he came up as once more the ship rolled, but the man he held had come to life and was clinging like a leech to the rope, which vastly lightened the strain, and some one above was hauling on it. For a moment the two swung in air with the sea beneath them, then the ship rolled farther and their weight rested on planks, and hands from within the ship reached down and lifted them on board. The man--and it was indeed Martin--coughed like one who is deathly sick, as well he might be, and went rolling down the deck with a boy to help him. But Phil, having kept his head and having swallowed no great quantity of salt water, was able after breathing deeply a few times to stand alone beside Will Canty whose hands had drawn him to safety, and to perceive that waist, boat, capstan, windlass and sheet anchor were washed away. He then heard a pounding and shouting aft. "What in the fiend's name hath befallen us?" he demanded. "'Tis even worse than doth appear," Will cried. "The sea hath a free passage into the hold between the timber heads. They are pumping with both pumps. The captain hath ordered the mizzenmast cut away, the better to keep us before the wind. Hear you not the sound of axes? And--" Out of the darkness burst the mate. "Come, my hearts! Below there! Cram blankets and hammocks into the leak, yea, the shirts from off your backs! And then to the pumps to take your turn. And pray Almighty God to give us sight of another day." There was running on the deck and shadows passed forward and aft. From the quarter-deck a clear voice, so sharp that it pierced the noise of the storm, was calling, "Port the helm! Ease her, ease her! Now up! Hard up! Ease her, ease her!" As the boatswain dropped through the hatch, he saw very dimly the captain crouching under the poop, his cloak drawn close about him. There was wild confusion below, for as the ship rolled to starboard the sea burst in through the great gap along the timber heads and pushed through the gap and into the ship the blankets and rugs that were stuffed in place. Though the men leaped after them and came scrambling back to force them again into place between the timbers, and though they tore down hammocks and jammed them in with the blankets to fill the great opening, yet as the ship again rolled and the sea once more came surging against the barrier, they again fled before it, and again the sea cleared the gap and came flooding in upon the deck. It was a sight to fill a brave man with despair. The more hands made faster work, and though the labour seemed spent in vain they stuffed the gap anew. But now when the ship again rolled to starboard an old seaman raised his hand and roared, "Every man to his place and hold against the sea! Stay! Hold fast your ground!--Come, bullies, hold hard!--Good fellows! See, we have won!" They had perceived his meaning and braced themselves and with their hands they had held the stuffing in the gap until the pressure ceased, which was more of a feat than a man might think, since despite their every effort the sea had found passage in great strong streams, yet they held to the last; and when the ship rolled back, Boatswain Marsham cried out:-- "Now, Master Carpenter, quick! Bring great nails and hammer and a plank or two. Yare, yare!" "Yea, yea," the carpenter cried, and came running down the deck. The men held the planking and the carpenter drove home the nails and thus they made the plank fast along the timbers behind the gap, where it would serve to brace the stuffing. Between the plank and the stuffing they forced a great mass of other wadding, and though the ship rolled ever so deeply the plank held against the sea. They left it so; but all that night, which seemed as long as any night they had ever seen, no man slept in the Rose of Devon, for they still feared lest the sea should batter away the plank and work their undoing. All night long they kept the pumps going and all night long they feared their labour would be lost. But at four in the morning one of the pumps sucked, which gave them vast comfort, and at daybreak they gave thanks to God, who had kept them safe until dawn. The storm had passed and the sky was clear, and Phil and Martin met at sunrise. "Since thou hast haled me out of the sea by the hair of my head," quoth Martin, after the manner of one who swallows a grievance he can ill stomach, "I must e'en give thee good morrow." CHAPTER IX THE MASTER'S GUEST "A sail! A sail!" The seas had somewhat abated and the Rose of Devon was standing on her course under reefed mainsail when the cry sounded. The vessel they sighted lay low in the water; and since she had one tall mast forward and what appeared to be a lesser mast aft they thought her a ketch. But while they debated the matter the faint sound of guns fired in distress came over the sea; and loosing the reef of their mainsail and standing directly toward the stranger, the men in the Rose of Devon soon made her out to be, instead, a ship which had lost her mainmast and mizzenmast and was wallowing like a log. While the Rose of Devon was still far off, her men saw that some of the strange crew were aloft in the rigging and that others were huddled on the quarter-deck; and when, in the late afternoon, she came up under the stranger's stern, the unknown master and his men got down on their knees on the deck and stretched their arms above their bare heads. "Save us," they cried in a doleful voice, "for the Lord Jesus' sake! For our ship hath six-foot water in the hold and we can no longer keep her afloat." In all the Rose of Devon there was not a heart but relented at their lamentable cry, not a man but would do his utmost to lend them aid. "Hoist out thy boat and we will stand by to succour thee," Captain Candle called. "We can do no more, for we ha' lost our own boat in the storm." It appeared they had but one boat, which was small, so they must needs divide the crew to leave their vessel, part at one time and part at another; and the seas still ran so high, though wind and wave had moderated, that it seemed impossible they could make the passage. With men at both her pumps the Rose of Devon lay by the wind, wallowing and plunging, and her own plight seemed a hard one. But the poor stranger, though ever and again she rose on the seas so that the water drained from her scupper-holes, lay for the most part with her waist a-wash and a greater sea than its fellows would rise high on the stumps of mainmast and mizzenmast. Her ropes dragged over the side and her sails were a snarl of canvas torn to shreds, and a very sad sight she presented. Three times they tried to hoist out their boat and failed; but the fourth time they got clear, and with four men rowing and one steering and seven with hats and caps heaving out the water, they came in the twilight slowly down the wind past the Rose of Devon and up into her lee. The men at the waist of the ship saw more clearly, now, the features of those in the boat, and the one in the stern who handled the great steering oar had in the eyes of Philip Marsham an oddly familiar look. Phil gazed at the man, then he turned to Martin and knew he was not mistaken, for Martin's mouth was agape and he was on the very point of crying out. "Holla!" Martin yelled. The man in the stern of the boat looked up and let his eyes range along the waist of the ship. Not one of all those in sight on board the Rose of Devon escaped his scrutiny, which was quick and sure; but he looked Martin coldly in the face without so much as a nod of recognition; and though his brief glance met Phil's gaze squarely and seemed for the moment to linger and search the lad's thoughts, it then passed to the one at Phil's side. It was the thin man who had been Martin's companion on the road--it was Tom Jordan--it was the Old One. Martin's face flamed, but he held his tongue. A line thrown to the boat went out through the air in coils that straightened and sagged down between the foremost thwarts. A sailor in the boat, seizing the line, hauled upon it with might and main. The Old One hotly cursed him, and bellowed, "Fend off, fend off, thou slubbering clown! Thy greed to get into the ship will be the means of drowning us all." Some thrust out oars to fend away from the side of the ship and some held back; but two or three, hungering for safety, gave him no heed and hauled on the rope and struggled to escape out of their little boat, which was already half full of water. The Old One then rose with a look of the Fiend in his eyes and casting the steering oar at the foremost of them, knocked the man over into the sea, where he sank, leaving a blotch of red on the surface, which was a terrible sight and brought the others to observe the Old One's commands. Some cried "Save him!" but the Old One roared, "Let the mutinous dog go!" Perhaps he was right, for there are times when it takes death to maintain the discipline that will save many lives. At all events it was then too late to save either the man or the boat, for although they strove thereafter to do as the Old One bade them, the boat had already thumped against the side of the ship and it was each man for himself and the Devil take the last. The men above threw other ropes and bent over to give a hand to the poor fellows below, and all but the man who had sunk came scrambling safe on board. The Old One leaned out and looked down at the boat, which lay full of water, with a great hole in her side. "I would have given my life sooner than let this happen," he said. "There are seven men left on board our ship, who trusted me to save them. Indeed, I had not come away but these feared lest without the master you should refuse to take them. What say ye, my baw-cocks, shall we venture back for our shipmates?" Looking down at the boat and at the gaping holes the sea had stove by throwing her against the Rose of Devon, the men made no reply. "Not one will venture back? Is there no one of ye?" "'Twere madness," one began. "We should--" "See! She hath gone adrift!" And in truth, her gunwales under water, the boat was already drifting astern. At the end of the painter, which a Rose of Devon's man still held, there dangled a piece of broken board. "Let us bring thy ship nigh under the lee of mine," the Old One cried to Captain Candle. "It may be that by passing a line we can yet save them." "It grieves me sorely to refuse them aid, but to approach nearer, with the darkness now drawing upon us, were an act of folly that might well cost the lives of us all. Mine own ship is leaking perilously and in this sea, were the two to meet, both would most certainly go down." The Old One looked about and nodded. "True," said he. "There is no recovering the boat and darkness is upon us. Let us go as near to the ship as we may and bid them have courage till morning, when, God willing, we shall try to get aboard and save them." "That we will. And I myself will con the ship." Leaning over the rail, Tom Jordan, the Old One, called out, "Holla, my hearts! The boat hath gone adrift with her sides stove; but do you make a raft and keep abroad a light until morning, when God helping us, we will endeavor to get you aboard." Perceiving for the first time that the boat was gone and there was no recovering her, those left on board the wreck gave a cry so sad that it pierced the hearts of all in the Rose of Devon, whose men saw them through the dusk doing what they could to save themselves; and presently their light appeared. Working the Rose of Devon to windward of the wreck, Captain Candle lay by, but all his endeavours could not avail to help them, for about ten o'clock at night, three hours after the Old One and his ten men had got on board the Rose of Devon, their ship sank and their light went out and seven men lost their lives. The Old One, standing beside Captain Candle, had watched the light to the last. "It is a bitter grief to bear," he said, "for they were seven brave men. A master could desire no better mariners. 'Tis the end of the Blue Friggat from Virginia, bound for Portsmouth, wanting seven weeks." "A man can go many years to sea without meeting such a storm." "Yea! Three days ago when the wind was increasing all night we kept only our two courses abroad. At daybreak we handed our main course, but before we had secured it the storm burst upon us so violently that I ordered the foreyard lowered away; but not with all their strength could the men get it down, and of them all not one had a knife to cut away the sail, for they wore only their drawers without pockets; so the gale drove us head into the sea and stopped our way and a mighty sea pooped us and filled us and we lay with only our masts and forecastle out of the water. I myself, being fastened to the mizzenmast with a rope, had only my head out of water. Yea, we expected to go straight down to the bottom, but God of his infinite goodness was pleased to draw us from the deep and another sea lifted up our ship. We got down our foresail and stowed it and bored holes between the decks to let the water into the hold and by dint of much pumping we kept her afloat until now. In all we have lost eight lives this day and a sad day it is." "From Virginia, wanting seven weeks," Captain Candle mused. Captain Jordan stole a swift glance at him but saw no suspicion in his face. "Yea, from Virginia." "You shall share mine own cabin but I fear you have come only from one wreck to another." The two captains sat late that night at the table in the great cabin, one on each side, and ate and drank. There was fine linen on the table, and bread of wheat flour with butter less than two weeks from the dairy, and a fine old cheese, and a mutton stew, and canary and sack and aqua vitæ. At midnight they were still lingering over the suckets and almonds and comfits that the boy had set before them; and the boy, nodding in uncontrollable drowsiness as he stood behind his master's chair, strove to keep awake. The murmuring voices of the men at the helm came faintly through the bulkhead, and up from below the deck came the creak of whipstaff and tiller. The moon, shining through the cabin window, added its wan light to the yellow radiance from the swinging lanthorns, and stars were to be seen. So completely had wind and weather changed in a night and a day that, save for the long rolling swell, the great gap where waist and boat and capstan had gone, the hole stuffed with blankets and rugs and hammocks, the stump of a mizzenmast, and the rescued men on board--save for these, a man might have forgotten storms and wrecks. "You are well found," said Captain Thomas Jordan, tilting his glass and watching the wine roll toward the brim; "yea, and we are in good fortune." His thin face, as he lifted his brows and slightly smiled at his host, settled into the furrowed wrinkles that had won him the name of the Old One. "We can give such entertainment as is set before you," his host drily replied. Francis Candle was too shrewd a man to miss his guest's searching appraisal of the cabin and its furnishings. In his heart he already distrusted the fellow. CHAPTER X BETWEEN MIDNIGHT AND MORNING Through the main deck to the gun-room and up into the forecastle there drifted smoke from the cookroom in the hold, which was the way of those old ships. At times it set choking the men at the pumps; it eddied about the water cask before the mainmast and about the riding butts by the heel of the bowsprit, and went curling out of the hawse pipes. It crept insidiously into the forecastle, and the men cursed fluently when their eyes began to smart and their noses to sting. There were seven men in the forecastle and Martin Barwick was one of the seven, although his watch was on deck and he had no right to be there. Philip Marsham, whose watch was below, had stayed because he suspected there was some strange thing in the wind and was determined to learn if possible what it was. Two of the others were younkers of the Rose of Devon, who suspected nothing, and the remaining three were of the rescued men. There was a step above and a round head appeared in the hatch. The dim smoky light gave a strange appearance to the familiar features. "Ho, cook!" Martin cried, and thumped on the table. "Come thou down and bring us what tidings the boy hath brought thee in the cookroom. Yea, though the cook labour in the very bowels of the ship, is it not a proverb that he alone knows all that goes on?" Slipping through the hatch, the cook drew a great breath and sat him down by the table. "She was the Blue Friggat, I hear, and seven weeks from Virginia--God rest the souls of them who went down in her!" "From Virginia!" quoth Martin. "Either th' art gulled, in truth, or th' art the very prince of liars. From Virginia! Ho ho!" And Martin laughed loud and long. Now it was for such a moment that Philip Marsham was waiting, nor had he doubted the moment would come. For although Martin had gone apart with the men who had come from the foundered ship, the fellow's head, which was larger than most heads, could never keep three ideas in flourish at the same time. To learn what game was in the wind there was need only to keep close at Martin's heels until his blunders should disclose his secrets. "The Devil take thee, thou alehouse dog!" the cook cried in a thick, wheezy voice. "Did not the boy bring me word straight when he came down for a can of boiling water with which this Captain Jordan would prepare a wondrous drink for Captain Candle?" "And did not I part with this Captain Jordan not--Wow-ouch!" With a yell Martin tipped back in his chair and went over. Crawling on his feet, he put on a long face and rubbed his head and hurled a flood of oaths at the sailor beside him, a small man and round like an apple, who went among his fellows--for he was one of those the Rose of Devon had rescued--by the name of Harry Malcolm. "Nay," the little round man very quietly replied, "I fear you not, for all your bluster. Put your hand on your tongue, fellow, and see if you cannot hold it. I had not intended to tip you over. It was done casually." "And why, perdy, did'st thou jam thy foot on mine till the bones crunched? I'll have thy heart's blood." "Nay," the man replied, so quietly, so calmly that he might have been a clerk sitting on his stool, "you have a way of talking overmuch, fellow, and I have a misliking of speech that babbles like a brook. It can make trouble." Martin stopped as if he had lost his voice, but continued to glare at the stranger, who still regarded him with no concern. "It is thy weakness, fellow," he said, "and--" he looked very hard at Martin--"it may yet be the occasion of thine untimely end." For a moment Martin stood still, then, swallowing once or twice, he went out of the dimly lighted forecastle into the darkness of the deck. "He appears," the little man said, addressing the others, "to be an excitable fellow. Alas, what trouble a brisk tongue can bring upon a man!" The little man, Harry Malcolm, looked from one to another and longest at Phil. Now Phil could not say there had been a hidden meaning in the hard look the little man had given Martin or in the long look the little man had given Phil himself. But he knew that whether this was so or not, there was no more to be got that night from Martin, and he in turn, further bepuzzled by the little man's words and after all not much enlightened by Martin's blunder, left the forecastle to seek the main deck. Passing the great cannon lashed in their places, and leaving behind him the high forecastle, he came into the shadow of the towering poop on which the lantern glowed yellow in the blue moonlight, and continued aft to the hatch ladder. Already it was long past midnight. He imagined he heard voices in the great cabin, and although he well enough knew that it was probably only imagination,--for the cabin door was closed fast,--the presence of the Old One on board the Rose of Devon was enough to make a man imagine things, who had sat in Mother Taylor's cottage and listened to talk of the gentlemen who sailed from Bideford. He paused at the head of the ladder and listened, but heard nothing more. An hour passed. There were fewer sounds to break the silence. There is no time like the very early morning for subtle and mysterious deeds. Boatswain Marsham was asleep below and Captain Candle was asleep aft, when Captain Jordan arose and stretched himself, and in a voice that would have been audible to Captain Candle if he had been awake but that was so low it did not disturb his sleep, vowed he must breathe fresh air ere he could bury his head in a blanket for the night. Emerging from the great cabin, Captain Jordan climbed first to the poop, whence he looked down on the brave old ship and the wide space of sky and darkly heaving sea within the circle of the horizon. To look thus at the sea is enough to make a philosopher of a thinking man, and this Captain Thomas Jordan was by no means devoid of thought. But whereas many a one who stands under the bright stars in the small morning hours feels himself a brother with the most trifling creatures that live and is filled with humility to consider in relation to the immeasurable powers of the universe his weakness during even his brief space of life--whereas such a one perceives himself to be, like the prophets of ancient times, in a Divine Presence, the Old One, his face strangely youthful in its repose, threw back his head and softly laughed, as if there high on the poop he were a god of the heathen, who could blot out with his thumb the ship and all the souls that sailed in her. His face had again a haunting likeness to the devils in the old wood-cuts; and indeed there is something of the devil in the very egotism of a man who can thus assert his vain notions at such an hour. Presently descending from the poop and with a nod passing on the quarter-deck the officer of the watch, he paced for a time the maintop-deck. He pretended to absorb himself in the sea and the damage the storm had done to the waist; but he missed nothing that happened and he observed the whereabouts of every man in the watch. Edging slowly forward, he stood at last beside a big man who was leaning in the shadow of the forecastle. "We meet sooner than you thought," he said in a low voice. "Yea, for we were long on the road and entangled ourselves wonderfully among those byways and high-ways which cross the country in a manner perplexing beyond belief." "Saw you your brother?" "In all truth I saw him--and the Devil take him!" The Old One laughed softly. "It is plain thy brother hath little love for a shipwrecked mariner," quoth he, "yet there is a most memorable antiquity about the use of ships, and even greater gluttons than thy brother have supped light that worthy seamen might not go hungry to bed. We will speak of him another time. What think you of this pretty pup we have met by the way?--Ah, thine eye darkens! Methinks thou hast more than once felt the rough side of his tongue." "He bears himself somewhat struttingly--" Martin hesitated, but added perforce, since he had received a friendly turn he could not soon forget, "yet he hath his good points." "He was one too many for thee! Nay, confess it!" "Th' art a filthy rascal!" Martin's face burned with anger. "I knew he would be too cunning for thy wool-gathering wits. Truly I believe he is a lad after my own heart. I have marked him well." "But hast thou plumbed his inclination with thy sounding lead?" "Why, no. At worst, he can disappear. It has happened to taller men than he, and in a land where there are men at arms to come asking questions." "Hgh!" "This for thy whining, though: we shall play upon him lightly. Some are not worth troubling over, but this lad is a cunning rogue and hath book learning." "Came you in search of this ship?" "It was chance alone that brought us across her course. Chance alone, Martin, that brought your old captain back to you." Watching Martin, as he spoke, the Old One again laughed softly. "Yea, Martin, it touches the heart of your old captain to see with what pleasure you receive him." "Th' art a cunning devil," Martin muttered, and babbled oaths and curses. "We must sleep, Martin--sleep and eat, for we are spent with much labour and many hardships, and it is well for them to sail our ship for us a while longer. But the hour will come, and do you then stand by." The Old One went aft. The ship rolled drowsily and the watch nodded. Surveying her aloft and alow, as a man does who is used to command, and not as a guest on board might do, the Old One left the deck. CHAPTER XI HEAD WINDS AND A ROUGH SEA "Lacking the mizzen she labours by the wind, which hath veered sadly during the night," quoth Captain Jordan in a sleepy voice, as with his host he came upon deck betimes. "I like it little," the master replied. "It would be well to lay a new course and sail on a new voyage. There is small gain to be got from these fisheries. A southern voyage, now, promises returns worth the labour." To this Captain Candle made no reply. He studied the sore damage done to the ship, upon which already the carpenter was at work. "With a breadth of canvas and hoops to batten the edges fast, and over all a coating of tar, a man might make her as tight and dry as you please," said the Old One. He smiled when he spoke and his manner galled his host. "It was in my own mind," Captain Candle replied, with an angry lift of his head. There are few things more grievously harassing than the importunity and easy assurance of a guest of whom there is no riddance. It puts a man where he is peculiarly helpless to defend himself, and already Captain Candle's patience had ebbed far. "Bid the boatswain overhaul his canvas, mate, and the carpenter prepare such material as be needful. Aye, and bid the 'liar' stand ready to go over the side. 'Twill cool his hot pride, of which it seems he hath full measure." "Yea, yea!" As the master paced the deck, back and forth and back and forth, the Old One walked at his side--for he was a shrewd schemer and had calculated his part well--until the master's gorge rose. "I must return to the cabin," he said at last, "and overhaul my journal." "I will bear you company." "No, no!" The Old One smiled as if in deprecation; but as the master turned away, the smile broadened to a grin. Boatswain Marsham and the one-eyed carpenter who wore a beard like a goat's were on their way to the forehold. The cook and his mate were far down in the cookroom. Ten men in the watch below were sound asleep--but Martin Barwick, the eleventh man in the watch, was on deck, _and of the eleven rescued men not one was below_. With Captain Candle safe in his cabin and busied over his journal, there were left from the company of the Rose of Devon eight men and the mate, and one man of the eight was at the helm. These the Old One counted as he took a turn on the quarter-deck. The Old One and his men were refreshed by a night of sleep and restored by good food. To all appearances, without care or thought to trouble them, they ruffled about the deck. One was standing just behind the mate; two were straying toward the steerage. "Thy boatswain is a brave lad," the Old One said to the mate, and stepping in front of him, he spread his legs and folded his arms. The mate nodded. He had less liking for their guest, if it were possible, than the captain. "A brave lad," the Old One repeated. "I can use him." "You?" "Yea, I." The mate drew back a step, as a man does when another puts his face too near. He was on the point of speaking; but before his lips had phrased a word the Old One raised his hand and the man behind the mate drove six inches of blue steel into the mate's back, between his ribs and through his heart. He died in the Old One's arms, for the Old One caught him before he fell, and held him thus. "Well done," the Old One said to his man. "Not so well as one could wish," the man replied, wiping his knife on the mate's coat. "He perished quietly enough, but the knife bit into a rib and the feeling of a sharp knife dragging upon bone sets my teeth on edge." The Old One laughed. "Thy stomach is exceeding queasy," he said. "Come, let us heave him over the side." All this, remember, had happened quickly and very quietly. There were the three men standing by the quarter-deck ladder--the Old One and his man and the mate--and by all appearances the Old One merely put out his hands in a friendly manner to the other, for the knife thrust was hidden by a cloak. But now the mate's head fell forward in a queer, lackadaisical way and four of the Old One's men, perceiving what they looked for, slipped past him through the door to the steerage room, where they clapped down the hatch to the main deck. One stood on the hatch; two stood by the door of the great cabin; and the fourth, stepping up to the man at the helm, flashed a knife from his sleeve and cut the fellow down. It was a deft blow, but not so sure as the thrust that had killed the mate. The helmsman dropped the whipstaff and, falling, gave forth a yell and struck at his assailant, who again let drive at him with the knife and finished the work, so that the fellow lay with bloody froth at his lips and with fingers that twitched a little and then were still. The man who had killed him took the whipstaff and called softly, "Holla, master! We hold the helm!" then from his place he heard a sailor cry out, "The mate is falling! Lend him aid!" Then the Old One's voice, rising to a yell, called, "Stand back! Stand off! Now, my hearts!" There came a quick tempest of voices, a shrill cry, the pounding of many feet, then a splash, then a cry wilder and more shrill than any before, "Nay, I yield--quarter! Quarter, I say! Mercy! God's mercy, I beg of you! Help--O God!" There was at the same time a rumble of hoarse voices and a sound of great struggling, then a shriek and a second splash. The man at the helm kicked the dead helmsman to one side and listened. In the great cabin, behind the bulkhead at his back, he heard a sudden stir. As between the mainmast and the forecastle the yells rose louder, the great cabin door burst open and out rushed Captain Francis Candle in a rich waist with broad cuffs at his wrists, his hair new oiled with jessamine butter, and gallant bows at his knees, for he was a fine gentleman who had first gone to sea as a lieutenant in the King's service. As he rushed out the door the man lying in wait on the left struck a fierce blow to stab him, but the knife point broke on a steel plate which it seemed Captain Candle wore concealed to foil just such dastardly work. Thereupon, turning like a flash, Captain Candle spitted the scoundrel with his sword. But the man lying in wait on the right of the door saw his fellow's blow fail and perceived the reason, and leaping on the captain from behind, he seized his oiled hair with one hand and hauled back his head, and reaching forward with the other hand, drove a knife into the captain's bare throat. Dark blood from a severed vein streamed out over Captain Candle's collar and his gay waist. He coughed and his eyes grew dull. He let go his sword, which remained stuck through the body of the man who had first struck at him, clapped his hand to his neck, and went down in a heap. The yells on deck had ceased and the man who had killed Francis Candle, after glancing into the great cabin where the captain's cloak lay spread over the chair from which he rose to step out of his door and die,--where the captain's pen lay across the pages of the open journal and a bottle of the captain's wine, which he had that morning shared with his guest, Captain Thomas Jordan, stood beside the unstoppered bottle of ink,--walked forth upon the deck and nodded to the Old One, who stood with his hand on the after swivel gun. There were a few splotches of blood on the deck and three men of the Rose of Devon's crew lay huddled in a heap; there were left standing three other men of the Rose of Devon, and sick enough they looked; Martin Barwick was stationed by the ladder to the forecastle, where he stood like a pigeon cock with his head haughtily in the air and his chest thrust out; and the little round apple of a man, Harry Malcolm, who had broken in upon Martin the night before, bearing now a new and bloody gash across his forehead, was prowling among the guns and tapping the breech rings with a knowing air. The Old One from the quarter-deck looked down at the new comer. "Rab took the steel," the fellow said. "Rab!" the Old One cried. "Not Rab, you say?" "Yea, he struck first but the master wore an iron shirt which turned the point and he was then at him with his sword." "We have lost nine good men by this devil-begotten storm, but of them all Rab is the one I am most loath to see go to the sharks." The Old One paced the deck a while and the others talked in undertones. "Yea, Martin," he called at last, "nine good men. But we have got us a ship and I have great hopes of our boatswain, who may yet make us two of Rab. At all events, my bullies, we must lay us a new course, for I have no liking of these northern fisheries. Hark! They are pounding on the hatch." The sound of knocking and a muffled calling came from the main hatch, whereat the men on deck looked at one another and some of them smiled. "It were well--" the little round man began. He glanced at the huddled bodies and shrugged. "True, true!" the Old One replied, for he needed no words to complete the meaning. "You men of the Rose of Devon, heave them into the sea." The three looked at one another and hesitated, and the youngest of the three turned away his face and put his hand on his belly, and sick enough he looked, at which a great laugh went up. "Go, Harry," the Old One cried to the little round man, "and tell them at the hatch to be still, for that we shall presently have them on deck. We must learn our brave recruits a lesson." Again a roar of laughter rose, and as the little man went in to the hatch, the others drew about the three who cowered against the forecastle ladder, as well they might. "Come, silly dogs," said the Old One, "in faith, you must earn your foolish lives. Lay hands on those carcasses and heave them to the fishes." They looked into the faces of the men about them, but got small comfort as they edged toward their unwelcome task. "It is hard to use thus a shipmate of three voyages," the oldest of them muttered. "True," replied the Old One, "but so shall you buy your way into a goodlier company of shipmates, who traffic in richer cargoes than pickled codfish and New England herrings." The three picked up the bodies, one at a time, each with its arms and legs dragging, and carried them to the waist and pushed them over. But the youngest of the three was trembling like a dead weed in November when they had finished, and the Old One chuckled to see the fellow's white face. "Have courage, bawcock," the Old One cried; "there shall soon be a round of aqua vitæ to warm thy shaking limbs and send the blood coursing through thy veins. Now, Mate Harry, lift off the hatch and summon our good boatswain and carpenter." "As you please, as you please," came the quick, gentle voice of the little round man. "But there are two of 'em left still--Rab and the captain--and there's a deal of blood hereabouts." They heard the hatch creak as the little man pried it off. They heard his quick sentences pattering out one after another: "Hasten out on deck--nay, linger not. The master would have speech of thee. Nay, linger not. Ask me no questions! There's no time for lingering." Then out burst Phil Marsham with the older carpenter puffing at his heels. "What's afoot?" cried Phil. "Where's the master?--what--where--" So speedily had they hurried from the hatch (and so cleverly had the little round man interposed himself between the hatch and the two bodies at the cabin door) that in the dim light of the steerage room the two had perceived nothing amiss. But now, looking about for the source of the fierce cries and yells they had heard, they saw red stains on the deck, and men with scared white faces. All looked toward the Old One as if awaiting his reply; and when Phil Marsham, too, looked toward him, he met such another quizzing, searching, understanding gaze as he had long ago met when he had taken the words from Martin's lips on the little hill beside the road. "Why, I am master now, good boatswain." "But Captain Candle--" "His flame is out." The lad glanced about him at the circle of hard old sea dogs--for they were all of them that, were their years few or many--and drew away till he stood with the waist at his back. Laying hands on his dirk, he said in a voice that slightly trembled, "And now?" "Why," quoth the Old One, "you have sat in Mother Taylor's kitchen and heard talk of the gentlemen. You know too many secrets. Unless you are one of us--" He finished with a shrug. "You ask me, then, to join you?" "Yea." "I refuse." He looked the Old One in the eye. "Why, then," said the Old One, "you are the greater fool." The circle drew closer. "What then?" "'Tis but another candle to be snuffed." With hand on dirk and with back against the waist, the boatswain looked one and another and then another in the eye. "Why, then," said he, "I must even join you, as you say. But I call upon you all to witness I am a forced man." And he looked longest and hardest at the three men from the old crew of the Rose of Devon. The Old One looked back at the lad and there was, for the first time, doubt in his glance. He stood for a while pondering in silence all that had taken place and studying the face of his boatswain; but his liking of the lad's spirit outweighed his doubts, for such bold independence, whether in friend or foe, was the one sure key to Tom Jordan's heart. "So be it," he said at last. "But remember, my fine young fellow, that many a cockerel hath got his neck wrung by crowing out of season." He turned to the carpenter. "And what say you? We can use a man of your craft." "I am thy man!" the fellow cried. The stains on the deck had made him surpassingly eager, and his one eye winked and his beard wagged, so eager was he to declare his allegiance. "Well said!" the Old One responded. "And now, Master Harry, have them up from below--the sleepers, and the cook and his mate, and all! We have taken a fine ship--a fine ship she will be, at all events, once our good carpenter has done his work--and well found. We needs must sign a crew to sail and fight her." They heard the little round man calling down the hatch and at a great distance in the ship they heard the voices of men grumbling at being summoned out of sleep. But the grumbling was stilled when one by one the men came out on deck; and of them all, not a man refused to cast his lot with the Old One and the rest. The mere sight of a little blood and of the hard faces that greeted them was enough for most. And two or three, of whom Will Canty was one, must fain perceive how futile would be present resistance. Indeed, in the years since the old Queen had died, and the navy had gone to the dogs, and merchantmen had come to sail from the Downs knowing they were likely enough to meet a squadron of galleys lying in wait fifty leagues off the Lizard, many a sailor had taken his fling at buccaneering; and those that had not, had heard such great tales of galleons laden with treasures of the Indies and with beautiful dames of Spain that their palates were whetted for a taste of the life. The cook smiled broadly and clapped the boy on the back and cried out that as a little lad he had sailed with John Jennings what time John Jennings's wench had turned his luck, and that having begun life in such brave company, he would gladly end it in a proper voyage if it was written that his time was near. They all laughed to see the boy turn white and tremble, and they huzzaed the cook for his gallant words. But Will Canty met Phil's eyes and there passed between them a look that made the Old One frown, for he was a man who saw everything. The Rose of Devon, although close-hauled by the wind, rolled heavily, which was the way of those old tall ships; but the adverse winds and high seas she had encountered were of fancy as well as of fact. The sun was shining brightly and sky and sea were a clear blue; but despite sun and sky and sea no weatherwise man could have believed the dark days of the Rose of Devon were at an end. Like so many iron bars the shadows of the ropes fell blue on the sails, and the red blotches on the deck matched the dull red paint of the stanchions and the waist. The carpenter, who had come up with his plane in his hand, fingered the steel blade. The boy turned his back on the bloody deck and looked away at the sea, for he was a little fellow and not hardened by experience of the world. "Come, my hearts," cried the Old One, and gaily enough he spoke. "We are banded together for the good of all. There is no company of merchants to profit by our labour and our blood. God hath placed in our keeping this brave ship, which will be staunch and sea-worthy when our carpenter hath done his work. Harry Malcolm is our mate and master gunner as of old, and Phil Marsham shall continue as our boatswain--nay, grumble not! He came with Martin Barwick and he hath sat in Mother Taylor's kitchen, where may we all sit soon and raise our cans and drink thanks for a rich voyage. There is work to be done, for all must be made clean and tight--yea, and Rab is to be buried." The little round man was still wandering from gun to gun and smiling because the guns pleased him. They were demiculverins of brass, bored for a twelve-pound ball and fit to fight the King's battles; but alas! they had shown themselves powerless against a foe from within the ship. And as the Rose of Devon rolled along in the bright sun, alone in a blue sea, the body of Francis Candle lay forgotten in the steerage room. CHAPTER XII THE PORCUPINE KETCH Looking down from the quarter-deck the Old One spied the cook, who had come up to warm his bald head and fat face in the sun and to clear the smoke from his nostrils. "Ho, cook," quoth he, "I have a task for thee. Break out from the cabin stores rice and currants and cinnamon and the finest of thy wheaten flour. Seek you also a few races of green ginger. It may chance there is even a little marchpane, for this man Candle had a gentle palate. Spare not your old cheese, and if you unearth a cask of fine wine fail not to tell of it. In a word, draw forth an abundance of the best and make us such a feast as a man may remember in his old age." The cook smiled and rubbed his round paunch (yet cringed a little), for he was of a mind, being never slow in such matters, to filch from the cabin table whatever he might desire and his heart warmed to hear the good victuals named. "Yea, master," he cried, "for thee and for Mate Malcolm?" "Nay, thou parsimonious dog! Think you that such are the manners of gentlemen mariners? Times have changed. Though I be master, there is no salt at my board. One man is as good as another and any man may rub his shoulder with mine." The Old One's own men chuckled at the cook's blank face and the boy shivered when he thought that he must wait on them all, of whom one was as likely as another to fetch him a blow on the head. But the cook went down below and they heard him bawling to his mate to come and help break out the cabin stores, and word went through the ship of what was afoot. And though Will Canty and the boatswain, meeting, glanced dubiously each at the other, as did others of the Rose of Devon's old company,--for matters are in a sad way in a ship when the master feasts the men,--all the foolish fellows were clapping one another on the back and crying that here was a proper captain, and there was none quite so mad as to dispute them in so many words. The smoke grew thick between the decks, and after a while there rose the smell of baking and roasting, and the foolish ones patted their bellies and smacked their lips. They whispered about that the boy was spreading with a linen cloth the table in the great cabin and that the cook's mate was staggering under weight of rich food; and when the cook called for men to hoist out a cask of such nectar as poor sailors know not the like of, a great cheer went up and there were more hands to haul than there was room on the rope. The Old One, leaning on the poop, smiled and Harry Malcolm, coming to join him, smiled too; for they knew well the hearts of sailormen and did nothing without a purpose. So the table was laid and the feast was spread and in came the men. Only one remained at the helm, for the wind was light, which made light his task; six remained on deck to watch and stand by, with Harry Malcolm curled against the light gun on the quarter-deck to command them; and the cook and his mate, resting from their labours far down in the hold, gorged themselves on good food and drank themselves drunk on nappy liquor from a cask they had cannily marked for their own among the cabin stores. Of the rest, all that could find room crowded into the great cabin, and all that could find no room in the cabin squatted on the deck outside the door on the very spot where Francis Candle had fallen dead. They sat with their backs against bulkheads and stanchions, where they, too, could join in the feast and the council; and the boy, when all were fed, gathered meat from under the table like old King Adoni-bezek of unhappy memory. It was a sight to remember, for very merry they were and save as they were rough, hard-featured men, a man would never have dreamed they bore blood on their hands and murder on their hearts. The Old One sat at the head of the table and took care that neither food nor wine was stinted. The carpenter, his one eye twinkling with pleasure and his beard waggling in his haste lest another should get ahead of him at trencher work, sat on the Old One's right, which was accorded him as a mark of honour since he had accomplished marvels in restoring the planking the storm had torn asunder. A stout seaman of the rescued men, Paul Craig by name--it was he who had needed two blows to kill the helmsman--sat at the Old One's left and squared his big shoulders over his meat and ate like a hog till he could hold no more, for he was an ox of great girth and short temper and little wit, who ate by custom more than did him good. Another of gaunt frame, Joseph Kirk by name, sat smiling at a man here and a man there and tippled till his head wagged; and off in a corner there sat a keen little man with a hooked nose, who was older than most of those in the cabin yet had scarcely a wrinkle to mar the smoothness of his shaven face save above and behind his eyes, where a few deep lines gave him the wild look of a hawk. When he spoke, which was seldom, thick gutturals confused his words, and always he sat in corners. Does not a man looking out of a corner, with a wall on two sides of him and no one behind him, see more than another? His Christian name was Jacob and most of them knew him by no other; but mocking him they called it "Yacob." Further than that, which he took with a wry smile, they refrained from mocking him, for though he spoke little, his silence said much. The Old One rose and very sober he was as he held high a brimming can, and so steady was his hand that not a drop spilled. For a space he paused and looked around at the rough company seated at the long table and crouching in the mellow shadows beyond the door, then, "To the King!" he cried. Those not knowing him well, who stared in perplexity at such a toast in such a place and time, saw his eyes twinkle and perceived he was looking at old Jacob in the corner. Then old Jacob, smiling as at a familiar jest, rose in turn and raised his can likewise, and pausing to look about him, cried back at the Old One in his thick foreign voice, "The King and his ships--be damned!" A yell of laughter and derision shook the cabin. The one-eyed carpenter leaped up first, then such of the rescued men as were not too drunk to stand, then here and there men of the Rose of Devon's company, some eagerly in all earnestness, others having a mind to keep their throats in one piece, for they perceived that like enough the unholy toast was but to try their allegiance. The Old One's eyes leaped from man to man and his cold voice cut through the noisy riot of drunken mirth. "I had said Will Canty was a man of spirit, but his can hugs the table when these tall fellows are drinking confusion to the King." "A hand-napper, a hand-napper! Have him away, my hearts, to the Halifax engine," Joe Kirk bawled with a drunken leer. "Why," said Will Canty, and his face was white, but with a red spot on either cheek, "my can, since you say what you say, was dry; and for the matter of that, I am no prating Puritan who wishes ill to the King." Over the rumble of voices the Old One's voice rose loudest: "See you, then, religious cobblers or preaching button-makers among us?" "And there are others yet besides prating Puritans, mine friend, that drink our toast!" cried Jacob. The Old One then smiled, for he was no man to drive a nail with a two-hand sledge. But although he changed his manner as fast and often as light flickers on running water, under the surface there flowed a strong, even current of liking or ill will, as sooner or later all men that had dealings with him must learn, some to their wonder and some to their sorrow. "Enough, enough!" said he. "Will's a good lad and he'll serve us well when there's powder smoke to snuff. Be you not offended, Will. In all faith our ship is a king's ship and more, for are we not thirty kings, to fight our own battles and heave out our own flag before the world and take such treasures as will buy us, each and all, a king's palace and all the wives a king could wish? Nay, God helping us, my hearts, we shall carry home to good Mother Taylor riches that will serve for a sponge to wipe the chalk from every black post in Cornwall and in Devon, and Will Canty shall drink with us there." There rose a thunder of fists beating the board and a rumble of "Yea's," and the Old One made no end of smiling, but there were some whom his smile failed to deceive. "Come, boy, with thy pitcher of sack! Pour sack for all!" he cried. "Come, ply thy task and let no man go wanting. Fill you Will Canty's pot." He gulped down a mighty draught and wiped his moustaches with thumb and forefinger. "And now, brave lads, let us have our heads together: though we lie but a hundred leagues off these banks of Newfoundland, what say you? Shall we turn our backs on them and take a fling at a braver trade? Or shall we taste of fat lobsters and great cod, and perchance pluck the feathers from some of these New England towns concerning which there hath lately been such a buzz of talk in old England--at Cape Ann, let us say at venture, or Naumkeag, or Plymouth Colony?" "Yea, yea! I am for Cape Ann," cried Joe Kirk, and his head rolled drunkenly above his great shoulders as he bolstered his opinion with curses. "Did not my brother go thither, years and years agone, for the company of Dorchester merchants? Yea, and told rare tales of succulent great fish, which are a marvelous diet." "Nay, thy brother was as great a sot as thou," a voice put in, and Joe rose in anger, but a general clamour drowned his retort and he lapsed back into a sodden lethargy. "As for me," bellowed Martin with bluster and bravado, "I say go we to Plymouth and rap the horns of these schismatic Puritans. Tell me not but that they've mines of rich gold hid away. Did'st ever see a Roundhead knave would brave the wild lions of America unless he thought there was gold in't?" "Thou thyself art fool as well as knave," quoth the Old One. "Did'st thou not once cry the whole ship's company out of sleep to see a mermaid that would entice thee to thy peril? And when sober men had come on deck there was nought there but a seal-fish at play. Lions forsooth! In Africa even I have heard a lion roar, but not in America. Much searching of tracts hath stuffed thy head." The drunken Joe roused sleepily up. "My brother saw a lion at Cape Ann plantation. My brother--" He drew a knife and wildly flourished it, but fell back in a stupor before the laughter died. Martin's bluster, as was its way when a man boldly confronted it, broke like a pricked bubble, but his sullen glare caught the Old One's eye. Leaning over the table, the Old One said in a low, taunting voice, "And did you never see a man dance on air? Ah, there's a sight to catch the breath in your throat and make an emptiness in a man's belly!" As often happens when there has been a great noise and a man speaks in a low voice, there was a quick lull and the words came out as clear as the ringing of a half crown. Phil Marsham, looking across the table into the Old One's cold blue eyes, which were fixed on Martin, saw in them a flicker of calculating amusement; then he saw that Martin was swallowing as if he had a fishbone in his throat. In truth Martin wore the sickly smile that a man affects when he is cornered and wishes to appear braver than he is. He tried to speak but succeeded only in running his tongue over his lips, which needed it if they were as dry as they were blue. "Come, come, we get no place!" "Yacob! Yacob!" they cried at the sound of his voice, "Up on thy feet, Yacob!" He rose and stood in his corner. His long hair was brushed back from a forehead so high that it reached to a great lump on the crown of his head. His brows were knit with intense earnestness. His big nose and curled lips and small chin were set in what might have seemed in another place and another time scholarly intentness. They did him honour by waiting in silence for his words. "This bickering and jangling brings us no place. Shall we go on or shall we go back? Shall we go north or shall we go south? Those are questions we must answer. Now I will tell you. If we go on, we shall find little fishing ships, with fish and no chinks, and we shall get tired of eating fish. If we go back in this fine ship that God in his goodness hath given us, we shall hang. We may yet go back to Mother Taylor, but we must go back in another ship. You know why. Now, brave hearts, if we go on to New England it shall profit us nothing. For the New-English are poor. They live in little huts. The savages come down out of the woods and kill. Whether there be lions I do not know and I do not care; those savages I have seen and they are a very ugly sight. The English plantations are cold in winter like the devil. They are poor. The English, they play with poverty. "And if we go south? Ah-h-h! There are the Spains! They have sun and warmth and fruits and spices! They have mines of gold and silver and stones of great price. While the English play with poverty, the Spains play with empires! In New England we shall eat salt cods or starve--which is much the same, for salt cods are a poor diet. But in the South we shall maybe catch a galleon with a vast treasure." And with that, very serious and sure of his rightness, he sat down. "Yea, Yacob! Yea, Yacob!" they bawled and delighting in the alliteration cried it again, over and over. Paul Craig, heavy with sated gluttony, piped a shrill "Yea, Yacob," and the Old One pounded the table and grinned, for he had sailed many seas in Jacob's company. Phil Marsham--nay, and even Will Canty, too!--pricked ears at the sound of Spanish galleons; for the blue Caribbean and the blue hills of the main were fabled, as all knew, to hold such wealth as according to the tales of the old travellers was to be found in Cathay or along the banks of the first of the four rivers out of Paradise. And was not a Spanish ship fair prey for the most law-abiding of English mariners? There was a hubbub of talk as they sat there, and there was no doubt but they were of one mind to turn their backs on the bleak northern coast and seek a golden fortune in the south. But the council arrived suddenly at an end when down from the deck came the lingering call, "A sa-i-l! A sa-i-l!" Up, then, the Old One leaped, and he raised his hand. "A sail is cried. What say you?" "Let us not cast away what God hath offered us!" "Yea, Yacob!" "Up, you dogs in the steerage! A hall, a hall!" One fell over on the table in drunken torpor. Another rushed out the door and tumbled over a sleeper at the threshold. "Up, you dogs! How stands he?" They poured out of the cabin to the deck. "He stands on the lee bow!" "Bear up the helm! A fresh man at the helm!" the Old One thundered. He squinted across the sea. "Come, Harry--here on the poop--and tell me if she be not a ketch. Now she lifts--now she falls. 'Twill be a chase, I take it." The round little mate came nimbly up the ladder. "Helm a-luff!" said he in his light, quick voice, which at first the helmsman failed to hear. "Helm a-luff! A-luff, man! Art deaf? The courses hide her. There she lifts! Yea, a ketch. Let us see. It is now an hour to sunset. If we stand across her bows and bear a sharp watch we shall come up with her in early evening and a very proper moment it will be." His light, incisive speech, so unlike the boisterous ranting of the Old One, in its own way curiously influenced even the Old One himself. A man who has a trick of getting at sound reasons, unmoved by bluster or emotion, can hold his own in any company; and many a quiet voice can fire a ship's crew to action as a slow match fires a cannon. "Now, young men," Martin roared, "up aloft and loose fore and main topsails. And oh that our stout mizzenmast were standing yet!" "No, no, no!" cried Harry Malcolm and he almost raised his voice. "Thy haste, thou pop-eyed fool, would work the end of us all. Think you, if they see us fling every sail to the wind, they will abide our coming without charging their guns and stationing every gunner with linstock and lighted match? Nay, though she be but a ketch, let us go limping across her bows as lame as a pipped hen." "True, and with every man lying by the side of his gun, where they shall not see him until we haul up the ports and show the teeth of the good ship." It was Jacob who spoke thus as he climbed to Harry Malcolm's side. The Old One, looking down at the deck below, touched his mate's arm. "Yea, I see them. What do you want?" "It seems," said the Old One, "that our boatswain hath a liking for the fellow." "And that the fellow hath a liking for our boatswain, think you?" "Well?" Jacob thrust his long nose between them. "'Well,' you say, by which you mean 'not well.' It proves nothing that a man will not drink damnation to a king." The three heads met, high on the poop, and now and again they glanced down at the two lads who stood by the waist and watched the distant sail, which grew black as the sun set behind it. The sun set and the sea darkened and a light flamed up on board the chase, which appeared to show her good faith by standing toward the Rose of Devon. There was a rumble of laughter among the men when they perceived she had changed her course. The sober wrung oaths from the drunk by dashing bucketfuls of cold water in their faces. The gunners moved like shadows among the guns. And high on the poop, three shadows again merged into one. "Master Boatswain," the Old One called, but softly, "do thou take it upon thyself, although it lies outside thine own province, to make sure that powder and balls and sponges and ladles and rammers are laid ready." Hunching his bent shoulders, Mate Malcolm came nimbly down the ladder and from the chest of arms drew forth muskets and pistols. "Come, my bullies below there, knock open your ports!" It was the Old One's voice, but so softly and briskly did he speak that it might have been Harry Malcolm. As the dim figures on deck moved cautiously about, the subdued voice again floated down to them:-- "Let all the guns be loose in tackles and stand by to run them out when the word is given. Port your helm! Every man to his quarters. Now, my hearts, be ready to show your courage and we'll have this wandering ketch for a consort to our good Rose of Devon." Then Harry Malcolm came in haste along the deck. "Who's to this gun? And who to this? Nay, you've a man too many there. Here, fellow, come hither! Here a man is lacking. You there, who are playing the part of gunner, have you ever heard these bulldogs bark? And understand you the business? Good, good!" And he passed on up the deck. Nought escaped him. In the silence they heard the sound of his voice and the quick pattering of his feet when they could see no more than that he was still moving among the guns. They had come so near the stranger that they must soon hail or be hailed, when a figure emerging from the steerage room in the darkness came upon Phil Marsham by the quarter-deck ladder and gave a great start. As Phil turned, the fellow whispered, "God be thanked it is thou! I thought it was another. Come with me to the side--here by the shrouds." The two stepped lightly under the shadow of the quarter-deck to the waist, where the carpenter had nailed in place new planks not twelve hours since, and together they raised a bundle. It was on the larboard side, and since all had gathered for the moment to starboard to watch the strange ketch, there was no man to observe them. Some one moved above them and they hesitated, then they heard slow steps receding and thick undertones that they recognized as Jacob's. When he had gone, the one who had brought the bundle whispered, "Heave it far out," and together they hove it. Still in the shadow of the quarter-deck, the two slipped silently back, unseen, and when Harry Malcolm came hurrying from one side, and Jacob from the other, to see what had made the splash, there was no one there nor could any man answer their questions. "Have you done as you said?" Phil asked in a breathless whisper. "That I have." And it was Will Canty who spoke. "Then we shall like enough be hanged; but thou art a tall fellow and I love thee for it." There came over the water a voice distinctly calling, "Whence your ship?" "Back to your guns, ye dogs!" cried Mate Malcolm in a voice that could be heard the length of the deck, yet that was not loud enough to be heard on board the stranger. "Of England," the Old One called from the quarter-deck. "And whence is yours?" There was a space of silence, in which the two vessels came nearer each other, and I would have you know that hearts ever so courageous were thumping at a lively pace. "And yours?" the Old One cried the second time. There came voices and a hoarse laugh from the stranger, then, "Are you merchants or men of war?" "Of the sea," cried the Old One in a voice so like thunder that a man would not think it could have come from his lean throat. "Run out your guns, O my hearts! Let him have the chase guns first. The chase guns--the chase guns!" Now one bawled down the main hatch, and another below echoed his cry, then there sounded the quick _boom-boom_ from the bows. The guns had spoken and the fight was on. "Up your helm--up your helm! Hold your fire now, my hearts, and have at them!" the Old One cried. And now the voice came again over the restless sea. "Our ship is the Porcupine ketch and our quills are set." The dark sea tossed and rolled between the vessels and little that happened on board either was visible to the other, so black was the night; but the light of the sky, which the water reflected, made of each a black shape clear-cut as of jet but finer than the most cunning hand could carve, in which a man might trace every line and rope. And now from on board the ketch jets of flame burst out and after them came smartly the crack of muskets. "Now, lads," the Old One thundered, "give fire and make an end of this petty galling. Give fire!" A gun on the maintop-deck boomed and another followed; but there was confusion and stumbling and all were slow for want of practice together, and there was time lost ere the third gun spoke. Then, while Mate Malcolm was storming up the deck and the Old One was storming down, they heard the strange master calling to his gunners; then, to the vast amazement of the men of the Rose of Devon, who had cherished the delusion that their chase was a weak craft and an easy prize, on board the ketch as many as a dozen guns belched flame. Their thunder shook the sea and their balls sang through the rigging, and a lucky shot struck the Rose of Devon in the forecastle and went crashing through the bulkhead. The ketch then tacked as if to give fire with her other broadside but deftly swung back again and before the Old One or Harry Malcolm had fathomed the meaning of it there rose from on board her, the cries of "Bear up and close with him!"--"Board him on his quarter!" "Have ready your graplins!" "Sheer off, sheer off!" old Jacob roared. "Our powder is good for nought. Yea, she is in all truth a prickly porcupine." "If we foul, cut anything to get clear!" cried the Old One. "Put down your helm! Veer out your sheets! Cast off weather sheets and braces! Aloft, there, and clear the main yard where the cut tacklings foul it! Good lad, boatswain, good lad!" For on the yardarm Phil had drawn dirk and cut at the snarl of ropes, where a chance ball had wrought much mischief. Then, as the two vessels swung side by side he looked squarely into the eyes of a bearded man in the rigging of the ketch. The Old One--give the Devil his due!--was handling his ship in a proper manner and by luffing he had kept abreast of those guns in the ketch which had spent their charges. But it was plain that the Rose of Devon had caught a tartar. In all truth, she had run upon a porcupine with quills set, for though a smaller vessel, the ketch, it now appeared, carried as many men or more, and every man knew his place and duty. Looking down on her deck, Phil saw her gun crews toiling with sponges and rammers to load anew. She was herself, it seemed, a sea rover athirst for blood and in those wild, remote seas there was no fraternity among thieves. As the main yardarm of the Rose of Devon swung toward her rigging when the ship rolled, the bearded man ran a rope about the spar and in a moment the vessels were locked abeam and were drifting together till their sides should touch. Philip Marsham again drew the dirk that Colin Samson had wrought for him and leaning far out struck at the fellow's breast, who swung back to avoid the thrust, which pricked him but did no more. Then the fellow sprang to the attack with his own knife in hand, for he had thrown a knot in the rope, which creaked and tightened; and with a yell of triumph he struck at the lad, who swung to one side and struck back. It was a brave fight in the empty air, and the two were like warring spiders as they circled and swung in the darkness and thrust each at the other. But the lad was many years the younger, and by so much the more nimble, and his dirk--for which all thanks to Colin Samson!--smote the fellow a slashing blow in the thigh. And while the fellow clung to the shrouds, weak with pain, a second Rose-of-Devon's man came crawling over Phil who hung below from the yard, and slashed the rope. "We are clear! We are clear! God be thanked!" the Old One yelled. Meanwhile the men of the Rose of Devon had succeeded in firing three guns of the larboard broadside, which by the grace of Divine Providence wrought such ruin in the stranger's running gear that the one crew of rascals was enabled to escape fit retribution at the hands of the other. The peak of her great foresail fell and in a moment her cut halyards were swept into a snarl that needed time and daylight for untangling. So the Rose of Devon slipped past the ketch, whose men were striving to clear the rigging and come about in pursuit, and having once evaded her erstwhile chase, the old ship ran away in the night. With her lights out and all the sail spread that she could carry, and favoured by clouds and fog, she made good her escape; but there was grumbling forward and grumbling aft, and there was a dead man to heave over the side. It served Philip Marsham better than he knew that he had fought a duel on the yardarm; for dark though the night had been, there had happened little that escaped the Old One's eye; and bitter though Tom Jordan's temper and angry his mood, he was always one to give credit where he believed it due. When he wiped the blood from the dirk, Phil remembered with gratitude the good smith, Colin Samson. Then he thought of the old lady and gentleman at the inn, and of Nell Entick, and bluff Sir John. He would have been glad enough to be out of the Rose of Devon and away, but for better or worse he had cast his lot in the ship, and though he little liked the lawless turn her affairs had taken, a man cannot run away by night from a ship on the high seas. All hands stood watch till dawn as a tribute to the war of one pirate upon another, and not until the sun had risen and shown no sail in sight did the Old One himself go into the great cabin. CHAPTER XIII A BIRD TO BE LIMED A lad being called into council by such a man as Tom Jordan might well think himself a fine fellow, and rare enough were lads whom Tom Jordan would thus have summoned. But although Philip Marsham, it seemed, had taken the Old One's eye and won his heart long before on the little hill beside the road, when Phil had drawn the wind from Martin's sails, and although it had not escaped Tom Jordan that Phil's hand moved easily toward his weapon, the old proverb has it "a man that flattereth his neighbor, spreadeth a net for his steps"; and "he that whistleth merrily, spreadeth his nets cunningly and hunteth after his prey greedily." So, "Come, boatswain, and lend us thy wits," cried Tom. "Four heads shall provide more wisdom than three." And with that, he clapped Phil on the back and drew him into the cabin where Jacob and the mate sat deep in talk of the night's adventures. "A hawk, when she is first dressed and ready to fly," said Jacob, "is sharp set and hath a great will upon her. If the falconer do not then follow it, she will be dulled for ever after. So, master, a man! Yea, and a ship." "A great will, sayest thou?" quoth the Old One, and his voice revealed his sullen anger. "Why then, in God's name, did ye not rake them with a broadside or twain?" With which he turned on Harry Malcolm, thus to include him in the charge. "For one thing," replied Malcolm, and testily, for ill temper prevailed both aft and forward, "we gave the gunners no firing to learn them their guns. For another thing, the powder failed us. For yet another, since you say what you say, and be cursed for it, 'twere a mad, foolish notion to run afoul a strange ship, for we have but a half the company we need to work a ship and fight. And finally, to cap our woeful proverbs, we know what we know--yea," and he shot a dark glance from under bent brows, "we know what we know; there be those who come toward us with their feet, but go from us with their hearts." His voice, as always, was light and quick, but there was a rumble in it, such as one may sometimes hear in a dog's throat. As the three men looked first at one and then at another, there came to Boatswain Marsham, sitting as it were outside their circle, the uneasy throbbing of their suspicion. "Of the powder," said Jacob coolly, "I have taken a little from each barrel." He laid on the table seven packages wrapped in leaves from an old book. Regarding closely the notes he had written on each package, he opened them one by one and placed them in a row. "This," said he, "is from the barrel that good Harry Malcolm served out to the men and that doubtless this man Candle hath used from in old days. It hath lost its strength by long lying. Press it with thy fingers and thou shalt feel it soft to the touch. Here upon this white sheet of paper I lay four corns of this powder. This other powder"--and he chose a second package--"is from a barrel new opened. Press it and thou shalt see how firm and hard is each corn. And this, too, is firm and of a fair azure. And so, also, this. But this--" and he first put his eyes close to the notes on each remaining packet, then held them far off, for his sight, although good at a great distance, made out with difficulty things near at hand, "this is from a barrel that hath lost its strength by moisture; and this hath a fault I shall tell you of." Taking a pinch of each, as he spoke, he had laid the corns, each some three fingers distant from the next, in a circle on the paper. He then struck tinder, and lighting a match made of twisted cords of tow boiled in strong lye-ashes and saltpetre, he held it over a corn of the good powder. There was a flash and puff, and the ring of powder was gone. The corns of good powder had fired speedily and left only a chalky whiteness in their place, nor had they burned the paper or given off smoke; but the corns of poor powder had burned slowly, and some had scorched the paper and some had given forth smoke. The Old One softly swore. "And have we, then," asked he, "but three barrels of good powder?" "Nay, there are more than three. This last is weak because they have neglected to turn the barrels upside down, so the petre has settled from top to bottom, as is its way. We shall find the bottom as strong as the top is weak, and by turning the barrel we shall renew its strength evenly." "As for the powder that hath spoiled by long lying," cried Philip Marsham, "I will undertake to make it as good as new." "Do you, boatswain, mind your sails and cordage," said old Jacob, with a wry smile. "An you wish to grind it in the mortar, that you may; but it is I who will measure the petre. Nay, I will make you, if you wish it for a wonder to show friends, a powder of any colour you please--white, red, blue, or green." Of the three who leaned over the packets of powder, old Jacob was the only one who bore with even temper the sad reverse of the night before; for master and mate glared at each other in such wrath as had thrown a shadow over every soul in the ship. Some had waked with aching heads, for which they had their own folly to thank; some were like men who dream they have got a great treasure but wake to find pebblestones or worse under the pillow: since the Porcupine ketch had yielded them no gold and had stung them instead with her quills. In all truth the ship was by the ears, for in extremities your sea sharks are uncertain friends, as a touch of foul weather will manifest to any man's satisfaction. "Enough of this," said the Old One, and he pushed aside the packets and folded his arms. "We lose time. There is a thief amongst us." "A thief, you say?" And the hot red of anger burned its way across the boatswain's face, for the three had turned and looked hard at him. The Old One and Harry Malcolm then exchanged quick glances, and Jacob shut his small mouth tight and knotted his brows. "Well," cried Phil, "would you charge me with theft?" "Some one," said the Old One, lingering over each word, "hath wrought a clever plot against us." "Say on, say on!" "He is a man, I make no doubt, whose buttons are breaking with venom." There was heavy silence in the cabin. Jacob, pursing his lips and knotting his brows, looked from one of them to another, and Phil, vaguely on the defensive, drew back and gave them a gaze as steady as they sent. "He is doubtless a very cunning rascal," Harry Malcolm put in, "who hath cut his cloth by his wits; but he is making a suit that will throttle him by its narrowness about the neck." The master and mate once more exchanged glances and the Old One then smiled lightly, as if again there were sunlight rippling over dark water. "Nay, Philip, we think no ill of thee. But do thou have care to thy company. A foul trick hath been done with a mind to render us helpless at sea, so that we must crawl to the nearest land, where some base dunghill spirit is doubtless of a mind to leave our company. But we have resources; yea, and of thee, Philip, we think no ill." Despite their fair words, though, they were watching Philip Marsham like three old tomcats watching a sparrow, and he, being no fool, knew the reason why. Three hard faces they showed: the one, handsome in a devilish way and keen; the second, unassuming, yet deeply astute and marked by a deeper rooted, if less frank, selfishness; the third, older, wiser, more self-centred. The eyes of master and mate were coldly cruel; but old Jacob was too intent on his own thoughts to be cruel save by indifference. All that day Jacob squatted on the deck and toiled with tools and wood. From the wood he chose certain long pieces, fine-grained and straight and dry and free from knots, and certain shorter and broader pieces that were suited to his purpose, and bade the carpenter plane them smooth. He laid out scales, working with a small square and a pair of compasses, and engraved them with utmost care. He wrought brass into curious shapes by a plan he made, and from morning till night he kept at the task, frowning and ciphering and sitting deep in thought. He called for charcoal and a mortar, and beat the charcoal to a fine powder and tempered it with linseed oil. This he rubbed into the wood he had shaped to his liking, and watched it a long while, now and again touching it to try it; then with oil from a phial he had found in a chest in the great cabin he rubbed the wood clean, and there were left in the wood, set off neatly in black, the gradations and figures he had so exactly etched. Taking his work into the great cabin, he toiled on by lanthorn light until a late hour, and there through the open door men as they passed might see him hunched over the table with his medley of tools about him. But when at last he leaned back and drew a long breath of relief, very serious and very wise, his work was done, and curiously and deftly contrived it was. On the table before him there lay a cross-staff, a nocturnal and a Gunter's scale, "with which," said he, to the Old One, who sat opposite him quietly taking tobacco and sipping wine, "and with what instruments the thief hath left us, a man can navigate a ship where he will." Examining closely the nocturnal, which was intricately carved and engraved, the Old One muttered, as if ignoring Jacob's words, "I will yet lime that bird." "Though he be never so mad a callant, I misdoubt he will put his head into a noose," said Jacob in his thick, serious voice. "Be he the one we think or not the one we think, I will set him such a trap," said the Old One, "as will take the cunningest fox that ever doubled on the hounds." And the thin face smiled in a way that was not pleasant to see. CHAPTER XIV A WONDERFUL EXCELLENT COOK If an astrologer or an Arabian enchanter could say to a man, "Beware of this or that, for it is a thing conceived of the Devil to work thy ruin," there would be reason for studying the stars or smiting the sand. And this, indeed, they do, according to the old tales. But if a sailor seek out an astrologer to learn things that shall profit him, he is more likely to find a man grown foolish by much study, who will stroke his chin sagely and say, "Come, let us look into this matter. Under Capricorn are all diseases in the knees and hams, leprosies, itch and scales and schirrous tumors, fallow grounds and barren fields, ox-houses and cow-houses, low dark places near the ground, and places where sails and materials for ships be laid." And while he talks of fixed angles and of the Lord of the Ascendant being in the fourth week, some small unsuspected thing may be the very egg on which the Devil is sitting like an old black hen to hatch forth a general calamity. Thus certain incidents that shortly thereafter happened are to the point, for although they appeared of little moment at the time, they turned the tide of men's lives and made a stir that has to do with the current of my tale. Now the men of the Rose of Devon sighted a sail at high noon when they were a week on their way south, and though she showed her heels and ran, and though the Rose of Devon lacked her mizzenmast, the strange vessel was but a small pink and so slow that they laid her aboard two hours before dark. In her crew she had only a dozen men, and sorely frightened they were, as they tossed in the lee of the dark frigate. So to save themselves from a more cruel fate there was scarcely one of them but leaped at the chance to join the Rose of Devon's crew. They tumbled up their small cargo of salt fish for Bilbao and hoisted it on board the ship, together with their shallop, and casting their pink adrift, they forbore from complaining when their new master and his men stole whatever pleased them, from the new men's rings and knives to the very clothes on their backs. So, with her plunder and her recruits, the Rose of Devon again squared her yards and continued on her course. There was, to be sure, one fellow of mean spirit who whined dolefully, upon conceiving his present extremity to be distasteful. But another got comfort by knocking him on the head when no one was looking; and finding him dead, the Old One hove him over-board and there was no further trouble from the fishermen. Yet it was no secret that there was grumbling and complaining forward among the gentlemen of the Rose of Devon, so the Old One sent the boatswain to summon them aft when the watches were changing. He leaned against the swivel gun on the quarter-deck, and looking down into their faces, smiled disagreeably. "It hath come to my ears," said he, "that one hath a sad tale to tell because we failed to take the Porcupine, which, though a mere ketch, outnumbered us in guns and men. And another hath a sad tale to tell because this pink that late became our prize is small and of little worth, though we got from her eleven brave fellows who shall be worth a store of fine gold." He looked from one of his men to another, for they were all there,--Martin and the cook, and Philip Marsham and Will Canty, and Paul Craig and Joe Kirk, the one-eyed carpenter and the rest,--and his thin face settled into the many wrinkles that had got him his name. There was none of them, unless it might be Harry Malcolm or Old Jacob, who could say surely at one time or another what thoughts were uppermost in Tom Jordan's shrewd head. "Come, now, my hearts of gold," he cried, "let us have an end of such folly. Said I not that these northern fisheries were meat for crows? And that we must go south to find prey for eagles? We will choose a fine harbour by some green island where there's rich fruit for the picking and fat fish for the catching, and we will build there a town of our own. We will take toll from the King of Spain's ships; we will take us wives and women and gold and wine from the dons of the islands and the main. Yea, we will lay up a great store of riches and live in fullness of bread and abundance of idleness." Some were pleased, but some doubted still, which the Old One perceiving, for he read their faces, cried, "Nay, speak up, speak up! Let us have no fair-protesting friends with hollow and undermining hearts." "Yea, it is a fair tale," cried one, in a surly voice, "but thus far we have blows to show for our pains--blows and a kettle of fish." "And methinks," another growled, "we shall see more of salt fish and buccaned meat, than of fine wines and gold and handsome women." "'Tis a swinish thought," the Old One retorted; but he smiled when he said it, so that they took no offense, for of such grumbling he had no fear. He was set to catch a bird of quite another feather. Then old Jacob rose and they were silent to hear him. "Let us make an end of talk," said he slowly. "We are on our way south and to stop or turn aside would be nothing but foolishness." And with that, although they had expected him to say more, he turned away. Then, of a sudden, "Come, Will," the Old One cried, singling out his man from all the rest, "what say you?" If Will Canty's face changed at all, it was a whit the paler as he met the Old One's eyes. "I say," he replied, "that since we have fish on board, we are sure of fish and would do well to eat fish ere we lose it." "There is sooth in thy words," quoth the Old One, and he smiled in friendly wise. (But despite his smile, he liked the words little, as any shrewd man might have known by his eyes, and Will Canty was no fool.) "Come, cook, and boil us a great kettle of fish." The rumble of low voices changed to laughter and the cook boldly cried, "Yea, yea, master!" "For our much voyaging and many pains," cried the men, as they went about their work, "we have got a kettle of fish." And they laughed mightily, for though it was the very thing that before had made them grumble, now they saw it as a droll affair and made of it many jests, of which a few were good and more bad, after the manner of jests. As for the cook, he called his mate and bade him break out a drum of fish and set a kettle to boil, and cuffed him this way and that, till the poor fellow's ears were swollen. And the Old One said to Harry Malcolm, "Saw you not how deftly the fellow twisted out of the corner, and with a sly remark that no one can take amiss? Oh, he is a slippery dog and I am minded to cut his throat out of hand!" "Now, that would be very foolish, for where there's one of them, there's always two, and the one will toll the other on until there are two dogs by the heels instead of one." At that the Old One laughed harshly, and the two, who were after a left-handed fashion uncommonly congenial, went off well pleased with their conceit. Down in the hold the kettle boiled right merrily, and the cook swelled with pride that he had a mate to carry and fetch. He cuffed the poor fellow this way, and he cuffed him that. He threw a pan at him when the fire smoked worse than common, and he thrust a fistful of flour into his face and down his neck when he let the fire lag. He flung him his length on the floor for spilling a pint of water; and when in despair the lad fled for his life, the cook seized him by the hair and haled him back and put a long knife at his breast and swore to have his heart's blood. Oh, the cook was in a rare and merry mood, for he had drunk more sack than was good for him from the cask he had marked as his own; but as he had waxed exceeding gay and haughty, the sack had dulled his wits and he was drunker than he knew. "Come, thou pig! Thou son of a swine!" he yelled. "Ladle out the fish and choose of the best for the cabin. Yea, choose in abundance and summon the master's boy and bid him haste. And do thou bestir thyself and carry to the men." And with that, he fetched the poor fellow a blow on his head, which knocked him off his feet. The fellow ran to do the work and the cook, in vast satisfaction at having so well acquitted himself, sat down with a goblet of sack and tippled and nodded, and kept an ill-tempered eye on the master's boy and his own, as with shrewd fear of broken heads they scurried back and forth. "It is most wonderful excellent sack," quoth the cook, and with his sleeve he mopped his fiery bald head. "It was by a happy stroke I marked it for my own. Truly, I had rather be cook than master, for here I sit with mine eye upon the cabin stores, from which I can choose and eat at will, and the captain, nay, the Lord High Admiral of England, is himself none the wiser. Fish, sayest thou? Nay, fish is at best a poor man's food. I will have none of it." And thus he ran on foolishly, forgetting as he drank sack, that there was no one to hear him, not even his mate. "Truly, I am a wonderful excellent cook. I may in time become a captain. I may even become the governor of a plantation and take for a wife some handsome Spanish woman with a wonderful rich dowry. She must have an exceeding rich dowry if she will marry me, though. Yea, I am a wonderful excellent cook." And the more he drank the more foolish he became. After a while, he cocked his head upon one side; and quoth he, "I hear them calling and shouting! It seemeth they are singing huzza for me. I hear them coming down to do me honour. Truly, I am a most wonderful excellent cook and the fish hath pleased them well. Foolish ones that they are to eat it!" The silly fellow sat with his head on one side and smiled when they burst in upon him. "Hast come for more fish?" he cried. "Yonder stands the kettle. Nay, what's that? What's that thou sayest? Nay, fellow, th' art mad? Thou know'st not to whom thou speakest." "Fool! Knave! Scoundrel! Swine!" they yelled. "Oh, such a beating as thy fat carcase will get. Hear you not the uproar? Think you to cozzen us?" With that they seized him, two by the head and two by the feet, and dragged him to the ladder. They threw a rope about him and knotted it fast and tossed the ends to men at the hatch above, who hauled him, squealing and kicking like an old hog, up on deck. To the cabin they dragged him, with all the men shrieking curses at him and pelting him with chunks of fish, and in the cabin they stood him before the table where the Old One and Harry Malcolm sat, and very angry were they all. "Dog of a cook," said the Old One, "for a relish to conclude our meal, we shall see thee eat of this fish that the boy hath brought us." And he thrust before the cook a great dish. "Eat it, every shred, bones and all," said he, "or I'll have thee butchered and boiled in place of it." "Why, now," said the cook, somewhat sobered by rough handling and a trifle perplexed, but for all that still well pleased with himself, "as for the bones, they are liable to scrape a man's throat going down. I am reluctant to eat bones. But the meat is good. I rejoice to partake of it, for so diligently have I laboured to prepare it that I have denied myself, yea, though I hungered greatly." "Eat," said the Old One and widely he grinned. Looking suspiciously about him, for there was something in their manner that he failed to understand, the cook thrust his hand into the dish and took from it a great slice of fish, which he crammed into his mouth. "Eat," said the Old One, "eat, O thou jewel among cooks!" A curious look came over the cook's face and he raised his hand as if to take the fish out of his mouth. "Nay, swallow it down," said the Old One. "Be not sparing. There is abundance in the dish. Yea, thou shalt stand there eating for a long time to come." And though he smiled, his look made it plain that he was in no trifling mood. The cook turned pale and choked and gasped. "Water!" he cried thickly, for his mouth was too full for easy speech. "Nay, much drinking hath wrought havoc with thy wits. Eat on, eat on!" Prodigious were the gulps by which the cook succeeded at last in swallowing his huge mouthful, and great was his distress, for the salt in it nearly choked him. "Water, water!" he weakly cried. "Nay, temper thine heart with mercy, master! I beg for water--I beseech for water." "Eat on," said the Old One grimly. Then Harry Malcolm chuckled and the men in the door roared with laughter, but the cook plunked down on his fat knees and thrust out both his hands. "Nay, master, I cannot hold it down!" "Eat on, O jewel among cooks!" "Nay, master--" "Come, then, lads, and cram it down his hungry throat." Three of them seized him, and one, when he shut tight his mouth, thrust a knife between his teeth. "Blub-bub-blah!" he yelled. "I'll eat! I'll eat!" They let him go and he rose and ate. Time and again he gasped for water and they laughed; time and again he lagged and the Old One cried, "Eat on!" When at last he stood miserably in front of the empty dish, the Old One said, "For a day and a night shalt thou sit in bilboes with a dry throat, which will be a lesson to learn thee two things: first, before cooking a kettle of fish, do thou bear it well in mind to soak out the salt so that the fish be fit for food; and second, by way of common prudence, do thou sample for thyself the dishes that are cooked for the cabin." They haled him forward and locked the shackles on his feet and placed beside him a great dish of the fish, that whoever wished might pelt him with it; and there they left him to repent of his folly and forswear drunkenness and whimper for water. As the weary hours passed, the sun tormented him in his insufferable thirst; but nightfall in a measure brought relief and he nodded in the darkness and fell asleep. Waking, he would rub his head, which sadly throbbed and would seek by gulping to ease his parched throat; and sleeping again, he would dream of great buckets of clear water. The voices that he heard buzzed in his ears as if they were the droning of flies, and hunching himself down in his shackles at one end of the iron bar, he forgot the world and was forgotten, since his fat carcase lay inertly in a black shadow and there was nothing to make a man keep him in mind. He heard at last a voice saying, "But nevertheless it becomes you to walk lightly and carefully," and another replying, "I fear him not, for all his subtle ways. Much that goes on escapes him." He stirred uneasily, and opening his eyes, saw that there were two men leaning side by side against the forecastle. "In the matter of wit, you grant him less than his due," said the first speaker. "And in another matter you charge him with a heavier burden than he needs bear." The cook stirred and groaned and the first speaker chuckled, at which the cook's gorge rose from anger. "O jewel among cooks!" one of the two called softly, and the unhappy man knew by the voice that the speaker was Philip Marsham. Naming no names and talking in roundabout phrases as people do when they wish one to know their meaning and another not to, the two continued with no heed at all to the cook, whom they thought a mere drunken lout. And indeed, their undertones were scarcely audible; but anger sharpened the cook's ears and his wits, and he lay and ruminated over such chance sentences as he got. "It puzzled me from the first," said the other, "to see how easily you bore with your comrade of the road." "Why, he is a good soul in his way." The other gave a grunt of disgust. "Nay, it is a wonder to me that a lad with your nice notions ever found his way to sea," Phil retorted. "And I might never have gone, had not Captain Francis Candle been my godfather." "As for me, I have seen both sides of life; and, but for a certain thing that happened, I might be well enough contented where I am." "And that?" Phil hesitated, for though they had talked freely, as young men will, the question searched a side of Phil's life to which as yet he had given no clue. "Why," said he, lowering his voice, "for one thing, I saw for the first time my own grandfather; and for another, I saw a certain old knight who quite won my fancy from such a man as a certain one we know. Come, let us stroll together." And as they walked the deck that night, arm in arm, Phil told his companion what his life had been and what it might have been, and mentioned, in passing, the girl at the inn. Left to his miseries and his thoughts, of which the first were little better company than the second, the woeful cook turned over and over in his fat head such fragments of their talk as he had succeeded in overhearing, and to say truth, he made little more out of it all than the speakers had intended. But his parched throat teased his wits to greater effort, and being come to such a state that he would have bartered his immortal soul for water, had chance offered, he bethought him of a plan by which, if luck held good, he might escape from his shackles. The moment for which he waited was a long time coming and he suffered a great variety of increasing miseries before it arrived; but when the watches changed, he saw among the men newly arrived on deck his erstwhile dearest friend, and somewhat reluctantly forgiving his dear friend for belabouring him over the head with a whole salt fish, the cook softly called the man by name. The fellow came snickering, which made it none the easier to bespeak his aid; but the cook nevertheless swallowed his wrath as well as with his dry throat he could, and whispered to the fellow that he must make haste and tell the master there was news to be imparted in secret. At this the fellow held up his hand with thumb thrust between first and second fingers. "Give me no fico," wailed the most excellent cook. "Nay, I have stumbled upon a black and hidden matter. Go thou, and in haste, and it will pay thee well." For a time they bickered in the dark, but there was in the cook's despair a sincerity that finally made the fellow believe the tale; and finding, upon stealing aft, that there was still a light in the great cabin, he mustered up his courage and knocked. "Enter," cried a hard voice. The fellow opened the door and peeped in and found the Old One sitting alone at the table. Glancing hastily about, and the more alarmed to meet the cold eye of Harry Malcolm who lay on the great bed in the corner of the cabin, he closed the door at his back and whispered, "He swears it's true--that there's foul work afoot. 'Tis the cook who hath told me--yea, and hath bade me tell you. He would say no more--the cook, I mean." "Oh, my good friend, our most excellent cook!" Meditating, the Old One looked the fellow up and down. "Here," said he, "strike off his shackles and send him in with the key." And he threw the fellow the key to the locks. After a while the cook came weakly in and shut the door behind him and, throwing the key on the table, fell into a chair. "Ah," said the Old One, "what is this tale I have heard news of?" "Water!" gasped the cook. For though he had managed, by pausing at the butt on his way, to drink nearly a quart, he had no mind the Old One should know of it. The Old One smiled. "Go, drink, if thy tale be worth it; but mind, if I deem thy tale not worth it, thou shalt pay with a drop of blood for every drop of water." The cook shot a doubting glance at the Old One, but went none the less, and came back wiping his lips. "Have at thy tale," said the Old One. There was a quaver in the cook's voice, for he was by no means sure of how great a tale he could make, and the master's face gave him small encouragement, for from the beginning of the tale to the end the Old One never altered his cold, cruel smile. "It was the boatswain and young Canty," he said. "Ah!" "They was leaning on the forecastle and walking the deck arm in arm and talking of one thing and another." "And what did they say?" "They talked about some one's slow wit--I could not make sure whose, for they scoffed at me bitterly--and Canty was bepuzzled by the boatswain's ways, and he wanted him to do something or other." "Go on." The Old One, grinning coldly, leaned back and watched the labouring cook, who wracked his few brains to make a worthier story. "Nay, but I heard little else. Yet, said I, the master must know at all costs." "What a thick head is thine and how easily seen through and through!" The Old One laughed. "Think you all this is worth a second thought? I am of the mind to have you skinned and salted. But I forgive you, since I have a milkish heart that is easy moved to pity. Get you down to your berth and sleep." The cook departed in haste, but with a fleeting glance at Harry Malcolm whom he feared less only than the master. He was aware that for some reason he did not understand, his broken tale had served his purpose. When he had gone the Old One turned about. "You heard him. What think you?" said he. From the great bed in the corner, Harry Malcolm raised his head and laughed silently. "Our able cook was hard pressed for an excuse to get out of his ankle rings. Did you hear him slopping at the butt the first time passing? As for his tale, we know what we knew, and no more." "'Slow wits'! I wonder." "At Baracao we shall see," said Harry Malcolm. "Neither one nor a dozen can harm us before we raise land." "And after raising land, which by God's mercy will be soon now, we shall see whose wits will nick first when the edges crack together." The Old One stretched and yawned and Harry Malcolm softly laughed. CHAPTER XV A LONESOME LITTLE TOWN A light seen in the middle watch gave warning of an unexpected landfall, and calling up the Old One, who had a store of knowledge gained by much cruising in those seas, they lay off and on until dawn, when they made out an island of the Bahamas. It seemed, since by their reckoning they were still a day's sail from land, that there was some small fault in their instruments; but to this they gave little heed, and which island it was and what occasioned the light they never knew, though some ventured one guess and some another as they bore past it and lifted isle beyond isle. For two days, with the Old One conning the ship, they worked their way among the islands, and thus at last they came to a deep bay set among hills, which offered a commodious and safe anchorage, notwithstanding that on the point that guarded the bay there was the wreck of a tall ship. In the shallop they had taken from the fishing pink, the Old One and Jacob, with four men to row them, went out to the wreck and returned well pleased with what they had found. "God is good to us," cried the Old One, perceiving that Harry Malcolm waited at the waist for their coming. "Though her foremast and mainmast be sprung, yet her mizzen is sound as a nut." "And is it to be fetched out of her unharmed?" "Yea, that it is! Come, Master Carpenter, haul out our broken old stump of a mizzen. By this time on the morrow our good Rose of Devon will carry in its place as stout a stick as man can wish. Faith, the ill fortune of them whose ship lies yonder shall serve us well." There was a great bustle in the old frigate, for work was to be done that needed many hands. Some went to the wreck to save masts and spars, and others, led by the one-eyed carpenter, toiled to haul out the stump. Boatswain Marsham and his mate laid ready ropes and canvas; and the most of the company being thus busied with one task or another, Martin and the cook caught a store of fresh fish, which the cook--who had now become a chastened, careful man--boiled for supper, while Martin went onshore for fruit that grew wild in abundance and for fresh water from a sandy spring. It was three days instead of one before the work was finished; but meanwhile there was fresh food and water aft and forward, and having spent at sea many weary weeks, the men rejoiced to pass time so pleasantly in a snug haven. Indeed, a man might have passed a long life in comfort on such an island, and there were many who cried yea, when Joseph Kirk declared himself for building a town there, to which they might return with a store of wives and wines, and from which they could sally forth when their supplies of either got low, and get for themselves others out of the King of Spain's ships and plantations. But the Old One laughed and cried nay. "I shall show you a town," said he, "in a land as fair as this, but with houses built and ready for us, and with gold piled up and waiting, and with great cellars of wine and warehouses filled with food." So they sailed from the island one morning at dawn and for a week they picked their way down the windward passages. At times they lay hidden in deep harbours of which the Old One knew the secret; and again they stood boldly out to sea and put behind them many leagues of their journey. And thus progressing, one night, as they worked south against a warm breeze scented with the odour of flowers, they sighted on the horizon a dark low land above which rose dimly the shape of a distant mountain. The men gathered about master and mate and Jacob, then Harry Malcolm went swarming up the rigging and from the maintopsail yard studied the dim bulk of the mountain. After a time he cried down to them, "Douse all lights and hold her on her course!" For an hour they stood toward the land, then Malcolm came down from aloft smiling, and there ran through the ship a great wave of talk. Though a man had never sailed those seas before, he would not have found the reason for their talk hard to guess, since there were few secrets on board. Time and distance had made less the grumbling occasioned by the disastrous brush with the Porcupine and by the littleness of the profit got from the pink, and they had warmed their hearts with the Old One's tales. Bearing to the west, the Rose of Devon skirted the dark shore for miles; but the master and mate were growing anxious lest dawn overtake them before they should reach the hiding-place they sought; and when they rounded a certain wooded point and sailed into a deep, secluded bay where a ship might lie for a year unseen,--which put an end to their fears,--they let go their anchors with all good will and furled their sails; and at break of day they kedged the ship into a cove that might have been a dock, so straight were the shores and so deep the water. "Mind you, Ned," or "Mind you, Hal, the night we landed on Hispaniola?" the men from the Blue Friggat were saying. And "'Twas thou at my side when we stole down through the palms and bottled the garrison in the little fort." And "Ah, what wine we got that night!" "Yea, and how drunk we got! So that Martin Barwick was of a mind to go fight a duel with the captain of the soldiers. And then they burst out and drove us all away, and there was an end of our taking towns for a long, long while." "I will have you know that I was no drunker than any man else," Martin snarled, and they laughed uproariously. "Come," cried another, "since we have laid our ship in her chosen berth, let us sleep while the idlers watch. We shall be off in the cool of the afternoon." "Nay, in the morning!" "Afternoon or morning matters little," said old Jacob thickly, in the corner where he sat watching all the men. "The hour is near when we shall lay in the hold a goodly cargo. I know well _this_ town. We need only find two more such towns to get the money to keep us the rest of our lives like so many dukes, each of us in a great house in England, with a park full of deer, and the prettiest tavern wenches from all the country round to serve us in the kitchen." That day, while the men slept in such cool places as they could find, the cook and the carpenter stood watch; and a very good watch they kept, for they were prudent souls and feared the Old One and dared not steal a wink of sleep. But though there was much need that the men should sleep, there was small need of a watch, for the ship lay in that deep cove in the little round bay, with masses of palms on the high banks, which hid her from waterline to truck. At mid-afternoon, as the Old One had bade them, the cook and the carpenter called the men, who came tumbling up, quickly awake and breathing heavily, since there was work to be done ere another morning broke, and, like enough, blood to be spilled. From a chest of arms Harry Malcolm handed out muskets and pistols and pikes. "This for you," he said--"and this for you--and here's a tall gun for Paul Craig. Nay, curse not! Prayers, Paul, shall profit thee more than curses." "I tell ye what, I'll not carry this great heavy gun," quoth he, and turned a dull red from anger. "Blubububububub!" one cried, and all laughed. "'Tis lucky, Paul," retorted Harry Malcolm, "that Tom Jordan is an easy, merciful man, or there's more than one back would bear a merry pattern in welts." He took up another musket--cumbersome, unwieldy weapons they were, which a man must rest for firing--and handed it to another. "And this for you." Jacob was turning over and over on his palm powder from a newly opened barrel, and the Old One was leaning on the quarter-deck rail, whence he sleepily watched the small groups that were all the time gathering and parting. Will Canty, his face a little whiter than ordinary and his hand holding his firelock upright by the barrel, stood ill at ease by the forecastle. The boys lurked in corners, keeping as much as possible out of the way, but watching with wide eyes the many preparations. And indeed it was a rare sight, for the staunch old ship, her rigging restored and her many leaks stopped, lay in her little cove where a cool breeze stirred the ropes, and the afternoon sun shone through the palms brightly on the deck, and the men moved about bare-armed and stripped to their shirts. "It would save much labour," said the carpenter, "were we to use this fair breeze to go by sea." "True, carpenter, but a ship coming in from sea is as easy spied by night as by day, whereas a company of men descending from the hills by night will have the fort before the watchdogs bark. And who is there will grudge labour in such a cause?" The Old One looked about and the carpenter himself nodded assent. Only Paul Craig grumbled, and at him the others laughed as they ate and drank. They slept again till just before dawn, then, running a plank to the shore, they gathered under the palms, for there was need of a last council before leaving the ship. "We are forty men," said the Old One, "and forty men are all too few; but though it is little likely that any will stumble on the ship in our absence, it is a matter of only common prudence that we post a guard ere we go." "Yea, a guard!" cried Paul Craig. "I, now, am a very watchful man." "Nay, but think, Paul, how great a meal thou can'st eat when thou hast climbed up hill and down with thy gun, and how much thou can'st drink. 'Twould be no kindness to leave thee. We must leave some lithe, supple lad who hath no need for the tramp." And the Old One chuckled. "Come, Paul and Martin, you shall lead our van." Harry Malcolm met his eye, and he nodded. "I name to guard our ship," said he, "the cook and Joe Kirk and Will Canty. Do you, lads, load the swivel guns and keep always at hand two loaded muskets apiece. Fire not unless the need is urgent, and keep the ship with your lives, for who knows but the lives of us all are staked upon your watchfulness and courage? You, Harry, since you know best the road, shall lead, with Paul and Martin upon either hand; the rest shall follow, and Jacob and I will guard the rear." He turned to the three who were to stay. "If there is good news, I will send men to bring the ship round to the harbour where, God willing, we shall load her to the deck with yellow chinks. If bad news,--why, you may see us in one day, or three, or five,--or maybe never." He arched his brows and tossed his piece to his shoulder, and with Jacob at his side, he followed the others, who were already labouring under the weight of their weapons as they filed up the steep acclivity. The Old One and Jacob slowly climbed the wild, rough hill and paused until the marching column was out of hearing. "You are a strange man," said Jacob. "I would wring his neck without thought." "That were a mere brutal jest such as affordeth little joy," the Old One replied. "I will wind him in a tangle of his own working, then I will take the breath from his nostrils deliberately and he will know, when he dies, that I know what I know." "You are a strange man." "I can keep order among the gentlemen better than could any captain in the King's service; and such a game as this sharpens a man's wits. We shall see what we shall see." Jacob slipped away by himself and the Old One followed his men. All that morning, unseen and unsuspected, Jacob sat behind a rock within earshot of the ship. The palms shielded him and shaded him and he got himself into such a corner that no one could approach him from behind or see him without being seen. And all that morning he neither heard nor saw aught worthy of mark until about noon a voice in the ship cried out so that Jacob could plainly understand the words, "One should watch from land. Now a man on the hilltop could serve us well." To which a second voice replied, "Go thou up, Will, go thou up! We are of no mind to stir." There came the sound of steps on a plank, then a rattle of pebbles and a rustle of leaves; and Jacob rose quickly and followed at a safe distance a man who passed his corner on the way up the acclivity. Reaching the summit, of the hill, where he was safely out of sight from the ship, the fellow--and it was indeed Will Canty--searched the sea from horizon to horizon; but Jacob, hunting deliberately as was his manner, found a seat a great way off, yet so situated among the trees that he could watch without being seen. For an hour he sat thus in a niche in the rocks below and watched Will on the flat ledge above; then he saw him start up of a sudden and look around him very carefully and cautiously, and whip his shirt off his back and wave it in the air. For a good half-hour Will waved the shirt, stopping now and then to rest; but it seemed that nothing came of his waving, for with a sad face he put on his shirt and again sat down and presently he returned to the ship. Jacob dozed a while longer where he was, having seen all that; for he was a man who could put two and two together as well as another, and he had learned what he wished to know. Then he got up, and seeking out the place where the Old One and his men had passed, he followed after them at a serious, steady gait, which seemed not very fast yet which kept plodding so surely up hill and down hill and through gullies and over ledges and along beside the sea, that in two hours he had covered the distance the others, burdened with guns and pikes and swords, had covered in three; and before nightfall, following the marks they had left for him, he overtook them resting in a ravine. Night, which comes so suddenly in the tropics, was about to darken the world, when Jacob gave them a great start by walking silently in upon them as they sat talking in low voices, with their guns lying by their sides and their minds on the work that was before them. He nodded at the Old One, who knew well enough what his nod meant, and sat quietly down among them. There was but a small moon, and when at nearly midnight they bestirred themselves and ate the last of the sea bread they had brought, the light was dim. But their plans were laid and the hour was come and the Old One and Harry Malcolm and Jacob knew the ways they were to go. They were more than thirty, and they straggled out in a long line as they climbed the precipitous hill. But those ahead waited at the top for those behind and together, marching in close array, they crossed a ridge and came into sight of a little town that lay below them among hills and mountains. It was a dark and silent town, whose houses had a ghostly pallor in the faint light from the crescent moon, and it lay beside a harbour which shone like silver. There were no lights in the houses and in all the place nothing stirred; but in the harbour a ship lay anchored, concerning which they speculated in whispers. "The road lies yonder under the rock," said Harry Malcolm. "And one man has strayed," Jacob whispered. "I will fetch him." He stepped back the way they had come, and returned with Paul Craig who dragged his gun by the muzzle. The fellow's manner betrayed his cowardice and the Old One pushed the point of a knife against his breast. "If again you stray or loiter," he whispered, "this blade will rip you open like a hog fat for the killing." Though the words were uttered very softly, others heard them, and Martin Barwick, whose courage was none of the staunchest, rubbed his throat and swallowed hard. "Gold without stint is ours for the taking," said the Old One. "I have a misliking of yonder ship." "Nay, she is but one more prize." They moved down the mountain path toward the town. "There are twelve houses," said Jacob. "Two men to a house leaves ten for the fort." In the dim light he had missed his count, for the men as they approached the gate of the village had crowded together. "No one sleeps in the fort," quoth Harry Malcolm in a low voice. "They go to the fort only when they are attacked by dogs of English or wicked pirates." Some one laughed softly. "Two men to a house," the Old One was saying. "Kill, plunder, and burn!" Then as they stood in the very gate a dog barked. They jumped at the sound, but higher by far did they jump when from the ship lying in the harbour there came a loud hail in Spanish. "Ha! The dogs are wakeful!" the Old One cried in double meaning, and with that he plunged forward through the shadows. Though for the most part he showed himself a shrewd, cautious man, he was not one to turn back when his blood was up; and quicker than thought he had raised his voice to a yell:-- "Come, my hearts, and burn them in their beds!" "Nay, nay!" cried Jacob. "Come back while there is yet time! They cannot yet know who we are or from whence we come. Another day, another month, will be best!" But they had gone. With a yell the Old One had led the way, and they had followed at his heels. Jacob was left alone in the dark, and being a rarely prudent man and of no mind to risk his neck lightly, he stayed where he was. As the Old One stormed the first house, there came a shot from the darkness and he gave a howl of pain and rage. Turning, Phil Marsham saw a stranger cross the road behind him, but he had no time to consider the matter, since the first cries had waked the town. A dozen men were exchanging musket-shots with the fort, wherein they were folly-blind, for their shots went wild in the dark and their guns took a long time loading; and the Old One, thinking to further the attack and not considering that the light would reveal their whereabouts and their weakness, struck fire to dry grass, which blazed up and caught wood, but went out, hissing, under a bucket of water from within a house. Here a Rose-of-Devon's man took the steel and died, and there another went down, hit by a musket-ball. In a lull in the firing--for the charges of their guns were soon spent--they heard plainly the sound of oars and saw that two boats were bringing men from the vessel in the harbour, and from the far side of the place others came charging with pikes and swords. In all truth, the town was aroused and the game was over, so they took to their heels and ran for their lives, since they were outnumbered and outfought and no other course was left them. All who escaped gathered on the hill, for though a man might wish in his heart to leave the Rose of Devon for ever, he could find no refuge in the nest of hornets they had stirred to fury, since in the eyes of the enemy one must appear as guilty as another. So, leaving ten of their number behind them, dead or wounded or captured, every man who could walk started back for the Rose of Devon with the thought to cheer him on, that after daybreak in all likelihood the howling pack would be at his heels. They bickered and wrangled and cursed, and one whispered to Philip Marsham that if they had an abler captain their luck would turn, which was a great folly and cost him a broken head. "That for thy prattle," the Old One cried, for he had been walking just behind. And with a club he struck the fellow a blow that sent him to the ground. Indeed, the Old One had intended to kill him, and had he not been so weary, he would doubtless have stayed to complete his work, for his temper was torn to rags. Uphill and down they went, through thickets and streams, over ledges and sandy slides, round dank old fallen logs and along firm beaches, back to their dark frigate, with their labour for their pains. And so, by broad daylight, weary and hungry and too angry for civil speech, they came to the Rose of Devon. The younkers trotted along, dog-tired, and the men tramped in as best they could. There were hard words on this side and hard words on that, and hands were clapped on knives for no cause at all. They thought it queer, when in the gray morning they came sliding down to the ship, with a rattle of pebbles and loose earth, that they found her so still, and only the cook on her deck, and himself in a cold sweat of fear. "I would have nought to do with it," he cried, and being still mindful of his thirsty hours in bilboes, he shook in his shoes lest they fix upon him a share of the blame for that which had occurred in their absence. "With what and whom would'st thou have nought to do?" the Old One demanded, and he showed a face that made the cook's teeth rattle. "With them--they've gone." "Who hath gone?" "Will Canty and Joe Kirk. They took the shallop and bread and beer." "It seems," said the Old One, and in a strangely quiet voice, "that the edge that is nicked is not Will Canty's. Is it thine, Jacob, or mine?" The cook thought that either he or the Old One had lost his wits, for he made no sense of the words; but Harry Malcolm and Jacob knew what was meant, and Philip Marsham made a sharp guess at it. CHAPTER XVI THE HARBOUR OF REFUGE It was up anchor and away, for they needs must flee ere the hunters find them. They stood along the coast with a light breeze in the early morning, when the sun was rising over the sea and tipping with gold the branches of the dark palms; but the Rose of Devon was a hawk with clipped wings. A company of twenty-nine or thirty men in a staunch ship with a goodly number of brass cannon and with powder and balls in abundance (which provident merchants had bought to defend their venture against pirates!) might have done very well on a merchant voyage or fishing. If there are not too many to share in the adventure, a man can earn his wages by the one; or if he would go to the banks of Newfoundland or to Massachusetts Bay, his lay of a fishing voyage will doubtless bring him enough golden chinks to drink in strong ale or sack the health of every fair maiden of Plymouth ere he must be off to fill his pockets anew. Though the times be ever so hard, he is a feckless sailor who cannot earn in such a company the price of drinking the three outs. But to work a ship and lay aboard a rich prize, with perhaps need to show heels to a King's cruiser or to fight her, is quite another game; and the Old One and Harry Malcolm, who had their full share of the ill-temper that prevailed throughout the ship, cursed their fortune, each in his own way, and wrangled together and quarrelled with the men. And indeed, among all the men of the Rose of Devon there were only two or three who that morning remained unperturbed by their misadventures of the night. One was Jacob, who sat in this corner or that and eyed all comers coldly and as if from a distance. A second was Philip Marsham, who did not, like Jacob, appear to lose his warmer interest in the ship and her company, but whose interest had been always less as for himself alone. Meeting in groups of three or five, the men ripped out oaths and told of how one captain or another had once taken a ship or a town with vast bloodshed and plunder, and thus they stormed about the deck at intervals until an hour after sunrise, when Phil from the forecastle and Old Jacob from his corner under the quarter-deck, having observed them for some time putting their heads together and conversing in undertones, heard them crying out, "Yea, yea! Go on, go on! We are all with you!" Four of the men then started through the steerage room to the great cabin and the rest gathered in a sullen half circle just under the quarter-deck. Jacob raised his head and listened; his face was very thoughtful and his small mouth was puckered tight. At the sounds that issued from the cabin, Phil himself drew nearer. "Well," cried the Old One in a voice that seemed as full of wonder as of wrath,--they heard him plainly,--"what in the Devil's name mean ye by this?" "We ha' lost a dozen men and our shallop by this foolish march, and from this rich town of which you have promised much we have got only blows and balls for our labour." The speaker's voice was loud and harsh, and he larded his speech with such oaths and obscene bywords as are not fit for printing. "We are of a mind to change captains. You shall go forward and Paul Craig shall come aft. Speak up, Paul! Tell your tale of no marching to wear out a man's feet--" There came a string of oaths in the Old One's voice and a wild stamping and crashing; then out they burst, jostling one another in their haste, and after them the Old One with a clubbed musket. He subdued his fury, when he faced the ring of sullen men, as if he had taken it with his hands and pushed it down. But they feared him none the less, and perhaps the more. A man looking at him must perceive that his mind was keen and subtle, which made his quietness, when he was angry, more terrible than a great show of wrath. "I have sailed before with mad, fickle crews," said he; "yea, once with a crew so mad that it would send a gentleman post unto the King with a petition of grievances because a King's ship had chased us from the South Foreland to the Lizard. But never saw I a more mad crew than this, which is enough to give a man a grievous affliction of the colic and stone by the very excess of its madness." "As for madness," cried a man who stood at a safe distance behind the rest, "I charge thee with worse than madness. We have lost two fights and many men and have got to show for it--a kettle of fish." Some laughed, but more muttered angrily. "Why--we have had our ill fortunes. But what gentlemen of the sea have not? Come, make an end of this talk. Come out, you who spoke, and let us consider the matter. Nay? He will not come, though by his speech he is a bold man?" Again some of them laughed, but in a mean way, for he had cowed them by his show of violence and they feared more than ever that subtle spirit which over-leaped their understanding. "Listen, then, my hearts of gold: we will come about and sail back. We will lie tonight by the very town that last night we stormed. We will seek it out as a harbour of refuge. We will tell them a tale of meeting pirates who captured our shallop and part of our men. We will give them such a story that they will think we have met the very men they themselves last night beat off, and will welcome us with open arms to succour our distress. Who knows but that we can then take them by assault? Or if for the time they are too strong for us, we will mark well the approaches and the defenses, and some night we will again come back." The idea caught their fancy, and though a few cried nay and whispered that it was the sheerest madness yet, more cried yea and argued there was little risk, for if worst should come to worst, they could turn tail and run as run they had before. As they talked, they forgot their many woes and whispered about that none but the Old One would ever think of such a scheme. Harry Malcolm and the Old One went off by themselves and put their heads together and conversed secretly, and throughout the ship there was a great buzz of voices. Only Jacob, who sat in his corner and watched now one and now another, and Philip Marsham, who watched Jacob, kept silence amidst the hubble-bubble. So they wore ship, and returning along the palm-grown shores, came again at the end of the afternoon into sight of the flat mountain they had seen first by night; and though the wind fell away at times until the sails hung in listless folds, they gathered speed with the evening breeze and came at nightfall into a fine landlocked harbour with the town at its head, where there were lights shining from the houses and a ship still lying at anchor. Upon their coming there was a great stir in the town. They saw lights moving and heard across the water voices calling; but though the men of the Rose of Devon stood by their guns, ready to lift the ports at a word and run out their pieces, they laughed in their sleeves at their own audacity whereby they hoped greatly to enrich their coffers. Then one in the fort hailed them in Spanish, and while the Old One made answer in the same tongue, those who understood it whispered to the rest that he was giving the men in the fort a sad tale of how the Rose of Devon had fallen in with a band of sailors of fortune who had killed part of her men and would have killed them all had not the Old One himself by a bold and clever stroke eluded them. The Old One and the man in the fort flung questions and answers back and forth; and as they talked, the men at the guns relaxed and softly laughed, and Martin whispered to Philip Marsham, "Yea, they are telling of a band of roving Englishmen who last night singed their very whiskers; and being clever men and learning that them whom we ourselves have met and fought were lawless English dogs, they perceive we needs have met the very rascals that made them so much trouble." Again Martin listened, then slapped his thigh. "They are sending us boats!" he exclaimed. "Though they perceive we are English, it seemeth they bear an Englishman no ill will because he is English. Truly, a fool shall be known by his folly!" Most of the men were elated, but old Jacob watched and said nought. His black, bright eyes and his nose, which came out in a broad curve, made him look like an old, wise rat. As the boats came over the dark water, with the soft splash of oars, there was hurried talking on the quarter-deck, then the Old One came swiftly. "Good boatswain," said he, "these foolish fellows have bade us ashore to break bread with them and share a bottle of wine. Now I am of a mind to go, and Harry Malcolm is of a mind to bear me company. We will take twelve men and so arrange it that they shall not surprise us. Yea, I am too old a dog to be caught by tricks. It may be we can strike them again tonight, and a telling blow. It may be not. But do you and Jacob keep watch on board, with every man at his station in case of need." So the Rose of Devon let go her anchors and swung with the tide a cable's length from the unknown ship, which lay dark and silent and apparently deserted. The strange boats came up in the shadow of the poop and the Old One and Harry, with their men mustered about them, exchanged greetings with the oarsmen below, in rough English and in rougher Spanish, as each side strove to outdo the other in civility. The men--heavily armed--slid down into the boats and the Old One smiled as he watched them go, for he was himself well pleased with the escapade. Such harebrained adventures were his bread of life. He followed the men, the cabin lanthorn in his hand, and after him came Harry Malcolm, as cool as a man could desire, and watched very sharply all that went on while the boats rowed slowly away toward the land. Then Jacob came out of his corner and spoke to Phil. "I will watch first," said he. "The cook hath laid a fine supper on the cabin table. Go you down and eat your fill, then come up and keep the deck and I will go down and eat in my turn." At something in the man's manner, which puzzled him, Phil hesitated; but the thought was friendly, and he said, "I will not be long." "Do not hurry." When Phil turned away, old Jacob cleared his throat. "Boatswain--" "Yea?" "Do not hurry." As Phil sat at the table in the great cabin, which was so dark that he could scarcely see the plate in front of him (although he ate with no less eagerness because of the darkness), the planks and timbers and transoms and benches were merged into an indiscriminate background of olive-black, and there hung before him by chance a mirror on the forward bulkhead, in which the reflection of the yellow sky threw into sharp outline the gallery door at his back. Having no means at hand for striking a light, he was hungrily eating and paying little heed to his surroundings, when in the mirror before his eyes, against the yellow western sky the silhouette of a head wearing a sweeping hat appeared over the gallery rail. There was not the faintest noise, and no slightest motion of the ship was perceptible in the brown stillness of the evening. The head, darkly silhouetted, appeared in the mirror as if it were a thing not of this earth, and immediately, for he was one who always kept his wits about him, Phil slipped silently off the bench, and letting himself down flat on the deck, slid back into the darkest corner of all, which lay to the starboard of the gallery door. There, without a sound, he rose to his feet. The black silhouette reflected in the mirror grew larger until it nearly blocked the reflection of the door, then a board in the gallery gently creaked and Phil knew that the man, whoever he was, was coming into the cabin. Presently in the subdued light he could dimly see the man himself, who stood by the table with his back toward Phil and glanced about the cabin from one side to the other. Knowing only that he was a stranger and therefore had no right to enter the great cabin of the Rose of Devon, Phil had it in mind to jump and seize him from behind, for so far as he could appraise the man's figure, the two were a fair match in weight and height. But when Phil was gathering himself for the leap, he saw in the mirror the reflection of a second head, and then of a third. Again the gallery creaked, for the newcomers, like the first, were on their way into the cabin. By the door they stood for a moment listening, and in the silence Phil heard a boat gently bumping against the side of the ship. He was first of a mind, naturally, to cry an alarm; but were he to call for help, he would learn no more of their errand. They drew together beside the table and conversed in whispers of which Phil could distinguish nothing, although he was near enough to reach out his hand and seize hold of the curls and brave hat of the nearest of them. To attack them single-handed were an act of plain folly, for they wore swords and doubtless other weapons; but when he perceived that the first had got out flint and steel, he knew that they must soon discover him. "Whence and for what have you come?" he said in a low voice. They turned quickly but with admirable composure: there were never seen three calmer men. The first struck light to a slow match and held over it the wick of a candle drawn from his pocket, upon which the flame took hold and blazed up, throwing curious shadows into the corner of the cabin and half revealing the hangings and weapons. The man raised the candle and the three drew close about Phil and looked at him steadily. "So a watch is set in the cabin, I perceive," the man holding the candle said with a quiet, ironical smile. By mien and speech Phil knew upon the instant that they were Englishmen and it took no great discernment to see that they were gentlemen and men of authority. They pressed closer about him. "Whence and for what have you come?" he repeated. They made no reply but stood in the brown light, holding high their candle and looking him hard in the face. Again he heard the boat bumping against the side of the ship and now the murmur of the wind aloft. Far away he heard a faint sound of calling which was growing constantly louder. The three exchanged glances and whispering to one another, moved toward the gallery; but as they started to go, the one turned back and held the candle to Phil's face. "Of this be assured, my fine fellow," said he, "I shall know you well if ever I see you again." Phil was of a mind to call after them, to pursue them, to flee with them; but as it is easy to understand, there were strong reasons for his staying where he was, and there had been little welcome in their faces. He stood for a moment by the table and noticed that the sky in the mirror had turned from a clear olive to a deep gray and that the lines of the door and the gallery rail had lost their sharp decisiveness and had blurred into the dark background. Then he darted out of the cabin through the steerage and called sharply, "Jacob! Jacob!" The men watching at the guns stirred in suppressed excitement and turned from whispering uneasily. "There are strange sounds yonder, boatswain," called one. "And shall we knock out the ports and loose the tacklings?" another asked. "Be still! Jacob, Jacob!" Phil cried, running up on the quarter-deck. There was no one on the quarter-deck; there was no one on the poop. The wind was blowing up into a fair breeze and small waves were licking against the dark sides of the Rose of Devon. But the after decks were deserted. "Jacob!" Phil cried once more, and sent his voice out far across the water. But there was still no answer. Jacob had gone. For a moment the lad stood by the rail and intently listened. The calling on shore had ceased, but a boat was rowing out from the town and the beat of oars was quick and irregular. Further, to swell his anxiety, there was a great bustle on board the unknown ship, which had been lying hitherto with no sign of human life. Then Philip Marsham took the fate of the Rose of Devon in his hands and leaned out over the quarter-deck gun. "Holla, there!" he called, but not loudly, "Let the younkers lay quietly aloft and lie ready on the yards to let the sails fall at a word." Seeming encouraged and reassured by a summons to action, the younger men went swarming up the rigging, and as quietly as one could wish; but even the low sound of their subdued voices drummed loud in the ears of the lad on the quarter-deck. Jacob had gone! The boatswain, for one, remembered old tales of rats leaving ships of ill fortune. CHAPTER XVII WILL CANTY They saw a boat coming a long way off, with her men rowing furiously, but by that time there were all manner of sounds on the shore whence the boat had launched forth. Shouts and yells in English and Spanish, with ever the booming of guns, echoed across the harbour. Beacons flamed up and for a while danced fitfully, only to die away when those who tended the fires left them unwatched and with flaming brands joined in the cry; and in the wake of the furiously rowing boat came others that strove with a great thresh of oars to overhaul the fugitive. The activity and tumult were very small and faint under the bright stars in that harbour girdled about with palms. Though the rugged slopes of wild mountains, rising like escarpments above the harbour, by day completely dwarfed it, yet the stars made the mountains seem by night mere pigmy hills, and even the many sounds, which a great echoing redoubled, seemed smaller and fainter in the presence of the vast spaces that such a night suggests. Although the men in the foremost boat rowed out of time and clumsily, their fierce efforts kept them their lead, and they were still far in advance of their pursuers when they tossed up their oars and crouched panting on the thwarts in the shadow of the ship. "Ropes, you fools!" the Old One called. "Cast us ropes! Ropes! Bind fast this bird we've caught and trice him up! Now, my hearts, swing him aloft--there he swings and up he goes! Well done! I'll keep him though I risk my neck in doing it. Make fast a rope at bow and at stern! Good! Every man for himself! Up, thou! And thou! Up go we all! Come, tally on and hoist the boat on board! And the men are aloft? Well done, Jacob! Haul up the anchor and let fall the courses!" It was plain from their manner that those who came swarming up the sides had a story to tell, but there was little time then for story-telling. The pursuing boats lifted their oars and swung at a distance with the tide, since it was plain for all to see that they were too late to overhaul the fugitives. Although on board the stranger ship there were signs and sounds of warlike activity, she too refrained from aggression; and the Old One, having no mind to traffic with them further, paced the deck with a rumble of oaths and drove the men alow and aloft to make sail and be gone. It was "Haul, you swine!" And "Heave, you drunken dogs!" And "Slacken off the weather braces! Leap for your lives!" And "Haul, there, haul! A touch of the rope's end, boatswain, to stir their spirits!" And "Come, clear the main topsail! Up aloft to the topsail yard, young men! A knife, you dog, a knife! Slash the gaskets clear! A touch of the helm, there! Harder! Harder! There she holds! Steady!" Then Harry Malcolm called from the quarter-deck in his quiet, quick voice, "The swivel gun is loaden, Tom. I'll chance a shot upon the advantage." "Good, say I!" quoth the Old One. "And if the first shot prove ill, amend it with a second." They saw moving on the forecastle the light of a match, and after such brief space of time as a spark takes to go from brace-ring to touchhole the gun, which was charged with small shot for sweeping the deck if an enemy should board the ship, showered the distant boats with metal. They saw by the splashing that the charge had carried well and that Malcolm's aim was true, and a yell and a volley of curses told them as well as did the splash, which was dimly seen by starlight, that the shot had scored a hit. While a sailor sponged the gun, Harry Malcolm gave a shog to the full ladle of powder, and keeping his body clear of the muzzle, put the ladle home to the chamber, where he turned it till his thumb on the ladle-staff was down, and gave it a shake to clear out the powder, and haled it forth again. Then with the rammer he put the powder home and drove after it a good wad and in anger and haste called for a shot. Then the Old One laughed through his teeth. "Go thou down, Jacob," cried he, "and give them a ball from the stern chaser. To sink one of those water snakes, now, would be a message worthy of our parting. Jacob! Jacob, I say!" There was no answer from old Jacob. It was Boatswain Marsham who cried back, "He hath gone." "Gone?" quoth the Old One. His face, as the starlight revealed it, was not for the reading, but despite him there was something in his voice that caught the attention of the men. "Gone?" the Old One repeated, and leaned down in the darkness. The shadows quite concealed his face when he was bent over so far that no light from above could fall on it, but he raised his hand and beckoned to the boatswain in a way there was no mistaking. In response to the summons of the long forefinger, Phil climbed the ladder to his side. "You say he hath gone," the Old One quietly repeated. "When did he go?" "I do not know. He kept the deck when I went below for supper." "How did he go?" "Nor do I know that. But three men came into the cabin by way of the gallery while I was there--" "Three men, say you? Speak on." The Old One leaned back and folded his arms, and though he smiled, he listened very carefully to the story the boatswain told. "And when you came on deck he was gone." The Old One tapped the rail. "You have booklearning. Can you navigate a ship?" "I can." "Yea, it may well be that now we shall have need of such learning. It was an odd day when you and I met beside the road. I shall not soon forget that ranting fool with the book, who was as good as a bear-baiting to while away an afternoon when time hung heavy. Oft ha' we left him fallen at the crest, in the old days when he dwelt in Bideford, but Jacob saw no sport in it, nor could he abide the fellow." The Old One looked Phil frankly in the eye and smiled. "In faith, I had a rare game that day with Martin, whose wits are but a slubbering matter at best. But that's all done and away with. And Jacob hath gone! Let him go. Betide it what may, there is one score I shall settle before my hour comes. Go forward, boatswain, and bear a sharp watch at sea, and mind you come not abaft the mainmast until I give you leave." The Old One spoke again when Phil was on the ladder. "Mind you, boatswain: come not abaft the mainmast until I give you leave. I bear you nought but love, but I will have you know that in what I have to do I will brook no interruption." Though Tom Jordan had spoken him kindly, the lad was not so blunt of wit that he failed to detect suspicion in the man's manner. He stopped by the forecastle, and looking back saw that the Old One was giving the helmsman orders, for the ship had cleared the harbour, to all appearances unpursued, and was again bearing up the coast. The Old One then came down from the quarter-deck, and, having spoken to several of the men in turn, called, "Come, Martin; come, Paul, bring the fellow in." And with that, he went into the great cabin, where they heard him speaking to Harry Malcolm. As for Martin Barwick and Paul Craig, they went over to where the one had all this time been lying whom they had trussed up in ropes and hoisted on board. All the time he had been in the ship he had neither moved nor spoken, nor did he speak now as they picked him up, one at his head and one at his feet, and carried him into the cabin. The door shut and for a long time there was silence. There were some to whom the matter was a mystery, and the boatswain was among them; but the whispering and nodding showed that more knew the secret than were ignorant of it. The ship thrust her nose into a heavy swell and pitched until her yards knocked on the masts; the breeze blew up and whipped the tops off the waves and showered the decks with spray; the sky darkened with clouds and threatened rain. But in the ship there was such a deep silence as stifles a man, which endured and seemed--were it possible--to grow minute by minute more intense until a low cry burst from the cabin. The men sitting here and there on deck stirred and looked at one another; but Philip Marsham leaped to his feet. "Sit down, lad," said the carpenter. "Drop your hand!" "Nay, it is better that I keep my hand on your arm." "Drop your hand! Hinder me not!" "Nay, I am obeying orders." There came a second cry from the cabin, and Phil laid his free hand on his dirk. "Have care, boatswain, lest thy folly cost thee dear. There are others set to watch the deck as well as I." And now three men who had been sitting by the mainmast rose. They were looking toward Phil and the carpenter, and one of them slowly walked thither. Though Philip Marsham had no fear of hard fighting, neither was he an arrant fool, and instantly he perceived that he was one man against many under circumstances that doubled the odds. His heart beat fast and a cold sweat sprang out on his forehead. "What are they doing to him?" he demanded. "Nothing that he hath not richly earned," said the man who had come near the two. Scarcely conscious of his own thought, Phil glanced toward the dark and distant shore; but, slight though his motion, the carpenter's one eye saw it and his none too nimble wit understood it. "Nay," said he, "it is a mad conceit." The carpenter thrust his fingers through his beard, and, being a kindly soul in his own way and having a liking for the boatswain, he wished himself rid of his responsibilities. But since there was no escape from the situation he drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders to make the best of it. "I heard of a man once, when I was a little lad," he said, "who was cast ashore on the main, in Mexico or some such place. Miles Philips was his name and the manner of his suffering at the hands of the Indians and the Spaniards may serve as a warning. For they flung him into prison where he was like to have starved; and they tortured him in the Inquisition where he was like to have perished miserably; and many of his companions they beat and killed or sent to the galleys; and himself and certain others they sold for slaves. So grievous was his suffering, he was nigh death when he heard news of Sir Francis Drake being in those seas and ran away to join him. Yet again they caught him--caught this Miles Philips and clapped him into prison with a great pair of bolts on his legs; and yet once more did he escape, for God willed it, and filed off his irons and got him away and so betook him back to England after such further suffering from the Indians and the mosquitoes and the Spaniards and the dogs of the Inquisition as few men have lived to tell the tale of. All this, I have heard from an old man who knew him, is told in Master Hakluyt's book, where any scholar of reading may find it for himself. Though not a man of reading, yet have I taken it to heart to beware of straying from a ship into a strange land." Of all the fellow had said Philip Marsham had heard no more than half, for the cry that had twice sounded still rang in his ears, although since it had died away the second time there was only silence on the deck save for the carpenter's rambling talk. The lad's mind leaped nimbly from one occurrence to another in search for an explanation of the cry. "Tell me," said he, "what happened on shore?" At this the carpenter laughed, pleased with believing he had got the boatswain's thoughts off the affair of the moment. "Why, little enough. They would have persuaded us to leave our weapons at the door, but the Old One was too wise a horse to be caught by the rattle of oats. And whilst he was ducking and smiling and waving hands with the Spaniards, I myself, my ears being keen, heard one cry in Spanish, for I have a proper understanding of Spanish which I got by many pains and much listening--as I was saying, I heard one cry in Spanish, 'Yea, that is he.' And said I to myself, 'Now Heaven keep us! Where have I heard that voice?' And then it came upon me and I cried in English, 'Who of us knew the dog, Will Canty, could talk Spanish?' Whereat the Old One, hearing me, turned and caught a glimpse of Will in the darkness. You know his way--a shrewd blade, but hot-tempered. 'There,' cries he, 'is my man! Seize him!' And with that I, being nearest, made a leap. And they, being at the moment all oil to soothe our feelings and hood our eyes, were off their guard. So the Old One, who likely enough had heard for himself Will Canty's saying, since he too hath a curious knowledge of Spanish, cries, 'Back to the boat, my lads!' For seest thou, if Will Canty was pointing out this one or that, there was treacherous work in the wind. So down through them we rushed, all together, bearing Will with us by the suddenness and audacity of our act, and so away in a boat before they knew our thought." "And who were the other Englishmen?" The carpenter gave the lad a blank look. "Why, there were none." Rising, Phil paced the deck while the carpenter and the others watched him. Some scowled and whispered suspicions, and others denied them, until Phil himself heard one crying, "Nay, nay, he's a true lad. 'Tis only he hath a liking for the fellow." The carpenter neither smiled nor frowned, for though he knew no loyalty deeper than his selfish interests, and though he felt no qualm regarding that which was going on in the cabin (since he had little love for the poor wretch who was the victim), he had a very kindly feeling toward those who got his liking; and it sorely troubled him that Philip Marsham should suffer thus, though it were at second hand. "Come, lad," said he, "sit down here and take comfort in the fine night." Laying his elbows on the rail, Phil thrust his hands through his hair and bit his two lips and stared at the distant shore of Cuba. He feared neither Indians nor insects nor the Inquisition. There were other things, to his mind, more fearful than these. The gasping sound that then came from the cabin was one thing more than he could abide. He turned with the drawn dirk in his hand, but the carpenter was on him from behind, whispering, "Come, lad, come!" And because he could not but be aware of the carpenter's honest good will, he could not bring himself to use the dirk, yet only by using the dirk could he have got out of the long arms that held him fast. For a moment they swayed back and forth; then, when others were hurrying to aid the carpenter, the door of the great cabin opened. A rumble of laughter issued, then the Old One's voice, "Lay him here in the steerage and shackle him fast to the mizzen. He may well be thankful that I am a merciful man." CHAPTER XVIII TOM JORDAN'S MERCY They anchored that noon in a great bay surrounded by forests and mountains, which formed a harbour wherein a thousand sail of tall ships might have lain. Through the long afternoon, while the Rose of Devon swung at her anchor, the wind stirred the palms and a wild stream, plunging in a succession of falls down a mountainside, shone like a silver thread. But Paul Craig sat guard over Will Canty, who lay in the steerage chained to the mizzenmast, and there was no chance for any one of the men to speak with Will. And on deck the carpenter measured and sawed and planed for his purpose; and having shaped his stock he wrought a coffin. First he threw nails in a little heap on the deck, then, kneeling, he drove them home into the planed boards. It was rap-rap-rap, and rap-rap-rap. The noise went through the ship, while the men looked at one another; and some chuckled and said that the Old One was a rare bird; but the Old One, coming out of the great cabin without so much as a glance at the lad who lay chained to the mast, stood a long time beside the carpenter. He kept a grave face while he watched him work, and very serious he looked when he turned away and came and stood beside Philip Marsham. "There are men that would slit the fellow's throat," he said, "or burn him at stake, or flay him alive; but I have a tender heart and am by nature merciful. Though he broke faith and dipped his hands in black treachery, I bear him no ill will. I must needs twist his thumbs to wring his secrets out of him and I can no longer keep him about me; yet, as I have said, I bear him no ill will. Saw you ever a finer coffin than the one I have ordered made for him?" What could a man reply? Although there had been complaining and revolt before, the Old One again held the ship in the palm of his hand, for they feared his irony more than his anger. Darkness came and they lowered the coffin into the boat, whither man after man slid down. "Come, boatswain," said the Old One, in a quiet, solemn voice. "There is an oar to pull." And what could a man do but slide with the others down into the boat and rest on the loom of an oar? Phil shared a thwart with the carpenter, and raised his oar and held it upright between his knees. The coffin lay across the boat amidships, and there were four oars, two on the one side and two on the other; but a man sat beside each oarsman, two more crowded into the bow, and two sat in the stern sheets with the Old One. Then they lowered Will Canty to the bottom in front of the Old One, where he lay bound hand and foot. Shoving off from the ship, the oarsmen bent to their task and the Old One steered with a sweep; but the boat was crowded and deep in the water, and they made slow progress. Mosquitoes swarmed about them and droned interminably. The water licked at the boat and lapped on the white beach. The wind stirred in the palms. The great bay with its mountains and its starry sky was as fair a piece of land and sea as a man might wish to look upon in his last hour; but there are few men whose philosophy will stand by them at such a moment, and there is an odd quirk in human nature whereby a mere droning mosquito can drive out of mind the beauty of sea and land--nay, even thoughts of an immeasurable universe. The men beat at mosquitoes and swore wickedly until the Old One bade them be silent and row on, for although they had come near the shore the water was still deep under the boat, which tossed gently in the starlight. A time followed in which the only sounds were of the wind and the waves and the heavy breathing of the men. Some were turning their heads to see the shore and the Old One had already risen to choose a landing-place, when Will Canty--who, although bound hand and foot, had all the while been edging about in the stern unknown to the others till he had braced his feet in such a way that he could get purchase for a leap--gave a great spring from where he lay, and thus threw himself up and fell with his back across the gunwale, whence, wriggling like a worm, he strove to push himself over the side. The Old One sprang forward in fury to seize and hold him, and caught him by the wrist; but one of the men in zeal to have a hand in the affair drove the butt of his gun against Will Canty's chin, and in recovering the piece he stumbled and pushed the Old One off his balance. So the Old One lost his hold on Will Canty's wrist and before the rest knew what was happening Will had slipped into the deep water and had sunk. That he never rose was doubtless the best fortune that could have befallen him, and likely enough it was the blow of the gun that killed him. But the Old One was roused to such a pitch of wrath at being balked of his revenge that he was like a wild beast in his fury. Quicker than thought, he turned on the man who had pushed against him, and reaching for the coffin that was made to Will's measure--a great, heavy box it was!--raised it high and flung it at the fellow. It gashed the man's forehead and fell over the side and floated away, and the man himself, with a string of oaths, clapped his hand to the wound, whence the blood trickled out between his fingers. "Swine! Ass!" the Old One snarled. "I was of a mind to lay thee in Will Canty's bed. But let the coffin go. Th' art not worthy of it." The boat grated on white sand, and leaping to his feet the Old One cried with a high laugh as he marked his victim's fear, "Get thee gone! If ever I see thy face again, I will slit thy throat from ear to ear." "Nay, nay, do not send me away! Do not send me away!" the man wailed. "O God! No, not that! I shall perish of Indians and Spaniards! The wild beasts will devour me. Nay! Nay!" The Old One smiled and reached for a musket, and the poor fellow, his face streaked with gore, was overcome by the greater terror and fled away under the palms. No shot was fired and neither knife nor sword was drawn ere the echo of the fellow's wailing died into silence; but the Old One then fired a single shot after him, which evoked a last scream. "Come, Martin, take the scoundrel's oar," quoth the Old One, and he turned the head of the boat to sea. They said little and were glad to row briskly out to the ship. Action is ever welcome at the time when a man desires most of all to get away from memory and thought. That night, when they were all asleep, Martin leaped out on the deck and woke them by shrieking like a lunatic, until it seemed they were all transported into Bedlam. He then himself awoke, but he would say only, "My God, what a dream! Oh, what a dream!" And he would rub his hands across his eyes. The grumblers continued quietly to grumble, for that is a joy no power on earth can take away, but there was no more talk of another captain. Some said that now the luck would change and told of prizes they had taken and would take, and recalled to mind the strong liquors of Bideford and the pasties that Mother Taylor would make for them. Others, although they said little, shook their heads and appeared to wish themselves far away. But whether a man felt thus or otherwise, there was small profit of their talking. For another day and night they lay at anchor and ate and drank and sprawled out in the sun. The Rose of Devon, as they had earlier had occasion to remark, was richly found, and they had still no need to bestir themselves for food and drink. But any man with a head on his shoulders must perceive that with old Jacob, who had gone so wisely about his duties and had so well held his own counsel in many things, the ship had lost something of stability and firm purpose even in her lawless pursuits. And Will Canty, too, was gone! As the old writer has it, "One is choked with a fly, another with a hair, a third pushing his foot against the trestle, another against the threshold, falls down dead: So many kind of ways are chalked out for man, to draw towards his last home, and wean him from the love of earth." Though Will Canty had died a hard death, he had escaped worse; and as Priam, numbering more days than Troilus, shed more tears, so Philip Marsham, outliving his friend, faced such times as the other was spared knowing. Of all this he thought at length, and fearing his own conscience more than all the familiars of the Inquisition, in which he was singularly heartened by remembering the stout old knight in the scarlet cloak, he contrived a plan and bode his time. In the darkness of the second night, when the Old One had somewhat relaxed his watchfulness, Boatswain Marsham slipped over the bow and lowered himself silently on a rope he had procured for the purpose, and very carefully, lest the noise be heard on board the ship, seated himself in Tom Jordan's boat and rowed for shore. An honest man can go so far in a company of rogues and no farther. Reaching the land and hauling the boat up on the beach in plain sight of those left in the Rose of Devon, where they might swim for it if they would, he set off across the hills and under the palms. Upon reaching the height he looked back and for a moment watched the old ship as she swung with the tide on the still, clear water. He hoped he should never see her again. Then he looked down at the tremulous and shimmering bay where Will Canty lay dead, and was glad to plunge over the hill and leave the bay behind him. CHAPTER XIX A MAN SEEN BEFORE There was sullen anger and worse in the Rose of Devon when day broke, for the boatswain, too, had gone and the boat lay in sight upon the beach whereby all might know the means of his going. One watching from the mountain would have seen the Rose of Devon spread her sails and put to sea like a great bird with white wings. But there was no one on the mountain to watch, and when the ship had sailed, no human being remained to interrupt the placid calm that overspread the bay that summer morning. The sun blazed from a clear sky, and the green palms rustled and swayed beside the blue water, and in all the marvelously fair prospect of land and sea no sign or mark of violence remained. Phil Marsham had gone in the night over the hills and across the narrow peninsula between two bays. Though the way was rough, the land was high and--for the tropics--open, and he had put the peninsula behind him by sunrise. He had then plunged down into a swampy region, but, finding the tangle of vines and canes well nigh impassable in the dark, he had struggled round it and had again come to the shore. There, finding once more a place where a man could walk easily, he had pressed on at dawn through a forest of tall trees in infinite number and variety, with flowers and fruits in abundance, and past a plain of high grass of wonderful greenness. A short time after sunrise he drank from a spring of water and ate ship's bread from the small store with which he had provided himself. But he dared not linger, and resuming his journey he came upon two huts where nets and fishing-tackle were spread in the sun to dry. The heat, which seemed to swell from the very earth, by then so sorely oppressed him that he stopped for a while in a shady place to rest. But still he dared not stay, and although upon again arising he saw that dark clouds were covering the sky, he once more stepped forth with such a stout heart as had carried him out of London and all the long way to Bideford in Devon. It gave him a queer feeling to be tramping through an unknown land with no destination in his mind, yet he vowed to himself that, come what might, he would never go back to the Rose of Devon. There is a time when patience and forbearance are enough to earn a man a hempen halter, and thinking thus, he faced the storm and renewed his determination. The wind rose to a furious gale; the clouds overswept the sky and thunder shook the earth and heavens. The rain, sweeping down in slanting lines, cut through the palm leaves like hundreds upon hundreds of thrusting swords; and lightning flamed and flashed, and leaped from horizon to horizon, and hung in a sort of continual cloud of deathly blue in the zenith, blazing and quivering with appalling reverberations that went booming off through the mountains and came rolling back in ponderous echoes. It was enough to make a brave man think the black angels were marshalling for the last great battle; it was such a storm as a boy born in England and taught his seamanship in northern waters knew only by sailors' tales. The rain beat through the poor shelter that he found and drenched him to the skin, and the roaring and thundering of the tempest filled him with awe. And when the storm had passed, for it lasted not above three quarters of an hour, the sun came out again and filled the air with a steamy warmth that was oppressive beyond description. Then the woods came to life and insects stirred and droned, and mosquitoes, issuing from among the leaves and grasses, plagued him to the verge of madness. One who has lived always in a land where mosquitoes return each year in summer is likely to have no conception of the venomous strength with which their poison can work upon one who has not, by much experience of their bites, built up a measure of resistance against it. Phil's hands swelled until he could not shut them, and the swelling of his face so nearly closed his eyes that he could hardly see. When two hours later, all but blinded, and thirsting and hungry, he came again to the shore and made out in the offing, by squinting between swollen eyelids, the same Rose of Devon from which he had run away and to which he had vowed he would never return, his misery was such that he would have been glad enough to be on board her and away from such torment, though they ended the day by hanging him. But the Rose of Devon sailed away over the blue sea on which the sun shone as calmly and steadily as if there had been no tempest, and Philip Marsham sat down on a rock and gave himself up as a man already dead. There two natives of the country found him, and by grace of God, who tempered their hearts with mercy, carried him to their poor hut and tended him with their simple remedies until he was in such measure recovered of the poison that he could see as well as ever. He then set out once more upon his way to he knew not where, having rubbed himself with an ointment of vile odour, which they gave him in goodly quantity to keep off all pestiferous insects, and on the day when he ate the last morsel of the food with which the natives had provided him he saw from the side of a high hill a strange ship at anchor in a cove beneath. Now a ship might mean one thing or she might mean another; and a man's life might depend on the difference. Drinking deeply from a stream that ran over the rocks and through the forest, and so at last into the cove, Philip Marsham returned into the wood and sat upon a fallen tree. He saw a boat put out from the ship and touch on the shore a long way off, where some men left her and went out of sight. After an hour or two they came back, and, entering the boat, returned to the ship. He saw men working on deck and in the rigging; he heard the piping of a whistle, and now and again, as the wind changed, he heard more faintly than the drone of insects the voices of the men. Being high above the shore, he found the mosquitoes fewer and the wind helped drive them away; yet they plagued him continually, despite his ointment, of which little was left, and made him miserable while he stayed. He would have hurried off had he dared; but the chance that the ship would be the means of saving his life withheld him from pursuing his journey, while doubt concerning the manner of craft she was withheld him from making known his presence. In mid-afternoon he saw far away a sail, which came slowly in across the blue plain of the sea; and having clear eyes, trained by long practice, he descried even at that great distance the motion of a heavily rolling ship. From his seat high on the hill he could see a long way farther than the men in the ship in the cove, and a point of land shut off from them an arc of the sea that was visible from the hill; so when night fell they were still unaware of the sail. Though he had watched for hours the ship in the cove, the runaway boatswain of the Rose of Devon had discovered no sign of what nation had sent her out or what trade her men followed; but there came a time when his patience could endure suspense no longer. He picked his way down to the shore, following the stream from which he had been drinking during his long watch, and cautiously moved along the edge of the water till he came to the point of land nearest the anchored ship, whence he could very plainly hear voices on board her. There were lights on the stern and on deck, and through an open port he got sight of hammocks swinging above the guns on the main deck. At last he took off the greater part of his clothes and piled them on a rock; then, strapping his dirk to his waist, he waded silently into the water. Reaching his depth, he momentarily hesitated, but fortifying his resolution with such philosophy as he could muster, he began deliberately and silently to swim. Letting himself lie deep in the water and moving so slowly that he raised no wake, he came into the shadow of the ship. It was good to feel her rough planking. He swam aft under the quarter, and coming to the rudder laid hands on it and rested. Above him he could see, upon looking up, a lighted cabin-window. His own body seemed ponderous as he slowly lifted himself out of water. He raised one hand from the tip of the rudder just above the tiller to the carving overhead and got grip on a scroll wrought in tough oak. He put his foot on the rudder, and feeling above him with his other hand seized fast the leg of a carved dragon. Very thankful for the brave ornaments with which the builder had bedecked the ship, he next got hold of the dragon's snout, and clinging like a fly, unseen and unsuspected, above the black water that gurgled about the rudder and the hull, he crawled silently up the stern. Coming thus to the lighted cabin window, he peeked in and found the place deserted. On the table a cloth was laid, and on the cloth such a dinner service as he could scarce have dreamed of. There were glasses of rare tints, with a few drops of wine left in them, which glowed like garnets under the bright candles. There were goblets of silver, and even, he believed, of gold. There were wonderfully delicate plates crusted with gold about the edges. There was an abundance of silver to eat with and a great decanter, wrought about with gold and precious stones, such as simple folk might not expect to see this side of Heaven. At the sound of steps, Phil drew back and hung over the water on the great stern of the ship. A boy came into the cabin and stepped briskly about clearing the table. Voices came down from above--and they were speaking in English! What a prize she would have made for the Rose of Devon, Phil thought, and grimly smiled. "Boy!" a voice bellowed from somewhere in the bowels of the ship. "Yea, yea, master," cried the boy, and with that he scurried from the cabin like a startled chick. Phil raised his head and renewed his hold, for he could not cling there forever; yet how to introduce himself on board the ship was a question that sorely puzzled him. He threw a bare leg over the sill, the more easily to rest, and revolved the problem in his mind. They were plainly honest Englishmen, and right glad would he have been to get himself in among them. Yet if he came like a thief in the night, they must suspect him of evil intentions without end. While he thus attacked the problem from one side and from the other, it occurred to him that the best way was to crawl down again into the water and swim back to the shore from whence he had come. There, having donned his clothes, he would call for help. Surely there was no one so hard of heart as to refuse a lad help in escaping from the pirates. He raised his leg to swing it out of the window again and put his scheme into practice, when he felt--and it startled him nearly out of his skin--a hand lay hold on his ankle. If you will balance yourself on the outside of any window with one foot over the sill, you will find it exceedingly difficult to pull your foot away from some one inside the window without throwing yourself off the wall, and Phil for the moment was reluctant to make the plunge. Slowly at first he twisted and pulled, but to no purpose. With waxing vigour he struggled and yanked and kicked and jerked, but completely failed to get his ankle out of the hand that held it. It seemed that a gentleman who had been sitting at a little desk, so placed that Phil could not have seen it without thrusting his head all the way into the cabin, had looked up, and, perceiving to his mild surprise a naked foot thrust in through the window, had nimbly arisen, and stepping lightly toward the foot, had seized the ankle firmly at the moment when Phil was about to withdraw it. The gentleman marvelled much at what he had discovered and purposed to get at the reason for it. Not only did he succeed with ease in holding the ankle fast against his captive's somewhat cautious first kicks; he anticipated a more desperate effort by getting firm hold with both hands, so that when his captive decided to risk all, so to speak, and tried with might and main to fling himself free and into the water by a great leap, the gentleman kept fast his hold and held the lad by his one leg, who dangled below like a trapped monkey. Very likely it was foolish of Philip Marsham to attempt escaping, but as I have said he was of no mind to be caught thus like a thief entering in the night, and he was so completely surprised that he had no time at all to collect his wits before he acted. Yet caught he was, and, for a bad bargain, hung by the heels to boot. "Boy," the gentleman said, and his voice indicated that he had a droll humour, "call Captain Winterton." The boy, further sounds revealed, who had come silently and in leisure, departed noisily and in haste. Heavy steps then approached, and a gruff voice cried, "What devilish sort of game is this?" "Take his other leg, Charles, and we shall soon have him safe on board. I am not yet prepared to say what sort of game it is, beyond saying that it is a rare and curious game." Thereupon a second pair of hands closed on Philip Marsham's other ankle, and, would he or would he not, he was hauled speedily through the cabin window. "Young man," said the gentleman who had first seized him, "who and what are you, and from whence have you come?" "I am Philip Marsham, late boatswain of the Rose of Devon frigate. I came to learn from what country this ship had sailed and to ask for help. I myself sailed from Bideford long since in the Rose of Devon, but, falling into the hands of certain sailors of fortune who killed our master and took our ship, I have served them for weary months as a forced man. Having at last succeeded in running away from them, I have come hither by land, as you can see, suffering much on the way, and I ask you now to have compassion on me, in God's name, and take me home to England." "Truly," said the gentleman, "those devilish flies have wrought their worst upon him. His face is swelled till it is as thick-lipped as a Guinea slave's." He spoke lightly and with little thought of Phil's words, for his humour was uppermost in him. He was in every way the fine gentleman with an eye for the comical, accustomed to having all things done for him and as little likely to feel pity for this nearly naked youth as to think it wrong that the little cabin boy should stand till morning behind his chair, lest by chance, desiring one thing or another, he must compromise his dignity by fetching it for himself. But now the other, Captain Winterton, a tall, grave man, with cold face and hard cold eyes, stepped forward, and speaking for the first time said: "Do you remember me?" Phil looked him in the eye and felt his heart sink, but he was no coward. "I do," he replied. Captain Winterton smiled. He was the first of the three men who had come on board the Rose of Devon by way of her gallery, and had entered the great cabin the night when Phil Marsham sat there at supper. It then burst upon Phil that in the whole plain truth lay his only hope. "I ran away from them--they had forced me into their service!--a week since. Nay, it is true! I am no liar! And it will pay you well to keep a sharp watch this night, for a vessel like enough to the Rose of Devon to be her twin is this minute lying behind yonder point." "Ah! And you sailed, I believe you said, from Bideford. Doubtless you have kept the day in mind?" "Why, 'twas in early May. Or--stay! 'Twas--" "Enough! Enough! The master of--" "But though I marked neither the day of the week nor the day of the month, I remember the sailing well." "Doubtless," quoth the captain dryly, "but it will save time and serve thy cause to speak only when I bid thee. Interrupt me not, but tell me next the name of the lawful master in whose charge thy most excellent ship sailed from Bideford." This keen and quiet captain in the King's service was of no mind that his prisoner should tell with impunity such a story as he might make up on the moment. Accordingly he proceeded to draw forth by question after question such particular parts of the story as he himself desired to hear, now attacking the matter from one angle and now from another, watching his prisoner closely the while and all the time standing in such a place that the lad had no chance at all of escaping through the open window. CHAPTER XX A PRIZE FOR THE TAKING "We shall see," said Captain Winterton, when he had listened to all of the tale that he would hear. He turned about. "Boy," he cried, "go speedily and send Mr. Rance in to me." The boy departed in haste and in a moment there entered a junior officer, who stared in frank curiosity at the three in the cabin. "Mr. Rance," said the captain, "go aloft in person to the main truck and look about you sharply. Come back and report what you see." "Yea, yea, sir," the young man replied, and with that he was gone. The captain stood by the cabin window and frowned. Plainly he had small confidence in the good faith of the prisoner and regarded his story as at best an attempt to save himself at the expense of his friends. The gentleman of the humours, somewhat sobered by the captain's manner of grave concern, returned to his desk, but sat tapping his fingers and watching Philip Marsham. It had instantly, of course, dawned upon the runaway boatswain that his peril was more serious than he had had reason earlier to believe. For supposing the unknown sail should in all truth be the Rose of Devon,--and since she was cruising idly thereabouts nothing was more probable,--he stood between the Devil, or at all events the Devil's own emissary, Thomas Jordan, and a deeper sea than any ship has ever sailed: the sea upon which many a man with less plain evidence of piracy against him has embarked from a yardarm with a hempen collar about his neck and a black cap over his eyes. Who, pray, would accept for sober truth such a tale as any scoundrel would make out of whole cloth to save himself from hanging? Despite all he could do or say, he now saw plainly, he must stand convicted, in their minds, of being at the very least a spy sent to learn the state of affairs on board this tall ship in which he was now a prisoner. Then back to the cabin came young Mr. Rance and very much excited did he appear. "Sir," he exclaimed, and stood in the door. "Tell your tale." "A ship lieth two cable's lengths from land on the farther side of the point, and a boat hath set out from her and is following the shore as if to reconnoitre." "Ah," said the captain, "it is quite as I thought. No drums, mind you, nor trumpets, Mr. Rance. Call the men to quarters by word of mouth. Make haste and put springs on the cables if there be time before the boat rounds the point. Bid the gunner make all preparations for action and order a sharp watch kept; but order also that there be no sound or appearance of unusual activity. Send me a corporal and a file of men, and the master." The gentleman at the desk chuckled. "Come, boy, clear the table," said the captain. The boy jumped and returned to his work. The master came first, but the corporal and his men were close at the master's heels. "Take this fellow to the gun room, clap him into irons, and set a man to watch him." "Yea, yea. Come, fellow, march along." And thus sending before them Boatswain Marsham, erstwhile of the Rose of Devon frigate, the corporal and his men departed from the cabin. There were guns on the right hand and the left--ordnance of a size to sink the Rose of Devon with a broadside. There were sailormen thronging between-decks in numbers to appall the young prisoner who came down among them nearly naked from his swim. Though no greater of burthen than the Rose of Devon, the ship was better armed and better manned, and all signs told of the stern discipline of a man-of-war. The alternatives that Phil Marsham faced, as he sat in shackles with no spirit to reply to the jibes of the sailors and watched men stripped to the waist and moving deftly among the guns, were not those a man would choose. If his old shipmates took this tall and handsome ship, a blow on the head and a burial over the side was the kindest treatment he could expect of them. And if not--the gallows loomed beyond a Court of Admiralty. For hours the hum of voices went up and down the main deck and for hours Boatswain Marsham sat with the bolts upon his legs and wrists and saw the life of the ship go on around him. The men leaped here and there at a word, or lolled by their guns waiting for orders. The night wore on, and nodding, Phil thought of the two ships lying one on each side of the point of land and by all appearances two quiet merchantmen. Yet one, he knew to his sorrow, smelled devilishly of brimstone; and the other, in which he now sat a prisoner, though her ports were closed and her claws sheathed, was like some great tiger watching through half-shut eyes a bold, adventurous goat. As the night wore on, he dared hope that the reconnoitering boat had returned to her ship with news that had sent her away in haste, whereby there was a chance that his tale might yet be taken for the truth that it was; and the longer he waited the higher rose his hope, and with the better reason. But an hour or more after midnight he heard men beginning to talk as if there was something new in the wind, and the nearest gunner put his ear to a cat-hole. "The dogs are out; I hear oars," he whispered. "Yea, though they are rowing softly, I swear I can hear oars." A hush came over the ship and those below heard faintly a hail given on deck. Distant sounds came and went like whispers out of the sky, then somewhere outside the ship a great shouting arose and one of the men at a starboard gun cried gleefully, with a round oath, "Verily they are bent on boarding us, lads! Their foolish audacity seasons the term of all our weary waiting." "Hark! They are hailing!" cried another. "Come, strike your flag. Have an end of all this talk," a distant voice called. Whereat Philip Marsham, who knew the voice, thought that though their audacity cost him his life it was in its own mad way superb. The reply was inaudible below, but a boat crashed against the ship. There was a burst of yelling, followed by a rattle of musketry, then a voice boomed down, "Haul up your ports and run out your guns!" At that the men beside the guns sprang up with running and calling and the ports flew open and the sounds from without became suddenly louder and clearer. On the one hand were boys handing up filled budge-barrels; on the other were gunners with linstocks ready and powder for the priming. Then, "Ho, Master Gunner," a great voice roared, "withhold your fire! The boats are under the guns and too near for a fair shot!" It was such a moment as a man remembers always, for there was the smoke of powder in the air, with a din of splashing and cursing, and overhead a great hubbub, then silence save for the quick beat of oars. "See! See!" cried the men. "There go their boats, splintered and all but sunk! And see! There go ours! To your oars, lads, to your oars, ere their ship hath time to flee! See! There they go! Yea, and there go we!" The Old One had made his last blunder. He had come by night, thinking to board a peaceful merchantman laden with a rich cargo, and had found himself at the head of his score of men on the deck of a man-of-war. To all those below, but most of all to Philip Marsham chained in the gun room, it was a blind, confusing affair; but the sounds told the story; and though darkness hid the blood that was spilled, there was no mistaking the cries for quarter and the shrieks of agony. Nor was there need for haste to reach the Rose of Devon, since the men left as keepers of the ship were too few to make sail. Captain Charles Winterton of the King's navy himself boarded the dark frigate by starlight, and a capital lark he found it, for behind his stern mien was a lively taste for such adventure. With lusty shouting he swept the handful of men from her deck, and having put a prize crew and his lieutenant in charge of her, he brought back a few more prisoners to join company with the luckless boarders he had sent down to be locked in irons below. They were sad and angry gentlemen, for there are those to whom the laughter of a hundred sailors is worse than death by the sword. The first of them all to enter the gun room was Tom Jordan. His cheek was gashed and his hair was singed and blood smeared his shirt from shoulder to shoulder and one arm hung limp and broken; but though he was in great pain he smiled, and when they led him into the gun room and he saw Philip Marsham with bolts on wrists and ankles, he laughed aloud. The fellow was a very mark and pattern of a scoundrel, but he had the courage and spirit of a hero, and had he first gone to sea under another king than James or Charles he might in some overwhelming danger have saved England. Great admirals are made of such timber--bold, resolute, utterly dauntless--and any bold man might have fallen into the same trap that had caught Tom Jordan. (Nay, had nothing warned Captain Winterton or aroused his suspicions, there was a fighting chance for Tom Jordan to have taken his ship from him even so.) But Tom Jordan had gone to sea in the days when the navy was going to the dogs, and, like many another lad of spirit who left the King's service to join the pirates, he had adventured with the Algerians before he led the gentlemen of Bideford. And at last, hazarding a final effort to retrieve his luck, he had unwittingly thrust his head into the halter. Yet, though they had broken his body, they had failed to touch his courage; despite his pain, he could smile and even laugh. Turning his great grief into a jest, he cried, "Holla, O bravest of boatswains! This is a joy I had not looked for. It seems that, if hang I must, I shall not hang alone." And laughing again, right merrily, he swooned away, which Captain Charles Winterton, having himself come down with the others to see them all shackled, watched with quiet interest. They brought down the carpenter, who was shaking like a man with an ague, and his beard waggled as he shook. They brought down Martin Barwick, whose face was drawn and haggard, and his hand rubbed his throat, for it itched in a prophetic manner. Then came Harry Malcolm, who stopped before Phil and spat at him and cursed him, and Paul Craig, who had neither eye nor thought for any one besides himself, and a dozen others of whom there was not one that failed to revile at their erstwhile boatswain. A hapless time of it Philip Marsham had among them, but it added little to his great burden of misery. Nor, for the matter of that, did reviling content them; for toward morning, when the others were dozing, Harry Malcolm, whom they had locked to a longer chain, crawled over to where Phil lay and very craftily tried to kill him with bare hands. The guard cried out, but instead of stopping, the man redoubled his efforts to throttle the lad whom he had seized from behind when he was asleep; whereupon the guard struck a sharp blow with the butt of his musket, and when the corporal had come running and had felt of Harry Malcolm's wrist and had listened for his heart and had turned him over on his back, he cursed the guard with fluent oaths for robbing the gallows. CHAPTER XXI ILL WORDS COME TRUE To the Isle of Wight, and thence to Spithead and Deptford, came in time the Sybil of forty-four guns, Captain Charles Winterton, and accompanying her, in the hands of a prize crew, the Rose of Devon frigate. There, bundling certain unhappy gentlemen of fortune out of the ship, they sent them expeditiously up to London and deposited them for safe keeping in the Marshalsea prison, a notable hostelry which has harboured great rogues before and since. In the fullness of time, the Lord High Admiral of England, "who holds his court of justice for trials of all sea causes for life and goods," being assisted by the Judge of Admiralty and sundry others, officers and advocates and proctors and civilians, was moved to proceed against the aforesaid gentlemen of fortune. So they heard their names cried in the High Court of Admiralty and were arraigned for piracy and robbery on the high seas and charged with seizing the frigate Rose of Devon, the property of Thomas Ball and others, and murdering her master, Francis Candle, and stealing supplies and equipment to the value of eight hundred pounds. Nor was that the whole tale of charges, for it seemed that the Lords of Admiralty laid to the discredit of those particular gentlemen of fortune numerous earlier misdeeds of great daring and wickedness and an attempt to take His Majesty's ship Sybil, which had cost the lives of certain of His Majesty's seamen and had occasioned His Majesty much grief and concern. He who read the indictment spoke in a loud and solemn voice, such as might of itself make a man think of his sins and fear judgment; but they were already cowed and fearful, save only the Old One, who still held his head high and very scornfully smiled. The cook bent his head and shivered and dared not look the jury in the face. The carpenter wept and Martin Barwick was like a man struck dumb and Paul Craig kept working his mouth and biting at his lips. There was a great concourse of people, for who would not seize upon the chance to see a band of pirates? But a very poor show the pirates made, save the Old One; for though they had talked much and often of their valour and had represented themselves as tall fellows who feared nothing in life or death, they were now and for all time revealed as cowards to the marrow of their bones. Quietly and expeditiously the officers of the Court swore their first witness, who smelled of pitch and tar and bore himself in such wise that he was to be known for a sailor wherever he might turn. To their questions he replied with easy assurance, for he was not one of those fellows who cope with great gales and storms at sea only to be cowed by a great person on land. "Yea, sir," quoth he, "there is among mariners common talk of a band of sea sharks that hath long resorted to His Majesty's port of Bideford. Yea, my lord.--And have I met with them? That I have, and to my sorrow. This month two years I was master in a likely snow, the Prosperous of three hundred tons, which fell afoul of that very company, as their boasting and talk discovered to us, who took our ship and set me adrift in a boat with seven of mine own men, whereby, God being merciful unto us, we succeeded after many hardships in winning to the shore of Ireland, whence the Grace of Bristol bore us home to England.--The fate of the others in our company? In faith, some, I am told, joined themselves with that same band of sea sharks. The rest were slaughtered out of hand.--Nay, my lord, the night was black and my sight of the scoundrels was brief. I much misdoubt if I should know them again." "Come, come," quoth His Lordship, tapping the papers spread on his great table, "look at these prisoners gathered here at the bar and tell me if there be one among them of whom you can say, 'This man was there; this man did thus and so.'" So the witness came, with the air of a man who is pleased to be seen of many people, and looked them over, one and all; but at the end of his looking he sadly shook his head. "Nay, my lord, the night was dark and sight was uncertain; and though I should rejoice--none more than I!--to see a pirate hanged, I am most loath to swear away the life of an innocent man. There is no man here of whom I can truly say I have seen him before." His Lordship frowned and the proctors shook their heads; the prisoners sighed and breathed more freely. The tale was at an end, and bearing away with him his smell of pitch and tar the fellow returned to his place. Four witnesses were then summoned, one after another, and told tales like the first. One had been in a ship that was seized and sunk in Bristol Channel; the second had received a gaping wound in the shoulder off St. David's Head, and had known no more until he found himself alone on the deck of a plundered flyboat; the third had fallen into evil company in Plymouth, which beat him and robbed him and left him for dead, and from the talk of his murderous companions he had learned, before they set upon him that they were certain gentry of Bideford; and the last of the four told of the murderous attack of a boarding party, which had taken a brig and tumbled him over the side into a boat. "Yea, my lord," he cried, "and I fear to think upon what befell our captain's little son, for of all our crew only three men were left alive and as they sailed away from us three we heard the boy shrieking pitifully." One by one the witnesses wove with their tales a black net of wickedness, but they could not or would not say they knew this prisoner or that. The Judge frowned darkly from his bench and the people in the seats opened their mouths in wonder and excitement at the stories of robbery and murder. But the net was woven loosely and without knots, for thus far there had been no one to pick out this man or that and say, "It was he who did it." So the cook and the carpenter took heart; and the colour returned to Martin Barwick's face; and the Old One, leaning back, still smiled scornfully. Yet the Judge and the advocates seemed in no way discouraged, from which the men of the Rose of Devon might have drawn certain conclusions; for as all the world knows, judges and advocates with a band of pirates under the thumb are, for the honour of the law, set upon making an example of them. There was long counselling in whispers, then a bustle and stir, and an officer cried loudly, "Come, make haste and lead her in." A murmur passed over the court and the people turned their heads to look for the meaning of the cry. Then a door opened and an officer appeared, leading by the arm a very old woman. Phil Marsham felt his heart leap up; he saw Martin raise his hand to his throat with a look of horror. But when he stole a glance at the Old One, he saw, to his wonder, that the Old One was smiling as calmly as before: truly the man was a marvel of unconcern and a very cool and desperate rascal. "Is this the woman?" quoth my Lord the Judge, who raised his head and lifted his brows to see her the better. "Yea, my lord." "Hm! Let us look into this matter!" There was silence in the room except for the sound of shuffling papers. "This woman, commonly known as Mother Taylor, is to be hanged this day sennight, I believe." "Yea, my lord." "And it hath been suggested that if she can lay before us such evidence as is needful, she will be commended to the King's mercy and doubtless reprieved from the gallows. Hath all this been made plain and clear to her?" "Yea, my lord." "Hm! It appears by these papers, woman, that keeping a house to which rogues of all descriptions have resorted is the least of your crimes." A strange, cracked old voice burst shrilly upon the still court. "'Tis a lie, my lord! Alas, my lord, that wicked lies should take away my good name, and I tottering on the edge of the grave!" There were cries of "Silence!" And the officer at the old woman's side shook her by the arm. "And to continue from the least to the greatest, you have disposed of all manner of stolen goods, and have prepared slow poisons to be sold at a great price and have stained your hands with murder." "Alas, my lord, it is a wicked lie--!" They shook her into silence, but her lips continued to move, and as she stood between the officers her sharp little eyes ranged about the court. There was further counselling among the proctors, then one cried sharply, "Come, old woman, remember that the hangman is ready to don his gown, and answer me truly before it is too late: on such and such a day you were at your house in Bideford, were you not?" "Nay, sir, I am old and my wits are not all they were once and I cannot remember as I ought." "Come, now, on such a day, did not a certain man come to your house in Bideford and abide there the night?" "It may be--it may be--for one who keepeth a tavern hath many guests." "Look about you, old woman, and tell us if you see the man." "Nay, good sir, my wits wander and I do not remember as I used." As Philip Marsham watched her hard face, so very old and crafty, he paid little heed to the low voices of the proctors and the Judge. But the sharp command, "Look this man in the face and tell us if you have ever seen him before," came to the erstwhile boatswain of the Rose of Devon like the shock of cold water to a man lying asleep. They led her before Tom Jordan--before the Old One himself--and the two looked each other full in the face, yet neither fluttered an eye. In all truth they were a cool pair; it had taken a Solomon to say which of them was now the subtler. "Nay, my lord, how should I know this man? He hath the look of an honest fellow, my lord, but I never saw him ere this." Thereupon the officers exchanged glances and the proctors whispered together. They led her before Martin Barwick and again she shook her old white head. "Nay, my lord, I know him not." But Martin was swallowing hard, as if some kind of pip had beset him, and this did not escape the notice of the Court. Down the line of accused men she came and, though she walked in the shadow of the gallows, she said of each, in her shrill, quavering old voice, "Nay, my lord, I know him not." Of some she spoke thus in all truth; of others, though she knew it would cost her life, she craftily and stoutly lied. And at last she came to Philip Marsham, whose heart chilled when he met the sharp eyes that had looked so hard into his own in Bideford long before. "Nay, my lord, he is a handsome blade, but I never saw him ere this." Some smiled and sniggered; but the old woman shrugged, and lifted her brows, and stood before the Court, wrinkled and bent by years of wickedness. Say what you will of her sins, her courage and loyalty were worthy of a better cause. In despair of pinning her down, they led her away at last to a bench and there she sat with officers to guard her. Now she watched one man and now she watched another. Often Philip Marsham felt a tremor, almost of fear, at seeing her eyes looking hard into his own. But though of the old woman the Court had made nothing, the exultation that showed in the faces of some of the prisoners was premature, for the Lords of Admiralty had other shafts to their bow, as any gentleman of fortune might have known they would. Again there was a stir among the ushers, and in the door appeared one at whose coming Tom Jordan ceased to smile. The fellow's chin sagged and his eyes were wild and he ducked to His Lordship as if some one had pulled a string; and when they called on him to give the Court his name he cried very tremulously, "Yea, yea! Joseph Kirk, an it please you, my lord!" "Come now, look about you at these men who are arraigned for piracy. Are there any there whom you have seen elsewhere?" "Yea, yea, that there be! There! And there! And there!" "Ah! Hm! Men you have seen elsewhere! Tell us who they are." And His Lordship smiled dryly. "It is not to count against me, my lord? I have repented--yea, I have repented! 'Twill not undo the King's pardon?" The very Judge on the bench gave a grunt as in disgust of the abject terror the fellow showed, and a murmur of impatience went through the room; but though he afforded a spectacle for contempt, they reassured him and urged him on. "Yea, yea! That one there--he at the end--was our captain, and Tom Jordan his name. It was he who led us against a vast number of prizes, which yielded rich profit. It was he and Harry Malcolm--why, Harry Malcolm is not here. Huh! 'Tis passing strange! He hath so often stole beside them, I had thought he would hang beside them too. Yea, and as I was saying--Let us consider! Yea, yea, it was he and Harry Malcolm who contrived the plan for killing Captain Candle and taking the Rose of Devon. Yea, they called me apart on the forecastle and tempted me to sin and forced me with many threats. He it was--" Tom Jordan was on his feet. "You lie in your throat, you drunken dog! It was you who struck him down with your own hand!" "Nay, nay! I did him no harm! It was another--I swear it was another!" "It seems," said His Lordship, when they had thrust Tom Jordan back in his seat and had somewhat abated their witness's terror of his one-time chief, "it seems this fellow's words have touched a sore. Go on." "And there is Martin Barwick--nay, hold him! Nay, if I am to go on, I must have protection!--and there Paul Craig and there our boatswain, Philip Marsham--" And so he continued to name the men and told a tale of shameful acts and crimes for the least of which a man is hanged. Indeed, Philip Marsham himself knew enough of their history to send them one and all to the gallows, but he had not heard a tenth part of the story of piracy and robbery and murder and black crimes unfit for the printed page that this renegade pirate told to the full Court of Admiralty. The fellow made a great story of it, yet kept within a bowshot of the truth; but he was a villain of mean spirit and, though he did for the Court the work it desired, he bought his life at cost of whatever honour he may have had left. And then came Captain Charles Winterton, who rose, bowing in stately wise to His Lordship, and with a composed air and an assured voice very quietly drew tight the purse-strings of the net that Joe Kirk had knotted. In his grand and dignified manner he bowed now and then to His Lordship and to the proctors, who asked him questions with a deference in their bearing very different from their way with the other witnesses. "Yea, these pirate rogues boarded His Majesty's ship Sybil and killed three of His Majesty's men before they perceived the blunder they had made and gave themselves up.--How many lives did the boarders lose? Probably twelve or fourteen. Several bodies fell into the water and were not recovered. It was useless to hunt for them, my lord. Great sharks abound in those waters.--Yea, this Thomas Jordan led them in person. In truth, there is little distinction between them in the matter of guilt. The man Marsham, whom the previous witness named a boatswain, was the first to board the Sybil. He entered the great cabin by way of the stem, apparently to spy out the situation on board. He declared himself a forced man who had run away from the pirates. Who could say? The situation in which he was taken was such, certainly, as to incriminate him; though 'twere cause for sorrow, since he was a brave lad and had given no trouble during the voyage home." There was a great whispering among the people, who thought it was a shame for so likely a lad to hang with a pack of pirates. But it was plain by now to the greatest dullard among those unhappy gentlemen of fortune that hang they must; and for Philip Marsham, who sat as white as death from the shame of it, there was no slightest spark of hope. The net was woven and knotted and drawn, and the end of it all was at hand. When, according to the custom of the time, they called on Tom Jordan for his defense, he rose and said, "Alas, my lord, the ropes are laid that shall hang me. Already my neck aches. This, though, I will say: whatever these poor men have done, it is I that compelled them into it, and I, my lord, will stand to answer for it." Some gave one defense and some another; and meanwhile there was much legal talk, dry and long and hard to understand. And so at last they called on Philip Marsham to rise and speak for himself if he had anything to say in his own defense. He rose and stood before them, very white of face, and though his voice trembled, which was a thing to be expected since he saw before him a shameful death, he told them his true story, beginning with the day he sailed from Bideford, very much as I have told it here. But when they asked him about affairs on board the Rose of Devon that concerned the others and not him, he replied that each man must tell his own tale and that though he swung for it he must leave the others to answer those questions for themselves. "Come," quoth His Lordship, leaning forward and sharply tapping his table, "you have heard the question asked. Remember, young man, that you stand in a place exceeding slippery. It shall profit you nothing to hold your peace." "My lord," said he, "the tale hath been told in full. There is no need that I add to it, and were I to speak further I should but carry with me to the grave the thought that I had done a treacherous thing. Though I owe these men for nought save hard usage, yet have I eaten their bread and drunk their wine, and I will not, despite their sins, help to hang them." It was doubtless very wrong for him to reply thus, as any moralist will point out, since it is a man's duty to help enforce the laws by bringing criminals to justice. But he answered according to his own conscience; and after the craven talk of Joseph Kirk, the lad's frank and honest statement pleased perhaps even my Lord the Judge, sitting high above the court, who frowned because his position demanded frowns. Surely loyalty ranks high among the virtues and great credit is due to a keen sense of personal honour. But there then came from his talk a result that neither he nor any other had foreseen. Up sprang Tom Jordan. "My lord," he cried, "I pray thee for leave to speak!" To the frowns and chidings of the officers who forced him down again, he paid no heed. A tumult rose in the room, for they had hurled the Old One back and clapped hands over his mouth; but out of the struggle came again the cry, "My lord! My lord!" and His Lordship, calling in a loud voice for order and silence, scowled and gave him the leave he asked. As Martin had said long before, Tom Jordan was an ugly customer when his temper was up and hot, but no man to nurse a grudge. "I thank you, my lord," said he, the while smoothing his coat, which had wrinkled sadly in the scuffle. "Though I must hang I desire to see justice done. It lay in the power of this Philip Marsham to have added to the tale of our sins and the sum of our woes; wherefore, since he hath had the spirit to refrain from doing thus, why, my lord, I needs must say that he hath spoken only the truth. He was a forced man, and having a liking for him, since he is a lad of spirit, I would have had him join us heart and soul. 'Tis true likewise that he ran away from our ship and turned his hand against us, and for that I would have let him hang with these other tall fellows but for the brave spirit he hath shown. But as for yonder swine--yea, thou, Joe Kirk! Quake and stare!--he hath done more mean, filthy tricks to earn a hanging than any other gentleman of fortune, I believe, that ever sailed the seas." "Not so, my lord!" Joe Kirk yelled. "He fears me for my knowledge of his deeds! Help! Hold him--hold him!" Tom Jordan swore a great oath and Joe Kirk leaped up in his seat, white and shaking, and cried over and over that it was all a lie, and there was a merry time of it before the attendants restored peace. And then, to the further amazement of all in the court, Captain Charles Winterton again rose. "If I may add a word, my lord? Thank you, my lord. I observed that when the prisoners went below their manner toward this man Marsham was such as to lend a certain plausibility to his story. They took, in short, so vindictive a delight in his misfortunes that even then it seemed not beyond reason that his tale was true and that he had indeed left them without leave. That, of course, proves nothing with regard to his being a forced man; but it is a matter of common justice to say that, in consideration of all that I have seen before and of that which I have this day heard, I believe he hath told the truth both then and now. Thank you, my lord." Such a hullabaloo of talk as then burst forth among the spectators, and such learned argument as passed between the proctors and the Lieutenant of Admiralty and His Lordship the Judge, surpass imagination. Some quoted the Latin and the Greek, while others of less learning voiced their opinions in the vulgar tongue, so that all in all there was enough disputation to fuddle the wits of a mere layman by the time they gave the case to the jury. Then the jury, weighing all that had been said, put together its twelve heads, while such stillness prevailed in the court that a man could hear his neighbor's breathing. It seemed to those whose lives were at stake that the deliberations took as many hours as in reality they took minutes. There are times when every grain of sand in the glass seems to loiter in falling and to drift through the air like thistledown, as if unwilling to come to rest with its fellows below. Yet the sand is falling as fast as ever, though a man whose life is weighing in the balance can scarcely believe it; so at last the jury made an end of its work, which after all had taken little enough time in consideration of the matter they must decide. "You have reached with due and faithful care a verdict in this matter?" quoth His Lordship. "We have, my lord." "You will then declare your verdict to the Court." "Of these fourteen prisoners at the bar of justice, my lord, we find one and all guilty of the felonies and piracies that are charged against them, save only one man." In the deathly silence that fell upon the room the name sounded forth like the stroke of a bell. "We acquit, my lord, Philip Marsham." * * * * * There and then Philip Marsham parted company with the men of the Rose of Devon. His hands shook when he rose a free man, and when many spoke to him in all friendliness he could find no voice to reply. Never again did he see their faces, but he heard long afterward of how, a week from the day of their trial, they went down the river to Wapping in wherries, with the bright sun shining on the ships and on the shore where a great throng had assembled to see them march together up the stairs to Execution Dock. Though they had always made themselves out to appear great and fierce men, yet on that last day they again showed themselves cravens at heart--except Tom Jordan. The Old One, stern, cold, shrewd, smiled at his fellows and said, "It is to be. May God have mercy on me!" And though he stood with the black cap over his eyes and the noose round his neck, he never flinched. As for Martin Barwick, his face grey with fear, he strove to break away, and cried out in English and in Spanish, and called on the Virgin. Sadly, though, had he fallen from the teachings of the Church, and little did his cries avail him! He came at the last to the end he had feared from the first; and his much talk of hanging was thus revealed to have been in a manner prophecy, although it sprang from no higher oracle than his own cowardly heart. One told Philip Marsham that Mother Taylor was hanged; another said they let her go, to die a natural death in the shadow of the gallows that stood by the crossroads in her native town of Barnstable. Either tale is likely enough, and Phil never learned which was true. For aught I know to the contrary, she may have found an elixir of life as good as the one discovered by the famous Count de Saint-Germain, and so be living still. Whatever the end she came to, Phil Marsham was far away when they determined her fate. For the day he stepped out in the streets of London, a free man once more and a loyal subject of the King, he took the road to the distant inn where he was of a mind to claim fulfillment of Nell Entick's promise. CHAPTER XXII BACK TO THE INN If this were a mere story to while away an idle hour, I, the scribe, would tie neatly every knot and leave no Irish pennants hanging from my work. But life, alas, is no pattern drawn to scale. The many interweaving threads are caught up in strange tangles, and over them, darkly and inscrutably, Atropos presides. Who cannot recall to mind names and faces still alive with the friendship of a few weeks or months,--a friendship pleasant in memory,--a friendship that promised fruitful years, but that was lost for ever when a boy or man drifted out of sight for one reason or another, and on one tide or another of the projects that go to make up life? To Philip Marsham, tramping again the high roads of England, there came, mingled with many other desires, a longing to see once more the Scottish smith who had wrought the dirk that had tasted blood for his protection in those dark adventures at sea. But when he came to the smithy beside the heath he found it open and empty. The wind blew the door on rusty hinges; brown leaves had drifted in and lay about the cold forge; the coals were dead, the bellows were broken, and the lonely man who had wrought iron on the now rusty anvil had taken his tools and gone. The day was still young, for the wayfarer, starting early and in the fullness of his strength, had this day covered three miles in the time that one had taken him when he walked that road before. So he left the smithy and pushed on across the heath and far beyond it, marking each familiar farm and village and country house, until night had fallen and the stars had come out, when he laid him down under a hedge and slept. He was thinking, when he fell asleep, of Nell Entick. He remembered very well her handsome face, her head held so high, her white throat and bare arms. He was going back to the inn to claim fulfillment of her promise and he pictured her as waiting for him there. In most ways he was a bold, resolute youth who had seen much of life; but in some ways, nevertheless, he was a lad of small experience, and if he thought at all that she had been a little overbold, a little overwilling, he thought only that she was as honestly frank as he. Waking that night upon his bed of leaves, he saw far away on a hill the dancing flames of a campfire, concerning which he greatly wondered. For, having been long out of England, he had small knowledge of the ups and downs of parliaments and kings; and in the brief time since his return, of which he had spent nearly all in prison, he had heard nothing of the tumultuous state of the kingdom, save a few words dropped here or there while he was passing through hamlets and villages, and seen nothing thereof save such show of arms as in one place or another had caught his eye but not his thought. Although he knew it not, since he was a plain lad with no gift of second-sight, he lay in a country poised on the brink of war and his bed was made in the field where a great battle was to be fought. He went on at daylight, and going through a village at high noon saw a preacher in clipped hair and sober garb, who was calling on the people to be valiant and of good courage against those wicked men who had incited riot and rebellion among the Roman Catholics in Ireland, whereby the King might find pretext for raising a vast army to devastate and enslave England. Sorely perplexed by this talk, of which he understood little, Phil besought a sneering young fellow, who stood at no great distance, for an explanation; to which the fellow replied that it was talk for them that wore short hair and long ears, and that unless a man kept watch upon his wits his own ears would grow as long from hearing it as those of any Roundhead ass in the country. At this Phil took umbrage; but the fellow cried Nay, that he would fight no such keen blade, who was, it seemed, a better man than he looked. And with a laugh he waved the matter off and strolled away. So to the inn Phil came in due time, having meditated much, meanwhile, on the talk of the King and war and the rights of Parliament, which was in the mouths and ears of all men. But he put such things out of his mind when at last he saw the inn, for the moment was at hand when his dreams should come true and he should find waiting for him the Nell Entick he remembered from long ago. Surely a lad of enterprise, who had ventured the world over with pirates, could find in any English village something to which he could turn his hand. Indeed, who knew but some day he might keep the inn himself--or do better? Who knew? He remembered Little Grimsby and drew a long breath. Caught in a whirl of excitement that set the blood drumming in his ears, he strode into the house and, boldly stepping up to the public bar, called loudly, "Holla, I say! I would have speech of Mistress Nell Entick." From a tall settle in the corner, where he sat taking tobacco, there rose a huge man with red and angry face. "Who in the Devil's name art thou," he roared, "that comes ranting into an honest house and bawls out thus the name of Mistress Nell Entick?" There were as usual a couple of countrymen sitting with pots of ale, who reared their heads in vast amazement, and in the noisy kitchen down the passage a perceptible hush followed the loud words. The house seemed to pause and listen; the countrymen set down their pots; there was a sound of creaking hinges and of lightly falling feet. Very coolly, smiling slightly, Philip Marsham met the eyes of the big, red-faced man. "It seems," said he, "thou art riding for another fall." A look of recognition, at first incredulous, then profoundly displeased, dawned on the red face and even greater anger followed. "Thou banging, basting, broiling brogger!" he thundered. "Thou ill-contrived, filthy villain! Out the door! Begone!" "It seems, Jamie Barwick, that thy wits are struck with years. Have care. Thy brother is already on the road to Wapping--they have signed and sealed his passage." The fat man came to Phil with the slow gait and the low-hung head of a surly dog. He thrust his red face close to Phil's own. "Yea, it is thou," he sneered. "I am minded to beat thee and bang thee till thou goest skulking under the hedges for cover. But it seems thou hast good news. What is this talk of the hangman's budget?" "It is true. By now thine excellent brother hath in all likelihood donned the black cap and danced on air. As for beating and banging--scratch thy head and agitate thy memory and consider if I have given thee reason to hope for quietness and submission." There was a flicker of doubt in the man's small eyes, whereby it seemed his memory served him well. "And what meanest thou by saying thou would'st have speech of Mistress Nell Entick?" he asked suspiciously. "That concerns thee not." "Ha!" He scowled darkly. "Methinks it concerns me nearly!" And then a high voice cried, "Who called my name?" They turned and Phil Marsham's face lighted, for she stood in the door. She was not so fair as he had pictured her--what lad's memory will not play such tricks as that?--and he thought that when he had taken her away from the inn she need never again wear a drabbled gown. But it was she, the Nell Entick who had so lightly given him her promise and kissed him as he fled, and he had come for her. "Back again, John? Nay, John was not thy name. Stay! No, it hath escaped me, but I remember well thy face. And shall I bring thee ale? Or sack? We have some rare fine sack." He stared at her as if he could not believe his ears had told him right. "I have come," he said, "to claim a certain promise--" She looked bewildered, puzzled, then laughed loudly. "Silly boy!" she cried. "I am these six months a wife." "A wife!" "Yea, and mine," cried Barwick. "Come, begone I I'll have no puppies sniffling at her heels." At something in the man's manner, the full truth dawned on Philip Marsham. "I see. And you have taken the inn?" "Yea, that I have! Must I split thy head to let in knowledge? Begone!" She laid her hand on Barwick's wrist. "The lad means no harm," she whispered. "Come, it is folly to drive trade away." And over Barwick's shoulder she cast Phil such a glance that he knew, maid or matron, she would philander still. But Phil had seen her with new eyes and the old charm was broken. (Perhaps if Tom Marsham had waited a year before he leaped into marriage, I had had no story to tell!) All that was best in the father had come down to the son, and Phil turned his back on the siren with the bold, bright eyes. He turned his back on the inn, too, and all the dreams he had built around it--a boy's imaginings raised on the sands of a moment's fancy. Nay, he turned his back on all the world he had hitherto known. With a feeling that he was rubbing from his face a spider's web of sordidness,--that he was cutting the last cord that bound him to his old, wild life,--stirred by a new and daring project, he went out of the inn and turned to the left and took the road in search of Sir John Bristol. CHAPTER XXIII AND OLD SIR JOHN Sir John Bristol! There, gentlemen, was a brave, honest man! A man of spirit and of a humour! If you crossed him, if you toyed with him, his mirth was rough, his hand was hard, he was relentless as iron. But for a man who stood his ground and fought a bold fight and met squarely the old man's eyes, there was nothing Sir John would not do. After all his weary travels by land and sea, Philip Marsham had at last come back to find a man whom he had seen but once and for a brief time. Yet in that man he had such complete confidence as he had never had in any other, and since Jamie Barwick had left the man's service and taken the inn--who knew? Striding over the same rolling country road that he had tramped with Martin long before, and coming soon to the park, he skirted it and pressed on, keeping meanwhile his eyes and wits about him, until he perceived a gate and a porter's lodge. He went to the gate and finding it ajar slipped through and made haste up a long avenue with overarching trees. A man from the lodge came out and angrily called after the intruder, but Phil never looked back. The avenue turned to the left and he saw at a distance the great house; he was of no mind to suffer hindrance or delay. The sunset sky threw long, still shadows across the grass, and countless wandering branches of ivy lay like a dark drapery upon the grey walls of the old house. A huge dog came bounding and roaring down the avenue, but when the lad smiled without fear and reached a friendly hand toward him, the beast stopped clamouring and came quietly to heel. Lights shone from the windows and softly on the still evening air the thin, sweet music of a virginal stole over the broad terraces and lawns. The clamour of the dog, it seemed, had attracted the attention of those within, for a grey-haired servant met the stranger in the door. He stood there suspiciously, forbiddingly, and with a cold stare searched the young man from head to heel. "I would have speech of Sir John Bristol," said Phil. The servant frowned. "Nay, you have blundered," he replied haughtily. "The servants' hall--" "I said Sir John." "Sir John? It is--ahem!--impossible." "I said Sir John." The servant moved as if to shut the door. "Come," said Phil quietly, "enough of that! I will have speech of Sir John Bristol." For a moment the servant hesitated, then from within a great voice cried, "Come, Cobden, what's afoot?" In haughty disapproval of the lad without, the servant turned his back, but to the man within he spoke with deference, as if apologizing. "Yea, Sir John. The fellow is insistent, but I shall soon have him off." "Go, Cobden. Leave him to me." The servant moved away and disappeared. The virginalling had ceased, and on the lawns and the avenue and the park, which stretched away into the dark valley, a deep silence had come with the twilight. The sun had set and the long shadows across the grass were lost in the greater shadow of evening. As the world without had grown darker, the lights within seemed to have grown brighter. "Come, fellow, come into the hall. So! Have I not seen thee before?" "Yea, Sir John." "Ha! I can remember faces. Aye, there are few that escape me. Let us consider. Why, on my life! This is the lad that gave Barwick such a tumbling that the fellow walked lame for a month. Speak up! Have I not placed thee right?" "Though I was faint for want of food, I was quicker on my feet than he." The old man laughed until his brave curls shook. "In faith, and it is said with moderation. And what now, lad? What hath brought thee hither?" "Since Barwick hath left your service--" "That he hath, that he hath!" "It seemed there might be a place for a keeper." "For a keeper? Ha, ha, ha! Nay, th' art too spirited a lad to waste away as keeper. Mark my word, lad, the King will shortly have need for such courageous gallants as thou. Unless I mistake thy spirit, we shall soon see thee riding among the foremost when we chase these dogs of Roundheads into the King's kennels and slit their noses and prick their ears as a warning to all of weak mind and base spirit." "I have a taste for such sport, and God knows I am the King's man." "Good, say I!" Sir John's clear eyes searched the frank eyes of the lad, and the old man was pleased with what he found. "Come, the cook shall fill thy belly and Cobden shall find thee a bed. Cobden! Cobden, I say!" "Yea, Sir John." "Make place for this good fellow in the servants' hall and see that he hath all that he can eat and drink." "Yea, Sir John." "But stay a moment. Thy name, fellow." "Philip Marsham." "Philip Marsham?" The heavy brows knotted and Sir John spoke musingly. "Philip Marsham! I once knew a man of that name." Silence fell upon the hall. Grey Cobden stood a little behind his master, and when Phil looked past Sir John he saw standing in a door the tall, quiet girl he had seen with the old knight that day in the wood so long since. Doubtless it was she who had played upon the virginal. Her dark eyes and fine dignity wove a spell around the lad--a spell of the magic that has come down from the beginning of time--the magic that is always young. Take such spells, such magic, as lightly as you please; yet they have overturned kingdoms and not once, but many times, have they launched a thousand ships. "Did you ever hear of Dr. Marsham of Little Grimsby?" Sir John asked, and he watched the lad very closely. "Yea." "And what have you heard of him?" "He is my grandfather." "So!" The old knight stepped back and bent his brows. "Verily," he said, "I believe the lad hath spoken truth. Go, Cobden. There is no place in the hall for this lad." The servant departed and the girl stepped nearer. "Your father's name?" Sir John said. "My father's name was Thomas Marsham." "Doubtless he bred you to the sea." "He did." "He broke the hearts of his father and his mother." Phil stood silent in the hall and looked Sir John in the eye. Since there seemed to be no reply, he waited for the knight to speak again. "Tom Marsham's father and mother are dead, but within the year, lad, they stood where you are standing now. It was the last time I saw them." What could a young man say? Phil Marsham remembered well the one time he had himself seen them. Who knew what might have happened had he spoken? But the chance was gone, and for ever. "There is no place for Philip Marsham in my servants' hall," said Sir John. "His father--but no! Let the dead lie. There is no place for Philip Marsham in my servants' hall. Under my roof he is my guest." CHAPTER XXIV AND AGAIN THE ROSE OF DEVON The story of Philip Marsham and of Sir John Bristol, and of the fortune left by the good Doctor Marsham of Little Grimsby,--how it came to his grandson and was lost in the war that brought ruin to many a noble family,--is a tale that may some day be worth the telling. Of that, I make no promises. The years that followed were wild and turbulent, but during their passage Phil chanced upon one reminder and another of his earlier days of adventuring. He saw once again the long, ranting madman who had carried the great book. He might not have known the fellow, who was in a company of Brownists or Anabaptists, or some such people, had he not heard him crying out in his voice like a cracked trumpet, to the great wonder and admiration of his fellows, "Never was a man beset with such diversity of thoughts." There was Jacob, too, who had sneaked away like a rat on the eve of the day when Tom Jordan's schemes fell about his ears: Phil once came upon him face to face, but when their eyes met Jacob slipped round a corner and was gone. He was a subtle man and wise, and of no intention to be reminded of his days as a pirate. Philip Marsham went to the war with Sir John Bristol, and fought for the King, and rose to be a captain; and with the story of Philip Marsham is interwoven inseparably the story of Anne Bristol and of her father, Sir John. For Sir John Bristol died at the second battle of Newbury with his head on Philip Marsham's knees; and in his grief at losing the brave knight who had befriended him, the lad prayed God for vengeance on the Roundhead armies. And yet, though his grief was bitter, he had too just a mind to see only one side of a great war. Once, when they sent him from the King's camp on a secret mission, the enemy ran him to cover, and he escaped them only by doubling back and hiding in the garret of a cottage where he lay high under the thatch and watched through a dusty little window the street from the Red Boar Inn down the hill to the distant meadows, without being himself seen. He heard far away a murmur as of droning bees. Minutes passed and he heard the drone settle into a hollow rumble, from which there emerged after a time the remote sound of rattling drums and the occasional voices of shouting men. Then, of a sudden, there broke on the air a sound as of distant thunder, in which he made out a chorus:-- "His staff and rod shall comfort me, His mantle e'er shall be my shield; My brimming cup I hold in fee Of him who rules the battlefield." The voices of the singing men came booming over the meadows. They were deep, strong voices and there was that in their volume and fierce earnestness which made a man shiver. Phil heard a dog barking; he saw a woman standing in the door of a cottage; he saw a cloud of dust rise above the meadow; then they came. First a band of men on foot in steel caps, with their firelocks shouldered, swinging out in long, firm strides. Then a little group of kettledrums, hammering away in a fierce rhythm. Then a number of horsemen, with never a glint of gold on their bridles and never a curl from under their iron helms. Then, rank behind rank, a solid column of foot that flowed along the dusty road over hillock and hollow, dark and sombre, undulating like a torpid stream of something thick and slow that mightily forces a passage over every obstacle in its way. They came up the hill, turning neither to right nor to left, up the hill and over it, and away to the north, where King Charles and all his armies lay. It was a fearful sight, for they were stern, determined men. There was no gallant flippancy in their carriage; there was no lordly show of ribbands and linen and gold and silver lace. They frowned as they marched, and looked about them little. They bore so steadily on, they made one feel they were men of tempered metal, men of no blood and no flesh, men with no love for the brave adventures of life, but with a streak of iron in their very souls. Philip Marsham had heard the men of the Rose of Devon go into battle with cries and shouting, and laugh when they killed; he had seen old Sir John Bristol throw back his head proudly and jest with the girls of the towns on their march; but these were men of another pattern. He became aware, as he watched them go by--and he then knew the meaning of fear, safely hidden though he was, behind the dirty and small window in the gable; for had one man of those thousands found him there, it would have ended the fighting days of Philip Marsham--he became aware that here was a courage so stubborn there was no mastering it; that here was a purposeful strength such as all the wild blades in his master's camp could never match. Their faces showed it; the marching rhythm of the never-ending column was alive with it. Behind the first regiments of infantry, horsemen came, and, at an interval in the ranks of the cavalry, five men rode together. The eyes of one, who led the four by a span or two, were bent on the road, and his face was stern and strong and thoughtful. As Phil watched him, the first hesitating surmisal became conviction, and long afterward he learned that he had been right. From his gable window he had seen Oliver Cromwell go by. All that afternoon the column streamed on, and in the early darkness Philip fell asleep to the sound of men marching. In the morning they were gone, and he went on his way and fulfilled his mission; but though the King's men fought with a gallantry that never lessened, the cause of the King was lost, and the day broke when Philip Marsham was ready to turn his back on England. So he came a second time to the harbour of Bideford, in Devon, and had it in his mind to take ship for some distant land where he could forget the years of his youth and early manhood. He was in the mood, then, to envy Sir John Bristol and all the gallant company that had died on the fields of Naseby and Newbury, and of many another great battle; for he was the King's man, and great houses of the country had fallen, and many lords and gentlemen whose estates had gone to pay the cost of Cromwell's wars had as much reason as he, and more, to wonder, at the sight of deep water, whether it were better to die by one's own hand or to seek new fortunes beyond the sea. There were many vessels in the harbour and his gaze wandered over them, ships and pinks and ketches and a single galliot from the Low Countries, until his eyes came at last to one of singularly familiar aspect. He looked at her a long time, then strolled down to the quay and accosted an aged man who was warming his rheumatic limbs in the sun. "What ship is that," said Captain Marsham, "which lies yonder, in line with the house on the farther shore to the right of the three trees?" The aged man squinted over the harbour to pick up the bearings his questioner had given him and cleared his throat with a husky cough. "Why, that," he said, "beës the frigate they call Rose of Devon." "The Rose of Devon--nay, she cannot be the Rose of Devon!" "Can and beës. Why does 'ee look so queer, sir?" "Not the Rose of Devon!" "Art 'ee addled?" He laughed like a cackling hen. "Aye, an' yon's her master." The master turned when the young captain accosted him, and replied, with reasonable civility, "Yea, the Rose of Devon, Captain Hosmer, at your service, sir. Passage? Yea, we can take you, but you're a queer sort to ask passage ere you know whither she sails. Is it murder or theft?" "Neither. The old order is changing and I would go abroad." "To the colonies?" "They tell me all the colonies are of a piece with these Roundheads here, and that as many psalms are whined in Boston in New England as in all the conventicles in London." He laughed in good humour. "You are rash," said he. "Were I of the other side, your words might cost you your head. But we're going south to Barbados, and there you'll find men to your own taste." Captain Philip Marsham wished no more than that. So he struck a bargain for passage, and paid with gold, and sailed from England for the second time in the old Rose of Devon, the dark frigate that by God's grace had come back to Bideford in the hour when he most needed her. THE END * * * * * THE DARK FRIGATE _By_ CHARLES BOARDMAN HAWES The frigate _Rose of Devon_ rescues from a wreck in mid-ocean twelve men who show their gratitude by seizing the _Rose_, killing her captain and sailing toward the Caribbean where they hope to plunder Spanish towns and galleons. Mistaking an English man-of-war for a merchantman, they are captured and brought back to England for trial. Only one, an English lad, Philip Marsham, a member of the original crew of the _Rose_, is acquitted; and he, after adventures in the forces of King Charles, tires of Cromwell's England and sails for Barbados once more on the _Rose of Devon_. "The Dark Frigate" has long been a favorite story for boys and in 1924 was awarded the John Newbery Medal, given annually "for the most distinguished contribution to American literature for children." When "The Dark Frigate" was first published F. F. Van deWater in _The New York Tribune_ said: "No one, we think, has written so perfect a pirate tale since 'Treasure Island'." _With frontispiece in full color by_ ANTON OTTO FISCHER * * * * * THE MUTINEERS _By_ CHARLES BOARDMAN HAWES This rousing pirate story of the Pacific has proved even more popular than the author's Newbery Prize-winning "The Dark Frigate." Originally published as an Atlantic Monthly Press Book in 1920, it has delighted thousands of adventure-loving boys (and girls too!). From the moment when young Benjamin Lathrop of Salem signs up with Captain Whidden of the _Island Princess_ the reader embarks on a reading voyage of high and gleaming excitement. "There is the atmosphere of the old-time ships and the spirit of the sailors of a century ago--such as you find in the pages of Dana and Stevenson.... Here is a story that stands out with distinction among all the sea stories of many years."--_Boston Herald_ _With frontispiece in full color by_ ANTON OTTO FISCHER 
6451	----	[Illustration: THE BLAZE REVEALED A LARGE MASS OF LUMBER RISING AND FALLING ON THE TURBULENT WATERS.--_Frontispiece_] THE ROVER BOYS ON THE GREAT LAKES OR _THE SECRET OF THE ISLAND CAVE_ BY ARTHUR M. WINFIELD (Edward Stratemeyer) AUTHOR OF THE ROVER BOYS AT SCHOOL, THE ROVER BOYS ON THE OCEAN, THE PUTNAM HALL SERIES, ETC. _ILLUSTRATED_ INTRODUCTION. MY DEAR BOYS: This volume, "The Rover Boys on the Great Lakes," is a complete story in itself, but forms the fifth volume of the Rover Boys Series for Young Americans. When first I started this series with "The Rover Boys at School," I had no idea of extending the line beyond three or four volumes. But the second book, "The Rover Boys on the Ocean," immediately called for a third, "The Rover Boys in the Jungle," and this finished, many boys wanted to know what would happen next, and so I must needs give them "The Rover Boys Out West." Still they were not satisfied; hence the volume now in your hands. So far we have followed the doings of Dick, Tom, and Sam at dear old Putnam Hall, with many larks and sports; then out upon the broad Atlantic in a daring chase which came pretty close to ending in sad disaster; next into the interior of Africa on a quest of grave importance; and lastly out into the mountainous regions of the wild West, to locate a mining claim belonging to Mr. Anderson Rover. In the present tale the scene is shifted to the Great Lakes. The three boys go on a pleasure tour and, while on Lake Erie, fall in with an old enemy, who concocts a scheme for kidnapping Dick, who had fallen overboard from his yacht in a storm. This scheme leads to many adventures, the outcome of which will be found in the pages that follow. In placing this volume in my young readers hands I can but repeat what I have said before: that I am extremely grateful to all for the kind reception given the other Rover Boys stories. I sincerely trust the present tale meets with equal commendation. Affectionately and sincerely yours, EDWARD STRATEMEYER. _April_ 12, 1901 CONTENTS. INTRODUCTION I. A STORM ON LAKE ERIE II. THE DISAPPEARANCE OF DICK III. ON A LUMBER RAFT IV. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY V. THE SAILING OF THE "PEACOCK" VI. HUNTING FOR DICK VII. THE ESCAPE OF ARNOLD BAXTER VIII. ON THE LAKE AGAIN IX. CAUGHT IN A TRAP X. THE ESCAPE FROM THE HOLD XI. GAINING A POINT XII. A DINNER OF IMPORTANCE XIII. PRISONERS THREE XIV. DICK MAKES HIS ESCAPE XV. WHAT THE LAME MAN KNEW XVI. OFF FOR NEEDLE POINT ISLAND XVII. A CAVE AND A SNAKE XVIII. COFFEE FOR THREE XIX. AN ASTONISHING DISCOVERY XX. JOSIAH CRABTREE'S GAME XXI. TOM BRINGS ONE ENEMY TO TERMS XXII. THE SECRET OF THE ISLAND CAVE XXIII. THE BAXTERS ARE FOLLOWED XXIV. AN ENCOUNTER IN THE DARK XXV. BEACHING THE "WELLINGTON" XXVI. CRABTREE JOINS THE BAXTERS XXVII. HOW TOM WAS CAPTURED XXVIII. THE BAXTERS TALK IT OVER XXIX. DORA STANHOPE APPEARS XXX. HOME AGAIN--CONCLUSION THE ROVER BOYS ON THE GREAT LAKES. CHAPTER I. A STORM ON LAKE ERIE. "Dick, do you notice how the wind is freshening?" "Yes, Sam, I've been watching it for ten minutes. I think we are in for a storm." "Exactly my idea, and I shouldn't be surprised if it proved a heavy one, too. How far are we from shore?" "Not over three miles, to my reckoning." "Perhaps we had better turn back," and Sam Rover, the youngest of the three Rover brothers, shook his head doubtfully. "Oh, I reckon we'll be safe enough," responded Dick Rover, who was several years older. "I know more about sailing a yacht than I did when we followed up the Baxters on the Atlantic Ocean." "The poor Baxters!" put in Tom Rover, who stood close by, also watching the wind, and the heavy clouds rolling up from the westward. "Who ever supposed that they would be buried alive in that landslide on the mountain in Colorado?" "It was a terrible fate," came, with a shudder, from Dick Rover. "But, nevertheless, I am glad we are rid of those rascals. They caused father and us trouble enough, goodness knows." "And they brought trouble enough to Dora Stanhope and her mother, too," observed Sam. "By the way, Dick, weren't Dora and her mother going to take a trip on these lakes this summer?" "Of course Dora was," put in Tom, with a sly wink. "If she wasn't, what do you suppose would bring Dick here? He got a letter only last week--" "Oh, stow it, Tom!" cried the elder Rover, his face growing red. "You wanted to take a trip on the Great Lakes as much as anybody--said you wouldn't like anything better, and told all the fellows at Putnam Hall so, too." "Well, I don't know as I would like anything better," rattled on Tom. "The _Swallow_ seems to be a first-class craft, and I've no doubt but what we'll see lots to interest us in this trip from Buffalo to Lake Superior." "When are the Stanhopes coming out?" asked Sam. "I can't say, exactly," replied Dick. "I expect another letter from them when we reach Cleveland. In the last letter Dora said her mother was not feeling as well as before." "A trip on the lakes ought to do her good." "Wonder if old Josiah Crabtree has been bothering her with his attentions?" came from Tom. "Gosh! how anxious he was to marry her and get hold of the money she is holding in trust for Dora." "Crabtree's term of imprisonment ran out only last week, Tom. He couldn't annoy her while he was in jail." "He ought to have been given five years for the way he used them, and us. It's strange what an influence he had over Mrs. Stanhope." "He's something of a hypnotist, and she seems to be just the right kind of a subject for him. His coming from prison is one reason why Dora wanted to get her mother away. She isn't going to let outsiders know of the trip, so old Crabtree won't know where they are." "He'll find out, if he can," remarked Sam. "He always was a nosy old chap." "If he tries any game on, I'll settle him in short order," came from Dick, with determination. "We've put up with enough from him in the past, and I don't intend to give him any leeway in the future." "Leeway?" burst out Tom. "Not a foot! Not an inch! I haven't forgotten how he treated me when he was a teacher at Putnam Hall. I wonder that Captain Putnam didn't kick him out long before he was made to go." A sudden rush of wind cut the conversation short at this point, sending the _Swallow_ bowling along merrily. The clouds were increasing rapidly, and Dick ordered that all the sails be closely reefed. "We don't want to lose our mast," he observed. "We don't want to lose anything," answered Sam. "For my part, I wish we were back in Buffalo harbor." "Oh! we'll run along all right," came from Tom. "Don't get scared before you are hurt." He looked at his watch. "Half-past five! I didn't think it was so late." "It will be dark before long," said Dick. "Perhaps the blow will go down with the setting of the sun." "We'll never know when the sun sets--excepting by the almanac," murmured Sam. "It's as black as ink already, over to the westward." To keep up his courage Tom Rover began to whistle, but soon the sound was drowned out by the high piping of the wind, as it tore over the deck and through the rigging of the _Swallow_. They were certainly in for a storm, and a heavy one at that. It was the middle of July, and the Rover boys had journeyed from Valley Brook, their country home, to Buffalo, a week before, for a six-weeks' outing upon the Great Lakes previous to their returning to Putnam Hall for the fall and winter term. Their thrilling adventures in Colorado, as told in "The Rover Boys Out West," had taxed them severely, and their father, Mr. Anderson Rover, felt that they needed the recreation. At first he had wished them to remain at the farm, and so had their Uncle Randolph Rover and their motherly Aunt Martha, but this had been voted "too slow" by the three brothers, and it was decided that they should go to Buffalo, charter a small yacht, and do as they pleased until the opening of school. "Only please keep out of danger," had been Mr. Rover's pleading words. "You have been in peril enough." And the boys had promised to do their best, little dreaming of the many adventures and dangers ahead. The boys knew very little about the lakes, and at the last moment had invited Larry Colby, an old schoolmate, to accompany them on the outing. Larry had spent two summers on Lake Huron and Lake Superior, and knew both bodies of water fairly well. But the lad could not come on at once, and so had sent word that he would join the party at Sandusky, some time later. Larry's father was rich, so the expense of traveling counted for nothing. With the boys, however, went one individual with whom all our old readers are well acquainted. This was Alexander Pop, the colored man who had once been a waiter at Putnam Hall, and who was now a servant to the Rovers in general and the three boys in particular. The boys had done much in the past for Aleck, as they called him, and Pop was so greatly attached to the youths that he was ready at all times to do anything they desired. "I dun lub dem Rober boys, aint no ust ter talk," Pop would say. "Dem is de most up-to-date boys in de world, dat's wot, and da did dis yeah niggah a good turn wot he aint forgittin' in a hurry, too." What that good turn was has already been related in full in "The Rover Boys in the Jungle." Pop was now installed on board the _Swallow_ as cook and general helper, a position he was well fitted to fill. The boys had laid out a grand trip, and one which certainly promised a good deal of pleasure. The first stop was to be at Cleveland, and from that city they were to go to Sandusky, and then up the lake and through the Detroit River to Detroit. Here a short stay was to be made, and then the journey was to be resumed through Lake St. Clair and the St. Clair River to Lake Huron. Once on Lake Huron they expected to skirt the eastern coast of Michigan, stopping whenever they pleased, and thus gradually make their way to Whitefish Bay and Lake Superior. What they would do when Lake Superior was reached would depend upon how much time was left for the outing. The _Swallow_ was a well-built, sturdy craft, fifty feet long and correspondingly broad of beam. She had been constructed for a pleasure boat and had all of the latest improvements. She belonged to a rich man of Buffalo, who had known the Rovers for years. The rich man was now traveling in Europe, and had been only too glad to charter the yacht for a period of six weeks. When the Rover boys were through with her she was to be placed in charge of the rich man's boatman, who was to take her back to Buffalo. The start on Lake Erie had been full of pleasure. The yacht had a good supply of provisions on board, and everybody was in the best of spirits. Aleck Pop had brought along his banjo, and on the first evening out had given them half a dozen plantation songs, for he was a good singer as well as player. On the day following the breeze had died away and they had all gone fishing, with fair success. This was the third day out, and since noon the wind had been blowing at a lively rate, helping them to make good time on their course toward Cleveland. Now the wind was blowing little short of a gale, and the sky was growing blacker each instant. "We are in for it, beyond a doubt," said Dick, with a serious shake of his head. Every inch of canvas had been taken in, yet the _Swallow_ spun along before the wind rapidly, ever and anon dipping her bow deeply into the white-caps, which now showed themselves upon all sides. "Here she comes!" burst out Tom suddenly. "Hold hard, everybody!" And then the storm burst upon them in all of its fury--a storm which lasted all night, and one which the Rover boys never forgot. CHAPTER II. THE DISAPPEARANCE OF DICK. "Oh, my, but this is a corker!" It was Tom who uttered the words, half an hour after he had cautioned everybody to hold fast. He was standing at the wheel, helping Dick to make the _Swallow_ keep her bow up to the waves, which rolled fiercely on every side of the craft. He cried out at the top of his lungs, yet his elder brother understood him with difficulty. "I wish we were out of it," returned Dick. "Did Sam go below, as I ordered?" "Yes." "What of Aleck?" "He is in the galley, trying to keep his dishes from being smashed to bits. He is scared, I can tell you, and said he was sure we were going to the bottom." "If I was sure of the course I would steer for shore, Tom. I'm afraid myself that this is going to be more than we bargained for." "Pooh, Dick! We've been in as bad a storm before, and you know it." "But not on Lake Erie. This lake has a reputation for turning out some nasty ones, that do tremendous damage. Light up, will you?--or we may be smashing into some other boat before we know it." "I will, if you can hold the wheel alone." "I can get along for a few minutes. But it's enough to pull a fellow's arms out by the sockets," concluded Dick. With extreme caution, for the deck was as wet and slippery as it was unsteady, Tom made his way to the tiny cabin of the yacht. Here he found Sam lighting the ship's lanterns, four in number. "I thought you'd be wanting them," said the youngest Rover. "Is it letting up, do you think?" "No; if anything, it is growing worse." "Don't you want me to help on deck? I hate to stay down here alone." "You can do nothing, Sam. Dick and I are tending the wheel, and there is nothing else to be done." "I might go on the lookout. You can't watch very well from the stern," added the youngest Rover, who did not relish being kept back by his older brothers. "We can watch good enough. Stay here--it's safer. If the yacht should swing around--Great Scott!" Tom Rover broke off short, and with good reason. A strange creaking and cracking sound had reached his ears, followed by a bump and a jar which nearly pitched him headlong. Sam was thrown down on his back. "Something is wrong!" burst out Sam, as soon as he could speak. "We must have struck something." Tom did not answer, for the reason that he was already on his way to the deck, with a lantern slung in the crook of his right elbow. Sam followed with another lantern, leaving the remaining ones wildly swinging on the hooks in the cabin's ceiling. "Help! help!" The cry came from out of the darkness, somewhere in the wake of the _Swallow_; a cry cut partly short by the piping gale. With his heart thumping violently, Tom leaped over the deck toward the wheel. "Dick! What is the matter?" "Help!" repeated the voice, but now further off than ever. Then Tom made a discovery which thrilled him with horror. The position at the wheel was vacant! Dick was gone! "Dick! Dick! Where are you!" he shouted hoarsely. "Dick!" "Help!" came more faintly. The cry was repeated several times, but nothing more reached Tom's ears nor the hearing of his younger brother, who was now beside him, his round face as pale as death itself. "Dick's overboard!" The words came from both, and each looked at the other in consternation. Both held up their lanterns, the glasses of which were speedily covered with flying spray. The lanterns made a small semicircle of light at the stern, but Dick was beyond that circle and could not be seen. "Take the wheel--I'll get a life-preserver!" said Tom, and ran for the article he had mentioned. "Shall I try to turn the yacht around?" questioned his brother, as he, after several unsuccessful attempts, caught the spokes of the wheel, which was flying back and forth with every pitch of the craft. "No! no! We will be swamped if you do that. Keep her up to the wind." Regardless of the danger, Tom flew across the deck to where there was a life-preserver, attached to a hundred feet of small, but strong, rope. Once at the stern again, he threw the life-preserver as far out as possible. "Catch the lifeline!" he shrieked. But if Dick heard he gave no answer. "Can't we fire a rocket?" said Sam. "We ought to do something," he added, half desperately. Lashing the end of the lifeline to the stern, Tom ran down into the cabin and brought forth several rockets. With trembling hands he set off first one and then another. The blaze was a short one, yet it revealed to them a large mass of lumber rising and falling on the bosom of the turbulent waters. "A lumber raft. It is going to pieces in the storm." "Did you see Dick?" "I saw two persons on the lumber, but I don't know who they were. They looked more dead than alive." "Oh, I hope Dick isn't dead!" burst out Sam, and the tears stood in his eyes as he spoke. "Wot's dat you dun said?" came from out of the darkness. "Dick's overboard," answered Tom. "No!" A groan of genuine regret came from Aleck Pop. "How it dun happen?" "We must have struck a lumber raft and the shock knocked him over," answered Sam. "Oh, Tom, what shall we do?" "I'll try another rocket, Sam--I don't know of anything else." It took fully a minute to obtain another rocket, and some red fire as well. The red fire made quite an illumination, in spite of the storm. "I don't see nuffin," said Pop. "Nor I," added Tom. "The raft has disappeared." As the light died out all set up a loud shout. But only the howling wind answered them. And now Sam noticed that the lifeline was drifting idly at the stern, and there was nothing to do but to haul it in again. The hours which followed were full of agony to Tom and Sam, and the warm-hearted colored man was scarcely less affected. "What if Dick is drowned?" whispered the youngest Rover. "Father will never forgive us for coming on this trip." "Let us hope for the best," was his brother's answer. "Dick has been in a tight fix before. He'll come out all right, if he has any show at all." "Nobuddy kin lib in sech a storm as dis!" put in Pop. "Why, it's 'most as bad as dat dar hurricane we 'perienced in Africa. Jest see how it's beginnin' to rain." Pop was right; so far the rain had held off for the most part, but now it came down steadily and soon turned into little short of a deluge. All were speedily soaked to the skin, but this was a discomfort to which, under the circumstances, no one paid attention. The _Swallow_ heaved and pitched, and fearful that Sam would be lost overboard, Tom told him he had better go below again. "You can do nothing up here," he said. "If anything turns up, I'll call you." "But you must be careful," pleaded Sam. "If I were you, I'd tie myself to the wheel," and this is what Tom did. Slowly the night wore away, and with the coming of morning the storm abated somewhat, although the waves still lashed angrily around the _Swallow_. With the first streak of dawn all were on deck, watching anxiously for some sign of the lumber raft or of Dick. "Nothing in sight!" groaned Sam, and he was right. The raft had disappeared completely, and all around them was a dreary waste of water, with a cloudy sky overhead. Feeling that he must do something, Aleck Pop prepared a breakfast of broiled fish and hot coffee, but, when summoned to the repast, both of the Rovers shook their heads. "I couldn't eat a mouthful," sighed Sam. "It would choke me." "We must find Dick first, Aleck," said Tom. "Go ahead yourself and have breakfast. Don't mind us." "'Deed, I aint no hungrier dan youse is," replied the colored man soberly. "But youse had bettah drink sum ob dat coffee, or youse might cotch a chill." And he made each sip some of the beverage, bringing it on deck for that purpose. At half-past seven Tom espied a cloud of smoke on the horizon. "I think it's a lake steamer," he said to his brother, and he proved to be right. It was a freighter known as the _Captain Rallow_, running between Detroit and Buffalo. Soon the steamer came closer and they hailed her. "Seen anything of a lumber wreck, with some men on it?" questioned Tom eagerly. "Haven't seen any wreck," was the answer, from the captain of the freighter. "Whose raft was it?" "I don't know. The raft hit us in the darkness and a young man on our yacht was knocked overboard. We lit some red fire and saw two people on the raft, which seemed to be going to pieces." This news interested the owner of the freight steamer greatly, since he had a brother who was in the business of rafting lumber, and he asked Tom to give him the particulars of the affair. "We can't give you any particulars. We were taken completely by surprise, and it was too dark to see much," said Tom. Nevertheless he and Sam told what they could, to which the freight captain listened with close attention. "I'll keep my eye open for the raft," said the latter. "And if I see anything of your brother I'll certainly take him on board." "Where are you bound?" "I am going to stop at Cleveland first. Then I go straight through to Buffalo." A few words more passed, and then the captain of the freight steamer gave the signal to go ahead. The stopping of her engines had caused the steamer to drift quite close to the _Swallow_, and as she swung around those on the yacht caught a good view of the freighter's stern deck. There were a small number of passengers on board, and as Sam looked them over he gave a sudden start. "My gracious, can it be possible!" he gasped. "Can what be possible, Sam?" queried Tom. "Look! look!" "At what?" "At the passengers on the steamer. Am I dreaming, or is that--he is gone!" And Sam's face fell. "Who are you talking about?" "Arnold Baxter! He was on the steamer, just as sure as I stand here. And we both thought him dead!" CHAPTER III. ON A LUMBER RAFT. "You think you saw Arnold Baxter?" demanded Tom. "Yes, I saw Arnold Baxter, just as plain as day." "Sam, you must be--" "No, I am not dreaming. It was Arnold Baxter, true enough. As soon as he saw I had spotted him he drew out of sight." "But we thought he was dead--buried under that landslide out in Colorado." "We didn't find his body, and he isn't dead. Why, I would never make a mistake in that rascal's face, never," and Sam shook his head to emphasize his words. "Was Dan with him?" "I didn't see the son." "If it was really Arnold Baxter we ought to let the authorities know at once, so that they can arrest him for getting out of prison on that bogus pardon." "Yes, and we ought to let father know, too, for you may be sure Baxter will do all he can to get square with us for keeping the Eclipse mining claim out of his grasp." "He can't do anything about that claim now. Our claim is established by law, and he is nothing but an escaped jailbird. But I agree he may give us lots of trouble in other directions. I presume he would like to see us all hung for the way we got ahead of him and his tools." "If the steamer wasn't so far off we might hail her," continued Sam, but this was now out of the question. Both lads were very much disturbed, and with good reason. Arnold Baxter had been an enemy to Mr. Rover for years, and this meant a good deal when the desperate character of the man was taken into consideration. He was a well-educated fellow, but cruel and unprincipled to the last degree, and one who would hesitate at nothing in order to accomplish his purpose. "Dat's de wust yet," was Aleck Pop's comment. "I was finkin' dat rascal was plumb dead, suah. And Dan, too! Suah yo' didn't see dat good-fo'-nuffin boy?" "No, I didn't see Dan." "He must have been with his father when the landslide occurred," went on Tom. "And if one escaped more than likely the other did, too. My, how I despise that chap! and have, ever since we had our first row with him at Putnam Hall." "I wonder what brought Arnold Baxter back to this section of the country? I shouldn't think he would dare to come back." "He always was daring to the last degree in some matters, just as he is cowardly in others. I would give something to know if Dan is with him." "We might follow up the steamer, if it wasn't for poor Dick." The boys talked the matter over for some time, and while doing this the sails of the _Swallow_ were again hoisted, and they turned the yacht back to the vicinity where Dick had gone overboard. And while Tom and Sam are looking for their elder brother, let us turn back and learn what really did become of Dick. He was waiting for Tom to come on deck with the lanterns when, of a sudden, something black and threatening loomed up out of the darkness to the starboard of the _Swallow_. The mass was the better half of a monstrous lumber raft, which was rapidly going to pieces in the storm. The raft, or rather what was left of it, hit the _Swallow_ a glancing blow, otherwise the sailing craft must have been stove in and sunk. The shock caught Dick with one hand off the wheel, and, before he could catch hold again, the youth found himself flung heels into the air and over the _Swallow's_ stern. Down and down he went into the lake waters, until he thought he would never come up. The turn of affairs bewildered him, and he did not come fully to his senses until his head struck one of the timbers of the raft. He clutched the timber as a drowning man clutches the proverbial straw, and tried to draw himself to the surface of the lake, only to discover, to his horror, that there were timbers to both sides of him, cutting off his further progress upward. "Must I be drowned like a rat in a trap!" was the agonizing thought which rushed through his brain, and then he pushed along from one timber to another until the last was reached and he came up, almost overcome and panting heavily for breath. "Help! help!" he cried feebly, and presently heard his brothers answer him. Then the lifeline was thrown, but it fell short and did him no good. By the red fire and the rockets he saw the position of the _Swallow_, and saw his brothers, but was too weak to even signal to Sam and Tom. It was with an effort that he at last drew himself to the top of some of the lumber. This movement came none too soon, for a moment later one of the outside chains of the raft broke, and fully a third of what was left of the lumber was scattered in all directions. "Hullo, Bragin! is that you?" The cry came from out of the darkness and from the other end of the top lumber. "Are you calling to me?" replied Dick, in as loud a voice as he could muster. "Is that you, Bragin?" repeated the voice. "I am not Bragin," answered Dick. "Where are you?" "Here." And the unknown repeated the cry until Dick located and joined him. He was a burly lumberman of forty, with a heavy black beard and an equally heavy voice. He gazed at the youth in astonishment. "Hullo! Where did you come from?" he demanded. "From the yacht this lumber raft just struck." "Did the shock knock ye overboard?" "It did." "Humph! I thought ye was Bragin." "I came pretty close to being drowned, for I came up under the lumber." "Well, we aint out o' the woods yet, young man. Didn't see nuthin o' Bragin, did ye?" "I've seen nobody but you." "Then he must be down to the lake bottom by this time." "He was on the raft with you?" "Yes. He and I left the tug to see to the chains when the storm came up." "Where is the tug?" "The raft broke away from her at the fust blow. A fool of a greenhorn was a-managin' of the thing, an' this is the result. Come here--it's safer." Dick was perfectly willing to crawl closer to the burly lumberman, who was a good fellow, as could be seen by a glance. "We'll be all right, if this section o' the lumber keeps together," went on the lumberman. "There are four chains here, so it ought to hold." Once safe, for the time being, Dick began to wonder about the fate of the _Swallow_. "Did the yacht go down?" he asked anxiously. "I reckon not, young man. They burned red fire, you know. They wouldn't do that if there was much trouble aboard." "That is true." Dick was silent for a moment. "I wish I could get back to her." "Be thankful that ye aint at the bottom o' the lake. If we kin outride this storm we'll be safe enough, for the tug will be lookin' for the raft when it gits light." Slowly the hours wore away, and in the meanwhile Dick learned that the lumberman's name was Luke Peterson and that he was from the timberlands of Michigan. "I used to be in the United States service on the lakes, hunting down smugglers between here and Canada," said Peterson. "But that was years ago." "Do they do much smuggling?" asked Dick. "More than most folks think," was the decided answer. The lumberman listened to Dick's tale with interest. Of course the story had to be short, and was frequently interrupted, as high waves would come along and almost sweep them into the lake. Both lay flat, clutching at the lumber and at the huge chains which held it, and which had thus far refused to part, although the strain upon them were tremendous. It was about two o'clock in the morning when the storm, according to Dick's calculation, reached its height. The waves literally drove over the raft from end to end, and it was all both he and Luke Peterson could do to keep on the timbers. "Hold on tight, young man, if ye value your life!" roared the lumberman. "An' if the raft parts, stick to the fust timber ye lay hands on." Peterson had scarcely spoken when the raft went up to the top of a mighty wave and then came down with a dull boom in the hollow below. The shock was terrific, and it was followed by loud reports as the chains they had been depending upon snapped, one after another. Immediately the lumber loosened up and began to drift apart. "Take care a' yerself!" shouted the lumberman, and hung fast to an extra long and heavy log. Dick heard him, but could not answer for fear of getting his mouth full of water. The youth turned over and over, clutched at one log and missed it, missed a second and a third, and then touched a fourth, and clung with a deathlike grip that nothing could loosen. It was a soul-trying time, and one which poor Dick never forgot. The storm roared all around him, mingled with the thumping and bumping, grinding and crashing, of the sticks of timber. Once his left leg was caught between two sticks, and for the instant he was afraid the limb would be crushed. But then the pressure lessened and he drew the foot up in a hurry. The water washed into his face and over him, and he caught his breath with difficulty. Each instant looked as if it might be his last. CHAPTER IV. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY. Daylight found poor Dick all but exhausted. He still held to the stick of lumber, but his hands were numb and without feeling, and his lower limbs were in the same condition. "I can't stand this much longer," was his dismal thought. "I've got to let go soon." He looked around him anxiously. All that met his eyes was the broad expanse of water, with here and there a solitary stick of lumber. He gazed about for Luke Peterson, but the lumberman was not in sight. "He must have been drowned," he thought. "Heaven help me, or I'll go, too!" Gradually the sky cleared of the clouds, and the hot July sun began to pour down with a glare on the water that was well-nigh blinding. As the waves went down he changed his position on the log, and this gave him temporary relief. Soon the sun made his head ache, and he began to see strange visions. Presently he put out his hand, thinking that Tom was before him, and then went with a splash into the lake. Almost unconscious of what he was doing, he caught the log again. But he was now too weak to pull himself up. "It's the end," he thought bitterly. Then a cry came to him, a cry that seemed half real, half imaginary. "Hullo, Rover! Is that you?" It was Peterson who was calling. The lumberman had drifted up on another log, and as the two sticks bumped together he caught hold of the youth and assisted him to his former resting place. "I--I can't hold on any--any longer!" gasped Dick. "Try, lad, try! Some kind of a boat is bound to appear, sooner or later." "I--I am nu--numb all over." "I suppose that's true--I'm numb myself. But don't ye give up." Encouraged somewhat by Peterson's words Dick continued to hold on, and a few minutes later the lumberman gave a cheering cry: "A steamer! Saved at last!" The lumberman was right; the freighter Tom and Sam had hailed was approaching, the castaways having been discovered by the aid of a marine glass. "A man and a boy," observed Captain Jasper to his mate. "The boy looks pretty well done for," returned the mate. "He must be the one that was thrown off the yacht." "More than likely." As speedily as possible the freight steamer drew closer, and a line was thrown to Peterson. He turned to give one end to Dick, and then made the discovery that the latter had fainted from exhaustion. "Poor fellow!" he muttered, and caught the youth just as he was sliding into the lake. It was no easy task to get Dick on board of the freight steamer. But it was accomplished at last, and, still unconscious, he was carried to a stateroom and made as comfortable as possible. Peterson was but little the worse for the adventure, and his chief anxiety was for his friend Bragin, of whom, so far, nothing had been heard. The coming of Dick on board of the _Captain Rollow_ was viewed with much astonishment by two of the passengers on the freighter. These two persons were Arnold Baxter and his son Dan. The two had quite recovered from the injuries received in the landslide in Colorado, and it may be as well to state right here that they were bound East in order to carry out a new plot which the elder Baxter had hatched up against the Rovers. What that plot was will be disclosed as our story proceeds. "Father, it is Dick Rover," cried Dan Baxter, after having seen the unconscious one brought on board. "Hush, Dan! I know it," whispered Arnold Baxter. "It's a pity he wasn't drowned in the lake." "I agree with you. But he isn't dead, and we'll have to keep out of sight for the rest of the trip." "Humph! I am not afraid of him!" said the bully, for, as old readers know, Dan had never been anything else. "That may be, but if he sees us he may--ahem--make much trouble for me." "On account of our doings in Colorado? What can he prove? Nothing." "Perhaps he can. Besides, Dan, you must remember that the officers of New York State are still after me." "Yes, I haven't forgotten that." "I wish now that I had put on that false wig and beard before we left Detroit," went on Arnold Baxter. "But I hated to put them on before it was absolutely necessary--the weather is so warm." "Can you put them on now?" "Hardly, since all on board know my real looks. I will have to keep out of Rover's sight." "I would like to know what he is doing out here." "On a pleasure trip, most likely." The talk went on for some time, and then Dan approached one of the mates of the freighter, who had just come from the stateroom to which Dick had been taken. "How is that young fellow getting on?" he asked carelessly. "He's in bad shape," was the answer. "Do you think he'll die?" "Hardly, but he is very weak and completely out of his mind. The hot sun, coming after the storm, must have affected his brain." "Out of his mind? Doesn't he recognize anybody?" "No, he talks nothing but lumber, and cries out to be pulled from the water. Poor boy! it's too bad, isn't it?" "It is too bad," said Dan Baxter hypocritically. "Do you know his name?" "No, but he's a brother to those boys who hailed us from the yacht a couple of hours ago. A lumber raft struck the yacht and the boy was knocked overboard and managed to cling to some timber." "Is the man who was saved his friend?" "No, he was on the raft and the two are strangers;" and with this remark the mate of the freight steamer passed on. Without delay Dan told his father of what he had heard. Arnold Baxter was much pleased. "If he remains out of his mind we'll be safe enough," he said. "I presume they'll put him off at Cleveland and send him to the hospital." "I wonder where that yacht is?" "Oh, we have left her miles behind." "And how soon will we reach Cleveland?" "Inside of half an hour, so I heard one of the deck hands say." No more was said for the time being, but both father and son set to thinking deeply, and their thoughts ran very much in the same channel. Just as the freight steamer was about to make the landing at Cleveland, Arnold Baxter touched his son on the arm. "If they take Dick Rover ashore, let us go ashore too," he whispered. "I was thinking of that, dad," was Dan's answer. "Was you thinking, too, of getting him in our power?" "Yes." "I don't see why we can't do it--if he is still unconscious." "It won't hurt to try. But we will have to work quick, for more than likely his brothers will follow us to this city," went on Arnold Baxter. The steamer had but little freight for Cleveland, so the stop was only a short one. When poor Dick was brought up on a cot, still unconscious, Arnold Baxter stepped forward. "I have determined to stop off at Cleveland," he said to Captain Jasper. "If there is anything I can do for this poor fellow, I will do it willingly." "Why, I thought you were going through to Buffalo," returned the captain in surprise. "I was going through, but I've just remembered some business that must be attended to. I'll take the train for Buffalo to-morrow. If you want me to see to it that this poor fellow is placed in the hospital, I'll do it." The offer appeared a good one, and relieved Captain Jasper's mind greatly. "You are kind, sir," he said. "It isn't everyone who would put himself to so much trouble." "I was wrecked myself once," smiled Arnold Baxter. "And I know how miserable I felt when nobody gave me a hand." "I suppose the authorities will take him until his brothers come in on that yacht." "There is no need to send him to a public institution. I will see to it that he gets to a first-class hotel," went on Arnold Baxter smoothly. There was a little more talk, and then Dick was carried ashore and a coach was called. By this time the freight steamer was ready to leave, and a minute later she proceeded on her way. Arnold Baxter and Dan looked around and saw only a few people at hand. In the crowd was Luke Peterson, who now came forward. "Want any help?" asked the lumberman respectfully. "You might keep an eye open for that yacht," replied Arnold Baxter. "All right, sir. Where are you going to take young Rover?" "To the Commercial Hotel. I am well known there, and can easily get him a good room and the necessary medical attention." "Then, if I see anything of the yacht, I'll send his brothers up to the hotel after him." "That's it," returned Arnold Baxter. He turned to the driver of the coach. "To the Commercial Hotel," he went on, in a loud voice. "And drive as easy as you can." Dan was already in the coach, supporting poor Dick in his arms. Arnold Baxter leaped in and banged the door shut. Soon the coach was moving away from the water front and in the direction of the hotel which had been mentioned. "Of course you are not going to the Commercial Hotel," observed Dan, as soon as he felt safe to speak. "Leave it all to me, my son," was Arnold Baxter's reply. "We got him away nicely, didn't we?" "Yes, but--" "Never mind the future, Dan. How is he?" "Dead as a stone, so far as knowing anything is concerned." "I trust he remains so, for a while at least." The coach rattled on, and presently came to a halt in front of the hotel which had been mentioned. "Wait here until I get back," said Arnold Baxter to his son and to the coach driver, and then hurried inside of the building. Instead of asking for a room he spent a few minutes in looking over a business directory. "It's too bad, but they haven't a single room vacant," he said, on coming back to the coach. "I've a good mind to take him to some private hospital, after all. Do you know where Dr. Karley's place is?" he went on, turning to the coach driver. "Yes." "Then drive us to that place." Again the coach went on. Dr. Karley's Private Sanitarium was on the outskirts of Cleveland, and it took half an hour to reach it. It was an old-fashioned building surrounded by a high board fence. Entering the grounds, Arnold Baxter ascended the piazza and rang the bell. A negro answered the summons, and ushered him into a dingy parlor. Soon Dr. Karley, a dried-up, bald-headed, old man appeared. "And what can I do for you, sir?" he asked, in a squeaky voice. "Just the man I wanted to meet," thought Arnold Baxter. He was a good reader of character, and saw that Dr. Karley would do almost anything for money. The doctor's sanitarium was of a "shady" character. Among the inmates were two old men, put there by their relatives merely to get them out of the way, and an old lady who was said to be crazy by those who wished to get possession of her money. "I have a peculiar case on hand, doctor," said Arnold Baxter, after introducing himself as Mr. Arnold. "A young friend of mine has been almost drowned in the lake. I would like you to take charge of him for a day or two." "Well, I--er--" "I will pay you well for your services," went on Arnold Baxter. "You have him with you?" "Yes, in a coach outside. He was found drifting on a log and almost out of his head on account of exposure to the water and the hot sun. I think a few days of rest and medical attention will bring him around all right." The little old doctor bobbed his head. "I will go out and see him," he said. Quarter of an hour later found Dick in an upper room of the sanitarium, lying on a comfortable bed, and with Dr. Karley caring for him. In the meantime Arnold Baxter had gone out and paid the coach driver. "Do you generally stand down by the docks?" he asked. "No, sir; my stand is uptown," was the reply. "I had just brought down a passenger when you hailed me. But I can go down for you, if you wish." "It will not be necessary. The doctor has a carriage, and I will hire that later on, when I see how the patient is making out." "All right, sir; then I'm off." As the coach passed out of sight Arnold Baxter chuckled to himself. "I reckon that was well done," he muttered. "I don't believe the Rovers will find their brother very soon, if they ever find him!" CHAPTER V. THE SAILING OF THE "PEACOCK." "Oh, my, what a bad dream I have had!" Such were the words which Dick uttered to himself when he came once again to the full possession of his senses. He gazed around him curiously. He was in a plainly furnished room, lying on the top of a bed covered with a rubber blanket, so that his wet clothing might not soil the linen beneath. His coat and shoes had been removed, likewise his collar and tie, but that was all. The shades of the two windows of the apartment were tightly drawn and a lamp on the table lit up the room but dimly, for it was now night. No one was present but the sufferer. "Well, one thing is certain, I didn't drown, after all," he went on. Then he tried to sit up, but fell back exhausted. He wondered where he was, and if Tom and Sam were near, and while he was wondering he fell into a light sleep which did a great deal toward restoring him to himself. When Dick awoke he found Dr. Karley at hand, ready to give him some nourishing food. The doctor had just come from a long talk with Arnold Baxter, and it may as well be stated that the two men understood each other pretty thoroughly. "Where am I?" he asked, in a fairly strong voice. "Safe," said the old doctor soothingly. "Here, take this. It will do you a whole lot of good." "Are my brothers around?" "We'll talk later, after you are stronger." The old doctor would say no more. Dick took the medicine offered, and did really feel stronger. Then a light breakfast was brought in, of which he partook readily. The food gone, the doctor disappeared, locking the door after him, but so softly that Dick was not aware of the fact until some time later. While Dick was trying to get back his strength the Baxters were not idle. Arnold Baxter had on his person all the money he possessed, a little over three thousand dollars. This had been saved from the wreck of his expedition to the West, and he was now resolved to spend every dollar of it, if necessary, in bringing the Rovers to terms, as he put it. "I was going to New York State to get the youngest Rover boy in my power," he said to Dan, "but fate has thrown Dick in our path, and so we will take him instead. Once he is absolutely in our power, I am sure I can bring Anderson Rover to terms and make him turn the entire right to that Eclipse mine over to my representatives." "It's a ticklish job," replied the son. "What of this doctor here? Won't he suspect anything?" "I reckon the doctor is no better than he ought to be, Dan. I think I see my way clear to doing as I please with him. A couple of hundred dollars will go a long way with fellows of his stripe." A conversation lasting half an hour followed, and Dan promised to keep close watch while his father went away to the docks. Arnold Baxter was absent the best part of the morning, but came home with a face which showed he was well satisfied with what he had accomplished. "I fell in luck," he explained. "Ran across a man I used to know years ago--Gus Langless--a sly old dog, up for anything with money in it. Langless owns a small schooner, the _Peacock_, and he says I can have her for a month, with the services of himself and his crew, for one thousand dollars--and nothing said about the job." "Did you accept, dad?" "Certainly--it was just what I wanted. Langless is all right, and I told him I would double his money if he would stick by me to the finish, and he swore that he would." "And what is the next move?" "We'll take Rover on board to-night, and then set sail direct for Detroit and Lake Huron. Langless knows an island in Lake Huron which will give us just the hiding place we want." "And after that?" "I'll send a letter to Anderson Rover which will sicken him to the heart and make him do just as I demand. He thinks the world of his oldest son." "Good for you, dad! You've got a long head on your shoulders. And when are you going to let Dick Rover know he is in our power?" "Not until we have him on the _Peacock_, if I can prevent it. If he knew here, he might kick up a big row." "Pooh! we could easily shut him up!" sniffed Dan. Now Dick was in their custody he was impatient to browbeat the youth and taunt him with his helplessness. But Arnold Baxter would not listen to it, so the graceless son had to bide his time. The afternoon was an anxious one for both of the Baxters, who were afraid that the Rovers would find their way to Dr. Karley's place and thwart their carefully arranged plan. But no one put in an appearance, and by nightfall everything was in readiness for the departure. The doctor had loaned his private turnout, and for a "consideration," otherwise a bribe, had dosed poor Dick into semi-unconsciousness, and had promised to say to all comers that the young man had got well and gone off in the company of two of his friends, a Mr. Arnold and a Mr. Daniels. When it came to transferring Dick to the carriage, Arnold Baxter put on the false wig and beard which he had been carrying in his valise, thus transforming his appearance greatly. Dan kept out of sight on the seat of the carriage, so that Dick saw only his back in the gloom of the night. The son drove while Arnold Baxter held Dick. It was no easy matter to find the location of the _Peacock_, and equally difficult to get Dick on board without observation. But Captain Langless had wisely sent his men to a neighboring saloon, so the coast was tolerably clear. Once Dick was in the cabin, Arnold Baxter left him in Dan's charge and hurried back to the sanitarium with the turnout. In the meantime Captain Langless summoned his sailors and told them they would sail at early dawn--half-past four. Locking the door of the cabin and putting the key in his pocket, Dan Baxter turned up the light and then looked at Dick, who lay half propped up in a chair. "I guess I'll wake him up," he muttered, and going over to the helpless youth he pulled his nose vigorously. "Oh!" groaned Dick, and opened his eyes dreamily. Then he caught sight of Dan and stared as if he had seen a ghost. "Dan Baxter!" he said slowly. "Can it be possible?" "Yes, it's me," replied the bully, with small regard for grammar. "Do you know that you are in my power, Dick Rover?" "I--I--thought you were dead," and Dick closed his eyes again, for it was next to impossible for him to arouse himself. "I'm a long way from being dead," laughed Dan harshly. "I reckon you'll die before I do." Dick pulled himself together with a great effort. "Then the landslide didn't catch you?" he questioned. "Yes, it did, but it didn't kill me, nor my father neither. We are both here, and you are absolutely in our power." "Is this the steamer that took me on board?" "No, this is a boat that is under my father's command." "I don't understand it at all." "Reckon you will understand before we are done with you. You thought you could crow over us, but the crowing will be on the other side of the fence now." "What are you going to do with me?" "You'll find out soon enough." "Where are my brothers?" "I don't know--and I don't care." "Well, I am glad they are not in your power," returned Dick, with something of a sigh of relief. "One of you is enough," growled Dan. "And you won't tell me what boat this is?" "It is one under the command of my father." "Are we sailing?" "Not yet, but we will be in a few minutes." With an effort Dick arose to his feet. But he was dizzy from the effects of the dose administered by the doctor, and immediately sank back again. Baxter gave a brutal laugh. "Now you see how it is," he observed. "You are absolutely in our power. How do you like the situation?" "How should I like it? A lamb among wolves would be as safe, to my way of thinking." "I don't know but what you are right. We intend to make a big thing out of you, Dick Rover." "How?" "I told you before you'd find out soon enough." "I presume you'll try to make my father ransom me, or something like that." "We'll about make him give up that mining claim." "You were going to make him give that up before." "Well, we won't trip up this time. Our plans are carefully laid." "You were always good at bragging, Dan Baxter." "Don't insult me, Dick Rover." "I am telling the plain truth." With a sudden darkening of his face Dan Baxter strode forward. "Dick Rover, I hate you, always have hated you, and always will hate you. Take that for your impudence." He struck out and slapped the helpless boy heavily upon the cheek. Then, as Dick sank back in the chair, he turned and left the cabin, closing and locking the door after him. At half-past four in the morning the _Peacock_ got under way, and in less than an hour was far out upon the broad waters of Lake Erie. CHAPTER VI. HUNTING FOR DICK. "Dick must be drowned." It was Tom who spoke, addressing Sam and Aleck Pop. For hours they had searched among the floating lumber for some sign of the missing one, and the only thing that had been found was Dick's cap, caught in a crack of one of the timbers. "It's awful!" murmured Sam. His face was white and he was ready to cry, for Dick was very dear to him. "Perhaps dat steamboat dun pick him up," suggested Pop. He wanted to say something comforting. "I pray to Heaven she did," murmured Tom. "I suppose the best thing we can do now is to steer for Cleveland." "Yes, that's the only hope left," answered Sam. "If he was floating around here we would surely have spotted him before this with the glass." The course was changed, and toward nightfall they came in sight of Cleveland, and learned where they could tie up, at a spot close to where the steamer had made her landing. Their first inquiries were at this point, and from a longshoreman they quickly learned that two persons had been picked up by the steamer, a big man and a young fellow. "It must be Dick!" cried Sam. "Where did they take the young fellow?" questioned Tom. "A man and a big boy came from the steamer and took charge of him," answered the longshoreman. "Don't you know where they went?" "No; most likely to the hospital. The young fellow was in pretty bad shape. They got in a coach." "Did the other man who was saved go along?" "No; he's all right, and is around here looking for you folks--so he told me. He--here he comes now." The longshoreman pointed to Luke Peterson, who had just appeared at the upper end of the dock. Both Sam and Tom ran to meet him. "So you are Dick Rover's brothers," said Peterson, as he shook hands. "Glad to know you. Yes, your brother is all right, although mighty tucked out by the exposure. He fell in with a couple o' friends on the steamer, and they took him up to the Commercial Hotel." As Peterson was curious to know how Dick was faring, he agreed to accompany Sam and Tom to the hotel, and all three boarded a handy street car for that purpose. "I wish to see my brother, Dick Rover," said Tom to the clerk at the desk. "Not stopping here, sir," was the reply, after the clerk had consulted the register. "I mean the young man who was hauled out of the lake and was brought here feeling rather sick." The clerk shook his head. "No such person here." Sam and Tom stared in astonishment, and then turned to the lumberman. "The friends who were with him said they were going to bring him here," said Luke Peterson. "And I promised to send you after 'em as soon as I spotted ye." "I don't understand--" began Tom, and then turned swiftly to Sam. "Can this be some of Arnold Baxter's work?" "It may be. Mr. Peterson, how did the man who was with my brother look?" As well as he could Luke Peterson described Arnold Baxter, and also Dan. Tom gave a low whistle. "I'll wager poor Dick has fallen into the hands of the enemy," he cried. "What enemy?" questioned the lumberman. In as few words as possible Tom and Sam explained the situation, concluding by saying they had discovered Arnold Baxter on the steamer. The story made Luke Peterson look very grave. "Reckon we let your brother git into the wrong hands," he observed. "The question is, where did they take Dick?" "That's so, where?" "Evidently they didn't come here at all." "Perhaps, if I could find that coach driver, I might learn somethin'." "That's so--let us find him by all means." But to find the driver was not easy, and by midnight the search was abandoned. Much dejected, Sam and Tom returned to the _Swallow_, and Luke Peterson accompanied them. Peterson was also downhearted, having heard nothing of the tug which had been towing the lumber raft or of his friend Bragin. "I'll notify the police in the morning," said Tom, and did so. He also sent a telegram to his father, telling of what had happened. The police took up the case readily, but brought nothing new to light. "I'm going to interview every cabby in town," said Tom, and proceeded to do so, accompanied by Luke Peterson and Sam. At five o'clock in the afternoon they found the coach driver who had taken Dick from the dock. "The man said they had no rooms vacant at the Commercial Hotel," said the coach driver. "So he had me drive the party to Dr. Karley's Private Sanitarium." "Where is that?" "On the outskirts, about a mile and a half from here." "Can you take us there now?" "Sorry, but I've got a job in quarter of an hour." "We'll pay you double fare," put in Sam. "Get somebody else to take that other job." To this the coach driver readily agreed, but to make the arrangement took time, and it was six o'clock before they were on the way to Dr. Karley's place. When they reached the sanitarium they found the building dark, with the shutters on the ground floor tightly closed. Dr. Karley answered Tom's summons in person. "Yes, the parties were here," he said smoothly. "But I could not accommodate them, and so they went elsewhere." "Elsewhere?" echoed Tom. "Exactly, sir." "But our coach driver says they got off here. He was the one who brought them." At this announcement the face of the physician changed color for an instant. But he quickly recovered himself. "Well--er--they did get off here, as the sick young man wished to rest. When I said I couldn't accommodate them the older man went off and got another coach, and all three went off in that." "To where?" "I do not know, although I recommended the general hospital to them." "They did not go to any of the city institutions." "Then perhaps they went to a hotel." "We have inquired at every hotel in town." The little old doctor shrugged his bony shoulders. "I am sorry, but I can give you no further information." "How was the sick young man when he was here?" "He didn't appear to be very sick. Had he been bad I would have certainly done more for him." "And you haven't the least idea where they went to?" "I have not." "It's mighty strange," was Tom's blunt comment. "Do you know who the sick young man was?" "I haven't the slightest idea. I never ask questions unless they are necessary." "He was my brother, and those fellows who had him in charge are his enemies and up to no good." "Indeed!" And Dr. Karley elevated his shaggy eyebrows in well-assumed surprise. "I am bound to find my brother, and if you know anything more you had better tell me," went on Tom bluntly. The random shaft struck home, and the old doctor started back in dismay. "Why--er--surely you do not--er--suspect me of--ahem--of anything wrong?" he stammered. "I want to get at the truth. Which way did they go when they drove off?" "Directly for town." "And when was this?" "Inside of half an hour after they got here." "Did they give any names?" "No. It was not necessary, since I could not take them in." "Your place doesn't seem to be very crowded." At this the physician glared angrily at Tom. "Boy, it seems to me that you are growing impudent!" he cried. "I am not accustomed to being addressed in this fashion. I think I had better bid you good-night." The two were standing in the hallway, and now the doctor opened the door to signify that the interview was over. "All right, I'll go," muttered Tom. "But I am going to get to the bottom of this affair, don't you forget that." And then he hurried out and rejoined Sam and Peterson at the coach. "He may be telling the truth," said the coach driver, on hearing what Tom had to say. "But, all the same, I was driving around these streets for a good hour after I left here, and I saw no other rig with those men and your brother in it." "I am inclined to think the doctor is humbugging us," answered Tom. "But the thing is to prove it." "Perhaps you had better watch the place for a while," suggested the lumberman. "Do you know anything of this doctor--what sort of a reputation he has?" asked Sam of the driver. "His reputation is none of the best," was the answer. "He has been in court twice because of the people he treats." "Then he wouldn't be above helping Arnold Baxter--if he was paid for it," said Tom. All entered the coach and drove off around the nearest corner. Then Tom and Sam got out and walked away, intending to come up at the rear of the sanitarium. Presently a carriage appeared in view, driven by a man who, in the gloom, appeared strangely familiar, despite his false beard. "Arnold Baxter!" cried Sam. "Hi, there, whoa!" He ran toward the carriage and caught the horse by the bridle. Tom followed, and the man, who was just returning from taking Dick to the _Peacock_, was brought to bay. CHAPTER VII. THE ESCAPE OF ARNOLD BAXTER. "Arnold Baxter, where is my brother Dick?" demanded Tom, as he reached the carriage and caught the evildoer by the arm. To say that Arnold Baxter was astonished would be to put it altogether too mildly. He was completely dumfounded. "You!" he said slowly, hardly knowing how to speak after he had caught his breath. "Yes, you rascal. Where is Dick." "Dick?" "Yes, Dick." "I know nothing of your brother. This is a--a complete surprise. I didn't know you were in Cleveland." "Perhaps not. But let me tell you that we know your game, and we are going to hand you over to the law." "Never!" Arnold Baxter fairly hissed out the words. "Let go of that horse"--the latter words to Sam. "Don't you do it!" cried Tom, and then he caught Arnold Baxter by the leg. "Come out of the carriage." A fierce struggle ensued, and, afraid that Tom would get the worst of it, Sam set up a loud shout for help. "You whelp! I'll fix you!" ejaculated Arnold Baxter, and catching up the whip, he struck at Tom with the butt end. He caught the youth directly over the head, and Tom went down as if shot. "Let Tom alone," screamed Sam. "Help! help!" "Who is it?" came from a distance, and Luke Peterson hove into sight. "Hullo! the man we are after." He made a dive for Arnold Baxter, but the latter was too quick for him, and leaped from the opposite side of the carriage to the ground. The horse now became frightened and set off on a run, directly for a lane behind Dr. Karley's institution. "Tom, are you badly hurt?" questioned Sam, but, even as he spoke, Tom tried to stagger to his feet. Seeing this, Sam began a chase after Baxter, with the lumberman beside him. Arnold Baxter was fleet of foot, and realizing what capture meant--a return to prison with his sentence to be served once more from the beginning--he ran as never before, straight for the dock where the _Peacock_ lay. [Illustration: THE HORSE NOW BECAME FRIGHTENED AND SET OFF ON A RUN.] His first thought was to board the schooner and set sail out into the lake, but a second thought convinced him that this would be unwise. "They will follow me on a tug or steamer, and the jig will be up in no time," he said to himself "I must find some hiding place." Many of the docks were inclosed by high board fences, and coming to one of these, he leaped over and made his way to a huge pile of merchandise. Here he crouched down and kept as quiet as a mouse. Sam and Peterson, followed by Tom, traced him to the fence, but once on the opposite side, lost all track of the rascal. "He's gone," said Tom, after running hither and thither on the dock. "He has given us the slip nicely." "He can't be far off," returned Sam. "I believe he was bound for that doctor's sanitarium when we spotted him." "So do I, and I wouldn't wonder if poor Dick is at the place, a prisoner." The matter was talked over for several minutes, and the two brothers decided to return to Dr. Karley's sanitarium. The lumberman said he would remain around the docks on the lookout for Arnold Baxter. "If you catch him I'll give you fifty dollars," said Tom. "My father, I know, will pay the amount willingly." "I'll do my best," answered Peterson. He was by no means rich and glad enough of a chance to make such a sum. Besides this, the ways of the Rover boys appeared to please him. When Sam and Tom returned to the doctor's place they found the coach driver still at hand, he having caught Arnold Baxter's horse at the entrance to the lane. "Take him to the stable and ask the doctor if the rig is his," said Tom, and the coach driver agreed. He was gone the best part of quarter of an hour. "The doctor says it is his horse and carriage, but he also says he didn't know the turnout was out," he announced, with a grin. "He's an oily one, he is!" "Right you are, but he can't stuff us with his fairy tales," replied Tom. "Do you suppose there is a policeman handy?" "There is probably one somewhere around." "I wish you would hunt him up and bring him here." "What are you going to do?" "Dare the lion in his den; eh, Sam?" "Right, Tom! That doctor must know a good deal more than he is wiling to tell." The coach driver went off, and walking around to the front of the sanitarium the boys rang the bell sharply. There was no answer to the summons, and then Tom gave the bell knob a jerk which nearly broke it off. A second-story window was thrown open with a bang. "I want you boys to go away!" came in angry tones. "And I want you to come down and let us in," retorted Tom. "I won't let you in. I've told you all I know, and that is the end of it." "It's not the end of it, Dr. Karley. We want to know how you came to let Arnold Baxter have your horse and carriage." "I didn't know the horse and carriage were out of the stable. The man must have taken them on the sly." "It's not likely. Open the door and let us in--it will be best for you." "Ha, you threaten me!" "I've done more than that-I've sent for a policeman." At this announcement the old doctor grated his teeth savagely. He was much disturbed and knew not how to proceed. "I was a fool to go into this thing," he muttered. "It may lead to all sorts of trouble. I must get myself clear somehow." "Are you going to let us in?" went on Tom. "Yes, I will let you in. But allow me to state that you are acting very foolishly," answered the doctor, and dropped the window. A few minutes later he appeared at the door, which he opened very gingerly. "You can come into the parlor," he said stiffly. "We'll remain right here," answered Tom, afraid of some sort of a trap. "Well, what do you want?" "I want to know where that young man, my brother, is." "The man who was with him said he was his nephew." "It was a falsehood. Now where is my brother?" "Honestly, I have not the slightest idea." "What was that man doing with your carriage?" "I repeat, young man, I did not know he had the carriage." The old doctor drew a long breath, wondering how soon an officer of the law would appear. "Of course if anything is wrong I am perfectly willing to do all I can to set it right. My institution is above reproach, and I wish to keep it so." "Are you willing to let me look through your place?" "So you think your brother is here?" "I do." "You are very forward. Still, to convince you that you are mistaken, you are at liberty to go through my place from top to bottom. But you must not disturb any of the patients." "All right; let us go through. Sam, you remain here, on the watch for that policeman." With bad grace Dr. Karley led the way and took Tom through the sanitarium from top to bottom, even allowing him to peep into the rooms occupied by the "boarders," as the medical man called them. Of course there was no trace of Dick. "Now I trust you are satisfied," said the doctor, when they were again at the front door. "I am not satisfied about that carriage affair," returned Tom, as bluntly as ever. "Well, I have told you the truth." At this moment the coach driver came in sight, accompanied by a policeman. "What's the trouble?" demanded the officer of the law. Tom and Sam told their tale, and then the doctor had his say, and the driver related what he knew. "Certainly a queer mix-up," remarked the policeman. He turned to the Rovers. "What do you want to do?" "I want to find my brother, who has disappeared," said Tom. "You say you have searched through here?" "I have--after a fashion." "You can go through, if you wish," said the doctor to the officer. "I reckon my brother is gone," went on Tom. "But this doctor helped the rascals who spirited him away." "I did absolutely nothing," cried Dr. Karley. "I am willing to aid you all I can. But I am innocent. I received no pay for giving the unfortunate young man some medicine to strengthen him, and my horse and carriage were taken without my knowledge." A long and bitter war of words followed, but in the end the doctor was left to himself. "We'll make no charge against him yet," said Tom to the policeman. "But I wish you would keep an eye on the institution--in case that rascal puts in an appearance again." "I will," returned the officer. A little while later Sam and Tom set out to rejoin Luke Peterson. When they gained the dock they saw nobody. "He ought to be somewhere about," said the younger Rover. They tramped about from place to place for fully an hour. Presently they came close to where the _Swallow_ lay. Had they but known it, the _Peacock_, with poor Dick on board, lay but three blocks further away. "My gracious!" cried Sam suddenly. He had seen a form stretched motionless across some lumber lying near. The form was that of Luke Peterson, and his cheek and temple were covered with blood. CHAPTER VIII. ON THE LAKE AGAIN. "Peterson!" cried Tom, in dismay. "Can he be dead?" came from Sam. Then he bent over the lumberman. "No, he still lives. But he has been treated most shamefully." "This must be some more of Arnold Baxter's work." "Or else the work of some footpad." Both boys knelt over the prostrate form of the lumberman and did what they could to restore him to his senses. In this they were partly successful. "Don't hit me again! Please don't hit me!" the man moaned, over and over again. "You're safe," said Tom. But Peterson paid no attention, and only begged them not to hit him. "Let us carry him to the _Swallow_," suggested Sam, and between them they did so. "Wot's dis?" asked Aleck Pop, in astonishment. "He is our friend, and has been struck down," answered Tom. "Get some water in a basin, and a little liquor." When the colored man returned with the articles mentioned both boys washed the wounded man's head and bound it up with a towel. Then Tom administered a few spoonfuls of liquor. This seemed to give Peterson some strength, but he did not fully recover for some hours. "Follow the _Peacock_," were his first rational words. "Follow the schooner _Peacock_." "The _Peacock_?" repeated Tom. "Why should we follow her?" "Your brother is on board." And having spoken thus, the lumberman sank again into semi-unconsciousness. "Can he be telling the truth, or is he out of his head?" questioned Sam. "I'm sure I don't know, Sam." "Perhaps we had better look around for the schooner he mentioned." "All right, I'll do so. You stay here with Aleck." "Hadn't I better go with you?" "No, I'll keep my eyes open," concluded Tom, and hurried away. It was now dawn, and the early workers were just getting to their employment. Soon Tom met a couple of watchmen and hailed them. "I am looking for the schooner _Peacock_," said he. "Do you know anything of the craft?" "Sure, an' that's Gus Langless' boat," said one of the watchmen. "She's lying at the end of Bassoon's wharf, over yonder." "Thank you," and Tom started away. The wharf mentioned was a long one, and it took some time for the youth to reach the outer end. As he ran he saw a boat in the distance, moving away with all sails set. Of course he could not make out her name, but he saw that she was schooner-rigged, and felt certain she must be the craft for which he was searching. At the end of the pier he met a dock hand, who had been resting in a nearby shed. "Is that boat the _Peacock_?" he asked. "Yes, sir." "Do you know anything of the people on board?" "I do not." "Has she a cargo?" "I believe not." "You didn't see anybody going on her?" "Hold up! Yes, I did; a young fellow and a man." "Was the young man in a feeble state?" "He seemed to be." "Thank you." Tom turned away with something of a groan. "Dick must be on board of that craft, along with the Baxters. Oh, what luck we are having! Now what ought I to do next?" His wisest move would have been to have informed the authorities, but Tom was too much upset mentally to think of that. With all speed he returned to the _Swallow_. "The _Peacock_ has sailed!" he cried. "We must follow her!" "You are certain?" queried Sam. "Yes, I saw her in the distance. Come, let us get after her before it is too late." As Luke Peterson was now doing fairly well, all of the others ran on deck, and soon the _Swallow_ was in pursuit of the schooner. At first but little could be seen of the _Peacock_, but when the sun came up they saw her plainly, heading toward the northwest. "We must keep her in sight," said Tom. "Yes, but supposing the Baxters are on board, how can we capture them?" came from Sam. "We are but three, or four at the most, counting Peterson, while that craft must carry a crew of five or six." "We can hail some other boat to help us. The main thing is not to lose track of the rascals." The breeze was all that could be desired, and once the shore was left behind they kept the _Peacock_ in sight with ease. But, try their best, they gained but little on the larger boat. As there was now nothing to do but to let the yacht do her best, Tom left Sam at the wheel and turned his attention to Peterson. The lumberman was now able to sit up, although very weak. "I discovered Arnold Baxter and tracked him to the schooner's dock," he said. "His son came to the dock, and from what they said I am sure your brother is on the craft. Then they discovered me, and the father struck me down with the butt of a pistol he carried. After that all was a blank until I found myself here." "You can be thankful you weren't killed." "I suppose so. I shall not rest until that villain is brought to justice. But what are ye up to now, lad?" "We are in pursuit of the _Peacock_." "On the lake or up the river?" "On the lake." "Can you keep her in sight?" "So far we seem to be holding our own." "Good! I'd go on deck and help ye, but I feel kind o' strange-like in the legs." "Better keep quiet for the present. We may need you later on." "Got any firearms on board?" "Yes, a gun and two pistols." "Ye may want 'em afore ye git through with that crowd. They are bad ones." "We know them thoroughly, Mr. Peterson. We have been acquainted with them for years." And then Tom told of how Dan Baxter had been the bully at Putnam Hall, and how he had run away to join his rascally father, and of how Arnold Baxter had been Mr. Rover's enemy since the days of early mining in the West. "O' course they are carrying off your brother fer a purpose," said the lumberman. "Like as not they'll try to hit your father through him." "I presume that is the game." The morning wore away slowly, but as the sun mounted higher the breeze gradually died down. The _Peacock_ was the first to feel the going down of the wind, and slowly, but surely, the _Swallow_ crept closer to the schooner. But at last both vessels came to a standstill, about quarter of a mile apart. "Now what's to do?" questioned Sam dismally. "I reckon we can whistle for a breeze," returned his brother. "Whistling won't do us any good. I've been wondering if we could not do some rowing in the small boat." "Hurrah! just the thing!" There was a small rowboat stored away on board the _Swallow_, and this was now brought forth, along with two pairs of oars. "Gwine ter row ober, eh?" observed Aleck Pop. "Racken you dun bettah been careful wot youse do." "We shall go armed," answered Tom. The boys soon had the rowboat floating on the lake, and they leaped in, each with a pair of oars, and with a pistol stowed away in his pocket. From the start those on board of the _Peacock_ had been afraid that the yacht was following them, and now they were certain of it. "Two boys putting off in a rowboat," announced Captain Langless. "They are Tom and Sam Rover," answered Arnold Baxter, after a brief survey through a marine glass. "How did they get to know enough to follow this craft?" "I'm sure I don't know. But those Rover boys are slick, and always were." "What will you do when they come up?" "Warn them off." "I've got an idea, dad," came from Dan. "Well?" "Why not get out of sight and let Captain Langless invite them on board, to look for Dick. Then we can bag them and put them with Dick." "By Jove, that is a scheme!" exclaimed the rascally parent. "Langless, will you do it? Of course, we'll have to get out of sight until the proper moment arrives." "But if you bag 'em, what of those left on the _Swallow_?" questioned the captain. "There is only one man, a negro. He doesn't amount to anything." "There may be more--one or two officers of the law." Arnold Baxter used his glass again. "I see nobody but the darky. If there were officers at hand, I am sure they would have come along in that rowboat." "I guess you are right about that." "If we capture the boys the darky won't dare to follow us alone, and it may be that we can capture him, too," went on Arnold Baxter. By this time the rowboat was drawing closer, and Arnold Baxter and Dan stepped out of sight behind the forecastle of the schooner. A few additional words passed between Captain Langless and the Baxters, and then the owner of the _Peacock_ awaited the coming of our friends, who were now almost alongside, never suspecting the trap which was set for them. CHAPTER IX. CAUGHT IN A TRAP. "Do you see anything of the Baxters?" asked Sam, when the rowboat was within a hundred feet of the schooner. "I thought I did before, but I don't see them now," answered Tom. "Rowboat, ahoy!" shouted Captain Langless. "What brings you?" "I reckon you know well enough," Tom shouted back. "We are after Dick Rover." "Dick Rover? Who is he?" "Your prisoner." "Our prisoner?" The owner of the _Peacock_ put on a look of surprise. "Really, you are talking in riddles." "I don't think so. Where are Arnold Baxter and his son Dan?" "Don't know anybody by that name." "They went on board of your boat," put in Sam. "You must be mistaken." Captain Langless turned to his mate. "Find any stowaways on board?" "Nary a one," was the mate's answer. "And just came up from the hold, too." This talk perplexed Tom and Sam not a little. Was it possible Luke Peterson had made some mistake? "We have it on pretty good authority that the Baxters are on board of your boat, and that Dick Rover is aboard, too," said Sam. "It's all a riddle to me," answered Captain Langless. "We are not in the business of carrying prisoners. We are bound for Sandusky for a cargo of flour." This talk completely nonplused the boys, and they held a whispered consultation. "I don't believe him," said Sam. "No more do I. But what shall we do about it?" "I'm sure I don't know." "You can come on board and look around, if you wish," called out the owner of the schooner. "I want you to satisfy yourself that you are mistaken." "Shall we go?" whispered Tom. "It may be a trap?" "He seems honest enough." "Supposing I go and you stay in the rowboat? Then, if anything happens, you can call on Aleck and Peterson for help." So it was arranged, and in a minute more Tom was climbing up the ladder which had been thrown over the _Peacock's_ side. "Is the other young fellow coming?" asked the captain, who did not fancy this move. "No." The captain scowled, but said no more. Once on deck Tom looked around him curiously, and then moved toward the companion way leading to the cabin. He felt instinctively that he was in a dangerous position. As he crossed the deck several ill-appearing sailors gazed at him curiously, but said nothing--being under strict orders from the captain to remain silent in the presence of the stranger. The cabin of the _Peacock_ was a small affair, considering the general size of the schooner, and contained but little in the shape of furniture. Dick had been removed long before, so the apartment was empty of human occupants when Tom entered. "Nobody here," he murmured, as he gazed around. "What foolishness to come, anyway! The Baxters could easily hide on me, if they wanted to." He was about to leave the cabin when a form darkened the companion way, and Arnold Baxter appeared. "Silence!" commanded the man, and pointed a pistol at Tom's head. The sight of the rascal startled the youth and the look on Baxter's face caused him to shiver. "So you are here, after all," he managed to say. "Silence!" repeated Arnold Baxter, "unless you want to be shot." "Where is my brother Dick?" Before Arnold Baxter could reply Dan put in an appearance, carrying a pair of handcuffs. "Now, we'll get square with you, Tom Rover," said the bully harshly. "What do you intend to do?" "Make you a prisoner. Hold out your hands." "And if I refuse?" "You won't refuse," put in Arnold Baxter, and, lowering his pistol, he leaped behind Tom and caught him by the arms. At the same time Dan attacked the lad in front and poor Tom was soon handcuffed. Then he was led out of the cabin by a rear way, a door was opened, and he was thrust into the blackness of the hold. But ere this was accomplished he let out one long, loud cry for help which reached Sam's ears quite plainly. "Hi! what are you doing to my brother?" ejaculated the younger Rover. He had brought the rowboat close up alongside the schooner. "I don't know what's up," answered the mate of the _Peacock_. "Better come aboard and see." "He has fallen down the hatchway!" cried Captain Langless. "Poor chap! he's hurt himself quite badly." And he disappeared, as if going to Tom's assistance. If Sam had been in a quandary before, he was doubly so now. Had Tom really fallen, or had he been attacked? "I can't leave him alone," he thought, and without further hesitation leaped up the side of the schooner with the agility of a cat. It was a fatal movement, for scarcely had he reached the deck when he was pounced upon by Captain Langless and held fast until Arnold Baxter appeared. "Let me go!" cried Sam, but his protest proved of no avail. A lively scuffle followed, but the lad was no match for the men, and in the end he found himself handcuffed and thrown into the hold beside Tom. "Tie the rowboat fast to the stern," ordered Arnold Baxter, and this was done. The going down of the wind was only temporary, and now a slight breeze sprang up. "We are in luck!" said the captain of the schooner. "We must keep away from the yacht," returned Arnold Baxter. Soon the schooner's sails were filling and she continued on her course, dragging the small boat behind her. Aleck Pop saw the movement and grew much perplexed. "Dat don't look right to me, nohow!" he muttered. "'Pears lak da was bein' tuk along sumway!" Aleck was not much of a sailor, but he had been out enough to know how to handle the yacht under ordinary circumstances, and now he did his best to follow the _Peacock_. With the glass he watched eagerly for the reappearance of Sam and Tom, and his face became a study when fully half an hour passed and they failed to show themselves. "Da is in trouble, suah!" he told himself. "Now wot's dis yeah niggah to do?" He lashed the wheel fast and sought advice from Luke Peterson, who was feeling stronger every minute. The burly lumberman shook his head dubiously. "In trouble for certain," was his comment. "Didn't hear any pistol shots, did ye?" "Didn't heah nuffin, sah." "They wouldn't remain on board of that craft of their own free will." "Don't specs da would, sah. De question is, sah: wot's to do?" And Aleck scratched his woolly head thoughtfully. "I don't know, excepting to keep the schooner in sight, if possible, and see if something doesn't turn up. If you sight a steamer or a steam tug let me know, and I'll try to get help." So it was arranged, and Aleck returned to the wheel. The _Swallow_ was going along smoothly, and he did what he could to make the sails draw as much as possible. Peterson now discovered the medicine chest of the yacht, and from this got another dose of liquor, which afforded him the temporary strength of which he was in so much need. The coming of night found the two vessels far out upon the waters of Lake Erie and nearly half a mile apart. Peterson now came on deck, to keep an eye on things while Aleck prepared supper. It promised to remain clear, but, as there would be no moon, Peterson was afraid that they would lose sight of the _Peacock_ in the gathering darkness. Supper was soon served, the lumberman eating first, and then Aleck cleared away the few dishes and tidied up generally. The colored man was much downcast. "Fust it was Dick, an' now it am de whole t'ree of 'em," he remarked. "I'se afraid dar is gwine ter be a bad endin' to dis yeah trip." "We will have to take what comes," answered Peterson. "But I have taken a fancy to those boys, and I'll stick by you to the end." Slowly the darkness of night settled over the waters of the lake, and with the going down of the sun the stars came forth, one after another. During the last few hours several sail had been seen at a distance, but none had come close enough to be hailed. "We are going to lose her in the darkness, after all," announced the lumberman, at about eight o'clock. "It's hard for me to see her, even now." Half an hour later the _Peacock_ disappeared in the gloom, and the chase, for the time being, came to an end. CHAPTER X. THE ESCAPE FROM THE HOLD. "Sam, is that you?" "Yes." "We are trapped!" "It looks like it--or rather feels like it. I can't see a thing." "Nor I. Did you find out anything about Dick?" "No." A groan came from the opposite end of the hold. "Here I am. How in the world did you get here?" "Dick, after all!" ejaculated Tom, and there was a slight trace of joy in his tone. "Are you O. K., old man?" "Hardly. They dosed me with drugs until my mind is topsy-turvy." "I'm glad you are alive," came from Sam. "Where are you?" "Here, lying on a couple of boxes. Look out how you move about, or you may hurt yourselves." Handcuffed as they were, Tom and Sam felt their way along through the dark hold until they reached their elder brother's side. They grasped his hands warmly. "I'm glad we are together again, even if we are prisoners," remarked Tom, and this was his younger brother's sentiment, too. "How did you get here?" asked Dick, and each told his story from beginning to end, and then the elder Rover had to relate his own adventures. "I knew that old doctor wasn't telling the truth," burst out Tom. "Oh, but won't we have an account to settle with all of those chaps, if ever we get out of this scrape." "Don't let us hurrah until we are out of the woods," added Dick soberly. "We are in the hands of a desperate gang, to my way of reasoning." "The Baxters are certainly bad enough." "And any boat captain who would go into this game with them is probably just as bad. Whom did you leave on the yacht?" "Aleck, and the lumberman who was on the raft with you." "I wonder if they will follow this schooner?" No one could answer this question, and for several minutes there was a silence. During that time they heard heavy footsteps cross and recross the deck, but that was all. Presently the schooner began to rock slightly. "The wind is coming up," said Tom. "We are moving ahead again." "That's bad for us--if the schooner manages to run away from the yacht," rejoined Dick. Soon the motion of the _Peacock_ showed that the schooner was bowling along rapidly. They heard the creaking of tackle as additional sails were hoisted, and felt certain that the craft was making the best run at her command. The hold had not been opened up for a long time, consequently the air was foul as well as stifling from the heat. "I'd give something for some fresh air," said Sam. "How is it with you, Dick?" "I want fresh air and a drink of water. I am as dry as a bale of cotton." "Haven't they given you anything since you came on board?" asked Tom. "Not a thing." "The inhuman wretches! Oh, I wish I had Dan Baxter here--I'd punch his head good for him." "Ditto the head of his rascally father," returned Dick. "I would like to know just where they intend to take me--or rather all of us, now. They certainly can't expect to keep us on board this craft." "Perhaps they'll ship us to Canada." "Hardly, since they couldn't land on the Canadian shore without an inspection of the vessel." "They have some plan up their sleeve, that's certain." Slowly the hours wore away, until all sounds on deck ceased, and they knew it must be well along in the night. Still the schooner kept on her course. All of the boys had been working at their bonds, but without success. They wished they had a light, but neither Sam nor Tom had a match, and Dick's pockets were entirely bare. Tom and Sam were likewise minus their pistols, Arnold Baxter having taken the weapons away before placing them in the hold. The night proved to be a truly horrible one for the boys, for the hold was overrun with rats, who became altogether too familiar. At first one of the pests ran over Tom's legs. "A rat!" he cried. "Hi, scat!" And the frisky rodent scampered off, but speedily returned, followed by several others. After that they had a lively time of it for half an hour, when the rats left them as suddenly as they had appeared. The storm, and their various adventures, had tired the boys out, and soon, in spite of the surroundings, one after another fell into a light doze. The sleep did all of them good, especially Dick, who declared on awakening that he felt almost as well as ever. "Only I'm as hungry as a bear," he added. "Ditto myself," came from Tom. "I move we try to break out of this dingy hole." "All right; but where shall we break to?" put in Sam. "I can't see much more than I could last night." The matter was talked over, and presently they scattered, to feel along the ribbed walls of the hold. For a long time nobody felt anything of importance, but at last Sam let out a soft cry: "I've found something of a door!" "Good for you," answered Tom. "Can you open it?" "No, there seems to be a bar or something on the other side." The others rejoined the youngest Rover, and made out the door quite plainly, for there was a broad crack at the top and at the side opposite the hinges. There was a bar, true enough. "If we had something that we could slip into that crack, we might move the bar," observed Dick. "I slipped on a sheet of tin a while ago," said Tom. "Perhaps I can find that." His hunt was successful, and soon they had the tin in the crack under the bar. The latter gave way with ease, and then they pulled the door open. Beyond was the passageway leading to the cabin. "Now what's the next movement?" whispered Sam. "Let us try to arm ourselves first of all," answered Dick. "Then, if we are cornered again, we may be able to make some kind of favorable terms." He tiptoed his way into the cabin and found it deserted. On the table rested the remains of a breakfast served to several people, and he picked up half a loaf of bread and put it in the pocket of his jacket. Several boiled eggs followed. On one of the walls of the cabin hung two old-fashioned swords and a brace of pistols. Without hesitation he took all of the weapons and returned with them to his brothers. "Here are pistols and swords, and something to eat," he said. "There seems to be nobody around, so you can come into the cabin, if you wish." All entered the compartment. Both water and a little coffee were handy, and they made a hasty repast. While eating, Tom hunted around the room and also looked into an adjoining stateroom. In the latter place he found a bunch of keys on a nail. "If only one of 'em fits these handcuffs," he murmured, and they tried the keys without delay. One did fit, and in a few seconds they were free of their fetters. "Now 'lay on, MacDuff!'" quoted Tom, as he swung aloft one of the swords. "We'll give them a warm reception, eh?" "We'll do nothing of the kind," replied Dick hastily. "In this case silence is the better part of valor. We'll lay low until the time comes to make a move." "What, do you mean to go back to the hold?" asked Sam. "We may as well, for the present. It is broad daylight now. Perhaps we can escape at night." "Do you suppose they took our rowboat along?" came from Tom. "I shouldn't wonder. We can---- Hist! somebody is coming!" Dick was right; Captain Langless was descending the companion way. On tiptoes the three boys hurried to the door leading to the hold. As they flung it back they found themselves confronted by Arnold Baxter and Dan. CHAPTER XI. GAINING A POINT. The sudden turn of affairs chagrined the Rover boys greatly, and for the moment none of them knew what to say. Arnold Baxter and Dan grinned at the trio sarcastically, and the bully was the first to break the silence. "Didn't get away that time, did you?" he sneered. "Ha! so they are here!" came from Captain Langless, who had just stepped into the cabin. "And without the handcuffs, too." "Let us alone," cried Tom hotly. "If you touch me again, I'll shoot somebody." And so speaking, he raised one of the pistols taken from the cabin wall. His aim was at Dan, and the bully fell back with a cry of terror, for, as old readers know, Dan was a coward at heart. "Don't--don't shoot!" he faltered. "Don't!" "My pistols!" burst out the captain of the _Peacock_, in a rage. "Hand those weapons over to me, do you hear?" He took several steps forward, when Dick brought him to a halt by raising one of the swords. It was a dramatic scene, of intense interest to all concerned. Arnold Baxter gazed at the armed youths in alarm, and Captain Langless grated his teeth. "This is foolishness," said the owner of the schooner, after a painful pause. "If you try to fight you'll only get into worse trouble. We are, all told, ten to three, and the best thing you can do is to throw down those arms and submit." "We won't submit," came from Sam, with a boldness which was astonishing in one of his years. His stirring adventures in Africa and in the West accounted for much of this valor. "We are not going to remain on this vessel," said Dick. "And if you try to detain us further somebody will get hurt." "You scamp!" fumed Arnold Baxter, and looked at the elder Rover as if to annihilate him with a glance. But Dick remained undaunted, and gradually Arnold Baxter fell back a few steps. It must be confessed that the Rover boys felt far from comfortable. Here were two of the enemy on one side and one on the other, cutting off their escape in both directions. More than this, Captain Langless now raised his voice, and presently several rough-looking sailors came rushing into the cabin. "Leave the hold," cried the owner of the schooner to the Baxters. "I reckon I know how to manage 'em." Arnold Baxter understood, and at once took his son by the arm. The pair had come down into the hold by means of a ladder lowered through the forward hatchway. Now they ran for the ladder, mounted, and drew it up after them. Then the hatch was closed down as before. In the meantime Captain Langless whispered to one of his sailors, and the tar ran to one of the staterooms and returned with an old-fashioned seven-shooter, fully a foot and a half long. "Now get back there," ordered the owner of the schooner. "I won't have any more fooling." "If you shoot, so will I," said Tom quickly. "And so will I," added Sam. "We had better have no bloodshed," continued the captain, trying to control himself. "Behave yourselves, and you'll be treated all right. Kick up a muss, and it will go hard with you." "What do you intend to do with us?" questioned Dick curiously. "You'll have to ask your friend Arnold Baxter about that." "He is no friend of ours!" cried Tom. "He is our worst enemy--and you know it." "If you behave yourself I'll see to it that no harm befalls you," continued Captain Langless. "I'm sorry I mixed up in this affair, but now I am in it I'm going to see it through." "You are carrying us off against our will." The owner of the _Peacock_ shrugged his shoulders. "You'll have to talk that over with Baxter and his son." "You've been starving us." "We were just going to furnish you with breakfast and a small keg of water." "We don't want to stay in that foul-smelling hold," put in Sam. "It is enough to make a fellow sick." "If you'll promise to behave yourselves, we may let you on deck part of the time." "You'd better," grumbled Tom. He hardly knew what to say, and his brothers were in an equal quandary. "Come, throw down your arms and we'll give you breakfast here in the cabin," continued Captain Langless. "You won't find me such a bad chap to deal with, when once you know me. You look like decent sort of fellows, and if you do the right thing I'll promise to see to it that the Baxters do the square thing, too. We'll be better off on a friendly footing than otherwise." The owner of the _Peacock_ spoke earnestly, and it must be admitted that he meant a large part of what he said. The manliness of the Rover boys pleased him, and he could not help but contrast it with the cowardice of the bully, Dan. Perhaps, too, behind it all, he was a bit sick of the job he had undertaken. He knew that he had virtually helped to kidnap the boys, and, if caught, this would mean a long term of imprisonment. Dick looked at his two brothers, wondering what they would have to say. He realized that, after all, they were in a hopeless minority and were bound to lose in a hand-to-hand struggle. "We may as well try them," he whispered. "If we fight, one of us may get killed." They talked among themselves for several minutes, and then Dick turned to the captain. "We'll submit for the present," he said. "But, mind you, we expect to be treated like gentlemen." "And you will be treated as such," answered Captain Langless, glad that there would be no struggle. "Come into the cabin and stack those weapons in the corner. They were never meant for anything but wall decorations," and he laughed somewhat nervously. The three lads entered the cabin and put down the weapons. They kept their eyes on the captain and his men, but there was no move to molest them. "You can go," said Captain Langless to the sailors. "And, Wilson, send the cook here for orders." The sailors departed, and with something of a grim smile on his furrowed face the owner of the _Peacock_ dropped into a seat near the companionway door. He had just started to speak again when there was a noise outside and Arnold Baxter appeared. "Have you subdued the rascals?" he questioned hastily. "Reckon I have," was the slow answer, "Leas'wise, they have thrown down their weapons." "Then why don't you handcuff them again, the rats!" "We are no rats, and I'll trouble you to be civil," returned Dick firmly. "Ha! I'll show you!" howled Arnold Baxter, and would have rushed at Dick had not the captain interposed. "Hold on, sir," were the words of the ship's owner. "We have called a truce. They have promised to behave themselves if we treat them squarely, and so there are to be no more back-bitings." "But--er--" Arnold Baxter was so astonished he could scarcely speak. "You are not going to put them in the hold?" "Not for the present." "They will run away." "How can they, when we are out of sight of land?" "They ought to be chained down." "Supposing you let me be the judge of that, Mr. Baxter. I promised to do certain things for you. If I do them, you'll have no cause to complain." "Have you decided to take these boys' part?" ejaculated Arnold Baxter, turning pale. "I have made up my mind that treating them like beasts won't do any good." "They don't deserve it." "Don't deserve what?" "To be well treated. They are--are--" "Young gentlemen," finished Tom. "The captain knows gentlemen when he sees them, even if you don't." "Don't talk to me, Tom Rover." "I will talk whenever I please. I am not your slave." "But you are in my power, don't forget that." At this moment the cook of the schooner appeared. "What's wanted?" he asked of the captain. "Bring some breakfast for these three young gentlemen," said Captain Langless. "Some fresh coffee and bread and some fried eggs and potatoes." At this order Arnold Baxter stood fairly aghast. "You are going to let them dine here?" he gasped. "I am." "But--but you must be crazy. They will--er--think they are running the ship!" "No, they won't. Leave them to me, and I'm sure we will get along all right. Come, let us go on deck." "What! and leave them alone?" "I will send a man down to see that they don't get into mischief." "But I don't like this turn of affairs," stammered Arnold Baxter. He was half afraid the captain was going back on him. "It's all right; come," answered the owner of the _Peacock_; and a moment later both men quitted the cabin. CHAPTER XII. A DINNER OF IMPORTANCE. "The captain isn't such a bad fellow, after all," observed Sam, when the three Rovers were left to themselves. "He certainly isn't a brute," answered Dick. "But about being bad, that's another story." "He's got an awfully shrewd face," put in Tom. "But I'm mighty glad he turned old Baxter down. That villain would ride over us roughshod." "I think, all told, we have gained a point," continued Dick. "It's something to be treated decently, even if you are a prisoner. The question is, how long will we be caged up on board of the schooner?" "I would like to know if the _Swallow_ is in sight," said Tom. "Wonder if I can't slip up the companion way and find out?" He arose from the seat into which he had dropped, but before he could gain the doorway a sailor appeared and waved him back. Then the sailor took the seat the captain had occupied by the door. "Are you sent to spy on us?" demanded Tom, "I was sent to see that you didn't cut up any tricks," answered the tar. He was terribly crosseyed, but appeared to be rather good-natured. "You mustn't go on deck without the captain's permission." "Can't we have any fresh air?" "You'll have to ask the captain about that He said I was to watch you while you had breakfast, and keep you and those other folks from quarreling." "What other folks, the Baxters?" "Yes." No more was said, and soon the cook appeared with a pot full of newly made coffee and a trayful of other things. The hasty lunch had been a scanty one, and it did not interfere with the boys' appetites for what was now set before them. "This is all right," observed Sam, when he had almost finished eating. "We couldn't have a better meal on the _Swallow_." He turned to the sailor. "Is the yacht still in sight?" He spoke carelessly, but the tar knew how much he was interested and smiled suggestively. "No sail of any kind in sight." "Where are we bound?" "You'll have to ask the captain about that." "Do you mean to say you don't know?" The sailor nodded. "We follow orders, we do, and that's all," he observed, and then they could get nothing more out of him. The boys took their time, yet the meal was finished inside of half an hour. They were just getting up from the table when Captain Langless reappeared. "Well, how did the breakfast suit?" he asked. "First-rate," returned Dick. "Now, if you don't mind, we would like to go on deck." "You may do so under one condition." "And that is----?" "That you will go below again when ordered by me." At this both Tom and Sam cut wry faces. "You are rather hard on us," said Dick slowly. "On the contrary, I think I am treating you generously. The Baxters wish to handcuff you and put you back into the hold." There was a pause, and then the boys agreed, if allowed to go on deck, to go below again whenever the captain wished. "But, remember, we are going to get away if we can," added Dick. "All right, get away--if you can," rejoined Captain Langless. "If you go overboard you'll be in for a long swim, I can tell you that." It felt good to get into the bright sunshine once more, and the boys tumbled up to the deck without ceremony. As soon as they had quitted the cabin the captain put away the weapons at hand, locking them in a closet. As the sailor had said, no other craft was in sight, and on every hand stretched the calm waters of Lake Erie as far as eye could reach. The course was northwest, and Dick rightfully guessed that they were heading for the Detroit River. There was a stiff breeze blowing and, with every sail set, the _Peacock_ was making rapid headway. It was not long before Dan Baxter came up to them. The bully's face was dark and threatening, yet he did not dare say much, for Captain Langless had given him warning that the prisoners must not be molested. "I suppose you think it a fine thing to be up here," he began. "It will be if we don't get too much of you." replied Tom bluntly. "I suppose you would give a good deal to be on land." "Not particularly. We enjoy sailing. If not, we wouldn't have been out in our yacht." "Where were you bound?" "That was our business, Baxter." "Oh, if you don't want to tell me, you needn't," growled the bully, and walked away. "I'll wager he and his father have had a row with Captain Langless," observed Dick. "Otherwise he wouldn't be half so meek." "I wish we could win Captain Langless over to our side," put in Sam suddenly, struck by the idea. "Do you suppose it could be done if we paid him well?" "I'd hate to buy him off," said Tom. "But it might be best," said Dick slowly. "We don't know what the Baxters may have in store for us." "It's pretty plain to me what they want to do. They are going to hold us prisoners until father signs off his rights to that mining claim." "And if father won't sign off?" "Then they'll treat us pretty badly." "Perhaps they'll kill us." "We can sound Captain Langless--it won't do any harm." "But you mustn't let the Baxters get an inkling of what is up." For the present the captain was not in sight, having retired to the stern to consult Arnold Baxter upon several points. They remained on deck until noon, when the cook called them to dinner in the cabin. They found they were to dine with Captain Langless. "I asked the Baxters to join us, but they declined," he observed, as they sat down. "Now I am not so high-toned." "You mean you are not such a fool," returned Dick. "For myself, I am glad they are staying away. My meal would be spoiled if I had to eat with them." "They are very bitter against you, that's certain," went on the owner of the schooner smoothly. "They want me to do all sorts of mean things. But I have declined. I am playing a game with them, but I want to do it as becomes a man." Dick looked around, to see that no outsider was within earshot. "Why do you play the game with them, Captain Langless?" he whispered. The owner of the schooner frowned. "Well, one must make a living, if you want an answer," he returned shortly. "True, but you might make a living more honestly." "By helping us, for instance," added Tom. "By helping you?" "Yes, by helping us," resumed Dick. "I must say, lads, I don't quite understand you." The captain looked at them sharply, as if anxious for either to proceed. "Let us review the situation," continued the eldest of the Rovers. "In the first place, we take it that you have been hired by the Baxters to do a certain thing." "Granted." "The Baxters have promised to pay you for your work and for the use of your vessel." "Granted again." "You are running on dangerous ground, and if you get tripped up it means a long term of imprisonment." "You are a clever fellow, Rover, and your school training does you credit. However, I don't know as any of us expect to get tripped up." "No criminal does until he is caught." "There may be something in that. But I am willing to take my chances. As the old saying goes: 'Nothing ventured, nothing gained.'" "But wouldn't you rather venture on the right side?" "You want me to come to terms; is that it?" "We do. We can make it worth your while, if you will help us and help bring the Baxters to justice. Do you know that Arnold Baxter is an escaped convict, who got out of a New York prison on a forged pardon?" "No, I know very little of the man." "He is a bad one, and his son is little better. Standing in with them is a serious business. I don't know much about you, but you don't look like a man who is bad by choice." At this the captain of the _Peacock_ let out a light laugh. "You talk as if you were a man of deep experience instead of a mere boy." "I have had some experience, especially with bad folks--not only in this country, but in Africa, so that gives me an age not counted by years. To my mind it seems that a man ought to be more willing to make money honestly than dishonestly." A long silence followed this speech. "Tell me what you have to offer," said the captain, and leaned back in his chair to listen. CHAPTER XIII. PRISONERS THREE. It was easy to see that Captain Langless was "feeling his way," as the saying is, and Dick felt that he must go slow or he might spoil everything. Criminals are of all shades and degrees, and look at affairs in a different light from honest men. It is said that some would rather be dishonest than honest, and Dick did not yet know how the owner of the _Peacock_ stood on that point. "Perhaps you had better tell us first what Arnold Baxter has offered you," said the elder Rover, as he looked the owner of the schooner squarely in the eyes. "Well, he has offered considerable, if his schemes go through." "And if they fail you get nothing." "I am a good loser--so I shan't complain." "Supposing I was to offer you several hundred dollars if you saw us safe on shore." "How can you offer any money? You haven't got it with you, have you?" "No. But I could get the money, and what I promised to pay I would pay." "But several hundred dollars wouldn't be enough." "If you helped to bring the Baxters to justice we might make it a thousand dollars," put in Tom, who was now as anxious as Dick to bring the captain to terms. At the mention of a thousand dollars the eyes of Captain Langless glistened. The sum was not large, but it was sufficient to interest him. He had already received three hundred dollars from Arnold Baxter, as a guarantee of good faith, so to speak, but there was no telling how much more he could expect from that individual. If he could obtain thirteen hundred dollars all told, and get out of the affair on the safe side, he might be doing well. "How would you pay this thousand dollars?" he asked. "Our father would pay it. He is a fairly rich man, and anxious to see Arnold Baxter returned to prison." "To get the man out of his path?" "Partly that, and partly to see justice done. Come, what do you say?" Before the captain could answer there came a call down the companion way. "Two vessels in sight--a schooner and a steam tug," announced a sailor. "Coming this way?" asked the master of the schooner. "Aye, sir." Captain Langless arose at once. "I will have to ask you to step into the hold again," he said politely, but firmly. "I will talk over what you have offered later." He motioned to the passageway leading to the hold. Sam was on the point of objecting, but Dick silenced him with a look. "All right, we'll go," grumbled Tom. "But I'm going to take the dessert with me," and he took up a bowl of rice pudding and a spoon. Dick followed with a pitcher of water and a glass, at which the captain had to grin. As soon as they were in the hold the owner of the schooner bolted the door and fixed it so that it might not again be opened from the inside. "Two ships in sight!" cried Sam, when they were alone. "We ought to have made a dash for liberty." "It wouldn't have helped us," answered his oldest brother. "Those vessels must be some distance away, and before they came up we would be down here, handcuffed, and in disgrace with the captain. If we treat him right, we may win him over and finish the Baxters' game." Sitting in the darkness they took their time about eating the rice pudding, and Dick placed the water where it could be found when wanted. Then they listened for the approach of the two vessels which the lookout had sighted. Yet hour after hour went by and nothing of importance reached their ears. The vessels came up and passed them, and then the _Peacock_ turned in for the mouth of the Detroit River. Soon the boys knew, by the steam whistles and other sounds, that the schooner was approaching some sort of harbor. A dreary evening and night followed. The _Peacock_ came to a standstill, and they heard the sails come down and the anchors dropped. But nobody came to them, and they had to sink to rest supperless. They remained awake until after midnight, then dozed off one after another. When they awoke a surprise awaited them. The hold was lit up by the rays of a bright lantern hung on a hook near the door leading to the cabin passageway. Below the lantern stood a tray filled with eatables, and near at hand was a bucket of fresh water and half a dozen newspapers and magazines. "By Jinks, this is not so bad!" observed Tom. "We are to have breakfast, that's certain." "And reading to occupy our spare time," added Sam. Dick, however, looked at the layout with a fallen face. "I don't like it," he said. "This looks too much as if the captain and the others meant to keep us here for some time." "I suppose that's so," came from Tom, and then he, too, looked crestfallen. "Well, let us make the best of it," said Sam, and began to eat, and the others did the same. Since time seemed no object they ate slowly, in the meantime reviewing the situation from every possible standpoint, but without arriving at any satisfactory conclusion. They had allowed their watches to run down, so there was no telling what time it was. But at last a faint streak of sunshine, coming through a seam in the deck, told that it must be near noon. Yet no one came near them, and all was as silent, close at hand, as a tomb, although in the distance they heard an occasional steam whistle or other sound common to a great city. There was nothing in the hold by which to reach the hatchway, but, growing weary of waiting, Tom dragged a box hither and asked Dick and Sam to stand upon it. Then he climbed on their shoulders, to find his head directly against the beams of the deck. He pushed with all of his strength on the hatch, to find it battened down on the outside. "Stumped!" he cried laconically, and leaped to the floor of the hold. "We are prisoners and no mistake." After this they went back to the door leading to the cabin. But this likewise could not be moved, and in the end they sat down a good deal discouraged. It was well toward night when they heard a noise at the door. As they leaped up, expecting to see the Baxters or Captain Langless, the barrier opened and the cook of the schooner appeared, backed up by two of the sailors. The cook had another trayful of food, which he passed to Dick in silence, taking the other tray in exchange. "Where is Captain Langless?" asked Tom. "Can't come now," answered the cook. "Then send the Baxters here." "They can't come either." "Have they gone ashore?" questioned Dick. "I can't answer any questions," and the cook started to back out. "Who is in charge? We must see somebody." "I am in charge," said a rough voice, and now the mate of the schooner thrust himself forward. "You had better be quiet until the cap'n gits back." "Then he has gone ashore?" "Yes, if you must know." "And the Baxters with him." "Yes, but all hands will be back soon." "Are we in Detroit harbor?" "Yes." "Then I'm for escaping!" shouted Tom, and taking up the water pitcher he aimed it at the mate's head. The blow struck fairly, and the sailor went down, partly stunned. Seeing the success of his move Tom leaped for the passageway, and Dick and Sam followed their brother. CHAPTER XIV. DICK MAKES HIS ESCAPE. There are times when a movement made on the spur of the moment is more successful than one which is premeditated. The enemy is taken completely off guard and does not realize what is happening until it is over. It was so in the present instance. The mate of the _Peacock_ was a tough customer and a heavy-built man, and the men behind him were also large, and none of the three had imagined that the boys would really undertake to combat them. As the mate went down Tom leaped directly on top of him, thus holding him to the floor for the moment, and then struck out for the nearest man, hitting him in the chin. Then Dick came to his brother's aid with a blow that reached the sailor's ear, and he too fell back. But the third man had a second to think, and he retaliated by a blow which nearly lifted poor Tom off his feet. But before he could strike out a second time, Sam, with the nimbleness of a monkey, darted in and caught him by one leg. Dick saw the movement, gave the sailor a shove, and the tar pitched headlong in the passageway. The opening was now tolerably clear, and away went the three boys for the cabin, gaining the compartment before any of the men could follow. The door to the companion way was open, and up the steps they flew with all the speed at their command. They heard the sailors yell at them and use language unfit to print, but paid no heed. Their one thought was to put distance between themselves and those who wished to keep them prisoners. "Stop! stop!" roared the mate. "Stop, or it will be the worse for you!" "I guess we know what we are doing!" panted Tom. "Come on!" And he caught Sam by the arm. The deck gained, they gave a hasty look around. The schooner was lying at anchor about a hundred yards from shore, at a short distance above the busy portion of the city. "There ought to be a small boat handy," said Dick, leading the way to the stern. "We can't wait for a boat," answered Sam. "Let us swim for it. Perhaps somebody will come and pick us up." And without further ado he leaped overboard. Seeing this, his brothers did likewise, and all three struck out boldly for the nearest dock. It was a risky thing to do, with all their clothing on, but each was a good swimmer and the weather had made the water very warm. On they went, keeping as closely together as possible. "Are you coming back?" furiously yelled the mate, as he reached the rail and shook his fist at them. To this none of the boys made reply. "If you don't come back I'll shoot at you," went on the man. "Do you think he will shoot?" asked Sam, in alarm. "No," answered Dick. "We are too close to the city, and there are too many people who would hear the shot." "A boat is putting off from the shore," said Tom, a second later. "It contains three persons." "Captain Langless and the Baxters!" burst out Dick. "Dive, and swim as hard as you can down the stream." All promptly dove, and the weight of their clothing kept them under as long as they pleased to remain. When they came up they heard the mate yelling frantically to those in the boat, who did not at once comprehend the turn affairs had taken. [Illustration: CAPTAIN LANGLESS CAUGHT HIM BY THE HAIR] But when they saw the boys they began to row toward them with all swiftness. "We must recapture them," cried Arnold Baxter. "If they get away, our cake will be dough." "Then row as hard as you can," replied Captain Langless. He was at one pair of oars while Arnold Baxter was at another. Dan sat in the bow. Slowly, but surely, the craft drew closer to the Rover boys, until it was less than a hundred feet off. Then it was seen that the lads had separated and were moving in three directions. Dick had ordered this. "If we separate, they won't catch all of us," were his words. "And whoever escapes can inform the authorities." On pushed the boys, striving as never before to gain the shore before the rowboat should come up to them. The small craft headed first for Tom, and presently it glided close to him. He promptly dove, but when he came up Captain Langless caught him by the hair. "It's no use, lad," said the captain firmly, and despite his struggles hauled him on board. "Let me go!" roared Tom and kicked out lively. But the captain continued to hold him down, while Arnold Baxter now headed the boat toward Sam. Sam was almost exhausted, for the weight of his wet garments was beginning to tell upon him. As the rowboat came closer he also thought to dive, but the effort almost cost him his life. He came up half unconscious, and only realized in a dim, uncertain way what was happening. But the capture of Tom and his younger brother had taken time, and now those in the rowboat saw that Dick was almost to shore. To take him, therefore, was out of the question. "We'll have to let him go," said Captain Langless. "The quicker the _Peacock_ gets out of this the better." "Yes, but if he gets away he'll make the ship no end of trouble," returned Arnold Baxter. "I've half a mind to fire at him," and he drew a pistol. "No! no! I won't have it," cried the captain sternly. "To the schooner, and the quicker the better." Holding Tom, he made the Baxters turn the boat about and row to the _Peacock_. The mate was waiting for him, and it did not take long to get on board. The mate wished to explain matters, but Captain Lawless would not listen. "Another time, Cadmus," he said sharply. "Into the hold with them, and see they don't get away again. We must up sail and anchor without the loss of a minute. That boy who got away is going to make trouble for us." "Aye, aye, sir!" said Cadmus, and dragged the unfortunates away to the hatch. He dropped both down without ceremony, and then saw to it that hatch and door were tightly closed and made fast. In a few minutes the anchors were up and the sails hoisted, and the _Peacock_ was steering straight up Lake St. Clair toward the St. Clair River. To reach Lake Huron the schooner would have to cover a distance of seventy-five to eighty miles, and the captain wondered if this could be done ere the authorities got on their track. "Once on Lake Huron we will be safe enough," he observed to Arnold Baxter. "I know the lake well, and know of half a dozen islands near the Canadian shore where we will be safe in hiding." "But that boy may telegraph to St. Clair or Port Huron, or some other point, and have the _Peacock_ held up," answered Arnold Baxter. "We've got to run that risk," was the grim reply. "If we get caught, I'll have an account to settle with Cadmus." A while later the mate and the sailors who had been with him were called into the cabin, so that Captain Langless might hear what they had to say. The mate told a long story of how the boys had broken open the door leading to the cabin, with a crowbar, obtained from he knew not where, and had fought them with the bar and with a club and a pistol. There had been a fierce struggle, but the lads had slipped away like eels. The sailors corroborated the mate's tale, and added that the boys had fought like demons. "I'll fix them for that," said Arnold Baxter, when he heard the account. "They'll find out who is master before I get through with them." But this did not suit Captain Langless, who had not forgotten his talk with the Rovers at the dinner table. If it looked as if he was going to be cornered, he thought that a compromise with Tom and Sam would come in very handy. "You mustn't mistreat the boys," he said, when Cadmus and the other sailors were gone. "It won't help your plot any, and it will only cause more trouble." "You seem to be taking the affair out of my hands," growled Arnold Baxter. "I know I am running a larger risk than you," answered the captain. "I own this craft, and if she is confiscated I'll be the loser." "But see what I have offered you." "Yes, if we win out, as the saying goes. But things won't be so nice if we lose, will they?" "I don't intend to lose. I have a scheme on hand for getting to Lake Huron before to-morrow morning." "By what means?" "Hire a large and swift tug to haul the _Peacock_. We can make splendid time, considering that the schooner is without a cargo." "Who is going to pay the towing bill?" "How much will it be?" "The kind of tug you want will cost about fifty dollars." "All right then, I'll pay the bill." The idea pleased the captain, and the bargain was struck then and there. Half an hour later a tug was sighted and hailed, and the captain told a story of a "rush job" waiting for him at Port Huron. A bargain was struck for the towing, and soon a hawser was cast over to the schooner and the race for Lake Huron began. CHAPTER XV. WHAT THE LAME MAN KNEW. Dick was not aware that his brothers had been captured until some hours after the sailing of the schooner. He headed for a part of the river where several small craft were moving about, and was just about to climb up the spiling of one of the docks when a lighter hit him and knocked him senseless. "We've struck a boy!" shouted a man on the lighter, and then rushed forward with a boathook. As soon as he caught sight of Dick he fished the youth from the water and hurried ashore with him. The shock had not been a heavy one, but the lad was weak from swimming with his clothes on, and he lay like a log on the flooring of the dock. This alarmed the men from the lighter, and they hastily carried him to a nearby drug store and summoned a doctor. From the drug store he was removed to the hospital. When he was strong enough to go about his business he found it was night. Yet he lost no time in making his way to the docks, on a search for his brothers. The search was, of course, useless, and much depressed in spirits he found himself, at sunrise, on the waterfront, seated on the stringpiece of one of the long piers. "They must have either been captured or drowned," he mused dismally. "And the _Peacock_ is gone, too. What shall I do next?" It was far from an easy question to answer, and he sat motionless for the best part of half an hour, reviewing the situation. Then he leaped up. "I must get the authorities to aid me," he thought. "I should have done this before." He walked along the docks until he came to a street leading to the nearest police station. He now realized that he was hungry, but resolved to postpone eating until he had put the authorities on the track of the evildoers. As he was turning a corner he almost ran into a colored man going in the opposite direction. The colored man stared at him, then let out a wild cry of delight. "Massah Dick, or is I dreamin'?" "Aleck, by all that's wonderful! Where did you come from?" "From de yacht, ob course, Massah Dick. But--but--dis knocks dis niggah, suah! I dun fink yo' was on dat udder ship." "I was on it, but I escaped yesterday, while the schooner lay in the river yonder." "An' where am Tom and Sam, sah?" "That I don't know. They left the vessel with me, but we became separated in the water." "Perhaps da dun been cotched ag'in," and Pop's face took on a sober look. "That is what I am afraid of." "Didn't see nuffin ob 'em nowhere?" "No. I was hit by a lighter and knocked senseless." "Whar's dat dar _Peacock_?" "Gone, too." "Wot you spects to do?" "I was going to inform the authorities. We must find Tom and Sam." "Dat's right, sah." "Where is the _Swallow_?" "Tied up jest below heah, sah. Dat dar Luke Peterson is a-sailin' ob her wid me." "Good. Perhaps he can help us in the search. He knows these waters well, so he told me." Together the pair made their way to the police station, where they told their stories to the officer in charge. An alarm was at once sent out, and the river police were set to work to learn what had become of the _Peacock_ and her crew. But all this took time, and it was past noon when word came in that the schooner had been seen moving up Lake St. Clair on the afternoon of the day before. Then word was telegraphed to Port Huron to stop the craft, and on his own responsibility Dick offered a reward of one hundred dollars for the capture of ship and master. But all this came too late. Losing no time, Captain Langless had had his craft towed to a point fifteen miles beyond Port Huron, and had then let the tug go, and steered a course known only to those on board. The tug did not return to Port Huron until the next day, and its captain did not know how much the _Peacock_ was wanted until twenty-four hours later. Thus the schooner obtained a free and clear start of thirty-six hours over those who were in pursuit. "We are stumped," groaned Dick, when word came back from Port Huron that the _Peacock_ had passed that point long before. "That schooner now has the whole of Lake Huron before her, and there is no telling where she will go. Perhaps the Baxters will land in Canada." "I don't think so," answered Luke Peterson. "American vessels coming in-shore are closely watched, you know, on account of the smuggling that is carried on." "Then the smugglers between the United States and Canada are still at work." "Indeed they are, more so than the average American has any idea of. I used to be in the customs service, and I know." "Where do you suppose Captain Langless will go to?" "Ah, that's a question, Rover. The lake is over two hundred miles long, and I've heard tell that there are over twenty-five hundred islands, large and small. That's a pretty good place for a ship to hide in, eh?" "And you reckon the _Peacock_ will go into hiding?" "More than likely, while these Baxters carry out their little game--that is, providing your brothers are on board--and I fancy they are. I can tell ye, I fancy they are a tough crowd all around." "Well, one comfort, the _Peacock_ won't get very far anywhere along shore without being spotted, for the police have sent the news to all principal places." "Well, that's a good plan. Now if we could only follow that schooner up--" "Will you go with me in a hunt? I will willingly pay you for your services." "I will. But we ought to have a steam tug instead of a yacht." "I will charter one. I have already telegraphed to my father for the necessary funds," returned Dick, and he told the truth. The long telegram had gone an hour before. He had also sent word to Larry Colby, telling of the turn of affairs. The telegram to Mr. Rover brought a characteristic reply, running as follows: "I send you the money you want. Be careful and keep out of danger. Will come on by the first train." The message to Larry Colby brought that student up to Detroit on the first train from Sandusky. "I know just the steam tug you want," said Larry, when the situation was explained. "It is rum by old Jack Parsons, who knows my father well. I know he will do all he can for you, if he is paid for his time." Larry Colby undertook to hunt up the tug, which was named the _Rocket_, and found her tied up at one of the city docks. He introduced Dick, and before the hour was out a bargain was struck with Jack Parsons which was satisfactory all around. Parsons knew Luke Peterson, and said he would be glad to have the lumberman along on the hunt. "He knows this lake as well as I do, and between us we ought to find the _Peacock_, sooner or later," said Parsons. He had heard about the raft disaster on Lake Erie, and was pleased to be able to inform Peterson that his friend Bragin was safe. The tug, however, which had been towing the raft, was laid up in Buffalo for repairs. At first Dick thought to remain in Detroit until his father's arrival, but then he realized that it would be best for one of them to remain on shore while the other went on the hunt on the lake. "We will sail at once," he said to his companions, but this could not be, since Aleck had not yet provided all of the necessary provisions for the trip. While the colored man was completing his arrangements a newsboy came to Dick with a note, running as follows: "If you want news of the _Peacock_, and will promise not to harm me, come with the boy to the old grain elevator. The boy knows the place." Dick read the note with interest, and then showed it to Peterson. "Perhaps it's a trap," said the lumberman. "I wouldn't go alone, if I were you." "I will go," answered Dick, "but I wish you would follow me up on the quiet," and so it was arranged. When Dick reached the place mentioned he found it practically deserted. "Who gave you that note?" he asked of the newsboy. "A man. Here he comes, now." The newcomer proved to be a lame man, who had in former years been a sailor. He lived in a shanty behind the grain elevator, and he came to Dick with difficulty. "Come into my shanty and I'll tell you what I know," said the lame man. "I'll not hurt you, so don't be afraid," and he hobbled off again. Waving his hand to Peterson, who was in the distance, Dick followed the lame man and sat down on a bench in front of the shanty, the odd individual seating himself on a stool opposite. "Want to find Captain Gus Langless, eh?" said the lame man, closing one eye suggestively. "Yes." "I read of the case in the papers. He's a bad un, eh?" "What do you know of the case?" demanded Dick impatiently. He realized that he had a decidedly queer individual with whom to deal. "Know everything; yes, sir, everything. Jock Pelly don't keep his ears open for nothing, not me. An' I said to myself when I read the papers, 'Jock, you've learned something of value--you must sell the news,' says I to myself." "But what do you know?" "Gettin' to that, sir; gettin' there fast, too. Did you offer a reward of a hundred dollars?" "Yes." "Who's going to pay that amount? It's a pile of money, a hundred dollars is." "It will be paid, you can be easy on that point." "Well, supposin' a man is lame and can't go after those rascals? What does he git for puttin' somebody on the track?" "If you put me on the right track, I'll give you fifty dollars." "Dead certain?" "Yes. Now where has the _Peacock_ gone to?" "Needle Point Island," was the abrupt answer. "Go there, an' you'll find the _Peacock_ and her crew, sure." CHAPTER XVI. OFF FOR NEEDLE POINT ISLAND. "Needle Point Island?" repeated Dick. "Exactly, sir--Needle Point Island. Most of the lake pilots know it." "How far is it from here?" "About sixty miles." "And how do you know the _Peacock_ has gone there?" "Overheard Captain Langless talking about it, yes, sir--overheard him talking to a man named Baxter and a man named Grimsby--he as used to be a smuggler. Langless used to be in with Grimsby, although few know o' that. They talked a lot, but that wouldn't interest you. But the fact that they are goin' to Needle Point Island interests you, eh?" "When did you hear this talk?" "The morning you escaped from the schooner, accordin' to the newspaper." "Where did you hear it?" "Up on the other side of the elevator. The men came out of one o' the saloons to talk it over." A long conversation followed, and Dick became more than half convinced that what Jock Pelly had to relate was true. The man described the Baxters clearly, showing that he had really seen the pair, and also described Captain Langless' appearance on the morning in question. "I will follow up this clew," Dick said, when ready to depart. Jock Pelly caught the youth by the arm. "Hold on!" "What do you want now?" "My reward. Don't I get that fifty dollars?" "You do, if I catch the captain and his schooner." "That aint fair--I ought to have the money now." "I must prove what you have told me first You may be all wrong in your suppositions." Jock Pelly's face fell. "'Taint fair--I ought to have the money now. Maybe you won't ever come back." "Don't alarm yourself, my man. If the information is of real value, you'll get paid for it. Here is something on account." Dick slipped a five-dollar bill into the old man's hand, at which Jock Pelly's face relaxed. A few minutes later the elder Rover had joined Luke Peterson and was telling the lumberman what he had heard. "Needle Point Island!" exclaimed Peterson. "Yes, I know the spot Years ago it was a great hanging-out place for smugglers. But our government cleaned out the nest." "Then it is likely that this man told the truth?" "I don't know as Captain Langless could find a better hiding place. The island is in the shape of a five-leaf clover, and the bays are all surrounded with tall trees and bushes, so that a vessel could be hidden there without half trying. Besides that, the island is a rough one, full of caves and openings, and that would just suit a crowd holding those boys prisoners." When the pair reached the _Rocket_ a consultation was held, and it was decided to start for Needle Point Island on the following morning. Jack Parsons said it would take from five to six hours to reach the locality. Now that Dick had received what he thought was definite information, he was anxious to go to the island that had been mentioned, consequently the night proved a long and sleepless one to him. He awaited further news from his father, but none came. But information did come which disturbed him not a little. He was speaking to Larry before retiring, and from one thing to another the conversation drifted around to Mrs. Stanhope, the widow who lived near Putnam Hall, and her pretty daughter Dora. As old readers know Dick was tremendously interested in pretty Dora, and had done much to keep her from harm. "Before I came on, I heard that the Stanhopes had started on a trip for the lakes," said Larry. "They left Cedarville secretly, and I got the news quite by accident from Frank Harrington, who happened to see them off." "I knew they were going, sooner or later," replied Dick. "Mrs. Stanhope was rather ill, as you know, and needed a change of some sort." "I was wondering if she didn't want to get out of the way of Josiah Crabtree, who is just out of prison," continued Larry. "Oh, but wasn't he a slick one for getting around the widow--when he learned she was holding all that money in trust for Dora." "He's something of a hypnotist, Larry--that is why Dora fears him. She is afraid he will hypnotize her mother into doing something she will be sorry for afterward." "Do you really suppose he has so much influence as that?" "He has when Mrs. Stanhope is not feeling well. The stronger she is, the less he seems to affect her. By the way, have you heard from old Crabtree since he was let out of jail?" "Yes; some of us boys met him at Ithaca one Saturday. We started to have a little fun with him, asking him why he didn't come back to the Hall and ask Captain Putnam for another position, and how he liked live crabs in his bed. But he flew in a rage and threatened to have us all arrested if we didn't clear out, so we had to drop it. But I'll tell you one thing, Dick; I'll wager Crabtree's up to no good." "Oh! he might possibly turn over a new leaf." "Not he; it isn't in him. He was always a sneak, like Baxter, only a bit more high-toned, outwardly." "I am anxious to know if he is aware where the Stanhopes have gone to?" "I think he could find out if he tried hard. They made a mistake that they didn't go traveling before he got out of jail." "They couldn't go, on account of Mrs. Stanhope's health. She had a relapse just about the time Crabtree's term was up. But he had better not bother them again, or--" "Or what, Dick? Will you get after him again?" "I will if I can, and I'll send him to jail for the rest of his life." The _Rocket_ was to sail at six in the morning, and long before that time Dick and Larry, with the others, were on board. Jack Parsons reached the tug at the last moment, having had some private business which required his attention. The day was fair, with a stiff breeze blowing, which was good for the _Peacock_, as Dick observed, if she was still sailing the waters of the lake. Jack Parsons knew Needle Point Island as well as did Luke Peterson, and the former said he had stopped at the place only a few months before. "I thought it was deserted," he said. "The old cave the smugglers used to use was tumbled in and overgrown with brush." The run to Port Huron occurred without incident, and a little while later the _Rocket_ was steaming merrily over the clear waters of Lake Huron. Had it not been for his anxiety concerning his two brothers, Dick would have enjoyed the scene very much. The _Rocket_ was a fine tug, and cut the water like a thing of life. She carried a crew of five, all young and active fellows. This made the party eight, all told, and as Dick and his friends were armed and the tug boasted of several pistols, a gun, and a small cannon, those on board felt themselves able to cope with the enemy, no matter what occurred. "We can't get there any too soon for me," said Dick to Luke Peterson. "There is no telling how cruelly Sam and Tom are being treated, now that they made the attempt to run away." "I hope your father doesn't give the rascals any money before we have a chance to catch them," returned the lumberman. "I think he will wait to hear from me, after he reads the letter I left for him at Detroit. He is as down on the Baxters as I am." "When we come in sight of the island we'll have to move with caution," went on the lumberman. "If we don't, Captain Langless may lay low and give us the slip in the dark." "Are there any other islands close to Needle Point?" "A dozen of them, and some with just as good hiding places, too. That's why the smugglers used to hang out in that locality. They are ideal places for smugglers' caves and the like, I can tell ye that," and Luke Peterson nodded his head sagaciously. At noon Parsons announced that they were within three miles of Needle Point Island. Dinner was ready, but it must be confessed that Dick was almost too excited to eat. Half a dozen vessels had thus far been sighted, but not one which looked like the _Peacock_. He was finishing up a hasty repast when a cry came from the deck. "Needle Point Island is in sight!" announced the lookout, and a moment later he added: "A schooner bearing away to the bay on the east end!" "It must be the _Peacock_!" ejaculated Dick, and rushed to the deck to learn the truth. CHAPTER XVII. A CAVE AND A SNAKE. "Now we are in for it, Sam. They won't give us a second chance to escape." A groan was the answer, coming from out of the darkness of the hold of the _Peacock_. Sam was too much stunned and bruised to reply to the words from his brother. The two boys had been hustled on board of the schooner with scant ceremony, and now they found themselves bound and handcuffed, so that it was next to impossible for either of them to move. Hour after hour had passed, yet nobody had come near them. "I reckon they are going to starve us to death for what we did," went on Tom, after a long pause. "If only I had a drink of water," came at last from his younger brother. "My mouth is as dry as a chip, and I seem to have a regular fever." "Make the best of it, Sam," returned Tom soothingly. "This state of things can't last forever. If they--Oh!" The schooner had suddenly tacked in the strong wind, and the bowling over of the empty craft had caused Tom to take a long roll. He struck up against his brother, and the pair went sliding to the end of the hold, to hit a jug of water which had been left there in the darkness. "Hurrah, some water!" cried Tom, as some of the fluid splashed over his hand. But, alas! how were they to get at what was left of the contents of the jug, with their hands tied behind them? But time was no object, and at last they solved the problem. At first Tom backed up to the jug and held it, though clumsily, for Sam to drink, and then the youngest Rover did the same for his brother. The water was warm and somewhat stale, yet both could remember nothing which had ever tasted sweeter to them. They drank about half of what the jug contained, then set the rest carefully away for future use. The _Peacock_ was bowling along at a speed of seven or eight knots an hour, and the creaking of the blocks attested the fact that Captain Langless was making every effort to reach his destination as soon as possible. Once the boys heard somebody at the forward hatchway, and presently the hatch was lifted for a few inches. "Hope you are enjoying yourselves down there," came in the sarcastic tones of Dan Baxter. To this they made no answer, and the hatch was closed as quickly as it had been opened. "The brute," muttered Tom. "I'd give a good deal to be able to punch his nose!" "He evidently thinks himself on top to stay," came from Sam, who had propped himself up against an empty cask. "Oh, if only we knew what had become of Dick!" he went on. "Dick must have escaped. I don't see how it could be otherwise." "But if he did, why didn't he notify the authorities?" "The _Peacock_ must have given the river police the slip; that's the only answer I can make, Sam." "But they could have telegraphed to different points." "Well, I can't make it out, and we'll have to take what comes." "Where do you suppose we are bound?" "I haven't the least idea." Hour after hour went by, and still nobody came to them. It did, indeed, look as if they were to be starved to death. But just as Sam was almost fainting for the want of food, the door to the cabin passageway was flung open, and Captain Langless appeared with a lantern, followed by Arnold Baxter, who carried a tray containing a plate of bread and two bowls of beef stew. "Hungry, I'll wager," said the captain laconically. All the pleasantness he had previously exhibited had vanished. "You ought to be ashamed of yourselves to let us starve so long," replied Tom, who never hesitated to speak his mind. "Hi! don't talk that way, or you shall have nothing," cried Arnold Baxter. "We are masters, and you must understand it so." The captain set down the lantern and released the right hand of each of the prisoners. Then the tray was set upon an upturned box, and they were told to eat what they wanted, the captain and Arnold Baxter sitting down to watch them. There was no use to "stand upon then dignity," as Tom afterward expressed it, so they fell to without protest, and it must be confessed that the stew was just what their stomachs, in that weakened state, needed. It did not take long to get away with the larger portion of the bread and all of what the bowls contained. "You can thank your stars that you got meal," said Arnold Baxter. "You don't deserve it." "According to you, I suppose we don't deserve anything but abuse," replied Tom. "But, never mind, Arnold Baxter; remember the old saying, 'He laughs best who laughs last.'" "I'm not here to listen to your back talk," growled Arnold Baxter. "Come, captain, let us be going," and he arose. "You've brought this treatment on yourselves," said the captain, with a shrewd look into the boys' faces. "I was of a mind to treat you kindly before. You know that." "Come," insisted Arnold Baxter, and caught the captain by the arm. "Don't waste words on them. There will be time enough to talk when we reach the island." And then the two walked off, closing and locking the passageway door after them. "The island?" repeated Sam. "Then they intend to take us to some lonely island, Tom!" "I wouldn't be surprised. I've noticed by the shafts of light coming through the cracks overhead that we are sailing northward. We must be in Lake Huron by this time." "One satisfaction, they left our right hands free," continued the youngest Rover. "And I must say that stew just touched the spot." Again the hours drifted slowly by. The boys had really lost all track of time. They dozed off and did not awaken until some time later. Whether they had slept through a night or not they did not know. Presently they heard the sails being lowered and an anchor go overboard. Then a boat put off from the _Peacock_, and for a while all became silent. "We must be close to some landing," was Tom's comment. "Perhaps it's the island old Baxter mentioned." Another half hour slipped by. Then the door to the cabin was opened, and both Baxters, Captain Langless, and the mate of the schooner appeared. "Get up," ordered the captain, and when they arose he saw to it that their lower limbs were released, but that their hands were bound more tightly behind them than ever. "We are going ashore," said Arnold Baxter, "Remember we want no treachery nor any attempt to run away. If you try either, somebody will get shot." With this caution they were marched into the cabin and then on deck. At first the strong light blinded them, but soon they became accustomed to this, and made out a small bay just ahead, surrounded by cedar trees and various bushes. Back of the trees was a hill, and off to the southward a rocky elevation ending in a needle-like point. It was this elevation which gave to the island the name of Needle Point. By the Indians of days gone by the island was called Arrow Head. A rowboat was in waiting beside the _Peacock_, and into this the prisoners were placed. The captain of the schooner and the Baxters also went along, and soon the rowboat had passed over the waters of the little bay and grounded on a bit of shelving beach. "Now we'll go ashore," said Captain Langless, and glad enough for the change, Tom and Sam leaped upon the beach. The others followed, and tying up the boat, the master of the _Peacock_ led the way through the trees and brush to the hill previously mentioned. Here there was a slight path, winding in and out among a series of rocks. "Where are you going to take us?" said Tom. "You'll find out soon enough," returned Arnold Baxter. "March." "Supposing I refuse?" "We'll knock you down and drag you along," put in Dan Baxter, anxious to say something. "You had better come along quietly," said Captain Langless. "To kick will only make you worse off." The march was resumed, and now they dove straight into the interior of the island, which was about a mile and a half long and half as wide. At some points the path was choked with weeds and trailing vines, and they progressed with difficulty. It must be admitted that Tom and Sam were very uneasy. They had felt that the authorities might follow the _Peacock_, but how would anybody ever discover them in such a lonely place as this? But there was no help for it, and on they went until Captain Langless called a sudden halt. They had gained a cliff running out from one end of the hill. The rocks arose in a sheer wall, thirty or more feet in height. At the base were a spring and a small pool of water. To the left of the spring was a cave-like opening, partly choked with brushwood. "Here we are," said the captain. "Watch them." He moved toward the opening and soon had a portion of the brushwood torn aside. Then he lit a lantern he had brought along and disappeared into the opening. He had scarcely passed from view when he let out a yell of fright. "A snake! Look out for him!" The words just reached the ears of Sam and Tom when the reptile appeared. He was all of five feet long and as thick as a man's wrist. "A snake!" screamed Dan Baxter, and took to his heels without waiting to see what the creature might do. Arnold Baxter was less frightened, and snatching a pistol from his pocket, he took hasty aim and fired. But his aim was poor, and the bullet flew wide of its mark. The snake was a dangerous one, and very much shot, and came straight for Tom and Sam. An instant later the savage reptile was coiling itself around the youngest Rover's left leg! CHAPTER XVIII. COFFEE FOR THREE. The situation was one which demanded instant action. The snake was a dangerous one, and very much aroused, and it might at any instant do Sam great harm. The poor boy was speechless and motionless, for the reptile had caught his eye and held him as by a spell. It was Tom who acted. Heedless of the danger, he leaped forward and aimed a kick at the snake's head. The reptile was caught fairly and squarely, and the head went down with an angry hiss. Then Tom stepped upon it, but the snake squirmed loose and uttered another hiss, louder than before. "Take him off! Take him off!" screamed Sam, now recovering his voice. "Don't let him bite me." He would have caught the snake himself, and so would Tom, but the hands of both were still tied behind them. By this time Captain Langless emerged from the cave, pulling out a pistol as he did so. Arnold Baxter had not offered to fire a second shot. Now, he was out of danger himself, he did not seem to care what became of the Rovers. Crack! crack! It was the captain's weapon which spoke up, and the two shots, fired in rapid succession, did their work thoroughly. The first took the snake in the neck and the second in the head, and in a twinkle the long, slippery body unwound itself from Sam's leg and began to turn and twist on the ground. "Good for you!" gasped Sam, when able to speak again. "Ugh! what an ugly thing!" And he retreated to the opposite side of the pool, along with Tom. "He was a nasty one," replied Captain Langless, as he coolly proceeded to reload his pistol. "I might have killed him in the cave, only the light was bad." "Is he--he dead?" came from behind some rocks, and Dan showed a white face and trembling form. "Yes, he's dead," answered Arnold Baxter. "I came pretty close to hitting him," he went on, bound to say something for himself. "I--I thought there was a whole nest of them," continued Dan. "If I had known there was only one, I would have stood my ground." "Of course--you always were brave," answered Tom sarcastically. "See here, Tom Rover, I don't want any of your back talk," howled the bully, his face turning red. "Come, don't quarrel now," said Captain Langless, so sternly that Dan subsided on the instant. "The question is, are there any more snakes in that cave?" "Send Dan in to investigate," suggested Sam, with just the faintest touch of his old-time light-heartedness. "Me?" ejaculated the individual mentioned. "Not me! I wouldn't go in there for a million dollars!" "Perhaps we had better find some other cave," said Arnold Baxter. "You said there were several around here." "This is as good as any," answered Captain Langless. "If you are afraid, I'll go in myself," and turning, he disappeared once more into the opening, lantern in one hand and pistol in the other. He was gone the best part of quarter of an hour, and came back covered with dust and dirt. "The old spot is pretty well choked up with rubbish," he said. "But there isn't a sign of another snake around, nor of any wild beasts. Come," and he motioned Sam and Tom to follow him. "I don't think it fair that you should leave us helpless," said Tom. "At least untie our hands and let us each get a good stick." "So you can fight us, eh?" cried Arnold Baxter. "We are not such fools." "You have your pistols," put in Sam. "And what could we do on a lonely island and without a boat?" "The lads are right--it's not fair to leave them helpless when there may be other danger at hand," interposed the captain. "If I unloosen you, will you promise not to run away?" "The promise would not amount to anything!" sniffed Dan. "We won't run away for the present," said Tom honestly. "But you can't expect me to remain a prisoner here--not if I can help myself." The candor of the youth compelled Captain Langless to laugh, and, taking out a knife, he cut the ropes which bound the lads' hands. "You won't need sticks, I am sure of it," he said. "Come, I will lead, and you"--nodding to the Baxters--"can bring up the rear." No more was said, and in a minute more all were inside of the cave, which proved to be fifteen feet wide, about as high, and at least two hundred feet long. At the lower end were a turn and a narrow passageway leading to the darkness beyond. The ceiling was rough, and the lantern cast long, dancing shadows over it as they advanced. Sam could not help but shiver, and Tom looked unusually sober. That the cave had once been used as a rendezvous of some sort was plainly evident. At the back was a rude fireplace, with a narrow slit in the rocks overhead, through which the smoke might ascend. Here were several half-burned logs of wood, and two tumble-down boxes which had evidently done duty as benches. On a stick stuck in a crack of the wall hung an old overcoat, now ready to fall apart from decay. "Rather unwholesome, I admit," said the captain, with a glance at the others. "But a roaring fire in yonder chimney-place will soon alter things. And when I've had one of the men bring some blankets and stores from the _Peacock_, it will be fairly comfortable." "Do you mean to keep us here?" demanded Tom. "We do," answered Arnold Baxter. "And you can thank your stars that you have not been taken to a worse place." "It's a jolly shame. Why don't you kill us off at once, and be done with it?" "Because you are worth more to us alive than dead." "We won't live long if you keep us here," put in Sam. "It's enough to give a fellow the ague." "We will start a fire without delay," said the captain, and then, turning to Arnold Baxter, he continued: "Can you find the way back to the ship?" "I think I can," returned the other. "Years ago I was used to tramping the gold regions of the West." "Then you had better go and tell the mate to bring along that stuff I mentioned before I left. You can easily carry the stuff between you. I'll build the fire and, with the aid of your son, watch the two prisoners." So it was arranged, although Arnold Baxter did not fancy the task of carrying stuff to be used for the Rovers' comfort. He left his pistol with Dan, who kept it in his hand, ready to shoot should Sam or Tom make the slightest movement toward getting away. As Captain Langless had said, the fire made the cave far more comfortable, taking away the feeling of dampness and lighting up all the nooks and corners. From a distance the boys heard a faint falling of water, and were told that it came from a spring hidden at the rear passageway. It was a good hour before Arnold Baxter returned, lugging a fair-sized bundle, and followed by the mate of the _Peacock_ with an even greater load. They had several blankets and a basket of provisions, and likewise a few cooking utensils. "Evidently out for a stay," muttered Tom, as he looked at the things. "They are for your use," was Captain Langless' grim reply. "After this I reckon you'll cook for yourselves." "Do you expect us to remain in this cave night and day?" "You'll remain whenever things look suspicious outside." "Then you'll let us go out otherwise?" "If you behave yourselves." It was not long before Tom and Sam were left in the cave alone. The mate of the schooner was placed at the entrance on guard, armed with the captain's own pistol. Then Captain Langless and the Baxters withdrew, talking earnestly. Tom and Sam could not catch the drift of the conversation, although they heard the words "by mail" and "we must get the cash" used several times. "They are bound to make money out of this affair, if they can," remarked Tom, when he and Sam were alone once more. "I've a good mind to knock that mate down and take the pistol from him," said Sam. "And get shot for your pains? Besides, if we took away the pistol and put him out of the fight, what next? We haven't any boat to get away in." "Yes, but I don't intend to remain here a prisoner forever." "No more do I, but we can do nothing just now. Let us see what kind of a meal we can make out of the provisions brought to us." The prospect of a meal brightened up both lads, and they set to work with a will, and soon had coffee made. There were bread and butter and some canned beef and beans, and they ate heartily. The mate sniffed the coffee, and remarked that it seemed good. "Have a cup," said Tom cheerily. "No funny work, boy," and Cadmus looked at the boys suspiciously. "No break like that you tried on me before." "No, I won't run, honor bright," answered Tom, and then the mate took the coffee and drank it with much satisfaction. As he set down the cup he gazed fixedly at both Tom and Sam for several seconds. Then he drew himself up as if he had come to some mental decision. "I've got a plan to propose," he said slowly. "Do you want to listen or not?" "What sort of a plan?" asked both. "A plan to get you out of the clutches of Captain Langless and those Baxters," was the answer, which filled Tom and Sam with deep and sudden interest. CHAPTER XIX. AN ASTONISHING DISCOVERY. "Are you willing to help us to get away?" cried Sam. "Under certain circumstances I am," replied the mate of the schooner. "Captain Langless didn't treat me square after you got away from me, and Andy Cadmus aint the tar to forget such a thing in a hurry." "What are your conditions?" asked Tom. "The conditions are two in number. In the first place, if I help you, will you promise, in case the plan falls through, that you will not tell Captain Langless what I did, but let him believe that you got away on your own hook?" "We'll promise that readily enough," answered Tom, and Sam nodded. "In the second place, if I get you away from them and see you to a place of safety, will you promise to help clear me in case those others are brought to trial?" "We will," came from both. "Is that all you want?" continued Tom. "Almost. But there is one other condition I forgot to mention." "I know what that is," said Sam. "It's money." "Correct, lad. It's money. I'm a poor man, and what little I have is on board the _Peacock_. Your father is rich. If I help you, it ought to be worth something to him." "How much?" asked Tom cautiously. "Well, say a couple of hundred dollars. I won't ask for too much." "You shall have the money," answered Tom quickly, "on condition you will aid us in bringing the Baxters to justice." "Then it's a bargain," and Andy Cadmus drew another long breath. "Now for the details of our plan." The mate sat down on a stone at the mouth of the cave and filled a pipe with tobacco, lit it, and fell to smoking thoughtfully. "The details ought to be simple enough," said Tom. "When you go back to the _Peacock_ you can take one of the small boats, stock her with provisions, and then go off in her. Then we can join you." "It won't work, unless you have a fight with whoever happens to be on guard here--and that may mean trouble for you. I have a better scheme." "What's that?" "To-night, when I'm on watch, I'll stock one of the small boats and take her to shore and hide her in the bushes. Then, when I'm on guard again here, we can all cut sticks and take to the little boat." "Will you carry out the plan to-night?" asked Sam. "If I can." So it was arranged, and then the three talked over the details. Cadmus said it was a good tern miles to the nearest point of the mainland, but that he was certain he could steer almost a straight course thither. A couple of hours later one of the sailors from the _Peacock_ came up, all out of breath, and told the mate to return to the schooner with all speed. "The cap'n wants ye," he said, but would not explain why. "What's the trouble?" asked Tom, when the sailor was on guard, but the newcomer refused to talk about the affair further than to say that he guessed Cadmus would not be back to do additional sentinel duty. "If that's the case, our plan to escape is knocked in the head," whispered Sam, as he and Tom withdrew to the fire. "Was ever there luck before!" "I move we try to escape without further delay," returned Tom. He was in a reckless mood. "Shall we tackle the guard?" "Let us try a bit of strategy," and then the pair held a whispered consultation lasting several minutes. Returning to the mouth of the cave Tom took up his position at one side and Sam on the other. Talking of things in general at first, they gradually put the sailor in good humor, and then turned on the subject of snakes. "That was a bad snake we killed," said Tom. "I sincerely hope there are no more around the cave." "Snakes are ugly things," said the sailor, shaking his head vigorously. "Ever see a sea serpent?" questioned Sam. "No. I reckon there aint none on the lakes, like there are in the ocean. I've got a cousin sails the Pacific. He's seen serpents lots o' times--on the shores of them far-off islands." "I don't believe a sea serpent is half as bad as a land snake," continued Sam. "Why, that snake was enough to give a fellow the jim-jams, he was so long and slimy, and had such a bad look in his blazing eyes. He wound right around my leg and was just going to strike, when-- My gracious! look at that snake behind you!" Worked up over what Sam was relating, and totally unconscious of the trick being played upon him, the sailor leaped up and turned around. As he did this, Tom came up behind him swiftly and pinioned his arms to his side. Then Sam rushed in and caught hold of the gun. "Hi, stop!" roared the sailor. "Let go! This aint fair nohow!" "Keep still, if you don't want to be shot," answered Tom. And he continued to hold the fellow, while Sam gave the gun a dexterous twist and got it loose. Then the youngest Rover aimed the weapon at the sailor's head. "Up with your hands," he said, as coolly as he could, although his heart was pumping like mad. Tom released his hold, and fearful of being shot, the sailor raised his hands as commanded. Then Tom picked up the ropes still lying near and proceeded to bind the sailor's legs together. The fellow wished to yell for help, but Tom's stern glance kept him silent. "Now what shall we do with him?" asked Sam. "Carry him into the cave," replied his brother. "Somebody else from the schooner is bound to come, sooner or later, and release him." "I don't want to go in with them snakes," said the tar. "Leave me out here." "There are no more snakes in there," said Tom. "We'll place you close to the fire, so you'll be comfortable and in no danger of either snakes or wild beasts." With this the boys lugged the sailor into the cave. They wasted no time, for there was no telling when some others of their enemies might put in an appearance. "Now which way?" asked Sam, when the pair were again outside. "I wonder how big this island is?" "Big enough for us to hide on, I imagine, Sam. Let us go in the opposite direction to which we came." They skirted the cliff and then plunged into the woods beyond. As they progressed Tom cautioned his brother to keep to the rocks as much as possible, in order that the trail might be hidden. It was still hot, and before long the exertion of climbing the rocks and picking their way through the dense underbrush told upon them. Coming to the top of a small hill, they halted. "Let us climb into yonder tree and rest," said Sam. "Perhaps we can see the _Peacock_ from that point." This seemed a good idea, and they moved to the very top of the tallest tree to be found. A grand view lay spread before their gaze. Close upon every side was the thickly wooded island, sloping gradually down to the lake, and beyond, as far as eye could reach, was the rolling water, sparkling brightly in the sunlight. To the northward Tom discovered a bit of greenery, which he rightly took for another island. But what interested them most was the appearance of a ship riding at anchor to the westward, in one of the several bays previously mentioned. It was a sailing vessel of fair size, carrying a single mast. "That's not the _Peacock_!" ejaculated Sam. "You're right!" cried Tom. "She's a stranger. Hurrah! Perhaps Dick has followed us up, after all!" "Anyway, we ought to find friends on that ship, Tom. Let us get to her as soon as possible." "I'm willing. But I must rest a bit, I'm so dead tired." "I wish we could get those on the strange ship to make the Baxters and Captain Langless prisoners." "Perhaps we can. But it will be a good deal to get out of the clutches of the enemy, even if we can't do any more." Feeling much elated over the discovery of the strange vessel, the boys rested for quarter of an hour, and then, descending to the ground, struck out rapidly once more through the woods and underbrush. As they proceeded Tom carried his pistol in his hand, in case some wild animal might start up in their path, but nothing of the sort came to view. As they came closer to the shore they found that the ground was wet and boggy, and they had to pick their way with care. Once Sam went into the soil up to his ankles, and dragged himself out only with great difficulty. Then they made a detour, coming out on the beach some distance below where the strange ship was anchored. Halting behind a convenient bush, they surveyed the ship with interest. On the deck they discovered a man and a lady. The lady was sitting in an easy-chair, and the man stood by, leaning on a railing. Both were talking earnestly. "Well I never!" came from Tom. "Sam, do you recognize those two people?" "I do," was the answer. "Josiah Crabtree and Mrs. Stanhope! How in the world did they get here?" [Illustration: HALTING BEHIND A CONVENIENT BUSH THEY SURVEYED THE SHIP WITH INTEREST.] CHAPTER XX. JOSIAH CRABTREE'S GAME. For the moment the boys were practically dumfounded. Josiah Crabtree and Mrs. Stanhope in this out-of-the-way place? What could it mean? "They are arguing about something," said Tom, after a long pause. "Hear how earnestly old Crabtree is talking to her?" "I wonder if Dora is with them." "I don't see anything of her." "What shall we do?" "I don't know--excepting to remain hidden until we learn how the land lays." The boys considered the situation for a while, and then, by turning back into the woods, managed to come up at a point still closer to the ship, which rested at anchor close to the trunk of a fallen tree. Here they could hear the most of what was being said, and could also obtain a fair look at the side of Mrs. Stanhope's face. Josiah Crabtree's back was turned to them. They noticed that Mrs. Stanhope's face wore a peculiar, drawn expression, like that of one who is walking in his sleep. "I'll wager he's been hypnotizing her again," whispered Tom. "Oh, what a rascal he is! Just as bad as the Baxters, every bit!" "I do not, cannot, understand it all," the lady was saying. "I thought Dora and I were to take this trip alone." "It will all be clear to you in a few days, Pet," returned the ex-school-teacher soothingly. He had lately gotten to calling the lady "Pet," although that was not her real name. "Where is my child now? I do not wish to remain on board without her." "She will be back soon; do not worry." "I thought the trip would do me much good," continued the lady, with a deep sigh. "But I am more feeble than ever, and I cannot think as clearly as I would wish." "It may be that this lake air is too strong for you, Pet. To-morrow we will take a run ashore. The village of Nestwood is close at hand, and I dare say I can find very good accommodations for you there." "Will Dora be with me?" "Perhaps." "I do not wish to go ashore without her. She always said we would be safe on the boat." "And you are safe." "But she didn't want me to--that is, she didn't expect you to be along." "She has changed her mind about that, Pet. I had a long talk with her and proved to her that she had been mistaken in me, and that I was not as black as painted." "But they put you in jail." "All a mistake, as I told you before. It was the work of those rascally Rover boys." "I like that," muttered Tom. "Isn't he a peach, though, for smoothing matters over?" "He has hypnotized her, beyond a doubt," returned Sam. "She would never believe him otherwise." "And what did Dora say?" went on Mrs. Stanhope, after a pause, during which Josiah Crabtree took a turn up and down the deck. "She is perfectly willing that we should marry, but under one condition." "And what is that?" "I hardly dare to tell you--it is so peculiar. She doesn't wish to be present at the ceremony." "Not present?" "No. She says it would not be right. That she very foolishly made a vow never to be present should you marry again, and that she must keep that vow. She feels her position keenly, but she won't break her vow." Such a statement would have aroused any ordinary woman, but Mrs. Stanhope appeared to be completely in Josiah Crabtree's power, and all she did now was to draw a long sigh and then wipe away a tear which stole down her pallid face. "I do not think it right that I should marry without Dora being present." "Pooh! If the girl wishes to remain away, let her do so. She will soon come to her senses and be glad of the way matters have turned." "You do not know Dora. She is very--very headstrong at times." "Yes, I do know her, Pet. She is headstrong, and greatly influenced by those Rover boys--especially by Dick Rover, who seems to be--ahem--somewhat smitten with her." "Dick always impressed me as being a good youth." "Good? He is anything but that. Why, if it wasn't for the Rovers, I would now have the finest boarding school for boys on Cayuga Lake. They spoiled all the plans I ever made. But they shall do so no longer. They cross my path again at their peril!" "The tragic old fraud!" whispered Tom. "I've a good mind to face him just where he stands." "Go slow! We dun't know who is on board of that ship." "Evidently friends to Crabtree, or they wouldn't let him hypnotize Dora's mother." "Where can Dora be?" "That remains to be found out." "I wonder where that ship hails from?" "One of the lake towns. She is an old vessel. There is the name--_Wellington_. That sounds as if she might be a Canadian." "Perhaps Crabtree got both of them into Canada and then cast Dora adrift." There was now a stir on the ship, and a fat old sailor came on deck. "How long you say we stay in dees island, hey?" he asked, in a strong French-Canadian accent. "We will sail as soon as the sun goes down," answered Josiah Crabtree. "I no lak to stay here," went on the sailor, "You no pay for to stay here." "I will pay you for your full time," answered the ex-school-teacher smoothly. "Do not worry on that account." "You go on de land, hey?" "I think not. We shall set sail for Nestwood, as I told you before." "Is Dora at Nestwood?" questioned Mrs. Stanhope. "I expect to meet her there. But she may not show up until after the wedding, my dear." "It is very, very strange," and Mrs. Stanhope sighed again. The fat old sailor now went below again, and after a few words more with Mrs. Stanhope Josiah Crabtree followed. "Now is our chance!" whispered Tom. "You stay here and I'll try to have a talk with Mrs. Stanhope in secret." So speaking, Tom crawled out upon the fallen tree trunk until he could reach a rope hanging over the _Wellington's_ side. Then he drew himself up silently. "Oh!" cried Mrs. Stanhope, on catching sight of him. "Is it really you, Tom Rover?" "Hush, Mrs. Stanhope! not so loud," he replied hastily. "I don't want to let Josiah Crabtree know I am here." "But where did you come from?" "From the island. It's a long story. I am here with Sam." "It is very strange. But many things of late have been strange." "May I ask how you happen to be here?" "That, too, is a long story. I was to take a trip with Dora, for the benefit of my health. But, on the way to the lakes Dora disappeared and Mr. Crabtree turned up in her place--and he has been with me ever since." "He wants to marry you, doesn't he?" "Yes, he has always wished that, as you know." "I wouldn't do it. He is after your money, and that is all. He is a fraud, and everybody knows it." Mrs. Stanhope passed her hand over her brow. Tom's blunt words did much to counteract Josiah Crabtree's strange influence over her. "Your words impress me deeply," she faltered. "Dora talks that way, too. But--but--Mr. Crabtree, when he is with me, makes me think so differently." She tried to get up, then sank back in her seat. "And I am so weak physically!" "Don't alarm yourself, Mrs. Stanhope. If you need a friend, I'll stand by you--and so will Sam." "Where is Dick? You boys are always together." "I don't know where he is at present. We were carried off by the Baxters, who are not far off." "The Baxters! Oh, I am afraid of those people--more afraid than I ever was of Mr. Crabtree." "They are certainly more daring, but no worse morally than Crabtree." Tom ran his hand through his curly hair in perplexity. "Who is aboard of this boat?" "Mr. Crabtree and myself, two sailors, and one of the sailors' wives, who has been waiting on me." "Not a very large crowd." "Mr. Crabtree said he did not wish too many along." "How long have you been here on the lake?" "Several days. I did not wish to go, but, but----" "He has an influence over you?" "Yes, a strange influence I cannot understand. Oh, I am so wretched!" And the lady suddenly burst into tears. "Don't, please don't!" said Tom, all sympathy at once. "It's Crabtree's work, and he shan't harm you. I'll see you safe back to Dora and home." "Will you?" she demanded eagerly. "I do not wish to marry unless Dora is pleased. She said----" Mrs. Stanhope got no further, for at that instant Josiah Crabtree reappeared on deck. His astonishment at seeing Tom can better be imagined than described. CHAPTER XXI. TOM BRINGS ONE ENEMY TO TERMS. "Am I dreaming?" gasped the former school-teacher, when he could command his voice sufficiently to speak. "You might better be dreaming, Josiah Crabtree," replied Tom, eying the man sharply. "This is a bad business you are engaged in." "Where did you come from?" "None of your business." "Don't be impertinent, young man." "Then don't try to pry into my private affairs." "Have you been following this boat?" questioned Crabtree nervously. "Never mind what I've been doing. I have found you out, and that appears to be a good job done." "Found me out? What do you mean to insinuate by that?" "I mean that you are up to no good; that's what I mean, Mr. Josiah Crabtree, A. M." "You are very, very----" "Don't try to abuse me, it won't work. I want to know what you propose to do with Mrs. Stanhope." "That is my affair--or, rather, it is the affair of that lady and myself--and does not concern such a scamp as you." "Oh, Josiah! I do not think Tom is a scamp," broke in Mrs. Stanhope, in a pleading voice. "He is a scamp, and worse, Pet. Allow me to deal with him alone." "So you thought to elope with Mrs. Stanhope," went on Tom sarcastically. "To elope without Dora being the wiser." "Ha! what do you know of Dora!" ejaculated the man, starting back in alarm. "I know a good deal." "Has she--ahem! followed me?" "Would that surprise you?" "It is--er--very extraordinary." Crabtree cleared his throat. "I--that is--where is she now?" And he looked around. "I told you I wasn't answering questions. But you had better take my advice and go slow, or you'll soon find yourself in jail again." "You must have followed us in a boat. Where is your craft?" "Another question which I am not answering. Do you surrender?" "Surrender?" "That is what I said." "I--er--don't understand." "The case is very simple. You ran off with Mrs. Stanhope, influencing her against her will to accompany you. Your game is to marry her so that you can get hold of the money she is holding in trust for Dora----" "It is false!" "It is the plain truth. Josiah Crabtree, you are a trickster of the first water, but if I can prevent your trickery I am going to do it." Tom turned to Mrs. Stanhope, who was now crying violently. "Won't you go below and let me have it out with this man?" "Oh, I trust there will be no violence!" she sobbed. "I shall teach this young upstart a lesson," fumed Josiah Crabtree. He saw that Tom's coming had greatly lessened his influence over the lady. "Please go below, Mrs. Stanhope, and don't worry about me," said Tom. "Yes, it will be best," added Crabtree, and then the lady disappeared down the companion way, walking slowly, for she felt weaker than ever, because of the excitement. "Now, sir, we will come to an understanding," said the former teacher of Putnam Hall, as he faced Tom with a show of severe dignity. "Very well, we will come to an understanding." "You have followed me to here." "Granted." "You came in another boat with Dora." "What if I did? Do you suppose I would come with her alone?" went on Tom, struck with a sudden idea. "Do you mean to say you have--er--brought along any of the--ahem!--authorities?" And Josiah Crabtree glanced around nervously. "I am not alone--nor is Dora where you can do her any harm." Josiah Crabtree's face became a trifle pale. "Boy, what do you wish to do--ruin me?" "Mr. Crabtree, you are ruining yourself." "You were the means of putting me in jail before--you and your brothers." "You deserved it, didn't you?" "No." "I think you did. But that has nothing to do with the present situation. I want to know if you are willing to come to terms or not?" "What--er--terms do you want me to make?" "Are you in control of this boat?' "I am." "Then, in the first place, you must turn the control of the boat over to me." "And after that?" "You can remain on board, if you behave yourself, until we reach the mainland." "And what then?" "After that you can make your own terms with Mrs. Stanhope and Dora." "But the authorities--" "Mr. Crabtree, for the sake of the Stanhopes we wish to avoid all publicity," replied Tom, playing his game as skillfully as possible. "I don't think they will want to bring you and themselves into court, if you will promise to leave them alone in the future." "Who is with you here?" And Crabtree looked ashore anxiously. "Sam is close at hand." "And the others?" "Never mind about the others. I hold a winning hand, but what that is I'll let time show. Now, for the last time, are you willing to let me take charge or not?" "It is a very unusual proceeding." "Say yes or no." "What shall I say? I do not wish any trouble." "Then I am going to take charge. Call up the two sailors who have been running this boat for you." With a dark look on his face Josiah Crabtree did as requested. At the same time Tom beckoned to Sam to come on the deck. The sailors were much astonished to see the two strangers. Only the fat tar could speak English, and he translated what was said into French for his companion's benefit. It was with very bad grace that Josiah Crabtree told the sailor who commanded the _Wellington_ that Tom would now direct the movements of the vessel. "We have--er--decided to change our plans," said the former school-teacher. "What you lak to do den, hey?" demanded the fat sailor. "What is the nearest American town to here?" asked Tom. "Ze nearest place?" "Yes." "Buryport." "And how far is that from here?" "Ten or eleven miles." "Then we will sail for that place, and at once." At this Crabtree looked surprised. "You are going to Buryport at once? What about the others you said were with you?" "I will answer no questions." Tom turned around and winked at Sam, who had heard the previous conversation. "I guess they'll follow right enough, eh?" "Sure," answered Sam. "Dick knows what he's doing, and so does that detective." "A detective!" groaned Josiah Crabtree. "Has it come to this!" And he wrung his hands nervously. "Mr. Crabtree, I must ask you to step forward," went on Tom. "I do not wish you to go below." "Why?" "I do not wish you to worry Mrs. Stanhope," answered the youth. But what he was afraid of was that Crabtree might take it into his head to arm himself and bring on further trouble. "As you please," answered the former teacher, with a shrug of his shoulders. "You seem to have matters well in hand." And he strode forward, biting his lip in vexation. He would have tried to escape to the island, only he was afraid no one would ever come to rescue him. While speaking, Tom had taken the pains to display the pistol taken from the sailor at the cave. Sam now took up a short iron bar lying near, and both boys showed that they meant to remain masters of the situation. The Canadians noted this, but said nothing, for they felt something was wrong and they wished to get into no trouble. A few minutes later the anchor was brought up, the sails hoisted, and the _Wellington_ stood away from Needle Point Island. CHAPTER XXII. THE SECRET OF THE ISLAND CAVE. It is now time that we go back to the _Rocket_ and see how Dick and those with him were faring. At the announcement that a schooner looking like the _Peacock_ was in sight he ran on deck with all speed, and caught up a glass belonging to the owner of the steam tug. "It's the _Peacock_, sure," he cried. "See anything o' that Captain Langless or them Baxters?" asked Luke Peterson. "I see somebody, but we are too far off to make out their faces." The order was passed to the engineer of the tug, and the speed of the craft was materially increased. But before they could come up to the schooner she disappeared around a headland of the island. "We must run out a bit," said Captain Parsons. "There is a nasty reef here, and if we aint careful we'll get aground." "Where do you suppose the _Peacock_ has gone?" asked Dick. "Into one of the bays, most likely." "Can we follow her?" "Of coarse. The tug doesn't draw any more water than the schooner, if as much." "Perhaps we had better see how the land lays before we approach too close," suggested Peterson. "They may be prepared to fight us off." "That is true," said Dick. "Perhaps we can slip into another bay close by." So it was arranged, and they sped on their way, passing the bay in which the _Peacock_ lay. Near the island was a quantity of driftwood, and they had just gotten out of sight of the bay when there was a sudden grinding and crashing sound on board of the tug, and the engineer shut off the steam power. "A breakdown!" exclaimed the captain, and so it proved. The screw had become entangled in the limb of a tree, and sufficient damage had been done to render the screw useless. This was indeed an unlooked-for accident, and Dick wondered what they had best do. "We can't use the screw at all?" he asked of the engineer, after an examination. "Not until I have had a chance to repair it." "And how long will the repairs take?" "Can't tell till I get at work. Maybe an hour or two, maybe half a day." This was dismaying information, and Dick held a consultation with Larry Colby and Luke. "I know what I'd do," said Larry. "I'd have the captain of the tug land me at some point above here, and then I'd watch the _Peacock_ from behind some bushes on shore." This was considered good advice, and Dick agreed to act upon it. He spoke to Parsons, and a small boat was put out, and Dick, Larry, and Peterson were rowed to land. "Now what will you do with the tug?" asked the eldest Rover. "We'll haul her in to a safe spot," answered Parsons. "I don't believe those repairs will take over a couple of hours. Then we'll be at your service again." Once on land Dick led the way into the woods, moving in the direction of the bay where he had last seen the _Peacock_. He was armed, and so were his companions, but they wished, if possible, to avoid all trouble. They had landed at a spot where the rocks were numerous and the ground uncertain, and they had not proceeded far when Luke Peterson called a halt. "We want to be careful here," he said. "This island is full of caves and pitfalls and, before you know it, you'll break a leg." "It is certainly an ideal hiding place," returned Larry. "Hi, Dick! what's that?" "What's what?" "I thought I saw somebody in the brush yonder." Dick shook his head. "I saw nothing." "Neither did I," put in the lumberman. "Who did it look like?" "Perhaps I was mistaken and it was a bird flitting through the brush. Come on." Larry plunged ahead and Dick followed. Both had hardly taken a dozen steps when each gave a yell. "What's up now?" cried Peterson, and came after them at a bound. Then all tried to scramble back. It was too late. They had struck a tiny water-course between the rocks. And now the very bottom of it seemed to drop out, and they sank down and down into almost utter darkness. "We are lost!" spluttered Dick, but it is doubtful if either of his companions heard him. For the minute after Dick was so dazed and bewildered that he said nothing more. He clutched at rocks, dirt, and tree roots, but all gave way at his touch. At last he found himself flat on his back on a heap of dead leaves and moss. Partly across him lay Larry, while Peterson was several feet away. Around the three lay dirt and bushes and several good-sized stones. It was lucky the stones had not come down on top of them, otherwise one or another might have been killed. "Gosh, what a tumble!" ejaculated Peterson, when he could speak. "I told ye to be careful. This island is like a reg'lar honeycomb fer holes." "Oh, my foot!" gasped Larry, as he tried to get up. "That was a tumble and no mistake," said Dick. "What's the matter with your foot, Larry?" "I don't know, excepting I must have sprained my ankle," was the answer. "Oh!" And Larry gave a loud groan. Forgetful of their situation, Dick and the lumberman bent over Larry and helped him to get off his shoe and sock. His ankle was beginning to swell and turn red, and he had sprained it beyond a doubt. The water was coming into the opening from the little stream overhead, and Dick readily procured a hatful of the fluid and the ankle was bathed with this. After this it was bound up, and Larry said it felt somewhat better. "But I can't walk very far on it," he continued, and then added, with a sorry smile, "I am laid up, just as the _Rocket_ is!" "The question is, now we are down at the bottom of this hole, how are we going to get out?" said Dick to Peterson. "We'll have to get out some way," was the unsatisfactory response. "See, the water is coming in faster than ever." The lumberman was right, the water had been running in a tiny stream not larger than a child's wrist; now it was pouring in steadily like a cataract. Soon the bottom of the hole had formed a pool several inches deep. "Wait till it fills up and then swim out," suggested Larry. "No, thanks," returned Dick. "We might be drowned by that operation." The hole was irregular in shape, about ten feet in diameter and fully twenty feet deep. What had caused the sudden sinking was a mystery until it was solved by the water in the pool suddenly dropping away into another hole still deeper. Then of a sudden the trio went down again, this time at an angle, to find themselves in a good-sized cave, where all was dark and uncertain. The tumble had wrenched Larry's ankle still more, and the youth could not suppress his groans of pain. As soon as he was able Peterson leaped up, struck a match, and lit some brushwood which happened to be near and which the water had not yet touched. By this light Larry's ankle was again attended to and bound up in a couple of handkerchiefs. "If we keep on we'll get to the center of the earth," remarked Dick, as he gazed around curiously. "Where do you suppose we are now?" "In one of the island caves," answered Peterson. "I told you the place was full of them. That's the reason the smugglers used to hold out here." "Perhaps we'll come across some of their treasures." At this Peterson shook his head. "Not likely. When the last of the smugglers was arrested the government detectives searched the island thoroughly and gathered in all to be found." "I see. Well, how are we to get out, now we are down here?" "We might climb back, Rover, the way we came, but that is dangerous on account of the water. I rather think we'll do better to look for the regular opening to the cave, if there is any." The matter was talked over for several minutes, and it was decided that Dick and Peterson should investigate, while Larry remained by the fire, keeping it as bright as possible and resting his sore ankle. At a short distance ahead the cave branched into two parts, and coming to the forks, Dick took the right while Peterson moved to the left. Dick carried a torch, which he held overhead, and likewise a pistol, in case any snake or wild animal should attack him. The youth had not proceeded far before he came upon signs which showed that the cave at one time had been inhabited by human beings. First he espied a part of an old bag, then a weather-beaten sailor's cap, and soon after a rusty pistol, falling apart for the want of care. "This must have been a smugglers' retreat sure," he murmured to himself. "My, if I should stumble across a box of gold!" He hurried forward and presently reached a spot where the cave broadened out into a round chamber. Here there were a rude table and several benches, all ready to fall apart from decay. With quick steps he approached the table, for he had seen something lying upon it--something which made him start and give a cry of wonder. In the center of the table was a heap of silver dollars, and beside this was a land map, drawn by hand. On the map lay a rusty dagger and a human skull! CHAPTER XXIII. THE BAXTERS ARE FOLLOWED. "Well, I never!" Dick gazed at the silver, the map, the daggers and the skull with mingled surprise and horror. How had those things come there, and what was the mystery concerning them? Coming closer, he picked up several of the dollars and examined them. All were dated thirty to forty years back. Then he picked up the dagger, a beautiful affair of polished steel with a curiously wrought handle of buckhorn. The skull he left untouched. The map was covered with dust, some of which he endeavored to blow away. Beneath he saw that there were odd tracings of many kinds, and lettering's in a language which was strange to him. Then his light began to go out and he shouted for Peterson to join him. The sound echoed and re-echoed throughout the cavern, showing that the place was even more roomy than he had anticipated. He waited several minutes, then saw Peterson's light. "What's up?" demanded the lumberman as he approached. "Find anything important?" "I should say so," answered Dick. "Look there." Peterson did so, then gave a cry of astonishment. "Silver, lad, silver! And a skull!" "There is some story hidden in this affair," said Dick soberly. "Can you explain it?" "I cannot." Peterson picked up the dagger. "That's a French weapon." "But the dollars are U. S. money." "Right. It is a mystery and no error. How much money is there here?" The two counted the pile and found it footed up to two hundred and forty dollars. "Not a fortune, but still a tidy sum," said Peterson. To a man in his standing two hundred and forty dollars was quite an amount. "A fair share of it is yours," said Dick. "Let us investigate some more." The lumberman was willing, and lighting a fresh torch, they moved around the circular chamber. At one point they saw an opening leading into a second chamber. Here were a number of boxes and casks, all covered with dust and dirt, the accumulation of years. Prying open one of the boxes which was handy, they discovered that it contained canned vegetables. A second box contained dress goods, and a third some candles. A cask close at hand was marked "Cognac." "This was a regular smugglers' hangout," said Peterson. "Those boxes must contain stuff of some value. Rover, we have made a haul by coming here." "Yes, but I am forgetting all about my brothers," added Dick hastily. "Let us leave this alone for the present. I guess it is safe enough." "No doubt, since it has rested undisturbed so many years." They left the storeroom, as it may properly be termed, and returned to the circular chamber. At first they could find no further opening, but then Dick saw a thin shaft of light coming from a corner. Here there was a flat rock which was easily pulled aside. A broad opening led upward to the outer world. "Safe, so far as getting out is concerned," remarked Peterson. "All told, I reckon we had quite a lucky tumble, after all." "If Larry's ankle isn't too bad." They hurried back to where Larry had been left, and found him still nursing his ankle, which had swollen to the size of his knee. He tried to stand upon it, but the pain was so great he was glad enough to sit down again. He listened in open-mouthed wonder to what Dick had to tell. "A treasure cave!" he cried. "Who would have dreamed of such a thing on Lake Huron!" Now that Larry could not move, the others were in a quandary as to what to do. Dick was impatient to be after the _Peacock_. "The folks on the schooner may take it into their heads to sail away, if they caught sight of the steam tug," he said. "And if they give us the slip I won't know where to look for them." "I guess I'll be safe if left alone," said Larry. "I have water and the fire, and my pistol. You go ahead, and come back for me when it is convenient. Only don't leave the island without me." "Leave without you? Not much!" answered Dick. "You forget the treasure," put in Peterson, with a laugh. "We are not going to let that slip." "That's so," said Larry. "All right; I'll remain as the guardian of the treasure." And so it was arranged. It was no easy matter to gain the outer air once more, for the passageway was choked with dirt and brushwood which the wind had blown in. When they came into the open they found themselves close to the lake shore at a spot surrounded thickly with trees. "A fine cove for a smuggler to hide in," observed Peterson. "No wonder they made this cave their rendezvous." "Where is the bay in which the _Peacock_ disappeared?" "To the westward, Rover. Come, I'll show the way." "Be careful that we don't get into another trap." "I've got my eyes open," responded the lumberman. On they went once more, over the rocks and through a tangle of brushwood. It was now almost dark, and Dick was beginning to think they would lose their way when Peterson called a sudden halt. "Here we are," he whispered and pointed ahead. There, through the trees, could be seen the waters of the tiny bay, and there lay the _Peacock_ at anchor. Only one man was on deck, a sailor Dick had seen several times. Otherwise the craft appeared deserted. "Do you suppose the Baxters and the others have gone ashore?" asked Dick. "No telling yet, lad. Let us watch out for a while." They sat down and watched until the darkness of night began to hide the _Peacock_ from view. At last they saw Arnold Baxter come on deck, followed by Dan. The two entered a rowboat and a sailor took them ashore. They had scarcely landed when Captain Langless appeared, coming along a pathway but a few yards from where Dick and the lumberman were in hiding. At once a wordy war ensued between the Baxters and the owner of the schooner. What it was about Dick and Peterson could not make out, although they realized that it concerned Tom and Sam. "Your men are a set of doughheads," cried Arnold Baxter. "They are to be trusted with nothing." "Never mind, we'll come out ahead anyway," retorted Captain Langless. "I reckon you've been tripped up yourself before this." "I warned you to be careful." "It wasn't my fault." "What's to do now?" put in Dan Baxter. "Shall we stay on the island, dad?" "Certainly," grumbled Arnold Baxter. "But I don't know exactly what to do," and the man scratched his head in perplexity. "Let us go up to the cave." "That won't do you any good," growled Captain Langless. "I know what I am going to do." "What?" "I'm going to sail around the island and find out if any other boat is near. I don't want those boys to signal another boat." "A good idea," said Arnold Baxter. "But Dan and I can remain on shore anyway." "Just as you please," and Captain Langless shrugged his shoulders. The rowboat was still at the shore, and the captain returned to the _Peacock_ with the member of his crew, leaving the Baxters to themselves. Dick nudged Peterson in the side. "Can it be possible that Tom and Sam have escaped?" he whispered. "It looks that way," answered the lumberman. "Anyway, something is very much wrong or these rascals wouldn't fall out with each other." "Hadn't we better watch the Baxters?" "I think so. The _Peacock_ will not go far, I'm pretty sure of that." The Baxters now passed along the footpath leading to the cave in which Tom and Sam had been placed. Noiselessly Dick and Peterson followed. As Dick advanced he drew his pistol. Quarter of a mile was covered and they were close to the cave, when Arnold Baxter suddenly halted. "Dan, supposing Captain Langless doesn't come back," he exclaimed, loud enough for Dick and his companion to hear. "Doesn't come back!" ejaculated the bully. "Why, he's got to come back." "No, he hasn't." "But I don't understand----" "You know well enough that the Rovers tried to bribe the captain." "Yes, but they ran away----" "Perhaps it's only a bluff, Dan. The boys may have been taken to another part of the island, from which Langless can transfer them to the schooner later." "What, and desert us!" groaned the bully. "Yes, and desert us. I think we were foolish to leave the _Peacock_ without taking the captain or Cadmus along. I won't trust any of them any longer." "Well, what shall we do, dad; go back?" "It's too late now. The _Peacock_ has gotten under way long ago." "Well, let us try to get on the track of the two boys. Perhaps we can follow them up from the cave. If all of the footsteps point this way we'll know the captain has been deceiving us." Again the Baxters moved on, and so did Dick and Peterson. The way was rough and made Dan grumble a good deal. "We ought to have kept this game all in our own hands from the start," said the former bully of Putnam Hall. "We made a rank mistake to take Captain Langless into our confidence." "I won't care if only we make Anderson Rover pony up that money," answered the father. "I'm afraid the mine scheme will have to fall through." "What did you strike him for in cash?" "Ten thousand dollars." "You ought to have made it fifty." "I wanted to get ten first and double that afterward. If I struck him too high first I was afraid he wouldn't try to meet me, but put the detectives on the track without delay." CHAPTER XXIV. AN ENCOUNTER IN THE DARK. A little while later the Baxters reached the cave where Tom and Sam had been held prisoners. The sailor who had been left bound had long since been released, so the place was deserted. "Look out for snakes," said Dan. "We had better light torches." This was done, for it was now dark under the trees. Hiding in a thicket, Dick and Peterson saw the Baxters enter the cave. The pair remained inside for fully quarter of an hour, and came out looking much disappointed. With torches close to the ground they searched for Sam and Tom's trail. "Here are footprints!" exclaimed Arnold Baxter, at last. "They are not made by men, either." "They must be the boys'," answered Dan. "Come on, let us follow." "It is very dark, Dan. I'm afraid we'll have to wait until morning." Nevertheless, the pair passed on, and again Dick and Peterson came behind. Hardly three rods had been passed when Dan Baxter let out a cry as some small wild animal dashed across the trail. The bully turned to run, and discovered Dick ere the latter could hide. "Dick Rover!" he gasped. "Rover!" cried Arnold Baxter. "What are you talking about, Dan?" "Here is Dick Rover! And that lumber fellow is with him." "Impossible! Why, Rover, where did you come from?" And Arnold Baxter came up, hardly believing his eyes. "We were following you, Arnold Baxter," answered Dick quietly. "For what?" "To see what you were going to do next?" "Have you found Sam and Tom?" questioned Dan quickly. "Dan, be still!" thundered his father. "You are always putting your foot into it." "I reckon you chaps are fairly caught," put in Luke Peterson. "Caught?" came from both, in a breath. "Yes, caught," said Dick. "We did not follow you for nothing." "Perhaps you are the ones who are caught," said Arnold Baxter, with a sickly smile. "Hardly," and Dick showed his pistol. "We are well armed, Arnold Baxter, and will stand no fooling." "We are armed, too--" began Dan, but his parent stopped him. "Of course you came to this island on a boat of some sort," went on the elder Baxter. "How else could we come? The mainland is miles away." "Where is your boat?" "Not far off, and well manned, too," added Dick. "We came not alone to capture you, but also the _Peacock_ and all on board." At this announcement the faces of the Baxters fell, and Dan actually trembled. "Where is your boat?" repeated Arnold Baxter. "As I just told you, not far off. The question is, will you submit quietly, or must I summon help?" "Submit to what?" "Submit to being taken to our boat." "You have no right to make me go to your boat." "I'll be hanged if I'll go," growled Dan. "And you may be shot if you don't go," answered Dick significantly. "I know you well, and I shall take no further chances with you. Now will you go or not?" "I suppose, if we don't go, you'll bring some officers here to compel us to do as you wish." "Exactly." "You may as well give in," said Peterson. "This island is not large, and even if you try to run away you'll be found, sooner or later. The _Peacock_ is probably already captured, and those on our boat will see that no other boat comes near here until we have you safe on board. The jig is up." "I won't give in!" cried Arnold Baxter. "Come, Dan!" He caught his son by the arm, and both turned and sped into the nearest brush. It was dark, the torches having died low, and before Dick could shoot, even if he wished to do so, the pair of rascals were out of sight. "Stop!" said Dick to Peterson, who was for following them up. "We can do nothing in the darkness. Let them go. To-morrow is another day. Let us return to the _Rocket_ and take steps to capture the _Peacock_." "Yes, and we must get back to Larry," said the lumberman. It was no easy matter to find their way back to the treasure cave, and they missed the direction half a dozen times. When they did get back it was so gloomy in the bushes that they had to call out to Larry, in order to locate him. "Gracious! I was afraid you would never come back," said the youth. "We've had quite an adventure," replied Dick, and related the particulars. Larry's ankle was somewhat better, and by leaning on both Dick and Peterson he managed to hobble along to where the _Rocket's_ small boat had landed them. The steam tug was close at hand, and they were soon on board. "Is the screw repaired?" was Dick's first question. "Not quite, but it will be inside of half an hour," answered Jack Parsons. "Have you seen anything of the _Peacock_? She is sailing around the island." "No, haven't seen any sail since you left. We--" A cry from the lookout interrupted the captain. "Here comes the _Peacock_!" The report was true, and all crowded forward to catch sight of the schooner in the darkness. The stars made it fairly light on the water and, as the schooner came up close to the steam tug, Dick made out several figures on board. "Ahoy, what tug is that?" came from the schooner. "The _Rocket_" answered Parsons. "What schooner is that?" To this there was no answer. "What are you doing here?" asked Captain Langless instead. "We are in trouble," returned Parsons, after whispering with Dick. "What's up?" "We've had a breakdown." "Seen anybody from the island?" "Why, we thought this island was deserted." "So it is." "Come up closer and give us a lift." "Can't, we are behind time now." Then, without warning, a Bengal light was lit on board of the schooner. A large reflector was placed behind the light, which was thus cast on the deck of the _Rocket_. At once Dick, Peterson, and the others were exposed to the gaze of Captain Langless. "Ha! I suspected as much!" roared the master of the schooner. "Sheer off, Wimble, or the game is up!" The helm of the _Peacock_ was at once thrown over, and she began to move off. A stiff breeze caused her to make rapid progress. "Stop!" cried Dick. "Stop, or we will fire on you!" He had scarcely spoken when the report of a pistol rang out and a bullet cut through the air over his head. "Let that be a warning to you to leave us alone!" cried Captain Langless. Then the schooner increased her speed, the flare from the Bengal light died out, and soon the _Peacock_ was lost to view in the darkness. CHAPTER XXV. BEACHING THE "WELLINGTON" "How is this for a turn of fortune?" remarked Tom, as he and Sam stood on the deck of the _Wellington_ and watched the shore of Needle Point Island fading from view in the distance. "It's all right, if only we can make those Canadians obey us," replied the youngest of the Rovers. "They don't seem to like matters much. They look dark and distrustful." "I don't think they'll make trouble, Sam." "Josiah Crabtree seems thoroughly cowed." "Don't trust him. He is worse than a snake in the grass and he hates us worse than poison." The two paced the deck thoughtfully. Mrs. Stanhope was still in the cabin, in the company of one of the sailors' wives, while the former teacher of Putnam Hall also kept out of sight. "This seems an old tub of a boat," went on Tom, a few minutes later. "I wonder that Crabtree didn't hire something better. She just crawls along, and no more." "Probably he got the boat cheap. He always was the one to go in for cheap things." And in his surmise the lad was correct. It was not long before one of the Canadians took hold of a hand-pump near the bow of the boat and began to pump the water out of the hold. "Hullo, your old tub leaks, eh?" said Tom. "Yees, heem leak some," answered the fat Canadian. "Heem want some what-you-call-heem, tar; hey?" And he smiled broadly. "Any danger of sinking?" At this the Canadian shook his head. Then he went to pumping at a faster rate than ever. "I believe he is afraid," said Tom to Sam. "She must leak fearfully, or he wouldn't pump up so much water." "Well, the journey to the mainland won't last forever--that's one satisfaction, Tom. I reckon the tub is good for that much of a run. I don't care what becomes of her after we are ashore." "Nor I. She can sink if she wishes, with Crabtree on board, too." "Sink!" cried a voice behind them. "Is there danger of the ship going down? I noticed that she was leaking yesterday." It was Josiah Crabtree who spoke. He had just come up and he was very pale. "I guess she'll keep up a few minutes longer," said Tom soberly. "A few minutes! Oh, dear! if we did sink what would become of us?" "Why, if we did sink we'd sink, that's all." "I mean, if the ship sunk what would we do?" "You might wade ashore, if your legs are long enough." "But this is no joking matter, Thomas. The lake is very deep out here." "Then you had better find a life-preserver." Josiah Crabtree gave something of a groan and moved away. He did not know whether Tom was poking fun at him or not. Yet he did search for a preserver--and in doing that he was wiser than the boys had anticipated. Presently the wind veered around and the yards came over with a bang. The _Wellington_ gave a lurch, and there was a strange creaking and cracking far below the deck. The Canadian pumped more madly than ever, and shouted to his companion in French. "Is she leaking worse?" asked Tom. The Canadian nodded. Then the _Wellington_ gave another lurch, and Tom noticed that her bow gave an odd little dip. "Filling with water, I'll be bound," he muttered, and running to the hatch he sounded the well hole. There were sixteen inches of water below. Soon it measured seventeen inches. "We've sprung a bad leak," he announced to Sam. "It looks as if we might go to the bottom." "Oh, Tom, you don't mean it!" "Yes, I do." "Can't we turn back? The island isn't more than two miles off. It may be safer to go back than to keep on." "Exactly my idea, Sam. I'll speak to the Canadian about it." The fat sailor was still pumping, but his face was full of despair. "De ship he go down," he gasped. "We drown in ze lake!" "Better turn back to the island," returned Tom. "And lose no time about it." "Yees! yees! zat ees best. We turn heem back!" The Canadian shouted to his companion, who was at the wheel, and then left the pump to attend to the sails. At once Tom took his place at the pump, at the same time calling to Sam to go down for Mrs. Stanhope. "Tell her to come on deck," he said. "And find some life-preservers, if you can." "What of the rowboat?" "It's as rotten as the ship, Sam. We'll have to swim for it, if this tub sinks." Sam disappeared into the cabin and Tom turned to the pumping. Never had he worked so hard, and the perspiration poured down his face. Soon Mrs. Stanhope appeared, her face full of fear. "Oh, pray Heaven we do not go down!" she murmured. "How far are we from land?" "We have turned back for the island," answered Tom, hardly able to speak because of his exertions. "We are not much more than a mile away." "A mile! And how long will it take us to reach the island?" "About ten minutes, if the wind holds out." The _Wellington_ was now groaning and creaking in every timber, as if she was aware that her last hour on the surface of the lake had come. She was, as Tom had said, an old "tub," and should have been condemned years before. But the Canadians were used to her and handled the craft as skillfully as possible. They, too, provided themselves with life-preservers and, when Sam relieved his brother at the pump, Tom did likewise. As she filled with water the ship moved more slowly until, despite the breeze, she seemed to merely crawl along. It was now growing dark and the island was not yet in sight. Sounded again, the well hole showed twenty inches of water. At this the fat Canadian gave a long sigh and disappeared into the forecastle, to obtain a trunk and some of his other belongings. Sam had already brought on deck the things belonging to Mrs. Stanhope. At last the fat sailor uttered a welcome cry. "The island! The island!" "Where?" questioned the others. The sailor pointed with his hand. He was right; land was just visible, and no more. Then of a sudden came a crash and a shock which threw all of those on board headlong. "We have struck a rock!" yelled Josiah Crabtree. "We are going down!" And in his terror he leaped overboard and struck out wildly for the distant shore. Sam was also ready, in a moment, to spring into the water, but Tom held him back. The _Wellington_ settled and swung around, and then sheered off the rock and went on her way. But it was plainly to be seen that she could float but a few minutes more at the most. "There is a sandy shore!" cried Tom to the Canadians. "Better drive her straight in and beach her!" "Good!" said the fat sailor, and spoke to his companion in French. Then, as well as they were able, they brought the water-logged craft around to the wind. Slowly she drifted in, her deck sinking with every forward move. Then came a strong pull of wind which caught the sails squarely and drove them ahead. A grating and a slishing followed, and they ran up the muddy shore and came to a standstill in about three feet of water. "Hurrah! saved!" shouted Sam. "My, but that was a narrow escape!" "Where is Mr. Crabtree?" asked Mrs. Stanhope anxiously. "Oh, do not let him drown!" They looked around and saw him in the water not a hundred feet away, puffing and blowing like a porpoise. "Save me!" he screamed, as soon as he saw their safety. "Don't let me drown!" "You're all right," returned Tom. "It's shallow here. See if you can't walk ashore." Josiah Crabtree continued his paddling, and presently put down his feet very gingerly. He could just touch the bottom. Soon he was in a position to walk, and lost no time in getting out of the lake and coming up to the bow of the _Wellington_. "Oh, dear, this is dreadful!" he groaned, with a shiver. "Throw out a plank that I may come onboard." "Thought you were tired of the old tub," said Tom dryly. "I thought she was surely going down, Thomas. Please throw out a plank, that's a good boy." The Canadian got the longest plank at hand and, resting one end at the bow, allowed the other to fall ashore, in a few inches of mud and water. Then Josiah Crabtree came up the plank on hands and knees, looking for all the world like a half-drowned rat. CHAPTER XXVI. CRABTREE JOINS THE BAXTERS. "Well, we are no better off than we were before," remarked Sam, after Josiah Crabtree had disappeared in the direction of the cabin and the two boys had walked forward by themselves. "No, we are no better off, but we have succeeded in rescuing Mrs. Stanhope from old Crabtree's clutches, and that is something." "True, but supposing we fall in the hands of the Baxters and Captain Langless again?" "Can't we hold them at bay, if they try to come on board this tub?" "Perhaps. But we can't remain on board the _Wellington_ forever." Now that the danger was over the lads found that they were hungry, and called upon the sailors to bring out what food the craft afforded. They made a hearty meal, in which Mrs. Stanhope joined. Josiah Crabtree was not invited, and had to eat later on with the sailors and the one sailor's wife. "This wreck may throw us together for some time, Crabtree," said Tom, later on, when he and the former school-teacher were alone. "I want to warn you to behave yourself during that time." "I know my own business," was the stiff reply. "Well, you keep your distance, or there will be trouble." "Can I not speak to Mrs. Stanhope?" "When she speaks to you, yes. But you must not bother her with your attentions. And if you try your hypnotic nonsense we'll pitch you overboard," and so speaking, Tom walked off again. Josiah Crabtree looked very black, nevertheless he took the youth's words to heart and only spoke to Mrs. Stanhope when it was necessary. By the time supper was over it was night and time to think of getting some rest. The boys took possession of one of the staterooms on board, and arranged that each should sleep five hours, Tom taking the first watch. Mrs. Stanhope soon retired, and so did Josiah Crabtree and one of the Canadians. Tom found the fat Canadian, the man to remain on deck, quite a sociable fellow, and asked him much about himself and how he had come to hire out with Crabtree. He soon discovered that the Canadians were honest to the last degree, and had gone in for the trip thinking all was above-board. "I soon see ze man haf von bad eye," said the Canadian. "I tell Menot I no like heem. Now he has brought ruin on our ship." The Canadian imagined that Crabtree had hypnotized the sailing qualities of the _Wellington_ as well as cast a spell over Mrs. Stanhope, and Tom saw no reason, just then, for saying anything to the contrary. "You must watch Crabtree," he said. "Don't let him get you in his power. Stick by me and my brother, and you will be all right," and the Canadian promised. "But who vill pay for ze ship?" he questioned dolefully. "'Tis all Menot and myself haf in ze worl'!" And he shook his head in sorrow. "We will pay you well for whatever you do for us. The balance you must get out of Crabtree." Then Tom gave the fat sailor a five-dollar bill, and from that moment the pair were warm friends. Feeling that Crabtree would not dare to do much as matters stood, Tom did not take the trouble to arouse Sam when he turned in, and the brothers slept soundly until some time after sunrise. "Say, why didn't you wake me up?" asked Sam in astonishment. "You didn't stay up all night, did you?" "Not much!" answered Tom, and spoke of the Canadian, whose name was Peglace. "Well, what's to do?" "I must confess I don't know. I suppose the Baxters and Captain Langless are on the search for us." "More than likely." "Then we had better lay low until some vessel comes to rescue us." "I don't think very many ships come this way." "Neither do I, but we won't despair. Come, I'm hungry again," and they stirred around to get breakfast. An examination showed that the _Wellington_ was hard and fast in the mud, and likely to remain exactly as she stood for an indefinite time. Wading around in the water below, the Canadians reported several planks broken and wrenched loose, and that immediate repairs seemed out of the question. "Ze ship ees gone," said Peglace sadly. "We air like zat man, what-you-call-heem, Crusoe Robinson, hey?" And he shook his head. "Well, I hope we don't have to stay as long on this island as Robinson Crusoe remained on that other," remarked Sam. "Tom, I'm going for a walk on shore." "Can I go with you?" put in Josiah Crabtree humbly. "I am tired of this ship's deck." "All right, come on." "I will remain with Mrs. Stanhope," said Tom. "Don't go too far, Sam." Sam and the former teacher of Putnam Hall were soon over the side. The boy came down the plank easily enough, but Crabtree slipped and went into the water and mud up to his knees. "Ugh! I am always unfortunate!" he spluttered. "However, since the weather is warm, I don't think I'll suffer much." At a short distance up the beach there was a headland, covered with tall trees. Sam decided to make his way to this. "I'm going to climb the tallest of the trees and look around," he said. "You can go along, if you wish." "I will go, but I cannot climb the tree," answered Crabtree. To get to the headland they had to make a detour around a marshy spot and then climb over a number of rough rocks. The exertion exhausted Josiah Crabtree, and he soon fell behind. Reaching the headland, Sam gazed around anxiously. He could see a long distance to the north and the west, but not a sail was in sight. "The _Peacock_ ought to be somewhere around here," he told himself, and then, coming to a tall tree with low, drooping branches, he began to climb to the top. It was a difficult task, for the tree was a thickly wooded one and a veritable monarch of the forest. But he persevered, and at last gained the topmost branch. Here the view of the island and its vicinity was much extended, and he could see not only the bay where the _Peacock_ had been at anchor, but also several other harbors. "The _Peacock_ is gone!" Such were the first words which escaped him. "She must have left the island altogether!" With anxious eye he turned his gaze to the other harbors, and suddenly gave a start. "A steam tug! How lucky!" He had discovered the _Rocket_, which was just getting up steam in order to follow the _Peacock_; the screw being now repaired and ready for use. As fast as he could he descended to the ground, his one thought being to tell Tom of his discovery, and to either get to the steam tug or to signal those on board, so that the tug might not leave the island without them. He had noticed the black smoke curling up from the stack, and knew that this betokened that steam was getting up. "Sam Rover!" The voice came from behind the rocks, like a bolt out of the clear sky. Then Dan Baxter rushed forward, followed by his father. Sam was taken off his guard, and before he could do anything the Baxters had him by both arms and were holding him a prisoner. "Let me go!" "Not much!" came from Arnold Baxter. "Where are your brothers--I mean," he added, in some confusion, "where is Tom?" "Find out for yourself, Arnold Baxter. Let me go, I say!" And Sam began to struggle. "Daniel Baxter, is it possible!" came in Josiah Crabtree's voice, and he emerged from the brushwood. "What an extraordinary meeting!" "I should say it was!" responded the bully. "Where did you spring from?" "Perhaps, Daniel, I can ask the same question." "Is Tom Rover with you?" "No, he is on a ship which is beached a short distance from here." "Alone?" "No, with some Canadians and--er--Mrs. Stanhope." "Oh, I see! the same old game," growled the bully. "Anybody else on the boat?" "No." "If that's the case we are in luck," came from Arnold Baxter. He gazed at Crabtree sharply. "Do you know where this lad came from?" "What do you mean?" "He and his brother Tom escaped from us. We brought them here," "What! I thought they had followed me and Mrs. Stanhope." "Hardly." Arnold Baxter proceeded to bind Sam's arms behind him. "Dan, take him to yonder tree and tie him fast." Then he walked away to talk to Josiah Crabtree. The conversation which followed lasted for quarter of an hour. What was said Sam could not make out. The boy wanted to get away, but was helpless, and now Dan Baxter took away the pistol with which he had provided himself. A little later the Baxters and Crabtree moved toward the wreck, leaving him bound to the tree, alone. CHAPTER XXVII. HOW TOM WAS CAPTURED. Tom was pacing the deck of the wreck in thoughtful mood when, on looking up, he saw Josiah Crabtree coming back alone. "Where is Sam?" he called out. "Samuel wishes you to join him at the headland," replied Crabtree. "He thinks a boat is coming around the other side of the island." "Did you see it?" "No, my eyesight is failing me and I had no spectacles along." "Well, you can go back with me," said Tom, to make sure that the former teacher should not bother Mrs. Stanhope during his absence from the _Wellington_. "I calculated to go back," responded Crabtree. Telling Mrs. Stanhope that he would soon return, Tom left the wreck and followed Josiah Crabtree around the marsh land and over the cocks. So long as Crabtree was in front poor Tom did not anticipate any treachery, consequently he was taken completely by surprise when the Baxters fell upon him from behind and bore him to the ground. "Don't!" he cried, and tried to rise. But Dan Baxter struck him a heavy blow with a club, and then pointed the pistol at his head, and he had to submit. When he was a prisoner Josiah Crabtree came back, his face beaming sarcastically. "The tables are turned once more, Thomas," he said. "We are masters of the situation. How do you like the prospect?" "What have you done with Sam?" "We have taken care of him," answered Arnold Baxter. "And we'll take good care of you after this, too." Tom said no more, but his heart sank like a lump of lead in his breast. The talk of a ship being in sight must be a hoax, unless Crabtree referred to the _Peacock_. The Baxters had a small bit of rope remaining, and with this they tied Tom's hands behind him. Then he was made to march to where Sam was a prisoner. "What, Tom! you too?" cried the youngest Rover. And then he felt worse than ever, for he had hoped that his brother might come to his rescue. Both boys were tied to the trees, but at some distance apart. Then, without delay, the Baxters and Josiah Crabtree hurried off toward the _Wellington_. The Baxters had heard that the boat was not much damaged, and thought that it might be possible to patch her up sufficiently to reach the mainland, and to do this ere Dick Rover and his party discovered them. For the _Peacock_ and Langless Arnold Baxter now cared but little. "She has left the bay," he said to Dan, "and more than likely has abandoned us." The Canadians were surprised to see Josiah Crabtree returning with two strangers, and Mrs. Stanhope uttered a shriek when confronted by the Baxters. "I must be dreaming," she murmured, when she had recovered sufficiently to speak. "How came you here?" "We are not answering questions just now, madam," said Arnold Baxter. "We wish to patch up this boat if we can, and at once," and he called the Canadians to him. As can be imagined, the sailors were dumfounded, especially when told that the Rover boys would not be back, at least for the present. They shook their heads. "Ze ship cannot be patched up," said Peglace. "Ze whole bottom ees ready to fall out." Arnold Baxter would not believe him, and armed with lanterns he and Dan went below to make an examination. "What does this mean?" demanded Mrs. Stanhope of Crabtree, when they were left alone. "What have you done with the Rover boys?" "Do not worry about them, my dear," said the former teacher soothingly. "All will come right in the end." Then he began to look at her steadily, in an endeavor to bring her once more under his hypnotic influence. But, without waiting, she ran off and refused to confront him again. "Follow me and I will leap into the lake," she cried, and fearful she would commit suicide, he let her alone. The examination below decks lasted nearly an hour, and was far from satisfactory to Arnold Baxter. He felt that the _Wellington_ might be patched up, but the work would take at least several days, and there was no telling what would happen in the meantime. "Dick Rover and his party are sure to find us Before that time," said Dan. "I am afraid so, Dan. But I know of nothing better to do than to remain here." "We might find the _Peacock_ and make a new deal with Captain Langless." "Langless is a weak-hearted fool, and I'll never trust him again. We would have done much better had we hired a small boat which we could ran alone." "But what shall we do, dad?" "I think we had best go into hiding in the interior of the island. We can take a store of provisions along from this boat." "Shall we take the Rovers with us?" "We may as well. We can't let them starve, and by holding them prisoners we may be able to make terms with Dick Rover and his friends." "That's an idea. I reckon Dick will do a lot rather than see Tom and Sam suffer." "To be sure." "Where do you suppose Dick Rover and his friends are now?" "Somewhere around the island, although I have seen nothing of their boat." By noon the Baxters had completed their plans and left the boat, carrying with them a load of provisions wrapped up in a sheet of canvas. They invited Josiah Crabtree to go with them, but that individual declined. "I cannot take Mrs. Stanhope along," he said, "and I will not desert the lady." "As you please," replied Arnold Baxter. "What are you going to do with Tom and Sam Rover?" "Take them with us. If you see anything of Dick Rover, don't say anything about us." "I don't wish to see Dick Rover," answered Josiah Crabtree nervously. "If the Dick Rover party leaves the island, we'll come back," put in Dan. "In the meantime, if I was you, I'd lay low." Soon the Baxters were out of sight, and then Josiah Crabtree turned to have another talk with Mrs. Stanhope, in the meantime setting the Canadians on guard, to watch for and hail any passing sail which might appear. In his wandering on the island Arnold Baxter had stumbled across a convenient cave near the headland where he had encountered Sam Rover, and thither father and son now made their way. The cave gained they put down their bundles, which included a quantity of rope, and then started for the headland to bring in Tom and Sam. The headland gained, a surprise awaited them. Both boys had disappeared. CHAPTER XXVIII. THE BAXTERS TALK IT OVER, "Tom, we are in a fix." "So it would seem, Sam. Who ever dreamed of running across the Baxters in this fashion?" "We are in the hands of a trio of rascals now, for Crabtree is as bad as the others." "Perhaps, but he hasn't the nerve that Arnold Baxter has. What shall we do?" "Try to get free." "I can't budge an inch. Dan Baxter took especial delight in tying me up." "I can move one hand and if--It is free! Hurrah!" "Can you get the other hand free?" "I can try. The rope--that's free, too. Now for my legs." Sam Rover worked rapidly, and was soon as free as ever. Then he ran over to where Tom was tied up and liberated his brother. "Now, what shall we do?" "I move we go after the people on that steam tug and get them to help us rescue Mrs. Stanhope." "That's a good idea, and the quicker we go the better." Sam remembered very well in what direction he had seen the tug, and now set a straight course across the island to the cove. But the trail led over a hill and through a dense thicket, and long before the journey was half finished both lads were well-nigh exhausted. "We ought to have followed the shore around--we would have got there quicker," panted Tom, as he fairly cut his way through the dense brush-wood. "I hope there are no wild animals here." "I doubt if there is anything very large on the island. If so, we would have seen it before this." So speaking, they pushed on once more. The woods passed, they came to a swamp filled with long grass. They hurried around this, and then into the forest skirting the lake shore. At last the cove came into sight. Alas! the steam tug was nowhere to be seen. "She has gone!" groaned Sam. "Oh, what luck! "I can't see a sign of her anywhere?" returned Tom. "She must have steamed away right after you came down the tree." "More than likely." Much disappointed and utterly worn out, they cast themselves down in the shade to rest. As they rested they listened intently, but only the breeze through the trees and the soft lap-lap of the waves striking the rocks reached their ears. "I never thought a spot on our lakes could be so lonely," said Sam at length. "Why, it's as if we were in the middle of the Pacific!" "I trust no harm befalls Mrs. Stanhope, Sam. Perhaps it is our duty to go back to her, in spite of the danger." "I was thinking of that, too. But we are only two boys against two men and a boy, and they are armed." "I think the Canadians will prove our friends in a mix-up. They hate Crabtree, for they half fancy he bewitched their boat." "We might go back on the sly and do some spying." "That is what I mean." But they were too tired to go back at once, and spent a good hour near the beach. Close at hand was a tiny spring, and here they procured a drink of water and took a wash-up, after which they felt somewhat better. They were about to start on the return when Tom suddenly plucked his brother by the sleeve. "Somebody is coming," he whispered. "Let us hide." They had scarcely time to get behind some brushwood when the Baxters came into view, moving very slowly and gazing sharply around them. "I don't see a thing, dad," came from Dan Baxter in disgusted tones. "I don't believe they came this way." "They certainly didn't go back to that old boat," replied Arnold Baxter. "Let us take a walk along the beach." "I am tired to death. Let us rest first." So speaking, Dan Baxter threw himself on a grassy bank overlooking the lake, and Arnold Baxter followed. Both were out of sorts and did a large amount of grumbling. The father lit a short briar-root pipe, while the son puffed away at a cigarette. "I'd give a hundred dollars if a boat would come along and take us to the mainland," observed the father. "I am sick and tired of this game all through." "So am I sick of it, dad. We made a mistake by ever coming East, it seems to me." "If I could get to the mainland I might make money out of it even so, Dan. Anderson Rover may have sent that ten thousand dollars to Bay City, after all. He thinks an awful lot of his sons, and won't want a hair of their head harmed." "So the money was to go to Bay City. You didn't tell me that before." "I wanted to keep the matter secret." "Who will receive it there?" "A man I can trust." "Oh, pshaw! you needn't be so close-mouthed about it," growled the son, lighting a fresh cigarette. "Well, the man's name is Cowdrick--Hiram Cowdrick. He comes from Colorado, and used to know the Roebuck crowd." "I suppose old Rover was to send the money in secret?" "Certainly. I wrote him a long letter, telling him that if there was the least effort made to follow up the money on his part the lives of his sons should pay the forfeit." "That's the way to put it, dad. I shouldn't wonder if old Rover sent the money on." "I'd soon find out, if I could get to shore. If I had the money the boys could rot here, for all I care." "Thank you for nothing," muttered Tom, under his breath. "Just you wait till I have a chance to square accounts, that's all!" "Hush!" whispered Sam. "They must not discover us." And then Tom became silent again. "Josiah Crabtree is in a fix, too," went on Dan, with something of a laugh. "He don't seem to know what to do." "Where is Mrs. Stanhope's daughter?" "I don't know. If Crabtree marries Mrs. Stanhope, it will break Dora all up." "Well, that isn't our affair. But it is queer we should run together on this island. We can--What is that? A sail!" Arnold Baxter leaped to his feet, and so did Dan. Tom and Sam also looked in the direction pointed out. There was a sail, true enough, far out on the lake. All watched it with interest and saw it gradually grow larger. Evidently the craft was heading directly for the island. "She is coming this way, dad!" almost shouted Dan. "It looks so to me," replied Arnold Baxter, with increasing interest. "And she isn't the _Peacock_, either." "No, she's a strange ship--a sloop, by her rig." The Baxters watched the coming sail eagerly, and it must be confessed that the Rover boys were equally interested. "If the folks on that boat are honest, they will surely help us against the Baxters," murmured Sam. "Just what I was thinking," replied his brother. At last the vessel was near enough to be signaled, and, running to a high rock overlooking the water, Dan swung his hat and a handkerchief in the air. At first the signals were not seen, but at last came a voice through a speaking trumpet. "Ahoy, there!" "Ahoy!" shouted Dan. "Come here! Come here!" "What's the trouble?" "We are wrecked. We want you to take us off." "Wrecked?" "Yes. Will you take us off?" "Certainly." Slowly, but surely, the sloop drew nearer. She was a fair-sized craft, and carried a crew of three. The men seemed to be nice fellows, and not at all of the Captain Langless class. Soon the sloop dropped anchor close in shore and the mainsail came down at the same time. CHAPTER XXIX. DORA STANHOPE APPEARS. "So you have been shipwrecked?" said the master of the sloop, a young man of apparently twenty-five, whose name was Fairwell. "Yes," answered Baxter senior. "Your own boat, or some large vessel?" "Our own boat. We were out on a little cruise when we struck something in the dark and our craft went down almost immediately. Fortunately we were not far from this shore, or we would have been drowned. Where are you bound?" "Nowhere in particular. How long have you been on the island?" "Since night before last?" "All alone?" "Yes." "Had anything to eat?" "Well--er--not much," stammered Arnold Baxter. "We found some wreckage with some bread and a few cans of sardines, but that is all." "Then I reckon you won't go back on a square meal?" laughed Fairwell. "Indeed I won't!" put in Dan, bound to say something. "We would like to get back to the mainland as soon as possible," went on Arnold Baxter. "I am from Chicago, and must attend to some banking matters. My name is Larson--Henry Larson of State Street." "Well, Mr. Larson, we'll get you to the main shore as soon as we can; that is, providing the lady who has hired this sloop is willing to go on without stopping here. I reckon this young man is your friend?" "He is my son. And you are--?" "Randy Fairwell, at your service, sir. It's too bad you were wrecked, but you can be thankful your life was spared. Seen anybody around here since you've been ashore?" "Not a soul." "Nor any sail?" "Nothing. It has been very, very lonesome," and Arnold Baxter shook his head hypocritically. Tom and Sam listened to this talk with keen interest. Tom now nudged his brother. "This has gone far enough," he whispered. "Those men seem all right and I'm sure will prove our friends. I'm going to show myself." "Wait till the Baxters go on board," replied Sam. "Otherwise they may take it into their heads to run away again." A few words more followed between those on the sloop and the Baxters, and then the latter ran on the deck of the sloop by means of a plank thrown out for that purpose. Then Tom came forward, stick in hand, and Sam followed. "Hold those men!" he cried. "Don't let them get away from you!" Of course the men on the sloop were much astonished, both by the boys' sudden appearance and by the words which were spoken. "What's that?" called out Randy Fairwell. "Those Rover boys!" ejaculated Arnold Baxter, and his face turned white. "I said, Hold those men!" repeated Tom. "Don't let them get away from you." "What for? Who are you?" "Those fellows are rascals, and the father is an escaped prison-bird," put in Sam. "Hold them or they will run, sure." "It's false," burst out Dan Baxter. "That fellow is crazy. I never saw him before." "I guess they are both crazy," put in Arnold Baxter, taking the cue from his son. "Certainly I never set eyes on them before." "Do not believe one word of what he says," said Tom. "His name is not what he said, but Arnold Baxter, and he is the man who got out of a New York prison by means of a forged pardon. You must have read of that case in the newspapers last summer?" "I did read of it," answered Randy Fairwell. "But--but--" He was too bewildered to go on. "Where did you young men come from?" "We were carried off in a schooner hired by these rascals and put in a cave on this island. We escaped only after a hard fight." "But why were you carried off?" asked one of the other men on board of the sloop. "These Baxters wanted to get our father to pay them money for our safe return." "A kidnapping, eh?" "It's a--a fairy story, and these fellows must be stark mad!" cried Arnold Baxter. "I give you my word, gentlemen, I never set eyes on the chaps before. Either they are escaped lunatics or else their lonely life here has turned their brains." For a moment there was a pause; Sam and Tom standing at the end of the plank, clubs in hand, and the Baxters on the deck of the sloop, surrounded by the three men who had been sailing the craft. Those of the sloop looked from one party to the other in bewilderment. "Well, I must say I don't know whom to believe," said Randy Fairwell slowly. He turned to the boys. "Who are you?" "Tom Rover, and this is my brother Sam," answered the elder of the pair. "I never heard the name before," said Arnold Baxter loftily. "They don't appear to be very crazy," put in one of the men, whose name was Ruff. "That's true, but they must be crazy or they wouldn't address my father and me in this fashion," said Dan Baxter. "They can talk all they please," retorted Sam. "But if you let them escape, you will make a great mistake." "Here is a fair suggestion," said Tom. "Take us all to the mainland and to the nearest police station. The authorities will soon straighten out this tangle." "That certainly seems fair," muttered Randy Fairwell. "I say these boys must be crazy," blustered Arnold Baxter. "If you take them on board, the chances are they'll try to murder us." "I don't want to sail with a couple of crazy fellows," put in Dan, scowling darkly at the Rovers. "We might keep a close watch on them," suggested Ruff. "And keep a close watch on the Baxters," added Tom. At this moment the door of the tiny cabin of the sloop opened, and a girl came out, rubbing her eyes as if she had been taking a nap, which was a fact. She stared at the Baxters like one in a dream, and then gave a sudden cry of alarm. "Is it you!" "Dora Stanhope!" ejaculated Tom and Sam in a breath. Then the girl started and turned her eyes ashore. "Tom Rover! And Sam! Where in the wide world did you come from?" The Baxters fell back, almost overcome, and the father clutched the arm of his son savagely. "We've put our foot into it here," he muttered. "Who would have supposed that she was on this boat?" came from the son. "Do you know these folks, Miss Stanhope?" questioned Randy Fairwell. "Yes, I know all of them." answered the girl, when she had somewhat recovered from her surprise. "Of course she knows us," put in Tom, "and she knows those rascals, too; don't you, Dora?" "Yes, Tom. But how did you come here?" "It's a long tale, Dora. But just now I want you to help me bring the Baxters to justice. They are trying to make out that they are all right and that we are crazy." "Crazy! The idea! Indeed, Mr. Fairwell, these boys are not crazy. They are my best friends. They are Tom and Sam Rover, and they are brothers to the Dick Rover I told you about." "And what of these fellows?" questioned the master of the sloop. "This man is an escaped prisoner, and this is his son, who is also wanted by the authorities, I believe." "Trash and nonsense!" stormed Arnold Baxter, hardly knowing what to say. "This is simply a plot against us." He caught his son by the arm. "Come, we had better be going, since we are not wanted here." He leaped upon the plank and Dan came after him. "Get back there!" roared Tom, standing at the outer end of the plank. "Another step and I'll crack your head open, Arnold Baxter!" And he swung his club in the air defiantly. "Out of my way, or I will fire on you!" answered Arnold Baxter, and started to draw his pistol. "Oh, don't!" screamed Dora, and covered her face with her hands. "We want no shooting here--" began Randy Fairwell, and then stopped short in wonder. For reaching down, Tom had suddenly given the end of the plank a wobble. Before they could save themselves, the Baxters, father and son, pitched with a loud splash into the lake. "Good for you!" cried Sam. "If only they don't try to shoot when they come up." There was a commotion in the water and mud lining the shore, and slowly the Baxters appeared to view, covered with slime and weeds, and both empty-handed, for Dan had not had time to draw his weapon, and that of the father lay somewhere on the bottom. "Now do you surrender, or shall I do a little shooting?" said Tom sternly, although he had no weapon. "Don't shoot me, please don't!" howled Dan, his last bit of courage deserting him. The father said nothing, but looked as if he would like to annihilate both of the Rovers. Randy Fairwell turned quickly to Dora Stanhope. "You are certain these people are bad?" he said. "Yes, yes; very bad!" answered Dora, and continued: "You can believe all the Rovers tell you concerning them." One end of the plank still rested on the sloop, and Fairwell quickly placed the board in position again. By this time the Baxters were crawling out of the lake. Sam caught hold of Dan while Tom tackled the father. With a heavy boathook in his hand Randy Fairwell now ran ashore, followed by Ruff. "You had better give up the fight," said Fairwell to Arnold Baxter. "If you are in the right, you shall have justice done to you." "I will never give in!" growled Arnold Baxter savagely, and did his best to get away. Seeing this, Sam let Dan go and started in to help Tom. The struggle lasted several minutes, but Fairwell put an end to it by catching Arnold Baxter from behind and holding him in a grasp of iron, and then the rascal was made a close prisoner by being bound with a rope. "Now for Dan!" cried Tom, and turned around, to find that Dan Baxter had taken time by the forelock and disappeared. It was destined to be many a day before any of the Rovers set eyes on him again. CHAPTER XXX. HOME AGAIN--CONCLUSION. "Dan is gone!" "Which way did he go?" "I don't know." "He ran up the shore, in that direction!" called out Dora, pointing with her hand. Leaving Arnold Baxter in the grasp of Fairwell and Ruff, Tom and Sam hurried off. But Dan Baxter had disappeared in a perfect wilderness of rocks and bushes and could not be located. "Never mind," said Tom; "let him go, if he wants to remain on this lonely spot." All were soon on board the sloop, and Tom and Sam told their tale, to which Dora, as well as the others, listened with close attention. "Then my mother is safe!" burst out the girl. "Thank Heaven for that!" "She was safe when last we saw her," said Tom. "I guess the best thing we can do will be to get back to the wreck of the _Wellington_ without delay." "Yes! yes! take me to my mother at once. I have been hunting for her ever since she disappeared." "But how did you happen to come here?" "I found out that Josiah Crabtree had hired the _Wellington_, and day before yesterday we ran across a steamboat which had sighted the schooner headed in this direction." "How did he get her away in the first place?" "We were stopping at a hotel in Canada and I went out to do some necessary shopping. When I got back my mother was gone. She had received a bogus note, written I presume by Crabtree, asking her to come to me at once, as I had been taken sick in one of the stores. I immediately hired a detective, Mr. Ruff here, and we tracked Mr. Crabtree to the lake." "Good for you, Dora,--a man couldn't have done better," cried Sam so enthusiastically that Dora had to blush. "But now I want to get to mother without further delay." "Let us set sail at once, then," said Tom. "The distance to the wreck is not over two miles." Without delay the anchor was hoisted, the mainsail set, and the sloop left the shore. She was a trim-built craft, and under a good breeze her bow cut the shining waters of the lake like a knife. The only one on the boat who was not in good humor was Arnold Baxter. When he got the chance he called Tom Rover to him. "Rover, what do you intend to do with me?" he asked. "We intend to hand you over to the authorities." "You are making a great mistake." "I'll risk that." "If you'll let me go I'll promise to turn over a new leaf, and, more than that, I'll help your father to make a pile of money out of that mine in Colorado." "Your promises are not worth the breath they are uttered in, Arnold Baxter. You belong in prison, and that is where you are going." At this Baxter began to rave and utter words unfit to print. But Tom soon stopped this. "Keep a civil tongue in your head, or we'll gag you," he said, and then Baxter relapsed into sullen silence. The breeze was favorable, and it was not long before the sloop rounded a point of the island and came in sight of the _Wellington_. "Let us surprise old Crabtree," suggested Sam. "We can keep out of his sight until the last moment." Tom was willing, yet Dora demurred, wishing to get to her mother as soon as possible. Yet, as they drew closer, the girl stepped behind the cabin for a minute. "A ship!" cried Peglace, who was on watch on deck. "A ship at last, and coming to shore!" He uttered the words in French, and they speedily brought to the deck his companion and his companion's fat wife. "A ship, sure enough," said the other Canadian, while his wife shed tears of joy. Josiah Crabtree had just been interviewing Mrs. Stanhope in the cabin. He was trying again to hypnotize her, and she was trying to keep from under the spell. "A boat must be coming, by the cries," said the former teacher. "I will go to the deck and investigate." He ran up the companion way, and Mrs. Stanhope followed. The lady felt weak and utterly discouraged. "If I only had Dora with me!" she murmured to herself. "Did you speak?" asked Crabtree, looking over his shoulder. "Not to you," she answered coldly. Soon Crabtree was at the stern. The sloop came closer, and a rope was thrown to the _Wellington_ and made fast by the Canadians. The smaller craft drew so little water that she did not ground, even when lying at the larger ship's stern. "Hullo!" began Josiah Crabtree, addressing Randy Fairwell. "This is most fortunate." "I see you are wrecked," returned Fairwell calmly. "Exactly, sir--a very unfortunate affair truly. Will you rescue us?" "Anybody else on board?" "Yes, a lady to whom I am engaged to be married," and Crabtree smiled blandly. "Will you come on board?" "I guess I will," answered Fairwell. "Eh, Mr. Ruff?" "Yes," answered the detective, and leaped on the deck of the wreck. By this time Mrs. Stanhope was on deck also, gazing curiously at those on the sloop. "I believe this is Mr. Josiah Crabtree?" went on Ruff coldly. "Eh? Why--er--you have the advantage of me!" stammered the former teacher of Putnam Hall, falling back in dismay. "Are you Josiah Crabtree or not?" "I am; but--" "Then consider yourself my prisoner, Mr. Crabtree." "Your prisoner!" "That is what I said." "But why do you say I am arrested? Who are you?" "You are arrested for plotting against the welfare of Mrs. Stanhope there and Dora Stanhope, her daughter; also for forging Dora Stanhope's name to a letter sent to the girl's mother." "It is false. I--I--Oh!" Josiah Crabtree staggered back, for Dora had run forward. In a second more mother and daughter were in each other's arms. An affecting scene followed. Josiah Crabtree turned a sickly green, and his knees smote together. "I--er--that is, we--the lady and myself--there is some mistake." He tried to go on, but failed utterly. "You fraud, you!" cried Tom, and came forward, followed by Sam. "Now, Josiah Crabtree, we are on top, and we mean to stay there. Mr. Ruff, you had better handcuff him." "I will," returned the detective, and brought forth a pair of steel "nippers." "Handcuff me!" groaned Crabtree, "Oh, the disgrace! No! no!" "You ought to have thought of the disgrace before," was Ruff's comment, and the next minute the handcuffs were fast on the prisoner. A shout was now heard from one of the Canadian sailors. He was pointing to the north of the island, where a steam tug had just hove into sight. The tug was coming on rapidly, and as she drew closer Tom and Sam made out a youth standing on the cabin top, eagerly waving his hand to them. "Dick!" cried both of the Rovers. "Dick, by all that is wonderful!" It was indeed Dick and the _Rocket_, and soon the steam tug came up to the stern of the sloop and made fast. "Tom and Sam, and safe!" burst out Dick, and then his eyes fell upon the Stanhopes. "Dora!" He shook hands and blushed deeply, and so did the girl. "Why, I never expected this!" "None of us did," answered Dora with a warm smile. "And your mother, too!" "It's like a fairy tale," put in Tom, "and I guess it's going to end just as happily as fairy tales usually do." It took some time for each to tell his story. When it came to Dick's turn, he said the steam tug had done her best to follow up Captain Langless and his schooner, but had failed because of the darkness. "She's now out of sight," he concluded, "and there is no telling where she is." "Well, let him go," said Tom. "We have Arnold Baxter, and he is the chief villain. I don't believe Captain Langless will ever bother us again." After a long conversation it was decided that all of the party should return to the mainland in the steam tug and the sloop, the latter to be towed by the former. Dick remained on the sloop with the Stanhopes, while Josiah Crabtree was placed in the company of his fellow-criminal, Arnold Baxter. With the party went the Canadian who was married, and his wife, leaving the other Canadian to look after the wreck until his partner should return with material with which the boat could be patched up. The run to the mainland was a pleasing one to the Rovers, and also to Larry and faithful Aleck Pop. The negro was on a broad grin over the safety of the brothers. "Dem boys beat de nation," he said. "Nebber gits into trouble so deep but wot da paddles out ag'in in short ordah; yes, sah!" During the trip it was decided by the Stanhopes, on Dick's advice, to prosecute Josiah Crabtree to the full extent of the law. Mrs. Stanhope demurred somewhat to this, but Dora was firm, and when the case was brought to trial Crabtree was sent to prison for two years. The first thing the Rover boys did when on shore was to telegraph to their father, telling him of their safety. This telegram caught Mr. Rover just as he was about to arrange for sending the ten thousand dollars to Arnold Baxter. He was overjoyed at the glad tidings, and came on as far as Detroit to meet the whole party. "My boys, how you must have suffered!" he said, as he shook one after another by the hand. "In the future you must be more careful!" Arnold Baxter wished to see Anderson Rover, hoping thereby to influence the latter in his behalf, but Mr. Rover refused to grant the interview, and on the day following Arnold Baxter was sent back to the prison in New York State, there to begin his long term of imprisonment all over again. There was much speculation concerning Dan Baxter, and when the Rovers went back to the island on the steam tug,--to obtain what had been discovered in the cave,--they asked the Canadian on the wreck if he had seen the youth. "Yes, I see him," was the answer. "But he is gone now. He went off in a small boat that torched here yesterday." "It's just as well," said Tom. "We didn't want to see the fellow starve here." But at the cave which Dick and the others had discovered he changed his tune, for there were many signs that Dan Baxter had visited the locality. The money which had been lying on the dust-covered table was gone, likewise the map and the dagger. "We are out that much," said Dick to Larry and Peterson. "The boxes and casks are not disturbed," replied the old lumberman. "He couldn't carry those," said Larry. "Perhaps he thinks to come back for these later." "Then we'll fool him," replied Dick. All of the goods were transferred to the steam tug and taken to Detroit, where, after remaining unclaimed for some time, they were sold, the sale netting the Rovers and their friends several thousand dollars. One odd-shaped box Dick kept as a souvenir. It had been a money casket and was lined with brass. Little did the youth dream of all the strange adventures into which that casket was to lead him and his brothers. What those adventures were will be told in another volume of this series to be entitled, "THE ROVER BOYS IN THE MOUNTAINS; or, A HUNT FOR FUN AND FORTUNE." The home-coming of the three boys was celebrated in grand style, not alone by the Covers, but by many of their friends, who flocked in from far and near to see them. Captain Putnam was there, along with many of their old schoolfellows. "It's good to be home once more," said Sam. "Especially with so many friends around you," added Tom. "And after escaping from so many perils," came from Dick. And here let us leave them, wishing them well, both for the present and the future. THE END. 
23072	----	The Voyage of the "Steadfast"--The Young Missionaries in the Pacific, by W.H.G. Kingston. ________________________________________________________________________ The "Steadfast" is a whaling vessel, based on Liverpool. The whaling grounds are in the Pacific, so each voyage involves a long time away from home. The story opens with the owner-captain's wife and daughter sitting at home during a great storm, in which a vessel is wrecked very near their house. On board the ship are Harry Graybrook, the skipper's son, and another youngster called Dickey Bass. Leonard Champion is the mate, and is also in love with the captain's daughter, whom we met in Chapter One. There is an incident with a whale which results in the "Steadfast" being separated from a small boat containing the above, as well as an old seaman known as "old Tom", and several other seamen. They try to regain contact with the mother ship, but fail. They run out of food and water, but land on an island where they are catching fish and filling their water containers, when they are attacked by a hostile band of natives who kill some of the seamen. After a long time at sea with very little water and food they are picked up by another whaling vessel, but are treated very badly by her moody and eccentric captain. Shipwrecked again, and after various adventures, they meet up with some missionaries. Eventually contact is made again with the "Steadfast", and back they go to England, where Leonard Champion marries the daughter, and takes command of the ship on old Graybrook's retirement. ________________________________________________________________________ THE VOYAGE OF THE "STEADFAST"--THE YOUNG MISSIONARIES IN THE PACIFIC, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON. CHAPTER ONE. CAPTAIN GRAYBROOK'S HOME. A heavy gale was blowing, which shook the windows of the little drawing-room in which Mrs Graybrook and her daughter Hannah were seated at their work. Their cottage was situated close to the sea on the north coast of Wales, so that from it, on a clear day, many a tall ship bound for Liverpool, or sailing from that port, could be seen through the telescope which stood ever ready pointed across the water. A lamp burning on the table, for it was night, shed its light on the comely features and matronly figure of the elder lady, as she busily plied her needle, while it showed that those of Hannah, a fair and interesting-looking girl just growing into womanhood, were unusually pale. Every now and then she unconsciously let her work drop on her lap while, with her eyes turned towards the window and lips apart, she seemed to be listening for some sound which her mother's ear had not noticed. A glance into the little room might have shown why both mother and daughter should feel anxious when tempests were raging and the sea was tossing with angry waves. The mantel-piece was ornamented with some beautiful branches of coral, several large and rare shells, and two horns of the narwhal, or sea-unicorn, fixed against the wall, and above it was the picture of a ship under all sail, with boats hoisted up along her sides, and flags flying at her mastheads and peak. On the top of a bookcase stood the perfect model of a vessel; another part of the wall was adorned with Indian bows and spears and clubs, arranged in symmetrical order; while one side of the room was hung with pictures, in which boats in chase of the mighty monsters of the deep formed the chief subjects, or which represented scenes on the coasts of far-distant lands. Hannah had more than once risen and gone to the window, across which-- for the weather was still warm--the curtain had only partially been drawn. Another fierce blast shook the whole house. "Oh, mother, what a dreadful night it is!" she exclaimed, at length. "I fancied I heard the sound of a distant gun; it must come from some ship in distress. What can she do if embayed off our shore in this terrific gale?" Mrs Graybrook looked up from her work. "I was thinking, my child, how thankful we should be that the _Steadfast_ has long ago been far away from this. Your father and Harry are enjoying, I hope, smooth seas and gentle breezes, and may such, I pray, follow them wherever they go." "I trust that they are, mother; but still I cannot help feeling anxious on such a night as this, with the wind howling and raging round us, when I think in what condition a ship must be placed, exposed on the wild sea to its fury." "Your father has often said that he cares little for the heaviest gale, provided he has plenty of sea-room; and a better-found ship and stauncher crew than his, he declares, does not sail out of the port of Liverpool." "I know that he has great faith in the _Steadfast's_ good qualities; but even the finest ship may meet with accidents; and oh, how many are the dangers she must have to run before she returns home!" said Hannah, with a sigh. "Your father is a careful navigator, my dear, and he has vigilant officers. His first mate is a tried hand, and he considers Leonard Champion, his second mate, young as he is, an excellent seaman and fully capable of taking charge of a ship; he hopes, indeed, to get him the command of one when he returns, though he would be sorry to lose him." "I know that, mother; and I am wrong to express my fears," answered Hannah. "Still I cannot help feeling for the poor seamen who may be battling with the tempest to-night; and that makes me more anxious, perhaps, about those who are far away, and of the dangers to which they may be exposed. Surely there was another gun!" She again went to the window, and, throwing it open, looked out into the darkness. The fierce wind coming in made the curtains flutter, and almost blew out the lamp. "I saw the flash of a gun, mother. It is in the direction of those dark rocks which lift their heads above the water!" exclaimed Hannah. "Ah! I heard the sound also. There is another flash! They must have come from some unfortunate ship. Perhaps she is already on the rocks. Can any boat venture out to her assistance in a storm like this? I will shut the window directly, mother," she added, looking round, and trying to catch the fluttering curtains. Again she looked out. "I cannot be mistaken!" she exclaimed, the tone of her voice showing her anxiety. "There is another gun. The ship must be in fearful peril! Can nothing be done to help the poor people?" Mrs Graybrook, convinced that Hannah was right in her conjecture, came to the window, and mother and daughter stood gazing out for some minutes, and trying to penetrate the thick gloom which hung over the wild, tempestuous sea raging below them. A fiercer blast than before, which drove the rain and spray against their faces, compelled them to close the window; yet Hannah could not withdraw herself from it, for she still caught an occasional flash, and could distinguish the roar of the guns even amidst the howling of the wind. "What help can we render to them?" she again asked. "We may give them aid--all the aid which we have the power to give," said Mrs Graybrook, placing her work on the table. "We can pray for them as we pray for those who are far away." "I never cease to pray for those dear ones, mother, morning and evening, and every hour of the day," said Hannah. "Oh, that they had learned to pray for themselves," she murmured; "to seek that aid in time of need which will never be withheld!" Together the mother and daughter knelt, and offered up their prayers to the throne of grace, that help might be sent to those near at hand, while their petitions went up also for those loved ones at a distance. They knew that the all-seeing eye of the God of mercy could follow them, that His far-reaching hand could protect them, and that, feeble as were their petitions, He heard and would grant them if He saw fit. They rose with hearts cheered and comforted. "I should indeed be happier if Harry had known and accepted the truth," said Mrs Graybrook, continuing the conversation just before begun. "He is so light-hearted, and, enjoying health and strength, so confident in himself, that his mind has hitherto appeared incapable of attending to spiritual things; though, when I have spoken to him, he has respectfully listened with a grave countenance; but the subject has evidently not been to his taste. My grief is, also, that your father so admires his bold and daring spirit, that he encourages him to think more of the things of this world than of the future. Excellent as your father is, too, he has not had the same advantages of receiving religious instruction which we have possessed, and is therefore unable to impart it to Harry. This made me very unwilling that your brother should go to sea before he was a confirmed Christian; but your father was so determined to take him that I was compelled to consent." Mrs Graybrook would not have spoken thus to Hannah of her father's want of religious principle, but that she knew her daughter was well aware of it, and mourned for it with her, while she had often joined with her in prayer that he might be brought to know the truth. Mrs Graybrook had far too much delicacy and sense of what is right, under other circumstances, to have spoken to her daughter in any way which might have appeared disrespectful of Captain Graybrook, for whom they both entertained the deepest affection. Her true and faithful love for her husband made her feel as she did; for, having learned the value of her own soul, she was anxious about his and that of her dear boy. "I at first had hoped that Leonard Champion would have proved an advantageous companion to Harry," continued Mrs Graybrook. "But, if not inclined to laugh at religion, he is, I fear, ignorant of its vital truths or indifferent to them, and Harry therefore cannot be benefited through his means." Hannah sighed. "You are right, mamma; Mr Champion cannot lead Harry to the fountain in which he does not see the need of being washed himself. I spoke to him earnestly on the subject, but without avail, though he accepted some books which I offered him, and promised to read them when he had time." The two ladies had, since they settled in Wales, enjoyed the ministry of one of those gifted servants of God, to whom the honour has been given of winning souls to Christ by their preaching and private exhortations. He had been a frequent visitor at the cottage; and mother and daughter, having accepted the truth, had been built up in their faith, becoming earnest yet humble Christians. This was after Harry went to school. During his short holidays, though his mother and sister had often earnestly and lovingly spoken to him, they had made no apparent impression on his mind, all his thoughts being set on going to sea. His mother had now deeply to regret that she herself, ignorant of the truth during his childhood's days, had been unable to instruct him while his young mind was ready to receive the religious knowledge she might have imparted. How many a mother must feel as she did! Captain Graybrook had been constantly at sea, and when he came home for a brief visit, though he remarked the change in his wife and daughter, and found that they were unwilling to engage in any of the frivolous amusements of society, he looked upon the opinions they expressed as mere passing fancies, and begged to be excused from listening to the preacher of whom they spoke so highly. "Those sort of things are very good, my dear wife, for some people," he answered, carelessly; "but sailors have no time to attend to them; I, at all events, have not, for I have to see to the refitting of the ship; and you must acknowledge that I have been a good husband and father. I have done my duty; and what more can you want of me?" "The best of human beings are sinful by nature, and have committed numberless sins, and require to be washed in the blood of Jesus to fit them to enter into the presence of a pure and holy God," answered Mrs Graybrook, gently. "I dare say it is all true," said the captain, kissing his wife. "You are a good creature, and mean well; but I have not time to listen now, and must be off; so good-bye, Betty, good-bye!" and he hurried away. Hannah had entertained hopes of inducing her father's young mate, Leonard Champion, to listen to the subject which occupied her thoughts. He had been a frequent visitor at the house while the ship was undergoing repairs in the dockyard, for he was an especial favourite of her father. He was a young man of superior attainments, not having gone to sea till he had completed his education at school and had entered college. At that time, his father, who was a merchant, dying just as his firm, by unforeseen circumstances, had become bankrupt, Leonard was left destitute. He had always had a predilection for the sea, and Captain Graybrook, an old friend of his father, at once offered, in the most liberal way, to give him an outfit and to receive him on board his ship. Leonard thankfully accepted the offer, and, devoting all his energies and talents to acquire a knowledge of the profession he had entered, soon became an excellent navigator and a first-rate seaman. Delighting in his new calling, generous and good-natured as he was cool and daring in danger, he won the confidence of his captain, and was beloved and willingly obeyed by the crew. He had not seen the captain's daughter till the last time the ship returned home, and had not expected to find her so engaging and refined a girl. He was, in her sight, superior to any one she had ever met, and her affections were engaged before she was aware of the state of her own feelings. He did not conceal his, and, little versed in the ways of the world, while utterly free from deceit, he expressed his opinions with a freedom which many persons under the circumstances would not have done. Hannah, though admiring his many fine qualities, could not forget that he was destitute of the most important of all things--sound religious principle. Not denying the interest she felt in him, she distinctly told him that she would never engage herself to marry one who did not desire faithfully to serve the same God and Master whom she did. Leonard did not clearly understand her meaning, as, indeed, no one still following the ways of the world can comprehend the spiritually minded. In vain she spoke to him. Perhaps not till he had sailed did she discover how completely, in spite of her resolutions, she had given him her heart. All she could now do was to pray that the young sailor might be brought to a knowledge of the truth. That evening, while the storm was raging, her mind had been far away on board the _Steadfast_, and her heart sickened as she remembered the dangers to which he might be exposed, and the hazardous pursuit in which he was engaged. "Perhaps Mr Champion may give Harry some of the books to read which he took with him," observed Hannah. "I chose such as I thought most likely to interest him." "I fear Harry is very little addicted to reading," answered Mrs Graybrook. "Is there no one else on board likely to speak to Harry on religious subjects, mother? Are none of the other mates Christians?" asked Hannah, anxiously. "I fear not," said Mrs Graybrook. "There is, however, old Tom Hayes, who has sailed for many years with your father, and has frequently been at our house. I have at times heard him let drop expressions which induced me to believe that he is a Christian man. Your father has spoken of him as a Methodist, and observed that, though he did not think much of his opinions, he was the most sober and steady man he ever had with him, and one of his best boat-steerers and harpooners. I remember being struck by the old man's calm and intelligent countenance and his gentle and unassuming manners, which true and simple religious faith could alone impart. When we were last on board the ship he expressed himself more openly to me than he had ever before done. I spoke to him about Harry, and he assured me that he would do his best to look after him and keep him out of danger. He was going to say more, when he was called away to attend to some duty, and I had no other opportunity of speaking to him." "I remember the old sailor," said Hannah. "How I wish that I had thought of talking with him! But I am afraid that Harry will not be inclined to listen to anything which a person whom he will look upon as his inferior may say to him. Still the old man may be able to speak to him, and if he is, as you think, a true Christian, he will certainly endeavour to do so." "After all, dear Hannah, while we rest assured that God will hear our petitions, we must remember that He knows best how to answer them," observed Mrs Graybrook. "Confiding in His love, let our hearts be comforted." More than once the conversation of the mother and daughter had been interrupted by the loud uproar of the storm, and Jane, their maid-servant, who had been sitting by herself in the kitchen, came running in, exclaiming that she was afraid the whole house would be blown away. "It has stood many a severer gale than this, Jane," answered her mistress. "But bring your work in here, as you are alarmed at being alone," she added, kindly. "We should be worse off if we were to run out into the garden." The girl thankfully took advantage of Mrs Graybrook's permission to sit in the drawing-room; and her presence prevented the two ladies from speaking further on the subject which occupied their thoughts. The usual time for their evening prayers arrived. It seemed to Hannah, even while they were on their knees, that the gale blew with less fury than before. It was, indeed, one of those storms which occasionally, during the equinox, sweep along the coast, and, though brief, cause much damage to vessels caught near the shore, especially to such as are ill-found and ill-manned. So do the trials of life wreck those persons destitute of sound faith and religious principle, while those who are resting on Jesus are carried through them and preserved. Next morning the wind had ceased, and the sun shone forth. Hannah anxiously looked through the telescope in the direction she had seen the flashes of the guns. There lay a large ship on the rocks, but her masts were standing, and boats were passing to and fro from the shore. She was greatly relieved when she soon afterwards heard that, though the ship had received much damage, no lives had been lost. "I was wrong last night in giving way to my faithless fears and running the risk of alarming you, my dear mother," she said, with a smile. "I feel my heart happier this morning, and believe that God will protect those we love, and that we shall yet see the _Steadfast_, with a full cargo, sailing back towards the Mersey, and, better still, that father and Harry" (she could not bring herself to utter the name of Leonard Champion aloud) "may have accepted the truth, and then--" and she looked upwards--"when we are called upon to part, we may know that we shall meet together to enjoy the glorious happiness which our gracious Saviour has prepared for all those who love Him." CHAPTER TWO. WHALING IN THE PACIFIC. The _Steadfast_, South Sea whaler, having doubled Cape Horn, was traversing the broad waters of the Pacific. Royals and studding-sails were set to catch the light breeze which sent her gliding majestically along over the calm ocean; her six whaleboats, with stem and stern alike, hung from the davits above her black sides. A tropical sun shone down on her deck, making the pitch hiss and bubble in the seams, and driving all on deck whose duty did not compel them to keep elsewhere, into such shade as the sails and bulwarks afforded. Captain Graybrook, a fine-looking man, with an open, intelligent expression of countenance, stood aft, sextant in hand, prepared to take a meridional altitude. Near him was his second mate, Leonard Champion, with two boys, one of whom also held a sextant. "You can now, Harry, take an observation as well as I can, and before long, if you pay attention, you will become a good navigator," observed the young mate. "Thank you for teaching me, Mr Champion; that's just my wish," answered Harry. "Where there's a will there's a way; and you, Mr Bass," said the mate, turning to the other boy, "ought to do as well as Harry by this time." "Dickey is fonder of skylarking than shooting the stars," remarked Harry, laughing. "Not fonder than you are, Harry," retorted Dickey Bass, who was the son of a former shipmate of Captain Graybrook, and brought by him to sea through regard for the boy's father. "I don't happen to understand sums as well as you do, and so I don't always get my day's work done as correctly as yours." "Always! why, if we were to go by your reckoning, Dickey, we should have been in the middle of the forests of South America, or on the top of the Andes, before now. When did you ever make a right calculation?" asked Harry, who delighted in bantering Dickey, though they were really great friends. "Why, for the last fortnight I don't suppose I have been more than eight or ten degrees out at the utmost." Mr Champion and Harry laughed heartily. "Rather a serious error, Mr Bass." "I meant minutes," said Dickey, "or perhaps seconds; I always forget which is which." At that moment Captain Graybrook lifted his instrument to his eye, and the mate and Harry followed his example. "The sun has dipped; make it noon," said the captain; and the ship's bell was struck. Having written off their observations and quickly made their calculations, the ship was found to be about seventeen degrees south of the line, off the coast of Peru. Look-out men were sent aloft, for they were now approaching a part of the ocean where whales were in those days likely to be found. As they looked over the side, many polypi, medusae, and squid were observed floating on the surface; and occasionally a covey of flying-fish, rising from the water, darted rapidly over it, quickly again, as their brilliant wings dried, to sink down and become the prey of their enemies, the dolphin or bonito. A seaman had just hauled a bucket of water on deck. Within it was a gelatinous-looking mass. The mate and his young companions examined it. "That is part of a squid," he observed, "the whale's food. Probably the remainder is down the monster's maw. We shall sight a whale before the day is over, I hope." "I hope so too," said Harry. "I long to see one killed and brought alongside. We have had a dull time of it since we touched at Valparaiso. I thought we should have captured a dozen or more before this." "You will have to learn patience at sea, my boy," observed the mate. "We have three years to remain out, and may consider ourselves fortunate if we get a full ship at the end of that time." The sextants had been returned to their cases in the cabin, and Harry and his chum, Dickey Bass, finding it very hot, seated themselves in the shade by the side of a gun, of which the _Steadfast_ carried eight, besides a good supply of muskets and cutlasses and other weapons; for, having to visit regions inhabited by fierce and savage tribes, she was well armed. "I say, Harry, what was old Tom talking to you about in your watch last night, and what made you look so grave this morning? I could not tell what had come over you," said Dickey Bass. "He asked me whether I was prepared to die. I thought it an odd question." "I should think it was," said young Bass. "What did you say in return?" "I told him that I had not thought about it, and that, as I enjoyed life, I had no intention of leaving it," answered Harry. "He then reminded me that I might fall overboard any day, or the ship might be lost with all hands, or the boat in which I happened to be might be capsized, or I might die of fever, or be cut off by savages, or that I might lose my life in a number of other ways. He asked me, if any of these disagreeable things were to happen, where I expected to go. I told him, of course, that I wished to go to heaven; and he then inquired what right I had to go there." "I do not think he had any right to ask you any such questions," observed Harry's companion. "I should have told him to mind his own business. I do not like to be bothered by that sort of questions." "I could not answer him in that way," replied Harry, "for he spoke very kindly. He is, besides, an old man, and has been for a number of years with my father, who thinks highly of him, for I have heard him say so. Besides, he has taken great pains to teach me seamanship, always tells me anything I ask him; and if it were not for him I should not know half as much as I do." "Still, I do not see why he should try to frighten you about dying, or ask you where you expect to go if you do. It looks as if he doubted that you would go to heaven," said Dickey. "He told me very distinctly that I had no claim whatever to go there, and that unless my sins were washed away, the Bible says that I should be unfit to go there; that heaven is a pure and holy place, and that all people are impure and unholy," said Harry, in a graver tone than usual. "But I suppose he wants you to become religious, and read good books, and give up laughing and singing and being the capital jolly fellow you are now, Harry," interrupted Dickey Bass. "If I were you, I would not listen to him; neither your father nor Mr Champion ever speaks to us in that way. Just forget all he said, and drive dull care away." "I have already forgotten, I am afraid, a great deal that he said," answered Harry; "but he seemed, at all events, very much in earnest, and I cannot help remembering some of the things. Besides, Mr Champion has lately spoken to me more seriously than he has ever done before; and only last Sunday he gave me a book to read, and told me that he thought it would do me good. As I found my sister Hannah's name in it, I suppose she asked him to give it to me, and that he had forgotten to do so till then." "I saw you with one in your hand. Did you read it?" asked young Bass. "It seemed very dry, and I fell asleep over it, so that I cannot say I know much about it," answered Harry. "The best thing you could have done," remarked Dickey. "Whatever you do, Harry, don't turn Methodist. I cannot say that I admire old Tom, and do not want you to become like him. To my mind he is a dull, stiff old fellow, with a very good opinion of himself, and I have never felt inclined to be intimate with him." "I did not at first; but he seemed so anxious to help me, and to put me up to all sorts of things, that I could not help liking him, though I own that I would rather he did not talk to me about religion. The next time he does so I shall try to get him to change the subject." "Of course you must," said Dickey Bass. "It's all very well for parsons and ministers, but an old boat-steerer has no business to trouble one with such things. Why, I only yesterday heard him lecturing Rob Burton there, the merriest, happiest fellow in the ship;" and he pointed to a fine, active-looking young seaman at work on the other side of the deck. "I have a notion that he was talking to him about his soul and death, as if he was not likely to live as long as any one on board, and longer too than most of the old hands. Why should he put melancholy thoughts into his head, and take the pluck out of him?" "I suppose he thought Rob Burton careless about religious matters, and wanted to get him to read his good books and tracts," observed Harry. "Old Tom means well, at all events." "He may mean well, but for my part I don't like those well-meaning fellows," answered Dickey. "If I catch him lecturing you I will join in, and we will soon put a stop to his preaching." The thoughtless lads talked on for some time in the same strain, till any good effect which the conversation Tom Hayes had held with Harry might have produced on him was completely eradicated. They were interrupted by a startling cry from the masthead, so welcome to a whaler's ears, of "There she spouts!" and in a moment the crew, hitherto so lethargic, were aroused into action. Some flew to the falls, to lower a couple of boats, others sprang up the shrouds, to observe the position of the whale; and soon afterwards the boats, of which the first and second mates had the command, shoved off from the ship's side. Another cry came of "There again!" indicating that the whale had once more come to the surface, and was spouting. The monster was at no great distance. Mr Gibson, the first mate, took the lead, pulling the bow oar of his boat, that he might be ready to strike the harpoon into the animal as soon as it was reached. Harry and his friend were in the rigging watching the proceedings. Quitting his oar, the mate stood up, harpoon in hand; it flew from his grasp just in time to strike the monster, which was about to "sound," or dive. The line attached to the weapon led aft to a tub, in which it lay coiled at the bottom of the boat. The mate, who acted as boat-steerer, now came to his proper place in the stern, where he guided the boat by an oar passed through a ring called a grummet, while the headsman, who had before been steering, took his place in the bow, armed with several lances, ready to plunge into the body of the whale the instant it again appeared. After some minutes, up came the monster, lying somewhat exhausted with its exertions to escape and the effects of the harpoon in its body. The boat pulling close up to it, the headsman thrust first one lance and then another into its body, near the fin, shouting as he did so, "Stern all." Instantly the boat backed away as fast as the crew could use their oars, only just in time to avoid the violent movements of the monster, which now reared its tail, lashing the water into foam, and, lifting its enormous head, threatened destruction to its assailants with its formidable jaws. Suddenly its movements ceased, and the boat-steerers, believing that its last struggles were over, and eager to secure their victim, urged their men to give way towards it. The first mate's boat still took the lead, and approached with less caution than usual. The apparently vanquished monster, as it saw her, without a moment's warning whirled round its enormous tail, which, striking her, sent the boat flying into the air, scattering her crew on either side in the blood-stained water, when it rushed forward with open mouth to attack Mr Champion's boat. He narrowly avoided the fierce assault, and then boldly steered to the assistance of his shipmates, who were struggling for their lives. Once more the whale turned, dragging the boat after it, swimming directly through the midst of the men in the water. The accident had been clearly seen from the ship. Several had been picked up. Mr Champion then steered towards the whale, which was in its death struggle a short distance off. Another boat had been lowered to go to his assistance, under the command of Tom Hayes. In a short time, the first mate's boat having been righted, all three were seen returning. "Any one hurt, Mr Gibson?" inquired the captain, as the whale was brought alongside. "Sorry to say, sir, that Rob Burton has gone," was the answer. "Either the whale or the boat struck him, and he went down like a shot." "Poor Rob Burton!" exclaimed several voices. "The gayest and best-hearted fellow aboard." "Dickey, you said he was likely to live as long as any of us," remarked Harry, very much shocked. "I wonder whether he listened to what old Tom said to him?" "It's not a subject I like to think about," answered Dickey. "I wish it had not happened." "So do I. But our wishes cannot bring poor Burton to life again," observed Harry. "I cannot help thinking that old Tom must be right; and when he speaks to me I think I ought to listen to what he says." "Now, Harry, don't let this thing make you turn Methodist!" exclaimed Bass, after a silence of some minutes. "It is very shocking, of course; but that's no reason why we should mope and grow serious, and fancy that the same is going to happen to us. I don't feel quite comfortable myself, I own; but we shall get over it in a few days, and all hands will be as merry as ever." Such, indeed, was the case. Poor Burton's clothes were put up to auction and disposed of among the crew, and his name was seldom or never mentioned afterwards. Too often the same thing happens on board ship when a seaman is lost, much as his shipmates may mourn for him at the time. Old Tom did not, however, fail to speak to Harry about Burton. "I was talking to him on the state of his soul only just two or three days before he had to go and stand in the presence of his Maker, and give an account of the deeds done in the body," said the old man. "I asked him whether he knew that it was washed in the blood of the Saviour, or whether he had his sins still clinging to him. He did not know, poor lad, that his soul needed cleansing; and when I said that it was vile and foul, and loaded with sin, and that unless it was washed he could not enter heaven and stand before the all-righteous Judge, he asked me how that was to be done. So I told him the way God has appointed--the only way by which it could be done--through faith in the blood of the risen Saviour shed for us on Calvary. And I tell you, Harry, that it gives me great joy to think that his answer was, `I do believe Jesus died for me. May God in His mercy help my unbelief.' I told him to pray, and that he might be sure God would answer his prayer. He said he would that very night; and next morning he told me that he had prayed, and that he felt happier than he had ever done before. I had not another word with him after that; but I only wish that you and every one in the ship were like Rob Burton. I know little more about him than what I have told you, but that is enough to give me comfort; and if I ever get home and can visit his mother, it will give her comfort too, for she is a Christian woman, and had taught him to pray, and had never ceased praying for him, he said. Of that he was sure." "Then do you think he has gone to heaven?" asked Harry. "Yes," answered old Tom; "for God has promised that He will receive all who trust in Jesus. Whatever are their sins, He will put them as far from Him as the east is from the west; that though they be red like scarlet, they shall become white as wool." "I wish that I understood these things better than I do," said Harry, earnestly. "You have your Bible, Harry; read that, with prayer for grace to understand it." Harry said he would try and find time; and he actually took out a small Bible which his mother had put into his chest, and carried it in his pocket; but he did not like reading it when Dickey was looking on, and somehow or other never found the time he expected. Dickey tried his best to do away with the impression old Tom had made on Harry's mind; and the thoughtless boys soon, like the rest of the crew, forgot the fate of poor Burton. All hands were, indeed, kept actively employed. Numerous whales appeared, several of which were captured, and night after night the crew were engaged in "cutting in" and "trying out"--that is, cutting the blubber off the body of the animal and boiling it in huge cauldrons on deck. The bright glare falling on the masts and rigging, and the sturdy frames of the sailors, as they stirred up the cauldrons, placed on tripods, with their forks, gave them the wildest and most savage appearance. "I don't think my mother and sister would recognise the ship if they were to see us now," observed Harry to his companion, as they stood aft, ready to cast off the carcase of a whale which had been stripped of its blubber, and had an opportunity of observing the scene going on beyond them. "They would think we were a set of spirits from the lower world busy over some diabolical work, I suspect," said Dickey. The business was not exactly pleasant, but as there was no disagreeable smell, Harry did not mind it; and even Mr Champion, whom he looked upon as very refined, was so accustomed to the work that he took it as a matter of course. After the oil was thus extracted, it was ladled into casks, which were stowed below. CHAPTER THREE. ADVENTURE WITH SEA-LIONS. The _Steadfast_ had made so successful a commencement of her voyage that all hands hoped she would get full much sooner than many had expected, and be able to return home. The whales, however, having disappeared from the fishing-ground where she had been engaged, she was about to proceed to the western part of the Pacific, when a mass of rugged rocks was sighted out of the ocean. "An awkward spot to run against on a dark night," observed Harry, as they approached them. "Hark! what is that strange roaring noise? I could fancy that a thousand lions or more were assembled together holding a concert." "They are sea-lions, Master Harry," observed old Tom; "the whole rock is covered with them and their cubs. If we could manage to get hold of some of them, we should find their skins very useful." Captain Graybrook was of this opinion, and as the wind was light and there was no dangerous current running, the ship was hove to, and he ordered two of the boats to be got ready to capture some of the sea-lions, the ordinary species of seal found in the southern seas. Mr Champion took command of one boat and old Tom of the other, and the boys got leave to accompany the second mate. They pulled away towards the rocks. As a heavy surf broke on the rocks, rushing up some distance with great force and then back again, which would have dashed the boats to pieces, had they got within its influence, they were compelled to pull a considerable distance round before a spot was found on which a landing could be effected with any degree of safety. Even there, those who were to land had to watch for an opportunity, as the boat was sent forward on the crest of a breaker, to leap out and spring up the rocks, while the boats, with a couple of hands in each, were pulled back again out of danger. No sooner had the party scrambled up the rocks than the seals, alarmed at their approach, made towards the water, rushing down impetuously, and working themselves along by means of their fins--their heads and manes giving them the appearance of lions. Their threatening aspect, and the loud roars they uttered, were enough to daunt any one not accustomed to encounter them. "I wish that I had remained on board," cried Dickey. "See, here comes a fellow; he will knock us over to a certainty. What shall we do?" The men, however, had brought heavy clubs, with which they struck right and left as the monsters, with glistening fangs, rushed down on them, snapping their jaws, powerful enough to bite off a limb in an instant. The position of the party was dangerous in the extreme as the monsters came rolling and sliding down the rocks. To avoid them, the men were compelled to climb over the bodies of those which had been stunned; but still more met them, and Harry would have been knocked over by a big seal, and probably carried into the sea, had not Mr Champion, close to whom he kept, struck the creature on the head and dragged Harry out of the way. Old Tom saved Dickey in the same way. Though most of the seals which had not been killed had made their escape, a few remained on the higher ground, among which was an enormous male seal. The monster seemed determined to give battle to his assailants, and came down the rocks towards them shaking his mane and extending wide his jaws armed with sharp tusks. Old Tom, who boldly went forward to meet the creature, inflicted a tremendous blow with his club on its head, but without stopping its career. Wishing to secure it, he took a harpoon which one of the men, by his orders, had carried with a line attached to it, and plunged it into the animal, trying to make fast the line to a jutting point of rock. The seal, however, rendered only more furious from its wounds, rushed into the midst of the party, dragging the rope, which, as Mr Champion sprang forward to meet it, became entangled around his leg. Before any one could rescue him, he was carried away into the midst of the wild surf dashing up against the rocks. A cry of horror and dismay rose from all the party as they saw the young mate buried beneath the waves. Old Tom and several of the men sprang forward in a vain attempt to seize him, and were nearly swept away. The boats were at too great a distance to render assistance. The next instant Leonard Champion was seen struggling amid the curing crest of a breaker; but, alas! much too far off to be reached. "Oh, he is gone! he is gone!" cried Harry, wringing his hands. Little did he think of the agony his gentle sister would have suffered could she have witnessed the scene. Happily, those at home are not aware of the dangers to which their loved ones are exposed till they are over. When ending fatally there comes, it is true, the unavoidable sorrow; but even that does not equal the intense suffering of mind which is endured when the peril is witnessed and no help can be sent. Again the young mate disappeared. "There, there he is!" cried Harry, as he was seen struggling on the snowy summit of an enormous roller. Onward he was borne. His shipmates, clasping each other's hands, formed a line, the strongest bravely dashing in towards him. He was already almost senseless; one outstretched hand was seized. Exerting all their strength, the men worked their way up the rock, and then, two of them clasping him in their arms, he was borne in triumph out of the power of the greedy waves. Harry threw himself down by his side overcome by his feelings. "You are safe, Mr Champion!" "Thank God for it!" answered the young man, pressing Harry's hand; but he could say no more. The task of embarking was a hazardous one. The mate was first placed in his boat, when the seal-skins, which had been quickly stripped off, were thrown on board; and, thankful to escape from the treacherous rocks, the party returned to the ship. Leonard Champion was for several days confined to his cabin. He thought much, and he was constantly reading. Harry recognised the books which had been his sister's. "You must find them very interesting, Mr Champion," he observed. "I wish that I had begun reading them sooner, Harry," was the answer. "I feel that I have been rescued from the jaws of death through God's mercy; and how unprepared I was to die." "But I hope you will not be exposed to the same danger again, Mr Champion." "I pray not, for it was terrible--I can scarcely make you understand how terrible. I cannot help seeing that I should be indeed ungrateful if I did not acknowledge the loving mercy of God, who preserved my life, and endeavour from henceforth to serve Him faithfully, instead, as I have hitherto done, of rebelling against Him. Yet I am sure that we should accept the offers of God, and serve Him from love and gratitude, and not from fear of death; I do not mean simply the death of the body, but eternal death--the doom of all who die unreconciled, and therefore at enmity with God." "Is that what Hannah's books say?" inquired Harry, in perfect sincerity. "Yes, and much more. You would have found what I now say in the book I lent you," observed the mate. "I have not yet read it, but I will try and do so," said Harry; "still, except on a Sunday, I have not much time, as you know, and the book appeared to me very dull." "I am not surprised at that, for I thought it so myself, though I read it. But now, Harry, that I have had time for reflection, and feel how nearly I was lost, I see its value," said Mr Champion. "Let me ask you to read it, Harry, even although you do find it dull." Harry promised that he would, and fully intended to read it. Captain Graybrook observed the change which had come over his mate, but he forbore to ask him questions; he could scarcely suppose, however, that a peril to which seamen are so constantly exposed should have produced the change. "I thought Mr Champion was as brave as any fellow in the ship," observed Dickey Bass to Harry. "It seems to me that he must have been in a terrible fright, being carried off by the seal, or he would not look so grave and down-hearted as he seems." "I don't think it was fear, for I am very sure he is as brave as any man alive," answered Harry; but he made no other remark, for of late he had become less willing than formerly to talk to Bass on such a subject, suspecting as he did the real cause of the change which his young shipmate had observed in the second mate. CHAPTER FOUR. A NIGHT ADVENTURE. The _Steadfast_ now steered westward across the Pacific. Leonard Champion was indeed much changed. He no longer took pleasure in the light reading and frivolous conversation in which he had previously indulged. He knew that he was a sinner, and he believed that Jesus Christ died to save sinners; but he had not discovered that by simple faith in the all-sufficient atonement of the Saviour's precious blood shed on Calvary, his sins were already washed away, and that he might live rejoicing in the love of God, and go to Him as a child goes to an affectionate parent, with the certainty of obtaining all he asks for, if it is for his good. Leonard, however, took every opportunity of talking to Harry. Harry listened respectfully; but he thought that the mate was ill and out of spirits, and he did not feel, therefore, that he need be much influenced by what was said. Several weeks passed, and once more the cheering cry of "There she spouts!" was heard, and several whales were captured. The ship was in sight of a rocky island. Three of the boats had already gone away in pursuit of a whale in an opposite direction from the island, the captain himself being in one of them, when another was seen spouting towards the land. The boat of which old Tom had charge was immediately lowered. Harry and Dickey, who had long been eager to go in chase of a whale, slipped down just as she was shoving off. The first mate, who remained in charge of the ship, hailed them to come back. "The captain promised to let us go some day, and we could not have a better opportunity," shouted Bass. The mate, understanding that the captain had given them leave, told them that they might go; and old Tom, who had been busy arranging his harpoons, was under the same impression. The crew giving way, the boat was soon at a distance from the ship. Before she got up to the whale, the monster had sounded; but from the direction it had taken old Tom felt certain that it would rise again still nearer the island. The boat accordingly pulled on. He was not mistaken, but the whale was still some way off. Once more the men bent to their oars. The monster, unconscious of danger, was still above water. As the boat drew near, old Tom was standing up in the bow, harpoon in hand, ready to plunge it into the whale's side. Its flukes were just going up as, with unerring aim, he darted his weapon, which sunk deep into its side. With rapid strokes the boat was backed away, and old Tom returned aft to manage the line, now running rapidly out as the whale sounded. The second line was got ready and made fast to the first, that had almost run out before it began to slacken, as the whale returned to the surface. The crew were hauling it in when the monster appeared. They had just time to make it fast round the bollard, when the whale darted off, towing the boat at a rapid rate towards the island. It seemed in no way disposed to slacken its speed; but old Tom knew that if the harpoon held they would at length come up with it. The ship had in the meantime been standing after the other boats, and was now almost hull down; still, as the island would mark their position, they had little fear of not being picked up after the other whales were captured. The sun was by this time near the horizon, and the wind had increased considerably since they left the ship, but, as it blew off the shore, the sea was tolerably smooth. At length the monster, growing weary, slackened its speed, and the line was hauled in. The boat had got nearly up to it when it again sounded, but only for a short time. On its return to the surface, old Tom was able to plunge several lances into its body, and then, the boat backing away from it, after it had struggled and lashed the water with its tail for a few minutes, it turned over on its side, and a shout proclaimed that the crew were victors. They now prepared to tow their prize towards the ship; but darkness had come on, and when they looked out for her she was nowhere to be seen. Still, as they knew the direction in which she was to be found, they hoped to get alongside before midnight, and bending lustily to their oars, pulled away. They had not gone far before they had to meet the wind, which had hitherto come off the shore, and was in their favour; and the sea rising rapidly, they made but slow way with the whale in tow. No sound was heard but the roaring of the surf on the rocky island and the breaking of the sea-caps, which ever and anon leaped on board. Harry and Dickey heartily wished themselves safe on board again, while old Tom, as he stood up steering with his oar, looked out anxiously ahead, in the hope of seeing a light from the ship. The sea-caps, however, came tumbling on board faster than ever. "There is work for you, boys," he observed. "We must get rid of some of this water, or else we shall have more than enough." The boys turned to and bailed with might and main; but their efforts were not sufficient, and one of the men was obliged to assist them. "There is the light, lads!" cried old Tom; "but it's a long way off," he murmured. Far away, just above the breaking seas ahead, could be seen the glare of a blue light; it seemed to come out of the water, and showed that the ship was indeed a long way off. "We shall not get alongside with the whale to-night," observed old Tom. "Neither with it nor without it," answered one of the men. "It will be lucky if we get anywhere," said another. The sea had now risen still more than at first, and dark heavy masses crested with foam came rolling on towards the boat. It was proposed to hang on to the whale, and wait till the ship stood towards them. The boat was made fast under the lee of the monster's body, which served somewhat to break the force of the seas. Again a pale blue light was seen, but it was evidently only the upper rays, showing that the ship was hull down. The captain might not dare to venture so near a rocky coast, off which unknown reefs might lie hid, even to save their lives. In a short time the body of the whale scarcely afforded them shelter, and the seas, rolling over it, broke on board. The crew cried out that they should be swamped, and proposed pulling for the island and landing on the rocks. "We shall have a chance of saving our lives, and it will be better than being swamped out here!" exclaimed the man who had first spoken. "We shall have but a poor chance if we attempt to land on the rocks, I tell you that, lads," said old Tom. "I would rather keep hold of the whale." Still the men declared that they would, at all events, rather chance it. Just as they were speaking, the clouds to windward appeared to open, and a bright light darted from the sky. This decided old Tom, for he knew that it was the sign of a still further increase of wind. "I hope we shall not have to run on the rocks," he said; "just, however, as we made fast to the whale, I observed an opening in the surf. It was a very narrow one, though. If we can find it we will attempt to run through, for there is sure to be a harbour inside, and we have no other hope of saving our lives that I can see." The boat was accordingly cast off from the whale, and her head being kept to the seas, to prevent her from being swamped, the crew exerted all their strength to gain the land. Ahead appeared a long line of roaring, foaming breakers, with a rocky shore beyond, and the dim outline of the dark hills farther on. For an hour or more they pulled on, but no opening in the mass of foaming breakers could be discerned. They were beginning to despair, when old Tom said that he could see the place he was in search of, for he had remarked the peculiar shape of the hills at that spot. He accordingly steered in for the shore. Harry and Dickey, however, could see nothing but the threatening breakers. "It's very awful!" observed Dickey to his companion. "I wish I was prepared to die. It's bad enough now, and if the boat once gets caught in those breakers it will be all over with us. Harry, can you say any prayers?" "I am trying to do so," said Harry, who saw the danger as well as Dickey. Old Tom was too much occupied to make any remark. He kept his eye steadily fixed on a dark patch of water which appeared in the white line of foam, and he steered towards it. The roaring sound of the surf as it dashed against the wild rocks grew louder and louder. Still old Tom urged the men to pull as hard as they could. Many of them thought, however, that they were only pulling to meet destruction the sooner. "I see the passage now!" exclaimed Harry, as he looked up for a moment while bailing the water out. "You are right, lad," said old Tom. "Steady, lads! there is One above who will protect us. We will do our best, and trust to Him." The men gave way. They knew well that in a few minutes more they should be safe, or struggling helplessly among the foaming waters. The loud roar of the breakers sounded in their ears. They bent to their oars; the boys bailed as hard as they could. Old Tom kept his eye ahead. A huge wave lifted up the boat, and seemed about to heave her into the midst of the boiling surf. Onwards she was borne; now she was between two walls of white hissing foam, which flew in thick masses over her; but still she went on, and, gliding downwards with the rapidity of an arrow, in a few seconds she shot into smooth water, leaving the dark rocks and the roaring breakers astern. The wind blew fiercely, the thunder roared, and the lightning flashed vividly; but she was now safe within the shelter of a deep bay. By the glare of the lightning it could be seen that there were cliffs on either side. The crew pulled steadily up the centre till they reached a sandy beach at the farther end, where they landed, and hauled their boat up. "Now, lads, let us return thanks to God for preserving us from the greatest danger I have ever been in, or any of you either, probably," said old Tom. "If we had not been guided into the passage when we were, it is my belief that the boat would in a few minutes have gone to the bottom, for the gale is blowing nearly twice as hard as it did when we cast off from the whale." Though most of the men had refused to join with old Tom in prayer on board ship when in safety, no one now declined to do as he suggested; and, led by him, they knelt down on the sands, and offered up thanksgivings for their preservation from the danger in which they had been placed. Even Dickey Bass uttered a fervent "Amen," and Harry felt that God had indeed been merciful to him. "Where should we have been now, Bass, if we had missed the passage?" he asked. "I don't know," answered Dickey; "but I am very thankful that we are safe." It was too dark to enable them to go in search of shelter, if shelter was to be found; so they stretched the boat's sail out from her side, and formed a low tent, beneath which they lay down to shelter themselves from the storm till the return of daylight. CHAPTER FIVE. ON THE DESERT ISLAND. The storm raged furiously all night, the thunder roared, the lightning, darting forth from the dark sky, flashed ever and anon, in a zigzag course, from side to side of the cliffs around the bay, and the howling wind threatened frequently to tear off the sail and carry it away. Still the weary seamen slept, although Harry and young Bass did not for a long time close their eyes. "I feel, Harry, that old Tom is right; and next time he speaks to me I will listen to him," said the latter. "He was as cool and collected from the beginning of the storm as if there had been no danger. If it had not been for him, I do not think we should have been where we are." Harry agreed with his companion, and urged him not to forget his good resolutions should they ever again get on board the ship. What had become of her they could not tell, and they felt very anxious about her fate. She might have been cast on some of the numerous reefs which lay thereabouts, or have been driven far away from the island. "At all events, the captain will probably suppose that the boat is lost, and not think it worth while to come and look for us," observed Dickey. "I am very sure my father won't give us up, if he thinks there is a chance of finding us," answered Harry. "But what if the ship is lost?" said Dickey, thoughtlessly. "Oh! do not talk of anything so dreadful!" exclaimed Harry; "I could not bear to think that we are not again to see my father and Mr Champion and the rest. My father is a good seaman, and our ship is stout enough to weather out the worst gale that ever raged." "I hope so," said Dickey, in a mournful voice; "but it blows a regular hurricane; and, oh! what a fearful crash of thunder that last was! See, see! The lightning seems to stir up the very water of the harbour; and oh! there is another peal! I cannot help feeling as if the sky itself was coming down upon us." The last peal was succeeded by a loud rending and crashing sound, as if a number of trees had been torn up by their roots or the stout branches wrenched off from the stems. "Lie down, boys, and try and get some sleep." It was old Tom who spoke. They were not aware that he was awake and overheard them. "God will take care of us, for we can do nothing more to take care of ourselves. We are safer here than we should be farther inland among the trees." It was some time, however, before they followed his advice. At length there was a lull, and they both lay down. Scarcely had they placed their heads on the ground, than they were lost in forgetfulness, and took no more notice of the storm than the seamen who had slept through it all. When morning dawned all hands awakened. The fury of the gale was over. The sun arose, and, bursting through the clouds, his rays soon dried their damp clothing. The ground rose slightly from the head of the bay, and on the lower portion grew a grove of cocoa-nut trees loaded with fruit. One of the men, by means of a belt round his waist and the trunk, soon managed to climb to the top of one of them, when he threw down a number of nuts, which were eagerly seized by the rest. The outer husks were quickly torn off, and a nut was given to Harry, the eye being pierced. He declared that he had never tasted so delicious a draught of milk. The meat served the party for food, but did not satisfy their hunger, as they had eaten nothing since leaving the ship. "This is better than nothing, but it won't keep body and soul together," said one of the men, in a grumbling tone. "Lad, we should be thankful that God has sent us where we can find such wholesome food, instead of complaining that we have not better," said old Tom. "Maybe, too, there are shell-fish and crabs to be got, and perhaps other food besides; and see, there is a rill of fresh water. We should be thankful for that. We have an axe and our knives, and if we are obliged to live here we may build ourselves a hut, though we need not think about that, as I hope the ship has escaped and will come to look for us before long." Still the men grumbled. They were all out of spirits, and had made up their minds that the ship was lost. They had begun to wander about, as sailors generally do under such circumstances, one in one direction and one in another, when Harry, who had gone to the boat, exclaimed, "See, here are some fishing-lines. Who put them there I do not know, but we shall not be in want of a dinner if we make use of them." "This is a godsend," observed Dickey. "Everything good is sent by God," said old Tom; and he called to the men to come and assist him in launching the boat. A short search along the shore enabled them to find mussels and other shell-fish, which they hoped would serve for bait; and, shoving off, they went down towards the mouth of the harbour, where they quickly caught as many fine fish as they could eat. Returning to the beach, sticks were collected, and a tinder-box, which was in the tub with other articles always carried in a whale-boat, enabled them to light a fire. An ample meal raised their spirits. They once more embarked and pulled down to the mouth of the harbour, in the hope of seeing the ship standing towards the island. The heavy surf which rolled in, however, made it impossible for them to get out. Old Tom and the two boys, therefore, landed and climbed to the summit of a high cliff overlooking the ocean. Hence they gazed round in every direction, but no ship was in sight. In the far distance they could discern here and there some dark rocks, over which the sea broke in masses of foam. Harry's heart sank within him as he thought that possibly the _Steadfast_ might have been driven upon those fearful rocks, when, as he knew too well, she must speedily have gone to pieces without a chance of any one on board escaping. He scarcely liked to ask Tom Hayes what he thought, but he observed that the old man looked unusually grave as his eye turned in that direction. "This is no place for us to build our hut on, though it is the best spot for a look-out," observed old Tom, as he surveyed the rough broken ground all around them. "We must take it by turns, however, to spend the day here, though it will be best to take up our quarters near where we first landed." They waited for some time watching the dark, heaving sea, which still rolled and tumbled in huge billows before them; but not even a speck which might be the topsails of the _Steadfast_ appeared above the horizon. At length they returned to the boat. The men had, in the meantime, caught a large supply of fish, and, in better spirits than before, they pulled back to the head of the bay. Old Tom advised that they should put up some shelter for the night; and while one of the men cooked the fish, the remainder cut down some young trees and a quantity of boughs, with which they formed a tolerably substantial arbour, while some dried leaves and smaller boughs supplied them with as good beds as they required. "If we had a good stock of grog, and some bread and potatoes, we should be as happy as princes," observed one of the men. "You are right, Ned," said another. "For my part, I do not care how long we stay." "What if there should be savages on the island! Most of them are cannibals in these parts, I have heard say; and, as we have no arms to defend ourselves, we should look foolish," remarked a third. "I have seen no signs of any natives, so I do not think we should make ourselves unhappy about them," said old Tom. "If there are any we must make friends with them, and it's more than likely that they will give us help and show us where we can obtain food." Thus old Tom did his utmost to keep up the spirits of the men, and to prevent them from falling into despondency. Harry, however, could not help feeling sad as he thought of the possible loss of the ship. He eagerly set off the next morning to look out for her, and while two of the men who pulled the boat remained fishing below he and Dickey climbed the cliff. The gale had considerably abated, but the ocean still swelled and broke with the effects of the gale. They returned with an unsatisfactory report. The men who had remained in the camp had, in the meantime, been looking out for traces of natives. None had been discovered. They had also begun to build a hut. As they had only one axe, this was a slow process. They had cut out a couple of rude spades with which to dig the holes for the foundation, and, as all hands worked hard, by the close of the day they had made some progress. The cocoa-nut fibre, twisted into rope, enabled them to bind the rafters together, and the long leaves of some palms, which grew farther inland, served for thatch. Old Tom encouraged them to proceed, though he had lost all hopes that the ship would return. As had been agreed on, one man went down and remained on the look-out during the first part of the day, and a second took his place in the afternoon. Thus all were employed. Harry took the afternoon of the second day. Climbing to the top of the hill, he gazed, as before, anxiously round the horizon. A sigh escaped him when no sail appeared. Sitting down, he remembered his Bible, which he had always carried since he formed the resolution of doing so. He took it out. From its sacred pages he drew that comfort which it always affords. Never before had he read it with so much satisfaction, for he prayed earnestly that his mind might be enlightened; and he now was enabled to see many of the important truths he had never before comprehended. He read and read on, page after page. "I would rather have this than every book on board!" he exclaimed. He was surprised when he heard a hail from below, and found that the boat had come for him. Sunday came round, and old Tom urged his companions to make it a day of rest. Harry now produced his Bible, greatly to old Tom's delight. Morning and evening Tom had offered up a prayer, Harry and Bass and one or two of the seamen joining him, though others showed no inclination to do so. Harry offered to read from his Bible, to which the men agreed; but though they sat quiet and listened, some did so with apparent indifference. He, however, selected such portions as he thought that they would best understand. By degrees they became interested. He was reading the fourteenth chapter of Matthew--the account of our Lord's feeding five thousand men, besides women and children; followed by that of Peter walking on the sea, when, through want of faith, he began to sink, and the Lord stretched forth His hand and saved him, saying, "O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?" "So, lads," observed old Tom, "you see how Jesus Christ fed the multitudes when they were hungering, and saved Peter when in danger, though his faith was weak. We have been fed, you will all allow, when we thought we had reached a barren island where no food was to be found; and in the same way, though I fear our faith is weak, He will take care of us. Then it seems to me that we must give Him our hearts, just as Peter stretched out his hands to Christ for safety." "Old Tom speaks the truth, it seems to me," observed one of the men to a companion, in an undertone. "If I thought that Jesus would hold out His hand as He did to Peter, I should not despair; but I am such a terrible bad fellow, that I am sure I could not keep straight by myself." "Jesus is ready, not only to grasp the hand of every one who cries for help, but when once He has got the man's hand in His He does not let it go," said old Tom, who had overheard the remark. When evening closed and the boat's crew lay down in their hut, several of them acknowledged that they had never spent so happy a Sunday in their lives. CHAPTER SIX. IN AN OPEN BOAT. A fortnight had elapsed, still the _Steadfast_ did not return. The whole island had been explored. It was found not to be more than a couple of miles long, and scarcely half a mile in width, the greater portion consisting of black volcanic rocks thrown up by some mighty convulsion of nature. No other harbour was discovered; indeed, there was not a spot besides the bay they had entered on which a landing could be effected without danger. They probably were the first people who had entered the bay, for there were no signs of the island ever having been inhabited. There was but a very small portion of ground fit for cultivation; the only trees were those which clothed the side of the valley and the little cocoa-nut grove on the shore of the bay; while no other stream of water was discovered besides that near which they had formed their camp. As the trees could not be perceived from the sea, Harry thought that, even if the island was marked on the chart, it was probably set down as a barren rock on which no one could land. "My father, depend upon it, thought that our boat was swamped in attempting to regain the ship, or else that she was driven on the rocks, when he might well suppose that none of us could have escaped. He would otherwise, I am sure, have come back before this," he observed to old Tom. "I hope that is the reason why he has not come back," was the answer; for old Tom had come to the conclusion that the ship, with all hands, had been lost, though he did not like to say so to Harry. The men were beginning to get very impatient at their long detention on the island. Old Tom did his best to keep them employed; but it was difficult to find work for them. It was evident, too, that the cocoa-nuts would not last for ever; and when they had come to an end, what would they do for food? the men inquired. They might live on fish; but three or four of their hooks had already been lost, and in time they might be unable even to catch fish. "One thing is clear, lads," observed Tom; "if we are to get away, we must carry water with us as well as food. Our small breaker will only hold enough for two or three days on short allowance, and, though we may carry some in the tubs, it will be difficult to keep that from being spilled. My advice is, that we set to work and scoop out a number of cocoa-nuts--they will hold a good supply--and we must try and smoke or salt some fish. I calculate that we can carry enough to last us three or four weeks, and in that time we may be able to reach a more fertile island than this is--one likely to be visited by whalers--if we are not so fortunate as to be picked up by a ship first." The men were eager to be off, and set to work readily to prepare for the voyage. Harry would rather have remained, still believing that the ship would come back to look for them. Some time, however, was occupied in catching fish, and in drying and salting them, for it was necessary first to erect a building of stone for the former operation, and they had to collect the salt in the holes of the rock along the shore. A lovely day, just a month after they landed, found them ready, with the cocoa-nut bottles and tubs full of water, and as many whole cocoa-nuts and as much dried and salt fish as they could stow away. "Before we shove off, lads, let us return thanks to God for bringing us safely here and giving us food to eat, and then let us pray that He will take care of us in the voyage we are about to make," said old Tom. "I tell you that we shall meet with many dangers, from which He alone can preserve us." The men agreed to old Tom's proposal; and then in good spirts they pulled down the harbour and glided out into the open ocean, now shining in the bright sun of the early morning. The surf, which broke on the rocks on either side in a gentle murmur, glittered brightly, presenting a very different appearance to the wild fury it exhibited when they took refuge within the bay. A light breeze springing up from the northward, the sail was hoisted, and the whale-boat stood to the south, away from the dark, forbidding-looking island. The small compass which is usually carried in a whale-boat enabled them to steer in a tolerably direct course. "Now, lads," said old Tom, "we may reach land in about a fortnight; but it may be a month or six weeks before we fall in with an island where provisions are to be found. It will be well, therefore, to put ourselves on an allowance both of water and food. Remember that God helps those who help themselves, and if we take more than we require to keep up our strength, we cannot expect Him to send us a fresh supply." Harry and Dickey were always ready to support him, and the men, without murmuring, agreed to do as he advised. The crew having been divided into watches, old Tom taking charge of one and Harry of the other, and all other arrangements being made, old Tom lay down to rest, saying that he would keep the first night-watch. They had a few candles for their lanterns, which had been carefully husbanded; these were kept to be used should any night prove particularly dark and cloudy, and the compass be required, for when the stars were shining they were sufficient to steer by. For several days the boat sailed on over the tranquil ocean. Sometimes it fell calm, when the men took to their oars. The rest of the day they spent lying along the thwarts. Morning and evening, however, Tom offered up prayer, and Harry read some chapters in the Bible, to which most of the men listened attentively. "What we should have done without your Bible, Mr Harry, I do not know," observed old Tom. "I believe it has mainly contributed to keep the men contented and happy; I only hope that they will remain in the same temper." "I at all events will read the Bible to them," said Harry. Harry kept to his resolution. Dickey was one of the most attentive of the listeners. "Harry," he said, one day, "I confess that I did not before know what was in the Bible when I used to sneer at old Tom for being religious, and was afraid that he would make you so. I wish that he would make me like himself or like you." "God's Holy Spirit can alone make you, Mr Bass, what you ought to be," observed old Tom, who had been listening to the boys' conversation. "But you have to seek His grace, and to trust in Jesus, according to the teaching of His word; for we are there told that faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God. I never yet met an infidel or careless, bad fellow who really had read the Bible with prayer. It is only thus that we can benefit by it. Many complain that they have no faith, and that it is no fault of theirs--and yet they will not do the very thing that God tells us to do; so you see that it is not God's fault if a man does not believe, but the man's own fault. Do you read and pray earnestly and faithfully, and depend upon it God's Holy Spirit will do His part and help you." "I will try, Tom, indeed I will," said Dickey; "and will you and Harry pray for me?" "That we will, Mr Bass, because God has said that earnest, believing prayer availeth much; but you must pray for yourself--you must not trust to others praying instead of you. God will hear your prayers, though they may be very weak and imperfect, just as He heard the prayer of the poor publican who smote on his breast and said, `God be merciful to me a sinner.'" It cannot be said that all in the boat listened to Harry when he read the Bible, or to old Tom when he spoke, or followed their example. While the weather remained fine and they had enough to eat, they kept up their spirits, and began to talk of what they would do when they got on shore. Two or three of them indeed declared that they had had enough knocking about at sea, and that if they should land on a pleasant island with good-natured natives, they would take up their quarters there and marry wives and live a life of ease. "If you do so, lads, you will run the risk of becoming heathens like them, and forget God and all His benefits," observed old Tom. "Remember, if we do land safely, it will not be our own right arm or our own strength which will have preserved us, but His merciful kindness; and I tell you, you will be ungrateful fellows if you do as you propose." "Old Tom is always preaching," muttered one of the men to whom he spoke. "I don't see why we have not a right to please ourselves." Old Tom did not hear this remark, and he probably would not then have answered even if he had. For ten days or so the voyage had continued without any change in the weather. The sun was very hot, and the fish, which they thought had been well salted and smoked, began to taste very strong. Harry and Dickey could only eat very small pieces at a time, with the help of some cocoa-nut and a sip of water between each mouthful. Next day a perfect calm came on, and the sun beat down with intense force on the boat. Although their provisions were covered up and kept as cool as possible, the fish grew worse and worse. Several of the men, when it was served out to them, threw it overboard with disgust, declaring that they could eat it no longer. "Seeing we have nothing else to live upon, we should be thankful that we have got that, and not throw it from us," observed old Tom. "It's bad-tasted, I'll allow; but as long as we can manage to get it down it will help to support life, and we should try to eat it." Harry and Bass did as he advised, and as yet they did not find their strength much diminished. Most of the men, however, began to complain of pains and aches, and unwillingly got out their oars. Tom urged them to pull on, in the hope that they might in a day or two reach some island which Harry thought could not be far off. Day after day they had gone on, ever appearing to be in the midst of the same circle where sky and sea met, without sighting land or a distant sail. At night, while one watch rowed the other slept. Another morning came, but still the glass-like ocean showed no signs of a coming breeze. They had put in their oars, and were munching their share of cocoa-nut and such small pieces of the fish as they could still eat, when suddenly, at a little distance, the surface of the water was broken, and a covey of flying-fish darted through the air towards them. A dozen or more fell into the boat, and were eagerly seized and killed by the famishing crew. "Let us thank God, who sent them to us," said Tom, as several of the men greedily began to bite at the fresh, tempting-looking morsels. Half the number were cut up, and the remainder Tom advised should be reserved for dinner. The food somewhat restored the men's spirits, and they pulled on for some hours without murmuring. Another and another day passed by, and then a breeze sprang up, and the sail was hoisted, and they ran on before the wind. All felt that unless they should shortly reach land or be picked up by a ship their fate was certain. Their cocoa-nuts and water were nearly exhausted, and even old Tom could with difficulty manage to eat a small portion of fish. Still he appeared calm and happy, and did his best to encourage his companions; he sat at the steering oar for the greater part of the day and night, taking but little rest. When he lay down he charged those who were on the watch to keep a bright look-out for land, while he himself, when awake, had his eyes moving round the horizon in the hope of discovering it. At length all the water was gone, and not a piece of cocoa-nut remained. One of the crew, who had long been complaining, had lain down in the bow, saying he should go to sleep. When it was his turn to keep watch, Jack Harding, one of the men, tried to arouse him. Jack lifted his arm, which fell down by his side. "Bill has slipped his cable, I am afraid," said Jack, in a hollow voice. Harry went forward to ascertain if such was the case. Bill was indeed dead. "Lads," said old Tom, "I don't know which of us will go next, but this I know, that the case of those who are not trusting in Christ is a very terrible one. I won't say anything about poor Bill, but I speak to you as a dying man to dying men. The day of grace has not yet passed-- to-morrow it may have gone by for some, if not for all those who are still unreconciled to God. I said this before to you when you were in health; God in His mercy has allowed you to suffer from starvation and sickness, that He might lead you to Himself." "We dare say you speak the truth, Mr Hayes," answered one of the men; "but it's hard to believe that God, if He is as kind as you say, should allow us to suffer as we are doing." "He allowed His faithful apostles of old, and many thousands of Christians since then, to suffer far more than we are doing; and yet they acknowledged to the last that He does all things well," answered old Tom. "I have just told you why He allows you to suffer; and remember what Saint Paul says, `The sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.'" Tom's address served as the funeral sermon of poor Bill, who was shortly afterwards lifted overboard by his sorrowing companions. CHAPTER SEVEN. SAVAGES AND MISSIONARIES. It was again night. For the greater part of it old Tom sat at the helm, while a gentle breeze wafted them on. Once more the sun rose. It was Harry's watch. As he glanced round the horizon, he caught sight of a blue undulating line to the south-west. At first he thought that it was a bank of clouds, but at length he was convinced that it was land he saw. "Land! land!" he cried out. His shouts aroused all the sleepers. "Land it is! there is no doubt about that!" said old Tom, taking his seat at the helm and steering towards it. As they approached they saw it was an island of some extent, with hills covered with trees, but a coral reef intervened. A passage, however, was at length discovered. How eagerly the famished crew longed to get on shore to quench their burning thirst and satisfy their hunger! The first object which met their sight, as they pulled into a small picturesque bay, was a stream of water, which came sparkling and foaming down the side of the hill. Not far off was a grove of cocoa-nut palms, near which were several other fruit-bearing trees. Without stopping to ascertain whether any natives, were in the neighbourhood, they pulled to the shore, and leaping out, rushed forward to quench their thirst at the nearest point of the stream which they could reach. Some cocoa-nuts were also quickly obtained, and sitting down, they soon emptied the contents of the shells of several. "If we had fallen in with this island two or three days ago, poor Bill, maybe, would have been alive and merry now," observed one of the men. "It might have been so, lads," said Tom; "but one thing I know, that we should be thankful for God's mercy in bringing us thus far in safety." The strength of all the party was revived by the food and water. By Tom's advice they refilled the casks and cocoa-nut bottles. He then proposed that they should push off into the bay, and try and catch some fish. Two of the men replied that they had had food enough, and preferred remaining in the shade under the trees; the rest, however, agreed to accompany him. Some crabs and shell-fish, as before, served them as bait. They had been fishing for some time with good success, and were contemplating returning to the shore to cook the fish and to rest for the night, when they caught sight among the trees, at some distance from the beach, of several savages, who had apparently been watching them. These were joined by others, who began flourishing their weapons and shouting. The two men who had been left on shore, on hearing their voices, started up, and, observing their menacing attitude, ran towards the beach. The crew of the boat, seeing the danger of their companions, pulled in as fast as they could bend to their oars, in the hope of rescuing them. The distance was considerable. Neither of the poor fellows could swim. They rushed into the water up to their necks. The natives came on yelling towards them. Long before the boat could get up to them they were dragged back, and in another instant dispatched by the clubs of the savages. "It's too late, lads!" cried old Tom, who saw what had occurred; "we shall be treated as they have been if we let the savages get hold of us. We must make the best of our way out of the bay. It's a mercy that we have got the water and food." There was indeed no time to be lost, for at that moment another party of savages were seen bringing several canoes down to the beach. Old Tom told Harry to take the helm, while he and the three remaining men pulled away out to sea. Happily, just as they got near the passage through the reef, a breeze sprang up, and they were able to hoist the sail. At that instant four canoes were seen paddling out of the bay. It still seemed doubtful whether they would escape. The breeze, however, freshened, and the whale-boat darting ahead, soon distanced her pursuers. Tom urged his companions not to despair. "We may still reach another island where the natives will treat us more kindly than these have done," he observed. Harry thought that there were other islands to the southward, the natives of which were well spoken of. That was all he could say on the subject. How far off they were he could not tell. They had now a good supply of water; but they had put only a few cocoa-nuts into the boat, and though they had several fish, they would very soon be unfit to eat. "He who has brought us thus far will still take care of us, lads, if we will but trust Him," said old Tom. This was the burden of his address day after day. The fish they were still able to eat on the second day, so that they could reserve their cocoa-nuts. They had been living on the latter, with some water, for two days longer, when again a covey of flying-fish passed over the boat, nearly a dozen falling into her. This afforded them the means of subsistence for two days more, then again they had to resort to the remainder of the cocoa-nuts. These were, however, at length finished. Day after day they sailed on, no land appearing in sight. Even should they reach shore, they were aware that they might be received in the same hostile way that they were before. The last cocoa-nut was eaten, the last drop of water exhausted. The hapless wanderers gazed with lack-lustre eyes in each other's faces. What would next happen? "All we can now do is to lay ourselves down and die," said Harry. "No, no, lad; trust still in God," answered old Tom. "He has preserved us hitherto. If He thinks fit He can still carry us safe to shore. See away there over the starboard bow--what do you make out?" Harry and Dickey lifted their heads and gazed in the direction in which old Tom pointed. "My old eyes are sharper than your young ones," he observed, when they made no reply. "I make out the top of a mountain rising above the horizon. We shall see more of it before nightfall if the wind holds; let us pray that it may." The rest of the people would not believe old Tom, and declared that he was mistaken; but he persisted in his assertion that land was ahead, and urged them to keep up their spirits. Before nightfall land appeared clearly in view, but still at a great distance. All night long they ran on, old Tom sitting at the helm, for he would trust no one else, while Harry and Dickey did their best to keep a look-out ahead, for, young as they were, they endured their sufferings better than the older men, who lay stretched out on the thwarts. When morning dawned a beautiful island, with rocks and trees and mountains in the centre, appeared about two miles ahead; but it was surrounded by a reef, over which the sea dashed in masses of foam, barring their approach to the shore. "Never fear, boys, we shall find a passage through it," said old Tom. They sailed on, and in a short time the expected passage was seen, the water shining calm and blue within it. They glided on towards a bay, beyond which a valley opened up into the interior of the country. On one side, on the slope of a hill, appeared a few neat cottages, and among them a building of larger size. "If my eyes don't deceive me, that's a chapel!" exclaimed old Tom; "and where there is a chapel there will be Christians, and we shall be received by them as friends." The men roused up on hearing this, for in their despair they believed that on landing they should be murdered like their companions. Old Tom steered without hesitation towards the cottages. As they approached, several persons were seen coming down to the beach. Two were in European costume, one of whom was a woman, while most of the rest were dressed in shirts and trousers. Before the boat's keel had touched the shore, several of the latter came rushing forward into the water; and, seeing the condition of those on board, they carefully lifted them out, and bore them to the shore in their arms. The white people, who were at once recognised by old Tom as missionaries, kindly pressing his hand, invited him and his companions to their house. "We will not ask questions now," they said; "your appearance shows the sufferings you have endured." The natives, receiving directions from the missionary, again lifted them up, and followed him, while his wife hastened on with two native girls to make preparations for their reception. Food and water were, however, what they most required. "I can allow you to partake of them but sparingly at first," observed the missionary. "God's greatest blessings are too often abused by being enjoyed in excess." Harry and old Tom thanked him, and said they did not wish for more than would be beneficial; but the men grumbled at not being allowed to have as much as they could devour, when they were so hungry. Poor Dickey was unable to speak, and could scarcely eat the food given to him. The missionary, who told them that his name was Hart, and that he and his wife had resided scarcely a year on the island, showed them the greatest sympathy and kindness. Mrs Hart took poor Dickey under her especial care, and gave him nourishing food in small quantities till she saw that his strength was returning, and that his pulse was beating more regularly. He could not help feeling, indeed, that it was mainly owing to her care that his life was preserved. In the course of two or three days the strength of all the party was much restored, and Harry and old Tom were able to get up and join Mr and Mrs Hart at their meals. They then gave an account of their adventures. "You have indeed been mercifully preserved," observed Mr Hart. "What confidence does it give us when we know that we are under the protection of our Heavenly Father! Were it not for that, my wife and I could not live as we do in this island, surrounded by hostile savages, far away from other Europeans. It is true that we have with us a small band of Christian natives; but their numbers are insufficient for our defence, even if we wished them to fight. We have often been threatened, but hitherto the heathens have been restrained from attacking us. Many, indeed, have come to listen to the doctrines we preach, and now one and now another has acknowledged Jehovah to be the true God. The more progress we have made, the greater has been the animosity of the heathens, and of late, instigated by their priests, they have threatened our destruction. Still we persevere, in the hope, whatever may happen, of gaining more souls for Christ's kingdom." Harry was surprised to hear Mr Hart speak so calmly of the dangers which surrounded him, and to observe that Mrs Hart did not appear in any way alarmed. "But if the heathen party attack you, what do you propose doing?" he asked. "We know that our friends will protect us as long as they have the power to do so," answered the missionary. "We are perfectly resigned to whatever God, in His providence, may allow. Should the heathens have resolved to put us to death, we are sure that if God allows them to succeed He has an important object in view, and that our death will ultimately tend to His honour and glory. At the same time, should means of escape be afforded us, we should consider it our duty to take advantage of them. Our friends know of some hiding-places in the mountains to which they have promised to take us, should they obtain timely notice of an intended attack on the station; but we suspect that, even should we succeed in reaching a place of concealment, it may be discovered by our enemies, and we have little expectation of being in safety even there." Mrs Hart spoke to the same effect, but expressed a hope that the enmity of the heathens might abate, or that friends might arrive who would turn them from their purpose. Notwithstanding the threatening aspect of affairs, Mr and Mrs Hart attended zealously to their missionary duties. Mr Hart not only preached the gospel, but held a school for men and boys, whom he instructed in various branches of knowledge, while Mrs Hart taught the women and girls and young children. Mr Hart also instructed them in several mechanical arts, and showed them improved methods of cultivating the ground. With their assistance he had built the house he inhabited, and had manufactured most of the furniture it contained, as also the school-house and chapel, and many of the natives had erected neat cottages after the same model. Indeed, the whole place already wore an air of civilisation and comfort, which contrasted greatly with the heathen portion of the island. The missionary and his wife were employed from morning till night among their converts, and much of the time spent in their own house was devoted to study. They enjoyed, indeed, none of that luxurious ease which some people in England suppose falls to the lot of missionaries in the sunny isles of the Pacific, but, harassed by numerous cares and anxieties, their days were spent in toil, while they knew that their lives were in constant danger. As soon as Harry and old Tom were able to move about, they begged that Mr Hart would allow them to assist him in his labours. Harry would gladly have tried to teach the natives, but his ignorance of their language prevented him being of use in that way. They both, however, could carpenter and dig, and accordingly helped in fitting up the school-house, which had just been erected. Dickey was soon able to join them. Two days afterwards the three men had sufficiently recovered to take their share of the work. Again a rumour reached the settlement that the heathens were about to attack it. "I'll tell you what, Harry," said old Tom, when they happened to be alone together. "There is one thing we ought to do, and that is to get the boat ready for use. I don't fancy Mr and Mrs Hart hiding away in the mountains. They are pretty sure to be starved to death, if the savages don't get hold of them, which I fear it is very likely they will do. And as to fighting to defend them, though we should be ready enough to risk our lives, yet as we have no arms we cannot hope to succeed. If we had had half a dozen muskets we might have thrown up a fortification and defended our friends, but without them the naked savages are our superiors when it comes to fighting; besides, Mr Hart does not wish to fight." "He is, I suspect, right on that point," said Harry. "He wishes to show the savages that the religion of the gospel is one of love and mercy and long-suffering; and musket bullets, even if we had arms, would not contribute to do that. I agree with you, however, that the sooner we can get the boat ready the better." Old Tom on this called the other men, and they all set to work to prepare the boat for sea. Harry also informed the missionary and his wife of their intentions, and urged Mrs Hart to get ready such a stock of provisions as she could collect. "For your sakes I will do so," she answered; "but if my husband still thinks it right that we should remain, I cannot try to persuade him to fly. We ought to stop and share the lot of the poor converts." "You would, I think, by remaining, only increase their danger," observed Harry. "They might, if alone, escape to the mountains and hide themselves; but if they have you to attend to, they would run a much greater risk of being discovered. Whereas if you accompany us, and our lives are preserved, you may return when the rage of the heathens is abated, and re-establish the mission." These arguments seemed to have considerable effect on Mrs Hart, and Harry hoped that she and her husband would no longer hesitate to embark, should the heathens seriously threaten to attack the station. Things, however, went on much as usual for several days. The boat was made ready for sea, while as much water and provisions as she could carry were prepared to be put on board at a moment's notice. The three men had by this time grown weary of the monotonous life they were compelled to live at the station, and, notwithstanding the dangers they had gone through, they were anxious again to be off in search of some other island, where they could live at their ease among the natives, without running the risk of being murdered, as they were assured they would be should they wander away among the heathens. Old Tom and the two boys did their best to persuade them to remain contentedly where they were; but, from some remarks overheard by Bass, Harry was afraid that they contemplated running off with the boat, should they be detained much longer. "If they make the attempt they will lose their lives to a certainty," observed old Tom, when Harry told him. "But I think better of them. We will make them understand that we remain for the sake of the poor lady and gentleman who have left their home in England to try and benefit the ignorant savages, and that while they are in danger we should be cowards to desert them." The men acknowledged, when Tom spoke to them, that he was right, and promised to remain contentedly to assist the missionary and his wife. CHAPTER EIGHT. ATTACK AND FLIGHT. Old Tom and the three men had built a hut for themselves at a short distance from the missionary's house, that they might not incommode him and his wife. He, however, kindly insisted that the two lads should continue their guests. The more Harry saw of Mr Hart, the more anxious he became to assist him, and in order to do so he commenced studying the language of the natives. "I wonder you take so much trouble, Harry," observed his companion Bass; "it seems to me like labour lost, when we may at any moment be compelled to run away." "But I hope, if we do, we shall be able to return," said Harry. "I think, of all the works in which man can engage, that of converting the heathen, and instructing them in the truths of the gospel, is the first and noblest. I would rather be employed in it than in any other. We look with respect on a man who has saved the life of a fellow-creature; but surely, as the soul is of infinitely more value than the body, it must be infinitely more noble to be the means of saving souls. If it were not for my mother and sister, I would rather remain out here and labour with Mr Hart than return home. But still I feel that it is my first duty to try and go back to England, that I may comfort my mother and sister, should, as I fear is the case, the _Steadfast_ and all hands have been lost." "Each man to his task," answered Dickey; "but I should have thought that you, who have a good chance of some day getting the command of a ship, would have preferred remaining at sea, even should the _Steadfast_ be lost." "I have not given up all hopes of her even yet," answered Harry; "though I cannot account for her not coming to look for us." Harry was soon able to speak a few words to the natives, and, as they were anxious to learn English, they took pains to teach him their own tongue in return for the instruction he gave them, and he and they were thus able to understand each other on ordinary subjects. Rumours that the heathens were meditating an attack again reached the station. A large body of savages had been seen on the hills a short distance off flourishing their weapons, and making fierce and threatening gestures. Perhaps they had been deterred from their purpose by the arrival of the boat, and, believing that all white men were possessed of firearms, been unwilling to encounter them. As, however, heathens were constantly coming to the village and going away again, some of them would probably report that they had seen no muskets, and that the number of white men was very small. One evening, after prayers had been offered up in the missionary's house, and old Tom and his companions had returned to their hut, just as Harry and Bass were about to go to bed, a knocking was heard at the door, Harry opened it, when a native appeared, and, in an agitated voice, told them that a friend who still lived among the heathens had just stolen into the village with the intelligence that a large band of savages, led on by one of their priests, was approaching at a rapid rate, having vowed to destroy all the Christians before the morning. Harry at once told Mrs Hart, who was at first inclined to believe that it was only another false report, such as had often before reached them. The native, however, was positive that his friend was not mistaken, and declared that if their dear missionary and his wife would not fly, he and the other converts would carry them off by force to the mountains. Harry proposed that scouts should be sent out to ascertain the fact, and entreated Mr and Mrs Hart to embark at once, and to wait in the boat till the return of the scouts. In the meantime he sent Bass to summon Tom and his companions. Several of the converts were ready to act as scouts, though they declared that there was no doubt of the truth of the report, and that it would be wiser to escape at once to the mountains. The whole population now gathered round the mission-house, and urged Mr and Mrs Hart to go on board the boat, which had been sent, they asserted, on purpose to preserve their lives. The missionary and his wife at length agreed to act as they were advised, though still loth to leave the converts. The people, though they knew the danger they themselves ran by remaining, would not commence their flight till they had seen their white friends, whom they hurried down to the beach, safe on board. At the same time, some of them carried the provisions which had been prepared on board, while others brought from their own stores a still further supply, and would have added more, had not old Tom assured them that the boat was already overloaded. She had just been launched into deep water, when one of the scouts came hurrying back with the intelligence that the savages were close to the village, and that there was but little time for their countrymen to make their escape. While the Christian natives hurried off in the direction of the mountains, the boat pulled away from the shore towards the passage which led into the open sea. The night was cloudy and dark, but a strong breeze was blowing, which sent the surf high over the reef, so that the passage could easily be distinguished. Mr Hart, even to the last, was very unwilling to desert his station, and begged old Tom to remain inside the lagoon till they could see what would happen. They were not left long in doubt, for a few minutes only had elapsed after they had quitted the beach when fearful shouts and yells rent the air. The savages, expecting to entrap their victims, had evidently surrounded the village, and were rushing forward with the intention of putting all within it to death. In a short time torches which they had lighted were seen flaring up, their glare being cast on the tall trees and rocks and the sides of the hills, as they rushed forward to throw them into the buildings. In a few seconds more the whole village was in a blaze, and burning furiously. The dark figures of the savages could be seen as they stood ready with uplifted weapons to strike those whom they expected to issue forth. Their rage and disappointment must have been great when no one appeared. The delay, however, it was hoped, would enable the fugitives to escape to their proposed hiding-places. As the bright light from the burning buildings shed a glare over the water, at length the savages perceived the boat, and rushed down to the beach, shouting loudly to those in her to return, some darting their spears, and others shooting arrows towards her. She was happily too far off for the weapons to reach her. "The heathens have been allowed to triumph for a time," said Mr Hart. "I pray that our poor converts will escape their fury. We must now trust to the protection of Him who is able to guide us over the stormy ocean to a haven of rest. His will be done." "The sooner we are out of the reach of those savages the better, or they will be coming after us in their canoes," observed old Tom. "When we are outside we shall be able to make sail and stand to the eastward. If the wind favours us we shall reach a Christian island in the course of a week, where we are sure to meet a hearty welcome. We have provisions enough on board to last us a month, so we need have no fear of starving, whatever happens." This address encouraged the men, who pulled away in good spirits, Harry and Bass, who had each an oar, setting them an example. Mr Hart offered to row. "No, no, sir," answered old Tom. "You are not accustomed to the sort of life we shall have to lead for the next few days, and you will have enough to do to look after your poor wife. We all feel more for her than for ourselves, and will do our best to make her as comfortable as we can." Mrs Hart thanked old Tom, and assured him that she was resigned to whatever might happen, and felt no alarm, notwithstanding the fearful scene they had witnessed. The boat now reached the passage, and passing between the two walls of foam which rose up on either hand, was soon tossing on the wild sea outside. Harry, as he pulled away, had watched the shore anxiously, and was thankful to find that they were not as yet pursued. He had little doubt, however, that, as soon as the savages could reach their canoes, they would put off in chase, they not supposing that so small a boat would venture out into the open sea on so stormy a night. "Now, lads, we will set up the mast and make sail," said old Tom, after the boat had got some distance from the reef. "You need not be alarmed, marm," he continued, addressing Mrs Hart; "this whale-boat of ours is strong, and will go through twice as much sea as we have now." Old Tom did not over-estimate the good qualities of the boat. Though the dark seas rose up capped with foam around her, she sprang lightly over them, guided by his experienced hands, scarcely shipping a drop of water. Thus she went on during the night. When morning dawned she had run the island out of sight. As the wind had been gradually decreasing, and the sea going down, they were able to re-stow the boat. By Harry's forethought several articles had been put on board which might conduce to Mrs Hart's comfort. Among them was a small mattress and a tarpaulin, which had served to protect their luggage when they first landed. With this a cabin was fitted in the stern of the boat, which, though narrow and confined, afforded her the shelter she so much needed. Within, shaded from the rays of the sun, she could recline during the heat of the day, while by lifting up the edges, sufficient air was admitted. Not a murmur escaped her lips, while she warmly expressed her thanks for the attention bestowed on her. "We should be very ungrateful, marm, if we did not do our best to make you comfortable; for if it had not been for you and Mr Hart, I am pretty sure none of us would have been now alive. If we had landed on another part of the island, the savages, judging from the way they behaved last night, would have knocked us all on the head. I am sure, lads, I say what you all feel." The men acknowledged that old Tom spoke the truth, and promised to do their best to take care of the missionary and his wife. Mr Hart began the day by offering up a prayer for protection, and thanking their Father in heaven for preserving their lives from the fury of the savages. Then, opening his Bible, he read several portions showing how full of loving-kindness and mercy God is; at the same time, being just, He can by no means overlook iniquity. On this account it was that He gave us the inestimable gift of His Son, the Lamb without spot or blemish, to die instead of sinful man. And He requires now that men should believe that Christ thus died for their sakes, that His blood atones for all their sins, that God receives them, rebels though they have hitherto been, as His dear children, and makes them holy by His own good Spirit, fitted to enter the glorious heaven which He has prepared for all those who love Him. Again and again, with earnest prayer that they might receive it, Mr Hart impressed these truths on his hearers. They had heard them before; but their minds were so dull, and their hearts so hard even now, that but slight impression appeared to have been made on them. Young Bass alone at length murmured, "I do believe, and desire to give my heart to Jesus; pray for me, Mr Hart, for I am afraid if I were to get back among careless companions, that I should again become as they are." "From that God will assuredly guard you, my young friend, if you earnestly seek for His guidance; and our prayers, as well as yours, will be heard at the throne of grace." Day after day went by, the boat making but slow progress, for it was an almost perfect calm; and, though the oars were got out, and kept going, the men either could not, or would not, make much exertion in rowing. Mr Hart, and Harry and Bass, and old Tom, took their turns at the oars, and endeavoured to encourage the men. Still no land appeared in sight. The men grumbled, and declared that they would rather have a gale than this long continuance of calm. "Let us rather be thankful, my friends, for the fine weather; and, though our voyage is prolonged, we may still hope to reach a haven of safety," observed Mr Hart. The gale the men were wishing for came, however, with more fury than they desired. Once more the boat was tossing on the foaming waves, when the sea, breaking over her, washed away a portion of their provisions, and compelled them to be constantly bailing to keep her afloat. She was driven, too, far out of her course, and often it seemed as if she could not live amid the raging seas which rose up around her. Old Tom, however, sat at the helm, calm and undismayed, steering with his accustomed skill. All knew well that their lives depended, under Providence, on him. Still the tempest was increasing. In spite of the admirable way old Tom managed the boat, another sea broke on board, washing out of her more of the provisions, and almost carrying away one of the men as he lay asleep in the bows. He was caught by the man next to him, and hauled in, and all hands had instantly to set to work to bail out the water. "It looks to me as if this hurricane was never going to cease!" cried the chief grumbler of the party. "We might as well have stopped and fought the savages, and if they had killed us there would have been an end of it." "My friend, God will cause the hurricane to cease when He thinks fit," said Mr Hart, solemnly. "Be thankful rather that you are yet alive, and that the day of grace still lasts. You had not then accepted Christ, and heaven would never have been your home. Have you done so now? God is still willing to receive you; and He shows it by having preserved you hitherto from the perils by which we have been surrounded." "You are right, sir," answered the man, at length touched; "I am an ungrateful fellow, God be merciful to me a sinner! I will never complain again." "God is always merciful, my friend; He has offered you the means by which you may be saved. He has not thought fit to establish any other means, or opened up any other way by which you can enter heaven but that one single way, and He says, `Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.' Believe, my dear friend; think how precious your soul is. Remember the thief on the cross; and if, like him, you can truly say, `I believe,' should the boat be overwhelmed the next minute, you will be where he is, with Jesus in heaven." The storm at length ceased, and the sorely battered boat was left floating calmly on the water; but nearly all the provisions were gone, two of the oars had been washed overboard, and there was a leak in her side which it was found impossible altogether to stop, while the crew were well-nigh worn out. Mr Hart sat with his beloved wife in his arms, feeling that it might be God's will that they should not again see land. They were prepared for whatever He might decree, and they felt more for their two young companions, and for Harry's mother and sister, of whom he had been speaking to them, than for themselves. As they gazed at the haggard faces of the two boys and the old man, it seemed to them that before long one or the other would be called away. CHAPTER NINE. SAVED AND WRECKED. Well might the unhappy fugitives have despaired. The larger portion of their provisions had been washed overboard; the remainder were almost exhausted; their boat was battered and leaky, the seamen were apparently dying, and unable to determine in what direction to seek for land. For weeks they might sail on and not find it. Still the missionary and his companions placed their trust in Him who is able to save them. A light breeze once more sent the boat through the water. They were gliding on when Harry observed that old Tom's eye was intently gazing towards the south-west, yet he did not speak. Harry looked in the same direction. "What do you see, lad?" asked old Tom. Harry rubbed his eyes. "Yes, it is. A sail! a sail!" he exclaimed. "I thought so, but feared that my hopes might have deceived me," said old Tom. "She is standing this way, and is close-hauled." The boat was steered so as to intercept the stranger. Harry kept his gaze fixed on her. She was evidently a whaler. "Can she be the _Steadfast_?" exclaimed Dickey, who was also earnestly looking at her. "I was in hopes that she might be," exclaimed Harry. "The _Steadfast_ would be deeper in the water, and has a new cloth on her foretopsail, and that ship has not," observed old Tom. "We should be thankful, whatever she is," said Mr Hart. "Let us return thanks to God for sending her to rescue us." The men roused up on hearing that a ship was approaching, and managed even to get their oars out to pull alongside her. As they drew near they saw clearly that she was not the _Steadfast_. The stranger hove to. A person, whom they supposed to be the captain, asked whence they had come and what they wanted. "We are escaping from savages, and entreat you to receive us on board, for we are almost starved," answered Mr Hart. "You may come on deck, then," said the captain; but that was more than any one in the boat unassisted could do. Even old Tom, the strongest of the party, could not manage to clamber up the side. A ladder was therefore let down, and two seamen descending carried up Mrs Hart and then her husband. The boys followed, old Tom being the last to leave the boat, which was then hoisted up, but almost fell to pieces in the operation. "You people have had a narrow escape," observed the captain, as he examined the boat. "You and your wife can have a cabin, though I am not fond of missionaries, I tell you," he observed, turning to Mr Hart. "The rest can manage to shift for'ard among the men." "I shall be grateful for any accommodation you will afford my wife and me," said Mr Hart. "You see how much she requires attention;" and he pointed to his wife, who was seated on a hencoop almost fainting. "I would ask you, too, to allow those two young gentlemen to live in the cabin; one is a captain's son, the other an apprentice." "Oh, they can shift for themselves well enough forward," answered the captain, gruffly. "We are bound for the Sandwich Islands, which I hope to make in the course of a couple of weeks, and we shall then part company, as you will then be able to find a vessel to carry you wherever you may wish to go. I cannot undertake charge of you for a longer time." "All I can say is that we shall be grateful to you for preserving our lives; for I believe, humanly speaking, we should have perished before many days had elapsed," said Mr Hart. "I do not at present see how we can repay you, but if I have the power be assured I will gladly do so." The crew, though rough in appearance and rough spoken, paid every attention in their power to old Tom and his companions, and put them into their berths, where they all in a few minutes fell fast asleep. Next day Harry and Bass, having somewhat recovered, crawled on deck. They learned that the ship was the _Swordfish_; that Captain Boucher, the master, was an odd-tempered man, and that, as she had been out more than a year and caught but few whales, and had of late had nothing but ill-luck, he was in an especial bad humour. The captain was walking up and down, abusing the officers, who behaved in the same way towards the men, while the latter growled in return and performed their work in a sulky way. Harry was afraid that poor Mr and Mrs Hart would be neglected, and, waiting till the captain was quiet, humbly asked leave to be allowed to go down and pay them a visit. "What do you want with them?" asked the captain. "They are my friends," said Harry, "and I wish to see if they require anything." "If you go below you shall wait upon them and on me too, youngster. My cabin-boy fell overboard the other day, and I want another." "While I remain on board I will do as you wish," answered Harry, glad to have the means of being of service to his friends. He found them in a small cabin--poor Mrs Hart still very weak and ill, and Mr Hart seated by her side, though much requiring rest himself. One of the men who had taken in the captain's breakfast had brought them some, but they had received no other attention, while they had heard the captain abusing missionaries as a useless, idle set who never did any good. Harry set about the duty he had undertaken with alacrity, though for some days he had great difficulty in moving about. He said nothing when the captain abused him as an idle young dog, but did his best to do as he was required. He spread the table as he had seen it arranged on board the _Steadfast_, and tried to keep the cabin in good order. He was constant in his attendance on Mr and Mrs Hart, though he had often a difficulty in obtaining proper food for them from the cook. Dickey was anxious to assist him, and proposed to ask the captain's leave. "I am sure he would not grant it," said Harry; "he would only say that one boy is more than enough, and that we should be playing tricks together." Harry could not help acknowledging that he had an uncomfortable life of it; but he willingly bore all the captain's abuse for the sake of his friends, and his chief consolation was to remain in their cabin and to listen to Mr Hart's conversation. The captain, however, who at length one day found he was there, ordered him on deck. "What are you and that man plotting about?" he asked, abusing him as an idle young dog. "I'll give you work to do;" and Harry was sent to assist Bass in blacking down the rigging. After that the captain kept him constantly employed in the dirtiest work about the ship. Harry bore this treatment without murmuring. "I only wish that the voyage was over," he remarked to Bass. "Still, whatever he does, we should be thankful to him for saving our lives." "I am not so certain that he will let us go free, even when we reach the Sandwich Islands," answered Bass. "The men say he will swear we are apprentices, and keep us on board." "Don't let him suppose that you think so. If we have our wits about us we may make our escape," said Harry. Day after day the wind continued light, and the voyage was prolonged. The captain treated the boys in the same tyrannical way as at first. Harry could only exchange a few words with his friends when he took them their meals; he was thankful that the captain had not deprived him of the opportunity of doing so. "It is our duty, my dear Harry, to bear with ill-treatment," observed Mr Hart. "It is hard to do so, but let us pray for grace, and we shall not seek it in vain." At length the Island of Oahu, in which the capital Honolulu is situated, was sighted. As the ship approached the harbour, and Harry and Bass were congratulating themselves that their emancipation drew near, the captain ordered them to go down into the cabin. When there they found themselves suddenly seized by two of the mates, who thrust them into a small side cabin. "You will remain there; and take care that you make no noise," said one of the mates. "When we are at sea again you will be let out." The poor boys expostulated in vain. The door was locked upon them, and they were left in almost total darkness. "I told you so," said Bass. "I was sure he meant us mischief." "I am very sure that Mr Hart will make every effort to obtain our release," observed Harry. "So will old Tom; and I should think the captain would scarcely venture to detain him." In a short time they heard the anchor let go, and they knew that the ship had entered the harbour. They waited in the hope that Mr Hart would discover where they were and come at least to speak to them, but night came on and they were left alone. They had to coil themselves up and go to sleep. Next morning the first mate opened the door and put in some breakfast, saying that it would be worse for them if they made any noise. Several days passed by and they were thus kept in durance. They heard at different times voices in the cabin; but not knowing who the speakers were, they were afraid of crying out. At last they knew by the movements of the ship that she was once more under way; and shortly afterwards the mate came to the door and told them that they might go on deck to attend to their duty. Greatly to their satisfaction, they saw old Tom. He made a sign to them not to speak to him and turned away. They waited till it was dark. He then came up to them as they were standing together. "I discovered that the captain had shut you up," he said; "and I did all I could to get him to allow you to go on shore, but he said that he had a right to detain you, and I of course would not leave the ship without you. We must therefore watch for an opportunity of getting on shore at some place where English authority is established, and we can make complaints of the way you have been treated." "I would rather land among savages than remain on board," said Harry. "And so would I," exclaimed Bass. "And if you will come with us we will try to escape at the first place we touch at." "We must learn what sort of a place it is first," said old Tom, "or we may be worse off than we are on board." "We will talk about that by-and-by," said Harry. "I am very anxious to know what has become of Mr and Mrs Hart." "I am thankful to say they are among friends," answered old Tom. "Missionaries have been for some time settled in these islands, and the king and a considerable number of his people have become Christians. Mr Hart did not forget you either, and he came on board to try and learn what had become of you. The captain must have deceived him, and persuaded him that you were no longer in the ship. He was coming off again just as we were getting under way, and the captain would not then allow him to come up the side." "I am thankful, at all events, to hear that our friends are safe," said Harry; "and we must try to make the best of it." "That's a wise resolution, Harry," said Tom. "Even though the captain should continue to ill-treat you, behave as you have hitherto done, and even his hard heart may be softened. However, we must not be found talking together, so now go and turn into your berths, and try and get a better night's rest than you could have had in that close cabin." Harry and Bass followed old Tom's advice; and next morning when they came on deck they found that the ship was off the magnificent coast of the large island of Hawaii, with the two lofty mountains, Mouna Kea and Mouna Roa, rising far off. The weather looked threatening, and in a short time a heavy gale began to blow. The wind increased in fury till it became a perfect hurricane. The sails were closely reefed. The captain endeavoured to beat out to sea, as there was no port under his lee into which he could run. Notwithstanding all the efforts made to keep off the land, the ship drove closer and closer to it. A terrific line of breakers could be seen dashing on the shore. Should the ship be driven among them, her destruction would be certain; and there was little hope of an anchor a holding to save her from her impending fate. To avoid this, sail was kept on the ship, though, under any other circumstances, with an open sea before her, she would have been running under bare poles. Harry and Bass were standing together. "What do you think of it, Tom?" asked Harry, as the old man came up to them. "Badly enough, as far as this world is concerned," answered old Tom. "Happy are those who are prepared to enter another world, as I know you are, and I hope Mr Bass is too. He who died for us is ready to welcome us there, if we are trusting to Him alone down here, and not to our own strength and doings, however good our fellow-men may think us. That's my comfort, whatever happens, though for your sakes, and that of the poor fellows aboard, I pray we may escape. I cannot say, however, that I see much prospect of it. If the worst comes, do you boys stick by me, and I will do my best to save your lives." The ship drifted nearer and nearer the shore. The captain and mates, hardy and bold as they were, looked pale and anxious, now gazing up at the bending masts, now at the shore under their lee. "If we get a slant of wind we may do it yet," said the captain. "But if not?" observed the first mate. "We must let go our anchors, and cut away the masts. There is nothing else to be done," was the answer. The hoped-for change of wind did not come. "Let go the best bower," shouted the captain. "Stand by with the axes." The order was obeyed. The ship for a moment rode head to wind. At the same instant the men, with gleaming axes in their hands, were seen cutting away at the masts. Tom led his young friends under shelter of the poop deck. Down came the masts with a crash. Not a hundred fathoms astern the sea in wild masses was breaking furiously. The next instant the anchor parted; another was let go, but it scarcely held for a moment; and then the ship drove broadside into the midst of the wild, raging tumult of waters. Now she rose for a moment on the summit of a huge wave, now borne onwards she sank into a hollow between the waves. The next sea swept her decks, carrying many of the hapless crew overboard, and washing away the caboose and a large portion of the bulwarks. By Tom's advice Harry and Bass clung to a stanchion near which they had taken their post. Tom held on to another near them. Another sea struck the devoted ship, and threw her with tremendous force on the coral rocks, crushing in her bottom and sides. Others of the crew were carried off as the seas continued to strike her. Now portions of her bows, now the remainder of her bulwarks, were swept away, while on each occasion the fearful crashing and rending of timbers showed that she was rapidly breaking up. "What had we best do?" asked Bass. "Hold on to the last," answered Harry; "perhaps the gale may abate, and we may yet reach the shore." There seemed, however, but little hope of their doing this. Every instant larger portions of the wreck were carried away. It was evident that in a short time she would break up completely. Tom handed to each of the boys a length of rope. "Make yourselves fast to any piece of timber you can get hold of," he said; "it will give you the best chance of safety." Few of the people had by this time escaped, and every sea which broke over the wreck carried one or more away. At length another tremendous sea came rolling towards them. A fearful crash followed. Harry and Bass found themselves floating together amid the boiling waters, with pieces of wreck tossed to and fro near them, a blow from which would have proved fatal, but not one struck them. Not far off they caught sight of Tom clinging to a portion of the poop deck. A sea carried them towards him. He hauled them up, and they made themselves fast to some ring-bolts. Though the seas washed over them, and they felt as if the breath would be knocked out of their bodies, they were not carried off; and they found that their raft was being driven rapidly towards the shore, now scarcely a quarter of a mile from them. Every instant they expected the raft to be turned over and over, but it floated as before, and, now lifted high on the summit of a breaker, and now sunk down into the hollow of the sea, went on and on till they felt it ground on the beach. Tom told them to cast themselves adrift, when, seizing each by the arm, he dragged them forward, and in another instant they were on dry ground. "Praise God for His mercy! We are safe!" cried Tom. "But now, boys, let us see if we can help any of our shipmates." They looked along the beach on either hand, but for some minutes they could discover no one. "There is a man!" at length cried Tom. "I caught sight of his head and hand among the foam." They ran in the direction Tom pointed, waiting anxiously, in the hope of dragging the man out of the surf as it broke on the shore. Tom rushed in and seized him, as for an instant he was thrown on the beach, or the receding waves would have carried him back. The boys assisted Tom. They recognised the features of the captain, but the hue of death was on his face. His arms fell down as they placed him on the ground. "He has gone!" cried Tom. They did what they could to revive him, but life was extinct. Two other bodies were washed up, but not a human being besides themselves reached the shore alive. They looked around them. The whole bay into which they had been thrown presented a scene of barren wildness and grandeur. A valley opened up from it, and in the distance rose the summit of a lofty volcano, the stream of lava from which had caused the desolation they saw around. "I am glad we have got ashore alive; but I am afraid we shall die of hunger if we cannot manage to get out of this soon," said Bass. "He who brought us on shore will take care of us," observed Tom. "But we must do our best. The sooner we set off to look for some natives the better." "If there are any Christians about here, we are sure, if we can find them, to be treated kindly." Having examined the coast as far as they could see on either hand, they agreed to move to the east, in which direction some green shrubs and trees were distinguishable. As they all felt weak and exhausted, there was no time to be lost. "Won't it be well to get hold of something to defend ourselves if we are attacked?" said Bass. "I should like to have a club to fight with." "It would be no use, Mr Bass," answered Tom. "We must try to make friends with the natives; I have no fear about the matter." "Nor have I," said Harry. Tom and the two boys made their way along the shore. Sometimes they had to climb over rocks, sometimes to wade through black sand. At length they reached a firmer beach, and got on better than at first. The day was wearing on. They had had nothing to eat or drink since the previous evening. They all felt faint and hungry. At length they caught sight of a stream of sparkling water trickling down the rocks. How eagerly they drank of it! It revived them, and they pushed on. They were anxious to fall in with natives before dark who might give them food and shelter. The appearance of the country rapidly improved. At last, after climbing some rocks, they found themselves looking down into a beautiful bay, on the shore of which a number of women and girls were collected, who, from the way they were employed in combing their dark hair or dressing their heads with flowers, had apparently just come out of the water. On seeing the three strangers several of the girls shrieked out. Among them was a tall, dignified-looking person, who, on observing Tom and the boys approaching, rose from the ground on which she had been seated and advanced towards them. To their surprise, she addressed them in broken English. "Who you? where you come from?" she asked. Tom replied that they were English, and had escaped from their ship, which had been wrecked some way along the coast. "And, please, marm," he added, "we are very hungry, especially these two boys, and shall be thankful if you will give us some food as soon as possible." "We are not more hungry than he is," said Harry; "but he always thinks more of us than of himself." The lady smiled and made signs to them to accompany her, evidently understanding what they said, though she herself had soon apparently exhausted her stock of English words. She led the way, followed by her maidens. Climbing the rocks, which were easily surmounted, they found themselves in a level country with trees growing luxuriantly, while plantations of various descriptions were seen in every direction. At a little distance was a cottage, which, though built after the native fashion, was of considerable size. "There is my house," said the lady, pointing to it. "You welcome food, plenty sleep till to-morrow, and praise Jehovah." "What! marm, if I may make so bold to ask, are you a Christian?" exclaimed Tom. The lady nodded and smiled. "You Christian too, I hope?" she said. "That I am, marm, and so are these boys," answered Tom. "I told you all would be right, Harry," he added. "You see we could not have fallen into better hands." On reaching the house, the girls, by the directions of their mistress, hurried to prepare food, and several dishes of fish and fruits were soon placed on mats on the floor. Before bidding her guests to eat, the lady, who had been sitting, rose and said a grace in her own language, adding a few words of English. Tom and the boys uttered "Amen," at which she seemed pleased, and she then served each of them with her own hands. As soon as she saw that her guests had eaten enough, she assembled her family and attendants, who seated themselves before her; she read to them the Bible in her own language, and then offered up a prayer. After this, she leading, the rest joined in singing a hymn, the tune of which Tom recognised, though the words were strange to him. The evening's devotions being thus concluded, she led them to a part of the house screened off by mats, and bidding them enter, pointed to three beds, also covered with matting, which her maidens had in the meantime prepared for them. Their clothes had been thoroughly dried during their journey. She showed that she had thought of their comfort by presenting each of them with some cotton garments, and making them understand that their own clothes, saturated with the salt water, should be washed and ready for them the next day. "We have indeed fallen into good hands, as you say, Mr Hayes," observed Harry, after they had all three knelt down and said their prayers. "No doubt about that," answered old Tom. "We shall find that a missionary has been here; and I hope by his means to gain tidings of our friends and be able to rejoin them." With this pleasant thought they lay down to rest. Harry hoped not only to meet Mr and Mrs Hart again, but to be able to find a ship returning to England. He longed once more to be with his dear mother and sister, and to comfort them in their affliction. CHAPTER TEN. KAPOIOLANI. After a long sleep, produced by weariness, Tom and the two boys dressed, and made their appearance before their hostess. They found an ample meal provided for them. She told them that her name was Kapoiolani, that she was the wife of one of the chief men of the island, who had gone away on a preaching tour with the missionary by whose means she and her husband had been taught the truth, and begged Tom and the boys to remain till their return. This they were very glad to do, as they still felt weary, and Bass complained of aches in all his limbs. At every hour of the day people were coming in to receive instructions from Kapoiolani, who was evidently better acquainted with the truths of Christianity than her neighbours. She had for some time accepted the gospel, and showed the deepest earnestness and zeal in making it known to others. "If people at home, who profess to be true Christians, were as anxious as this lady is to teach others, there would not be so many poor men and women who sink into their graves without ever having heard of the love of Christ for sinners," observed old Tom. "She puts many civilised people to shame." "But in England there are regular ministers to do that sort of work," observed Harry. "Every one who loves Christ is a regular minister, to my mind," answered Tom; "and is bound, when he can find the opportunity, to tell others that Christ died for them, and that His blood cleanseth from all sin." "I hope that I may be able to find opportunities when I get home; though I don't think I shall be able to preach," said Harry. "You must make opportunities," answered Tom. "You can preach in your life and daily conversation, in gently speaking a word to those among whom you mix. Souls are won to Christ as much by that as by preachers in their pulpits; and the only object of preaching is to win souls." Two days passed by, when the chief, Kapoiolani's husband, returned, saying that the missionary had gone on with some other friend to a distant part of the island. Naihi, the chief, seemed as zealous and earnest as his wife; and as he spoke more English than she could, he was able to give his guests a considerable amount of information about the island. He told them that the larger portion of the inhabitants were still heathens, and worshippers of their great goddess, Pele, whose abode, he said, they supposed was in the lofty volcano. "There is need without delay to preach the gospel to them, for our people are rapidly passing away; and unless we hasten they may sink into their graves still ignorant heathens as they now are," he observed, in a solemn and sad tone. Naihi, after remaining at home two days, again set off to join his friend the missionary. Tom and the boys wished to accompany him, but he advised them to remain with his wife, telling them that the journey was fatiguing; and as they could not speak the language of the people, they could be of no use, whereas if they remained with Kapoiolani, they might assist her in acquiring a knowledge of English, which she was anxious to do, so that she might read books in that language. Harry was her chief instructor; and never was there a more attentive pupil. He was surprised at the rapidity with which she learned to read. Some time had thus been spent, when there was a commotion in the village, and it was announced that a person of importance was approaching, no less than the high-priestess of Pele, if not Pele herself, as the heathen inhabitants asserted. "She is an impostor, and I will prove her to be so!" exclaimed Kapoiolani, when she heard of it; and, attended by a band of Christians, she went out to meet the priestess. A woman appeared descending from the hills, dressed in a fantastic way, with her robes scorched and partially consumed by fire. She was followed by a band of women and girls, dressed in the same manner. As she drew near, she shouted with a loud voice that she was come to warn the followers of the new faith to be prepared for the fearful punishment she was about to inflict on them for deserting their ancient gods. "You are but a miserable woman, and a wretched impostor!" answered Kapoiolani, in an authoritative tone. "The worshippers of Jehovah are not to be frightened by your foolish threats." On hearing this the pretended Pele became very indignant, and, drawing a document written on native cloth from her bosom, declared that it would prove her authority. "It will prove that you yourself cannot write, but some one else has assisted you in your imposture, and that is all it will prove, foolish woman!" exclaimed Kapoiolani. "I have a book which announces that there are many false gods, among whom is the one you serve, but that there is only one true God, Jehovah, whom I serve. Let me advise you to throw away your idols, and to turn to Him, I know Pele can do me no harm, because Pele does not really exist, and to prove it I intend to ascend the mountain where you say she resides, and to eat the berries which you hold sacred to her, that when I come back, as I know I shall do, uninjured, my people may see their folly and turn to the true God. I advise you in the meantime to give up your follies, and to labour industriously for your support." The pretended priestess and her followers appeared very indignant at this; but when Kapoiolani offered them food they gladly partook of it, the priestess of Pele herself joining in the feast. Kapoiolani pointed her out to her people, remarking, "If she were a goddess she would not require food; but see, she eats as greedily as any one." The next morning Kapoiolani, who had long resolved to visit the volcano Kilauea, the supposed abode of Pele, was ready to set out. She sent word to her husband and the missionary of her intention, saying that it was necessary to do so at once, in order to convince the people of the imposture of the pretended priestess, and that they might understand that Jehovah was the only true God. With this laudable object in view, she was ready to undergo the fatigue of the journey. She did not object to old Tom and the two boys attending her. "My people," she said, "believe that any strangers approaching the crater will meet with certain destruction; your going will more easily convince them of their folly." Kapoiolani performed her journey on foot, as there were at that time no horses in the island, and she objected to be carried by her people. She was attended by a number of persons, with baskets of provisions, who were to proceed to the foot of the mountain, while she, with a select band, proposed mounting to the summit. The country through which they passed was wild and savage in the extreme. In some places they had to penetrate through thick woods, in others over wide fields of lava. After many days' journey the base of the mountain was reached. Resting for the night, the next morning at daybreak Kapoiolani and her attendants, aided by long poles, commenced the ascent. Some carried provisions and others materials for building a hut for the accommodation of the chieftainess. It was past noon before the edge of the crater was reached, near which grew the bushes bearing the supposed sacred berries. It seemed surprising that any vegetation could be produced on such a spot. They now stood on the edge of a vast basin upwards of seven miles in circuit and nearly a thousand feet deep. At the bottom was a level floor two miles in length, in the centre of which was a vast lake of liquid lava, out of which rose numerous cones sending forth jets of smoke. Harry had not imagined the existence of so wild and terrible a scene, and he was not surprised that the ignorant inhabitants should have believed it the abode of a goddess delighting in fire and heat. Kapoiolani told him that at times the lake which they saw below them rose up high above the cones, filling the whole space within a hundred feet of the edge with a sea of liquid lava, and that it occasionally burst its way through the edges, carrying destruction in its course, towards the ocean, while at other times new cones arose in the side of the mountain, through which the lava burst its way, flowing down in all directions. Having plucked some of the berries, Kapoiolani ate them, and desired her attendants to do the same. "Now watch the lake!" she exclaimed, extending her hand towards it. "Does it rise because we few poor mortals have eaten the fruit which God allows to grow here? No!" she said, lifting her hand, and pointing towards heaven. "He who lives there, the great Jehovah, has ordained that these things should be, for a wise purpose. There is no such person as Pele, whom, in their ignorance, our fathers have worshipped. You now understand, my friends, that we have nothing therefore to fear." While some of her attendants were building the hut, Kapoiolani, with old Tom and the boys, and a few other persons, descended the side of the crater, where it sloped sufficiently to enable them to make their way. The scene around was wild and sombre in the extreme. Mighty cliffs of jet black rock were on every side, with the lake of shining lava below them, though relieved by the blue sky overhead, to which Kapoiolani looked up and pointed. "There!" she said, "above us is the glorious heaven, which is to be the future home of believers; below, the dark pit, the dwelling-place of those who reject the Lord of light and love." On regaining the edge of the crater, they saw several persons approaching, among whom, to Kapoiolani's great satisfaction, was the missionary, accompanied by her husband. The people who followed her, as soon as they saw them, set up a loud shout of joy; for many of them till then had fully believed that their chieftainess would have been destroyed by the vengeance of Pele. The missionary now offered up a prayer, and having addressed the people, a hymn was sung. The party remained on the summit of the mountain during the night. The early portion of it was passed by Tom and the boys seated round the fire with the missionary, who told them that they would find little difficulty in returning to Honolulu, where they would soon, probably, find a ship sailing for England. While they were speaking they were aroused by a brighter light than usual, and on going to the edge of the crater they perceived that the numerous cones, in the centre were now in violent action, some emitting flame, which darted upwards to a height of fifty and a hundred feet, while boiling lava flowed down the sides of others into the lake, out of which they arose like so many islands. Kapoiolani came out of the hut to witness the scene. She remained calm as before, and quieted the fears of her attendants by observing-- "I know in whom I trust. Even should the lava continue flowing, many days must elapse before the crater is full, and long before it is so we shall be in safety. Pele has nothing to do with it." Having watched the eruption for some time, Kapoiolani and her female attendants returned to their hut, while the rest of the party gathered round their camp fires to spend the remainder of the night. After breakfast, having plucked more of the berries and again descended the crater, they proceeded down the mountain. On reaching the camp where the chief body of her attendants had remained, she addressed them, and urged them from henceforth to dismiss all thoughts of the pretended Pele, and other false deities, from their minds, and to trust alone to Jehovah, the only true God, and His Son Jesus Christ, whom He had sent into the world to die instead of them, and to reconcile them, His outcast children, to Himself. With one voice the people shouted out, "There is no such being as Pele; Jehovah is the only true God; we will serve Him!" The news of the pious and heroic Kapoiolani's visit to the mountain of Pele was carried through the island; and the people from henceforth acknowledged that they had been foolishly frightened by believing in a being who had no existence, and were everywhere ready to listen to the addresses either of the missionaries or of their own chiefs who had turned from idols. It is a remarkable circumstance that in the Sandwich Islands the chiefs set the example of overturning their idols, and were generally the first to accept the truth. After visiting several places on the coast, Kapoiolani and her attendants, accompanied by Tom and the boys, returned to her village. CHAPTER ELEVEN. HAPPY RE-UNIONS. Several weeks passed away, and no vessel appeared in which the voyagers could obtain a passage to Honolulu. They were rapidly acquiring a knowledge of the language of the island, and Harry and Tom employed much of their time in instructing the natives. Bass did not make so much progress as the rest, and began to grow very weary of the life he led. "The truth is, Dickey," observed Harry to him one day, "your heart is not in the matter. I wish to reach home, I confess; but if it were not for the dear ones there, I should be content to labour on as I am now doing. I never find the day too long." "I wish I were like you," said Bass; "but I cannot bring myself to care about the people." "My dear Dickey," said Harry, "you must pray for grace, then, to do what you know to be right. Think of the great value of human souls, and of the inestimable price which was paid that they might enjoy the happiness of heaven, and then you will become more anxious to win them." Bass tried to do as his friend advised, and in a short time he was almost as eager as Harry to instruct the natives, and found himself rapidly acquiring their language to enable him to do so. One day Tom and the two boys set off to visit a village at some distance along the coast. After going some way they saw, by the appearance of the sky, that a storm was threatening, but they hoped to reach their destination before it broke. It came on, however, more rapidly than they had expected. As they doubled a headland they caught sight of a ship close in with the land, in nearly the same dangerous position that the _Swordfish_ had been. Tom stopped and looked at her. "She appears to be a whaler, and pretty full," observed Harry. "A whaler she is; there is no doubt about that," answered Tom. "Just do you scan her narrowly, and tell me if you have ever seen a ship like her." "What!" exclaimed Harry, shading his eyes, and gazing at her earnestly. "Do you really think she is the _Steadfast_? She is wonderfully like her, as far as I can judge at this distance." "I know every yard in her canvas, and the _Steadfast_ she is, I am nearly as certain as that we three stand here!" said old Tom, his voice showing the unusual agitation he felt. "If she is not, she is very like her," observed Bass. "Oh, she is--I am certain that she is the _Steadfast_!" cried Harry. "But I wish she were farther off the coast, or she may be driven on the rocks and lost after all." "There is a deep bay two miles on," said Tom, "with a good entrance. It must be down on the chart, and it's my belief the ship is standing for it. If the wind holds as it is now she will be safe." "I pray that the wind will hold, then!" cried Harry. "Oh, my dear father! I little thought to see him again, and Mr Champion, and the rest. I cannot believe that they will be lost, now that we are about to meet them." "God knows what is best--you must always remember that, Harry," observed Tom. "It is our business, however, to pray for them. If He thinks fit He will grant our prayers; and even though He does not as we may wish, we must not doubt His justice and mercy." Right earnestly Tom and his young companions, as they knelt on the ground, offered up their prayers for the safety of the ship, and then hurried on towards the harbour of which Tom had spoken. The wind continued increasing. They saw first one sail and then another furled till the ship stood on under close-reefed topsails. They hurried forward, every now and then getting a glimpse of her as they reached some elevation overlooking the sea. They met several natives, who seemed to sympathise in their anxiety, and accompanied them towards the harbour. The ship heeled over to the blast. Still her canvas stood. Every moment, however, they expected to see it blown from the bolt-ropes. At last they were obliged to leave the coast to reach the shore of the harbour, and now came the most anxious time of all, when they could not watch the progress of the ship. Hurrying on, they arrived at length at a point of land which projected out into the harbour, and made their way over the rough rocks towards the end. "There she is! there she is!" shouted Harry, as at that moment he caught sight of the ship, with her yards squared away, running into the harbour. The natives, who had accompanied them, got a canoe ready, and Tom and the boys jumping into her, their friends paddled away to show the stranger the best spot for anchoring. Their signals were understood by those on board, and the sails being quickly furled and the anchor let go, she rode in safety. "Harry," exclaimed old Tom, "there is no doubt about her being the _Steadfast_. I caught sight of Mr Champion on the forecastle, with many another well-known face, though I don't think any one recognised us. Let me go up the side first, and learn if it is all well with your father, and if so tell him that you are safe. You know we must always be ready to say `God's will be done,' and you must be prepared for whatever He has ordered." "Do as you think best, Tom," answered Harry. "I am sure that is right." Tom climbed up the side. Directly after reaching the deck he stepped back and beckoned to the boys. They quickly climbed up after him. Harry caught sight of his father talking to Tom. In another instant he was in Captain Graybrook's arms. Bass, also, was warmly welcomed. Mr Champion shortly afterwards came aft, and the three castaways were soon surrounded by the remainder of the officers and crew. They had much to recount to each other. Harry, as clearly as he could, told his father all that had happened to them. "We have indeed mourned for you and your companions, Harry, as lost," said Captain Graybrook. "The ship was almost knocked to pieces, and after striking on a reef and having our sails blown to ribbons, we drove, with a fearful leak, hardly able to keep the ship afloat, many hundred leagues to the southward. At last, mercifully preserved, we were able to get safely into a harbour in one of the Samoan islands. As soon as the ship was repaired we made sail to the northward to look for you. On reaching the island off which your boat had last been seen, we searched every part of the coast, and went up the only harbour in it, where we hoped that you might have taken shelter, but finding no traces of you, we at length gave you up for lost. "I believe I should have died of grief, but my friend Champion afforded me comfort from a source of which, till then, I was ignorant. He told me of the love of Jesus, and that he felt sure that you had accepted the offers of salvation, and if it had been God's will to take you to Himself, that you were safe with Him in heaven, where you were free from all the troubles and trials of life, and that I might look forward to the certainty of meeting you there, with your dear mother and sister, if I, too, would yield my stubborn heart to Him. My friend spoke faithfully and firmly, and at length, by grace, through faith in the blood of Jesus Christ, I became reconciled to that loving God, and assured that He orders all things for the best. "We have lately been very successful in fishing, and, having got a full ship, were about to return home, but, requiring fresh provisions, I determined to touch at the Sandwich Islands for the sake of obtaining them, little dreaming of the surprise in store for me. "When writing to your poor mother I had not the heart to tell her that I had given up all hope of finding you, though it was necessary to prepare her for the worst, and I have told her of your boat being driven away from the ship. I have dreaded the time when I must tell her the sad news that you were, as I supposed, lost to us. What joy it will be to take you back with me, and to set the minds of your dear mother and sister at rest about your safety!" What Harry said in return need not be repeated. He told his father, however, that he was anxious, before returning home, to let Mr and Mrs Hart know of his and Tom's and Bass's safety, and to thank Kapoiolani and her husband for their kindness. As the gale threatened to keep the ship in harbour for some days, Tom offered to go back with a message to their native friends, and set off immediately. As a sufficient supply of provisions, and especially certain stores, could best be obtained at Honolulu, Captain Graybrook, greatly to Harry's satisfaction, had determined to touch there before commencing the homeward voyage. Two days afterwards several canoes were seen coming off to the ship. In one of them were Kapoiolani and Naihi. They came, they said, to beg that the captain would bear a message to the missionary, Mr Hart, and his wife, requesting that they would come and reside with them, that they might instruct their people in the gospel. A house should be built for them, and a church and schools, and they should be amply provided with food and all things they might require. "We have wealth in abundance," observed Kapoiolani, "and we cannot employ that wealth so well as in supporting those who are working to make known the truth to our perishing fellow-countrymen." Captain Graybrook gladly undertook to carry the message, promising, if possible, to bring Mr and Mrs Hart to the island. On reaching Honolulu, which the _Steadfast_ did in a few days afterwards, Harry was delighted to find that his friends were willing to accept the invitation; and the stores and provisions being soon obtained, the ship returned with them on board to Hawaii. On landing at Kapoiolani's village, Mr and Mrs Hart found that a house was already prepared for their reception, and that a church was commenced. Old Tom said that he felt very much inclined to remain with them; but the ship was short-handed. "It's my duty to stay on board; there is no doubt about that," he observed; "and I am sure that a man does no good when he deserts his first duty for the sake of doing anything else, however right that may be." Although several natives had been engaged, the addition of the two lads and Tom to the strength of the crew was very welcome. Harry and his companion, having bidden farewell to the Christian chief and his wife, and their many other friends, prepared to embark. Mr Hart accompanied them to the beach. "My dear Harry," he said, "I trust that, when far away from this place, you will not forget the long-benighted savages inhabiting the numberless islands of the vast Pacific. You will have many opportunities of telling people at home of their condition, and perhaps may be the means of inducing some fitted for the task to come out and labour in the glorious work of making known the gospel." "Indeed I will, Mr Hart," answered Harry; "and, if my father will permit me, I will return here as soon as possible myself. I love a sea life, but would thankfully employ myself, when I possess more knowledge, in spreading the gospel among the islanders." "You may possibly combine both objects," answered Mr Hart. "Missionary ships to convey missionaries from place to place, and to visit them as often as practicable, are much required, and it is most important that they should be officered by Christian men; and you may be doing good service if you obtain a berth on board one, and ultimately be able to take the command." "That is exactly what I feel I ought to do," said Harry, as he pressed his friend's hand; "I will pray that I may be directed aright in the matter." Away the _Steadfast_ sailed on her homeward voyage. Harry, to his great satisfaction, soon found that Mr Champion had resolved to try to induce his friends at home, or one of the missionary societies, to send out a mission ship, of which he purposed offering to take the command. "And I will go with you as mate," exclaimed Harry. "That will indeed be delightful, and I am sure my father will agree to it; and, from what he has said to me lately, I do not think he intends to come to sea again." On speaking to his father, Harry found that he was right in his conjecture. "I had, however, intended giving the command of the _Steadfast_ to Champion, as I have long known he wishes to make your sister Hannah his wife; and allowing her to accompany him, with you as his second mate, as I feel sure she and the ship will be well taken care of. However, though there is no doubt that Champion would make a much better income in command of the _Steadfast_ than as captain of a mission ship, yet I will not thwart his views, if he resolves to do as you tell me he wishes." Frequently during the voyage the subject was discussed; and though formerly Captain Graybrook would have thought his young mate mad to entertain such a notion, he now cordially entered into his views, and it was settled that Hannah should decide what was to be done. At length the _Steadfast_, freighted with the richest cargo Captain Graybrook had ever brought into port, was safely at anchor. As soon as he could leave the ship, accompanied by Harry, he hastened home. The deep anxiety Mrs Graybrook and Hannah long had felt was set at rest. Mr Champion, directly his duties allowed him, joined them. Hannah discovered the all-important change which had taken place in his mind. She no longer hesitated to promise him her hand. He told her of the heathen state of the people inhabiting the countless isles of the Pacific, of the earnest wish he entertained of being instrumental in carrying the gospel among them, of the offer her father had made to him of the command of the _Steadfast_, and of his own wish to command a missionary ship, or to engage still more directly in the glorious work by going out as a minister of the gospel. "I believe that you may be as usefully employed in following your profession as in the latter work, but on whichever you decide I am ready to accompany you," was Hannah's answer. As no missionary vessel was ready, Leonard Champion, soon after his marriage, took command of the _Steadfast_, and, accompanied by his wife, with Harry and Dickey Bass as his mates, and Tom Hayes as boatswain, made two voyages to the Pacific; and while acting as the father of his crew, and bringing many to a knowledge of the truth, he was the means, by touching whenever he could at missionary stations, of rendering much assistance to those engaged in the most glorious of enterprises; while, by the example he and his crew set, and by the efforts he made at every heathen place at which he touched, he gained the goodwill of the inhabitants, and disposed them to think favourably of Christianity. At length, having given up the _Steadfast_, he obtained the command of a mission ship, though he had in the meantime succeeded to a good property; and conveyed many missionaries to the stations to which they were appointed. On the death of Captain and Mrs Graybrook, he and his wife settled in one of the larger islands of the Pacific, where, with Harry and Bass, who shortly afterwards joined them, they have laboured faithfully on till they have seen most of the inhabitants converted to the truth. Old Tom resided with them, labouring devotedly to the last, till he was called away to hear the words, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." 
23351	----	produced from scans of public domain material produced by Microsoft for their Live Search Books site.) [Illustration: YACHT CLUB SERIES] [Illustration: MISS NELLIE PATTERDALE AND DON JOHN. Frontispiece.] [Illustration: OLIVER OPTIC'S YACHT CLUB SERIES. THE YACHT CLUB. LEE & SHEPARD, BOSTON] THE YACHT CLUB SERIES. * * * * * THE YACHT CLUB; OR, THE YOUNG BOAT-BUILDER. BY OLIVER OPTIC, AUTHOR OF "YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD," "THE ARMY AND NAVY SERIES," "THE WOODVILLE STORIES," "THE STARRY FLAG SERIES," "THE BOAT CLUB STORIES," "THE LAKE SHORE SERIES," "THE UPWARD AND ONWARD SERIES," ETC., ETC. _WITH THIRTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS._ BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. NEW YORK: LEE, SHEPARD AND DILLINGHAM. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, BY WILLIAM T. ADAMS, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. * * * * * Brown Type-Setting Machine Company. TO MY YOUNG FRIEND _CHARLES H. HASTINGS_, OF NEW YORK, This Book is Affectionately Dedicated. The Yacht Club Series. 1. LITTLE BOBTAIL; OR, THE WRECK OF THE PENOBSCOT. 2. THE YACHT CLUB; OR, THE YOUNG BOAT-BUILDER. 3. MONEY-MAKER; OR, THE VICTORY OF THE BASILISK. 4. THE COMING WAVE; OR, THE HIDDEN TREASURE OF HIGH ROCK. 5. THE DORCAS CLUB; OR, OUR GIRLS AFLOAT. (The sixth in preparation.) PREFACE. "THE YACHT CLUB" is the second volume of the YACHT CLUB SERIES, to which it gives a name; and like its predecessor, is an independent story. The hero has not before appeared, though some of the characters of "LITTLE BOBTAIL" take part in the incidents: but each volume may be read understandingly without any knowledge of the contents of the other. In this story, the interest centres in Don John, the Boat-builder, who is certainly a very enterprising young man, though his achievements have been more than paralleled in the domain of actual life. Like the first volume of the series, the incidents of the story transpire on the waters of the beautiful Penobscot Bay, and on its shores. They include several yacht races, which must be more interesting to those who are engaged in the exciting sport of yachting, than to others. But the principal incidents are distinct from the aquatic narrative; and those who are not interested in boats and boating will find that Don John and Nellie Patterdale do not spend all their time on the water. The hero is a young man of high aims and noble purposes: and the writer believes that it is unpardonable to awaken the interest and sympathy of his readers for any other than high-minded and well-meaning characters. But he is not faultless; he makes some grave mistakes, even while he has high aims. The most important lesson in morals to be derived from his experience is that it is unwise and dangerous for young people to conceal their actions from their parents and friends; and that men and women who seek concealment "choose darkness because their deeds are evil." HARRISON SQUARE, BOSTON, May 22, 1873. CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTER I. DON JOHN OF BELFAST, AND FRIENDS 11 CHAPTER II. ABOUT THE TIN BOX 28 CHAPTER III. THE YACHT CLUB AT TURTLE HEAD 46 CHAPTER IV. A SAD EVENT IN THE RAMSAY FAMILY 63 CHAPTER V. CAPTAIN SHIVERNOCK 81 CHAPTER VI. DONALD GETS THE JOB 99 CHAPTER VII. LAYING DOWN THE KEEL. 117 CHAPTER VIII. THE FIRST REGATTA. 135 CHAPTER IX. THE SKYLARK AND THE SEA FOAM. 153 CHAPTER X. THE LAUNCH OF THE MAUD. 171 CHAPTER XI. THE WHITE CROSS OF DENMARK. 189 CHAPTER XII. DONALD ANSWERS QUESTIONS. 207 CHAPTER XIII. MOONLIGHT ON THE JUNO. 226 CHAPTER XIV. CAPTAIN SHIVERNOCK'S JOKE. 244 CHAPTER XV. LAUD CAVENDISH TAKES CARE OF HIMSELF. 264 CHAPTER XVI. SATURDAY COVE. 283 CHAPTER XVII. THE GREAT RACE. 302 CHAPTER XVIII. THE HASBROOK OUTRAGE, AND OTHER MATTERS. 320 THE YACHT CLUB; OR, THE YOUNG BOAT-BUILDER. CHAPTER I. DON JOHN OF BELFAST, AND FRIENDS. "Why, Don John, how you frightened me!" exclaimed Miss Nellie Patterdale, as she sprang up from her reclining position in a lolling-chair. It was an intensely warm day near the close of June, and the young lady had chosen the coolest and shadiest place she could find on the piazza of her father's elegant mansion in Belfast. She was as pretty as she was bright and vivacious, and was a general favorite among the pupils of the High School, which she attended. She was deeply absorbed in the reading of a story in one of the July magazines, which had just come from the post-office, when she heard a step near her. The sound startled her, it was so near; and, looking up, she discovered the young man whom she had spoken to close beside her. He was not Don John of Austria, but Donald John Ramsay of Belfast, who had been addressed by his companions simply as Don, a natural abbreviation of his first name, until he of Austria happened to be mentioned in the history recitation in school, when the whole class looked at Don, and smiled; some of the girls even giggled, and got a check for it; but the republican young gentleman became a titular Spanish hidalgo from that moment. Though he was the son of a boat-builder, by trade a ship carpenter, he was a good-looking, and gentlemanly fellow, and was treated with kindness and consideration by most of the sons and daughters of the wealthy men of Belfast, who attended the High School. It was hardly a secret that Don John regarded Miss Nellie with especial admiration, or that, while he was polite to all the young ladies, he was particularly so to her. It is a fact, too, that he blushed when she turned her startled gaze upon him on the piazza; and it is just as true that Miss Nellie colored deeply, though it may have been only the natural consequence of her surprise. "I beg your pardon, Nellie; I did not mean to frighten you," replied Donald. "I don't suppose you did, Don John; but you startled me just as much as though you had meant it," added she, with a pleasant smile, so forgiving that the young man had no fear of the consequences. "How terribly hot it is! I am almost melted." "It is very warm," answered Donald, who, somehow or other, found it very difficult to carry on a conversation with Nellie; and his eyes seemed to him to be twice as serviceable as his tongue. "It is dreadful warm." And so they went on repeating the same thing over and over again, till there was no other known form of expression for warm weather. "How in the world did you get to the side of my chair without my hearing you?" demanded Nellie, when it was evidently impossible to say anything more about the heat. "I came up the front steps, and was walking around on the piazza to your father's library. I didn't see you till you spoke," replied Donald, reminded by this explanation that he had come to Captain Patterdale's house for a purpose. "Is Ned at home?" "No; he has gone up to Searsport to stay over Sunday with uncle Henry." "Has he? I'm sorry. Is your father at home?" "He is in his library, and there is some one with him. Won't you sit down, Don John?" "Thank you," added Donald, seating himself in a rustic chair. "It is very warm this afternoon." Nellie actually laughed, for she was conscious of the difficulties of the situation--more so than her visitor. But we must do our hero--for such he is--the justice to say, that he did not refer to the exhausted topic with the intention of confining the conversation to it, but to introduce the business which had called him to the house. "It is intensely hot, Don John," laughed Nellie. "But I was going to ask you if you would not like to take a sail," said Donald, with a blush. "With your father, I mean," added he, with a deeper blush, as he realized that he had actually asked a girl to go out in a boat with him. "I should be delighted to go, but I can't. Mother won't let me go on the water when the sun is out, it hurts my eyes so," answered Nellie; and the young man was sure she was very sorry she could not go. "Perhaps we can go after sunset, then," suggested Donald. "I am sorry Ned is not at home; for his yacht is finished, and father says the paint is dry enough to use her. We are going to have a little trial trip in her over to Turtle Head, and, perhaps, round by Searsport." "Is the Sea Foam really done?" asked Nellie, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Yes, she is all ready, and father will deliver her to Ned on Monday, if everything works right about her. I thought some of your folks, especially Ned, would like to be in her on the first trip." "I should, for one; but I suppose it is no use for me to think of it. My eyes are ever so much better, and I hope I shall be able to sail in the Sea Foam soon." "I hope so, too. We expect she will beat the Skylark; father thinks she will." "I don't care whether she does or not," laughed Nellie. "Do you think I could see your father just a moment?" asked Donald. "I only want to know whether or not he will go with us." "I think so; I will go and speak to him. Come in, Don John," replied Nellie, rising from her lolling-chair, and walking around the corner of the house to the front door. Donald followed her. The elegant mansion was located on a corner lot, with a broad hall through the centre of it, on one side of which was the large drawing-room, and on the other the sitting and dining-rooms. At the end of the great hall was a door opening into the library, a large apartment, which occupied the whole of a one-story addition to the original structure. It had also an independent outside door, which opened upon the piazza; and opposite to it was a flight of steps, down to the gravel walk terminating at a gate on the cross street. People who came to see Captain Patterdale on business could enter at this gate, and go to the library without passing through the house. On the present occasion, a horse and wagon stood at the gate, which indicated to Miss Nellie that her father was engaged. This team had stood there for an hour, and Donald had watched it for half that time, waiting for the owner to leave, though he was not at all anxious to terminate the interview with his fair schoolmate. Nellie knocked at the library door, and her father told her to come in. She passed in, while Donald waited the pleasure of the rich man in the hall. He was invited to enter. Captain Patterdale was evidently bored by his visitor, and gave the young man a cordial greeting. Donald stated his business very briefly; but the captain did not say whether he would or would not go upon the trial trip of the Sea Foam. He asked a hundred questions about the new yacht, and it was plain that he did not care to resume the conversation with his visitor, who walked nervously about the room, apparently vexed at the interruption, and dissatisfied thus far with the result of his interview with the captain. What would have appeared to be true to an observer was actually so. The visitor was one Jacob Hasbrook, from a neighboring town, and his reputation for honesty and fair dealings was not the best in the world. Captain Patterdale held his note, without security, for thirteen hundred and fifty dollars. Hasbrook had property, but his creditors were never sure of him till they were paid. At the present interview he had astonished Captain Patterdale by paying the note in full, with interest, on the day it became due. But it was soon clear enough to the rich man that the payment was only a "blind" to induce him to embark in a doubtful speculation with Hasbrook. The nature and immense profits of the enterprise had been eloquently set forth by the visitor, and his own capacity to manage it enlarged upon; but the nabob, who had made his fortune by hard work, was utterly wanting in enthusiasm. He had received the money in payment of his note, which he had expected to lose, or to obtain only after resorting to legal measures, and he was fully determined to have nothing more to do with the man. He had said all this as mildly as he could; but Hasbrook was persistent, and probably felt that in paying an honest debt he had thrown away thirteen hundred and fifty dollars. He would not go, though Captain Patterdale gave him sufficient excuse for doing so, or even for cutting his acquaintance. The rich man continued to talk with Don John, to the intense disgust of the speculator, who stood looking at a tin box, painted green, which lay on a chair. Perhaps he looked upon this box as the grave of his hopes; for it contained the money he had just paid to the captain--the wasted money, because the rich man would not embark with him in his brilliant enterprise, though he had taken so much pains, and parted with so much money, to prove that he was an honest man. He appeared to be interested in the box, and he looked at it all the time, with only an impatient glance occasionally at the nabob, who appeared to be trifling with his bright hopes. The tin chest was about nine inches each way, and contained the private papers and other valuables of the rich man, including, now, the thirteen hundred and fifty dollars just received. Captain Patterdale was president of the Twenty-first National Bank of Belfast, which was located a short distance from his house. The tin box was kept in the vaults of the bank; but the owner had taken it home to examine some documents at his leisure, intending to return it to the bank before night. As it was in the library when Mr. Hasbrook called, the money was deposited in it for safe keeping over night. "I'm afraid I can't go with you, Donald," said Captain Patterdale, after he had asked him all the questions he could think of about the Sea Foam. "I am sorry, sir; for Miss Nellie wanted to go, and I was going to ask father to wait till after sunset on her account," added the young man. Mr. Hasbrook began to look hopeful; for the last remark of the nabob indicated a possible termination of the conversation. Donald began his retreat toward the hall of the mansion, for he wanted to see the fair daughter again; but he had not reached the door before the captain called him back. "I suppose your father wants some more money to-night," said he, feeling in his pocket for the key to open the tin box. "He didn't say anything to me about it, sir," replied Donald; "I don't think he does." Hasbrook looked hopeless again; for Captain Patterdale began to calculate how much he had paid, and how much more he was to pay, for the yacht. While he was doing so, there was a knock at the street door, and, upon being invited to do so, Mr. Laud Cavendish entered the library with a bill in his hand. Mr. Laud Cavendish was a great man in his own estimation, and a great swell in the estimation of everybody else. He was a clerk or salesman in a store; but he was dressed very elegantly for a provincial city like Belfast, and for a "counter-jumper" on six or eight dollars a week. He was about eighteen years old, tall, and rather slender. His upper lip was adorned with an incipient mustache, which had been tenderly coaxed and colored for two years, without producing any prodigious result, though it was the pride and glory of the owner. Mr. Cavendish was a dreamy young gentleman, who believed that the Fates had made a bad mistake in his case, inasmuch as he was the son of an honest and industrious carpenter, instead of the son and heir of one of the nabobs of Belfast. He believed that he was fitted to adorn the highest circle in society, to shine among the aristocracy of the city, and it was a cruel shame that he should be compelled to work in a store, weigh out tea and sugar, carry goods to the elegant mansions where he ought to be admitted at the front, instead of the back, door, collect bills, and perform whatever other service might be required of him. The Fates had blundered and conspired against him; but he was not without hope that the daughter of some rich man, who might fall in love with him and his mustache, would redeem him from his slavery to an occupation he hated, and lift him up to the sphere where he belonged. Laud was "soaring after the infinite," and so he rather neglected the mundane and practical, and his employer did not consider him a very desirable clerk. Mr. Laud Cavendish came with a bill in his hand, the footing of which was the sum due his employer for certain necessary articles just delivered at the kitchen door of the elegant mansion. Captain Patterdale opened the tin box, and took therefrom some twenty dollars to pay the bill, which Laud receipted. Mr. Hasbrook hoped he would go, and that Don John would go; and perhaps they would have gone if a rather exciting event had not occurred to detain them. "Father! father!" exclaimed Miss Nellie, rushing into the library. "What's the matter, Nellie?" demanded her father, calmly; for he had long been a sea captain, and was used to emergencies. "Michael has just dropped down in a fit!" gasped Nellie. "Where is he?" "In the yard." Captain Patterdale, followed by his three visitors, rushed through the hall, out at the front door, near which the unfortunate man had fallen, and, with the assistance of his companions, lifted him from the ground. Michael was the hired man who took care of the horses, and kept the grounds around the elegant mansion in order. He was raking the gravel walk near the piazza where Nellie was laboring to keep cool. As we have hinted before, and as Nellie and Don John had several times repeated, the day was intensely hot. The sun where the man worked was absolutely scorching, and the hired man had experienced a sun-stroke. Captain Patterdale and his visitors bore him to his room in the L, and Don John ran for the doctor, who appeared in less than ten minutes. The visitors all did what they could, Mr. Laud Cavendish behaving very well. Michael's wife and other friends soon arrived, and there was nothing more for Laud to do. He went down stairs, and, finding Nellie in the hall, he tried to comfort her; for she was very much concerned for poor Michael. "Do you think he will die, Mr. Cavendish?" asked she, almost as much moved as though the poor man had been her father. "O, no! I think he will recover. These Irishmen have thick heads, and they don't die so easily of sun-stroke; for that's what the doctor says it is," replied Laud, knowingly. Nellie thought, if this was a true view of _coup de soleil_, Laud would never die of it. She thought this; but she was not so impolite as to say it. She asked him no more questions; for she saw Don John approaching through the dining-room. "Good afternoon, Miss Patterdale," said Laud, with a bow and a flourish, as he retired towards the library, where he had left his hat. In a few moments more, the rattle of the wagon, with which he delivered goods to the customers, was heard as he drove off. Don John came into the hall, and Nellie asked him ever so many questions about the condition of Michael, and what the doctor said about him; all of which the young man answered to the best of his ability. "Do you think he will die, Don John?" she asked. "I am sure I can't tell," replied Donald; "I hope not." "Michael is real good, and I am so sorry for him!" added Nellie. But Michael is hardly a personage in our story, and we do not purpose to enter into the diagnosis of his case. He has our sympathies on the merit of his sufferings alone, and quite as much for Nellie's sake; for it was tender, and gentle, and kind in her to feel so much for a poor Irish laborer. While she and Donald were talking about the case, Mr. Hasbrook came down stairs, and passed through the hall into the library, where he, also, had left his hat. In a few moments more the rattle of his wagon was heard, as he drove off, indignant and disgusted at the indifference of the nabob in refusing to take an interest in his brilliant enterprise. He was angry with himself for having paid his note before he had enlisted the payee in his cause. "How is he, father?" asked Nellie, as Captain Patterdale entered the hall. "The doctor thinks he sees some favorable symptoms." "Will he die?" "The doctor thinks he will get over it. But he wants some ice, and I must get it for him." "I suppose you will not go in the Sea Foam now?" asked Donald. "No; it is impossible," replied the captain, as he passed into the dining-room to the refrigerator. The father was like the daughter; and though he was a _millionnaire_, or a _demi-millionnaire_--we don't know which, for we were never allowed to look over his taxable valuation--though he was a nabob, he took right hold, and worked with his own hands for the comfort and the recovery of the sufferer. It was creditable to his heart that he did so, and we never grudge such a man his "pile," especially when he has earned it by his own labor, or made it in honorable, legitimate business. The captain went up stairs again with a large dish of ice, to assist the doctor in the treatment of his patient. Donald staid in the hall, talking with Miss Nellie, as long as he thought it proper to do so, though not as long as he desired, and then entered the library where he, also, had left his hat. Perhaps it was a singular coincidence that all three of the visitors had left their hats in that room; but then it was not proper for them to sit with their hats on in the presence of such a magnate as Captain Patterdale, and no decent man would stop for a hat when a person had fallen in a fit. Captain Patterdale's hat was still there; and, unluckily, there was something else belonging to him which was not there. CHAPTER II. ABOUT THE TIN BOX. Captain Patterdale worked with the doctor for a full hour upon poor Michael, who at the end of that time opened his eyes, and soon declared that he was "betther entirely." He insisted upon getting up, for it was not "the likes of himself that was to lay there and have his honor workin' over him." But the doctor and the nabob pacified him, and left him, much improved, in the care of his wife. "How is he, Dr. Wadman?" asked the sympathizing Nellie, as they came down stairs together. "He is decidedly better," replied the physician. "Will he die?" "O, no; I think not. His case looks very hopeful now." "I thought folks always died with sun-stroke," said Nellie, more cheerfully. "No; not unless their heads are very soft," laughed the doctor. "Well, I shouldn't think Laud Cavendish would dare to go out when the sun shines," added the fair girl, with a snap of her bright eyes. "It isn't quite safe for him to do so. Unfortunately, such people don't know their own heads. I will come in again after tea," said the doctor, as he went out of the house, at the front door; for he had not left his hat in the library. "I am so glad Michael is better!" continued Nellie. "When I saw him drop, I felt as cold as ice, and I was afraid I should drop too before I could get to the library." "Did you see him fall, Nellie?" asked her father. "Yes; he gave a kind of groan, and then fell; he was--" "Gracious!" exclaimed Captain Patterdale, interrupting her all of a sudden. He turned on his heel, and walked rapidly into the library. Nellie was startled, and was troubled with a suspicion that her father had a _coup de soleil_, or _coup de_ something-else; for he did not often do anything by fits and starts. She followed him into the library. It was a fact that the captain had left his hat there; but it was not for this article, so necessary in a hot day, that he hastened thus abruptly into the room. Nellie found him flying around the apartment in a high state of excitement for him. He was looking anxiously about, and seemed to be very much disturbed. "What in the world is the matter, father?" asked Nellie. "Where is your mother?" "She has gone over to Mrs. Rodman's." "Hasn't she been back?" "No, certainly not; I was just going over to tell her what had happened to Michael, when you came down." "Who has been in here, Nellie?" "I don't know that anybody has. I haven't seen any one. What's the matter, father? what in the world has happened?" "I left my tin box here when I went out to see to Michael, and now it is gone," answered Captain Patterdale, anxiously. "I didn't know but that your mother had come in and taken care of it." "The tin box gone?" exclaimed Nellie. "Why, what can have become of it?" "That is just what I should like to know," added the captain, as he renewed his search in the room for the treasure chest. It was not in the library, and then he looked in the great hall and in the little hall, in the drawing-room, the sitting-room, and the dining-room; but it was not in any of these. He knew he had left it on the chair near where he was sitting when he went out of the room. Then he examined the spring-lock on the door of the library which led into the side street. It was closed and securely fastened. The door shut itself with a patent invention, and when shut it locked itself, so that anybody could get out, but no one could get in unless admitted. "Where were you when I was up stairs, Nellie?" asked Captain Patterdale, as he seated himself in his arm-chair, to take a cool view of the whole subject. "I was in the hall most of the time," she replied. "Who has been in the library?" "Let me see; Laud Cavendish came down first, and went out through the library." The captain rubbed his bald head, and seemed to be asking himself whether it was possible for Mr. Laud Cavendish to do so wicked a deed as stealing that tin box. He did not believe the young swell had the baseness or the daring to commit so great a crime. It might be, but he could not think so. "Who else has been in here?" he inquired, when he had hastily considered all he knew about the moral character of Laud. "That other man who was with you--I don't know his name--the one that was here when I came in with Don John." "Mr. Hasbrook." "He went out through the library. I thought he looked real ugly too," added Nellie. "He kept fidgeting about all the time I was here." "And all the time he was here himself. He went out through the library--did he?" "Yes, sir." Captain Patterdale mentally overhauled the character of Mr. Hasbrook. It was unfortunate for his late debtor that his character was not first class, and between him and Laud Cavendish the probabilities were altogether against Hasbrook. He had evidently been vexed and angry because he failed to carry his point, and his cupidity might have been stimulated by revenge. But the captain was a fair and just man, and in a matter of this kind, involving the reputation of any person, he kept his suspicions to himself. "Who else has been in the library, Nellie?" he asked. "No one but Don John," replied she. And whatever Laud or Hasbrook might have done in wickedness, Nellie had too much regard for her friend and schoolmate to admit for one instant the possibility of his doing anything wrong, much less his committing so gross a crime as the stealing of the tin box and its valuable contents. Captain Patterdale was hardly less confident of the integrity of Donald. Certainly it was not necessary to suspect him when the possibilities of guilt included two such persons as Laud and Hasbrook. Donald was rather distinguished, in school and out, as a good boy, and he ought to have the full benefit of his reputation. "You don't think Don John took the box--do you, father?" asked Nellie, as her father was meditating on the circumstances. "Certainly not, Nellie," protested the captain, warmly; "I don't know that anybody has taken it." "I know Don John would not do such a thing." "I don't believe he would." "I know he would not." Her father thought she was just a little more earnest in her uncalled-for defence of the young man than was necessary, and for the first time in his life it occurred to him that she was more interested in him than he wished her to be; for, as Donald was only the son of a poor boat-builder, such a strong friendship might be embarrassing in the future. However, this was only the shadow of a passing thought, which divided his attention only for a moment. The loss of the tin box was the question of the hour, and "society" topics were not just then in order. "I have no idea that Don John took the box," replied Captain Patterdale. "I am more willing to believe either of the other two who were in the library took it than that he did. But he was the last of the three who went out through this room. He may be able to give me some information, and I will go down and see him. He and his father were going off in the new yacht--were they not?" "Yes, sir." "You need not say a word about the box to any one, Nellie, nor even that it is lost," added the captain. "If I do not find it, I shall employ a skilful detective to look it up, and he may prefer to work in the dark." "I will not mention it, father," replied Nellie. "What was in the box? Was it money?" "I put thirteen hundred and fifty dollars into it, but I took out twenty to pay the bill that Laud brought. It contains my deeds, leases, policies of insurance, and my notes, and these papers are really more valuable to me than the money. Luckily, my bonds and securities are in another box, in the vault of the bank." "Then you will lose over thirteen hundred dollars if you don't find the box?" "More than that, I am afraid, for I shall hardly be able to collect all the money due on the notes if I lose them," replied the captain, as he left the house. He walked down to the boat shop of Mr. Ramsay. It was on the shore, and near it was the house in which the boat-builder lived. Neither Don John nor his father was at the shop, but a sloop yacht, half a mile out in the bay, seemed to be the Sea Foam. She was headed towards the shore, however, and Captain Patterdale seated himself in the shade of the shop to await its arrival, though he hardly expected to obtain any information in regard to the box from Donald. While he was sitting there, Mr. Laud Cavendish appeared with a large basket in his hand. The counter-jumper started when he turned the corner of the shop, and saw the nabob seated there. "Going a-fishing?" asked the captain. "Yes, sir; I'm going over to Turtle Head to camp out over Sunday," replied Laud. "How is Michael, sir?" "He is much better, and is doing very well." "I'm glad of it," added Laud, as he carried his basket down to a sail-boat which was partly aground, and deposited it in the forward cuddy. Captain Patterdale wanted to talk with Laud, but he did not like to excite any suspicions on his part. If the young man had taken the box he would not be likely to go off on an island to stay over Sunday. Besides, it was evident from the position of the boat, and the fact that it contained several articles necessary for a fishing excursion, in addition to those in the basket, that Laud had made his arrangements for the trip before he visited the library of the elegant mansion. If he had taken the box, he would probably have changed his plans. It was not likely, therefore, that Laud was the guilty party. "Are you going alone?" asked the captain, walking down the beach to the boat. "Yes, sir; I couldn't get any one to go with me. I tried Don John, but he won't go off to stay over Sunday," replied Laud, with a sickly grin. "I commend his example to you. I don't think it is a good way to spend Sunday." "It's the only time I can get to go. I've been trying to got off for a month." "Saturday must be a bad time for you to leave," suggested the captain. "It is rather bad," added Laud, as he shoved off the bow of the boat, for he seemed to be in haste to get away. "By the way, Laud, did you notice a tin box in my library when you were there this afternoon?" asked the nabob, with as much indifference in his manner and tone as he could command. "A tin box?" repeated Laud, busying himself with the jib of the sail-boat. "Yes; it was painted green." "I don't remember any box," answered Laud. "Didn't you see it? I opened it to take out the money I paid you." "I didn't mind. I was receipting the bill while you were getting the money ready. You know I sat down at your desk." "Yes; I know you did; but didn't you see the box?" "No, sir; I don't remember seeing any box," said Laud, still fussing over the sail, which certainly did not need any attention. "You went out through the library when you came down from Michael's room--didn't you?" continued the captain. "Yes, sir; I did. I left my hat in there." "Did you see the box then?" "Of course I didn't. If I had, I should have remembered it," replied Laud, with a grin. "I just grabbed my hat, and ran, for I had been in the house some time; and I got a blessing for being away so long when I went back to the store." "You didn't see the box, then?" "If it was there, I suppose I saw it; but I didn't take any notice of it. Why? is the box lost?" "I want to get another like it. Haven't you anything of the sort in the store?" "We have some cake and spice boxes. They are tin, and painted on the outside." "Those will not answer the purpose. It's a very hot day," added the captain, as he wiped the perspiration from his face, and walked back to the shade of the shop. Mr. Laud Cavendish stepped into the sail-boat, hoisted the sails, and shoved her off into deep water with an oar. Captain Patterdale thought, and then he did not know what to think. Was it possible Laud had not noticed that tin box, which had been on a chair out in the middle of the room? If he had not, why, then he had not; but if he had Laud had more cunning, more self-control, and more ingenuity than the captain had ever given him the credit, or the discredit, of possessing, for there was certainly no sign of guilt in his tone or his manner, except that he did not look the inquirer square in the face when he answered his questions, though some guilty people can even do this without wincing. Captain Patterdale watched the departing and the approaching boats, still considering the possible relation of Laud Cavendish to the tin box. If the fellow had stolen it, he would not go off on an island to stay over Sunday, leaving the box behind to betray him; and this argument seemed to be conclusive in his favor. The captain had looked into the boat, and satisfied himself that the box was not there; unless it was in the basket, which appeared to contain so many other things that there was no room for it. On the whole, the captain was willing to acquit Mr. Laud Cavendish of the act, partly, perhaps, because this had been his first view of the matter. It was more probable that Hasbrook, angry and disappointed at his failure, had put the box into his wagon, and returned to the neighboring town, where, as before stated, his reputation was not first class, though, perhaps, not many people believed him capable of stealing outright, without the formality of getting up a mining company, or making a trade of some sort. But Donald had been the last of the trio of visitors who passed through the library, and the captain wanted to see him. The Sea Foam, with snowy sails just from the loft, and glittering in her freshly-laid coat of white paint, ran up to a wharf just below the boat shop. Donald was at the helm, and he threw her up into the wind just before she came to the pier, so that when she forged ahead, with her sails shaking in the wind, her head came up within a few inches of the landing-place. Mr. Ramsay fended her off, and went ashore with a line in his hand, which he made fast to a ring. Captain Patterdale walked around to the wharf, as soon as he saw where she was to make a landing. "Well, how do you like her, Sam?" said Donald to a young man of his own age in the standing-room with him. "First rate; and I hope your father will go to work on mine at once," replied the passenger. "You will lay down the keel on Monday--won't you, father?" "What?" asked Mr. Ramsay, who had seated himself on a log on the wharf. "You will lay down the keel of the boat for Mr. Rodman on Monday--won't you?" repeated Donald. "Yes, if I am able; I don't feel very well to-day." And the boat-builder doubled himself up, as though he was in great pain. The young man in the standing-room of the Sea Foam was Samuel Rodman, a schoolmate of Donald, whose father was a wealthy man, and had ordered another boat like the Skylark, which had been the model for the new yacht. He had come down to see the craft, and had been invited to take a sail in her; but an engagement had prevented him from going as far as Turtle Head, and the boat-builder and his son had returned to land him, intending still to make the trip. By this time Captain Patterdale had reached the end of the wharf. He went on board of the Sea Foam, and looked her over with a critical eye, and was entirely satisfied with her. He was invited to sail in her for as short a time as he chose, but he declined. "By the way, Donald, did you see the green tin box when you were in my library this afternoon?" he asked, when all the topics relating to the yacht had been disposed of. "Yes, sir; I saw you take some money from it," replied Donald. "Then you remember the box?" "Yes, sir." "Did you notice it when you came out--I mean, when you left the house?" "I don't remember seeing it when I came out," answered Donald, wondering what these questions meant. "I want to get another box just like that one. Did you take particular notice of it?" "No, sir; I can't say I did." "You didn't stay any time in the library after you came down from Michael's room, did you?" "No, sir; I only went for my hat, and didn't stay there a minute." "And you didn't notice the tin box?" "No, sir; I didn't see it at all when I came out." "Then of course you didn't see any marks upon it," added the captain, with a smile. "If I didn't see the box, I shouldn't have been likely to see the marks," laughed Donald. "What marks were they, sir?" "It's of no consequence, if you didn't see them. The box was in the library--wasn't it?--when you went out." "I don't know whether it was or not. I only know that I don't remember noticing it," said Donald, who thought the captain's question was a very queer one, after those he had just answered. The nabob was no better satisfied with Donald's answers than he had been with those of Laud Cavendish, except that the former looked him full in the face when he spoke. He obtained no information, and went home to seek it at other sources. "I think I won't go out again, Donald," said Mr. Ramsay, when Captain Patterdale had left. "I don't feel very well, and you may go alone." "Do you feel very sick, father?" asked the son, in tones of sympathy. "No; but I think I will go into the house and take some medicine. You can run over to Turtle Head alone," added the boat-builder, as he walked towards the house. "Can't you go any how, Sam?" said Donald, turning to his friend. "No, I must go home now. I have to drive over to Searsport after my sister," replied Sam, as he left the yacht, and walked up the wharf. Donald hoisted the jib of the Sea Foam, shoved off her head, and laid her course, with the wind over the quarter, for Turtle Head--distant about seven miles. CHAPTER III THE YACHT CLUB AT TURTLE HEAD. The Sea Foam was a sloop yacht, thirty feet in length, and as handsome as a picture in an illustrated paper, than which nothing could be finer. It was a fact that she had cost twelve hundred dollars; but even this sum was cheaper than she could have been built and fitted up in Boston or Bristol. She was provided with everything required by a first class yacht of her size, both for the comfort and safety of the voyager, as well as for fast sailing. Though Mr. Ramsay, her builder, was a ship carpenter, he was a very intelligent and well-read man. He had made yachts a specialty, and devoted a great deal of study to the subject. He had examined the fastest craft in New York and Newport, and had their lines in his head. And he was a very ingenious man, so that he had the tact to make the most of small spaces, and to economize every spare inch in lockers, closets, and stow-holes for the numerous articles required in a pleasure craft. He had learned his trade as a ship carpenter and joiner in Scotland, where the mechanic's education is much more thorough than in our own country, and he was an excellent workman. The cabin of the Sea Foam was about twelve feet long, with transoms on each side, which were used both as berths and sofas. They were supplied with cushions covered with Brussels carpet, with a pillow of the same material at each end. Through the middle, fore and aft, was the centre-board casing, on each side of which was a table on hinges, so that it could be dropped down when not in use. The only possible objection to this cabin, in the mind of a shoreman, would have been its lack of height. It was necessarily "low studded," being only five feet from floor to ceiling, which was rather trying to the perpendicularity of a six-footer. But it was a very comfortable cabin for all that, though tall men were compelled to be humble within its low limits. It was entered from the standing-room by a single step covered with plate brass, in which the name of the yacht was wrought with bright copper nails. On each side of the companion-way was a closet, one of which was for dishes, and the other for miscellaneous stores. The trunk, which readers away from boatable waters may need to be informed is an elevation about a foot above the main deck, to afford head-room in the middle of the cabin, had three deck lights, or ports, on each side. At one end of the casing of the centre-board was a place for the water-jar, and a rack for tumblers. In the middle were hooks in the trunk-beams for the caster and the lantern. The brass-covered step at the entrance was movable, and when it was drawn out it left an opening into the run under the standing-room, where a considerable space was available for use. In the centre of it was the ice-chest, a box two feet square, lined with zinc, which was rigged on little grooved wheels running on iron rods, like a railroad car, so that the chest could be drawn forward where the contents could be reached. On each side of this box was a water-tank, holding thirty gallons, which could be filled from the standing-room. The water was drawn by a faucet lower than the bottom of the tank in a recess at one side of the companion-way. The tanks were connected by a pipe, so that the water was drawn from both. At the side of the step was a gauge to indicate the supply of fresh water on board. Forward of the cabin, in the bow of the yacht, was the cook-room, with a scuttle opening into it from the forecastle. The stove, a miniature affair, with an oven large enough to roast an eight-pound rib of beef, and two holes on the top, was in the fore peak. It was placed in a shallow pan filled with sand, and the wood-work was covered with sheet tin, to guard against fire. Behind the stove was a fuel-bin. On each side of the cook room was a shelf eighteen inches wide at the bulk-head and tapering forward to nothing. Under it were several lockers for the galley utensils and small stores. The room was only four feet high, and a tall cook in the Sea Foam would have found it necessary to discount himself. On the foremast was a seat on a hinge, which could be dropped down, on which the "doctor" could sit and do his work, roasting himself at the same time he roasted his beef or fried his fish. Everything in the cook-room and the cabin, as well as on deck, was neat and nice. The cabin was covered with a handsome oil-cloth carpet, and the wood was white with zinc paint, varnished, with gilt moulding to ornament it. Edward Patterdale, who was to be the nominal owner and the real skipper of this beautiful craft, intended to have several framed pictures on the spaces between the deck lights, a clock in the forward end over the cook-room door, and brass brackets for the spy-glass in the companion-way. On deck the Sea Foam was as well appointed as she was below. Her bowsprit had a gentle downward curve, her mast was a beautiful spar, and her topmast was elegantly tapered and set up in good shape. Unlike most of the regular highflyer yachts, her jib and mainsail were not unreasonably large. Mr. Ramsay did not intend that it should be necessary to reef when it blew a twelve-knot breeze, and, like the Skylark, she was expected to carry all sail in anything short of a full gale. But she was provided with an abundance of "kites," including an immense gaff-topsail, which extended on poles far above the topmast head, and far beyond the peak, a balloon-jib, a jib-topsail, and a three-cornered studding-sail. The balloon-jib, or the jib-topsail, was bent on with snap-hooks when it was needed, for only one was used at the same time. These extra sails were to be required only in races, and they were kept on shore. One stout hand could manage her very well, though two made it easier work, and six were allowed in a race. Donald seated himself in the standing-room, with the tiller in his right hand. As soon as he had run out a little way, his attention was excited by discovering three other sloop yachts coming down the bay. In one of them he recognized the Skylark, and in another the Christabel, while the third was a stranger to him, though he had heard of the arrival that day of a new yacht from Newport, and concluded this was she. He let off his sheet, and ran up to meet the little fleet. "Sloop, ahoy!" shouted Robert Montague, from the Skylark, as Donald came within hailing distance. "On board the Skylark!" replied the skipper of the Sea Foam. "Is that you, Don John?" "Ay, ay." "What sloop is that?" demanded Robert. "The Sea Foam." "Where bound?" "Over to Turtle Head." "We are bound there; come with us." "Ay ay." "Hold on a minute, Don John," shouted some one from the Christabel. Each of the yachts had a tender towing astern, and that from the Christabel, with five boys in it, immediately put off, and pulled to the Sea Foam. "Will you take us on board, Don John?" asked Gus Barker, as the tender came alongside. "Certainly; I'm glad to have your company," replied Donald, who had thrown the yacht up into the wind. Three of the party in the tender jumped upon the deck of the Sea Foam, and the boat returned to the Christabel. Each of the yachts appeared to have half a dozen or more on board of her, so that there was quite a party on the way to Turtle Head. The sloops filled away again, the Skylark and the new arrival having taken the lead, while the other two were delayed. "What sloop is that with the Skylark?" asked Donald. "That's the Phantom. She got here from Newport this forenoon. Joe Guilford's father bought her for him. She is the twin sister of the Skylark, and they seem to make an even thing of it in sailing," replied Gus Barker. "You have quite a fleet now," added Donald. "Yes; and we are going to form a Yacht Club. We intend to have a meeting over at Turtle Head. Will you join, Don John?" "I haven't any boat." "Nor I, either. All the members can't be skippers," laughed Gus. "I am to be mate of the Sea Foam, and that's the reason I wanted to come on board of her." "And I am to be one of her crew," added Dick Adams. "And I the steward," laughed Ben Johnson. "I am going down into the cook-room to see how things look there." "You will join--won't you, Don?" "Well, I don't know. I can't afford to run with you fellows with rich fathers." "O, get out! That don't make any difference," puffed Gus. "The owner of the yacht has to foot the bills. Besides, we want you, Don John, for you know more about a boat than all the rest of the fellows put together." "Well, I shall be very glad to do anything I can to help the thing along; but there are plenty of fellows that can sail a boat better than I can." "But you know all about a boat, and they want you for measurer. We have the printed constitution of a Yacht Club, which Bob Montague got in Boston, and according to that the measurer is entitled to ten cents a foot for measuring a yacht; so you may make something out of your office." "I don't want to make any money out of it," protested Donald. "You can make enough to pay your dues, for we have to raise some money for prizes in the regattas; and we talk of having a club house over on Turtle Head," rattled Gus, whose tongue seemed to be hung on a pivot in his enthusiasm over the club. "Every fellow must be voted in, and pay five dollars a year for membership. We shall have some big times.--We are gaining on the Skylark, as true as you live!" "I think we are; but I guess Bob isn't driving her," added Donald. "She carries the same sail as the Sea Foam. I would give anything to beat her. Make her do her best, Don John." "I will," laughed the skipper, who had kept one eye on the Skylark all the time. He trimmed the sails a little, and began to be somewhat excited over the prospect of a race. The Christabel was three feet longer than the other yachts, and it was soon evident that in a light wind she was more than a match for them, for she ran ahead of the Sea Foam. Her jib and mainsail were much larger in proportion to her size than those of the other sloops, but she was not an able boat, not a heavy-weather craft, like them. The Sea Foam continued to gain on the Skylark, till she was abreast of her, while the Phantom kept about even with her. But then Robert Montague was busy all the time talking with his companions about the Yacht Club, and did not pay particular attention to the sailing of his boat. The Sea Foam began to walk ahead of him, and then, for the first time, it dawned upon him that the reputation of the Skylark was at stake. He had his crew of five with him, and he placed them in position to improve the sailing of his craft. He ordered one of his hands to give a small pull on the jib-sheet, another to let off the main sheet a little, and a third to haul up the centre-board a little more, as she was going free. The effect of this attention on the part of the skipper of the Skylark was to lessen the distance between her and the Sea Foam; they were abeam of each other, with the Phantom in the same line. The Christabel was about a cable's length ahead of them. "She's game yet," said Gus Barker, his disappointment evident in the tones of his voice, as the Skylark came up to the Sea Foam. "This is a new boat, and I haven't got the hang of her yet," Donald explained. "Haul up that fin a little, Dick." "What fin?" "The centre-board." "Ay, ay," replied Dick, as he obeyed the order. "Steady! that's enough," continued Donald, who now narrowly watched the sailing of the Sea Foam, to assure himself that she did not make too much leeway. "That was what she wanted!" exclaimed Gus, when the yacht began to gain again, and in a few minutes was half a length ahead. [Illustration: THE START. Page 51.] "But not quite so much of it," replied Donald, when he saw that his craft was sliding off a very little. "Give her just three inches more fin, Dick." The centre-board was dropped this distance, and the tendency to make leeway thus corrected. "She is gaining still!" cried Gus, delighted. "Not much; it is a pretty even thing," added Donald. "No matter; we beat her, and I don't care if it's only half an inch in a mile." "But the Christabel is leading us all. She is sure of all the first prizes." "Not a bit of it. She has to reef when there's a capful of wind. In a calm she will beat us, but when it blows we shall wax her all to pieces." "Hallo!" shouted Mr. Laud Cavendish, whose small sail-boat was overhauled about half way over to Turtle Head. "Is that you, Don John?" "I believe so," replied Donald. "Where you going?" "Over to Turtle Head. Want us to give you a tow?" "No; you needn't brag about your old tub. She don't belong to you; and I'm going to have a boat that will beat that one all to splinters," replied Laud. "All right; fetch her along." "I say, Don John, I'm going to stop over Sunday on Turtle Head. Won't you stay with me?" "No, I thank you. I must go home to-night," answered Donald. Mr. Laud Cavendish knew very well that Donald would not spend Sunday in boating and fishing; and he did not ask because he wanted him. Besides, for more reasons than one, he did not desire his company. The Sea Foam ran out of talking distance of the sail-boat in a moment. Robert Montague was doing his best to keep up the reputation of the Skylark; but when the fleet came up to Turtle Head, she was more than a length behind. The jib was hauled down, the yachts came up into the wind, and the anchors were let go. "Beat you," shouted Gus Barker. "Not much," replied Robert. "We will try that over again some time." "We are willing," added Donald. The mainsails were lowered, and the young yachtmen embarked in the tenders for the shore. Turtle Head is a rocky point at the northern extremity of Long Island, in Penobscot Bay. There were a few trees near the shore, and under these the party purposed to hold their meeting. Though the weather was intensely hot on shore, it was comfortably cool at the Head, where the wind came over five or six miles of salt water cool from the ocean. The boys leaped ashore, and hauled up their boats where the rising tide could not float them off. There were over twenty of them, all members of the High School. "The Sea Foam sails well," said Robert Montague, as he walked over to the little grove with Donald. "Very well, indeed. This is the first time she has been out, and I find she works first rate," replied Donald. "I want to try it with her some day, when everything is right." "Wasn't everything right to-day?" asked Donald, smiling, for he was well aware that every boatman has a good excuse for the shortcomings of his craft. "No; my tender is twice as heavy as yours," added Robert. "I must get your father to build me one like that of the Sea Foam." "We will try it without any tenders, which we don't want in a race." "Of course I don't know but the Sea Foam can beat me; but I haven't seen the boat of her inches before that could show her stern to the Skylark," said Robert; and it was plain that he was a little nettled at the slight advantage which the new yacht had gained. "I should like to sail her when you try it, for I have great hopes of the Sea Foam. If my father has built a boat that will beat the Skylark in all weathers, he has done a big thing, and it will make business good for him." "For his sake I might be almost willing to be whipped," replied Robert, good-naturedly, as they halted in the grove. Charley Armstrong was the oldest member of the party, and he was to call the meeting to order, which he did with a brief speech, explaining the object of the gathering, though everybody present knew it perfectly well. Charles was then chosen chairman, and Dick Adams secretary. It was voted to form a club, and the secretary was called upon to read the constitution of the "Dorchester Yacht Club." The name was changed to Belfast, and the document was adopted as the constitution of the Belfast Yacht Club. The second article declared that the officers should consist of a "Commodore, Vice-Commodore, Captain of the Fleet, Secretary, Treasurer, Measurer, a Board of Trustees, and a Regatta Committee;" and the next business was to elect them, which had to be done by written or printed ballots. As the first three officers were required to be owners in whole, or in part, of yachts enrolled in the club, there was found to be an alarming scarcity of yachts. The Skylark, Sea Foam, Phantom, and Christabel were on hand. Edward Patterdale and Samuel Rodman had signified their intention to join, though they were unable to be present at the first meeting. The Maud, as Samuel Rodman's new yacht was to be called, was to be built at once: she was duly enrolled, thus making a total of five, from whom the first three officers must be chosen. The secretary had come supplied with stationery, and a slip was handed to each member, after the constitution had been signed. A ballot was taken for commodore; Robert B. Montague had twenty votes, and Charles Armstrong one. Robert accepted the office in a "neat little speech," and took the chair, which was a sharp rock. Edward Patterdale was elected vice-commodore, and Joseph Guilford captain of the fleet. Donald was chosen measurer, and the other offices filled to the satisfaction of those elected, if not of the others. It was then agreed to have a review and excursion on the following Saturday, to which the ladies were to be invited. The important business of the day was happily finished, and the fleet sailed for Belfast. Having secured the Sea Foam at her mooring, Donald hastened home. As he approached the cottage, he saw a doctor's sulky at the door, and the neighbors going in and out. His heart rose into his throat, for there was not one living beneath that humble roof whom he did not love better than himself. CHAPTER IV. A SAD EVENT IN THE RAMSAY FAMILY. Donald's heart beat violently as he hastened towards the cottage. Before he could reach it, another doctor drew up at the door, and it was painfully certain that one of the family was very sick--dangerously so, or two physicians would not have been summoned. It might be his father, his mother, or his sister Barbara; and whichever it was, it was terrible to think of. His legs almost gave away under him, when he staggered up to the cottage. As he did so, he recalled the fact that his father had been ailing when he went away in the Sea Foam. It must be his father, therefore, who was now so desperately ill as to require the attendance of two doctors. The cottage was a small affair, with a pretty flower garden in front of it, and a whitewashed fence around it. But small as it was, it was not owned by the boat-builder, who, though not in debt, had hardly anything of this world's goods--possibly a hundred dollars in the savings' bank, and the furniture in the cottage. Though he was as prudent and thrifty as Scotchmen generally are, and was not beset by their "often infirmity," he had not been very prosperous. The business of ship-building had been almost entirely suspended, and for several years only a few small vessels had been built in the city. Ramsay had always obtained work; but he lived well, and gave his daughter and his son an excellent education. Alexander Ramsay's specialty was the building of yachts and boats, and he determined to make a better use of his skill than selling it with his labor for day wages. He went into business for himself as a boat-builder. When he established himself, he had several hundred dollars, with which he purchased stock and tools. He had built several sail-boats, but the Sea Foam was the largest job he had obtained. Doubtless with life and health he would have done a good business. Donald had always been interested in boats, and he knew the name and shape of every timber and plank in the hull of a vessel, as well as every spar and rope. Though only sixteen, he was an excellent mechanic himself. His father had taken great pains to instruct him in the use of tools, and in draughting and modelling boats and larger craft. He not only studied the art in theory, but he worked with his own hands. In the parlor of the little cottage was a full-rigged brig, made entirely by him. The hull was not a log, shaped and dug out, but regularly constructed, with timbers and planking. When he finished it, only a few months before his introduction to the reader, he felt competent to build a yacht like the Sea Foam, without any assistance; but boys are generally over-confident, and possibly he overrated his ability. With his heart rising up into his throat, Donald walked towards the cottage. As he passed the whitewashed gate, one of the neighbors came out at the front door. She was an elderly woman, and she looked very sad as she glanced at the boy. "I'm glad you have come, Donald; but I'm afraid he'll never speak to you again," said she. "Is it my father?" gasped the poor fellow. "It is; and he's very sick indeed." "What ails him?" "That's more than the doctors can tell yet," added the woman. "They say it's very like the cholera; and I suppose it's cholera-morbus. He has been ailing for several days, and he didn't take care of himself. But go in, Donald, and see him while you may." The young man entered the cottage. The doctors, his mother and sister, were all doing what they could for the sufferer, who was enduring, with what patience he could, the most agonizing pain. Donald went into the chamber where his father lay writhing upon the bed. The physicians were at work upon him; but he saw his son as he entered the room and held out his hand to him. The boy took it in his own. It was cold and convulsed. "I'm glad you've come, Donald," groaned he, uttering the words with great difficulty. "Be a good boy always, and take care of your mother and sister." "I will, father," sobbed Donald, pressing the cold hand he held. "I was afraid I might never see you again," gasped Mr. Ramsay. "O, don't give up, my man," said Dr. Wadman. "You may be all right in a few hours." The sick man said no more. He was in too much pain to speak again, and Dr. Wadman sent Donald to the kitchen for some hot water. When he returned with it he was directed to go to the apothecary's for an ounce of chloroform, which the doctors were using internally and externally, and had exhausted their supply. Donald ran all the way as though the life of his father depended upon his speed. He was absent only a few minutes, but when he came back there was weeping and wailing in the little cottage by the sea-side. His father had breathed his last, even while the doctors were hopefully working to save him. "O, Donald, Donald!" cried Mrs. Ramsay, as she threw her arms around his neck. "Your poor father is gone!" The boy could not speak; he could not even weep, though his grief was not less intense than that of his mother and sister. They groaned, and sobbed, and sighed together, till kind neighbors led them from the chamber of death, vainly endeavoring to comfort them. It was hours before they were even tolerably calm; but they could speak of nothing, think of nothing, but him who was gone. The neighbors did all that it was necessary to do, and spent the night with the afflicted ones, who could not separate to seek their beds. The rising sun of the Sabbath found them still up, and still weeping--those who could weep. It was a long, long Sunday to them, and every moment of it was given to him who had been a devoted husband and a tender father. On Monday, all too soon, was the funeral; and all that was mortal of Alexander Ramsay was laid in the silent grave, never more to be looked upon by those who had loved him, and whom he had loved. The little cottage was like a casket robbed of its single jewel to those who were left. Earth and life seemed like a terrible blank to them. They could not accustom themselves to the empty chair at the window where he sat when his day's work was done; to the vacant place at the table, where he had always invoked the blessing of God on the frugal fare before them; and to the silent and deserted shop on the other side of the street, from which the noise of his hammer and the clip of his adze had come to them. A week wore away and nothing was done but the most necessary offices of the household. The neighbors came frequently to beguile their grief, and the minister made several visits, bearing to them the consolations of the gospel, and the tender message of a genuine sympathy. But it is not for poor people long to waste themselves in idle lamentations. The problem of the future was forced upon Mrs. Ramsay for solution. If they had been able only to live comfortably on the earnings of the dead husband, what should they do now when the strong arm that delved for them was silent in the cold embrace of death? They must all work now; but even then the poor woman could hardly see how she could keep her family together. Barbara was eighteen, but she had never done anything except to assist her mother, whose health was not very good, about the house. She was a graduate of the High School, and competent, so far as education was concerned, to teach a school if she could obtain a situation. Mrs. Ramsay might obtain work to be done at home, but it was only a pittance she could earn besides doing her housework. She wished to have Donald finish his education at the High School, but she was afraid this was impossible. Donald, still mourning for his father, who had so constantly been his companion in the cottage and in the shop, that he could not reconcile himself to the loss, hardly thought of the future, till his mother spoke to him about it. He had often, since that bitter Saturday night, recalled the last words his father had ever spoken to him, in which he had told him to be a good boy always and take care of his mother and sister; but they had not much real significance to him till his mother spoke to him. Then he understood them; then he saw that his father was conscious of the near approach of death, and had given his mother and his sister into his keeping. Then, with the memory of him who was gone lingering near and dear in his heart, a mighty resolution was born in his soul, though it did not at once take a practical form. "Don't worry about the future, mother," said he, after he had listened to her rather hopeless statement of her views. "I don't worry about it, Donald, for while we have our health and strength, we can work and make a living. I want to keep you in school till the end of the year, but I--" "Of course I can't go to school any more, mother. I am ready to go to work," interposed Donald. "I know you are, my boy; but I want you to finish your school course very much." "I haven't thought a great deal about the matter yet, mother, but I think I shall be able to do what father told me." "Your father did not expect you to take care of us till you had grown up, I'm sure," added Mrs. Ramsay, who had heard the dying injunction of her husband to their son. "I don't know that he did; but I shall do the best I can." "Poor father! He never thought of anything but us," sighed Mrs. Ramsay; and her woman's tears flowed freely again, so freely that there was no power of utterance left to her. Donald wept, too, as he thought of him who was not only his father, but his loving companion in study, in work, and in play. He left the house and walked over to the shop. For the first time since the sad event, he unlocked the door and entered. The tears trickled down his cheeks as he glanced at the bench where his father had done his last day's work. The planes and a few other tools were neatly arranged upon it, and his apron was spread over them. On the walls were models of boats and yachts, and in one corner were the "moulds." Donald seated himself on the tool-chest, and looked around at every familiar object in the shop. He was thinking of something, but his thought had not yet taken definite form. While he was considering the present and the future, Samuel Rodman entered the shop. "Do you suppose I can get the model of the Sea Foam, Don John?" inquired he, after something had been said about the deceased boat-builder. "I think you can. The model and the drawings are all here," replied Donald. "We intend to build the Maud this season, and I want her to be as near like the Sea Foam as possible." "Who is going to build her?" asked Donald, his interest suddenly kindled by the question. "I don't know; we haven't spoken to any one about it yet," replied Samuel. "There isn't anybody in these parts that can build her as your father would." [Illustration: DON JOHN WANTS A JOB. Page 73.] "Sam, can't I do this job for you?" said Donald. "You?" "Yes, I. You know I used to work with my father, and I understand his way of doing things." "Well, I hadn't thought that you could do it; but I will talk with my father about it," answered Samuel, who appeared to have some doubts about the ability of his friend to do so large a job. "I don't mean to do it all myself, Sam. I will hire one or two first-rate ship carpenters," added Donald. "She shall be just like the Sea Foam, except a little alteration, which my father explained to me, in the bow and run." "Do you think you could do the job, Don John?" asked Samuel, with an incredulous smile. "I know I could," said Donald, earnestly. "If I had time enough I could build her all alone." "We want her as soon as we can get her." "She shall be finished as quick as my father could have done her." "I will see my father about it to-night, Don John, and let you know to-morrow. I came down to see about the model." Samuel Rodman left the shop and walked down the beach to the sail-boat in which he had come. Donald was almost inspired by the idea which had taken possession of him. If he could only carry on his father's business, he could make money enough to support the family; and knowing every stick in the hull of a vessel, he felt competent to do so. Full of enthusiasm, he hastened into the cottage to unfold his brilliant scheme to his mother. He stated his plan to her, but at first she shook her head. "Do you think you could build a yacht, Donald?" she asked. "I am certain I could. Didn't you hear father say that my brig contained every timber and plank that belongs to a vessel?" "Yes, and that the work was done as well as he could do it himself; but that does not prove that you can carry on the business." "I want one or two men, if we build the Maud, because it would take too long for me to do all the work alone." "The Maud?" "That was the yacht that father was to build next. I asked Sam Rodman to give me the job, and he is going to talk with his father about it to-night." Mrs. Ramsay was rather startled at this announcement, which indicated that her son really meant business in earnest. "Do you think he will let you do it?" she asked. "I hope he will." "Are you sure you can make anything if you build the yacht?" "Father made over three hundred dollars on the Sea Foam, besides his day wages." "That is no reason why you can do it." "All his models, moulds, and draughts are in the shop. I know where they are, and just what to do with them. I hope you will let me try it, mother." "Suppose you don't make out?" "But I shall make out." "If Mr. Rodman refuses to accept the yacht after the job is done, what will you do?" "I shall have her myself then, and I can make lots of money taking out parties in her." "Your father was paid for the Sea Foam as the work progressed. He had received eight hundred dollars on her when she was finished." "I know it; and Captain Patterdale owes four hundred more. If you let me use some of the money to buy stock and pay the men till I get payment on the job, I shall do very well." "We must have something to live on. After I have paid the funeral expenses and other bills, this money that Captain Patterdale owes will be all I have." "But Mr. Rodman will pay me something on the job, when he is satisfied that the work will be done." The widow was not very clear about the business; but she concluded, at last, that if Mr. Rodman would give him the job, she would allow him to undertake it. Donald was satisfied, and went back to the shop. He opened his father's chest and took out his account book. Turning to a page which was headed "Sea Foam," he found every item of labor and expenditure charged to her. Every day's work, every foot of stock, every pound of nails, every article of brass or hardware, and the cost of sails and cordage, were carefully entered on the account. From this he could learn the price of everything used in the construction of the yacht, for his guidance in the great undertaking before him. But he was quite familiar before with the cost of everything used in building a boat. On a piece of smooth board, he figured up the probable cost, and assured himself he could make a good job of the building of the Maud. The next day was Saturday--two weeks after the organization of the yacht club. There had been a grand review a week before, which Donald did not attend. The yachtmen had taken their mothers, sisters, and other friends on an excursion down the bay, and given them a collation at Turtle Head. On the Saturday in question, a meeting of the club at the Head had been called to complete the arrangements for a regatta, and the Committee on Regattas were to make their report. Donald had been requested to attend in order to measure the yachts. He did not feel much like taking part in the sports of the club, but he decided to perform the duty required of him. He expected to see Samuel Rodman on this occasion, and to learn the decision of his father in regard to the building of the Maud. After breakfast he embarked in the sail-boat which had belonged to his father, and with a fresh breeze stood over to Turtle Head. He had dug some clams early in the morning, and told his mother he should bring home some fish which he intended to catch after the meeting of the club. As the boat sped on her way, he thought of his grand scheme to carry on his father's business, and everything seemed to depend upon Mr. Rodman's decision. He hoped for the best, but he trembled for the result. When he reached his destination, he found another boat at the Head, and soon discovered Laud Cavendish on the bluff. "Hallo, Don John!" shouted the swell, as Donald stepped on shore. "How are you, Laud? You are out early." "Not very; I came ashore here to see if I couldn't find some clams," added Laud, as he held up a clam-digger he carried in his hand--a kind of trowel fixed in a shovel-handle. "You can't find any clams here," said Donald, wondering that even such a swell should expect to find them there. "I am going down to Camden to stay over Sunday, and I thought I might fish a little on the way." "You will find some farther down the shore, where there is a soft beach. Do you get off every Saturday now, Laud?" "Get off? Yes; I get off every day. I'm out of a job." "I thought you were at Miller's store." "I was there; but I'm not now. Miller shoved me out. Do you know of any fellow that has a good boat to sell?" "What kind of a boat?" "Well, one like the Skylark and the Sea Foam." "No; I don't know of any one around here. Do you want to buy one?" "Yes; I thought I would buy one, if I could get her about right. She must be cheap." "How cheap do you expect to buy a boat like the Sea Foam?" asked Donald, wondering what a young man out of business could be thinking about when he talked of buying a yacht. "Four or five hundred dollars." "The Sea Foam cost twelve hundred." "That's a fancy price. The Skylark didn't cost but five hundred." "Do you want to give five hundred for a boat?" "Not for myself, Don John. I was going to buy one for another man. I must be going now," added Laud, as he went down to his boat. Hoisting his sail, he shoved off, and stood over towards Searsport. Donald walked up the slope to the Head, from which he could see the yacht club fleet as soon as it sailed from the city. CHAPTER V. CAPTAIN SHIVERNOCK. Donald seated himself on a rock, with his gaze directed towards Belfast. His particular desire just then was to see Samuel Rodman, in order to learn whether he was to have the job of building the Maud. He felt able to do it, and even then, as he thought of the work, he had in his mind the symmetrical lines of the new yacht, as they were to be after the change in the model which his father had explained to him. He recalled a suggestion of a small increase in the size of the mainsail, which had occurred to him when he sailed the Sea Foam. His first aspiration was only to build a yacht; his second was to build one that would beat anything of her inches in the fleet. If he could realize this last ambition, he would have all the business he could do. The yacht fleet did not appear up the bay; but it was only nine o'clock in the morning, and possibly the meeting of the club would not take place till afternoon. If any one had told him the hour, he had forgotten it, but the former meeting had been in the forenoon. He was too nervous to sit still a great while, and, rising, he walked about, musing upon his grand scheme. The place was an elevated platform of rock, a portion of it covered with soil to the depth of several feet, on which the grass grew. It was not far above the water even at high tide, nor were the bluffs very bold. The plateau was on a peninsula, extending to the north from the island, which was not unlike the head of a turtle, and the shape had given it a name. Donald walked back and forth on the headland, watching for the fleet. "I wonder if Laud Cavendish was digging for clams up here," thought he, as he observed a spot where the earth appeared to have been disturbed. The marks of Laud's clam-digger were plainly to be seen in the loam, a small quantity of which remained on the sod. Certainly the swell had been digging there; but it could not have been for clams; and Donald was trying to imagine what it was for, when he heard footsteps near him. Coming towards him, he discovered Captain Shivernock, of the city; and he had two problems to solve instead of one; not very important ones, it is true, but just such as are suggested to everybody at times. Perhaps it did not make the least difference to the young man whether or not he ascertained why Laud Cavendish had been digging on the Head, or why Captain Shivernock happened to be on the island, apparently without any boat, at that time in the morning. I do not think Donald would have given a nickel five-cent piece to have been informed correctly upon either point, though he did propose the question to himself in each case. Probably Laud had no particular object in view in digging--the ground did not look as though he had; and Captain Shivernock was odd enough to do anything, or to be anywhere, at the most unseasonable hours. "How are you, Don John?" shouted the captain, as he came within hailing distance of Donald. "How do you do, Captain Shivernock," replied the young man, rather coldly, for he had no regard, and certainly no admiration, for the man. "You are just the man I wanted to see," added the captain. Donald could not reciprocate the sentiment, and, not being a hypocrite, he made no reply. The captain seemed to be somewhat fatigued and out of breath, and immediately seated himself on the flat rock which the young man had occupied. He was not more than five feet and a half high, but was tolerably stout. The top of his head was as bald as a winter squash; but extending around the back of his head from ear to ear was a heavy fringe of red hair. His whiskers were of the same color; but, as age began to bleach them out under the chin, he shaved this portion of his figure-head, while his side whiskers and mustache were very long. He was dressed in a complete suit of gray, and wore a coarse braided straw hat. Captain Shivernock, as I have more than once hinted, was an eccentric man. He had been a shipmaster in the earlier years of his life, and had made a fortune by some lucky speculations during the War of the Rebellion, in which he took counsel of his interest rather than his patriotism. He had a strong will, a violent temper, and an implacable hatred to any man who had done him an injury, either actually or constructively. It was said that he was as faithful and devoted in his friendships as he was bitter and relentless in his hatreds; but no one in the city, where he was a very unpopular man, had any particular experience of the soft side of his character. He was a native of Lincolnville, near Belfast, though he had left his home in his youth. He had a fine house in the city, and lived in good style. He was said to be a widower, and had no children. The husband of his housekeeper was the man of all work about his place, and both of them had come with their employer from New York. He seldom did anything like other people. He never went to church, would never put his name upon a subscription paper, however worthy the object, though he had been known to give a poor man an extravagant reward for a slight service. He would not pay his taxes till the fangs of the law worried the money out of him, but would give fifty dollars for the first salmon or the first dish of peaches of the season for his table. He was as full of contradictions as he was of oddities, and no one knew how to take him. One moment he seemed to be hoarding his money like a miser, and the next scattering it with insane prodigality. "I'm tired out, Don John," added Captain Shivernock, as he seated himself, fanning his red face with his hat. "Have you walked far, sir?" asked Donald, who was well acquainted with the captain; for his father had worked on his boat, and he was often in the shop. "I believe I have hoofed it about ten miles this morning," replied Captain Shivernock with an oath; and he had a wicked habit of ornamenting every sentence he used with a profane expletive, which I shall invariably omit. "Then you have walked nearly the whole length of the island." "Do you mean to tell me I lie?" demanded the captain. "Certainly not, sir," protested Donald. "My boat got aground down here. I started early this morning to go down to Vinal Haven; but I'm dished now, and can't go," continued Captain Shivernock, so interlarding with oaths this simple statement that it looks like another thing divested of them. "Where did you get aground?" asked Donald. "Down by Seal Harbor." "About three miles from here." "Do you think I lied to you?" "By no means, sir." Donald could not divine how the captain had got aground near Seal Harbor, if he was bound from Belfast to Vinal Haven, though it was possible that the wind had been more to the southward early in the morning, compelling him to beat down the bay; but it was not prudent to question anything the captain said. "I ran in shore pretty well, and took the ground. I tried for half an hour to get the Juno off, but I was soon left high and dry on the beach. I anchored her where she was, and I'm sorry now I didn't set her afire," explained the captain. "Set her afire!" exclaimed Donald. "That's what I said. She shall never play me such a trick again," growled the strange man. "Why, it wasn't the fault of the boat." "Do you mean to say it was my fault?" demanded the captain, ripping out a string of oaths that made Donald shiver. "It was an accident which might happen to any one." "Do you think I didn't know what I was about?" "I suppose you did, sir; but any boat may get aground." "Not with me! if she did I'd burn her or sell her for old junk. I never will sail in her again after I get home. I know what I'm about." "Of course you do, sir." "Got a boat here?" suddenly demanded the eccentric. "Yes, sir; I have our sail-boat." "Take me down to Seal Harbor in her," added the captain, rising from his seat. "I don't think I can go, sir." "Don't you? What's the reason you can't?" asked the captain, with a sneer on his lips. "I have to meet the yacht club here." Captain Shivernock cursed the yacht club with decided unction, and insisted that Donald should convey him in his boat to the place where the Juno was at anchor. "I have to measure the yachts when they come, sir." "Measure--" but the place the captain suggested was not capable of measurement. "I'll pay you well for going." "I should not ask any pay if I could go," added Donald, glancing up the bay to see if the fleet was under way. "I say I will pay you well, and you will be a fool if you don't go with me." "The yachts haven't started yet, and perhaps I shall have time to get back before they arrive." "I don't care whether you get back or not; I want you to go." "I will go, sir, and run the risk," replied Donald, as he led the way down to the boat. Shoving her off, he helped the captain into her, and hoisted the sail. "What boat's that over there?" demanded Captain Shivernock, as he pointed at the craft sailed by Laud Cavendish, which was still standing on towards Searsport. Donald told him who was in her. "Don't go near her," said he, sternly. "I always want a good mile between me and that puppy." "He is bound to Camden, and won't get there for a week at that rate," added Donald. "Don't care if he don't," growled the passenger. "I don't know that I do, either," added the skipper. "Laud wants to buy a boat, and perhaps you can sell him yours, if you are tired of her." "Shut up!" Donald did "shut up," and decided not to make any more talk with the captain, only to give him civil answers. Ordinarily he would as soon have thought of wrestling with a Bengal tiger as of carrying on a conversation with such a porcupine as his passenger, who scrupled not to insult man or boy without the slightest provocation. In a few moments the skipper tacked, having weathered the Head, and stood into the little bay west of it. "Don John," said Captain Shivernock, sharply, fixing his gaze upon the skipper. "Sir?" The captain took his wallet from his pocket. It was well filled with greenbacks, from which he took several ten-dollar bills--five or six of them, at least. "I will pay you," said he. "I don't ask any pay for this, sir. I am willing to do you a favor for nothing." "Hold your tongue, you fool! A favor?" sneered the eccentric. "Do you think I would ask a little monkey like you to do me a favor?" "I won't call it a favor, sir." "Better not. There! take that," and Captain Shivernock shoved the bills he had taken from his wallet into Donald's hand. "No, sir! I can't take all that, if I do anything," protested the skipper, amazed at the generosity of his passenger. The captain, with a sudden spring, grasped a short boat-hook which lay between the rail and the wash-board. "Put that money into your pocket, or I'll smash your head; and you won't be the first man I've killed, either," said the violent passenger. Donald did not find the money hard to take on its own merits, and he considerately obeyed the savage order. His pride, which revolted at the idea of being paid for a slight service rendered to a neighbor, was effectually conquered. He put the money in his pocket; but as soon as the captain laid down the boat-hook, he took it out to count it, and found there was fifty dollars. He deposited it carefully in his wallet. "You don't mean to pay me all that money for this little job?" said he. "Do you think I don't know what I mean?" snarled the passenger. "I suppose you do, sir." "You suppose I do!" sneered the cynic. "You know I do." "Fifty dollars is a great deal of money for such a little job." "That's none of your business. Don John, you've got a tongue in your head!" said Captain Shivernock, pointing his finger at the skipper, and glowering upon him as though he was charging him with some heinous crime. "I am aware of it, sir," replied Donald. "Do you know what a tongue is for?" demanded the captain. "It is of great assistance to one in talking." "Don't equivocate, you sick monkey. Do you know what a tongue is for?" "Yes, sir." "What's a tongue for?" "To talk with, and--" "That's enough! I thought you would say so. You are an ignorant whelp." "Isn't the tongue to talk with?" "No!" roared the passenger. "What is it for, then?" asked Donald, who did not know whether to be alarmed or amused at the manner of his violent companion. "It's to keep still with, you canting little monkey! And that's what I want you to do with your tongue," replied Captain Shivernock. "I don't think I understand you, sir." "I don't think you do. How could you, when I haven't told you what I mean. Listen to me." The eccentric paused, and fixed his gaze earnestly upon the skipper. "Have you seen me this morning?" demanded he. "Of course I have." "No, you haven't!" "I really thought I had." "Thought's a fool, and you're another! You haven't seen me. If anybody in Belfast asks you if you have seen me, tell 'em you haven't." "If the tongue isn't to talk with, it isn't to tell a lie with," added Donald. "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the captain; "you've got me there." He produced his wallet again, and took a ten-dollar bill from the roll it contained, which he tendered to Donald. "What's that for?" asked the skipper. "Put it in your pocket, or I'll mash your empty skull!" Donald placed it with the other bills in his wallet, more than ever amazed at the conduct of his singular passenger. "I never allow anyone to get ahead of me without paying for my own stupidity. Do you go to Sunday School, and church, and missionary meetings?" asked the captain, with a sneer. "I do, sir." "I thought so. You are a sick monkey. You don't let your tongue tell a lie." "No, sir; I don't mean to tell a lie, if I can help it, and I generally can." "You walk in the strait and narrow way which leads to the meeting-house. I don't. All right! Broad is the way! But one thing is certain, Don John, you haven't seen me to-day." "But I have," persisted Donald. "I say you have not; don't contradict me, if you want to take that head of yours home with you. Nobody will ask whether you have seen me or not; so that if a lie is likely to choke you, keep still with your tongue." "I am not to say that I have seen you on the island?" queried Donald. "You are not," replied the captain, with an echoing expletive. "Why not, sir?" "None of your business! Do as you are told, and spend the money I gave you for gingerbread and fast horses." "But when my mother sees this money she will want to know where I got it." "If you tell her or anybody else, I'll hammer your head till it isn't thicker than a piece of sheet-iron. Don't let her see the money. Hire a fast horse, and go to ride next Sunday." "I don't go to ride on Sunday." "I suppose not. Give it to the missionaries to buy red flannel shirts for little niggers in the West Indies, if you like. I don't care what you do with it." "You don't wish anybody to know you have been on the island this morning--is that the idea, Captain Shivernock?" asked Donald, not a little alarmed at the position in which his companion was placing him. "That's the idea, Don John." "I don't see why--" "You are not to see why," interrupted the captain, fiercely. "That's my business, not yours. Will you do as I tell you?" "If there is any trouble--" "There isn't any trouble. Do you think I've killed somebody?--No. Do you think I've robbed somebody?--No. Do you think I've set somebody's house on fire?--No. Do you think I've stolen somebody's chickens?--No. Nothing of the sort. I want to know whether you can keep your tongue still. Let us see. There's the Juno." "Somebody will see your boat, and know that you have been here--" "That's my business, not yours. Don't bother your head with what don't concern you," growled the passenger. The Juno was afloat, but she could not have been so many minutes, when Donald came alongside of her. It was now about half tide on the flood, and she must have grounded at about half tide on the ebb. This fact indicated that Captain Shivernock had left her at four o'clock in the morning. The owner of the Juno stepped into her, and Donald hoisted the sail for him. The boat was cat-rigged, and about twenty-four feet long. She was a fine craft, with a small cabin forward, furnished with every convenience the limited space would permit. The captain seated himself in the standing-room, and began to heap maledictions upon the boat. "I never will sail in her again," said he. "I will burn her, and get a centre-board boat." "What will you take for her, sir?" asked Donald. "Do you want her, Don John?" demanded the captain. "I couldn't afford to keep her; but I will sell her for you." "Sell--" it is no matter what; but Captain Shivernock suddenly leaped back into Donald's boat, and her skipper wondered what he intended to do next. "She is yours, Don John!" he exclaimed. "To sell for you?" "No! Sell her, if you like, but put the money in your own pocket. I will sail up in your boat, and you may go to Jerusalem in the Juno, if you like. I will never get into her again," added the captain, spitefully. "But, Captain Shivernock, you surely don't mean to _give_ me this boat." "Do you think I don't know what I mean?" roared the strange man, after a long string of expletives. "She is yours, now; not mine. I'll give you a bill of sale as soon as I go ashore. Not another word, or I'll pound your head. Don't tell anybody I gave her to you, or that you have seen me. If you do there will be a job for a coffin-maker." The captain shoved off the boat, and laid her course across the bay, evidently to avoid Laud Cavendish, whose craft was a mile distant; for he had probably put in at Searsport. Donald weighed the anchor of the Juno, and sailed for Turtle Head, hardly knowing whether he was himself or somebody else, so amazed was he at the strange conduct of his late passenger. He could not begin to comprehend it, and he did not have to strain his logic very much in coming to the conclusion that the captain was insane. CHAPTER VI. DONALD GETS THE JOB. Whether Captain Shivernock was sane or insane, Donald Ramsay was in possession of the Juno. Of course he did not consider himself the proprietor of the craft, if he did of the sixty dollars he had in his pocket. She had the wind over her port quarter, and the boat tore through the water as if she intended to show her new skipper what she could do. But Donald paid little attention to the speed of the Juno, for his attention was wholly absorbed by the remarkable events of the morning. Captain Shivernock had given him sixty dollars in payment nominally for the slight service rendered him. But then, the strange man had given a poor laborer a hundred dollars for stopping his horse, when the animal leisurely walked towards home from the store where the owner had left him. Again, he had given a negro sailor a fifty-dollar bill for sculling him across the river. He had rewarded a small boy with a ten-dollar bill for bringing him a despatch from the telegraph office. When the woman who went to his house to do the washing was taken sick, and was not able to work for three months, he regularly called at her rooms every Monday morning and gave her ten dollars, which was three times as much as she ever earned in the same time. Remembering these instances of the captain's bounty, Donald had no doubt about the ownership of the sixty dollars in his pocket. The money was his own; but how had he earned it? Was he paid to keep his tongue still, or simply for the service performed? If for his silence, what had the captain done which made him desire to conceal the fact that he had been to the island? The strange man had explicitly denied having killed, robbed, or stolen from anybody. All the skipper could make of it was, that his desire for silence was only a whim of the captain, and he was entirely willing to accommodate him. If there had been any mischief done on the island, he should hear of it; and in that event he would take counsel of some one older and wiser than himself. Then he tried to satisfy himself as to why the captain had walked at least three miles to Turtle Head, instead of waiting till the tide floated the Juno. This appeared to be also a whim of the strange man. People in the city used to say it was no use to ask the reason for anything that Captain Shivernock did. His motive in giving Donald sixty dollars and his boat, which would sell readily for three hundred dollars, and had cost over five hundred, was utterly unaccountable. Donald was determined not to do anything wrong, and if the captain had committed any evil deed, he fully intended to expose him; but he meant to keep still until he learned that the evil deed had been done. The money in his pocket, and that for which the Juno could be sold, would be capital enough to enable him to carry on the business of boat-building. But he was determined to see Captain Shivernock that very day in regard to the boat. Perhaps the strange man would give him a job to build a centre-board yacht, for he wanted one. "Hallo! Juno, ahoy!" shouted Laud Cavendish. Donald threw the boat up into the wind, under the stern of Laud's craft. "I thought you were going down to Camden," said he. "You won't get there to-day at this rate." "I forgot some things I wanted, and ran up to Searsport after them. But what are you doing in the Juno, Don John?" "She's going to be sold, Laud," replied Donald, dodging the direct question. "Didn't you say you wanted to buy a boat?" "I said so; and I want to buy one badly. I'm going to spend my summer on the water. What does the captain ask for her?" "I don't know what the price is, but I'll let you know on Monday," added Donald, as he filled away again, for the yacht fleet was now in sight. "Hold on a minute, Don John; I want to talk with you about her." "I can't stop now. I have to go up to the Head and measure the yachts." "Don't say a word to anybody about my buying her," added Laud. He was soon out of hearing of Laud's voice. He wondered if the swell really wished to buy such a boat as the Juno, and could pay three hundred dollars for her. His father was not a rich man, and he was out of business himself. And he wanted Donald to keep still too. What motive had he for wishing his proposition to be kept in the dark? His object was not apparent, and Donald was obliged to give up the conundrum, though he had some painful doubts on the subject. As he thought of the matter, he turned to observe the position of the two boats to the southward of him. Directly ahead of Laud's craft was an island which he could not weather, and he was obliged to tack. He could not lay his course, and he had to take a short and then a long stretch, and he was now standing across the bay on the short leg. Captain Shivernock had run over towards the Northport shore, and Donald thought they could not well avoid coming within hailing distance of each other. But the Juno passed beyond the north-west point of the island, and he could no longer see them. He concluded, however, that the captain would not let Laud, or any one else, see him afloat that day. He was a very strange man. Donald ran the Juno around the point, and anchored her under the lee of Turtle Head. The fleet was still a couple of miles distant, and after he had lowered and secured the mainsail, he had nothing to do but examine the fine craft which had so strangely come into his possession. He went into the cuddy forward, and overhauled everything there, till he was fully qualified to set forth the merits of her accommodations to a purchaser. The survey was calculated to kindle his own enthusiasm, for Donald was as fond of boating as any young man in the club. The idea of keeping the Juno for his own use occurred to him, but he resisted the temptation, and determined not even to think of such an extravagant plan. The yacht fleet was now approaching, the Skylark gallantly leading the way, and the Christabel, with a reef in her mainsail, bringing up the rear. The Sea Foam did not seem to hold her own with the Skylark, as she had done before, but she was the second to drop her anchor under the lee of Turtle Head. "I cam glad to see you, Don John," said Commodore Montague, as he discovered Donald in the Juno. "I was afraid you were not coming, and I went up to the shop to look for you. But how came you in that boat?" "She is for sale," replied Donald, as the tender of the Skylark came alongside the Juno, and he stepped into it. "Do you know of anybody that wants to buy her?" "I know three or four who want boats, but I am not sure the Juno would suit either of them," replied the commodore. The boat pulled to the shore, and no one asked any more questions about the Juno, or her late owner. The members of the club on board of the several yachts landed, and Donald was soon in earnest conversation with Samuel Rodman. "What does your father say?" he asked. "He wants to see you," replied Samuel. "Does he think I can't do the job?" "He did not think so at first, but when I told him you would employ one or two regular ship carpenters, he was satisfied, and I think he will give you the job." "I hope he will, and I am sure I can give him as good work as he can get anywhere." "I haven't any doubt of it, Don John. But the Sea Foam isn't doing so well as she did the first day you had her out. The Skylark beats her every time they sail." "Ned Patterdale hasn't got the hang of her yet." "Perhaps not." "I should like to have Bob Montague sail her, and Ned the Skylark; I think it would make a difference," added Donald. "Ned does very well, but a skipper must get used to his boat; and he hasn't had much experience in yachts as large as the Sea Foam. I spoke to you of a change in the model for the Maud; and if I'm not greatly mistaken, she will beat both the Sea Foam and the Skylark." "I would give all my spending-money for a year, over and above the cost, if she would do that," replied Rodman, with a snap of the eye. "Of course I can't promise that she will do it, but I expect she will," said Donald. The club assembled under the trees, and the members were called to order by the commodore. The first business was to hear the report of the Regatta Committee, which proved to be a very interesting document to the yachtmen. The race was to take place the next Saturday, and was open to all yachts exceeding twenty feet in length, duly entered before the time. All were to sail in the same class; the first prize was a silver vase, and the second a marine glass. The course was to be from the judge's boat, in Belfast harbor, by Turtle Head, around the buoy on Stubb's Point Ledge, leaving it on the port hand, and back to the starting-point. The sailing regulations already adopted by the club were to be in full force. The report was accepted, and the members looked forward with eager anticipation to what they regarded as the greatest event of the season. Other business was transacted, and Donald, who had brought with him a measuring tape and plummet, measured all the yachts of the club. Dinner was served on board of each craft, and the commodore extended the hospitalities of the Skylark to Donald. In the afternoon, the fleet made an excursion around Long Island, returning to Belfast about six o'clock, Donald sailing the Juno, and catching a mess of fish off Haddock Ledge. He moored her off the shop, and was rather surprised to find that his own boat had not yet been returned. After supper he hastened to the house of Mr. Rodman, with whom he had a long talk in regard to the building of the Maud. The gentleman had some doubts about the ability of the young boat-builder to do so large a job, though he desired to encourage him. "I am willing to give you the work, and to pay you the same price your father had for the Sea Foam; but I don't like to pay out money till I know that you are to succeed," said he. "I don't ask you to do so, sir," replied Donald, warmly. "You need not pay me a cent till you are perfectly satisfied." "But I supposed you would want money to buy stock and pay your men, even before you had set up your frame." "No, sir; we have capital enough to make a beginning." "I am satisfied then, and you shall have the job," added Mr. Rodman. "Thank you, sir," replied Donald, delighted at his success. "You may go to work as soon as you please; and the sooner the better, for Samuel is in a great hurry for his yacht." "I will go to work on Monday morning. The model, moulds, and drawings are all ready, and there will be no delay, sir," answered the young boat-builder, as he took his leave of his considerate patron. Perhaps Mr. Rodman was not satisfied that the young man would succeed in the undertaking, but he had not the heart to discourage one who was so earnest. He determined to watch the progress of the work very closely, and if he discovered that the enterprise was not likely to be successful, he intended to stop it before much time or money had been wasted. Donald had fully detailed the means at his command for doing the job in a workman-like manner, and he was well known as an ingenious and skilful mechanic. Mr. Rodman had strong hopes that the young man would succeed in his undertaking. Donald walked toward the house of Captain Shivernock, congratulating himself on the happy issue of his interview with Mr. Rodman. As he passed the book and periodical store, he saw Lawrence Kennedy, a ship carpenter, who had formerly worked with Mr. Ramsay, standing at the door, reading the weekly paper just from the press. This man was out of work, and was talking of going to Bath to find employment. Donald had already thought of him as one of his hands, for Kennedy was a capital mechanic. "What's the news?" asked Donald, rather to open the way to what he had to say, than because he was interested in the latest intelligence. "How are you, Donald?" replied the ship carpenter. "There's a bit of news from Lincolnville, but I suppose you heard it; for all the town is talking about it." "I haven't heard it." "A man in Lincolnville was taken from his bed in the dead hour of the night, and beaten to a jelly." "Who was the man?" "His name was Hasbrook." "Hasbrook!" exclaimed Donald. "Do you know him, lad?" "I know of him; and he has the reputation of being anything but an honest man." "Then it's not much matter," laughed the ship carpenter. "But who beat him?" asked Donald. "No one knows who it was. Hasbrook couldn't make him out; but likely it's some one the rogue has cheated." "Hasbrook must have seen him," suggested Donald. "The ruffian was disguised with his head in a bit of a bag, or something of that sort, and he never spoke a word from first to last," added Kennedy, looking over the article in the paper. Donald wondered if Captain Shivernock had any dealings with Hasbrook. He was just the man to take the law into his own hands, and assault one who had done him a real or a fancied injury. Donald began to think he understood why the captain did not wish it to be known that he was on Long Island the night before. But the outrage had been committed in Lincolnville, which bordered the western arm of Penobscot Bay. It was three miles from the main land to the island. If the captain was in Lincolnville in "the dead of night," on a criminal errand, what was he doing near Seal Harbor, where the Juno was aground, at four o'clock in the morning? If he was the guilty party, he would naturally desire to get home before daylight. The wind was fair for him to do so, and there was enough of it to enable the Juno to make the run in less than two hours. It did not seem probable, therefore, that the captain had gone over to the other side of the bay, three miles off his course. Besides, he was not disguised, but wore his usual gray suit; and Hasbrook ought to have been able to recognize him by his form and his dress even in the darkest night. Donald was perplexed and disturbed. If there was any probability that Captain Shivernock had committed the crime, our hero was not to be bribed by sixty or six thousand dollars to keep the secret. If guilty, he would have been more likely to go below and turn in than to walk three miles on the island for assistance, and he would not have gone three miles off his course. But Donald determined to inquire into the matter, and do his whole duty, even if the strange man killed him for it. Kennedy was reading his paper while the young man was thinking over the case; but, having decided what to do, he interrupted the ship carpenter again. "Are you still out of work, Mr. Kennedy?" he asked. "I am; and I think I shall go to Bath next week," replied Kennedy. "I know of a job for you." [Illustration: THE NEWS FROM LINCOLNVILLE. Page 110.] "Do you, lad? I don't want to move away from Belfast, and I should be glad to get work here. What's the job?" "We are going to build a yacht of the size of the Sea Foam." "Who?" inquired the workman. "My mother and I intend to carry on my father's business." "And you wish me to manage it for you?" "No; I intend to manage it myself," added Donald, confidently. "Well, lad, you are clever enough to do it; and if you are like your father, I shall be glad to work for you." The wages were agreed upon, and Kennedy promised to be at the shop on Monday morning, to assist the young boat-builder in selecting the stock for the Maud. Donald walked to the house of Captain Shivernock. In the yard he found Sykes, the man who did all sorts of work for his employer, from taking care of the horses up to negotiating mortgages. Donald had occasionally been to the house, and he knew Sykes well enough to pass the time of day with him when they met in the street. "Is Captain Shivernock at home?" asked the young man, trying to appear indifferent, for he wanted to get as much information in regard to the strange man's movements during the last twenty-four hours as possible. "No, he is not," replied Sykes, who to some extent aped the manners of his eccentric employer. "Not at home!" exclaimed Donald, who had not expected this answer, though he had not found his own boat at her moorings on his return from the excursion with the fleet. "Are you deaf, young man?" "No, sir; not at all." "Then you heard me say he was not at home," growled Sykes. "I want to see him very much. Will he be long away?" asked Donald. "I can't tell you. He won't come back till he gets ready, if it isn't for a month." "Of course not; but I should like to know when I can probably see him." "You can probably see him when he comes home. He started in his boat for Vinal Haven early this morning." "This morning?" repeated Donald, who wished to be sure on this point. "Didn't I say so? This morning. He comes back when he pleases." "When do you expect him?" "I don't expect him. I never expect him. He may be home in five minutes, in five days, or five weeks." "At what time this morning did he go?" "He left the house at five minutes after four this morning, the last that ever was. I looked at my watch when he went out at the gate; for I was thinking whether or no his boat wasn't aground. Do you want to know what he had for breakfast? If you do, you must ask my wife, for I don't know," growled Sykes. "I am very anxious to see him," continued Donald, without heeding the sulky tones and manner of the man. "Perhaps he told Mrs. Sykes when he should return." "Perhaps he did, and perhaps he told her how much money he had in his pocket. He was as likely to tell her one as the other. You can ask her," sneered Sykes. As the housekeeper sat on the piazza enjoying the cool evening breeze, Donald decided to avail himself of this permission, for he desired to know how well the two stories would agree. He saluted the lady, who gave him a pleasanter reception than her bearish husband had accorded to him. "Mr. Sykes told me that Captain Shivernock was away from home," said Donald. "Can you tell me when he is likely to return?" "He intended to come back to-night if the wind favored him. He went to Vinal Haven early this morning, and as you are a sailor, you can tell better than I whether he is likely to return to-night," replied Mrs. Sykes. "The wind is fair, and there is plenty of it," added Donald. "What time did he leave?" "About four o'clock. I gave him his coffee at half past three, and it must have been about four when he went away." If the outrage at Lincolnville had been committed in "the dead of the night," it was perfectly evident to Donald that Captain Shivernock had had nothing whatever to do with it. This conclusion was a great relief to the mind of the young man; but he had hardly reached it before the captain himself passed through the gate, and fixed a searching gaze upon him, as though he regarded him as an interloper. CHAPTER VII. LAYING DOWN THE KEEL. "What are you doing here, Don John?" demanded Captain Shivernock, as he ascended the steps of the piazza. "I came to see you, sir," replied Donald, respectfully. "Well, you see me--don't you?" "I do, sir." "Have you been talking to Sykes and his wife?" asked the captain, sternly. "I have, sir." "Have you told them that you saw me on the island?" "No, sir; not them, nor anybody else." "It's well for you that you haven't," added the captain, shaking his head--a significant gesture, which seemed to relate to the future, rather than to the present. "If you lisp a syllable of it, you will need a patch on your skull.--Now," he continued, "what do you want of me?" "I wanted to talk about the Juno with you. Perhaps I can find a customer for you." "Come into the house," growled the captain, as he stalked through the door. Donald followed him into a sitting-room, on one side of which was a secretary, provided with a writing-desk. The captain tossed his cap and overcoat into a chair, and seated himself at the desk. He picked up a quill pen, and began to write as though he intended to scratch a hole through the paper, making noise enough for a small locomotive. He finished the writing, and signed his name to it. Then he cast the contents of a sand-box upon it, returning to it the portion which did not adhere to the paper. The document looked as though it had been written with a handspike, or as though the words had been ploughed in, and a furrow of sand left to form the letters. "Here!" said the captain, extending the paper to his visitor, with a jerk, as though he was performing a most ungracious office. "What is it, sir?" asked Donald, as he took the document. "Can't you read?" growled the strange man. Under ordinary circumstances Donald could read--could read writing when not more than half the letters were merged into straight lines; but it required all his skill, and not a little of his Scotch-Yankee guessing ability, to decipher the vagrant, staggering characters which the captain had impressed with so much force upon the paper. It proved to be a bill of sale of the Juno, in due form, and for the consideration of three hundred dollars. "Surely you cannot mean this, Captain Shivernock?" exclaimed the amazed young man. "Can't I? Do you think I'm a lunatic?" stormed the captain. Donald did think so, but he was not so imprudent as to say it. "I can't pay you three hundred dollars for the boat," pleaded he. "Nobody asked you to pay a red cent. The boat is yours. If you don't want her, sell her to the first man who is fool enough to buy her. That's all." "I'm very grateful to you for your kindness, Captain Shivernock; and I hope--" "All stuff!" interposed the strange man, savagely. "You are like the rest of the world, and next week you would be as ready to kick me as any other man would be, if you dared to do so. You needn't stop any longer to talk that sort of bosh to me. It will do for Sunday Schools and prayer meetings." "But I am really--" "No matter if you are really. Shut up!" "I hope I shall be able to do something to serve you." "Bah!" "Have you heard the news, Captain Shivernock?" asked Donald, suddenly changing the topic. "What news?" "It's in the _Age_. A man over in Lincolnville, by the name of Hasbrook, was taken out of his bed last night, and severely beaten." "Hasbrook! Served him right!" exclaimed the captain, with a rough string of profanity, which cooled the blood of the listener. "He is the biggest scoundrel in the State of Maine, and I am much obliged to the man who did it. I would have taken a hand with him at the game, if I had been there." [Illustration: THE BILL OF SALE. Page 119.] This was equivalent to saying that he was not there. "Do you know this Hasbrook?" asked Donald. "Do I know him? He swindled me out of a thousand dollars, and I ought to know him. If the man that flogged him hasn't finished him, I'll pound him myself when I catch him in the right place," replied the strange man, violently. "Who did the job, Don John?" "I don't know, sir. He hasn't been discovered yet." "If he is discovered, I'll give him five hundred dollars, and pay the lawyers for keeping him out of jail. I wish I had done it myself; it would make me feel good." Donald was entirely satisfied that Captain Shivernock had not done it. He was pleased, even rejoiced, that his investigation had resulted so decidedly in the captain's favor, for he would have been very sorry to feel obliged to disregard the injunction of secrecy which had been imposed upon him. "Did you fall in with any one after we parted this morning?" asked Donald, who desired to know whether the captain had met Laud Cavendish when the two boats appeared to be approaching each other. "None of your business!" rudely replied the captain, after gazing a moment into the face of the young man, as if to fathom his purpose in asking the question. "Do you think the world won't move on if you don't wind it up? Mind your own business, and don't question me. I won't have anybody prying into my affairs." "Excuse me, sir; I don't wish to pry into your affairs; and with your permission I will go home now," replied Donald. "You have my permission to go home," sneered the strange man; and Donald availed himself of it without another instant's delay. Certainly Captain Shivernock was a very strange man, and Donald could not begin to understand why he had given him the Juno and the sixty dollars in cash. It was plain enough that he had not been near Hasbrook's house, though it was not quite clear how, if he left home at four o'clock, he had got aground eight miles from the city at the same hour; but there was probably some error in Donald's reckoning. The young man went home, and, on the way, having assured himself, to his own satisfaction, that he had no painful duty in regard to the captain to perform, he soon forgot all about the matter in the more engrossing consideration of his great business enterprise. When he entered the cottage, his mother very naturally asked him where he had been; and he gave her all the details of his interview with Mr. Rodman. Mrs. Ramsay was more cheerful than she had been before since the death of her husband, and they discussed the subject till bed time. Donald had seventy-two dollars in his pocket, including his fees for measuring the yachts. It was a new experience for him to keep anything from his mother; but he felt that he could not honorably tell her what had passed between the captain and himself. He could soon work the money into his business, and he need keep it only till Monday. He did not feel just right about it, even after he had convinced himself that he ought not to reveal Captain Shivernock's secret to her; but I must add, confidentially, that it is always best for boys--I mean young men--to tell their mothers "all about it;" and if Donald had done so in this instance, no harm would have come of the telling, and it might have saved him a great deal of trouble, and her a great deal of anxiety, and a great many painful doubts. Donald thought his view was correct; he meant to do exactly right; and he had the courage to do it, even if thereby he incurred the wrath and the vengeance of the strange man. I have no doubt, from what indications I have of the character of Donald Ramsay, that he tried to learn his Sunday School lesson, tried to give attention to the sermons he heard, and tried to be interested in the good books he essayed to read on Sunday; but I am not sure that he succeeded entirely, for the skeleton frame of the Maud would rise up in his imagination to cloud the vision of higher things, and the remembrance of his relations with Captain Shivernock would thrust itself upon him. Yet it is a great deal even to try to be faithful in one's thoughts, and Donald was generally more successful than on this occasion, for it was not often that he was excited by events so stirring and prospects so brilliant. A single week would be time enough to accustom the young boat-builder to his occupation and restore his mental equilibrium. The light of Monday morning's sun was very welcome to him; and when only its light gleamed in the gray east, he rose from his bed to begin the labors of the day. His father had enlarged the shop, so that he could build a yacht of the size of the Maud under its roof; and before breakfast time, he had prepared the bed, and levelled the blocks on which the keel was to rest. At seven o'clock Lawrence Kennedy appeared, and together they looked over the stock on hand, and made out a list of the pieces of timber and plank that would be required. At first the journeyman was inclined to take the lead in the business; but he soon found that his youthful employer was entirely familiar with the minutest details of the work, and knew precisely how to get out every stick of the frame. Donald constantly referred to the model of the Sea Foam, which he had already altered in accordance with the suggestions of his father, using the inch scale on which the model was projected, to get the size of the pieces, so that there should be no unnecessary waste in buying. Kennedy went with him to the lumber wharf, where the stock was carefully selected for the frame. Before dinner it was carted over to the shop, and in the afternoon the work was actually commenced. The keelson, with the aperture for the centre-board nicely adjusted, was laid down, levelled, and blocked up, so that the yacht should be as true as a hair when completed. The next steps were to set up the stern-post and the stem-piece, and Mr. Ramsay's patterns of these timbers were ready for use. Donald was tired enough to rest when the clock struck six; but no better day's work for two men could be shown than that performed by him and his journeyman. Another hand could now work to advantage on the frame, and Kennedy knew of a first-rate workman who desired employment. He was requested to have him in the shop the next morning. After supper, Donald went back to the shop to study, rather than to work. He seated himself on the bench, and was thinking over the details of the work, when, through the window, he saw Laud Cavendish run his sail-boat alongside the Juno, which was moored a short distance from the shore. Laud wanted to buy a boat, and Donald wanted to sell one. More than once he had been tempted to keep the Juno for his own use; but he decided that he could not afford such a luxury, even though she had cost him nothing. If he kept her, he would desire to use her, and he might waste too much of his precious time in sailing her. It would cost money as well as time to keep her; for boats are always in need of paint, spars, sails, rigging, and other repairs. He was resolute in his purpose to dispose of the Juno, lest the possession of her should demoralize him, and interfere with his attention to business. It was plain enough to Donald that he must sell the Juno, though it was not as clear that Laud Cavendish could buy her; but he decided to see him, and, launching his tender, he pulled out for the Juno. While he was plying his oars, it suddenly came across the mind of the young boat-builder that he could not sell this boat without exposing his relations to Captain Shivernock. He was rather startled by the thought, but, before he had followed it out to a conclusion, the tender was alongside the Juno. "How are you, Don John?" said Laud. "I thought I would come down and look over the Juno." "She is a first-rate boat," replied Donald. "And the captain wants to sell her?" "She's for sale," replied her owner. "What's the price of her?" "Four hundred." "That's too steep, Don John. It is of no use for me to look at her if the captain won't sell her for less than that." "Say three fifty, then," replied Donald. "Say three hundred." "She is worth more money," continued the owner, as he unlocked the cuddy. "She has a fine cabin, fitted up like a parlor. Go in and look round." Donald led the way, and pointed out all the conveniences of the cabin, eloquently setting forth the qualities of the boat and her accommodations. "I'll give three hundred for her," said Laud. "She is worth more than that," replied Donald. "Why, she cost the captain over five hundred; and I wouldn't build her for a mill less than that." "You?" laughed Laud. "I'm building a yacht thirty feet long for Sam Rodman; and I'm to have twelve hundred for her," answered Donald, struggling to be modest. "You are some punkins--ain't you, Don John?" "I can't quite come up to you, Mr. Cavendish." "Perhaps you will when you are as old as I am." "Possibly; but it's a big height to reach in two years. A man of your size ought not to haggle for fifty dollars on a boat." "I can't afford to give more than three hundred for the Juno," protested Laud, very decidedly. "Can you afford to give that?" asked Donald, with a smile. Laud looked at him sharply, and seemed to be somewhat embarrassed. "I suppose I can't really afford it; but what's life for? We can't live it over again, and we ought to make the best of it. Don't you think so?" "Certainly--the best of it; but there may be some difference of opinion in regard to what the best of it may be." "I mean to be a gentleman, and not a philosopher. I go in for a good time. Will you take three hundred for the boat? or will you tell the captain I will give that?" "I can sell her without going to him. I haven't offered her to anybody but you, and I have no doubt I can get my price for her." Laud talked till it was nearly dark; but Donald was firm, and at last he carried his point. "I will give the three hundred and fifty, because I want her very badly; but it's a big price," said Laud. "It's dog cheap," added Donald, who was beginning to think how he should manage the business without informing the purchaser that the Juno was his own property. Donald was a young man of many expedients, and he finally decided to ask Captain Shivernock to exchange the bill of sale for one conveying the boat directly to Laud Cavendish. This settled, he wondered how Laud expected to pay for his purchase, for it was utterly incredible to him that the swell could command so large a sum as three hundred and fifty dollars. After all, perhaps it would not be necessary to trouble the captain about the business, for Donald did not intend to give a bill of sale without the cash. "When do you want to close the trade?" he asked. "I thought we had closed it," replied Laud. "You want a bill of sale--don't you?" "No, I don't; I would rather not have one. When I get the boat, I know how to keep her. Besides, you will be a witness that I have bought her." "That isn't the way to do business," protested Donald. "If I'm satisfied, you need not complain. If I pay you the cash down, that ends the matter." "If you do." "Well, I will; here and now," added Laud, pulling out his wallet. "Where did you get so much money, Laud?" asked Donald. It was doubtless an impertinent question, but it came from the heart of him who proposed it; and it was not resented by him to whom it was put. On the contrary, Laud seemed to be troubled, rather than indignant. "Don John, you are a good fellow," said Laud, after a long pause. "Of course I am." "For certain reasons of my own, I want you to keep this trade to yourself." "Why so?" "I can't tell you." "Then I won't do it. If there is any hitch about the money, I won't have anything to do with it." "Any hitch? What do you mean by that?" demanded Laud, with a lofty air. "It's no use to mince the matter, Laud. Three hundred and fifty dollars don't grow on every bush in your or my garden; and I have been wondering, all the time, where a fellow like you should get money enough to buy a boat like the Juno." Donald said all this fairly and squarely; but it occurred to him just then, that after he had sold the boat, any one might ask him the same question, and he should not feel at liberty to answer it. "Do you mean to insult me?" demanded Laud. "Nothing of the sort; and you needn't ride that high horse. I won't sell the boat till I know where the money came from." "Do you doubt my honor?" "Confound your honor! I think we have said enough." "If you mean to say that I didn't come honorably by my money, you are mistaken." "Where did you get it, then?" "Are you always willing to tell where you get every dollar in your pocket?" retorted Laud. That was a home-thrust, and Donald felt it in his trowsers pocket, where he kept his wallet. "I am generally ready to tell where I get my money," he replied, but he did not speak with much energy. Laud looked about him, and seemed to be considering the matter. "I don't like to be accused of stealing," mused he. "I don't accuse you of anything," added Donald. "It's the same thing. If I tell you where I got this money, will you keep it to yourself?" asked Laud. "If it's all right I will." "Honor bright, Don John?" "If it's all right." "O, it is!" protested Laud. "I will tell you; but you must keep the secret, whatever happens." "I will, if everything is as it should be." "Well, Captain Shivernock gave it to me," said Laud, in confidential tones, and after looking about to satisfy himself that no third person was within hearing. "Captain Shivernock!" exclaimed Donald. "Just so." "What for?" "I can't tell you any more. The captain would kill me if he found out that I had told you so much," answered Laud. "I don't understand the matter myself; but the captain gave me that money and fifty dollars more;" and he handed Donald the price of the Juno. "You are not to say that I have even seen the captain." "When was this?" "Last Saturday; but that's all; not another word from me." "It's very odd," mused Donald. "You will keep still--won't you?" "Yes; until I am satisfied the thing is not all right." "I shall not say that I own the Juno yet a while," added Laud, as he returned to the boat in which he had come. Donald pulled ashore, with the money in his pocket. CHAPTER VIII. THE FIRST REGATTA. Donald was not disposed to doubt the truth of Laud Cavendish's story, for the circumstances were precisely the same as those under which he had received the boat and the money from Captain Shivernock. If he had had no experience with the eccentric shipmaster himself, he would have doubted the whole explanation, and refused to take the money. He recalled the events of Saturday. The last he saw of Laud, on that day, was when he ran his boat over towards the Northport shore, whither the captain had gone before him. He had lost sight of both their boats at a time when it seemed very probable that they would meet. After what Laud had just said to him, and with the money he had paid him in his pocket, he was confident they had met. The strange man had purchased the silence of Laud, as he had his own, and at about the same price. Donald realized that Captain Shivernock had thrown away about seven hundred dollars that morning, and, as he thought of it, he was amazed at his conduct; but the captain did not mind paying a thousand dollars any time to gratify the merest whim. The young man tried again to fathom the motive of his eccentric but liberal patron in thus throwing away such large sums, unnecessarily large, to accomplish his object. The Lincolnville outrage was the only possible solution; but if he were the ruffian, he would not have been on Long Island when he had a fair wind to run home, and Sykes and his wife both agreed that he had left the house on the morning that Donald had seen him. It was not possible, therefore, that the captain was guilty of the outrage. Laud had paid him seven fifty dollar bills, and he had over four hundred dollars in his pocket. He did not know what to do with it, and feeling that he had come honestly by it, he was vexed at the necessity of concealing it from his mother; but he was determined to pay it out, as occasion required, for stock and hardware for the yacht he was building. When he went to his chamber, he concealed three hundred and fifty dollars of the money in a secret place in the pine bureau in which his clothes were kept. The next morning Kennedy appeared with the man he was authorized to employ, and the chips flew briskly in the shop all that day. At noon Donald went to the wharf where he had bought his stock, and paid the bill for it. The lumber dealer commended his promptness, and offered to give him credit for any lumber he might need; but Donald proudly declared that he should pay cash for all he bought, and he wanted the lowest cash prices. On his return to the shop, he entered, in the account-book his father had kept, the amount he had expended. The work went bravely on, for his two journeymen were interested in his success. They were glad to get employment, and desired that the young boat-builder should not only build a fine yacht, but should make money by the job. The stem-piece and stern-post were set up, and gradually the frame began to assume the shape of a vessel. Donald watched the forming of the yacht very carefully, and saw that everything was done according to the model and the scale. On Saturday morning Mr. Rodman, accompanied by a friend who was a ship-builder, visited the shop to inspect the work. The frame, so far as it had been set up, was carefully examined, and the expert cordially approved all that had been done, declaring that he had never seen a better job in his life. Of course Donald was proud of this partial success. "I have had some doubts, Don John," laughed Mr. Rodman; "but I am entirely satisfied now." "Thank you, sir. I have had no doubts; I could see that frame in my mind as plainly before a stick had been touched as I do now." "You have done well, and I am quite sure that you will make a yacht of it. Now, if you will give me a receipt for one hundred dollars, I will let you have so much towards the price of the Maud, for I suppose you want to pay your men off to-night." "I have money enough, sir, to pay my men, and I don't ask you for any money yet," replied the young boat-builder. "But I prefer to pay you as the work progresses." Donald did not object, and wrote the receipt. He was a minor, and his mother, who was the administratrix of her husband's estate, was the responsible party in the transaction of business; but he did not like to sign his mother's name to a receipt, and thus wholly ignore himself, and, adopting a common fiction in trade, he wrote, "Ramsay and son," which he determined should be the style of the firm. Ramsay might mean his father or his mother, and he had already arranged this matter with her. Mr. Rodman laughed at the signature, but did not object to it, and Donald put the money in his pocket, after crediting it on the book. This was the day appointed for the first regatta of the Yacht Club. The coming event had been talked about in the city during the whole week, not only among the boys, but among the men who were interested in yachting. About a dozen yachts had been entered for the race, though only four of them belonged to the club; those that were not enrolled being nominally in charge of members, in order to conform to the regulations. Donald had measured all these boats, and made a schedule of them, in which appeared the captain's name, the length of the craft, with the correction to be subtracted from the sailing time in order to reduce it to standard time. There were columns in the table for the starting time, the return time, and the sailing time. The "correction" was virtually the allowance which a large yacht made to a smaller one for the difference in length. The club had adopted the regulation of the Dorchester Yacht Club, which contained a "table of allowance per mile." In this table, a yacht one hundred and ten feet six inches long, is taken as the standard for length. The Skylark was just thirty feet long on the water-line, and her allowance by the table was two minutes forty-three and four tenths seconds for every mile sailed in a regatta. The Sea Foam's length was three inches less, and her allowance was one and three tenths seconds more. Donald had his table all ready for the use of the judges, of whom he had been appointed the chairman. Mr. Montague's large yacht had been anchored in the bay, gayly dressed with flags and streamers, to be used as the judges' boat. The yachts were to start at ten o'clock. "I don't want to leave my work a bit," said Donald, as he took off his apron. "I may have to lose a whole day in the race, and I can't afford it." "Now, I think you can," replied Kennedy. "It looks too much like boys' play." "No matter what it is. If you are going to make a business of building yachts and sail-boats, it is for your interest to encourage this sort of thing all you can," added Kennedy. "I think you are right there," answered Donald, who had not before taken this view. "Besides, you ought to see how the boats work. You will get some ideas that will be of use to you. You should observe every movement of the boats with the utmost care. I think you will make more money attending the regattas, if there was one every week, than by working in the shop." "You are right, Kennedy, and I am glad you expressed your opinions, for I shall feel that I am not wasting my time." "Your father has been to Newport and New York on purpose to attend regattas, and I am sure, if he were here now, he would not miss this race for a fifty-dollar bill," continued the workman. Donald was entirely satisfied, and went into the house to dress for the occasion. He was soon ready, and walked down the beach towards the skiff he used to go off to the sail-boat. The sky was overcast, and the wind blew a smashing breeze, promising a lively race. The Juno had been entered for the regatta, but she was still at her moorings off the shop, and Donald wondered where Laud was, for he had been very enthusiastic over the event. Before he could embark, the new proprietor of the Juno appeared. He was dressed in a suit of new clothes, wore a new round-top hat, and sported a cane in his hand. His mustache had been freshly colored, and every hair was carefully placed. He did not look like a yachtman; more like a first-class swell. "I have been all the morning looking for some fellows to sail with me," said Laud. "I can't find a single one. Won't you go with me, Don John?" "Thank you; I am one of the judges, and I can't go," replied Donald, who, if he had not been engaged, would have preferred to sail with some more skilful and agreeable skipper than Laud Cavendish. "Won't your men go with me?" "I don't know; you can ask them." "I am entitled to carry five, and I want some live weights to-day, for it is blowing fresh," added Laud, as he walked towards the shop. Neither of Donald's men was willing to lose his time, and as Laud came out of the shop, he discovered a young lady walking up the beach towards the city. A gust of wind blew her hat away at this moment, and Mr. Cavendish gallantly ran after, and recovered it, as Donald would have done if he had not been anticipated, for he recognized the young lady as soon as he saw her. Even as it was, he was disposed to run after that hat, and dispute the possession of it with Mr. Laud Cavendish, for the owner thereof was Miss Nellie Patterdale. "Allow me to return your truant hat, Miss Patterdale," said Laud. "Thank you, Mr. Cavendish," replied Nellie, rather coldly, as she resumed her walk towards the place where Donald stood, a few rods farther up the beach. "We have a fine breeze for the race, Miss Patterdale," added Laud, smirking and jerking, as though he intended to improve the glorious opportunity, for the young lady was not only bewitchingly pretty, but her father was a nabob, with only two children. "Very fine, I should think," she answered; and her tones and manner were anything but encouraging to the aspirant. "I hope you are going to honor the gallant yachtmen with your presence, Miss Patterdale." "I shall certainly see the race.--Good morning, Don John," said she, when she came within speaking distance of Donald. "Good morning, Nellie," replied he, blushing, as he felt the full force of her glance and her smile--a glance and a smile for which Laud would have sacrificed all he held dear in the world, even to his cherished mustache. "Don't you attend the race?" "Yes, I want to attend now. Ned invited me to go on board of the judge's boat; but the sun was out then, and mother would not let me go. Father said the day would be cloudy, and I decided to go; but Ned had gone. I came down here to see if I couldn't hail him. Won't you take me off to the Penobscot in your boat?" "Certainly I will, with the greatest pleasure," replied Donald, with enthusiasm. "I beg your pardon, Miss Patterdale," interposed Laud. "I am going off in the Juno; allow me to tender her for your use. I can take you off, Don John, at the same time." "It's quite rough; as you see, Nellie, and the Juno is much larger than my boat. You can go in her more comfortably than in mine," added Donald. "Thank you; just as you please, Don John," she answered. "Bring her up to the wharf, Mr. Cavendish," continued Donald. Laud leaped into his skiff, and pulled off to the Juno, while Nellie and Donald walked around to the wharf. In a few moments the boat was ready, and came up to the pier, though her clumsy skipper was so excited at the prospect of having the nabob's pretty daughter in his boat, that he had nearly smashed her against the timbers. The gallant skipper bowed, and smirked, and smiled, as he assisted Miss Patterdale to a place in the standing-room. Donald shoved off the bow, and the Juno filled her mainsail, and went off flying towards the Penobscot. "It's a smashing breeze," said Donald, as the boat heeled down. "Glorious!" exclaimed Laud. "Are you fond of sailing, Miss Patterdale?" "I am very fond of it." "Perhaps you would like to sail around the course in one of the yachts?" suggested the skipper. "I should be delighted to do so," she replied, eagerly; and she glanced at Donald, as if to ascertain if such a thing were possible. "I should be pleased to have you sail in the Juno," added Laud, with an extra smirk. "Thank you, Mr. Cavendish; you are very kind; but perhaps I had better not go." "I should be delighted to have you go with me." "I don't think you would enjoy it, Nellie," said Donald. "It blows fresh, and the Juno is rather wet in a heavy sea." Laud looked at him with an angry expression, and when Nellie turned away from him, he made significant gestures to induce Donald to unsay what he had said, and persuade her to go with him. "I am sure you will be delighted with the sail, Miss Patterdale. You will be perfectly dry where you are sitting; or, if not, I have a rubber coat, which will protect you." "I think I will not go," she replied, so coldly that her tones would have frozen any one but a simpleton like Laud. The passage was of brief duration, and Donald assisted Nellie up the accommodation steps of the Penobscot, stepping forward in season to deprive Laud of this pleasant office. "I am much obliged to you, Mr. Cavendish," said she, walking away from the steps. "That was mean of you, Don John," muttered Laud, as Donald came down the steps to assist in shoving off the Juno. "What was mean?" "Why, to tell Nellie she would not enjoy the sail with me." "She could do as she pleased." "But you told her the Juno was wet," added Laud, angrily. "She is wet when it blows." "No matter if she is. It was mean of you to say anything about it, after all I have done for you." "It wasn't mean to tell the truth, and save her from a ducking, and I don't know what you have done for me." "You don't? Didn't I buy this boat of you, and pay you fifty dollars more than she is worth?" "No, you didn't. But if you are dissatisfied with your bargain, I will take her off your hands." "You! I want the money I paid." "You shall have it. Come to the shop after the race, and you may throw up the trade." "Will Captain Shivernock pay you back the money?" sneered Laud. "I'll take care of that, if you want to give her up," added Donald, warmly. "Never mind that now. Can't you persuade Nellie to sail with me?" continued Laud, more gently. "If you will, I will give you a five-dollar bill." Donald would have given double that sum rather than have had her go with him, and she would have given ten times the amount to avoid doing so. "I can't persuade her, for I don't think it is best for her to go," replied Donald. "No matter what you think. You are a good fellow, Don John: do this for me--won't you? It would be a great favor, and I shall never forget it." "Why do you want her to go with you?" demanded Donald, rather petulantly. "A yacht in a race is no place for ladies. I can find some fellows on board here who will be glad to go with you." "But I want her to go with me. The fact of it is, Don John, I rather like Nellie, and I want to be better acquainted with her." "If you do, you must paddle your own canoe," replied Donald, indignantly, as he ascended the steps, and joined the other two judges on deck. "We are waiting for you, Don John," said Sam Rodman, who was one of them. "It isn't ten yet, and I have the papers all ready. Who is to be time-keeper?" asked the chairman. "I have a watch with a second hand, and I will take that office," said Frank Norwood, who was the third. Most of the yachts were already in line, and the captain of the fleet, in the tender of his yacht, was arranging them, the largest to windward. The first gun had been fired at half past nine which was the signal to get into line, and at the next, the yachts were to get under way. All sail except the jib was set, and at the signal each craft was to slip her cable, hoist her jib, if she had one, and get under way, as quickly as possible. The "rode" was simply to be cast off, for the end of it was made fast to the tender, which was used as a buoy for the anchor. "Are they all ready?" asked Donald, as the time drew near. "All but the Juno. Laud has picked up two live weights, and wants another man," replied Sam Rodman. "We won't wait for him." But Laud got into line in season. One of the seamen of the Penobscot stood at the lock-string of the gun forward, ready to fire when the chairman of the judges gave the word. "Have your watch ready, Frank," said Donald. "All ready," answered Norwood. "Fire!" shouted Donald. Some of the ladies "squealed" when the gun went off, but all eyes were immediately directed to the yachts. The Christabel, with a reef in her fore and main sails, was next to the Penobscot; then came the Skylark, the Sea Foam, and the Phantom. Before the gun was fired, the captain had stationed a hand in each yacht at the cable, and others at the jib-halyards and down-hauls. The instant the gun was discharged, the jibs were run up, and the "rodes" thrown overboard. Some of the yachts, however, were unfortunate, and did not obtain a good start. In one the jib down-haul fouled, and another ran over her cable, and swamped her tender. The conflict was believed to be between the Skylark and the Sea Foam, for there was too much wind for the Christabel, which was the fastest light-weather craft in the line. It was a beautiful sight when the yachts went off, with the wind only a little abaft the beam. The young gentlemen sailing them were rather excited, and made some mistakes. The Skylark at once took the lead, for Commodore Montague was the most experienced boatman in the fleet. He made no mistakes, and his superior skill was soon evident in the distance between him and the Sea Foam. The crowd of people on the shore and the judges' yacht watched the contestants till they disappeared beyond Turtle Head. The boats had a free wind both ways, with the exception of a short distance beyond the head, where they had to beat up to Stubb's Point Ledge. There was nothing for the judges to do until the yachts came in, and Donald spent a couple of delightful hours with Nellie Patterdale. Presently the Skylark appeared again beyond the Head, leading the fleet as before. On she drove, like a bolt from an arrow, carrying a big bone in her mouth; and the judges prepared to take her time. CHAPTER IX. THE SKYLARK AND THE SEA FOAM. Frank Norwood was the time-keeper, and he stood with his watch in his hand. Each yacht was to pass to windward of the Penobscot, and come round her stern, reporting as she did so. Sam Rodman was to call "time" when the foremast of each yacht was in range with a certain chimney of a house on the main shore. At the word Frank was to give the time, and Donald was to write it down on his schedule. Everything was to be done with the utmost accuracy. The Skylark was rapidly approaching, with the Sea Foam nearly half a mile astern of her. The Phantom and Christabel were not far behind the Sea Foam, while the rest were scattered along all the way over to Turtle Head. "Ready there!" shouted Donald, as the Skylark came nearly in range of the Penobscot and the chimney. "All ready," replied Sam Rodman. The gun forward had been loaded, and a seaman stood at the lock-string, to salute the first boat in. "Time!" shouted Sam, as the mainsail of the Skylark shut in the chimney on the shore; and the six-pounder awoke the echoes among the hills. "Twelve, forty, and thirty-two seconds," added Frank, as he took the time from the watch. "Twelve, forty, thirty-two," repeated Donald, as he wrote it on the schedule. The crowd on the judges' yacht cheered the commodore as the Skylark rounded the Penobscot, and the ladies waved their handkerchiefs at him with desperate enthusiasm. "I thought you said the Sea Foam was to beat the Skylark," said Nellie Patterdale. "I think she may do it yet," replied Donald. "And Sam's new boat must beat them both, Don John," laughed Maud Rodman. "Time!" called Sam. "Twelve, forty-five, two," added Frank. "Twelve, forty-five, two," repeated Donald, writing down the time. By this time the Skylark had come about, not by gybing,--for the wind was too heavy to make this evolution in safety,--but had come round head to the wind, and now passed under the stern of the Penobscot. "Skylark!" reported the commodore. A few minutes later the Sea Foam did the same. The Phantom came in a minute after the Sea Foam, and for a few moments the judges were very busy taking the time of the next four boats. The Juno did not arrive till half past one, and she was the last one. As fast as the yachts rounded the Penobscot, they went off to the line and picked up their cables and anchors. The captains of the several craft which had sailed in the race then boarded the Penobscot to ascertain the decision of the judges. "You waxed me badly, Robert," said Ned Patterdale, who was mortified at the defeat of the Sea Foam, though he kept good-natured about it. "I still think the Skylark can't be beaten by anything of her inches," replied Commodore Montague. "I am rather disappointed in the Sea Foam," added Ned. Donald heard this remark, and he was much disturbed by it; for it seemed like a reproach upon the skill of his father, and an imputation upon the reputation of Ramsay and Son. If the yachts built by the "firm" were beaten as badly as the Sea Foam had been, though she had outsailed the Phantom, it would seriously injure the business of the concern. The defeat of the Sea Foam touched the boat-builder in a tender place, and he found it necessary to do something to maintain the standing of the firm. He knew just what the matter was; but under ordinary circumstances he would not have said a word to damage the pride of the present owner of the Sea Foam. "I am sorry you are not satisfied with her, Ned," said Donald. "But I expected too much of her; for I thought she was going to beat the Skylark," replied Ned Patterdale. "I think you encouraged me somewhat in that direction, Don John." "I did; and I still think she can beat the Skylark." "It's no use to think so; for she has just beaten me four minutes and a half; and that's half a mile in this breeze. Nothing could have been more fairly done." "It was all perfectly fair, Ned; but you know that winning a race does not depend entirely upon the boat," suggested Donald, hinting mildly at his own theory of the defeat. "Then you think I didn't sail her well?" said Ned. "I think you sailed her very well; but it could not be expected that you would do as well with her as Bob Montague with the Skylark, for he has sailed his yacht for months, while you have only had yours a few weeks. This is a matter of business with me, Ned. If our boats are beaten, we lose our work. It is bread and butter to me." "If it was my fault, I am sorry she was beaten, for your sake, Don John; but I did my best with her," replied Ned, with real sympathy for his friend. "Of course I am not going to cry over spilt milk." "Do you really think the Sea Foam can beat the Skylark?" "I think so; but I may be mistaken. At any rate, I should like the chance to sail the Sea Foam with the Skylark. I don't consider it exactly an even thing between you and the commodore, because he has had so much more experience than you have," replied Donald. "You believe you can sail the Sea Foam better than I can--do you, Don John?" "It wouldn't be pleasant for me to say that, Ned." "But that's what you mean?" "I have explained the reason why I spoke of this matter at all, Ned. It is bread and butter to me, and I hope you don't think I am vain." Ned was a little vexed at the remarks of his friend, and rather indignant at his assumed superiority as a boatman. Donald was usually very modest and unpretentious. He was not in the habit of claiming that he could do anything better than another. Generally, in boating matters, when he saw that a thing was done wrong, he refrained from criticising unless his opinion was asked, and was far from being forward in fault-finding. Though he was an authority among the young men in sailing boats, he had not attained this distinction by being a critic and caviller. Ned was therefore surprised, as well as indignant, at the comments and the assumption of Donald; but a little reflection enabled him to see the boat-builder's motive, which was anything but vanity. He had some of this weakness himself, and felt that he had sailed the Sea Foam as well as any one could have done it, and was satisfied that the Skylark was really a faster yacht than his own. The race was plain sailing, with a free wind nearly all the way, and there was not much room for the exercise of superior skill in handling the craft. At least, this was Ned's opinion. If the course had been a dead beat to windward for ten miles, the case would have been different; and Ned had failed to notice that he had lost half the distance between the Skylark and the Sea Foam when he rounded the stake buoy. It was a fact that among the large party on board the Penobscot, the boats of the firm of Ramsay and Son were just then at a discount, and those of the Newport builders at a corresponding premium. Donald was grieved and vexed, and trembled for the future of the firm of which he was the active representative. But he figured up the results of the race, and when the captains of all the yachts had come on board of the judges' boat, he announced the prizes and delivered them to the winners, with a little speech. The silver vase was given to the commodore, with liberal and magnanimous commendations both of the yacht and her captain. The marine glass was presented to Edward Patterdale, as the winner of the second prize, with some pleasant words, which did not in the least betray the personal discomfiture of the chairman. There was a further ceremony on the quarter-deck of the Penobscot, which was not in the programme, and which was unexpected to all except the officers of the club. "Captain Laud Cavendish, of the Juno," said the chairman of the judges, who stood on the trunk of the yacht, where all on board, as well as those in the boats collected around her, could see him. Laud stepped forward, wondering what the call could mean. "I find, after figuring up the results of the race," continued the chairman, glancing at the schedule he held in his hand, "that you are entitled to the third and last prize. By carefully timing the movements of your excellent craft, and by your superior skill in sailing her, you have contrived to come in--last in the race; and the officers of the club have instructed the judges to award this medal to you. I have the honor and the very great pleasure of suspending it around your neck." The medal was made of sole leather, about six inches in diameter. Attached to it was a yard of stove-pipe chain, by which it was hung around the neck of the winner of the _last_ prize. A shout of laughter and a round of applause greeted the presentation of the medal. Laud did not know whether to smile or get mad; for he felt like the victim of a practical joke. Miss Nellie Patterdale stood near him, and perhaps her presence restrained an outburst of anger. Mr. Montague, the father of the commodore, had provided a bountiful collation in the cabin of the Penobscot, and the next half hour was given up to the discussion of the repast. Laud tried to make himself agreeable to Nellie, and the poor girl was persecuted by his attentions until she was obliged to break away from him. "Don John, I am told that everybody is satisfied with this race except you," said Commodore Montague, as the party went on deck after the collation. "I am satisfied with it," replied Donald. "Everything has been perfectly fair, and the Skylark has beaten the Sea Foam." "But you still think the Sea Foam can outsail the Skylark?" "I think so; but of course I may be mistaken." "You believe that Ned Patterdale didn't get all her speed out of the Sea Foam," added the commodore. "I don't mean to say a word to disparage Ned; but he don't know the Sea Foam as you do the Skylark." "There is hardly a particle of difference between the boats." "I know it; but you have had so much more experience than Ned, that he ought not to be expected to compete with you. If you will exchange boats, and you do your best in the Sea Foam, I believe you would beat your own yacht. I think Ned does first rate for the experience he has had." "So do I; but I believe the difference is in the sailing of the boats; for you may build two yachts as near alike as possible, and one of them will do better than the other," said Robert Montague. "I should like to have you sail the Sea Foam against the Skylark, Bob," added Donald. "You don't want me to beat my own boat, if I can--do you, Don John?" laughed Robert. "I think you could." "I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll sail the Skylark against the Sea Foam this afternoon, and you shall handle Ned's yacht. I have been talking with him about it, and he agrees to it." "I'm willing, Bob," replied Donald, eagerly. "All right." "I hope Ned don't think hard of me for speaking of this matter," added Donald. "I wouldn't have uttered a word if this result did not affect our business." "I understand it, Don John; and so does Ned. But I think you are making a mistake; for if the Sea Foam is beaten again by the Skylark,--as I believe she will be,--it will be all the worse for your firm," laughed Robert. "I am willing to run the risk," replied Donald. "If we can't build a boat as fast as the Skylark, I want to know it." "But, Don John, you don't expect me to _let_ you beat me--do you?" "Certainly not, Bob. I hope you will do your very best, and I shall be satisfied with the result." It was soon reported over the Penobscot that another race was to be sailed immediately, and the report created intense excitement when the circumstances of the affair were explained. Judges were appointed, and other arrangements concluded. Donald and Ned Patterdale went on board of the Sea Foam, and Commodore Montague on board of the Skylark. The two yachts anchored in line, with the Skylark to windward, as she was three inches longer than the other. The start was to be made at the firing of the first gun. Donald took his place at the helm of the Sea Foam, and stationed the hands. He was a little afraid that Ned Patterdale was not as enthusiastic as he might be; for if his yacht won the race, the responsibility for the loss of the first prize in the regatta would rest upon him, and not upon his craft. It would not be so pleasant for him to know that he had failed, in any degree, as a skipper. The position of Donald, therefore, was not wholly agreeable; for he did not like to prove that his friend was deficient in skill, though the future prosperity of the firm of Ramsay and Son required him to do so. The wind was even fresher than before, and dark clouds indicated a heavy rain before night; but Donald did not heed the weather. He stationed Ned in the standing-room to tend the jib-sheets and mind the centre-board. Two hands were at the cable, and two more at the jib-halyards. "Are you all ready forward?" called the skipper _pro tem._ of the Sea Foam. "All ready," replied the hands. And Donald waited with intense interest for the gun. Bang. "Let go! Hoist the jib!" cried Donald. The hands forward worked with a will. The rope was thrown into the tender, to which the end of it was made fast, and the jib, crackling and banging in the stiff breeze, now almost a gale, went up in an instant. "Haul down the lee jib-sheet," said Donald to his companion in the standing-room. And it is but fair to say that Ned worked as briskly as the yachtmen at the bow. The Sea Foam heeled over, as the blast struck her sails, till her rail went under; but Donald knew just what she would bear, and kept the tiller stiff in his hand. Stationing Dick Adams at the main sheet behind him, he placed the others upon the weather side. In a moment more the yacht came to her bearings, and lying well over, she flew off on her course. She had made a capital start, and the Skylark was equally fortunate in this respect. The two yachts went off abeam of each other, and for half a mile neither gained a hair upon the other. Then commenced the struggle for the victory. First the Skylark gained a few inches; then the Sea Foam made half a length, though she immediately lost it; for in these relative positions, she came under the lee of her opponent. Again the Skylark forged ahead, and was a length in advance of the Sea Foam, when the yachts came up with Turtle Head. "You are losing it, Don John," said Ned, apparently not much displeased at the result. "Not yet," replied Donald. "A pull on the main sheet, Dick," added the skipper, as he put the helm down. "Give her six inches more centre-board, Ned." "You will be on the rocks, Don John!" shouted the owner of the yacht, as the Sea Foam dashed under the stern of the Skylark, and ran in close to the shore. "Don't be alarmed, Ned. Haul down the jib-sheet a little more! Steady! Belay!" said the confident skipper. By this manoeuvre the Sea Foam gained a position to windward of her rival; but she ran within half her breadth of beam of the dangerous rocks, and Ned expected every instant the race would end in a catastrophe. She went clear, however; for Donald knew just the depth of water at any time of tide. Both yachts were now under the lee of the island, and went along more gently than before. It was plain enough now that the Sea Foam had the advantage. Beyond the Head, and near the ledge, she was obliged to brace up to the wind, in order to leave the buoy on the port, as required by the rule. Donald kept her moving very lively, and when she had made her two tacks, she had weathered the buoy, and, rounding it, she gybed so near the ledge that the commodore could not have crawled in between him and the buoy if he had been near enough to do so. Hauling up the centre-board, and letting off the sheets, the Sea Foam went for a time before the wind. When the Skylark had rounded the buoy, and laid her course for Turtle Head again, she was at least an eighth of a mile astern of her rival. Donald hardly looked at her, but gazed steadfastly at the sails and the shore of the island. The sheets had to be hauled in little by little, as she followed the contour of the land, till at the point below Turtle Head the yacht had the wind forward of the beam. Then came the home stretch, and the skipper trimmed his sails, adjusted the centre-board, and stationed his crew as live weights with the utmost care. It was only necessary for him to hold his own in order to win the race, and he was painfully anxious for the result. [Illustration: DONALD SAILING THE SEA FOAM. Page 166.] In the Skylark the commodore saw just where he had lost his advantage, and regretted too late that he had permitted the Sea Foam to get to windward of him; but he strained every nerve to recover his position. The wind continued to freshen, and probably both yachts would have done better with a single reef in the mainsail; but there was no time to reduce sail. As they passed Turtle Head and came out into the open bay, the white-capped waves broke over the bows, dashing the spray from stem to stern. Neither Donald nor Robert flinched a hair, or permitted a sheet to be started. "You'll take the mast out of her, Don John," said Ned Patterdale, wiping the salt water from his face. "If I do, I'll put in another," replied Donald. "But you can't snap that stick. The Skylark's mast will go by the board first, and then it will be time enough to look out for ours." "You have beaten her, Don John," added Ned. "Not yet. 'There's many a slip between the cup and the lip.'" "But you are a quarter of a mile ahead of her, at least. It's blowing a gale, and we can't carry all this sail much longer." "She can carry it as long as the Skylark. When she reefs, we will do the same. I want to show you what the Sea Foam's made of. She is as stiff as a line-of-battle ship." "But look over to windward, Don John," exclaimed Ned, with evident alarm. "Isn't that a squall?" "No; I think not. It's only a shower of rain," replied Donald. "There may be a puff of wind in it. If there is, I can touch her up." "The Skylark has come up into the wind, and dropped her peak," added Norman, considerably excited. But Donald kept on. In a moment more a heavy shower of rain deluged the deck of the Sea Foam. With it came a smart puff of wind, and the skipper "touched her up;" but it was over in a moment, and the yacht sped on her way towards the goal. Half an hour later she passed the Penobscot, and a gun from her saluted the victor in the exciting race. About four minutes later came the Skylark, which had lost half this time in the squall. CHAPTER X. THE LAUNCH OF THE MAUD. The heavy rain had driven nearly all the people on board of the Penobscot below, but the judges, clothed in rubber coats, kept the deck, in readiness to take the time of the rival yachts. After the squall, the weather was so thick that both of them were hidden from view. The craft not in the race had anchored near the Penobscot, and on board of all the yachts the interest in the result was most intense. "I'm afraid it will be no race," said Sam Rodman, who was now the chairman of the judges. "The commodore will put the Skylark through, whatever the weather," replied Frank Norwood. "Don John will keep the Sea Foam flying as long as Bob runs the Skylark, you may depend." "It was quite a little squall that swept across the bay just now," added Rodman. "I hope no accident has happened to them." "I'll risk the accidents. I would give a dollar to know which one was ahead." "Not much doubt on that point." "I think there is. Don John generally knows what he is about. He don't very often say what he can do, but when he does, he means it." "The commodore is too much for him." "Perhaps he is, but I have hopes of the Sea Foam. Don John is building the Maud for me, and I have some interest in this race. I don't want a yacht that is to be beaten by everything in the fleet. If the Skylark is too much for the Sea Foam, the chance of the Maud won't be much better." The judges discussed the merits of the two yachts for half an hour longer, and there was as much difference of opinion among them as among the rest of the spectators of the race. "There's one of them!" shouted Frank Norwood, as the Sea Foam emerged from the cloud of mist which accompanied the rain. "Which is it?" demanded Rodman. "I can't make her out," replied Norwood, for the yacht was over a mile distant. "But where is the other? One of them is getting badly beaten," added Rodman. "That must be the Skylark we see." "I don't believe it is. It is so thick we can't make her out, but her sails look very white. I think it is the Sea Foam." "There's the other!" exclaimed Norwood, as the Skylark was dimly perceived in the distance. "She is half a mile astern. It is a bad beat for one of them." "That's so; and if it is the Sea Foam, I shall want to throw up the contract for the Maud," said Rodman. "There is one thing about it; both of those craft are good sea boats, and if they can carry whole jib and mainsail in this blow, they are just the right kind of yachts for me. I like an able boat, even if she don't win any prizes. Give me a stiff boat before a fast one." "I should like to have mine both stiff and fast." "Look at the Christabel. She went round the course with a reef in the fore and main sails, and was beaten at that," added Norwood. "Here comes the head boat. It is the Skylark, as sure as you live." "Not much, Frank. Do you see her figure-head? Is it a bird?" demanded Rodman, triumphantly. "It isn't; that's a fact." "That's the Sea Foam fast enough." This was exciting news, and Sam Rodman walked rapidly to the companion-way of the Penobscot. "Yachts in sight!" shouted he to the people below. "Which is ahead?" asked Mr. Montague. "The Sea Foam," replied Rodman. "I'm so glad!" exclaimed Miss Nellie Patterdale. Mr. Montague and Captain Patterdale only laughed, but they were sufficiently interested to go on deck in spite of the pouring rain, and they were followed by many others. "Time!" shouted Sam Rodman, as the gun was fired. "Four, thirty-two, ten," added Frank Norwood; and the figures were entered upon the schedule. The Sea Foam passed the judges' yacht, came about, and went under her stern. "The Sea Foam," shouted Donald. Though the spectators were not all satisfied with the result, they gave three cheers to the victorious yacht, magnanimously led off by Mr. Montague himself. "Time!" called Sam, as the Skylark came into the range of the chimney on shore. "Four, thirty-six, twelve," said Norwood. The Skylark came about, and passed under the stern of the Penobscot, reporting her name. The judges went below, and figured out the result, by which it appeared that the Sea Foam had beaten the Skylark, after the correction for the three inches' difference in length, by three minutes fifty-nine and four tenths seconds. Donald was the first to come on board of the Penobscot, and was generously congratulated on his decisive victory, especially by Mr. Montague, the father of the commodore. Robert followed him soon after, and every one was curious to know what he would say and do. "Don John, you have beaten me," exclaimed he, grasping the hand of Donald. "You have done it fairly and handsomely, and I am ready to give up the first prize to the Sea Foam." The party in the cabin of the Penobscot heartily applauded the conduct of the commodore. "You are very kind and generous, Bob," replied Donald, deeply moved by the magnanimity of the commodore. "When I am whipped, I know it as well as the next man. The silver vase belongs to the Sea Foam." "Not at all," protested Donald. "This last race was not for the vase, and you won the first one fairly." "Of course the vase belongs to the commodore," added Rodman. "The judges have already awarded and presented the prizes." This was the unanimous sentiment of all concerned, and Robert consented to retain the first prize. "I say, Don John," continued the commodore, removing his wet coat and cap, "I want to have an understanding about the affair. While I own that the Skylark has been beaten, I am not so clear that the Sea Foam is the faster boat of the two." "I think she is, commodore," laughed Donald; "though I believe I understand your position." "We made an even thing of it till we came up with Turtle Head--didn't we?" "Yes, that's so. If either gained anything for the moment, he lost it again," replied Donald. "Then, if we made exactly the same time to Turtle Head, it seems to me the merits of the two boats are about the same." "Not exactly, commodore. You forgot that the Skylark has to give time to the Sea Foam--one and three-tenths seconds per mile; or about eight seconds from here to the Head." "That's next to nothing," laughed Robert. "But I was a length ahead of you." "I let you gain that, so that I could go to windward of you." "You made your first point by running nearer to the rocks than I like to go, by which you cut off a little of the distance; and inches counted in so close a race." "That's part of the game in sailing a race." "I know that, and it's all perfectly fair. I lost half my time when the squall came. I thought it was going to be heavier than it proved to be." "I threw the Sea Foam up into the wind when it came," said Donald. "But you didn't drop your peak, and I lost two minutes in doing it. Now, Don John, I can put my finger on the four minutes by which you beat me; and I don't think there is any difference between the two yachts." "You forget the allowance." "That's nothing. In all future regattas the result will depend more upon the sailing than upon the boats." "I think you are quite right, Bob; and the fellow who makes the most mistakes will lose the race. But when the Maud is done she is going to beat you right along, if she has anything like fair play," laughed Donald. "She may if she can," replied Robert. The reputation of Ramsay & Son, boat builders, was greatly increased by the result of the race. If Edward Patterdale was a little mortified to have it demonstrated that the Sea Foam had lost the first prize by his own want of skill and tact in sailing her, he was consoled by the fact that Commodore Montague, who had the credit of being the best skipper in Belfast, had been beaten by his yacht. When the shower was over the party went on shore, and Donald hastened to the shop to attend to business. He found that his men had done a good day's work in his absence, and he related to Kennedy all the particulars of the two races. "It would have been a bad egg for you if you had not been present," said Kennedy, much interested in the story. "In these regattas the sailing of the yacht is half the battle, and these young fellows may ruin your reputation as a boat-builder, if you don't look out for them." "When I heard Ned Patterdale say he was disappointed in the Sea Foam, I felt that our business was nearly ruined. I think I have done a good thing for our firm to-day." "So you have, Donald; and when the Maud is finished, I hope you will sail her yourself in the first race she enters." "I will, if Sam Rodman consents." Donald paid off his men that night from the money received from Mr. Rodman. The next week he employed another hand, and worked diligently himself. Every day his mother came out to see how the work progressed, as she began to have some hope herself of the success of the firm of Ramsay & Son. Donald paid her all the fees he received for measuring yachts, and thus far this had been enough to support the family. She did not inquire very closely into the financial affairs of the concern, and the active member of it was not very communicative; but she had unbounded confidence in him, and while he was hopeful she was satisfied. It would be tedious to follow the young builder through all the details of his business. The frame of the Maud was all set up in due time, and then planked. By the first of August, when the vacation at the High School commenced, she was ready to be launched. All the joiner work on deck and in the cabin was completed, and had received two coats of paint. Mr. Rodman had paid a hundred dollars every week on account, which was more than Donald needed to carry on the work, and the affairs of Ramsay & Son were in a very prosperous condition. On the day of the launch, the Yacht Club attended in a body, and all the young ladies of the High School were present. Miss Maud Rodman, with a bottle in her hand, had consented formally to give her own name to the beautiful craft. Nellie Patterdale was to be on deck with her, attended by Donald and Sam Rodman. The boarding at the end of the shop had been removed, to allow the passage of the yacht into her future element. The ways had been laid down into the water, and well slushed. It was high tide at ten o'clock, and this hour had been chosen for the great event. "Are you all ready, Mr. Kennedy?" asked Donald. "All ready," replied the workman. "Let her slide!" shouted the boat-builder. A few smart blows with the hammers removed the dog-shores and the wedges, and the Maud began to move very slowly at first. Those on deck were obliged to stoop until the hull had passed out of the shop. "Now stand up," said Donald, as the yacht passed the end of the shop; and he thrust a long pole, with a flag attached to the end, into the mast hole. The boat increased her speed as she advanced, and soon struck the water with a splash. "Now break the bottle, Maud," added Donald. "I give this yacht the name of Maud," said Miss Rodman, in a loud tone, as she broke the bottle upon the heel of the bowsprit. "Won't she tip over, Don John?" asked Nellie. "Not at all; nearly all her ballast has been put into her, and she will stand up like a queen on the water," answered Donald, proudly, as he realized that the launch was a perfect success. Loud cheers from the crowd on shore greeted the yacht as she went into the embrace of her chosen element. The ladies waved their handkerchiefs, and the gentlemen their hats. Maud and Nellie returned the salute, and so did Sam Rodman; but Donald was too busy, just then, even to enjoy his triumph. As the hull slid off into the deep water, the boat-builder threw over the anchor, and veered out the cable till her headway was checked. The Maud rested on the water as gracefully as a swan, and the work of the day was done. Hardly had the yacht brought up at her cable, when the Juno, in which Laud Cavendish had been laying off and on where he could see the launch, ran alongside of her. "Keep off!" shouted Donald; "you will scrape her sides." "No; hold on, Don John; I have a cork fender," replied Laud, as he threw his painter on board of the Maud. "Catch a turn--will you?" "Don't let him come on board, if you can help it," whispered Nellie Patterdale. "He is a terrible bore." "I can help it," replied Donald, as, with a boat-hook he shoved off the bow of the Juno. Then, for the first time, he observed that Laud had a passenger, a man whom he remembered to have seen before, though he did not think where. "What are you about, Don John?" demanded Laud. "Keep off, then," replied Donald. "We don't want any visitors on board yet. We are going to haul her up to the wharf at once." "But I came off to offer the ladies a passage to the shore," said Laud. "They don't want any passage to the shore." "Good morning, Miss Patterdale," added Laud, as Nellie went to the rail near the Juno. "Allow me to offer you a place in this boat to convey you to the shore." "Thank you, Mr. Cavendish; I intend to remain where I am," replied she, rather haughtily. "I shall be happy to take you out to sail, if you will do me the honor to accompany me; and Miss Rodman, too, if she will go." "No, I thank you; I am otherwise engaged," answered Nellie, as she retreated to the other side of the yacht. "I say, Donald, let me come on board," asked Laud, who was desperately bent upon improving his acquaintance with Nellie Patterdale. "Not now; you can come on board at the wharf." Donald was resolute, and Laud, angry at his rebuff, filed away. "Here is a man that wants to see you, Don John," shouted Laud, as he ran his boat up to the Maud again. "I can't see him now," replied Donald. Kennedy now came alongside in the skiff, bringing a warp-line from the shore, by which the Maud was hauled up to the wharf. The spectators went on board, and examined the work. Many of them crawled into the cabin and cook-room, and all of them were enthusiastic in their praise, though a few seasoned it with wholesome criticism. Some thought the cabin ought to be longer, evidently believing that it was possible to put a quart of water into a pint bottle; others thought she ought to be rigged as a schooner instead of a sloop, which was a matter of fancy with the owner; but all agreed that she was a beautiful yacht. In honor of the event, and to please the young people, Mr. Rodman had prepared a collation at his house, to which the members of the Yacht Club and others were cordially invited. Kennedy and the other men who worked on the Maud were included in the invitation, and the afternoon was to be a holiday. Laud Cavendish, who had moored the Juno and come on shore, liberally interpreted the invitation to include himself, and joined the party, though he was not a member of the club. Some people have a certain exuberance on the side of their faces, which enables them to do things which others cannot do. "I want to see you, Don John," said Laud, as the party began to move from the wharf towards the mansion of Mr. Rodman. "I'll see you this evening," replied Donald, who was anxious to gain a position at the side of Miss Nellie Patterdale. "That will be too late. You saw the man in the Juno with me--didn't you?" continued Laud, proceeding to open his business. "I saw him." "Did you know him?" "No; though I thought I had seen him before," replied Donald, as they walked along in the rear of the party. "He is the man who was beaten within an inch of his life over to Lincolnville, a while ago." "Hasbrook?" "Yes, his name is Jacob Hasbrook." "He was with us in the library of Captain Patterdale the day we were there, when the man had a sun-stroke." "Was he? Well, I don't remember that. Folks say he is a big rascal, and the licking he got was no more than he deserved. He was laid up for a month after it; but now he and the sheriff are trying to find out who did it." Donald was interested, in spite of himself, and for the time even forgot the pleasant smile of Nellie, which was a great deal for him to forget. "Has he any idea who it was that beat him?" "I don't know whether he has or not. He only asks questions, and don't answer any. You know I met you over to Turtle Head the morning after the affair in Lincolnville." "I remember all about it," answered Donald. "I saw you in the Juno afterwards. By the way, Don John, you didn't tell me how you happened to be in the Juno at that time. I don't recollect whether you had her at Turtle Head, or not. I don't think I saw her there, at any rate." "No matter whether you did or not. Go on with your story, for we are almost to Mr. Rodman's house," replied Donald, impatiently. "Well, after I left you, I ran over towards Saturday Cove," continued Laud. "You know where that is." "Of course I do." This was the place towards which Captain Shivernock had gone in the sail-boat, and where Laud had probably seen him, when he gave him the money paid for the Juno. Laud did not say that this was the time and place he had met the captain, but Donald was entirely satisfied on this point. "From Saturday Cove I ran on the other tack over to Gilky's Harbor," added Laud. "Did you see anybody near the cove?" "I didn't say whether I did or not," replied Laud, after some hesitation, which confirmed Donald's belief that he had met the captain on this occasion. "Never mind that. Off Gilky's Harbor I hailed Tom Reed, who had been a-fishing. It seems that Tom told Hasbrook he saw me that forenoon, and Hasbrook has been to see me half a dozen times about it. I don't know whether he thinks I am the fellow that thrashed him, or not. He has pumped me dry about it. I happened to let on that I saw you, and Hasbrook wants to talk with you." By this time they reached Mr. Rodman's house, and to the surprise of Donald, Laud Cavendish coolly walked into the grounds with him. CHAPTER XI. THE WHITE CROSS OF DENMARK. Laud Cavendish was at Donald's side when they entered the grounds of Mr. Rodman, where the tables were spread under the trees in the garden. As the collation was in honor of the launch of the Maud, of course the young boat-builder was a person of no little consequence, and being with him, Laud was permitted to enter the grounds unchallenged; but they soon separated. Donald was disturbed by what Laud had told him, and he did not wish to answer any questions which might be put to him by Hasbrook, who was evidently working his own case, trying to ascertain who had committed the outrage upon him. He did not wish to tell whom he had seen on that Saturday forenoon, and thus violate the confidence of Captain Shivernock. But he was entirely satisfied that the captain had nothing to do with it, for he had not left his house until after the deed was done, according to the testimony of Sykes and his wife, whom he had separately interviewed. To decline to answer Hasbrook's questions, on the other hand, was to excite suspicion. He could not tell any lies about the case. If he could, it would have been easily managed; as it was, the situation was very awkward. But he had not time to think much of the matter, for one and another began to congratulate him upon the success of the launch, the fine proportions and the workmanship of the Maud. The praise of Captain Patterdale was particularly agreeable to him; but the best news he heard was that Major Norwood intended to have a yacht built for his son, and would probably give the job to Ramsay & Son. "Well, Don John, you are a real lion," laughed Nellie Patterdale, when, at last, the young boat-builder obtained a place at her side, which had been the objective point with him since he entered the grounds. "Better be a lion than a bear," replied Donald. "Everybody says you have built a splendid yacht, and Maud is delighted to have it named after her." "I think the Sea Foam ought to have been called the Nellie," added Donald. "Pooh! I asked Ned to call her the Sea Foam." "If I ever build a yacht on my own account, I shall certainly name her the Nellie Patterdale," continued Donald, though the remark cost him a terrible struggle. "I thank you, Don John; but I hope you will never build one on your own account, then," answered she, with a slight blush. "Why, wouldn't you like to have a boat named after you?" asked he, rather taken aback at her reply. "I shouldn't like to have my whole name given to a boat. It is too long." "O, well! Then I shall call her the Nellie." "You are too late, Don John," laughed Laud Cavendish, who was standing within hearing distance, and who now stepped forward, raised his hat, bowed, and smirked. "I have already ordered the painter to inscribe that word on the bows and stern of the Juno, for I never liked her present name." Nellie blushed deeper than before, but it was with anger this time, though she made no reply to Laud's impudent remark. At this moment Mr. Rodman invited the party to gather around the tables and partake of the collation. "Will Miss Patterdale allow me to offer her my arm?" added Laud, as he thrust his elbow up before her. "No, I thank you," she replied, walking towards the tables, but keeping at Donald's side. The boat-builder had not the courage to offer her his arm, though some of the sons of the nabobs had done so to the ladies; but he kept at her side. Laud was desperate, for Nellie seemed to be the key of destiny to him. If he could win her heart and hand, or even her hand without the heart, his fortune would be made, and the wealth and social position of which cruel fate had thus far robbed him would be obtained. Though she snubbed him, he could not see it, and would not accept the situation. If Donald had not been there, she would not have declined his offered arm; and he regarded the boat-builder as the only obstacle in his path. "I wish you had not invited that puppy, Don John," said Nellie, as they moved towards the tables; and there was a snap in her tones which emphasized the remark. "I didn't invite him," replied Donald, warmly. "He came in with you, and Mr. Rodman said you must have asked him." "Indeed, I did not; I had no right to invite him," protested Donald. Nellie immediately told this to the host of the occasion, and in doing so she left Donald for a moment. "Why don't you get out of the way, Don John, when you see what I am up to?" said Laud, in a low tone, but earnestly and indignantly, as though Donald had stepped between him and the cheerful destiny in which his imagination revelled. "What are you up to?" "I told you before that I liked Nellie, and you are all the time coming between me and her. She would have taken my arm if you had stepped aside." "I don't choose to step aside," added Donald. "I want to get in there, Don John," added Laud, in a milder tone. "Paddle your own canoe." "You don't care anything about her." "How do you know I don't?" "Do you?" "That's my affair." "She don't care for you." "Nor you, either." "Perhaps not now, but I can make it all right with her," said Laud, as he twirled his colored mustache, which he probably regarded as a lady-killer. "Besides, you are not old enough to think of such things yet, Don John." "Well, I don't think of such things yet," replied Donald, who really spoke only the truth, so far as he was consciously concerned. "But you ought not to stick by her to-day. You are the boat-builder, and you should bestow your attentions upon Maud Rodman, after whom the yacht was named. She is the daughter of the man who gave you the job. If you will just keep away from Nellie, I can paddle my own canoe, as you say." "Mr. Cavendish," interposed Mr. Rodman, "I believe you are not a member of the Belfast Yacht Club." "I am not yet, but I intend to join," replied Laud. "In the mean time, this occasion is for the members of the club and their friends; and I wish to suggest the propriety of your withdrawing, as I believe you are here without an invitation," added Mr. Rodman. "I came with Don John," said Laud, rather startled by the plain speech of the host. "If Don John invited you--" "I didn't invite him, or any one else. I did not consider that I had any right to do so," protested Donald, as he walked forward and joined Nellie. Laud could not gainsay this honest avowal; but there was no limit to his wrath at that moment, and he determined to punish the boat-builder for "going back" on him, as he regarded it. The collation was a sumptuous one, for when Belfast nabobs do anything, they do it. The guests had good appetites, and did abundant justice to the feast. The incident of which Laud Cavendish had been the central figure caused some talk and some laughter. "He had the impudence to say he was going to name his boat after me," said Nellie Patterdale. "He don't like the name of Juno." "Does he own the Juno?" asked Captain Patterdale, quietly. "I suppose he does." "How is that, Don John?" added the captain. "Yes, sir, he owns her; Captain Shivernock got tired of the Juno, and Laud bought her." Captain Patterdale made a note of that piece of information, and regarded it as a clew to assist in the discovery of the tin box, which had not yet been found, though the owner and the deputy sheriff had been looking diligently for it ever since its disappearance. "What did he pay for her?" inquired Captain Patterdale. "Three hundred and fifty dollars," answered Donald, who hoped he would not be asked of whom Laud had bought the Juno. The captain did not ask the question, for it seemed to be self-evident that he had purchased her of Captain Shivernock. Indeed, nothing more was said about the matter. A dance on the shaven lawn followed the collation, and the guests remained until the dews of evening began to fall. Donald walked home with Nellie, and then went to the shop. He expected to find Hasbrook there, but he had returned to Lincolnville. He saw that the sails for the Maud had been sent down during his absence, and on the desk lay the bill for them, enclosed in an envelope, directed to "Messrs. Ramsay & Son." While he was looking at it, Mr. Leach, the sail-maker, entered the shop. He had come to look after his money, for possibly he had not entire confidence in the financial stability of the firm. "Have you looked over those sails, Don John?" asked Leach. "Not yet; it is rather too dark to examine them to-night," replied Donald. "That's the best suit of sails I ever made," added the sail-maker. "You said you wanted the best that could be had." "I did." And Donald unrolled them. "They look like a good job." "If they are not as good as anything that ever went on a boat, I'll make you another suit for nothing. I was in hopes you would look them over to-night. I don't want to trouble you, Don John, but I'm a little short of money. Captain Patterdale has a mortgage on my house, and I like to pay the interest on it the day it is due. You said you would let me have the money when the sails were delivered." "And so I will." "If they are not all right, I will make them so," added Leach. "I should like to pay the captain my interest money to-night, if I can." "You can. I will go into the house and get the money." Donald went to his room in the cottage, and took from their hiding-place the bills which had been paid to him by Laud Cavendish for the Juno. Without this he had not enough to pay the sail-maker. He did not like to use this money, for he was not fully satisfied that Laud would not get into trouble on account of it, or that he might not himself have some difficulty with Captain Shivernock. He feared that he should be called upon to refund this money; but Mr. Rodman would pay him another instalment of the price of the Maud in a few days, and he should then be in condition to meet any demand upon him. Laud had paid him seven fifty-dollar bills, and he put them in his pocket. As he passed through the kitchen, he lighted the lantern, and returned to the shop. "I didn't mean to dun you up so sharp for this bill," said Leach; "but I haven't a dollar in my pocket at this minute, and I am very anxious to be punctual in the payment of my interest." "It's all right; I had as lief pay it now as at any other time. In fact, I like to pay up as soon as the work is done," replied Donald, as he handed the sail-maker three of the fifty-dollar bills, which was the price agreed upon for the sails, five in number. Leach looked carefully at each of the bills. All of them were quite new and fresh, and one was peculiar enough to attract the attention of any one through whose hands it might pass. It was just like the others, but at some period, not very remote in its history, it had been torn into four parts. It might have been in a sheet of note paper, torn up by some one who did not know the bill was between the leaves. It had been mended with two narrow slips of thin, white paper, extending across the length and width of the bill, like the horizontal white cross on the flag of Denmark. "That bill has been in four pieces," said Leach, as he turned it over and examined it; "but I suppose it is good." "If it is not, I will give you another for it," answered Donald. "It is all here; so I think it is all right. I wonder who tore it up." "I don't know; it was so when I took it." "I am very much obliged to you, Don John; and the next time I make a suit of sails for you, you needn't pay me till you get ready," said the sail-maker, as he put the money in his wallet. "I didn't pay for this suit till I got ready," laughed the boat-builder; "and when you get up another, I hope I shall be able to pay you the cash for them." Leach left the shop a happy man; for most men are cheerful when they have plenty of money in their pocket. He was more especially happy because, being an honest man, he was able now to pay the interest on the mortgage note on the day it was due. He had worked half the night before in order to finish the sails, so that he might get the money to pay it. With a light step, therefore, he walked to the elegant mansion of Captain Patterdale, and rang the bell at the library door. There was a light in the room, which indicated that the captain was at home. He was admitted by the nabob himself, who answered his own bell at this door. "I suppose you thought I wasn't going to pay my interest on the day it was due," said Leach, with a cheerful smile. [Illustration: THE SAIL-MAKER'S BILL. Page 199.] "On the contrary, I didn't think anything at all about it," replied Captain Patterdale. "I was not even aware that your interest was due to-day." "I came pretty near not paying it, for work has been rather slack this season; but the firm of Ramsay & Son helped me out by paying me promptly for the sails I made for the Maud." "Ramsay & Son is a great concern," laughed the nabob. "It pays promptly; and that's more than all of them do," added Leach, drawing his wallet from his pocket. "I haven't your note by me, Mr. Leach," said Captain Patterdale; but he did not consider it necessary to state that the important document was at that moment in the tin box, wherever the said tin box might be. "I will give you a receipt for the amount you pay, and indorse it upon the note when I have it." "All right, captain." "Do you know how much the interest is? I am sure I have forgotten," added the rich man. "I ought to know. I have had to work too hard to get the money in time to forget how much it was. It is just seventy dollars," answered Leach. "You needn't pay it now, if you are short." "I'm not short now. I'm flush, for which I thank Don John," said the sail-maker, as he placed two of the fifty-dollar bills on the desk, at which the captain was writing the receipt. The uppermost of the two bills was the mended one, for Leach thought if there was any doubt in regard to this, it ought to be known at once. If the nabob would take it, the matter was settled. Captain Patterdale wrote the receipt, and did not at once glance at the money. "There's a hundred, captain," added the sail-maker. The rich man picked up the bills, and turned over the upper one. If he did not start, it was not because he was not surprised. He was utterly confounded when he saw that bill, and his thoughts flashed quickly through his mind. But he did not betray his thoughts or his emotions, quick as were the former, and intense as were the latter. He took up the mended bill, and looked it over several times. "That's the white cross of Denmark," said he, suppressing his emotions. "Isn't the bill good?" asked the sail-maker. "Good as gold for eighty-eight cents on a dollar," replied the captain. "Then it is not good," added Leach, who did not quite comprehend the nabob's mathematics. "Yes, it is." "But you say it is worth only eighty-eight cents on a dollar." "That is all any paper dollar is worth when gold is a little rising fourteen per cent. premium. The bill is perfectly good, in spite of the white cross upon it. You want thirty dollars change." The captain counted out this sum, and handed it to the debtor. "If the bill isn't good, I can give you another," replied Leach, as he took the money. "It is a good bill, and I prefer it to any other for certain reasons of my own. It has the white cross of Denmark upon it; at least, the white bars on this bill remind me of the flag of that nation." "It's like a flag--is it?" added the sail-maker, who did not understand the rich man's allusion. "Like the flag of Denmark. I made a voyage to Copenhagen once, and this bill reminds me of the merchant's flag, which has a couple of white bars across a red ground. Where did you say you got this bill, Mr. Leach?" "Don John gave it to me, not half an hour ago." "It has been torn into quarters some time, and the pieces put together again. Did Don John mend the bill himself?" "No, sir; he says the bill is just as it was when he received it. I looked at it pretty sharp when I took it; but he said if it wasn't good, he would give me another." "It is perfectly good. Did he tell you where he got the bill?" asked Captain Patterdale, manifesting none of the emotion which agitated him. "No, sir; he did not. I didn't ask him. If it makes any difference, I will do so." "It makes no difference whatever. It is all right, Mr. Leach." The sail-maker folded up his receipt, and left the library. He went home with eighty dollars in his pocket, entirely satisfied with himself, with the nabob, and especially with the firm of Ramsay & Son. He did not care a straw about the white cross of Denmark, so long as the bill was good. Captain Patterdale was deeply interested in the bill which bore this mark, and possibly he expected to conquer by this sign. He was not so much interested in the bill because he had made a voyage up the Baltic and seen the white cross there, as because he had seen it on a bill in that tin box. He was not only interested, but he was anxious, for the active member of the firm of Ramsay & Son seemed to be implicated in a very unfortunate and criminal transaction. More than once Captain Patterdale had observed the pleasant relations between Don John and his fair daughter. As Nellie was a very pretty girl, intelligent, well educated, and agreeable, and in due time would be the heiress of a quarter or a half million, as the case might be, he was rather particular in regard to the friendships she contracted with the young gentlemen of the city. Possibly he did not approve the intimacy between them. But whatever opinions he may have entertained in regard to the equality of social relations between his daughter and the future partner of her joys and sorrows, we must do him the justice to say that he preferred honor and honesty to wealth and position in the gentleman whom Nellie might choose for her life companion. The suspicion, or rather the conviction, forced upon him by "the white cross of Denmark," that Donald was neither honest nor honorable, was vastly more painful than the fact that he was poor, and was the son of a mere ship carpenter. Certainly Nellie did like the young man, though, as she was hardly more than a child, it might be a fancy that would pass away when she realized the difference between the daughter of a nabob and the son of a ship carpenter. While he was thinking of the subject, Nellie entered the library, as she generally did when her father was alone there. She was his only confidant in the house in the matter of the tin box, and he determined to talk with her about the painful discovery he had just made. CHAPTER XII. DONALD ANSWERS QUESTIONS. "Well, Nellie, did you have a good time to-day?" asked Captain Patterdale, as his daughter seated herself near his desk. "I did; a capital time. Everybody seemed to enjoy it," replied she. "But some seemed to enjoy it more than others," added the captain, with a smile. "Now, father, you have something to say," said she, with a blush. "I wish you would say it right out, and not torment me for half an hour, trying to guess what it is." "Of course, if I hadn't anything to say, I should hold my tongue," laughed her father. "Everybody don't." "But I do." "Do you think I enjoyed the occasion more than any one else, father?" "I thought you were one of the few who enjoyed it most." "Perhaps I was; but what have I done?" "Done?" "What terrible sin have I committed now?" "None, my child." "But you are going to tell me that I have sinned against the letter of the law of propriety, or something of that kind. This is the way you always begin." "Then this time is an exception to all other times, for I haven't a word of fault to find with you." "I am so glad! I was trying to think what wicked thing I had been doing." "Nothing, child. Don John seemed to be supremely happy this afternoon." "I dare say he was; but the firm of Ramsay & Son had a successful launch, and Don John had compliments enough to turn the head of any one with a particle of vanity in his composition." "No doubt of it; and I suppose you were not behind the others in adding fuel to the flame." "What flame, father?" "The flame of vanity." "On the contrary, I don't think I uttered a single compliment to him." "It was hardly necessary to utter it; but if you had danced with him only half as often, it would have flattered his vanity less." "How could I help it, when he asked me? There were more gentlemen than ladies present, and I did not like to break up the sets," protested Nellie. "Of course not; but being the lion of the occasion, don't you think he might have divided himself up a little more equitably?" "I don't know; but I couldn't choose my own partner," replied Nellie, her cheeks glowing. "You like Don John very well?" "I certainly do, father," replied she, honestly. "Don't you?" "Perhaps it don't make so much difference whether I like him or not." "You have praised him to the skies, father. You said he was a very smart boy; and not one in a hundred young fellows takes hold of business with so much energy and good judgment. I am sure, if you had not said so much in his favor, I shouldn't have thought half so much of him," argued Nellie. "I don't blame you for thinking well of him, my child," interposed her father. "I only hope you are not becoming too much interested in him." "I only like him as a good-hearted, noble fellow," added Nellie, with a deeper blush than before, for she could not help understanding just what her father meant. "He appears to be a very good-hearted fellow now; but he is young, and has not yet fully developed his character. He may yet turn out to be a worthless fellow, dissolute and dishonest," continued the captain. "Don John!" exclaimed Nellie, utterly unwilling to accept such a supposition. "Even Don John. I can recall more than one young man, who promised as well as he does, that turned out very badly; and men fully developed in character, sustaining the highest reputations in the community, have been detected in the grossest frauds. I trust Don John will realize the hopes of his friends; but we must not be too positive." "I can't believe that Don John will ever become a bad man," protested Nellie. "We don't know. 'Put not your trust in princes,' in our day and nation, might read, 'Put not your trust in young men.'" "Why do you say all this, father?" asked Nellie, anxiously. "Has Don John done anything wrong; or is he suspected of doing anything wrong?" "He is at least suspected," replied Captain Patterdale. "Why, father!" "You need not be in haste to condemn him, or even to think ill of him, Nellie." "I certainly shall not." "There is the white cross of Denmark," added the captain, holding up the bank bill which had told him such a terrible story about the boat-builder. "What is it, father? It looks like a bank note." "It is; but there is the white cross of Denmark on it." "I don't understand what you mean." "I only mean that these white slips of paper make the bill look like the flag of Denmark." Nellie took the bill and examined it. "It has been torn into four pieces and mended," said she. "That is precisely how it happens to be the white cross of Denmark. Do you think, if you had ever seen that bill before, you would recognize it again, if it fell into your hands?" added the captain. "Certainly I should." "Well, it has been in my hands before. Do you remember the day that Michael had the sun-stroke?" "Yes, sir; and your tin box disappeared that day." "Precisely so; and this bill was in that tin box. Jacob Hasbrook, of Lincolnville, paid me a note. I put the money in the box, intending to take it over to the bank before night, and deposit it the next day. I looked at the bill when I counted the money, and I spoke to Hasbrook about it. I called it the white cross of Denmark then." "Where did you get it now?" inquired Nellie, her heart in her throat with anxiety. "Mr. Leach, the sail-maker, paid it to me just before you came into the library." "Mr. Leach!" exclaimed she, permitting herself to be cheered by a ray of hope that her father was not working up a case against Donald Ramsay. "Yes; you remember who were in the library on the day I lost the tin box." "I remember very well; for all of you went out and carried Michael into the house. Besides we talked about the box ever so long. You asked me who had been in the library while you were up stairs; and I told you Mr. Hasbrook, Laud Cavendish, and Don John." "Precisely so; I remember it all very distinctly. Now, one of the bills that was in that box comes back to me." "But it was paid to you by Mr. Leach." "It was; but he had it from Don John half an hour before he paid it to me." "Why, father!" exclaimed Nellie, with real anguish; for even a suspicion against Donald was a shock to her. "I can never believe it!" "I don't wish you to believe anything yet; but you may as well be prepared for anything an investigation may disclose." "That Don John should steal!" ejaculated Nellie. "Why, we all considered him the very soul of honor!" "You are getting along faster than I do with your conclusions, child," added Captain Patterdale. "A suspicion is not proof. The bill came from him, beyond a doubt. But something can be said in his favor, besides the statement that his character is excellent. Of the three persons who were in the library that day, two of them had wagons on the street. It does not seem probable that Don John walked through the city with that tin box in his hand. If he did, some one must have seen it. Of course he would not have carried it openly, while it could easily have been concealed in the wagon of Hasbrook or Laud Cavendish." "Certainly; if Don John had taken it, he would not have dared to carry it through the streets," added Nellie, comforted by the suggestion. "Again, if he had stolen this white cross of Denmark, he would not have been likely to pass it off here in Belfast," continued the captain; "for he is sharp enough to see that it would be identified as soon as it appeared. Very likely Mr. Leach told him he intended to pay me some money, and he surely would not have allowed the bill to come back to me." "I know he didn't do it," cried Nellie, with enthusiasm. "You are too fast again, child. It is possible that he did, however improbable it may seem now, for rogues often make very silly blunders. Is Edward in the house?" "I think so; he was reading the _Age_ when I came in." "Tell him to go down and ask Don John to come up and see me. We will have the matter cleared up before we sleep. But, Nellie, don't tell Edward what I want to see Don John for. Not a word about that to any one. By keeping my own counsel, I may get at the whole truth; whereas the thief, if he gets wind of what I am doing, may cover his tracks or run away." "I will be very discreet, father," replied Nellie, as she left the library. In a few moments she returned. "He has gone, father; though he is very tired," said she. "I suppose he is; but I don't want to believe that Don John is a thief even over one night," replied the captain. "He asked me what you wanted of Don John; but I didn't tell him." The father and daughter discussed the painful suspicion until Donald arrived, and entered the library with Edward. A conversation on indifferent topics was continued for some time, and the boat-builder wondered if he had been sent for to talk about the launch of the Maud, which was now an old story. "How is the wind, Edward?" asked Captain Patterdale. "'Sou'-sou'-west, half west," laughed Edward, who understood precisely what his father meant by his question; and bidding Donald good night, he left the library, without the formality of saying he would go and see which way the wind was. "You know which way the wind is, Nellie; and so you need not leave," added the captain, as she rose from her seat to follow the example of her brother. "So did Ned, for he told you," she answered. "And you heard him, and know also." When Captain Patterdale had private business with a visitor, and he wished any member of his own family to retire, he always asked which way the wind was. "Don John, you had a great success in the launch of the Maud to-day," said the nabob; but as the same thing had been said half a dozen times before since the boat-builder entered the room, it was hardly to be regarded as an original idea; and Donald was satisfied that the launch was not the business upon which he had been sent for. "Yes, sir; we got her off very well," he replied. "I was sorry I couldn't launch her with the mast stepped, so as to dress her in the colors." "In that case, you would have needed the flags of all nations. I have them, and will lend them to you any time when you wish to make a sensation." "Thank you, sir." "I have here the white cross of Denmark," added the captain, holding up the mended bill. "A fifty-dollar white-cross," laughed Donald. "I have seen it before." "This bill?" "Yes, sir; I paid it to Mr. Leach for the Maud's sails since dark," answered Donald, so squarely that the nabob could not help looking at his daughter and smiling. "He said you paid promptly, which is a solid virtue in a business man. By the way, Don John, you will be out of work as soon as the Maud is finished." "I hope to have another yacht to build by that time, especially if the Maud does well." "I wanted to say a word to you about that, and tell you some good news, Don John," continued Captain Patterdale, as calmly as though he had no interest whatever in the mended bill. "I had a long talk with Mr. Norwood this afternoon. He says he shall give you the job if the Maud sails as well as the Skylark or the Sea Foam. He don't insist that she shall beat them." "But I expect she will do it; if she don't I shall be disappointed," added Donald. "Don't expect too much, Don John. I thought you would sleep better if you knew just how Mr. Norwood stood on this question." "I shall, sir; and I am very much obliged to you." "Do you think you will make any money on the building of the Maud?" asked the nabob. "Yes, sir. I think I shall do pretty well with her." "You seem to have money enough to pay your bills as you go along. Did Mr. Rodman pay you this bill?" inquired the captain, as he held up the cross again. "No, sir; he did not. I have had that bill in the house for some time," replied Donald. "Are you so flush as that?" "Yes, sir; I had considerable cash in the house." "Your father left something, I suppose." "Yes, sir; but he never had that bill and the other two I paid Mr. Leach," replied Donald; and he could not help thinking all the time that they were a part of the sum Laud Cavendish had paid him for the Juno, under promise not to say where he got it, if everything was all right. Though the boat-builder was a square young man, he could not help being somewhat embarrassed, for his sense of honor did not permit him to violate the confidence of any one. "If it is a fair question, Don John, where did you get this bill?" asked the captain. Donald thought it was hardly a fair question under the circumstances, and he made no answer, for he was thinking how he could get along without a lie, and still say nothing about Laud's connection with the bill, for that would expose Captain Shivernock. "You don't answer me, Don John," added the nabob, mildly. "I don't like to tell," replied Donald. "Why not?" "I promised not to do so." "You promised not to tell where you got this money?" Poor Nellie was almost overwhelmed by these answers on the part of Donald, and her father began to have some painful doubts. "I did, sir; that is, I promised not to tell if everything about the money was all right." "If you don't tell where you got the money, how are you to know whether everything is all right or not?" demanded Captain Patterdale, in sharper tones than he had yet used. "Well, I don't know," answered the boat-builder, not a little confused, and sadly troubled by the anxious expression on Miss Nellie's pretty face. Perhaps her father, who understood human nature exceedingly well, had required her to remain in the library during this interview, for a purpose; but whether he did or not, Donald was really more concerned about her good opinion than he was about that of any other person in the world, unless it was his mother. He was conscious that he was not making a good appearance; and under the sad gaze of those pretty eyes, he was determined to redeem himself. "You ought not to make such promises, Don John," said the captain; and this time he spoke quite sternly. "You have that bill, sir. Is there anything wrong about it?" asked Donald. "Yes." "Then my promise covers nothing. Laud Cavendish paid me that bill," added the boat-builder. "Laud Cavendish!" exclaimed Nellie. Her father shook his head, to intimate that she was to say nothing. "Laud Cavendish gave you this bill?" repeated the captain. "Yes, sir, and six more just like it; only the others were not mended. I paid Mr. Leach three of them, and here are the other four," said Donald, producing his wallet, and taking from it the four bills, which he had not returned to their hiding-place in the bureau. Captain Patterdale examined them, and compared them with the two in his possession. They looked like the bills he had deposited in the tin box, when Hasbrook paid him the thirteen hundred and fifty dollars and interest. Twelve of the bills which made up this sum were fifties, nearly new; the balance was in hundreds, and smaller notes, older, more discolored, and worn. "Laud Cavendish paid you three hundred and fifty dollars, then?" continued the nabob. "Yes, sir; just that. But what is there wrong about it?" asked Donald, trembling with emotion, when he realized what a scrape he had got into. "Following your example, Don John, I shall for the present decline to answer," replied the captain. "If you don't know--" "I don't!" protested Donald, earnestly. "If you don't know, I thank God; and I congratulate you that you don't know." "I haven't the least idea." "Of course, if you don't wish to answer any question I may ask, you can decline to answer, as I do, Don John." "I am entirely willing to answer any and every question that concerns me." "As you please; but you can't be called upon to say anything that will criminate yourself." "Criminate myself, sir!" exclaimed Donald, aghast. "I haven't done anything wrong." "I don't say that you have, Don John; more than that, I don't believe you have; but if you answer any question of mine, you must do it of your own free will and accord." "I will, sir." "For what did Laud Cavendish pay you three hundred and fifty dollars?" "For the Juno," replied Donald, promptly. "I did not know he owned the Juno." "He said he did to-day; at least, he said he was going to change her name," added Nellie. "The fact that I did not know it doesn't prove that it was not so. You sold the Juno to Laud, did you, Don John?" "I did, sir." "Did you own the Juno?" "Yes, sir." "Did you buy her of Captain Shivernock?" "No, sir; I did not buy her; he made me a present of her." "A present!" "Yes, sir; he got disgusted with her, and gave her to me. I could not afford to keep her, and sold her to Laud Cavendish." "Gave her to you! That's very strange." "But Captain Shivernock is a very strange man." "None will dispute that," replied Captain Patterdale, with a smile and a shrug of the shoulders. "That man throws away his property with utter recklessness; and I should not be surprised if he ended his life in the almshouse. I will not ask any explanation of the conduct of Captain Shivernock. Laud Cavendish is not a man of means. Did he tell you, Donald, where he got his money to buy a boat worth three hundred and fifty dollars?" "He did, sir, and explained the matter so that I was satisfied; for I would not sell him the Juno till he convinced me that there was no hitch about the money." "Well, where did he get it?" "I don't feel at liberty to tell, sir; for he told me it was a great secret, which did not affect him, but another person. I inquired into the matter myself, and was satisfied it was all right." "I am afraid you have been deceived, Don John; but I am convinced you have done no wrong yourself--at least, not intentionally. Secrets are dangerous; and when people wish you to conceal anything, you may generally be sure there is something wrong somewhere, though it may look all right to you. I have no more questions to ask to-night, Don John; but I may wish to see you again in regard to this subject. I must see Mr. Laud Cavendish next." [Illustration: DONALD ANSWERS QUESTIONS. Page 225.] Donald declared that he was ready to give all the information in his power; and after a little chat with Nellie, he went home, with more on his mind than had troubled him before, since he could remember. CHAPTER XIII. MOONLIGHT ON THE JUNO. Donald felt that he was in hot water, in spite of the assurance of Captain Patterdale that he believed him innocent of all wrong, and he was sorry that he had made any bargains, conditional or otherwise, with Captain Shivernock or Laud Cavendish. The nabob would not tell him what was wrong, and he could not determine whether Laud or some other person had stolen the money. He went into the house on his return from the elegant mansion. His mother had gone to watch with a sick neighbor, though his sister Barbara was sewing in the front room. Donald was troubled, not by a guilty conscience, but by the fear that he had innocently done wrong in concealing his relations with Captain Shivernock and with Laud Cavendish. Somehow the case looked different now from what it had before. Laud had told where he got his money, and given a good reason, as it seemed to him at the time, for concealment; but why the strange man desired secrecy he was utterly unable to imagine. He almost wished he had told Captain Patterdale all about his meeting with Captain Shivernock on Long Island, and asked his advice. It was not too late to do so now. Donald was so uneasy that he could not sit in the house, and went out doors. He walked about the beach for a time, and then sat down in front of the shop to think the matter over again. Suddenly, while he was meditating in the darkness, he saw the trunk lights of the Maud illuminated, as though there was a fire in her cabin. He did not wait to study the cause, but jumping into his skiff, he pushed off, and sculled with all his might towards the yacht. He was mad and desperate, for the Maud was on fire! He leaped on board, with the key of the brass padlock which secured the cabin door in his hand; but he had scarcely reached the deck before he saw a man on the wharf retreating from the vicinity of the yacht. Then he heard the flapping of a sail on the other side of the pier; but he could not spend an instant in ascertaining who the person was. He opened the cabin door, and discovered on the floor a pile of shavings in flames. Fortunately there was a bucket in the standing-room, with which he dashed a quantity of water upon the fire, and quickly extinguished it. All was dark again; but to make sure, Donald threw another pail of water on the cabin floor, and then it was not possible for the fire to ignite again. Although the deck had been swept clean before the launch, the side next to the wharf was littered with shavings, and a basket stood there, in which they had been brought on board, for it was still half full. Donald found that one of the trunk lights had been left unfastened, in the hurry and excitement of attending the festival at Mr. Rodman's house. Through the aperture the incendiary had stuffed the shavings, and dropped a card of lighted matches upon them, for he saw the remnants of it when he threw on the first water. Who had done this outrageous deed? Donald sprang upon the wharf as he recalled the shadowy form and the flapping sail he had seen. Leaping upon the pier, he rushed over to the other side, where he discovered a sail-boat slowly making her way, in the gentle breeze, out of the dock. Beyond a peradventure, the boat was the Juno. Her peculiar rig enabled him readily to identify her. Was Laud Cavendish in her, and was he wicked enough to commit such an act? Donald returned to the Maud to assure himself that there was no more fire in her. He was satisfied that the yacht was not injured, for he had extinguished the fire before the shavings were well kindled. He fastened the trunk lights securely, locked the cabin door, and taking possession of the basket, he embarked in his skiff again. Sculling out beyond the wharf, he looked for the Juno. The wind was so light she made but little headway, and was standing off shore with the breeze nearly aft. It was Laud's boat, but it might not be Laud in her. Why should the wretch attempt to burn the Maud? Then the scene in Mr. Rodman's garden, when Laud had been invited to leave, came to his mind, and Donald began to understand the matter. While he was thinking about it, the moon came out from behind a cloud which had obscured it, and cast its soft light upon the quiet bay, silvering the ripples on its waters with a flood of beauty. Donald glanced at the basket in the skiff, still half filled with shavings. It was Laud's basket, beyond a doubt, for he had often seen it when the owner came down to the shore to embark in his boat. The initials of his father's name, "J. C.," were daubed upon the outside of it, for there is sometimes as much confusion in regard to the ownership of baskets as of umbrellas. Donald was full of excitement, and full of wrath; and as soon as he got the idea of the guilty party through his head, he sculled the skiff with all the vigor of a strong arm towards the Juno, easily overhauling her in a few moments. He was so excited that he dashed his skiff bang into the Juno, to the serious detriment of the white paint which covered her side. "What are you about, Don John?" roared Laud Cavendish, who had seen the approaching skiff, but had not chosen to hail her. "What are you about?" demanded Donald, answering the question with another, Yankee fashion, as he jammed his boat-hook into the side of the Juno, and drew the skiff up to the yacht, from which it had receded. Taking the painter, he jumped on the forward deck of the Juno, with the boat-hook still in his hand. "What do you mean by smashing into me in that kind of style, and jabbing your boat-hook into the side of my boat?" cried Laud, as fiercely as he could pitch his tones, though there seemed to be a want of vim to them. "What do you mean by setting the Maud afire?" demanded Donald. "That's what I want to know." "Who set her afire?" replied Laud, in rather hollow tones. "You did, you miserable spindle-shanks!" "I didn't set her afire, Don John," protested Laud. "Yes, you did! I can prove it, and I will prove it, too." "You are excited, Don John. You don't know what you are talking about." "I think I do, and I'll bet you'll understand it, too, if there is any law left in the State of Maine." "What do you mean by that?" "I mean what I say, and say what I mean." "I haven't been near the Maud." "Yes, you have! Didn't I see you sneaking across the wharf? Didn't I see your mainsail alongside the pier? You can't humbug me. I know a pint of soft soap from a pound of cheese," rattled Donald, who could talk very fast when he was both excited and enraged; and Laud's tongue was no match for his member. "I tell you, I haven't been near the Maud." "Don't tell me! I saw it all; I have two eyes that I wouldn't sell for two cents apiece; and I'll put you over the road at a two-forty gait." Laud saw that it was no use to argue the point, and he held his peace, till the boat-builder had exhausted his rhetoric, and his stock of expletives. "What did you do it for, Laud?" asked he, at last, in a comparatively quiet tone. "I have told you a dozen times I didn't do it," replied the accused. "You talk so fast I can't get a word in edgeways." "It's no use for you to deny it," added Don John. "Do you think I'd burn your yacht?" "Yes, I do; and I know you tried to do it. If I hadn't been over by the shop, you would have done it." [Illustration: DON JOHN VISITS THE JUNO. Page 230.] "I didn't do it, I repeat. Do you think I would lie about it? Do you think I have no sense of honor about me!" "Confound your honor!" sneered Donald. "Don't insult me. When you assail my honor, you touch me in a tender place." "In a soft place, and that's in your head." "Be careful, Don John. I advise you not to wake a sleeping lion." "A sleeping jackass!" "I claim to be a gentleman, and my honor is my capital stock in life." "You have a very small capital to work on, then." "I warn you to be cautious, Don John. My honor is all I have to rest upon in this world." "It's a broken reed. I wouldn't give a cent's worth of molasses candy for the honor of a fellow who would destroy the property of another, because he got mad with him." In spite of his repeated warnings, Laud Cavendish was very forbearing, though Donald kept the boat-hook where it would be serviceable in an emergency. "No, Don John, I did not set the Maud afire. Though you went back on me this afternoon, and served me a mean and shabby trick, I wouldn't do such a thing as burn your property." "Who went back on you?" demanded Donald. "You did; when you could have saved me from being driven out of the garden, you took the trouble to say, you did not invite me," replied Laud, reproachfully. "I didn't invite you; and I had no right to invite you." "No matter for that; if you had just said that your friend, Mr. Cavendish, had come in with you it would have been all right." "My friend, Mr. Cavendish!" repeated Donald, sarcastically. "I didn't know I had any such friend." "I didn't expect that of you, after what I had done for you, Don John." "Spill her on that tack! You never did anything for me." "I took that boat off your hands, and I suppose you got a commission for selling her. Wasn't that doing something for you?" "No!" protested Donald. "I have always used you well, and done more for you than you know of. You wouldn't have got the job to build the Maud if it hadn't been for me. I spoke a good word for you to Mr. Rodman," whined Laud. "You!" exclaimed Donald, disgusted with this ridiculous pretension. "If you said anything to Mr. Rodman about it, I wonder he didn't give the job to somebody else." "You think I have no influence, but you are mistaken; and if you insist on quarrelling with me, you will find out, when it is too late, what folks think of me." "They think you are a ninny; and when they know what you did to-night, they will believe you are a knave," replied Donald. "You didn't cover your tracks so that I couldn't find them; and I can prove all I say. I didn't think you were such a rascal before." "You won't make anything out of that sort of talk with me, Don John," said Laud, mildly. "You provoke me to throw you overboard, but I don't want to hurt you." "I'll risk your throwing me overboard. I can take care of myself." "I said I didn't want to hurt you, and I don't. I didn't set your boat afire; I wouldn't do such a thing." "You can tell that to Squire Peters to-morrow." "You don't mean to say that you will prosecute me, Don John?" "Yes; I do mean it." "I came down from the harbor, and tacked between those two wharves," explained Laud. "I was standing off on this tack when you bunted your skiff into me. That's all I know about it." "But I saw you on the wharf. No matter; we won't argue the case here," said Donald, as he made a movement to go into his skiff. "Hold on, Don John. I want to talk with you a little." "What about?" "Two or three things. I am going off on a long cruise in a day or two. I think I shall go as far as Portland, and try to get a situation in a store there." "I don't believe you will have a chance to go to Portland, or anywhere else, unless it's Thomaston, where the state prison is located." "I didn't think you would be so rough on me, Don John. I didn't set your boat afire; but I can see that it may go hard with me, because I happened to be near the wharf at the time." "You will find that isn't the worst of it," added Donald. "What is the worst of it?" "Never mind; I'll tell Squire Peters to-morrow, when we come together." "Don't go to law about it, Don John; for though I didn't do it, I don't want to be hauled up for it. Even a suspicion is sometimes damaging to the honor of a gentleman." "You had better come down from that high horse, and own up that you set the Maud afire." "Will you agree not to prosecute, if I do?" asked Laud. Donald, after his anger subsided, thought more about the "white cross of Denmark" than he did about the fire; for the latter had done him no damage, while the former might injure his character which he valued more than his property. "I will agree not to prosecute, if you will answer all my questions," he replied; but I confess that it was an error on the part of the young man. Donald fastened the painter of his skiff at the stern, and took a seat in the standing-room of the Juno. "I will tell you all I know, if you will keep me out of the courts," added Laud, promptly. "Why did you set the Maud afire?" "Because I was mad, and meant to get even with you for what you did at Rodman's this afternoon. You might do me a great service, Don John, if you would. I like Nellie Patterdale; I mean, I'm in love with her. I don't believe I can live without her." "I'll bet you'll have to," interposed Donald, indignantly. "You don't know what it is to love, Don John." "I don't want to know yet awhile; and I think you had better live on a different sort of grub. What a stupid idea, for a fellow like you to think of such a girl as Nellie Patterdale!" "Is it any worse for me to think of her, than it is for you to do so?" asked Laud. "I never thought of her in any such way as that. We went to school together, and have always been good friends; that's all." "That's enough," sighed Laud. "I actually suffer for her sake. If the quest were hopeless," Laud read novels--"I think I should drown myself." "You had better do it right off, then," added Donald. "You can pity me, Don John, for I am miserable. Day and night I think only of her. My feelings have made me almost crazy, and I hardly knew what I was about when I applied the incendiary torch to the Maud." "I thought it was a card of friction matches." "The world will laugh and jeer at me for loving one above my station; but love makes us equals." "Perhaps it does when the love is on both sides," added the practical boat-builder. "But I think I am fitted to adorn a higher station than that in which I was born." "If so, you will rise like a stick of timber forced under the water; but it strikes me that you have begun in the wrong way to figure for a rise." "But I wish to rise only for Nellie's sake. You can help me, Don John; you can take me into her presence, where I can have the opportunity to win her affection." "I guess not, Laud. Shall I tell you what she said to me this afternoon?" "Tell me all." "She said you were an impudent puppy, and she was sorry I invited you." "Did she say that?" asked Laud, looking up to the cold, pale moon. "She did; and I was obliged to tell her that I didn't invite you." "Perhaps I have been a fool," mused the lover. "There's no doubt of it. Nellie Patterdale dislikes, and even despises you. I have heard her say as much, in so many words. That ought to comfort you, and convince you that it is no use to fish any longer in those waters." "Possibly you are right; but it is only because she does not know me. If she only knew me better--" "She would dislike and despise you still more," said Donald, sharply. "If she only knew that you set the Maud afire, she would love you as a homeless dog likes the brickbats that are thrown at him." "You will not tell her that, Don John?" "I will not tell her, or any one else, if you behave yourself. Now I want to ask some more questions." "Go on, Don John." "Where did you get the money you paid for the Juno?" demanded Donald, with energy. "Where did I get it?" repeated Laud, evidently startled by the question, so vigorously put. "I told you where I got it." "Tell me again." "Captain Shivernock gave it to me." "What for?" "I can't tell you that." "Why not?" "Because it is a matter between the captain and me." "I don't care if it is. You said you would answer all my questions, if I would not prosecute." "Questions about the Maud," explained Laud. "I have told you the secret of my love--" "Hang the secret of your love!" exclaimed Donald, disgusted with that topic. "I meant all questions." "But I cannot betray the secrets of Captain Shivernock. My honor--" "Stick your honor up chimney!" interrupted Donald. "If you go back on the agreement, I shall take the fire before Squire Peters. The question I asked was, why Captain Shivernock gave you four or five hundred dollars?" "I wish I could answer you, Don John; but I do not feel at liberty to do so just now. I will see the captain, and perhaps I may honorably give you the information you seek." "You needn't mince the matter with me. I know all about it now; but I want it from you." "All about what?" asked Laud. "You needn't look green about it. Do you remember the Saturday when I told you the Juno was for sale?" "I do, very distinctly," answered Laud. "You were in the Juno at the time." "I was; we parted company, and you stood over towards the Northport shore." "Just so." "Over there you met Captain Shivernock." "I didn't say I did." "But I say you did," persisted Donald. "For some reason best known to himself, the captain did not want any one to know he was on Long Island that night." Laud listened with intense interest. "Do you know what his reason was, Don John?" "No, I don't. You saw his boat, and overhauled him near the shore." "Well?" "You overhauled him near the shore, and he gave you a pile of money not to say that you had seen him." "It is you who says all this, and not I," added Laud, with more spirit than he had before exhibited. "My honor is not touched." "I wish you wouldn't say anything more about your honor. It is like a mustard seed in a haymow, and I can't see it," snapped Donald. "You can see that I came honorably by the money." "Honestly by it; I am satisfied on that point," replied Donald. "If I had not been, I wouldn't have sold you the boat. You see I knew something of Captain Shivernock's movements about that time. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have believed that he gave it to you." "Then you must have seen the captain at the same time." "I didn't say I saw him," laughed Donald. "But the wind is breezing up, and we are half way over to Brigadier Island. Come about, Laud." The skipper acceded to the request, and headed the Juno for Belfast. CHAPTER XIV. CAPTAIN SHIVERNOCK'S JOKE. Donald considered himself shrewd, sharp, and smart, because he had induced Laud virtually to own that Captain Shivernock had given him the money to purchase his silence, but Donald was not half so shrewd, sharp, and smart as he thought he was. "Mr. Cavendish, it's no use for us to mince this matter," he continued, determined further to draw out his companion, and feeling happy now, he was very respectful to him. "Perhaps not, Don John." "It can do no harm for you and me to talk over this matter. You saw Captain Shivernock on that Saturday morning--didn't you?" "Of course, if I say I did, you will not let on about it--will you?" "Not if I can help it; for the fact is, I am in the same boat with you." "Then you saw the captain." "Of course I did." "But what was he doing down there, that made him so particular to keep shady about it?" "I haven't the least idea. It was the morning after Hasbrook was pounded to a jelly in his own house; but I am satisfied that the captain had nothing to do with it." "I am not so sure of that," added Laud. "I am. I went to the captain's house before he returned that day, and both Sykes and his wife told me he had left home at four o'clock that morning, and this was after the pounding was done. Besides, the captain was over on Long Island when I saw him. If he had done the deed, he would have got home before daylight, for the wind was fresh and fair. Instead of that, he was over at Turtle Head when I first saw him. The Juno got aground with him near Seal Harbor, which made him so mad he would not keep her any longer. He was mad because she wasn't a centre-boarder. I suppose after we parted he went over to the Lincolnville or Northport Shore, and hid till after dark in Spruce Harbor, Saturday Cove, or some such place. At any rate, I was at his house in the evening, when he came home." "The old fellow had been up to some trick, you may depend upon it," added Laud, sagely. "I came to the conclusion that his desire to keep dark was only a whim, for he is the strangest man that ever walked the earth." "That's so; but why should he give me such a pile if he hadn't been up to something?" "And me another pile," added Donald. "We can talk this thing over between ourselves, but not a word to any other person." "Certainly; I understand. I am paid for holding my tongue, and I intend to do so honorably." "So do I, until I learn that there is something wrong." "You have told me some things I did not know before, Don John," suggested Laud. "You knew that the captain was down by Long Island." "Yes, but I didn't know he was at Turtle Head; and I am satisfied now that he is the man that shook up Hasbrook that night," continued Laud, in meditative mood. "Are you? Then I will let the whole thing out," exclaimed Donald. "No, no! don't do that!" protested Laud. "That wouldn't be fair, at all." "I would not be a party to the concealment of such an outrage." "You don't understand it. Hasbrook is a regular swindler." "That is no reason why he should be pounded half to death in the middle of the night." "He borrowed a thousand dollars of Captain Shivernock a short time before the outrage. The captain told him he would lend him the money if Hasbrook would give him a good indorser on the paper. After the captain had parted with the money, he ascertained that the indorser was not worth a dollar. Hasbrook had told him the name was that of a rich farmer, and of course the captain was mad. He tried to get back his money, for he knew Hasbrook never paid anything if he could help it. Here is the motive for the outrage," reasoned Laud. "Why didn't he prosecute him for swindling? for that's what it was." "Captain Shivernock says he won't trouble any courts to fight his battles for him; he can fight them himself." "It was wrong to pound any man as Hasbrook was. Why, he wasn't able to go out of the house for a month," added Donald, who was clearly opposed to Lynch law. Donald was somewhat staggered in his belief by the evidence of his companion, but he determined to inquire further into the matter, and even hoped now that Hasbrook would call upon him. "One more question, Laud. Do you know where Captain Shivernock got the bills he paid you, and you paid me?" asked he. "Of course I don't. How should I know where the captain gets his money?" replied Laud, in rather shaky tones. "True; I didn't much think you would know." "What odds does it make where he got the bills?" asked Laud, faintly. "It makes a heap of odds." "I don't see why." "I'll tell you why. I paid three of those bills to Mr. Leach to-night for the Maud's suit of sails. One of them was a mended bill." "Yes, I remember that one, for I noticed it after the captain gave me the money," added Laud. "Mr. Leach paid that bill to Captain Patterdale." "To Captain Patterdale!" exclaimed Laud, springing to his feet. "What odds does it make to you whom he paid it to?" asked Donald, astonished at this sudden demonstration. "None at all," replied Laud, recovering his self-possession. "What made you jump so, then?" "A mosquito bit me," laughed Laud. But it was a graveyard laugh. "Leach paid the bill to Captain Patterdale--you say?" "Yes, and Captain Patterdale says there is something wrong about the bill," continued Donald, who was far from satisfied with the explanation of his companion. "What was the matter? Wasn't the bill good?" inquired Laud. "Yes, the bill was good; but something was wrong, he didn't tell me what." "That was an odd way to leave it. Why didn't he tell you what was wrong?" "I don't know. I suppose he knows what he is about, but I don't." "I should like to know what was wrong about this bill. It has passed through my hands, and it may affect my honor in some way," mused Laud. "You had better have your honor insured, for it will get burned up one of these days," added Donald, as he rose from his seat, and hauled in his skiff, which was towing astern. He stepped into the boat, and tossed Laud's basket to him. "Here is your basket, Laud," added he. "It was my evidence against you; and next time, when you want to burn a yacht, don't leave it on her deck." "You will keep shady--won't you, Don John?" he pleaded. "That will depend upon what you say and do," answered Donald, as he shoved off, and sculled to the wharf where the Maud lay, to assure himself that she was in no danger. He was not quite satisfied to trust her alone all night, and he decided to sleep in her cabin. He went to the house, and told Barbara he was afraid some accident might happen to the yacht, and with the lantern and some bed-clothes, he returned to her. He swept up the half-burned shavings, and threw them overboard. There was not a vestige of the fire left, and he swabbed up the water with a sponge. Making his bed on the transom, he lay down to think over the events of the evening. He went to sleep after a while, and we will leave him in this oblivious condition while we follow Laud Cavendish, who, it cannot be denied, was in a most unhappy frame of mind. He ran the Juno up to her moorings, and after he had secured her sail, and locked up the cabin door, he went on shore. Undoubtedly he had done an immense amount of heavy thinking within the last two hours, and as he was not overstocked with brains, it wore upon him. It was nearly ten o'clock in the evening, but late as it was, Laud walked directly to the house of Captain Shivernock. There was a light in the strange man's library, or office, and another in the dining-room, where the housekeeper usually sat, which indicated that the family had not retired. Laud walked up to the side door, and rang the bell, which was promptly answered by Mrs. Sykes. "Is Captain Shivernock at home?" asked the late visitor. "He is; but he don't see anybody so late as this," replied the housekeeper. "I wish to speak to him on very important business, and it is absolutely necessary that I should see him to-night," persisted Laud. "I will tell him." Mrs. Sykes did tell him, and the strange man swore he would not see any one, not even his grandmother, come down from heaven. She reported this answer in substance to Laud. "I wish to see him on a matter in which he is deeply concerned," said the troubled visitor. "Tell him, if you please, in regard to the Hasbrook affair." Perhaps Mrs. Sykes knew something about the Hasbrook affair herself, for she promptly consented to make this second application for the admission of the stranger, for such he was to her. She returned in a few moments with an invitation to enter, and so it appeared that there was some power in the "Hasbrook affair." Laud was conducted to the library,--as the retired shipmaster chose to call the apartment, though there were not a dozen books in it,--where the captain sat in a large rocking-chair, with his feet on the table. "Who are you?" demanded the strange man; and we are obliged to modify his phraseology in order to make it admissible to our pages. "Mr. Laud Cavendish, at your service," replied he, politely. "_Mister_ Laud Cavendish!" repeated the captain, with a palpable sneer; "you are the swell that used to drive the grocery wagon." "I was formerly employed at Miller's store, but I am not there now." "Well, what do you want here?" "I wish to see you, sir." "You do see me--don't you?" growled the eccentric. "What's your business?" "On the morning after the Hasbrook outrage, Captain Shivernock, you were seen at Seal Harbor," said Laud. "Who says I was?" roared the captain, springing to his feet. "I beg your pardon sir; but I say so," answered Laud, apparently unmoved by the violence of his auditor. "You were in the boat formerly owned by Mr. Ramsay, and you ran over towards the Northport shore." "Did you see me?" "I did," replied Laud. "And you have come to levy black-mail upon me," added the captain, with a withering stare at his visitor. "Nothing of the sort, sir. I claim to be a gentleman." "O, you do!" Captain Shivernock laughed heartily. "I do, sir. I am not capable of anything derogatory to the character of a gentleman." "Bugs and brickbats!" roared the strange man, with another outburst of laughter. "You are a gentleman! That's good! And you won't do anything derogatory to the character of a gentleman. That's good, too!" "I trust I have the instincts of a gentleman," added Laud, smoothing down his jet mustache. "I trust you have; but what do you want of me, if you have the instincts of a gentleman, and don't bleed men with money when you think you have them on the hip?" "If you will honor me with your attention a few moments, I will inform you what I want of you." "Good again!" chuckled the captain. "I will honor you with my attention. You have got cheek enough to fit out a life insurance agency." "I am not the only one who saw you that Saturday morning," said Laud. "Who else saw me?" "Don John." "How do you know he did?" "He told mo so." "The young hypocrite!" exclaimed the strange man, with an oath. "I made it a rule years ago never to trust a man or a boy who has much to do with churches and Sunday Schools. The little snivelling puppy! And he has gone back on me." "It is only necessary for me to state facts," answered Laud. "You can form your own conclusions, without any help from me." "Perhaps I can," added Captain Shivernock, who seemed to be in an unusual humor on this occasion, for the pretentious manners of his visitor appeared to amuse rather than irritate him. "Again, sir, Jacob Hasbrook, of Lincolnville, believes you are the man who pounded him to a jelly that night," continued Laud. "Does he?" laughed the captain. "Well, that is a good joke; but I want to say that I respect the man who did it, whoever he is." "Self-respect is a gentlemanly quality. The man who don't respect himself will not be respected by others," said Laud, stroking his chin. "Eh?" Laud confidently repeated the proposition. "You respect yourself, and of course you respect the man that pounded Hasbrook," he added. "Do you mean to say I flogged Hasbrook?" demanded the strange man, doubling his fist, and shaking it savagely in Laud's face. "It isn't for me to say that you did, for you know better than I do; but you will pardon me if I say that the evidence points in this direction. Hasbrook has been over to Belfast several times to work up his case. The last time I saw him he was looking for Don John, who, I am afraid, is rather leaky." In spite of his bluff manners, Laud saw that the captain was not a little startled by the information just imparted. "The miserable little psalm-singer," growled the strange man, walking the room, muttering to himself. "If he disobeys my orders, I'll thrash him worse than--Hasbrook was thrashed." "It is unpleasant to be suspected of a crime, and revolting to the instincts of a gentleman," added Laud. "Do you mean to say that I am suspected of a crime, you long-eared puppy?" yelled the captain. "I beg your pardon, Captain Shivernock, but it isn't agreeable to a gentleman to be called by such opprobrious names," said Laud, rising from his chair, and taking his round-top hat from the table. "I am willing to leave you, but not to be insulted." Laud looked like the very impersonation of dignity itself, as he walked towards the door. "Stop!" yelled the captain. "I do not know that any one but Hasbrook suspects you of a crime," Laud explained. "I'm glad he does suspect me," added the strange man, more gently. "Whoever did that job served him just right, and I envy the man that did it." "Still, it is unpleasant to be suspected of a crime." "It wasn't a crime." "People call it so; but I sympathize with you, for like you I am suspected of a crime, of which, like yourself, I am innocent." "Are you, indeed? And what may your crime be, Mr. Cavendish?" "It is in this connection that I wish to state my particular business with you." "Go on and state it, and don't be all night about it." "I may add that I also came to warn you against the movements of Hasbrook. I will begin at the beginning." "Begin, then; and don't go round Cape Horn in doing it," snarled the captain. "I will, sir. Captain Patterdale--" "Another miserable psalm-singer. Is he in the scrape?" "He is, sir. He has lost a tin box, which contained nearly fourteen hundred dollars in cash, besides many valuable papers." "I'm glad of it; and I hope he never will find it," was the kindly expression of the eccentric nabob for the Christian nabob. "Was the box lost or stolen?" "Stolen, sir." "So much the better. I hope the thief will never be discovered." Laud did not say how he happened to know that the tin box had been stolen, for Captain Patterdale, the deputy sheriff, and Nellie were supposed to be the only persons who had any knowledge of the fact. "It appears that in this tin box there was a certain fifty-dollar bill, which had been torn into four parts, and mended by pasting two strips of paper upon it, one extending from right to left, and the other from top to bottom, on the back." "Eh?" interposed the wicked nabob. "Wait a minute." The captain opened an iron safe in the room, and from a drawer took out a handful of bank bills. From these he selected three, and tossed them on the table. "Like those?" he inquired, with interest. "Exactly like them," replied Laud, astonished to find that each was the counterpart of the one he had paid Donald for the Juno, and had the "white cross of Denmark" upon it. "Do you know how those bills happened to be in that condition, Mr. Cavendish?" chuckled the captain. "Of course I do not, sir." "I'll tell you, my gay buffer. I have got a weak, soft place somewhere in my gizzard; I don't know where; if I did, I'd cut it out. About three months ago, just after I brought from Portland one hundred of these new fifty-dollar bills, there was a great cry here for money for some missionary concern. I read something in the newspaper, at this time, about what some of the missionaries had done for a lot of sailors who had been cast away on the South Sea Islands. I thought more of the psalm-singers than ever before, and I was tempted to do something for them. Well, I actually wrote to some parson here who was howling for money, and stuck four of those bills between the leaves. I think it is very likely I should have sent them to the parson, if I hadn't been called out of the room. I threw the note, with the bills in it, on the table, and went out to see a pair of horses a jockey had driven into the yard for me to look at. When I came back and glanced at the note, I thought what a fool I had been, to think of giving money to those canting psalm-singers. I was mad with myself for my folly, and I tore the note into four pieces before I thought that the bills were in it. But Mrs. Sykes mended them as you see. Go on with your yarn, my buffer." "That bill I paid to Don John for the Juno," continued Laud. "He paid it to Mr. Leach, the sail-maker, who paid it to Captain Patterdale, and he says it was one of the bills in the tin chest when it was stolen. Don John says he had it from me." "Precisely so; and that is what makes it unpleasant to be suspected of a crime," laughed Captain Shivernock. "But you don't state where you got the bill, Mr. Cavendish. Perhaps you don't wish to tell." "I shall tell the whole story with the greatest pleasure," added Laud. "I was sailing one day down by Haddock Ledge, when I saw a man tumble overboard from a boat moored where he had been fishing. He was staving drunk, and went forward, as I thought, to get up his anchor. The boat rolled in the sea, and over he went. I got him out. The cold water sobered him in a measure, and he was very grateful to me. He went to his coat, which he did not wear when he fell, and took from his pocket a roll of bills. He counted off ten fifties, and gave them to me. Feeling sure that I had saved his life, I did not think five hundred dollars was any too much to pay for it, and I took the money. I don't think he would have given me so much if he hadn't been drunk. I asked him who he was, but he would not tell me, saying he didn't want his friends in Boston to know he had been over the bay, and in the bay; but he said he had been staying in Belfast a couple of days." "Good story!" laughed the wicked nabob. "Every word of it is as true as preaching," protested Laud. "Just about," added the captain, who hadn't much confidence in preaching. "You can see, Captain Shivernock, that I am in an awkward position," added Laud. "I have no doubt the man I saved was the one who stole the tin box. He paid me with the stolen bills." "It is awkward, as you say," chuckled the strange man. "I suppose you wouldn't know the fellow you saved if you saw him." "O, yes, I think I should," exclaimed Laud. "But suppose, when Captain Patterdale comes to me to inquire where I got the marked bill, I should tell him this story. He wouldn't believe a word of it." "He would be a fool if he did," exclaimed Captain Shivernock, with a coarse grin. "Therefore, my gay buffer, don't tell it to him." "But I must tell him where I got the bill," pleaded Laud. "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the eccentric, shaking his sides as though they were agitated by a young earthquake. "Tell him I gave you the bill!" The captain seemed to be intensely amused at the novel idea; and Laud did not object; on the contrary, he seemed to appreciate the joke. It was midnight when he left the house, and went to the Juno to sleep in her cabin. If he had gone home earlier in the evening, he might have seen Captain Patterdale, who did him the honor to make a late call upon him. CHAPTER XV. LAUD CAVENDISH TAKES CARE OF HIMSELF. Donald did not sleep very well in the cabin of the Maud, not only because his bed was very hard and uncomfortable, but because he was troubled; and before morning he fully realized the truth of the saying, in regard to certain persons, that "they choose darkness, because their deeds are evil." He wished he had not consented to keep the secret of either Captain Shivernock or Laud Cavendish, and was afraid he had compromised himself by his silence. When he turned out in the morning, he believed he had hardly slept a wink all night, though he had actually slumbered over six hours; but a person who lies awake in the darkness, especially if his thoughts are troublesome, lengthens minutes into hours. But Donald welcomed the morning light when he awoke, and the bright sun which streamed through the trunk ports. He went to the shop, and for two hours before his men arrived worked on the tender of the Maud. The mast of the yacht was stepped during the forenoon, and after dinner the rigger came to do his part of the work. Samuel Rodman was now so much interested in the progress of the labor on the new yacht, that he spent nearly all his time on board of her. The top mast, gaff, and boom were all ready to go into their places, and the Maud looked as though she was nearly completed. All the members of the Yacht Club were impatient for her to be finished, for the next regatta had been postponed a week, so that the Maud could take part in the affair; and the club were to go on a cruise for ten days, after the race. There was no little excitement in the club in relation to the Maud. Donald had confidently asserted his belief, weeks before, that she would outsail the Skylark, not as a mere boast, but as a matter of business. His father had made an improvement upon the model of the Sea Foam, which he was reasonably certain would give her the advantage. The young boat-builder had also remedied a slight defect in the arrangement of the centre-board in the Maud, had added a little to the size of the jib and mainsail, and he hoped these alterations would tell in favor of the new craft, while they would not take anything from her stiffness in heavy weather. "I believe the old folks are as much interested in the next race as the members of the club, Don John," said Rodman, one day, as he came upon the wharf. "I am glad they are," replied Donald, laughing. "It will make business good for Ramsay & Son." "Half a dozen of them are going to make up a first prize of one hundred dollars for the regatta; so that the winner of the race will make a good thing by it," added Rodman. "That will be a handsome prize." "If the Maud takes it, Don John, the money shall be yours, as you are to sail her." "O, no!" exclaimed Donald. "I don't believe in that. The prize will belong to the boat." "If you win the race in the Maud, I shall be satisfied with the glory, without any of the spoils." "Well, we won't quarrel about it now, for she may not win the first prize." "Well, the same gentlemen will give a second prize of fifty dollars," continued Rodman. "But don't you expect to get the first prize, Don John?" "I do; but to expect is not always to win, you know." "You have always talked as though you felt pretty sure of coming in first," said Rodman, who did not like to see any abatement of confidence on the part of the boat-builder. "It is the easiest thing in the world to be mistaken, Sam. If the Maud loses the first prize, I may as well shut up shop, and take a situation in a grocery store, for my business would be ruined." "Not quite so bad as that, I hope," added Rodman. "Mr. Norwood is waiting to see how she sails, before he orders a yacht for Frank. Can't you invite Frank and his father to sail with us in the race?" "Certainly, if you desire it, Don John," replied Rodman. "Mr. Norwood is a big man, and he will be a capital live weight for us, if it happens to blow fresh." "I hope it will blow; if it don't, the Christabel is sure of the first prize. I want just such a day as we had when the Sea Foam cleaned out the Skylark." "That was a little too much of a good thing. You came pretty near taking the mast out of the Sea Foam that day." "Not at all; our masts don't come out so easily as that, though I think the mast of the Sea Foam would snap before she would capsize." "I like that in a boat; it is a good thing to have a craft that will stay right side up. The fellows have got another idea, Don John." "Well, ideas are good things to have. What is it now?" asked Donald. "They are going to build a club-house over on Turtle Head." "On Turtle Head! Why don't they have it down on Manhegan?" which is an island ten miles from the coast of Maine. "It will be only a shanty, where the fellows can have a good time, and get up chowders. They talk of hiring a hall in the city, and having meetings for mutual improvement during the fall and winter." "That will be a capital idea." "We can have a library of books on nautical and other subjects, take the newspapers and magazines, and hang up pictures of yachts and other vessels on the walls. I hope, when you get the Maud done, you will not be so busy, Don John, for you don't attend many of our club meetings." "I hope to be busier than ever. You see, Sam, I can't afford to run with you rich fellows. I don't wear kid gloves," laughed Donald. "No matter if you don't; you are just as good a fellow as any of them." "Everybody uses me first rate; as well as though my father had been a nabob." "Well, they ought to; for it is brains, not money, that makes the man. We want to see more of you in the club. You must go with us on our long cruise." "I am afraid I can't spare the time. Ten days is a good while; but it will depend upon whether I get the job to build Mr. Norwood's yacht." Donald would gladly have spent more time with the club, but his conscience would not permit him to neglect his business. He felt that his success depended entirely upon his own industry and diligence; and he never left his work, except when the occasion fully justified him in doing so. He attended all the regattas as a matter of business, as well as of pleasure; and he had seen the Sea Foam beaten twice by the Skylark since he won the memorable race in the former. Edward Patterdale was fully satisfied, now, that a skilful boatman was as necessary as a fast boat, in order to win the honors of the club, and he wished Donald to "coach" him, until he obtained the skill to compete with the commodore. Donald had promised to do it, as soon as he had time, and the owner of the Sea Foam hoped the opportunity would be afforded during the long cruise. The work on the Maud was hurried forward as rapidly as was consistent with thoroughness, and in a few days she was ready for the last coats of paint. The boat-builder was favored with good, dry weather, and on the day before the great regatta, she was ready to receive her furniture and stores. The paint was dry and hard; but when the stove-dealer came with the little galley for the cook-room, the deck was carefully covered with old cloths, the cushions were placed on the transoms, the oil-cloth carpet was laid on the floor by Kennedy, who was experienced in this kind of work, and Samuel Rodman was as busy as a bee arranging the crockery ware and stores which he had purchased. It only remained to bend on the sails, which was accomplished early in the afternoon. With Mr. Rodman, Samuel, and the two workmen on board, Donald made a trial trip in the new craft. The party went down the bay as far as Seal Harbor; but the wind was rather light for her, and she had no opportunity to show her sailing qualities, though with her gaff-topsail and the balloon-jib, she walked by everything afloat that day. "I am entirely satisfied with her, Don John," said Mr. Rodman, as the Maud approached the city on her return. "I think she will sail well." "I hope she will, sir," replied Donald. "To-morrow will prove what there is in her." "She is well built and handsomely finished, and whether she wins the race or not I shall be satisfied. I never looked upon a handsomer yacht in my life. You have done your work admirably, Don John." "Mr. Kennedy did the joiner work," said Donald, willing to have his foreman, as he called him, share the honors of the day. "He did it well." "I only did just what my boss ordered me to do," laughed Kennedy; "and I want to say, that I didn't do the first thing towards planning any part of her. Don John hasn't often asked for any advice from me. He is entitled to all the credit." "I have no doubt you did all you could to make the job a success," added Mr. Rodman. "I did; and so did Walker," said Kennedy, indicating the other ship carpenter. "Both of us did our very best, never idling a moment, or making a bad joint; and I can say, there isn't a better built craft in the United States than this yacht. Not a knot or a speck of rot has been put into her. Everything has been done upon honor, and she will be stiff enough to cross the Atlantic in mid-winter. I'd rather be in her than in many a ship I've worked on." "I'm glad to know all this," replied Mr. Rodman. "Now, Don John, if the firm of Ramsay & Son is ready to deliver the Maud, I will give you a check for the balance due on her." Donald was all ready, and after the yacht had been moored off the wharf where she had been completed, the business was transacted in the shop. A bill of sale was given, and the boat-builder received a check for four hundred dollars, which he carried into the house and showed to his mother. Of course the good lady was delighted with the success of her son, and Barbara laughed till she shook her curls into a fearful snarl. "You have done well, Donald," said Mrs. Ramsay. "I thank God that you have been so successful." "I have paid nearly all my bills, and I shall make about two hundred and fifty dollars on the job," added the young boat-builder. "I think I can build the next one for less money." "You may not get another one to build, my son." "That depends upon the race to-morrow. If I beat the Skylark, I'm sure of one." "Don't be too confident." "I am to sail the Maud to-morrow, and if there is any speed in her, as I think there is, I shall get it out of her. To-morrow will be a big day for me; but if I lose the race, the firm of Ramsay & Son is used up." Donald put the check in his wallet, and went out to the shop again, where he found Samuel Rodman looking for him. The owner of the Maud was so delighted with the craft, that he could not keep away from her, and he wanted to go on board again. "Bob Montague is going to give you a hard pull to-morrow, Don John," said Rodman, as they got into the tender. "I hope he will do his best; and the harder the pull, the better," replied Donald. "If we only beat him," suggested Rodman. "I expect to beat him; but I may be mistaken." "Bob hauled up the Skylark on the beach this afternoon, and rubbed her bottom with black lead." "I am glad to hear it." "Glad? Why?" "It proves that he means business." "Of course he means business." "I wonder if he knows I am to build a yacht for Mr. Norwood, in case I win this race." "I don't believe he does. I never heard of it till you told me." "He is such a splendid fellow, that I was afraid he would _let_ me beat him, if he knew I was to make anything by it." "I think it very likely he would." "But I want to beat the Skylark fairly, or not at all." "There comes Laud Cavendish," said Rodman, as the Juno came up the bay, and bore down upon the Maud. "He was blackballed in the club the other day, and he don't feel good. Let's go ashore again, and wait till he sheers off, for I don't want to see him. He will be sure to go on board of the yacht if we are there, for he is always poking his nose in where he is not wanted." Donald, who was at the oars, pulled back to the shore. The Juno ran close up to the Maud, tacked, and stood up the bay. "He is gone," said Rodman. "I don't want him asking me why he was blackballed. He is an intolerable spoony." "Don John!" called some one, as he was shoving off the tender. Donald looked up, and saw Mr. Beardsley, the deputy sheriff, who had been working up the tin box case with Captain Patterdale. "I want to see you," added the officer. Donald wondered if Mr. Beardsley wanted to see him officially; but he was thankful that he was able to look even a deputy sheriff square in the face. He jumped out of the tender, and Rodman went off to the yacht alone. We are somewhat better informed than the young boat-builder in regard to the visit of the sheriff, and we happen to know that he did come officially; and in order to explain why it was so, it is necessary to go back to the point where we left Mr. Laud Cavendish. He slept in the cabin of the Juno after he left the house of Captain Shivernock. He did not sleep any better than Donald Ramsay that night; and the long surges rolled in by the paddle-wheels of the steamer Richmond, as she came into the harbor early the next morning, awoke him. The first thing he thought of was his visit to the house of the strange man; the next was his breakfast, and he decided to go on shore, and get the meal at a restaurant. The Juno was moored near the steamboat wharf, where the Portland boat made her landings. This was a convenient place for him to disembark, and he pulled in his tender to the pier. As he approached the landing steps, he saw Captain Shivernock hastening down the wharf with a valise in his hand. It was evident that he was going up the river, perhaps to Bangor. Laud did not like the idea of the captain's going away just at that time. Donald had told Captain Patterdale that the mended bill came from him, and of course the owner of the tin box would immediately come to him for further information. "Then, if I tell him Captain Shivernock gave it to me, he will want to see him; and he won't be here to be seen," reasoned Laud. "I can't explain why the captain gave me the money, and in his absence I shall be in a bad fix. I must take care of myself." Laud went to the restaurant, and ate his breakfast; after which he returned to the Juno. He took care of himself by getting under way, and standing over towards Castine, where he dined that day. Then he continued his voyage down the bay, through Edgemoggin Reach to Mount Desert, where he staid several days, living upon "the fat of the land" and the fish of the sea, which go well together. When he was confident that Captain Shivernock had returned, he sailed for Belfast, and arrived after a two days' voyage. The strange man had not come back, and Laud thought it very singular that he had not. Then he began to wonder why the captain had laughed so unreasonably long and loud when he told him to say that he had given him the mended bill. Laud could not see the joke at the time; but now he concluded that the laugh came in because he was going away on a long journey, and would not be in town to answer any questions which Captain Patterdale might propose. Mr. Cavendish was disturbed, and felt that he was a victim of a practical joke, and he determined to get out of the way again. Unfortunately for him, he had shown himself in the city, and before he could leave he was interviewed by Captain Patterdale and Mr. Beardsley. The white cross of Denmark was pleasantly alluded to again by the former, and exhibited to Laud. Did he know that bill? Had he ever seen it before? He did not know it; had never seen it. It was no use to say, in the absence of that gentleman, that Captain Shivernock had given him the bill. It would be equally foolish to tell the Haddock Ledge story in the absence of the generous stranger, who had declined to give his name, though he was kind enough to say that he had spent a few days in Belfast. Since neither of these fictions was available in the present emergency, Laud "went back" on Donald Ramsay. He did not love the boat-builder, and so it was not a sacrifice of personal feeling for him to do it. On the contrary, he would rather like to get his "rival," as he chose to regard him, out of the way. "But you paid him a considerable sum of money some two months ago," suggested Captain Patterdale. "Not a red!" protested Laud. "I never paid him any money in my life." "You bought the Juno of him." "No, sir; nor of any one else. She don't belong to me." "But you are using her all the time." "Captain Shivernock got tired of her, and lets me have the use of her for taking care of her." "Didn't you say you owned her, and that you were going to change her name from Juno to Nellie?" demanded the captain, sternly. "I did; but that was all gas," replied Laud, with a sickly grin. "If you would lie about one thing, perhaps you would about another," said the captain. "I was only joking when I said I owned the Juno. If you will go up to Captain Shivernock's house, he will tell you all about it." That was a plain way to solve the problem, and they went to the strange man's house. Laud knew the captain was not at home; but his persecutors gave him the credit of suggesting this step. Sykes and his wife were at home. They did not know whether or not Captain Shivernock had given Laud the use of the Juno, but presumed he had, for the young man was in the house with him half the night, about ten days before. Thus far everything looked well for Laud; and the Sykeses partially confirmed his statements. "Now, Captain Patterdale, I have answered all your questions, and I wish you would answer mine. What's the matter?" said Laud, putting on his boldest face. "Never mind what the matter is." "Well, I know as well as you do. I used to think Don John was a good fellow, and liked him first rate. I didn't think he would be mean, enough to shove his own guilt upon me," replied Laud. "What do you mean by that?" demanded Captain Patterdale. "Though I knew about it all the time, I didn't mean to say a word." "About what?" [Illustration: THE PAPERS FROM THE TIN BOX. Page 281.] "About your tin trunk. We didn't keep any such in our store! I knew what you meant all the time; but I didn't let on that Don John had done it." "Done what?" "Stolen it. That day I was in the library with Don John and Hasbrook, I was discharged from Miller's, because I wanted to go away to stay over Sunday. I had a boat down by Ramsay's shop, and I went there to get off. Well, captain, I saw Don John have the same tin trunk I saw in your library." "Are you telling the truth?" "Of course I am. I wouldn't go back on Don John if he hadn't tried to lay it to me. If you search his house and shop, I'll bet you'll find the tin trunk, or some of the money and papers." Captain Patterdale was intensely grieved, even to believe Laud's statement was possibly true; but he decided to have the boat-builder's premises searched before he proceeded any further against Laud. Mr. Beardsley was to do this unpleasant duty, and for this purpose he called on Donald the night before the great race. The deputy sheriff did his work thoroughly, in spite of the confidence of Donald and the distress of his mother and sister. Perhaps he would not have discovered the four fifty-dollar bills concealed in the bureau if Donald had not assisted him; but he had no help in finding a lot of notes and other papers hidden under a sill in the shop. The boat-builder protested that he knew nothing about these papers, and had never seen them before in his life. Mrs. Ramsay and Barbara wept as though their hearts would break; but Donald was led away by the sheriff. That night Captain Shivernock returned by the train from Portland. CHAPTER XVI. SATURDAY COVE. Mr. Beardsley, the deputy sheriff, conducted Donald to the elegant mansion of Captain Patterdale. Perhaps no one who saw them walking together suspected that the boat-builder was charged with so gross a crime as stealing the tin box and its valuable contents. Some persons do not like to walk through the streets with sheriffs and policemen; but Donald was not of that sort, for in spite of all the evidence brought against him, he obstinately refused to believe that he was guilty. Even the fact that several notes and other papers had been found in the shop did not impair his belief in his own innocence. Captain Patterdale was in his library nervously awaiting the return of the officer, when they arrived. "Don John, I hope you will come out of this all right," said he, as they entered. "I have no doubt I shall, sir," replied Donald. "If I don't, it will be because I can't prove what is the truth." Mr. Beardsley reported the result of the search, and handed the captain the four fifty-dollar bills with the papers. "I have no doubt all these were in the tin box," said the nabob, sadly. "The bills are like those paid me by Hasbrook, and these notes are certainly mine. I don't ask you to commit yourself, Don John, but--" "Commit myself!" exclaimed Donald, with a look of contempt, which, in this connection, was sublime. "I mean to speak the truth, whether I am committed or not." "Perhaps you will be able to clear this thing up," added Captain Patterdale. "I wish to ask you a few questions." "I will answer them truly. The only wrong I have done was to conceal what I thought there was no harm in concealing." "It is not wise to do things in the dark." "You will excuse me, sir, but you have done the same thing. If I had known that your tin box was stolen, I should have understood several things which are plain to me now." "What, for instance?" "If I had known it, I should have brought these bills to you as soon as Laud paid them to me, to see if they belonged to you. And I should have known why Laud was digging clams on Turtle Head." "Laud says he paid you no money." "He paid me three hundred and fifty dollars for the Juno--these four bills and the three I paid Mr. Leach." "He persists that he don't own the Juno, and says that Captain Shivernock lets him have the use of her for taking care of her," continued the nabob. Donald's face, which had thus far been clouded with anxiety, suddenly lighted up with a cheerful smile, as he produced the cover of an old tuck-diary, which contained the papers of Ramsay & Son. He opened it, and took therefrom the bill of sale of the Juno, in the well-known writing of Captain Shivernock. "Does that prove anything?" he asked, as he tossed the paper on the desk, within reach of the inquisitor. "It proves that Captain Shivernock sold the Juno to you, and consequently he has not owned her since the date of this bill," replied the nabob, as he read the paper. "Is it likely, then, that Captain Shivernock lets Laud have the use of her for taking care of her?" demanded Donald, warmly. "Certainly not." "Is it any more likely that, if I own the Juno, I should let Laud use her for nothing, for he says he never paid me a dollar?" "I don't think it is." "Then you can believe as much as you please of the rest of Laud's story, which Mr. Beardsley related to me as we walked up," added Donald. "He says he saw you have the tin box, Don John." "And I saw him digging clams in the loam on Turtle Head." "What do you mean by that?" "I think he buried the tin box there. I saw where he had been digging, but I didn't know any tin box had been stolen then, and thought nothing of it," answered Donald. At this moment there was a tremendous ring at the door bell, a ring that evidently "meant business." Captain Patterdale opened the door himself, and Captain Shivernock stalked into the room as haughtily as though he owned the elegant mansion. He had been to Newport and Cape May to keep cool, and had arrived a couple of hours before from Portland. Mrs. Sykes had told him all the news she could in this time, and among other things informed him that Captain Patterdale and the deputy sheriff had called to inquire whether Laud had the use of the boat for taking care of her. By this he knew that the tin trunk matter was under investigation. He was interested, and possibly he was alarmed; at any rate, he went to his safe, put the roll of fifty-dollar bills in his pocket, and hastened over to Captain Patterdale's house. "When people come to my house, and I'm not at home, I don't like to have them talk to my servants about my affairs," blustered the strange man. "I don't think we meddled with your affairs any further than to ask if Laud Cavendish had the use of the Juno for taking care of her," explained Captain Patterdale. "It don't concern you. Laud Cavendish does have the use of the Juno for taking care of her." "Indeed!" exclaimed the good nabob, glancing at Donald. "Indeed!" sneered the wicked nabob. "You needn't _indeed_ anything I say. I can speak the truth better than you psalm-singers." "I am very glad you can, Captain Shivernock, for that is what we are in need of just now," laughed the good nabob. "And since we have meddled with your affairs in your absence, it is no more than right that we should explain the reason for doing so. A tin box, containing nearly fourteen hundred dollars in bills, and many valuable papers, was stolen from this room. Three persons, Jacob Hasbrook, Laud Cavendish, and Don John here, passed through the library when they left the house." "Hasbrook stole it; he is the biggest scoundrel of the three," added the wicked nabob. "Perhaps not," continued the good nabob. "A bill which I can identify came back to me the other day. Don John paid it to Mr. Leach, and he to me. Don John says Laud Cavendish paid him the bill." "And so he did," protested Donald, as the captain glanced at him. "And I gave it to Laud Cavendish," added Captain Shivernock; thus carrying out the programme which had been agreed upon the night before he went on his journey. Possibly, if Mr. Laud Cavendish had known that the wicked nabob had returned, he would have hastened to see him, and inform him of the change he had made in the programme. If he had done so, their stories might have agreed better. Captain Patterdale, Mr. Beardsley, and Donald were astonished at this admission. "For what did you pay it to him?" asked the good nabob. "None of your business what I paid it to him for. That's my affair," bluffed the wicked nabob. "But this bill was in the box." "But how do you know it was? I suppose you will say next that I stole the box." "I hope you will assist me in tracing out this matter," said the good nabob, as he produced the mended bill. "This is the one; I call it the white cross of Denmark." Captain Shivernock picked up the bill, and took from his pocket his own roll of fifties. "You must admit that the bill is peculiar enough to be easily identified," added Captain Patter dale. "I don't admit it," said the strange man, as he threw the four mended bills together on the desk. "Now, which is it?" The wicked nabob laughed and roared in his delight when he saw the confusion of the good nabob. "They are very like," said the good. "But three of them are mine, and haven't been out of my hands since the 'white cross of Denmark' was put upon them," added the wicked, still shaking his sides with mirth. "Still I can identify the one that was in the box. That is it;" and Captain Patterdale held up the right one. "This has been folded, while yours have simply been rolled, and have not a crease in them. Hasbrook paid me the money that was stolen." "The villain swindled it out of me," growled the wicked. "But he folded his money, however he got it," continued the good. "I can bring you a dozen bills with the white cross on them," blustered the wicked, "and all of them folded like that one." "Can you tell where you got it, captain?" "From the bank," replied he, promptly; and then more to have his hit at the missionaries than to explain the white cross, he told how the bills were torn. "That's all I have to say," he added; and he stalked out of the house, in spite of the host's request for him to remain, without giving a word or even a look to Donald. "I am astonished," said Captain Patterdale. "Can it be possible that he paid that bill to Laud?" Perhaps this was the joke of the strange man--simply to confuse and confound a "psalm-singer." "It looks as though we had lost the clew," said the deputy sheriff. "At any rate, Don John's story is confirmed." "Why should the captain give Laud so much money?" mused the nabob. "I know," said Donald. "I told you, in the first place, that I knew where Laud got the money to pay for the Juno; but it was a great secret affecting another person, and he wished me not to tell." "I remember that, Don John," added the captain. "He told me that Captain Shivernock gave him the money; but he would not tell me why he gave it to him; but I knew without any telling, for the captain gave me sixty dollars, besides the Juno, for holding my tongue." "About what?" asked the nabob, deeply interested in the narrative. "I don't understand the matter myself; but I will state all the facts, though Captain Shivernock threatened to kill me if I did so. On the morning after the Hasbrook outrage, while I was waiting on Turtle Head for the Yacht Club to arrive, the captain came to the Head, saying he had walked over from Seal Harbor, where he had got aground in his boat. I sailed him down, and on the way he gave me the money. Then he said I was not to mention the fact that I had seen him on Long Island, or anywhere else. I didn't make any promises, and told him I wouldn't lie about it. Then he gave me the Juno, and took my boat, which he returned that night. After I went up in the Juno, I met Laud, and offered to sell him the boat. When we parted, he stood over towards the Northport shore, where Captain Shivernock had gone, and I thought they would meet; but I lost sight of them." "Then you think the captain paid Laud the money when they met." "That was what I supposed when Laud paid me for the boat. I believed it was all right. I had a talk with Laud afterwards about it, and I told him how he got the money. He did not deny what I said." "This was the morning after the Hasbrook outrage--was it?" asked Mr. Beardsley. "Yes, it was; but I knew nothing about that till night." "We can easily understand why the captain did not want to be seen near Lincolnville," added the sheriff. "It was he who pounded Hasbrook for swindling him." "No, sir; I think not," interposed Donald. "I inquired into that matter myself. Mr. Sykes and his wife both told me, before the captain got home, that he left his house at four o'clock in the morning." "I am afraid they were instructed to say that," said the nabob. "They shall have a chance to say it in court under oath," added the officer; "for I will arrest the captain to-morrow for the outrage. I traced the steps of a man over to Saturday Cove, in Northport, and that is where he landed." "Was it the print of the captain's boot?" asked the nabob. "No; but I have a theory which I shall work up to-morrow. Don John's evidence is the first I have obtained, that amounts to anything." "If he pounded Hasbrook, why should he run over to Seal Harbor, when he had a fair wind to come up?" asked Donald. "To deceive you, as it seems he has," laughed Mr. Beardsley. "Probably getting aground deranged his plans." "But he ran over to Northport after we parted." "Because it was a better place to conceal himself during the day. Sykes says he went down to Vinal Haven that day. I know he did not. Now, Don John, we must go to Turtle Head to-night, and see about that box." "I am ready, sir." "I will go with you," added Captain Patterdale; "and we will take the Sea Foam." Donald was permitted to go home and comfort his mother with the assurance that he was entirely innocent of the crime with which he was charged; and great was the joy of his mother and sister. The mainsail of the Sea Foam was hoisted when he went on board. The wind was rather light, and it was midnight before the yacht anchored off Turtle Head. The party went ashore in the tender, the sheriff carrying a lantern and a shovel. Donald readily found the place where the earth had been disturbed by Laud's clam-digger. Mr. Beardsley dug till he came to a rock, and it was plain that no tin box was there. "But I am sure that Laud had been digging here, for I saw the print of his clam-digger," said Donald. "This hole had been dug before," added the sheriff. "Even Laud Cavendish would not be fool enough to bury the box in such an exposed place as this," suggested Captain Patterdale. "I know he came down here on the day the box was stolen," said Donald, "and that he was here with his clam-digger on the day I met Captain Shivernock. He must have put those papers in the shop." "If the box was ever buried here, it has been removed," added the captain. "Just look at the dirt which came out of the hole," continued Mr. Beardsley, pointing to the heap, and holding the lantern over it. "What I threw out last is beach gravel. That was put in to fill up the hole after he had taken out the box. When he first buried it, he had to carry off some of the yellow loam. In my opinion, the box has been here." "It is not here now, and we may as well return," replied Captain Patterdale. "I am really more desirous of finding the papers in the box than the money." "He has only chosen a new hiding-place for it," said the sheriff. "If we say nothing, and keep an eye on him for a few days, we may find it." As this was all that could be done, the party returned to the city; and early in the morning Donald went to bed, to obtain the rest he needed before the great day. Possibly Mr. Beardsley slept some that night, though it is certain he was at Saturday Cove, in Northport, the next forenoon. He had a "theory;" and when a man has a theory, he will sometimes go without his sleep in order to prove its truth or its falsity. Jacob Hasbrook was with him, and quite as much interested in the theory as the officer, who desired to vindicate his reputation as a detective. He had driven to the house of the victim of the outrage, and looked the matter over again in the light of the evidence obtained from the boat-builder. [Illustration: MORE EVIDENCE. Page 299.] "I have been trying to see Donald Ramsay," said Hasbrook. "I have been to his shop four times, but he's always off on some boat scrape. You say he saw Captain Shivernock the next morning." "Yes; and the captain didn't want to be seen, which is the best part of the testimony. If it was he, it seems to me you would have known him when he hammered you." "How could I, when he was rigged up so different, with his head all covered up?" replied Hasbrook, impatiently. "The man was about the captain's height, but stouter." "He was dressed for the occasion," added the sheriff, as he walked to the shore, where the skiff lay. They dragged it down to the water,--for it was low tide,--and got into it. Beardsley had traced to the cove the print of the heavy boot, which first appeared in some loam under the window where the ruffian had entered Hasbrook's house. He found it in the sand on the shore; and he was satisfied that the perpetrator of the outrage had arrived and departed in a boat. He had obtained from the captain's boot-maker a description of his boots, but none corresponded with those which had made the prints in Northport and Lincolnville. At the cove all clew to the ruffian had been lost; but now it was regained. The sheriff paddled the skiff out from the shore in the direction of Seal Island. The water was clear, and they could see the bottom, which they examined very carefully as they proceeded. "I see it," suddenly exclaimed Hasbrook, as he grasped the boat-hook. "Lay hold of it," added the sheriff. "I knew I was right." "I have it." Hasbrook hauled up what appeared to be a bundle of old clothes, and deposited it in the bottom of the skiff. Mr. Beardsley had worked up his case very thoroughly, though it was a little singular that he had not thought to ask Donald any questions; but these investigations had been made when the boat-builder was at home all the time, and the detective did not like to talk about the case any more than was necessary. He had ascertained that Captain Shivernock wore his usual gray suit when Donald saw him after the outrage, and he came to the conclusion that the ruffian had been disguised, for Hasbrook would certainly have known him, even in the dark, in his usual dress. They returned to the shore; and the bundle was lifted, to convey it to the beach. "It is very heavy," said Hasbrook. "I suppose there is a rock in it to sink it." "Open it, and throw out the rock," added the sheriff. Instead of a rock, the weight was half a pig of lead, which had evidently been chopped into two pieces with an axe. "That's good evidence, for the ballast of the Juno is pig lead," said Beardsley, as he stepped on the beach with the clothes in his hand. They were spread on the sand, and consisted of a large blue woolen frock, such as farmers sometimes wear, a pair of old trousers of very large size, and a pair of heavy cow-hide boots. "Now I think of it, the man had a frock on," exclaimed Hasbrook. "That's what made him look stouter than the captain," added Beardsley, as he proceeded to measure one of the boots, and compare it with the notes he had made of the size of the footprints. "It's a plain case; these boots made those tracks." "And here's the club he pounded me with," said Hasbrook, taking up a heavy stick that had been in the bundle. "But where in the world did Captain Shivernock get these old duds?" mused the sheriff. "Of course he procured them to do this job with," replied Hasbrook. "That's clear enough; but where did they come from? He has covered his tracks so well, that he wouldn't pick these things up near home." "There comes a boat," said the victim of the outrage, as a sail rounded the point. "Get out of the way as quick as you can," added the sheriff, in excited tones, as he led the way into the woods near the cove, carrying the wet clothes and boots with him. "What's the matter now?" demanded Hasbrook. "That boat is the Juno; Laud Cavendish is in her, and I want to know what he is about. Don't speak a word, or make a particle of noise. If you do, he will sheer off; and I want to see the ballast in that boat." Laud ran his craft up to the rocks on one side of the cove, where he could land from her; but as it is eleven o'clock, the hour appointed for the regatta, we must return to the city. CHAPTER XVII. THE GREAT RACE. It was nine o'clock when Donald turned out on the day of the great regatta. He had returned at three in the morning, nearly exhausted by fatigue and anxiety. It was horrible to be suspected of a crime; and bravely as he had carried himself, he was sorely worried. He talked the matter over with his mother and sister while he was eating his breakfast. "Why should Laud Cavendish charge you with such a wicked deed?" asked his mother. "To save himself, I suppose," replied Donald. "But he won't make anything by it. He hid those papers in the shop within a day or two, I am sure, for I had my hand in the place where he put them, feeling for a brad-awl I dropped day before yesterday, and I know they were not there then. But he is used up, anyhow, whether we find the box or not, for he tells one story and Captain Shivernock another; and I think Captain Patterdale believes what I say now. But the race comes off to-day, and if I lose it, I am used up too." The boat-builder left the house, and went on board of the Maud, which lay off the shop. Samuel Rodman was on deck, and they hoisted the mainsail. The wind had hauled round to the north-west early in the morning, and blew a smashing breeze, just such as Donald wanted for the great occasion. In fact, it blew almost a gale, and the wind came in heavy gusts, which are very trying to the nerves of an inexperienced boatman. The Penobscot, gayly dressed with flags, was moored in her position for the use of the judges. "We shall not want any kites to-day," said Donald, as he made fast the throat halyard. "No; and you may have to reef this mainsail," added Rodman. "Not at all." "But it is flawy." "So much the better." "Why so?" "Because a fellow that understands himself and keeps his eyes wide open has a chance to gain something on the heavy flaws that almost knock a boat over. It makes a sharper game of it." "But Commodore Montague is up to all those dodges." "I know he is; but in the other race, he lost half his time by luffing up in a squall." "But don't you expect a fellow to luff up in a squall?" demanded Rodman. "If necessary, yes; but the point is, to know when it must be done. If you let off the main-sheet or spill the sail every time a puff comes, you lose time," replied Donald. "I believe in keeping on the safe side; but a fellow may lose the race by dodging every capful of wind that comes. There goes the first gun." "Let us get into line," added Rodman, as he cast off the moorings and hoisted the jib. "Let her drive." Donald took the helm, and the Maud shot away like an arrow in the fresh breeze. "Her sails set beautifully," said the skipper for the occasion; though Rodman was nominally the captain of the yacht, and was so recorded in the books of the club. "Nothing could be better." "We shall soon ascertain how stiff she is," added Donald, as a heavy flaw heeled the yacht over, till she buried her rail in the water. "I don't think we shall get anything stronger than that. She goes down just so far, and then the wind seems to slide off. I don't believe you can get her over any farther." "That's far enough," replied Rodman, holding on, to keep his seat in the standing-room. The Maud passed under the stern of the judges' yacht, and anchored in the line indicated by the captain of the fleet. The Skylark soon arrived, and took her place next to the Penobscot. In these two yachts all the interest of the occasion centred. The Phantom and the Sea Foam soon came into line; and then it was found that the Christabel had withdrawn, for it blew too hard for her. Mr. Norwood and his son came on board, with Dick Adams, who was to be mate of the Maud, and Kennedy, who was well skilled in sailing a boat. Donald had just the crew he wanted, and he stationed them for the exciting race. Mr. Norwood was to tend the jib-sheets in the standing-room, Kennedy the main sheet, while Dick Adams, Frank Norwood, and Sam Rodman were to cast off the cable and hoist the jib forward. "Are you all ready, there?" called Donald, raising his voice above the noise made by the banging of the mainsail in the fresh breeze. "All ready," replied Dick Adams, who was holding the rode with a turn around the bitts. "Don't let her go till I give the word," added Donald. "I want to fill on the port tack." "Ay, ay!" shouted Dick; "on the port tack." This was a very important matter, for the course from the judges' station to Turtle Head would give the yachts the wind on the port quarter; and if any of them came about the wrong way, they would be compelled to gybe, which was not a pleasant operation in so stiff a breeze. Donald kept hold of the main-sheet, and by managing the sail a little, contrived to have the tendency of the Maud in the right direction, so that her sail would fill on the port tack. He saw that Dick Adams had the tender on the port bow, so that the yacht would not run it down when she went off. "There goes the gun!" shouted Rodman, very much excited as the decisive moment came. But Dick Adams held on, as he had been instructed to do, and pulled with all his might, in order to throw the head of the Maud in the right direction. "Hoist the jib!" shouted Donald, when he saw that the yacht was sure to cast on her port tack. Rodman and Norwood worked lively; and in an instant the jib was up, and Mr. Norwood had gathered up the lee sheet. "Let go!" added Donald, when he felt that the Maud was in condition to go off lively. She did go off with a bound and a spring. Donald crowded the helm hard up, so that the Maud wore short around. "Let off the sheet, lively, Kennedy!" said the skipper. "Ease off the jib-sheet, Mr. Norwood!" "We shall be afoul of the Phantom!" cried Dick Adams, as he began to run out on the foot-ropes by the bowsprit. "Lay in, Dick!" shouted Donald. "Don't go out there!" Dick retraced his steps, and came on deck. The Phantom had not cast in the right direction, and was coming around on the starboard tack, which had very nearly produced a collision with the Maud, the two bowsprits coming within a few inches of each other. "I was going out to fend off," said Dick, as he came aft, in obedience to orders. "I was afraid you would be knocked off the bowsprit, which is a bad place to be, when two vessels put their noses together. It was a close shave, but we are all right now," replied the skipper. "The Sea Foam takes the lead," added Mr. Norwood. "She had the head end of the line. The Skylark made a good start." "First rate," said Kennedy. "She couldn't be handled any better than she is." "We lead her a little," continued Mr. Norwood. "We had the advantage of her about half a length; as the Sea Foam has a length the best of us." The yachts were to form the line head to the wind, and this line was diagonal with the course to Turtle Head, so that the Sea Foam, which was farthest from the Penobscot, had really two length's less distance to go in getting to Stubb's Point Ledge than the Skylark; but this difference was not worth considering in such a breeze, though, if the commodore was beaten by only half a length by the Maud, he intended to claim the race on account of this disparity. The two yachts in which all the interest centred, both obtained a fair start, the Maud a little ahead of her great rival. The Phantom had to come about, and get on the right tack, for Guilford was too careful to gybe in that wind. The Sea Foam got off very well; and Vice Commodore Patterdale was doing his best to make a good show for his yacht, but she held her position only for a moment. The tremendous gusts were too much for Edward's nerves, and he luffed up, in order to escape one. The Maud went tearing by her, with the Skylark over lapping her half a length. "Haul up the centre-board a little more, Dick," said Donald, who did not bestow a single glance upon his dreaded rival, for all his attention was given to the sailing of the Maud. "A small pull on the jib-sheet, Mr. Norwood, if you please." "You gained an inch then," said Kennedy, striving to encourage the struggling skipper. But Donald would not look at the Skylark. He knew that the shortest distance between two points was by a straight line; and having taken a tree on the main land near Castine as his objective point, he kept it in range with the tompion in the stove-pipe, and did not permit the Maud to wabble about. Occasionally the heavy gusts buried the rail in the brine; but Donald did not permit her to dodge it, or to deviate from his inflexible straight line. She went down just so far, and would go no farther; and at these times it was rather difficult to keep on the seat at the weather side of the standing-room. Dick Adams, Norwood, and Rodman were placed on deck above the trunk, and had a comfortable position. The skipper kept his feet braced against the cleats on the floor, holding on with both hands at the tiller; for in such a blow, it was no child's play to steer such a yacht. "You are gaining on her, Don John," said Mr. Norwood. "Do you think so, sir?" "I know it." "The end of her bowsprit is about even with the tip of our main boom," added Kennedy. "How much fin have we down, Dick?" asked the skipper. The mate of the Maud rushed to the cabin, where the line attached to the centre-board was made fast, and reported on its condition. "Haul up a little more," continued Donald. "Steady! Not the whole of it, but nearly all." "It is down about six inches now." "That will do." For a few moments all hands were still, watching with intense interest the progress of the race. The commodore, in the Skylark, was evidently doing his level best, for he was running away from the Sea Foam and the Phantom. "Bravo, Don John!" exclaimed the excited Mr. Norwood. "You are a full length ahead! I am willing to sign the contract with Ramsay & Son to build the yacht for me." "Don't be too fast, sir. We are not out of the woods yet, and shall not be for some time." "I am satisfied we are going to beat the Skylark." "Beat her all to pieces!" added Frank Norwood. "She is doing it as easily as though she were used to it." "I give you the order to build the yacht," said Mr. Norwood. "Thank you, sir; but I would rather wait till this race is finished before I take the job. We may be beaten yet--badly beaten, too. There are a dozen things that may use us up. The tide is not up, so that I can't play off the dodge I did in the Sea Foam; and if I could, Bob Montague is up to it." "There is no need of any dodge of any sort," replied Mr. Norwood. "We are beating the Skylark without manoeuvring; and that is the fairest way in the world to do it." "This is plain sailing, sir; and the Skylark's best point is on the wind. For aught I know, the Maud may do the best with a free wind," said Donald; and he had well nigh shuddered when he thought of the difference in yachts in this respect. "It may be so; but we are at least two lengths ahead of her now." "Over three," said Kennedy. "So much the better," laughed Mr. Norwood. "The more we gain with the wind free, the less we shall have to make on the wind." "But really, sir, this running down here almost before the wind is nothing," protested Donald, who felt that his passenger was indulging in strong expectations, which might not be realized. "The tug of war will come when we go about. We have to beat almost dead to windward; and it may be the Maud has given us her best point off the wind." "You don't expect her to fail on the wind--do you, Don John." "No, sir; I don't expect her to fail, for she did first rate yesterday, when we tried her. She looked the breeze almost square in the face: but I can't tell how she will do in comparison with the Skylark. Of course I don't expect the Maud to be beaten; but I don't want you to get your hopes up so high, that you can't bear a disappointment." "We will try to bear it; but Frank don't want a yacht that is sure to be beaten," added Mr. Norwood. "Then perhaps it is fortunate I didn't take the job, when you offered to give it to me." "But I think the Maud will win the race," persisted the confident gentleman. "So do I; but it is always best to have an anchor out to windward." "Bully for you, Don John!" shouted Kennedy, after the yacht had crossed the channel where the sea was very rough and choppy. "You made a good bit in the last quarter of an hour, and we are a dozen lengths ahead of her." "Surely she can never gain that distance upon us!" exclaimed Mr. Norwood. "It is quite possible, sir. I have known a boat to get a full mile ahead of another before the wind, and then be beaten by losing it all, and more too, going to windward. I expect better things than that of the Maud; but she may disappoint me. She is only making her reputation now." Donald watched his "sight" ahead all the time, and had not seen the Skylark for half an hour. The party was silent again for a while, but the Maud dashed furiously on her course, now and then burying her rail, while the water shot up through the lee scupper-holes into the standing-room. But Dick Adams, who was a natural mechanic, was making a pair of plugs to abate this nuisance. "Turtle Head!" exclaimed Rodman, who, though he had said but little, watched the movements of the yacht with the most intense delight and excitement. "We are a square quarter of a mile ahead of the Skylark," said Kennedy. "Business will be good with us, Don John, after this." "Give her a little more main-sheet, Kennedy," was the skipper's reply, as the yacht passed the Head, and he kept her away a little. "Eleven thirty," mused Mr. Norwood, who had taken out his gold watch, and noted the moment when the Maud passed the headland. "Now, mind your eye, all hands!" shouted Donald, as the Maud approached the north-east point of Long Island, where he had to change her course from south-east to south, which involved the necessity, with the wind north-west, of gybing, or coming about head to the wind. It would take a small fraction of a minute to execute the latter manoeuvre; and as the sails were now partially sheltered under the lee of the land, the bold skipper determined to gybe. Kennedy had early notice of his intention, and had laid the spare sheet where it would not foul anybody's legs. He hauled in all he could with the help of the mate and others. "Now, over with it," said Donald, as he put the helm down. The huge mainsail fluttered and thrashed for an instant, and then flew over. Kennedy, who had been careful to catch a turn in the rope, held fast when the sail "fetched up" on the other tack, and then the yacht rolled her rail under on the port side. "Let off the sheet, lively!" cried Donald. "That's what I'm doing," replied the stout ship carpenter, paying off the sheet very rapidly, so as to break the shock. "Steady! belay! Now draw jib there." As Dick Adams cast off the weather sheet in the new position, Mr. Norwood hauled in the lee. For a short distance the Maud had the wind on her starboard quarter; then the sheets were hauled in, and she took it on the beam, till she was up with the buoy on Stubbs Point Ledge, which she was to round, leaving it on the port. The ledge was not far from the land, on which was a considerable bluff, so that the wind had not more than half its force. In rounding the buoy, it was necessary to gybe again; and it was done without shaking up the yacht half so much as at the north-east point. "Now comes the pull," said Donald, as the Maud rounded the buoy. "Stand by your sheets! Now brace her up! Give her the whole of the board, Dick." Donald put the helm down; the jib and mainsail were trimmed as flat as it was judicious to have them; and the Maud was close-hauled, standing up to the northward. The skipper was careful not to cramp her by laying too close to the wind. He was an experienced boatman, and he governed himself more by the feeling of the craft under him than by his sight. He could shut his eyes, and tell by the pressure of the tiller in his hand whether she was cramped, or was going along through the water. "Did you get the time when the Skylark passed the Head, Mr. Norwood?" asked Donald. "No; you made things so lively, I hadn't time to look," replied the gentleman. "I should like to know just how many minutes we are ahead of her." "I think I can tell you, sir," added the skipper, with a smile. "How many?" "How many do you think, sir?" "Five or six." "Not more than one and a half, Mr. Norwood. Neither yacht has to give the other time, and what we gain belongs to us." "I should have thought we were at least five minutes ahead of her." "No, sir. Now we have a chance to manoeuvre a little," added Donald. "I know just what the commodore will do; he will stand on this tack, when he gets round the buoy, till he is almost up with Brigadier Island; then he will make a long stretch. I shall not do so." "Why not?" "Because, if the wind lessens, he will get under the lee of the land. I shall go just one mile on this tack," replied Donald. "Have you any rubber coats on board, Sam?" "I have only two." "You will want them, for we are beginning to toss the spray about, as though it didn't cost anything." It was decidedly damp on the deck of the Maud, for the water thrown up by the waves, dashing against the weather bow, was carried by the gusty wind to the standing-room, drenching those who sat there. Donald and his companions had no fear of salt water, and were just as happy wet to the skin, as they were when entirely dry, for the excitement was quite enough to keep them warm, even in a chill, north-west wind. Half way across to Brigadier Island, Donald gave the order, "Ready about," and tacked. As he had predicted, Commodore Montague continued on his course, almost over to the island, and then came about. The Maud rushed furiously on her long stretch, dashing the spray recklessly over her deck, till she was almost up with the Northport shore, when she tacked again, and laid her course to windward of the judges' yacht, as the regulations required. As she rounded the Penobscot, a gun announced the arrival of the first yacht. The Maud let off her sheets, and passed under the stern of the judges' craft. "The Maud!" shouted Donald, enraptured with his victory. Four minutes and thirty-four seconds later, the gun announced the arrival of the Skylark. It was all of twenty minutes later when the Sea Foam arrived, and half an hour before the Phantom put in an appearance. There was not a shadow of a doubt that the Maud had won the great race. CHAPTER XVIII. THE HASBROOK OUTRAGE AND OTHER MATTERS. The Maud went round to the line, and after picking up her tender and moorings, anchored near the Penobscot. "There is no doubt now which boat has won the race," said Mr. Norwood. "None whatever, sir," replied Donald. "The day is ours by as fair a race as ever was sailed. The Maud proved what she could do before we got to Turtle Head; and all the conditions were exactly equal up to that time. If I made anything by manoeuvring, it was only when we tacked a mile north of the Head. We have beaten her squarely in a heavy wind; but how she would do compared with the Skylark in a light breeze, is yet to be proved." "I am satisfied, Don John; and I give you the job to build the Alice, for that is to be the name of Frank's yacht." "Thank you, sir. I suppose you don't expect to get her out this season." "No; if he has her by the first of June of next year, it will be soon enough.--I hope you are satisfied with the Maud, Sam," added Mr. Norwood, turning to the owner of the winning craft. "I ought to be, and I am," replied Rodman. "You have the fastest yacht in the fleet." "She won't be when I sail her. The commodore will clean me out every time, if Don John is not at the helm." "Then there is a capital opportunity for you to improve in the art of sailing a yacht." "Plenty of room for that," laughed Rodman. Dick Adams brought the tender alongside, and pulled Mr. Norwood, Rodman, and Donald to the Penobscot. "I congratulate you, Don John," said Mr. Montague, extending his hand to the boat-builder. "You have won the race handsomely." "Thank you, sir." "It is a double triumph to you, since you both built your yacht, and sailed her," added Mr. Montague. "It is worth a good deal to me in a business point of view; for I get a job to build another yacht by it. The firm of Ramsay & Son can't afford to have their boats beaten," laughed Donald. "Here comes Robert." "I suppose he will not be satisfied with the Skylark, now that she has been so thoroughly whipped," added the commodore's father. "Perfectly satisfied with her, father. She is as good a boat as she ever was," answered Robert, as he gave his hand to Donald. "You have won the race fairly and handsomely, Don John; and I congratulate you upon your success." "I thank you, Bob; but I would rather have beaten any other fellow than you," replied Donald. "I can stand it as well as anybody." The ladies and gentlemen on board of the Penobscot congratulated the hero of the occasion, and condoled with the commodore, till the last of the fleet arrived. The judges filled out the schedule with the corrected time. "Captain Rodman, of the Maud," said the chairman; and the owner of the winning yacht stepped forward. "It appears from the schedule that you have made the shortest time, and I have the pleasure of presenting to you the first prize." "Thank you, sir," replied Rodman, accepting the envelope, which contained the prize of one hundred dollars; "but as it appears that Donald Ramsay sailed the Maud, as well as built her, I shall have the pleasure of presenting it to him." A round of hearty applause followed this little speech, which ended in three cheers for the captain of the Maud, and three more for her builder. "I can't take that," said Donald, declining to receive the envelope. "But you must take it. I will hand you over to Mr. Deputy Sheriff Beardsley, who, I see, is coming up the bay in the Juno." "It don't belong to me. I am not the owner of the Maud," protested Donald. "Take it! take it!" shouted one and another of the interested spectators, until nearly all of them had expressed their opinion in this way. Thus overborne, the boat-builder took the envelope, though his pride revolted. "Commodore Montague, it appears that the Skylark made the next best time, and I have the pleasure of presenting to you the second prize." "Which I devote to the club for the building fund." The members heartily applauded this disposal of the money. "I will give the other prize to the club for the same purpose," added Donald. "Impossible!" exclaimed Commodore Montague. "The fund is completed, and the donation cannot be accepted." "No! No!" shouted the members. "The fifty dollars I added to the fund just makes up the sum necessary to pay for the club-house on Turtle Head, which is to be only a shanty; so you can't play that game on us, Don John." Donald was compelled to submit; and he transferred the hundred dollars to his pocket-book. "I am so glad you won the race, Don John!" said Nellie Patterdale. "Everybody said you sailed the Maud splendidly." "Thank you, Nellie; your praise is worth more to me than that of all the others," replied Donald, blushing deeply; but I must do him the justice to say that, if he had not been laboring under intense excitement, he would not have made so palpable a speech to her. Nellie blushed too; but she was not angry, though her father might have been, if he had heard the remark. "Is Captain Patterdale on board?" shouted Mr. Beardsley, as the Juno ran under the stern of the Penobscot. "Here," replied the captain. "I want to see you and Don John," added the officer. The business of the race was finished, and the Maud conveyed Captain Patterdale, his daughter, and Donald to the shore. Laud Cavendish was in the Juno, and so was Hasbrook; but none of the party knew what had transpired at Saturday Cove during the forenoon. "I will be at your house in half an hour, Captain Patterdale," said Donald, as they landed. "I am wet to the skin, and I want to put on dry clothes." Mr. Beardsley had proposed the place of meeting; and the boat-builder hastened home. In a few minutes he had put himself inside a dry suit of clothes. Then he went to the shop, and wrote a brief note to Captain Shivernock, in which he enclosed sixty dollars, explaining that as he had been unable to "keep still with his tongue," he could not keep the money. He also added, that he should send him the amount received for the Juno when he obtained the bills from Captain Patterdale, who had a part of them. Sealing this note in an envelope, he called at the house of the strange man, on his way to the place of meeting. Mrs. Sykes said that Captain Shivernock was in his library. "Please to give him this; and if he wishes to see me, I shall be at Captain Patterdale's house for an hour or two," continued Donald; and without giving the housekeeper time to reply, he hastened off, confident there would be a storm as soon as the eccentric opened the note. In the library of the elegant mansion, he found the party who had been in the Juno, with Captain Patterdale and Nellie. On the desk was the tin box, the paint on the outside stained with yellow loam. Laud Cavendish looked as though life was a burden to him, and Donald readily comprehended the situation. "We have found the tin box," said Mr. Beardsley, with a smile, as the boat-builder was admitted. "Where did you find it?" "Laud had it in his hand down at Saturday Cove. While I was looking up the Hasbrook affair, our friend here landed from the Juno, and was walking towards the woods, when he walked into me. He owns up to everything." "Then I hope you are satisfied that I had nothing to do with the box." "Of course we are," interposed Captain Patterdale. "It certainly looked bad for you at one time, Don John." "I know it did, sir," added Donald. "But I could not really believe that you would do such a thing," said the captain. "I knew he wouldn't," exclaimed Nellie. "Laud says he buried the box on Turtle Head, just where you said, and only removed it yesterday, when he put the notes under the sill in your shop," continued Mr. Beardsley. "What did you do that for, Laud?" asked Donald, turning to the culprit. "You promised not to tell where I got the money to pay for the Juno. You went back on me," pleaded Laud. "I told you I wouldn't tell if everything was all right. When it appeared that the mended bill was not all right, I mentioned your name, but not till then." "That is so," added the nabob. "Now, Laud, did Captain Shivernock pay you any money?" "No, sir," replied Laud, who had concluded to tell the whole truth, hoping it would go easier with him if he did so. "Where did you get the mended bill you paid Don John?" "From the tin trunk." "Why did you say that Captain Shivernock gave you the money you paid for the Juno?" "I couldn't account for it in any other way. I knew the captain threw his money around very loosely, and I didn't think any one would ask him if he gave me the money. If any one did, he wouldn't answer." "But he did answer, and said he gave you the money." "He told me he would say so, when I went to see him a fortnight ago." "Why did you go to see him?" Laud glanced at Donald with a faint smile on his haggard face. "Don John told me Captain Shivernock had a secret he wanted to keep." "I told you so!" exclaimed Donald. "You did; but you thought I knew the secret," answered Laud. "You told me the captain had given me the money not to tell that I had seen him near Saturday Cove on the morning after the Hasbrook affair." "I remember now," said Donald. "Captain Shivernock gave me sixty dollars, and then gave me the Juno, for which I understood that I was not to say I had seen him that day. I refused to sell the boat to Laud till he told me where he got the money. When he told me the captain had given it to him, and would not say what for, I concluded his case was just the same as my own. After I left the captain, he stood over to the Northport shore, and Laud went over there soon after. I was sure that they met." "We didn't meet; and I did not see Captain Shivernock that day," Laud explained. "I supposed he had; I spoke to Laud just as though he had, and he didn't deny that he had seen him." "Of course I didn't. Don John made my story good, and I was willing to stick to it." "But you did not stick to it," added the nabob. "You said you had paid no money to Don John." "I will tell you how that was. When I got the secret out of Don John, I went to the captain with it. He asked me if I wanted to black-mail him. I told him no. Then I spoke to him about the tin trunk you had lost, and said one of the bills had been traced to me. I made up a story to show where I got the bill; but the man that gave it to me had gone, and I didn't even know his name. He had some bills just like that mended one; and when I told him what my trouble was, he promised to say that he had given me the bill; and then he laughed as I never saw a man laugh before." "What was he laughing at?" asked the sheriff. "He went off early the next morning, and I suppose he was laughing to think what a joke he was playing upon me, for he was not to be in town when wanted to get me out of trouble." "He did say he let you have the use of the Juno for taking care of her, and that he gave you the money, though he wouldn't indicate what it was for," added the officer. "I thought he was fooling me, and I didn't depend on him." "That's Captain Shivernock," said the good nabob, as the party in the library were startled by a violent ring at the door. It was the strange man. He was admitted by Nellie. He stalked up to Donald, his face red with wrath, and dashed the letter and bills into his face, crumpled up into a ball. "You canting little monkey! What have you been doing?" roared he. "Since I could not do what you wished me to do, I have returned your money," replied Donald, rising from his chair, for he feared the captain intended to assault him. "Have you disobeyed my orders, you whelp?" "I have; for I told you I should tell no lies." "I'll break every bone in your body for this!" howled Captain Shivernock. "Not yet, captain," interposed Mr. Beardsley. "You may have something else to break before you do that job." "Who are you?" demanded the wicked nabob, with what was intended as a withering sneer; but no one wilted under it. "A deputy sheriff of Waldo County, at your service; and I have a warrant for your arrest." "For my arrest!" gasped Captain Shivernock, dismounting from his high horse, for he had a wholesome fear of the penalties of violated law. "Here is the document," added the sheriff, producing a paper. "For what?" "For breaking and entering in the night time, in the first place, and for an aggravated assault on Jacob Hasbrook in the second." "What assault? You can't prove it." "Yes, we can; we went a-fishing down in Saturday Cove this morning, and we caught a bundle, containing a pair of boots, a blue frock, and other articles, including the stick the assault was committed with. They were sunk with half a pig of lead, the other half of which I found in the Juno. I hope you are satisfied." "No, I'm not. I didn't leave my house till four o'clock that morning; and I can prove it." "You will have an opportunity to do so in court." The wicked nabob was silent. "I was bound to follow this thing up to the bitter end," said Hasbrook, rejoiced at the detection of the wretch. "You got what you deserved, you miserable, canting villain!" roared the captain. "You cheated me out of a thousand dollars, by giving me an indorser you knew wasn't worth a dollar." "But I meant to pay you. I pay my debts. I appeal to Captain Patterdale to say whether I do or not." "I think you do when it is for your interest to do so, or when you can't help it," added the good nabob, candidly. "I suppose you know Mr. Laud Cavendish, captain?" "I do," growled the rich culprit. "He is the fellow that saved a man's life down at Haddock Ledge; a man he hadn't been introduced to, who gave him a pile of money for the job, but didn't give him his name." "But, Captain Shivernock, you said you gave him some money, and you didn't tell us what you gave it to him for," added Beardsley. "That was my joke." "We do not see the point of it." "I only wanted the privilege of proving to Captain Patterdale that he was mistaken about the bill, by showing him three more just like it." "How do you fold your money, Captain Shivernock?" asked the nabob. "None of your business, you canting psalm-singer." "I shall be obliged to commit you," said the sheriff, sharply. "Commit me!" howled the wicked nabob. "I should like to see you do it." "You shall have that satisfaction. If you give me any trouble about it, I shall have to put these things on," added the sheriff, taking from his pocket a pair of handcuffs. The culprit withered at the sight of the irons. He and Laud both walked to the county jail, where they were locked up. Of course the imprisonment of such a man as the wicked nabob caused a sensation; but there was no one to object. He was willing to pay any sum of money to get out of the scrape; but the majesty of the law must be vindicated, and there was a contest between money and justice. He obtained bail by depositing the large amount required in the hands of two men, whom his well-fed lawyer procured. Between two days he left the city; but Beardsley kept the run of him, and when he was wanted for trial, he was brought back from a western state. On the trial a desperate attempt was made to break down the witnesses; but it failed. The first for the defence was Mrs. Sykes; but her evidence was not what had been expected of her. She had told, and repeated the lie, that the captain left his house at four o'clock on the morning after the outrage; but in court, and under oath, she would not perjure herself. She declared that the defendant had left home about eleven o'clock in the evening, dressed in her husband's blue frock, boots, and hat. Mr. Sykes, after his wife had told the whole truth, was afraid to testify as he had said he should do. A conviction followed; and the prisoner was sentenced to the state prison for ten years. He was overwhelmed by this result. He swore like a pirate, and then he wept like a child; but he was sent to Thomaston, and put to hard work. Laud pleaded guilty, and was sent to the same institution for a year. There was hope of him; for if he could get rid of his silly vanity, and go to work, he might be saved from a lifetime of crime. Donald came out of the fire without the stain of smoke upon him. After the great race, as Mr. Norwood was in no hurry for the Alice, he went on the long cruise with the fleet, in the Sea Foam. They coasted along the shore as far as Portland, visiting the principal places on the seaboard. On the cruise down Donald "coached" his friend, Ned Patterdale, in the art of sailing; and on the return he rendered the same service to Rodman. Both of them proved to be apt scholars; and after long practice, they were able to bring out the speed of their yachts, and stood a fair chance in a regatta. On the cruise, the yachts were racing all the time when under way, but the results were by no means uniform. When Donald sailed the Maud, she beat the Skylark; but when Rodman skippered her himself, the commodore outsailed him. The Maud beat the Sea Foam, as a general rule; but one day Robert Montague sailed the latter, and the former was beaten. "Don John, I don't know yet which is the fastest craft in the fleet," said Commodore Montague, as they were seated on Manhegan Island, looking down upon the fleet anchored below them. "I thought you did, Bob," laughed Donald. "No, I don't. I have come to the conclusion that you can sail a yacht better than I can, and that is the reason that you beat me in the Maud, as you did in the Sea Foam." "No, no!" replied Donald. "I am sure I can't sail a boat any better than you can." "I can outsail any boat in the fleet when you are ashore." "We can easily settle the matter, Bob." "How?" "You shall sail the Maud, and I will sail the Skylark. If the difference is in the skippers, we shall come in about even. If the Maud is the better sailer, you will beat me." "Good! I'll do it." "You will do your best in the Maud--won't you?" "Certainly; and you will do the same in the Skylark." "To be sure. We will sail around Matinicus Rock and back." The terms of the race were agreed upon, and the interest of the whole club was excited. The party went on board the fleet, and the two yachts were moored in line. At the firing of the gun on board the Sea Foam, they ran up their jibs and got a good start. The wind was west, a lively breeze, but not heavy. Each yacht carried her large gaff-topsail and the balloon-jib. The course was about forty miles, the return from the rock being a beat dead to windward. Robert and Donald each did his best, and the Maud came in twelve minutes ahead of the Skylark. "I am satisfied now," said Robert, when they met after the race. "I was satisfied before," laughed Donald. "I was confident the Maud was faster than the Skylark or the Sea Foam." "I agree with you now; and I have more respect for myself than I had before, for I thought it was you, and not the Maud, which had beaten me," added Robert. "I have also a very high respect for the firm of Ramsay & Son." [Illustration: THE MAUD WINNING THE RACE. Page 338.] The members of the club enjoyed the excursion exceedingly; and on their return it was decided to repeat it the next year, if not before. The club-house on Turtle Head was finished when the fleet arrived at Belfast; and during the rest of the vacation, the yachts remained in the bay. They had chowders and fries at the Head, to which the ladies were invited; and Donald made himself as agreeable as possible to Miss Nellie on these occasions. Possibly her father and mother had some objections to this continued and increasing intimacy; if they had, they did not mention them. They were compelled to acknowledge, when they talked the matter over between themselves, that Donald Ramsay was an honest, intelligent, noble young man, with high aims and pure principles, and that these qualifications were infinitely preferable to wealth without them; and they tacitly permitted the affair to take its natural course, as I have no doubt it will. Certainly the young people were very devoted to each other; and though they are too young to think of anything but friendship, it will end in a wedding. In the autumn, after the frame of the Alice was all set up, Barbara obtained a situation as a teacher in one of the public schools, and added her salary to the income of the boat-builder. The family lived well, and were happy in each other. After the boating season closed, the yacht club hired apartments, in which a library and reading-room were fitted up; and the members not only enjoyed the meetings every week, but they profited by their reading and their study. Donald is still an honored and useful member, and people say that, by and by, when the country regains her mercantile marine, he will be a ship-builder, and not, as now, THE YOUNG BOAT-BUILDER. LEE & SHEPARD'S LIST OF JUVENILE PUBLICATIONS. * * * * * OLIVER OPTIC'S BOOKS. Each Set in a neat Box with Illuminated Titles. =Army and Navy Stories.= A Library for Young and Old, in 6 volumes. 16mo. Illustrated. Per vol $1.50 The Soldier Boy. The Sailor Boy. The Young Lieutenant. The Yankee Middy. Fighting Joe. Brave Old Salt. =Famous "Boat-Club" Series.= A Library for Young People. Handsomely Illustrated. Six volumes, in neat box. Per vol 1.25 The Boat Club; or, The Bunkers of Rippleton. All Aboard; or, Life on the Lake. Now or Never; or, The Adventures of Bobby Bright. Try Again; or, The Trials and Triumphs of Harry West. Poor and Proud; or, The Fortunes of Katy Redburn. Little by Little; or, The Cruise of the Flyaway. =Lake Shore Series, The.= Six volumes. Illustrated. In neat box. 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Page 258, "happpened" changed to "happened" (he happened to) Page 264, "hsmself" changed to "himself" (himself by his) Page 290, "indentify" changed to "identify" (can identify the one) Page 334, "well-feed" changed to "well-fed" (his well-fed lawyer) Page 336, "Manheigan" changed to "Manhegan" (on Manhegan Island) Page 338, "run" changed to "ran" (they ran up) Advertising, the prices for: Riverdale Stories, Riverdale Story Books, and Flora Lee Story Books were omitted in the original text. Dick and Daisy Series: "protégés" changed to "Protégés" (Dick and Daisy's Protégés) Yacht Club Series: "Builders" changed to "Builder" (Young Boat Builder) 
39805	----	Transcribers notes: Some minor punctuation, spelling and hyphenation mistakes and inconsistencies have been corrected. Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. [Illustration: Frontispiece - MARINERS COMPASS.] PRACTICAL BOAT-SAILING: A Concise and Simple Treatise ON THE MANAGEMENT OF SMALL BOATS AND YACHTS UNDER ALL CONDITIONS, WITH EXPLANATORY CHAPTERS ON ORDINARY SEA-MANOEUVRES, AND THE USE OF SAILS, HELM, AND ANCHOR, AND ADVICE AS TO WHAT IS PROPER TO BE DONE IN DIFFERENT EMERGENCIES; SUPPLEMENTED BY A SHORT _VOCABULARY OF NAUTICAL TERMS._ BY DOUGLAS FRAZAR, FORMERLY FOURTH OFFICER OF THE STEAMSHIP "ATLANTIC," MASTER OF THE BARK "MARYLAND," AND COMMANDER OF THE YACHT "FENIMORE COOPER" IN THE NORTHERN SEAS OF CHINA AND JAPAN. __________ BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. NEW YORK: CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM. COPYRIGHT, 1879, By LEE AND SHEPARD. _All rights reserved._ PREFACE. This little work is not written to teach any thing new to those who know how to sail boats well and safely, but only for the purpose of enabling any person, after a perusal of its pages, to feel confident of handling a boat so as to be _perfectly safe_, and to have some knowledge of the rules which should govern its movements under all conditions that might naturally arise. This sport is far less dangerous than is supposed; and it may even be asserted that no kind of amusement is safer during the summer months in these latitudes,--many not as safe. Some one has truly said "that the boat is always under the perfect control, and subject to the will, of its master; whilst in driving, for instance, one is dependent for life and limb upon the forbearance, good-temper, and training of a brute whose strength is greater than one's own, and whose over-vaunted intelligence is often exceeded by his obstinacy." It is simply wonderful what stress of wind and sea a small boat will sustain _with perfect safety_ when properly managed. It is hoped that the following pages will be sufficient to post all tyros in the _technique_ of the science, and enable them to execute all the manoeuvres that are needful, and to know the names and uses of all the important ropes, sails, &c.; _so that they will not have to ask anybody any questions_, and be able to "paddle their own canoe." If the author has succeeded in making himself understood, so that the student will feel competent to take charge of his own boat or yacht with confidence, he will be amply repaid. There is no doubt but what there may be a difference of opinion amongst yachtsmen and boatmen as to the best manner of executing many sea-evolutions. The author has chosen those which have stood the test of time, and are comparatively simple, and easy of execution, fitted for small craft, and perfectly safe. Several useful hints have been gathered by an inspection of Bowditch's "Epitome" and Brady's "Kedge-Anchor." MOTHER GOOSE (_slightly altered_). "Three wise men of Gotham Went to sea in a bowl: If their wits had been stronger, My song had been longer." CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. The Model, Rig, and Names of the Sails and Ropes in Common Use 7 CHAPTER II. Ballast.--Useful Knots.--To anchor in a Gale of Wind.--Getting the Anchor, and Casting.--Anchoring for Fishing.--Grounding and Floating.--Warping by Means of an Anchor.--To make a Running Moor 17 CHAPTER III. The Helm and Rudder.--Sheets.--The Topping-Lift.--Springing a Leak and the Use of the Pump.--Sailing "close-hauled," "by the wind," or "full and by."--To know when a Yacht is as near the Wind as she will lie.--Running free.--Before the Wind, or Scudding.--To execute a Pilot's Luff 35 CHAPTER IV. Tacking.--Beating to Windward.--A Long and a Short Leg.--How to put a Yacht about.--How to distinguish the Starboard Tack from the Port Tack.--Jibing, or Wearing.--Dropping the Peak.--To beat to Windward in a Tide-Way.--To take in a Jib, and furl it.--To take in a Mainsail, and furl it.--To reef a Jib, or take off a Bonnet.--To clap one Reef in a Mainsail.--To cast out a Reef 50 CHAPTER V. Signal-Lights.--The United States Regulations for Steering and Sailing, and the Rules of the Road.--Fog-Signals.--Salutes. --Dipping Colors.--Coming alongside.--Quarterdeck Etiquette.--Useful Articles of Cabin Furniture.--Anchor Watch.--Method and System _versus_ Disorder 64 CHAPTER VI. Cross-Bearings.--Two Examples.--Table of Proportional Distances.--Table for Determining the Distance that an Object at Sea can be seen in Statute Miles.--Determining Distance by the Flash of a Gun.--To find the Difference between the True and Apparent Direction of the Wind.--To find the Distance of an Object on Shore from the Yacht, by two Bearings of the Compass.--Use of the Charts.--Soundings.--Lead-Line.--Eight Bells, and Watch and Watch.--Boxing the Compass.--Velocity of the Wind.--The Log Reel and Half-minute Glass.--Buoys--Man Overboard 76 CHAPTER VII. Practical Hints on Boat-Sailing 101 CHAPTER VIII. A Short Cruise with a Sloop-Yacht, illustrating the Common Sea-Manoeuvres 108 CHAPTER IX. Vocabulary of Sea-Terms commonly in Use 124 PRACTICAL BOAT-SAILING. CHAPTER I. THE MODEL, RIG, AND NAMES OF THE SAILS AND ROPES IN COMMON USE. It would be beyond the province or scope of this work to enumerate all the different models and peculiarities of the numerous crafts and rigs that are used to navigate the waters, both in civilized and uncivilized countries; and we must content ourselves by taking into consideration a few of the most pronounced types that are now in vogue, and explaining their principles as briefly as possible. Local prejudices rule strong in all parts of the world; and the rig, size, and model of a boat, are almost always defined by the "custom" of the waters in which it is to be sailed: still it is perhaps well to give a few general rules for the selection of a boat. For bays, sounds, harbors, and inland tidal waters connected with the sea, the boat or small yacht should be of a shoal model, and what is termed the centre-board principle, and usually the sloop or cat-boat rig. For ponds, and small lakes of fresh water, the boat should always be of good beam, light draught, and small sail, on account of the frequency of puffs of winds from unexpected quarters from the neighboring hillsides. In fact, if there is any danger in sailing, it is upon these land-locked ponds or lakes, where more seamanship is often needed than on the larger bays and sounds of the ocean itself. For outside work, or in places where the tidal currents are strong, or the wind may sweep across the water for miles, "kicking up a sea," the deep keel model, with schooner or cutter rig, will be the better boat; this class being considered superior in working to windward in a heavy sea to the shoaler craft. But, even on this question, there are disagreements; and you shall hear of those who maintain that the shoal-water centre-board craft is the better boat in a heavy sea-way; and some lovers of a craft called a "sharpie" tell startling tales of its endurance in heavy weather, although it is the shoalest of all shoal boats. The advantage of the centre-board boat over the keel boat for harbor and sound sailing, or wherever the tide rises and falls to any great extent, is obvious. With the latter, one is liable to be brought up upon an unknown sand-bank or ledge, and compelled to remain, sometimes for hours, till floated off; whilst with the centre-board, upon touching any danger or shoal, the board is hauled up, and the boat that a moment before drew, perhaps, six feet of water, now draws but one foot, allowing one to "go about," or steer to one side, and avoid the obstacle, and get home in time for supper. In short, in the opinion of the writer, it is only for outside use, and for a larger class of vessels than this book will treat of, that the keel boat is needed. To avoid repetition, and to condense as much as possible, so as to be useful to all for practicable purposes, what is termed the _sloop-rig_--one quite as frequently used as any other for small boats--is presented in the accompanying diagram. This will be described as briefly as possible consistent with a thorough explanation of the sails, ropes, &c., and their different names and uses; it being, of course, understood that the management of a sloop in a seamanlike manner carries with it the knowledge of managing a yacht of any rig, the principle applying equally to all; and to describe the "staying", "wearing", and absolute management of each sail and rope of each separate rig, would be unnecessary, and extend this little work to a greater length than is desirable. The best that can be done is to take a type, and, having made that familiar, the whole science of boat-sailing will have been acquired. The sloop-rig consists of the following-named spars:-- The _mainmast_ (c c), which is usually placed at about two-thirds of the boat's length from the stern. This spar serves to sustain the _mainsail_(1) by a series of hoops which encircle it. [Illustration] The _main topmast_ (d d), which is fitted to the head of the _mainmast_, and terminates at its upper end in a small ball, called the _truck_, through the sides of which are fitted little _sheaves_ (i.e., wheels), by means of which, and the use of a small-sized rope, called _signal-halliards_, the flag, or private signal of the boat, is hoisted to the _topmast's_ head, and displayed. This spar also serves to sustain the _gaff-topsail_ (3), which is hoisted and lowered along its length by a series of hoops encircling the spar. This sail, as a rule, is set and furled from the _top_. The _bowsprit_ (h), which projects from the bow of the boat, and serves to support the _mainmast_ by means of a stay (g g) leading from its outer end to the _mainmast_ head, and another stay, called the _bobstay_ (f), to the prow of the boat. The _jib-stay_ (g g) serves to hoist and set the _jib_ (2) upon,--the most important sail, after the mainsail. The _jib-boom_ (i), which extends out beyond the _bowsprit_, its heel being made fast to the latter, and, by means of stays, supports the _mainmast_ and _main-topmast_; and upon the inner one of these is hoisted and set the outer or _flying jib_ (4), the other (k) supporting the _main-topmast_, and called the _main-topmast stay_. The _main-gaff_ (e e), which sustains and stretches the _head_ of the _mainsail_, which is securely lashed to it by means of small seizings, or lashings. The _main-boom_ (b b), which receives and stretches the _foot_ of the mainsail, to which it is securely lashed. The above constitute the main spars and sails of a boat of the sloop rig. To enable one to understand all that follows, it will be necessary to acquire a little more information concerning these spars and sails, and the names and uses of the principal ropes, sheets, &c. As the reader faces the cut, and glances at the _mainsail_ (1), he should remember that the _head_ of the sail is that part fastened to the _gaff_; and the _foot_, that part of the sail fastened to the _boom_. The _outer-leach_, or _after-leach_, that part of the sail which extends from the end of the _gaff_ to the end of the _boom_ farthest removed from the mainmast. The _inner-leach_, or _luff_, is that part of the sail which extends from the _gaff_ to the _boom_, and is confined to the _mainmast_ by hoops that embrace it, and allow of the sail being hoisted and lowered at will. The _clews_ of a sail are those parts which a "land-lubber" might call corners; i.e., the clews of the mainsail are four, and are situated at the junction of the _luff_ and _head_ of the sail, the _outer-leach_ and head of the sail, the _outer-leach_ and foot of the sail, and the _luff_ and _foot_ of the sail; the latter being also called the _tack_. The mainsail, as will be observed, has also a series of regular lines crossing its surface. These are called _reef-points_, and consist of short, dangling pieces of small rope, sewed into the sail, and hanging down on either side, long enough, when the sail is lowered, to be fastened around the main-boom, and thus tie down the sail, making it smaller for rough weather, which is called "reefing." On the _outer-leach_, at the end of these rows of _reef-points_, are placed little iron rings, or _cringles_, as they are called, which are used to pass a rope through, called a _reef-pennant_, to haul the sail well out on to the boom when being reefed. The rope (a a) represents what is called the _topping-lift_, and is used to lower or hoist the _main-boom_, so as to make the sail set well in certain circumstances; or when the _main-boom_ is out over the water on one side of the boat, when running before the wind, to "_top it up_" so as to keep it out of the water when the boat rolls. It is set up by means of a small pulley, the end of the rope coming inboard through a sheave in the boom, or one fastened to its side. The _jib_ has its _luff_, _head_, _foot_, and _after-leach_, the same as the _mainsail_, but, of course, has only _three clews_, being a triangular sail. And what is defined about these sails will apply to all fore-and-aft sails. The most important ropes, to which the attention of the reader is called, are the following:-- The _main-sheet_ (l) is a long rope fastened to the main-boom, and controlling the action of the mainsail. According to the size of the boat, this sheet will be single, or rove through a series of blocks, to enable the helmsman to handle the sail. Upon the management of this sheet depends, in a great measure, the safety of all boat-sailing. Its perfect handling and adjustment call for the nicest skill; for its slightest movement changes the whole face of the canvas spread in the mainsail. The _jib-sheets_ (m) are fastened to the after_-clew_ of the jib at the foot of the sail, and are led aft on both sides of the deck, so as to be within reach of the helmsman, or those sitting in the after-part of the boat. Like the _main-sheet_, they are used to confine and trim down the _jib_, each being used on the side on which it is desired to trim down the sail. The _outer-jib_ is controlled in the same manner, by two sheets, one being led aft on either side of the deck. The _mainsail_ is hoisted by means of two sets of ropes, called _throat_ and _peak-halliards_ (n). These are fastened at the foot of the mast to _cleats_ when the sail is hoisted; the throat-halliards, usually on the port side of the mast, and the peak-halliards, on the starboard side of the mast. N.B.--The term _starboard_ is applied to any thing appertaining to the right-hand side of a boat, with the observer looking towards the bow. The term _port_ (formerly, and sometimes now, called _larboard_) is applied to any thing appertaining to the left-hand side, and, thus once defined, never changes. Although the observer may go forward and look aft, the starboard side is still the starboard side, although now on his left hand. Hence sailors talk of the _starboard_ anchor, the _port_ shrouds; "Ease off the _port_ jib-sheet!" "Let go the _starboard_ flying-jib-sheet!" "Put your helm over to _port_!" "Hoist those colors from the _starboard_ side!" "Let the boom go over to _port_!" "Get up that anchor which you will find below in the forecastle, on the _starboard side_!" "Go about on the _port_ tack!" &c. The _jib_ (2) is hoisted by means of a rope, which is called the _jib-halliards_, which is made fast to the upper clew of the sail, and led through a block at the _mainmast_ head, and thence to the deck, being "belayed" (i.e., made fast) to the mainmast near the deck. This sail also has a small but useful rope attached to it, called the _down-haul_, which is fastened to the upper clew, and led down to a small block at the bowsprit end, and thence in on deck; and serves to haul the sail down after the halliards have been cast off. The _flying-jib_ (4) is fitted with _halliards_ and _down-haul_ in the same manner. The _gaff-topsail_ (3) is set by hauling out the _after-leach_ and _foot_ to the end of the _main-gaff_, which part of the gaff is called the _peak_, by means of a rope, which is named the _gaff topsail-sheet_, which reefs through a sheave in the _gaff_ end, and hence under the _gaff_ to the throat, and thence through a block to the deck. The other _clew_, formed by the _luff_ and foot, is stretched by means of a rope leading to the deck, called the _tack_; and the sail is hoisted by means of _halliards_, that reeve through a block fastened at the _topmast_ head, and thence leading to the deck. When the boat is under way, and pressed over by the wind, the terms "starboard" and "port" are often exchanged for "leeward" and "windward," and, in fact, are the more commonly used in many instances; although an old sailor would apply the word "starboard" to certain things that he would not apply the word "leeward" or "windward" to: but these exceptions it would be hard to point out, and they would be of little material use. Let it suffice to say, that as a rule, when a boat is at anchor or upright, the terms "starboard" and "port" are used; whilst, when under way, the terms "lee" or "leeward," "weather" or "windward," are more commonly used; for instance, "Let go the weather jib-sheet!" "Haul aft the lee flying jib-sheet!" "Haul that coil of rope over to the weather-side (or to windward)!" "Throw that hot water to leeward!" "Does she carry a weather-helm?" &c. CHAPTER II. Ballast.--Useful Knots.--To anchor in a Gale of Wind.--Getting the Anchor, and Casting.--Anchoring for Fishing.--Grounding and Floating.--Warping by Means of an Anchor.--To make a Running Moor. Having learned the names of all the important spars, sails, and ropes, and their uses, it becomes necessary to study the other appurtenances of a boat to acquire a thorough knowledge of boat-sailing; and for that purpose we will pass briefly in review the following. BALLAST. Nearly all yachts are made of such a model as to need some heavy material placed within them to enable them to carry sail, and stand up against sudden squalls and flaws of wind. This material is called _ballast_, and, as a self-evident rule, yachts that are shallow, and of great breadth of beam, need less than those of a deep and narrow model. Many articles may be used for ballast, and a yacht ballasted in many different ways; but the following-named are those that are most commonly used. Pig-iron, in pieces that can be handled, is a favorite kind of ballast: sometimes each piece is painted, so as to preserve it from rusting, and discoloring the inside of the boat. Iron in the form of fifty-six-pound weights is also used; whilst a cheaper and very common ballast is found in the small clean pebbles of the seashore. Water contained in movable tanks has been at times, with some, a well-praised ballast; and in yachts where it can be used, and that are fitted for it, it is of great practical value, as, like no other, it can be discharged and renewed by means of a pump, according to the will and weather. The slag from smelted copper and iron is extensively used, as are also broken pieces of iron-casting. But perhaps the ballast as commonly in use as any other in medium-sized yachts and small boats, or, at least, a part of the ballast, consists of common sea-sand enclosed in canvas sacks of a not too unwieldy size, that are movable about the bottom of the boat by means of canvas handles, and can, in emergency, be dumped bodily over into the sea, thus relieving the yacht of so much dead weight. Nearly all yachts that are ballasted, when filled with water, will sink; and there have been many ingenious ways devised to prevent this, so that, in case a yacht should be swamped, i.e., completely filled with water, she would yet float, and make a sort of life-preserver to the occupants, and not go to the bottom, and leave them struggling on the surface. A very ingenious and yet cheap way of obtaining this result is to have built into the wings of the yacht, under the floorings, and in every conceivable place that is out of the way, empty tin or iron six-pound powder-canisters, that seal hermetically, sufficient in number to overcome, by the air they contain and the natural buoyancy of the wood composing the yacht, the weight of the ballast, or the tendency of the same to sink the yacht when filled with water. It will not take a great number of these canisters in quite a large yacht of medium model; for, although the yacht will sink without them, it does not take very much of this confined air to turn the scale, and make it float. Some yachts are ballasted with lead; and this, if it were not for its cost, is a prime ballast, taking up less space than any other. And some care not for the first cost; for, as is truly said, it is a marketable article, which does not vary much in price: and, even if it should cost quite a sum to ballast one's yacht with lead, it is so much cash on hand, and can always be taken out and sold at a moment's notice. Besides the different kinds of ballast that have been enumerated, there is also the living ballast, that is to say, human beings, whom one can place in different parts of the yacht to trim her in different situations. But this kind of ballast is mostly used in racing, and even then is sometimes apt to "get out of order", and not "work well"; and the writer would advise one to stick to iron, lead, gravel, or sand as superior. Perhaps for bay and harbor sailing and short cruises from port to port, there is nothing better than the canvas bags of sand, which can be emptied, if necessary, when one gets aground, or in any other case of emergency, and filled again at the very next shore upon which one lands in the little tender. As a rule, sailing-boats and small yachts are "trimmed by the stern;" that is, the bow is slightly elevated from the water, the boat being pressed, by the position of its ballast, deeper into the water at the stern than at the bow. But every yacht is a law to itself; and no rule will do for all. The position of the ballast has also much to do with the steering qualities, as well as affecting speed: if it be placed too far forward, the yacht will "yaw," and at times, before the wind, be almost unmanageable. In "going about," also, if the ballast be too far forward, the boat will often "miss stays;" that is, fail to perform the evolution of getting upon the other tack. Misplaced ballast will also cause the yacht to carry the helm in a bad position, stopping her speed. Bringing a yacht "by the head" with too much ballast is a serious, nay, at times, a dangerous fault. Bringing her too much by the stern, by means of ballast, is not so grave a matter: the yacht may lose in speed, and not be in her best trim; but she is not as dangerous or unmanageable. It is always better to have too much ballast than too little. It is very easy to ballast a boat with sand or pebbles before one starts; but they cannot be obtained after having once gotten under way; and from this simple cause have arisen so many disasters that need never have occurred! One's natural pride, and the desire to sail fast, prevent often the taking on board of the necessary amount; and then, when it suddenly comes on to blow, the yacht is found to be crank, perhaps dangerously so. How much better would it be to have a little too much ballast, which, when homeward bound,--if there is need of haste, and the weather be settled,--can be discharged over the side, increasing her speed! It is only by careful study that one can ascertain just the amount of ballast that is needed; but, once found, do not change it for light or heavy weather, but keep it intact, and you and your boat will soon understand each other much better than will be the case if it be continually changed. A happy medium is what must be sought for in the question of ballast; for, of course, in different weathers different amounts would be in order. But be advised, and be on the safe side: have plenty of ballast, if the speed is not the very fastest that the boat is capable of making. Professional boatmen, lobstermen, and fishermen are never eternally shifting and changing their ballast: having found the "happy medium," they let it alone for the season. It is only the amateur that is continually sailing his yacht upon her "beam-ends," or watching with the utmost anxiety the fast approaching squall, for which the professional cares naught. KNOTS. We cannot get along on board of a yacht without knowing how to make a few useful knots. The great beauty of a knot, in a sailor's estimation, is not only to hold well, but to be easily _untied or cast off_ after having been subjected to a great strain. Of all knots the bowline is, perhaps, the king, because it can be submitted to a strain that will part the rope, before slipping or giving in the least (and this holds true of the largest hawser, as well as the smallest line); and, after this strain is removed, it can be untied as easily as a knot in one's summer neck-tie. It can be very quickly made, and is useful in more situations than any other, and can be used to replace many others. It is used to fasten a rope in a hurry to the ring of an anchor, or to make fast the painter of a tender through a ring-bolt securely for towing, and yet so as to be easily cast off; fastening sinkers upon fish-lines, or the end of any rope in a position where it will bear strain. Flags may be bent on with this knot, although sailors have a signal-halliard knot, as they also have a peculiar bent for fastening a hawser to an anchor; but no knot can be used in an emergency, in place of all these, like the bowline; and, if one can have knowledge of but a few, let the bowline be the first acquired. It will be useful also on shore, and throughout one's life, making as a matter of past record, to be eternally sunk in oblivion, those awful knots that never would come undone again. Next to the bowline in importance is, perhaps, the bend called _two half-hitches_, or the _clove hitch_, by means of which one can secure with the end of a rope almost any thing. This hitch is called two half-hitches when it is made upon its own standing part, and a clove hitch when made around any other thing, such as a spar; but both are the same in principle. The third knot that must be acquired is what is called the _square knot_, or reef knot, and is used in reefing the sails. The reef-points being tied in square knots can be easily untied when needed: if improperly tied in a _granny knot_, they either jam or fly open in the height of the gale,--when one desires them most to hold on. With these three knots one can get along nicely, and it is advisable to obtain a knowledge of how to make them without delay. TO MAKE A BOWLINE KNOT. Take the end of the rope in your right hand, and the standing part in your left; lay the end over the standing part; then with your left hand turn the bight of the standing part from you, and over the end part, by a peculiar turn of the wrists, which comes only by practice, forming what is called a goose-neck on the standing part; then lead the end, which is already enclosed in the goose-neck, under and around the standing part, and down through the same goose-neck; and haul the parts taut. [Illustration: _Bowline Knot._] [Illustration: _Two half Hitches._ _Clove Hitch._] TO MAKE TWO HALF-HITCHES. Pass the end of the rope around the standing part, and up through the bight (this is one half-hitch); pass the end again around the standing part, and up through its own bight, which makes the second half-hitch, and completes the knot. (See diagram.) Then, if this knot is used to bend on a hawser to an anchor, it is customary to stop the end of the rope down upon the standing part by means of a rope-yarn, so as to prevent all chance of its coming apart whilst chafing about at the bottom of the sea. _A clove hitch_ is this same knot made around a spar or other article, instead of on its own standing part. (See diagram.) TO MAKE A SQUARE OR REEF KNOT. [Illustration: _Square or Reef Knot._] First make a common overhand knot around a spar, or any thing that may suit; then make exactly the same knot again, taking care to cross the ends so that they will each come out on the same side of the bight as they did in the first knot. If on either side of what may be called the right or left side of the knot, as seen in the cut, the ends do not come out in the same relative place as in the first knot, it is called a "granny knot," and will not hold. And one who makes a "granny" becomes the laughing-stock of all on board, and is at once pronounced a "land-lubber," if he cannot make this simple and useful knot correctly. So be advised, and learn it at once. THE ANCHOR AND GEAR. Nothing on board the yacht, after the sails and ropes, should receive such attention as the "ground tackle," as it is called. On the anchor and its appurtenances rests the safety, often, of all on board; and yet there is nothing so often neglected, or left carelessly out of order, or the cable in a snarl, as the anchoring gear in a small yacht. [Illustration] Every yacht over twenty-five feet in length should be fitted with three anchors, or, at the very least, two. If three in number, two of them should be nearly of the same size, and one quite small and handy, which is called the "kedge-anchor." We will suppose that the yacht is fitted with three, and, if so, their uses will be as hereinafter described. In the olden times hemp cables were wholly used, even for vessels of large size and men-of-war; but in these latter days they have been replaced by iron cables in large ships, and by manila hawsers in small yachts. To be sure there are some advantages in favor of a chain-cable for even small yachts; but as a rule the pliable, soft but strong manila rope is the favorite. Small iron cables are, for some reason or other, distrusted; and they are also heavy to get back again, even if of small size, when the yacht is anchored in many fathoms of water. They are useful when the yacht is likely to lie at anchor in a sea-way for a long time, for then they would not chafe; whilst a manila cable might become seriously injured. Some use a few fathoms of iron chain, and then manila above that, so as to keep the end near the anchor from fraying on rocky bottoms. It is to be remembered, then, in a long piece of chain cable, that the _one imperfect link_, or one that is weak in any way, _determines the utmost strength of the cable_. In other words, the strain necessary to part the weakest link makes the stronger ones useless. Perhaps it is the fear of this weakness lurking in some unknown link that deters yachtsmen, as a class, from using chain-cables, and makes them prefer the clean, handsome manila rope, that they know is just as strong at one part as another throughout its entire length. _Wire cables_ have commenced to be talked of, made in the same shape as wire rigging, only more pliable; and these, perhaps, will, in time, come into use, as they are of uniform strength, and take up less room than the cumbersome manila rope cables. If the anchors are stowed below deck, always get them up, and bent on to their respective cables, long before the time when it becomes necessary to use them. One never knows, near a coast-line, when an anchor may be needed. Always have good long cables, and not nasty little pieces of short rope: on this depends often the safety of all concerned. Every thing else being equal, the length of the cables is what will determine, in a gale of wind, whether the yacht goes on shore a wreck, or gallantly and safely weathers the storm. TO ANCHOR IN A GALE OF WIND. If caught in a gale of wind on a lee-shore, and with no chance of escape,--the sea being too heavy to "claw off" to windward, and no harbor to leeward,--the only safety is to anchor; and always do this before it is too late, and before the yacht has been driven too near the shore or breakers to lie quietly. Procrastination at such a time is often highly dangerous; and a yacht may go ashore because she is anchored in a line of heavy breakers, when just outside she would lie almost with ease. It will be found, also, that it _always_ takes longer to get an anchor down than was estimated, and whilst it is being done the yacht sets heavily in towards the shore with each sea: therefore anchor _early_. When every thing is ready, bring the yacht to the wind, and let the sails shake in the wind's eye; and, so soon as she gets stem-way, let go the best bower anchor, taking care not to snub her too quickly, but to let considerable of the cable run out before checking her; then take a turn or two around the knight-heads, long before there is any strain, and be ready to give her cable gradually as she needs it. One must be very careful to get this turn around the knight-heads long before there is any strain; for the strength of the yacht drifting before the gale will be under-estimated, except by a sailor; and if one has neglected to take the necessary turn in time, and a strain once commences upon the cable, it will then be too late, and the mortification will be experienced of seeing the whole cable go overboard, unless the yacht be brought up by its being fastened below; and even then the chances are, that it will be snapped asunder by the momentum that the drifting yacht has acquired. Just so soon as the first anchor bites, and the yacht seems to come head to wind, and hold, let go the second anchor, and pay out plenty of cable on both, keeping the strain as nearly equal on each as possible. In grave circumstances like these of anchoring in a gale of wind on a lee-shore, it is always well to put down both anchors. Too often one anchor is used, because the weather does not look very bad, and, as it increases, the cable is paid out upon; and when, at last, it is ascertained that the gale has increased, and another anchor is needed, it is found, after it is cast, that the cable cannot be paid out upon it, because the end of the cable of the first anchor is close at hand, and has been nearly all paid out, making the second anchor useless. Always let go both anchors, one shortly after the other; and if the weather be very bad indeed, then, when about half the cable is paid out on the second anchor, lash to the cable the small kedge-anchor, by fastening it by small ropes, passed around the shank and through the ring, to the cable of the large anchor, and cast it over the bows. This is called "backing an anchor" (see diagram below), and strengthens the hold of the first anchor in a marked degree, especially if the holding-ground be poor. It is supposed, of course, that, as the yacht comes head to wind, the jib is hauled down; and now the next thing is to down mainsail, and furl every thing snug. If the yacht holds well, keep part of the cables still on board, to pay out, if necessary; and, to be sure that she is not dragging, cast a hand-lead over the side, and let it rest on the bottom. Make it fast, leaving enough slack so that the yacht may sheer without moving it. By trying this once in a while, it will be instantly seen, from its relative position between the yacht and the bottom, whether the vessel has dragged. For instance, if the lead-line should be left up and down, and the next time it was tested should be found resting on the bottom, toward the bow of the yacht, she would have dragged just that distance, and needs more cable at once. It is well always to give a good scope in such emergencies, and allow the anchors to become embedded at a good angle, and not be played with by just holding, and then dragging a little, and then paying out a little: that is dangerous sport. After all is furled snug, nothing else can be done for safety, except in case of extreme emergency, when, as a last recourse, the mainmast may be cut away if the yacht is dragging on shore. But with two good anchors down in, say, six fathoms of water, and one of those backed, and forty or fifty fathoms of cable out, it will take a terrific sea and wind to make a yacht budge an inch. [Illustration: _An Anchor backed_] GETTING THE ANCHOR, AND CASTING. [Illustration: _Casting_] Hoist the mainsail, and take the gaskets off the jib, and see that the down-haul is cast off, and is clear for hoisting; then heave away on the cable, either by hand, or by windlass, if the yacht be large enough to need one, till the anchor is almost broken out of the ground, or what sailors call, the cable, "up and down;" then, by means of the rudder, if in a tide-way, cast the head of the yacht in the direction you wish to proceed upon; trip the anchor; and run up the jib as soon as it will draw. If there is no tide-way to act upon the rudder, then, before breaking out the anchor, hoist the jib; and, if it is desired to cast the boat upon the port tack, trim down the jib-sheet to port, and shove the main-boom well out over the starboard quarter, and, when the boat has a good sheer, trip the anchor; and, when she has paid off enough, let go the port jib-sheet, and trim down on the starboard-sheet, and haul aft the main-boom, and proceed on your way. ANCHORING FOR FISHING. It is often needful to drop an anchor so as just to hold the yacht stationary for a short time in some known place, for the purpose of fishing; and these places are almost always ledges of rock, which foul and entangle the anchor, and it is often difficult to weigh it again. To avoid this (if there is not too much wind, and the yacht will lie easily), instead of making the cable fast to the ring of the anchor, make it fast with a clove hitch around both arms at the crown, and lead it along the shank of the anchor to the ring, to which attach it by means of a small piece of spun yarn or twine that will hold some strain, but which can be broken in case of necessity. Then, when it is desired to get under way again, and the anchor is found to be fouled, bring enough strain, by means of the windlass or otherwise, upon the cable to part the twine at the ring; when the strain will come directly upon the crown and flukes, and the anchor will almost always be cleared. If it should not be, pay out plenty of cable, and sail around or beyond it, and all at once it will be found that it is cleared, and can be weighed. In anchoring in this manner, it is not, in light weather, necessary to lower the mainsail, but simply to trim down the main-sheet flat, or place the boom in a crotch made for that purpose. The jib can be lowered; and hoisted again when under way. GROUNDING AND FLOATING. If the yacht takes the ground on any shoal, and is left by the tide, it is always proper to get out an anchor in the direction of the wind, before the tide returns; then, when the water begins to make, the yacht will not be blown higher and higher upon the shoal as she commences to float, but will be held by her anchor, and soon ride head to wind or tide. WARPING BY MEANS OF AN ANCHOR. There are times when it is desirable to get a yacht into a certain position, and there is no wind. To do this, run out a light anchor to the spot you desire to reach, by means of a small tender; cast it overboard; and warp the yacht up to it: repeat this till the desired position is reached. A RUNNING MOOR Is sometimes made by casting an anchor, with plenty of scope of cable, whilst a yacht is running free, or before the wind, and bringing her with a long sweep, up to and heading the wind, when another anchor is let go also, and part of the cable of the first anchor hauled in so that she will lie to one anchor on the flood-tide, and the other on the ebb-tide. CHAPTER III. The Helm and Rudder.--Sheets.--The Topping-Lift.--Springing a Leak and the Use of the Pump.--Sailing "close-hauled," "by the wind," or "full and by."--To know when a Yacht is as near the Wind as she will lie.--Running free.--Before the Wind, or Scudding.--To execute a Pilot's Luff. THE HELM AND RUDDER Control the movement of the yacht through the water, and serve to direct her course. The rudder may be described as pieces of boards or planks, in a line with the keel, hung upon pivots at the stern of a vessel, in an upright position, and extending from the keel to the rail, and having an attachment, called a tiller or wheel, to move it in either direction, to the right or left, across the line of the keel of the yacht. (See diagram.) [Illustration: _Rudder & Tiller_] The tiller, which passes through the rudder-head, is moved to the right or left; and this is termed "moving the helm." For instance, "Move the helm over to starboard," "Put the helm to starboard," that is to say, push the tiller over towards the starboard side of the yacht, which will carry the rudder to the port side of the yacht, and, if under way, the bow will change direction towards the left. In other words, when a vessel is under way, and going ahead by her own momentum, or anchored in a tide-way, the following rule always holds good:-- _To starboard the helm carries the head to port._ _To port the helm carries the head to starboard._ See diagrams, Figs. 1 and 2, page 37. This is all reversed at a critical point in seamanship, which should be carefully remembered; and that is when a yacht has what is called a _stern-board_, i.e., has received some force which is making her go through the water stern first. This often happens when an attempt has been made to tack, and the execution of the manoeuvre has seemed to fail: it is then for a moment or two that the yacht will often drift astern, keeping in the wind's eye, making it uncertain whether or not she will yet "go about." It is at this moment, whilst she is making this stern-board, that a knowledge of the helm will yet put her about by shifting the helm hard over to the opposite side from where it was when the attempt was made to go about. Remember not to move the helm till the yacht has commenced making stern-way, then this law applies:-- _To starboard the helm carries the head to starboard._ _To port the helm carries the head to port._ For instance, if it were desired to go about by bringing the helm over to the starboard side of the yacht, and the manoeuvre should fail, after the yacht has come head to wind, and commenced to get stern-way, it might yet be consummated by shifting the helm, or tiller, over to port, which would have exactly the same effect as it formerly had when the yacht was advancing, and the helm hard a starboard. [Illustration: Fig. 1.] [Illustration: Fig. 2.] A yacht should be perfectly enough balanced with sails and ballast to carry a nearly even helm when on the wind: but it is often the case that they carry what is called a _lee-helm_; that is to say, when the yacht is on a wind, the tiller is continually poked down to leeward, or the opposite side of the yacht from the wind, to keep her up to her course, from which a tendency to fall off is shown: this is usually caused by too much head-sail, and may be remedied by a shorter bowsprit, a smaller jib, or another cloth on the after-leach of the mainsail. To carry a lee-helm is a "beastly thing," as an Englishman would say, and something that cannot long be endured by those who truly like yachting. If the yacht is free from the odious lee-helm, she may carry a _weather-helm_, which is not as bad as a lee-helm, but is troublesome. This causes the yacht to have a tendency to "luff up into the wind," and causes the tiller to be carried hard over on the weather-side of the yacht, and is usually occasioned by too much after-sail, or bad storage of ballast. Both these habits of carrying a lee, or weather-helm, are detrimental to speed, as in both positions the rudder is often held at nearly a right angle to the keel, decreasing the speed materially. A yacht that is well balanced in sails and ballast will, on a wind, habitually carry the tiller a point or two to windward of the line of the keel, and it will need but little movement in any direction to keep her on her course. Sometimes, in sudden squalls, a yacht that carries a weather-helm will luff up into the wind in spite of the helm, so as not to be stopped except by slacking off the main-sheet. The same may occur in yawing with a yacht that carries a lee-helm. The helm may be put hard down, and sometimes the jib-sheet will have to be eased off, before the yacht will come to the wind. A weather-helm is endurable, but a lee-helm never,--"_Well, hardly ever._" SHEETS. Sheets are the ropes that confine the mainsail and jib in place, and are most important in their uses. The jib-sheets lead along the deck, aft, to the standing-room, in most yachts, and in heavy weather should not be belayed so but what they can be cast off in an instant by a sudden jerk of the hand. They may be held in place by a sort of hitch, hard to describe, where one part jams the other, and keeps it in place. Any boatman will explain how it is made. The main-sheet makes fast, usually, at or near the helmsman, under whose charge it is; _and in heavy weather this should not be made fast at all_, but only one turn taken, and the remainder of the strain rest upon the hand. Of course, in yachts over thirty to forty feet in length, with crews, every thing can be made fast: but we are now writing of smaller craft, and it is repeated, in squally and dirty weather _never make fast the main-sheet_; it is the key to the whole science of boat-sailing, and should never be out of one's hand in time of emergency. It can, after taking one turn, be wound around the tiller, and brought to the same hand as the one that is moving the helm, and yet be instantly cast off, if necessary. THE TOPPING-LIFT. This useful rope holds up the main-boom, and its length is regulated by a pulley. In scudding before the wind it is very useful; for, by means of the pulley, the end of the boom can be "topped up," so as to be kept out of the water when the yacht rolls heavily. It is also useful in making the mainsail set well; and, after the latter is hoisted, it can be made to set flat as a board by slacking the topping-lift so that the after-leach of the sail will wholly sustain the outer end of the main-boom. SPRINGING A LEAK, AND THE USE OF THE PUMP. The pump should always be kept in good order, and ready for immediate use. In case the yacht springs a leak, the best way to stop it is to pass a light sail over the bows, and bring it aft over the leak by means of ropes on both sides of the yacht. Leaks are more easily stopped on the outside, the pressure of the water forcing the canvas into the damaged part; and even light canvas is almost water-proof. Of course, after once having thus temporarily stopped a leak, it is scarcely necessary to add that one should seek shelter in the nearest port, and have the yacht perfectly repaired before proceeding farther; for there is nothing more deceptive, or dangerous even, than a small leak, which is almost always sure to open, and become a source of great anxiety, just so soon as the sea begins to get up and the wind to blow,--at the very moment, in other words, when the yacht needs all possible care and attention in other directions, to insure her safety. Never neglect a small leak, but have it attended to and repaired at once. Examine the well of the yacht often, and ascertain by personal inspection that she is not making water faster than is usual, and especially have this attended to during rough weather. If a leak is discovered, the yacht should, if possible, be put before the wind till it is secured; for she will receive less strain to hull and spars in this position than in any other. CLOSE-HAULED. A yacht is said to be close-hauled, or sailing "_full and by_" when she is brought as near to the wind as is possible, so as to advance through the water; for it is to be presumed that it is understood, that if the main-boom were brought so as to pass directly over the line of the keel of the yacht, and the head of the yacht brought as near the wind as possible, and the sail to remain full, and not shake, she would not advance, but would simply be pushed to leeward by the wind. To insure her advancing, the boom must be at some angle from the line of the keel: therefore it may be taken as a rule that the main-boom, in sailing, is always kept out over the quarter, on one side or the other; and close-hauled simply means that it is brought as far inboard, or towards the line of the keel, by means of the main-sheet, as experience has proved can be done, and have her advance through the water. Some yachts haul aft the main-boom closer than others, being enabled to do so on account of their build and model; and the closer the boom can be brought to the line of the keel, and the yacht still kept advancing, the nearer the wind she will be said to sail, and will "hold a good wind," as it is called. And this is, of course, a _desideratum_ in beating to windward, or against the wind at an angle to it; for the yacht that makes the angle least between itself and the direction of the wind will, other things being equal, arrive the quickest at its destination; whilst another, that cannot lie so nigh the wind, will have to pass over much more water to arrive at the same place. On general principles, all fore-and-aft vessels lie equally near the wind, usually within four points and a half; but there are craft, that from their model, and equal balance of sail, or some other unknown cause, will lie nearer than their neighbors, and seem to eat up into the wind. Just how far to have the main-boom over the side of the yacht, in sailing close-hauled, has never been settled; for it resolves itself to this. If the boom is hauled further inboard, the yacht sails nearer to the wind, but in an increased ratio loses its speed; for, if it should be hauled completely in till in a line with the keel, the yacht would stop, as has been explained: whilst, the farther out over the side it is allowed to go, the faster the yacht sails, but the farther also from the wind and the direction that it is desired to proceed in to windward. Hence a happy medium must be decided upon; and there is no doubt but what the result of most races has depended more upon the use of the main sheet, when close-hauled, or beating to windward, than upon any other cause. Just how flat to trim the sheets can only be acquired by experience; but the following general rules will apply:-- As a general principle, the sheets can be trimmed flatter, or farther aft, in light weather and a smooth sea, than in heavy weather and a head sea. In fact, it is impossible to sail as near the wind in lumpy water as in smooth water. After a yacht has been reefed, also, she will not lie as near the wind as before, for the same reasons that compelled the reefing. With old hands, the yacht, when close-hauled, is allowed to, what sailors call, "go through the water," rather than to point up almost into the wind's eye, and keep bobbing up and down, and advancing very little. In most yachts it will be found by experiment that the main-boom should be at about the angle shown in the figure in the diagram on p. 46, marked "close hauled;" but others may be, perhaps, hauled slightly more inboard: but, as a general law, a good free sheet is the better, especially in a sea-way. TO KNOW WHEN THE YACHT IS AS NEAR THE WIND AS SHE WILL SAIL Is important, and it can always be known by the following method. Push the helm very slowly over to leeward, and, as the yacht commences to come towards the wind, keep the eye fastened upon the luff, or inner leach, of the mainsail. As soon as the yacht is too near the wind to have the sail stand full, a little wave will be seen to agitate the luff of the sail, from its head to the foot, usually commencing near the head, and just under the gaff, as that part of the sail is at a further angle from the wind than the part that is fastened to the main-boom; the gaff blowing out much further to leeward, not being confined by a sheet as the main-boom is. This wave, or shake, is caused by the wind getting on both sides of the sail, and, if persisted in, would bring the yacht to a stand-still, with the sail flapping in the wind's eye. But short practice will enable one to see almost instantly this commencement of a shake, that begins to show itself on the mainsail like a smile breaking over the countenance of a pretty woman; and at the first symptom reverse the helm, and keep the yacht in that position which is called sailing "by the wind," or "full and by;" that is to say, full sails, and by the wind. If, after the yacht is in this position, a bearing on shore can be taken to steer by, it will be a good thing; but as the wind often changes even several points, especially near the coast-line, every few moments, this experiment must be repeated; and it is this keeping a yacht up to her work, and never letting her fall off, and never shaking her, and yet taking advantage of every flaw, that goes to make up the accomplished helmsman. There are other signs besides these, which to a sailor are very simple, that denote to him when the yacht is off the wind; such as the angle at which the wind strikes his face, the direction of the wind on the face of the waters, and the line of the weather-vane at the main truck, and the smoke from his pipe: these will do for him as well as luffing and shaking the mainsail, but the latter method is the perfect one; and, if the yacht can be so steered as to keep just the suspicion of a little smile rippling its luff below the throat of the gaff, it will be the perfection of sailing "close-hauled," or "by the wind." RUNNING FREE. When the wind is favorable, and the yacht will lay her course without having to beat towards her destination at an angle against the head wind, as in close-hauled, then the sails are arranged in a different manner; and the main-boom is swung out over the side in just such proportion as the wind may be free, till completely out, so as to hang at right angles with the keel, when the wind is dead aft. (See diagrams.) [Illustration: wind diagrams] BEFORE THE WIND, OR SCUDDING. This is the most difficult steering of any; and in rough water it is very hard to keep the yacht upon her course, for the reason that the seas will lift the stern out of the water, thus at once neutralizing the use of the rudder for a moment, and causing the yacht to yaw. Besides this, the speed changes, this affecting the rudder also. When on top of a sea, and all the sails full, the yacht will go fast: when she attempts to bury her head, and kick up her heels, and becalms the jib and lower part of the mainsail, she will go slower. There is one thing to be guarded against in running before the wind, and that is the "jibing" of the main-boom; that is to say, the wind getting on the forward part of the sail, from any cause,--whether by change of wind, or on account of bad steering,--and carrying it violently over to the other side, endangering the yacht, and with a liability, in heavy weather, of carrying away the mast. This must be guarded against carefully; and if the sea is very bad, and the yacht steers very wild, it is better to tack down to leeward, as it is termed, that is to say, to haul up the yacht a little towards the wind on either tack, so as to bring it over the quarter, and then run before it for a distance, and then, by careful jibing, bring the wind over the other quarter, and then proceed on. PILOT'S LUFF. In harbor-sailing, a buoy or point often appears ahead, which, if passed, the yacht could be at once kept away free, being now close-hauled, thus saving the time and inconvenience of tacking, but, as she is going, will be right in the way, unless she is put about. To avoid tacking in such a case, where the yacht will _almost_ stand by, a manoeuvre is often executed (if the tide is favorable, and the wind brisk), to avoid tacking, called a "pilot's luff," and consists of--when quite near the object to be passed, and according to its position as right ahead or slightly to leeward--bringing the yacht quickly up into the wind, so that the sails shake, and by her own momentum shooting her dead to windward once or twice her length; and then, before her headway is lost, and the rudder, therefore, useless, keeping her off again till every thing draws, when the same manoeuvre may be again executed, each time gaining a position farther to windward than could have been gained in any other way, except by going about on the other tack. It takes a steady hand at the tiller, and a good calculation of the momentum of the yacht, to execute a pilot's luff well: but it is very useful often, if well performed, and very disastrous in a race; for instance, if the helmsman succeeds in getting the yacht "into irons," and with a stern-board on, as may be the case if he brings her up too high, or neglects to move the helm in time to get back upon his course before the momentum of the yacht is lost, or lets her go about on the other tack. A pilot's luff is a very pretty manoeuvre when well executed; and you shall see many an old boatman squeezing his boat by a point, instead of taking the trouble of going about, knowing, that, the moment he has doubled it, his course will be such that the wind will be fair, and he can then ease off his sheets, and go on his way rejoicing. CHAPTER IV. Tacking.--Beating to Windward.--A Long and a Short Leg.--How to put a Yacht about.--How to distinguish the Starboard Tack from the Port Tack.--Jibing, or Wearing.--Dropping the Peak.--To beat to Windward in a Tide-Way.--To take in a Jib, and furl it.--To take in a Mainsail, and furl it.--To reef a Jib, or take off a Bonnet.--To clap one Reef in a Mainsail.--To cast out a Reef. TACKING [Illustration: tacking] Is the art of putting a yacht about, so that the wind, which has been blowing upon the starboard side, we will say, shall blow upon the port side, or on the opposite side of the sails to which it was before the manoeuvre was executed, and, when used to force the vessel by a series of angles towards the direction from which the wind proceeds, is called "beating to windward." Sometimes the wind is not dead ahead, and yet in such a direction that the yacht cannot proceed except by tacking once in a while. This is termed _making a long and a short leg._ (See diagram.) We will first explain how a yacht is put about in heavy weather and with seamanlike accuracy. [Illustration: tacking] In the first place, let us define the starboard tack from the port tack, and _vice versa_. It must be remembered that a yacht is on the starboard tack when the main-boom is out over the port quarter, and the port jib-sheets trimmed down; and on the port tack, when the main-boom is out over the starboard quarter; or the starboard jib-sheets trimmed down; or a yacht is said to be on the starboard tack when the wind blows so as to hit the starboard side of the boat, and _vice versa_. This is very useful to remember; for there are several "rights of way" that one has when on the starboard tack, which will be treated of hereafter. The windward side of the yacht also denotes which tack she is upon, the name of the weather-side being the name of the tack. We will suppose that the yacht is on the starboard tack, with the main-boom out over the port quarter, the port jib-sheets trimmed down, and the yacht close-hauled to the wind. Have every thing gotten ready for tacking, by singing out, _Ready about!_ when all assistants should take their positions as before instructed; then (we will suppose you are steering your own yacht) keep off till the yacht is going a good full through the water, and then, by means of the tiller gradually pressed hard over to port, bring her into the wind's eye, singing out, as the tiller is being moved, "_Hard a-lee_;" at which command the assistant at the jib-sheet should cast off all but one turn, and, as the boat starts into the wind, should cast that off, letting the jib fly loosely at the command, _Let go the jib-sheet!_ which follows quickly the announcement of "Hard a-lee." Then, unless the yacht gets a stern-board, which has been explained elsewhere, she is helped round by pushing the main-boom--which is made fast by its sheet, and works itself--out over the starboard quarter. When the yacht is just about to pass the direction of the wind, and is nearly upon the other tack, give the order to "_trim down on the port jib-sheet_,"--the same sheet as has just been cast off; and the outer surface of the sail will act as a lever to push the head of the yacht off till the wind fills the mainsail, when the order, "_Let draw!_" should be given, and the jib-sheet let go on the port side, and trimmed down as fast as slacked, by another assistant on the starboard side. (See diagrams.) [Illustration: THE ART OF TACKING] When the weather is light, the yacht small, or particularly easy in coming about, all the above may not need to be executed. Some vessels will come about without starting the head-sheets; others always need it; some always get stern-way, and need the helm shifted to bring them round; whilst the centre-board boats, as a class, fly round without touching any thing. But it is well to know how to get a yacht about in a heavy sea; and all the principles that will help bring about this result have been given above. JIBING, OR WEARING. There are times when the sea is too high, and the sail so much reduced that a yacht will not go about by turning towards the wind, but must be gotten on the other tack by wearing, as it is technically called in ships, where the yards are square, and jibing, as it is called in crafts that carry fore-and-aft sails, i.e., sails that hoist up on a mast, and are stretched upon booms, in contradistinction to those that are fastened to yards that cross the mast at right angles, as in a ship often called by sailors, for this reason, a "square-rigger." Jibing is at all times a delicate manoeuvre, as many have found out to their sorrow if they have ever been careless. It is also a very deceptive manoeuvre, to any but sailors. How easy it is for land-lubbers, after facing a good square breeze, to think, when the yacht is kept away before it, that the wind has gone down! And the writer has actually brought his yacht to the wind again, to convince one sceptic that it was the position of the yacht _wholly_ that caused all the change; which is extremely marked, as all must allow. It is from this treacherous smoothness, after so much buffeting about when close-hauled, that all the mischief occurs; for the boom often, if carelessly allowed to jibe, will fill with wind, and, as it goes over, either part the main-sheet, or carry away the mast, or do other damage, sometimes of a very serious nature. It is forgotten, also, in this manoeuvre, that, when the mainsail comes aft, there is a moment when it flutters in the wind's eye; and the yacht, relieved of its immense pressure, loses in a great measure her momentum, and then, when the sail fills with a rush, sufficient allowance for the loss of speed, and the force of the hurrying wind that fills the great mainsail, is not taken into account. This manoeuvre must, however, be executed when the yacht will not go about by turning to windward; but it is advised to use this method as little as possible, except in light summer airs in inner harbors, when it may be executed with impunity and without any danger of mishaps. [Illustration: dropping the peak] We will suppose a yacht is running before the wind on the port tack, with the main-boom off to its fullest extent; which is a position that she will reach in turning to leeward, from any other position, either close-hauled or running free, before she can be jibed. It is always safer, if the wind is at all strong, "to drop the peak" before attempting the evolution. "Dropping the peak" consists of letting go the peak-halliards of the mainsail, so that the outer clew and head of the sail, that is attached to the gaff, will be lowered down so as to dangle alongside of the mainmast, with the gaff pointing to the deck. This makes of the mainsail, for the time being, a sort of triangular or leg-of-mutton sail, and takes off the leverage of the high part, that the wind might fill in jibing, and thus press over the yacht dangerously. (See diagram.) [Illustration: _Jibing._] After dropping the peak, commence hauling in upon the main-sheet, keeping the yacht all the time turned a very little towards the wind on the port side, till the main-sheet is hauled chock aft, and the main-boom almost amidships; then take a good turn with it, and shift the helm gradually, till the wind is on the starboard side slightly, and the sail has filled with a slat upon that tack; when the main-sheet may be slackened, the peak hoisted, and the yacht kept on her course. BEATING TO WINDWARD IN A TIDE-WAY. It is very important at times to know how a current sets; for, in beating to windward, it makes all the difference in the world often, which tack the yacht is upon, and whether she is heading well up to the tide, or crossing it at such an angle as to receive its whole force; and, being swept to leeward, the direction of the current will decide which tack to keep the longer upon, and to make as short as possible the tack that brings the keel at right angles to the current. Manage the yacht, also, so that, when the current or tide-way is faced in the place of its greatest strength, the yacht shall be upon the tack that nearly stems it, and that she shall be placed upon the unfavorable tack only when she approaches parts of the tide-way where the current may be less strong. A knowledge of the direction of a tide-way, and how to take advantage of it, has won many a race. TO TAKE IN A JIB, AND FURL IT. It is best to first bring to by the wind; but the jib can be taken in and furled, with the yacht in different positions. Stand by the jib-halliards, and have the down-haul well manned, also the lee jib-sheet; then, at the command, "Down jib!" or, "Let go the jib-halliards!" or, "Take in the jib!" the halliards are cast off, the lee jib-sheet eased off, and the down-haul bowsed upon, till the head of the jib is snug down to the boom, when it should be carefully belayed, and the lee-sheet again made fast, leaving a little slack for furling. Then lay out upon the bowsprit, on the weather-side, and pick up the sail from out to leeward, and furl it to the bowsprit by means of gaskets, or stops, or in any way that is arranged for, being careful, if the yacht is pitching much, not to be thrown over the bowsprit to leeward, if submerged in a sea; for the person is suddenly lifted by a sea that may reach only to the middle, and, if care is not taken, pitched over the bowsprit and to leeward. Having made every thing fast, lay in, and set taut the jib-halliards, and belay them, and bring the after-clew of the jib amidships, by setting taut on the starboard and port jib-sheets, and belaying them, and coiling down every thing snug. TO TAKE IN A MAINSAIL, AND FURL IT. Bring the yacht close to the wind, and haul the main-sheet flat aft, and belay it carefully; for, if it should get adrift whilst the sail was being furled, some one might be knocked overboard. Then stand by the throat and peak-halliards, and, at the word "Lower away," ease away handsomely on each, taking care not to let the peak drop too fast, which, if done, sometimes causes the hoops to jam, and the whole sail to stick, till the peak-halliards are hoisted upon again to clear things. When the sail is wholly down, make fast the halliards, and get along on the weather-side of the main-boom, and pick up the sail by what is called "skinning it;" that is to say, not to haul it up bodily upon the boom, but by repeatedly taking the canvas, and shaking it towards one, it is finally rolled up so as to lay snugly on the boom, to which it should be fastened by gaskets. The main-boom should then be lifted into a crotch, if one is used, and the throat and peak-halliards hauled taut, and the main-sheet again belayed, as it will have to be slacked to get the crotch under the boom, and every thing coiled up snug, and belayed. REEFING. This consists of the art of reducing the sails of a yacht in heavy weather, so that she will not be top-heavy, and be able to stand up bravely against the coming blast. And here let the writer beg all persons who desire to be advised at all, not to delay reefing too long; and always put in two reefs rather than one, if the weather looks very dirty. Reefing before bad weather reaches one is quite another thing than trying to reef down in the middle of a thunder-storm in which one has been caught by holding on too long. TO REEF A JIB, OR TAKE OFF THE BONNET. If fitted with a bonnet, instead of reef-points, bring the yacht to the wind, lower away on the jib-halliards, and bowse on the down-haul, and lower the jib enough so as to bring the reef-cringle down to the bowsprit; then, if a bonnet, unlace and cast off, and, if reef-points, tie up the sail with them, and lash the outer clew to the bowsprit, and cast off the jib-sheet blocks, and hook the sister-hooks into the reef-cringle; hoist up the sail, and trim it. TO PUT ONE REEF IN A MAINSAIL. Haul down the jib, bring the yacht to the wind, haul the main-boom chock aft, and belay the sheet carefully; lower away on the throat and peak-halliards till the reef-band is down somewhat lower than the main-boom; then, by means of the reef-pennant rove through the reef-cringle on the outer-leach of the sail, bowse the foot out on the boom, and lash it fast by passing an earing through the cringle, and around the boom by several turns, till the clew of the sail is securely fastened; then pass an earing from the reef-cringle in the luff of the sail around the main-boom in the same manner, and commence fastening the reef-points, either around the main-boom, or to an iron jack-stay fastened to the boom, or around the foot of the sail, according as the yacht may be arranged, remembering to make each knot a square knot, and not a "granny." After the sail is half lowered in this manner, so as to get at the reef-band, &c., the yacht is kept head to sea and "hove to," by placing the tiller towards the lee-side of the yacht, or what is called "hard a-lee," where it is secured till the vessel is reefed, and started again on her way. In reefing, always haul out on the reef-pennant first, and stretch the foot of the sail, and then lash the luff next, and fasten the reef-points last. When the points are all tied, hoist away on the throat and peak-halliards, and set the sail. TO TAKE IN A SECOND REEF. Proceed in exactly the same manner, except that, in first commencing to reef, two reefs can be taken in one by lowering the sail to the second reef-band, and proceeding in exactly the same manner as in the first reef, except that the two extremities of the sail are lashed at the second reef-band cringles; and, in tying the reef-points, no notice is taken of the first reef-points, but they are stowed with the rest of the sail to the boom, and are not tied. This taking two reefs in one is often done when caught suddenly and a great reduction of sail is needed at once; and it is as useful and safe as if one reef above the other had been properly tied, the only difference being, that if the weather should moderate, so that the yacht would need but one reef, instead of the two she has in, nothing can be done, till the weather is enough settled to carry all sail, towards shaking out the two reefs in one, which would, of course, shake out the whole sail: and valuable time may be lost for want of more sail, set; but, if it is really needed, the two reefs in one can be cast out, and a single reef taken in. [Illustration: _Reefed Sails_] TO SHAKE OUT A REEF. Bring the yacht to the wind in the same manner as for reefing, and unknot carefully all the reef-points _first_, then cast off the lashing at the luff, and, lastly, the earing at the end of the boom. CHAPTER V. Signal-Lights.--The United States Regulations for Steering and Sailing, and the Rules of the Road.--Fog-Signals.--Salutes.--Dipping Colors.--Coming alongside.--Quarterdeck Etiquette.--Useful Articles of Cabin Furniture.--Anchor Watch.--Method and System _versus_ Disorder. SIGNAL-LIGHTS. In all night sailing it is important to know the direction in which any passing vessel is proceeding, and also to be able to give notice of the direction in which one's own yacht is sailing, or, if she be at anchor, to so denote, so as to avoid collisions; and, for this purpose, law and custom have made certain fixed rules, the most important of which, and those that are necessary for usual contingencies, are here appended. RULES OF THE ROAD; OR, STEERING AND SAILING RULES OF THE UNITED STATES. ARTICLE 2.--The lights mentioned in the following articles, and no others, shall be carried in all weathers between sunset and sunrise. LIGHTS FOR STEAMSHIPS. ART. 3.--All steam vessels, when under way, shall carry (_a._) At the foremast head a bright white light, so fixed as to show a uniform and unbroken light over an arc of the horizon of twenty points of the compass; so fixed as to throw the light ten points on each side of the ship, viz., from right ahead to two points abaft the beam on either side; and of such a character as to be visible on a dark night, with a clear atmosphere, at a distance of at least five miles. (_b._) On the starboard side a green light, so constructed as to throw a uniform and unbroken light over an arc of the horizon of ten points of the compass; so fixed as to throw the light from right ahead to two points abaft the beam on the starboard side; and of such a character as to be visible on a dark night, with a clear atmosphere, at a distance of at least two miles. (_c._) On the port side a red light, so constructed as to show a uniform, unbroken light over an arc of the horizon of ten points of the compass; so fixed as to throw the light from right ahead to two points abaft the beam on the port side; and of such a character as to be visible on a dark night, with a clear atmosphere, at a distance of at least two miles. NOTE._To fix firmly in the mind the side of the vessel on which the lights belong, the following, although original, is recommended_: PORT WINE _is red, and the_ RED LIGHT _is always on the_ PORT SIDE. (_d._) The said green and red side-lights shall be fitted with inboard screens, projecting at least three feet forward from the light, so as to prevent these lights from being seen across the bow. LIGHTS FOR STEAM-TUGS. ART. 4.--Steamships, when towing other ships, shall carry two bright white masthead lights vertically, in addition to their side-lights, so as to distinguish them from other steamships. LIGHTS FOR SAILING-VESSELS. ART. 5.--Sailing-vessels under way, or being towed, shall carry the same lights as steamships under way, with the exception of the white masthead lights, which they shall never carry. EXCEPTIONAL LIGHTS FOR SMALL SAILING-VESSELS. ART. 6.--Whenever, as in the case of small vessels during bad weather, the green and red lights cannot be fixed, these lights shall be kept on deck, on their respective sides of the vessel, ready for instant exhibition; and shall, on the approach of or to other vessels, be exhibited on their respective sides in sufficient time to prevent collision, in such manner as to make them most visible, and so that the green light shall not be seen on the port side, nor the red light on the starboard side. To make the use of these portable lights more certain and easy, they shall each be painted outside with the color of the light they respectively contain, and shall be provided with suitable screens. LIGHTS FOR SHIPS AT ANCHOR. ART. 7.--Ships, whether steamships or sailing-ships, when at anchor in roadsteads or fairways, shall, between sunset and sunrise, exhibit where it can best be seen, but at a height not exceeding twenty feet above the hull, a white light in a globular lantern of eight inches in diameter, and so constructed as to show a clear, uniform, and unbroken light visible all around the horizon, and at a distance of at least one mile. LIGHTS FOR PILOT-VESSELS. ART. 8.--Sailing pilot-vessels shall not carry the lights required for other sailing-vessels, but shall carry a white light at the masthead, visible all around the horizon; and shall also exhibit a flare-up light every fifteen minutes. LIGHTS FOR FISHING-VESSELS AND BOATS. ART. 9.--Open fishing-boats and other open boats shall not be required to carry side-lights required for other vessels, but shall, if they do not carry such lights, carry a lantern having a green slide on the one side, and a red slide on the other side; and, on the approach of or to other vessels, such lantern shall be exhibited in sufficient time to prevent collision; so that the green light shall not be seen on the port side, nor the red light on the starboard side. Fishing-vessels and open boats when at anchor, or attached to their nets, and stationary, shall exhibit a bright white light. Fishing-vessels and open boats shall, however, not be prevented from using a flare-up light in addition, if considered expedient. RULES GOVERNING FOG-SIGNALS. FOG-SIGNALS. ART. 10.--Whenever there is a fog, whether by day or night, the fog-signals described below shall be carried and used, and shall be sounded at least every five minutes, viz.:-- (_a._) Steamships under way shall use a steam-whistle placed before the funnel, and not less than eight feet from the deck. (_b._) Sailing-vessels under way shall use a fog-horn. (_c._) Steamships and sailing-ships, when not under way shall use a bell. STEERING AND SAILING RULES. TWO SAILING-SHIPS MEETING. ART. 11.--If two sailing-ships are meeting end on, or nearly end on, so as to involve risk of collision, the helms of both shall be put to port, so that each may pass on the port side of the other. TWO SAILING-SHIPS CROSSING. ART. 12.--When two sailing-ships are crossing so as to involve risk of collision, then, if they have the wind on different sides, the ship with the wind on the port side shall keep out of the way of the ship with the wind on the starboard side, _except_ in the case in which the ship with the wind on the port side is close-hauled, and the other ship free, in which case the latter ship shall keep out of the way. But if they have the wind on the same side, or if one of them has the wind aft, the ship which is to windward shall keep out of the way of the ship which is to leeward. * * * * * SAILING-SHIP AND SHIP UNDER STEAM. ART. 15.--If two ships, one of which is a sailing-ship and the other a steamship, are proceeding in such directions as to involve risk of collision, the steamship shall keep out of the way of the sailing-ship. SHIPS UNDER STEAM TO SLACK SPEED. ART. 16.--Every steamship, when approaching another ship so as to involve risk of collision, shall slacken her speed, or, if necessary, stop and reverse; and every steamship shall, when in a fog, go at a moderate speed. VESSELS OVERTAKING OTHER VESSELS. ART. 17.--Every vessel overtaking any other vessel shall keep out of the way of the said last-mentioned vessel. CONSTRUCTION OF ARTICLES 12, 15, AND 17. ART. 18.--When, by the above rules, one of two ships is to keep out of the way, the other shall keep her course, subject to the qualifications contained in the following article:-- PROVISO TO SAVE SPECIAL CASES. ART. 19.--In obeying and construing these rules, due regard must be had to all dangers of navigation, and due regard must also be had to any special circumstances which may exist in any particular case, rendering a departure from the above rules necessary in order to avoid immediate danger. NO SHIP UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES TO NEGLECT PROPER PRECAUTIONS. ART. 20.--Nothing in these rules shall exonerate any ship, or the owner or master, or crew thereof, from the consequences of any neglect to carry lights or signals, or of any neglect to keep a proper lookout, or of the neglect of any precaution which may be required by the ordinary practice of seamen, or by the special circumstances of the case. The following diagrams are designed to illustrate the use of the lights carried by vessels at sea as prescribed in the Regulations above, and the manner in which they indicate to each vessel the position and course of the other. [Illustration: vessels approaching] FIG. 1 (when the _red_ and _green lights_ are both seen).--A sees a _red_ and _green_ light ahead. A knows that a vessel is approaching him on a course directly opposite to the one he is steering, as B. If A sees a _white masthead light_ above the _red_ and _green lights_, he knows that the vessel B is a steamer. A should put his helm to port; and B, seeing the same lights on board of A, should by the same rule put his helm to port also. FIG. 2 (when the _red light_ only is seen).--A sees a _red light_ ahead or on the port bow. A knows that either, first, a vessel is approaching him on his port bow, as B, or, second, a vessel is crossing his bows to port in some direction, as D D' D" (Fig. 3). If A sees a _white masthead light_ above the _red light_, he knows that the vessel is a steamer, and is either approaching in the same direction as B (Fig 2), or is crossing to port in the same direction as D D' D" (Fig. 3). In the first position (Fig. 2) A sees B a little on the port bow, B's _red light_ exposed, and, by the diagrams, B should see A's _red light_ as well; in which case both vessels should put their helms to port. In the second position (Fig. 3) A sees D on his starboard bow, and, from the fact that he only sees D's _red light_, he knows that D must be steering in some direction, as at D D' D"; at the same time, D D' D" will see A's _green light on his port bow_. In this case, A, having D clearly on his starboard bow, should put his helm to starboard to turn from D, and D, having A clearly on his port bow, should put his helm to port to turn to starboard from A. FIG. 4 (when the _green light_ is seen, and the _red light_ is not seen).--A sees a _green light_ ahead, or on his bow. A knows that either, first, a vessel is approaching him on his starboard bow, as B, or, second, that a vessel is crossing his bow in some direction to starboard, as D D' D" (Fig. 5). If A sees a _white masthead light_ above the _green light_, A knows that the vessel is a steamer, and is either approaching him in the same direction as B, or is crossing to starboard in some direction, as D D' D". In the _first position_ A sees B on his starboard bow, B's _green light_ exposed, and, by the diagram, B should see A's _green light_ as well; in which case both vessels should put their helms to starboard. In the _second position_ A sees D on his port bow, and, from the fact that he only sees D's _green light_, he knows that D must be steering in some direction, as D D' D"; at the same time D will see A's _red light_ on his starboard bow. In this case A, having D clearly on his port bow, should put his helm to port to turn from D; and D, having A clearly on his starboard bow, should put his helm to starboard to turn to port from A. SALUTES. When lying in harbor in a well-ordered and disciplined yacht, considerable ceremony is made in hauling down the colors at sunset, and hoisting them at sunrise. It is customary to have this done with great exactness, and to the very minute often, at which the sun rises or sets, as ascertained by the nautical almanac, at the discharge of a swivel or small cannon; when all the colors aloft, including the ensign and private signal, should commence to descend towards the deck together, and at the same rate of speed. To execute this graceful ceremony it becomes necessary to post two hands at each of the signal-halliards,--one to haul down the color, the other to check it on its descent, so as to have it move with the same speed as the ensign, by which all other colors are regulated; then, with two hands to each flag, with the signal-halliards cast off, and every thing clear, and ready to lower away, another hand is placed at the swivel, and when the second-hand of one's watch touches the minute of sunset, the command "Fire!" is given, and down drop gracefully and slowly all the colors that are aloft. They may be set in the morning in the same way, or may be made up in a bundle on deck, and hoisted to their position aloft, when at a given signal, or discharge of a cannon, the stop is jerked asunder, and they are unfolded to the breeze at the same instant of time. This is a more graceful method than hoisting them up from deck, which, at the best, causes a jerky movement of the bunting. In a sloop-yacht the ensign is carried always at the end of the gaff, when hoisted; and the burgee, or private signal, at the topmast head. When passing a vessel at sea that has her colors set, it is always courtesy to bend on one's own, and, as the nearest point is reached, lower the ensign half way towards the deck, and then hoist it back again to its position at the peak. This is called "dipping the colors;" and the smaller vessel should always be the one to offer the courtesy first. If a man-of-war is met, care should be taken to be always the first; and here it is proper to dip one's ensign three times, as is it also to any large and important vessel, such as an European steamer moving along in all her majesty: she will not neglect to answer the politeness. In entering harbor, especially if there are other yachts lying at anchor, it has become customary, at the same moment that the anchor is dropped, to discharge a gun announcing one's arrival; and, if there are other yachts present to whom the yacht is known, she will receive probably a salute from each in return. In coming alongside of a yacht at anchor, all persons who are not guests of the captain, or especially invited, or of some rank or consequence, should come to the port gangway. The starboard side of a vessel at anchor is the captain's side, as is that side of the deck which is the windward-side when she is under way. Ladies always come on board on the starboard side, if the yacht be large enough to enter into all these niceties of quarterdeck etiquette. Every yacht that is large enough to admit of it should be fitted with a ship's clock with watch movement, a swinging-lamp, and an aneroid barometer; all of which are of great use,--the clock to give the time which courses have been sailed; the lamp, light to the chart upon the table; and the barometer, admonition of a change in the weather. It is of great importance that an "anchor-watch," as it is called, should be kept on all yachts, for many reasons. For instance, to see that none of the sails get adrift in the night, should it come on to blow; and to see that the anchor holds well, or to pay out more cable, if necessary; to watch the lantern in the fore-rigging, and take care that it does not go out, leaving the yacht at the mercy of the first lumber-man that may come pitching into her. Do not anchor too near the shore, so that good sea-room cannot be obtained, should it be desired to get under way, to run out of the harbor, or to pay out cable to hold on. It is very easy to row to the shore in a tender, with the yacht well out, but very hard to make an inch sometimes, when it becomes a lee-shore. These may seem trivial matters to be so careful about; but it is looking out for all contingencies, and yet being without a particle of fear, that makes the true yachtman,--always ready, and every thing always on hand. It is for this very reason of being prepared, that fear is driven out; whilst, with the careless one, in times of emergency the ropes foul, the gaskets are missing, the anchor is not bent on, the lamp wants oil, the lead-line can't be found, and the jib-halliards, not being properly belayed and coiled down, unreve from the masthead block, and every thing is "at sixes and at sevens." CHAPTER VI. Cross-Bearings.--Two Examples.--Table of Proportional Distances.--Table for Determining the Distance that an Object at Sea can be seen in Statute Miles.--Determining Distance by the Flash of a Gun.--To find the Difference between the True and Apparent Direction of the Wind.--To find the Distance of an Object on Shore from the Yacht, by two Bearings of the Compass.--Use of the Charts.--Soundings.--Lead-Line.--Eight Bells and Watch and Watch.--Boxing the Compass.--Velocity of the Wind.--The Log Reel and Half-minute Glass.--Buoys. CROSS-BEARINGS. Perhaps there is nothing more useful in simple coast-sailing and entering harbors than to know how to find one's exact position upon the chart, at a moment's notice, by means of taking what is called _cross-bearings_. Nothing is necessary for this purpose, but a pair of parallel-rulers, a compass, and a sight of any two well-defined objects in view, that may be known upon the chart by their general relative positions, such as lighthouses, lightships, buoys, churches, headlands, &c. The _parallel-rulers_ are two rulers attached by means of two brass swivels, so that they can be moved over the surface of a chart in any parallel direction to that from which they are first started; and are used to define direction upon any part of the chart. For instance, being placed upon the printed compass upon the chart, say upon the line of N.W. and S.E., they can be moved about the chart, carrying this same direction N.W. and S.E., to any other part of the chart. The two objects decided upon to be taken should be in such a direction as to form somewhat nearly a right angle with the yacht to obtain the most perfect results. All depends upon the aptitude with which the observer can _line_ the object to be observed, i.e., its bearing by compass. The writer knows of nothing so important and useful as this simple method of knowing just where one is at any moment, and thus be enabled to know just how to steer to avoid all dangers. These sights, or cross-bearings, can be taken every ten minutes with ease in fine weather, and the position of the yacht exactly defined. EXAMPLE I. (see diagram, Fig. 1).--Bring the compass in its box on deck (it should be of large size, so as to guide the eye; and small pocket-compasses are useless for this purpose), and, standing behind it, line with the eye with great care the bearing of the north lighthouse by the compass, this we will suppose to be N.W. by N.; mark this upon a slip of paper, and then move the person so as to see the south lighthouse in the same way across the face of the compass, which is always between the observer and the object to be observed; and line the bearing of this lighthouse by compass, in the same manner, which we will suppose to be S.W. With these two results marked upon paper, refer to the chart, and place the parallel-rulers upon the printed compass, designed upon the chart, upon the line of N.W. by W. and S.E. by S. (its opposite), and move them by means of the pivots till one part of them rests upon north lighthouse; then draw a line of indefinite length upon the chart. Take up the rulers, and in the same manner place them upon the printed compass on the chart, on the line of S.W. and N.E., and carry them forward, keeping this angle, till some part rests upon south lighthouse; then draw a line which will at some point intersect the former line, which, if the bearings have been correctly taken, will be the exact position of the yacht at the time of the observation. [Illustration: Fig. 1.] [Illustration: Fig. 2.] It will be shown too, by experiment, that considerable variation of the bearings, when the angle is large, may be made, without changing very much the position of the yacht, proving how valuable this process is for practical use, as a considerable error in the bearings will still enable one to know almost exactly the position of the yacht; whilst a good observation will give it exact. EXAMPLE II. (see diagram Fig. 2).--Placing the compass in front of the observer, it is found that the lighthouse bears W. by compass, and that the lightship bears S. W. by S. With these two bearings we consult the chart, and lay off the two lines by means of the parallel-rulers; and, if the chart gives the distance in miles of the lightship from the lighthouse, then, by means of a common rule of equal parts, we shall be able to measure the distance of the yacht from the lighthouse or from the lightship. At the foot of most charts, however, will be found a scale of miles, and, having once ascertained the exact position of the yacht by means of cross-bearings, it will be very easy, with a pair of dividers, to find its distance in miles from any desired object within view, or designed upon the chart, and, by the use of the parallel-rulers, the course, by compass, that should be sailed to reach any desired point. It is often useful to know how many geographical or nautical miles, which measure at the equator 6,086.4 feet in length, are contained in a degree of longitude at different latitudes; that is to say, a degree of longitude east or west of 89° N. latitude is only 1.05 nautical mile in length; and yet, in another sense, this 1.05 is 60 miles, or one degree in length: hence the following table:-- A TABLE SHOWING, FOR SEVERAL DEGREES OF LATITUDE, HOW MANY MILES DISTANT THE TWO MERIDIANS ARE WHOSE DIFFERENCE OF LONGITUDE IS ONE DEGREE. +----+------+----+------+----+------+----+------+ |LAT.|MILES.|LAT.|MILES.|LAT.|MILES.|LAT.|MILES.| +----+------+----+------+----+------+----+------+ | 15 |57.96 | 26 |53.93 | 37 |47.92 | 48 |40.15 | | 16 |57.68 | 27 |53.46 | 38 |47.28 | 49 |39.36 | | 17 |57.38 | 28 |52.98 | 39 |46.63 | 50 |38.57 | | 18 |57.06 | 29 |52.48 | 40 |45.96 | 51 |37.76 | | 19 |56.73 | 30 |51.96 | 41 |45.28 | 52 |36.94 | | 20 |56.38 | 31 |51.43 | 42 |44.59 | 53 |36.11 | | 21 |56.01 | 32 |50.88 | 43 |43.88 | 54 |35.27 | | 22 |55.63 | 33 |50.32 | 44 |43.16 | 55 |34.41 | | 23 |55.23 | 34 |49.74 | 45 |42.43 | 56 |33.55 | | 24 |54.81 | 35 |49.15 | 46 |41.68 | 57 |32.68 | | 25 |54.38 | 36 |48.54 | 47 |40.92 | 58 |31.80 | +----+------+----+------+----+------+----+------+ TABLE FOR DETERMINING THE DISTANCE THAT OBJECTS AT SEA CAN BE SEEN IN STATUTE MILES. NOTE.--Enter the table in the column of height in feet, which represents the height of the observer above the sea; and opposite to it, in the column of miles, will be the result. [A]: HEIGHT IN FEET. [B]: MILES. +---+-----+---+-----+---+-----+---+-----+---+-----+---+-----+ |[A]| [B] |[A]| [B] |[A]| [B] |[A]| [B] |[A]| [B] |[A]| [B] | +---+-----+---+-----+---+-----+---+-----+---+-----+---+-----+ | 1| 1.32| 13| 4.77| 25| 6.61| 37| 8.05| 49| 9.26|105|13.56| | 2| 1.87| 14| 4.95| 26| 6.75| 38| 8.16| 50| 9.35|110|13.88| | 3| 2.29| 15| 5.12| 27| 6.87| 39| 8.26| 55| 9.81|115|14.19| | 4| 2.65| 16| 5.29| 28| 7.00| 40| 8.37| 60|10.25|120|14.49| | 5| 2.96| 17| 5.45| 29| 7.12| 41| 8.47| 65|10.67|125|14.79| | 6| 3.24| 18| 5.61| 30| 7.25| 42| 8.57| 70|11.07|130|15.08| | 7| 3.50| 19| 5.77| 31| 7.37| 43| 8.68| 75|11.46|135|15.37| | 8| 3.74| 20| 5.92| 32| 7.48| 44| 8.78| 80|11.83|140|15.65| | 9| 3.97| 21| 6.06| 33| 7.60| 45| 8.87| 85|12.20|145|15.93| | 10| 4.18| 22| 6.21| 34| 7.71| 46| 8.97| 90|12.55|150|16.20| | 11| 4.39| 23| 6.34| 35| 7.83| 47| 9.07| 95|12.89|160|16.73| | 12| 4.58| 24| 6.48| 36| 7.94| 48| 9.17|100|13.23|170|17.25| +---+-----+---+-----+---+-----+---+-----+---+-----+---+-----+ EXAMPLE I.--Sailing along in the yacht "Firefly," from the top of the house on which I was standing, which brought my eyes to about 12 feet above the level of the sea, I observed seaward the head of a gaff-topsail that evidently belonged to a yacht of about ten tons, and was therefore estimated to be about 45 feet from the level of the sea. How far were these vessels from each other? In the table, Opposite 12 feet stands 4.58 miles Opposite 45 feet stands 8.87 ----- Distance apart 13.45 miles EXAMPLE II.--Sailing towards the land, I mounted the shrouds of my yacht till my eye was about 16 feet above the level of the ocean, where I sighted the top of a known lighthouse that I was looking for, which the chart informed me was 145 feet above the level of the sea. Required the distance of the lighthouse. In the table, Opposite 16 feet stands 5.29 miles Opposite 145 feet stands 15.93 ----- Distance 21.22 miles _Upon seeing the flash of a gun I counted 30 seconds by a watch before I heard the report. How far was the gun from me, supposing that sound moves at the rate of 1,142 feet per second?_ The velocity of light is so great, that the seeing of any act done, even at the distance of a number of miles, is instantaneous. But by observation it is found that sound moves at the rate of 1,142 feet per second, or about one statute mile in 4.6 seconds: consequently the number of seconds elapsed between seeing the flash and hearing the report being divided by 4.6 will give the distance in statute miles. In the present example the distance was about 6-1/2 miles, because 30 divided by 4.6 gives 6-1/2 nearly. _To find the difference between the true and apparent direction of the wind._ [Illustration: triangle] Suppose that a yacht moves in the direction C B from C to B, while the wind moves in its true direction from A to B, the effect on the boat will be the same as if she be at rest, and the wind blow in the direction A C with a velocity represented by A C, the velocity of the yacht being represented by B C. In this case, the angle B A C will represent the difference between the true and apparent direction of the wind, the apparent being more ahead than the true; and, the faster the vessel goes, the more ahead the wind will appear to be. We must, however, except the case where the wind is directly aft, in which case the direction is not altered. It is owing to the difference between the true and apparent directions of the wind that it appears to shift its direction by tacking ship; and if the difference of the directions be observed when on different boards (the wind on both tacks being supposed to remain constant, and the yacht to have the same velocity, and to sail at the same distance from the wind), the half-difference will be equal to the angle B A C. By knowing this, together with the velocity of the yacht B C, and the angle B C A, we may obtain the true velocity of the wind; or by knowing the velocity of the wind and of the yacht, and the apparent direction of the wind, we may calculate the difference between the true and apparent directions of the wind. Thus, if the velocity of a yacht, represented by B C, be 7 miles per hour, that of the wind, represented by A B, 27 miles per hour, and the angle with the yacht's course, with the apparent direction of the wind B C A, equal to 7-1/2 points, the difference between the true and apparent directions of the wind will be obtained by drawing the line B C, equal to 7-1/2 points; then with an extent equal to 27 miles, taken from the scale, and with one foot in B, describe an arc, to cut the line A C in A; join A B; then the angle B A C, being measured, will be the required difference between the true and apparent directions of the wind. _Sailing in my yacht, I saw a lighthouse bearing E. by N., and, after sailing 14 miles N. by W., it bore S. E. Required the distance of the yacht from the lighthouse at both stations._ SOLUTION.--Describe the compass E. S. W., and let its centre X represent the place of the yacht at the first station; draw the N. by W. line, X Y, equal to 14 miles, and Y will represent the second station. [Illustration: distance calculations] Draw the line E. by N., X Z, of an indefinite length, and the line Y Z parallel to the S. E. and N. W. line of the compass: the point of intersection Z will represent the place of the lighthouse, and the distance Y Z, being measured by the same scale of equal parts with which the 14 miles of course is laid off, will be found to be 16-3/4 miles, and X Z 9-1/4 miles. USE OF THE CHARTS. Charts can be purchased, at a very reasonable rate, of all the important harbors and the whole coast-line of the United States. They come nicely backed with cloth, so as to stand considerable hard sea-usage. They should be kept, when not in use, rolled up in a large tin box made for the purpose, or a long, narrow wooden trunk, called a chart-box. In using charts, _great care should be taken to see whether or not the courses laid down to be sailed are magnetic ones; that is, with the variation of the_ _compass allowed_. Such is usually the case; but there are charts made where the variation of the compass must be allowed to make the courses true. Always carefully read all the notes upon the margins of a chart: one will often run across an item of the greatest interest or importance. Nearly all charts of harbors and the coast-line will be found with two scales of miles upon them; one being marked _statute miles_, and the other _nautical miles_. Now, the difference is this, the scale that is marked statute miles means a mile of 320 rods of 16-1/2 feet each, or 1,760 yards of 3 feet each, or 5,280 feet; whilst a nautical mile means the sixtieth part of a degree of the earth's surface measured at the equator, which is about 6,086.4 feet in length. SOUNDINGS Are very regular upon the American coast; and if the time of tide be known, and the note concerning soundings, on the margin of the chart, consulted, one can often, when caught in a fog, tell quite correctly the position of the yacht, its general place upon the chart being known. THE LEAD-LINE.--For the purpose of getting soundings, the lead-line must be used, of which there are two kinds,--the _dipsey lead_, i.e., the deep-sea lead, and the hand lead. The deep-sea lead consists of a lead sinker, usually about twenty-five pounds in weight, the lower part of which is hollowed out, and filled with tallow, when it is said to be _armed_: this is for the purpose of bringing up a specimen of the bottom which it strikes upon in its descent, often thus aiding the navigator in determining his position. The line to which this lead is attached is coiled up in a half-barrel or tub, and is usually a hundred fathoms in length, a fathom being six feet. It is generally as large as one's little finger, and is laid up in what sailors call a "left-handed coil," the opposite to most other ropes in common use. It is marked up to twenty fathoms in the same manner as the hand lead-line, and then one knot for every ten fathoms, and a strip of leather for each five fathoms. The manner of casting the deep-sea lead is to bring the yacht to the wind, and as nearly stationary as possible, when the lead is taken by hand outside of all the rigging, forward on the weather-side, the tub remaining aft; the person forward then casts the lead as far as possible ahead of the yacht, singing out at the same moment, "Watch! Oh, watch!" and the person aft at the tub allows the line to be taken out by the lead in its descent as fast as possible; and when it reaches the bottom he hauls it carefully up till his hand hits upon the knots, the number of which determines the depth; the yacht is then kept on her course, and the line hauled in over the stern, and coiled down in the tub, as it comes in, for immediate use again. When the lead arrives on deck, it is unbent from the lead-line, the arming examined and scraped off, ready for a new cast. HEAVING THE HAND LEAD.--The hand lead is used in a different manner, and is the most perfect instrument yet devised to warn the yachtsman or sailor of unknown dangers and the rapid shoaling of the water, or approach to some unknown or unexpected shoal. Custom has, from time immemorial, marked the lead-line in a peculiar and, the writer does not hesitate to say, ridiculous manner, which can be understood by the initiated only. But that it may be done according to "Gunter," and in "ship-shape and Bristol fashion," the following explanation is given:-- Heaving the lead is done usually by a person who is placed in the main-chains for that purpose, on the weather-side, or, in smaller craft, on deck, forward, just clear of the shrouds. It is thrown whilst the yacht is under way, and being kept on her course, and the results announced in a singing voice by the one casting; and, when the water becomes too shoal, the yacht is put about, and stands off from the danger which she was approaching. The one casting the lead takes hold of the line at about a fathom from it, and swings it to and fro till enough velocity is gained to swing it over his head; when at the right angle it is released, and flies forward in the air, striking the water far in advance of the yacht and the bottom, before the yacht reaches the place where it struck the water, so that the line may be kept perpendicular for a moment from the yacht to the bottom of the sea, and the distance measured by means of marks upon the lead-line, which are as follows:-- At 1 fathom one knot. 2 " two knots. 3 " three knots. 4 " nothing. 5 " a white rag. 6 " nothing. 7 " a red rag. 8 " nothing. 9 " nothing. 10 " leather with one hole. 11 " one knot. 12 " two knots. 13 " nothing. 14 " nothing. 15 " white rag. 16 " nothing. 17 " red rag. 18 " nothing. 19 " nothing. 20 " leather with two holes. Those that are marked are called "marks," the others, "deeps;" and a lead-line as above consists of eleven "marks" and nine "deeps." If the mark of three fathoms is near the surface of the water, the caster sings out, "By the mark three!" or, if such be the case, "By the deep eight!" and, should he consider the depth to be a quarter or half more than any particular number, he sings out, "And a quarter six!" or, "A half five!" &c. If the depth is estimated to be three-quarters more than any particular number, he calls it a quarter less than the next higher number; thus, at two fathoms and three-quarters, he sings out, "A quarter less three!" For all practical purposes a lead-line twenty fathoms in length, but marked only to ten fathoms, will be the most useful for yachts and small sail-boats. This line should be marked as follows:-- At 1 fathom one knot. 2 " two knots. 3 " three knots. 4 " four knots. 5 " white rag. 6 " six knots. 7 " red rag. 8 " blue rag. 9 " nothing. 10 " piece of leather. A small piece of white rag may also be inserted at the half-fathoms between two and three. EIGHT BELLS, AND WATCH AND WATCH. Time at sea is divided differently than on shore; and the day commences at twelve o'clock, noon. The reason of this is, that at that time usually, at sea, the navigator determines and ascertains the position of the ship, hence the true time; and the clock is corrected from the difference in longitude from noon of the preceding day. The time of twelve o'clock is denoted by striking the vessel's bell eight times in a peculiar manner, thus: by sets of twos, one, two, rapidly following each other, then a pause of three or four seconds, and then the next set of twos, thus: one, two--one, two--one, two--one, two; whilst seven bells would be struck thus: one, two--one, two--one, two--one; and three bells: one, two--one; four bells: one, two--one, two. This system of eight strokes of the bell does for the whole twenty-four hours, each stroke denoting one half-hour: hence eight bells cover a space of four hours, which is termed a watch, and, if each watch was four hours long, of course there would be six such watches in the twenty four hours; and the crew, divided as they always are into starboard and port watches, would, during the whole voyage, have just the same hours on deck. That is to say, the starboard watch would come on deck at twelve o'clock noon every day of the voyage, and stay till four P.M. This would not be fair to the other watch; and to avoid this repetition, and to divide the time differently each day, the hours from four to eight in the afternoon are divided up into what are called _dog-watches_ of two hours each, which breaks up the daily regularity, and changes the hours; so that the starboard watch who happen to be on deck from twelve to four P.M. one day are the next day below during the same hours, and the port watch on deck; and thus the same watches come round every forty-eight hours. After the bell is struck at twelve noon by order of the navigator or sailing-master, the time will be kept as follows:-- 12.00 o'clock, noon 8 bells. 12.30 " P.M. 1 bell. } 1.00 " " 2 bells. } 1.30 " " 3 " } 2.00 " " 4 " } _Afternoon_ 2.30 " " 5 " } _Watch._ 3.00 " " 6 " } 3.30 " " 7 " } 4.00 " " 8 " } 4.30 " " 1 bell. } 5.00 " " 2 bells. } _First Dog-Watch._ 5.30 " " 3 " } 6.00 " " 4 " } 6.30 " " 5 " } 7.00 " " 6 " } _Second_ 7.30 " " 7 " } _Dog-Watch._ 8.00 " " 8 " } 8.30 " " 1 bell. } 9.00 " " 2 bells. } 9.30 " " 3 " } 10.00 " " 4 " } _First_ 10.30 " " 5 " } _Night-Watch._ 11.00 " " 6 " } 11.30 " " 7 " } 12.00 " midnight 8 " } 12.30 " A.M. 1 bell. } 1.00 " " 2 bells. } 1.30 " " 3 " } _Second_ 2.00 " " 4 " } _Night-Watch._ 2.30 " " 5 " } 3.00 " " 6 " } 3.30 " " 7 " } 4.00 " " 8 " } 4.30 " " 1 bell. } 5.00 " " 2 bells. } 5.30 " " 3 " } 6.00 " " 4 " } _Morning-Watch._ 6.30 " " 5 " } 7.00 " " 6 " } 7.30 " " 7 " } 8.00 " " 8 " } 8.30 " " 1 bell. } 9.00 " " 2 bells. } 9.30 " " 3 " } 10.00 " " 4 " } _Forenoon-Watch._ 10.30 " " 5 " } 11.00 " " 6 " } 11.30 " " 7 " } 12.00 " noon 8 " } In cases of emergency, usually to take in sail, whether by night or day, "All hands on deck to take in sail, ahoy!" "Heave up my hearties!" is bellowed into the forecastle, and comes to the ears of the unwilling sleepers of the watch below. BOXING THE COMPASS Is the term used for repeating the thirty-two points of the compass-card by memory from the right hand to the left, (and then back again,) commencing at north, and proceeding to north by east, north, north-east, &c. It is necessary that the amateur and young salt should acquire this, if he desires to ever be able to make use of the most simple problems in boat-sailing, the use of the charts, the finding of the position of the yacht by cross-bearings, &c. In fact, it is indispensable; and the task should be commenced at once. It should not be gotten by rote, without rhyme or reason; but, in repeating the names of the points, _the compass-card, or a printed imitation of it, should always be kept before the eye_. See frontispiece. After acquiring the regular thirty-two points, the subdivision of quarter and half points are to be gone into. The smallest division used in navigation is a quarter of a point; thus your course may be N. by E. 1/4 E., or N. by E. 1/2 E., or N. by E. 3/4 E.; but no smaller subdivision is ever made between two courses than one-quarter of a point. This is as near as the yacht can be kept to her course, and is as near as the eye can line a course in an observation for cross-bearings. If, however, one desires more minuteness, it may be well to state that each point of the compass contains 11° 15', or 360° for the whole thirty-two points. The names of the points of the compass, commencing at north, and going towards east, are as follows. The _principal points_, as they are called, which are marked larger than the others on the compass-card, are here designated by capitals. 1. NORTH N. 2. North by east N. by E. 3. North, north-east N.N.E. 4. North-east by north N.E. by N. 5. NORTH-EAST N.E. 6. North-east by east N.E. by E. 7. East, north-east E.N.E. 8. East by north E. by N. 9. EAST E. 10. East by south E. by S. 11. East, south-east E.S.E. 12. South-east by east S.E. by E. 13. SOUTH-EAST S.E. 14. South-east by south S.E. by S. 15. South, south-east S.S.E. 16. South by east S. by E. 17. SOUTH S. 18. South by west S. by W. 19. South, south-west S.S.W. 20. South-west by south S.W. by S. 21. SOUTH-WEST S.W. 22. South-west by west S.W. by W. 23. West, south-west W.S.W. 24. West by south W. by S. 25. WEST W. 26. West by north W. by N. 27. West, north-west W.N.W. 28. North-west by west N.W. by W. 29. NORTH-WEST N.W. 30. North-west by north N.W. by N. 31. North, north-west N.N.W. 32. North by west N. by W. If any one desires to be _very salt_, he will pronounce these points as follows:-- Nor', nor'-west N.N.W. Noothe by east N. by E. Sou' by west S. by W. Sou', sou'-west S.S.W. And, in fact, the above is the way that they are pronounced by all sailors. It should be remembered that the _compass does not move_; that is to say, the yacht moves, which seemingly makes the card in the compass-box revolve. It is absolutely an optical illusion to "land-lubbers" and except by the jar of the yacht, or by pitching about in a heavy sea, the compass-card does not revolve, but is stationary, and it is the change of the course of the yacht which seems to give it motion. TO PLACE A COMPASS TO STEER BY. The periphery of the circular casing in which the card revolves should be marked plainly with a perpendicular black line; and this black line should, by moving the compass-box, be brought to bear in a direct line with the keel of the yacht, and the box secured in that position. One has then only to move the helm to bring each and every point on the compass-card opposite to this black mark on the compass-box, and, having once brought the point needed to this position, keep it there by moving the helm when necessary; and this act of keeping it there is called "keeping the vessel on her course." For instance: if the wind allows, suppose by the chart it is desired to steer N.E., to reach a certain place. Go on deck, and, by moving the helm, bring the N.E. point of the compass-card opposite to the black perpendicular mark on the compass-casing, and keep on your way, after having trimmed your sails so as to hold the wind properly. The yacht will not keep on N.E. exactly, but will yaw to and fro, _which will seem as if the compass-card was moving_; and this will occur more or less according to the roughness of the water. And, if one looks too much to the compass, the yacht will be off the course before the compass shows it: it is therefore well, if possible, to get some bearing, miles ahead, that cuts the weather-shrouds or jib-stay, when the yacht is on her course; then, by looking at that, one can easily see when she is off her course, casting an eye to the compass once in a while. In the night-time very fine steering can be done by picking out a star, and steering by it, after getting it to range on some part of the yacht. Steering by a compass is a great accomplishment: few amateurs do it well. It used to be said at sea, that the best helmsmen _looked at the head of the vessel_ oftener than the compass, and were thus enabled to check with the helm any disposition of the vessel to leave the true course, long before the departure was shown by the compass-card. VELOCITY OF WIND. Generally speaking, a wind that blows sixteen miles an hour is called a fresh breeze. One that blows eighteen miles an hour calls for a single reef; and twenty miles, a close reef. Twenty-four miles an hour is a gale; whilst thirty miles an hour is a fresh gale. THE LOG, REEL, AND HALF-MINUTE GLASS. This method of ascertaining how fast the yacht is moving through the water, and hence to calculate her position, has been almost done away with by the use of what is termed the "patent log," which is now almost universally used, and which consists of a small propeller of brass, which is towed astern, and records its own revolutions on dials. But, to enable one to use the common log-line and glass, the following description is written: The half-minute glass is of the same form as an hour-glass, and contains such a quantity of sand as will run through its neck in twenty-eight seconds of time; or a watch with a second-hand may be used, if the glass is not handy. The _log_ is a piece of thin board of a quadrantal form, about the size and shape of a quarter-section of the bottom of a common water-pail, loaded on the circular side with enough lead to make it swim upright in the water. To this is fastened a line, about one hundred and fifty fathoms in length, called the _log-line_, which is divided into intervals called _knots_, and is wound on a reel which turns very easily. To ascertain the velocity at which the yacht is sailing is called _heaving the log_, and is performed as follows: one person holds the reel, and another the half-minute glass, whilst a third throws the log over the stern on the lee-side; and, when he observes that the stray line has run off (which is about ten fathoms), and the first mark (which is generally a red rag) has passed the stern, he sings out, _Turn_: the glass-holder answers, _Turn_, and, watching the glass, the moment it has run out, sings out, _Stop_. The reel being immediately stopped, the last mark run off shows the number of knots that the yacht has sailed during the last hour, if the wind has been constant. The log-line is marked as follows: allow ten fathoms for stray line, and then insert a red rag, and at every 47.6 feet mark the line as follows: at one, one leather; at two, two knots; at three, three knots; and also have a small mark at each half-knot, and so on to ten and twelve knots. The principle of the log-line is, that a knot is the same part of a sea-mile that half a minute is of an hour: therefore the length of a knot should be one hundred and twentieth the length of a sea-mile, or fifty-one feet; but, as it is more convenient to have the knot divided into eight parts of six feet each, the proportional reduction is necessary in the half-minute glass. BUOYS. In entering harbors, the _red buoys_ are to be left upon the starboard hand, and the _black_ buoys upon the port hand. MAN OVERBOARD. Throw overboard at once any light object that will float, such as a stool, oar, boat-hook, or life-preserver, for him to grasp; then bring the yacht at once to the wind and heave her to, and pick up the man with the tender, or by going about and standing for him. _Don't look out astern for the man where he disappeared_, but out on the beam, which will be his position when the yacht is brought to the wind. CHAPTER VII. PRACTICAL HINTS ON BOAT-SAILING. Remember, in the first place, that no small boat fit to be called a sail-boat can capsize, unless the sail is confined by the sheet being made fast. If the sail is loose, and the boom, or lower leach of the sail, as the case may be, can move in a direction parallel to the wind, or in the "wind's eye" as sailors would say, the boat cannot be upset by an ordinary gust of wind. In other words, in all fore-and-aft sails, such as are used almost the world over for small sail-boats, the sheet, or rope that confines the after-part of the sail to the stern-part of the boat, is the key to the whole science of boat-sailing. If one knows how to use the sheet properly, one knows how to sail a boat with comparative safety. Of course it is supposed that he should also understand flaws of wind and their effects. It is the flaws of wind caught by the sail--more than it can bear--that capsize a boat; and, if the wind that has force enough to do this could be "spilled" out of the sail, the boat would be immediately relieved. Therefore to insure safety, the person steering a boat should never belay the sheet, but keep it in hand, so as to be able to slack it off gradually, or cast it off entirely at a moment's notice. To do this, only one turn should be taken round the cleat; so that the sheet will slip under the force of a gust of wind, when the hand retaining it in place slackens it in the slightest degree. If the whole sail points towards the wind's eye, it no longer has any effect upon the boat. The sail then shakes in the wind exactly as a flag does from the top of a flag-staff, the wind passing by on both sides. Should the sheet be hauled aft, the sail would be filled with wind upon one side, and, if the wind had strength to overcome the gravity of the boat, capsize her. Or, if the boat is so heavy ballasted that its gravity cannot be readily overcome, the mast or sail are liable to be carried away, and danger incurred on account of the towing mast and sail. These would most likely draw the boat into the trough of the sea, where she would be swamped almost instantly. It does not follow, because the slacking of the sheet is a safe thing to do, that it should always be done. With boatmen who are thoroughly practised, it seldom is done; for they can obtain the same result with the rudder by bringing the boat into the wind until the sail shakes, with the sheet still fast. This gives more control of the boat than would be the case if the boom were out to leeward, perhaps dragging in the water, on account of the pressure of the wind upon the hull and mast. The very best thing to do in a sudden squall is to use a modification of both these methods; i.e., slack off the sheet for a foot or two, so that the sail, before it can fill with wind, will be at such an angle with the hull, that the shock upon the latter cannot be great. This gives one more command of the boat, and insures quicker movement of the hull, and hence quicker obedience to the helm, should a sudden change occur. This slacking of the sheet also prevents the boat from going about on the other tack, should she be brought too suddenly to the wind. With an experienced hand at the helm, unless the squall is very severe, there is no need of luffing so as to shake the sail to any great degree. The slightest movement of the tiller will keep the sail just quivering in the wind, the boat still advancing, so that she will not lose steerage-way; thus enabling one to at once luff up nearer to the wind, or change the boat's position rapidly, should the wind, which is often the case, shift its direction suddenly. Nothing is of more importance than to keep steerage-way on the boat, as it is only in the utmost emergency that the sheet should be slacked wholly off, and the headway lost. If the boat is well under command when the squall is seen advancing, then the method of steering into the wind's eye may be safely adopted, and is, in fact, the better and more seamanlike method. In small sail-boats on ponds, or arms of the sea, when a thunder-shower is coming up,--which can always be seen in time,--it is, as a rule, much the safest plan to take the boat as quickly as possible towards the nearest harbor or land, unless rocky, inaccessible, or dangerous; in which case, furl all sail and let go an anchor, paying out such a scope of cable that the boat will ride easily. Then wait for the coming blast. However severe it may be, the thunder-gust can then do no harm. With an oar you can head the boat towards the coming blast, so that she will feel but little of its force, and prevent the dragging of the anchor. Thunder-showers are particularly dangerous, however, from the fact that they almost always make their way directly against the prevailing wind. When the two winds meet, and one finds one's self in the vortex between them, it is very difficult to command a boat. Each wind, fighting for the supremacy, will fill the sails with gusts, for which one does not more than have time to prepare before a counter-gust will throw them aback, or violently to the opposite side of the boat. Often, in fact, the wind, blowing a gale all the time, will in less than five minutes have visited every point of the compass. An anchor down and a furled sail are the best for all small, open, or half-decked boats or yachts in such an emergency. Boats are often capsized by persons on board suddenly scrambling to the windward, or upper side, when a squall buries the lee gunwale in the water. Should the boat at this moment be taken aback by a counter squall or flaw, she will almost surely capsize, for in one moment the windward side becomes the leeward side; and the mass of weight hanging to what was, a moment before, the weather-side, will carry the boat over. It is too late to try and struggle back again: the bodies are all in the wrong position to be able to turn around inboard towards the centre of the boat. In their helpless postures they face the waves that are ready to devour them. The safest position in an open boat, when preparing for an approaching squall, is, for all except the helmsman, to sit down in the bottom of the boat, as near the centre as possible, thus being safe from any blows from the boom of the sail, and increasing the steadiness of the boat in a marked degree. Here they act as ballast, and do much good in keeping the boat upright. To the above knowledge should be added also the science of reefing the sails of a boat quickly and neatly, so that she will stand up under a great pressure of wind. The mistake most frequently made is to neglect to reef till it is too late. Landsmen scarcely ever calculate how quickly wind moves, and how suddenly a change in the weather takes place. It is easy to reef while there is time, but sometimes almost impossible if too long delayed. Reefing saves one from much anxiety. The boat that with her whole sail would be cranky and dangerous plunges along buoyantly through the summer gale when her sails are properly reefed. With a thorough knowledge of the sheet and rudder, and how to reef a sail, there ought to be no accidents, even in very small boats; but the trouble is, that too many tyros are allowed to invite unsuspecting ladies and young girls into their boats, they not understanding the first rudiments of a real nautical knowledge, of how to manage a craft in times of danger. A boat is like a good horse,--it will always do the best it can. It will not capsize if it can help it; but, if mismanaged in time of emergency, it is a dangerous plaything. Properly handled, it is amazing, almost incredible, what can be done with a small open boat, with a common lug-sail, and what weather it will live through. But without knowledge, and knowing just what to do in dangerous times, this pleasant summer sail is a treacherous pastime. CHAPTER VIII. A SHORT CRUISE WITH A SLOOP-YACHT, ILLUSTRATING THE COMMON SEA-MANOEUVRES. "Well, uncle Charley, when are you going to give me a sail in your yacht? You know, that, although I have sailed a little, I look forward with the greatest impatience to a trip with you; so that I may become posted in all respects, and finally turn out a first-class sailor." "Your ambition is a worthy one, Tom; and I am willing to gratify it. But it is yet very early in the season; and I am afraid that we shall encounter some dirty weather, should we attempt now to make a trip." "Well, that is the very thing that I want to encounter," said Tom. "Besides, you have quite a large yacht, and every thing in apple-pie order; whilst I only have a little bit of an open boat at my home, and really know but little of the science of boat-sailing, and nothing of the technical language or discipline of a well-appointed vessel." Thus spoke Tom Coffin, a young man of some seventeen years, who was on a visit to his uncle, Capt. Charles Coffin, a middle-aged retired sea-captain, who knew a vessel from her stem to her stern, and who retained his youthful passion for the water, and enjoyed himself thoroughly during the summer months in his beautiful yacht "Nancy Lee." "By the way, uncle Charley, you have not told me any thing yet about your yacht; and you know I have never seen her. How large is she?" "She is about thirty feet over all," said his uncle. "How is she rigged? Tell me all about her, uncle, won't you?" "Well, the 'Nancy Lee' was built two years ago, and is what is called a 'centre-board sloop;' that is, she is shallow, and broad of beam, and is rigged as a sloop. She has a good comfortable cabin, and sound spars, and strong and durable canvas, and good ground-tackle, and I think she will compare favorably with any of her class. She is not so fast as some, being, as I said, of good beam, and her spars and sails are not too large for rough weather; but I consider her a first-class boat for outside work, safe, strong, and easily managed." "How many crew do you carry, uncle Charley?" "Well, as a general rule, I have only Bob Stevens with me, who made, if you remember, many voyages to sea with me, and is a true, able seaman in every sense of the word. He usually keeps the 'Nancy' in order for me, and acts as 'cook and all hands;' although, when I am going on a cruise of a week or two, I usually take with me also Widow Tompkins's son, who is smart and active, and who, if he will only take a voyage round the Horn, will, I prophesy, yet turn out a good sailor. But you shall take his place." "Is the yacht all ready now?" "Oh, yes!" replied uncle Charley. "She has been at her moorings the last two weeks. But I thought I would give you a day or two to get over your journey before speaking about a cruise; but I see that young blood will not be restrained." "And have you every thing on board ready for a cruise?" asked Tom. "Yes, every thing," replied his uncle; "for, being an old sailor, I like to have every thing prepared. Now, on board the 'Nancy Lee' you will find, I will be bound, every thing that is needful for a craft of her size; such as compass, charts, signal-lights, barometer, lead-line, log, and all that is needful to handle her in a seamanlike manner in all weathers." "Well, uncle, when will you start? Have you provisions on board?" "Every thing is on board; and, as you have inoculated me, I suppose we might as well get under way to-morrow morning on the young ebb: so take yourself up aloft, young man, and 'turn in,' and be prepared to turn out at about one bell in the morning watch; and I will go down to the landing, and see that Bob has every thing in ship-shape." * * * * * "Come, rouse out, youngster! it is past one bell," sang out the cheery voice of uncle Charley at Tom's door the next morning; and hurrying on his clothes, and taking a small valise filled with a change or two fit for sea-use, he was soon by his uncle's side. "Well, it is going to be a lovely morning, if it is only the 10th of May," said Capt. Coffin. "Why, how do you know, uncle Charley? It is as dark as pitch yet." "Well, my boy, when you are as old as I am, you will know how, by many signs, to forecast the weather, even in the night-time. But let us hurry along, and get on board, as I want to take advantage of this ebb to get outside before the flood makes." Arriving at the landing, the following conversation took place:-- "'Nancy,' ahoy!" "Ay, ay, sir!" "Is that you, Bob?" "Yes, captain." "Come ashore in the tender, and set us on board!" "Ay, ay, sir!" The small boat soon reached the landing; and our friends were soon alongside the "Nancy Lee," and quickly on board. "Now, Bob," said Capt. Coffin, "have you got hot coffee and biscuit ready?" "Yes, captain, all ready, and humming hot on the stove." "Well, then, we will go below, Bob, and you can serve it in the cabin; for it is well to get something hot down before facing this damp morning air." After each had drunk a good hot mug of strong coffee without milk, and eaten a good large sea-biscuit, Capt. Coffin and Tom appeared again on deck, and preparations were made to get under way. "Have you got the stops off of the mainsail, Bob?" "Yes, captain: they are all off." "Then go forward, you two," said Capt. Coffin, "and hoist away the mainsail. You take the peak-halliards, Tom; and you the throat, Bob. That's the way! Up she goes! [Cheerily.] Avast, there, Tom! you are hoisting too fast on the peak, and have jammed the hoops round the mast, so that Bob can't get an inch on the throat-halliards. Slack away a little! Handsomely: there, that will do! Now hoist away. Belay the peak-halliards! Now go over and take in the slack, whilst Bob swigs off on the throat-halliards: that will do. Belay! Now over to the peak, and stand by to peak it up, whilst I let go the main-sheet, and lift up the main-boom. So! That will do. Belay! Now coil the halliards down snug, and lay aft here, Tom, and tend the jib-sheet.--Are the gaskets off the jib, Bob?" "Ay, ay, sir! All off!" "Then let go your down-haul, and run her up! "Now, Tom, I want to cast to starboard; and, as the yacht is now lying head to wind, when Bob has the jib up, I want you to trim down flat on the port jib-sheet, and hold on till I tell you to let go.--Now, Bob, is that jib chock up?" "Yes, captain." "All right, then; slip your moorings, and let her slide! Haul aft the port jib-sheet, Tom; and lay aft here, Bob, and help shove this boom out to starboard, whilst I put the helm to port. There, she pays off all right! Down with the centre-board, Bob!--Let go the jib-sheet, and trim down to starboard, Tom! That will do. Belay! "There! Don't she move through the water well? Just a nice working-breeze. And see the glimmer of the breaking day over there to the eastward! I wonder if we can fetch by Rouse's Point without going about. I fear not; but we shall see long before we get there. There is plenty of time. "Now, Tom, do you see that little light on shore, just forward of the weather fore-rigging? Come and stand just where I am, and see if you see it." "Yes, uncle, I see it all right." "Well, take the helm, and keep her just as she goes, with that light cutting the weather-rigging, as a course. She steers like a pilot-boat, and you will have no trouble.--Bob, keep a good lookout there forward, whilst I go below to have a look at the chart." "Ay, ay, sir!" "Now, Tom, I have looked carefully at the chart, and I know this harbor well; but the wind is so scant, that I am afraid that we shall not be able to lie by Rouse's Point without going about; and I had rather do it now than when we get farther down, and nearer to the point, for there are some bad rocks make off: so I think that we will go about to make all sure. "Ready about! "Come aft, Bob, and tend the lee jib-sheet!--And you look out for the weather one, Tom! All ready! Hard a-lee! Let go the jib-sheet! Avast hauling, Tom: you are too quick!--Trim down, Bob!--Now let draw, and trim down flat, Tom, and belay! There, she begins to trot again! We can't stand very far in this direction; for we are crossing the channel at about right angles, and it is not more than a mile and a half wide hereabouts; and I don't want to be picked up by any of these flats on an ebb tide, and don't mean to; and yet I want to stand over just as far as I can, so as to clear Rouse's Point on the next tack. There comes the daylight at last! Is it not a beautiful sight, Tom?--Come, Bob, jump below, and get up the hand lead, and give us a few casts from the weather-rigging. "Are you all ready?" "Ay, ay, sir!" "Then cast." BOB.--And a quarter less five. "That is plenty of water; isn't it, Tom? But then you can't be too careful, and there is nothing like the lead. We only draw eight feet and a half with the centre-board down, and only three and a half with it up: so we have little to fear yet. Keep casting, Bob!" BOB.--By the deep, four! "There, you see Tom, we have already commenced to shoal our water." BOB.--And a quarter less three! "Still shoaling, and pretty fast too." BOB.--And by the mark, two! "We are getting well over, Tom; but we will have a cast or two more from Bob." BOB.--And a quarter less two! BOB.--And a half one! "Ready about! "Hard a-lee! "There, Tom, you did better with your jib-sheet that time, and did not try to haul it over too quick, and before Bob had trimmed it down again to make her pay off. "See, Tom, the day is breaking fast, and there is Rouse's Point well on our lee. If the wind holds, we shall not have the slightest difficulty in passing it on this tack. And now, as we are going to make a long leg, we will let Bob go below and get breakfast ready. Do you think you can eat any thing, Tom?" "Yes, uncle, I think I can; but this is just splendid. But tell, me, why do you trim down the jib again on the same side, after letting it go? Would not the yacht come about without it?" "Yes, she would," replied Capt. Coffin, "easily; but I wanted you to see how a craft should be put about in a seamanlike manner, and how she would have to be put about in heavy weather. It is well to know how to do a thing well, and what will be necessary in times of emergency." "Thank you, uncle: I shall remember. Is it not a lovely morning, and how nicely we are slipping along! I think I could eat a piece of whale's blubber, I am so hungry." "Are you, Tom? Well, so am I. But here comes Bob up the companion-way, to say that breakfast is ready. "Now, Bob, keep her full and by; and, if she breaks off any, call me at once, for we shall have to go about again. "Let's get below, Tom, and get our breakfast; for I must not be long below till we get well outside. "Is this not a snug little cabin? and haven't I got things handy around me? I like to have things where I can put my hand upon them quickly. "If you have finished, we will go on deck again. "Well, Bob, has she held her course?" "I don't believe she has changed it a pint, Capt. Coffin." "Well, go below and get your breakfast, and clear things up. We will look out for her. In an hour or two we shall be out in the sound all clear." "See, uncle, how we have gained upon that fishing-schooner! Are we not going to pass too near him? He evidently is beating out as well as we." "You are right, Tom. If we should keep on, there would be a collision; but as we are on the port tack, and the fishing-schooner on the starboard tack, and both of us close-hauled, he has the right of way; and it is therefore for that reason that I gracefully ease off the main-sheet, as you see, and keep her off, so as to pass under his stern, whilst he passes saucily on his course and to windward. But it is his right, and we must not hesitate. When we are on the starboard-tack, we will demand our rights just as strongly." "I am afraid after all, uncle Charley, that it is going to be rough; is it not? The day is not as pleasant as it was an hour ago, and it seems kind of overcast and cloudy to windward." "Yes, Tom: the weather does look a little dirty to windward, but nothing to speak of; but, as you started to see some fun, I hope that you will see it." "How far do you call us now from the land?" "Well, I should say that we were a good ten miles from the southern light. I can tell you exactly by cross-bearings, if you really want to know very much." "No, uncle, I do not care enough to give you that trouble; and, besides, I only wanted to know about how far off you estimated it. We must be going through the water pretty fast, as she is well heeled over." "Yes, she is jumping along now, and the wind and sea are both getting up fast. I think that I shall take in a reef. "Never be ashamed, Tom, of reefing early: it is a simple matter if undertaken in time; but, if neglected too long, is a difficult, and at times a dangerous job. "In the first place, you and Bob get hold of that tender, and draw her up on the lee-side, and get her aboard forward, where she belongs, and lash her down. Don't get overboard! "Be careful of the rail, Bob: don't chafe it. Now lash her down snug, and, as soon as you are ready, man the jib-halliards and down-haul. All ready?" "Ay, ay, sir!" "Then let go the jib-halliards. Down with it, Bob!--Lend a hand on the down-haul, Tom! There, that will do! Make fast! "Stand by the throat and peak-halliards! lower away! That will do. Well of all. Belay! Come, lay aft here, and bowse out on this reef-pennant! That will do! Lay out on the boom, Bob, and pass this earing! All fast?" "All fast, sir." "Then come in and get another earing for the luff, Bob, and hurry up! "That's the talk; make fast! Now tackle the reef-points, and knot as fast as you can. Now lay forward, and off with the bonnet, off the jib! And sing out when you are ready. "Now lay aft, and hoist up the mainsail! That will do. Belay! Now up with the jib! "There, off we go upon our course again. Do you see how much better she stands up to it, Tom? and how much better weather we are making? I don't like the looks of things to windward, however; and I guess that we will square away for a harbor that I know on the other side of the sound, unless you would like to heave to out here, and ride it out. But we should make nothing by that, and we may as well get in smoother water as to jump about here; for it is coming on to blow fresh, if I know any thing about weather. My barometer is falling too, which is also a warning sign. "Here comes an extra puff, rather more than we can stand even with this reef in; but you see, by shaking her up into the wind, I have allowed all its force to pass us without damage. "Well, I think that we have had enough of this: it is cold, and the water that we are taking on board will soon chill us more. Here goes for squaring away before it! "Stand by the main-sheet and jib-halliards! "Ease away on the main-sheet, Tom! handsomely! Keep a good turn! Don't let it get away with you. That will do!--Ease off the jib-sheet, Bob! Make fast!" "All fast, sir!" "Why, uncle Charley, what a change! I should think there was scarcely any wind at all." "Yes, that is a most common impression when a craft is kept off before the wind after pounding into it; but you should not be deceived. Now is the time that you must pay great attention to the helm; for the waves lift the stern so far out of the water, that the rudder acts, as you see, in an irregular and unequal manner, causing me to meet her as she yaws with a quick movement of the helm. I don't like the looks of the weather at all. "Look out! Hold on, everybody! There, that sea has pooped us, and we are all afloat! This will never do. "Stand by to haul aft the main-sheet! We must shake out this reef, Bob, if it is blowing fresh, so as to go faster before the wind, and not get pooped again." [The reef is shaken out, and the yacht again kept away.] "There, Tom! see how she runs away from those large seas, now! No more danger of their coming on board again. "You see, the tide was against us, and the wind astern; and the 'Nancy' moved too slowly forward to escape those big fellows. This is one of the times that it is good seamanship to clap on more sail, although the sea is getting up. If we should haul on a wind now, we should need two reefs in; but, running before it, she is doing very well. "There is the headland that we shall have to leave on the port side. Do you see it, Tom? We shall have to jibe before we can run in, and that is a manoeuvre that must be nicely executed in such a sea-way as this. But we shall execute it all right, as you shall see. "Lay aft here, Bob, and stand by the peak-halliards! Let go! That will do. Belay! Now clap on this main-sheet, and get it aft, steadily. Round it in! "Keep a good turn at the cleat! Don't let the boom get away with you! Now slack the lee jib-sheet off, so that the jib can work itself. Now look out for the jerk when the boom goes over, and stand by to slack the sheet at once. Handsomely done! Slack away the main-sheet! Belay! There, that is a good job! Up with the peak! Belay! "Go forward, Bob, and stock the second anchor; and bend on the cable, and have it all ready for anchoring; for we shall not find very much lee in this harbor till the wind shifts. But there is good holding-ground, and we shall be all right. "As soon as we pass that lighthouse, Tom, and get in the bight of the bay you see ahead on the starboard side, I shall round her to, and let go the anchors. There are two fishermen at anchor there now. Do you see them?" "Yes, uncle, I see them; and they seem to be laboring pretty heavy." "Yes. That is because they are loaded deep; but we shall ride like a bird. "Haul down the jib, and stow it! Lend Bob a hand, Tom. Now come aft here! "Stand by the anchor, Bob!" "Ay, ay, sir!" "Now you see, Tom, how I round her up under the stern of this fisherman, and bring her head to wind. "Let go the anchor!" "All gone." "Don't check her too quick, Bob! Pay out! pay out! Now snub her, but not too sharp. Does she hold?" "Yes, sir. She has brought up." "Then let go the second anchor, and pay out on both. Give your cables plenty of scope. That will do. Make every thing fast. "I can see by the land that she does not drag. But jump below, Bob, and hand me up the hand lead, that I may throw it over the side, and see that she is holding all right. "There, Tom! don't she ride easily? "Now down mainsail, and stow it, before it is slatted to pieces by the wind, and lash the helm amidships. We shall ride here like a Mother Carey's chicken. "Now let's sound the pumps, and then we will go below, and take things easy till this wind moderates; have a good, nice dinner; and then we will proceed upon our cruise. Well, Tom, do you think you have smelt salt water, boy?" "Yes, uncle; but I like it, though, and the way you manage, in spite of the elements. We have not started a rope-yarn, and are lying here as snug as a bug in a rug." And thus we will leave them, wishing them good weather, and a pleasant ending to their cruise. CHAPTER IX. VOCABULARY OF SEA-TERMS COMMONLY IN USE. ABACK.--A sail is said to be taken aback, when its forward surface is acted upon by the wind. ABAFT.--The position, towards the stern, or hinder part of the yacht, from any stated point; as, "abaft the forecastle," "abaft the mainmast," "abaft the cabin." ABEAM.--Any object is said to be abeam that bears at right angles to the line of the keel; and an imaginary line drawn at right angles across the keel, equidistant from the bow and stern, divides the yacht into two parts. Any thing bearing forward of this line is said to be "forward of the beam," and any thing bearing behind this line is said to be "abaft the beam." ABOARD.--In the yacht; as, "Get the anchor aboard!" "Come aboard!" ABOUT.--A yacht is said to "go about" when tacking, the order to prepare for which is, "Ready about!" ABREAST.--Opposite to, as relates to the sides of a yacht; as, abreast of a lighthouse, when the side of the yacht is at right angles to it, or nearly so. ADRIFT.--Broken loose from moorings; or any thing rolling about the decks loose in a sea-way is said to have broken adrift. AFLOAT.--Clear of the bottom, sustained by the water. AFORE.--That part of the yacht nearest to the stem, or head. AFT.--Behind; as, "Stand further aft," "Haul aft the main sheet!" i.e. bring the boom nearer the line of the keel. AFTER.--Hinder, as after sails, such as the mainsail, in contra distinction to forward-sails, such as the jib. AGROUND.--Not having water enough for the yacht, which rests on the ground. AHEAD.--Before the yacht; any thing in advance of where the yacht is being directed. A-LEE.--The helm is a-lee when the tiller is put to the lee-side; "hard a lee," when it is put over as far as it will go. ALL IN THE WIND.--When the sails receive a portion of the wind on both surfaces, and shake or wave like a flag. ALL HANDS, AHOY.--A summons used to call all the crew on deck in an emergency. ALOFT.--Up above, at the masthead. ALONGSIDE.--Close to the side of the yacht. AMIDSHIPS.--Any thing in a line with the keel; viz., "Put the helm amidships!" TO ANCHOR.--To let the anchor fall overboard that it may hold the yacht; the order for which is "Let go the anchor!" ANCHORAGE.--Ground fit to anchor on. TO WEIGH THE ANCHOR.--To heave it up from the bottom to the bow of the yacht. ASHORE.--On land, aground. ASTERN.--Behind the yacht. ATHWART.--Across. ATHWART-SHIPS.--Any thing lying at right angles to the line of the keel, or nearly so. AVAST.--To cease pulling, to stop. A-WEATHER.--The helm is said to be a-weather when the tiller is put over to the windward side of the yacht; and "hard a-weather," when it is put over as far as it will go. AWNING.--A canvas covering stretched overhead, to give protection from the heat of the sun. BACK-STAYS.--Ropes fixed at the topmasthead, and fastened to the sides of the yacht to sustain the topmast. BALLAST.--A quantity of heavy material placed in the hold of the yacht to give her proper stability. BANDS.--Pieces of canvas sewn across a sail to strengthen it to sustain the reef-points, and called reef-bands. BAR.--A shoal, usually found at the mouths of rivers and harbors that are subject to much current. BARE POLES.--Having no sail up, on account of the severity of the wind: hence "scudding under bare poles," that is, running before the wind with no sail set. BEAMS.--Pieces of timber across the yacht under the decks, bound to the sides by knees. A yacht is said to be on her "beam-ends" when she is hove down by any force, so that the ends of the beams point towards the ground. FORWARD OF THE BEAM.--When the object or wind is at some position between abeam and ahead. BEFORE THE BEAM.--When the wind or object bears on some point forward of the beam, but within the right angle formed by the keel and a line across the middle of the yacht. ABAFT THE BEAM.--The opposite to Before the Beam. BEARINGS.--The direction of any object by observation of the compass; also to any object, as the lighthouse bears abaft the beam. BEATING TO WINDWARD.--Advancing in the direction from which the wind proceeds by a series of manoeuvres called "tacking." BECALMED.--Having no wind to fill the sails. One sail is also said to becalm another when the wind is aft. BELAY.--To make fast a rope around a cleat or pin. TO BEND.--To fasten; as to bend the sails, bend on the cable to the anchor, bend on the colors, &c. BIGHT.--Any _slack_ part of a rope between the ends. BILGE.--The flat part of a yacht's bottom, where the water that she ships, or which leaks in, remains, and is called "bilge-water." BINNACLE.--A box, fitted with lights, which contains the steering-compass. BERTH.--An anchorage; a bunk or wooden shelf used for sleeping in. BITTS.--Large, upright pieces of timber, with a cross-piece, to which hawsers or large ropes are belayed; also called "knight-heads." BLOCKS.--Instruments, with sheaves or pulleys, used to increase the power of ropes. BLOCK AND BLOCK (also called commonly "chock-a-block").--When the two blocks of a tackle have been brought as near together as possible. TO MAKE A BOARD.--To tack. TO MAKE A STERN-BOARD.--To move through the water stern foremost. BOB-STAYS.--Ropes from the cut-water, or stem, to the bowsprit end, to sustain and strengthen it. BOLT-ROPES.--Ropes sewn round the edges of the sails, to keep them from splitting. BOOMS.--Round pieces of timber on which the foot of sails are lashed. BOWS.--The round part of the yacht forward, ending in the cut-water, or stem. TO BOUSE.--To haul upon. BOWSPRIT.--A spar nearly parallel with the deck, extending out over the stem. TO BRING UP.--To take the bottom suddenly, as brought up by a shoal; to come to an anchor. TO BRING TO.--To make the yacht nearly stationary by stopping her headway by means of the sails set in different positions, so as to counterpoise each other in connection with the helm. BUTT END.--The end of a plank in a yacht's side; to start a butt, i.e., to leak. BY THE BOARD.--A mast is said to go by the board when carried away just above the deck. BY THE HEAD.--When a yacht is deeper in the water forward than aft. BY THE STERN.--The reverse of "by the head." BY THE WIND.--When a yacht is as near the wind as she can be sailed without the sails shaking; also called "full and by." CABLE.--The rope by which the yacht is secured to the anchor. TO PAY OUT THE CABLE.--To allow more of it to pass outboard, so that the yacht lies farther from the anchor. CABOOSE.--Place where the food is cooked; also called the "cook's galley." CALL.--A silver whistle used by the boatswain to have certain orders obeyed. CAPSIZE.--To turn over. TO CARRY AWAY.--A spar is said to be carried away when it is broken by the wind. TO CAST OFF.--To untie, to allow to go free; viz., "Cast off the main-sheet!" "Cast off that boat's painter!" CASTING.--To pay a yacht off on the desired tack when weighing the anchor, by arranging the sails so as to be taken aback. CAT BOAT-RIG.--A yacht rigged with one mast placed chock forward in the eyes, and without stays or bowsprit, and fitted with one fore-and-aft sail. CAT'S-PAW.--A light breeze or puff of air seen upon the water. TO CALK.--To drive oakum or cotton into the seams to prevent leaking, and to "pay" the same with pitch or tar. CENTRE-BOARD.--A movable keel that can be lowered or hoisted at pleasure. TO CLAW OFF.--To beat to windward from off a lee-shore. CLEAT.--A piece of wood with two horns, fastened to the side of the yacht or to the mast, upon which ropes are made fast. CLEWS.--The corners of sails. CLOSE-HAULED.--To sail as near the wind as possible. COILING.--To gather up a rope into a circular form ready for running out again at a moment's notice; such as, "Coil up the peak-halliards, and have them ready for running!" COURSE.--The point of the compass on which the yacht sails. CROSS-BEARINGS.--The finding of the exact position of the yacht upon the chart by taking the bearings by compass of two objects on shore. CROTCH.--Two crossed pieces of wood in which the main boom is lashed, when the yacht is at anchor or the sail furled, to confine it in place. TO CUN.--To direct the helmsman how to steer. CUT-WATER.--The timber forming the entrance of the yacht. BOAT-DAVITS.--Pieces of strong, bent iron standing out over the side to hoist boats up to, and secure them. DOWN-HAUL.--A rope used to pull down the jib, &c. DRAUGHT.--Depth of water. Thus it is said of a yacht that her draught is three feet; i.e., she draws three feet of water. DRIFT.--To drive to leeward; to lose steerage way for want of wind. EARINGS.--Small ropes used for lashings. EASE OFF.--To slacken. EASE OFF HANDSOMELY.--To slacken very carefully. END FOR END.--To change a rope that has been worn, and use one part where the other was formerly used. END ON.--To advance bow or stern on, or to have another vessel approach in a similar manner. ENSIGN.--The national flag, carried always at the gaff-end. FAG-END.--The end of a rope which is frayed. FALLING OFF.--When a yacht moves from the wind farther than she ought. FATHOM.--A measurement six feet in length. FID.--A tapered piece of wood used to splice ropes with, and, when made of iron, called a "marline-spike." TO FILL.--To have the wind strike the inner or after surfaces of the sails. FLAKE.--One circle of a coil of rope. FLUKES.--The broad spade-like parts of an anchor. FORE.--That part of the yacht nearest to the head. FORE AND AFT.--In the direction of the keel; also vessels without square yards. Hence a schooner is often called a "fore-and-after;" and a ship, a "square-rigger." FOUL HAWSE.--When the cables are twisted. TO FOUL.--To entangle a rope; as, "The jib-halliards are foul." To run foul of a yacht is to come in collision with another. TO FOUNDER.--To sink. FURLING.--Making the sails fast to the booms and spars, and stowing them, by means of gaskets. GAFF.--The spar that supports the head of a fore-and-aft sail. GANGWAY.--The place where persons come on board. GASKET.--A piece of rope or narrow canvas used to tie up sails with, or lash any thing. TO GO ABOUT.--To tack. GORING.--Cutting a sail obliquely. GRANNY-KNOT.--A foul knot,--one not tied in a proper manner. GRIPING.--When a yacht carries too great a weather-helm. HALLIARDS.--Ropes or pulleys to hoist up sails. HANDS.--The crew; i.e., "Send a hand aft here!" "All hands," all the crew. To "hand a sail," to furl it. "Bear a hand," hurry up to help. Hand lead, instrument used for sounding. HANDSOMELY.--Carefully. HANKS.--Oval rings, fitted to work upon stays, to which the sail is lashed to be hoisted or lowered. HATCHWAY.--A square hole in the deck that communicates with the hold. TO HAUL.--To pull. TO HAIL.--To call out to another ship; such as "What ship is that?" TO HEEL.--To incline to one side; i.e., she heels over too much on account of a want of ballast. HELM.--A tiller or wheel which controls the rudder. TO HAUL HOME.--To pull the clew of any sail as far as it will go. TOO HIGH.--The warning given to the helmsman when the yacht is too near the wind. TO HITCH.--To make fast. THE HOLD.--The space under deck. HULL.--The body of a yacht. "IN IRONS."--A yacht is said to be "in irons" when she has lost steerage way from any cause, and will not obey the helm. JACK-STAY.--A small bar of iron, or slat of wood, fastened to a spar, and to which the sail is bent. TO JAM.--A knot is said to be jammed when it cannot be untied. JUNK.--Old pieces of rope, canvas, &c. JURY-MASTS.--Temporary masts used when others are carried away. JIBING.--The act of passing the main-boom from one side of the yacht to the other, whilst running before the wind. KEEL.--That part of the yacht lowest in the water, and upon which all her superstructure is erected. KINK.--A twist or turn in the rope. TO LABOR.--A yacht is said to labor when she pitches and rolls heavily in a sea-way. LAND-FALL.--Discovering the land. LARBOARD.--The left side of the yacht, facing forward, now almost obsolete, _port_ having almost wholly taken its place; larboard having been found in practice to be too near in sound to its opposite starboard. LAY AFT.--The command to come aft. "Lay aloft," to go up the rigging. "Lay out," to go out, on the bowsprit, for instance. "Lay in," to come in. LEACH.--The perpendicular border of a fore-and-aft sail. LEE-LURCH.--When the yacht rolls heavily and suddenly to leeward. LEE-SHORE.--The coast-line to leeward of the yacht, on which the wind is blowing. LEEWARD.--The direction towards which the wind is blowing. LONG LEG.--A term used when the wind is not dead ahead, but so as to cause the yacht to make a long tack and a short one. Hence, to make "a long leg," and a short leg. LOG.--The record of the yacht's performance each day of twenty-four hours, as concerns weather, courses, &c., kept in a log-book. "Heaving the log," to ascertain the speed by means of a log-line. LOOMING.--The appearance of a distant object, such as another vessel, or the land, especially in foggy or misty weather, when it is said to loom, i.e., look larger, and appear nearer, than it really is. LUBBER.--A person who is not a sailor,--a greenhorn. LUFF.--An order to have the helmsman put the helm to leeward; the forward part of a fore-and-aft sail attached to the mast by hoops. LYING TO.--Bringing the yacht to the wind under small sail, and lashing the helm a-lee, so that she may lie safely, and ride out the storm. TO MOOR.--To secure the yacht by more than one anchor. MOORINGS.--The place where the yacht is generally kept when in harbor, and denoted by a buoy, which watches over them. NEAP-TIDES.--Those tides which occur when the moon is in her quarters; spring-tides being much higher, and occurring at the full and change. TOO NEAR.--A warning to the helmsman that the sails are not quite full, and that he is steering a little too near the wind. MAIN CHAINS.--Place on the yacht's side where the shrouds and backstays are fastened. MISS-STAYS.--The act of failing to "go about" on the other tack. MODEL.--The shape and form of the hull. OFF AND ON.--Approaching the land on one tack, and leaving it on the other. OFFING.--Out to sea, clear of all dangers, yet near the land; sea-room. OVERBOARD.--Out of the yacht; in the water. OVERHAULING.--To haul a rope through a block; to examine any thing thoroughly; to gain upon a vessel or object ahead. PAINTER.--A short rope in the bows of a boat by which she is secured. TO PART.--To tear asunder; i.e., the cable has parted; the main-sheet has parted. TO PASS A LASHING.--To wind a rope round a spar or sail. PAY.--To rub on pitch or tar with a large brush. TO PAY OFF.--To make a yacht's head recede from the wind by hauling the jib to windward, and easing off the main-boom to leeward. TO PEAK UP.--To elevate the outer or after end of a gaff, so that the sail may set better. PLYING.--Turning to windward. POOPING.--A yacht is said to be pooped when she is struck by a sea that comes on board over the stern or quarter. PORT.--_See_ larboard. PREVENTER.--Any thing to secure or take off the strain, as preventer jib-sheet. PENNANT.--A long narrow flag. QUARTER.--That part of the yacht's side contained between the beam and stern. RAKE.--The sheer of masts from the perpendicular. RANGE OF CABLE.--A sufficient length overhauled and ready so as to allow the anchor to reach the bottom without fouling. TO REEF.--To reduce a sail by fastening it down to a boom or jack-stay by means of reef-points. TO REEVE.--To pass a rope through a block. TO RIDE.--To be held at anchor. TO RIGHT.--A yacht is said to right when she rises to an upright position again, after having been thrown on her beam-ends by a sudden squall. TO RIGHT THE HELM.--To put it amidships, so that the rudder will be in a line with the keel. TO RUN DOWN.--When one yacht sinks another by running over her. SCANT.--The wind is said to be scant when a yacht will barely lay her course. SCOPE.--To pay out more of the cable when at anchor. TO SCUD.--To run before the wind in a storm. TO SCUTTLE.--To make holes in a yacht's bottom to sink her. TO SERVE.--To wind any thing round a rope so as to save it from chafing. TO SEIZE.--To make fast or bind. TO SHEER.--To vary to the right and left from a direct course. TO SHIP.--To place or receive any thing on board; as, to ship a sea, to ship a crew. TO SHIVER.--To make the sails shake in the wind's eye. SHOAL.--The land beneath the water that approaches near the surface, or is left bare at low water. THE SLACK OF A ROPE.--The part that hangs loose. TO SLIP A CABLE.--To let it run out overboard, and release the yacht from the anchor, being first generally buoyed so as to be recovered. TO SLUE.--To turn any thing about. SNUB.--Used in reference to the cables, in checking the yacht, after they have been paid out. TO SOUND.--To ascertain the depth of water by means of a lead-line. TO TAKE A SPELL.--To relieve any one at any duty; as, to take a spell at the wheel. TO SPILL.--To take the wind out of a sail by easing off the sheets or otherwise, so as to remove the pressure of the wind. TO SPLICE.--To join two ropes together by interweaving the strands. TO SPRING A MAST.--To crack or split it. A SPRING.--A rope made fast to the cable, and taken on board aft, in order to haul the yacht's side in any direction. SPRING-TIDES.--The highest tides, which occur at the full and change of the moon. TO STAND ON.--To keep on in one's course. TO STAND BY.--To be ready. STARBOARD.--The right side of a yacht, the observer looking from aft forward. TO STEER.--To control the yacht with the rudder and tiller. STRANDED.--A yacht is said to be stranded when she is so far on shore that she cannot be floated. TO STRIKE.--To beat against the bottom; to hit suddenly any object below the surface of the water. SWIG OFF.--To take a turn with a rope at a cleat, and then pull upon it laterally, so as to gather in all the slack. TO TACK.--To advance by a series of angles toward the direction from which the wind proceeds. TAUT.--Tight. TAUNT.--Long, lofty. TENDER.--A small boat or wherry used to pass from the yacht to the shore. TO TOW.--To drag any thing astern behind the yacht; as, to tow the tender. TRUCK.--The small ball at the topmasthead, through which the signal-halliards reeve. TROUGH OF THE SEA.--The level of the water between two waves. TURNING TO WINDWARD.--Tacking. UNBEND.--To cast off, to release; as, "Unbend the anchor from the cable!" "Unbend the mainsail!"--roll it up and put it below. TO UNSHIP.--To take any thing from the place where it was fixed; as, to "unship the rudder." WAKE.--The track, or furrow, left by the yacht on the water she has passed over. TO WEAR.--To turn a yacht round _from_ the wind,--the direct opposite of tacking. TO WARP.--To move a yacht by hawsers. WATCH.--A division of the crew into starboard and larboard watch, who take turns in taking care of the yacht. WATER-LOGGED.--The condition of a yacht when she is so full of water as to be almost unmanageable, and nearly submerged. WAY.--Progress through the water: "she has good way on." To a boat's crew, to cease pulling, the command is given, "Way enough." TO WEATHER A YACHT.--To get to the windward side by faster speed, or lying nearer the wind. WEATHER BEATEN.--Worn by the weather and exposure. WELL OF ALL.--A command used when the several ropes of a sail have all been hauled upon at the same time, and it is perfectly set, and means to belay. TO WEIGH.--To lift an anchor from the bottom. WIND'S EYE.--The exact direction from which the wind proceeds. TO WINDWARD.--Towards that point from which the wind blows. TO WORK TO WINDWARD.--To tack so as to make progress in the direction from which the wind blows. YACHT.--A vessel used for pleasure only, and not for commerce or trade; built for speed and comfort. TO YAW.--To swerve suddenly and violently from the true course, in spite of the action of the rudder. _Franklin Press: Rand, Avery, & Co., Boston._ 
21301	----	Bunyip Land; a Story of Adventure in New Guinea, by George Manville Fenn. _______________________________________________________________________ Joe Carstairs is a boy on a farm in Australia. His father is a keen naturalist who, some years before had set off for New Guinea in search of specimens, and never been heard of again. Joe is old enough to mount a search expedition, and takes with him a local doctor and an aboriginal worker on his farm. They find themselves joined by a stowaway, Jimmy, whose father is a squatter (farmer) nearby, together with his dog, Gyp. This team sets off, arrive in New Guinea, hire some more porters, and travel guided by some sixth sense straight to where Mr Carstairs has been kept a prisoner, along with another Englishman, whose mind has gone, under the stress of his imprisonment. There are the usual close shaves and tense moments, but finally they achieve their end, and return home triumphantly. _______________________________________________________________________ BUNYIP LAND; A STORY OF ADVENTURE IN NEW GUINEA, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN. CHAPTER ONE. HOW I MADE MY PLANS AND THEY WERE ENDORSED. "Now, Master Joseph, do adone now, do. I'm sure your poor dear eyes'll go afore you're forty, and think of that!" "Bother!" "What say, my dear?" "Don't bother." "You're always running your finger over that map thing, my dear. I can't abear to see it." Nurse Brown looked over the top of her spectacles at me and shook her head, while I bent lower over the map. Then the old lady sighed, and went on making cottage windows all over my worsted stockings, giving vent to comments all the time, for the old lady had been servant to my grandmother, and had followed her young mistress when she married, nursing me when I was born, and treating me as a baby ever since. In fact she had grown into an institution at home, moving when we moved, and doing pretty well as she liked in what she called "our house." "Bang!" "Bless the boy! don't bang the table like that," she cried. "How you made me jump!" "It's of no use talking, nurse," I cried; "I mean to go." "Go!" she said. "Go where?" "Go and find my poor dear father," I cried. "Why, nurse, am I to sit down quietly at home here, when perhaps my poor father is waiting for me to come to his help?" "Oh, hush! my dearie; don't talk like that I'm afraid he's dead and gone." "He isn't, nurse," I cried fiercely. "He's a prisoner somewhere among those New Guinea savages, and I mean to find him and bring him back." Nurse Brown thrust her needle into the big round ball of worsted, and held it up as if for me to see. Then she took off her glasses with the left hand in the stocking, and shaking her head she exclaimed: "Oh, you bad boy; wasn't it enough for your father to go mad after his botaniky, and want to go collecting furren buttercups and daisies, to break your mother's heart, that you must ketch his complaint and want to go too?" "My father isn't mad," I said. "Your father _was_ mad," retorted Nurse Brown, "and I was surprised at him. What did he ever get by going wandering about collecting his dry orchardses and rubbish, and sending of 'em to England?" "Fame," I cried, "and honour." "Fame and honour never bought potatoes," said nurse. "Why, four different plants were named after him." "Oh, stuff and rubbish, boy! What's the good of that when a man gets lost and starves to death in the furren wilds!" "My father was too clever a man to get lost or to starve in the wilds," I said proudly. "The savages have made him a prisoner, and I'm going to find him and bring him back." "Ah! you've gone wandering about with that dirty black till you've quite got into his ways." "Jimmy isn't dirty," I said; "and he can't help being black any more than you can being white." "I wonder at a well-brought-up young gent like you bemeaning yourself to associate with such a low creature, Master Joseph." "Jimmy's a native gentleman, nurse," I said. "Gentleman, indeed!" cried the old lady, "as goes about without a bit of decent clothes to his back." "So did Adam, nursey," I said laughing. "Master Joseph, I won't sit here and listen to you if you talk like that," cried the old lady; "a-comparing that black savage to Adam! You ought to be ashamed of yourself. It all comes of living in this horrible place. I wish we were back at Putney." "Hang Putney!" I cried. "Putney, indeed! where you couldn't go half a yard off a road without trespassing. Oh, nurse, you can't understand it," I cried enthusiastically; "if you were to get up in the dark one morning and go with Jimmy--" "Me go with Jimmy!" cried the old lady with a snort. "And get right out towards the mountain and see the sunrise, and the parrots in flocks, and the fish glancing like arrows down the silver river--" "There's just how your poor dear pa used to talk, and nearly broke your poor ma's heart." "No, he didn't; he was too fond of her," I said; "only he felt it his duty to continue his researches, the same that brought him out here, and--oh, I shall find him and bring him back." "Don't, don't, don't! there's a good boy; don't talk to me like that. You're sixteen now, and you ought to know better." "I don't want to know any better than that, nurse. I know it's my duty to go, and I shall go." "You'll kill your poor ma, sir." "No, I sha'n't," I said. "She won't like my going at first, because it will seem lonely for her out here; but she'll be as pleased as can be afterwards. Look here: my mother--" "Say _ma_, Master Joe, dear. Doey, please; it's so much more genteel." "Stuff! it's Frenchy; mother's old English. Mother don't believe father's dead, does she?" "Well, no, my dear; she's as obstinate as you are about that." "And she's right. Why, he's only been away four years, and that isn't so very long in a country where you have to cut every step of the way." "Cooey--cooey--woo--woo--woo--woo--why yup!" "Cooey--cooey!" I echoed back, and nurse held he hands to her ears. "Now don't you go to him, Master Joseph; now please don't," said the old lady. "Mass Joe! hi Mass Joe! Jimmy fine wallaby. Tick fass in big hole big tree." Just then my first-lieutenant and Nurse Brown's great object of dislike, Jimmy, thrust his shiny black face and curly head in at the door. "Go away, sir," cried nurse. "Heap fis--come kedge fis--million tousand all up a creek. Jimmy go way?" He stood grinning and nodding, with his hands in the pocket holes of his only garment, a pair of trousers with legs cut off to about mid-thigh. "If you don't take that nasty black fellow away, Master Joseph, I shall be obliged to complain to your poor ma," said nurse. "Get out!" I said; "Jimmy won't hurt you; and though it don't show, he's as clean as a new pin." "He isn't clean; he can't be, dear. How can any one be clean who don't wear clothes, Master Joseph? and look at his toes." Nurse Brown always fell foul of Jimmy's toes. They fidgeted her, for they were never still. In fact Jimmy's toes, which had never probed the recesses of a pair of boots, were more like fingers and thumbs, and had a way of twiddling about when he was supposed to be standing still-- stand perfectly still he never did--and these toes belonged to feet that in climbing he could use like hands. More than once I've seen him pick stones off the ground--just like a monkey, nurse said--or stand talking to any one and keep his attention while he helped himself to something he wanted with his feet. "There, be off Jimmy," I said, for I wanted to stop indoors. "Come kedge fis." "No, not to-day." "Hi--wup--wup--wup!" Jimmy threw himself into an attitude, snatching a small hatchet from the waistband of his trousers, and made believe to climb a tree, chop a hole larger, and draw out an animal, which he seemed to be swinging round by its tail. "No, not to-day, Jimmy," I cried. "Sleep, sleep," said Jimmy, imitating a kangaroo by giving a couple of hops into the verandah, where he chose a sunny place, well haunted by flies, curled up, and went to sleep. "Good morning!" cried a hearty voice, and I ran out to welcome our neighbour the doctor, whose horse's hoofs had not been heard, and who was now fastening the rein to the hook in one of the verandah posts. "Well, Joe," he said as I shook hands and looked up admiringly in his bold well-bearded face. "Well, doctor, I'm so glad you've come; walk in." "Ah! nurse," he cried; "how well you look!" "Yes, yes; but I am glad you're come," she said. "I want you to look at Master Joseph." "I did look at him." "Isn't he feverish or something, sir? He's that restless as never was." "Sign he's growing," cried the doctor. "How's mamma?" "Oh, she's pretty well," I said. "Gone to lie down." "That's right," said the doctor. "I had to come and look at Bowman's broken arm, so I came on here to beg a bit of dinner." "I'm so glad!" I said: for Jimmy, the half-wild black, was my only companion, there being no boys within miles of our run; "stop a week and have some fishing." "And what's to become of my patients?" "You haven't got any," I said. "You told me so last time." "True, O King Joseph! I've come to the wrong place; you don't want many doctors in Australia. Why, nurse, how this fellow grows!" "I wish he'd grow good," cried the old lady. "He's always doing something to worry away his poor ma's and my life." "Why, what's the matter now, nurse?" "Matter, sir! Why, he's took it into his head to go looking for his poor dear dead-and-gone pa. Do, do please tell him he mustn't think of such things." "Why, Joe!" cried the doctor, turning sharply round to me, and ceasing to beat his high boots with his long-thonged whip. "I don't care what anybody says," I cried, stamping my foot. "I've made up my mind, and mean to go to New Guinea to find my father." "There, doctor, did you ever hear any one so wickedly obstinate before?" cried nurse. "Isn't it shocking? and his ma that delicate and worried living all alone, like, here out in these strange parts, and him as ought to be a comfort to her doing nothing but hanker after running away to find him as is dead and gone." "He's not dead, nurse; he's only gone," I cried; "and I mean to find him, as sure as I live. There, that I will." "There, doctor, did you ever hear such a boy?" cried nurse. "Never," said the doctor. "Why, Joe, my boy," he cried as I stood shrinking from him, ready to defend myself from his remonstrances, "your ideas do you credit. I didn't think you had it in you." "Then you don't think it is wrong of me, doctor?" I said, catching his hand. "No, my boy, I do not," he said gravely; "but it is a task for strong and earnest men." "But I am strong," I said; "and if I'm not a man I'm in real earnest." "I can see that, my lad," said the doctor, with his brown forehead filling with thoughtful wrinkles; "but have you counted the cost?" "Cost!" I said. "No. I should get a passage in a coaster and walk all the rest of the way." "I mean cost of energy: the risks, the arduous labours?" "Oh, yes," I said; "and I sha'n't mind. Father would have done the same if I was lost." "Of course he would, my lad; but would you go alone?" "Oh, no," I replied, "I should take a guide." "Ah, yes; a good guide and companion." "There, Master Joseph, you hear," said nurse. "Doctor Grant means that sarcastical." "No, I do not, nurse," said the doctor quietly; "for I think it a very brave and noble resolve on the part of our young friend." "Doctor!" "It has troubled me this year past that no effort has been made to find the professor, who, I have no doubt, is somewhere in the interior of the island, and I have been for some time making plans to go after him myself." Nurse Brown's jaw dropped, and she stared in speechless amazement. "Hurray, doctor!" I cried. "And I say hurray too, Joe," he cried. "I'll go with you, my lad, and we'll bring him back, with God's help, safe and sound." The shout I gave woke Jimmy, who sprang to his feet, dragged a boomerang from his waistband, and dashed to the door to throw it at somebody, and then stopped. "You'll break his mother's heart, doctor," sobbed nurse. "Oh! if she was to hear what you've said!" "I did hear every word," said my mother, entering from the next room, and looking very white. "There, there," cried nurse, "you wicked boy, see what you've done." "Mother!" I cried, as I ran to her and caught her--poor, little, light, delicate thing that she was--in my arms. "My boy!" she whispered back, as she clung to me. "I must go. I will find him. I'm sure he is not dead." "And so am I," she cried, with her eyes lighting up and a couple of red spots appearing in her cheeks. "I could not feel as I do if he were dead." Here she broke down and began to sob, while I, with old nurse's eyes glaring at me, began to feel as if I had done some horribly wicked act, and that nothing was left for me to do but try to soothe her whose heart I seemed to have broken. "Oh, mother! dear mother," I whispered, with my lips close to her little pink ear, "I don't want to give you pain, but I feel as if I must--I must go." To my utter astonishment she laid her hands upon my temples, thrust me from her, and gazing passionately in my great sun-browned face she bent forward, kissed me, and said: "Yes, yes. You've grown a great fellow now. Go? Yes, you must go. God will help you, and bring you both safely back." "Aw--ugh! Aw--ugh! Aw--ugh!" came from the verandah, three hideous yells, indicative of the fact that Jimmy--the half-wild black who had attached himself to me ever since the day I had met him spear-armed, and bearing that as his only garment over the shoulder, and I shared with him the bread and mutton I had taken for my expedition--was in a state of the utmost grief. In fact, he had thrown himself down on the sand, and was wallowing and twisting himself about, beating up the dust with his boomerang, and generally exciting poor old nurse's disgust. "Mother!" I cried; and making an effort she stood up erect and proud. "Mr Grant," she exclaimed, "do you mean what you say?" "Most decidedly, my dear madam," said the doctor. "I should be unworthy of the professor's friendship, and the charge he gave me to watch over you in his absence, if I did not go." "But your practice?" "What is that, trifling as it is, to going to the help of him who gave me his when I came out to the colony a poor and friendless man?" "Thank you, doctor," she said, laying her hand in his. "And I go the more willingly," he said smiling, "because I know it will be the best prescription for your case. It will bring you back your health." "But, doctor--" "Don't say another word," he cried. "Why, my dear Mrs Carstairs, it is five years since I have had anything even approaching a holiday. This will be a splendid opportunity; and I can take care of Joe here, and he can take care of me." "That I will--if I can," I cried. "I know you will, Joe," he said. "And we'll bring back the professor with all his collection of new plants for that London firm, on condition that something fresh with a big red and yellow blossom is named after me--lay the Scarlet Grantii, or the Yellow Unluckii in honour of my non-success." "You're never going to let him start, Miss Eleanor?" cried nurse. "Would you have me stand between my son and his duty, nurse?" cried my mother, flushing. "Dearie me, no," sighed the old lady; "only it do seem such a wild-goose chase. There'll be no one to take care of us, and that dreadful black, Jimmy"--nurse always said his name with a sort of disrelish--"will be hanging about here all the time." "Iss, dat's him, Jimmy, Jimmy, here Jimmy go. Hi--wup--wup--wup, Jimmy go too." "Nonsense, Jimmy!" I said; "I'm going to New Guinea to seek my father." "Iss. Hi--wup--wup--wup, Jimmy going to look for his fader." "Why, you said he was dead," I cried. "Iss, Jimmy fader dead, little pickaninny boy; Jimmy go look for him, find him dere." "Be quiet," I said, for the black was indulging in a kind of war-dance; "you don't understand. I'm going across the sea to find my father." "Dat him. Jimmy want go 'cross sea find him fader bad. Hi! want go there long time." "Why, you never heard of the place before," I said. "No, never heard him fore; want to go long time. Jimmy go too." "Why, what for?" I said. "Hunt wallaby--kedge fis--kill black fellow--take care Mass Joe--find um fader. Hi--wup--wup--wup!" "He would be very useful to us, Joe," said the doctor. "And I should like to take him," I said eagerly. "Iss, Jimmy go," cried the black, who contrived, in spite of his bad management of our language, to understand nearly everything that was said, and who was keenly watching us all in turn. "He would be just the fellow to take," said the doctor. "Hi--wup--wup! Jimmy juss a fellow to take." "Then he shall go," I said; and the black bounded nearly to the ceiling, making nurse utter a shriek, whereupon he thrust his boomerang into his waistband, and dragged a waddy from the back, where it had hung down like a stumpy tail, and showing his white teeth in a savage grin, he began to caper about as if preparing to attack the old lady, till I caught him by the arm, and he crouched at my feet like a dog. "Come long," he said, pointing out at the sun, "walk five six hour--all black dark; go sleep a morning." "All in good time, Jimmy," I said. "Go out and wait." The black ran out, and crouched down upon his heels in the verandah, evidently under the impression that we were about to start at once; but Europeans bound on an expedition want something besides a waddy, boomerang, and spear; and with nurse shaking her head mournfully the while, my mother, the doctor, and I held a council of war, which, after a time, was interrupted by a curious noise between a grunt and a groan, which proved to be from Jimmy's throat, for he was preparing himself for his journey by having a nap. CHAPTER TWO. HOW WE PREPARED TO START, AND STARTED. You will have gathered from all this that my father had been missing for pretty well three years, and that he, a well-known botanist, had accepted a commission from a well-known florist in the neighbourhood of London to collect new plants for him, and in his quest he had made his last unfortunate trip--which had followed one to Carpentaria--to New Guinea. We had heard from him twice, each time with a package of seeds and plants, which we had forwarded to London. Then there was an utter cessation of news; one year had become two--then three--and it would soon be four. Quite a little fellow when he started, I had cried with disappointment at being left behind. Now I had grown into a big fellow for my age; I had dreamed incessantly of making the attempt to find my father, and now at last the time had come. I believe I was quite as excited over the proposed journey as Jimmy, but I did not go about throwing a spear at gum-trees, neither did I climb the tallest eucalyptus to try if I could see New Guinea from the topmost branches. Moreover I did not show my delight on coming down, certain of having seen this promised land, by picking out a low horizontal branch and hanging from it by my toes. All of these antics Jimmy did do, and many more, besides worrying me every half-hour with-- "Come long--time a go find him fader." Of course now I know that it would have been impossible for me to have carried out my plans without the doctor, who was indefatigable, bringing to bear as he did the ripe experience of a man who had been all over the world pretty well before he came to Australia to make a practice; and every day I had from him some useful hint. He was quite as eager as I, but he met all my impatient words with-- "Let's do everything necessary first, Joe. Recollect we are going to a far more savage land than this, and where we can renew nothing but our store of food. Don't let's fail through being too hasty. All in good time." But the time did seem so long, for there was a great deal to do. Jimmy--who by the way really bore some peculiar native name that sounded like Wulla Gurra--was fitted out with a serviceable sailor's suit, of which he was very proud, and never prouder than when he could see it to its best advantage. This was in the wool barn, where, upon every opportunity, the black used to retreat to relieve himself of the unwonted garb, and hang it up against the shingle wall. Then he would show his teeth to the gums and squat down, embrace his knees, and gaze at the clothes. When satisfied with the front he would rise deliberately, go to the wall, turn every article, and have a good look at the other side. We ran some risks at this time, for our henchman was given his first lessons in the use of a rifle, and for a long time, no matter how the doctor tried, it seemed as if it was impossible for the black to hold the piece in any other direction than pointed straight at one of his friends. By slow degrees, though, he got over it, and wanted lessons in loading and firing more often than his master was prepared to give them. Jimmy had heard the report of a gun hundreds of times, but his experience had never gone so far as holding the piece when it was fired; and when, after being carefully shown how to take aim, he was treated to a blank charge and pulled the trigger, the result was that I threw myself on the ground and shrieked with laughter, while the doctor seated himself upon a stump and held his sides, with the tears rolling down his cheeks. For at the flash and report Jimmy uttered a yell, dropped the rifle, and turned and ran as hard as he could for the barn, never once looking behind him. A couple of minutes were, however, sufficient to let his fear evaporate, and he came back waddy in fist, half shamefaced, half angry, and rubbing his right shoulder the while. "Don't do dat," he cried fiercely. "Don't do dat. Play trick, Mass Joe. Play trick, Jimmy." "I didn't," I cried, laughing. "Here; see me." I took the rifle, put in a charge, and fired. "There," I said, reloading. "Now, try again." Jimmy had on only his curtailed trousers, into whose waistband he cautiously stuck the waddy, the knob at the end stopping it from falling through, and gingerly taking the rifle once more to show that he was not afraid, he held it loosely against his shoulder and fired again. The gun kicked more than ever, for it was growing foul, and, uttering a yell, Jimmy dashed it down, snatched the waddy from his waistband, and began belabouring the butt of the piece before we could stop him, after which he stood sulkily rubbing his right shoulder, and scowling at the inanimate enemy that had given him a couple of blows. One or two more experiments with the piece, however, taught the black its merits and demerits to such an extent that he was never so happy as when he was allowed to shoulder the formidable weapon, with which he would have liked to go and fight some native tribe; and his constant demand to me was for me to put in an extra charge so that he might have what he called "big-bang." The doctor took care that we should both be well furnished with every necessary in arms, ammunition, and camp equipments, such as were light and would go into a small space. He got down from Sydney, too, a quantity of showy electro-gilt jewellery and fancy beads, with common knives, pistols, guns, and hatchets for presents, saying to me that a showy present would work our way better with a savage chief than a great deal of fighting, and he proved to be quite right in all he said. Taken altogether we had an excellent outfit for the journey, my mother eagerly placing funds at the doctor's disposal. And then came the question of how we were to get to the great northern island, for as a rule facilities for touching there were not very great; but somehow this proved to be no difficulty, all that we undertook being easily mastered, every obstacle melting away at the first attack. In fact the journey to New Guinea was like a walk into a trap--wonderfully easy. The difficulty was how to get out again. Perhaps had I known of the dangers we were to encounter I might have shrunk from the task--I say might, but I hope I should not. Still it was better that I was in ignorance when, with the doctor, I set about making inquiries at the harbour, and soon found a captain who was in the habit of trading to the island for shells and trepang, which he afterwards took on to Hongkong. For a fairly liberal consideration he expressed himself willing to go out of his way and land us where we liked, but he shook his head all the same. "You've cut out your work, youngster," he said; "and I doubt whether you're going to sew it together so as to make a job." "I'm going to try, captain," I said. "That's your style," he said heartily, as he gave me a slap on the shoulder. "That's the word that moves everything, my boy--that word `try.' My brains and butter! what a lot `try' has done, and will always keep doing. Lor', it's enough to make a man wish he was lost, and his son coming to look after him." "Then you have a son, captain?" I said, looking at him wistfully. "Me? Not a bit of it. My wife never had no little 'uns, for we always buys the boats, they arn't young ships. I married my schooner, my lad; she's my wife. But there, I'm talking away with a tongue like an old woman. Send your traps aboard whenever you like, and--there, I like you--you're a good lad, and I'll help you as much as ever I can. Shake hands." It was like a fierce order, and he quite hurt me when we did shake hands, even the doctor saying it was like putting your fist in a screw-wrench. Then we parted, the doctor and I to complete our preparations; the various things we meant to take were placed on board, and now at last the time had come when we must say _Good-bye_! For the first time in my life I began to think very seriously of money matters. Up to this money had not been an object of much desire with me. A few shillings to send into Sydney for some special object now and then was all I had required; but now I had to think about my mother during my absence, and what she would do, and for the first time I learned that there was no need for anxiety on that score; that my father's private income was ample to place us beyond thought for the future. I found, too, that our nearest neighbour had undertaken to watch over my mother's safety, not that there was much occasion for watchfulness, the days gliding by at our place in the most perfect peace, but it was satisfactory to feel that there were friends near at hand. I was for saying _good-bye_ at the little farm, but my mother insisted upon accompanying us to Sydney, where I noticed that in spite of her weakness and delicate looks, she was full of energy and excitement, talking to me of my journey, begging me to be prudent and careful, and on no account to expose myself to danger. "And tell your father how anxiously I am looking forward to his return," she said to me on the last evening together; words that seemed to give me confidence, for they showed me how thoroughly satisfied she was that we would bring my father back. We were too busy making preparations to the very last for there to be much time for sadness, till the hour when the old skipper came, and was shown up to our room. He came stamping and blundering up in a pair of heavy sea-boots, and began to salute me with a rough shout, when he caught sight of my pale delicate-looking mother, and his whole manner changed. "Lor', I didn't know as there were a lady here," he said in a husky whisper, and snatching off his battered Panama hat, sticking out a leg behind, and making a bow like a school-boy. I beg your pardon for intruding like, mum, but I only come to say that the schooner's warped out, and that youngster here and Mr Grant must come aboard first thing in the morning. He sat down after a good deal of persuasion, and partook of refreshment--liquid, and copiously. But when, on leaving, my mother followed him to the door, and I saw her try to make him a present, he shook his head sturdily. "No, no," he growled; "I asked my price for the trip, and the doctor there paid me like a man. Don't you be afeared for young chap there while he's aboard my craft. While he's with me I'll look after him as if he was gold. I don't like boys as a rule, for they're a worrit and wants so much kicking before you can make 'em work, but I've kind of took to youngster there, and I'll see him through. Good night." The captain went clumping down the stairs, and we could hear him clearing his throat very loudly down the street. Then the doctor, with great delicacy, rose and left us alone, and I tried to look cheerful as I sat for an hour with my mother before going to bed. Did any of you who tried to look cheerful when you were going to leave home for the first time ever succeed, especially with those wistful, longing eyes watching you so earnestly all the time? I'm not ashamed to say that I did not, and that I almost repented of my decision, seeing as I did what pain I was causing. But I knew directly after that it was pain mingled with pleasure, and that I was about to do my duty as a son. Twice over, as I lay half sleeping, I fancied I saw, or really did see, somebody gliding away from my bedside, and then all at once I found that it was morning, and I got up, had a miserable breakfast, which seemed to choke me, and soon after--how I don't know, for it all seemed very dream-like--found myself on the wharf with my mother, waiting for the boat that was to take us three travellers to the ship. Jimmy was there, looking rather uncomfortable in his sailor's suit, which was not constructed for the use of a man who always sat down upon his heels. The doctor was there, too, quiet and cheerful as could be, and I made an effort to swallow something that troubled me, and which I thought must be somehow connected with my breakfast. But it would not go down, and I could do nothing but gaze hard as through a mist at the little delicate woman who was holding so tightly to my hands. There was a dimness and an unreality about everything. Things seemed to be going on in a way I did not understand, and I quite started at last as somebody seemed to say, "Good-bye," and I found myself in the little boat and on the way to the schooner. Then all in the same dim, misty way I found myself aboard, watching the wharf where my mother was standing with a lady friend, both waving their handkerchiefs. Then the wharf seemed to be slowly gliding away and getting more and more distant, and then mixed up with it all came the sound of the bluff captain's voice, shouting orders to the men, who were hurrying about the deck. Suddenly I started, for the doctor had laid his hand upon my shoulder. "We're off, Joe," he said heartily; "the campaign has begun. Now, then, how do you feel for your work?" His words electrified me, and I exclaimed excitedly: "Ready, doctor, ready. We'll find him and bring him back." CHAPTER THREE. HOW I MADE MY FIRST CHARGE WITH A LANCE. We had not been a day at sea before our black follower was in trouble. As a matter of course the men began joking and teasing him about the awkward manner in which he wore his sailor's suit, asking him if it wouldn't be better to have a coat of white paint over him instead, as being cooler and less trouble, and the like. All this Jimmy took with the greatest of equanimity, grasping the men's meaning very well, and very often throwing himself flat on the deck and squirming about, which was his way of showing his delight. But it was absolutely necessary that all this banter should come from the Englishmen. If one of the Malay sailors attempted such a familiarity, Jimmy was furious. "Hi--wup--wup!" he exclaimed to me after one of these bouts; "dirty fellow, brown fellow no good. Not white fellow, not black fellow. Bad for nothing." One afternoon the doctor and I were sitting forward watching the beautiful heaving waves, and talking over the plans we intended to follow when we landed, and we had agreed that a small party was far more likely to succeed than a large one, being more suitable for passing unnoticed through the country. We had just arrived at the point of determining that we would engage six natives at a friendly shore village to carry our baggage and act as guides, when the noise of some trouble aft arose, and we turned to see a Malay sailor lying upon the deck, and Jimmy showing his teeth fiercely, waddy in hand, after having given the man what he afterwards called "a topper on de headums." We ran up, fearing more mischief, for Jimmy could fight fiercely when roused; and we were just in time, for as the doctor reached the Malay the man had scrambled up, drawn his knife, and rushed at the black. But before he could strike, the doctor showed me what wonderful strength of arm he possessed, by seizing the Malay by the waistband and arm and literally swinging him over the low bulwark into the sea. "That will cool his passion," said the doctor, smiling. "I'm sorry I did it though, captain," he said the next minute; "these men are very revengeful." "Too late to say that," cried the captain roughly. "Here, hi! man overboard! Never mind the boat: he swims like a fish." This was plain enough, for the Malay was making his way swiftly through the water, and the captain ran aft with a coil of rope to throw to him from the stern. I ran too, and could see that as the man struck the water in a peculiar fashion, he held his knife open in his hand, and was thinking whether he would use it when the captain threw the rope, the light rings uncoiling as they flew through the air and splashed the water. "Here, look out!" cried the captain; but the man did not heed, but began to beat the water furiously, uttering a strange gasping cry. "Look, doctor!" I cried, pointing, and leaning forward. A low hiss escaped his lips as he, too, saw a dull, indistinct something rising through the transparent sea. "Yah, hi! Bunyip debble fis!" shouted Jimmy excitedly. "Bite sailor, brown fellow. Hoo. Bite!" The black gave a snap and a shake of the head, and then taking the long sharp knife the doctor had given him from his belt, he tore off his shirt and, it seemed to me, jumped out of his trousers. Then the sun seemed to flash from his shiny black skin for an instant, and he plunged into the sea. The exciting incidents of that scene are as plain before me now I write as if they had taken place yesterday. I saw the body of the black strike up a foam of white water, and then glide down in a curve in the sunlit sea, plainly crossing the course of the great fish, which had altered its course on becoming aware of the second splash. The Malay knew what he was doing, for ignoring the help of the rope he allowed himself to drift astern, seeing as he did that the shark's attention had been drawn to the black. "He knows what he's about," said the captain. "If he laid hold of that there rope, and we tried to draw him aboard, that snipperjack would take him like a perch does a worm in the old ponds at home. Here, lower away that boat, and I'll go and get the whale lance." Away went the skipper, while the men lowered the boat; and I was so intent upon the movements of the great fish that I started as the boat kissed the water with a splash. The shark was about ten feet long and unusually thick; and as it kept just below the surface the doctor and I could watch its every movement, guided by the strange but slow wave of the long, curiously-lobed tail. "Now, you brown fellow, you come on. Knife, knife!" As Jimmy shouted out these words he raised himself in the water and curved over like a porpoise, diving right down, and at the same moment the shark gave a sweep with its tail, the combined disturbance making so great an eddy that it was impossible to see what took place beneath the surface. Then all at once there was a horrible discoloration in the sea, and I drew back, holding on by the bulwarks with both hands to keep myself from falling. For, as the water grew discoloured, so did the air seem to glow before my eyes. I was sick and dizzy; the deck seemed to rise in waves, and a curious kind of singing noise in my ears made everything sound distant and strange. There was a strange despairing feeling, too, in my heart, and my breath came thick and short, till I was brought partly to myself by hearing a voice shouting for a rope, and then the mist gradually cleared away, and I became aware of the fact that the boat was moving before me, and that the round, shiny black face of Jimmy was close at hand. A few minutes later both Jimmy and the Malay were aboard, the former throwing himself flat on his back to rest, for he was panting heavily after his exertions. "Big bunyip debble, Mass Joe," he sputtered; "swim more stronger Jimmy, but no got knife. Tick black fellow knife in um lot o' time. Tick it in him frontums, tick it in ums back ums tight, and make um dibe down and take Jimmy much long ways." "Why didn't you leave go of the knife, my man?" said the doctor. "Leave go dat big noo knife?" cried Jimmy sharply. "Let bunyip fis have dat noo knife?" Jimmy did not finish, but shook his head from side to side, so that first one black ear went into the puddle of water on the deck, then the other, while his lips parted in a tremendously long grin, which seemed to say, "Black fellow knows better than to do such a stupid thing as that." Then, as if made of india-rubber, Jimmy drew his heels in, gave a spring, and leaped to his feet, running to the side, and then throwing up his arms with delight. "Dere um is, Mass Joe; turn up him under frontums like fis on hook an' line." For there was the monster making an effort to keep in its normal position, as it swam slowly round and round, but always rolling back, and rising helplessly every time it tried to dive. "Jimmy sorry for you," cried the black. "Plenty good to eat like much muttons. Go down boat bring him board." "Well, I don't know about good meat, blackee, but we may as well have his head to boil out his jaws," said the captain, who was standing looking on, whale lance in hand. "Go down and put him out of his misery, captain," I said, "and take me too." "Oh! all right, my lad," he said, laughing. "You may do the job if you like." "May I?" "To be sure," he said; and I jumped down into the boat, after he had lowered himself, bear fashion, on to one of the thwarts. "Here, send out one of the sailors," said the doctor. "I'll go too." One of the men returned to the deck, looking rather glum, and the doctor took his place, while I sympathised with that sailor and wished that the doctor had not spoken, for I felt sure that he had come down into the boat to take care of me, and it made me feel young and childish. But I did not show my annoyance, I am glad to say; and a minute later the men gave way, and the boat glided slowly towards where the shark had drifted--I all the while standing up in the bows, lance in hand, full of the desire to make use of it, and feeling a cruel, half savage sensation that it would be exceedingly pleasant to drive that lance right home. "Now my water Saint George the Second," cried the doctor banteringly; "mind you slay the sea-dragon." "Mind what you're after, youngster," said the captain. "Give it him close below the gills; a good dig and then draw back sharp." "All right!" I cried back to the captain, for I was offended by the doctor's chaff; it made me feel small before the men. Then, recalling what I had read that a harpooner would do under such circumstances, I shouted: "Give way, boys!" I'd have given something to have been back on board the schooner just then, for a roar of laughter greeted my command, and I felt that I was very young, and had made myself rather ridiculous, while to add to my discomfiture the men obeyed my order with such energy that the boat gave a jerk, and I was nearly sent back in a sitting position on the foremost man. There was another laugh at this, and the doctor said drily: "No, no, my lad; the lance is for the shark, not for us." I recovered my balance without a word, and planting my feet firmly wide apart, remained silent and looking very red, while I held my weapon ready. It was an old rusty affair, with a stiff pole about eight feet long, and was used by the captain for killing those curious creatures which no doubt gave rise to the idea of there being such things as tritons or mermen--I mean the manatees or dugongs that in those days used to swarm in the warmer waters of the Eastern Australian coast. "Keep it up, my lads; pull!" said the captain, who had an oar over the stern to steer. "We must get back soon." I thought this was because the shark, which had ceased to swim round and round, was now laboriously making its way with the current at the rate of pretty well two miles an hour; but as the captain spoke I could see that he was scanning the horizon, and I heard the doctor ask if anything was wrong. "Looks dirty," he growled; and I remember wondering half-laughingly whether a good shower would not wash it clean, when the skipper went on: "Gets one o' them storms now and then 'bout here. Now, my lads; with a will!" The water surged and rattled beneath my feet, and I was forgetting my annoyance and beginning to enjoy the excitement of my ride; and all the more that the shark had once more stopped in its steady flight, and was showing its white under parts some fifty yards away. "Ready, my lad!" cried the captain. "I'll steer you close in. Give it him deep, and draw back sharp." I nodded, and held the lance ready poised as we drew nearer and nearer, and I was ready with set teeth and every nerve tingling to deliver the thrust, when _whish_! _splash_! the brute gave its tail a tremendous lash, and darted away, swimming along with its back fin ploughing the water, and apparently as strong as ever. "Only his flurry, my lad. Pull away, boys; we'll soon have him now." The men rowed hard, and the boat danced over the swell, rising up one slope, gliding down another, or so it seemed to me. "He'll turn up the white directly," cried the captain. "Take it coolly and you'll have him. I'll put you close alongside, and don't you miss." "Not I, sir," I shouted without turning my head, for it seemed such a very easy task; and away we went once more, getting nearer and nearer, till the back fin went out of sight, came up again, went out of sight the other way, and then there was the shining white skin glistening in the sun. There was another swirl and the shark made a fresh effort, but this time it was weaker and the boat gained upon it fast. "Now, boys, pull hard, and when I say `In oars,' stop, and we'll run close up without scaring the beggar. Pull--pull--pull--pull! Now! In oars!" The men ceased rowing, the boat glided on from the impetus previously given, and I was just about to deliver a thrust when the wounded creature saw its enemy, and as if its strength had been renewed, went off again with a dart. "Look at that," cried the captain. "Never mind, he's not going to get away. We'll have him yet." "We seem to be getting a long way from the schooner," I heard the doctor say, and I turned round upon him quite angrily. "Oh!" I cried, "don't stop. We nearly had him that time." "Well, you shall have another try, my boy," said the captain. "Pull away." We were going pretty fast all the time, and again and again we drew near, but always to be disappointed, and I stamped my foot with anger, as, every time, the brute darted off, leaving us easily behind. "Better let me have the lance, Joe," said the doctor smiling. "No, no," I cried. "I must have a try now." "Let him be," growled the captain; "nobody couldn't have lanced him if he'd tried. Now look out, lad! Steady, boys! In oars! Let's go up more softly. That's the style. We shall have him this time. Now you have him, lad; give it him--deep." All these words came in a low tone of voice as the boat glided nearer and nearer to where the shark was swimming slowly and wavering to and fro, and in my excitement I drew back, raising the lance high, and just as the monster was about to dash off in a fresh direction I threw myself forward, driving the point of the lance right into the soft flesh, forgetful of my instructions about a sharp thrust and return, for the keen lance point must have gone right through, and before I realised what was the matter I was snatched out of the boat; there was a splash, the noise of water thundering, a strangling sensation in my nostrils and throat, and I was being carried down with a fierce rush into the depths of the sea. CHAPTER FOUR. HOW I WAS NOT DROWNED, AND HOW WE CHASED THAT SCHOONER. I don't remember much about that dive, except that the water made a great deal of noise in my ears, for the next thing that occurred seemed to be that I was lying on my back, with the back of my neck aching, while the doctor was pumping my arms up and down in a remarkably curious manner. "What's the matter?" I said quickly; and then again in a sharp angry voice, "Be quiet, will you? Don't!" "Are you better, young 'un?" said the captain, who seemed to be swollen and clumsy looking. "Better? Here!" I cried as a flash of recollection came back, "where's the shark?" "Floating alongside," said the doctor, wiping the great drops of perspiration from his forehead. I pulled myself up and looked over the side, where the great fish was floating quite dead, with one of the sailors making fast a line round the thin part of the tail. "Why, I know," I cried; "he dragged me down." It was all plain enough now. The captain had fitted a lanyard to the shaft of the lance, so that it should not be lost, and I had got this twisted round one of my wrists in such a way that I was literally snatched out of the boat when it tightened; and I felt a strange kind of shudder run through me as the doctor went on to say softly: "I had begun to give you up, Joe, my boy." "Only the shark give it up as a bad job, my lad. That stroke of yours finished him, and he come up just in time for us to get you into the boat and pump the wind into you again--leastwise the doctor did." "The best way to restore respiration, captain." "When you've tried my plan first, my lad," replied the captain. "What is it drowns folks, eh? Why, water. Too much water, eh? Well, my plan is to hold up head down'ards and feet in the air till all the salt-water has runned out." "The surest way to kill a half-drowned person, captain," said the doctor authoritatively. "Mebbe it is, mebbe it isn't," said the captain surlily. "All I know is that I've brought lots back to life that way, and rolling 'em on barrels." I shuddered and shivered, and the men laughed at my drenched aspect, a breach of good manners that the captain immediately resented. "There, make fast that shark to the ring-bolt, and lay hold of your oars again. Pull away, there's a hurricane coming afore long." As he spoke he looked long at a dull yellow haze that seemed to be creeping towards the sun. "Had we not better let the fish go?" said the doctor anxiously. "No, I want the oil," said the captain. "We've had trouble enough to get him, and I don't mean to throw him away. Now, my lads, pull." The men tugged steadily at their oars, but the dead fish hung behind like a log, and our progress was very slow. Every now and then it gave a slight quiver, but that soon ceased, and it hung quite passively from the cord. I was leaning over the stem, feeling rather dizzy and headachy when, all at once, the captain shouted to me to "cut shark adrift; we're making too little way. That schooner's too far-off for my liking." I drew my knife, and after hauling the fish as closely as I could to the side I divided the thin line, and as I did so the boat seemed to dart away from its burden. It was none too soon, for the yellow haze seemed to be increasing rapidly, and the wind, which at one minute was oppressively calm, came the next in ominous hot puffs. "Why, the schooner's sailing away from us," cried the captain suddenly. "Hang me if I don't believe that scoundrel of a Malay has got to the helm, and is taking her right away out of spite." "Don't begin prophesying evil like that, captain," cried the doctor sharply. "Here, man, I can pull; let's take an oar apiece and help." "I wasn't croaking," growled the captain; "but whether or no, that's good advice. No, no, youngster, you're not strong enough to pull." "I can row," I said quickly; and the captain making no farther objection, we three pulled for the next half-hour, giving the men a good rest, when they took their turn, and we could see that while the haze seemed nearer the schooner was quite as far-off as ever. There was a curious coppery look, too, about the sun that made everything now look weird and unnatural, even to the doctor's face, which in addition looked serious to a degree I had never seen before. "There'll be somebody pitched overboard--once I get back on deck, and no boat ready to pick him up. Here, what does he mean?" He stood up in the boat waving his hat to those on board the little vessel; but no heed was paid, and the captain ground his teeth with rage. "I'll let him have something for this," growled the captain. "There, pull away, men. What are you stopping for?" The men tugged at their oars once more, after glancing uneasily at each other and then at the sky. "If I don't give him--" "Let's get on board first, captain," said the doctor, firmly. "Ay, so we will," he growled. "The brown-skinned scoundrel!" "That's land, isn't it, captain?" I said, pointing to a low line on our left. "Ay, worse luck," he said. "Worse luck, captain? Why, we could get ashore if we did not overtake the schooner." "Get ashore! Who wants to get ashore, boy? That's where my schooner will be. He'll run her on the reefs, as sure as I'm longing for two-foot of rope's-end and a brown back afore me." "A crown apiece for you, my lads, as soon as you get us aboard," cried the doctor, who had been looking uneasily at the men. His words acted like magic, and the oars bent, while the water rattled and pattered under our bows. "That's the sort o' fire to get up steam, doctor," said the captain; "but we shall never overtake my vessel, unless something happens. I'd no business to leave her, and bring away my men." "I'm sorry, captain," I said deprecatingly. "It seems as if it were my fault." "Not it," he said kindly. "It was my fault, lad--mine." All this while the mist was steadily moving down upon us, and the captain was watching it with gloomy looks when his eyes were not fixed upon the schooner, which kept on gliding away. The doctor's face, too, wore a very serious look, which impressed me more perhaps than the threatenings of the storm. For, though I knew how terrible the hurricanes were at times, my experience had always been of them ashore, and I was profoundly ignorant of what a typhoon might be at sea. "There," cried the captain at last, after a weary chase, "it's of no use, my lads, easy it is. I shall make for the land and try to get inside one of the reefs, doctor, before the storm bursts." "The schooner is not sailing away now," I said eagerly. "Not sailing, boy? Why she's slipping away from us like--No, no: you're right, lad, she's--Pull, my lads, pull; let's get aboard. That Malay scoundrel has run her on the reef." CHAPTER FIVE. HOW WE FOUND JACK PENNY. The captain's ideas were not quite correct. Certainly the little trading vessel had been run upon one of the many reefs that spread in all directions along the dangerous coast; but it was not the Malay who was the guilty party. As far as I was concerned it seemed to me a good job, for it brought the schooner to a stand-still, so that we could overtake it. No thought occurred to me that the rocks might have knocked a hole in her bottom, and that if a storm came on she would most likely go to pieces. Very little was said now, for every one's attention was taken up by the threatened hurricane, and our efforts to reach the schooner before it should come on. It was a long severe race, in which we all took a turn at the oars, literally rowing as it seemed to me for our lives. At times it was as if we must be overtaken by the fierce black clouds in the distance, beneath which there was a long misty white line. The sea-birds kept dashing by us, uttering wild cries, and there was overhead an intense silence, while in the distance we could hear a low dull murmuring roar, that told of the coming mischief. Every now and then it seemed to me that we must be overtaken by the long surging line, that it was now plain to see was pursuing us, and I wondered whether we should be able to swim and save our lives when it came upon us with a hiss and a roar, such as I had often heard when on the beach. "We shall never do it," said one of the men, who half-jumped from his seat the next moment as the captain leaned forward from where he was rowing and gave him a sound box on the ears. "Pull, you cowardly humbug!" he cried. "Not do it? A set of furriners wouldn't do it; but we're Englishmen, and we're going to do it. If we don't, it won't be our fault. Pull!" This trifling incident had its effect, for the men pulled harder than ever, exhausted though they were. It was a struggle for life now, and I knew it; but somehow I did not feel frightened in the least, but stunned and confused, and at the same time interested, as I saw the great line of haze and foam coming on. Then I was listening to the dull roar, which was rapidly increasing into what seemed a harsh yell louder than thunder. "Pull, my lads!" shouted the captain, with his voice sounding strange and harsh in the awful silence around us, for, loud as was the roar of the storm, it seemed still afar off. The men pulled, and then we relieved them again, with the great drops gathering on our faces in the intense heat; and my breath came thick and short, till I felt as it were a sense of burning in my chest. Then I grew half-blind with my eyes staring back at the wall of haze; and then, as I felt that I should die if I strained much longer at that oar, I heard the captain shout: "In oars!" and I found that we were alongside the schooner, and close under her lee. There was just time to get on board, and we were in the act of hauling up the boat, when, with an awful whistle and shriek, the storm was upon us, and we were all clinging for life to that which was nearest at hand. Now, I daresay you would like me to give you a faithful account of my impressions of that storm, and those of one who went through it from the time that the hurricane struck us till it passed over, leaving the sky clear, the sun shining, and the sea heaving slowly and without a single crest. I feel that I can do justice to the theme, so here is my faithful description of that storm. _A horrid wet, stifling, flogging row_. That's all I can recollect. That's all I'm sure that the doctor could recollect, or the captain or anybody else. We were just about drowned and stunned, and when we came to ourselves it was because the storm had passed over. "What cheer, ho!" shouted the captain, and we poor flogged and drenched objects sat up and looked about us, to find that the waves had lifted the schooner off the rocks, and driven her a long way out of her course; that the sails that had been set were blown to ribbons; and finally that the schooner, with the last exception, was very little the worse for the adventure. "She ain't made no water much," said the captain, after going below; "and--here, I say, where's that Malay scoundrel?" "Down in the cabin--locked in," said an ill-used voice; and I rubbed the salt-water out of my eyes, and stared at the tall thin figure before me, leaning up against the bulwark as if his long thin legs were too weak to support his long body, though his head was so small that it could not have added very much weight. "Why, hallo! Who the blue jingo are you?" roared the skipper. The tall thin boy wrinkled up his forehead, and did not answer. "Here, I say, where did you spring from?" roared the captain. The tall thin boy took one hand out of his trousers' pocket with some difficulty, for it was so wet that it clung, and pointed down below. The skipper scratched his head furiously, and stared again. "Here, can't you speak, you long-legged thing?" he cried. "Who are you?" "Why, it's Jack Penny!" I exclaimed. "Jack who?" cried the captain. "Jack Penny, sir. His father is a squatter about ten miles from our place." "Well, but how came _he_--I mean that tall thin chap, not his father--to be squatting aboard my schooner?" "Why, Jack," I said, "when did you come aboard?" "Come aboard?" he said slowly, as if it took him some time to understand what I said. "Oh, the night before you did." "But where have you been all the time?" "Oh, down below there," said Jack slowly. "But what did you come for?" "Wanted to," he said coolly. "If I had said so, they wouldn't--you wouldn't have let me come." "But why did you come, Jack?" I said. "'Cause I wanted," he replied surlily. "Who are you that you're to have all the fun and me get none!" "Fun!" I said. "Yes, fun. Ain't you goin' to find your father?" "Of course I am; but what's that got to do with fun?" "Never you mind; I've come, and that's all about it," he said slowly; and thrusting his hands back into his trousers' pockets as fast as the wet clinging stuff would let him, he began to whistle. "But it arn't all about it," cried the captain; "and so you'll find. You arn't paid no passage, and I arn't going to have no liberties took with my ship. Here, where's that Malay chap?" "I told you where he was, didn't I?" snarled Jack Penny. "Are you deaf? In the cabin, locked in." "What's he doing locked in my cabin?" roared the captain. "I say, are you skipper here, or am I? What's he doing in my cabin locked in?" "Rubbing his sore head, I s'pose," drawled Jack Penny. "I hit him as hard as I could with one o' them fence rails." "Fence rails!" cried the captain, who looked astounded at the big thin boy's coolness, and then glanced in the direction he pointed beneath the bulwarks. "Fence rails! What do you mean--one of them capstan bars?" "I don't know what you call 'em," said Jack. "I give him a regular wunner on the head." "What for, you dog?" "Here, don't you call me a dog or there'll be a row," cried Jack, rising erect and standing rather shakily about five feet eleven, looking like a big boy stretched to the bursting point and then made fast. "He was going to kill the black fellow with his knife after knocking him down. I wasn't going to stand by and see him do that, was I?" "Well, I s'pose not," said the captain, who looked puzzled. "Where is the black fellow? Here, where's Jimmy?" "Down that square hole there, that wooden well-place," said Jack, pointing to the forecastle hatch. "He slipped down there when the yaller chap hit him." "Look here--" said the captain as I made for the hatch to look after Jimmy. "But stop a minute, let's have the black up." Two of the men went below and dragged up poor Jimmy, who was quite stunned, and bleeding freely from a wound on the head. "Well, that's some proof of what you say, my fine fellow," continued the captain, as the doctor knelt down to examine poor Jimmy's head and I fetched some water to bathe his face. "What did you do next?" "Next? Let me see," drawled Jack Penny; "what did I do next? Oh! I know. That chap was running away with the ship, and I took hold of that wheel thing and turned her round, so as to come back to you when you kept waving your cap." "Hah! yes. Well, what then?" "Oh, the thing wanted oiling or greasing; it wouldn't go properly. It got stuck fast, and the ship wouldn't move; and then the storm came. I wish you wouldn't bother so." "Well, I _am_ blessed," cried the captain staring. "I should have been proud to have been your father, my young hopeful. 'Pon my soul I should. You are a cool one, you are. You go and run the prettiest little schooner there is along the coast upon the rocks, and then you have the confounded impudence to look me in the face and tell me the rudder wants greasing and it stuck." "So it did!" cried Jack Penny indignantly. "Think I don't know? I heard it squeak. You weren't on board. The ship wouldn't move afterwards." "Here, I say; which are you?" cried the captain; "a rogue or a fool?" "I d'know," said Jack coolly. "Father used to say I was a fool sometimes. P'r'aps I am. I say, though, if I were you I'd go and tie down that yaller Malay chap in the cabin. He's as vicious as an old man kangaroo in a water-hole." "Your father's wrong, my fine fellow," said the captain with a grim smile; "you ar'n't a fool, for a fool couldn't give such good advice as that. Here, doctor, p'r'aps you'll lend me one of your shooting things. You can get into your cabin; I can't get into mine." The doctor nodded, and in the excitement of the time we forgot all about our drenched clothes as he went down and returned directly with his revolver, and another for the captain's use. "Thank'ye, doctor," said the captain grimly, cocking the piece. "I don't want to use it, and I daresay the sight of it will cool our yaller friend; but it's just as well to be prepared. What! are you coming too? Thought your trade was to mend holes and not make 'em." "My trade is to save life, captain," said the doctor quietly. "Perhaps I shall be helping to save life by coming down with you." "P'r'aps you will, doctor. Here, we don't want you two boys." "We only want to come and see," I said in an ill-used tone; and before the doctor could speak the captain laughingly said, "Come on," and we followed them down below, the men bringing up the rear, armed with bars and hatchets. The captain did not hesitate for a moment, but went straight down to the cabin door, turned the key, and threw it open, though all the while he knew that there was a man inside fiercer than some savage beast. But had he been a little more cautious it would have saved trouble, for the Malay had evidently been waiting as he heard steps, and as the door was opened he made a spring, dashed the doctor and captain aside, overset me, and, as the men gave way, reached the deck, where he ran right forward and then close up to the foremast, stood with his long knife or kris in his hand, rolling his opal eyeballs, and evidently prepared to strike at the first who approached. "The dog! he has been at the spirits," growled the captain fiercely. "Confound him! I could shoot him where he stands as easy as could be; but I arn't like you, doctor, I don't like killing a man. Never did yet, and don't want to try." "Don't fire at him," said the doctor excitedly; "a bullet might be fatal. Let us all rush at him and beat him down." "That's all very fine, doctor," said the captain; "but if we do some one's sure to get an ugly dig or two from that skewer. Two or three of us p'r'aps. You want to get a few surgery jobs, but I'd rather you didn't." All this while the Malay stood brandishing his kris and showing his teeth at us in a mocking smile, as if we were a set of the greatest cowards under the sun. "Look here, Harriet," cried the captain; "you'd better give in; we're six to one, and must win. Give in, and you shall have fair play." "Cowards! come on, cowards!" shouted the Malay fiercely, and he made a short rush from the mast, and two of the hatchet men retreated; but the Malay only laughed fiercely, and shrank back to get in shelter by the mast. "We shall have to rush him or shoot him," said the captain, rubbing his nose with pistol barrel. "Now then, you dog; surrender!" he roared; and lowering the pistol he fired at the Malay's feet, the bullet splintering up the deck; but the fellow only laughed mockingly. "We shall have to rush him," growled the captain; "unless you can give him a dose of stuff, doctor, to keep him quiet." "Oh, yes; I can give him a dose that will quiet him for a couple of hours or so, but who's to make him take it?" "When we treed the big old man kangaroo who ripped up Pompey, Caesar, and Crassus," drawled Jack Penny, who was looking on with his hands in his pockets, "I got up the tree and dropped a rope with a noose in it over his head. Seems to me that's what you ought to do now." "Look'ye here," cried the captain, "don't you let your father call you fool again, youngster, because it's letting perhaps a respectable old man tell lies. Tell you what, if you'll shin up the shrouds, and drop a bit of a noose over his head while we keep him in play, I won't say another word about your coming on board without leave." "Oh, all right! I don't mind trying to oblige you, but you must mind he don't cut it if I do." "You leave that to me," cried the captain. "I'll see to that. There, take that thin coil there, hanging on a belaying-pin." The tall thin fellow walked straight to the coil of thin rope, shook it out, and made a running noose at the end, and then, with an activity that surprised me, who began to feel jealous that this thin weak-looking fellow should have proved himself more clever and thoughtful than I was, he sprang into the shrouds, the Malay hardly noticing, evidently believing that the boy was going aloft to be safe. He looked up at him once, as Jack Penny settled himself at the masthead, but turned his attention fiercely towards us as the captain arranged his men as if for a rush, forming them into a semicircle. "When I say ready," cried the captain, "all at him together." The Malay heard all this, and his eyes flashed and his teeth glistened as he threw himself into an attitude ready to receive his foes, his body bent forward, his right and left arms close to his sides, and his whole frame well balanced on his legs. "Ready?" cried the captain. "All ready!" was the reply; and I was so intent upon the fierce lithe savage that I forgot all about Jack Penny till I heard the men answer. There was the whizzing noise of a rope thrown swiftly, and in an instant a ring had passed over the Malay's body, which was snatched tight, pinioning his arms to his side, and Jack Penny came down with a rush on the other side of the fore-yard, drawing the savage a few feet from the deck, where he swung helplessly, and before he could recover himself he had been seized, disarmed, and was lying bound upon the deck. "I didn't mean to come down so fast as that," drawled Jack, rubbing his back. "I've hurt myself a bit." "Then we'll rub you," cried the captain joyously. "By George, my boy, you're a regular two yards of trump." The excitement of the encounter with the Malay being over, there was time to see to poor Jimmy, who was found to be suffering from a very severe cut on the head, one of so serious a nature that for some time the poor fellow lay insensible; but the effect of bathing and bandaging his wound was to make him open his eyes at last, and stare round for some moments before he seemed to understand where he was. Then recollection came back, and he grinned at me and the doctor. The next moment a grim look of rage came over his countenance, and springing up he rushed to where the Malay was lying upon the deck under the bulwarks, and gave him a furious kick. "Bad brown fellow!" he shouted. "Good for nothing! Hi--wup--wup--wup!" Every utterance of the word _wup_ was accompanied by a kick, and the result was that the Malay sprang up, snatched his kris from where it had been thrown on the head of a cask, and striking right and left made his way aft, master of the deck once more. "Well, that's nice," growled the captain. "I thought them knots wouldn't hold," drawled Jack Penny. "He's been wriggling and twisting his arms and legs about ever since he lay there. I thought he'd get away." "Then why didn't you say so, you great, long-jointed two-foot rule?" roared the captain. "Here, now then, all together. I'm skipper here. Rush him, my lads; never mind his skewer." The captain's words seemed to electrify his little crew, and, I venture to say, his passengers as well. Every one seized some weapon, and, headed by the skipper, we charged down upon the savage as he stood brandishing his weapon. He stood fast, watchful as a tiger, for some moments, and then made a dash at our extreme left, where Jack Penny and I were standing; and I have no doubt that he would have cut his way through to our cost, but for a quick motion of the captain, who struck out with his left hand, hitting the Malay full in the cheek. The man made a convulsive spring, and fell back on the edge of the bulwarks, where he seemed to give a writhe, and then, before a hand could reach him, there was a loud splash, and he had disappeared in the sea. We all rushed to the side, but the water was thick from the effects of the storm, and we could not for a few moments make out anything. Then all at once the swarthy, convulsed face of the man appeared above the wave, and he began to swim towards the side, yelling for help. "Ah!" said the skipper, smiling, "that's about put him out. Nothing like cold water for squenching fire." "Hi--wup! hi--wup!" shouted Jimmy, who forgot his wound, and danced up and down, holding on by the bulwarks, his shining black face looking exceedingly comic with a broad bandage of white linen across his brow. "Hi--wup! hi--wup!" he shouted; "bunyip debble shark coming--bite um legs." "Help!" shrieked the Malay in piteous tones, as he swam on, clutching at the slippery sides of the schooner. "Help!" growled the captain; "what for? Here, you, let me have that there kris. Hitch it on that cord." As he spoke the captain threw down the thin line with which the Malay had been bound, the poor wretch snatching at it frantically; but as he did so it was pulled away from his despairing clutch. "I could noose him," drawled Jack Penny coolly. "I've often caught father's rams like that." "Yes, but your father's rams hadn't got knives," said the captain grimly. "No, but they'd got horns," said Jack quietly. "Ain't going to drown him, are you?" "Not I, boy; he'll drown himself if we leave him alone." "I don't like to see fellows drown," said Jack; and he left the bulwarks and sat down on the hatchway edge. "Tell a fellow when it's all over, Joe Carstairs." "Help, help!" came hoarsely from the poor wretch; and my hands grew wet inside, and a horrible sensation seemed to be attacking my chest, as I watched the struggles of the drowning man with starting eyes. For though he swam like a fish, the horror of his situation seemed to have unnerved him, and while he kept on swimming, it was with quick wearying effort, and he was sinking minute by minute lower in the water. "For Heaven's sake, throw the poor wretch a rope, captain," said the doctor. "What! to come aboard and knife some of us?" growled the captain. "Better let him drown. Plenty of better ones than him to be had for a pound a month." "Oh, captain!" I cried indignantly, for my feelings were too much for me; and I seized a rope just as the Malay went down, after uttering a despairing shriek. "Let that rope alone, boy," said the skipper with a grim smile. "There, he's come up again. Ketch hold!" he cried, and he threw his line so that the Malay could seize it, which he did, winding it round and round one arm, while the slowly-sailing schooner dragged him along through the sea. "I'm only giving him a reg'lar good squencher, doctor. I don't want him aboard with a spark left in him to break out again: we've had enough of that. Haul him aboard, lads, and shove him in the chain locker to get dry. We'll set him ashore first chance." The Malay was hauled aboard with no very gentle hands by the white sailors, and as soon as he reached the deck he began crawling to the captain's feet, to which he clung, with gesture after gesture full of humility, as ha talked excitedly in a jargon of broken English and Malay. "That's what I don't like in these fellows," said Jack Penny quietly; "they're either all bubble or else all squeak." "Yes; he's about squenched now, squire," said the captain. "Here, shove him under hatches, and it's lucky for you I'm not in a hanging humour to-day. You'd better behave yourself, or you may be brought up again some day when I am." As the captain spoke to the streaming, shivering wretch he made a noose in the rope he held, manipulating it as if he were really going to hang the abject creature, in whom the fire of rage had quite become extinct. Then the sailors took hold of him, and he uttered a despairing shriek; but he cooled down as he found that he was only to be made a prisoner, and was thrust below, with Jimmy dancing a war-dance round him as he went, the said dance consisting of bounds from the deck and wavings of his waddy about his head. As the Malay was secured, Jack Penny rose from his seat and walked to the side of the vessel, to spit into the water with every sign of disgust upon his face. "Yah!" he said; "I wouldn't squeak like that, not if they hung me." "Well, let's see," cried the captain, catching him by the collar; "hanging is the punishment for stowaways, my fine fellow." "Get out!" said Jack, giving himself a sort of squirm and shaking himself free. "You ain't going to scare me; and, besides, you know what you said. I say, though, when are we going to have something to eat?" The captain stared at Jack's serious face for a few moments, and then he joined with the doctor and me in a hearty laugh. "I don't well understand you yet, my fine fellow," he said; "perhaps I shall, though, afore I've done. Here, come down; you do look as if a little wholesome vittles would do you good. Are you hungry then?" "Hungry!" said Jack, without a drawl, and he gave his teeth a gnash; "why, I ain't had nothing but some damper and a bottle o' water since I came on board." CHAPTER SIX. HOW JIMMY WAS FRIGHTENED BY THE BUNYIP. "Oh, I don't know that I've got any more to say about it," said Jack Penny to me as we sat next day in the bows of the schooner, with our legs dangling over the side. "I heard all about your going, and there was nothing to do at home now, so I said to myself that I'd go, and here I am." "Yes, here you are," I said; "but you don't mean to tell me that you intended to go up the country with us?" "Yes, I do," he said. "Nonsense, Jack! it is impossible!" I said warmly. "I say!" "Well?" "New Guinea don't belong to you, does it?" "Why, of course not." "Oh, I thought p'r'aps you'd bought it." "Don't talk nonsense, Jack." "Don't you talk nonsense then, and don't you be so crusty. If I like to land in New Guinea, and take a walk through the country, it's as free for me as it is for you, isn't it?" "Of course it is." "Then just you hold your tongue, Mister Joe Carstairs; and if you don't like to walk along with me, why you can walk by yourself." "And what provisions have you made for the journey?" I said. "Oh, I'm all right, my lad!" he drawled. "Father lent me his revolver, and I've got my double gun, and two pound o' powder and a lot o' shot." "Anything else?" "Oh, I've got my knife, and a bit o' string, and two fishing-lines and a lot of hooks, and I brought my pipe and my Jew's-harp, and I think that's all." "I'm glad you brought your Jew's-harp," I said ironically. "So am I," he said drily. "Yah! I know: you're grinning at me, but a Jew's-harp ain't a bad thing when you're lonely like, all by yourself, keeping sheep and nobody to speak to for a week together but Gyp. I say, Joe, I brought Gyp," he added with a smile that made his face look quite pleasant. "What! your dog?" I cried. "Yes; he's all snug down below, and he hasn't made a sound. He don't like it, but if I tell him to do a thing he knows he's obliged to do it." "I say, I wonder what the captain will say if he knows you've got a dog on board?" "I sha'n't tell him, and if he don't find it out I shall pay him for Gyp's passage just the same as I shall pay him for mine. I've got lots of money, and I hid on board to save trouble. I ain't a cheat." "No, I never thought you were, Jack," I said, for I had known him for some years, and once or twice I had been fishing with him, though we were never companions. "But it's all nonsense about your going with us. The doctor said this morning that the notion was absurd." "Let him mind his salts-and-senna and jollop," said Jack sharply. "Who's he, I should like to know? I knowed your father as much as he did. He's given me many a sixpence for birds' eggs and beetles and snakes I've got for him. Soon as I heard you were going to find him, I says to father, `I'm going too.'" "And what did your father say?" "Said I was a fool." "Ah! of course," I exclaimed. "No, it ain't `ah, of course,' Mr Clever," he cried. "Father always says that to me whatever I do, but he's very fond of me all the same." Just then the captain came forward with his glass under his arm, and his hands deep down in his pockets. He walked with his legs very wide apart, and stopped short before us, his straw hat tilted right over his nose, and see-sawing himself backwards and forwards on his toes and heels. "You're a nice young man, arn't you now?" he said to Jack. "No, I'm only a boy yet," said Jack quietly. "Well, you're tall enough to be a man, anyhow. What's your height?" "Five foot 'leven," said Jack. "And how old are you?" "Seventeen next 'vember," said Jack. "Humph!" said the captain. "Here, how much is it?" said Jack, thrusting his hand in his pocket. "I'll pay now and ha' done with it." "Pay what?" "My passage-money." "Oh!" said the captain quietly, "I see. Well, I think we'd better settle that by-and-by when you bring in claim for salvage." The captain pronounced it "sarvidge," and Jack stared. "What savage?" he said. "Do you mean Joe Carstairs' black fellow?" "Do I mean Joe Carstairs' grandmother, boy? I didn't say savage; I said salvage--saving of the ship from pirates." "Oh, I see what you mean," replied Jack. "I sha'n't bring in any claim. I knew that Malay chap wasn't doing right, and stopped him, that's all." "Well, we won't say any more about stowing away, then," said the captain. "Had plenty to eat this morning?" "Oh yes, I'm better now," drawled Jack. "I was real bad yesterday, and never felt so hollow before." The captain nodded and went back, while Jack turned to me, and nodding his head said slowly: "I like the captain. Now let's go and see how your black fellow's head is." Jimmy was lying under a bit of awning rigged up with a scrap of the storm-torn sail; and as soon as he saw us his white teeth flashed out in the light. "Well, Jimmy, how are you?" I said, as Jack Penny stood bending down over him, and swaying gently to and fro as if he had hinges in his back. "Jimmy better--much better. Got big fly in um head--big bunyip fly. All buzz--buzz--round and round--buzz in um head. Fedge doctor take um out." "Here, doctor," I shouted; and he came up. "Jimmy has got a fly in his head." "A bee in his bonnet, you mean," he said, bending down and laying his hand on the black's temples. "Take um out," said Jimmy excitedly. "Buzz--buzz--bunyip fly." "Yes, I'll take it out, Jimmy," said the doctor quietly; "but not to-day." "When take um out?" cried the black eagerly; "buzz--buzz. Keep buzz." "To-morrow or next day. Here, lie still, and I'll get your head ready for the operation." The preparation consisted in applying a thick cloth soaked in spirits and water to the feverish head, the evaporation in the hot climate producing a delicious sense of coolness, which made Jimmy say softly: "Fly gone--sleep now," and he closed his eyes, seeming to be asleep till the doctor had gone back to his seat on the deck, where he was studying a chart of the great island we were running for. But as soon as he was out of hearing Jimmy opened first one eye and then another. Then in a whisper, as he gently took up his waddy: "No tell doctor; no tell captain fellow. Jimmy go knock brown fellow head flap to-night." "What?" I cried. "He no good brown fellow. Knock head off. Overboard: fis eat up." "What does he say; he's going to knock that Malay chap's head off?" drawled Jack. "Yes, Jimmy knock um head flap." "You dare to touch him, Jimmy," I said, "and I'll send you back home." "Jimmy not knock um head flap?" he said staring. "No. You're not to touch him." "Mass Joe gone mad. Brown fellow kill all a man. Jimmy kill um." "You are not to touch him," I said. "And now go to sleep or I shall go and tell the captain." Jimmy lifted up his head and looked at me. Then he banged it down upon his pillow, which was one of those gooseberry-shaped rope nets, stuffed full of oakum, and called a fender, while we went forward once more to talk to the doctor about his chart, for Jack Penny was comporting himself exactly as if he had become one of the party, though I had made up my mind that he was to go back with the captain when we were set ashore. All the same, at Jack Penny's urgent request I joined him in the act of keeping the presence of the other passenger a secret--I mean Gyp the dog, to whom I was stealthily introduced by Jack, down in a very evil-smelling part of the hold, and for whom I saved scraps of meat and bits of fish from my dinner every day. The introduction was as follows on the part of Jack: "Gyp, old man, this is Joe Carstairs. Give him your paw." It was very dark, but I was just able to make out a pair of fiery eyes, and an exceedingly shaggy curly head--I found afterwards that Gyp's papa had been an Irish water spaniel, and his mamma some large kind of hound; and Jack informed me that Gyp was a much bigger dog than his mamma--then a rough scratchy paw was dabbed on my hand, and directly after my fingers were wiped by a hot moist tongue. At the same time there was a whimpering noise, and though I did not know it then, I had made one of the ugliest but most faithful friends I ever had. The days glided by, and we progressed very slowly, for the weather fell calm after the typhoon, and often for twenty-four hours together we did nothing but drift about with the current, the weather being so hot that we were glad to sit under the shade of a sail. The doctor quite took to Jack Penny, saying that he was an oddity, but not a bad fellow. I began to like him better myself, though he did nothing to try and win my liking, being very quiet and distant with us both, and watching us suspiciously, as if he thought we were always making plots to get rid of him, and thwart his plans. Gyp had remained undiscovered, the poor brute lying as quiet as a mouse, except when Jack Penny and I went down to feed him, when he expressed his emotion by rapping the planks hard with his tail. At last the captain, who had been taking observations, tapped me on the shoulder one hot mid-day, and said: "There, squire, we shall see the coast to-morrow before this time, and I hope the first thing you set eyes on will be your father, waving his old hat to us to take him off." Just then Jimmy, whose wound had healed rapidly, and who had forgotten all about the big bunyip fly buzzing in his head, suddenly popped his face above the hatchway with his eyes starting, his hair looking more shaggy than usual, and his teeth chattering with horror. He leaped up on the deck, and began striking it with the great knob at the end of his waddy, shouting out after every blow. "Debble, debble--big bunyip debble. Jimmy, Jimmy see big bunyip down slow!" "Here, youngster, fetch my revolver," shouted the captain to me. "Here, doctor, get out your gun, that Malay chap's loose again." "A no--a no--a no," yelled Jimmy, banging at the deck. "Big bunyip--no brown fellow--big black bunyip debble, debble!" "Get out, you black idiot; it's the Malay." "A no--a no--a no; big black bunyip. 'Gin eat black fellow down slow." To my astonishment, long quiet Jack Penny went up to Jimmy and gave him a tremendous kick, to which the black would have responded by a blow with his war-club had I not interposed. "What did you kick him for, Jack?" I cried. "A great scuffle-headed black fool! he'll let it out now about Gyp. Make him be quiet." It was too late, for the captain and the doctor were at the hatchway, descending in spite of Jimmy's shouts and cries that the big bunyip--the great typical demon of the Australian aborigine--would eat them. "Shoot um--shoot um--bing, bang!" _whop_ went Jimmy's waddy on the deck; and in dread lest they should fire at the unfortunate dog in the dark, I went up and told the captain, the result being that Gyp was called up on deck, and the great beast nearly went mad with delight, racing about, fawning on his master and on me, and ending by crouching down at my feet with his tongue lolling out, panting and blinking his eyes, unaccustomed to the glare of daylight. "You're in this game, then, eh, Master Carstairs?" said the captain. "Well, yes, sir; Penny here took me into his confidence about having brought the dog, and of course I could not say a word." "Humph! Nice game to have with me, 'pon my word. You're a pretty penny, you are, young man," he added, turning to Jack. "I ought to toss you--overboard." "I'll pay for Gyp's passage," said Jack coolly. "I wish you wouldn't make such a fuss." The captain muttered something about double-jointed yard measures, and went forward without another word, while Gyp selected a nice warm place on the deck, and lay down to bask on his side, but not until he had followed Jimmy up the port-side and back along the starboard, sniffing his black legs, while that worthy backed from him, holding his waddy ready to strike, coming to me afterwards with a look of contempt upon his noble savage brow, and with an extra twist to his broad nose, to say: "Jimmy know all a time only big ugly dog. Not bunyip 'tall." CHAPTER SEVEN. HOW WE STOPPED THE BLACKBIRD CATCHERS. The captain was right, for we made the south coast of New Guinea the _very_ next morning, and as I caught sight of the land that I believed to be holding my father as in a prison, a strange mingling of pain and pleasure filled my breast I looked excitedly and long through the doctor's double glass, and he shook hands with me afterwards, as if he thoroughly appreciated my feelings in the matter. It was a lovely morning, with a pleasant breeze blowing, and as we drew nearer we made out a vessel very similar in build to our own going in the same direction. "Why, they are for the same port, I should think!" "I don't know," said the skipper rather oddly. "We're for a little place I know, where the savages are pretty friendly, and I've been talking it over with the doctor as to its being a good starting-place for you, and he thinks it will be. There it lies," he said, pointing north-east. "We can soon make it now." "Looks a nicer place than our land," said Jack Penny, as I stood with him gazing wonderingly at the forest and mountain scenery that hour by hour grew more clear. "I think I shall like Noo Guinea." The day glided on with the look-out growing more and more interesting; and at last, when we were pretty near, we could see the other schooner had outsailed us, and was within a short distance of a scattered collection of huts; while a little crowd of the natives was on the sandy beach busily launching their canoes, in which they paddled out towards the other vessel. "I don't like that," said the skipper suddenly, as he was using his glass. "That's bad for us." "What is?" I said eagerly. "That there schooner going before us. They're blackbird catchers, or I'm a Dutchman." "Blackbird catchers?" I said. "Why, I thought there were no blackbirds out of Europe." "Just hark at him," said the captain, turning to the doctor. "Blackbirds, boy, why, there's thousands; and it's them varmint who go in for the trade of catching 'em as makes the coast unsafe for honest men." "What do you mean?" I cried, and I became aware of the fact that Jack Penny was bending over me like a bamboo. "Mean, boy? just you take the doctor's little double-barrelled telescope and watch and see." I took the glass and looked intently, watching through it the scene of the blacks paddling up to the schooner, and holding up what seemed to be fruit and birds for sale. All at once I saw something fall into one of the canoes, which immediately sank, and eight of its occupants were left struggling in the water. To my great relief I saw a small boat rowed round from the other side of the little vessel, evidently, as I thought, to go to the help of the poor creatures; but, to my horror, I saw that two men stood up in the boat, and, as it was rowed, they struck at the swimming men with heavy bars, and dragged them one by one into the boat. I saw four saved like this, and then the boat was rowed rapidly in pursuit of the other four, who were swimming as hard as they could, as they tried to overtake the canoes, whose occupants were making for the shore. The noise of the shouts reached our ears faintly, and I saw one of the men picked up by the last canoe, and the other three were literally hunted by the schooner's boat, diving like ducks and trying every feat they could think of to avoid capture; but oars beat hands in the water, and I saw two of the fugitives struck on the head by a fellow in the bows of the boat, and then they were dragged over the side. There was one more savage in the water, and he swam rapidly and well, besides which, he had gained some distance during the time taken up in capturing his fellows. As he had changed his direction somewhat I had a better view of the chase, and I felt horrified to see how rapidly the boat gained upon him till it was so near that it could be only a matter of minutes before he would be worn out and treated in the same way as his unfortunate fellows. At last the boat overtook the poor wretch, but he dived down and it passed over him, the blow struck at his head merely making a splash in the water, when up he came, his black head just showing above the surface, and he struggled in another direction for his liberty. To add to the excitement of the scene the sandy shore about the huts was lined with savages, who were rushing about in a tremendous state of excitement, shaking their spears and yelling, but showing plainly that they were a very cowardly race, for not one of them made an effort to launch a canoe and try to save his brother in distress. There could be but one end to this cruel tragedy, so I thought; but I was wrong. Again and again the boat overtook the poor fellow, but he dived and escaped even though blows were struck at him with a boat-hook; but it was evident that he was growing weaker, and that he stayed below a shorter time. All at once, as if the men had become furious at the length of the chase, I saw the boat rowed rapidly down upon him; but the savage dived once more, evidently went right under the boat, and came up full thirty yards astern, swimming now straight for the shore. Then all at once I saw him throw up his arms and disappear, as if he had been snatched under. "Out of his misery," said a deep voice beside me; and turning I found that the captain had been watching the scene through his long glass. "What do you mean?" I said. "Sharks took him down, poor chap," said the captain. "Sharks is ignorant, or they would have grabbed the white fellows instead." As I still watched the scene, with my brow wet with perspiration, I saw the boat make now for the schooner, and quite a dozen canoes put off from the shore. "Lor', what a thing ignorance is, and how far niggers are behind white men in pluck! Why, if these fellows knew what they were about, they might easily overhaul that little schooner, take their brothers out of her, and give the blackbird catchers such a lesson as they'd never remember and never forget, for they'd kill the lot. There ain't a breath o' wind." "But they will take them, won't they, captain?" I cried. "No, my lad, not they. They'll go and shout and throw a few spears, and then go back again; but they'll bear malice, my lad. All white folks who come in ships will be the same to them, and most likely some poor innocent boat's crew will be speared, and all on account of the doings of these blackbird catchers." "But what do they do with the poor fellows?" I cried. "Reg'larly sell 'em for slaves, though slavery's done away with, my boy." "But will not the blacks rescue their friends?" I said. "No, my lad." "Then we must," I cried excitedly; and Jack Penny threw up his cap and cried "Hooray!" Gyp started to his feet and barked furiously, and Jimmy leaped in the air, came down in a squatting position, striking the deck a tremendous blow with his waddy, and shouting "Hi--wup, wup--wup," in an increasing yell. The captain, hardened by familiarity with such scenes, laid his hand upon my shoulder, and smiled at me kindly as he shook his head. "No, no, my lad, that would not do." "Not do!" I cried, burning with indignation. "Are we to stand by and see such cruelties practised?" "Yes, my lad; law says we musn't interfere. It's the law's job to put it down; but it's very slow sometimes." "But very sure, captain," said the doctor quietly. "And when it does move it is crushing to evil-doers. The captain is quite right, Joe, my boy," he continued, turning to me. "We must not stir in this case. I've heard of such atrocities before, but did not know that they were so common." "Common as blackguards," said the captain, "It's regular slavery. There, what did I tell you, my lad?" he continued, as he pointed to the canoes, which were returning after making a demonstration. "These poor blacks are afraid of the guns. It's all over--unless--" He stopped short, scratching his head, and staring first at the schooner and then at us in turn. "Unless what, captain?" I said excitedly. "Here, let's do a bit o' bounce for once in our lives," said the bluff old fellow. "Get out your revolvers and shooting-tackle, and let's see if we can't frighten the beggars. Only mind, doctor, and you too, my young bantam, our weapons is only for show. No firing, mind; but if we can bully those chaps into giving up their blackbirds, why we will." The boat was lowered, and with a goodly display of what Jack Penny called dangerous ironmongery, we started with three men, but not until the captain had seen that the Malay was safely secured. Then we started, and the people aboard the other schooner were so busy with their captives that we got alongside, and the captain, Doctor Grant, and I had climbed on deck before a red-faced fellow with a violently inflamed nose came up to us, and, with an oath, asked what we wanted there. "Here, you speak," whispered the captain to Doctor Grant. "I'm riled, and I shall be only using more bad language than is good for these youngsters to hear. Give it to him pretty warm, though, all the same, doctor." "D'yer hear?" said the red-faced fellow again. "What do you want here?" "Those poor wretches, you slave-dealing ruffian," cried the doctor, who looked quite white as he drew himself up and seemed to tower over the captain of the other schooner, who took a step back in astonishment, but recovered himself directly and advanced menacingly. "Come for them, have you, eh?" he roared; "then you'll go without 'em. Here, over you go; off my ship, you--" The scoundrel did not finish his speech, for as he spoke he clapped a great rough hairy paw on the doctor's shoulder, and then our friend seemed to shrink back at the contact; but it was only to gather force, like a wave, for, somehow, just then his fist seemed to dart out, and the ruffianly captain staggered back and then fell heavily on the deck. Half a dozen men sprang forward at this, but Doctor Grant did not flinch, he merely took out his revolver and examined its lock, saying: "Will you have these poor fellows got into our boat, captain?" "Ay, ay, doctor," cried our skipper; and the slave-dealing crew shrank back and stared as we busily handed down the blackbirds, as the captain kept on calling them. Poor creatures, they were still half-stunned and two of them were bleeding, and it must have seemed to then? that they were being tossed out of the frying-pan into the fire, and that we were going to carry on the villainy that our ruffianly countrymen had commenced. In fact had we not taken care, and even used force, they would have jumped overboard when we had them packed closely in. "Here, shove off!" the captain said, as we were once more in our boat; and just then the leader of the ruffians staggered to his feet and leaned over the side. "I'll have the law of you for this," he yelled. "This is piracy." "To be sure it is," said our captain; "we're going to hyste the black flag as soon as we get back, and run out our guns. Come on, my red-nosed old cocky-wax, and we'll have a naval engagement, and sink you." He nudged me horribly hard with his elbow at this point, and turning his back on the schooner winked at me, and chuckled and rumbled as if he were laughing heartily to himself in secret; but he spoke again directly quite seriously. "I haven't got no boys of my own," he said, "but if I had, I should say this was a sort o' lesson to you to always have right on your side. It's again' the law, but it's right all the same. See how we carried all before us, eh, my lads! The doctor's fist was as good as half a dozen guns, and regularly settled the matter at once." "Then we may set these poor fellows free now?" I said. "Well, I shouldn't like to be one of them as did it," said the captain drily. "Look at the shore." I glanced in that direction and saw that it was crowded with blacks, all armed with spears and war-clubs, which they were brandishing excitedly. "They wouldn't know friends from foes," said the doctor quietly. "No; we must wait." I saw the reason for these remarks; and as soon as we had reached the side of the schooner and got our captives on board I attended the doctor while he busied himself bandaging and strapping cuts, the blacks staring at him wondering, and then at Jimmy, who looked the reverse of friendly, gazing down at the prisoners scornfully, and telling Jack Penny in confidence that he did not think much of common sort black fellow. "Jimmy xiv all o' men waddy spear if try to kedge Jimmy," he said, drawing himself up and showing his teeth. "No kedge Jimmy. Killer um all." It was hard work to get the poor prisoners to understand that we meant well by them. "You see they think you're having 'em patched up," said Jack Penny, "so as they'll sell better. I say, Joe Carstairs, give your black fellow a topper with his waddy; he's making faces at that chap, and pretending to cut off his legs." "Here, you be quiet, Jimmy, or I'll send you below," I said sharply; and as I went to the breaker to get a pannikin of water for one of the men, Jimmy stuck his hands behind him, pointed his nose in the air, and walked forward with such a display of offended dignity that Jack Penny doubled up, putting his head between his knees and pinning it firm, while he laughed in throes, each of which sent a spasm through his loose-jointed body. The black to whom I took the water looked at me in a frightened way, and shook his head. "He thinks it is poisoned, Joe," said the doctor quietly; and I immediately drank some, when the prisoner took the pannikin and drank with avidity, his companions then turning their eager eyes on me. "It is the feverish thirst produced by injuries," said the doctor; and as I filled the pannikin again and again, the poor wretches uttered a low sigh of satisfaction. The schooner lay where we had left it, and all seemed to be very quiet on board, but no movement was made of an offensive nature; and the day glided by till towards sundown, when there was less excitement visible on the shore. Then the captain ordered the boat to be lowered on the side away from the land, while he proceeded to sweep the shore with his glass. "I think we might land 'em now, doctor," he said, "and get back without any jobs for you." "Yes, they seem pretty quiet now," said the doctor, who had also been scanning the shore; "but there are a great many people about." "They won't see us," said the captain. "Now, my blackbirds, I'm not going to clip your wings or pull out your tails. Into the boat with you. I'll set you ashore." For the first time the poor fellows seemed to comprehend that they were to be set at liberty, and for a few minutes their joy knew no bounds; and it was only by running off that I was able to escape from some of their demonstrations of gratitude. "No, my lad," said the captain in response to my demand to go with him. "I'll set the poor chaps ashore, and we shall be quite heavy enough going through the surf. You can take command while I'm gone," he added, laughing; "and mind no one steals the anchor." I felt annoyed at the captain's bantering tone, but I said nothing; and just at sunset the boat pushed off quietly with its black freight, the poor fellows looking beside themselves with joy. "I say, skipper," said the captain laughingly to me, "mind that Malay chap don't get out; and look here, it will be dark directly, hyste a light for me to find my way back." I nodded shortly, and stood with Jack Penny and the doctor watching the boat till it seemed to be swallowed up in the thick darkness that was gathering round, and the doctor left Jack Penny and me alone. "I say," said Jack, who was leaning on the bulwarks, with his body at right angles; "I say, Joe Carstairs, I've been thinking what a game it would be if the captain never came back." "What!" I cried. "You and I could take the ship and go where we like." "And how about the doctor?" I said scornfully. "Ah!" he drawled, "I forgot about the doctor. That's a pity. I wish he'd gone ashore too." I did not answer, for it did not suit my ideas at all. The adventure I had on hand filled my mind, and I felt annoyed by my companion's foolish remark. We had tea, and were sitting with the doctor chatting on deck, after vainly trying to pierce the darkness with our eyes or to hear some sound, when all at once the doctor spoke: "Time they were back," he said. "I say, Skipper Carstairs, have you hoisted your light?" "Light!" I said excitedly. "What's that?" for just then a bright red glow arose to our right in the direction of the shore. "They're a making a bonfire," said Jack Penny slowly. "Or burning a village," said the doctor. "No, no," I cried; "it's that schooner on fire!" "You're right, Joe," said the doctor excitedly. "Why, the savages must have gone off and done this, and--yes, look, you can see the canoes." "Here, I say, don't!" cried Jack Penny then, his voice sounding curious from out of the darkness; and the same moment there was a rush, a tremendous scuffle, Jimmy yelled out something in his own tongue, and then lastly there were two or three heavy falls; and in a misty, stupefied way I knew that we had been boarded by the savages and made prisoners, on account of the outrage committed by the other captain. What followed seems quite dream-like; but I have some recollection of being bundled down into a boat, and then afterwards dragged out over the sand and hurried somewhere, with savages yelling and shouting about me, after which I was thrown down, and lay on the ground in great pain, half sleeping, half waking, and in a confused muddle of thought in which I seemed to see my father looking at me reproachfully for not coming to his help, while all the time I was so bound that I could not move a step. At last I must have dropped into a heavy sleep, for the next thing I saw was the bright sunshine streaming into the hut where I lay, and a crowd of blacks with large frizzed heads of hair chattering about me, every man being armed with spear and club, while the buzz of voices plainly told that there was a throng waiting outside. CHAPTER EIGHT. HOW I RAN FROM THE WHITEBIRD CATCHERS. Yes, I may as well own to it: I was terribly frightened, but my first thoughts were as to what had become of my companions. Jack Penny and the doctor must have been seized at the same time as I. Jimmy might have managed to escape. Perhaps his black skin would make him be looked upon as a friend. But the old captain, what about him? He would return to the schooner with his men and be seized, and knocked on the head for certain. The fierce resistance he would make certainly would cause his death, and I shuddered at the thought. Then I began to think of my mother and father, how I should have failed in helping them; and I remember thinking what a good job it was that my mother would never know exactly what had happened to me. Better the long anxiety, I thought, of watching and waiting for my return than to know I had been killed like this. "But I'm not killed yet," I thought, as the blood flushed to my face. "I'll have a run for it, if I can." I had not much time given me to think, for I was dragged to my feet, and out into a large open place where there were huts and trees, and there before me lay the sea with our schooner, but the other was gone; and as I recalled the fire of the previous night I knew that she must have been burned to the water's edge and then sunk. I began wondering about what must have been the fate of the other schooner's crew, and somehow it seemed that they deserved it. Then I began thinking of my own friends, and then, very selfishly no doubt, about myself. But I had little time for thought, being hurried along and placed in the middle of a crowd of the savages, all of whom seemed to be rolling their eyes and looking at me as if enjoying my position. "Well," I thought to myself, "it is enough to scare anybody; but I'll try and let them see that I belong to a superior race, and will not show what I feel." My eyes kept wandering about eagerly, first to look where my companions were placed, but as I saw no sign of them I began to hope that they might have escaped; secondly, to see which would be the best course to take if I ran for my life. For I could run, and pretty swiftly, then. The hardy life I had led out in the bush, with Jimmy for my companion, had made me light of foot and tolerably enduring. But for some little time I saw not the slightest chance of escape. There were too many savages close about me, and they must have divined my ideas, for they kept a watchful eye upon every act. At first I had felt numbed and cold. My legs and arms ached, and when the blacks took off the rope that they had bound about my limbs every nerve seemed to throb and burn; but by degrees this passed off, and to my great joy I felt more myself. At last, after a great deal of incomprehensible chatter, it seemed that a decision had been come to about me, and a tall black armed with a war-club came dancing up to me, swinging his weapon about, chattering wildly, and after a few feints he made a blow at my head. If that blow had taken effect I should not have been able to tell this story. But I had been too much with my friend Jimmy not to be well upon the alert. We had often played together--he like a big boy--in mimic fight, when he had pretended to spear me, and taught me how to catch the spear on a shield, and to avoid blows made with waddies. Jimmy's lessons were not thrown away. I could avoid a thrown spear, though helpless, like the black, against bullets, which he said came "too much faster faster to top." And as the savage made the blow at me I followed out Jimmy's tactics, threw myself forward, striking the wretch right in the chest with my head, driving him backward, and leaping over him I ran for my life, making straight for the forest. "It's all because of those wretches in the other schooner yesterday," I thought, as I ran swiftly on with a pack of the enemy shouting in my rear; and though I could run very fast, I found, to my horror, that my pursuers were as swift of foot, and that though I was close upon the forest it was all so open that they would be able to see me easily, and once caught I knew now what was to be my fate. I began thinking of the hunted hare, as I ran on, casting glances behind me from time to time, and seeing that though some of my pursuers lagged, there were four who were pretty close upon my heels, one of whom hurled his spear at me, which came whizzing past my ear so closely that it lightly touched my shoulder, making me leap forward as if struck by the weapon. I was panting heavily, and a choking sensation came upon me, but I raced on, since it was for life. How long the pursuit lasted I cannot tell. Perhaps a minute. It seemed half an hour. Twice I leaped aside to avoid blows aimed at me, and each time ran blindly in a fresh direction; but all at once the idea occurred to me in a flash that in my unnerved stupefied position I must have been going backward and struck my head violently against a tree, for it seemed as if there was a violent shock like thunder with a flash of lightning to dazzle my eyes, and then there was nothing at all. CHAPTER NINE. HOW I WAS NOT MADE INTO PIE. When I came to, it was as if all the past was a dream, for I heard voices I knew, and lay listening to them talking in a low tone, till, opening my eyes, I found I was close to the doctor, the captain, Jimmy, and the sailors, while Jack Penny was sitting holding my hand. "What cheer, my hearty?" said the captain, making an effort to come to me; but I then became aware of the fact that we were surrounded by savages, for one great fellow struck the captain on the arm with his club, and in retort the skipper gave him a kick which sent him on his back. There was a loud yell at this, and what seemed to threaten to be a general onslaught. My friends all prepared for their defence, and Jimmy took the initiative by striking out wildly, when half a dozen blacks dashed at him, got him down, and one was foolish enough to sit upon his head, but only to bound up directly with a shriek, for poor Jimmy, being held down as to arms and legs, made use of the very sharp teeth with which nature had endowed him. We should have been killed at once, no doubt, had not one tall black shouted out something, and then begun talking loudly to the excited mob, who listened to him angrily, it seemed to me; but I was so dull and confused from the blow I had received upon my head that all seemed misty and strange, and once I found myself thinking, as my head ached frightfully, that they might just as well kill us at once, and not torture us by keeping us in suspense. The talking went on, and whenever the tall chief stopped for a moment the blacks all set up a yell, and danced about brandishing their spears and clubs, showing their teeth, rolling their eyes, and behaving--just like savages. But still we were not harmed, only watched carefully, Jimmy alone being held, though I could see that at a movement on our part we should have been beaten to death or thrust through. At last, after an interminable speech, the big chief seemed to grow hoarse, and the blacks' yells were quicker and louder. Then there was a terrible pause, and a dozen sturdy blacks sprang towards us as regularly as if they had been drilled, each man holding a spear, and I felt that the end had come. I was too stupid with my hurt to do more than stare helplessly round, seeing the bright sunshine, the glittering sea, and the beautiful waving trees. Then my head began to throb, and felt as if hot irons were being thrust through it. I closed my eyes, the agony was so great; and then I opened them again, for all the savages were yelling and clapping their hands. Two men had seized me, and one of them had his head bandaged, and in a misty way I recognised him as one of the poor wretches to whom I had given water. He and the others, who were easily known by the doctor's patches of sticking-plaster, were talking with all their might; and then all the blacks began yelling and dancing about, brandishing their spears and clubs, frantic apparently with the effect of the injured men's words. "They ar'n't going to kill us, my lad," said the captain then; "and look ye there, they are going to feast the doctor." For the latter was regularly hustled off from among us by a party of blacks, led by two of the sticking-plastered fellows, while two others squatted down smiling at us and rubbing their chests. "Are we to be spared, then?" I said. "Spared? Well, I don't know, my lad," said the captain. "They won't be so ungrateful as to kill us, now these blacks set ashore have turned up and told 'em what sort of chaps we are; but I don't think they'll free us. They'll keep us here and make the doctor a physic chief. Eh! go there? All right; I can understand your fingers better than your tongue, my lad. Come on, all of you." This last was in response to the gesticulations of the injured men who were with us, and soon after, we were all settled down in a very large open hut, eating fruit and drinking water, every drop of which seemed to me more delicious than anything I had ever tasted before. A curious kind of drink was also given to us, but I did not care for it, and turned to the water again; while the doctor set to work to dress and strap up my injury as well as he could for the pressure of the people, who were wonderfully interested in it all, and then gathered round the doctor's other patients, examining their injuries, and listening to the account of the surgical treatment, which was evidently related to them again and again. "Well, this is different to what you expected; isn't it, squire?" said the captain to me the first time he could find an opportunity to speak. "I was beginning to feel precious glad that I shouldn't have a chance to get back and meet your mother after what she said to me." "Then you think we are safe now?" said the doctor. "Safe!" said the captain; "more than safe, unless some of 'em, being a bit cannibal like, should be tempted by the pleasant plumpness of Mr Jack Penny here, and want to cook and eat him." "Get out!" drawled Jack. "I know what you mean. I can't help being tall and thin." "Not you, my lad," said the captain good-humouredly. "Never mind your looks so long as your 'art's in the right place. We're safe enough, doctor, and I should say that nothing better could have happened. Niggers is only niggers; but treat 'em well and they ain't so very bad. You let young Squire Carstairs here ask the chief, and he'll go with you, and take half his people, to try and find the professor; ah, and fight for you too, like trumps." "Do you think so?" I said. "Think! I'm sure of it; and I'm all right now. They'll be glad to see me and trade with me. I'm glad you made me set those chaps free." "And what has become of the crew of the other schooner?" I said anxiously. "Nobbled," said the captain; "and sarve 'em right. Tit for tat; that's all. Men who plays at those games must expect to lose sometimes. They've lost--heavy. Change the subject; it's making young Six-foot Rule stare, and you look as white as if you were going to be served the same. Where's the doctor?" "He said he was going to see to the injured men," I replied. "Come and let's look how he's getting on," said the captain. "It's all right now; no one will interfere with us more than mobbing a bit, because we're curiosities. Come on." I followed the captain, the blacks giving way, but following us closely, and then crowding close up to the door of the great tent where the doctor was very busy repairing damages, as he called it, clipping away woolly locks, strapping up again and finishing off dressings that he had roughly commenced on board. During the next few days we were the honoured guests of the savages, going where we pleased, and having everything that the place produced. The captain moored his vessel in a snug anchorage, and drove a roaring trade bartering the stores he had brought for shells, feathers, bird-skins, and other productions of the island. Gyp was brought on shore, and went suspiciously about the place with his head close up to his master's long thin legs, for though he had tolerated and was very good friends with Jimmy, he would not have any dealings with the New Guinea folk. It did not seem to be the black skins or their general habits; but Jack Penny declared that it was their gummed-out moppy heads, these seeming to irritate the dog, so that, being a particularly well-taught animal, he seemed to find it necessary to control his feelings and keep away from the savages, lest he should find himself constrained to bite. The consequence was that, as I have said, he used to go about with his head close to his master's legs, often turning his back on the people about him; while I have known him sometimes take refuge with me, and thrust his nose right into my hand, as if he wished to make it a muzzle to keep him from dashing at some chief. "I hope he won't grab hold of any of 'em," Jack Penny said to me one day in his deliberate fashion; "because if he does take hold it's such a hard job to make him let go again. And I say, Joe Carstairs, if ever he's by you and these niggers begin to jump about, you lay hold of him and get him away." "Why?" I said. "Well, you see," drawled Jack, "Gyp ain't a human being." "I know that," I replied. "Yes, I s'pose so," said Jack. "Gyp's wonderfully clever, and he thinks a deal; but just now, I know as well as can be, he's in a sort of doubt. He thinks these blacks are a kind of kangaroos, but he isn't sure. If they begin to jump about, that will settle it, and he'll go at 'em and get speared; and if any one sticks a spear into Gyp, there's going to be about the biggest row there ever was. That one the other day won't be anything to it." "Then I shall do all I can to keep Gyp quiet," I said, smiling at Jack's serious way of speaking what he must have known was nonsense. After that I went out of the hut, where Jack Penny was doing what the captain called straightening his back--that is to say, lying down gazing up at the palm-thatched rafters, a very favourite position of his--and joined some of the blacks, employing my time in trying to pick up bits and scraps of their language, so as to be able to make my way about among the people when we were left alone. I found the doctor was also trying hard to master the tongue; and at the same time we attempted to make the chiefs understand the object of our visit, but it was labour in vain. The blacks were thoroughly puzzled, and I think our way of pointing at ourselves and then away into the bush only made them think that we wanted fruit or birds. The time sped on, while the captain was carrying on his trade, the blacks daily returning from the ship with common knives, and hatchets, and brass wire, the latter being a favourite thing for which they eagerly gave valuable skins. My wound rapidly healed, and I was eager to proceed up the country, our intention being to go from village to village searching until we discovered the lost man. "And I don't know what to say to it," said the captain just before parting. "I'm afraid you'll get to some village and then stop, for the blacks won't let you go on; but I tell you what: I shall be always trading backwards and forwards for the next two years, and I shall coast about looking up fresh places so as to be handy if you want a bit of help; and I can't say fairer than that, can I, doctor?" "If you will keep about the coast all you can," said the doctor, "and be ready, should we want them, to supply us with powder and odds and ends to replenish our stores, you will be doing us inestimable service. Whenever we go to a coast village we shall leave some sign of our having been there--a few words chalked on a tree, or a hut, something to tell you that English people have passed that way." "All right, and I shall do something of the kind," said the captain. "And, look here, I should make this village a sort of randy-voo if I was you, for you'll always be safe with these people." "Yes; this shall be headquarters," said the doctor. "Eh, Joe?" I nodded. "And now there's one more thing," said the captain. "Six-foot Rule; I suppose I'm to take him back?" "If you mean me," drawled Jack Penny, entering the hut with Gyp, "no, you mustn't take him back, for I ain't going. If Joe Carstairs don't want me, I don't want him. The country's as free for one as t'other, and I'm going to have a look round along with Gyp." "But really, my dear fellow," said the doctor, "I think you had better give up this idea." "Didn't know you could tell what's best here," said Jack stoutly. "'Tain't a physicky thing." "But it will be dangerous, Jack. You see we have run great risks already," I said, for now the time for the captain's departure had arrived, and it seemed a suitable occasion for bringing Jack to his senses. "Well, who said it wouldn't be dangerous?" he said sulkily. "Gyp and me ain't no more afraid than you are." "Of course not," I said. "'Tain't no more dangerous for me and a big dog than it is for you and your black fellow. I don't want to come along with you, I tell you, if you don't want me." "My dear Jack," I said, "I should be glad of your company, only I'm horrified at the idea of your running risks for your own sake. Suppose anything should happen to you, what then?" Jack straightened up his long loppetty body, and looked himself all over in a curious depreciatory fashion, and then said in a half melancholy, half laughing manner: "Well, if something did happen, it wouldn't spoil me; and if I was killed nobody wouldn't care. Anyhow I sha'n't go back with the captain." "Nonsense, my lad!" said the latter kindly. "I was a bit rough when I found you'd stowed yourself on board, but that was only my way. You come back along with me: you're welcome as welcome, and we sha'n't never be bad friends again." "Would you take Gyp too?" said Jack. "What! the dog? Ay, that I would; wouldn't I, old fellow?" said the captain; and Gyp got up slowly, gave his tail a couple of wags slowly and deliberately, as his master might have moved, and ended by laying his head upon the captain's knee. "Thank'ye, captain," said Jack, nodding in a satisfied way, "and some day I'll ask you to take me back, but I'm going to find Joe Carstairs' father first; and if they won't have me along with them, I dessay I shall go without 'em, and do it myself." The end of it all was that we shook hands most heartily with the captain next day; and that evening as the doctor, Jack Penny, Jimmy, Gyp, and I stood on the beach, we could see the schooner rounding a point of the great island, with the great red ball of fire--the sun--turning her sails into gold, till the darkness came down suddenly, as it does in these parts; and then, though there was the loud buzzing of hundreds of voices about the huts, we English folk seemed to feel that we were alone as it were, and cut off from all the world, while for the first time, as I lay down to sleep that night listening to the low boom of the water, the immensity, so to speak, of my venture seemed to strike me, giving me a chill of dread. This had not passed off when I woke up at daybreak next morning, to find it raining heavily, and everything looking as doleful and depressing as a strange place will look at such a time as this. CHAPTER TEN. HOW WE SAW STRANGE THINGS. "You rascal!" I exclaimed; "how dare you! Here, doctor, what is to be done? How am I to punish him?" "Send him back," said the doctor; "or, no: we'll leave him here at the village." Jimmy leaped up from where he had been squirming, as Jack Penny called it, on the ground, and began to bound about, brandishing his waddy, and killing nothing with blows on the head. "No, no," he shouted, "no send Jimmy back. Mass Joe leave Jimmy--Jimmy kill all a black fellow dead." "Now look here, sir," I said, seizing him by the ear and bringing him to his knees, proceedings which, big strong fellow as he was, he submitted to with the greatest of humility, "I'm not going to have you spoil our journey by any of your wild pranks; if ever you touch one of the people again, back you go to the station to eat damper and mutton and mind sheep." "Jimmy no go back mind sheep; set gin mind sheep. Jimmy go long Mass Joe." "Then behave yourself," I cried, letting him rise; and he jumped to his feet with the satisfaction of a forgiven child. In fact it always seemed to me that the black fellows of Australia, when they had grown up, were about as old in brains as an English boy of nine or ten. That morning we had made our start after days of preparation, and the chiefs of the village with a party of warriors came to see us part of the way, those who stayed behind with the women and children joining in a kind of yell to show their sorrow at our departure. The chief had offered half-a-dozen of his people for guides, and we might have had fifty; but six seemed plenty for our purpose, since, as the doctor said, we must work by diplomacy and not by force. So this bright morning we had started in high spirits and full of excitement, the great band of glistening-skinned blacks had parted from us, and our journey seemed now to have fairly begun, as we plunged directly into the forest, the six men with us acting as bearers. We had not gone far before our difficulties began, through the behaviour of Jimmy, who, on the strength of his knowledge of English, his connection with the white men, and above all the possession of clothes, which, for comfort's sake, he had once more confined to a pair of old trousers whose legs were cut off at mid-thigh, had begun to display his conceit and superiority, in his own estimation, over the black bearers by strutting along beside them, frowning and poking at them with his spear. At last he went so far as to strike one fine tall fellow over the shoulders, with the result that the New Guinea man threw down his load, the others followed suit, and all made rapid preparations for a fight. Humble as he was with me, I must do Jimmy the credit of saying that he did not turn tail, but threw himself into an attitude as if about to hurl his spear; and blood would undoubtedly have been shed had I not taken it upon myself to interfere, to the great satisfaction of our bearers. Order then was restored, the loads were resumed, and Jimmy, who did not seem in the slightest degree abashed by being degraded before the men he had ill-treated, strutted on, and the journey was continued, everyone on the look-out for dangerous beast or savage man. The doctor and I carried revolvers and double-barrelled guns, one barrel being charged with ball. Jack Penny was delighted by being similarly furnished; and in addition he asked for an axe, which he carried stuck in his belt. We were each provided with a similar weapon, ready to hand at times to the blacks, who were always ready to set down their burdens and make short work of the wild vines and growth that often impeded our path. We had determined--I say we, for from the moment of starting the doctor had begun to treat me as his equal in every sense, and consulted me on every step we took; all of which was very pleasant and flattering to me; but I often felt as if I would rather be dependent upon him--we had then determined to strike into the country until we reached the banks of a great river, whose course we meant to follow right up to the sources in the mountains. There were good reasons for this, as a moment's thought will show. To begin with, we were in a land of no roads, and most of our journey would be through dense forest, whereas there was likely to be a certain amount of open country about the river banks. Then we were always sure of a supply of water; game is always most abundant, both birds and beasts, near a river, and, of course, there is always a chance of getting fish; fruit might also be found, and what was more, the villages of the natives not upon the coast are nearly always upon the rivers. Of course, on the other hand, there were plenty of dangers to be risked by following a river's course: fever, noxious beast and insect, inimical natives, and the like; but if we had paused to think of the dangers, we might very well have shrunk from our task, so we put thoughts of that kind behind us and journeyed on. At first, after getting through a dense patch of forest, we came upon open plains, and a part of the country that looked like a park; and as I trudged on with fresh objects of interest springing up at every turn, I found myself wondering whether my poor father had passed this way, and as I grew weary I began to take the most desponding views of the venture, and to think that, after all, perhaps he was dead. That we were in a part not much troubled by human beings we soon found by the tameness of the birds and the number of deer that dashed frightened away from time to time, hardly giving us a glimpse of their dappled skins before they were lost in the jungly growth. The walking had grown more difficult as the day wore on, and at last the great trees began to give place to vegetation of a different kind. Instead of timber we were walking amongst palm-like growth and plants with enormous succulent leaves. Great climbers twined and twisted one with another, unless they found some tree up which they seemed to force their way to reach the open sunshine, forming a splendid shelter from the ardent rays when we wished to rest. There was no attempt during the morning to make use of our guns, for at first we moved watchfully, always on the look-out for enemies, seeing danger in every moving leaf, and starting at every rustling dash made by some frightened animal that crossed our path. By degrees, though, we grew more confident, but still kept up our watchfulness, halting at mid-day beside a little clear stream in a spot so lovely that it struck me as being a shame that no one had a home there to revel in its beauties. The water ran bubbling along amongst mossy rocks, and overhung by gigantic ferns. There were patches of the greenest grass, and close by, offering us shade, was a clump of large trees whose branches strewed brightly coloured flowers to the earth. A flock of gorgeously plumaged birds were noisily chattering and shrieking in the branches, and though they fled on our first coming, they came back directly and began climbing and swinging about so near that I could see that they were a small kind of parrot, full of strange antics, and apparently playing at searching for their food. "We'll have two hours' rest here," said the doctor, "a good meal, and perhaps a nap, and our feet bathed in the cool water, and the rest of the day's journey will come easier." "But hadn't we better get on?" I said anxiously. "`Slow and sure' must be our motto, Joe," said the doctor. "We have hundreds of miles to tramp, so we must not begin by knocking ourselves up. Patience, my boy, patience and we shall win." As soon as he saw that we were going to stop for rest and refreshment, Jimmy began to rub the centre of his person and make a rush for the native basket that contained our food, from which he had to be driven; for though generally, quite unlike many of his fellow-countrymen, Jimmy was scrupulously honest, he could not be trusted near food. There was no stopping to lay the cloth and arrange knives and forks. We each drew our heavy knife, and filled the cup of our little canteen from the stream before setting to at a large cold bird that we had brought with us, one shot by the doctor the day before, and cooked ready for the expedition. I cannot give you its name, only tell you that it was as big as a turkey, and had a beautiful crest of purple and green. We had brought plenty of damper too, a preparation of flour that, I dare say, I need not stop to describe, as every one now must know that in Australia it takes the place of ordinary bread. The native carriers were well provided for, and my depression passed off as the restful contented feeling induced by a good meal came over me. As for Jack Penny, he spread himself out along the ground, resting his thin body, and went on eating with his eyes half shut; while Gyp, his dog, came close alongside him, and sat respectfully waiting till his master balanced a bone across his nose, which Gyp tossed in the air, caught between his jaws, and then there was a loud crunching noise for a few minutes, and the dog was waiting again. Jimmy was eating away steadily and well, as if he felt it to be his bounden duty to carry as much of the store of food neatly packed away inside him as it was possible to stow, when he suddenly caught sight of Gyp, and stopped short with his mouth open and a serious investigating look in his eyes. He saw the dog supplied twice with what he evidently looked upon as dainty bits, and a broad smile came over his countenance. Then he looked annoyed and disappointed, and as if jealous of the favour shown to the beast. The result was that he left the spot where he had been lying half-way between us and the carriers, went to the stream, where he lay flat down with his lips in the water, and drank, and then came quietly up to my side, where he squatted down in as near an imitation of Gyp as he could assume, pouting out his lips and nose and waiting for a bone. The doctor burst out laughing, while I could not tell whether to set it down to artfulness or to simple animal nature on the poor fellow's part. However, I was too English at heart to lower my follower, so I did not treat him like a dog, but hacked off a good bone and sent him to his place. We thoroughly enjoyed our meal, and, as the doctor said, somewhat lightened our loads, when all at once it seemed to me that a spasm ran through Jack Penny where he lay. Then, as I watched him, I saw his hand stealing towards his gun, and he looked at me and pointed towards where a dense patch of big trees formed a sort of buttress to the great green wall of the forest. For a few moments I could see nothing; then I started, and my hand also went towards my piece, for peering round the trunk of one of the trees, and evidently watching us, was one of the most hideous-looking faces I had ever seen. The eyes were bright and overhung by dark wrinkled brows, and, seen in the half light, the head seemed as large as that of a man. In fact I was convinced that it was some fierce savage playing the spy upon our actions. I felt better when I had fast hold of my gun--not that I meant to fire, only to protect myself--and I was reaching out a foot to awaken the doctor, who had thrown himself back with his hat over his face, when I found that Gyp had caught sight of the hideous countenance, and, with a fierce bay, he dashed at the creature. Jack Penny and I started to our feet, Jimmy went after the dog, waddy in hand, and his yell awakened the doctor, who also sprang to his feet just in time to see the creature leap up at a pendent branch, swing itself up in the tree, and disappear amongst the thick leafage, while Gyp barked furiously below. "Big monkey that, my lads," said the doctor. "I did not know we should see anything so large." Jack Penny was all eagerness to follow and get a shot at the animal; but though he looked in all directions, and Gyp kept baying first at the foot of one tree then at the foot of another, he did not see it again. Where it went it was impossible to say; perhaps it travelled along the upper branches, swinging itself from bough to bough by its long arms; but if it did, it was all so silently that not so much as a leaf rustled, and we were all at fault. I was not sorry, for the idea of shooting anything so like a human being, and for no reason whatever, was rather repugnant to my feelings, so that I did not share in my companion's disappointment. "Depend upon it, he has not gone far," said the doctor, when Jack Penny stood staring at the tree where we saw the ape first. "There, lie down, my lad, and rest, and--hallo! what's the matter with Jimmy?" I turned to see the black standing close by, his waddy in one hand, his boomerang in the other, head bent, knees relaxed, an expression of the greatest horror in his face, as he shivered from head to foot, and shook his head. "Why, what's the matter, Jimmy?" I cried. "Bunyip," he whispered, "big bunyip debble--debble--eat all a man up. Bunyip up a tree." "Get out!" I said; "it was a big monkey." "Yes: big bunyip monkey. Come 'way." For the sudden disappearance of the ape had impressed Jimmy with the idea that it was what the Scottish peasants call "no canny," and as it was his first interview with one of these curious creatures, there was some excuse for his apparent fear, though I am not certain that it was not assumed. For Jimmy was no coward so long as he was not called upon to encounter the familiar demons of his people, the word bunyip being perhaps too often in his mouth. The black's dread went off as quickly as it came, when he found that he was not noticed, and for the next two hours we lay resting, Jack Penny and I seeing too many objects of interest to care for sleep. Now it would be a great beetle glistening in green and gold, giving vent to a deep-toned buzzing hum as it swept by; then a great butterfly, eight or nine inches across, would come flitting through the trees, to be succeeded by something so swift of flight and so rapid in the flutter of its wings that we were in doubt whether it was a butterfly or one of the beautiful sunbirds that we saw flashing in the sunshine from time to time. It proved afterwards to be a butterfly or day-moth, for we saw several of them afterwards in the course of our journey. Over the birds Jack Penny and I had several disputes, for once he took anything into his head, even if he was wrong, he would not give way. "These are humming-birds," he said, as we lay watching some of the lovely little creatures that were hovering before the flowers of a great creeper, and seemed to be thrusting in their long beaks. "No," I said, "they are not humming-birds;" and I spoke upon my mother's authority, she in turn resting on my father's teaching. "There are no humming-birds here: they are found in America and the islands." "And out here," said Jack, dictatorially. "There they are; can't you see 'em?" "No," I said, "those are sunbirds; and they take the place of the humming-birds out here in the East." "Nonsense! Think I don't know a humming-bird when I see one. Why, I saw one at Sydney, stuffed." "When you two have done disputing," said the doctor, "we'll start." "Look here, doctor; ain't those humming-birds?" said Jack. "No, no, doctor," I cried; "they are sunbirds, are they not?" "I don't know," said the doctor; "let's make haste on and ask the professor." I sprang to my feet as if stung by a reproach, for it seemed to me as if I had been thinking of trifles instead of the great object of my mission. CHAPTER ELEVEN. HOW JACK PENNY WAS NOT SATISFIED WITH HIMSELF. It was intensely hot when we started again, the heat seeming to be steamy, and not a breath of air to fan our cheeks; but we trudged on for a time without adventure, till all at once a butterfly of such lovely colours flashed across our path, that it proved too much for Jack Penny, who laid down his gun, snatched off his hat, and went in pursuit. We could not go on and leave him; so we stopped to rest, and watch him as he was hopping and bounding along through a tolerably open sunlit part, full of growth of the most dazzling green. Now he neared the insect; now it dashed off again, and led him a tremendous chase, till, just as the doctor shouted to him to return, we saw him make a dab down with his hat and then disappear. "He has got it," I said; for I could not help feeling interested in the chase; but I felt annoyed again directly, as the doctor said coldly: "Yes: he seems to have caught his prize, Joe; but we must defer these sports till our work is done." Just then we saw Jack Penny rise up and turn towards us. To hide my vexation I shouted to him to make haste, and he began to trot towards us, his long body bending and swaying about as he ran. Then he jumped and jumped again, and the doctor shaded his eyes with his hands. "He has got into a swampy patch," he said. "Of course. There's a bit of a stream runs along there, and--" "Ow!" came in a dismal yell, followed by a furious barking, as we saw Jack make a tremendous jump, and then disappear. "Help, help!" came from among some dense green growth, and hurrying forward we at last came in sight of our companion, at least in sight of his head and shoulders, and we could not approach him, for the ground gave way beneath our feet, the bright green moss almost floating upon a treacherous bog. "Hold on!" shouted the doctor; "we'll help you directly;" and taking out his big knife he began to hack at some small bamboos which grew in thick clumps about us. "Make haste," moaned Jack, "I'm sinking;" and we could see Gyp, who was howling furiously, tearing at the soft moss as if to dig his master out. "Give Jimmy knife," said the black, who was grinning and enjoying Jack Penny's predicament. I handed him mine, and he too cut down armfuls of the young green bamboo, the carriers coming up now and helping, when, taking a bundle at a time, Jimmy laid them down, dancing lightly over them with his bare feet, and troubling himself very little about danger, as he made a sort of green path right up to Jack. "His black fellow pull up," shouted Jimmy; but I ran up to where he was, and each taking one of Jack's hands he gave a wriggle, floundered a bit, and then we had him out covered with black mud; and though we were standing up, he would not trust himself just then erect, but crept after us on hands and knees, the soft bog beneath us going up and down like a wave. As soon as he was quite safe there was a hearty laugh at Jack Penny's expense; and the doctor drily asked for the butterfly. "Oh, I caught him," said Jack; "but I lost him when I trod on that great beast." "What great beast?" I said. "Crocodile fifty foot long," drawled Jack. "Say sixty," said the doctor. "Well, I hadn't time to measure him," drawled Jack. "I trod upon one, and he heaved up, and that made me jump into a soft place, and--ugh! what's that?" I was very doubtful about Jack's crocodile, but there was no mistake about the object that had made him utter this last cry of disgust. "They're pricking me horrid," he shouted; and we found that he had at least twenty large leeches busily at work banquetting upon his blood. The blacks set to work picking them off, and scraping him clear of the thick vegetable mud that adhered to him; and with the promise that he was to have a good bathe in the first clear water we encountered, we once more started, Jack looking anything but cheerful, but stubbornly protesting that it was wonderful how comfortable his wet clothes made him feel. Master Jack had to listen to a lecture from the doctor, in which the latter pointed out that if success was to attend our expedition, it would not do for the various members to be darting off at their good pleasure in search of butterflies, and at first Jack looked very grim, and frowned as if about to resent it all. To my surprise, however, he replied: "I see, doctor; we must be like soldiers and mind the captain. Well, all right. I won't do so any more." "I'm sure you will not," said the doctor, holding out his hand. "You see we must have discipline in our little corps, so as to be able fully to confide in each other in cases of emergency. We must be men." Jack scratched his head and looked ruefully from one to the other. "That's just what I want to be, doctor," he drawled; "but I'm always doing something that makes me seem like a small boy. I'm grown up a deal, but somehow I don't feel a bit older than I used to be years ago." "Ah, well, wait a bit, Penny," replied the doctor; "and we will not say any more about the butterfly hunt." Jack's brow seemed to grow as wrinkled as that of an old man, and he was very solemn for the rest of the day, during which we tramped on through the forest, its beauties seeming less attractive than in the freshness of the early morning, and the only striking thing we saw was a pack of small monkeys, which seemed to have taken a special dislike to Jimmy, following him from tree to tree, chattering and shrieking the while, and at last putting the black in a passion, and making him throw his boomerang savagely up in return for the nuts that were showered down. "Bad black fellow," he said to me indignantly. "Come down, Jimmy fight twenty forty all a once." He flourished his club and showed me how he would clear the ground, but the monkeys did not accept the challenge, and that night we halted under a great tree covered with a scarlet plum-like fruit, and proceeded to set up our tent as a shelter to keep off the heavy dew. CHAPTER TWELVE. HOW WATCH WAS KEPT BY NIGHT. The sheet which I have called our tent was stretched over a low bough, and secured to pegs at the four corners, being all open at the sides, so that as I lay I could gaze right away in any direction. On one side there was gloom, with the tall pillar-like tree trunks standing up grey and indistinct; on the other side there was the bright fire, which was as dangerous, I thought, as it was useful, for though it served to keep off wild beasts it was likely to attract savage men, just as moths fly to a flame. As I lay there I could see the doctor keeping watch, and beside him one of the natives, whose black face looked curious and ghastly with the bandage he wore round his head, for this was one of the men who had been seized by the captain of the other schooner, and who had eagerly volunteered to be of our party. This man was gazing intently at the doctor, as if eager to catch the slightest indication of a wish, and so still and misty did he look in the weird light that but for the flaming of the fire from his eyes it would have been hard to tell that he was a living being. Though it was not cold our black followers all slept close about the fire, Jimmy the nearest--so close, in fact, that he seemed as if he were being prepared for a feast on the morrow; and this idea of roasting came the more strongly from the fact that we were in a land whose inhabitants were said to have certain weaknesses towards a taste for human joints. Jack Penny was sleeping heavily close to me, and at regular intervals seeming to announce that he was dreaming of eating, for his lips gave vent over and over again to the word _pork_! Sometimes this regular snoring sound annoyed me, but I forgot it again directly as I lay sleepless there, now watching the gloom of the forest, now the flickering and dancing light of the fire as the wood crackled and burned and the sparks and smoke went straight up, till they were lost on high amid the densely thick branches overhead. It was a curious sensation to be there in that awful solitude, thinking of my past adventures, and wondering what the next day might bring forth. I wanted to sleep and rest, so as to rise refreshed when the doctor called me two hours after midnight, when I was to relieve guard; but sleep would not come, and I lay fidgeting about, wondering how it was possible that such a small twig could set up so much irritation beneath my back. Then, just as I thought I was going off there would be the sensation as of some creeping insect crawling about over my face and in amongst the roots of my hair. Then after impatiently knocking it away, something seemed to be making its way up my sleeve, to be succeeded by something else in the leg of my trousers, while I had hardly got rid of this sensation when a peculiarly clammy cold touch taught me that either a lizard or a snake was crawling over my feet. This last I felt constrained to bear, for a movement might result in the bite of some poisonous creature, while by lying still I might escape. At last I really was dropping off into a sound sleep, when all at once I started into wakefulness, fascinated as it were by the sight of something shining in the black darkness to the left of our fire. With a shudder running through me I rose to my elbow, at the same moment seizing my gun, when a single intent glance convinced me that I was right, for certainly some creature was watching the doctor, and probably crouching before making a deadly bound. I cocked the piece softly, holding the trigger the while, so that there should be no sharp click, and in another moment I should have fired, after careful aim, between the two bright glaring eyes, when the doctor made a movement, and the animal darted aside and went bounding off, just giving me a glimpse of its form, which was that of a small deer. I saw the doctor shade his eyes and stand watching the flying creature. Then stooping down he picked up a few branches that had been gathered ready, and made the fire blaze more brightly. As the glow increased I saw something which there was no mistaking for a harmless deer, for not ten yards away there was a large cat-like creature crouching close to the ground, while, to make assurance doubly sure, there came from between its bared and glistening white teeth a low angry snarl. I took aim, and tried to get a good sight at its head, but hesitated to draw trigger, for the glow from the fire made appearances deceptive, the body of the cat-like beast seeming to waver up and down; and directly after the creature moved, and its head was covered by a low bush. But the doctor and his companion had both seen the animal, which uttered a menacing roar as the former stepped forward, snatched a piece of burning wood from the fire, and hurled it towards the beast, his example being followed by the New Guinea man. The result was a furious roar, and the great cat bounded away towards the forest. This brought Gyp to his feet with a fierce volley of barking, and he would have been off in pursuit but for his master, who woke up and ran out exclaiming: "Dingoes after the sheep! dingoes after the sheep! Here, Gyp, boy! here, Gyp--here--eh! I say, is anything the matter?" "No, no; all right!" cried the doctor. "I--I thought I was at home," said Jack, rubbing his eyes; "and--oh! how sleepy I am." "Lie down again, then," said the doctor; and Jack obeyed, Gyp following and curling up close by his master, who very soon resumed his heavy breathing, in so objectionable a manner that I felt over and over again as if I should like to kick him and wake him up. For there is nothing on earth so annoying as to be unable to sleep when some one close by is snoring away in happy oblivion. As I lay there with my face turned from the fire, so that it should not keep me awake, I felt more and more the sensation of awe produced by being there in the midst of that wild place. While I was perfectly still my eyes were directed upwards in amongst the branches of the great tree, now illumined by the bright flame of our fire, and by degrees I made out that these boughs were peopled by birds and what seemed to be squirrels, and all more or less excited by the unaccustomed light. I lay gazing up at them, seeing the different objects very indistinctly in the dancing light, and then all at once it seemed to me that one particular branch was rising and falling slowly with a peculiar movement. It was a strange wavy motion, which was the more remarkable from the fact that there was no wind; but after a moment or two's thought I fancied I had found the cause in the heated air produced by the fire. But that did not explain what next took place in the smoky obscurity above the fire, for the branch seemed to wave about more and more, and to lengthen; and then I made sure that it was the shadow I saw; but directly after, a thrill ran through me as I recalled that these creatures were fond of nestling high up in branches, where they captured birds and monkeys, and I said in a low hoarse whisper: "Why, it's a snake!" There was no doubt about the matter, for as it swung lower, holding on by its tail, I could see that it was indeed a snake, evidently of considerable length, and about as thick as my arm. It had been aroused from probably a torpid state by the fumes of the fire, and was now descending from bough to bough to reach the earth, and I paused for a time, asking myself what I had better do. The result was that I overcame the unwillingness I felt to move, and crept so softly towards the doctor that I was able to lay my hand upon his shoulder before he heard me approach. "Why, Joe!" he exclaimed, starting, "I thought it was an enemy." "Yes; there he is!" I said with a shudder, and I pointed up among the branches. The black who was the doctor's fellow-watcher had seen me approach, and following with his eyes the direction pointed to by my hand, he too looked up into the tree, where, glistening in the fire-light, there was the reptile swinging slowly to and fro with a pendulum-like motion. In spite of the horror inspired by such a creature, free and within a few yards of where I was standing, I could not help noticing the beauty of the scales, which shone in the fire-light as if of burnished bronze. But I had little time for examination; one moment I was noting the head and curved neck of the reptile, the next there was a sharp twanging noise, and I saw the serpent's head jerk upwards, and then what seemed to be a mass of thick rope fell near the fire; there was a tremendous lashing and tossing about, and when the doctor and I approached the spot cautiously with our guns, it was to find that the reptile had glided off into the forest depths. "A good shot for a bow and arrow," said the doctor, turning to our black companion, who smiled complacently, our manner plainly showing him that we were admiring his skill. "You are getting a poor night's rest, Joe," said the doctor smiling. "Now go and lie down again." "It is of no use," I said fretfully. "I can't sleep, and I only lie thinking about home and him. I shall stay and watch." The doctor protested, but finding at last that I was unwilling to lie down again, he said: "Well, I am quite different, for I am so tired that I cannot keep awake. I will go and lie down then, if you promise to come and wake me as soon as you are drowsy. Mind and keep up a good blaze." I replied that he might be sure of that. "Don't fire unnecessarily," he continued. "If any wild animal comes near, a piece of burning wood will scare it away at once." "As it did that great cat!" I said. "Did you see, then?" he said. "I have not been asleep for a single minute," I replied. "What was it-- a tiger?" "Tiger! No, my lad," he said, laughing; "I don't think we shall see any tigers here. There, I shall yawn my head off if I stop here talking. Good night!" He walked to the shelter, and I went and sat down next our black companion, who smiled a welcome; and thinking this a favourable opportunity, I set to work to try and increase my knowledge of the language, by lifting up different objects and making the black give them their native name, which I tried to imitate as well as I could. He was very intelligent, grasping my meaning at once, and repeating the words again and again, till I was nearly perfect, when he laughed with childlike pleasure. The time passed so quickly in this occupation that I was quite startled by hearing a wild resonant cry that seemed to echo through the forest arcades. Then there was a succession of piercing screams, followed by loud whistling and muttering. A monkey started a chattering noise, which was answered from a distance with a hundredfold power; and looking about me I found that the day was breaking and the night-watch at an end. The change from night to morning is very rapid near the equator, and soon the sun was making bright and attractive places that had looked awful and full of hidden dangers in the night; while, in place of the depression produced by the darkness, I felt eager sensations and desires springing up within my heart, and a strong inclination to get forward once more upon our journey. We made a very hearty meal before the sun was much above the horizon; our simple packing was soon done, and we were not long before we were well on the road of discovery. I expected to be very tired and sleepy, but to my surprise I did not feel in the least the worse for my restless night, and we trudged along pretty swiftly when the land was open, slowly and toilsomely when tangled growth obstructed our way. I was too much occupied with thoughts of my father to pay much heed to the fruits and flowers that we came upon in many spots; besides, I was on before with Jack Penny, and Gyp in front of us very intelligently leading the way. There was, I knew, always the chance of meeting some danger, and on this account we kept a very sharp look-out ahead, till suddenly we were stopped by a strange noise as of water being struck a succession of heavy blows; and as Gyp set up his ears, threw up his nose, and uttered a low whimper, there was the click, click of gun-locks, and every one prepared for some coming danger, the blacks remaining quiet, and looking wonderingly at our strange proceedings. The sound ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and though we listened intently we heard it no more for that time, so we continued our journey with every one thoroughly on the alert. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. HOW JACK PENNY PUT HIS FOOT IN A TRAP. We had made our plans, but they were very elastic, for it was impossible for us to keep to any hard-and-fast line. "No, Joe," the doctor said, "we cannot say that we will do this or that; we must be governed by circumstances. We have one object in view--to find your father, and so far we have determined to follow the course of the first big river; when we shall be diverted from it time must prove." We slept that night under the shade of another tree, and as the mist rolled off the next morning we started once again. It was so glorious a morning that, in spite of the serious nature of our position, it was impossible not to feel in the highest of spirits. The way lay through dense forest, but we had fallen into a track which I at first thought was a regular pathway, and so it proved to be, but not of the kind I imagined as I eagerly called the doctor's attention to it, and the ease with which we were now getting along. "No, Joe," he said; "this is not a path used by human beings. Look down at the footprints." I looked down to see the hoof-marks of innumerable wild creatures, and said so. "Yes," replied the doctor, "it is a track down to the river, followed by the animals that go to drink, and we shall not be long before we get to the water side." Our way did not seem wearisome, for there was so much to see, the birds in particular taking my attention greatly. One moment a flock of black cockatoos would fly screaming by, then a cloud of brilliantly-coloured parroquets, and in one opening we came upon what looked at first like a gigantic beech-tree completely alive with tiny blue-and-green parrots about the size of sparrows, climbing, fluttering, chattering, and chirping, now with their heads up, now heads down, and forming one of the prettiest sights I had ever seen. I could have shot twenty or thirty together as they sat in rows upon the bare branches, so little did they heed our presence; but it was unnecessary to destroy their little lives, and we passed on. I was less merciful an hour later, for food was a necessity, and I was fortunate enough to bring down at the first shot a beautiful little deer that started up in our very path. My shot seemed to alarm the whole forest and set it in an uproar: birds shrieked, monkeys chattered, and to right and left there was a rushing crackling noise, as of big creatures seeking flight. There was a deep-mouthed howl, too, away on our right that made me look anxiously at the doctor. "I don't know, Joe," he replied, as if in answer to a spoken question. "There may be tigers here, and leopards, and old men of the woods, big as ourselves. It is new land, my lad, so don't look to me for information." "Dat big bunyip," said Jimmy in a scared whisper. "Take black fellow-- kill um, eatum." Just then we heard the same beating noise that had fallen upon our ears the previous day. "Dat big bunyip beat um gin," whispered Jimmy, with a curious awe-stricken look in his countenance. "'Taint," said Jack Penny slowly. "I don't believe in bunyips. If it was a bunyip beating his gin, she'd holloa out like hooray, and squeak the leaves off the trees." "'Fraid squeak," said Jimmy eagerly, as he caught Jack's meaning. "Well, perhaps Jimmy's right," said the doctor slowly; "and as I've never seen a bunyip the present is a favourable opportunity, and we can interfere to stop him from too severely castigating his wife. Come, Jimmy, lead on." Jimmy's jaw dropped, but his hand stole to his waistband, from which he drew his waddy, talking slowly the while, till, seeing the doctor make a movement towards him, he turned round and darted into the bush. "He won't stop till he gets back to the village," drawled Jack. "He won't go farther than the first big tree," I said, laughing. "He's watching us now, I'll be bound." "Then you and I will have to meet the bunyip, Joe," said the doctor. "Are you coming, Penny?" "Yes, I'll come," said Jack quietly. "I should like to see a bunyip. Come along." Jack went on--not first, for Gyp started before him and, guided by the noise, we pushed on amongst the dense growth, finding the earth grow moister beneath our feet; and then all at once it seemed as if the big trees had come to an end and we were in a lighter place. "There's the water," I cried, as I caught sight of a flash. "You'll be in it here directly, same as I was," drawled Jack. "I say, doctor, ain't this the sort of place big snakes like?" "Hush!" whispered the doctor; and pressing back the thick growth we advanced cautiously, and following his example I, too, stepped from tuft to tuft, listening to the beating noise and to the other sounds that arose. First there was the loud rustle of wings as some water birds flew up, long-legged creatures with far-stretching necks. Then on my left there was an ominous noise, as of something crawling amongst the reeds, and I shuddered as I saw that Jack Penny was holding his gun ready, and that Gyp's hair was bristling all about his neck, while his teeth were bared. The doctor was some distance before us now, and I could see him peering between some bushes and waving his hand to me to come forward; so, forgetting the danger, if danger there was, I went cautiously to my companion's side, to gaze with astonishment at the scene before me. There was no bunyip or native Australian demon there, but a great shallow, muddy pond or lake, which seemed as if it must be swarming with fish and crocodiles, for every here and there, as the great rugged backs of the horrible lizards were seen pushing towards the shore, shoals of silvery fish leaped out, flashing in the sunshine before they splashed back into the water. Here, then, was the secret of the mysterious noise which was being produced before my eyes. For the crocodiles were driving the shoals of fish into the little bays and creeks, and then stunning them by beating the water heavily with their tails, the result being that the paralysed fish were easily devoured. I felt as if I could never tire of gazing at the monsters so busy before us. There must have been at least five-and-twenty, and all of large size; and it was not a pleasant thought to consider what would have been the consequences if we had attempted to wade across the lagoon. Before leaving, however, the doctor took out his glass and swept the shore of the great pond, to nod with satisfaction. "This is only a sort of bay belonging to the river we are seeking, Joe," he said. "Look there to the left, and you can see the entrance choked up with reeds." We crept back cautiously, to find Jimmy awaiting our return; and then making a detour towards the lake, we soon reached the river, along whose bank was a well-trodden path, in whose softer parts, besides those of deer, it was plain to see the ugly toes of crocodiles, and the long trail they made as they dragged themselves along. We did not halt until we had left the crocodile pond a long way behind; but a fine dry, open spot, close to the flashing water of the swift river, was so tempting that we did not go so far as we had intended. Here a fire was soon lit, and Jimmy sat watching the roasting of the buck with an indescribable look of satisfaction in his countenance; while, eager to try whether it would be possible to add to our provision store at any time from the river, I went on down to the water's edge. For if there were fish in such abundance in the lagoon, I felt sure that if they would bite there must be plenty in the stream. My first idea had been to have a bathe in the cool-looking water, but, seeing my intention, the black who had been my companion in the watch, took my hand, led me cautiously along for a short distance, and then pointed to where there was lying, dimly outlined in the thickened water, one of the hideous creatures such as I had seen in the lagoon. The black then put his wrists together, spread wide his hands, and closed them sharply upon my arm like a pair of jaws, and snatched me sidewise with a good tug. I was quite satisfied, and nodding and shuddering I joined the doctor, who was ready enough to help me fish. We soon had our lines ready, and baiting the hooks with pieces of raw meat, we threw out and waited, after the manner of fishermen at home, for a bite. After a time I examined my bait and threw in again. Then the doctor examined his and threw in again, but neither of us had the slightest touch, and growing weary we went back to the fire to find the buck sufficiently roasted and Jimmy's eyes standing out of his head with hunger; so we made a hasty meal, left the blacks to finish it, and Jack Penny to rest his long body, while we had another try at the fishing. But Jack Penny did not care to rest when anything was going on, and after we had been fishing without result for about half an hour he joined us. "Caught anything?" he said; and on our replying in the negative, "Here, let me try," he said. I handed him my line, and he twisted it well round his hand. "Fish run big, sometimes," he said, nodding his head sagaciously. "Don't leave your line like that, doctor," he added; "make it fast to that bough." The doctor obeyed, and leaving Jack looking very drowsy and dreamy we two took our guns and started along the river bank, thinking that perhaps we might find something useful for the larder, the heat of the climate rendering it necessary for a supply to be obtained from day to day. It was a glorious walk past quiet bends of the river that were as still as ponds, and full of red and white lotus plants which shot up their lovely blossoms from amidst their floating liliaceous leaves. Trees in places overhung the water, and great wreaths of blossom or leaves of dazzling green were reflected on the surface. Insect life was abundant: burnished beetles and lovely coloured butterflies flitting from flower to flower. Birds, too, especially waders and great creatures that I took to be pelicans, were busy in the shallows, where now and then a great crocodile wallowed through the mud, evidently roused by our approach, for though we saw several of these creatures, not one gave the slightest sign of a disposition to attack. "There, we are not likely to see deer before evening when they come down to drink," said the doctor. "Let's get back, Joe, my lad, the sun is not so powerful as it was, and we may as well make a fresh start." We were about three parts of the way back, finding some fresh object of interest at every turn, when I suddenly caught hold of my companion's arm, for a peculiar cry fell upon my ear. "Something wrong!" exclaimed the doctor, and we set off at a sharp run where the undergrowth would allow. A curious sensation of dread came over me, and a cold damp feeling was on my brow and in the palms of my hands as the cry rose once more--a singularly doleful cry, as of some one in great peril. "Are you loaded?" said the doctor, as we ran on, and his voice sounded hoarse with emotion. I nodded, for I could not speak, and, full of the idea that our little camp had been attacked by savages and that some of our followers were being killed, I ran on. It was hard work and like running in a nightmare to get back to our starting-place, for there was always some thorn or tangle that we had not noticed in our careful advance seeming to stop us on our way; but at last we came within sight of the spot where we had left Jack Penny, but he was not there. "There's something wrong at the camp," I panted. "Be cool," replied the doctor, "we may have to fire. Try and keep your nerve. Ah!" This ejaculation was consequent upon our simultaneously catching sight of Jack Penny, up to the armpits in the river, holding on by the branch of a tree. As he saw us he shouted lustily for help. It was no drawl now, but a sharp quick shout. I ran down the bank and the doctor following, we joined hands, when, catching at Jack's wrist, I held on tightly. "Now, then," I said, as I gazed wonderingly in his ghastly face and staring eyes, "let go, and we'll draw you ashore." "No, no," he cried hoarsely. "Got hold of me--drag me in." "Got hold? Of course," I said, "we'll drag you in." "One of those brutes has got him, Joe," cried the doctor excitedly, and his words sent such a thrill through me that I nearly loosed my hold. "Here, pull both together," he said, as he got down by my side and seized Jack Penny by the other arm. We gave a fierce drag, to find that it was answered from below, Jack being nearly drawn out of our hands, his head going down nearly to the eyes, and for the moment it seemed as if we were to be drawn in as well. But fortunately Jack still had tight hold of the branch, to which he clung in the agony of desperation, and he uttered such a piercing cry that it served to arouse the sleeping blacks, the result being that, as we were holding on, and just maintaining our ground, Jimmy and Ti-hi, the black who had attached himself to me, came running down. They saw what was wrong, and Jimmy seized me, the black doing the same by Jimmy, with the effect of dragging poor Jack Penny farther and farther from the water in spite of the struggles of the reptile that was trying to haul him back. First we had him out to the chest, then to the hips, then nearly to the knees, and I never till then thoroughly realised what a lot there was of him, for it seemed as if he would never end. "Hold on!" cried the doctor suddenly. "I'm going to loose him." "No, no!" panted Jack, with a horrified look; but the doctor did loose his hold and caught up his gun. "Now, then," he cried. "All together. Haul with all your might." We obeyed, and though we were for the moment mastered we gave a good swing again, and it seemed as if Jack Penny must be dragged in two. It was like playing a game of French and English, and we were in danger of getting the worst of it. We saw what the doctor wanted, and that was to get the reptile so near the surface that he could fire; but as soon as we got poor Jack nearly ashore the creature gave a tremendous tug, making the water swirl and the mud and sand from the bottom rise in clouds. This went on for five minutes, during which we were striving with all our might, when I nearly loosed my hold, for Jack said in a low despairing tone of voice: "Joe Carstairs, don't let him have me till you've shot me first." I held fast though, and the fight went on, till, just as we were beginning to despair, the reptile came nearer to the surface, the ugly protuberances over its eyes were level with the water, and, bending down, the doctor reached out with his gun in one hand, held the muzzle close to the creature's eye, and fired. There was a tremendous sputter and we were nearly forced to leave go, but the next moment there was no resistance but weight, and we drew Jack and his aggressor, a crocodile about ten feet long, right up to the bank, the monster's jaws, which had closed over one of Jack's stoutly booted feet, remaining fast, though the upper part of its head was all blown away. "Dat a big bunyip," cried Jimmy, forcing the end of his spear through the reptile's jaws and trying to push them open, which he did with his companion's help, and Jack Penny was free to limp feebly for a few yards, and sink down amongst the reeds. Jimmy did not seem in the least afraid of the bunyip now, for hacking off a long lithe cane he put it over the reptile's jaw, and, twisting it tightly rope-fashion, he and Ti-hi dragged it right away from the water, and, avoiding the frantic lashings of its tail, they turned it over with their spears, used like levers, and kept on stabbing it in its tender underparts until it ceased to struggle, when Jimmy turned it over again and began to perform a triumphant war-dance on its back. Meanwhile poor Jack Penny, who had been nearly speechless, began to revive. "That's better," said the doctor. "Now let me look at your foot." "Has he bit it right off?" said Jack faintly. "I can't feel it. Just when I needed it so badly, too!" "Bit it off! No!" I cried. "Is it much hurt, doctor?" "I can't tell till I have unlaced his boot," he replied. "Tell me if I hurt you much, my lad." "It don't hurt," said Jack faintly. "I can't feel at all." It was rather hard work to get the boot off; but at last it was free, and the doctor inspected a double row of red spots, two of which bled a little, but not much. "I'm beginning to feel now," said Jack dolefully. "Why, he ain't bit it off!" he said, raising himself so that he could look down at the injured member. "I thought it was gone." "No; your foot has only had an ugly pinch; the stout boot saved it. Let it bleed a little, my lad; it will save you pain." "What! had he only got hold of my boot?" said Jack excitedly. "And the foot in it," said the doctor. "See, here are the marks of the teeth." "I thought he'd bit it right off, Joe Carstairs," said Jack dolefully. "An' I say, what a coward I am!" "Coward!" I exclaimed. "Why?" "To be so frightened as I was," replied Jack, with a dismal sigh. "Well, I don't know about being a coward, Master Jack Penny," said the doctor quietly; "but I do know that if I had had my foot in that reptile's mouth I should have been in a most horrible state of fear. There, my lad," he continued kindly, "don't think any more about it, only to be thankful for your escape." "But he ought to tell us first how he was caught like that," I said. "Oh, there ain't much to tell," said Jack, sitting up and raising his leg, and softly rubbing his injured foot. "I was fishing, and the fish wouldn't bite, and I got a little nearer to the river side and threw in again and fished; and the sun seemed to get hotter, and I suppose I fell asleep, for I remember dreaming that the dingoes had got among father's sheep again, and that he flicked his whip-lash round my wrist. Then I tried to start up, but a big fish had hold of the line, and it tugged away so hard that I was overbalanced, and took a header off the bank right into the river; and when I came up, pretty tidy astonished like, and began to swim for the bank, the fish on the line, which I had twisted round my wrist, began tugging me out into the stream. It took me out ever so far before I could get the line off my wrist; and then I swam easily back, feeling awful popped like at having lost the fish and the line; and I was just wondering what you would say, when all at once there was a regular rush in the water, and something shut on my foot, giving me such an awful nip that I yelled out as I caught hold of that branch, and held on, shivering all the while with fear, for I forgot about the crocodiles, and thought it must be a shark." "Well!" I said, excitedly; for he stopped. "Well, what?" said Jack. "What next? What did you do?" I said. "Hollered!" replied Jack laconically. "So would you if you had been me." "Yes," I said, "of course; but what took place next?" "Oh, nothing; only that I held tight and he held tight, and as often as he tugged at me it jumped the bough up and down like a see-saw, and it was very horrid." "Most horrible!" said the doctor. "Then I hollered again," said Jack. "Yes; go on!" I cried impatiently. "I did go on," he replied. "I went on hollering, but them chaps at the camp were asleep, and I began to feel that I should have to let go soon; only I wouldn't, because I wanted to find out first what had become of the professor. Then at last you came, and that's all; only I don't feel much like walking very far to-day, so I shall sit still and fish." "Fish! what, with things like that in the water?" I exclaimed. "Oh! they won't hurt me," said Jack; "because I shall be on the look-out now, and won't go in after the next fish that takes my line. I say, where's Gyp?" "I don't know," I said. "I have not seen him." "Crocodiles are very fond of dogs," said Jack quietly. "I hope one of 'em hasn't got Gyp." "Oh, no! he'd be too sharp for one of the reptiles," said the doctor reassuringly. "I don't know," said Jack in his quiet drawl. "I thought I was much too clever for crocodiles; but they're sharp--precious sharp about the teeth. Perhaps he's gone hunting something. He often used at home." "Oh, yes; he'll come back," I said. "Well, we shall see," said Jack. "I'm better now. Lend me another line, Joe Carstairs. I want to see if I can't catch a fish." I looked about first to see if I could trace my line, but it was hopelessly gone. To my surprise and pleasure, though, I found the doctor's where he had left it, tied to a root and drawn out tight, evidently with a fish at the end. I imagined that I could easily draw this out, and I did get it close up to the bank, but as soon as it was in the shallow water it sprang right out and darted away again, making the line rush through my hands so rapidly that it burned my skin. As it leaped out I had a good opportunity of seeing that a great silvery fellow, fully a yard long, had hooked itself, and meant to have some playing before it turned over upon its side in token of submission. I kept on playing the fish, which seemed to grow stronger instead of weaker as I went on at give and take with it, till I was almost tired. At least six times did I draw it in and try to bring it within reach of Ti-hi's fingers, but in vain, for it always darted off as if refreshed. At last, though, I drew it well in, and once more it was about to repeat its tactics; but this time it was too late, for the black pounced down upon it, thrust his hooked finger into its gills, and pulled it up on to the bank. Just then Jimmy came trotting up, hauling away at a line, and to my great delight I found that he had hunted out the one we had left with Jack Penny. "Fastum round big wood!" he cried; and then he tried to explain how the fish had entangled the line round what an American would call a snag; and the result was that we had two fine fish to carry back to the camp, Jimmy's being tired out and readily yielding as he hauled on the line. "I don't think I'll fish to-day," said Jack Penny then. "I say, I feel as if that buck warn't good enough to eat." Hardly had he spoken before he softly sank down sidewise, and lay looking very white, and with his eyes shut. "Is it the venison?" I said in a whisper to the doctor. "No. He is a little faint, now the reaction has set in," replied the doctor; and we had to carry poor wet Jack Penny as well as the fish into camp, and of course we got no farther on our journey that day. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. HOW A STRANGE VISITOR CAME TO CAMP. Jack seemed very little the worse after a good night's rest, that is to say bodily. He was a little white, and his breakfast did not disappear so rapidly as usual, for, probably on account of his great length, and the enormous amount of circulation and support to keep up, Jack Penny used to eat about as much as two ordinary boys. He was, however evidently a little bit upset in his mind, and he laid this open to me just before starting once more. "I say," he said in a low tone, "did I seem such a very great coward yes'day, Joe Carstairs?" "Coward! No," I said; "not you. Any one would have been frightened." "But I hollered so," whispered Jack. "I don't think a young fellow ought to holler like a great girl." "I know I should," I replied. "There, never mind now. They're all ready to start. Come on!" Jack Penny shook his head rather thoughtfully, and then, in a dissatisfied dreamy way, he walked on with me, shouldering his gun, and stooping more than ever, so that it seemed as if he were looking for something which he could not find. We had to pass pretty close to the crocodile, so close that Jack nearly stumbled over it, and a cry of horror involuntarily escaped him as he jumped aside. Then, turning scarlet with annoyance, he gave the monster a kick, and darted back holding his nose, for it was exhaling a most offensive musky odour. I looked at the creature closely and with some curiosity, thinking the while how much smaller it was than those we had seen in the lagoon. All the same, though, it was fully as big in body as a man, though double the length. It was not going to poison the air long, for already it was covered with something red, and a long red line extended from it right away into the jungle. Each tiny red object was an ant, and from experience I knew that very soon every particle of flesh would be devoured. Keeping within easy reach of the river we journeyed steadily on, finding the country grow more beautiful at every step. The trees were bigger, the bamboos taller and more feathery. In the sunny patches flowers were in abundance, and we had no want of opportunities for supplying our larder, large pheasant-like birds, with long tails and crests, and plumage of the most beautiful tints, being plentiful. It seemed a pity to shoot them, but it was a necessity, for our supply of powder, shot, and ball was looked upon by us as so much condensed meat, ready to be expanded when opportunity served. We encountered nothing particular that day except Gyp, who turned up all at once with a piece of furry skin in his mouth, all he had been able to carry of some deer that he had run down; and at the sight of his friend Jack Penny became more himself, throwing off a good deal of his gloom. In fact I saw the tears stand in his eyes as he saw him once more; but catching sight of me looking at him he scowled, and, running to the dog, kicked him over and over again quite savagely. "Just you run away again," he drawled angrily, "and I'll 'bout kill yer. That's what I'll do with you." Gyp closed his eyes and winced and crouched down close to the ground till his master had ceased punishing him, and then he rose dejectedly, and followed quite in the rear of our party with drooping head and tail. I noticed at the time that Jimmy had watched all this with sparkling eyes, wonderfully intent, but I thought no more of it till I saw the black glance at us all in turn, and then begin to slink back. "What is he after now?" I said to myself; and stepping aside among the thick leafage, I let our party go by and stopped to see what Jimmy was about to do. I had not long to wait, for the fact was that the black had snatched at the opportunity to tyrannise over something. He had been summarily checked when amusing himself by sticking his spear into the New Guinea men, and, as we have seen, one of them resented it; but here was a chance. Gyp had been beaten, and had cowered down under his master's blows, so Jimmy took out his waddy, and after glancing forward to see that he was not observed, he waited until Gyp came up slowly, and casting sidelong looks at the Australian, who gave him a heavy thump on the ribs with the war-club. "Bad bunyip dog. Good for nothing, dirty dingo dog," cried Jimmy. "Go long, bad for good dog. Get--yah!" This last was a terrific yell of fear and pain, for instead of cowering down and suffering himself to be beaten and kicked, Gyp knew that this was not his master. For one moment he had stood astonished at the blow, and then seemed puzzled by the strange broken English objurgations; then with a fierce snarl he darted at the black and tried to seize him by the legs, an attack which Jimmy avoided by making a tremendous spring, catching at a horizontal branch above him, and swinging himself up into a tree, where he crouched like a monkey, showering down angry epithets upon the dog as it yelped and barked at him furiously. I came out of my hiding-place laughing till the tears ran down my cheeks; and the noise made by Gyp brought back the doctor and Jack Penny, the latter taking in the situation at a glance and indulging in a broad grin. "Take away bunyip dog; take um way or Jimmy killum," cried the black. "All right!" said Jack Penny; "come down and kill him then." But Jimmy showed no disposition to move, and it was not until Jack had ordered the dog away that the black dropped down, looking at me very sheepishly and acting like a shamefaced child. As we proceeded farther into the interior, wild creatures grew more abundant, and we saw fewer traces of man having traversed these regions. As I noted the various objects I could not help feeling how my father must have revelled in exploring such a naturalist's paradise as this, and I grew more hopeful as the idea gained ground in my mind that very likely he was busy in the interior still pursuing his researches. We travelled very little way now without catching glimpses of some of the occupants of these wilds. Perhaps it was but a glimpse, but generally we were able to distinguish what it was that darted through bush, tree, or shadowy glade. Once or twice we caught sight of the spots of leopards; then a graceful deer would stand at gaze for a moment before going off like the wind. Once a herd of heavy buffaloes started up before us and crashed through the undergrowth; and at last, as we drew near a great tree, the doctor said, pointing upward: "No fear of our wanting food, Joe, while there are such birds as these." As he spoke, with a noise like a whirlwind a flock of great pigeons took flight--great fellows, three times as big as ordinary pigeons, and, as we knew from those shot in Australia, splendid eating. The great tree offered so pleasant a camping place that we decided to pass the night there, and after a look round to see if there was likely to be danger lurking near, the fire was lit, the blacks setting to work at once to collect wood when they had put down their burdens. Then food was prepared and a hearty meal enjoyed, the restful sensation that came over us after the day's exertion being most delicious. Then one by one our followers dropped asleep, Jack Penny, who was still rather grumpy, last. The doctor and I were sitting together by the fire that night, talking in a low voice about our plans, and agreeing that we could not do better than wander on and on through the wilds until we learned some tidings of the lost man, when suddenly my companion laid his finger on his lips and bent forward as if listening. I listened too, thinking the while how strange it all looked about us, with the fire casting weird shadows all around, while the silence now was almost appalling. "Nothing, Joe," said the doctor, dropping his hand. "I thought I heard something." "I'm sure I did," I whispered, with a strange feeling upon me that it would be dangerous to speak aloud. "There are curious sounds heard sometimes in forests," he said thoughtfully. "There, go on--what were we talking about?" As he spoke there was a strange rushing noise, then a peculiar whining sound not far distant among the trees. "What can that be, doctor?" I whispered. "Can't say, Joe. Sounds as if some animal had been climbing along a branch, or had bent down a sapling and then let it fly up again with a loud whish among the trees." "That is just how it sounded to me," I said, gazing full in his eyes. He remained silent for a few moments, not listening but thinking. "We must take a lesson from our friend Jack Penny, there," he said, smiling in my face as he stroked his broad beard. "I must confess, Joe, to feeling a curious sensation of awe as we sit out here in this primeval forest, surrounded by teeming savage life; but Jack Penny coolly sleeps through it all, and, as I say, we must take a lesson from him, and get used to these strange sounds." "There it is again!" I said, catching his arm, and unable to control the feeling that at any moment something might spring out of the darkness upon my back. For the same curious rustling of leaves came whispering from among the trees, and then there was a low expiration of breath, as if some great beast had yawned. Click-click, click-click sounded loudly on the night air, and I followed the doctor's example, cocking both barrels of my piece. "It's coming nearer, whatever it is," said the doctor in a low tone, "and that strange noise means, I think, that it is some great serpent." "But would serpents be out at night?" I said. "That one was the other night, Joe, and we must not reckon upon the regular habits of animals if we light great fires in their lairs." We sat listening again, and the rustling sound began once more. "It's just as if the thing were climbing along trees that are not strong enough to bear it," I said in an excited whisper, "and they keep flying up after it passes." "Hush!" said the doctor. We listened, and from out of the darkest part before us there arose a loud tearing noise as if bark was being scratched from a tree trunk. "Some kind of beast of the cat family, I should say," whispered the doctor. "Pst! be ready; but don't fire unless we are attacked." Just then there was a rush, a scramble, a dull thud, and some creature uttered a sound that seemed like the word _Howl_ in a hollow echoing tone. Again and again there was the low rustling, and then that word _Howl_ that seemed to come from some great throat; and in imagination I saw in the darkness a pair of fiery eyes and a set of great sharp teeth. "Yes; some kind of cat, leopard, or panther," said the doctor; but, low as his utterance was, it seemed to irritate the creature in our neighbourhood, as it kept on the rustling, for there was a harsh exclamation and the earth seemed to be torn up. Then all at once the sound ceased, and it was perfectly still for quite a quarter of an hour, which seemed an endless time; and then, tired of staring intently into the darkness, and too much excited to be silent, I whispered: "This night-watching is the hardest part of our work, doctor." "Oh! no, my boy. It makes you a little creepy at first, but as soon as you feel your own power and how you must alarm these creatures, you will get used to it." "But the fire makes them see us, and we can't see them," I said, in an ill-used tone. Just then there arose from what seemed to be just the other side of the fire one of the most awful cries I ever heard, and my hair felt as if a tiny cold hand were stirring it about the roots, while a curious sensation ran down my back. As the fearsome howl rang out the doctor levelled his piece, ready to fire, and as the fire shone full upon him in his half-kneeling position there was something terribly earnest in his face, and he looked so brave that it seemed to give me a little courage just when I seemed to have none. "Pick up some of those thin branches and throw them on the fire," said the doctor; and I hurried to obey his command, when there was another awful howling roar, and the creature, whatever it was, charged at me; but I threw on the branches all the same, when the fire leaped up with a tremendous blaze, lighting the forest all round. "See it, doctor?" I whispered. "No," he answered; "it keeps in amongst the trees." The doctor's voice sounded so hoarse and strange that it added to my trepidation. He stopped, and I wanted him to go on talking, but he remained silent, while once more the forest resounded with the hideous cry of the beast. The wood blazed well, so that I could see, as it were, a circle of light, and behind us our black shadows were thrown upon the trees, quite startling me as I looked round. "Keep up the fire," whispered the doctor; "whatever it is it will not attack while there is this blaze." I obeyed him and kept on throwing twigs and boughs that had been laid in a heap ready, but with a curious sensation of dread the while, for it seemed to me that if the fire consumed all our wood we should be left at the creature's mercy. All at once it seemed to me that the rustling and snuffling noise was coming round to our left, and as if I had drawn his attention to the fact, the doctor exclaimed: "Yes, it is coming on here; keep round this way." We edged round the fire so as to keep it between us and the animal that seemed to be watching us, when all at once the sound came from close behind us, and, as if moved by one impulse, we bounded past the fire, the pieces I had held in my hand making a crackling blaze and shower of sparks. This seemed to excite our assailant, which uttered three hideous roars at intervals, and each seemed nearer than the last, so that we were driven to keep on edging round the fire so as to keep it as our shield. We walked slowly round the fire three times, fully aware of the fact that the creature was regularly stalking us, for it kept up the scratching rustling noise, and howled at intervals. This was trying enough to our nerves; but when, all at once, every sound ceased, and we stood there by the ruddy blaze, it seemed terrible to know that our enemy was close at hand, but not to know exactly where. At any moment we felt that it might spring upon us, and I turned a wistful look upon the doctor, which he responded to by saying: "Throw on more wood." I obeyed him, and the blaze flashed up higher once again, spreading a cloud of sparks on high to rise among the leaves and tinge the broad branches with a ruddy golden glow. I gazed in all directions for the danger, and started with nervous trepidation every time the doctor spoke, his words being generally--"Throw on more wood." But at last, after a terrible period of anxious silence, he whispered my name. "Yes," I said. "This can't go on much longer. I'm afraid the beast is coming nearer. Can you see anything your side?" "Yes--no--yes, I think so," I whispered back. "There's a shadowy something just at the edge of the light. I think it is some kind of wild beast." "Is it the dog?" he whispered back. "No," I said. "Gyp always sleeps close to his master." "Do you think you could take steady aim at it, my lad?" he said. "I don't know," I replied, "but I will try. Shall I fire at it?" "Let me think," he answered. "I don't know whether it would be wise to fire, and perhaps only wound the creature." "But perhaps I shall kill it," I said. "It is doubtful, Joe," he replied, "and the noise of your piece would bring out our people, perhaps into danger. Let us wait. Here," he said, "I have it! This beast has been cautiously following us round, always keeping out of our sight. I think now that the best way will be for you to continue the retreat round the fire while I stop here on one knee. The beast will then follow you, and I shall get a good certain shot at him." I did not like the idea at all, for it seemed like setting a trap and making me the bait; but I said nothing beyond intimating that I would do as he wished, and he went on: "I shall be certain to hit the brute, but I may not kill, so be ready to fire in turn; you will get a good chance for a sure hit, the animal will be less cautious." "Stop a moment," I said. "I thought at first that it would be very dangerous for me; now I see that it will be more dangerous for you. Let's keep together." "Do as I bid you," he replied sternly. "Now go on round, as if trying to keep the fire between you and danger. Fire quickly if you have a good chance, and don't miss. But first of all let's try the effect of a firebrand or two in the direction you think you saw the brute." He picked up a piece of blazing wood and gave it a whirl round his head. The result was to bring a fierce roar from the wood close behind us, and we involuntarily sprang to the other side of our fire. "There's no knowing where to have the beast," muttered the doctor, as he realised the cunning sneaking habits of our enemy. As he spoke he stooped and picked up another blazing piece of wood, for he had dropped the first to bring his gun to bear. Now, holding the gun in his left hand, he gave the blazing wood a whirl round his head and threw it in the direction from which the fierce roar had come. To my horror and consternation it was answered by a savage yell, and something charged out nearly to the fire but dashed back directly, so quickly, indeed, that we had no time to get more than a sharp shot apiece at the fierce creature. "Load again quickly," whispered the doctor; and I obeyed him, listening the while to the rustling crackling noise at a little distance. "Do you think we hit it?" I said softly. I was afraid to speak aloud lest it should bring down a charge upon us. "I'm afraid not," he replied, as he reloaded and then stood scanning the edge of the circle of light formed by the fire's glow. There was nothing visible but what seemed to be a dark opening amongst the trees, through which it appeared to me that our enemy must have passed. Then we waited, watching so excitedly for the next attack that the fire was for the moment forgotten. Then, seeing the glow it cast become less, we both seized upon armfuls of wood and threw them on, deadening the flame so that the space around was comparatively dark. That was the most anxious time of all, for, do what we would, the fire sent forth huge volumes of smoke, but would not blaze. At any moment it seemed that the great beast might take advantage of the gloom and spring upon us, and we shook the ends of the burning branches and half-consumed pieces of wood, but in vain. Instead of the light glow there was comparative darkness, and in despair, as if again moved by the same impulse, we ceased troubling about the fire, and stood with hand on trigger, ready to pull at the first chance. Then all at once there was a vivid tongue of flame cutting right through the thick smoke, another and another, and I uttered a sigh of relief as the heap of smouldering boughs and leaves burst once more into a blaze. "Now while the light lasts let's have a good shot at the brute," said the doctor, speaking as if nerved to desperation by the torture under which we both writhed. "I'm going to kneel here, Joe; you walk on, and that will make the tiger, or whatever it is, show itself in watching you." "It isn't a tiger," I whispered. "I caught sight of it, and it looked more like a man." The doctor gave me a quick look, and then said sharply, "Go on!" I obeyed him, walking backwards round the fire, my piece ready, so as to get a shot if I saw the creature again; but this time all remained perfectly still, and though I went right round the fire, no sound came from among the trees. "Take a piece of burning wood and throw it opposite to where you stand, Joe." I did so, and the blazing wood described an arc, fell in a tuft of dry undergrowth which burst out into a vivid column of light for a few minutes and died out, but there was no charge, no roar from our enemy, not even the rustling of the bushes as it passed through. "It's very strange, Joe," whispered the doctor. "Pile on more wood." I obeyed him, and this time it caught directly and there was a tremendous blaze, but no attack followed; and we stood listening for some sound of the enemy in vain. "You must have shot it," I said, speaking with some confidence. "Or else you did, Joe," said the doctor. I shook my head, and we remained listening for quite a quarter of an hour, but still in vain. The silence in the forest was now awful, and though we strained our eyes till the fire across which we looked dazzled them, we could see nothing to cause alarm. "Either it's dead or it has gone off, scared by our fire," said the doctor at last. And now that we found time to think, he continued, with a smile, "I hope we are not going to have many such night-watches as this on our expedition. I say though, my lad, how some people can sleep! I should have thought that those howls would have wakened anything. Why, hallo! Gyp, didn't you hear anything? Where's your master?" He stooped and patted the dog, which came trotting up to us, and then yawned and stretched himself out. "Here I am," said Jack Penny, involuntarily imitating his dog. "Here, where's that chap Jimmy? He was to watch with me, wasn't he? Is it time?" "Time! Yes," I said impatiently. "You ought to have been here two hours ago. He'll have to look out, won't he, doctor, for that tiger or wild man." "Yah! stuff!" said Jack with a sneer. "I sha'n't see no--hullo! what has Gyp found? Look, there's something there." We all turned to see the dog, which had picked up some scent about half-way between the fire and the edge of the circle of light. He ran at once to the thick bushes, barked angrily, and then followed the scent round and round the fire at the distance of about twenty yards, ending by dashing right off into the forest depths, his bark growing fainter as we listened. "I say, ought we to follow Gyp?" said Jack Penny. "If we wish to lose our lives," replied the doctor. "You see, Joe, it has gone right off." "But I don't like Gyp to go off after anything and not follow him," cried Jack Penny. "He's a good dog, you know. What is it he's after?" "Some savage beast that has been haunting us all night," cried the doctor. "I should like to follow Gyp, but it would be madness, my lads, and--hark, what's that?" I felt cold as a most unearthly howl came from a long distance away. "Is--is that him?" said Jack, whose eyes looked round and large. "Dat big bunyip," said a voice that made us start, for Jimmy had come up from the dark camp unperceived. "Eat black fellow, white man, anyfing." No one replied to Jimmy's piece of information, and we listened for some minutes till a faint rustling, heard first by the black, who stood ready to hurl his spear, made us all place a finger on the trigger. But it was only caused by the dog, who soon after came into sight, with his tail between his legs, and his hair bristling with terror. He ran right to his master and stood behind him, shivering and whining, as he stared in the direction from which he had come. "Gyp see big bunyip!" cried Jimmy. "Gyp find a bunyip!" "I say," said Jack; "it's my watch now. I s'pose you two are going to lie down." "Frightened, Jack?" I said maliciously. "P'r'aps I am, and p'r'aps I ain't," said Jack stoutly. "I should say I felt frightened if I was; but if you two were going to watch I wouldn't go away and leave you with a big beast like that about. He must be a big one or he wouldn't have frightened Gyp, who'll tackle old man kangaroos six-foot high. You can go if you like, though." This was a long speech for Jack Penny, who rubbed one of his ears in an ill-used way. "Jimmy, black fellow 'fraid um bunyip; oh, yes!" said my follower; "but Jimmy no run away." "We shall not leave you alone, Penny," said the doctor, smiling. "It would not be fair." So we stayed with him till day broke, and not having heard the slightest sound to intimate the neighbourhood of danger, and the dog lying quite still and content by his master, the doctor and I went to get a couple of hours' rest, just as the forest glades were beginning to echo with the screaming of birds of the parrot family, Jimmy bending over me and poking me with the butt end of his spear, almost directly, so it seemed to me, that I had lain down. "Jimmy hungry," he said; "gimmy damper--brackfass. Come long." "Did you hear the bunyip any more, Jimmy?" I said, yawning. "No. Bunyip go sleep all a morning--all a day! Come a night. How-wow!" He put his head on one side and gave so marvellous an imitation of the terrible cries I had heard during the night that I felt sure he must know the creature. "What is it makes that noise, Jimmy?" I said eagerly. "Bunyip--big ugly fellow bunyip!" he exclaimed; and I felt so cross and annoyed with his eternal bunyip that I was ready to kick him; but I refrained, and went instead to the fire, where the doctor was waiting breakfast, after sending Jimmy to wake me up. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. HOW JACK PENNY WAS PERSECUTED BY PIGS. I have often thought since what a wild journey ours was, and how ignorant we must have been to plunge recklessly and in such a haphazard way into a country that, though an island, is a long way on towards being large enough to be called a continent. Still we made the venture, and somehow as soon as a peril was passed we all looked upon it as belonging to yesterday, and troubled ourselves about it no more. I had risen on the morning after our nocturnal adventure feeling despondent and sleepy; but the bright sunshine and the tempting odour of roasting bird stuck on a stick close to the flame, soon made me forget the troubles of the night, and an hour later, with every one in the best of spirits, we made a fresh start, keeping near the river, but beneath the shade of the trees, for the sun seemed to be showering down burning arrows, and wherever we had to journey across the open the heat was intense. In the shady parts the green of the undergrowth looked delicate and pale, but in the sunshine it was of the most vivid green; and bathing in it, as it were, flies and beetles hummed and buzzed, and beat their gauzy wings, so that they seemed invisible, while wherever there was a bare patch of stony or rocky earth lizards were hurrying in and out, and now and then a drab-looking little serpent lay twisted up into a knot. The bearers stepped along lightly enough beneath their loads, and I observed that they never looked to right or left, or seemed to admire anything before them, their eyes being always fixed upon the earth where they were about to plant their feet. Ti-hi in particular tried to warn me to be on the look-out, pointing over and over again to the spade-headed little serpents we saw now and then gliding in amongst the grass. "Killum," said Jimmy upon one of these occasions, and he suited the word to the action by striking one of these little reptiles with his spear and breaking its back. After this he spat viciously at the little creature, picking it up by its tail and jerking it right away amongst the trees. "No killum kill all a body," said Jimmy nodding; and he went through a sort of pantomime, showing the consequences of being bitten by a viper, beginning with drowsiness, continuing through violent sickness, which it seemed was followed by a fall upon the earth, a few kicks and struggles, and lastly by death, for the black ended his performance by stretching himself out stiffly and closing his eyes, saying: "Jimmy dead; black fellow dig big hole and put um in de ground. Poor old Jimmy!" Then he jumped up and laughed, saying: "Killum all um snake! No good! No!" "I say, Joe Carstairs," said Jack Penny, who had watched the performance with a good deal of interest; "don't that chap ever get tired?" "Oh yes; and goes to sleep every time he gets a chance," I said. "Yes! but don't his back ache? Mine does, horrid, every day, without banging about like that;" and as if he felt his trouble then Jack Penny turned his rueful-looking boy's face to me and began softly rubbing his long man's back just across the loins. It was very funny, too, when Jack was speaking earnestly. In an ordinary conversation he would go on drawl, drawl, drawl in a bass voice; but whenever he grew excited he began to squeak and talk in a high-pitched treble like a boy, till he noticed it himself, and then he would begin to growl again in almost an angry tone; and this was the case now. "Here, you're laughing!" he said savagely. "I can't help being tall and thin, and having a gruff voice like a man, when I'm only a boy. I don't try to be big and tall! I grew so. And I don't try to talk gruff." "Oh yes! you do, Jack," I said. "Well, p'r'aps I do; but I don't try to talk thin, like I do sometimes." "I couldn't help laughing, Jack," I said, holding out my hand. "I did not mean to ridicule you." He gave my hand quite an angry slap and turned away, but only to come back directly. "Here, I say; I beg your pardon, Joe Carstairs," he said, holding out his hand, which I shook heartily. "I wish I hadn't got such a beastly bad temper. I do try not to show it, but it makes me wild when people laugh at me." "Well, I won't laugh at you any more, Jack," I said earnestly. "No, don't; there's a good chap," he said, with the tears in his eyes. "It's partly why I came away from home, you know. I wanted to come and find the professor, of course, and I like coming for the change; but it's principally that." "Principally _that_!" I said. "I don't understand you, Jack." "Why, I mean about being laughed at! Everybody has always been laughing at me, because I grew so thin and long and weak-looking, and I got tired of it at last, and was precious glad to come out to New Guinea to stop till I had grown thicker. For I said to myself, I don't s'pose the savage chaps will laugh at me, and if they do I can drop on 'em and they won't do it again." "It must have been unpleasant, Jack," I said. "It's horrid, old fellow," he said confidentially; "and all the more because you are obliged to laugh at it all when you feel as if you'd like to double 'em up and jump on 'em." "Well, there, Jack; I give you my word I won't laugh at you again." "Will you?" cried Jack, with his face beaming, and looking quite pleasant. "Well, that is kind of you. If the doctor wouldn't laugh either I should be as happy as the day's long." "I'll ask him not to," I said. "Oh, no; don't do that!" he cried quickly then; "he'd leave off laughing at me just out of pity, and I'd rather he laughed at me than pitied me, you know. Don't ask him not." "All right!" I said. "I will not." "I'd rather he laughed at me," said Jack again thoughtfully; "for I like the doctor; he's such a brave chap. I say, Joe Carstairs, I wish I could grow into a big broad-chested brave chap with a great beard, like the doctor." "So you will some day." "Tchah!" he cried impatiently. "Look there--there's long thin arms! There's a pair of legs! And see what a body I've got. I ain't got no looking-glass here, but last time I looked at myself my head and face looked like a small knob on the top of a thin pump." "You let yourself alone, and don't grumble at your shape," I said sturdily, and to tell the truth rather surprising myself, for I had no idea that I was such a philosopher. "Your legs are right enough. They only want flesh and muscle, and it's the same with your arms. Wait a bit and it will all come, just as beards do when people grow to be men." "I sha'n't never have any beard," said Jack, dolefully; "my face is as smooth as a girl's!" "I daresay the doctor was only a little smooth soft baby once," I said; "and now see what he is." "Ah! ain't he a fine fellow?" said Jack. "I'm going to try and do as he does, and I want to have plenty of pluck; but no sooner do I get into a scrape than I turn cowardly, same as I did over that little humbug of a crocodile." "Don't talk nonsense, Jack!" I said. "'Tisn't nonsense! Why, if I'd had as much courage as a wallaby I should have kicked that thing out of the water; and all I did was to lay hold of a bough and holler murder!" "I didn't hear you," I said. "Well, _help_! then. I know I hollered something." "And enough to make you. The doctor said he is sure he should not have borne it so bravely as you." "No: did he? When?" "To be sure he did, when we were sitting watching last night." "Bah! it was only his fun. He was laughing at me again." "He was not," I said decidedly. "He was in real earnest." "Oh!" said Jack softly; and there was once more the pleasant light in his countenance that quite brightened it up. I was going to say something else, but he made a motion with his hand as if asking me to be silent; and he walked on to the front to go behind Ti-hi, who was first man, while I went and marched beside the doctor, and chatted with him about the country and our future prospects. "It seems, almost too lovely," I said; "and it worries me because I feel as if I ought to be sad and unhappy, while all the time everything seems so beautiful that I can't help enjoying it." "In spite of perils and dangers, Joe, eh?" he said smiling; and then we went on threading our way amongst the magnificent trees, and every now and then coming upon one standing all alone, its position having allowed of its growing into a perfect state. Again we came upon one of these, literally alive with parrots; and, as I stopped to admire them, I could see that when they opened their vivid green wings the inner parts were of a brilliant flame colour, and there was a ruddy orange patch upon the little feathers at the inset of their tails. Then we came upon monkeys again, quite a family of them, and instead of running away and leaping from branch to branch they began to chatter and shriek and dash about in the greatest excitement, just as if they were scolding us for coming among them, chattering among themselves directly after as if meditating an attack. Before another hour had passed, after noting the beauty of the butterflies, which seemed to increase in number as we penetrated farther into the interior, we came next upon an enormous tree full of gaudily-tinted parroquets, which were nearly as numerous as the parrots of an hour before. "We sha'n't want for food, Joe," the doctor said, "so long as we have plenty of powder; parroquets and parrots are fruit birds, and splendid eating. Look there." As he spoke he raised his gun, fired, and directly the report had struck my ears I saw Jimmy and Gyp set off at full speed. They returned both at odds, the one growling, the other calling his rival a bad bunyip dog, but both holding tightly by a large bird, Gyp having its head, Jimmy the legs. It proved to be something between a turkey and a pheasant, and from its look it promised to be good eating, for which purpose it was handed over to Ti-hi's care. The leader now bore off a little to our left, the result being that we once more struck the river, to find it a large swift stream, but not an attractive place for travellers, since from that one spot where we stood beneath the shelter of some trees I counted at least twenty crocodiles floating slowly down, with the protuberances above their eyes just visible, and here and there at least thirty more lying about on the muddy banks. Towards evening, as we were journeying slowly on, Jimmy came running back to fetch me, and catching me by the hand he led me through some bushes to where a thickly wooded park-like stretch of land began, and motioning me to be silent and follow him he crept from tree to tree, till, having reached what he considered to be a satisfactory position, he pointed upward, and from behind the tree where we were ensconced I looked among the branches far overhead, and for the first time saw one of those wonderfully plumaged creatures--the birds of paradise. I could have stopped there for long, gazing at the beautiful creatures with their fountain-like plumage of pale gold, but time would not permit of my lagging behind, and to Jimmy's great disgust I hurried back, and determined that no object should lead me away from the great aim of our journey. The turkey was ample as a meal for us, but we wanted food for our followers, so as to husband our flour and biscuits. Birds were all very well, but we wanted to kill something more substantial, and for a long time past we had seen no sign of deer, though traces of buffalo were pretty frequent in spots where they had made a peculiar track down to the river, evidently going regularly to quench their thirst. The sight of the buffalo tracks formed the subject of a discussion. Fresh meat was wanted for our followers, who made very light of birds, and one of these animals would have been invaluable to us just then; but the doctor decided that it would not be prudent to follow them, they being rather dangerous beasts, and therefore, though the meat would have been so useful both for present use and to dry in the sun, we gave up the idea of trying to obtain any, preferring to trust to finding deer, and continued our journey. We had gone very little farther, and I was just about to propose to the doctor that we should venture as far as the river and try for some fish, when there was an alarm given by the native who was leading, and in an instant loads were thrown down and every man sought refuge in a tree. We did not understand the natives' words, but their actions were easy enough to read, and all followed their example, the doctor and I getting up into the same tree, one which forked very low down, and we were just in safety when we heard a cry, and saw that Jack Penny was in difficulties. He too had climbed part of the way into a tree, when he had slipped, and in spite of all his efforts he could not at first contrive to get back; and this was just as a rushing noise was heard, that I thought must be a herd of buffalo, but, directly after, a drove of small wild pig came furiously charging down. My attention was divided between the sight of the pigs and Jack Penny, whose long legs kept dropping down, and then being spasmodically snatched up. I burst into a roar of laughter, and Jimmy, who was standing, spear in hand, upon a branch, holding on by another, danced with excitement and delight. "Pull yourself right up, Jack," I shouted, and I had hard work to make my voice heard above the grunting and squealing. "I can't," he yelled back. "Then kick out at the little brutes," I shouted; and just then he lowered himself to the full length of his arms, swung to and fro, and half-a-dozen pigs rushed at him, but he had gained impetus, and just as they made a dash at him he swung his legs up, and clung with them to a branch. "Hurrah!" I shouted; and then a sharp squeal uttered by one unfortunate pig as Jimmy drove his spear through it as it passed beneath his feet, and the sharp report of the doctor's piece, brought me to my senses. The scene had been so comical, especially as regarded Jack Penny, that I had forgotten that I was letting several good dinners slip away, and I had just time to get a quick shot at one of the pigs which was stamping his hoof and grunting defiantly at Jack Penny, before the whole drove, including one that had received an arrow from Ti-hi's bow, swept by us as hurriedly as they came, and were gone. "Not hurt, are you, Jack?" I said, preparing to jump. "Keep your place," cried the doctor; "they may come back." "Well, I shall have a better shot at them," I said. "You foolish boy!" cried the doctor. "Why, the boars would rip you to pieces." I returned to my place at this, and it was fortunate that I did so, for directly after, as if in the wildest of haste, the pig drove came dashing back, to stop as hastily as they came up, and stand snapping, tossing their heads, grunting, squealing, and at times literally barking at us. A couple of shots which laid low one of their party seemed, however, to scare them, and they dashed on once more, and hardly had they gone twenty yards before there was a loud thud and Jack Penny fell from the branch, where he had been clinging, flat upon his back. "Oh my!" he cried, as he sat up and looked about. "I couldn't hold on any longer. It's lucky they are gone." "Look out!" I cried, swinging myself down, dropping my gun, and pulling my hatchet from my belt; but Jack would have fared badly if he had depended on me. For the little boar that had been wounded by an arrow, had dropped, apparently dying, when its companions swept by the second time, but it had fierce life enough left in it to take advantage of Jack Penny's helpless condition, and leaping up it charged at him, its tusks glistening, and the foam tossed from its snapping jaws falling upon its sides. A bullet would have given the fierce beast its quietus, but the doctor would not fire for fear of hitting Jack, and he sat with his gun raised waiting for an opportunity. Jack saw his danger and rolled himself over, trying vainly the while to drag his axe from his belt. Then just as the furious little boar was dashing at him, I saw something black dart down from above; there was a rush, a squeal, and the boar was literally pinned to the earth, while Jimmy stood grinning and staring from the doctor to me and back, as if asking to be complimented upon his feat. For it really was a feat. He had jumped fully ten feet to the ground spear in hand, and literally thrown himself upon the little boar. "A magnificent jump, Jimmy," I cried. "Jimmy de boy to jump," he said, complacently. "Pig, pig kill Mass Jack Penny, Jimmy no spear um." "Yes, I 'spect I should have ketched it pretty warmly," said Jack, gathering himself up. "Oh, I say, I did come down such a bump, Joe Carstairs. It seemed to shake my back joints all to pieces." "Jimmy spear um lil pig, pig," said the black. "Yes, and I'll give you my knife for it," said Jack, taking out his great clasp-knife. "It's a real good one, Jimmy, and I wouldn't have parted with it for a deal." "Jimmy got knife," said the black, with a contemptuous look. "Jimmy don't want knife." "Well, then, what shall I give you?" said Jack. "Tickpence," said he, grinning; "give Jimmy tickpence." "Why, what for?" I cried. "What are you going to do with _tick_ pence?" "Spend um," said Jimmy; "black fellow spend money, money. Give Jimmy all a tickpence." "But there's nowhere to spend it," I said. "Nev mind, Jimmy spend tickpence all a same. Give Jimmy tickpence." Jack had not a single coin about him, neither had I, but fortunately the doctor had one, which he handed to Jack, who gave it to the delighted black, and it was forthwith thrust into the pocket of the curtailed trousers, after which he strutted about, leaving the other blacks to perform the duty of dressing the pigs. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. HOW JIMMY WAS TAKEN VERY BAD INDEED. This sudden supply of food necessitated our making camp where we were, and cutting the meat up into strips to dry, while, apparently on the principle of making their hay while the sun shone, the blacks lit a fire and had a tremendous feast, both Jack Penny and I laughing heartily to see the solemn face of Jimmy as he devoted himself to the task of storing up an abundance of food, ready for emergencies. At our table, as the doctor called it, we contented ourselves with the turkey-like bird, which was delicious, but we tasted the wild pig, a piece of which, fairly well roasted, was brought to us in the most solicitous manner by Ti-hi, who smiled contentedly as he saw us begin to partake thereof. We set it aside, though, as soon as the black had gone, for the doctor pronounced it strong and musky, and Jack Penny behaved very rudely, according to the ordinary etiquette of the dinner table, and exclaimed: "Oh, law!" It was a glorious sunset, and the place where we were encamped, as we styled it, was once more beneath a huge tree. For a time I was listening to the birds' screams and cries from the forest, and then all at once they ceased, and a long-drawn howl, which recalled the horrors of our night-watch, arose from a distance. Then the sun sank, and darkness began to come on very quickly. First the sky paled and a star or two began to twinkle, then all above us was of a deep intense purple, studded and encrusted with points of dazzling light, and, like the doctor, tired out with loss of rest, I began to yawn. For our evenings were not devoted to amusements. Our day only had two divisions, that for work and that for rest. As soon as the arduous toil of the day was over, and we had partaken of food, we were ready for sleep; so this time Jack Penny was set to watch with Ti-hi and Gyp, and we lay down on a bough-made bed. One moment I was lying on my back gazing up at the stars, and first thinking of my mother and how anxious she must be as to how I was getting on; then wondering where my father was likely to be, and whether we were going to work in the best way to find him; the next moment I was dreaming that Gyp had run after and caught a wild man of the woods by the tail, and had dragged him into camp, howling dismally. It did not fit into my dream that wild men of the woods were not likely to be possessed of tails for Gyp to tug, and if they were, that they would have striven to crush the dog by one blow of the hand; my dream arranged itself, and the howling was continued as I started up, all wakefulness, and saw a dark figure bending over me and looking colossal as seen against the ruddy light of the fire. "Is that you, doctor?" I said. "Yes, Joe; wake up. I want you." "What's the matter--has that horrible thing come again?" "No," he said; "the black is very bad." "What! old Jimmy?" I cried. "Yes. That is he howling." I jumped up with a curious sensation of suffocation at my chest, for, startled from a deep sleep into wakefulness, it occurred to me that something dreadful was going to happen, and that we were to lose the true-hearted, merry, boyish companion of so many years. Like a flash there seemed to come back to me the memory of dozens of expeditions in which he had been my faithful comrade, and this was like a death-blow to our hopes, for, in spite of his obstinacy and arrogance, Jimmy would have laid down his life to serve me. "Let us go to him, doctor," I said. "Make haste!" Our way to the black lay past the camp fire, where Jack Penny was sitting with Ti-hi, and the former spoke excitedly as we drew near: "I say, doctor, do make haste and give him a dose of something to do him good, or else put him out of his misery." "Jack!" I said in disgust. "Well, he's awful bad, you know, and he ought to have something. Mind how you go to him. I went just now and he began hitting at my legs with his waddy, and then he poked at Gyp with his spear for going up to smell him." "He won't hurt me," I said sadly; and as another doleful cry came from among the bushes, I led the way to where the poor fellow lay, horribly swollen and writhing in agony. Two of the blacks were watching him, and from what we could make out it seemed that Jimmy had alarmed them by his restlessness, and that they had fetched him back when he ran some distance and fell, and laid him where he now was, in too much agony to stir. "What is the matter with him, doctor?" I said excitedly, as I went down on one knee and took the poor fellow's hand, which he grasped convulsively, and laid flat directly upon his chest--at least that is to say, nearly. "I hardly know yet, my lad," said the doctor. "Perhaps he has eaten some poisonous berry. You know how he tastes every wild fruit we pass." "And will it--will it--" I could say no more, for something seemed to choke my voice, and I looked up imploringly in the doctor's eyes. "Oh! no, Joe, my lad," he said kindly, "not so bad as that." "Jimmy bad as that--Jimmy bad as that," moaned the poor fellow; and as just then Jack Penny threw some light twigs upon the fire, the blaze showed me the swollen and distorted countenance of my poor companion, and a strange chill of apprehension came over me. We watched by him all night, but he grew worse towards morning, and at last he lay apparently stupefied, free from pain, but as if the berry, or whatever it was that he had swallowed, had rendered him insensible. Of course, continuing our journey was out of the question, so all we could do was to make the rough brushwood pallet of the sufferer more comfortable by spreading over it a blanket, and I did little else but watch by it all the day. I felt hurt two or three times by the rough, unfeeling manner in which the doctor behaved towards the black, and I could not help thinking that if Jimmy had been a white man the treatment would have been different. This worried me a good deal, for it seemed so different to the doctor's customary way; but I took comfort from the fact that poor Jimmy was as insensible to pain as he was to kindness, and in this state of misery I hardly left him all day. Towards evening the doctor, who had spent the time overhauling and cleaning our guns and pistols, came to me and insisted upon my going to Jack Penny, who had just got a good meal ready. "But I am not a bit hungry, doctor," I cried. "Then go and eat against you are," he said. "Lay in a moderate store, and don't," he added meaningly, "don't eat more than is good for you." I looked at him wonderingly, and got up without a word, feeling more hurt and annoyed with him than ever, and the more so as he looked at me with a peculiar smile as he twisted a stout cane about in his hands. "How's Jimmy?" said Jack Penny. "Dying," I said sadly, as I took my seat before him. "Oh! I say, not so bad as that, Joe Carstairs! It takes a lot to kill a fellow like Jimmy. He'll come all right again. Here, set to and have a good feed. You must want it awfully." "I can't eat," I said bitterly. "I liked poor old Jimmy. A better fellow never breathed. He saved your life yesterday." "Ah! that he did," said Jack; "and it's all right. The doctor says-- Hullo! what's that?" I started to my feet, for a horrible scream rang through the woods from the direction where poor Jimmy lay; and a pang shot through me as I felt that it was a new throe being suffered by my poor black comrade--comrade soon to be no more. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. HOW THE DOCTOR GAVE JIMMY HIS PHYSICS. I could not move for a few moments, the terrible cry and the shrieks that followed seemed to rob me of all power; but overcoming this paralysing feeling at last, I ran towards where poor Jimmy lay, the thought flashing upon my mind that the doctor must be performing some operation to try and save the poor fellow's life. I was quite right, as I found when I reached the spot, followed by all the little camp: the doctor was performing an operation, and the Australian was upon his knees now, his feet then, capering about, and appealing for mercy. For the instrument with which the doctor was performing his operation was the stout cane I had previously seen in his hand, one that he had cut in the jungle, and then sent me away so as to spare my feelings and keep me from witnessing the painful sight. To my utter astonishment Jimmy was apparently free from all traces of his late ailment, and catching sight of me he bounded to me, getting behind me to avoid the hail of blows that the doctor was showering upon his unprotected person. "Doctor!" I shouted. "The dose to be repeated," he said, "when necessary," and he reached round me with the cane, giving Jimmy two or three very sharp cuts. "See how this takes down the swelling. For outward application only. One dose nearly certain to cure." "What are you doing?" I cried. "Doing? Performing a wonderful cure. Hasn't Jimmy here been horribly ill, and alarmed the whole camp?" Every time he could he gave Jimmy a smart cut, and the black shrieked with pain. "How are you now, my man?" he said mockingly. "Jimmy quite as well. Ever so better. All rightums. Tank you better," yelled the black, and he sheltered himself again behind my back. "Doctor," I said, surprised and angry at what seemed horrible cruelty. "Give him some more?" he said laughing. "Of course I will," and he tried to reach round me, but I caught hold of the cane, and Jimmy took advantage of the cessation of hostilities for a moment to run for some distance and then climb up a tree, in one of the higher branches of which he settled himself like a monkey, and sat rubbing himself and looking down at the danger from which he had escaped. "There, Joe," said the doctor, laughing; "it has made me hot. That's as good a cure as the Queen's physician could have made." "How could you be so brutal to the poor wretch?" I said indignantly. "Brutal! Ha! ha! ha! My indignant young hero!" he cried. "Here are you going to take up the cudgels in the rascal's behalf. Don't you see there was nothing the matter with the artful black ruffian." "Nothing the matter!" I said. "Why, wasn't he dangerously ill?" "Dangerously full," said the doctor, clapping me on the shoulder. "I was obliged to give him a lesson, Joe, and it will do him good for all our trip. I suspected the rascal from the very first, but I have studied medicine long enough to know how easy it is to be deceived by appearances; so I gave Master Jimmy the benefit of the doubt, and treated him as if he was really very ill, till I had made assurance doubly sure, and then I thrashed him." "What! do you really mean, doctor--" I began. "It could not very well have happened with an Englishman, Joe. With Master Jimmy there, it was different." "But was he not very ill?" "You saw him run and climb that tree; you heard how he yelled. Now what do you think? Could a dying man do that?" "N-no," I faltered. "What does it all mean, then?" "Pig!" said the doctor, smiling; "the gluttonous dog ate till he could not stir. He had as much as anybody else, and then waited his chance, and when every one was lying down he began upon the store of dried strips." "Jimmy terribull sorry, Mass Joe," came from up the tree. "He behaved like a boa constrictor, and then alarmed us all horribly instead of confessing the truth. Why, my dear boy, do you suppose I should have been so cruel to a sick man?" "You black rascal!" I cried, looking up at Jimmy, who howled like a dog. "Jimmy come down now! Never do so no more." "Only let me have a turn at you," I said, and he immediately began to climb higher. "Here, you come down, sir," I shouted. For answer he climbed higher and higher till he was pretty well out of sight among the small branches in the top of the tree. "All right!" I said, "I can wait;" and I walked away with the doctor, horribly annoyed at the waste of time, but wonderfully relieved at matters being no worse. I never knew, but I suspect that Jimmy stopped in the top of the tree till it was dark and then slunk down and hid himself amongst the bushes close up to the watch-fire. At all events he was busy the next morning working away as if nothing had been wrong overnight. He showed himself to be most active in putting things straight, making up the loads, and every now and then glancing furtively first at one of us and then at the other. "Oh, I do like Jimmy, that I do," said Jack Penny to me, and then he threw himself down and began to laugh heartily, shutting his eyes and rolling himself gently to and fro till he declared that he felt better, and got up. "I don't care about laughing when I'm standing up," he said seriously, "it waggles my back so." When breakfast time came, for we had a seven or eight mile walk first in the cool of the early morning, we made a halt and the rations were served out by the doctor, who gave me a look and handed each black his portion in turn, but omitted Jimmy. The latter stood disconsolately looking on for some minutes in the hope that he was to be remembered after all; but when he saw everybody busy at work eating and himself utterly neglected, he walked slowly away some distance from where we were seated and, laying his head against the trunk of a tree, let out a series of the most unearthly howls. "Oh, I say!" exclaimed Jack Penny. "Pleasant," said the doctor, going on with his breakfast; and seeing that he was observed, and that his howls were having some effect, Jimmy displayed the utter childlike disposition of a savage by redoubling his cries. "If he don't stop directly I shall go and talk to him with this," I said, snatching up a stick. "How--aw--ooo!" cried Jimmy, and I jumped to my feet, when he became silent, and I resumed my place. Jimmy watched us eagerly for a few minutes, when, left half starved himself, and unable to bear the neglect when others were enjoying themselves, the howls burst out again followed by a self-commiserating--"Poor Jimmy, Mass Joe not care poor Jimmy never now." No one took any notice, and we went on eating grilled turkey and damper and drinking coffee, and all the time I was rather enjoying my importance and the fact of being able to control, boy as I was, a stout powerful fellow like Jimmy and make him as obedient as a dog. "Poor old Jimmy cut handums. Ebber so sorry, poor Jimmy. Go and die himself. Haw--ow!" "I say," said Jack Penny, "he couldn't dye himself any blacker, could he, Joe Carstairs?" "Have some more coffee, Joe?" said the doctor aloud. "Here, give me a piece more turkey." "Poor Jimmy go starve a deff," was the next that met our ears, and it had such an effect upon Jack Penny that some of his coffee got into his windpipe and he choked and coughed and laughed till he was obliged to lie down. "If I was to cough much like that I should break my back," he said, sitting up and wiping his eyes. "Poor old Jimmy? I do like him. He _is_ a one." Jimmy stood watching the disappearing food, then he sat down. Then he lay at full length; but no one took the slightest notice, for the blacks were selfishly busy, and we were keeping up the punishment for the false alarm to which our follower had subjected us. At last this attack upon Jimmy's tenderest part--his appetite--grew to be more than he could bear, and he sat up in the squatting attitude so much affected by savages. "Ah!" he exclaimed dolefully, "poor black fellow--poor Jimmy!" and this started Jack Penny off laughing once more, which so exasperated Jimmy that he sprang up as sharply as if stung, and ran in a rage to where his black companions were eating their food. "Here, hi! you black fellow, Jimmy done wid him. Jimmy gib boomerang. You no fro down wallaby." He held out his curious hard-wood weapon to Ti-hi, who took it, gazing at him wonderingly, while Jimmy glanced at us to see if we were about to relent and give him some breakfast. "Jimmy going," he said at last, loud enough for us to hear; but we paid no heed. "Jimmy going; nebber come back no more," he said in a louder voice; but no one turned a head. "Jimmy go jump river. Big bunyip crocodile come eat poor Jimmy. All um very sorry. No see poor Jimmy not nev more." He glanced at us again, but we were laughing over our breakfast, though not so busy but that we were able to see the black fold his arms and stalk away, evidently under the impression that we should start up and arrest him; but no one moved. "Big water bunyip glad get black fellow," he said, as loudly as he could, and with a scornful look at us. "Here, suppose we go," said the doctor, rising. "Go?" said Jack, getting up slowly, "where to?" "To see Jimmy feed the crocodiles. Come along, lads." Jimmy stopped short with his jaw dropped, and nearly beside himself with rage. He seemed to be completely staggered at our cool way of taking things, and at last he ran off like the wind, rushed back again with his eyes flashing, and slapping his legs as he darted upon Ti-hi, waddy in hand. "Gib boomerang Jimmy, black tief fellow," he roared. "Take a boomerang. Jimmy boomerang. Tief fellow tole a boomerang." Snatching it from Ti-hi's hand he made believe to strike him with the curious weapon and then rushed off with it into the bush. "Well, Joe," said the doctor, "do you think the crocodiles will dine on blackbird?" I shook my head. "What do you say, Jack Penny, eh?" "Jimmy won't jump in, I know," drawled Jack. "You're right," said the doctor; "he'll come back before long hungry as a hunter, and regularly tamed down or I'm no judge of character." "Yes," I said, "and he'll bring back something he has killed so as to try and make friends. That's how he always did at home." "Well," said Jack Penny solemnly, "I hope he will. I like Jimmy, he makes me laugh, and though it hurts my back I like laughing. It does me good. I never used to have anything to laugh at at home. Father used to laugh when he kicked me, but it never seemed funny to me, and I never used to laugh at that." "Well, Jack Penny, I dare say the black will give you something to laugh at before long, for I don't suppose it will be long before he is back." CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. HOW I NEARLY HAD AN ARROW TO DRINK. We were soon on the way towards the interior again, and the doctor and I had set to work trying to obtain some information from Ti-hi, and also from Aroo, another intelligent looking follower who had been one of the prisoners made by the captain of the burnt schooner. It was hard work, but we were daily getting to understand more and more of the commoner words of conversation, and by degrees we managed to make out that the reason why we had not come upon any native village was that the nearest was still many days' journey distant, but that if we changed our course and went down to the sea-shore we should soon find signs of occupation. But I felt that this would be of no use, for if my father had been anywhere on the coast he must have come in contact sooner or later with one or other of the trading vessels, whose captains, even if they could not bring him away on account of his being a prisoner, would certainly have reported somewhere that they had seen a white captive, and the news must have spread. "He must be right in the interior somewhere," I said; "and I'm sure we can't do better than keep on." "I think you are right, Joe," said the doctor thoughtfully. "I feel sure I am," I said. "I don't expect to find him directly; but I mean to go on trying till I do." "That's the way to find anybody," said Jack Penny. "You're sure to find 'em if you keep on like that. Come along." Jack went off; taking great strides as if he expected to be successful at once; but he did not keep up the pace long, but hung back for me to overtake him, saying: "I say, Joe Carstairs; does your back ever ache much?" "No," I said; "very little. Only when I'm very tired." "Ah! you ain't got so much back as I have," he said, shaking his head. "When you've got as much as I have you'll have the back-ache awfully, like I do. I say, I wonder where old Jimmy has got to." "He's close at hand somewhere," I said. "Depend upon it he has not gone far. If the truth were known," I continued, "he's walking along abreast of us, just hidden in the bushes." "Think so?" said Jack dubiously. "I'm about sure of it," I replied. "I ain't," said Jack. "I'm afraid he's gone right away back; and we've offended him so that we sha'n't see him any more." "You keep your opinion, Jack, and I'll keep to mine. I say, I wonder what that noise is!" "Noise! Birds," said Jack. "No, no! That dull murmur. There, listen!" "Wind in the trees." "No, I'm sure it is not!" I exclaimed. "There! it is gone now. It is like far-off thunder." "Water," said the doctor, who had closed up with us unperceived. "I've been listening to it, and it sounds to me like a waterfall. Depend upon it we shall find that the river comes down over some pile of rocks, and if we were clear of the forest and could take a good look round we should find that the country is growing mountainous on ahead." It seemed during the next day's journey that the doctor was right, for we were certainly ascending, the land growing more rugged and toilsome, but at the same time far more beautiful and full of variety. In place of always journeying on through thick forest or park-like stretches, we now found our way was among stony ridges and long heavy slopes, with here and there a lovely valley, so full of beauty that I used to think to myself that perhaps we should find my father had built himself a hut in some such place as this, and was patiently going on with his collecting. We had seen nothing of Jimmy for three days, and though I suspected him of being close at hand, and coming to our camp at night stealthily in search of food, it really began to appear as if he had left us for good, when an adventure towards evening showed us who was correct in his surmise. "I don't think much of the doctor's waterfall," Jack said to me, in his dry drawling way. "Why, we haven't seen it!" I replied. "No, nor we ain't going to, seemingly. It's wind amongst the trees." "Don't be so obstinate," I said, listening intently to hear the heavy thunderous murmur still, now I listened for it, though I had not seemed to notice it before. "There ain't no waterfall," he replied, "or we should have seen it before now." "Perhaps the shape of the land keeps us from getting near it, or perhaps the wind drives the sound away." "Or perhaps the sound drives the wind away, or perhaps the--Look out, Joe, look out!" Jack Penny leaped aside nimbly, and I followed his example, hardly escaping, while the man in front of me, less quick in his motion consequent upon his having a load upon his head, was sent flying by a great slate-coloured buffalo which had suddenly charged us from behind a clump of trees where it had been lying. It all happened so quickly that I had not time to think of my gun, while the doctor was fifty yards behind, and could not have fired had he been able to see, for fear of hurting us. The great beast had stopped for a moment after sending our bearer flying, and then, seeing him down, snorted a little, lowered his head, and would doubtless have tossed and trampled him to death had there not suddenly come a whirring whizzing noise from some bushes in a hollow on our right, when something struck the buffalo a heavy blow upon the muzzle, making it turn up its head, utter a furious roar, and charge at the bushes. This was my opportunity, and taking a quick aim I fired, and heard the bullet strike with a heavy thud, when the buffalo seemed to drop upon its knees on the steep slope, and literally turned a somersault, crashing with a tremendous noise into some trees; and then, to my astonishment, rising again and going off at a lumbering gallop. It did not go far, for just then there was the sharp crack of the doctor's piece, and once more the buffalo fell heavily, to lie struggling, while, to my astonishment I saw a familiar black figure bound out of the bushes, catch up the boomerang he had thrown, and then race after the buffalo, which he reached just as the doctor also came up and put it out of its misery by a merciful shot in the head. "Jimmy killum! Jimmy boomerang killum!" shouted the black, dancing on the prostrate beast, while Jack and I were busy helping the poor bearer to his feet, and making sure that though stunned he was not seriously hurt. "No," said the doctor. "No bones broken. It's wonderful what some of these savage races will bear." He ceased his examination and gave the poor fellow a friendly clap on the shoulder, while, after lying down for a time in the new camping-ground, close up to the welcome supply of meat, the injured man was sufficiently recovered to sit up, and eat his share of roast buffalo flesh. Some delicious steaks which we cooked proved very welcome to us by way of a change, but we did not commence without a few words with Master Jimmy, who was all smiles and friendliness now with everybody, till the doctor said, pointing to the abundant supply of meat: "No more bad illness, Jimmy. You are not to eat much." "Jimmy won't eat not bit!" he cried viciously. "Go in a bush and starve a deff." "There, sit down and eat your supper!" said the doctor sternly; "and no more nonsense, please." The black looked at him in a sidelong fashion, and his fingers played with the handle of his waddy, which was behind him in his waistband, and then he quailed beneath the doctor's steady gaze, and sat down humbly by the camp fire to cook and eat what was really a moderate quantity for an Australian black. Next morning we were off at daybreak, our way lying up a narrow ravine for a short distance, and then between a couple of masses of rock, which seemed to have been split apart by some earthquake; and directly we were through here the dull humming buzz that we had heard more or less for days suddenly fell upon our ears with a deep majestic boom that rose at times, as the wind set our way, into a deafening roar. I looked triumphantly at Jack Penny, but he only held his head higher in the air and gave a sniff, lowering his crest directly after to attend to his feet, for we were now in a complete wilderness of rocks and stones, thrown in all directions, and at times we had regularly to climb. "It is useless to bring the men this way," the doctor said, after a couple of hours' labour; but as he spoke Ti-hi called a halt and pointed in a different direction, at right angles to that which we had so far followed, as being the one we should now take. The sun had suddenly become unbearable, for we were hemmed in by piled-up stones, and its heat was reflected from the brightly glistening masses, some of which were too hot even to be touched without pain, while the glare was almost blinding wherever the rocks were crystalline and white. "I say, is that a cloud?" said Jack Penny, drawing our attention to a fleecy mass that could be seen rising between a couple of masses of rock. "Yes!" cried the doctor eagerly, as he shaded his eyes from the sun's glare; "a cloud of spray. The falls are there!" "Or is it the wind you can see in the trees?" I said, with a look at Jack Penny. "Get out!" retorted that gentleman. "I didn't say I was sure, and doctor isn't sure now." "No, not sure, Penny," he said; "but I think I can take you to where water is coming down." We felt no temptation to go on then, and willingly followed our guides, who pointed out a huge mass of overhanging rock right in the side of the ravine, and here we gladly halted, in the comparatively cool shade, to sit and partake of some of the buffalo strips, my eyes wandering dreamily to right and left along the narrow valley so filled with stones. I was roused from my thoughts about the strangeness of the place we were in and the absence of trees and thick bush by the doctor proposing a bit of a look round. "We are getting up among the mountains, Joe," he said; "and this means more difficult travelling, but at the same time a healthier region and less heat." "Oh, doctor!" I said, wiping my forehead. "Why, it couldn't be any hotter than it is out there!" said Jack. "Come with us, then, and let's see if we can find a fresh way out. Perhaps we may hit upon a pass to the open country beyond. At all events let's go and see the falls." We took our guns, leaving all heavy things with the blacks, who were settling themselves for a sleep. The sun's heat almost made me giddy for the first hundred yards, and either my eyes deceived me or Jack Penny's long body wavered and shook. But we trudged laboriously on over and among masses of rock, that seemed to be nearly alive with lizards basking in the sun, their curious coats of green and grey and umber-brown glistening in the bright sunshine, and looking in some cases as if they were covered with frosted metal as they lay motionless upon the pieces of weatherworn stone. Some raised their heads to look at us, and remained motionless if we stopped to watch them, others scuffled rapidly away at the faintest sound, giving us just a glimpse of a quivering tail as its owner disappeared down a crevice almost by magic. "Don't! don't fire!" cried the doctor, as Jack suddenly levelled his piece. "Why not?" he said in an ill-used tone. "I daresay they're poison and they ain't no good." The object that had been his aim was an ash-grey snake, rather short and thick of form, which lay coiled into the figure of a letter S, and held its head a few inches from the rock on which it lay. "If you wish to kill the little vipers do it with a stick, my lad. Every charge of powder may prove very valuable, and be wanted in an emergency." "I say," said Jack Penny, dropping the butt of his piece on the rock, leaning his arms upon it, and staring at the speaker. "You don't think we are likely to have a fight soon, do you?" "I hope not," said the doctor; "but we shall have to be always on the alert, for in a land like this we never know how soon danger may come." "I say, Jack," I whispered, "do you want to go back?" "No: I don't want to go back," he said with a snort. "I don't say I ain't afraid. P'r'aps I am. I always thought our place lonely, but it was nothing to these parts, where there don't seem to be no living people at all." "Well, let's get on," said the doctor, smiling; and we threaded our way as well as we could amongst the chaotic masses of stones till we were stopped short by a complete crack in the stony earth, just as if the land had been dragged asunder. As we stood on the brink of the chasm, and gazed down at the bottom some hundred feet below, we could see that it was a wild stony place, more sterile than that we had traversed. In places there were traces of moisture, as if water sometimes trickled down, and where this was the case I could see that ferns were growing pretty freely, but on the whole the place was barrennesss itself. It seemed to have a fascination though for Jack Penny, who sat down on the edge and dangled his long legs over the rock, amusing himself by throwing down pieces of stone on to larger pieces below, so as to see them shatter and fall in fragments. "Snakes!" he said suddenly. "Look at 'em. See me hit that one." He pitched down a large piece of stone as he spoke, and I saw something glide into a crevice, while another reptile raised itself up against a piece of rock and fell back hissing angrily. We were so high up that I could not tell how big these creatures were, but several that we noticed must have been six or seven feet long, and like many vipers of the poisonous kinds, very thick in proportion. I daresay we should have stopped there amusing ourselves for the next hour, pitching down stones and making the vipers vicious; but our childish pursuit was ended by the doctor, who clapped Jack on the shoulder. "Come, Jack," he said, "if we leave you there you'll fall asleep and topple to the bottom." Jack drew up his legs and climbed once more to his feet, looking very hot and languid, but he shouldered his piece and stepped out as we slowly climbed along the edge of the chasm for about a quarter of a mile, when it seemed to close up after getting narrower and narrower, so that we continued our journey on what would have been its farther side had it not closed. Higher and higher we seemed to climb, with the path getting more difficult, save when here and there we came upon a nice bare spot free from stones, and covered with a short kind of herb that had the appearance of thyme. But now the heat grew less intense. Then it was comparatively cool, and a soft moist air fanned our heated cheeks. The roar of the falls grew louder, and at any moment we felt that we might come upon the sight, but we had to travel on nearly half a mile along what seemed to be a steep slope. It was no longer arid and barren here, for every shelf and crevice was full of growth of the most vivid green. For a long time we had not seen a tree, but here tall forest trees had wedged their roots in the cracks and crevices, curved out, and then shot straight up into the air. The scene around was beautiful, and birds were once more plentiful, dashing from fruit to flower, and no doubt screaming and piping according to their wont, but all seemed to be strangely silent, even our own voices sounded smothered, everything being overcome by the awful deep loud roar that came from beyond a dense clump of trees. We eagerly pressed forward now, ready, however, to find that we had a long distance to go, and the doctor leading we wound our way in and out, with the delicious shade overhead, and the refreshing moist air seeming to cool our fevered faces and dry lips. "Why, we're walking along by the very edge," said Jack Penny suddenly. "This is the way;" and stepping aside he took about a dozen steps and then the undergrowth closed behind him for the moment, but as we parted it to follow him we caught sight of his tall form again and then lost it, for he uttered a shrill "Oh!" and disappeared. "Doctor! quick!" I cried, for I was next, and I sprang forward, to stop appalled, for Jack was before me clinging to a thin sapling which he had caught as he fell, and this had bent like a fishing-rod, letting him down some ten feet below the edge of an awful precipice, the more terrible from the fact that the river seemed to be rushing straight out into the air from a narrow ravine high upon our right, and to plunge down into a vast rocky basin quite a couple of hundred feet below. As I caught sight of Jack Penny's face with its imploring eyes I was for the moment paralysed. He had tight hold of the tree, which was only about half the thickness of his own thin wrists, and he was swaying up and down, the weight of his body still playing upon the elastic sapling. "I can't hold on long, Joe Carstairs," he said hoarsely. "I'm such a weight; but I say I ain't a bit afraid, only do be quick." The doctor had crept to my side now, and he reached out his hand to grasp Jack, but could not get hold of him by a couple of feet. "Can't you reach?" the poor fellow gasped. "No, not yet," the doctor said sharply; and his voice seemed quite changed as he took in the position; and I saw him shudder as he noted, as I had done, that if Jack fell it would be into the foaming basin where the water thundered down. "Be quick, please," panted Jack. "I can't do nothing at all; and I don't--think--I could swim--down there." "Don't look down," roared the doctor, though even then his voice sounded smothered and low. Jack raised his eyes to ours directly, and I seemed to feel that but for this he would have been so unnerved that he would have loosed his hold. "Now," cried the doctor, "the tree's too weak for you to cling to it with your legs. Swing them to and fro till we catch hold of you." Jack looked at me with a face like ashes; but he obeyed, and it was horrible to see the sapling bend and play like a cart-whip with the weight upon it. Each moment I expected it to snap in two or give way at the roots; but no: it held fast, and Jack swung to and fro, and danced up and down over the awful gulf till he was within our reach. "Now!" shouted the doctor to me. "Both together." I did as he did, clutched at Jack's legs as they swung up to us; held on; and then we threw ourselves back, dragging with all our might. "Let go! let go!" roared the doctor to Jack. "I daren't, not yet," he cried, with his head hidden from us, that and his body being over the gulf, while we had his legs over the edge of the rock. "But the tree is drawing you away from us," shouted the doctor. "Let go, I say." All this time it was as though Jack Penny were made of india-rubber, for as we pulled his legs it was against something elastic, which kept giving and drawing us back. For a few moments it seemed doubtful whether we should save him, for our hold was hastily taken and none of the best, and I felt the cold perspiration gathering in my hands and on my brow. Then just as I felt that I must give way, and the doctor's hard panting breathing sounded distant and strange through the singing in my ears, our desperate tugging prevailed over even the wild clutch of one who believed himself in deadly peril. Jack's hands relaxed, and we all fell together amongst the bushes, but safe. No one spoke, and the dull sound of panting was heard even amidst the roar of the falling waters. Then the doctor got up, looking fierce and angry, and seizing Jack by the collar he gave him a shake. "Look here," he said. "I'll have no more of it. Next time you get into danger, you may save yourself." "Thank ye, doctor," said Jack, sitting up and rocking himself softly. "I might just as well have gone as be treated like this. You might have taken hold of a fellow's clothes, both of you. You've about tore the flesh off my bones." The doctor turned away to look at the great waterfall, evidently amused by Jack's dry drawling speech; and I sat and looked at my companion, while he looked at me, and spoke out so as to make me hear above the roar of the torrent. "I say, Joe Carstairs, I didn't seem to be very much frightened, did I?" "No," I said. "You bore it very bravely." "Mean it?" "Of course," I said. "That's right; because I did feel awfully queer, you know. I don't mind that though so long as I didn't show it." "How did you manage to get into such a pickle?" I said. "Oh, I don't know," he drawled, still rubbing himself gently. "I was wandering forward to get a good look at the waterfall, and then my legs seemed to go down. I only had time to grip hold of that tree, and then I was swinging about. That's all. Let's have a look at the water, though, all the same." We followed the doctor, going cautiously along till we found him standing gun in hand gazing from a bare spot right out at the huge tumbling body of water, which made the very rocks on which we stood tremble and vibrate as it thundered down. In one spot, half-way down what looked to be a terribly gloomy chasm, a broad beam of sunlight shone right across the foam and fine spray that rose in a cloud, and from time to time this was spanned by a lovely iris, whose colours looked more beautiful than anything of the kind that I had before seen. I could have stood for hours gazing at the soft oily looking water as it glided over the piled-up rocks, and watched it breaking up into spray and then plunge headlong into the chaos of water below; but the doctor laid his hand upon my shoulder and pointed upwards, when, leading the way, he climbed on and on till we were beyond the rocks which formed the shelf over which the water glided, and here we found ourselves at the edge of a narrow ravine, along which the stream flowed swiftly from far beyond our sight to the spot where it made its plunge. We were in comparative quiet up here, the noise of the fall being cut off by the rocks, which seemed to hush it as soon as we had passed. "Let us get back, my lads," the doctor said then; "I don't think we shall advance our business by inspecting this grand river;" and so leaving the water-worn smooth rock of the ravine, we retraced our steps, and at last, hot and fainting almost with the heat, reached the little camp, where our black followers were eagerly looking out for our return. "Where's Jimmy?" I said as I glanced round; but no one knew, and supposing that he had gone to hunt something that he considered good to eat I took no further notice then, though the doctor frowned, evidently considering that he ought to have been in camp. Gyp was there though, ready to salute his master, who lay down at once, as he informed me in confidence, to rest his back. We were only too glad to get under the shelter of the great overhanging rock, which gave us comparative coolness, situated as it was beneath a hill that was almost a mountain, towering up in successive ledges to the summit. The walk, in spite of the excitement of the adventure, had given us an excellent appetite, and even Jack Penny ate away heartily, looking self-satisfied and as complacent as could be. "Why, what are you laughing at, Jack?" I said, as I happened to look up. "I was only smiling," he whispered, "about my accident." "Smiling--at that!" I exclaimed. "Why, I should have thought you would have been horrified at the very thought of it." "So I should if I had been a coward over it, Joe Carstairs; but I wasn't--now was I?" "Coward! No," I said, "of course not. Here, fill my cup with water." We were sitting pretty close to the edge of our shelter, which really might have been termed a very shallow cave, some twenty feet above the level; and as I spoke I held out the tin pannikin towards Jack, for the heat had made me terribly thirsty. The next moment, though, something struck the tin mug and dashed it noisily out of my hand, while before I could recover from my astonishment, the doctor had dragged me backwards with one hand, giving Jack Penny a backhander on the chest with the other. "Arrows!" he whispered. "Danger! There are savages there below." CHAPTER NINETEEN. HOW WE WERE BESIEGED, AND I THOUGHT OF BIRNAM WOOD. I believe the doctor saved us from dangerous wounds, if not from death, for, as he threw himself flat, half a dozen arrows struck the roof of our shelter, and fell pattering down amongst us as we lay. "Here, quick! pass these packages forward," the doctor whispered; and we managed to get the blacks' loads between us and the enemy, making of the packages a sort of breastwork, which sheltered us while we hauled forward some pieces of stone, arrow after arrow reaching this extempore parapet, or coming over it to strike the roof and fall back. The natives with us understood our plans at once, and eagerly helped, pushing great pieces of stone up to us, so that in about a quarter of an hour we were well protected, and the question came uppermost in my mind whether it was not time to retaliate with a charge of shot upon the cowardly assailants, who had attacked us when we were so peacefully engaged. We had time, too, now to look round us and lament that our force was so much weakened by the absence of Jimmy and Aroo, who had gone to fetch more water. "They will be killed," I said, and I saw Ti-hi smile, for he had evidently understood my meaning. He shook his head too, and tried to make me understand, as I found afterwards, that Aroo would take care of himself; but we left off in a state of the greatest confusion. Being then well sheltered we contrived loopholes to watch for our enemies, and Ti-hi pointed out to me the place from whence the arrows were shot every time the enemy could see a hand. The spot he pointed to as that in which our assailants lay was where a patch of thick growth flourished among some stones, about fifty yards along the rocky pass in the direction in which we had come, and as I was intently watching the place to make out some sign of the enemy, and feeling doubtful whether the black was right, I saw a slight movement and the glint of a flying arrow, which struck the face of the rock a few feet above my head, and then fell by Jack Penny's hand. "Mind," I said, as he picked it up; "perhaps it is poisoned." Ti-hi was eagerly watching my face, and as I spoke he caught the arrow from Jack's hand, placed it against his arm, and then closed his eyes and pretended to be dead; but as quickly came to life again, as several more arrows struck the rock and fell harmlessly among us. These he gathered together all but one, whose point was broken by coming in contact with the rock, and that he threw away. After this he carefully strung the bow that he always, like his fellows, carried, and looked eagerly at the doctor, who was scanning the ground in front of us with his little double glass. "I don't like the look of things, my lads," he said in a low voice, and his countenance was very serious as he spoke. "I intended for ours to be a peaceable mission, but it seems as if we are to be forced into war with two men absent." "Shall we have to shoot 'em?" said Jack Penny excitedly. "I hope not," said the doctor, "for I should be sorry to shed the blood of the lowest savage; but we must fight in defence of our lives. We cannot afford to give those up, come what may." Ti-hi fitted an arrow to the string of his short, strong bow, and was about to draw it, but the doctor laid his hand upon him and checked him, to the savage warrior's great disgust. "No," said the doctor, "not until we are obliged; and then I shall try what a charge of small shot will do." We were not long in finding out that it was absolutely necessary to defend ourselves with vigour, for the arrows began to fall thickly-- thickly enough, indeed, to show us that there were more marksmen hidden among the trees than the size of the clump seemed to indicate from where we crouched. I was watching the patch of trees very intently when I heard a sharply drawn inspiration of breath, and turning I saw the doctor pulling an arrow from the flannel tunic he wore. "As doctors say, Joe," he whispered with a smile, "three inches more to the right and that would have been fatal." I don't know how I looked, but I felt pale, and winced a little, while the doctor took my hand. The force of habit made me snatch it away, for I thought he was going to feel my pulse. I fancied for the moment that it must be to see whether I was nervous, and the blood flushed to my cheeks now, and made me look defiant. "Why, Joe, my lad, what is it?" he said quietly. "Won't you shake hands?" "Oh! yes," I cried, placing mine in his, and he gave it a long, firm grip. "I ought," he said, after a pause, "to have said more about the troubles, like this one, which I might have known would arise, when we arranged to start; but somehow I had a sort of hope that we might make a peaceful journey, and not be called upon to shed blood. Joe, my lad, we shall have to fight for our lives." "And shoot down these people?" I said huskily. "If we do not, they will shoot us. Poor wretches, they probably do not know the power of our guns. We must give them the small shot first, and we may scare them off. Don't you fire, my lad; leave it to me." I nodded my head, and then our attention was taken up by the arrows that kept flying in, with such good aim that if we had exposed ourselves in the least the chances are that we should have been hit. The doctor was on one side of me, Jack Penny on the other, and my tall young friend I noticed had been laying some cartridges very methodically close to his hand, ready for action it seemed to me; but he had not spoken much, only looked very solemn as he lay upon his chest, kicking his legs up and sawing them slowly to and fro. "Are we going to have to fight, Joe Carstairs?" he whispered. "I'm afraid so," I replied. "Oh!" That was all for a few minutes, during which time the arrows kept coming in and striking the roof as before, to fall there with a tinkling sound, and be collected carefully by Ti-hi and his companions, all of whom watched us with glowing eyes, waiting apparently for the order to be given when they might reply to the shots of the enemy. "I say, Joe Carstairs," said Jack, giving me a touch with his long arm. "Yes; what is it?" I said peevishly, for his questions seemed to be a nuisance. "I don't look horribly frightened, do I?" "No," I said; "you look cool enough. Why?" "Because I feel in a horrid stew, just as I did when a lot of the black fellows carried me off. I was a little one then." "Were you ever a little one, Jack!" I said wonderingly. "Why, of course I was--a very little one. You don't suppose I was born with long legs like a colt, do you? The blacks came one day when father was away, and mother had gone to see after the cow, and after taking all the meal and bacon they went off, one of them tucking me under his arm, and I never made a sound, I was so frightened, for I was sure they were going to eat me. I feel something like I did then; but I say, Joe Carstairs, you're sure I don't show it?" "Sure! Yes," I said quickly. "If we have to shoot at these savages shall you take aim at them?" "All depends," said Jack coolly. "First of all, I shall fire in front of their bows like the man-o'-war's men do. If that don't stop 'em I shall fire at their legs, and if that don't do any good then I shall let 'em have it right full, for it'll be their own fault. That's my principle, Joe Carstairs; if a fellow lets me alone I never interfere with him, but if he begins at me I'm nasty. Here, you leave those arrows alone, and--well, what's the matter with you?" This was to Gyp, who was whining uneasily as if he scented danger, and wanted to run out. "Down, Gyp, down!" said his master; and the dog crouched lower, growling, though, now as a fresh arrow flashed in from another part. The doctor started and raised his gun to take aim at the spot from whence this shot had come, for one of the savages had climbed up and reached a ledge above where we were. In fact this man's attack made our position ten times more perilous than it was before. But the doctor did not fire, for Ti-hi, without waiting for orders, drew an arrow to its head, the bow-string gave a loud twang, and the next instant we saw a savage bound from the ledge where he had hidden and run across the intervening space, club in one hand, bow in the other, yelling furiously the while. The doctor was about to fire, and in the excitement of the moment I had my piece to my shoulder, but before he had come half-way the savage turned and staggered back, Ti-hi pointing triumphantly to an arrow sticking deep in the muscles of the man's shoulder. There was a loud yelling as the wounded savage rejoined his companions, and our own men set up a triumphant shout. "That's one to us," said Jack Penny drily. "I think I shall keep the score." The doctor looked at me just at this time and I looked back at him; and somehow I seemed to read in his eyes that he thought it would be the best plan to let the blacks fight out the battle with their bows and arrows, and I felt quite happy in my mind for the moment, since it seemed to me that we should get out of the difficulty of having to shed blood. But directly after I coloured with shame, for it seemed cowardly to want to do such work by deputy and to make these ignorant people fight our battle; while after all I was wrong, for the doctor was not thinking anything of the kind. In fact he knew that we would all have to fight in defence of our lives, and when a flight of about twenty arrows came whizzing and pattering over our heads and hurtled down upon the stony floor, I knew it too, and began to grow cool with the courage of desperation and prepared for the worst. "Here, Jack Penny," I whispered, "you'll have to fight; the savages mean mischief." "All right!" he replied in a slow cool drawling way, "I'm ready for them; but I don't know whether I can hit a man as he runs, unless I try to make myself believe he's a kangaroo." The yelling was continued by our enemies, and as far as I could tell it seemed to me that there must be at least thirty savages hiding amongst the rocks and trees, and all apparently thirsting for our blood. "It seems hard, doctor," I said bitterly. "They might leave us alone." "I'm afraid they will think that they would have done better in leaving us," said the doctor gloomily, "for I don't mean them to win the day if I can help it." I could not help staring at the doctor: his face looked so stern and strange till, catching my eye, he smiled in his old way, and held out his hand. "We shall beat them off, Joe," he said gently. "I would have avoided it if I could, but it has become a work of necessity, and we must fight for our lives. Be careful," he added sternly. "It is no time for trifling. Remember your father, and the mother who is waiting for you at home. Joe, my boy, it is a fight for life, and you must make every shot tell." For the moment I felt chilled with horror; and a sensation of dread seemed to paralyse me. Then came the reaction, with the thought that if I did not act like a man I should never see those I loved again. This, too, was supplemented, as it were, by that spirit of what the French call _camaraderie_, that spirit which makes one forget self; and thinking that I had to defend my two companions from the enemy I raised the barrel of my piece upon the low breastwork, ready to fire on the first enemy who should approach. "Look," said Ti-hi just then, for he was picking up scraps of our tongue; and following his pointing finger I made out the black bodies of several savages creeping to posts of vantage from whence they would be able to shoot. "Take care," said the doctor sternly, as an arrow nearly grazed my ear. "If one of those arrows gives ever so slight a wound it may prove fatal, my lad; don't expose yourself in the least. Ah! the game must begin in earnest," he said partly under his breath. As he spoke he took aim at a man who was climbing from rock to rock to gain the spot from which the other had been dislodged. Then there was a puff of white smoke, a roar that reverberated amongst the rocks, and the poor wretch seemed to drop out of sight. The doctor's face looked tight and drawn as he reloaded, and for a moment I felt horrified; but then, seeing a great brawny black fellow raise himself up to draw his bow and shoot at the part where Jack Penny was crouching, and each time seem to send his arrow more close to my companion, I felt suddenly as if an angry wave were sweeping over my spirit, and lay there scowling at the man. He rose up again, and there was a whizz and a crack that startled me. "I say," drawled Jack Penny, "mind what you're after. You'll hit some one directly." He said this with a strange solemnity of voice, and picking up the arrow he handed it to one of the blacks. "That thing went right through my hair, Joe Carstairs," he continued. "It's making me wild." I hesitated no longer, but as the great savage rose up once more I took a quick aim and fired just as he was drawing his bow. The smoke obscured my sight for a few moments, during which there was a furious yelling, and then, just as the thin bluish vapour was clearing off, there was another puff, and an echoing volley dying off in the distance, for Jack Penny had also fired. "I don't know whether I hit him," he answered; "but he was climbing up there like t'other chap was, and I can't see him now." In the excitement of the fight the terrible dread of injuring a fellow creature now seemed to have entirely passed away, and I watched one savage stealing from bush to bush, and from great stone to stone with an eagerness I could not have believed in till I found an opportunity of firing at him, just as he too had reached a dangerous place and had sent his first arrow close to my side. I fired and missed him, and the savage shouted defiance as my bullet struck the stones and raised a puff of dust. The next moment he had replied with a well-directed arrow that made me wince, it was so near my head. By this time I had reloaded and was taking aim again with feverish eagerness, when all at once a great stone crashed down from above and swept the savage from the ledge where he knelt. I looked on appalled as the man rolled headlong down in company with the mass of stone, and then lay motionless in the bottom of the little valley. "Who is it throwing stones?" drawled Jack slowly. "That was a big one, and it hit." "That could not have been an accident," said the doctor; "perhaps Aroo is up there." "I only hope he is," I cried; "but look, look! what's that?" I caught at the doctor's arm to draw his attention to what seemed to be a great thickly tufted bush which was coming up the little valley towards us. "Birnam wood is coming to Dunsinane," said the doctor loudly. "Is it?" said Jack Penny excitedly. "What for? Where? What do you mean?" "Look, look!" I cried, and I pointed to the moving bush. "Well, that's rum," said Jack, rubbing his nose with his finger. "Trees are alive, of course, but they can't walk, can they? I think there's some one shoving that along." "Why, of course there is," I said. "Don't fire unless you are obliged," exclaimed the doctor; "and whatever you do, take care. See how the arrows are coming." For they were pattering about us thickly, and the blacks on our side kept sending them back, but with what result we could not tell, for the savages kept closely within the cover. It was now drawing towards evening, and the sun seemed hotter than ever; the whole of the sultry ravine seemed to have become an oven, of which our cavern shelter was the furnace. In fact the heat was momentarily, from the sun's position, and in spite of its being so long past the meridian, growing more and more intense. Jack Penny had of late grown very silent, but now and then he turned his face towards me with his mouth open, panting with heat and thirst, as uneasily as his dog, whose tongue was hanging out looking white and dry. "Is there any water there?" said the doctor suddenly, as he paused in the act of reloading. "Not a drop," I said, dismally. "Oh! don't say that," groaned Jack Penny. "If I don't have some I shall die." "It will be evening soon," said the doctor in a husky voice, "and this terrible heat will be over. Keep on firing when you have a chance, my lads, but don't waste a shot. We must read them such a lesson that they will draw off and leave us alone." But as he spoke, so far from the loss they had sustained having damped the ardour of the enemy, they kept on sending in the arrows more thickly, but without doing us--thanks to our position and the breastwork--the slightest harm. The sun sank lower, but the rock where we were seemed to grow hotter, the air to be quivering all along the little valley, and as the terrible thirst increased so did our tortures seem to multiply from the fact that we could hear the heavy dull thunderous murmur away to our right, and we knew that it was cool, clear, delicious water, every drop of which would have given our dried-up mouths and parched throats relief. At one time I turned giddy and the whole scene before me seemed to be spinning round, while my head throbbed with the pain I suffered, my tongue all the time feeling like a piece of dry leather which clung to the roof of my mouth. And still the firing was going steadily on, each sending a bullet straight to its mark whenever opportunity occurred; but apparently without effect, for in the midst of all this firing and confusion of shouts from the enemy and defiant replies from our people, the arrows went to and fro as rapidly as ever. If it had not been for the sound of the falling water I believe I could have borne the thirst far better; but no matter how the fighting went, there was always the soft deep roar of the plashing water tantalising us with thoughts of its refreshing draughts and delicious coolness when laving our fevered heads. I grew so giddy at times that I felt that I should only waste my shot if I fired, and refrained, while, gaining experience and growing bolder by degrees, the savages aimed so that every shot became dangerous, for they sent them straight at a mass of rock before us some ten or a dozen yards, and this they struck and then glanced off, so that we were nearly hit three times running. Stones were set up at once upon our right as a protection, but this only saved us for a time. The savages had found out the way to touch us, and before many minutes had elapsed _ricochet_ shots were coming amongst as again. "I can hardly see them, Joe," whispered the doctor suddenly; "my eyes are dizzy with this awful thirst. We must have water if we are to live." He ceased speaking to catch me by the arm, and point to the bush that had been so long stationary in one place that I had forgotten it. "What's that, my lad?" he whispered; "is that bush moving, or are my eyes playing me false. It must be on the move. It is some trick. Fire at once and stop it, or we shall be taken in the flank." I raised my gun as I saw the bush moving slowly on towards us, now coming a yard or two and then stopping; but I was so giddy and confused that I lowered it again, unable to take aim. This took place again and again, and at last I lay there scanning as in a nightmare the coming of that great green bush. The doctor was watching with bloodshot eyes the enemy on his own side, Jack Penny was busy on the other, and the command of this treacherous advancing enemy was left to my gun, which seemed now to have become of enormous weight when I tried to raise it and take aim. "It's all a dream--it is fancy," I said to myself, as I tried to shade my eyes and steady my gaze; but as I said this the bush once more began to glide on, and the black patch I saw beneath it must, I felt, be the leg of the savage concealed behind. CHAPTER TWENTY. HOW JIMMY TURNED UP A TRUMP. Even then I could not shoot, but remained staring, helplessly fascinated for a few minutes by the coming danger. At last, though, I turned to Ti-hi, leaning back and touching him where he crouched, busily seizing upon the arrows that came in his way and sending them back. He crept up to me directly and I pointed to the bush. His eyes glistened, and bending forward he drew an arrow to the head, and was about to send it winging into the very centre of the bush when we suddenly became aware of some strange excitement amongst the savages, who undoubtedly now caught sight of the bush for the first time and sent a flight of arrows at it. The effect of this was that he who had been making use of it for a shield suddenly darted from behind it and made for our shelter. "Aroo, Aroo!" exclaimed the men with us, yelling with delight, while to cover his escape we all fired at the savages, who had come out of their concealment, but only to dart back again, for one after the other three large stones came bounding down the mountain side, scattering the enemy to cover, and the duel once more began, with our side strengthened by the presence of a brave fighting man, and refreshed, for Aroo had his water calabash slung from his shoulders, containing quite a couple of quarts, which were like nectar to us, parched and half-dying with thirst. Its effects were wonderful. The heat was still intense; but after the refreshing draught, small as it was, that we had imbibed, I seemed to see clearly, the giddy sensation passed off, and we were ready to meet the attack with something like fortitude. We could think now, too, of some plans for the future, whereas a quarter of an hour before there had seemed to be no future for us, nothing but a horrible death at our enemies' hands. Ti-hi contrived to make us understand now that as soon as the sun had gone down, and it was dark, he would lead us away to the river side and then along the gorge, so that by the next morning we could be far out of our enemies' reach, when they came expecting to find us in the cave. His communication was not easy to comprehend, but that this was what he meant there could be no doubt, for we all three read it in the same way. Encouraged then by this hope we waited impatiently for the going down of the sun, which was now slowly nearing the broad shoulder of a great hill. Another half-hour and it would have disappeared, when the valley would begin to fill with shadows, darkness--the tropic darkness--would set in at once, and then I knew we should have to lose no time in trying to escape. But we were not to get away without an attack from the enemy of a bolder nature than any they had yet ventured upon. For some little time the arrow shooting had slackened and we watched anxiously to see what it meant, for there was evidently a good deal of excitement amongst the enemy, who were running from bush to stone, and had we been so disposed we could easily have brought three or four down. But of course all we wished for was freedom from attack, and in the hope that they were somewhat disheartened, and were perhaps meditating retreat, we waited and withheld our fire. Our hopes were short-lived though, for it proved that they were only preparing for a more fierce onslaught, which was delivered at the end of a few minutes, some twenty savages bounding along the slope war-club in hand, two to fall disabled by a mass of stone that thundered down from above. We fired at the same moment and the advance was checked, the savages gathering together in a hesitating fashion, when _crash_, _crash_, another mass of rock which had been set at liberty far up the hillside came bounding down, gathering impetus and setting at liberty an avalanche of great stones, from which the savages now turned and fled for their lives, leaving the valley free to a single black figure, which came climbing down from far up the steep slope, waddy in hand; and on reaching the level advanced towards us in the fast darkening eve, looking coolly to right and left to see if any enemy was left, but without a single arrow being discharged. A minute later he was looking over our breastwork into the shallow cave, showing his teeth, which shone in the gloom as he exclaimed: "Black fellow dreffle hungry. Give Jimmy somefin eat. All gone now." CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. HOW WE RETREATED AND WERE CAUGHT IN A TROPIC STORM. Our black companion was quite right. The enemy had indeed gone, and the time had come for us to get beyond their reach, for all at once it seemed to grow dark, and we stood farther out of our shelter, glad to free our limbs from the cramping positions in which they had been for so long. The doctor handed to each of us some chips of dried meat, bidding us eat as we walked. The bearers were well provided, and starting at once, with Ti-hi to lead and Aroo to cover our retreat, we stepped lightly off. Our blacks knew well enough what was required of them now as to our baggage, and every package was taken from the breastwork, shouldered or placed upon the head, and, watchful and ready to use our arms, we soon left the scene of the fight behind. The New Guinea savage Ti-hi as we called him, that being the nearest approach I can get to his name, followed very much the course we had taken early in the day when we sought the waterfall, but left it a little to our left and struck the river some few hundred yards above, pausing for a few minutes for his men to take breath, and then pointing out the course he meant to take. It was a perilous-looking place, enough to make anyone shiver, and there was a murmur amongst the blacks as they looked down at what seemed to be a mere shelf or ledge of rock low down near the black hurrying water of the river, which seemed to be covered with flowing specks of gold as the brilliant stars were reflected from the smooth rushing stream. Where we were to descend the water seemed to be about thirty feet below, but the rocky side of the river bed ran sheer up quite fifty feet as far as we could make out in the darkness, and I did not wonder at the murmur we heard. But Ti-hi's voice rose directly, now pleading softly in his own tongue, now in tones of command, and the murmur trailed off into a few mutterings which resulted in the men beginning to descend. "They were grumbling about having to go down there, weren't they, Joe Carstairs," said Jack Penny in a whisper. "Yes," I said. "And 'nough to make 'em," he said. "I don't like it; even Gyp don't like it. Look at him, how he's got his tail between his legs. I say, can't we wait till daylight?" "And be shot by poisoned arrows, Penny?" said the doctor quietly. "Come: on with you! I'm sure you're not afraid?" "Afraid! What! of walking along there?" said Jack, contemptuously. "Not likely. Was I afraid when I hung over the waterfall?" "Not a bit, my lad; nor yet when you so bravely helped us to defend ourselves against the savages," said the doctor quietly. "Come along. I'll go first." The blacks were all on ahead save Aroo and Jimmy, who followed last, I being next to the doctor, and Jack Penny and his dog close behind me. We had to go in single file, for the ledge was not above a yard wide in places, and it was impossible to avoid a shiver of dread as we walked slowly along, assuming a confidence that we did not feel. The path rose and fell--rose and fell slightly in an undulating fashion, but it did not alter much in its width as we journeyed on for what must have been quite a mile, when we had to halt for a few minutes while the bearers readjusted their loads. And a weird party we looked as we stood upon that shelf of rock, with the perpendicular side of the gorge towering straight up black towards the sky, the summit showing plainly against the starry arch that spanned the river, and seemed to rest upon the other side of the rocky gorge fifty yards away. And there now, close to our feet, so close that we could have lain down and drunk had we been so disposed, rushed on towards the great fall the glassy gold-speckled water. I was thinking what an awful looking place it was, and wondering whether my father had ever passed this way, when Jack Penny made me jump by giving me a poke with the barrel of his gun. "Don't do that," I said angrily, for I felt that I might have slipped, and to have fallen into that swiftly gliding water meant being borne at headlong speed to the awful plunge down into the basin of foam into which I had looked that day. "Oh, all right!" whispered Jack. "I only wanted to tell you that it must be cramp." "What must be cramp?" I replied. "Don't speak so loud, and don't let the doctor hear you," whispered Jack. "I mean in one of my legs: it will keep waggling so and giving way at the knee." "Why, Jack!" I said. "No, no," he whispered hastily, "it ain't that. I ain't a bit afraid. It's cramp." "Well, if you are not afraid," I whispered back, "I am. I hope, Jack, I may never live to be in such an awful place again." "I say, Joe Carstairs, say that once more," whispered Jack excitedly. "I hope I may never be--" "No, no, I don't mean that. I mean the other," whispered Jack. "What, about being afraid?" I said. "Well, I'm not ashamed to own it. It may be cramp, Jack Penny, but I feel as if it is sheer fright." "Then that's what must be the matter with my leg," said Jack eagerly, "only don't let's tell the doctor." "Ready behind there?" said the latter just then. "Yes," I said, "quite ready;" and I passed the word to Jimmy and Aroo, who were close to me. "Let's get on then," said the doctor in a low voice. "I want to get out of this awful gorge." "Hooray!" whispered Jack Penny, giving me such a dig with his elbow that for the second time he nearly sent me off the rocky shelf. "Hooray! the doctor's frightened too, Joe Carstairs. I ain't ashamed to own it now." "Hist!" whispered the doctor then, and slightly raised as was his voice it seemed strangely loud, and went echoing along the side of the chasm. Going steadily on at once we found the shelf kept wonderfully the same in width, the only variation being that it dipped down close to the rushing water at times, and then curved up till we were fifteen or twenty feet above the stream. With the walls on either side of the river, though, it was different, for they gradually rose higher and higher till there was but a strip of starry sky above our heads, and our path then became so dark that but for the leading of the sure-footed blacks we could not have progressed, but must have come to a halt. I was wondering whether this gorge would end by opening out upon some plain, through its being but a gap or pass through a range of hills, but concluded that it would grow deeper and darker, and bring us face to face with a second waterfall, and I whispered to the doctor my opinion; but he did not agree with me. "No," he said, "the gorge is rising, of course, from the way in which the river rushes on, but there can be no waterfall this way or we should hear it. The noise of the one behind us comes humming along this rocky passage so plainly that we should hear another in the same way. But don't talk, my lad. Look to your footsteps and mind that we have no accident. Stop!" he exclaimed, then, "Halt!" I did not know why he called a halt just then in that narrow dangerous place, but it seemed that he heard a peculiar sound from behind, and directly after Aroo closed up, to say that the enemy were following us, for he had heard them talking as they came, the smooth walls of the rocks acting as a great speaking-tube and bearing the sounds along. "That's bad news, my lad," said the doctor, "but matters might be worse. This is a dangerous place, but it is likely to be far more dangerous for an attacking party than for the defenders. Our guns could keep any number of enemies at a distance, I should say. Better that they should attack us here than out in the open, where we should be easy marks for their arrows." "I do wish they'd leave us alone," said Jack Penny in an ill-used tone. "Nobody said anything to them; why can't they leave off?" "We'll argue out that point another time, Jack Penny," said the doctor. "Only let's get on now." "Oh, all right! I'm ready," he said, and once more our little party set forward, the doctor and I now taking the extreme rear, with the exception that we let Aroo act as a scout behind, to give warning of the enemy's near approach. And so we went on in the comparative darkness, the only sounds heard being the hissing of the swiftly rushing water as it swept on towards the fall, and the dull deep roar that came booming now loudly, now faintly, from where the river made its plunge. Twice over we made a halt and stood with levelled pieces ready to meet an attack, but they only proved to be false alarms, caused by our friends dislodging stones in the path, which fell with a hollow sullen plunge into the rushing water, producing a strange succession of sounds, as of footsteps beating the path behind us, so curiously were these repeated from the smooth face of the rock. _Hiss-hiss_, _rush-rush_ went the water, and when we paused again and again, so utterly solemn and distinct were the sounds made by the waterfall and the river that I fancied that our friend Aroo must have been deceived. "If the savages were pursuing us," I said, "we should have heard them by now." "Don't be too satisfied, my dear boy," said the doctor. "These people have a great deal of the animal in them, and when they have marked down their prey they are not likely to leave the track till the end." I did not like the sound of that word, "end." It was ominous, but I held my tongue. "As likely as not," continued the doctor, "the enemy are creeping cautiously along within a couple of hundred yards of where we stand, and--" "I say," cried Jack Penny eagerly, "it's rather cold standing about here; hadn't we better make haste on?" "Decidedly, Penny," said the doctor. "Forward!" "Yes, let's get forward," I said, and the doctor suddenly clapped his hand over my mouth and whispered: "Hush! Look there!" "I can't see anything," I said, after a long gaze in the direction by which we had come. "Can you see just dimly, close to where that big star makes the blur in the water, a light-coloured stone?" "Yes." "Watch it for a minute." I fixed my eyes upon the dimly-seen rock, just where quite a blaze of stars flecked the black water with their reflections, but for a time I saw nothing. I only made my eyes ache, and a strong desire came upon me to blink them very rapidly. Then all at once the stone seemed darker for a moment, and then darker again, as if a cloud had come between the glinting stars and the earth. It was so plain that a couple of the savages had glided by that stone that we felt it would be best to remain where we were for the present, awaiting the attack that we knew must follow. "We are prepared now," whispered the doctor, "and if we must fight it would be better to fight now than have to turn suddenly and meet an attack on our rear." The result was that we remained watching through the next painful hour, guns and bows ready for the first oncoming of the savages; but with terrible distinctness there was the washing sound of the river hissing past the rocks, and the rising and falling musical roar of the distant cascade--nothing more! Then another hour of silence in that awful chasm passed away, with the expectation of being attacked every moment keeping our nerves upon the stretch. How different it all seemed, what a change from the peaceful life at home! There I had led a happy boyish life, with the black for my companion; sometimes he would disappear to live amongst his tribe for a few weeks, but he always returned, and just after breakfast there would be his merry black face eagerly watching for my coming to go with him to "kedge fis" in some fresh creek or water-hole that he had discovered; to hunt out wallabies or some other of the hopping kangaroo family peculiar to the land. Jimmy had always some fresh expedition on the way, upon which we started with boy-like eagerness. But now all at once, consequent upon my determination, my course of life had been changed, and it seemed that, young as I was, all the work that fell to my hand was man's work. Yesterday I was a boy, now I was a man. That was my rather conceited way of looking upon matters then, and there was some ground for my assumption of manliness; but if excuse be needed let me say in my defence that I was suddenly cast into this career of dangerous adventure, and I was very young. Some such musings as the above, mixed up with recollections of my peaceful bed-room at home, and the gentle face that bent over me to kiss me when I was half asleep, were busy in my brain, when the doctor said softly: "This seems to be such a strong place, Joe, my lad, that I hardly like leaving it; but we must get on. Go forward and start them. Tell them to be as quiet as possible." His words seemed full of relief, and I started round to obey him, glad to have an end to the terrible inaction, when, to my utter astonishment, I found Jack Penny, who was behind me, sitting with his legs dangling over the edge of the rocky shelf, and apparently within an inch or two of the water, while his shoulders were propped against the side of the chasm; his rifle was in his lap and his chin buried in his breast--fast asleep! "Jack!" I whispered softly, utterly astounded that any one could sleep at a time like that; but he did not hear me. "Jack!" I said again, and laid my hand upon his shoulder, but without result. "Jack!" I said, giving him an impatient shove. "Get out!" he mumbled softly; and Gyp, whom I had not seen before, resented this interference with his master by uttering a low growl. "Down, Gyp!" I said. "Here, Jack; wake up!" I whispered, and this time I gave him a kick in the leg. "I'll give you such a wunner, if you don't be quiet!" he growled. "Let me alone, will yer!" "Jack! be quiet!" I whispered, with my lips to his ear. "The savages are close at hand!" "Who cares for the savages?" he grumbled, yawning fearfully. "Oh! I am so sleepy. I say, I wish you'd be quiet!" "Wake up!" I said, shaking him; and Gyp growled again. "Shan't!" very decidedly. "Wake up directly, Jack! Jack Penny, wake up!" "Shan't! Get out!" "Hist!" whispered the doctor from behind me. "Wake up!" I said again, going down on one knee so that I could whisper to him. _Snore_! It was a very decided one, and when I laid my gun down and gave a tug at him, it was like pulling at something long and limp, say a big bolster, that gave way everywhere, till in my impatience I doubled my fist and, quite in a rage, gave him, as his head fell back, a smart rap on the nose. I had previously held him by the ears and tapped the back of his head against the rock without the slightest effect; but this tap on the nose was electric in its way, for Jack sprang up, letting his gun fall, threw himself into a fighting attitude, and struck out at me. But he missed me, for when his gun fell it would have glided over the edge of the rocky shelf into the stream if I had not suddenly stooped down and caught it, the result being that Jack's fierce blow went right over my head, while when I rose upright he was wide awake. "I say," he said coolly, "have I been asleep?" "Asleep! yes," I whispered hastily. "Here, come along; we are to get forward. How could you sleep?" "Oh, I don't know!" he said. "I only just closed my eyes. Why, here's somebody else asleep!" Sure enough Jimmy was curled up close to the rock, with his hands tucked under his arms, his waddy in one fist, a hatchet in the other. Jack Penny was in so sour a temper at having been awakened from sleep, and in so rude a way, that he swung one of his long legs back, and then sent it forward. "Don't kick him!" I said hastily; but I was too late, for the black received the blow from Jack's foot right in the ribs, and starting up with his teeth grinding together, he struck a tremendous blow with his waddy, fortunately at the rock, which sent forth such an echoing report through the gully that the doctor came hurriedly to our side. "What is it?" he said in an anxious whisper. "Big bunyip hit Jimmy rib; kick, bangum, bangum!" cried the black furiously. "Who kick black fellow? Bash um head um! Yah!" He finished his rapidly uttered address by striking a warlike attitude. "It's all right now," I whispered to the doctor. "Come along, Jimmy;" and taking the black's arm I pushed him on before me, growling like an angry dog. "All right!" the doctor said. "Yes, for our pursuers! Get on as quickly as you can." I hurried on now to the front, giving Ti-hi his order to proceed, and then signing to the bearers to go on, I was getting back past them along the narrow path, and had just got by Jimmy and reached Jack Penny, when there was a flash, and a rattling echoing report as of twenty rifles from where the doctor was keeping guard. I knew that the danger must be imminent or he would not have fired, and passing Jack Penny, who was standing ready, rifle in hand, I reached the doctor just as there was another flash and roar echoing along the gully. "That's right, my lad!" he whispered; "be ready to fire if you see them coming while I reload." I knelt down, resting my elbow on my knee, and found it hard work to keep the piece steady as I waited to see if the savages were coming on. I had not long to wait before I distinctly saw a couple of dimly-seen figures against the surface of the starlit water. I fired directly, and then again, rising afterwards to my feet to reload. "Now, back as you load, quickly!" whispered the doctor, and he caught Aroo by the shoulder and drew him back as half a dozen arrows came pattering against the rock over our head and fell at our feet. "Back!" whispered the doctor quietly; "we must keep up a running fight." "Here, hold hard a minute!" said Jack Penny aloud; "I must have a shot at 'em first." "No: wait!" cried the doctor. "Your turn will come." Jack Penny uttered a low growl in his deep bass voice, which was answered by Gyp, who was getting much excited, and had to be patted and restrained by angry orders to lie down before he would consent to follow his master in the hurried retreat we made to where Ti-hi and his men were waiting for us. Here we found the shelf had widened somewhat, and some pieces of rock that had fallen offered shelter from an attack. As we joined them the men, who had laid down their loads, prepared to discharge a volley of arrows, but they were stopped, as it would have been so much waste. For the next six hours, till the stars began to pale, ours was one continuous retreat before the enemy, who seemed to grow bolder each time we gave way and hurried along the edge of the river to a fresh halting-place. We fired very seldom, for it was only waste of ammunition, and the darkness was so great that though they often sent a volley of arrows amongst us, not one of our party was hurt. It was a fevered and exciting time, but fortunately we were not called upon to suffer as we had during the attack upon the cave. Then we were maddened almost by the heat and thirst. Now we had ample draughts of cool refreshing water to fly to from time to time, or to bathe our temples where the shelf was low. The savages made no attempts at concealing their presence now, and we could hear a loud buzz of excited voices constantly in our rear, but still they did not pursue us right home, but made rushes that kept us in a constant state of excitement and, I may say, dread. "Do you think they will get tired of this soon, doctor?" I said, just at daybreak, when I found the doctor looking at me in a strange and haggard way. "I can't say, my lad," he whispered back. "We must hope for the best." Just then Ti-hi came from the front to sign to us to hurry on, and following him we found that he had hit upon a place where there was some hope of our being able to hold our own for a time. It was extremely fortunate, for the coming day would make us an easy mark, the pale-grey light that was stealing down having resulted in several arrows coming dangerously near; and though there were equal advantages for us in the bodies of our enemies becoming easier to see, we were not eager to destroy life, our object, as I have before said, being to escape. We followed Ti-hi, to find that the narrow shelf slowly rose now higher and higher, till at the end of a couple of hundred yards it gained its highest point of some five-and-twenty feet above the river; while to add to the advantage of our position, the rock above the path stretched over it like the commencement of some Titan's arch, that had been intended to bridge the stream, one that had either never been finished, or had crumbled and fallen away. In support of this last fanciful idea there were plenty of loose rocks and splinters of stones that had fallen from above, mingled with others whose rounded shapes showed that they must have been ground together by the action of water. I did not think of that at the time, though I had good reason to understand it later on. The position was admirable, the ledge widening out considerably; we were safe from dropping arrows, and we had only to construct a strong breastwork, some five feet long, to protect us from attack by the enemy. In fact in five minutes or so we were comparatively safe; in ten minutes or a quarter of an hour our breastwork was so strengthened that we began to breathe freely. By this time it was morning, but instead of its continuing to grow light down in the ravine, whose walls towered up on either side, the gathering light seemed suddenly to begin to fade away. It grew more obscure. The soft cool refreshing morning breeze died away, to give place to a curious sultry heat. The silence, save the rushing of the river, was profound, and it seemed at last as if it was to be totally dark. "What does this mean, doctor?" I said, as I glanced round and noted that the sombre reflection from the walls of the chasm gave the faces of my companions a ghastly and peculiar look. "A storm, my lad," he said quietly. "Look how discoloured the water seems. There has been a storm somewhere up in the mountains, I suppose, and now it is coming here." "Well, we are in shelter," I said, "and better off than our enemies." "What difference does that make?" grumbled Jack Penny in ill-used tones. "They can't get wet through, for they don't wear hardly any clothes. But, I say, ain't it time we had our breakfast? I've given up my night's rest, but I must have something to eat." "Quick! look out, my lads! look out!" cried the doctor, as there was a loud yelling noise from the savages, whom we could plainly see now coming along the narrow path, while almost simultaneously there was a vivid flash of lightning that seemed to blind us for the time, and then a deafening roar of thunder, followed so closely by others that it was like one rolling, incessant peal. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. HOW HIGH THE WATER CAME. The coming of the storm checked the furious onslaught of our black enemies, but it was only for the moment. Setting thunder, lightning, and the deluging rain at defiance, they came rushing on, shouting and yelling furiously, and we were about to draw trigger, reluctantly enough, but in sheer desperation, when a volley of arrows checked them for a time, while, resuming what seemed to be a favourite means of warring upon his enemies, Jimmy commenced hurling masses of stone at the coming foes. Checked as they were, though, it was only for a while; and we were compelled to fire again and again, with fresh assailants taking the places of those who fell. The thunder pealed so that the reports of our pieces seemed feeble, more like the crack of a cart-whip, and their flashes were as sparks compared with the blinding lightning, which darted and quivered in the gorge, at times seeming to lick the walls, at others plunging into the rushing, seething stream, into which the rain poured in very cataracts down the rocky sides. We should have ceased in very awe of the terrible battle of the elements, but in self-defence we were driven to fight hard and repel the continued attacks of the enemy, who, growing more enraged at our resistance, came on once more in a determined fashion, as if meaning this time to sweep us before them into the rushing stream. But for the bravery of our black companions our efforts would have been useless, and we should certainly have been driven back by the fierce savages, who advanced up the path, sprang upon the stone breastwork, and would have dashed down upon us regardless of our firearms, but Ti-hi and Aroo cast aside their bows at this final onslaught, and used their war-clubs in the most gallant manner. Jimmy, too, seemed to be transformed into as brave a black warrior as ever fought; and it was the gallant resistance offered that checked the enemy and made them recoil. The falling back of the foremost men, who were beaten and stunned by the blows they had received, drove their companions to make a temporary retreat, and enabled us to reload; but ere we could seem to get breath, one who appeared to be a chief rallied them, and two abreast, all that the path would allow, they came charging up towards us once again. Then there was a dead pause as the thunder crashed overhead once more, and then seemed to be continued in a strange rushing sound, which apparently paralysed the attacking party, who hesitated, stopped short about a third of the way up the narrow slope that led to our little fort, and then with a shriek of dismay turned and began to retreat. I stared after them, wondering that they should give way just at a time when a bold attack would probably have ended in our destruction; but I could make out nothing, only that the noise of the thunder still seemed to continue and grow into a sound like a fierce rush. But this was nothing new: the thunder had been going on before, and that and the blinding lightning the enemy had braved. Our defence had had no effect upon them, save to make them attack more fiercely. And yet they were now in full retreat, falling over each other in their haste, and we saw two thrust into the swift river. "Yah, ah!--big bunyip water, water!" roared Jimmy just then, clapping me on the shoulder; and, turning sharply, I saw the meaning of the prolongation of the thunder, for a great wave, at least ten feet high, ruddy, foaming, and full of tossing branches, came rushing down the gorge, as if in chase of our enemies, and before I had more than time to realise the danger, the water had leaped by us, swelling almost to our place of refuge, and where, a minute before, there had been a rocky shelf--the path along which we had come--there was now the furious torrent tearing along at racing speed. I turned aghast to the doctor, and then made as if to run, expecting that the next moment we should be swept away; but he caught me by the arm with a grip like iron. "Stand still," he roared, with his lips to my ear. "The storm--high up the mountains--flood--the gorge." Just then there was another crashing peal of thunder, close upon a flash of lightning, and the hissing rain ceased as if by magic, while the sky began to grow lighter. The dull boom of the tremendous wave had passed too, but the river hissed and roared as it tore along beneath our feet, and it was plain to see that it was rising higher still. The noise was not so great though, now, that we could not talk, and after recovering from the appalling shock of the new danger we had time to look around. Our first thought was of our enemies, and we gazed excitedly down the gorge and then at each other, Jack Penny shuddering and turning away his head, while I felt a cold chill of horror as I fully realised the fact that they had been completely swept away. There could not be a moment's doubt of that, for the ware spread from rocky wall to rocky wall, and dashed along at frightful speed. We had only escaped a similar fate through being on the summit, so to speak, of the rocky path; but though for the moment safe, we could not tell for how long; while on taking a hasty glance at our position it was this: overhead the shelving rock quite impassable; to left, to right, and in front, the swollen, rushing torrent. The doctor stood looking down at the water for a few moments, and then turned to me. "How high above the surface of the water were we, do you think, when we came here?" "I should say about twenty-five feet?" "Why, we ain't four foot above it now; and--look there! it's a rising fast. I say, Joe Carstairs, if I'd known we were going to be drowned I wouldn't have come." "Are you sure it is rising?" said the doctor, bending down to examine the level--an example I followed--to see crack and crevice gradually fill and point after point covered by the seething water, which crept up slowly and insidiously higher and higher even as we watched. "Yes," said the doctor, rising to his feet and gazing calmly round, as if to see whether there was any loophole left for escape; "yes, the water is rising fast; there can be no doubt of that." Just then Gyp, who had been fierce and angry, snapping and barking furiously at the savages each time they charged, suddenly threw up his head and uttered a dismal howl. "Here, you hold your noise," cried Jack Penny. "You don't hear us holler, do you? Lie down!" The dog howled softly and crouched at his master's feet, while Jack began to take off his clothes in a very slow and leisurely way. First he pulled off his boots, then his stockings, which he tucked methodically, along with his garters, inside his boots. This done he took off his jacket, folded it carefully, and his shirt followed, to be smoothed and folded and laid upon the jacket. And now, for the first time I thoroughly realised how excessively thin poor Jack Penny was, and the reason why he so often had a pain in his back. It seemed a strange time: after passing through such a series of dangers, after escaping by so little from being swept away, and while in terrible danger from the swiftly-rising waters, but I could not help it--Jack's aspect as he sat there coolly, very coolly, clothed in his trousers alone, was so ludicrous that I burst out laughing, when Jimmy joined in, and began to dance with delight. "What are you larfin at?" said Jack, half vexed at my mirth. "At you," I said. "Why, what are you going to do?" "Do!" he said. "Why, swim for it. You don't suppose I'm going to try in my clothes?" My mirth died out as swiftly as it came, for the doctor laid his hand upon my arm and pressed it silently, to call my attention to our black followers, who were laying their bows and arrows regularly in company with their waddies, each man looking very stern and grave. They showed no fear, they raised no wild cry; they only seemed to be preparing for what was inevitable; and as I saw Ti-hi bend over and touch the water easily with his hand, and then rise up and look round at his companions, saying a few words in their tongue, the chill of horror came back once more, for I knew that the group of savages felt that their time had come, and that they were sitting there patiently waiting for the end. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. WE AWAIT OUR FATE. I glanced from the blacks to the doctor, to see that he was intently gazing up the gorge where the rushing water came seething down, and I read in his face that he could not see the slightest hope. I looked at Jack Penny, who was deeply intent upon a little blue anchor that some bush shepherd had tattooed upon his thin white arm. Then I turned to Jimmy, whose quick dark eyes were busy inspecting his toes, those on the right foot having hold of his war-club, which he was holding out for Gyp to smell. He alone of the party did not seem to realise the fact that the end was so near. "Can we do anything, doctor?" I said at last in a low awe-stricken voice. He gazed at me tenderly and held out his hand to press mine, when I laid it in his grasp. "No, my lad," he said, "nothing. I have tried mentally to see a way out of our peril, but I can see none. Unless the water sinks we are lost! Joe, my lad, you must act like a man!" "I'll try, doctor," I said in a choking voice; and as I spoke, once more there seemed to rise up before me our quiet peaceful home near Sydney, with its verandah and flowers and the simply furnished pretty rooms, in one of which sat my mother, waiting for tidings of her husband and son. I could not help it, but clasped my hands together uttering a despairing cry. For it seemed so hard to give up hope when so young and full of health and strength. Even if it had been amidst the roar and turmoil of the storm it would not have seemed so bad, or when the great flood wave came down; but now, in these calm cool moments, when there was nothing to excite, nothing to stir the blood, and, above all, just when the sky was of a dazzling blue, with a few silvery clouds floating away in the rear of the storm, while the sun shone down gloriously, it seemed too hard to bear. I gazed eagerly at the water, to see that it was nearly a foot higher, and then I joined the doctor in searching the rock with my eyes for a place where we might find foothold and clamber beyond the reach of the rushing torrent; but no, there seemed no spot where even a bird could climb, and in despair I too began to strip off some of my clothes. "Are you going to try to swim?" said the doctor gravely. I nodded. "That's right," he said. "I shall do the same. We might reach some ledge lower down." He said that word _might_ with a slow solemn emphasis that made me shudder, for I knew he felt that it was hopeless; but all the same he granted that it was our duty to try. The doctor now bent down over the water, and I could see that it was rising faster than ever. All at once Jimmy seemed to rouse himself, throwing up his waddy with his foot and catching it in his hand. "No water go down," he said. "Mass Joe, Mass Jack, doctor, an all a let get up higher; no get wet. Top along get drown, die, and bunyip pull um down an eat um!" "I'm afraid escape is impossible, Jimmy," I said sadly. "No know what um say!" cried the black impatiently. "Can't get away," I said. "No get way! Waitum, waitum! Jimmy--Jimmy see!" He went to the edge of the shelf and dipped one foot in the water, then the other, worked his toes about, and then, after a contemptuous look at the blacks, who were calmly awaiting their fate, he looked up at the face of the rock beyond the curving over abutment, and, reaching up as high as he could, began to climb. It did not seem to occur to him at first that if he were able to escape no one else would be, and he tried twice with a wonderful display of activity, which resulted merely in his slipping back. Then he tried elsewhere in two places, but with the same result, and after a few more trials he came to me and stood rubbing the back of his head, as if puzzled at his being so helpless and beaten at every turn. "Get much, too much water, Mass Joe!" he said. "What um going to do?" I shook my head sadly, and went to where the doctor was watching the progress of the rushing river as it rose inch by inch--cracks and points of rock that we had before noticed disappearing entirely, till the flowing earth-stained surface was but a few inches below the ledge where we were grouped, waiting for the time when we should be swept away. In spite of the knowledge that at most in an hour the ledge would be covered I could not help watching the rushing stream as it dashed along. It was plain enough to me now why the sides of the gorge were so smooth and regular, for the action of the water must have been going on like this for many ages after every storm, and, laden as the waters were with masses of wood and stone, with pebbles and sand, the scouring of the rocks must have been incessant. Then my thoughts came back to our horrible position, and I looked round in despair, but only to be shamed out of any frantic display of grief by the stoical calmness with which all seemed to be preparing to meet their fate. Still the water rose steadily higher and higher inch by inch, and I could see that in a very few minutes it would be over the ledge. I was noting, too, that now it was so near the end, my companions seemed averse to speaking to me or each other, but were evidently moody and thoughtful; all but Jimmy, who seemed to be getting excited, and yet not much alarmed. I had gone to the extreme edge of the ledge, where the water nearly lapped my feet, and gazing straight up the gorge at the sunlit waters, kept backing slowly up the slope, driven away as the river rose, when the black came to me and touched my shoulder. "Poor black fellow there going die, Mass Joe. Not die yet while: Jimmy not go die till fin' um fader. Lot o' time; Jimmy not ready die--lot o' time!" "But how are we to get away, Jimmy? How are we to escape?" "Black fellow hab big tink," he replied. "Much big tink and find um way. Great tupid go die when quite well, tank you, Mass Joe. Jimmy black fellow won't die yet? Mass Joe hab big swim 'long o' Jimmy. Swim much fass all down a water. Won't die, oh no! Oh no!" There was so much hope and confidence in the black's manner and his broken English that I felt my heart give a great throb; but a sight of the calm resignation of my companions damped me again, till Jimmy once more spoke: "Mass Joe take off closums. Put long gun up in corner; come and fetch um when no water. Big swim!" Many had been the times when Jimmy and I had dashed into the river and swum about by the hour together; why not then now try to save our lives in spite of the roughness of the torrent and the horrors of the great fall I knew, too, that the fall must be at least two or three miles away, and there was always the possibility of our getting into some eddy and struggling out. My spirits rose then at these thoughts, and I rapidly threw off part of my clothes, placing my gun and hatchet with the big knife, all tied together, in a niche of the rock, where their weight and the shelter might save them from being washed away. As I did all this I saw the doctor look up sadly, but only to lower his head again till his chin rested upon his breast; while Jack Penny stared, and drew his knees up to his chin, embracing his legs and nodding his head sagely, as if he quite approved of what I was doing. The only individual who made any active demonstration was Gyp, who jumped up and came to me wagging his tail and uttering a sharp bark or two. Then he ran to the water, snuffed at it, lapped a little, and threw up his head again, barking and splashing in it a little as he ran in breast-high and came back, as if intimating that he was ready at any moment for a swim. The doctor looked up now, and a change seemed to have come over him, for he rose from where he had been seated and took my hand. "Quite right, my lad," he said; "one must never say despair. There's a ledge there higher up where we will place the ammunition. Let's keep that dry if we can. It may not be touched by the water; even if we have to swim for our lives the guns won't hurt--that is, if they are not washed away." It was as if he had prepared himself for the worst, and was now going to make strenuous efforts to save himself and his friends, after we had taken such precautions as we could about our stores. Jimmy grinned and helped readily to place the various articles likely to be damaged by water as high as we could on ledges and blocks of stone, though as I did all this it was with the feeling that we were never likely to see the things again. Still it was like doing one's duty, and I felt that then, of all times, was the hour for that. So we worked on, with many a furtive glance at the water, which kept on encroaching till it began to lap the feet of our black companions. But they did not stir; they remained with their positions unaltered, and still the water advanced, till the highest point of the ledge was covered, and Gyp began whining and paddling about, asking us, as it were, with his intelligent eyes, whether we did not mean to start. "Hi! Gyp, Gyp!" shouted Jimmy just then; "up along, boy; up along!" and he patted the top of one of the stones that we had used for a breastwork. The dog leaped up directly, placing himself three feet above the flood, and stood barking loudly. "Yes, we can stand up there for a while," said the doctor, "and that will prolong the struggle a bit. Here, come up higher!" he cried, making signs to our black companions, who after a time came unwillingly from their lower position, splashing mournfully through the water, but evidently unwilling even then to disobey their white leader. They grouped themselves with us close up to the breastwork, where we stood with the water rising still higher, and then all at once I felt that we must swim, for a fresh wave, the result probably of some portion of the flood that had been dammed up higher on the river course, swept upon us right to our lips, and but for the strength of our stone breastwork we must have been borne away. As it was, we were standing by it, some on either side, and all clinging together. We withstood the heavy wrench that the water seemed to give, and held on, the only one who lost his footing being Jack Penny, who was dragged back by the doctor as the wave passed on. "Enough to pull your arms out of the socket," whined Jack dolefully. "I say, please don't do it again. I'd rather have to swim." Higher and higher came the water, icily cold and numbing. The wave that passed was succeeded by another, but that only reached to our waists, and when this had gone by there was the old slow rising of the flood as before till it was as high as our knees. Then by degrees it crept on and on till I was standing with it reaching my hips. A fearful silence now ensued, and the thought came upon me that when the final struggle was at hand we should be so clasped together that swimming would be impossible and we must all be drowned. And now, once more, with the water rising steadily, the old stunned helpless feeling began to creep over me, and I began to think of home in a dull heavy manner, of the happy days when I had hardly a care, and perhaps a few regrets were mixed with it all; but somehow I did not feel as if I repented of coming, save when I thought that my mother would have two sorrows now when she came to know of her loss. Then everything seemed to be numbed; my limbs began to feel helpless, and my thoughts moved sluggishly, and in a half dreamy fashion I stood there pressed against, the rock holding tightly by the doctor on one side, by Jimmy on the other, and in another minute I knew that the rising water would be at my lips. I remember giving a curious gasp as if my breath was going, and in imagination I recalled my sensations when, during a bathing expedition, I went down twice before Jimmy swam to my help and held me up. The water had not touched my lips--it was only at my chest, but I fancied I felt it bubbling in my nostrils and strangling me; I seemed to hear it thundering in my ears; there was the old pain at the back of my neck, and I struggled to get my hands free to beat the water like a drowning dog, but they were tightly held by my companions, how tightly probably they never knew. Then I remember that my head suddenly seemed to grow clear, and I was repeating to myself the words of a familiar old prayer when my eyes fell upon the surface of the water, and I felt as if I could not breathe. The next minute Gyp was barking furiously, as he stood upon his hind legs resting his paws upon his master's shoulders, and Jimmy gave a loud shout. "All a water run away, juss fass now," and as he spoke it fell a couple of inches, then a couple more, so swiftly, indeed, that the terrible pressure that held us tightly against the stones was taken off pound by pound, and before we could realise the truth the water was at my knees. Ten minutes later it was at my feet, and before half an hour had passed we were standing in the glorious sunshine with the rocky ledge drying fast, while the river, minute by minute, was going down, so that we felt sure if no storm came to renew the flood it would be at its old level in a couple of hours' time. We were dripping and numbed by the icy water; but in that fierce sunshine it was wonderful how soon our wrung-out garments dried; and warmth was rapidly restored to our limbs by rocks that soon grew heated in the torrid rays. "Big bunyip got no more water. All gone dis time," said Jimmy calmly. "Poor black fellows tink go die. No die Jimmy. Lots a do find um fader all over big country. Water all gone, Jimmy cunning--artful, not mean die dis time. Bunyip not got 'nuff water. Give Jimmy something eat. Ready eat half sheep and damper. Give Jimmy some eat." We all wanted something to eat, and eagerly set to work, but soaking damper was not a very sumptuous repast; still we feasted as eagerly as if it had been the most delicious food, and all the time the water kept going down. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. HOW THE DOCTOR TOOK ME IN HAND. It is surprising how elastic the mind is in young people, and my experience has shown me that there is a great deal of resemblance between the minds of savages and those of the young. In this case we had all been, I may say, in a state of the most terrible despair one hour. The next, our black companions were laughing and chattering over their wet damper, and Jimmy was hopping about in the highest of glee, while I must confess to a singular feeling of exhilaration which I showed in company with Jack Penny, who, after resuming his garments, seemed to have been seized with the idea that the proper thing to do was to go round from one to another administering friendly slaps on the shoulder accompanied by nods and smiles. I used to wish that Jack Penny would not smile, for the effect upon his smooth boyish countenance was to make him look idiotic. When the doctor smiled there was a grave kindly benevolent look in his fine heavily-bearded massive face. When Jimmy smiled it was in a wholesale fashion, which gave you an opportunity of counting his teeth from the incisors right back to those known as wisdom-teeth at the angles of his jaws. He always smiled with all his might and made me think of the man who said he admired a crocodile because it had such a nice open countenance. Jimmy had a nice open countenance and a large mouth; but it in no respect resembled a crocodile's. His regular teeth were white with a china whiteness, more than that of ivory, and there was a genuine good-tempered look about his features which even the distortion produced by anger did not take away. It was only the rather comic grotesqueness seen sometimes in the face of a little child when he is what his mother calls a naughty boy, and distends his mouth and closes his eyes for a genuine howl. But Jack Penny had a smile of his own, a weak inane sickly smile that irritated instead of pleasing you, and made you always feel as if you would like to punch his head for being such a fool, when all the time he was not a fool at all, but a thoroughly good-hearted, brave, and clever fellow--true as steel--steel of the very elastic watch-spring kind, for the way in which he bent was terrible to see. So Jack Penny went about smiling and slapping people's backs till it was time to go, and we all watched the cessation of the flood with eagerness. The doctor, in talking, said that it was evident that this gorge ran right up into quite a mountainous region acting as a drain to perhaps a score of valleys which had been flooded by the sudden storm, and that this adventure had given us as true an idea of the nature of the interior we were about to visit as if we had studied a map. Down went the water more and more swiftly till, as I was saying to the doctor how grand it must have been to see the flood rolling over the great fall, we saw that the rocky ledge along which we had come and that on the other side of our little haven of safety were bare and drying up, being washed perfectly clean and not showing so much as a trace of mud. "Let us get on at once," the doctor said; "this is no road for a traveller to choose, for the first storm will again make it a death-trap." So here we were rescued, and we started at once, every one carefully avoiding the slightest reference to the fate of our pursuers, while in the broad light of day, in place of looking terrible, the chasm was simply grand. The cool rolling water seemed to bring with it a soft sweet breeze that made us feel elastic, and refreshed us as we trudged along at an ordinary rate, for there was no fear now of pursuit. So with one or two halts we walked on all day till I felt eager to get out from between the prison-like walls to where the trees were waving, and we could hear the voices of the birds. Here there was nothing but stone, stone as high as we could see. It was a great drawback our not being able to converse with the bearers, but we amended this a little every hour, for Ti-hi struggled hard to make us understand how much he knew about the place and how he knew that there were such floods as this from time to time. We managed to learn from him, too, that we should not escape from the gorge that night, and to our dismay we had to encamp on a broad shelf when the sun went down; but the night proved to be clear and calm, and morning broke without any adventure to disturb our much-needed rest. The gorge had been widening out, though, a great deal on the previous evening, and by noon next day, when we paused for a rest after a long tramp over constantly-rising ground, we were beyond risk from any such storm as that which had nearly been our destruction, but as we rested amid some bushes beside what was a mere gurgling stream, one of several into which the river had branched, Ti-hi contrived to make us understand that we were not in safety, for there were people here who were ready to fight and kill, according to his words and pantomimic action, which Jimmy took upon himself to explain. For days and days we journeyed on finding abundance of food in the river and on its banks by means of gun and hook and line. The blacks were clever, too, at finding for us roots and fruit, with tender shoots of some kind of grassy plant that had a sweet taste, pleasantly acid as well, bunches of which Jimmy loved to stick behind him in his waistband so that it hung down like a bushy green tail that diminished as he walked, for he kept drawing upon it till it all was gone. Now and then, too, we came upon the great pale-green broad leaves of a banana or plantain, which was a perfect treasure. Jimmy was generally the first to find these, for he was possessed of a fine insight into what was good for food. "Regular fellow for the pot," Jack Penny said one day as Jimmy set up one of his loud whoops and started off at a run. This was the first time we found a plantain, and in answer to Jimmy's _cooey_ we followed and found him hauling himself up by the large leaf-stalks, to where, thirty feet above the bottom, hung, like a brobdignagian bunch of elongated grapes, a monstrous cluster of yellow plantains. "I say, they ain't good to eat, are they?" said Jack, as Jimmy began hacking through the curved stalk. "Yup, yup! hyi, hyi!" shouted Jimmy, tearing away so vigorously at the great bunch that it did not occur to him that he was proceeding in a manner generally accredited to the Irishman who sawed off a branch, cutting between himself and the tree. The first knowledge he, and for the matter of fact we, had of his mistake, was seeing him and the bunch of bananas, weighing about a hundredweight, come crashing down amongst the undergrowth, out of a tangle of which, and the huge leaves of the plantain tree, we had to help our black companion, whose first motion was to save the fruit. This done he began to examine himself to see how much he was hurt, and ended by seizing my axe and bounding back into the jungle, to hew and hack at the tree till we called him back. "Big bunyip tree! Fro black fellow down," he cried furiously. "Got um bana, though!" he exclaimed triumphantly, and turning to the big bunch he began to separate it into small ones, giving us each a portion to carry. "I say, what's these?" said Jack Penny, handling his bunch with a look of disgust. "Bananas," I said. "Splendid fruit food." "How do you know?" said Jack sourly. "There's none in your garden at home." "My father has often told me about them," I replied. "They are rich and nutritious, and--let's try." I ended my description rather abruptly, for I was thirsty and hungry as well, and the presence of a highly flavoured fruit was not to be treated with contempt. I cut off one then, and looking at Jack nodded, proceeded to peel it, and enjoyed the new sweet vegetable butter, flavoured with pear and honey, for the first time in my life. "Is it good?" said Jack, dubiously. "Splendid," I said. "Why, they look like sore fingers done up in stalls," he said. "I say, I don't like the look of them." "Don't have any, then," I said, commencing another; while every one present, the doctor included, followed my example with so much vigour that Jack began in a slow solemn way, peeling and tasting, and making a strange grimace, and ending by eating so rapidly that the doctor advised a halt. "Oh, all right!" said Jack. "I won't eat any more, then. But, I say, they are good!" There was no likelihood of our starving, for water was abundant, and fruit to be found by those who had such energetic hunters as the blacks. So we proceeded steadily on, hoping day by day either to encounter some friendly tribe, or else to make some discovery that might be of value to us in our search. And so for days we journeyed on, hopeful in the morning, dispirited in the heat of the day when weary. Objects such as would have made glad the heart of any naturalist were there in plenty, but nothing in the shape of sign that would make our adventure bear the fruit we wished. If our object had been hunting and shooting, wild pig, deer, and birds innumerable were on every hand. Had we been seeking wonderful orchids and strangely shaped flowers and fruits there was reward incessant for us, but it seemed as if the whole of the interior was given up to wild nature, and that the natives almost exclusively kept to the land near the sea-shore. The doctor and I sat one night by our watch-fire talking the matter over, and I said that I began to be doubtful of success. "Because we have been all over the country?" he replied, smiling. "Well, we have travelled a great way," I said. "Why, my dear boy, what we have done is a mere nothing. This island is next in size to Australia. It is almost a continent, and we have just penetrated a little way." "But I can't help seeing," I said, "that the people seem to be all dwellers near the sea-coast." "Exactly. What of that?" he replied. "Then if my poor father were anywhere a prisoner, he would have been sure to have found some means of communicating with the traders if he had not escaped." "Your old argument, Joe," he said. "Are you tired of the quest?" "Tired? No!" I cried excitedly. "Then recollect the spirit in which we set about this search. We said we would find him." "And so we will: my mind is made up to find him--if he be living," I added mournfully. "Aha!" said the doctor, bending forward and looking at me by the light of the burning wood, "I see, my fine fellow, I see. We are a bit upset with thinking and worry. Nerves want a little tone, eh? as we doctors say. My dear boy, I shall have to feel your pulse and put you to bed for a day or two. This is a nice high and dry place: suppose we camp here for a little, and--" "Oh no, no, doctor," I cried. "But I say, Oh yes, yes. Why, Joe, you're not afraid of a dose of physic, are you? You want something, that's evident. Boys of your age don't have despondent fits without a cause." "I have only been thinking a little more about home, and--my poor father," I said with a sigh. "My dear Joe," said the doctor, "once for all I protest against that despondent manner of speaking. `My poor father!' How do you know he is poor? Bah! lad: you're a bit down, and I shall give you a little quinine. To-morrow you will rest all day." "And then?" I said excitedly. "Then," he said thoughtfully--"then? Why, then we'll have a fishing or a shooting trip for a change, to do us both good, and we'll take Jack Penny and Jimmy with us." "Let's do that to-morrow, doctor," I said, "instead of my lying here in camp." "Will you take your quinine, then, like a good boy?" he said laughingly. "That I will, doctor--a double dose," I exclaimed. "A double dose you shall take, Joe, my lad," he said; and to my horror he drew a little flat silver case out of his pocket, measured out a little light white powder on the blade of a knife into our pannikin, squeezed into it a few drops of the juice of a lemon-like fruit of which we had a pretty good number every day, filled up with water, and held it for me to drink. "Oh, I say, doctor!" I exclaimed, "I did not think I should be brought out here in the wilderness to be physicked." "Lucky fellow to have a medical man always at your side," he replied. "There, sip it up. No faces. Pish! it wasn't nasty, was it?" "Ugh! how bitter!" I cried with a shudder. "Bitter? Well, yes; but how sweet to know that you have had a dose of the greatest medicine ever discovered. There, now, lie down on the blanket near the fire here, never mind being a little warm, and go to sleep." I obeyed him unwillingly, and lay attentively watching the doctor's thoughtful face and the fire. Then I wondered whether we should have that savage beast again which had haunted our camp at our first starting, and then I began to dose off, and was soon dreaming of having found my father, and taken him in triumph back to where my mother was waiting to receive us with open arms. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. HOW I WAS DISPOSED TO FIND FAULT WITH MY BEST FRIEND. When I unclosed my eyes it was bright morning and through an opening in the trees opposite to where I lay I gazed upon the dazzling summit of a mountain of wonderfully regular shape. As I lay there it put me in mind of a bell, so evenly rounded were the shoulders, and I was thinking whether it would be possible to clamber up it and inspect the country from its summit, when the doctor came up. "Ah! Joe," he said; "and how are the spirits this morning?" "Spirits?" I said wonderingly, for my sleep had been so deep that I had forgotten all about the previous evening. "Oh, I'm quite well;" and springing up I went to the stream by which we were encamped to bathe my face and hands, coming back refreshed, and quite ready for the breakfast that was waiting. "Let's see," said the doctor. "I promised an expedition did I not?" "Yes: hunting or fishing," I said eagerly, though I half repented my eagerness directly after, for it seemed as if I did not think enough about the object of our journey. "I've altered my mind," said the doctor. "We've been travelling for days in low damp levels; now for a change what do you say to trying high ground and seeing if we can climb that mountain? What do you say, Penny?" "Won't it make our backs ache a deal?" he said, gazing rather wistfully up at the glittering mountain. "No doubt, and our legs too," the doctor replied. "Of course we shall not try to ascend the snowy parts, but to get as far as the shoulder; that will give us a good view of the lay of the country, and it will be something to climb where perhaps human foot has never trod before." There was something fascinating enough in this to move Jack Penny into forgetfulness of the possibility of an aching back; and after getting in motion once more, we followed our black bearers for a few miles, and then giving them instructions where to halt--upon a low hill just in front--we struck off to the left, the doctor, Jack Penny, Jimmy, and the dog, and at the end of half an hour began the ascent. So slight was the slope that we climbed I could hardly believe it possible how fast we had ascended, when at the end of a couple of hours we sat down to rest by a rill of clear intensely cold water that was bubbling amongst the stones. For on peering through a clump of trees I gazed at the most lovely landscape I had seen since I commenced my journey. Far as eye could reach it was one undulating forest of endless shades of green, amidst which, like verdant islands, rose hill and lesser mountain. I could have stopped and gazed at the scene for hours had not the doctor taken me by the arm. "Rest and food, my lad," he said; "and then higher up yet before we settle to our map making and mark out our future course." Jimmy was already fast asleep beneath a rock, curled up in imitation of Gyp, while Jack Penny was sitting with his back against a tree, apparently studying his legs as he rubbed his hands up and down them gently, to soften and make more pliable the muscles. "Tain't time to go on yet, is it?" he said with a dismal glance up at us. "No, no, Penny; we'll have a good rest first," said the doctor; and Jack uttered a profound sigh of relief. "I am glad," he said, "for I was resting my back. I get up against a small tree like this and keep my back straight, and that seems to make it stronger and stiffer for ever so long." "Then take my advice, Penny; try another plan, my lad. You have grown too fast." "Yes, that's what father always said," replied Jack, beginning with a high squeak and rumbling off into a low bass. "You are then naturally weak, and if I were you I should lie flat down upon my back every time we stopped. You will then get up refreshed more than you think for." "But you wouldn't lie flat like that when you were eating your victuals, would you? I ain't Jimmy." "No, but you could manage that," I said; and Jack Penny nodded and lay down very leisurely, but only to spring up again most energetically and uttering a frightened yell. Gyp and Jimmy uncoiled like a couple of loosened springs, the former to utter a series of angry barks, and the latter to spring up into the air suddenly. "Where de bunyip--where de big bunyip? Jimmy kill um all along." He flourished his waddy wildly, and then followed Gyp, who charged into the wood as the doctor and I seized our guns, ready for action. Then a fierce worrying noise took place for a few moments in amongst the bushes, and then Jimmy came bounding out, dragging a small snake by the tail, to throw it down and then proceed to batter its head once again with his waddy, driving it into the earth, though the reptile must already have ceased to exist. "Killum dead um!" cried Jimmy, grinning with triumph. "Jimmy killum headums; Gyp killums tail." "I wish you'd look, doctor, and see if he bit me," said Jack, speaking disconsolately. "I lay down as you told me, and put my head right on that snake." "Don't you know whether it bit you?" said the doctor anxiously. "No, not the least idea," said Jack, shaking his head. "I think it must have bit me, I was so close." "I don't believe it did," I said. "Why, you must have known." "Think so?" said Jack dismally. "I say, doctor, is it best, do you think, to lie right down?" "Yes, if you look first to see whether there is danger from snakes. There, lie down, my lad, and rest." Jack obeyed him very reluctantly, and after Gyp and Jimmy had both re-curled themselves, the doctor and I lay down to talk in a low voice about our prospects, and then as I lay listening to his words, and wondering whether I should ever succeed in tracing out my father, all seemed to become blank, till I started up on being touched. "Had a good nap?" said the doctor. "Then let's get on again." We started once more, with the ground now becoming more difficult. Trees were fewer, but rocks and rugged patches of stony soil grew frequent, while a pleasant breeze now played about our faces and seemed to send vigour into our frames. Gyp and the black were wonderfully excited, bounding about in front of us, and even Jack Penny stepped out with a less uncertain stride. Higher we climbed and higher, and at every pause that we made for breath the beauty of the great country was more impressed upon me. "What a pity!" exclaimed the doctor, as we halted at last upon a rugged corner of the way we were clambering, with the glistening summit far above our heads, while at our feet the wild country looked like some lovely green garden. "What is a pity?" I said wonderingly, for the scene, tired and hot as I was, seemed lovely. "That such a glorious country should be almost without inhabitant, when thousands of our good true Englishmen are without a scrap of land to call their own." "Hey, hi!" cried Jack Penny excitedly. "Look out! There's something wrong." Jimmy and the dog had, as usual, been on ahead; but only to come racing back, the former's face full of excitement, while the dog seemed almost as eager as the black. "Jimmy find um mans, find. Quiet, Gyp; no make noise." "Find? My father?" I cried, with a curious choking sensation in my throat. "No; no findum fader," whispered Jimmy. "Get um gun. Findum black fellow round a corner." "He has come upon the natives at last, doctor," I said softly. "What shall we do?" "Retreat if they are enemies; go up to them if they are friendly," said the doctor; "only we can't tell which, my lad. Ours is a plunge in the dark, and we must risk it, or I do not see how we are to get on with our quest." "Shall we put on a brave face and seem as if we trusted them then?" I said. "But suppose they're fierce cannibals," whispered Jack Penny, "or as savage as those fellows down by the river? Ain't it rather risky?" "No more risky than the whole of our trip, Penny," said the doctor gravely. "Are you afraid?" "Well, I don't know," drawled Jack softly. "I don't think I am, but I ain't sure. But I sha'n't run away. Oh, no, I sha'n't run away." "Come along then," said the doctor. "Shoulder your rifle carelessly, and let's put a bold front upon our advance. They may be friendly. Now, Jimmy, lead the way." The black's eyes glittered as he ran to the front, stooping down almost as low as if he were some animal creeping through the bush, and taking advantage of every shrub and rock for concealment. He went on, with Gyp close at his heels, evidently as much interested as his leader, while we followed, walking erect and making no effort to conceal our movements. We went on like this for quite a quarter of a mile, and the doctor had twice whispered to me that he believed it was a false alarm, in spite of Jimmy's cautionary movements, and we were about to shout to him to come back, when all at once he stopped short behind a rugged place that stood out of the mountain slope, and waved his waddy to us to come on. "He has come upon them," I said, with my heart beating faster and a curious sensation of sluggishness attacking my legs. "Yes, he has found something," said the doctor; and as I glanced round I could see that Jack Penny had my complaint in his legs a little worse than I. But no sooner did he see that I was looking at him than he snatched himself together, and we went on boldly, feeling a good deal encouraged from the simple fact that Gyp came back to meet us wagging his tail. As we reached the spot where Jimmy was watching, he drew back to allow us to peer round the block of stone, saying softly: "Dat's um. Black fellow just gone long." To our surprise there were no natives in the hollow into which we peered, but just beyond a few stunted bushes I could see smoke arising, so it seemed, and the black whispered: "Black fellow fire. Cookum damper. Roastum sheep's muttons." "But there is no one, Jimmy," I said. "Jus' gone long. Hear Jimmy come long. Run away," he whispered. "That is no fire," said the doctor, stepping forward. "It is a hot spring." "Yes, yes, much big fire; go much out now. Mind black fellow; mind spear killum, killum." "Yes, a hot spring, and this is steam," said the doctor, as we went on to where a little basin of water bubbled gently, and sent forth quite a little pillar of vapour into the air; so white was it that the black might well have been excused for making his mistake. "Jimmy run long see where black fellow gone. Cookum dinner here. Eh! whar a fire?" he cried, bending down and poking at the little basin with the butt of his spear before looking wonderingly at us. "Far down in the earth, Jimmy," said the doctor. "Eh? Far down? Whar a fire makum water boils?" cried the black excitedly; and bending down he peered in all directions, ending by thrusting one hand in the spring and snatching it out again with a yell of pain. "Is it so hot as that, Jimmy?" I said. "Ah, roastum hot, O!" cried Jimmy, holding his hand to his mouth. "Oh! Mass Joe, doctor, stop. Jimmy go and find black fellow." We tried very hard to make the black understand that this was one of Nature's wonders, but it was of no avail. He only shook his head and winked at us, grinning the while. "No, no; Jimmy too cunning-artful. Play trickums. Make fool o' Jimmy. Oh, no! Ha! ha! Jimmy cunning-artful; black fellow see froo everybody." He stood shaking his head at us in such an aggravating way, after all the trouble I had been at to show him that this was a hot spring and volcanic, that I felt ready to kick, and I daresay I should have kicked him if he had not been aware of me, reading my countenance easily enough, and backing away laughing, and getting within reach of a great piece of rock, behind which he could dodge if I grew too aggressive. I left Jimmy to himself, and stood with the doctor examining the curious steaming little fount, which came bubbling out of some chinks in the solid rock and formed a basin for itself of milky white stone, some of which was rippled where the water ran over, and trickled musically along a jagged crevice in the rocky soil, sending up a faint steam which faded away directly in the glowing sunshine. "I say," said Jack Penny, who had crouched down beside the basin, "why, you might cook eggs in this." "That you might, Penny," said the doctor. "But we ain't got any eggs to cook," said Jack dolefully. "I wish we'd got some of our fowls' eggs--the new-laid ones, you know. I don't mean them you find in the nests. I say, it is hot," he continued. "You might boil mutton." "Eh! whar a mutton? Boil mutton?" cried Jimmy, running up, for he had caught the words. "At home, Jimmy," I said, laughing. The black's disgust was comical to witness as he tucked his waddy under one arm, turned his nose in the air, and stalked off amongst the rocks, in the full belief that we had been playing tricks with him. He startled us the next moment by shouting: "Here um come! Gun, gun, gun!" He came rushing back to us, and, moved by his evidently real excitement, we took refuge behind a barrier of rock and waited the coming onslaught, for surely enough there below us were dark bodies moving amongst the low growth, and it was evident that whatever it was, human being or lower animals, they were coming in our direction fast. We waited anxiously for a few minutes, during the whole of which time Jimmy was busily peering to right and left, now creeping forward for a few yards, sheltered by stones or bush, now slowly raising his head to get a glimpse of the coming danger; and so careful was he that his black rough head should not be seen, that he turned over upon his back, pushed himself along in that position, and then lay peering through the bushes over his forehead. The moving objects were still fifty yards away, where the bush was very thick and low. Admirable cover for an advancing enemy. Their actions seemed so cautious, too, that we felt sure that we must be seen, and I was beginning to wonder whether it would not be wise to fire amongst the low scrub and scare our enemies, when Jimmy suddenly changed his tactics, making a sign to us to be still, as he crawled backwards right past us and disappeared, waddy in hand. We could do nothing but watch, expecting the black every moment to return and report. But five minutes', ten minutes' anxiety ensued before we heard a shout right before us, followed by a rush, and as we realised that the black had come back past us so that he might make a circuit and get round the enemy, there was a rush, and away bounding lightly over the tops of the bushes went a little pack of a small kind of kangaroo. It was a matter of moments; the frightened animals, taking flying leaps till out of sight, and Jimmy appeared, running up panting, to look eagerly round. "Whar a big wallaby?" he cried. "No shoot? No killum? Eh? Jimmy killum one big small ole man!" He trotted back as he spoke, and returned in triumph bearing one of the creatures, about equal in size to a small lamb. This was quickly dressed by the black, and secured hanging in a tree, for the doctor would not listen to Jimmy's suggestion that we should stop and "boil um in black fellow's pot all like muttons;" and then we continued our climb till we had won to a magnificent position on the shoulder of the mountain for making a careful inspection of the country now seeming to lie stretched out at our feet. A more glorious sight I never saw. Green everywhere, wave upon wave of verdure lit up by the sunshine and darkening in shadow. Mountains were in the distance, and sometimes we caught the glint of water; but sweep the prospect as we would in every direction with the glass it was always the same, and the doctor looked at me at last and shook his head. "Joe," he said at last, "our plan appeared to be very good when we proposed it, but it seems to me that we are going wrong. If we are to find your father, whom we believe to be a prisoner--" "Who is a prisoner!" I said emphatically. "Why do you say that?" he cried sharply, searching me with his eyes. "I don't know," I replied dreamily. "He's a prisoner somewhere." "Then we must seek him among the villages of the blacks near the sea-shore. The farther we go the more we seem to be making our way into the desert. Look there!" he cried, pointing in different directions; "the foot of man never treads there. These forests are impassable." "Are you getting weary of our search, doctor?" I said bitterly. He turned upon me an angry look, which changed to one of reproach. "You should not have asked me that, my lad," he said softly. "You are tired or you would not have spoken so bitterly. Wait and see. I only want to direct our energies in the right way. The blacks could go on tramping through the country; we whites must use our brains as well as our legs." "I--I beg your pardon, doctor!" I cried earnestly. "All right, my lad," he said quietly. "Now for getting back to camp. Where must our bearers be?" He adjusted the glass and stood carefully examining the broad landscape before us, till all at once he uttered an exclamation, and handed the glass to me. "See what you make of that spot where there seems to be a mass of rock rising out of the plain, and a thin thread of flashing water running by its side. Yonder!" he continued, pointing. "About ten miles away, I should say." I took the glass, and after a good deal of difficulty managed to catch sight of the lump of rock he had pointed out. There was the gleaming thread of silver, too, with, plainly seen through the clear atmosphere and gilded by the sun, quite a tiny cloud of vapour slowly rising in the air. "Is that another hot spring, doctor?" I said, as I kept my glass fixed upon the spot; "or--" "Our blacks' fire," said the doctor. "It might be either; or in addition it might be a fire lit by enemies, or at all events savages; but as it is in the direction in which we are expecting to find our camp, and there seem to be no enemies near, I am in favour of that being camp. Come: time is slipping by. Let's start downward now." I nodded and turned to Jack Penny, who all this while had been resting his back by lying flat upon the ground, and that he was asleep was proved by the number of ants and other investigating insects which were making a tour all over his long body; Gyp meanwhile looking on, and sniffing at anything large, such as a beetle, with the result of chasing the visitor away. We roused Jack and started, having to make a detour so as to secure Jimmy's kangaroo, which he shouldered manfully, for though it offered us no temptation we knew that it would delight the men in camp. The descent was much less laborious than the ascent, but it took a long time, and the sun was fast sinking lower, while as we approached the plains every few hundred yards seemed to bring us into a warmer stratum of air, while we kept missing the pleasant breeze of the higher ground. If we could have made a bee-line right to where the smoke rose the task would have been comparatively easy, but we had to avoid this chasm, that piled-up mass of rocks, and, as we went lower, first thorny patches of scrub impeded our passage, and lower still there was the impenetrable forest. I was getting fearfully tired and Jack Penny had for a long time been perfectly silent, while Jimmy, who was last, took to uttering a low groan every now and then, at times making it a sigh as he looked imploringly at me, evidently expecting me to share his heavy load. I was too tired and selfish, I'm afraid, and I trudged on till close upon sundown, when it occurred to me that I had not heard Jimmy groan or sigh for some time, and turning to speak to him I waited till he came up, walking easily and lightly, with his spear acting as a staff. "Why, Jimmy; where's the kangaroo?" I said. "Wallaby ole man, Mass Joe?" he said, nodding his head on one side like a sparrow. "Yes; where is it?" "Bad un!" he said sharply. "Jimmy smell up poo boo! Bad; not good a eat. No get camp a night. Jimmy fro um all away!" "Thrown it away!" I cried. "Yes; bad ums. Jimmy fro um all away!" "You lazy humbug!" I said with a laugh, in which he good-humouredly joined. "Yess--ess--Jimmy laze humbug! Fro um all away." "But I say, look here, Jimmy!" I said anxiously, "what do you mean?" "Light fire here; go asleep! Findum camp a morning. All away, right away. Not here; no!" He ended by shaking his head, and I called to the doctor: "Jimmy says we shall not find the camp!" I said hastily; "and that we are going wrong." "I know it," he said quietly; "but we cannot get through this forest patch, so we must go wrong for a time, and then strike off to the right." But we found no opportunity of striking off to the right. Everywhere it was impenetrable forest, and at last we had to come to a halt on the edge, for the darkness was black, and to have gone on meant feeling our way step by step. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. HOW I GOT INTO SERIOUS DIFFICULTIES. It is not a pleasant place to pass a night, on the ground at the edge of a vast forest, inhabited by you know not what noxious beasts, while if you light a fire to scare them off you always do so with the idea that in scaring one enemy you may be giving notice to a worse where he may find you to make a prisoner or put you to death. However we determined to risk being seen by savages, the more readily that we had gone so far now without seeing one, and in a short time a ruddy blaze was gilding the forest edge and the great sparks were cracking around the trees. We had calculated upon being back at camp that night, so we had eaten all our food, and now, as we sat there by the fire hungry and tired, I began to think that we might have done worse than cut off the kangaroo's tail before Jimmy had thrown it away. Poor Jimmy! He too seemed to be bitterly regretting the idleness that had made him give up his self-imposed task, and the dismal hungry looks he kept giving me from time to time were ludicrous in the extreme. "Never mind, Joe," said the doctor smiling; "tighten your belt, my lad, and get to sleep. That's the best way to forget your hunger. You'll be sure to begin dreaming about feasts." The doctor was right; I lay hungrily awake for a short time, and then dropped off to sleep, to dream of delicious fruits, and cooking, and the smell of meat burning, and I awoke with a start to find that there was a very peculiar odour close to my nose, for a piece of wood must have shot a spark of its burning body into the shaggy head of poor Jimmy, who was sleeping happily unconscious, while a tiny scrap of wood was glowing and the hair sending forth curls of smoke. I jumped up, seized Jimmy by the hair, and crushed out the spark, awaking that worthy so sharply that he sprang up waddy in hand, caught me by the throat, and threw me back, swinging his war-club over his head to strike a tremendous blow. He saw who it was in time and dropped his weapon. "What a fool, Jimmy, yes! What a fool Jimmy sleep. Pull Jimmy hair, jig jag. Hallo! What a want?" It took some time to make him understand what had been wrong, but even when he did comprehend he seemed to be annoyed with me for waking him out of a pleasant dream, probably about damper and mutton, for the saving of so insignificant a thing as his hair, which would have soon grown again. Jimmy lay down again grumbling, but was soon asleep, and on comparing notes with the doctor I found I was so near my time for taking my turn at watching and keeping up the fire that I exchanged places with him. As is often the case, the troubles and depressing influences of the night departed with the day, and setting out very hungry, but by no means in bad spirits, we soon found a more open part, where the forest was beginning to end, and after about three hours' walking we reached our little camp, where we had no difficulty in satisfying our cravings, our ordinary food being supplemented by a great bunch of plantains which one of the blacks had found and saved for us. After a good rest, during which the doctor and I had talked well over our future course, we determined to go right on as we had come for another four days and then to strike due south to hit the shore, always supposing that we encountered nothing fresh to alter our plans. "And I'm sure we shall," I said to myself, for somehow, I cannot tell you why--and perhaps after all it was fancy--I felt sure that we should not be long now before we met with some adventure. I did not like to say anything of this kind to the doctor, for I felt that if I did he would laugh at me; but I took the first opportunity I could find of confiding in Jack Penny. He looked down at me and then seemed to wave himself to and fro, looking at me in a curious dreamy fashion. "Do you think that? do you feel like as if something is going to happen?" "Yes," I said hastily. "I don't ask you to believe it but I cannot help thinking something about my curious feelings." "Oh! I believe you," he said eagerly. "Oh! I quite believe you, Joe Carstairs. I used to feel like that always on mornings when I woke up first, and so sure as I felt that way father used to be going to lick me, and he did. I should put fresh cartridges in my gun if I was you. I'll keep pretty close to you all day and see you through with it anyhow." But Jack Penny did not keep his word, for somehow as we were journeying on in the heat of the day looking eagerly for a spring or river to make our next halting-place we were separated. I think it was Jack's back wanted a rest. Anyhow I was steadily pushing on within shouting distance of my companions, all of whom had spread out so as to be more likely to hit upon water. It was very hot, and I was plodding drowsily along through a beautiful open part dotted with large bushes growing in great clumps, many of which were covered with sweet smelling blossoms, when just as I was passing between a couple of the great clumps which were large enough to hide from me what lay beyond, I stopped utterly paralysed by the scene some fifty yards in front. For there in the bright sunshine stood a boy who might have been about my own age intently watching something just beyond some bushes in his front, and the moment after a small deer stepped lightly out full in my view, gazed round, and then stooped its graceful head to begin browsing. The boy, who was as black as ebony and whose skin shone in the sun, seemed to have caught sight of the deer at the same moment as I, for he threw himself into position, poising the long spear he carried, resting the shaft upon one hand and bending himself back so that he might get the greatest power into his throw. I had seen Jimmy plant himself in the same position hundreds of times, and, surprised as I was at coming upon this stranger, whose people were probably near at hand, I could not help admiring him as he stood there a thorough child of nature, his body seeming to quiver with excitement for the moment and then becoming perfectly rigid. My eye glanced from the boy to the deer and back again, when a slight movement to my right caught my attention and I stood paralysed, for in a crouching attitude I could see a second black figure coming up, war-club in hand, evidently inimically disposed towards the young hunter. "And he may belong to a friendly set of people," I thought. "It is Jimmy!" "No: it was not Jimmy, but one of the bearers--Ti-hi," I thought. "No: it was a stranger!" Just then the boy drew himself back a little more, and as I saw the stooping figure, that of a big burly savage, stealthily creeping on, I realised his intention, which was to wait till the boy had hurled his spear and then leap upon him and beat him to the ground. I made no plans, for all was the work of moments. I saw the spear leave the boy's hand like a line of light in the sunshine; then he turned, alarmed by some sound behind him, saw the savage in the act of leaping upon him, uttered a shrill cry of fear, and ran somewhat in my direction, and at the same moment my gun made a jump up at my shoulder and went off. As the smoke rose I stood aghast, seeing the boy on my left crouching down with a small waddy in his hand and the great black savage prone on his face just to my right. "I've killed him!" I exclaimed, a chill of horror running through me; but as I thought this I brought my piece to the ready again, for the savage leaped to his feet and turned and ran into the bush at a tremendous pace. From habit I threw open the breech of my gun without taking my eyes from the boy, and, thrusting my hand into my pouch, I was about to place a fresh ball cartridge in its place when I found that I had drawn the right trigger and discharged the barrel loaded with small shot, a sufficient explanation of the man being able to get up and run away. I remained standing motionless as soon as I had reloaded, the boy watching me intently the while and looking as if he was either ready to attack or flee according to circumstances. Friendly advance there was none, for he showed his white teeth slightly and his eyes glittered as they were fixed upon mine. Suddenly I caught sight of the deer lying transfixed by the boy's spear, and without a word I walked quietly to where the little animal lay, the boy backing slowly and watchfully from me, but holding his waddy ready for a blow or to hurl at me, it seemed, if I ventured to attack. I wanted to make friends, and as soon as I reached the dead deer I stooped down, holding my gun ready though, and taking hold of the spear, drew it out and offered it to the young hunter. He understood my motion, for he made a couple of steps forward quickly, but only to draw back uttering an angry ejaculation, and raise his waddy in a threatening way. "He thinks I want to trap him," I said to myself; and taking the spear in regular native style, as Jimmy had taught me, I smiled and nodded, tossed it in the air, and let it drop a few yards away with the shaft upright and towards his hands. I pointed to it and drew back a few yards, when, quick as some wild animal, he made two or three bounds, caught up the spear, poised it, and stood as if about to hurl it at me. It was not a pleasant position, and my first impulse was to raise my gun to my shoulder; but my second was to stand firm, resting on my piece, and I waved my hand to him to lower the spear. The boy hesitated, uttered a fierce cry, and stamped one foot angrily; but I waved my hand again, and, thrusting my hand into my pocket, pulled out a ring of brass wire, such as we carried many of for presents to the savages, and I tossed it to him. I saw the boy's eyes glitter with eagerness, but he was too suspicious to move, and so we stood for some minutes, during which I wondered whether my companions had heard the report of my gun, and if so whether they would come up soon. If they did I was sure they would alarm the boy, who seemed as suspicious as some wild creature and shook his spear menacingly as soon as I took a step forward. A thought struck me just then as I saw a red spot glisten on a leaf, and stepping forward I saw another and another, which I pointed to, and then again at a continuous series of them leading towards the dense bush. I took a few more steps forward when the boy suddenly bounded to my side as if he realised that I had saved his life and that he was bound to try and save me in turn. He uttered some words fiercely, and, catching my arm, drew me back, pointing his spear menacingly in the direction taken by the great savage, and in response to his excited words I nodded and smiled and yielded to his touch. We had not taken many steps before he stopped short to stand and stare at me wonderingly, saying something the while. Then he touched me, and as I raised my hand to grasp his he uttered a fierce cry and pointed his spear at me once more, but I only laughed-- very uncomfortably I own--and he lowered it slowly and doubtfully once again, peering into my eyes the while, his whole aspect seeming to say, "Are you to be trusted or no?" I smiled as the best way of giving him confidence, though I did not feel much confidence in him--he seemed too handy with his spear. He, however, lowered this and looked searchingly at me, while I wondered what I had better do next. For this was an opportunity--here was a lad of my own age who might be ready to become friends and be of great service to us; but he was as suspicious and excitable as a wild creature, and ready to dash away or turn his weapons against me at the slightest alarm. It was very hard work to have to display all the confidence, but I told myself that it was incumbent upon me as a civilised being to show this savage a good example, and generally I'm afraid that I was disposed to be pretty conceited, as, recalling the native words I had picked up from our followers, I tried all that were available, pointing the while to the deer and asking him by signs as well if he would sell or barter it away to me for food. My new acquaintance stared at me, and I'm afraid I did not make myself very comprehensible. One moment he would seem to grasp my meaning, the next it appeared to strike him that I must be a cannibal and want to eat him when I made signs by pointing to my mouth. At last, though, the offer of a couple of brass rings seemed to convince him of my friendliness, and he dragged the little deer to me and laid it at my feet. After this we sat down together, and he began chattering at a tremendous rate, watching my gun, pointing at the spots upon the leaves, and then touching himself, falling down, and going through a pantomime as if dying, ending by lying quite stiff with his eyes closed, all of which either meant that if I had not fired at the big black my companion would have been killed, or else that I was not on any consideration to use my thunder-and-lightning weapon against him. I did not understand what he meant, and he had doubtless very little comprehension of what I tried to convey; but by degrees we became very good friends, and he took the greatest of interest in my dress, especially in my stout boots and cartridge-belt. Then, too, he touched my gun, frowning fiercely the while. My big case-knife also took up a good deal of his attention and had to be pulled out several times and its qualities as a cutter of tough wood shown. After this he drew my attention to his slight spear, which, though of wood, was very heavy, and its point remarkably sharp and hard. In spite of its wanting a steel point I felt no doubt of its going through anything against which it was directed with force. He next held out his waddy to me to examine. This was a weapon of black-looking wood, with a knob at the end about the shape of a good-sized tomato. I took hold of the waddy rather quickly, when it must have struck the boy that I had some hostile intention, for he snatched at it, and for the moment it seemed as if there was a struggle going on; then I felt a violent blow from behind, as if a large stone had fallen upon my head, and that was all. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. HOW I FOUND THAT I HAD A FELLOW-PRISONER. I have had a good many headaches in my time, but nothing to compare with the fearful throbbing, that seemed as if I were receiving blow after blow upon my temples, when I began to come to myself. I was stupefied and confused, and it took a long time before I recovered sufficiently to comprehend my position. By degrees, though, I was able to bear my eyes unclosed for sufficiently long at a time to see that I was in some kind of hut, and as I realised all this it seemed that I must be still a prisoner, and that all my long journeying since was only a dream. I began wondering where Jimmy could be, and the doctor, and Jack Penny, and then my head throbbed so violently that I closed my eyes, feeling at the same time that I had no arms, no legs, nothing but an inanimate body, and a head that ached with terrible violence as I lay there half-stunned. After a time I must have grown a little more collected, for I awoke to the fact that I was tightly bound with twisted grass, hand and foot; that I was certainly in a hut, quite a large hut, built of bamboo and mats; and that behind me the light shone in, and somewhere close by the sound arose as of a person sleeping heavily. I tried to turn round, but the movement caused such intense pain that I desisted for a time, till my anxiety to know more about my position forced me to make a fresh effort, and I swung myself over, making my head throb so that I gladly closed my eyes, while I wrenched my arms and wrists, that were tied behind my back so harshly that I became quite aware of the fact that I had limbs, as well as an inert body and a throbbing head. When I could unclose my eyes again I saw that it was getting near sundown, and that the sunshine was lighting up the limbs of the great trees beneath which the native village to which I had been brought was built. From where I lay I looked across a broad opening, around which was hut after hut, with its open door facing towards the centre. There was very little sign of life around, but twice in the distance I saw a black figure come out of the doorway of a hut and disappear amongst the trees, but it was some time before I could make out from whence the heavy breathing came that I had heard. As far as I could judge it was from some one just outside the entrance to the hut where I lay, but no one was visible, and it seemed to me that if I could untie the rope that held my wrists and legs there was nothing to prevent my walking out and making my escape. I had just come to this conclusion when there was a rustling noise as of a stick passing over twigs and leaves, and a spear fell down across the doorway. The next instant I saw a black arm and shoulder come forward, the spear was picked up, and the black arm disappeared. Then there was a shuffling sound, as of some one settling down in a fresh position, and all was silent, for the heavy breathing had ceased. "That's my guard," I said to myself, "and he has been, asleep!" Simple words, but they sent a throb of joy through me, and I began to wonder where the doctor was, and what Jack Penny was doing. Then I thought about Jimmy, and that as soon as I was missed he would be sure to hunt me out. My head began to throb once more horribly, but by degrees the fit died off, and I found myself thinking again of escape. "How foolish of me not to have had a dog!" I thought. "Why, if I had had one like Gyp he would have tracked me out by this time." "They'll find me out sooner or later," I said to myself; "so I need not regret being without a dog. But suppose the savages should attack our little party and make them prisoners too." This was quite a new idea to me. The doctor and I had thought out a good many possibilities; but that we, who had come in search of one who was a prisoner, should be ourselves made captives, hardly ever occurred to me. "That would be a sorry end to our voyage," I thought, and I lay gazing out across the open space, wondering in a dreamy misty way whether my poor father had been attacked and captured as I had been, and whether I should be kept a prisoner, and have to live for the rest of my life among savages. My head was not so painful then, and I began to feel that if it would only leave off aching and my poor mother would not be so troubled at this second loss, such a life would be better than being killed, especially as there would always be the chance of escape. I think I must have sunk into a sort of doze or half stupor just then, for the scene at which I lay gazing grew dim, and it seemed to me that it must all have been a dream about my meeting with that black boy; and once more I suppose I slept. How long I slept I cannot tell, but I can recall being in a confused dream about home, and going with Jimmy to a neighbour's sheep-run, where there was a dog, and Jimmy coaxed him away with a big piece of meat, which he did not give to the dog, but stuck on the end of his spear and carried it over his shoulder, with the animal whining and snuffling about, but which was to be reserved until several wallabies had been hunted out, for that was the aim of the afternoon. It seemed very tiresome that that dog should be snuffling about me, and scratching and pawing at me, and I was about to tell Jimmy to give the poor brute the meat and let him go, when his cold nose touched my face, and I started awake, trembling in every limb. The darkness was intense, and for some minutes, try how I would, I could not think. All sorts of wild fancies rushed through my brain, and I grew more and more confused; but I could not think--think reasonably, and make out where I was and what it all meant. The past seemed to be gone, and I only knew that I was there, lying with my arms and legs dead and my head throbbing. There seemed to be nothing else. Yes there was--my dream. It all came with a flash just where it left off, and Jimmy had coaxed the dog away, and it was here annoying me. But why was it dark? There was dead silence then, following upon the light pattering sound of some animal's feet, and with my brain rapidly growing clearer I began to arrange my thoughts I had even got so far as to recollect dropping off asleep, and I was concluding that I had slept right on into the darkness of night, when there was the pattering of feet again, and I knew now that it was no fancy, for some animal had touched me, though it was not likely to be the dog that Jimmy had coaxed away to go wallaby hunting. There was a curious snuffling noise now, first in one part of the hut, then in another. Some animal, then, must have come into the hut, and this, whatever it was, had been touching and had awakened me. What could it be? I wondered, as I tried to think what creature was likely to be prowling about in the darkness. It could not be a wild pig, and my knowledge of animal life taught me that it was not likely to be any one of the cat family, for they went so silently about, while the pattering steps of this creature could be plainly heard. We had encountered nothing in our journey that suggested itself as being likely, and I was beginning to perspire rather profusely with something very much like utter fright, when I heard the creature, whatever it was, come close up and begin snuffling about my legs. "It's coming up to my face," I thought with a chill of horror seeming to paralyse me, or I am certain that I should have called for help. So there I lay numbed and helpless, not knowing what to expect, unless it was to be seized by the throat by some fierce beast of prey, and perhaps partly devoured before I was dead. I tried to shriek out, but not a sound came. I tried to move my arms; to kick out at the creature; but arms and legs had been bound so long that the circulation as well as sensation had ceased, and I lay like a mass of lead, able to think acutely, but powerless to stir a limb. The snuffling noise went on; came to my chest, to my throat, to my face; and I could feel the hot panting breath of the creature, smell the animal odour of its skin; and then, when the dread seemed greater than I could bear, I felt a moist nose touch my face. Another moment and I felt that the intruder would be burying its fangs in my throat, and still I could not stir--could not utter sound, but lay like one in a trance. Suddenly the animal began to tear at my chest with its claws, giving three or four sharp impatient scratchings alternately with its feet, and though I could not see, I could realise that the creature was standing with its forepaws on my chest. Then it was right upon me, with its muzzle at my throat, snuffing still, and then it touched my face with its nose again and uttered a low whine. That sound broke the spell, for I can call it nothing else, and I uttered the one word: "Gyp!" It was magical in its effects, for the faithful beast it was, and uttering a low cry of delight he began nuzzling about my face, licking me, pawing me, and crouching closer to me, as all the while he kept up a regular patting noise with his tail. My speech had returned now, and with it a feeling of shame for my cowardice, as I thought it then, though I do not think so hardly about it now. "Gyp, you good old dog!" I whispered. "And so you've found me out!" I suppose he did not understand my words, but he liked the sound of my voice, for he continued his eager demonstrations of delight, many of which were exceedingly unwelcome. But unwelcome or no I could not help myself, and had to lie there passive till, apparently satisfied that enough had been done, Gyp crouched close to me with his head upon my breast. For a time I thought he was asleep, and thoroughly enjoying the consolation of his company in my wretched position, I lay thinking of the wonderful instinct of the animal, and of his training to be silent, for in spite of the excitement of our meeting he had not barked once. But Gyp was not asleep, for at the slightest sound outside he raised his head quickly, and in the deep silence I could hear the great hairy ears give quite a flap as he cocked them up. As the noise died away or failed to be repeated, he settled down again with his head upon my breast till some fresh sound arose--a distant cry in the forest, or a voice talking in some neighbouring hut, when he would start up again, and once uttered a low menacing growl, which made me think what an unpleasant enemy he would be to a bare-legged savage. Once more Gyp uttered a low growl; but after that he lay with his head upon my breast, and I could feel his regular breathing. Then he lifted a paw and laid it by his nose, but evidently it was not a comfortable position, and he took it down. And there we lay in that black silence, while I wished that dog could speak and tell me where my friends where; whether they had sent him, or whether his own instinct had led him to hunt me out. Whichever way it was, I felt a curious kind of admiration for an animal that I had before looked upon as a kind of slave, devoted to his master, and of no interest whatever to anyone else. "Poor old Gyp!" I thought to myself, and I wished I could pat his head. I kept on wishing that I could pay him that little bit of kindness; and then at last I seemed to be stroking his shaggy head, and then it seemed that I was not free to do it, and then all at once it seemed to be morning, with the sun shining, and plenty of black fellows passing and repassing to the huts of what was evidently a populous village. It all looked very bright and beautiful, I thought, seen through the open door, but I was in great pain. My head had pretty well ceased to throb, but there was a dull strange aching in my arms and legs. My shoulders, too, seemed as if they had been twisted violently, and I was giddy and weak for want of food. "Prisoner or no prisoner they sha'n't starve me," I said half aloud; and I was about to shout to a tall savage who was going by spear on shoulder, when I suddenly recollected Gyp and looked sharply round for the dog, but he was not to be seen. For the moment I wondered whether I had not made a mistake and dreamed all about the dog; but no, it was impossible, everything was too vivid, and after lying thinking for a few minutes I called to the first black who came near. He stopped short, came to the door, thrust in his head and stared at me, while, for want of a better means of expressing myself, I opened my mouth and shut it as if eating. He went away directly, and I was about to shout to another when the first one came back with a couple more, all talking excitedly, and evidently holding some discussion about me. This ended by two of them going away, leaving the other to stand watching. He was a fine stalwart looking fellow, black as Jimmy, but of a different type of countenance, and his hair was frizzed and stuck out all round, giving his head the aspect of being twice the size of nature. As soon as the others had gone he stooped down over me, turning me roughly on my face so as to examine my bound hands. He wrenched my shoulders horribly in doing this, but it did not seem to hurt my hands in the least, and he finished by unfastening the cords of twisted grass and making me sit up. This I did, but with great pain, my arms hanging helplessly down by my sides. The men soon returned, and to my great delight one had a gourd and the other some plantains, which they put down before me in a morose, scowling way. I bent towards the gourd, which I believed to contain water; but though I tried to take it with my hands I could not move either, and I turned my eyes up pitifully to my captors. The man who had unloosed me said something to his companions, one of whom bent down, lifted my right hand, and let it fall again. The second man followed suit with my left, and I saw before they dropped them again that they were dark and swollen, while as to use, that seemed to be totally gone. The man who had remained with me took hold of the gourd and held it to my lips in a quick angry fashion, holding it while I drank with avidity every drop, the draught seeming to be more delicious than anything I had ever before tasted. Setting it aside he looked down at me grimly, and then in a laughing contemptuous way one of the others picked up and roughly peeled a plantain, holding it out to me to eat. It was not sumptuous fare, cold water and bananas, but it was a most delicious and refreshing repast; while to make my position a little more bearable one of the men now undid the grass cord that was about my ankles, setting them free. The act probably was meant kindly, but when, soon after, they left the cabin, after setting me up and letting me fall again, my wrists and ankles began to throb and ache in the most unbearable way, somewhat after the fashion of one's fingers when chilled by the cold and the circulation is coming back. As I sat making feeble efforts to chafe the swollen flesh I became aware that though unbound I was not to be trusted, for fear of escape, and that to prevent this a broad-shouldered black with his hair frizzed into two great globes, one on either side of his head, had been stationed at the hut door. When he came up, spear in hand, I saw that he was tattooed with curious lines across his chest and back, similar lines marking his arms and wrists, something after the fashion of bracelets. He looked in at me attentively twice, and then seated himself just outside the entrance, where he took his waddy from where it was stuck through his lingouti or waistband, drew a sharp piece of flint from a pouch, and began to cut lines upon his waddy handle in the most patient manner. He had been busily at work for some time, when there was a great sound of shouting and yelling, which seemed greatly to excite the people of the village, for dozens came running out armed with clubs and spears, to meet a batch of about a dozen others, who came into the opening fronting my prison, driving before them another black, who was struggling with them fiercely, but compelled by blows and pricks of spears to keep going forward. Then three men ran at him with grass cords and seized him, but he drove his head fiercely into one and sent him flying, kicked the second, and then attacked the other with his fists, regular English fashion, and I knew now who it was, without hearing the shout the new prisoner uttered and the language he applied to his captors. Another pair approached, but he drove them back at once, and probably feeling' pretty well satisfied that his enemies did not want to spear him, he stuck his doubled fists in his sides and went slowly round the great circle that had collected, strutting insultingly, as if daring them to come on, and ending by striding into the middle of the circle and squatting down, as if treating his foes with the most profound contempt. "Poor old Jimmy!" I exclaimed, proud even to admiration of the black's gallant bearing. "Who would call him a coward now!" For a time Jimmy was untouched, and sat upon his heels with his wrists upon his knees and his hands dangling down, but evidently watchfully on the look-out for an attack. I felt so excited as I sat there that I forgot my own pain, and had I been able to move I should have made a dash and run to my old companion's side; but I was perfectly helpless, and could only look on, feeling sure that sooner or later the blacks would attack Jimmy, and if he resisted I shuddered for his fate. Sure enough, at the end of a consultation I saw a rush made at the waiting prisoner, who started up and fought bravely; but he seemed to disappear at once, the little crowd heaving and swaying here and there, and ending by seeming to group itself under a tall tree, from which they at last fell away, and then it was that my heart began to beat less painfully and I breathed more freely, for there was Jimmy bound to the tree trunk, grinning and chattering at his captors, and evidently as full of fight as ever. I sank down upon my elbow with a sigh of relief, for I felt that had they meant to kill my black companion they would have done it at once instead of taking the trouble to bind him to the tree. And now, oddly enough, while I could hear Jimmy calling his captors by all the absurd and ugly names he could invent, the pain and aching seemed to come back into my wrists and ankles, making me groan as I sat and clasped them, a little use having begun to creep back into my arms. As I rubbed my aching limbs I still had an eye on Jimmy, interest in his fate making me think little about my own; and as I watched now the black, now the savages grouped about armed with spear and club, I saw that his dangerous position had so excited Jimmy that he was quite reckless. He had no means of attack or defence left save his tongue, and this he began to use in another way. He had abused his captors till he had exhausted his list of available words, and now in token of derision he gave me another instance to study of the childish nature of even a grown-up savage. For, tied up helplessly there, he put out his tongue at his enemies, thrust it into his cheeks, and displayed it in a variety of ways. Jimmy was possessed of a very long tongue, unusually large for a human being, and this he shot out, turned down, curled up at the end, and wagged from side to side as a dog would his tail. At the same time he contorted and screwed his face up into the most hideous grimaces, elongating, flattening, and working his countenance as easily as if it had been composed of soft wax, till at times his aspect was perfectly hideous. Every moment I expected to see a spear thrown or the savages rush at Jimmy with their clubs; but they retained their composure, simply gazing at him, till Jimmy grew weary, and, full of contempt, shouting out something about poor black fellow dingoes, and then shutting his eyes and pretending to go to sleep. My guard was, like me, so intent upon the scene that he did not hear a slight rustling noise in the darker corner of the hut. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. HOW I HAD A VISITOR IN THE NIGHT. The sufferings I had gone through and the excitement must have made me in a feverish state, so that, though I heard the faint noise again and again, I began to look upon it as dreaming, and nothing which need trouble me. Even the sight of Jimmy bound to the tree, and now hanging forward with his head sidewise, did not seem to disturb me. It, too, appeared part of a dream, and my eyes kept closing, and a peculiar hot sensation running over my face. Then this passed off and my brain grew clear, and it was not a dream, but real, while the thought now began to torment me, that as the savages were conferring together it must be about how they should put poor Jimmy to death. There was the faint noise again, and I glanced at the savage who was my guard, but he had not heard it apparently, for he was chipping and carving away at the handle of his waddy, only looking up from time to time at his fellows with their prisoner. I wanted to turn myself round and look in the direction whence the sound came, for I felt now that it was no fancy, but that Gyp had been really with me, and that this was he forcing his way to my side again. I could not turn, though, without giving myself great pain, for now my wrists and ankles were fearfully swollen and tender, so I lay still, waiting and wondering why the dog was so long. Then the rustling ceased altogether, and I was beginning to think that the dog had failed to get through and would come round to the front, when there was a faint rustle once more, and I was touched on the shoulder. But it was not by Gyp's paw; it was a small black hand laid upon me; while, on looking up, there in the dim light was the face of the boy I had encountered on the previous day, or whenever it was that I was struck down. He showed his teeth and pointed to the savage on guard, laying his hand upon my lips as if to stay me from making any sound. Then he looked at my wrists and ankles, touching them gently, after which he laid his hand very gently on the back of my head, and I knew now why it was that I was suffering such pain. For, lightly as he touched me, it was sufficient to send a keen agony through me, and it was all I could do to keep from crying out. The boy saw my pain, and looked at me half wonderingly for a few moments before stooping low and whispering in my ear. I felt so sick from the pain that I paid little heed to his words; but whisper or shout it would have been all the same, I could not have understood a word. So faint and strange a sensation came over me that all seemed dim, and when I once more saw clearly I was alone and the crowd of blacks had disappeared, taking with them Jimmy--if it had not all been a dream due to my feverish state. Just then, however, a couple of blacks came up with the boy straight to the door of the hut, and while the latter stood looking on, the men applied a roughly made plaster of what seemed to be crushed leaves to my head, and then examined my wrists and feet, rubbing them a little and giving me intense pain, which was succeeded by a peculiar, dull warm sensation as they pressed and kneaded the joints. While they were busy the boy went off quickly, and returned with a handful of plum-like fruit, one of which he placed to my dry lips, and I found its acid juice wonderfully refreshing. They all left me soon after, and I saw the boy go and join a tall, peculiar-looking savage, who was marked with tattoo lines or paint in a way different to the rest, and these two talked together for a long while, gesticulating and nodding again and again in my direction, as if I was the subject of their discourse. The effect of the attention to my injuries was to produce a sensation of drowsiness, resulting in a deep sleep, which must have lasted a very long time, for when I awoke it was in the dark, and I was not startled now on hearing the snuffling noise and feeling myself touched by Gyp, who, after silently showing his pleasure, lay down with his head upon my chest once more, and seemed to go to sleep. I made an effort to raise my hand to stroke him, but the pain was too great, and soon after it was I who went to sleep, not Gyp, and when I awoke it was daybreak and the dog was gone. I was better that morning, and could take more interest in all that went on. I saw the tall, peculiar-looking savage go by the hut door at a distance, and I saw the boy go up to him and pass out of sight. Soon after a couple of blacks brought me some food and water, of which I partook eagerly. Later on the boy came with the same two men as on the previous day, and my head was once more dressed and my limbs chafed. Then I was left alone, and I lay watching once more the savages coming and going in a slow deliberate way. I noticed that there were a good many women and children, but if ever they attempted to come in the direction of the hut where I lay they were angrily driven back. Some of the women appeared to be occupied in domestic work, preparing some kind of bread, others busily stripped the feathers from some large birds brought in by men who seemed to have been hunting. I noticed all this feeling calm and restful now, and I was lying wondering whether Jack Penny and the doctor would find out where I was, when I heard a scuffling noise, which seemed to come from a hut where there was a crowd of the people standing. Then there was a repetition of the scene I had previously witnessed, Jimmy being brought out, kicking, struggling, and full of fight. The blacks seemed to want to drag him to the tree where I had seen him tied, but to this Jimmy objected strongly. The way in which he butted at his captors, and kicked out like a grasshopper, would have been most laughable had I not been anxious, for I felt sure that it would result in his hurting some one, and being rewarded with a blow on the head or a spear thrust. I grew so excited at last as the struggle went on that I waited till there was a moment's pause when Jimmy and his captors were drawing breath for a fresh attack, and shouted with all my might-- "Jimmy! be quiet!" My guard, for there was still one at the door, jumped up and stared in, while Jimmy and his captors looked in my direction. Jimmy was the first to break silence by shouting loudly: "Mass Joe! Mass Joe!" "Here!" I shouted back; but I repented the next moment, for Jimmy uttered a yell and made a bound to run towards where he had heard the sound. The result was that one savage threw himself down before the prisoner, who fell headlong, and before he could recover, half a dozen of the blacks were sitting upon him. My heart seemed to stand still, and I felt that poor Jimmy's end had come, but to my delight I could see that our captors were laughing at the poor fellow's mad efforts to escape, and I shouted to him once again: "Be quiet! Lie still!" There was no answer, for one of the men was sitting on Jimmy's head; but he ceased struggling, and after a while the blacks rose, circled about him with their spears, and a couple of them began to push my companion towards the tree to which he had before been bound. "Jimmy no fight?" he shouted to me. "Not now," I shouted back. "Wait." "All rightums," cried Jimmy: "but gettum waddy back, gibs um bang, bang--knockum downum--whack, whack--bangum, bangum!" This was all in a voice loud enough for me to hear, as the poor fellow allowed his captors to bind him to the tree, after which he hung his head and pretended or really did go to sleep. Towards evening I saw the blacks take Jimmy some food, and some was brought to me; and as I sat up and ate and drank I saw the strangely-marked savage and the boy come into the centre of the space by the huts, and lie down near Jimmy, who behaved a good deal after the fashion of some captured beast, for he raised his head now and then, utterly ignoring those who were around, and staring straight before him. But in his case it was not right away toward the forest, but in the direction of the hut where I was confined, and even at the distance where I lay I could read the eagerness in the black's countenance as he waited to hear me speak. It was getting fast towards sundown, and I was wondering how long they would leave Jimmy tied up to the tree, and fighting hard to get rid of an idea that kept coming to me, namely, that the savages were feeding us and keeping us for an object that it made me shudder to think about, when I noted a little excitement among the people. There was some loud talking, and directly after about a dozen came to my prison and signed to me to get up. I rose to my knees and then tried to stand, but my ankles were still so painful that I winced. By a stern effort, though, I stood up, and a sturdy black on either side took my arms and hurried me to a tree close by the one where Jimmy was tied. As we crossed the opening I saw the boy and the tall painted savage standing by the door of a hut on one side, the latter holding a long spear tasselled with feathers, and I supposed him to be the chief, or perhaps only the doctor or conjuror of the village. Jimmy's delight knew no bounds. He shouted and sang and laughed, and then howled, with the tears running down his cheeks. "Hi, yup! Jimmy glad as big dingo dog for mutton bones!" he cried. "How quite well, Mass Joe? Jimmy so glad be with you. Seems all over again, Mass Joe, and Jimmy knock all black fellow up and down--make um run, run. Whatum, Mass Joe--legs?" "Only with being tied up so tightly, Jimmy. They're getting better. My head is the worst." "Head um worse, Mass Joe! Show Jimmy black debble hurt um head. Jimmy whack um, whack um too much can't say kangaroo." "No, no! wait a bit, Jimmy," I said, as the blacks bound me to the tree. "We must watch for our time." "Watch?" said Jimmy; "watch? Doctor got um watch clock. Tick, tick, tick!" "Where is the doctor?" I said. "Jimmy don't know little bitums. Doctor go one way. Mass Jack-Jack Penny-Penny, one way find Mass Joe. Jimmy-Jimmy, go one way find Mass Joe. Jimmy-Jimmy find um. Hooray! Nebber shall be slabe!" "I hope not, Jimmy," I said, smiling. "So the doctor and Jack Penny and you all went to find me, and you were seized by the blacks?" "Dats um--all lot take um way," cried Jimmy. "Only Jimmy find Mass Joe. Come along a black fellow. All jump atop Jimmy. Jimmy fight um, kick um--play big goose berry strong black fellow. Too much big coward big. Topper, topper, Jimmy head um. Go sleep um. Bring um here." "Too many of them, and they hit you on the head and stunned you?" "Hiss! 'tunned Jimmy. Hiss! 'tunned Jimmy. Send um all asleep. Topper head." "Never mind the topper they gave you, Jimmy. We'll escape and find our friends." "Don't know um," said Jimmy dolefully. "Bad good black fellow got no muttons--no grub--no wallaby. Eat Mass Joe--eat Jimmy." "Do you think they are cannibals, Jimmy?" I said excitedly. Jimmy opened his mouth and his eyes very wide and stared at me. "I say, do you think they are cannibals? How stupid! Do you think they eat man?" "Yes; 'tupid, 'tupid. Eat man, lot o' man. Bad, bad. Make um sick, sick." I turned cold, for here was corroboration of my fear. This was why they were treating us well instead of killing us at once; and I was turning a shuddering look at the circle of black faces around me when Jimmy exclaimed: "Sha'n't ums eat Jimmy. No, no. Jimmy eat a whole lot fust. No eat Mass Joe. Jimmy killum killum all lot." I stood there tightly bound, talking from time to time to the black, happier in mind at having a companion in my imprisonment, and trying to make him understand that our best policy was to wait our time; and then when our captors were more off their guard we could perhaps escape. "No good 't all," said Jimmy, shaking his head. "Go eat um, Mass Joe, poor Jimmy. Make up fat um--fat um like big sheep. No run at all, catch fas'." "Not so bad as that, Jimmy," I said, laughing in spite of my position at the idea of being made so fat that we could neither of us run. Just then there was a movement among our captors, and having apparently satisfied themselves with a long inspection of their prisoners they were evidently about to take us back to our prisons. "Jimmy gib all big kick?" said the black. "No, no," I cried, "go quietly." "Jimmy come 'long Mass Joe?" he said next. "If they will let you," I replied; "but if they will not, go back to your own place quietly." "Mass Joe no kind poor Jimmy," he whimpered. "Want kick um. Mass Joe say no." "Wait till I tell you, Jimmy," I replied. "Now go quietly." He made an attempt to accompany me, but the blacks seized him sharply and led him one way, me the other; and as the sun set and the darkness began to come on, I lay in my hut watching the boy and the tall painted chief talking earnestly together, for I could not see Jimmy's prison from inside my own. I felt lighter of heart and more ready to take a hopeful view of my position now that my sufferings from my injuries were less, and that I had a companion upon whom I could depend. But all the same I could not help feeling that my position was a very precarious one. But when I was cool and calm I was ready to laugh at the idea about cannibalism, and to think it was the result of imagination. "No," I said to myself as I lay there, "I don't think they will kill us, and I am certain they will not eat us. We shall be made slaves and kept to work for them--if they can keep us!" As I lay there listening to the different sounds made in the village dropping off one by one in the darkness, I grew more elate. I was in less pain, and I kept recalling the many instances Jimmy had shown me of his power to be what he called "cunning-artful." With his help I felt sure that sooner or later we should be able to escape. Drowsiness began to creep over me now, and at last, after listening to the hard breathing of the spear-armed savage whose duty it was to watch me, I began to wonder whether Gyp would come that night. "I hope he will," I said to myself. "I'll keep awake till he does." The consequence of making this determination was that in a very few minutes after I was fast asleep. Just as before I was wakened some time in the night by feeling something touch me, and raising my arm for the first time made the faithful beast utter low whines of joy as I softly patted his head and pulled his ears, letting my hand slip lower to stroke his neck, when my fingers came in contact with the dog's collar, and almost at the same moment with a stiff scrap of paper. For a moment my heart stood still. Then, sitting up, I caught the dog to me, holding his collar with both hands, touching the paper all the while, but afraid to do more lest the act should result in disappointment. At last I moved one hand cautiously and felt the paper, trembling the while, till a joyous throb rose to my lips, and I rapidly untied a piece of string which tightly bound what was evidently a note to the dog's collar. Gyp whined in a low tone, and as I loosened him, grasping the note in my hand, I knew that he gave a bit of a skip, but he came back and nestled close to me directly. I needed no thought to know that the note was from the doctor, who must be near. Perhaps, too, Gyp had been night after night with that same note, and I had been too helpless to raise a hand and touch his neck where it had been tied. The doctor was close by, then. There was help, and I would once more be free to get back safe to my dear mother. I stopped there and said half aloud: "Not yet--safe to try once more to find him." What was I to do? I could not read the note. I opened it and moved my fingers over it as a blind person would, but could not feel a letter, as I might have known. What was I to do? Gyp would be going back. The letter would be gone, while the doctor might not know but what it had been lost. What should I do? There was only one thing, and that was to tie my handkerchief, my torn and frayed silk handkerchief, tightly to the dog's collar. "He will know that I am here, and alive," I said to myself. "I wish I could send him word that Jimmy is here as well." I tried hard to think of some plan, but for a long time not one would come. "I have it!" I said at last; and rapidly taking off the handkerchief I tied two knots fast in one corner. "Perhaps he will understand that means two of us," I said; and I was about to fasten it to the dog's collar, when there was a noise outside as of some one moving, and Gyp dashed away from me and was gone. "Without my message," I said to myself in tones of bitter disappointment, as all became silent again. To my great joy, though, I heard a faint panting once more, and Gyp touched my hand with his wet nose. "I'll be safe this time," I remarked, as I rapidly secured and tied the knotted handkerchief, ending by fondling and caressing the dog, I was so overjoyed. "Go on, dear old Gyp," I cried softly; "and come back to-morrow night for an answer. There, good-bye. Hush! don't bark. Good-bye!" I patted him, and he ran his nose into my breast, whining softly. Then after feeling the handkerchief once more, to be sure it was safe, I loosened the dog and he bounded from me. I heard a rustling in the corner, and all was silent, while I lay there holding the note tightly in my pocket and longing for the day to come that I might read all that my friends had to say. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. HOW I HEARD ENGLISH SPOKEN HERE. I suppose I must have dropped asleep some time, but it seemed to me that I was lying awake watching for the daylight, which seemed as if it would never come. Then I dropped soundly asleep and slept some hours, for when I opened my eyes with a start there was one of the blacks leaning over me with some cords in his hands, with which he seemed to be about to bind me; but a shout outside took his attention, and he went out, leaving me trembling with anxiety and crushing the note in my hand. It was broad daylight with brilliant sunshine without, but my prison was windowless, and where I lay was in the shadow, save where here and there a pencil of light shone through the palm-leaf thatch and made a glowing spot upon the floor. Every moment I expected to see my guard back again, or I might be interrupted, I knew, by the coming of some one with food. I dared not then attempt to read for some time, since it seemed like too great a risk of losing words that were inexpressibly precious. At last all seemed so still but the buzz and hum of distant voices that I determined to venture, and undoing my hot hand I unfolded the little scrap of paper, upon which, written closely but clearly, were the following words-- "_As we are so near a village of the blacks, and you have not returned, I have concluded that you have been made a prisoner. Gyp found your scent and went off, returning after many hours' absence; so I write these lines to bid you be of good heart, for we shall try by stratagem to get you away_." Then there was this, evidently written the next day: "_Gyp has been again and brought back the above lines which I tied to his collar. If you get them tie something to the dog's collar to show you are alive and well. Poor Jimmy went in search of you, but has not returned_." "Tie something to the dog's collar to show you are alive and well!" I said to myself over and over again, as I carefully secreted the scrap of paper--a needless task, as, if it had been seen, no one would have paid any heed to it. "And I have tied something to the dog's collar and they will come, the doctor and Jack Penny, with the blacks, to-night to try and save me, and I shall escape." I stopped here, for the words seemed to be wild and foolish. How could they rescue me, and, besides, ought I not to feel glad that I was here among the natives of the island? What better position could I be in for gaining information about my father? I lay thinking like this for long, and every hour it seemed that my injured head and my cut wrists and ankles were healing. The confused feeling had passed away, leaving nothing but stiffness and soreness, while the message I had received gave me what I wanted worst--hope. I did not see Jimmy that day, for he was not brought out, neither was I taken to the tree, but I saw that the savage who brought me food had a double quantity, and to prove that some of it was meant for my fellow-prisoner I soon afterwards heard him shout: "Mass Joe come have 'nana--come have plantain 'nana." This he repeated till I uttered a low long whistle, one which he had heard me use scores of times, and to which he replied. An hour after he whistled again, but I could not reply, for three or four of the blacks were in the hut with me, evidently for no other purpose than to watch. That night I lay awake trembling and anxious. I wanted to have something ready to send back by the dog when it came at night, but try how I would I could contrive nothing. I had no paper or pencil; no point of any kind to scratch a few words on a piece of bark--no piece of bark if I had had a point. As it happened, though I lay awake the dog did not come, and when the morning came, although I was restless and feverish I was more at rest in my mind, for I thought I saw my way to communicate a word or two with the doctor. I was unbound now, and therefore had no difficulty in moving about the hut, from whose low roof, after a good deal of trying, I at last obtained a piece of palm-leaf that seemed likely to suit my purpose. This done, my need was a point of some kind--a pin, a nail, the tongue of a buckle, a hard sharp piece of wood, and I had neither. But I had hope. Several different blacks had taken their places at the door of my hut, and I was waiting patiently for the one to return who sat there carving his waddy handle. When he came I hoped by some stratagem to get hold of the sharp bit of flint to scratch my palm-leaf. Fortunately towards mid-day this man came, and after a good look at me where I lay he stuck his spear in the earth, squatted down, took out his flint and waddy, and began once more to laboriously cut the zigzag lines that formed the ornamentation. I lay there hungrily watching him hour after hour, vainly trying to think out some plan, and when I was quite in despair the black boy, whom I had not seen for many hours, came sauntering up in an indifferent way to stand talking to my guard for some minutes, and then entered the hut to stand looking down at me. I was puzzled about that boy, for at times I thought him friendly, at others disposed to treat me as an enemy; but my puzzled state was at an end, for as soon as I began to make signs he watched me eagerly and tried to comprehend. I had hard work to make him understand by pointing to the savage outside, and then pretending to hack at my finger as if carving it. Jimmy would have understood in a moment, but it was some time before the boy saw what I meant. Then his face lit up, and he slowly sauntered away, as if in the most careless of moods, poising his spear and throwing it at trees, stooping, leaping, and playing at being a warrior of his tribe, so it seemed to me, till he disappeared among the trees. The sun was sinking low, but he did not return. I saw him pass by with the tall painted warrior, and then go out of sight. My food had been given me, but I had not seen Jimmy, though we had corresponded together by making a few shrill parrot-like whistles. Night would soon be upon me once again, and when Gyp came, if he did come, I should not be ready. I was just thinking like this when there was a slight tap close by me, and turning quickly I saw a sharp-pointed piece of stone upon the beaten earth floor, and as I reached out my hand to pick it up a piece of white wood struck me on the hand, making a sharp metallic sound. I felt that there was danger, and half threw myself over my treasures, looking dreamily out at the entrance and remaining motionless, as my guard entered to stare round suspiciously, eyeing me all over, and then going slowly back. I breathed more freely, and was thinking as I saw him settle down that I might at any time begin to try and carve a word or two, and in this mind I was about to take the piece of wood from beneath me when the savage swung himself round and sprang into the hut in a couple of bounds. He had meant to surprise me if I had been engaged upon any plan of escape, but finding me perfectly motionless he merely laughed and went back. Directly after, another savage came up and took his place, and I eagerly began my task. Very easy it sounds to carve a few letters on a piece of wood, but how hard I found it before I managed to roughly cut the words "All Well," having selected these because they were composed of straight lines, which mine were not. Still I hoped that the doctor would make them out, and I hid my piece of flint and my wooden note and waited, meaning to keep awake till the dog came. But I had been awake all the previous night, and I fell fast asleep, till Gyp came and roused me by scratching at my chest, when in a dreamy confused way I found and took something from the dog's collar and tied my note in its place, falling asleep directly after from sheer exhaustion. It was broad daylight when I awoke, and my first thought was of my message, when, thrusting my hand into my breast, a curious sensation of misery came over me as my hand came in contact with a piece of wood, and it seemed that I had been dreaming and the dog had not come. I drew out the flat piece of white wood, but it was not mine. The doctor, probably having no paper, had hit upon the same plan as I. His words were few. "Be on the alert. We shall come some night." I thrust the wooden label beneath the dust of the floor, scraped some more earth over it, and already saw myself at liberty, and in the joy of my heart I uttered a long parrot-like whistle, but it was not answered. I whistled again, but there was no reply; and though I kept on making signals for quite an hour no response came, and the joyousness began to fade out of my breast. Twice over that morning I saw the tall savage who was so diabolically painted and tattooed go by, and once I thought he looked very hard at my hut; but he soon passed out of my sight, leaving me wondering whether he was the chief, from his being so much alone, and the curious way in which all the people seemed to get out of his path. Once or twice he came near enough for me to see him better, and I noticed that he walked with his eyes fixed upon the ground in a dreamy way, full of dignity, and I felt certain now that he must be the king of these people. The next day came and I saw him again in the midst of quite a crowd, who had borne one of their number into the middle of the inclosure of huts, and this time I saw the tall strange-looking savage go slowly down upon his knees, and soon after rise and motion with his hands, when everyone but the boy fell back. He alone knelt down on one side of what was evidently an injured man. The blacks kept their distance religiously till the painted savage signed to them once more, when they ran forward and four of their number lifted the prostrate figure carefully and carried it into a hut. "I was right," I said to myself with a feeling of satisfaction. "I was right the first time. It is the doctor, and he ought to have come to my help when I was so bad." Two days, three days passed, during which I lay and watched the birds that flitted by, saw the people as they came and went, and from time to time uttered a signal whistle; but this had to be stopped, for on the afternoon of the third day a very tall savage entered hurriedly in company with my guard and half a dozen more, and by signs informed me that if I made signals again my life would be taken. It was very easy to understand, for spears were pointed at me and war-clubs tapped me not very lightly upon the head. As soon as I was left alone I sat thinking, and before long came to the conclusion that this was probably the reason why I had not heard any signal from Jimmy, who had perhaps been obstinate, and consequently had been treated with greater severity. I longed for the night to come that I might have some fresh message from the doctor, but somehow I could not keep awake, anxious as I was, and I was sleeping soundly when a touch awoke me with a start. I threw up my hands to catch Gyp by the collar, but to my consternation I touched a hand and arm in the darkness, and there was something so peculiar in the touch, my hand seeming to rest on raised lines of paint, that I turned cold, for I knew that one of the savages was bending over me, and I felt that it must mean that my time had come. I should have called out, but a hand was laid over my lips and an arm pressed my chest, as a voice whispered in good English: "Run, escape! You can't stay here!" "Who is it?" I whispered back, trembling with excitement. "I know!" I added quickly; "you are the tall savage--the doctor!" "Yes--yes!" he said in a low dreamy tone. "The tall savage! Yes--tall savage!" "But you are an Englishman!" I panted, as a terrible thought, half painful, half filled with hope, flashed through my brain. "Englishman! yes--Englishman! Before I was here--before I was ill! Come, quick! escape for your life! Go!" "And you?" He was silent--so silent that I put out my hands and touched him, to make sure that he had not gone, and I found that he was resting his head upon his hands. "Will you go with me to my friends?" I said, trembling still, for the thought that had come to me was gaining strength. "Friends!" he said softly; "friends! Yes, I had friends before I came-- before I came!" He said this in a curious dreamy tone, and I forced the idea back. It was impossible, but at the same time my heart leaped for joy. Here was an Englishman dwelling among the savages--a prisoner, or one who had taken up this life willingly, and if he could dwell among them so could my father, who must be somewhere here. "Tell me," I began; but he laid his hand upon my lips. "Hist! not a sound," he said. "The people sleep lightly; come with me." He took my hand in his and led me out boldly past a black who was lying a short distance from my hut, and then right across the broad opening surrounded by the natives' dwellings, and then through a grove of trees to a large hut standing by itself. He pressed my hand hard and led me through the wide opening into what seemed to be a blacker darkness, which did not, however, trouble him, for he stepped out boldly, and then I heard a muttering growl which I recognised directly. "Hush, Jimmy!" I whispered, throwing myself upon my knees. "Don't speak." "Jimmy not a go to speak um," he said softly. "Mass Joe come a top." "Go," said my companion. "Go quick. I want to help--I--the fever--my head--help." There was another pause, and on stretching out my hand I found that my guide was pressing his to his forehead once again. "He has lived this savage life so long that he cannot think," I felt as, taking his hand, I led him to the opening, through which he passed in silence, and with Jimmy walking close behind he led us between a couple more huts, and then for a good hour between tall trees so close together that we threaded our way with difficulty. My companion did not speak, and at last the silence grew so painful that I asked him how long it would be before daybreak. "Hush!" he said. "Listen! They have found out." He finished in an excited way, repeating hastily some native words before stooping to listen, when, to my dismay, plainly enough in the silence of the night came the angry murmur of voices, and this probably meant pursuit--perhaps capture, and then death. CHAPTER THIRTY. HOW I TALKED WITH MY NEW FRIEND. As I heard the sound of the pursuit a horrible sensation of dread came over me. I felt that we must be taken, and, in addition, vague ideas of trouble and bloodshed floated through my brain, with memories of the fight in the gorge, and I shuddered at the idea of there being more people slain. The effect was different upon Jimmy, the distant cries seeming to excite him. He stopped every now and then to jump from the ground and strike the nearest tree a tremendous blow with a waddy he had obtained from our guide. The latter checked him, though, laying a hand upon his arm as he said to me, after listening intently: "You don't want to fight. These people are too strong. You must escape." "But you will come with us?" I said once more, with the vague fancy coming back that this was he whom I sought, but terribly changed. He said something in reply in the savage tongue, stopped, and then went on. "I forget--I don't know. I am the doctor--a savage--what did you say?" "Come with us," I whispered, and he bent his head in the dark; but my words seemed to have no effect upon him, one idea seeming to be all that he could retain, for he hurried me on, grasping my arm tightly, and then loosed it and went on in front. Jimmy took his place, gripping my arm in turn, and, whispering, showed his power of observation by saying: "Much good him. No black fellow. Talk like Mass Joe some time. Jimmy tink um Mass Joe fader got dust in head. Don't know know." "Oh no! impossible, Jimmy," I whispered back with emotion. "It cannot be my father." "No fader? All um white fellow got mud mud in head. Can't see, can't know know. No Mass Joe fader?" "No, I am sure it is not." "Then um white fellow. No black fellow. Tupid tupid. Don't know at all. No find wallaby in hole. No find honey. No kedge fis. Tupid white fellow all a same, mud in um head." "He seems strange in his head," I said. "Yes. Iss mad mad. No wash um head clean. Can't tink straight up an down ums like Jimmy." "But he is saving us," I said. "Taking us to our friends." "Jimmy no know. Jimmy tink doctor somewhere right long--big hill. Gib black white fellow topper topper make um tink more." "No, no," I whispered, for he had grasped his waddy and was about to clear our guide's misty brain in this rough-and-ready way. "Be quiet and follow him." Just then our guide stopped and let me go to his side. "Fever--my head," he said softly, and as if apologising. "Can't think." "But you will come with us?" I said. "My friend the doctor will help you. You shall help us. You must not go back to that degraded life." "Doctor!" he said, as if he had only caught that word. "Yes, the doctor. Can't leave the people--can't leave him." "Him!" I said; "that boy?" "Hush! come faster." For there were shouts and cries behind, and he hurried us along for some distance, talking rapidly to me all the while in the savages' tongue, and apparently under the impression that I understood every word, though it was only now and then that I caught his meaning, and then it was because they were English words. After catching a few of these I became aware, or rather guessed, that he was telling me the story of his captivity among these people, and I tried eagerly to get him to speak English; but he did not seem to heed me, going on rapidly, and apparently bent on getting us away. I caught such words as "fever--prisoner--my head--years--misery-- despair--always--savage--doctor"--but only in the midst of a long excited account which he said more to himself. I was at last paying little heed to him when two words stood out clear and distinctly from the darkness of his savage speech, words that sent a spasm through me and made me catch at his arm and try to speak, but only to emit a few gasping utterances as he bent down to me staring as if in wonder. The words were "fellow-prisoner;" and they made me stop short, for I felt that I had really and providentially hit upon the right place after all, and that there could be only one man likely to be a fellow-prisoner, and that--my poor father. It was impossible to flee farther, I felt, and leave him whom I had come to seek behind. Then common sense stepped in and made me know that it was folly to stay, while Jimmy supplemented these thoughts by saying: "Black fellow come along fas. Mass Joe no gun, no powder pop, no chopper, no knife, no fight works 'tall." "Where is he?" I said excitedly, as I held the arm of our guide. "Blacks--coming after us." He talked on rapidly in the savage tongue and I uttered a groan of despair. "What um say, Mass Joe?" whispered Jimmy excitedly. "Talk, talk, poll parrot can't say know what um say. Come along run way fas. Fight nunner time o," he added. "Black fellow come along." He caught my arm, and, following our guide, we hurried on through the darkness, which was so dense that if it had not been for the wonderful eyesight of my black companion--a faculty which seemed to have been acquired or shared by our guide--I should have struck full against the trunk of some tree. As it was, I met with a few unpleasant blows on arm or shoulder, though the excitement of our flight was too great for me to heed them then. I was in despair, and torn by conflicting emotions: joy at escaping and at having reached the goal I had set up, misery at having to leave it behind just when I had found the light. It might have been foolish, seeing how much better I could serve him by being free, but I felt ready to hurry back and share my father's captivity, for I felt assured that it must be he of whom our guide spoke. We were hurrying on all this time entirely under the guidance of the strange being who had set us free, but not without protests from the black, who was growing jealous of our guide and who kept on whispering: "No go no farrer, Mass Joe, Jimmy fine a doctor an Mass Jack Penny. Hi come along Jimmy now." He was just repeating this in my ear when we were hurrying on faster, for the sounds of our pursuers came clear upon the wind, when our guide stopped short and fell back a few paces as a low angry growl saluted him from the darkness in front and he said something sharply to us in the native tongue. His words evidently meant "Fall back!" but I had recognised that growl. "Gyp!" I cried; and the growling changed to a whining cry of joy, and in an instant the dog was leaping up at my face, playfully biting at my hands, and then darting at Jimmy he began the same welcoming demonstrations upon the black. "Mass Joe, Mass Joe, he go eat up black fellow. Top um away, top um away." "It's only his play, Jimmy," I said. "Him eat piece Jimmy, all up leggum," cried the black. "Here, Gyp!" I cried, as the dog stopped his whining cry of pleasure, but growled once more. "Here," I said, "this is a friend. Pat his head, sir, and--, where is he, Jimmy?" "Black white fellow, Mass Joe?" "Yes, yes, where is he?" "Gone 'long uder way. Run back fas fas. Fraid o Gyp, Gyp send um way." "Stop him! Run after him! He must not go," I cried. I stopped, for there was a low piping whistle like the cry of a Blue Mountain parrot back at home. "Jack Penny!" I gasped, and I answered the call. "Iss, yes, Mass Jack Penny," cried Jimmy, and Gyp made a bound from my side into the darkness, leaving us alone. We heard the crash and rustle of the underwood as the dog tore off, and I was about to follow, but I could not stir, feeling that if I waited our guide might return, when, in the midst of my indecision, the whistle was repeated, and this time Jimmy answered. Then there was more rustling, the dog came panting back; and as the rustling continued there came out of the darkness a sound that made my heart leap. It was only my name softly uttered, apparently close at hand, and I made a bound in the direction, but only to fall back half-stunned, for I had struck myself full against a tree. I just remember falling and being caught by some one, and then I felt sick, and the darkness seemed filled with lights. But these soon died out, and I was listening to a familiar voice that came, it appeared, from a long way off; then it came nearer and nearer, and the words seemed to be breathed upon my face. "Only a bit stunned," it said; and then I gasped out the one word: "Doctor!" "My dear Joe!" came back, and--well, it was in the dark, and we were not ashamed: the doctor hugged me to his heart, as if I had been his brother whom he had found. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. HOW WE MADE FURTHER PLANS. "Why, Joe, my lad," he said at last, in a voice I did not recognise, it was so full of emotion, "you've driven me half-wild. How could you get in such a fix?" "Jimmy get in big fix," said an ill-used voice. "Nobody glad to see Jimmy." "I'm glad to feel you," drawled a well-known voice. "I can't see you. How are you, Joe Carstairs? Where have you been?" "Jack, old fellow, I'm glad!" I cried, and I grasped his hands. "That will do," said the doctor sternly. "Are the savages after you, Joe?" "Yes, in full pursuit, I think," I said. "But my guide. I can't leave him." "Your guide? Where is he?" "I don't know. He was here just now. He brought us here." "Jimmy-Jimmy say um goes back along," said the black. "He no top, big fright. Gyp bite um." "One of the blacks, Joe?" said the doctor. "No, no!" I said, so excited that I could hardly speak coherently. "A white man--a prisoner among the blacks--like a savage, but--" "No, no," said Jimmy in a disgusted tone; "no like savage black fellow-fellow. Got a dust in head. No tink a bit; all agone." "His mind wanders, being a prisoner," I stammered. "He is with the blacks--a prisoner--with my father." "What?" cried the doctor. "He has a fellow-prisoner," I faltered. "I am not sure--it must be--my father!" "Mass Joe find um fader all along," said the black. "Jimmy find um too." "Be silent!" cried the doctor. "Do I understand aright, Joe, that your father is a prisoner with the people from whom you have escaped?" "Yes--I think so--I am not sure--I feel it is so," I faltered. "Humph!" "Have you seen him?" "No," I said. "I did not know he was there till I was escaping." "Jimmy see um. All rightums. Find Mass Joe fader." "You saw him, Jimmy?" I panted. "Iss. Yes, Jimmy see him. Big long hair beard down um tummuck." "You have seen him--the prisoner?" said the doctor. "Yes; iss Jimmy see um. Shut up all along. Sittum down, um look at ground all sleep, sleep like wallaby, wallaby." "He means the poor fellow who helped us to escape," I said sadly. "Jimmy see Mass Joe fader," cried the black indignantly. "Jimmy take um right long show um." "The man who brought us here?" "No, no, no, no!" cried Jimmy, dancing with vexation. "Not, not. Jimmy see um Mass Joe fader sit all along. See froo hole. Big long beard down um tummuck--long hair down um back. Um shake um head so, so. Say `hi--hi--ho--hum. Nev see home again. Ah, my wife! Ah, my boy!'" "You heard him say that, Jimmy?" I cried, catching him by the arm. "Jimmy sure, sure. Jimmy look froo hole. Den fro little tone an hit um, and den black fellow come along, and Jimmy lay fas' sleep, eye shut, no move bit." "He has seen him, Joe," cried the doctor. "He could not have invented that." There was a low whining growl here again from Gyp, and Jack Penny drawled: "I say, sha'n't we all be made prisoners if we stop here?" "Quick!" said the doctor; "follow me." "And our guide?" I cried. "We must come in search of him another time. If he has been with the blacks for long he will know how to protect himself." I was unwilling to leave one who had helped us in such a time of need; but to stay meant putting ourselves beyond being able to rescue my father, if it were really he who was our guide's fellow-prisoner. The result, of course, was that I followed the doctor, while a snuffling whine now and then told us that Gyp was on in front, and, in spite of the darkness, leading the way so well that there seemed to be no difficulty. "Where are we going?" I said, after a pause, during which we had been listening to the cries of the savages, which appeared to come from several directions. "To our hiding-place," said the doctor. "Jimmy found it before we lost him, and we have kept to it since, so as to be near you." "But how did you know you were near me?" I said. "Through Gyp first. He went away time after time, and I suspected that he had found you, so one day we followed him and he led us to the village." "Yes?" I said. "Then we had to wait. I sent messages to you by him; and at last I got your answer. To-night we were coming again to try and reach you, perhaps get you away. We meant to try. I should not have gone back without you, my lad," he said quietly. The cries now seemed distant, and we went slowly on through the darkness--slowly, for the trees were very close and it required great care to avoid rushing against them; but the doctor seemed to have made himself acquainted with the forest, and he did not hesitate till all at once the shouts of the blacks seemed to come from close by upon our right, and were answered directly from behind us. "A party of them have worked round," whispered the doctor. "Keep cool. They cannot know we are so near. Hist! crouch down." We were only just in time, for hardly had we crouched down close to the ground than the sound of the savages pushing forward from tree to tree was heard. I could not understand it at first, that curious tapping noise; but as they came nearer I found that each man lightly tapped every tree he reached, partly to avoid it, by the swinging of his waddy, partly as a guide to companions of his position. They came closer and closer, till it seemed that they must either see or touch us, and I felt my heart beat in heavy dull throbs as I longed for the rifle that these people had taken from me when they made me prisoner. I heard a faint rustle to my right, and I knew it was Jimmy preparing for a spring. I heard a slight sound on my left just as the nearest savage uttered a wild cry, and I knew that this was the lock of a gun being cocked. Then all was silent once more. Perhaps the savages heard the faint click, and uttered a warning, for the tapping of the trees suddenly ceased, and not the faintest sound could be heard. This terrible silence lasted quite five minutes. It seemed to me like an hour, and all the while we knew that at least a dozen armed savage warriors were within charging distance, and that discovery meant certain captivity, if not death. I held my breath till I felt that when I breathed again I should utter a loud gasp and be discovered. I dared not move to bury my face in my hands or in the soft earth, and my sensations were becoming agonising, when there was a sharp tap on a tree, so near that I felt the ground quiver. The tap was repeated to right and left, accompanied by a curious cry that sounded like "Whai--why!" and the party swept on. "A narrow escape!" said the doctor, as we breathed freely once more. "Go on, Gyp. Let's get to earth; we shall be safer there." I did not understand the doctor's words then, but followed in silence, with Jack Penny coming close up to me whenever he found the way open, to tell me of his own affairs. "My back's a deal better," he whispered. "I've been able to rest it lately--waiting for you, and it makes it stronger, you know, and--" "Silence, Penny!" said the doctor reprovingly, and Jack fell back a few feet; and we travelled on, till suddenly, instead of treading upon the soft decayed-leaf soil of the forest, I found that we were rustling among bushes down a steep slope. Then we were amongst loose stones, and as the darkness was not quite so dense I made out by sight as well as by the soft trickling sound, that a little rivulet was close to our feet. This we soon afterwards crossed, and bidding me stoop the doctor led the way beneath the dense bushes for some little distance before we seemed to climb a stony bank, and then in the intense darkness he took me by the shoulders and backed me a few steps. "There's quite a bed of branches there," he said aloud. "You can speak out, we are safe here;" and pressing me down I sat upon the soft twigs that had been gathered together, and Jack Penny came and lay down beside me, to talk for a time and then drop off to sleep, an example I must have followed. For all at once I started and found that it was broad daylight, with the loud twittering song of birds coming from the bushes at the entrance of what seemed to be a low-roofed extensive cave, whose mouth was in the shelving bank of a great bluff which overhung a silvery-sounding musical stream. Some light came in from the opening; but the place was made bright by the warm glow that came from a kind of rift right at the far end of the cave, and through this was also wafted down the sweet forest scents. "Jimmy's was a lucky find for us," said the doctor, when I had partaken of the food I found they had stored there, and we had talked over our position and the probability of my belief being correct. "It is shelter as well as a stronghold;" and he pointed to the means he had taken to strengthen the entrance, by making our black followers bind together the branches of the tangled shrubs that grew about the mouth. In the talk that ensued it was decided that we would wait a couple of days, and then go by night and thoroughly examine the village. Jimmy would be able to point out the hut where my father was confined, and then if opportunity served we would bring him away, lie hidden here for a few days till the heat of the pursuit was over, and then escape back to the coast. I would not own to the doctor that I had my doubts, and he owned afterwards to me that his feeling was the same. So we both acted as if we had for certain discovered him of whom we came in search, and waited our time for the first venture. It was dangerous work hunting for food at so short a distance from the village, but our black followers, aided by Jimmy, were very successful, their black skins protecting them from exciting surprise if they were seen from a distance, and they brought in a good supply of fish every day simply by damming up some suitable pool in the little stream in whose bank our refuge was situated. This stream swarmed with fish, and it was deep down in a gully between and arched over by trees. The bows and arrows and Jimmy's spear obtained for us a few birds, and in addition they could always get for us a fair supply of fruit, though not quite such as we should have chosen had it been left to us. Roots, too, they brought, so that with the stores we had there was not much prospect of our starving. In fact so satisfactory was our position in the pleasant temperate cave that Jack Penny was in no hurry to move. "We're just as well here as anywhere else," he said; "that is, if we had found your father." "And got him safe here," he added after a pause. "And the black chaps didn't come after us," he said after a little more thought. "And your mother wasn't anxious about you," he said, after a little more consideration. "You'll find such a lot more reasons for not stopping, Jack Penny," I said, after hearing him out, "that you'll finish by saying we had better get our work done and return to a civilised country as soon as we can." "Oh, I don't know!" said Jack slowly. "I don't care about civilised countries: they don't suit me. Everybody laughs at me because I'm a bit different, and father gives it to me precious hard sometimes. Give me Gyp and my gun, and I should be happy enough here." "Don't talk like that, Jack," I said in agony, as I thought of him who had helped me to escape, and of the prisoner he had mentioned, and whom the black professed to have seen. "Let's get our task done and escape as soon as we can. A savage life is not for such as we." That day we had an alarm. Our men had been out and returned soon after sunrise, that being our custom for safety's sake. Then, too, we were very careful about having a fire, though we had no difficulty with it, for it burned freely, and the smoke rose up through the great crack in the rock above our heads, and disappeared quietly amongst the trees. But we had one or two scares: hearing voices of the blacks calling to each other, but they were slight compared to the alarm to which I alluded above. The men, I say, were back, having been more successful than usual-- bringing us both fish and a small wild pig. We had made a good meal, and the doctor and I were lying on the armfuls of leafy boughs that formed our couch, talking for the twentieth time about our plans for the night, when all at once, just as I was saying that with a little brave effort we could pass right through the sleepy village and bring away the prisoner, I laid my hand sharply on the doctor's arm. He raised his head at the same moment, for we had both heard the unmistakable noise given by a piece of dead twig when pressed upon by a heavy foot. We listened with beating hearts, trying to localise the very spot whence the sound came; and when we were beginning to breathe more freely it came again, but faint and distant. "Whoever it was has not found out that we are here," I whispered. The doctor nodded; and just then Jack Penny, who had been resting his back, sat up and yawned loudly, ending by giving Jimmy, who was fast asleep, a sounding slap on the back. I felt the cold perspiration ooze out of me as I glanced at the doctor. Then turning over on to my hands and knees I crept to where Jimmy was threatening Jack with his waddy in much anger, and held up my hand. The effect was magical. They were silent on the instant, but we passed the rest of that day in agony. "I'm glad that we decided to go to-night," the doctor said. "Whoever it was that passed must have heard us, and we shall have the savages here to-morrow to see what it meant." The night seemed as if it would never come, but at last the sun went down, and in a very short time it was dark. Our plans were to go as near as we dared to the village as soon as darkness set in, place our men, and then watch till the savages seemed to be asleep, and then, by Jimmy's help, seek out my father's prison, bring him away to the cave, and there rest for a day or two, perhaps for several, as I have said. But the events of the day had made us doubtful of the safety of our refuge; and, after talking the matter over with the doctor, we both came to the conclusion that we would leave the latter part of our plan to take care of itself. "First catch your hare, Joe!" said the doctor finally. "And look here, my lad; I begin to feel confident now that this prisoner is your father. We must get him away. It is not a case of _try_! We _must_, I say; and if anything happens to me--" "Happens to you!" I said aghast. "Well; I may be captured in his place!" he said smiling. "If I am, don't wait, don't spare a moment, but get off with your prize. I don't suppose they will do more than imprison me. I am a doctor, and perhaps I can find some favour with them." "Don't talk like that, doctor!" I said, grasping his hand. "We must hold together." "We must release your father!" he said sternly. "There, that will do." CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. HOW WE HEARD A BLACK DISCUSSION AND DID NOT UNDERSTAND. The rescue party consisted of the doctor, Ti-hi, and myself, with Jimmy for guide. Jack Penny was to take command of the cave, and be ready to defend it and help us if attacked or we were pursued. At the same time he was to have the bearers and everything in readiness for an immediate start, in case we decided to continue our flight. "I think that's all we can say, Penny," said the doctor in a low grave voice, as we stood ready to start. "Everything must depend on the prisoners. Now be firm and watchful. Good-bye." "I sha'n't go to sleep," said Jack Penny. "I say, though, hadn't you better take Gyp?" "Yes, yes; take Gyp!" I said; "he knows the way so well." "Jimmy know a way so well, too!" said the black. "No take a dog--Gyp!" But we decided to take the dog, and creeping down into the bed of the rivulet we stood in the darkness listening, shut-in, as it were, by the deep silence. "Forward, Jimmy!" said the doctor, and his voice sounded hollow and strange. Gyp uttered a whine--that dog had been so well trained that he rarely barked--ran quickly up the further bank of the rivulet; Jimmy trotted after him, waddy in hand; the doctor went next, I followed, and Ti-hi brought up the rear. One minute the stars were shining brightly over us, the next we were under the great forest trees, and the darkness was intense. "Keep close to me, my lad," the doctor whispered; and I followed him by the ear more than by the eye; but somehow the task grew easier as we went on, and I did not once come in contact with a tree. By the way Gyp took us I don't suppose it was more than six miles to the savages' village; and though we naturally went rather slowly, the excitement I felt was so great that it seemed a very little while before Jimmy stopped short to listen. "Hear um talkum talkum," he whispered. We could neither of us hear a sound, but I had great faith in Jimmy's hearing, for in old times he had given me some remarkable instances of the acuteness of this sense. "Jimmy go first see!" he whispered; and the next minute we knew that we were alone with Ti-hi, Jimmy and the dog having gone on to scout. "I detest having to depend upon a savage!" muttered the doctor; "it seems so degrading to a civilised man." "But they hear and see better than we do." "Yes," he said; "it is so." There we waited in that dense blackness beneath the trees, listening to the faintest sound, till quite an hour had elapsed, and we were burning to go on, when all at once Ti-hi, who was behind us, uttered a faint hiss, and as we turned sharply a familiar voice said: "All rightums! Jimmy been round round, find um Mass Joe fader!" "You have found him?" I cried. "Not talk shouto so!" whispered Jimmy. "Black fellow come." "But have you found him?" I whispered. "Going a find um; all soon nuff!" he replied coolly. "Come long now." He struck off to the right and we followed, going each minute more cautiously, for we soon heard the busy hum of many voices--a hum which soon after developed into a loud chatter, with occasional angry outbursts, as if something were being discussed. Jimmy went on, Gyp keeping close to his heels now, as if he quite understood the importance of not being seen. We had left the dense forest, and were walking in a more open part among tall trees, beneath which it was black as ever, but outside the stars shone brilliantly, and it was comparatively light. The voices seemed so near now that I thought we were going too far, and just then Jimmy raised his hand and stopped us, before what seemed to be a patch of black darkness, and I found that we were in the shadow cast by a long hut, whose back was within a yard or so of our feet. Jimmy placed his lips close to my ear, then to the doctor's, and to each of us he whispered: "Soon go sleep--sleep. Find Mass Joe fader, and go away fast. All top here Jimmy go see." I quite shared with the doctor the feeling of helpless annoyance at having to depend so much on the black; but I felt that he was far better able to carry out this task than we were, so stood listening to the buzz of voices, that seemed now to arise on every hand. From where we stood we could see a group of the savages standing not thirty yards from us, their presence being first made plain by their eager talking, and I pressed the doctor's arm and pointed. "Yes," he whispered; "but we are in the shadow." From huts to right and left we could hear talking, but that in front of us was silent, and I began wondering whether it was the one that had been my prison. But it was impossible to tell, everything seemed so different in the faint light cast by the stars. I could not even make out the tree where Jimmy had been tied. All at once a sensation as of panic seized me, for the group of blacks set up a loud shout, and came running towards where we were. I was sure they saw us, and with a word of warning to the doctor I turned and should have fled but for two hands that were laid upon my shoulders, pressing me down, the doctor crouching likewise. At first I thought it was Jimmy, but turning my head I found that it was Ti-hi, whose hand now moved from my shoulder to my lips. I drew a breath full of relief the next moment, for in place of dashing down upon us the blacks rushed into the hut behind which we were standing, crowding it; and there was nothing now but a wall of dried and interwoven palm leaves between us and our fierce enemies. Here a loud altercation seemed to ensue, angry voices being heard; and several times over I thought there was going to be a fight. I could not comprehend a word, but the tones of voice were unmistakably those of angry men, and it was easy to tell when one left off and another began. We dared not stir, for now it seemed to be so light that if we moved from the shadow of the hut we should be seen, while the fact of one of us stepping upon a dead twig and making it snap would be enough to bring half the village upon us, at a time when we wanted to employ strategy and not force. The burst of talking in the hut ended all at once, and there was a dead silence, as if those within were listening intently. We held our breath and listened too, trembling with excitement, for all at once we heard a voice utter a few words, and then there was a faint sound of rustling, with the cracking noise made by a joint, as if some one had risen to a standing position. Were the savages coming round to our side and about to leap upon us? Perhaps they were even then stealing from both ends; and my heart in the terrible excitement kept on a heavy dull throb, which seemed to beat right up into my throat. The moments passed away, though, and at last I began to breathe more freely. It was evident that the savages had quitted the hut. In this belief I laid my hand upon the doctor's arm, and was about to speak, when close by us, as it seemed, but really from within the wall of the hut, there came the low muttering of a voice, and I knew that some one had been left behind. The doctor pressed my hand, and I shivered as I felt how narrow an escape we had had. We wanted, of course, to move, but it seemed impossible, and so we stayed, waiting to see if the black had made any discovery. After what seemed to me an interminable time I heard a slight rustling sound, and almost at the same moment there was a hand upon my arm, and directly after a warm pair of lips upon my ear: "Jimmy no find um fader yet! Take um out o' place place! Put um somewhere; no know tell!" I placed my lips to his ear in turn and whispered that there was some one left in the hut. "Jimmy go see," he said softly; and before I could stay him he was gone. "What is it?" whispered the doctor; and I told him. The doctor drew his pistol--I heard him in the darkness--and grasped my arm, as if to be ready for flight; but just then I heard a voice in the hut which made me start with joy. Then there was a rustling sound, and Jimmy came round the corner of the hut. "All rightums!" he whispered. "Find somebody's fader!" "You here again, my boy!" whispered a familiar voice. "Yes!" I said, catching the speaker's arm; and then, "Doctor," I said, "this is the prisoner who saved me--and set Jimmy free!" "Doctor!" said the poor fellow in a low puzzled voice, as if his mind were wandering. "Yes, I am the doctor! They made me their doctor when--the fever--when--oh! my boy, my boy! why did you come back?" he cried excitedly, as if his brain were once more clear. "To fetch you and--the other prisoner!" I said. "Mr Carstairs?" he said earnestly. "Hush, hush! They are coming back--to kill me, perhaps! I must go." He slipped away from us before we could stop him, and while we were debating as to whether we had not better rush in and fight in his defence, the savages crowded into the hut, and once more there was a loud buzz of voices. These were checked by one deeper, slower, and more stern than the others, which were silenced; and after a minute or two, we heard our friend the Englishman respond in a deprecating voice, and apparently plead for mercy. Then the chief savage spoke again in stern tones, there was a buzz of voices once more, and the savages seemed to file out and cross the opening towards the other side of the village. We dared not move, but remained there listening, not knowing but that a guard might have been left; but at the end of a minute or two our friend was back at our side, to say excitedly: "I want to help you, but my head--I forget--I cannot speak sometimes--I cannot think. It is all dark here--here--in my mind. Why have you come?" "We are friends," said the doctor. "Where is Mr Carstairs?" "Carstairs?--Mr Carstairs?" he said. "Ah--" He began to speak volubly in the savage tongue now, tantalising me so that I grasped his arm, exclaiming fiercely: "Speak English. Where is my father?" I could hardly see his face, but there was light enough to tell that he turned towards me, and he stopped speaking, and seemed to be endeavouring to comprehend what I said. "My father--the prisoner," I said again, with my lips now to his ear. "Prisoner? Yes. At the great hut--the chief's hut--" He began speaking again volubly, and then stopped and bent his head. "At the chief's hut?" said the doctor excitedly. "Wait a moment or two to give him time to collect himself, then ask him again." The poor dazed creature turned to the doctor now, and bent towards him, holding him by the arm this time. "Chief's hut? Yes: right across. There." He pointed in the direction the savages seemed to have taken, and from whence we could hear the voices rising and falling in busy speech. My heart leaped, for we knew now definitely where he whom we sought was kept, and the longing, impatient sensation there came upon me to be face to face with him was so strong that I could hardly contain myself. "Let us get round there at once," I whispered, "Here, Jimmy." There was no answer: Jimmy had crept away. CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. HOW I NEARLY MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE. We tried several times over to get our friend to speak, but the result was only a voluble burst of words in a tongue we could not comprehend, while all the time he seemed to be aware of his failing, and waved his hands and stretched them out to us as if begging us to forgive him for his weakness. "Let him be, Joe," whispered the doctor at last; "we may excite him by pressing him. Let him calm himself, and then perhaps he can speak." I felt as if it was resigning myself to utter despair, and it seemed that our attempt that night was to be in vain, when Jimmy suddenly popped up among us once more. "'Long here," he whispered, and we were about to follow him when our friend stopped us. "No; this way," he said, and he pointed in the opposite direction. "No, no! 'long here way," said Jimmy excitedly. "Much lot black fellow that way." "Never mind," I whispered; "let's follow him." "Jimmy find Mass Joe fader right 'long this way," cried the black. "Not go 'long other way." "Where is my father?" "Big hut over 'cross," said Jimmy. "Let's get round this way to it then," I whispered. "Come along." The doctor was already in advance, following our guide, and after striking the earth a heavy blow with his waddy to get rid of his anger, Jimmy followed me, not able to understand that we could get to the opposite point by going round one way as readily as by the other. It was very slow work and we had to labour hard, holding the bushes and trees so that they should not fly back upon those who followed us; but by dint of great care we got round at last to what, as far as I could judge, was the far side of the village, our principal guide being the sound of voices which came to us in a dull murmur that increased as we drew nearer, and at last we found ourselves similarly situated as to position, being at the back of another large hut. Here we waited, listening to the buzz of voices, till I wondered in my impatience what they could be discussing, and longed to ask our guide, but feared lest I should confuse him, now that perhaps he was about to do us good service if left alone. I was glad that I had kept quiet the next minute, for the doctor laid his hand upon my shoulder and whispered in my ear: "There is no doubt about it, my lad. We have reached the right spot. Your father is a prisoner in this very hut, and the savages are discussing whether they will keep him here or take him away." "What shall we do?" I whispered back in agony, for it seemed so terrible to have come all these hundreds of miles to find him, and then to sit down, as it were, quite helpless, without taking a step to set him free. "We can do nothing yet," he replied, "but wait for an opportunity to get him away." "Can you not make some plan?" I whispered back. "Hist!" He pressed my hand, for I had been growing louder of speech in my excitement, and just then there was a fresh outburst of voices from within the hut, followed by the trampling of feet and loud shouting, which seemed to be crossing the village and going farther away. "They have taken the prisoner to--" Our companion said the first words excitedly, and then stopped short. "Where?" I exclaimed aloud, as I caught at his arm. He answered me in the savage tongue, and with an impatient stamp of the foot I turned to the doctor. "What can we do?" I said. "It makes me wish to be a prisoner too. I should see him, perhaps, and I could talk to him and tell him that help was near." "While you shut up part of the help, and raised expectations in his breast, that would perhaps result in disappointment," replied the doctor. "We must wait, my lad, wait. The savages are excited and alarmed, and we must come when their suspicions are at rest." "What do you mean?" I said. "Do you mean to go back to-night without him?" "Not if we can get him away," he said; "but we must not do anything mad or rash." "No, no, of course not," I said despairingly; "but this is horrible: to be so close to him and yet able to do nothing!" "Be patient, my lad," he whispered, "and speak lower. We have done wonders. We have come into this unknown wild, and actually have found that the lost man is alive. What is more, we have come, as if led by blind instinct, to the very place where he is a prisoner, and we almost know the hut in which he is confined." "Yes, yes. I know all that," I said; "but it is so hard not to be able to help him now." "We are helping him," said the doctor. "Just think: we have this poor half-dazed fellow to glean some information, and we have a hiding-place near, and--Look out!" I turned my piece in the direction of the danger, for just then a member of our little expedition, who had been perfectly silent so far, uttered a savage growl and a fierce worrying noise. Simultaneously there was a burst of shouts and cries, with the sound of blows and the rush of feet through the bush. For the next few minutes there was so much excitement and confusion that I could hardly tell what happened in the darkness. All I knew was that a strong clutch was laid upon my shoulders, and that I was being dragged backwards, when I heard the dull thud of a blow and I was driven to the ground, with a heavy body lying across me. I partly struggled out of this position, partly found myself dragged out, and then, in a half-stunned, confused fashion, I yielded, as I was dragged through the dark forest, the twigs and boughs lashing my face horribly. I had kept tight hold of my gun, and with the feeling strong upon me that if I wished to avoid a second captivity I must free myself, I waited for an opportunity to turn upon the strong savage who held me so tightly in his grasp and dragged me through the bush in so pitiless a manner. He had me with his left hand riveted in my clothes while with his right hand, I presumed with a war-club, he dashed the bushes aside when the obstacles were very great. My heart beat fast as I felt that if I were to escape I must fire at this fierce enemy, and so horrible did the act seem that twice over, after laying my hand upon my pistol, I withdrew it, telling myself that I had better wait for a few minutes longer. And so I waited, feeling that, after all, my captivity would not be so bad as it was before, seeing that now I should know my father was near at hand. "I can't shoot now," I said to myself passionately; "I don't think I'm a coward, but I cannot fire at the poor wretch, and I must accept my fate." My arm dropped to my side, and at that moment my captor stopped short. "No hear um come 'long now," he said. "Jimmy!" I cried; and for a moment the air seemed full of humming, singing noises, and if I had not clung to my companion I should have fallen. CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. HOW JIMMY AND I WERE HUNTED LIKE BEASTS. "Jimmy!" I panted, as soon as I had recovered myself to find that the black was feeling me all over in the darkness. "Not got no knock um chops, no waddy bang, no popgun ball in um nowhere," he whispered. "No Jimmy, I'm not wounded," I said. "I thought you were one of the black fellows." "No, no black fellow--no common black fellow sabbage," he said importantly. "Come long fas, fas." "But the doctor and the prisoner and Ti-hi?" I said. "All run way much fas," said Jimmy. "Gyp, Gyp, see black fellow come long much, for Jimmy do and nibblum legs make um hard hard. Gib one two topper topper, den Jimmy say time um way, take Mass Joe. Come long." "But we must go and help the doctor," I said. "Can't find um. All go long back to big hole. Hidum. Say Mass Joe come back long o' Jimmy-Jimmy." It seemed probable that they would make for our hiding-place, but I was very reluctant to go and leave my friends in the lurch, so I detained Jimmy and we sat listening, the black making me sit down. "Rest um leggums," he said. "Run much fas den." We stayed there listening for what must have been the space of half an hour, and during that time we could hear the shouting and rapping of trees of the blacks as they were evidently searching the bush, but there was no sound of excitement or fighting, neither did it seem to me that there were any exulting shouts such as might arise over the capture of prisoners. This gave me hope, and in the belief that I might find my companions at the hiding-place I was about to propose to Jimmy that we would go on, when he jumped up. "No stop no longer. Black fellow come along fas. Get away." The noises made by the blacks were plainly coming nearer, and I sprang to my feet, trying to pierce the darkness, but everywhere there were the dimly-seen shapes of trees so close that they almost seemed to lower and their branches to bear down upon our heads; there was the fresh moist scent of the dewy earth and leaves, and now and then a faint cry of some bird, but nothing to indicate the way we ought to go. I turned to Jimmy. "Can you tell where the cave is?" I said. "No: Jimmy all dark," he answered. "Can't you tell which way to go?" "Oh yes um," he whispered. "Jimmy know which way go." "Well, which?" I said, as the shouts came nearer. "Dat away where no black fellow." "But it may be away from the cave," I said. "Jimmy don't know, can't help along. Find cave morrow nex day." There was wisdom in his proposal, which, awkwardly as it was shaped, meant that we were to avoid the danger now and find our friends another time. "Mass Joe keep long close," he whispered. "Soon come near time see along way Mass doctor and Mass Jack Penny-Penny." We paused for a moment, the black going down on his knees to lay his head close to the ground so as to make sure of the direction where the savages were, and he rose up with anything but comfortable news. "All round bout nearer, come 'long other way." Just then I gave a jump, for something touched my leg through a great rent in my trousers. It felt cold, and for the moment I thought it must be the head of a serpent; but a low familiar whine undeceived me, and I stooped down to pat the neck of Jack Penny's shaggy friend. "Home, Gyp!" I said. "Home!" He understood me and started off at once, fortunately in the direction taken by Jimmy, and after a long toilsome struggle through the bush, the more arduous from the difficulty we experienced in keeping up with the dog, we at last reached a gully at the bottom of which we could hear the trickling of water. "All right ums," said Jimmy quickly, and plunging down through the bushes he was soon at the bottom, and went upon his knees to find out which way the stream ran. He jumped up directly, having found that by the direction the water ran we must be below the cave, always supposing that this was the right stream. Down in the gully the sounds of pursuit grew very faint, and at last died out, while we waded at times, and at others found room upon the shelving bank to get along, perhaps for a hundred yards unchecked; then would come a long stretch where the gully was full of thick bushes, and here our only chance was to creep under them, wading the while in the little stream, often with our bodies bent so that our faces were close to the water. Gyp trotted cheerfully on as I plashed through the water, stopping from time to time to utter a low whine to guide us when he got some distance ahead, and I often envied the sagacious animal his strength and activity, for beside him at a time like this I seemed to be a _very_ helpless creature indeed. Two or three times over I grasped the black's arm and we stopped to listen, for it seemed to me that I could hear footsteps and the rustling of the bushes at the top of the gully far above our heads; but whenever we stopped the noise ceased, and feeling at last that it was fancy I plodded on, till, half dead with fatigue, I sank down on my knees and drank eagerly of the cool fresh water, both Jimmy and the dog following my example. At last, though I should not have recognised the place in the gloom, Jimmy stopped short, and from the darkness above my head, as I stood with the stream bubbling past my legs, I heard the unmistakable click of a gun cock. "Jack!" I whispered. "Jack Penny!" "That'll do," he whispered back. "Come along. All right! Have you got him?" "Whom?" I said, stumbling painfully up into the cave, where I threw myself down. "Your father." "No," I said dismally, "and we've lost the doctor and Ti-hi. Poor fellows, I'm afraid they are taken. But, Jack Penny, we are right. My father is a prisoner in the village." "Then we'll go and fetch him out, and the doctor too. Ti-hi can take care of himself. I'd as soon expect to keep a snake in a wicker cage as that fellow in these woods; but come, tell us all about it." I partook, with a sensation as if choking all the while, of the food he had waiting, and then, as we sat there waiting for the day in the hope that the doctor might come, I told Jack Penny the adventures of the night, Jimmy playing an accompaniment the while upon his nose. CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. HOW JACK PENNY FIRED A STRAIGHT SHOT. There was no stopping Jimmy's snoring. Pokes and kicks only intensified the noise, so at last we let him lie and I went on in a doleful key to the end. "Oh, it ain't so very bad after all!" said Jack Penny, in his slow drawl. "I call it a good night's work." "Good, Jack?" "Yes. Well, ain't it?" he drawled. "Why, you've got back safe, and you don't know that the doctor won't get back, and you've done what you came to do--you've found your father." "But--but suppose, Jack Penny," I said, "they--they do him some injury for what has passed." "'Tain't likely," drawled Jack. "They've kept him all this time, why should they want to--well, kill him--that's what you're afraid of now?" "Yes," I said sadly. "Gammon! 'tain't likely. If you'd got an old kangaroo in a big cage, and the young kangaroo came and tried to get him away you wouldn't go and kill the old kangaroo for it?" "No, no," I said. "Of course not. I didn't mean to call your father an old kangaroo, Joe Carstairs. I only meant it to be an instance like. I say, do kick that fellow for snoring so." "It is of no use to kick him, poor fellow, and, besides, he's tired. He's a good fellow, Jack." "Yes, I suppose he is," said Jack Penny; "but he's awfully black." "Well, he can't help that." "And he shines so!" continued Jack in tones of disgust. "I never saw a black fellow with such a shiny skin. I say, though, didn't you feel in a stew, Joe Carstairs, when you thought it was a black fellow lugging you off?" "I did," I said; "and when afterwards--hist! is that anything?" We gazed through the bushes at the darkness outside, and listened intently, but there was no sound save Jimmy's heavy breathing, and I went on: "When afterwards I found it was the black I turned queer and giddy. Perhaps it was the effect of the blow I got, but I certainly felt as if I should faint. I didn't know I was so girlish." Jack Penny did not speak for a few minutes, and I sat thinking bitterly of my weakness as I stroked Gyp's head, the faithful beast having curled up between us and laid his head upon my lap. I seemed to have been so cowardly, and, weary and dejected as I was, I wished that I had grown to be a man, with a man's strength and indifference to danger. "Oh, I don't know," said Jack Penny suddenly. "Don't know what?" I said sharply, as he startled me out of my thinking fit. "Oh! about being girlish and--and--and, well, cowardly, I suppose you mean." "Yes, cowardly," I said bitterly. "I thought I should be so brave, and that when I had found where my father was I should fight and bring him away from among the savages." "Ah! yes," said Jack Penny dryly, "that's your sort! That's like what you read in books and papers about boys of fifteen, and sixteen, and seventeen. They're wonderful chaps, who take young women in their arms and then jump on horseback with 'em and gallop off at full speed. Some of 'em have steel coats like lobsters on, and heavy helmets, and that makes it all the easier. I've read about some of them chaps who wielded their swords--they never swing 'em about and chop and stab with 'em, but wield 'em, and they kill three or four men every day and think nothing of it. I used to swallow all that stuff, but I'm not such a guffin now." There was a pause here, while Jack Penny seemed to be thinking. "Why, some of these chaps swim across rivers with a man under their arm, and if they're on horseback they sing out a battle-cry and charge into a whole army, and everybody's afraid of 'em. I say, ain't it jolly nonsense Joe Carstairs?" "I suppose it is," I said sadly, for I had believed in some of these heroes too. "I don't believe the boy ever lived who didn't feel in an awful stew when he was in danger. Why, men do at first before they get used to it. There was a chap came to our place last year and did some shepherding for father for about six months. He'd been a soldier out in the Crimean war and got wounded twice in the arm and in the leg, big wounds too. He told me that when they got the order to advance, him and his mates, they were all of a tremble, and the officers looked as pale as could be, some of 'em; but every man tramped forward steady enough, and it wasn't till they began to see their mates drop that the want to fight began to come. They felt savage, he says, then, and as soon as they were in the thick of it, there wasn't a single man felt afraid." We sat in silence for a few minutes, and then he went on again: "If men feel afraid sometimes I don't see why boys shouldn't; and as to those chaps who go about in books killing men by the dozen, and never feeling to mind it a bit, I think it's all gammon." "Hist! Jack Penny, what's that?" I whispered. There was a faint crashing noise out in the forest just then, and I knew from the sound close by me that the black who was sharing our watch must have been lifting his spear. I picked up my gun, and I knew that Jack had taken up his and thrown himself softly into a kneeling position, as we both strove to pierce the darkness and catch sight of what was perhaps a coming enemy. As we watched, it seemed as if the foliage of the trees high up had suddenly come into view. There was a grey look in the sky, and for the moment I thought I could plainly make out the outline of the bushes on the opposite side of the gully. Then I thought I was mistaken, and then again it seemed as if I could distinctly see the outline of a bush. A minute later, and with our hearts beating loudly, we heard the rustling go on, and soon after we could see that the bushes were being moved. "It is the doctor," I thought; but the idea was false, I knew, for if it had been he his way would have been down into the stream, which he would have crossed, while, whoever this was seemed to be undecided and to be gazing about intently as if in search of something. When we first caught a glimpse of the moving figure it was fifty yards away. Then it came to within forty, went off again, and all the time the day was rapidly breaking. The tree tops were plainly to be seen, and here and there one of the great masses of foliage stood out quite clearly. Just then the black, who had crept close to my side, pointed out the figure on the opposite bank, now dimly-seen in the transparent dawn. It was that of an Indian who had stopped exactly opposite the clump of bushes which acted as a screen to our place of refuge, and stooping down he was evidently trying to make out the mouth of the cave. He saw it apparently, for he uttered a cry of satisfaction, and leaping from the place of observation he stepped rapidly down the slope. "He has found us out," I whispered. "But he mustn't come all the same," said Jack Penny, and as he spoke I saw that he was taking aim. "Don't shoot," I cried, striking at his gun; but I was too late, for as I bent towards him he drew the trigger, there was a flash, a puff of smoke, a sharp report that echoed from the mouth of the cave, and then with a horrible dread upon me I sprang up and made for the entrance, followed by Jack and the blacks. It took us but a minute to get down into the stream bed and then to climb up amongst the bushes to where we had seen the savage, and neither of us now gave a thought of there being danger from his companions. What spirit moved Jack Penny I cannot tell. That which moved me was an eager desire to know whether a horrible suspicion was likely to be true, and to gain the knowledge I proceeded on first till I reached the spot where the man had fallen. It was a desperate venture, for he might have struck at me, wounded merely, with war-club or spear; but I did not think of that: I wanted to solve the horrible doubt, and I had just caught sight of the fallen figure lying prone upon its face when Jimmy uttered a warning cry, and we all had to stoop down amongst the bushes, for it seemed as if the savage's companions were coming to his help. CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. HOW THE DOCTOR FOUND A PATIENT READY TO HIS HAND. We waited for some minutes crouched there among the bushes listening to the coming of those who forced their way through the trees, while moment by moment the morning light grew clearer, the small birds twittered, and the parrots screamed. We could see nothing, but it was evident that two if not three savages were slowly descending the slope of the ravine towards where we were hidden. The wounded man uttered a low groan that thrilled me and then sent a cold shudder through my veins, for I was almost touching him; and set aside the feeling of horror at having been, as it were, partner in inflicting his injury, there was the sensation that he might recover sufficiently to revenge himself upon us by a blow with his spear. The sounds came nearer, and it was now so light that as we watched we could see the bushes moving, and it seemed to me that more of this horrible bloodshed must ensue. We were crouching close, but the wounded man was moaning, and his companions might at any moment hear him and then discovery must follow; while if, on the other hand, we did not resist, all hope of rescuing my poor father would be gone. "We must fight," I said to myself, setting my teeth hard and bringing my gun to bear on the spot where I could see something moving. At the same time I tried to find where Jack Penny was hiding, but he was out of sight. At the risk of being seen I rose up a little so as to try and get a glimpse of the coming enemy; but though the movement among the bushes was plain enough I only caught one glimpse of a black body, and had I been disposed to shoot it was too quick for me and was gone in an instant. They were coming nearer, and in an agony of excitement I was thinking of attempting to back away and try to reach the cave, when I felt that I could not get Jack Penny and the black to act with me unless I showed myself, and this meant revealing our position, and there all the time were the enemy steadily making their way right towards us. "What shall I do?" I said to myself as I realised in a small way what must be the feelings of a general who finds that the battle is going against him. "I must call to Jack Penny." "_Cooey_!" rang out just then from a little way to my right, and Jimmy looked up from his hiding-place. "Is Carstairs there?" cried the familiar voice of the doctor, and as with beating heart I sprang up, he came staggering wearily towards me through the clinging bushes. "My dear boy," he cried, with his voice trembling, "what I have suffered on your account! I thought you were a prisoner." "No!" I exclaimed, delighted at this turn in our affairs. "Jimmy helped me to escape. I say, you don't think I ran away and deserted you?" "My dear boy," he cried, "I was afraid that you would think this of me. But there, thank Heaven you are safe! and though we have not rescued your father we know enough to make success certain." "I'm afraid not," I said hastily. "The savages have discovered our hiding-place." "No!" "Yes; and one of them was approaching it just now when Jack Penny shot him down." "This is very unfortunate! Where? What! close here?" I had taken his hand to lead him to the clump of bushes where the poor wretch lay, and on parting the boughs and twigs we both started back in horror. "My boy, what have you done?" cried the doctor, as I stood speechless there by his side. "We have not so many friends that we could afford to kill them." But already he was busy, feeling the folly of wasting words, and down upon his knees, to place the head of our friend, the prisoner of the savages, in a more comfortable position before beginning to examine him for his wound. "Bullet--right through the shoulder!" said the doctor in a short abrupt manner; and as he spoke he rapidly tore up his handkerchief, and plugged and bound the wound, supplementing the handkerchief with a long scarf which he wore round the waist. "Now, Ti-hi! Jimmy! help me carry him to the cave." "Jimmy carry um all 'long right way; put um on Jimmy's back!" cried my black companion; and this seeming to be no bad way of carrying the wounded man in such a time of emergency, Jimmy stooped down, exasperating me the while by grinning, as if it was good fun, till the sufferer from our mistake was placed upon his back, when he exclaimed: "Lot much heavy-heavy! Twice two sheep heavy. Clear de bush!" We hastily drew the boughs aside, and Jimmy steadily descended the steep slope, entered the rivulet, crossed, and then stopped for a moment beneath the overhanging boughs before climbing to the cabin. "Here, let me help you!" said the doctor, holding out his hand. "Yes," said Jimmy, drawing his waddy and boomerang from his belt; "hold um tight, um all in black fellow way." Then, seizing the boughs, he balanced the wounded man carefully, and drew himself steadily up step by step, exhibiting wonderful strength of muscle, till he had climbed to the entrance of the cave, where he bent down and crawled in on hands and knees, waiting till his burden was removed from his back, and then getting up once more to look round smiling. "Jimmy carry lot o' men like that way!" We laid the sufferer on one of the beds of twigs that the savages had made for us, and here the doctor set himself to work to more securely bandage his patient's shoulder; Jack Penny looking on, resting upon his gun, and wearing a countenance full of misery. "There!" said the doctor when he had finished. "I think he will do now. Two inches lower, Master Penny, and he would have been a dead man." "I couldn't help it!" drawled Jack Penny. "I thought he was a savage coming to kill us. I'm always doing something. There never was such an unlucky chap as I am!" "Oh, you meant what you did for the best!" said the doctor, laying his hand on Jack Penny's shoulder. "What did he want to look like a savage for?" grumbled Jack. "Who was going to know that any one dressed up--no, I mean dressed down--like that was an Englishman?" "It was an unfortunate mistake, Penny; you must be more careful if you mean to handle a gun." "Here, take it away!" said Jack Penny bitterly. "I won't fire it off again." "I was very nearly making the same mistake," I said, out of compassion for Jack Penny--he seemed so much distressed. "I had you and Ti-hi covered in turn as you came up, doctor." "Then I'm glad you did not fire!" he said. "There, keep your piece, Penny; we may want its help. As for our friend here, he has a painful wound, but I don't think any evil will result from it. Hist, he is coming to!" Our conversation had been carried on in a whisper, and we now stopped short and watched the doctor's patient in the dim twilight of the cavern, as he unclosed his eyes and stared first up at the ceiling and then about him, till his eyes rested upon us, when he smiled. "Am I much hurt?" he said, in a low calm voice. "Oh, no!" said the doctor. "A bullet wound--not a dangerous one at all." To my astonishment he went on talking quite calmly, and without any of the dazed look and the strange habit of forgetting his own tongue to continue in that of the people among whom he had been a prisoner for so long. "I thought I should find you here," he said; "and I came on, thinking that perhaps I could help you." "Help us! yes, of course you can! You shall help us to get Mr Carstairs away!" "Poor fellow; yes!" he said softly, and in so kindly a way that I crept closer and took his hand. "We tried several times to escape, but they overtook us, and treated us so hard that of late we had grown resigned to our fate." I exchanged glances with the doctor, who signed to me to be silent. "It was a very hard one--very hard!" the wounded man continued, and then he stopped short, looking straight before him at the forest, seen through the opening of the cave. By degrees his eyelids dropped, were raised again, and then fell, and he seemed to glide into a heavy sleep. The doctor motioned us to keep away, and we all went to the mouth of the cave, to sit down and talk over the night's adventure, the conversation changing at times to a discussion of our friend's mental affection. "The shock of the wound has affected his head beneficially, it seems," the doctor said at last. "Whether it will last I cannot say." At least it seemed to me that the doctor was saying those or similar words from out of a mist, and then all was silent. The fact was that I had been out all night, exerting myself tremendously, and I had now fallen heavily asleep. CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. HOW WE PASSED THROUGH A GREAT PERIL. It was quite evening when I woke, as I could see by the red glow amongst the trees. I was rested but confused, and lay for some minutes thinking, and wondering what had taken place on the previous day. It all came back at once, and I was just in the act of rising and going to see how our poor friend was, when I felt a hand press me back, and turning I saw it was Jack Penny, who was pointing with the other towards the entrance of the cave. "What is it?" I whispered; but I needed no telling, for I could see that a group of the blacks were on the other side of the ravine, pointing in the direction of the bushes that overhung our refuge, and gesticulating and talking together loudly. They know where we are then, I thought; and glancing from one to the other in the dim light I saw that my opinion was shared by the doctor and our black followers, who all seemed to be preparing for an encounter, taking up various places of vantage behind blocks of stone, where they could ply their bows and arrows and make good use of their spears. Just then the doctor crept towards me and placed his lips to my ear: "They have evidently tracked us, my lad," he said; "and we must fight for it. There is no chance beside without we escape by the back here, and give up the object of our search." "We must fight, doctor!" I said, though I trembled as I spoke, and involuntarily glanced at Jack Penny, wondering even in those critical moments whether he too felt alarmed. I think now it was very natural: I felt horribly ashamed of it then. Whether it was the case, or that Jack Penny was only taking his tint from the greeny reflected light in the cavern, certainly he looked very cadaverous and strange. He caught my eye and blew out his cheeks, and began to whistle softly as he rubbed the barrel of his gun with his sleeve. Turning rather jauntily towards the doctor he said softly: "Suppose I am to shoot now, doctor?" "When I give the order," said the latter coldly. "There won't be any mistake this time?" "No," said the doctor, quietly; "there will not be any mistake this time!" He stopped and gazed intently at the savages, who were cautiously descending towards the stream, not in a body but spread out in a line. "Fire first with large shot," he said softly. "If we can frighten them without destroying life we will. Now creep each of you behind that clump of stones and be firm. Mind it is by steadily helping one another in our trouble that we are strong." I gave him a quick nod--it was no time for speaking--and crept softly to my place, passing pretty close to where our friend lay wounded and quietly asleep. The next minute both Jack Penny and I were crouched behind what served as a breastwork, with our pieces ready, the doctor being on our left, and the blacks, including Jimmy, right in front, close to the mouth of the cave. "We must mind and not hit the blacks!" whispered Jack. "I mean our chaps. Lie down, Gyp!" The dog was walking about in an impatient angry manner, uttering a low snarl now and then, and setting up the hair all about his neck till in the dim light he looked like a hyena. Gyp turned to his master almost a reproachful look, and then looked up at me, as if saying, "Am I to be quiet at a time like this?" Directly after, though, he crouched down with his paws straight out before him and his muzzle directed towards the enemy, ready when the struggle began to make his teeth meet in some one. The savages were all the time coming steadily on lower and lower down the bank, till suddenly one of them stopped short and uttered a low cry. Several ran to his side at once, and we could see them stoop down and examine something among the bushes, talking fiercely the while. "They've found out where our friend was wounded, Jack Penny," I said. "Think so?" he said slowly. "Well, I couldn't help it. I didn't mean to do it, I declare." "Hist!" I whispered; and now my heart began to beat furiously, for the blacks, apparently satisfied, began to spread out again, descended to the edge of the little stream, and then stopped short. If I had not been so excited by the coming danger I should have enjoyed the scene of this group of strongly-built naked savages, their jetty black, shining skins bronzed by the reflections of orange and golden green as the sun flooded the gorge with warm light, making every action of our enemies plain to see, while by contrast it threw us more and more into the shade. They paused for a few moments at the edge of the stream, so close now that they could touch each other by simply stretching out a hand; and it was evident by the way all watched a tall black in the centre of the line that they were waiting his orders to make a dash up into the cave. Those were terrible minutes: we could see the opal of our enemies' eyes and the white line of their teeth as they slightly drew their lips apart in the excitement of waiting the order to advance. Every man was armed with bow and arrows, and from their wrists hung by a thong a heavy waddy, a blow from which was sufficient to crush in any man's skull. "They're coming now," I said in a low voice, the words escaping me involuntarily. And then I breathed again, for the tall savage, evidently the leader, said something to his men, who stood fast, while he walked boldly across the stream beneath the overhanging bushes, and one of these began to sway as the chief tried to draw himself up. I glanced at the doctor, being sure that he would fire, when, just as the chief was almost on a level with the floor of the cave, there was a rushing, scratching noise, and the most hideous howling rose from just in front of where I crouched, while Gyp leaped up, with hair bristling, and answered it with a furious howl. The savage dropped back into the water with a tremendous splash, and rushed up the slope after his people, not one of them stopping till they were close to the top, when Jimmy raised his grinning face and looked round at us. "Um tink big bunyip in um hole, make um all run jus fas' away, away." He had unmistakably scared the enemy, for they collected together in consultation, but our hope that they might now go fell flat, for they once more began to descend, each one tearing off a dead branch or gathering a bunch of dry ferns as he came; and at the same moment the idea struck Jack Penny and me that they believed some fierce beast was in the hole, and that they were coming to smoke it out. The blacks came right down into the rivulet, and though the first armfuls of dry wood and growth they threw beneath the cave mouth went into the water, they served as a base for the rest, and in a very short time a great pile rose up, and this they fired. For a few moments there was a great fume, which floated slowly up among the bushes, but very soon the form of the cavern caused it to draw right in, the opening at the back acting as a chimney. First it burned briskly, then it began to roar, and then to our horror we found that the place was beginning to fill with suffocating smoke and hot vapour, growing more dangerous moment by moment. Fortunately the smoke and noise of the burning made our actions safe from observation, and we were thus able to carry our wounded right to the back, where the air was purer and it was easier to breathe. It was a terrible position, for the blacks, encouraged by their success, piled on more and more brushwood and the great fronds of fern, which grew in abundance on the sides of the little ravine, and as the green boughs and leaves were thrown on they hissed and spluttered and sent forth volumes of smoke, which choked and blinded us till the fuel began to blaze, when it roared into the cave and brought with it a quantity of hot but still breathable air. "Keep a good heart, my lads," said the doctor. "No, no, Penny! Are you mad? Lie down! lie down! Don't you know that while the air high up is suffocating, that low down can be breathed?" "No, I couldn't tell," said Jack Penny dolefully, as he first knelt down and then laid his head close to the ground. "I didn't know things were going to be so bad as this or I shouldn't have come. I don't want to have my dog burned to death." Gyp seemed to understand him, for he uttered a low whine and laid his nose in his master's hand. "Burned to death!" said the doctor in a tone full of angry excitement. "Of course not. Nobody is going to be burned to death." Through the dim choking mist I could see that there was a wild and anxious look in the doctor's countenance as he kept going near the mouth of the cave, and then hurrying back blinded and in agony. We had all been in turn to the narrow rift at the end through which we had been able to see the sky and the waving leaves of the trees, but now all was dark with the smoke that rolled out. This had seemed to be a means of escape, but the difficulty was to ascend the flat chimney-like place, and when the top was reached we feared that it would only be for each one who climbed out to make himself a mark for the savages' arrows. Hence, then, we had not made the slightest attempt to climb it. Now, however, our position was so desperate that Jimmy's proposal was listened to with eagerness. "Place too much big hot," he said. "Chokum-chokum like um wallaby. Go up." He caught hold of the doctor's scarf of light network, a contrivance which did duty for bag, hammock, or rope in turn, and the wearer rapidly twisted it from about his waist. "Now, Mas' Jack Penny, tan' here," he cried; and Jack was placed just beneath the hole. Jack Penny understood what was required of him, and placing his hands against the edge of the rift he stood firm, while Jimmy took the end of the doctor's scarf in his teeth and proceeded to turn him into a ladder, by whose means he might get well into the chimney-like rift, climb up, and then lower down the scarf-rope to help the rest. As I expected, the moment Jimmy caught Jack Penny's shoulders and placed one foot upon him my companion doubled up like a jointed rule, and Jimmy and he rolled upon the floor of the cave. At any other time we should have roared with laughter at Jimmy's disgust and angry torrent of words, but it was no time for mirth, and the doctor took Jack Penny's place as the latter drawled out: "I couldn't help it; my back's so weak. I begin to wish I hadn't come." "Dat's fine," grunted Jimmy, who climbed rapidly up, standing on the doctor's shoulders, making no scruple about planting a foot upon his head, and then we knew by his grunting and choking sounds that he was forcing his way up. The moment he had ceased to be of use the doctor stood aside, and it was as well, for first a few small stones fell, then there was a crash, and I felt that Jimmy had come down, but it only proved to be a mass of loose stone, which was followed by two or three more pieces of earth and rock. Next came a tearing sound as of bushes being broken and dragged away, and to our delight the smoke seemed to rush up the rift with so great a current of air that fresh breath of life came to us from the mouth of the cave, and with it hope. In those critical moments everything seemed dream-like and strange. I could hardly see what took place for the smoke, my companions looking dim and indistinct, and somehow the smoke seemed to be despair, and the fresh hot wind borne with the crackling flames that darted through the dense vapour so much hope. "Ti-hi come 'long nextums," whispered Jimmy; and the black ran to the opening eagerly, but hesitated and paused, ending by seizing me and pushing me before him to go first. "No, no," I said; "let's help the wounded man first." "Don't waste time," said the doctor angrily. "Up, Joe, and you can help haul." I obeyed willingly and unwillingly, but I wasted no time. With the help of the doctor and the scarf I had no difficulty in climbing up the rift, which afforded good foothold at the side, and in less than a minute I was beside Jimmy, breathing the fresh air and seeing the smoke rise up in a cloud from our feet. "Pull!" said the doctor in a hoarse whisper that seemed to come out of the middle of the smoke. Jimmy and I hauled, and somehow or another we got Jack Penny up, choking and sneezing, so that he was obliged to lie down amongst the bushes, and I was afraid he would be heard, till I saw that we were separated from the savages by a huge mass of stony slope. Two of the black bearers came next easily enough, and then the scarf had to be lowered down to its utmost limits. I knew why, and watched the proceedings with the greatest concern as Jimmy and one of the blacks reached down into the smoky rift and held the rope at the full extent of their arms. "Now!" said the doctor's voice, and the two hardy fellows began to draw the scarf, with its weight coming so easily that I knew the doctor and one of the blacks must be lifting the wounded man below. Poor fellow, he must have suffered the most intense agony, but he did not utter a sigh. Weak as he was he was quite conscious of his position, and helped us by planting his feet wherever there was a projection in the rift, and so we hauled him up and laid him on the sand among the bushes, where he could breathe, but where he fainted away. The rest easily followed, but not until the doctor had sent up every weapon and package through the smoke. Then came his turn, but he made no sign, and in an agony of horror I mastered my dread, and, seizing the scarf, lowered myself down into the heat and smoke. It was as I feared; he had fainted, and was lying beneath the opening. My hands trembled so that I could hardly tie a knot, but knowing, as I did, how short the scarf was, I secured it tightly round one of his wrists and called to them to haul just as Jimmy was coming down to my help. He did not stop, but dropped down beside me, and together we lifted the fainting man, called to them to drag, and he was pulled up. "Here, ketch hold," came from above the next moment in Jack Penny's voice, and to my utter astonishment down came the end of the scarf at once, long before they could have had time to untie it from the doctor's wrist. "Up, Jimmy!" I cried, as I realised that it was the other end Jack Penny had had the _nous_ to lower at once. "No: sha'n't go, Mass Joe Carstairs." "Go on, sir," I cried. "No sha'n't! Debble--debble--debble!" he cried, pushing me to the hole. To have gone on fighting would have meant death to both, for the savages were yelling outside and piling on the bushes and fern fronds till they roared. I caught the scarf then, and was half-hauled half-scrambled up, to fall down blinded and suffocated almost, only able to point below. I saw them lower the scarf again, and after what seemed a tremendous time Jimmy's black figure appeared. Almost at the same moment there were tongues of flame mingled with the smoke, and Jimmy threw himself down and rolled over and over, sobbing and crying. "Burn um hot um. Oh, burn um--burn um--burn um!" There was a loud roar and a rush of flame and smoke out of the rift, followed by what seemed to be a downpour of the smoke that hung over us like a canopy, just as if it was all being sucked back, and then the fire appeared to be smouldering, and up through the smoke that now rose slowly came the dank strange smell of exploded powder and the sounds of voices talking eagerly, but coming like a whisper to where we lay. CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT. HOW THE DOCTOR SAID "THANK YOU" IN A VERY QUIET WAY. For some little time we did nothing but lie there blackened and half choked, blinded almost, listening to the sound that came up that rift, for the question now was whether the savages would know that we were there, or would attribute the roar to that of some fierce beast that their fire and smoke had destroyed. The voices came up in a confused gabble, and we felt that if the blacks came up the rift we could easily beat them back; but if they came round by some other way to the rocky patch of forest where we were, our state was so pitiable that we could offer no defence. Jimmy had been applying cool leaves to his legs for some minutes as we lay almost where we had thrown ourselves, seeming to want to do nothing but breathe the fresh air, when all at once he came to where the doctor and I now rested ourselves upon our elbows and were watching the smoke that came up gently now and rose right above the trees. "Jimmy no hurt now. Roast black fellow," he said grinning. "Jimmy know powder go bang pop! down slow." "Yes," said the doctor. "I was trying to get that last canister when I was overcome by the smoke, and just managed to reach the bottom of the rift. Who was it saved me?" "Jimmy-Jimmy!" said the black proudly. "My brave fellow!" cried the doctor, catching the black's hand. "Jimmy come 'long Mass Joe. Haul Mass doctor up. Mass doctor no wiggle Jimmy 'gain, eat much pig." The doctor did not answer, for he had turned to me and taken my hand. "Did you come down, Joe?" he said softly. "Of course I did," I replied quietly, though I felt very uncomfortable. "Thank you!" he said quietly, and then he turned away. "Black fellow hear powder bang," said Jimmy, grinning. "Tink um big bunyip. All go way now." I turned to him sharply, listening the while. "Yes: all go 'long. Tink bunyip. Kill um dead. No kill bunyip. Oh no!" There was the sound of voices, but they were more distant, and then they seemed to come up the rift in quite a broken whisper, and the next moment they had died away. "Safe, doctor!" I said, and we all breathed more freely than before. The blacks had gone. Evidently they believed that the occupant of the cave had expired in that final roar, and when we afterwards crept cautiously round after a detour the next morning, it was to find that the place was all open, and for fifty yards round the bushes and tree-ferns torn down and burned. The night of our escape we hardly turned from our positions, utterly exhausted as we were, and one by one we dropped asleep. When I woke first it was sometime in the night, and through the trees the great stars were glinting down, and as I lay piecing together the adventures of the past day I once more fell fast asleep to be awakened by Jimmy in the warm sunlight of a glorious morning. "All black fellow gone long way. Come kedge fis an fine 'nana." I rose to my feet to see that the doctor was busy with his patient, who was none the worse for the troubles of the past day, and what was of more consequence, he was able to speak slowly and without running off into the native tongue. We went down to the stream, Jack Penny bearing us company, and were pretty fortunate in cutting off some good-sized fish which were sunning themselves in a shallow, and Ti-hi and his companions were no less successful in getting fruit, so that when we returned we were able to light a fire and enjoy a hearty meal. What I enjoyed the most, though, was a good lave in the clear cold water when we had a look at the mouth of the cave. The doctor came to the conclusion that where we were, shut-in by high shelving sand rocks, was as safe a spot as we could expect, the more so that the blacks were not likely to come again, so we made this our camp, waiting to recruit a little and to let the black village settle down before making any farther attempt. Beside this there was our new companion--William Francis he told us his name was, and that he had been ten years a prisoner among the blacks. Until he had recovered from the effect of his unlucky wound we could not travel far, and our flight when we rescued my father must necessarily be swift. It was terribly anxious work waiting day after day, but the doctor's advice was good--that we must be content to exist without news for fear, in sending scouts about the village at night, we should alarm the enemy. "Better let them think there is no one at hand," said the doctor, "and our task will be the easier." So for a whole fortnight we waited, passing our time watching the bright scaled fish glance down the clear stream, or come up it in shoals; lying gazing at the brightly plumed birds that came and shrieked and climbed about the trees above our heads; while now and then we made cautious excursions into the open country in the direction opposite to the village, and fortunately without once encountering an enemy, but adding largely to our store of food, thanks to the bows and arrows of our friends. At last, one evening, after quietly talking to us sometime about the sufferings of himself and my father, Mr Francis declared himself strong enough to accompany our retreat. "The interest and excitement will keep me up," he said; "and you must not wait longer for me. Besides, I shall get stronger every day, and--" He looked from me to the doctor and then back, and passed his hand across his forehead as if to clear away a mist, while, when he began to speak again, it was not in English, and he burst into tears. "Lie down and sleep," the doctor said firmly; and, obedient as a child, the patient let his head sink upon the rough couch he occupied and closed his eyes. "It is as if as his body grew strong his mental powers weakened," said the doctor to me as soon as we were out of hearing; "but we must wait and see." Then we set to and once more talked over our plans, arranging that we would make our attempt next night, and after studying the compass and the position we occupied we came to the decision that we had better work round to the far side of the village, post Mr Francis and two of the blacks there, with our baggage, which was principally food; then make our venture, join them if successful, and go on in retreat at once. CHAPTER THIRTY NINE. HOW WE TOOK A LAST LOOK ROUND, AND FOUND IT WAS TIME TO GO. That next evening seemed as it would never come, and I lay tossing feverishly from side to side vainly trying to obtain the rest my friend recommended. At last, though, the time came, and we were making our final preparations, when the doctor decided that we would just take a look round first by way of a scout. It was fortunate that we did, for just as it was growing dusk, after a good look round we were about to cross the rivulet, and go through the cavern and up the rift back into camp, when I caught the doctor's arm without a word. He started and looked in the same direction as I did which was right down the gully, and saw what had taken my attention, namely, the stooping bodies of a couple of blacks hurrying away through the bushes at a pretty good rate. The doctor clapped his piece to his shoulder, and then dropped it once more. "No!" he said. "I might kill one, but the other would bear the news. Fortunately they are going the other way and not ours. Quick, my lad! let's get back to camp and start." "And they'll come back with a lot of their warriors to attack us to-night and find us gone!" "And while they are gone, Joe, we will attack their place and carry off our prize!" "If we only could!" I cried fervently. "No _ifs_, Joe," he said smiling; "we _will_!" It did not take us many minutes to reach the mouth of the cave, and as we entered I looked round again, to catch sight of another black figure crouching far up the opposite bank, at the foot of a great tree. I did not speak, for it was better that the black should not think he had been seen, so followed the doctor into the cave, climbed the rift with him, and found all ready for the start. "Black fellow all 'bout over there way!" said Jimmy to me in a whisper. "How do you know?" I said quickly. "Jimmy smell am!" he replied seriously. "Jimmy go look 'bout. Smell um black fellow, one eye peeping round um trees." "Yes, we have seen them too," I said; and signing to him to follow, I found the doctor. "The sooner we are off the better!" he said. "Now, Mr Francis, do you think you can lead us to the other side of the village, round by the north? the enemy are on the watch." Mr Francis turned his head without a word, and, leaning upon a stout stick, started at once; and we followed in silence, just as the stars were coming out. It seemed very strange calling this savage-looking being Mr Francis, but when talking with him during his recovery from his wound one only needed to turn one's head to seem to be in conversation with a man who had never been from his civilised fellows. He went steadily on, the doctor next, and I followed the doctor; the rest of our little party gliding silently through the forest for quite three hours, when Mr Francis stopped, and it was decided to rest and refresh ourselves a little before proceeding farther. The doctor had settled to leave Mr Francis here, but he quietly objected to this. "No!" he said; "you want my help more now than ever. I am weak, but I can take you right to the hut where Carstairs is kept a prisoner. If you go alone you will lose time, and your expedition may--" He stopped short and lay down upon the earth for a few minutes, during which the doctor remained undecided. At last he bent down and whispered a few words to his patient, who immediately rose. Orders were then given to the blacks, who were to stay under the command of Jack Penny, and, followed by Jimmy, and leaving the rest of our party in the shade of an enormous tree, we set off once more. The excitement made the distance seem so short that I was astounded when a low murmur told us that we were close to the village, and, stepping more cautiously, we were soon close up behind a great hut. "This is the place," whispered Mr Francis. "He is kept prisoner here, or else at the great hut on the other side. Hist! I'll creep forward and listen." He went down in a stooping position and disappeared, leaving us listening to the continuous talk of evidently a numerous party of the savages; and so like did it all seem to the last time, that no time might have elapsed since we crouched there, breathing heavily with excitement in the shade of the great trees that came close up to the huts. It was a painful time, for it seemed that all our schemes had been in vain, and that we might as well give up our task, unless we could come with so strong a body of followers that we could make a bold attack. I whispered once or twice to the doctor, but he laid his hand upon my lips. I turned to Jimmy, but he had crouched down, and was resting himself according to his habit. And so quite an hour passed away before we were aware by a slight rustle that Mr Francis was back, looming up out of the darkness like some giant, so strangely did the obscurity distort everything near at hand. "Here!" he said in a low voice; and bending down we all listened to his words, which came feebly, consequent upon his exertions. "I have been to the far hut and he is not there!" he whispered. "I came back to this and crept in unobserved. They are all talking about an expedition that has gone off to the back of the cave--to destroy us. Carstairs is in there, bound hand and foot." "My poor father!" I moaned. "I spoke to him and told him help was near," continued Mr Francis; "and then--" He muttered something in the savages' tongue, and then broke down and began to sob. "Take no notice," the doctor whispered to me, as I stood trembling there, feeling as I did that I was only a few yards from him we had come to save, and who was lying bound there waiting for the help that seemed as if it would never come. The doctor realised my feelings, for he came a little closer and pressed my hand. "Don't be downhearted, my lad," he whispered; "we are a long way nearer to our journey's end than when we started." "Yes!" I said; "but--" "But! Nonsense, boy! Why, we've found your father. We know where he is; and if we can't get him away by stratagem, we'll go to another tribe of the blacks, make friends with them, and get them to fight on our side." "Nonsense, doctor!" I said bitterly. "You are only saying this to comfort me." "To get you to act like a man," he said sharply. "Shame upon you for being so ready to give up in face of a few obstacles!" I felt that the rebuke was deserved, and drew in my breath, trying to nerve myself to bear this new disappointment, and to set my brain at work scheming. It seemed to grow darker just then, the stars fading out behind a thick veil of clouds; and creeping nearer to the doctor I sat down beside where he knelt, listening to the incessant talking of the savages. We were not above half-a-dozen yards from the back of the great hut; and, now rising into quite an angry shout, now descending into a low buzz, the talk, talk, talk went on, as if they were saying the same things over and over again. I thought of my own captivity--of the way in which Gyp had come to me in the night, and wondered whether it would be possible to cut away a portion of the palm-leaf wall of the hut, and so get to the prisoner. And all this while the talking went on, rising and falling till it seemed almost maddening to hear. We must have waited there quite a couple of hours, and still there was no change. Though we could not see anything for the hut in front of us we could tell that there was a good deal of excitement in the village, consequent, the doctor whispered, upon the absence of a number of the blacks on the expedition against us. At last he crept from me to speak to Mr Francis. "It is of no use to stay longer, I'm afraid, my lad," he whispered; "unless we wait and see whether the hut is left empty when the expedition party comes back, though I fear they will not come back till morning." "What are you going to do, then?" I said. "Ask Francis to suggest a better hiding-place for us, where we can go to-night and wait for another opportunity." I sighed, for I was weary of waiting for opportunities. "Fast asleep, poor fellow!" he whispered, coming back so silently that he startled me. "Where's the black?" I turned sharply to where Jimmy had been curled up, but he was gone. I crept a little way in two or three directions, but he was not with us, and I said so. "How dare he go!" the doctor said angrily. "He will ruin our plans! What's that?" "Gyp!" I said, as the dog crept up to us and thrust his head against my hand. "Jack Penny is getting anxious. It is a signal for us to come back." "How do you know?" "We agreed upon it," I said. "He was to send the dog in search of us if we did not join him in two hours; and if we were in trouble I was either to tie something to his collar or take it off." "Do neither!" said the doctor quietly. "Look! they are lighting a fire. The others must have come back." I turned and saw a faint glow away over the right corner of the hut; and then there was a shout, and the shrill cries of some women and children. In a moment there was a tremendous excitement in the hut before us, the savages swarming out like angry bees, and almost at the same moment the whole shape of the great long hut stood out against the sky. "The village is on fire!" whispered the doctor. "Back, my boy! Francis, quick!" He shook the sleeping man, whom all at once I could see, and he rose rather feebly. Then we backed slowly more and more in amongst the trees, seeing now that one of the light palm-leaf and bamboo huts was blazing furiously, and that another had caught fire, throwing up the cluster of slight buildings into clear relief, while as we backed farther and farther in amongst the trees we could see the blacks--men, women, and children--running to and fro as if wild. "Now would be the time," said the doctor. "We might take advantage of the confusion and get your father away." "Yes!" I cried excitedly. "I'm ready!" "Stop for your lives!" said a voice at our elbow, and turning I saw Mr Francis, with his swarthy face lit up by the fire. "You could not get near the hut now without being seen. If you had acted at the moment the alarm began you might have succeeded. It is now too late." "No, no!" I cried. "Let us try." "It is too late, I say," cried Mr Francis firmly. "The village is on fire, and the blacks must see you. If you are taken now you will be killed without mercy." "We must risk it," I said excitedly, stepping forward. "And your father too." I recoiled shuddering. "We must get away to a place of safety, hide for a few days, and then try again. I shall be stronger perhaps then, and can help." "It is right," said the doctor calmly. "Come, Joe. Patience!" I saw that he was right, for the fire was leaping from hut to hut, and there was a glow that lit up the forest far and wide. Had anyone come near we must have been seen, but the savages were all apparently congregated near the burning huts, while the great sparks and flakes of fire rose up and floated far away above the trees, glittering like stars in the ruddy glow. "Go on then," I said, with a groan of disappointment, and Mr Francis took the lead once more, and, the doctor following, I was last. "But Jimmy!" I said. "We must not leave him behind." "He will find us," said the doctor. "Come along." There was nothing for me to do but obey, so I followed reluctantly, the glow from the burning village being so great that the branches of the trees stood up clearly before us, and we had no difficulty in going on. I followed more reluctantly when I remembered Gyp, and chirruped to him, expecting to find him at my heels, but he was not there. "He has gone on in front," I thought, and once more I tramped wearily on, when there was a rush and a bound and Gyp leaped up at me, catching my jacket in his teeth and shaking it hard. CHAPTER FORTY. HOW JIMMY CRIED "COOEE!" AND WHY HE CALLED. "Why, Gyp," I said in a low voice, "what is it, old fellow?" He whined and growled and turned back, trotting towards the burning village. "Yes, I know it's on fire," I said. "Come along." But the dog would not follow. He whined and snuffled and ran back a little farther, when from some distance behind I heard a rustling and a panting noise, which made me spring round and cock my gun. "Followed!" I said to myself, as I continued my retreat, but only to stop short, for from the direction in which we had come I heard whispered, more than called, the familiar cry of the Australian savage, a cry that must, I knew, come from Jimmy, and this explained Gyp's appearance. "_Cooey_!" There it was again, and without hesitation I walked sharply back, Gyp running before me as he would not have done had there been an enemy near. There was the panting and rustling again as I retraced my steps, with the light growing plainer, and in less than a minute I came upon Jimmy trudging slowly along with a heavy burden on his back, a second glance at which made me stop speechless in my tracks. "Mass Joe! Jimmy got um fader. Much big heavy. Jimmy got um right fas'." He panted with the exertion, for he tried to break into a trot. I could do no more than go to his side and lay my trembling hands upon the shoulder of his burden--a man whom he was carrying upon his back. "Go on!" I said hoarsely. "Forward, Gyp, and stop them!" The dog understood the word "Forward," and went on with a rush, while I let Jimmy pass me, feeling that if he really had him we sought he was performing my duty, while all I could do was to form the rear-guard and protect them even with my life if we were pursued. Either the dog was leading close in front or the black went on by a kind of instinct in the way taken by our companions. At any rate he went steadily on, and I followed, trembling with excitement, ten or a dozen yards behind, in dread lest it should not be true that we had succeeded after all. The light behind us increased so that I could plainly see the bent helpless load upon our follower's back; but the black trudged steadily on and I followed, panting with eagerness and ready the moment Jimmy paused to leap forward and try to take his place. The fire must have been increasing fast, and the idea was dawning upon me that perhaps this was a plan of the black's, who had set fire to one of the huts and then seized the opportunity to get the prisoner away. It was like the Australian to do such a thing as this, for he was cunning and full of stratagem, and though it was improbable the idea was growing upon me, when all at once a tremendous weight seemed to fall upon my head and I was dashed to the earth, with a sturdy savage pressing me down, dragging my hands behind me, and beginning to fasten them with some kind of thong. For the moment I was half-stunned. Then the idea came to me of help being at hand, and I was about to _cooey_ and bring Jimmy to my side, but my lips closed and I set my teeth. "No," I thought, "he may escape. If any one is to be taken let it be me; my turn will come later on." My captor had evidently been exerting himself a great deal to overtake me, and after binding me he contented himself by sitting upon my back, panting heavily, to rest himself, while, knowing that struggling would be in vain, I remained motionless, satisfied that every minute was of inestimable value, and that once the doctor knew of the black's success he would use every exertion to get the captive in safety, and then he would be sure to come in search of me. Then I shuddered, for I remembered what Mr Francis had said about the people being infuriated at such a time, and as I did so I felt that I was a long way yet from being a man. All at once my captor leaped up, and seizing me by the arm he gave me a fearful wrench to make me rise to my feet. For some minutes past I had been expecting to see others of his party come up, or to hear him shout to them, but he remained silent, and stood at last hesitating or listening to the faint shouts that came from the glow beyond the trees. Suddenly he thrust me before him, shaking his waddy menacingly. The next moment he uttered a cry. There was a sharp crack as of one war-club striking another, and then I was struck down by two men struggling fiercely. There were some inarticulate words, and a snarling and panting like two wild beasts engaged in a hard fight, and then a heavy fall, a dull thud, and the sound of a blow, as if some one had struck a tree branch with a club. I could see nothing from where I lay, but as soon as I could recover myself I was struggling to my feet, when a black figure loomed over me, and a familiar voice said hoarsely: "Where Mass Joe knife, cut um 'tring?" "Jimmy!" I said. "My father?" "Set um down come look Mass Joe. Come 'long fas. Gyp take care Jimmy fader till um come back again again." As Jimmy spoke he thrust his hand into my pocket for my knife, while I was too much interested in his words to remind him that there was my large sheath-knife in my belt. "Come 'long," he said as he set me free, and we were starting when he stopped short: "No; tie black fellow up firs'. No, can't 'top." Before I knew what he meant to do he had given the prostrate black a sharp rap on the head with his waddy. "Jimmy!" I said; "you'll kill him!" "Kill him! No, makum sleep, sleep. Come 'long." He went off at a sharp walk and I followed, glancing back anxiously from time to time and listening, till we reached the spot where he had set down his burden, just as the doctor came back, having missed me, and being in dread lest I had lost my way. I did not speak--I could not, but threw myself on my knees beside the strange, long-haired, thickly-bearded figure seated with its back against a tree, while the doctor drew back as soon as he realised that it was my father the black had saved. CHAPTER FORTY ONE. HOW JIMMY HEARD THE BUNYIP SPEAK, AND IT ALL PROVED TO BE "BIG 'TUFF." I Need not recount what passed just then. But few words were spoken, and there was no time for displays of affection. One black had seen and pursued Jimmy, and others might be on our track, so that our work was far from being half done even now. "Can you walk, sir?" said the doctor sharply. My poor father raised his face toward the speaker and uttered some incoherent words. "No, no; he has been kept bound by the ankles till the use of his feet has gone," said Mr Francis, who had remained silent up to now. "Can't walk--Jimmy carry um," said the black in a whisper. "Don't make noise--hear um black fellow." "You are tired," said the doctor; "let me take a turn." Jimmy made no objection, but bore the gun, while the doctor carried my father slowly and steadily on for some distance; then the black took a turn and bore him right to the place where our black followers were waiting, and where Jack Penny was anxiously expecting our return. "I thought you wasn't coming back," he said as Jimmy set down the burden; and then in a doleful voice he continued, "I couldn't do that, my back's so weak." But Ti-hi and his friends saw our difficulty, and cut down a couple of long stout bamboos whose tops were soon cleared of leaves and shoots. Two holes were made in the bottom of a light sack whose contents were otherwise distributed, the poles thrust through, and my poor father gently laid upon the sack. Four of us then went to the ends of the poles, which were placed upon our shoulders, and keeping step as well as we could, we went slowly and steadily on, Mr Francis taking the lead and acting as guide. Our progress was very slow, but we journeyed steadily on hour after hour, taking advantage of every open part of the forest that was not likely to show traces of our passage, and obliged blindly to trust to Mr Francis as to the way. It was weary work, but no one seemed to mind, each, even Jack Penny, taking his turn at the end of one of the bamboos; and when at last the morning broke, and the bright sunshine showed us our haggard faces, we still kept on, the daylight helping us to make better way till the sun came down so fiercely that we were obliged to halt in a dense part of the forest where some huge trees gave us shade. Mr Francis looked uneasily about, and I caught his anxious gaze directed so often in different directions that I whispered to the doctor my fears that he had lost his way. "Never mind, lad," replied the doctor; "we have the compass. Our way is south towards the coast--anywhere as long as we get beyond reach of the blacks. No, don't disturb him, let him sleep." I was about to draw near and speak to my father, in whose careworn hollow face I gazed with something approaching fear. His eyes were closed, and now, for the first time, I could see the ravages that the long captivity had made in his features; but, mingled with these, there was a quiet restful look that made me draw back in silence from where the litter had been laid and join my companions in partaking of such food as we had. Watch was set, the doctor choosing the post of guard, and then, lying anywhere, we all sought for relief from our weariness in sleep. As for me, one moment I was lying gazing at the long unkempt hair and head of him I had come to seek, and thinking that I would rest like that, rising now and then to see and watch with the doctor; the next I was wandering away in dreams through the forest in search of my father; and then all was blank till I started up to catch at my gun, for some one had touched me on the shoulder. "There is nothing wrong, my lad," said the doctor--"fortunately--for I have been a bad sentry, and have just awoke to find that I have been sleeping at my post." "Sleeping!" I said, still confused from my own deep slumbers. "Yes," he said; "every one has been asleep from utter exhaustion." I looked round, and there were our companions sleeping heavily. "I've been thinking that we may be as safe here as farther away," continued the doctor; "so let them rest still, for we have a tremendous task before us to get down to the coast." Just then Jimmy leaped up staring, his hand on his waddy and his eyes wandering in search of danger. This being absent, his next idea was regarding food. "Much hungry," he said, "want mutton, want damper, want eatums." The rest were aroused, and, water being close at hand in a little stream, we soon had our simple store of food brought out and made a refreshing meal, of which my father, as he lay, partook mechanically, but without a word. The doctor then bathed and dressed his ankles, which were in a fearfully swollen and injured state. Like Mr Francis, he seemed as if his long captivity had made him think like the savages among whom he had been; while the terrible mental anxiety he had suffered along with his bodily anguish had resulted in complete prostration. He ate what was given to him or drank with his eyes closed, and when he opened them once or twice it was not to let them wander round upon us who attended to him, but to gaze straight up in a vague manner and mutter a few of the native words before sinking back into a stupor-like sleep. I gazed at the doctor with my misery speaking in my eyes, for it was so different a meeting from that which I had imagined. There was no delight, no anguished tears, no pressing to a loving father's heart. We had found him a mere hopeless wreck, apparently, like Mr Francis, and the pain I suffered seemed more than I could bear. "Patience!" the doctor said to me, with a smile. "Yes, I know what you want to ask me. Let's wait and see. He was dying slowly, Joe, and we have come in time to save his life." "You are sure?" I said. "No," he answered, "not sure, but I shall hope. Now let's get on again till dark, and then we'll have a good rest in the safest place we can find." In the exertion and toil that followed I found some relief. My interest, too, was excited by seeing how much Mr Francis seemed to change hour by hour, and how well he knew the country which he led us through. He found for us a capital resting-place in a rocky gorge, where, unless tracked step by step, there was no fear of our being surprised. Here there was water and fruit, and, short a distance as we had come, the darkness made it necessary that we should wait for day. Then followed days and weeks of slow travel through a beautiful country, always south and west. We did not go many miles some days, for the burden we carried made our passage very slow. Sometimes, too, our black scouts came back to announce that we were travelling towards some black village, or that a hunting party was in our neighbourhood, and though these people might have been friendly, we took the advice of our black companions and avoided them, either by making a detour or by waiting in hiding till they had passed. Water was plentiful, and Jimmy and Ti-hi never let us want for fruit, fish, or some animal for food. Now it would be a wild pig or a small deer, more often birds, for these literally swarmed in some of the lakes and marshes round which we made our way. The country was so thinly inhabited that we could always light a fire in some shut-in part of the forest without fear, and so we got on, running risks at times, but on the whole meeting with but few adventures. After getting over the exertion and a little return of fever from too early leaving his sick-bed of boughs, Mr Francis mended rapidly, his wound healing well and his mind daily growing clearer. Every now and then, when excited, he had relapses, and looked at us hopelessly, talking quickly in the savages' tongue; but these grew less frequent, and there would be days during which he would be quite free. He grew so much better that at the end of a month he insisted upon taking his place at one of the bamboos, proving himself to be a tender nurse to our invalid in his turn. And all this time my father seemed to alter but little. The doctor was indefatigable in his endeavours; but though he soon wrought a change in his patient's bodily infirmities to such an extent, that at last my father could walk first a mile, then a couple, and then ease the bearers of half their toil, his mind seemed gone, and he went on in a strangely vacant way. As time went on and our long journey continued he would walk slowly by my side, resting on my shoulder, and with his eyes always fixed upon the earth. If he was spoken to he did not seem to hear, and he never opened his lips save to utter a few words in the savage tongue. I was in despair, but the doctor still bade me hope. "Time works wonders, Joe," he said. "His bodily health is improving wonderfully, and at last that must act upon his mind." "But it does not," I said. "He has walked at least six miles to-day as if in a dream. Oh, doctor!" I exclaimed, "we cannot take him back like this. You keep bidding me hope, and it seems no use." He smiled at me in his calm satisfied way. "And yet I've done something, Joe," he said. "We found him--we got him away--we had him first a hopeless invalid--he is now rapidly becoming a strong healthy man." "Healthy!" "In body, boy. Recollect that for years he seems to have been kept chained up by the savages like some wild beast, perhaps through some religious scruples against destroying the life of a white man who was wise in trees and plants. Likely enough they feared that if they killed such a medicine-man it might result in a plague or curse." "That is why they spared us both," said Mr Francis, who had heard the latter part of our conversation; "and the long course of being kept imprisoned there seemed to completely freeze up his brain as it did mine. That and the fever and blows I received," he said excitedly. "There were times when--" He clapped his hands to his head as if he dared not trust himself to speak, and turned away. "Yes, that is it, my lad," said the doctor quietly; "his brain has become paralysed as it were. A change may come at any time. Under the circumstances, in spite of your mother's anxiety, we'll wait and go slowly homeward. Let me see," he continued, turning to a little calendar he kept, "to-morrow begins the tenth month of our journey. Come, be of good heart. We've done wonders; nature will do the rest." Two days later we had come to a halt in a lovely little glen through which trickled a clear spring whose banks were brilliant with flowers. We were all busy cooking and preparing to halt there for the night. My father had walked the whole of the morning, and now had wandered slowly away along the banks of the stream, Mr Francis being a little further on, while Jimmy was busy standing beside a pool spearing fish. I glanced up once or twice to see that my father was standing motionless on the bank, and then I was busying myself once more cutting soft boughs to make a bed when Jimmy came bounding up to me with his eyes starting and mouth open. "Where a gun, where a gun?" he cried. "Big bunyip down 'mong a trees, try to eat Jimmy. Ask for um dinner, all aloud, oh." "Hush! be quiet!" I cried, catching his arm; "what do you mean?" "Big bunyip down 'mong stones say, `Hoo! much hungry; where my boy?'" "Some one said that?" I cried. "Yes, `much hungry, where my boy?' Want eat black boy; eat Jimmy!" "What nonsense, Jimmy!" I said. "Don't be such a donkey. There are no bunyips." "Jimmy heard um say um!" he cried, stamping his spear on the ground. Just then I involuntarily glanced in the direction where my father stood, and saw him stoop and pick up a flower or two. My heart gave a bound. The next minute he was walking slowly towards Mr Francis, to whom he held out the flowers; and then I felt giddy, for I saw them coming slowly towards our camp, both talking earnestly, my father seeming to be explaining something about the flowers he had picked. The doctor had seen it too, and he drew me away, after cautioning Jimmy to be silent. And there we stood while those two rescued prisoners talked quietly and earnestly together, but it was in the savage tongue. I need not tell you of my joy, or the doctor's triumphant looks. "It is the beginning, Joe," he said; and hardly had he spoken when Jimmy came up. "Not bunyip 'tall!" he said scornfully. "Not no bunyip; all big 'tuff! Jimmy, Mass Joe fader talk away, say, `where my boy?'" CHAPTER FORTY TWO. HOW I MUST WIND UP THE STORY. It was the beginning of a better time, for from that day what was like the dawn of a return of his mental powers brightened and strengthened into the full sunshine of reason, and by the time we had been waiting at Ti-hi's village for the coming of the captain with his schooner we had heard the whole of my father's adventures from his own lips, and how he had been struck down from behind by one of the blacks while collecting, and kept a prisoner ever since. I need not tell you of his words to me, his thanks to the doctor, and his intense longing for the coming of the schooner, which seemed to be an age before it came in sight. We made Ti-hi and his companions happy by our supply of presents, for we wanted to take nothing back, and at last one bright morning we sailed from the glorious continent-like island, with two strong middle-aged men on board, both of whom were returning to a civilised land with the traces of their captivity in their hair and beards, which were as white as snow. Neither shall I tell you of the safe voyage home, and of the meeting there. Joy had come at last where sorrow had sojourned so long, and I was happy in my task that I had fulfilled. I will tell you, though, what the captain said in his hearty way over and over again. To me it used to be: "Well, you have growed! Why, if you'd stopped another year you'd have been quite a man. I say, though I never thought you'd ha' done it; 'pon my word!" Similar words these to those often uttered by poor, prejudiced, obstinate old nurse. To Jack Penny the captain was always saying: "I say, young 'un, how you've growed too; not uppards but beam ways. Why, hang me if I don't think you'll make a fine man yet!" And so he did; a great strong six-foot fellow, with a voice like a trombone. Jack Penny is a sheep-farmer on his own account now, and after a visit to England with my staunch friend the doctor, where I gained some education, and used to do a good deal of business for my father, who is one of the greatest collectors in the south, I returned home, and went to stay a week with Jack Penny. "I say," he said laughing, "my back's as strong as a lion's now. How it used to ache!" We were standing at the door of his house, looking north, for we had been talking of our travels, when all at once I caught sight of what looked like a little white tombstone under a eucalyptus tree. "Why, what's that?" I said. Jack Penny's countenance changed, and there were a couple of tears in the eyes of the great strong fellow as he said slowly: "That's to the memory of Gyp, the best dog as ever lived!" I must not end without a word about Jimmy, my father's faithful companion in his botanical trips. Jimmy nearly went mad for joy when I got back from England, dancing about like a child. He was always at the door, black and shining as ever, and there was constantly something to be done. One day he had seen the biggest ole man kangaroo as ever was; and this time there was a wallaby to be found; another the announcement that the black cockatoos were in the woods; or else it would be: "Mass Joe, Mass Joe! Jimmy want go kedge fis very bad; do come a day." And I? Well, I used to go, and it seemed like being a boy again to go on some expedition with my true old companion and friend. Yes, friend; Jimmy was always looked upon as a friend; and long before then my mother would have fed and clothed him, given him anything he asked. But Jimmy was wild and happiest so, and I found him just as he was when I left home, faithful and boyish and winning, and often ready to say: "When Mass Joe ready, go and find um fader all over again!" THE END. 
5875	----	THE ROVER BOYS ON THE OCEAN OR A CHASE FOR A FORTUNE BY Arthur M. Winfield (Edward Stratemeyer) INTRODUCTION My dear Boys: "The Rover Boys on the Ocean" is a complete tale in itself, but forms a companion volume to "The Rover Boys at School," which preceded it. In the former volume I tried to give my young readers a glimpse of life as it actually is in one of our famous military boarding schools, with its brightness and shadows, its trials and triumphs, its little plots and counterplots, its mental and physical contests, and all that goes to make up such an existence; in the present tale I have given a little more of this, and also related the particulars of an ocean trip, which, from a small and unpretentious beginning, developed into something entirely unlooked for an outing calculated to test the nerves of the bravest of American youths. How Dick, Tom, and Sam, and their friends stood it, and how they triumphed over their enemies, I will leave for the story itself to explain. This volume will be followed by another, to be entitled, "The Rover Boys in the jungle," telling of curious adventures in the heart of Africa. As the first volume of the series was so I well received, my one wish is that the present tale may find equal favor at your hands. Affectionately and sincerely yours, EDWARD STRATEMEYER September 20, 1899 THE ROVER BOYS ON THE OCEAN CHAPTER I SOMETHING ABOUT THE ROVER BOYS "Luff up a little, Sam, or the _Spray_ will run on the rocks." "All right, Dick. I haven't got sailing down quite as fine as you yet. How far do you suppose we are from Albany?" "Not over eight or nine miles. If this wind holds out we'll make that city by six o'clock. I'll tell you what, sailing on the Hudson suits me first-rate." "And it suits me, too," put in Tom Rover, addressing both of his brothers. "I like it ten times better than staying on Uncle Randolph's farm." "But I can't say that I like it better than life at Putnam Hall," smiled Sam Rover, as he threw over the tiller of the little yacht. "I'm quite anxious to meet Captain Putnam and Fred, Frank, and Larry again." "Oh, so am I," answered Tom Rover. "But an outing on the Hudson is just the best of a vacation. By the way, I wonder if all of our old friends will be back?" "Most of them will be." "And our enemies?" "Dan Baxter won't come back," answered Dick seriously. "He ran away to Chicago with two hundred dollars belonging to his father, and I guess that's the end of him--so far as Putnam Hall and we are concerned. What a bully he was!" "I feel it in my bones, Dick, that we'll meet Dan Baxter again," came from Sam Rover. "Don't you remember that in that note he left when he ran away he said he would take pains to get square with us some day?" "He was a big blower, Sam," put in Tom. "I am not afraid of him. An his chum, Mumps, was a regular sneak coward. I hope Putnam Hall will be free from all such fellows during the next term. But we--Hold hard, Sam--there is another yacht bearing down upon us!" Tom Rover leaped to his feet and so did Dick. Tom was right; another craft, considerably larger than their own, was headed directly for them. "Throw her over to starboard!" sang out, Dick Rover. "And be quick about it--or we'll have a smash-up sure!" And he leaped to his brother's, assistance, while Tom did the same. The Rover brothers were three in number--Dick, the oldest and most studious; Tom next, is full of fun as an egg is full of meat, and Sam the youngest. In a former volume of this series, entitled, "The Rover Boys at School," I related how the three youths had been sent by their uncle, Randolph Rover, to Putnam Hall, a military boarding school, situated upon Cayuga Lake, in New York State. Whether the three boys were orphans or not was a question that could not be answered. Their father, Anderson Rover, had been a geological expert and rich mine owner, and, returning from the West, had set sail for Africa, with the intention of exploring the central region of that country in the hope of locating some valuable gold mines. The boys and their uncle knew that he had journeyed from the western coast toward the interior with a number of natives, and that was all they did know, although they had made numerous inquiries, and hoped for the best. The lads' mother was dead; and all these things had happened years before they had been sent to boarding school. Randolph Rover was an eccentric but kind hearted man, given over entirely to scientific farming, of which, so far, sad to relate, he had made a rather costly failure. He spent all of his time over his agricultural books and in the fields, and was glad enough to get the boys off his hands by sending them to the military school. When vacation came he wondered what he should do with them during the summer, but the problem was solved by the boys, who hated to think of remaining on the farm, and who proposed a trip up and down the Hudson River and through Long Island Sound, providing their guardian would furnish the boat and bear the expense of the outing. The outcome was the chartering of the yacht _Spray_, and all of the boys took lessons in sailing from an old tar who knew exactly how such a craft should be handled. At Putnam Hall the boys had made a number of friends, and also several enemies, and had had several surprising adventures, as my old readers already know. Who their friends and their enemies were, and what further adventures were in store for the three brothers, I will leave for the pages following to reveal. At present let us turn our attention to the boat which seemed on the point of running down the _Spray_. Like their own craft, the other boat carried but a single mast. But the stick was at least ten feet longer than the mast of the _Spray_, and the boat was correspondingly larger in every respect. As she came nearer the Rover boys saw that she contained two occupants, a boy and a somewhat elderly man. "Sheer off there!" cried Dick, at the top of his lungs. "Do you want to run us down?" "Get out of the way yourself!" came back the answer from the boy in the other boat. "We can't get out--we are almost on the rocks now!" yelled Tom. Then he gave a start of surprise. "Why, it's Mumps!" "By jinks, it is John Fenwick!" muttered Dick. "I remember now that he came from the Hudson River and that his folks owned a boat." He raised his voice, "Are you going to sheer off or not?" By this time the two boats were nearly bowsprit to bowsprit, and Sam Rover's heart almost stopped beating. But now Mumps spoke to the man with him, and his craft, called the _Falcon_, sheered to port, scraping the _Spray's_ side as she did so. "Mumps, what do you mean by such work?" demanded Dick, when the immediate danger was past. "Ha! ha! I thought I would give you a scare," laughed the former sneak of Putnam Hall. "You needn't be afraid but what I and old Bill Goss here know how to keep the _Falcon_ out of danger." "It was foolishness to run so close," said Tom. "Don't you talk to me, Tom Rover. I've had enough of you, mind that." "And I want you to mind and keep off next time, Mumps. If you don't--" "What will you do?" "I'll be tempted to come aboard the _Falcon_ and give you a thrashing." "You'll never set foot on my boat, and I'm not afraid of you," roared Mumps. "You think you got the best of me at Putnam Hall, but you didn't, and I want you to know it." "How is your friend, Dan Baxter?" cried Sam. "Has he landed in jail yet?" "Never mind Dan Baxter," growled Mumps, growing red in the face; and then the two yachts moved so far apart that further talk was impossible. "Well, I didn't expect to meet him," muttered Dick, after the three brothers had cooled down a bit. "He must have known we were in this boat." "I saw his craft last night, down near Catskill," said Tom. "I'll wager he has been following us up." "He wouldn't do that unless he had some reason for it." "I believe he would sink us if he could," put in Sam. "To my mind he is almost as bad as Baxter." "Hardly, Sam; Dan Baxter is a thief and the son of a thief," came from Tom. "By the way, I wonder if Arnold Baxter is still in the hospital at Ithaca." "More than likely, since he was so badly hurt by that fall from the train. If we--Look, Mumps has turned around and is following us!" Sam pointed to the _Falcon_, and his brothers saw that he was right. Soon the larger craft was again within hailing distance. "Hi, Mumps, what are you following us for?" demanded, Dick, as he stepped up on the stern seat. "Didn't know I was following you," was the sour rejoinder. "I have a right to sail where I please." "If you have any game in mind I advise you not to try it on." "What game would I have, Dick Rover?" "Some game to get yourself into trouble." "I know my own business." "Alright, you can go about your business. But don't try to step on our toes--or you'll get the worst of it." "So you're going to play the part of a bully?" "No; I'm only giving you fair warning. If you let us alone we'll let you alone." "You have been watching the movements of the _Falcon_ since day before yesterday," went on Mumps, slowly and distinctly, as though he expected his words to have a great effect. "Watching your boat--" began Dick and Tom simultaneously. "Yes, watching my boat--and I don't like it," answered Fenwick, and his face grew dark. "Why should we watch your boat?" demanded Sam. "Never mind why. You've been watching her, and that's enough." "And why should we put ourselves out to that extent--when we are merely out for pleasure," said Dick. "There is no fun in watching a fellow like you, I'm sure." "John is right; ye have been a-watchin' this boat," growled the old sailor named Bill Goss, who, it may be as well to state here, was thoroughly under his younger master's thumb for reasons best known to himself. "If I had my way I'd wollop the lot on ye!" And he shook his fist at the occupants of the _Spray_. "You keep your oar out!" cried Dick sternly. "You are entirely mistaken in your suspicions. We are not spying on you or anybody, and if you--" Dick was permitted to go no further. While Bill Goss was speaking the _Spray_ had been caught by a sudden puff of wind and sent over to starboard. Now the _Falcon_ came on swiftly, and in an instant her sharp bow crashed into the Rover boy's boat. The shock of the collision caused the _Spray_ to shiver from stem to stern, and then, with a jagged hole in her side, she began to slowly sink. CHAPTER II THE ENCOUNTER ON THE RIVER For the instant after the collision occurred none of the Rover boys uttered a word. Tom and Sam stared in amazement at Mumps, while Dick gazed helplessly at the damage done. "Pull her away, quick, Bill!" cried Mumps in a low voice to the old sailor, who at once sprang forward and shoved the two yachts apart with a long boathook. Then the rudder of the _Falcon_ was put hard a port, and she swung, away for a distance of half a dozen yards. "We are sinking!" gasped Tom, who was the first of the three brothers to find his voice. "Mumps, you rascal, what do you mean by this work?" demanded Dick. And then, without waiting for an answer, he turned to Sam. "Steer for the shore and beach her--if you can." "I don't believe we can make it, Dick. But we can try." "We'll have you locked up for this, Mumps," shouted Tom. "I couldn't help it--it was an accident," returned the former sneak of Putnam Hall glibly. "You should have kept out of the way." "We'll see about that later on." "Maybe you want us to help you." "We shan't ask you for the favor," burst out Sam. "I'd rather drown first." But Sam did not exactly mean this. He and his brothers could all swim, and he felt certain that they were in no immediate danger of their lives. "You had better not ask any favors. I wouldn't pick you up for a barrel of money." "I think we'll have to settle this in court, Mumps," said Dick, as quietly as he could. "You can't prove I ran you down." "Don't you dare to have us hauled up," put in Bill Goss. "It was an accident, jest as John says. I reckon as how it will teach ye a lesson not to follow us ag'in." By this time the two yachts were once more so far apart that talking from one to the other became difficult. Besides this, the Rover boys felt that they must turn their whole attention to the _Spray_, so no more was said. The yacht had been struck just at the water line and the hole made in her side was all of six inches in diameter. Through this the water was pouring into the hold at a lively rate. "We're going down as sure as guns," groaned Tom. "Steer her right for the shore, Sam." This was done, and just as the _Spray_ began to settle they ran upon a muddy and rocky flat about thirty feet from the river bank proper. "There, we can't go down now," said Dick, with something of a sigh of relief. "Let us lower the mainsail and jib before the wind sends us over on our beam ends." The others understood the value of the advice, and soon the mainsail of the yacht came down with a bang, and the jib followed. The _Spray_ seemed inclined to list to port, but stopped settling when her deck line touched the surface of the river. "That settles yachting for the present," said Dick in deep disgust. "And the worst of it is, we haven't even a small boat to go ashore in," added Sam. "What's to do?" "There is a rowboat putting out from the shore now," cried Tom. "Hullo, there!" he shouted, and waved his hand. The shout was returned, and the rowboat was headed, in their direction. As it came closer they saw that its occupant was a middle-aged man of pleasant appearance. "So you had a smash-up, eh?" shouted the man, as soon as he came near. "Anybody hurt?" "Our boat is hurt," answered Tom dryly. "Much of a hole?" "Big enough to put us on the bottom." "So I see. Want me to take you ashore?" "Yes," put in Dick, "if you will be kind enough to do it." "Certainly; always willing to aid anybody in distress. That other craft run you down in short order, didn't she?" "Did you see it?" burst out Sam eagerly. "To be sure I did." "Then you know it was her fault." "I do. She had no right to follow you up as she did." "I'm glad you saw the mix-up, Mr..." "Martin Harris is my name. I'm an old boatman around here--keep boats to hire, and the like. And who is this I'm to take ashore?" "My name is Sam Rover. These are my two brothers, Dick and Tom." "Do you know who it was ran into you?" "It was the _Falcon_, a yacht owned by a Mr. Fenwick. His son and a man he called Bill Goss were aboard." At this Martin Harris drew down his mouth. "A bad set, those. I know 'em well." "And we know, Fenwick, too," put in Dick, "He's a regular sneak." "That's right--takes after his father, who did his best to defraud me in a boat deal. And that Bill Goss is a sneak, too, and worse," and Martin Harris shook his head decidedly. "Well, we can't talk about those people now," said Dick. "We're in a mess and must get out of it the best way we can. As you are an old boatman, what would you advise us to do?" "Come ashore with me and then get Dan Haskett to take your boat in charge and fix her up. He can stop that leak somehow and pump her out and have her all right inside of twenty-four hours." "Where can we find this Haskett?" "Come into my boat and I'll take you to him." The rowboat was now close at hand, and one after another the Rover boys stowed themselves away in the craft. Then Martin Harris took up the oars and started for the river bank. He turned down the stream a bit and landed them at an old dock over which hung the sign: "Daniel Haskett, Boat Builder and Repairer jobs Promptly Attended to--Charges Small." Dan Haskett proved to be an elderly man, who was somewhat deaf, and it took the boys some time to make him understand the situation. "We've had a smash-up," began Dick. "Cash up?" said the deaf man. "Cash up for what?" "We've had a smash-up!" repeated the boy in a louder tone. "We want our boat mended." "What's ended?" asked the boat builder. "Your boat?" "Almost ended," roared Tom. "We--want--you--to--fix--up--our--boat," he yelled. "Oh, all right. Where is she?" Dick pointed with his finger, and at once the boat builder understood. "There's a hole in her side," bawled the boy. "We want it patched up." "All right; I can do that." "Can we have her by tomorrow?" "How's that?" And Dan Haskett placed his hand to his ear. "Can--we--have--her--by--tomorrow?" yelled Dick. "I guess so. I'll have to see how badly she is damaged first." Haskett got out a small boat of his own and, taking Dick with him, rowed over to the wreck. He pronounced the injury small and said the boys could have their boat by noon the next day. The charges would be twelve or fifteen dollars. "We'll be getting off cheaper than I thought," said Tom, on Dick's return. "Ought to come out of Mumps' pocket." "That's so," added Sam. "By the way, I wonder what he meant by saying we were dogging him?" "I can't say," replied Dick. "But I've been thinking that he can't be up to any good, or he wouldn't be so suspicious." "Just exactly my idea!" burst out Tom. "Do you know what I half imagine?" "Well?" "That Mumps is cruising around waiting for Dan Baxter to join him." "But Baxter went to Chicago." "He won't stay there--not as long as his father is in the East. He will be back before long, if he isn't back already." "But he took that money belonging to his father." "What of that? His father can't do anything against him, for he himself is worse than his son, as we all know. Besides, his father is most likely still in the hospital." "If you young gentlemen want to sail around until tomorrow noon, I can take you out in one of my boats," remarked Martin Harris. "I've got a first-class yacht, the _Searchlight_, that I can let you have reasonably." "Thanks, but I would just as lief stay on shore until our boat is mended," answered Dick. "But I want to pay you for what you did for us," he added. "Oh, that's all right." But the boys thought otherwise, and in the end gave Martin Harris two dollars, with which the boatman was highly pleased. "Remember, I saw that accident," he said, on parting. "I can prove it was the _Falcon's_ fault." "We'll remember that," answered Dick. From time to time they had watched the _Falcon's_ course until the yacht had disappeared down the river. After a short debate the brothers decided to put up at a hotel which stood not far away, on a high cliff overlooking the noble Hudson. "We've been on the water for nearly two weeks now," said Dick, "and to sleep in a real bed will be something of a novelty." As it was in the height of the summer season the hotel was crowded; but some guests were just departing, and they managed to get a fairly good room on the second floor. This had a double bed, and a cot was added, to accommodate Sam; Dick and Tom sleeping together, as usual. It was supper time when the boys arrived, and as soon as they had registered and washed up and combed their hair, they descended to the spacious dining room, where fully a score of tables were set. "This way, please," said the head waiter, and showed them to a table at one side, overlooking one of the wide verandas of the hotel. "I'm as hungry as a bear!" exclaimed Tom. "You can't serve us any too quick," he added, to the waiter who came up to take their orders. "Yes, sah, do the best I can, sah," grinned the colored man. "What kind of soup, please?" "I'll have ox-tail--" began Tom, when he happened to glance out of the window. As his gaze fell upon a man sitting in an easy chair on the veranda he uttered a low whistle. "By jinks, boys, look! Josiah Crabtree, as sure as you're born!" he whispered. CHAPTER III JOSIAH CRABTREE FREES HIS MIND The individual to whom Tom referred had been a former master at Putnam Hall, but his disagreeable ways had led to his dismissal by Captain Putnam. Josiah Crabtree was a tall, slim individual, with a sharp face and a very long nose. During the past term at Putnam Hall he had been very dictatorial to the Rover boys, and it must be confessed that they had made life anything but a bed of roses for him. Crabtree had been very desirous of marrying a certain widow by the name of Stanhope, but the marriage was opposed by Dora, the widow's daughter, and as Dick was rather sweet on Dora, he had done all he could to aid the girl in breaking off the match, even going so far as to send Crabtree a bogus letter which had taken the teacher out to Chicago on a hunt for a position in a private college that had never existed. Dick knew that Crabtree was comparatively poor and wished to marry the widow so that he could get his hands on the fortune which the lady held in trust for her only child. "It is Crabtree," said Dick, as he gave a look. "I wonder how he liked his trip to Chicago?" laughed Sam. "Perhaps the Mid-West National College didn't suit his lofty ideas." "Hush! don't let him hear you talk of that," returned Dick. "He might get us into trouble." "What kind of soup, sah?" interrupted the waiter, and then they broke off to give their order, and the waiter hurried off to fill it. "I'd like to know if he has been around the Stanhope cottage again," mused Dick, as he sipped his soup. "Dick can't bear to think of anybody around Dora," laughed Tom. "I don't want _him_ around," retorted the elder Rover, growing red in the face. "He wants the Stanhopes' money and that's all he does want. I don't believe he really loves Mrs. Stanhope." "But why does she encourage him?" came from Sam. "Why don't she send him about his business?" "Oh, she is sickly, as you know, and he seems to have a peculiar hypnotic influence over her, at least that's what Dora thinks." "What are you laughing at, Tom?" "I--I was thinking of the time we put the crabs in old Crabtree's bed," answered the younger brother. "No, you, weren't--" "Well?" demanded Tom, as Dick paused. "You were laughing because I mentioned Dora, and--" "'Pon my honor I wasn't," smiled Tom, but his look belied his words. "You were. If I mention her cousins, Grace and Nellie Laning, I guess the laugh will be on you and Sam--" "We'll call it quits," answered Tom hurriedly. "They're all nice girls, eh, Sam?" "To be sure. But, I say, hadn't we best keep out of old Crabtree's way?" "I don't know as it's necessary," said Dick. "I'm not afraid of him, I'm sure." "Oh, neither am I, if you are going to put it that way," answered the youngest Rover. "If he's stopping here I'm going to have some fun with him," grinned Tom. The evening meal was soon finished, and the boys took a stroll around the grounds. They were just on the point of retiring when Dick drew his brothers' attention to a figure that was stealing through a nearby grove of trees. "There goes Crabtree." "I wonder where he is going," mused Sam. "Where does that path lead to?" "Down to the river," came from Tom. And then he added suddenly: "Come, let us follow him." "What's the good," grumbled Dick. "I'm tired out." "There may be some chance for fun. Come on," and thus urged Dick and Sam followed their fun-loving brother. The path through the grove ran directly to the cliff overlooking the Hudson, at a point where a series of stone steps led up from the water's edge. As they gained a spot where they could look down upon the river, Dick uttered a short cry. "Look, boys, a yacht!" he said, pointing through the moonlight. "I'll wager it is the _Falcon_!" "And Mumps is coming to meet Josiah Crabtree," put in Sam. "But what would he want to see Crabtree about?" demanded Tom. "That remains to be seen. Remember at Putnam Hall the only friends Josiah Crabtree had were Dan Baxter and Mumps." "That is true, Dick. See, Crabtree has his handkerchief out and is waving it as a signal." "And here comes somebody up the steps. Mumps, sure enough," whispered Sam. "Let us get behind the trees and learn what is going on," came from Dick, and the three brothers lost no time in secreting themselves in the immediate vicinity. "Well, John, I've been waiting for you," said Josiah Crabtree, as Mumps came forward and the two shook hands. "So have I been waiting for you," returned the former sneak of Putnam Hall. "Why didn't you come yesterday?" "It was impossible to do so, my lad. Is that the _Falcon_ down there?" "It is." "Who is in charge of her?" "A sailor named Bill Goss." "Is he a--ahem--a man to be trusted?" "I guess I can trust him," snickered Mumps. "If he dared to give me away, I could send him to jail." "You mean that you--er--have him--ahem--in your power?" "That's it, Mr. Crabtree." "Very good. And is be, a good sailor?" "As good as any on the river." "Then he can sail the yacht down the river without mishap?" "He can take her to Florida, if you wish to go that far." "No, I don't want to go that far--at least, not at present." "Don't you think you ought to let me in on your little game," went on Mumps earnestly. "So far I'm in the dark." "You will know all very soon, John--and you shall be well paid for what you do." "That's all right. But if it isn't lawful--" "I will protect you, never fear." "Where is Dan Baxter?" "Hush! It will be best not to mention his name, my lad." "'But where is he?" "I cannot say exactly." "Is he around Lake Cayuga?" "Well--ahem--more than likely he is. To tell the truth, he is very anxious to see his father." "To bone him for some more money?" "I think not. Daniel thinks a great deal of his parent, and when Mr. Baxter was so seriously injured--" "Dan didn't care much for that. He isn't that kind." "Daniel is a better boy than you think, John. He loves his parent, and when that imp of a Rover got Mr. Baxter into trouble Daniel was very much exercised over it." "Gracious, but that's rich," murmured Dick. "_I_ got him into trouble. I guess the rascal did that for himself." "Well, we won't talk about that, professor," went on Mumps. "You didn't stay in Chicago long." "No, I--ahem--the position offered to me did not suit my views, so I declined it." "Gee-christopher!" came from Tom, and each of the Rovers could scarcely keep from laughing. "I think those Rover boys put up a job on you," said Mumps. "At least, I got an inkling that way." "Indeed. I would like to wring their necks, the imps!" burst out Josiah Crabtree. "Oh, what have I not suffered at their hands! At one hotel where I stopped they placed live crabs--But let that pass, the subject is too painful. To come back to the point. I can have the _Falcon_ at any time that I may need her?" "Yes." "And you will promise to say nothing to a soul about what is done on the trip I propose?" "I will." "Very good, You see, this is a--er--a delicate matter." "Are you going to marry Mrs. Stanhope and use the yacht for your honeymoon?" said Mumps somewhat slyly. "Hardly--although that would not be a bad idea, my lad. But now I have a different deal on hand--something very much different. If you do not object I'll take a look at your yacht and interview this sailor you mention." "All right, come ahead." Mumps led the way down the rocky steps and Josiah Crabtree followed, moving slowly that he might not fall. Creeping to the edge of the cliff, the Rover boys saw the pair reach the _Falcon_ and go on board. "Now what is in the wind?" said Dick, as soon as the pair were out of hearing. "That's a conundrum," replied Tom. "I'll wager one thing though--old Crabtree is up to no good." "I believe you are right. I wish we could hear the rest of what is going on." "Can't we get close to the yacht?" suggested Sam. "See, the sky is clouding over. I don't believe they will see us going down the stairs." They talked the plan over for a moment, then began to descend the steps, keeping as low down as possible and close to some brush which grew up in the crevices of the stones. Soon the river bank was gained at a point not over fifty feet from where the yacht lay. They halted behind a large stone close to the water's edge. By straining their eyes in the darkness they saw Mumps, Crabtree, and Bill Goss in earnest conversation in the stern of the vessel. A low murmur came to their ears, but not a word could be understood. "We must get closer," was Dick's comment, when to the surprise of all they saw the sailor hoist the mainsail of the _Falcon_. A gentle breeze was blowing, and soon the yacht was leaving the shore. They watched the craft until the gathering darkness hid her entirely from view. CHAPTER IV THE DISASTROUS RESULT OF A TRICK "She's gone!" "Yes; and I wonder where to, Tom?" "I don't believe the yacht will go very far," said Sam. "Maybe old Crabtree merely wants to see what sort of a sailing craft she is." "We can watch here for a while," returned Dick. They sat down on a rock and waited, in the meantime discussing the strange situation. They could reach no conclusion but that Josiah Crabtree had some plot he wanted to put into execution. "And it's something underhand, too," was Dick's comment. At last they grew tired of waiting and almost fell asleep. This being the case they returned to the hotel and made their way to the bed chamber. Soon each was sleeping soundly. When they awoke the sun was shining brightly--and it was half-past seven o'clock. "All up!" shouted Tom, and dragged Sam out by the foot. Soon they were dressed and made their way to the dining room. They had scarcely seated themselves when Josiah Crabtree came in and was shown to a seat directly opposite the boys. He did not notice them at first and began to eat a dish of oatmeal silently and rapidly. Tom nudged Sam, and the younger Rover nudged his oldest brother, and a snicker went up. At this Josiah Crabtree glanced at them carelessly. Then he started back in amazement. "Why--er--why--ahem--so it is you!" he stammered. "I--er--where did you come from?" "We came from our bedroom," answered Tom promptly. "Where did you come from, Mr. Crabtree?" "Why--er--don't be impertinent, Rover. I might say that I came from my bedroom too." "I thought you came from the river," remarked Dick carelessly. "From the river? "Yes." "You are--ahem, mistaken, my lad. I have not been near the river--at least, not since I came up from New York on the boat." "Stopping here for the summer?" put in Sam. "I do not know as that is any of your business, Samuel. I am no longer a master at Putnam Hall and when I left that place I washed my hands of all those connected with that place." "A good thing for the Hall, sir," came from Tom. "Don't be insulting, Rover. You go your way and I'll go mine." "As you please, sir. You spoke to us first." "I'll take good care and not do it again. But this looks as if you were following me up." "That's what Mumps said," cried Sam, before he had stopped to think twice. "Ha! So you have met Mum--I mean John Fenwick?" "We met him on the river." "And he said you had been following him?" "Never mind, Mr. Crabtree, we won't talk any more," put in Dick, with a warning glance at Sam. He turned to the waiter. "Some fish, please, trout; and see that the biscuits are warm." "Yes, sah," grinned the negro. Tom at once took the cue. "It's going to be a warm day," he said to Dick. "I wonder how sailing was last night," put in Sam slyly. At this Josiah Crabtree looked as black as a thundercloud. "You boys have been playing the sneak on me!" he cried. "Take my advice and beware of what you do in the future." "I wasn't talking to you," retorted Sam. "Kindly keep your remarks to yourself." By this time others were coming to the table, consequently the cross-fire of words had to come to an end. Josiah Crabtree finished his repast as speedily as possible and strode out of the dining room in high but suppressed anger. "He's a corker," remarked Tom. "I believe he'd half kill us if he dared." "I guess he hasn't forgotten how I stopped him from maltreating Dora Stanhope," said Dick. "I wish I knew if he had been around their place since he came back from the West." "Of course he has been back," said Tom. "And he'll marry Mrs. Stanhope yet--see if he don't." "Not if I can help Dora prevent it," said his elder brother firmly. Breakfast finished they walked out to learn what had become of Crabtree. They were just in time to see him leaving the hotel, valise in hand. "He's off," said Tom. "I wonder where he is bound?" "Let us follow him and find out," returned Dick, This did not prove to be an easy matter, for at the foot of the hotel grounds Josiah Crabtree jumped into a stage which was in waiting, bound for the depot. "He's off on the train, I guess," said Sam, and the others were inclined to agree with him. Down at the river shore nothing could be seen of the _Falcon_, and they concluded that Mumps had also taken himself off. The morning was spent around the hotel, in reading the newspapers and taking it easy out on the beautiful lawn. "Hullo, here's a novelty!" cried Tom presently, and pointed to an Italian who was coming up to the hotel. The fellow had a small hand organ and a trained bear and two monkeys. The monkeys were dressed in red, white, and blue, and sat on the bear's back as he trotted along. "He's going to give us a performance," said Sam, as the Italian came to a halt in the center of the grounds. "There they go!" The music started, and at once the bear reared himself on his hind legs and began to dance. In the meantime the monkeys climbed to the bear's head and began a little dance of their own. "Now for a little sport," whispered Tom, and started for the hotel. "Be careful of yourself!" warned Dick; "That bear looks as if he wasn't to be trifled with." But Tom did not heed him, his whole mind being bent on having a laugh at the expense of the Italian and his animals. Going around to the kitchen of the hotel, he procured a couple of sugar cakes, pierced them with pinholes, and filled them up with pepper. When he returned he found that a crowd had gathered and the Italian was passing around the hat. While Sam and Dick contributed several cents, Tom gave the bear one bun and divided the other between the two monkeys. "Cheep! cheep!" went the monkeys, as if highly pleased. "You're right, they are cheap," grinned Tom. "Hope you like the flavor." The monkeys began to eat ravenously, for they were nearly starved. But they had not swallowed many mouthfuls before they noticed something wrong. Then one threw his bun at Tom in a rage. A second later the other monkey leaped back on the bear's head and began to dance and scratch wildly, in the meanwhile scattering the bun crumbs in all directions. "Hi! hi! whata you do to de monks?" demanded the Italian. "You letta de monks alone!" "I'm not touching the monks," replied Tom, and slipped out of sight in the crowd. By this time the bear had swallowed the larger portion of the bun given to him. It was the more peppery of the two, and it brought tears to the beast's eyes. With a roar of rage he, turned and shook the monkey from his head and leaped away from his keeper, dragging his chain after him. The monkeys were evidently not used to seeing the bear in an ugly mood, and at once they sought safety by getting out of his reach. One leaped into a tree and ran like a cat to the top, while the second pounced on the shoulder of an elderly damsel, who looked exactly what she was, a hot-tempered old maid. "Oh, dear!" screamed the elderly damsel. "Take the horrid thing off! Take it off this minute!" "Come here, Jocko!" roared the Italian. "Come, Jocko!" and he held out his hands. But Jocko had no intention of coming. Instead he clung the closer, his two forefeet in the lady's hair. The hair was largely false, and all of a sudden a long switch came loose and fell to the ground. At this the damsel screeched at the top of her lungs and, caught at the hair. The monkey cried, too, in concert, and then a young man rushed in to the rescue. But Jocko's blood was up, and, leaping to the young man's shoulder, he tore off his straw hat and began to pull it to bits. Then, with the hat still in his possession, he made a leap to the tree and joined his brother at the top. By this time the uproar was general, and it seemed to anger the bear still more. He had been rushing over the lawn, upsetting easy chairs and benches, but now he charged straight for the crowd. "Look out for the bear!" "The beast is going mad and will chew somebody up!" "Shoot him, somebody, before we are all killed!" Such were some of the cries which rang out. The Italian turned pale with anger and alarm. "No shootta Marcus!" he cried. "No shootta heem. He de goodda bear!" "Then catch him!" put in the proprietor of the hotel. "Catch him and tie him up." But this the Italian could not do, and when the bear headed for him he ran as hard as anybody present. Around and around the grounds fled the people, some rushing for the hotel and the others to the stables and to a large summer house. The bear made first for one and then another, but at last halted in front of the stable, which now contained the Rover boys, two ladies and an elderly man, and two colored hostlers. "Shut the doors!" cried Dick, but his words were unnecessary, for the colored men were already closing them. The bar had scarcely been dropped into place when the bear hurled himself with all force against the barrier. "He is going to break in the door!" cried one of the ladies. "Let us go upstairs," said the elderly gentleman, and lost no time in leading the way. There was a back door to close, and one of the negroes started for this. But just as he got close to the door he saw the bear coming, and, uttering a wild yell, he too made for the stairs. Tom was close at hand, and it must be confessed that he felt thoroughly sorry over what he had done. "I'm responsible for all of it," he groaned. Then, as the bear stepped close to the back door, he got behind the barrier and tried to shove it shut. The result was a surprise for both boy and bear, for as the beast made a leap the edge of the door caught him, and in a twinkle the animal was held fast by the neck between the door and its frame. CHAPTER V A NEVER-TO-BE-FORGOTTEN SWIM "I've got him fast! Help! Help!" "Tom's caught the bear!" shouted Sam. "Can you hold him, Tom?" "I guess I can if some of you will help me!" panted the youth. "Hurry up!" Sam and Dick were on the stairs, but now both ran to their brother's assistance, and all three pushed upon the door with all of their strength. The barrier groaned and creaked and it looked as if at any instant it would burst from its hinges. "Gracious, we can't hold him very long!" gasped Sam. "Can't somebody hit the animal with a club?" "I reckon I can do dat!" shouted one of the hostlers, and caught up an ax-handle which stood in one corner. As he approached the bear, the beast uttered a roar of commingled rage and fear, and this was so terrorizing to the colored man that he dropped the ax-handle and ran for his very life. "Come back here!" cried Tom. "Can't do it, boss; he's gwine ter chew me up!" howled the hostler. "Hold the door--I'll hit him," put in Sam and he picked up the ax-handle. Stepping forward, struck out heavily, and the bear dropped in a heap, completely dazed and more than half choked to death. By this time the Italian was again at hand. In one pocket he carried a thin but strong line, in a twinkle he had tied one fore and one hind leg together, so that the bear, when he got up again, could do little but hobble along. Then from another pocket he drew a leather muzzle, which he buckled over the beast's head. But the bear had had all of the ugliness knocked out him and was once more as docile as ever. "Tom," whispered Dick. "I guess the best we can do is to get out of this place. If folks discover the trick you played, they'll mob you." "I guess you're right. But who'll settle our bill?" "I'll do that," said Sam. "They know I wasn't near the bear when the rumpus started." So it was agreed, and while Tom and Dick left the hotel grounds. Sam strolled into the office to pay their bill. It was some time before the clerk came to wait on him. "Say, I believe, your brother started this kick-up," observed the clerk. "What?" demanded Sam, in pretended astonishment. "I say, I think he started this kick-up." "What kick-up?" "The one with the bear, of course." "Why, my brothers helped to catch the beast." "I know that; but one of 'em started it. What do you want?" "I want to pay our bill. How much is it?" "Going to leave?" "Yes." "Think you had better, eh?" "We only hired our room until this noon." Sam drew himself up. "If you want your pay you be civil." "Yes, but--" The clerk broke off short. "That will be six dollars, please." "All right, there you are," and Sam shoved the bills over. "Now don't say we created a muss or I'll report you to the proprietor." "Yes, but see here--" "I've not got my glasses just now. Good-by, and--" "That man hasn't got his monkeys yet, and--" "What's that to you? Are you afraid the proprietor will put one of 'em in here in your place?" And before the clerk could say another word Sam ran off and joined his brothers at the river bank. Soon the three reached the dock where the _Spray_ lay undergoing repairs. The deaf man was just finishing his work. "She'll be about as good as ever," he said, in reply to Dick's question. "She's a fine boat." "I guess he says that of every boat that brings him in a job," murmured Sam. "Come on." He went aboard and the others followed. Dan Haskett was paid off, the mainsail was hoisted, and once more they stood up the river in the direction of the State capital. It was their intention to spend two days in Albany and then return to New York with the yacht. This would wind up their vacation, for Putnam Hall was to open on the following Monday. The day proved an ideal one, but the wind was light and the yacht scarcely moved even with the mainsail and jib set to their fullest. This being so, the boys got out their fishing lines and spent an hour in trolling, and succeeded in catching several fair-sized fish. "We'll have to cook our own dinner," remarked Dick. "Tom, since you did us out of our meal at the hotel I reckon you are the one to fall in for this work." At this Tom cut a wry face, but still, seeing the justice of his elder brother's remark, he went at the dinner-getting with a will. The yacht boasted a kerosene stove, and over this he set fish to frying and a pot of potatoes to boiling. As the river was calm and the yacht steady the little stove worked very well. They were still out of sight of Albany when the midday meal was pronounced ready. In addition to the articles already mentioned, they had coffee, bread and butter, and what was left of a cocoanut pie purchased the day previous. The boys were all hearty eaters, and the food disappeared as if by magic. After dinner the breeze died out utterly, and Sam proposed that they cast anchor close to shore and take a swim. The others were willing, and soon they had disrobed and donned their bathing trunks and were sporting in the water to their hearts' content. The water was somewhat colder than they had anticipated, and the effect upon Sam was disastrous. The youngest Rover had eaten more heartily than either of his brothers and this made him sick at the stomach. However, as he did not wish to alarm Dick and Tom and so spoil their fun, he said nothing about his condition. "Let us race each other," suggested Tom, and started off up the shore, with Dick close beside him. Sam brought up in the rear, but soon gave up the contest. "Help!" The single cry reached the ears of Tom and Dick when they were fully a hundred feet from the _Spray_. Both turned just in time to behold Sam throw up his arms and sink from view. "Great Caesar!" burst out Dick. "What can that mean?" "Maybe he is only fooling," replied Tom. "Yet I wouldn't think he would be so foolish." "I don't think Sam is fooling," said Dick seriously, and at once struck out to where the youngest Rover had gone down. Of course Tom went with him. To reach the spot was not an easy matter, and they were still some distance away when they saw Sam come up again. Then there was a wild circling of arms and the boy disappeared once more. "He is drowning!" gasped Dick hoarsely. "Come, we must save him, Tom!" "Yes, yes," was the puffing answer, for Tom was swimming as never before, and for a brief instant he remembered that awful adventure Sam had had at Humpback Falls, the summer previous. At that time the youngest Rover had nearly lost his life in the water. It was Dick who gained the spot first, just as Sam came up and went down again--totally unconscious. Diving, the elder Rover caught his brother around the chest, under the arms. "Sam, Sam, what is it?" he questioned, and as no reply came back his heart almost stopped beating. What if his brother was dead? The agony of the thought was terrible beyond description. "Can I help you?" The question came from Tom, who was now at the side of the others. "Catch hold of one arm, if you will," answered Dick. "He's a dead weight." "Oh!" The moan came so unexpectedly that both Tom and Dick were amazed. Then of a sudden Sam opened his eyes and clutched Dick by the throat. "Save me!" Clearly the youngest Rover was out of his mind or he would not have taken such a hold. As it was, Dick was nearly strangled and had to unlock the fingers by sheer force. Then Sam grabbed him again, and it looked as if both would go down to a watery grave. But now Tom came to the rescue. Swimming up from behind, he caught Sam first under one arm--and then under the other, in a back-to-back fashion. Then he bent forward and began to tread water, thus holding his brother's head well out of water. "Push us ashore, Dick!" he panted, and understanding the movement perfectly, the elder brother did as desired. Soon all three gained a point from which Tom could wade to the river bank with ease. It was an anxious pair that bent over Sam, who rested on his back with his eyes closed. But the youngest Rover was not allowed to remain long in that position. Tom and Dick knew something of how to handle a person who is nearly drowned, and they now made use of this knowledge with all speed. Sam was rolled and hoisted up by the ankles, and thus he got rid of a large quantity of the water he had swallowed. Yet even when he came to his senses he was too weak to walk, and Tom had to bring the _Spray_ close to shore, and the sufferer had to be carried on board, his brothers wading up to their waists for that purpose. "The first cramp I got was in the stomach," said Sam, when he could talk. "Then it went all over me like an electric shock, and I felt I was going to drown. What happened after that was like some awful dream!" And he shuddered. It was a long while before any of them got over that adventure. CHAPTER VI AN UNEXPECTED MEETING As just related, the boys had brought the _Spray_ as closely inshore as possible. All were now in the cabin, Dick and Tom attending to Sam's wants; and consequently no one noticed the passage of one of the palatial steamers that make daily trips between New York and the capital of the State. These steamers, in running so fast, cast out long rollers on both sides that go tumbling shoreward one after another. The rollers now caught the _Spray_ and sent her dancing up and down like a cork. "Hullo, we're in danger!" shouted Tom, and rushed for the deck, with Dick almost at his heels. The anchor was dragging, and unless pushed off the yacht would soon be pounding on the rocks. "I'll put up the sail!" roared Dick. "You bring up the anchor!" "I guess you had better pole her off," replied Tom. Nevertheless, he did as Dick requested, working like a beaver. The wind was still faint, and when the mainsail was hoisted it failed to fill. Seeing this, Dick seized a pole and Tom did the same. They speedily found that they could not send the yacht out any distance. But, with a pole at the bow and another at the stern, they managed to keep her off the rocks until the rollers began to go down. Then they shoved off with ease and moved slowly up the river. "I'll tell you what, in handling a boat you have got to have your weather eye open all the time," observed Tom. "Yes, and you want to have it open on all sides of you," smiled Dick. "If you don't, you'll catch it before you are aware." Sam lay on one of the tiny berths with which the _Spray_ was provided. His face was deathly white, and, to use his own words, he felt "as weak as a rag." "I'm just beginning to realize how close to death I was," he whispered to Tom. "It was awfully good of you and Dick to do what you did." "Pooh! you would do just as much for us, Sam," answered the fun-loving brother. But, just the same, he gave Sam's hand a tight squeeze on the quiet. "What was that thumping, Tom?" asked the younger brother a bit later. "The rollers from a big steamer nearly put us on the rocks." "Gracious, more perils! Don't you think we had better give up our outing on the water?" "It will come to an end in a few days, Sam. We'll make the trip to Albany, and that will be the last of it." It was nightfall by the time they came up to the capital city. Getting the necessary permission to tie up at one of the private wharves, they locked up the cabin of the _Spray_ and went ashore. "Tom Rover, as I live! And Dick and Sam, too!" The cry came from up the street, and soon a boy of Dick's age was running to meet them. It was Frank Harrington, their old school chum and room-mate of Dormitory No. 6. "Frank!" came from the three, and a general handshaking followed. "What brings you here?" asked Dick. "Why, don't you know, my folks moved up to Albany from New York--father's in the State Senate now, you know," returned Frank, with pride. "Oh, that's so--and you are a senator's son," put in Tom. "I guess we'll have to tip our hats to you after this and call you Mr. Harrington." "Stow it, Tom, and keep your jokes until school opens," interrupted Frank. "Yes, we live here, and I thought you knew all about it. I sent you a letter." "We've been away from home for several weeks," explained Dick, and told of their outing on the water. "It must be jolly. My father owns a boat, but we seldom use it. So you are going to stay in Albany over tomorrow? If that's the case you must come up to our house. I won't hear of your going to a hotel." "Will that arrangement suit your folks?" questioned Dick. "Oh, yes! The girls are all away--down to Asbury Park--and so is mother; and father and I and the servants have the whole mansion to ourselves. I can tell you, it's just a bit lonely at times, and I'm real glad you came," concluded Frank. "If your father is a senator perhaps you can get us a pass through the Capitol building," put in Sam. "You won't need a pass. I'll go with you. But, Sam, you look sick." Sam's tale had to be told to Frank, who, meanwhile, led the way to a street car. Boarding this, the boys soon reached the Harrington mansion, located on one of Albany's finest thoroughfares. Here they met Senator Harrington and were speedily introduced. "I've heard of you before," smiled the senator. He was a pleasant-looking man of forty-five. "Frank says the Rover boys were the whole school--or something like that." At this there was a laugh. "I guess he must have been one of the Rovers, then," rejoined Tom; "he was just as good as any of us." And then there was another laugh, and the newcomers felt perfectly at home. There was a concert company in town, and, receiving permission from his father to do so, Frank took his friends to see the performance. The singing was very good; and, despite the fact that it was still warm weather, the concert hall was packed. The program was a long one, and, with the numerous encores, did not come to an end until nearly eleven o'clock. "That was immense," remarked Tom, when they were coming out. "I wish I could sing like that tenor." "We ought to get up a quartet at the Hall," put in Frank. "I understand they had a singing club year before last." "We're going to have a banjo club," said Dick. "Larry Colby wrote to me about it. He has a new banjo that cost fifteen dollars, and he--" Dick broke off short as a slouchy-looking man brushed against him. The eyes of the man and the boy met, and then the man disappeared in the crowd as if by magic. "Well, I never!" "What's the matter, Dick?" came from all the others. "Didn't you see him?" "See who?" "Buddy Girk, the tramp thief, the fellow who used to train with Dan Baxter's father." "What, the fellow who stole your watch and broke jail at Rootville?" came from Tom. "The same." "Where is he now?" questioned Sam. "I don't know. The instant he saw me he skipped." "I'll wager he wasn't in the crowd for any good purpose," went on Dick, as he remembered how he had suffered the loss of his timepiece at Buddy Girk's hands. Dick had had a good deal of trouble in recovering the article. "He ought to be pointed out to the police," put in Frank. "It's not safe to have such men at large." "I wish I could collar him and make him talk about father's affairs," grumbled Tom. "Why, did he know anything of your father's affairs?" exclaimed Frank Harrington, in astonishment. "I think so. You see, Arnold Baxter tried to defraud my father out of some western mining property, and this Buddy Girk was mixed up in the affair--how, I don't exactly know." "I see. By the way, Tom, have you heard anything of your father yet?" "Not a word," and Tom's face grew sober. "It does beat all what has become of him, doesn't it?" he added. "I should think you would want to go and hunt him up." "We've talked about that already, but Uncle Randolph, who is our guardian, thinks it would prove a wild-goose chase. He says the interior of Africa is a big place to hunt any man in." "He's right there. But still I would want to hunt for him, even if I had to go into the very jungles to do it." "We'll go some day--unless father turns up," put in Dick decidedly. "If Uncle Randolph won't go, we'll go alone. But I would like to meet this Buddy Girk," he continued, after a brief pause. The boys had to walk to the corner of the block to get aboard of a street car, and while waiting there, somewhat in the shadow, Sam pulled Dick by the coat sleeve. "There he goes!" "Who?" "Buddy Girk. See him sneaking along the buildings over there?" and the youngest Rover pointed with his hand. All saw the figure, and Tom at once proposed that they follow the fellow. Frank was willing, and away they went across the street and also into the gloom. Buddy Girk was making good time past a number of business buildings which at this hour of the night were locked and barred up and practically deserted. "I wonder if he saw us start to follow him?" whispered Dick, after several blocks had been passed. "I don't think so. If he had, it's more than likely that he would have legged it to get away. He--hullo, he's going into that alleyway!" As Tom spoke he pointed to an opening between two tall office buildings. Reaching the spot they saw, at the foot of the alleyway, a couple of tenement houses. Buddy Girk was ascending the steps of one of the houses, and presently he disappeared within the dark hall. "He must be stopping here," remarked Sam. "That is something worth knowing--if we want to put the police on his track." "I might have him arrested at once," suggested Dick. "He may not be here in the morning." "Why don't you go and have a talk with him?" came from Frank. "He may get scared and tell you all you want to know about that mining business." "By jinks, there is something in that!" cried Dick. "Don't you get into trouble," warned Tom. "He may prove an ugly customer if you corner him." "Let's all go in," said Sam. "He won't dare to do much with four against him." The subject was discussed for a few minutes, and they resolved to follow Sam's advice, Dick to lead the way and learn just how the land lay. Then all walked down the alleyway and toward the tenement, little dreaming of the surprise in store for them. CHAPTER VII DICK IS MADE A PRISONER The hallway of the tenement was pitch-dark, the door standing open for a foot or more. From a rear room came a thin stream of light under a door and a low murmur of voices. "I guess he went to the rear," whispered Dick. "You wait around the corner till I see." Noiselessly he entered the hallway and walked to the door of the rear room. Listening, he heard an Irishman and his wife talking over some factory work the man had been promised. "Girk can't be there," he thought, when he heard an upper door open. "Hullo, Buddy, back again!" muttered a strangely familiar voice, and then the upper door was closed and locked. Wondering where he had heard that voice before, Dick came forward again and ascended the rickety stairs. They creaked dismally, and he fully expected to see somebody come out and demand what was going on. But nobody came, and soon the upper hall was gained, and he reached the door which he rightfully guessed had just been opened and closed. "Yes, everything is all okay," were the first words to reach his ears. "But I had a sweet job to find Mooney. He's cracked on music, it seems, and had gone to a concert instead of attending to business." "But he won't fail us tomorrow morning?" came in a second voice, and now Dick recognized the speaker as Arnold Baxter, his father's worst enemy, who had been left at the hospital in Ithaca with a broken limb and several smashed ribs. Baxter had tackled Dick while the two were on a moving train, and, while trying to throw the boy off, had gotten the worst of the encounter by tumbling off himself. "Arnold Baxter! is it possible!" muttered Dick to himself. "He must have a constitution like iron to get around so soon." "No, Mooney won't fail us," said Buddy Girk. "I gave him a mighty good talkin' to, I did." "I can't afford to have him go back on us," growled Arnold Baxter. "I'm not well enough yet to do this job alone." "How does your chest feel?" "Oh, the ribs seem to be all right. But my leg isn't. I shouldn't wonder but what I'll have to limp more or less for the rest of my life." "That puts me in mind. Whom do you reckon I clapped eyes on down at the concert hall tonight?" "I'm sure I don't know. Any of our enemies?" "Those three Rover boys." "What!" Arnold Baxter pushed back his chair in amazement. "Can they be--be following me?" he gasped. "No. I saw 'em by accident. They had been to the concert." "But they don't belong here. They live on a farm called Valley Brook, near the village of Dexter's Corners." "They were with another boy--a well-dressed chap. Maybe they are paying him a visit." Arnold Baxter shook his head. "I don't like this. If they have got wind of anything..." "But how could they get wind?" persisted Buddy Girk. "That would remain to be found out. You must remember, Buddy, that they are down on me because of that row I once had with their father over that gold mine." "I know it. And, by the way, I never got nothin' out of that deal neither," growled Buddy Girk. "Didn't I tell you that some papers were missing? I half believe Anderson Rover took them with him when he set out for Africa." "Then they are gone for good." "Not if he comes back, Buddy. That man is like his boys--bound to turn up when you least expect it. That gold mine was--What's that?" Arnold Baxter stopped short and leaped to his feet. A wrangle in the hallway just outside of the door had interrupted him. "Vot vos you doin' here, hey?" came in a heavy German voice. "I dink me you vos up to no goot, hey?" "Let me go!" came from Dick. "I have done no harm." "I dink you vos von sneak thief alretty! Stand still bis I find owit." "It's Dutch Jake!" cried Buddy Girk. "He has collared somebody in the hall. I'll see who it is." He threw open the door and allowed the light of a lamp to fall on Dick and the burly man who had captured the youth. "Great smoke! It's one of dem Rover boys!" he cried, dropping into his old-time manner of speech. "Wot are you doin' here?" "You know dot young feller?" demanded the man who had been mentioned as Dutch Jake. "Yes, I do, and he's up to no good here," replied Buddy Girk. "Den maybe I best kick him owit kvick, hey?" "Yes--no--wait a minute." Girk turned to Arnold Baxter. "Here is that oldest Rover boy spying on us." "Ha! I told you they were regular rats for that sort of work," fumed Arnold Baxter. "Don't let him go." "Why not?" "He may know too much. Bring him in here till I question him." "Not much!" burst out Dick. "Help! Help!" His cries came to a sudden ending as Buddy Girk clapped a large and somewhat dirty hand over his mouth. "Run him in here, Jake," said the former tramp. "He is a fellow we have an account to settle with." "Is dot so? Vell, I ton't vont me no troubles," answered the German doubtfully. "It's all right--he--he stole some of our money. That's right, in with him," and Dick was run into the room, after which Dutch Jake retired as suddenly as he had appeared. He was an elderly man, of a queer turn of mind, and, all by himself, occupied a garret room of the tenement. As soon as the door was locked Arnold Baxter faced Dick. "Now will you keep quiet, or shall I knock you over with this?" he demanded, and raised a heavy cane he had grown into the habit of carrying since he had escaped from the hospital, on the very day that the authorities were going to transfer him to the jail at Ithaca. "Don't you dare to touch me, Arnold Baxter!" cried the boy boldly. "Will you keep quiet?" "That depends. What do you want of me?" "You followed Girk to this place and were spying on us." "I think I had a right to follow Girk. He is wanted by the authorities, as you know." "You heard us planning to do something." "Perhaps I did." "I know you did." "All right, then; don't ask me about it." "You think that you are a smart boy," growled Baxter uneasily. "Thank you for nothing." "Don't get impudent." "That is what old Crabtree used to say." "The Rovers always were too important for their own good, young man." "We know how to do the fair thing by others--and that is more than you!" "Shut up; I'm in no humor to listen to your preaching." "Then open the door and let me go." "Not just yet. I want to know how much you overheard of my talk with Buddy Girk." "I reckon he heard all of it," growled the fool. "If I was you, Baxter, I wouldn't let him go at all." "You would keep him a prisoner?" Buddy Girk nodded. "But we can't guard him, Buddy." "We won't want to guard him. Just bind him hands and feet, and stuff a gag in his mouth, and there you are." "Would you leave him in this room?" "I don't know." Girk scratched his tangled head of hair. "No, I wouldn't. I'll tell you where to take him." He finished by whispering into Arnold Baxter's ear. At once the rascal's face brightened, and he nodded. "Just the thing!" he muttered. "It will serve him right." "Are you going to let me go?" demanded Dick uneasily, for he saw that the two were plotting to do him injury. "No," came from both. Without another word Dick leaped for the door. The key was in the lock, but ere he could turn it Buddy Girk hauled him back. A scuffle followed, which came to a sudden termination when Arnold Baxter raised his heavy cane and struck the boy, on the back of the head. With a million stars dancing before his eyes, poor Dick went down completely dazed. Girk lost no time in following up the advantage thus gained, and by the time Dick felt like rising he found his hands bound behind him and a gag of knotted cloth stuffed into his mouth. Then his feet were fastened together, and he was rolled up in an old blanket much the worse for wear and the want of washing. "Now, come on, before anybody else spots us!" exclaimed Baxter. "If you can lift him alone I'll bring the light. I'm no good on the carry yet." "All right, light the way," answered Buddy Girk, and took up the form of the boy. Taking up the smoky lamp, Arnold Baxter led the way out of a rear door to a side hallway. Here two flights of stairs led to a low and ill ventilated cellar. The underground apartment had never been used for anything but old rubbish, and this was piled high on all sides. "Here we are," said Baxter, as he paused in front of what had once been a stone coal bin. "Dump him in there and shut the door on him. I don't believe he'll get out in any hurry." Dick's form was dropped on a heap of dirty newspapers and straw. Then Girk and Baxter left the bin. There was a heavy door to the place, and this they closed and shoved the rusty bolt into the socket. In a second more they were on their way upstairs again, and Dick was left to his fate. CHAPTER VIII THE SEARCH FOR DICK "Dick is taking his time, that's certain." The remark came from Sam, after the boys who had been left in the alleyway had waited the best part of half an hour for the elder Rover's reappearance. "Perhaps he has found something of interest," suggested Frank. "And perhaps he has fallen into a trap," put In Tom. "I've a good mind to hunt him up." "If you go I'll go with you," said Sam. "I don't want to be left out here alone," said Frank. "Let us wait a little longer." The best part of an hour passed, but of course nothing was seen or heard of Dick. "I shan't wait any longer," began Tom, when they saw the front door of the tenement opened and two men hurried forth. Both had their hats pulled far down over their eyes and had their coat collars turned up, even though the night was warm. "Out of sight!" cried Sam in a low voice, and they dropped down behind the stoop of the second tenement. "One of those men was Buddy Girk!" ejaculated Tom, when the pair had passed up the alleyway. "And don't you know who the other was?" demanded Sam. "It was Dan Baxter's father!" "Impossible, Sam. Arnold Baxter is in the hospital, and--" "It was Dan Baxter's father, as true as I'm born, Tom. No wonder he walked with a cane! Am I not right, Frank?" "I don't know, I'm sure I don't remember Dan's father. But that was Buddy Girk, beyond a doubt." All of the boys were considerably excited and wondered if it would be best to follow up the vanishing pair. "I'd do it if I was certain Dick was safe!" cried Tom. "I'm going to hunt for him," he added, and before the others could stop him he entered the tenement. He stumbled around the lower hallway for several minutes and then called out softly: "Dick! Dick! Where are you?" No answer came back, and he continued his search. Then, lighting a match, he mounted the rickety stairs and called out again. "Phat are ye a-raisin' such a row about?" demanded an Irish voice suddenly, and a front room door was thrown open. "Can't ye let a dasent family slape?" "I'm looking for my brother," replied Tom. "Sorry to disturb you. Have you seen anything of him?" "Sure an' I don't know yer brother from the side av sole leather, b'y. Go 'long an' let me an' me family slape," replied the Irishman. "I've got to find my brother, sir. I'm afraid he has met with foul play. He came to see the men who just went out." "Oh, is that so now? Foul play, is it? I thought them newcomers was up to no good. I heard 'em carryin' on in their room a while ago." "Which room is it, please?" "There ye are--the wan on the lift. Is the dure open?" Tom tried the door. "No, it's locked--the two men just went out." He raised his voice. "Dick! Where are you? Dick!" "If yez call like that yez will have the wholt tiniment aroused," said the Irishman. "An' it's' a bad crowd on the nixt flure, I kin tell ye that." "I can't help it--I am bound to find my brother," replied Tom desperately. Disappearing for a moment, the Irishman came out half dressed and with a lighted candle in his hand. By this time Sam and Frank had followed Tom to the upper floor. Soon several men and women put in an appearance, including Dutch Jake. "Who vos dot poy you vos look for?" asked the aged German. "Vos he der von vot was standin' by dis door apout an hour ago?" "I guess so," said Tom. "Dem mans vot got dis room open der door und took him inside." "Took him inside!" burst out Sam and Tom simultaneously. "Yah," replied Dutch Jake, but failed to add that he had had anything to do with the capture. "Von of dem say dot poy vos stole some money alretty." "It was a cock-and-bull story to make him a prisoner," said Tom. "I'm going to find him if I can," and he threw himself on the door with all of his strength. At first the barrier refused to budge, but when Sam and Frank also pushed, it gave way with a bang, hurling the trio to the floor inside. By this time the excitement had been communicated to the next tenement in which lived Caleb Yates, the landlord of the two buildings. Yates, a sour-minded old man, lost no time dressing and coming over, armed with a nightstick. "What does this disturbance mean?" he demanded in a high-pitched voice. "Who broke this door in?" "We did," replied Tom boldly. "We want to find my brother," and he related how Dick had disappeared. "I know nothing of your trouble with my tenants," said Caleb Yates. "But I won't have my property destroyed." "I'm going to find my brother if I have to turn the house upside down." "And I am going to find him, too," put in Sam. "Do you know that the men who have this room are thieves, and that one of them broke jail at Rootville?" "I don't believe your yarn, boy--they looked like very respectable gentlemen, both of them. You had better go about your business--after you have paid me for breaking down the door. You shan't ransack their property." "If you stop us, I'll call in the police and have you arrested," came promptly from Tom. This threat nearly took away Caleb Yates' breath. "Arrested!" he gasped. "Yes, arrested. My brother came in here, and is missing. Those two men are our enemies. If you want to keep out of trouble you will help us to hunt up my brother." "That is just what you had better do, sir," added Frank. "And who are you?" demanded the irate landlord. "I am Frank Harrington, son of Senator Harrington." At this unexpected announcement the jaw of the landlord dropped perceptibly. "Why--er--I didn't know you were Senator Harrington's son," he stammered. "I think if you wish to keep out of trouble you had best aid us all you can. The young man we are after came in here a short while ago and has utterly disappeared. I am afraid he has met with foul play." "But Mr. Arson and Mr. Noble are gone." "Is that the names they were known under?" "Yes." "Their right names are Girk and Baxter. They left the building just before we came up." "What was your brother doing here?" asked Caleb Yates in a calmer tone. "He was not my brother, but my warmest friend. He was tracking the short man, the fellow whose name is Girk. Girk once robbed him of his watch." "I see. And you are sure of your men? If you are, search away, for I want no shady characters in these houses." The search began immediately, several of the inmates of the tenements taking part. Everything in the room Girk and Baxter had occupied was turned topsy-turvy, but no trace of Dick was brought to light until Tom looked under the table. "Here's his pocket-knife!" he cried, and held the article up. "This proves that he came in here beyond a doubt." "Yes; but where is he now?" put in Sam. "They couldn't have spirited him away." "He can't be far off," said Frank. Again was the search renewed. The men had had one large room and one small apartment, where were located a dilapidated bed and a small writing table. On the table lay some writing material and several scraps of paper, but they were of no value. The search through the rooms and hallways of the tenement lasted fully an hour. By this time the tenants who had gathered began to grow sleepy again, and one after another went back to their apartments. "I don't think you are going to find anything," remarked Caleb Yates. "To my way of thinking, that boy must have followed the two men when they left." "He couldn't do that without our seeing him," said Sam. "And why not? Here's a back door, remember, and it's pretty dark outside." "That may be so," returned Tom, shaking his curly head in perplexity. "It's too bad we didn't follow Girk and Baxter up--at least as far as the street." "Perhaps Dick is at our house waiting for us to come back," put in Frank. "Let us go home and see. We can come back early in the morning." He looked at his watch. "Do you know that it is after two o'clock? I'm afraid my father will worry about me." They talked the matter over and decided to return to Frank's home without further delay. It was a silent trio that walked the streets, which were now practically deserted. Tom and Sam were much worried and Frank hardly less so, for the senator's son and Dick had been warm friends for years. When they reached the mansion they found Senator Harrington pacing the library nervously. "Well, here you are at last!" he cried. "I was wondering what had become of you." He listened to their tale with close attention. "No, Dick has not come in," he said, "at least, I think not. Run up to the bedrooms, Frank, and see." Frank did as requested, and soon returned. "No, he isn't about," he said disappointedly, "It's mighty queer what became of him." CHAPTER IX A LOSS OF IMPORTANCE Half stunned Dick lay for a long time on the newspapers and musty straw in the disused coal bin of the tenement cellar. "This is what I call tough luck," he muttered to himself, and tried to force the somewhat loose gag from his mouth. But it would not come. As soon as he felt strong enough he began to work on the rope which bound his hands together. But the rascals who had placed him in the cellar had done their work well, and the cord refused to budge. With difficulty he managed to stand erect. The bin was not only pitch-dark, but full of cobwebs and the latter brushed over his face whenever he moved. Then a spider crawled on his neck, greatly adding to his discomfort. Hour after hour went by, and poor Dick was wondering what the end of the adventure would be when he heard a footstep overhead and then came the indistinct murmur of voice. "Somebody is in the room overhead," he thought, and tried to make himself heard. But before he could do this the footsteps moved off and he heard the slamming of a door. Then all became as quiet as before. An hour more went by, and the youth began to grow desperate. He was thirsty and his mouth and nose were filled with dust and dirt, rendering him far from comfortable. In moving around his foot came in contact with an empty tomato can and this gave him an idea. He knelt down, and with the can between his heels, tried to saw apart the rope which bound his hands behind him. The position was an awkward one and the job long and tiring, but at last the rope gave way and he found his hands free. He lost no further time in ridding himself of the gag and the rope which bound his feet. He was now free so far as his bodily movements went, but he soon discovered that the coal bin was without any opening but a long, narrow chute covered with an iron plate, and that the heavy door was securely bolted. With all force he threw himself against the door, but it refused to budge. Presently he remembered that he had several loose matches in his vest pocket, and, taking out one of these, he lit it and then set fire to a thick shaving that was handy and which, being damp, burnt slowly. "Hullo, here's something of a trap-door!" he exclaimed, as he gazed at the flooring above head. "I wonder if I can get out that way?" He dropped the lighted shaving in a safe spot and put up his hands. The cut-out spot in the flooring went up with ease and Dick saw a fairly well furnished room beyond. Through one of the windows of the room he saw that daybreak was at hand. "Great Caesar! I've been down here all night!" he ejaculated, and, putting out the light, leaped up and drew himself through the opening. Once in the room he put the trap down again and rearranged the rag carpet he had shoved out of place. The door to the room was locked, so the boy hurried to the window. Throwing open the blinds, he was about to leap out into the tenement alley when a woman suddenly confronted him. She was tall and heavy and had a red, disagreeable face. "What are you doing in my rooms, young fellow?" she demanded. "I'm trying to get out of this house!" "What are you--a thief?" "No. I was locked up in the cellar by a couple of bad men and got out by coming through a trap-door in your floor." "A likely story!" sneered the woman, who had been away during the night and had heard nothing of the search for Dick. "You look like a sneak-thief. Anyway, you haven't any right in my rooms." She came closer, and, as Dick leaped to the ground, clutched him by the arm. "Let me go, madam." "I won't. I'm going to hand you over to the police." "I don't think you will!" retorted Dick, and with a twist he wrenched himself loose and started off on a run. The woman attempted to follow him, but soon gave up the chase. Dick did not stop running until he was several blocks away. Then he dropped into a walk and looked about to see, if his brothers or Frank were anywhere in sight. "I suppose they couldn't make it out and went home," he mused. "I had, better get to Frank's house without delay." Dick was still a block away from Senator Harrington's residence when he espied Tom, Sam, and Frank coming toward him. "My gracious, where have you been?" burst out Tom, as he rushed forward. "You look as if you'd been rolling around a dirty cellar." "And that is just about what I have been doing," answered Dick with a sickly laugh. "Do you know anything of Buddy Girk?" he added quickly. "He ran away from the tenement, and Arnold Baxter was with him," replied Sam. "Did you follow them?" "No; we tried to find out what had become of you." Each had to tell his story, and then Dick was led into the house. He lost no time in brushing up and washing himself, and by that time breakfast was ready in the dining room. "It's a curious adventure, truly," said Senator Harrington, as he sat down with the boys. "I am glad you got out of it so well. The next time you see anything of those rascals you had better lose no time in informing the police." The senator was one of that class of busy men who eat breakfast and read their morning newspaper at the same time. Having listened to what Dick had to say, he unfolded his paper and propped it up against a fruit dish before him. "Excuse me, but I am in a hurry," he remarked apologetically. "I want to catch a train for New York at eight-thirty-five, and--hullo, what's this! Rush & Wilder, Brokers and Bankers, Robbed! Thieves enter the office and loot the safe! This is news certainly." "Rush & Wilder!" cried Frank. "Is that the firm you do business with?" "Yes, Frank. They have lost over sixty-five thousand dollars, besides a lot of unregistered bonds. That's a big loss." "Will you suffer?" "I don't know but what I shall. I'll have to let that trip to New York go and look into this." And Senator Harrington settled back to read the account of the robbery in full. "They haven't any trace of the thieves, have they?" asked Tom. "No. It says a rear window was broken open and the iron bars unscrewed. The safe door was found closed but unlocked." "Then the thieves had the combination," put in Sam. "More than likely." "I wonder if Baxter and Girk committed that crime?" came from Dick. "I think they would be equal to it. They were up to some game." "It might be," returned Senator Harrington, with interest. "But how would those men obtain the combination of Rush & Wilder's safe?" "I'm sure I don't know, but--yes, they mentioned a man named Mooney who was to assist them. Perhaps he is known around the bankers' offices." "We can soon find out. What were you boys going to do this morning?" "I was going back to the tenements to see if I couldn't have Baxter and Girk arrested," said Dick. "If they learn you have escaped, they will probably clear out." "I suppose that's so. But I might go down and see." "Yes, I'd do that. Later on you can come over to Rush & Wilder's offices." This was agreed to, and as soon as breakfast was over Dick and the other boys hurried off to where Yates' tenements were located. Caleb Yates was on hand, and all visited the apartment Baxter and Buddy Girk had occupied. It was found that the men had not returned, and it did not look as if they intended to come back. "They have skipped for good, take my word on it," muttered Tom, and the others agreed with him. Thinking it would be useless to remain around the alleyway any longer, the four boys left the vicinity, and, boarding a street car, made their way to the thoroughfare upon which were located the offices of the bankers and brokers who had been robbed. A crowd was collected about the place and two policemen were keeping those outside in check. "I want my money!" one old man was shouting. "This is a game of Charley Rush to do us out of our cash. I don't believe the office was robbed at all." "You keep quiet, or I'll run you in," replied, one of the policemen, and the old man lost no time in slinking out of sight. "Can we go in?" asked Frank, and told who he was. "I'll send in word and see," answered the policeman at the door. "Oh, Frank!" came from the main office, and Senator Harrington beckoned to his son; and all four of the boys went in. They found half a dozen men present, including the members of the firm, a detective, and the bookkeeper, a young man named Fredericks. "You are the only one who had the combination besides ourselves, Fredericks," Charles Rush was saying to the bookkeeper. "I hate to suspect you, but--" "Mr. Rush, you can't think I took that money and those securities!" gasped the bookkeeper, and fell back as if about to faint. "I don't know what to think." "I can give you my word I was not near the offices from four o'clock yesterday afternoon until I came this morning, after you." "Have you spoken of the safe combination to anybody?" "No, sir." "Did you put the combination down in writing?" asked Mr. Wilder. "No, I never did anything of that sort. The combination was an unusually easy one, as you know." "Yes, far too easy for our good," groaned Mr. Rush. Then he gazed at the four boys curiously. "What brought you here?" he asked. "We thought we might know something of this affair," said Dick, and told his story. "There may be something in that," said the detective. "Especially if those men fail to turn up at that tenement again." "Did you mention a man named Mooney?" cried Fredericks. "I did." "Do you know this Mooney?" put in Mr. Wilder to the bookkeeper. "Subrug, the janitor, has a brother-in-law named Mooney--a wild kind of a chap who used to hang around more or less." "We'll call Subrug in and find out where this Mooney is now," said Charles Rush. The janitor proved to be a very nervous old man. "I don't know where Mooney is," he said. "He's been a constant worry to me. He used to borrow money, but lately I wouldn't give him any more, and so he stopped coming around." "Was he ever in here?" The janitor thought for a moment. "I think he was, sir--about a month ago. He started to help me clean the windows, but he was too clumsy and I made him give it up." "I remember him!" cried the bookkeeper. "He was at the window, Mr. Rush, while you were at the safe. He must have watched you work the combination." CHAPTER X TOM, SAM, AND FARMER FOX For an instant there was a dead silence in the bankers' offices. Charles Rush looked blankly at his bookkeeper. "I believe Fredericks is right," said Mr. Wilder, the first to break the awkward pause. "I remember the fellow very well. I thought at the time that he was watching Mr. Rush rather closely." "You had no business to bring in a man that was not to be trusted," growled Charles Rush, turning to the janitor. "Do you think he stole the stuff?" ejaculated Subrug. "Sure Mooney wasn't smart enough for such a game." "Perhaps not, but he got others to help him," said Dick. "He got Buddy Girk and Arnold Baxter, I feel positive of it." "The whole thing fits together pretty well," said the detective. "If only we, can lay hands on these men the boy mentions, we'll be all right." A long conversation followed, and then Dick and the others went to the police station. The rooms at Yates' tenement were thoroughly searched once more, and a watch was set for Girk and Arnold Baxter. But the rascals had flown and the watch proved useless. In the meantime two detectives tried to trace what had become of Mooney, but this work also amounted to nothing, and it may be as well to add here that Mooney was never heard of again, having sailed for South America. Upon an accounting it was learned that Rush & Wilder were by no means in a good financial condition and that Senator Harrington would lose a good sum of money should they fail. "I'd give a thousand dollars to collar those thieves," said the senator dismally. "If Arnold Baxter and Girk got that money they'll live in high clover for a while," remarked Dick, when the excitement was over and they had returned to Frank's home. "My! what a villain that Baxter is proving to be! No wonder Dan was bad! It must run in the blood." The robbery kept the boys in Albany several days, and this being so, it was decided to abandon the trip on the river to New York. "I'll send the _Spray_ down by somebody," said Dick, "and then we can take a train from here direct to Oak Run," and so it was arranged. The trip to Oak Run proved to be uneventful. And at the railroad station they were met by Jack Ness, the Rovers' hired man, who had driven over with the carryall to take them home. "Glad to see you all looking so well," grinned the hired man. "Getting fat as butter, Master Tom." "Thanks, Jack, I'm feeling fine. Any news?" "No, sir, none exceptin' that your uncle has had a row with Joel Fox, who has the farm next to ours." "What was the row about?" questioned Dick. "All about some fruit, sir. We had a tree hangin' over Fox's fence--finest pear tree on the place, that was. Fox strips the tree at night, sir--saw him with my own eyes." "Oh, what cheek!" burst out Sam. "What did uncle do?" "Tried to talk to him, and Fox told him to mind his own business, that he could have what fruit hung over his fence. So he could, but not half of it hung that way, and he took every blessed pear." "Fox always was a mean man," murmured Tom. "I'd like to square accounts with him before I go back to Putnam Hall." "I reckoned as how you might be up to something like that," said Ness, with another grin. "But you want to be careful. Only yesterday Fox shot off his gun at some boys who were after his apples." "Did he hit the boys?" "I don't think he did." "Who were they?" "I don't know. And I reckon he don't either." "Humph!" Tom mused for a moment. "I'd like to scare the mean fellow by making him think one of the boys was killed." "That's an idea!" cried Sam, and winked at his brother. "Let's do it!" They were soon bowling over Swift River and along the road leading to Valley Brook farm. At the farmhouse their Uncle Randolph and Aunt Martha stood in the dooryard to greet them. "Back again, safe and sound!" cried Randolph Rover. "I suppose you feel like regular sailors." "Well, we do feel a little that way," laughed Sam, and returned the warm kiss his aunt bestowed upon him. "It's nice to be home once more." "Would you rather stay here than go back to Putnam Hall?" asked his aunt quickly. "Oh, no, I can't say that, Aunt Martha. But it's awfully nice here, nevertheless." A hot supper was awaiting them, and while they ate they told of all that had happened since they had been away. Randolph Rover shuddered over the way Dick had been treated. "Be careful, my boy," he said. "Remember, even your father could not bring this Arnold Baxter to justice. He is evidently a thorough-paced scoundrel, and his companion is probably just as bad." "And how goes the scientific farming, Uncle Randolph?" asked Tom, who knew how to touch his uncle in the right spot. "Splendidly, my boy, splendidly! I am now working on a new rotation of crops. It will, I am certain, prove a revelation to the entire agricultural world." "Did you make much money this season?" asked Sam dryly. "Well--er--no; in fact, we ran a little behind. But we will do finely next year--I am certain of it. I will have some strawberries and celery which shall astonish our State agricultural committee," answered Randolph Rover. He was always enthusiastic, in spite of almost constant failure. Thus far his hobby had netted him a loss of several thousand dollars. It was Friday, and Saturday was to be given over to packing up for school. Yet on Saturday morning Tom managed to call Sam aside. "We'll go over to Fox's," said he. "Are you ready?" "I am, Tom," answered the younger brother. "And be sure and pile it on." "Trust me for that," and Tom winked in a fashion that set Sam to roaring. They found Joel Fox at work along the roadside, mending a part of a stone wall which had tumbled down. Fox was a Yankee, and miserly and sour to the very core. "Well, what do you want?" he demanded, as the boys came to a halt in front of him. "Why, Mr. Fox, I thought you had skipped out!" cried Tom in pretended surprise. "Skipped out?" "Yes." "Why should I skip out, boy?" "On account of Harry Smith." "Harry Smith? Who is he?" "Harry Smith of Oak Run--the boy who was shot the other day. Didn't you hear he was dead?" At these words Joel Fox dropped the tools he was using and turned pale. "Is--er--is the boy--er--" He could not finish. "It was a wicked thing to do," put in Sam. "Any man that would shoot a boy ought to be lynched." "Perhaps that crowd of men were coming up here," went on Tom. "Didn't they have a rope with them?" "To be sure they had a rope, Tom. And one of 'em said something about hanging." "What crowd are you talking about?" stammered Joel Fox, growing paler and paler. "The crowd at the depot. Did you shoot him, Mr. Fox? I can't hardly believe it true, although I know you were mean enough to take my uncle's pears." "I--er--the pears were on my property. I er--I didn't shoot at any boy. I--er--I shot at some crows in my cornfield," stammered Joel Fox. "Did you say a crowd of men were coming over here with a rope?" "You'll see fast enough, you bad man!" cried Tom, and ran off, followed by Sam. In vain Fox tried to call them back. The boys went as far as a turn in the road, then hid behind some bushes. Soon they saw Fox pick up his tools and make for his barn. Then he came out and hurried for his house. "I guess he's pretty well rattled," laughed Tom. "Won't he be mad when he learns how he has been fooled!" They waited for a while, but as Fox did not reappear they hurried back home by another road, that the man might not see them. Tom was right when he said that the miserly old farmer was "rattled," as it is commonly called. All day long the coward remained in the house, as nervous as a cat and afraid that a crowd of men would appear at any minute to lynch him. His wife did not know what to make of such actions and finally demanded an explanation, and when it was not forthcoming threatened him with the broom, which she had used as a weapon of offense several times previously. "They say he's dead!" finally burst out Joel. "They are goin' ter lynch me for it. Hide me, Mandy, hide me!" "Who is dead, Joel Fox?" "The boy I shot at fer stealin' them apples. Oh, they'll lynch me; I feel it in my bones!" groaned the old man. "Who was it?" "Harry Smith of Oak Run." "And he is dead?" "So they say. But I didn't calkerlate I hit him at all," whined Joel. "No more you did, for I saw him run away, and he went clear out o' sight up the road. Who told you this?" demanded Mrs. Fox. "Those Rover boys, Tom an' Sam." "Those young imps! Joel, they are fooling you." "Do you really think so, Mandy?" asked the man hopefully. "I do. If I was you I'd go over to Oak Run and find out." "No, no--if it's true they'll lynch me, I know they will!" "Then I'll go over. I know Mrs. Smith. If he's dead there will be crape on the door an' I won't go in," concluded Mrs. Fox. And getting out a horse and buckboard, she drove over to Oak Run and to the Smiths' place. She found no crape on the door. Harry Smith sat on the porch, his arm in a sling. Plucking up courage she drew rein, dismounted, and walked up to the boy, who was one of the Rover brothers friends. "How is your arm, Harry?" she began softly. "It's pretty fair," answered the boy politely. "Won't you come in, Mrs. Fox?" "Well, I guess not. Harry, I'm sorry for this." "So am I sorry, Mrs. Fox." "I didn't think you would do it. Why didn't you come up to the house an' ask for them apples?" The boy looked puzzled, for the simple reason that he was puzzled. "I don't understand you. What apples?" "The ones you tried to steal." "I didn't try to steal any apples, Mrs. Fox. What makes you think that?" "Didn't you try to git in our orchard when Joel fired on you?" cried Mrs. Fox. "Why, I haven't been anywhere near your orchard!" "So?" Mrs. Fox looked bewildered. "Then--then how did you get hurt?" she faltered. "Why, Mr. Wicks and I were cleaning out pa's old shotgun when it went off accidentally, and I got a couple of the shot in my forearm," answered Harry Smith promptly. The answer took away Mrs. Fox's breath. "Drat them boys--I knowed it!" she muttered, and drove away without another word. Harry Smith was much puzzled, but letters which soon after passed between him and Tom cleared up the mystery. But the boys never heard of how Joel Fox fared when his wife got home. The lady arrived "as mad as a hornet," to use a popular saying. "You're the worst old fool ever was, Joel Fox!" were her first words, and a bitter quarrel followed that ended only when the man was driven out of the house with the ever-trustworthy broom. Joel Fox wanted to go over to the Rover farm, to have it out with Tom and Sam, but somehow he could not pluck up the courage to make the move. CHAPTER XI FUN AT PUTNAM HALL "Back to Putnam Hall at last!" "Yes, boys, back at last! Hurrah for the dear old school, and all the boys in it!" Peleg Snuggers, the general utility man of the Hall, had just brought the boys up from Cedarville, to which place they had journeyed from Ithaca on the regular afternoon boat running up Cayuga Lake. With the Rovers had come Fred Garrison, Larry Colby, and several others of their old school chums. (For the doings of the Putnam Hall students previous to the arrival at that institution of the Rover boys, see The Putnam Hall Series, the first volume of which is entitled, "The Putnam Hall Cadets."--PUBLISHERS) "Glad to welcome you back, boys!" exclaimed Captain Victor Putnam, a pleasant smile on his face. He shook hands all around. "Did you have a nice trip?" "Splendid, sir," said Tom. "Oh, how do you do, Mr. Strong?" and he ran to meet the head teacher. He could not help but think of how different things were now to when he had first arrived at Putnam Hall the year previous, and Josiah Crabtree had locked him up in the guardroom for exploding a big firecracker in honor of the occasion. "Well, Thomas, I hope you have left all your pranks behind," observed George Strong. "How about it?" And his eyes twinkled. "Oh, I'm going in for study this session," answered Tom demurely. And then he winked at Larry on the sly. But his words did not deceive George Strong, who understood only too well Tom's propensity for mischief. It was the first day of the term, but as the cadets kept on arriving with every train and boat, no lessons were given out, and the boys were allowed to do pretty much as they pleased. They visited every nook and corner, including the classrooms, the dormitories, the stables, and the gymnasium and boathouse, and nearly bothered the life out of Peleg Snuggers, Mrs. Green, the housekeeper, and Alexander Pop, the colored waiter of the mess hall. "Hullo, Aleck!" cried Tom rushing up and grabbing the colored man by the hand. "How are you--pretty well? I'm first-rate, never was better in my life!" And he gave the hand a hard squeeze. "Stop, wot yo' up to, Massah Rober!" roared the waiter, leaping off his feet. "Wot yo' got in yo' hand?" "Why, nothing, Aleck, my boy. Yes, I'm feeling fine. I've gained fifteen pounds, and--" "Yo' lemme go, sah-yo' is stickin' pins in my hand!" howled Pop. "Oh, deah, now de term's dun begun we'll all be dead wid dat boy's tricks!" he moaned, as Tom ran off, throwing away several tiny tacks as he did so. "So you've come back, have you?" observed Mrs. Green, as Tom stopped at the kitchen door. "Well, just you mind your P's and Q's, or there will be trouble, I can tell you that, Tom Rover." "Why, we never had any trouble, Mrs. Green," he said soberly. "Did we?" "Oh, of course not! But who stole that can of peaches right after the Christmas holidays, and who locked one of the cows in the back hall and nearly scared the washwoman to death? Oh, dear, you never did anything, never!" And Mrs. Green shook her head warningly. "Do you mean to say I would take a can of peaches, Mrs. Green?" asked Tom, and then his face fell. "Oh, dear, you always did put me down as the worst boy in the school, when--I--I--do--my--very best," and, almost sobbing, Tom put his face up against his coat sleeve. Mrs. Green was very tender-hearted in spite of her somewhat free tongue, and she was all sympathy immediately. "There, there, Tom, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," she said soothingly. "I--I was only fooling. Will you have a piece of hot mince pie? It's just out of the oven." "I--I don't know!" sobbed Tom. "You treat me so awful meanly!" "I didn't mean it--really I didn't. Come, sit down and have the pie, that's a good boy. I'm glad you are back, and you are better than lots of the other cadets, so there!" And Tom slid into a seat and devoured the generous slice of pie dealt out to him with keen relish. "It's really like home," he murmured presently. "Mrs. Green, when you die, they ought to erect an awfully big monument over your grave." "But I'm not dying just yet, Tom--pray don't speak of it." "By the way, my aunt was dyeing when I left home," went on the boy, as he moved toward the door. "Indeed. Didn't you hate to leave her?" "Not at all. She didn't seem to mind it." "What was her trouble, Tom--consumption?" "No, she had an old brown dress that had faded out green and she was dyeing it black," was the soft answer, and then Tom ran for his life. Mrs. Green did not speak to him for almost a week after that. And yet with it all she couldn't help but like the boy. Of course Peleg Snuggers came in for his full share of attention, and the utility man had all sorts of jokes played on him until he was almost in despair. "Don't, young gents, don't!" he would plead. "Oh, my! An' to think the term's just begun!" And he mopped his brow with his red bandanna handkerchief. "Peleg, you are getting handsomer every day," remarked Sam. "It's a wonder you don't go into the beauty show in New York." "Wot kind of a joke is that, Master Rover?" "Oh, it's no joke. You are handsome. Won't you let me take your photograph?" "Have you got a camera?" "To be sure. Here it is." Sam drew a tiny box from his pocket. "Now stand still and I'll take a snap shot." Snuggers had wanted to have his picture taken for some time, to send to a certain girl in Cedarville in whom he was much interested. To have a photograph taken for nothing tickled him greatly. "Wait till I brush up a bit," he said, and got out a pocket comb, with which he adjusted his hair and his stubby mustache. "Now stand straight and look happy!" cried Sam as a crowd collected around. "Raise you right hand to your breast, just as all statesmen do. Up with your chin--don't drop your left eye--close your mouth. Now then, don't budge on your life!" Peleg Snuggers stood like a statue, his chin well up in the air and his eyes set into a steady stare. Sam elevated the tiny box and kept the man standing for fully half a minute, while the boys behind Snuggers could scarcely keep from roaring. "There you are," said Sam at last. "Now wait a minute and the picture will be finished." "Don't you have to print 'em in the sun?" asked Snuggers. "No, this is a new patented process." Sam drew a square of tin from the box. "There you are, Peleg, and all for nothing." "I don't see any picture," growled Snuggers, looking at the square blankly. "You must breathe on it, Peleg; then the picture will come out beautifully. It's a little fresh yet." Peleg Snuggers breathed on the square of tin as directed, and then there slowly came to view the picture of a donkey's head! The boys gathered around set up a shout. "Hurrah, Peleg, what a fine picture!" "You've changed a little in your looks, Peleg, since you had the last taken, eh?" "Your girl will fall in love with that picture, Peleg, I'm certain of it." "Sam Rover, I'll git square, see if I don't!" roared the utility man, as he dashed the square of tin to the ground. "I knowed you was goin' to play a joke on me." And he started to walk off. "Why, what's the matter?" demanded Sam innocently. "Isn't it a good picture?' "I'll picture you!" "I thought I was doing my best." "Show me off for a donkey! If it wasn't against the rules I'd--I'd wollop you!" "A donkey! Oh, Peleg, I did nothing of the kind! Here is your picture, on my word of honor." "It's a donkey's head, I say." "And I say it's your picture. I'll leave it to anybody in the crowd." "I guess I know a donkey's head when I see it, Master Rover. I didn't expect no such joke from you, though your brother Tom might have played it." "Boys, isn't this a good picture?" demanded Sam, showing up the other side of the tin square. "Why, splendid!" came from the crowd. "Peleg, there is some mistake here." "Oh, you can't joke me no more!" returned the utility man. "But just look!" pleaded Sam. "Isn't that a good picture of you? If you don't say so yourself I'll give you five dollars." He handed the tin over again, this time with the opposite side toward Snuggers. He had just breathed on it heavily. "Now blow on it," he continued, and Snuggers did as directed. The moisture cleared away, revealing the face of the utility man in a bit of looking-glass! "Oh, you're tremendously smart, you are!" muttered Snuggers, and walked off. But he was not half as angry as he had been a few minutes before. CHAPTER XII DICK VISITS DORA STANHOPE "Battalion, fall in. Attention! Carry arms!" It was several days later, and the cadets were out for their first parade around the grounds. Dick still retained his position as second lieutenant of Company A, having been re-elected the term previous. Tom was first sergeant of Company B, while Sam was still "a high private in the rear rank," as the saying goes. The day was an ideal one in the early autumn, and Captain Putnam and George Strong were both on hand to watch the drilling. Major Bart Conners had graduated the year before, and his place was now filled by Harry Blossom, formerly captain of Company A. "Shoulder arms!" came the next order. "Battalion, forward march!" Tap! tap! tap, tap, tap! went the drums, and then the bass drum joined in, and the two companies moved off. Soon the fifers struck up a lively air, and away went the cadets, down the road, around grounds, and to the mess hall for supper. The boys felt good to be in the ranks once more, and Captain Putnam congratulated them on their soldierly appearance. "It does me good to see that you have not forgotten your former instructions in drilling and marching," he said. "I trust that during the present term we shall see even better results, so that the work done here may compare favorably with that done at West Point." The school had now begun to settle down, and inside of a few days everything was working smoothly. "What a difference it makes to have Dan Baxter and Mumps absent!" observed Tom to Dick. "We don't have any of the old-fashion rows any more." "I'd like to know what Mumps and Josiah Crabtree were up to," put in the elder Rover. "It's queer we didn't hear any more of them. I'm going to get off soon and try and see Dora Stanhope. Perhaps she knows what Crabtree is doing." On that day Frank Harrington received a letter from his father, in which the senator stated that nothing more had been heard of the men who had looted Rush & Wilder's safe. "I fancy they have left the State, if not the country," was Mr. Harrington's comment. The three Rover boys got off the next day and took a walk past the cottages where resided the Lanings and the Stanhopes. At the Lanings' place Nellie and Grace came out to greet them. "So you are back!" cried Nellie, blushing sweetly. "Father said you were. He saw you come in at Cedarville." "Yes, back again, and glad to meet you," answered Tom, and gave the girl's hand a tight squeeze, while Sam and Dick also shook hands with both girls. "And how do you feel?" asked Grace of Dick. "Wasn't that dreadful the way Mr. Baxter treated you on that train?" "Well, he got the worst of it," answered Dick. "Oh, I know that! And now they suspect him of a robbery in Albany. Papa was reading it in one of the Ithaca papers." "Yes, and I guess he's guilty, Grace. But tell me, does Josiah Crabtree worry Mrs. Stanhope any more?" continued the boy seriously. "Why to be sure he does! And, oh, let me tell you something! Dora told me that he was terribly angry over having been sent to Chicago on a wild-goose chase." "I wish he had remained out there." "So do all of us," said Nellie Laning. "He seems bound to marry aunty, in spite of our opposition and Dora's." "How is your aunt now?" "She is not very well. Do you know, I think Mr. Crabtree exercises some sort of a strange influence over her." "I think that myself. If he could do it, I think he would hypnotize her into marrying him. He is just rascal enough. Of course he is after the money Mrs. Stanhope is holding in trust for Dora." "He can't touch that." "He can--if he can get hold of it. I don't think Josiah Crabtree cares much for the law. Is Dora home now?" "I believe she is. She was this morning, I know." "I'm going over to see her," went on Dick. "I promised to do all I could for her in this matter of standing Crabtree off, and I'm going to keep my word." As Sam and Tom wished to converse with the Laning girls a bit longer, Dick went on ahead, telling them to follow him when they chose. It did not take Dick long to reach the Stanhope homestead. As he approached he heard loud talking on the front piazza. "I want nothing to do with you, Dan Baxter, and I am astonished that you should come here to see me," came in Dora Stanhope's voice. "That's all right, Dora; don't get ugly," was the reply from the former bully of Putnam Hall. "I'm not going to hurt you." "I want you to go away and leave my mother and me alone." "Will you come and see Mr. Crabtree, as he wanted?" "No. If, Mr. Crabtree wants to see me let him come here." "But you told him you didn't want him here," said Dan Baxter. "Neither I do--to see mamma. But I won't go to see him; so there! Now please leave me." "You're a strong-minded miss, you are," sneered Dan Baxter. "You want taking down." "What's that you say?" demanded Dick, as he strode up. "Baxter, you deserve to be knocked down for insulting this young lady." "Oh, Dick, is that you?" burst out Dora, her pretty face brightening instantly. "I'm glad you came." "Dick Rover!" muttered the bully, and his face fell. "What brought you here?" "That is my business, Baxter, So Josiah Crabtree sent you to annoy Miss Stanhope." "It's none of your affair if he did." "I say it is my affair." "Do you want to get into another row with me, Dick Rover?" And Dan Baxter clenched his fists. "If we fought, the battle would end as it did before--you would be knocked out," answered Dick. "You have no right to come here if these people want you to stay away, and you had better take yourself off." "I'll go when I please. You can't make me go--nor the Stanhopes neither," growled Dan Baxter. At these words Dick grew white. Dora, as old readers know, was his dearest friend, and he could not stand having her spoken of so rudely. For a moment the two boys glared at each, other; then Baxter aimed a blow at Dick's face. The elder Rover ducked and hit out in return, landing upon Baxter's neck. Dora gave a scream. "Oh, Dick! Don't fight with him!" "I won't--I'll run him out!" panted Dick, and leaping behind the bully, he caught him by the collar and the back. "Out you go, you brute!" he added, and began to run Baxter toward the open gateway. In vain the bully tried to resist. Dick's blood was up, and he did not release his hold or relinquish his efforts until the bully had been pushed along the road for a distance of fifty yards. "Now you dare to come back!" said Dick, shaking his fist at the fellow. "If you come, I'll have you locked up." "We'll see about it, Dick Rover," snarled Dan Baxter. He paused for an instant. "He laughs best who laughs last," he muttered, and strode off as fast as his long legs would carry him, in the direction of the lake. When Dick returned to Dora he found that the girl had sunk down on the piazza steps nearly overcome. "Don't be afraid, Dora; he's gone," he said kindly. "Oh, Dick, I'm so afraid of him!" she gasped. "Was he here long before I came up?" "About ten minutes. He brought a message from Mr. Crabtree, who wants to see me in Cedarville. I told him I wouldn't go--and I won't." "I shouldn't either, Dora. Perhaps Crabtree only wants to get you away from the house so that he can come here and see your mother." "I never thought of that." "Where is your mother now?" "Lying down with a headache. She is getting more nervous every day. I wish Mr. Crabtree was--was--" "In Halifax, I suppose," finished Dick. "Yes, or some other place as far off. Every time he comes near mamma she has the strangest spells." "He is a bad man--no doubt of it, Dora. I almost wish we had him back to the Hall. Then I could keep my eye on him." "I'm glad you are back, Dick," said the girl softly. "If there is any trouble, you'll let me call on you, won't you?" "I shall expect you to call on me, Dora--the very first thing," he returned promptly. "I wouldn't have anything happen to you or your mother for anything in the world." By this time Sam and Tom were coming up, and they had to be told about Dan Baxter. "He and his father are a team," said Sam. "I wonder if he knows what his father has done. If I meet him I'll ask him." Dick had expected to pay his respects to Mrs. Stanhope, but now thought best not to disturb her. All the boys had a short chat with Dora, and then set out on the return to school. On the way the three boys discussed the situation, but could get little satisfaction out of their talk. "Something is in the wind," was Dick's comment. "But what it is time alone will reveal." And he was right, as events in the near future proved. CHAPTER XIII THE FIRE AT THE HALL Sam had been right when he said that Dan Baxter was like his father. Parent and son were thoroughly bad, but how bad the Rover boys and their friends were still to learn. On Saturday the cadets had a half-holiday, and some of them went over to the lake to fish, Sam and Tom accompanying the party. While the boys were waiting for bites they espied a large sail-boat skimming along the lake shore. As it came closer Tom and Sam were much astonished to see that the boat contained Dan Baxter, Josiah Crabtree, and Mumps. "By jinks, there is Mumps' yacht!" ejaculated Tom. "How in the world did he get her up here?" "Brought her by way of the canal and the river, I suppose," answered Sam. "Hullo there!" called out Larry Colby, who was in the crowd. "Mumps, you might be in better company." "You keep your mouth shut!" retorted Fenwick. "If you talk to me, I'll come ashore and give you a thrashing," put in Baxter. "I dare you to come ashore!" burst out Tom. "You'll stay where you are if you know when you are well off." No more was said, and presently the boat sped out of sight around a bend of the lake shore. Fishing proved to be good, and in the excitement of the sport Baxter and the others were, for the time being, forgotten. It was late when the boys packed up. Sam had six fish, Tom as many more, and all of the others a fair catch. "We'll have fish tomorrow for breakfast, sure," said Larry. "Hurry up, or we'll be late." The party started off, but had only gone a short distance when Sam remembered that he had left his knife sticking in the stump of a tree, and ran back to get it, in the meantime turning his fish over to Tom. The fishing place was behind a grove of trees, and when Sam reached it again he was much surprised to see Dan Baxter on shore, he having just left the yacht, which was cruising some distance away. "Hullo! so you came back to have it out with me, eh?" cried Baxter, and before Sam could say a word, he was hurled flat and the bully came down on top of him. Sam fought bravely, but was no match for the big fellow, who began to hammer him unmercifully. Realizing how matters were turning, the youngest Rover began to cry for help. "You shut up!" stormed Dan Baxter. "Shut up, or I'll give it to you worse than ever!" But Sam had no intention of taking such a drubbing quietly, and he yelled louder than ever. His cries reached Tom, who had dropped behind to allow his brother to catch up. "Something is wrong," he muttered, and hanging the fish on a bush, he ran back at the top of his speed. Dan Baxter heard him coming and tried to get away, but as Tom called out, Sam's courage rose, and he grabbed the bully by the foot and held him. "Let go!" roared Dan Baxter, but Sam would not, and in a second more Tom was at hand and hit the bully such a stinging blow in the face that Baxter went down in a heap. A rough-and-tumble scrimmage ensued, and it must be said that the bully got by far the worst of it. Tom hit him again and again, and Sam also, and when at last he staggered to his feet, one eye was almost closed and his nose was bleeding profusely. "Now I guess you won't tackle any of us again," said Tom. "I'll get even--mark my words!" roared Baxter, and ran down the lake shore in the direction the _Falcon_ had taken. When Baxter reached the yacht he was so weak he could scarcely stand. It was a long while before he could stop his nose from bleeding, and his eye stung with a pain that was maddening. "Did little Sam Rover do that?" asked Mumps, while Josiah Crabtree looked on in curious silence. "Sam Rover?" snorted Baxter. "Not much! Why, the whole crowd piled on me six or seven of them at a time. They tried to kill me!" "Didn't you defend yourself, Daniel?" asked Crabtree. "Of course I did. I knocked two of them down and another fellow had two of his teeth broken. But I couldn't fight all six single handed." "Oh, I presume not--especially such brutes as Captain Putnam is now raising." "It's a pity we can't get square with them," said Mumps. "Oh, I'll get square! You just wait," answered the bully cunningly. "I'm not done with them yet by any means." "What will you do?" "Just you wait and see." "I don't wish to have you interfere with our plans," put in Josiah Crabtree. "I won't interfere with the other plans. But I am going to get square." "We've had delay enough," continued Josiah Crabtree. "Well, that wasn't my fault. Mumps got sick, and that's all there is to it," growled Dan Baxter, and then went to dressing his swollen eye once more. In the meantime Sam and Tom had rejoined their fellows and told their story. All of the others were indignant at Baxter's doing and glad to learn he had been given a sound drubbing. "I don't see why he hangs in this neighborhood," said Larry. "It's a wonder he doesn't try to join his father." "They are probably on the outs since Dan took that two hundred dollars," answered Tom. The boys were all tired that night, and the occupants of Dormitory No. 6 retired early in consequence. It was a little after midnight that Dick awoke with a cough. He sat up in bed and opened his eyes to find the room almost filled with smoke. "For gracious sake!" he muttered. "What's the matter here? Sam! Tom!" "What's this?" came from Larry Colby. "Is the house on fire?" He leaped from his bed, and so did Dick. By this time the smoke in the dormitory was getting thicker and thicker. It was coming through the door, which stood partly open. "Wake up, boys; the Hall is on fire!" "Fire! Fire! Fire!" came from all parts of the building. One after another the cadets roused up. Some were completely bewildered and did not know what to do. "We had better get out as soon as we can!" exclaimed Dick, as he slipped into his trousers. "Come, Tom! come, Sam!" He ran for the hallway, to find it so thick with smoke that escape in that direction seemed cut off. "We can't go down that way!" came from Frank. "We'd be smothered to death." "Let's jump from the windows," put in Larry, who was more frightened than any of the others. "No, no; don't jump yet!" cried Tom "You'll break a leg, and maybe your neck." "But I don't want to be burnt up," returned Larry, his teeth chattering. "Hold on, we have that rope we used when we had the feast last summer," said Sam. "Let us tie that to the window and get down on it." Sam ran to the closet and found the rope just where it had been left, on a hook in the corner. Soon they had it out and fastened to a bed-slat braced across the window frame. "Down you go, Larry!" said Dick. "Be careful; I reckon we have plenty of time." Larry slid down in a jiffy, and one after another the others came after him, Dick being the last. As the youth turned around on the window sill he saw the fire creeping in at the door. Their escape had taken place none too soon. Down on the parade ground they found a motley collection of half-dressed cadets, instructors, servants, and others who had been sleeping in the burning Hall. In the midst of the group was Captain Putnam, pale but comparatively cool, considering the excitement under which he was laboring. "Are all the boys out?" he asked of George Strong. "Line them up and call the roll." The roll-call was put through in double-quick order. Only two lads were missing, a boy named Harrison and another named Leeks. "Here comes Harrison!" cried Harry Blossom, and the boy limped forth from the opposite side of the burning building. "I sprang from the east wing," he explained. "I guess my ankle is sprained." And then he dropped down and was carried away from the scene to a place of safety. "Where can Leeks be?" questioned Captain Putnam. "Leeks! Leeks! Where are you?" he cried with all the power of his lungs. At first the only reply that came back was the roaring of the flames, as they mounted from one section of the Hall to another. Then, however, came a shriek from the rear end of the western wing. "Help me! Save me! I don't want to be burnt up!" "It is Leeks!" cried Tom. "See, he is on the gutter of the roof!" He pointed in the direction, and all saw the cadet, dressed in nothing but his white gown, clinging desperately to the slates of the roof above the gutter. He had run from the second floor to the third and sought safety by crawling out of a dormer window. "Don't jump!" cried a dozen in concert. "Don't jump, Leeks!" "What shall I do? The flames are coming up here as fast as they can!" groaned the cadet. "Oh, save me, somebody!" "Let's get the ladder," said Dick, and started for the barn, with a score of cadets at his heels and George Strong with them. In the meantime Captain Putnam again urged Leeks to remain where he was. "We will save you, don't fear," he added. The fire below now made the scene as bright as day, and already the neighbors were rushing to the scene, followed by the Cedarville volunteer fire department, with their hose cart and old style hand-pump engine. Soon the ladder was brought out of the barn and rushed to the spot directly below where Leeks stood. Willing hands raised it against the building. And then a loud groan went up. The ladder was too short by ten feet--and it was the only ladder to be had! CHAPTER XIV THE DISAPPEARANCE OF DORA STANHOPE "We can't reach him with that! He'll be burnt up before we can get to him. See, the flames are already coming out of the window beside him!" "Save me! Push the ladder up higher!" shrieked Leeks. "I can't get down to it!" "Wait, I've got an idea," put in Dick, and ran behind the barn to the garden patch. Soon he came back armed with a long and knotty beanpole. George Strong was already on the ladder, and the beanpole was shoved up to him. "That's all right!" came the cry. "Leeks, can't you get hold?" "I'll try," said the terrorized boy. As quickly as he could George Strong mounted to the very top of the ladder. Then the teacher raised the beanpole, heavy end upward, until Leeks managed to grasp it. "Can you steady it against the gutter?" asked the teacher. "I--I don't know. If I had a cord--" "There is a string on the window blind. Tie the end of the pole to that." With trembling hands Leeks did as directed. The cord was not a stout one, but it was sufficiently strong to keep the beanpole in position, and that was all that was required, since the teacher steadied it and held it up from below. But getting over the edge of the gutter was no easy movement, and those on the ground held their breath as Leeks crawled to where he could grasp the beanpole. Then the cadet came down on the run to where his feet struck the top of the ladder. In a minute more he and the head teacher came to the ground. A cheer went up. "Hurrah! Leeks is safe! Good for Mr. Strong!" In the midst of the cries Leeks fainted and had to be carried to the gymnasium for treatment. The fire had evidently started in the lower hallway of the building, in a closet under the broad stairs. It was burning furiously in all of the halls and toward the rear. As soon as Captain Putnam felt assured that the scholars and all others were safe he organized the boys into a bucket brigade. In the meantime Mrs. Grow, with more forethought than seemed possible to her nature, had turned on the water pipes leading from the water tower on the Hall roof. Thus a dozen small streams were thrown on the fire, to which the boys soon added their buckets of water. Then the Cedarville fire department added their services, and fighting the fire began in earnest, while Captain Putnam directed the removal of all furniture and other things which could be gotten out with safety. "Say, but this is work!" panted Tom, as he struggled along with a big bucket of water in each hand. "I only hope we succeed in saving the building." "We won't save all of it," replied Sam, who was laboring as hard as anybody. "And I guess all of our clothing will be burnt up." "Don't say a word about dat!" put in Alexander Pop. "I dun gone an' buy me a new pair ob checked pants las' week--an' a new silk hat, too!" And the negro was almost ready to cry with vexation at the thought that those new clothes, with which he had hoped to cut such a dash, would go down in the ruin. It was a good two hours ere the fire was gotten under control, and not until after sunrise was the last spark put out. Then Captain Putnam and several of the others surveyed the damage that had been done. All of the stairways had been burned away, and the plastering from top to bottom of the three hallways was down. In the rear, two dormitories and the garret floor had been burned out. "A nasty fire," said the captain to his head assistant. "I'm afraid I will have to close down the school, at least for a while." "I don't know as I would do that, captain," replied George Strong. "The classrooms are not touched, neither are some of the dormitories. We can bunch the boys up a bit--and I think they would rather be bunched up than be sent home." The matter was talked over at some length, and in the end put to the boys themselves, and all declared that they would rather remain, and some added that during their spare hours they would do all they could to put the place into shape again. "That will be unnecessary," said Captain Putnam. "The insurance companies will have to do the repairing, and I shall notify them without delay. As to the clothing that has been lost, I will make that good to each of you." The fire was not yet out when Dora Stanhope appeared, in company with John Laning and Nellie and Grace. "I am so afraid somebody had been burnt up!" cried Dora to Dick. "I'm awfully glad you and your brothers are all right!" "We got out easily, answered Dick, but he gave Dora a bright smile for the interest she had shown in him. "How did the fire start?" questioned John Laning. "Nobody knows," answered Tom. "Captain Putnam says it is a complete mystery." "I believe the Hall was set on fire," put in Sam. "And I believe I can point out the party who is guilty." "Dan Baxter?" put in Larry. "Yes." "Would he be wicked enough to do that?" cried Dora in horror. "Yes, I guess Dan is bad enough to do anything," said Dick. "He was terribly mad over the way we mauled him," came from Tom. "He was just about ready to kill us." "If that's the case Captain Putnam had better have Baxter arrested," suggested John Laning. "He is a dangerous boy to be at large." Captain Putnam came up and was soon told of what had occurred. He had not heard of the fight down at the lake, but was not greatly surprised. "I do not blame you boys, since Baxter began the attack," he said. "And I agree, he is a thoroughly bad fellow. Yes, I'll have him arrested--providing we can locate him." Word had already been sent to a clothier, and a gentlemen's outfitter, both of whom had stores in Cedarville, and before noon these men came to the Hall, and the students were fitted out temporarily--that is, the portion who had lost the majority of their clothing. Then a gang of laborers and scrub-women were sent to work to clean up the mess and make the classrooms and unburned dormitories fit for occupation. In two days Putnam Hall was once more in full sway, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, the burnt section being boarded entirely off from the other. The search for Dan Baxter began at once, but nothing could be ascertained concerning him. A search was also made for the _Falcon_, but that craft had disappeared from the lake. "Well, I hope we never hear or see anything more of Baxter," said Sam. "I declare, he is worse than a snake in the grass." "I'd rather see him locked up," answered Dick grimly. "Then I'd know he was out of the way of harming us further." Several days slipped by and the boys were deep in their studies, when, late one afternoon, Dick was greatly astonished by being told that Mrs. Stanhope was in the parlor waiting to see him. "She seems very much agitated," said Captain Putnam. "I am afraid something is wrong." "Can you say what it is, Richard?" "No, sir; excepting Dan Baxter or Josiah Crabtree may have been worrying them again." "Do you mean to tell me that Baxter goes to their house?" "He has been there several times to my knowledge. He's as sweet on Dora Stanhope as Josiah Crabtree is anxious over Mrs. Stanhope--and neither person deserves any encouragement." "I thought the engagement between Mrs. Stanhope and Crabtree was off." "It was--for the time being. But it seems Mr. Crabtree isn't going to give her up--he is too anxious to get hold of Dora's money," and with this remark Dick hurried to the parlor. "Oh, Dick Rover!" cried Mrs. Stanhope, when he entered, "do tell me what has become of Dora." "Dora!" he repeated in bewilderment. "I don't know, I am sure. Has she left home?" "She hasn't been home since she answered your note yesterday afternoon." "My note? I sent her no note." "But I found it lying on the dining-room table last evening, when I came from my room. You see, I had been lying down with a headache." "Mrs. Stanhope, I sent Dora no note. If she got one that was signed with my name it was a forgery." "Oh, Dick Rover!" The lady had arisen on his entrance, now she sank back into a faint. The youth was greatly alarmed, and at once rang for one of the servants and also for Captain Putnam. "What is the matter?" asked the master of the Hall. "Something is very much wrong, sir," replied Dick. "Dora Stanhope has disappeared." "Disappeared!" "Yes, sir. She received some sort of a note signed with my name." No more was said just then, Dick, the captain, and the servant doing all they could to restore Mrs. Stanhope to consciousness. When the lady finally came to her senses she could not keep from crying bitterly. "Oh, where can my Dora be?" she moaned. "Something dreadful has happened to her--I feel certain of it." "Where is that note?" asked Dick. "I left it on the mantelpiece in our dining room. It said: 'Dear Friend Dora: Meet me as soon as you can down at the old boathouse on the lake. I have something important to tell you,' and it was signed 'Richard Rover.'" "Mrs. Stanhope, as true as I stand here, I never wrote that note or sent it." "I believe you, Dick. But who did send it?" "Some enemy who wanted to get her away from the house--Dan Baxter or--" Dick paused. "Or who?" "Well, Josiah Crabtree, if you must know. He hates her and he wants to separate her from you." At the mention of Josiah Crabtree's name a curious shiver passed over Mrs. Stanhope. "We--we'll not talk about Mr. Crabtree," she faltered. "But, oh, I must have my Dora back!" And then she came near to fainting again. "I would like to go over to the Stanhope cottage and investigate," said Dick, after the lady had been placed in Mrs. Green's care. "To my mind it won't do to lose time, either." "You can go, Richard," answered Captain Putnam. "But be careful and keep out of trouble." "Can I take Tom and Sam with me?" At this the master of Putnam Hall smiled broadly. "Always like to be together, eh? All right, I don't know but what it will be safer for the three of you to go together," he said; and Dick lost no time in telling his brothers. In a few minutes the trio set off for the Stanhope cottage, little dreaming of the long time that was to elapse before they should see Putnam Hall again. CHAPTER XV DICK'S BRAVERY AND ITS REWARD The three Rover boys reached the Stanhope cottage on a run, to find nobody in charge but a washwoman, who was hanging up some clothing in the back yard. Explaining the situation so far as was necessary, they went inside and hunted up the note Mrs. Stanhope had mentioned. "I believe that is Dan Baxter's writing," said Dick slowly. "It is," came from Sam. "I know it from the flourishes on the capitals. He was always great on flourishes." "We won't waste time here," went on Dick. "Let us go down to the old boathouse." They were soon on the way, along a road lined with brush and scrubby cedars, the trees which in years gone by had given Cedarville its name. At the old boathouse everything was quiet and not a soul was in sight. Walking to the end of the house float they gazed out on the lake. "Not a boat anywhere," murmured Dick. "Now, what could have become of Dora, do you suppose?" "It's ten to one that Baxter took her off in Mumps' boat!" cried Tom. "By jinks, I think I see through this. Don't you remember the plot Josiah Crabtree and Mumps were hatching? I'll wager they are all in this, to get Dora away from her mother." "I believe Tom is right," came from Sam. "And if that is true, Dora was taken off on a boat beyond a doubt.' "If she was it won't take very long to find her," returned Dick. "Let us go to Cedarville and see if anybody has seen the _Falcon_." Dick had scarcely spoken when a small steam tug hove into sight, bound up the lake. "There's a tug now!" exclaimed Tom. "Hi there! Hi!" he yelled. "Stop!" The captain of the tug heard him and saw him waving his hand, and, slowing up, made a half circle toward shore. "What's wanted, young man?" he asked. "Anything wrong?" "Yes, a good deal is wrong," replied Tom. "Have you seen a yacht named the _Falcon_ today?" "No, but I saw her late yesterday afternoon," was the reply. "Around here?" "No, further down the lake. I think she was bound for Cayuga." "Did you notice who was on board?" "You seem to be very particular about it." "We are particular. A young lady has disappeared, and we think she was taken away on that yacht," explained Dick, as the steam tug came to a halt. "Is that so? Yes, I did see a young lady on board of her. She called to our boat as we passed, but I thought it was only in fun." "I guess she wanted you to help her," said Dick bitterly. Then he continued suddenly: "Have you anything to do just now?" "No; I was going up to Ithaca to look for a tow." "What will you charge to take us down to Cayuga?" The captain of the tug thought for a moment. "Three dollars. It ought to be worth that to find the young lady." "We'll go you," answered Dick promptly. "Swing in and we'll jump aboard." Captain Lambert did as requested, and in a moment more the three Rover boys were on board of the _Cedar Queen_, as the craft was named. The captain proved to be a nice man and became thoroughly interested in the story the lads had to tell. "I hope we spot the rascals," he said. "I'll certainly do all I can for you." The _Cedar Queen_ was a little craft and somewhat slow, and the boys fretted a good bit at the long time it took to reach Cayuga. When they ran into the harbor of the town at the foot of the lake they looked in vain for the _Falcon_. "We'll take a sail around," said Captain Lambert; and this they did, continuing the hunt until long after dark. "It's no use!" groaned Dick. "We've missed her." It took nearly all the money the boys could scrape up between them to pay off the captain of the tug, and when they had been landed at one of the docks they wondered what they had best do next. "We've got to stay here over night," said Dick. "We may as well telegraph to Captain Putnam for cash," and this they did, and put up at one of the hotels. The place was crowded, for there was a circus in the town and a public auction of real estate had also taken place that day. The boys could get only a small room, but over this they did not complain. Their one thought was of Dora and of the rascals who had carried her off. "We must get on the track somehow," said Dick. But how, was the question. He could not sleep and after the others had retired took a long walk, just to settle his nerves. Dick's walk brought him to the lot where the circus had held forth, and for some time he watched the men as they worked under the flaring gasoline torches, packing up what still remained on the grounds. The tent men had to labor like slaves in rolling up the huge stretches of canvas and in hoisting the long poles into the wagons, and he shook his head grimly as he turned away. "No circus life in mine," he mused, "at least, not that part of it." Dick had moved away from the grounds but a short distance when his attention was attracted to the strange movements of two rough-looking individuals who were hurrying off with a third man between them. "I don't want to go, I tell you," the middle man muttered; "I don't want more to drink." "That's all right, Mr. Castor," said one of the other men glibly. "Just have one more glass, that's a good fellow." "I won't take it, so there!" cried the man called Castor. "I know when I've had enough." "You've got to come along with us," put in the third man savagely. "You owe us some money." "I don't owe you a cent, Fusty." "Yes, you do--and I'm bound to have it. Hold him, Mike, till I go through him." Of a sudden there was a struggle, and the man called Castor found himself helpless, while the fellow called Fusty began to go through his pockets with great rapidity. The scene alarmed Dick, and he wondered what he had best do. Then he made up his mind to go to Castor's assistance, and ran forward. "Here, let that man alone!" he cried, as he picked up a fence picket which happened to lie handy. "Leave him alone, I say!" "The Old Nick take the luck!" muttered one of the other men. "Who's this?" "Help! Help!" cried Castor. "Let him alone, I say!" repeated Dick, and then struck at one of the men and hit him on the arm. Seeing himself thus re-enforced, Castor also struck out, and continued to call for help. "We might as well give it up, Fusty!" cried one of the rascals, and took to his heels, and then there was nothing to do for the other man but to follow him. "Are you hurt?" asked Dick as he helped the man who had been assaulted to his feet. "Not much," was the slow reply. "Young man, you came in time and no more." "Do you know those fellows who just ran away?" "I met them at the circus this afternoon. We had several drinks and they became very friendly. I believe they were after my money." "I think so too, Mr." "My name is George Castor. And who are you?" "I am Dick Rover, sir." "Rover, I must thank you for your services. I shan't forget you, not me!" and George Castor held out his hand cordially. "I think I made a mistake by drinking with those fellows." "I haven't any doubt of it, Mr. Castor." "Do you reside in town?" "No, sir; I am stopping at the hotel with my brothers. We just came into town tonight on rather a curious errand." "Indeed, and what was that?" In a few words Dick explained the situation. He had not yet finished when George Castor interrupted him. "My boy, you have done me a good turn, and now I think I can return the compliment." "Do you mean to say you know something of this case?" demanded Dick eagerly. "Perhaps I do. Describe this Dan Baxter as well as you can, will you?" "Certainly." And Dick did so. "It is the same fellow. I met him last night, down near the lumber wharves. You see, I am a lumber merchant from Brooklyn, and I have an interest in a lumber company up here." "You saw Baxter? Was he alone?" "No, there was another man with him, a tall, slim fellow, with an unusually sour face." "Josiah Crabtree to a T!" burst out Dick. "Did you notice where they went?" "I did not. But I overheard their talk. They spoke about a boat on the Hudson River, the _Flyaway_. They were to join her at Albany." "Who was to join her?" "This Baxter, if it was he, and somebody else--a man called Muff, or something like that." "Mumps! You struck them, sure enough! But did they say anything about the girl?" "The tall man said that he would see to it that she was there--whatever he meant by that." "I can't say any more than you, Mr. Castor. But I guess they are going to carry Dora Stanhope through to Albany from all appearances." "Then perhaps you had better follow." "I'd go at once if I had the money that I have telegraphed for. You see, my brothers and I came away in a hurry, for the Stanhopes are close friends of ours." "Don't let the matter of money worry you. Do you know how much I have with me? "I haven't the slightest idea, sir." "Nearly eleven hundred dollars--and if those rascals had had the chance they would have robbed me of every dollar of it." "I shouldn't think you would carry so much." "I don't usually; but I was paid a large bill today, and went to the circus instead of the bank--not having seen such a show in years. But to come back to business. Will a hundred dollars see you through?" "You mean to say you will loan me that much?" "Perhaps I had better give it to you, as a reward for your services." "I won't take it, for I don't want any reward. But I'll accept a loan, if you'll make it, and be very much obliged to you," continued Dick. "All right, then, we'll call it a loan," concluded George Castor, and the transfer of the amount was made on the spot. Later on Dick insisted upon returning the money. CHAPTER XVI THE SEARCH FOR THE "FLYAWAY" "Tom! Sam! Get up at once!" "What's the row now, Dick?" came sleepily from Tom. "Have you discovered anything?" "Yes! I've discovered a whole lot. Get up if you want to catch the next train." "The next train for where?" demanded Tom, as he hopped out of bed. "The next train for Albany." "Have they taken Dora to Albany?" questioned Sam, as he too arose and began to don his garments. "I think so," was the elder brother's reply, and while the pair dressed, Dick told of what had occurred and what he had heard. "This is getting to be quite a chase," was Tom's remark. "But I reckon you are right, and we'll land on them in the capital." "If we aren't too late," answered Dick. "I'd like to know how they are going to take Dora to Albany if she doesn't want to go?" came from Tom, when they were dressed and on their way to the railroad station. No one could answer this question. "Josiah Crabtree is a queer stick and can do lots of queer things," was what Dick said. The train left at half past two in the morning, and they had not long to wait. Once on board, they proceeded to make themselves as comfortable as possible, each having a whole seat to himself, and Sam and Tom went to sleep without much trouble. But Dick was wide awake, wondering what would be the next move on reaching Albany. "Poor Dora!" he murmured. "Oh, but that crowd shall be punished for this! If she comes to harm it will almost kill Mrs. Stanhope." And his heart sank like a lump of lead as he thought of his dearest friend in the power of her unscrupulous enemies. It was just getting daylight when the long train rolled into the spacious depot at the state capital. Only a few working people and newsboys were stirring. Tom and Sam pulled themselves together with long yawns. "Sleeping in a seat doesn't come up to a bed, by any means," remarked Tom. "Which way now?" "We'll go down to the river and look for the _Flyaway_," answered his elder brother. "It will be like looking for a needle in a hay-stack," said Sam. "The boats are pretty thick here." "That is true, but it is the best we can do," replied the elder Rover. Once along the river front they began a careful inquiry concerning the boat of which they were in search. "Not much progress," remarked Tom, after two hours had been spent in vain. "This climbing from one dock to the next is decidedly tiring." "And I'm hungry," put in Sam. "I move we hunt up a restaurant." An eating place was not far away, and, entering, they ordered a morning meal of ham and eggs, rolls, and hot coffee. While they were eating a man came in and sat down close by them. It was Martin Harris, the fellow who had come to their assistance after the collision between the _Spray_ and the _Falcon_. "Hullo, how are you?" he said heartily. "Still cruising around in your yacht?" "No, we just got back to Albany," replied Dick. "We've been to school since we left you." "I see. How do you like going back to your studies?" "We liked it well enough," put in Tom. "But we left in a hurry!" he went on, thinking Martin Harris might give them some information. "Have you been out on the river yet this morning?" "Yes; just came up from our place below to do a little trading." "Did you see anything of a yacht called the _Flyaway_?" "The _Flyaway_? What sort of a looking craft is she?" "I can't tell you that." "One boat there attracted my attention," said Martin Harris slowly. "I saw two boys and a girl on board of her." "How was the girl dressed?" cried Dick. "She had on a light-blue dress and a sailor hat." "And the boys?" "One was dressed in gray and the other in dark-blue or black." "That was the boat! Where did she go?" ejaculated Dick, who remembered well how Mumps and Baxter had been attired, and the pretty dress and hat Dora was in the habit of wearing. "She was bound straight down the river." "We must follow her." "That's the talk!" burst out Tom. "But how?" "What do you want to follow the _Flyaway_ for?" asked Martin Harris curiously. "Those two boys are running away with that girl!" "Impossible!" "No, it isn't. One of the fellows--the fellow in dark clothing--is the chap who ran into us that day." "Well, now, do you know I thought it looked like him," was Harris' comment. "And, come to think of it, that boat got as far away from me as she could." "Do you think you would know her again? I mean the _Flyaway_--if we got anywhere near her?" asked Dick. "I think I would, lad. She had a rather dirty mainsail and jib, and each had a new patch of white near the top. Then, too, her rig is a little different from what we have around here. Looked like a Southern boat." "Have you your boat handy?" "Yes, she's right at the end of this street. Do you want me to follow up that crowd?" "Could your boat catch the _Flyaway_, do you think?" "My boat, the _Searchlight_, is as good a yacht as there is anywhere around, if I do say it myself," answered Martin Harris promptly. "It you don't believe it, try her and see." "We will try her," came promptly from Dick. "And the sooner you begin the chase the better it will suit me." "All right; we'll start as soon as I've swallowed this coffee," answered the skipper of the _Searchlight_. "But, hold on, this may prove a long search." "Do you want to make terms?" "I wasn't thinking of that. I'll leave it to you as to what the job is worth, after we're done. I was thinking that I haven't any provender aboard my yacht, if we want to stay out any length of time." "I'll fix that," answered Dick. "Come, Sam. You say the yacht is at the foot of the street?" "Yes." "We'll be there in less than five minutes." "Where are you going--to buy provisions?" "Yes." Dick made off, followed not only by Sam, but likewise by Tom. He found a large grocery close at hand, and here purchased some coffee, sugar, canned meat and fish, a small quantity of vegetables, and also several loaves of bread and some salt. To this Tom added a box of crackers and Sam some cake and fruit, and with their arms loaded down they hurried to the _Searchlight_. Martin Harris was on hand, and ready to cast off. "Hullo, you did lay in some things?" he grinned. "I reckon you calculate this chase to last some time." "We've got enough for several days, anyway--that is, all but--water," returned Dick. "I've got a whole barrel full of that forward, lad." "Then we are ready to leave. I hope, though, we run the _Flyaway_ down before noon," concluded the elder Rover, as he hopped on board. Leaving Sam to stow away the stores as he saw fit, Dick and Tom sprang in to assist Martin Harris, and soon the mainsail and jib were set, and they turned away from the dock and began the journey down the Hudson. As soon as they were clear of the other boats, the skipper set his topsail and flying jib, and they bowled along at a merry gait, the wind being very nearly in their favor and neither too strong nor too slack. "Now I'd like to hear the particulars of this case," remarked Martin Harris, as he proceeded to make himself comfortable at the tiller. "You see, I want to know just what I am doing. I don't want to get into any trouble with the law." "You won't get into any trouble. Nobody has a right to run off with a girl against her will," replied Dick. "That's true. But why are they running off with her?" "I think they have been hired to do it by a man who wants to marry the girl's mother," went on Dick, and related the particulars of what had occurred. Martin Harris was deeply interested. "I reckon you have the best end of it," he said, when the youth had finished. "And you say this Dan Baxter is a son of the rascal who is suspected of robbing Rush & Wilder?" "Yes." "Evidently a hard crowd." "You are right--and they ought all of them to be in prison," observed Tom. "By the way, have they heard anything of those robbers?" "The detectives are following up one or two clues. One report was that this Baxter and Girk had gone to some place on Staten Island. But I don't think they know for certain." CHAPTER XVII IN WHICH DORA IS CARRIED OFF Perhaps it will be as well to go back a bit and learn how poor Dora was enticed into leaving home so unexpectedly, to the sorrow of her mother and the anxiety of Dick and her other friends. Dora was hard at work sweeping out the parlor of the Stanhope cottage when she saw from the window a boy walking up the garden path. The youth was a stranger to her and carried a letter in his hand. "Is this Mrs. Stanhope's place?" he questioned, as Dora appeared. "Yes." "Here's a letter for Miss Dora Stanhope," and he held out the missive. "Whom is it from?" "I don't know. A boy down by the lake gave it to me," was the answer, and without further words the lad hurried off, having received instructions that he must not tarry around the place after the delivery of the communication. Tearing open the letter Dora read it with deep interest. "What can Dick have to tell me?" she mused. "Can it be something about Mr. Crabtree? It must be." Dropping her work, she ran upstairs, changed her dress, put on her hat, and started for the boathouse. It took her but a short while to reach the place, but to her surprise nobody was in sight. "Can I have made some mistake?" she murmured; when the _Falcon_ hove into view from around a bend in the shore line. "Is that Miss Stanhope?" shouted a strange man, who seemed to be the sole occupant of the craft. "Yes, I am Dora Stanhope," answered the girl. "Dick Rover sent me over from the other side of the lake. He told me if I saw you to take you over to Nelson Point." Nelson Point was a grove situated directly opposite Cedarville. It was a place much used by excursionists and picnic parties. "Thank you," said Dora, never suspecting that anything was wrong. "If you'll come in a little closer I will go with you." The _Falcon_ was brought in, and Dora leaped on board of the yacht. She had scarcely done so when Mumps and Dan Baxter stepped from the cabin. "Oh, dear!" she gasped. "Where--where did you come from?" "Didn't quite expect to see us here, did you?" grinned the former bully of Putnam Hall. "I did not," answered Dora coldly. "What--where is Dick Rover?" "Over to Nelson Point." "Did he send you over here for me?" "Of course he did," said Mumps. "I do not believe it. This is some trick!" burst out the girl. "I want you to put me on shore again." "You can't go ashore now," answered Baxter. "Ease her off, Goss." "Right you are," answered Bill Goss. "What's the course now?" "Straight down the lake." "All right." "You are not going to take me down the lake!" cried Dora in increased alarm. "Yes, we are." "I--I won't go!" "I don't see how you are to help yourself," responded Baxter roughly. "Dan Baxter, you are a brute!" "If you can't say anything better than that, you had better say nothing!" muttered Baxter. "I will say what I please. You have no right to carry me off in this fashion!" "Well, I took the right." "You shall be locked up for it." "You'll have to place me in the law's hands first." "I don't believe Dick Rover sent that letter at all!" "You can believe what you please." "You forged his name to it." "Let us talk about something else." "You are as bad as your father, and that is saying a good deal," went on the poor girl bitterly. "See here, don't you dare to speak of my father!" roared the bully in high anger. "My father is as good as anybody. This is only a plot against him--gotten up by the Rovers and his other enemies." Dan Baxter's manner was so terrible that Dora sank back on a camp stool nearly overcome. Then, seeing some men at a distance, on the shore, she set up a scream for help. "Here, none of that!" ejaculated Mumps, and clapped his hand over her mouth. "Let me go!" she screamed. "Help! Help!" "We'll put her in the cabin," ordered Dan Baxter, and also caught hold of Dora. She struggled with all the strength at her command, but was as a baby in their grasp, and soon found herself in the cabin with the door closed and locked behind her. It was then that her nerves gave way, and, throwing herself on a couch, she burst into tears. "What will they do with me?" she moaned. "Oh, that I was home again!" It was a long while before she could compose herself sufficiently to sit up. In the meantime the _Falcon_ was sailing down the lake toward Cayuga with all speed. "This must be some plan of Josiah Crabtree to get me away from home," she thought. "Poor mother! I wonder what will happen to her while I am away? If that man gets her to marry him what will I do? I can never live with them--never!" And she heaved a deep sigh. Presently she arose and walked to the single window of which the cabin boasted. It was open, but several little iron bars had been screwed fast on the outside. "They have me like a bird in a cage," she thought. "Where will this dreadful adventure end?" Hour after hour went by and she was not molested. Then came a knock on the cabin door. "Dora! Dora Stanhope!" came in Dan Baxter's voice. "Well?" "Will you behave yourself if I unlock the door?" "It is you who ought to behave yourself," she retorted. "Never mind about that. I have something for you to eat." "I don't want a mouthful." And Dora spoke the truth, for the food would have choked her. "You had better have a sandwich and a glass of milk." "If you want to do something, give me a glass of water," she said finally, for she wished a drink badly, the cabin was so hot and stuffy. Baxter went away, and presently unlocked the door and handed her the water, of which she drank eagerly. "Where are you going to take me?" she questioned, as she passed back the glass. "You'll learn that all in good time, Dora. Come, why not take the whole matter easy?" went on the bully, as he dropped into a seat near her. "How can I take it easy?" "We won't hurt you--I'll give you my word on that." She was about to say that his word was not worth giving, but restrained herself. If she angered Baxter, there was no telling what the fellow might do. "Is this a plot of Josiah Crabtree's?" she asked sharply. Baxter started. "How did you--" he began, and stopped short. "You had better not ask any questions." "Which means that you will not answer any?" "You can take it that way if you want to, Dora." "It was a mean trick you played on me." "Let's talk of something else. We are going to leave the _Falcon_ soon, and I want to know if you are going with us quietly?" "Leave the _Falcon_?" "Yes, at Cayuga." "Are we there already?" gasped Dora in dismay. "We soon will be." "I don't wish to go with you." "But we want you to go. If you go quietly all will be well--and I'll promise to see you safe home in less than twenty-four hours." "You wish to keep me away from home that length of time?" "If you must know, yes." "And why? So Josiah Crabtree can--can--" She did not finish. "So that Mr. Crabtree can interview your mother--yes," put in Mumps, who had just appeared. "Baxter, there's no use in beating around the bush. Crabtree is bound to marry Mrs. Stanhope, and Dora may as well know it now as later." CHAPTER XVIII STILL IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY "That man will never marry my mother with my consent!" burst out the unhappy girl. "She probably won't ask your consent," sneered Mumps. "She would not marry him if I was with her. He only has an influence over her when I am away." "Exactly--and he knows that," put in Baxter. "Do you mean to say Josiah Crabtree is going to marry her now?" demanded Dora, springing to her feet. "More than likely." "Then he--he hired you to carry me off?" "We'll talk about something else," said the bully. "Will you leave the _Falcon_ quietly?" "Where do you want me to go?" "To the home of an old lady who will treat you as nicely as she possibly can." Dora shook her head. "I don't wish to go anywhere excepting home, and I won't submit a bit longer than I have to." "Don't be foolish!" exclaimed Mumps. "We might treat you a good deal worse if we were of a mind to do so. Crabtree told us to bind and gag you." "He did?" "Yes. He says you are a perfect minx." A few words more followed, and then both of the boys left the cabin. "She won't submit," whispered Mumps. "What had we best do?" "Use the drug Crabtree gave us," answered Baxter. "It's a lucky thing I brought that vial." "Yes--if we don't have any trip-up in the matter," answered the toady, with a doubtful shake of his head. Mumps had gone into the whole scheme rather unwillingly, but now saw no way of backing out. A little later the _Falcon_ ran into the harbor of Cayuga and came to anchor close to one of the docks. Then Baxter appeared with some sandwiches and a glass of milk. "You might as well eat; it's foolish not to," he said, and set the food on a little stand. By this time Dora was very hungry, and as soon as the bully had left she applied herself to what had been brought. Poor creature, she did not know that both sandwiches and milk had been doctored with a drug calculated to make her dull and sleepy! She had hardly finished the scant meal when her eyes began to grow heavy. Then her brain seemed to become clouded and she could scarcely remember where she was. "Here's news!" cried Baxter, coming in an hour later. "We are to join your mother and Mr. Crabtree at Albany." "At Albany?" she repeated slowly. "Have--have they gone there?" "Yes; they are going on a honeymoon on the yacht _Flyaway_. Your mother wants you to join her and forgive her." Dora heaved a long sigh. "I cannot! I cannot!" she sobbed, and burst again into tears. Nevertheless, she allowed herself to be led off the _Falcon_ and to the depot. "Your face is full of tears," said Baxter. "Here, put this veil over it," and she was glad enough to do as bidden, that folks might not stare at her. What happened afterward was very much like a dream to her. She remembered entering the cars and crouching down in a seat, with Baxter beside her. A long ride in the night followed, and she slept part of the way, although troubled with a horrible nightmare. She wanted to flee, but seemed to lack both the physical and mental strength to do so. The ride at an end, Baxter and Mumps almost carried her to the river. Here the _Flyaway_ was in waiting. Bill Goss had gone on ahead and notified his wife that she was wanted. It may as well be added here that Mrs. Goss was as coarse and unprincipled as her husband. When Dora's mind was once more clear she found herself in a much larger cabin than that she had formerly occupied. She lay on a couch, and Mrs. Goss, a fat, ugly-looking creature, sat beside her. "Are you awake, dear?" asked the woman as smoothly as she could. "Who--who are you?" asked Dora feebly. "I am Mrs. Goss." "I don't know you. Where--where is my mother--and Mr. Crabtree?" "You'll have to ask Mr. Baxter or Mr. Fenwick about that." "Do you belong on this boat?" "I do, when I go out with my husband." "Was he the man who was with those boys?" "Yes." "Where are we now?" "On the Hudson River, just below Albany." "Where are they going to take me next?" "You had better ask Mr. Baxter. I was only brought on board to wait on you." "Then that means that they wish to take me quite a distance!" cried Dora, and ran on deck. Mumps and Baxter were talking earnestly together near the bow. At once she ran to them. "Where is my mother?" "You'll see her soon," answered the former bully of Putnam Hall. "It was another trick of yours!" burst out Dora. "And I think you gave me something last night to make me sleepy." "What if we did?" came from Mumps. "You are all right now." "I do not want to go another step with you." Dora looked around and saw a strange boat passing. "Help! help!" she screamed. At once there was another row, in which not only the boys, but also Bill Goss and his wife, took a hand. In the end poor Dora was marched to the cabin and put under lock and key. If the girl had been disheartened before, she was now absolutely downcast. "They have me utterly in their power!" she moaned over and over again. "Heaven alone knows where they will take me!" And then she sank down on her knees and prayed that God might see her safely through her perils. Her prayer seemed to calm her, and she felt that there was at least one Power that would never desert her. "Poor, poor mamma, how I wish I knew what was happening to her!" she murmured. Slowly the hours went by. Mrs. Goss came and went, and Dora was even allowed to go on deck whenever no other boat was close at hand. Thus Martin Harris saw her; but, as we know, that meeting amounted to nothing. It was Mrs. Goss who served the meals, and as Dora could not starve, she was compelled to eat what was set before her, the fare being anything but elaborate. "Sorry, but we haven't got a hotel chef on board," observed Dan Baxter, as he came in during the supper hour. "But I'll try to get something better on board at New York." "Do you mean to say you intend to take me away down to that city?" queried Dora. "Humph! we are going further than that." "And to where?" "Wait and see." "Are you afraid to tell me?" "I don't think it would be a wise thing to do." "We are just going to take a short ocean trip--" began Mumps, when Baxter stopped him. "Don't talk so much--you'll spoil everything," remarked the bully. "An ocean trip!" burst out Dora. "No! No! I do not wish to go on the ocean." "As I said before, I think you'll go where the yacht goes." "Does my mother know anything of this?" "She knows you are away," grinned Mumps. "You need not tell me that!" exclaimed Dora. "You are a mean, mean boy, so there!" And she turned on her heel and walked off. She wished she had learned how to swim. They were running quite close to shore, and she felt that a good swimmer could gain land without much effort. Then a man came out from shore in a large flatboat. "Help! Help!" she cried. "Save me, and I will reward you well! They are carrying me away from home!" "What's that?" called out the man, and Dora repeated her words before any of the others could stop her. "All right, I'll do what I can for you," said the man, and running up beside the yacht, which had become caught in a sudden calm, he made fast with a boathook. CHAPTER XIX DORA TRIES TO ESCAPE "Now we're in a pickle!" whispered Mumps. "That man may cause us a whole lot of trouble." "You let me do the talking," answered Dan Baxter. "Help Goss get her back to the cabin." "I won't go back!" screamed Dora. "Let me be!" And she ran for the rail. But Mumps caught hold of her and dragged her back. Then Bill Goss approached, followed by his wife. "You must go below, miss," said the sailor. "Come, Nancy, give us a lift." Poor Dora found herself at once surrounded and shoved back. She tried to call out again, but Mumps checked her with that ever-ready hand of his. "Be careful!" shouted Baxter, for the benefit of the man on the flatboat. "Treat her with care, poor girl." "All right," grinned Mumps. "Come, down you go," he went on, to Dora, and literally forced her down the companionway. Once in the cabin she was left in Mrs. Goss' care. The door was locked, and Goss and Mumps went on deck to learn what Baxter was doing. "What does this mean?" asked the man in the flatboat. He was a farmer, who had just been taking a load of hay across the stream. "Oh, it's all right," answered Baxter carelessly. "That's my sister." "Your sister?" "Yes." "What's the row?" "No row at all--excepting that I am trying to get her back to the asylum." "Is she crazy?" "A little bit; but not near as bad as she used to be. She got out of the asylum in Brooklyn yesterday, and I've had my hands full trying to get her back. She imagines she is a sea captain and always runs off with my uncle's yacht." "I see. That's putty bad for your family." "Oh, yes; but we are getting used to it. Take care, we are going to swing around." Never suspecting that he had been regaled with a string of falsehoods, the farmer let go with his boathook, and yacht and flatboat speedily drifted apart. It was with a big sigh of relief that Dan Baxter saw the flatboat recede in the distance. "That was a narrow shave," he muttered. "If that fellow had insisted on talking to Dora there would have been a whole lot of trouble." In vain Dora waited for the man to come on board. He had said that he would do what he could for her. Surely he would not desert her! But as the time slipped by her heart failed her and she gave herself up to another crying spell. This caused Mumps and Goss to withdraw, and she was left alone again with Mrs. Goss. "Where are we now?" she asked at length. "We are approaching New York," was the answer. "And that man, what of him?" "Oh, he didn't come an board." It was night when the _Flyaway_ came to a landing near the upper portion of the metropolis. The boys and Bill Goss went ashore, leaving Dora in Mrs. Goss' care. "Be careful and don't let her escape," cautioned Dan Baxter. "We won't be gone very long." Baxter had left for a telegraph office, expecting to receive a message from Josiah Crabtree. For half an hour Mrs. Goss sat in the cabin watching Dora, who was pacing the floor impatiently. "Make yourself comfortable, miss," said the woman. "It won't do you any good to get all worked up over the matter." "You do not understand my situation, Mrs. Goss," faltered Dora. "If you did understand, I am sure you wouldn't keep me a prisoner in this fashion." "I am only obeying orders, miss. If I didn't my Bill would almost kill me." "Is he so harsh to you?" "He is now. But he didn't used to be--when he didn't drink." "Then he drinks now?" "Yes; twice over what is good for him." "Where have they gone?" "To a telegraph office." "Didn't they say they would be back soon?" "Yes." Dora said no more, but sank down on the couch. Then an idea came to her mind, and lying back she closed her eyes and pretended to go to sleep. The woman watched her closely for a while; then, satisfied that the girl had really dropped off, gave a long sigh of relief. "I guess I can get a little sleep myself," she muttered. "I think I deserve it." She locked the cabin door carefully and placed the key in her pocket. Then she stretched out in an easy chair with her feet on a low stool. Dora watched her out of the corner of her eye as a cat watches a mouse. Was the woman really sleeping? Soon Mrs. Goss' breathing became loud and irregular. "She must be asleep," thought Dora, and stirred slightly. Mrs. Goss took no notice of this, and with her heart in her throat the girl slipped noiselessly from her resting place and stood up. Still the woman took no notice, and now Dora found herself confronted by a most difficult task. Without the key to the cabin door she could do nothing, and how to obtain the much coveted article was a problem. With trembling hands she sought the pocket of Mrs. Goss' dress only to find that the woman was sitting on the key! "Oh, dear, this is the worst yet!" she murmured. As she stood in the middle of the cabin in perplexity, her captor gave a long sigh and turned partly over in her chair. The pocket was now free and within easy reach, and with deft fingers Dora drew the key forth and tiptoed her way to the cabin door. She was so agitated that she could hardly place the key in the keyhole. The lock had been used but seldom, and the action of the salt air had rusted it greatly. As the key turned there was a grating sound, which caused Mrs. Goss to awaken with a start. "What's the matter? Who is there?" she cried, and turned around to face the cabin door. "Come back here! Come back!" She started after Dora, who now had the cabin door wide open. Away went girl and woman up the low stairs. But Dora was the more agile of the two, and terror lent speed to her limbs. On the deck, however, she came to a pause. The _Flyaway_ was a good six feet from the dock, and between lay a stretch of dark, murky water the sight of which made her shiver. What if she should fall in? She felt that she would surely be drowned. But as Mrs. Goss came closer her terror increased. She felt that if she was caught she would be treated more harshly than ever for having attempted to run away. "I'll take the chances!" she though, and leaped as best she could. Her feet struck the very edge of the string piece beyond and for an instant it looked as if she must go over. But she clutched at a handy rail and quickly drew herself to a place of safety. And yet safety was but temporary, for Mrs. Goss followed her in her leap and struck the dock directly behind her. "Come back, you minx!" she cried, and caught Dora by the skirt. "I won't come back! Let me be!" screamed the girl, and tore herself loose, ripping her garment at the same time. Then she started up the dock as swiftly as her trembling limbs would carry her. But fate was against her, for as she gained the very head of the dock, Bill Goss appeared, followed by Baxter and Mumps. "Hullo, who's this?" cried the sailor. "The gal, sure as you are born!" "She is running away!" called out Mrs. Goss. "Stop her!" "Here, this will never do," roared Dan Baxter. "Come here, Dora Stanhope!" and he made a clutch at her. Soon the two boys were in pursuit, with the sailor close behind. Fortunately for the evildoers the spot was practically deserted, so that Dora could summon no assistance, even though she began to call for help at the top of her lungs. The girl had covered less than a half-block when Baxter ranged up alongside of her. "This won't work!" he said roughly. "Come back," and he held her tight. "Let me go!" she screamed. "Help! Help!" "Close her mouth!" put in Mumps. "If this keeps on we'll have the police down on us in no time!" Again his hand was placed over Dora's mouth, while Baxter caught her from behind. Then Goss came up. "We'll have to carry her," said the former bully of Putnam Hall. "Take her by the feet." "Wot's the meanin' o' this?" cried a voice out of the darkness, and the crowd found themselves confronted by a dirty-looking tramp who had been sleeping behind a pile of empty hogsheads. "Help me!" cried Dora. "Bring the police! Tell them I am Dora Stanhope of Cedarville, and that I--" She could get no further, for Mumps cut her short. "Dora Stanhope," repeated the tramp. "If you forget this, my man," said Baxter, "here's half a dollar for you. This lady is my cousin who is crazy. She just escaped from an asylum." "T'anks!" came from the tramp, and he pocketed the money in a hurry. Then he ran off in the darkness. "He's going to tell the police anyway!" cried Goss. "You had better get away from here." "You are right," responded Mumps. "Hurry up; I don't want to be arrested." As quickly as it could be done they carried Dora aboard of the yacht and bundled her into the cabin. "Now keep her there!" cried Baxter to Mrs. Goss. "After we are off you can explain how she got away." "She hit me with a stick and knocked me down," said the woman glibly. "She shan't get away a second time." Once again poor Dora found herself a prisoner on board of the _Flyaway_. Then the lines were cast off, the sails set, and they stood off in the darkness, down New York Bay and straight for the ocean beyond. CHAPTER XX A LONG CHASE BEGUN As they journeyed down the Hudson the boys and Martin Harris scanned the river eagerly for some sign of the _Flyaway_. "It's ten to one she put down a pretty good distance," remarked Dick. "They wouldn't bring Dora over here unless they were bound for New York or some other place as far or further." "I believe you," said Tom. "But she may be delayed, and if what Harris says is true the _Searchlight_ ought to make better time than Baxter's craft." Several miles were covered, when, Sam, who had just come up from the cabin, called attention to a farmer who was ferrying a load of hay across the river. "If he's been at that sort of work all day he may know something of the _Flyaway_," he suggested. "We'll hail him, anyway," said Tom. "It won't do any harm, providing we don't lose any time." So the farmer was hailed and asked if he had seen anything of the craft. "Waal now, I jest guess I did," he replied. "They war havin' great times on board of her--a takin' care of that crazy gal." "A crazy girl!" cried Dick. "Who said she was crazy?" "One of the young men. He said she was his sister and had escaped from some asylum. She called to me to help her. But I don't want nuthin' to do with crazy gals. My wife's cousin was out of his head and he cut up high jinks around the house, a-threatenin' folks with a butcher knife." "That girl was not crazy, though, as it happens," said Dick coldly. "That villain was carrying her away from home against her will. She was no relation to him." "By gosh!" The farmer's face fell and he stared at the youth blankly. "You are certain of this?" "Yes. We are after the crowd now. If we catch them we'll put them in prison, just as sure as you are the greatest greeny we ever met," continued Dick, and motioned to Harris to continue the journey. The farmer wanted to "talk back," as the saying is, but could find no words. "Well, maybe I deserved it," he muttered to himself. "I was tuk in, no doubt on't." And he continued to ferry his hay load along. "Well, we are on the right track, that's one satisfaction," said Tom. "That farmer couldn't have done much against a man and two big boys." "He could have gone ashore and got help," replied Dick. "But he was so green he took in all that was told to him for simple truth. How Dan Baxter must have laughed over the way his ruse worked!" "Yes, and Mumps too," added Sam. "Say, we ought to punch their heads well for them when we catch them." "Let us get our eggs before we cook them," said Tom. "By the way, I'm getting hungry." "Ditto," came from Harris. "Will you boys see what you can offer? I don't like to leave the tiller, for I know just how to get the best speed out of the _Searchlight_." "I'll get up some kind of a meal," said Sam, who had played cook on many previous occasions. Inside of half an hour he had the table set and Harris was called down, Dick taking his place. By the time all hands had been served they were in sight of upper New York City. "Now we had better take in some sail," said the old sailor. "The yachts are pretty thick around here and we will miss the _Flyaway_ without half trying unless we are careful." By the time it was dark they were pretty well down the water front of the metropolis. A consultation was held, and it was decided to lower the mainsail and topsail and leave only the jib flying. "We can't go much further tonight, anyway," said Harris. "I don't know but what it may be as well to tie up somewhere." "We'll have to do that unless we can catch some sort of clue," responded Dick gloomily. "If they have taken her to some place in New York we'll have a big job to find her." A half-hour passed, and they were on the point of turning in at a dock when Tom gave a cry. "Look! Look!" "What's up, Tom!" came from Dick and Sam simultaneously. "Is that the _Flyaway_?" All gave a look and saw a large yacht moving away from a dock just below where they had thought to stop. "Call Harris!" cried Dick, and Sam ran to the cabin for the sailor, who had just gone below. "I reckon that's our boat," said Martin Harris, after a quick look. "Hark!" cried Dick, and held up his hand. "That's Dan Baxter's voice, just as sure as fate." "I believe you," returned Sam. "Come, we can run her down in no time." As quickly as it could be accomplished the course of the _Searchlight_ was changed. But the tall buildings of the city cut off a good deal of wind, and it took several minutes before they could get their sails filled. "Boat ahoy!" shouted Tom, before Dick could stop him. "Is that the _Flyaway_?" "That's Tom Rover!" came back, in Mumps' voice. "They have tracked us, after all!" "Tom, what made you call?" demanded Dick in disgust. "We might have sneaked upon them unawares." "Never mind, I reckon we can catch them any how," returned Tom, but he was crestfallen, nevertheless, as he realized the truth of his elder brother's observation. "Crowd on the sail, Harris." "That's what I am a-doin'," came from the sailor. "We'll catch 'em before they gain the Battery." "Yes, but we must be careful," said Dick. "We don't want to have a collision with some other boat." "No, indeed," put in Sam. "Why, if one of those big ferryboats ran into us there would be nothing left of the _Searchlight_." "You jest trust me," came from Martin Harris, "I know my business, and there won't be any accidents." "The other yacht is making for the Jersey shore," cried Sam, a little later. "If we don't look out we'll lose her. There she goes behind a big ferryboat." "She's going to try to bother us," grumbled Martin Harris, as he received a warning whistle from the ferryboat and threw the yacht over on the opposite tack. "The fellow who is sailing that boat knows his business." "It's that Bill Goss, I suppose," said Tom. "There they go behind another ferryboat." "It won't matter, so long as we keep her in sight," said Harris. "We are bound to run her down sooner or later." Inside of half an hour the two boats had passed the Statue of Liberty. The course of the _Flyaway_ was now straight down the bay, and the Rover boys began to wonder where Dan Baxter and his crowd might be bound. "They must have Dora a close prisoner," mused Dick, with a sad shake of his head. "That is if they didn't leave her in New York," he added suddenly. "Do you suppose they did that?" asked Sam. "Perhaps--there is no guessing what they did." "We missed it by not telegraphing back to the authorities at Cedarville to arrest Josiah Crabtree," said Tom. "I think we can prove that he is in this game before the curtain falls on the last act." "We'll telegraph when we get back," answered Dick, never thinking of all that was to happen ere they should see the metropolis again. Gradually the lights of the city faded from view and they found themselves traveling down the bay at a rate of five to six knots an hour. "We don't seem to be gaining," remarked 'Tom, after a long silence. "I can just about make her out and that's all." "But we are gaining, and you'll find it so pretty soon," answered Martin Harris. "They had the advantage in dodging among those other boats, but now we've got a clear stretch before us." On and on went the two yachts, until the _Flyaway_ was not over five hundred feet ahead of the _Searchlight_. "What did I tell you?" said Harris. "We'll overtake her in less than quarter of an hour." "This is a regular yacht race," smiled Dick grimly. "But it's for more than the American Cup." "Keep off!" came suddenly from ahead. "Keep off, or it will be the worse for you!" It was Dan Baxter who was shouting at them. The former bully of Putnam Hall stood at the stern rail of the _Flyaway_ and was using his hands like a trumpet. "You had better give up the race, Baxter!" called Dick in return. "You can't get away from us, no matter how hard you try." "Keep off," repeated Baxter. "We won't stand any nonsense." "We are not here for nonsense," put in Tom. "What have you done with Dora Stanhope?" "Don't know anything about Dora Stanhope," came back from Mumps. "You have her on board of your boat." "It's a falsehood." "Then you left her somewhere in New York." "We haven't seen her at all," put in Baxter. "If you are looking for her you are on the wrong trail. She went away with Josiah Crabtree." "Did he take her to Albany?" "No. They went West." "We do not believe you, Baxter," said Dick warmly. "You are one of the greatest rascals I ever met--not counting your father--and the best thing you can do is to surrender. If you don't you'll have to take the consequences." "And we warn you to keep off. If you don't we'll shoot at you," was the somewhat surprising response. "No, no; please don't shoot at them!" came in Dora's voice. "I beg of you not to shoot!" She had escaped from Mrs. Goss' custody and now ranged up alongside of Dan Baxter and her other enemies who were handling the _Flyaway_. Her hair was flying wildly over her shoulders and she trembled so she could scarcely stand. CHAPTER XXI THE MEETING IN THE BAY "There is Dora now!" cried Dick, and his heart leaped into his throat at the sight of his dearest friend. "Dick Rover, are you there?" came from the girl in nervous tones. "Yes, Dora, I am here, with my brothers and a sailor friend." "Save me, please!" "We will!" came from all of the Rover boys in concert. "Take her below!" roared Baxter angrily, as he turned to Mrs. Goss, who had followed Dora to the dock. "Didn't I tell you to keep a close eye on her?" "She said she wished to speak to you," answered the woman. "I thought she wanted to make terms with you." Mrs. Goss caught Dora by the wrist and, assisted by Mumps, carried her below. She struggled and tried to fight them off, and her cries, reaching Dick, made the youth long to be at her side. "Let her alone, Baxter!" he cried hotly. "If you harm her you shall pay dearly for it, remember that!" "Talk is cheap, Dick Rover," came back with a sneer. "Now keep off, or I'll do as I threatened." "You won't dare to fire on us." "Won't I? Just come a little closer and you'll see." By this time the two yachts were not over a hundred feet apart, the _Searchlight_ to the starboard of her rival. So, far the countless stars had brightened up the bosom of the ocean, but now Martin Harris noted a dark mass of clouds rolling up from the westward. "We'll have it pretty dark in a few minutes," he cautioned. "If you want to haul up close, better do it at once." "All right, run them down," ordered Dick, half recklessly. "I don't care how much their boat is damaged, so long as I save the girl. Mumps ran me down, remember." "I reckon I can sheer 'em all right enough," grinned Harris, who by this time had entered fully into the spirit of the adventure. "But will they shoot?" "I don't believe they have any firearms," said Tom. "And if they have I don't think Baxter could hit the side of a house at fifty yards." "Are you going to keep off or not?" yelled Baxter. "I'll give you just ten seconds in which to make up your mind." "By jinks! He has got a gun!" whispered Sam, as he caught a glint of the polished barrel. "The villain!" "Baxter, you are playing a foolish game," answered Dick. "What do you intend to do with Dora Stanhope?" "That's my business. I shan't harm her--if you'll promise to leave me alone." "Did you run off with her on Crabtree's account?" "It's none of your business," put in Mumps, who had just returned to the deck, after making sure that Dora should not get away from Mrs. Goss again for the time being. "It is my business." "You're awfully sweet on her, ain't you?" "Do you know it's a State's prison offense to abduct anybody?" "I haven't abducted anybody. She came of her own free will--at first. It's not my fault if she's sick of her bargain now." "I don't believe a word you say." "Do as you please. But are you going to keep off or not?" "We'll not keep off." "Then I'll fire on you." "If you do so, we'll fire in return," said Sam. "Maybe we can scare him too," he added, in a whisper. "I don't believe you've got any weapon," came from Mumps, in a voice that the toady tried in vain to steady. If there was one thing Mumps was afraid of it was a gun or a pistol. "Try us and see," said Tom. Then he raised his voice. "Harris, bring up that brace of pistols you said were in the locker." "All right," answered the sailor, catching at the ruse at once; and he hurried below, to return with two shining barrels, made of the handles of a dipper and a tin pot. He held one of the tin barrels out at arm's length. "Shall I fire on 'em now?" he demanded at the top of his voice. "Don't!" shrieked Mumps, and dropped out of sight behind the mainmast of the _Flyaway_. The toady had scarcely uttered the word when a loud report rang out, and a pistol bullet cut its way through the mainsail of the _Searchlight_. Baxter had fired his gun, but had taken good care to point the weapon over the Rover boys' heads. The bully now ran for the cabin, expecting to receive a shot in return, but of course it did not come. By this time the two yachts were almost side by side and running along at a high rate of speed. Harris got out his boathook to catch fast to the _Flyaway_, when a cry from Tom made him pause. "Help me! Don't leave me behind!" "Great Caesar!" gasped Sam. "Tom's overboard!" "Down with the mainsail!" roared Harris. "How did he fall over the side?" "He tried to jump to the other boat," said Dick, who had seen the action. "I was just thinking of doing it myself." With all possible speed the big sheet of the _Searchlight_ was lowered, and then they turned as fast as the wind would permit, to the spot where unlucky Tom was bobbing up and down on the swells like a peanut shell. "Catch the line!" cried Dick, and let fly with a life preserver attached to a fair-sized rope. His aim was a good one, and soon Tom was being hauled aboard again with all possible speed. "Oh, what a mess I made of it!" he panted when he could catch his breath. "I'm not fit to hunt jack rabbits." "It's lucky you weren't run down by the yacht and killed," said Dick. "I was going to jump, but when I saw you go down I thought better of it." Ten minutes of precious time had been lost, and now the _Flyaway_ was once more far in the distance. She was heading for shore, and soon the oncoming darkness hid her from view. "Now what's to be done?" questioned Sam. "She'll slip us sure." "She can't go very far," answered Harris. "The water-line around here is rather dangerous in the dark." "Is that a storm coming up?" asked Dick. "I wouldn't be surprised." With care they continued on their way, taking the course they surmised their enemies had pursued. "There is some kind of land!" cried Sam, who was on the watch. "What place is that, Harris?" "Becker's Cove, so they call it," answered the old tar. "It's not far from Staten Island." "Do you think they came in here?" "If they did I reckon they calculate to stay over night." "Why?" "Because they'll want a pilot otherwise. It's rather dangerous sailing about here--especially in the dark." Five minutes later found them close to shore, and the sails were lowered and the anchor cast out. "I'm going to land," said Dick, and, after a consultation, it was decided that he should take Sam with him, leaving Tom and Martin Harris to keep watch from the yacht. If either party discovered anything, a double whistle twice repeated was to notify the others. Now that Dan Baxter had actually opened fire on them, Dick wished he had a firearm of some sort. But none was at hand, nor did he know where to obtain such a thing in that vicinity, and the best he and Sam could do was to cut themselves clubs out of some brush growing not far from the shore line. The spot at which they had landed was by no means an inviting one. It looked like a bit of dumping and meadow ground, and not far away rested the remains of half a dozen partly decayed canal boats which the tide had washed up high in the bogs years before. "If they landed around here I'd like to know where they went to," grumbled Sam, after he and his big brother had trudged around for half an hour without gaining any clue worth following. "It begins to look as if we had missed it, doesn't it?" "Never give up, Sam. We have got to find them, you know." "Yes, if we don't break our necks before that time comes, Dick," and as Sam spoke he went down into a meadow hole up to his knees. Dick helped him out, and as he did so the sound of two voices broke upon their ears. "You needn't come if you don't want to, Mumps," came out of the darkness, in Dan Baxter's voice. "I only thought you would be glad of the chance." "There they are," whispered Dick. "Lie down, and we'll see where they are bound, and if Dora is with them." He threw himself to earth, and Sam followed. In another moment Baxter and his toady came into plain view, although still some distance away. "I'll come," came from Mumps. "But I didn't expect to meet your father here." "I did. He's been here for several days. That's the reason why I had Goss bring the _Flyaway_ over. I'm going to kill two birds with one stone." "What do you mean?" "I'm going to carry Dora Stanhope off, just as old Crabtree wanted, and I'm going to give my father a lift." "You mean that you are going to help him to escape from the authorities?" "I didn't put it that way. He wants to keep out of sight." "It amounts to the same thing, Dan." "As you will. Will you come, or do you want to go back to the yacht?" "I--er--I guess I'll come," faltered the toady. "But we must be careful." "To be sure. I reckon I have as much at stake as you." The two passed out of hearing, and Dick touched his brother on the arm. "Did you hear that, Sam?" he asked excitedly. "I did. What can it mean?" "Mean? It means that Dan Baxter's father is in the neighborhood and Dan is going to call on his parent." "I know that, but--" "You are surprised that father and son are equally bad? I'm not; I thought it all along." "What will you do?" "Follow them." "Will you whistle for Tom and Martin Harris?" "No; that might arouse suspicion. Let us follow them alone. When they return to their yacht we can tell the others," concluded Dick. CHAPTER XXII THE BAXTERS MAKE A NEW MOVE As silently as possible Dick and Sam came after Baxter and his toady John Fenwick. The pair of evildoers left the stretch of meadow as fast as they could, and hurried up a narrow path leading to a half-tumbled-down brick factory. At the corner of the dilapidated building they paused, and Dan Baxter emitted a long, low whistle. A silence of several seconds followed, and then a man appeared out of the darkness. "Who's dat?" came the question. "It's me, Girk--Dan Baxter," replied the former bully of Putnam Hall with small regard for the grammar that had been taught to him. "Who's dat with you?" "Mumps. He's all right." "I don't know about dat. Yer father t'ought yer would come alone," growled the tramp thief. "I've got a new movement on, Buddy. Take us to my father without delay." "Is dat fellow to be trusted?" "Yes, you can trust me," replied Mumps with considerable nervousness. His steps in the direction of wrong were beginning to frighten him. At the start he had thought of nothing but to aid Josiah Crabtree in his suit with Mrs. Stanhope, and had calculated that after the marriage the running off with Dora would be overlooked. But here he was taking the girl miles from her home and associated with two men who had robbed a firm of bankers of many thousands of dollars. The outlook, consequently, worried him very much. "All right, den," muttered Buddy Girk. "Follow me." He disappeared within the ruined factory, and Baxter and Mumps went after him. Listening intently at a broken-out window, Dick and Sam heard them ascend to an upper floor. "I guess we have tracked Arnold Baxter," whispered Dick. "I wonder if he and Girk have that stolen money and the securities here?" "More than likely, Dick. Thieves don't generally leave their booty far out of their sight, so I've been told." "I would like to make sure. I wonder if we can't go inside and hear some more of their talk?" "We would be running a big risk. If Arnold Baxter caught us he would--would--Well, he wouldn't be very friendly, that's all," and Sam gave a shiver. "I'm going in. You can remain outside, on watch. If you want me, whistle as we agreed." "But be careful, Dick!" pleaded the younger brother. "I will be." "And don't stay too long," added Sam, who did not relish being left alone in such a forlorn looking spot, and in the intense darkness which had now settled down over them. "I won't be any longer than necessary, you can depend on that," replied the big brother. As silently as a cat after a mouse, Dick entered the gloomy building and felt his way over the half-rotted floor to where the stairs were located. Ascending these, he found himself in something of a hallway, the upper floor of the building being divided into several apartments by wooden partitions nine or ten feet in height. From one of the apartments shone a faint light. To this he made his way, and, looking through a good-sized knot-hole in the partition, he saw Arnold Baxter, Girk, and the two newcomers, seated on several boxes and boards. On one box stood a candle thrust in the neck of a bottle, some liquor and glasses, and a pasteboard box containing a cold lunch. "So you're glad I've come, eh?" Dan Baxter was saying to his father. "Yes, I am glad," was the slow reply, "that is--I want to get away from here as soon as possible." "Why don't you go?" "I'm afraid to go up into the town. I would prefer to go away by boat." "To where?" "To Searock, on the Jersey coast." "Do you want us to take you there?" "If you can do it, Dan. I'll give Mumps and your sailor friend a nice little sum for your trouble." "And don't I get anything?" cried the son sharply. "To be sure, Dan." "How much?" "I'll give you a hundred dollars." "Pooh! What's that? I want more." "We'll arrange that later." "You and Girk are making a fortune out of this deal." "Not as much as you think." "I've read the newspapers and I know how much was in the haul. I want a thousand dollars." "We'll arrange that afterward, Dan. Remember, in the future what is mine is yours." "Now you're talking, dad," was the bully's quick reply. "I like the way you are doing things, and I'm going to stick to you as soon as this little matter Mumps and I have on hand is settled." "All right, you shall stay with me," responded the elder Baxter. "Where is your boat?" "Not over half a mile from here." "All ready to sail?" "Yes." "Then let us make off at once." "Dat's it," put in Buddy Girk. "I'm afraid the police will let down on us any minit." "The trouble is, that other boat I mentioned is after us." "How many are on board?" "The three Rover boys and an old sailor." "Four, and we'll be five, not counting the woman you mentioned. I don't think I am afraid of the Rovers," returned Arnold Baxter. "Besides, can't we get away from them in the dark without their knowing what is up?" "Perhaps we can," said the son slowly. "The trouble is--What's that?" Dan Baxter stopped short, as a cracking sound broke upon their ears. Dick had stepped on a rotten board, and it went down. His foot was caught and held at the ankle, and before he could extricate himself Arnold Baxter and Buddy Girk had him in their grasp. "Dick Rover again!" ejaculated Arnold Baxter. "Where did you come from?" "Your son can tell you that," answered Dick. "Let go of me!" "To be sure I will!" returned the elder Baxter sarcastically. "Are you alone?" "You can look for yourself." "I don't see no buddy here," announced Girk, as he held up the candle. "Maybe somebody is downstairs." "I'll go down and see," put in Dan Baxter. Fearful that Sam might be caught, Dick did his best to break away. "Sam! Sam! look out for yourself!" he yelled. "Don't let them catch you! Call Tom and Harris, and the police, quick!" "Hang the luck!" muttered Arnold Baxter. "We must cut for it, and be lively about it, too." "Take de swag," said Girk, referring to a tin box hidden under the flooring of the factory. In this was hidden the money and securities stolen from Rush and Wilder. He ran off to get the box. In the meantime Arnold Baxter stood undecided as to what to do. Then he raised his fist and struck Dick with an unexpected blow to the temple. "Take that, you imp!" he cried, and the youth went down at full length more than half stunned. In the meantime Sam heard the rapid footsteps and the cry of alarm, and his heart leapt to throat. Then, as Dan Baxter and Mumps came towards him, he retreated in the direction of the _Searchlight_, giving the danger signal as he ran. "I've got de box!" shouted Buddy Girk to Arnold Baxter. "Wot's de next move?" "Follow me," said Dan Baxter. "And lose no time. That other boy will soon have the whole neighborhood aroused." Away went the crowd out of the factory, the bully leading. Once down in the meadow, Dan Baxter hurried them off in the direction of a tiny cove where the _Flyaway_ lay at anchor, with Bill Goss on watch at the stern and Mrs. Goss in the cabin with Dora. As quickly as they could do so, one after another tumbled on board of the yacht. They heard cries in the distance, as Tom and Martin Harris leaped ashore to join Sam. "Up the mainsail!" roared Dan Baxter, and Goss obeyed the order with alacrity. At the same time Dan Baxter and Mumps pulled up the anchor; and in less than two minutes the _Flyaway_ was standing out into the bay. CHAPTER XXIII DOWN THE STATEN ISLAND SHORE TO SANDY HOOK "Dick! Dick! What ails you?" "My head, Sam! Arnold Baxter struck me down," came with a groan. "Can you get up? We want to follow them," cried Tom, as he caught his brother by the arm. He had just reached the factory on a dead run, lantern in hand, to find Dick. "I guess I can stand, Tom. But I can't run yet." "Here, take the lantern and I'll carry you," came quickly, and in a moment more Tom Rover had Dick on his back and was running for the _Searchlight_ as rapidly as the nature of the meadow land permitted, Dick holding the light over his head so that both might see. The alarm had now become general, and by the time the yacht was gained two police officers, who had been on the hunt for harbor thieves, appeared. "What's the row about?" demanded one of the officers of the law, as he came into view. "Is that an officer?" questioned Dick feebly, "I am an officer--yes." "We are after some thieves and some parties who have abducted a girl. Will you help us?" "Certainly, if what you say is true. Where is the crowd?" "They ran off in that direction," came from Sam, as he loomed up out of the darkness. "They have a yacht out there somewhere." "Then we can't catch them--unless we get a boat," answered Sergeant Brown. "We have a boat, out this way," and Sam pointed with his hand. "But I guess we had better make certain that they go out first." "True for you, young man. Lead the way and we'll be with you." All ran on again, Tom bringing up in the rear with Dick. Soon the cove previously mentioned was gained. They were just in time to see the _Flyaway_ disappearing in the darkness. "Come back here!" cried Tom. "If you don't it will be the worse for you!" "Don't you attempt to follow us!" came savagely from Arnold Baxter. "If you do, somebody will get shot!" "By crickety, he's a bad one!" cried the second police officer. "Stop! I order you to stop, in the name of the law!" shouted Sergeant Brown. "It's the police!" howled Mumps in sudden terror. "Oh, dear! I knew we should catch it." "Shut up," muttered Dan Baxter. "Run up the jib, Goss, and be quick about it!" "You do it--I'll have to steer here," answered the sailor, and Dan Baxter leaped for the sheet mentioned. "Are you going to stop?" cried Sergeant Brown, after a few seconds' pause. To this there was no answer. The sergeant drew his pistol, but before he could use it, even if he so intended, the yacht was nothing but an uncertain shadow in the gloom of the night. "We had better get to your boat," said the police officer. "All right; come on," said Sam, and showed the way, which was decidedly uncertain. At one point there was a wide ditch to cross, and Tom had his hands full getting Dick over. Martin Harris was watching for them, and had all ready to cast off should this be required. "I'm mighty glad you found the police," he said to Dick, who now felt able to do for himself once more. "Will they go with us?" "You are certain those folks on the other boat are thieves?" demanded Sergeant Brown. "Carter and I don't want to go off on any wild goose chase." "They are not only thieves, but abductors," said Dick. "We can easily prove it. They must be caught if it is possible to do so." "All right then, we'll go with you. Come, Carter," and the two officers hopped on board. Soon the mainsail was set, followed by all the other available canvas, and the _Searchlight_ was continuing the chase which had been so curiously broken off. Martin Harris was in the dark so far as knowing what course the _Flyaway_ had taken, and had to trust to luck to fall in with the fleeing craft. "If she's going outside of Staten Island, I reckon I can spot her before long," he said. "It looks to me as if the clouds were blowing away," said Tom. "If they do, the starlight will help us a good deal." As the yacht tore along through the water, the two police officers listened with close attention to what the boys had to tell them. "If they are the men who robbed Rush & Wilder it will make a fine haul to capture them," said Sergeant Brown. "We want to save Dora Stanhope as much as we want to catch those thieves," returned Dick. "I wonder if her disappearance has been reported to the police?" "I can't say. You see, Carter and I have been out all day looking for a pair of harbor thieves who stole some clothing from a pleasure yacht lying off the Staten Island shore." "Did you see anything of your men?" "We saw them; but they got away in a rowboat. Where they have gone to is hard telling. But I don't imagine the theft amounted to much--at least, it was nothing in comparison to the crimes you are trying to run down." On and on went the _Searchlight_ through the night, and slowly but surely the clouds in the heavens cleared away, letting the stars shine down once more on the silent waters. Suddenly Martin Harris gave a murmur of satisfaction. "There she is." "The _Flyaway_!" came from several of the others. "Yes. Just as I thought; she is heading down the Staten Island shore straight for Sandy Hook." "They are bound for Searock!" cried Dick suddenly. "Mr. Baxter mentioned the place just before they discovered that I was spying on them." "That's a good way down the New Jersey coast," said Sergeant Brown. "Can this boat stand such a sail?" "Can she?" snorted Harris. "She's strong enough to go to Europe if you want to make the trip." "Thank you; when I go to Europe I'll go in a steamer," laughed the police officer. "I don't think you'd do much in a heavy blow." "The _Searchlight_ would hold her own," answered the old sailor confidently. The breeze was increasing, and they rounded the Narrows at a lively rate. The swell from the ocean now struck them, and the yacht occasionally dipped her nose a little deeper into it than was expected. "Here, I don't want, to get wet!" cried Carter. "I'm no sailor, you know." "You won't get much," laughed Harris. "This roll is just enough to be pleasant." "Perhaps--to some people," came from the policeman, who had never cared for the rolling deep and who was beginning to feel a trifle seasick. Fortunately for him, however, the sickness proved mild and of short duration. The _Flyaway_ was now in plain sight but too far off to be spoken. She had every sail set to its fullest, and for the time being it seemed impossible for the _Searchlight_ to gain upon her. Thus mile after mile was covered, until Sandy Hook lighthouse could be plainly seen but a short distance away. "We are out in the ocean now," remarked Dick an hour later. "Gracious, when I left Cedarville I didn't think that this was going to develop into such a long chase!" "Never mind how far we go, if only the chase proves a success," answered Tom. "If we succeed in not only rescuing Dora, but also in bringing those thieves to justice, it will be a big feather in our caps." "I'm glad the police are along," came from Sam. "They must be well armed, and I don't see how Arnold Baxter and the others will dare resist them." "They will dare a good deal to keep out of prison, Sam," remarked Dick. "They know well enough that if they are caught it may mean a long term for each of them." On and on went the two yachts until Sandy Hook lighthouse was left in the distance. Once it began to cloud over as if there was a storm in sight, but soon the rising sun came out brightly over the rim of the ocean. When it came mealtime Sam prepared the repast, and all, even the officers of the law enjoyed what was served to them. "It gives one an appetite, this salt air," was Sergeant Brown's comment. Soon they were standing down the New Jersey coast, but so far out on the ocean that the shore line was little more than a dark streak on the horizon. "Are we gaining?" That was the question each asked, not once but a score of times. Martin Harris felt sure that they were; but if this was so, the advantage on the side of the _Searchlight_ was but a slight one. CHAPTER XXIV SEARCHLIGHT AND LANTERN "One thing is in our favor," remarked Dick, as the day wore away and the distance between the two yachts seemed undiminished. "Even if we don't succeed in catching them before tonight we know where they are bound." "Perhaps it might be as well to hang back!" burst in Tom. "If we remain in sight they won't land as intended." "The thing of it is, they may change their plans, especially if they think your brother overheard their talk," put in the police sergeant. "My idea is, they'll keep right on down the coast until the darkness hides them from us. Then they'll try to sneak in some cove or river and abandon the boat." "They'll have a job taking Dora Stanhope along," was Sam's remark. "I don't believe she'll go another step willingly." "As if she has gone willingly!" said Dick. "Well, I mean she'll be more on her guard than she was, and they'll have more of a job to make her go along." Night settled down gradually and found every heart full of serious speculation. Dick was especially affected, for he had hoped to see Dora rescued hours before. "Goodness only knows where they will take her by morning!" he groaned. "I'd give almost anything to be at her side!" With the going down of the sun the wind died away and the sails of the _Searchlight_ flapped idly to and fro. "Now it's a waiting game," announced Martin Harris. "If we can't move neither can they." "Just the same, the _Flyaway_ is turning out to sea!" cried Tom. "Now what can that mean?" "That may be only a blind," said Carter. "No, they are afraid of drifting on the sands," answered the skipper of the _Searchlight_. "I reckon we'll have to turn out, too," and he changed the course of the yacht. Darkness found both boats far out on the Atlantic and almost out of sight of each other. "This is maddening!" cried Dick. "Can't we row, or do something?" "Rowing wouldn't count much, I'm afraid," laughed Martin Harris. "But don't fret. Unless I am mistaken, we'll have a breeze before midnight." "And they may be out of sight long before that time!" "That's to be seen, lad. I'll watch the thing closely, for I'm as anxious to catch 'em as you are." "I'd give a good deal for a small boat." "So would I." "I thought all yachts carried them." "They do generally, but mine was stove in at a Catskill dock about a week ago and is being repaired." "Here comes the wind!" shouted Sam, half an hour later, and when the _Flyaway_ was almost out of sight. "Now, Harris, let us make the most of it." "We will, and I hope there isn't too much of it," was the quick reply. Soon the breeze struck them, and, as it came from shore, it hit the _Searchlight_ first and drove her fairly close to the other yacht. But before anything could be said or done, the other craft also moved; and then the chase began as before. "We're getting all we want now," announced Tom, as the wind grew heavier. "Just look how the yacht dips her nose into the brine!" "We'll have to shorten sail before long," said Martin Harris. "If we don't, a sudden gust might make us lose our stick." "I'd like to see the _Flyaway_ lose her mast!" cried Tom. "It would just serve the Baxters right if they went to the bottom."' "No, we don't want to see that yacht harmed," put in Dick quickly. "Remember, Dora is on board--and that stolen fortune, too." Swiftly both yachts flew on their outward course, the ocean growing more tempestuous each minute. The police officers viewed the turn of affairs with alarm. "If it's not safe, let us turn back," whispered Carter. "Don't get scared so soon," replied Harris, who overheard the remark. "I've been' in a worse blow than this, twice over." The sails were reefed, and they continued on their course. The _Flyaway_ was now but a shadow in the gloom, and presently even this died out. "The chase is over," announced Harris with disgust. "Hang the luck anyhow!" "What do you, mean?" demanded Dick. "She's out of sight, and there is no telling now how she will turn." "But she can't tack back in this wind." "She can make a putty good try at it, lad." "Not much of a one, lad. There is a little electric battery and light in the cabin, one that was used by a professor that I took out two years ago, when the yacht was built. He was interested in electricity and he made the light himself. I never used it, for I didn't understand how it worked." "Let us look at the light; perhaps we can do something with it," said Dick. "That's the talk," came from Tom. "Anything is better than holding your hands and doing nothing." Martin Harris was willing, and led the way into the cabin. Battery and light were stored away in a couple of soap boxes, and the boys brought them out and set them on the cabin table. "I think I can fix these up," said Dick, after a long examination. "The batteries are not in very good shape, but I think they will do. They are meant to work on the same plan as these new electric lights for bicycles, only they are, I reckon, more powerful." "Well, do what you please with the machine," said Martin Harris. "In the meantime, I'll see what I can do with a lantern and a tin reflector. Sometimes you can see a white sail putty good with a tin reflector." He hurried to the deck again, and Sam, who was not much interested in electricity, followed him. One of the best of the yacht's lanterns was polished up to the last degree, and they also polished the metal reflector until it shone like a newly coined silver piece. "That's a good light!" cried Sam, when it was lit up. "Where will you place it?" "Up at the top of the mast," answered the old sailor. "I'll show you." It took some time to adjust the lantern just right, but this accomplished they found that they could see for a distance of a hundred yards or more. "I see the sail!" announced Harris. "Don't you--just over our port bow?" "I see it," answered Sergeant Brown. "Not very far off either." Without delay the course of the _Searchlight_ was changed so that she was headed directly for the _Flyaway_. "Keep off!" was the cry out of the darkness. "Keep off, or it will be the worse for you!" "You may as well give up," shouted back the police sergeant. "You are bound to be caught sooner or later." "We don't think go. If it comes to the worst, remember, we can do a heap of fighting." "We can fight too," was the grim response. "Dora! Dora! Are you safe?" shouted Sam, with all the strength of his youthful lungs. "Save me!" came back the cry. "Don't let them carry me further away." "We'll do our best, don't fear." Dora wanted to say more, but was prevented from doing so by Mumps, who again hurried her below. "You must lock her up," he said to Mrs. Goss, and once more the unhappy girl found herself a prisoner in the cabin. She had hoped for much during the chase along shore, but now her heart sank like a lump of lead and she burst into tears. "No use of crying," said Mrs. Goss. "It won't help you a bit." "I want to be free!" sobbed Dora. "Where will they take me?" "Never mind; you just be quiet and wait." "But you are running directly out into the ocean!" "What of that?" "I don't wish to go." "You'll have to take what comes, as I told you before." "Mrs. Goss, have you no pity for me?" "If I did have it wouldn't do you any good, Miss Dora. I've got to do as the men folks want me to do. If I don't they'll make--" The woman did not finish what she was saying. A loud report rang out on deck, followed by the distant crash of glass. Then came a yell, followed by another report and more crashing of glassware. "What can that mean?" burst out Dora, but instead of answering her, Mrs. Goss bounced out of the cabin, locking the door after her, and hurried to the deck. CHAPTER XXV A SHOT FROM THE DARKNESS The shots which had reached Dora's ears had come from a gun in the hands of Arnold Baxter. The man had been enraged at the sight of the lantern on the mast of the _Searchlight_, and, taking careful aim, had sent a charge of shot into the affair, smashing globe, reflector, and tin cup, and scattering the oil in all directions. "Hurrah, I struck it!" shouted Arnold Baxter gleefully. "Now they won't see us quite so plainly." "Knock out the other lantern, pop," put in Dan Baxter, and the parent turned in the second barrel of the shotgun with equal success. For an instant the deck of the _Searchlight_ seemed to be in darkness. Sam felt a bit of hot glass strike him on the cheek and raised his hand to brush it off. Then he felt something warm on the back of his leg. Looking down he saw to his horror that some of the oil from the lantern had fallen on him and that it was ablaze! "Help! Help!" he shrieked. "I'm burning up!" His cry alarmed everybody, and all, even Dick and Tom, came rushing to his aid. But Sergeant Brown was first, and he promptly threw the boy down flat and, whipping off his coat, began to beat out the flames. Another shot now rang out, aimed at a third lantern, but the light was not struck. By this time Martin Harris made the discovery that the mainsail was on fire in two places, while the jib was also suffering. "This is getting hot!" he cried, when Carter opened up fire at random, determined to do what he could. A yell and a groan followed, and then all became quiet, and firing on both sides was over. Fortunately for Sam, the flames upon his person were quickly extinguished, and all the lad really suffered was the ruin of his trousers and an ugly blister on the calf of his leg. But he was badly scared, and when it was over he had almost to be carried to the cabin. In the meantime Martin Harris procured several pails of water and a long-handled swab and with these did what he could to extinguish the fire on the sails. Several of the others joined in, and inside of ten minutes all danger of a conflagration was past. "That's the worst yet!" growled the old sailor, as he surveyed the mainsail, which had two holes in it each is large as a barrel. "I'd like to wring the neck of the fellow as did it, yes I would," and he shook his head determinedly. "That's the end of that light," said Sergeant Brown. "What are you going to do next?" "I think I can get that searchlight to work," put in Dick. "But will it be of any use? They may start to shooting again." "We've got to have some kind of a light, even if it's only a tallow candle," grumbled Harris. "If we haven't got a light some coastwise steamer may run us down." He set to work to rig up a temporary light, and in the meantime Dick returned to the cabin to experiment with the electric light. He found Sam on the couch, bathing his leg with oil to take away the sting of the bum. "How is it, Sam--hurt much?" "I suppose it might be worse," was the younger brother's reply. "I wonder who fired that shot?" "One of the Baxters, more than likely. They are a cold-blooded pair." "One or more of us might have been killed if we had been directly behind the lights." "That is true. I don't suppose Arnold Baxter would care much if we were. He was father's enemy, you must remember, and he said he hated all of us." Sam resumed his bathing and Dick turned to the cabin table, upon which the battery and other portions of the searchlight rested. Dick had always been greatly interested in electricity and therefore the parts of the battery before him were not hard for him to understand. But there was one trouble with the battery which did not reach his eye as he turned it around and started it up. That was that a portion of the insulation of a main wire was worn off. As he turned on the current there was a flash and the light blazed up almost as bright as day. "That's fine!" cried Sam. "We'll be able to see the _Flyaway_ a long distance off now." "Well, I only hope when we put this up it won't be knocked out like the other lights were." "Of course we'll have to run that risk." In a minute more Dick started to carry the searchlight to the deck. He had turned off the light proper, consequently the way to the companionway was rather dark. He had almost reached the top of the steps when Sam heard a scream, saw a flash of fire, and then Dick came tumbling to the cabin floor in a heap, with the battery and light beside him. "My gracious, he's been shocked!" burst out the youngest Rover; and, forgetting all about his burn, ran to his brother's assistance. "What's that noise?" came from the deck. "Dick's been shocked by the searchlight!" cried Sam. "Come down here, somebody, and let us see what we can do for him." "Shocked, is it!" cried Sergeant Brown. "If that's the case, look out that somebody else don't catch it." Tom came tumbling down, followed by both police officers, and Dick was picked up and deposited on the couch. Then Sam kicked the searchlight and batteries into a corner. "They can stay there for all I care," said he. "They are too dangerous, unless, a chap knows just how to handle them." Dick lay with his eyes wide open, but unable to move. Tom bent down and announced that his heart was still beating. But little in the way of restoratives were at hand, and the most they could do was to rub the youth's body in an attempt to restore the circulation. "Oh, I hope he isn't permanently injured!" cried Tom. "If he should turn out a cripple it would be awful!" "That's so," answered Sam. "Poor Dick! He's as bad off as if those rascals had shot him." Slowly Dick came to his senses. But he was very weak, and soon he discovered that he was powerless to move his left arm. "It's all numb," he announced. "It feels as if it was dead." "Let me shake it for you," said Tom, and both brothers went to work, but with small success. The arm hung down as limp as a rag, and the left leg was nearly as badly off, although Dick said he could feel a slight sensation in it, like so many needles sticking him. "You see, I've been afraid of that battery right along," said Martin Harris. "The professor got shocked once, and he limped around for a long while after." "But he got over it at last, didn't he?" questioned Tom eagerly. "I can't say about that. He went off, and I haven't seen him since," was the unsatisfactory reply. The injuries to Dick and to Sam had somewhat dampened Tom's ardor, and he wondered what they had best do next, and spoke to the police officers about it. "I don't know of anything but to turn back to shore," said Sergeant Brown. "We've lost them in the dark, and that is all there is to it. If we go ashore we can send out an alarm, and as soon as the _Flyaway_ is spotted, somebody will go out and arrest everybody on board--I mean everybody but the young lady, of course." "But they may come ashore in the dark." "And they may do that even if we stay out here--and then they'll have more of an advantage than ever. No, I think the best thing we can do is to turn back to the coast and make the safest landing we can find." When Dick heard of this, however, he shook his head. "Don't go back yet," he pleaded. "See if you can't make out the _Flyaway_ somewhere. She won't dare to sail very far without a light." "I don't go for giving up just yet," put in Martin Harris. "As the lad says, she'll show a light very soon now--for there is a coastwise steamer a-coming," and he pointed in the direction of Sandy Hook. He was right, and soon the many lights from the big steam vessel could be plainly seen. She was heading almost directly for them, but presently steered to the eastward. "She must be almost in the track of the _Flyaway_," went on Martin Harris. "Just wait and see if I ain't right." They waited and watched eagerly, and thus five minutes passed. Then from a distance they saw a light flash up. "There she is!" cried Tom. "Let us head for her at once. They won't keep that light out long--just long enough to let that steamer go by." Martin Harris was already at the tiller, and soon the _Searchlight_ was thrown over and was again dipping her nose in the long ocean swells. The wind had died away only to freshen more than ever, and the chase now became a lively one. The enemy seemed to know that the exposure of their light had given those on the _Searchlight_ the cue, and they were sailing as rapidly as all of their canvas permitted. But Harris was now handling his craft better than ever before, and slowly but surely the distance between the two craft was diminished, until the _Flyaway_ could be made out faintly even without a light. "Don't lose her again," said Dick. "We must keep at it until we run them down completely." And Harris promised to do his best. It was now past midnight, and the police officers said they were tired out and dropped into the cabin to take a nap. Dick likewise remained below, trying to get up some circulation in the lamed arm. "Can't you feel anything?" queried Tom. "I think I can," answered his big brother. "Yes, yes, it's coming now!" he went on. "Thank God!" and he suddenly raised the arm and bent the fingers of his hand. By daylight that member of his body was nearly as well as ever. But this experience was one which Dick has not forgotten to the present day. Sam had bound up his burn with a rag saturated with oil and flour, and announced that he felt quite comfortable. "But just let me get hold of those Baxters," he added. "I shan't stand on any ceremony with them." "I don't believe any of us will," said Tom. "But as anxious as I am to have this over, I would just as lief have the chase last until morning. Then we'll be better able to see what we are doing." "Or trying to do," said Sam with a faint smile. CHAPTER XXVI A FLAG OF TRUCE Sunrise found the two yachts far out on the ocean with land nowhere in sight. The breeze was still stiff, but it was not as heavy as it had been, and Martin Harris was unable to decrease the space which separated his own craft from that of the enemy. "You see, the _Searchlight_ is the better boat in a strong blow," he explained. "When the wind is light the _Flyaway_ has as good a chance of making headway as we have." "Well, one thing is certain," said Tom. "This chase can't last forever." "It may last longer than you imagine, lad." "Hardly. We haven't more than enough provisions aboard to last over today." "Perhaps the other boat is even worse off," said Sergeant Brown hopefully. "If that's the case we'll starve them out." "I don't care what we do, so long as we rescue Dora and get that stolen fortune," said Dick, as he dragged himself to the crowd, followed by Sam. "And how's Sam?" questioned Tom, turning to his younger brother. "Oh, I'm all right--if it comes to fighting." "And you, Dick?" "I think I can do something--at least, I am willing to try." Breakfast--a rather scant meal--had just been disposed of, when Martin Harris uttered a shout. "They want to do some talking," he announced. "Why, what do you mean?" asked Dick. "They are hoisting a white rag." "Sure enough!" ejaculated Tom, as he pointed to a flag of truce which Dan Baxter was holding aloft, fastened to an oar. "What do you make of that?" "They want to make terms," laughed Sergeant Brown. "I reckon things are coming our way at last." "Do we want to talk to them?" asked Tom. "Let us make them surrender, and do the talking afterward," came from Sam. "It won't hurt to let them talk," said the police sergeant. "We can do as we please, anyway, after they are done." The matter was discussed for a moment, and then Tom tied his handkerchief to a stick and held it up. "Ahoy there!" came from Arnold Baxter. "Will you honor the flag of truce?" "Yes," yelled Sergeant Brown. "And let us have our distance after our talk is over, if we can't come to terms?" "Yes." "All right, then; we'll come close enough to talk to you." Slowly and cautiously the _Flyaway_ drew nearer, until all on board of Harris' yacht could see their enemies quite plainly. Arnold Baxter was armed with a shotgun, while Buddy Girk and Dan Baxter carried pistols. Mumps kept out of sight as much as possible, while Bill Goss attended to the steering of the boat. Dora and Mrs. Goss were below. "Well, what have you got to say?" demanded Dick, as soon as the others were within easy talking distance. "How many on board of that yacht?" demanded Arnold Baxter, as he looked at the police officers glumly. "Enough," replied Dick. "Is that all you've got to say?" "Don't grow impudent, boy. It won't set well." "A person couldn't be impudent to such a rascal as you, Arnold Baxter." "Have a care, Dick Rover. What do you propose to do?" "Land all of you in jail, rescue Dora Stanhope, and recover that money you stole." "Indeed!" "Yes--indeed! Don't you think we are pretty close to doing it?" "No, you are a long way off. You won't dare to break this truce while the flags fly. If you do, I'll shoot you just as sure as you are born." "I don't intend to dishonor any truce, Arnold Baxter. But, nevertheless, you and your crowd are almost at the end of your rope, and you know it." "Feeling hungry, ain't you?" put in Martin Harris. "You shut up!" roared Dan Baxter, for Harris had hit the nail exactly on the head. "We'll settle this with the Rovers and the police, not with you." "You'll settle with me for burning my sails and breaking my lanterns," retorted the skipper of the _Searchlight_ wrathfully. "Let us come to terms," went on Arnold Baxter in a milder tone. "I reckon what you want principally is to rescue Dora Stanhope?" "Yes, I want that," said Dick quickly. "If we hand her over to you, will you promise not to follow us any longer?" "Well--er--what of that money--" began Dick, glancing at those around him. "We can't let you go," interposed Sergeant Brown. "You are wanted for that robbery in Albany." "We deny the robbery," said Arnold Baxter. "All right--you'll have a chance to clear yourself in court." "We are not going to court, not by a jugful," put in Buddy Girk. "If we give up the gal that's got to end it. Otherwise, we don't give her up, see?" "But you'll have to give her up later on," put in Tom. "And the longer you keep her the more you will have to suffer for it, when it comes to a settlement." "Let's give her up," whispered Mumps to Dan Baxter. To the credit of the toady let it be said that he was heartily sick of the affair and wished he had never entered into it. "You keep your mouth shut!" answered the former bully of Putnam Hall. "My dad knows how to work this racket." "Somebody said something about being hungry," continued Arnold Baxter significantly, "I imagine Miss Stanhope is as hungry as any of us, if not more so." "Do you mean to say you are starving her!" cried Dick indignantly. "I mean to say that she will have to starve just as much as we do," was the unsatisfactory answer. "And you have run out of provisions?" "We have run out of provisions for her, yes." "That means that you won't give her any more, even though you may have some for yourselves? You are even bigger brutes than I took you to be," concluded the elder Rover boy bitterly. "We've got to look out for ourselves," said Dan Baxter. "If we let you have the girl you ought to be satisfied." "Let us talk to Dora," suggested Tom. "No, you can't see her unless you agree to our terms," said Arnold Baxter decidedly. "If we bring her up now she may try to get away from us." "You have got to submit to arrest and stand trial," said Sergeant Brown. "There are no two ways about it. If you won't submit quietly we'll have to fight. But let me tell you, if you fight it will go hard with you." "That's right; make them give up everything," put in Tom. "I'll fight them if it comes to the worst." "If only they don't harm Dora!" whispered Dick. "Think, they may be starving her already!" "I don't believe they would dare, Dick." "Dare? I think the Baxters are cruel enough to do most anything." "Officer, do you know that you are on the high seas and can't touch us?" went on Arnold Baxter, after an awkward pause. "I know nothing of the kind, and I'll risk what I am doing," retorted Sergeant Brown. "Can't we compromise this matter?" "What else have you to propose?" "I'll tell you what I'll do. If you'll agree not to molest us further I'll turn the girl over to you and make each of you a present of one hundred dollars," went on Arnold Baxter nervously. "Want to bribe us, eh?" cried Tom. "Thanks, but we are not in that business." "I never took a bribe yet, and I've been on the force six years," put in Carter. "You can't bribe me," said the sergeant, in a tone that admitted of no argument. "You must surrender absolutely or take the consequences." "All right, then; we'll take the consequences," was the reckless response. "And remember, we hold that girl, and any harm you do us will only counteract on her head." "Don't you dare to harm her, you villain!" cried Dick, turning pale. "Whatever you do you shall answer for in court." "Humph, Dick Rover, don't be so smart," put in Dan Baxter. "This game is still ours, and you know it." "I know nothing of the kind. We will starve you out and fight you, and you will see what the end will be, Dan Baxter," retorted Dick; and then the two yachts began to drift apart once more. As the _Flyaway_ moved off, Mumps, who had disappeared for a minute, came into sight once more. In his hand he hold something white, which he threw with all force at the _Searchlight's_ mainsail. "Take that!" he cried. "Take that, and remember me!" By this time the two yachts were so far apart that no more could be said. "What was that you threw on their boat?" demanded Baxter, turning to his toady. "A seashell," replied Mumps. "I thought I could hit Dick Rover with it." "Humph, you had better take some lessons in throwing," muttered the bully. "You didn't come within a dozen feet of him." "Never mind; I showed them I wasn't afraid of them," said Mumps, and turned away. Then he looked back anxiously. "I hope they pick it up and see what's inside!" he murmured. "Oh, but ain't I tired of this crowd! If ever I get out of this, you can wager I'll turn over a new leaf and cut Dan Baxter dead." CHAPTER XXVII THE COLLISION IN THE FOG "Hullo! Mumps isn't keeping this flag of truce very good," remarked Sam, as the seashell dropped at his feet. "There is something inside of the shell," said Tom. "A bit of paper. Perhaps it's a message?" "I'll soon see," returned his younger brother, and ran to where he could not be seen from the other yacht. He pulled from the seashell a small, square of paper, upon which had been hastily scrawled the following in lead pencil: "I will help you all I can and hope you won't prosecute me. I will see that Dora S. gets something to eat, even if I give her my share. They intend to go to Sand Haven if they can give you the slip." "Good for Mumps! He's coming to his senses," cried Sam, and showed the others the message. Dick read the words with much satisfaction. "I hope he does stand by Dora," he said. "If so, I'll shield him all I can when the crowd is brought up for trial." "If he tells the truth we may as well put into harbor and make for Sand Haven," said Martin Harris, who had now resumed the chase once more. "Yes; but he may not be telling the truth," was Sergeant Brown's comment. "The whole thing may be a trick to get us to go to Sand Haven while that crowd goes somewhere else." "I think they are tired of carrying the girl around," said Carter. "To give her up to us would have been no hardship." "That's it," put in Martin Harris. "Well, I'm willing to do whatever the crowd says." The matter was talked over at some length, and it was finally decided to cruise around after the _Flyaway_ for the best part of the day. If, when night came on, the other craft should steer in the direction of Sand Haven, they would do likewise, and land as soon as darkness came to cover up their movements. Slowly the day wore along and the two yachts kept at about the same distance. They were both running due south, and land was out of sight as before. "This is developing into a regular ocean trip and no mistake," remarked Tom, as he dropped into a seat near the cabin. "Who would have thought it when we left Cedarville in such a hurry?" "I'd like to know how things are going up there," mused Dick. "It will be too bad if Josiah Crabtree succeeds in marrying Mrs. Stanhope while we are away." "Let us hope for the best," put in Sam. "Hullo, the _Flyaway_ is moving eastward!" "What does that mean, Harris?" cried Dick. "It means that they want to make the most of this wind," responded the skipper of the yacht grimly. "I'm learning a trick or two on 'em, and I'll overreach 'em if they ain't careful." "You can't do it any too quick," answered Dick. "When next we meet there won't be quite so much talking. Instead, we'll have some acting, and pretty lively at that." Sergeant Brown was questioned concerning his weapons, and said he had two pistols and Carter had the same. One of the extra weapons was loaned to Dick and the second went to Tom. It was decided that in case of a close brush Sam and Harris were to arm themselves with anything that was handy, but otherwise they were to attend to the sailing of the _Searchlight_. Provisions, to use Tom's way of expressing it, were now "more than low," and as they ate the scant food dealt around, Dick could not help but think of how Dora might be faring. "I'd willingly starve myself if only it would give her what she needs," he thought. It made him sick at heart to think of how she might be suffering. Mile after mile was passed, until the sun began to descend over to the westward. The yachts were now close on to quarter of a mile apart. "Here comes another steamer!" cried Tom presently. "Look here, why can't we get some help from her?" "Perhaps we can!" burst out Dick. "I never thought of that." "Let us signal her anyway," suggested Sergeant Brown. A flag was run up as high as the topmast permitted, and they headed directly for the steamer's course. As the ship came closer they made her out to be a big "tramp" from the South American trade. For the benefit of those who do not know, let me state that a tramp steamer is one going from one port to another regardless of any regular route, the movements of the craft depending entirely upon the freight to be picked up. "She sees the signal!" exclaimed Dick, after an anxious wait of several minutes. Slowly the steamer came up to them, and then her ponderous engines ceased to work. "What is wanted?" came in Spanish from a dark-looking man on the forward deck. "Can't you talk English?" cried Dick. "A leetle." "We are after that other sail-boat. The men in her are thieves and have abducted a girl, too. Will you help us catch them?" At this the man on the steamer drew down his face and held a consultation with several behind him. "You are sure they are thieves?" he asked presently. "Yes." "Have they with them the money that was stolen?" "We are pretty certain they have." "And the girl?" "Yes." "And what is the reward for the girl, senor?" "Well, I declare!" burst out Tom. "They are after a reward the first thing." "No reward yet," answered Dick. "But there may be." At this the South American scowled. "We cannot lose time on a hunt that is worth nothing," he said. "We must get to Brooklyn by tomorrow morning." "You won't help us bring them to justice?" "We cannot afford to lose the time." Without further words the big steamer's engines were started up again and away she sped, leaving the _Searchlight_ to sink and rise on the rollers left in her wake. "My, but that fellow is accommodating!" groaned Dick. "He isn't doing a single thing without pay." "We might have bought some provisions from him," put in Martin Harris. "I reckon he'd sell some for a round price--being so near to the end of his voyage." "I don't want his stuff," remarked Sam. "I'm afraid it would choke me if I tried to eat it." The stop had given the _Flyaway_ an advantage, and she was making the most of it. But before the gun went down those on the other yacht saw her head for the coast once more. "I guess the note told the truth," said Harris. "Is Sand Haven near here?" questioned Tom. "It is not over half a mile further down the coast." "And how far are we out?" was the police sergeant's question. "Between five and six miles, as near as I can calculate." "Will they be able to run in by dark?" "I think so. You see, the wind is shifting, and it depends a good bit on how much it veers around," concluded the old sailor. Slowly the sun sank in the west. It was growing cloudy and a mist was rising. The mist made Martin Harris shake his head; but, not wishing to alarm the others, he said nothing. But soon Dick noticed the mist and so did the rest. "Gracious, supposing we get caught in a fog!" muttered Tom. "I was just thinking of it," returned his elder brother. "There will be no fun in it--if we are out of sight of land." A quarter of an hour went by, and still no land appeared. It was now so raw that the boys were glad enough to button their coats tightly about them. Then, of a sudden, the fog came rolling over them like a huge cloud, and they were unable to see a dozen yards in any direction. "This is the worst yet!" groaned Sam. "What's to do now?" "Yes, what's to do now?" repeated Sergeant Brown. "Can you make the coast, skipper?" "To be sure I can," replied Harris, as he looked at the compass. "But I don't know about landing. You see we might stick our nose into a sandbank before we knowed it." "Perhaps the fog will lift?" suggested Carter. "A fog like this isn't lifting in a hurry," said Dick. "Like as not it won't move until the sun comes up tomorrow morning," and in this guess he was right. A half-hour went by, and from a distance came the deep note of a fog-horn, sounding apparently from up the shore. "We ought to have a horn," said Sam. "Some big boat may come along and run us down." "There is a horn in the cabin pantry," replied Martin Harris. "We might as well bring it out. If we are sunk one or more of us will most likely be drowned." "Oh, don't say that!" ejaculated Carter. "I'll get the horn," and, running below, he brought it up, and he and Sam took turns at blowing it with all the strength of their lungs. "One thing is comforting; those rascals are no better off than we are," was Tom's comment. "Yes; but if they founder, what will become of Dora?" "I don't believe any one of them would put himself out to save her." "I guess you're right there, Dick. I never thought of her, poor girl," replied the brother. Dick and Sergeant Brown were well up in the bow, one watching to starboard and the other to port, for anything which might appear through the gloom. The horn was blowing constantly, and now from a distance came the sounds of both horns and bells. "We are getting close to some other ships," said Martin Harris. "I reckon we had best take a few reefs in the mainsail and stow away the jib," and these suggestions were carried out. The minutes that followed were anxious ones, for all felt that a collision might occur at any moment. The fog was growing thicker each instant, and this, coupled with the coming of night, seemed to shut them in as with a pall. "A boat is dead ahead!" came suddenly from Dick, and Sergeant Brown also gave a cry of warning. Then came a shock and a crash and a splintering of wood, followed by the cries of men and boys and the screams of a woman and a girl. "We've struck the _Flyaway_!" called out Tom, and then he found himself in the water, with Sam alongside of him. CHAPTER XXVIII HOME AGAIN--CONCLUSION When the collision came, Dick, to save himself from injury, gave a leap up into the air, and Sergeant Brown did the same. The shock sent the _Searchlight_ backward, and when the youth came down he found himself sprawling on the _Flyaway's_ deck, close beside Dan Baxter. "Dick Rover!" gasped the former bully of Putnam Hall. "So it is your boat that has run into us?" "Baxter, where is Dora Stanhope?" panted Dick, as soon as he could speak. He was afraid that one or both yachts were going down and that Dora might be drowned. Even in this extreme moment of peril his one thought was for his girl friend. "Find out for yourself," burst out Baxter, and aimed a blow at Dick's head with his fist. But the blow never reached its mark, for Mumps hauled the bully backward. "We've had enough of this--at least, I've had enough," said Fenwick, astonishing himself at his own boldness. "Dick, Dora is in the cabin--no, she's coming up." "Save me!" came in a scream from the girl. "Oh, Dick, is it really you!" and she ran right into Dick's arms. By this time it was discovered that the two yachts were locked together, the bowsprit of the _Flyaway_ having become entangled in the rigging of the _Searchlight_. Both yachts were badly damaged, but neither sufficiently so as to be in danger of sinking. "Back with you!" came from Arnold Baxter, and fired his shotgun at the police officer. But the rocking of the boats spoiled his aim. Then Sergeant Brown fired, and the elder Baxter went down, shot through the left leg. By this time all of the evildoers realized that the final struggle for freedom was at hand, and began to fight desperately, Buddy Girk engaging Dick, Bill Goss facing Carter, and Mrs. Goss beating Martin Harris back with a stew pan from the gallery. In the meantime Tom and Sam swam back to the _Searchlight_, and clambered on board as rapidly as possible. They were in time to see Carter go down, hit over the head by Bill Goss. But that was the last of the fight, so far as the skipper of the _Flyaway_ was concerned, for two blows, delivered by Tom and Sam simultaneously, stretched him senseless on the deck. "You had better give up!" cried Tom to Dan Baxter, who was doing what he could to get the two yachts apart. "This is our battle." "Not much!" muttered the bully. "Stand back, or it will be the worse for you!" He sprang at Tom and shoved a pistol under the boy's very nose. But before the weapon could be discharged, Dick, leaving Dora, kicked the pistol from the bully's hand! "You villain, take that!" cried Dick, and grappled with Baxter. Both rolled over on the deck, and, shoved by somebody from behind, Sam rolled on top of the pair. A second later all three rolled down the cabin stairs in a heap. "Oh, my back!" It was Baxter who uttered the cry, and not without cause, for his backbone had received a hard crack on the bottom step of the stairs. "You lie still!" commanded Dick, as he leaped to his feet. "If you dare to move I'll put you out of the fight altogether." "Don't--don't shoot me!" panted Dan Baxter in sudden fear. "Do you give in?" "Yes." "Then keep still. Sam, guard him, will you? I want to see how matters are on deck." "Yes, I'll guard him," answered the youngest Rover. The fight on deck had been short and fierce, but our friends had had the best of it from the very start, and when Dick came up he found but little for him to do. Arnold Baxter lay where he had fallen, moaning piteously, while Buddy Girk and Bill Goss were in irons. Mrs. Goss still stood at bay, flourishing her stew pan over her head, while Mumps remained at a distance, his arms folded over his breast and an anxious look in his eyes. "I won't go to prison!" shrieked Mrs. Goss. "You let me and my husband go." "Mrs. Goss, you had best give in--" began Sergeant Brown, when Tom, sneaking up behind her, snatched the stew pan from her grasp. As she turned on the boy, Carter ran in, and in a twinkle she was held and her hands were bound behind her. Then the crowd turned to Mumps. "I submit," said the misguided boy. "Didn't I tell you in the note that I would help you?" "Yes, he has tried to do better," put in Dora. "If it hadn't been for him I wouldn't have had a mouthful to eat today." "I guess we can trust him, then," said Dick. "But, Mumps, take care that you don't go back on us." "I won't go back on you," said the toady. "I'm going to cut that crowd after this." "You can't make a better move," was Dick's comment. Now that affairs were in their own hands, our friends hardly knew how to turn next. After a discussion it was agreed to place the _Flyaway_ in charge of Dick and Tom, who were also to carry Dora and Mumps. All of the others went aboard of the _Searchlight_, Arnold Baxter being carried by the police officers, who attended to his wound as well as the accommodations on board of the yacht permitted. So far nothing had been said about the money and securities stolen by Baxter and Girk, but they were in a locker in the _Flyaway's_ cabin, and easily brought to light. "This is a big day for us," said Dick. "Won't folks at home be astonished when they hear of what we have done?" "I cannot get home fast enough," said Dora. "Poor mama, if only I knew she was safe!" "Josiah Crabtree shall suffer for this," said Dick. "Remember, it was he who had you carried off by Mumps and Dan Baxter." The _Searchlight_ was already on the way and the _Flyaway_ came behind her. The course was due west, and they kept on until the breakers could be heard in the distance. Then Martin Harris bore away to the northward. With the coming of daylight the fog disappeared as if by magic, and they found themselves close to the seashore town of Lightville. Here there was a small river, and they ran into this and came to a safe anchor close to one of the docks. On going ashore Dick's first movement was to send two telegraph messages, one to Rush & Wilder, telling them that the stolen securities and money had been recovered, and the second to Captain Putnam, breaking the news of Dora's safety and requesting the master of the Hall to acquaint Mrs. Stanhope with the fact and take steps toward Josiah Crabtree's arrest. Later on another message was sent to Randolph Rover so that the boys' uncle might no longer be alarmed over their safety. Sergeant Brown also telegraphed to his superiors. Inside of an hour after landing, Arnold Baxter, Buddy Girk, Dan Baxter, and the two Gosses were safely housed in the Lightville jail. At first it was thought to arrest Mumps also, but he begged for his liberty, and promised, if let go, to tell everything. As some witness would be wanted when the others came to trial he was taken at his word. It was a happy party that started for Cedarville that evening. No one could have been more attentive than Dick was to Dora, and no one could have been more appreciative than the girl of what the three Rover boys had done for her. At Ithaca a surprise awaited the crowd. Frank, Fred, and Larry were there to welcome them, and soon after Captain Putnam appeared. "I am very glad to see you all safe and sound," said the captain, as he shook hands. "You have had a regular ocean chase, and no mistake." "And how is my mother?" questioned Dora quickly. "She is happy, Miss Stanhope; but the shock of your sudden disappearance has made her quite ill." "And Josiah Crabtree?" "Has disappeared. Your mother said he wanted to marry her after you went away, but she would not listen to him. I imagine that after this he will keep his distance." "He had better keep his distance--if he wants to remain out of jail," put in Dick. The return of the boys to Putnam Hall was the signal for a regular jollification, and my readers can rest assured that all of the cadets made the most of it. Captain Putnam ordered an extra dinner for them, and in the evening a huge bonfire was started on the campus, and, as the boys gathered around Dick, Tom, and Sam they sang "For he's a jolly good fellow!" until they were hoarse. It was a celebration never to be forgotten. "Just the right sort for a home coming," as Sam expressed it. "Let them have it," said the master, as he looked on. "They deserve it." "You are right," returned George Strong. "Those Rover boys have proved themselves regular heroes." * * * * * Here I will bring to a close the story of the Rover boys' doings on the ocean while trying to rescue Dora Stanhope from her abductors and while endeavoring to recover the fortune stolen from Rush & Wilder. Words cannot describe the happiness which mother and daughter felt when Mrs. Stanhope and Dora found themselves together once more. Tears were freely shed, and the widow blessed the boys who had done so much for herself and her child. She declared that her eyes were now open to the real wickedness of Josiah Crabtree, never more would she have anything to do with the man. Rush & Wilder were immensely pleased to recover what had been taken from their safe, and when money and securities were returned to them they rewarded the Rover boys and the others handsomely for their work. But to this day Dick declares that the recovery of the stolen fortune was "only a side issue." "We were out to rescue Dora," he says. "And, thank God, we did it!" In due course of time the evildoers were brought to trial, and with Mumps and the others to testify against them, all were sentenced to various terms of imprisonment. Being wounded, Arnold Baxter was taken, as before, to a hospital; but this time the authorities kept a close watch on him. With their enemies in custody the Rover boys imagined that life at Putnam Hall would now run along smoothly. But in this they were mistaken. They had hardly settled down to their studies when a strange message from over the sea started them off on a search for their father, the particulars of which will be related in another volume, to be entitled: "The Rover Boys in the Jungle; or, Stirring Adventures in Africa." In this book we will not only meet Dick, Tom, and Sam again, but also Dan Baxter and several others with whom we are already acquainted. But for the time being all went well, and here we will leave the three boys, wishing them the best of good luck in the future. The End 
29130	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 29130-h.htm or 29130-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/29130/29130-h/29130-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/29130/29130-h.zip) BILLY TOPSAIL & COMPANY * * * * * THE "BILLY TOPSAIL" BOOKS By NORMAN DUNCAN THE ADVENTURES OF BILLY TOPSAIL Illustrated, cloth, $1.50 "There was no need to invent conditions or imagine situations. The life of _any_ lad of Billy Topsail's years up there is sufficiently romantic. It is this skill in the portrayal of actual conditions that lie ready to the hand of the intelligent observer that makes Mr. Duncan's Newfoundland stories so noteworthy. 'The Adventures of Billy Topsail' is a wonderful book."--_Brooklyn Eagle._ BILLY TOPSAIL AND COMPANY Illustrated, cloth, $1.50 Every boy who knows Billy Topsail will welcome this continuation of his adventuresome life in the North. Like its predecessor, the new volume is a stirring story for boys, true to life, among the hardy sons of the sea, clean, pure and stimulating. * * * * * [Illustration: BILL O' BURNT BAY AND THE BOYS OF THE _SPOT CASH_ COULD NOT FATHOM THE MYSTERY OF THE _BLACK EAGLE_.] BILLY TOPSAIL & COMPANY A Story for Boys by NORMAN DUNCAN Author of "The Adventures of Billy Topsail," "Doctor Luke of The Labrador," "The Mother," "Dr. Grenfell's Parish" Illustrated [Illustration] New York--Chicago--Toronto Fleming H. Revell Company London and Edinburgh Copyright, 1910, by Fleming H. Revell Company New York: 158 Fifth Avenue Chicago: 80 Wabash Avenue Toronto: 25 Richmond Street, W. London: 21 Paternoster Square Edinburgh: 100 Princes Street To Chauncey Lewis and to "Buster," good friends both, sometimes to recall to them places and occasions at Mike Marr's: Dead Man's Point, Rolling Ledge, the Canoe Landing, the swift and wilful waters of the West Branch, Squaw Mountain, the trail to Dead Stream, the raft on Horseshoe, the Big Fish, the gracious kindness of the L. L. of E. O., (as well as her sandwiches), and the never-to-be-forgotten flapjacks that "didn't look it" but were indeed "all there." CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. _In Which Jimmie Grimm, Not Being Able to Help It, Is Born At Buccaneer Cove, Much to His Surprise, and Tog, the Wolf-Dog, Feels the Lash of a Seal-hide Whip and Conceives an Enmity_ 15 II. _In Which Jimmie Grimm is Warned Not to Fall Down, and Tog, Confirmed in Bad Ways, Raids Ghost Tickle, Commits Murder, Runs With the Wolves, Plots the Death of Jimmie Grimm and Reaches the End of His Rope_ 24 III. _In Which Little Jimmie Grimm Goes Lame and His Mother Discovers the Whereabouts of a Cure_ 33 IV. _In Which Jimmie Grimm Surprises a Secret, Jim Grimm makes a Rash Promise, and a Tourist From the States Discovers the Marks of Tog's Teeth_ 41 V. _In Which Jimmie Grimm Moves to Ruddy Cove and Settles on the Slope of the Broken Nose, Where, Falling in With Billy Topsail and Donald North, He Finds the Latter a Coward, But Learns the Reason, and Scoffs no Longer. In Which, Also, Donald North Leaps a Breaker to Save a Salmon Net, and Acquires a Strut_ 49 VI. _In Which, Much to the Delight of Jimmie Grimm and Billy Topsail, Donald North, Having Perilous Business On a Pan of Ice After Night, is Cured of Fear, and Once More Puffs Out His Chest and Struts Like a Rooster_ 61 VII. _In Which Bagg, Imported From the Gutters of London, Lands At Ruddy Cove From the Mail-Boat, Makes the Acquaintance of Jimmie Grimm and Billy Topsail, and Tells Them 'E Wants to Go 'Ome. In Which, Also, the Way to Catastrophe Is Pointed_ 69 VIII. _In Which Bagg, Unknown to Ruddy Cove, Starts for Home, and, After Some Difficulty, Safely Gets There_ 76 IX. _In Which Jimmie Grimm and Billy Topsail, Being Added Up and Called a Man, Are Shipped For St. John's, With Bill o' Burnt Bay, Where They Fall In With Archie Armstrong, Sir Archibald's Son, and Bill o' Burnt Bay Declines to Insure the "First Venture"_ 88 X. _In Which the Cook Smells Smoke, and the "First Venture" In a Gale of Wind Off the Chunks, Comes Into Still Graver Peril, Which Billy Topsail Discovers_ 97 XI. _In Which the "First Venture" All Ablaze Forward, Is Headed For the Rocks and Breakers of the Chunks, While Bill o' Burnt Bay and His Crew Wait for the Explosion of the Powder in Her Hold. In Which, Also, a Rope Is Put to Good Use_ 102 XII. _In Which Old David Grey, Once of the Hudson Bay Company, Begins the Tale of How Donald McLeod, the Factor at Fort Refuge, Scorned a Compromise With His Honour, Though His Arms Were Pinioned Behind Him and a Dozen Tomahawks Were Flourished About His Head._ 112 XIII. _In Which There Are Too Many Knocks At the Gate, a Stratagem Is Successful, Red Feather Draws a Tomahawk, and an Indian Girl Appears On the Scene_ 119 XIV. _In Which Jimmie Grimm and Master Bagg Are Overtaken by the Black Fog in the Open Sea and Lose the Way Home While a Gale is Brewing_ 130 XV. _In Which it Appears to Jimmie Grimm and Master Bagg That Sixty Seconds Sometimes Make More Than a Minute_ 136 XVI. _In Which Archie Armstrong Joins a Piratical Expedition and Sails Crested Seas to Cut Out the Schooner "Heavenly Home"_ 143 XVII. _In Which Bill o' Burnt Bay Finds Himself in Jail and Archie Armstrong Discovers That Reality is Not as Diverting as Romance_ 151 XVIII. _In Which Archie Inspects an Opera Bouffe Dungeon Jail, Where He Makes the Acquaintance of Dust, Dry Rot and Deschamps. In Which, Also, Skipper Bill o' Burnt Bay Is Advised to Howl Until His Throat Cracks_ 159 XIX. _In Which Archie Armstrong Goes Deeper In and Thinks He Has Got Beyond His Depth. Bill o' Burnt Bay Takes Deschamps By the Throat and the Issue Is Doubtful For a Time_ 165 XX. _In Which David Grey's Friend, the Son of the Factor at Fort Red Wing, Yarns of the Professor With the Broken Leg, a Stretch of Rotten River Ice and the Tug of a White Rushing Current_ 172 XXI. _In Which a Bearer of Tidings Finds Himself In Peril of His Life On a Ledge of Ice Above a Roaring Rapid_ 179 XXII. _In Which Billy Topsail Gets an Idea and, to the Amazement of Jimmie Grimm, Archie Armstrong Promptly Goes Him One Better_ 189 XXIII. _In Which Sir Archibald Armstrong Is Almost Floored By a Business Proposition, But Presently Revives, and Seems to be About to Rise to the Occasion_ 194 XXIV. _In Which the Honour of Archie Armstrong Becomes Involved, the First of September Becomes a Date of Utmost Importance, He Collides With Tom Tulk, and a Note is Made in the Book of the Future_ 203 XXV. _In Which Notorious Tom Tulk o' Twillingate and the Skipper of the "Black Eagle" Put Their Heads Together Over a Glass of Rum in the Cabin of a French Shore Trader_ 212 XXVI. _In Which the Enterprise of Archie Armstrong Evolves Señor Fakerino, the Greatest Magician In Captivity. In Which, also, the Foolish are Importuned Not to be Fooled, Candy is Promised to Kids, Bill o' Burnt Bay is Persuaded to Tussle With "The Lost Pirate," and the "Spot Cash" Sets Sail_ 220 XXVII. _In Which the Amazing Operations of the "Black Eagle" Promise to Ruin the Firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company, and Archie Armstrong Loses His Temper and Makes a Fool of Himself_ 229 XXVIII. _In Which the "Spot Cash" is Caught By a Gale In the Night and Skipper Bill Gives Her Up For Lost_ 239 XXVIX. _In Which Opportunity is Afforded the Skipper of the "Black Eagle" to Practice Villainy in the Fog and He Quiets His Scruples. In Which, also, the Pony Islands and the Tenth of the Month Come Into Significant Conjunction_ 247 XXX. _In Which the Fog Thins and the Crew of the "Spot Cash" Fall Foul of a Dark Plot_ 256 XXXI. _In Which the "Spot Cash" is Picked up by Blow-Me-Down Rock In Jolly Harbour, Wreckers Threaten Extinction and the Honour of the Firm Passes into the Keeping of Billy Topsail_ 266 XXXII. _In Which the "Grand Lake" Conducts Herself In a Most Peculiar Fashion to the Chagrin of the Crew of the "Spot Cash"_ 275 XXXIII. _In Which Billy Topsail, Besieged by Wreckers, Sleeps on Duty and Thereafter Finds Exercise For His Wits. In Which, also, a Lighted Candle is Suspended Over a Keg of Powder and Precipitates a Critical Moment While Billy Topsail Turns Pale With Anxiety_ 281 XXXIV. _In Which Skipper Bill, as a Desperate Expedient, Contemplates the Use of His Teeth, and Archie Armstrong, to Save His Honour, Sets Sail in a Basket, But Seems to Have Come a Cropper_ 291 XXXV. _In Which Many Things Happen: Old Tom Topsail Declares Himself the Bully to Do It, Mrs. Skipper William Bounds Down the Path With a Boiled Lobster, the Mixed Accommodation Sways, Rattles, Roars, Puffs and Quits on a Grade in the Wilderness, Tom Topsail Loses His Way in the Fog and Archie Armstrong Gets Despairing Ear of a Whistle_ 301 XXXVI. _And Last: In Which Archie Armstrong Hangs His Head in His Father's Office, the Pale Little Clerk Takes a Desperate Chance, Bill o' Burnt Bay Loses His Breath, and there is a Grand Dinner in Celebration of the Final Issue, at Which the Amazement of the Crew of the "Spot Cash" is Equalled by Nothing in the World Except Their Delight_ 311 ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE Bill O' Burnt Bay and the Boys of the _Spot Cash_ Could not Fathom the Mystery of the _Black Eagle_. _Title_ Tog Thawed Into Limp and Servile Amiability. 20 Instinctively, He Covered His Throat With His Arms when Tog Fell Upon Him. 28 Plucking up His Courage, Donald Leaped for the Rock. 58 She Was Beating Laboriously into a Violent Head Wind. 96 Buffalo Horn Looked Steadily into Mcleod's Eyes. 125 "--We Want to Charter the _On Time_ and Trade the Ports of the French Shore." 198 Señor Fakerino created Applause by Extracting Half Dollars From Vacancy. 230 BILLY TOPSAIL & COMPANY CHAPTER I _In Which Jimmie Grimm, Not Being Able to Help It, Is Born At Buccaneer Cove, Much to His Surprise, and Tog, the Wolf-Dog, Feels the Lash of a Seal-hide Whip and Conceives an Enmity_ Young Jimmie Grimm began life at Buccaneer Cove of the Labrador. It was a poor place to begin, of course; but Jimmie had had nothing to do with that. It was by Tog, with the eager help of two hungry gray wolves, that he was taught to take care of the life into which, much to his surprise, he had been ushered. Tog was a dog with a bad name; and everybody knows that a dog with a bad name should be hanged forthwith. It should have happened to Tog. At best he was a wolfish beast. His father was a wolf; and in the end Tog was as lean and savage and cunningly treacherous as any wolf of the gray forest packs. When he had done with Jimmie Grimm--and when Jimmie Grimm's father had done with Tog--Jimmie Grimm had learned a lesson that he never could recall without a gasp and a quick little shudder. "I jus' don't like t' think o' Tog," he told Billy Topsail and Archie Armstrong, long afterwards. "You weren't _afraid_ of him, were you?" Archie Armstrong demanded, a bit scornfully. "_Was_ I?" Jimmie snorted. "Huh!" The business with Tog happened before old Jim Grimm moved south to Ruddy Cove of the Newfoundland coast, disgusted with the fishing of Buccaneer. It was before Jimmie Grimm had fallen in with Billy Topsail and Donald North, before he had ever clapped eyes on Bagg, the London gutter-snipe, or had bashfully pawed the gloved hand of Archie Armstrong, Sir Archibald's son. It was before Donald North cured himself of fear and the _First Venture_ had broken into a blaze in a gale of wind off the Chunks. It was before Billy Topsail, a lad of wits, had held a candle over the powder barrel, when the wreckers boarded the _Spot Cash_. It was before Bill o' Burnt Bay had been rescued from a Miquelon jail and the _Heavenly Home_ was cut out of St. Pierre Harbour in the foggy night. It was also before the _Spot Cash_ had fallen foul of the plot to scuttle the _Black Eagle_. It was before the big gale and all the adventures of that northward trading voyage. In short, it was before Jim Grimm moved up from the Labrador to Ruddy Cove for better fishing. * * * * * Tog had a bad name. On the Labrador coast all dogs have bad names; nor, if the truth must be told, does the reputation do them any injustice. If evil communications corrupt good manners, the desperate character of Tog's deeds, no less than the tragic manner of his end, may be accounted for. At any rate, long before his abrupt departure from the wilderness trails and snow-covered rock of Buccaneer Cove, he had earned the worst reputation of all the pack. It began in the beginning. When Tog was eight weeks old his end was foreseen. He was then little more than a soft, fluffy, black-and-white ball, awkwardly perambulating on four absurdly bowed legs. Martha, Jim Grimm's wife, one day cast the lean scraps of the midday meal to the pack. What came to pass so amazed old Jim Grimm that he dropped his splitting-knife and stared agape. "An' would you look at that little beast!" he gasped. "That one's a wonder for badness!" The snarling, scrambling heap of dogs, apparently inextricably entangled, had all at once been reduced to order. Instead of a confusion of taut legs and teeth and bristling hair, there was a precise half-circle of gaunt beasts, squatted at a respectful distance from Tog's mother, hopelessly licking their chops, while, with hair on end and fangs exposed and dripping, she kept them off. "It ain't Jinny," Jim remarked. "You can't blame she. It's that little pup with the black eye." You couldn't blame Jenny. Last of all would it occur to Martha Grimm, with a child of her own to rear, to call her in the wrong. With a litter of five hearty pups to provide for, Jenny was animated by a holy maternal instinct. But Tog, which was the one with the black eye, was not to be justified. He was imitating his mother's tactics with diabolical success. A half-circle of whimpering puppies, keeping a respectful distance, watched in grieved surprise, while, with hair on end and tiny fangs occasionally exposed, he devoured the scraps of the midday meal. "A wonder for badness!" Jim Grimm repeated. "'Give a dog a bad name,'" quoted Martha, quick, like the woman she was, to resent snap-judgment of the young, "'an'----'" "'Hang un,'" Jim concluded. "Well," he added, "I wouldn't be s'prised if it _did_ come t' that." It did. * * * * * In Tog's eyes there was never the light of love and humour--no amiable jollity. He would come fawning, industriously wagging his hinder parts, like puppies of more favoured degree; but all the while his black eyes were alert, hard, infinitely suspicious and avaricious. Not once, I am sure, did affection or gratitude lend them beauty. A beautiful pup he was, nevertheless--fat and white, awkwardly big, his body promising splendid strength. Even when he made war on the fleas--and he waged it unceasingly--the vigour and skill of attack, the originality of method, gave him a certain distinction. But his eyes were never well disposed; the pup was neither trustful nor to be trusted. "If he lives t' the age o' three," said Jim Grimm, with a pessimistic wag of the head, "'twill be more by luck than good conduct." "Ah, dad," said Jimmie Grimm, "you jus' leave un t' me!" "Well, Jimmie," drawled Jim Grimm, "it might teach you more about dogs than you know. I don't mind if I _do_ leave un t' you--for a while." "Hut!" Jimmie boasted. "_I'll_ master un." "May _be_," said Jim Grimm. It was Jimmie Grimm who first put Tog in the traces. This was in the early days of Tog's first winter--and of Jimmie's seventh. The dog was a lusty youngster then; better nourished than the other dogs of Jim Grimm's pack, no more because of greater strength and daring than a marvellous versatility in thievery. In a bored sort of way, being at the moment lazy with food stolen from Sam Butt's stage, Tog submitted. He yawned, stretched his long legs, and gave inopportune attention to a persistent flea near the small of his back. When, however, the butt of Jimmie's whip fell smartly on his flank, he was surprised into an appreciation of the fact that a serious attempt was being made to curtail his freedom; and he was at once alive with resentful protest. [Illustration: _Courtesy of "The Outing Magazine"_ TOG THAWED INTO LIMP AND SERVILE AMIABILITY.] "Hi, Tog!" Jimmie complained. "Bide still!" Tog slipped from Jimmie's grasp and bounded off. He turned with a snarl. "Here, Tog!" cried Jimmie. Tog came--stepping warily over the snow. His head was low, his king-hairs bristling, his upper lip lifted. "Ha, Tog, b'y!" said Jimmie, ingratiatingly. Tog thawed into limp and servile amiability. The long, wiry white hair of his neck fell flat; he wagged his bushy white tail; he pawed the snow and playfully tossed his long, pointed nose as he crept near. But had Jimmie Grimm been more observant, more knowing, he would have perceived that the light in the lanky pup's eyes had not mellowed. "Good dog!" crooned Jimmie, stretching out an affectionate hand. Vanished, then, in a flash, every symptom of Tog's righteousness. His long teeth closed on Jimmie's small hand with a snap. Jimmie struck instantly--and struck hard. The butt of the whip caught Tog on the nose. He dropped the hand and leaped away with a yelp. "Now, me b'y," thought Jimmie Grimm, staring into the quivering dog's eyes, not daring to glance at his own dripping hand, "I'll master _you_!" But it was no longer a question of mastery. The issue was life or death. Tog was now of an age to conceive murder. Moreover, he was of a size to justify an attempt upon Jimmie. And murder was in his heart. He crouched, quivering, his wolfish eyes fixed upon the boy's blazing blue ones. For a moment neither antagonist ventured attack. Both waited. It was Jimmie who lost patience. He swung his long dog whip. The lash cracked in Tog's face. With a low growl, the dog rushed, and before the boy could evade the attack, the dog had him by the leg. Down came the butt of the whip. Tog released his hold and leaped out of reach. He pawed about, snarling, shaking his bruised head. This advantage the boy sought to pursue. He advanced--alert, cool, ready to strike. Tog retreated. Jimmie rushed upon him. At a bound, Tog passed, turned, and came again. Before Jimmie had well faced him, Tog had leaped for his throat. Down went the boy, overborne by the dog's weight, and by the impact, which he was not prepared to withstand. But Tog was yet a puppy, unpracticed in fight; he had missed the grip. And a heavy stick, in the hands of Jimmie's father, falling mercilessly upon him, put him in yelping retreat. "I 'low, Jimmie," drawled Jim Grimm, while he helped the boy to his feet, "that that dog _is_ teachin' you more 'n you knowed." "I 'low, dad," replied the breathless Jimmie, "that he teached me nothin' more than I forgot." "I wouldn't forget again," said Jim. Jimmie did not deign to reply. CHAPTER II _In Which Jimmie Grimm is Warned Not to Fall Down, and Tog, Confirmed in Bad Ways, Raids Ghost Tickle, Commits Murder, Runs With the Wolves, Plots the Death of Jimmie Grimm and Reaches the End of His Rope_ Jimmie Grimm's father broke Tog to the traces before the winter was over. A wretched time the perverse beast had of it. Labrador dogs are not pampered idlers; in winter they must work or starve--as must men, the year round. But Tog had no will for work, acknowledged no master save the cruel, writhing whip; and the whip was therefore forever flecking his ears or curling about his flanks. Moreover, he was a sad shirk. Thus he made more trouble for himself. When his team-mates discovered the failing--and this was immediately--they pitilessly worried his hind legs. Altogether, in his half-grown days, Tog led a yelping, bleeding life of it; whereby he got no more than his desserts. Through the summer he lived by theft when thievery was practicable; at other times he went fishing for himself with an ill will. Meantime, he developed strength and craft, both in extraordinary degree. There was not a more successful criminal in the pack, nor was there a more despicable bully. When the first snow fell, Tog was master at Buccaneer Cove, and had already begun to raid the neighbouring settlement at Ghost Tickle. Twice he was known to have adventured there. After the first raid, he licked his wounds in retirement for two weeks; after the second, which was made by night, they found a dead dog at Ghost Tickle. Thereafter, Tog entered Ghost Tickle by daylight, and with his teeth made good his right to come and go at will. It was this that left him open to suspicion when the Ghost Tickle tragedy occurred. Whether or not Tog was concerned in that affair, nobody knows. They say at Ghost Tickle that he plotted the murder and led the pack; but the opinion is based merely upon the fact that he was familiar with the paths and lurking places of the Tickle--and, possibly, upon the fact of his immediate and significant disappearance from the haunts of men. News came from Ghost Tickle that Jonathan Wall had come late from the ice with a seal. Weary with the long tramp, he had left the carcass at the waterside. "Billy," he said to his young son, forgetting the darkness and the dogs, "go fetch that swile up." Billy was gone a long time. "I wonder what's keepin' Billy," his mother said. They grew uneasy, at last; and presently they set out to search for the lad. Neither child nor seal did they ever see again; but they came upon the shocking evidences of what had occurred. And they blamed Tog of Buccaneer Cove. * * * * * For a month or more Tog was lost to sight; but an epidemic had so reduced the number of serviceable dogs that he was often in Jim Grimm's mind. Jim very heartily declared that Tog should have a berth with the team if starvation drove him back; not that he loved Tog, said he, but that he needed him. But Tog seemed to be doing well enough in the wilderness. He did not soon return. Once they saw him. It was when Jim and Jimmie were bound home from Laughing Cove. Of a sudden Jim halted the team. "Do you see that, Jimmie, b'y?" he asked, pointing with his whip to the white crest of a near-by hill. "Dogs!" Jimmie ejaculated. "Take another squint," said Jim. "Dogs," Jimmie repeated. "Wolves," drawled Jim. "An' do you see the beast with the black eye?" "Why, dad," Jimmie exclaimed, "'tis Tog!" "I 'low," said Jim, "that Tog don't need us no more." But Tog did. He came back--lean and fawning. No more abject contrition was ever shown by dog before. He was starving. They fed him at the usual hour; and not one ounce more than the usual amount of food did he get. Next day he took his old place in the traces and helped haul Jim Grimm the round of the fox traps. But that night Jim Grimm lost another dog; and in the morning Tog had again disappeared into the wilderness. Jimmie Grimm was glad. Tog had grown beyond him. The lad could control the others of the pack; but he was helpless against Tog. "I isn't so wonderful sorry, myself," said Jim. "I 'low, Jimmie," he added, "that Tog don't like _you_." "No, that he doesn't," Jimmie promptly agreed. "All day yesterday he snooped around, with an eye on me. Looked to me as if he was waitin' for me to fall down." "Jimmie!" said Jim Grimm, gravely. "Ay, sir?" "You _mustn't_ fall down. Don't matter whether Tog's about or not. If the dogs is near, _don't you fall down!_" "Not if I knows it," said Jimmie. * * * * * It was a clear night in March. The moon was high. From the rear of Jim Grimm's isolated cottage the white waste stretched far to the wilderness. The dogs of the pack were sound asleep in the outhouse. An hour ago the mournful howling had ceased for the night. Half-way to the fish-stage, whither he was bound on his father's errand, Jimmie Grimm came to a startled full stop. "What was that?" he mused. [Illustration: _Courtesy of "The Outing Magazine"_ INSTINCTIVELY, HE COVERED HIS THROAT WITH HIS ARMS WHEN TOG FELL UPON HIM.] A dark object, long and lithe, had seemed to slip like a shadow into hiding below the drying flake. Jimmie continued to muse. What had it been? A prowling dog? Then he laughed a little at his own fears--and continued on his way. But he kept watch on the flake; and so intent was he upon this, so busily was he wondering whether or not his eyes had tricked him, that he stumbled over a stray billet of wood, and fell sprawling. He was not alarmed, and made no haste to rise; but had he then seen what emerged from the shadow of the flake he would instantly have been in screaming flight toward the kitchen door. The onslaught of Tog and the two wolves was made silently. There was not a howl, not a growl, not even an eager snarl. They came leaping, with Tog in the lead--and they came silently. Jimmie caught sight of them when he was half-way to his feet. He had but time to call his father's name; and he knew that the cry would not be heard. Instinctively, he covered his throat with his arms when Tog fell upon him; and he was relieved to feel Tog's teeth in his shoulder. He felt no pain--not any more, at any rate, than a sharp stab in the knee. He was merely sensible of the fact that the vital part had not yet been reached. In the savage joy of attack, Jimmie's assailants forgot discretion. Snarls and growls escaped them while they worried the small body. In the manner of wolves, too, they snapped at each other. The dogs in the outhouse awoke, cocked their ears, came in a frenzy to the conflict; not to save Jimmie Grimm, but to participate in his destruction. Jimmie was prostrate beneath them all--still protecting his throat; not regarding his other parts. And by this confusion Jim Grimm was aroused from a sleepy stupor by the kitchen fire. "I wonder," said he, "what's the matter with them dogs." "I'm not able t' make out," his wife replied, puzzled, "but----" "Hark!" cried Jim. They listened. "Quick!" Jimmie's mother screamed. "They're at Jimmie!" With an axe in his hand, and with merciless wrath in his heart, Jim Grimm descended upon the dogs. He stretched the uppermost dead. A second blow broke the back of a wolf. The third sent a dog yelping to the outhouse with a useless hind leg. The remaining dogs decamped. Their howls expressed pain in a degree to delight Jim Grimm and to inspire him with deadly strength and purpose. Tog and the surviving wolf fled. "Jimmie!" Jim Grimm called. Jimmie did not answer. "They've killed you!" his father sobbed. "Jimmie, b'y, is you dead? Mother," he moaned to his wife, who had now come panting up with a broomstick, "they've gone an' killed our Jimmie!" Jimmie was unconscious when his father carried him into the house. It was late in the night, and he was lying in his own little bed, and his mother had dressed his wounds, when he revived. And Tog was then howling under his window; and there Tog remained until dawn, listening to the child's cries of agony. * * * * * Two days later, Jim Grimm, practicing unscrupulous deception, lured Tog into captivity. That afternoon the folk of Buccaneer Cove solemnly hanged him by the neck until he was dead, which is the custom in that land. I am glad that they disposed of him. He had a noble body--strong and beautiful, giving delight to the beholder, capable of splendid usefulness. But he had not one redeeming trait of character to justify his existence. "I wonder why Tog was so bad, dad," Jimmie mused, one day, when, as they mistakenly thought, he was near well again. "I s'pose," Jim explained, "'twas because his father was a wolf." Little Jimmie Grimm was not the same after that. For some strange reason he went lame, and the folk of Buccaneer Cove said that he was "took with the rheumatiz." "Wisht I could be cured," the little fellow used to sigh. CHAPTER III _In Which Little Jimmie Grimm Goes Lame and His Mother Discovers the Whereabouts of a Cure_ Little Jimmie Grimm was then ten years old. He had been an active, merry lad, before the night of the assault of Tog and the two wolves--inclined to scamper and shout, given to pranks of a kindly sort. His affectionate, light-hearted disposition had made him the light of his mother's eyes, and of his father's, too, for, child though he was, lonely Jim Grimm found him a comforting companion. But he was now taken with what the folk of Buccaneer Cove called "rheumatiz o' the knee." There were days when he walked in comfort; but there were also times when he fell to the ground in a sudden agony and had to be carried home. There were weeks when he could not walk at all. He was not now so merry as he had been. He was more affectionate; but his eyes did not flash in the old way, nor were his cheeks so fat and rosy. Jim Grimm and the lad's mother greatly desired to have him cured. "'Twould be like old times," Jim Grimm said once, when Jimmie was put to bed, "if Jimmie was only well." "I'm afeared," the mother sighed, "that he'll never be well again." "For fear you're right, mum," said Jim Grimm, "we must make him happy every hour he's with us. Hush, mother! Don't cry, or I'll be cryin', too!" Nobody connected Jimmie Grimm's affliction with the savage teeth of Tog. * * * * * It was Jimmie's mother who discovered the whereabouts of a cure. Hook's Kurepain was the thing to do it! Who could deny the virtues of that "healing balm"? They were set forth in print, in type both large and small, on a creased and dirty remnant of the _Montreal Weekly Globe and Family Messenger_, which had providentially strayed into that far port of the Labrador. Who could dispute the works of "the invaluable discovery"? Was it not a positive cure for bruises, sprains, chilblains, cracked hands, stiffness of the joints, contraction of the muscles, numbness of the limbs, neuralgia, rheumatism, pains in the chest, warts, frost bites, sore throat, quinsy, croup, and various other ills? Was it not an excellent hair restorer, as well? If it had cured millions (and apparently it had), why shouldn't it cure little Jimmie Grimm? So Jimmie's mother longed with her whole heart for a bottle of the "boon to suffering humanity." "I've found something, Jim Grimm," said she, a teasing twinkle in her eye, when, that night, Jimmie's father came in from the snowy wilderness, where he had made the round of his fox traps. "Have you, now?" he asked, curiously. "What is it?" "'Tis something," said she, "t' make you glad." "Come, tell me!" he cried, his eyes shining. "I've heard you say," she went on, smiling softly, "that you'd be willin' t' give anything t' find it. I've heard you say that----" "'Tis a silver fox!" "I've heard you say," she continued, shaking her head, "'Oh,' I've heard you say, 'if I could _only_ find it I'd be happy.'" "Tell me!" he coaxed. "Please tell me!" She laid a hand on his shoulder. The remnant of the _Montreal Weekly Globe and Family Messenger_ she held behind her. "'Tis a cure for Jimmie," said she. "No!" he cried, incredulous; but there was yet the ring of hope in his voice. "Have you, now?" "Hook's Kurepain," said she, "never failed yet." "'Tis wonderful!" said Jim Grimm. She spread the newspaper on the table and placed her finger at that point of the list where the cure of rheumatism was promised. "Read that," said she, "an' you'll find 'tis all true." Jim Grimm's eye ran up to the top of the page. His wife waited, a smile on her lips. She was anticipating a profound impression. "'Beauty has wonderful charms,'" Jim Grimm read. "'Few men can withstand the witchcraft of a lovely face. All hearts are won----'" "No, no!" the mother interrupted, hastily. "That's the marvellous Oriental Beautifier. I been readin' that, too. But 'tis not that. 'Tis lower down. Beginnin', 'At last the universal remedy of Biblical times.' Is you got it yet?" "Ay, sure!" And thereupon Jim Grimm of Buccaneer Cove discovered that a legion of relieved and rejuvenated rheumatics had without remuneration or constraint sung the virtues of the Kurepain and the praises of Hook. Poor ignorant Jim Grimm did not for a moment doubt the existence of the Well-Known Traveller, the Family Doctor, the Minister of the Gospel, the Champion of the World. He was ready to admit that the cure had been found. "I'm willin' t' believe," said he, solemnly, the while gazing very earnestly into his wife's eyes, "that 'twould do Jimmie a world o' good." "Read on," said she. "'It costs money to make the Kurepain,'" Jim read, aloud. "'It is not a sugar-and-water remedy. It is a _cure_, manufactured at _great expense_. Good medicines come _high_. But the peerless Kurepain is _cheap_ when compared with the worthless substitutes now on the market and sold for just as good. Our price is five dollars a bottle; three bottles guaranteed to cure.'" Jim Grimm stopped dead. He looked up. His wife steadily returned his glance. The Labrador dweller is a poor man--a very poor man. Rarely does a dollar of hard cash slip into his hand. And this was hard cash. Five dollars a bottle! Five dollars for that which was neither food nor clothing! "'Tis fearful!" he sighed. "But read on," said she. "'In order to introduce the Kurepain into this locality, we have set aside _one thousand bottles_ of this _incomparable_ medicine. That number, _and no more_, we will dispose of at four dollars a bottle. Do not make a mistake. When the supply is exhausted, the price will _rise_ to eight dollars a bottle, owing to a scarcity of one of the ingredients. We honestly advise you, if you are in pain or suffering, to take advantage of this _rare_ opportunity. A word to the wise is sufficient. Order to-day.'" "'Tis a great bargain, Jim," the mother whispered. "Ay," Jim answered, dubiously. His wife patted his hand. "When Jimmie's cured," she went on, "he could help you with the traps, an'----" "'Tis not for _that_ I wants un cured," Jim Grimm flashed. "I'm willin' an' able for me labour. 'Tis not for that. I'm just thinkin' all the time about seein' him run about like he used to. That's what _I_ wants." "Doesn't you think, Jim, that we could manage it--if we tried wonderful hard?" "'Tis accordin' t' what fur I traps, mum, afore the ice goes an' the steamer comes. I'm hopin' we'll have enough left over t' buy the cure." "You're a good father, Jim," the mother said, at last. "I knows you'll do for the best. Leave us wait until the spring time comes." "Ay," he agreed; "an' we'll say nar a word t' little Jimmie." They laid hold on the hope in Hook's Kurepain. Life was brighter, then. They looked forward to the cure. The old merry, scampering Jimmie, with his shouts and laughter and gambols and pranks, was to return to them. When, as the winter dragged along, Jim Grimm brought home the fox skins from the wilderness, Jimmie fondled them, and passed upon their quality, as to colour and size and fur. Jim Grimm and his wife exchanged smiles. Jimmie did not know that upon the quality and number of the skins, which he delighted to stroke and pat, depended his cure. Let the winter pass! Let the ice move out from the coast! Let the steamer come for the letters! Let her go and return again! _Then_ Jimmie should know. "We'll be able t' have _one_ bottle, whatever," said the mother. "'Twill be more than that, mum," Jim Grimm answered, confidently. "We wants our Jimmie cured." CHAPTER IV _In Which Jimmie Grimm Surprises a Secret, Jim Grimm makes a Rash Promise, and a Tourist From the States Discovers the Marks of Tog's Teeth_ With spring came the great disappointment. The snow melted from the hills; wild flowers blossomed where the white carpet had lain; the ice was ready to break and move out to sea with the next wind from the west. There were no more foxes to be caught. Jim Grimm bundled the skins, strapped them on his back, and took them to the storekeeper at Shelter Harbour, five miles up the coast; and when their value had been determined he came home disconsolate. Jimmie's mother had been watching from the window. "Well?" she said, when the man came in. "'Tis not enough," he groaned. "I'm sorry, mum; but 'tis not enough." She said nothing, but waited for him to continue; for she feared to give him greater distress. "'Twas a fair price he gave me," Jim Grimm continued. "I'm not complainin' o' that. But there's not enough t' do more than keep us in food, with pinchin', till we sells the fish in the fall. I'm sick, mum--I'm fair sick an' miserable along o' disappointment." "'Tis sad t' think," said the mother, "that Jimmie's not t' be cured--after all." "For the want o' twelve dollars!" he sighed. They were interrupted by the clatter of Jimmie's crutches, coming in haste from the inner room. Then entered Jimmie. "I heered what you said," he cried, his eyes blazing, his whole worn little body fairly quivering with excitement. "I heered you say 'cure.' Is I t' be cured?" They did not answer. "Father! Mama! Did you say I was t' be cured?" "Hush, dear!" said the mother. "I can't hush. I wants t' know. Father, tell me. Is I t' be cured?" "Jim," said the mother to Jim Grimm, "tell un." "You is!" Jim shouted, catching Jimmie in his arms, and rocking him like a baby. "You _is_ t' be cured. Debt or no debt, lad, I'll see you cured!" * * * * * The matter of credit was easily managed. The old storekeeper at Shelter Harbour did not hesitate. Credit? Of course, he would give Jim Grimm that. "Jim," said he, "I've knowed you for a long time, an' I knows you t' be a good man. I'll fit you out for the summer an' the winter, if you wants me to, an' you can take your own time about payin' the bill." And so Jim Grimm withdrew twelve dollars from the credit of his account. They began to keep watch on the ice--to wish for a westerly gale, that the white waste might be broken and dispersed. "Father," said Jimmie, one night, when the man was putting him to bed, "how long will it be afore that there Kurepain comes?" "I 'low the steamer'll soon be here." "Ay?" "An' then she'll take the letter with the money." "Ay?" "An' she'll be gone about a month an' a fortnight, an' then she'll be back with----" "The cure!" cried Jimmie, giving his father an affectionate dig in the ribs. "She'll be back with the cure!" "Go t' sleep, lad." "I can't," Jimmie whispered. "I can't for joy o' thinkin' o' that cure." * * * * * By and by the ice moved out, and, in good time, the steamer came. It was at the end of a blustering day, with the night falling thick. Passengers and crew alike--from the grimy stokers to the shivering American tourists--were relieved to learn, when the anchor went down with a splash and a rumble, that the "old man" was to "hang her down" until the weather turned "civil." Accompanied by the old schoolmaster, who was to lend him aid in registering the letter to the Kurepain Company, Jim Grimm went aboard in the punt. It was then dark. "You knows a Yankee when you sees one," said he, when they reached the upper deck. "Point un out, an' I'll ask un." "Ay, _I'm_ travelled," said the schoolmaster, importantly. "And 'twould be wise to ask about this Kurepain Company before you post the letter." Thus it came about that Jim Grimm timidly approached two gentlemen who were chatting merrily in the lee of the wheel-house. "Do you know the Kurepain, sir?" he asked. "Eh? What?" the one replied. "Hook's, sir." "Hook's? In the name of wonder, man, Hook's what?" "Kurepain, sir." "Hook's Kurepain," said the stranger. "Doctor," addressing his companion, "do you recommend----" The doctor shrugged his shoulders. "Then you do not?" said the other. The doctor eyed Jim Grimm. "Why do you ask?" he inquired. "'Tis for me little son, sir," Jim replied. "He've a queer sort o' rheumaticks. We're thinkin' the Kurepain will cure un. It have cured a Minister o' the Gospel, sir, an' a Champion o' the World; an' we was allowin' that it wouldn't have much trouble t' cure little Jimmie Grimm. They's as much as twelve dollars, sir, in this here letter, which I'm sendin' away. I'm wantin' t' know, sir, if they'll send the cure if I sends the money." The doctor was silent for a moment. "Where do you live?" he asked, at last. Jim pointed to a far-off light. "Jimmie will be at that window," he said, "lookin' out at the steamer's lights." "Do you care for a run ashore?" asked the doctor, turning to his fellow tourist. "If it would not overtax you." "No, no--I'm strong enough, now. The voyage has put me on my feet again. Come--let us go." Jim Grimm took them ashore in the punt; guided them along the winding, rocky path; led them into the room where Jimmie sat at the window. The doctor felt of Jimmie's knee, and asked him many questions. Then he held a whispered consultation with his companion and the schoolmaster; and of their conversation Jimmie caught such words and phrases as "slight operation" and "chloroform" and "that table" and "poor light, but light enough" and "rough and ready sort of work" and "no danger." Then Jim Grimm was dispatched to the steamer with the doctor's friend; and when they came back the man carried a bag in his hand. The doctor asked Jimmie a question, and Jimmie nodded his head. Whereupon, the doctor called him a brave lad, and sent Jim Grimm out to the kitchen to keep his wife company for a time, first requiring him to bring a pail of water and another lamp. When they called Jim Grimm in again--he knew what they were about, and it seemed a long, long time before the call came--little Jimmie was lying on the couch, sick and pale, with his knee tightly bandaged, but with his eyes glowing. "Mama! Father!" the boy whispered, exultantly. "They says I'm cured." "Yes," said the doctor; "he'll be all right, now. His trouble was not rheumatism. It was caused by a fragment of the bone, broken off at the knee-joint. At least, that's as plain as I can make it to you. He was bitten by a dog, was he not? So he says. And he remembers that he felt a stab of pain in his knee at the time. That or the fall probably accounts for it. At any rate, I have removed that fragment. He'll be all right, after a bit. I've told the schoolmaster how to take care of him, and I'll leave some medicine, and--well--he'll soon be all right." When the doctor was about to step from the punt to the steamer's ladder, half an hour later, Jim Grimm held up a letter to him. "'Tis for you, sir," he said. "What's this?" the doctor demanded. "'Tis for you to keep, sir," Jim answered, with dignity. "'Tis the money for the work you done." "Money!" cried the doctor. "Why, really," he stammered, "I--you see, this is my vacation--and I----" "I 'low, sir," said Jim, quietly, "that you'll 'blige me." "Well, well!" exclaimed the doctor, being wise, "that I will!" Jimmie Grimm got well long before it occurred to his father that the fishing at Buccaneer Cove was poor and that he might do better elsewhere. CHAPTER V _In Which Jimmie Grimm Moves to Ruddy Cove and Settles on the Slope of the Broken Nose, Where, Falling in With Billy Topsail and Donald North, He Finds the Latter a Coward, But Learns the Reason, and Scoffs no Longer. In Which, Also, Donald North Leaps a Breaker to Save a Salmon Net, and Acquires a Strut_ When old Jim Grimm moved to Ruddy Cove and settled his wife and son in a little white cottage on the slope of a bare hill called Broken Nose, Jimmie Grimm was not at all sorry. There were other boys at Ruddy Cove--far more boys, and jollier boys, and boys with more time to spare, than at Buccaneer. There was Billy Topsail, for one, a tow-headed, blue-eyed, active lad of Jimmie's age; and there was Donald North, for another. Jimmie Grimm liked them both. Billy Topsail was the elder, and up to more agreeable tricks; but Donald was good enough company for anybody, and would have been quite as admirable as Billy Topsail had it not been that he was afraid of the sea. They did not call him a coward at Ruddy Cove; they merely said that he was afraid of the sea. And Donald North was. * * * * * Jimmie Grimm, himself no coward in a blow of wind, was inclined to scoff, at first; but Billy Topsail explained, and then Jimmie Grimm scoffed no longer, but hoped that Donald North would be cured of fear before he was much older. As Billy Topsail made plain to the boy, in excuse of his friend, Donald North was brave enough until he was eight years old; but after the accident of that season he was so timid that he shrank from the edge of the cliff when the breakers were beating the rocks below, and trembled when his father's fishing punt heeled to the faintest gust. "Billy," he had said to Billy Topsail, on the unfortunate day when he caught the fear, being then but a little chap, "leave us go sail my new fore-an'-after. I've rigged her out with a fine new mizzens'l." "Sure, b'y!" said Billy. "Where to?" "Uncle George's wharf-head. 'Tis a place as good as any." Off Uncle George's wharf-head the water was deep--deeper than Donald could fathom at low tide--and it was cold, and covered a rocky bottom, upon which a multitude of starfish and prickly sea-eggs lay in clusters. It was green, smooth and clear, too; sight carried straight down to where the purple-shelled mussels gripped the rocks. The tide had fallen somewhat and was still on the ebb. Donald found it a long reach from the wharf to the water. By and by, as the water ran out of the harbour, the most he could do was to touch the tip of the mast of the miniature ship with his fingers. Then a little gust of wind crept round the corner of the wharf, rippling the water as it came near. It caught the sails of the new fore-and-after, and the little craft fell over on another tack and shot away. "Here, you!" Donald cried. "Come back, will you?" He reached for the mast. His fingers touched it, but the boat escaped before they closed. He laughed, hitched nearer to the edge of the wharf, and reached again. The wind had failed; the little boat was tossing in the ripples, below and just beyond his grasp. "I can't cotch her!" he called to Billy Topsail, who was back near the net-horse, looking for squids. Billy looked up, and laughed to see Donald's awkward position--to see him hanging over the water, red-faced and straining. Donald laughed, too. At once he lost his balance and fell forward. This was in the days before he could swim, so he floundered about in the water, beating it wildly, to bring himself to the surface. When he came up, Billy Topsail was leaning over to catch him. Donald lifted his arm. His fingers touched Billy's, that was all--just touched them. Then he sank; and when he came up again, and again lifted his arm, there was half a foot of space between his hand and Billy's. Some measure of self-possession returned. He took a long breath, and let himself sink. Down he went, weighted by his heavy boots. Those moments were full of the terror of which, later, he could not rid himself. There seemed to be no end to the depth of the water in that place. But when his feet touched bottom, he was still deliberate in all that he did. For a moment he let them rest on the rock. Then he gave himself a strong upward push. It needed but little to bring him within reach of Billy Topsail's hand. He shot out of the water and caught that hand. Soon afterwards he was safe on the wharf.[1] "Sure, mum, I thought I were drownded that time!" he said to his mother, that night. "When I were goin' down the last time I thought I'd never see you again." "But you wasn't drownded, b'y," said his mother, softly. "But I might ha' been," said he. There was the rub. He was haunted by what might have happened. Soon he became a timid, shrinking lad, utterly lacking confidence in the strength of his arms and his skill with an oar and a sail; and after that came to pass, his life was hard. He was afraid to go out to the fishing-grounds, where he must go every day with his father to keep the head of the punt up to the wind, and he had a great fear of the wind and the fog and the breakers. But he was not a coward. On the contrary, although he was circumspect in all his dealings with the sea, he never failed in his duty. In Ruddy Cove all the men put out their salmon nets when the ice breaks up and drifts away southward, for the spring run of salmon then begins. These nets are laid in the sea, at right angles to the rocks and extending out from them; they are set alongshore, it may be a mile or two, from the narrow passage to the harbour. The outer end is buoyed and anchored, and the other is lashed to an iron stake which is driven deep into some crevice of the rock. When belated icebergs hang offshore a watch must be kept on the nets, lest they be torn away or ground to pulp by the ice. "The wind's haulin' round a bit, b'y," said Donald's father, one day in spring, when the lad was twelve years old, and he was in the company of Jimmie Grimm and Billy Topsail on the sunny slope of the Broken Nose. "I think 'twill freshen and blow inshore afore night." "They's a scattered pan of ice out there, father," said Donald, "and three small bergs." "Yes, b'y, I knows," said North. "'Tis that I'm afeared of. If the wind changes a bit more, 'twill jam the ice agin the rocks. Does you think the net is safe?" Jimmie Grimm glanced at Billy Topsail; and Billy Topsail glanced at Jimmie Grimm. "Wh-wh-what, sir?" Donald stammered. It was quite evident that the net was in danger, but since Donald had first shown sign of fearing the sea, Job North had not compelled him to go out upon perilous undertakings. He had fallen into the habit of leaving the boy to choose his own course, believing that in time he would master himself. "I says," he repeated, quietly, "does you think that net's in danger?" Billy Topsail nudged Jimmie Grimm. They walked off together. It would never do to witness a display of Donald's cowardice. "He'll not go," Jimmie Grimm declared. "'Tis not so sure," said Billy. "I tell you," Jimmie repeated, confidently, "that he'll never go out t' save that net." "But!" he added; "he'll have no heart for the leap." "I think he'll go," Billy insisted. In the meantime Job North had stood regarding his son. "Well, son," he sighed, "what you think about that net?" "I think, sir," said Donald, steadily, between his teeth, "that the net should come in." Job North patted the boy on the back. "'Twould be wise, b'y," said he, smiling. "Come, b'y; we'll go fetch it." "So long, Don!" Billy Topsail shouted delightedly. Donald and his father put out in the punt. There was a fair, fresh wind, and with this filling the little brown sail, they were soon driven out from the quiet water of the harbour to the heaving sea itself. Great swells rolled in from the open and broke furiously against the coast rocks. The punt ran alongshore for two miles, keeping well away from the breakers. When at last she came to that point where Job North's net was set, Donald furled the sail and his father took up the oars. "'Twill be a bit hard to land," he said. Therein lay the danger. There is no beach along that coast. The rocks rise abruptly from the sea--here, sheer and towering; there, low and broken. When there is a sea running, the swells roll in and break against these rocks; and when the breakers catch a punt, they are certain to smash it to splinters. The iron stake to which Job North's net was lashed was fixed in a low ledge, upon which some hardy shrubs had taken root. The waves were casting themselves against the rocks below, breaking with a great roar and flinging spray over the ledge. "'Twill be a bit hard," North said again. But the salmon-fishers have a way of landing under such conditions. When their nets are in danger they do not hesitate. The man at the oars lets the boat drift with the breaker stern foremost towards the rocks. His mate leaps from the stern seat to the ledge. Then the other pulls the boat out of danger before the wave curls and breaks. It is the only way. But sometimes the man in the stern miscalculates--leaps too soon, stumbles, leaps short. He falls back, and is almost inevitably drowned. Sometimes, too, the current of the wave is too strong for the man at the oars; his punt is swept in, pull as hard as he may, and he is overwhelmed with her. Donald knew all this. He had lived in dread of the time when he must first make that leap. "The ice is comin' in, b'y," said North. "'Twill scrape these here rocks, certain sure. Does you think you're strong enough to take the oars an' let me go ashore?" "No, sir," said Donald. "You never leaped afore, did you?" "No, sir." "Will you try it now, b'y?" said North, quietly. "Yes, sir," Donald said, faintly. "Get ready, then," said North. With a stroke or two of the oars Job swung the stern of the boat to the rocks. He kept her hanging in this position until the water fell back and gathered in a new wave; then he lifted his oars. Donald was crouched on the stern seat, waiting for the moment to rise and spring. The boat moved in, running on the crest of the wave which would a moment later break against the rock. Donald stood up, and fixed his eye on the ledge. He was afraid; all the strength and courage he possessed seemed to desert him. The punt was now almost on a level with the ledge. The wave was about to curl and fall. It was the precise moment when he must leap--that instant, too, when the punt must be pulled out of the grip of the breaker, if at all. Billy Topsail and Jimmie Grimm were at this critical moment hanging off Grief Island, in the lee, whence they could see all that occurred. They had come out to watch the issue of Donald's courage. [Illustration: _Courtesy of "The Youth's Companion"_ PLUCKING UP HIS COURAGE, DONALD LEAPED FOR THE ROCK.] "He'll never leap," Jimmie exclaimed. "He will," said Billy. "He'll not," Jimmie declared. "Look!" cried Billy. Donald felt of a sudden that he _must_ do this thing. Therefore why not do it courageously? He leaped; but this new courage had not come in time. He made the ledge, but he fell an inch short of a firm footing. So for a moment he tottered, between falling forward and falling back. Then he caught the branch of an overhanging shrub, and with this saved himself. When he turned, Job had the punt in safety; but he was breathing hard, as if the strain had been great. "'Twas not so hard, was it, b'y?" said Job. "No, sir," said Donald. "I told you so," said Billy Topsail to Jimmie Grimm. "Good b'y!" Jimmie declared, as he hoisted the sail for the homeward run. Donald cast the net line loose from its mooring, and saw that it was all clear. His father let the punt sweep in again. It is much easier to leap from a solid rock than from a boat, so Donald jumped in without difficulty. Then they rowed out to the buoy and hauled the great, dripping net over the side. It was well they had gone out, for before morning the ice had drifted over the place where the net had been. More than that, Donald North profited by his experience. He perceived that if perils must be encountered, they are best met with a clear head and an unflinching heart. "Wisht you'd been out t' see me jump the day," he said to Jimmie Grimm, that night. Billy and Jimmie laughed. "Wisht you had," Donald repeated. "We was," said Jimmie. Donald threw back his head, puffed out his chest, dug his hands in his pockets and strutted off. It was the first time, poor lad! he had ever won the right to swagger in the presence of Jimmie Grimm and Billy Topsail. To be sure, he made the most of it! But he was not yet cured. ----- [1] Donald North himself told me this--told me, too, what he had thought, and what he said to his mother--N. D. CHAPTER VI _In Which, Much to the Delight of Jimmie Grimm and Billy Topsail, Donald North, Having Perilous Business On a Pan of Ice After Night, is Cured of Fear, and Once More Puffs Out His Chest and Struts Like a Rooster_ Like many another snug little harbour on the northeast coast of Newfoundland, Ruddy Cove is confronted by the sea and flanked by a vast wilderness; so all the folk take their living from the sea, as their forebears have done for generations. In the gales and high seas of the summer following, and in the blinding snow-storms and bitter cold of the winter, Donald North grew in fine readiness to face peril at the call of duty. All that he had gained was put to the test in the next spring, when the floating ice, which drifts out of the north in the spring break-up, was driven by the wind against the coast. After that adventure, Jimmie Grimm said: "You're all right, Don!" And Billy Topsail said: "You're all right, Don!" Donald North, himself, stuck his hands in his pockets, threw out his chest, spat like a skipper and strutted like a rooster. "I 'low I _is_!" said he. And he was. And nobody decried his little way of boasting, which lasted only for a day; and everybody was glad that at last he was like other boys. * * * * * Job North, with Alexander Bludd and Bill Stevens, went out on the ice to hunt seal. The hunt led them ten miles offshore. In the afternoon of that day the wind gave some sign of changing to the west, and at dusk it was blowing half a gale offshore. When the wind blows offshore it sweeps all this wandering ice out to sea, and disperses the whole pack. "Go see if your father's comin', b'y," said Donald's mother. "I'm gettin' terrible nervous about the ice." Donald took his gaff--a long pole of the light, tough dogwood, two inches thick and shod with iron--and set out. It was growing dark. The wind, rising still, was blowing in strong, cold gusts. It began to snow while he was yet on the ice of the harbour, half a mile away from the pans and dumpers which the wind of the day before had crowded against the coast. When he came to the "standing edge"--the stationary rim of ice which is frozen to the coast--the wind was thickly charged with snow. What with dusk and snow, he found it hard to keep to the right way. But he was not afraid for himself; his only fear was that the wind would sweep the ice-pack out to sea before his father reached the standing edge. In that event, as he knew, Job North would be doomed. Donald went out on the standing edge. Beyond lay a widening gap of water. The pack had already begun to move out. There was no sign of Job North's party. The lad ran up and down, hallooing as he ran; but for a time there was no answer to his call. Then it seemed to him that he heard a despairing hail, sounding far to the right, whence he had come. Night had almost fallen, and the snow added to its depth; but as he ran back Donald could still see across the gap of water to the great pan of ice, which, of all the pack, was nearest to the standing edge. He perceived that the gap had considerably widened since he had first observed it. "Is that you, father?" he called. "Ay, Donald," came an answering hail from directly opposite. "Is there a small pan of ice on your side?" Donald searched up and down the standing edge for a detached cake large enough for his purpose. Near at hand he came upon a small, thin pan, not more than six feet square. "Haste, b'y!" cried his father. "They's one here," he called back, "but 'tis too small. Is there none there?" "No, b'y. Fetch that over." Here was desperate need. If the lad were to meet it, he must act instantly and fearlessly. He stepped out on the pan and pushed off with his gaff. Using his gaff as a paddle--as these gaffs are constantly used in ferrying by the Newfoundland fishermen--and helped by the wind, he soon ferried himself to where Job North stood waiting with his companions. "'Tis too small," said Stevens. "'Twill not hold two." North looked dubiously at the pan. Alexander Bludd shook his head in despair. "Get back while you can, b'y," said North. "Quick! We're driftin' fast! The pan's too small." "I thinks 'tis big enough for one man an' me," said Donald. "Get aboard an' try it, Alexander," said Job. "Quick, man!" Alexander Bludd stepped on. The pan tipped fearfully, and the water ran over it; but when the weight of the man and the boy was properly adjusted, it seemed capable of bearing them both across. They pushed off, and seemed to go well enough; but when Alexander moved to put his gaff in the water the pan tipped again. Donald came near losing his footing. He moved nearer the edge and the pan came to a level. They paddled with all their strength, for the wind was blowing against them, and there was need of haste if three passages were to be made. Meantime the gap had grown so wide that the wind had turned the ripples into waves, which washed over the pan as high as Donald's ankles. But they came safely across. Bludd stepped swiftly ashore, and Donald pushed off. With the wind in his favour he was soon once more at the other side. "Now, Bill," said North; "your turn next." "I can't do it, Job," said Stevens. "Get aboard yourself. The lad can't come back again. "We're driftin' out too fast. He's your lad, an' you've the right to----" "Ay, I can come back," said Donald. "Come on, Bill! Be quick!" Stevens was a lighter man than Alexander Bludd; but the passage was wider, and still widening, for the pack had gathered speed. When Stevens was safely landed he looked back. A vast white shadow was all that he could see. Job North's figure had been merged with the night. "Donald, b'y," he said, "you got t' go back for your father, but I'm fair feared you'll never----" "Give me a push, Bill," said Donald. Stevens caught the end of the gaff and pushed the lad out. "Good-bye, Donald," he called. When the pan touched the other side Job North stepped aboard without a word. He was a heavy man. With his great body on the ice-cake, the difficulty of return was enormously increased, as Donald had foreseen. The pan was overweighted. Time and again it nearly shook itself free of its load and rose to the surface. North was near the centre, plying his gaff with difficulty, but Donald was on the extreme edge. Moreover, the distance was twice as great as it had been at first, and the waves were running high, and it was dark. They made way slowly. The pan often wavered beneath them; but Donald was intent upon the thing he was doing, and he was not afraid. Then came the time--they were but ten yards off the standing edge--when North struck his gaff too deep into the water. He lost his balance, struggled to regain it, failed--and fell off. Before Donald was awake to the danger, the edge of the pan sank under him, and he, too, toppled off. Donald had learned to swim now. When he came to the surface, his father was breast-high in the water, looking for him. "Are you all right, Donald?" said his father. "Yes, sir." "Can you reach the ice alone?" "Yes, sir," said Donald, quietly. Alexander Bludd and Bill Stevens helped them up on the standing edge, and they were home by the kitchen fire in half an hour. "'Twas bravely done, b'y," said Job. So Donald North learned that perils feared are much more terrible than perils faced. He had a courage of the finest kind, in the following days of adventure, now close upon him, had young Donald. CHAPTER VII _In Which Bagg, Imported From the Gutters of London, Lands At Ruddy Cove From the Mail-Boat, Makes the Acquaintance of Jimmie Grimm and Billy Topsail, and Tells Them 'E Wants to Go 'Ome. In Which, Also, the Way to Catastrophe Is Pointed_ The mail-boat comes to Ruddy Cove in the night, when the shadows are black and wet, and the wind, blowing in from the sea, is charged with a clammy mist. The lights in the cottages are blurred by the fog. They form a broken line of yellow splotches rounding the harbour's edge. Beyond is deep night and a wilderness into which the wind drives. In the morning the fog still clings to the coast. Within the cloudy wall it is all glum and dripping wet. When a veering wind sweeps the fog away, there lies disclosed a world of rock and forest and fuming sea, stretching from the end of the earth to the summits of the inland hills--a place of ruggedness and hazy distances; of silence and a vast, forbidding loneliness. It was on such a morning that Bagg, the London gutter-snipe, having been landed at Ruddy Cove from the mail-boat the night before--this being in the fall before Donald North played ferryman between the standing edge and the floe--it was on such a foggy morning, I say, that Bagg made the acquaintance of Billy Topsail and Jimmie Grimm. "Hello!" said Billy Topsail. "Hello!" Jimmie Grimm echoed. "You blokes live 'ere?" Bagg whined. "Uh-huh," said Billy Topsail. "This yer '_ome_?" pursued Bagg. Billy nodded. "Wisht _I_ was 'ome!" sighed Bagg. "I say," he added, "which way's 'ome from 'ere?" "You mean Skipper 'Zekiel's cottage?" "I mean Lun'on," said Bagg. "Don't know," Billy answered. "You better ask Uncle Tommy Luff. He'll tell you." Bagg had been exported for adoption. The gutters of London are never exhausted of their product of malformed little bodies and souls; they provide waifs for the remotest colonies of the empire. So, as it chanced, Bagg had been exported to Newfoundland--transported from his native alleys to this vast and lonely place. Bagg was scrawny and sallow, with bandy legs and watery eyes and a fantastic cranium; and he had a snub nose, which turned blue when a cold wind struck it. But when he was landed from the mail-boat he found a warm welcome, just the same, from Ruth Rideout, Ezekiel's wife, by whom he had been taken for adoption. * * * * * Later in the day, old Uncle Tommy Luff, just in from the fishing grounds off the Mull, where he had been jigging for stray cod all day long, had moored his punt to the stage-head, and he was now coming up the path with his sail over his shoulder, his back to the wide, flaring sunset. Bagg sat at the turn to Squid Cove, disconsolate. The sky was heavy with glowing clouds, and the whole earth was filled with a glory such as he had not known before. "Shall I arst the ol' beggar when 'e gets 'ere?" mused Bagg. Uncle Tommy looked up with a smile. "I say, mister," piped Bagg, when the old man came abreast, "which way's 'ome from 'ere?" "Eh, b'y?" said Uncle Tommy. "'Ome, sir. Which way is 'ome from 'ere?" In that one word Bagg's sickness of heart expressed itself--in the quivering, wistful accent. "Is you 'Zekiel Rideout's lad?" said Uncle Tommy. "Don't yer make no mistake, mister," said Bagg, somewhat resentfully. "I ain't nothink t' nobody." "I knowed you was that lad," Uncle Tommy drawled, "when I seed the size o' you. Sure, b'y, you knows so well as me where 'Zekiel's place is to. 'Tis t' the head o' Burnt Cove, there, with the white railin', an' the tater patch aft o' the place where they spreads the fish. Sure, you knows the way home." "I mean Lun'on, mister," Bagg urged. "Oh, home!" said Uncle Tommy. "When I was a lad like you, b'y, just here from the West Country, me fawther told me if I steered a course out o' the tickle an' kept me starn fair for the meetin'-house, I'd sure get home t' last." "Which way, mister?" Uncle Tommy pointed out to sea--to that far place in the east where the dusk was creeping up over the horizon. "There, b'y," said he. "Home lies there." Then Uncle Tommy shifted his sail to the other shoulder and trudged on up the hill; and Bagg threw himself on the ground and wept until his sobs convulsed his scrawny little body. "I want to go 'ome!" he sobbed. "I want to go 'ome!" * * * * * No wonder that Bagg, London born and bred, wanted to go home to the crowd and roar and glitter of the streets to which he had been used. It was fall in Ruddy Cove, when the winds are variable and gusty, when the sea is breaking under the sweep of a freshening breeze and yet heaving to the force of spent gales. Fogs, persistently returning with the east wind, filled the days with gloom and dampness. Great breakers beat against the harbour rocks; the swish and thud of them never ceased, nor was there any escape from it. Bagg went to the fishing grounds with Ezekiel Rideout, where he jigged for the fall run of cod; and there he was tossed about in the lop, and chilled to the marrow by the nor'easters. Many a time the punt ran heeling and plunging for the shelter of the harbour, with the spray falling upon Bagg where he cowered amidships; and once she was nearly undone by an offshore gale. In the end Bagg learned consideration for the whims of a punt and acquired an unfathomable respect for a gust and a breaking wave. Thus the fall passed, when the catching and splitting and drying of fish was a distraction. Then came the winter--short, drear days, mere breaks in the night, when there was no relief from the silence and vasty space round about, and the dark was filled with the terrors of snow and great winds and loneliness. At last the spring arrived, when the ice drifted out of the north in vast floes, bearing herds of hair-seal within reach of the gaffs of the harbour folk, and was carried hither and thither with the wind. Then there came a day when the wind gathered the dumpers and pans in one broad mass and jammed it against the coast. The sea, where it had lain black and fretful all winter long, was now covered and hidden. The ice stretched unbroken from the rocks of Ruddy Cove to the limit of vision in the east. And Bagg marvelled. There seemed to be a solid path from Ruddy Cove straight away in the direction in which Uncle Tommy Luff had said that England lay. Notwithstanding the comfort and plenty of his place with Aunt Ruth Rideout and Uncle Ezekiel, Bagg still longed to go back to the gutters of London. "I want to go 'ome," he often said to Billy Topsail and Jimmie Grimm. "What for?" Billy once demanded. "Don't know," Bagg replied. "I jus' want to go 'ome." At last Bagg formed a plan. CHAPTER VIII _In Which Bagg, Unknown to Ruddy Cove, Starts for Home, and, After Some Difficulty, Safely Gets There_ Uncle Tommy Luff, coming up the hill one day when the ice was jammed against the coast and covered the sea as far as sight carried, was stopped by Bagg at the turn to Squid Cove. "I say, mister," said Bagg, "which way was you tellin' me Lun'on was from 'ere?" Uncle Tommy pointed straight out to the ice-covered sea. "That way?" asked Bagg. "Straight out o' the tickle with the meetin'-house astarn." "Think a bloke could ever get there?" Bagg inquired. Uncle Tommy laughed. "If he kep' on walkin' he'd strike it some time," he answered. "Sure?" Bagg demanded. "If he kep' on walkin'," Uncle Tommy repeated, smiling. This much may be said of the ice: the wind which carries it inshore inevitably sweeps it out to sea again, in an hour or a day or a week, as it may chance. The whole pack--the wide expanse of enormous fragments of fields and glaciers--is in the grip of the wind, which, as all men know, bloweth where it listeth. A nor'east gale sets it grinding against the coast, but when the wind veers to the west the pack moves out and scatters. If a man is caught in that great rush and heaving, he has nothing further to do with his own fate but wait. He escapes if he has strength to survive until the wind blows the ice against the coast again--not else. When the Newfoundlander starts out to the seal hunt he makes sure, in so far as he can, that no change in the wind is threatened. Uncle Ezekiel Rideout kept an eye on the weather that night. "Be you goin', b'y?" said Ruth, looking up from her weaving. Ezekiel had just come in from Lookout Head, where the watchers had caught sight of the seals, swarming far off in the shadows. "They's seals out there," he said, "but I don't know as us'll go the night. 'Tis like the wind'll haul t' the west." "What do Uncle Tommy Luff say?" "That 'twill haul t' the west an' freshen afore midnight." "Sure, then, you'll not be goin', b'y?" "I don't know as anybody'll go," said he. "Looks a bit too nasty for 'em." Nevertheless, Ezekiel put some pork and hard-bread in his dunny bag, and made ready his gaff and tow-lines, lest, by chance, the weather should promise fair at midnight. "Where's that young scamp?" said Ezekiel, with a smile--a smile which expressed a fine, indulgent affection. "Now, I wonder where he is?" said Ruth, pausing in her work. "He've been gone more'n an hour, sure." "Leave un bide where he is so long as he likes," said he. "Sure he must be havin' a bit o' sport. 'Twill do un good." Ezekiel sat down by the fire and dozed. From time to time he went to the door to watch the weather. From time to time Aunt Ruth listened for the footfalls of Bagg coming up the path. After a long time she put her work away. The moon was shining through a mist; so she sat at the window, for from there she could see the boy when he rounded the turn to the path. She wished he would come home. "I'll go down t' Topsail's t' see what's t' be done about the seals," said Ezekiel. "Keep a lookout for the b'y," said she. Ezekiel was back in half an hour. "Topsail's gone t' bed," said he. "Sure, no one's goin' out the night. The wind's hauled round t' the west, an' 'twill blow a gale afore mornin'. The ice is movin' out slow a'ready. Be that lad out yet?" "Yes, b'y," said Ruth, anxiously. "I wisht he'd come home." "I--I--wisht he would," said Ezekiel. Ruth went to the door and called Bagg by name. But there was no answer. * * * * * Offshore, four miles offshore, Bagg was footing it for England as fast as his skinny little legs would carry him. The way was hard--a winding, uneven path over the pack. It led round clumpers, over ridges which were hard to scale, and across broad, slippery pans. The frost had glued every fragment to its neighbour; for the moment the pack formed one solid mass, continuous and at rest, but the connection between its parts was of the slenderest, needing only a change of the wind or the ground swell of the sea to break it everywhere. The moon was up. It was half obscured by a haze which was driving out from the shore, to which quarter the wind had now fairly veered. The wind was rising--coming in gusts, in which, soon, flakes of snow appeared. But there was light enough to keep to the general direction out from the coast, and the wind but helped Bagg along. "I got t' 'urry up," thought he. The boy looked behind. Ruddy Cove was within sight. He was surprised that the coast was still so near. "Got t' 'urry up a bit more," he determined. He was elated--highly elated. He thought that his old home was but a night's journey distant; at most, not more than a night and a day, and he had more than food enough in his pockets to last through that. He was elated; but from time to time a certain regret entered in, and it was not easily cast out. He remembered the touch of Aunt Ruth's lips, and her arm, which had often stolen about him in the dusk; and he remembered that Uncle Ezekiel had beamed upon him most affectionately, in times of mischief and good works alike. He had been well loved in Ruddy Cove. "Wisht I'd told Aunt Ruth," Bagg thought. On he trudged--straight out to sea. "Got t' 'urry up," thought he. Again the affection of Aunt Ruth occurred to him. She had been very kind; and as for Uncle 'Zeke--why, nobody could have been kinder. "Wisht I _'ad_ told Aunt Ruth," Bagg regretted. "Might o' said good-bye anyhow." The ice was now drifting out; but the wind had not yet risen to that measure of strength wherewith it tears the pack to pieces, nor had the sea attacked it. There was a gap of two hundred yards between the coast rocks and the edge of the ice, but that was far, far back, and hidden from sight. The pack was drifting slowly, smoothly, still in one compact mass. Its motion was not felt by Bagg, who pressed steadily on toward England, eager again, but fast growing weary. "Got t' 'urry up," thought he. But presently he must rest; and while he rested the wind gathered strength. It went singing over the pack, pressing ever with a stronger hand upon its dumpers and ridges--pushing it, everywhere, faster and faster out to sea. The pack was on the point of breaking in pieces under the strain, but the wind still fell short of the power to rend it. There was a greater volume of snow falling; it was driven past in thin, swirling clouds. Hence the light of the moon began to fail. Far away, at the rim of the pack, the sea was eating its way in, but the swish and crash of its work was too far distant to be heard. "I ain't nothink t' nobody but Aunt Ruth," Bagg thought, as he rose to continue the tramp. On he went, the wind lending him wings; but at last his legs gave out at the knees, and he sat down again to rest. This was in the lee of a clumper, where he was comfortably sheltered. He was still warm--in a glow of heat, indeed--and his hope was still with him. So far he had suffered from nothing save weariness. So he began to dream of what he would do when he got home, just as all men do when they come near, once again, to that old place where they were born. The wind was now a gale, blowing furiously; the pack was groaning in its outlying parts. "Nothink t' nobody," Bagg grumbled, on his way once more. Then he stopped dead--in terror. He had heard the breaking of an ice-pan--a great clap and rumble, vanishing in the distance. The noise was repeated, all roundabout--bursting from everywhere, rising to a fearful volume: near at hand, a cracking; far off, a continuing roar. The pack was breaking up. Each separate part was torn from another, and the noise of the rending was great. Each part ground against its neighbour on every side. The weaker pans were crushed like egg-shells. Then the whole began to feel the heave of the sea. "It's a earthquake!" thought Bagg. "I better 'urry up." He looked back over the way he had come--searching the shadows for Ruddy Cove. But the coast was lost to sight. "Must be near acrost, now," he thought. "I'll 'urry up." So he turned his back on Ruddy Cove and ran straight out to sea, for he thought that England was nearer than the coast he had left. He was now upon a pan, both broad and thick--stout enough to withstand the pressure of the pack. It was a wide field of ice, which the cold of the far North, acting through many years, it may be, had made strong. Elsewhere the pans were breaking--were lifting themselves out of the press and falling back in pieces--were being ground to finest fragments. This mighty confusion of noise and wind and snow and night, and the upheaval of the whole world roundabout, made the soul of Bagg shiver within him. It surpassed the terrors of his dreams. "Guess I never _will_ get 'ome," thought he. Soon he came to the edge of the pan. Beyond, where the pack was in smaller blocks, the sea was swelling beneath it. The ice was all heaving and swaying. He dared not venture out upon this shifting ground. So he ran up and down, seeking a path onward; but he discovered none. Meantime, the parts of the pack had fallen into easier positions; the noise of crunching, as the one ground against the other, had somewhat abated. The ice continued its course outward, under the driving force of the wind, but the pressure was relieved. The pans fell away from one another. Lakes and lanes of water opened up. The pan upon which Bagg chanced to find himself in the great break-up soon floated free. There was now no escape from it. Bagg retreated from the edge, for the seas began to break there. "Wisht I was 'ome again," he sobbed. This time he did not look towards England, but wistfully back to Ruddy Cove. * * * * * The gale wasted away in the night. The next day was warm and sunny on all that coast. An ice-pack hung offshore from Fortune Harbour. In the afternoon it began to creep in with a light wind. The first pans struck the coast at dusk. The folk of the place were on the Head, on the lookout for the sign of a herd of seal. Just before night fell they spied a black speck, as far out from shore as their eyes could see. "They'll be seals out there the morrow," the men were all agreed. So they went home and prepared to set out at dawn of the next day. In the night, the wind swept the whole pack in, to the last lagging pan. The ice was all jammed against the coast--a firm, vast expanse, stretching to the horizon, and held in place by the wind, which continued strong and steady. The men of Fortune Harbour went confidently out to the hunt. At noon, when they were ten miles off the shore, they perceived the approach of a small, black figure. The meeting came soon afterwards, for the folk of Fortune Harbour, being both curious and quick to respond to need, made haste. "I say, mister," said Bagg, briskly, addressing old John Forsyth, "yer 'aven't got no 'am, 'ave yer?" The men of Fortune Harbour laughed. "Or nothink else, 'ave yer?" Bagg continued, hopefully. "I'm a bit 'ungry." "Sure, b'y," said Forsyth. "I've a biscuit an' a bit o' pork." "'Ave yer, now?" said Bagg. "Would yer mind giv----" But his hands were already full. A moment later his mouth was in the same condition. "How'd you come out here?" said Forsyth. "Swep' out," said Bagg. "I say, mister," he added, between munches, "which way would yer say my 'ome was from 'ere?" "Where's your home?" "Ruddy Cove," said Bagg. "'Tis fifteen mile up the coast." "'Ow would you get there quickest if yer 'ad to?" "We'll take care o' you, b'y," said Forsyth. "We'll put you t' Ruddy Cove in a skiff, when the ice goes out. Seems t' me," he added, "you must be the boy Ezekiel Rideout took. Isn't you Ezekiel Rideout's boy?" "Bet yer life I am," said Bagg. CHAPTER IX _In Which Jimmie Grimm and Billy Topsail, Being Added Up and Called a Man, Are Shipped For St. John's, With Bill o' Burnt Bay, Where They Fall In With Archie Armstrong, Sir Archibald's Son, and Bill o' Burnt Bay Declines to Insure the "First Venture"_ Of course, Donald North, who had been ferryman to his father, had no foolishly romantic idea of his experience on that pan of ice; nor had Jimmie Grimm, nor had Billy Topsail. Donald North would not have called it an adventure, nor himself a hero; he would have said, without any affectation of modesty, "Oh, that was jus' a little mess!" The thing had come in the course of the day's work: that was all. Something had depended upon him, and, greatly to his elation, he had "made good." It was no more to him than a hard tackle to a boy of the American towns. Any sound American boy--any boy of healthy courage and clean heart--would doubtless have taken Job North off the drifting floe; and Donald North, for his part, would no doubt have made the tackle and saved the goal--though frightened to a greenish pallor--had he ever been face to face with the necessity. Had he ever survived a football game, he would have thought himself a hero, and perhaps have boasted more than was pleasant; but to have taken a larger chance with his life on a pan of ice was so small and usual a thing as presently to be forgotten. Newfoundland boys are used to that. * * * * * It was still spring at Ruddy Cove--two weeks or more after Bagg came back to his real home--when Donald North's friends, Billy Topsail and Jimmie Grimm, fell into considerable peril in a gale of wind off the Chunks. Even they--used to such adventures as they were--called it a narrow escape. "No more o' that for _me_," said Billy Topsail, afterwards. "Nor me," said Jimmie Grimm. "You'll both o' you take all that comes your way," Bill o' Burnt Bay put in, tartly. It was aboard the _First Venture_, which Bill o' Burnt Bay had as master-builder built at Ruddy Cove for himself. She was to be his--she _was_ his--and he loved her from stem to stern. And she was his because Sir Archibald Armstrong, the great St. John's merchant and ship-owner, had advanced the money to build her in recognition of Skipper Bill's courageous rescue of Archie Armstrong, Sir Archibald's only son, in a great blizzard, on the sealing voyage of the year before.[2] At any rate, the _First Venture_ was Bill's; and she was now afloat and finished, rigged to the last strand of rope. To say that Skipper Bill was proud of her does not begin to express the way in which he loved her. "Now, look you, Billy Topsail, and you, too, Jimmie Grimm!" said he, gravely, one day, beckoning the boys near. The _First Venture_ was lying at anchor in the harbour, ready for her maiden voyage to St. John's. "I'm in need of a man aboard this here craft," Bill o' Burnt Bay went on; "an' as there's none t' be had in this harbour I'm thinkin' of addin' you two boys up an' callin' the answer t' the sum a man." "Wisht you would, Skipper Bill," said Jimmie. "Two halves makes a whole," Bill mused, scratching his head in doubt. "Leastwise, so I was teached." "They teach it in school," said Jimmie. Billy Topsail grinned delightedly. "Well," Bill declared, at last, "I'll take you, no matter what comes of it, for there's nothing else I can do." It wasn't quite complimentary; but the boys didn't mind. * * * * * When the _First Venture_ made St. John's it was still early enough in the spring of the year for small craft to be at sea. When she was ready to depart on the return voyage to Ruddy Cove, the days were days of changeable weather, of wind and snow, of fog and rain, of unseasonable intervals of quiet sunshine. The predictions of the wiseacres were not to be trusted; and, at any rate, every forecast was made with a wag of the head that implied a large mental reservation. At sea it was better to proceed with caution. To be prepared for emergencies--to expect the worst and to be ready for it--was the part of plain common sense. And Skipper Bill o' Burnt Bay was well aware of this. The _First Venture_ lay in dock at St. John's. She was loaded for Ruddy Cove and the ports beyond. Skipper Bill had launched himself as a coastwise skipper--master of the stout _First Venture_, carrying freight to the northern settlements at a fair rate for all comers. The hold was full to the deck; and the deck itself was cumbered with casks and cases, all lashed fast in anticipation of a rough voyage. It was a miscellaneous cargo: flour, beef, powder and shot, molasses, kerosene, clothing--such necessities, in short, as the various merchants to whom the cargo was consigned could dispose of to the people of the coast, and such simple comforts as the people could afford. She was a trim and stout little fore-and-aft schooner of fifty tons burthen. The viewers had awarded the government bounty without a quibble. Old John Hulton, the chief of them--a terror to the slipshod master-builders--had frankly said that she was an honest little craft from bowsprit to taffrail. The newspapers had complimented Bill o' Burnt Bay, her builder, in black and white which could not be disputed. They had even called Skipper Bill "one of the honest master-builders of the outports." Nor had they forgotten to add the hope that "in the hands of Skipper William, builder and master, the new craft will have many and prosperous voyages." By this praise, of course, Skipper Bill was made to glow from head to foot with happy gratification. All the _First Venture_ wanted was a fair wind out. "She can leg it, sir," Skipper Bill said to Sir Archibald, running his eyes over the tall, trim spars of the new craft; "an' once she gets t' sea she's got ballast enough t' stand up to a sousing breeze. With any sort o' civil weather she ought t' make Ruddy Cove in five days." "I'd not drive her too hard," said Sir Archibald, who had come down to look at the new schooner for a purpose. Bill o' Burnt Bay looked up in amazement. This from the hard-sailing Sir Archibald! "Not too hard," Sir Archibald repeated. Skipper Bill laughed. "I'm sure," said Sir Archibald, "that Mrs. William had rather have you come safe than unexpected. Be modest, Skipper Bill, and reef the _Venture_ when she howls for mercy." "I'll bargain t' reef her, sir," Bill replied, "when I thinks you would yourself." "Oh, come, skipper!" Sir Archibald laughed. Bill o' Burnt Bay roared like the lusty sea-dog he was. "I've good reason for wishing you to go cautiously," said Sir Archibald, gravely. Bill looked up with interest. "You've settled at Ruddy Cove, skipper?" "Ay, sir," Bill answered. "I moved the wife t' Ruddy Cove when I undertook t' build the _Venture_." "I'm thinking of sending Archie down to spend the summer," said Sir Archibald. Bill o' Burnt Bay beamed largely and delightedly. "Do you think," Sir Archibald went on, with a little grin, "that Mrs. Skipper William would care to take him in?" "_Care?_" Skipper Bill exclaimed. "Why, sir, 'twould be as good as takin' her a stick o' peppermint." "He'll come aboard this afternoon," said Sir Archibald. "He'll be second mate o' the _Venture_," Bill declared. "Skipper," said Sir Archibald, presently, "you'll be wanting this craft insured, I suppose?" "Well, no, sir," Bill drawled. Sir Archibald frowned. "No trouble for me to take the papers out for you," said he. "You see, sir," Bill explained, "I was allowin' t' save that there insurance money." "Penny wise and pound foolish," said Sir Archibald. "Oh," drawled Skipper Bill, "I'll manage t' get her t' Ruddy Cove well enough. Anyhow," he added, "'twon't be wind nor sea that will wreck my schooner." "As you will," said Sir Archibald, shortly; "the craft's yours." * * * * * Archie Armstrong came aboard that afternoon--followed by two porters and two trunks. He was Sir Archibald's son; there was no doubt about that: a fine, hardy lad--robust, straight, agile, alert, with his head carried high; merry, quick-minded, ready-tongued, fearless in wind and high sea. His hair was tawny, his eyes blue and wide and clear, his face broad and good-humoured. He was something of a small dandy, too, as the two porters and the two trunks might have explained. The cut of his coat, the knot in his cravat, the polish on his boots, the set of his knickerbockers, were always matters of deep concern to him. But this did not interfere with his friendship with Billy Topsail, the outport boy. That friendship had been formed in times of peril and hardship, when a boy was a boy, and clothes had had nothing to say in the matter. Archie bounded up the gangplank, crossed the deck in three leaps and stuck his head into the forecastle. "Ahoy, Billy Topsail!" he roared. "Ahoy, yourself!" Billy shouted. "Come below, Archie, an' take a look at Jimmie Grimm." Jimmie Grimm was at once taken into the company of friends. ----- [2] The story of this voyage--the tale of the time when Archie Armstrong and Billy Topsail and Bill o' Burnt Bay were lost in the snow on the ice-floe--with certain other happenings in which Billy Topsail was involved--is related in "The Adventures of Billy Topsail." [Illustration: _Courtesy of "The Youth's Companion"_ SHE WAS BEATING LABORIOUSLY INTO A VIOLENT HEAD WIND.] CHAPTER X _In Which the Cook Smells Smoke, and the "First Venture" In a Gale of Wind Off the Chunks, Comes Into Still Graver Peril, Which Billy Topsail Discovers_ Skipper Bill o' Burnt Bay got the _First Venture_ under way at dawn of the next day. It was blowing a stiff breeze. A fine, fresh wind was romping fair to the northwest, where, far off, Ruddy Cove lay and Mrs. Skipper William waited. "I 'low," Skipper Bill mused, as the schooner slipped through the narrows, "that that there insurance wouldn't o' done much harm anyhow." There was an abrupt change of weather. It came without warning; and there was no hint of apology to the skipper of the _First Venture_. When the schooner was still to the s'uth'ard of the dangerous Chunks, but approaching them, she was beating laboriously into a violent and capricious head wind. Bill o' Burnt Bay, giving heed to Sir Archibald's injunction, kept her well off the group of barren islands. They were mere rocks, scattered widely. Some of them showed their forbidding heads to passing craft; others were submerged, as though lying in wait. It would be well to sight them, he knew, that he might better lay his course; but he was bound that no lurking rock should "pick up" his ship. "Somehow or other," he thought, "I wisht I _had_ took out that there insurance." At dusk it began to snow. What with this thick, blinding cloud driving past, shrouding the face of the sea, and what with the tumultuous waves breaking over her, and what with the roaring gale drowning her lee rail, the _First Venture_ was having a rough time of it. Skipper Bill, with his hands on the wheel, had the very satisfactory impression, for which he is not to be blamed, that he was "a man." But when, at last, the _First Venture_ began to howl for mercy in no uncertain way, he did not hesitate to waive the wild joy of "driving" for the satisfaction of keeping his spars in the sockets. "Better call the hands, Tom!" he shouted to the first hand. "We'll reef her." Tom put his head into the forecastle. The fire in the little round stove was roaring lustily; and the swinging lamp filled the narrow place with warm light. "Out with you, lads!" Tom cried. "All hands on deck t' reef the mains'l!" Up they tumbled; and up tumbled Archie Armstrong, and up tumbled Jimmie Grimm, and up tumbled Billy Topsail. "Blowin' some," thought Archie. "Great sailin' breeze. What's he reefin' for?" The great sail was obstinate. Ease the schooner as Skipper Bill would, it was still hard for his crew of two men, three lads and a cook to grasp and confine the canvas. Meantime, the schooner lurched along, tossing her head, digging her nose into the frothy waves. A cask on the after deck broke its lashings, pursued a mad and devastating career fore and aft, and at last went spinning into the sea. Skipper Bill devoutly hoped that nothing else would get loose above or below. He cast an apprehensive glance into the darkening cloud of snow ahead. There was no promise to be descried. And to leeward the first islands of the Chunks, which had been sighted an hour ago, had disappeared in the night. "Lively with that mains'l, lads!" Skipper Bill shouted, lifting his voice above the wind. "We'll reef the fores'l!" The crew had been intent upon the task in hand. Not a man had yet smelled smoke. And they continued to wrestle with the obstinate sail, each wishing, heartily enough, to get the dirty-weather job well done, and to return to the comfort of the forecastle. It was the cook who first paused to sniff--to sniff again--and to fancy he smelled smoke. But a gust of wind at that moment bellied his fold of the sail, and he forgot the dawning suspicion in an immediate tussle to reduce the disordered canvas. A few minutes more of desperate work and the mainsail was securely reefed; but these were supremely momentous intervals, during which the fate of the _First Venture_ was determined. "All stowed, sir!" Archie Armstrong shouted to the skipper. "Get at that fores'l, then!" was the order. With the customary, "Ay, ay, sir!" shouted cheerily, in the manner of good men and willing lads, the crew ran forward. Skipper Bill remembers that the cook tripped and went sprawling into the lee scupper; and that he scrambled out of the water with a laugh. It was the last laugh aboard the _First Venture_; for the condition of the schooner was then instantly discovered. "Fire!" screamed Billy Topsail. The _First Venture_ was all ablaze forward. CHAPTER XI _In Which the "First Venture" All Ablaze Forward, Is Headed For the Rocks and Breakers of the Chunks, While Bill o' Burnt Bay and His Crew Wait for the Explosion of the Powder in Her Hold. In Which, Also, a Rope Is Put to Good Use_ "Fire!" A cloud of smoke broke from the forecastle and was swept off by the wind. A tongue of red flame flashed upward and expired. Skipper Bill did not need the cries of terror and warning to inform him. The _First Venture_ was afire! And she was not only afire; she was off the Chunks in a gale of wind and snow. "Aft, here, one o' you!" When Billy Topsail took the wheel, the skipper plunged into the forecastle. It was a desperate intention. He was back in a moment, singed and gasping. But in that interval he had made out that the forecastle stove, in some violent lurch of the schooner, had broken loose, and had been bandied about, distributing red coals in every part. He had made out, moreover, that the situation of the schooner was infinitely perilous, if not, indeed, quite beyond hope. The forecastle was all ablaze. In five minutes it would be a furnace. "We're lost!" Jimmie Grimm cried, staring at the frothy waves running past. "Not yet," Archie grimly replied. They were all of heart and strength and ingenuity; and they worked with all their might. But the buckets of water, and the great seas, which Skipper Bill, in desperation, deliberately shipped, made little impression. It was soon evident that the little _First Venture_ was doomed. Meantime, the skipper had brought her before the wind, and she was now flying towards the inhospitable Chunks. The skipper was less concerned for his schooner than for the lives of his crew. The ship was already lost; the crew--well, how _could_ the crew survive the rocks and gigantic breakers of the Chunks? It was the only hope. No small boat could for a moment live in the sea that was running. The schooner must be beached on the Chunks. There was no other refuge. But how beach her? It was a dark night, with the snow flying thick. Was it possible to sight a black, low-lying rock? There was nothing for it but to drive with the wind in the hope of striking. There were many islands; she might strike one. But would it really be an island, whereon a man might crawl out of reach of the sea? or would it be a rock swept by the breakers? Chance would determine that. Skipper Bill was powerless. But would she make the Chunks before she was ablaze from stem to stern? Again, the skipper was powerless; he could do no more than give her all the wind that blew. So he ordered the reefs shaken out--and waited. "Tom," said the skipper, presently, to the first hand, "was it you stowed the cargo?" "Yes, sir." There was a pause. Archie Armstrong and Jimmie Grimm, aft near the wheel, wondered why the skipper had put the question. "An' where," the skipper asked, quietly, "did you put the powder?" "For'ard, sir." "How far for'ard?" "Fair up against the forecastle bulkhead!" The appalling significance of this was plain to the crew. The bulkhead was a thin partition dividing the forecastle from the hold. "Archie," Skipper Bill drawled, "you better loose the stays'l sheet. She ought t' do better than this." He paused. "Fair against the forecastle bulkhead?" he continued. "Tom, you better get the hatch off, an' see what you're able t' do about gettin' them six kegs o' powder out. No--bide here!" he added. "Take the wheel again, Billy. Get that hatch off, some o' you." It was the skipper himself who dropped into the hold. The cargo was packed tight. Heavy barrels of flour, puncheons of molasses, casks of pork and beef, lay between the skipper and the powder. He crawled forward, wriggling in the narrow space between the freight and the deck. No fire had as yet entered the hold; but the place was full of stifling smoke. It was apparent that the removal of the powder would be the labour of hours; and there were no hours left for labour. The skipper could stand the smoke no longer. He retreated towards the hatch. How long it would be before the fire communicated itself to the cargo--how long it would be before the explosion of six kegs of powder would scatter the wreck of the _First Venture_ upon the surface of the sea--no man could tell. But the end was inevitable. Anxious questions greeted the skipper when again he stood upon the wind-swept deck. "Close the hatch," said he. "No chance, sir?" Archie asked. "No, b'y." The forecastle was already closed. There was no gleam of fire anywhere to be seen. The bitter wind savoured of smoke; nothing else betrayed the schooner's peril. "Now, get you all back aft!" was the skipper's command. "Keep her head as it points." When the crew had crept away to the place remotest from the danger point, Bill o' Burnt Bay went forward to keep a lookout for the rocks and breakers. The burning forecastle was beneath his feet; he could hear the crackling of the fire; and the smoke, rising now more voluminously, troubled his nostrils and throat. It was pitch dark ahead. There was no blacker shadow of land, no white flash of water, to give him hope. It seemed as though an unbroken expanse of sea lay before the labouring _First Venture_. But the skipper knew to the contrary; somewhere in the night into which he stared--somewhere near, and, momentarily, drawing nearer--lay the Chunks. He wondered if the _First Venture_ would strike before the explosion occurred. It must be soon, he knew. The possibility of being off the course did not trouble him. Soon the seams of the deck began to open. Smoke poured out in thickening clouds. Points of light, fast changing to lines of flame, warned the skipper that he must retreat. It was not, however, until heat and smoke and the certain prospect of collapse compelled him, that he joined the crew. He was not a spectacular hero; when common sense dictated return, he obeyed without delay, and without maudlin complaint. Without a word he took the wheel from Billy Topsail's hands, and without a word he kept the schooner on her course. There was no need of command or advice; men and boys knew their situation and their duty. "It can't be long," said the cook. There was now a glow of red light above the forecastle. The fire was about to break through. It was not hard to surmise that the collapse of the bulkhead was imminent. "No, sir!" the fidgety cook repeated. "It can't be long, now." It seemed long. Minute after minute passed, each of incredible length, while the _First Venture_ staggered forward, wildly pitching through the seas. At last, the flames broke out of the forecastle and illuminated the deck. "Not long, now!" the cook whimpered. "It _can't_ be!" Nor was it. The _First Venture_ struck. She was upon the rocks before the skipper was well aware that breakers lay ahead. Her bow fell, struck, was lifted, fell again, and fastened itself. The next wave flung the schooner broadside. The third completed the turn. She lay with her head pointing into the wind. Her stern, where the crew stood waiting for the end, rose and fell on the verge of a great breaker. Beyond was a broken cliff, rising to unwashed heights, which the snow had begun to whiten. The bow was lifted clear of the waves; the stern was awash. A space of white water lay between the schooner and the shore. Bill o' Burnt Bay let go his grip on the wheel. There was but one thing to do. Many a skipper had done it before; but never before had there been such desperate need of haste. The fire still burned lustily; and the forecastle was high out of the water. "If I can't do it," the skipper shouted, "it's the first hand's turn next." He had fastened the end of a coil of rope about his waist. Now he stood swaying on the taffrail. By the light of the fire--uncertain and dull--he must act. He leaped a moment after the next wave had slipped under the stern--when, in the current, he should reach the rocks just after the wave had broken. The crew waited a long time. Many a glance was cast forward; it seemed to them all, such headway had the fire made, that the six kegs of powder must explode the very next instant. No sign came from the skipper; and no sight of him could be caught. They paid out the rope--and waited. The rope was for a long time loose in their hands. "He's landed!" cried Jimmie Grimm. The rope was hauled taut. Upon the rocks, out of reach of the sea, the figure of the skipper could be seen. "One at a time!" Skipper Bill shouted. And one at a time they went--decently and in order, like true Newfoundland sailors, Tom Rook, the first hand, the last of all. When they were all ashore, they scrambled like mad up the cliff; and they were no more than out of danger when the _First Venture_ was blown to atoms. There was a flash, a deafening roar--and darkness; broken only by the spluttering splinters of the little craft. * * * * * That night, from Heart's Harbour, the folk observed a ship afire, running in towards the Chunks. To the report they sent immediately to St. John's--there happens fortunately to be a government telegraph station at Heart's Harbour--they added, later, that she had blown up. But from St. John's the salvage-tug _Hurricane_ was dispatched into the stormy sea in search of the survivors; and on the second day following she picked up Skipper Bill o' Burnt Bay and his crew. Next day they were in St. John's. "Wisht I'd took your advice about the insurance, sir," broken-hearted Bill o' Burnt Bay said to Sir Archibald. Sir Archibald laughed. "I took it for you," said he. "What?" Skipper Bill exploded. "I insured the _First Venture_ on my own responsibility," Sir Archibald replied. "You shall build the _Second Venture_ at Ruddy Cove next winter." Archie Armstrong and Bill o' Burnt Bay, with the lads and men of the lost _First Venture_, went back to Ruddy Cove by rail and the mail-boat. CHAPTER XII _In Which Old David Grey, Once of the Hudson Bay Company, Begins the Tale of How Donald McLeod, the Factor at Fort Refuge, Scorned a Compromise With His Honour, Though His Arms Were Pinioned Behind Him and a Dozen Tomahawks Were Flourished About His Head._ Archie Armstrong was presently established in a white little room in the beaming Aunt "Bill's" little white cottage at Ruddy Cove. His two trunks--two new trunks, now--were there established with him, of course; and they contained a new outfit of caps, shoes, boots, sweaters, coats, gloves, and what not, suited to every circumstance and all sorts of weather. Then began for Archie, Jimmie and Billy--with Bagg, of the London gutters, sometimes included--hearty times ashore and afloat. It was Bagg, indeed, who proposed the cruise to Birds' Nest Islands. "I said I wouldn't go t' Birds' Nest Islands," said Billy Topsail, "an' I won't." "Ah, come on, Billy," Archie pleaded. "I said I wouldn't," Billy repeated, obstinately, "an' I won't." "That ain't nothink," Bagg argued. "Anyhow," said Billy, "I won't, for I got my reasons."[3] David Grey, a bent old fellow, who was now long "past his labour," as they say in Newfoundland, sat within hearing. Boy and man he had been in the service of the Hudson Bay Company, as hunter, clerk, trader, explorer, factor; and here, on the coast where he had been born, he had settled down to spend the rest of his days. He was not an ignorant man, but, on the contrary, an intelligent one, educated by service, wide evening study of books, and hard experience in the great wildernesses of the Canadian Northwest, begun, long ago, when he was a lad. "You make me think of Donald McLeod," said he. The boys drew near. * * * * * "It was long ago," David went on. "Long, long ago," the old man repeated. "It was 'way back in the first half of the last century, for I was little more than a boy then. McLeod was factor at Fort Refuge, a remote post, situated three hundred miles or more to the northeast of Lake Superior, but now abandoned. And a successful, fair-dealing trader he was, but so stern and taciturn as to keep both his helpers and his half-civilized customers in awe of him. It was deep in the wilderness--not the wilderness as you boys know it, where a man might wander night and day without fear of wild beast or savage, but a vast, unexplored place, with dangers lurking everywhere. "'Grey,' he said to me when I reported for duty, fresh from headquarters, 'if you do your duty by me, I'll do mine by you.' "'I'll try to,' said I. "'When you know me better,' said McLeod, with quiet emphasis, 'you'll know that I stand by my word.' "We dealt, of course, with the Indians, who, spring and fall, brought their furs to the fort, and never failed to remain until they had wasted their earnings in the fashion that best pleased their fancy. "Even then the Indians were degenerate, given over to idleness and debauchery; but they were not so far sunk in these habits as are the dull, lazy fellows who sell you the baskets and beaded moccasins that the squaws make to-day. They were superstitious, malicious, revengeful, and they were almost in a condition of savagery, for the only law they knew was the law our guns enforced. Some authority was vested in the factor, and he was not slow to exert it when a flagrant offense was committed near by. "'There's no band of Indians in these parts,' I was told, 'that can scare McLeod. He'll see justice done for and against them as between man and man.' "Fort Refuge was set in a wide clearing. It was built of logs and surrounded by a high, stout stockade. Admittance to the yard was by a great gate, which was closed promptly at sundown, and always strongly barred. We had no garrison regularly stationed there to defend us. In all, it may be, we could muster nine men--McLeod, two clerks, and a number of stout fellows who helped handle the stores. Moreover, were our gate to be closed and our fort surrounded by a hostile force, we should be utterly cut off from communication with those quarters whence relief might come. We had the company's wares to guard, and we knew that once we were overcome, whatever the object of the attack, the wares and our lives would be lost together. "'But we can stand a long siege,' I used to think; and indeed there was good ground for comfort in that. "Our stockade was impregnable to an attack by force, no doubt; but as it soon appeared, it was no more than a paper ribbon before the wily strategy of the Indians. One night, when I had shut the gates and dropped the bars, I heard a long-drawn cry--a scream, in which it was not hard to detect the quality of terror and great stress. It came, as I thought, from the edge of the forest. When it was repeated, near at hand, my heart went to my mouth, for I knew that a band of Indians was encamped beyond, and had been carousing for a week past. Then came a knocking at the gate--a desperate pounding and kicking. "'Let me in! Open! Open!' I heard a man cry. "I had my hands on the bar to lift it and throw open the gate when McLeod came out of his house. "'Stop!' he shouted. "I withdrew from the gate. He approached, waved me back, and put his own hand on the bar. "'Who's there?' he asked. "'Let me in, McLeod. It's Landley. Quick! Open the gate, or I'll be killed!' "McLeod's hesitation vanished. He opened the gate. A man stumbled in. Then the gate was shut with a bang. "'What's this about, Landley?' McLeod said, sternly. 'What trouble have you got yourself into now?' "I knew Landley for a white man who had abandoned himself to a shiftless, vicious life with the Indians. He had sunk lower, even, than they. He was an evil, worthless, ragged fellow, despised within the fort and respected nowhere. But while he stood there, gasping and terror-stricken, I pitied him; and it may be McLeod himself was stirred by the mere kinship of colour. "'Speak up, man!' he commanded. 'What have you done?' "'I've done no wrong,' Landley whimpered. 'Buffalo Horn's young son has died, and they put the blame on me. They say I've cast the evil eye on him. They say I killed him with a spell. You know me, McLeod. You know I haven't got the evil eye. Don't turn me out, man. They're coming to kill me. Don't give me up. You know I'm not blood-guilty. You know me. You know I haven't got the evil eye.' "'Tush, man!' said McLeod. 'Is that all the trouble?' "'That's all!' Landley cried. 'I've done no harm. Don't give me up to them.' "'I won't,' McLeod said, positively. 'You're safe here until they prove you blood-guilty. I'll not give you up.'" Old David Grey paused; and Jimmie demanded: "Did they give un up?" "Was they _wild_ Indians?" Bagg gasped. David laughed. "You just wait and see," said he. ----- [3] Billy Topsail's reasons were no doubt connected with an encounter with a gigantic devil-fish at Birds' Nest Islands, as related in "The Adventures of Billy Topsail." CHAPTER XIII _In Which There Are Too Many Knocks At the Gate, a Stratagem Is Successful, Red Feather Draws a Tomahawk, and an Indian Girl Appears On the Scene_ "McLeod turned on his heel and went to the shop," David continued; "and when he had ordered a watch to be kept on the clearing on all sides, we devoted ourselves to the matter in hand--the preparation of the regular quarterly statement for the officials at headquarters. But as we laboured, hatchets, knives and the cruel, evil faces of the savages, by whom, as I chose to think, we were threatened, mixed themselves with the figures, to my bewilderment. "Soon the dusk came, and while I trimmed and lighted the candles in the shadowy outer room there seemed to be shapes in the corners which I had never seen there in quieter times. McLeod, however, was unperturbed. He had forgotten all about the numerous band which he stood ready to defy. "'Do you think there is danger?' said I. "'Danger?' said he. 'From what?' "'Buffalo Horn's band,' said I. "'Nonsense!' said he. 'What is that last total? There seems to be a shilling and sixpence missing here.' "At that moment one of the helpers came in. He was visibly excited--like a man who bears tidings. "'Red Feather is at the gate,' he said. "'Is he alone?' said McLeod. "'Yes, sir. We made sure of that.' "'Fetch him here,' said the factor, calmly. 'Take Tom and Tobias to the gate, and don't let Red Feather hold it open.' "Red Feather was soon brought in. He was the chief of the band, an old, crafty Indian, chief in name, but inferior in authority to Buffalo Horn, who was chief in fact. McLeod continued his work. "'Let us talk,' said Red Feather, at last. "He spoke in his own tongue, which I shall interpret freely for you. McLeod put his pen aside and faced about. "'What have we to talk about?' he asked. 'The trading is done. You have your supplies. There is no business between us.' "'We have the white man to talk about,' said Red Feather. 'He has killed a child of our tribe, and you have given him refuge here. He has killed the son of Buffalo Horn with the evil eye. He must be put to death.' "'I know this man,' said McLeod. 'He has not the evil eye. He has killed no man, and he shall not be given up.' "'His life is forfeit to the tribe.' "'His life is in my keeping. I have said that he shall not lose it. Am I the man to break my word?' "'You have kept your word between us,' said Red Feather. 'You are not the man to break your word.' "'What business, then, lies between us? Our talk is done.' "The guard at the gate interrupted. 'There is a man knocking at the gate,' he said. "'It is my brother,' said Red Feather. 'He comes to join the talk. Let him in.' "'Open the gate,' said McLeod. "It was growing dark. I went with the guard to admit the brother of Red Feather. Dusk had fallen over the clearing. The sky was overcast; in half an hour it would be deep night, the clearing one with the forest. But we opened the gate. A tall Indian stalked in. He was alone, and I knew him for the brother of Red Feather. I followed him to the shop, making sure first that the bar was in place. "'Let us have the white man,' he said to McLeod. 'Let the peace between us continue.' "McLeod perceived the threat. He was not a rash man. He had no wish to provoke a conflict, but he had no thought of surrendering the refugee. As for me, my trust was in the stockade. "'I will talk with the white man,' he said. "The factor was gone for half an hour. He secreted Landley, inspected the defenses, gathered the women and children in the blockhouse, and returned to the council. "'The white man is not blood-guilty,' he said, proudly. 'I have promised him protection and he shall have it.' "Again the helper came. 'There is another knock at the gate,' said he. "'Who is there?' said McLeod. "'It's so dark I can't see,' said the helper. "'The man is my cousin,' said Red Feather. 'He has come to talk with us. Let him in, for he is a wise man and may help us.' "'Open the gate,' said McLeod. "We sat silent, waiting for the cousin of Red Feather, the wise man who might help us. I heard the rattle of the bar as the helper lifted it, then the creak of the gate. Then a furious outcry, a confusion of howls and screams, a war-whoop and a rush of feet. The Indians were within the stockade. A moment later they burst into the shop and advanced upon us, uttering blood-curdling whoops and brandishing their hatchets and knives. McLeod reached for the musket above the desk, but before his fingers touched it Red Feather caught him by the arms, and with the help of the brother made him prisoner. At the same instant I was secured. "'Let us strike! Let us strike!' the Indians kept shouting, all the while dancing about us, flourishing their weapons. "The danger was real and terrible. We were at the mercy of the band, and at that moment I did not doubt that they were bent on murder and pillage. There had been a cruel massacre at Fort Pine but a few months before. The story was fresh in my mind. That crime had gone unpunished; nor was it likely that a sufficient force would be sent west to give the band their due. There was nothing now to deter Red Feather's men from committing a similar outrage. We were remote from our kind, on the edge of a wilderness into which escape was a simple matter. Our guns, as I have said, had been our law and defense, and we were now utterly in the power of our enemies. "'Let us strike! Let us strike!' was the cry. "Buffalo Horn had come in with the band. It was soon evident that to the restraining influence of his presence was due our respite. He waved his braves back. They withdrew and became quiet. "'Will you give the murderer of my child to our tribe?' the chief said to McLeod. "'He is no longer mine to give,' said the factor. "'Will you give him to us in peace and forget that he has gone with us?' "McLeod was still in the grasp of Red Feather and his brother. Buffalo Horn was facing him. Behind the chief, awaiting his signal, was the band, with knives and hatchets in hand. "'No,' said McLeod. "The tumult was renewed. The Indians advanced, threatening the factor with their weapons and crying out for his death. But McLeod was not to be terrified. [Illustration: _Courtesy of "The Youth's Companion"_ BUFFALO HORN LOOKED STEADILY INTO McLEOD'S EYES.] "'Let us take the white man,' said Buffalo Horn, lifting his hand for silence. 'We have no quarrel with you. Let all be as it was.' "'No,' said McLeod. 'I will never consent to his murder.' "'Let us take him.' "'I said I wouldn't,' said McLeod, 'and I won't.' "It seemed to me that the end had come. Buffalo Horn looked steadily into McLeod's eyes. McLeod gave him glance for glance. He was ready to die for the word he had passed. The Indian hesitated. It may be that he did not want to precipitate the slaughter. Then he turned, as if to give the signal. Before his hand was raised, however, the daughter of the Indian interpreter of the post pushed her way through the band of braves and stood before their chief. "'Listen,' said she. 'Have you come to rob the great company of its goods?' "'No,' said Buffalo Horn. 'We have no quarrel with the great company.' "She was a slip of a girl, to whom, in sickness and in health, McLeod had been unfailingly kind. She knew no fear, and in intelligence she was superior to all the other women of her race I have known. "'Have you come to take the life of this man?' she went on, moving closer to Buffalo Horn, and looking deep into his eyes. "'No,' said the chief, 'we have no quarrel with this man. He is a good man, but he will not deliver the murderer of my child.' "'Will you take his life because of that?' "'No; we will take his life because he will betray our part in the death of the white man whom he has tried to shelter.' "'There are others who might betray you.' "'And their lives, also,' said Buffalo Horn, composedly. "All that had been implied was now expressed. He was to massacre us all to shield his tribe from the punishment that might follow the discovery of his revenge. "'You will lay waste the fort,' said the interpreter's daughter, 'but will the ruins not accuse you to the great company which this man serves?' "'We will be far away.' "'And will you never care to return to the grounds you have hunted from childhood?' "To this Buffalo Horn made no reply. He looked at the floor, his arms folded, and he was silent for a long time. "'This man,' said the girl, touching McLeod on the shoulder, 'has dealt fairly by you. He has kept his faith with you. He said that he would provide you with food through the hard seasons. Has he not done so?' "'He has kept faith with us,' said the chief. 'Therefore he is a good man.' "'He is a good man because he has kept faith with you,' the girl said, eagerly. 'Would you, then, have him break faith with some other? He has said to the white man, "I will not give you up." Would you have him break the word he has passed? For if he breaks it once, will he not break it again? If he should yield up the white man, what security would you have that he would provide for you through the next hard season?' "'He keeps his word,' said Buffalo Horn. 'He is a good man.' "He made a sign to Red Feather to release McLeod. Then he gathered his braves about him, and stalking solemnly at their head, led them out of the shop, over the courtyard and through the gate. We were left alone. "'Leave the gate open, Tobias,' said McLeod. 'Come, boy,' to me, 'let us get to work on the quarterly statement again. This interruption came at an awkward time. We'll have to make up for it.'" That was the end of David's story. CHAPTER XIV _In Which Jimmie Grimm and Master Bagg Are Overtaken by the Black Fog in the Open Sea and Lose the Way Home While a Gale is Brewing_ Jimmie Grimm and Bagg, returning from Birds' Nest Islands, were caught by the black fog in the open sea. It had been lowering all day. Dull clouds had hung in the sky since early morning and had kept the waters of the sea sombre. There was no wind--not the faintest breath or sigh. The harbour water was still; and the open--beyond the tickle rocks--was without a ripple or hint of ground swell. A thick, gray mist crept out from the hills, late in the afternoon, and presently obscured the shore. Jimmie and Bagg were then off Mad Mull. Two miles of flat sea and windless space lay between the punt and the harbour. "Goin' t' be thick as mud," Jimmie grumbled. "Wisht we was more inshore," said Bagg, anxiously. At dusk the fog was so thick that every landmark had been blotted from sight. "Is _you_ able t' see Mad Mull?" Jimmie demanded. "I is _not_," said Bagg. Mad Mull was lost in the fog. It was the last landmark. The tickle rocks, through which a passage leads to the harbour, had long ago vanished. "Wisht we was home," said Bagg. "Don't you go an' get scared, Bagg," Jimmie laughed. "Never you fear. _I'll_ take _you_ home." It was hot, dark and damp--a breathless evening. There was a menace in the still air and heat. A roll of thunder sounded from the northeast. "I 'low 'twill blow afore long," said Jimmie. "'Urry up," said Bagg. Jimmie put a little more strength into the rowing. The punt moved faster, but not fast enough to please Bagg, who was terrified by the fog, the thunder and the still, black water. "Never you fear," Jimmie grumbled; "you'll get home afore the wind comes." Bagg wasn't so sure of that. "An' it _will_ come," Jimmie reflected. "I can fair feel it on the way." Jimmie pulled doggedly. Occasionally a rumble of thunder came out of the northeast to enliven his strokes. There was no wind, however, as yet, except, perhaps, an adverse stirring of the air--the first hint of a gale. On and on crept the punt. There was no lessening of the heat. Jimmie and Bagg fairly gasped. They fancied it had never been so hot before. But Jimmie did not weaken at the oars; he was stout-hearted and used to labour, and the punt did not lag. On they went through the mist without a mark to guide them. Roundabout was a wall of darkening fog. It hid the whole world. "Must be gettin' close inshore," said Jimmie, at last, while he rested on his oars, quite bewildered. "What you stoppin' for?" Bagg demanded. "Seems t' me," said Jimmie, scratching his head in a puzzled way, "that we ought t' be in the tickle by this time." It was evident, however, that they were not in the tickle.[4] There was no sign of the rocks on either hand. Jimmie gazed about him in every direction for a moment. He saw nothing except a circle of black water about the boat. Beyond was the black wall of fog. "Wonderful queer," thought he, as he dipped his oars in the water again; "but I 'low we ought t' be in the harbour." There was a louder clap of thunder. "We'll have that wind afore long," mused Jimmie. "You 'aven't gone an' lost your way, 'ave you?" Bagg inquired in a frightened voice. "Wonderful queer," Jimmie replied. "We _ought_ t' be in the harbour by this time. I 'low maybe I been pullin' too far t' the nor'east." "No, you 'aven't," said Bagg; "you been pullin' too far t' the sou'east." "I 'low not," mused Jimmie. "'Ave, too," Bagg sniffed. Jimmie was not quite sure, after all. He wavered. Something seemed to be wrong. It didn't _feel_ right. Some homing instinct told him that the tickle rocks did not lie in the direction in which the bow of the punt pointed. In fact, the whole thing was queer--very queer! But he had not pulled too far to the southeast; he was sure of that. Perhaps, too far to the northeast. He determined to change his course. "Now, Bagg," said he, confidently, "I'll take you into harbour." A clap of thunder--sounding near at hand--urged the boy on. "Wisht you would," Bagg whimpered. Jimmie turned the boat's head. He wondered if he had turned far enough. Then he fancied he had turned too far. Why, of course, thought he, he had turned too far! He swerved again towards the original direction. This, however, did not feel just right. Again he changed the course of the boat. He wondered if the harbour lay ahead. Or was it the open sea? Was he pulling straight out from shore? Would the big wind catch the little punt out of harbour? "How's she headin' now?" he asked Bagg. "You turned too far," said Bagg. "Not far enough," said Jimmie. Jimmie rowed doggedly on the course of his choosing for half an hour or more without developing anything to give him a clue to their whereabouts. Night added to the obscurity. They might have been on a shoreless waste of water for all that they were able to see. The mist made the night impenetrable. Jimmie could but dimly distinguish Bagg's form, although he sat not more than five feet from him; soon he could not see him at all. At last he lifted his oars and looked over the bow. "I don't know where we is," he said. "No more do I," Bagg sobbed. "I 'low we're lost," Jimmie admitted. Just then the first gust of wind rippled the water around the boat and went whistling into the mist. ----- [4] A "tickle" is a narrow passage of water between two islands. It is also (as here used) a narrow passage leading into harbour. CHAPTER XV _In Which it Appears to Jimmie Grimm and Master Bagg That Sixty Seconds Sometimes Make More Than a Minute_ Ruddy Cove is deep--vastly deep--except in one part. That is in Burnt Cove within the harbour. There at low tide it is shallow. Rocks protrude from the water--dripping and covered with a slimy seaweed. And Burnt Cove lies near the tickle to the sea. You pass between the tickle rocks, bear sharply to the right and are presently in the cove. It is a big expanse, snugly sheltered; and it shallows so slowly that there are many acres of quiet water in which the little fellows of Ruddy Cove learn to swim. Ezekiel Rideout's cottage was by Burnt Cove; and Bagg wished most heartily that he were there. * * * * * But Bagg was at sea. And the punt was a small one. It was not Jimmie Grimm's fishing punt; it was a shallow little rodney, which Jimmie's father used for going about in when the ice and seals were off the coast. It was so small and light that it could be carried over the pans of ice from one lane of open water to another. And being small and light it was cranky. It was no rough weather boat; nor was it a boat to move very much about in, as both boys were quite well aware. Bagg heard Jimmie's oars rattle in the row-locks and the blades strike the water. The boat moved forward. Jimmie began to row with all his strength--almost angrily. It was plain that he was losing his temper. And not only did he lose his temper; he had grown tired before he regained it. "Here, Bagg," said he; "you have a go at it." "I'll 'ave a try," Bagg agreed. Jimmie let the oars swing to the side and Bagg made ready to steady the little boat. Bagg heard him rise. The boat rocked a little. "Steady!" Bagg gasped. "Steady, yourself!" Jimmie retorted. "Think I don't know how t' get around in a rodney?" It was now so dark, what with night and fog, that Bagg could not see Jimmie. But presently he understood that Jimmie was on his feet waiting for him to rise in his turn. They were to exchange places. Bagg got to his feet, and, with all the caution he could command, advanced a step, stretching out his hands as he did so. But Bagg had not been born on the coast and was not yet master of himself in a boat. He swayed to the left--fairly lurched. "Have a care!" Jimmie scolded. Have you never, in deep darkness, suddenly felt a loss of power to keep your equilibrium? You open your eyes to their widest. Nothing is to be seen. You have no longer a sense of perpendicularity. You sway this way and that, groping for something to keep you from falling. And that is just what happened to Bagg. He was at best shaky on his legs in a boat; and now, in darkness and fear, his whole mind was fixed on finding something to grasp with his hands. "Is you ready?" asked Jimmie. "Uh-huh!" Bagg gasped. "Come on," said Jimmie; "but mind what you're about." Bagg made a step forward. Again the boat rocked; again the darkness confused him, and he had to stop to regain his balance. In the pause it struck him with unpleasant force that he could not swim. He was sure, moreover, that the boat would sink if she filled. He wished he had not thought of that. A third half-crawling advance brought him within reach of Jimmie. He caught Jimmie's outstretched hand and drew himself forward until they were very close. "Look out!" he cried. He had crept too far to the right. The boat listed alarmingly. They caught each other about the middle, and crouched down, waiting, rigid, until she had come to an even keel. Presently they were ready to pass each other. "Now," said Jimmie. Bagg made the attempt to pass him. The foothold was uncertain; the darkness was confusing. He moved to the side, but so great was his agitation that he miscalculated, and the boat tipped suddenly under his weight. The water swept over the gunwale. Bagg would have fallen bodily from the punt had it not been for Jimmie's clutch on his arm. In the light they might have steadied themselves; in the dark they could not. Jimmie drew Bagg back--but too hurriedly, too strongly, too far. The side of the boat over which he had almost fallen leaped high in the air and the opposite gunwale was submerged. Jimmie released him, and Bagg collapsed into a sitting posture in the bottom. Instinctively he grasped the gunwales and frantically tried to right the boat. He felt the water slowly curling over. "She's goin' down," said Jimmie. "Sinkin'!" Bagg sobbed. The boat sank very slowly, gently swaying from side to side. Bagg and Jimmie could see nothing, and all they could hear was the gurgle and hissing of the water as it curled over the gunwales and eddied in the bottom of the boat. Bagg felt the water rise over his legs--creep to his waist--rise to his chest--and still ascend. Through those seconds he was incapable of action. He did not think; he just waited. Jimmie wondered where the shore was. A yard or a mile away? In which direction would it be best to strike out? How could he help Bagg? He must not leave Bagg to drown. But how could he help him? What was the use of trying, anyhow? If he could not row ashore, how could he manage to swim ashore? And if he could not get ashore himself, how could he help Bagg ashore? Nothing was said. Neither boy breathed. Both waited. And it seemed to both that the water was slow in coming aboard. But the water came. It came slowly, perhaps--but surely. It rose to Bagg's shoulders--to his chin--it seemed to be about to cover his mouth and nostrils. Bagg already had a stifled sensation--a frantic fear of smothering; a wish to breathe deep. But he did not stir; he could not rise. The boys felt a slight shock. The water rose no more. There was a moment of deep silence. "I--I--I 'low we've grounded!" Jimmie Grimm stuttered. The silence continued. "We sure is!" Jimmie cried. "Wh-wh-where 'ave we got to?" Bagg gasped, his teeth chattering with the fright that was not yet passed. Silence again. "Ahoy, there!" came a voice from near at hand in the foggy night. "What you boys doin' out there?" "We're in Burnt Cove," said Jimmie, in amazement, to Bagg. "'Tis Uncle Zeke's voice--an', ay, look!--there's the cottage light on the hill." "We're comin' ashore, Uncle Zeke," Bagg shouted. The boat had grounded in less than three feet of water. Jimmie had brought her through the tickle without knowing it. The boys emptied her and dragged her ashore just as the rain and wind came rushing from the open sea. That's why Jimmie used to say with a laugh: "Sixty seconds sometimes makes more than a minute." "Bet yer life!" Bagg would add. CHAPTER XVI _In Which Archie Armstrong Joins a Piratical Expedition and Sails Crested Seas to Cut Out the Schooner "Heavenly Home"_ It was quite true that Archie Armstrong could speak French; it was just as true, as Bill o' Burnt Bay observed, that he could jabber it like a native. There was no detecting a false accent. There was no hint of an awkward Anglo-Saxon tongue in his speech. There was no telling that he was not French born and Paris bred. Archie's French nurse and cosmopolitan-English tutor had taken care of that. The boy had pattered French with the former since he had first begun to prattle at all. And this was why Bill o' Burnt Bay proposed a piratical expedition to the French islands of Miquelon which lie off the south coast of Newfoundland. "Won't ye go, b'y?" he pleaded. Archie laughed until his sides ached. "Come, now!" Bill urged; "there's like t' be a bit of a shindy that Sir Archibald hisself would be glad t' have a hand in." "'Tis sheer piracy!" Archie chuckled. "'Tis nothin' of the sort!" the indignant Skipper William protested. "'Tis but a poor man takin' his own from thieves an' robbers." "Have you ever been to Saint Pierre?" Archie asked. "That I has!" Skipper Bill ejaculated; "an' much t' the grief o' Saint Pierre." "They've a jail there, I'm told." "Sure 'tis like home t' me," said Skipper Bill. "I've been in it; an' I'm told they've an eye open t' clap me in once more." Archie laughed again. "Jus' t' help a poor man take back his own without troublin' the judges," Bill urged. The lad hesitated. "Sure, I've sore need o' your limber French tongue," said Bill. "Sure, b'y, you'll go along with me, will you not?" "Why don't you go to law for your own?" Archie asked, with a little grin. "Law!" Bill o' Burnt Bay burst out. "'Tis a poor show I'd have in a court at Saint Pierre. Hut!" he snorted. "Law!--for a Newfoundlander in Saint Pierre!" "My father----" Archie began. "I'll have the help o' no man's money nor brains nor influence in a business so simple," Bill protested. The situation was this: Bill o' Burnt Bay had chartered a schooner--his antique schooner--the schooner that was forever on the point of sinking with all hands--Bill had chartered the schooner _Heavenly Home_ to Luke Foremast of Boney Arm to run a cargo from Saint Pierre. But no sooner had the schooner appeared in French waters than she was impounded for a debt that Luke Foremast unhappily owed Garnot & Cie, of Saint Pierre. It was a high-handed proceeding, of course; and it was perhaps undertaken without scruple because of the unpopularity of all Newfoundlanders. Luke Foremast protested in an Anglo-Saxon roar; but roar and bellow and bark and growl as he would, it made no difference: the _Heavenly Home_ was seized, condemned and offered for sale, as Bill o' Burnt Bay had but now learned. "'Tis a hard thing to do," Archie objected. "Hut!" Bill exclaimed. "'Tis nothin' but goin' aboard in the dark an' puttin' quietly out t' sea." "Anyhow," Archie laughed, "I'll go." Sir Archibald Armstrong liked to have his son stand upon his own feet. He did not wish to be unduly troubled with requests for permission; he fancied it a babyish habit for a well-grown boy to fall into. The boy should decide for himself, said he, where decision was reasonably possible for him; and if he made mistakes he would surely pay for them and learn caution and wisdom. For this reason Archie had no hesitation in coming to his own decision and immediately setting out with Bill o' Burnt Bay upon an expedition which promised a good deal of highly diverting and wholly unusual experience. Billy Topsail and Jimmie Grimm wished the expedition luck when it boarded the mail-boat that night. * * * * * Archie Armstrong did not know until they were well started that Bill o' Burnt Bay was a marked man in Saint Pierre. There was no price on his head, to be sure, but he was answerable for several offenses which would pass current in St. John's for assault and battery, if not for assault with intent to maim or kill (which Bill had never tried to do)--all committed in those old days when he was young and wild and loved a ruction better than a prayer-meeting. They determined to make a landing by stealth--a wise precaution, as it appeared to Archie. So in three days they were at La Maline, a small fishing harbour on the south coast of Newfoundland, and a port of call for the Placentia Bay mail-boat. The Iles Saint Pierre et Miquelon, the remnant of the western empire of the French, lay some twenty miles to the southwest, across a channel which at best is of uncertain mood, and on this day was as forbidding a waste of waves and gray clouds as it had been Archie's lot to venture out upon. Bill o' Burnt Bay had picked up his ideal of a craft for the passage--a skiff so cheap and rotten that "'twould be small loss, sir, if she sank under us." And the skipper was in a roaring good humour as with all sail set he drove the old hulk through that wilderness of crested seas; and big Josiah Cove, who had been taken along to help sail the _Heavenly Home_, as he swung the bail bucket, was not a whit behind in glowing expectation--in particular, that expectation which concerned an encounter with a gendarme with whom he had had the misfortune to exchange nothing but words upon a former occasion. As for Archie, at times he felt like a smuggler, and capped himself in fancy with a red turban, at times like a pirate. * * * * * They made Saint Pierre at dusk--dusk of a thick night, with the wind blowing half a gale from the east. They had no mind to subject themselves to those formalities which might precipitate embarrassing disclosures; so they ran up the harbour as inconspicuously as might be, all the while keeping a covert lookout for the skinny old craft which they had come to cut out. The fog, drifting in as they proceeded, added its shelter to that of the night; and they dared to make a search. They found her at last, lying at anchor in the isolation of government waters--a most advantageous circumstance. "Take the skiff 'longside, skipper," said Josiah. "'Tis a bit risky, Josiah, b'y," said Skipper Bill. "But 'twould be good--now, really, 'twould--'twould be good t' tread her old deck for a spell." "An' lay a hand to her wheel," said Josiah, with a side wink so broad that the darkening mist could not hide it. "An' lay a hand to her wheel," repeated the skipper. "An' lay a hand to her wheel!" They ran in--full into the lee of her--and rounded to under the stern. The sails of the skiff flapped noisily and the water slapped her sides. They rested breathless--waiting an event which might warn them to be off into hiding in the fog. But no disquieting sound came from the schooner--no startled exclamation, no hail, no footfall: nothing but the creaking of the anchor chain and the rattle of the blocks aloft. A schooner loomed up and shot past like a shadow; then silence. Archie gave a low hail in French. There was no response from the _Heavenly Home_; nor did a second hail, in a raised voice, bring forth an answering sound. It was all silent and dark aboard. So Skipper Bill reached out with the gaff and drew the boat up the lee side. He chuckled a bit and shook himself. It seemed to Archie that he freed his arms and loosened his great muscles as for a fight. With a second chuckle he caught the rail, leaped from the skiff like a cat and rolled over on the deck of his own schooner. They heard the thud of his fall--a muttered word or two, mixed up with laughter--then the soft fall of his feet departing aft. For a long time nothing occurred to inform them of what the skipper was about. They strained their ears. In the end they heard a muffled cry, which seemed to come out of the shoreward cloud of fog--a thud, as though coming from a great distance--and nothing more. "What's that?" Archie whispered. "'Tis a row aboard a Frenchman t' win'ard, sir," said Josiah. "'Tis a skipper beatin' a 'prentice. They does it a wonderful lot." Five minutes passed without a sign of the skipper. Then he came forward on a run. His feet rang on the deck. There was no concealment. "I've trussed up the watchman!" he chortled. Archie and Josiah clambered aboard. CHAPTER XVII _In Which Bill o' Burnt Bay Finds Himself in Jail and Archie Armstrong Discovers That Reality is Not as Diverting as Romance_ To be sure, Bill o' Burnt Bay had overcome the watchman! He had blundered upon him in the cabin. Being observed before he could withdraw, he had leaped upon this functionary with resistless impetuosity--had overpowered him, gagged him, trussed him like a turkey cock and rolled him into his bunk. The waters roundabout gave no sign of having been apprised of the capture. No cry of surprise rang out--no call for help--no hullabaloo of pursuit. The lights of the old town twinkled in the foggy night in undisturbed serenity. The night was thick, and the wind swept furiously up from the sea. It would be a dead beat to windward to make the open--a sharp beat through a rock-strewn channel in a rising gale. "Now we got her," Skipper Bill laughed, "what'll we do with her?" Archie and Josiah laughed, too: a hearty explosion. "We can never beat out in this wind," said Bill; "an' we couldn't handle her if we did--not in a gale o' wind like this. All along," he chuckled, "I been 'lowin' for a fair wind an' good weather." They heard the rattle and creak of oars approaching; to which, in a few minutes, the voices of two men added a poignant interest. The rowers rested on their oars, as though looking about; then the oars splashed the water again, and the dory shot towards the _Heavenly Home_. Bill o' Burnt Bay and his fellow pirates lay flat on the deck. The boat hung off the stern of the schooner. "Jean!" The hail was in French. It was not answered, you may be sure, from the _Heavenly Home_. "Jean!" "He's not aboard," spoke up the other man. "He must be aboard. His dory's tied to the rail. Jean! Jean Morot!" "Come--let's be off to the _Voyageur_. He's asleep." A pair of oars fell in the water. "Come--take your oars. It's too rough to lie here. And it's late enough." "But----" "Take your oars!" with an oath. The Newfoundlanders breathed easier when they heard the splash and creak and rattle receding; but they did not rise until the sounds were out of hearing, presumably in the direction of the _Voyageur_. * * * * * Bill o' Burnt Bay began to laugh again. Archie joined him. But Josiah Cove pointed out the necessity of doing something--anything--and doing it quickly. It was all very well to laugh, said he; and although it might seem a comical thing to be standing on the deck of a captured schooner, the comedy would be the Frenchman's if they were caught in the act. But Archie still chuckled away; the situation was quite too ridiculous to be taken seriously. Archie had never been a pirate before; he didn't feel like one now--but he rather liked the feeling he had. "We can't stay aboard," said he, presently. "Blest if I want t' go ashore," said Bill. "We _got_ t' go ashore," Josiah put in. Before they left the deck of the _Heavenly Home_ (the watchman having then been made more comfortable), it was agreed that the schooner could not make the open sea in the teeth of the wind. That was obvious; and it was just as obvious that the Newfoundlander could not stay aboard. The discovery of the watchman in the cabin must be chanced until such a time as a fair wind came in the night. On their way to the obscure wharf at which they landed it was determined that Josiah should board the schooner at nine o'clock, noon, and six o'clock of the next day to feed the captured watchman and to set the galley fire going for half an hour to allay suspicion. "An' Skipper Bill," said Josiah, seriously, "you lie low. If you don't you're liable to be took up." "Take your advice t' yourself," the skipper retorted. "Your reputation's none o' the best in this harbour." "We'll sail to-morrow night," said Archie. "Given a dark night an' a fair wind," the skipper qualified. Skipper Bill made his way to a quiet café of his acquaintance; and Josiah vanished in the fog to lie hidden with a shipmate of other days. Archie--depending upon his youth and air and accent and well-tailored dress to avert suspicion--went boldly to the Hotel Joinville and sat down to dinner. The dinner was good; he enjoyed it, and was presently delighting in the romance in which he had a part. It all seemed too good to be true. How glad he was he had come! To be here--in the French Islands of Miquelon--to have captured a schooner--to have a prisoner in the cabin--to be about to run off with the _Heavenly Home_. For the life of him, Archie could not take the thing seriously. He chuckled--and chuckled--and chuckled again. Presently he walked abroad; and in the quaint streets and old customs of the little town, here remote from all the things of the present and of the new world as we know it in this day, he found that which soon lifted him into a dream of times long past and of doughty deeds for honour and a lady. Soft voices in the streets, forms flitting from shadow to shadow, priest and strutting gendarme and veiled lady, gabled roofs, barred windows, low doorways, the clatter of sabots, the pendant street lights, the rumble of the ten o'clock drums. These things, seen in a mist, were all of the days when bold ventures were made--of those days when a brave man would recover his own, come what might, if it had been wrongfully wrested from him. It was a rare dream--and not broken until he turned into the Quai de la Ronciere. As he rounded the corner he was almost knocked from his feet by a burly fellow in a Basque cap who was breathless with haste. "Monsieur--if he will pardon--it was not----" this fellow stammered, apologetically. Men were hurrying past toward the Café d'Espoir, appearing everywhere from the mist and running with the speed of deep excitement. There was a clamorous crowd about the door--pushing, scuffling, shouting. "What has happened?" Archie asked in French. "An American has killed a gendarme, monsieur. A ter-rible fellow! Oh, fear-r-rful!" "And why--what----" "He was a ter-rible fellow, monsieur. The gendarmes have been on the lookout for him for three years. And when they laid hands on him he fought, monsieur--fought with the strength of a savage. It took five gendarmes to bind him--five, monsieur. Poor Louis Arnot! He is dead--killed, monsieur, by a pig of an American with his fist. They are to take the murderer to the jail. I am just now running to warn Deschamps to make ready the dungeon cell. If monsieur will but excuse me, I will----" He was off; so Archie joined the crowd at the door of the café, which was that place to which Skipper Bill had repaired to hide. He hung on the outskirts of the crowd, unable to push his way further. The wrath of these folk was so noisy that he could catch no word of what went on within. He devoutly hoped that Skipper Bill had kept to his hiding-place despite the suspicious sounds in the café. Then he wormed his way to the door and entered. A moment later he had climbed on a barrel and was overlooking the squirming crowd and eagerly listening to the clamour. Above every sound--above the cries and clatter and gabble--rang the fighting English of Bill o' Burnt Bay. It was no American; it was Skipper Bill whom the gendarmes had taken, and he was now so seriously involved, apparently, that his worst enemies could wish him no deeper in the mesh. They had him bound hand and foot and guarded with drawn swords, fearing, probably, that somewhere he had a crew of wild fellows at his back to make a rescue. To attempt a rescue was not to be thought of. It did not enter the boy's head. He was overcome by grief and terror. He withdrew into a shadow until they had carried Skipper Bill out with a crowd yelping at his heels. Then, white and shaking, he went to a group in the corner where Louis Arnot, the gendarme, was stretched out on the floor. Archie touched the surgeon on the shoulder. "Is he dead?" the boy asked, in French, his voice trembling. "No, monsieur; he is alive." "Will he live?" "To be sure, monsieur!" "Is there any doubt about it?" asked Archie. "Doubt?" exclaimed the surgeon. "With _my_ skill, monsieur? It is impossible--he _cannot_ die! He will be restored in three days. I--_I_--I will accomplish it!" "Thank God for that!" thought Archie. The boy went gravely home to bed; and as he lay down the adventure seemed less romantic than it had. CHAPTER XVIII _In Which Archie Inspects an Opera Bouffe Dungeon Jail, Where He Makes the Acquaintance of Dust, Dry Rot and Deschamps. In Which, Also, Skipper Bill o' Burnt Bay Is Advised to Howl Until His Throat Cracks_ In the morning Archie went as a tourist to the jail where Bill o' Burnt Bay was confined. The wind was blowing fresh from the west and promised to hold true for the day. It was a fair, strong wind for the outward bound craft; but Archie Armstrong had no longer any interest in the wind or in the _Heavenly Home_. He was interested in captives and cells. To his astonishment he found that the Saint Pierre jail had been designed chiefly with the idea of impressing the beholder, and was builded long, long ago. It was a low-walled structure situate in a quiet quarter of the town. The outer walls were exceeding thick. One might work with a pick and shovel for a week and never tunnel them. "But," thought Archie, "why tunnel them when it is possible to leap over them?" They were jagged on top and strewn with bits of broken bottle imbedded in the mortar. "But," thought Archie, "why cut one's hands when it is so easy to throw a jacket over the glass and save the pain?" The walls apparently served no good purpose except to frighten the populace with their frowns. * * * * * As big Deschamps, the jailer, led Archie through the musty corridors and cells the boy perceived that the old building had long ago gone to wrack. It was a place of rust and dust and dry rot, of crumbling masonry, of rotted casements, of rust-eaten bars, of creaking hinges and broken locks. He had the impression that a strong man could break in the doors with his fist and tumble the walls about his ears with a push. "This way, monsieur," said Deschamps, at last. "Come! I will show you the pig of a Newfoundlander who half killed a gendarme. He is a terrible fellow." He had Skipper Bill safe enough--thrown into a foul-aired, windowless cell with an iron-bound door, from which there was no escape. To release him was impossible, whatever the condition of the jail in other parts. Archie had hoped to find a way; but when he saw the cell in which Skipper Bill was confined he gave up all idea of a rescue. And at that moment the skipper came to the narrow grating in the door. He scowled at the jailer and looked the boy over blankly. "Pah!" exclaimed Deschamps, screwing his face into a look of disgust. "You wait 'til I cotches _you!_" the skipper growled. "What does the pig say, monsieur?" Deschamps asked. "He has not yet repented," Archie replied, evasively. "Pah!" said Deschamps again. "Come, monsieur; we shall continue the inspection." Archie was taken to the furthermost cell of the corridor. It was isolated from that part of the building where the jailer had his living quarters, and it was a light, roomy place on the ground floor. The window bars were rusted thin and the masonry in which they were sunk was falling away. It seemed to Archie that he himself could wrench the bars away with his hands; but he found that he could not when he tried them. He looked out; and what he saw made him regret that Skipper Bill had not been confined in that particular cell. "This cell, monsieur," said Deschamps, importantly, "is where I confine the drunken Newfoundland sailors when----" Archie looked up with interest. "When they make a great noise, monsieur," Deschamps concluded. "I have the headache," he explained. "So bad and so often I have the headache, monsieur. I cannot bear the great noise they make. It is fearful. So I put them here, and I go to sleep, and they do not trouble me at all." "Is monsieur in earnest?" Archie asked. Deschamps was flattered by this form of address from a young gentleman. "It is true," he replied. "Compelled. That is the word. I am compelled to confine them here." "Let us return to the Newfoundlander," said Archie. "He is a pig," Deschamps agreed, "and well worth looking at." When they came to the door of Skipper Bill's cell, Archie was endeavouring to evolve a plan for having a word with him without exciting Deschamps' suspicion. The jailer saved him the trouble. "Monsieur is an American," said Deschamps. "Will he not tell the pig of a Newfoundlander that he shall have no breakfast?" "Skipper Bill," said Archie, in English, "when I leave here you howl until your throat cracks." Bill o' Burnt Bay nodded. "How's the wind?" he asked. "What does the pig of a Newfoundlander say?" Deschamps inquired. "It is of no importance," Archie replied. When Archie had inspected the guillotine in the garret, which Deschamps exhibited to every visitor with great pride, the jailer led him to the open air. "Do the prisoners never escape?" Archie asked. "Escape!" Deschamps cried, with reproach and indignation. "Monsieur, how could you suggest it? Escape! From me--from _me_, monsieur!" He struck his breast and extended his arms. "Ah, no--they could not! My bravery, monsieur--my strength--all the world knows of them. I am famous, monsieur. Deschamps, the wrestler! Escape! From _me_! Ah, no--it is _impossible_!" When Archie had more closely observed his gigantic form, his broad, muscular chest, his mighty arms and thick neck, his large, lowering face--when he had observed all this he fancied that a man might as well wrestle with a grizzly as oppose him, for it would come to the same thing in the end. "You are a strong man," Archie admitted. "Thanks--thanks--monsieur!" the delighted Deschamps responded. At that moment, a long, dismal howl broke the quiet. It was repeated even more excruciatingly. "The pig of a Newfoundlander!" groaned Deschamps. "My head! It is fearful. He will give me the headache." Archie departed. He was angry with Deschamps for having called Newfoundlanders pigs. After all, he determined, angrily, the jailer was deserving of small sympathy. CHAPTER XIX _In Which Archie Armstrong Goes Deeper In and Thinks He Has Got Beyond His Depth. Bill o' Burnt Bay Takes Deschamps By the Throat and the Issue Is Doubtful For a Time_ That afternoon, after a short conversation with Josiah Cove, who had thus far managed to keep out of trouble, Archie Armstrong spent a brief time on the _Heavenly Home_ to attend to the health and comfort of the watchman, who was in no bad way. Perhaps, after all, Archie thought--if Deschamps' headache would only cause the removal of Bill o' Burnt Bay to the dilapidated cell on the ground floor--the _Heavenly Home_ might yet be sailed in triumph to Ruddy Cove. He strutted the deck, when necessary, with as much of the insolence of a civic official as he could command, and no man came near to question his right. When the watchman's friends came from the _Voyageur_ he drove them away in excellent French. They went meekly and with apologies for having disturbed him. "So far, well enough," thought Archie, as he rowed ashore, glad to be off the schooner. It was after dark when, by appointment, the lad met Josiah. Josiah had provided himself with a crowbar and a short length of line, which he said would be sure to come useful, for he had always found it so. Then the two set off for the jail together, and there arrived some time after the drums had warned all good people to be within doors. "What's that?" said Josiah of a sudden. It was a hoarse, melancholy croak proceeding from the other side of the wall. The skipper's cell had been changed, as Archie had hoped, and the skipper himself was doing his duty to the bitter end. The street was deserted. They acted quickly. Josiah gave Archie a leg. He threw his jacket over the broken glass and mounted the wall. Josiah made off at once; it was his duty to have the skiff in readiness. Archie dropped into the garden. "Is that you, b'y?" whispered Skipper Bill. Again Archie once more found it impossible to take the adventure seriously. He began to laugh. It was far too much like the romances he had read to be real. It was play, it seemed--just like a game of smugglers and pirates, played on a summer's afternoon. "Is it you, Archie?" the skipper whispered again. Archie chuckled aloud. "Is the wind in the west?" the skipper asked. "Ay," Archie replied; "and blowing a smart sailing breeze." "Haste, then, lad!" said the skipper. "'Tis time t' be off for Ruddy Cove." The window was low. With his crowbar Archie wrenched a bar from its socket. It came with a great clatter. It made the boy's blood run cold to hear the noise. He pried the second and it yielded. Down fell a block of stone with a crash. While he was feeling for a purchase on the third bar Skipper Bill caught his wrist. "Hist, lad!" It was a footfall in the corridor. Skipper Bill slipped into the darkness by the door--vanished like a shadow. Archie dropped to the ground. By what unhappy chance had Deschamps come upon this visitation? Could it have been the silence of Skipper Bill? Archie heard the cover of the grating drawn away from the peep-hole in the door. "He's gone!" That was Deschamps' voice. Doubtless he had observed that two bars were missing from the window. Archie heard the key slipped into the lock and the door creak on its hinges. All the time he knew that Skipper Bill was crouched in the shadow--poised for the spring. The boy no longer thought of the predicament as a game. Nor was he inclined to laugh again. This was the ugly reality once more come to face him. There would be a fight in the cell. This he knew. And he waited in terror of the issue. There was a quick step--a crash--a quick-drawn breath--the noise of a shock--a cry--a groan. Skipper Bill had kicked the door to and leaped upon the jailer. Archie pried the third bar out and broke the fourth with a blow. Then he squirmed through the window. Even in that dim light--half the night light without--he could see that the struggle was over. Skipper Bill had Deschamps by the throat with his great right hand. He had the jailer's waist in his left arm as in a vise, and was forcing his head back--back--back--until Archie thought the Frenchman's spine would crack. "Don't kill him!" Archie cried. Skipper Bill had no intention of doing so; nor had Deschamps, the wrestler, any idea of allowing his back to be broken. "Don't kill him!" Archie begged again. Deschamps was tugging at that right arm of iron--weakly, vainly tugging to wrench it away from his throat. His eyes were starting from their sockets, and his tongue protruded. Back went the head--back--back! The arm was pitiless. Back--back! He was fordone. In a moment his strength departed and he collapsed. He had not had time to call for help, so quick had been Bill's hand. They bound his limp body with the length of line Josiah had brought, and they had no sooner bound him than he revived. "You are a great man, monsieur," he mumbled. "You have vanquished me--Deschamps! You will be famous--famous, monsieur. I shall send my resignation to His Excellency the Governor to-morrow. Deschamps--he is vanquished!" "What's he talkin' about?" the skipper panted. "You have beaten him." "Let's be off, b'y," the skipper gasped. They locked the door on the inside, clambered through the window and scaled the wall. They sped through the deserted streets with all haste. They came to the landing-place and found the skiff tugging at her painter with her sails all unfurled. Presently they were under way for the _Heavenly Home_, and, having come safely aboard, hauled up the mainsail, set the jib and were about to slip the anchor. Then they heard the clang, clang, clang of a bell--a warning clang, clang, clang, which could mean but one thing: discovery. "Fetch up that Frenchman," the skipper roared. The watchman was loosed and brought on deck. "Put un in his dory and cast off," the skipper ordered. This done the anchor was slipped and the sheets hauled taut. The rest of the canvas was shaken out and the _Heavenly Home_ gathered way and fairly flew for the open sea. * * * * * If there was pursuit it did not come within sight. The old schooner came safely to Ruddy Cove, where Bill o' Burnt Bay, Josiah Cove and Archie Armstrong lived for a time in sickening fear of discovery and arrest. But nothing was ever heard from Saint Pierre. The _Heavenly Home_ had been unlawfully seized by the French; perhaps that is why the Ruddy Cove pirates heard no more of the Miquelon escapade. There was hardly good ground in the circumstances for complaint to the Newfoundland government. At any rate, Archie wrote a full and true statement of the adventure to his father in St. John's; and his father replied that his letter had been received and "contents noted." There was no chiding; and Archie breathed easier after he had read the letter. CHAPTER XX _In Which David Grey's Friend, the Son of the Factor at Fort Red Wing, Yarns of the Professor With the Broken Leg, a Stretch of Rotten River Ice and the Tug of a White Rushing Current_ One quiet evening, after sunset, in the early summer, when the folk of Ruddy Cove were passing time in gossip on the wharf, while they awaited the coming of the mail-boat, old David Grey, who had told the tale of McLeod and the tomahawks, called to Billy Topsail and his friends. A bronzed, pleasant-appearing man, David's friend, shook hands with the boys with the grip of a woodsman. Presently he drifted into a tale of his own boyhood at Fort Red Wing in the wilderness far back of Quebec. "You see," said he, "my father had never fallen into the habit of coddling me. So when the lost Hudson Bay Geological Expedition made Fort Red Wing in the spring--every man exhausted, except the young professor, who had broken a leg a month back, and had set it with his own hands--it was the most natural thing in the world that my father should command me to take the news to Little Lake, whence it might be carried, from post to post, all the way to the department at Ottawa. "'And send the company doctor up,' said he. 'The little professor's leg is in a bad way, if I know anything about doctoring. So you'll make what haste you can.' "'Yes, sir,' said I. "'Keep to the river until you come to the Great Bend. You can take the trail through the bush from there to Swift Rapids. If the ice is broken at the rapids, you'll have to go round the mountain. That'll take a good half day longer. But don't be rash at the rapids, and keep an eye on the ice all along. The sun will be rotting it by day now. It looks like a break-up already.' "'Shall I go alone, sir?' said I. "'No,' said my father, no doubt perceiving the wish in the question. 'I'll have John go with you for company.' "John was an Indian lad of my own age, or thereabouts, who had been brought up at the fort--my companion and friend. I doubt if I shall ever find a stancher one. "With him at my heels and a little packet of letters in my breast pocket, I set out early the next day. It was late in March, and the sun, as the day advanced, grew uncomfortably hot. "'Here's easy going!' I cried, when we came to the river. "'Bad ice!' John grunted. "And it proved to be so--ice which the suns of clear weather had rotted and the frosts of night and cold days had not repaired. Rotten patches alternated with spaces of open water and of thin ice, which the heavy frost of the night before had formed. "When we came near to Great Bend, where we were to take to the woods, it was late in the afternoon, and the day was beginning to turn cold. "We sped on even more cautiously, for in that place the current is swift, and we knew that the water was running like mad below us. I was ahead of John, picking the way; and I found, to my cost, that the way was unsafe. In a venture offshore I risked too much. Of a sudden the ice let me through. "It was like a fall, feet foremost, and when I came again to the possession of my faculties, with the passing of the shock, I found that my arms were beating the edge of ice, which crumbled before them, and that the current was tugging mightily at my legs. "'Look out!' I gasped. "The warning was neither heard nor needed. John was flat on his stomach, worming his way towards me--wriggling slowly out, his eyes glistening. "Meanwhile I had rested my arms on the edge, which then crumbled no more; but I was helpless to save myself, for the current had sucked my legs under the ice, and now held them securely there, sweeping them from side to side, all the while tugging as if to wrench me from my hold. The most I could do was to resist the pull, to grit my teeth and cling to the advantage I had. It was for John to make the rescue. "There was an ominous crack from John's direction. When I turned my eyes to look he was lying still. Then I saw him wriggle out of danger, backing away like a crab. "'John!' I screamed. "The appeal seemed not to move him. He continued to wriggle from me. When he came to solid ice he took to his heels. I caught sight of him as he climbed the bank, and kept my eyes upon him until he disappeared over the crest. He had left me without a word. "The water was cold and swift, and the strength of my arms and back was wearing out. The current kept tugging, and I realized, loath as I was to admit it, that half an hour would find me slipping under the ice. It was a grave mistake to admit it; for at once fancy began to paint ugly pictures for me, and the probabilities, as it presented them, soon flustered me almost beyond recovery. "'I was chest-high out of the water,' I told myself. 'Chest-high! Now my chin is within four inches of the ice. I've lost three inches. I'm lost!' "With that I tried to release my feet from the clutch of the current, to kick myself back to an upright position, to lift myself out. It was all worse than vain. The water was running so swiftly that it dangled my legs as it willed, and the rotten ice momentarily threatened to let me through. "I lost a full inch of position. So I settled myself to wait for what might come, determined to yield nothing through terror or despair. My eyes were fixed stupidly upon the bend in the river, far down, where a spruce-clothed bluff was melting with the dusk. "What with the cold and the drain upon my physical strength, it may be that my mind was a blank when relief came. At any rate, it seemed to have been an infinitely long time in coming; and it was with a shock that John's words restored me to a vivid consciousness of my situation. "'Catch hold!' said he. "He had crawled near me, although I had not known of his approach, and he was thrusting towards me the end of a long pole, which he had cut in the bush. It was long, but not long enough. I reached for it, but my hand came three feet short of grasping it. "John grunted and crept nearer. Still it was beyond me, and he dared venture no farther. He withdrew the pole; then he crept back and unfastened his belt. Working deliberately but swiftly, he bound the belt to the end of the pole, and came out again. He cast the belt within reach, as a fisherman casts a line. I caught it, clutched it, and was hauled from my predicament by main strength. "'John,' I said, as we drew near to the half-way cabin, 'I know your blood, and it's all very well to be careful not to say too much; but there's such a thing as saying too little. Why didn't you tell me where you were going when you started for that pole?' "'Huh!' said John, as if his faithfulness to me in every fortune were quite beyond suspicion. "'Yes, I know,' I insisted, 'but a word or two would have saved me a deal of uneasiness.' "'Huh!' said he." CHAPTER XXI _In Which a Bearer of Tidings Finds Himself In Peril of His Life On a Ledge of Ice Above a Roaring Rapid_ "We passed that night at the cabin, where a roaring fire warmed me and dried my clothes," David's friend continued. "My packet of letters was safe and dry, so I slept in peace, and we were both as chirpy as sparrows when we set out the next morning. It was a clear, still day, with the sun falling warmly upon us. "Our way now led through the bush for mile after mile--little hills and stony ground and swamp-land. By noon we were wet to the knees; but this circumstance was then too insignificant for remark, although later it gave me the narrowest chance for life that ever came within my experience. "We made Swift Rapids late in the afternoon, when the sun was low and a frosty wind was freezing the pools by the way. The post at Little Lake lay not more than three miles beyond the foot of the rapids, and when the swish and roar of water first fell upon our ears we hallooed most joyfully, for it seemed to us that we had come within reaching distance of our destination. "'No,' said John, when we stood on the shore of the river. "'I think we can,' said I. "'No,' he repeated. "The rapids were clear of ice, which had broken from the quiet water above the verge of the descent, and now lay heaped up from shore to shore, where the current subsided at the foot. The water was most turbulent--swirling, shooting, foaming over great boulders. It went rushing between two high cliffs, foaming to the very feet of them, where not an inch of bank was showing. At first glance it was no thoroughfare; but the only alternative was to go round the mountain, as my father had said, and I had no fancy to lengthen my journey by four hours, so I searched the shore carefully for a passage. "The face of the cliff was such that we could make our way one hundred yards down-stream. It was just beyond that point that the difficulty lay. The rock jutted into the river, and rose sheer from it; neither foothold nor handhold was offered. But beyond, as I knew, it would be easy enough to clamber along the cliff, which was shelving and broken, and so, at last, come to the trail again. "'There's the trouble, John,' said I, pointing to the jutting rock. 'If we can get round that, we can go the rest of the way without any difficulty.' "'No go,' said John. 'Come.' "He jerked his head towards the bush, but I was not to be easily persuaded. "'We'll go down and look at that place,' I replied. 'There may be a way.' "There was a way, a clear, easy way, requiring no more than a bit of nerve to pass over it, and I congratulated myself upon persisting to its discovery. The path was by a stout ledge of ice, adhering to the cliff and projecting out from it for about eighteen inches. The river had fallen. This ledge had been formed when it was at its highest, and when the water had subsided the ice had been left sticking to the rock. The ledge was like the rim of ice that adheres to a tub when a bucketful of freezing water has been taken out. "I clambered down to it, sounded it, and found it solid. Moreover, it seemed to lead all the way round, broadening and narrowing as it went, but wide enough in every part. I was sure-footed and unafraid, so at once I determined to essay the passage. 'I am going to try it!' I called to John, who was clinging to the cliff some yards behind and above me. 'Don't follow until I call you.' "'Look out!' said he. "'Oh, it's all right,' I said, confidently. "I turned my back to the rock and moved out, stepping sidewise. It was not difficult until I came to a point where the cliff is overhanging--it may be a space of twelve feet or less; then I had to stoop, and the awkward position made my situation precarious in the extreme, for the rock seemed all the while bent on thrusting me off. "The river was roaring past. Below me the water was breaking over a great rock, whence it shot, swift and strong, against a boulder which rose above it. I could hear the hiss and swish and thunder of it; and had I been less confident in my foothold, I might then and there have been hopelessly unnerved. There was no mercy in those seething rapids. "'A fall would be the end of me,' I thought; 'but I will not fall.' "Fall I did, however, and that suddenly, just after I had rounded the point and was hidden from John's sight. The cold of the late afternoon had frozen my boots stiff; they had been soaked in the swamp-lands, and the water was now all turned to ice. "My soles were slippery and my feet were awkwardly managed. I slipped. "My feet shot from under me. A flash of terror went through me. Then I found myself lying on my hip, on the edge of the shelf with my legs dangling over the rapids, my shoulder pressing the cliff, my hands flat on the ice, and my arms sustaining nearly the whole weight of my body. "At that instant I heard a thud and a splash, as of something striking the water, and turning my eyes, I perceived that a section of the snow ledge had fallen from the cliff. It was not large, but it was between John and me, and the space effectually shut him off from my assistance. "My problem was to get to my feet again. But how? The first effort persuaded me that it was impossible. My shoulder was against the cliff. When I attempted to raise myself to a seat on the ledge I succeeded only in pressing my shoulder more firmly against the rock. Wriggle as I would, the wall behind kept me where I was. I could not gain an inch. I needed no more, for that would have relieved my arms by throwing more of my weight upon my hips. "I was in the position of a boy trying to draw himself to a seat on a window-sill, with the difference that my heels were of no help to me, for they were dangling in space. My arms were fast tiring out. The inch I needed for relief was past gaining, and it seemed to me then that in a moment my arms would fail me, and I should slip off into the river. "'Better go now,' I thought, 'before my arms are worn out altogether. I'll need them for swimming.' "But a glance down the river assured me that my chance in the rapids would be of the smallest. Not only was the water swift and turbulent, but it ran against the barrier of ice at the foot of the rapids, and it was evident that it would suck me under, once it got me there. "Nor was there any hope in John's presence. I had told him to stay where he was until I called; and, to be sure, in that spot would he stay. I might call now. But to what purpose? He could do nothing to help me. He would come to the gap in the ledge, and from there peep sympathetically at me. Indeed, he might reach a pole to me, as he had done on the day before, but my hands were fully occupied, and I could not grasp it. So I put John out of my mind,--for even in the experience of the previous day I had not yet learned my lesson,--and determined to follow the only course which lay open to me, desperate though it was. "'I'll turn on my stomach,' I thought, 'and try to get to my knees on the ledge.' "I accomplished the turn, but in the act I so nearly lost my hold that I lost my head, and there was a gasping lapse of time before I recovered my calm. "In this change I gained nothing. When I tried to get to my knees I butted my head against the overhanging rock, nor could I lift my foot to the ice and roll over on my side, for the ledge was far too narrow for that. I had altered my position, but I had accomplished no change in my situation. It was impossible for me to rest more of my weight upon my breast than my hips had borne. My weakening arms still had to sustain it, and the river was going its swirling way below me, just as it had gone in the beginning. I had not helped myself at all. "There was nothing for it, I thought, but to commit myself to the river and make as gallant a fight for life as I could. So at last I called John, that he might carry our tidings to their destination and return to Fort Red Wing with news of a sadly different kind. "'Ho!' said John. "He was staring round the point of rock; and there he stood, unable to get nearer. "'Ice under,' said he, indicating a point below me. 'More ice. Let down.' "'What?' I cried. 'Where?' "'More ice. Down there,' said he. 'Like this. Let down.' "Then I understood him. Another ledge, such as that upon which I hung, had been formed in the same way, and was adhering to the rock beneath. No doubt there was a pool on the lower side of the point, and just below me, and the current would be no obstacle to the formation of ice. I had looked down from above, and the upper ledge had hidden the lower from me; but John, standing by the gap in the upper, could see it plainly. "So I had but to let myself down until my feet rested on the new ledge, and this I did, with extreme caution and the expenditure of the last ounce of strength in my arms. Then a glance assured me that the way was clear to the shelving cliff beyond. "'You go,' said John. 'I go round.' "'All right,' said I. 'And, say! I wish I'd called you before.' "'Ho!' said he, as he vanished. "When John reached the Little Lake post late that night, the tidings of the safe return of the Hudson Bay Geological Expedition were on the way south by another messenger, and the company's physician was moving over the trail towards Fort Red Wing, making haste to the aid of the young professor, whom, indeed, he soon brought back to health. The passage by the ledge of ice had resulted in a gain of three hours, but whether or not it saved the professor's life I do not know. I do not think it did. It nearly cost me mine, but I had no thought of that when I essayed it, so my experience reflects no credit upon me whatever. I take fewer rash and reckless chances now on land and water, and I am not so overreliant upon my own resources. "I have learned that a friend's help is of value." At that moment the Ruddy Cove mail-boat entered the Tickle. CHAPTER XXII _In Which Billy Topsail Gets an Idea and, to the Amazement of Jimmie Grimm, Archie Armstrong Promptly Goes Him One Better_ While Archie Armstrong was pursuing his piratical adventure in the French harbour of St. Pierre, Billy Topsail had gone fishing with Jimmie Grimm and Donald North. This was in the trim little sloop that Sir Archibald had sent north to Billy Topsail in recognition of his service to Archie during a great blizzard from which Bill o' Burnt Bay had rescued them both.[5] There were now no fish in the summer waters of Ruddy Cove; but word had come down the coast that fish were running in the north. So up went the sails of the little _Rescue_; and with Billy Topsail, Jimmie Grimm and Bobby North aboard she swept daintily between the tickle rocks and turned her shapely prow towards White Bay. There was good fishing with hook and line; and as the hold of the little sloop was small she was soon loaded with green cod. "I 'low I got an idea," said Billy Topsail. Jimmie Grimm looked up. "We'll sail for Ruddy Cove the morrow," Billy went on; "an' when we lands our fish we'll go tradin'. There's a deal o' money in that, I'm told; an' with what we gets for our fish we'll stock the cabin o' the _Rescue_ and come north again t' trade in White Bay." Donald and Jimmie were silent; the undertaking was too vast to be comprehended in a moment. "Let's have Archie," said Jimmie, at last. "An' poor ol' Bagg," said Donald. "We'll have Archie if he'll come," Billy agreed, "an' Bagg if we can stow un away." There was a long, long silence, during which the three boys began to dream in an amazing way. "Billy," Donald North asked, at last, "what you goin' t' do with your part o' the money we'll make at tradin'?" It was a quiet evening on the coast; and from the deck of the sloop, where she lay in harbour, the boys looked away to a glowing sunset, above the inland hills and wilderness. "I don't know," Billy replied. "What you goin' t' do with your share, Jimmie?" "Don't know," said Jimmie, seriously. "What you goin' t' do with yours, Donald?" "I isn't quite made up my mind," said Donald, with an anxious frown. "I 'low I'll wait an' see what Archie does with his." The three boys stowed away in the little cabin of the _Rescue_ very early that night. They were to set sail for Ruddy Cove at dawn of the next morning. * * * * * Archie Armstrong, now returned from the Miquelon Islands and relieved of his anxiety concerning that adventure by his father's letter, was heart and soul for trading. But he scorned the little _Rescue_. It was merely that she was too small, he was quick to add; she was trim and fast and stout, she possessed every virtue a little craft could have, but as for trading, on any scale that half-grown boys could tolerate, she was far too small. If a small venture could succeed, why shouldn't a larger one? What Archie wanted--what he determined they should have--was a thirty-ton schooner. Nothing less would do. They must have a thirty-ton fore-an'-after with Bill o' Burnt Bay to skipper her. The _Heavenly Home_? Not at all! At any rate, Josiah Cove was to take that old basket to the Labrador for the last cruise of the season. Jimmie Grimm laughed at Archie. "What you laughing at?" Archie demanded, with a grin. Jimmie couldn't quite tell; but the truth was that the fisherman's lad could never get used to the airy, confident, masterful way of a rich man's son and a city-bred boy. "Look you, Archie!" said Billy Topsail, "where in time is you goin' t' get that schooner?" "The _On Time_," was the prompt reply. "We'll call her the _Spot Cash_." Billy realized that the _On Time_ might be had. Also that she might be called the _Spot Cash_. She had lain idle in the harbour since her skipper had gone off to the mines at Sidney to make more money in wages than he could take from the sea. But how charter her? "Where you goin' t' get the stock?" Jimmie Grimm inquired. "Don't know whether I can or not," said Archie; "but I'm going to try my level best." Archie Armstrong left for St. John's by the next mail-boat. He was not the lad to hesitate. What his errand was the Ruddy Cove boys knew well enough; but concerning the prospect of success, they could only surmise. However, Archie wouldn't be long. Archie wasn't the lad to be long about anything. What he undertook to do he went right _at_! "If he can only do it," Billy Topsail said. Jimmie Grimm and Donald North and Bagg stared at Billy Topsail like a litter of eager and expectant little puppies. And Bill o' Burnt Bay stood like a wise old dog behind. If only Archie could! ----- [5] As related in "The Adventures of Billy Topsail." CHAPTER XXIII _In Which Sir Archibald Armstrong Is Almost Floored By a Business Proposition, But Presently Revives, and Seems to be About to Rise to the Occasion_ Sir Archibald Armstrong was a colonial knight. His decoration--one of Her late Majesty's birthday honours--had come to him for beneficent political services to the colony in time of trouble and ruin. He was a Newfoundlander born and bred (though educated in the English schools); and he was fond of saying in a pleasantly boastful way and with a little twinkle of amusement in his sympathetic blue eyes: "I'm a fish-merchant, sir--a Newfoundland fish-merchant!" This was quite true, of course; but it was only half the truth. Directly or indirectly, Sir Archibald's business interests touched every port in Newfoundland, every harbour of the Labrador, the markets of Spain and Portugal, of the West Indies and the South American Republics. Sir Archibald was alone in his cozy office. The day was raw and wet. There was a blazing fire in the grate--an agreeable bit of warmth and brightness to contrast with the rain beating on the window-panes. A pale little clerk put his head in at the door. "Beg pardon, sir," he jerked. "Master Archie, sir." "Master Archie!" Sir Archibald exclaimed. Archie entered. "What's this?" said Sir Archibald, in amazement. "Back from Ruddy Cove?" "On business," Archie replied. Sir Archibald laughed pleasantly. "Don't make fun of me, father," said Archie. "I'm in dead earnest." "How much is it, son?" This was an ancient joke between the two. Both laughed. "You'd be surprised if you knew," the boy returned. "But look here, father! please don't take it in that way. I'm really in earnest." "It's money, son," Sir Archibald insisted. "I know it is." "Yes," said Archie, with a grave frown; "it _is_ money. It's a good deal of money. It's so much money, dad, that you'll sit up when you hear about it." Sir Archibald looked sharply into his son's grave eyes. "Ahem!" he coughed. "Money," he mused, "and a good deal of it. What's the trouble, son?" "No trouble, father," said Archie; "just a ripping good chance for fun and profit." Sir Archibald moved to the chair behind a broad flat-top desk by the window. This was the queer little throne from which all business problems were viewed. It was from the shabby old chair--with a broad window behind--that all business judgments were delivered. Did an outport merchant want credit in any large way, it was from the opposite chair--with the light falling full in his face through the broad window--that he put the case to Sir Archibald. Archie sat down in that chair and leaned over the desk. Sir Archibald stretched his legs, put his hands deep in his pockets, let his chin fall on his breast and stared searchingly into his son's face. The rain was driven noisily against the windows; the fire crackled and glowed. As between the two at the desk there was a momentary silence. "Well?" said Sir Archibald, shortly. "I want to go trading," Archie replied. Sir Archibald lifted his eyebrows--then pursed his lips. The matter of credit was evidently to be proposed to him. It was to be put, too, it seemed, in a business way. Very well: Sir Archibald would deal with the question in a business way. He felt a little thrill of pleasure--he was quite conscious of it. It was delightful to have his only son in a business discussion, at the familiar old desk, with the fire glowing, the wind rattling the windows and the rain lashing the panes. Sir Archibald was a business man; and now he realized for the first time that Archie was grown to a companionable age. This, after all, he reflected, was what he had been working for: To engage in business with his own son. "Then you want credit?" said he. "Look here, dad!" Archie burst out; "of course, I want credit. I'll tell you all about it," he rattled anxiously. "We want--we means Billy Topsail, Jimmie Grimm, Donald North and me--they're all Ruddy Cove fellows, you know--we want to charter the _On Time_ at Ruddy Cove, call her the _Spot Cash_, stock her cabin and hold--she's only a twenty-tonner--and ship Bill o' Burnt Bay for skipper and trade the ports of White Bay and the French Shore. All the boys----" [Illustration: "--WE WANT TO CHARTER THE _ON TIME_ AND TRADE THE PORTS OF THE FRENCH SHORE."] "My traders," Sir Archibald interrupted, quietly, "are trading White Bay and the French Shore." "I know it, dad," Archie began eagerly, "but----" "Will you compete with them?" Sir Archibald asked, his eyes wide open. "The _Black Eagle_ sails north on a trading voyage in a fortnight. She's loading now." "That's all right," said Archie, blithely. "We're going to----" "Encounter harsh competition," Sir Archibald put in, dryly. "How will you go about it?" Archie had been fidgeting in his chair--hardly able to command his politeness. "A cash trader!" he burst out. "Ah!" Sir Archibald drawled, enlightened. "I see. I see-ee!" "We'll be the only cash trader on the coast, dad," Archie continued; "and we'll advertise--and carry a phonograph--and sell under the credit prices--and----" Sir Archibald whistled in chagrin. "And we'll make good," Archie concluded. "You little pirate!" Sir Archibald ejaculated. Father and son laughed together. Then Sir Archibald began to drum on the desk with his finger-tips. Presently he got up and began to pace the floor, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, his lips pursed, his brows drawn in a scowl of reflection. This was a characteristic thing. Sir Archibald invariably paced, and pursed his lips, and scowled, when a problem of more than ordinary interest engaged him. He knew that Archie's plan was not unreasonable. There _might_--there _ought_ to be--good profit in a cash-trading voyage in a small schooner to the harbours of White Bay and the French Shore. There are no shops in most of these little settlements. Shops go to the people in the form of trading-schooners from St. John's and the larger ports of the more southerly coast. It is in this way that the fisher-folk procure their flour and tea, their medicines and clothing, their tackle, their molasses, pins and needles, their trinkets, everything, in fact, both the luxuries and necessities of life. It is chiefly a credit business, the prices based on credit; the folk are outfitted in the spring and pay in salt-cod in the late summer and fall. Why shouldn't a cash-trader, underselling the credit plan, do well on the coast in a small way? By and by, his face clearing, Sir Archibald sat down at the desk again. "How much do you want?" he asked, directly. Archie took a grip on the arms of his chair and clenched his teeth. It took a good deal of resolution to utter the amount. "Well, well?" Sir Archibald impatiently demanded. "A thousand dollars," said Archie, grimly. Sir Archibald started. "Two hundred and fifty dollars in cash," Archie added, "and seven hundred and fifty in credit at the warehouse." "What's the security?" Sir Archibald blandly inquired. "Security!" Archie gasped. "It is a customary consideration in business," said Sir Archibald. Archie's house of cards seemed to be tumbling about his ears. Security? He had not thought of that. He began to drum on the desk with his finger-tips. Presently he got up and began to pace the floor, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, his lips pursed, his brow drawn in a scowl of reflection. Sir Archibald, recognizing his own habit in his son's perturbation, smiled in a fatherly-fond way. The boy was very dear to him; no doubt about it. But Sir Archibald was not sentimental in the affection. "Well, sir," said Archie, by and by, his face clearing as he sat down, "I could offer you security, and good enough security, but it doesn't seem quite fair." Sir Archibald asked the nature of the bond. "I have a pony and cart, a motor boat and a sloop yacht," Archie replied, grinning. "I 'low," he drawled, with a sly drooping of his eyelids, "that they're worth more than a thousand dollars. Eh, father? What do _you_ think?" Sir Archibald guffawed. "The trouble is," Archie went on, seriously, "that you gave them to me; and it doesn't seem fair to you to offer them as security. But I tell you, dad," he declared, "if we don't make good in this trading cruise I'll sell those things and do without 'em. It isn't fair, I know--it seems pretty mean to you--it looks as if I didn't care for what you've given me. But I do care; and you know I care. The trouble is that I want awfully to go trading." "It is the only security you have?" "Except mother," said Archie. "But," he added, hastily, "I wouldn't--I _won't_--drag a lady into this." Sir Archibald threw back his head and roared. "What you laughing at, dad?" Archie asked, a little offended, if a quick flush meant anything. "I'm sure," his father replied, "that the lady wouldn't mind." "No," said Archie, grave with his little problem of honour; "but I wouldn't let a lady in for a thing like that." "Son," said Sir Archibald, now all at once turning very serious, "you have better security than your pony and sloop." Archie looked up in bewilderment. "It is your integrity," Sir Archibald explained, gently, "and your efficiency." Archie flushed with pleasure. "These are great things to possess," said Sir Archibald. "Thank you, sir," said Archie, rising in acknowledgment of this hearty compliment. The lad was genuinely moved. CHAPTER XXIV _In Which the Honour of Archie Armstrong Becomes Involved, the First of September Becomes a Date of Utmost Importance, He Collides With Tom Tulk, and a Note is Made in the Book of the Future_ Sir Archibald began again to tap the desk with his finger-tips. Archie strayed to the broad window and looked out upon the wharves and harbour. "Is that the _Black Eagle_ at the wharf?" he asked. "The _Black Eagle_, sure enough!" Sir Archibald laughed. "She's the White Bay and French Shore trader." "Trade enough for all," Archie returned. "George Rumm, master," said Sir Archibald. "Still?" Archie exclaimed. The sailing reputation of Skipper George had been in question through the season. He had come within six inches of losing the _Black Eagle_ in a small gale of the last voyage. "Who's clerk?" Archie asked. "Tommy Bull, boy." No friend of Archie! "Sharp enough, anyhow," the boy thought. Sir Archibald put his hands in his pockets again and began to pace the floor; his lips were pursed, his brows drawn. Archie waited anxiously at the window. "When," demanded Sir Archibald, pausing abruptly in his walk--"when do you propose to liquidate this debt?" "We'll sail the _Spot Cash_ into St. John's harbour, sir, on September first, or before." "With three hundred quintals of fish in her hold, I suppose?" Three hundred quintals of dry fish, at four dollars, roughly, a quintal, was twelve hundred dollars. "More than that, sir," said Archie. "Well, boy," said Sir Archibald, briskly, "the security I have spoken of is all right, and----" "Not worth much at auction sale," Archie interrupted, grinning. "There's no better security in the world," said Sir Archibald, "than youth, integrity and capacity." Archie waited. "I'll back you," said Sir Archibald, shortly. "Father," Archie declared, his eyes shining with a little mist of delight and affection, "I'll stand by this thing for all I'm worth!" They shook hands upon it. * * * * * Sir Archibald presently wrote a check and scribbled a few lines on a slip of paper. The check was for two hundred and fifty dollars; it was for running expenses and emergencies that Archie needed the hard cash. The slip of paper was an order upon the warehouses and shops for credit in the sum of seven hundred and fifty dollars. "Now," said Sir Archibald, "it is explicitly understood between us that on or before the first of September you are to turn over to the firm of Armstrong & Company a sufficient quantity of properly cured fish to liquidate this account." "Yes, sir," Archie replied, earnestly; "on or before the first day of September next." "You perfectly understand the terms?" Sir Archibald insisted. "You know the nature of this obligation?" "Yes, sir." "Very well, son," said Sir Archibald; "your honour is involved." Archie received the two slips of paper. It must be confessed that they burned his fingers a little. It was a good deal to come into possession of all at once--a good deal of money and an awe-inspiring responsibility. Sir Archibald watched the boy's face narrowly. He seemed to be pleased with what he found there--a little fear, a little anxiety, a great deal of determination. The veteran business man wondered if the boy would sleep as easily as usual that night. Would he wake up fresh and smiling in the morning? These were large cares to lie upon the shoulders of a lad. "Shall I give you a--well--a receipt--or a note--or anything like that?" Archie asked. "You are upon your honour," said his father. Archie scratched his head in doubt. "Your honour," Sir Archibald repeated, smiling. "The first of September," Archie laughed. "I shan't forget that date." In the end he had good cause to remember it. * * * * * Before Archie left the office Sir Archibald led him to the broad window behind the desk. Archie was used to this. It was his father's habit. The thing was not done in a spirit of boasting, as the boy was very well aware. Nor was it an attempt to impress the boy with a sense of his own importance and future wealth in the world. It was rather a well-considered and consistent effort to give him a sense of the reality and gravity of the obligations that would some day be his. From the broad window Archie looked out once more upon the various activities of his father's great business. There were schooners fitting out for the fishing cruise to the Labrador; there were traders taking in stores for the voyage to the Straits of Belle Isle, to the South Coast, to the French Shore; there were fore-and-afters outbound to the Grand Banks and waiting for a favourable wind; there were coastwise vessels, loading flour and pork for the outport merchants; there were barques awaiting more favourable weather in which to load salt-cod for the West Indies and Spain. All this never failed to oppress Archie a little as viewed from the broad window of his father's office. "Look!" said Sir Archibald, moving a hand to include the shipping and storehouses. Archie gazed into the rainy day. "What do you see?" his father asked, in a way half bantering, half grave. "Your ships and wharves, sir." "Some day," said Sir Archibald, "they will be yours." "I wish you wouldn't say that, dad--at least, not just in that way," said Archie, turning away from the window. "It sort of frightens me." Sir Archibald laughed and clapped him on the back. "You know what I mean," said he. "You mean that the firm has a name," said Archie. "You mean that the name must never be disgraced. I know what you mean." Sir Archibald nodded. "I hope," said Archie, the suspicion of a quaver in his voice and a tremble in his lower lip, "that I'll never disgrace it." "Nor the name of the little firm that goes into business this day," said Sir Archibald. Archie's solemn face broke into a smile of amusement and surprise. "Why, dad," said he, "it hasn't got a name." "Armstrong & Company, Junior?" "Armstrong, Topsail, Grimm & Company," said Archie, promptly. "Good luck to it!" wished Sir Archibald. "No; that's not it at all," said Archie. "Billy Topsail schemed this thing out. Wish luck to the firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company." "Build the firm," said Sir Archibald, "upon hard work and fair play." Archie hurriedly said they would--and vanished. "Son is growing up," thought Sir Archibald, when the boy had gone. "Son is decidedly growing up. Well, well!" he sighed; "son is growing up and in far more trouble than he dreams of. It's a big investment, too. However," he thought, well pleased and cheerful again, "let him go ahead and learn his daddy's business. And I'll back him," he declared, speaking aloud in his enthusiastic faith. "By Jove! I'll back him to win!" * * * * * At the foot of the stairway Archie collided full tilt with two men who were engaged in intimate conversation as they passed the door. The one was George Rumm, skipper of the _Black Eagle_--a timid, weak-mouthed, shifty-eyed man, with an obsequious drawl in his voice, a diffident manner, and, altogether, a loose, weak way. The other was old Tom Tulk of Twillingate. Archie leaped back with an apology to Skipper George. The boy had no word to say to Tom Tulk of Twillingate. Tom Tulk was notoriously a rascal whom the law was eager to catch but could never quite satisfactorily lay hands on. It did not occur to Archie that no wise skipper would put heads mysteriously together in a public place with old Tom Tulk of Twillingate. The boy was too full of his own concerns to take note of anything. "Hello, Skipper George!" he cried, buoyantly. "I'll see you on the French Shore." "Goin' north?" Skipper George drawled. "Tradin'," said Archie. Skipper George started. Tom Tulk scowled. "Goin' aboard the _Black Eagle_?" asked Skipper George. "Tradin' on my own hook, Skipper George," said Archie; "and I'm bound to cut your throat on the Shore." Tom Tulk and Skipper George exchanged glances as Archie darted away. There was something of relief in Skipper George's eyes--a relieved and teasing little smile. But Tom Tulk was frankly angry. "The little shaver!" said he, in disgust. It was written in the book of the future that Skipper George Rumm and Archie Armstrong should fall in with each other on the north coast before the summer was over. CHAPTER XXV _In Which Notorious Tom Tulk o' Twillingate and the Skipper of the "Black Eagle" Put Their Heads Together Over a Glass of Rum in the Cabin of a French Shore Trader_ There was never a more notorious rascal in Newfoundland than old Tom Tulk of Twillingate. There was never a cleverer rascal--never a man who could devise new villainies as fast and execute them as neatly. The law had never laid hands on him. At any rate not for a crime of importance. He had been clapped in jail once, but merely for debt; and he had carried this off with flying colours by pushing past the startled usher in church and squatting his great flabby bulk in the governor's pew of the next Sunday morning. He was a thief, a chronic bankrupt, a counterfeiter, an illicit liquor seller. It was all perfectly well known; but not once had a constable brought an offense home to him. He had once been arrested for theft, it is true, and taken to St. John's by the constables; but on the way he had stolen a watch from one and put it in the pocket of the other, thereby involving both in far more trouble than they could subsequently involve him. Add to these evil propensities a deformed body and a crimson countenance and you have the shadow of an idea of old Tom Tulk. * * * * * George Rumm and Tom Tulk boarded the _Black Eagle_ in the rain and sought the shelter of her little cabin. The cook had made a fire for the skipper; the cabin was warm and quiet. Tom Tulk closed the door with caution and glanced up to see that the skylights were tight. Skipper George produced the bottle and glasses. "Now, Skipper George," said Tom Tulk, as he tipped the bottle, "'tis a mint o' money an' fair easy t' make." "I'm not likin' the job," the skipper complained. "I'm not likin' the job at all." "'Tis an easy one," Tom Tulk maintained, "an' 'tis well paid when 'tis done." Skipper George scowled in objection. "Ye've a soft heart for man's work," said Tom, with a bit of a sneer. Skipper George laughed. "Is you thinkin' t' drive me by makin' fun o' me?" he asked. "I'm thinkin' nothin'," Tom Tulk replied, "but t' show you how it can be done. Will you listen t' me?" "Not me!" George Rumm declared. Tom Tulk observed, however, that the skipper's ears were wide open. "Not me!" Skipper George repeated, with a loud thump on the table. "No, sir! I'll have nothin' t' do with it!" Tom Tulk fancied that the skipper's ears were a little bit wider than before; he was not at all deceived by this show of righteousness on the part of a weak man. "Well, well!" he sighed. "Say no more about it." "I'm not denyin'," said Skipper George, "that it _could_ be done. I'm not denyin' that it would be easy work. But I tells you, Tom Tulk, that I'll have nothin' t' do with it. I'm an honest man, Tom Tulk, an' I'd thank you t' remember it." "Well, well!" Tom Tulk sighed again. "There's many a man in this harbour would jump at the chance; but there's never another so honest that I could trust him." "Many a man, if you like," Skipper George growled; "but not me." "No, no," Tom Tulk agreed, with a covert little sneer and grin; "not you." "'Tis a prison offense, man!" "If you're cotched," Tom Tulk laughed. "An' tell me, George Rumm, is _I_ ever been cotched?" "I'm not sayin' you is." "No; nor never will be." It had all been talked over before, of course; and it would be talked over again before a fortnight was past and the _Black Eagle_ had set sail for the French Shore with a valuable cargo. Tom Tulk had begun gingerly; he had proceeded with exquisite caution; he had ventured a bit more; at last he had come boldly out with the plan. Manned with care--manned as she could be and as Tom Tulk would take care to have her--the _Black Eagle_ was the ship for the purpose; and Skipper George, with a reputation for bad seamanship, was the man for the purpose. And the thing _would_ be easy. Tom Tulk knew it. Skipper George knew it. It could be successfully done. There was no doubt about it; and Skipper George hated to think that there was no doubt about it. The ease and safety with which he might have the money tumble into his pocket troubled him. It was not so much a temptation as an aggravation. He found himself thinking about it too often; he wanted to put it out of his mind, but could not. "Now, Tom Tulk," said he, at last, flushing angrily, "let's have no more o' this. I'm fair tired of it. I'll have nothin' t' do with it; an' I tells you so, once an' for all." "Pass the bottle," said Tom Tulk. The bottle went from hand to hand. "We'll say no more about it," said Tom Tulk; "but I tells you, Skipper George, that that little clerk o' yours, Tommy Bull, is just the ticket. As for a crew, I got un handy." "Belay, belay!" "Ay, ay, Skipper George," Tom Tulk agreed; "but as for fetchin' a cargo o' fish into St. John's harbour without tellin' where it came from, if there's any man can beat me at that, why, I'd----" Skipper George got up and pulled open the hatch. "I'll see you again," said Tom Tulk. Skipper George of the _Black Eagle_ helped himself to another dram when Tom Tulk had withdrawn his great body and sly face. It was true, all that Tom Tulk had said. It was true about the clerk; he was ripe to go bad. It was true about the crew; with hands scarce, and able-bodied young fellows bound to the Sidney mines for better wages, Skipper George could ship whom he liked and Tom Tulk chose. It was true about fetching fish into St. John's without accounting whence it came. Tom Tulk could do it; nobody would ask eccentric old Tom Tulk where he got his fish--everybody would laugh. It was true about the skipper himself; it was quite true that his reputation was none of the best as a sailing-master. But he had never lost a ship yet. They might say he had come near it, if they liked; but he had never lost a ship yet. No, sir; he had never lost a ship yet. Nor would he. He'd fetch the _Black Eagle_ home, right enough, and _show_ Sir Archibald Armstrong! But the thing would be easy. It was disgustingly easy in prospect. Skipper George wished that old Tom Tulk had never come near to bother him. "Hang Tom Tulk!" thought he. But how easy, after all, the thing would be! * * * * * The first hand put his head in the hatchway to tell Skipper George that he was to report to Sir Archibald Armstrong in the office at once. Skipper George was not quite easy about the three drams he had taken; but there was nothing for it but to appear in the office without delay. As a matter of fact Sir Archibald Armstrong detected nothing out of the way. He had something to say to Skipper George about the way to sail a schooner--about timid sailing, and reckless sailing, and feeling about in fogs, and putting out to sea, and running for harbour. When he had finished--and he spoke long and earnestly, with his blue eyes flashing, his head in the air, his teeth snapping once in a while--when Sir Archibald had finished, Skipper George was standing with his cap in his hand, his face flushed, answering, "Yes, sir," and, "No, sir," in a way of the meekest. When he left the office he was unpleasantly aware that he was face to face with his last chance. In this new trouble he forgot all about Tom Tulk. "Skipper George," he thought, taking counsel with himself, as he poured another dram, "you got t' do better." He mused a long time. "I _will_ do better," he determined. "I'll show un that I can sail a schooner." Before he stowed away for the night, a little resentment crept into his thoughts of Sir Archibald. He had never felt this way before. "I got t' stop this," he thought. Tom Tulk was then dreaming over a glass of rum; and his dreams were pleasant dreams--concerning Skipper George of the _Black Eagle_. CHAPTER XXVI _In Which the Enterprise of Archie Armstrong Evolves Señor Fakerino, the Greatest Magician In Captivity. In Which, also, the Foolish are Importuned Not to be Fooled, Candy is Promised to Kids, Bill o' Burnt Bay is Persuaded to Tussle With "The Lost Pirate," and the "Spot Cash" Sets Sail_ For three dismal, foggy days, Archie Armstrong was the busiest business man in St. John's, Newfoundland. He was forever damp, splashed with mud, grimy-faced, wilted as to clothes and haggard as to manner. But make haste he must; there was not a day--not an hour--to spare: for it was now appallingly near August; and the first of September would delay for no man. When, with the advice of Sir Archibald and the help of every man-jack in the warehouses (even of the rat-eyed little Tommy Bull), the credit of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company had been exhausted to the last penny, Archie sighed in a thoroughly self-satisfied way, pulled out his new check-book and plunged into work of another sort. "How's that bank-account holding out?" Sir Archibald asked, that evening. "I'm a little bit bent, dad," Archie replied, "but not yet broke." Sir Archibald looked concerned. "Advertising," Archie briefly explained. "But," said Sir Archibald, in protest, "nobody has ever advertised in White Bay before." "Somebody is just about to," Archie laughed. Sir Archibald was puzzled. "Wh-wh-what _for_?" he inquired. "What kind of advertising?" "Handbills, dad, and concerts, and flags, and circus-lemonade." "Nothing more, son?" Sir Archibald mocked. "Señor Fakerino," Archie replied, with a smack of self-satisfaction, "the World's Greatest Magician." "The same being?" "Yours respectfully, A. Armstrong." Sir Archibald shrugged his shoulders. Then his eyes twinkled, his sides began to shake, and he threw back his head and burst into a roar of laughter, in which Archie and his mother--they were all at dinner--joined him. "Why, dad," Archie exclaimed, with vast enthusiasm, "the firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company is going to give the people of White Bay such a good time this summer that they'll never deal with anybody else. And we're going to give them the worth of their money, too--every penny's worth. On a cash basis we can afford to. We're going into business to build up a business; and when I come back from that English school next summer it's going to go right ahead." Sir Archibald admitted the good prospect. "Pity the poor _Black Eagle_!" said Archie, grinning. Lady Armstrong finished Señor Fakerino's gorgeously spangled crimson robe and high-peaked hat that night and Archie completed a very masterpiece of white beard. Afterwards, Archie packed his trunks. When he turned in at last, outward bound next day by the cross-country mixed train, he had the satisfaction of knowing that he had stowed the phonograph, the printing-press and type, the signal flags, the magical apparatus and Fakerino costume and the new accordion; and he knew--for he had taken pains to find out--that the stock of trading goods, which he had bought with most anxious discrimination, was packed and directed and waiting at the station, consigned to Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company, General Merchants, Ruddy Cove, Newfoundland. Archie slept well. When the mail-boat made Ruddy Cove, Archie was landed, in overflowing spirits, with his boxes and bales and barrels and trunks and news. The following days were filled with intense activity. Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company chartered the _On Time_ in due form; and with the observance of every legal requirement she was given a new name, the _Spot Cash_. They swept and swabbed her, fore and aft; they gave her a line or two of gay paint; they fitted her cabin with shelves and a counter and her forecastle with additional bunks; and Bill o' Burnt Bay went over her rigging and spars. While Jimmie Grimm, Bobby North and Bagg unpacked the stock and furnished the cabin shelves and stowed the hold, Billy Topsail and Archie turned to on the advertising. The printing-press was set up in Mrs. Skipper William's fish-stage. Billy Topsail--who had never seen the like--stared open-mouthed at the operation. "We got to _make_ 'em buy," Archie declared. "H-h-how?" Billy stammered. "We got to make _'em want_ to," said Archie. "They'll trade if they want to." In return Billy watched Archie scribble. "How's this?" Archie asked, at last. Billy listened to the reading. "Will that fetch 'em aboard?" Archie demanded, anxiously. "It would _my_ mother," said the astonished Billy. "_I'd_ fetch her, bet yer life!" They laboriously set up the handbill and triumphantly struck it off: kANDY FOR KIdS X Boys Gi_r_ls and Ba_b_ies co_m_e Ab_o_ard the "sPOT CAsH" Yo_u_ Get Perfectly P_u_re Pepper_m_int if yo_u_ bring yo_u_r :o: P_A_REnTS :o: _W_E LOVE K_I_Ds KIdDIES A_N_D KiDLE_T_S _Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Co._ "That'll fetch 'em, all right!" Archie declared. "Now for the concert." Billy had another shock of surprise. "Th-th _what_?" he ejaculated. "Concert," Archie replied. "You're going to sing, Billy." "Me!" poor Billy exclaimed in large alarm. "And Skipper Bill is, too," Archie went on; "and Bagg's going to double-shuffle, and Bobby North is going to shake that hornpipe out of his feet, and Jimmie Grimm is going to recite 'Sailor Boy, Sailor Boy,' and I'm going to do a trifling little stunt myself. I'm Señor Fakerino, Billy," Archie laughed, "the Greatest Magician in Captivity. _Just_ you wait and see. I think I'll have a bill all to myself." Archie scowled and scribbled again with a result that presently made him chuckle. It appeared in the handbill (after some desperately hard work) in this guise: tO-NIGHT! tO-NIGHT! O_n_ Boa_r_d t_h_e "SPOT CASH" ----SENOR FAKE-erino---- Will Fully F_oo_l the F_oo_lish :o: DOn'T :o: Be F_oo_lish _a_nd Fully F_oo_led by Credit Tr_a_ding TRADE FOR CASH *** ABOARD _the_ *** "SPOT CASH" It was late in the afternoon before the last handbill was off the press; and Billy Topsail then looked more like a black-face comedian than senior member of the ambitious firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company. Archie was no better--perspiring, ink-stained, tired in head and hands. But the boys were delighted with what they had accomplished. There were two other productions: one announcing the concert and the other an honest and quiet comparison of cash and credit prices with a fair exposition of the virtue and variety of the merchandise to be had aboard the _Spot Cash_. When Bill o' Burnt Bay, however, was shown the concert announcement and informed, much to his amazement, that it was down in the articles of agreement, as between him, master of the _Spot Cash_, and the firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company--down in black and white in the articles of agreement which he was presumed to have signed--down and no dodging it--that he was to sing "The Lost Pirate" when required--Bill o' Burnt Bay was indignant and flatly resigned his berth. "All right, skipper," Archie drawled. "You needn't sing, I 'low. Billy Topsail has a sweet little pipe, an' I 'low it'll be a good deal better to have him sing twice." "Eh?" Bill gasped, chagrined. "What's that?" "Better to have Billy sing twice," Archie repeated indifferently. Bill o' Burnt Bay glared at Billy Topsail. "Billy Topsail," said Archie, in a way the most careless, "has the neatest little pipe on the coast." "I'll have you to know," Bill o' Burnt Bay snorted, "that they's many a White Bay liveyere would pay a _dime_ t' hear me have a tussle with 'The Lost Pirate.'" Archie whistled. "Look you, Archie!" Skipper Bill demanded; "is you goin' t' let me sing, or isn't you?" "I is," Archie laughed. That was the end of the mutiny. * * * * * At peep of dawn the _Spot Cash_ set sail from Ruddy Cove with flags flying and every rag of sail spread to a fair breeze. Presently the sun was out, the sky blue, the wind smartly blowing. Late in the afternoon she passed within a stone's throw of Mother Burke and rounded Cape John into White Bay. Before dark she dropped anchor in Coachman's Cove and prepared for business. "Come on, lads!" Archie shouted, when the anchor was down and all sail stowed. "Let's put these dodgers where they'll do most good." The handbills were faithfully distributed before the punts of Coachman's came in from the fishing grounds; and that night, to an audience that floated in punts in the quiet water, just beyond the schooner's stern, and by the light of four torches, Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company presented their first entertainment in pursuit of business, the performers operating upon a small square stage which Bill o' Burnt Bay had rigged on the house of the cabin. It was a famous evening. CHAPTER XXVII _In Which the Amazing Operations of the "Black Eagle" Promise to Ruin the Firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company, and Archie Armstrong Loses His Temper and Makes a Fool of Himself_ Trade was brisk next day--and continued brisk for a fortnight. From Coachman's Cove to Seal Cove, from Seal Cove to Black Arm, from Black Arm to Harbour Round and Little Harbour Deep went the _Spot Cash_. She entered with gay signal flags and a multitude of little Union Jacks flying; and no sooner was the anchor down than the phonograph began its musical invitation to draw near and look and buy. And there was presently candy for the children; and there were undeniable bargains for the mothers. In the evening--under a quiet starlit sky--Skipper Bill "tussled" gloriously with "The Lost Pirate," and Bobby North shook the hornpipe out of his very toes, and Bill Topsail wistfully piped the well-loved old ballads of the coast in a tender treble; and after that Señor Fakerino created no end of mystification and applause by extracting half-dollars from the vacant air, and discovering three small chicks in an empty top-hat, and producing eggs at will from Bagg's capacious mouth, and with a mere wave of his wand changing the blackest of ink into the very most delicious of lemonade. The folk of that remote coast were delighted. They had never been amused before; and they craved amusement--like little children. [Illustration: SEÑOR FAKERINO CREATED APPLAUSE BY EXTRACTING HALF DOLLARS FROM VACANCY.] Trade followed as a matter of course. * * * * * Trade was brisk as any heart could wish up the White Bay coast to the first harbours of the northern reaches of the French Shore; and there it came to an appalling full stop. The concerts were patronized as before; but no fish came aboard for exchange. "I can't bear to look the calendar in the face," Archie complained. The _Spot Cash_ then lay at anchor in Englee. "'Tis the fifth o' August," said Billy Topsail. "Whew!" Archie whistled. "Sixteen days to the first of September!" "What's the matter, anyhow?" Skipper Bill inquired. "The _Black Eagle's_ the matter," said Archie, angrily. "She's swept these harbours clean. She cleaned out Englee yesterday." "Stand by, all hands!" roared the skipper. "What's up, skipper?" asked Archie. "Nothin'," replied the skipper; "that's the trouble. But the mains'l _will_ be up afore very long if there's a rope's end handy," he added. "We'll chase the _Black Eagle_." They caught the _Black Eagle_ at anchor in Conch that evening. She was deep in the water. Apparently her hold was full; there were the first signs of a deck-load of fish to be observed. In a run ashore Archie very soon discovered the reason of her extraordinary success. He returned to the deck of the _Spot Cash_ in a towering rage. The clerk of the _Black Eagle_ had put up the price of fish and cut the price of every pound and yard of merchandise aboard his vessel. No wonder she had loaded. No wonder the folk of the French Shore had emptied their stages of the summer's catch. And what was the _Spot Cash_ to do? Where was she to get _her_ fish? By selling at less than cost and buying at more than the market price? Nothing of the sort! Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company were not going to be ruined by that sort of folly. Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company couldn't _have_ any fish. The powerful firm of Armstrong & Company of St. John's was going to put the poor little firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company out of business--going to snuff 'em out--_had_ snuffed 'em out. The best thing Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company could do was to get to cover and call cash trading as big a failure as had ever been made in Newfoundland business. "Isn't fair!" Archie complained, aboard the _Spot Cash_. "It's dirty business, I tell you." "Let's fire away, anyhow," said Jimmie Grimm. "It isn't fair of dad," Archie repeated, coming as near to the point of tears as a boy of his age well could. "It's a low trick to cut a small trader's throat like this. They can outsail us and keep ahead of us; and they'll undersell and overbuy us wherever we go. When they've put us out of business, they'll go back to the old prices. It isn't fair of dad," he burst out. "I tell you, it isn't fair!" "Lend a hand here," said Bill. "We'll see what they do." A pretense of hauling up the mainsail was made aboard the _Spot Cash_. There was an immediate stir on the deck of the _Black Eagle_; the hands were called from the forecastle. "Look at that!" said Archie, in disgust. Both crews laughed and gave it up. "It isn't _like_ your dad," said Bill o' Burnt Bay. "I'll lay you alongside the _Black Eagle_, Archie," he added, "an' you can have a little yarn with Skipper George." * * * * * Skipper George Rumm was glad to see Archie--glad in a too bland way, in which, however, Archie did not detect a very obvious nervousness. Three eighty-five for fish? Yes; the skipper _did_ believe that Tommy Bull was paying three eighty-five. No; he didn't know the market price in St. John's. Flour and pork and sugar and tea? No; the skipper didn't know just what Tommy Bull was selling flour and pork and sugar and tea at. You see, Tommy Bull was clerk of the _Black Eagle_; and that was the clerk's business. Tommy Bull was ashore just then; the skipper didn't just quite know when he'd come aboard. Were these prices Sir Archibald's orders? Really, Skipper George didn't know. Tommy Bull knew all about that; and Tommy Bull had clerked in these waters long enough to keep the firm's business to himself. Tommy Bull was closemouthed; he wouldn't be likely to blab Sir Archibald's orders in every harbour of the coast or whisper them in the ear of a rival trading clerk. This last thrust was too much for Archie's dignity. He leaped from the deck of the _Black Eagle_ into his own punt in a greater rage than ever. "There's t' be a spell o' rough weather," were Skipper George's last words. The punt moved away. "Skipper Bill," said Archie, "the nearest telegraph station is at Tilt Cove. Can we make it in a night?" "If the wind holds," the skipper answered. "Then we'll try," said Archie. The predicament was explained to Donald North and Jimmie Grimm and Billy Topsail. The _Spot Cash_ could have no more fish as long as the _Black Eagle_ paid three eighty-five with the St. John's market at three thirty-five. But _was_ the market at three thirty-five? Hadn't the _Black Eagle_ later information? That must be found out; and from Tilt Cove it could be discovered in two hours. So up went the sails of the _Spot Cash_, and, with the _Black Eagle_ following, she jockeyed out of the harbour. Presently, when she had laid a course for Cape John and Tilt Cove, the _Black Eagle_ came about and beat back to Conch. * * * * * Next morning--and dirty weather was promised for the day--the _Spot Cash_ dropped anchor in the shelter of the cliff at Tilt Cove and Billy Topsail pulled Archie ashore. It was in Archie's heart to accuse his father's firm of harsh dealing with a small competitor; but he resolved to do no more than ask the price of fish. The answer would be significant of all that the lad wished to know; and if the great firm of Armstrong & Company had determined to put obstacles in the way of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company, even to the point of ruin, there was no help for Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company. Archie would ask no quarter. "Make haste!" Skipper Bill called from the deck of the _Spot Cash_. "I've no love for this harbour in a gale o' wind." It was poor shelter at best. "Much as I can," Archie shouted back. The boy sent this telegram: Tilt Cove, August 6. Armstrong & Company, St. John's. Price of fish. Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company. There was now nothing to do but wait. Sir Archibald would be in his little office overlooking his wharves and shipping. It would not be long. And the reply presently came: St. John's, August 6. Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company, Aboard "Spot Cash," Tilt Cove. Still three thirty-five. No rise probable. Armstrong & Company. Archie Armstrong was hurt. He could hardly conceive that his father had planned the ruin of his undertaking and the loss of his honour. But what was left to think? Would the skipper and clerk of the _Black Eagle_ deliberately court discharge? And discharge it would be--discharge in disgrace. There was no possible excuse for this amazing change in prices. No; there was no explanation but that they were proceeding upon Sir Archibald's orders. It was inconceivable that they should be doing anything else. Archie would ask no quarter of his father; but he would at least let Sir Archibald know that he was aware of the difference between fair and unfair competition. Before he boarded the _Spot Cash_ he dispatched this message: Tilt Cove, August 6. Armstrong & Company, St. John's. Tilt Cove. "Black Eagle" paying three eighty-five. Underselling flour, pork, tea, sugar. Why don't you play fair? Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company. If Archie Armstrong could have been in the little office which overlooked the wharves to observe the effect of that message upon Sir Archibald he would not only have been amazed but would have come to his senses in a good deal less time than he actually did. The first item astounded and bewildered Sir Archibald; the second--the brief expression of distrust--hurt him sorely. But he had no time to be sentimental. Three eighty-five for fish? What was the meaning of that? Cut prices on flour, pork, sugar and tea? What was the meaning of _that_? Sir Archibald saw in a flash what it meant to Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company. But what did it mean to Armstrong & Company? Sir Archibald flushed and perspired with wrath. He pushed buttons--he roared orders--he scribbled telegrams. In ten minutes, so vociferous was his rage, so intense his purpose, it was known from one end of the establishment to the other that the _Black Eagle_ must be communicated with at once. But Armstrong & Company could not manage to communicate with the _Black Eagle_ direct, it seemed. Armstrong & Company might, however, communicate with the _Spot Cash_, now at Tilt Cove and possibly bound north. Doubtless by favour of the clerk of the _Spot Cash_ Armstrong & Company would be able to speak orders in the ear of Skipper George Rumm. "Judd!" Sir Archibald roared. The pale little clerk appeared on the bound. "Rush this," said Sir Archibald. The message read: St. John's, August 6. Archibald Armstrong II, On board "Spot Cash," Tilt Cove. Please oblige order "Black Eagle" St. John's forthwith. This your authority. Armstrong & Company. CHAPTER XXVIII _In Which the "Spot Cash" is Caught By a Gale In the Night and Skipper Bill Gives Her Up For Lost_ It was blowing up when Archie returned to the _Spot Cash_. There was a fine rain in the wind, too; and a mist--hardly yet a fog--was growing denser on the face of a whitening sea. Nothing to bother about yet, of course: only a smart breeze and a little tumble, with thick weather to make a skipper keep his eyes open. But there was the threat of heavy wind and a big sea in gray sky overhead and far out upon the water. Tilt Cove was no place for the _Spot Cash_ to lie very long; she must look for shelter in Sop's Arm before night. "Archie, b'y," said Bill o' Burnt Bay, in the cozy forecastle with the boys, "there's something queer about this here _Black Eagle_." "I should say so!" Archie sneered. "It's the first time I ever knew my father not to play fair." "Bosh!" Skipper Bill ejaculated. Archie started up in a rage. "'Ear the wind!" said Bagg, with a little shiver. It had begun to blow in earnest. The wind, falling over the cliff, played mournfully in the rigging. A gust of rain lashed the skylight. Swells from the open rocked the schooner. "Blowin' up," said Billy Topsail. "How long have you knowed Sir Archibald?" the skipper asked. Archie laughed. "Off an' on for about sixteen years, I 'low?" said the skipper. Archie nodded shortly. "'Ark t' the wind!" Bagg whispered. "'Twill be all in a tumble off the cape," said Jimmie Grimm. "Know Sir Archibald _well_?" the skipper pursued. Archie sat down in disgust. "Pretty intimate, eh?" asked the skipper. The boy laughed again; and then all at once--all in a flash--his ill-humour and suspicion vanished. His father not play fair? How preposterous the fancy had been! Of _course_, he was playing fair! But somebody wasn't. And _who_ wasn't? "It is queer," said he. "What do you make of it, Bill?" "I been thinkin'," the skipper replied heavily. "Have you fathomed it?" "Well," the skipper drawled, "I've thunk along far enough t' want t' look into it farder. I'd say," he added, "t' put back t' Conch." "It's going to blow, Skipper Bill." It had already begun to blow. The wind was moaning aloft. The long-drawn melancholy penetrated to the cozy cabin. In the shelter of the cliff though she was, the schooner tossed in the spent seas that came swishing in from the open. "Well," the skipper drawled, "I guess the wind won't take the hair off a body; an' I 'low we can make Conch afore the worst of it." "I'm with the skipper," said Billy Topsail. "Me, too," said Jimmie Grimm. Bagg had nothing to say; he seldom had, poor fellow! in a gale of wind. "I've a telegram to send," said Archie. It was a message of apology. Archie went ashore with a lighter heart to file it. What an unkindly suspicious fool he had been! he reflected, heartily ashamed of himself. "Something for you, sir," said the agent. Sir Archibald's telegram was put in the boy's hand; and when this had been read aboard the _Spot Cash_--and when the schooner had rounded Cape John and was taking full advantage of a sudden change of wind to the southwest--Archie and the skipper and the crew felt very well indeed, thank you! * * * * * It blew hard in the afternoon--harder than Bill o' Burnt Bay had surmised. The wind had a slap to it that troubled the little _Spot Cash_. Crested seas broke over her bows and swept her deck. She was smothered in white water half the time. The wind was rising, too. It was to be a big gale from the southeast. It was already half a gale. There was wind enough for the _Spot Cash_. Much more would shake and drown her like a chip. Bill o' Burnt Bay, at the wheel, and the crew, forward and amidships, kept watch for the coast and the friendly landmarks of harbour. But what with wind and fog and rain it was a disheartening business. When night gathered, the coast was not in sight. The _Spot Cash_ was tossing somewhere offshore in a rising gale and dared not venture in. The wind continued in the southeast. The coast was a lee shore--all rocks and islands and cliffs. The _Spot Cash_ must beat out again to sea and wait for the morning. Any attempt to make a harbour of that harsh shore in the dark would spell destruction. But the sea was hardly more hospitable. The _Spot Cash_, reefed down almost to bare poles, and standing out as best she could, tossed and plunged in the big black seas, with good heart, to be sure, but, presently, with small hope. It seemed to Bill o' Burnt Bay that the little craft would be broken and swamped. The boys came aft from forward and amidships. All at once Archie, who had been staring into the night ahead, started, turned and uttered an ejaculation of dismay, which a gust of wind drove into the skipper's ear. "What is it, b'y?" Skipper Bill roared. "I forgot to insure her," shouted Archie. Skipper Bill grinned. "It's ruin if we wreck, Bill," Archie shouted again. It looked to Bill o' Burnt Bay like wreck and death. If so, the ruin might take care of itself. It pleased him to know that Archie was still unconcerned about his life. He reflected that if the _Spot Cash_ should by any chance survive he would tell Sir Archibald that story. But a great sea and a smothering blast of wind distracted him. The sea came clear over the bow and broke amidships; the wind fairly drove the breath back into the skipper's throat. There would be two more seas he knew: there were always three seas. The second would break in a moment; the third would swamp the schooner. He roared a warning to the boys and turned the wheel to meet the sea bow on. The big wave fell with a crash amidships; the schooner stopped and shivered while a torrent of water drove clear over the stern. Bill o' Burnt Bay saw the crest of the third sea grow white and tower in the night. "Hang to her!" screamed Archie. Skipper Bill smiled grimly as the sea came aboard. It broke and swept past. He expected no more; but more came--more and still more. The schooner was now tossing in a boiling pot from which the spray rose like steam. Bill caught the deep boom of breakers. The _Spot Cash_ was somewhere inshore. The water was shallowing. She was fairly on the rocks. Again Bill shouted a warning to the boys to save themselves when she struck. He caught sight of a low cliff--a black shadow above a mass of moving, ghostly white. The schooner was lifted by a great sea and carried forward. Skipper Bill waited for the shock and thud of her striking. He glanced up at the spars--again screamed a warning--and stood rigid. On swept the schooner. She was a long time in the grip of that great wave. Then she slipped softly out of the rough water into some placid place where the wind fluttered gently down from above. * * * * * There was a moment of silence and uttermost amazement. The wind had vanished; the roar of the sea was muffled. The schooner advanced gently into the dark. "The anchor!" the skipper gasped. He sprang forward, stumbling; but it was too late: the bowsprit crumpled against a rock, there was a soft thud, a little shock, a scraping, and the _Spot Cash_ stopped dead. "We're aground," said Bill. "I wonders where?" said Jimmie Grimm. "In harbour, anyhow," said Billy Topsail. "And no insurance!" Archie added. There was no levity in this. The boys were overawed. They had been afraid, every one of them; and the mystery of their escape and whereabouts oppressed them. But they got the anchor over the bow; and presently they had the cabin stove going and were drying off. Nobody turned in; they waited anxiously for the first light of day to disclose their surroundings. CHAPTER XXVIX _In Which Opportunity is Afforded the Skipper of the "Black Eagle" to Practice Villainy in the Fog and He Quiets His Scruples. In Which, also, the Pony Islands and the Tenth of the Month Come Into Significant Conjunction_ Aboard the _Black Eagle_, Skipper George Rumm and Tommy Bull, with the cook and three hands, all of Tom Tulk's careful selection, were engaged, frankly among themselves, in a conspiracy to wreck the schooner for their own profit. It was a simple plan; and with fortune to favour rascality, it could not go awry. Old Tom Tulk of Twillingate had conceived and directed it. The _Black Eagle_ was to be loaded with salt-cod from the French Shore stages in haste and at any cost. She was then to be quietly taken off one of the out-of-the-way rocky little islands of the remote northern coast. Her fish and the remainder of her cargo were to be taken ashore and stowed under tarpaulin: whereupon--with thick weather to corroborate a tale of wreck--the schooner was to be scuttled in deep water. "'Tis but a matter o' clever management," Tom Tulk had said. "Choose your weather--that's all." Presently the castaways were to appear in Conch in the schooner's quarter boat with a circumstantial account of the disaster. The _Black Eagle_ was gone, they would say; she had struck in a fog, ripped out her keel (it seemed), driven over the rock, filled and sunk. At Conch, by this time, the mail-boat would be due on the southward trip. Skipper George and the clerk would proceed in grief and humiliation to St. John's to report the sad news to Armstrong & Company; but the cook and the three hands would join Tom Tulk at Twillingate, whence with the old reprobate's schooner they would rescue fish and cargo from beneath the tarpaulins on the out-of-the-way rocky little island in the north. To exchange crews at Twillingate and run the cargo to St. John's for quick sale was a small matter. "Barrin' accident," Tom Tulk had said, "it can't fail." There, indeed, was a cold, logical plan. "Barrin' accident," as Tom Tulk was aware, and as he by and by persuaded Skipper George, it could not fail. Let the weather be well chosen, the story consistent: that was all. Was not Skipper George forever in danger of losing his schooner? Had not Sir Archibald already given him his last warning? They would say in St. John's merely that Skipper George had "done it at last." Nobody would be surprised; everybody would say, "I told you so." And when old Tom Tulk came into harbour with a mysterious load of fish who would suspect him? Was not Tom Tulk known to be an eccentric? Was there any accounting for what Tom Tulk would do? Tom Tulk would say, "Mind your business!" and that would make an end of the questioning. "Choose your weather, Skipper George," said Tom Tulk. "Let it be windy and thick." With fog to hide the deed--with a gale to bear out the story and keep prying craft away--there would be small danger of detection. And what if folk did suspect? Let 'em prove it! _That's_ what the law demanded. Let 'em _prove_ it! * * * * * When the _Black Eagle_ put back to Conch from following the little _Spot Cash_, it was evident that the opportunity had come. The weather was thick; there was a promise of wind in the air. Moreover, with Archie Armstrong on the coast in a temper, it was the part of wisdom to beware. Skipper George went gloomily to the cabin when the schooner rode once more at anchor. It was time, now; he knew it, the clerk knew it, the crew knew it. But Skipper George had no liking for the job; nor had the clerk, to tell the truth, nor had the cook, nor had the crew. Rascals are not made in a day; and it takes a long time to innure them against fear and self-reproach. But skipper and crew of the _Black Eagle_ were already committed. Their dealing for fish on the coast had been unpardonable. The skipper could not explain it in St. John's; nor could the clerk excuse it. "We got t' go through with this, Tommy," said the gloomy skipper. "Have a dram," the clerk replied. "I'm in sore need o' one meself." It seemed the skipper was, too. "With that little shaver on the coast," said the clerk, "'tis best done quickly." "I've no heart for it," the skipper growled. The clerk's thin face was white and drawn. His hand trembled, now, as he lifted his glass. Nor had _he_ any heart for it. It had been all very well, at first; it had seemed something like a lark--just a wild lark. The crew, too, had taken it in the spirit of larking--at first. But now that the time was come both forecastle and cabin had turned uneasy and timid. In the forecastle, the cook said to the first hand: "Wisht I was out o' this." "Wisht I'd never come in it," the first hand sighed. Their words were in whispers. "I 'low," said the second hand, with a scared glance about, "that the ol' man will--will _do_ it--the morrow." The three averted their eyes--each from the other's. "I 'low," the cook gasped. Meantime, in the cabin, the clerk, rum now giving him a saucy outlook, said: "'Twill blow half a gale the morrow." "Ay," said the skipper, uneasily; "an' there's like t' be more than half a gale by the glass." "There'll be few craft out o' harbour." "Few craft, Tommy," said the skipper, drawing a timid hand over his bristling red beard. "I'm not likin' t' take the _Black Eagle_ t' sea." "'Tis like there'll be fog," the clerk continued. "Ay; 'tis like there'll be a bit o' fog." Skipper and clerk helped themselves to another dram of rum. Why was it that Tom Tulk had made them a parting gift? Perhaps Tom Tulk understood the hearts of new-made rascals. At any rate, skipper and clerk, both simple fellows, after all, were presently heartened. Tommy Bull laughed. "Skipper," said he, "do you go ashore an' say you'll take the _Black Eagle_ t' sea the morrow, blow high or blow low, fair wind or foul." The skipper looked up in bewilderment. "Orders," the clerk explained, grinning. "Tell 'em you've been wigged lively enough by Sir Archibald for lyin' in harbour." Skipper George laughed in his turn. "For'ard, there!" the clerk roared, putting his head out of the cabin. "One o' you t' take the skipper ashore!" Three fishing-schooners, bound down from the Labrador, had put in for safe berth through a threatening night. And with the skippers of these craft, and with the idle folk ashore, Skipper George foregathered. Dirty weather? (the skipper declared); sure, 'twas dirty weather. But there was no wind on that coast could keep the _Black Eagle_ in harbour. No, sir: no wind that blowed. Skipper George was sick an' tired o' bein' wigged by Sir Archibald Armstrong for lyin' in harbour. No more wiggin' for _him_. No, sir! He'd take the _Black Eagle_ t' sea in the mornin'? Let it blow high or blow low, fair wind or foul, 'twould be up anchor an' t' sea for the _Black Eagle_ at dawn. Wreck her? Well, let her _go_ t' wreck. Orders was orders. If the _Black Eagle_ happened t' be picked up by a rock in the fog 'twould be Sir Archibald Armstrong's business to explain it. As for Skipper George, no man would be able t' tell _him_ again that he was afraid t' take his schooner t' sea. An' orders was orders, sir. Yes, sir; orders was orders. "I'm not likin' the job o' takin' my schooner t' sea in wind an' fog," Skipper George concluded, with a great assumption of indignant courage; "but when I'm told t' drive her, _I'll drive_, an' let the owner take the consequences." This impressed the Labrador skippers. "Small blame t' you, Skipper George," one declared, "if you do lose her." Well satisfied with the evidence he had manufactured to sustain the story of wreck, Skipper George returned to the schooner. "Well," he drawled to the clerk, "I got my witnesses. They isn't a man ashore would put t' sea the morrow if the weather comes as it promises." The clerk sighed and anxiously frowned. Skipper George, infected by this melancholy and regret--for the skipper loved the trim, fleet-footed, well-found _Black Eagle_--Skipper George sighed, too. "Time t' turn in, Tommy," said he. The skipper had done a good stroke of business ashore. Sir Archibald had indeed ordered him to "drive" the _Black Eagle_. * * * * * And in the rising wind of the next day while the _Spot Cash_ lay at anchor in Tilt Cove and Archie's messages were fleeting over the wire to St. John's--the _Black Eagle_ was taken to sea. Ashore they advised her skipper to stick to shelter; but the skipper would have none of their warnings. Out went the _Black Eagle_ under shortened sail. The wind rose; a misty rain gathered; fog came in from the far, wide open. But the _Black Eagle_ sped straight out to sea. Beyond the Pony Islands--a barren, out-of-the-way little group of rocks--she beat aimlessly to and fro: now darting away, now approaching. But there was no eye to observe her peculiar behaviour. Before night fell--driven by the gale--she found poor shelter in a seaward cove. Here she hung grimly to her anchorage through the night. Skipper and crew, as morning approached, felt the wind fall and the sea subside. Dawn came in a thick fog. "What do you make of it, Tommy?" the skipper asked. The clerk stared into the mist. "Pony Islands, skipper, sure enough," said he. "Little Pony or Big?" In a rift of the mist a stretch of rocky coast lay exposed. "Little Pony," said the clerk. "Ay," the skipper agreed: "an' 'twas Little Pony, easterly shore," he added, his voice dwindling away, "that Tom Tulk advised." "An' about the tenth o' the month," Tommy Bull added. CHAPTER XXX _In Which the Fog Thins and the Crew of the "Spot Cash" Fall Foul of a Dark Plot_ Morning came to the _Spot Cash_, too--morning with a thick mist: morning with a slow-heaving sea and a vanished wind. Bill o' Burnt Bay looked about--stared in every direction from the listed little schooner--but could find no familiar landmark. They were in some snug harbour, however, of a desolate and uninhabited coast. There were no cottages on the hills; there were no fish-flakes and stages by the waterside. Beyond the tickle--that wide passage through which the schooner had driven in the dark--the sea was heaving darkly under the gray mist. Barren, rugged rock fell to the harbour water; and rocky hills, stripped of verdure by the winds of a thousand years, hid their bald heads in the fog. "I don't know what it _is_," said Bill o' Burnt Bay to the boys; "but I know well enough what it _ought_ t' be." "'Tis never the Shore," Billy Topsail declared. "I'm 'lowin'," said Skipper Bill, but yet doubtfully, "that 'tis one o' the Pony Islands. They lies hereabouts," he continued, scratching his head, "long about thirty mile off the mainland. We're on a westerly shore, and that means Islands, for we've never come t' the westerly coast o' Newfoundland. If I could get a peep at the Bald-head I could tell for certain." The grim landmark called the Bald-head, however,--if this were indeed one of the Pony Islands--was in the mist. "I'll lay 'tis the Pony Islands," Billy Topsail declared again. "It may be," said the skipper. "An' Little Pony, too," Billy went on. "I mind me now that we sheltered in this harbour in the _Fish Killer_ afore she was lost on Feather's Folly."[6] "I 'low _'tis_," Skipper Bill agreed. Whether the Pony Islands or not--and whether Big Pony or Little Pony--clearing weather would disclose. Meantime, as Archie Armstrong somewhat tartly pointed out, the _Spot Cash_ was to be looked to. She had gone aground at low tide, it seemed; and she was now floating at anchor, free of the bottom. The butt of her bowsprit had been driven into the forecastle; and the bowsprit itself had gone permanently out of commission. Otherwise she was tight and ready. The practical-minded Archie Armstrong determined, with a laugh, that notwithstanding the loss of a bowsprit the firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company would not have to go out of business for lack of insurance. And after an amazingly hearty and hilarious breakfast, which Bagg, the cook--Bagg _was_ the cook--presently announced, the folk of the _Spot Cash_ went ashore to take observations. "We'll rig a bowsprit o' some sort," Bill o' Burnt Bay remarked, "afore the fog lifts." The fog was already thinning. * * * * * Meantime, on the easterly coast of the Little Pony, the _Black Eagle_ was being warped in towards shore and moored with lines to a low, sheer rock, which served admirably as a landing wharf. The gangplank was run out, the hatches were lifted, the barrows were fetched from below; and all these significant operations were directed in a half-whisper by the rat-eyed little Tommy Bull. Ashore went the fish--ashore by the barrow-load--and into a convenient little gully where the tarpaulins would keep it snug against the weather. Fortune favoured the plan: fog hid the island from the sight of all men. But the faces of the crew grew longer as the work advanced; and the voice of the rat-eyed little clerk fell lower, and his manner turned still more furtive, and his hand began to shake. In the cabin the skipper sat, with an inspiring dram, engaged in melancholy and apprehensive brooding. Armstrong & Company had not served him ill, after all (thought he); but, pshaw! the _Black Eagle_ was insured to the hilt and would be small loss to the firm. Well, well! she was a tight little schooner and had many a time taken the evil fall weather with a stout heart. 'Twas a pity to scuttle her. Scuttle her? The skipper had much rather scuttle Tom Tulk! But pshaw! after all 'twould but make more work for Newfoundland ship-builders. Would it never be known? Would the murder never out? Could Tommy Bull and the crew be trusted? The skipper had already begun to fear Tommy Bull and the crew. He had caught himself deferring to the cook. To the cook! "Pah!" thought the skipper, as he tipped his bottle, "George Rumm knucklin' down to a cook! A pretty pass t' come to!" Tommy Bull came down the ladder. "Skipper, sir," said he, "you'd best be on deck." Skipper George went above with the clerk. "She's gettin' light," said Tommy Bull. At that moment the skipper started. With a hoarse ejaculation leaping from his throat he stared with bulging eyes towards the hills upon which a shaft of sunlight had fallen. Then he gripped Tommy Bull by the arm. "Who's that?" he whispered. "What?" the terrified clerk exclaimed. "Who's what, man? Where--where? What you talkin' about?" The skipper pointed to the patch of sunlight on the hills. "That!" he gasped. "'Tis a man!" said the clerk. "We're cotched!" the skipper groaned. The rat-like little clerk bared his teeth. * * * * * Bill o' Burnt Bay and the boys of the _Spot Cash_ had seen what the lifting fog disclosed--the _Black Eagle_ moored to the rocks of the Little Pony and unloading. But they had not fathomed the mystery. A mystery it was, however, and a deep one. To solve it they came down the hill towards the schooner in a body and were presently face to face with skipper and clerk on the deck. The crew went on with the unloading; there was never a hint of hesitation or embarrassment. And the skipper of the _Spot Cash_ was serenely made welcome. Whatever rat-like impulse to bite may have been in the heart of the little clerk, when Bill o' Burnt Bay came over the crest of the hill, it had now vanished in discreet politeness. There was no occasion for biting. Had there been--had the crew of the _Black Eagle_ been caught in the very act of scuttling the ship--Tommy Bull would no doubt have driven his teeth in deep. Even amateur scoundrels at bay may be highly dangerous antagonists. These were amateur scoundrels, to be sure, and good-hearted in the main; but they were not yet by any means at bay. "Jus' a little leak, Skipper Bill," Skipper George explained, when Bill o' Burnt Bay had accounted for his presence in Little Pony. "Sprung it in the gale." "Did you, now?" said Skipper Bill, suspiciously; "'tis lucky we happened along. I'm a bit of a carpenter, meself, an' I'd----" "Not at all!" Skipper George protested, with a large wave of the hand. "_Not_ at all!" "'Twould be no trouble----" "Not at all!" Skipper George repeated. "Here's Tommy just found the spot, an' we'll plug it in short order." Skipper Bill could ill conceal his suspicion. "You're in trouble yourself with the _Spot Cash_, says you," said Skipper George. "We'll lend you a spar an' a couple o' hands t' set it." "We'll buy the spar," Archie put in. Skipper George laughed heartily. "Well, well," said he. "Have it your own way. You make your repairs, an' I'll make mine; an' then we'll see who's back t' the Shore ports first." Archie bethought himself. "I'll lay you," Skipper George went on, clapping Archie on the back, "that you'll not find a fish in the harbours where the _Black Eagle_ goes." "You're ordered home, Skipper George," said Archie. "I've this message from Tilt Cove." Skipper George glanced at the telegram. "Well, well!" said he, blandly; "we're nigh loaded, anyhow." Archie wondered afterwards why Skipper George had caught his breath and lost some of his colour. * * * * * Presently the crew of the _Spot Cash_, with two stout hands from the _Black Eagle_, went over the hills with the spare spar. Skipper George and Tommy Bull made haste to the cabin. "Ordered home," said the skipper, slapping the message on the counter. "Forthwith," Tommy Bull added. "There's more here than appears," the anxious skipper went on. "Tommy," said he, gravely, "there's something back o' this." The clerk beat a devil's tattoo in perturbation. "There's more suspected than these words tell," the skipper declared. "'Tis by sheer good luck, Skipper George," said the clerk, "that we've a vessel t' take home. I tell you, b'y," said he, flushing with suspicion and rage, "I don't trust Tom Tulk. He'd sell his mother for a slave for a thousand dollars." "Tom Tulk!" Skipper George exclaimed. "By thunder!" he roared, "Tom Tulk has blowed!" For the second time that day the rat-like little clerk of the _Black Eagle_ bared his teeth--now with a little snarl. "They've no proof," said the skipper. "True," the clerk agreed; "but they's as many as two lost jobs aboard this vessel. They'll be two able-bodied seamen lookin' for a berth when the _Black Eagle_ makes St. John's." "Well, Tommy Bull," said the skipper, with a shrug, "'tis the clerk that makes prices aboard a tradin' schooner; and 'twill be the clerk that will explain in this particular case." "Huh!" Tommy Bull sneered. Next day the _Black Eagle_, with her fish again aboard, put to sea and sped off on a straight course for St. John's. Notwithstanding the difficulties in store, clerk and skipper were in good humour with all the world (except Tom Tulk); and the crew was never so light-hearted since the voyage began. But as the day drew along--and as day by day passed--and as the home port and Sir Archibald's level eyes came ever nearer--the skipper grew troubled. Why should the _Black Eagle_ have been ordered home? Why had Sir Archibald used that mysterious and unusual word "forthwith" with such emphasis? What lay behind the brusque order? Had Tom Tulk played false? Would there be a constable on the wharf? With what would Sir Archibald charge the skipper? Altogether, the skipper of the _Black Eagle_ had never sailed a more disquieting voyage. And when the _Black Eagle_ slipped through the narrows to St. John's harbour he was like a dog come home for a thrashing. ----- [6] As related in "The Adventures of Billy Topsail." CHAPTER XXXI _In Which the "Spot Cash" is Picked up by Blow-Me-Down Rock In Jolly Harbour, Wreckers Threaten Extinction and the Honour of the Firm Passes into the Keeping of Billy Topsail_ The _Spot Cash_ made for the French Shore with all the speed her heels could command. The seventh of August! How near it was to the first of September! The firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company, with the skipper and cook, shivered to think of it. Ten more trading days! Not another hour could they afford if the _Spot Cash_ would surely make St. John's harbour on the specified day. And she would--she must--Archie declared. His honour was involved--the honour of them all--of the firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company. Had not Sir Archibald said so? So in the harbours of the Shore Bill o' Burnt Bay once more tussled valiantly with "The Lost Pirate," and the flags flew, and the phonograph ground out inviting music, and Bobby North shook the hornpipe out of his active toes, and Bagg double-shuffled, and the torches flared, and "Kandy for Kids" and "Don't be Foolish and Fully Fooled" persuaded the populace, and Signor Fakerino created mystification, and Billy Topsail employed his sweet little pipe most wistfully in the old ballad of the coast: "Sure, the chain 'e parted, An' the schooner drove ashore, An' the wives of the 'ands Never saw un any more, No more! Never saw un any mo-o-o-re!" It was all to good purpose. Trade was even brisker than in White Bay. Out went the merchandise and in came the fish. Nor did the _Spot Cash_ once leave harbour without a hearty, even wistful, invitation to return. Within seven days, so fast did the fish come aboard, the hold had an appearance of plethora. Jimmie Grimm and Bagg protested that not another quintal of fish could be stowed away. It was fairly time to think of a deck-load. There was still something in the cabin: something to be disposed of--something to turn into fish. And it was Archie who proposed the scheme of riddance. "A bargain sale," said he. "The very thing." "An' Jolly Harbour's the place," said the skipper. "Then homeward bound!" shouted Archie. They ran into Jolly Harbour on the wings of a brisk southerly wind--and unfortunately in the dusk brought up hard and fast on Blow-Me-Down Rock. * * * * * Aground! They were hard and fast aground on Blow-Me-Down Rock in Jolly Harbour at high tide. A malignant sea made a certainty of it. It lifted the _Spot Cash_--drove her on--and gently deposited her with a horrifying list to starboard. Archie Armstrong wrung his hands and stamped the deck. Where was the first of September now? How was the firm to--to--what was it Sir Archibald had said?--yes; how was the firm to "liquidate its obligations" on the appointed day and preserve its honour? "By gettin' the _Spot Cash_ afloat," said Skipper Bill, tersely. "And a pretty time we'll have," groaned Archie. "I 'low," Bill drawled, "that we may be in for a prettier time still." "Sure, it couldn't be worse," Billy Topsail declared. "This here," Bill explained, "is Jolly Harbour; an' the folk o' Jolly Harbour isn't got no reputations t' speak of." This was hardly enlightening. "What I means," Skipper Bill went on, "is that the Jolly Harbour folk is called wreckers. They's been a good deal o' talk about wreckers on this coast; an' they's more lies than truth in it. But Jolly Harbour," he added, "is Jolly Harbour; an' the folk will sure come swarmin' in punts and skiffs an' rodneys when they hear they's a vessel gone ashore." "Sure, they'll give us help," said Billy Topsail. "Help!" Skipper Bill scornfully exclaimed. "'Tis little help _they'll_ give us. Why, b'y, when they've got her cargo, they'll chop off her standing rigging and draw the nails from her deck planks." "'Tis a mean, sinful thing to do!" cried Billy. "They live up to their lights, b'y," the skipper said. "They're an honest, good-hearted, God-fearin' folk on this coast in the main; but they believe that what the sea casts up belongs to men who can get it, and neither judge nor preacher can teach them any better. Here lies the _Spot Cash_, stranded, with a wonderful list t' starboard. They'll think it no sin to wreck her. I know them well. 'Twill be hard to keep them off once they see that she's high and dry." Archie began to stamp the deck again. * * * * * When the dawn broke it disclosed the situation of the schooner. She was aground on a submerged rock, some distance offshore, in a wide harbour. It was a wild, isolated spot, with spruce-clad hills, which here and there showed their rocky ribs rising from the edge of the water. There was a cluster of cottages in a ravine at the head of the harbour; but there was no other sign of habitation. Evidently the schooner's deep list betrayed her distress; for when the day had fully broken, a boat was pushed off from the landing-place and rowed rapidly towards her. "Here's the first!" muttered Skipper Bill. "I'll warn him well." He hailed the occupant, a fisherman with a simple, good-humoured face, who hung on his oars and surveyed the ship. "Keep off, there!" shouted the skipper. "We need no man's help. I warn you an' your mates fair not to come aboard. You've no right here under the law so long as there's a man o' the crew left on the ship, and I'll use force to keep you off." "You're not able to get her off, sir," said the fisherman, rowing on, as if bent on boarding. "She's a wreck." "Billy," the skipper ordered, "get forward with a gaff and keep him off." With that the fisherman turned his punt about and made off for the shore. "Aye, aye, Billy!" he called, good-naturedly. "I'll give you no call to strike me." "He'll come back with others," the skipper remarked, gloomily. "'Tis a bad lookout." "We'll try to haul her off with the punt," suggested Archie. "With the punt!" the skipper laughed. "'Twould be as easy to haul Blow-Me-Down out by the roots. But if we can keep the wreckers off, by trick or by force, we'll not lose her. The _Grand Lake_ passed up the coast on Monday. She'll be steamin' into Hook-and-Line again on Thursday. As she doesn't call at Jolly Harbour we'll have t' go fetch her. We can run over in the punt an' fetch her. 'Tis a matter o' gettin' there and back before the schooner's torn t' pieces." At dawn of the next day Skipper Bill determined to set out for Hook-and-Line to intercept the steamer. In the meantime there had been no sign of life ashore. Doubtless, the crew of the _Spot Cash_ thought, the news of the wreck was on its way to neighbouring settlements. The wind had blown itself out; but the sea was still running high, and five hands (three of them boys) were needed to row the heavy schooner's punt through the lop and distance. Muscle was needed for the punt; nothing but wit could save the schooner. Who should stay behind? "Let Archie stay behind," said Billy Topsail. "No," Skipper Bill replied; "he'll be needed t' bargain with the captain o' the _Grand Lake_." There was a moment of silence. "Billy," said the skipper, "you'll stay." Billy nodded shortly. "Now, Billy Topsail," Skipper Bill went on, "I fear you've never read the chapter on' Wreck an' Salvage' in the 'Consolidated Statutes o' Newfoundland.' So I'm going t' tell you some things you don't know. Now, listen careful! By law, b'y," tapping the boy on the breast with a thick, tarry finger, "if they's nobody aboard a stranded vessel--if she's abandoned, as they say in court--the men who find her can have her and all that's in her. That's pretty near the law o' the land--near enough for you, anyway. Contrary, by law, b'y," with another impressive tap, "if they is one o' the crew aboard, he's a right to shoot down any man who comes over the side against his will. That's _exactly_ the law. Do you follow?" "But I've no mind for shootin' at so good-natured a man," said Billy, recalling the fisherman's broad grin. "An' I hope you won't have to," said the skipper. "But they's no harm in aiming an empty gun anywhere you've a mind to. So far as I know, they's no harm in firin' away a blast or two o' powder if you forget t' put in the shot." Billy laughed. "Billy, boy," said Archie, tremulously, "it's up to you to save the firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company." "All right, Archie," said Billy. "I _know_ it's all right," Archie declared. "They's just two things to remember," said the skipper, from the bow of the punt, before casting off. "The first is to stay aboard; the second is to let nobody else come aboard if you can help it. 'Tis all very simple." "All right, skipper," said Billy. "Topsail--Armstrong--Grimm--_and_--Company," were the last words Billy Topsail heard; and they came from Archie Armstrong. CHAPTER XXXII _In Which the "Grand Lake" Conducts Herself In a Most Peculiar Fashion to the Chagrin of the Crew of the "Spot Cash"_ Skipper Bill and the punt of the stranded _Spot Cash_ made the harbour at Hook-and-Line in good season to intercept the _Grand Lake_. She was due--she would surely steam in--that very day, said the men of Hook-and-Line. And it seemed to Archie Armstrong that everything now depended on the _Grand Lake_. It would be hopeless--Skipper Bill had said so and the boys needed no telling--it would be hopeless to attempt to get the _Spot Cash_ off Blow-Me-Down Rock in an unfriendly harbour without the steamer's help. "'Tis fair hard t' believe that the Jolly Harbour folk would give us no aid," said Jimmie Grimm. Skipper Bill laughed. "You've no knowledge o' Jolly Harbour," said he. "'Tis a big expense these robbers are putting us to," Archie growled. "Robbers?" Bill drawled. "Well, they're a decent, God-fearin' folk, with their own ideas about a wreck." Archie sniffed. "I've no doubt," the skipper returned, "that they're thankin' God for the windfall of a tradin' schooner at family worship in Jolly Harbour at this very minute." This view expressed small faith in the wits of Billy Topsail. "Oh, Billy Topsail will stand un off," Jimmie Grimm stoutly declared. "I'm doubtin' it," said the frank skipper. "Wh-wh-_what_!" Archie exclaimed in horror. "I'm just doubtin' it," the skipper repeated. This was a horrifying confession; and Archie Armstrong knew that Skipper Bill was not only wise in the ways of the French Shore but was neither a man to take a hopeless view nor one needlessly to excite anxiety. When Bill o' Burnt Bay admitted his fear that Billy Topsail had neither the strength nor the wit to save the _Spot Cash_ from the God-fearing folk of Jolly Harbour, he meant more than he said. The affairs of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company seemed to be in a bad way. It was now more than a mere matter of liquidating an obligation on the first of September; the problem was of liquidating it at all. "Wisht the _Grand Lake_ would 'urry up," said Bagg. "I'd like t' save some splinters o' the schooner, anyway," the skipper chuckled, in a ghastly way, "even if we _do_ lose the cargo." It occurred all at once to Archie Armstrong that Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company were not only in obligation for the debt to Armstrong & Company but were responsible for a chartered craft which was not insured. "A thousand dollars--a cold thousand dollars--_and_ the _Spot Cash_!" he exclaimed, aghast. "Wisht she'd 'urry up," Bagg repeated. Archie, pacing the wharf, his hands deep in his pockets, his face haggard and white, recalled that his father had once told him that many a man had been ruined by having too large a credit. And Archie had had credit--much credit. A mere boy with a thousand dollars of credit! With a thousand dollars of credit in merchandise and coin and the unquestioned credit of chartering a schooner! He realized that it had been much--too much. Somehow or other, as he feverishly paced the wharf at Hook-and-Line, the trading venture seemed infinitely larger and more precarious than it had in his father's office on the rainy day when the lad had so blithely proposed it. He understood, now, why it was that other boys could not stalk confidently into the offices of Armstrong & Company and be outfitted for a trading voyage. His father's faith--his father's indulgent fatherhood--had provided the all-too-large credit for his ruin. "Wisht she'd 'urry up," Bagg sighed. "Just now," Archie declared, looking Skipper Bill in the eye, "it's up to Billy Topsail." "Billy's a good boy," said the skipper. Little Donald North--who had all along been a thoroughly serviceable but inconspicuous member of the crew--began to shed unwilling tears. "Wisht she'd 'urry up," Bagg whimpered. "_There she is!_" Skipper Bill roared. It was true. There she was. Far off at sea--away beyond Grief Head at the entrance to Hook-and-Line--the smoke of a steamer surely appeared, a black cloud in the misty, glowering day. It was the _Grand Lake_. There was no other steamer on the coast. Cap'n Hand--Archie's friend, Cap'n Hand, with whom he had sailed on the sealing voyage of the stout old _Dictator_--was in command. She would soon make harbour. Archie's load vanished; from despair he was lifted suddenly into a wild hilarity which nothing would satisfy but a roaring wrestle with Skipper Bill. The _Grand Lake_ would presently be in; she would proceed full steam to Jolly Harbour, she would pass a line to the _Spot Cash_, she would jerk the little schooner from her rocky berth on Blow-Me-Down, and presently that selfsame wilful little craft would be legging it for St. John's. But was it the _Grand Lake_? "Lads," the skipper declared, when the steamer was in view, "it sure is the _Grand Lake_." They watched her. "Queer!" Skipper Bill muttered, at last. "What's queer?" asked Archie. "She should be turnin' in," the skipper replied. "What's Cap'n Hand thinkin' about?" "Wisht she'd 'urry up," said Bagg. The boys were bewildered. The steamer should by this time have had her nose turned towards Hook-and-Line. To round Grief Head she was keeping amazingly far out to sea. "Wonderful queer!" said the anxious skipper. The _Grand Lake_ steamed past Hook-and-Line and disappeared in the mist. Evidently she was in haste. Presently there was not so much as a trail of smoke to be descried at sea. CHAPTER XXXIII _In Which Billy Topsail, Besieged by Wreckers, Sleeps on Duty and Thereafter Finds Exercise For His Wits. In Which, also, a Lighted Candle is Suspended Over a Keg of Powder and Precipitates a Critical Moment While Billy Topsail Turns Pale With Anxiety_ At Jolly Harbour, meantime, where Billy Topsail kept watch, except for the flutter of an apron or skirt when the women went to the well for water, there was no sign of life at the cottages the livelong day. No boats ran out to the fishing-grounds; no men were on the flakes; the salmon nets and lobster-traps were not hauled. Billy prepared a spirited defense with the guns, which he charged heavily with powder, omitting the bullets. This done, he awaited the attack, meaning to let his wits or his arms deal with the situation, according to developments. The responsibility was heavy, the duty anxious; and Billy could not forget what Archie had said about the firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company. "I 'low there was nothing for it but t' leave me in charge," he thought, as he paced the deck that night. "But 'twill be a job now to save her if they come." Billy fancied, from time to time, that he heard the splash of oars; but the night was dark, and although he peered long and listened intently, he could discover no boat in the shadows. And when the day came, with the comparative security of light, he was inclined to think that his fancy had been tricking him. "But it might have been the punts slippin' in from the harbours above and below," he thought, suddenly. "I wonder if 'twas." He spent most of that day lying on a coil of rope on the deck of the cabin--dozing and delighting himself with long day-dreams. When the night fell, it fell dark and foggy. An easterly wind overcast the sky and blew a thick mist from the open sea. Lights twinkled in the cottages ashore, somewhat blurred by the mist; but elsewhere it was dark; the nearer rocks were outlined by their deeper black. "'Twill be now," Billy thought, "or 'twill be never. Skipper Bill will sure be back with the _Grand Lake_ to-morrow." Some time after midnight, while Billy was pacing the deck to keep himself warm and awake, he was hailed from the shore. "'Tis from the point at the narrows," he thought. "Sure, 'tis Skipper Bill come back." Again he heard the hail--his own name, coming from that point at the narrows. "Billy, b'y! Billy!" "Aye, sir! Who are you?" "Skipper Bill, b'y!" came the answer. "Fetch the quarter-boat. We're aground and leakin'." "Aye, aye, sir!" "Quick, lad! I wants t' get aboard." Billy leaped from the rail to the quarter-boat. He was ready to cast off when he heard a splash in the darkness behind him. That splash gave him pause. Were the wreckers trying to decoy him from the ship? They had a legal right to salve an abandoned vessel. He clambered aboard, determined, until he had better assurance of the safety of his charge, to let Skipper Bill and his crew, if it were indeed they, make a shift for comfort on the rocks until morning. "Skipper Bill, sir!" he called. "Can you swim?" "Aye, b'y! But make haste." "I'll show a light for you, sir, if you want t' swim out, but I'll not leave the schooner." At that there was a laugh--an unmistakable chuckle--sounding whence the boy had heard the splash of an oar. It was echoed to right and left. Then a splash or two, a creak or two and a whisper. After that all was still again. "'Tis lucky, now, I didn't go," Billy thought. "'Twas a trick, for sure. But how did they know my name?" That was simple enough, when he came to think about it. When the skipper had warned the first fisherman off, he had ordered Billy forward by name. Wreckers they were, then--simple, good-hearted folk, believing in their right to what the sea cast up--and now bent on "salving" what they could, but evidently seeking to avoid a violent seizure of the cargo. Billy appreciated this feeling. He had himself no wish to meet an assault in force, whether in the persons of such good-natured fellows as the man who had grinned at him on the morning of the wreck, or in those of a more villainous cast. He hoped it was to be a game of wits; and now the lad smiled. "'Tis likely," he thought, "that I'll keep it safe." For an hour or more there was no return of the alarm. The harbour water rippled under the winds; the rigging softly rattled and sang aloft; the swish of breakers drifted in from the narrows. Billy sat full in the light of the deck lamps, with a gun in his hands, that all the eyes, which he felt sure were peering at him from the darkness roundabout, might see that he was alive to duty. As his weariness increased, he began to think that the wreckers had drawn off, discouraged. Once he nodded; again he nodded, and awoke with a start; but he was all alone on the deck, as he had been. Then, to occupy himself, he went below to light the cabin candle. For a moment, before making ready to go on deck again, he sat on the counter, lost in thought. He did not hear the prow of a punt strike the _Spot Cash_ amidships, did not hear the whispers and soft laughter of men coming over the side by stealth, did not hear the tramp of feet coming aft. What startled him was a rough voice and a burst of laughter. "Come aboard, skipper, sir!" The companionway framed six weather-beaten, bearded faces. There was a grin on each, from the first, which was clear to its smallest wrinkle in the candle-light, to those which were vanishing and reappearing in the shadows behind. Billy seemed to be incapable of word or action. "Come to report, sir," said the nearest wrecker. "We seed you was aground, young skipper, and we thought we'd help you ashore with the cargo." Billy rested his left hand on the head of a powder keg, which stood on end on the counter beside him. His right stole towards the candlestick. There was a light in his blue eyes--a glitter or a twinkle--which might have warned the wreckers, had they known him better. "I order you ashore!" he said, slowly. "I order you _all_ ashore. You've no right aboard this ship. If I had my gun----" "Sure, you left it on deck." "If I had my gun," Billy pursued, "I'd have the right t' shoot you down." The manner of the speech--the fierce intensity of it--impressed the wreckers. They perceived that the boy's face had turned pale, that his eyes were flashing strangely. They were unused to such a depth of passion. It may be that they were reminded of a bear at bay. "I believe he'd do it," said one. An uneasy quiet followed; and in that silence Billy heard the prow of another punt strike the ship. More footfalls came shuffling aft--other faces peered down the companionway. One man pushed his way through the group and made as if to come down the ladder. "Stand back!" Billy cried. The threat in that shrill cry brought the man to a stop. He turned; and that which he saw caused him to fall back upon his fellows. There was an outcry and a general falling away from the cabin door. Some men ran forward to the punts. "The lad's gone mad!" said one. "Leave us get ashore!" Billy had whipped the stopper out of the hole in the head of the powder keg, had snatched the candle from the socket, carefully guarding its flame, and now sat, triumphantly gazing up, with the butt of the candle through the hole in the keg and the flame flickering above its depths. "Men," said he, when they had gathered again at the door, "if I let that candle slip through my fingers, you know what'll happen." He paused; then he went on, speaking in a quivering voice: "My friends left me in charge o' this here schooner, and I've been caught nappin'. If I'd been on deck, you wouldn't have got aboard. But now you are aboard, and 'tis all because I didn't do my duty. Do you think I care what becomes o' me now? Do you think I don't care whether I do my duty or not? I tell you fair that if you don't go ashore I'll drop the candle in the keg. If one o' you dares come down that ladder, I'll drop it. If I hear you lift the hatches off the hold, I'll drop it. If I hear you strike a blow at the ship, I'll drop it. Hear me?" he cried. "If you don't go, I'll drop it!" The candle trembled between Billy's fingers. It slipped, fell an inch or more, but his fingers gripped it again before he lost it. The wreckers recoiled, now convinced that the lad meant no less than he said. "I guess you'd do it, b'y," said the man who had attempted to descend. "Sure," he repeated, with a glance of admiration for the boy's pluck, "I guess you would." "'Tis not comfortable here," said another. "Sure, he might drop it by accident. Make haste, b'ys! Let's get ashore." "Good-night, skipper, sir!" said the first. "Good-night, sir!" said Billy, grimly. With that they went over the side. Billy heard them leap into the punts, push off, and row away. Then silence fell--broken only by the ripple of the water, the noise of the wind in the rigging, the swish of breakers drifting in. The boy waited a long time, not daring to venture on deck, lest they should be lying in wait for him at the head of the ladder. He listened for a footfall, a noise in the hold, the shifting of the deck cargo; but he heard nothing. When the candle had burned low, he lighted another, put the butt through the hole, and jammed it. At last he fell asleep, with his head resting on a pile of dress-goods; and the candle was burning unattended. He was awakened by a hail from the deck. "Billy, b'y, where is you?" It was Skipper Bill's hearty voice; and before Billy could tumble up the ladder, the skipper's bulky body closed the exit. "She's all safe, sir!" said the boy. Skipper Bill at that moment caught sight of the lighted candle. He snatched it from its place, dropped it on the floor and stamped on it. He was a-tremble from head to foot. "What's this foolery?" he demanded, angrily. Billy explained. "It was plucky, b'y," said the skipper, "but 'twas wonderful risky." "Sure, there was no call to be afraid." "No call to be afraid!" cried the skipper. "No, sir--no," said Billy. "There's not a grain of powder in the keg." "Empty--an empty keg?" the skipper roared. "Do you think," said Billy, indignantly, "that I'd have risked the schooner that way if 'twas a full keg?" Skipper Bill stared; and for a long time afterwards he could not look at Billy without staring. CHAPTER XXXIV _In Which Skipper Bill, as a Desperate Expedient, Contemplates the Use of His Teeth, and Archie Armstrong, to Save His Honour, Sets Sail in a Basket, But Seems to Have Come a Cropper_ Billy Topsail suddenly demanded: "Where's the _Grand Lake_?" "The _Grand Lake_," Skipper Bill drawled, with a sigh, "is somewheres t' the s'uth'ard footin' it for St. John's." "You missed her!" Billy accused. "Didn't neither," said the indignant skipper. "She steamed right past Hook-an'-Line without a wink in that direction." This was shocking news. "Anyhow," said little Donald North, as though it mattered importantly, "we seed her smoke." Billy looked from Donald to Jimmie, from Jimmie to Bagg, from Bagg to the skipper; and then he stared about. "Where's Archie?" he asked. "Archie," the skipper replied, "is footin' it for St. John's, too. 'Skipper Bill,' says Archie, 'Billy Topsail has kep' that schooner safe. I knows he has. It was up t' Billy Topsail t' save the firm from wreckers an' I'll lay you that Billy Topsail has saved the firm. Now, Skipper Bill,' says Archie, 'you go back t' Jolly Harbour an' get that schooner off. You get her off somehow. Get her off jus' as soon as you can,' says he, 'an' fetch her to St. John's.' "'I _can't_ get her off,' says I. "'Yes, you can, too, Skipper Bill,' says he. 'I'll lay you can get her off. I don't know how you'll do it,' says he; 'but _I'll lay you can_!' "'I'll get her off, Archie,' says I, 'if I got t' jump in the sea an' haul her off with a line in my teeth.' "'I knowed you would,' says he; 'an' you got the best teeth, Skipper Bill,' says he, 't' be found on this here coast. As for me, skipper,' says he, 'I'm goin' down t' St. John's if I got t' walk on water. I told my father that I'd be in his office on the first o' September--an' I'm goin' t' be there. If I can't be there with the fish I can be there with the promise o' fish; an' I can back that promise up with a motor boat, a sloop yacht an' a pony an' cart. I don't know how I'm goin' t' get t' St. John's,' says he, 'an' I don't want t' walk on a wet sea like this; but I'm goin' t' get there somehow by the first o' September, an' I'm goin' to assoom'--yes, sir, '_assoom_, Skipper Bill,' says Archie--'I'm goin' to assoom that you'll fetch down the _Spot Cash_ an' the tail an' fins of every last tom-cod aboard that there craft.' "An' I'm goin' t' _do_ it!" Skipper Bill roared in conclusion, with a slap of the counter with his hairy fist that made the depleted stock rattle on the shelves. "Does you t-t-think you c-c-_can_ haul her off with your teeth?" Donald North asked with staring eyes. Bill o' Burnt Bay burst into a shout of laughter. "We'll have no help from the Jolly Harbour folk," said Billy Topsail, gravely. "They're good-humoured men," he added, "but they means t' have this here schooner if they can." "Never mind," said Skipper Bill, with an assumption of far more hope than was in his honest, willing heart. "We'll get her off afore they comes again." "Wisht you'd 'urry up," said Bagg. With the _Spot Cash_ high and dry--with a small crew aboard--with a numerous folk, clever and unfriendly (however good-humoured they were), bent on possessing that which they were fully persuaded it was their right to have--with no help near at hand and small prospect of the appearance of aid--the task which Archie Armstrong had set Bill o' Burnt Bay was the most difficult one the old sea-dog had ever encountered in a long career of hard work, self-dependence and tight places. The Jolly Harbour folk might laugh and joke, they might even offer sympathy, they might be the most hospitable, tender-hearted, God-fearing folk in the world; but tradition had taught them that what the sea cast up belonged righteously to the men who could take it, and they would with good consciences and the best humour in the world stand upon that doctrine. And Bill o' Burnt Bay would do no murder to prevent them: it was not the custom of the coast to do murder in such cases; and Archie Armstrong's last injunction had been to take no lives. Bill o' Burnt Bay declared in growing wrath to the boys that he would come next door to murder. "I'll pink 'em, anyhow," said he, as he loaded his long gun. "_I'll_ makes holes for earrings, ecod!" Yes, sir; the skipper would show the Jolly Harbour folk how near a venturesome man could come to letting daylight into a Jolly Harbour hull without making a hopeless leak. Jus' t' keep 'em busy calking, ecod! How much of this was mere loud and saucy words--with how much real meaning the skipper spoke--even the skipper himself did not know. But, yes, sir; he'd show 'em in the morning. It was night, now, however--though near morning. Nobody would put out from shore before daybreak. They had been frightened off once. Skipper Bill's wrath could simmer to the boiling point. But a watch must be kept. No chances must be taken with the _Spot Cash_, and-- "Ahoy, Billy!" a pleasant voice called from the water. The crew of the _Spot Cash_ rushed on deck. "Oh, ho!" another voice laughed. "Skipper's back, too, eh?" "_With_ a long--perfeckly trustworthy--loaded--gun," Skipper Bill solemnly replied. The men in the punts laughed heartily. "Sheer off!" Skipper Bill roared. But in the protecting shadows of the night the punts came closer. And there was another laugh. * * * * * It chanced at Hook-and-Line Harbour before night--Skipper Bill had then for hours been gone towards Jolly Harbour--that a Labrador fishing craft put in for water. She was loaded deep; her decks were fairly awash with her load of fish, and at best she was squat and old and rotten--a basket to put to sea in. Here was no fleet craft; but she was south-bound, at any rate, and Archie Armstrong determined to board her. To get to St. John's--to open the door of his father's office on the first of September as he had promised--to explain and to reassure and even to present in hard cash the value of a sloop yacht and a pony and a motor boat--was the boy's feverish determination. He could not forget his father's grave words: "Your honour is involved." Perhaps he exaggerated the importance of them. His honour? The boy had no wish to be excused--had no liking for fatherly indulgence. He was wholly intent upon justifying his father's faith and satisfying his own sense of honourable obligation. It must be fish or cash--fish or cash--and as it seemed it could not be fish it must therefore be cash. It must be hard cash--cash down--paid on the first of September over his father's desk in the little office overlooking the wharves. "Green Bay bound," the skipper of the Labrador craft replied to Archie's question. That signified a landing at Ruddy Cove. "I'll go along," said Archie. "Ye'll not," the skipper snapped. "Ye'll not go along until ye mend your manners." Archie started in amazement. "_You'll_ go along, will ye?" the skipper continued. "Is you the owner o' this here craft? Ye may _ask_ t' go along; but whether ye go or not is for me--for _me_, ye cub!--t' say." Archie straightened in his father's way. "My name," said he, shortly, "is Archibald Armstrong." The skipper instantly touched his cap. "I'm sorry, skipper," Archie went on, with a dignity of which his manner of life had long ago made him unconsciously master, "for having taken too much for granted. I want passage with you to Ruddy Cove, skipper, for which I'll pay." "You're welcome, sir," said the skipper. The _Wind and Tide_ lay at Hook-and-Line that night in fear of the sea that was running. She rode so deep in the water, and her planks and rigging and sticks were at best so untrustworthy, that her skipper would not take her to sea. Next morning, however--and Archie subsequently recalled it--next morning the wind blew fair for the southern ports. Out put the old craft into a rising breeze and was presently wallowing her way towards Green Bay and Ruddy Cove. But there was no reckless sailing. Nothing that Archie could say with any appearance of propriety moved the skipper to urge her on. She was deep, she was old; she must be humoured along. Again, when night fell, she was taken into harbour for shelter. The wind still blew fair in the morning; she made a better day of it, but was once more safely berthed for the night. Day after day she crept down the coast, lurching along in the light, with unearthly shrieks of pain and complaint, and lying silent in harbour in the dark. "'Wisht she'd 'urry up,'" thought Archie, with a dubious laugh, remembering Bagg. It was the twenty-ninth of August and coming on dark when the boy first caught sight of the cottages of Ruddy Cove. "Mail-boat day," he thought, jubilantly. "The _Wind and Tide_ will make it. I'll be in St. John's the day after to-morrow." "Journey's end," said the skipper, coming up at that moment. "I'm wanting to make the mail-boat," said Archie. "She's due at Ruddy Cove soon after dark." "She'll be on time," said the skipper. "Hark!" Archie heard the faint blast of a steamer's whistle. "Is it she?" asked the skipper. "Ay," Archie exclaimed; "and she's just leaving Fortune Harbour. She'll be at Ruddy Cove within the hour." "I'm doubtin' that _we_ will," said the skipper. "Will you not run up a topsail?" the boy pleaded. "Not for the queen o' England," the skipper replied, moving forward. "I've got my load--an' I've got the lives o' my crew--t' care for." Archie could not gainsay it. The _Wind and Tide_ had all the sail she could carry with unquestionable safety. The boy watched the mail-boat's lights round the Head and pass through the tickle into the harbour of Ruddy Cove. Presently he heard the second blast of her deep-toned whistle and saw her emerge and go on her way. She looked cozy in the dusk, he thought: she was brilliant with many lights. In the morning she would connect with the east-bound cross-country express at Burnt Bay. And meantime he--this selfsame boastful Archie Armstrong--would lie stranded at Ruddy Cove. At that moment St. John's seemed infinitely far away. CHAPTER XXXV _In Which Many Things Happen: Old Tom Topsail Declares Himself the Bully to Do It, Mrs. Skipper William Bounds Down the Path With a Boiled Lobster, the Mixed Accommodation Sways, Rattles, Roars, Puffs and Quits on a Grade in the Wilderness, Tom Topsail Loses His Way in the Fog and Archie Armstrong Gets Despairing Ear of a Whistle_ At Ruddy Cove, that night, when Archie was landed from the _Wind and Tide_, a turmoil of amazement instantly gave way to the very briskest consultation the wits of the place had ever known. "There's no punt can make Burnt Bay the night," Billy Topsail's father declared. "Nor the morrow night if the wind changes," old Jim Grimm added. "Nor the next in a southerly gale," Job North put in. "There's the _Wind an' Tide_," Tom Topsail suggested. "She's a basket," said Archie; "and she's slower than a paddle punt." "What's the weather?" "Fair wind for Burnt Bay an' a starlit night." "I've lost the express," said Archie, excitedly. "I must--I _must_, I tell you!--I must catch the mixed." The Ruddy Cove faces grew long. "I must," Archie repeated between his teeth. The east-bound cross-country express would go through the little settlement of Burnt Bay in the morning. The mixed accommodation would crawl by at an uncertain hour of the following day. It was now the night of the twenty-ninth of August. One day--two days. The mixed accommodation would leave Burnt Bay for St. John's on the thirty-first of August. "If she doesn't forget," said Job North, dryly. "Or get tired an' rest too often," Jim Grimm added. Archie caught an impatient breath. "Look you, lad!" Tom Topsail declared, jumping up. "I'm the bully that will put you aboard!" Archie flung open the door of Mrs. Skipper William's kitchen and made for the Topsail wharf with old Tom puffing and lumbering at his heels. Billy Topsail's mother was hailed with the news. Before Tom had well made the punt shipshape for a driving cruise up the Bay she was on the wharf with a bucket of hardtack and a kettle of water. A frantic scream--perhaps, a shout--announced the coming of Mrs. Skipper William with a ham-bone and a greatcoat. These tossed inboard, she roared a command to delay, gathered up her skirts and fled into the night, whence she emerged, bounding, with a package of tea and a boiled lobster. She had no breath left to bid them Godspeed when Tom Topsail cast off; but she waved her great soft arms, and her portly person shook with the violence of her good wishes. And up went the sail--and out fluttered the little jib--and the punt heeled to the harbour breeze--and Tom Topsail and Archie Armstrong darted away from the lights of Ruddy Cove towards the open sea. * * * * * The mixed accommodation, somewhere far back in the Newfoundland wilderness, came to the foot of a long grade. She puffed and valiantly choo-chooed. It was desperately hard work to climb that hill. A man might have walked beside her while she tried it. But she surmounted the crest, at last, and, as though immensely proud of herself, rattled down towards the boulder-strewn level at an amazing rate of speed. On she went, swaying, puffing, roaring, rattling, as though she had no intention whatever of coming to a stop before she had brought her five hundred mile run to a triumphant conclusion in the station at St. John's. Even the engineer was astonished. "Doin' fine," thought the fireman, proud of his head of steam. "She'll make up them three hours afore mornin'," the engineer hoped. On the next grade the mixed accommodation lagged. It was a steep grade. She seemed to lose enthusiasm with every yard of puffing progress. She began to pant--to groan--to gasp with horrible fatigue. Evidently she fancied it a cruel task to be put to. And the grade was long--and it was outrageously steep--and they had overloaded the little engine with freight cars--and she wasn't yet half-way up. It would take the heart out of any engine. But she buckled to, once more, and trembled and panted and gained a yard or two. It was hard work; it was killing work. It was a ghastly outrage to demand such effort of _any_ engine, most of all of a rat-trap attached to a mixed accommodation on an ill-graded road. The Rat-Trap snorted her indignation. She howled with agony and despair. And then she quit. "What's the matter now?" a passenger asked the conductor, in a coach far in the rear. "Looks to me as if we'd have to uncouple and run on to the next siding with half the train," the conductor replied. "But it _may_ be the fire-box." "What's the matter with the fire-box?" "She has a habit of droppin' out," said the conductor. "We'll be a day late in St. John's," the passenger grumbled. The conductor laughed. "You will," said he, "if the trouble is with the fire-box." * * * * * While the mixed accommodation was panting on the long grade, Tom Topsail's punt, Burnt Bay bound, was splashing through a choppy sea, humoured along by a clever hand and a heart that understood her whims. It was blowing smartly; but the wind was none too much for the tiny craft, and she was making the best of it. At this rate--with neither change nor failure of the wind--Tom Topsail would land Archie Armstrong in Burnt Bay long before the accommodation had begun to think of achieving that point in her journey across the island. There was no failure of the wind as the night spent itself; it blew true and fair until the rosy dawn came softly out of the east. The boy awoke from a long doze to find the punt overhauling the first barren islands of the long estuary at the head of which the Burnt Bay settlement is situated. With the most favourable weather there was a day's sailing and more yet to be done. "How's the weather?" was Archie's first question. "Broodin'," Tom Topsail drawled. Archie could find no menace in the dawn. "Jus' broodin'," Topsail repeated. Towards night it seemed that a change and a gale of wind might be hatched by the brooding day. The wind fluttered to the east and blew up a thickening fog. "We've time an' t' spare," said Topsail, in the soggy dusk. "Leave us go ashore an' rest." They landed, presently, on a promising island, and made a roaring fire. The hot tea and the lobster and the hard-bread--and the tales of Topsail--and the glow and warmth of the fire--were grateful to Archie. He fell sound asleep, at last, with his greatcoat over him; and Tom Topsail was soon snoring, too. In the meantime the mixed accommodation, back in the wilderness, had surmounted the grade, had dropped three heavy cars at a way station, and was rattling on her way towards Burnt Bay with an energy and determination that surprised her weary passengers and could only mean that she was bound to make up at least some lost time or explode in the attempt. * * * * * Morning came--it seemed to Archie Armstrong that it never would come--morning came in a thick fog to Tom Topsail and the lad. In a general way Tom Topsail had his bearings, but he was somewhat doubtful about trusting to them. The fog thickened with an easterly wind. It blew wet and rough and cold. The water, in so far as it could be seen from the island, was breaking in white-capped waves; and an easterly wind was none of the best on the Burnt Bay course. But Tom Topsail and Archie put confidently out. The mixed accommodation was not due at Burnt Bay until 12:33. She would doubtless be late; she was always late. There was time enough; perhaps there would be time and to spare. The wind switched a bit to the south of east, however, and became nearly adverse; and down came the fog, thick and blinding. A hundred islands, and the narrowing main-shore to port and starboard, were wiped out of sight. There were no longer landmarks. "Man," Tom Topsail declared, at last, "I don't know where I is!" "Drive on, Tom," said Archie. The punt went forward in a smother of water. "Half after eleven," Archie remarked. Tom Topsail hauled the sheet taut to pick up another puff of wind. An hour passed. Archie had lost the accommodation if she were on time. "They's an island dead ahead," said Tom. "I feels it. Hark!" he added. "Does you hear the breakers?" Archie could hear the wash of the sea. "Could it be Right-In-the-Way?" Tom Topsail wondered. "Or is it Mind-Your-Eye Point?" There was no help in Archie. "If 'tis Right-In-the-Way," said Tom, "I'd have me bearin's. 'Tis a marvellous thick fog, this," he complained. Mind-Your-Eye is a point of the mainland. "I'm goin' ashore t' find out," Tom determined. Landed, however, he could make nothing of it. Whether Right-In-the-Way, an island near by Burnt Bay, or Mind-Your-Eye, a long projection of the main-shore, there was no telling. The fog hid all outlines. If it were Right-In-the-Way, Tom Topsail could land Archie in Burnt Bay within half an hour; if it were Mind-Your-Eye point--well, maybe. "Hark!" Tom exclaimed. Archie could hear nothing. "Did you not hear it?" said Tom. "What, man? Hear _what_?" "_That!_" Tom ejaculated. Archie heard the distant whistle of a train. "I knows this place," Tom burst out, in vast excitement. "'Tis Mind-Your-Eye. They's a cut road from here t' the railway. 'Tis but half a mile, lad." Followed by Archie, Tom Topsail plunged into the bush. They did not need to be told that the mixed accommodation was labouring on a steep grade from Red Brook Bridge. They did not need to be told that a little fire, builded by the track before she ran past, a flaring signal in the fog, would stop her. With them it was merely a problem of getting to the track in time to start that fire. CHAPTER XXXVI _And Last: In Which Archie Armstrong Hangs His Head in His Father's Office, the Pale Little Clerk Takes a Desperate Chance, Bill o' Burnt Bay Loses His Breath, and there is a Grand Dinner in Celebration of the Final Issue, at Which the Amazement of the Crew of the "Spot Cash" is Equalled by Nothing in the World Except Their Delight_ It was the first of September. A rainy day, this, in St. John's: the wind in the east, thick fog blowing in from the open. Sir Archibald's grate was crackling in its accustomed cheerful way. Rain lashed the office windows at intervals; a melancholy mist curtained the harbour from view. Sir Archibald was anxious. He drummed on the desk with his finger-tips; he paced the office floor, he scowled, he pursed his lips, he dug his restless hands deep in his pockets. The expected had not happened. It was now two o'clock. Sir Archibald was used to going home at three. And it was now two o'clock--no, by Jove! it was eight after. Sir Archibald walked impatiently to the window. It was evident that the fog was the cause of his impatience. He scowled at it. No, no (thought he); no schooner could make St. John's harbour in a fog like that. And the winds of the week had been fair winds from the French Shore. Still the expected had not happened. _Why_ had the expected not happened? A pale little clerk put his head in at the door in a very doubtful way. "Skipper of the _Black Eagle_, sir," said he. "Clerk, too," he added. "Show 'em in," Sir Archibald growled. What happened need not be described. It was both melancholy and stormy without; there was a roaring tempest within. Sir Archibald was not used to giving way to aggravation; but he was now presently embarked on a rough sea of it, from which, indeed, he had difficulty in reaching quiet harbour again. It was not the first interview he had had with the skipper and clerk of the _Black Eagle_ since that trim craft had returned from the French Shore trade. But it turned out to be the final one. The books of the _Black Eagle_ had been examined; her stores had been appraised, her stock taken, her fish weighed. And the result had been so amazing that Sir Archibald had not only been mystified but enraged. It was for this reason that when Skipper George Rumm, with Tommy Bull, the rat-eyed little clerk, left the presence of Sir Archibald Armstrong, the prediction of the clerk had come true: there were two able-bodied seamen looking for a berth on the streets of St. John's. First of all, however, they set about finding Tom Tulk o' Twillingate; but this, somehow or other, the discreet Tom Tulk never would permit them to do. * * * * * By Sir Archibald's watch it was now exactly 2:47. Sir Archibald rose from the chair that was his throne. "I'm sorry," he sighed. "I had hoped----" Again the pale little clerk put his head in at the door. This time he was grinning shamelessly. "Well?" said Sir Archibald. "What is it?" "Master Archie, sir." Archie shook hands with his father in a perfunctory way. Sir Archibald's cheery greeting--and with what admiration and affection and happiness his heart was filled at that moment!--Sir Archibald's cheery greeting failed in his throat. Archie was prodigiously scowling. This was no failure of affection; nor was it an evil regard towards his creditor, who would have for him, as the boy well knew, nothing but the warmest sympathy. It was shame and sheer despair. In every line of the boy's drawn face--in his haggard eyes and trembling lips--in his dejected air--even in his dishevelled appearance (as Sir Archibald sadly thought)--failure was written. What the nature of that failure was Sir Archibald did not know. How it had come about he could not tell. But it _was_ failure. It was failure--and there was no doubt about it. Sir Archibald's great fatherly heart warmed towards the boy. He did not resent the brusque greeting; he understood. And Sir Archibald came at that moment nearer to putting his arms about his big son in the most sentimental fashion in the world than he had come in a good many years. "Father," said Archie, abruptly, "please sit down." Sir Archibald sat down. "I owe you a thousand dollars, sir," Archie went on, coming close to his father's desk and looking Sir Archibald straight in the eye. "It is due to-day, and I can't pay it--now." Sir Archibald would not further humiliate the boy by remitting the debt. There was no help for Archie in this crisis. Nobody knew it better than Sir Archibald. "I have no excuse, sir," said Archie, with his head half-defiantly thrown back, "but I should like to explain." Sir Archibald nodded. "I meant to be back in time to realize on--well--on those things you have given me--on the yacht and the boat and the pony," Archie went on, finding a little difficulty with a lump of shame in his throat; "but I missed the mail-boat at Ruddy Cove, and I----" The pale little clerk once more put his sharp little face in at the door. "Judd," said Sir Archibald, sternly, "be good enough not to interrupt me." "But, sir----" "Judd," Sir Archibald roared, "shut that door!" The pale little clerk took his life in his hands, and, turning infinitely paler, gasped: "Skipper of the _Spot Cash_ to see you, sir." "WHAT!" shouted Archie. Judd had fled. "Skipper--of--the--_Spot--Cash_!" Archie muttered stupidly. Indeed, yes. The hearty, grinning, triumphant skipper of the _Spot Cash_! And more, too, following sheepishly in his wake: no less than the full complement of other members of the trading firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company, even to Donald North, who was winking with surprise, and Bagg, the cook, ex-gutter-snipe from London, who could not wink at all from sheer amazement. And then--first thing of all--Archie Armstrong and his father shook hands in quite another way. Whereupon this same Archie Armstrong (while Sir Archibald fairly bellowed with delighted laughter) fell upon Bill o' Burnt Bay, and upon the crew of the _Spot Cash_, right down to Bagg (who had least to lose), and beat the very breath out of their bodies in an hilarious expression of joy. * * * * * "Dickerin'," Bill o' Burnt Bay explained, by and by. "Dickering?" ejaculated Archie. "Jus' simon-pure dickerin'," Bill o' Burnt Bay insisted, a bit indignantly. And then it all came out--how that the Jolly Harbour wreckers had come aboard to reason; how that Bill o' Burnt Bay, with a gun in one hand, was disposed to reason, and _did_ reason, and continued to reason, until the Jolly Harbour folk began to laugh, and were in the end persuaded to take a reasonable amount of merchandise from the depleted shelves (the whole of it) in return for their help in floating the schooner. It came out, too, how Billy Topsail had held the candle over the powder-keg. It came out, moreover, how the crew of the _Spot Cash_ had set sail from Jolly Harbour with a fair wind, how the wind had providentially continued to blow fair and strong, how the _Spot Cash_ had made the land-fall of St. John's before night of the day before, and how the crew had with their own arms towed her into harbour and had not fifteen minutes ago moored her at Sir Archibald's wharf. And loaded, sir--loaded, sir, with as fine a lot o' salt-cod as ever came out o' White Bay an' off the French Shore! To all of which both Sir Archibald and Archie listened with wide open eyes--the eyes of the boy (it may be whispered in strictest confidence) glistening with tears of proud delight in his friends. There was a celebration. Of _course_, there was a celebration! To be sure! This occurred when the load of the _Spot Cash_ had been weighed out, and a discharge of obligation duly handed to the firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company, and the balance paid over in hard cash. Skipper Bill was promptly made a member of the firm to his own great profit; and he was amazed and delighted beyond everything but a wild gasp--and so was Billy Topsail--and so was Jimmie Grimm--and so was Donald North--and so was Bagg--so were they all amazed, every one, when they were told that fish had gone to three-eighty, and each found himself the possessor, in his own right, free of all incumbrance, of one hundred and thirty-seven dollars and sixty-three cents. But this amazement was hardly equal to that which overcame them when they sat down to dinner with Archie and Sir Archibald and Lady Armstrong in the evening. Perhaps it was the shining plate--perhaps it was Lady Armstrong's sweet beauty--perhaps it was Sir Archibald's jokes--perhaps it was Archie Armstrong's Eton jacket and perfectly immaculate appearance--perhaps it was the presence of his jolly tutor--perhaps it was the glitter and snowy whiteness and glorious bounty of the table spread before them--but there was nothing in the whole wide world to equal the astonishment of the crew of the _Spot Cash_--nothing to approach it, indeed--except their fine delight. THE END * * * * * The Works of NORMAN DUNCAN THE SUITABLE CHILD Illustrations by Elizabeth Shippen Green. _Popular Edition._ Half Boards, Illustrated. Net .60. Decorated Edition, net $1.00. THE ADVENTURES OF BILLY TOPSAIL _15th thousand._ 12mo, Illustrated, 1.50. It's a boy's book, but it's "a book to be chummy with"--that includes everybody. "A marvelously vivid and realistic narrative. There was no need to invent conditions or imagine situations. It is this skill in portraying actual conditions in Newfoundland that makes Mr. Duncan's work so wonderful."--_Brooklyn Eagle._ DOCTOR LUKE OF THE LABRADOR _30th thousand._ 12mo, Cloth, 1.50. "Norman Duncan has fulfilled all that was expected of him in this story; it established him beyond question as one of the strong masters of the present day."--_Brooklyn Eagle._ DR. GRENFELL'S PARISH _Fifth Edition_. Illustrated, Cloth, net 1.00. "He tells vividly and picturesquely many of the things done by Dr. Grenfell and his associates."--_N. Y. Sun._ THE MOTHER A Novelette of New York Life. _Second Edition._ 12mo, Cloth, 1.25. de Luxe, net 2.00. DILLON WALLACE UNGAVA BOB A Tale of the Fur Trappers. _12th Thousand._ Illustrated, $1.50. This tale of Bob, the young fur trapper in the far frozen North has all the excitement and thrilling adventure that any boy could wish. Bob's experiences on the trail, in the Indian's camp, on the abandoned ship which he sailed into port, make fascinating reading. Moreover there is a strict adherence to fact which proves the author to have been thoroughly familiar with the events of which he writes. The story is heart stirring for young or old from beginning to end. [Illustration] "The story is told with the greatest simplicity and naturalness, and the author has put into it his own warm feeling toward the people of the frozen northland, whites, Indians and Eskimos alike."--_Pittsburg Post._ "Should bring the sparkle to many a lad's eye and make him wish in his day-dreams that he, too, might battle with dangers of cold and forest depth and heaving ice field."--_Chicago Post._ "A thrilling story full of exciting incidents and holding the interest of reader at highest pitch to its very close. Adventures and dangers and hairbreadth escapes."--_Westminster._ "A strong, virile book. The mystery of this most obscure corner of the frozen north pervades the pages."--_Plain Dealer._ 
37252	----	Born to Wander A Boy's Book of Nomadic Adventures By Gordon Stables Illustrations by W. Cheshire Published by S.W. Partridge and Co., 9 Paternoster Row, London. Born to Wander, by Gordon Stables. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ BORN TO WANDER, BY GORDON STABLES. Book 1--CHAPTER ONE. GRAYLING HOUSE, AND THE WILDERY AROUND IT. "It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground, Half-prankt with spring with sommer half imbrowned." Scene: An old baronial hall, showing grey over the woods near to the banks of a tributary of the silvery Tweed. It wasn't the month for the Michaelmas daisies, for it was November. And when the chrysanthemums opened their great eyes, and turned their faces upwards to meet the light, they felt quite put about to see those flowers still in bloom. They would have been angry, but it is not in the nature of our garden, or indeed of our wild flora and hedgerow pets, to be so. For flowers are ever meek, albeit they are lovely, and methinks that meekness and beauty, hand in hand, are inexpressibly charming. No, the chrysanthemums were not angry, but they could not help saying to each other-- "Why have the Michaelmas daisies not gone to sleep? Is not their time gone by, and is not this our month in which to bloom and beautify the garden landscape?" Little Effie came trotting round. It was quite early yet. The sun had just got high enough to peep over the almost leafless linden trees. And wherever his beams fell on bush or brake or fern, he melted the hoar-frost, and resolved it into drops of dew, in each of which a miniature rainbow might have been seen. But round at the back of the big stone mansion, where its shadow fell athwart the old-fashioned terraced lawn, the hoar-frost still lay thick and fast. Out from among the shrubbery somewhere came Effie Lyle. She might, as likely as not, have dropped out of a yew tree for anything any one knew to the contrary. She stood for a moment looking up at the blue sky,--her own eyes were quite as blue,--her pretty lips half-parted in a smile, and her golden hair somewhat dishevelled, afloat on her shoulders; as fresh and pure as the morning itself she was, the one thing that had been wanting to complete the beauty of the wildery in which she stood. Effie glanced down at the chrysanthemums with love and admiration, at the pure white ones, and the pink-and-white, and the crimson, and the bright, bright yellow; she gently smoothed their gorgeous petals that looked so like nodding plumes. "I love you all," she cried, "and I am going to kiss the Michaelmas daisies!" But these grew on such long, long stalks--for they had to creep high to meet the sun--that Effie had to stand on tiptoe, and bend down their mauve clusters to her face. A momentary sadness crept over her, because one of her pet flowers had left a drop of dew on her cheek. "Why are my darlings crying?" she said. "Oh, I know!" she added, after a second's thought. "Because they soon must die. The wicked frost will kill my pets, and then--oh yes, then, I'll have the chrysanthemums to love." An additional ray of sunshine seemed to fall over these flowers when she said this. But a chill crept over the daisies, and their petals began to fold, as fold the wings of insects when night begins to fall. The gardens around Grayling House were indeed a wildery, yet not a wilderness. It was the pleasure of their owner to let all growing things have a good deal of their own way. For he loved nature even more than art. So in summer time the big lawn that stretched down as far as the quiet river's bank--where the trailing willows kissed the water, and the splendidly bedecked kingfishers darted in and out from sunshine and shade--was carpeted with flowers, buttercups and daisies and nodding plumes of grasses, and clover white and red. Yet the sun had such access to this lawn, despite the bordering trees, that those wild things never grew high, but spread and spread, and intertwined, as if they really loved each other, and would not be parted for the world. A favourite lawn this for bees of every size and colour, and for a thousand strangely-shaped and gaudily-coloured beetles, which on cloudy days were content to climb up and down the grass stems and take exercise as acrobats do, but who, when the sun burst out, opened the little cupboards on their shoulders, where their wings had been carefully stowed away from the wet, unfolded these gauzy appendages, and flew away in search of wild adventures. There were paths through this wildery that seemed to lead nowhere, and as often as not made pretence of taking you straight back towards the house again, but landed you at last perhaps in a greenwood glade, with broad-leaved sycamores, and elms around, in which blackbirds fluted in spring, thrushes piped, and the chaffinch tried to drown the notes of every other bird with his mad merry melody. And here perhaps was a rockery, with a fountain playing and a streamlet trickling away riverwards, through the greenest of grass. On this rockery dwelt ferns that loved moisture, and creeping saxifrages, with pretty flowerets of deepest crimson, but not a bit bigger than a bee's head. Had you wished to return from this delightful lonesome glade--and sooner or later you would be sure to wish to go back, notwithstanding its beauty--you would probably have taken a wrong turning, and after a while found yourself in a rose-covered, heather-roofed, rustic summer-house, with a little window opening over the river itself, and seats and lounges inside. Here, on a summer's day, if possessed of a nice book, you would have found it a pleasure indeed to enjoy a rest. Not that you would have read much, had the book been ever so nice, for as soon as you had got fairly settled, and animated nature around you had got used to your presence, there would have been quite a deal to watch and wonder at. Bright-eyed birds, who had sung in the boughs till their throats were dry, would have come down to slake their thirst and bathe and plash in the sandy-bottomed shallows, scaring the gladsome minnows away into deeper, darker water, where under the weeds lived fate in the shape of a gruesome pike, with terrible teeth and eyes that never closed. Or while you were trying to read, a rabbit or even a hare would come hopping along, and stand up to stare at you. A weasel would sneak past bent on no good. A beautiful squirrel would leap to the ground, and run around on the moss, with his wondrous tail like a train behind him. Bees and beetles would go droning past, or come in by the door, and fly out through the open window, making the great spider that had his web in the corner move his horizontal jaws in hungry expectancy. Meanwhile every now and then a glad fish would leap up and ripple the stream, and the stream itself would keep on chatter-chattering, and telling the nodding, listening trees such a long story in so drowsy a monotone, about where it had been, and where it was going, and what it had seen, that presently you would get listening to the story yourself, and nodding like the trees till the book would drop out of your grasp, and _you_ would be at the back of the north wind. When you wakened at last, you would be unable for a time to tell where you were, till on looking out you saw the trees again, and the green moss, with the squirrel on it still seeming to look for something, and the tall crimson foxgloves smiling at you through the greenery of ferns; then you would remember that you had fallen asleep while trying to read on a summer's day in a cosy, drowsy summer cot by the banks of one of the most lovely streams that roll their waters into the silvery Tweed. But at the time our story opens autumn, not summer, was reigning in the lovely wildery round Grayling House. The leaves were nearly all gone off the trees, except from the oaks, those sturdiest children of our soil. Their leaves were withered and yellow, but would remain on for months to come. The oak and the beech are the wisest of all our broad-leaved trees; they put not forth their green leaves till spring sunshine has warmed the air, and long after the powdery snow has begun to fall, and other trees are bare and shivering in the blast, they still are clothed in their weather-stained garments of leaves. Effie stooped once more to kiss and caress the chrysanthemums, then she hurried away, because she had heard her brother's voice calling,-- "Effie, Effie, Effie!" "Coming, Leonard--coming--coming--coming!" was Effie's reply, as she ran round through the shrubbery to the terraced lawn behind. "Come and see me jump from winter into spring," cried Leonard, making a bound like a young antelope right off the lowest terrace, still white and crisp with frost, to the lawn where the grass was wet with dew, and green. "Oh, Leonardie, Leonardie!" said Effie, pouting with her rosy lips, "why so cruel as to call me away from my flowers to see you jump?" "_You_ couldn't do it, Effet," said Leonard, nodding his head. "Oh, I could! You see now." Next moment both were at it, running up and running down, leaping from winter into spring, bounding up from sunshine into shade, and keeping up the merry game till the cheeks of each were as red as roses, and their eyes as bright as drops of dew. As handsome a boy was Leonard at the age of ten as one could wish to see. Twins the two were, though he was the taller, as became his sex, and I do not think they had been one hour parted since the bells of the village church were set ringing to announce the double birth. Leonard threw himself down to rest on the frosty grass, and Effie stood laughingly looking down at him. The boy was a young Scot, and wore that most picturesque of all costumes, the garb of old Gaul, but he was not afraid of getting his bare knees frozen as he lay there. In fact, I do not think that Leonard was afraid of anything. As I have said the lad was a Scot, there is little need to add that Grayling House and the beautiful river that went wimpling by it were on the _northern_ side of the Tweed. It was very still and quiet all round Grayling House to-day, and the sky was very bright and almost cloudless. There was not wind enough to bend the course of the spiral wreaths of smoke that rose straight up into the frosty air, higher than the dark-roofed pines, before it melted away into a white haze across the woods. High up yonder among the sturdy arms of the elms were many huge nests, but the rooks were far away foraging in some farmer's field. In the other trees many an old nest was visible that could not have been seen in summer--nests of the chattering magpies, in the moss and lichen-covered larches; nests of the tree-sparrows everywhere high or low, great untidy wisps of weeds, with feathers sticking here and strings hanging there, nests that any other bird except a sparrow would feel ashamed to enter or go near. Then there were nests of the bold, bright-voiced cheery chaffinch close to the trunk of beech or elm, little gems of nests tricked out with lichens white and red, and looking all over like shapely bits of coral; and nests of the missel-thrush, so sturdily fixed between the tree forks that storm or tempest could not blow them down. "I say, Effet," said Leonard, looking up, "the birds are almost too clever for me. I can count dozens of nests now up there that I couldn't find in summer. Wait till spring comes--I'll be wiser then. "Listen," he continued, "was that a mole?" "No," said his sister, "it was only a sycamore leaf; I saw it falling." "Hullo! here comes another, and another, and another." And off he flew, cap in hand, to catch the leaves as they fell. He soon tired, however. "I say, Effet, I don't call this keeping a holiday. Let's have some real fun." "Shall we go to Castle Beautiful, and read a story to the menagerie?" "No, not yet. Let us try to hook old Joe." Old Joe was a monster pike, who lived in a monster pond or pool, big enough almost to be called a lake, for it covered three acres of ground, and one part of it, right in the centre, was said to be deep enough to bury the village church and steeple. It was down at the bottom of this deep dark hole that Joe lived. Now it was somewhat funny, but nobody about Grayling House--with one solitary exception, namely, Peter the butler, who had been at the mansion, man and boy, for fifty years--could tell where this monster pike had come from, or when or why he had come. The facts are these: the loch was fed by springs, and the only outlet for the water was a lead that had to pass over a big mill-wheel, that ground oats and barley for every one in the parish. The pike could not have come over the mill-wheel. Again, he had not been there ten years, and as he weighed, to all appearance, full thirty pounds, he must have been a monster when he got there. Captain Lyle, Leonard's and Effie's father, believed he had scrambled over the grass some dark, dewy night, and taken up his quarters in the loch. This was strange if true, and it might have been, because, at the time the pike first appeared, a tenant of the same kind was missed from a deep tree-shaded pool in the river. The country people, however, would not share the captain's belief. There was something uncanny about the beast, they averred, and the less any one had to do with him the better. He was a very matter-of-fact pike, at all events; for no sooner had he taken possession of his new quarters than he proceeded at once to turn out all the old tenants. Or rather--to speak more to the point--he turned them in, for he ate them. Captain Lyle had, years before the reign of this king-pike, stocked the water with trout, and they had done well, but now none were ever seen. Sometimes the pike condescended to show himself, or even to take a bait, when some person more daring and less superstitious than his fellows tried to catch him. More than once he had been pulled above the water, but disappeared again, hook and all, with a splash. When he had swallowed a hook it was Joe's custom to sulk for a fortnight at the bottom of his pool, and having duly digested the morsel of blue steel, he appeared again livelier and more audacious than ever. His size was reported to be something enormous by those who had raised him. They said his head was as big as that of Farmer Kemp's great mastiff-dog. It was also said that Joe had once upon a time swallowed a sow and a litter of young. This tale was always retailed to strangers who happened to come to the district to fish. It was, in fact, a catch, for Joe really had done this deed; but then the sow was a guinea pig, and the young ones mere hop-o'-my-thumbs. "Yes, Leonardie," said Effie, "let us go and try to hook old Joe." So while Effie ran to the hall for the fishing tackle, her brother went and dug some great garden worms, and half an hour afterwards they were both in the middle of the lake, with the line sunk, and sitting patiently in the little boat to see whether or not Joe would condescend to bite. Book 1--CHAPTER TWO. GLEN LYLE. "I foraged all over this joy-dotted earth, To pick its best nosegay of innocent mirth, Tied up with the bands of its wisdom and worth,-- And lo! its chief treasure, Its innermost pleasure, Was always at Home." Tupper. Scene: An old-fashioned parlour in Grayling House. The walls are hung with faded tapestry, the furniture is ancient, and a great fire of logs and peat is burning on the low hearth. In front lies a noble deerhound. At one side, in a high-backed chair, sits a lady still young and beautiful. Some lacework rests on her lap, and she listens to one who sits near her reading--her husband. Captain Lyle reading-- "Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battle-fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. "In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. "Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more; Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil nor night of waking." Lyle looked up. There were tears in his wife's blue eyes. "Is it not beautiful, Ethel?" he said. "There is the true ring of martial poesy about every line that Walter writes." "Yes," said Ethel, with a sigh, "it is beautiful; but oh, dear Arnold! I wish you were not quite so fond of warlike verses." "Ethel, I am a soldier." "Yes, poor boy, and must soon go away to the wars again. I cannot bear to think of it, Arnold. When last you were gone, how slowly went the time. The days and weeks and months seemed interminable. I do not wish to think of it. Let us be happy while we may. Put away that book." Lyle did as he was told. He took one of his wife's fair tresses in his hand and kissed it, and looked into her face with a fond smile. Man and wife--but lovers yet. "Heigho!" he said, getting up and pulling aside the heavy crimson curtains to look out, "heigho! these partings must come. It must be sad sometimes to be a soldier's wife." "It would be less sad, Arnold, if I could share your wanderings." "What, Ethel! you, my tender, too fragile wife? Think what you say, child." She let the work that she had resumed drop once more in her lap, and gazed up at him as he bent over the high-backed chair. "Why not I as well as others?" "Our children, dear one. My beautiful Effie and bold Leonard." "They have your blood and mine in their veins, Arnold. They are wise and they are brave." Arnold mused for a little. "And we," he said, "have few friends, and hardly a relative living." "All the more reason, Arnold, I should be near you, that we should be near each other. No, dear, I have thought of it all, planned it all; and if your colonel will but permit Captain Lyle's wife to be among the chosen few who accompany their gallant husbands to the seat of war, I shall rejoice, and you may believe me when I say our children shall not be unhappy." Captain Lyle put his arm around her, and drew her closer towards him. "I never refused any request you made, Ethel, and if the colonel, as you say, will but permit, I will not refuse you this." "Oh, thank you, Arnold! thank your kind and good unselfish heart. You have indeed taken a load off mine. I feel happy now, I feel younger, Arnold; for truly I was beginning to grow old." She laughed a half-hysteric laugh of joy. "You may read to me now," she added, re-seating herself in the high-backed chair, "and it can be all about war if you like." He took up the book and commenced at random-- "'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairyland, When fairy birds are singing, When the court doth ride by their monarch's side, With bit and bridle ringing. And gaily shines the Fairyland." Captain Lyle got no further just then. Hurried steps were heard in the hall, the door was thrown unceremoniously open, and in rushed old Peter the butler, pale as death, and wringing his shining hands. "Augh!" he gasped, clutching at the wall, "they've done it noo! They've done it noo! Oh that I should hae lived to see this day o' wreck and ruin to the old hoose o' Lyle. Ochone! ochone! o-chrie!" "In the name of goodness, Peter, are you crazy, or is the house on fire? Speak, man!" cried Captain Lyle. "Hoose on fire? Na, na; it's waur and waur than that. But still there's hope, sir. I have him in a tub, and though he is lying on his side he's gasping yet. Hallo! there they come." In rushed Effie and Leonard, bright-eyed and rosy with joy and excitement. Effie ran to her father's arms. Leonard ran to his mother. "We've caught Joe!" they both cried at once. "I hooked him," cried Effie. "I hauled him up," cried Leonard. "And we both hauled him out." "Dool [Note 1] on the day for the hoose o' Glen Lyle," exclaimed Peter, rolling his eyes. "Come, father, come. Peter put him in a tub." Captain Lyle followed Effie. There, sure enough, in the tub of water lay Joe, the monarch of the loch. Peter pointed to the animal's tail. "How strange!" said Captain Lyle, as well he might, for a huge gold ring ran through the last vertebrae, and attached to this a plate, with the letters L.L., and the date 17--plainly visible. A few minutes afterwards Joe seemed to recover all of a sudden, and began tearing round and round the tub, his huge jaws snapping and his eyes glaring like a demon's. Every one started back astonished, but old Peter's antics were a sight to see. He seized a big wooden lid and clapped it over the tub, and set himself on top thereof. Then he addressed himself to the cook-- "Run, ye auld roodas," he roared; "run to the kitchen, and fetch the biggest kettle-pot ye can lay yer claws on!" The pot was duly fetched, and clapped upside down on top of the lid on the tub. Then Peter flung his cap to the roof of the hall, and shouted, "Saved, saved! The auld hoose is saved yet." Now after that Captain Lyle drew old Peter aside. What the old man communicated to his young master the reader may learn in good time; but certain it is, that in less than half an hour Joe found himself back once more in his old quarters, not very much the worse for his singular adventure, and that within a week a high wooden palisade was placed all round the lake, with only one gate, and that padlocked. Leonard wondered, and so did his gentle sister. They looked at each other in silence at first, then Effie shook a serious little head, and said solemnly,-- "We mustn't touch papa's pike any more." "No," replied Leonard, thoughtfully, "Joe _is_ papa's pike, and he mustn't be touched." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Leonard and Effie were the only children of their parents, who loved them very much indeed. Captain Lyle was proud of his boy, and, I fear, made almost too much of a pet of his girl Effie. He indulged them both to their hearts' content, when they had done their duty for the day-- that is, when they had both returned from the village school, for in those good old days in Scotland the upper classes were not above sending their boys and girls to the parish schools; there were of course no paupers went there, only the sons and daughters of farmers and tradespeople--when duty was over, then, Captain Lyle encouraged his children to play. Indeed, he seemed more like a big boy--a brother, for instance--than a father. He was always planning out new measures of enjoyment, and one of the best of these was what Leonard called _The Miniature Menagerie_. I do most sincerely believe that the planning and building of this delightful little fairy palace saved the life of Captain Lyle. He had been invalided home in the month of January 1810--about ten months before the opening scene of our tale--and it was judged that a year and a half at least must elapse before he would be again fit for service. War-worn and weary though he was, having served nearly a dozen years, he soon began, with returning health, to pine for activity, when the happy thought struck him to build a palace for his children's pets. He communicated his ideas to Leonard and Effie, and they were delighted. "Of course," said Leonard, "we must assist." "Assuredly you must," said Captain Lyle; "the pie would be no pie at all unless you had a finger in it." The first thing that the head of the house of Glen Lyle had done was to sit down in his study one evening after dinner, with the great oil lamp swinging in front of him, a huge bottle of ink, and a dozen pens and pencils lying on the table, to say nothing of a whole regiment of mathematical instruments that had been all through the French war, compasses, rules, squares, triangles, semi-circles, and what not. The second thing that Captain Lyle had done was, with a pencil, to fill a big page of paper with all kinds of droll faces and figures. Little Effie climbed up behind his chair before long and had a peep over his shoulder. "Oh, papa dear!" she cried, "that is not making a menagerie." "I know it isn't, Effie. I think my thoughts had gone a wool-gathering." "Well," said Effie, considering, "we may want some wool for nests and things; but don't you think, papa, that we should build the house first, and look for the wool afterwards?" "Oh!" cried Leonard, "don't worry about the wool. Captain Lyle, your son Leonard, who stands before you, knows where to find lots of it. For whenever a sheep runs through a hedge--and they're always, running through hedges, you know--they leave a tuft of wool on every thorn." "Well, my son, we'll leave the wool out of the question for the present." Then he walked about smiling to himself for a time and thinking, while the boy and girl amused themselves turning over the leaves of an old-fashioned picture-book. "Hush!" said Effie several times when Leonard laughed too loud. "Hush! for I'm sure papa is deep in thought." "I have it!" cried papa. And down he sat. Words, and figures, and little morsels of sketches came very fast now, the secret of his present success being that he did not try to force himself to think, and my readers will find that our best thoughts come to us when we do not try to worry after them. Yes, Captain Lyle's ideas were flowing now, so quickly that he had to jot them down, or sketch them down here and there all over a great sheet of paper, and in about an hour's time the rush of thought had, in a measure, expended itself. He leant back in his chair, and gave a sigh of relief. Once more Effie came stealing up on tiptoe and peeped over his shoulder. "Oh, what a scrawl!" she cried. "My dear Eff," said her father, "that is only the crude material." "Leonardie," cried Effie, "come and see the rude material." "Well, it does seem rude enough material," said Leonard. "Yes," said Effie, "but I'm sure my clever papa will make something out of it before he has done." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. Dool, _Scottice_--Grief or sorrow. Book 1--CHAPTER THREE. CASTLE BEAUTIFUL. "The poet may tread earth sadly, Yet is he dreamland's king; And the fays, at his bidding, gladly Visions of beauty bring." Mortimer Collins. Scene: A green hill or knoll rising with a gentle sweep from the woods near Grayling House, on one side gigantic elm trees, with rooks busy nest-making. On the other, at the rock foot, the dark deep loch. Behind the hill, as far as the eye can see, a forest dotted with spring-green larches and dark waving pines; blue mountains beyond, and a bright sun shining down on all from a sky of cloudless blue. It is early morning, but those rooks have been at it long before the beams of the rising sun capped the hills with crimson. There are many other voices in the woods; indeed, every tree is alive with song, but you would have to walk a long distance into the forest before you could listen with pleasure to either the merle or the mavis, so loud-voiced are those rooks with their everlasting but senseless song of "Caw--caw-- caw." But listen!--if indeed it be possible to listen to anything--there is evidently a merry party coming towards the mound here, from the direction of Grayling House. There is a manly voice singing, and there is the merry laughter of children, with every now and then the sharp ringing bark of a collie, or the deeper bay of a hound in the woods. And now they burst into view. At the head of the procession, hatchet in hand, marches Captain Lyle himself, flanked on the right by Leonard, on the left by Effie. Behind them come men carrying baskets of tools and spades and shovels, and bringing up the rear, and limping somewhat, is old Peter himself. What are they all doing here? Why, they are going to complete the building of the Miniature Menagerie. And if you now look behind you, and to the top of the little green hill, you will notice rising therefrom a structure of such fairy-like dimensions, but of such grace and beauty withal, that no one could have been blamed for mistaking it for the palace of some elfin king. Externally, and seen from a distance, it looked already complete, but a closer inspection showed that the rooms were all unfurnished as yet, and the place void of tenants. There was much to do, but there was a merry, busy crew to do it, and what with shouting and what with talking and singing, I must say that if the din at the building of the Tower of Babel was anything in comparison to this, it must have been very great indeed. I do not know that Effie did much to assist--assist the work, I mean, for she _did_ add to the din most considerably--but Leonard proved an able lieutenant in running here and there, conveying his father's commands, and seeing that they were executed promptly. Well, everybody worked, and worked, and _worked_, and not on this particular day only, but for many days, for it happened to be a school holiday, and so, by-and-bye, everything was completed, even to the satisfaction of Captain Lyle himself, who, being a soldier, was very particular indeed. And after everything was done and finished, and the trees and flowers in the grounds that surrounded Castle Beautiful had nothing to do but to grow, then the animals and pets were taken to this beautiful home, and duly installed therein. And old Peter the butler, whose labours at the house itself were really not worth speaking about, he being kept as a kind of human heirloom and nothing else, was appointed custodian of the castle. For Peter, being so very old, and having been always in the country, in the woods and in the wilds, since the days of his boyhood, not only knew a deal about every kind of animal, but was also fond of all things living. It had often been remarked of Peter by the other servants that he would, if in ever so great a hurry, step on one side rather than trample a garden worm on the footpath. "Hae!" he would say sometimes when he found one of these on the gravel, "whaur are gaun ye crawling ferlie? Whaur are ye hurryin' to sae fast? I'll put you out of harm's way at the risk o' even displeasing ye." Then he would lift it, and gently deposit it on the grass. On a shelf in one of the rooms lay a note-book, and in this book Captain Lyle had written--so plainly that even Peter could see to read it without those immense spectacles he used to wear when droning over the Good Book of an evening to the servants--all that it was necessary to know about the feeding and comfort of the poor wee animals who lived in Castle Beautiful. And Leonard and Effie, being Scotch, had learned to read very early, and soon could tell by heart everything in the book. Leonard had a very high sense of what duty meant, and even Effie knew that if we keep animals to minister to our pleasure, we ought to do our best to make them as happy as the summer's day is long. Well, let us take a glance at Castle Beautiful and the Menagerie three months after that busy, bright spring morning I have just described. Leonard and Effie come with us to answer questions and explain things in general, and old Peter goes hobbling on in front, in a great hurry, though with little speed, to open the gates for us. The palisade that surrounds the hill there is quite a rustic one, and so is the gate that opens through it. Even the bark has been left on the branches that compose it. Once through this gate--and mind you, old Peter takes good care to lock it behind him--we find ourselves in quite a little shrubbery, though laid down with exquisite taste and without any overcrowding. And upwards, through the grass and miniature trees, the path goes winding and zig-zig-zagging till it lands us on the flat roof of the hill, in front of the little palace. We observe that the gravel on the path, and all round the palace, as we may well call it, is as white as snow. It is a mixture of shells and sea sand, brought all the way from the beach at the mouth of the Tweed, and being so white, it looks in charming contrast to the greenery of trees and grass. But what strikes a grown-up person most here, is that everything about him is in miniature, dwarfed, as it were; the very bushes and shrubs have the appearance of being old, and yet they are excessively small. Here, for example, is a little forest of pine trees and larches which, as far as shape goes, might be a hundred years old, and here again is a thicket of spruce, so ancient looking, yet so tiny, that if pigeons flew about in it no bigger than humble-bees, we would not be a bit astonished, and if, flitting from bough to bough of these dwarfed elms and oaks, we saw thrushes and blackbirds not a whit larger than blue-bottle flies, we should not raise our brows in wonder. Again, when we look around us at the tiny rockeries and flower beds and the Liliputian fountains, and then glance at the fairy-like palace itself, why, we--that is, we grown-up folks--begin to think we are giants and ogres, or that all we see around us is due to some kind of enchantment. If a regiment of real fairies came trooping out of the miniature palace, we would not be rude enough to look as if there were anything particularly strange in the matter. But behold, Peter, who does look tall amid such surroundings, opens the hall door of the Castle, and out step Don Caesar de Bazan and the Hon. Lady Purr-a-meow. Don Caesar shakes hands with everybody all round, and her ladyship does the same. The Don is a poodle with his hair cut in the most fantastic Frenchified fashion, and her Ladyship is a cat of the tabby persuasion, who condescends to accept bed and board at Castle Beautiful. Don Caesar and Lady Purr-a-meow go off for a scamper round the hill and through the miniature woods, and Peter, preceded by Leonard and Effie, enters the porch, and we follow, feeling all the while as big as giants. The verandah is just under the tower where the pigeons dwell, and a couple of tame jackdaws have built a nest and brought out young. And the very first or ante-room we reach is the private apartment of Don Caesar and Lady Purr-a-meow. I really ought to have put Lady P. before Don C. in that last sentence of mine, for she alone rules king and priest in this charming little room. Of course Don Caesar has a couch in one corner, in which he is graciously permitted to sleep at night, or enjoy a siesta during the day. Lady Purr-a-meow does not object to that, and she even allows him to have his meals here so long as he behaves himself. She does not object either to have a game at romps with Don Caesar when _she_ has a mind to; I emphasise the _she_ because it makes all the difference in the world if Don Caesar himself proposes the game. She whacks him at once, and sends him to bed, and she knows exactly all his tender points, and where a claw hurts most, on his nose, for example, or on his closely-shaven loins. She whacks him if he goes too near her dish, she whacks him if he barks, and sometimes whacks him because he doesn't. She whacks him if he comes too near to the window, and whacks him if he stops too far away from it. She whacks him sometimes for looking at her. If he doesn't look at her she says he is sulky, and whacks him for that; she whacks him for fun and for exercise, and to show her authority, so that, upon the whole, Don Caesar de Bazan gets a good deal more whacking than he deserves. In this room is Leonard's and Effie's library of old-fashioned picture-books, and many toys, and a little couch near the nicely-curtained window, on which it is delightful to recline on a lovely summer evening and read while dreamy, old-fashioned music is being played by a huge musical box that stands on a table, and while a breeze, laden with the odours of the woods and the wild flowers, is stealing in at the open window, and toying with the crimson curtains. This window opens right on the lawn, that is, on the back lawn, and here a strange sight may be seen--namely, half a score of snow-white, smutty-nosed, garnet-eyed Himalayan rabbits, brought home first by a sailor uncle, and the same number of daft-looking little piebald guinea pigs. These have houses outside, and a monstrous owl called Tom is watching them half asleep from his cage near a window, and thinking how nice one or two of them would be to eat. But we re-enter the ante-room through the casement window, and pass on into a kind of hall lighted from the roof. In this place there are so many pets of different kinds that it is impossible to know which to admire or wonder at first. This hall communicates with another room with a larger window, which looks over the precipice right down into the lake, where lives Joe the monster pike, and the inmates of both rooms are free to scamper or fly--for here we have both fur and feathers--from one to the other. In these rooms are perches and cages and pens, and shelves and nests and comfortable cosy corners of every description, and all kinds of seed and food dishes, and abundance of water and an allowance of milk; and everything--thanks to the little owners, and to worthy old Peter--is as clean and sweet as though nothing dwelt in the rooms. This is the home _par excellence_ of the happy family. The secret is, that every creature must be young when placed therein, so that they soon come to know that though they may play together, they must study each other's feelings, and neither hurt each other nor be rude to one another. Right in the centre of the square room is a fountain playing, the spray falling down upon a charming little rockery in the middle of a stone basin. The fountain can be turned on at the will of the owner, and whenever it plays the birds take advantage of it, and fly across and across through the spray, and so enjoy a shower bath. But the white rats do not care for a bath, and when the birds, thoroughly wet and thoroughly tired of the sport, sit down on a perch to preen their draggled feathers, the cosy white rats in their garments of ermine look up at them with crimson eyes, in which dwells a kind of pity, and seem to say, "We really wouldn't be you for all the world." What other pets are there in this happy family, did you ask? Well, there are pet pigmy pigeons, and pet kittens, a tame duck, who is greatly bullied, a sea-gull who talks like a Christian, half-a-dozen starlings, who inquire into everything, and a jackdaw who is never out of mischief, and whom Effie has serious thoughts of sending into exile. As soon as Leonard and she appear they are surrounded, and the din is for a time indescribable. The dwarf or pigmy pigeons hover round them and alight on their shoulders and hands; the kittens chase the rats, who squeak, and pretend to be terribly afraid; the sea-gull struts about crying, "Oh! you pretty, pretty, pretties;" the jackdaw whistles "Duncan Grey;" all the starlings start singing at once; and the idiotic duck can't think of anything better to do than stand flapping his wings in a corner and crying, "What, what, what, what!" We tear ourselves away from this happy family at last, and make tracks for the bird rooms, or aviaries. One room is devoted to British, the other to foreign birds, all nicely assorted and sized, so that they live in the utmost unison. There are soft-billed birds and hard-billed birds, so there are both seeds and mash to suit their palates. Here again we have fountains, one in each aviary, and these, when playing, are a source of never-ending delight. When the sun is shining upon the foreign aviary, what a sight it is to see those birds, in all their brilliancy of colour and beauty, flitting from bough to bough in their bonnie home; but if you want music you must enter the adjoining room, where the birds of Britain dwell. Gaudy their plumage may not be but, oh! their voices are very sweet. All round both these rooms grow trailing plants, that hang over the aviaries like great green plumes, and when night falls and the Chinese lanterns are lit, and the fountains all playing, the whole place is indeed like a fairy palace. But it is summer on the occasion of this visit of ours, the grass is green, and flowers are everywhere out of doors, in beds and rockeries, peeping through the moss, hiding under trees, and covering every porch and verandah with masses of foliage and lovely flowers. Book 1--CHAPTER FOUR. GIPSY LIFE. "Calmly the happy days flew on, Unnumbered in their flight." Anon. "Moon the shroud shall lap thee fast, And the sleep be on thee cast, That shall ne'er know waking. Haste thee, haste thee to be gone! Earth flits fast, and time draws on-- Gasp thy gasp, and groan thy groan, Day is near the breaking." Scott: "_The Dying Gipsy's Dirge_." Scene: The ante-room of the fairy palace, Effie reading, Leonard listening. Don Caesar de Bazan and Lady Purr-a-Meow all attention. Man never _is_ but always to be blest. The delightful and happy life our Leonard and Effie had lived all the long sweet summer through could surely--one would think--have left nothing to be desired. Both were little naturalists in their way, though they did not know it; both were poets also, though they wrote no verses, for their hearts were attuned to the music of the wild woods, the song of birds, the rippling laughter of the rill, the whisper of the low wind through the trees, or even the dash of the cataract and roar of the storm. No beetle or other insect was there, in all the romantic country through which they passed on their way to and from school, that they did not know all about; every wild flower was a friend; and the little furry denizens of the forest, that dwelt in old tree stumps, or had their cosy nests among the verdant moss or the beds of pine-needles--all knew them, and never fled at their approach. Curious children both were, for they cared but little for company in their rambles; they were indeed all in all to each other. And even though they knew well that a welcome-home awaited them every day, they made no great hurry, and hardly ever went back from school without a bagful of delicacies for their pets in the fairy palace--green food and seeds for the birds, worms and dead mice or dead birds for the owl, and nuts for all who cared for them. They ought to have been very happy, and so they were, yet Leonard was continually planning strange adventures. The kind of books they read had much to do with the formation of the boy's character, as they have on the minds of all boys. But in those good old times there were fewer writers for the young than we have now, so poetry was more in fashion, and books of travel and weird tales of ghost and goblin, and old, old, strange stories of romance. Sometimes Effie read while Leonard listened, but just as often it was the other way. "I tell you what I should like to have," said Leonard, one day, throwing down his book. "What do you think, Effie?" "Oh! I could never guess. Perhaps a balloon." "N-no," said Leonard, thoughtfully; "some day we might perhaps get a balloon, and fly away in it, and see all those beautiful countries that we read of, but that isn't it. Guess again." "A large, large eagle, like what Sinbad the Sailor had, to carry us away, and away, and away through the skies and over the clouds and the sea." "No, you're not right yet. Guess again." "A real live fairy, who would strike on the black rock where they say all the treasure is buried, and open up a door and take us down into the caves of gold and gems and everything beautiful." "No," said Leonard. "I see you can't get at it." "Well, tell me." "Why, a real gipsy-waggon to wander away in, when summer days are fine, and see strange people and strange places." "And tell fortunes, Leonie?" "Well, we might do that, you know." "Ah! but summer isn't anywhere near yet; the chrysanthemums have only just begun to blow. Then we couldn't go far away, because poor papa and mamma would miss us quite a deal, and who would feed our pets?" "Why, Peter, to be sure. He does more than half now. And although winter _will_ come soon, summer will return, Eff, and the woods grow green again, and the birds begin to sing once more, and the streams be clear as crystal, instead of brown as they now are." "Well," said Effie, "it is worth thinking about. Would Don do?" Don was the donkey. "Yes, I think Don would do first-rate. I'm sure he wouldn't run off." Effie laughed at this idea. "Don would do. Don must do," continued Leonard, "and the carpenter would help Peter to build us a cart--no, a van, with a canvas roof. It would be no end of good fun. And really, Eff, I'm so full of the notion that I must run right away and tell father." Leonard burst into the room where Captain Lyle was writing. "Father," he said, "what can I do for you?" "Nothing at present. Oh! yes, you can though." "Well, I'll do it." "Leave me alone." Leonard's face fell, and his father began to laugh. "Father," said Leonard, "when I grow a great big big man, and you are old, old, and white-haired, and crawling about on crutches like Admiral Boffin, with perhaps a wooden leg and a hook for an arm--" "Thank you for the prospect," said Captain Lyle. "How can you imagine such things?" said his mother, much amused. "Oh! because I wish him to be just like that." "Indeed, sir, why?" "Why, to give me the chance to be so good to him, you know, because he is so good to me." "Well, now," Captain Lyle said, "let us come to the point. I don't admire the prospect of crutches, hook arm, and a wooden leg, and I hope you're not a true prophet, but you've got some new scheme in your noddle, and you've come to ask a favour. Anything in reason, Leonie. Sit down, lad." Then the boy took a seat and unfolded his plans, and coaxed, and teased, and what not, till he had gained his father's consent, and then off back to Castle Beautiful he went. As he scrambled over the fence Effie knew he had succeeded, because he was singing, and because he had not troubled to open the gate. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Spring returned. The snow left the woods and the fields; it lingered long in the ditches and by the wayside, and made one last sturdy stand on the hill-tops, but was forced to fly from even there at last. Then the honeysuckle on the hedgerows unfolded its leaves, the blackthorn itself began to bud, and the larch woods grew green. The dormouse and hedgehog, who had slept through all the wild weather, rolled in leaves at the tree foot, showed their pinched and weary wee faces at their holes, wondering if there was anything yet to eat. The squirrel had eaten his very last nut, and stretched himself on a bough to enjoy the glorious sunshine. The rook and the mavis, the blackbird and hedge-sparrow had built their nests, and laid their eggs ever so long ago, only the chaffinch and the green linnet were waiting for still warmer weather, and the lark wanted the grass or corn to be just a little higher, while the rose-linnets sang for more leaves to hide their nests from prying eyes. But the brooklets, bright and clear now, went singing along over their pebbly beds, the river rolled softly on, and the silver sallows and weeping willows bent low over the water, and westerly winds were blowing, and sunshine was everywhere. Leonard's waggon or caravan was built and ready. It was the lightest thing and the neatest thing ever seen in the shape of a one-horse conveyance, that horse, be it remembered, being a donkey. The little house-upon-wheels had not two but four small wheels, and instead of being built of wood its sides and roof were canvas. It was a gipsy cart of the neatest description, and Effie as well as Leonard was delighted with it, and as for Don, the donkey, so proud was he when put into the shafts that he wanted to gallop away with it, instead of walking at that slow and solemn pace which respectable thinking donkeys usually affect. But Don was no common ass, I can assure you. He was not called Don as short for donkey. No, but because he had been brought from Spain by Captain Lyle, and there, I may tell you, they have the very best donkeys in the world. Don was very strong and sturdy, and very wise in his day and generation; his colour was silver-grey, with a great brown cross on his shoulders and back, while his ears must have been fully half a yard long. Need I say he was well-kept and cared for, or that he dearly loved his little master and mistress, and was, upon the whole, as quiet and docile as a great sheep? Well, even while the spring lasted, Leonard and Effie had many a long delightful ramble in their little caravan, and were soon as well known all over the country for miles around as the letter-carrier himself, and that is saying a good deal. But in the bonnie month of May Captain Lyle, and Mrs Lyle as well, had to make a long, long journey south. In fact, they were going all the way to London, and in those days this was not only a slow journey but a dangerous one as well, for many parts of the road were infested by foot-pads, who cared not whom they killed so long as they succeeded in getting their money and their valuables. Farewells were spoken with many tears and caresses, and away went the parents at last, and Leonard and Effie were left alone. When they had fairly gone, poor Effie began to cry again. "Oh, Leonie!" she said, "the house seems so lonely now, so cold and still, with only the ticking of the dreadful clocks." But Leonard answered, and said,--"Why, Effie dear, haven't you me? And am I not big enough to protect you? Come along out and see the Menagerie." It was not half so lonesome here, at least, so they thought. They were high above the woods, and the sun shone very brightly, and all their curious pets seemed doubly amusing to-day, so before long both were laughing as merrily as if they were not orphans for the time being. Three days passed away, and on the morning of the fourth, when, after breakfast, old Peter the butler came shuffling in, Leonard said,-- "Now, Peter, of course you are aware that I am now master of the house of Glen Lyle?" Peter bowed and bowed and bowed, but I think he was laughing quietly to himself. "Very well, Peter; straighten yourself up, please, and listen. Miss Lyle here--" "That's me," said Effie, in proud defiance of grammar. "And myself," continued Leonard, "are going away for a week in our caravan in search of--ahem! the picturesque." "Preserve us a'!" cried Peter, turning his eyes heavenwards. "What'll your parents say if I allow it?" "We will write to them, Peter. Don't you worry. We start to-morrow. You will look after the Menagerie till we return. And we will want your assistance to-day to help us to pack." "Will naething prevail upo' ye to stop at hame?" cried Peter, wringing his hands. "Nothing. I'm master, don't forget that." This from Leonard. "And I'm mistress," said Effie. So poor Peter had to give in. They spent a very busy afternoon, but next morning the caravan was brought to the door, the brass work on Don's new harness being polished till it looked like gold. Effie sprang lightly in, Ossian, the big deerhound, who stood nearly as high as Don, went capering about, for he was to be one of the party. Up jumped Leonard. Crack went his whip, and off they all were in a hand-clap. And poor old Peter fell on his knees and prayed for their safety, till on a turn of the road the woods seemed to swallow them up. "Now we're free! It's glorious, isn't it, Effie?" "It's delightful." "Aren't you glad you've come?" "Yes, aren't you?" "Yes. Which way shall we go?" "Oh, away and away and away, through the forests and fens, through the woods and the wilds, on and on and on." "I say," said Leonard, after a pause, "it would be a good thing to give Don quite a deal of his own way, and if he wants particularly to go along any road, just to let him go." "O yes, that will be such fun. I'm so happy, hungry. I feel it coming on now." "Well, by-and-bye we'll dine. Agnes made such a splendid pie; it will last us quite two days." At noon they found themselves in a dark pine wood, the bare stems of the trees looking like the pillars supporting the roof of some majestic cavern. Here they stopped and unlimbered, because there was a little stream where Don and the deerhound could drink, besides nice, long, green grass for the donkey. They had a portion of the pie for dinner, and it was more delicious, they thought, than anything they had ever eaten. So thought Ossian. But of course hunger is sweet sauce. Then they tied Don to the wheel of the cart, and hand in hand went off to cull wild flowers. They gathered quite a garland, and put this round Don's neck on their return, then turned him loose again to eat for an hour, while Leonard took a volume from a little book-shelf, and read to Effie a few chapters of a beautiful tale. But the sun began to decline in the west, so they now put Don to, and off they went once more. They came to cross roads soon, and as Don evinced a desire to turn to the right, they allowed him to do so. IN THE DEEP DARK FOREST. The sun sank, and set at last, and they hurried on more quickly now, for though they intended to sleep in the caravan, still they wanted to be near a house. But gloaming fell, and the wood grew deeper and darker, so at last Leonard, telling his sister not to be frightened, drew in off the road, so that the caravan was closely hidden among spruce trees. There was light enough, and no more, to gather grass for Don, who was tied fast to the branch of a tree. Ossian was fastened to the axle so that he might keep guard over all, and Leonard and Effie prepared for bed, determined to get up as soon as it was sunrise. This being their first night out, and the place being so lonesome and drear, they were afraid to have a light, lest it might attract evil-disposed persons to the caravan, although it was all forest land around them. They were sitting quietly talking over the events of the day, when suddenly the voices of people chanting a hymn fell on their ears, and made them quake with dread. "Who can it be?" whispered Effie, clinging to her brother. "They cannot be bad people," he said boldly, "singing a hymn; bad people do not sing hymns. I will go and see. I'll take Ossian with me." "And I, too, will go," cried Effie. So hand in hand, with the faithful dog by their side, and guided by the solemn song that rose on the night air at intervals, they walked slowly onwards through the wood. All at once, on rounding a spruce thicket, the light of a fire gleamed over their faces and figures. They would have retreated, for they had come to see, not to be seen; but from a group of wild-looking men and women who were gathered round the log fire in this clearing, a little gipsy girl not bigger than Effie sprang up and rushed towards them. She was bare-footed and bare-legged, and her black eyes sparkled like diamonds in the firelight. Round her head and shoulders she wore a ragged little tartan shawl. "Walk gently," she whispered, or rather hissed. "Hush, hush! do not speak. Granny is dying." She took Leonard's half-unwilling hand as she spoke, and led them forward to the light. There was silence for a little while, for all eyes were turned upon the new-comers. Gipsies all undoubtedly, and of the very lowest caste, dark, swarthy, ragged, and wild-looking. Lying with her head in the lap of a tall woman was an aged crone, her face almost as black as a negro's with age and exposure. The fire blazed higher, its gleams reaching to the highest pine trees, and lighting up the faces of all around. It was a strange, a weird scene, almost awful in its impressiveness. Once again the voices rose and swelled on the night air. Even bold Leonard felt his heart beat faster, while Effie's hand trembled in his. Book 1--CHAPTER FIVE. STRANGE ADVENTURES IN WOOD AND WILD. "How sweet it is when mother fancy rocks The wayward brain, to saunter through a wood; An old place full of many a lovely brook, Tall trees, green arbours, and ground flowers in flocks." Wordsworth. Scene: Still in the forest around the log fire, but the dying gipsy has raised herself to nearly a sitting position, her dim and hollow eyes are fixed on Leonard, and she beckons him to her side. As if under a strange spell, the boy obeys, leaving Effie kneeling by Ossian, and clasping his great neck in her terror. "Fear not," the gipsy gasps, "I knew--your--father. And his father. Kind, kind to me and mine were both." She took Leonard's little white hand in her dark claws, and opened its palm towards the firelight. "Never--never--will old Nell Bayne read another fortune. But look; that line will lead you far ayont the seas. You are _born to wander_, born to roam over the ocean, by mountain, stream, and plain. Yet list! the water is not made to drown you, nor hemp nor lead to take your life, yet list! again,-- "When dead yon lordly pike shall float, While loud and hoarse the ravens call, Then grief and woe shall be thy lot, Glen Lyle's house must fall." The aged crone dropped the hand she held, and sunk back into the arms of her nurse, while the other gipsies, with scared faces, gathered closer round and knelt beside her. Neither Leonard nor Effie saw nor heard anything more. They fled away from the firelight out into the darkness of the woods, which they much preferred to the solemn scene they had just witnessed. They walked in the direction, as they thought, of their caravan, but after a while Ossian, whom Effie held by the collar, stopped short, and then began pulling them in quite another direction. The noble dog knew the road though they did not. They were soon back now at their house-on-wheels. It was a gloomy night's experience, but they slept none the less soundly, and when they awoke in the morning Leonard felt as happy as if he were king of Elfinland, and Effie his little queen. The sun was shining in a sky of unusual brightness, and the woods all around were musical with the songs of a thousand joyous birds. Leonard made a fire of sticks, and boiled his kettle in true gipsy fashion, and after everybody, including Don and Ossian, had enjoyed breakfast, away they went again. The country soon grew more open, and they were not at all sorry to leave the darksome pine woods. They had nothing whereby to tell the time, except the sun, and this was, in some measure, their guide also as to the direction they were taking, but of course they left a deal to Don. Sometimes, on coming to cross-roads, Don, as if he was quite aware of the responsibility that lay on his pretty striped shoulders, would stop short and eye all the three roads that lay before him. Ossian would then caper round him and bark, upon which Don would shake his long ears as much as to say,-- "Don't you be quite so fast, master; I know well enough what I'm about. Catch me going wrong if I can help it." Then having made up his mind Don would tramp on again. Now Don was a wily old donkey, and I'm not sure that in choosing a road he did not consult his own interest much more than that of his little owners. For Effie soon noticed that if one road was hilly and the other level, Don chose the latter. Again, he kept going northwards and east, for he was very partial to a nice fresh green juicy thistle, just sufficiently thorny to tickle his tongue, and the farther north and the nearer the sea he got the fatter and finer the thistles grew. "But it doesn't matter, Eff, you know," Leonard would say, "one road is as good as another." Next evening found them bivouacked near a pretty wee country cottage. The good-wife of this humble home made them come in and sit by the fire, and she regaled them on barley scones and butter with delicious milk to wash it down, and made them tell their story over and over again. Then the children all came round Effie, and she told their fortunes, something good for each of them, and sent them all to bed happy. The wanderers slept as before, but the good-wife of the cottage was up before them, and had boiled fresh eggs for their breakfast, and made them coffee. And so good was she, that she even packed a little hamper and put it in their caravan, and blessed them and wished them God-speed. And the children gathered round the door, and all of them cheered with might and main as the caravan rolled away from the door. A DISMAL NIGHT. But though the morning was bright and blue and lovely, clouds banked up over the sky soon after noon, and just as they found themselves once more in a pine forest, where also grew great oaks and elms, behold, big drops of rain began to patter down on the dry road, sending up cloudlets of dust, and before they could draw into the shelter of the trees, the storm was on them with all its force. It was not a still summer storm, for while the thunder pealed and crashed, and the lightning hissed among the falling rain, the wind blew with terrible force, bending the trees like fishing rods, and strewing the road with broken branches. Nor did the rain cease when the squall blew over, but continued to pour down. Night came on this evening a full hour before its time, and still the rain rained on. The bivouac was once more in a wood, and oh! what a fearful night it was--the thunder deafening, the rain looking like streams of fire in the glare of the lightning. But our tired little wanderers fell soundly to sleep amidst it all, and though some drops came through the canvas, and even fell upon their faces, it did not wake them. Only when the birds had been singing for fully two hours they opened their eyes, and wondered where they were now. The day was very hot and close, and the sun so bright that the roads, much to Don's joy, soon dried up. The country through which they were now passing was very grand and wildly picturesque. Hills on hills successively rose on every side around them; they crossed romantic single-arched bridges, over deep ravines, far down at the bottom of which streams went foaming on through a chaos of great dark boulders, which had fallen from the beetling cliffs below, and to which wild flowers clung in patches, with here and there a dwarf pine or silver-stemmed birch. Slowly, but surely, the roots of these tiny trees were loosening the rocks. What a lesson this reads one of the virtues of perseverance! For listen to this: the thickness of the rootlets that do the work is no greater than that of a stocking wire, the rate of their growth in length is not a hundredth part of that of the motion of a watch's hour-hand, the strength they expend in a given second would not be enough to lift or move the tiniest midge or fly that alights upon the page you are reading. But these rootlets have faith, and faith moves mountains. They keep on growing and creeping into every crevice, and in time, lo and behold! tons of solid rock are detached, a thunder shower perhaps being the last straw to break the camel's back, and down it thunders to the bottom of the ravine, smashing trees and crunching other rocks, till it all reaches the bottom with the force and speed of a little avalanche. Sometimes they passed over broad open moors, the heather on which was still green, and would be for months to come, but patched all throughout with low flat bushes of golden furze, the scent from which perfumed the air all round, and must have penetrated even to the clouds. The lark, high in air, thrilling out his wild melody, and the rose-breasted wee linnet were the only songsters on these lonely moorlands. They went very slowly to-day, often stopping to let Don rest, and to cull the wild flowers that grew everywhere in glorious luxuriance. Little toddling children ran from cottage doors and waved their caps and cheered them, and called them show gipsies, and all sorts of funny names. Sometimes they stopped at these houses to get water for Don and Ossian; then the bairnies came all in a crowd, holding out tiny palms to have their fortunes told. Effie, in her saucy little straw hat, and her long cloak of crimson, did not look at all unlike a real Romany. She always told good fortunes. The boys were to grow up into bold, brave, good men, and go and fight for their king and country, and come back with hats and plumes on their heads, stars on their manly breasts, spurs on their heels, and great swords jangling at their sides. The girls were to grow up good and kind and truthful, and some were to marry princes, who would come riding for them on white palfreys with scarlet trappings and manes and tails that touched the ground. Some were to marry great warriors, and others would have to be content to wed with honest John Ploughman, or perhaps to marry the miller. Effie was the house-provider, and often wanted to buy eggs and butter and bread and milk, and she was very much, astonished at the kindness of all these cottagers, for none of them could be prevailed upon to accept any money. "Bless the dear wee innocent," a woman would say, "so far away from its mammie. I won't have this money." "Isn't she wise-looking?" another would add. "Just like a wee witchie." Thus on and on and on went these amateur gipsies for a whole week, and I do not know really which enjoyed this strange wandering tour the most, Leonard, Effie, Ossian, or Don. But it was not all humble folks they came across, though nearly all; for the fact is they avoided big houses. Leonard said he wanted to mingle with the people. And so they did; but once, and once only, two ladies came up to them in a wood just as they were harnessing up, and about to start on the afternoon journey. Effie had made all the outside front of the caravan quite gay with wild flowers, and a great garland of primroses, ivy, and wild hyacinths, and was tying it round Don's neck, when the ladies alighted from their horses, and came to speak to her. "You are not an ordinary gipsy child, I know," said one. Effie only opened her blue eyes wider, and looked at the lady, who was young and most pleasant to behold. But Leonard lifted his hat, and replied boldly,-- "_We_ are wanderers, lady." "How romantic! Is this little Red Riding-Hood? How beautiful she is! How my father would like to see her! Could you ride on my horse, dear, and come to the Hall with me?" "No, thank you," said Effie. "I would not ride without a habit." "Quite right, dear," said the other lady, laughing. "But," said Effie, afraid she had spoken unkindly, "if we come to the Hall, we must all come." "Delightful! And my brother shall paint you. Is this the wolf?" "That is Ossian, my father's deerhound." "What a noble fellow! Where does your father live, and what are your names?" Leonard lifted his hat again. "Pardon me, lady," he said, "for replying instead of my sister. Father lives in London, at present. My name is Incognitus, and my sister's name Incognita. My sister has already introduced you to the dog, permit me to introduce you to the donkey. His name is Don." The young ladies pouted, and looked half-inclined to be cross, but finally laughed such a pleasant, merry, ringing laugh, that Don pricked up his ears, and joined in with such a terrible lion-like roar, that the very hills rang for a mile around. It was not often that Don did give way to a fit of merriment, but when he did nobody else was able to get in a word until the strength of his lungs was quite exhausted. He stopped presently, and helped himself to a fresh green thistle that was growing handy. Meanwhile Ossian jumped up and kissed one of the ladies, as much as to say,-- "Don't be afraid, Don often makes that row. He is only an ass, you know, but there isn't a bit of harm in the whole of his body." "Come on then, my dears. Why, Lily, this is quite an adventure. What a providence it was that we rode in this direction! I would not have missed such an adventure for anything I can think of." Book 1--CHAPTER SIX. IN A SMUGGLER'S CAVE. "But now we go, See, see we go, To the deepest caves below." Dibdin. Scene: The interior of a cave on a lonely hillside; a huge fire of wood and peat is burning in a kind of recess hewn from the solid rock. A large cauldron is boiling over it, and the smoke and flames are roaring up the chimney. Wild-looking men, unkempt and unshorn, are eating and drinking on stone benches around the cave. There is a big oil lamp hanging from the roof, and that and the firelight shed a dim uncertain light throughout the cave. "And so," said one of the men, who appeared to be captain of this gang of smugglers, "Captain Bland and his fellows have promised to be here to-night." "That is what he told me," said another. "The lugger has been dodging off and on the coast for days, and there is a sloop all ready down at the steps near St. Abb's waiting to take the stuff off." "Well," said the first speaker, "it is long past midnight, and as dark as pitch. No bothering moon to-night to interfere with the work. We should turn a pretty penny by this cargo. Ha! ha!" he laughed, "you Scotchmen didn't know how to work the oracle on this hillside till we Saxons crossed the border and showed you. Scotchmen are--" Five men sprang to their feet in a moment, and dirks were flashing in the lamplight. "Hold, you scoundrels, hold!" cried a tall and handsome man in the garb of a sailor, rushing into the cave, and throwing himself, sword in hand, between the belligerents. "What!" he continued, "quarrelling when we should be busy at work. I came in good time, it seems." The Scotchmen sheathed their dirks, but sulkily. "Right, Captain Bland," said Rob McLure, "only Long Bill there thought fit to insult us wi' his Saxon brag. We had the cave afore him, and did weel in it, and we're independent yet, and fit to clear the English bodies out o' the country, tho' we're but five and they are two to one-- ay, and give their bodies to the corbies to pick." "Bill," said Captain Bland, "you began this unseemly squabble; it is for you to apologise." "I do so heartily," said Bill; "I bear no grudge against the Scotch." "Nor I, nor I, nor I," cried half-a-dozen voices. Then hands were shaken all round, and peace restored. Bland pitched down his cap--long black ringlets floating over his shoulder as he did so--and sank into a seat, as if weary. "Give me food and drink; the long walk has quite tired me. Your Scottish hills, McLure, are hard on Saxon legs. By the way," he added, "two of my fellows are outside, and they've caught a couple of gipsy creatures; they may or may not be spies. Bring them in, the little ones may be cold and hungry." In a minute more Leonard and poor Effie stood trembling before the smuggler chief. We left them about three days ago in a lovely wood, with the greenery of trees, the song of birds, sunshine, and flowers all around them. They had gone to the Hall, as the young ladies called their home, and had created quite a sensation. There was such an air of romance about the whole affair that everybody at the great house was charmed with them. Leonard and Effie were the hero and heroine of that evening, at all events, while Ossian made himself quite at home on the hearthrug, very much to the disgust of a beautiful Persian cat, whose place he had coolly usurped. The young ladies again cross-questioned the little wanderers, in the prettiest and most insinuating way possible, but succeeded in obtaining no further information. But Effie read their fortunes without having her hand crossed with either gold or silver. No prince on gaily-caparisoned palfrey was to come riding to the Hall to beg for the hand of either, nor soldiers with sword and spear and nodding plumes come riding their way. Effie disposed of both in quite a humdrum fashion, which, although it did not please the young ladies, set every one in the room laughing at their expense. Their future spouses would be celebrated rather for negative than positive virtues. "For neither would be guilty of any great crime, Such as murder, rebellion, or arson; _One_ lady would wed with a wealthy old squire, And the other would marry the parson." Leonard and Effie left the Hall that night, and a powdered servant carried a hamper to the caravan. Both insisted on bidding their kindly entertainers good-bye that night, saying it was certain they would be off very early next morning. And so they were, long before a single wreath of smoke had begun to up-curl from even the kitchen chimneys of the great Hall. The weather had continued fine, and although the nights were very dark, the wanderers did not mind that a bit, because they could hide their caravan under trees, so that, although they could see no one approaching, no one could see them. In two days' time they bivouacked for the night near the cave in which we now find them prisoners, the faithful dog standing guard by their side. About sunset they had started off to climb the hill, which was very high. They lost their way coming back, and got belated. Where they had wandered to they never knew. But much to their sorrow they were met and captured by these terrible men, who looked so fierce and ugly that Effie was afraid to let her eyes rest upon them. Captain Bland asked them many questions, which Leonard answered faithfully and truthfully. Then a consultation was held in a corner of the cave. Captain Bland soon returned. "Now, young squire," he said. "We have made up our minds what we are going to do with you." "I hope, sir," said Leonard, boldly, "you will send Effie home, even if you kill me." The smuggler smiled. "We won't have any killing in the matter, but just answer me one question now, for you are too brave a lad to tell a lie. What do you think we are?" "Why, smugglers, of course," replied Leonard. "I have often read of such people as you. Those men make whisky in the cave, and you take it away in a ship and sell it." "I see you know about all. Yes, I take this whisky away in a ship to France, where they make it into brandy, and then I bring it back and sell it. Well, you've seen so much, and know so much, that I'm going to take you and your sister away in my ship with me." "And Ossian?" said Effie, anxiously. "Well, he can go too. I couldn't make you into brandy," he continued, laughing, "else I would, but we will turn you into gold." "Oh, sir!" said Effie, with round wondering eyes. "Don't be afraid, little Red Riding-Hood. I'm not going to eat you, and you won't be hurt, and in good time I trust you will be landed once again at your father's house. Now keep your minds easy. There is a room in there with plenty of skins and plaids, and a lamp burning, where you can sleep soundly and safely till morning." "Pray, sir, what about Don and our caravan?" "I'm going to send one of our brave and gallant fellows back with it to your father's house." "Oh! tell him to haste then, and to be so good to Don," Effie implored. "There, there, my little maiden, go to bed, and all will be right." The apartment into which this robber captain showed them was well removed from the larger cave. The passage that led to it was so concealed by a door, painted and fashioned so as to resemble the rocks, that no one could have guessed at its existence. Having bade them good-night, and wished them sound repose and pleasant dreams, Captain Bland left them, and they now began to gaze around them and wonder. Although lofty, it was by no means a very large apartment, but it was furnished in a style of luxuriance that quite astonished our little wanderers. The walls were draped all round with tapestry, the floor covered with thick soft carpets; there were chairs and couches, and a library of books, near which stood a harp, while the light from coloured lamps diffused a soft radiance around. Nor had creature comforts been forgotten, for here, on a little sideboard, stood a joint of meat, a game pasty, and cruets of wine. "You heard what the robber captain said, didn't you, Effie? We are quite safe, and I'm hungry. Sit in, Eff, and have some supper. This pasty tastes splendid." For a time, however, Effie could not be prevailed upon to eat, but she finally relented so far as to taste a tiny morsel. Then, as eating only wants a beginning, she allowed Leonard to help her freely. In about half an hour the door of the apartment was opened after a knock, the curtain that hid it was drawn aside, and Captain Bland himself came in. "Ha!" he said, "I'm glad to see you enjoying yourselves. I'm going away." Effie's face fell, and he noticed it. "Not for long, my little Red Riding-Hood," he said, kindly. "I'll be back early in the morning. I only came to tell you that if you want anything, you are to go to the door at the other end of the passage, and knock. Don't be afraid. You are quite safe. Good-night, again." "Leonard," said Effie, "that is a good robber, and I'm sorry he has gone. He puts me in mind of the story of the good robber in the Babes in the Wood. I hope there isn't a bad robber, though, who will want to kill us." "We must say our prayers, Eff, and never fear." "I wish though, Leonie, that we had not come away so far from home gipsying. Poor papa and mamma--what will they think?" About two hours afterwards, when both were sound asleep, they were suddenly awakened by a noise in the room. They started from their couches and looked about, Effie terribly frightened, and Leonard just a little. It was a stone dropped from the roof, and there it lay. "Hist!" cried a voice from above, in a loud whisper, "are you asleep?" "No," from Leonard. "Who is it, and where are you?" "Don't be afraid; it's only Zella, the little gipsy lass you saw in the woods when her granny was dying. I am up here outside on the hill, talking down to you through a little hole." "Can you take us away out of this place?" asked Leonard. "No, no, no. I could not even come to you, and if they found me here they would kill me." "Well, why did you come?" "To help you, if possible." "What can you do?" "I can take your donkey and cart, and drive away to your home--I know where it is--and get assistance." "But they are going to take us away in a ship." "Well, you are safe, so far, only don't say I came." "Oh no!" said Leonard. "We are so thankful. Take poor Don, and hurry away. He will be safe with you." "Yes, and I'll be so good to him." "Good-night." "Good-night." The strangest part, reader, about this little interview, if so it could be called, was that Ossian had never even barked or growled, but lay looking very wise and wagging his long tail. "I'm sure," said Effie, "she is a good girl, else Ossian would have been angry." They slept again more soundly now, and it was far into the next day before they awoke. Perhaps they would not have wakened even then, had not a knocking at the door aroused them. "Are you all alive, little ones? Breakfast is waiting." It was Captain Bland's voice. "Yes, thank you," cried Leonard; "we'll soon come out." Having finished their toilets, with all speed they hastened to the large cave. "My men have all gone--only myself here," said the robber chief, as Effie called him. "Now, dears, eat heartily; you have a long journey before you. By-the-bye, your donkey wandered away somewhere by himself last night. Very likely some farmer has found him. But my men have been sent to look everywhere about, and it is sure to be all right." The journey was indeed a long one, for it was nearly evening before they arrived at a little village near the sea. The captain took them into an inn there, and they had an excellent supper, the smuggler chief telling them stories that made them laugh. "I suppose," said Leonard, quite bravely, "there is not much chance of our escaping?" "Not much," said Captain Bland, laughing. "You're going to kidnap us, aren't you?" "Well, I daresay that is just the word, young sir. And now, if you're finished, we'll march; the boat is waiting." Once on board the lugger, sail was set immediately, with neither noise nor shouting, and away southward through the darkness, with the stars overhead and the black waves all around, went the smuggler's lugger _Sea-horse_. Book 1--CHAPTER SEVEN. LIFE IN THE LIGHTHOUSE. "The winds and the waves of ocean, Had they a merry time? Didst thou hear from those lofty chambers The harp and the minstrel's rhyme? "The winds and the waves of ocean, They rested quietly; But I heard on the gale a sound of wail, And tears came to mine eye." Longfellow. Scene: A prettily-furnished room in a building that forms part and parcel of a lighthouse, on a small lonely island on the coast. The island is little else save a sea-girt rock, though on one green side of it some sheep are grazing. Effie and Leonard standing by the window, gazing silently and somewhat sadly over the sea. Effie (_speaks_). "It is nearly a month, Leonard, since Captain Bland sailed away and left us here. I wonder if he will ever, ever come back." _Leonard_. "Oh! I am quite sure he will, unless--" _Effie_. "Yes, unless his ship is wrecked, and he is drowned, and poor papa never, never knows where we are." _Leonard_ (laughing). "Why, Eff, what a long face you pull! It is always `ever ever' or `never never' with you. Now I dreamt last night he would return in a week, and I'm sure he'll come. No use looking out of the window any longer to-night, Eff. The sun is just going down, and the sea-birds are all going to roost in the cliffs beneath the window. And it is time for the great lamps to be lit. Come on, Eff; let us go up with old Grindlay." Effie checked a sigh, cut it in two, as it were, and turned it into a laugh, and next minute both were out on the grass among the sheep, and gazing up at the whitewashed tower, which seemed so very tall to them. "Ahoy-oy-oy!" sang Leonard, with one hand to his mouth in true sailor fashion. "Are you up there, old shipmate?" "Ay, lad, ay," a cheery voice returned. "Come up and bring missie." They were pattering up the stone stairs next minute, and soon arrived panting and breathless at the lamp room. Old Grindlay was there, and had already lit up, and by-and-bye, when darkness fell, the gleam from the great lamps would shine far over the sea, and be seen perhaps by many a ship homeward bound from distant lands. It was very still and quiet up here, only the wind sighing round the roof, the occasional shriek and mournful scream of some sea-bird, and the boom of the dark waters breaking lazily on the rocks beneath. Old Grindlay sat on a little stool waiting for his son to come and keep watch, the two men, with old Grindlay's "old woman," as he called his wife, being all that dwelt on the island, and no boats ever visited it except about once a month. Old Grindlay was kindly-hearted, but terribly ugly. As he sat there winking and blinking at the light, he looked more like a gnome than a human being. His son's step was heard on the stone stairs at last, and, preceded by a cloud of tobacco smoke, he presently appeared. He was a far more cheerful-looking being than his father, but Leonard and Effie liked the latter better. "Come, my dears," said the little gnome, "let us toddle." "Keep the lights bright, Harry lad; I think it's going to blow." Down the long stairs they went, and away into the house. The supper was laid in the old-fashioned kitchen, and cheerful it looked; for though it was July a bit of fire was burning on the hearth. It was wreckage they used for fuel here, and every bit of wood could have told a sorrowful, perhaps even tragic story, had it been able to speak. "Something tells me, children," said old Mrs Grindlay, as she cleared away the remains of the supper, "that you will not be long here. Hark to the sound of the rising wind! God save all at sea to-night!" "Amen," said the gnome. "Amen," said Leonard and Effie in one breath. "Gather close round the fire now, children, and let us feel thankful to the Great Father that we are well and safe." The old woman began knitting as she spoke, the gnome replenished the fire with a few more pieces of wreck to drive the cold sea air out of the chimney. Then he lit his pipe, and sat down in his favourite corner. After a pause, during which nothing was heard but the roar of the rising wind and the solemn boom of the waves, and the steady tick of an old clock that wagged the time away in a corner,-- "Why," said Effie, "do you think we'll soon go?" "I cannot tell you," replied the old lady, and her stocking wires clicked faster and faster. "We folks who live for years and years in the midst of the sea, have warnings of coming events that shore folks could never understand. But the house won't seem the same, Effie, when you and Leonard are gone away--heigho!" "Well," said Effie, "I'll be so sorry to go, and yet so glad." "Tell us a story," said Leonard, "and change the subject. Hush! what was that?" A wild and mournful scream it was, and sounded close under the window. "That is a cry we often hear," said the old lighthouse keeper, "always before a storm, sometimes before a wreck. It's a bird, I suppose, or maybe a mermaid. Do I believe in them? I do. I'll tell you a strange dream I had once upon a time, though I don't think it could have been a dream." OLD GRINDLAY'S DREAM. "It was far away in the Greenland seas I was, sailing northwards towards Spitzbergen. I was second mate of the bonnie barque _Scotia's Queen_. Well, one dark night we were ploughing away on a bit of a beam wind, doing maybe about an eight knots, maybe not so much. There was very little ice about, and as I had eight hours _in_ that night, I went early to my bunk, and was soon fast asleep. It must have been well on to two bells in the middle watch--the spectioneer's--when I awoke all of a sudden like. I don't know, no more than Adam, what I could have been thinking about, but I crept out of my bunk in the state-room, where also the doctor and steward slept, and up on deck I went. I wondered to myself more than once if I really was in a dream. But there were sails and rigging, and the stars all shining, and the ship bobbing and curtseying to the dark waters, that went swishing and lapping alongside of her, and all awfully real for a dream. I could hear the men talking round the fo'c's'le, and smell their tobacco, too. "Well, Leonard, I went to the weatherside, and leant over to calculate, sailor fashion, our rate of speed, when I noticed something like a square dark shadow on the water at the gangway. There was nothing above to cause so strange a shadow, but while I was yet wondering a face appeared in the middle of it, the face of a lovely woman. I saw it as plain as I see dear wee Effie's at this present moment. The long yellow hair was floating on the top of the water, and a fair hand beckoned me, and a sweet voice said, `Come.' I thought of nothing but how to save the life of what I took to be a drowning woman. I sprang over at once, though I never could swim a stroke, and down I sank like lead. There was a surging roar of water in my ears, and I remembered nothing more till I found myself at the bottom of the sea, with a strange green light from a window in a rock a kind of dazzling my eyes. The woman's face and long yellow hair were close beside me, and the fair arms were round me. "I tried to pray, but I was speechless. Then the rock in front seemed to open of its own accord, and next minute I was inside. But oh! what a gorgeous hall--what a home of delight! There were other mermaids there--ay, scores of them. There was light and warmth all around us, that appeared to come from the precious stones of which the walls were built, and the glittering pillars that supported the roof. "Such flowers, too, as grew in snow-white vases I had never seen before! "Then music began to float through the hall, slow and solemn at first, then quicker and quicker, and all at once the marble floor was filled with fairies--the loveliest elves imagination could paint--all mingling and mixing in a mazy dance with waving arms and floating hair, and all keeping time to the music. The mermaids, too, left the couches of pearl on which they had been reclining, and were carried through and through the air, the ends of their bodies covered with long floating drapery of green and crimson. Then some of these strange creatures brought me fruit and wine, and bade me eat and drink. I fain would have spoken, but all my attempts were in vain. "Suddenly our ship's bell rang out clear enough, ting-ting, ting-ting, ting-ting, _ting_. It was seven bells, and all the mermaids and fairies melted away before me, the music died away as if drowned, the surging of water returned to my ears, and next moment my head was above the sea, and I could see the stars shining down, and looking so large and near and clear, as they always do in those northern seas. In a minute I had caught the chains, and swung myself on board. I went to bed. In the morning I awoke, and laughed to myself as I thought of my dream, but my laughing was changed to wonder when I found every stitch of my clothing wringing with salt water, and when the spectioneer told me that he had seen me with his own eyes come on deck at two bells and go below at seven. Then I told him and the rest the story, and we all agreed that it was something far more than a dream." Effie sat looking into the fire for some time in silence; then she said,-- "Were there no mermen in that lovely hall, and were they very noble-looking and gallant, like my dear papa in uniform?" "_No_," said old Grindlay, "I don't think mermen would have been admitted into such a place any more than the great sea-serpent would." "Why not?" "Because, missie, they are such ugly old customers. I've never seen one, that I know of, but a mate that sailed with me said he had, and that it was uglier than the faces we sometimes see on door-knockers, and uglier than any baboon that ever grinned and gibbered in an African forest." "How terrible!" said Effie. "Oh, I should like to meet one of those!" said Leonard. "And I've been told that the mermaids wouldn't live anywhere near where these mermen are, and that instead of dwelling down in coral caves and marble halls at the bottom of the green sea, where the sunbeams flash by day, and the moon shines all the way down at night, these mermen live at the bottom of the darkest, deepest pits of the ocean, where there is nothing but mud and slime, and where the young sea-serpents and the devil-fish grow. No, the beautiful mermaids I don't think ever do any harm, but the mermen are bad--bad!" "Granny," said Effie to Mrs Grindlay, after a pause, "tell us a pretty story to dream upon." "Did I ever tell you the story of _But--but--but_?" "No, never. Do tell us about `_But--But--But_,' and begin, `Once upon a time.'" "Well, then, once upon a time there lived, far away up on the top of a mountain, a little old, old woman, and this little old woman had a very lovely young daughter, who lived with her in a cave on the mountain top. And one day her mother said,-- "`Dear love, all the provisions are done. I must go away down to the plains and buy some. I have no money, but shall take a small bagful of precious stones.' "So away she went, leaning on her stick and carrying a basket. She looked very feeble, her old cloak was ragged and worn, and, as she crept along, she kept saying to herself, `_but--but--but_.' "Well, at last she got down to the village, and entered a grocer's shop. "`What can I get for you, ma'am?' said the grocer. "`I want some nice ham, and some nice eggs, and some fresh butter. I have no money--but--but--but--' "`Oh! get out of here with your "buts,"' cried the man. `Who would trust the like of you, with your old age and your rags?' "So he chased her away. "Then the old woman crept away to the fishmonger's. "`I want,' she said, `some nice fresh salmon, and some nice prawns, and a delicious lobster. I've no money--but--but--but--' "`Oh, get out of here!' cried the fishmonger, `with your "buts." Who would trust you with your old age and your rags?' "And he chased her down the street. "Then she entered the butcher's. "`Give me a tender joint of mutton,' she said. `I've no money--but-- but--but--' "`Oh!' cried the butcher, `get out of here, with your "buts." Who would trust you with your old age and your rags?' "And he called his dogs, and they chased away the poor old woman, and tore her cloak worse than before. "Then she went into the baker's. "`I want a loaf or two of bread,' she said. `I've no money, but--but-- but--' "`Don't say another word,' said the baker. `Here are two nice new ones, and some new-laid eggs. Don't thank me. I respect old age, and I pity rags.' "So the old, old woman crept back to the mountain top, and she and her beautiful daughter had a nice supper. "And now the strangest part of the story begins, for although the baker's trade increased every day, his store of flour appeared never to diminish. He got richer and richer every month, and was soon in a position to buy a pretty little cottage and furnish it in the prettiest style imaginable; and when he had done so he went and laid his fortune at the feet of Mary the Maid of the Mill. In other words, he went wooing the miller's daughter. "After a modest pause for thought and consideration she consented, saying as she did so,-- "`I don't marry you for sake of your money, John, because I have quite a deal of gold and silver.' "`What! you?' said John. "`Yes, me,' said Mary. "`But--but--but--' said John. "`But, how did I get it? Well, I'll tell you. A poor old woman, crawling on a stick and all in rags, called the other night, when the wind blew high and the snow was falling fast, and because I took her in, and sheltered her--just only what anybody would do, John--she left me a bagful of pretty stones. She said she didn't want them, as she knew a hill where they grew, and I took them to the jeweller's, and they paid me so much for them that I am quite wealthy, and I'm going to marry for love.' "So John was indeed a happy man. "But that same evening, first the butcher called, and then the fishmonger, and then the grocer, all dressed up in their Sunday clothes. "So John hid behind a curtain, and as soon as they came into the room, all three proposed to marry Mary the Maid of the Mill. "Then Mary looked down at them, and laughed and said,-- "`Really, gentlemen, you do me too much honour, but--but--but--' "`But _I'm_ the happy man,' cried John suddenly, popping out from behind the curtain. "`_You_!' they all shouted in disdain. "`Yes, I. I'm very sorry for you, but--but--but--' "`But what?' they all cried. "`But I'm going to kick you all out,' said John; `that's the "but."' "Then Mary ran and opened the door, and as they ran out John kicked the grocer, then the fishmonger, and last of all the butcher, and they all fell in a heap on the pavement. "Well, Mary and John got married, and a merrier wedding never was in the village, and when it was all over a gilded coach drove up to the door and took them away to spend the honeymoon in a beautiful seaside village. "And the old lady was in the carriage and her pretty daughter, but the ragged old cloak was gone, and in its place a robe of ermine and scarlet. "And Mary and John lived happy together ever after." "Of course," said Effie, "the old lady was a good fairy." "Oh yes!" said Mrs Grindlay, "but--but--but--" "But what, Mrs Grindlay?" "But it's time for bed." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ What a terrible night it was. The wind blew and roared around the building till the whole island seemed to shake, the waves beat and dashed against the rocks, and the spray flew far over the lighthouse itself, and every now and then, high over the howling of the storm and the boom of the seas, rose that strange, eerie scream, like the cry of the sea-bird, but it sounded far more plaintive and pitiful, like-- "The drowning cry Of some strong swimmer in his agony." And one sentence was mingled with the prayers of Leonard and Effie before they sought their couch-- "God save all at sea to-night." Book 1--CHAPTER EIGHT. "THE WRECK! THE WRECK!" "The breakers were right beneath her bows, She drifted a dreary wreck, And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck. "She struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool; But the cruel rocks, they gored her sides Like the horns of an angry bull." Longfellow. Scene: The lighthouse island on the morning after the storm. The sea all around it, still covered with foam-capped waves. The wind dying away, but rising every now and then in uncertain gusts. No vessels in sight, but a long, low, rakish craft wedged in the rocks beneath the lighthouse, and fast breaking up. The whole scene bleak and desolate in the extreme. "It is the lugger, sure enough," said old Grindlay. "Heigho! what an awful affair, to be sure! And there can't be a living soul on board. Captain Bland and all must have gone to their account." "And she is breaking up," said his wife. "Goodness grant she may disappear entirely before the young ones see her." "Oh!" cried Leonard, rushing into the kitchen; "the wreck! the wreck! It is the lugger. Oh the poor robber chief!" "He is dead, my dear," said Mrs Grindlay solemnly. "_No_, no; I can see him from our window, where Effie is crying. He is under the wreck of the masts amidships and alive, for he waved his hand to us. Oh, save him, Mr Grindlay, if you can!" "Ah, lad, I fear nothing can be done!" "I'll go, I'll go! Effie is not afraid; she says I may go. I've gone over worse rocks than that with a rope. He is alive, and I will save him. Quick, bring the rope, and an axe and saw." "The boy is a hero," exclaimed Mrs Grindlay. "Do as he bids you, old man; the lad is in God's own hands." "I am no hero. I only want to save the captain. He could not help kidnapping us, and he was so kind to Effie." The forepart of the lugger was wedged into a cave, close under a black beetling cliff, fully fifty feet in height. It was over here Leonard was going. There was no denying him. He had already thrown down the axe and saw to the wreck, and now, both Mr and Mrs Grindlay assisting, the rope was wound twice round an iron stanchion at the cliff top, which might have been used before for a similar purpose, or by men in search of eggs. Leonard's legs were through the bight, and next minute he had disappeared over the cliff, and was gradually lowered down, and though half drowned with the driving spray speedily reached the deck. Effie stood in tears at her window, praying. It was all the child could do. Leonard staggered aft and knelt by the side of Captain Bland, and poured some brandy from a flask into his mouth. "Heaven bless you, boy!" he muttered, "and if the prayer of such as I am can avail, Heaven will." Leonard hardly heard him, but he knew his meaning, and now set to work with axe and saw. It was a long and tedious job, but it was finished at last, and the smuggler chief was clear, and sprang to his feet, but staggered and almost fell again. After a while, however, his numbed legs gathered fresh strength, and, helped by the boy, he settled himself in the bight of the rope, and was drawn to bank safe and sound. The rope was again lowered, and Leonard mounted next, and not a minute too soon. "Look, look, look!" cried Bland, pointing away to windward. "Run for our lives!" A strange sight it was, that awful coming squall. Right away in the wind's eye was a long dark cloud, fringed beneath with a line of white. Forked lightning played incessantly across it, or fell through it like streams of blood or fire. It grew higher and higher as it came nearer and nearer; then with a rush and a roar it swept upon the island, and the very lighthouse seemed to rock in the awful embrace. It was the last effort of one of the most terrible gales of wind that ever strewed our coast with wreckage, and with the bodies of unfortunate men. When it disappeared at length, and went howling away over the mountains, the sun shone out. It shone down upon the place where the lugger had lain, but not a timber of her was now to be seen. HOW THE RESCUE WAS EFFECTED. Just three weeks after their arrival in London, Captain and Mrs Lyle were back once more at Grayling House. They had only received one letter from Leonard, though he had written several, but mails in those days took long to reach their destination, and often arrived only after many strange adventures. As the carriage drove up through the long avenue with its tall trees of drooping birch, wonder was expressed by the parents that Leonard and Effie did not come bounding to meet them, as was their wont. "Surely, dear," said Mrs Lyle, "something must be very much wrong. Hurry up, coachman." Old Peter did not hide his grief. He met his master and mistress wringing his hands, with the tears flowing fast over his wrinkled face, and word by word they had to worm out of him his pitiful story. Captain Lyle did all he could to comfort his wife, and pretended to laugh at the whole affair. It was only a boy's freak, he said, and only a brave boy like Leonard would have done or dared so much. He loved the lad all the better for it. No doubt the little caravan and the truants would return in a day or two. But though he spoke thus his mind was ill at ease, and he determined at once to start a search party, and this was all ready in less than two hours. No less than a dozen horsemen were told off to scour the country, and get news at all hazards. But, lo! just as they were starting off, what should be seen coming along up the avenue but the caravan itself, driven by a bare-armed, wild-looking gipsy girl? Captain Lyle hurried her along into his study, and there she told her story. The search party was instantly disbanded; a different kind of action was needed now, and needed at once. He told his wife the whole truth. He thought this the better course, and she bore it bravely. That same evening, as fast as horses could go, Captain Lyle was speeding along on his way to Berwick, where he had heard that a Government sloop-of-war was lying. He posted on all night, and next morning Berwick was in sight, that romantic old town in which so many battles have been fought and won in the olden times, that its walls, now only mounds, are lined with human bones. There was no sloop-of-war in sight in the beautiful bay. Fishing-boats there were in scores, some just sailing in, others still far out in the bay. But at the custom-house Lyle learned that the _Firefly_ had just recently departed on a cruise in search of the very lugger which had sailed away from near St. Abb's with Leonard and Effie on board, and if the captain of the sloop came across her he would no doubt give an excellent account of her. Meanwhile the customs officials told him that everything that possibly could be done _would_ be done, and as soon as anything happened, he, Captain Lyle, should be communicated with post haste. So there was nothing for it but to return at once to Glen Lyle. On the very night of his arrival another strange thing happened. A visitor called, who turned out to be an emissary of Captain Bland's. This man, who was pleasant and even gentlemanly in address, begged to assure Captain Lyle, first and foremost, that unless he gave his word of honour that no attempt would be made to detain him, he would not deliver the smuggler chief's message. Lyle gave his word of honour. Secondly, that unless the sum of two thousand pounds was paid as ransom, the children would never more be seen at Grayling House; but if, on the other hand, the money was sent, they would be restored in less than a fortnight. Captain Lyle consulted with his wife. They were on the horns of a dilemma, for of late years the estate of Glen Lyle had sunk in value, and although they were willing to pay the ransom, it was, sad to think, an utter impossibility. The matter was put fairly and honestly before the smuggler's emissary. Could the half be raised? Captain Lyle considered, and allowed it could. Well, the emissary said he would communicate with Captain Bland, and return again and inform him of that worthy gentleman's decision, but no attempt must be made to follow him, or all communication would cease between them. And Captain Lyle was fain to assent. Then the emissary mounted his fleet horse, stuck the spurs into his sides, and disappeared like a flash. The man tore along the road, determined to put the greatest distance in the least possible time betwixt himself and Grayling House. Little recked he of a coming event. About a mile from the house the road crossed a stream by a steep old-fashioned Gothic bridge. He was just entering one end of this, when up at the other sprang, as if from the earth, a tiny half-clad gipsy girl. She waved a shawl and shrieked aloud. The horse swerved, but could not stop in time, and next moment the animal and its rider had gone headlong over the parapet, and lay dead--to all appearance--near the stream below. The girl dashed down after them, wrenched open the man's coat, tore out some papers, and waving them aloft, went shouting along the avenue back to Grayling House. "My dear child," said Lyle, as soon as he had scanned the papers, "how ever can I reward you?" "You were good to granny," was all the girl said. Lyle at once sent off to the relief of the wounded man, but made him prisoner, for the letter he held was the emissary's instructions. He was back again next day at Berwick. There he heard that the _Firefly_ was in harbour, but had discovered no trace of the smuggling lugger, though she had been south as far as the Humber. "No," cried Lyle, exultingly showing the papers, "because the villain Bland has gone north, and my children are captive on an island on the west coast of Scotland." A council of war was held that evening, and it was determined that the sloop-of-war should sail in search of the smuggler on the very next day. "She may not be there yet," said the bold, outspoken commander of the _Firefly_. "We may overhaul her, or meet her on her way back. And it will be best, I think, for you to come with us." And so it was agreed. The capture or destruction of the smuggler and Bland had for years defied both custom and cruisers in his fleet lugger, but if Captain Pim of His Majesty's sloop-of-war was to be believed, the _Sea-horse_ lugger's days were numbered, and those of her captain as well. Away went the _Firefly_, but long before she had ever left harbour the smuggler had left his prizes--viz, Leonard and Effie, on Lighthouse Island, and gone on a cruise on his own account, his object being to complete his cargo from among the western islands, where smuggling was rife in those days, and at once make sail for France, going round by Cape Wrath for safety's sake, as was his wont. As for the result of the visit of his emissary to Grayling House he had not the slightest fear. The _Firefly_ encountered fearful weather. Summer though it was, she took nearly a fortnight to reach Wick, and then had to lie in for repairs for days. After sailing she was overtaken by a gale of wind from the south, which blew her far into the North Sea. Now it was the custom of Captain Bland, in making his voyages, to keep a long way off the coast, and out of the way of shipping. Had it not been for the gale of wind that blew the _Firefly_ out of sight of land, this ruse would once again have served his purpose aright. As it was, early one morning his outlook descried the sloop-of-war on the weather bow. Well did Bland know her. He had been often chased by her in days gone by. It was evident enough to the smuggler now that his emissary had been captured or turned traitor; so his mind was made up at once. "Ready about!" was the order. The _Sea-horse_, in a few minutes, was cracking on all sail, on her way back to the island, Bland having determined to remove his little prisoners therefrom, and sail south with them to France, in spite of every risk and danger. Both vessels were fleet and fast, but if anything, the lugger could sail closer to the wind. Several times during the long chase, which lasted for days, the _Firefly_ got near enough to try her guns, but not near enough for deadly aim. The shots fell short, or passed harmlessly over the smuggler. The last day of the chase was drawing to a close. The island was already visible, when suddenly Bland altered his plans and tactics, seeing that the _Firefly_ would be on him before he could cast anchor, and effect a shipment of the little hostages. He put about, and bore bravely down upon the cruiser, and despite her activity crossed her stern, and poured a broadside of six guns into her. Down went a mast, and the wheel was smashed to atoms. Bland waited no longer. He had done enough to hang him, and night was coming on. Night and storm! Yonder was the gleam of the lighthouse, however, and he did not despair. It grew darker and darker, and just as he was abreast of the lighthouse, and bearing down towards it, the storm came on in all its fury, and twenty minutes afterwards the _Sea-horse_ was a wreck. His hands took to the boats, or were swept from the decks, leaving him to lie buried under the wreck just as Leonard found him. On the arrival of the _Firefly_, the little wanderers were so overjoyed to see their father, and he to have them safe once more, that the wild escapade of which they had been guilty was entirely forgotten between them. The old lighthouse-keeper and his wife detailed the circumstances of the wreck of the lugger, but singularly enough they forgot to mention the saving of the life of Bland himself. He was therefore supposed by Captain Pim to be drowned. So ended the wonderful adventures of Leonard and Effie as amateur gipsies. But about a week after they arrived at home, to the inexpressible joy of old Peter, to say nothing of the poodle dog, the cat, and all their pets at the Castle Beautiful, after binding papa down to keep a secret, Leonard told him all the rest about Captain Bland, who, Effie assured him with tears in her eyes, had been so, _so_ kind to them both. But long before this Bland was safe in France, and for a time he sailed no more on British coasts. The seas around them being, as he expressed it, too hot to hold him, he determined to let them cool down a bit, so he took his talents to far-off lands, where we may hear of him again. Book 2--CHAPTER ONE. IN DISTANT LANDS. ON MOORLAND AND MOUNTAIN. "Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide, That nurse in their bosom the youth of the Clyde, Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather to feed, And the shepherd tends his flocks as he pipes on his reed. Not Gowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's sunny shores, To me hae the charm o' yon wild mossy moors." Burns. Scene: The parlour of an old-fashioned hotel in the Scottish Highlands. It is the afternoon of an autumn day; a great round-topped mountain, though some distance off, quite overshadows the window. This window is open, and the cool evening breeze is stealing in, laden with the perfume of the honeysuckle which almost covers a solitary pine tree close by. There is the drowsy hum of bees in the air, and now and then the melancholy lilt of the yellow-hammer--last songster of the season. Two gentlemen seated at dessert. For a time both are silent. They are thinking. "Say, Lyle," says one at last, "you have been staring unremittingly at the purple heather on yon hill-top for the last ten minutes, during which time, my friend, you haven't spoken one word." Lyle laughed quietly, and cracked a walnut. "Do you see," he said, "two figures going on and on upwards through the heather yonder?" "I see what I take to be a couple of blue-bottle flies creeping up a patch of crimson." "Those blue-bottles are our boys." "How small they seem!" "Yet how plucky! That hill, Fitzroy, is precious nearly a mile in height above the sea-level, and it is a good ten miles' climb to the top of it. They have the worst of it before them, and they haven't eaten a morsel since morning, but I'll wager the leg of the gauger they won't give in." "Well, Lyle, our boys are chips of the old blocks, so I won't take your bet. Besides, you know, I am an Englishman, and though I know the gauger is a kind of Scottish divinity, I was unaware you could take such liberties with his anatomy as to wager one of his legs." "Seriously talking now, Fitzroy, we are here all alone by our two selves, though our sons are in sight; has the question ever occurred to you what we are to do with our boys?" "No," said Fitzroy, "I haven't given it a thought. Have you?" "Well, I have, one or two; for my lad, you know, is big enough to make his father look old. He is fifteen, and yours is a year or two more." "They've had a good education," said Fitzroy, reflectively. "True, true; but how to turn it to account?" "Send them into the army or navy. Honour and glory, you know!" Lyle laughed. "Honour and glory! Eh? Why, you and I, Fitzroy, have had a lot of that. Much good it has done us. I have a hook for a hand." "And I have a wooden leg," said Fitzroy, "and that is about all I have to leave my lad, for I don't suppose they bury a fellow with his wooden leg on. Well, anyhow, that is my boy's legacy; he can hang it behind the door in the library, and when he has company he can point to it sadly, and say, `Heigho, that's all that is left of poor father!'" "Yes," said Lyle; "and he can also tell the story of the forlorn hope you led when you won that wooden toe. No, Fitzroy, honour and glory won't do, now that the war is over. It was all very well when you and I were boys." "Well, there is medicine, the law, and the church, and business, and farming, and what-not." "Now, my dear friend, which of those on your list do you think your boy would adopt?" "Well," replied Fitzroy, with a smile, "I fear it would be the `what-not.'" "And mine, too. Our lads have too much spirit for anything very tame. There is the blood of the old fighting Fitzroys in your boy's veins, and the blood of the restless, busy Lyles in Leonard's. If you hadn't lost nearly all your estates, and if I were rich, it would be different, wouldn't it, my friend?" "Yes, Lyle, yes." Fitzroy jumped up immediately afterwards, and stumped round the room several times, a way he had when thinking. Then he stopped in front of his friend. "Bother it all, Lyle," he said; "I think I have it." "Well," quoth Lyle, "let us hear it." Then Fitzroy sat down and drew his chair close to Lyle's. "We love our boys, don't we?" "Rather!" "And we have only one each?" "No more." "Well, your estate is encumbered?" "It's all in a heap." "So is mine, but in a few years both may be clear." "Yes, please God, unless, you know, my old pike turns his sides up--ha! ha!" "Well, what I propose is this. Let our lads have their fling for a bit." "What! appoint a tutor to each of them, and let them make the grand tour, see a bit of Europe, and then settle down?" "Bother tutors and your grand tour! How would we have liked at their age to have had tutors hung on to us?" "Well, Lyle, we might have had tutors, but I'll be bound we would have been masters." "Yes. Well, boys will be boys, and I know nothing would please our lads better than seeing the world; so suppose we say to them, We can afford you a hundred or two a year if you care to go and see a bit of life, and don't lose yourselves, what do you think they would reply?" "I don't know exactly what they would reply, but I know they would jump at the offer, and put us down as model parents. But then, we have their mothers to consult." "Well, consult them, but put the matter very straight and clear before their eyes. Explain to our worthy wives that boys cannot always be in leading strings, that the only kind of education a gentleman can have to fit him for the battle of life, is that which he gains from his experience in roughing it and in rubbing shoulders with the wide world." "Good; that ought to fetch them." "Yes; and we may add that after a young man has seen the world, he is more likely to settle down, and lead a quiet respectable life at home." "As a country squire!" "Oh yes; country squire will do, and we might throw Parliament in, eh? Member for the county--how does that sound?" Major Lyle laughed. And Captain Fitzroy laughed. Then they both rubbed their hands and looked pleased. "I think," said Fitzroy, "we have it all cut and dry." "There isn't a doubt of it." "Well, then, we'll order the lads' dinner in--say in three hours' time, and you and I will meanwhile have a stroll." In about three hours both Leonard and his friend Douglas Fitzroy returned to the inn, as hungry as Highland hunters, and were glad to see the table groaning with good things. "We've had such a day of it, dad," said Leonard; "though we had no idea of the distance when we started, but I've found some of the rarest ferns and mountain flora, and some of the rarest coleoptera in all creation. Haven't we, Doug?" "Yes, Leon. Your sister will be delighted." "Dear Eff!" said Leonard; "I wish she'd been with us." It was a grand walking expedition the two young gentleman and their fathers were on, and it is wonderful how Captain Fitzroy did swing along with that wooden leg of his. He was always in front, whether it was going up hill or down dell. There really seems some advantage, after all, in having a wooden leg, for once an angry adder struck the gallant captain on the "timber toe," as he called it; and once a bulldog flew at him, and though it rent some portion of his clothing, it could make no impression to signify on that wooden leg, and finally received a kick on the jaw that made it retire to its kennel in astonishment. After they had dined Captain Fitzroy explained the travelling scheme to the lads, and recommended them to think seriously about it after they had retired to their bedroom, and give their answer in the morning. I do not think there is any occasion to say what that answer was when the morning came. Book 2--CHAPTER TWO. AT SEA IN THE "FAIRY QUEEN." "Oh! who can tell save he whose heart hath tried, And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide, The exalting sense--the pulse's maddening play, That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?" Byron. "The moon is up; it is a lovely eve; Long streams of light o'er dancing waves expand." Idem. Scene: The deck of the _Fairy Queen_. Douglas and Leonard walking slowly up and down the quarter-deck arm-in-arm. Hardly a cloud in the sky, stars very bright, and a round moon rising in the east and gilding the waters. Three years have elapsed since the conversation related in the last chapter took place--years that have not been thrown away, for our heroes--by that title we ought now to know them--have been sensible and apt pupils in the world's great school. It must be admitted that it was both a strange and an unusual thing for two fathers, to each make his only son an allowance, and tell him to go and enjoy himself in any way he pleased. After all, it was only treating boys as men, and this, in my opinion, ought to be done more often than it is. They drew their first half-year's income in London, then went quietly away to their hotel to consider what they should do. "A couple of hundred a year, Doug," said Leonard, "isn't a vast fortune." "No," replied Douglas, "it isn't unspendable." "That is what I was thinking. But you see, by making us this grant--and it is all they can afford, and very handsome of them--we are positively on parole, aren't we?" "Yes, we are bound not to exceed. To do so would be most unkind and ungentlemanly." "Well, if we go on the continent it won't last long, will it?" "No; besides, I don't hanker after the continent. My French is shocking bad, Leon, and I should be sure to quarrel with somebody, and get run through the body. No; the continent is out of the question." "Yes; although a fellow could pick up some nice specimens there. But let us go farther afield. We can't go abroad far as passengers--suppose we go as sailors? We both have been to Norway in a ship, and we went together to Archangel, so there isn't much about a ship we don't know. Let us, I say, offer our services as--" "As what?" "Why, as apprentices. We're not much too old." "No." "Well, is it agreed?" "Yes, I'm ready for anything, Leon. I want to see the world at any price." So the very next day off they had gone to see an old friend of Captain Fitzroy's who lived down Greenwich way, and who was a city merchant in a big way of business. They explained their wishes and ambitions to him. "Well," he replied, "come and dine with me to-morrow, and I'll introduce you to one of the jolliest old salts that ever crossed the ocean. I'll do no more than introduce you, mind that." Nor did he. But after dinner Captain Blunt, a thorough seaman every inch of him, with a face as rosy and round as the rising moon, began spinning yarns, or telling his experiences. He had ready listeners in Leonard and Douglas, and when the former opened out, as he phrased it, and introduced and expatiated on the subject next his heart and the heart of his friend, it was Captain Blunt's turn to listen. "Bother me, boys!" he exclaimed at last, pitching away the end of a big cigar, "but I think you are good-hearted ones, through and through, and if I thought it was something more than a passing fancy I'd take you along with me." "Take us and try us. We want no wages till we can earn them, nor will we live aft till we are fit to keep a watch. Our station on deck must be before the mast, our place below a seat before the galley fire, and a bunk or hammock amidships. We want to learn to set a sail, to splice a rope, to heave the lead, box the compass, turn the capstan, reef and steer--in fact, all a sailor's duties." "Bravo!" cried Captain Blunt, "I'm but a plain man, and a plain outspoken sailor, but I'll have you; and if there isn't some life and go in you, blame me, but I'm no reader of character." That is the way--an unusual one, I grant--in which our heroes joined the merchant service, and here--after three years all spent in Captain Blunt's ship--here, I say, on this lovely night, we find them both on deck, one keeping his watch, the other keeping him company, for they are having a talk about bygone times. They have seen a bit of life even in that time, for the good ship _Fairy Queen_ was seldom long out of active service. They kept strictly to the terms of their engagement, and have been till now before the mast, refusing even to mess in the cabin, although invited to do so by kindly old Captain Blunt. Both Douglas Fitzroy and Leonard Lyle were, as mere children, fond of the sea. What British boy is not? A ship had always had a strange fascination for each of them. When much younger they had often been taken by their parents to Glasgow, and they preferred a stroll among the shipping at the Broomielaw to even a saunter in the park itself. Beautiful in summer though the park might have been in those days--and there was but one--it was in Leonard's eyes too artificial. The lad loved Nature, but he liked to meet her and to woo her in the woods and wilds. At school in Edinburgh both boys were what are called inseparables. They just suited each other. It was not a case of extremes meet, however, for the tastes of both were identical. Although their books and lessons had by no means been neglected, still, task duty over, and off their minds for the day, they were free to follow the bent of their own wills. More beautiful or more romantic scenery than that close around Scotland's capital there is hardly to be found anywhere. Our heroes knew every nook and corner of it, every hill and dell, every dingle, rock, and glen, and all the creatures that dwelt therein, whether clad in fur or feather. But for all that, they were as well known on the pier of Leith as "Mutchkin Jock," the gigantic shore-porter, himself was. Never a ship worth the name of ship had entered, while they were at school, that they did not visit, scan, and criticise. They coolly invited themselves on board, too. Now this might have been resented at times had they not been gentlemanly lads. Gentlemanly in address, I mean. So, though they might often and often have been found "yarning" with sailors forward, whose hearts they well knew how to win, they were just as often invited down below to the cabin, and hobnobbed with the captain himself. It would have pleased the surliest old ship captain who ever peeped over a binnacle edge, to have two such listeners as young Leon and Doug. How their bright eyes had sparkled, to be sure, as some skipper newly or lately arrived from foreign lands sat telling them of all the wonders he had seen! And how they had longed to sail away to summer seas, and behold for themselves wonders on a larger scale than any they could meet with among the mountains of their own country! It was thus perhaps that a taste for wandering and a fondness for the sea had been engendered early in the breast of each of the boys. It was this, I'm sure, that caused them once to write home to their respective parents, informing them that the 250-ton brig, _Highland Donald_, was to sail in a fortnight for Norway and the Baltic, and that the skipper had offered to take them if they could obtain permission. Permission had been granted, and having been provided with suits of rough warm clothing, they had embarked one fine spring morning, and sailed away for the cold north. Now, if any young reader thinks he would like to be a sailor, and has been led to believe, from books or otherwise, that a seaman's life is one of unmitigated pleasure and general jollity, let him induce his father or guardian to place him on a grain, tar, or timber ship bound for Norway or the Baltic. If, after a month or two of such a life, he still believes in the joys of a seaman's existence, let him join the merchant service forthwith, but I fear there are few lads who would come up smiling after so severe a test. Our heroes, however, had stood this test, though they had roughed it in no ordinary way. True, they had been all but shipwrecked on an iron-bound coast, where no boat could have lived a minute; they had been in gale of wind after gale of wind; their provisions and fare had been of the coarsest; their beds were always wet or damp, and sometimes the cold had been intense, depressing, benumbing to both mind and body. But their long voyage north had made sailors of them for all that, and that is saying a very great deal. It had proved of what mettle they were made, and given them confidence in themselves. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ This is the first voyage, then, in which Leonard and Douglas have trod the deck as officers, and I do not deny that both are just a trifle proud of their position, although they feel fully the weight of responsibility the buttons have brought. They certainly took but little pride in the uniform which they wore, as some weak-minded lads would have done, albeit handsome they both had looked, as they sat at table on that last night at Grayling House. So, at all events, Leonard's mother and poor Effie thought. The latter had done little else but cry all the day, that is, whenever she could get a chance of doing so unseen. This was the second time only that her brother and brother's friend had been home since they went to sea for good. They had stayed at home for a whole month, and now were bound on a perilous cruise indeed, sailing far away to Arctic seas, Captain Blunt's ship having been chosen to take stores and provisions out to Greenland for vessels employed in finding out the North-West Passage. Something had seemed to whisper to Effie that she would never see her darling brother again. So no wonder her heart had been sad, and her eyes red with weeping, as our heroes left; or that a gloom, like the gloom of the grave, had fallen on Grayling House, as soon as they were gone. Great old Ossian had come and put his head on her lap, and gazing up into her face with those brown speaking eyes of his, and his loving looks of pity, almost broke her heart. The tears had come fast enough then. The _Fairy Queen_ had sailed from Leith. Both parents had accompanied their sons thus far, and blessed them and given them Bibles each (it is a way they have in Scotland on such occasions), and bade them a hearty good-bye. Yes, it was a hearty good-bye to all outward appearance, but there was a lump in Leonard's throat all the same that he had a good deal of difficulty in swallowing; and as soon as the _Fairy Queen_ was out of sight, the two fathers had left the pier--not side by side, remark we, but one in front of the other, Indian-file fashion. Why not side by side? Well, for this reason. There was a moisture in Major Fitzroy's eyes, that, being a man, he was somewhat ashamed of, so he stumped on ahead, that Captain Lyle might not notice his weakness; and between you and me, reader, Captain Lyle, for some similar reason, was not sorry. I hope you quite understand it. However, here on this beautiful summer's night, with a gentle beam wind blowing from the westward, we find our friends on deck. There is a crowd of sail on her, and the ship lies away to the west of the Shetland Islands. They do not mean to touch there, so give the rocks a good offing. Save for the occasional flapping of the sails or a footstep on deck, there is not a sound to break the solemn stillness. They did encounter a gale of wind, however, shortly after leaving Leith, but the good ship stood it well, and it had not lasted long. "I say, old fellow," said Leonard, "hadn't you better turn in? I think I would if I had a chance." "No, I don't feel sleepy; I'm more inclined to continue our pleasant chat. Pleasant chat on a pleasant night, with every prospect of a pleasant voyage, eh?" "I think so. Of course good weather cannot last for ever." "No, and then there is the ice." "Well, now, I'm not afraid of that. Remember, I superintended the fortifying of the ship, and you could hardly believe how solid we are. But of course ice will go through anything." "So I've heard, and we saw some bergs while coming round the Horn-- didn't we?--that I wouldn't care to be embraced between." "Not unless the ship were made of indiarubber, and everybody in it." "I wonder how all are at Grayling House to-night. Poor sister Effie! Didn't she cry! I'm afraid old Peter was croaking a bit. He is quite one of the family, you know, but very old-wifeish and crotchety, and thinks himself quite an old relation of father's. Then there is that ridiculous superstition about the pike." "Yes, do you know the story?" "Yes, and I may relate it some evening, perhaps, what little story there is; though it is only ridiculous nonsense. But look! what is that?" "Why, a shoal of porpoises, but they are just like fishes of fire." "Phosphorescence. These seas on some summer nights are all alive with it. What a lovely sight! Strange life the creatures lead! I wonder do they ever sleep? Heigho! talking of sleep makes me think of my hammock. I believe I will turn in now, though it is really a pity to go below on so lovely a night. Ta, ta. Take care of us all. "_A Dios_, Leonard." Yes, it was indeed a lovely night; but, ah! quickly indeed do scene and weather change at sea. Book 2--CHAPTER THREE. ON THE WINGS OF A WESTERLY GALE. "And now the storm-blast came, and he Was tyrannous and strong; He struck with his o'ertaking wings And chased us north along. And the ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And northward ay we flew." Coleridge. Scene: A ship on her beam ends, not far off the coast of Norway, the seas all around her houses high; their tops cut short off by the force of the wind, and the spray driven over the seemingly doomed ship, like the drift in a moorland snowstorm. The sky is clear, there is a yellow glare in the west where the sun went down. A full moon riding high in a yellow haze. A gale of wind got out of its cave--for according to the ancients the winds do live in a cave. It was a gale from the west, with something southerly in it, and I feel nearly sure, from the rampancy with which it roared, from the vigour with which it blew, and the capers it cut, that this gale of wind must have taken French leave of its cave. It seemed to rejoice in its freedom, nevertheless. No schoolboy just escaped from his tasks was ever more full of freaks and mischief. It came hallooing over the Atlantic Ocean, and every ship it met had to do honour to it on the spot, by furling sails, or even laying to under bare poles. If these sails were quickly taken in by men who moved in a pretty and sprightly fashion, all right--the gale went on. But if lubbers went to work aloft, or the wheel was badly handled--then "Pah!" the wind would cry, "_I'll_ shorten sail for you," and away would go the sails in ribbons, cracking like half a million cart-whips, and perhaps a stick at the same time, a topmast or yard, and if a man or two were lost, the wind took neither blame nor further notice. The gale came tearing up Channel, and roaring across the Irish Sea, and lucky indeed were those ships that managed to put back and get safely into harbour, where the storm could only scream vindictively through the empty rigging. The gale went raging over towns and cities, doing rare damage among stalks and spires, ripping and rolling lead off roofs, and tossing the tiles about as one deals cards at whist. It swept along the thoroughfares, too, having fine fun with the unfortunate passengers who happened to be abroad, rending top coats and skirts, running off with the hats of old fogies, and turning umbrellas inside out. The gale came shrieking over the country, changing a point or two more to the south'ard, so as to shake the British Islands from aft to fore. It picked up great clouds as it went northwards ho! and mixed them all together, so that when it descended on the vale of the Tweed, it came with thunderclap and lightning's flash, and a darkness that could almost be felt. It tore through the woods and forests, overturning vast rocks, and uprooting mighty trees, that had grown green summer after summer for a hundred years. In the avenue of Grayling House it spent an extra dose of its fury, it bedded the ground with dead wood, and wrenched off many a lordly limb from elm and chestnut. Effie heard the voice of the roaring wind, and saw the destruction it was doing, and prayed for her brother and brother's friend, who were far away at sea. She stood by the parlour window beside her father, who was gazing outwards across the lawn, and her hands were clasped, as if in fear, around his left arm. Mrs Lyle herself had retired to her room. Suddenly a flash shot athwart the trees, so dazzling and blinding that Effie was almost deprived of sight. The peal of thunder that followed was terrific. About ten minutes after this, while the wind still roared, while the rain and hail beat the leaves ground-wards, and the grass was covered as deep almost in white as if it were mid-winter, old Peter--he is looking very old and grey now--staggered into the room. He had not waited even to knock. "Sir, sir, sir!" he cried. "Well, Peter, what is it? Speak, man! You frighten the child." "Oh, sir, sir! Joe, sir, Joe!" "Is dead?" "Ay, as dead as a mawk. The great rock that o'erhung the water is rent in pieces, tons upon tons have fallen into the loch, the palin' is washed away, Joe is dead, and there is an end to Glen Lyle. You mind the gipsy's rhyme-- "`When dead yon lordly pike shall float, While loud and hoarse the ravens call, Then grief and woe shall be thy lot, Glen Lyle's brave house must fall.'" "Hush, hush, hush, man!" cried Captain Lyle; "everything that lives must die; all things on earth must have an end. Why bother yourself about the death of a poor pike, man? Come, Peter; I fear that you are positively getting old." "By the way, Effie," he added, turning to his daughter, "run and see how your mother is." Effie went away. She was used to obey. Dearly loved though she was by both her parents, she had many lonely sad hours now that her brother had become a wanderer, only to appear now and then at Glen Lyle to stay for a short time, he and Douglas, then disappear, and leave such a gloom behind that she hardly cared to live. But she had never felt so sad as she did now. What was going to happen to her father or to her brother? She did not go to her mother's room. She did not wish to show her tears. But she went to her own, threw herself on her bed, and cried and prayed till she fell asleep. "Effie, child, are you here?" It was her mother's voice, and she started up. The moon was throwing a flood of light into the room. Next moment she was in her mother's arms, who was soothing her, and laughingly trying to banish her fears. We leave them there and follow the gale. It had gone careering on, over mountain, moorland, and lake, seeming to gather force as it went. It must have been at its height when it swept over the bleak, bare islands of Shetland, and made madly off for the Norwegian coast. Old, old, white-haired men, who had lived their lives in this _ultima Thule_, never remembered a fiercer storm. On one of the most barren and bleakest islands, next morning, the beach was found bestrewn with wreckage from some gallant ship, and the merciless waves had thrown up more than one dead body, and there they lay as if asleep, with dishevelled hair, in which were sand and weeds, hands half clenched, as if, in the agony of death, they had tried to grasp at something, and cold, hard, wet faces upturned to the morning sun. The _Fairy Queen_ was trying to round a rocky cape when the white horses of that gale of wind first appeared on the horizon, heading straight for them. Once round the point they would be comparatively safe. "Look!" cried Leonard to Douglas, whose watch it was. The sun was going down behind the western waves. Wild and red he looked, and shorn of his beams, and tinging all the water 'twixt the barque and the horizon a bright blood-red. On came the white horses. It was a race between the barque and the gale of wind. Before her loomed the rocky promontory. The cliffs rose straight up out of the sea, and their heads were buried in haze. Close to the wind sailed the barque, as close as ever could be. On and on she speeds, but the white horses are almost close aboard of her. "Hands, shorten sail!" The wind is on her. To shorten sail now were madness. The wind is on her, the brave ship leans over to it, till the water rushes in through the lee scuppers. The wind increases in force every moment. The great black rocks are close above her lee bow. Looking upwards, the wild flowers can be seen hanging to the banks and cliffs--saxifrages, heath, broom, and golden gorse. So close is the barque that the sea-birds that have alighted on the cliffs as the sun kissed the waves, startled by the flapping canvas, soar off again and go screaming skywards. The sun is down now altogether, and the gale has rushed at the vessel like a wild beast seeking its lawful prey; the seas are dashing over her, the spray flying high over the bending masts. The gale has leapt upon them, too, from a pillar of cloud, and with forked and flashing lightning. Are they round the point? No one on that deck can tell as yet. The roar and the surge is deafening. The gloom is appalling, men can hardly breathe, the words the captain tries to shout to those at the wheel are carried away on the wind. The crew clutch at the rigging, and feel choking, drowning. "Keep her away now!" It was Leonard's voice in a wheelman's ear. They were round the point! The barque is flying. The topsails are rent in ribbons. What matters it? The open sea is before them. Yes, but like a tiger baulked of its prey, the squall suddenly increases to the force of a hurricane, and next moment the good ship is helpless on her beam ends. Had the force of the gale been kept up many minutes the ship would have foundered, none would have been left alive to tell the tale. In some sandy bay in through those rocks and cliffs other dead swollen bodies would have been cast up like those on the Shetland shores, to lie with lustreless eyes in the morning's sunshine. The squall abated, the sky cleared, the gale itself has spent its fury, and goes growling away to leeward. With hatchet and knife in hardy hands the wreck is cleared away at last, and the _Fairy Queen_ rides in the moonlight on an even keel. The captain shakes hands with Leonard and Douglas. "You saved her," he said. "My boys, you saved her! It was excellent seamanship. Had you shortened sail when the wind got stiff we never would have rounded that point, and the sharks would have had what was left of us." "Captain Blunt," said Douglas, "take credit to yourself as well, for you superintended the ballasting of the barque. Had that shifted, then--" "Davy Jones, eh?" said the skipper, laughing. He could afford to laugh now. There was much still to be done, so no more was said. All hands were called to make the barque as snug as could be for the night. When morning broke in a grey uncertain haze over the sea, and the rocky shore began to loom out to leeward and astern, the extent of the damage was more apparent, but after all the ship had come out of it fairly well. The fore topmast was gone, the mizzen damaged, the bulwarks broken, and more like sheep hurdles than anything else, but there was little other damage worth entering in the log-book. The sky cleared when the sun rose, and after breakfast the men were set to work repairing damages. The _Fairy Queen_ had little business on the Norwegian coast at all, but she had been driven far out of her course by adverse winds. In a few more days the breeze was fair, and the ship was making good way westwards, albeit she was jury-rigged. It was sincerely hoped by all on board that the terrible gale they had just encountered was the worst they would meet. The ship had borne it wonderfully well, and leaked not in the least; for many a day, therefore, everything went as merry as marriage bells on board. Captain Blunt was happy, so were our heroes, and so, for the matter of that, was every one fore and aft. The crew of the _Fairy Queen_ were all picked men. They were not feather-bed sailors; most of them had been in the Arctic regions before, and knew them well. But albeit a good seaman is not afraid to face danger in every shape and form, he is nevertheless happiest when things are going well. So now, every night, around the galley fire, songs were sung and stories told, and by day many a jocund laugh around the fo'c's'le mingling with the scream of the circling sea-birds told of light hearts and minds that were free from care. Everything in these seas was new to young Douglas and Leonard. They passed the strange-looking Faroe group of islands to the north, and in good time Iceland to the south, and bore up, straight as a bird could fly, for Cape Farewell, the southernmost point of Greenland. Those Faroe Isles, as seen from the sea, are indescribably fantastic and picturesque. Let me see if I cannot find a simile. Yes, here it is: take a number of pebbles and stones, with a few good-sized smithy cinders. Let these be of all sizes. Next take a broad, shallow basin, which partly fill with water stained dark blue with indigo; now place your stones, etc, in this water, with one end of each sticking up. Paint these ends and tip them and streak them with green, with white, and with crimson, and lo and behold! you have a model of the Faroe Islands. The _Fairy Queen_ called at Reykjavik, and the good people of that quaint wee "city" came trooping on board. Even the Danish parson came, carrying in his own hands--for he was not proud--a string of firm, delicious-looking rock cod as a present for the captain. Almost every boat brought a gift of some kind. Well, I daresay they did expect some presents in return, and it is needless to say they got them. This was, after all, only a very pleasant and very justifiable way of doing a barter; much better, in my opinion, than if they had lain on their oars and said,-- "We have fresh fish, and mountain mutton, and eggs and game for sale; how much tobacco, biscuits, knives, hatches, and cooking utensils have you to spare?" The good little clergyman innocently inquired whether the war betwixt England and France was still going on, and was astonished to be told it was over years ago. But nothing could exceed the kindness and hospitality of these people to our young heroes when they went on shore. Had they eaten and drunk a hundredth part of what they were pressed to partake of, they would have been cleverer far than the Welsh giant I used to read of in my boyhood in "The Wonderful Adventures of Jack the Giant-killer." The _Fairy Queen_ lay at Reykjavik--having to take in water--for three days, and then sailed away. But would it be believed that in this short time Leonard and Douglas won so many hearts among old and young, that there was hardly a dry eye in the village the morning they left, so primitive and simple were those people then? ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. Mawk, _Scottice_--a hare. Book 2--CHAPTER FOUR. ON SILENT SEAS. "And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold, And ice, mast high, came floating by, As green as emerald. "And through the drifts the snowy clilts Did send a dismal sheen, Nor shapes of men nor beast we ken-- The ice was all between." Coleridge. Scene: The Arctic Ocean. One solitary ship in sight. Ice all about, against which, in contrast, the water looks black as ink. Yes, everything they saw in this voyage and in these seas was indeed very new to Leonard and Douglas. They certainly were pleased they had come. It was like being in a new world. They saw so many icebergs before they reached Cape Farewell that they ceased to fear them. Nothing very tremendous, though, but of all sizes, mostly covered with snow, and of shapes the most fantastic. Everything on earth seemed to be mimicked in shape by these bergs. Churches and houses, or halls with domes and minarets, were common objects. Furniture of all kinds came next in order of frequency; then came animals of all sorts, pigs, sheep, lions, bears, giraffes, geese, swans, horses, cattle, cocks, and hens. And the most amusing part of the business was this: as the ship sailed past them, or through the midst of them, they kept altering their shapes or forms with the greatest coolness, so to speak. A giraffe, for instance, developed into a ginger-beer bottle, a cow turned into a cab, a church into a chair, a pig became a pigeon, and a hen a horse, while, perhaps, a monster lion or couchant bear became a daft-looking old wife with a flap-cap on. It was funny. Some of the smaller of these icebergs were tenanted by seals. What a delightfully easy life those lovely creatures seemed to lead! There goes one, for instance, basking on a bit of ice just like a sofa, pillow and all complete; and his snowy couch is floating quietly away through that blue and sunny summer sea, rising and falling gently on the waves in a way that must be quite delightful. He just raises his head as the ship sails past, and gazes after the _Fairy Queen_ with a kind of dreamy interest, then lets it drop again, and recommences his study of the birds that go wheeling and screaming round in the sky. Yonder a walrus pops a monster tusked head and goggle eyes out of the water, looking at the ship as fiercely as an angry bull. "What are you?" he seems to ask, "or why are you disturbing the placid waters of my ocean home?" Then he disappears, and presently is seen far away to the north. Yonder, ploughing his lonely way through the silence of the dark sea, is a monster narwhal. He makes no remark. If a boat were to attack him, he might lose his temper, and try to stave her with his mighty ivory horn; but the _Fairy Queen_ is nothing to him, so he looks not to right or to left, but goes on and on and away. Here comes a shoal of dancing porpoises, all going south. How they dance, and how they plunge, and how they caper, to be sure! They take little heed of the ship, do not even go out of their way to avoid her. Perhaps they are going on a summer holiday, and are so full of their own happiness and joy that they have little time to think of anything else. Bless the innocent creatures! I've often and often felt pleasure in beholding their gambols; and thanked God from the bottom of my heart, because He has made them, made the earth and its fulness, the sea and all it contains, so full of life and love and beauty. But look away down yonder, and you will perceive--for the ship is now becalmed--a triangular, fan-like thing above the water, and a dark line close by it. It is the back of the huge and awful Greenland shark. And look! there is a sea-bird perched on it, just as a starling might be on the back of a sheep. I do not like to think about sharks nor see them, and I could tell you many an ugly story about them--awful enough to make your blood run cold, but that would be a digression; besides, I feel sure the reader does not want his blood to run cold. But there is a more terrible-looking monster far than the Greenland shark in these seas. I allude to the gigantic hammer-head, who is more ugly than any nightmare. But lo! here comes an honest whale. I do like these great monsters; I have seen quite a deal of their ways and manners. I am sure they have far more sagacity than they get credit for. I should like to own a little private sea of my own, and have it enclosed, with a notice board up, "Trespassers will be prosecuted," and keep a full-sized whale or two. I feel sure I could teach them quite a host of little tricks. Stay, though--they would not be _little_ tricks. Never mind, I and my whales would get on very well together. But if one _did_ get angry with me, and _did_ open his mouth, why--but it will not bear thinking about. The whales our heroes saw in the Greenland ocean were leviathans. Leonard could not have believed such monsters existed anywhere in the world, and they had a thorough business air about them, too. Some came near enough the ship to show their eyes. Good-natured, twinkling little eyes, that seemed to say,-- "We know you are not a whaler, so pass on, and molest us not, else with one stroke of our tails we will send you all to Davy Jones." Then they would blow, and great fountains of steam would rise into the air, with a roar like that which an engine emits, only louder far. This is not _water_, as is generally supposed, but the breath of the vast leviathan of the ocean. A WHALE'S GARDEN PARTY. This is no joke of mine, because I have been at one, and Leonard and Douglas on this memorable voyage had also the good luck to witness an entertainment of the sort. It only takes place at certain seasons of the year, always pretty far south of the main ice pack, and always in a spot unfrequented by ships. There is another _sine qua non_ connected with this garden party-- namely, plenty to eat, and whales do not require anything to drink, you know. So the sea where the party is held is so full of a tiny shrimplet that it is tinged in colour. But why do I call it a _garden_ party you may ask; are there any flowers? Does not the sun shimmering on the small icebergs already described, and on the clear ice itself, bring forth a hundred various tints and colours, more gorgeously, more radiantly beautiful than any flowers that ever bloomed and grew? Are there not, too, at the sea bottom flowers of the deep-- "Many a flower that's born to blush unseen--" Lovelier far than those that bloom on land? Yes, I am right in calling it a garden party. But what do the whales do at this garden party of theirs? Sail quietly round and look at each other? Discuss the possibility of uniting in a body, and driving all the whaling fleet to the bottom of the sea? Consider the prospects of the shrimp harvest, or debate upon the best methods of extracting a harpoon from fin or tail, and the easiest method of capsizing a boat? No; nothing of the sort. They have met together to enjoy themselves, and in their own exceedingly cumbersome way they do enjoy themselves. They enjoy themselves with a force and a vengeance that is terrible to witness. The noise and explosions of their wonderful gambols can be heard ten miles away on a still night. To see a porpoise leap high out of the water like a salmon is a fine sight, but to see two or three whales at one and the same time thus disporting themselves, while some lie in the water beating time with their terrible tails, others playing at leap frog, and the sea for acres round them churned into froth and _meerschaum_, is a sight that once seen can never be forgotten. The boldest harpooner that ever drew breath would not venture near those gambolling whales, and I verily believe that the biggest line-of-battle ships that ever floated would be staved and sunk in the midst of that funny but fearful _maelstrom_. This gives you, reader, but the very faintest notion of a whale's garden party. It is one of the wonders of the world, and one which few have ever seen and lived to tell of, for there is no surety of the huge monsters not shifting ground at any moment, and sweeping down like a whirlwind on some devoted ship. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The _Fairy Queen_ sailed on, and in due time sighted and passed Cape Farewell, then northward ho! through Davis Straits to Baffin's Sea, and here they had the great good luck to fall in with the vessels they had come to succour. Some delay was caused in unloading, and as the summer was now far advanced, and Captain Blunt had no desire to winter in these dismal regions, he was naturally anxious to get away south as soon as possible. They were cleared at last, however, and bidding the research vessels farewell, with three-times-three ringing cheers, all sail was set that the ship could stagger under, and on she rushed through an open sea, although there were plenty of icebergs about. For a whole week everything went favourably and well. Then, alas! the tide turned with a vengeance. One of those dense fogs so common in these regions came down upon them like a wall, and so enveloped the ship that it was impossible, standing at the windlass, to see the jibboom end; and at the same time. "Down dropt the wind, the sails dropt down, 'Twas sad as sad could be; And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea." But worse was to come. For now, up-looming through the dismal fog, came great green-ribbed icebergs, the waves lapping at their feet and the spray washing their dripping sides. In the midst of so great a danger Captain Blunt felt powerless. There was absolutely nothing to be done but wait and wait, and pray the good Father to send a breeze. When we pray earnestly for anything we should never forget to add the words of Him Who spake as never man spake, and say, "Thy will be done." No prayer is complete without that beautiful line; and yet, though easy to _say_ it, it is--oh! so hard sometimes to _pray_ it. But then we poor mortals do not know what is best for us. In the present instance our heroes' prayers were not heard, and days and weeks flew by; then the sky cleared, and they saw the sun once more, but only to find themselves so surrounded by ice on all quarters that escape was impossible. Besides, the season was now far gone, autumn was wearing through, the sun was far south, and the nights getting long and cold and dreary. Frost now set in, and snow began to fall. They were safe from all dangers for six months to come, at the least. "Never mind," said Blunt cheerily to Leonard, "we have provisions enough to last us for a year at the very least. So we must do the best to make ourselves comfortable." "That we will," replied Leonard, "though I fear our friends at home will think we are lost." "That is the only drawback--my dear wife and child, and your parents, boys. Well, we are in the hands of Providence. God is here in these solitudes, and just as easily found as if we were in the cathedral of old St. Giles'." It was indeed a dreary winter they passed in the midst of that frozen sea. No sun, no light save moon or stars and the lovely aurora. Silence deep as the grave, except--which was rare--when a storm came howling over the pack, raising the snow in whirlwinds, and often hurling off the peaked and jagged tops of the weird-looking icebergs. But the sun appeared at last, and in due time. With a noise and confusion that is indescribable the ice broke up, and the _Fairy Queen_ began to move slowly--oh, so slowly!--through the ice on her way southwards, with danger on every quarter, danger ahead, and danger astern. She sailed for many, many miles without a rudder; for lest it should get smashed it had been unshipped, the men steering ahead by means of boat and hawser, and the ship often being so close to an iceberg that the tips of the yard arms touched, and when the berg moved over with a wave it threw the vessel upwards from the bottom. On these occasions poles were used to edge her off. It was tedious work all this, but it came to an end at last, and the water being now more open, the rudder was re-shipped, and more sail clapped on, so that much better way was made. Another week passed by. They were well south now in Davis Straits, albeit the wind had been somewhat fickle. They had high hopes of soon seeing the last of the ice, and both Douglas and Leonard began to think of home, and talk of it also. It was spring time once more. The larches, at all events, would be green and tasselled with crimson in the woods around Glen Lyle, primroses would be peeping out in cosy corners in moss-bedded copses, and birds would be busy building, and the trees alive with the voice of song. "In three weeks more," said Douglas, "we ought to be stretching away across the blue Atlantic, and within a measurable distance of dear old Scotland." "Ay, lad!" replied Leonard, "my heart jumps to my mouth with very joy to think of it." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ In this great chart that lies before me, a chart of the Polar regions, I can point out the very place, or near it, where the _Fairy Queen_ was crushed in the ice as a strong man might crush a walnut, and sank like a stone in the water, dragging down with her, so quickly did she go at last, more than one of her brave crew, whose bones may lie in the black depths of that inhospitable ocean,-- "Till the sea gives up its dead." Midway 'twixt Nipzet Sound and Cape Mercy, just a little to the nor'ard of Cumberland Gulf, I mark the point with a plus. It was in a gale of wind, and at the dead of night, when she was surrounded by an immense shoal of flat bergs, of giant proportions, and staved irremediably. The water came roaring in below. Pumping was of no avail. She must founder, and that very soon. So every effort consonant with safety was made to embark upon the very icebergs that had caused the grief. Stores and water were speedily got out, therefore, and long ere the break of day the end came, the ship was engulphed. There was no longer any _Fairy Queen_ to glide over the seas like a thing of life--only two wave-washed bergs, each with a huddled crew of hopeless shipwrecked mariners. And these were already separating. They had bade each other adieu. They were gliding away, or south or north or east or west, they knew not whither. Book 2--CHAPTER FIVE. AFLOAT ON AN ICEBERG. "Midnight soft and fair above, Midnight fierce and dark beneath, All on high the smile of love, All below the frown of death: "Waves that whirl in angry spite With a phosphorescent light, Gleaming ghastly in the night, Like the pallid sneer of Doom." Tupper. Scene: In Baffin's Sea. Shipwrecked mariners afloat on an iceberg, which rises and falls on the smooth-rolling waves. Morning broke grey and hazily; the wind, as if it had done its worst and spent its fury, went down, but the sea still ran very high, dashing in cold spray over the bergs on which the shipwrecked mariners were huddled together for warmth, and leaving a thick coating of ice on top of the sail that covered them. Captain Blunt had gone on board one berg with half the crew, about ten all told, and Leonard, with Douglas, on board the other, along with the remainder, the two friends determining to be together to the bitter end, if indeed the end were to come. The sea itself went down at last, as far as broken water was concerned; only a big round heaving swell continued, on which the icebergs rose and fell with a strange kind of motion that made all on board them drowsy. When Leonard looked about him in the morning sunlight never a sign could be seen of the other berg. Nor all that day was it seen or on any other. It was gone. Other icebergs there were in dozens, but none with men on them. Leonard heaved a sigh, and wished that he only had the wings of one of those happy sea-birds, that went wheeling and screaming round in the air, sometimes coming nearer and nearer, tack and half-tack, so close, out of mere curiosity, that they could have been knocked down with a boat-hook. All that day and all the next and next the berg floated silently on,-- "As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean." Almost every day strange, wondering creatures came up out of the water to gaze at them. The tusked walrus, the gazelle-eyed seal--yes, even the narwhal must have spied them, and felt curiosity, for he shifted his course, and ploughed down towards the berg to have a look; then, as if satisfied that his mind could not fathom so great a mystery, went on his silent, solitary way once more. Happily for the poor sailors, they had provisions. Had the ship gone down at once when struck, as vessels do sometimes go, they would now have been in a pitiful plight indeed. But the cold was intense. There was no keeping it out by day hardly; only by constant exercise, which, thanks to the magnitude of the iceberg, they were able to maintain. But at night it was intense, chilling every one to the bone and spinal marrow. They lay there pressed together; not a corner of the sail was left open to admit a breath of the frost-laden air, but even then they were not warm. It was impossible to sleep for hours and hours after lying down, and when at last they did drop off, the cold, the bitter, bitter cold, was with them still--with them in their dreams, with them in their hearts, and on their very brains. When morning light came they would stagger up, looking wonderingly at each other's pale, pinched faces. To stand for a time was an impossibility. They managed to light a little fire of wood on an iron slab, morning, noon, and evening, to make a little coffee; this, with biscuit and raw pork, was their only diet, and right thankful they were to have such fare. It was on a Tuesday the _Fairy Queen_ went down, and five long weary days rolled slowly on their course. For five weary nights they suffered and shivered, and when the Sabbath morning came round they were, to all appearance, as far from help as ever. Hope itself began to fade in their hearts, especially when two of their number sank and died before their eyes. They committed their bodies to the deep, and, horrible to relate, saw them devoured; for till now they had no idea that the sea around them was swarming with sharks. Some they had seen, it is true, but nothing like the number that now came up to the ghastly feast. It was the Sabbath, and although every morning and evening they had prayed and sung hymns, after the fashion common in Scotland on this day--His day--many chapters of the Book of books were read, and first Douglas and then Leonard gave the men some earnest exhortations. Leonard never knew his friend Douglas could speak so feelingly before, or that his heart was such a well--now bubbling over--of religious feeling and fervour. "Ah, my dear fellows!" he ended with these words, "we never really feel our need of a Saviour until the prospect of death stares us in the face. Then we feel the need of a friend, and, looking around, as it were, we find Him by our side, and right willing are we to take Him then, to grasp His hand, and trust our all in all to Him." "Amen!" said the sailors fervently. Then some verses of that bonnie hymn-psalm were sung, commencing:-- "The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want, He makes me down to lie By pastures green; He leadeth me The quiet waters by." A strange sight on that clear, still, dark ocean, the white iceberg with its living freight drifting aimlessly about. Strange sound, this song of praise, rising from their cold, blue lips, and from hearts that hardly dared to hope. Another day and another went by, and on the Wednesday an accident happened that had well-nigh proved fatal to nearly all on board the berg. More than one-third part of their ice-ship parted and fell away. Luckily it first gave voice, and showed the rent before finally dropping off. There was no denying it, the danger was now extreme. They had been drifting slowly southwards, and the iceberg was being influenced by warmer currents, and slowly wearing away. It might, moreover, topple over at any moment. Things came to their very worst that same evening when another piece of the berg plunged into the sea, and when morning broke, there was barely room for the men to huddle together, looking fearfully around them, and down into the still black water, and at those hungry sharks, who now seemed to gambol about as if in momentary expectation of their prey. "Look!" cried Douglas about noon that day, "what is that dark object yonder on that immense iceberg that we have been skirting these last two hours?" "Seals, I think," said Leonard, in a feeble, hopeless voice. "I think not, Leon. Oh, lad! I think they are men." "Let us signal, anyhow." A jacket was waved and--answered. Next moment half-a-dozen swift kayaks or Eskimo boats were dashing from the shore to their rescue. "Thank God!" said every man, and the tears rolled down the cheeks of many now, and half-choked them as they tried to speak. But they clasped each other's thin, cold hands, and _looked_ the joy they could not utter. They were Eskimos who had come to the rescue, and it was from the mainland they had come, and not from any iceberg, or even island. Their joy was redoubled when they drew near and found Captain Blunt and their old shipmates waving their hands and hats to them from the snow-clad shore. So happy a reunion no one can fully understand or appreciate except those who have been in the same sad plight, and saved as if by a miracle. Longfellow, in his beautiful poem "The Secret of the Sea," tells us how Count Arnaldos-- "Saw a fair and stately galley Steering onward to the land. "How he heard the ancient helmsman Chant a song so wild and clear, That the sailing sea-bird slowly Poised upon the mast to hear,-- "Till his soul was filled with longing, And he cried with impulse strong, `Helmsman! for the love of Heaven, Teach me, too, that wondrous song.' "`Would'st thou so,' the helmsman answered, `Learn the secrets of the sea? Only those who brave its dangers Comprehend its mystery.'" Yes, reader, the sea hath many, many secrets. We may never know them all. Not even those who have been down to the sea in ships may fathom half the mysteries that everywhere surround them, or can ever hope to explain to those who dwell on land a tithe of what they know and feel. What says the poet? "Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me As I gaze upon the sea! All the old romantic visions, All my dreams come back to me,-- "Till my soul is filled with longing For the secret of the sea, And the heart of the great ocean Sends a thrilling pulse through me." Book 2--CHAPTER SIX. THE FAR NORTH LAND. "O! the auld hoose, the auld hoose, Deserted though you be, There ne'er can be a new hoose Seem half sae dear to me." Lady Nairne. "Beside a weird-like Arctic bay, Where wild and angry billows play, And seldom meet the night and day." Symington. Scene One: A cottage not far from St. Abb's Head, a garden before the door, and a porch, around which summer roses and honeysuckle are entwined. The occupants are three. They are out of doors now, seated on the lawn which stretches down to the shingly beach on which the waves are lisping and rippling. Captain Lyle (_speaks_). "Well, Ethel dear, and you, Effie, you are both very silent. Are you breaking your hearts because we have had to give up Grayling House for a time, and come to live in this tiny cottage by the sea?" _Mrs Lyle_, looking up from her sewing, and smiling kindly but somewhat sadly: "No, Arnold, I was thinking about our dear boy." _Effie_, dropping her book in her lap. "So was I, mother. I was thinking of Leonard and--and poor Douglas. It is now the second summer since they went away. It is wearing through, too. See how the roses fall and scatter their petals when you touch them. Oh! do you think, papa, they will ever, ever come again?" _Captain Lyle_, smiling. "Yes, love, I do. Here, come and sit by me. That is right. Now you know the country they went away to is a very, very strange one." _Effie_. "A very, very terrible one." _Captain Lyle_. "No, I think not, dear, else those who have been there would not always wish to return to it. It is wild and lonely, and silent and cold, Effie, and there are no letter-carriers about, you know, not even a pigeon-post, so Leonard can't very well write. The fact is, they've got frozen in, and it may be even another summer yet before we see them." _Effie_. "Another summer? Oh, papa!" _Captain Lyle_. "Yes, dear, because he and honest Douglas are in the regions of thick-ribbed ice, you know; and once it embraces a ship, it is difficult to get clear. But cheer up, lass; I _won't_ have you fretting, there! Now, promise me you--ha! here comes dear old Fitzroy, swinging away on his wooden leg. Good-afternoon, my friend; there is need of you here. My wife and daughter are doing nothing but fretting." _Captain Fitzroy_. "Oh! come, Effie, come, Mrs Lyle. Look at me; _I_ don't fret. The boys will return as sure as the sun will rise to-morrow." _Effie_, smiling through her tears. "Thank you, Captain; you always give us hope." _Captain Fitzroy_. "And I suppose you mourn because you've had to leave bonnie Glen Lyle--eh!" _Mrs Lyle_. "Oh yes. We dearly love the old house." _Captain Fitzroy_. "Well, then, let me prophesy. First, the boys will return safe and sound, red and rosy; secondly, you'll get over your difficulties, and return to Glen Lyle; thirdly, we'll live together happy ever afterwards." Effie laughs now in spite of herself, for the old Captain always looks so cheery and so comical. _Captain Lyle_. "Hear that, darling! Now, bustle about, Effie, and get us some nice brown tea and brown toast, while we sit here and chat." _Captain Fitzroy_, looking seaward. The ocean is a sheet of blue, with patches of green here and there, where cloud shadows fall, and sails like sea-birds far away towards the horizon. "What a heavenly day, to be sure! Why, there is health in every breath one inhales on this delightful coast. Don't you feel cosy now and happy in this sweet little cottage? Nothing to do. Nothing to think about except the absent ones. No care, no worry except that of making war upon the weeds in your little garden. I declare to you, Lyle, my lad, I consider such a life as you now lead in a manner quite idyllic." _Lyle_, looking thoughtfully for a moment or two on the ground, then up at his friend's cheerful face. "One of the chief pleasures of my present existence, dear Fitzroy, lies in the fact that I have you for a neighbour. But to tell you the truth, I do feel happier since I let the lauds of Glen Lyle and got rid of an incubus. I feel, and know now, I am retrenching, and that in a few years I shall recover myself." _Fitzroy_. "And don't you think you ought to have let the house as well?" _Lyle_. "No, no, no; I could not bear to think of a footstep crossing my father's hall. Old Peter will see to the gardens with the help of a lad, and the ancient cook, who is indeed one of the family, and whom I could not have dismissed, will keep on peat fires enough to defy the damp." _Fitzroy_. "And how does your little gipsy lass Zella suit as a housekeeper?" _Lyle_. "Excellently well. There she comes with the tea; judge for yourself." Zella, tall, handsome, and neatly attired, comes upon the scene to place a little table near the two friends and lay the tea. What a change from the wild waif! We last saw her springing up at the end of the Gothic bridge, and startling the horse of Bland's emissary. She is still a gipsy, but a very civilised one. _Captain Lyle_. "I am expecting old Peter every minute." _Fitzroy_. "Talk of angels, and they appear. Lo! yonder comes your Peter, or your Peter's ghost." Old Peter opens the gate at the sea-beach as he speaks, and comes slowly up the walk. _Lyle_. "Come away, Peter. Why, you pant. Sit down and have a cup of tea. How goes all at the dear old house?" _Peter_, smoothing the head of Ossian the old deerhound, who has arisen from his corner to bid him welcome. "Bravely, sir, bravely and well. But would you believe it, though it's no a month since you left, they will have it that the hoose is haunted? Heard you ever the like?" _Lyle_. "No, Peter, it is strange." _Peter_. "And they will have it, sir, that the pike wasna canny, and they say that, dead though he be, his ghost still haunts the auld loch." _Fitzroy_, laughing. "The ghost of a pike, Peter? Well, well, well; we live to learn." _Peter_. "And what for no, sir?" _Fitzroy_. "Did you bury him, Peter?" _Peter_. "No, sir, no, on land. I put him cannily back into the loch again. He lay on his side for a whole day, then sank to the bottom afore ma ain een. Dead as a door nail." _Fitzroy_. "I doubt it, Peter." _Peter_. "Sir?" _Fitzroy_. "Nothing, Peter, nothing. By the way, Lyle, how came this uncanny fish, that seems so strangely connected with the fortunes of Glen Lyle, into your possession." _Lyle_. "Peter can tell you better than I. He is old, and remembers." _Peter_. "When the auld laird lived, nane kenned o' the whereabouts o' that bonnie fish except himsel' and me and the gipsy Faas. They gipsies, sir, were part and parcel o' the estate; they would have died for the auld laird, or for ony o' his folk or kin. Goodness only kens how auld the fish was himsel'. He was, they say, as big as a grilse when first ta'en in the Tweed and brought up to the river that runs through bonnie Glen Lyle. And woe is me, they tell me that was an awfu' day, for bonnie Prince Charlie was in full retreat from England. He stayed and slept a night at Glen Lyle, and next week but one the foremost o' Cumberland's rievers were there. The old Lyles were out. They were wi' Charlie, but not a thing living, my father told me, did they leave about the place, and they would have fired the hoose itself had they not been obleeged to hurry on, for Charlie's men were ahead. But things settled down after that; Cumberland's rievers were quieter coming back. The beasts they were killed or gone, so they left the auld hoose of Glen Lyle alone. The laird was pardoned, and peace and plenty reigned ance mair in the land. "Time flew on, sirs. The auld laird was fond o' fishing. There were poachers in plenty in those days, and the laird was kind to them. Let them only leave his '45 pike alane, and they might take a' the trouts in the stream. But in later times, when the auld laird got aulder still, cockneys came, and they were no sae particular, and one day an English body hooked and brought the pike on shore. He had the gaff raised to hit him on the head, when all of a sudden the gaff was knocked out of his hand, and he found himsel' just where the pike had come frae, wallowin' in the middle o' the pot. [A large pool in a river is so called in Scotland.] "That same nicht, lang past, the shortest hour o't, when everybody was fast asleep but mysel', two o' the Faas came to the auld hoose. They had the half-dead fish, with the bonnie gowden band around his tail, in a pot. And together we went to the loch and ploupit him in. The owlets were cryin' and the branches o' the pine trees creakin' in the wind, and if I live to be as auld as Methuselah, I'm no likely to forget that eerie-some nicht. But, heigho! Joe is dead and awa', and the hoose o' Glen Lyle is tottering near its fall. Wae's me that I should hae lived to see the like!" _Captain Fitzroy_. "Drink that China tea, Peter, and things will look far more cheerful." Long before the major's departure things do look more cheerful. Ethel, hope in her heart now, has brought out her harp, and is bending over it while she sings a plaintive old Scotch ballad, while the rest sit listening round. The setting sun is throwing tall rock shadows over the blue sea. The waves seem to form a drowsy accompaniment to the harp's wild notes, and the sea-birds are shrieking their good-night song. Let us leave them, and hie us away to the far north and west. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Scene Two: Summer in the Arctic seas. A little Indian village to the north of Cumberland Gulf. Yet not all Indian, for then; are houses here now as well as Eskimo huts, and white men are moving about busy at work, in company with the little brown-skinned, skin-clad natives. Had the shipwrecked crew of the _Fairy Queen_ landed on the south side of the Cumberland Gulf or Sound, it is probable they would have made an attempt to find their way through Labrador to some English or other foreign settlement. But this gulf is a sea in itself, and they had no boats, while the kayaks of the natives were far too frail, even if they had been numerous enough, to be of much use. They had to be content, therefore, to remain prisoners where they were until the long night of winter set in. They were not idle. Indeed, the life they now led was far from unpleasant while summer lasted. It was a very wild one. There were deer and game on the hills, and every stream teemed with fish, to say nothing of the strange creations that inhabited the sea-shore. Among other things saved from the wreck of the _Fairy Queen_, and safely landed by Captain Blunt's party, were guns and a goodly store of ammunition, which they had managed to keep dry. What with fishing and hunting, manufacturing sledges and training the dogs, the time fled very quickly indeed. The days flew quickly by, and autumn came; then they got shorter and shorter, till at length the sun showed his face for the last time, and after this all was night. In a month more everything was ready for the journey south. So memorable a march, too, has seldom been made. Some of my readers may ask why they chose the winter season for their departure. For this reason: they could go straight along the coast, winding only round the mountains. In summer the gulfs and streams would have formed an insurmountable barrier, but now these were hard as adamant. All being ready, and the friendly Indians accompanying them to the number of twenty or more, to act as guides and see to the care of the dogs, they left the Esquimo village about the end of October, and were soon far away on the silent, lonely midst of the Cumberland Gulf. Luckily Captain Blunt had saved his compass, else even the almost unerring instinct of the natives would have failed to steer them across the ice. Had it been clear weather all the time the stars would have been sufficient to keep them right, but storms came on long before they had got over the gulf. And such storms! Nothing in this country could ever equal them in fury and confusion. Not the wildest winter's day that ever raged among the lone Grampian Hills could be compared to them. The winds seem to meet and unite in and from all directions. The snow filled the air. It did not only fall; it rose, and the darkness was intense. To proceed in the face of such terrible weather was of course impossible. Dogs and men huddled together in the lee of an iceberg; it was found at times almost impossible to breathe. They encountered more than one of these fearful storms; but at last the sky cleared, the stars and the radiant aurora-bow danced and flickered in the air above them, and after a week of toil they had crossed the gulf, and stood on _terra firma_ on the shores of Labrador. But their trials were only beginning. They found they could not make so straight a way as they had at first imagined, owing to the mountains and rough state of the country. These men, however, were British--their hearts were hearts of oak--so they struggled on and on, happy, when each day was over, to think they were a step nearer their native land. The dogs were staunch and true, and the natives simple, honest, and kind. To recount all the hardships of this journey, which occupied in all four long months, would take a volume in itself. Let me give a brief sketch of just _One Day's March_. They are well down in the middle of Labrador. Hardened as Leonard and Douglas now are, and almost as much inured to the cold as the Indian guides themselves, the bitterness of the night just gone has almost killed them. All the camp, however, is astir hours before the stars have given place to the glaring light of a short, crisp winter's day. Dogs are barking and howling for their breakfast, and the men are busy preparing their own and that of their officers. It is indeed a meagre one--sun-dried fish and meat, with snow to eat instead of tea or coffee, that is all. But they have appetites; it is enough, and they are thankful. Then sledges are got ready, and the dogs having been fed and harnessed, Captain Blunt and his young friends put on their snowshoes, and all in camp follow his example. Then the start is made. The pace is slow, though the dogs would go more quickly if allowed. Their path winds through a rough and broken glen at first, and at sunrise scouts are sent on ahead to spy out the land from a mountain top. They can see but little, however; only hill piled o'er hill and crag o'er crag. They cross a wild frozen stream, and at sunrise rejoice to find themselves on the borders of a broad lake. It will be all plain sailing now for some hours to come. But, alas! the wind gets up, and there is no shelter of any kind here. On a calm day one can walk and keep warm with the thermometer far below zero. But with a cutting wind the cold and the suffering are a terrible punishment. The wind blows higher and higher. It tears across the frozen lake--a bitter, biting, cutting blast; there is hardly any facing it. Even dogs and Indians bend their heads downwards, and present their shoulders to the wind. The skin garments of the Esquimos, the coats of the dogs, and beards and hair of the sailors are massed and lumped with frozen snow, and cheeks and ears are coated with ice as if they had been glazed. Struggling on thus for hours, they cross the lake at last, and gain the shelter of a pine wood. Here wood is gathered, and after much ado a fire is lighted. They dare only look at it at first, for well they know the danger that would accrue from going too near it. But this in itself is something, so they begin to talk, and even to laugh, though the laugh hangs fire on their frozen lips, and sounds half idiotic. On again, keeping more into shelter; and so on and on all the day, till, despite all dangers and difficulties, they have put fifteen miles betwixt them and the camp-fire of the previous evening. They find themselves in the shelter of some ice-clad rocks at last, with ice-clad pine trees nodding over them, and here determine to bivouac for the night. The wind has gone down. The sun is setting--a glorious sunset it is-- amidst clouds of crimson, gold, and copper. How delightful is this supper of dried fish and broiled deer now! They almost feel as if they had dined off roast beef and plum pudding. So beds are prepared with boughs and blankets and skins, a prayer is said, a hymn is sung, and soon our heroes forget the weary day's journey, their aching, blistered feet, and stiff and painful joints. Ah! but the cold--the cold! No, they cannot forget that. They are conscious of it all the night, and awake in the morning stiffer almost than when they lay down. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ During all their long and toilsome march our heroes never saw a single bear nor met a hostile Indian. But the country now, I am told, is peopled by nomadic tribes. Civilisation at long, long last. Only a little fisher village, but men dwell there who speak the English tongue, and a right hearty welcome do they accord to the wanderers. Book 2--CHAPTER SEVEN. A SATURDAY NIGHT AT SEA. "Meanwhile some rude Arion's restless hand Wakes the brisk harmony that sailors love; A circle there of merry listeners stand, Or to some well-known measure featly move, Thoughtless as if on shore they still were free to rove." Scene: The upper deck of a barque in mid-Atlantic, homeward bound. Sailors dancing amidships to the music of flute and fiddle. Aft, under an awning, a table is spread, at which sit Leonard, Douglas, Captain Blunt, with the skipper of the vessel, and one of his officers. Skipper James, of the timber barque _Black-eyed Susan_, was a sailor of the good old school. He was homeward bound, and happening to call at a village on the west shore of Newfoundland, he heard that a shipwrecked crew of his countrymen were residing at a small fishing station on the Labrador coast. He did not hesitate a moment. He put about, and sailed back right away to the nor'ard and west and took every soul on board. Men like Skipper James, I fear, are, nowadays, like angels' visits, few and far between. Ah! and they are angels, too, when you find them; rough enough to all outward appearance, perhaps, but good in the main, and men, too, who carry their hearts upon their sleeves. Skipper James and our heroes got friendly at once. And before they were three days on board they felt as if they had known this kindly skipper all their lives. "My ship's only a rough one," he had told them frankly; "and your fare may not be first-class; but by my song, gentlemen, you are right welcome to the best I have." It was a Saturday night. They had been three weeks at sea, with fine weather nearly all the time, so no wonder all hands were happy, fore and aft. Now I have said that this skipper was an old-fashioned sailor, and so he was; and this being Saturday night, he determined, as he always did, that his men should enjoy themselves forward as much as the officers aft. There was singing, therefore, and dancing, and sea-pie. A glorious sea-pie steamed on the table of the quarter-deck, and a dozen of the same sort aft. Rory O'Reilly was the mate's name; the life and soul of the mess he was. He could sing a song or tell a story with any one. "Dear Captain James," he said to-night, "do tell us a story. Do you believe in the sarpint, sorr?" Captain James quietly finished his second plate of sea-pie, and put the plate in a corner so stayed up that the ship's motion could not displace it. For this skipper was a most methodical man. Then he took his old brown clay with its tin lid, and proceeded to fill it. He shook out the "dottle," as the unburned portion of tobacco in the bottom was called, and put it carefully on Rory O'Reilly's open palm, held out in a friendly and obliging way for James's benefit. Then he loaded up to near the top with fresh cut, broke up the dottle and put that above, then pinched up the dust and put that over all, then slowly and solemnly lit up. When he had blown a few blasts of such density of volume that further proofs of the pipe's being well lit up were needless, the skipper cleared his throat and commenced-- A STRANGE, STRANGE STORY. "Rory asked me," he said, "if I believed in the great sea-serpent. He asked me with a kind of incredulous smile on his face, which spoke volumes as to his own disbelief. Well, I am not sitting here to-night to lay proof before you as to the actual existence of sea-serpents of a monstrous size, but I beg to remind my friend here, that not only one or two officers of the mercantile and fighting navies of the world, but dozens have come forward, and given their oath, that such monsters were seen by them, or by their whole crew, at certain times and in certain latitudes and longitudes. And these men, both at the times of the awful visitations, and at the times of their swearing to what they considered facts, were neither intoxicated nor otherwise out of their minds. "But my story is not about sea-serpents altogether, though it may throw a new light on those submarine monsters. "It is a strange, strange story--one told me years and years ago by my gallant old grandfather. I remember, as though it were but yester evening, the first time I heard him tell it. "Grandfather, mates, had at this time retired from the army. He was of an old Scottish family, that had been crushed at Culloden, so that with the exception of the half-pay a stingy government granted him, he had little else to live upon. He resided in a pretty little cottage about a quarter of a mile from our house, and it used to be my delight to visit him in the gloaming. I would go quietly in, and seat myself on a stool in a corner, and wait to be recognised. By-and-bye I would lead him to speak of the olden times, and of the battles and sieges by sea and land he had taken part in. "But this story I am going to tell you he has repeated to me again and again, in different words maybe, but the facts were always the same. "It was in the days of the American war, the war of freedom and independence, which, to my way of thinking, are the birthrights of every man born, and of every nation as well. England, mates, did not fight in an over-gentlemanly fashion in those days, and I think it is a stain on our country's escutcheon that the Indians of the Far West were armed and employed at all. "But this is not what I am sitting here to discuss, only my grandfather and Tom Turner, a junior of his, both belonged in those days to Pontius Pilate's guards [the 1st, or Royal Scots Regiment], and were stationed at the same place. "Though Tom was a few years younger than grand-dad, they were inseparables, so to speak, and always in the same 'ploy, whatever that 'ploy might be. To say that they were both Highlanders is equivalent to telling you they were both fond of field sports; and when one day Wild Eye, Chief of the Cheebuk Indians, promised them some first-rate hunting if they could get leave for a few days, you may be sure they were not long in applying for it--ay, and obtaining it, too; for young Tom Turner had a wonderful tongue for getting round his colonel, and, as the troops were in garrison, the services of these officers wouldn't be much missed. "It was a lovely morning when they set out on their journey west, mounted on three half-bred horses, as fleet as the wind, and just as independent. "Now it would seem that hiring Indians was a game that in those days two could play at; and though the honour of the idea should be awarded to the British, as having been the inventors, as it were, still tit-for-tat, you know, and everything is fair in war, so the Yankees were not far behind. "There were, in reality, two different sets of Indians on the warpath, both bent upon getting as many scalps as possible for the decoration of their wigwams, for the Christmas season, as one might say. "This fact made travelling a very risky kind of a business. "The first day passed over without almost any kind of adventure, only it was summer on the prairie they were passing over, and there was no shade of bush nor tree, and the insects were almost as much of a torture as the sun's rays. "Old Wild Eye, the chief, must have been a clever fellow, indeed, for on this rolling plain there was neither road nor track, except the trails of wild animals; to have followed those would have led my grand-dad a queer dance. "When the sun went down at last, glaring red through the haze of blue, it got almost cold, but they dared not think of lighting a fire, because of the hostile Indians, so they hobbled their nags, ate their supper, and sat huddled up in their blankets beneath the stars till long past twelve. They were listening to Wild Eye's adventures on the warpath. "Wild Eye was a border chief, and friendly with the British; in fact, he had been once to Quebec, and so considered himself about half a Christian. Wild Eye was as bald as the back of my watch, and had no more teeth than a tin whistle. He had scars innumerable, only one ear, and about half a nose, for he had been twice put to the torture, and saved as if by a miracle. "His scalp, he told my grand-dad, hung in many wigwams. The fact is, Wild Eye wore a wig, and when he lost one in warfare, he wore a morsel of buffalo hide until he was able to negotiate with his barber in Ontario. Each wig was paid for not in coin but in land. Each wig cost Wild Eye twenty acres of territory, and they say that the descendants of his barber are millionaires to-day. "But my grand-dad and his friend fell sound asleep at last, and not even the presence of a grizzly bear, who came round to snuff after the remains of the supper, awoke them until the sun was so high that it nearly hardened the whites of their eyes, as heat does the white of an egg. "`I say, John,' said Tom Turner to my grand-dad, `we've got five days' leave. I feel so happy, that I think we ought to make it a fortnight.' "But grand-dad laughed. `No,' he said, `that wouldn't be fair, Tom. Let us stick to our furlough, and be back in five days if we can.' "About evening on the second day they bade farewell to the rolling prairie, and plunged into a deep ravine, and bivouacked in a pine-clad gorge near the banks of a stream. This river was teeming with fish of the most delicate flavour. They caught enough for supper, and once more settled themselves to listen to the tales of the Indian chief. "There were strange, unearthly noises in the forest that night which my grand-dad could not Understand--shrieks and yells and awful howlings, but he dozed off at last and dreamt he was head keeper in a kind of pandemonium. "Next morning sport began in earnest, for they found they were near the head-quarters of the grizzly and wilder cinnamon bear. "Next to our friend the Arctic Bruin, there is no creature in the world with which a man has less chance in a fair stand-up fight than with the cinnamon. I don't say, mates, but that any bear will prefer shuffling off to coming to close quarters, but don't you catch a grizzly or cinnamon unawares behind a rock or a bush. I tell you that the only comfort you can have at that awful moment is the memory that you've made your will, and don't owe your tailor anything to signify. "Tom Turner was following up a grizzly, who was well on ahead, so he had eyes for nothing else; but on rounding a point on the hill-top, he was startled with a roar that went through him like a rip-saw, and found himself face to jowl with a cinnamon bear. Tom sprang back so suddenly that he burst his waistcoat buttons. His musket went off at the same moment, and Bruin made a spring to hug Tom Turner. The bullet found a billet in the beast's neck, but didn't stop his way, and next moment the bear and Tom both were tumbling down, down, down over a precipice. The bear fell on the top of a rock, and was killed. Tom alighted on the top of a juniper tree, and wasn't a bit the worse, for Tom was a tough lad. "There were three or four bears altogether killed that forenoon, and I daresay a good many more frightened. However, about one o'clock the three friends were seated on the top of a breezy eminence overlooking the bonnie glen, and in sight of their horses, while they enjoyed their lunch or tiffin. "`What a lovely day!' said Tom, as he lay at full length on the greensward. `How wildly sublime those hills are! Wooded almost to the summits everyone of them; and look, John, at that river far beneath yonder, like a silver thread winding away through the greenery of the forest. You're not looking, John.' "`I'm looking at something else,' said my grand-dad. "Ugh!" cried the Indian chief, springing to his feet, seizing his gun, and pointing with it to a hill-top beyond the ravine. "There were figures there--dark, creeping figures, no bigger apparently than coyotes. "They were Indians." A GALLOP FOR LIFE AND FREEDOM. "They were Indians sure enough, and doubtless only scouts of a bigger party. "There was no time to lose. Sport and all was forgotten; they must mount their horses, and be off back to the prairie land. There they would be clear, at least, of an ambush, and could trust to the fleetness of their horses. "They hurried madly down hill, reaching and mounting their mustangs just as a volley was fired from both sides of the stream, the bullets peppering the trees about, and splashing on the rocks and stones. They were off like the wind next minute. Rough though the path was, round rocks, over fallen trees, and slippery, mossy banks, the good nags kept their feet, and soon the prairie was gained. "Once fairly in it, they ventured to look behind. To their surprise they found themselves followed by several mounted Indians--a dozen in all, at the very least. "Out on the open prairie, the half-bred mustangs seemed to fly over the ground, but they were not so fresh as the horses of the pursuers, and the pace soon began to tell, and three out of the four savages came rattling on abreast. "A bullet or two flew over them. It was evident they must fight. At a given signal, then, they wheeled their horses, and took deadly aim, and next moment there were two empty saddles; again they fired, and the bewildered third Indian came tumbling down over a dead horse. "But the others came thundering on behind with yells for revenge, yells for blood and scalps. Away went our gallant trio once again, but now, alas! Tom's horse tripped and fell, and at the same moment the chief's steed was shot. "They must fight on foot now, and with terrible odds. But they were all determined to sell their lives dearly. "Now, whatever old chroniclers may say to the contrary, American Indians never did fight fairly if they could do the reverse. So in this case, instead of coming on with a wild rush or a warlike shout, they paused, and quietly waited till their companions swarmed up. Meanwhile, Wild Eye had killed his horse, and also Tom's fallen one. Why leave the poor brutes to fall into the hands of the enemy? Then the three entrenched themselves as well as they could behind them, and waited events. "They had not very long to wait, either. A volley was fired by the savages who had guns. It was returned with interest, and as they were crowded together it must have had terrible effect. "The yelling and buzzing was now frightful. It was as threatening as that which proceeds from a hollow tree with a hornet's nest in it when you kick the trunk. "And just as hornets rush out from their hive, so rushed those Indians now on, spreading out, and entirely surrounding the three brave men, shrieking and brandishing their tomahawks. "My grand-dad said he never understood what put it into Wild Eye's head to sing out `Surrender!' but he did, and at once there was peace and a parley. The two Britishers would have preferred fighting to the bitter end, and having it over; but as most of the attacking savages had laid down their weapons, they felt in duty bound to cease firing, and submit to the fortune of war--to the inevitable. "Tom and my grand-dad were bound with withes and tied together. Wild Eye was tied to an Indian, then without further palaver the march westward was commenced. "My grandfather forgot how long they were on that terrible journey into the fastnesses of the far west. It must have been, he thought, fully a fortnight. "They were fatigued beyond measure, footsore, heartsick, and weary. If they had entertained any hopes at first of being treated as prisoners of war, and in due time exchanged, every day's journey served to dispel the illusion. "Poor Wild Eye fell sick, and was slain. His wig was hung at the girdle of one of his captors, his body left to swelter in the sun, till birds and beasts should eat his flesh and ants pick his bones. "Grand-dad was sufficiently conversant with the language of this tribe to know what the doom was that he and Tom had to look forward to. They were being hurried away to the wigwam village of their captors, to be tortured at the hands of squaws. The chief of the party even condescended to enliven the last few miles of the journey, by telling his prisoners such tales of the torture, that, brave though they were, made the blood run cold along their spines. "At last they reached the Indian village, which they entered just as the sun was setting among clouds all fringed with gold and crimson above the western hills. "What a smiling, peaceful valley it seemed. The purple mist of distance hung like a gauzy veil over the mountain tops, a blue haze half hid the greenery of the woods, there were parks of verdure dotted over with flowering trees and bushes, in which bright-winged birds flitted or sang. Deer roamed quietly about, or stood drowsily chewing the cud, and up through the trees on the banks of a broad, placid river, rose the smoke from the village fires. "The whole scene was almost home-like in its gentle beauty. Who could have believed that it had been and would be the scene of a torture so refined and terrible that one shudders even to think of it?" Book 2--CHAPTER EIGHT. CAPTAIN JAMES CONTINUES HIS STORY--ON THE SUBTERRANEAN RIVER. "Forth from the dark recesses of the cave The serpent came With searching eye, and lifted jaw and tongue, Quivering and hissing as a heavy shower Upon the summer woods." Scene: The quarter-deck of the barque. Officers at the table. Men crowded with eager faces, respectfully listening to their captain's story. The preparations for the torture were finished ere the village sunk to slumber that night. Tied hand and foot, my grandfather and Tom lay beneath a tree. They could not sleep, and they cared not to talk; all hope had fled, and the gloom and terror of death were in their hearts. "The night was clear and beautiful, and the stars never looked brighter or more impressive, but cold and heartless, as indeed seemed everything. Sometimes a dog would come round and snuff at them, then start back in alarm, and sit for long minutes and howl. When the dogs were silent there were wild, unearthly shrieks heard in the distant woods, doubtless the voices of birds and beasts of prey. "Towards morning both prisoners fell into an uneasy doze, and were awakened at last by the joyful shouts of a band of Indians from a neighbouring village, who had come to share in the festival in which Tom and my grandfather were to play so prominent a part." Skipper James paused a minute here to relight his pipe. "Ah, mates!" he continued, "I've often wondered what my grandfather's feelings and poor Tom Turner's must have been when they were dragged out, and tied to trees on the torture ground, with the female executioners all ready, and pining to see the white men's blood, the knives sharpened, the torture irons heated to redness, and that awful circle of upturned faces, in which they must have looked in vain for one pitying glance. "`Good-bye, John,' cried Tom. "`Good-bye, Tom,' cried my grandfather, as two vicious-looking squaws approached him, one carrying a knife, the other a white-hot iron rod. "`Hold!' cried an old white-haired chief, stalking into the circle. "Every one looked impatiently towards him. "Why, they asked, should even a chief of chiefs attempt to spoil the sport? "But this was none other than Red Bull himself, one whose word had been law for years. "He quickly gathered around him a dozen of the head warriors of the tribe. "`Your father would speak,' said Red Bull, when they had seated themselves around him, and close to the stakes or trees to which the prisoners were tied. `Your father would speak. To torture a white man is no pleasure. The white man screams like a squaw. Then he faints, soon he dies. Then gone for ever is the sport, for he feels no more. Send them rather beneath the earth to the silent spirit. The great river rolls through our valley. Soon it disappears. Every year our young men are drawn beneath. Send the white men to seek them in the caves of darkness. If they come not back the great serpent has devoured them.' "The awful truth was soon revealed more plainly to the prisoners. They were to be placed in separate canoes, and sent adrift upon the river that flowed through this romantic valley, and which a few miles nearer the mountains entered a yawning cave, and was never seen again. "Such a fate would have been enough to make the bravest hearts that ever beat stand still with fear. The torture itself seemed pleasure in comparison to it. "But the old chief's speech was hailed with shouts of acclamation, while those fiendish squaws brandishing their knives danced in a yelling circle around the prisoners. "A certain amount of liberty was now granted them, but they were so well guarded that thoughts of escape never entered their minds. They were even fed on milk and fruit, though they couldn't have had much heart to eat. "Next morning all preparations for this terrible voyage were completed. There were three canoes in all--one for grand-dad, one for Tom, and one loaded with meat and grain as provisions. The three canoes were lashed together, and both prisoners were supplied with paddles. "They had been told the story of the great serpent the evening before, in order to add, if possible, to the torture of their terror. "The tradition about this frightful snake was, my grandfather said, common among a great many tribes, so you know there must have been some little truth in it. Whether it ever left its subterranean abode in summer or not no one was able to say; but when frost was hard and winter's snow lay thick on the ground, it used to emerge at night from the black waters and caves of such rivers as that which flowed through this lovely fertile valley, and which suddenly disappeared. It used to emerge, I say, and travel far inward in search of prey, killing and swallowing whole buffaloes and even grizzly bears, which latter it would follow to their dens, and devour them there. The trail it always left behind it told the beholder its size. It was as if a wide-beamed boat had been dragged along, with here and there at each side the imprint of gigantic claws. "One white man is said to have seen the monster on a bright moonlight night, and its appearance was dreadful to behold. It was hurrying back towards the river at its point of disappearance, with something in its jaws; it was snorting, and the breath from its nostrils rose like steam-clouds on the clear night air, its eyes glanced like green stars in a frosty sky. Arrived at the river, it sprang in, going out of sight at once with a booming plash. "Amidst the yells and shouts of the savages the canoes were started, the Indians following down the banks on both sides, brandishing knives and tomahawks. Just before its disappearance, the river narrows considerably, and goes swirling through a gorge with great rapidity. "My grandfather says that at this point Tom Turner started singing `Rule Britannia!' and that his manly young voice could be heard high over the shouts of the savages. But grand-dad's heart was too full to join him. "He cast one wild, despairing glance around him at the rocks with their wild flowers, at the greenery of the hanging trees, the blue sky, the fleecy cloudlets, at the great sun itself; then everything was blotted out of sight in a moment, the canoes were swallowed up in the inky darkness. "There were a few minutes of silence deep as death itself, for my grand-dad and Tom both were praying. "`Tom,' cried grandfather at last. "`John,' said Tom. "And their voices sounded ringing-hollow, awful. "`Speak low, Tom.' "`Yes,' whispered Tom, `but the suspense is terrible.' "`Where are we hurrying to? How I wish it were all over! I think I'm going mad, John. I believe I shall leap out of the canoe and meet my fate.' "`No, Tom, no; be brave, man, for my sake. A minute or two ago you were singing.' "`It was but to keep up my sinking heart.' "`Well, sing again.' "`Nay, nay; I dare not.' "`Well, Tom, stretch your hand out here, and let me grasp it. Thanks. This seems a little comfort, anyhow.' "`Shall we talk, Tom?' "`No, I feel more inclined to sleep. I feel a strange, unaccountable drowsiness steal--steal--' "Tom said no more. He was fast asleep. "So was grand-dad. "How long they slept or how far the canoes had drifted on through the subterranean darkness they never could tell, but they awoke at last, and found that the boats had grounded at the side. "Tom struck a light, and lit a torch. "Nothing around them but black wet rocks, and the black water rippling past. "`Tom,' said my grand-dad, `it is possible enough, you know, that this river may run but a few more miles, then emerge into the light.' "`Oh, wouldn't that be glorious!' cried Tom. "`Well, let us push off again, and try to keep awake.' "Tom extinguished the torch, and the boats were once more shoved into the stream. "`John,' said Tom after a time. "`Yes, Tom.' "`Don't you remember when we were at school reading in heathen books of the awful river Styx, that flows nine times round the abode of the dead.' "`Ay, Tom, and we seem on it now. It would hardly surprise me to see a door open in the rock, and the three-headed dog Cerberus appear, or the fearful ferryman.' "The boats rushed on now for hours, without ever grounding, though at times they touched at either side; and all this time those poor despairing souls sat hand in hand, for the silence was as saddening as even the darkness. "Gradually, however, a sound began to grow upon their ears, and increase and increase momentarily. It was the roar of a cataract far ahead. "Tom speedily lit his torch, and they paddled in towards the side, and grounding, leapt on shore, and drew up the boats. "If they could have been surprised at anything the warmth of the shore would have caused them to wonder, but they felt, in a measure, already dead, and their senses were benumbed. One sense, however, was left-- that of hunger. They extracted provisions, and, strange to say, both ate heartily, then almost immediately sank to sleep. "`Tom,' said grand-dad, awaking at last. "`John,' said Tom. "`I think, Tom, we had better end this at once. Down yonder is the cataract. We have but to push off into the stream, and in a minute more all will be over.' "`Nonsense,' replied Tom. `Come, John, old man, I'm getting hopeful; and I do think, if we can drag the boats along this gloomy shore, we may avoid that waterfall, and launch again below it. Let us try.' So Tom lit the torch again, and away they went, dragging the light canoes behind them. "It was rough work, but they succeeded at last. "Once more the boats were launched, once more the same irrepressible drowsiness stole over them, and they slept for what seemed to them, when they awoke, a wondrously long time. "Again they grounded, ate, and slept. "And so they kept on and on and on, rushing down the mysterious subterranean river, but they came to no more cataracts. "On and on, for days perhaps; for aught they knew for weeks. "The regions in which they now found themselves were oppressively hot, but they only slept the sounder. Awakening one night, if one may so speak of a time that was all night, they were surprised in the extreme to find themselves in the midst of a strange glimmering light. It was a light by which they could see each other's faces, and blue and ghastly they looked, but a light that cast no shadow, at which they marvelled much, till they found out that the river here had broadened out into a kind of lake, that the rocks all round them were covered with fungi or toadstools, all emitting a phosphorescent glimmer, and that the water itself contained thousands of strange fishes, and that these all gave light. "There was but little current here, so paddles were got out, and the boats helped onwards, though, to tell the truth, both my grand-dad and Tom Turner were more frightened at the strange spectral light that now glared round them, than they had been of the darkness. "The fishes, too, looked like things uncanny, and indeed they were wholly uncouth and quite dissimilar in shape and actions from anything they had ever seen in the world above. "They had reached a part of the river when it began once more to narrow and the current to become stronger, while at the same time it began to get darker, and the spectral-like fishes fewer. But suddenly Tom clutched my grand-dad by the wrist with his disengaged hand, and with a visage distorted by terror he drew his attention to something that lay half curled up at the bottom of a deep slimy pool. "However dark it had been they would have seen that awful creature, for its body from stem to stern was lit up with a phosphorescent gleam. It was in the shape of a gigantic snake, full twenty fathoms long, with two terrible alligator-like arms and claws in front. It had green glaring eyes, that never closed or winked. Its whole appearance was fearsome enough, my grand-dad said, to almost turn a beholder into stone. "Whether it was asleep or awake they could not tell, but it seemed to glide astern as the boat swept over it, and gradually to lose shape and disappear. In a few minutes more they were plunged once more in Cimmerian darkness. "For many days the boats plunged on and on over the subterranean river, till their very life became a burden and a weariness to them, that they would gladly have laid down for ever. "But one time, on awaking from a deep sleep, they found that something very strange and unusual had occurred. They were still in darkness, but not altogether in silence; the water made a lapping sound on the rocky river bank, and the boat was no longer in motion. "Moreover, it was less warm around them than usual. "Tom lit a torch, and they landed. Yes, there was the water lapping up and receding again. "`Can you give us more light?' said my grand-dad. "`We may burn the centre canoe,' replied Tom, undoing it as he spoke, while his companion held the torch on high. There are no more provisions except enough for once and a few pounds of tallow. "The canoe was broken up and set fire to. The flames leapt up, and lo! in front of them was the end of the mysterious river, a black and solid rock, beneath which no man or boat could penetrate. "Tom looked at my grand-dad, and grand-dad looked at him. "`Lost! Imprisoned! The end has come!' "These were the words they uttered. "`Let us eat our last meal, then,' said Tom. "`Yes,' said my grand-dad. "When it was finished, they lay down with their feet towards the grateful blaze, and in a moment or two were once more sound asleep. "When they awoke what a change! All was light and beauty. They were in a cave with a river rolling silently at their feet away out and joining the blue sea. Yonder it was, and the sky, too, and white fleecy clouds, and screaming sea-birds, and the glorious sun itself. "They understood all now. They had come to the end of the river while the tide was up; it was now ebb, and they were free. "They rushed out wild with delight, and wandered away along the sea-beach. It was weeks and weeks before they managed to attract the notice of a passing vessel, and their adventures on shore were many and strange, but I must not tell them now, for it is time to turn in. "But I believe you know, and so did my grand-dad, that they had been actually in the home of the great sea-serpent, that he dwells in mysterious subterranean rivers like these, venturing out to sea but seldom, and hardly ever appearing on the surface." "Are you done?" said one sailor. "I'm done." "Well," said Rory O'Reilly, "it's a quare story, a very quare story, deed and indeed. But I can't be after swallowing the big sarpint." "I can believe the first half of the yarn," quoth Captain Blunt. "You can, can you?" quoth Rory. "Well, sure, it's all roight after all; you belave the _first_ half, and he belaves the second half himself; what more can you wish? Faith, it's as roight as the rainbow." "Well, Rory," said the skipper, laughing, "can't you tell us a story yourself every word of which we can all believe?" Rory scratched his head, with a comical look twinkling in his eyes and puckering his face. "Deed and indeed," he said, "if it be my turn, I won't be after spoiling the fun." Book 2--CHAPTER NINE. RORY O'REILLY'S QUEER STORY. "Till now we quietly sailed on, Yet never a breeze did blow; Slowly and smoothly went the ship, Moved onward from beneath. "The upper air burst into life, And a hundred fire-flags sheen, To and fro they were hurried about, And to and fro and in and out The war stars danced between." Coleridge. "Deed and indeed," said Rory, "if it be my turn I won't be after spoiling the fun; and sure, boys, thim is the very words my great-grandfather said when he and a dozen more were going to be hanged at Ballyporeen in the troublesome times. "And is it a story you said?" "Yes, Rory, a story." Now Rory's religious feelings and his sense of humour used oftentimes to be strangely at loggerheads. The fact is, he would not tell a wilful falsehood for all he was worth. "But, sure," he would say, "there can't be a taste of harm in telling a story or two just to amuse the boys." Yet, to make assurance doubly sure, and his conscience as easy as possible, he always prefaced his yarns with a bit of advice such as follows--"Now, boys, believe me, it's lies I'm going to be after telling you entirely. Believe me, there isn't a morsel av truth in any av me stories, from beginning to ind, and there's sorra a lie in that." On this particular occasion, instead of commencing at once, Rory took his pipe from his mouth, and sat gazing for about a minute into dreamland, as one might say, with smiles playing at hide-and-seek all over his face. "Thim was the glorious toimes, boys," he said. "What times, Rory?" "Did I never tell you, then?" replied Rory, trying to look innocent. "What! not about the beautiful island, and the mighty mountains, and the goold, and the jewels, and the big turtle and all?" "No, Rory, never a word." "Well, then, to begin with, it's ten years ago, and maybe a bit more, so I wasn't so old as I am now. I hadn't been more'n a year or two at sea, and mostly coasting that same would be, though sure enough my great ambition was to sail away beyond the sunrise, or away to the back av the north wind and seek me fortune. It was living at home in ould Oirland I was then, with mother and Molly--the saints be around them this noight!--and a swater, claner, tidier bit av a lass than me sister Molly there doesn't live 'tween here and Tralee, and sure that is the only bit av real truth in the whole av me story." "We perfectly believe that, Rory." "Well thin, boys, it was crossing the bog I was one beautiful moonlight night about five o'clock in the morning, and a big wild bog it was, too, with never a house nor a cot in it, and nobody at all barrin' the moor-snipes and the kelpies, when all at once, what or who should I see standing right foreninst me, beside a rick av peats, but a gentleman in sailor's clothes, with gold all round his hat, and a bunch av seals dangling in front av him as big as turkey's eggs. And sure it wasn't shy he was at spaking either, boys. "`The top av the mornin' to ye,' says he. "`The same to you,' says I, quite bold-like, though my heart felt as big as peat; `the same to you and a thousand av them.' "`Is it poor or rich ye are?' says he. "`As poor as a peat creel,' says I. "`Then sure,' says he, `I daresay it isn't sorry to make your fortune you'd be.' "`I'll do anything short of shootin' a fellow-bein',' says I, `for that same.' "`Well,' says he, `it's lookin' out for nate young fellows like yourself I do be, and if you'll sail with me to a foreign shore, thir you'll see what you'll see.' "`I'm your man then,' I says. "`You'll have lashin's o' atin' and drinkin',' says he, `and lashin's o' gold for the gatherin', but there is one thing, and that isn't two, which I must tell you; you'll have to fight, Rory lad.' "`I'm your man again,' says I. `Sure there isn't a boy in all the parish I can't bate black and blue before ye could sneeze. And I spat in my fist as I spoke.' "`Ah! but,' says he, `the cave where all the gold is is guarded by the ugliest old goblin that ever was created. It is him you'll have to help fight, Rory; it's him you'll have to help fight.' "`Och!' I cries, `no matter at all, at all; the uglier the better, so long as he's got the goold behind him. Rory will walk through him like daylight through a dishcloth. Hurrah!' "And I began to jump about, and spar at all the ugly old imaginary goblins I could think of. "The gintleman laughed. "`You'll do fust-rate,' he says, says he; `shake hands on the subject.' "And he gave me his hand, and truth, boys, it felt as cold and damp as the tail av a fish. And more betoken, I couldn't help noticing that all the time he was speakin' to me, he kept changing his size. At one moment he didn't look a morsel bigger than a pint bottle, and next-- troth, he was tall enough to spit on me hat. "`But two heads are better than one,' says I to myself; `next mornin' I'll go and see the priest.' "`It was a mere optical allusion,' said the priest, when I told him how the gintleman was sometimes big and sometimes small, a `mere optical allusion, Rory,' he says; `had you been tasting the crayture?' "`Troth, maybe I had,' says I. "`Well,' says he, `that was it. To my thinking this sailor gintleman is an honest man enough. Meet him, Rory, in Dublin as he axed you, and sail with him, Tim; sure it'll make a man o' ye, and your mother and Molly as well, Rory.' "`Well,' says I, `give me your blessin', your riverance, and I'll be after going.' "`I'll not be denying ye that same,' says his riverance. "But it was mother and Molly that wept when I told them where I was going. Och! they did weep, to be sure; but when I told them of all the foine countries I'd see, and all the goold I'd bring home, troth it's brighten up they did wonderful, and for all the fortnight before I sailed we did nothing but talk, and talk, and talk, bar that all the time they were talking it is mending me shirts and darning me stockings the dear craytures were. "Well wi' this and wi' that the time passed away quickly enough, and at long last I bade them good-bye, and with a big lump in me throat, away I started for Dublin Bay. "I mind it well, boys; it was the dark hour av midnight when we got up anchor and sailed away, and there was such a thunderstorm rattling over the big hill o' Howth as I'd never seen the likes of in my born days. There wasn't a breath av wind either, but somehow that didn't make a morsel av difference to the ship one way or another. She was a quare ship. "We were far out of sight av land next morning, and with niver another ship to be seen. It didn't seem sailing we were, boys, but flying; it didn't seem through the water we went, but over it, boys. It's a foine ship she was, and a purty one as well. "Talk av white decks, boys! ours were alabaster, and the copper nails in her weren't copper at all, but the purest av gold, and the brass work the same. Sure didn't I get me ould knife out just to try it. "`Don't you be scraping at that,' says the captain, right behind me, `and spoiling the looks av the ship. It's plenty of that we'll get where we're going to.' "Then I looks up, and there stood the captain right a-top av the binnacle, and sorra more than one eye had he. `By the powers!' says I, `what have ye done with your other eye, captain?' "`Whisht, Rory!' says he; `it's in the locker down below I keep the other. One eye is enough to use at a time.' "`If it's a good one,' says I, talking friendly loike. "`It's me weather eye, Rory,' says he; `but go and do your duty, Rory, and keep silence when ye talk to your supairior officer.' "The crew av this strange ship, boys, were forty av the foinest fellows that ever walked on two legs, barrin' that niver a one o' them had more than one leg apiece, and it was hop they did instead av walking like dacint Christians. `Only one leg apiece,' says I to the bo'swain's mate. "`One leg is enough to go to sea with,' says he; `but go and do your duty, Rory, and keep silence when ye spake to your supairior officer.' "It was a quare ship, boys, with a one-eyed captain and a one-legged crew. "It was, maybe, a fortnight after we sailed, and maybe more, when one day the sky grew all dark, the wind blew, and the thunders rolled and rattled, and the seas rose mountains high, and sure I thought the end of the world had come, and what would poor mother and Molly do without me. But short was the time given me to think, boys. "`It's all your fault,' cried my messmates, swarming round me. "`Out with one eye,' cries the captain. "`Off with one leg,' cries the crew. "`Never a one av me eyes will ye have, ye spalpeens!' I roars; `and as for me legs, I manes to stick to the whole lot av the two av them. Come on,' I cries; `stand up foreninst Rory if there is a bit av courage among ye.' "But what could one man do among so many av them, boys? And it's down they'd have had me, and me one leg would have been off in a jiffey, if I hadn't made the best use av the pair av them. `Bad success to ye all,' I cries, jumping on to the bowsprit, `ye bog-trotting crew; I'll trust to the tinder mercies av the sharks afore I'll stop longer among ye.' And over I leapt into the boiling sea. The water went surging into my ears as I sank, but even at that moment it was me poor mother and Molly I was thinking most about, and whativer they'd do athout me at all, at all. "Boys, when I came to the top av the wather agin, sorra a ship was to be seen anywhere; the sky was clear and blue, and the wind had all gone down. `Rory O'Reilly!' says a voice near me. "And with that I looks round, and what should I see, but the ugliest craythure av an ould man that ever was born. "`You're well rid o' the lot,' says the craythure. "`Thrue for you,' says I; `and as ye spake so frindly loike, maybe you'd be after tellin' me how far it is to the nearest house av entertainment.' "`Take a howld av me tail,' says the craythure, `and sure I'll tow ye there in a twinklin'.' "`Is it a merman ye are, then,' says I, `or the little ould man av the sea?' "`It's a merman, sure enough,' he replied; and wi' that I catches howld av his tail, and away we goes as cheerful as ye plaze, boys, and all the toime the ould craythure kept tellin' me about the beautiful home av the mermaids beneath the blue says, and their couches av pearl and coralline halls, and the lovely gardens, with the flowers all growing and moving with the wash av the warm waves, and av the strange-shaped fishes with diamonds and sparkling gems in their heads, that swim round and round av a noight to give the purty damsels light, to ate and to drink and to dance in. "`And do you dwell among all this beauty?' says I to the ugly old craythure. "`What!' says he, `the loikes o' me dwell in sich places? No,' says he, `Rory O'Reilly, it's only a slave I am, for there is a moighty difference twixt a _mermaid_ and a _merman_. But here you are at the island.' "And with that he gave his tail a shake, and I found myself lying in the sunshine on the coral sands, with no little ould man near me at all, at all. "Now, boys, what should happen next, but I should fall as sound asleep as a babe in its cradle. Maybe it was the pangs of hunger that wakened me, and maybe it wasn't, for before I opened me eyes, I had opened me ears, and such a confusion av swate sounds I'd never heard before, and sartainly never since. "I kept me eyes firmly closed, wondering where I was, and trying to think back; and think back I did to the goblin ship and its goblin crew, and the little ould man av the sea that towed me on shore with his tail. The sounds were at first like the murmur av bees, then bird songs were added to them, sweeter than all delicious strains av music, that stirred every pulse in me body. And with that I opened me eyes. "I'll give ye me word av honour, boys, and me hand on it as well, I was so astonished at all I saw around me, that never a thing could I do at all, at all, but lie still and stare. "It was in fairyland I was, sure enough. What were those beautiful beings, I kept asking myself, that glided over the golden ground, or, with trailing, gauzy garments and flowing hair, went floating through the sky itself, keeping time every one of them to the dreamy rhythm of the music that filled the air, and didn't seem to come from any direction in particular? Were they peris, sylphs, fays, or fairies, or a choice selection of mermaids come on shore for a dance? "I'd fallen asleep on the snow-white sand. There was no sand here now, sure; all was green and gold, and shrubs and flowers and coloured fountains were all around me. But it was night all the same. And the strange thing was this, every leaf and flower gave out light of its own colour. But, glimmering down through the beautiful haze, I could see the twinkling stars, and I offered up a prayer and felt safe. "The music grew quicker, merrier, madder, and at last sure I couldn't stand it a moment longer, and up I starts. "`Och! if you plaze,' I says, `I'll mingle in the mazy dance meself, and there isn't a boy in Ballyporeen can bate me at the rale ould Oirish jig.' "But sure, boys, as Burns says-- "`In a moment all was dark.' "Away went shrubs and flowers and fountains and sylphs and fairies and fays and all, and there stood poor Rory O'Reilly on the sands once more, with the wee waves frothing up at his feet, and scratching his head, and feeling more like a fool than ever he did in his born days. "`Well, sure,' says I to myself, `there is no knowing what to make av it. But,' I says, `a little more sleep won't hurt me, anyhow.' "So down I lies again on the sand. "It was daylight when I awoke again once more. But where was I now? No fairies this time. But sure I was among the strangest race of beings imagination could conceive av. The country all around me was honest and purty enough; trees, fields, hills, and houses, and all might have been a part of ould Oirland itself. But the people, boys--why, it was indiarubber they must have been made av, and nothing else. At one moment a man would be as tall and thin as a flagstaff, next moment about the shape and fashion of a bull frog. They could stretch their arms out till twenty yards long, and make their mouths big enough to swallow a sheep. It wasn't in at the door either they'd be going when entering their dwellings, but straight through the keyhole. "It was, maybe, a handy arrangement one way or the other, but troth it frightened poor Rory O'Reilly, and as none av the ugly craytures seemed to take any notice av me, I made my feet my friends, and got quietly away. Well, after wandering in this enchanted island for more than a week, and never tasting a bit or a sup all the time, right glad I was to find meself by the sea once more. "Escape I must, at all hazards. But how was I to get a boat I was thinking and wondering, when all at once me eyes fell on a great turtle-shell. "The very thing, boys; nothing could be easier than to make a boat and sail away in this. "It didn't take me long either to step a mast, and to load up with fruit and with shell-fish; then I got my boat afloat, and with my jacket for a sail away I went, and before long the enchanted island went down below the horizon, and I niver felt happier in my life before, than when I saw the last of it." Rory O'Reilly stopped to fill his pipe, and having done so, smoked quietly on for a few minutes, while all waited patiently for the completion of his yarn. "Well, Rory," said Skipper James at last. "Go on; that isn't all, surely? How did your adventurous voyage end?" "Is it how did it end?" said Rory. "Well, boys, there arose a terrible storm, and the waves dashed over me, and the cowld hail and snow and rain--" "And thunder and lightning, Rory?" "Yes, Captain James, and thunder and lightning; but sure in the midst av it all came an angel's voice from the clouds, singing--oh! iver so sweetly-- "`There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As the dear little vale where the waters do meet. Ah! the last link of freedom and life shall depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.' "And by this and by that, boys, I opened me eyes again." "Opened your eyes again, Rory?" cried the skipper. "Yes, sure, and there I was in me own mother's cabin, and there was my sister Biddy, the darlint, standing foreninst me and singing like a sylph, and sprinkling me face wid wather. And troth, boys, it was all a drame, ivery word I've been telling ye." "Well done, Rory," cried Skipper James, "and now for a song and dance, boys, for Saturday night only comes once a week." The fiddler struck up a hornpipe, and once more the deck was filled; and so with music, with dancing, and song the night sped merrily on. Book 2--CHAPTER TEN. THE WANDERERS' RETURN. "I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high, I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky. "It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy." Hood. Scene: Glen Lyle in spring time. The larch trees already green and tasselled with crimson buds. The woods alive with the song of birds. The rooks busy at work on the tall, swaying elm trees. Two young men approaching Grayling House, arm in arm. It was early on this spring morning, not long past eight of the clock. Douglas and Leonard had stayed at a little inn some eight miles distant on the night before, and started with the larks to march homewards, for even Douglas looked upon Glen Lyle as his home. As they neared the well-known gate, Leonard became silent. Thoughts of his happy boyhood's days crowded fresh and fast into his memory. Every bush and every tree brought up some sad yet pleasant reminiscence of days gone by--sad, because those old, old days were gone never to return. "Come, old boy," said Douglas cheerfully. "Aren't you glad to be so near home?" They were at the gate now. "Glad," said Leonard, yet strangely moved. "Douglas, what means all this? See, the walks are green, the blinds are mostly down. Only from one chimney does smoke issue. Oh, my friend! I fear something is wrong. I never thought my heart could beat so! But see, yonder comes old Peter himself." And down the path indeed the ancient servitor came shuffling. His very first words reassured poor Leonard. "The Lord be praised for a' His mercy! Hoo pleased your father and mother and Effie will be!" The joy-blood came bounding back to Leonard's heart. He returned the ardent pressure of Peter's hands. "Oh!" cried Peter, "I want to do naething else noo but just lie doon and dee." "Don't talk of dying, my dear Peter. Where are they?" The old man wiped his streaming eyes as he answered,-- "At Grayling Cottage, St. Abbs. And you have na heard? Come in, come in, and I'll tell you all." About three hours after this the two young men had once more left Glen Lyle, and were journeying straight, almost as the crow flies, for the cottage by the sea. On the evening of the second day, having been directed to the house, they were walking slowly along the beach. It was the gloaming hour. Yonder in the horizon just over the sea shone the gloaming star. "Just above yon sandy bar, As the day grows fainter and dimmer, Lonely and lovely, a single star Lights the air with a dusky glimmer. "Into the ocean faint and far Falls the trail of its golden splendour, And the gleam of that single star Is ever refulgent, soft, and tender." Both young men stopped short at once. There was one figure on the beach, one solitary female figure. "It is she," half-whispered Douglas, pressing Leonard's arm. Then they advanced. "Effie!" "Oh, Leonard!" Next moment she was sobbing on her brother's shoulder. They were tears of reaction, but they washed away in their flood-gates the sorrow and the hope deferred of long, dreary years. "How silly to cry!" she said at last, giving her hand to her brother's friend with a bonnie blush. "Right welcome you are, Douglas," she added. "Oh, how glad I am to see you both!" "There now, Eff," said her brother, in his old cheery way, "no more tears; it must be all joy now, joy and jollity." Douglas ran off home now to see his father, and I pass over the scene of reunion betwixt Leonard and his parents. "Dear boy," said his father more than once that evening, "I don't care for anything now I've got you back, and I don't mind confessing that I really never expected to see you more." But in an hour or two in came Captain Fitzroy and Douglas. Then somehow or other the household horizon took a cheerier tone; there was such an amount of indwelling happiness and pleasantry about the honest Captain's face, that no one could have been in his company for five minutes without feeling the better of it. About nine o'clock Captain Lyle got up and took down from its shelf a large volume covered with calfskin. It was,-- "The big ha' Bible, ance his father's pride." Solemn words were read, solemn words were spoken, and heartfelt was the prayer and full of gratitude that was said when all knelt down. Family worship was conducted thus early, lest, as Lyle said, everybody should get sleepy. But this did not close the evening. For all sat around the fire long, long after that, and if the whole truth must be told, the cocks in the farmer's yard hard by had wakened up and begun to crow when Douglas and his father bade good-night to the cottagers, and went slowly homewards along the beach. You see there had been such a deal to talk about. A day or two afterwards who should arrive at the cottage but Captain Blunt himself, and with him honest, kindly, rough old Skipper James. It is needless to say that the latter received a royal welcome. "We can never, never thank you enough," said Mrs Lyle, "for bringing back our boys." "Pooh!" said Skipper James, "my dear lady, that is nothing; don't bother thanking me, mention me and my old ship in your prayers, when we're on the sea." "That I'm sure we will never forget to do." Lyle and Fitzroy were walking together on the beach about a week after the wanderers' return. "I've been trying to get my boy to stay at home now altogether," said Lyle. "Well, and I've been trying mine." "But _mine_ won't; he says he was born to wander, and wander he will." "Just the same with mine." "And Leonard has given up his allowance, dear boy! He says he will work now for his living, and that the seamanship he has learned must stand as his profession. He is full of hope though, and I fear we'll soon lose our lads again." "For a time--yes, for a time. Be cheerful, remember what I prophesied; all will yet be well, and if they really are born to wander nothing can prevent them." "What's that about being born to wander?" said Captain Blunt, coming quietly up behind them. "Because," he added, "here's another." "What!" said Captain Lyle. "Are you going to sea again?" "I've just left your lads," replied Blunt, "and I've made them an offer that they both jump at. You see, I've made a bit of money, and though I have been in the merchant service all my life, I can't say that ever I have seen the world in a quiet way. Had always, in port, to look after my men and cargo, and hardly ever could get a week to myself. So now, in a barque of my own, I'm going round the world for a bit of an outing, and your boys are going with me. I've offered them fair wage, and, depend upon it, I'll do my best to make them happy, and I won't come back without them. What say you two fathers?" "What can we say," said Lyle, grasping Captain Blunt's rough horny hand, "but thank you?" "And boys will be boys," added Fitzroy, with a ringing laugh that startled the very sea-birds. Two months after this our heroes had bidden their relations once more adieu, and were afloat on the wide Atlantic. But before this the whole party had gone to the Clyde, where Captain Blunt's barque was building, and in due form, with all due ceremony, Effie, with a blush of modesty and beauty on her sweet young face, had christened the ship. And her name was the _Gloaming Star_. Book 3--CHAPTER ONE. ADVENTURES IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. "Far in the west there lies a desert land, where the mountains Lift through perpetual snows their lofty and luminous summits; Billowy bays of grass, ever rolling in shadow and sunshine; Over them wander the buffalo herds and the elk and the roebuck; Over them wander the wolves, and herds of riderless horses; Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael's children, Staining the desert with blood: and above their terrible war trails, Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vulture, Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered in battle." Longfellow. Scene: A green sea tempest-tossed, the waves houses high. White clouds massed along the windward horizon, giving the appearance not only of ice-clad rocks and towers, but of a great mountainous snow-land. And above this a broad lift of deepest blue, and higher still--like the top scene on a stage--a curtain-cloud of driving hail. One ship visible, staggering along with but little sail on her. It was near sunset when Captain Blunt came below to the cabin of the _Gloaming Star_. "It is a bitter night, Leonard," he said, rubbing his hand and chafing his ears. "The wind is as cold as ever we felt it in Greenland." "Blowing right off the ice, isn't it?" "Yes, with a bit of west in it, and I do think somehow that the wind of the Antarctic is keener, rawer, and colder than any that ever blows across the pack at the other Pole." Soon after this Leonard himself went on deck. Here was his friend Douglas, muffled up in a monkey-jacket with a sou'-wester on his head, and great woollen gloves on his hands, tramping up and down the deck as if for a wager. "How do you like it, Doug?" "Ha!" said Douglas, "you're laughing, are you? Well, your watch comes on at four in the morning. There won't be much laughing then, lad. How delightful the warm bed will seem when--" "There, there, Douglas, pray don't bring your imagination to bear on it. It will be bad enough without that." The two now walked up and down together, only stopping occasionally to gaze at the sky. There was little pleasure in looking weatherward, however, only a clear sky there now, with the jagged waves for an uneven shifting horizon, but where the sun had gone down the view was inexpressibly lovely. The background beneath was saturnine red, shading into a yellow-green, and higher up into a dark blue, and yonder shone a solitary star, one glance at which never failed to carry our sailors' thoughts homeward. Now something over three years had elapsed since the _Gloaming Star_ sailed away from the Clyde, since the wild Arran hills were last seen in the sunset's rays, and the rocky coast of this romantic island had grown hazy and faint, and faded at last from view. Years of wandering and adventure they had been, too--years during which many a gale had been weathered, here and there in many lands, and many a difficulty boldly faced and overcome. As our two heroes, Leonard and Douglas, walk up and down the deck, and the wind blows loud and keen from off the Antarctic ice, I will try to recount a few of those adventures, though to tell them all would be impossible. I will but dip into their logs, and read you off the entries on a few of the leaves thereof. OPENING THE LOG AT RANDOM. I open the log at random, as it were, and first and foremost I find the wanderers--where? Why, among the Rocky Mountains. The _Gloaming Star_ is safe and sound in New York harbour, under the charge of no less a personage than Rory O'Reilly himself, who is second mate of her. To cross the vast stretch of country that lies between the Atlantic Ocean and this wild mountain range was in those days a daring deed in itself. As long as they were in the midst of comparative civilisation they were safe, but this once left behind, with only the rolling prairie in front of them, hills, glens, woods, and forests, and a network of streams, the danger was such that many a brave man would have shrunk therefrom. There were friendly tribes of Indians, it is true, but there were others who hated the white man with an implacable hatred. And this hatred, it is only right to add, was returned with interest. It is terrible to think that the red man was looked upon in those days as if the brand of Cain were carved on his brow, so that whoever should meet him should kill him; that he was hunted down even as the wild beasts were hunted, and that the war declared against him was one of extermination, one to the bitter end. On the other hand, the cruelties practised by the Indians on their white brethren of the outlying districts, when they succeeded in capturing a station or fort, were such as one cannot read of without a shudder of horror and a feeling of anger as well. But our heroes and their party, including Captain Blunt, five friendly Indians, and a trapper--a Yankee of the real old school and a thorough backwoodsman--had made the long journey in safety. The mules that had carried their packs were even now quietly feeding in a rude enclosure, near the log hut which had been a home to the party for months. But although these wanderers did not fear danger, they knew it existed, and no sooner had they arrived in the woodland glen close by a beautiful river, than they proceeded to make their encampment as like a fort as they could. Strong were their arms to work, and willing were their hearts. To Leonard and Douglas there was something quite delightful in this new free, wild life of independence; fishing by lonely streams, wandering through the still, quiet forests, or bearding the wild beasts in their favourite haunts. The very knowledge that hostile Indians might be encountered at any time only added a zest to their adventures. But before they, entered into their sports with earnestness, they fortified the site they had chosen as a camp. The trees were cut down all round, and a complete rampart, with ditch and drawbridge, was erected. When all was complete the sport began in earnest; but it was not sport for the simple sake of killing. No, for they slew and fished but to fill their larder, and lay up a wealth of skins, which would help to pay for this pleasant outing when they returned to the great city of New York. Thereupon bears and beavers became their especial prey, to say nothing of innumerable furry denizens of forest, hill, and river bank. LIFE IN THE ROCKIES. They had arrived at the Rockies in early summer, and long before the hot season was at its hottest, long before the time came when at midday hardly would you have heard a sound in the woods, except the singing of the river that went rippling over its pebbly bed, or tumbling in miniature cataracts over rocks, and falling into deep dark pools beneath, where dwelt the largest trout, and near which, mayhap, the beaver had his haunt--long before midsummer, they were so perfectly at home that they felt no wish to leave the lovely glen. Both Leonard and Douglas were of those who dearly love-- "--The haunts of Nature; Love the sunshine of the meadow, Love the shadow of the forest, Love the wind among the branches. "And the rain-shower and the snowstorm, And the rushing of great rivers, Through their palisades of pine trees, And the thunder in the mountains." They loved Nature, and Nature seemed to love them, for even the wild birds appeared to sing to them,-- "In the moorlands and the fenlands, In the melancholy marshes,--" While the wild flowers told their tales in a language that only poets understand, whispered to them of their loves and sorrows,-- "In green and silent valleys, By pleasant water-courses." Among the deep, dark forest glens, in the canons, and in caves among the bush that clad the mountain sides, lived in those days bears--chiefly the grizzly and cinnamon bear--far more fierce than any that are now found in the same quarter. It has been said, and with a good deal of truth, that bears seldom attack a man. There are exceptions to all rules, as the following adventure will prove. It was a lovely day in August. Our wanderers had gone out in two parties, Captain Blunt, Douglas, and a few Indians being together, and Leonard with the Yankee trapper and one Indian by themselves. The sport for a time was _nil_. It was the hottest hour of the day, and every creature was sheltering from the fierce sunlight. Hardly knowing or caring what he did or where he went, Leonard went straggling up a mountain side, studying the flowers and the strange pieces of ore that lay here and there in all directions. He was in the act of picking up one of these last when a coughing noise in the bush close by made him start and stand at once to arms. There, not twenty yards from him, and rapidly advancing, was a huge grizzly. Hardly had he time to bring his gun to the shoulder ere the monster prepared to spring. By Heaven's own mercy Leonard fired in time. The roar changed to a choking one, and the bear spat blood; he turned to fly, Leonard following fast behind him. He managed to fire again ere the brute headed away for a canon at some distance--fired, but in his hurry missed. All along down the hill, after reloading, he tracked the bear by his blood. And all along the grassy canon bottom till halfway up, where it was evident the grizzly had climbed to his cave. It was foolhardy of him to follow, but he was excited, and in a minute more he was at the cave mouth. In the darkness he could see the angry gleam of the monster's eyes; and at these he took aim, and fired. He remembered the roar the bear gave, then all was a mist. He was found by the Yankee trapper lying insensible at the cliff foot, the bear dead beside him. Leonard got small praise for this exploit. "It ain't sport," the Yankee told him, "it's idiocy; there ain't another name for it. You've done it once, but I guess it isn't in you to do it again and live." One other adventure is worth relating, but in this instance it was Douglas who had a narrow escape. The dogs, of which they had several, had chased and treed an immense cougar or puma. This is but another name for the American lion, now I fear all but extinct. Why he had run from the dogs is a mystery, but there he was standing almost erect on a branch, and looking proudly and defiantly down. Douglas's approach, gun in hand, however, was the signal for resistance. The brute crouched down and prepared to spring. Douglas knelt and prepared to fire. Bang went the gun. Down sprang the fierce and wounded puma. It would have been death indeed for Douglas had not the dogs tackled the animal. It was death for one of these faithful creatures, and others were terribly wounded. But the sportsman had time to load and fire again, and this time he made sure. There were panthers in the woods as well, but none so large or fierce as the puma. Killing antelopes, and various kinds of deer and elks, following the wild buffalo on the plains, hunting up the silent haunts of the turkeys, fishing and grouse shooting--all helped to make the time fly fast away, and the summer seemed to pass all too quickly by. Not that it was always fine weather in these vast solitudes. No, far from it. Out on the plains, more than once they were overtaken by terrible sandstorms, while often and often a thunderstorm broke over the mountains of such awful sublimity, that even Captain Blunt was forced to own he had never heard such sounds before, never witnessed such blinding lightning. Anon a wind of hurricane force would arise suddenly and go tearing through the woods, breaking off branches and hurling them high in air, and snapping the largest trees off in their centres, or rending them up by the roots; and if this storm was accompanied, as it often was, by rains, then the torrents that came roaring down from the mountain sides, bringing boulders and broken wood with them, would have appalled the stoutest heart to look upon them. Then came on the sweet, soft Indian summer, the woods arrayed in all the glorious tints of the autumn, the sunsets mysterious in their very beauty, the air soft and balmy and bracing. It was on one of these delightful days that the whole party, with the exception of Leonard--who was busy curing bird-skins--set out for a hunt for wild sheep across the plains. THE BLIZZARD. A RACE FOR LIFE. Towards evening they were quietly returning after a successful day, and were still on the plains, when, with an alarming suddenness, the sun and sky became obscured, and a cold, cutting wind began to blow. Both the trapper and Indians knew what was coming. The buffalo meat was cast away, left on the plain to feed the wolves, and on they dashed to reach the shelter of the canon ere the blizzard came down on them in all its terrible and blinding force. It got rapidly darker, and the snow was driven and whirled around them with the force of a hurricane. Both Douglas and Blunt fell many times, and but for the Indians could never have reached the shelter. They got to the canon at last, however, and by good luck into the very cave where Leonard had killed the bear. Meanwhile all was darkness, and storm, and chaos without. Here they were, and here they must remain till morning. INDIANS. But how fared it with Leonard? His work being finished, towards evening he took his gun, and accompanied by a dog set out to meet his friends. As usual with this student of nature, he was looking more at the ground than around him, till the quick, sharp ringing bark of his dog fell on his ear. Then he glanced upwards, and found himself face to face with Indians in their war-paint. They were Ojibbeways. On levelling his gun they retreated to a bush, and he made his way back towards the fort, a shower of arrows falling around him, and some piercing his clothes as he did so. He speedily got up the drawbridge, and none too soon, for on came the savages. But on came the blizzard. Down swept the storm, and the boldest Indian that ever trod could not face that fearful snow-gale. All that night the storm raged. All that night Captain Blunt and his party shivered in their cave, while at the fort Leonard waited and watched. Book 3--CHAPTER TWO. FIGHTING WITH INDIANS. "But yonder comes the powerful king of day Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud, The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow Illumed with gold, his near approach Betoken glad." Thomson. Scene: The fort in the Rocky Mountains. Morning breaking in the east. Wind hushed. Captain Blunt and party making their way along the bottom of the canon, which in many places is deep in drifted snow. Who can paint in words the beauty, the glory of a sunrise among the mountains? Why wish to be a poet--even a Longfellow? Why wish to be even a Turner? for what artist that ever lived could sketch in colour the deep blue of yonder sky, or the great grey clouds that, even as we look change slowly to yellow and gold; or that strip of crimson, or the darkness of those pine trees outshining from the blue uncertain horizon's haze? Some such thoughts as these rushed through Leonard's mind as he stood on the ramparts of the little fort that had been to him and his friends a quiet romantic home for so many months. For those friends, though still absent, he somehow felt no anxiety. They were well armed, and if they met the hostile Indians, they could no doubt give a good account of them, if indeed the enemy should be brave enough to come to close quarters. But despite the tales of Cooper--who has managed to encircle the Red Man with a halo of romance--Leonard had been long enough in the woods to find out that just as the American novelist depended upon imagination for the facts embodied in his delightful stories, so the American Indian depends upon numbers for his courage. He is bold and daring enough when he is in strong force, and when sure of victory. Then he will fight. I am not belying him. When the party did arrive at the fort, they were much astonished at what Leonard had to tell them. "And the blizzard sent them adrift, eh?" said Captain Blunt. "Well, it's an ill wind that blows nobody good." "But they'll come back," said the trapper. "Gentlemen, they'll return, that's as sartain as sunrise." The Indian guides thought the same. So the drawbridge was kept up all day. But night after night passed by, and still there was no sign of the Ojibbeways. Our party got bolder, and went hunting as usual. But one day a scout found an unmistakable trail, and they followed it up and up for many miles, till it led them to the top of a high hill. They did not show themselves over this, for far away in a green valley beneath they beheld an encampment; Indians on the warpath undoubtedly, with fleet, wild-looking horses hobbled near them, and a cooking fire smoking in their midst. There could not be less than fifty at the least. Well, the fort was well stocked to stand a siege. But a siege was _the_ one thing the party wanted to avoid. Pleasant as was this land in summer and autumn, no one of them wished to winter here. It was determined, therefore, to dispatch one of the Indian scouts for assistance to his tribe. It would be a terrible adventure, to journey all alone over hill and dale and prairie land in an enemy's country, but the promise of a reward was sufficient to make several volunteer. Another went out every night to watch the enemy. They had come nearer, and were now only three miles from the fort. Now, there is nothing that Britons will not dare; and when one evening Leonard said,-- "I say, Douglas, some of those Indian horses would come in handy to assist in our journey homeward." "That they would," replied Douglas. "I was thinking the same." "Hurrah!" then said Leonard; "let us have them." So it was agreed to make the attempt. And this is how it was accomplished. Four of the friendly Indians made a _detour_, and attacked the camp of the foe in the rear. It was a lovely moonlight night, and this ruse was completely successful. The enemy sprang to their bows and arrows, and prepared to repel the attack. A shot or two was fired, then the friendlies ran pursued by the foe. The white men had it all their own way now; they speedily picked out eight of the best horses, and were soon galloping off camp-wards as quickly as the nature of the ground would permit. In this case, at all events, fortune favoured the brave, and all got safe inside the fort, only one Indian being wounded slightly. But the Ojibbeways determined on revenge, and the very next night quite a cloud of arrows was poured into the fort, and then an attempt made to scale the rampart, the savages making night hideous with their howlings and wild cries. They had to retire worsted, however, and it was nearly a week before they again made an attack. But meanwhile they had been greatly reinforced, and the fight was now a terrible one. It began while it still was dark, but soon the moon rose, then the Indians suffered severely for their rashness. For many days, and night after night, these attacks were made. None of the white men were wounded, but one friendly was killed, and another put _hors de combat_. Things began to look very serious, and if assistance came not soon Captain Blunt feared the very worst. "Surely," thought Leonard and Douglas, "the worst has come," when one night the poor trapper fell at their feet, pierced through the heart with an arrow. This night's attack was a fearful one. The savages, regardless of their lives, leapt on top of the rampart, though only to fall dead within the enclosure. But more took their place, and the fighting went on with redoubled fury. "I fear all is up," said Captain Blunt in a moment's lull; "let us sell our lives dearly." But hark! what was that wild, unearthly yell in the rear of the foe? All listened. The savages who had been coming on again towards the fort fell back. The cries and yells were redoubled, and the din was horrible, awful! "Hurrah!" cried Blunt, "we are saved! The friendlies have come!" And so it was. The battle in the bush raged for fully an hour, then up rushed the scout who had so bravely done his duty. The drawbridge was lowered, and in he dashed, and after him fully a hundred of his own tribe, all in their war-paint, all fully armed, and, ghastly sight! nearly all had scalps hanging to their girdles. The very next day the fort was deserted, and the march eastward was commenced. It was a very long and a very toilsome one. But they reached civilisation safely at last. The friendly Indians thought themselves well rewarded by being presented with the horses. And considering that Captain Blunt and party had obtained the animals cheaply enough, it was no wonder that satisfaction was expressed on both sides. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ They found the _Gloaming Star_ ready for sea, and after selling their skins and curios they embarked, and made all sail for the sunny south. All the winter and spring was spent in cruising around the West Indian Islands. They even stretched across to lonely Bermuda, encountering a hurricane on the passage, which well-nigh dismantled the ship, and necessitated a longer stay at the islands than they desired. Then southwards and west, touching at Rio Janeiro, the most romantic and lovely harbour in the world. Monte Video, however, which they reached at last, did not afterwards shine in their memories as Janeiro did. Its low flat lands, its shallow seas and fogs, were not impressive in a pleasant way. But they found the inhabitants--even then a strange mixture of nationalities--kind and hospitable, and Leonard, Douglas, and Captain Blunt accepted an invitation to go for sport into the interior. The roads were terribly rough; there were no railways here in those days. The roads were rough and the roads were long, but they found themselves at last on the very confines of civilisation. And here they spent some months, most pleasantly, too, though their adventures were not without danger. They found the new settlers at war with the Indians, the latter being a most treacherous race, possessing all the cunning, though hardly so much of the extreme cruelty, which forms so marked a characteristic of the Red men of the American wilderness. Both Douglas and Leonard soon became adepts in riding the half-wild horses over the plains, and in hunting the emu and llama, in throwing the lasso and the bolas. "It seems to me," said Douglas, one day, "that I would like to live in this wild land for ever and a day." "It seems to me," replied Leonard, "that I have been here all my life." Everything was so new in this country, and as they happened to be favoured with fine weather, some brief but terrible storms excepted, everything was so lovely. They were the guests of a rich Spaniard, whose house was a kind of shooting-box in the midst of most charming and wild scenery. It was a house of logs, but most artistically designed and built, with terraces around it, and porticoes and verandahs, over which trailed flowers of most beautiful colour, shape, and perfume. It was well surrounded--as indeed it needed to be--by a rampart and a ditch, and more than once it had to stand a siege. Sometimes the Indians made a raid down that way and drove away the horses. But Senor Cabelas had many well-armed servants, and they took a delight in following up and fighting Los Indianos, and returning triumphantly, which they invariably did, with the re-captured animals, or most of them. Our heroes were always on the hunting path very early in the morning. They went prepared to shoot or fight anything. Wolves there were in plenty, but they gave the horsemen a wide berth, nor were they really worth powder and shot. But far away among the wild hills, those long-haired wolves are really a source of very great danger. But there were panthers or pumas, and a few jaguars, and although none of these attacked, still once or twice, when at bay, they made a terrible resistance. In a case like this, if a man does not keep cool, or if he allows any nervousness to interfere with his aim, it is ten to one that the jaguar will have the best of the battle, and the huntsman be left dead or terribly wounded. When the day's sport or hunting in the pampas was over and done, when the dinner in Senor Cabelas' tall-ceiled room had been discussed, how pleasant it was to get out and sit under the verandah in the cool of a summer's evening, and tell tales, and think and talk of home. How pleasantly tired and drowsy Leonard and Douglas used to be by bedtime, and how soon they were wrapped in dreamless slumber when their limbs were stretched in bed, their heads upon the downy pillows! How loud the great frogs croaked and snored around the lodge, ay, and even in it; but their croaking and snoring never once wakened our pampas sportsmen! Book 3--CHAPTER THREE. HERE AND THERE IN MANY CLIMES. "Heaven speed the canvas gallantly unfurled, To furnish and accommodate a world, To give the pole the produce of the sun, And knit unsocial climates into one." "The luxuries of seas and woods, The airy joys of social solitude, Famed each rude wanderer." Scenes: The shores of South America. The lonely isles of the Pacific, Antarctic Ocean, and Antarctic ice. If my young reader took an ordinary sized map or chart of the world he could follow with eye or finger the route, _en voyage_, taken by our wanderers for the next few months, till we find them amid the lovely scenery briefly depicted above. Southwards along the eastern shore of South America, but keeping well to sea, and only seeing the wild romantic coast, now and then lying like a blue-grey storm-cloud on the horizon, sailed the _Gloaming Star_. Leaving the Falkland Islands on the port beam, they passed the Straits of Magellan, not venturing in them now; and reaching farther southward, after encountering a terrific gale of wind which tried the timbers of the bonny barque and the mettle of her gallant tars, after having narrowly escaped being crushed during a dismal fog by heavy ice, they succeeded in weathering the Cape, and stretched away north now, once more along a wild coast--its mountains towering to the moon--and after many, many dreary weeks at sea, they landed at the wonderful isle of Juan Fernandez, celebrated, as all know, for having been the prison isle of Alexander Selkirk, the hero of that best of boys' books--"Robinson Crusoe." The hut was still there, and many another curious memento of the sailor hermit, and strange thoughts passed through the wanderers' minds as they walked on the very beach where, according to Defoe, his hero had seen the footstep in the sands. North and west they went now, and in a few weeks fell in with the trade-winds, although they were not of too great force to prevent stunsails being carried alow and aloft. Bounding over that lovely sea, the _Gloaming Star_ looked like some beautiful sea-bird. Whatever might come of it, our heroes were determined to see something of the Sandwich Islands. But there was danger in their doing so. For but few white men ever ventured there in those days. ABOUT SAVAGES. There are, according to my own experience, very great differences, not only in physique, but in mental qualities, betwixt the savages--as they are called--of different parts of the world, and even between different tribes who live in the same vicinity, or within a few hundred miles of each other. Look, for example, at the good-natured simplicity of the Eskimo Indians, and compare it with the wild, cruel nature of the Red men of the Rockies, or forest lands of the Far West. Or witness the innocent, harmless nature of the tribes who dwell south of the Equator on the eastern shores of Africa, as compared with the treacherous ferocity of the Somali Africans, who live but a little way north. Yet there is a right way and a wrong way of dealing with even the wildest tribes of what I may call fighting savages. There are certain peculiarities of character which are common to all, and at which, seeing the manner of life they lead, we cannot wonder. They are all suspicious, especially as regards the intentions of white men--or "white demons" as we are sometimes called--landing on their coast. They are all greedy, all superstitious in a high degree, and all lawless, and easily inclined to give vent to unbridled passions of any kind. All these traits of character must be borne in mind by any one going amongst them. Nor must it be forgotten that they are most observant. They cannot perhaps speak or understand a word of your language, but they can read your face and eye, and almost know your thoughts therefrom. To show fear among them is fatal to all success of intercommunication; even to feel fear is bad enough, for you can hardly hide it from their scrutiny. You must be cool, determined, and kindly withal, but bear yourself as if it were a matter of the greatest indifference to you whether you have their friendship or not. You must not so much woo _them_ as conduct yourself in a manner that will cause them to woo _you_ and seek your good will. It is all, you see, a matter of fact. And I have landed among savages with my hands in my pockets, when, had I carried arms, even a stick, I should have been speared to death in a very short time. Captain Blunt was wise as regards savages, and he imparted his wisdom to Our heroes, Douglas and Leonard, at dinner one beautiful evening--just the night before they reached the Sandwich Islands. At New York they had bought large quantities of beads, also knives and hatchets, and these, or rather a portion of them, came in handy in their intercourse with the natives. They had already passed, on the wings of a favouring breeze, very many little islands, some mere coral reefs green-fringed with trees, looking as if they were afloat in the sea or in the sky's blue. But although they had seen natives both in canoes and on the beach they had made no attempt to communicate with the _Gloaming Star_. Men were kept constantly in the chains, and when the water became too shallow, or breakers ahead were seen frothing on a shallow green reef, her way was stopped and the course altered. By night they often cast anchor. I wish I had the power to describe in words a thousandth part of all the beauty they saw about and around them in this enchanting ocean, in sky, on shore, and in the water itself. The marine gardens, with their many-coloured corals, their waving wealth of tinted seaweed, the strange-shaped and curious fishes, the lovely medusae and marvellous shell-fish, some beautiful as a dream, others more hideous than a nightmare; the bright inexpressible blue sky above, the azure ocean beneath, patched here and there with sheets of green or grey, where cloud shadows fell or where the banks shone through, and last, but not least, the thousand isles, each more delightful to behold than another, all formed a scene, or series of scenes, that to cast eyes on but once is to look back to with pleasure ever after. I have it not on record at which of these islands our wanderers first landed. It was a large one, however, and, to commence with, they had but a cool reception. For days they ventured no farther than the beach, so threatening was the aspect of the natives. But by degrees their confidence was won, then all was hospitality, all was safety on the island, far into its very interior. Having once made friends with the white men, these poor savages thought they had dropped from the sky, and vied with each other in their kindness towards them. They brought them kids and fowl and fruit and flowers, and escorted them through the forests, to glorious glens, across streams and little lovely lakes embowered in trees, festooned and hung with wild climbing flowers, and to cataracts whose waters as they tumbled over the rocks made drowsy music in the summer sunshine. "Was nought around but images of rest, Sleep-soothing groves, and quiet lawns between, And flowery beds, that slumbrous influence cast From poppies breathed; and beds of pleasant green. Meanwhile unnumbered glittering streamlets played, And hurled everywhere their waters' sheen; That as they bickered through the sunny glade, Though restless still themselves, a lulling murmur made." They stayed for months at the Sandwich Islands, and their residence among the wild natives exemplifies in a remarkable way two facts--first, that the influence of the white man over the savage is very great and very potent; and secondly, that almost anything can be done by means of kindness and sincerity. Our heroes were sincere, and these poor black folks were quick to perceive it. It is but fair to Captain Blunt and his party to state that they did not leave the islands without telling its inhabitants the beautiful Biblical story of the world, of the creation, the fall, and of Redemption through a Saviour's love. And one never knows what good fruits may not be borne of a few seeds thus let fall even among darkened savages. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ And now we return to the scene of the first chapter of this book, where we left Leonard and Douglas pacing the storm-swept decks of the _Gloaming Star_, night falling, and the wind blowing high and cold from off the Antarctic ice. They had sojourned and had many adventures among the snows of the far, far north, where in summer "_Daylight never shuts its eye_," and they were now to have a peep at the other pole. For days and days they cruised along the edge of the great icefields here, and very different they found them from anything they had ever seen before. The edge of the main body was one vast indented glacier of glittering crystal, rising sheer up from the ocean beneath it. From the top of this enormous icy cliff an immense field of snow stretched away southwards, rising, in some places, mountains high, so that they could not be certain that it was not actually land they were looking on. The ice-rocks shimmered in the sun's rays in all the colours of the rainbow, with a beauty that at times was dazzling to behold. The detached icebergs that floated off this strange weird-looking coast were less jagged than those of the North Pole. Very often they were immense square snow-clad blocks. They were nearly all very large. Here comes floating along, slowly moving up and down, a good representation of a cathedral without a spire. Behind, a library of books piled one above the other, truly a Titanic collection, for every volume is as large as a church, yet the representation is faithful. But what comes behind? A giant's head upreared above the black water; eyes and nose and all are perfect, and it is bigger than the Egyptian Sphinx, while in the rear of this pyramids innumerable, and lo! as they pass these they come upon--what? They may well ask what. A soldiers' camp, sure enough, larger than any at Aldershot. But there are no soldiers about, only the white and shapely tents all afloat on the deep dark sea. A STRANGE CHANGE. Yet in one week's time a wondrous change came over the spirit of the scene. The great whales, the mighty sharks, and the huge sea-elephants, that for days they had seen tumbling and wallowing in the waters round the vessel, suddenly disappeared, and even the birds ceased to go whirling and screaming through the air, and one evening they seemed sailing into the blackness of darkness. There was a good breeze behind them, but as night fell--and it came on before its time--so did the wind. And so the ship lay becalmed, or nearly so. No one went to bed that night. The darkness was a darkness that could be felt; the air was close, sulphurous, oppressive, and at midnight the stillness was broken by explosions of thunder so terrific as to appal the boldest heart on board. Then the darkness was illuminated by one vast sheet of flame, that shot upwards from the horizon some miles inland among the ice, carrying with it smoke and steam and great boulders that burst in the air with a noise like the loudest artillery. They were undoubtedly witnessing a volcanic eruption on a terribly grand scale. All that night it continued, while the noise of the thunder and the explosions grew louder and louder, and the flames and lightning increased in vividness. When at last the clock hands pointed to the hour of daybreak it still was dark, as far as sunlight was concerned; the sea was perfectly calm, though every now and then strangely moved, so that the ship was shaken from stem to stern. Ashes, too, began to fall till they lay inches deep on the deck, and it was almost impossible to breathe. At the same time stones fell around them, hissing and spurting and throwing up volumes of steam as they reached the water. It was an awful scene, a never-to-be-forgotten time. But despite the want of wind, Captain Blunt determined not to be idle. Boats were got out, and the ship was slowly towed northwards direct. All that dark and fearful day, and even by the glare of volcanic fires on the dismal night that succeeded, the men rowed and rowed as for dear life, and about nine o'clock next morning they saw the sun. It was gleaming like a great crimson ball through the ash-laden air, but there it was--the sun; and not a heart of all the crew was there that did not rejoice, not a soul, I'm sure, that did not breathe its thanks to Him Who rules on earth and sea. ONCE MORE IN SUMMER SEAS. This is a chapter of changes, the reader may say. From the dreary scene I have just tried--in all too feeble language--to describe, wafted on the wings of a favourable breeze, the _Gloaming Star_ sailed northward and west, and ere many weeks had elapsed the good ship was once more sailing over summer seas, with the dangers they had escaped in the Antarctic regions dwelling in their minds only like dreams of yesterday. Ah! but soft, sweet, and balmy was the breeze that now filled the sails, and wondrous were the curious creatures they saw day after day. Some may think that when a ship is far away at sea, with no land nor sail in sight, there can be little to look at and admire. But there _is_, for nature is everywhere in this bright world of ours, and real solitude nowhere. Not a day now passed without strange birds coming about the ship. Sometimes these were evidently winged wanderers from some far-off land, that had been blown to sea by a gale, for they were sadly tired, and looked woebegone as they alighted on the yards. Others were curious, dark birds of the swallow tribe. They alighted on the ship quite as a matter of business, and chirped little songs to the crew as they perched aloft, as if thankful and joyous because of the rest. Then away they went again, south or north as the case might be. There were Cape pigeons, and great cormorants, and wild gannet-like birds, that it was pleasant to watch as they descended from the clouds, swift almost as a thunderbolt, and disappeared beneath the waves, presently, perhaps, to emerge with their prey. Then there were fulmar petrels, that went darting about the waves, and were said by the sailors to catch the flying-fish, and to forebode the coming of storms, the lovely, pearly-white bird, which once seen can never be forgotten, the molly hawk, and the great dusky albatross itself, of which--built upon the superstition of sailors--Coleridge writes so charming a tale, and which the ancient mariner shot so cruelly, causing such dire and terrible sorrow to the vessel and all on board; albeit, it had brought them the best of good fortune, for it saved them from the ice, and-- "A good south wind sprung up behind, The albatross did follow. And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariner's hollo! "In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, It perched for vespers nine, Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, Glimmered the white moonshine." The albatross is a stately and noble bird, and the stretch of its wings has been known to be fully twelve feet from tip to tip. The creature, they tell me, will devour the dead, but never touch a living man. The fish and marine monsters they saw on this sunny voyage were sometimes most lovely, sometimes hideous in the extreme. Giant rays, the skins of which would have been big enough to have carpeted a schoolroom; great whales and sharks innumerable,--the blue shark, the white shark, and the large basking shark, which really seems to go asleep on the warm surface of the water. Land ho! was the hail from the masthead one beautiful morning, and they had all been so long at sea that they certainly were not sorry to hear it. But what land was it? And could they find water, fruit, and fresh provisions on it? Book 3--CHAPTER FOUR. THE UNKNOWN LAND. "After the sea-ship, after the whistling winds, After the white-grey sails, taut to their spars and ropes, Below a myriad, myriad waves hastening, lifting up their necks, Tending in ceaseless flow toward the track of the ship, A motley procession with many a fleck of foam and many fragments, Following the stately and rapid ship, in the wake following." Whitman's _Leaves of Grass_. Scene: The _Gloaming Star_ standing in towards the land, which looks like a long low greenish cloud on the horizon. The sky is a burning blue, the day is hot and sultry, and the pitch boils in the seams of the deck. Land birds, some very pretty, and hosts of butterflies as large as small fans, and surpassingly radiant in colour, are hovering about the vessel. Medusae, like open umbrellas, and whose limbs seem studded with gems, float around the ship, while now and than huge turtles can be seen, each one as big and as broad as a blacksmith's bellows. The log before me is so water-stained, so yellow with age, and so worn, that I cannot make out--do what I may--the latitude and longitude of the _Gloaming Star_ at this particular time. But from all I have read and from all I know of these oceans and islands, I think the land now in sight must have been either Tasmania itself or some of the isles not far off. Seeing, on a nearer approach, no signs of a harbour, nor any deep water, only the white foaming breakers booming on a low sandy beech; and the green woods beyond, and the wind coming on to blow higher and higher from the west, they put to sea again, and stood away still farther north. In the morning, land was in sight again, and not far off, and the coast was rocky and wild; the wind, too, had gone down considerably, so sail was made, and seeing a wide gap in the rocks they made for it, and found themselves in an hour's time in a lovely wood-girt bay. But wood is too tame a term to apply to it. Primeval forest is surely better. Never before had any one on board beheld such wondrous trees, nor such a wealth of vegetation. The ferns, which were of gigantic size, were a special feature in this tree-scape, while immense climbing plants, with gorgeous hanging flowers, made an intricate wildery of this forest land. Great flocks of pigeons sometimes rose into the air, which they almost darkened. Ibises grey and red sat and nodded on the rocks, looking like rows of soldiers and riflemen, while the woods resounded with the cries of strange birds and the chattering of innumerable monkeys. Boats landed about noon, and came off laden with fruit, but they could find no water that was not brackish. An expedition was accordingly got up to go farther inland and search for it. Both Leonard and Douglas went with it. They were fortunate enough to find a running stream. The casks were filled, and after a rest, they were preparing to return, when a wild war-whoop rent the air, and they found themselves suddenly confronted by a dozen nearly naked savages, armed with club, and spear, and shield. The march shore-wards, however, was commenced, and carried out in perfect order, the natives following slowly on after them, and threatening their rear. They grew bolder when they noticed the intention of the men to embark with their casks. Spears were thrown, and more than one man was wounded. Then Leonard and Douglas lost their patience and fired. Two savages bit the dust. The others stood as if petrified. They had evidently never heard of or seen such a thing as a gun before. Then recovering themselves, with one unearthly shriek they turned and fled away into the darkness of the forest. Nothing was to be gained by stopping here and fighting those dusky sons of the woods, so anchor was got up that evening, and the _Gloaming Star_ resumed her voyage. Although the ship was still, to some extent, scarce of water, they trusted to future good fortune, as brave sailors were in the habit of doing in those days. After coasting about for nearly a fortnight, with variable winds, land breezes, sea breezes, and even half-gales, they found themselves one forenoon once more approaching the land. The wind was fair, the day was fine, and men were kept constantly in the chains lest, the water suddenly shoaling, the vessel might get stranded. There was plenty of dash and "go" about Captain Blunt, but no such thing as rashness, a quality which in a commander is oftentimes fatal, and involves the loss of many a gallant ship and thousands of lives annually. Strange birds such as they had never seen before kept constantly wheeling and screaming around the vessel, and there were stranger creatures still in the water. They had all heard of sea-serpents or of _the_ sea-serpent, but here they were on this particular bank in scores and in hundreds, gliding along in the water or floating in knots-- ugly-looking flat-tailed creatures, though of no great size. I have heard of a lieutenant having been killed by the bite of one of these strange snakes; at the same time I can hardly believe it. The story, briefly told, is as follows:-- BITTEN BY A SEA-SNAKE. It was in the gun-boat B--some few hundred miles south of Bombay in the Indian Ocean. Lieutenant Archer was asleep in his cabin in the afternoon, just after luncheon, and the day being fine and the weather fair when he lay down, he had opened his little port for fresh air; in other words, he had pulled the scuttle out. One of those sudden squalls, however--so common in this lovely sea--came down on the ship just as she was about to cross a coral bank infested with these serpents. The tramping noise on deck, the rattle of ropes overhead, and the flapping of sails and shouting of orders might have failed to waken Archer--he was used to it--but something else did. No, not a snake; the snake comes in afterwards. But he shipped a sea through the scuttle which deluged the bed. The officer sprang out, put in and fastened the scuttle, shook the rug, and then himself as a big dog might have done, and quietly turned in again. He got up to keep the first dog-watch, and on putting his hand down to take up his jacket the terrible sea-viper struck him. It is said he was almost instantly paralysed with terror and pain. The doctor found him, pale, perspiring, with starting eye-balls, and almost bloodless, and nothing could rally him, for he sank and died. Now I give the story as I got it. It _may_ be true. It may be like some of Rory O'Reilly's yarns, worthy of credence as far as one half goes, the other half being left for the story-teller himself to make the best of. It was strange now that, although far away among the woods they had seen the smoke of fires, on landing with men to dig wells and search for water, not a sight of a human being could be seen. They dug well after well, but all were brackish. So this island had to be deserted. The next place they came to swarmed with natives, and very fine-looking fellows they were, armed to the teeth, however. They obstinately refused to hold any palaver with the officers or crew of the _Gloaming Star_. Even the display of beads did not tempt them, and although here were streams of fresh water, it was ultimately decided to sail away and seek for it on other and probably more hospitable shores. It is impossible to chronicle all the wanderings of our heroes in those lovely islands, and their cruises round their coasts, but all summer long off and on they voyaged in their midst. Then came the autumn-- which is contemporaneous with our spring--and higher winds began to blow, and the weather got sensibly cooler and more pleasant. There was no dearth of fresh provisions anywhere, there was fish in the sea and game on shore, and although the dangers they had to incur in search of water were sometimes great, they succeeded in getting it nevertheless. One day about the middle of February they found themselves approaching a beautiful though small island, which, as it was well-wooded and hilly, gave promise not only of water, but of a supply of good things for the larder as well. The weather was not quite so clear, however, as usual. As the wind seemed freshening and blowing towards the land, the _Gloaming Star_ altered her course, and towards evening found herself at the lee side of this _terra incognita_, when she dropped anchors, being sheltered on one side by the rocks, and on another by a long spit of land, covered with shingle, that jutted out into the sea. There was no smoke to be seen among the trees, no huts near the shore, never a sign of human life anywhere. The island was as much their own as Robinson Crusoe's was. Leonard and Douglas with a boat's crew of five men landed in the afternoon, and after making their boat fast to the trunks of some mangrove trees, that grew near the spit of land, they went away into the interior on a prospecting expedition. They found the island far more lovely than they could have imagined in their wildest dreams. It was indeed a garden of nature--hills and glens, woods and waters, and even inland lakes, foaming cataracts, wondrous trees, and climbing flowers of every shape and colour. Birds and strange beasts, but nothing apparently hurtful or venomous. And yet all was in the smallest compass. No wonder that the sun was almost setting before--laden with delicious fruit--they began to make their way back to the beach. A FEARFUL GALE. As long as they were in the shelter of the trees and hills, they had no idea how high it was blowing, but as soon as they gained the beach things appeared in their true light. The sea, even with the wind blowing off the land, was houses high, and like a snow-field with the froth and spume that covered it. The _Gloaming Star_ could hardly be seen in the midst of the spray and even green seas that dashed over her. As they gazed despairingly towards her, the gale suddenly increased to tenfold its former violence. The waves now made a clean breach over the spot of land that sheltered the ship, if shelter it could be called. Gravel, sand, earth, and dead branches were torn off the ground and hurled into the air; it got darker and darker; the lightning played quick, vivid, and bright everywhere about them; and high over the roaring of wind and water rose the deafening rattle of thunder. While trees were being uprooted in the woods, or snapped like twigs, and the whole island was shaken to its very foundation, Leonard and his party were creeping on all fours to the shelter of a rock, and night fell just as they found themselves safe inside a cave on the sea-beach. All that night the wind howled and roared, and the rain came down in torrents. Sleep was out of the question, for the thunder was constant, and by the glimmer of the lightning's flash they could see each other's blue, pale faces as they crouched on the sandy floor of the cave. Morning broke at last, and the wind went down, the sun rose and shone luridly over the heaving waters, and they stood together on the sea-beach--alone! The _Gloaming Star_ was nowhere to be seen, but whether she broke her moorings, and drifted out to sea to founder, or whether Captain Blunt had thought it would be safer to run before the fearful gale, they could not guess. The wind still blew stiff, but the force of the hurricane was spent. They went to the place where the boat had been left. It had been smashed to pieces, hardly a timber was left, and the keel stuck up out of a sandbank, beside the tree to which the painter had been attached. Leonard looked at Douglas, and Douglas at Leonard, and both smiled, though somewhat sadly. The same thoughts were evidently passing through the minds of each. "Well," said Douglas, "if the ship is safe, and I believe she is, she is sure to come back for us." "And a few days or even weeks in so beautiful a place won't hurt," said Leonard. "This is like being marooned, isn't it, gentlemen?" one of the sailors remarked. "Well, it is being marooned by fortune, but we must make the best of it." In the bright lexicon of youth there is no such word as "fail." There should not be, at all events; and so these deserted sailors at once set about making the best of a bad job. They had hope in their hearts--which were stout ones all of them--and after a bit they quite enjoyed their Crusoe life. They had axes, and spades, and knives, and guns, and plenty of ammunition; but even had they possessed none of these tools, they could have lived on the fruit that grew so abundantly everywhere, on bushes on the hills, and on trees in every glade and glen. As gales of wind or hurricanes might come again and level the strongest hut they could build, they determined to become for a time cave-dwellers. They searched for, and found farther inland, and up on a terrace in the side of a woody hill, just the place that would suit--a large, dry, lofty cave in sight of the sea. They at once set about fitting it up for a dwelling. The floor was covered deep in silvery sand. Nothing could be better, whether to squat in by day, or sleep on by night. The entrance to the cave was built up with felled trees, leaving only a small entrance for light, and a doorway. Thus the dwelling-house was speedily completed. "Why not," said Leonard, "fortify this terrace?" "Good," replied Douglas; "we have nothing else to do, and I can't forget that footstep in the sand of Crusoe's Isle." "And as we never know what may happen," continued Douglas, "I propose that we store our guns and ammunition, and trap game for our food." This proposal was carried unanimously. Some of the men were clever trappers, and others were good fishermen, so there was no want of food, and water was abundant. On the sea-beach a fire was kindled, and day and night this was kept up, sentries being always posted here, armed. The rampart was soon completed round the terrace, and a strong one it was. A whole week had gone, and as yet nothing had been seen of the _Gloaming Star_, and the hopes of our heroes began to get very low indeed. A whole week, then another and another. Their hearts sank with each recurring day. They got tired even of the beauty of the island, and tired and sick of gazing always out to the sea, which looked to them now so void and merciless. They envied even the sea-birds, that seemed so happy and joyous, and whom nothing could imprison. "It would be a good idea," said Douglas one day, "to build a boat and sail away somewhere." "Yes, but whither?" "Yes, whither?" repeated Douglas sadly. One day, while roaming together on the other side of the island, suddenly there sprang up in front of Leonard and Douglas, as if from the very earth, a naked savage. He stood but for a moment, then waving a club aloft with a wild shout of fear and wonder, he fled far away into the woods. They returned to the cave, and reported what they had seen, and all agreed that though danger might accrue from the visit of natives to the island, still it might end in their being set free. It was determined, however, to be now doubly vigilant. The sentry was no longer placed on the beach but inside the rampart, and never less than four men went to the woods together. Days and days went past, a sad time of doubt and uncertainty, and still no signs of savages. They came at last, however. And one morning, looking down over the ramparts, they could see a group of tall, armed, and painted natives, standing on the sand spit examining the broken keel of the boat. Then they disappeared in the bush. Arms were got out now; the one little gate that led through the rampart was doubly barricaded; the little garrison waited and watched. The forenoon wore on, birds sang in the trees, the low wind sighed through the woods, and the lovely flowers opened their petals to bask in the sweet sunshine. There were joy and gladness everywhere except in the hearts of those anxious mariners. The day wore on, and the sun began to decline in the west. Our heroes had just finished dinner when the sentry lifted his finger, and beckoned to them. Through an opening in the rampart they could perceive fully a score of club- and spear-armed savages creeping stealthily up the hill. As soon, however, as they were boldly hailed from the fort--for fort it might now be considered--they cast all attempts at concealment aside, and with a yell that was re-echoed back from every rock around they dashed onwards to the attack. "Steady, men. Take good aim, and don't throw away a shot." A volley completely staggered the enemy. They fell back quicker than they had come, going helter-skelter down the hill, and leaving several dead and wounded behind them. Not for long though. Savages may be beaten, but if there is the slightest chance to overcome by numbers they invariably return. The day passed, however, and eke the long, dreary night, during which no one closed an eye till the sun once more rose over the sea in the morning. Most of the men slept all the forenoon. Luckily they did, for in the afternoon the savages returned in redoubled numbers, and this time many of them actually swarmed over the ramparts, but only to be felled inside. It was a terrible _melee_, but ended once more in victory for our side. A whole week now wore away without further molestation, but the worst was to come, for the garrison was reduced to five defenders, two having been wounded in the last fight, one of whom had succumbed to his wounds. It was early in the morning, and the stars were still shining bright and clearly over the sea, when one of the sentries reported the woods on fire to windward. The flames spread with alarming rapidity, and by daybreak were close at hand; the fort was enveloped in smoke, while sparks as thick as falling snowflakes in a winter's storm were showered around them. In the midst of smoke and fire the savages intended making their final attempt to carry the fort, and our heroes determined to sell their lives dearly, and fight to the end. Already they could hear the yells of the approaching spearmen, though they were invisible. But why come they not on? Why does the yelling continue and go farther and farther back and away? Hark! it is the ring of firearms. Oh, joy! the _Gloaming Star_ must have returned. But was this really so? No, for the white men now engaged in a hand-to-hand combat with those daring savages are men of a different class from the honest crew of the _Gloaming Star_. The sound of the battle grows fainter and fainter, till it ceases entirely. Leonard and Douglas wait and watch, trying to peer through the smoke, and unravel, if possible, some of the mystery that has been taking place below. Dimly through the haze at last they can notice figures dressed in white clambering up the hill. "Come out at once, you white fellows," cries a bold English voice. "Come forth, if you don't want to be roasted alive. The fire is close on you." The rampart gates were opened, and the besieged bade speedy farewell for ever to their cave and fort. Sturdy, bare, brown-armed sailors, armed with cutlasses and pistols, were their rescuers, but presently they found themselves on the beach, and standing in front of the ringleader or captain of the band. A tall handsome man he was, dressed in white, with a turban of silk around his head, and a sword by his side. He was smoking a cheroot. "Happy to see you, anyhow," he said. "Squat yourselves down on the sand there; I guess you're tired." "And I, Captain Bland, am glad to see _you_ once again." "What! you know me then?" "Yes, though you can hardly be expected to remember the lad you kidnapped." Bland jumped up and seized Leonard by the hand, while tears filled his eyes. "Oh!" he said, "this is a greater joy then ever I could have dreamt of, greater than ever I deserved. I care little now how soon my wanderings are ended, or how soon I leave the world itself." "Do not speak in this sad tone, Captain Bland; believe me, it is a pleasure to me to meet you. I never believed you the hardened criminal that some would have you." "Criminal!" cried Bland, flushing excitedly, "who dare call me criminal? And yet," he added, in a tone of great sadness, and even pathos, "perhaps I have been a criminal, a smuggler, yea, even to some extent a pirate. I have never yet, however, done one cruel action; but had I my life to begin over again, how different it would all be!" "And that barque lying out there is yours?" "Yes; and my trade you would ask? I deal in slaves and gold. I have found gold. But what good is it all? I live a life of constant excitement; were this to fail me I should die. But you saved my worthless life, lad." "And now you have saved ours." "Yes, and I'll do more. I'll restore you to your ship and your captain. He it was who sent me here in search of you, but he mentioned no name, and little did he know the pleasure he was giving me." "And the _Gloaming Star_?" "Is in the hands of my merry men. Do not be alarmed. It was a bloodless victory. And now she shall be restored to you safe and sound. "Come, my boats are here to take you off, and your ship lies safe at anchor not sixty miles away. Come." Book 3--CHAPTER FIVE. THE OLD FOLKS AT HOME. "Gloomy winter's noo awa, Soft the westlin' breezes blow, Amang the birks o' Stanley Shaw The mavis sings hoo cheery O?" Burns. "I asked a glad mother, just come from the post, With a letter she kissed, from a far-away coast, What heart-thrilling news had rejoiced her the most, And--gladness for mourning! Her boy was returning To love her--at home." Tupper. Scene: The wildery round Grayling House in early spring. Everything in gardens and on lawns looks fresh and joyful. Spring flowers peeping through the brown earth, merle and mavis making music in the spruce and fir thickets, and louder than all the clear-throated chaffinch. Effie walking alone with book in hand, a great deerhound, the son of faithful Ossian, following step by step behind. Effie is not reading, though she holds that book in her hand, and albeit her eyes seem glued to the page. For Effie is thinking, only thinking the same thoughts she thinks so very often, only making the same calculations she makes every day of her somewhat lonely life, and which often cause her pillow at night to be bedewed with tears. Thinking, wondering, calculating. Thinking of the past, thinking what a long, long time has elapsed since Leonard and Douglas--her brother's friend--went last away to sea; wondering where they might be at that very moment, and calculating the weeks and days that had yet to elapse before the time they had promised to return should arrive. She finished by breathing a little prayer for them. What a joyful thing it is for us poor mortals, that He, Who sticketh closer than a brother, is ever and always by our side, and ever and always ready to lend a willing ear to our silent supplications! Effie ended with a sigh that was half a sob, a sigh that made great Orla the deerhound thrust his muzzle right under her elbow, and so throw her arm around his neck. What would Effie have thought or done, I wonder, had she known that at this very moment Leonard's ship lay safe at Leith, and that not only he, but Douglas and Captain Blunt, were making all the haste that could be made in a chaise and pair towards Glen Lyle? On the arrival of the _Gloaming Star_, our heroes first and foremost did something which may not accord with my readers' idea of romance. A most useful and most needful something it was. They paid a visit to a West End tailor. Before doing so, however, they went to Captain Lyle's lawyer. The old man--he was very old--did not at first know Leonard, but as soon as he did, he shook hands with him over and over again. He was almost childlike in his joy to see him again. "What will your father say?" he cried, "and all of them, all of them?" Of course Leonard had a dozen questions to ask, and what a big sigh of relief he got rid of, when told that not only were all of them well, including Peter and Peter's pike, which by some means or another-- considered supernatural by Peter--was once more all alive and plunging, but that the estate of Glen Lyle was free again, and that Captain Fitzroy had rented one of the farms, thus figuratively, if not literally, turning his sword into a ploughshare. Leonard had stood all the time he was getting this news, but now that the hysterical ball of doubt and anxiety had left his throat, he flung his hat to the other end of the room, and took a chair. Douglas and Blunt did the same, and the whole four glided right away into a right jolly, right merry whole hour's conversation, what the Scotch folks would call "a foursome crack." The old lawyer's clerk--and _he_ was old, too--came on tiptoe to the door and listened, for he had not heard such laughing and joking and merriment for many and many a long year. The wanderers rose at last to say good-bye for the present. "_Now_ don't write and tell them we've come," said Leonard. "We want to go and surprise them." "But, my dear young squire--" "Bother the squire!" cried Leonard, laughing. "Well, my dear Leonard, then--" "Yes, that's better." "Aren't you going right away down at once? Do you mean to say you'll let the grass grow beneath your shoes for an hour?" And now Douglas put in his oar. "Why, Mr Fraser," he said, "look at us. Run your eagle eye over us from stem to stern. Rough and unkempt. Covered with salt. Barnacles growing on us. Could you, Mr Fraser, suggest our putting in an appearance before ladies in such a plight? No, sir, the tailor must first and foremost come upon the scene." Mr Fraser laughed heartily. "Well, well," he said, "young men will be young men, but I'll warrant you, gentlemen, the ladies would be right glad to see you, barnacles and all." And the old gentleman laughed and rubbed his hands, as if he had said something very clever indeed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Once upon a time, as the fairy stories begin, my good ship _M--_ had arrived at Portsmouth after a long commission of cruising along the shores of Eastern Africa and round India. At luncheon the day after we came in, our chief engineer said, in his quiet, stoical manner,-- "My wife is coming to-day by the three train." "What!" cried somebody. "And you are not going to meet her at the station, after so long an absence?" "No, I'm not," was the answer. "The fact is, I've a very great horror of anything approaching what people call a scene. Now if I had gone to meet my wife, the poor thing, overcome by her feelings, would be sure to faint in my arms or something. So I've sent my assistant to meet her. She isn't likely to faint in little Jones's arms." On the same principle, the reader must excuse me if I omit describing the scene of the meeting and reunion at Grayling House. I will not even tell of the tears that were shed, tears of joy and anxiety long pent up, of the hearty handshakes, of the whispered words and half-spoken sentences of welcome, for all this can be better imagined than told. It was three days, at least, before the old house settled down again to anything like solid order, and conversation became less spasmodic in character. Old Peter, who, of course, was quite one of the family, was probably the last to settle down, owing perhaps to the fact that he listened with wonder and astonishment to the conversation at table, and to the tales the wanderers had to tell, about the wonders they had seen, and the adventures they had come through. More than once, indeed, he had let fall a plate, and he had actually filled up Effie's cup on the second morning from the water-bottle instead of the teapot. That same day, when he found Leonard and Douglas in the garden by themselves, he treated them to the following morsel of edification. "Oh, laddies!" he said, "it's a wondrous warld we live in, whether we dwall upo' the dry lan' or gang doon to the sea in ships. But few, unco few, hae come through what ye've come through. And what brocht ye back, think ye? What else but prayer, prayer, prayer? Your father prayed, and your lady mither prayed, and Miss Effie prayed, and poor auld Peter prayed, and--and thare ye are. And yonder is Grayling Ha', and all aroond us is the bonnie estate o' Glen Lyle, its hills and dells, and moors and fields, and woods and waters, a' oor ain again. And the muckle pike ploupin' aboot [ploupin', _Scottice_--plunging] as if naething had ever ailed him. Verily, verily, we've a lot to be thankfu' for!" "Well, bless you, Peter, dear old friend, for your prayers, and long may you live to pray. But tell me, Peter, for I forgot to ask mother, what has become of Zella the gipsy girl?" "Oh! hae they no tauld you? It's a year ago come Whitsunday since they cam' for her." "Who?" "Who? who but the Faas of her ain tribe, and bonnily they decked her, in a muslin gown o' gowden-spangled white, and they put roses and ferns in her dark hair, and a croon upon her head, and it's wondrous beautiful she looked. Ay, ye may stare, but Zella is queen o' the gipsies, and no doubt ye'll see her ere lang." He turned sharp round towards Douglas as he spoke. "I dinna doubt, sir," he said, "but that the gipsy queen will come to your weddin'." Now Douglas's face was, from exposure to sun and weather, of a sort of dignified brick-dust hue. One would have thought it impossible for such a face to blush, but deeper in colour it really got as he laughingly replied to the garrulous old Peter. "My wedding, Peter! Why, my dear old friend, you've been dreaming." "Och, mon!" said Peter, with a sly wink. "I can see as far through a millstone as the miller himself. But I'm off, there's the bell. It's that auld limmer of a cook, she keeps ring, ring, ringing for me a' day lang, with `Peter, do this' and `Peter, do that.' Sorrow tak' her! Ring, ring, ring; there it goes again. Comin', comin,' comin'." "Strange old man!" said Douglas. "That he is," said Leonard, "but yet how leal and true he has been to our family." A day or two after this the old family carriage was had out--and a stately and ancient-looking affair it was, hung on monster leather straps, which permitted it to swing about like a hammock, while inside it was as snug and soft as a feather bed--the carriage was got out, and accompanied by a phaeton, in which rode the younger folks, a visit was made to the gipsy camp in a far-off forest. A horseman had been sent the day before with a note to her gracious majesty Queen Zella to apprise her of their coming, so that after a delightful drive on this lovely spring day they arrived at the encampment, safe and merry, and were received in state. The gipsies were arrayed in their very best, and the queen was a sight to see, and indeed she really did look charming. "Oh!" she said to Mr Lyle, "I was pleased to be with you in your cottage by the sea, and pleased to be at bonnie Glen Lyle, but the brown blood is strong within me. I was _born to wander_, and here I am wild and free as the birds that sing so sweetly on the trees to-day. "Oh!" she continued, turning to our heroes, "it is not altogether because the sun is shining so brightly that their notes are so joyous. They sing thus madly because _you_ have returned." Verily the queen knew how to pay a pretty compliment. "And," she added, "you have been happy. Oh! you must have been happy. Every one must be happy at sea. I dreamt you had met Captain Bland." "Your majesty has dreamt a strange dream, and a true one, for we did. He saved our lives. But, alas! he is no more. For just two days after he left us we saw a fire at sea. We bore down towards the burning ship. It was Bland's barque. There was no sign of life on board. All was silent except for the rush of the flames and the crackling of the burning wood. And I fear no one was saved." The conversation was somewhat saddened for a time by Leonard's recital, but what hearts could long remain sad in the fair, fresh scene, amid the greenery of trees, the wild melody of birds, and the soft spring sunshine? "Man was made to mourn." No, great poet, no; I will not have it. Man was made to be glad and to rejoice with everything that is glad and rejoiceth around him on this fair earth of ours. "Tell me not in mournful numbers Life is but an empty dream, For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are _not_ what they seem. "Life is real; life is earnest, And the grave is not its goal. Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul." If there be anything in this world more lovely than a ship under full sail on a summer's sea, I have yet to learn what it is. Look at the _Gloaming Star_ yonder as she goes proudly bowing and curtseying westward over the Atlantic waves. A thing of beauty, a thing of life almost. Let us glance on board for a moment. How white the decks! almost as white as the beard of her commander Captain Blunt. Her woodworks are polished, her brass shines like yellow gold, the men are neat and tidy, and every rope is coiled and in its place on deck. Yonder on the quarter-deck sits Effie beside her brother's friend. Her brother's friend? Yes, but Effie's husband now! And Leonard himself is at the wheel. Let us quietly drop the curtain then, while-- "The western sea is all aglow, And the day is well-nigh done, And almost on the western wave Now rests the broad bright sun." 
38296	----	Wild Adventures round the Pole The Cruise of the "Snowbird" Crew in the "Arrandoon" By Gordon Stables Published by Hodder and Stoughton, 27 Paternoster Row, London. This edition dated 1883. Wild Adventures round the Pole, by Gordon Stables. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ WILD ADVENTURES ROUND THE POLE, BY GORDON STABLES. CHAPTER ONE. THE TWIN RIVERS--A BUSY SCENE--OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW FACES--THE BUILDING OF THE GREAT SHIP--PEOPLE'S OPINIONS--RALPH'S HIGHLAND HOME. Wilder scenery there is in abundance in Scotland, but hardly will you find any more picturesquely beautiful than that in which the two great rivers, the Clyde and the Tweed, first begin their journey seawards. It is a classic land, there is poetry in every breath you breathe, the very air seems redolent of romance. Here Coleridge, Scott, and Burns roved. Wilson loved it well, and on yonder hills Hogg, the Bard of Ettrick--he who "taught the wandering winds to sing"--fed his flocks. It is a land, too, not only of poetic memories, but one dear to all who can appreciate daring deeds done in a good cause, and who love the name of hero. If the reader saw the rivers we have just named, as they roll their waters majestically into the ocean, the one at Greenock, the other near the quaint old town of Berwick, he would hardly believe that at the commencement of their course they are so small and narrow that ordinary-sized men can step across them, that bare-legged little boys wade through them, and thrust their arms under their green banks, bringing therefrom many a lusty trout. But so it is. Both rise in the same district, within not very many miles of each other, and for a considerable distance they follow the same direction and flow north. But soon the Tweed gets very faint-hearted indeed. "The country is getting wilder and wilder," she says to her companion, "we'll never be able to do it. I'm going south and east. It is easier." "And I," says the bold Clyde, "am going northwards and west; it is more difficult, and therein lies the enjoyment. I will conquer every obstacle, I'll defy everything that comes against me, and thus I'll be a mightier river than you. I'll water great cities, and on my broad breast I will bear proud navies to the ocean, to do battle against wind and wave. `Faint heart never won fair lady.' Farewell, friend Tweed, farewell." And so they part. This conversation between the two rivers is held fourteen hundred feet above the level of the sea, and five score miles and over have to be traversed before the Clyde can reach it. Yet, nothing daunted, merrily on she rolls, gaining many an accession of strength on the way from streams and burns. "If you are going seaward," say these burns, "so are we, so we'll take the liberty of joining you." "And right welcome you are," sings the Clyde; "in union lies strength." In union lies strength; yes, and in union is happiness too, it would seem, for the Clyde, broader and stronger now, glides peacefully and silently onwards; or if not quite silently, it emits but a silvery murmur of content. Past green banks and wooded braes, through daisied fields where cattle feed, through lonely moorlands heather-clad, now hidden in forest depths, now out again into the broad light of day, sweeping past villages, cottages, mansions, and castles, homes of serf and feudal lord in times long past and gone, with many a sweep and many a curve it reaches the wildest part of its course. Here it must rush, the rapids and go tumbling and roaring over the lynns, with a noise that may be heard for miles on a still night, with an impetuosity that shakes the earth for hundreds of yards on every side. "I wonder how old Tweed is getting on?" thinks our brave river as soon as it has cleared the rocks and rapids and pauses for breath. But the Clyde will soon be rewarded for its pluck and its daring, before long it will enter and sweep through the second city of the empire, the great metropolis of the west; but ere it does so, forgive it, if it lingers awhile at Bothwell, and if it seems sullen and sad as it dashes underneath the ancient bridge where, in days long gone, so fierce a fight took place that five hundred of the brave Covenanters lay dead on the field of battle. And pardon it when anon it makes a grand and splendid sweep round Bothwell Bank, as if loth to leave it. Yonder are the ruins of the ancient castle-- "Where once proud Murray held the festive board. ***** But where are now the festive board, The martial throng, and midnight song? Ah! ivy binds the mouldering walls, And ruin reigns in Bothwell's halls. O, deep and long have slumbered now The cares that knit the soldier's brow, The lovely grace, the manly power, In gilded hall and lady's bower; The tears that fell from beauty's eye, The broken heart, the bitter sigh, E'en deadly feuds have passed away, Still thou art lovely in decay." But see, our river has left both beauty and romance far behind it. It has entered the city--the city of merchant princes, the city of a thousand palaces; it bears itself more steadily now, for hath not Queen Commerce deigned to welcome it, and entrusted to it the floating wealth of half a nation? The river is in no hurry to leave this fair city. "My noble queen," it seems to say, "I am at your service. I come from the far-off hills to obey your high behests. My ambition is fulfilled, do with me as you will." But soon as the bustle and din of the city are led behind, soon as the grand old hills begin to appear on the right, and glimpses of green on the southern banks, lo! the tide comes up to welcome the noble river; and so the Clyde falls silently and imperceptibly into the mighty Atlantic. Yet scarcely is the lurid and smoky atmosphere that hangs pall-like over the town exchanged for the purer, clearer air beyond, hardly have the waters from the distant mountains begun to mingle with ocean's brine, ere the noise of ten thousand hammers seems to rend the very sky. Clang, clang, clang, clang--surely the ancient god Vulcan has reappeared, and taken up his abode by the banks of the river. Clang, clang, clang. See yonder is the _Iona_, churning the water into foam with her swift-revolving paddles. She has over a thousand passengers on board; they are bound for the Highlands, bent on pleasure. But this terrible noise and din of hammers--they will have three long miles of it before they can even converse in comfort. Clang, clang, clang--it is no music to them. Nay, but to many it is. It is music to the merchant prince, for yonder lordly ship, when she is launched from the slips, will sail far over the sea, and bring him back wealth from many a foreign shore. It is music to the naval officer; it tells him his ship is preparing, that ere long she will be ready for sea, that his white flag will be unfurled to the breeze, and that he will walk her decks--her proud commander. And it is music--merry music to the ears of two individuals at least, who are destined to play a very prominent part in this story. They are standing on the quarter-deck of a half-completed ship, while clang, clang, clang, go the hammers outside and inside. The younger of the two--he can be but little over twenty-three--with folded arms, is leaning carelessly against the bulwarks. Although there is a thoughtful look upon his handsome face, there is a smile as well, a smile of pleasure. He is taller by many inches than his companion, though by no means better "built," as sailors call it. This companion has a bold, brown, weather-beaten face, the lower half of it buried in a beard that is slightly tinged with grey; his eyes are clear and honest,--eyes that you can tell at a glance would not flinch to meet even death itself. He stands bold, erect, firm. Both are dressed well, but there is a marked difference in the style of their attire. The garments of the elder pronounce him at once just what he is,--one who has been "down to the sea in ships." The younger is dressed in the fashionable attire of an English gentleman. To say more were needless. A minute observer, however, might have noticed that there was a slight air of _neglige_ about him, if only in the unbuttoned coat or the faultless hat pushed back off the brow. "And so you tell me," said the younger, "that the work still goes bravely on?" "Ay, that it does," said his companion; "there have been rumours of a strike for higher wages among the men of other yards, but none, I am proud to say, in this." "And still," continued the former, "we pay but a fraction of wage more than other people, and then, of course, there is the extra weekly half-holiday." "There is something more, Ralph--forgive me if I call you Ralph, in memory of dear old times. You will always be a boy to me, and I could no more call you Mr Leigh than I could fly." Ralph grasped his companion by the hand; the action was but momentary, but it showed a deal of kindly feeling. "Always call me Ralph," he said, "always, McBain, always. When we are back once more at sea I'll call you captain, not till then. But what is the something more that makes our men so happy?" "Why, your kindly manner, Ralph boy. You mix with them, you talk with them, and take an interest in all their doings, and you positively seem to know every one of them by name. Mind you, that extra half-holiday isn't thrown away: they work all the harder, and they are happy. Why, listen to them now." He paused, and held up one hand. From bows to stern of the vessel there arose the sound of industry, incessant, continual; but high over the clang of hammers and the grating noise of saws there arose the voice of song. "They sing, you see," continued McBain; "but they don't put down their tools to sing. But here comes old Ap. What cheer, Mr Ap Ewen?" Those of my readers who knew Ap as he was two or three years ago--the little stiff figure-head of a fellow--would be surprised to see him now. [_Vide_ "Cruise of the Snowbird." Same Author and Publishers.] He is far more smartly dressed, he is more active looking, and more the man, had taken him in hand. He had caused him to study his trade of boat-builder in a far more scientific fashion, with the result that he was now, as our story opens, foreman over all the men employed on the ship in which Ralph Leigh stood. Indeed, McBain himself, as well as Ap, were good examples of what earnest study can effect. There is hardly anything which either boy or man cannot learn if he applies his mind thereto. "What cheer, Mr Ap Ewen?" said McBain. "More hands wanted, sir," said Ap, pulling out his snuff-box and taking a vigorous pinch. "More hands, Ap?" exclaimed McBain. "Ay, sir, ay; look you see," replied Ap, "you told me to hurry on, you see, and on Monday we shall want to begin the saloon bulkheads." "Bravo! Ap, bravo! come to my office to-night at seven, and we'll put that all straight." "Thank you, sir," said Ap, touching his hat and retiring. Ralph Leigh was owner of the splendid composite steamship that was now fast nearing her completion. She was not being built by contract, but privately, and McBain was head controller of every department, and for every department he had hired experts to carry on the work. The vessel was designed for special service, and therefore she must be a vessel of purity, a vessel of strength. There must not be a flaw in her, not a patch--all must be solid, all must be good. McBain had hired experts to examine everything ere it was purchased, but he made use of his own eyes and ears as well. The yard in which the ship was built was rented, and every bit of timber that entered it was tested first, whether it were oak or teak, pine, mahogany, or cedar; and the iron the same, and the bolts of copper and steel, so that Captain McBain's work was really no sinecure. "Well, then," said Ralph, "I've been over all the ship; I'm extremely pleased with the way things are going on, so if you have nothing more to say to me I'm off. By the way, do the people still flock down on Friday afternoons to look over the ship?" "They do," replied McBain; "and poor old Ap, I feel sorry for him. _He_ gets no Friday half-holiday; he won't let me stop, but he insists upon remaining himself to show the people round." "And the people enjoy it?" "They do. They marvel at our engines, as well they may. The gear, so simple and strong, that Ap and I invented for the shipping and unshipping of the rudder, and the easy method we have for elevating the screw out of the water and reducing the vessel to a sailing ship, they think little short of miraculous. They are astonished, too, at the extraordinary strength of build of the ship. Indeed, they are highly complimentary to us in their general admiration. But," continued McBain, laughing aloud, "it would amuse you to hear the remarks of some of these good, innocent souls. The two 12-pounder Dalgrens are universal favourites. They pat them as if they loved them. One girl last Friday said `they just looked for a' the warld like a couple o' big iron soda-water bottles.' They linger in the armoury; old Ap shows them our `express' rifles, and our `bone-crushers,' and the hardened and explosive bullets: then he takes them to the harpoon-room and shows them the harpoons, and the guns, and the electric apparatus, and all the other gear. They stare open-mouthed at the balloon-room and the sledge-lockers, but when they come to the door of the torpedo-chamber they simply hurry past with looks of awe. It is currently reported that we are bound for the very North Pole itself; I'm not sure we are not going to bring it back home with us. Anyhow, they say that as soon as we reach the ice, we are to fill our balloons, attaching one to each mast and funnel, and float away and away over the sea of ancient ice until we reach the Pole." Ralph laughed right merrily, and next minute he was over the side, with his face set townwards, trudging steadily on to the railway-station. It was only a trifle over three miles; there were cabs to be had in abundance, but what young man would ride if he had time to walk? Ralph was going home. Not to his fair English home far away in the south, for ever since, in the early spring-time--and now it was autumn-- the keel of the ship--_his_ ship--had been laid, Ralph had taken up his abode in a rustic cottage by the banks of a broad-bosomed lake in the Highlands of Argyll. Wild though the country was all around, it was but four miles from the railway, and this journey he used to accomplish twice or oftener every week, on the back of a daft-looking Welsh pony that he had bought for the purpose. Once on board the train, two hours took him to the city, and thence a brisk walk to the building-yard. He had watched, week after week, the gradual progress of his ship towards completion, with an interest and a joy that were quite boyish. He dearly loved to see the men at work, and listen to their cheerful voices as they laboured. Even the smell of the pine or cedar shavings was perfume to Ralph, and the way he used to climb about and wander over and through the ship, when she was little more than ribs, knees, and beams, was quite amusing. But he was nevertheless always happy to get back to his Highland home, his books, his boat, and his fishing-rod. She was a widow who owned the humble cottage, but she was kind and good, and Ralph's rooms, that looked away out over the lake, were always kept in a state of perfect cleanliness. The widow had one little daughter, a sweetly pretty and intelligent child, over whose fair wee head five summers had hardly rolled. Jeannie was her name, Jeannie Morrison, and she was an especial pet of Ralph's. She and the collie dog always came gleefully down the road to meet him on his return from the distant city, and you may be perfectly sure he always brought something nice in his pocket for the pair of them. When tired of reading, Ralph used to romp with wee Jeannie, or take her on his knee and tell her wonderful stories, which made her blue eyes grow bigger and more earnest than ever as she listened. In fact, Jeannie and Ralph were very fond of each other, indeed, and every time he went to a romantic little island out in the lake to fish, he took Jeannie in the stern of the boat, and the time passed doubly quick. "Oh, Mista Walph! Mista Walph!" cried Jeannie, bursting into Ralph's room one afternoon, clapping her hands with joy. "Mista McBain is coming; Capping McBain is coming." "Yes," said Mistress Morrison, entering behind her little daughter. "I'm sure you'll be delighted, sir, and so am I, for the captain hasn't been here for a month." Then Ralph got his hat, and, accompanied by the honest collie and his favourite Jeannie, went off down the road to meet McBain and bid him welcome to his Highland home. CHAPTER TWO. THE DINNER BY THE LAKE--RORY'S RUN ROUND AFRICA--THE RETURN OF THE WANDERERS. "When did you hear from Allan and Rory?" asked McBain that day, as they were seated at dinner in the little Highland cottage. Mrs Morrison had done her best to put something nice before them, and not without success either--so thought Ralph, and so, too, thought his guest. At all events, both of them did ample justice to that noble lake trout. Five pounds did he weigh, if he weighed an ounce, and as red was he in flesh as if he had been fed upon beet. The juicy joint of mountain mutton that followed was fit to grace the table of a prince--it was as fragrant and sweet as the blooming heather tops that had brought it to perfection. Nor was the cranberry tart to be despised. The berries of which it was composed had not come over the Atlantic in a barrel of questionable flavour--no, they had been culled on the dewy braelands that very morning by the fair young fingers of wee Jeannie Morrison herself. The widow did not forget to tell them that, and it did not detract from their enjoyment of the tart. For drink they had fragrant heather ale--home-brewed. "When did I hear from Allan and Rory?" said Ralph, repeating McBain's question; "from the first, not for weeks--he is a lazy boy; from the latter, only yesterday morning." "And what says Rory?" asked McBain. "Oh!" replied Ralph, "his letter is beautiful. It is twelve pages long. He is loud in his praises of the behaviour of the yacht, as a matter of course; but in no single sentence of this lengthy epistle does he refer definitely to the health or welfare of anybody whatever." "From which you infer--?" "From which I infer," said Ralph, "that everybody is as well as Rory himself--that my dear father is well, and Allan, and his mother, and his sister Helen Edith. He is a queer boy, Rory, and he encloses me a couple of columns from a Cape of Good Hope paper, in which he has written an epitome of the whole voyage, since they first started in May last. He calls his yarn `Right round Africa.' He commences at Suez, a place where even boy Rory, I should think, would fail to find much poetry and romance; but they must have enjoyed themselves at Alexandria, where Rory mounted on top of Pompey's Pillar, rode upon donkeys, and did all kinds of queer things. Well, they spent a week at Malta, with its streets of stairs, its bells, its priests, its convents, and its blood-oranges. Rory missed trees and shade, though; he says Malta is a capital place for lizards, or any animal, human or otherwise, that cares to spend the day basking on the top of a stone. He liked Tunis and Algiers better, and he quite enjoyed Teneriffe and Madeira. Then they crossed over to Sierra Leone, and he launches forth in praise of the awful forests--`primeval,' he calls them--and he says, in his own inimitable Irish way, that `they are dark, bedad, even in broad daylight.' Then all down the strange savage West Coast they sailed; they even visited Ashantee, but he doesn't say whether or not they called on his sable majesty the king. Of course they didn't miss looking in at Saint Helena, which he designates a paradise in mid-ocean, and not a lonely sea-girt rock, as old books call it. Ascension was their next place of resort. That is a rock, if you like, he says; but the sea-birds' eggs and the turtle are redeeming features. And so on to the Cape, and up the Mozambique, landing here and there at beautiful villages and towns, and in woods where they picked the oysters off the trees." [Oysters growing on trees seems a strange paradox. They do so grow, however. The mangrove-trees are washed by the tide, and to their tortuous roots oysters adhere, which may be gathered at low water.] "They really must be enjoying themselves," said McBain. "That they are," Ralph replied, pulling out Rory's letter. "Just listen how charmingly he writes of the Indian Ocean--nobody else save our own poetic Rory could so write:--`My dear, honest, unsophisticated Ralph,-- oh, you ought to have been with us as we rounded the Cape! That thunderstorm by night would have made even your somewhat torpid blood tingle in your veins. It was night, my Ralph; what little wind there was was dead off the iron-bound coast, but the billows were mountains high. Yes, this is no figure of speech. I have never seen such waves before, and mayhap never will again. I have never seen such lightning, and never heard such thunder. We remained all night on deck; no one had the slightest wish to go below. As I write our yacht is bounding over a blue and rippling sea; the low, wooded shore on our lee is sleeping in the warm sunlight, and everything around us breathes peace and quiet, and yet I have but to clap my hand across my eyes, and once again the whole scene rises up before me. I see the lightning quivering on the dark waves, and flashing incessantly around us, with intervals of the blackest darkness. I see the good yacht clinging by the bows to the crest of the waves, or plunging arrowlike into the watery ravines; I see the wet and slippery decks and cordage, and the awe-struck men around the bulwarks; and I see the faces of my friends as I saw them then-- Allan's knitted brow, his mother's looks of terror, and the pale features of poor Helen Edith. There are nights, Ralph, in the life of a sailor that he is but little likely ever to forget; that was one in mine that will cling to my memory till I cease to breathe.' "Don't you call that graphic?" said Ralph. "I do," replied McBain; "give us one other extract, and then lend me the letter. I'll take it to town with me, and you can have it again when you come up." "Well," said Ralph, "he describes Delagoa Bay and the scenery all round it so pleasantly, that if I hadn't an estate of my own in old England I would run off and take a farm there; right quaintly he talks of the curious Portuguese city of Mozambique; he is loud in the praises of the Comoro Islands, especially of Johanna, with its groves of citrons and limes, its feathery palm-trees, and its lofty mountains, tree-clad to the very summits; and he could write a lordly volume, he says, on the sultanic city of Zanzibar, where, it would seem, his adventures were not like angels' visits--few and far between. He has even fought with the wild Somali Indians, and assisted at a pitched battle between Arabs and a British cruiser. Then he describes his adventures in the woods and in the far-off hills and jungles, tiger-slaying; here is a serpent adventure; here is a butterfly hunt. Fancy butterflies as big as a lady's fan, and of plumage--yes, that is the very word Rory makes use of--`plumage' more bright than a noonday rainbow. "Here again is a description of the great Johanna hornet, two inches long, blue-black in colour, and so dreaded by the natives that they will not approach within twenty yards of the tree these terrible insects inhabit. Here is a beetle as big as a fish, and as strong apparently as a man, for he seizes hold of the top of the big pickle-jar into which Rory wants to introduce him, and obstinately refuses to be drowned in spirits; and here is a centipede as long as an adder, green, transparent, deadly; tarantulas as big as frogs, hairy and horrible; scorpions as big as crabs, green and dangerous as the centipedes themselves, that run from you, it is true, but threaten you as they run. "It is pleasant," continued Ralph, "to turn from his descriptions of the awful African creepie-creepies, and read of the enchanting beauty of some parts of the Zanzibar woods, the mighty trees mango-laden, the patches of tempting pine-apples, through which one can hardly wade, the curious breadfruit-trees, the pomolos, the citrons, the oranges, and the guavas, that look and taste, says Rory, `like strawberries smothered in cream.' He dilates, too, on the beauty of the wild flowers, and the brilliancy of the birds--birds that never sing, but flit sadly and silently from bough to bough in the golden sunlight. From the very centre of this beautiful wood Rory, with masterly pen, carries you right away to a lovely coral island in the Indian Ocean. "`Although many, many miles in extent,' he tells us, `although it is clothed in waving woods, although even the cocoa-nut palm waves high aloft its luscious fruit, it is not inhabited by man. Perhaps my boat was the first that ever rasped upon its shore of silvery sand, perhaps I was the first human being that ever lay under the shade of its mangrove-trees or bathed in the waters of its sunny lagune. My boat is a skiff--a tiny skiff; our yacht lies at anchor off Chak-Chak, and I have come all alone to visit this fairy-like island. I left the ship while the stars were still glittering in the heavens, long before the sun leapt up and turned the waters into blood; and now I have rested, bathed, and breakfasted, and am once more on board my indolent skiff. Here in this bay, even half a mile from the shore, you can see the bottom distinct and clear, for the water is as pellucid as crystal, and there isn't a ripple on the sea. And what do I gaze upon?--A submarine garden; and I gaze upon it like one enchanted, the while my boat-- impelled by the tide alone--glides slowly on and over it. Down yonder are flowers of every shape and hue, shrubs of every variety of foliage, coral bushes--pink, and white, and even black--rocks covered with medusae of the most brilliant colours an artist could imagine, and patches of white sand, strewn with living shells, each one more lovely to look upon than another. And every bush and shrub and flower is all a-quiver with a strange, indescribable motion, which greatly heightens their magical beauty; and why? Because every bush and shrub and flower is composed of a thousand living things. But the larger creatures that creep and crawl, or glide through this submarine garden are fantastic in the extreme. Monster crabs and crayfish, horny, abhorrent, and so strange in shape one cannot help thinking they were made to frighten each other; long transparent fishes, partly grayling partly eel; flat fishes that swim in all kinds of ridiculous ways; some fishes that seem all tail together, and others that are nothing but head. And among all the others a curious flat fish that swims on an even keel, and, by the very brilliancy of his colours and gorgeous array, seems to quite take the shine out of all the others. Both sides of this fish are painted alike; both sides of him are divided into five or six equal parts, and each part is of a different colour--one is a marigold yellow, another green, another brightest crimson, another steel grey, and so on. Him I dubbed the harlequin flounder. Yes, Ralph, Shakespeare was right when he said there are more things in heaven and earth than we dream of in our philosophy, and he might have added there are more things in ocean's depths, and stranger things, than any naturalist ever could imagine.' "You see," said Ralph, folding Rory's funny letter, and handing it to McBain, "that our friends are enjoying themselves; but you won't fail to notice Rory's closing sentence, in which he says that, in the very midst of all the brightness and beauty so lavishly spread around him, he is ofttimes longing to visit once more the strange, mysterious regions around the Pole." "And you have never written a word to him about our new ship and our purposed voyage?" inquired McBain. "Never a word," cried Ralph, laughing. "You see, I want to keep that a secret till the very last. Oh, fancy, McBain, how wild with glee both Rory and Allan will be when they find that the splendid ship is built and ready, and that we but wait for the return of spring to carry us once more away to the far north again." "I'd like to see Rory's face," said McBain, smiling, "when you break the news to him." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Just six weeks after this quiet little _tete-a-tete_ dinner on the bank of the Highland lake, a very important-looking and fussy little tug-boat come puff-puffing up the Clyde from seaward, towing in a large and pretty yacht; her sails were clewed, and her yards squared, and everything looked trig and trim, not only about her, but on board of her. The blue ensign floated proudly from her staff; her crew were dressed in true yachting rig, and her decks were white as the driven snow. An elderly lady with snow-white hair paced slowly up and down the quarter-deck, leaning lightly on the arm of a tall and gentlemanly man of mature age. In a lounge chair right aft, and abreast of the binnacle, a fair young girl was reclining, book in lap, but not reading; she was engaged in pleasant conversation with a youth who sat on a camp-stool not far off, while another who leant upon the taffrail gazing shorewards frequently turned towards them, to put in his oar with a word or two. He was taller than the former and apparently a year or two older. He was probably more manly in appearance and build, but certainly not better-looking. Both were tanned with the tropical sun, and both were dressed alike in a kind of sailor uniform of navy blue. "Yes, Rory," the girl was saying, "I must confess that I do feel glad to get back again to Scotland, much though I have enjoyed our cruise and all our strange adventures around that wild and beautiful coast. Oh! I do not wonder at your being fond of the sea. If I were a man I feel sure I would be a sailor." "And here we are," replied Rory, with pleasure beaming from his bright, laughing eyes, "within three miles of Glasgow. And, you know, Ralph is here; how delighted he will be to meet us all again! I really wonder he did not come with us." But Ralph was very much nearer to them at that moment than they had any idea of. "Helen Edith," cried Allan at that moment, "and you, Rory, do come and have a look at this beautiful steam barque on the stocks." Both Helen and Rory were by his side in a moment. "She is a beauty indeed," said Rory, enthusiastically. "There are lines for you! There is shape! Fancy that craft in the water! Look at the beautiful rake that even her funnel has! But is she a man-o'-war, I wonder?" "More like a despatch boat, I should say," said Allan. "Look, she is pierced for guns." Allan was right about the guns, for just as he spoke a balloon-shaped cloud of white smoke rose slowly up from her side, and almost simultaneously the roar of a big gun came over the water and died away in a hundred echoes among the rocks and hills. Another and another followed in slow and measured succession, until they had counted fourteen. "It is saluting they are," said Allan; "but they surely cannot be saluting us; and yet there is no other craft of any consequence coming up the water." "But I feel sure," said Helen, "it is some one bidding us welcome. And see, they dip the flag." The yacht's flag was now dipped in return, but still the mystery remained unravelled. But it does not remain so long. For see, the yacht is now almost abreast of the new ship, and the decks of the latter are crowded with wildly cheering men. Ay, and yonder, beside the flagstaff, is Ralph himself, with McBain by his side, waving their hats in the air. The good people on the yacht are for a minute rendered dumb with astonishment, but only for a minute; then the air is rent with their shouts as they give back cheer for cheer. "Och! deed in troth," cried Rory, losing all control of his English accent, "it's myself that is bothered entoirely. Is it my head or my heels that I'm standing on? for never a morsel of me knows! Is it dreaming I am? Allan, boy, can't you tell me? Just look at the name on the stern of the beautiful craft." Allan himself was dumb with astonishment to behold, in broad letters of gold the words, "The Arrandoon." CHAPTER THREE. RETROSPECTION--RALPH'S HOME IN ENGLAND--A HEARTY IF NOT POETIC WELCOME. Many of my readers have met with the heroes of this tale before [in the "Cruise of the Snowbird," by the same Author and Publishers], but doubtless some have not; and as it is always well to know at least a little of the _dramatis personae_ of a story beforehand, the many must in the present instance give place to the few. They must either, therefore, listen politely to a little epitomised repetition, or sit quietly aside with their fingers in their ears for the space of five minutes. But, levity apart, I shall be as brief as brevity itself. Which of our heroes shall we start with first? Allan? Yes, simply because his initial letter stands first on the alphabetic list. Allan McGregor is a worthy Scot. We met him for the first time several years prior to the date of this tale; met him in the company of his foster-father, met him in a wildly picturesque Highland glen, called Glentruim, at the castle of Arrandoon. It was midwinter; the young man's southern friends, Ralph Leigh and Rory Elphinston, were coming to see him and live with him for a time, and right welcomely were they received, all the more in that they had narrowly escaped losing their lives in the snow. Allan was--and so remains--the chieftain of his clan, his father having died years before, sword in hand, on a bloodstained redoubt in India, leaving to his only son's care an encumbered estate, a mother and one daughter, Edith, or Helen Edith. The young chief was poor and proud, but he dearly loved his widowed mother, his beautiful sister, the romantic old castle, and the glen that had reared him from his boyhood; and how he wished and longed to be able to better the position of the former and the condition of the latter, none but he could tell or say. Allan was brave--his clan is proverbially so; his soul was deeply imbued with the spirit of religion, and, it must be added, just slightly tinged with superstition--a superstition born of the mountain mists and the stern, romantic scenery, where he had lived for the greater part of his lifetime. Ralph Leigh was the son of a once wealthy baronet, and had just finished his education. Rory Elphinston was an orphan, who owned estates in the west of Ireland, from which property, however, he seldom realised the rents. Like Ralph, Rory was fond of adventure, and ready and willing to do anything honest and worthy to earn that needful dross called gold; and when, one evening, McBain hinted at the wealth that lay ungathered in the inhospitable lands around the Pole, and of the many wild adventures to be met with in those regions, the relation fired the youthful blood of the trio. The boys clubbed together, as most boys might, and bought a small yacht. Small as she was, however, in her, under the able tuition of McBain, they were taught seamanship and discipline, and they became enamoured of the sea and longed to possess a larger ship, in which they might go in quest of adventures in far-off foreign lands. Now Ralph's father, poor though he was, was very fond--and perhaps even a little proud--of his son; he would, therefore, not refuse him anything in reason he could afford. He rejoiced to see him happy. The good yacht _Snowbird_ was therefore bought, and in it our brave boys sailed away to the far north. The narrative of their adventures by sea and land is duly recorded in "The Cruise of the Snowbird." You may seek for them there if you wish to read of them; if not, there is little harm done. The _Snowbird_ returned at last, if not really rich, yet with what sailors call an excellent general cargo, quite sufficient for each of them to realise a tolerably large sum of money from. Every shilling of his share Allan had expended in improving the glen, with its cottages and sheep farms, and the dear old castle itself. But, meanwhile, Ralph had fallen into a large fortune, and found himself possessed of rich estates, and a splendid old mansion in --shire, England. He might have married now, and settled quietly down for life as a country squire, enjoying to the full all the pleasures and luxuries that health combined with wealth are capable of bringing to their possessors. Ah! but then the spirit of the rover had entered into him; he had learned to love adventure for the sake of itself, and to love a life on the ocean wave. Loving a life on the ocean wave, he might, had he so chosen, have had a very pleasant cruise with his friends, had he gone with them in their run round Africa, alluded to in the last chapter of this tale; but, as would be gleaned from the conversation recorded therein, he did not so choose. He and McBain had their little secret, which they kept well. They were determined to turn explorers, so Ralph built a ship, built a noble ship--built it without acquainting any one what service it was intended for, and even his dear friends Ralph and Rory were to know nothing about her until they, returned from their cruise in the tropics. Ralph meant it all as a kindly and a glad surprise to them, for well did he know how their hearts would bound with joy at the very thoughts of sailing once more in quest of adventures. Nor, as the sequel will show, was he in one whit disappointed. In character, disposition, and appearance my four principal heroes may be thus summed up--I have already told you about Allan's:-- McBain--Captain McBain--was a hardy, fear-nothing, daring man, his mind imbued with a sense of duty and with piety, both of which he had learned at the maternal knee. Ralph was a young Englishman in every sense of the word--tall, broad, shapely, somewhat slow in action, with difficulty aroused, but a very lion when he did march out of his den intent on a purpose. Somewhat more youthful was Rory, smaller as to person, poetic as to temperament, fond of the beautiful, an artist and a musician. And if you were to ask me, "Was he, too, brave?" I should answer, "Are not poets and Irishmen always brave? Does not Sir Walter Scott tell us that they laugh in their ranks as they go forward to battle--that they-- "Move to death with military glee?" Sir Walter, I may also remind those who live in the land o' cakes, says in the same poem: "But ne'er in battlefield throbbed heart more brave Than that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ So now we are back again at the place where we left off in the last chapter, with the yacht being towed slowly past good Ralph's ship on the stocks, and lusty cheers being exchanged from one vessel to the other. Rory and Allan exchanged glances. The faces of each were at that moment a study for a physiognomist, but the uppermost feeling visible in either was one of astonishment--not blank astonishment, mind you, for there was something in the eyes of each, and in the smile that flickered round their lips, that would have told you in a moment that Ralph's nicely-kept secret was a secret no more. Rory, as usual with natives of green Erin, was the first to break the silence. "Depend upon it," he said, nodding his head mirthfully, "it is all some mighty fine joke of Ralph's, and he means giving us a pleasant surprise." "The same thought struck me," replied Allan, "as soon as I clapped eyes on the word `_Arrandoon_.'" "Oh?" chimed in Helen Edith, with her sweet, musical voice; "that is the reason your friend would not come with us on our delightful voyage." "That _was_ the reason," said Allan, emphatically, "because he was building a ship of his own, the sly dog." "But wherever do you think he means cruising to at all, at all?" added Rory, with puzzled face. "That's what I should like to know," said Allan. And this thought occupied their minds all the way up to Glasgow; but once there, and the ladies seen safely to their hotels, Rory and Allan sped off without delay to visit this big, mysterious yacht; and they had not been half an hour on board ere, as Rory expressed it, in language more forcible than elegant. "The secret was out entirely, the cat flew out of the bag, and every drop of milk got out of the cocoa-nut." Poor Ralph was delighted at the return of his friends from their long cruise; and now that he had their company he had no longer any wish or desire to remain in the vicinity of the _Arrandoon_; so giving up his pretty Highland cottage, bidding a kindly adieu to the widow, kissing wee weeping Jeannie, and promising to be sure to return some day, the trio hurried them southwards, to spend most of their time at Ralph's pleasant home, until the ship should be ready to launch. Leigh Hall was a lordly mansion, possessing no very great pretensions to architectural splendour, but beautifully situated among its woods and parks on a high braeland that overlooked one of England's fairest lakes. For miles you approached the house from behind by a road which, with many a devious turning, wound through a rich but rolling country. Past many a rural hamlet; past many a picturesque cottage, their gables and fronts charmingly painted and tinted by the hands of the magic artist Time; past stately farms, where sleek cattle seemed to low kindly welcome to our heroes as their carriage came rolling onwards, with here a wood and there a field, and yonder a great stretch of common where cows waded shoulder deep in ferns and furze, daintily cropping the green and tender tops of the trailing bramble; and here a broad, rushy moor, on which flocks of snowy geese wandered. Alluding to the latter, says Rory, "Don't these geese come out prettily against the patches of green grass, and how soft and easy it must be for the feet of them!" "They're preparing for Christmas," said Ralph. Poet Rory gave him a look--one of Rory's looks. "There's never a bit of poetry nor romance in the soul of you," he said. "Except the romance and poetry of a well-spread table," said Allan, laughing. "And, 'deed, indeed," replied Rory, "there is little to choose betwixt the pair of you; so what can I do but be sorry for you both?" It was on a beautiful autumn afternoon that the three young men were now approaching the manor of Leigh. The trees that had been once of a tender green, whose leaves in the gentle breath of spring had rustled with a kind of silken _frou-frou_, were green now only when the sun shone upon them; all the rest was black by contrast. Feathery seedlings floated here and there on the breeze that blew from the north. This breeze went rushing through the woods with a sound that made Rory, at all events, think of waves breaking in mid-ocean, and even the fields of ripe and waving grain had, to his mind, a strange resemblance to the sea. The rooks that floated high in air seemed to glory in the wind, for they screamed with delight, baffled though at times they were--taken aback you might say, and hurled yards out of their course. It was only a plain farmer's autumn wind after all, but it made these youthful sailors think of something else than baffled, rooks and fields of ripening grain. Now up through a dark oak copse, and they come all at once to one of the old park gates. Grey is it with very age, and so is the quaintly-gabled lodge; its stones are crumbling to pieces. And well suited for such a dwelling is the bent but kindly-faced old crone who totters out on her staff to open the ponderous gates. She nods and smiles a welcome, to which bows and smiles are returned, and the carriage rolls on. A great square old house; they come to it at last, so big and square that it did not even look tall at a distance. They drove up to what really appeared the back of this mansion, with its stairs and pillars and verandahs, the door opening from which led into the hall proper, which ran straight through the manor, and opened by other doors on to broad green terraces, with ribbon gardens and fountains, and then the braelike park, with its ancient trees, and so on, downwards to the beautiful lake, with the hills beyond. Right respectfully and loyally was Ralph greeted by his servants and retainers. All this may be imagined better than I can describe it. While Rory was marching through the long line of servants I believe he felt just a little awed; and if, as soon as they found themselves alone, Ralph had addressed himself to his guests in some such speech as follows, he would not have been very much astonished. If Ralph had said, "Welcome, Ronald Elphinston, and you, my lord of Arrandoon, to the ancient home of the Leighs!" Rory would have thought it quite in keeping with the poetry of the place. Ralph did nothing of the kind, however; he pitched his hat and gloves rather unceremoniously on a chair, and said, all in one breath and one tone of voice, "Now, boys, here we are at last; I'm sure you'll make yourselves at home. We'll have fine times for a few weeks, anyhow. Would you like to wash your hands?" Well, if it was not a very poetic welcome, it was a very hearty one nevertheless. CHAPTER FOUR. LIFE AT LEIGH HALL--THE LAUNCH OF THE "ARRANDOON"--TRIAL TRIPS--A ROW AND A FIGHT--"FREEZING POWDERS." As the owner of a large house, the head of a county family, and a landed proprietor, there were many duties devolved upon Ralph Leigh when at home, from which he never for a moment thought of shrinking. Though a great part of the day was spent in shooting, rowing, or fishing, the mornings were never his own, nor the evenings either. He had a knack of giving nice dinners, and young though he was, he also possessed the happy knack of making all his guests feel perfectly at home, so that when carriages drew round, and it was time to start for their various homes, everybody was astonished at the speed with which the evening had sped away; and that was proof positive it had passed most pleasantly. They kept early hours at Leigh Hall, and so they did at every house all over the quiet, romantic country, and no doubt they were all the better for it, and all the more healthy. But our heroes must be forgiven, if, after the last guest had gone, after the lights were out in the banqueting hall, and the doors closed for the night, they assembled in a cosy, fire-brightened room upstairs, all by their three selves, for a quiet confab and talk, a little exchange of ideas, a little conversation about the days o' auld lang syne, and their hopes of adventures in the far north, whither they were so soon to sail. About once a fortnight, McBain, whom we may as well call Captain McBain now--Captain McBain, of the steam yacht _Arrandoon_--used to run down to Leigh Hall to report progress; the "social hour," as Rory called it, was then doubly dear to them all, and I'm not at all sure that they did not upon these occasions steal half an hour at least from midnight. You see they were very happy; they were happy with the happiness of anticipation. They never dreamt of failure in the expedition on which they were about to embark. "In the lexicon of youth, which fate reserves For a great manhood, there is no such word as--fail." True, but had they known the dangers they were to encounter, the trials they would have to come through, brave as they undoubtedly were, their hearts might have throbbed less joyfully. They had, however, the most perfect confidence in each other, just as brothers might have. The friendship, begun long ago between them, cemented, during the cruise of the _Snowbird_, in many an hour of difficulty and danger--for had they not come through fire and death together?--was strengthened during their residence at Leigh Hall. Indeed, it would not be too much to say that their affection for each other was brotherly to a degree. Dissimilar in character in many ways they were, but this same dissimilarity seemed but to increase their mutual regard and esteem. Faults each one of them had--who on this earth has not?--and each could see those of the other, if he did not always notice his own. Says Burns-- "O would some power the giftie gie us, To see ourselves as others see us, It would from mony a fautie free us." Probably, individually they did not forget these lines, and so the one was most careful in guarding against anything that might hurt the feelings of the others. Is not this true friendship? But as to what is called "chaff," they had all learned long ago to be proof against that--I'm not sure they did not even like it; Rory did, I know; he said so one day; and on Allan asking him his reason, "My reason is it?" says Rory; "sure enough, boys, chaffing metres with laughing; where you find the chaff you find the laugh, and laughing is better to a man than cod-liver oil. And that's my reason!" And Rory's romantic sayings and doings were oftentimes the subject of a considerable deal of chaff and fun; so, too, was what the young Irishman was pleased to call Ralph's English "stolidity" and Allan's Scottish fire and intensity of patriotism; but never did the blood of one of our boys get hot, never did their lips tighten in anger or their cheeks pale with vexation. Just on one occasion--which I now record lest I forget it--was boy Rory, as he was still affectionately called, very nearly losing his temper under a rattling fire of chaff from Allan and Ralph, who were in extra good spirits. It happened months after they had sailed in the _Arrandoon_. All at once that day Rory grew suddenly quiet, and the smile that still remained on his face was only round the lips, and didn't ripple round the eyes. It was a sad kind of a smile; then he jumped up and ran away from the table. "We've offended him," said Allan, looking quite serious. "I hope not," said Ralph, growing serious in turn. "I'll go and look him up;" this from Allan. "No, that you won't!" put in McBain. "Leave boy Rory alone; he'll come to presently." Meanwhile, ridiculous as it may seem, Rory had sped away forward to the dispensary, where he found the doctor. "Doctor, dear," cried Rory, "give me a blue pill at once--a couple of them, if you like, for sure it isn't well I am!" "Oh!" said the surgeon, "liver a bit out of order, eh?" "Liver!" cried Rory; "I know by the nasty temper that's on me that there isn't a bit of liver left in me worth mentioning! There now, give me the pills." The doctor laughed, but Rory had his bolus; then he came aft again, smiling, confessing to his comrades what a ninny he had very nearly been making of himself. Just like Rory! The bearing of our young heroes towards Captain McBain was invariably respectful and affectionate; they both loved and admired him, and, indeed, he was worthy of all their esteem. In wealth there is power, but in wisdom worth, and Ralph, Rory, and Allan felt this truth if they never expressed it. McBain had really raised himself to the position he now held; he was a living proof that-- "Whate'er a man dares he can do." I will not deny, however that McBain possessed a little genius to begin with; but here is old Ap, once but a poor boat-builder, with never a spark of genius in him, superintending the construction of a noble ship. In him we have an example of industry and perseverance pure and simple. The _Arrandoon_ made speedy progress on the stocks, and the anxious day was near at hand when she would leave her native timbers, and slide gracefully and auspiciously it was to be hoped, into the smooth waters of the Clyde. That day came at last, and with it came thousands to view the launch. With it came Mrs McGregor and Allan's sister; and the latter was to break the tiny phial of wine and name the ship! On the platform beneath, and closely adjoining the bows of the _Arrandoon_, were numerous gentlemen and ladies; conspicuous among the former was Rory. He was full of earnest and pleasant excitement. Conspicuous among the latter was Helen Edith. She certainly never looked more lovely than she did now. The ceremony she was about to engage in, in which, indeed, she was chief actress, was just a trifle too much for her delicate nerves, and as she stood, bouquet in hand, with a slight flush on her cheek and a sparkle in her eye, with head slightly bent, she looked like a bride at the altar. Rory stood near her; perhaps his vicinity comforted her, as did his remarks, to which, however, he met with but little response. I am beginning to think that Rory loved this sweet child; if he did it was a love that was purely Platonic, and it needed be none the less sincere for all that. As for Helen Edith--but hark! A gun rings out from the deck of the _Arrandoon_ causing every window in the vicinity to rattle again, and the steeples to nod. The gallant ship moves off down the slip slowly--slowly--slowly, yes, slowly but steadily, swerving neither to starboard nor larboard, quicker now faster still. Will she float? Our heroes' hearts stand still. McBain is pale and breathes not. She slows, she almost stops, now she is over the hitch and on again, on--on--and on--and into the water. Hurrah! You should have heard that cheer, and Rory shakes hands with Helen Edith, and compliments her, and positively there are tears in the foolish boy's eyes. There was a deal of hand-shaking, I can assure you, after the launch, and a deal of joy expressed, and if the truth be told, more than one prayer breathed for the future safety of the _Arrandoon_ and her gallant crew. There was lunch after launch in the saloon of the new yacht, at which Allan's mother presided with the same quiet dignity she was wont to maintain at the castle that gave the ship its name. McBain made a speech, and a good one, too, after Ralph had spoken a few words. Poor Ralph! speaking was certainly not his strong point. But there was no hesitancy about McBain, and no nervousness either, and during its delivery he stood bolt upright in his place, as straight as an arrow, and his words were manly and straightforward. Allan felt proud of his foster-father. But Rory came next. For once in his life he hadn't the slightest intention of making anybody laugh. But because he tried not to, he did; and when Irish bull after Irish bull came rattling out, "Och!" thinks Rory to himself, "seriousness isn't my forte after all;" then he simply gave himself rein, and expressed himself so comically that there was not a dry eye in the room, for tears come with laughing as well as weeping. There was a deal to be done to the _Arrandoon_--in her, on her, and around her--after she was launched, before she was ready; but it would serve no good purpose and only waste time to describe her completion, for we long to be "steam up" and away to sea _en route_ for the starry north. She was a gallant sight, the _Arrandoon_, as she stood away out to sea, past the rocky shores of Bute, bound south on her trial trip by the measured mile. Fifteen hundred tons burden was she, with tall and tapering masts: lower, main, topgallant, and royal; not one higher; no star-gazers, sky-scrapers, or moon-rakers; she wouldn't have to rake much for the wind in the stormy seas they were going to. Then there was the funnel, such a funnel as a man with an eye in his head likes to see, not a mere pipe of a thing, but a great wide armful of a funnel, with the tiniest bit of rake on it; so too had the masts, though the _Arrandoon_ did not look half so saucy as the _Snowbird_. The _Arrandoon_ had more solidity about her, and more soberness and staidness, as became her--a ship about to be pitted against dangers unknown. Her figure-head was the bust of a fair and beautiful girl. That day, on her trial trip, the ladies were on board; and Rory made this remark to Helen Edith: "The fair image on our bows, Helen, will soon be gazing wistfully north." "Ah! you seem to long for that," said Helen, "but," she added archly, "mamma and I look forward to the time when she will be gazing just as wistfully south again." Rory laughed, and the conversation assumed a livelier tone. Steamers, I always think, are very similar in one way to colts, they require a certain amount of breaking in, they seldom do well on their trial trip. The _Arrandoon_ was no exception; she promised well at first, and fulfilled that promise for twenty good miles and two; then she intimated to the engineers in charge that she had had enough of it. Well, this was a good opportunity of trying her sailing qualities, and in these she exceeded all expectations. McBain rubbed his hands with delight, for no yacht at Cowes ever sailed more close to the wind, came round on shorter length, or made more knots an hour. He promised himself a treat, and that treat was to run out some day with her in half a gale of wind, when there were no ladies on board. He would then see what the _Arrandoon_ could do under sail, and what she couldn't. He did this; and the very next day after he came back he made the journey to Leigh Hall, and stopped there for a whole week. That was proof enough that the captain was pleased with his ship. Early in the month of the succeeding February, the _Arrandoon_ lay at the Broomielaw, with the blue-peter unfurled, steam up, all hands on board, and even the pilot. That very morning they were to begin their adventurous voyage. Ralph, Allan, and Rory would be picked up at Oban, and the vessel now only awaited the arrival of McBain before casting off and dropping down stream. The Broomielaw didn't look pretty that morning, nor very comfortable. Although the hills all around Glasgow were white with snow, over the city itself hung the smoke like a murky pall. There was mud under feet, and a Scotch mist held possession of the air. Here was nothing cheering to look at, slop-shops and pawn-shops, and Jack-frequented dram-shops, bales of wet merchandise on the quay, and eave-dripping dock-houses; nor were the people pleasant to be among; the only human beings that did seem to enjoy themselves were the ragged urchins who had taken shelter in the empty barrels that lined the back of the warehouses; they had shelter, and sugar to eat. McBain thought he wouldn't be sorry when he was safely round the Mull of Cantyre. "Come on, Jack," cried one of these tiny gutter-snipes, rushing out of his tub; "come on, here's a row." There was a row; apparently a fight was going on, for a ring had formed a little way down the street; and simply out of curiosity McBain went to have a peep over the shoulders of the mob. As usual, the policemen were very busy in some other part of the street. Only a poor little itinerant nigger boy lying on the ground, being savagely kicked by a burly and half-drunken street porter. "Oh!" the little fellow was shrieking; "what for you kickee my shins so? Oh!" McBain entered the ring in a very businesslike fashion indeed; he begged for room; he told the mob he meant thrashing the ruffian if he did not apologise to the poor lad. Then he intimated as much to the ruffian himself. "Come on," was the defiant reply, as the fellow threw himself into a fighting attitude. "Man, your mither'll no ken ye when you gang home the nicht." "We'll see," said McBain, quietly. For the next three minutes this ruffianly porter's movements were confined to a series of beautiful falls, that would have brought down the house in a circus. When he rose the last time it was merely to assume a sitting position, "Gie us your hand," he said to McBain. "You're the first chiel that ever dang Jock the Wraggler. I admire ye, man--I admire ye." "Come with me, my little fellow," said McBain to the nigger boy; and he took him kindly by the hand. Meanwhile a woman who had been standing by placed a curious-looking bundle in the lad's hand, and bade him be a good boy, and keep out of Jock the Wraggler's way next time. "I'll see you a little way home, Jim," continued McBain, when they were clear of the crowd. "Jim is what they call you, isn't it?" "Jim," said the blackamoor, "is what dey are good enough to call me. But, sah, Jim has no home." "And where do you sleep at night, Jim?" "Anywhere, sah. Jim ain't pertikler; some time it is a sugar barrel, an oder time a door-step." A low, sneering laugh was at this moment heard from the mysterious bundle Jim carried. McBain started. "Don't be afeared, sah," said Jim; "it's only de cockatoo, sah!" "Have you any money, Jim?" asked McBain. "Only de cockatoo, sah," replied Jim; "but la!" he added, "I'se a puffuk gemlam (gentleman), sah--I'se got a heart as high as de steeple, sah!" "Well, Jim," said McBain, laughing, "would you like to sail in a big ship with me, and--and--black my boots?" "Golly! yes, sah; dat would suit Jim all to nuffin." "But suppose, Jim, we went far away--as far as the North Pole?" "Don't care, sah," said Jim, emphatically; "der never was a pole yet as Jim couldn't climb." "Have you a surname, Jim?" "No, sah," replied poor Jim; "I'se got no belongings but de cockatoo." "I mean, Jim, have you a second name?" "La! no, sir," said Jim; "one name plenty good enough for a nigga boy. Only--yes now I 'members, in de ship dat bring me from Sierra Leone last summer de cap'n never call me nuffin else but Freezin' Powders." McBain did not take long to make up his mind about anything; he determined to take this strange boy with him, so he took him to a shop and bought him a cage for the cockatoo, and then the two marched on board together, talking away as if they had known each other for years. Freezing Powders was sent below to be washed and dressed and made decent. The ship was passing Inellan when he came on deck again. Jim was thunderstruck; he had never seen snow before. "La! sah," he cried, pointing with outstretched arm towards the hills; "look, sah, look; dey never like dat before. De Great Massa has been and painted dem all white." CHAPTER FIVE. DANGER ON THE DEEP--A FOREST OF WATERSPOUTS--THE "ARRANDOON" IS SWAMPED--THE WARNING. "La la lay lee-ah, lay la le lo-O" So went the song on deck--a song without words, short, and interrupted at every bar, as the men hauled cheerily on tack and sheet. Such a thing would not be allowed for a single moment on board a British man-o'-war, as the watch singing while they obeyed the orders of the bo'sun's pipe, taking in sail, squaring yards, or doing any other duty required of them. And yet, with all due respect for my own flag, methinks there are times when, as practised in merchant or passenger ships, that strange, weird, wordless song is not at all an unpleasant sound to listen to. By night, for instance, after you have turned in to your little narrow bed--the cradle of the deep, in which you are nightly rocked--to hear it rising and falling, and ending in long-drawn cadence, gives one an indescribable feeling of peace and security. Your bark is all alone--so your thoughts may run--on a wild world of waters. There may not be another ship within hundreds of miles; the wind may be rising or the wind may be falling--what do you care? What need you care? There are watchful eyes on deck, there are good men and true overhead, and they seem to sing your cradle hymn, "La la lee ah," and before it is done you are wrapt in that sweetest, that dreamless slumber that landsmen seldom know. There was one man at least in every watch on board the _Arrandoon_, who usually led the song that accompanied the hauling on a rope, with a sweet, clear tenor voice; you could not have been angry with these men had you been twenty times a man-o'-war's man. It was about an hour after breakfast, and our boys were lazing below. For some time previous to the working song, there had been perfect silence on board--a silence broken only now and then by a short word of command, a footstep on deck, or the ominous flapping of the canvas aloft, as it shivered for a moment, then filled and swelled out again. Had you been down below, one sign alone would have told you that something was going to happen--that some change was about to take place. It was this: when everything is going on all right, you hear the almost constant tramp, tramp of the officer of the watch up and down the quarter-deck, but this was absent now, and you would have known without seeing him that he was standing, probably, by the binnacle, his eyes now bent aloft, and now sweeping the horizon, and now and then glancing at the compass. Then came a word or two of command, given in a quiet, ordinary tone of voice--there was no occasion to howl on this particular morning. And after this a rush of feet, and next the song, and the bo'sun's pipe. Thus:-- _Song_.--"La la lee ah, lay la le lo-O." _Spoken_.--"Hoy!" _Boatswain's Pipe_.--"Whee-e, weet weet weet, wee-e." _Song_.--"La la lee ah, lay la le lo-O." _Spoken_.--"Belay!" _Boatswain's Pipe_.--"Wee wee weet weet weet weet, wee-e." _Spoken_.--"Now lads." _Song_.--"Lo ah o ee." _Pipe_.--"Weet weet!" Then a hurry-scurrying away forward, a trampling of feet enough to awaken Rip van Winkle, then the bo'sun's pipe _encore_. Allan straightens his back in his easy-chair--he has been bending over the table, reading the "Noctes Ambrosianae"--straightens his back, stretches his arms, and says "Heigho!" Rory is busy arranging some beautiful transparent specimens of animalculae, not bigger than midges, on a piece of black cardboard; he had caught them overnight in a gauze net dragged astern. He doesn't look up. Ralph is lying "tandem" on a sofa, reading "Ivanhoe." He won't take his eyes off the book, nor move as much as one drowsy eyelid, but he manages to say,-- "What are they about on deck, Rory?" "Don't know even a tiny bit," says Rory. "Rory," continues Ralph, in a slightly louder key; "you're a young man; run up and see." "Rory won't then," says Rory, intent on his work; "fag for yourself, my lazy boy." "Oh!" says Ralph, "won't you have your ears pulled when I do get up!" "Ha! ha!" laughed Rory, "you'll have forgotten all about it long before then." "Freezing Powders!" roared Ralph. The bright-faced though bullet-headed nigger boy introduced in last chapter appeared instantly. He was dressed in white flannel, braided with blue. Had he been a sprite, or a djin, he couldn't have popped up with more startling rapidity. Truth is, the young rascal had been asleep under the table. "Off on deck with you, Freezing Powders, and see what's up." Freezing Powders was down again in a moment. "Take in all sail, sah! and square de yard; no wind, sah! nebber a puff." It was just as Freezing Powders said, but there was noise enough presently, and puffing too, for steam was got up, and the great screw was churning the waters of the dark northern ocean into creamish foam, as the vessel went steadily ahead at about ten knots an hour. There was no occasion to hurry. When Rory and Allan went on deck, they found the captain in consultation with the mates, Mitchell and Stevenson. "I must admit," McBain was remarking, "that I can't make it out at all." "No more can we," said Stevenson with a puzzled smile. "The wind has failed us all at once, and the sea gone down, and the glass seems to have taken leave of its senses entirely. It is up one moment high enough for anything, and down the next to 28 degrees. There, just look at that sea and look at that sky." There was certainly something most appalling in the appearance of both. The ocean was calm and unruffled as glass, with only a long low heave on it; not a ripple on it big enough to swamp a fly; but over it all a strange, glassy lustre that--so you would have thought--could have been skimmed off. The sky was one mass of dark purple-black clouds in masses. It seemed no distance overhead, and the horizon looked hardly a mile away on either side. Only in the north it was one unbroken bluish black, as dark seemingly as night, from the midst of which every now and then, and every here and there, would come quickly a little puff of cloud of a lightish grey colour, as if a gun had been fired. Only there was no sound. There was something awe-inspiring in the strange, ominous look of sea and sky, and in the silence broken only by the grind and gride of screw and engine. "No," said McBain, "I don't know what we are going to have. Perhaps a tornado. Anyhow, Mr Stevenson, let us be ready. Get down topgallant masts, it will be a bit of exercise for the men; let us have all the steam we can command, and--" "Batten down, sir?" "Yes, Mr Stevenson, batten down, and lash the boats inboard." The good ship _Arrandoon_ was at the time of which I write about fifty miles south of the Faroes, and a long way to the east. The weather had been dark and somewhat gloomy, from the very time they lost sight of the snow-clad hills around Oban, but it now seemed to culminate in a darkness that could be felt. The men were well drilled on board this steam yacht. McBain delighted to have them smart, and it was with surprising celerity that the topgallant masts were lowered, the hatches battened down, and the good ship prepared for any emergency. None too soon; the darkness grew more intense, especially did the clouds look threatening ahead of them. And now here and there all round them the sea began to get ruffled with small whirlwinds, that sent the water wheeling round and round like miniature maelstroms, and raised it up into cones in the centre. "How is the glass now, Mr Stevenson?" asked McBain. "Stands very low, sir," was the reply, "but keeps steadily down." "All right," said McBain; "now get two guns loaded with ball cartridge; have no more hands on deck than we want. No idlers, d'ye hear?" "Ay, ay, sir." "Send Magnus Bolt here." "Now, Magnus, old man," continued McBain, "d'ye mind the time, some years ago in the _Snowbird_, when you rid us of that troublesome pirate?" "Ay, that I do right well, sir," said this little old weasened specimen of humanity, rubbing his hands with delight. "It were a fine shot that. He! he! he! Mercy on us, to see his masts and sails come toppling down, sir,--he! he! he!" "Well, I want you again, Magnus; I'd rather trust to your old eye in an emergency than to any in the ship." "But where is the foe, sir?" "Look ahead, Magnus." Magnus did as he was told; it was a strange, and to one who understood it, a dreadful sight. Apparently a thousand balloons were afloat in the blue, murky air, each one trailing its car in the sea, balloons of terrible size, flat as to their tops, which seemed to join or merge into one another, forming a black and ominous cloud. The cars that trailed on the sea were snowy white. "Heaven help us?" said Magnus, clasping his hands for just a moment, while his cheeks assumed an ashen hue. "Heaven help us, sir; this is worse than the pirate." "They are all coming this way," said McBain; "fire only at those that threaten us, and fire while they are still some distance ahead." Meanwhile Ralph had come on deck, and joined his companions. I do not think that through all the long terrible hour that followed, either of them spoke one word; although there was no sea on, and for the most part no motion, they clutched with one hand rigging or shroud, and gazed terror-struck at the awful scene ahead and around them. They were soon in the very centre of what appeared an interminable forest of waterspouts. Few indeed have ever seen such a sight or encountered so pressing a danger and lived to tell it. The balloon-shaped heads of these waterspouts looked dark as midnight; their shafts, I can call them nothing else, were immense pillars rising out of gigantic feet of seething foam. So close did they pass to some of these that the yardarms seemed almost to touch them. Our heroes noticed then, and they marvelled at it afterwards, the strange monotonous roaring sound they emitted,--a sound that drowned even the noise of the troubled waters around their shafts. [Such a phenomenon as this has rarely been witnessed in the Northern Ocean. It is somewhat strange that on the self-same year this happened, an earthquake was felt in Ireland, and shocks even near Perth, in Scotland.] Old Magnus made good use of his guns on those that threatened the good ship with destruction; one shot broke always one, and sometimes more, probably with the vibration; but the thundering sound of the falling waters, and the turmoil of the sea that followed, what pen can describe? But, good shot as he is, Magnus is not infallible, else McBain would not now have to grasp his speaking-trumpet and shout,-- "Stand by, men, stand by." A waterspout had wholly, or partially at least, broken on board of them. It was as though the splendid ship had suddenly been blown to atoms by a terrible explosion, and every timber of her engulfed in the ocean! For long moments thus, then her crew, half drowned, half dead, could once more look around. The _Arrandoon_ was afloat, but her decks were swept. Hundreds of tons of water still filled her decks, and poured out into the sea in cataracts through her broken bulwarks; ay, and it poured below too, at the fore and main hatchways, which had been smashed open with the violence and force of the deluge. The main-yard had come down, and one whaler was smashed into matchwood. I wish I could say this was all, but two poor fellows lost for ever the number of their mess. One was seen floating about dead and unwounded on the deck ere the water got clear; the other, with sadly splintered brow, was still clutching in a death-grasp a rope that had bound a tarpaulin over a grating. But away ahead appeared a long yellowish streak of clear sky, close to the horizon. The danger had passed. All hands were now called to clear away the wreck and make good repairs. The pumps, too, had to be set to work, and as soon as the wind came down on them from the clear of the horizon, sail was set, for the fires had been drowned out. The wind increased to a gale, and there was nothing for it but to lay to. And so they did all that night and all next day; then the weather moderated, and the wind coming more easterly they were able to show more canvas, and to resume their course with something akin to comfort. The bodies of the two poor fellows who had met with so sad a fate were committed to the deep--the sailor's grave. "Earth to earth and dust to dust." There was more than one moist eye while those words were uttered, for the men had both been great favourites with their messmates. Rory was sitting that evening with his elbows resting on the saloon table, his chin on his hands, and a book in front of him that he was not looking at, when McBain came below. "You're quieter than usual," said McBain, placing a kindly hand on his shoulder. Rory smiled, forced a laugh even, as one does who wants to shake off an incubus. "I was thinking," he said, "of that awful black forest of waterspouts. I'll never get it out of my head." "Oh! yes you will, boy Rory," said McBain; "it was a new sensation, that's all." "New sensation!" said Allan, laughing in earnest; "well, captain, I must say that is a mild way of putting it. _I_ don't want any more such sensations. Steward, bring some nice hot coffee." "Ay!" cried Ralph, "that's the style, Allan. Some coffee, steward--and, steward, bring the cold pork and fowls, and make some toast, and bring the butter and the Chili vinegar." Poor Irish Rory! Like every one with a poetic temperament, he was easily cast down, and just as easily raised again. Ralph's wondrous appetite always amused him. "Oh, you true Saxon!" said Rory--"you hungry Englishman!" But, ten minutes afterwards, he felt himself constrained to join the party at the supper table. You see, reader mine, a sailor's life is like an April day--sunshine now and showers anon. "How now, Stevenson?" said McBain, as the mate entered with a kind of a puzzled look on his face. "Well, sir, we are, as you said, off the Faroes. The night is precious dark, but I can see the lights of a village in here, and the lights of a vessel of some size, evidently lying at anchor." "Then, mate," said the captain, "as we don't know exactly where we are, I don't think we can do wrong to steam in and drop anchor alongside this craft. We can then board her and find out. How is the weather?" "A bit thick, sir, and seems inclined to blow a little from the east-south-east." "Let it, Stevenson--let it. If the other vessel can ride it out I don't think the _Arrandoon_ is likely to lose her anchors. Hullo! Mitchell," he continued, as the second mate next entered hat in hand, "what's in the wind now, man?" "Why, sir," said Mitchell, "I'm all ashore like, you see; I can't make it out. But here is a boat just been a-hailing of us, and the passenger--there is only one, a comely lass enough--has just come on board, and wants to see you at once. Seems a bit cranky. Here she be, sir;" and Mitchell retired. A young girl. She was probably not over seventeen, fair-faced, and with wild blue eyes, and yellow hair, dripping with dew, floating over her shoulders. "Stop the ship!" she cried, seizing McBain by the arm. "Go no farther, or her ribs will be scattered over the waves, and your bones will bleach on the cliffs of the rocks." "Poor thing!" muttered McBain. "Oh, you heed me not!" continued the girl, wringing her hands in despair. "It will be too late--it will be too late! I tell you here is no harbour, here is no ship. The lights you see are placed there to lure your vessel on shore. They are wreckers, I tell you; they will--" "By the deep three!" sung the man in the chains. Then there was a shout from the man at the foretop. "Breakers ahead!" Then, "Stand by both anchors. Ready about." CHAPTER SIX. A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE--ON THE ROCKS--MYSTERY--A HOME ON THE ROLLING DEEP. Has the reader ever been to sea? The first feeling that a landsman objects to at sea is that of the heaving motion of the ship; to your true sailor the cessation of that motion, or its absence under circumstances, is disagreeable in the extreme. To me there is always a certain air of romance about the old ocean, and about a ship at sea; but what can be less romantic than lying in a harbour or dull wet dock, with no more life nor motion in your craft than there is in the slopshop round the corner? To lie thus and probably have to listen to the grating voices and pointless jokes of semi-inebriated stevedores, as they load or unload, soiling, as they do, your beautiful decks with their dreadful boots, is very far from pleasant. In a case like this how one wishes to be away out on the blue water once more, and to feel life in the good ship once again--to feel, as it were, her very heart throb beneath one's feet! But disagreeable as the sensation is of lying lifeless in harbour or dock, still more so is it to feel your vessel, that one moment before was sailing peacefully over the sea, suddenly rasp on a rock beneath you, then stop dead. Nothing in the world will wake a sailor sooner, even should he be in the deepest of slumber, than this sudden cessation of motion. I remember on one particular occasion being awakened thus. No crew ever went to sleep with a greater feeling of security than we had done, for the night was fine and the ship went well. But all at once, about four bells in the middle watch,-- Kurr-r-r-r! that was the noise we heard proceeding from our keel, then all was steady, all was still. And every man sprang from his hammock, every officer from his cot. We were in the middle of the Indian Ocean, or rather the Mozambique Channel, with no land in sight, and we were hard and fast on the dreaded Lyra reef. A beautiful night it was, just enough wind to make a ripple on the water for the broad moon's beams to dance in, a cloudless sky, and countless stars. We took all this in at the first glance. Safe enough we were--for the time; _but_ if the wind rose there was the certainty of our being broken up, even as the war-ship _Lyra_ was, that gave its name to the reef. At the first shout from the man on the outlook in the _Arrandoon_, McBain rushed on deck. "Stand by both anchors. Ready about." But these orders are, alas! too late. Kurr-r-r-r! The stately _Arrandoon_ is hard and fast on the rocky bottom. The ship was under easy sail, for although there was hardly any wind, what little there was gave evident signs of shifting. It might come on to blow, and blow pretty hard, too, from the south-east or east-south-east, and Mr Stevenson was hardly the man to be caught in a trap, to find himself on a lee shore or a rock-bound coast, with a crowd of canvas. Well for our people it was that there was but little sail on her and little wind, or, speedily as everything was let go, the masts-- some of them at least--would have gone by the board. Half an hour after she struck, the _Arrandoon_ was under bare poles and steam was up. The order had been given to get up steam with all speed. Both the engineer and his two assistants were brawny Scots. "Man!" said the former, "it'll take ye a whole hour to get up steam if you bother wi' coals and cinders alone. But do your best wi' what ye hae till I come back." He wasn't gone long ere he came staggering down the ladder again, carrying a sack. "It's American hams," he said; "they're hardly fit for anything else but fuel, so here goes." And he popped a couple into the fire. "That's the style," he said, as they began to frizzle and blaze. "Look, lads, the kettle'll be boilin' in twa seconds." "Thank you, Stuart," said McBain, when the engineer went on the bridge to report everything ready; "you are a valuable servant; now stand by to receive orders." All hands had been called, and there was certainly plenty for them to do. It wanted several hours to high-water, and McBain determined to make the best of his time. "By the blessing of Providence on our own exertions, Stevenson," the captain said, "we'll get her off all right. Had it been high-water, though, when we ran on shore, eh!" Stevenson laughed a grim laugh. "We'd leave her bones here," he said, "that would be all." The men were now getting their big guns over the side into the boats. This would lighten her a little. But as the tide was flowing, anchors were sent out astern, to prevent the ship from being carried still farther on to the reef. "Go astern at full speed." The screws revolved and kept on revolving, the ship still stuck fast. The night was very dark, so that everything had to be done by the weird light of lanterns. Never mind, the work went cheerily on, and the men sang as they laboured. "High-water about half-past two, isn't it, Stevenson?" asked Captain McBain. "Yes, sir," the mate replied, "that's about the time, sir." "Ah! well," the captain said, "she is sure to float then, and there are no signs of your storm coming." "There is hardly a breath of wind now, sir, but you never know in these latitudes where it may come on to blow from next." The cheerful way in which McBain talked reassured our heroes, and towards eleven o'clock English Ralph spoke as follows,-- "Look here, boys--" "There isn't a bit of good looking in the dark, is there?" said Allan. "Well," continued Ralph, "figuratively speaking, look here; I don't see the good of sticking up on deck in the cold. We're not doing an atom of good; let us go below and finish our supper." "Right," said Allan; "and mind you, that poor girl is below there all this time. She may want some refreshment." When they entered the saloon they found it empty, deserted as far as human beings were concerned. Polly the cockatoo was there, no one else. "Well?" said the bird, inquiringly, as she helped herself to an enormous mouthful of hemp-seed. "Well?" "What have you done with the young lady?" asked Allan. "The proof o' the pudding--" Polly was too busy eating to say more. Peter the steward entered just then, overhearing the question as he came. "That strange girl, sir," he replied, "went over the side and away in her boat as soon as the ship struck." "Well, I call that a pity," said Allan; "the poor girl comes here to warn us of danger and never stops for thanks. It is wonderful." "From this date," remarked Ralph, "I cease to wonder at anything. Steward, you know we were only half done with supper, and we're all as hungry as hunters, and--" But Peter was off, and in a few minutes our boys were supping as quietly and contentedly as if they had been in the Coffee-room of the Queen's Hotel, Glasgow, instead of being on a lee shore, with the certainty that if it came on to blow not a timber of the good ship _Arrandoon_ that would not be smashed into matchwood. But hark! the noise on deck recommences, the men are heaving on the winch, the engines are once more at work, and the great screw is revolving. Then there is a shout from the men forward. "She moves!" "Hurrah! then, boys, hurrah!" cried McBain; "heave, and she goes." [The word "hurrah" in the parlance of North Sea sailors means "do your utmost" or "make all speed."] The men burst into song--tune a wild, uncouth sailor's melody, words extempore, one man singing one line, another metreing it with a second, with a chorus between each line, in which all joined, with all their strength of voice to the tune, with all the power of their brawny muscles to the winch. Mere doggerel, but it did the turn better, perhaps, than more refined music would have done. In San Domingo I was born, _Chorus_--Hurrah! lads, hurrah! And reared among the yellow corn. Heave, boys, and away we go. Our bold McBain is a captain nice, _Chorus_--Hurrah! lads, hurrah! The main-brace he is _sure_ to splice. Heave, boys, and away we go. The Faroe Isles are not our goal, Oh! no, lads, no! We'll reach the North, and we'll _bag_ the Pole, Heave, boys, and away we go, Hurrah! "We're off," cried Stevenson, excitedly. "Hurrah! men. Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" The men needed but little encouragement now, though. Round went the winch right merrily, and in a quarter of an hour the bows were abreast of the anchors. "Now, steward," said the captain, "splice the main-brace." The ration was brought and served, Ted Wilson, who was a moving spirit in the 'tween decks, giving a toast, which every man re-echoed ere he raised the basin to his head,-- "Success to the saucy _Arrandoon_, and our bold skipper, Captain McBain." The vessel's head was now turned seawards, and presently the anchors that had been taken in were let go again, and fires banked. The long night wore away, and the dismal dawn came. McBain had lain down for a short time, with orders to be roused on the first appearance of daylight. Rory, anxious to see how the land looked, was on deck nearly as soon as the captain. A grey mist was lifting up from off the sea, and from off the shore, revealing black, beetling crags, hundreds of feet high at the water's edge, a sheer beetling cliff around which thousands of strange sea-birds were wheeling and screaming, their white wings relieved against the black of the rocks, on which rows on rows of solemn-looking guillemots sat, and lines of those strange old-fashion-faced birds, the puffins. The cliffs were snow-clad, the hills above were terraced with rocks almost to their summits. Between the ship and this inhospitable shore lay a long, dangerous-looking reef of rocks. "Ah! Rory," said McBain, "there was a merciful Providence watching over us last night. Yonder is where we lay; had it come on to blow, not one of us would be alive this morning to see the sun rise." Rory could hardly help, shuddering as he thought of the narrow escape they had had from so terrible a fate. When steam was got up they went round the island--it was one of the most southerly of the Faroes; but except around one little bay, where boats might land with difficulty, it seemed impossible that human beings could exist in such a place. What, then, was the mystery of the previous evening, of the fair-haired girl, of the lights inside the reef that simulated those of a broad-beamed ship, of the lights like those of a village that twinkled on shore? The whole affair seemed strange, inexplicable. Now that it was broad daylight the events of the preceding night, with its dangers and its darkness, had more the similitude of some dreadful dream than a stern reality. This same evening the anchor was let go in the Bay of Thorshaven, the capital--city, shall I say?--of the Faroe Islands. I am writing a tale of adventure, not a narrative of travel, else would I willingly devote a whole chapter to a description of this quaint and primitive wee, wee town. Our heroes saw it at its very worst, its very bleakest, for winter still held it in thrall; the turf-clad roofs of its cottages, that in summer are green with grass and redolent of wild thyme, were now clad with snow; its streets, difficult to climb even in July, were now stairs of glass; its fort looked frozen out; and its little chapel, where Sunday after Sunday the hardy and brave inhabitants, who never move abroad without their lives in their hands, worship God in all humility--this little chapel stood up black and bold against its background of snow. Although the streamlets were all frozen, although ice was afloat in the bay, and a grey and leaden sky overhead, our boys were not sorry to land and have a look around. To say that they were hospitably received would be hardly doing the Faroese justice, for hospitality really seems a part and parcel of the people's religion. The viands they placed before them were well cooked, but curious, to say the least of it. Steak of young whale, stew of young seal's liver, roast guillemot and baked auk; these may sound queer as dinner dishes, but as they were cooked by the ancient Faroese gentleman who entertained our heroes at his house, each and all of them were brave eating. Couldn't they stop a month? this gentleman, who looked like a true descendant of some ancient viking, asked McBain. Well then, a fortnight? well, surely one short week? But, "Nay, nay, nay," the captain answered, kindly and smilingly, to all his entreaties; they must hurry on to the far north ere spring and summer came. The Faroese could give them no clue to the mystery that shrouded the previous night. They had never heard of either wreckers or pirates in these peaceful islands. "But," said the old viking, "we are willing to turn out to a man; we are one thousand inhabitants in all--including the women; but even they will go; and we have ten brave, real soldiers in the fort, they too will go, and we will make search, and if we find them we will hang them on--on--" the old man hesitated. "On the nearest tree," suggested Rory with a mischievous smile. The viking laughed grimly at the joke. "Well," he said, "we will hang them anyhow, trees or no trees." But McBain could not be induced to deviate from his set purpose, and bidding these simple folk a friendly farewell, they steamed once more out of the bay, passed many a strange, fantastic island, passed rocks pierced with caves, and bird-haunted, and so, with the vessel's prow pointing to the northward and west, they left the Faroes far behind them. Tremendous seas rolled in from the broad Atlantic all that night and all next day, little wind though, and no broken water. In the evening, in the dog-watch, the waves seemed to increase in size; they were miles long, mountains high; when down in the trough of the sea you had to look up to their crests as you would to the summer's sun at noontide. Indeed, those waves made the brave ship _Arrandoon_ look wondrous small. McBain, somewhat to Stevenson's astonishment, made the man at the wheel steer directly north. "We're out of our course, sir," said the mate. "Pardon me for a minute or two," replied the captain, half apologetically, "we are now broadside on to these seas, I just want to test her stability." "Well, everything is pretty fast, sir," said the mate, quietly; "but if the ship goes on her beam-ends don't blame me." "Perhaps, Mr Stevenson, there wouldn't be much time to blame any one; but I can trust my ship, I think. Wo! my beauty." The beauty didn't seem a bit inclined to "wo!" however. She positively rolled her ports under, and Rory confessed that the doldrums were nothing to this. Presently up comes Rory from below. "Och! captain dear," he says, "my gun-case has burst my fiddle-case, and I'm not sure that the fiddle herself is safe, the darling." Next up comes Stevenson. "Please captain," he says, "the steward says his crockery is all going to smithereens, and the cook can't keep the fire in the galley range, and Freezing Powders has broken the tureen and spilt the soup, and--" "Enough, enough," cried McBain, laughing; "take charge, mate, and do as you like with her, I'm satisfied." So down below dived the captain, the ship's head was once more turned north-west, and a bit of canvas clapped on to steady her. CHAPTER SEVEN. SANDIE MCFLAIL, M.D.--"WHA WOULDNA' BE A SEA-BIRD?"--THE GIRL TELLS HER STRANGE ADVENTURES--NIGHTFALL ON THE SEA. There is one member of the mess whom I have not yet introduced, but a very worthy member he is, our youthful doctor. Poor fellow! never before had he been to sea, and so he suffered accordingly. Oh! right bravely had he tried to keep up for all that. He was the boldest mariner afloat while coming down the Clyde; he disappeared as the ship began to round the stormy Mull. He appeared again for a short time at Oban, but vanished when the anchor was weighed. At Lerwick, where they called in to take old Magnus Bolt on board, and ship a dozen stalwart Shetlanders, the doctor was once more seen on deck; and it was currently reported that when the vessel lay helpless on the reef, a ghostly form bearing a strong resemblance to the bold surgeon was seen flitting about in the darkness, and a quavering voice was heard to put this solemn question more than once, "Any danger, men? Men, are we in danger?" This was the last that had been seen of the medico; but Rory found a slate in the dispensary, into which sanctum, by the way, he had no right to pop even his nose. He brought this slate aft, the young rascal, and read what was written thereon to Allan and Ralph, from which it was quite evident that Sandie McFlail, M.D., of Aberdeen, had made a most intrepid attempt to keep a diary. The entries were short, and ran somewhat thus:-- "February 9th.--Dropped away from the Broomielaw and steamed down the beautiful Clyde. Charming day, though cold, and the hills on each side the river clothed in virgin snow. Felt sad and sorrowful at leaving my native land. I wonder will ever we return, or will the great sea swallow us up? Would rather it didn't. I wonder if _she_ will think of me and pray for her mariner bold when the wind blows high at night, when the cold rain beats against the window-panes of her little cot, and the storm spirit roars around the old chimneys. I feel a sailor already all over, and I tread the decks with pride. "Feb. 10th.--At sea. The ocean getting rough. Passed some seagulls. "Feb. 11th.--Sea rougher. Passed a ship. "Feb. 12th.--Sea still rough. Passed some seaweed. "Feb. 13th.--Sea mountains high. Passed--" "And here," says Rory, "the diary breaks off all of a sudden like; and all of a sudden the entries close; so, really, there is no saying what the doctor passed on the 13th. But just about this time, the mate tells me, he was seen leaning languidly over the side, so--" "Ho, ho!" cried McBain, close at his ear. The captain had entered the saloon unperceived by boy Rory, and had been standing behind him all the time he was reading. Ralph and Allan saw him well enough, but they, of course, said nothing, although they could not refrain from laughing. "Ho, ho, Rory, my boy!" says McBain; "ho, ho, boy Rory! so you're fairly caught?" "And indeed then," says Rory, jumping up and looking as guilty as any schoolboy, "I didn't know you were there at all at all." "Of that I am perfectly sure," McBain says, laughing, "else you wouldn't have been reading the poor doctor's private diary. What shall we do with him, Ralph? What shall he be done to, Allan?" "Oh!" said Ralph, mischievously; "send him to the masthead for a couple of hours. Into the foretop, mind, where he'll get plenty of air about him." "No," said Allan, grinning; "give him a seat for three hours on the end of the bowsprit. Of course, Captain McBain, you'll let him have a bottle of hot water at his feet, and a blanket or two about him. He is only a little one, you know." "But now that I think of it," said McBain, "you are all the same, boys; there isn't one of you a whit better than the other." "Sure and you're right, captain," Rory put in, "for if I was reading, they were listening, most intently, too." "Well then, boys, I'll tell you how you can make amends to the honest doctor. Off you go, the three of you, and see if you can't rouse him out. Get him to come on deck and breathe the fresh air. He'll soon get round." And off our three heroes went, joyfully, on their mission of mercy. They found the worthy doctor in bed in his cabin, and forthwith set about kindly but firmly rousing him out. They had even brought Freezing Powders with them, to carry a pint of moselle. "I feel vera limp," said Sandie, as soon as he got dressed, "vera limp indeed. Well, as you say, the moselle may do me good, but I'm a teetotaler as a rule." "We never touch any wine," said Ralph, "nor care to; but this, my dear doctor, is medicine." Sandie confessed himself better immediately when he got on deck. With Allan on one side of him and big Ralph on the other, he was marched up and down the deck for half an hour and more. "Man! gentlemen!" he remarked, "I thought I could walk finely, but I'm just now for a' the world like a silly drunken body." "We were just the same," said Allan, "when we came first to sea-- couldn't walk a bit; but we soon got our sea-legs, and we've never lost them yet." The doctor was struck with wonder at the might and majesty of the waves, and also at the multitude of birds that were everywhere about and around them. Kittiwakes, solons, gulls, guillemots, auks, and puffins, they whirled and wheeled around the ship in hundreds, screaming and shrieking and laughing. They floated on the water, they swam on its surface, and dived down into its dark depths, and no fear had they of human beings, nor of the steamer itself. "How happy they all seem!" said Rory; "if I was one of the lower animals, as we call them, sure there is nothing in the wide world I'd like better to be than a sea-bird." "True for you," said Allan; "it's a wild, free life they lead." "And they seem to have no care," said the doctor. "Their meat is bound to their heads; at any rate, they never have far to go to seek it. When tired they can rest; when rested they can fly again. Then look at the warm and beautiful coats they wear. There is no wetting them to the skin; the water glides off o' them like the rain from a duck's back. Then think o' the pleasure o' possessin' a pair o' wings that can cleave the air like an arrow from a bowstring; that in a few short days, independent o' wind or waves or weather, can carry them from the cauld north far, far awa' to the saft and sunny south. Wha wouldna' be a sea-bird?" "Yes," reiterated Rory, stopping in front of the doctor; "as you say, doctor, `Wha wouldna' be a sea-bird?' But pardon me, sir, for in you I recognise a kindred spirit, a lover of nature, a lover of the beautiful. You and I will be friends, doctor--fast friends. There, shake hands." "As for Ralph and Allan," he added, with a mischievous grin, "'deed in troth, doctor dear, there isn't a bit of poetry in their nature, and they would any day far sooner see a couple of eider ducks roasted and flanked with apple sauce, than the same wildly beautiful birds happy and alive and afloat on the dark, heaving breast of the ocean. It's the truth I'm telling ye, doctor. D'ye play at all? Have you any favourite instrument?" "Weel, sir," the doctor replied, "I canna say that I'm vera much o' a musician, but I just can manage to toot a wee bit on the flute." "And I've no doubt," said Rory, "that you `toot' well, too." The conversation never slackened for a couple of hours, and so well did the doctor feel, that of his own free will he volunteered joining them at dinner in the saloon. McBain was as much surprised as delighted when he came below to dine, and found that their new messmate, Sandie McFlail, had at long last put in an appearance at table. The swell on the sea was much less next morning; the wind had slightly increased, and more sail had been spread, so that the ship was moderately steady. The rugged coast and strange, fantastic rocks of the outlying islands of Iceland were in sight, and, half-buried in misty clouds, the distant mountains could be dimly descried. "Yonder," said the mate, advancing towards Captain McBain, glass in hand,--"yonder is a small boat, sir, with a bit of a sail on her; she has just rounded the needle rocks, and seems standing in for the mainland." "Well," said the captain, "let us overhaul her, anyhow. There can be no harm in that, and it may secure us a fresh fish or two for dinner." In less than an hour the _Arrandoon_ had come up with this strange sail, which at first sight had seemed a mere speck on the ocean, seen at one moment and hidden the next behind some mountain roller. The surprise of our heroes may be better imagined than described, to find afloat in this cockle-shell of a boat, with an oar shipped as a mast and a tartan plaid as a main-sail, none other than the heroine of the wreckers' reef. Seeing that she was in the power of the big ship, she made no further attempt to get away, but, dropping her sail, she seized the oars, paddled quietly and coolly alongside, and next moment stood on the quarter-deck, with bowed head and modest mien, before Captain McBain. The captain took her kindly by the hand, smiling as he said, "Do not be afraid, my girl; consider yourself among friends--among those, indeed, who would do anything in their power to serve you, even if they were not already deeply in your debt, and deeply grateful." "Ah!" she said, mournfully, "my warning came all too late to save you. But, praised be God! you are safe now, and not in the power of those terrible men, who would have spared not a single life of those the waves did not engulf." "But tell us," continued McBain, "all about it--all about yourself. There is some strange mystery about the matter, which we would fain have solved. But stay--not here, and not yet. You must be very tired and weary; you must first have rest and refreshment, after which you can tell us your tale. Stevenson, see the little boat hauled up; and, doctor, I place this young lady under your care; to-night I hope to land her safely in Reikjavik; meanwhile my cabin is at her disposal." "Come, lassie," said the good surgeon, laconically, leading the way down the companion. Merely dropping a queenly curtsey to McBain and our young heroes, she followed the doctor without a word. Peter the steward placed before her the most tempting viands in the ship, yet she seemed to have but little appetite. "I am tired," she said at length, "I fain would rest. Long weary weeks of sorrow have been mine. But they are past and gone at last." Then she retired, this strange ocean waif and stray, and so the day wore gradually to a close, and they saw no more of her until the sun, fierce, fiery, and red, began to disappear behind the distant snow-clad hills; then they found her once more in their midst. She had gathered the folds of her plaid around her, her long yellow hair still floated over her shoulders, and her dreamy blue eyes were shyly raised to McBain's face as she began to speak. "I owe you some explanation," she said. "My strange conduct must appear almost inexplicable to you. My appearance among you two nights ago was intended to save you from the destruction that awaited you--from the destruction that had been prepared for you by the Danish wreckers." "Sir," she continued, after a pause, "I am myself a Dane. My father was parish minister in the little village of Elmdene. Alas! I fear he is now no more. Afflictions gathered and thickened around us in our once happy little home, and the only way we could see out of them was to leave our native land and cross the ocean. In America we have many friends who had kindly offered us an asylum, until happier days should come again. Our vessel was a brig, our crew all told only twenty hands, and we, my brother, father, and myself--for mother has long since gone up beyond--were the only passengers. "All went well until we were off the northern Shetlands, when at the dark, starry hour of midnight our ship was boarded and carried by pirates. Every one in the ship was put to the sword, saving my father and myself. My poor dear brave brother was slain before my eyes, but he died as the Danes die--with his face to the foe. My father was promised his life if he would perform the ceremony of marriage between myself and the pirate captain, who is a Russian, a daring, fearless fellow, but a strange compound of superstition and vice--a man who will go to prayers before scuttling a ship! The object of this pirate was to seize your vessel; he would have met and fought you at sea, but the easier plan for him was to try to wreck you. Fortune seemed to favour this bold design of his. The lights placed on shore, to represent a vessel of large size, were part and parcel of his vile scheme. But the darkness of the night enabled me to escape and come towards you. Then I feared to return; but, alas! alas! I now tremble lest my dear father has had to pay the penalty of my rashness with his life." [The story of the pirate is founded on fact.] "But the ship--this pirate?" said McBain. "We sailed around the island next day but saw no signs of him?" "Then," said the girl, "he must have escaped in the darkness, immediately after discovering the entire failure of his scheme." "And whither were you bound for when we overtook you, my poor girl?" asked McBain. "At Reikjavik," she replied, "I have an uncle, a minister. He it was who taught me all I know, while he was still at home in Elmdene--taught me among other things the beautiful language of your country, which I speak, but speak so indifferently." "Can this be," said McBain, "the self-same pirate that attacked the _Snowbird_?" "The very same thought," answered Ralph, "was passing through my own mind." "And yet how strange that a pirate should, cruise in these far northern seas?" "She has less chance of being caught, at all events," Allan said. "Ha?" exclaimed McBain, with a kind of grim, exultant laugh, "if she comes across the _Arrandoon_, that chance will indeed be a small one. She'll find us a different kind of a craft from the _Snowbird_." The vessel was now heading directly for the south-east coast of Iceland. Somewhere in there, though at present hidden by points of land and rocky islets, lay the capital of Iceland, which they hoped to reach ere midnight. A more lovely land and seascape than that which was now stretched out before them, it would indeed be difficult to conceive. The sun had gone down behind the western end of a long line of snow-clad mountains, serrated, jagged, and peaked, but their tops were all rose-tipped with his parting beams. Above them the sky was clear, with just one speck of crimson cloud; the lower land between was bathed in a purple mist, through which the ice-bound rocks could dimly be discerned, while the mantle of night had already been spread over the ocean. It was "nightfall on the sea." CHAPTER EIGHT. A GALE FROM THE MOUNTAINS--DAYBREAK IN ICELAND--THE GREAT BALLOON ASCENT--RORY'S YARN--THE SNOW-CLOUD--THE PIRATE IS SEEN. A whole week has elapsed since the events transpired which I have related in last chapter,--a week most interestingly if not always quite pleasantly spent. The _Arrandoon_ is lying before the quaint, fantastical old town of Reikjavik, surrounded almost in every direction by mountains bold and wild, the peaked summits and even the sides of which are now covered with ice and snow. For spring has not yet arrived to unrivet stern winter's chains, to swell the rivers into roaring torrents, and finally to carpet the earth with beauty. The streams are still frozen, the bay in which the good ship lies at her anchors twain, is filled with broken pancake-ice, which makes communication with the shore by means of boat a matter of no little difficulty, for oars have to be had inboard or used as pressing poles, and boat-hooks are in constant requisition. Winter it is, and the country all around might be called dreary, were it not for the ever-varying shades of colour that, as the sun shines out, or anon hides his head behind a cloud, spread themselves over hill and dale and rugged glen. Oh! the splendour of those sunrises and sunsets, the rose tints, the purples, the emerald greens and cool greys, that blaze and blend, grow faint and fade as they chase each other among mountains and ravines! What a poor morsel of steel my pen feels as I attempt to describe them! Yet have they a beauty peculiarly their own,--a beauty which never can be forgotten by those whose eyes have once rested thereon. The fair-haired Danish girl has been landed, and for a time has found shelter and peace in the humble home of her uncle the clergyman. Our heroes have been on shore studying the manners and customs of the primitive but hospitable people they find themselves among. Several city worthies have been off to see the ship and to dine. But to-night our heroes are all by themselves in the saloon. Dinner is finished, nuts and fruit and fragrant coffee are on the table, at the head of which sits the captain, on his right the doctor and Ralph, on his left Allan and Rory. Freezing Powders, neatly dressed, is hovering near, and Peter, the steward, is not far off, while the cockatoo is busy as usual, helping himself to tremendous billfuls of hemp-seed, but nevertheless putting in his oar every minute, with a "Well, duckie?" or a long-drawn "Dea-ah me!" I cannot say that all is peace, though, beyond the wooden walls of the _Arrandoon_, for a storm is raging with almost hurricane violence, sweeping down from the hills with ever-varying force, and threatening to tear the vessel from her anchorage. Steam is up, the screw revolves, and it taxes all the engineer's skill to keep up to the anchors so as to avert the strain from them. But our boys are used to danger by this time, and there is hardly a moment's lull in the conversation. Even Sandie McFlail, M.D. o' Aberdeen, has already forgotten all the horrors of _mal-de-mer_; he even believes he has found his sea-legs, and feels all over as good a sailor as anybody. "Reikjavik?" says Ralph; "isn't it a queer break-jaw kind of a name. It puts one in mind of a mouthful of exceedingly tough beefsteak." "A gastronomic simile," says Rory; "though maybe neither poetical nor elegant, sure, but truly Saxon." "Ah! weel," the doctor says, in his quiet, thoughtful, canny way, "I dinna know now. Some o' the vera best poetry of all ages bears reference to the pleesures o' the table. Witness Horace's Odes, for instance." "Hear! hear!" from Allan; and "Horace was a brick!" from honest English Ralph; but Rory murmurs "Moore?" "But," continues the doctor, "to my ear there is nothing vera harsh in the language that these islanders speak. They pronounce the `ch' hard, like the Scotch; their `j's' soft, like the Spanish; and turn their `w's' into `v's.' They pronounce church--kurk; and the `j' is a `y,' or next thing to it. `Reik' or `reyk' means smoke, you know, as it is in Scotch `reek;' and `wik,' or `wich,' or `vik' means a bay, as in the English `Woolwich,' `Sandwich,' etc, so that Reikjavik is simply `the bay of smoke,' or `the smoking bay;' but whether with reference to the smoke that hangs over the town, or the spray that rises mistlike from the seething billows when the wind blows, I cannot say--probably the former; and it is worthy of note, gentlemen, that some savage races far, far away from here--the aborigines of Australia, for example--designate towns by the term `the big smoke.'" "How profoundly erudite you are, doctor!" says Rory. "Now, wouldn't it have been much better for your heirs and assigns and the world at large, if you had accepted a Professorship of Antiquity in the University of Aberdeen, instead of coming away with us, to cool the toes of you at the North Pole, and maybe leave your bones to bleach beneath the Aurora Borealis, eh?" "Ha! there I have you," cries Sandie, smiling good-humouredly, for by this time he was quite used to Rory's bantering ways,--"there I have you, boy Rory; and it is with the profoundest awe and respect for everything sacred, that I remind you that the Aurora Borealis never bleached any bones; and those poor unfortunates who, in their devotion for science, have wandered towards the mystery land around the Pole, and there laid down their lives, will never, never moulder into dust, but, entombed in the green, salt ice, with the virgin snow as their winding-sheet, their bodies will rest in peace, and rest intact until the trumpet sounds." There was a lull in the conversation at this point, but no lull in the storm; the waves dashed wildly over the ship, the wind roared through the rigging, the brave vessel quivered from stem to stern, as if in constant fear she might be hurled from the protection afforded by anchor and cable, and cast helpless upon the rock-bound shore. A lull, broken presently by a deep sigh from Freezing Powders. "Well, duckie?" said Polly, in sympathising tones. "Well, Freezing Powders," said McBain, "and pray what are you sighing about?" "What for I sigh?" repeated Freezing Powders. "Am you not afraid you'se'f, sah! You not hear de wild winds roar, and de wave make too much bobbery? 'Tis a'most enuff, sah, to make a gem'lam turn pale, sah!" "Ha! ha?" laughed Rory; "really, it'll take a mighty big storm, Freezing Powders, to make you turn pale. But, doctor," he continued, "what say you to some music?" "If you'll play," said the surgeon, "I'll toot." And so the concert was begun; and the shriek of the storm spirit was drowned in mirth and melody, or, as the doctor, quoting Burns, expressed it,-- "The storm without might roar and rustle, They didna mind the storm a whustle." But after this night of storm and tempest, what a wonderful morning it was! The sun shot up amidst the encrimsoned mountain peaks, and shone brightly down from a sky of cloudless blue. The snow was everywhere dazzling in its whiteness, and there was not a sigh of wind to raise so much as a ripple on the waters of the bay, from which every bit of ice had been blown far to sea. Wild birds screamed with joy as they wheeled in hundreds around the ship, while out in the bay a shoal of porpoises were disporting themselves, leaping high in air from out of the sparkling waters, and shrieking--or, as the doctor called it, "whustling"--for very joy. Every one on board the _Arrandoon_ was early astir--up, indeed, before the sun himself--for there were to be great doings on shore to-day. The first great experimental balloon ascent and flight was about to be made. Every one on shore was early astir, too; in fact, the greatest excitement prevailed, and on the table-land to the right of, and some little distance from, the town, from which the balloon was to ascend, the people had assembled from an early hour, even the ladies of Reikjavik turning out dressed in their gayest attire, no small proportion of which consisted of fur and feathers. The aeronaut was a professional, Monsieur De Vere by name. McBain had gone all the way to Paris especially to engage his services. Nor had he hired him at random, for this canny captain of ours had not only satisfied himself that De Vere was in a scientific point of view a clever man, but he had accompanied him in several ascents, and could thus vouch for his being a really practical aeronaut. Who would go with De Vere in this first great trip over the regions of perpetual snow? The doctor stepped forward as a volunteer, and by his side was Rory. Perhaps Allan and Ralph were rather lazy for any such aerial exploit; anyhow, they were content to stay at home. "We'll look on, you know," said Ralph, "as long as we can see you; and when you return--that is, if ever you do return--you can tell us all about it." When all was ready the ropes were cast loose, and, with a ringing cheer from the assembled multitude, up arose the mighty balloon, straight as arrow from bow, into the blue, sunny sky. Like the eagle that soars from the peak of Benrinnes, she seemed to seek the very sun itself. Rory and the surgeon, who had never been in a balloon before--nor even, for the matter of that, down in a coalpit--at first hardly relished their sudden elevation, but they soon got used to it. Not the slightest motion was there; Rory could hardly credit the fact that he was moving, and when at last he did muster up sufficient courage to peep earthwards over the side of the car. "Oh, look, doctor dear!" he cried; "sure, look for yourself; the world is moving away from us altogether!" And this was precisely the sensation they experienced. Both the doctor and Rory were inclined to clutch nervously and tremulously the sides of the car in the first part of their ascent; but though the former was not much of a sailor, somewhat to his surprise he experienced none of those giddy feelings common to the landsman when gazing from an immense height. He could look beneath him and around him, and enjoy to the full the strange bird's-eye landscape and seascape that every moment seemed to broaden and widen, until a great portion of the northern island, with its mountains, its lakes, its frozen torrents, its gulfs and bays and islands, and the great blue southern ocean, even to the far-off Faroe Isles, lay like a beautifully portrayed map beneath their feet. The grandeur of the scene kept them silent for long minutes; it impressed them, it awed them. It did more than even this, for it caused them to feel their own littleness, and the might of the Majesty that made the world. De Vere himself seldom vouchsafed a single glance landwards; he seemed to busy himself wholly and solely with the many strange instruments with which he was surrounded. He was hardly a moment idle. The intense cold, that soon began to benumb the senses of Sandie, seemed to have no deterrent effect on his efforts. "I must confess I do fell sleepy," said the worthy medico, "and I meant to assist you, Mr De Vere." "Here," cried the scientist, pouring something out of a phial, and handing it to him, "drink that quick." "I feel double the individual," cried Sandie, brightly, as soon as he had swallowed the draught. "Come," said Rory, "come, monsieur, _I_ want to feel double the individual, too." "No, no, sir," said De Vere, smiling, "an Irishman no want etherism; you are already--pardon me--too ethereal." Sandie was gazing skywards. "It is the moon,"--he was saying--"I ken her horn, She's blinkin' in the lift sae hie; She smiles, the jade! to wile us hame, But, 'deed, I doubt, she'll wait a wee." "Happy thought!" cried Rory; "let us go to the moon." "No," laughed the doctor; "nobody ever got that length yet." "Oh, you forget, Mr Surgeon," said Rory,--"you forget entirely all about Danny O'Rourke." "Tell us, then, Rory." "Troth, then," began Rory, in his richest brogue, "it was just like this same. Danny was a dacint boy enough, who lived entoirely alone with Biddy his wife, and the pig, close to a big bog in old Oireland. Sitting on a stone in the midst of this bog was Danny, one foine summer's evening, when who should fly down but an aigle. `Foine noight,' says the aigle. `The same to you,' says Danny, `and many of them.' `But,' says the aigle, `don't you see that it is sinking you are?' `Och! sure,' cries Danny, `and so it is. I'll be swallowed up in the bog, and poor Biddy and the pig will nivir set eyes on me again. Och! och! what'll I do?' `Git on to me back, troth,' says the aigle, `and I'll fly you sthraight to your Biddy's door.' `And the blessings av the O'Rourkes be wid ye thin,' says Danny, putting his arms round the aigle's neck, `for you are the sinsible bird, and whatever I'd have done widout ye, ne'er a bit o' me knows. But isn't it high enough you are now, aroon? Yonder is my cottage just down there.' For," continued Rory, "you must know that by this time the aigle had mounted fully a mile high with poor Danny. `Be quiet wid ye,' says the aigle, `or I'll shake ye off me back entoirely. Don't ye remember robbing my nest last year? _I_ do. And it's niver a cottage you'll ever see again, nor Biddy, nor the pig either. It's right up to the moon I'm flying wid ye.' `What!' cries Danny, `to that bit av a thing like a raping-hook? Och! and och! what'll become av me at all at all?' But the moon got bigger the nearer they came to it, and they found it a dacint size enough when they got there entirely. `Catch a howld av the end av the raping-hook,' says the aigle, `or by this and by that I'll shake ye off me shoulder.' And so poor Danny had no ho' but just to do as he was told, and away flew the aigle and left him. While he was wondering what he should do now, a stern voice behind him says, `Let go--let go the end of the raping-hook, and be off wid ye back to your own counthry.' `It's hardly civil av you,' says Danny, `to ask me sich a thing. Sure it is few ever come to call on you anyhow.' `Let go,' thundered the man o' the moon; and he gave Danny just one kick, and off went the poor boy flying into the air. `It's killed I'll be,' says he to himself, `killed entoirely wid the fall, and what'll become o' me wife Biddy and the pig is more'n I can tell.' But he fell, and he fell, and he fell, and he never seemed to stop falling, till plump he alights right in the middle o' the sea, and there he lay on the broad back av him, till a big lump av a whale came and splashed him all over wid his tail. But sure enough the sea was only his bed, and the big whale turned out to be Biddy herself, with the watering-pot, telling him to get up, for a lazy ould boy, and feed the pig, and troth it was nothing but a dream after all. "But where in the name of wonder are we now?" he continued, gazing around. It was a very natural question. It had got suddenly dark. They were enveloped in a snow-cloud. The brave balloon seemed to struggle through it. Ballast was thrown over, and up and out into the sunshine she rose again, but what a change had come over her appearance--every rope and length of her and the car itself and our bold aeronauts were covered white with virgin snow. "Monsieurs," said De Vere, "this is more than I bargained for. We must descend. You see she has lost all life. De lofely soul dat was in de balloon seems to have gone. We will descend." Indeed the huge balloon was already moving slowly earthwards, and in a minute more they were again passing through the snow-cloud. Once clear of this a breeze sprang up, or, to speak more correctly, they entered a current of air, that carried them directly inland for many miles. Tired of this direction, the valve was opened, out roared the gas, and the descent became more rapid, until the wind ceased to blow--they were beneath the adverse current. More ballast was thrown out, and her "way" was stopped. But see, what aileth our hero, boy Rory? For some minutes he has been gazing southwards over the sea, so intensely indeed that his looks almost frighten the honest doctor. "The glass, the glass," he hisses, holding round his hand, but not taking his glance for a moment off the southern horizon. The glass is handed to him, he adjusts it to his eye, and takes one long, fixed look; and when he turns once more towards the doctor his face is radiant with joy and excitement. "It is she," he cried, "it is _she_, it is she!" The doctor really looked scared. "Man!" he said, "are ye takin' leave o' your wuts? There, tak' a hold o' my hand and dinna try to frighten folk. There's never a `she' near ye." "It is _she_, I tell you," cried Rory again; "take the glass and look in under the land yonder, and heading for Stromsoe. It is the pirate herself,--the pirate we fought in the _Snowbird_. Hurrah! hurrah!" CHAPTER NINE. MOUNT HEKLA--THE GREAT GEYSER--A NARROW ESCAPE--THE SEARCH FOR THE PIRATE--MCBAIN'S LITTLE "RUSE DE GUERRE"--THE BATTLE BEGUN. "That puts quite another complexion on the matter," said Dr Sandy McFlail, with a sigh of relief, when Rory explained to him that he had spied the pirate, "quite another complexion, though, for the time bein' ye glowered sae like a warlock that I did think ye had lost your reason; so give me the glass, and I'll e'en take a look at her mysel'. "Eh! sirs," he continued, with the telescope at his eye, "but she is a big ship, and a bonnie ship. But, Rory boy, just catch a hold o' my coat-tails, and I'll feel more secure like. I wouldn't wish to go heels o'er head out o' the car. A fine big ship indeed--square-rigged forward and schooner-rigged aft; a vera judeecious arrangement." "Now," cried Rory, "the sooner we are landed on old mother earth the better. Bend on to the valve halyards, De Vere. Down with her." "Sirs! sirs!" cried the doctor, in great alarm; "pray don't be rash. Be judeecious, gentlemen, be judeecious." De Vere looked from one to the other, then laughed aloud. He was amused at the impetuosity of the Irishman and at the canniness of the Scot. A very pleasant little man was this De Vere to look at, black as to hair and moustache, dark as to eyes; thoughtful-looking as a rule were these eyes, yet oft lit up with fun. He never spoke much, perhaps he cogitated the more; he seldom made a joke himself, but he had a high appreciation of humour in others. Taking him all and all he gave you the impression of one who would be little likely to lose his presence of mind in a time of danger. "Gentlemen," he said, quietly, "you will leave the descent in my hands, if you please. We are now, by my calculation, some ninety miles from the city of Reikjavik. You see beneat' you wild mountains, ice-bound plains, frozen lakes, rivers and waterfalls, deep ravines and gorges, but no sign of smoke, no life. Shall I make my descent here? Shall I pull vat Monsieur Rory call de valve halyard? Shall I land in de regions of desolation?" "Dinna think o't," cried Sandy. "Never mind Rory; he is only a laddie." "It's yourself that's complimentary," quoth Rory. "Ah! ver' well," said De Vere; "I will go on, for since you have been gazing on de ship, de current have change, and we once more get nearer home." An hour went slowly by. Both the doctor and Rory were gazing at the _far-off_ mountain, Hekla, that lay to the south and east, though distant many miles. The vast hill looked a king among the other mountains; a king, but a dead king, being still and quiet in the sunshine, enrobed in a shroud of snow. Sandy was doubly engaged--he was talking musingly, and aloud; but at the same time he was doing ample justice to the venison pie that lay so confidingly on his knee, for Sandy was a bit of a philosopher in his own quiet way. "Mount Hekla," he was saying; "is it any wonder that these Norsemen, these superstitious sons of the ancient Vikings, look upon it as the entrance-gate to the terrible abode of fire and brimstone, gloom and woe, where are confined the souls of the unhappy dead? Hekla, round thy snow-capped summit the thunders never cease to roll--" "Hark," said Rory, holding up his hand; "talk about thunder, list to that." Both leant over the car and looked earthwards. What could it mean, that low, deep, long-continued thunderpeal? Was a storm raging beneath them? Yes, but not of the kind they at first imagined. For see, from where yonder hill starts abruptly from the glen, rise immense clouds of silvery white, and roll slowly adown the valley. The balloon hangs suspended right above the great _geyser_, which is now in full eruption. "It is as I thought," said De Vere; "let us descend a little way;" and he opened the valve as he spoke. The balloon made a downward rush as he did so, as if she meant to plunge herself and all her occupants into the very midst of the boiling cauldron. The steam from the geyser had almost reached their feet; the car thrilled beneath them, while the never-ceasing thunder pealed louder and louder. "My conscience!" roared honest Sandy, losing all control over himself; "we'll be boiled alive like so many partans!" [Partans: Scottish, crabs.] De Vere coolly threw overboard a bag or two of sand, and the balloon mounted again like a skylark. And not too soon either, for, awful, to relate, in his sudden terror Sandy had made a grab at the valve-rope, as if to check her downward speed. Had not Rory speedily pulled him back, the consequences would have been too dreadful to think of. De Vere only laughed; but he held up one finger by way of admonishing the doctor as he said, "Neever catch hold of de reins ven anoder man is driving." "But," said Rory, "didn't you go a trifle too near that time, Mister de Vere?" "A leetle," said the Frenchman, coolly. "It was noding." "Ach! sure no," says Rory; "it was nothing at all; and yet, Mister de Vere, it isn't the pleasantest thing in the world to imagine yourself being played at pitch and toss with on the top of a mighty geyser, for all the world like a nut-gall on the top of a twopenny fountain!" Sandy resumed the dissection of his venison pie. He would have a long entry for his diary to-night, he thought. Luck does not always attend the aeronaut, albeit fortune favours the brave, and the current of air that was carrying the balloonists so merrily back to Reikjavik, ceased entirely when they were still within ten miles of that quaint wee place. It was determined, therefore, to make a descent. Happily, they were over a glen. Close by the sea and around the bay were many small farms, and so adroitly did De Vere manage to attach an anchor to the roof of an old barn, that descent was easy in the extreme. Perhaps the happiest man in the universe at the moment Sandy McFlail's feet touched mother earth again was Sandy himself. "Man!" he cried to Rory, rubbing his hands and laughing with glee, "I thought gettin' out meant a broken leg at the vera least, and I haven't even bled my nose." There was some commotion, I can tell you, among the feathered inmates of the barnyard when the balloonists popped down among them; as for the farm folks, they had shut themselves up in the dwelling-house. The geese were particularly noisy. Geese, reader, always remind me of those people we call sceptics: they are sure to gabble their loudest at things they can't understand. But convinced at last that the aeronauts were neither evil spirits nor inhabitants of the moon, the good farmer made them heartily welcome at his fireside, and assisted them to pack, so that, by the aid of men and ponies, they found themselves late that evening safely on board the _Arrandoon_; and right glad were their comrades to see them again, you may be sure, and to listen to a narration by Rory of all their adventures, interlarded by Sandy's queer, dry remarks, which only served to render it all the more funny. But before they sat down to the ample supper that Peter had prepared for them, Rory reported to the captain his great discovery. McBain's eyes sparkled like live coals as he heard of it, but he said little. He sent quietly for the engineer and the mate. "How soon," he asked the former, "can you get up steam?" "In an hour, sir--easy." "That will do," said the captain. "Mr Stevenson, when will the moon rise?" "She is rising now, sir." "All right, Mr Stevenson. Have all ready to weigh anchor in two hours' time." "Ay, ay, sir!" The engineer still lingered. "I _could_ get up steam in twenty minutes," he said; "those American hams, sir--" "Oh, bother the hams?" said the captain, laughing. "No, no; we may be glad of those yet when frozen in at the Pole. Bear-and-ham pie, engineer; how will that eat, eh?" and he bowed him kindly out. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ By two bells in the middle watch the good ship _Arrandoon_ was off the needle rocks of the Portland Huck. They stood up out of the water like tall sheeted ghosts, with the moonlight and starlight shimmering from their shoulders. The sea was calm, with only a gentle heave on it; and there were but a few snowy clouds in the sky skirting the southern horizon, so the vessel ploughed along as beautifully as any sailor could wish, with a steady, contented throb of engine and gride of screw, leaving in her wake a long silvery line for the moonbeams to dance in. Save the noise of the ship's working there was not another sound to be heard, only occasionally a gull would float past overhead emitting a strange and mournful cry. What makes the sea-birds, I have wondered, sometimes leave the rocks at the midnight hour, and go skimming alone through the darkling air, emitting that weird and plaintive wail of theirs? It is a wail that goes directly to one's heart, and you cannot help thinking they must be bereaved ones mourning for their dead. Our heroes walked long on deck that night, talking quietly, as became the hour, of the prospects of their having a brush with the pirate. But they got weary at last, and turned in. Next morning they found the decks wet and slippery, more clouds in the sky, a fair beam wind blowing, and a trifle of canvas displayed. After breakfast McBain called all hands aft. In calm, dispassionate language he told them the story of the poor girl who had risked her life on their account, of her murdered brother and captive father, and of the pirate he was about to try to find and capture. Then he paused; and as he did so every one of the crew turned eyes on Ted Wilson, who strode forward. "Captain," said Ted, firmly, "we didn't sign articles to fight, did we, mates?" "No," from all hands. "_But_," continued Ted, "for such a captain as you be, and in such a cause, we _will_ fight, every man Jack of us, as long as the saucy _Arrandoon_ has a timber above the water. Am I right, mates?" A ringing cheer was all the reply, and Ted retired. Now, reader, were I a landsman novelist I would very likely here make my captain give the orders to "splice the main-brace," but I'm a sailor, and I tell you this, boys, that British seamen never yet needed Dutch courage to make them do their duty. Captain McBain only waved a hand and said, "Pipe down." An hour afterwards the crow's-nest was rigged and hoisted at the main-truck, and either the mate or the captain was in it off and on the whole day. But no pirate appeared that day nor the next. In the evening, however, some fishermen boarded the _Arrandoon_, and reported having seen a large barque, answering to the description of the suspected craft, that same morning lying at anchor off Suddersoe, with boats passing to and fro 'twixt ship and shore. "It is my precious opinion, captain," said old Magnus Bolt, "that this craft does a bit o' smuggling 'tween here and Shetland." "And it is my precious opinion, my dear Magnus," said McBain, "that the rascal doesn't care what he does so long as he lands the cash." The _Arrandoon_ was now kept away for the island named by the honest fishermen. Not straight, however; McBain gave it a wide berth, and passed it far to the west, and held on his course until many miles to the southward. In the morning it was "bout ship" and stand away north and by east again. They sighted the island about seven bells in the morning watch. Suddenly there was a hail from the crow's-nest. It was the captain's voice. "Come up here, Magnus Bolt, if your old bones will let you, and see what you shall see." Magnus sprang up the rigging somewhat after the fashion of an antiquated monkey, but with an agility no one would have given him credit for. "It is she!" he shouted, after he had had a look through the long glass in towards the iron-bound shores of the islands; "it is she! it is she! Ha! ha! ha!" and he positively danced and chuckled with delight. "You'll fight? you'll fight?" he gasped. "Rather," replied McBain; "but we'll run first. She shall fire the first shot, and, Magnus, you shall fire the second." Half an hour afterwards, when our heroes came on deck to have their morning look around, they stared at each other in blank astonishment. The _Arrandoon_ looked as if she had just come out of a tornado and had been dreadfully handled. The foretop-gallant mast was down, the jibboom inboard, the screw was hoisted up, the funnel itself had been unshipped and was lashed to the deck, and the flag was flying at half-mast, as if the vessel were in distress, or had death on board. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Now let me, with one touch of the fairy wand the storyteller wields, waft my readers on board the pirate herself. Fear not, for we will stay there but a brief space of time indeed. The tall and by no means unprepossessing form of the captain, armed _cap-a-pie_, is leaning against the rudder-wheel, one spoke of which he holds. His mate is by his side, glass in hand, examining the _Arrandoon_, now only a few miles off. "Ha! ha!" says the latter; "it is the same big craft we tried to strand; and she's had dirty weather, too--foretop-gallant mast and jibboom both gone. She is flying a signal of distress." "Distress? Eh? Ha! ha! ha?" laughed the pirate. "Isn't it funny? She'll have more of it; won't she, matie mine?" The mate laughed and commenced to sing-- "`Won't you walk into my parlour?' Said the spider to the fly?" "She's evidently a whaler, crow's-nest and all," he said. "Well," said the captain, "we'll _w(h)ale_ her;" and he laughed at his own stupid joke. "I say there, old lantern-jaws," he bawled down the companion. "I reckon," said a Yankee voice, "you alludes to this child." "I do," cried the captain; "and look ye here. We are going to fight and so forth. If we're like to be bested, scupper the old man at once. D'ye hear?" "Well, I guess I ain't deaf." "Very well, then. Obey, or a short shrift yours will be." "Why, captain," said the mate, "she knows us. She has put about, and is bearing away to the nor'-nor'-west." "Then hands up-anchor," cried his superior. "Crowd all sail; she can't escape us in her crippled condition." "Ah! captain," the mate remarked, "had you taken my advice and given that pretty but sly minx the _sack_, ere she gave you the _slip_, that whaler would have been ours before now." "Silence," roared the captain. "On that subject I will not hear a word. She shall be mine yet--or her father dies." With the exception of the few sentences bawled down the companion, all this was said in Danish, and my translation is a free one. And so the chase commenced, and seawards before the pirate, in an apparently crippled condition, staggered the _Arrandoon_. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "How far do you intend to bring her out?" asked Allan. "Ten miles clear of these islands, anyhow," replied McBain, "then she won't be able to play any pranks with us. Boys," continued McBain, a few minutes afterwards, "I'm going to write letters--home." There was nothing very unusual in the tone of his voice as he spoke these words, but there was a meaning in them, nevertheless, that was perfectly understood by our young heroes. They were not long, then, before they were each and all of them seated by the saloon table, inditing, it might or might not be, the last communications to the loved ones at home they _ever_ would pen. They were performing a duty--a sad one, perhaps, but still a duty; they were about to fight in a good cause, doubtless, but the result of the battle was uncertain. The _Maelsturm_, for that was the name of the pirate, was better--or rather, I should say, more copiously--manned than the _Arrandoon_, and though not so large a ship, she had more guns; her crew too fought with halters round their necks, and would therefore doubtless fight to the bitter end. The only advantage--and it was a great one--possessed by the _Arrandoon_ was steam power. Hours went by, and the chase was still kept up. It was six bells in the forenoon watch, and the _Maelsturm_ was hardly a mile astern. Our men had already had dinner, and were all in readiness--waiting, when, borne towards them over the wind-rippled waters from the pirate ship, came the quick, sharp rattle of a kettledrum. One roll, two rolls, three. "At last," said McBain, "they are beating to quarters." A puff of smoke from the bow of the pirate, the roar of a gun, and almost immediately after a round shot ricocheted past the quarter of the _Arrandoon_. The battle was begun. CHAPTER TEN. "DOWN WITH THE RED FLAG AND UP WITH THE BLACK!"--VICTORY--AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE--HIE, FOR THE NORTH. If the crew of the _Arrandoon_ needed any stimulus to fight the pirate, beyond the short speech that their captain had made them, it certainly was given them when the order was issued on board the latter craft, "Down with the red flag and up with the black!" and the broad, white-crossed ensign of merchant Denmark gave place to the hideous skull and cross-bones flown by sea marauders of all nations. She had rounded, too, in order to fire her broadside guns, or this would hardly have been visible. Perhaps the pirates imagined it would strike sudden fear into the hearts of those they had elected to consider their foes. Hatred and loathing it certainly inspired, but as to fear--well, in the matter of scaring, British sailors are perhaps the most unsatisfactory class of beings in the world. For the next quarter of an hour the doings on board the _Arrandoon_, as seen from the pirate's poop, must have considerably astonished--not to say puzzled--the officers of that ship, for in that short space of time what had appeared to be a sadly disabled vessel in distress, had hoisted a funnel, lowered a screw, and, while sail was being taken in, moved slowly away beyond reach of her guns. Not for long was she gone, however. She rounded almost on her own length; then, bows on, back she came, black and grim, athirst for vengeance. But the pirate was no coward, and broadside after broadside was poured into the advancing ship, without eliciting a single shot save one. This was the shot--the second shot--that McBain had promised Magnus. It went roaring through the air, crashed through the _Maelsturm's_ bulwarks midships, and smashed a boat to flinders. Magnus Bolt, or "Green," as he was better known, old as he was, was by far the best shot in the ship. He and Mitchell, the mate, a man of eagle eye and firm of nerve, were the gunners proper, and fired every gun in the fight that followed the second shot. If it were a starboard broadside they were there; if a port, they but crossed the deck to take deadly aim and fire it. "Remember, gunners," cried McBain, "we've got to take that ship, and not to sink her; so waste not a shot between wind and water?" On came the vessels, bow to bow, as arrow might meet arrow, and when within two hundred yards of each other, the _Maelsturm_ heading north and west, the _Arrandoon_ going full speed south and east, the pirate delivered her broadside, and immediately luffed up and commenced firing with her bow guns. She could get no nearer the wind, however. To go on the other tack would be but to hasten the inevitable. "Hard a port! Ease her a little! Steady as you go!" were the orders from the quarter-deck of the _Arrandoon_. "Small-arm men to fire wherever head or hand is visible." Now the _Arrandoon_ delivers her broadside as she again comes parallel with the _Maelsturm_, whose sails are all a-shiver. This just by way of confusing her a little. There is worse to come, for the order is now given to double-shot the port Dalgrens with canister. Away steams the _Arrandoon_, and round goes the _Maelsturm_. Ah! well he knows what the foe intends, but he will try to outmanoeuvre her if he can. But see! the _Arrandoon_ is round again; there will be no escaping her this time. Fire your bow guns, Mr Pirate; fire your broadside, you cannot elicit a reply. "Sta'board!" cries the captain; "starboard?" he signals, with his calm, uplifted arm. "Starboard still! steady now!" Then, in a voice of thunder, as they rounded the port quarter of the pirate, and, in spite of all good handling, got momentarily broadside on to her stem, "Stand to your guns--_Fire_!" When the _Arrandoon_ forged ahead clear of the smoke, it was evident from the confusion on board the _Maelsturm_, and the dishevelment of running and standing rigging, that the havoc on her decks must have been terrible. She was not beaten, though, as a gun from her broadside soon told. "We'll end this," said the captain to Rory, by his side, who had constituted himself clerk, and was coolly taking notes in the very thick of the fight, while shot roared through the ship's rigging and sides, men fell on all hands, and splinters filled the air. "We'll end it in the good old fashion, Rory. Stand by to grapple with ice-anchors! Prepare to board!" Now Allan and Ralph, who had been below assisting the surgeon, heard that word of command, and, just as the sides of the two ships had grated together, after firing their last broadsides, they were both, sword in hand, by their captain's side. McBain and our heroes were the very first to leap on to the blood-slippery decks of the pirate. The crew of that doomed ship fought for a time like furies--for a time, but only for a time. In less than five minutes every pirate on board was either disarmed or driven below, and the _Maelsturm_ was the prize of the gallant _Arrandoon_, and her captain himself lay bound on the quarter-deck. But the commander of this pirate ship was the very last man on board of her to yield. Even when the battle was virtually ended, as fiercely as a lion at bay he fought on his own quarter-deck, McBain himself being his antagonist. The latter could have shot him down had he been so minded, but he was not the man to take a mean advantage of a foe. The pirate was taller than McBain, but not so well built nor so muscular. They were thus pretty well matched, and as they fought, round and round the quarter-deck, a more beautiful display of swordsmanship was perhaps never witnessed. Once the pirate tripped and fell, McBain lowered his weapon until he had regained his feet, then swords clashed again and sparks flew. But see, the captain of the _Arrandoon_ clasps his claymore double-handed; he uses it hatchet fashion almost. He looks in his brawny might as if he could fell trees. The pirate cannot withstand the shock of the terrible onslaught, but he makes up in agility what he lacks in strength. He is borne backward and backward round the companion, McBain "showering his blows like wintry rain;" and now at last victory is his, the pirate's sword flies into flinders, our captain drops his claymore and springs empty-handed on his adversary, and next moment dashes him to the deck, where he lies stunned and bleeding, and before he can recover consciousness he is bound and helpless. Ralph, Allan, and Rory, none of whom, as providence so willed it, are wounded, and who had been silent spectators of the duel, now crowd around their captain, and shake his willing hand. "Heaven," says McBain, "has given the enemy into our hands, boys, but there is now much to be done. Let us buckle to it without a moment's delay. The wounded are to be seen to, both our own and the pirate's, the decks cleared, and everything made shipshape, and, if all goes well, we'll anchor with our prize to-morrow at Reikjavik." "And the clergyman, captain, the clergyman, the poor girl's father?" exclaimed Rory. "Ay, ay, boy Rory," said McBain; "he is doubtless on the vessel. We will proceed at once to search for him." If fiends ever laugh, reader, it must be with some such sound as that which now proceeded from the larynx of the pirate captain; if fiends ever smile, it must be with the same sardonic expression that now spread itself over his features. All eyes were instantly turned towards him. He had raised himself to the sitting position. "Ha! ha! ha!" he chuckled, while, manacled though his wrists were, he drew his right forefinger rapidly across his throat, uttering, as he did so, these words, "Your padre; ha! ha! dead--dead--dead." His listeners were horrified. What McBain's reply would have been none can say. It was not needed, for at that very moment, ere the exultant grin had vanished from the wretch's face, there sprang on deck from the companion a figure, tall and gaunt, clad from top to toe in skins. He knelt on the deck in front of the pirate, the better to confront him. With forefinger raised, "he held him with his glittering eye," while he addressed him as follows: "Look here, Mister Pirate, I was going to use strong language, but I won't, though I guess and calculate mild words are wasted on sich as you. The parson ain't dead; ne'er a hair on his reverend head. Ye thought I'd scupper him, didn't you, soon's the ship was taken? Ye thought this child was your slave, didn't ye? Ha! ha! though, he has rounded on ye at last, and if that bit of black rag weren't enough to hang you and your wretched crew of cutthroats, here in front o' ye kneels one witness o' your dirty deeds, and the other will be on deck in a minute in the person o' the parson you thought dead. How d'ye like it, eh?" and the speaker once more stood erect, and confronted our heroes. "Seth!" they ejaculated, in one voice. "Seth! by all that is marvellous!" said McBain, clutching the old man by the right hand, while Rory seized his left, and Allan and Ralph got hold of an arm each. "Ah! gentlemen," said honest Seth--and there was positively a tear in his eye as he spoke--"it's on occasions like these that one wishes he had four hands,--a hand for every friend. Yes, I reckon it is Seth himself, and nary a one else. You may well say wonders will never cease. You may well ask me how on earth I came here. It war Providence, gentlemen, and nuthin' else, that I knows on. It war Providence sent that cut-throat skipper to the land where you left me on the _Snowbird_, though I didn't think so at the time, when they burned and pillaged my hut and killed poor old Plunkett, nor when they carried me a prisoner on board the _Maelsturm_. They meant to scupper old Seth. They did talk o' bilin' his old bones in whale oil, but they soon found out he could heal a hole in a hide as well as make one, and so, gentlemen, I've been surgeon-in-chief to this craft for nine months and over. Yes, it war Providence and nuthin' else, and I knew it war as soon as I saw your ship heave in sight, the day they guessed they'd wreck ye. The parson's daughter, poor little Dunette, war on board then. I sent her to save ye; and when I heard your voice, Captain McBain, on the reef, I felt sure it war Providence then, and I kind o' prayed in my rough way that He might spare ye. Shake hands, gentlemen, again. Bother these old eyes o' mine; they will keep watering." And Seth drew his sleeve rapidly across his face as he spoke. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Rory was a proud--boy, ahem! well, _man_, then, if you will have it so, when that same afternoon he was put on board the _Maelsturm_, as captain of her, with a picked crew from the _Arrandoon_, and with orders to make all sail for Reikjavik. McBain's last words to him were these,-- "Keep your weather eye lifting, Captain Roderick Elphinston. Clap two sentries on those ruffianly prisoners of yours, and let your men sleep with their cutlasses by their sides and their revolvers under their heads." "Ay, ay, sir!" said Rory. Rory allowed his crew to sleep, but he himself paced the deck all the livelong night. Occasionally he could see the lights of the _Arrandoon_ far on ahead; but towards morning the weather got thick and somewhat squally, and at daylight the _Maelsturm_ seemed alone on the ocean. Sail was taken in, but the ship kept her course, and just in the even-glome Rory ran into the Bay of Reikjavik, and dropped anchor, and shortly after a boat came off from the _Arrandoon_ with both Allan and Ralph in it, to congratulate the boy-captain on the success of his, first voyage as skipper-commandant. Next day both the pirate vessel and her captor were show-ships for the people--all the _elite_ and beauty of Reikjavik crowded off from the shore in dozens to see them. The dilapidated condition of the _Maelsturm_, her broken bulwarks, rent rigging, and shivered spars, showed how fierce the fight had been. Nor were evidences of the struggle wanting on board the _Arrandoon_, albeit the men had been hard at work all the day making good repairs. The dead were buried at sea; the wounded were mostly sent on shore. Five poor fellows belonging to McBain's ship would never fight again, and many more were placed for a time _hors de combat_. As to the prisoners, they were transferred to a French ship that lay at Reikjavik, and that in the course of a week sailed with them for Denmark. Seth and the officers of the _Arrandoon_ made and signed depositions; and in addition to this, as evidence against the pirates, the old clergyman and his daughter Dunette, now joyfully reunited, went along with the Frenchman, while, with a crew from shore, the _Maelsturm_ left some days after. The black flag had never been lowered, nor was it until the day the pirate captain and many of his crew expiated their long list of crimes on the scaffold at the Holms of Copenhagen. Poor Dunette, the tears fell unheeded from her sad blue eyes as she bade farewell to our heroes on the deck of the _Arrandoon_. She did not say good-bye to the surgeon, however--at least not there. He had begged for a boat, and accompanied her on board the vessel in which she was to sail. Have they a secret, we wonder? Is it possible that our quiet surgeon has won the heart of this beautiful fair-haired Danish maiden? These are questions we must not seek answer to now, but time may tell. Not until the pirate ship had left the bay, and the wounded were so far convalescent as to be brought once more on board, did the old peace and quiet settle down upon the good ship _Arrandoon_. And now once more all was bustle and stir; in a day or two they would start for the far north, and bid adieu to civilisation--a long but not, they hoped, a last adieu. The very evening before they sailed, a farewell party was given on board the _Arrandoon_. The decks were tented over with canvas lined with flags, and the whole scene was gay and festive in the extreme. Poetic Rory could not have believed that there was so much female youth and loveliness in this primitive little town of Reikjavik. No wonder that day was dawning in the east ere the last boat of laughing and merry guests left for the shore. Many and many a time afterwards, when surrounded by dangers innumerable, when beset in ice, when engulfed in darkness and storm, in the mysterious regions of the Pole, did they look back with pleasure to that last happy night spent in the bay of Reikjavik. But see, it is twelve o'clock by the sun. Flags are floating gaily on the fort, on the little church tower, and on every eminence in or near the town, and the beach and snow-clad rocks are lined with an excited crowd. Hands and handkerchiefs are waved, and with the farewell cheers the far-off hills resound. Then our brave fellows man the rigging and waft them back cheer for cheer, as the noble vessel cleaves the waters of the bay, and stands away for the Northern Ocean. CHAPTER ELEVEN. THE VOYAGE RESUMED--A PLEASANT EVENING--"THOSE RUSHING WINDS"--THE "ARRANDOON" GROWS SAUCY--THE DOCTOR SPREAD-EAGLED--A SCHOOL OF WHALES. Ere the day had worn to a close, before the sun went down in a golden haze, leaving one long line of crimson cloud, as earnest of a bright to-morrow, the _Arrandoon_, steaming twelve knots to the hour, was once more far away at sea, and the rugged mountains of Iceland could hardly be descried. As night fell a breeze sprang up, and as there was little doubt it would freshen ere long--for it blew from the east-south-east, and the glass had slightly gone down, with the mercury still concave at top--Captain McBain gave orders for the fires to be banked, and as much canvas spread as she could comfortably carry. "Just make her snug, you know, Mr Stevenson," said McBain, "for the night will be dark, and we may have more wind before the middle watch." "And troth," said Rory to his companions, "if the ship is to be made snug, I don't see why we shouldn't make ourselves snug for the night too." Ralph was gazing down through the skylight at the brilliantly-lighted saloon, where Peter, with the aid of the assistant-steward and Freezing Powders, was busy laying the cloth for dinner. "I've just come from forward," replied Ralph, in raptures, "where I've been sniffing the roast beef and the boiled potatoes; and now just look below, Rory,--look how Peter's face beams with intelligent delight; see how radiant Freezing Powders is; behold how merrily the flames dance on that fire of fires in the stove, and how the coloured crystal shimmers, and the bright silver shines on that cloth of spotless snow! Yes, Rory, you're right, boy--let us make ourselves snug for the night. So down we go, and dress our smartest--for, mind, boys, there is going to be company to-night." Yes, there was going to be company; five were all that as a rule sat down to table in the grand saloon, but to-night the covers were laid for five more, namely Stevenson, Seth, old Magnus, and Ap, and last, though not least, De Vere, the French aeronaut. The cook of the _Arrandoon_ had been chosen specially by Ralph himself. Need I say, then, that he was an artist? and to-night he had done his best to outshine himself, and, I think, succeeded. I think, too, that when Peter went forward, some time after the great joints had been put on the table, and told him that everything was going on "as merrily as marriage bells," and that the gentlemen were loud in their praises of Ralph's cook, that that cook was about the happiest man in the ship. Peter had not exaggerated a bit either, for everything did go off well at this little dinner-party. It would have done your heart good to have seen the beaming countenances of little Ap, old man Magnus, and honest trapper Seth; and to have noticed how often they passed their plates for another help would have made you open your eyes with wonder--that is, if you never had been to Greenland; but had you made the voyage North Polewards even once, you would have known that of all countries in the world that is just the place to give man or boy a healthy appetite. When the cloth was removed and dessert placed upon the table they seemed happier than ever, if that were possible, and smiles and jokes and jocund yarns ere the order of the evening. After every good story the cockatoo helped himself to an immense mouthful of hemp-seed, and cried,-- "Dea-ah me! Well, well, but go on, _go on_--next." And as to Freezing Powders, he was so amazed at many things he heard, that more than a dozen times in one hour he had to refresh himself by standing on his head in a corner of the saloon. "Well, well, well!" said McBain, taking the advantage of a mere momentary lull in this feast of reason and flow of soul, "and what a strange mixture of nationalities we are, to be sure! Here is our bold, quiet Ralph, English to the spine--" "And I," said Rory, "I'm Oirish to the chine." "That you are," assented McBain; "and Allan and myself here are Scotch; and if you look farther along the table there is Wales represented in the form of cool, calculating, mathematical Ap; Shetland in the shape of our brave gunner Magnus; France in the form of friend De Vere; and the mightiest republic in the world in Seth's six feet and odd inches; to say nothing of Africa standing on its head beside Polly's cage. Freezing Powders, you young rascal, drop on to your other end; don't you see you're making Polly believe the world is upside down? look at her hanging by the feet with her head down!" "Dat cockatoo not a fool, sah," said Freezing Powders; "he know putty well what he am about, sah!" "D'ye know," said Ralph, looking smilingly towards Seth, "it is quite like old times to see Seth once more in the midst of us?" "And oh!" said Seth, rubbing his hands, while a modest smile stole over his wiry face, "mebbe this old trapper ain't a bit pleased to meet ye all again. Gentlemen, Seth and civilisation hain't been 'cquaintances very long; skins seem to suit this child better'n the fine toggery ye've rigged him out in. But ye've made him feel a deal younger, and he guesses and calculates he may die 'pectable yet." I fear it was pretty far into the middle watch ere our friends parted and betook themselves to their berths. Two bells had gone--"the wee short hoor ayont the twal"--when McBain rose from the table, this being a signal for general good-nights. "I'm going part of the way home with you, old man," he said to Magnus, and with his arm placed kindly over his shoulder he left the saloon with the brave wee Shetlander. "Two turns on the deck, Magnus," he continued, "and then you can turn in. And so, you say, in all your experience--and it has been very vast, hasn't it, my friend?" "That it has, sir," replied Magnus. "I may say I was born in these seas, for the first thing I remember--when our ship went down under us in the pack north of Jan Mayen--is my father, bless him! putting me in a carpetbag for safety, to carry me on to the ice with him. Yes, sir, yes." "And in all your experience," McBain went on, "you don't remember a season likely to have been more favourable for our expedition to the North Pole than the present?" "I don't, sir--I don't," said little Magnus, "Look, see, sir, the frost has been extreme all over the north. In the Arctic regions the ice has been all of a heap like. It isn't yet loosened. We haven't met a berg yet. Funny, ain't it, sir?--queer, isn't it, cap'n?" "It is strange," said McBain; "and from this what do you anticipate?" "Anticipate isn't the word, cap'n," cried Magnus, fixing McBain by the right arm, stopping his way, and emphasising his words with wildfire glints from his warlock eyes. "Anticipate?--bah! cap'n--bah! I'm old enough to be your grandfather. Ask me rather what I _augur_? And I answer this, I augur a glorious summer. Ice loosened before May-Day. Fierce heat south of England, and consequently rarefaction of the atmosphere, and rushing winds from the far north to fill up the heated vacuum--rushing winds to trundle the icebergs south before them--rushing winds to split the packs, and rend the floes, and open up a passage for this brave ship to the far-off Isle of Alba." "Bless you, Magnus! Give us your hand, my old sea-dad. You always gave me comfort, even when I was a boy in the wilds of Spitzbergen. You taught me to splice, and reef, and steer. Bless you, Magnus! I couldn't have sailed without you." "But stay, my son, stay," continued this weird little man, holding up a warning finger; "those rushing winds--" "Yes, Magnus?" "They will bring danger on their wings." "I'll welcome it, Magnus," laughed McBain. "Those rushing winds will tear down on us, hurricane-high, tempest-strong. The great bergs, impelled by force of wind and might of wave, will dash each other to atoms." "All the better for us, Daddy Magnus," said the captain. "Were your voice as loud as cannon's roar you will be as one dumb amid the turmoil." "Then I'll steer by signs," said McBain. "Should our ship escape destruction, we will be enveloped by fogs, encircled by a darkness that will be felt." "Then we'll heave-to and wait till they evaporate. But there, my good Magnus, you see I'm not afraid of anything. I'd be unworthy of such a sea-dad as you if I were; so no more tragic airs, please. Thou mindest me, old Magnus, of the scene between Lochiel and the Wizard. "`Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day When the Lowlands shall meet you in battle array,' "says the Wizard, and so on and so forth. "`False wizard, avaunt!' replies Lochiel, and all the rest of it, you know. But, beloved Magnus, I don't _say_ `avaunt!' to you. But just see how the cold spray is dashing inboard. So, not to put too poetic a point on it, I simply say, `Go down below, old man, and don't get wet, else your joints will ache in the morning with the rheumatiz.'" The morning broke beautifully fine and clear, the reefs were shaken out of the topsails, topgallant-sails and royals were set, and, indeed, all the square cloth she could carry, and away went the _Arrandoon_ before the wind, as happy, to all appearance, as the malleys and gulls that seemed to play at hide-and-seek with her, behind the comb-crested seas of olive-green. Ralph and Allan, arm-in-arm, were marching rapidly up and down one side of the quarter-deck, Rory and McFlail on the other, and ever and anon a merry laugh from some one of them rang out bright and joyously on the fresh frosty air. Towards noon stunsails were set, and the _Arrandoon_ looked more like a sea-bird than ever; she even seemed to sing to herself--so thought Rory and so thought the doctor--as she went nodding and curtseying along over the waves, with now a bend to starboard, and now a lean to port; now lowering her bows till the seas ahead looked mountains high, and anon giving a dip waterwards till her waist was wet with the seething spray, and her lower stunsail-booms seemed to tickle the very breast of old mother ocean. The wind was increasing, and there were times when our boys had to pause in their walk and grapple the mizzen rigging, laughing at each other as they did so. "Wo ho, my beauty?" said McBain. "Mr Mitchell, I daresay we must take in sail." "I'm afraid so, sir," replies Mitchell; "but--" and here he eyes the bellowing canvas--"it do seem a pity, sir, don't it?" But here "my beauty" gives a vicious plunge forwards, elevating herself aft like a kicking mare, and shipping tons of water over her bows. "I don't want to be wicked," the ship seems to say, "and I don't want to lose a spar, though I _could_ kick one off as easy as a daddy-longlegs gets rid of a limb; but if you don't ease me a bit I'll--" A bigger and more decided plunge into the sea, followed by a rising of her jibboom zenithwards, and the water comes roaring aft in one great bore, which seeks exit by the quarter-deck scupper-holes, and goes tumbling down the companion ladder, to the indignation of Peter and the disgust of Freezing Powders, who is standing on his head in an attitude of contemplation, and ships a green sea down his nostrils. Our heroes leap in time on to the top of the skylight, and there sit grinning delightedly as the waters go roaring past them, and floating thereon evidence enough that the men had been preparing dinner when Neptune boarded them, for yonder float potatoes and turnips and cabbages, to say nothing of a leg of Highland mutton and a six-pound piece of bacon. "Hands, shorten sail!" But next day--so changeable is a sailor's life--the wind had all got bottled up again or gone back to its cave; the sea was smooth as glass, and steam was up, but the sky was still clear, and the sun undimmed by the slightest haze. Just before lunch came the first signs that ice was not far ahead. The _Arrandoon_ encountered a great "stream," as it is called, of deep, snowy slush--I do not know what else to call it. It stretched away eastwards to westwards, as far as the eye from the crow's-nest could reach, and it was probably nine or ten miles wide. It lessened the good ship's way considerably, you may be sure. Her bows clove through it with a brushing sound; her screw revolved in it with a noise like dead leaves stirred by autumn winds. "Losh!" cried Sandy, the surgeon, looking curiously overboard, "what's this noo? Wonders will never cease!" "Och, sure!" replied Rory, mischievously, "you know well enough what it is; it's only speaking for speaking's sake you are." "The ne'er a bone o' ma knows, I do assure ye," said Sandy. "Well, doctor dear," said Rory, "it is simply the belt, or zone, that geographers call the `Arctic circle.'" But Sandy looked at him with a pitying smile. "Man--Rory?" he said, "I'm no' so sea-green as you tak me to be. I've a right good mind to pu' your lugs. Young men, sir, dinna enter Aberdeen University stirks and come out cuddies?" "Mon!" cried Rory, imitating Sandy's brogue, "if ye want to pu' my lugs you'll hae to catch me first;" and off he went round the deck, with the doctor after him. But Ralph caught him, if Sandy couldn't, and handed him over to justice. "Now," cried the surgeon, catching him by the ear, "whistle, and I'll let you free." It is no easy matter to whistle when you want to laugh, but when Rory at long last did manage to emit a labial note that passed muster as a whistle, the doctor was as good as his word, and Rory was free. Luncheon was barely finished, when down from the crow's-nest rang the welcome hail, "Ice ahead!" Our heroes rushed on deck, McBain was there before them, and when they stepped on to the "lid" of the ship, as Sandy once called the deck, they found the captain half-way up to the nest. There wasn't a bit of ice to be seen from the deck. "Hurrah for the foretop?" cried Rory, laying hold of a stay. "Who's coming?" "I will!" cried Allan. "I'm going below to finish lunch," said Ralph. "I'll be safer on deck, I think," said the canny doctor. But when Rory on the foretop struck an attitude of wonderment, and pointing away ahead, exclaimed, in rapture, "Oh, boys, what a scene is here!" the doctor thought he would give anything for a peep, so he summoned up his courage and began to ascend the rigging, slowly, and with about as much grace in his actions as a mud turtle would exhibit under the like circumstances. Allan roared, "Good doctor! good! Bravo, old man! Heave round like a brick! Don't look down." Rory was in a fit of merriment, and trying to stifle himself with his handkerchief. Suddenly down dropped that handkerchief; and this was just the signal four active lads were waiting for. Up they sprang like monkeys behind the surgeon, who had hardly reached the lubber-hole. Alas! the good medico didn't reach it that day, for before you could have said "cutlass" he was seized, hand and foot, and lashed to the rigging, Saint Andrew's-cross fashion. The surgeon of the _Arrandoon_ was spread-eagled, and Rory, the wicked boy! had his revenge. "My conscience!" cried Sandy; "what next, I wonder?" "It's a vera judeecious arrangement," sung Rory from the top. But the men were not hard on the worthy doctor, and the promise of several ounces of nigger-head procured him his freedom, and he soon regained the deck, a sadder and a wiser man. They were quickly among the ice--not bergs, mind you, only a stream of bits and pieces, of every shape and form, some like sheep and some like swans, and some like great white oxen. Here was a piece like a milking-pail; here was a lump like a hay-cock; yonder a gondola; yonder a boat; and yonder a couch on which the Naiades might recline and float, or Ino slumber. It was Rory who made the last remark. "And by this and by that!" he exclaimed, "there is a Naiad on it now! or it's Ino herself, by all that's amusing!" "Away, second whaler!"--this from McBain. "Get your rifle, boy Rory, and jump on board and fetch that seal!" Down rattled the boat from the davits, Rory in the bows; the next moment she was off, and tearing through the glazed water as fast as sturdy arms could row. The seal took one look up to see what was coming. Rory's rifle rang out sharp and clear in the frosty air, and the poor seal never lifted head again. The ship was by this time a goodly mile ahead, but there she stopped; then she went ahead again, rounded, and came back full speed to meet the boat, for they on board could see a danger that Rory couldn't--couldn't, did I say? Ah! but he soon did, and, with the roar of a maelstrom, down they came upon him--an enormous school of whales! The men lay on their oars thunderstruck. The sea around them seemed alive with the mighty monsters. How they plunged and ploughed and snorted and blew! The sea became roughened, as if a fierce wind was blowing over it; pieces of ice as large as boats were caught on the backs or tails of these brutes and pitched aside as one might a football. It occurred to Rory to fire at some of them. "Stay, stay!" roared the coxswain; "if you love your life, sir, and care for ours, fire not. _You_ may never have seen a whale angry--I have. Fire not, I beseech you!" It was a strange danger to have encountered, and Rory and his boat-mates were not sorry when it passed, and they once more stood in safety on the deck of the _Arrandoon_. But Rory soon regained his equanimity. "Five hundred whales!" he cried; "and they were all mine, Ralph, 'cause I found them! Sure, they were worth a million of money?" "So you've been a millionaire, Rory?" said McBain. "Yes, worse luck!" said Rory, in a voice of comic sadness, "a millionaire for a minute!" CHAPTER TWELVE. THE ISLE OF JAN MAYEN--RETROSPECTION--THE SEA OF ICE--THE DESERTED VILLAGE--CARRIED OFF BY A BEAR--DANCING FOR DEAR LIFE. What a tiny speck it looks in the map, that island of Jan Mayen, all by itself, right in the centre of the great Arctic Ocean. Of volcanic origin it undoubtedly is--every mountain, rock, and hill in it--and there is ample evidence that from yonder gigantic cone, that rises, like a mighty sugar-loaf or the Tower of Babel itself, to a height of 6,000 feet sheer into the blue and cloudless sky, at one time smoke and flames must oftentimes have burst, and showers of stones and ashes, and streams of molten lava. I have gazed on it by night, and my imagination has carried me back, and back, and back, through the long-distant past, and I have tried to fancy the sublimity of the scene during an eruption. The time is early spring. The long, dark winter has passed away; the cold-looking, rayless sun rises now, but skirts hurriedly across a small disc of southern sky, then speedily sinks to rest again, as though he shuddered to gaze upon scenery so bleak and desolate. The island of Jan Mayen, with its ridgy hills and its one mighty mountain, is clad in dazzling robes of virgin snow. Its rocky and precipitous shores rise not up, as yet, from the dark waters that in summer time wash round them, but from the sea of ice itself. As far as eye can reach, or north or south, or east or west, stretches this immeasurable ocean of ice. All flat and all snow-clad is it, like the wildest and loneliest of Highland moorlands in winter, and its very flatness gives it an air of greater lonesomeness, which the solitary hummocks here and there but tend to heighten. And through the short and dreary day one solitary cloud has rested like a pall on the summit of the mountain. But it is midnight now: in the deep blue of the sky big, bright stars are shining, that look like moons of molten silver, and seem far nearer than they do in southern climes. In the north the radiant bow of the Aurora is spread out, its transverse beams glancing and glistering, spears of light, that dance and glide and shimmer, changing their colours every moment from green to blue or red, from pale-yellow to the brightest of crimson. And the silence that reigns over all this field of ice is one that travellers have often experienced, often been impressed and awed by, but never yet found words to describe. Silence did I say? Yes! but listen! Subterranean thunders suddenly break it--thunders coming evidently from the bosom of the great mountain yonder, thunders that shake and crack and rend the very ice on which you stand, causing the bergs to grind and shriek like monsters in agony. The great cloud pall has risen higher and spread itself out, and now hangs horizontally over half the island, black and threatening, its blackness lit up ever and anon with flashes of lightning, sheet and forked, while, peal after peal, the thunder now rolls almost without intermission. And onward and onward rolls the cloud athwart the sky, blotting out the starlight--blotting out the beautiful Aurora--till the sea of ice for leagues around is canopied in darkness. But behold, over the mountain-top the cloud gets lighter in colour, for immense volumes of steam, solid sheets of water, and pieces of ice tons in weight, are being belched forth, or hurtled into the air with a continued noise that drowns the awful rhythm of the thunder itself. Then flames follow, shooting up into the sky many hundreds of feet, lighting up the scene with a lurid glare, while down the snow-clad sides of the great cone streams of fiery lava rush in fury, crimson, blue, or green. And gigantic rocks are precipitated into the air--rocks so large that, as they fall upon the ice miles distant from the burning crater, they smash the heaviest floes, and sink through into the sea. Great stones, too, are incessantly emitted, like balls of fire, that burst in the air, and keep up a sound like that of the loudest artillery. The sun will rise in due course, but his beams cannot penetrate the veil of saturnine darkness that envelops the sea of ice. And the fire will rage, the thunders will roll, and showers of stones and ashes fall for days, ay, mayhap for weeks or months, ere the mighty convulsion ceases, and silence once more reigns in and around this island of Jan Mayen. Towards this lonely isle of the ocean the _Arrandoon_ had been beating and pushing her way for days; and she now lay, with clewed sails and banked fires, among the flat but heavy bergs not five miles from it. There was no water in sight, for the iceless ocean had been left far, far astern, and the ship was now to all intents and purposes beset. Yet the ice was loose; it was not welded together by the fingers of King Frost, and if it remained so, the difficulty of getting out into the clear water again would be by no means insurmountable. Our heroes, the doctor included, were all on deck, dressed to kill, in caps of fur with ear lapels, coats of frieze with pockets innumerable, with boots that reached over the knees, and each was armed with a rifle and seal-club, with revolver in belt and short sheath-knife dangling from the left side. "And so," said the doctor, "this is the mighty sea of ice that I've heard so much about! Man! boys! I'm no so vera muckle struck with it. It is not unlike my father's peat moss in the dreary depths of winter. Where are the lofty pinnacled bergs I expected to see, the rocks and towers of ice, the green glistening gables, and the tall spires, like a hundred cathedrals dang into one?" "Ah!" said McBain, laughing, "just bide a wee, doctor lad, till we go farther north, and if you don't see ice that will outdo your every dream of romance, I'm neither Scot nor sailor. "But what is this?" continued the captain. "Who in the name of all that is marvellous have we here?" "I 'spects I'se Freezin' Powders, sah," was the reply of the little negro boy. "Leastways I hopes I is." Here the urchin touched his cap. "Freezin' Powders, at your service, sah--your under-steward and butler, sah?" "Well, my under-steward and butler," said McBain; "but whoever could have expected to see you rigged out in this fashion--pilot suit, fur cap, boots, and all complete? Why, who dressed you, my little Freezin' Powders?" "De minor ole gem'lam," replied the boy; "but don't dey fit, sah? Don't dey become dis chile? Look heah, sah!" and Freezing Powders went strutting up and down the quarter-deck, as proud as a pouter pigeon; and finished off by presenting arms with his seal-club in front of his good-natured captain. "Well," said McBain, much amused, "you are a comical customer. By `the minor ole gem'lam' I suppose you mean honest Magnus? But your English is peculiar, youngster." "My English is puffuk, sah!" replied the boy; "but lo! sah! suppose I not have dis suit of close, I freeze, sah! I no longer be Freezin' Powders, 'cause I freeze all up into one lump, sah! Now, sah, I can go on shoh wid de oder officers." "Ho! ho!" laughed McBain; "the _other_ officers. It's come to that, has it? But," he added, turning to Allan and Rory, "you'll look after the lad, won't you?" "That will we," said both in a breath. Here are the names of those who went on shore in Jan Mayen on this memorable day--Allan, Ralph, Rory, Seth, and the doctor, with three club-armed retainers, and lastly, Freezing Powders himself. They were a merry band. You could have heard them laughing and talking when they were miles away from the ship. They had to leap from one piece of ice to another; but as the bergs were from forty to fifty feet square--thus affording them a good run for their leaps--and as the pieces were pretty closely packed, jumping was no great hardship. When now and then they came to a bit of water that required a tolerable spring to get over, tall Ralph vaulted first, then brawny-chested Allan pitched Freezing Powders after him, whom Ralph caught as easily as if he had been a cricket-ball. They landed on the island in a kind of bay, where the land sloped down to the snow-clad beach. Not far from the sea they were much surprised to find the ruins of huts that had been. No smoke issued therefrom now, but there was ample proof that roaring fires had once burned in each hut. They were partly underground, and though built of wood and sealskins they were thatched and fortified with snow. The largest cot of all was in the centre, and entering this they found a key to the seeming mystery, for here were evidences of civilisation. Pots and pans stood on the empty hearth; a chair or two, a truckle bed, a deal table and a book-cupboard, formed the furniture, and to cap all a written document was found, which informed them that this village had been the encampment for the summer months of a party of American walrus-hunters, the captain of which had aided science by making innumerable observations of a meteorological and scientific nature. "I reckon," said Seth, "there ain't many parts o' the world where my enterprising countrymen hain't shown their noses." "All honour to them for that same," said Rory; "and troth, there isn't a mightier nation on the face of the earth bar the kingdom of Ireland." "Now, look here," said Allan, "this wee chap, Freezing Powders, will be far too tired if he goes with us; and here, by good luck, is a frozen ham in this enterprising Yankee's cupboard. I move we light a fire, hang it over it, and leave the little black butler as cook till we come back." "Bravo!" said Ralph. "Allan, you're a brick. You won't be afraid, will you, Freezing Powders?" "I stop and do de cookin', plenty quick," answered the boy, briskly. "Freezin' Powders never was afraid of nuffin in his life." So the fire was lighted--there was fuel enough in the hut to keep it going for a month; then, leaving the boy to watch the ham, away went our explorers, upwards and onwards, through the ruggedest glens imaginable; winding round rocks and hills of ice and snow, they soon lost sight of the primitive village, the distant ship, and the sea of ice itself. They wandered on and on for miles, pausing often to allow Rory to make a sketch of some more than usually wild and fantastic group of ice-clad rocks or charming bit of scenery; but wherever they went, or whichever way they turned, there loomed the great mountain cone of Jan Mayen above them. The scene was everywhere silent and desolate in the extreme, for not a breath of wind was blowing, not a cloud was in the sky, and no sign of life was there to greet them, not even a solitary gull or snowbird. It wanted two good hours to sunset when they once more returned to the deserted village, eager to test the flavour of the Yankee's ham, for walking on the snow had given them the appetite of healthy hunters. Their astonishment as well as horror may be imagined when, on entering the hut, they found a scene of utter confusion. The fire still burned, it is true, and yonder hung the ham; but the table and chairs were overturned, and the contents of even the rude bookcase scattered about the floor. _And Freezing Powders was gone_! He had been carried off by a bear. Of this there was plenty of testimony, if only in the huge footprints of the monster, which he had left in the snow. Not very distinct were they, however, for the surface of the snow was crisp and hard. But Seth was equal to the occasion, and at once--walking in a bee line, the trapper leading--they set out to track the bear, if possible, to his lair. The footprints led them southwards and west, through a region far more wild than that which they had already traversed. For a whole hour they walked in silence, until they found themselves at the top of a ravine, the rocks of which joined to form a sort of triangle. Half-roofed over was this triangle with a balcony of frozen snow, from which descended immense icicles, on which the roof leant, forming a kind of verandah. Seth paused, and pointed upwards. "The b'ar is yonder!" he whispered. "Stay here; the old trapper's feet are moccasined, he won't be heard. Gentlemen, Seth means to have that b'ar, or he won't come back alive!" So leaving his companions, onwards, all alone, steals Seth. A bear itself could not have crept more silently, more cautiously along than the trapper does. Those left behind waited in a fever of almost breathless suspense. The doctor stretched out his arm and took gentle hold of Rory's wrist. His pulse was over a hundred; so was the doctor's own, and he could easily hear his heart beat. How slowly old Seth seems to move. He is on hands and knees now, and many a listening pause he makes. Now he has reached the edge of the icy verandah, and peers carefully over. The bear is there, undoubtedly, for, see, he gives one anxious glance at his rifle--it is a double-barrelled bone-crusher. Crang-r-r-r! goes the rifle, and every rock in the island seems to re-echo the sound. The reverberation has not ceased, however, when there mingles with it a roar--a blood-curdling roar--that seems to shake the very ground. "Wah-o-ah! waugh! waugh! wah-o?" and a great pale-yellow bear springs from the cave, then falls, quivering and bleeding, on his side in the snow. Our heroes rush up now. "Any more of them?" cries Rory. "Wall, I guess not," said the old trapper. "Yonder lies the master; I've given him a sickener; and the missus ain't at home. But there is suthin' black in thar, though!" "Why," cried Allan, "I declare it is Freezing Powders himself!" and out into the bright light stalked the poor nigger boy, staring wildly round about, and seemingly in a dream. "Ah, gem'lams!" he said, slowly, "so you have come at last! What a drefful, _drefful_ fright dis poor chile have got! 'Spect I'll nebber get ober it; nebber no more!" "Come along," said Ralph. "Get on top of my shoulder. That's the style! You can tell us all about it when we reach the village." "Now," cried Allan, "look alive, lads, and whip old Bruin out of his skin, and bring along his jacket and paws!" When they did get back to the hut, and poor Freezing Powders had warmed himself and discussed a huge slice of broiled ham and a captain's biscuit, the boy got quite cheery again, and proceeded to relate his terrible adventure. "You see, gem'lams," he said, "soon as ebber you leave me I begin for to watch de ham, and turn he round and round plenty much, and make de fire blaze like bobbery. Mebbe one whole hour pass away. De flames dey crack, and de ham he frizzle. Den all to once I hear somebody snuff-snuffing like, and I look round plenty quick, and dere was--oh! dat great big awful bear--bigger dan a gator [alligator]. Didn't I scream and run jus'! And de bear he knock down de chairs and de tables, and den he catchee me in his mouf, all de same I one small mouse and he one big cat. You see, gem'lam, he smell de ham. `Dat bery nice,' he tink, `but de nigga boy better.' So he take dis chile. He nebber have take one nigga boy before dis, praps. Den he run off wid me ober de mountains. He no put one tooth in me all de time. When he come to de cave he put me down and snuff me. Den he say to himself, `I want some fun; I make play wid dis nigga boy befoh I gobbles 'im up.' So he make me run wid his big foot, and when I run away den he catchee me again, and he keep me run away plenty time, till I so tired I ready to drop. [Greenland bears have been known to play this cat-and-mouse game with seals before devouring them.] All de same, I not want to be gobble up too soon, gem'lams, so I make all de fun I can. I stand on my head, and I run on my four feet. I jump and I kick, and I dance, and I sing to de tune ob-- "`Plenty quick, nigga boy, Plenty fast you run, De bear will nebber gobble you up So long's you make de fun.' "Den de big, ugly yellow bear he berry much tickled, and he tink to hisself, `Well,' he tink, `'pon my word and honah! I nebber see nuffin like dis before--not in all my born days! I not eat dis nigga boy up till my mudder come home.' And all de time I make dance and sing-- "`Quicker, quicker, nigga boy, Faster, faster go, Amoosin' ob de ole bear, Among de Ahtic snow. "`Jing-a-ring, a-ring-a-ring, Sich somersaults I frow, In all his life dis nigger chile Ne'er danced like dis befoh.' "But now, gem'lams, I notice dat de bear he begin to make winkee-winkee wid both his two eyes. Den I dance all de same, but I begin to sing more slow and plaintive, gem'lams-- "`Oh! I'm dreaming 'bout my mudder dear Dat I leave on Afric's shoh, And de little hut among de woods Dat I ne'er shall see no moh. "`Sierra-lee-le-ohney, Sierra-lee-leon, Ah! who will feed de cockatoo When I is dead and gone?' "Dat song fix de yellow bear, gem'lams. He no winkee no more now; he sleep sound and fast, wid his big head on his big paws. Den I sing one oder verse, and I sleep, too, and I not hear nuffin more until de rifles make de bobbery and de yellow bear begin to cough." "Bravo!" cried Ralph, when Freezing Powders had finished his story. "Now, Allan, lad, cut us all another slice of that glorious ham, and let us be moving." "Yes," said Allan. "Here goes, then, for night is falling already, and the captain will be longing to hear of our adventures." CHAPTER THIRTEEN. MORE ABOUT FREEZING POWDERS--"PERSEVERANDO"--DINING IN THE SKY--THE DESCENT OF THE CRATER. A black man in a barrel of treacle is said by some to be emblematical of happiness. So situated, a black man without doubt enjoys a deal of bliss, but I question very much if it equals the joy poor Freezing Powders felt when he found himself once more safe on board the _Arrandoon_, and cuddled down in a corner with his old cockatoo. [It may be as well to state here that neither the negro boy nor the cockatoo is a character drawn at random; both had their counterparts in real life.] What a long story he had to tell the bird, to be sure!--what a "terrible tale," I might call it! As usual, when greatly engrossed in listening, the bird was busily engaged helping himself to enormous mouthfuls of hemp-seed, spilling more than he swallowed, cocking his head, and gazing at his little black master, with many an interjectional and wondering "Oh!" and many a long-drawn "De-ah me!" just as if he understood every word the boy said, and fully appreciated the dangers he had come through. "Well, duckie?" said the bird, fondly, when Freezing Powders had concluded. "Oh! der ain't no moh to tell, cockie," said the boy; "but I 'ssure you, when I see dat big yellow bear wid his big red mouf, I tink I not hab much longer to lib in dis world, cockie--I 'ssure you I tink so." Freezing Powders was the hero for one evening at all events. McBain made him recite his story and sing his daft, wild songs more than once, and the very innocence of the poor boy heightened the general effect. He was a favourite all over the ship from that day forth. Everybody in a manner petted him, and yet it was impossible to spoil him, for he took the petting as a matter of course, but always kept his place. His duties were multifarious, though light--he cleaned the silver and shined the boots, and helped to lay the cloth and wait at table. He went by different names in different parts of the ship. Ralph called him his cup-bearer, because he brought that young gentleman's matutinal coffee, without which our English hero would not have left his cabin for the world. Freezing Powders was message-boy betwixt steward and cook, and bore the viands triumphantly along the deck, so the steward called him "Mustard and Cress," and the cook "Young Shallots," while Ted Wilson dubbed him "Boss of the Soup Tureen;" but the boy was entirely indifferent as to what he was called. "Make your games, gem'lams," he would say; "don't be afraid to 'ffend dis chile. He nebber get angry I 'ssure you." When Freezing Powders had nothing in his hand his method of progression forward was at times somewhat peculiar. He went cart-wheel fashion, rolling over and over so quickly that you could hardly see him, he seemed a mist of legs, or something like the figure you see on a Manx penny. At other times "the doctor," as the cook was invariably called by the crew, would pop up his head out of the fore-hatch and bawl out,-- "Pass young Shallots forward here." "Ay, ay, doctor," the men would answer. "Shalots! Shalots! Shalots!" Then Freezing Powder's curly head would beam up out of the saloon companion. "Stand by, men!" the sailor who captured him would cry; and the men would form themselves into a line along the deck about three yards apart, and Freezing Powders would be pitched from one to the other as if he had been a ball of spun-yarn, until he finally fell into the friendly arms of the cook. About a week after the bear adventure De Vere, the aeronaut, was breakfasting in the saloon, as he always did when there was anything "grand in the wind," as Rory styled the situation. "Dat is von thing I admire very mooch," said the Frenchman, pointing to a beautifully-framed design that hung in a conspicuous part of the saloon bulkhead. "Ah," said Allan, laughing, "that was an idea of dear foolish boy Rory. He brought it as a gift to me last Christmas. The coral comes from the Indian Ocean; Rory gathered it himself; the whole design is his." "It's a vera judeecious arrangement," said Sandy McFlail, admiringly. The arrangement, as the doctor called it, was simple enough. Three pieces of coral, in the shape of a rose, a thistle, and shamrock, encased--nay, I may say enshrined--in a beautiful casket of crystal and gilded ebony. There was the milk-white rose of England and the blood-red thistle of Scotland side by side, and fondly twining around them the shamrock of old Ireland--all in black. Here was the motto underneath them-- "Perseverando." "There is nothing like perseverance," said Allan. "The little coral insect thereby builds islands, ay, and founds continents, destined to be stages on which will be worked out or fought out the histories of nations yet unborn. `Perseverando!' it is a grand and bold motto, and I love it." The Frenchman had been standing before the casket; he now turned quickly round to Allan and held out his hand. "You are a bold man," he said; "you will come with me to-day in de balloon?" "I will," said Allan. "We vill soar far above yonder mountain," continued De Vere; "we vill descend into the crater. We vill do vat mortal man has neever done before. Perseverando! Do you fear?" "Fear?" said Allan; "no! I fear nothing under the sun. Whate'er a man dares he can do." "Bravely spoken," cried the Frenchman. "Perseverando! I have room for two more." "Perseverando!" says Rory. "Perseverando for ever! Hoorah! I'm one of you, boys." Ralph was lying on the sofa, reading a book. But he doubled down a leaf, got up, and stretched himself. "Here," he said, quietly, "you fellows mustn't have all the fun; I'll go toe, just to see fair play. But, I say," he added, after a moment's pause, "I don't suppose there will be any refreshment-stalls down there--eh?" "No, that there won't," cried Allan. "Hi! Peter, pack a basket for four." "Ay, ay, sir?" said Peter. "And, I say, Peter--" This from Ralph. "Yes, sir," said the steward, pausing in the doorway. "Enough for twenty," said Ralph. "That's all, Peter." "Thank'ee, sir," said Peter, laughing; "I'll see to that, sir." It was some time before De Vere succeeded in gaining Captain McBain's consent to the embarkation of his boys on this wild and strange adventure, but he was talked over at last. "It is all for the good of science, I suppose," he said, half doubtfully, as he shook hands with our heroes before they took their places in the car. "God keep you, boys. I'm not at all sure I'll ever see one of you again." The ropes were let go, and upwards into the clear air rose the mighty balloon. "Here's a lark," said Allan. "A skylark," said Rory. "Let us sing, boys--let us sing as we soar, `Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves.'" Standing on the quarter-deck, and gazing upwards, McBain heard the voices growing fainter and fainter, and saw the balloon lessening and lessening, till the song could no longer be heard, and the balloon itself was but a tiny speck in the heaven's blue. Then he went down below, and busied himself all day with calculations. He didn't want to think. Meanwhile, how fared it with our boys? Here they were, all together, embarked upon as strange an expedition as it has ever probably been the lot of any youth or youths to try the chance of. Yet I do not think that anything approaching to fear found place in the hearts of one of them. The situation was novel in the extreme. With a slow and steady but imperceptible motion--for she was weightily ballasted--the "Perseverando," as they had named the balloon, was mounting skywards. There was not the slightest air or wind, nor the tiniest of clouds to be seen anywhere, and down beneath and around them was spread out a panorama, which but to gaze upon held them spell-bound. There was the island itself, with its rugged hills looking now so strangely flattened and so grotesquely contorted; to the west and to the north lay the white and boundless sea of ice, but far to the eastward and south was the ocean itself, looking dark as night in contrast with the solid ice. But see, yonder, where the ice joins the water, and just a little way from its edge, lie stately ships--two, three, five in all can be counted, and their sails are all clewed; and those innumerable black ticks on the snow, what can they be but seals, and men sealing? "Don't you long to join them?" said Allan, addressing his companions. "I don't," replied Rory; "in spite of the cold I feel a strange, dreamy kind of happiness all over heart and brain. Troth! I feel as if I had breakfasted on lotus-leaves." "And I," said Ralph, "feel as I hadn't breakfasted on anything in particular. Let us see what Peter has done up for us." And he stretched out his hand as he spoke towards a basket. "Ah?" cried the Frenchman, "not dat basket; dat is my Bagdads--my pigeons, my letter-carriers! You see, gentlemen, I have come prepared to combat eevery deeficulty." "So I see," said Ralph, coolly undoing the other basket; "what an appetite the fresh air gives a fellow, to be sure!" "Indeed," says Rory, archly, "it is never very far from home you've got to go for that same, big brother Ralph. But it's hardly fair, after all, to try to eat the Bagdads." "Remember one thing, though," replied Ralph; "if it should occur to me suddenly that you want your ears pulled you cannot run away to save yourself." "Indeed," said Rory, "I don't think that the frost has left any ears at all on me worth pulling, or worth speaking about either." "Ha?" cried Allan, "that reminds me; I've got those face mufflers. There! I'll show you how to put one on. The fur side goes inside-- thus; now I have a hole to breathe through, and a couple of holes for vision." "And a pretty guy you look!" "Oh! bother the looks," responded Ralph, "let us all be guys. Give us a mask, old man." They did feel more comfortable now that they had the masks on, and could gaze about them without the risk of being frozen. The cold was intense; it was bitter. "I'd beat my feet to keep them warm," said Rory, "if I didn't think I'd beat the bottom of the car out. Then we'd all go fluttering down like so many kittywakes, and it's Captain McBain himself that would be astounded to see us back so soon." "Gentlemen," said the Frenchman, "we are right over the mouth of the crater. I shall now make descent, with your permission. Then it vill not be so cold." "And is it inside the volcano," cries Rory, "you'd be taking us to warm us? Down into the crater, to toast our toes at Vulcan's own fireside? Sure, Captain De Vere, it is splicing the main-brace you're after, for you want to give us all a drop of the craytur." "Oh!--oh!" this from Ralph. "Oh! Rory--oh! how can you make so vile a pun? In such a situation, too!" The gentlest of breezes was carrying the balloon almost imperceptibly towards the north and west; meanwhile De Vere was permitting a gradual escape of gas, and the _Perseverando_ sunk gradually towards the mountain-top, the mouth of which seemed to yawn to swallow them up. There was a terrible earnestness about this daring aeronaut's face that awed even Rory into silence. "Stand by," he whispered; for in the dread silence even a whisper could be heard,--"stand by, Allan, to throw that bag of ballast over the moment I say the word." Viewing it from the sea of ice, no one could calculate how large is the extent of the crater on the top of that mighty mountain cone. It is perfectly circular, and five hundred yards at least in circumference, but it is deeper, far and away, than any volcanic crater into which it has ever been my fortune to peer. Even when the great balloon began to alight in its centre the gulf below seemed bottomless. The _Perseverando_ appeared to be sinking down--down--down into the blackness of darkness. To the perceptions of our heroes, who peered fearfully over the car and gazed below, the gulf was rising towards them and swallowing them up. I do not think I am detracting in the slightest from their character for bravery, when I say that the hearts of Ralph, Rory, and Allan, at all events, felt as if standing still, so terrible was the feeling of dread of some unknown danger that crept over them. As for De Vere, he was a fatalist of the newest French school, and a man that carried his life in his hand. He never attempted, it is true, any feat which he deemed all but impossible to perform; but, having embarked on an enterprise, he would go through with it, or he cared not to live. Strange though it may appear, it is just men like this that fortune favours. Probably because the wish to continue to exist is not uppermost in their minds, the wish and the hope to achieve success is the paramount feeling. Still slowly, very slowly, sunk the balloon, as if unwilling to leave her aerial home. And now a faint shade of light begins to mingle with the darkness beneath them; they are near the bottom of the crater at last. "Stand by once again," whispers De Vere, "to throw that anchor over as soon as I tell you." A moment of awful suspense. "Now! now!" hisses De Vere. Two anchors quit the car at the same time--one thrown by the aeronaut himself, one by Allan, and the ropes are speedily made fast. The balloon gives an upward plunge, the cables tighten, then all is still! "Ha! ha! she is fast!" cried De Vere, now for the first time showing a little excitement. "Oh, she is a beauty! she has behave most lofely! Look up, gentlemen!--look up!--behold the mighty walls of blue ice that surround us!--behold the circle of blue sky dat over-canopies us!--look, the stars are shining!" "Can it be night so soon?" exclaimed Allan, in alarm. "Nay, nay, gentlemen," said the enthusiastic Frenchman, "be easy of your minds. It is not night in the vorld outside, but here it is alvays night; up yonder the stars shine alvays, alvays, when de clouds are absent. And shine dey vill until de crack of doom. Now gaze around you. See, the darkness already begins to vanish, and you can see the vast and mighty cavern into which I have brought you. If my judgment serves me, it extends for miles around beneath de mountain. There!--you begin to perceive the gigantic stalactites that seem to support the roof!" "Ralph," cried Rory, seizing his friend by the hand, "do you remember, years and years ago, while we all sat round the fire in the tartan parlour of Arrandoon Castle, wishing we might be able to do something that no one, man or boy, had ever done before?" "I do--I do," answered Ralph. "Descend with me here, then," continued Rory, "and let us explore the cavern. Only a little, _little_ way, captain," he pleaded, seeing that De Vere shook his head in strong dissent. "You know not vat you do ask," said De Vere, solemnly. "Here are caves within caves, one cavern but hides a thousand more; besides, there are, maybe, and doubtless are, crevasses in de floor of dis awful crater, into which you may tumble, neever, neever to be seen again. Pray do not think of risking a danger so vast." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The day wore slowly to a close; many and many an anxious look did McBain take skywards, in hopes of seeing the returning balloon. But the sun set, tipping the distant hills with brightest crimson, twilight died away in the west, and one by one shone out the stars, till night and darkness and silence reigned over all the sea of ice. He went below at last. His feelings may be better imagined then described. He tried to make himself believe that nothing had occurred, and that the balloon had safely descended in some snow-clad valley, and that morning would bring good tidings. But for all this he could not for the life of him banish a dread, cold feeling that something terrible had occurred, the very novelty of which made it all the more appalling to think of. Presently the mate entered the saloon. "What cheer, Stevenson! Any tidings?" "A pigeon, sir," replied the mate, handing the bird into the captain's grasp. McBain's hands shook as he had never remembered them shake before, as he undid the tiny missive from the pigeon's leg. It ran briefly thus:-- "We are detained here in the crater all night. Do not be alarmed. To-morrow will, please Providence, see us safely home." CHAPTER FOURTEEN. ANXIOUS HOURS--EXPLORATION OF THE MOUNTAIN CAVERN--THE CAVE OF THE KING OF ICE, AND GHOULS OF A THOUSAND WINTERS--TRANSFORMATION SCENES-- SNOWBLIND--LOST. It would be difficult to say which was most to be pitied, McBain on board the _Arrandoon_, passing long hours of inconceivable anxiety, or our other heroes, left to spend the drear, cold night in the awful depths of that Arctic crater. It was with light hearts that Ralph and Rory descended from the car of the _Perseverando_ and commenced their perilous exploration of the vast and dimly-lighted cavern; but heavy hearts were left behind them, and hardly had they disappeared in the gloom ere the Frenchman exclaimed to Allan, "I greatly fear dat I have done wrong. Your two friends are big wid impulse; if anydings happen to them dere vill be for me no more peace in dis world." Allan was silent. But when hours passed away and there were no signs of their returning, when gloaming itself began to fall around them, and the stars at the crater's mouth assumed a brighter hue, Allan's anxiety knew no bounds, and he proposed to De Vere to go in search of his friends. "Ah! if dat vere indeed possible!" was the reply. "And why not?" said Allan. "For many reasons: de balloon vill even now hardly bear de strain on her anchors; de loss of even your veight vould require such delicate manipulation on my part, dat I fear I could not successfully vork in such small space. Alas! ve must vait. But there yet is hope." Meanwhile it behoves us to follow Ralph and Rory. They had faithfully promised De Vere they would go but a short distance from the car, and that promise they had meant to redeem. They found that the ground sloped downwards from the mouth of the crater, but there was no want of light, as yet at least, and thus not the slightest danger of being unable to find their way back, for were there not their footsteps in the snow to guide them? So onward they strolled, cheerfully enough, arm-in-arm, like brothers, and that was precisely how they felt towards each other. The road--if I may say "road" where there was no road--was rough enough in all conscience, and at times it was difficult for them to prevent stumbling over a boulder. "I wonder," said Rory, "how long these boulders have lain here, and I wonder what is beneath us principally, and what those vast stalactite pillars are formed of." "`Bide a wee,' as the doctor says," replied Ralph; "don't hurry me with too many questions, and don't forget that though I am ever so much bigger and stronger than you, I don't think I am half so wise. But the boulders may have lain here for ages: those ghostly-looking pillars are doubtless ice-clad rocks, partly formed through the agency of fire, partly by water. I think we stand principally on rocks and on ice, with, far, far down beneath us, fire." "Dear, dear!" said Rory, talking very seriously, and with the perfect English he always used when speaking earnestly; "what a strange, mysterious place we are in! Do you know, Ralph, I am half afraid to go much farther." "Silly boy!" said his companion, "how thoroughly Irish you are at heart--joy, tears, sunshine and fun, but, deep under all, a smouldering superstition." "Just like the fires," added Rory, "that roll so far beneath us. But you know, Ray,"--in their most affectionate and friendly moods Ralph had come to be "Ray" to Rory, and Rory "Row" to Ralph--"you know, Ray, that the silence and gloom of this eerie place are enough to make any one superstitious--any one, that is, whose soul isn't solid matter-of-fact." "Well, it _is_ silent. But I say, Row--" "Well, Ray?" "Suppose we try to break it with a song? I daresay they have never heard much singing down here." "Who?" cried Rory, staring fearfully into the darkness. "Oh!" said Ralph, carelessly, "I didn't mean any one in particular. Come, what shall we sing--`The wearing o' the green'?" "No, Ray, no; that were far too melancholic, though I grant it is a lovely melody." "Well, something Scotch, and stirring. The echoes of this cavern must be wonderful." They were, indeed; and when Rory started off into that world-known but ever-popular song, "Auld lang syne," and Ralph chimed with deep and sonorous bass, the effect was really grand and beautiful, for a thousand voices seemed to fill the cavern. They heard the song even in the car of the balloon, and it caused Allan to remark, smilingly, for they had not yet been long gone, "Ralph and boy Rory seem to be enjoying themselves; but I trust they won't be long away." Rory was quite lively again ere he reached the words-- "And we'll tak' a richt good-willy waught For auld lang syne." He burst out laughing. "Indeed, indeed! there is no wonder I laugh," he said; "fancy the notion of taking a `good-willy waught' in a place like this! And now," he added, "for a bit of a sketch." "Don't be long in nibbing it in, then." Rory was seated on a boulder now, tracing on his page the outlines of those strange, weird pillars that hands of man had never raised nor human eyes gazed upon before. So the silence once more became irksome, and the time seemed long to Ralph, but Rory had finished at last. Then the two companions, after journeying on somewhat farther, began to awaken the echoes by various shouts; and voices, some coming from a long distance, repeated clearly the last words. "Let us frighten those ghouls down there by rolling down boulders," said Rory. "Come on, then," said Ralph; "I've often played at that game." They had ten minutes of this work. It was evident this hill within a hill, this crater's point, was of depth illimitable from the distant hissing noises which the broken boulders finally emitted. "It's a regular whispering gallery," said Rory. "It is, Row. But do let us get back. See, there is already barely light enough to reveal our footsteps." "Ah! but, my boy," said Rory, "the nearer the car we walk the more light we'll have. And I have just one more surprise for you. You see this little bag?" "Yes. What is in it--sandwiches?" "Nay, my Saxon friend! but Bengal fires. Now witness the effects of the grand illumination of the Cave of the King of Ice by us, his two ghouls of a thousand winters!" The scene, under weird blue lights, pale green or crimson, was really magical. All the transformation scenes ever they had witnessed dwindled into insignificance compared to it. "I shall remember this to my dying day?" Rory exclaimed. "And I too!" cried Ralph, entranced. "Now the finale?" said the artist; "it'll beat all the others! This white light of mine will eclipse the glory of the rest as the morning sun does that of moonlight! It will burn quite a long time, too; I made it last night on purpose." It was a Bengal fire of dazzling splendour that now was lit, and our heroes themselves were astonished. "It beats the `Arabian Nights'!" cried Rory. "Look, look!" he continued, waving it gently to and fro, "the stalactites seem to dance and move towards us from out the gloom arrayed in robes of transplendent white. Yonder comes the King of Ice himself to bid us welcome." "Put it out! put it out!" murmured Ralph, with his hand on his brow. It presently burned out, but lo! the change!--total darkness! _Rory and Ralph were snowblind_! "Oh, boy Rory!" said Ralph, "that brilliant of yours has sealed our fate. It will be hours ere our eyes can be restored, and long before then the darkness of night will have enshrouded us. We are lost!" "Let us not lose each other, at all events," said Rory, feeling for his friend's arm, and linking it in his own. "You think we are lost; dear Ralph, I have more hopes. Something within me tells me that we were never meant to end our days in the awful darkness of this terrible cavern. Pass the night here it is certain we must, but to-morrow will bring daylight, and daylight safety, for be assured Allan and De Vere will not leave us, unless--" Here the hope-giver paused. "Unless," added Ralph--"for I know what you would say--an accident should be imminent--unless they _must_ leave. A balloon needs strange management." "Even then they will return to seek us by morning light. Do you know what, Ray?" he continued, "our adventures have been too foolhardy. Providence has punished us, but He will not utterly desert us." "Hope springs eternal in the human breast." The lamp of hope was flickering--had, indeed, burned out--in Ralph's heart, but his friend's words rekindled it. Perhaps Rory's true character never shone more clearly out than it did now, for, while trying to cheer his more than friend, he fully appreciated the desperateness of the situation, and had but little hope left in him, except his extreme trust in the goodness of a higher Power. "Could we not," said Ralph, "all snowblind as we are, try to grope our way upwards?" "No, no, no!" cried Rory; "success in that way is all but impossible; and, remember, we have but the trail of our footprints to guide us even by day." Something of the ludicrous invariably mixes itself up with the most tragic affairs of this world. I have seen the truth of this in the chamber of death itself, in storms at sea, and in scenes where men grappled each other in deadly strife. And it is well it should be so, else would the troubles of this world oftentimes swamp reason itself. The attempts of Rory to keep his companion in cheer, partook of the nature of the ludicrous, as did the attempts of both of them to keep warm. So hours elapsed, and sometimes sitting, sometimes standing and beating feet and hands for circulation's sake, and doing much talking, but never daring to leave the spot, at last says Rory, "Hullo, Ray! joy of joys! I've found a lucifer!" Almost at the same moment he lit it. They could see each other's faces--see a watch, and notice it was nearly midnight. They had regained sight! Joy and hope were at once restored. "Troth!" said Rory, resuming his brogue, "it's myself could be a baby for once and cry. Now what do ye say to try to sleep? We'll lie close together, you know, and it's warm we'll be in a jiffey?" So down they lay, and, after ten long shivering minutes, heat came back to their frozen bodies. They had not been talking all this time; it is but right to say they were better engaged. With warmth came _le gaiete_--to Rory, at least. "Have you wound your watch, Ray?" "No, Row? and I wouldn't move for the world!" After a pause, "Ray," says Row. "Yes, Row?" says Ray. "You always said you liked a big bed-room, Ray, and, troth, you've got one for once!" "How I envy you your spirits," answers Ray. "Don't talk about spirits," says Row, "and frighten a poor boy. I've covered up my head, and I wouldn't look up for the world. I'm going to repeat myself to sleep. Good night." "Good night," asks Ray, "but how do you do it?" "Psalms, Ray," Row replies. "I know them all. I'll be out of here in a moment. "`He makes me down to lie by pastures green, He leadeth me the quiet waters by.' "Isn't that pretty, Ray?" "Very, Row, but `pastures green' and `quiet waters' aren't much in my way. Repeat _me_ to sleep, Rory boy, and I promise you I won't pull your ears again for a month." "Well, I'll try," says Row. "Are your eyes shut?" "To be sure. A likely thing I'd have them open, isn't it?" "Then we're both going to a ball in old England." "Glorious," says Ray. "I'm there already." Then in slow, monotonous, but pleasing tones, Row goes on. He describes the brilliant festive scene, the warmth, the light, the beauty and the music, and the dances, and last but not least the supper table. It is at this point that our Saxon hero gives sundry nasal indications that this strange species of mesmerism had taken due effect, so Row leaves him at the supper table, and goes back to his "pastures green" and "quiet waters," and soon they both are sound enough. Let us leave them there; no need to watch them. Remember what Lover says in his beautiful song,-- "O! watch ye well by daylight, For angels watch at night." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Poor McBain! Worn out with watching, he had sunk at last to sleep in his chair. And day broke slowly on the sea of ice. The snow-clad crater's peak was the first to welcome glorious aurora with a rosy blush, which stole gradually downwards till it settled on the jagged mountain tips. Then bears began to yawn and stretch themselves, the sly Arctic foxes crept forth from snow-banks, and birds in their thousands--brightest of all the snowbird--came wheeling around the _Arrandoon_ to snatch an early breakfast ere they wended their way westward to fields of blood and phocal carnage. And their screaming awoke McBain. He was speedily on deck. Yonder was the _Perseverando_ slowly descending. During all the long cruise of the _Arrandoon_ nobody referred to the adventure at the crater of Jan Mayen without a feeling akin to sadness and contrition, for all felt that something had been done which ought not to have been done--there had been, as McBain called it, "a tempting of Providence." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Well, well, well," cried the skipper of the _Canny Scotia_--and he seemed to be in anything but a sweet temper. "Just like my luck. I do declare, mate, if I'd been born a hatter everybody else would have been born without heads. Here have I been struggling away for years against fortune, always trying to get a good voyage to support a small wife and a big family, and now that luck seems to have all turned in our favour, two glorious patches of seals on the ice yonder, a hard frost, and the ice beautifully red with blood, and no ship near us, then you, mate, come down from the crow's-nest with that confoundedly long face of yours, for which you ought to have been smothered at birth--" "I can't help my face, sir," cried the mate, bristling up like a bantam cock. "Silence!" roared the burly skipper. "Silence! when you talk to your captain. You, I say, _you_ come and report a big steamer in sight to help us at the banquet." The mate scratched his head, taking his hat off for the purpose. "Did I make the ship?" he asked with naive innocence. "Pooh!" the skipper cried; and next moment he was scrambling up the rigging with all the elegance, grace, and speed of a mud turtle. He was in a better humour when he returned. "I say, matie," he said, "yonder chap ain't a sealer; too dandy, and not boats enough. No, she is one of they spectioneering kind o' chaps as goes a prowling around lookin' for the North Pole. Ha! ha! ha! Come below, matie, and we'll have a glass together. She ain't the kind o' lady to interfere with our blubber-hunting." The mate was mollified. His face was soaped, and he shone. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. THE "ARRANDOON" ANCHORS TO THE "FLOE"--THE VISIT TO THE "CANNY SCOTIA"-- SILAS GRIG--A SAD SCENE--RORY RELIEVES HIS FEELINGS--STRANGERS COMING FROM THE FAR WEST. Seeing the skipper of the _Canny Scotia_ and his mate come below together smiling, the steward readily guessed what they wanted, so he was not dilatory in producing the rum-bottle and two tumblers. Then the skipper pushed the former towards the mate, and said,-- "Help yourself, matie." And the mate dutifully and respectfully pushed it back again, saying,-- "After you, sir." This palaver finished, they both half-filled their tumblers with the ruby intoxicant, added thereto a modicum of boiling coffee from the urn that simmered on top of the stove, then, with a preliminary nod towards each other, emptied their glasses at a gulp. After this, gasping for breath, they beamed on each other with a newly-found friendliness. "Have another," said the skipper. They had another, then went on deck. After ten minutes of attentive gazing at the _Arrandoon_, "Well," said the skipper, "I do call that a bit o' pretty steering; if it ain't, my name isn't Silas Grig." "But there's a deal o' palaver about it, don't you think so, sir?" remarked the mate. "Granted, granted," assented Silas; "granted, matie." The cause of their admiration was the way in which the _Arrandoon_ was brought alongside the great ice-floe. She didn't come stem on--as if she meant to flatten, her bows--and then swing round. Not she. She approached the ice with a beautiful sweep, describing nearly half a circle, then, broadside on to the ice, she neared it and neared it. Next over went the fenders; the steam roared from the pipe upwards into the blue air, like driven snow, then dissolved itself like the ghost of the white lady; the ship was stopped, away went the ice-anchors, the vessel was fast. And no noise about it either. There may not be much seamanship now-a-days, but I tell you, boys, it takes a clever man to manage a big steamer prettily and well. The _Arrandoon_ was not two hundred yards from the _Canny Scotia_. Now round go the davits on the port quarter, outward swings the boat, men and officers spring nimbly into her, blocks rattle, and down goes the first whaler, reaching the water with a flop, but not a plash, and with keel as even and straight as a ruled line. "I say, matie," said Silas Grig, in some surprise, "if that boat ain't coming straight away here, I hope I may never chew cheese again." So far as that was concerned, if Silas chose, he would at least have the chance of chewing cheese again, for the _Arrandoon's_ boat came rippling along towards them with a steady cluck-el-tee cluck-el-tee, which spoke well for the men at the oars. "Well," continued Silas, who, rough nut though he was, always meant well enough, "let us do the civil, matie; tell the steward to fill the rum-bottle, and pitch 'em a rope." The rope came in very handy; but there was no need for the rum; even in Greenland men can live without it--the officers of the _Arrandoon_ had found that out. McBain, with Allan and Rory,--the latter, by the way, seemed to have registered a vow to go everywhere and see everything,--stood on the quarter-deck of the _Canny Scotia_, the skipper of which craft was in front of him, a comical look of admiration on his round brick-coloured countenance, and his two hands deep in the pockets of his powerful pilot coat. "Ay, sir! ay!" he was saying; "well, I must say ye do surprise _me_." He put such an emphasis on the "me" that one would have thought that to surprise Silas Grig was something to be quite boastful of ever after. "All the way to the North Pole? Well, well; but d'ye think you'll find it?" "We mean to," said Rory, boldly. "Perseverando!" said Allan. "The _Perseverance_!" cried the skipper. "I know the ship, a Peterheader. Last time I saw her she had got in the nips, and was lying keel up on the ice, yards and rigging all awry of course; and, bother her, I hope she'll lie there till Silas Grig gets a voyage [a cargo], then when the _Scotia_ is full ship, the _Perseverance_ can get down off the shelf, and cabbage all the rest. Them's my sentiments. But come below, gentlemen, come below; there is room enough in the cabin of the old _Scotia_ for every man Jack o' ye. Come below." Silas was right. There was room, but not much to spare, and, squeezed in between Allan and McBain, poor Rory was hardly visible, and could only reach the table with one hand. The cabin of this Greenlandman can be described with a stroke of the pen, so to speak. It was square and not very lofty--a tall man required to duck when under a beam; the beams were painted white, the bulkheads and cabin doors--four in number--were grey picked out with green. One-half at least of the available space was occupied by the table; close around it were cushioned lockers; the only other furniture was the captain's big chair and a few camp-stools, a big square stove with a roaring fire, and a big square urn fixed on top thereof, which contained coffee, had never been empty all the voyage, and would not be till the end thereof. I suppose a bucket of water could hardly be called furniture, but there it stood close to the side of the stove, and the concentric rings of ice inside it showed the difficulty everybody must experience who chose to quench his thirst in the most natural way possible. Above, in the hollow of the skylight, hung a big compass, and several enormously long sealer's telescopes. "No rum, gentlemen?" said Silas; "well, you do astonish _me_; but you'll taste my wife's green ginger wine, and drink her health?" "That we will," replied McBain, "and maybe finish a bottle." "And welcome to ten," said Silas; "and the bun, steward, bring the bun. That's the style! My wife isn't much to look at, gentlemen, but, for a bun or o' drop o' green ginger, I'll back her against the whole world." After our heroes had done justice to the bun, and pledged the skipper's good lady in the green ginger, that gentleman must needs eye them again and again, with as much curiosity as if they had been some new and wonderful zoological specimens, that he had by chance captured. "All the way to the North Pole!" he muttered. "Well, well, but that _does_ get over Silas." Rory could not help laughing. "Funny old stick," said Silas, joining in his merriment, "ain't I?" He did look all that and more, with his two elbows on the table, and his knuckles supporting his chin, for his face was as round as a full moon orient, and just the colour of a new flower-pot; then he laughed more with one side of his face than the other, his eyes were nowhere in the folds of his face, and his nose hardly worth mentioning. After the laugh, beginning with Rory, had spread fairly round the table, everybody felt relieved. "I'm only a plain, honest blubber-hunter, gentlemen," said Silas Grig, apologetically, "with a large family and--and a small wife--but--but you do surprise _me_. There?" [It is but fair to say that, as a rule, captains of Greenlandmen are far more refined in manner than poor Silas.] But when McBain informed him that the _Arrandoon_ would lay alongside him for a week or more, and help him to secure a voyage, and wouldn't ship a single skin herself, Silas was more surprised than ever. Indeed, until this day I could not tell you what would have happened to Silas, had the mate not been providentially beside him to vent his feelings upon. On that unfortunate officer's back he brought down his great shoulder-of-mutton fist with a force that made him jump, and his breath to come and go as if he had just been popped under a shower-bath. "Luck's come," he cried. "Hey? hey?" And every "hey?" represented a dig in the mate's ribs with the skipper's thumb of iron. "Told ye it would, hey? Didn't I? hey?" "What'll the old woman say, hey? Hey, boys? Hey, matie? Hey? Hey?" "You gentlemen," said Silas, alter his feelings had calmed down a trifle, "are all for sport, and Silas has to make a voyage. But you'll have sport, gentlemen, that ye will. My men are sealing now. They're among the young seals. It has been nothing but flay, flay, flay, for the last two rounds of the sun, and there isn't such a very long night now, is there? And you saw the blood?" Saw the blood, reader! Indeed, our heroes had. Where was it that that blood was not? All the beautiful snow was encrimsoned with it on the distant field of ice, where the men were carrying on their ghastly work. It was as if a great battle had been fought there, and the dead crangs lay in dozens and hundreds. A crang means a carcass. Is the adjective "dead," then, not unnecessary? What else can a carcass or crang be but "dead"? Nay, but listen: let me whisper a truth in your ear, and I know your brave young blood will boil when I tell you: I've known our men, Englishmen and Scotchmen, flense the lambs while still alive. From the field of slaughter the skins were being dragged to the ship by men with ropes, so there were streaks of red all the way to the ship, and all the vessel's starboard side was smeared with blood. Indeed, I do not wish to harrow the feelings of my readers, and I shall but describe a few of the cruelties of sealing--no, on second thoughts, I will not even do that, because I know well you will believe me when I tell you these cruelties are very great, and believing this, if ever you have an opportunity of voting for a bill or signing a petition to get poor Greenland seals fair play, I know you will. Silas Grig and our heroes took a walk to the field of unequal strife, and Rory and Allan, to whom all they saw was very new, were not a little horrified as well as disgusted. "This," said McBain, "is the young-sealing. We are not going to assist you in this; we are sportsmen, not butchers, Captain Grig?" Silas grasped McBain's hand. "Your feelings do you credit, sir," he said--"they do. But I have feelings, too. Yes, a weather-beaten old stick like me has feelings! But I'm sent out here to make a voyage, and what can I do? I've a small wife and a large family; and my owners, too, would sack me if I didn't bring the skins. I say," he added, after a pause, "you know my mate?" "Yes," said McBain. "Well," said Silas, "you wouldn't, imagine that a fellow with such an ugly chunk o' a figure-head as that had feelings, eh? But he has, though; and during all this young-sealing business we both of us just drowns our feelings in the rum-bottle. Fact, sir! and old Silas scorns a lie. But, gentlemen, when all this wicked work is over, when we are away north from here, among the old seals, and when we can look at that sun again without seeing blood, then my matie and I banishes Black-Jack [the gallon measure from which rum is served is so called] and sticks to coffee and arrowroot; that we do!" They had turned their backs on the by no means inviting scene, and were walking towards the _Canny Scotia_ as Silas spoke. "But," said the Greenland mariner, "come and dine with the old man to-morrow. The last of the young seals will be on board by then, and we'll have had a wash down; we'll be clean and tidy like. Then hurrah for the old seals! That's sport, if you like!--that's fair play." "Ah!" said McBain, "your heart is in the right place, I can see that. I wish there were more like you. Do _you_ seal on Sunday? Many do." Silas looked solemn. "I knows they do," he said, "but Silas hasn't done so yet, and he prays he never may be tempted to." "Captain Grig, we'll come and dine with you, and we expect you to pay us the same compliment another day." "I daresay you fellows are glad to get home?" said Ralph, rising from the sofa and throwing down the volume he had been dreaming over. "Not a bit of it!" said Rory and Allan, both in one breath; and Rory added, "You don't know what a funny ship a real Greenlandman is! I declare you've lost a treat!" "Does it smell badly?" asked Ralph, with a slight curl of his upper lip. "Never a taste!" says Rory; "she's as sweet as cowslips or clover, or newly-made hay; and the bun was beautiful!" "The what?" said Ralph. "Don't tell him?" cried Allan; "don't tell him!" "And the green ginger!" said Rory, smacking his lips. "Ah, yes! the green ginger," said Allan; "I never tasted anything like that in all my born days!" "Hi, you, Freezing Powders!" cried Rory, "take my coat and out-o'-doors gear. D'ye hear? Look sharp?" "I'm coming, sah; and coming plenty quick!" "De-ah me!" from Cockie. "Now bring my fiddle, you young rascal, into my cabin;" for Rory, reader, had that young-sealing scene on his brain, and he would not be happy till he had played it away. And a wild, weird lilt it was, too, that he did bring forth. Extempore, did you ask? Certainly, for he played as he thought and felt; all his soul seemed to enter the cremona, and to well forth again from the beautiful instrument, now in tones of plaintive sorrow, now in notes of wrath; and then it stopped all at once abruptly. That was Rory's way; he had pitched fiddle and bow on the bed, and presently he returned to the saloon. "Are you better?" inquired Allan. Rory only gave a little laugh, and sat down to read. It had taken McBain nearly a fortnight to get clear away from the Isle of Jan Mayen, for the frost had set in sharp and hard, and the great ice-saws had to be worked, and the aid of dynamite called in to blast the pieces. They were now some ten miles to the north and east of the island, but, so far as he knew on the day of his visit to the _Scotia_, he had bidden it farewell for ever. It had not been for the mere sake of sport or adventure he had called in there, he had another reason. Old Magnus, before the sailing--ay, or even the building--of the _Arrandoon_, had heard that the island was inhabited by a party of wandering Eskimos. Wherever Eskimos were McBain had thought there must be dogs, and that was just what was wanting to complete the expedition--a kennel of sleigh-dogs. But, as we have seen, the Eskimo encampment was deserted, so McBain had to leave it disappointed. But, as it turned out, it was only temporarily deserted after all, and on the very day on which they had arranged to dine with Skipper Grig, two daring men, chiefs of a tribe of Eskimos, drawn in a rude sledge, were making their way towards the island. Their team consisted of over a dozen half-wild dogs, harnessed with ropes of skin and untanned leather. They seemed to fly across the sea of ice. Hardly could you see the dogs for the powdery snow that rose in clouds around them. Well might they hurry, for clouds were banking up in the west, a low wind came moaning over the dreary plain, and a storm was brewing, and if it burst upon them ere they reached the still distant island, then-- CHAPTER SIXTEEN. SILAS GRIG'S DINNER-PARTY--A NEW MEMBER OF THE MALACOPTERYGII--THE STORM ON THE SEA OF ICE--BREAK-UP OF THE MAIN PACK--ROUGHING IT AT SEA. While those two chiefs of the Eskimo Indians were hurrying their team of dogs across the sea of ice eastwards, ever eastwards, with the clouds rising behind them, with the wind whispering and moaning around them, and sometimes raising the powdery snow in little angry eddies, that almost hid the plunging dogs from their view, honest Silas Grig, though somewhat uneasy in his mind as to what kind of weather was brewing, busied himself nevertheless in preparing what he considered a splendid dinner for his coming guests. "But," he said to his mate, "it will just be like my luck, you know, if it comes on to blow big guns, and we've got to leave good cheer and put out to sea." "Ah! sir," said the mate, "don't forget luck has turned, you know." "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Silas, "really, matie, I _had_ a'most forgotten." And away forward he hurried, to see how the men were getting on scrubbing decks and cleaning brass-work, and how the cook was getting on with that mighty sirloin of beef. He took many a ran forward as the day advanced, often pausing, though, to give an uneasy glance windward, and at the sun, not yet hidden by the rising clouds. And often as he did so he shook his head and made some remark to his mate. "I tell ye, matie," he said once, "I don't quite like the looks o' 't. Those clouds ain't natural this time o' the year, and don't you see the spots in the sun? Why, he is holed through and through like an old Dutch cheese. Something's brewin'. But, talking of brewin', I wonder how the soup is getting on?" [In Greenland these sunspots are quite easily seen by the naked eye.] Silas's face was more the colour of a new flower-pot than ever, when McBain and our three heroes came alongside in their dashing gig, with its beautiful paint and varnish, snow-white oars, flag trailing astern, and rudder-ribbons, all complete. Rory was steering, and he brought her alongside with a regular admiral's sweep. "Why, she's going away past us!" cried Silas; "no, she ain't. It is the bow-and-bow business the young 'un's after." "In bow?" cried Rory. "Way enough--oars!" These were the only three orders Rory needed to give to his men. There was no shouting of "Easy sta'board!" or "Easy port!" as when a lubber is coxswain. Next moment they were all on deck, shaking hands with the skipper and his mate. The latter remained on deck; he didn't care for the company of "quality;" besides, he had to loosen sails, and have all ready to get in anchors at a minute's notice and put out to sea. The skipper of the _Canny Scotia_ had contrived another seat at table, so there was no such thing as crowding, and the dinner passed off entirely to his satisfaction. The pea-soup was excellent, neither too thick nor too thin, and the sippets done to a turn. Then came what Silas called the whitebait. "Which is only my fun, gentlemen," he observed, "seeing that they are bigger than sprats. Where do I get them? Hey? Why, turn up a piece of pancake-ice, and there they be sticking in the clear in hundreds, like bees in a honeycomb, and nothing out but their bits of tails." "It is curious," said Rory. "How do they bore the holes, I wonder?" "That, young gentleman," replied Silas, "I can't say, never having seen them at work. Maybe they melt the ice with their noses; they can't make the holes with their teeth, their bows are too blunt and humble like. Perhaps, after all, they find the holes ready-made, and just go in for warmth. Queer, ain't it?" "I believe," said Rory, "they belong to the natural order _Malacopterygii_." "The what?" cried Ralph; "but, pray, Row, don't repeat the word. Think of the small bones; and McFlail isn't here, you know." "Of which," continued Rory, "the _Clupeidae_" [Ralph groaned] "form one of the families, belonging to which are the herring, the sardine, the whitebait, and sprat." "They may be sprats, or they may be young sperm-whales, for anything I care," said Ralph; "but I do know they are jolly good eating. Captain Grig, may I trouble you again?" With the pudding came the green ginger, that Ralph was so anxious to taste. "The peculiarity of that pudding, gentlemen, is this," said Silas--"eaten hot it _is_ a pudding, eaten cold it is a bun. The peculiarity of the green--" What more he meant to have said will never be known, for at that moment the _Canny Scotia_ gave an angry cant to leeward, and away--extemporised seat and all--went the skipper down upon the sta'board bulkheads; the coalscuttle, the water-bucket, and the big armchair followed suit, and there was consequently some little confusion, and a speedy break-up of the dinner-party. McBain's boat was called away, for the ship had slipped her ice-anchors, and was drifting seaward, with the wind roaring wildly through rigging and cordage. The gale had come upon them as sudden as a thunderclap. Good-byes were hastily said, and away pulled the gig. She was in the lee of the ice and partly sheltered, otherwise they never would have regained the _Arrandoon_. As it was, the men were almost exhausted when they got alongside. Her anchors were well fast, and her cables were strong; there was little fear of dragging for some time, so the order was given to at once get up steam, and that, too, with all speed, for the force of the wind seemed to increase almost momentarily. On the _Arrandoon's_ decks you could scarcely have seen anything, for the snow blew blindingly from off the ice; there was little to be heard either, for the shrill, harsh whistling of the wind. Men flitted hither and thither like uneasy ghosts, making things snug, and battening down the principal hatches; on the bridge, dimly descried, was McBain, speaking-trumpet under arm, and beside him Stevenson. Down below, from fore to aft, everybody was engaged. In the stoke-hole they were busy, and making goodly use of the American hams; in the engine-room the engineers were looking well to their gear, with bits of greasy "pob" in their hands, humming songs as they gave a rub here and a nib there, though to what end or purpose I couldn't tell you, but evidently on the best of terms with themselves and their beautiful engine. The doctor was busy stowing his bottles away, and the steward was making the pantry shipshape, and our heroes themselves were stowing away all loose gear in their cabins. Presently they entered the saloon again, where was Freezing Powders making the cockatoo's cage fast with a morsel of lanyard. "Here's a pretty to-do!" the bird was saying, half choking on a billful of hemp. "Call the steward!--call the steward!--call the steward!" "You jus' console yourse'f," said the boy, "and don't take sich big mou'fuls o' hemp. Mind, you'll be sea-sick p'esently." "De-ah me!" "Yes, ye will--dreffully sea-sick. Den you wants to call de steward plenty quick." One ice-anchor came on board; the other--the bow--was cut adrift as the ship's stern swung round seaward. Almost at the same moment an explosion was heard close alongside, as if one of the boilers had burst. The great berg to which they had been anchored had parted company with the floe, and was evidently bent on going to sea along with the _Arrandoon_. Once they were a little way clear of the ice they could look about them, the snow no longer blowing over the vessel. The scene was peculiar, and such as can only be viewed in Greenland under like circumstances. The whole field of ice, as far as it was visible, was a smother of whirling drift; the lofty cone of Jan Mayen, which though miles to the south'ard and west, had been so well-defined an object against the blue of the sky, was now blurred and indistinct, and the grey, driving clouds every now and again quite hid the top of it from view. All along the edge of the pack the snow was being blown seaward like smoke, or like the white spray on the rocks where billows break. The eastern horizon was a chaos of dark, shifting billows, as tall as houses, and foam-tipped; but near by the ice, although the wind blew already with the force of a gale, and the surface of the water was churned into froth, there was not a wave bigger than you would see on a farmer's mill-pond. What a pity it seemed to leave this comparatively smooth water and steam away out into the centre of yonder mighty conflict 'twixt wind and wave. But well every one on board knew that to remain where they were was but to court destruction, for the noise that proceeded from the ice-fields told them the pack was breaking up. Ay, and bergs were already forging ahead of them, and surrounding them. Ere they were a mile from the floes they found this out, and the danger from the floating masses of ice was very real indeed. Every minute the pieces were hurtled with all the force of the waves against the sturdy vessel's weather-side, threatening to stave her; nor could McBain, who never left the bridge until the vessel was well out to sea, avoid at times stemming the bergs that appeared ahead of him. For often two would present themselves at one time, and one must be stemmed--the smaller of the twain; for to have come in collision bow on, would have meant foundering. But at length the danger was past as far as the ice was concerned, though now the seas were mountains high, and of Titanic force; so after an hour or two the _Arrandoon_ lay to, and having seen the lights all properly placed, and extra hands put on the look-out--having, in fact, done everything a sailor could do for the safety of his ship, McBain came down below. In shining oil-skins and dripping sou'-wester, he looked like some queer sea-monster that had just been caught and hauled on board. He looked a trifle more human, however, when the steward had marched off with his outer garments. "Is she snug?" asked Allan. "Ay, lads, as snug as she is likely to be to-night," replied McBain; "but she doesn't like it, I can tell you, and the gale seems increasing to hurricane force. How is the glass, Rory?" "Not so very low," said Rory; "not under twenty-nine degrees." "But concave at the top?" "Yes, sir." "Well, well," said McBain, "content yourselves, boys, for I think we'll have days of it. I for one don't want to see much more of the ice while this blow lasts. But what a splendid fire you have! Steward, mind you put on the guard last thing to-night." "Why the guard?" asked Rory. "Because," explained McBain, "I feel certain that many a good ship has been burned at sea by the fire falling out of the grate; a wave or a piece of ice hits her on the bows, the fire flies out of the stove, no one is below, and so, and so--" "Yes," said Ralph, "that is very likely, and pray don't let us speak of anything very dreadful to-night. List! how the wind roars, to be sure! But to change the subject--Peter." "Ay, ay, sir." "Is supper ready?" "Very nearly, sir." "Well, tell Seth to come, and Magnus." "Ho! ho!" said McBain, "that's it, is it?" "What a comfort on a night like this," Allan remarked, "it is to be shipmates with two such fellows as Ray and Row, the epicure and the poet--the one to cater for the corporeal, the other for the mental man." The ship was pitching angrily, dipping her bows deep down under the solid seas and raising them quickly again, but not neglecting to ship tons of water every time, which found its way aft, so that down in the saloon they could hear it washing about overhead and pouring past the ports into the sea. "Steady, sir, steady," cried Magnus, entering the saloon. He was speaking to Seth, who had preceded him. He didn't walk in, he came in head first, and was now lying all his length on the saloon floor. But Rory and Allan lifted him tenderly up again and seated him on the couch, amid such remarks as, "No bones broken, I do hope," "Gently does it, Seth, old man," "Have you really left your sea-legs forward?" "Call the steward," the last remark being the cockatoo's. "I reckon," said the old trapper, rubbing his elbows and knees, "there ain't any bones given way this time, but that same is more chance than good management." After supper--which was of Ralph's own choosing, I need not say more--a general adjournment was made to the after-cabin, or snuggery, and here every one adopted attitudes of comfort around the blazing stove, in easy-chairs, on sofas, or on rugs and skins on the deck; there they sat, or lounged, or lay. The elders had their pipes, the youngsters coffee. But with the pitching and rolling of the ship it was not very easy either to sit, or lounge, or lie, nor was it advisable to leave the coffee in the cup for any length of time; nevertheless everybody was happy, for wondrous little care had they on their minds. Oh! how wild and tempestuous the night was, and how madly the seas leapt and tossed around them! But they had a ship they could trust, and, better by far, a Power above them which they had learned to put confidence in. Seth, to-night, was in what Ralph called fine form. His stories of adventure, told in his dry, droll, inimitable way, were irresistible. De Vere's face never once lacked a smile on it; he loved to listen though he could not talk. Old Magnus also had some queer tales to tell, his relation of them affording Seth breathing space. Several times during the evening Rory played, and the doctor tooted, as he called it. Thus merrily and pleasantly sped the time--every one doing his best to amuse his neighbours--until eight bells rang out, then all retired. It is on such a night as this that the soundest sleep visits the pillow of your thorough sailor--the roar of the wind overhead, the rocking of the ship, and the sound of the waves close by the ear, all conduce to sweetest slumber. There was little if any improvement in the weather next day, nor for several days; but cold and stormy though it was, to be on the bridge, holding on--figuratively speaking--by the eyelids, was a glorious treat for our sailor heroes. The masts bent like fishing-rods beneath the force of the gale. At times the good ship heeled until her yard-ends ploughed the waves, and if a sea struck her then, the spray leapt higher than the main-truck, and the green water made a clean breach over her. On the second day the clouds were all blown away, but the wind retained its force, and the waves their power and magnitude. Every wave threatened to come inboard, and about one out of ten did. Those that didn't went singing astern, or got in under the _Arrandoon_, and tossed her all they could. The frost was intense, and in some way or other, I think, accounted for the strange singing noise emitted by those waves that went past without breaking. But it was when one great sea followed swiftly on the heels of another that the good ship suffered most, because she would probably be down by the head when she received salute number two. It was thus she had her bulwarks smashed, and one good boat rent into matchwood and cast away. It was no easy task to reach the bridge, nor to rush therefrom and regain the saloon companion. You had to watch the seas, and were generally pretty safe if you made use of arms and legs just after one or two big waves had done their worst; but Allan once, and Rory three times, were washed into the scuppers, and more bruised than they cared to own. Ralph seldom came on deck, and the doctor just once got his head above the companion; for this piece of daring he received a sea in the teeth, which he declared nearly cut his head off. He went down below to change his clothes, and never came up again. On the third day, in the dog-watch, the wind fell, and the sea went down considerably. Had the gale blown from the east, the sea would have been in no such hurry to go down, but it had continued all the time to blow steadily from off the ice. What a strange sight the _Arrandoon_ now presented! She was a ship of glass and snow. Funnel, masts, and rigging were, or seemed to be, composed of frosted crystal. The funnel, Rory declared, looked like a stalactite from "the cave of a thousand winters." Her bows were lumbered with ice feet thick, and from stem to stern there was no more liveliness in the good _Arrandoon_ than there is in a Dutch collier. As soon as the wind fell a man was sent up aloft, and the order was given,-- "All hands clear ship of ice." But hark! there is a shout from the crow's-nest. "Large ship down to leeward, sir, apparently in distress." CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. THE STORM--THE "CANNY SCOTIA" IN DISTRESS--RUM, MUTINY, ANARCHY, AND DEATH--SAVED--ADVENTURE WITH A SHE-BEAR--CAPTURE OF THE YOUNG. Has it not been said that the greatest pleasure on earth is felt on the sudden surcease of severe pain? I am inclined, though, to doubt the truth of this statement, and I think that nothing can equal the feeling of quiet, calm joy that is instilled into the heart on the instant one is plucked from the jaws of impending death. When the King of Terrors comes speedily, while the blood is up and the heart beating high, as he does to those who fall in the field of battle, his approach does not seem anything like so terrible as when he lags in his march towards his victim. One needs to have a hope that leads his thoughts beyond this world, to be brave and calm at such a moment. When the _Canny Scotia_ slipped her ice-anchors and was driven out to sea, to encounter all the fury of the gale that had so suddenly sprung up, she had not the advantages of the _Arrandoon_. She had no steam power, nor was she so well manned. She could therefore only scud under bare poles, or lie to with about as much canvas spread as would make a mason's apron. Silas didn't mean to be caught napping, however, and, as quickly as he could, he got the tarpaulins down over the hatches, took in all spare canvas, and did all he could for the best. Alas! the best was bad. The _Scotia_ made fearful weather, and twenty-four hours after it had come on to blow, she had not a topmast standing, two of her best boats had been carried away, her bulwarks looked like a badly-built farmer's paling, and, worse than all, she was stove amidships on the weather-side and under the water-line. When this last disaster was reported to Silas Grig, he called all hands to "make good repairs," and stem the flow of the water, which was rushing inboard like a mill-stream through the ugly hole in the vessel's side. Had it been calm weather, this might have been done effectually enough, but, under the circumstances, it was simply an impossibility. Everything was done, however, that could be done, but still the seas poured in at every lurch to windward. Then it was "All hands to the pumps." The men worked in relays, and cheerily, too, and for a time the water was sent overboard faster than it came in, albeit there were times when the green seas poured over the ship like mountain cataracts. But after some hours, either through the men flagging, or from the hole in the ship's side getting larger, the water in the hold began to gain rapidly on them. "Bring up black-jack!" cried the skipper to the steward, "and we'll splice the main-brace." "Now hurrah! lads!" he exclaimed, addressing the men after a liberal allowance of rum had been handed round. "Hurrah! heave round again. The storm has about spent itself and the sea is going down. We can keep her afloat if we try. Hurrah then, hurrah!" "Hurrah!" echoed the men in response, and, flushed with artificial strength, they once more set themselves with redoubled energy to keep the water under. There was no danger now from ice. The piece that had wrought them so much mischief was about the last they had seen. So for a time all went well, and if the water did not decrease it certainly did not rise. An hour went by, then a deputation came aft to beg for more rum, and the fate of this vessel, like that of many another lost at sea, seemed sealed by the awful drink curse. "It's hardly judicious," said Silas to his mate, "but I suppose they must have it." Ah! Silas Grig, it was not judicious to serve them with the first allowance. When hard work is over and finished, and men are worn out and tired, then is the time, if ever, to splice the main-brace; but when work has to be done that needs clear heads, and when danger is all around a ship, the farther away the rum is the better. They had it, though, and presently they were singing as they pumped-- singing, but not working half so hard as before. Then even the singing itself ceased; they were getting tired and drowsy, and yet another allowance of rum was asked and granted. The water rose higher in the hold. When the men heard this report they would work no more. With one accord they desisted from their labours, and a deputation of the boldest found their way aft. "It is no use, Captain Silas Grig," they said, addressing their skipper; "the ship is going down, and we mean to die jolly. Bring up the rum." "This is mutiny," cried the captain, pulling out a revolver. "I'll shoot the first man dead that dares go down that cabin staircase." "Captain," said one of the men, stepping forward, "will you let me speak to you? I've nothing but friendly feelings towards you." "Well," replied the skipper, "what have you to say?" "This," said the man; "let us have no murder. Put up your shooting-irons. It is all in vain. The men _will_ have rum. Hark! d'ye hear that?" "I heard a knocking below," said the skipper. "What does it mean?" Before the man could reply there was a wild shout from the half-deck. "It means," replied the man, "that the men have broken through the cabin bulkheads and supplied themselves." "Then Heaven help us!" said poor bewildered Silas. He staggered to the seat beside the skylight and sat down, holding on by the brass glass-guards. A moment after the mate joined him. "You haven't been drinking, matie," said Silas, glancing gloomily upwards, "have you?" "No, sir, nor the second mate, nor the steward, nor the spectioneer," was the mate's reply. "Give us your hand, sir. We've had words together often; let us forgive each other now. God bless you, sir, and if die together we must, we won't die like pigs, at all events." There was anarchy forward, anarchy and wild revelry, and cruel brawls and fighting, but the five men aft stuck together, and tried to comfort each other, though there was hardly a hope in their hearts that their vessel would be saved. A long evening wore away, a kind of semi-darkness settled over the sea, but this short night soon gave place once more to-day. Then down forward all was quiet; the revellers were sleeping the stertorous sleep of the drunkard. But the wind had fallen considerably, and the seas had gone down; the broken waves no longer sung in the frosty air, but the ship rolled like a half-dead thing in the trough of the sea. She was water-logged. With infinite difficulty the mates, with the steward's assistance, stretched more canvas, while the captain took the helm. She heeled over to it, and looked as if she hardly cared to right again. But this brought the hole in her side into view. Then they got heavy blankets up, and, working as they had never worked before, they managed in an hour and a half to staunch the leak from the outside. Hope began to rise in their hearts, and, at the bidding of the skipper, the steward went below and brought up a large tin of preserved soup. "Ah! men," said poor Silas, "this is better than all the rum in the world." And it was, for it gave them strength and heart. They went away down below next to the galley and half-deck, and tried to rouse some of the men. They found five of them stark and stiff, and from the others came nothing but groans and oaths. So they went to the pumps themselves, and worked away for hours for dear life itself. Oh! what a joyful sight it was for them when, in answer to their signal of distress, they saw the good ship _Arrandoon_ coming steaming down towards them. Then the grim raven Death, who had been hovering over the seemingly doomed ship, flapped his ragged wings and flew slowly away. They were saved! Oil was pumped upon the water between the _Arrandoon_ and _Scotia_, to round off the curling, comb-like peaks of the waves, and a boat was lowered from the steamer and sent to the assistance of the distressed vessel. The ship was pumped out, and next day, the weather becoming once more fine, she was towed towards the island of Jan Mayen, and made fast to a floe. She was next heeled over and the repairs completed. The _Arrandoon_ spared them a few spars, and plenty of willing hands to hoist them, so that in a few days the Greenland sealer was as strong as ever. Silas Grig was a very happy man now. The unfortunate wretches who had flown to meet their fate were sunk in the dark waters of the sea of ice, but this rough but kindly-hearted skipper never let one upbraiding word escape him towards his men, and the men knew they were forgiven, and liked their skipper none the less for his extreme forbearance. "Do you know what I have done?" said Silas to McBain. "You have forgiven your men, haven't you?" replied McBain. "Ay, that I have," said Silas, "but I have staved every cask of rum on board, and black-jack is thrown overboard." All along the west coast or shore of the island of Jan Mayen our heroes, on their re-arrival there, found that the water was comparatively clear, the bergs having been driven away out to sea on the wings of the wind, so that by breaking the light bay ice the boats could approach quite close to the snow-clad cliffs. Our three boys--for boys we must continue to call them for the sake of the days of "auld lang syne"--were glad to set foot on shore again, and with them went old Seth and the doctor. Freezing Powders was also invited, but his reply was, "No, sah! thank you all de same. But only dis chile not want anoder bad winter wid a yellow bear!" "`Adventure' you mean, don't you?" said Rory. "Dat is him, sah!" replied the boy. "I not want no more dancin' for de dear life." "But the yellow bear was killed, Freezing Powders," persisted Allan. "But him's moder not killed," said the lad, with round, open eyes. "You seem to hab 'tirely forgotten dat, sah; and p'raps de moder is much worse dan de son." So they went without him. Well armed were they, and provisioned for a day at all events. Somewhat to their surprise, they found smoke issuing from the once deserted huts, while a whole pack of dogs started up from where they had been lying and attempted to bar their progress. But the same two hardy chiefs of the Eskimos whom we last saw speeding along over the sea of ice, with the snow-wind roaring around them, came forth, quieted the dogs, and bade them kindly welcome. In their broken English they told them the tale of their adventurous journey across the pack from the far-off western land of Greenland, and of the narrow escape they had had from the violence of the sudden storm. Then they led the way, not into one of the small huts, but into the large central one. "We are making him fit and warm and good," they explained, "for our big 'Melican masta. He come directly. To-day we see his boat not far off-- a two-stick boat, with plenty mooch sail." The "two-stick boat" which the chiefs referred to was a saucy little Yankee yacht, that on this very morning was cruising off the island. Our heroes spent several hours in the hut, seated by the blazing logs, listening delightedly to a description of the strange country these chiefs called their home--a country that few white men have ever yet visited, and where certainly none have ever wintered. But I cannot repeat all the strangers told them about the manners and customs of their countrymen, the dress of the men and women, their fishing and hunting exploits, their fierce though petty wars with other tribes, and the wonderful life they lead throughout the summer and during the long, drear, sunless season of winter. "Ah!" said Rory, with a bit of a sigh, "I do like to hear these men talk about their wild land in the Far West. We must come again and make them tell us a deal more. I've half a mind to set out with them when they return, and live among them for some months. I say, Ray, wouldn't it be glorious to go surging over the ice-fields drawn by a hundred fleet-footed hounds?" "Drawn by a hundred hounds!" cried Allan, laughing. "Draw it mild, Rory." "Well," said Rory, "more or less, you know." "Besides," Ralph put in, "these are not hounds, Rory; there is more of the wolf about them than the hound." "Och, botheration?" replied Rory; "you're too particular. But if I went with these men, and dwelt among their tribes for a time, then I'd go to press when I came back to old England." "A book of adventure?" said Allan. "Ah, yes!" said Rory; "a book, if you please, but not dry-as-dust prose, my boys! I'd write an epic poem." Talking thus, away they went on an exploring expedition, Rory riding the high horse, building any number of castles in the air, and giving the reins to his wonderful imagination. "I reckon, Mr Rory," said Seth, "that you'd make the fortune of any publisher that liked to take you up. You try New York, I guess that'd suit you; and, if you like, you shall write the life of old trapper Seth." "Glorious!" cried Rory; "`A Life in the Forests of the Far West.' Hurrah! I'll do it! You wait a bit. Look, look! What is that?" "It's a white fox," said Seth, bowling the animal over before the others had time to draw a bead on it. But that white fox, with a few loons, and five guillemots--which, by the way, when skinned, are excellent eating--were all they bagged that day. McBain and Stevenson had better luck though, they had seen a gigantic bear prowling around among the rough ice beneath the cliffs, and had called away a boat and gone after it. "O! sah!" cried Freezing Powders, running up to McBain as he was going over the side. "Don't go, sah! I can see de yellow bear's moder and two piccaninnies on de ice. She is one berry bad woman. She make you dance to please de piccaninnies, den she gobble your head off. Don't you go, sah! You not look nice widout a head. Dat am my impression, sah." There was nothing of the sensational about McBain's adventure with the bear, but something of the sad. The captain of the _Arrandoon_ was not the man to take the life of even a bear while in company of her young ones, but he well knew how terrible and how bloodthirsty such an animal is, and how cunning in her ferocity. He shuddered as he thought of Allan or Rory heedlessly passing the cave or crevasse in the rocks where she lay concealed, and being pounced upon and dragged in to be torn limb from limb. So he determined she must die. Once landed, they almost immediately sighted her, and gave chase. Alone she might have escaped; but in dread terror the young ones leapt on her back and thus hampered her movements. [She-bears with young ones are easily got up to and killed on this account.] She then turned fiercely at bay, coming swiftly on to the attack, bent upon a fearful vengeance if she could only accomplish it. "Stand by, Stevenson," cried McBain, dropping on one knee, "to fire if I don't kill at once." The monster held her head low as she advanced, and a less experienced hunter would have made this the target. McBain knew better. He aimed at the lower part of the neck, and the bear fell pierced through the great artery of the heart. Yet so near had he allowed the animal to come before firing, that Stevenson, trembling for his safety, had brought his own rifle to the shoulder. Then those two poor young bears stood up to fight for their dead dam, giving vent to growls of grief and rage. "We can take them alive, sir," said Stevenson. "Come along, lads." This last sentence was addressed to the boat's crew. "Come along quick, and bring the ropes." Had old Seth been there, these young Bruins would soon have been lassoed. But McBain's men were not over expert at such work. They did manage to rope one in a few minutes, but the other gave them a deal of trouble--sport one man erroneously called it. He invariably flew at the man who tried to throw the rope, and the man invariably made his feet his friends, thus giving another man a chance to try his skill. If he failed he had to run next, and so on until at long last one more adroit or more fortunate than his fellow succeeded in throwing the lasso over the young bear's neck, and brought it half strangled to the ice. "A present for you, Captain Grig," cried McBain, pulling alongside the _Canny Scotia_ with his double capture. Silas was delighted when he saw the two live bears. "Heaven bless you, sir!" he exclaimed. "Why, sir, they'll fetch forty pounds each in the London _too_. Forty pounds, sir! Think o' that. Eighty pounds for the two o' them. Keep my little wife and all the family for a month o' Sundays. Hurrah! matie, luck's turned." CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. A NEW ARRIVAL--THE DOGS--TRAPPER SETH BECOMES KENNEL-MAN--PREPARATIONS FOR A GREAT SEAL HUNT--THE GREENLAND BEAR. On the very day that McBain shot the great she-bear--for it was one of the largest that ever fell before a sportsman's gun--on that day, and on the afternoon of that day, just as our heroes were about to leave the island and re-embark on the _Arrandoon_, there landed from off that saucy "little two-stick yacht" one of the tallest Yankees that ever stepped in boots. Seth squeezed the hand of this countryman of his till tears sprang into the stranger's eyes; and they were not tears of emotion, nor sentiment either, but of downright pain. "I say, siree?" cried the newcomer, shaking his hand and looking at the tips of his fingers, "patriotism and brotherly love are both beautiful things in their way, but when it comes to squeezing the blood out from under a fellow's finger-nails, then I say, bother brotherly love." "I'm proud to meet you, sir," exclaimed Seth, "let us shake hands once more." "Never a shake, old man," said the stranger; "let us admire each other at a respectable distance. But come, gentlemen all," he continued, turning to the others, "you ain't going on board just yet. Come up with me to my house. I daresay you've been there already; but come back and break bread with Nathaniel Cobb, sometimes called the Little Wonder, because I ain't much more'n seven feet high." Nat Cobb's boat's crew were Norwegians every one of them, short, somewhat squat, fair-haired fellows, but as active and bustling as a corresponding number of well-bred fox-terriers. A couple of them were moving on ahead now, with an immense basket between them. "That's the dinner," said the Little Wonder; "and you'll find there's enough for all hands, too." "Well, gentlemen," Nat said, when everybody had done justice to the good things placed before them, "let us drink each other's healths in a cup of fragrant mocha, for that's the wine for Greenland weather. Gentlemen, I look around me at your smiling faces, and I pledge you and bid you welcome to my island of Jan Mayen." "Hallo!" thought Rory, "_your_ island." "Yes, gentlemen," continued Nat, looking as if he really read Rory's thoughts, "_my_ island. Six months and more ago I annexed it, and to-morrow once again the stars and stripes will proudly flutter from yonder flagstaff, and the bird o' freedom will soar over this wild mountain land." Apart from his queer, half-boastful speech, Nat Cobb was a very agreeable companion. He was very frank at all events. After looking at Rory for the space of half a minute, he suddenly stretched out his hand. "I like you," he said, "muchly, and I like you all. It is from men like you that the mightiest republic in the world has been built. But why don't you speak more, Rory, as your messmates call you?" "Ach! troth?" said Rory, "and sure I'm driving _tandem_ with the thinking." "And you're wondering," said Nat, "where a piece of elongated mortality like myself stretches himself of a night on board the _Highflier_?" "Seeing," replied Rory, laughing, "that you're about as long as the keel, and maybe a bit longer, I may well wonder that same; and unless you lean against a mast, I don't quite see how you can stretch yourself." "Well, young sir, I'll tell you how I do it. I double up into four, and lie on my back! that is how it's done." The Little Wonder went off with our party to the _Arrandoon_; and as Yankees are ever ready to trade, he had not been long on board when McBain had purchased from him a dozen of his best dogs. They were to be kept until the ship returned from a week's sport among the old seals, then taken on board just before the _Arrandoon_ left for the extreme north. Old Seth was duly told off to superintend the erection of kennels, forward near the bows, and old Seth was in his glory in consequence. "I'll feel myself o' some kind o' use now," he said. "Kennel-man in ordinary to the _Arrandoon_, a free house and victuals found, I guess it ain't half a bad sitivation." About a week after this--the Greenland sealer having been made as good as new again--the Jan Mayen fleet sailed away from the island, and directed its course about north-and-by-east. First on the line went the noble _Arrandoon_ sailing, not steaming, for a nice beam wind was blowing; next came the _Canny Scotia_ with her tall, tapering spars; and the saucy _Highflier_, with her fore-and-aft canvas, brought up the rear. Nathaniel Cobb was Arctic meteorologist to a private company of American scientists, but his time was pretty much his own, and he didn't mind spending a week or a fortnight of it among the old seals. He wanted a skin or two anyhow, he said, to make a warm carpet for his "house," and some oil to burn for fuel, but promised that everything beyond what he really wanted which happened to fall to his gun should be given to Silas. Silas Grig was never happier in his life than he was now. Luck had indeed turned, fortune was about to favour him for once in a way. His would be a bumper ship, full to the hatches, with a bing of skins on deck that he wouldn't be able to find room for below. And when he returned to Peterhead, flags would fly and bands would play, and his little wife and he would live happy ever after. McBain wanted to show his young companions a little genuine sport, and at the same time do a good turn to honest Silas, by helping him to a voyage; while the former, on the other hand, were all excitement and bustle, for the _Arrandoon_ was about to be transformed into a sealer; and the idea being such a perfectly new one, was correspondingly appreciated. The little fleet kept well together; it would not have suited them to part company, although, even on a wind, without the aid of her boilers, the _Arrandoon_ could easily have shown her consorts a pair of clean heels. The doctor himself was led away with enthusiasm, and longed to draw a bead, as Seth called it, on a bear itself. He had chosen a rifle from the box, cleaned and polished it, and called it his own. "I've never shot a wild beast," he explained to Rory, "but, man, if I get the chance, I'll have a try." "Bravo!" cried Rory, "and you're sure to get the chance, you know." The ice was loose, although the weather was clear and very frosty. There was a heaving motion in the main pack that prevented the bergs from getting frozen together, but for all that the fleet kept well clear of it, for fear of getting beset. Patches of old seals might, it is true, have been found far in among the ice, but the risk was too great to run, so McBain kept to the outside edge, and the others followed his example. Silas Grig was invited on board the _Arrandoon_; and proud he was when the captain told him that he could choose five-and-twenty of his best men, and superintend their preparations for going after the seals. The third mate might be one of the number, but neither Stevenson nor Mitchell was to be allowed to go, although McBain did not object to these officers, or even the engineers, having a day's sport now and then. It was a glorious morning--for Greenland--when Captain McBain called all hands, in order that Silas might choose the men who were to assist him in making his fortune. The sun was shining as brightly as ever it does in England, and there wasn't too much wind to blow the cold through and through one. Either of the officers might have passed for old men, if white hairs make men look old, for their hair, whiskers, and moustachios were coated with hoar-frost ice. Our heroes had just finished breakfast, all of them having had a cold sea-bath to give them a glow before they sat down, and were now walking briskly up and down the quarter-deck, talking merrily and laughing. The _Scotia_ had her foreyard aback, and the _Arrandoon_ had also stopped her way, and yonder was Silas in his boat coming rapidly over the rippling water towards the steamer, the skipper himself standing like a gondolier and steering with an oar in true whaler fashion. "Now, lads," cried Silas, when the men of the _Arrandoon_ lay aft in obedience to orders. "You're a fine lot, I must say; every man Jack o' ye is better than the other; but I just want the men that have been to the country before. The men among ye that know a seal-club from a toastin'-fork, or a lowrie-tow from a bell-rope, just elevate a hand, will ye?" [Lowrie-tow--the rope with which the men drag the skins to the ship's side.] No less than fifteen gloved hands were waved aloft. Silas was delighted, and did not take long to choose the remaining ten. "You'll go on the ice by twos, you know, men," he continued, "and when one o' ye tumbles into the water, why, the other'll simply pull him out. Nothing easier." All these hands were to be clubsmen and draggers, while "the guns," as they were called, comprised the following: Ralph, Rory, Allan, Sandy the surgeon, De Vere the aeronaut, Seth trapper, and the third mate, seven in all, and warranted to give a good account of the seals, and keep the men steadily on drag if the sport was anything like good. Having made these preliminary arrangements, the men were dismissed, and Silas spent the rest of the day forward with old Ap the carpenter and the sail-maker. And very busy the whole four of them were, too, for three dozen daggers or seal-knives had to be fitted with sheaths of leather, and belts to go round the men's waists, and three dozen lowrie-tows, with the same number of seal-clubs, had to be got ready. I saw the other day an engraving of a sealing scene in Greenland, evidently done by an artist who had never been in the Arctic regions in his life, and who had therefore trusted to his imagination, which had led him far from the truth. In this picture there is a ship under canvas: error Number 1, for sealers always clue or brail up before the men go over the side. The ice is tall and pinnacled: error Number 2, for the ice the old seals lie on is either flat or hummocky. The men on the ice are leaping madly from berg to berg and clubbing _old_ seals: error Number 3, for unless old seals get positively frozen out of the water by the pieces becoming fast together, they will not wait to be clubbed. You may catch a weasel asleep, but never an old seal. Lastly, in this picture, the men are wielding clubs that have evidently been borrowed from some gymnasium: this constitutes error Number 4, for seal-clubs are nothing like these. They are more like an ancient battle-axe; the shaft is about four or five feet long and made of strong, tough wood, while through the top of this terrible weapon is run the part that does the execution--a square piece of iron or steel-- sharpened at one end, hammer-like at the other, and nearly a foot long. With this instrument a strong man has been known to lay a Greenland bear dead with one blow. No one of course would dare to attack a bear armed with a club alone, but instances have occurred where the bear has been the aggressor, and where the man had to defend himself as best he could. One word parenthetically about the great Polar or ice bear. Until I had first seen the carcass of one lying flensed on the ice, I could not have believed that any wild beast could attain such gigantic proportions. The footprints of this monster were as large as an ordinary pair of kitchen bellows. The pastern, or ankle, seemed as wide as the paw, and as near as I could guess about thirty inches round; the forearms and hind-legs were of tremendous strength; so too were the shoulders and loin. An animal like this with one stroke can slay the largest seal in Greenland, and could serve the biggest lion that ever roared in an African jungle precisely the same. As to the voice, it is hardly so fearful as the lion's, but heard, as I heard it one night on the pack, within two yards of me, it is sufficiently appalling, to say the least of it. It is a sort of half-cough, half roar. As trapper Seth described it after his adventure at the cave in Jan Mayen, when little Freezing Powders so nearly lost the number of his mess: "The roar of a healthy Greenland bear, when the owner of it is so close ye could kick him, is a kind o' confusin'; it shakes your innards considerable, and makes ye think the critter has swallowed the thick end of a thunderstorm and is tryin' to work it up again." An elephant--a tusker--is no joke when he loses his temper and comes after you, nor is a lion or tiger when he thinks he can do you a mischief, but I would rather face either of them twice over than I would an ice bear with his back up, if I myself were unarmed. I was very young, by the way, when I found myself confronted with my first Greenland bear, but I well remember both what my thoughts were at the time, and what were my feelings. The truth is, I had made the captain promise he would give me a chance to go and fight one of these terrible giants of the ice. He did so in good time, and I confess that as the boat neared the pack--I being in the bows--I suddenly discovered that I was not half so brave as I had previously imagined. The bear did not run away, as I fear I had almost wished that he would. He simply waited, looking at us somewhat inquiringly; and when I landed, all alone, mind you, he came along to meet me, and inquire what I wanted, and I hated him while I envied him for his coolness. He seemed to say, "Why, you're only a boy; just wait till I get alongside you, and I'll show you how I treat boys. I'll turn you inside out." I had to wait. Wild horses couldn't have tom me from the spot, where I had dropped on one knee. Oh! I can assure you, I would have liked, well enough, to run away, but with all the ship's crew looking at me--? No; death rather than live a coward. On came Bruin, much to my disgust; I would have felt as brave as a lion had he only shown me his heels. Then these questions chased each other through my brain: "How near will I let the beggar come before I fire? Shall I hit him on the head, or shoot him in the chest? and, What shall I do if the rifle misses fire?" Bruin still advanced at a shambling trot. Then I brought my rifle to the shoulder and took aim, glancing along the glimmering barrel till I could only see the _vise_ at the end, and immediately beyond that Bruin's yellow breast. Bang, bang! I dare say it really was myself who pulled those two triggers of my double-barrelled rifle, but at the time I felt as if I had nothing at all to do with it. Then there was a shout from the boat, and a shout from the ship. Bruin was dead, and I was the hero; but somehow I did not feel that I deserved the praise which I received. Yet, after all, I daresay I only felt in this encounter as most boys would have felt. Doing anything dangerous is always nasty at first, but when one gains confidence in himself, then is the time one knows-- "That strange joy that warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel." CHAPTER NINETEEN. "SILAS GRIG, HIS YARN"--THE WHITE WHALE--AFLOAT ON AN ICEBERG--A DREARY JOURNEY--BEAR ADVENTURES--"THE SEALS! THE SEALS!" There was only one subject in the whole world that Silas Grig was thoroughly conversant with, and that was the manners and customs of his friends the seals. Had you started talking upon either politics or science, or the state of Europe or Ireland, Silas would have become silent at once. He would have retired within himself; his soul, so to speak, would have gone indoors, and not come out again until you had done. Such was Silas; and he confessed frankly that he had never sung a song nor made a speech in his lifetime. He was a perfect enthusiast while talking about the natural family _Phocidae_. No naturalist in the world knew half so much about them as Silas. On the evening of the day in which he had chosen his men from the crew of the _Arrandoon_, he was pronounced by both Ralph and Rory to be in fine form. He was full of anecdote, and even tales of adventure, so our heroes allowed him to talk, and indeed encouraged him to do so. "What!" he cried, his honest, fear-nothing face lighting up with smiles as he eyed Rory across the table after dinner. "Spin you a yarn, d'ye say? ah! boy, and you'll excuse me calling ye a boy. Silas never could tell a story, and I don't suppose he ever had an adventure as signified much to you in his life." "Never mind," insisted Rory, "you tell us something, and I'll play you that old tune you so dearly love." "Ah! but," said Silas, "if my matie were only here; now you wouldn't think, gentlemen,"--here he glanced round the table as seriously as if contradiction were most unlikely--"you wouldn't think that a fellow like that, with such an ugly chunk of a head, had any sentiment; but he has, though, and he owns the prettiest wife and the smartest family in all Peterhead." "Look here," cried Rory, "be quiet about your matie. Sure this is what we're waiting for." He exhibited the doctor's slate as he spoke, and on the back thereof, behold! in large letters, the words,-- "Silas Grig, His Yarn." Silas laughed till his sides ached, his eyes watered, the chair creaked, and the rafters rang. It was a pleasant sight to see. After this he lit up a huge meerschaum pipe, "hoping there was no offence," cleared his throat, turning his face upwards at the pendent compass, as if seeking help there. Then he began,-- "Of the earlier days of Silas Grig little need be said. I daresay he was no better and no worse than other boys. He nearly plagued the life out of his grandmother, and drove three maiden aunts to the verge of distraction, and made any amount of work for the tailor and the shoemaker; and when they couldn't stand him any longer at home they sent him to school, reminding the teacher ere they left him there, that to spare the rod was to spoil the child. The teacher didn't forget that; he whipped me three times a day, drilled me through the English grammar and Grey's arithmetic, then flogged me into Caesar; and when I translated the passage, `Caesar triduas vias fecit' [Caesar made three days' journey.] into `Caesar made three roads,' the dominie gave me such a dressing that I followed Caesar's example--I made three days' journey due north, and never returned to my maiden aunts, nor the dominie either. "I found myself now in the heart of what I then took to be a big town, for I wasn't very big myself, you know. It was only Peterhead, after all. I marched boldly down to the docks, and on board a great raking-masted Greenlandman. "`What use would you be?' inquired the skipper when I told him what I wanted. `Bless me!' he added, `you ain't any size at all; the bears would eat you up.' "`I'll have him,' said the doctor, `if you'll let me, captain. He can be my lob-lolly-boy and body-guard.' "And so, gentlemen, from that day to this I've been a sailor o' the northern seas; and there isn't much to be seen in these regions that old Silas hasn't come across, from Baffin's Bay to Kamschatka, from lonely Spitzbergen in the north to Iceland in the south." "And so you've been in Spitzbergen, have you?" said McBain. "Why, bless you, yes," replied Silas. "It was there I was in at the death of the great white whale, and a sad day it was for us, I can tell you. He was white with age. [Very old whales are sometimes found in the far northern seas covered with a kind of parasite, which gives them a white or light-grey appearance.] I should think he couldn't have been much under a hundred years old, and just as sly and wary as a hundred and forty foxes all rolled in to one. Many and many a boat had tried to catch him, but he had a way of diving and doubling to avoid the harpoons that some believed was rather more than natural; then when you thought he was miles and miles away, pop! up he would come among the very midst of the boats, and a funny thing it would be if he didn't knock one o' them to smithereens with that tail o' his. We killed him though. Our skipper himself speared him, but it was hours after that before he died. And before he died terrible was the revenge he took on his destroyers. Gentlemen, Silas Grig has no language in his vocabulary to describe the vicious wrath of that sea-demon. I think I see him now as he rose to the surface, blowing blood and spray, snorting with fury, with fire seeming to flash out of his little evil eyes. We in the boats thought our last hour had come, as he ploughed down through us. But our hearts stood still with fear and dread when he dashed past us and made for the ship itself. Onward with lightning speed went the brute, leaving a wake astern such as a man-o'-war might have left. "Our craft--a small brig--was lying with her foreyard aback. She looked as if sleeping on the gently rippling water. No one spoke in the boats, every eye was fixed on our ship--our home, and on the fearful monster advancing to attack her. We could see that the people left on the brig knew the whole extent of their danger, for they seemed all on deck. There were wild shouts, and guns were fired, but nothing availed to avert the catastrophe. Then, oh! the sad, despairing cry that rose to heaven from that doomed ship! It seems to ring in my ears whenever I think of it. The whale struck her right amidships, and she went over and down at once. No soul was saved; and when we rode up to the spot, there was nothing to be seen, and nothing to be heard, save the body of the great white whale, dead, on his side, with the waves lap-lapping against it as it slowly rose and fell. "For six long, cold, weary days we lived in the open boats, feeding on the flesh of the seals we happened to kill, and quenching our thirst with the snow we gathered from the ice. When we had almost despaired of being saved, for we were far to the nor'ard and east of the usual fishing-grounds, a Norwegian walrus-hunter picked us up, and landed us at last, in midwinter, on a dreary shore in Lapland. But, gentlemen, that is nothing to what we, the survivors of the ill-fated _Jonathan Grey_, suffered some years afterwards. The ship got `in the nips' coming out o' the pack. We were crushed just as you might crash an egg-shell between your fingers. Thirty of us embarked upon the very iceberg that had caused our ruin, with two casks of biscuit, and hardly clothes enough to cover us. Then it came on to blow, and, huddled together in the centre of the berg, we were blown out to sea, trying in vain to keep each other warm, and defend ourselves from the cruel cold seas that dashed over us, heavier than lead, more remorseless than the grave. Fifteen days were we on the berg, and every day some one dropped off, ay, and the living seemed to envy the quiet, calm sleep of the dead. A sail in sight at last; and how many of us, think you, were alive to see it? Three I only three! It was a year after this before I was fit to brave the Arctic seas again, and meanwhile I had met my Peggy--my little wife that is. Some difference, you will allow, gentlemen, between Silas Grig afloat on a solitary iceberg in a troubled northern sea, and Silas strolling on the top of a breezy cliff in the bright moonlight of midsummer, with Peggy on his arm, and just as happy as the sea-birds. "Were these the only times that I was cast away? No--for I lost my ship by fire once in the northern ice of Western Greenland, and it was two whole years before either myself or my messmates placed foot again on British soil. There wasn't a ship anywhere near us, and the nearest settlement was a colony of transported Danes, that lived about three hundred miles south of us. We saved all we could from the burning barque, and that was little enough; then we constructed rough sledges, and tied our food and chattels thereon, and set out upon our long, dreary march. It took us well-nigh two months to accomplish our journey, for the way was a rough one, and the region was wild and desolate in the extreme. It was late in autumn, and the sun shone by day, but his beams were sadly shorn by the falling snow. Five suns in all we could count at times, though four, you know, were merely mirages. We did not all reach the colony; indeed, many succumbed to the fatigue of the march, to frost-bites, and to scurvy; and we laid them to rest in hastily-dug graves, and the snow was their only winding-sheet. It was more than a year before we found a passage back to our own country, and kind though the poor people all were to us, the governor included, we had to rough it, I can tell you. But you see, sailors who choose the Arctic Seas as their cruising-grounds must expect to suffer at times. "Bears, did you say? Thousands! I've counted as many as fifty at one time on the ice, and I've had a few encounters with them too, myself, though I've known those that have had more. I've known men fight them single-handed, and come off scot-free, leaving Bruin dead on the ice. Dickie McInlay fought a bear with a seal-club. You may be sure the duel wasn't of his own proposing; but coming across the ice one day all alone, he rounded the corner of a hummock, and lo! and behold! there was a monstrous bear washing the blood off his chops after eating a seal. "`Ho! ho!' roared the bear. `I have dined, but you'll come in handy for dessert. Oho! Waugh, O! oh!' "Dick was a little bit of a fellow, but his biceps was as big, round, and just as hard as a hawser. "`If you come an inch nearer me,' cried Dickie, quite undaunted, `it'll be a dear day's work for ye, Mr Bruin.' "The bear crouched for a spring. He never did spring, though; but Dickie did; and he will tell you to this day that he never could understand how he managed to clear the space betwixt himself and the bear so speedily. Then there was a dull thud; Bruin never lifted head again, for the iron of Dickie's club was planted deep into his brain. "The doctor here," continued Silas, "can tell you what a terribly sharp and deadly weapon of offence a large amputating knife would prove, in the hands of a powerful man, against any animal that ever lived. But the doctor I don't think would care to attack a bear with one." "Indeed, no," said Sandy; "I would rather be excused." "But the surgeon of the _North Star_ did," said Silas. "I was witness myself to the awful encounter. But the poor surgeon was mad at the time; he had given way to the rum-fever--rum-fiend it should be called. With his knife in his hand he wandered off and away all by himself over the pack. I saw the fight between the bear and him commence, and sent men at once to assist him. When they reached the scene of action they found the huge bear lying dead, stabbed in fifty places at least. The snow for yards around had been trampled down in the awful struggle, and was yellow and red with blood. The doctor lay beside the bear, apparently asleep. I need not tell you that he slept the sleep that knows no waking. The poor fellow's body was crushed to pulp. "Charles Manning, a spectioneer of the _Good Resolve_, was lying on his back on the sunny side of a hummock, snatching a five-minutes' rest, for it was sealing time, when a bear crept up behind him, more stealthily than any cat could have done. He drew his paw upwards along the poor fellow's body. Only once, mind you, but he left him a mere empty shell." [The author is relating facts; names only are concealed.] "Ah! but, gentlemen, you should have seen a two-mile run I had not five years ago from a bear. Silas himself wouldn't have believed that Silas could have done the distance in double the time. He was coming home all by himself, when he burst his rifle firing at a seal, and just at that moment up popped a bear. "`All alone, are you, Silas?' Bruin seemed to say. "`Yes,' replied Silas, moving off; `and I don't want your company either. I know my way, thank you.' "`Oh, I daresay you do!' says the bear. `But it will only be friendly like if I see you home. Wait a bit.' "`Never a wait!' said Silas; and so the race began. "Of course they saw it from the ship, and sent men to meet me and settle Bruin. Puffed? I should think I was! I lay on my face for five minutes, with no more breath in my old bellows than there is in a dead badger?" "You've seen the sea-lion, I suppose, Captain Grig?" said Allan. "I have that!" replied Silas, "and the sea-bear, too, and I don't know which of the two I'd rather meet on the top of a berg, for they are vicious brutes both." "I've read some very interesting accounts of them," said Allan, "in the encyclopaedias." "So have I," laughed old Silas, "written by men who had never seen them out of the Brighton Aquarium. Pardon me, but you cannot study nature from books." "Do you know the _Stemmatopus cristatus_?" inquired Rory. "What ship, my boy?" said Silas, with one hand behind his ear; "I didn't catch the name o' the craft." "It isn't a ship," said Rory, smiling; "it is a great black seal, with a thing like a kettle-pot over his head." "Oho!" cried Silas; "now I know. You mean the bladder-nose. Ay, lad! and a dangerous monster he is. A Greenland sailor would almost as soon face a bear as fight one of those brutes single-handed." "But the books tell us," said Rory, "that, when surprised by the hunter, they weep copiously." "Bother such books!" said Silas. "What? a bladder-nose weep! Crocodile's tears, then, lad! Why, gentlemen, this monstrous seal is more fierce than any other I know. When once he gets his back up and erects that kettle-pot o' his, and turns round to see who is coming, stand clear, that's what Silas says, for he means mischief, and he's as willing to take his death as any terrier dog that ever barked. I would like to see some o' those cyclopaedia-building chaps face to face with a healthy bladder-nose on a bit o' bay ice. I think I know which o' them would do the weeping part of the business." "Down south here," said McBain--"if we can call it south--the seals have their young on the ice, don't they?" "You're right, sir," said Silas. "And where do they go after that?" "Away back to the far, far north," said Silas. "We follow them up as far as we can. They live at the Pole." "Ah!" said McBain; "and that, Captain Grig, is in itself a proof that there must be open water around the Pole." "I haven't a doubt about it!" cried Silas; "and if you succeed in getting there you'll see land and water too, mountains and streams, and maybe a milder climate. Seals were never made to live down in the dark water; they have eyes and lungs, even, if they are amphibious. But look! look! look, men, look!" Silas started up from the table as he spoke, excitement expressed in every lineament of his face. He pointed to the port from which at present the _Canny Scotia_ was plainly visible, about half a mile off, on the weather quarter. The men could be seen crowding up the rattlings, and even manning the yards, and wildly waving their caps and arms in the air. Silas threw the port open wide. "Listen!" he cried. Our heroes held their breath, while over the water from the distant barque came the sound of many voices cheering. Then the _Arrandoon's_ rigging is manned, and glad shout after glad shout is sent them back. Next moment Stevenson rushed into the cabin. "The seals! the seals!" was all he could say, or rather gasp. "Are there many?" inquired several voices at once.--"Millions on millions!" cried the mate; "the whole pack is black with them as far as ever we can see from the mainmast head." CHAPTER TWENTY. SEAL-STALKING--A GLORIOUS DAY'S SPORT--PIPER PETER AND THE BEAR--A STRANGE DUET--THE SEAL-STALKERS' RETURN. It was about midnight on the 24th of April when the seals were sighted. Midnight, and the sun was low down on the horizon, but, for three long months, never more would it set or sink behind the sea of ice. The weather was bright, bracing, beautiful. Not a cloud in the sky, and hardly wind enough to let the ships get well in through the pack, towards the place where the seals lay as thick as bees, and all unconscious of their approaching fate. But the _Arrandoon_ got steam up, and commenced forcing her way through the closely packed yet loosely floating bergs, leaving behind her a wake of clear water, which made it easy work for the _Scotia_ and the saucy little "two-stick yacht" to follow her example. My young reader must dismiss from his mind the idea of tall, mountainous, pinnacled icebergs, like those he sees in common engravings. The ice was in heavy pieces, it is true, from forty to sixty or seventy feet square, and probably six feet out of water, with hummocks here and there, and piles of bay ice that looked like packs of gigantic cards, but so flat and low upon the whole, that from the masthead a stretch of snow-clad ice could be seen, spreading westwards and north for many and many a mile. When even the power of steam failed to force the _Arrandoon_ farther into the pack, the ships were stopped, fires were banked and sails were clewed, and all hands prepared for instant action. The men girt their knives and steels around them, and threw their "Jowrie-tows" across their broad shoulders, and the officers, dressed in their sealing costume, seized their rifles and shot-belts. Next moment the bo's'n's shrill pipe sounded out in the still air, and the order was shouted,-- "All hands over the side." In five minutes more the ships were apparently deserted. You wouldn't have heard a sound on board, for few were left but stewards and cooks; while little boy Freezing Powders and his wonderful cockatoo had it all to themselves down in the saloon of the great steamship. The boy was bending down beside his favourite in the corner. "What's the row? What's the row? What's the row?" the bird was saying. "I don't know nuffin' more nor you do, Cockie," was the boy's reply; "but it strikes dis chile dat dey have all taken leave of der senses, ebery moder's son of dem. And de captain he have gone up into de crow's-nest, which looks for all de world like a big barrel of treacle, Cockie, and he have shut hisself in der, and nuffin' does he do but wave a long stick wid a black ball at de end of it. [The fan with which Greenland captains guide their men in the direction of the seals.] Dat is all de knows; but oh! Cockie, don't you take such drefful big mouf-fuls o' hemp. Supposin' anyting happen to you, Cockie, den I hab nobody to talk to dat fully understand dis chile." The _Canny Scotia_ was moored to the ice so close to the _Arrandoon_ that the captains of the respective ships could maintain a conversation without stressing their lungs to any very great extent. Talking thus, each in his own crow's-nest, they looked for all the world like a couple of chimney-sweeps conversing together from rival chimneys. The cooks were not idle in the galleys, they were busy boiling hams and huge joints of beef, and these, when cooked, were taken on deck; for sealing is hungry work, and every time a man brings a drag to the vessel's side he helps himself to a lordly slice and a biscuit. By-and-by the draggers began to drop in fast enough, each one hauling an immense skin with the fat or blubber attached; and these skins were all hoisted on board the _Scotia_, for all hands were working for Silas. But our heroes had the sport, and, taking it all in all, I do not think there is any sport in the world to compare to that of seal-stalking. Without any of the cowardliness of battue shooting, in which the poor surrounded animals are helpless, and cruelly and mercilessly slain, you have far more excitement, and the sport is not unattended with danger. To be a good seal-stalker you need the limbs of an athlete, the eye of an excellent marksman, and all the stealth and cunning of a tabby cat or a Coromanche Indian. If your nerves are not well strung, or your muscles not like iron, you may fail to leap across the lane of dark water that separates piece from piece; if you do fail and are not speedily helped out, the current may drag you beneath the bergs, or those dreadful sharks, that seldom are absent where blood is being spilled on the sea of ice, may seize and pull you down to a fearful death; if you are not a good shot, your seals will get away, for your bullet _must_ pierce either neck or head; and, lastly, if you are not cunning, if you do not stalk with stealth, your seals will escape with the speed of lightning. On warm, sunny days the seals lie close and sleep soundly, but they always have their sentries set. Kill the sentry, and many others are at your mercy; miss him, or merely wound him, and he gives the alarm _instanter_, and all the rest jump helter-skelter into the sea, according you a beautiful view of their tail-ends, which you don't find very advantageous in the way of making a bag. A good sealer, like a good skirmisher, takes advantage of every bit of cover, and many a death-blow is dealt from the shelter of a lump of loose ice. The gunners to-day, as they usually do, went on after the seals in skirmishing order, in one long line, each taking a breadth of about seventy or one hundred yards. It was an hour past midnight before they left the ships. When it was nine in the morning there was a kind of general assembly of the riflemen to breakfast, behind a large square hummock of packed bay ice, and only the very oldest among them could believe that it was so late. [These strange hummocks, which resemble, as already stated, huge packs of cards, are formed of pieces of bay ice about a foot thick, which has been broken up between two bergs, and finally thrown up out of the water altogether. They form quite a characteristic feature of a North Greenland icescape.] Why, to our own particular heroes it seemed scarcely an hour since they had left their ship, so great is the excitement of seal-stalking. But Ralph and Rory and Allan had done so well, and had managed to lay so many splendid seals dead on every piece of ice, that they earned high encomiums from the mate of the _Canny Scotia_; and even the doctor hadn't shot amiss, and proud was he to be told so. "But, my dear sirs," said Sandy, "I'd like to know why a good surgeon shouldn't be a good sportsman. Don't you know that the great Liston himself was sometimes summoned to an operation at the hospital, just as he was mounting his horse to ride off to the hunt, arrayed in scarlet and cords?" "And what did he do?" asked Rory. "Pass the pie," said Ralph. "Why," continued the doctor, enthusiastically, "doffed his scarlet coat and donned an old gown, whipped off a leg in one minute ten and a half seconds, and was in the saddle again five minutes after that." "Brayvo!" cried Captain Cobb, "doctor, you're a brick, and if ever you come out to New Jersey, come and see Cobb, and I guess he'll give you a good time of it." "Ray," said Rory. "Well, Row," said Ray. "Your face and hands are begrimed with powder, and there is a kind of wolfish look about you that is worth studying. You look like a frozen-out blacksmith who hasn't a penny to buy a bit of peas-pudding or a morsel of soap." "I'm hungry, anyhow," said Ray. "How good of McBain to send such a jolly breakfast! But I say, Row, d'ye remember the proverb about Claudius? Well, don't you call my face and hands black till you've washed your own. You look like a chimney-sweep who has been out of work for a week, and got no food since the day before yesterday." "Well, well," says Row, "but 'deed in troth, my dear big boy, nobody can wonder at your being successful as a seal-stalker, for what with the colour of your face, and the urgency, so to speak, of the two eyes of you, and that big fur cap, why the seals take you for one o' themselves, a big bladder-nose." "Pass the ham," said Ray; "Allan, some more coffee, I begin to feel like a giant refreshed." "I do declare upon mine honour," said De Vere, "dat dis is de most glorious pignig [picnic] I ever have de pleasure to attend. But just you look at mine friend Seth, how funnily he do dress." "It may be a funny way," said Allan, "but it is a most effectual one; dear old trapper Seth has killed more seals this morning than any two of us." Seth was dressed from top to toe in young seals' skins, the hair outwards, with the exception of the cap, which was of darker fur, and a black patch on his back. They were not loose garments, they were almost as tight as a harlequin's; but when Seth drew his fur cap over his face and threw himself on the ice, and began wriggling along, his resemblance to a saddle-seal was so preposterous that everybody burst into a hearty laugh. "That's the way I gets so near them," said Seth, standing once more erect. "Look, look!" cried Rory, and every eye was turned in the direction in which he pointed; and there, in a pool of dark water not twenty yards away, a dozen beautiful heads, with round, wondering eyes, had popped up to gaze at them. It was a lovely sight, and never a rifle was lifted to shoot. Presently they disappeared, but on the mate of the _Scotia_ giving vent to a loud whistle, up came the heads again, and there they remained as long as the mate whistled, for of all wild creatures in the world that I have ever come across, the Greenland seal is the most inquisitive; and no doubt the experience of some of my old-boy readers who have been to the country is the same as my own. Onwards, steadily onwards, all that day went our sportsmen; they did not even assemble again for another meal, and at five of the clock they found themselves fully four miles from the place where the ships lay. The field of seals which they had attacked was some ten miles square, and although they had worked their way into it for miles, nevertheless when the flags were hoisted to recall them, at two bells in the first dog-watch, the field of seals still remained about ten miles square. This may seem strange, but is thus accounted for. Out of say twenty seals on each berg, fifteen at least would escape, and these swam away under the pack, and again took the ice on the far-off edge of the field of seals. It being somewhat too far to drag the skins to the ship, bings had been made on the ice during the latter part of the day, so that no dead seals should be left unflensed upon the ice. When they wended their way homewards at the end of this glorious day's shooting a broom was stuck besom-side up, on each bing, with the name of the ship on the handles. This is done with the view of preventing other ships from appropriating the skins. This is the custom of the country--one of the unwritten laws of the sea of ice. While the gunners and their merry men were yet a long way off from the ships, there came a hail from the crow's-nest of the _Arrandoon_, which, by the way, McBain had hardly left all the time. Peter had brought him up coffee and food, and he had danced in the interval to keep himself warm. "On deck there?" "Ay, ay, sir," roared Peter, looking up. "Is dinner all laid?" "Ay, sir, and the cook is waiting." "Well, on with the kilt, Peter, if you're not afraid of getting your hocks frozen, get the bagpipes, and go and meet the hunters." Down below dived Peter, and he was up again in what sailors call "a brace of shakes," arrayed in full Highland costume, with the bagpipes over his arm. No wonder the cockatoo cried,-- "De-ah me?" when he saw Peter, and added, "Such a to-do! such a to-do! such a to-do!" Now the bears had been rather numerous on the pack that day, just as the sharks were in the water. Doubtless the sharks found many a poor wounded seal to close their vengeful jaws upon, for they are either too cowardly or not swift enough to catch a healthy phoca; but the bears had behaved themselves unusually well. They had had plenty to eat, at all events, and seemed to know that the men at work on the ice were laying up a store of provisions for them that would last them all the summer, so they had made no attempt to attack them. But on their way back to the ship the doctor, who was striding on a little way in advance of the rest, startled a huge monster who was sunning himself behind a hummock. It would be difficult to say whether the bear or the doctor was the more startled; at all events the latter fired and missed, and the former made off, running in the direction of the ships. But he hadn't gone above half a mile when who should Bruin meet but Peter, coming swinging along with his bagpipes under his arm. Never a gun had Peter, and never a club--only the pipes. As soon as they saw each other they both stopped short. "I do declare," Bruin seemed to say to himself, "here is a man or something all alone. But what a strange dress! I never saw anybody dressed like that before. Never mind, he looks sweet and nice; I'll have a bit." "I do declare," said Peter to himself, "if that isn't a big lump of a bear coming along, and I haven't even a stone to throw at him. Whatever shall I do at all, at all? Och! and och! this is the end of me now, at last. Sure enough it is marching to my own funeral I've been all the time, instead of going to meet the sportsmen. Oh! Peter, Peter! you'll never see your old mother in this world again, nor Scotland either. Yonder big bear is licking his chops to devour you. Yonder is the big hairy sarcophagus that'll soon contain your mangled remains. Who would have thought that Peter of Arrandoon would have lived to play his own coronach?" [Coronach--a funeral hymn or wail for the departed.] Hardly knowing what he did, poor Peter shouldered his pipes, and began to play a dreary, droning, yelling, squealing lament. At the same moment Bruin commenced to perform some of the queerest antics ever a bear tried before. He stretched first one leg, then another, and he stretched his neck and described circles in the air with his nose, keeping time with the music. Then he sat up entirely on one end. "Oh!" he seemed to say, "flesh and blood couldn't stand that; I must, yes, I must give vent to a Ho--o--o--o--o-- "And likewise to a Hoo--oo--oo--oo--oo!!" Reader, the voice of an asthmatical steam-engine, heard at midnight as it enters a tunnel, is a melancholy sound, so is the Welsh hooter, and the fog-horn of a Newcastle coal brig; but all combined, and sounding together, would be but a feeble imitation of the agonising notes of that great white bear as he sat on his haunches listening to Peter's pipes. Peter himself saw the effect his music had produced, and, like the "towsy tike" in _Tam o' Shanter_,-- "He hotched and blew wi' might and main." And, as if Peter had been a great magician, Bruin felt impelled to try to follow the notes, though I am bound to say he did not always keep even in the key-note. Surely such a duet was never heard before in this world. There was a small open space of water not far from the hummock on which the piper of the _Arrandoon_ had stationed himself; it was soon alive with the heads of hundreds of seals who had come up to listen; so, upon the whole, Peter had a most appreciative audience. But see yonder, is that a seal on the ice that is creeping closer and closer up behind the bear? Nay, for seals don't carry rifles; and now the newcomer levels his gun just for a moment, there is a puff of blue-white smoke, the bear springs high in the air, then falls prostrate on the snow. His ululations are over for ever and ay; the piper plays a merrier air, and advances with speed to meet old Seth and the rest of the sportsmen, who, glad as they are to see him alive, greet him with uproarious cheers and laughter. Then a procession is formed, and with Peter and his pipes striding on in front, thus do the seal-stalkers return to the _Arrandoon_. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. THE COMING FROST--SILAS WARNS THE "ARRANDOON" OF DANGER--FORGING THROUGH THE ICE--BESET--A STRANGE AND ALARMING ACCIDENT. So willingly and merrily worked all hands on the ice, that in less than three days the _Canny Scotia_ was almost a full, though by no means a bumper ship, and poor Silas began to see visions of future happiness in his mind's eye, when he should return to his native land and complete the joy of his family. Unfortunately, however, his good fortune did not last for the present. How seldom, indeed, good luck does last in this world of ours! One day, towards midnight, the sky apparently assumed a brighter blue. This seemed to concern Silas considerably. The good man was walking the deck at the time with his inseparable companion the first mate, neither of whom ever appeared now to court sleep or rest. "Matie," said Silas, pointing skywards, "do you see any difference in the colour yonder?" "That do I!" replied the mate. "And hasn't it got much colder?" "Well, both of us have been walking," the chief officer returned, "at the rate of several knots, just to keep the dear life in us, and I never saw you, sir, with your hands so deep in your pockets before." Down rushed the captain to consult his glass; he was speedily up again, however. "It is just as I thought," he said. "Now come up into the nest with me; there's room for both of us. Look!" he added, as soon as they had reached their barrel of observation, "the rascals know what is coming. They are taking the water, and before ten minutes there won't be a seal with his nose on that bit of pack. Heigho, matie! heigho! that is just like my luck. If I'd been born a tailor, every man would have been born a Highlander, and made his own kilts. But hi! up, matie, Silas doesn't mean to let his heart down yet for a bit. A black frost is on the wing. There is no help for that, but the _Arrandoon's_ people don't seem to know it. I must off over and tell them;" and even as he spoke Silas began descending the Jacob's ladder. "Call all hands!" he cried, as he disappeared over the side; "we must work her round as long as the pieces are anything loose-like." It was not a long journey to the big sister ship, and the sturdy legs of this ancient mariner would soon get him there. But he would not wait till alongside; he needs must hail her while still many yards from her dark and stately sides. "What ho, there!" he bawled. "_Arrandoon_ ahoy!" That voice of his was a wonderful one. It might have awakened the dead; it was like a ten-horse power speaking-trumpet lined with the roughest emery-paper. Seals heard it far down beneath the ice, and came to the surface to listen and to marvel. A great bear was sitting not twenty yards from Silas. He thought he should like to eat Silas, but he could not swallow that voice, so he went across the ice instead. Then the voice rolled in over the vessel's bulwarks, startled the officer on duty, and went ringing down below through the state-rooms, causing our sleeping heroes to tumble out of their bunks with double-quick speed, even the usually late and lazy Ralph evincing more celerity than ever he had done in his life before. They met, rubbing their eyes and looking cold and foolish, all in a knot in the saloon. Cold and foolish, and a little bit frightened as well, for the words of Silas sounded terribly like "the _Arrandoon_ on fire!" Not a bit of it, for there came the hail again, and distinct enough this time. "_Arrandoon_ ahoy! Is everybody dead on board?" "What _is_ the matter?" cried McBain, as soon as he got on deck, dressed as he was in the garments of night. "Black frost, Captain McBain," answered Silas, springing up the side, "and you'll soon find that matter enough, or my name ain't Grig, nor my luck like a bad wind, always veering in the wrong direction. The seals are gone, sir--every mother's son o' them! My advice is--but, dear me, gentlemen! go below and rig out. Why, here's four more of you! That ain't the raiment for a black frost! You look like five candidates for a choking good influenza!" This first bit of advice being taken in good part, "Now," continued Silas, "your next best holt, Captain McBain, will be to get up steam, and get her head pointed away for the blue water, else there is no saying we may not leave our bones here." "Ah!" exclaimed McBain, "we've no wish to do that. And here comes our worthy engineer. The old question, chief--How soon can you get us under way?" "With the American hams, sir," was the quiet reply, "in about twenty minutes; with a morsel of nice blubber that I laid in especially for the purpose of emergencies, in far less time than that." "Thanks!" said McBain, smiling; "use anything, but don't lose time." The ships lay far from the open sea. They had been "rove" a long way in through the pack, to get close to the seals, but, independently of that, floating streams of ice, one after another, had joined the outer edge of this immense field of bergs, placing them at a greater distance from the welcome water. Steam was speedily roaring, and ready for its work. Then, not without considerable difficulty, the vessel was put about, and the voyage seaward was commenced. Slow and tedious this voyage was bound to be, for there was so little wind it was useless to shake the sails loose, so the duty of towing her consorts devolved upon the _Arrandoon_. Instead of remaining on his own ship, Silas Grig came on board the steamer, where his services as iceman were fully appreciated. As yet the frost had made no appreciable difference to the solidity of the pack; a very gentle swell was moving the pieces--a swell that rolled in from seaward, causing the whole scene around to look like a tract of snow-clad land, acted on by the giant force of an earthquake. Forging ahead through such ice, even by the aid of steam, is hard, slow work; and, assisted as the _Arrandoon_ was by men walking in front of her and pushing on the bergs with long poles, hardly could she make a headway of half a mile an hour, and there were twenty good miles to traverse! It was a weary task, but the men bent their backs cheerfully to it, as British sailors ever do to a duty that has to be performed. [Light lie the earth on the breast of the gallant Captain Brownrigg, R.N., and green be the grass on his grave. My young readers know the story; it is such stories as his they ought to read; such men as he ought to be enshrined in their memory. Betrayed by treacherous Arabs, with a mere handful of men he fought their powerful dhow and guns; and even when hope itself had fled he made no attempt to escape, but fought on and fought on, till he fell pierced with twenty wounds. He was a heroic sailor, and _he was doing his duty_!] Even had it been possible to keep up the men's strength, forty hours must have elapsed ere the _Arrandoon_ would be rising and falling on blue water. But many hours had not gone by ere the men got a rest they little cared for--for down went the swell, the motion among the bergs was stilled, and frost began its work of welding them together. "Just like my luck, now, isn't it?" said Silas, when he found the ship could not be budged another inch, and was quite surrounded by heavy ice. "I don't believe in luck," said Captain McBain; "and, after all, things might have turned out even worse than they have." "Oh!" said Silas, "I'm not the man to grumble or growl. We are comfortable and jolly, and we have plenty to eat." "We won't have much sport, though," said Rory, with a sigh, "if we have to remain here long, for the bears will follow the seals, won't they?" "That they will," replied Silas, "and small blame to them; it is exactly what I should like to do myself." "Well, you can, you know," said McBain, laughing. "We have a splendid balloon. De Vere will take you for a fly I'm sure, if you'll ask him." "What! trust myself up in the clouds!" cried Silas; "thank you very much for the offer, but if ill-luck has kept following my footsteps all my life, ill-luck would be sure to follow me if I attempted any aerial flights, and I'd come down by the run." "Well, we're fairly beset, anyhow," said Rory, "and I daresay we'll have to try to make the best of it." So guns were placed disconsolately ill the racks, as soon as the terrible black frost had quite set in, or if they were taken out when a walk was determined on, it was only for fashion's sake, and for the fear that an occasional bear might be met with. But it was good fun breaking bottles with rifle bullets, and good practice as well. As the days went on, and there were no signs of the pack breaking up, a number of books were taken down to be perused, much time was spent in playing piano or violin, or both together, while after dinner the hours were devoted to talking. Many a racy yarn was told by Cobb, many an adventure by Seth, and many a queer experience by Silas Grig, and duly appreciated, too. So the evenings did not seem long, whatever the days did. Said Silas one morning to McBain, as they stood together leaning on the bulwarks. "I don't quite like the look of that ice, captain; it is precious big, and if it came on to press a bit, why, it would go clean through the ribs of us, strong though our good ships are. And that cockle-shell of Cobb's would be the very first to go down to the bottom." "Or up to the top," suggested McBain. "What?" laughed Silas; "would you clap your balloon top of her, and lift her out like?" "No, not that; but we could hoist her high and dry on top of the ice easily enough." "Well, I declare," cried Silas, clapping one brawny hand on his knee, "that is a glorious idea. And an old iceman like me to never think of it!" Then Silas's face fell, as he said,-- "Ah! but you couldn't hoist me up too. The _Canny Scotia_ would go down; that would be more of my luck." "Well, but I've thought of a plan. I have torpedoes on board. I'll have a go at this ice, anyhow." "Make a kind of harbour, you mean?" inquired Silas. "That's it," was the reply. "But," said Silas, still somewhat dubious, "you know the currents run like mill-streams in under the ice. Well, suppose your torpedoes were to be floated in under my ship, and went bursting off there?" "Well, your ship would be hoisted," replied McBain; "that would be all." "Ay!" said Silas, "that would be all; that would end all the luck, good or bad." "But there is no fear of any such accident. And now let us just have a try at it." Blowing up icebergs with torpedoes is by no means difficult, when you know how to do it, but sometimes the current will shift the guiding-pole or rope, and were it to get under the stern of the ship itself, it would make it awkward for the Arctic explorers. In the present instance everything went well, and berg after berg succumbed to the force of the gun-cotton, until the last, when, by some mismanagement, one torpedo was shifted right under a piece of ice on which stood, tools in hand, about ten men, besides Silas, Rory, and Captain McBain himself. Of course it was not likely that boy Rory was going to be far away when any fun was going on, so that is why he happened to be on top of this identical berg when the blowing-up took place. And here is precisely what was seen by disinterested bystanders--a smother of snow and water and ice, mixed, rising in shape of a rounded column over ten feet high, and, dimly visible in the misty midst thereof, a minglement of hands and heads and arms and legs. The sound accompanying the columnar rising was something between a puff and a thud; I cannot better describe it. Then there was a sudden collapse, and next moment the arms and the legs and the hands and the heads were all seen sprawling and struggling in the frothy, seething water below. It simply and purely looked as if they were all being boiled alive in a huge cauldron. But the strangest part of the story is to come. With the exception of a few trifling braises, not one of those who were thus surprised by so sudden a rise in the world was a bit the worse. The ducking in the cold sea was certainly far from pleasant, but dry clothes and hot coffee soon put that to rights, and they came up smiling again. Freezing Powders, who was on deck at the time of the accident, was dreadfully frightened, and ran down below instantly to report matters to his favourite. "What's the row? What's the row? What's the row?" cried the bird as the boy entered the saloon. "Don't talk so fast, Cockie, and I'll tell you," said Freezing Powders, sinking down on the deck with one arm on the cage. "I tink I'se all right at present, though my breaf is all frightened out of my body, and I must look 'bout as pale as you, Cockie." "De-ah me!" said Cockie. "But don't hang by de legs, Cockie. When you wants a mouf-ful of hemp just hop down for it, else de blood all run to your poor head, den you die in a fit?" "Poor de-ah Cockie! Pretty old Cockie!" said the bird, in mournful tones. "And now I got my breaf again, I try to 'splain to you what am de row. De drefful world round de ship is all white, Cockie, and to-day dey has commenced blowing it up, and jus' now, Cockie, dey has commenced to blow derselves up?" "De-ah me!" from Cockie. "Dat am quite true, Cockie, and de heads and de legs am flying about in all directions! It is too drefful to behold!" "Now then, young Roley Poley!" cried Peter, entering at that moment, "toddle away forward for some boiling-hot coffee, and run quicker than ever you ran in your life." "I'se off like a bird!" said Freezing Powders, darting out of the cabin as if there had been a boot after him. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. CAPTAIN COBB RETIRES--MORE TORPEDOING--THE GREAT ICE-HOLE--STRANGE SPORT--THE TERRIBLE ZUGAENA--THE DEATH STRUGGLE. Both Captain McBain and Silas Grig felt more easy in their minds when they had got fairly rid of the green-rooted monsters of icebergs that had lain so placidly yet so threateningly alongside their respective ships. And oh! by the way, how very calm, harmless, and gentle bergs like these _can_ look, when there is no disturbing element beneath them, their snow-clad tops asleep and glistening in the sunlight; but I have seen them angry, grinding and crashing together, each upheaval representing a height of from fifteen to thirty feet; each upheaval representing a strength hydraulic equal in force to the might of the great ocean itself. Our heroes had taken time by the forelock. They had "guncottoned the bergs," as Captain Cobb termed it, and lay for the time being in square ice-locked harbours, and could bid defiance to almost any ordinary occurrence, whether gale of wind in the pack or swell from the distant sea. As the days went by the black frost seemed only to increase in severity. "How long d'ye think," said Captain Cobb, one morning, while at breakfast in the _Arrandoon_--"how long d'ye think this state of affairs'll last? 'cause, mind ye, I begin to feel a kind o' riled already." McBain looked inquiringly at Silas. "If it's asking me you are," said the latter, "I makes answer and says, it may be for months, but it can't be for ever." "But the frost isn't likely to go for a week, is it now?" "That it won't, worse luck," was the reply. "Well, then, gentlemen," said Cobb, "this child is going off, straight away out o' here back to Jan Mayen." "Back to Jan Mayen?" "Back to Jan Mayen!" everybody said, or seemed to say, in one breath. "I reckon ye heard aright," said the imperturbable Yankee. "It's just like this, ye see," he continued. "I'm paid by my employers to make observations on the old island down yonder; stopping here ain't taking sights, but it's taking the company's dollars for nothing, so if you'll--either o' ye--lend me a hand or two, and promise to hoist up Cobb's cockle-shell in the event of a squeeze, Cobb himself is off home, 'tain't mor'n fifty miles." The journey was a dangerous one, nobody knew that better than the bold American himself, and it was a true sense of duty to his employers that caused him to undertake it. But having once made up his mind to a thing, Cobb was not the man to be deterred from accomplishing it. So, with many a good wish for his safety, accompanied by only three men, he set out on his long journey over the snow. Rory, from the deck of the _Arrandoon_, and McBain from the nest, watched them as long as they were in sight. Indeed, I am not at all sure that Rory did not feel a little sorry he had not asked leave to accompany them, so fond was he of adventure in every shape and form. It was a relief for him--and not for him alone--when McBain, in order to break the monotony of existence, and by way of doing something, proposed trying the effects of his torpedoes again at some distance from the ship, and forming a great ice-hole. "Things will come up to breathe, and look about them, you know," he explained, "and then we may get some sport, and Silas may bag a seal or two." Our heroes were overjoyed when the working party was called away. At last there was a prospect of doing something, and seeing an animal of some kind, for not only the bears, but the very birds had deserted them. Sometimes, indeed, a solitary snowbird would come flying around the ships. It would hover for awhile in the air, giving vent to many a peevish, mournful chirp, then fly away again. "No, no, no!" it seemed to say, "there is nothing good to eat down there--no raw flesh, no blood--and so I'm off again to the distant sealing ground, where the yellow bear prowls, and the snow is red with blood." A few hours' work with torpedoes, picks, and ice-saws, was enough to form an opening big enough for the purpose required. The broken pieces were either "landed high and dry," or sunk beneath the pack, and so the work was completed. "It'll entail a deal of trouble, gentlemen," said Dr McFlail, "to keep that hole clear with the temperature which we are at present enjoying-- or rather enduring." "There is that in the sea, doctor," said Silas, with a knowing nod, "which will save us the trouble." He wasn't wrong. Not an hour elapsed ere a few black heads, with great wondering eyes, appeared above the surface and peered around them, and blinked at the sun, and seemed to enjoy mightily a sniff of the fresh air and a blink of the daylight. "This is nice, now," they said, "and ever so much better than being down there in the dark--quite an oasis in the desert." Bang! bang! Two of them slowly sank to rise no more. "This won't do," said Allan; "it is only murder to shoot poor seals that we cannot land and make some good out off. What is to be done?" "Be quiet with ye!" said Rory. "Sure yonder is Seth himself, coming straight from the ship, in his suit of skins, and if he isn't up to some manoeuvre then my name isn't Roderick, that is all." Seth _was_ up to something; he had a coil of rope with him, and the nattiest little harpoon that ever was handled. "Fire away, gentlemen!" he said, lying down on the sunny side of a small hummock pretty close to the water's edge, "only don't hit the old trapper; he'd rather die in his bed if it be all the same to you." Undeterred by the fate that had befallen their companions, it was not long before other seals popped up to breathe. Our heroes were ready for them, and two again were killed, one being missed. Seth was ready for them, too. He sprang to his feet, and ere the smoke had melted in the thin air, one of the seals was neatly harpooned and dragged to the edge. Here it was gaffed, and lifted or pulled bodily on to the ice by help of Ralph's powerful arm. The harpoon was released, and before the other seal had time to sink it was served in precisely the same manner. The sport was exceedingly novel, and combined, as Rory said, "all the pleasures of shooting and fishing in one glorious whole." No work on natural history, so far as my reading goes, remarks upon the exceedingly great speed exhibited by the Greenland seal in his flight-- it is in reality a flight--through and beneath the water. I have often been astonished at the rapidity of their movements; so swiftly do they dart along that the eye can barely follow them for the moment or two they are visible. This power of swimming enables them to pursue their finny prey for many miles under an ice-pack; it doubtless also enables them to escape the fangs of their natural enemy, the great Greenland shark (_Scymnus borealis_), and on the present occasion it accounted for their appearance at the great breathing-hole made for them by the torpedoes and ice-saws of the _Arrandoon_. The water under the pack would be everywhere else as black and dark as midnight, but through this opening the sunshine would stream in straight and powerful rays, and not seals alone, but fishes and monsters of the deep of many kinds, would naturally come towards the light, as the salmon does to the glimmer from the torch of the Highland poacher. The sport obtained at the opening was not of a very exciting character on the first day, but next morn, to their joy, they found that a bear had been around, and had left the marks of his broad soles in the snow. Many more seals, too, came up to breathe, and more harpoons had to be requisitioned. Silas was once more in his glory at the prospect of adding a few more skins, and a few more tons of oil, to the cargo he had already shipped. Towards afternoon the fun grew fast and furious, and when Peter came in person to announce dinner, he could hardly get his officers to pay any heed to the summons. Even Cockie down in the saloon heard the noise, and must needs inquire, as he stretched his neck and fastened one bead of an eye on his little black master. "What's all the to-do about? What's all the to-do about?" "I don't know," was the reply of Freezing Powders. "I don't know no more nor you do, Cockie. I tinks dey has gone to blow derselves all to pieces again." Dinner was partaken of in a merrier mood that day than it had been for weeks. Silas was there, of course; in fact, he had become an honorary member of the _Arrandoon_ mess. "You see, Captain Grig," McBain had observed, "we must have you as much with as now as we can, for we soon go different roads, don't we?" "Ah! yes," replied Silas, with a bit of a sigh; "you go north; God send you safe back; and I go back to my little wife and large family." "Happy reunion, won't it be?" said Allan. The eyes of Silas sparkled, but his heart was too full of happy thoughts to say more than simply,-- "Yes." "Won't the green ginger fly?" said Rory. "I say, boys," Ralph put in, "this sort of thing positively gives a man a kind of an appetite." Rory looked at him with such a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that Ralph longed to pinch him. "Just as if ever you lost yours," said Rory. At this moment the sound of a rifle was heard, apparently close to the ship. "It's the trapper," cried Rory; "it's friend Seth. Sure enough I know the charming music of his long gun. Now, Ray, I'll wager my fiddle he has bagged a bear." Rory was right for once, and here is how it fell out. Several bears had that day scented the battle from afar, or were attracted by the noise of the malleys and gulls that were now wheeling around the ships in thousands. They stood aloof while shooting was going on, sitting on their haunches licking their chops, greedy, hungry, expectant; but as soon as the sportsmen went off to dine,-- "Now is our time," said one, "to get a bit of fresh meat." "Come on, then," cried another; "there are a hundred seals lying on the ice. Hurrah?" So down they came to the feast. They had not had such a treat for a whole day, and that is a long time for a bear to fast, and they made good use of their time, you may be sure, and so earnest were they, that they did not perceive a long, hairy creature that came creeping stealthily towards them. When at last one of them did observe this strange animal "with the tail of his eye," he said to himself,-- "Oh! it is only a tiny bit of a young seal, hunting for a lost mother, perhaps. Well, I'll have it presently by way of dessert." And almost immediately after, the sound that had startled our friends at _their_ dessert rang out in the clear, frosty air, and Bruin's head dropped never more to rise. His brother bears suddenly discovered they had eaten enough; anyhow, they remembered that it was always best to rise up from the table feeling that you could eat a little more, so they shambled away across the pack as fast as four legs could carry them. "Bravo, Seth, old boy," cried Rory and Allan, coming on the scene. Ralph only waited to finish some pastry, then he too joined them. "Why," said the latter, "it is the biggest bear we have seen yet." In true trapper fashion, Seth was already on his knees beside the enormous carcass, engaged with knife and fist and elbow, "working the rascal out of his jacket," as he called it, when Rory, who was not far from the edge of the water, started, or rather sprang back in horror. "Oh! Allan, Allan! Ray, Ray! look!" he cried. Well might he cry "look," for a more terrible or revolting apparition never raises head over the black waters of the Greenland ocean than the zugaena, or hammer-headed shark. The skull is in shape precisely what the name indicates, that of a gigantic hammer, with a great eye at each end, and the mouth beneath. This shark is not unfrequently met with in the northern seas, and he is just as fierce as he is fearful to behold. Allan and Ralph both saw the brute, and neither could repress a shudder. It appeared but for a few moments, then dived below again. Silas and McBain, coming up at the time, were told of the occurrence. "I know the vile beasts well," said Silas, "and they do say that they never appear in these seas without bringing a big slice o' ill-luck in their wake. That is unless you catches them, and sometimes that doesn't save the ship. When I was skipper o' the _Penelope_, and that is more than ten years ago, there wasn't a lazier chap in the crew than snuffy Sandy Foster. He wasn't a deal o' use down below, he did nothing on deck, and he never went aloft. He had two favourite positions: one was sitting before a joint of junk, with a knife in his hand; t'other was leaning against the bulwarks with a pipe in his mouth, and we never could make out which he liked best. "`Did ever you do anything clever in your life, Sandy?' I asked one day. "Sandy took his pipe out of his mouth and eyed the mainmast for fully half a minute. Then he brought his eyes round to my face, and said,-- "`Not that I can remember o', sir.' "`The first time, Sandy,' says I, `that you do anything clever, I'll give you a pair of the best canvas trousers in the ship.' "Sandy's eyes a kind of sparkled; I'd never seen them sparkle before. "`I'll win them,' said Sandy, `wait till ye see.' "And, indeed, gentlemen, I hadn't long to wait. One day the brig was dead before the wind under a crowd o' cloth, for there wasn't much wind, but a nasty rumble-tumble sea; there was no doubt, gentlemen, from the looks o' that sea, that we had just come through a gale o' wind, and there was evidence enough to go to jury on that there was another not far away. Well, it was just in the dusk o' the evening--we were pretty far south--that the cry got up,-- "`Man overboard.' "It was our bo's'n's boy, a lad of fourteen, who had gone by the run. Singing out to the mate to lay to, I ran forward, and if ever I forget the expression of the poor bo's'n's face as he wrung his hands and cried, `Oh, save my laddie! Oh, save my laddie!' my name will change to something else than Silas. "`I'll save him,' cried a voice behind me. Some one rushed past. There was a splash in the water next moment, and I had barely time to see it was Sandy. Before the boat reached the spot they were a quarter of a mile astern, but they were saved; they found the bo's'n's laddie riding `cockerty-coosie' on Sandy's shoulder, and Sandy spitting out the mouthfuls of salt water, laughing and crying,-- "`I've won the breeks! I've won the canvas breeks, boys!' "He had won them, and that right nobly, too. Well, after he had worn them for over a month, it became painfully evident even to Sandy that they sorely needed washing; but, woe is me! Sandy was too lazy to put a hand to them. But he thought of a plan, nevertheless, to save trouble. He steeped them in a soda ley, attached a strong line to them, and pitched them overboard to tow. "When, after two hours' towing, Sandy went to haul them up, great was his astonishment to find a great hammer-head spring half out of the water and seize them. Sandy had never seen so awful a monster before; he put it down as an evil spirit. "`Let go,' he roared; `let go my breeks, ye beast.' "Now, maybe, with those hooked teeth of his, the shark could not let go; anyhow, he did not. "`I dinna ken who ye are, or what ye are,' cried Sandy, `but ye'll no get my breeks. Ah! bide a wee.' "Luckily the dolphin-striker lay handy, Sandy made a grab at it, and next minute it was hard and fast in the hammer-head's neck. To see how that monster wriggled and fought, more like a fiend than a fish, when we got him on deck, would have--but look--look--r--" Seth had not been idle while his companions were talking. He had cut off choice pieces of blubber and thrown them into the sea; he had coiled his rope on the ice close by; then, harpoon in hand, he knelt ready to strike. Nor had he long to wait. The bait took, the bait was taken, the harpoon had left the trapper's hand and gone deep into the monster's body. I will not attempt to describe the scene that followed--it was a death-scene that no pen could do justice to--the wild struggle of the giant shark in the water, his mad and frantic motions ere clubbed to death on the ice, and his terrible appearance as he snapped his dreadful jaws at everything within reach; but here is a fact, strange and weird though it may read--fully half an hour after the creature seemed dead, and lying on its side, while our heroes stood silently round it, with the wild birds wheeling and screaming closely overhead, the zugaena suddenly threw itself on its stomach as if about to swim away. It was the last of its movements, and a mere spasmodic and painless one, though very distressing to witness. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. RORY'S REVERIE--SILAS ON THE SCYMNUS BOREALIS--THE BATTLE WITH THE SHARKS--RORY GETS IN FOR IT AGAIN--THROWN AMONG THE SHARKS. The ships still lay hard and fast in the ice-pack, many miles to the nor'ard and eastward of the Isle of Jan Mayen. There was as yet no sign of the frost giving way. Day after day the bay ice between the bergs got thicker and thicker, and the thermometer still stood steadily well down below zero. But the wind never blew, and there never was a speck of cloud in the brilliant sapphire sky, nor even haze itself to shear the sun of his beams; so the cold was hardly felt, and after a brisk walk or scamper over the ice our heroes felt so warm that they were in the habit of throwing themselves down on the snow on the southern side of a hummock of ice. Book in hand, Rory would sometimes lie thus for fully half an hour on a stretch. Not always reading, though; the fact of Rory's having a book in his hand was no proof that he was reading, for just as often he was dreaming; and I'll tell you a little secret-- there were a pair of beautiful eyes which were filled with tears when last he had seen them, there were two rosy lips that had quivered as they parted to breathe the word "good-bye." These, and a soft, small hand that had lain for a moment in his, haunted him by night and by day, and seemed ever present with him through all his wild adventures. Ah! but they didn't make him unhappy, though; no, but quite the reverse. He was reclining thus one day all by himself, about a quarter of a mile from his ship, when Ralph and McBain came gently up behind him, walking as silently as the crisp snow, that felt like powdered glass under their feet, would permit them. "Hullo! Rory," cried McBain, in a voice of thunder. Startled from his reverie, Rory sprang to his feet, and instinctively grasped his rifle. His friends laughed at him. "It is somewhat late to seize your rifle now, my boy," said McBain; "supposing now we'd been a bear, why, we would be eating you at this present moment." "Or making a mouse of you," added Ralph, "as the yellow bear did of poor Freezing Powders; and at this very minute you'd be-- "`Dancin' for de dear life Among de Greenland snow.'" "I was reading," said Rory, smiling, "that beautiful poem of Wordsworth, _We are seven_." "Wordsworth's _We are seven_?" cried Ralph, laughing. "Oh! Row, Row, you'll be the death of me some day. Since when did you learn to read with your book upside down?" "Had I now?" said Rory, with an amused look of candour. "In troth I daresay you are right." "But come on, Row, boy," continued Ralph, "luncheon is all ready, Peter is waiting, and after lunch Silas Grig is going to show as some fun." "What more malley-shooting?" asked Rory. "No, Row, boy," was the reply; "he is going to lead us forth to battle against the sharks." "Against the sharks!" exclaimed Rory, incredulous. "I'm not in fun, really," replied Ralph. "Silas tells us they are in shoals of thousands at present under us; that the sea swarms with them, some fifteen feet long, others nearer twenty." "Oh!" said Row; "this _is_ interesting. Come on; I'm ready." While the trio stroll leisurely shipwards over the snow, let me try to explain to my reader what Rory meant by malley-shooting, as taught them by Silas Grig. The term, or name, "malley," is that which is given by Greenlandmen to the Arctic gull. Although not so charming in plumage as the snowbird, it is nevertheless a very handsome bird, and has many queer ways of its own which are interesting to the naturalist, and which you do not find described in books. These gulls build their nests early in the season on the cliffs of Faroe and Shetland, and probably, though I have never found them, in sheltered caves of Jan Mayen and Western Greenland as well. Despite the extreme cold, they manage to bring forth and rear their young successfully, and are always ready to follow Greenland ships in immense flocks. Wherever work is going on, wherever the crack of the rifle is heard on the pack, wherever the snow is stained crimson and yellow with blood, the malleys will be there in daring thousands. The most curious part of the thing is this: they possess a power of either scent or sight, which enables them to discover their quarry, although scores of miles away from it. For example--the Arctic gulls, as a rule, do not follow a ship for sake of the bits of bread and fat that may be thrown overboard. Some of them do, I know, but I look upon these as merely the lazaroni, the beggars of their tribe; your healthy, youthful, aristocratic malley prefers something he considers better. Give him blubber to eat, or the flesh of a new slain seal, and he will follow you far enough. Now a ship may be lying becalmed off this pack, with no seals in sight, and doing nothing; if so she will be deserted by these birds. Not from the crow's-nest, though aided by the most powerful telescope, will you be able to descry a single gull; but no sooner is a sealskin or two hauled on deck to be cleared of their fat, than notice seems to be flashed to the far-off gulls, and in a few minutes they are winging around you, making the welkin ring with their wild, delighted screams. They alight in the water around a morsel of meat in such bunches, that a table-cloth would cover two dozen of them. Having had enough--and that "enough" means something enormous--they go off for a "fly," just as tumbling pigeons do. You may see them in hundreds high in air, sailing round and round, enjoying themselves apparently to the very utmost, and shrieking with joy. Now is the time for the skua to attack them. A bold, black, hawklike rascal is this skua, a robber and a thief. He never comes within gunshot of a ship. He is as wild and untamable as the north wind itself; yet, no sooner have the malleys commenced their post-prandial gambols than he is in the midst of them. He does not want to kill them; only some one or more must disgorge their food. On this the skua lives. No wonder that Greenland sailors call him the unclean bird. The malley-gull floats on the waves as lightly and gently as a child's toy air-ball would. His usual diet is fish, except in sealing times; and of the fish he catches the marauding skua never fails to get his share. It is for the sake of the feathers sailors shoot these birds on the ice, for they are nearly as well feathered as an eider duck. Getting tired of shooting seals in the water, Rory and Allan one day, leaving the others on the banks of the great ice-hole, determined to make a bag of feathers. And here is how they bagged their game. Armed with fowling-pieces, they retired to some distance from the water party and lay down behind a hummock of ice. Here they might have lain until this day without a bird looking twice in their direction had they not provided themselves with a lure. This lure was simply a pair of the wings of a gull, which one waved above his head, while the other prepared to fire right and left. And not a minute would these wings be waved aloft ere the gulls, with that strange curiosity inherent in all wild creatures, would begin to circle around, coming nearer and nearer, tack and half-tack, until they were within reach of the guns, when--down they came. But the untimely end of one brace nor twenty did not prevent their companions from trying to solve the mystery of the waving wings. Luncheon was on the table, and our friends were seated around it, all looking happy and hungry. Rory would have liked to have asked Silas Grig right straight away about the expedition against the sharks but for one thing--he didn't like to appear too inquisitive; and, for another, he was not quite sure even now that it was not one of Ralph's pretty jokes. But when everybody had been served, when weather and future prospects, the state of the thermometer and height of the barometer, had been discussed, Rory found he could not contain himself any longer. "What are you going to be doing after lunch?" he asked Silas, pointedly. "Aha, boy Rory!" was the reply; "we'll have such sport as you never saw the likes o' before!" Rory now began to see there really was no joke about the matter; and Ralph, who was sitting next to him, pinched him for his doubt and misbelief. The two young men could read each other's thoughts like books. "Do you mean to say you are going to catch sharks in earnest, you know?" asked Rory. "Well," said Silas, with a bit of a laugh, "I'm going to have as good a try at it as ever I had. And as for catching 'em in earnest, I'm thinking it won't be fun--for the sharks!" "It is the _Scymnus borealis_, isn't it?" said Dr Sandy McFlail, "belongin', if my memory serves me, to the natural family _Squalidae_--a powerful brute, and a vera dangerous, too." "You may call him the _Aurora borealis_ if you like, doctor," said Silas; "and as for his family connections I know nought, but I daresay he comes from a jolly bad stock." "Natural history books," said Allan, "don't speak of their being so very numerous." "Natural history books!" reiterated Silas, with some warmth of disdain. "What do they know? what can they teach a man? Write a complete history of all the creatures that move about on God's fair earth, that fly in His air or swim in His sea, and you'd fill Saint Paul's with books from top to bottom--from the mighty cellars beneath to the golden cross itself. No, take my advice, boy Rory; if you want to study nature, put little faith in books. The classification is handy, say you? Yes, doctor; and I've seen a stripling fresh from college look as proud as a two-year-old peacock because he could spin you off the Greek names of a few specimens in the British Museum, though he couldn't have told you the ways and habits of any one of them to save him from having his leave stopped. There is only one way, gentlemen, to study natural history; you must go to the great book of Nature itself--ay, and be content, and thankful, too, if, during even a long lifetime, you are able to learn the contents of even a single page of it." Rory, and the doctor, too, looked at Silas with a kind of new-born admiration; there was more in this man, with his weather-beaten, flower-pot-coloured face, than they had had any idea of. "If I had time, gentlemen," Silas added, "I could tell you some queer stories about sharks. `I reckon,' as poor old Cobb used to say, that some o' them would raise your hair a bit, too!" "And what kind of a monster is this Greenland shark?" asked Allan. "No more a monster," said Silas, "than I am. God made us both, and we have each some end to fulfil in life. But if you want me to tell you something about him, I'll confess to you I love the animal about as much as I do an alligator. He comes prowling around the icebergs when we are sealing to see what he can pick up in the shape of a dead or wounded seal, a chunk o' blubber, or a man's leg. He is neither dainty nor particular, he has the appetite of a healthy ostrich, and about as much conscience as a coal-carter's horse. He is as wary as a five-season fox, and when he pays your ship a visit when out at sea, he looks as humble and unsophisticated as a bull trout. He'll take whatever you like to throw him, though--anything, in fact, from a cow's-heel to the cabin boy--and he'll swallow a red-hot brick rather than go away with an empty stomach. But when he comes around the ice at old-sealing time he doesn't come alone, he brings his father and mother with him, and his uncles and aunts, and apparently all his natural family, as the doctor calls it. And fine fun they have, though they don't agree particularly well even _en famille_. I've seen five of them on to one seal crang, and there was little interchange of courtesies, I can tell you. He's not a brave fish, the Greenland shark, big and all as he is. If you fall into the water among a score of them your best plan is to keep cool and kick. Yes, gentlemen, by keeping cool and kicking plenty I've known more than one man escape without a bite. The getting out is the worst, though, for as long as you splash they keep at a distance and look on; they don't quite know what to make of you; but as soon as you get a hold of the end of the rope, and are being drawn out, look sharp, that's all, or it will be `Snap!' and you will be minus one leg before you can wink, and thankful you may be it isn't two. A mighty tough skin has the Greenland shark," continued Silas; "I've played upon the back of one for over half an hour with a Colt's revolver, and it just seemed to tickle him--nothing more. I don't think sharks have much natural affection, and they are no respecters of persons. I do believe they would just as soon dine off little Freezing Powders here as they would off a leg of McBain." "Oh, oh, Massa Silas!" cried Freezing Powders, "don't talk like dat; you makes my flesh all creep like nuffin' at all!" "They are slow in their movements, aren't they?" said the doctor. "Ay!" said Silas, "when they get everything their own way; but they are fierce, revengeful, and terrible in their wrath. An angry shark will bite a bit out of your boat, collar an oar, or do anything to spite you, though it generally ends in his having his own head split in the long run." [Silas Grig's description of the Greenland shark is a pretty correct one, so far as my own experience goes.--G.S.] "The men are all ready, sir," said Stevenson, entering the cabin at that moment, "to go over the side, sir." "Thank you," said the captain; "send them on to the ice, then, for a general skylark till we come up." When the officers did come up they found all the men on the ice, and a pretty row they were having. They were running, racing, jumping high leap and low leap, boxing, and fencing with single-sticks, quarter-staves, and foils; and last but not least, a party were dancing the wild and exciting reels of Scotland, with Peter playing to them just as loudly as he knew how to, although his eyes seemed starting from his head, and his face was as red as a dorking's comb in laying season. Then it was "Hurrah for the ice-hole!" and "Hurrah for the sharks!" Silas did not take very long to get his party--his fishing-party, as he called it--into working order. He evidently meant business, and expected it, too. He had seven or eight long lines, to each of which was attached a piece of chain and an immense shark-hook. These were baited with pieces of blubber; the men were armed with long knives and clubs. So sure was Silas Grig of capturing a big haul of these sea-fiends, the Greenland sharks, that he had a large fire of wood lighted on the ice at some little distance, and over it, suspended by a kind of shears, hung an immense cauldron. In this it was intended to boil the livers of the sharks in order to extract the oil, which is the most valuable part of the animal. Until tempted by huge pieces of seal-flesh hardly a shark showed fin; but when once their appetites were wetted then--! I cannot, nor will I attempt to describe this battle with the sharks, although such a fight I have been eyewitness to. Sometimes as many as two were hauled out at once; it required the united strength of fifteen or twenty men to land them. Then came the struggle on the ice, the clubbing, the axing, and the death, during which many a man bit the snow, though none were grievously wounded. Before the sun pointed to midnight, between thirty and forty immense sharks had been captured, and the oil from their livers weighed nearly a ton. Poor Rory--to whom all the best of the fun and all the worst misfortunes seemed always to fall--had a terrible adventure during the battle. Carried away by his enthusiasm, with club in hand, he was engaging one of the largest sharks landed. The brute bent himself suddenly, then as suddenly straightened himself out, and away went boy Rory, like an arrow from a cross-bow, alighting in the very centre of the pool. For a moment every one was struck dumb with horror! But Rory himself never lost his presence of mind. He remembered what Silas had said about splashing and kicking to keep the sharks at bay. Splash? I should think he did splash, and kick, too; indeed, kicking is hardly any name for his antics. He made a wheel of himself in the water. He seemed all arms and legs, and as for his head, it was just as often up as down, and _vice versa_; and all the while he was issuing orders to those on the bank--a word or two at a time, whenever his head happened to be uppermost, so that in the midst of the splashing and spluttering his speech ran like this: "Stand by"--(splutter, splutter)--"you fellows"--(splash, splash)--"up there"--(splutter) "to pull quick"--(splash)--"as soon as!"--(splutter, splutter)--"catch the rope."--(splash, splash)--"Now lads, now!"--(splutter, splutter, splash, splash, splutter, splutter, splash). "Hurrah!" he cried, when he found himself on the ice. "Hurrah! boys. Cheer, boys, cheer. Safe to bank! Hurrah! and both my legs as sound as a bell, and never a toe missing from any single one of the two o' them. Hurrah! Sure it's myself'll be Queen o' the May to-morrow. Hurrah!" Yes, reader, the very next day was May-day, and on that day there are such doings on Greenland ships as you never see in England. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. MAY-DAY IN THE ARCTIC REGIONS. May-day! May-day in England! Surely, even to the minds of the youngest among us, these words bring some pleasant recollections. "Ah! but," I think I hear you complain, "the May-days are not now what they were in the good old times; not the May-days we read of in books; not the May-days of merrie England. Where are the may-poles, with their circles of rosy-cheeked children dancing gleesomely around them? Where are the revels? Where are the games? Where is the little maiden persistent, who plagued her mother so lest she should forget to wake and call her early-- "`Because I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May?' "And echo answers, `Where?'" These things, maiden included, have passed away; they have fled like the fairies before the shriek of engine and rattle of railway wheels. But May-day in England! Why, there is some pleasure and some joy left in it even yet. Summer comes with it, or promises it will soon be on the wing. Already in the meadows the cattle wade knee-deep in dewy grass, and cull sweet cowslips and daisies. A balmier air breathes over the land; the rising sun is rosy with hope; the lark springs from his nest among the tender corn, and mounts higher to sing than he has ever done before; flowers are blooming on every brae; the mossy banks are redolent of wild thyme; roses begin to peep coyly out in the hedgerows, and butterflies spread their wings, as a sailor spreads a sail, and go fluttering away through the gladsome sunshine. And yonder--why, yonder _is_ a little maiden, and a very pretty one, too, though she isn't going to be Queen o' the May. No, but she is tripping along towards the glade, where the pink-blossomed hawthorn grows, and the yellow scented furze. She is going to-- Bathe her sweet face in May-morn dew, To make her look lovely all the year through. She glances shyly around her, hoping that no one sees her. You and I, dear reader, are far too manly to stand and stare so. Hey! presto! and the scene is changed. May-day! May-day in Greenland! An illimitable ocean of ice, stretching away on all sides towards every point of the compass from where those ships are lying beset. It looks like some measureless wold covered with the snows of midwinter. It is early morning, though the sun shines brightly in a sky of cloudless blue, and, save for the footfall of the solitary watchman who paces the deck of the _Arrandoon_, there is not a sound to be heard, the stillness everywhere is as the stillness of death. An hour or two goes slowly by, then the watchman approaches the great bell that hangs amidships. Dong-dong! dong-dong! dong-dong! dong-dong! Eight bells. The men spring up from hatch and companion-way, and soon the decks are crowded and the crew are busy enough. They have discussed their breakfast long ago, and have since been hard at work on the May-day garland, which they now proceed to hoist on high, 'twixt fore and main masts. That garland is quite a work of art, and a very gay one, too. Not a man in the ship that has not contributed a few ribbons to aid in decorating it. Those ribbons had been kept for this special purpose, and were the last loving gifts of sisters, wives, or sweethearts ere the vessel set sail for the sea of ice. But there is more to be done than hoisting the garland. The ship has to be dressed, and when this is finished, with her flags all floating around her, she will look as beautiful as a bride on her marriage morning. None the worse for the ducking and fright of the previous day, Rory was first up on this particular May-day, and tubbed and dressed long before either Allan or Ralph was awake. "Get up, Ray!" cried Rory, entering his friend's cabin. "Ray, _Ray_, Ray!" The last "Ray" was shouted. "Hullo! hullo!" cried Ray. "Oh! it's you, is it, Row? Is breakfast all ready, old man?" "Ray, arise, you lazy dog!" continued Row, shaking him by the shoulder. "This is May-morning, Ray, and I'm to be Queen of the May, my boy, I'm to be Queen of the May!" At half-past eight our heroes, Captain McBain included, went on deck in a body, and this was the time for the crew to cluster up the rigging, man the yards, and give voice to a ringing cheer; nay, not one cheer only, but three times three; and hardly had the sound died away ere it was taken up and re-echoed back by the crew of the _Canny Scotia_. It seemed that Captain Cobb's cockle-shell was not to be left out of the fun either, for the crew of even that tiny craft must man the rigging and cheer, though after the lusty roar that had gone up from the other ships, their voices sounded like that of a chicken learning to crow. After this, while the men went to work to rig a great platform on the upper deck, Peter, arrayed in fullest Highland costume, played pibroch after pibroch, and wild march after wild march, as he went strutting up and down the quarter-deck. The decks were cleared of everything that could be removed, and a great tent erected from mizen to foremast; when this was lined with flags there was but little light, but lamps in clusters were hung here and there, and a stove was brought up to give heat, so that the whole place was as gay as could be, and comfortable as well. At one end of the tent a platform was erected. There the piano was placed all handy, and Rory's fiddle and the doctor's flute, as well as several armchairs and a kind of a throne, the use of which will soon be seen. On the stage at one side was an immense tub nearly filled with cold, icy water; two steps led up to it, and on the edge thereof was a revolving chair. Very comfortable it looked indeed, but, on touching a spring, backwards it went, and whoever might be sitting on it had the benefit of a beautiful bath. My readers already guess what this is for. Yes, for May-day in Greenland is not only a day of fun and frolic, but the self-same kind of performance takes place as on southern ships while crossing the line. The day itself was dedicated to games on the ice, for not until towards evening would the real fun begin. The seals had a rest to-day, and so had the sharks; even the terrible zugaena wasn't once thought of, and Bruin himself might sit on one end licking his chops and looking on, so long as he kept at a respectful distance. The games were both Scotch and English, a happy medley in which all hands joined. The morning saw cricket and football matches in full swing, the afternoon golf--and golf played on hummocky ice _is_ golf--and hockey. Peter was the band, and right well he played; but when, tired of march quadrille, or pibroch, he burst into a Highland reel, and the crews began to dance--well, the scene on the snow grew exciting indeed. It was grotesque enough, too, in all conscience, for everybody, without exception, was dressed in fancy costume. No wonder, too, that Cockie, whom his master had brought on deck to look down on them from the bulwarks, lost all control of himself, and shouted, "Go on--go on--keep it up--keep it up." Then when Cockie began to throw his head back and shriek with laughter, the men couldn't resist it any longer; they joined in that laugh, and laughed till sides ached and eyes ran water, and many had to roll in the snow to prevent catastrophes. But the louder the men laughed, all the louder laughed Cockie, till Freezing Powders was obliged to run below with him at last. "Oh!" said his master, as he restored the cage to its corner, "I tell you all day, Cockie, you eat too much hemp. It's drefful, Cockie, to hear you laugh like all dat." Suddenly from the bows of the _Arrandoon_ a big gun is fired, and the revel stops. Then comes a hail from the crow's-nest,-- "Below there?" "Ay, ay!" roared McBain. "A procession coming along over the snow, sir, towards the ship." A consultation was at once held, and it was resolved to march forth to meet them. "It is Neptune, I know," said McBain, "for a snowbird this morning brought me a note to say he'd dine with us." It wasn't long before our friends came in sight of the royal party. It was Neptune, sure enough, trident and all, both his trident and he looking as large as life.--He was drawn along in a sledge by a party of naiads, and Amazon jades they looked. On one side of him walked his wife, on the other the Cock o' the North, while behind him came the barber carrying an immense razor and a bucket of lather. Silas Grig, I may as well mention, played Neptune, and Seth his wife--and a taller, skinnier, bristlier old lady you couldn't have imagined; and her attempts to act the lady of fashion, and her airs and graces, were really funny. The Cock o' the North was Ted Wilson. He was dressed in feathers from top to toe, with an immense bill, comb, and wattles, and acted his part well. He was introduced by Neptune as-- "One who ne'er has been to school, But keeps us fat--in fact, our fool; A fool, forsooth, yet full of wit As he can stand, or lie, or sit." After the usual introduction, salaams, and courtesies, Neptune made his speech in doggerel verse, with many an interruption both from his wife and his fool, telling how "his name was Neptune"--"though it might be Norval," added the Cock o' the North. How-- "From east to west, from pole to pole, Where'er waves break or waters roll, _My_ empire is--" _His Wife_--"And _you_ belong to _me_." _Cock o' the North_.--"All hail, great monarch of the sea!" _Neptune_--"The clouds pay tribute, and streams and rills Come singing from the distant hills." _His Wife_.--"_Do_ stop, my dear; you're _not_ a poet, And never were--" _Neptune_.--"Good sooth, I know it. But now lead on, our blood feels cold, For truth to tell, we're getting old. We and our wife have seen much service, Besides--the dear old thing is nervous, So to the ship lead on, I say, We'd see some fun on this auspicious day. My younger sons I fain would bless 'em." _His Barber_.--"And I can shave." _His Wife (rapturously_).--"And I can kiss 'em." The six poor lads who were to be operated on, and whose only fault was that they had never before crossed the line, trembled in their prison as they heard the big guns thunder forth, announcing the arrival of King Neptune. They trembled more when, dressed in white, they were led forth, a pair at a time, and seated blindfolded on the chair of the terrible tub, and duly shaved and blessed and kissed; but they trembled most when the bolt was drawn, and they tumbled head foremost into the icy water; but when, about twenty minutes thereafter, they were seen seated in a row in dry, warm clothing, you would not have known them for the same boys. Their faces were beaming with smiles, and each one busied himself discussing a huge basin of savoury sea-pie. They were not trembling then at all. At the dinner which followed, Neptune took the head of the table, with his wife on his right and McBain himself as vice-president. The dinner was good even for the _Arrandoon_, and that is saying a deal. In size, in odour, and beauty of rotundity, the plum-pudding that two stalwart men carried in and placed in front of Neptune, was something to remember for ever and a day. Size? Why, Neptune could have served it out with his trident. Ay! and everybody had two helps, and looked all the healthier and happier after them. Our three chief heroes were in fine form, Rory in one of his funniest, happiest moods. And why not? Had not he dubbed himself Queen o' the May? Yes, and well he sustained the part. I am not sure how Neptune managed to possess himself of so many bottles of Silas Grig's green ginger, but there they were, and they went all round the table, and even the men of the crew seemed to prefer it to rum. The toasts given by the men were not a few, and all did honour to the manliness of their hearts. The songs sung ere the table was cleared were all well worth listening to, though some were ballads of extreme length. Neptune was full of anecdotes of his life and adventures, and his wife also had a good deal to say about hers, which caused many a peal of laughter to rattle round the table. Some of the men recited pieces of their own composition. Here is one by the crew's pet, Ted Wilson to wit: The Ghost of the Cochin-Shanghai. 'Tis a tale of the Greenland ocean, A tale of the Northern seas, Of a ship that sailed from her native land On the wings of a favouring breeze; Her skipper as brave a seaman As ever set sail before, Her crew all told as true and bold As ever yet left the shore. And never a ship was better "found," She couldn't be better, I know, With beef in the rigging and porkers to kill, And tanks filled with water below; And turkeys to fatten, and ducklings and geese, And the best Spanish pullets to lay; But the pride of the ship, and the pet of the mess, Was a Brahma cock, Cochin-Shanghai. And every day when the watches were called, This cock crew so cheery O! With a shrill cock-a-lee, and a hoarse cock-a-lo, And a long cock-a-leerie O! But still as the grave was the brave bird at night, For well did he know what was best; Yes, well the cock knew that most of the crew Were weary and wanted their rest But one awful night he awoke in a fright, Then wasn't it dreary O! To hear him crow, with a hoarse cock-a-lo, And a shrill cock-a-leerie O! Oh! Then out of bed scrambled the men in a mass, "We cannot get sleep," they all cried; "May we never reach dock till we silence that cock, We'll never have peace till the villain is fried." All dressed as they were in the garments of night, Though the decks were deep covered with snow, They chased the cock round, with wild yell and bound, ####But they never got near him--no. And wherever he flew, still the bold Cochin crew, With a shrill cock-a-lee, and a hoarse cock-a-lo, And a long cock-a-leerie O! Now far up aloft defiant he stands, Like an eagle in eerie O! Till a sea-boot at last, knocked him down from the mast, And he sunk in the ocean below. But the saddest part of the story is this: He hadn't quite finished his crow, He'd got just as far as the hoarse cock-a-lo But failed at the leerie O! Oh-h! And that ship is still sailing, they say, on the sea, Though 'tis hundreds of years ago; Till they silence that cock they'll ne'er reach a dock, Nor lay down their burden of woe; For out on the boom, till the crack of doom, The ghost of the Cochin will crow, With his shrill cock-a-lee, and his hoarse cock-a-lo, But _never_ the leerie O! No! They tell me at times that the ship may be seen Straggling on o'er the billows o' blue, That the hardest of hearts would melt like the snow, To witness the grief of that crew, As they eye the cold waves, and long for their graves, Looking _so weary O_! Will he _never_ have done with that weird cock-a-lo, As get to the leerie O! Oh-h! Dinner discussed, the fun commenced. In the first place, there were sailors' dances, and the floor was kept pretty well filled one way or another. But certainly _the_ dances of the evening were the barber's "break-down," Rory's "Irish jig," and the doctor's "Hielan fling." They were _solos_, of course, and the barber was the first to take the floor; and oh! the shuffling and the double-shuffling, and the tripleing and double-tripleing of that wonderful hornpipe! No wonder he was cheered, and encored, and cheered again. Then came Rory, dressed in natty knickerbockers and carrying a shillelah! nobody could say at times which end of him was uppermost, or whether he did not just as often strike his seemingly adamantine head with his heels as with his shillelah. Lastly came Sandy McFlail in Highland costume, and being a countryman of my own, I must be modestly mum on the performance, only, towards the end of the "fling," you saw before you such a mist of waving arms and legs and plaid-ends, that you could not have been sure it was Sandy at all, and not an octopus. But hark! there comes a shriek from the pack, so loud that it drowns the sounds of music and merriment. Men grow suddenly serious. Again they hear it, and there is a perceptible movement--a kind of thrill under their feet. It is the wail that never fails to give the first announcement of the breaking up of the sea of ice. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. BREAKING UP OF THE GREAT ICE PACK--IN THE NIPS--THE "CANNY SCOTIA" ON HER BEAM-ENDS--STAVING OF THE "ARRANDOON." In the very midst of joy and pleasure in this so-called weary world, we are oftentimes very nigh to grief and pain. See yonder Swiss village by the foot of the mountain, how peacefully it is sleeping in the moonlight; not a sound is to be heard save the occasional crowing of a wakeful cock, or the voice of watch-dog baying the moon. The inhabitants have gone to bed hours and hours ago, and their dreams, if they dream at all, are assuredly not dreams of danger. But hark to that terrible noise far overhead. Is it thunder? Yes, the thunder of a mighty avalanche. Nearer and nearer it rolls, till it reaches the devoted village, then all is desolation and woe. See yet another village, far away in sunny Africa; its little huts nestle around the banyan-tree, the tall cocoa-palm, and the wide-spreading mango. They are a quiet, inoffensive race who inhabit that village. They live south of the line, far away from treacherous Somali Indians or wild Magulla men; they never even dreamt of war or bloodshed. They certainly do not dream of it now. "The babe lies in its mother's arms, The wife's head pillowed on the husband's breast." Suddenly there is a shout, and when they awake--oh! horror! their huts are all in flames, the Arab slavers are on them, and--I would not harrow your young feelings by describing the scenes that follow. But a ship--and this is coming nearer home--may be sailing over a rippling sea, with the most pleasant of breezes filling her sails, no land in sight, and every one, fore and aft, as happy as the birds on an early morning in summer, when all at once she rasps, and strikes-- strikes on a rock, the very existence of which was never even suspected before. In half an hour perhaps that vessel has gone down, and those that are saved are afloat in open boats, the breeze freshening every moment, the wavetops breaking into cold spray, night coming on, and dark, threatening clouds banking up on the windward horizon. When the first wail arose from the pack that announced the breaking up of the sea of ice, a silence of nearly a minute fell on the sailors assembled at the entertainment. Music stopped, dancing ceased, and every one listened. The sound was repeated, and multiplied, and the ship quivered and half reeled. McBain knew the advantage of remaining calm and retaining his presence of mind in danger. Because he was a true sailor. He was not like the sailor captains you read of in penny dreadfuls--half coal-heaver, half Herzegovinian bandit. "Odd, isn't it?" he muttered, as he stroked his beard and smiled; then in a louder voice he gave his orders. "Men," he said, "we'll have some work to do before morning--get ready. The ice is breaking up. Pipe down, boatswain. Mr Stevenson, see to the clearing away of all this hamper." Then, followed by Rory and the doctor, he got away out into the daylight. The ships were all safe enough as yet, and there was only perceptible the gentlest heaving motion in the pack. Sufficient was it, however, to break up the bay ice between the bergs, and this with a series of loud reports, which could be heard in every direction. McBain looked overboard somewhat anxiously; the broken pieces of bay ice were getting ploughed up against the ship's side with a noise that is indescribable, not so much from its extreme loudness as from its peculiarity; it was a strange mixture of a hundred different noises, a wailing, complaining, shrieking, grinding noise, mingled with a series of sharp, irregular reports. "It is like nothing earthly," said Rory, "that ever I heard before; and when I close my eyes for a brace of seconds, I could imagine that down on the pack there two hundred tom-cats had lain down to die, that twenty Highland bag-pipers--twenty Peters--were playing pibrochs of lament, and that just forenenst them a squad of militia-men was firing a _feu-de-joie_, and that neither the militia-men nor the pipers either were as self-contained as they should be on so solemn an occasion." The doctor was musing; he was thinking how happy he had been half an hour ago, and now--heigho; it was just possible he would never get back to Iceland again, never see his blue-eyed Danish maiden more. "Pleasures," he cried, "pleasures, Captain McBain--" "Yes," said McBain, "pleasures--" "Pleasures," continued the doctor,-- "`Are like poppies shed, You seize the flower, the bloom is fled.' "I'll gang doon below. Bed is the best place." "Perhaps," said McBain, smiling, "but not the safest. Mind, the ship is in the nips, and a berg might go through her at any moment. There is the merest possibility of your being killed in your bed. That's all; but that won't keep _you_ on deck." Mischievous Rory was doing ridiculous attitudes close behind the worthy surgeon. "What?" cried Sandy, in his broadest accent. "_That_ not keep me on deck! Man, the merest possibility of such a cawtawstrophy would keep me on deck for a month." "A vera judeecious arrangement," hissed Rory in his ear, for which he was chased round the deck, and had his own ears well pulled next minute. The doctor had him by the ear when Allan and Ralph appeared on the scene. "Hullo!" they laughed, "Rory got in for it again." "Whustle," cried Sandy. "I only said `a vera--'" began Rory. "Whustle, will ye?" cried the doctor. "I can't `whustle,'" laughed Rory. But he had to "whustle," and then he was free. "It's going to be a tough squeeze," said Silas to McBain. "Yes; and, worse luck, the swell has set in from the east," answered the captain. "I'm off to the _Canny Scotia_; good morning." "One minute, Captain Grig; we promised to hoist up Cobb's cockle-shell. Lend us a hand with your fellows, will you?" "Ay, wi' right good will," said Silas. There were plenty of spars on board the _Arrandoon_ big enough to rig shears, and these were sent overboard without delay, with ropes and everything else required. The men of the _Arrandoon_, assisted by those of the _Canny Scotia_, worked with a readiness and will worthy even of our gallant Royal Engineers. A shears was soon rigged, and a winch got up. On a spar fastened along the cockle-shell's deck the purchase was made, and, under the superintendence of brave little Ap, the work began. For a long time the "shell" refused to budge, so heavily did the ice press around her; the spar on her deck started though, several times. "Worse luck," thought little Ap. He had the spar re-fastened. Tried again. The same result followed. Then little Ap considered, taking "mighty" big pinches of snuff the while. "We won't do like that," he said to himself, "because, look you see, the purchase is too much on the perpendicular. Yes, yes." Then he had the spar elevated a couple of yards, and fastened between the masts, which he had strengthened by lashing extra spars to them. The result of this was soon apparent. The hawsers tightened, the little yacht moved, even the pressure of the ice under her helped to lift her as soon as she began to heel over, and, in half an hour afterwards, the cockle-shell lay in a very ignominious position indeed--beam-ends on the ice. "Bravo!" cried Silas, when the men had finished their cheering. "Bravo! what _would_ long Cobb say now? what would he say? Ha! ha! ha!" Silas Grig laughed and chuckled till his face grew redder than ever, but he would not have been quite so gay, I think, had he known what was so soon to happen to his own ship. Stevenson touched McBain on the shoulder. "The ice presses heavy on the rudder, sir." "Then unship it," said McBain. "And I'll unship mine," said Silas. Unshipping rudders is a kind of drill that few save Greenland sailors ever learn, but it is very useful at times, nevertheless. In another hour the rudders of the two ships were hoisted and laid on the bergs. So that was one danger past. But others were soon to follow, for the swell under the ice increased, the bergs all around them rolled higher and higher. The noise from the pack was terrific, as the pieces met and clashed and ground their slippery sides together. In an hour or two the bay ice had been either ground to slush, or piled in packs on top of the bergs, so that the bergs had freedom to fight, as it were. Alas! for the two ships that happened to be between the combatants. Their position was, indeed, far from an enviable one. Hardly had an hour elapsed ere the ice-harbours McBain and Silas had prided themselves in, were wrecked and disintegrated. They were then, in some measure, at the mercy of the enemy, that pressed them closely on every quarter. The _Canny Scotia_ was the worst off--she lay between two of the biggest bergs in the pack. McBain came to his assistance with torpedoes. He might as well have tried to blow them to pieces with a child's pop-gun. Better, in fact, for he would have had the same sport with less trouble and expense, and the result would have been equally gratifying. For once poor Silas lost his equanimity. He actually wrung his hands in grief when he saw the terrible position of his vessel. "My poor shippie," he said. "Heaven help us! I was building castles in the air. But she is doomed! My bonnie ship is doomed." At the same time he wisely determined not to be idle, so provisions and valuables were got on shore, and all the men's clothes and belongings. As nothing more could be done, Silas grew more contented. "It was just his luck," he said, "just his luck." Long hours of anxiety to every one went slowly past, and still the swell kept up, and the bergs lifted and fell and swung on the unseen billows, and ground viciously against the great sides of the _Arrandoon_. Now the _Canny Scotia_ was somewhat Dutchified in her build--not as to bows but as to bottom. She was not a clipper by any manner of means, and her build saved her. The ice actually ground her up out of the water till she lay with her beam-ends on the ice, and her keel completely exposed. [As did the _P--e_, of Peterhead, once for weeks. The men lived on the ice alongside, expecting the vessel to sink as soon as the ice opened. The captain, however, would not desert his ship, but slept on board, his mattress lying on the ship's side. The author's ship was beset some miles off at the same time.] But the _Arrandoon_ had no such build. The ice caught under her forefoot, and she was lifted twelve feet out of the water. No wonder McBain and our heroes were anxious. The former never went below during all the ten hours or more that the squeeze lasted. But the swells gradually lessened, and finally ceased. The _Arrandoon_ regained her position, and lost her list, but there lay the _Canny Scotia_, a pitiable sight to see, like some giant overthrown, silent yet suffering. When the pumps of the _Arrandoon_ had been tried, and it was found that there was no extra water in her, McBain felt glad indeed, and thanked God from his inmost heart for their safe deliverance from this great peril. He could now turn his attention to consoling his friend Silas. After dinner that day, said McBain,-- "Your cabin is all ready, Captain Grig, for of course you will sleep with us now." But Silas arose silently and calmly. "I needn't say," he replied, "how much I feel your manifold acts of kindness, but Silas Grig won't desert his ship. His bed is on the _Canny Scotia_." "But, my dear fellow," insisted McBain, "the ice may open in an hour, and your good ship go down." "Then," said Silas, "I go with her, and it will be for you to tell my owners and my little wife--heaven keep her!--that Skipper Grig stuck to his ship to the last." What could McBain say, what argument adduce, to prevent this rough old tar from risking his life in what he considered a matter of duty? Nothing! and so he was dumb. Then away went Silas home, as he called it, to his ship. He lowered himself down by a rope, clambered over the doorway of the cabin, took one glance at the chaos around, then walked tenderly _over_ the bulkhead, and so literally _down_ to his bed. He found the mattress and bed-clothes had fallen against the side, and so there this good man, this true sailor, laid him down and slept the sleep of the just. But the _Scotia_ did not go to the bottom; she lay there for a whole week, defying all attempts to move her, Silas sleeping on board every night, the only soul in her, and his crew remaining on the _Arrandoon_. At the end of that time the ice opened more; then the prostrate giant seemed to begin to show signs of returning life. She swayed slightly, and looked as if she longed once more to feel the embrace of her native element; seeing which, scientific assistance was given her. Suddenly she sprang up as does a fallen horse, and hardly had the men time to seek safety on the neighbouring bergs, when she took the water-- relaunched herself--with a violence that sent the spray flying in every direction with the force of a cataract. It would have been well had the wetting the crew received been the only harm done. It was not, for the bergs moved asunder with tremendous force. One struck the _Arrandoon_ in her weakest part--amidships, under the water-line. She was stove, the timbers bent inwards and cracked, and the bunks alongside the seat of accident were dashed into matchwood. Poor old Duncan Gibb, who was lying in one of these bunks with an almost united fracture of one of his limbs, had the leg broken over again. "Never mind, Duncan," said the surgeon, consolingly, "I didn't make a vera pretty job of it last time. I'll make it as straight as a dart this turn!" "Vera weel, sir; and so be it," was poor contented Duncan's reply, as he smiled in his agony. "Dear me, now!" said Silas, some time afterwards; "I could simply cry-- make a big baby of myself and cry. It would be crying for joy and grief, you know--joy that my old shippie should show so much pluck as to right herself like a race-horse, and grief to think she should go and stave the _Arrandoon_. The ungrateful old jade!" "Never mind," said McBain, cheerfully, "Ap and the carpenters will soon put the _Arrandoon_ all right. We will shift the ballast, throw her over to starboard, and repair her, and the place will be, like Duncan's leg, stronger than ever." It did not take very long to right Captain Cobb's cockle-shell, and all the vessels being now in position again, and the ice opening, it might have been as well to have got steam up at once, and felt the way to the open water. McBain decided to make good repairs first; it was just as easy to list the ship among the ice as out of it, and probably less dangerous. Besides, the water kept pouring in, and the beautiful arrangement of blankets and hammock-cloths which Ap had devised, hardly sufficed to keep it out.--This decision of the captain nearly cost the life of two of our best-loved heroes, and poor old Seth as well. But their adventure demands a chapter, or part of one at least, to itself. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. AN ADVENTURE ON THE PACK--SEPARATED FROM THE SHIP--DESPAIR--THE DREAM OF HOME--UNDER WAY ONCE MORE. Nothing in the shape of adventure came amiss to Rory. He was always ready for any kind of "fun," as he called every kind of excitement. Such a thing as fear I do not believe Rory ever felt, and, as for failing in anything he undertook, he never even dreamt of such a thing. He had often proposed escapades and wild adventures to his companions at which they hung fire. Rory's line of argument was very simple and unsophisticated. It may be summed up in three sentences--first, "Sure we've only to try and we're bound to do it." If that did not convince Allan or Ralph, he brought up his first-class reserve, "Let us try, _anyhow_;" and if that failed, his second reserve, "It's _bound_ to come right in the end." Had Rory been seized by a lion or tiger, and borne away to the bush, those very words would have risen to his lips to bring him solace, "It's bound to come right in the end." The few days' delay that succeeded the accident to the _Arrandoon_, while she had to be listed over, and things were made as uncomfortable as they always are when a ship is lying on an uneven keel, threw Rory back upon his books for enjoyment. That and writing verses, and, fiddle in hand composing music to his own words, enabled him to pass the day with some degree of comfort; but when Mr Stevenson one morning, on giving his usual report at breakfast-time, happened to say,-- "Ice rather more open to-day, sir; a slight breeze from the west, and about a foot of rise and fall among the bergs; two or three bears about a mile to leeward, and a few seals," then Rory jumped up. "Will you go, Allan," he cried, "and bag a bear? Ralph hasn't done breakfast." "Bide a wee, young gentleman," said McBain, smiling. "I really imagined I was master of the ship." "I beg your pardon, Captain McBain," said Rory, at once; and with all becoming gravity he saluted, and continued, "Please, sir, may I go on shore?" "Certainly not," was the reply; and the captain added, "No, boy, no. We value even Rory, for all the trouble he gives us, more than many bears." Rory got hold of his fiddle, and his feelings found vent in music. But no sooner had McBain retired to his cabin than Rory threw down his much beloved instrument and jumped up. "Bide a wee; I'll manage," he cried. "Doctor," he added, disarranging all the medico's hair with his hand-- Sandy's legs were under the mahogany, so he could not speedily retaliate--"Sandy, mon, I'll manage. It'll be a vera judeecious arrangement." Then he was off, and presently back, all smiles and rejoicing: "Come on, Allan, dear boy," he cried. "We're going, both of us, and Seth and one man, and we're going to carry a plank to help us across the ice. Finish your breakfast, baby Ralph. I wouldn't disturb myself for the world if I were you." "I don't mean to," said Ralph, helping himself to more toast and marmalade. "What are you grinning at now?" asked Rory of the surgeon. "To think," said Sandy, laughing outright, "that our poor little boy Rory couldn't be trusted on the ice without Seth and a plank. Ha, ha, ha! my conscience!" "Doctor," said Rory. "Well?" said the doctor. "Whustle," cried Rory, making a face. "I'll whustle ye," said Sandy, springing up. But Rory was off. On the wiry shoulders of Seth the plank was borne as easily as if it had been only an oar; the man carried the rope and sealing clubs. The plank did them good service, for whenever the space between two bergs was too wide for a safe leap it was laid down, and over they went. They thus made good progress. There was a little motion among the ice, but nothing to signify. The pieces approached each other gradually until within a certain distance. Then was the time to leap, and at once, too, without fear and hesitation. If you did hesitate, and made up your mind to leap a moment after, you might fail to reach the next berg, and this meant a ducking at the very least. But a ducking of this kind is no joke, as the writer of these lines knows from experience. You strip off your clothes to wring out the superabundance of water, and by the time you put them on again, your upper garments, at all events, are frozen harder than parchment. You have to construe the verb _salto_ [_Salto_--I leap, or jump] from beginning to end before you feel on good terms with yourself again. But falling into the sea between two bergs may not end with a mere ducking. A man may be sucked by the current under the ice, or he may instantly fall a prey to that great greedy monster, the Greenland shark. Well the brute loves to devour a half-dead seal, but a man is caviare to his maw. Again, if you are not speedily rescued, the bergs may come slowly together and grind you to pulp. But our heroes escaped scot-free. So did the bears which they had come to shoot. "It is provoking!" said Rory. "Let us follow them a mile or so, at all events." They did, and came in sight of one--an immensely great brute of a Bruin--who, after stopping about a minute to study them, set off again shambling over the bergs. Then he paused, and then started off once more; and this he did many times, but he never permitted them to get within shot. All this time the signal of recall was floating at the masthead of the _Arrandoon_, but they never saw it. They began to notice at last, though, that the bergs were wider apart, so they wisely determined to give up the chase and return. Return? Yes, it is only a little word--hardly a simpler one to be found in the whole English vocabulary, whether to speak or to spell; and yet it is a word that has baffled thousands. It is a word that we should never forget when entering upon any undertaking in which there is danger to either ourselves or others. It is a word great generals keep well in view; probably it was just that word "return" which prevented the great Napoleon from landing half a million of men on our shores with the view of conquering the country. The man of ambition was afraid he might find a difficulty in getting his Frenchmen back, and that Englishmen would not be over kind to them. Rory and his party could see the flag of recall now, and they could see also the broad black fan being waved from the crow's-nest to expedite their movements. So they made all the haste in their power. There was no leaping now, the plank had to be laid across the chasms constantly. But at last they succeeded in getting just half-way to the ship, when, to their horror, they discovered that all further advance was a sheer impossibility! A lane of open water effectually barred their progress. It was already a hundred yards wide at least, and it was broadening every minute. South and by west, as far as eye could reach, stretched this canal, and north-west as well. They were drifting away on a loose portion of the pack, leaving their ship behind them. Their feelings were certainly not to be envied. They knew the whole extent of their danger, and dared not depreciate it. It was coming on to blow; already the face of that black lane of water was covered with angry little ripples. If the wind increased to a gale, the chances of regaining their vessel were small indeed; more likely they would be blown out to sea, as men have often been under similar circumstances, and so perish miserably on the berg on which they stood. To be sure, they were to leeward, and the _Arrandoon_ was a steamer; there was some consolation in that, but it was damped, on the other hand, by the recollection that, though a steamer, she was a partially disabled one. It would take hours before she could readjust her ballast and temporarily make good her leak, and hours longer ere she could force and forge her way to the lane of water, through the mile of heavy bergs that intervened. Meanwhile, what might not happen? Both Rory and Allan were by this time good ice-men, and had there been but a piece of ice big enough to bear their weight, and nothing more, they could have embarked thereon and ferried themselves across, using as paddles the butt-ends of their rifles. But there was nothing of the sort; the bay ice had all been ground up; there was nothing save the great green-sided, snow-topped bergs. And so they could only wait and hope for the best. "It'll all come right in the end," said Rory. He said this many times; but as the weary hours went by, and the lane widened and widened, till, from being a lane, it looked a Jake, the little sentence that had always brought him comfort before seemed trite to even Rory himself. The increasing motion of the berg on which they stood did not serve to reassure them, and the cold they had, from their forced inactivity, to endure, would have damped the boldest spirits. For a time they managed to keep warm by walking or running about the berg, but afterwards movement itself became painful, so that they had but little heart to take exercise. The whole hull of the _Arrandoon_ was hidden from their view behind the hummocky ice, and thus they could not tell what was going on on deck, but they could see no smoke arising from the funnel, and this but served further to dishearten them. Even gazing at those lanes of water that so often open up in the very midst of a field of ice, is apt to stir up strange thoughts in one's mind, especially if one be, like Rory, of a somewhat poetical and romantic disposition. The very blackness of the water impresses you; its depth causes a feeling akin to awe; you know, as if by instinct, that it is deep--terribly, eeriesomely deep. It lies smiling in the sunshine as to surface, but all is the blackness of darkness below. Up here it is all day; down there, all night. The surface of the water seems to divide two worlds--a seen and an unseen, a known and an unknown and mysterious--life and death! Tired at last of roaming like caged bears up and down the berg, one by one they seated themselves on the sunny side of a small hummock. They huddled together for warmth, but they did not care to talk much. Their very souls seemed heavy, their bodies seemed numbed and frozen, but their heads were hot, and they felt very drowsy, yet bit their lips and tongues lest they might fall into that strange slumber from which it is said men wake no more. They talked not at all. The last words were spoken by Seth. Rory remembered them. "I'm old," he was muttering; "my time's a kind o' up; but it do seem hard on these younkers. Guess I'd give the best puma's skin ever I killed, just to see Rory safe. Guess I'd--" Rory's eyes were closed, he heard no more. He was dreaming. Dreaming of what? you ask me. I answer, in the words of Lover,-- "Ask of the sailor youth, when far His light barque bounds o'er ocean's foam What charms him most when evening star Smiles o'er the wave? To dream of home." Yes, Rory was dreaming of home. All the home he knew, poor lad! He was in the Castle of _Arrandoon_. Seeing, but all unseen, he stood in the cosy tartan parlour where he had spent so many happy hours. A bright fire was burning in the grate, the curtains were drawn, in her easy-chair sat Allan's mother with her work on her lap, the great deerhound lay on the hearthrug asleep, and Helen Edith was bending over her harp. How boy Rory longed to rush forward and take her by the hand! But even in his partial sleep he knew this was but a dream, and he feared to move lest he might break the sweet spell. But languor, pain, and cold, all were forgotten while the vision lasted. But list! a horn seems to sound beyond the castle moat. Rory, in his dream, wonders that Helen hears it not; then the boy starts to his feet on the snow. The vision has fled, and the sound of the horn resolves itself into the shout,-- "Ahoy--oy--hoy! Ahoy! hoy!" Every one is on his feet at the same time, though both Allan and Rory stagger and fall again. But, behold! a boat comes dancing down the lane of water towards them, and a minute after they are all safe on board. The labour of getting that boat over the ice had been tremendous. It had been a labour of love, however, and the men had worked cheerily and boldly, and never flinched a moment, until it was safely launched in the open water and our heroes were in it. The _Arrandoon_, the men told them, had got up steam, and in a couple of hours at most she would reach the water. Meanwhile they, by the captain's orders, were to land on the other side, and make themselves as comfortable as possible until her arrival. Rory and Allan were quite themselves again now, and so, too, was honest Seth,-- "Though, blame me," said he, "if I didn't think this old trapper's time had come. Not that that'd matter a sight, but I did feel for you youngsters, blame me if I didn't;" and he dashed his coat-sleeve rapidly across his face as he spoke. And now a fire was built and coffee made, and Stevenson then opened the Norwegian chest--a wonderful contrivance, in which a dinner may be kept hot for four-and-twenty hours, and even partially cooked. Up arose the savoury steam of a glorious Irish stew. "How mindful of the captain?" said Allan. "It was Ralph that sent the dinner," said Stevenson, "and he sent with it his compliments to Rory." "Bless his old heart," cried Rory. "I don't think I'll ever chaff him again about the gourmandising propensities of the Saxon race." "And the doctor," continued the mate, "sent you some blankets, Mr Rory. There they are, sir; and he told me to give you this note, if I found you alive." The note was in the Scottish dialect, and ran as follows:-- "_My conscience, Rory! some folks pay dear for their whustle. But keep up your heart, ma wee laddie. It's a vera judeecious arrangement_." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ In a few days more the _Arrandoon_ had made good her repairs, and as the western wind had freshened, and was blowing what would have been a ten-knot breeze in the open sea, the steamer got up steam and the sailing-ship canvas, and together they took the loose ice, and made their way slowly to the eastward. The bergs, though some distance asunder, were still sufficiently near to considerably impede their way, and, for fear of accident, the _Arrandoon_ took the cockle-shell, as she was always called now, in tow. For many days the ships went steadily eastward, which proved to them how extensive the pack had been. Sometimes they came upon large tracts of open water, many miles in extent, and across this they sailed merrily and speedily enough, considering that neither of the vessels had as yet shipped her rudder. This they had determined not to do until they were well clear of the very heavy ice, or until the swell went down. So they were steered entirely by boats pulling ahead of them. Open water at last, and the cockle-shell bids the big ships adieu, spreads her white sails to the breeze, and, swanlike, goes sailing away for the distant isle of Jan Mayen. Ay, and the big ships themselves must now very soon part company, the _Scotia_ to bear up for the green shores of our native land, the _Arrandoon_ for regions as yet unknown. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. WORKING ALONG THE PACK EDGE--AMONG THE SEALS AGAIN--A BUMPER SHIP-- ADVENTURES ON THE ICE--TED WILSON'S PROMOTION. The _Arrandoon_ was steaming slowly along the pack edge, wind still westerly, the _Canny Scotia_, with all canvas exposed, a mile or more to leeward of her. Both were heading in the same direction, north and by east, for McBain and our heroes had determined not to desert Silas until he really had what he called a voyage--in other words, a full ship. "We can spare the time, you know," the captain had said to Ralph; "a fortnight, will do it, and I dare say Rory here doesn't object to a little more sport before going away to the far north." "That I don't," Rory had replied. "If we fall among the old seals, a fortnight will do it." "Ay," Allan had said, "and won't old Silas be happy!" "Yes," from McBain; "and, after all, to be able to give happiness to others is certainly one of the greatest pleasures in this world." Dear reader, just a word parenthetically. I am so sure that what McBain said is true, that I earnestly advise you to try the experiment suggested by his words, for great is the reward, even in this world, of those who can conquer self and endeavour to bring joy to others. The _Arrandoon_ steamed along the pack edge, but it must not be supposed that this was a straight line, or anything like it. Indeed it was very much like any ordinary coastline, for here was a bay and yonder a cape, and yonder again, where the ice is heavier, a bold promontory. But Greenlandmen call a bay a "bight," and a cape they call a "point-end." Let us adopt their nomenclature. The _Canny Scotia_, then, avoided these point-ends; she kept well out to sea, well away from the pack, for there was not over-much wind, and Silas Grig had no wish to be beset again. But the _Arrandoon_, on the other hand, steamed, as I have said, in a straight line. She scorned to double a point, but went steadily on her course, ploughing her way through the bergs. There was one advantage in this: she could the more easily discover the seals, for in the month of May these animals, having done their duty by their young, commence their return journey to the north, the polar regions being their home _par excellence_. They are in no hurry getting back, however. They like to enjoy themselves, and usually for every one day's progress they make, they lie two or three on the ice. The capes, or point-ends, are favourite positions with them, and on the bergs they may be seen lying in scores, nor if the sun be shining with any degree of strength are they at all easily disturbed. It is their summer, and they try to make the best of it. Hark now to that shout from the crow's-nest of the _Arrandoon_. "A large patch of seals in sight, sir." Our heroes pause in their walk, and gaze upwards; from the deck nothing is visible to windward save the great ice-pack. "Where away?" cries Stevenson. "On the weather bow, sir, and a good mile in through the pack." "What do you think, sir?" says Stevenson, addressing his commander. "Shall we risk taking the ice again?" "Risk, Stevenson?" is the reply. "Why, man, yes; we'll risk anything to do old Silas a good turn. We'll risk more yet, mate, before the ship's head is turned homewards." Then the ship is stopped, and signals are made to Silas, who instantly changes his course, and, after a vast deal of tacking and half-tacking, bears down upon them, and being nearly alongside, gets his main-yard aback, and presently lowers a boat and comes on board the _Arrandoon_. Our heroes crowd around him. "Why," they say, "you are a perfect stranger; it is a whole week since we've seen you." "Ay," says Silas, "and a whole week without seeing a seal--isn't it astonishing?" "Ah! but they're in sight now," says McBain. "I'm going to take the ice, and I'll tow you in, and if you're not a bumper ship before a week, then this isn't the _Arrandoon_, that's all." Silas is all smiles; he rubs his hands, and finally laughs outright, then he claps his hand on his leg, and,-- "I was sure of it," says Silas, "soon as ever I saw your signal. `Matie,' says I, `yonder is a signal from the _Arrandoon_. I'm wanted on board; seals is in sight, ye maybe sure. Matie,' says I, `luck's turned again;' and with that I gives him such a dig in the ribs that he nearly jumped out of the nest." "Make the signal to the _Scotia_, Stevenson," says McBain, "to clew up, and to get all ready for being taken in tow. Come below, Captain Grig, lunch is on the table." Fairly seated at the table, honest Silas rubbed his hands again and looked with a delighted smile at each of his friends in turn. There was a bluff heartiness about this old sailor which was very taking. "I declare," he said, "I feel just like a schoolboy home for a holiday?" Rory and Silas were specially friendly. "Rory, lad," he remarked, after a pause, "we won't be long together now." "No," replied Rory; "and it isn't sorry I am, but really downright _sad_ at the thoughts of your going away and leaving us. I say, though--happy thought!--send Stevenson home with your ship and you stay with us in place of him." Silas laughed. "What _would_ my owners say, boy? and what about my little wife, eh?" "Ah! true," said Rory; "I had forgotten." Then, after a pause, he added, more heartily, "But we'll meet again, won't we?" "Please God!" said Silas, reverently. "I think," Rory added, "I would know your house among a thousand, you have told me so much about it--the blue-grey walls, the bay windows, the garden, with its roses and--and--" "The green paling," Silas put in. "Ah, yes! the green paling, to be sure; how could I have forgotten that? Well, I'll come and see you; and won't you bring out the green ginger that day, Silas!" "_And_ the bun," added Silas. "_And_ the bun," repeated Rory after him. "And won't my little wife make you welcome, too! you may bet your fiddle on that!" Then these two sworn friends grasped hands over the table, and the conversation dropped for a time. But there perhaps never was a much happier Greenland skipper than Silas Grig, when he found his ship lying secure among the ice, with thousands on thousands of old seals all around him. The weather continued extremely fine for a whole week. The little wind there had been, died all away, and the sun shone more warmly and brightly than it had done since the _Arrandoon_ came to the country. The seals were so cosy that they really did not seem to mind being shot, and those that were scared off one piece of ice almost immediately scrambled on to another. "Fire away!" they seemed to say; "we are so numerous that we really won't miss a few of us. Only don't disturb us more than you can help." So the seals hugged the ice, basking in the bright sunshine, either sleeping soundly or gazing dreamily around them with their splendid eyes, or scratching their woolly ribs with their flippers for want of something to do. And bang, bang, bang! went the rifles; they never seemed to cease from the noon of night until mid-day, nor from mid-day until the noon of night again. The draggers of skins went in pairs for safety, and thus many a poor fellow who tumbled into the sea between the bergs, escaped with a ducking when otherwise he would have lost his life. Ralph--long-legged, brawny-chested Saxon Ralph--was among "the ducked," as Rory called the unfortunates. He came to a space of water which was too wide even for him. He would not be beaten, though, so he pitched his rifle over first by way of beginning the battle. Then he thought, by swinging his heavy cartridge-bag by its shoulder-strap the weight would help to carry him over. He called this jumping from a tangent. It was a miserable failure. But the best of the fun--so Rory said, though it could not have been fun to Ralph--was this: when he found himself floundering in the water he let go the bag of cartridges, which at once began to sink, but in sinking caught his heel, and pulled him for the moment under water. Poor Ralph! his feelings may be better imagined than described. "I made sure a shark had me!" he said, quietly, when by the help of his friend Rory, he had been brought safely to bank. It was not very often that Ralph had a mishap of any kind, but, having come to grief in this way, it was not likely that Rory would throw away so good a chance of chaffing him. He suddenly burst out laughing at luncheon that day, at a time when nobody was speaking, and when apparently there was nothing at all to laugh about. "What now, Rory? what now, boy?" said McBain, with a smile of anticipation. "Oh!" cried Rory, "if you had only seen my big English brother's face when he thought the shark had him!" "Was it funny?" said Allan, egging him on. "Funny!" said Rory. "Och I now, funny is no name for it. You should have seen the eyes of him!--and his jaw fall!--and that big chin of his. You know, Englishmen have a lot of chin, and--" "And Irishmen have a lot of cheek," cried Ralph. "Just wait till I get you on deck, Row boy." "I'd make him whustle," suggested the doctor. "Troth," Rory went on, "it was very nearly the death o' me. And to see him kick and flounder! Sure I'd pity the shark that got one between the eyes from your foot, baby Ralph." "Well," said Ralph, "it was nearly the death of me, anyhow, having to take off all my clothes and wring them on top of the snow." "Oh! but," continued Rory, assuming seriousness, and addressing McBain, "you ought to have seen Ralph just then, sir. That was the time to see my baby brother to advantage. Neptune is nobody to him. Troth, Ray, if you'd lived in the good old times, it's a gladiator they'd have made of you entirely." Here came a low derisive laugh from Cockie's cage, and Ralph pitched a crust of bread at the bird, and shook his fingers at Rory. But Rory kept out of Ralph's way for a whole hour after this, and by that time the storm had blown clean away, so Rory was safe. Allan had his turn next day. The danger in walking on the ice was chiefly owing to the fact that the edges of many of the bergs had been undermined by the waves and the recent swell, so that they were apt to break off and precipitate the unwary pedestrian into the water. Here is Allan's little adventure, and it makes one shudder to think how nearly it led him to being an actor in a terrible tragedy. He was trudging on after the seals with rifle at full cock, for he expected a shot almost immediately, when, as he was about to leap, the snowy edge of the berg gave way, and down he went. Instinctively he held his rifle out to his friend, who grasped it with both hands, the muzzle against his breast, and thus pulled him out. It seemed marvellous that the rifle did not go off. [Both these adventures are sketched from the life.] When safe to bank, and when he noticed the manner in which he had been helped out, poor Allan felt sick, there is no other name for it. "Oh, Ralph, Ralph!" he said, clutching his friend by the shoulder to keep himself from falling, "what if I had killed you?" When told of the incident that evening after dinner, McBain, after a momentary silence, said quietly,-- "I'm not sorry such a thing should have happened, boys; it ought to teach you caution; and it teaches us all that there is Some One in whose hands we are; Some One to look after us even in moments of extremest peril." But I think Allan loved Ralph even better after this. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Two weeks' constant sealing; two weeks during which the crews of the _Arrandoon_ and _Canny Scotia_ never sat down to a regular meal, and never lay down for two consecutive hours of repose, only eating when hungry and sleeping when they could no longer keep moving; two weeks during which nobody knew what o'clock it was at any particular time, or which was east or west, or whether it were day or night. Two weeks, then the seals on the ice disappeared as if by magic, for the frost was coming. "Let them go," said Silas, shaking McBain warmly by the hand. "Thanks to you, sir, I'm a bumper ship. Why, man, I'm full to the hatches. Low freeboard and all that sort of thing. Plimsoll wouldn't pass us out of any British harbour. But, with fair weather and God's help, sir, we'll get safely home." "And now," McBain replied, "there isn't a moment to lose. We must get out of here, Captain Grig, or the frost will serve us a trick as it did before." With some difficulty the ships were got about and headed once more for the open sea. None too soon, though, for there came again that strange, ethereal blue into the sky, which, from their experiences of the last black frost, they had learned to dread. The thermometer sank, and sank, and sank, till far down below zero. The _Arrandoon_ took her "chummy ship" in tow. "Go ahead at full speed," was the order. No, none too soon, for in two hours' time the great steam-hammer had to be set to work to break the newly-formed bay ice at the bows of the _Arrandoon_, and fifty men were sent over the side to help her on. With iron-shod pikes they smashed the ice, with long poles they pushed the bergs, singing merrily as they worked, working merrily as they sang, laughing, joking, stamping, shouting, and cheering as ever and anon the great ship made another spurt, and tore along for fifty or a hundred yards. Handicapped though she was by having the _Scotia_ in tow, the _Arrandoon_ fought the ice as if she had been some mighty giant, and every minute the distance between her and the open water became less, till at last it could be seen even from the quarter-deck. But the frost seemed to grow momentarily more intense, and the bay- ce stronger and harder between the bergs. Never mind, that only stimulated the men to greater exertions. It was a battle for freedom, and they meant to win. With well-meaning though ridiculous doggerel, Ted Wilson led the music,-- "Work and keep warm, boys; heave and keep hot, Jack Frost thinks he's clever; we'll show him he's not. Beyond is the sea, boys; Let us fight and get free, boys; One thing will keep boiling, and that is the pot. With a heave O! Push and she'll go. To work and to fight is the bold sailor's lot. Heave O--O--O! "Go fetch me the lubber who won't bear a hand, We'll feed him on blubber, we'll stuff him with sand. But yonder our ships, boys, Ere they get in the nips, boys, We'll wrestle and work, as long's we can stand, Then cheerily has it, men, Heave O--O--O! Merrily has it, men, Off we go, O--O--O!" Yes, reader, and away they went, and in one more hour they were clear of the ice, _the Arrandoon_ had cast the _Scotia_ off, and banked her fires, for, together with her consort, she was to sail, not steam, down to the island of Jan Mayen, where they were to take on board the sleigh-dogs, and bid farewell to Captain Cobb, the bold Yankee astronomer.--There was but little wind, but they made the most of what there was. Silas dined on board that day, as usual. They were determined to have as much of the worthy old sailor as they could. But before dinner one good action was performed by McBain in Captain Grig's presence. First he called all hands, and ordered them aft; then he asked Ted Wilson to step forward, and addressed him briefly as follows: "Mr Wilson, I find I can do with another mate, and I appoint you to the post." Ted was a little taken aback; a brighter light came into his eyes; he muttered something--thanks, I suppose--but the men's cheering drowned his voice. Then our heroes shook hands with him all around, and McBain gave the order,-- "Pipe down." But as soon as Ted Wilson returned to his shipmates they shouldered him, and carried him high and dry right away forward, and so down below. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. A WONDERFUL YANKEE--"MAKING OFF" SKINS--PREPARING TO "BEAR UP"--THE SUMMER HOME OF THE GIANT WALRUS--THE SHIPS PART. In two days the ships sighted the island of Jan Mayen. As they neared it, they found the ice so closely packed around the shore that all approach even by boats was out of the question, so the sails were clewed, the ice-anchors got out, and both ships made fast to the floe. It was not long ere Captain Cobb was on board the _Arrandoon_, to welcome our heroes back to "_his_ island of Jan Mayen." He was profuse in his thanks for what he called the clever kindness of Captain McBain, in saving his little yacht from a fatal accident among the ice; and, of course, they would do him the honour to come on shore and dine with him. He would take it as downright "mean" if they did not. There was no resisting such an appeal as this, so, leaving their ships in charge of their respective mates, both McBain and Silas, in company with our heroes--Sandy McFlail, Seth, and all--they trudged off over the snowy bergs to take dinner in the hut of the bold Yankee astronomer. Very unprepossessing, indeed, was the building to behold from the outside, but no sooner had they entered, than they opened their eyes wide with astonishment. When our young friends had visited it before, the hut looked neither more nor less than a big hall, or rather barn. But now--why, here were all the luxuries of civilised life. The place was divided into ante-room, saloon, and bed-chamber, and each apartment seemed more comfortable than another. The walls of the saloon were covered with rich tapestry, the floor with a soft thick carpet. There were couches and easy-chairs and skins _galore_, and books and musical instruments. A great stove, of American pattern, burned in the centre, giving out warmth and making the room look doubly cheerful, and overhead swung an immense lamp, which shed a soft, effulgent light everywhere, so that one did not miss the windows, of which the hut was _minus_. At one end of this apartment was a dining-table, as well laid and as prettily arranged as if it stood in the dining-hall of a club-room in Pall Mall, and beside the table were two sable waiters clad in white. Captain Cobb seemed to thoroughly enjoy the looks of bewilderment and wonder exhibited on the faces of his guests. "Why," said McBain at last, "pardon me, but you Yankees are about the most wonderful people on the face of the earth." "Waal," said the Yankee, "I guess we like our little comforts, and don't see any harm in having them." "So long's we deserve them," put in Seth, who, at that moment, really felt very proud of being a Yankee. "Bravo! old man," cried his countryman; "let us shake your hand." "And now, gentlemen," he continued, "sit in. I reckon the keen air and the walk have given ye all an appetite." Soups, fish, _entries_, joints--why I do not know what there was not in the bill-of-fare. It was a banquet fit for a king. "I can't make out how you manage it," said McBain. "Do you keep a djin?" Cobb laughed and summoned the cook. If he was not a djin, he was just as ugly. Four feet high--not an inch more--with long arms, black skin, flat face, and no nose at all worth mentioning. He was dressed as a _chef_, however, and very polite, for at a motion from his master, he salaamed very prettily and retired. At dessert the host produced a zither, and, accompanying himself on this beautiful instrument, sang to them. He drawled while talking, but he sang most sweetly, and with a taste and feeling that quite charmed Rory, and held Silas and the doctor spell-bound. He was indeed a wonderful Yankee. "Do you know," said Rory, "I feel for all the world like being in an enchanted cave? Do sing again, if only one song." It is needless to add that our friends spent the evening most enjoyably. It was a red-letter night, and one they often looked back to with pleasure, and talked about as they lay around their snuggery fire, during the long dreary time they spent in the regions round the Pole. "I'm glad, anyhow," said Captain Cobb, as he bade them good-bye on the snow-clad beach, "that I've made it a kind o' pleasant for ye. Don't forget to call as you come back, and if Cobb be here, why, Cobb will bid you welcome. Farewell." By eight bells in next morning watch everything was ready for a start. The dogs--twelve in number--were got on board and duly kennelled, and the old trapper was installed as whipper-in. "But I guess," said Seth, "there won't be much whipping-in in the play. Trapper Seth is one of those rare old birds who know the difference between a dog and a door-knocker. Yes, Seth knows that there's more in a good bed and a biscuit, with a kind word whenever it is needed, than there is in all the cruel whips in existence." The kennelling for the poor animals was got up under the supervision of Ap and Seth himself. It was built on what the trapper called "scientific principles." There was a yard or ran in common for the whole pack; but the large, roomy sleeping compartment had a bench, on which all twelve dogs could sleep or lie at once, yet nevertheless it was divided by boards about a foot high into six divisions. This was to prevent the dogs all tumbling into a heap when the ship rolled. The bedding was straw and shavings; of the former commodity McBain had not forgotten to lay in a plentiful supply before leaving Scotland. There was, besides, a whole tankful of Spratts' biscuits, so that what with these and the ship's scraps, it did not seem at all likely that the dogs would go hungry to bed for some time to come. Seth was now much happier on board than ever he had been, because he had duties to perform and an office to fill, humble though it might be. At half-past eight Silas came on board the _Arrandoon_ to breakfast. Allan and Rory were tramping rapidly up and down the deck to keep themselves warm, for, though the wind was blowing west-south-west, it was bitterly cold, and the "barber" was blowing. The barber is a name given to a light vapoury mist that, when the frost is intense and the wind in pertain directions, is seen rising off the sea in Greenland. I have called it a mist, but it in reality partakes more of the nature of steam, being due to the circumstance of the air being ever so much colder than the surface of the water. Oh! but it is a cold steam--a bitter, biting, killing steam. Woe be to the man who exposes his ears to it, or who does not keep constantly rubbing his nose when walking or sailing in it, for want of precaution in this respect may result in the loss of ears or nose, and both appendages are useful, not to say ornamental. "Good morning," cried Silas, jumping down on to the deck. "The top of the morning to you, friend Silas," said Rory; "how do you feel after your blow-out at Captain Cobb's?" "Fust-rate," said Silas--"just fust-rate; but where is Ralph and the captain?" "Ralph!" said Rory; "why, I don't suppose there is a bit of him to be seen yet, except the extreme tip of his nose and maybe a morsel of his Saxon chin; and as for the captain, he is busy in his cabin. Breakfast all ready, is it, Peter? Thank you, Peter, we're coming down in a jiffy." Just as they entered the saloon by one door, McBain came in by another. "Ah! good morning, Captain Grig," he cried, extending his hand. "Sit down. Peter, the coffee. And now," he continued, "what think you of the prospect? It isn't exactly a fair wind for you to bear up, is it?" "The wind would do," said Silas; "but I'm hardly what you might call tidy enough to bear up yet. It'll take us a week to make off our skins, and a day more to clean up. I'd like to go home not only a bumper ship, but a clean and wholesome sweet ship." "Well, then," McBain said, "here is what I'll do for you." "But you've done so much already," put in Silas, "that really--" "Nonsense, man," cried McBain, interrupting him; "why, it has been all fun to us. But I was going to say that instead of lying here for a week, you had better sail north with us, Spitzbergen way, and my men will help you to make off and tidy up. Who knows but that after that you may get a fair wind to carry you right away south into summer weather in little over a week?" "Bless your heart!" said Silas; "the suggestion is a grand one. I close with your offer at once. You see, sir, we Greenlandmen generally return to harbour all dirty, outside anyhow, with our sides scraped clean o' paint, and our masts and spars as black as a collier's." "_You_ shan't, though," said McBain. "We'll spend a bucket or two of paint over him, won't we, boys?" "That will we," said Ralph and Allan, both in one breath. "And I'll tell you what I'll do," added Rory. "Something nice, I'm certain," said Silas. "I'll paint and gild that Highland lassie of yours that you have for a figure-head." "Glorious! glorious!" cried Silas Grig. "Why, my own wife won't know the ship. And, poor wee body! she'll be down there looking anxiously enough out to sea when she hears I'm in the offing. Oh, it will be glorious! Won't my matie be pleased when he hears about it!" "I say, though," said Rory, "I'll change the pattern of your Highland lassie's tartan. She came to the country a Gordon, she shall return a McGregor." "Or a McFlail," suggested Sandy. "Ha! ha! ha!" This was an impudent, derisive laugh from Cockie's cage, which made everybody else laugh, and caused Sandy to turn red in the face. After breakfast the ice-anchors were cast off and got on board, and sail set. The _Arrandoon_ led, keeping well clear of the ice, and taking a course of north-east and by north. When well off the ice, and everything working free and easy, McBain called all hands, and ordered the men to lay aft. "Men," he said, "you all signed articles to complete the voyage with me to the Polar regions and back. Most of you knew, as you put your names to the paper, what you were about, because you had been here before, but some of you didn't. Now I am by no means short-handed, and if any of you thinks he has had enough of it already, and would like to return to his country, step forward and say so now, and I'll make arrangements with Captain Grig for your passage back." Not a man stirred. "I will take it as a favour," continued the captain, "if any one who has any doubts on his mind will come forward now. I want only willing hands with me." "We _are_ willing, we are willing hands," the men shouted. "Beg your pardon, sir," said bold Ted Wilson, stepping forward, "but I know the crew well. I'm sure they all feel thankful for your kind offer, but ne'er a man Jack o' them would go back, if you offered to pay him for doing so." The captain bowed and thanked Ted, and the men gave one hearty cheer and retired. Once fairly at sea, McBain sent two whalers on board the _Scotia_, their crews rigged out in working dress, and making off was at once commenced. Upright boards were made fast here and there along the decks; the skins, with their two or three inches of blubber attached, were handed up from below, and the men set to work in this way--they stood at one side of the board and spread the skin in front of them on the other; then they leant over, and first cutting off all useless pieces of flesh, etc, they next cleaned the blubber from off the skin. This was by other hands cut into pieces about a foot square, carried away, and sent below to be deposited in the tanks. Other workmen removed the cleaned skins. These were dashed over with rough salt, rolled tightly and separately up, and cast into tanks by themselves. This latter duty devolved upon the mates, and old Silas himself stood, with book in hand, "taking tally," that is, counting the number of skins as they were passed one by one below. The refuse, or "orra bits," as Scotch sailors call them, were thrown overboard by bucketfuls, and over these thousands of screaming gulls fought on the surface of the water, and scores of sharks immediately beneath. It was a busy scene, and one that can only be witnessed in Greenland north. In three days all the skins were made off and stowed away. All this time the men had been as merry as sheep-shearers, and only on the last day did Silas splice the main-brace, even then diluting the rum with warm coffee. Then came the cleaning up, and scouring of decks below and above, and white-washing and mast-scraping. After this McBain sent his painters on board, and in less than four-and-twenty hours she looked like a new ship. And Rory was busy below on the 'tween decks. The Highland lassie had been unshipped, and taken below for him to paint and gild. Rory, mind you, did not wish it to be unshipped. He would have preferred being swung overboard. There would have been more fun in it, he said. But Silas would not hear of such a thing. The cold, he feared, would benumb him so that he might drop off into the sea, to the infinite joy and satisfaction of a gang of unprincipled sharks that kept up with the ship, but to the everlasting sorrow of him, Captain Silas Grig. When the ship was all painted, and the masts scraped and varnished, and the Highland lassie--brightly arrayed in gold and McGregor tartan-- re-shipped, why then, I do not think a prouder or happier man than Silas Grig ever trod a quarter-deck. The day after this everybody on the _Arrandoon_ was busy, busy, busy writing letters for home. They were thus engaged, when a shout came from the crow's-nest,-- "Heavy ice ahead!" It was the ice-bound shores of the southernmost islands of Spitzbergen they had sighted. They passed between several of these, and grandly beautiful they looked, with their fantastically-shaped sides glittering green and blue and white in the sunshine. These islands seemed to be the northern home or summer retreat of the great bladder-nosed seal and the giant walrus. They basked on the smaller bergs that floated around them, while hundreds of strange sea-birds nodded half asleep on the snow-clad rocks. It was here where the two ships parted, the _Canny Scotia_ bearing up for the sunny south, the _Arrandoon_ clewing sails and lighting fires to steam away to The Unknown Land. There were tears in poor Rory's eyes as he shook hands with Silas, and he could not trust himself to say much. Indeed, there was little said on either hand, but the farewell wishes were none the less heartfelt for all that. There is always somewhat of humour mixed up with the sad in life. It was not wanting on this occasion. Silas had brought a servant with him when he came to say adieu. This servant carried with him a mysterious-looking box. It was all he could do to lift it. Seeing McBain look inquiringly at it,-- "It's just a drop of green ginger," said Silas. "When you tap it, boys, when far away from here, you won't forget Silas, I know. I won't forget you, anyhow," he continued; "and look here, boys, if a prayer from such a rough old salt as I am availeth, then Heaven will send you safely home again, and the first to welcome you will be Silas Grig. Good-bye, God be wi' ye." "Good-bye, God be wi' ye." CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. NORTHWARD HO!--HOISTING BEACONS--THE WHITE FOG--THE GREAT SEA-SERPENT. "Good-bye, and God be with you." It was a prayer as heartfelt and fervent as ever fell from the lips of an honest sailor. The _Arrandoon_ steamed away, and soon was hidden from view behind a lofty iceberg, and all that Silas Grig, as he stood on his own quarter-deck, could now hear, was the sad and mournful wail of Peter's bagpipes. Peter was playing that wild and plaintive melody which has drawn tears from so many eyes when our brave Highland regiments were departing for some far-off seat of wax, to be-- "Borne on rough seas to a far-distant shore, Maybe to return to Lochaber no more." "Heigho! matie," sighed Silas, talking to his chief officer and giving orders all in one breath, "I don't think we'll--haul aft the jib-sheet-- ever see them again. I don't think they can--take a pull on the main-brace--ever get back from among that fearful--luff a little, lad, luff--ice, matie. And the poor boys, if any one had told Silas he could have loved them as much as he does in so short a time, he would have laughed in his face. Come below, matie, and we'll have a drop o' green ginger. Keep her close, Mortimer, but don't let her shiver." "Ay, ay, sir," said the man at the wheel. In a few hours the wind got more aft, and so, heading now for more southern climes, away went the _Canny Scotia_, with stun'sails up. I cannot say that she bounded over the waters like a thing of life. No; but she looked as happy and frisky as a plough-horse on a gala day, that has just been taken home from the miry fields, fed and groomed, and dressed with ribbons and started off in a light spring-van with a load of laughing children. But eastwards and north steamed the _Arrandoon_. Indeed, she tried to do all the northing she could, with just as little easting as possible. She passed islands innumerable; islands that we fail to see in the chart, owing, no doubt, to the fact that they are usually covered entirely with ice and snow, and would be taken for immense icebergs. But this was a singularly open year, and there was no mistaking solid rocky land for floating ice. The bearings of all these were carefully put down in the charts--I say charts, because not only the captain and mate, but our young heroes as well, took the daily reckoning, and kept a log, though I am bound in the interests of truth to say that Ralph very often did not write up his log for days and days, and then he impudently "fudged" it from Rory's. "Are you done with my log?" Rory would sometimes modestly inquire of Ralph as he sat at the table busily "fudging." "Not yet, youngster," Ralph would reply; "there, you go away and amuse yourself with your fiddle till I'm done with it, unless you specially want your ears pulled." McBain landed at many of these islands, and hoisted beacons on them. These beacons were simply spare spars, with bunches of light wood lashed to their top ends, so that at some little distance they looked like tall brooms. He hoisted one on the highest peak of every island that lay in his route. They came at length to what seemed the very northernmost and most easterly of these islands, and on this McBain determined to land provisions and store them. It would tend to lighten the ship; and "on the return voyage," said the captain, "if so be that Providence shall protect and spare us, they will be a welcome sight." This done, the voyage was continued, and the sea becoming clearer of ice towards the west, the course was altered to almost due north. The wind drawing round more to the south, the fires were banked, and the vessel put under easy sail. The water all round looked black and deep; but, with all the caution of your true sailor, McBain had two men constantly in the chains to heave the lead, with a watch continually in the crow's-nest to give warning of any sudden change in the colour of the water. More than once such a change was observed, the surface becoming of a yellowish ashen hue away ahead of them. Then the main or fore yard was hauled aback, and a boat despatched to investigate, and it was found that the strange appearance was caused by myriads of tiny shrimplets, what the northern sailor calls "whale's food." Whether this be whale food or not I cannot say for certain, but several times our heroes fell in with a shoal of bottle-noses, disporting themselves among these curious ashen-hued streams. This formed a temptation too great to resist, for the oil would do instead of fuel when they wintered away up in the extreme north. So boats were lowered--not two but four, for these brutes are as wild as the winds and more wily than any old fox. No less than four were "bagged," as Rory called it. They were not large, but the blubber obtained from them was quite sufficient to fill one large tank. The best of it was, that Ralph--big, "plethoric" (another of Rory's pretty words), Saxon Ralph, made quite a hero of himself by manfully guiding his boat towards a floundering monster that was threatening destruction to the third whaler, which was fast to her, and skilfully spearing her at the very nick of time. Rory was in the same boat, and drenched in blood from head to heels though both of them were, he must needs get up and shake his "baby brother" by the hand. "Oh, sure!" said Rory, with tears in his eyes, "it's myself that is proud of the English race, after all. They haven't the fire of the Gael; but only just awaken them!--Dear Ray, you're a broth of a boy, entirely." "What do you think," said McBain, one morning just after breakfast--"what do you think, Rory, I'm going to make to-day?" "Sure, I don't know," said Rory, all interest. "Why, fenders," said McBain. "Fenders?" ejaculated Rory, with wider eyes. "Fenders? troth it'll be fire-irons you'll be making next, sir; but what do you want with fenders?" "You don't take," said Ralph. "It is fenders to throw overboard when the ice is too obtrusive, isn't it, sir?" "That's it," said the captain, laughing. "Sometimes the bergs may be a bit too pressing with their attentions, and then I'll hang these over. That's it." It took nearly a fortnight to complete the manufacture of these fenders or trusses, for each of them was some twelve feet long by three in diameter composed of compressed straw and shielded by knitted ropework. To the captain's foresight in making these fenders, they several times owed the safety of their gallant ship during the winter that followed. A whole month passed away. The sun now set every night, and the still, long day began to get sensibly shorter. The progress northward was hindered by dense white fogs, which at times hugged the ship so closely that, standing by the bowsprit, you could not see the jibboom-end. The vessel, as Sandy McFlail expressed it, seemed enveloped in huge sheets of wet lint. Then the fog would lift partially off and away--in other words, it seemed to retire and station itself at some distance, with the ice looming through it in the most magical way. At these times the ship would be stopped, and our heroes were allowed to take boat exercise around the _Arrandoon_, with strict injunctions not to go beyond a certain distance of the vessel. Their laughing and talking and singing never failed to bring up a seal or two, or a round-eyed wondering walrus, or an inquisitive bladder-nose, but the appearance of these animals, as they loomed gigantic through the fog, was sometimes awful in the extreme. When a malley or gull came sweeping down towards them it looked as big as the fabulous Roc that carried away Sinbad the Sailor, and Rory would throw himself in the bottom of the boat and pretend to be in a terrible fright. [The optical illusions caused among the ice by these fogs are well and humorously described in a book just to hand called "The Voyage of the _Vega_" (Macmillan and Co). I myself wrote on the same subject _thirteen years ago_, in a series of articles on Greenland North.] "Oh! Ray, boy, look at the Roc," he would cry. "I'm come for, sure enough. Do catch hold of me, big brother. Don't let the great baste carry me off. Sure, he'll fly up to the moon with me, as the eagle did with Daniel O'Rourke." I think the fog must have caused delusions in sound as well as sight, else why the following. They were pulling gently about, one day, in the first whaler, when, borne along on the slight breeze that was blowing, came a sound as of happy children engaged at play. The merry laughter and the occasional excited scream or shout were most distinctly audible. "Whatever can it be?" cried Allan, looking very serious, his somewhat superstitious nature for a moment gaining the ascendency. "Sure," said Rory, "you needn't pull so long a face, old man; it's only the childer just got out of school." The "childer" in this instance were birds. "It's much clearer to-day," said Stevenson, one morning, as he made his usual report. "We can see the clouds, and they're all on the scud. I expect we'll have wind soon, sir." "Very well, Mr Stevenson," was the reply, "be ready for it, you know; have the fires lit and banked, and then stand by to get the ice-anchors and fenders on board," (the ship was fast to a berg). "There is a line of ice to the westward, sir, about a quarter of a mile off, and clear water all between." "Thank you, Mr Stevenson." But Stevenson did not retire. He stopped, hesitatingly. "You've something to ask me, I think?" said McBain. "I've something to tell you," replied the mate, with a kind of a forced laugh. "I dare say you will think me a fool for my pains, but as sure as you gentlemen are sitting there at breakfast this morning, about five bells in the middle watch I saw--and every man Jack of us saw--" "Saw what?" said McBain. "Sit down, man; you are looking positively scared." "We saw--_the great Sea-Serpent_!" [What is herein related really occurred as described. I myself was a witness to the event, being then in medical charge of the barque _Xanthus_, recently burned at sea.] McBain did not attempt to laugh him out of his story, but he made him describe over and over again what he had seen; then he called the watch, and examined them verbally man by man, and found they all told the self-same tale, talking soberly, earnestly, and truthfully, as men do who feel they are stating facts. The terrible monster they averred came from the northwards, and was distinctly visible for nearly a minute, passing between the ship and the ice-line which Stevenson had mentioned. They described his length, which could not have been less than seventy or eighty yards, the undulations of his body as he swept along on the surface of the water, the elevated head, the mane and--some added--the awful glaring eyes. It did not come on to blow as the mate predicted, so the ship made no move from her position, but all day long there was but little else talked about, either fore or aft, save the visit of the great sea-serpent, and as night drew on the stories told around the galley fire would have been listened to with interest by any one at all fond of the mysterious and awful. "I mean," said Rory, as he retired, "to turn out as soon as it is light, and watch; the brute is sure to return. I've told Peter to call me." "So shall I," said Allan and the doctor. "So shall I," said Ralph. "Well, boys," said McBain, "I'll keep you company." When they went on deck, about four bells in the middle watch, they were not surprised to find all hands on deck, eagerly gazing towards the spot where they had seen "the maned monster of the deep,"--as poet Rory termed him--disappear. It was a cold, dull cheerless morning; the sun was up but his beams were sadly shorn--they failed to pierce the thick canopy of clouds and mist that overspread the sky, and brought the horizon within a quarter of a mile of them. They could, however, easily see the ice-line--long and low and white. A whole hour passed, and McBain at all events was thinking of going below, when suddenly came a shout from the men around the forecastle. "Look! look! Oh! look! Yonder he rips! There he goes!" Gazing in the direction indicated, the hearts of more than one of our heroes seemed to stand still with a strange, mysterious fear, for there, rushing over the surface of the dark water, the undulated body well-defined against the white ice-edge, was--what else could it be?-- the great sea-serpent! "I can see his mane and head and eyes," cried Rory. "Oh! it is too dreadful." Then a shout from the masthead,-- "He is coming this way." It was true. The maned monster had altered his course, and was bearing straight down upon the _Arrandoon_. No one moved from his position, but there were pale, frightened faces and starting eyes; and though the men uttered no cry, a strange, frightened moan arose, a fearful quavering "Oh-h-h?"--a sound that once heard is never to be forgotten. Next moment, the great sea-serpent, with a wild and unearthly scream, bore down upon the devoted ship, then suddenly resolved itself _into a long flight of sea-birds_ (Arctic divers)! So there you have a true story of the great sea-serpent, but I am utterly at a loss to describe to you the jollity and fun and laughing that ensued, as soon as the ridiculous mistake was discovered. And nothing would suit Ted Wilson but getting up on the top of the bowsprit and shouting,-- "Men of the _Arrandoon_, bold sailors all, three cheers for the great sea-serpent. Hip! hip! hip! Hurrah!!!" Down below dived Ralph, followed by all the others. "Peter! Peter! Peter!" he cried. "Ay, ay, sir," from Peter. "Peter, I'm precious hungry." "And so am I," said everybody. Peter wasn't long in laying the cloth and bringing out the cold meat and the pickles, and it wasn't long either before Freezing Powders brought hot coffee. Oh! didn't they do justice to the good things, too! "I dare say," said the doctor, "this is our breakfast." "Ridiculous!" cried Ralph, "ridiculous! It's only a late supper, doctor. We'll have breakfast just the same." "A vera judeecious arrangement," said Sandy. CHAPTER THIRTY. LAND HO! THE ISLE OF DESOLATION--THE LAST BLINK OF SUNSHINE--THE AURORA BOREALIS--STRANGE ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR. "Well, Magnus," said Captain McBain one day to his old friend, "what think you of our prospects of gaining the North Pole, or your mysterious island of Alba?" Magnus was seated at the table in the captain's own room, with an old yellow, much-worn chart spread out before him, the only other person in the cabin, save these two, being Rory, who, with his chin resting on his hands and his elbows on the table, was listening with great interest to the conversation. "Think of it?" replied the weird wee man, looking up and glaring at McBain through his fierce grey eyebrows. "Think of it, sir? Why we are nearly as far north now as _we_ were in 1843. We'll reach the Isle of Alba, sir, if--" "If what, good Magnus?" asked McBain, as the old man paused. "If what?" "If that be all you want," answered Magnus. "Nay, nay, my faithful friend," cried the captain, "that isn't all. We want to reach the Pole, to plant the British flag thereon, and return safely to our native shores again." "So you will, so you will," said Magnus, "if--" "What, another `if,' Magnus?" said McBain. "What does this new `if' refer to?" "If," continued Magnus, "Providence gives us just such another autumn as that we have had this year. If not--" "Well, Magnus, well?" "We will leave our bones to lie among the eternal snows until the last trump shall sound." After a pause, during which McBain seemed in deep and earnest thought. "Magnus," he said, "my brave boys and I have determined to push on as far as ever we can. We have counted all the chances, we mean to do our utmost, and we leave the rest to Providence." Allan had entered while he was speaking, and he said, as the captain finished,-- "Whatever a man dares he can do." "Brave words, my foster-son," replied McBain, grasping Allan's hand, "and the spirit of these words gained for the English nation the victory in a thousand fights." "Besides, you know," added Rory, looking unusually serious, "it is sure to come right in the end." The _Arrandoon_, wonderful to relate, had now gained the extreme altitude of 86 degrees north latitude, and although winter was rapidly approaching, the sea was still a comparatively open one. Nor was the cold very intense; the frosts that had fled away during the short Arctic summer had not yet returned. The sea between the bergs and floes was everywhere calm; they had passed beyond the region of fogs, and, it would almost seem, beyond the storm regions as well, for the air was windless. So on they steamed steadily though slowly, never relaxing their vigilance; so careful, indeed, in this respect was McBain, that the man in the chains as well as the "nest hand" were changed every hour, and only old and tried sailors were permitted to go on duty on these posts. "Land ahead!" was the shout one day from the nest. The day, be it remembered, was now barely an hour long. "Land ahead on the port bow!" "What does it look like, Mr Stevenson?" cried the captain. The mate had run up at the first hail. "I can just see the tops of a few hills, sir," was the reply, "towering high over the icebergs." The _Arrandoon_ bore away for this strange land. In three hours' time they were lying off one of the dreariest and most desolate-looking islands it has ever been the lot of mariners to behold. It looked like an island of some worn-out planet, whose internal fires have gone for ever out, from which life has long since fled, which possesses no future save the everlasting night of silence and death. Some slight repairs were required in the engine-room, so the _Arrandoon_ lay here for a week. "To think," said McBain, as he stood on the bridge one day with our heroes, "that in the far-distant past that lonely isle of gloom was once clad in all the bright colour of tropical vegetation, with wild beasts roaming in its jungles and forests, and wild birds filling its groves with music,--an island of sunshine, flowers, and beauty! And now behold it." An expedition was got up to explore the isle, and to climb its highest peak to make observations. McBain himself accompanied it, so did Allan, Rory, and Seth. It was no easy task, climbing that snowy cone by the light of stars and Aurora. But they gained the summit ere the short, short day broke. To the north and west they saw land and mountains, stretching away and away as far as eye could follow them. To the east and north water studded with ugly icebergs that looked as if they had broken away from the shores of the western land. "But what is that in the middle of yonder ice-floe to the south and west?" cried Rory. "As I live," exclaimed McBain, as he eyed the object through the glass, "it is a ship of some kind, evidently deserted; and it is quite as evident that we are not the only explorers that have reached as far north as this island." The mystery was explained next day, and a sad story brought to light. McBain and party landed on the floe and walked towards the derelict. She was sloop-rigged, with sails all clewed, and her hull half hidden in snow. After a deal of difficulty they succeeded in opening one of the companion hatches, and making their way down below. No less than five unburied corpses lay huddled together in the little cabin. From their surroundings it was plain they had been walrus-hunters, and it was not difficult to perceive that the poor fellows had died from cold and hunger _many, many years before_. Frozen in, too far up in this northern sea, they had been unable to regain the open water, and so had miserably perished. Next day they returned and laid the mortal remains of these unfortunate men in graves in the snow, and even Rory was much more silent and thoughtful than usual as they returned to the ship. Was it not possible that they might meet with a similar fate? The poor fellows they had just buried had doubtless possessed many home ties; their wives and mothers had waited and wished a weary time, till at long last the heart had grown sick with hope deferred, and maybe the grave had long since closed over them. Such were some of Rory's thoughts, but after dinner McBain "brought him up with a round turn," as he phrased it. "Rory," he cried, "go and play to us. Freezing Powders, you young rascal, bring that cockatoo of yours up on the table and make us laugh." Rory brightened up and got hold of his fiddle; and "All right, sah," cried Freezing Powders. "I bring de old cockatoo plenty quick. Come along, Cockie, you catchee my arm and pull yourse'f up. Dat's it." "Come on," cried Cockie, hopping on the table and at once commencing to waltz and polka round. "Come on; play up, play up." A queer bird was Cockie. He cared for nobody except his master and Rory. Rory he loved solely on account of the fiddle, but his affection for Freezing Powders was very genuine. When his master was glad, so was Cockie; when the little nigger boy felt tired, and threw himself down beside the cage to rest, then Cockie would open his cage door and back tail foremost under the boy's arm, heaving as he did so a deep, delighted sigh, as much as to say, "Oh, what joy it is to nestle in here?" Cockie was not a pretty bird; his bill was worn and all twisted awry, and his eyes looked terribly old-fashioned, and the blue, wrinkled skin around them gave him quite an antediluvian look. He was white in colour--or, more correctly speaking, he had been white once; but time, that steals the roses from the softest cheeks, had long since toned him down to a kind of yellow lilac, so he did not look a very respectable bird on the whole. "You ought to wash him," McBain said, one day. "Wash him, sah?" said Freezing Powders; "is dat de 'xpression you make use of, sah? Bless you, sah! I have tried dat plenty much often; I have tried to wash myself, too. No good in eeder case, sah; I 'ssure you I speak de truf." "Come on I come on?" cried Cockie. "Play up! play up! La de lal, de lal, de lal!" And round spun the bird, keeping time to the merry air, and every now and then giving a "whoop?" such as could only be emitted by Cockie himself, a Connemara Irishman, or a Cuscarora Indian. But this is a remarkable thing, Cockie danced and whirled in one direction till he found his head getting light, then he reversed the action, and whirled round the other way! [This description of the wonderful bird is in no way overdrawn.] It really seemed as if he would tire Rory out. "Lal de dal!" he sung: "our days are short--whoop!--our lives are merry--lal de dal, de dal, de _whoop_!" But Rory changed his tactics; he began to play _The Last Rose of Summer_, leaning down towards the table. Cockie stopped at once, and backed, tail foremost, in under the musician's hands, crouching down with a sigh to listen. But Rory went off again into the _Sprig of Shillelagh_, and off went Cockie, too, dancing more madly than ever with a small flag in his mouth that Freezing Powders had handed him. Then he stopped at last, and walked about gasping, pitching penholders and pencils in all directions. "Here's a pretty to-do!" he said; and when somebody laughed, Cockie simply shrieked with laughter till he had everybody joining him and holding their sides, and feeling sore all over. Verily, Cockie was a cure! No wonder his master loved him. In a few days the _Arrandoon_ left the desolate island, which Rory had named "Walrus Isle." Everybody was on deck as the vessel slowly steamed away. Most of the land was already shrouded in gloom, only in the far distance a tall mountain cone was all ablaze with a crimson glory, borrowed from the last blink of sunshine. Yes, the god of day had sunk to rest, and they would bask no more in his cheering beams for many a long and weary month to come. "Give us a bass, Ray, old boy!" cried Rory; "and you, doctor, a tenor." And he started,-- "Shades of evening, close not o'er us, Leave our lonely bark awhile, Morn, alas! will not restore us Yonder dim and distant isle." Ah, reader! what a glorious thing music is; I tell you, honestly and truthfully, that I do not believe I could have come through half the trials and troubles and griefs and worries I have had in life, if I had not at times been able to seek solace and comfort from my old cremona. Our heroes thought at first they would greatly miss the light of the sun, but they soon got quite used to the strange electric light emitted by the splendid Aurora, combined with that which gleamed more steadily downwards from the brilliant stars. These stars were seen to best advantage in the south; they seemed very large and very near, and whether it was the reflection of the Aurora, or whether it was real, I never could tell, but they seemed to shine with differently coloured lights. There were pure white stars, mostly low on the horizon; there were crimson and green changing stars, and yellow and rose-coloured changing stars, and some of a pale-golden hue, the soft light of which was inexpressibly lovely. But any effort of mine to paint in words the extreme beauty of the heavens on clear nights would prove but a painful failure, so I leave it alone. The chief bow of the Aurora is, I may just mention, composed apparently of spears of ever-changing rainbow-coloured light continually falling back into masses and phalanxes, and anon advancing and clashing, as it were. While walking on the ice-fields, if you listen, you can hear a strange whispering, hissing sound emitted from these clashing, mixing spears. The following letters, whispered rapidly, give some faint idea of this mysterious sound,-- "Ush-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh." You can also produce a somewhat similar noise by rubbing your fingers swiftly backwards and forwards on a sheet of paper. But indeed the whole firmament, when the sky was clear, was precisely as Rory described it--"one beautiful poem." Many bears were now seen, and nearly all that were seen were killed. They were enormously large and fierce, foolishly fierce indeed, for they seldom thought of taking to flight. There were unicorns (narwhals) in the sea in scores, and walruses on the flat ice by the dozen. It was after these latter that Master Bruin came prowling. A nice juicy walrus-steak a Greenland bear will tell you is the best thing in the world for keeping the cold out. Old trapper Seth had strange ways of hunting at times. One example must suffice. Our heroes had been out after a walrus which they had succeeded in killing. A bear or two had been seen an hour or two before that, evidently on the prowl, and probably very hungry. Now, nothing will fetch these kings of the northern ice more surely than the scent of blood. "Young gentlemen," said Seth, "there's a b'ar about somewheres, and I reckon he ain't far off either. Now, we'll just whip this old walrus out o' his skin, and Seth will creep in, and you'll see what you'll see." He was very busy with his knife as he spoke, and in a few minutes the crang was got out and thrown into the water, the head being left on. Into the skin crept the trapper, lying down at full length with his rifle close by his side, and by his directions away pulled the boat. It was not two hundred yards off, when up out of the sea scrambled a huge bear. "Hullo," says Bruin, shaking himself like a dozen great Newfoundland dogs rolled into one--"hullo! they've killed the wallie and left him. Now won't I have a blow-out just?" and he licked his great chops in anticipation. "Dear me?" continued Bruin, as the walrus turned right round and confronted him; "why, they haven't quite killed you! Never mind, wallie, I'll put you out of pain, and I'll do it ever so gently. Then I'll just have one leetle bite out of your loin, you know." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "I guess you won't this journey," said Seth, bringing his rifle into position as the bear prepared to spring. "I reckon it'll be the other way on, and b'ar's steak ain't to be sneezed at when it's nicely cooked." Bang! It was very soon over with that poor bear; he never even changed the position into which he had thrown himself, but lay there dead, with his great head on his paws like a gigantic dog asleep. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. A COUNCIL--PREPARING FOR WINTER QUARTERS--THE ISLE OF ALBA AND ITS MAMMOTH CAVES--MAGNUS'S TALE--AT HIS BOY'S GRAVE. The word "canny" is often applied to Scotchmen in a somewhat disparaging sense by those who do not know the meaning of the word, nor the true character of the people on whom they choose to fix the epithet. The word is derived from "can," signifying knowledge, ability, skill, etc, and probably a corruption of the Gaelic "caen" (head). The Scotch are pre-eminently a thinking nation, and, as a rule, they are individually skilful in their undertakings; they like to look before they leap, they like to know what they have to do before they begin, but having begun, they work or fight with all their life and power. It was "canniness" that won for Robert Bruce the Battle of Bannockburn, it was the canniness of Prince Charles Stuart that enabled him to defeat Sir John Cope at the Battle of Dunbar. There is no nation in the world possesses more "can" than the Scotch, although they are pretty well matched by the Germans. Prince Bismarck is the canniest man of the century. "A Berlin! A Berlin!" was the somewhat childish cry of the volatile Gaul, when war broke out betwixt his sturdy neighbour and him. Yes, fair France, go to Berlin if you choose, only first and foremost you have to overthrow--what? Oh! only one man. A very old one, too. Yonder he is, in that tent in the corner of a field, seated at a table, quietly solving, one would almost think, a chess problem. And so it is, but he is playing the game with living men, and every move he makes is carefully studied. That old man in the tent, to which the wires converge from the field of battle, is General von Moltke, the best soldier that the world has ever known since the days of Bonaparte and Wellington, and the _canniest_. But the word "canny" never implies over-frugality or meanness, and I believe my readers will go a long way through the world, without meeting a Scotchman who would not gladly share the last sixpence he had in the world to benefit a friend. Our Captain McBain was canny in the true sense of the word, and it was this canniness of his that induced him to call his officers, and every one who could think and give an opinion, into the saloon two days after the events described in the last chapter. After making a short speech, in which he stated his own ideas freely, he called upon them to express theirs. "If," he concluded, "you think we have gone far enough north with the ship, here, or near here, we will anchor; if you think we ought to push on, I will take that barrier of ice to the north-east, and push and bore and forge and blast my way for many miles farther, and it may be we will strike the open water around the Pole, if such open water exists." "We are now," said Stevenson, after consulting for a short time with the second mate, with Magnus, and De Vere the aeronaut--"we are now nearly 88 degrees north and 76 degrees west from the meridian; the season has been a wonderful one, but will we have an open summer to find our way back again if we push on farther?" "No," cried old Magnus, with some vehemence; "no, such seasons as these come but once in ten years." "I see how the land lies," said McBain, smiling, "and I am glad that we are all of the same way of thinking. Well, gentlemen, this decides me; we shall winter where we are." "Hurrah!" cried Stevenson; "we wouldn't have gone contrary to your wishes for the world, captain, but I'm sure we will be all delighted to go into winter quarters." After this the _Arrandoon_ was kept away more to the west, where the water was clearer of bergs, and where mountainous land was seen to lie. They steamed along this land or shore for many miles, although lighted only by the bright silvery stars and the gleaming Aurora. They came at length to a small landlocked bay or gulf, entirely filled with flat ice. The ship was stopped, and all hands ordered away to a clear a passage by means of ice-saws and torpedoes. After many hours of hard work this was successfully accomplished, and the vessel was warped in till she lay close under the lee of the braeland, that rose steeply up from the surface of the sea. Those braes were to the north and west of them, and would help to shelter the ship from at least one of the coldest winds. "Well, boys," said McBain that day as they sat down to dinner, and he spoke more cheerfully than he had done since the departure of the _Scotia_,--"well, boys, here we are safe and snug in winter quarters. How do you like the prospect of living here for three months without ever catching a blink of the sun?" "I for one don't mind it a bit," said Allan. "It'll do us all good; but won't we be glad to see the jolly visage of old Sol again, when he peeps over the hills to see whether we are dead or alive!" "I'm sure," said Rory, "that I will enjoy the fun immensely." "What fun?" asked Ralph. "Why, the new sensation," replied Rory; "a winter at the Pole." "You're not quite there yet," said Ralph; "but as for me, I think I'll enjoy it too, though of course winter in London would be more lively. Why, what is that green-looking stuff in those glasses, doctor?" "That's your dram," said Sandy. "Why it's lime-juice," cried Rory, tasting his glass and making a face. "So it is," said Ralph. "Where are the sugar-plums, doctor?" "Yes," cried Rory; "where are the plums? Oh!" he continued, "I have it--a drop of Silas Grig's green ginger, steward, quick." And every day throughout the winter, when our heroes swallowed their dose of lime-juice, they were allowed a tiny drop of green ginger to put away the taste, and as they sipped it, they never failed to think and talk of honest Silas. And lime-juice was served out by the surgeon to all hands. They knew well it was to keep scurvy at bay, so they quietly took their dose and said nothing. The sea remained open for about a week longer, and scores of bears were bagged. [These animals are said to bury themselves in the snow during winter, and sleep soundly for two or three months. This, however, is doubtful.] This seemed, indeed, to be the autumn home of the King of the Ice. Then the winter began to close in in earnest, and all saving the noonday twilight deserted them. The sky, however, remained clear and starry, and many wonderful meteors were seen almost nightly shooting across the firmament, and for a time lighting up the strange and desolate scene with a brightness like the noon of day. The Aurora was clearer and more dazzling after the frost came, so that as far as light was concerned the sun was not so much missed. On going on deck one morning our heroes were astonished to find a light gleaming down upon them from the maintop, of such dazzling whiteness that they were fain, for the moment, to press their hands against their eyes. It was an electric candle, means for erecting which McBain had provided himself with before leaving the Clyde. So successful was he with his experiment that the sea of ice on the one hand, and the braeland on the other, seemed enshrouded in gloom. Rory gazed in ecstasy, then he must needs walk up to McBain and shake him enthusiastically by the hand, laughing as he remarked,-- "'Deed, indeed, captain, you're a wonderful man. Whatever made you think of this? What a glorious surprise. Have you any more in store for us? Really! sir, I don't know what your boys would do without you at all at all." Thus spoke impulsive young Rory, as McBain laughingly returned his hand-shake, while high overhead the new light eclipsed the radiance of the brightest stars. But what is that strange, mournful cry that is heard among the hills far up above them? It comes nearer and still more near, and then out from the gloom swoops a gigantic bird. Attracted by the light, it has come from afar, and now keeps wheeling round and round it. Previously there had not been a bird visible for many days, but now, curious to relate, they come in hundreds, and even alight close by the ship to feed on the refuse that has been thrown overboard. "It is strange, isn't it, sir?" said Rory. "It is, indeed," replied McBain, adding, after a pause, "Rory, boy, I've got an idea." "Well," said Rory, "I know before you mention it that it is a good one." "Ah! but," said McBain, "I'm not going to mention it yet awhile." "I vill vager," said the aeronaut, who stood beside them, gazing upwards at the bright light and the circling birds--"I vill vager my big balloon dat de same idea has struck me myself." "Whisper," said the captain. The aeronaut did so, and McBain burst out laughing. "How funny!" he remarked; "but you are perfectly right, De Vere; only keep it dark for a bit." "Oh yes," said De Vere, laughing in turn; "very dark; as dark as--" "Hush?" cried McBain, clapping a hand on his mouth. "How tantalising!" said Rory. "You'll know all about it in good time," McBain said; "and now, boys, we've got to prepare for winter in right good earnest. Duty before pleasure, you know. Now here is what I propose." What he did propose was set about without loss of time. Little Ap was summoned aft. "Can you build barrows?" asked McBain. Little Ap took an immense pinch of snuff before he replied. "I have built many a boat," he said, "but never a barrow. But look, you see, with the help of the cooper and the carpenters I can build barrows by the dozen. Yes, yes, sir." "Bravo, Ap!" cried McBain; "then set about it at once, for we are all going to turn navvies. We are going," he added, "to excavate a cave half-way up that brae yonder on the starboard quarter. It will be big enough, Ap, to hold the whole ship's crew, officers and all. It will be a glorious shelter from the cold, and it will--" "Stop," cried Sandy McFlail. "Beg your pardon, sir, but let me finish the sentence: it will give the men employment and keep sickness away." "That's it, my worthy surgeon," said McBain. "Bravo!" said Sandy. "I look upon that now as--" Sandy paused and reddened a little. "As a vera judeecious arrangement," said Rory, laughing. "Out with it, Sandy, man." Rory edged off towards the door of the saloon as he spoke; the doctor kicked over his chair and made a dart after him, but Rory had fled. Hardly, however, was the surgeon re-seated ere his tormentor keeked in again. "Eh! mon, Sandy McFlail," he cried; "you'll want to take a lot more salt in your porridge, mon, before ye can catch Rory Elphinston." On the hillside, fifty feet above the sea level, they commenced operations, and in a fortnight's time the cave was almost completed; and not only that, but a beautiful staircase leading up to it. The soil was not hard after the outer crust was tapped, although some veins of quartz were alighted upon which required to be blasted. Several times they came across the trunks of huge trees that seemed to have been scorched by fire, the remains, doubtless, of the primeval forest that had once clad these hills with a sea of living green. Nor were bones wanting; some of immense size were turned up and carefully preserved. Rory made a careful study of the remains of the animal and vegetable life which were found, and the result of this was his painting two pictures representing the Past and Present of the strange land where their vessel now lay. The one represented the _Arrandoon_ lying under bare poles and yards in the ice-locked bay, with the wild mountainous land beyond, peak rising o'er peak, and crag o'er crag, all clad in the garments of eternal winter, and asleep in the uncertain light of the countless stars and the radiant Aurora. But the other picture! Who but Rory--who but an artist-poet could have painted that? There are the same formations of hill and dale, the same towering peaks and bold bluffs, but neither ice nor snow is there; the glens and valleys are clad in waving forests; flowers and ferns are there; lichens, crimson and white, creep and hang over the brown rocks; happy birds are in the sky; bright-winged butterflies seem flitting in the noonday sunshine, and strange animals of monstrous size are basking on the sea-shore. Rory's pictures were admired by all hands, but the artist had his private view to begin with, and, among others like privileged, aft came weird old Magnus. First he was shown the picture of the Past. He gazed at it long and earnestly, muttering to himself, "Strange, strange, strange." But no sooner was the companion picture placed before him, than he started from the chair on which he had been sitting. "I was right! I was right?" he cried. "Oh! bless you, boy Rory; bless you, Captain McBain. This--this is the Isle of Alba. Yonder are the dear hills. I thought I could not be mistaken, and not far off are the mammoth caves. I can guide you, gentlemen, to the place where lies wealth untold. This is the happiest day of old Magnus's life." "Sit down, Magnus," said McBain, kindly; "sit down, my old sea-dad. Gentlemen, gather round us; Magnus has something to tell us I know. Magnus," he continued, taking the old man's thin and withered hand in his, "I have often thought you knew more about this Isle of Alba than you cared to tell. What is the mystery? You have spoken so often about these mammoth caves. How know you there is wealth of ivory lying there?" "I have no story to relate," said Magnus, talking apparently to himself; "only a sad reminiscence of a voyage I took years and years ago to these same dreary latitudes. I had a son with me, a son I loved for his dead mother's sake and his own. I commanded a sloop--'twas but a sloop--and we sailed away from Norwegian shores in search of the ivory mines. We reached this very island. The year was an open one, just like this; myself and my brave fellows found ivory in abundance; in such abundance that our sloop would not carry a thousandth part of it, for, gentlemen, in ages long gone by, this island and those around it were the homes of the mammoth and the mastodon. We collected all the ivory and placed it in one cave. How I used to gloat over my treasure! It was all for my boy. He would be the richest man in Northern Europe. My boy, my dear boy, with his mother's eyes! I had only to go back to Norway with my sloop and charter a large vessel, and return to the Isle of Alba for my buried treasure." Here poor old Magnus threw his body forward and covered his face with his skinny hands, and the tears welled through his fingers, while his whole form was convulsed with sobs. "My boy--died!" was all he could utter. "He sleeps yonder--yonder at the cave's mouth. Yonder--yonder. To-morrow I will guide you to the cave, and we will see my boy." The old man seemed wandering a little. "I would sleep now," he added. "To-morrow--to-morrow." There was a strange light in Magnus's eye next day when he joined the search party on deck, and a strange flush on his cheek that seemed to bode no good. "I'll see my boy," he kept repeating to himself, as he led the way on shore. "I'll see my boy." He walked so fast that his younger companions could hardly keep pace with him. Along the shore and upwards through a glen, round hills and rocks, by many a devious path, he led them on and on, till they stood at last at the foot of a tall perpendicular cliff, with, close beside it, a spar or flagstaff. They knew now that Magnus had not been raving, that they were no old man's dream, these mammoth caves, but a glorious reality. "Quick, quick," cried Magnus, pointing to a spot at the foot of the spar. "Clear away the snow." Our heroes were hardly prepared for the sight that met their eyes, as soon as Magnus had been obeyed, for there, encased in a block of crystal ice, lay the form of a youth of probably sixteen summers, dressed in the blue uniform of a Norwegian sailor, with long fair hair floating over his shoulders. Time had wrought no change on the face; this lad, though buried for twenty years, seemed even now only in a gentle slumber, from which a word or touch might awake him. "My boy! my boy!" was the cry of the old man, as he knelt beside the grave, kissed the cold ice, and bedewed it with his tears. "Look up, look up; 'tis your father that is bending over you. But no, no, no; he'll never speak nor smile again. Oh! my boy, my boy!" Rory was in tears, and not he alone, for the roughest sailor that stood beside the grave could not witness the grief of that old man unmoved. McBain stepped forward and placed his hand kindly on his shoulder. Magnus turned his streaming eyes just once upwards to his captain's face, then he gave vent to one long, sobbing sigh, threw out his arms, and dropped. Magnus was no more. They made his grave close to that of his boy's, and there, side by side, these twain will sleep till the sea gives up its dead. CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. THE TERRIBLE SNOWSTORM--SOMETHING LIKE AN AQUARIUM--THE MAMMOTH CAVES AND THEIR STARTLING TREASURES--THE JOURNEY POLEWARDS--COLLAPSE OF THE BALLOON--"GOD SAVE THE QUEEN." Four long months have passed away since poor old Magnus dropped dead on the grave of his son. The sun has once more appeared above the horizon, bringing joy to the hearts of the officers and crew of the _Arrandoon_. Despite every effort to keep their spirits up, the past winter has been a weary one. Had the stars always shone, had the glorious Aurora always flickered above them, it might have been different; but shortly after the cave was finished and furnished, divided into compartments, and made comfortable with chairs and sofas, and carpets and skins, a terrible storm came on them from the north-west. Never had our young heroes, never had McBain himself, known such cold, or such fierce winds and depth of snow. For three whole weeks did this Arctic storm rage, and during this time it would have been certain death for any one to have ventured ten yards from the mouth of the cavern. But the wind fell at last, the clouds dispersed, and once more the goodly stars shone forth, and the bright Aurora. Then they ventured to creep out from their friendly shelter. The Arctic night seemed now as bright as day; they could hardly believe that the sun was not hidden behind some of those quartz-like clouds, that were still banked up on the south-eastern horizon. But where was the ship? where was their lordly _Arrandoon_? For a moment it seemed as if the ice had opened and swallowed her up. They rubbed their wondering eyes and looked again. Three silver streaks glimmering against the dark blue of the sky represented her topmasts; all the rest of her was buried beneath the snow. And as far as they could see seaward it was all a waste of smooth dazzling white, with here and there only the points and peaks of the icebergs appearing above it. As soon as the snow had sunk, which it soon did many feet, McBain had got his crew ready to start for the mammoth mines. The weather had continued fine, only there were whole weeks during which the wind blew so cuttingly fierce that no work or walking either could be attempted. The troglodytes--an expression of Rory's--were, therefore, a good deal confined to their cave, and it was well for them then that they had books to read and the wherewithal to amuse themselves in many other ways. The following is a remark that Rory had made to Ralph and Allan one day, after nearly three months of the winter had passed away. "Which of you troglodytes is going with me to-morrow to see the sun rise?" "Not I, thanks," said Ralph. "Pass the ham, old man; that bit of bear-steak was a treat." "I'll go," said Allan. "Hurrah!" cried Rory. "It is you that's the brave boy after all. We'll have friend Seth, too, and the dogs. It's the first time they've been out; it will do us all good." This sledging-party had been a merry one, but they were obliged to leave the dogs at the foot of the mountain, and climb, as best they could, to the top, where, sure enough, they were soon rewarded by a glimpse, just one thrilling glimpse, of the king of day. They could not refrain from shouting aloud with joy. They shouted and cheered, and though, well-nigh three miles from the cave, the troglodytes there heard it, so intense was the silence, and gave them back shout for shout and cheer for cheer. They had seen something, though, from the hill-top that had very much astonished them. In the centre of this curious island, and entirely surrounded by mountains, was a lake of open water, as black as ink it looked in contrast with the snow-clad braeland around it, and right in the centre thereof played an enormous geyser, or natural fountain. It was evidently of volcanic origin. The days got longer and longer, and in five months from the time they had entered the cave day and night were about equal. But I must not omit telling you of the strange experiment that had suggested itself to McBain while gazing upwards at the birds--lured from afar--circling round the electric light. It was nothing more nor less than that of paying a visit, by means of a diving-bell and the electric light, to the denizens of the deep--the creatures that lived in the ocean under the ice. Everything was got ready under the supervision of the aeronaut, ably assisted by the carpenter and crew and little Ap. The bell itself was an immense one, and most carefully constructed to float or sink at will. Inside it was quite as comfortable as the room in the lift of some of our large hotels. Ralph seldom went far out of his way in search of adventure, but this new and wonderful experiment seemed to possess an irresistible charm even for him. As for Rory, he was, as Sandy McFlail said, "half daft" over the idea. McBain was most careful in seeing that everything was in working order; and the bell was sunk and re-sunk empty a dozen times in the water before he would allow any one to venture down in it. The snow had been previously cleared away all from and around the ship, and an immense ice-hole made for the purpose of conducting the experiment. When all seemed safe, and it was found that the bell, sunk to a depth of forty feet, was acted on by no current, but rose straight to the surface of the ice-hole when wanted, then the captain himself and De Vere ventured down. They remained beneath for fully twenty minutes--and anxious minutes they were to those on the surface; then the signal to hoist was given, and presently up bobbed the bell, and was raised to the level by the derrick, when out stepped De Vere and McBain. "Smiling all over, sure!" said Rory, "and looking as clean and sweet and pretty as if they'd just popped out of a band-box." The diving-bell was called "the band-box" after this. But it was after dark that the real experiment was to take place. "Troth!" said Rory at dinner that day, "will you fellows never have done eating? It's myself that is longing to get away down to the bottom of the sea." The four of them entered the band-box--Allan, Ralph, the doctor, and Rory; then they were slowly lowered down--down--down amid a darkness that could be felt. But presently a green glimmer of light shone in through the strong window of the bell; they could see each other's faces. The light got stronger and stronger as the electric ball came nearer and nearer, till at last it stopped stationary about twelve yards from their window, making the sea all round, beneath, and above it as bright as noon. "Yonder is the stage, boys," cried Rory; "but where are the performers?" They had not long to wait for these. Fish, first of the smaller kinds, came sailing round the light; presently these fled in all directions, and a monster shark took up the room. He soon had company, for dozens of others came floating around, and not sharks only, but creatures of more hideous forms than anything even Rory could have imagined in his wildest dreams. "Oh!" cried the young poet, "if Gustave Dore were only here to see this terrible sight!" "It beats," said Sandy, "the Brighton Aquarium all to pieces. Oh?" he screamed, shrinking into a corner of the band-box, as a huge hammer-headed shark sidled up to the window, crooked his awful eyes, and stared in. "Oh, Rory, man, signal quick! I want to get up out o' here. No more divin'-bells for me, lad." For nearly six weeks it became the regular custom to visit this submarine vivarium every night after dinner. "It was just as good," Ralph and Allan said, "as going to a show." "And a deal better," added Rory. Even the mates and the crew begged for a peep at the wonders displayed in the depths of the illuminated sea. "Well," said Ted Wilson, when he ascended after his first view, "I'm a sadder and a wiser man, and I'll dream of what I've seen this night as long as ever I live." They found the mouth of the mammoth cave, near which lay all that was mortal of poor old Magnus and his son, after days and days of digging; but when at long last they succeeded in forcing an entrance, one glance around them proved that they had indeed fallen upon riches and wealth untold. Those vast tusks and teeth of the mighty monsters of an age long past and gone were of the purest ivory, more white and hard than any they had ever seen before. "Why, sure," said Rory, "the cave of Aladdin was nothing to this!" "The next thing, gentlemen," said the captain, "is to transport our treasure to the good ship _Arrandoon_. Seth, old friend, your dogs will be wanted now in good earnest." "I reckon," replied Seth, "they're all ready, sir, and just mad enough to eat each other's collars, 'cause they don't get anything to do." What a change it was to have sunshine and a comparative degree of warmth again. Rough and toilsome enough was the road between the ship and the mammoth cave, but the snow was crisp and hard. The dogs were wild with delight, and so were our heroes, and so hard did everybody work all day that no one thought any more about the diving-bell and the denizens of the deep. After dinner they needed rest. Rory took his boat, or canoe, with him once or twice, and, all alone, he embarked on the volcanic lake and paddled round the geyser. In three weeks from the day they had found the entrance to the cave they had transported all the ivory to the _Arrandoon_. They were now what Silas would have called a "bumper ship." If they should succeed in regaining their own country, Rory would be able to live all his days in peace and comfort, independent of the whims of his Irish tenantry, and Allan--ah, yes, poor Allan!--began to dream of home now. Already, in imagination, he saw Glentruim a fair and smiling valley, every acre of it tilled, comfortable cottages sending their blue smoke heavenwards from the green birchen woods, a new and beautiful church, and the castle restored, himself once more resuming his rights of chief of his clan, and his dear mother and sister honoured and respected by all. "I'll roast an ox whole, boys!" he cried, one evening, jumping up from the sofa in the snuggery, where he had been lying thinking and dreaming of the future. "A whole ox; nothing less!" Rory and Ralph burst out laughing. "A vera judeecious arrangement!" cried Sandy. "But where will ye get the ox? I'm getting tired o' bear-beef, and wouldn't mind a slice out of a juicy stot's rump." "Oh, dear!" said Allan, smiling; "I forgot you hadn't been following the train of my thoughts. I was back again in Arrandoon." "Hurrah!" cried Rory. "Gather round the fire, boys; sit in, captain; sit in, Sandy; let us talk about home and what we all will do when we get there." Little, little did they know then the hardships that were in store for them. Summer had fairly set in, but as yet there were not the slightest signs of the ice breaking up. Several balloon flights were made, the aeronaut always making most careful calculations for days before starting, and generally succeeding in catching a favourable time. Then the principal adventure of the whole cruise was undertaken--a great sledging journey towards the Pole itself. The sledges, specially prepared for the purpose, were got out and carefully loaded with everything that would be found necessary. For a time the _Arrandoon_ was to be left with but a few hands, or "ship-keepers," as they are called, on her. The great snowstorm of the previous winter McBain judged, and rightly too, would be in favour of the expedition; it smoothed the roughness of the ice, and made sledging even pleasurable. De Vere had two sledges, devoted to carrying his balloon and the means wherewith to inflate it. Ted Wilson was left in charge of the ship, with little Ap, the cook, and carpenter's crew, to say nothing of little Freezing Powders and Cockie. "If you do find the North Pole," cried Ted Wilson, as a parting salutation to one of his companions, "do fair Johnick, Bill, fair Johnick--bring us a bit." I have to tell of no terrible hardships or sufferings experienced by our heroes during this memorable sledge journey. They accomplished on an average about twelve miles a day, or seventy miles a week, and they invariably rested on the Sabbath, merely taking exercise on that day to keep up the warmth of their bodies. They suffered but little from the cold, but it must be remembered that by this time they had become thoroughly inured to the rigours of the Arctic regions. It was easy to keep warm trudging along over the snow, and helping to drag the sledge by day. The dogs they found were a great acquisition. Under the wise and judicious management of Trapper Seth they were most tractable, and their strength seemed something marvellous. They were fat and sleek, and comfortable-looking, too, and had entirely lost the gaunt, hungry, wolfish appearance they presented when Captain Cobb first sent them on board. Well did they work for, and richly did they deserve, the four Spratts' biscuits given to each of them daily; that, followed by a mouthful of snow, was all they cared for and all they needed to make them the happiest of the happy. A short halt was made for luncheon every noon, and at six o'clock they stopped for the night, and dinner was cooked. This was Seth's duty, and, considering the limited means at his command, he succeeded wonderfully. The tent was erected over a large pit in the snow, the sledges being drawn up to protect it against the prevailing wind. But of this there was but little. After dinner they gathered around a great spirit-lamp stove, wrapped in skins and blankets, and generally talked themselves to sleep. But Seth always slept with the dogs. "I like to curl up," he explained, "with the animiles. They keeps me warm, they do; and, gentlemen, Seth's bones ain't quite so young as they used to be." For weeks our heroes journeyed on towards the Pole, but they came to the end of what McBain called the snowfields at last, and all farther progress by sledge was practically at an end. Before them stretched away to the utmost limits of the horizon The Sea of Ancient Ice, a chaos of boulders, over which it would take a week at least to drag the sledges even a distance of ten miles, Now came the balloon to the rescue, but who were to go in it? Its car would, big as it was, contain but four. The four were finally selected; they were McBain, the aeronaut himself, Allan, and Rory. Upwards mounted the great balloon, upwards but sailing southwards; yet well had De Vere counted his chances. Ballast was thrown out, and they rose into the air with inconceivable rapidity, and McBain soon perceived that the direction had now changed, and that the balloon was going rapidly northwards. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ To those left behind on the snowfields the time dragged on very slowly indeed, and when four-and-twenty hours had gone by, and still there was no sign of the return of the aeronauts, Ralph's anxiety knew no bounds. He seemed to spend most of his time on the top of a large iceberg, gazing northwards and skywards in hopes of catching a glimpse of the balloon. But all in vain, and so passed six-and-thirty hours, and so passed forty-eight and fifty. Something must have happened. Grief began to weigh like lead on poor Ralph's heart. A hundred times in an hour he reproached himself for not having gone in the balloon instead of Rory. He was strong, Rory was not, and if anything had happened to his more than brother, he felt he could never forget it and never forgive himself. Despair was slowly taking the place of grief; he was walking up and down rapidly on the snow, for he could not rest,--he had taken neither food nor sleep since the balloon departed,--when there was a shout from the man on the outlook. "Something black on the northern horizon, sir, but no signs of the balloon." "Hurrah?" cried Ralph. "Now, men, to the rescue. Let us go and meet them, and help them over this sea of boulders." In three hours more McBain and party were back in camp, safe and sound, terribly tired, but able to tell all their story. "We've planted the dear old flag as far north as we could get," said McBain, "and left it there." "Ay," said Rory, "and kissed and blessed it a hundred times over." "And but for the accident to the balloon, which we were obliged to abandon, we would have been back long ere now." "But we have not seen de open sea around de Pole," said De Vere. "No," said McBain; "there is no such sea; that is all a myth; only the sea of ancient ice, and land, with tall, cone-shaped mountains on it, evidently the remains of extinct volcanoes. Oh! it was a dreary, dreary scene. No signs of life, never a bird or bear, and a silence like the silence of death." "It was on one of those hills," added Rory, "we planted the flag--`the flag that braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze.' It was a glorious moment, dear Ralph, when we saw that bit of bunting unfurled. How Allan and myself wished you'd been with us. It was so funny, too, because, you see, there was no north, no east, and no west; everything was south of us. The whole world lay down beneath us, as it were, all to the south'ard, and we could walk round the world, so to speak, a dozen times in a minute." "Yes, it is curious," replied Ralph, musing in silence for a moment. Then he stretched out his hand and grasped Rory's. He did not speak. There was no need, Rory knew well what he meant. "Now, boys and men," cried the captain, "we have to return thanks to Him who has safely guided us through all perils into these distant regions, and pray that He may permit us to return in safety to our native land. Let us pray." A more heartfelt prayer than that of those hardy sailors probably never ascended on high. Afterwards a psalm was sung, to a beautiful old melody, and this closed the service; but next morning, ere they started to return to the _Arrandoon_, another spar was erected on the top of the biggest and highest iceberg. On this the English colours were _nailed_, and around it the crew assembled, and cheer after cheer rent the air, and, as Sandy McFlail afterwards observed, hats and bonnets were pitched on high, till they positively darkened the air, like a flock o' craws. Then "Give us a good bass and tenor, boys," cried Rory, and he burst into the grand old National Anthem,-- "God save our Gracious Queen, Long may Victoria reign, God save the Queen." CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. ANOTHER WINTER AT THE POLE--CHRISTMAS DAY--THE CURTAIN RISES ON THE LAST ACT--SICKNESS--DEATH--DESPAIR. The summer was far advanced before Captain McBain and his crew returned to where their vessel lay off the island of Alba. They had fully expected to see some signs of the ice breaking up, so as to allow them to get clear and bear up for home, but the chance of this taking place seemed as far off as ever. If the truth must be told, the captain had counted upon a break-up of the sea of ice shortly after midsummer at the very latest. But midsummer went past, the sun each midnight began to decline nearer and nearer to the northern horizon, and it already seemed sadly probable that another winter would have to be passed in these desolate regions. McBain could not help recalling the words of old Magnus, "Open seasons do not come oftener than once in ten years." If this indeed were true, then he, his boys and his crew, were doomed to sufferings more terrible than tongue could tell or pen relate-- sufferings from which there could be no escape save through the jaws of death. Provisions would hardly last throughout another winter, and until the ice broke up and they were again free, there could be no chance of getting those that had been stored on the northernmost isle of Spitzbergen. The sky remained clear and hard, and McBain soon began to think he would give all he possessed in life for the sight of one little cloud not bigger than a man's hand. But that cloud never came, and the sun commenced to set and the summer waned away. The captain kept his sorrow very much to himself; at all events he tried to talk cheerfully and hopefully when in the company of any of our young heroes; but they could mark a change, and well they knew the cause. The ice-hole was opened, but, strange to say, although they captured sharks and other great fish innumerable, neither seal nor walrus ever showed head above the water. Bears were pretty numerous on the ice, and now McBain gave orders to preserve not only the skins but even the flesh of those monsters. It was cut in pieces and buried in the ice and snow, well up the braeland near to the mouth of the cave, in which they had found shelter during all the dark months of the former winter. The fact that no seals appeared at the ice-hole proved beyond a doubt that the open water was very far indeed to the southward of them. How they had rejoiced to see the sun rise for the first time in the previous spring; how their hearts sank now to see him set! "Boys," said McBain one day, after he had remained silent for some time, as if in deep thought--"boys, I fear we won't get out of this place for many months to come. How do you like the prospect?" He smiled as he spoke; but they could see the smile was a simulated one. "Never mind," said Ralph and Allan; "we'll keep our hearts up, never fear; don't you be unhappy on our account." "I'll try not to be," said McBain, "and I'm sure I shall not be so on my own." "Besides, captain dear," added Rory, "it's sure to come right in the end." McBain laid his hand on boy Rory's head, and smiled somewhat sadly. "You're always hopeful, Rory," he said. "We must pray that your words may come true." And, indeed, besides waiting with a hopeful trust in that all-seeing Providence who had never yet deserted them in their direst need, there was little now to be done. As the days got shorter and shorter, and escape from another winter's imprisonment seemed impossible, the crew of the _Arrandoon_ was set to work overhauling stores. It was found that with strict economy the provisions would last until spring, but, with the addition of the flesh of sharks and bears, for a month or two longer. It was determined, therefore, that the men should not be put upon short allowance, for semi-starvation--McBain was doctor enough to know--only opened the door for disease to step in, in the shape perhaps of that scourge called scurvy, or even the black death itself. When the sun at last sank to rise no more for three long months, so far from letting down their hearts, or losing hope, the officers and crew of our gallant ship once more settled down to their "old winter ways," as Seth called them. They betook themselves to the cave in the hillside, which, for sake of giving the men exercise, McBain had made double the size, the mould taken therefrom and the rocks being used to erect a terrace near the entrance. This was surrounded by a balustrade or bulwark, with a flagstaff erected at one end, and on this was unfurled the Union Jack. Watches were kept, and meals cooked and served, with as much regularity as if they had been at sea, while the evenings were devoted to reading, music, and story-telling round the many great fires that were lighted to keep the cave warm. Where, it may be asked, did the fuel come from? Certainly not from the ship. The coals were most carefully stored, and retained for future service; but tons on tons of great pine-logs were dug from the hill-sides. And glorious fires they made, too. It was, as Rory said, raking up the ashes of a long-past age to find fuel for a new one. Once more the electric light was got under way, and twice a week at least the diving-bell was sunk. This was a source of amusement that never failed to give pleasure; but so intense was the frost at times that it was a matter of no small difficulty to break the ice on the water. The captain was untiring in his efforts to keep his men employed, and in as happy a frame of mind as circumstances would admit of. There was no snowstorm this winter, and very seldom any wind; the sky was nearly always clear, and the stars and Aurora brighter than ever they had seen them. Christmas--the second they had spent together since leaving the Clyde-- passed pleasantly enough, though there was no boisterous merriment. Songs and story-telling were in far greater request than dancing. Never, perhaps, was Rory in better spirits for solo-playing. He appeared to know intuitively the class of music the listeners would delight in, and his rendering of some of the old Scottish airs seemed simply to hold them spell-bound. As the wild, weird, plaintive notes of the violin, touched by the master fingers of the young poet, fell on their ears, they were no longer ice-bound in the dreary regions of the pole. It was no longer winter; it was no longer night. They were home once more in their native land; home in dear auld Scotland. The sun was shining brightly in the summer sky, the purple of the heather was on the moorland, the glens and valleys were green, and the music of merle and mavis, mingling with the soft croodle of the amorous cushat, resounded from the groves. No wonder that a few sighs were heard when Rory ceased to play; he had touched a chord in their inmost hearts, and for the time being had rendered them inexpressibly happy. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ It is well to let the curtain fall here for a short time; it rises again on the first scene of the last act of this Arctic drama of ours. Three months have elapsed since that Christmas evening in the cave when we beheld the crew of the _Arrandoon_ listening with happy, hopeful, upturned faces to the sweet music that Rory discoursed from his darling instrument. Only three months, but what a change has come over the prospects of sill on board that seemingly doomed ship! Often and often had our heroes been face to face with death in storms and tempests at sea, in fighting with wild beasts, and even with wild men, but never before had they met the grim king of terrors in the form he now assumed. For several weeks the men had been falling ill, and dying one by one, and already no less than nine graves had been dug and filled under the snow on the mountain's side. The disease, whatever it was, resisted all kinds of treatment, and, indeed, though the symptoms in every case were similar at the commencement, no two men died in precisely the same way. At first there was an intense longing for home; this would be succeeded in a few days by loss of all appetite, by distaste for food or exertion of any kind, and by fits of extreme melancholy and depression. The doctor did his best. Alas! there are diseases against which all the might of medical skill is unavailing. Brandy and other stimulants were tried; but these only kept the deadly ailment at bay for a very short time; it returned with double force, and poor sufferers were doubly prostrated in consequence. There was no bodily pain, except from a strange hollow cough that in all cases accompanied the complaint, but there was rapid emaciation, hot, burning brow, and hands and feet that scorched like fire, and while some fell into a kind of gentle slumber from which they awoke no more in this world, others died from sheer debility, the mind being clear to the last--nay, even brighter as they neared the bourne from which no traveller ever returns. As the time went on--the days were now getting long again, for spring had returned--matters got even worse. It was strange, too, that the very best and brightest of the crew were the first to be attacked and to die. I do not think there was a dry eye in the ship when the little procession wound its way round the hillside bearing in its unpretending coffin the mortal remains of poor Ted Wilson. All this long cruise he had been the life and soul of the whole crew. No wonder that the words of the beautiful old song _Tom Bowling_ rose to the mind of more than one of the crew of the _Arrandoon_ when Ted was laid to rest: "His form was of the manliest beauty, His heart was warm and soft, Faithful below he did his duty, And now he's gone aloft." Just one week after the burial of Ted Wilson, De Vere, the French aeronaut, was attacked, and in three days' time he was dead. He had never been really well since the journey to the vicinity of the Pole, and the loss of his great balloon was one which he never seemed to be able to get over. He was quite an enthusiast in his profession, and, as he remarked to McBain one day, "I have mooch grief for de loss of my balloon. I had give myself over to de thoughts of mooch pleasant voyaging away up in de regions of de upper air. I s'all soar not again until I reach England." It was sad to hear him, as he lay half delirious on the bed of his last illness, muttering, muttering to himself and constantly talking about the home far away in sunny France that he would never see again. Either the doctor or one or other of our young heroes was constantly in the cabin with him. About an hour before his demise he sent for Ralph. "I vould not," he said, "send for Rory nor for Allan, dey vill both follow me soon. Oh I do not you look sad, Ralph, dere is nothing but joy vere ve are going. Nothing but joy, and sunshine, and happiness." He took a locket from his breast. It contained the portrait of a grey-haired mother. "Bury dis locket in my grave," he said. He took two rings from off his thin white fingers. "For my sister and my mother," he said. He never spoke again, but died with those dear names on his lips. Ralph showed himself a very hero in these sad times of trouble and death. He was here, there, and everywhere, by night and by day; assisting the surgeon and helping Seth to attend upon the wants of the sick and dying; and many a pillow he soothed, and many a word of comfort he gave to those who needed it. The true Saxon character was now beautifully exemplified in our English hero. He possessed that noble courage which never makes itself uselessly obtrusive, which fritters not itself away on trifles, and which seems at most times to lie dormant or latent, but is ever ready to show forth and burn most brightly in the hour of direst need. Sorrows seldom come singly, and one day Stevenson, in making his usual morning report, had the sad tidings to add that cask after cask of provisions had been opened and found bad, utterly useless for human food. McBain got up from his chair and accompanied the mate on deck. "I would not," he said, "express, in words what I feel, Mr Stevenson, before our boys; but this, indeed, is terrible tidings." "It can only hasten the end," said Stevenson. "You think, then, that that end is inevitable?" "Inevitable," said Stevenson, solemnly but emphatically. "We are doomed to perish here among this ice. There can be no rescue for us but through the grave." "We are in the hands of a merciful and an all-powerful Providence, Mr Stevenson," said McBain; "we must trust, and wait, and hope, and do our duty." "That we will, sir, at all events," said the mate; "but see, sir, what is that yonder?" He pointed, as he spoke, skywards, and there, just a little way above the highest mountain-tops, was a cloud. It kept increasing almost momentarily, and got darker and darker. Both watched it until the sun itself was overcast, then the mate ran below to look at the glass. It was "tumbling" down. For three days a gale and storm, accompanied with soft, half-wet snow, raged. Then terrible noises and reports were heard all over the pack of ice seaward, and the grinding and din that never fails to announce the break-up of the sea of ice. "Heaven has not forgotten us," cried McBain, hopefully; "this change will assuredly check the sickness, and perhaps in a week's time we will be sailing southwards through the blue, open sea, bound for our native shores." McBain was right; the hopes raised in the hearts of the men did check the progress of the sickness. When at last the wind fell, they were glad to see that the clouds still remained, and that there were no signs of the frost coming on again. The pieces of ice, too, were loose, and all hands were set to work to warp the ship southwards through the bergs. The work was hard, and the progress made scarcely a mile a day at first. But they were men working for their lives, with new-born hope in their hearts, so they heeded not the fatigue, and after a fortnight's toil they found the water so much more open that by going ahead at full speed in every clear space, a fair day's distance was got over. For a week more they strove and struggled onwards; the men, however, were getting weaker and weaker for want of sufficient food. How great was their joy, then, when one morning the island was sighted on which McBain had left the store of provisions! Boats were sent away as soon as they came within a mile of the place. Sad, indeed, was the news with which Stevenson, who was in charge, returned. The bears had made an attack on the buried stores. They had clawed the great cask open, and had devoured or destroyed everything. Hope itself now seemed for a time to fly from all on board. With a crew weak from want, and with fearful ice to work their way through, what chance was there that they would ever succeed in reaching the open water, or in proceeding on their homeward voyage even as far as the island of Jan Mayen, or until they should fall in with and obtain relief from some friendly ship? They were far to the northward of the sealing grounds, and just as far to the east. McBain, however, determined still to do his utmost, and, though on short allowance, to try to forge ahead. For one week more they toiled and struggled onwards, then came the frost again and all chance of proceeding was at an end. It was no wonder that sickness returned. No wonder that McBain himself, and Allan and Rory, began to feel dejected, listless, weary, and ill. Then came a day when the doctor and Ralph sat down alone to eat their meagre and hurried breakfast. "What prospects?" said Ralph. "Moribund!" was all the doctor said just then. Presently he added-- "There, in the corner, lies poor wee Freezing Powders, and, my dear Ralph, one hour will see it all over with him. The captain and Allan and Rory can hardly last much longer." "God help us, then," said Ralph, wringing his hands, and giving way to a momentary anguish. The unhappy negro boy was stretched, to all appearance lifeless, close by the side of his favourite's cage. Despite his own grief, Ralph could not help feeling for that poor bird. His distress was painful to witness. If his great round eyes could have run over with tears, I am sure they would have done so. I have said before that Cockie was not a pretty bird, but somehow his very ugliness made Ralph pity him now all the more. Nor was the grief of the bird any the less sad to see because it was exhibited in a kind of half ludicrous way. He was not a moment at rest, but he seemed really not to know what he was doing, and his anxious eye was hardly ever withdrawn from the face of the dying boy:--jumping up and down from his perch to his seed-tin and back again, grabbing great mouthfuls of hemp, which he never even broke or tried to swallow, and blowing great sighs over his thick blue tongue. And the occasional sentence, too, the bird every now and then began but never finished,-- "Here's a--" "Did you--" "Come--" All spoke of the anguish in poor Cockie's breast. A faint moaning was heard in the adjoining cabin, and Ralph hurried away from the table, and Sandy was left alone. CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. A SAILOR'S COTTAGE--THE TELEGRAM--"SOMETHING'S IN THE WIND"--THE GOOD YACHT "POLAR STAR"--HOPE FOR THE WANDERERS. A cottage on a cliff. A cliff whose black, beetling sides rose sheer up out of the water three hundred feet and over; a cliff around which sea-birds whirled in dizzy flight; a cliff in which the cormorant had her home; a cliff against which all the might of the German Ocean had dashed and chafed and foamed for ages. Some fifty yards back from the edge of this cliff the cottage was built, of hard blue granite, with sturdy bay windows--a cottage that seemed as independent of any storm that could blow as the cliff itself was. In front was a neat wee garden, with nicely gravelled walks and edging of box, and all round it a natty railing painted an emerald green. At the back of the cottage were more gravelled walks and more flower garden, with a summer-house and a smooth lawn, from the centre of which rose a tall ship's mast by way of flagstaff, with ratlines and rigging and stays and top complete. Not far off was a pigeon-house on a pole, and not far from that still another pole surmounted by a weather-vane, and two little wooden blue-jackets, that whenever the wind blew, went whirling round and round, clashing swords and engaging in a kind of fanatic duel, which seemed terribly real and terribly deadly for the time being. It was a morning in early spring, and up and down the walk behind the cottage stepped a sturdy, weather-beaten old sailor, with hair and beard of iron-grey, and a face as red as the newest brick that ever was fashioned. He stood for a moment gazing upwards at the strutting fantails. "Curr-a-coo--curr-a-coo," said the pigeons. "Curr-a-coo--curr-a-coo," replied the sailor. "I dare say you're very happy, and I'm sure you think the sun was made for you and you only. Ah! my bonnie birdies, you don't know what the world is doing. You don't--hullo?" "Yes, my dear, you may say hullo," said a cheerful little woman, with a bright, pleasant face, walking up to him, and placing an arm in his. "Didn't you hear me tapping on the pane for you?" "Not I, little wife, not I," said Silas Grig. "I've been thinking, lass, thinking--" "Well, then," interrupted his wife, "don't you think any more; you've made your hair all white with thinking. Just come in and have breakfast. That haddock smells delicious, and I've made some nice toast, and tried the new tea. Come, Silas, come." Away went the two together, he with his arm around her waist, looking as happy, the pair of them, as though their united ages didn't make a deal over a hundred. "Come next month," said Silas, as soon as he had finished his first cup of tea--"come next month, little wife, it will just be two years since I first met the _Arrandoon_. Heigho?" "You needn't sigh, Silas," his wife remarked. "They may return. Wonders never cease." "Return?" repeated Silas, with a broken-hearted kind of a laugh, "Nay, nay, nay, we'll meet them no more in this world. Poor Rory! He was my favourite. Dear boy, I think I see him yet, with his fair, laughing face, and that rogue of an eye of his." Rat-tat. Silas started. "The postman?" he said; "no, it can't be. That's right, little woman, run to the door and see. What! a telegram for me!" Silas took the missive, and turned it over and over in his hand half a dozen times at least. "Why, my dear, who _can_ it be from?" he asked with a puzzled look, "and what _can_ it be about? _Can_ you guess, little wife? Eh? can you?" "If I were you, Silas," said his wife, quietly, "I'd open it and see." "Dear me! to be sure," cried Silas. "I didn't think of that. Why, I declare," he continued, as soon as he had read it, "it is from Arrandoon Castle, and the poor widow, Allan's mother, wants to see me at once. I'm off, little woman, at once. Get out my best things. The blue pilots, you know. Quick, little woman--quick! Bear a hand! Hurrah!" Silas Grig didn't finish that second cup of tea. He was dressed in less than ten minutes, had kissed his wife, and was hurrying away to the station. Indeed, Silas had never in his life felt in such a hurry before. "It'll be like my luck," he muttered, "if I miss this train." But he did not miss it, and it was a fast one, too, a flying train, that every day went tearing along through Scotland, and was warranted to land him at Inverness six hours after he first stepped on board. No sooner was Silas seated than he pulled out the telegram again, and read it over and over at least a dozen times. Then he looked at the back of it, as if it were just possible that some further information might be found there. Then he read the address, and as he could not get anything more out of it he folded it up and replaced it in his pocket, merely remarking, "I'll vow something's in the wind." Silas had bought a newspaper. He had meant to read; he tried to read as hard as ever he had tried to do anything, but it was all in vain. His mind was in too great a ferment, so he threw down the paper and devoted himself to gazing out of the window at the glorious panorama that was passing before him; but if anybody else had been in the same compartment, he or she would have heard this ancient mariner frequently muttering to himself, and the burden of all his remarks was, "Something's in the wind, I'm sure of that!" A fast train? A flying train? Yes, a deal too much so, many would have thought, but she could not fly a bit too fast for Silas. Yet how she did rattle and rush and roar along the lines, to be sure! The din she made only deepening for a moment as she dived under a bridge or brushed past a wayside station, too insignificant by far to waste a thought upon! Now she passes a country village, with rows of trim-built cottages and tidy gardens, with lines for clothes to dry, and fences where children hang or perch and wave their caps at the flying train. Now she shaves past rows of platelayers, who stand at attention or extend their grimy arms like signal yards, while a blue-coated jack-in-a-box waves a white flag from his window to show that all is safe. Now she ploughs through some larger junction, over a whole field of rails that seems to run in every conceivable direction; but she makes her way in safety in a whirl of dust, and next she shrieks as she plunges into the darkness of a long, dreary tunnel. Ah! but she is out again into the glare of the day, and again the telegraph posts go popping past as fast as one could wink. Five miles now on a stretch of level country as straight as crow could fly, through fields and woods and past thriving farms, with far beyond on the horizon hills, hills, hills. 'Tis spring-time, spring changing into summer, summer coming six good weeks before its time. Look, Silas, look! crimson flowers are already peeping red through the greenery of cornfields, drowsy-looking cows are wading knee-deep in grass and buttercups, the braelands are snowed over with the gowan's bloom. Birds are singing in meadow and copse, the yellow furze is blossoming on heathy moorlands. Great black spruces raise their tall heads skywards, and their every branch is tipped with a tassel of tender green; rowan-trees seem studded with roses of a pearly hue, and the feathery larches are hung round with a fringe-work of darkest crimson. Is it not glorious, Silas? is it not all beautiful? Did ever you see a sky more blue before, or cloudlets more fleecy and light? "I'll stake my word," replies Silas, "that something's in the wind." Wilder scenery now, dark, frowning mountains, lonely glens, heathlands, highlands, canons, and tarns, then a long and fertile flat, every sod of which marks a Scottish warrior's grave. Inverness at last! "Boat gone, is it?" cried Silas. "Like my luck. But why didn't she wait for the train? Tell me that, eh?" "Yes, sir; dare say I could, sir." This from an ostler in answer to another query of friend Silas. "Five-and-twenty mile, sir. I've just the horse that'll suit. Three hours to a tick, sir, rough though the road is, sir. I'll be ready in twenty minutes. Thank'ee, sir, much obliged. Now then, Donald, bustle about, will you? Get out the bay mare. Look sharp, gentleman's only got five minutes to feed." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "It can't be Captain Grig already," said Mrs McGregor. "And yet who else can it be?" said Helen Edith. "I'll run out and see," said Ralph's father, who had been spending some weeks at the castle. "Ha! welcome, honest Silas Grig," he cried, rushing up and literally receiving Silas with open arms as he jumped from the high-wheeled dogcart. "A thousand welcomes. Well, I do declare you haven't let the grass grow under your feet. How your horse steams! Take him round, driver, and see to his comfort, then go to the kitchen and see to your own. Old Janet is there. Now, Silas," continued Mr Leigh, "before you go to talk to the ladies, I'll tell you what we have arranged. We have thought well over all you said when you were here in the autumn, and I've chartered a German Arctic cruiser, and we're going to put you in command. She is lying at Peterhead, everything ready, crew and all, stores and all. Our prayers will follow you, dear Captain Grig, and if you find our poor boys, or even bring us tidings of their fate, we will be ever grateful. Nay, nay, but `grateful' poorly expresses my meaning. We will--" "Not another word," cried Silas, "not one single word more, sir, or as sure as my name is Silas Grig I'll clap my fingers in my ears." He shook Mr Leigh's hand as he spoke. "I'll find the boys if they be alive," he said. "I knew, sir, when I got the telegram there was something in the wind. I told my little wife I was quite sure of it. Ha! ha! ha!" Silas was laughing, but it was only to hide the tears with which his eyes were swimming. "When can you start, my dear Silas?" "To-night. At once. Give me a fresh horse and five minutes for a mouthful of refreshment, and off I start; and I'll take command to-morrow before the sun is over the foreyard." "To-night?" cried Mr Leigh, smiling. "No, no, no." "But I say `yo, yo, yo,'" said Silas, "and `yo heave, O,' and what Silas says he means. There! Ah, ladies, how are you? Nay, never cry, Miss McGregor. I'm going straight away to the Arctic Sea, and I'm sure to bring your brother back, and Rory as well, to say nothing of honest Ralph and Peter the piper. So cheer ye up, my little lass, If Silas Grig doesn't come back in company with the bonnie _Arrandoon_, may he never chew cheese again!" There was no getting over the impetuosity of this honest old sailor, but there was withal a freshness and happiness about him, which made every one he talked with feel as hopeful as he was himself. Before dinner was done both Mrs McGregor and her lovely daughter were smiling and laughing as they had not smiled or laughed for months before, and when Silas asked for a song, the latter went quite joyfully to the harp. You see it appeared quite a foregone conclusion with everybody that night, that Silas would find the lost explorers and bring them safely home. The moon rose in all its majesty as nine tolled forth from the clock-tower of the ancient castle. Then Silas said "good-bye," and, followed by many a blessing and many a prayer, the dogcart wound away up through the solemn pine forest, and was soon lost to view. He was just as good as his word. He took command of his new ship--a splendid sea-going yacht--before noon next day. Almost immediately afterwards he summoned both officers and men and mustered them all aft, and somewhat startled them by the following curt speech: "Gentlemen and men of the _Polar Star_, we'll sail to-morrow morning. We touch nowhere until we enter harbour here again. Any one that isn't ready to go can step on shore and stop there. All ready, eh? Bravo, men! You'll find your skipper isn't a bad fellow to deal with, but he means to crack on! No ship that ever sailed 'twixt Pekin and London, no clipper that ever left Aberdeen, or yacht from New York city, ever did such cracking on as I mean to do. Go to your duty. Pipe down." Then Silas Grig inspected the ship. He was pleased with her get-up and her rig-out, only he ordered extra spars and extra sails, and these were all on board ere sundown. "The old man means business," said the first mate to the second. "That he does!" replied the inferior officer. The _Polar Star_ sailed away from Peterhead on the very day that poor Ted Wilson was laid in his grave beneath the eternal snows of Alba. Could Silas have seen the desperate position of the _Arrandoon_ just then, how little hopes he would have entertained of ever reaching her in time to save the precious lives on board! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The doctor was left alone in the saloon of the great ship. The silence that reigned both fore and aft was oppressive even to dismalness. For a moment or two Sandy buried his face in his hands, and tears welled through his fingers. "Oh," he whispered, "it is terrible! The silence of death is all about us! Our men dying forward, our captain doomed, and Allan and Rory. Ay, and poor Ralph will be next; I can see that in his face. Not one of us can ever reach his native land again! I envy-- yes, I envy the dead in their quiet graves, and even wish it were all past--all, all over?" "Doctor!" a kindly hand was laid on his shoulder. Sandy started to his feet, he cared not who saw his face, wet though it was with tears. "Doctor, don't you take on so," said Stevenson. "Speak, man I speak quick! There is hope in your face!" cried the doctor. "There is hope in my heart, too," said the mate--"only a glint, only a gleam; but it is there. The frost is gone; the ice is open again." "Then quick," cried the surgeon, "get up steam! that alone can save the dying. Energy, energy, and something to do. _I_ can do nothing more to save my patients while this hopeless silence lies pall-like around us. Break it, dear mate, with the roar of steam and the rattle of the engine's screw!" "Listen," said the mate. "There goes the steam. Our chief has not been long." Round went the screw once more, and away moved the ship. Poor McBain came staggering from his cabin. Ghastly pale he looked. He had the appearance of one risen from the grave. He clutched Sandy by the shoulder. "We are--under--way?" he gasped. "Yes, yes," said the surgeon. "Homeward bound, captain." "Homeward bound," muttered the captain, pressing his hand on his brow, as if to recall his memory, which for a time had been unseated from her throne. For a minute or two the surgeon feared for his captain's life or reason. "Drink this, dear sir," he said; "be seated, too, you are not over well, and there is much to be done." "Much to be done?" cried McBain, as soon as he had quaffed the medicine. "I'm better. Thank you, good doctor; thank you, Sandy. There is much to be done. Those words have saved your captain's life." Sandy gave a big sigh of relief and hastened away to Rory's cabin. Rory had been lying like a dead thing for hours, but now a new light seemed to come into his eye. He extended his hand to Sandy and smiled. "We are positively under steam again, Sandy?" he said. Sandy, like a wise surgeon, did not tell him the frost was quite gone. Joy kills, and Sandy knew it. "Yes," he said, carelessly, "we'll get down south a few miles farther, I dare say. It is nice, though, isn't it, to hear the old screw rattling round again?" "Why, it is music, it is life?" said Rory. "Sandy, I'm going to be well again soon. I know and feel I am." Then Ralph burst into the cabin. "I say, Sandy," he said, "run and see dear old Allan; he says he is going to get up, and I know he is far, far too weak." Sandy had to pass through the saloon. Freezing Powders was sitting bolt upright in the corner, and Cockie was apparently mad with joy. The bird couldn't speak fast enough, and he seemed bent on choking himself with hemp. "Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter," he was saying, "here's a pretty, pretty, pretty to-do. Call the steward, call the steward. Come on, come on, come on." "Oh, Cockie," Freezing Powders said, "I'se drefful, drefful cold, Cockie. 'Spects I'se gwine to die, Cockie. 'Spects I is--Oh! de-ah, what my ole mudder say den?" "Come, come," cried Sandy, "take this, you young sprout, and don't let me catch you talking about dying. There now, pull yourself together." "I'll try," said the poor boy, "but I 'spects I'se as pale as deaf (death)." CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. THE RESCUE--HOMEWARD BOUND--ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. I never have been able to learn with a sufficient degree of exactitude whether it was the _Polar Star_ that first sighted the _Arrandoon_, or whether the _Arrandoon_ was the first to catch a glimpse of the _Polar Star_. And with such conflicting evidence before me, I do not see very well how I could. What evidence have I before me, do you ask? Why the logs of the two ships, written by their two captains respectively. I give below a portion of two extracts, both relating to the joyful event. Extract first from the log of the good yacht _Polar Star_:--"June 21st, 18--. At seven bells in the forenoon watch--ice heavy and wind about a south-south-west--caught sight of the _Arrandoon's_ topmasts bearing about a north and by east. Praise God for all His goodness." Extract second, from the log of the _Arrandoon_:--"June 21st, 18--. Seven bells in the forenoon watch--a hail from the crow's-nest, `A schooner among the ice to the south'ard and west of us, can just raise her topmasts, think she is bearing this way.' Heaven be praised, we are saved." Yes, dear reader, the _Arrandoon_ was saved. The news that a vessel was in sight spread through the ship like wildfire; those that were hale and well rushed on deck, the sick tottered up, and all was bustle and excitement, and the cheer that arose from stem to stern reminded McBain of the good old times, a year ago, when every man Jack of his crew was alive and well. It had been a very narrow escape for them, for, although not far from the open water where the _Polar Star_ lay with foreyard aback, they were unable to reach it, being once more frozen in, and had not good Silas appeared at the time he did, probably in a few weeks at most there would not have been a single human being living on board the lordly _Arrandoon_. No sooner had Silas satisfied himself with his own eyes that it was the _Arrandoon_ that lay ice-bound to the nor'ard of him, than he called away the boats and gave orders to load them with the best of everything, and to follow his whaler. His whaler took the ice just as eight bells were struck on the _Polar Star_, and next moment, guided by the fan in the crow's-nest of the yacht, he was hastening over the rough ice towards the _Arrandoon_. McBain and his boys, and the doctor as well, were all on deck, when who should heave round the corner of an iceberg but Captain Silas Grig himself, looking as rosy and ten times more happy than they had last seen him. He was still about fifty yards away, and for a moment or two he stood undecided; it seemed, indeed, that he wished not to walk but to jump or fly the remaining fifty intervening yards. Then he took off his cap, and--Scotch fashion--tossed it as high into the air as he possibly could. "_Arrandoon_, ahoy!" he shouted. "_Arrandoon_, ahoy! Hurrah!" There was not a soul on board that did not run aft to meet Silas as he sprang up the side. Even Freezing Powders, with Cockie on his shoulder, came wondering up, and Peter must needs get out his bagpipes and strike into _The Campbells are coming_. And when Silas found himself once more among his boys, and shaking hands with them all round; when he noticed the pale faces of Allan and Rory, and the pinched visage of the once strong and powerful McBain, and read in their weak and tottering gait the tale of all their sufferings, then it must be confessed that the bluff old mariner had to turn hastily about and address himself to others in order to hide a tear. "Indeed, gentlemen all," said Silas, many, many months after this, "when I saw you all looking so peaky and pale, as I first jumped down on to your quarter-deck, I never felt so near making an old ass o' myself in all my born days!" For three weeks longer the _Arrandoon_ lay among the ice before she got fairly clear, and, consorted by the _Polar Star_, bore up for home. Three weeks--but they were not badly spent--three weeks, and all that time was needed to restore our invalids to robust health. And that only shows how near to death's door they must have been, because to make them well they had the best medicine this world can supply, and Silas Grig was the physician. "Silas Grig! Silas Grig!" cried Rory, one morning at breakfast, about a fortnight after the reunion, "sure you're the best doctor that ever stepped in shoe-leather! No wonder we are all getting fat and rosy again! First you gave us a dose of hope--we got that before you jumped on board; then you gave us joy--a shake of your own honest hand, the sound of your own honest voice, and letters from home. What care I that my tenantry--`the foinest pisintry in the world'--haven't paid up? I've had letters from Arrandoon. What, Ray boy! more salmon and another egg? Just look at the effects of your physic, Dr Silas Grig!" Silas laughed. "But," he said, "there is one thing you haven't mentioned." "Tell us," said Rory: "troth, it's a treat to hear ye talking?" "The drop o' green ginger," said Silas. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Nor were these three weeks spent in idleness, for during that time the whole ship, from stem to stern, was redecorated; and when at last she was once more clear of the ice, once more out in the blue, she looked as bran new and as span new as on the day when she steamed down the wide, romantic Clyde. I do not know any greater pleasure in life than that of being homeward bound after a long, long cruise at sea,-- "Good news from home, good news for me, Has come across the deep blue sea." So runs the song. Good news from home is certainly one of the rover's joys, but how much more joyous it is to be "rolling home, rolling home" to get that good news, eye to eye and lip to lip! Once fairly under way, the weather seemed to get warmer every day. They reached Jan Mayen in a week; they found the rude village deserted, and Captain Cobb they would never be likely to meet again. So they left the island, and on the wings of a favouring breeze bore away for Iceland. Here Sandy McFlail, Doctor of Medicine of the University of Aberdeen, and surgeon of the good ship _Arrandoon_, begged to be left. Ah! poor Sandy was sadly in love with that blue-eyed, fair-haired Danish maiden. He fairly confessed to Rory, who had previously promised not to laugh at him, "that he had never seen a Scotch lassie to equal her, and that if she weren't a `doctor's leddy' before six months were over it would not be his, Sandy McFlail's, fault." "You are quite right, Sandy," said Rory in reply--"quite right; and do you know what it will be, Sandy?" "What?" asked Sandy. "A vera judeecious arrangement," cried Rory, running off before Sandy had a chance of catching him by the ear and making him "whustle." But right fervent were the wishes for the doctor's welfare when he bade his friends adieu. And,-- "You'll be sure to send us a piece o' the bride-cake," said Ralph. "I'm no vera sure," said Sandy, "if it will ever come the length o' bride-cake. But," he added, bravely, "a body can only just try." "Bravo!" cried Allan; "whatever a true man honestly dares he can do." "And it's sure to come right in the end," said Rory. So away went Sandy's boat, and away went the _Arrandoon_, firing the farewell guns, and as gaily bedecked in flags as if it had been Sandy's wedding morning. The _Arrandoon_ sailed nearly all the way home, for a favouring breeze was blowing, and with stunsails set, low and aloft, she looked like some gigantic sea-bird; and bravely, too, the little _Polar Star_ kept her in sight. As for Silas, he did not live on board his own ship at all, but on board the _Arrandoon_. There was so much to be said and to say that they could not spare him. The inhabitants of Glentruim turned out _en masse_ to welcome the wanderers home. It was a day long to be remembered in that part of the Highlands of Scotland. The young chief, Allan McGregor, was not allowed to walk across one inch of his own grounds towards his castle of Arrandoon--no, nor to ride nor to drive; he must even be carried shoulder high, while slogans rent the air, and blue bonnets darkened it, and claymores were drawn and waved aloft, and the dogs all went daft, and danced about, barking at everybody, plainly showing that they had taken leave of their senses for one day, and weren't a bit ashamed of having done so. Behind the procession marched Freezing Powders, with Cockie on his shoulder. The poor bird did not know what to make of all this Highland din, all this wild rejoicing. But he evidently enjoyed it. "Keep it up, keep it up, keep it up?" he cried; "here's a pretty, pretty, pretty to-do! Go on, go on! Come on, come on--ha! ha! ha! ha! Lal de dal de dal lei al!" And off went Cockie into the maddest dance that ever legs of bird performed. And Freezing Powders got frightened at last, and tried to lecture the bird into a quieter state of mind. "I 'ssure you, Cockie," said Freezing Powders, "you is overdoin' it. Try to 'llay your feelin's, Cockie--try to 'llay your feelin's. As sure as nuffin' at all, Cockie, you'll have a drefful headache in de mornin'." But Cockie only bowed and becked and danced and laughed the more, till at last Freezing Powders, looking upon the case as one of desperation, extracted from his pocket a red cotton handkerchief--the same he carried Cockie in when Captain McBain first met him on the Broomielaw--and in this he rolled Cockie as in the days of yore; but even then all the way to the castle Cockie was constantly finding corners to pop his head through, and let every one within hearing know that, though captured, he was as far from being subdued as ever. Poor old Janet was beside herself with joy. She had been preparing pastry and getting ready puddings for days and days. She was fain to wipe her eyes with very joy when she shook hands once more with Ralph and Allan, and her old favourite, Rory. She was a little subdued when she looked at old Seth; she was just a trifle afraid of him, I believe. But she soon became herself again, and finished off by catching up Freezing Powders, Cockie and all, and bearing them off in triumph to the cosiest corner of the kitchen. That same night fires were lit on every hill around Glentruim, and the reflection of them was seen southwards over all the wilds of Badenoch, and northward to the borders of Ross. A few weeks after the return home Rory paid his promised visit to Silas at his little cottage by the sea, his cottage on the cliff-tops. Silas's flag fluttered right gaily in the wind that day, the summer flowers were all in bloom in the garden, and the green paling looked brighter, probably, than ever it had done, for the sun shone as it seldom shines--shone as if it had been paid to shine for the occasion, and the clouds lay low on the horizon, as if they had been paid to keep out of the way for once. The flag fluttered gaily, and the two little blue-jackets on the top of the pole ever and anon made such terrible onslaughts upon each other, that the only wonder was there was a bit of them left, that they did not demolish each other entirely, like the traditional cats of Kilkenny. Silas had gone to the station to meet Rory. Silas was dressed, as he thought, like a landsman. Silas really thought that nobody could tell he was a sailor, because he wore a blue frock-coat and a tall beaver hat. And Silas's little wife was all bustle and nervousness; but Rory had not been in the house half an hour ere all this was gone, and she was quietly happy, with a kind of feeling at her heart that she had known Rory all his life, and had even nursed him when he was quite a little mite. Day and dinner and all passed off right cheerily, and of course with dessert Silas nodded to his little wife, and his little wife opened a bottle of fresh green ginger, and produced the bun--the wonderful bun, which was a pudding one day and a cake the next. Silas kept smirking and nodding so long at Rory over his first drop of green ginger, that Rory knew he was going to say something, and so, by way of encouragement,-- "Out with it, Silas," says Rory. "Only this," says Silas: "Success to the wooing." Well, who else in all the wide world could Rory have taken advice from except from Silas, in one little matter that deeply concerned his future welfare? "Go in and win," had been Silas's advice. "Go in and win, like the man you are. Faint heart never gained fair lady." It is pleasant for me to be able to state that Rory took his old friend's advice to the letter. Now we know that the course of true love never did run smooth, and the course of Rory's wooing proved no exception to the proverb, but everything came right in the end, as Rory himself was fond of observing, and all is well that ends well. Just one year after this visit to Silas, Rory led Helen Edith McGregor to the altar. What a beautiful bride she made--more modest and bonnie than the rose just newly blown, or gowans tipped with dew! Rory and Allan were not greater friends after the wedding than they had been before--that were impossible; but they were now brothers, and Allan made a vow that Rory should make his home in Glentruim. There is a mansion there now as well as a castle, and in it dwell Rory and his wife. Years have passed since the days of which I have been writing; they have not made very much change in our Irish hero. He is still the painter, still the poet, only there is not one only, but two little listeners now, that gaze up round-eyed and wonderingly at their father, whenever he takes up his magical instrument, the violin! Old Ap teaches these little ones to cut boats out of scraps of wood, and to rig small yachts in the summer evenings. The glen and castle both are wonderfully improved. There is some good after all in ambition, if it is an honest one, and some truth, too, in the motto of the Camerons, "Whatever a man dares he can do." Every year Ralph, brave English Ralph, comes to the castle on _the_ twelfth, and always spends a month; and every year Allan and Rory go southwards to Leigh Hall to return the visit. And they never go without taking Silas and McBain with them, so you may be sure these are very happy, very pleasant seasons. What about Seth? Oh, merely this, Ralph offered to take him back to his own country, and to re-instal him as an Arctic Crusoe in his far northern home. "Gentlemen," said Seth, "I'm right sensible of all your kindness, but I guess I'm getting old, and if my young friend here wouldn't mind, I'd prefer leaving my bones in the glen here. Civilisation has kind o' spoiled the old trapper, and he'd feel sort o' lonely now in his old farm. There ain't many b'ars in the glen, I reckon; but never mind, old Seth can still draw a bead on a rabbit." "And so you shall," said Allan. "I'll make you my warren-master, and head of all my keepers." So Seth has settled down to end his days in peace. He dwells in one of the prettiest little Highland cottages that ever you saw. It gets snowed over in winter sometimes, it is true, and that might be looked upon as a drawback; but oh, to see it in summer, when the feathery birches nod green around it and the heather is all in bloom! Peter played a little trick on poor old Seth, which I cannot help recording. "It will never do, you know," Peter told him, "for a Highland keeper on the estate of Glentruim not to wear the kilt." "Guess you're a kind o' right," said Seth, "but, bless you, Peter, my legs ain't o' no consequence, they ain't a bit thicker than old Bran the deerhound's, and I reckon they're just about the same shape." "Well," replied Peter, "I grant you that is a kind of an objection, but then custom is everything, you know." So, lo and behold! one fine summer morning, who should stalk into the castle yard but old trapper Seth arrayed in full Highland costume. No wonder the dogs barked and ran away! no wonder Allan and Rory laughed till their sides ached and they could hardly hold their guns! no wonder old Janet shouted and screamed with merriment, and Cockie whistled shrill, and Freezing Powders nearly went into a fit! No, Seth's legs were but little thicker than Bran's. Seth arrayed in skins from head to heel was passable, but Seth in a kilt!!! Poor Seth! it was somewhat unkind of Peter. However, the trapper never wore a kilt again. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The End. 
61486	----	[Illustration: Boy Saved by the Light-ship's Men.] THE STEEL HORSE OR THE RAMBLES OF A BICYCLE BY HARRY CASTLEMON AUTHOR OF "GUNBOAT SERIES," "ROUGHING IT SERIES," "ROD AND GUN SERIES," ETC. PHILADELPHIA HENRY T. COATES & CO. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. In Which I make my Bow, 1 II. The Strange Wheelman, 25 III. A Case of Mistaken Identity, 50 IV. Rowe Shelly, the Runaway, 74 V. Roy in Trouble, 98 VI. Another Surprise for Roy, 121 VII. Some Startling News, 145 VIII. On Board the White Squall, 169 IX. A Swim in Rough Water, 194 X. The Boy who Wouldn't be Pumped, 219 XI. On the Road Again, 242 XII. Joe's Wild Ride, 266 XIII. Going into a Hot Place, 289 XIV. Arthur's Ready Rifle, 311 XV. Mr. Holmes's Warning, 333 XVI. Two Narrow Escapes, 355 XVII. An Unexpected Meeting, 375 XVIII. Conclusion, 399 THE STEEL HORSE; OR, THE RAMBLES OF A BICYCLE. CHAPTER I. IN WHICH I MAKE MY BOW. "Scotland's a-burning! Look out, fellows! Put on the brakes, or you will be right on top of it the first thing you know." "On top of what?" "Why, can't you see? If it hadn't been for my lamp I should have taken the worst header anybody ever heard of. How some fellows can run around on their wheels after dark without a light, and take the chances of breaking their necks, beats my time, I wouldn't do it for any money." "Great Scott! How do you suppose that pile of things came on the track?" "It isn't a pile of things. It is a big rock which has rolled down from the bank above, and we have discovered it in time to prevent a terrible railroad disaster." "The rains loosened it, probably." "Well, what are we standing here for? Let's take hold, all hands, and roll it off before the train comes along." "We can't roll it off. It's half as big as Rube Royall's cabin. It seems strange to me that it stopped so squarely in the middle of the track. I should think it ought to have gathered headway enough during its descent to roll clear across the road-bed, and down into the gulf on the other side." The speakers were your old friends Joe Wayring and his two chums, Roy Sheldon and Arthur Hastings; and I am one of the Expert Columbians who were introduced to your notice in the concluding chapters of the second volume of this series of books. I have been urged by my companions to describe the interesting and exciting incidents that happened during our vacation run from one end of the State to the other and back again, on which we set out just a week ago to-day. I have begun the task with many misgivings. This is my first appearance as a story-teller; but then my friends, Old Durability and the Canvas Canoe, labored under the same disadvantage. When I am through it will be for you to decide which one of us has interested you the most. You will remember that when the Canvas Canoe's adventures were ended for the season and he was "laid up in ordinary" (by which I mean the recess in Joe Wayring's room), it was midwinter. The ponds and lakes were frozen over, and the hills surrounding the little village of Mount Airy were covered with snow. The canoe had just been hauled up from the bottom of Indian River, where he had lain for four long, dismal months, wondering what was to become of him and the six thousand dollars he had carried down with him when he was "Snagged and Sunk" by the big tree that was carried out of Sherwin's Pond by the high water. You know that Roy Sheldon discovered him with the aid of his "water-scope," that Joe got his canoe back (a little the worse for his captivity, it must be confessed, for there was a gaping wound in his side), and that the money quickly found its way into the hands of the officers of the Irvington bank, from whom it had been stolen by the two sneak-thieves who were finally captured by Mr. Swan and his party. Before this happened Matt Coyle's wife and boys had been shut up in the New London jail to await their trial, which was to come off as soon as Matt himself had been arrested. The truth of the matter was, the Indian Lake guides were so incensed at Matt for his daring and persistent efforts to break up their business and to ruin the two hotels at the lake, that they threatened to make short work of him and all his worthless tribe; and as the guides were men who never said a thing of this sort unless they meant it, the authorities were of opinion that the old woman and the boys would be safer in the New London lock-up than they would be if confined in the tumble-down calaboose at Irvington. But now it appeared that Matt Coyle could not be arrested and brought to trial, for the good and sufficient reason that he was dead. He was drowned when the canvas canoe was snagged and sunk. Joe Wayring and his chums declared, from the first, that if the squatter had attempted to run out of the river into Sherwin's Pond during the freshet that prevailed at the time of his flight, he had surely come to grief. If three strong boys, who were expert with the oars, could not pull a light skiff against the current that ran out of the pond, how could Matt Coyle hope to stem it in a heavily-loaded canoe and with a single paddle? If he had been foolish enough to try it, he would never be heard of again until his body was picked up somewhere in the neighborhood of the State hatchery. The finding of the canoe and his valuable cargo at the bottom of the river led others to Joe's way of thinking, and it was finally conceded on all hands that the squatter would never again rob unguarded camps, or renew his attempts to "break up the business of guiding." Nothing remained, then, but to remove his wife and boys to Irvington and hold them for trial at the next term of the circuit court. The grand jury first took the matter in hand, and Joe Wayring and his chums, much to their disgust, were summoned to appear before it as witnesses. When Tom Bigden and his cousins, Loren and Ralph Farnsworth, heard of that, they shook in their boots. And well they might; for, as you know, Tom was accessory to some of Matt's violations of the law. More than that, rumor said that the old woman had told all she knew, and that she had even gone so far as to assure the officers of the Irvington Bank that she and her family would not have been half so bad as they were, if one Tom Bigden had not advised and urged them to commit crime. "It's all over with me, boys," groaned Tom, when one of his school-fellows incidentally remarked in his hearing that he had seen Joe Wayring and his two friends take the train for Irvington that morning to testify before the grand jury. "You know Joe is jealous of me and that he will do anything he can to injure me." "Well," said Ralph, plunging his hands deep into his pockets and looking thoughtfully at the ground, "what would _you_ do to a fellow who was the means of having you tied to a tree with a fair prospect of a good beating with hickory switches on your bare back? Would you be friendly to him or feel like shielding him from punishment?" "But I didn't tell Matt to tie Joe Wayring to a tree and thrash him," retorted Tom. "I never thought of such a thing." "I didn't say you did," replied Ralph. "I said you were the cause of it, and so you were; for you told Matt that you had seen the valises that contained the six thousand stolen dollars in Joe's camp-basket." "Matt was a fool to believe it," said Loren. "One little camp-basket wouldn't hold both those gripsacks." "That doesn't alter the facts of the case," answered Ralph. "Matt did believe the story, ridiculous as it was, and Tom's fate is in the hands of a boy whom we have abused and bothered in all possible ways ever since we have been here." "And we didn't have the slightest reason or excuse for it," added Loren. "So you're going back on me, are you?" exclaimed Tom. "Not at all. We are simply telling you the truth." "Perhaps Joe doesn't know that Tom put it into Matt's head to follow him and his friends to No-Man's Pond," suggested Loren. "I haven't heard a word said about it." "Neither have I; but that's no proof that Joe doesn't know all about it," answered Ralph. "Who do you think told him?" asked Tom. "It couldn't have been Matt Coyle, for I told him particularly not to mention my name in Joe's hearing, or drop a hint that would lead him to suspect that Matt had seen me in the Indian Lake country." "The squatter didn't care _that_ for your injunctions of secrecy," said Ralph, snapping his fingers in the air. "What he said to you during those interviews you held with him ought to convince you that he would just as soon get you into trouble as anybody else. Being a social outcast, Matt believes in making war upon every one who is higher up in the world than he is." "Well," said Tom, with a sigh of resignation, "if Joe knows as much as you think he does, my chances of getting out of the scrapes I've got into are few and far between. He'll tell everything, and be glad of the chance. I wish from the bottom of my heart that we had never seen or heard of Mount Airy." "Joe Wayring will tell nothing unless it is forced out of him," said Ralph stoutly; and for the first time in his life Tom did not scowl and double up his fists as he had been in the habit of doing whenever either of his cousins said anything in praise of the boy he hated without a cause. If Joe was as honorable as Ralph seem to think he was, Tom thought he saw a chance to escape punishment for his wrong-doing. "He'll not commit perjury nor even stretch the truth to screen you," continued Ralph, as if he read the thoughts that were passing in Tom's mind. "But he'll not volunteer any evidence; I am sure of that." If Ralph had been one of Joe Wayring's most intimate friends he could not have read him better. The latter was very much afraid that he would be compelled to say something that would criminate Tom, but to his surprise and relief the members of the grand jury did not seem to know that there was such a fellow in the world as Tom Bigden, for they never once mentioned his name. If the old woman and her boys had tried to throw the blame for their misdeeds upon his shoulders, they hadn't made anything by it. All the jury cared for was to find out just how much Joe and his friends knew about the six thousand dollars that had been stolen from the Irvington Bank; and as the boys knew but little about it, it did not take them long to give their evidence. Finally one of the jurymen said: "Matt Coyle bothered you a good deal by stealing your canvas canoe and other property, I believe." Joe replied that that was a fact. "Would you prosecute him for it, if you had a chance?" Joe said he never expected to have a chance, because Matt was dead. "Perhaps he is, and perhaps he isn't," said the juryman, with a laugh. "Matt Coyle is a hard case, if all I hear about him is true, and it sorter runs in my mind that he will turn up again some day, as full of meanness as he ever was." "You wouldn't think so if you could see Indian River booming as it was on the day we came home," said Joe, earnestly. "It must have been a great deal worse when Matt saw it, but he had the hardihood to face it." "And went to the bottom," added Roy. "Would you have the law on him for tying you to a tree and threatening to wallop you with switches?" asked the juryman. "No sir, I would not," said Joe, truthfully. "All we ask of Matt Coyle or any other tramp is to keep away from us and let us alone." "Do you believe any one told Matt that you had the bank's money and sent him to No-Man's Pond to whip it out of you?" "No, I don't." "Matt's boys stick to it that such is the fact." "I don't care what Matt's boys say or what they stick to," answered Joe. "You can imagine what the evidence of such fellows as they are amounts to. Folks who will steal are not above lying, are they?" "That juryman isn't half as smart as he thinks he is," said Roy, when he and his companions had been dismissed with the information that they might start for Mount Airy as soon as they pleased. "I was awfully afraid that his next question would be: 'Did you ever hear that Tom Bigden was accessory to Matt Coyle's assault upon you at No-Man's Pond?' You could not have wiggled out of that corner, Mr. Wayring." "I didn't wiggle out of any corner," answered Joe. "I made replies to all the questions he asked me, didn't I? That juryman knew his business too well to ask me any such question as that. My answer would have been simply hearsay, and that's not evidence. See the point?" "Why, didn't Jake Coyle declare in your hearing that Tom Bigden told his father that the money was in your camp-basket?" demanded Arthur. "Well, what's that but hearsay? Do you expect me to take Jake's word for anything? I didn't hear Tom tell him so." "No; but you have as good proof as any sensible boy needs that Tom did it. If not, why did Matt fly into such a rage at the mention of his name, and cut Jake's face so unmercifully with that switch?" "I don't believe that would pass for evidence, although it might lead the jury to put a little more faith in Jake's story and Sam's," answered Joe. "We didn't come here to get Tom into trouble. Didn't they say at the start that all they wanted of us was to tell what we knew about that money? We've done that, and my conscience is clear. I think Tom will take warning and mind what he is about in future." "I'll bet you he won't," Roy declared. "He'll get you into difficulty of some sort the very first good chance he gets." "If he does, and I can fasten it on him, I'll give him such a punching that his cousins won't know him when they see him. I'm getting tired of this sort of work, and I'll not put up with it any longer. If Tom will not leave off bothering us of his own accord, I'll make him." In due time the jury returned a "true bill" against Jake Coyle for burglary. Mr. Haskins had little difficulty in proving that Jake broke the fastenings of his door before he robbed the cellar, gave a list of the things he had lost, and Rube Royall, the watchman at the hatchery, testified that those same articles appeared on Matt Coyle's table on the following morning. Jake went to the House of Refuge for five years; but nothing could be proved against Sam and the old woman, and they were turned over to a justice of the peace to be tried for vagrancy. They got ninety days each in the New London work-house. "There, Ralph," said Tom, when he read this welcome news in his father's paper. "You said Matt Coyle didn't care the snap of his finger for my wishes, but now you see that you were mistaken, don't you? Matt never told Joe Wayring that I sent them to his camp after that money, and his boys didn't blab it, either. If they had, Joe would have said something about it when he was brought before the grand jury." "Well, what are you going to do to Joe now?" inquired his cousin. "I mean, what kind of a scrape are you going to get into next?" "I do not intend to get into any scrape," answered Tom; and when he said it he meant it. "I shall treat Joe and everybody who likes him with the contempt they deserve. I wish I might never see them again. I tell you, fellows, I feel as if a big load had been taken from my shoulders. Matt will never again demand that I shall act as receiver for the property he steals, his vagabond family are safe under lock and key, I am free from suspicion, and what more could I ask for? For once in my life I am perfectly happy." But, as it happened, Tom was not long permitted to live in this very enviable frame of mind--not more than a couple of hours, to be exact. Of late he had stayed pretty close around the house when he was not at school. He could not bear to loaf about the village, as he used to do, for fear that he might hear something annoying. But on this particular day (it was Saturday) he was so light of heart that he could not keep still, so he proposed a walk and a cigar. He and his cousins did not mind smoking on the streets now, for they had long ago given up all hope of ever being admitted to the ranks of the Toxopholites. But their desire to belong to that crack and somewhat exclusive organization was as strong as ever. Another thing, they were not on as friendly terms with the drug-store crowd as they used to be. A decision rendered by umpire Bigden during a game of ball excited the ire of George Prime and some of his friends, and as the weeks rolled on the dispute waxed so hot that on more than one occasion the adherents of both sides had been called on to interfere to keep George and Tom from coming to blows over it. Ralph reminded his cousin of this when the latter proposed a walk and a cigar. "Oh, Prime has forgotten all about it before this time," said Tom confidently. "He has had abundant leisure to recover his good-nature, for the fuss began last fall." "Don't you owe him something?" "Yes; about fifty cents or so. But George isn't mean enough to raise a row about a little thing like that." Ralph and Loren had their own ideas on that point; and when they walked into the drug store and looked at the face Prime brought with him when he came up to the cigar-stand, they told themselves that if the clerk had had opportunity to recover his good-nature, he certainly had not improved it. He looked as sour as a green apple. "Hallo, George," said Tom, cordially. "How are you!" was the gruff reply. "Fine day outside," continued Tom. "Been sleigh-riding much?" "A time or two. What do you want?" "Some cigars, please." Prime languidly reached his hand into the show-case and brought out a box. "Chalk these, will you?" said Tom, after he and his cousin had made their selections. Without saying a word the clerk turned and walked toward the prescription counter at the back part of the store. Tom evidently thought the matter settled, for he gave Ralph the wink, lighted his cigar and was about to go out when Prime called to him. Tom faced around, and saw that he held in his hand something that looked like a package of bills. "I'll chalk this, because you've got the cigars and I can't very well help myself," said Prime, as he came up. "But the next time you want anything in our line you had better come prepared to settle up. Do you know how much you owe the house?" "I've kept a pretty close run of it," said Tom shortly, "and I guess seventy-five cents will foot the bill. These weeds are three for a quarter, I suppose?" "That's the price; but you owed me just four times seventy-five cents before you got these last three. There's your bill!" Tom opened his eyes when he heard this. He picked up the paper that Prime tossed upon the show-case before him, and saw that, if the figures on it told the truth, he had smoked much oftener than he supposed. "George," said he, as soon as he could speak, "I don't owe you three dollars." "You owe me three dollars and a quarter, counting in the three you just got," was Prime's reply. "I say I don't; and what's more to the point, I won't pay it. If you want to impose upon somebody and make him pay for cigars that you have smoked yourself, try some one else. You can't come it over me." "You mean to repudiate your honest debts, do you?" said Prime hotly. "Well, I don't know that I ought to have expected anything else of you. A fellow who will associate with tramps and thieves, as you have done ever since you poked your meddlesome nose into Mount Airy, is capable of anything." "Look here," said Tom, his face growing red and pale by turns. "Step out from behind the counter and say that again, will you?" "I can talk just as well from where I stand," was Prime's answer; and then he clenched one of his hands and pounded lightly upon the top of the show-case while he looked fixedly at Tom. "Perhaps you think because you were in the woods when these things happened that the folks in Mount Airy don't know all about them," he went on. "What things?" Tom managed to ask, while Ralph and Loren nerved themselves for what was coming. "What things!" repeated Prime, in a tone that almost drove Tom frantic. "Don't you suppose I know as well as you do that when Matt Coyle stole Joe Wayring's canvas canoe a year ago last summer, he did it with your knowledge and consent? I will say more than that. You urged him to take it." "Why--why, you--" Tom began, and then he paused. There was a look on Prime's face which told him that there was more behind; and now that he was in for it, Tom thought it would be a good plan to find out just how much the Mount Airy people knew of his dealings with the squatter. "It has all come out on you," continued Prime. "And I know, too, that it was through the information you gave him that Matt followed Wayring to No-Man's Pond and committed that assault upon him." "The idea!" exclaimed Tom, trying to look surprised, though inwardly he quaked with fear. "I never told Matt to follow Joe Wayring to No-Man's Pond. I never saw him while I was in the woods,--did I, boys?" he added, appealing to his cousins. "I know a story worth half a dozen of that," said the clerk, before either Ralph or Loren could collect their wits for a reply. "Some of the sportsmen who were stopping at one of the Indian Lake hotels saw you wait for him at a certain place for more than an hour; and when at last Matt arrived, you held quite a lengthy consultation with him." Tom was so amazed that he could not utter a word. Prime seemed to have the story pretty straight--so straight, in fact, that Loren did not think it best for him to deny it; so he hastened do say: "If all these ridiculous things which you say you have heard are true, how does it happen that they did not come before the Grand Jury?" "There were two good reasons for it," answered Prime. "In the first place, there was no one to appear against Tom; and in the second, Jake Coyle, who was the only one of the family tried before the Circuit Court, was not accused of stealing the canoe or of making an assault upon Joe Wayring. He was charged with breaking open the door of Haskins's cellar, and for that he received his sentence. If Matt Coyle had been on trial, there would have been other and more interesting developments. I tell you, Mr. Bigden, it was a lucky thing for you that he was drowned." "Now, let me say a word in your private ear," said Tom, who had had time to take a hasty review of the situation. "There is such a thing as wagging your tongue too freely, and it constitutes an offense of which the law sometimes takes notice. You don't want to publish the outrageous stories you pretend to have heard of me. They are false from beginning to end." "Why, bless your heart, I can't publish them," answered the clerk, with a most provoking laugh. "The facts are as well known to other folks as they are to me. Every man, boy, and girl you meet on the street knows them by heart." This astounding piece of news fairly staggered Tom. While he was trying to frame a suitable rejoinder a party of ladies came into the store, and the clerk hastened away to attend to them. This gave Tom and his cousins an opportunity to escape, and they were prompt to avail themselves of it. "Worse and worse!" exclaimed Loren, as soon as he could speak freely without fear of being overheard. "Tom, Tom, what have you brought upon yourself!" "I was afraid that something of this kind would be sprung upon me sooner or later," groaned the guilty boy. "Every girl I meet on the street knows all about it," he added, recalling the clerk's last words. "I don't believe it. Or, if they have heard about it, they don't take any stock in it, for I have received just as many invitations and gone to as many parties as I ever did. Can you two raise three dollars and a quarter between you? Then lend it to me, and I will get Prime's debt off my mind without a moment's delay." "That's the idea," said Ralph, approvingly. "Go now while those ladies are in the store, and he can't say anything more to annoy you." Loren had a five-dollar bill which he handed over, and Tom got it broken at the most convenient place, because he did not want to wait for Prime to make change. He laid the exact amount of his indebtedness upon the counter, pocketed his receipted bill, and left the store firmly resolved that he would never cross its threshold again. CHAPTER II. THE STRANGE WHEELMAN. Loren and Ralph often declared that if Tom Bigden's "cheek" had not been "monumental," he never could have lived through the winter as he did. He went everywhere, and although, to quote from the Canvas Canoe, he did not "shoot off his chin" quite as much as he formerly did, or take as deep an interest in things, he did not by any means keep in the background, as most boys would have done under like circumstances. As time wore on, he and his cousins began telling one another that Prime did not confine himself to the truth when he said that every one in the village knew how intimate Tom and Matt Coyle had been during the two last summers, for certainly he was as well treated and as cordially received wherever he went as he ever was. Joe Wayring and his friends always had a good word for him, and that went far toward satisfying Tom that they did not believe he had anything to do with the loss of the canvas canoe or with the No-Man's Pond affair. It was not long before their example and silent influence began to tell upon Tom, who more than once astonished his cousins by saying, in their hearing, that he believed it would be worth while for him to turn over a new leaf and try to lead a better life. Meanwhile Joe and his chums thoroughly enjoyed themselves in a quiet way, as boys always do when they have abounding health, clear consciences, and plenty of things around them to make life pleasant. In company with some of their school-fellows, of whom Tom Bigden and his cousins generally made three, they paid several visits to Indian River to fish through the ice for pickerel, going Friday night and returning Saturday. They saw any amount of sport during these short outings, and always brought home a fine string of fish; but they never drew so valuable a prize from the river as Joe and his friends did when they went there during the winter vacation. Nothing ever happened to mar their pleasure during these encampments, not even when Roy took Tom Bigden to task somewhat sharply for shooting a grouse after the first of January. Tom pleaded ignorance of the law, promised never to do it again, and so the offense was overlooked. But winter with its storms and drifts and sports passed away, and spring came with the usual alternations of driving rains and high winds which quickly cleared the lake of ice, and made the huge limbs of the grand old trees on the lawn sway about in every direction. Finally the croaking of frogs was heard from the marshes and the maple buds appeared; whereupon sleds, skates and toboggans were tumbled unceremoniously into some convenient corner, to be taken care of when other duties were not quite so pressing, and Joe and his inseparable companions shouldered their double-barrels and sallied out in search of snipe. But in due time hunting gave way to trout-fishing; and I have heard it said that Old Durability held his own, and captured quite as many fish as any rod that was brought into competition with him. Occasionally I heard Joe boast over some extra fine strings Fly-rod had taken for him; but as I was kept closely confined to my quarters I did not see them. At last my time came. As soon as the spring rains ceased and the mud disappeared and the roads became ridable, I was taken out for a spin. At first Joe rode with considerable caution, for he was afraid (so he told his chums) that I might "kick up and throw him"; but his skill came back with practice, and before a week had passed we were on exceedingly good terms. He devoted nearly all his leisure time to me, and although he kept up his membership with the various organizations to which he belonged, he was not unfrequently called upon to hand over a fine that had been imposed upon him for non-attendance of drills and parades. Of course the annual review of the Mount Airy Fire Department was not forgotten, but the canoe meet was, and for the first time in years the summer passed without a single struggle for the championship of Mirror Lake. The boys who were enthusiastic canoeists twelve months ago were earnest wheelmen now. As soon as the weather became settled a new question presented itself to Joe Wayring and his friends, and it was one that could not be decided at a moment's notice. Up to this time it had been understood that there was but one place at which their summer vacation could be passed, and that place was Indian Lake; but four weeks of comparative inactivity were not to be thought of this year. "Of course if we go to the lake we shall have more fishing and see less excitement than we did last year and the year before, because Matt Coyle will not be there to trouble us," said Arthur. "But rolling about on a blanket under the shade of an evergreen is slow work compared with a brisk run over good roads on a horse who never tires, and who asks nothing but a good rubbing, and no oats, when his day's task is done, to keep him in good trim. Camping out makes a fellow too lazy for any use; and I am not as much in favor of being lazy as I used to be." "It is quite the fashion for wheelmen to start off singly or in small parties, and travel through the country and see what they can find that is worth looking at," said Roy. "Let's send for a guide-book and go somewhere." "That's what I say," replied Joe. "But what guide-book shall we send for, and where shall we go?" "Through our own State, of course. Uncle Joe Wayring says that a fellow ought not to visit foreign countries until he has seen the wonders of his own." "Of course it is a settled thing that we three spend this vacation on the road," said Joe. "And when we start, I propose that we go prepared to stop wherever night overtakes us. Then if we can't find a hotel, or if the farmers object to taking in strangers who have no letters of introduction, we can camp by the road-side, and snap our fingers at people who live in houses and sleep under shingle roofs." "How about the grub?" said Arthur. "Oh, that'll be all right. We do not intend to go outside of a fence, and consequently we can purchase supplies anywhere along the road." "We mustn't forget to take our pocket fishing-tackle cases with us and--say, fellows," exclaimed Roy, suddenly interrupting himself, "I saw an advertisement the other day, of a Stevens rifle furnished with a bicycle case, and it struck me at once that it would be a nice thing to have along on a trip of this kind. If we have one or two of those handy little weapons in the party, we can shoot a mess of young squirrels as often as we get hungry between times." "I wish we had just one more year on our shoulders," said Arthur, "for then we could apply for admittance to the League of American Wheelmen. No doubt we would find friends in it who could give us pointers." "The year will pass soon enough, and when it has gone you may wish it back again," replied Joe. "It makes no difference if we are not in the League. Wheelmen are always good to one another, and I shall make it my business to bounce every strange bicyclist who comes to town, if I can catch him. If he has been on the road I will get some ideas out of him before I let up." Roy and Arthur said that was a suggestion worth acting upon, and the three made such good use of the opportunities that were constantly presented that by the time the school term was ended and the long vacation came, they considered themselves fully posted on all important matters relating to their proposed run across the State and back. The strange wheelmen who now and then ran into Mount Airy for a day or two proved to be a jolly, companionable lot of fellows, and full of stories of the road which they were as ready to tell as the boys were to listen to them. "Let me give you one word of warning," said a bronzed bicyclist, who had come all the way from Omaha on his wheel: "Do not neglect your training for a single day. I've no doubt that you can run all round this little burg without feeling any the worse for it, but you will find that three or four days in the saddle will test your endurance. I remember of hearing of a couple of wheelmen who started to run from Cleveland to Buffalo. They made no special preparation for the journey, believing, no doubt, that their short daily runs had sufficiently hardened their muscles; but when they reached their destination they were in a somewhat demoralized condition. They hung around the Genesee House for a day or two, and took the cars when they wanted to go home." "We'll never do that," said Arthur. "If our wheels take us away from home they must bring us back." "Well," said the Veteran, "you will find that it will take a good many motions with the pedals to carry you over a journey of seven hundred miles; but get yourselves in good trim before you start, inquire your way at every place you stop, steer clear of tramps, look out for skittish horses, keep off the tow-path, don't get mad if you meet some old curmudgeon who will not give you your share of the road, and you will come out all right and have a splendid time besides. You'll sleep as you never slept before, eat every crumb placed within your reach on the table, and handle things as though there was no break to them." "Why should we give the tow-path a wide berth?" inquired Roy. "Our guide-book says that the road from New London to Bloomingdale is knee-deep in sand, and advises all wheelmen going that way to take to the tow-path." "You'll find the unspeakable mule there," replied their new friend, "and he'll get you into trouble with the canalers. Now, a mule doesn't care any more for a bike than he does for the boat he is towing; but he pretends that he is very much afraid of it. I have seen them turn like a flash and run as if they were scared half to death: but it was all put on, for they were always careful to stop before they took up all the slack in the tow-line, and got themselves jerked off off the path into the canal. Of course that makes the steersman mad, and he tells you what he thinks of you and your wheel in the first words that come into his mind. Besides, a fellow on a bike offers so tempting a mark that no canal boy I ever saw can resist firing a stone at him. If he don't throw at you, it will be because he can't find anything before you get out of range." "If a fellow should try that on me I'd run him down and give him such a thrashing that he'd not trouble the next wheelman who came along," said Tom Bigden, who happened to come up while the conversation was in progress. "I wouldn't advise you to try it," said the stranger, with a light laugh. "In the first place you couldn't catch him, for as soon as he saw that you were overhauling him, he would leave the tow-path and take to the rocks; and while you were following him, if you were foolish enough to do it, some of his companions would run up and tumble your machine into the canal. The easiest way is the best." "I suppose we shall find the country people all right?" said Joe. "W-e-l-l,--yes; the majority of them are all right, but now and then you will find a mean one even among the farmers, who will tell you that your machines are a nuisance because they scare the horses; and if you meet such a man as that on the road, he'll take particular pains to crowd you off into the ditch. Take it by and large, the road is an admirable school for young fellows like you. You've got to take the bad with the good in this world, and make up your minds that what can't be cured must be endured." "So it seems that even 'cycling has its shadowy side," said Roy, as he and his friends walked homeward after thanking the Omaha wheelman for the advice and information he had given them. "Tramps and canalers must be avoided, and we mustn't get angry when some crusty old fellow pushes us off the road." "And there are the dogs," said Arthur. "But he didn't say anything about them, did he?" "No; but other wheelmen have, and I should think that in some places (in the South, for instance, where every granger keeps half a dozen or more worthless curs around him) they would be a big source of annoyance," said Joe. "But others have gone through all right, and we are going, too." "I wonder if Tom Bigden and his cousin are going anywhere," said Arthur. "If they are I hope they will take some route that will lead them out of our line of travel." The others hoped so, too. While they tried to live in peace with Tom, they did not care to have him for a traveling companion. Joe and his chums thought it best to heed the Omaha man's friendly word of caution, and if they had ridden hard before, they rode harder now. A ten-mile spin in the cool of the evening was an every-day occurrence. Of course they did not ride on Sunday, and, furthermore, they did not think much of a fellow who did. The morning set for the start dawned clear and bright, and after an early breakfast Joe Wayring waved his adieu to the family who had assembled on the porch to see him off, and wheeled gaily out of his father's grounds just in time to meet Arthur Hastings. Picking up Roy Sheldon a few minutes later, the three set off at a lively pace over a good road, their long journey being fairly begun. The trunks which contained most of their luggage had been forwarded to the wheelmen's headquarters at New London, with the request that they might be held until called for; but several handy little articles, which they might need at any time, were made up into neat bundles and tied to their safety-bars. Of course their lamps and cyclometers were in their places, and so were their Buffalo tool-bags; and each boy carried slung over his shoulder a bicycle gun-case containing a fourteen-inch pocket rifle. They were innocent-looking little pop-guns, but "spiteful things to shoot," and one of them came very near bringing the boys into serious trouble. "I wouldn't take a dollar for my chance of enjoying myself this trip," said Roy, as he wheeled into line behind his companions. "During our two last outings Matt Coyle and his interesting family made things quite too lively to suit me, but they'll not bother us any more. Now isn't this glorious? I remember of reading somewhere that if one has a hankering for wings, and feels as if he would like to glide out into space and leave the world with its cares and troubles behind, all he has to do is to buy a bicycle, and learn to ride it." Roy's companions must have felt a good deal as he did, for both of them had something to say about the "joys that no one but a wheelman knows," but their exuberance of spirit did not lead them to commit the blunder of riding hard at the start. When they drew up in front of wheelmen's headquarters in New London that night, their cyclometers registered thirty-six miles; not a very speedy run, to be sure, but then they had not set out with any intention of trying to break the record. In accordance with their request the hotel clerk assigned them to rooms "as close together as he could get them," and after seeing their wheels safely stored, the boys disappeared for a while to remove all travel-stains from their hands, faces and clothing. Then they ate a hearty supper, and adjourned to the reading-room to decide where they would spend the evening. A long time had elapsed since they last visited New London, and they had planned to remain in the city until they had taken a look at all the new things there were to be seen. That would take three or four days, they thought; but, as it happened, some strange events occurred which prolonged their stay, and threatened at one time to bring their trip to an inglorious close. "What's going on to-night, any way?" said Arthur, picking up a paper and glancing at the advertisements that appeared under the heading "Amusements!" "Some pianist, with an unpronounceable name, assisted by a celebrated baritone, is to hold forth at the Academy of Music." "Let's take that in," said Joe; and the matter was settled, for all the boys liked to listen to good music. Having plenty of time at their disposal Joe and his companions strolled leisurely along, taking note of all that passed in their immediate vicinity, and now and then stopping to look in at a show-window, especially if it chanced to be one in which bicycle goods or hunting and fishing equipments were displayed. That, I believe, is characteristic of people, both old and young, who are not accustomed to the sights of a big city--a sort of distinguishing trait, so to speak. At any rate the interest that Joe and his chums seemed to take in the well-filled windows attracted the attention of a spruce young fellow, who after following them for an entire block, and looking up and down the street as if to make sure that his movements were unobserved, stepped up to the nearest of the boys and tapped him on the shoulder. "Beg pardon," said he, smilingly, as Arthur Hastings turned and faced him. "You young gentlemen are wheelmen, I take it." Arthur replied that the stranger had hit center the very first time trying. "Members of the L.A.W.?" "No, but we hope to be next year. You see we are not quite eighteen yet. Do you ride?" "Certainly. Owned a bike ever since I was knee-high to a duck. Wouldn't know how to exist without it. Going anywhere? If you are, perhaps some of us can be of assistance to you." "You're very kind, and I'm sure we are obliged to you," said Arthur. "We've always found wheelmen ready to tell us anything we wanted to know." "Best lot of fellows in the world," replied the stranger, with enthusiasm. "And the best of it is, you will find them wherever you go. A wheel is a passport to the best society in the land. You don't live in the city? I thought not. You are from the country." "What makes you think that?" inquired Joe. "Didn't we get it all off?" exclaimed Roy, turning first one side, then the other, and giving his uniform a good looking-over. "I'm sure I used my brush the best I knew how." "Yes, it is pretty dusty, that's a fact," said the stranger. "I ought to know, for I have been on the road myself to-day. There's nothing about you or your uniforms to attract attention, but I knew you were from the country the minute I put my eyes on you, because you are so careless with your money. Look at that. If it hadn't been for me you would have lost it, beyond a doubt." So saying he held out his hand and exhibited a well-filled purse; whereupon all the boys instinctively thrust their hands into their pockets. "If it wasn't so full I should think it was mine. No, it does not belong to me, although it looks enough like my purse to be its twin brother," said Joe, after he had made sure that his modest sum of pocket-money was safe. "It doesn't belong to me, either," added Roy. "And I am sure it isn't mine," chimed in Arthur. "Where did you find it?" "Right down there, close to your feet," replied the stranger, indicating the exact spot. "It must belong to one of you, for I know it wasn't there when I stopped at this window not two minutes ago to look at those bicycle stockings. What shall I do with it? I've got to leave town on the first train." "Give it to a policeman," suggested Roy. "He'll take care of it and find the owner, too." "Well, you are a greeny, that's a fact," exclaimed the stranger, in tones that were very different from those he had thus far used in addressing the boys. "Can't you see that the purse is chuck full, and don't you know that the owner will be willing to give something handsome to get it back? There'll be a big reward offered for it in to-morrow's papers, and--" "I don't know who would be mean enough to demand a reward for restoring lost property," said Roy, with a slight accent of contempt in his voice. "I fail to see where the meanness comes in. What is there to hinder me from keeping the whole of it? But I was taught to be honest, and if I had time to stop over and take this money to the owner to-morrow, I should thankfully pocket the fifty or hundred dollars that he would be sure to give me, and think none the less of myself for doing it. Say," added the stranger, sinking his voice to a confidential whisper, "I'll tell you what I'll do with you fellows, seeing you're wheelmen. I'll give the purse into your keeping for twenty-five dollars, and in the morning you can claim the reward. I haven't the least doubt that you will make a hundred dollars by it. Why, just look here," he continued, lifting the catch and exposing to view a big roll of greenbacks. "There's money, I tell you, and the reward you will receive for restoring it will pay all your expenses during a pretty long bicycle tour. I wouldn't think of trusting every one as I am willing to trust you, but seeing that you belong to the fraternity--eh?" Roy and Arthur were plainly becoming disgusted with their new acquaintance. They opened their lips to utter an indignant refusal of his generous offer; but before they could say a word, Joe Wayring spoke up. "I'll take you," said he, quietly. "All right," said the stranger briskly, while Roy and Arthur were struck dumb with amazement. "You are the most sensible man in your party--meaning no offense to your friends, _of_ course." "Why, Joe," began Roy, as soon as he found his tongue. But Joe shook his head and waved his open hands up and down in the air, indicating by this pantomime that his mind was made up, and it would be of no use for his friends to argue the matter. "It's all right," said he, when he had succeeded in silencing them. "If there are a hundred dollars to be made honestly, I don't know why we should turn our backs upon it. We've a long run before us, our expenses will be heavy--" "That's the idea!" exclaimed the now smiling stranger. "I don't suppose that your fathers are as liberal with you as they might be. I know mine wasn't, and that my supply of pocket-money was mighty slim when I had to depend upon him for it. Where's the cash?" "Hand over the purse," replied Joe. "Let me see first that you have twenty-five dollars to give me," was the answer. "I'm a wheelman," said Joe, severely. "And my machine is a passport to the best society in the land--eh?" "Of course; of course. But you see--" "And would I be admitted to the best society in the land if I were untruthful or dishonest?" continued Joe, while his two friends wondered what in the world he meant by addressing the stranger in his own words. "Hand over what you have found, if you want me to make a deal with you. We're from the country, you know, and consequently we are suspicious of every stranger we meet in the city. If you had your passport--I mean your wheel--with you now, why then I shouldn't be afraid of you." "Haven't I showed you that I am perfectly willing to trust you to return this big wad of greenbacks to the owner? Of course if I had the faintest suspicion that you would not give it to him--" "I was taught to be honest, the same as you were. Being a wheelman, I have no more intention of taking advantage of you in any way than you have of taking advantage of me." So saying, Joe thrust his hand into his pocket. Observing this movement, which seemed to be indicative of a desire on the young wheelman's part to have the negotiations brought to a close, the stranger stepped closer to him and slyly passed over the purse. "Be quick," said he, in a cautious whisper. "Some one might see us." "What if they do?" replied Joe, speaking in his usual tone of voice. "This is a fair, square and honest transaction, as I understand it. If it isn't--" "Of course; of course it is. But don't publish it. Be in a hurry, for a policeman might happen along." "Let him happen. We haven't done anything to make us afraid of a policeman." "There it is. Now hand out the twenty-five dollars." As soon as the fingers of Joe Wayring's right hand closed about the article in question, he took the other hand out of his pocket; but he brought it forth empty. "I am very glad to see that you are not afraid to trust a humble member of the noble fraternity of wheelmen," said he, as he lifted the catch and opened the purse. "Now, when I take this money to its owner in the morning, he will pay the reward out of what it contains, won't he? Well, I'll do the same by you, and you may trust me to tell him (I am a wheelman, you know) that I have already paid twenty-five dollars to--Hallo? Where are you going? A bargain is a bargain. Come back and get your money. Moses Taylor! Where did he go in such haste?" Joe might well ask that. The place whereon the strange wheelman had stood a second before was vacant, and he had disappeared from view. CHAPTER III. A CASE OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY. The expression that came upon Arthur's face and Roy's when the sleek and plausible stranger hurried away from them, without waiting for the money that Joe was getting ready to give him, was a study. Joe gave them one quick glance, and then, utterly heedless of the fact that he was drawing the amused attention of many of the passing crowd, placed his hands upon his hips and laughed--not boisterously, as he would if he had been in the woods or even in Mount Airy, but none the less heartily. "Was--was it a bite?" inquired Arthur, as soon as he could speak. "I should say it was," replied Joe, wiping the tears from his eyes. "And you fellows thought I was taken in by it. Don't you read the papers, you two? Why, that game is old enough to be gray-headed No one ever tried to play it on me before, but I recognized it in a minute." "I confess that I don't see where the trick comes in," said Roy. "Don't you? Well, look here. The reason that fellow gave for turning the purse over to us was because he couldn't wait until morning to claim the reward that would surely be offered for its recovery, being obliged to leave town by the first train. Some folks would believe that story. The purse is fat enough to excite the cupidity of a dishonest man, who, nine times out of ten, will pay the sharper out of his own pocket, rather than open the purse and let him see what there is in it. Now, suppose I had given that fellow twenty-five good and lawful dollars of the Republic; let's see what I would have received in return." As Joe said this he turned out the contents of the purse, and Roy and Arthur discovered, to their no small astonishment, that what they had taken for a greenback was nothing more nor less than the advertisement of a quack medicine, warranted to cure every conceivable form of disease. It was wrapped around a roll of brown paper, the ends being turned over to hide it from view. "He thought I would give him the money he wanted out of my own pocket," continued Joe. "But when he found that I was not quite so green, and that his little game would be exposed in a minute more, and perhaps in the presence of a policeman, he took himself off." Yes, that was one reason why the sharper left without taking time to say good-by, but there was another that the boys knew nothing about. I must speak of it here so that you will be able to understand what happened afterward. Just as Joe Wayring was about to open the purse, the sharper cast a furtive glance over his shoulder and saw standing within a few paces of him, and intently watching his every movement, a short, thick-set man, dressed in a plain gray suit. It was evident that the two were not strangers to each other, for when the man in gray scowled and jerked his thumb over his shoulder, the sharper lost no time in getting out of sight. At the same instant Roy Sheldon turned his face that way, and the man in the gray suit, as if afraid of being seen and recognized, promptly wheeled about and looked toward the street. But he did not lose sight of the boys. He followed them to the Academy of Music, and sat within a few feet of them during the whole of the performance. "I'll chuck these things down there so that they can never be used to fool anybody," said Joe, when he and his friends had examined the purse and its contents to their satisfaction, and with the words he tossed the unlucky sharper's stock in trade into an opening between the grating on which they stood and the bottom of the store window. "I wonder what he thinks of country wheelmen by this time." "He was a pretty sleek talker, wasn't he?" said Roy. "Do you suppose he rides?" "No," answered Arthur, emphatically. "He is a professional swindler, and has no time to devote to riding. Besides, such chaps don't get into the L.A.W. Well, we've made a very fair beginning; only twelve hours from home, and one adventure to our credit already. I hope if we have any more they will all turn out as well as this one has." Having been shown to their seats in the Academy of Music, the boys devoted themselves to the business of the hour and forgot all about the sharper and his disappointment. Their quiet demeanor evidently excited the surprise of the gentleman in gray, and drew from him some remarks which were addressed to one who came in and took a seat beside him just as the entertainment was about to begin. "Takes it most too cool, don't he?" said the man in gray. "You're quite sure that there's no mistake about it? Bear in mind that I haven't seen him since his last escapade two years ago, and he has had time to change a good deal since then." "How in the world can there be any mistake about it?" asked the other, in reply. "Don't I see him every day, and oughtn't I to know him if anybody?" The first speaker drew a photograph from the inside pocket of his coat and looked at it intently, now and then raising his eyes to compare it with the profile of one of the boys in front, which was occasionally turned toward him. At length he appeared to be satisfied with his examination, for he replaced the picture, at the same time remarking, with something like a sigh of resignation: "It's a go if you insist upon it; but I want you to understand very distinctly that if any trouble follows the arrest, I am not the one to stand the brunt of it." "How is there going to be any trouble about it? Didn't the old man stand by you before? He did, and paid you well into the bargain. He'll do the same this time, and you may depend upon it." "But you say he isn't at home now." "I know it; but I am simply obeying orders, and my word is good till he comes." "If the boy has everything he wants, including all the money he can spend, and is as kindly treated and as well cared for as you say he is, I don't for the life of me see why he should run away from home," said the man in gray. "Boys don't generally desert home and friends without a cause. At least they didn't the first time I was on earth." "Well, this foolish fellow will do it every chance he gets, because he is determined to find his father. His uncle always tried to make him believe that his parents were both dead; but some gossip or another had to go and tell him different, and the old man hasn't seen a days peace of mind since. He lives in constant fear that the boy will give him the slip. This is the second time he has tried it, and some day he'll get off. Then there _will_ be a time, I tell you." "Why doesn't his uncle tell him where his father is, and let him go and see him?" "Oh, that would never do. Don't you know that the money goes with the boy? His father isn't fit to handle it, for he is a worthless scamp who would squander the last dime of it in less than no time. The law gave him to his uncle, who is also his guardian, and he intends to hold fast to him." "And the money, too, I suppose. Well, all I have to say is, that if I were in that boy's place my uncle would have to keep a double guard over me night and day. If I wanted to see my father I'd see him in spite of everybody. Besides, the boy is pretty near old enough to choose his own guardian." "Don't say that," whispered the other, hastily. "Whatever you do, don't say that where he can hear it. That's a point of law that he doesn't know anything about, and his uncle wouldn't like to have him posted." "Pooh! I shan't say anything. If I am employed to catch him as often as he runs away, so much the better for my pocket-book. I am too old to quarrel with my bread and butter." When the entertainment was ended Joe Wayring and his chums left with the others, and close behind them in the aisle came the man in gray and his companion. In the hall they encountered two dense living streams that came pouring down from the galleries, and in the crush that followed the boys became separated. Joe and Arthur found each other again on the sidewalk, but nothing was to be seen of Roy. As Arthur locked arms with his friend to prevent a second separation, they noticed a little knot of curious people gathered by the curbstone, and saw a close carriage driven rapidly away. "Move on!" exclaimed a burly policeman. "It's nothing at all except a fellow resisting arrest. Move on, please." The two boys would have been glad to wait for Roy; but as the guardian of the night emphasized his order by resting his club lightly against Joe's back, they concluded that they had better move on. They walked the length of the block and then returned, but no Roy Sheldon was in sight. There were but few people coming out of the hall now, but there was the watchful policeman with his ready club and his stereotyped command: "Move on, please. Don't block up the walk." "Roy has certainly come out before this time, and that blue-coat has driven him away," said Joe. "He knows the road to the hotel, and there's where we shall find him." The boys turned about and went down the street again, and the first thing that attracted their attention when they entered their hotel was the familiar uniform which they had adopted for their own--dark blue tights, white flannel shirt with blue trimmings, and white helmet. The boy who wore it was standing with his back to them, examining the register. "I never noticed before that Roy was so fine a figure," whispered Arthur. "Look at the muscles on his legs. He fills out those tights as though he had been melted and poured into them." Without saying or doing anything to attract the boy's notice, the two friends slipped up behind him, and Arthur threw his arms over his shoulders. "Now, you runaway, give an account of yourself!" he exclaimed. The effect produced by these innocent words was surprising in the extreme. In less than a second the supposed Roy Sheldon proved that he was quite as muscular as he looked to be. Uttering a cry of surprise and alarm he doubled himself up like a jack-knife and lunged forward with all his strength, and then almost as quickly jerked himself backward. By the first movement he came within a hair's breadth of throwing Arthur Hastings heavily on his head; and by the second he slipped out of his grasp like an eel. Then he straightened up and faced him with clenched hands and flashing eyes. "Don't touch me!" he began, fiercely. "If you or any of your hirelings lay an ugly finger on me again--" When he had said this much he stopped and looked hard at Arthur and then at Joe, while an expression of great astonishment settled on his face. My master and his friend were equally amazed. That was Roy Sheldon's uniform, if they ever saw it, but it wasn't Roy who was in it, although he looked almost exactly like him. There were the same clear-cut features, hazel eyes and wavy brown hair, and the same faint suspicion of a mustache; but they did not belong to Roy Sheldon. A second look showed them that. "Who are you?" demanded the young fellow, at length. "I think that is a proper question for us to ask you," replied Arthur, who, having never before been handled so easily by any boy of his size, felt disposed to resent it. "What are you doing in our uniform, we'd be pleased to have you tell us." "Your uniform!" exclaimed the stranger eagerly. "Are you from Jamestown?" "No. Never heard of such a place about here. Don't even know where it is. We are from Mount Airy." "Then we are even," said the stranger, in a disappointed tone, "for I don't know where Mount Airy is." "Then of course you live a good way from here." "Not so very far; not more than twenty miles, but it might as well be a thousand for all I know about this city. But you are wheelmen, of course. Well, now I wish--but say," added the speaker, as if something had just occurred to him. "Why did you grab me and call me a runaway?" "Because we thought you were. I mean we took you for a runaway from our party," said Joe; and then he wondered why it was that the stranger exhibited so much anxiety and even alarm at the words. "There is another fellow in our party, but we have lost him in some unaccountable manner." "Does he look anything like me?" "He does, indeed; so very much like you that when we saw you with our uniform on we took you for our missing friend. You are a little stouter than he is. That's all the difference there is in your figures; but to look at your faces a little distance away, any one not well acquainted with you would take you for twin brothers. How did you happen to choose that uniform? What club do you belong to?" "I don't belong to any club. How does it come that you happened to choose it when there were so many more that you might have taken?" "We made it up all out of our own heads," replied Arthur. "I can't say that I did. I copied it. The Jamestown boys wear it, and I have seen a good many bicyclists running along the road past our island dressed in the same way." "Your island!" repeated Joe. "Yes; my island prison, for that is just what it is to me. Let's go into the reading-room," said the stranger, seeing that the hotel clerk was becoming interested in their conversation. "I don't care to have everybody hear what I say." He moved away from the desk as he said this, and Joe and Arthur followed, lost in wonder. If there wasn't a mystery in this young fellow's life he was out of his head. That was plain to both of them. "My real name is Rowe Shelly," began the stranger, taking possessing of a chair at one of the tables and drawing two others alongside of him, "but when I registered I signed myself Robert Barton, and gave Baltimore as my home." "What made you do that? What have you been up to?" inquired Joe, while Arthur began to wonder if they had fallen in with another sharper who would presently make an effort to cheat them out of some money. "I haven't done anything that either of you would not do if you were in my place," answered young Shelly, if that was really his name. "To make a long story short, money is at the bottom of all my trouble. My grandfather, when he died, willed the most of his large property to my father, who was his only child, on condition that he quit the sea and settled down on shore with his family, mother and me. There was a step-son, who had assumed the family name in the hope of getting some of the money, but he was left without a dollar. Our home at that time was near some southern sea-port whose name I do not remember, for I was too young to know anything. This step-son, who had been dubbed "colonel" on account of his supposed wealth, happened to be at home when grandfather died, and what did he do but get possession of the will, spread the report that father had been lost at sea, take out letters of administration, turn mother out of the house, and have himself appointed my guardian. I don't pretend to know what trickery he resorted to, to bring all this about, but I know he did it." "Humph! I wouldn't live with such a villain," exclaimed Joe, who was deeply interested. He believed this strange story, and so did Arthur, who told himself that he must have been about half crazy when he suspected a boy who bore so close a resemblance to Roy Sheldon of being a sharper. "I don't live with him any more," replied Rowe. "I have left him for good; but of course I did not take the trouble to ask his consent." "Oh, that's what made you jump and look frightened when I caught hold of you and called you a runaway, was it?" said Arthur. "If your guardian finds you can he make you go back against your will?" "Certainly. He has often given me to understand that he will have full control of my actions as well as of my property until I am twenty-one years old." "Then he told you what isn't so," declared Joe. "I guess not," answered Rowe doubtfully. "At any rate, when I ran away from him two years ago he gobbled me with the aid of a policeman and took me back." "But you are older now than you were then," said Joe. "How old are you, if it is a fair question?" "I was eighteen last month." "Then snap your fingers at that guardian of yours, and tell him you are done with him." "That wouldn't make a particle of difference to him," replied Rowe. "He would have detectives after me, and I don't know but there are some on my track this very minute. That's why I registered under a fictitious name, and adopted this uniform. It is worn by so many wheelmen around here that it will not be likely to attract attention. But I am going to change it the first thing in the morning, trade off my Rudge safety for another wheel, and then put for the country and stay there as long as my money lasts." "Say, Joe," said Arthur suddenly, "he looks a good deal like Roy Sheldon, doesn't he?" "He is the very picture of him," answered Joe, surprised. "And you say," added Arthur, this time addressing himself to Rowe Shelly, "that your guardian put detectives on your track when you ran away from him two years ago, and that he has probably got them on your track to-night?" "I don't think I used those words, but that was what I meant," replied Rowe. "Why do you ask the question, and what makes you glare at me in that fashion?" "I didn't know that I was glaring at you," said Arthur. "But I wish from the bottom of my heart that you had changed that uniform for another a hundred years ago, or else that you had never adopted it, for it has been the means of getting one of the best fellows that ever lived into trouble." "Art," exclaimed Joe, starting up in his chair, "do you think--do you mean to say--" "Doesn't everything go to show it?" exclaimed Arthur, who was very highly excited. "His uniform is the counterpart of ours; he looks so much Roy that a stranger couldn't tell one from the other if he were to see them together; he has the best of reasons for believing that his guardian has put detectives on his track, and who knows--" "Good gracious!" cried Joe, starting up in his turn; "I never once thought of that." "What are you afraid of?" inquired Rowe, whose face betrayed the keenest anxiety and apprehension. "I hope you don't think that my resemblance to your friend has brought him into difficulty." "That is just what we are afraid of," replied Joe soothingly, while Arthur Hastings paced the room like a caged tiger. "But, of course, nobody can blame you for it. If one of the detectives you spoke of saw him, he probably mistook him for you, just as Arthur and I mistook you for Roy Sheldon. It's a case of mistaken identity, and that's all that can be made of it." "Nonsense!" exclaimed Arthur; "it is a clear case of abduction." "We'll have to see a lawyer about that." "Then let's be about it. What are we wasting time here for?" "Let us first make sure that Roy has been spirited away by somebody who thought he was Rowe Shelly. Say, Art, you remember the carriage that was driven away just as we came out of the Academy of Music, don't you? Well how do we know but Roy was in it, and that he was the fellow who resisted arrest?" "That's so," exclaimed Arthur. "Suppose we go right back and interview that policeman if we can find him." When Arthur proposed this plan Rowe Shelly's face grew white again. "That will be a dead give-away on me, won't it?" said he. "I don't see why it should be," replied Joe. "We're not going to tell any one that we have seen you. If you are afraid of it, go somewhere while we are gone, and then we can say, if we are asked questions we don't care to answer, that we don't know where you are." The young stranger evidently thought this a suggestion worth heeding, for when Joe and his companion left the room he followed slowly after them, first carefully reconnoitering the office to make sure there was no one there he did not want to meet. "What's your opinion of that fellow, any way?" asked Joe, as he and Arthur hurried along the street toward the Academy of Music. "He tells a queer story, but I really believe there are some grains of truth in it." "So do I," answered Arthur. "And if it turns out that Roy has been kidnapped, I shall believe it is all true. I wish that Shelly boy had been in Guinea before he adopted our uniform." "Or else that we had been there," added Joe. "He's got as much right to it as we have. Look here, Art. We mustn't let the Mount Airy folks know anything about this." "Not by a long shot. They'd order us home as they did when they read in the papers that Matt Coyle had tied you to a tree in the woods. If Roy is in a scrape we'll help him out of it and get well on our way beyond Bloomingdale before we say a word about it." The boys were not obliged to go all the way to the hall in which they had passed the evening, for they met the officer of whom they were in search at the lower end of his beat. Arthur thought he looked at them rather sharply as they came up, but he answered their questions civilly enough. "Policeman," said Joe, "will you please tell us what sort of a looking fellow it was who was put into a carriage in front of the Academy of Music, and driven away just as the performance ended? You were on duty there at the time." "Aw! go on now!" replied the officer good-naturedly. "He must have been one of your own crowd, for he wore the same kind of clothes." "What was his name?" asked Arthur, whose heart seemed to sink down into his boots when he heard this answer. "Aw, now!" said the officer again, "what's the use of my wasting my time with you? You know more about him than I do; but I will tell you one thing: you had better keep clear of him, or he will bring you into trouble. He's a bad nation. He stole a pile of money from his guardian before he ran away." "Not the boy who was put into the carriage, if it was the one we think it was," said Joe earnestly. "In the first place, he has no guardian, and he never stole a cent, for his father gives him all the money he needs. There's been a big mistake made here, Mr. Officer." "Haw, haw!" laughed the policeman. He turned on his heel and started back along his beat, but he did not shake off the boys. They wanted to learn something before they left him, so they kept close to him, one on each side. "But I assure you there has been the biggest kind of a blunder made," Joe insisted. "The wrong boy has been arrested. His name is Roy Sheldon, and he left Mount Airy with us this morning. Everybody there knows him and us, too." "No, I guess not," replied the policeman, with another laugh. "Bab's been in the business too long to make a mistake that might get him into trouble." "Who's Bab?" "Why, Bab--Babcock, the detective," answered the officer, in a tone which implied that he had no patience with a boy who could ask him so foolish a question. "The youngster had the cheek to appeal to me for protection, but I told him he had better go along peaceable and quiet, for it would only make matters worse for him if he didn't. I knew Bab, you see." "Well, this is a pretty state of affairs, I must say," exclaimed Arthur, his anger getting the better of his prudence. "Of course Roy resisted, as any other decent fellow would have done under the same circumstances; and when he asked for protection from one of whom he had a right to expect it, he was told that he had better go along if he wanted to keep out of worse trouble." "That's enough from you, young man," said the officer, shortly. "If you give me any more of your insolence I will run you in to keep company with that runaway and thief. Move on, now." Arthur didn't wait for a second order. He faced about at once and started back toward his hotel; but Joe stayed behind. He wanted to ask another question or two, although he hardly expected that the policeman would answer them. CHAPTER IV. ROWE SHELLY, THE RUNAWAY. "Just one more word, Mr. Officer," continued Joe Wayring, when he had seen his discomfited friend Arthur vanish in the crowd, "and then I will cease troubling you." "Be in a hurry, then," was the gruff rejoinder. "Don't say anything to confirm the suspicion I have that you are trying to make game of me, for if you do you will spend the rest of the night under lock and key, sure pop." "I assure you that my only desire is to gain some reliable information regarding my missing friend," answered Joe, choking back his wrath. "What precinct does this man Babcock belong to?" "He doesn't belong to any. He is a private detective, and works wherever he is called." "What agency does he belong to?" "Wilcox's; two-thirty-four Bank street." "Thank you. That's one point gained. I suppose he will report the arrest at his own headquarters, will he not?" "Very likely he will, and I'll report it to my captain." "I wasn't aware that a private detective could make an arrest without a warrant, except in cases where there is a fight or some other violation of the public peace. I thought he was obliged to call upon a policeman." "Well, wasn't I here?" exclaimed the officer, with some indignation in his tones. "I want you to understand that I know my business, and that you nor nobody like you can teach it to me. Move on. I've had enough of you." "All right," replied Joe cheerfully. "But first allow me to apologize for troubling you, and to thank you for your courteous answers to my questions." If this was intended for sarcasm it had no effect whatever upon the policeman, who walked off with a very dignified step, while Joe moved on to find Arthur Hastings. He discovered him in the reading-room of the hotel, holding an earnest conversation with a young fellow in citizen's clothes. It was Rowe Shelley; but when he left his uniform in his room he seemed to have left with it nearly all the resemblance he had once borne to Roy Sheldon. Joe could see now that the two boys did not look so very much alike after all. "I want to assure you of one thing, Wayring," said Rowe, as Joe seated himself in a chair by his side; "what that policeman told you about my stealing a lot of money before I left home, is utterly false. The little I have with me is what I have managed to save during the last two years out of my regular allowance. I have the best of reasons for believing that every cent there is in that house rightfully belongs to me, but I have never touched any of it except when it was given to me." "Are there any stores on the island?" inquired Joe. Rowe replied that there were not. The entire island was claimed by his guardian, who said he was Rowe's uncle, although he was no relation to him. Besides the family mansion, and the barns and other out-buildings that belonged to it, there were four tenement houses that were occupied by his guardian's hired help. "And I know they are not hired simply to work the place and keep the grounds in order," said Rowe bitterly. "They are employed to keep an eye on me, although they do not seem to pay any attention to me. When I had saved a little money and began laying my plans to skip out, there was not one among them to whom I could go for help, or whom I dared take into my confidence. I had to depend upon myself." "Then what was the use of a regular allowance of money if you couldn't spend it?" inquired Arthur. "I could save it for an emergency like this, couldn't I? Besides, whenever I wanted anything, I could send for it by some one who was coming to the city. Did you learn anything more about your missing friend? Hastings tells me that there is no doubt he was mistaken for me and sent away in that carriage." "That is what I think," answered Joe. "I know the name of the detective who arrested him, as well as the agency to which the detective belongs. It's Wilcox's, two-thirty-four Bank street, and there's where we must go the first thing in the morning." "Great Scott!" cried Arthur. "Can't we do anything for Roy before morning? Must he be put in a cell and--" "By no means," exclaimed Rowe. "Your friend will fare as well at my home as you will here at a hotel. Beyond a doubt my guardian's steam yacht was in waiting at one of the piers along the river side, and Roy is probably half way to the island by this time. Of course the detective will stay with him till he gets there, for fear that Roy will jump overboard or do some other desperate thing to escape from Willis." "Who is Willis?" "He is my guardian's superintendent and my jailer. At least, that is what I call him, although he is very friendly to me, and has seldom interfered with me. When I ran away two years ago, he followed me up and put the detectives on my track. I'd got away sure, if it hadn't been for him." "Of course if Babcock goes to the island he can't report the arrest to his superior before morning," said Joe, turning to Arthur. "So what's the use in going there (to the agency, I mean) before we can learn something?" "I don't see why you should go to the agency, or give yourselves the least uneasiness about the matter," said Rowe. "As soon as Willis has taken a good look at Roy, he will know that the detectives has made a mistake, and then he will lose no time in setting his prisoner at liberty and sending him back to the city." "We'll call upon Mr. Wilcox the first thing in the morning," said Joe, decidedly. "At least Art and I will, and you had best pack your bundle and dig out before daylight. As soon as your guardian finds out that--" "He isn't at home," interrupted Rowe. "He has gone away somewhere on business, and that's why I am here. I took advantage of his absence." "At any rate the search for you will be renewed when it becomes known that a mistake has been made, and if I were in your place I would not stay here. I think you were very imprudent to come to the city at all." "That's because you don't know what extraordinary precautions I took to make everybody think I was going the other way," replied Rowe. "But it seems that the tricks to which you resorted, whatever they were, did not work," said Arthur. "This man Willis, who probably runs things during your guardian's absence, must have come to the city or sent word to some one to be on the watch for you. If he didn't do one or the other, how does it come that Roy was molested? Joe, what course are you going to follow when you get to the agency?" "I'm simply going to tell the man in charge that one of his detectives has made a blunder and arrested Roy Sheldon when he thought he was arresting some one else, and ask him to undo his night's work and bring our friend back to us as quick as he knows how." "But he'll want evidence, won't he?" "I shall be provided with the evidence," replied Joe quietly. "Rowe, you wouldn't mind writing a couple of letters, one to your guardian's superintendent and the other to the detective, stating the facts, would you?" "Why--why, I don't see how I can do it without putting the detectives on my own track," stammered Rowe, who was very much astonished at this proposition. "I'd have to sign my right name to the letters, wouldn't I?" "Certainly. A fictitious name would be of no use to us, and we'll see that you don't get into trouble by it. Write the letters containing a full statement of the case, make yourself scarce about here without telling us where you are going, and then we can't answer any questions that may be asked us. If he don't do it," added Joe mentally, "the only thing I can do is to bring in some of father's business friends and Uncle Joe's to vouch for us, and add weight to our story. I am opposed to that, and I believe Roy himself would kick against it; for of course those friends would write the full particulars to the folks at home, and that would knock our trip across the State into a cocked hat." "If he doesn't do it," said Arthur to himself, seeing that Rowe still hesitated, "he will find that we are not to be trifled with. I'll denounce him as soon as I can find anybody to denounce him to. He got Roy into this scrape, and it is no more than fair that he should help get him out." "Is there no other way in which I can assist you?" inquired Rowe, after a long pause. "There is none that occurs to me just now," answered Joe. "Can you think of any?" "I can't think of anything. My mind is in a whirl, and has been ever since I left the island." "I thought as much," said Arthur, drily. "Otherwise you would never come to the city and put up at wheelmen's headquarters. Don't you know that this is the very hotel of all others that you ought to have shunned?" "I thought the very boldness of the thing would throw my pursuers, if I had any, off the track; and I believe it did, for I have seen no one to be afraid of since I came here. Do you think the chief detective will be ready to undo this work when you ask him?" added Rowe, addressing himself to Joe. "I think he will. I would, if I were in his place, for it would hurt my business to have it get out. If people knew that Wilcox kept such a blunderhead as that Babcock about, they would not be apt to give him much to do." "All right. It shall be as you say," exclaimed Rowe, getting upon his feet and hastening into the office, whence he presently returned with a couple of envelopes and as many sheets of paper in his hand. "Have you any influential friends in town?" he asked, as he seated himself at the table. "We've enough to make it exceedingly uncomfortable for those people on the island if they don't turn that boy loose in a little less than no time," replied Arthur, with emphasis. "Tell your man Willis to put that in his pipe." "He'll not need any such threat to quicken his movements," said Rowe, with a smile, the first one Joe had seen on his face that evening. "When he discovers that Babcock has not brought him the right boy, he will be only too glad to get rid of him. But I'll put it in." After a few minutes spent in rapid writing Rowe handed Joe the following, which was addressed to George Willis, Shelly's Island, New London Harbor: "You have probably found out by this time that the man Babcock, whom you notified to be on the lookout for me, has made a mistake that is likely to get him and every one concerned in it into serious difficulty. He has made a prisoner of Roy Sheldon, who lives in Mount Airy. He has friends there, as well as in this city, who will make it hot for you if you don't treat him well while he is on the island, and send him back with the least possible delay. Tell my guardian, when he returns, that I have grown weary of waiting for him to tell me where my father and mother are, and have set out to find them. I know I shall succeed this time, and then there will be a change of administration on Shelly's Island, or I shall miss my guess. "Now I should like to know what you mean by spreading the report that I stole a lot of money before I went away. You know it to false. If any of my money has disappeared (it is my money, mind you, and not my guardian's) I would as soon think you took it as to accuse anybody else. "If you haven't sent that boy back already, do it as soon as you read this, if you don't want to have some papers served on you." "Is that satisfactory?" inquired Rowe, as Joe passed the letter to Arthur. "Perfectly. If Willis fails to understand it, it will not be your fault. But why don't you get another guardian and put it out of this man's power to harass you with detectives every time you leave the island?" "I wish to goodness I could; but I can't. The law put him where he is." "And the law can take him out. When he was appointed your guardian he must have perjured himself if he swore that he was your next of kin. But here's a question: Do you know that your parents are still alive?" "No; I don't know it, but I think so. I do know, however, that my father was not lost at sea, as my guardian reported. Since that time people who know him have seen and talked with him. He was alive when I tried to find him two years ago." "Where does he live?" "Somewhere in the State of Maryland. On the coast, I suppose, for he is fond of the water, and has been a sailor all his life." "Now just think a moment," said Joe, earnestly. "Can't you see that you show a wonderful lack of _something_ in starting off on your wheel to hunt a needle in a haystack? You must remember that Maryland has an area of more than eleven thousand square miles, not counting in the bay, which has a coast line three hundred and eighty miles in length. You have set yourself something of a job, old fellow." "So I have," said Rowe nervously. "Do you know, I never once thought of that? There was but one idea in my mind, and that was to get safely off the island and away from New London, so that I could hide myself among strangers. Then, after the excitement had had time to die away, and my guardian had given up looking for me, I thought it would be the easiest thing in the world to run down into Maryland and find my parents. It wouldn't be too long a run, would it? I think I have heard of a man who went from San Francisco to Boston on his wheel." "No doubt you did; and that man, if you are thinking of the same one I am, is now on his way around the world. The run wouldn't trouble you, but finding the objects of your search would not be so easy as you seem to think. You have gone about it in the wrong way." "How would you act, if you were in my place?" "My first hard work would be to rid myself of that guardian," exclaimed Joe. "Haven't I told you that he was appointed by the court?" "Of course he was, or else he could not have slipped into the position. But you were too young to have any voice in the matter. You are older now than you were then, and have reached an age when the law says you are capable of choosing your own guardian." Howe became greatly excited when he heard this. He threw his pen upon the table, jumped to his feet, and paced the floor with long and rapid strides. "I hope you know what you are telling me," said he, as soon as he could say anything. Joe replied that he was sure of his ground. "How shall I go to work?" continued Rowe. "What shall I do first?" "Go to some honest lawyer, tell him your story just as you have told it to us, going rather more into details, and he will tell you what to do. If you give the case into his hands, he will probably advertise for your people. He'll not start off alone to hunt them up, unless he knows pretty near where they are; I can tell you that much." "And will the law really help me to rid myself of that man?" cried Rowe, as if he could hardly believe it. "And will I have my father and mother to live with me, and be free to come and go, as other fellows do? It seems too good to be true. Why didn't you tell me this long ago?" "I have been on the point of telling you half a dozen times," answered Joe, "but somehow I always got switched off on another track. You know it now, and if you remain shut up any longer deprived of your rights, it will be your own fault." "I shall not let the grass grow under my feet, I assure you," said Rowe, seating himself at the table and once more taking up his pen. "I shall not leave the city until this thing has been settled. How would it do to add a line to the letter I have written to Willis?" "Telling him what you intend to do?" exclaimed Joe. "I wouldn't. Spring it on 'em and take them by surprise before they have a chance to run away with any of the money. If the man who claims to be your uncle got his position by fraud, he wouldn't be above cheating you if he saw an opportunity to do it without detection." It was much harder work for Rowe to write this letter than it was to write the first, because he was so nervous and excited that he could scarcely hold his pen steady. But he finished it at last, and handed it over to Joe to read. It was much the same as the other, except that there was no allusion made to the story that Willis or somebody else had spread abroad, that Rowe had appropriated a sum of his guardian's money to help him in his runaway scheme. Then the letters were sealed, stamped and addressed, and Joe went out to put them into the box. He wanted them to reach their destination as soon as possible; and furthermore, he intended to allow the one that was addressed to the detective ample time to have an effect before he called at the agency on the following morning. They had done all that could be done that night, and when Joe went back to the reading-room he announced his intention of going to bed. "Then I will bid you good-by, for it is not at all likely that I shall be here when you come down in the morning," said Rowe, shaking each of them cordially by the hand. "If you only knew what a terrible load you have lifted from my heart by the friendly encouragement and advice you have given me, you would believe me when I say that I am glad to have met you, and sorry indeed that your friend got into trouble through me. Please say as much, to him when you see him, and add that I shall live in hopes of some day making his acquaintance. I suppose you can't tell me where to address you in case I should have anything interesting to communicate?" Joe was sorry to say that he could not; for although their proposed route had been marked out in their road-book before they left home, there was no certainty that they would stick to it. But he and his friends would like much to know how Rowe succeeded in his efforts to assert his rights, and a letter addressed to them at Mount Airy would follow them until it caught them. There were their cards. Good-night and good luck! "He's a simple-hearted fellow and totally unused to the ways of the world; and although he hasn't got much sense to boast of in some things, he can sling ink better than I can," said Arthur, as he and Joe ascended to their rooms. "Do you suppose he has ever been to school?" "No, I don't. He had a private teacher." "Then why didn't he make a confidant of him?" "Because he was afraid to. Perhaps his teacher was some poverty-stricken scholar, who was told to keep his mouth, eyes and ears closed as long as he remained on the island, and was well paid for doing it. More than that, the guardian was careful to tell his side of the story first, so that the tutor would be likely to take anything Rowe said to him with a grain or two of allowance." "It does not seem possible that such things can happen in this day and age of the world," said Arthur reflectively. "That fellow told us a strange story, and I shall do as I please about believing it until we hear from Roy Sheldon. Well, good-night. Call me when you get up." The first thing the two friends did when they went down to the office in the morning was to inquire for Robert Barton; for you will remember that that was the name the runaway signed to the register. "He left a message for you to the effect that he had decided to take the night boat for Bloomingdale," replied the clerk. "He will put in the time visiting friends there until you arrive." "That means that Rowe Shelly has gone into hiding somewhere in the city," said Joe, as he followed Arthur into the dining-hall. "Of course he wouldn't be foolish enough to say that he was going up the river on a steamer if he really meant to do it." "I don't know whether he would or not," answered Arthur, doubtfully. "He acknowledges to doing a great many foolish things. Putting up at this hotel was one of them." After eating a very slender breakfast the boys inquired the way to Bank street, and left the hotel to obtain an interview with Mr. Wilcox. About half an hour later a carriage was driven up to the sidewalk, and a boy clad in a bicycle uniform got out and hurried into the hotel; but I doubt if such a boy and such a uniform had ever been seen in the Lafayette House before. He seemed anxious to escape observation, for it was not until he had concealed himself behind one of the wide front doors that he stopped to pay his hackman. Then he stepped up to the desk and looked at the astonished clerk with his right eye. He wore a handkerchief over the other one, and there was a suspicion of blood on the handkerchief. One sleeve of his shirt had disappeared, and so had his cap; and when the clerk came to take a second look at him, he saw that, although his uniform was dry, it looked as though it had been dumped in the harbor--as indeed it had. "Well, well," exclaimed the clerk, as soon as he had in some measure recovered from his astonishment. "What in the world have you been doing to yourself, Mr.--ah--er--Barton?" he added, consulting the register to make sure of the name. "Did the steamer sink or burn up?" "What steamer? I don't know anything about a steamer." "Why, didn't you tell the clerk whom I relieved that you were going to take the night boat for Bloomingdale?" "Not much I didn't. I wasn't here last night, and furthermore, my name isn't Barton. There's my name, Roy Sheldon; and I came to town yesterday afternoon in company with that fellow and that one," said the new-comer, pointing out Joe's name and Arthur's. "Then, who was the chap who left a message for Wayring and Hastings?" exclaimed the puzzled clerk. "I'm sure I don't know. Did he beat you out of anything?" inquired Roy, thinking of the swindler who had tried to palm off those bogus greenbacks upon him and his friends. "Oh, no! He settled up all fair and square, and said he would wait for Wayring and Hastings at Bloomingdale. It couldn't have been your brother, could it? He looked like you." "Don't own any brother. Say," cried Roy, an idea striking him. "Wasn't it Rowe Shelly?" The clerk backed away from his desk and looked at Roy without speaking. "I don't know who else it could have been, for I was mistaken for him, kidnapped, and carried over to the island, and just escaped being taken to sea by the skin of my teeth," continued Roy, growing excited as he thought of it. "Rowe must have been here and scraped an acquaintance with my friends, or he wouldn't have left a message for them. I did say I would make trouble for somebody if I ever got ashore, but since I have had time to think the matter over, I am not as mad as I was. Did it blow much here last night and early this morning? Well, I was out in the whole of it." "Do you mean to say that that fool Rowe Shelly has run away from home again?" said the clerk, as if he could hardly believe the story. "He has run away, but I don't know whether he's a fool or not. I am inclined to think he isn't. Where are those friends of mine?" The clerk didn't know. They left the hotel after inquiring the way to Bank street, but he couldn't tell what business they had on hand, or how long they would be gone. "They'll show up when they get ready," said Roy. "In the mean time, if you will give me the key to forty-seven, I will go up and try to make myself a little more presentable." "What have you been doing to get yourself into such a plight?" asked the interested clerk. "The story is too long to be told in detail, and all I can say just now is that I have had a time of it. But if Rowe got away I don't care. I would go through as much more to help him, although he is a perfect stranger to me. Don't say anything about this, please, for I positively decline to be interviewed. I don't want my folks to hear of it, for fear they will order me home," added Roy to himself. "That's the plain English of the matter." So saying he took his key and went up to his room. CHAPTER V. ROY IN TROUBLE. You will remember that it was during the crush which occurred at the Academy of Music when the "gallery gods" came pouring down into the main hall from both sides, that Roy Sheldon became separated from his friends Joe and Arthur. While he was making his way slowly toward the door, he felt a hand laid upon his arm, and without turning his head to see who it was, supposing, of course, that one of his companions was close at his side, Roy took hold of the hand and drew it through his arm. When he reached the sidewalk he looked around to say something uncomplimentary regarding the rough fellow who had elbowed him rather too sharply in his haste to get out, and then he found that it was not a boy who had hold of him, but a man whom he had never seen before--a brown-whiskered man dressed in gray clothes. Thinking of the swindler whom he and his friends had encountered during the early part of the evening, Roy made an effort to twist himself out of the stranger's grasp, but found that he could not do it. The man had a grip like a vise. "Softly, softly," said he, in a low tone. "The game's up, and you might as well give in. You know me, and you know, too, that I wouldn't see you harmed. The carriage is ready and waiting." "I don't know you, either," said Roy, greatly astonished. "Let go my arm, or I'll black your eye for you." "If you strike me," said the man, who seemed rather surprised at this display of spirit, "I shall have to put the irons on you right here, and you don't want to make a scene before all these people. It wouldn't look well for a young fellow of your standing." Roy, too amazed to speak again, looked around for his friends; but they seemed to have disappeared very mysteriously. He was surrounded by strange people, the majority of whom seemed to be paying no sort of attention to him, while others looked on in wonder, and the rest laughed at him. An arrest in the crowded streets of New London was too common an occurrence to attract more than a passing notice. All this while Roy was being led slowly but surely toward a carriage, whose door was held invitingly open by a rather genteel-looking man who carried a heavy cane in his hand. When Roy saw that preparations had been made to convey him away secretly, he recovered his power of action and the use of his tongue at the same instant. He resisted with all his strength, and finally appealed to a policeman who, for a wonder, chanced to appear at that opportune moment. "What do you mean, anyway?" he exclaimed, giving his arm a sudden wrench, but with no other effect than to cause the man in gray to tighten his grasp until Roy could scarcely endure the pain. "Mr. Officer, do you see what this villain is doing? I ask you to interfere for my protection." [Illustration: The Arrest.] Roy, in his simplicity, supposed that the guardian of the city's peace would rush up and knock his assailant down with his club, or else take him into custody; but he did nothing of the sort. He strolled leisurely up to the carriage, saying, in a drawling tone: "I suppose it is all right, Bab?" "Of course it is," replied the man in gray, "or I wouldn't be in it. I am too old a dog to bark up the wrong tree." "It's all right, sonny," said the policeman, soothingly. "Go along quiet and peaceable and you won't get into trouble with Bab. He'll take good care of you." "But who is he, and by what authority does he commit this outrage?" demanded Roy, who was so angry and astonished that he hardly knew what he was saying. But his indignant words met with no verbal response. The policeman, who, according to Roy's way of thinking, ought to have helped him, lent effective assistance to his assailant by taking the boy by the other arm and gently pushing him into the carriage. The minute the two men released their hold of him, Roy jumped for the other side of the vehicle, intending to open the door and take to his heels, but the man who carried the heavy cane was there before him. "What's the use of cutting up like this?" said he, with a cunning smile that exasperated the prisoner to the highest degree. "One would think, from your actions, that you were going to prison, instead of to the pleasantest home that any boy of your size ever had. Why can't you stay there and be contented? There's many a youngster in this city who would be glad to be in your boots." As the man said this he mounted to a seat on the box beside the driver, and at the same moment his companion, who had got into the carriage and closed the door behind him, seized Roy by the arm and drew him away from the window. "Sit down and take it easy," said he, pleasantly. "The game is up, as I told you, and you might as well give in and wait until you see another chance to run away." "Run away!" repeated Roy. "Where from?" "Oh, come now. What's the use of playing off in that way? I know it's quite a while since I saw you, but I knew you the minute I put eyes on you. That chap didn't fool you, did he?" "What chap?" "Why, the fellow who tried to play the pocket-book game on you and those two wheelmen you picked up somewhere." "Did you see that operation?" exclaimed Roy, forgetting for the moment that he was being taken somewhere against his will, and that there might be disagreeable things in store for him. "I saw it all. I followed you from the Lafayette House--say, Rowe, don't you think you were foolish to go to that hotel where all the wheelmen stop? That was the very first place I went to find you when Willis told me that you had skipped again. What made you go there?" "Who is Willis?" asked Roy, in reply. "Oh, get out!" exclaimed his companion, in a tone of disgust. "If you want me to talk to you, you must talk sense." "Well, then, where are you going to take me?" "That isn't sense, either. _I_ might be liable to make a mistake, seeing it's two years and better since I last met you, but Willis ought to know you." "Who does he think I am?" "Oh, quit your nonsense. I am in no humor for foolishness. I was up all last night working on a case, and now I've got to stay up till I see you safe at home. I'm cross for want of rest." "You don't talk as if you were cross," said Roy. "I'll stop bothering you if you will tell me who you are, who you think I am, and why you kidnapped me as you have done." "Bless your heart, you won't bother me if you will only talk sense. I didn't kidnap you. I arrested you for a runaway, and there's my authority for doing it." As the man said this he squared around on his seat, drew back the lapel of his coat, and the light of a street lamp, which streamed in through the window at that moment, fell full upon a detective's shield. "My name is Babcock," he continued. "Of course you remember me now. Bab, you know; the same man who arrested you when you lit out two years ago. _Bab_, you recollect." "Never heard your name before, and never saw you, till you bounced me back there in the hall," said Roy, who told himself that he was learning something every minute. "Oh, come now," replied the detective, in an injured tone. "Everybody knows Bab." "Everybody except me, perhaps. But you never arrested me for the simple reason that I never ran away from home. It's much too pleasant a place for me to leave voluntarily, I can tell you. It is plain enough to me that you have mistaken me for somebody else." "But there's Willis," said the detective; and if Roy could have seen his face distinctly he would have had the satisfaction of knowing that he had aroused a train of disagreeable thoughts in that official's mind. "Who's Willis?" asked Roy, again. "Your uncle's superintendent; the man on top with the driver. He has known you all your life, and he says you are Rowe Shelly." "Well, I am not. I am Roy Sheldon, and my home is in Mount Airy. If you don't want to take my word for it, tell your hackman to drive us to the Lafayette House. You will find a couple of my friends there, and in an hour I can bring a hundred more from among New London's best business men." "If you have so many acquaintances in the city, why did you put up at a hotel? That statement will hardly wash." "It's the truth whether it will wash or not," Roy insisted. "Having just so much time at our disposal, we made all our arrangements before we left home, and we didn't want our friends to interfere with our plans in any way. You may save yourself trouble by going to my hotel." "No; I don't guess I would," replied the detective, with a yawn. "I'd a little rather trust Willis than you, for you know that you are full of tricks, and that you came within one of giving me the slip two years ago. Remember it, don't you?" Roy replied that it had slipped his mind entirely, and then went back to the point from which he started, hoping that by setting out on a new tack he could induce the detective to tell him who Rowe Shelly was, where he lived, and why he had run away from home. "If you are an officer, as you pretend to be, what is the reason you did not arrest that fellow when he was trying to play the pocket-book game on my friends and me?" said he. "You say you saw it all." "And I say so yet; but I didn't want to have anything to do with him just then, for I had bigger game in sight. That was you, and I was afraid you would recognize me if I showed you my face. So I just nodded to the swindler to let him know that I was on to his little performance, pointed down the street, and he took the hint and cleared out." "Oh, that's the reason he went off in such a hurry, was it?" exclaimed Roy. "We thought it was because he was afraid his game was about to be exposed. Now that I think of it, I believe I did see you standing near by, but your back was turned toward us." "No doubt. And you saw me when I took you in at Peach Grove two years ago, didn't you? Come, now, be honest." "I don't know where Peach Grove is, and I tell you I never saw you before to-night," replied Roy. "How far do you intend to take me in this close carriage?" "Not much farther. We're most to the pier now." "Then I've got to go the rest of the way by water, have I?" said Roy. "Why don't you let down the windows? It's suffocating in here." "It's pretty warm, that's a fact," assented the detective, taking off his hat and drawing his handkerchief across his forehead. "You'd holler if I put the windows down." "No, I wouldn't," protested the boy. "And that wouldn't be pleasant; because it would attract attention," continued the detective. "You'd be sorry enough for it after you'd had time to cool off, and, besides, your uncle wouldn't like to have so much publicity given to this matter. He wants everything done on the quiet, and I promise you it shall be, if you will do just as I say." "Who's my uncle?" asked Roy, believing that he had got upon the right track at last. "Why, your uncle; Colonel Shelly; the man who owns the island where you live," answered the detective. And then, as if he was angry at himself for giving his questioner this much satisfaction, he added: "I declare, if Job was here in my place he'd lose patience and be tempted to shake you. But go on with your foolishness. I've got to keep awake somehow." "Then let down the windows so that a fellow can breathe," said Roy, prompt to take advantage of this permission. "If I speak louder than my ordinary tone of voice it will not take you long to put them up again. There, now. That's better. You say you are going to take me to an island. Are there any people on it?" "A dozen, or such a matter, I should say." "Have they been long in Colonel Shelly's employ?" "Some have been there always, and some ain't." "That's all I want to know on that point," said Roy, who was greatly relieved. "Of course the minute those old-timers see me they will know that you have made a mistake." "Of course, they won't know nothing of the kind," replied the detective, angrily. "They know, and so does everybody else, that Bab understands his business and is not in the habit of making mistakes. Don't you build any hopes on that." "Colonel Shelly will know that I am not his nephew, won't he? I can at least build some hopes on that." "He ain't at home, and you know it as well as I do. If he was, you and I wouldn't be here in this carriage. You waited until he went off somewhere on business, and then you skipped." "Oh, that was the way of it. The colonel must be rich if he can afford to own a whole island so near a big city like New London, mustn't he?" "Aw! Go on now," replied the detective. "He's awful rich, and so are you. At least you will be one of these days." "That's news to me. I've seen the time when I thought I was well off if I had fifteen cents in my pocket. What's the matter?" inquired Roy, seeing that his companion was twisting uneasily about on his seat. "Don't I talk fast enough to keep you awake?" "You make me tired," answered the detective. "But I'll tell you one thing, young man. If Willis has made a mistake and you are not Rowe Shelly, you're a trifle the coolest customer I have seen for many a day." "I don't deny that I was frightened at first," said Roy, "but I don't feel at all uneasy now. Of course I know that you have made a mistake, for there's nothing that you or any one else can gain by running me off in this way." "Well, look here," said the detective earnestly. "If there's been a blunder made, you mustn't blame me for it. Blame Willis." "What's the name of the boy you took me for--Rowe Shelly? Do I look much like him?" "That's another question that makes me tired," answered Babcock. "Look like him! You _are_ him, otherwise you wouldn't be here." "But I say I am Roy Sheldon and nobody else, as I can prove if you will give me a chance. When we get to some place where we can borrow a light, I want you to take a good look at my face. You never saw a boy who looked exactly like me, and I'll bet on it." This was just what the detective had determined to do. The boy was altogether too much at his ease to suit him; he did not act at all as a disappointed runaway ought to act, and the fear that, for once, he had committed a blunder was almost enough to drive Babcock frantic. If he had made a prisoner of the wrong boy he could look for nothing but a prompt discharge from his employer, who would not be likely to recommend him to any other private detective bureau. But then he never would have made the arrest if Willis had not urged it, and repeatedly declared that he knew Rowe Shelly when he saw him, and that there was no chance for a mistake. And besides, there was the money that Rowe was said to have stolen from his guardian! To do the detective justice he did not believe that part of the story, but told himself that the superintendent had concocted it in order to make the case against the runaway as bad as it could be. "I don't much like this private detective business, and never did," thought Babcock. "If there is a mean piece of work to be done, something so low down that the city officers won't touch it, we are called upon to do it. I'll have a good look at this boy's face as soon as we reach the pier, and if I am not entirely satisfied with what I see there, I'll wash my hands of the whole business, and leave Willis to take him to the island and get out of the scrape afterwards as well as he can. That's what I'll do." Seeing that his companion had suddenly grown very unsociable, Roy settled back on his seat and thought over the situation. What would Joe and Arthur think when they missed him, and what would they do about it? When they found that he had not returned to the hotel would they become frightened, report the matter at police headquarters, and write to the folks in Mount Airy about it? The bare thought of such a thing alarmed Roy, who was almost tempted to burst open the door and take to his heels. "But that plan wouldn't work at all," said he to himself. "Babcock would have me hard and fast before I could get fairly on my feet. I must wait until we reach the pier, and then I'll make a dash, if they give me the least show. If Joe and Arthur write home about it, that will be the end of our trip, and I'll pick a quarrel with the pair of them as soon as I can find them." But, after all, Roy did not borrow a great deal of trouble on this score. His friends had never yet "gone back on him," and Roy did not believe they would do it now, when there was so much at stake. While these thoughts were passing through his mind, the carriage, which had been driven at as high a rate of speed as the hackman thought he could venture upon without attracting the attention of the police, turned off the main thoroughfare into a narrow street, then into another, and finally into a third, which was so dark and gloomy that the street lamps looked as though they were shining through a fog. Presently it came to a standstill. "Here we are," said Babcock, with alacrity. "Jump out. Not that side, but this one. Aha! You'll bear watching, won't you?" But Roy could not have made his exit through the door toward which he turned, without bringing on a useless struggle with his captors: for the minute the carriage stopped, the man Willis clambered down from the box and appeared at the window. "Rowe Shelly must be a slippery fellow," thought Roy, as he faced about and followed the detective, "and no doubt he has given these two men a lesson that they will not soon forget. They won't let me have the ghost of a chance to run." When Roy got out of the carriage he saw that it had stopped at the end of a pier which jutted out into the harbor for a hundred feet or more. There was no possible chance for escape, unless he were reckless enough to jump into the water and trust himself to the tide, which was running out at a rapid rate, but his captors were so very much afraid of him, that they kept fast hold of both his arms while they marched him to the farther end of the pier, where they found a natty little yacht with steam up, ready for a start. "Do you intend to take me away on this thing?" inquired Roy. "Well, before you do it, hadn't you better get a lantern and satisfy yourselves that you have made no mistake in the boy? I tell you I am not Rowe Shelly. If he has any good reason for running away from his uncle, I hope he is a thousand miles from here at this moment, and that you will never catch him. But if you don't quit fooling with me here and now, I'll make trouble for you as sure as I live to get ashore." "I'm used to such talk as that," said Willis, with a laugh. "Yes," he added, in reply to a low question from a man on the forecastle who proved to be the captain of the yacht, "we've found him already. Had no trouble at all in tracking him. Are you ready? Then cast off and--" "Hold on," interrupted the detective. "I want to say a few words to you in private, Willis. Captain, can this boy be locked in the cabin with any certainty that we shall find him there when we want him?" The man appealed to said he was sure of it; whereupon Roy was conducted down the companion ladder, and into an elegantly furnished little room in the stern of the yacht. The hanging lamp gave out a brilliant light, and Roy, believing that the detective would never have a better opportunity to take a good look at his face, placed his hands on his hips and stood in such a position that the rays from the reflector fell full upon him. "Now what do you think?" said he. "Can you truthfully say that you ever saw me before?" "Why, what's the matter?" inquired Willis, while Roy was sure he looked somewhat concerned and anxious. "What are you talking about, Rowe? You don't pretend to deny yourself, do you? If that's your scheme, it won't work." "Of course I do not mean to deny my identity," replied Roy. "But I do say I am not Rowe Shelly." "What nonsense!" exclaimed Willis. "Shove off, captain. We are wasting time here. Mr. Babcock will go to the island with us, as he did before." "Don't be in a hurry, captain," interposed the detective. "It is possible that I shall want to stay ashore. Now, Willis, come on deck and tell me who is to pay me for this night's work." Willis knew, and so did Roy Sheldon, that this was simply a ruse on Babcock's part to take the superintendent out of the prisoner's hearing so that he could speak his mind to him without fear of being overheard. I afterward learned all about that rather stormy interview, and so I will tell of it here in its proper place. "Look here," said Babcock, as soon as he and Willis had gained the deck. "You have brought me into a pretty mess, and I am going to get out of it with the least possible delay. I am as near the island as I am going to-night." "You--you don't suppose--" began Willis. "Yes; I mean to say that you have made me arrest the wrong boy," exclaimed the detective, as if he read the thoughts that were passing in his companion's mind; "and if you don't know it, too, your face belies you. What do you say, captain? Who is that boy we just left in the cabin?" "Why, it's Rowe Shelly, of course. Who else should it be?" "Did you take a good look at him?" "I did. I would know him if I had met him in Europe." "There, now," said Willis, angrily, "I hope you're satisfied. I've heard that boy talk. He can almost make one believe that black is white, and I can see plain enough that he tried his blarney on you while you were in the carriage with him. You wouldn't have made the arrest if it hadn't been for me." "You're right, I wouldn't. I believed you when you said you knew the boy, and now I've got into a nice pickle by it. I hope the colonel will give you your walking-papers the minute he hears of it." "Oh, he dassent do that. I know too much about--" began Willis, and then he stopped, frightened at what he had said. "You know too much about him and his affairs, do you?" exclaimed Babcock, finishing the sentence for him. "That's what I have thought for a long time." "I didn't say so," replied Willis, hastily, at the same time taking the detective by the arm and leading him out of earshot of the captain of the yacht. "You ought not to have spoken so plainly in the presence of a third party. I tell you it's all right." "And I tell you I am sure it isn't. If you will take my advice, you will bring that boy out of the cabin and show him the way to his hotel at once. If he is a stranger in town he could not find his way there alone on a dark night like this." "I wouldn't do that for no money," said Willis, alarmed at the mere mention of such a thing. "Just see the trouble I'd get into." "You'll get into more if you don't do as I say. Well, good-by. I'm off." "Won't you see Rowe safe to the island?" "Not by a great sight. I'll have no more to do with the case." So saying the detective jumped ashore, and Willis was left to his own discretion. CHAPTER VI. ANOTHER SURPRISE FOR ROY. "Well, this is a pretty way to treat a fellow, I do think," soliloquized the puzzled and anxious superintendent, as he stood on the yacht's deck and watched the retreating form of the detective until it was swallowed up in the darkness. "He gets me into difficulty and then clears out, leaving me to sink or swim, he don't care which. What do you say, captain?" he added, turning to the master of the yacht, who came up when he saw Babcock spring ashore. "You're quite positive that the boy below is Rowe Shelly, and nobody else?" "What's the matter with you and Babcock?" asked the captain, testily. "You act like a couple of--I don't know what." "And that's the way I feel," replied Willis. "Babcock has been worked upon in some mysterious way, and now he's gone away and left me to bear the brunt of the whole thing alone." "Well, wasn't that what you expected to do when you got back to the island?" inquired the captain. "His guardian being absent, you will have to take full charge of Rowe until he returns. That's what you did the last time he ran away, and you never made any fuss over it. I know it is disagreeable business, this standing guard over an uneasy fellow who won't stay where he is put, but seeing that we are well paid for it, and know that it is for the boy's best good, where's the harm?" "But Babcock seems to think that Rowe has slipped through our fingers, and that we have brought back the wrong boy." The captain made a gesture of impatience but said nothing. "All right," exclaimed Willis. "Cast off the fasts and get under way as quickly as possible." "Where's his wheel?" inquired the captain. "I didn't see you bring it aboard." "We didn't stop for it," answered Willis, "for the youngster was in fighting humor, and would have drawn a crowd about us if we hadn't hustled him into the carriage just as we did. We'll have to send for it when he gets ready to tell us where he left it." "Don't he feel inclined to talk? That isn't at all like Rowe, who usually has gab enough." "Bless you, he's nothing but talk; but the trouble is, he won't tell the truth. He has hit upon a new plan this time. He says he is somebody else, and sticks to it. But you know him and I know him, even if Babcock doesn't; so it's all right. Now get underway. It _must_ be all right, although I confess that Babcock frightened me by talking and acting as he did," said Willis, as the master of the yacht hastened forward to take his place at the wheel. "I had a good view of him while he stood in front of that window with those two young wheelmen; I sat almost within reach of him during the entire evening; and I've had several good looks at him since. Babcock had all the chances he wanted to compare his face with the photograph I gave him, and he didn't think there was anything wrong until after Rowe had had opportunity to talk to him. I'd give something handsome to know what passed between them while I was on the box with the driver; then, perhaps I should know what to do. I ought to have stayed with them, but I never dreamed of anything like this. However, I shall be prepared for any emergencies. I'll take Tony into my confidence just as soon as I can get Rowe into the house and up to his room." So saying, the superintendent faced about and went into the cabin to see what the prisoner thought of the situation. To his surprise he found him reading a paper he had taken from the table. According to Willis's way of thinking, that was a bad sign. Why didn't he walk the floor and shake his fists in the air and utter threats, and in various other ways act as if he had taken leave of his senses? That was the way he did the last time he was captured, and Willis could not understand why he didn't do so now. "Well," said Roy, laying down his paper and squaring around in his chair. "What conclusion did you and Babcock come to?" "What conclusion?" repeated Willis, innocently. "Yes. You went on deck to hold a private confab, and I should like to know what came of it. It is a matter in which I am somewhat interested." "I don't see how you can be. Bab wanted to know who was to pay him for interfering with your plans, and I told him he would have to go to your uncle for that. There was nothing private about it." "I suppose I am at liberty to believe that or not," replied Roy. "Babcock knows that when he caught me he didn't get the boy he wanted, and you know it, too. I don't say you knew it when you took me away from my friends in front of the hall, but you do now!" Roy said this at a venture, and, no doubt, would have been greatly amazed if he had known just how close he had shot to the mark. He was sitting a little to one side of the reflector, so that the rays from the hanging lamp fell squarely upon him, and now that Willis had leisure to look at him without fear of interruption from a crowd of curious by-standers, the cold chills began creeping over him. There was a wonderful resemblance, it is true, between the prisoner and Rowe Shelly, and yet Willis could not help seeing that they were different in a good many particulars. Roy had a way of holding his head, and even of sitting in his chair, which were unlike anything the superintendent had ever noticed in Rowe. How earnestly he wished that Roy would own up, confess that he was the runaway, and thus put an end to his suspense! "Where's Babcock now?" asked Roy, after a short pause. "On deck," answered Willis, who did not think it would be good policy to tell the prisoner just what had passed between himself and the detective. "It always makes him sea-sick to remain in a close cabin when on the water, and so he stayed where he could get the breeze." "It works that way with me, too," said Roy; but Willis could not be made to believe it. "It won't do, Rowe," said he, with something that was intended for a good-natured smile. "I've seen you on the water too often, and you can't crowd any such story down me. I wouldn't mind allowing you to go on deck if I could trust you; but I have learned that I can't. Your word isn't good for anything." "Your remarks may apply to Rowe Shelly, but I want you to understand that they don't hit me. My word is always good. But what's the use of talking?" said Roy, again, picking up the paper. "I've told my story to the detective, who probably told it to you, and in a few hours you will learn that it is a true one. Where has Colonel Shelly gone, and when is he expected to return?" Willis answered that he didn't know. "It's immaterial," said Roy. "When my friends come to the island after me, as they surely will as soon as they find out where I have been taken, I shall go ashore with them, no matter whether the colonel is there or not." It was right on the point of Roy's tongue to add: "And you will go also, for I don't intend to submit to treatment of this sort." But he did not utter the words. It came into his mind like a flash, that possibly this man Willis might have it in his power to shut him up in some strong room on the island, and if that was the case Roy did not wish to make him angry. "You still stick to it that you are not Rowe Shelly, do you?" exclaimed Willis, trying to look and speak as if he were becoming indignant, though the effort was a sorry failure. He was frightened, and Roy saw it plain enough. "You might as well give up, for everybody who has ever seen you knows who you are." "Oh, I'll give up because I can't well help myself," replied Roy. "In fact I have a curiosity to see the thing out, and to know what you and Babcock will do when you find that you have put your feet in it. So long as I get good treatment, a soft bed to sleep in--I have been in the saddle nearly all day, and consequently I feel rather tired--and plenty to eat, I would just as soon--indeed, I would rather stay on an island to-night than sleep at my hotel. I never did like a city hotel, and if I were sure that my friends are not worrying about me, my mind would be quite at rest. Hal-lo! What have I said now, I wonder." "By the piper that played before Moses, that ain't Rowe Shelly," said Willis, to himself, as he sprang from his chair and bolted up the companion-ladder. "Babcock was right, and I'm in for it, sure enough. Rowe's got sublime cheek, but it can't compare with this fellow's. Now what shall I do?" It was plain as daylight to me, when I heard of it, that there was but one course of action open to the superintendent, and that was the honest and manly one. When he became convinced, or even suspected, that he had made a blunder, the best thing he could do was to order the yacht back to the pier and conduct Roy Sheldon to his hotel with such apologies as he could think up on the spur of the moment. But, unfortunately, Willis had never been known to do an honest and manly thing. Probably he never thought of it. He wasn't above a mean act, and when detected in it generally did something meaner to cover it up. And that was what he decided to do in this case. He did not go into the cabin again, but paced the deck, lost in thought. He turned over in his mind a dozen wild schemes for ridding himself of the prisoner in case he did not prove to be the boy he wanted, but through it all he clung to the hope that he was Rowe Shelly, and nobody else. It couldn't be possible, he told himself, that there was a boy in the world who looked enough like the runaway to deceive everybody at first sight. At any rate, it would not take long to settle the matter now, for here was the island close at hand. There were several people on the jetty awaiting the yacht's return, and every one of them would be able to tell at a glance whether or not he had brought Rowe Shelly with him. "I'll not so much as drop a hint that I am afraid there is something wrong," said Willis, to himself. "I'll just walk him ashore as if it was all right, and leave them to find a difference between him and the runaway, if they can. If they don't say anything, I shall know that I have been a fool for allowing Babcock's words to have so much weight with me." When the yacht whistled for the landing, Willis stuck his head down the companion-way and told Roy he might come on deck; a privilege of which the weary prisoner was prompt to avail himself. He had been asleep, with his head resting on the table, and now all he cared for was to get to bed. It would be time enough, he thought, to look into his surroundings and inquire about Rowe Shelly and his reasons for leaving home, after he had had a good night's rest. But by the time the yacht was stopped at the jetty and the lines made fast and the gang-plank shoved out, he was wide awake. "He's come," said somebody on the jetty. "Don't you see his white shirt and cap? That's him. That's Rowe." "Now this is mighty strange," said Roy to himself. "These folks appear to be friendly to the boy I am supposed to be, and yet they don't want to have him run away, although he must have good reasons for it, having tried it twice. When they get a closer view of my face we'll see how quick they will sing another tune." But, to Roy's surprise, they didn't do anything of the sort. They crowded about him, as he walked down the staging by the superintendent's side (for a wonder the man did not take hold of his arm, as Roy expected him to do), all eager to shake him by the hand. They even gazed into his face, which was plainly visible, owing to the bright light emitted by the blazing torch that was standing among the rocks at the end of the jetty. The climax was reached when a motherly-looking woman, who was waiting for them at the shore end of the jetty, threw her arms around the neck of the startled boy and kissed him on the nose before he knew what she was going to do. "Bless his heart, has he come back again?" she exclaimed, holding him off at arm's length so that she could get a good view of him. "Come right into the house and get a good supper before you go to bed. I know you must be tired to death, and don't suppose you have had a bite to eat since you went away, seeing that you did not take any money with you." "Let us go in, Mrs. Moffat," interrupted Willis, who grew nervous when the housekeeper began talking about money. "I'll tell you what's a fact: this is getting serious," soliloquized Roy, as he moved toward the house in company with Willis and Mrs. Moffat, one walking on each side of him. "But I don't know that I care so very much. I'll see how it looks in the morning." Then aloud he said: "I don't want anything to eat, Mrs.--beg pardon, I didn't quite catch the name." "Good laws! Just listen at the child," exclaimed the housekeeper, throwing up her hands and looking the picture of astonishment. "He's been going on that way ever since we found him, Mrs. Moffat," said Willis in a low tone. "He don't know me nor Babcock nor the captain nor nobody. He acts as if he had lost all his senses." "That's just what I have been afraid of for a longtime," answered the housekeeper in a loud, shrill whisper. "No boy who was in his right mind would want to run away and leave a kind uncle and a beautiful home like this. I've suspected it, and so have others whose names I could mention." Willis started when he heard this, and so did Roy. The woman's words suggested an idea to both of them. "I've sense enough to know that I am not hungry," said Roy. "All I ask is to get to bed and be left alone for the rest of the night. I'm tired and sleepy; and besides, I want a chance to think about this business," he added, to himself. The housekeeper hastened to assure him that it should be just as he said, and a few minutes later Roy was conducted up the front steps and into a wide hall from which winding stairs led to the floor above. Fortunately, his guides did not leave him here, for if they had, Roy would not have known what to do. No doubt he would have confirmed the housekeeper's suspicions by requesting her to show him to his room. But she and Willis did that without being asked. They led him up-stairs to a handsomely furnished apartment, and even accompanied him into it. There was a student lamp on the center-table, a bright wood-fire burning in the grate (although it was summer, the breeze that came off the Sound was raw and chilly), and everything looked cheerful and inviting. "I haven't touched the room since you went away, except to slick it up a little," said Mrs. Moffatt. "Now, is there anything I can do for you before I say good-night? Hadn't you better let me bring up a little lunch for fear that you may get hungry before morning?" "I don't care for any, because I never eat during the night. When I once fall asleep, I don't know anything more till daylight comes. There's nothing you can do, thank you," replied Roy. The motherly housekeeper was evidently disappointed because the boy did not make some complaints or order something, for she lingered as if waiting for him to speak again, while Willis walked the floor with his hands behind his back. He was lost in a brown study from which he presently aroused himself to say: "Very well. If there is nothing we can do for you, we'll bid you good-night. If you want anything you know how to get it." "I'll be shot if I do," said Roy, mentally. "Rowe Shelly must be a queer chap if he has to be waited on during the night. If that's the way he has been brought up he had better stay at home as long as he can, for he'll have to take hard knocks when he gets out into the world. I declare, he lives in clover, does he not?" added Roy, glancing around at the expensive furniture, the pictures on the walls, the ornaments on the mantel, which included the model of a full-rigged ship, and the well-filled book-cases that stood on each side of the fire-place. Through an open door at the farther end of the apartment, Roy caught a glimpse of the runaway's bed-room. "But I'll not go in there," said he, to himself. "I'll move this sofa pillow to the lounge, borrow a book, if I can find one to suit me, and read myself to sleep. So long as I am treated like one of the masters of the house instead of an interloper, I don't see why I shouldn't make the best of the situation. Of course Joe and Art will be along in the morning, and they will be able to prove to Willis's satisfaction that I don't belong here. I knew it would be of no use to argue the matter with Mrs. Moffatt after Willis told her I was out of my head." While Roy talked to himself in this way he ran his eye over the volumes in one of the book-cases, took out "Gulliver's Travels," and lay down upon the lounge; but before he had read half a page the hand that held the book gradually fell away from his face until the volume rested on the floor by his side. There was no sham about his weariness. His thirty-six mile ride had tired every muscle in his body, and Roy was fast asleep. Would his slumber have been as peaceful as it was if he he had known what was going on outside the house? When Roy awoke it was with a start and the indescribable feeling that sometimes comes over a sleeper when a stranger unexpectedly enters his room. He looked around, and sure enough he was not alone. Willis was standing a little distance away, and Roy was almost certain that he saw him turn and signal to another man, who whisked out of the door before he could obtain a fair view of him. It might have been nothing but the vagary of a dream, but still Roy thought it worth while to speak of it. "What do you want now?" he demanded. "Why do you come in without awaking me, and who was that fellow who just went out?" "What fellow?" asked Willis, answering the last question first, and at the same time facing about and looking at the door, which was still slowly and softly closing. "That's what I asked _you_," replied Roy, springing off the lounge, jerking the door wide open and looking out into the hall. There was no one there. If there had been Roy certainly would have seen him, for the lamps were still burning. "Why, what's the matter?" inquired Willis, as if he thought this a very strange proceeding on Roy's part. "What are you afraid of?" "I don't know that I am afraid of anything; but I'd like to have you to tell me who came into this room with you, and why you are here. I told you I shouldn't want anything to-night." "I thought you might, and that's why I came," replied the man. "There is no one with me. I am alone." And then, as if he had just thought of the object of his visit, he continued: "I was sure you would like to hear some word from your friends--the two who were with you when that bunco-steerer tried to cheat you out of some money. I know I might have waited until morning, and since you were sleeping so soundly, I am sorry I didn't. I have found out--" "Great Scott, man!" interrupted Roy, who could scarcely believe that he heard aright. "Don't talk about waiting till morning when you have good news to tell. Where are my friends? Are they here--on the island? How did you get word from them? Go on, please, and tell me what you have found out." If Willis had not already received as good evidence as he wanted that the boy before him was not Rowe Shelly, he had it now. The real runaway could not have talked and acted as Roy did at that moment. "I heard of them through Babcock," Willis began. "Then he didn't come to the island with us, did he? I wondered why I did not see him." "No. He left me at the pier and went to the city to make inquiries about you. He went straight to the--the--" "Lafayette House," prompted Roy, when the man hesitated. "That's the place. The Lafayette House, and saw your name on the register. Let me see; what did he say it was?" "Was it Roy Sheldon?" "Yes, it was. Sounds a good deal like Rowe Shelly, don't it? He found your name there, and also the names of--" Here Willis hesitated again, for he was not quite sure of his ground. You must remember that he did not know as much about the prisoner as Babcock did, for Roy had not had the same chance to talk to him. So he stopped as often as he needed posting, and, strange to say, Roy never suspected that there was anything wrong. He afterward had occasion to take himself to task for his stupidity. "My two friends, Joe Wayring and Arthur Hastings?" again prompted Roy. "Did Babcock see them, and what did they have to say about my disappearance? I hope they haven't thought of writing home about it. I wouldn't have them do that for anything." This was something that Roy ought to have kept to himself; but he said it, and Willis was quick to make a note of it. "I don't know about that," he replied. "Babcock didn't see 'em to speak to 'em, and they didn't come off with him." "Now--why didn't they?" exclaimed the disappointed Roy, who had secretly cherished the hope that the fellow who so suddenly disappeared through the door was one of his chums. It would have been just like Art Hastings to play a trick of that kind on him. "I'll tell you why he didn't speak to--what's their names?" answered Willis. "He spoke to the clerk instead, because he did not want to raise a row, and he told him all about you." "The clerk did?" said Roy. "Why, he doesn't know anything about me. He never saw me until I went into his hotel in company with my friends." "That's what he told Bab; but he knew you were from--what is the name of that place again?" "Mount Airy?" "That's it. He knew you came from there, and more than that, he saw the genuine Rowe Shelly." "There, now," cried Roy. "That's evidence worth having. Did he catch him?" "No; but he is close on his trail. He brought this news over to me just now, Babcock did, and then went back to follow him up." "I hope he'll not catch him," said Roy. "I'm sure I can't understand why a boy as well fixed and as kindly treated as young Shelly seems to be should want to run away from home, but I suppose he has good reasons for it." "Not the first; not the smallest shadow of a reason," protested Willis. "Then he's crazy; that's flat." "Now you have hit it. That's what's the matter with him, and you heard Mrs. Moffatt say she had suspected it for a long time. You look surprisingly like Rowe, or else all those folks who met us on the jetty wouldn't have taken you for him. You've got the same hair, eyes, and mustache, and your clothes are exactly like his; but when I had a chance to exchange a word with you, I knew that Bab had made a big mistake." "Bab says you are the one who made the mistake, and that if I blame anybody for what has happened to me to-night, I must blame you." "Well, you wouldn't blame anybody if you could see Rowe Shelly," said Willis, deprecatingly. "Of course any amends that--" "Oh, I don't ask any amends," interposed Roy. "I've had an agreeable adventure, and I shall not make any trouble on account of it. All I ask is that you will send me to the city at once, so that I may relieve the anxiety of my friends. Now, what do you want me to do? Are you going to send me off in the yacht?" "I'd like to, but I can't," answered Willis. "The captain's asleep, and steam has gone down, so that it would take an hour to get ready for the start. I'll have to send you ashore in a boat, if you don't mind going that way." "Any way to get there," said Roy, picking up his cap. "I'm ready if you are." Willis left the room at once, and Roy followed him downstairs and out of the house. Did the man move with cautious footsteps as if he were afraid of disturbing somebody? Roy was sure he did, and thought it looked suspicious. CHAPTER VII. SOME STARTLING NEWS. "I don't much like the idea of sneaking out as if I were a thief," said Roy, involuntarily following the guide's motions and speaking in a low and guarded tone. "What's the object of so much secrecy? I know I have no right here, but since I was brought against my will, I have a perfect right to go out open and above board." "Easy, easy," whispered Willis, raising his hand with a warning gesture. "We don't want to disturb Mrs. Moffatt for nothing. The timid old soul lives in constant fear of a visit from New London burglars, and if we should wake her up she would be scared to death." Roy did not think to ask himself whether or not this was a good reason for Willis's stealthy movements, for his mind was too busy with other matters. He wanted to see the boat that was to take him across to the city, and fervently hoped it might prove to be a large and seaworthy one; for when he got out of the house he saw that the sky was overcast, that the wind was rising, and that the surface of the bay looked dark and threatening. "Isn't it going to be an ugly night?" said he, as he accompanied his guide down one of the broad carriageways that had been laid out along the beach. "What a lovely road for a wheel," he went on, without giving Willis a chance to reply. "It is as hard as rock and level as a floor." "Yes; here's where Rowe learned to ride," said Willis. "We have twenty miles of just such roads on the island." "Then that was what you meant when you said Rowe's clothes were just like mine; he is a wheelman," said Roy. "He has a nice place for his regular runs, and I should much like to see it by daylight; but I should think he would get lonely and long to take a spin on the mainland now and then. I tell you it's going to blow," he added, as a strong gust of wind shook the branches of the trees that shaded the road on both sides. "Are you going to the city with me?" "I can't leave the island until I put the hands to work in the morning," replied Willis. "But I will give you a good crew and a stanch boat. You'll go over all right. You are not afraid of a capful of wind, I hope?" "No, but I am afraid of a gale. I am used to smooth water, and don't at all relish the idea of being out in a storm." "Oh, it isn't going to storm. But if you get frightened after you are out a little way, tell the men to bring you back or to put you aboard some coaster, bound in. Here we are." As Willis said this he turned off the road and led the way down the bank and to the beach, where Roy found a boat and two men who were evidently waiting for him. "Here he is," said Willis, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder. "He doesn't much like the idea of going out in this breeze--" "The breeze don't blow to hurt anything," growled one of the men, pulling his sou'wester lower over his forehead and turning the collar of his pea-jacket up around his ears. "That's what I told him; but of course his wishes must be respected, and I want you to mind this: If it gets too heavy for you, you will either bring him back, or put him aboard some larger craft, bound in. If you will step this way a minute, Tony, I will give you an order for some goods I want brought from the city." The superintendent drew off on one side out of earshot, and one of the muffled figures followed him. "Me and Bob hain't yet made up our minds whether we'll have a hand in this business or not," said he, in a hoarse whisper. "Looks most too risky, don't it?" "There isn't a particle of risk about it," replied Willis. "Do you think I would put the colonel's nephew in danger for the sake of a paltry five hundred dollars? I tell you, there's nothing to fear. The colonel told me to attend to this business for him, and when he finds I've not done it, what shall I say to him? Do you want me to tell him that you wouldn't obey orders because you were afraid?" "Well, I am afraid, and that's flat," said Tony, doggedly. "I have heared of Cap'n Jack, and I'm scared to trust myself on board his ship." "You needn't be, for the colonel will protect you. Give him this the minute you get aboard, and it will see you through," said Willis, slipping an envelope into the pocket of Tony's pea-jacket. "Now, hurry up, for the captain is in a great taking to go to sea, and he's liable to run out at any moment. He's been waiting a long time--" "He's been waiting long enough to get good and mad, and I wouldn't be one of the crew he takes to sea with him this trip for all the money there is in the broad world," said Tony, with a shudder. "He'll haze 'em till they'll be glad to jump overboard." "You and I have nothing whatever to do with the way Captain Jack Rowan sees fit to treat his crew," said Willis impatiently. "All you and Bob have to do is to set this boy on board the White Squall, so that he can get that money. But mind you: You are not to tell him where you are going. He's as much afraid of the White Squall as you seem to be, and wouldn't put a foot over her rail if he knew it. He thinks he going into the city, and that you are to take him straight to a hack-stand. Say yes or no, and be quick about it. The wind is rising every moment, and if you don't start pretty soon you'll not be able to get away from the beach." "All right, Mr. Willis. We'll tend to the business for you." Tony spoke these words in a tone loud enough to reach the ears of Roy Sheldon, who remained near the boat in company with the man Bob. The former supposed the words had something to do with the "order" of which Willis had spoken, but Bob knew they were intended to convey to him the information that the job on hand was to be carried out just as it had been planned. "Jump aboard, lad," said he, motioning Roy to get into the boat. "Holler good-by to the old man, and that will do just as well as shaking hands with him." But Roy had no opportunity to "holler" his farewell, even if he had thought of it; for by the time the boat was fairly afloat, the crew in their places, and the oars shipped, the thick darkness of the on-coming storm closed down over them, and the beach was shut out from view. "I reckon that's the last of this scrape for one while," soliloquized Willis, as he pulled his hat down over his ears and retraced his steps to the house. "If there ever were two born fools in the world, they are me and Babcock. How we managed to make such a blunder, I can't for the life of me imagine. Now Rowe Shelly can cut his lucky and go and find his father and mother, for all me. I'll never try to catch him, for my cue now is to make folks believe I've had him here, and that he gave me the slip and cleared out. Is that you, Benny? You don't know how you startled me." Just then some one stepped out into the road and confronted the superintendent. It was his son; and all I know about him is that he was called "a chip of the old block," so he must have been a rascal. The first words the young man spoke proved that this was not the first interview they had had that night. "Well, how is it?" said he. "They've gone," replied his father shortly. "Then we've seen them for the last time; for when they get back we'll not be here. Captain Jack will be sure to carry them off with him." "Ain't you kinder sorry to treat Tony and Bob that way? They've been good, faithful fellows, and I hate to think of their being kicked and knocked about by those mates." "They're used to it," replied Benny indifferently. "Besides, what else could you do? You couldn't keep the boy, for he was not Rowe Shelly; and if you had let him go, he would have had the law on you for abduction. You couldn't have hired Bob and Tony to take him aboard the White Squall and leave him there, because they wouldn't have done it, and they would have blabbed about it into the bargain. By doing as I said, you've got rid of the whole of them at once, and they'll never come back to trouble you." The superintendent groaned. "I know what you're afraid of," continued Benny. "You're scared that the ship will go to the bottom with all hands. Well, then, what made you be such a dunce as to capture the wrong boy? You got into the scrape and you had to get out, didn't you? Now I'm going to bed." "There's going to be the biggest kind of a commotion on this island, and before long, too," said Willis dolefully. "I have warning of it in every breath of wind that comes off the bay." I do not suppose that Willis closed his eyes in slumber that night. It would have been a wonder if he had slept, with so guilty a conscience for company. He arose at an early hour, saw the yacht when she put off through the white-caps shortly after daylight to bring the morning's mail from the city, and waited with what patience he could for her return. She did not bring any of Roy Sheldon's friends with her, but she landed a larger supply of mail than usual, and in it the superintendent found a letter addressed to himself in Rowe Shelly's well-known handwriting. Its contents were enough to drive one frantic, Willis told himself. He had hoped that the runaway would be satisfied now that he had got off the island, and that he would quietly disappear and never "turn up" again; but here he was threatening the superintendent with the terrors of the law if he did not at once release the boy who had been mistaken for himself. "Somebody put him up to that," groaned Willis, "for Rowe never would have thought of such a thing himself. I wish I _could_ send that boy back where he belongs, and if I had ever dreamed of this, I would have done it. I made a mistake in taking Benny's advice and sending Roy Sheldon away to be "shanghaied," for instead of getting out of trouble, I have only pulled myself deeper into it. What is it, Jobson?" he added, addressing himself to one of the hired men who just then appeared at the door. "I came in to see if you could tell me anything about Tony and Bob Bradley," was the reply; and the words added big weight to the superintendent's heavy load of anxiety. "They are not on the island, and a boat that looks wonderfully like theirs is being driven ashore from the Sound. I didn't know but you might have sent them to the city for something." "In all that storm?" exclaimed Willis. "Say, Jobson," he continued, changing the subject, for it was one he did not like to dwell upon, "was the storm so very hard? I mean, was it severe enough to keep vessels from going and coming?" "Oh, no. I see the White Squall has left her anchorage. She must have gone out in the height of it, for she was there when I went to bed." "If those two men went away last night they did it without any orders from me," said Willis. "It's nothing to worry over. No doubt they will come around presently. So the White Squall has gone at last!" he added, as Jobson left to continue his search for Bob and Tony. "She has been anchored out there in the bay for more than two weeks, waiting for a chance to drug and steal a crew, and if she has sailed, that interloper must have sailed with her. In that case it will be a long time before he shows up again, for he'll not touch land this side of Cape Town. This is too damaging a thing to lay around loose, so I will chuck it in there," he added, tossing Rowe's letter into the grate. "Those people from the city will be along in the course of an hour or so, and I know what I am going to say to them. Now, why doesn't Mrs. Moffatt come in and tell me that Rowe has run away again?" Willis picked up one of the papers which the yacht had brought from the city, and the minute it was opened his eye fell upon this startling paragraph: MUTINY IN THE HARBOR. An Infamous Vessel and a Rebellious Crew.--A Sailor Prefers Death to a Voyage in the White Squall. "Pilot-boat No. 29, Caleb Rogers master, which was driven into the harbor by the gale, reports a suicide committed under peculiarly distressing circumstance. When off the light-ship bound in, Captain Rogers passed the White Squall going out. As the readers of _The Tribune_ have often been told, this interesting ship had lain at anchor in the outer bay for nearly three weeks, waiting for a crew; but no man who sails out of this port, so long as he kept a level head on his shoulders, could be induced to affix his name to her shipping articles. Now and then a few foreigners, under promise of big pay, plenty to eat and kind treatment, have been coaxed aboard of her, but they always deserted when they found out where they were and who the captain was. With the aid of shipping agents, or in some other underhanded way, the captain at last succeeded in mustering crew enough to handle his vessel, and this morning she went out in the teeth of the storm that forced Captain Rogers to seek shelter. When off the light-ship a man was seen to spring upon her rail and deliberately throw himself into the water. At the same time a white fishing-boat was cut loose from her starboard quarter, and the wind blew it out of sight. This, Captain Rogers thinks, made it evident that the crew had laid their plans to desert in a body, and that the plot was discovered and thwarted by the officers. Captain Rogers at once rounded to, lowered a boat, and made diligent search for the poor fellow who preferred to die rather than trust himself to the tender mercies of Captain Jack Rowan and his brutal mates, but he must have sunk immediately, for he was not seen after striking the water. At certain stages of the tide, heavy vessels like the White Squall are obliged to pass quite close to the ledge that bounds the northern side of the channel, and in ordinary weather a fair swimmer might succeed in reaching the light-ship; but under the circumstances Captain Rogers thinks there was no chance for this unfortunate man's life. The White Squall kept on her way without making the least effort to pick him up. Now what is the use of having any law, we should like to know, if it is not intended to reach just such ruffians as this Captain Jack and his officers? If that sailor made way with himself in his desperate efforts to escape their brutality, they ought to be punished with the utmost severity." Willis read this paragraph with eyes that seemed ready to start from their sockets, and long before he finished the paper was shaking so violently in his hands that the noise it made could have been heard across the room. He understood some portions of the paragraph as well as though he had stood upon the White Squall's deck and witnessed the thrilling scenes that must have taken place there before that unhappy sailor gave himself up to the mercy of the waves. But was it a _sailor_ who jumped overboard? Might it not have been some one else? How did he know but it was--The exclamations that fell from the superintendent's lips when this thought came into his mind can not be expressed in words, for I do not know how to spell them. "Benny's plan worked too well," said Willis, throwing down the paper and getting upon his feet. "Why didn't he stay here and see me through, instead of going off in the yacht the first thing in the morning? They were all shanghaied, as we meant they should be; but was there any one in the white fishing-boat that was cast adrift from the ship and which Jobson says is now coming toward the island? And who was the fellow who jumped overboard? That is a question that will haunt me till I go ashore and learn the truth. I do not think Tony or Bob would do a thing like that, for they are used to hard treatment at the hands of shipmasters; and if it was Roy--Gracious Peter! I'm in a worse scrape than I thought." Willis did not have time to follow out this train of thought, for just then Mrs. Moffat came into the room. The man knew well enough what she was going to say, for the look of anxiety her face wore could be easily interpreted. "Good morning, Mr. Willis," said she, with a sorry attempt to appear as cheerful as usual. "Have you seen Rowe since we left him in his room last night?" "I have not," replied the superintendent, resuming his seat and once more unfolding the paper. "What makes you ask?" "Why, I went up just now to tell him breakfast would soon be ready, and he wasn't there," answered the housekeeper. "More than that, his bed was not slept in." "That doesn't signify. He took to the lounge probably, and went out before any of us were up for his usual morning's spin on his wheel." "But he took his wheel when he went to the city, and you did not bring it back," Mrs. Moffatt reminded him. "That's so. I had forgotten about it. I'll send for it as soon as he is ready to tell me where he left it. Then he took his pony." "The pony hasn't been out this morning. The hostler told me so. Mr. Willis," said the housekeeper, becoming earnest, "I'm afraid he's gone." "Again?" exclaimed Willis, as if the thought had just been suggested to him. "Why, we only brought him back last night." "I can't help that. I don't believe he is on the island." The man knew he must make a stir about it, for any lukewarmness or show of indifference on his part would be reported when the colonel returned, and Willis was not yet ready to give up his lucrative position. He wanted to make a little more money out of it first. So he hurried from the house, making a great show of nervousness and apprehension; and every man he met he sent off to make inquiries about Rowe Shelly. "If he has run away again I shall surely think he is out of his head," he took occasion to remark, in Mrs. Moffatt's hearing. "He couldn't go back to the city without crossing the bay, and no boy, or man either, would think of trying that in such a gale as we had last night and this morning, unless he was clean gone crazy. Have you brought any news, Jobson?" "The little I've got is bad enough," replied the hired man. "The boat I was telling you about a while ago has come ashore down there in the cove--" "And there's nobody in it," exclaimed the superintendent. "Mrs. Moffatt, I fear the worst. Rowe tried to reach the city in that boat, and the storm capsized him. I am afraid we shall never see him again." "If Rowe went off in that boat Bob and Tony must have gone with him," said Jobson, "for they ain't either one of them to be found on the island, and their folks don't know anything about them." "Do you think it possible that Rowe could have bribed them to take him across to the mainland?" said Willis anxiously. "If he did, then they have all gone to their death." "How could he have bribed anybody when he had no money?" cried Mrs. Moffatt. "Madam," replied the superintendent impressively, "he had money, and plenty of it, too." "When and how did he get it?" "You tell. All I know is, that every dollar of the funds the colonel left in my hands to pay expenses during his absence has disappeared." "I don't care if it is," snapped the housekeeper. "Rowe Shelly never took it. He isn't capable of such a thing." To an inexperienced rascal it would have seemed as though the situation was about as bad as it could be, and even Willis trembled when he tried to look far enough into the future to see what the outcome was likely to be. But, as it happened, he was saved from the consequences of his folly and wickedness (for the present, at least), by one of those unexpected freaks of fortune that sometimes happen in this world. He did not want to talk about the stolen money, especially to a person as sharp of tongue and as firmly convinced of Rowe's innocence as Mrs. Moffatt was, so he sent word to the captain of the yacht to get ready for an immediate return to the city, and hastened to his room. His first care was to make some important changes in his wearing apparel, and his second to hide the morning papers and take possession of a well-filled pocket-book he found in his bureau. "I don't know as there is any sense in putting those papers out of Mrs. Moffatt's sight," said he to himself, "but somehow I don't want her to see the account of that suicide until I am away from here and out of reach of her tongue. I thought, by the way she looked at me, that she rather suspected me of stealing that money; and didn't Rowe say in his letter that if there was any money gone, he'd sooner think I took it than accuse anybody else? Well, here it is, and more besides, and into my pocket it goes. It sort of runs in my head that I am going to see and hear something before I get back; and if it should be anything unpleasant, I shall be prepared to take the train." Having arranged things so that he could run or stay, as circumstances seemed to require, Willis hurried to the jetty and ordered the captain of the yacht to shove off. Of course the strange events that had taken place on board the White Squall were in the mouths of all the yacht's crew, for they had heard all about them during their first trip to the city, and besides they had read the _Tribune_. Wherever Willis went, into the pilot-house, the engine-room, or on the forecastle, he was sure to hear them discussed; and after repeatedly declaring that he didn't know anything about them, and that he was going to New London to see if he could learn any additional particulars, Willis finally retreated to the cabin and tried to interest himself in a paper. What it was that induced him to jump ashore the minute the yacht landed, and draw a bee-line for the Lafayette House, the superintendent could not have told. But he went, as if impelled by some impulse he could not resist, and the first person he saw when he entered the reading-room was the very one he did not want to see. It was Roy Sheldon. He wore a bandage over one eye, the other was slightly discolored, and Willis noticed that when he moved his right arm he did it with some difficulty. It had evidently been injured in some way. He had on different clothes, a dress suit, in fact, consisting of blue broadcloth knickerbockers and shirt, black silk stockings, low shoes, and new white helmet. If Willis had never seen him before, he would have rushed up and called him Rowe Shelly; but he knew it wasn't Rowe. He took just one glance at him, then wheeled about to retire without attracting his notice, when Roy, who was impatiently waiting for Joe and Arthur, looked up and saw him. In an instant he was on his feet and coming toward the man, who could not retreat. Roy had but to say a word to bring in the policeman who was standing in front of the hotel. But, to the superintendent's great surprise, he did not say it. On the contrary he held out his hand, and even tried to smile. What in the world did it mean? Willis asked himself. "Good-morning," said Roy, in cheery tones. "I made it, as you see, but I had a tight squeak for it. Say! I am sorry for Tony and his friend. The waves and wind got so heavy they couldn't make headway against them; they dared not round to and go back to the island for fear of a capsize, so they hailed a ship that was getting under way. We supposed that she was going to pull farther into the harbor for shelter; in fact, one of her officers told us so. But, by gracious! the minute we got aboard what did that scoundrel of a captain do but--Sit down, and I will tell you all about it. It's a little ahead of anything I ever heard of. Seen this morning's _Tribune_?" "No; that is to say, yes. I've seen the _Tribune_, but no other paper," replied Willis, who was so astounded that he hardly knew what he said. "Then, of course, you know about the poor sailor-man who preferred death to a voyage in the White Squall," continued Roy. "Well, there wasn't any suicide. The fellow who deliberately threw himself into the water was I; and I tell you--Why don't you sit down? I'm as lame as though I had been pounded with a club, although I know I was struck only twice, once in each eye, and almost had my arm jerked out of place. I can't stand long at a time." Willis mechanically seated himself and listened like one in a dream, while Roy related the following story of his adventure. CHAPTER VIII. ON BOARD THE WHITE SQUALL. "Just one word before you begin your story," said Willis, who was not entirely satisfied with Roy's friendly speech and manner, believing, as he did, that the boy might have some sinister object in view. He was afraid to trust anybody, knowing full well that he could not be trusted himself. "As many words as you please," replied Roy, resuming his seat and placing his injured arm in a comfortable position on the table at his side. "I told the clerk when I first came back that I wouldn't be interviewed; but I know he has sent three reporters after me. All they learned didn't do them much good. You see I don't want my name to appear in the papers, for my folks would be sure to see it; then good-by to all my fine plans for the summer. Of course you'll not say a word." "Not I," replied Willis. "I don't want everybody to know what fools Babcock and I made of ourselves. By the way, have you seen Bab this morning?" Roy said he hadn't. "That's all right," said Willis to himself; and he was so immensely relieved that he could scarcely keep still in his seat. "Then of course you don't know that I didn't tell you the truth when I said Bab had warned me that you were not Rowe Shelly. That's _all_ right. Now, how much does this boy know or suspect, I wonder?" Then aloud he added: "I am sorry you haven't seen Bab, for he would show you a photograph of Rowe Shelly he has in his possession; and after you had taken one look at it, you would see how we came to mistake you for our runaway. I hope you don't bear me any ill-will for--" "Of course I don't," interrupted Roy. "I don't feel hard toward you or Babcock either. I came within an ace of losing my life (I don't see how I managed to save it, having never swum a stroke in so rough water before), but here I am, safe if not sound, and all's well that ends well." "You and Rowe are as much alike as two peas," began Willis. "I can easily believe that, for when I walked up to the desk the clerk began asking me questions I couldn't understand; but I can see the drift of some of them now, for those three reporters have been at me since then, and I know Rowe Shelly was here in this hotel last night, and that he went somewhere on a steamer. When I came in all bunged up, the clerk wanted to know if the boat had burst her boiler." "Which way did Rowe go?" asked Willis, who was deeply interested. "I don't know, and you wouldn't expect me to tell you if I did, would you? I have seen how nicely he is fixed over there on the island, and I am sure that if there wasn't some good reason for it, he would never leave a home like that and go out among strangers." "He might if he was crazy," suggested Willis. "And where's the boy who would not go crazy after years of solitary confinement, no matter if his prison was furnished like a palace?" exclaimed Roy. "I'll bet you that you could not keep me shut up in any such place as that. I would find some way to open communication with a lawyer, who would call upon that uncle of mine to show cause for detaining me against my will." "I believe you would," thought Willis, who, as he gazed into the boy's flashing eyes, told himself that money would not tempt him to take charge of such a prisoner as Roy would be likely to prove. He knew too much, was altogether too wide-awake, and the desperate measures he had adopted to escape from the White Squall, after he had been fairly kidnapped, showed that he was by no means lacking in courage. Willis wondered if any of those rebellious ideas had been put into Rowe Shelly's head since he ran away. If so, the next time his guardian saw him he would probably have an attorney at his back, and then there would be fun on the island. Willis really wanted information on this point, and while he was wondering how he could get it without asking questions that might excite Roy's suspicions, the matter was settled in a most unexpected way. All on a sudden Roy staggered to his feet with an exclamation of surprise and pleasure on his lips, and darted forward to fall into the arms of two new-comers, namely Arthur Hastings and Joe Wayring. "Where have you been?" said Roy, as soon as he could speak. "I have waited and watched for the last seven hours, and you don't know how lonely I have been without you." "Haw!" laughed Joe. "We haven't been gone from the hotel more than an hour, and you were not here when we went away." "We've been up on Bank Street to call upon Mr. Wilcox," replied Arthur, with a sidelong glance at Willis. "Where have _you_ been to get mussed up in this way? You are a nice looking specimen, I must say. Who's been at you?" "I can't let everything out at once, so you must ask your questions one at a time," said Roy, motioning to his chums to seat themselves. "In the first place, this is Mr. Willis, Colonel Shelly's superintendent. My two friends, Joe Wayring and Arthur Hastings, Mr. Willis." To Roy's great surprise his companions did not seem particularly pleased to make the acquaintance of Mr. Willis. They nodded, but did not offer to shake hands with him. "Babcock has made his report and told everything just as it happened," said Arthur. "We have seen him, and he says he never would have made the mistake he did if Willis had not insisted that you were the boy they were looking for." "Then Babcock told you what wasn't so," exclaimed Willis. "That's what he told us, anyhow," said Joe. "He's outside now waiting for us, and you can speak to him about it, if you want to." "Waiting for you?" repeated Roy. "Where are you going?" "We intended to hire a tug and go over to the island after you," answered Arthur. "But you see there's no need of it, don't you? Mr. Willis attended to that as soon as he became satisfied that I wasn't Rowe Shelly." "Ah! That puts a different look on the matter," said Joe. "But where did you get those black eyes if you didn't get them while escaping from the island?" "I got them on the White Squall," replied Roy, "and that brings me to the story I was getting ready to tell Mr. Willis when you came in. But before I begin, go out and ask that detective to come here. I should like to see the photograph he's got in his pocket. I am told it looks just like me." "And so it does, at first glance," said Arthur, rising from his seat. "But the more one gazes upon it, the less it looks like you. You shall see for yourself." "Let me go after Babcock, please," Willis interposed, "and you stay here and talk to your friends. I will bring him right in." There was nothing strange in this proposition, so Arthur sat down again, while Willis went out to make things straight with the detective. He didn't want him to come into Roy's presence until he had opportunity to post him. "So that's the scamp who got you into so much trouble, is it?" said Arthur, in tones of disgust. "We meant to have him arrested if he didn't talk pretty smoothly to us, and yet we find you and him here as thick as a couple of thieves." "Now, what's the sense in going on like that?" demanded Roy. "If I am satisfied with his story, I'm sure you ought to be. Willis is all right. The minute he learned that I wasn't Rowe Shelly, he woke me up in the middle of the night, put me into a boat with two good men to row it, and sent me over to the city. He was as anxious to be rid of me as I was to find you. Now see if you can't treat him decently when he comes back." How Willis would have hugged himself if he could have heard Roy Sheldon say this! There was not the faintest suspicion in the boy's mind that the superintendent had been guilty of treachery, and that he had sent him on board the White Squall intending that he should be "shanghaied" and carried so far away from America that he would not get back for six months or a year. If Roy had mistrusted that there was anything wrong, his fears on that score would have vanished when he saw Bob and Tony driven forward to do duty before the mast, and their boat given up to the mercy of the waves. He thought they had unwittingly brought themselves and him into serious trouble. That was all there was of it. I never heard just how Willis went to work to put himself on a friendly footing with the detective, but my impression is that he told him the whole truth, and offered Babcock a bonus if he would back up anything he might say in the hearing of Roy and his friends. At all events that was what the detective did. When he entered the reading-room he took a photograph from his pocket, and after spending a minute or two in comparing it with the face of the boy before him, he stepped up and handed it to Roy. "So that's the way I look when I haven't a black eye and a lame arm, is it?" said the latter, as his gaze rested on the picture. "I know something now I never knew before." "What is it?" asked Joe. "That I am the handsomest and most stylish looking chap in our party," replied Roy. "We haven't time for any more nonsense of that sort," said Arthur. "Mr. Babcock, our missing friend has turned up, as you see, and so we shall not be obliged to go to the island. How much do we owe you?" "Not a red cent," said the detective, who was glad indeed that his mistake and Willis's seemed in a fair way to straighten itself out, and that he wasn't going to get into difficulty through the blunder he had made the night before. "I am heartily sorry that I caused you and your friend so much trouble and anxiety." "But he did his best to undo it," chimed in Willis. "He went over to the island and told me to set the boy ashore as soon as I could, and give him a guide to show him to his hotel, and that was the way I came to send him off in the boat that was caught in the storm. I might have waited until morning, but Roy wouldn't hear of it." "Of course not," assented Roy. "I wanted to see my friends and relieve their suspense." "I guess we have asked questions enough for the present," said Arthur, who was impatient to know how Roy came to have those black eyes, "and now we'd like to have you tell us why you didn't come ashore in better shape, when you had a boat and two good men to manage it for you." Roy's story was none the less interesting because it had been so long delayed. I have told you how he left the island without opportunity to shout his adieu to the superintendent, even if he had thought of it; but he didn't. The waves made a fearful noise as they broke upon the beach, and came with such force that Bob and Tony were obliged to wade in until the water reached to their waists before they could launch the boat and ship the oars. By the time this had been done, darkness closed down upon them and shut the island from view. When they got out from under the cliffs where the wind had a fair sweep, the way the boat began to pitch and toss about was alarming, and Roy lived in momentary expectation of seeing her come about and start back for the island. But he was a canoeist instead of a deep-water sailor, and perhaps that was the reason he was frightened. For he was frightened, as he was afterwards free to confess; more so than he would have been if he could have had a hand in the management of the boat. But there were only two oars, and no rudder to steer by, and all Roy could do was to sit still in the stern-sheets and wish the trip was at an end. "What are you holding so far to the right for?" Roy demanded at length, shouting at the top of his voice in order to make himself heard. "The city is off there, more to the left." "There's a hack-stand where we are headin' for," came a hoarse voice, in reply, "and there you can get a carriage to take you straight to your hotel. More'n that, we dassent run afore the waves with only two oars, for fear that one of 'em will come in over the starn an' sink us. We have to run kinder criss-cross of 'em." "But you don't take them quartering," protested Roy. "You are holding so that they strike almost broadside. I'd rather you'd round to and go back. That's what Mr. Willis told you to do in case you found the wind and sea too heavy for you." "I'd like mighty well to do it," Tony made answer, "but I dassent. Now that we've got this fur, we've got to go on. If we should turn around the sea would come pourin' in over the side an' take all hands to the bottom afore you could say 'hard-a-starboard' with your mouth open. Do you see that bright light dead ahead? Well, there's where the pier is, if we can keep afloat till we get there." Roy may have been mistaken, but he was positive he heard the man add, in a lower tone, as if the words were intended only for his companion's ears: "Cap'n Jack must be a-lookin' for a crew to-night, else he wouldn't have that light out so open and suspicious like. Well, it's the best kind of a night for that sort of work, but I'm sorry for the poor chaps he gets." The next time Tony faced about on his seat to make sure of the course he was pursuing, the bright light had disappeared; and when the wind lulled for a moment, the faint clanking of a capstan came to his ears. The sound seemed to nerve him and Bob to greater exertion. "Pull, ye rascal," shouted Tony, so that Roy could hear it. "It's comin' harder every blessed minute, an' the wind an' tide together is takin' us out to sea as fast as they can. Pull, why don't ye? Do you see a ship or a coaster anywheres, I don't know? If you do, sing out an' ask 'em can we come aboard of her till the wind dies down a bit." "Look out!" yelled Roy, as something black and huge loomed out of the darkness directly in their course. "We're running into a block of houses." But it was a heavy ship that barred their way, as Roy found when they got a little closer to her. She was weighing anchor, and the clanking of the capstan came from her forecastle. "On deck there!" shouted Tony. "Goin' to change your berth, or what you goin' to do?" Some answer came back, but, although the words were plain enough, Roy could not understand it. It was evident, however, that Tony could, for he called out: "Goin' to pull farther in for shelter, are you? All right. Will you let some tired sailor-men aboard of you to ride in? We'll be glad to lend a hand." This time there was no mistaking the answer. "You're as welcome as the flowers in May," said a deep voice. "Drop around under our lee and come up." "Be in a hurry, Bob," cried Tony, as he dropped back upon his seat and gave way on his oar. "The staysail is fillin', an' if she falls off much she'll run us under." That was a moment of fearful suspense to the inexperienced Roy, who, dark as it was, could see that the immense ship was gradually swinging around toward the boat, slowly, to be sure, but with a power that seemed irresistible. But his crew were equal to the occasion. They easily got out of her reach, dropped around under her stern, and when Tony gave the word, Bob seized the painter and tossed it up to some one on deck, who promptly made it fast. "Up you come with a jump," said a commanding voice, as Bob went up the painter hand over hand, while Tony lingered to stow the oars so that the waves would not wash them out of the boat. "Toddle for'ard and lend a hand with the head-sails, if you know enough to find the ropes in the dark. Do you?" added the voice, as Bob tumbled over the side and stood upon the deck facing the speaker, who held up a lighted lantern so that he could have a good view of the sailor's features. His own features were revealed as well, and Bob stared hard at them. "Well, if you are Cap'n Jack Rowan," was his mental reflection, "you are as fine a specimen of a sea-tiger as I ever looked at; an' I wish Tony an' Willis an' that young monkey who brought me into your den was all sunk a hunderd fathoms deep, so I do." "Here's another and another," exclaimed the man with the lantern, as Roy and Tony came over the rail. "Is that all of you? Go for'ard and lend a hand." "Hold hard, sir," said Tony. "I've got a letter for you." And after considerable fumbling in the pocket of his pea-jacket with his hand, Tony drew it out and gave it to the captain, who said "All right," and hurried to his cabin to read it; for the light of the lantern was so dim that he could not even decipher the writing on the envelope. "A letter for him!" thought Roy. "It's very strange. That looks as though Tony expected to find this ship here, and that he was holding straight for her when he declared he was heading for a hack-stand. But what's the odds? I'd rather have a good ship under me than be out in this wind in a cranky little boat." Having never been aboard a seagoing vessel before, Roy Sheldon would have taken the deepest interest in all that was going on around him if there had only been light enough for him to see plainly; but he made some observations in spite of the darkness. He found that the deck under his feet seemed to be as solid as the ground; that the waves which had tossed Tony's boat like a chip in a mill-pond had but little effect upon the ship's huge bulk; and he gave it as his private opinion that she was big enough and strong enough to ride out any storm that ever swept the ocean. But there was one thing Roy did not know, and he was two or three hundred miles from New London harbor when he found it out. Strong as she appeared to be, the ship was unseaworthy, her timbers were decayed, and the underwriters wouldn't look at her. The owner was taking his personal risk in sending her abroad with a valuable cargo, and that was one reason why she had found it so hard to ship a crew. "Lay for'ard an' lend a hand with the head-sails," said Tony, when the man with the lantern disappeared down the companion-way. "Come along, lad, and we'll make a sailor-man of you." Nothing loth, Roy stumbled forward in Tony's wake, laid hold of a rope when his guide did, and pulled with all his strength, although he had not the slightest idea what he and the rest were pulling for. As often as the flashes of lightning illumined the scene, he improved the opportunity to take a survey of his surroundings; but all he saw was that there was a heavy sail slowly rising over his head, and that there were a goodly number of men on deck, all of whom were working at something. He was so deeply occupied with his own thoughts, wondering how he would feel if he were going to sea on that ship as one of the crew, and be required to scrub decks, tug at wet ropes, go aloft in all sorts of weather, and submit to hard fare and hard treatment besides.--Roy's mind was so busy with these reflections that he did not hear the command, "'Vast heavin'. Slack away on that halliard," nor did he dream that the order was addressed to himself, until the rope, at which he was still pulling with all his might, was jerked from his hands with such force that Roy was sent headlong to the deck. He scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could, but before he reached a perpendicular some enraged sailor gave him a hearty kick. "I guess they don't want me around," thought Roy, "and no doubt I am in the way so I'll go aft. Is that the way they use a foremast hand, I wonder--kick him when he falls down through no fault of his own? I am glad I am not a sailor." When Roy had a chance to look about him, as he did as often as the lightning flashed over the deck, he saw that a good many things had been done during the few minutes that had elapsed since he boarded the vessel. Besides the sailors who were busy with the head-sails, a second party of men, under another officer, had been equally active on the quarter-deck; another huge sail had been given to the breeze, and a man sent to the wheel. The vessel was gathering rapid headway, and, what seemed strange to Roy, she was not rounding to in order to go up the harbor, because the lights which pointed out the position of the piers in the lower end of the city were still on the left hand, and one by one they danced away out of sight over the port quarter. The ship was holding straight for the entrance to the bay, through which she would soon pass to the open sea. "By gracious! We shall be in a pretty fix if we don't get off immediately," soliloquized Roy, holding fast to the rail and looking in vain for Tony and Bob. "What can those men be thinking of? If they delay much longer I shall cast off in that boat and do the best I can by myself." "Lay aloft and loose to'gallantsails," shouted a voice, almost in Roy's ear. "Up you go, ye young sea-monkey!" "I don't belong here," replied Roy, turning about and finding himself face to face with one of the mates, who emphasized his order by waving his arm toward the topsail yard. "But I'll do the best I can if you think you can trust me. How long before you are going to run into the harbor?" If the mate heard and understood the question he did not take the trouble to reply to it. He simply shouted, "Lay aloft and be quick about it!" and then backed up against the rail so that he could watch the movements of the men who had already responded to the command to loose topgallant-sails. "I know I'll not be of the least use up there," said Roy, as he scrambled up the ratlines, "but I'll have something to talk about when I get ashore." Roy worked his way upward until his progress was stopped by something that frightened him. It was the futtock-shrouds, the terror of every greenhorn. Above his head was a sort of platform, with an opening through it large enough to admit of the passage of an ordinary sized man, and over the edge of it ran a rope ladder to a second series of shrouds leading to a similar platform still higher up. That was the way Roy described the situation to himself, and it is the only way I can describe it, for an Expert Columbia is not supposed to know any thing about ships. "Great Scott!" panted Roy; "do the sailors, every time they go aloft, have to creep around the outer edge of that platform, and hang with their backs downward, like flies on a ceiling? or do they go through that opening close to the mast? I wonder if that isn't the 'lubber's hole' I have so often read of? I don't care what it is; I'll stay here. But why don't the ship come about and go toward the harbor, if she's going to? I wonder if that light off there, which blazes up so brightly every minute or two and then disappears, isn't on the light-ship. If it is, this ship's going to sea, and we'll go with her if we don't get off directly." While the boy was talking to himself in this way he did not permit anything that transpired within the range of his vision to escape his notice. He might never again have opportunity to see sail made aboard ship, and now was the time for him to learn something. He heard an almost constant scurrying of feet below, mingled with a chorus of unintelligible commands, some of which were addressed to the dozen or more men who were clinging to a swaying yard over his head, and finally an answering "Ay, ay, sir," came out of the darkness and the men began to "lay down from aloft." Before Roy knew what they meant to do, they were crowding past him on their way to the deck. The last to go by him was Tony. "What you doin' here, lad?" he exclaimed. "Why didn't you come up higher an' lend a hand with the topsail?" "The mate or some other officer told me to come, and here I am; although I assured him I wouldn't be of any use," replied Roy. "I was afraid to go any higher. Look here; isn't it about time we were going ashore? I don't believe this ship means to go up the harbor at all." Tony made some reply under his breath, but Roy did not understand it. "What's that flash I see every little while off the port bow?" he continued. "It comes from the light-ship which is anchored at the mouth of the harbor, doesn't it? We're going as close to her as we can lie in this wind, and when we pass her we'll be outside, won't we? You had better find out whether or not the captain wants to send any word off in response to the letter you gave him, and then we'll go ashore." Roy was not a little surprised by the way Tony acted while he was talking to him. He clung to the shrouds with one hand, holding his hat on with the other, all the time uttering the most incomprehensible ejaculations, and glaring wildly around as if he were trying to get his bearings. At last he seemed to recover his power of speech by a mighty effort, and something he said sent a thrill of horror all through Roy Sheldon. "She's a-goin', easy enough, an', lad, me an' you an' Bob is shanghaied," stammered Tony. Roy did not grasp the full meaning of the last word. It was the sailor's manner that impressed and frightened him. CHAPTER IX. A SWIM IN ROUGH WATER. "Yes, sir, we're shanghaied," repeated Tony, looking over his shoulder at the lights on shore, which appeared to be moving away from the ship, and going faster and faster as the minutes flew by. "That's what's the matter of me an' you an' Bob. We've been stole from our homes an' friends an' tooken to sea agin our will." "No!" gasped Roy, who was almost paralyzed by these ominous words. "It can't be possible." "That's what the matter of us, an' you'll find it so." "But I'll not go. I don't belong aboard this ship, and the captain has no business to take me to sea against my will." "Small odds it makes to the likes of him whether he's got any business to do it or not," answered Tony, who, far from showing the least sign of anger over the outrage of which he was the victim, seemed disposed to accept his fate with as much fortitude as he was able to command. "Where have you lived all your life, that you don't know that that's the way shipmasters sometimes do when they can't raise a crew as fast as they want to? They get men aboard their vessels an' run away with 'em. That's what they are doin' with us." "But I'll not do duty, I tell you," exclaimed Roy, fairly dazed by the gloomy prospect before him. "I can't, for I am not a sailor. Let's go down and tell the captain to luff and let us off." "'Twon't do no good," answered Tony, with a sigh of resignation. "He'll only swear at you an' say that the mates will very soon break you in an' larn you your duty. We're in for a long, hard voyage, an' might as well give up all thoughts of gettin' ashore first as last." "Never!" said Roy, wrathfully. "If there is such a thing--" "Lay down from aloft!" shouted a voice from the deck, following up the command with a volley of oaths and threats that were enough to make a landsman shudder. "Ay, ay, sir," replied Tony. "Why don't you say the same, lad? You've got to come to it, for it will be worse for you if you don't. There ain't the least use in kickin', for Cap'n Jack has got us hard an' fast." Roy, who could plainly hear the beating of his heart above the howling of the gale, which seemed to be increasing in fury every moment, followed Tony to the deck, and immediately made his way aft to demand an interview with the captain. He found him easily--at least he found the man who went below with the lantern--and thus addressed him: "Captain, I thought you were going into the harbor for shelter, but I find you are going to sea. Will you luff long enough to let me and my crew get into our boat and shove off?" To Roy's surprise and indignation the captain did not appear to be listening to him at all. He kept his gaze fastened upon something ahead of the ship, and now and then turned to give an order to the man at the wheel. If Roy had only known it, he was forcing himself upon the captain's notice at a most critical time. The latter was trying to take his vessel out of the bay without the aid of a pilot, and of course his attention was so fully occupied that he had neither the leisure nor the inclination to listen to any requests or complaints. "Starboard a spoke or two. Steady at that. Mr. Crawford," shouted the captain, addressing one of his mates, "if that man with the lead can't speak so that I can hear him, knock him overboard and put somebody else in his place. How close to the light-ship can I run in this tide?" "If you don't run in closer than you are now you'll be aground in a minute more," was the reply that was shouted aft. "Quarter less three on the port bow." Roy paid little attention to this conversation, though he thought of it afterward, for it was a most fortunate thing for him that the vessel was obliged to run within a stone's throw of the light-ship. He wanted the skipper to speak to him. "Captain," said he in a louder tone, at the same time drawing a step nearer and taking the unwarrantable liberty to pluck him by the coat-sleeve. "Captain, will you please--" "What do you want here?" thundered the angry skipper, kicking at the boy with his heavy boot. But the words, which came just a second or two before the kick, served as a warning of what might be expected, and when the captain's boot got where he had been, Roy wasn't there. He dodged out of the way very cleverly, and raised his voice in useless remonstrance. "Do you know who you are kicking at?" he exclaimed. "I am not one of your crew to be driven about in this fashion. I came aboard under a misapprehension, and want to go ashore. My boat is alongside." What the skipper would have said or done if it had not been for something that happened just then, I don't pretend to know. Beyond a doubt he would have made the free-spoken Roy sup sorrow with a big spoon, if Tony and Bob had not unwittingly created a diversion in his favor. When they saw Roy standing so near the captain they took heart, and came aft to say a word for themselves, but repented of it when the enraged skipper undertook to drive the boy forward with a kick. But then it was too late for them to escape punishment for their assurance in venturing into the captain's presence without being asked. One of the mates saw them when they went aft, and made it his business to follow them with a piece of rope in his hand. Roy saw him swing it in the air and knew what he meant to do with it; but before he had time to shout a warning to the men for whose backs it was intended, the rope fell twice in quick succession, and with such force that Tony and Bob staggered under the blows. "Lay for'ard, where you belong, and come on the quarter-deck when you've got business here," shouted the mate. He raised the rope to give emphasis to his order, but the two men hurried out of his reach. Then the mate looked at Roy. "Give him a dose, too, Mr. Crawford," said the captain. "He's no right to come here bothering me at this juncture. You might as well teach him his place one time as another." Roy opened his lips to protest against such an outrage, but seeing the mate advancing upon him, he turned and took to his heels. In half a minute more he was hauling at a rope in company with somebody whom he took to be Tony; but it proved to be a sailor who was posted in regard to the vessel and her contemplated movements. "What ship is this?" whispered Roy, trying hard to swallow a big lump that seemed to be rising in his throat. "The White Squall," was the answer. "Is she going to sea?" The sailor prepared to give a profane response to the question, which was so simple that a blind boy ought to have been able to answer it for himself, but when he came to look at Roy he hesitated, and choked back the words that arose to his lips. "Yes, she's bound out, and you haven't any call to go with her, have you?" said he. "It's a hard case, but I don't see what you can do about it." "Isn't there any law to punish a captain for taking men to sea against their will?" asked Roy. "Not on the high seas," was the reply. "The only law there is outside is the cap'n's will. How come you aboard here in the first place?" Roy explained the situation as briefly as he could, whereupon the sailor laughed incredulously. "That crew of your'n must be into the plot," said he. "What plot?" inquired Roy. "Why, isn't there somebody ashore who don't want you there, and who would be glad to have you carried so far away that you would never get back again?" "Of course there isn't," said Roy, amazed at the idea. "Then it's mighty strange," continued the sailor, reflectively. "The wind don't blow to hurt anything, and that crew of your'n could have taken you to the city if they had been so minded." "You're mistaken there. They dared not turn about for fear our boat would be capsized. It isn't likely that they would have come aboard this ship if they had known that they were going to be kidnapped, would they?" "Aha!" exclaimed the sailor. "So they have been shanghaied too, have they? Then I can't understand the matter at all. No, they wouldn't have come here if they had known that, for I have heard that the cap'n is one of the worst brutes that any poor chap ever sailed under." "Then why do you sail with him? Were you shanghaied, too?" "Oh no; I was shipped all straight enough, but, bless you, I never knew what sort of a craft I was getting onto till it was too late to back out. But I never expect to reach Canton alive." "Canton?" cried Roy. "Is that where this ship is bound?" "It's the port the old man intends to bring up in if he can keep afloat that long. Being as I'm here, I'm going to do an able seaman's duty as long as I am on top of water. You say you came off in a boat. Where is she now?" Roy replied that she was towing alongside. "Well, look here," said the sailor hastily. "Do you see that flash ahead? It comes from the light-ship. If you know when you are well off, you will jump into that boat of your'n and pull for that light the best you know how. It's your only chance, for I don't believe this old tub will ever see port again." "So I can," said Roy joyfully. "Will you go with me? and I can tip Tony and Bob the wink and have them go too?" "Not by no means," said the sailor, as if the idea of such a thing was enough to frighten him. "Take care of yourself, and let the rest do the same. Are you going to try it?" he added, when Roy let go his hold upon the rope and looked around to see what had become of the mate. "Then make a sure thing of it the first time trying. Don't allow yourself to be brought back, for if you do you'll wish you had never been born. You'd better sink right here in the harbor than trust yourself to this ship and her officers. It don't matter about me, for I am used to hard knocks." The sailor's earnest words frightened Roy, but did not deter him from carrying out the bold plan he had suddenly formed in his mind. Casting his eye around the deck to make sure that the mate with the rope's end was nowhere in sight, he moved swiftly along the weather rail, until he thought he saw a chance to dart over to the other side without being seen. He crossed the deck with a few quick steps and looked over into the water. There was the boat, still right side up, and her painter was within easy reach of his hand. More than that, as if to encourage him in his desperate resolve, the flash from the light-ship, now close aboard, burst through the gloom, and showed him everything as plainly as though it had been broad daylight. The dark waves with their white caps looked very threatening, but so did the prospect he had before him of making a long voyage under brutal officers and in an unseaworthy vessel. "It's now or never," thought Roy, shutting his teeth hard and calling all his courage to his aid. "In five minutes more that light-ship will be so far out of reach--" Just then something took him full in the eye, and Roy, who had bent over while working at the boat's painter, straightened up with a jerk, and flopped down upon his back. Scarcely realizing what had happened to him, the boy scrambled to his feet only to receive a blow in the other eye, and to hear the mate shout at him, in tones of suppressed fury: "Going to desert, were you? I expected it, and have had my gaze fastened on you all along. Take that and that, and see if it will do you until I can get a better chance at you." Did the enraged officer intend to kill him where he lay? Roy wondered, as he raised his arm to ward off the heavy blows from the rope's end that were aimed at his head. It is quite possible that the brute would have disabled him had not the captain, who had witnessed the whole proceeding, called out: "Cast the boat adrift, Mr. Crawford. That will put an end to all such nonsense." The officer turned to obey the order, and in an instant Roy was on his feet. At the same instant, too, the sailor's warning words came into his mind like an inspiration: "Don't allow yourself to be brought back, for if you do you will wish you had never been born. You'd better sink right here in the harbor than trust yourself to this ship and her officers," and something the mate said while he was striking at him with the rope's end satisfied Roy that there was more punishment of some sort coming as soon as the officer could find time to administer it. "Another such a beating as that would lay me up sure," thought Roy, drawing his hand across his face and looking around to see where he was. "I can't stand it and I won't." Roy sprang away from the rail, but quick as the action was, the movement the vigilant officer made to defeat it was almost as quick. His brawny hand shot out like a flash, and by the merest chance missed a hold upon Roy's arm. His strong fingers fastened into the boy's shirt-sleeve, and during the brief but furious struggle that followed either the stitches or cloth gave away. At any rate when the mate straightened up he was holding the sleeve of Roy's shirt in his grasp, and Roy himself, having cleared the deck in two or three jumps, was standing upon the lee rail. "Come back here, you villain," roared the mate, starting forward, "or I'll haze you till you'll be glad to go overboard in mid-ocean." But the boy preferred to go overboard in the harbor, where he stood a chance--a bare chance--of rescue. He did not see the pilot-boat that dashed by just then, but he saw the light-ship riding at her anchorage a short distance away, and without pausing to take another look at the angry waters, for fear that the sight of them would be too much for his courage, he sprang into the air. The mate reached the side just a minute too late. The deserter was well out of his way. "That's the end of him, sir," said he, turning to the captain. "Let the pilot-boat take care of him," said the latter gruffly. "I can't stop to bother with him." This was all that was said aboard the White Squall, and nothing whatever was done to aid the deserter; but the pilot-boat officers had more humanity. As soon as their vessel could be thrown up into the wind a boat was put into the water, and for half an hour or more the crew pulled about in various directions, looking for Roy, who was swimming for the light-ship with slow and easy strokes. He was by all odds the best swimmer in Mount Airy, and his skill and long wind stood him well in hand now. He was badly frightened at first when the waves broke over his head and bore him under, but he always came to the surface in time to catch the next one, which not only carried him rapidly toward his haven of refuge, but kept him afloat long enough to get his breath and fill his lungs for the next plunge. Roy afterward said that that long swim in rough water was more like a dream than a reality. When he found that he had no trouble in keeping on top of the water long enough to breathe fully and freely, but two ideas filled his mind. One was to reach the light-ship before his strength gave out; the second to lose no time, after he got ashore, in doing something for Bob and Tony who were being carried away in that unseaworthy ship. He was afterwards sorry that he wasted so much sympathy upon them. About the time the pilot-boat's crew began to despair of picking up the deserter, and filled away to the city to tell the story of his "deliberate suicide" to eager reporters, who published it in their papers the next morning, and Roy was becoming weary of buffeting the waves, the swim was ended and help speedily came. A friendly billow threw him against one of the swaying hawsers that kept the light-ship in place, and the boy held fast to it. "Boat ahoy!" yelled Roy, with all the strength of his lungs. An instant later the sagging of the cable soused him under; but the wind caught up his voice and carried it across the intervening space to the deck of the light-ship, and when Roy came up again he saw a couple of tarpaulins above her rail, and as many lanterns hanging over the side. "Where away?" shouted a voice, that somewhat resembled the deep bass of a fog-horn. "Here I am; holding fast to the anchor rope," replied Roy. "Can't you see me now?" The boy's hand instinctively went to his head; but the cap he intended to wave in the air to show the light-ship's men where he was, had been left aboard the White Squall to keep company with his shirt-sleeve. But if the men couldn't see him they heard his words, for the wind brought them plainly to their ears; and instead of stopping to ask him what he was doing in the water and how he got there in the first place, they pulled up their lanterns and hurried away. "Hurrah for me!" said Roy to himself. "They've gone to lower a boat and I am all right--" Just then another wave broke over his head; but when he came up again, Roy continued his soliloquy as if nothing had happened. "Or shall be in a few minutes," said he. "I've learned a good many things to-night, and one of them is, that a wind that would keep our Mount Airy people ashore don't bother these deep-water fellows at all. I call this a gale; but these watermen, who are used to such things, run around in small boats as fearlessly as we take to Mirror Lake when there isn't a capful of wind to ruffle the surface." Roy was plunged under a good many times while he waited for the men to come and take him off, but presently their boat hove in sight. She looked too large and heavy for two men to row, but she was built for just the work she was doing now, and Roy Sheldon was not the only one who owed his life to her and the gallant fellows who manned her. She came over the waves like a duck, and almost before Roy knew it he was sitting in her stern-sheets with a heavy coat around him. The men uttered exclamations of astonishment when they saw how he was dressed, but not a question did they ask until they had taken him safe aboard the light-ship and into a warm, well-lighted cabin. "Pull off them wet duds and put on these here," said one of the men, laying some dry clothing on a chair near the stove. "I am sorry to occasion you so much trouble," began Roy, who saw that the oil-skin suits his rescuers wore were dripping with spray. "I have given you a long, hard pull." "Oh, that's nothing," was the reply. "We're used to picking up folks, specially during the racing season when a yacht turns bottom side up now and then. But what made you get sick of your bargain so soon? Why didn't you let yourself go down, like you'd oughter?" "What bargain?" exclaimed Roy. "And why ought I to let myself go down?" "Why, you jumped off that there ship on purpose, 'cause me and my pardner seen you when you done it. We've been kinder looking for you ever since. We didn't go out after you, 'cause number 29's boat struck the water most as soon as you did." "Who bunged your eyes for you?" asked the man who had not spoken before, and who was getting ready to give Roy a pot of hot coffee. "Are they black?" said the boy angrily. He glanced around the cabin, and seeing a small mirror fastened against the bulkhead on the other side, he walked over and looked into it. Yes, his eyes were black. "The ship I deserted from was the White Squall," said Roy; whereupon the light-ship men nodded, as much as to say that the whole matter had been made clear to them. "I didn't belong to her. I was--what do you call it?--shanghaied? Yes; that was what was done to me, and also to the two men who started to row me from Shelly's Island to New London. One of the sailors told me I had better get off if I could see half a chance, and that was the way I came to be in the water. One of the mates knocked me down twice while I was working at the painter of our boat, and pounded me with a piece of rope till--well, look at that," added Roy, who, when he came to pull off his wet shirt, found that he could not do it without assistance. His arm pained him, and he could not use it as readily as usual. This led him to make an examination, and he found that the arm was bruised and discolored from shoulder to elbow. "Yas," remarked one of the men, as if he were speaking of an every-day occurrence, "I've seen a good many such whacks in my time." "Do all officers pound their men in this fashion, and do you fellows submit to it?" cried Roy, in great surprise. "Well, I won't, I bet you. I'll have those two men arrested; the captain for kidnapping me, and the mate for using me up in this way." "Drink this coffee and tell us when you're going to do all that," said one of the men. "Yas," said the other. "And while I am helping you rub them bruises with this arnica, tell us how you're going to do it." "When and how?" repeated Roy, as he submitted to the old sea-dog's rough but kindly administrations. "Yas. You can't get ashore before morning, and by that time the White Squall will be miles and miles at sea. It'll be two years, mebbe three, before she makes this port again, and like as not there won't be a single man in her crew that she took away with her. Then where'll your witnesses be to prove that you was shanghaied, and that the mate knocked you down and beat you with a rope's end?" Roy backed toward the nearest bunk, sat down upon it and took a long and hearty drink of the hot coffee before he made any reply. He had comforted himself with the mental assurance that it would be an easy matter for him to bring the master of the White Squall to justice, but now he discovered that there were difficulties in the way. "Law ain't made for the poor chaps that sail the high seas, but for landsmen," said the one who gave him the coffee. "Sailor-men ain't got no use for it, for nobody cares for them. I've heard enough about that ship and her cap'n to know that I shouldn't like to sail on her, and I tell you that you was mighty lucky to get away with a whole skin. The mate knocked you over while you was trying to cast off your boat; then what happened?" "I made a dash for the other side of the ship and went overboard," answered Roy. "The mate made a grab for me, and besides tearing the sleeve out of my shirt he must have given my arm an awful wrench, for I can hardly lift that pot of coffee with it. There isn't any danger that she will stop and take me off this boat, is there?" The light-ship men chuckled and winked at each other as though they thought Roy had said something amusing. "Bless your simple heart! She's hull down before this time," one of them remarked. "You don't think that a ship that has been loaded and waiting for two or three weeks would stop to pick up a deserter, do you? and him a landsman that don't know one side of the deck from t'other? You'll never see the White Squall again less'n you stay here and look for her. What sort of clothes is them, any way, that you just took off? Looks something like a rowing rig, but 'tain't." Roy replied that it was a bicycle uniform, and then went on to tell his story, hoping that the mention of Rowe Shelly's name might lead the men to give him some information concerning the runaway. They lived but a short distance from his island home, and Roy thought it possible they might know him; but he very soon became satisfied that they didn't. They held little communication with the people on the neighboring islands, all their supplies, as well as the limited number of papers they read, being received from the mainland, and they did not act as though they had ever heard of Rowe Shelly before; but they showed Roy very plainly that there were some portions of his narrative they found it hard to believe. One of them turned on his heel with the remark that the wind didn't "blow to do any hurt," that there was no need of anybody "going aboard a ship for shelter on such a night" as that one was, and went on deck to see how things were going there; while the other, with the suspicion of a smile about his mouth, said to Roy: "You're getting kinder white around the gills. Hadn't you better lay down in that there bunk before it gets worse on you? That's my advice." "I do feel rather queer, that's a fact," answered the boy. "I suppose the pounding and swim together were too much for me." "Yas; I reckon they were. But you'll be all right after a while." The man followed his companion to the deck, and Roy lay down upon the bunk; but very gradually a suspicion crept into his mind that the beating he had received and his long swim in rough water had little to do with his miserable feelings. "I am sea-sick," groaned Roy. "That's what's the matter with me. Being shut up in this warm, close cabin has done the business for me." The boy made a shrewd guess. Many a long hour dragged its weary length away before he was "all right" again. CHAPTER X. THE BOY WHO WOULDN'T BE "PUMPED." All the rest of the night Roy Sheldon, who was ill indeed, rolled and tossed in his bunk without once closing his eyes in sleep. At first he was very much afraid that the light-ship would go down, she pitched so furiously; and as his malady grew upon him, he wished from the bottom of his heart that she would spring a leak and sink, and so put him out of his misery. To make matters worse, his rescuers never came near to sympathize with him, or ask if there was anything they could do to relieve him. They left him to fight the battle alone, and their neglect made Roy so indignant that he resolved he would not speak to them again, not even to thank them for the important service they had rendered him. Shortly after daylight, however, he fell into a refreshing slumber, and when he awoke two hours later his sickness was all gone, and he was as hungry as a wolf. "Well, my hearty," was the cordial way in which he was greeted when he rolled out of his bunk, "you don't look quite as blue about the gills as you did when you turned in. Feel any better? Set down and take another pot of coffee." "Thank you. I feel a good deal more like myself," was Roy's reply. "I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am to you, or how glad I am that I went overboard when I did, and that I succeeded in laying hold of that anchor-rope before my wind and strength gave out. I was getting tired, I tell you. If I were aboard that ship now how far at sea would I be?" "A hundred miles, or such a matter, in this wind, and with a fair chance of seeing furrin countries before you come back." "I would have stood a better chance of becoming food for the sharks, if all I heard about her is true," said Roy, as he seated himself at one end of the mess-chest which served as a table. "The sailor who advised me to desert said he never expected to reach Canton alive. Now, how soon can I get ashore to relieve the anxiety of my friends?" That was a matter that was settled with half a dozen words. He was given to understand that he would be carried over to the nearest pier as soon as he had eaten his breakfast; and his mind being set at rest, he ate a hearty one. When he thanked the men for their kindness they laughed and said "that was all right," and showed some curiosity to know why Roy was so careful to take their names and address. "I like to keep track of my acquaintances," said the boy; "I may want to call upon you at some future time, and if I do, I shall know where to find you." Breakfast being over, Roy, who had put on his own clothes when he left his bunk, climbed into the boat and was pulled ashore. There was a hack-stand near the pier on which he was landed, and although Roy did not know it at the time, Tony and Bob could have put him ashore there the night before if the instructions they received from Colonel Shelly's superintendent had not led them to follow a different course. Being anxious to escape observation Roy took a hurried leave of the light-ship's men, hastened toward the hack-stand, and dived into the first carriage he came to. "Pull up the windows, put down the curtains so that no one can see me, and go for the Lafayette House at your very best licks," said Roy to the astonished driver, who looked critically at the boy's sleeveless shirt and bandaged eye, and seemed in no particular hurry to obey. "Been in a fight?" said he. "Yes; been in half a dozen. Whipped more than forty men, and swam in from a hundred miles out at sea," replied Roy, impatiently. "I've money in my pocket and more at the hotel, if that is what you want to know. Hurry up, and I will give you double fare." That was something the hackman could understand. Looking curiously at his passenger the while he hastened to obey his orders, and in a few seconds had made the carriage as close as an oven. But Roy did not care for that. He settled back in the corner, and wondered what Arthur and Joe would say when he walked into their presence. "I know I am a nice looking object," was his mental reflection, "but I should like to see either one of those fellows go through what I did and come out in better shape. I tell you I have had a narrow escape, and Rowe Shelly, whoever he may be, can thank his lucky stars that he was not in my place. I can't do anything for Bob and Tony, but I can bear those light-ship men in mind, and I will too." With the prospect of a double fare before him the hackman drove as rapidly as he dared, and when he drew rein in front of the hotel to which he had been directed, Roy threw open the door and jumped out, crossed the wide sidewalk with a few swift steps, and sought concealment behind one of the front doors, every move he made being closely followed by the driver, who wanted to make sure of his money before he let his strange passenger out of sight. Then came that hurried interview with the hotel clerk, who could hardly be made to believe that Roy Sheldon was not Robert Barton, after which the new-comer went to his room to change his clothes and send the porter out for a new helmet to take the place of the one he had left on board the White Squall. "There," said Roy, as he stood before the mirror and tied a clean handkerchief over his left eye, "that looks a little more respectable, but not much. I must have a pretty hard head or that mate would have knocked me senseless. Suppose he had, and that I had been kicked out of the way or carried down into the forecastle, and never come to myself until this morning! I'd been a hundred miles or more at sea, and in a rotten old ship that is liable to go to pieces in the very first storm she encounters. It makes me shudder to think of it." Having fixed himself up as well as he could, Roy went downstairs and into the reading-room to wait for Joe and Arthur to "show up." At the same time a sharp-looking gentleman, whose eyes were everywhere at once, walked briskly up to the clerk's desk and leaned upon it. "What do you know?" said he. "I must make out a column some way or other, and if you don't help me out, I shall always think you ought to." "I don't know a thing," replied the clerk. "Go into the reading-room and pump that fellow with the bunged-up eye. He's a wheelman from Mount Airy. Came in yesterday with two others, and got into trouble before he had fairly eaten his supper. That's his name right there," added the clerk, as the sharp-looking man, who was a newspaper reporter, pulled a note-book from his pocket and wrote something in it in short-hand. "He just as good as told me that he was mistaken for Rowe Shelly, kidnapped and taken over to the island, and barely escaped being carried to sea." "On what vessel?" exclaimed the reporter, showing some excitement and no little interest. "Don't know. Didn't think to ask him, for he was in a great hurry to go to his room." "So Rowe Shelly has skipped again, has he?" said the reporter. "That won't do me any good, for Shelly owns some of our stock and we can't dip into his private affairs. Don't tell anybody else of it, there's a good fellow, for I want to get a scoop on this whole business. Did this what's his name--Sheldon, look as though he had been in the water?" "Come to think of it, he did. His uniform was shrunk and mussed, one sleeve of his shirt was missing, and both his eyes were blacked. At least one was, for I saw it. He kept the other covered up." "I'll bet it's the same chap. Haven't you seen this morning's _Tribune_? Well, there's an article in it, with the blackest kind of headlines, entitled, 'Mutiny in the Harbor. A Sailor prefers Death to a Voyage in the White Squall,' and so forth and so on, _et cetera_. One of our fellows wrote that up, and now you just watch me get the sequel. Hoop-la! My column's safe. How'll I know him--by his bunged-up eyes?" "Look right through the door. That's him, with the blue uniform on and a paper in his hand. But hold on a minute," said the clerk, as the reporter turned away. "If you mean to get anything out of him you'll have to be sly about it, for he says he won't be pumped." "Oh, won't he? We'll see about that." Roy Sheldon, who was deeply interested in that article in the _Tribune_, and congratulating himself on the fact that his name was not mentioned in it, and that consequently his father and mother would never hear of his adventure until he was ready to tell them about it, did not so much as raise his eyes when the reporter came in and sat down near him. He went on with his reading until he heard a pleasant voice say: "Good morning, Mr. Sheldon. You have had a pretty rough experience, have you not?" If the chair in which he was sitting had suddenly given away and let him down on the floor, Roy would not have been half as much astonished as he was when he heard himself addressed in this way by a man whom he had never seen before. He looked at him over the top of his paper, and then drew his head down behind it; whereupon the reporter pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his face to conceal the smile that came to his lips. "Of course you don't mind what those light-ship men said to _me_," he continued. "Oh! did they tell you about it?" exclaimed Roy, and that was all the reporter wanted to show him that he was on the right track. Being shrewd and experienced in his profession, he had already made up his mind just what that 'sequel' was going to be. The sailor, who was seen by the captain of pilot-boat number twenty-nine to jump into the harbor, was not a seafaring man, but a wheelman. He had succeeded in reaching the light-ship, whose crew rescued him, brought him ashore in the morning, and here he was. Roy had told the clerk he would not be interviewed; but that did not worry the reporter. "Yes; I have heard all about it," said he. "You see, I am the fellow who supplies those light-ship men with some of their reading-matter." "Oh," said Roy again, "I was afraid you might be a reporter." "My dear sir, do I look as if I were that low down in the world? What's the reason you don't want to see any news-gatherers? You have been the hero of an adventure, and most boys would like to see it in print." "It's in print already, but fortunately the man who wrote about it did not know my name," replied Roy. "There's a long account of it in the _Tribune_?" "And is that account correct?" "Perfectly. But my father takes the _Tribune_, and if he had seen my name in that article he would have ordered me home in short order." "And you don't want to go, I suppose?" "Certainly not," answered Roy, who then went on to tell where he _did_ want to go; and to prove that his father would be likely to tell him to come home if he got into trouble, he related what Mr. Wayring had done when he learned through the New London papers that Matt Coyle had tied Joe to a tree and threatened to beat him with switches. "I remember of reading about that," said the reporter. "One of the _Tribune's_ staff was stopping at the Sportsman's Home at the time, and he was the one who wrote it up. I don't blame you for not wanting your name mentioned in connection with that little episode in the harbor last night, and you are wise in keeping your weather eye open for reporters. That's the only one you can keep open, isn't it? Who shut up the other one for you?" It was by such ingenious and apparently disinterested questions as these, that the reporter gradually led Roy Sheldon on to tell his story from beginning to end. He was really astonished when the boy brought his narrative to a close, and told himself that he was master of some secrets that would eventually bring Colonel Shelly and his superintendent into trouble, and the runaway Rowe into his rights. More than one reporter has run to earth criminals whom the best detectives could not track, and Roy's visitor suddenly resolved that he would do a little in that line himself. He would have given something handsome to know where Rowe was at that minute and what he intended to do; but Roy could not enlighten him. On the other hand, he asked the reporter to tell him what he knew about Rowe himself. "That boy is well fixed over there on the island," said he. "Everybody is kind to him, he has everything money can buy, and he wouldn't run away unless there was good cause for it," said Roy. "I wasn't on the island long enough to learn much about him; can't you tell me something?" "I am sorry to say I can't," said the reporter, as he arose from his chair. "I have never been on the island, and don't know the first thing about Rowe Shelly and his family relations, except what I have heard in a roundabout way. Look here," he added, sinking his voice almost to a whisper; "do you see those three fellows talking with the clerk? Look out for them. They are reporters for evening papers. Tell 'em you're busy--that your eyes are so black you can't talk to 'em--tell 'em anything you can think of, for if you don't, they will have you in print sure pop. So-long, and a pleasant trip if I don't see you again before you leave the city." So saying the reporter winked at Roy, and hurried away to write up the "sequel" for the evening edition of his paper, while Roy hid behind his copy of the _Tribune_. The three men against whom he had been warned came in at last, but if they wanted information they did not get much. Roy was very unsociable, and they finally departed with the conviction that the _Tribune's_ man had been too sharp for them this time. Roy's next visitor was Willis, and the next two were Joe Wayring and Arthur Hastings, who would scarcely have recognized him if it had not been for his uniform. They listened in great amazement to his story, which I afterward heard just as I have tried to tell it, and never once said a word to interrupt him. Arthur's indignation was almost unbounded; while the clear-sighted Joe saw two or three things in the narrative which proved to his satisfaction that Roy's visit to the White Squall was not purely accidental. But the trouble was, Roy himself did not think so, and he had not really said anything that was calculated to throw suspicion upon the superintendent. It was plain, however, that Willis was afraid he might say something, for as soon as Roy's story was finished he got upon his feet and put on his hat. "As you remarked a little while ago, 'all's well that ends well,'" said he. "I am heartily glad you got safely out of that scrape, Mr. Sheldon, and hope you will speedily recover from the effects of your treatment at the hands of that brutal mate. I wish he might be punished for it; but it is just as those men on the light-ship told you. The White Squall will not return for two or three years, and by that time the men who now comprise her crew may be scattered to the ends of the globe. I wish you good-morning, and a pleasant run across the State." So saying, Willis bowed himself out of the reading-room, and Babcock went with him, leaving the three friends alone. "Say, old fellow," exclaimed Joe, settling back in his chair and looking at Roy, "you've more pluck than I ever gave you credit for, but not half as much mother-wit." "What has gone wrong with you now?" asked Roy, in reply. "Nothing whatever; but if you don't find that something has gone wrong with you, I shall miss my guess. And you are the boy who wouldn't be pumped, are you? Well, you are a good one." "I tell you I didn't give those three reporters the first grain of information," said Roy, bridling up. "No; but you gave the first one who gained your ear all the information he wanted. That fellow who came his Oily Gammon over you and told you that he supplied the light-ship's crew with a portion of their reading matter, was a reporter. He'll have the whole thing in his paper to night, and you will have to go home." "And that means all of us," added Arthur. "No!" gasped Roy, alarmed by the thought. "Let's get away from the city without an hour's delay. If we do that, we can prolong our run as far as Bloomingdale; for you know that was the first place at which we were to stop for letters." "But you can't ride," said Joe. "What's the reason I can't?" inquired Roy. "I know my arm is almost useless, but my legs are all right, as I will show you when we are fairly on the road again. Say, fellows, let's make the pace hot enough to reach Bloomingdale and get beyond it before any return orders can catch us." "Why not avoid the place altogether?" suggested Arthur. "Have you had your arm examined by a surgeon?" Roy said he hadn't thought of it, and Arthur continued: "Then we'll have it done at once. If he says you can ride, we'll take to the road at once. If he says you can't, that settles it." Great was their relief when the medical man, to whom they were directed, told Roy that, although he had received a pretty severe fall (he thought Roy had taken a header and the latter was quite willing to have it so), he would be able to continue the run provided he could manage his wheel with one hand, and would promise not to run too fast. "But," added the doctor, "it's a little the queerest hurt I ever saw from a header. I don't quite see how you managed to black both your eyes and injure your arm in one fall. If you had been in a fight with the canalers I could understand it. You mustn't think of going on for at least two or three days. Lie still to-morrow and next day, take a short run on Saturday, stop over somewhere in the country on Sunday, and make a fresh start on Monday." When the boys heard this their countenances fell; but, as Arthur had said, "that settled it." All they could do was to make themselves miserable for the rest of the day and the whole of the two succeeding ones. They could not even visit their friends in the city, for if they did, every one would want to know where Roy Sheldon was, and why he didn't show himself. "I'm a pretty looking fellow to go calling, am I not?" said the latter dolefully. "It can't be done, boys. I'd have to tell the truth, and I might as well go home at once as to do that. I'm going to hug my room the best I know how, and you'll have to see that I don't starve; for now that I have found you, I am not going to exhibit myself in that reading-room again. Now, come up-stairs and tell me all you know about Rowe Shelly." The story his friends had to tell was not near as long as his own, but it was fully as interesting. It required but a few words from them to make everything clear to Roy's comprehension. The man who claimed to be Colonel Shelly and Rowe's guardian was a fraud, the boy's parents were still living, and he was determined to find them in spite of all the obstacles that could be thrown in his way. That was all there was of it. "I hope from the bottom of my heart that he will succeed," said Roy earnestly. "When I was in the water swimming for the light-ship, I felt bitter toward everybody; but now that I have come safely out of the worst scrape I ever was in, I don't feel so. The clerk, who evidently knows a little about Rowe and his affairs, declared that he was a fool for running away, but somehow I couldn't believe it. Now I know he isn't. If one of us was in his place they'd have to put guards all around that island to keep him there." "How far was it from the White Squall to the light-ship?" "About twice as far as Mirror Lake is wide. The swim wasn't anything to be afraid of, but the rough water--" "And the sharks," interposed Arthur. "By gracious!" exclaimed Roy, jumping up from the bed on which he had but a moment before laid himself down. "I never thought of sharks, and I'm glad I didn't. It would have made a coward of me sure, and I was near enough to that as it was. But they do have them around that light-ship, don't they? I have seen the fact stated in the papers before now. It took all the pluck I had to face the waves, and if I had thought of sharks I don't believe you ever would have seen me again." "Rowe wouldn't have had the courage to do what you did," observed Arthur. "I don't think he would," said Joe. "But then he never would have been called upon to do it, for that man Willis would not have sent him aboard the White Squall to be carried to sea." "You don't think Willis got Tony and Bob and me shanghaied on purpose, do you?" exclaimed Roy, who had not dreamed of such a thing. "You are surely mistaken. I saw those men driven to duty with a piece of rope." "I don't say they knew they were going to be kidnapped when they took you aboard that vessel, but that it was a part of the superintendent's plan for getting rid of the whole of you," replied Joe, who then went on to tell why he thought so. Three different sailor men with whom Roy had conversed assured him that the wind didn't blow to hurt anything, that there was no need that anybody in a small boat should seek shelter on a vessel on such a night as last night was, and if Roy could not see that that proved something, he was by no means as bright as Joe thought he was. "I can see it now," said Roy. "If I could only bring it home to him wouldn't I--" "No doubt you would: but there's the trouble. You can't prove anything. I am sorry you let that reporter bamboozle you into telling him all about your adventure. The fellows he told you to look out for were on rival papers, and it was his business to keep them from getting any information out of you if he could. I wish the evening papers were out." The others wished so too, but four long hours passed before the voice of the newsboy was heard in the street, and then Arthur made a rush for the door. When he returned he had a copy of all the evening papers on sale, but the _Tribune_ was the only one Roy cared to see, and it was promptly passed over to him. "Here it is in black and white," he groaned, almost as soon as he opened the sheet. "'A Plucky Wheelman. Something that might have been a Tragedy. The Truth about it.' Read it out and then go and pound that reporter." Arthur complied with many misgivings, but as he read he often paused to look at his chums, who stared at him and at each other in turn. Everything that happened on board the White Squall was truthfully described, the brutality of the ship's officers was denounced in no measured terms, Roy's short but desperate struggle with the mate was told in graphic language, but the only ones whose real names were mentioned were the two light-ship men, Captain Jack Rowan and the scoundrel Crawford. Roy Sheldon was called Peter Smith without a word of excuse or apology, while Rowe Shelly, his guardian, and Willis, the superintendent, were not spoken of at all. The boys could not understand it; but then they did not know that Rowe's guardian was part owner of the _Tribune_ and had influence enough to cause the discharge of any man on it who did not write to suit him. As soon as Arthur finished the article they all went to work to examine the other papers; but there was nothing in them about the "Plucky Wheelman." The _Tribune_ had a "scoop" on all its competitors. "That bangs me," said Roy, at length. "It suits you, does it not?" "Perfectly. It's better than I thought it could be. Of course our folks will read it, but they'll never dream that one of us had anything to do with it. That reporter is a brick. You needn't mind pounding him, boys." "Thank you," said Joe, drily. "I had no intention of trying anything of the kind. I have heard of fellows going out to thrash newspaper men and coming home on a shutter. It might have been so in this case." Arthur Hasting voiced the sentiments of his companions when he said he felt as if a big load had been taken off his shoulders. Their run wasn't "blocked" after all. CHAPTER XI. ON THE ROAD AGAIN. Although Roy Sheldon and his friends were greatly relieved, and felt duly thankful to the reporter who had concealed the "plucky wheelman's" identity under a fictitious name, and thus prevented their trip from being brought to a sudden end, they were none the less impatient to take the road again, and their two days of enforced inactivity hung heavily on their hands. It would not be prudent for them to call upon their friends in the city, for, as Roy ruefully affirmed, they would have to tell them the truth, and they might as well go home as to do that. Concealment was the only thing left to them, but reading and sleeping, with an occasional discussion of their recent experience, were monotonous ways for healthy boys to pass the time. Roy's bruises demanded a little of their care and attention, and before long he had the satisfaction of knowing that his arm was not as lame as it had been, and that his eyes were slowly resuming their natural color. But it was two weeks before the wondering rustics ceased to turn and gaze after him as he wheeled swiftly along the road. Saturday morning came at last, and after a light breakfast the three Columbias were brought from their dark closet and set in motion again. Of course we--that is, my two companions and I--knew nothing of the strange things that had taken place on the night we were put into our closet for safe-keeping, and we were on the road at least a week before we heard as much of the story as I have already told you. We were fully two hundred miles from New London when we, most unexpectedly, heard more of it, and back in Mount Airy when we heard the conclusion; so you see I am not yet through with the events that grew out of Roy Sheldon's visit to the city. Saturday's run was short, for my master insisted that the doctor's orders should be implicitly obeyed, but still it was a hard one. Before they were fairly out of the city limits the sand that was "knee-deep" obstructed their way, and made the young wheelmen cast longing glances toward the tow-path which was in plain view. But the sight of several groups of ragged urchins, some of whom tried hard and perseveringly to get a stone up to them, and the knowledge that one of their number was in no condition for a fight, if one was forced upon them, made them keep to the highway. "But I tell you we'll not do it on Monday for all the canalers in the State," said Roy that night, when he and his companions dismounted before the little inn that was to be their stopping place. "We are so far out of the city now that we shall not see very many boats, and as often as we come in sight of a settlement of shanties, we'll climb up to the road and go around it." The proprietor of the inn said he was used to the company of wheelmen, and the bountiful supper he set before the boys proved that he was. He gave them comfortable beds too, and on Monday morning showed them a path by which they could take their wheels down to the bank of the canal. It was much easier riding there than it was on the highway, but, as the Omaha wheelman said, they found the "unspeakable mule" there. They met a good many boats going into the city, and nearly every one of them was towed by a span of these interesting creatures. The boys dismounted and got out of the way as often as they saw them coming, but the mules were not to be deceived or cheated out of a stampede by any such shallow artifice as that. They saw the glittering wheels, and that was enough for them. They invariably turned like a flash and tore back along the path as though they were frightened out of their wits, but always stopped their headlong flight just in time to avoid being jerked into the canal. It seemed to me that reasonable persons would have been satisfied with the precautions taken by the boys to avoid trouble, but I soon learned that the boatmen were not reasonable. They swore lustily, hurling their oaths at mules and cyclists with perfect impartiality, and now and then a very angry captain would order his steersman to "hold her clost in to the bank so't he could jump ashore an' pitch them nuisances into the drink"; but when the boys heard such talk as that they mounted and sped lightly along, leaving the captain to recover his good-nature as soon as he got ready, and the driver to manage the mules in anyway he could. By following this course, and by making a flank movement on every "settlement of shanties" that hove in sight, they finally reached Bloomingdale without doing very much riding in the sand. They were now about a hundred and forty miles from home, and considered their journey fairly begun. Leaving out their first night in New London, they were more than pleased with their experience. Their health was perfect, their brains, to quote from Roy Sheldon, were "as clear as whistles," and they felt equal to any amount of hard work either on the road or at the table. Taking timid women, skittish horses, foolish mules, peppery canal-boat captains, combative boys and ugly dogs into consideration, a trip like this had just enough of the exciting and perilous in it to make it interesting. Although my master and his chums longed to hear from home, they opened the letters they found waiting for them in Bloomingdale with some fear and trembling. As I looked at it, it did not seem possible that adventures like Roy Sheldon's, and an exploit such as he had performed, could be kept covered up for any length of time (I have been told that such things have a way of "leaking out somewhere"), nor was it at all probable that every one who heard of them would be as considerate of Roy's wishes as the _Tribune_ reporter had shown himself to be. I awaited the result with as much excitement as Roy Sheldon exhibited when he seated himself on the porch in front of the hotel and opened one of his mother's letters--the one that bore the latest date. I saw him run his eyes over the closely written pages, and when he laid that letter aside and picked up another, intending to read them in the order in which they were written, I knew before he said a word that his fears were groundless and that no return orders had been received. "My folks don't suspect anything; how is it with yours?" said he, gleefully. "Mother doesn't say a word about Peter Smith who was shanghaied and jumped overboard to escape being carried to sea, and that's all the evidence I want that she does not think I am that identical Peter." Thanks to the thoughtful reporter, who did not want Roy to be called home although he _did_ want all the news the boy had it in his power to give him, the truth was never suspected, and after a short rest the young wheelmen turned their backs upon the tow-path and the pugnacious youngsters who lived beside it, and struck out again, this time running through a fine farming country, with just enough timber along the road to break the monotony of the scenery, and afford them shade as often as they felt inclined to take a breathing spell. They were not the only cyclists on the road, as they found before they had left Bloomingdale a dozen miles behind. They were wheeling along in Indian file at a moderate pace, when Joe Wayring, who brought up the rear, was surprised to hear a voice close to him say: "If you have a mind to listen to it, I believe I can give you young gentlemen a word of advice that may some day be of use to you." And before Joe could turn his head, a tall stranger on a big wheel rode up beside him. "Where have you come from and where are you going, if it is a fair question?" he continued, after returning Joe's greeting. "I judge from your bundles that you are on a trip; but I guess you haven't been out very long, or else you followed a different route from mine, for you are not half as dirty as I am." This broke the ice, and in a few minutes the boys were on the best of terms with the strange wheelman, who could not, however, give them any "pointers" regarding their route, for he was going another way, and besides he was depending entirely upon his road-book. He had been out four weeks, but was on the way home now, weighed twenty pounds more than he did when he set out, and felt strong enough to tackle any dinner that was set before him. My master expressed his regrets because the stranger was not going their way, and asked him what that word of advice was he said he could give them. "You wobble too much," said the wheelman, coming to the point at once. "I have been following behind for the last mile or so, and took notice of the fact that an eighteen inch plank would scarcely be wide enough to cover your tracks." "I've noticed that too," replied Roy, "but never thought it worth while to take the trouble to ride any differently. What's the odds so long as one has the whole road to wobble in?" "None whatever," said the stranger, with a laugh, "only experts who come on your track will think you are not at all careful as to your style, or else they will put you down as new hands at the business. But suppose you should come to a railroad bridge with only a single plank laid down for one to walk upon. If you tried to run over it you would go off sure; and it would be a job to dismount and carry your wheels. Besides, when you got home you wouldn't like to confess that you had done such a thing." "But you see we haven't found any bridges of that sort in our way yet, and we don't mean to," replied Joe. "Our plan is to follow the road and keep clear of the tracks." "That's the resolve I made when I set out, but I haven't held to it. I am pretty well satisfied now that you are not very far from home." "What makes you think so?" "Because you don't seem to care anything for distance; but wait until you have been in the saddle a week at a stretch, and you will be glad to cut off all the miles you can. You will find that the railroad generally follows the shortest route between two points, and if you have made up your minds to stop for the night at a certain place, you will want to get there the easiest way you can. That's the time you will probably take to the track and find some of the bridges I spoke of a minute ago." The boys traveled several miles in company with the pleasant stranger who, to quote once more from Roy Sheldon, "was just chuck full of good stories and advice," and it was with much regret that they took leave of him, saw him turn off from their route and continue his journey alone. How often it happens that little things bring about great events! You shall presently see what grew out of this short interview which happened by the merest accident. "From this day forward I mend my style of riding," said Joe Wayring, when their chance companion had been left out of sight. "I never knew before that a wheelman left traces by which an expert could judge of his skill, but I know it now, and by this time next week I bet you I'll be steady enough to ride a six-inch plank on top of the highest railroad bridge in the country." The others said the same, and from that moment began exercising more care in the management of their wheels. If that stranger could have come up behind them now, he would not have seen so many zig-zag tracks in the road. But no doubt he would have laughed at them for so quickly forgetting their resolve to "stick to the highway and steer clear of the railroad tracks"; for that was just what they did. Before a week had passed over their heads they began to realize that it required a good many motions with the pedals to take them a day's journey, and bring them to the place at which they had beforehand decided to pass the night, that there was a good deal of sameness in wheeling, in spite of the new scenes and new faces that were constantly coming before them, and they were not so very long in learning by actual test that "the railroad usually follows the shortest route between two points." But, strange to say, they encountered but few cattle-guards, no bridges or trestle-works, and the culverts were so well covered that they scarcely knew when they passed over them. Except when following these short cuts they adhered rigidly to the instructions laid down in their road-book, but one day even that guide, which ought to have been infallible, led them astray; and here is the passage that did the mischief: "After a good nooning among the Bergen shades a bee-line can be struck for Dorchester, over a road with occasional patches of sand. Luckily these patches can be avoided by making use of portages in the shape of the ever-welcome cow-path, which winds off to the side of the road most conveniently. The cow figures most usefully in touring as a path-maker in districts where the road commissioners are derelict. Also as a dispenser of a beverage which is the best of all drinks anywhere, and especially on the road." The guide-book also went on to say that at one place along the route a cow-path led directly to a brook, at which the weary and hungry wheelman might stop and cast a line with a more than reasonable expectation of catching a good-sized trout for his dinner. "We've struck it," said Arthur, who had read aloud the route for that particular day before the three left their hotel in the morning. "Here's the sand, and it's knee-deep too, as sand always is. Now, where is the cow-path that leads to the brook?" "Here's a path, but whether it goes to the brook or not, I can't guess," answered Joe. "Let's try it, and see if it will take us to a dispenser of that beverage, whatever it is, the book speaks of." "It's milk," said Roy, smacking his lips. "I'd a little rather have it off the ice, but I wouldn't refuse it warm just now, for I am thirsty and hungry besides." "That's nothing new," retorted Joe. "You've been that way ever since we left home. Come on, fellows. Somebody has been through here, for the most of the branches have been removed, and a log or two cut out of the path." "What is that welcome sound that comes faintly to my ears?" said Roy, in a heavy voice, as he mounted his wheel and followed his leader through the woods. "Is it what Byron calls the tocsin of the soul, the dinner bell? No; it is a cow bell. Push on, Joe. Who's got a cup handy?" Their first hard work was to locate the cow which wore the bell, and their second to ascertain whether or not she would permit the boys to approach her on short acquaintance. They had no trouble at all in going straight to the little glade from which the bell sounded, for the path took them to it. There were half a dozen cows in sight, but they were evidently accustomed to having wheelmen intrude upon them, for they merely looked at the boys and went on with their feeding. The three bicycles were leaned against convenient trees, the cup Roy wanted was quickly brought to light, and then Joe and Arthur began a cautious stalking of the nearest cow. "That's no way to do business," said Roy, who brought up the rear with the cup in his hand. "Go straight up to her as if you had a secret to tell her, for if you go to sneaking she'll get suspicious and dig out. That's the way to do it, Joe. Now scratch her on the neck or behind the horns, and I'll soon have a cupful of that beverage which is the best of all drinks anywhere, and especially on the road. I declare, she's as gentle as an old cow, and it's going to be a good deal easier than I thought. Art, you had better lumber back to the bikes and bring two more cups. We'll have a jolly tuck-out on milk while we are about it." In a few minutes more three hungry and tired boys, each with a brimming cup of rich country milk in one hand and a sandwich in the other, were sitting on the ground under the shade of a spreading beech, enjoying a substantial lunch and fervently thanking the author of their road-book for his timely suggestions regarding cow-paths and the kindly animals which made them. Of course it was much better than any lunch they ever had at home, and they had but one fault to find with it; there wasn't enough of it. "I move that we let that trout brook alone," said Joe. "We are not so hungry but that we can stand it until we reach the end of our day's run, and besides, we can find better angling nearer home when we have more time at our disposal." "That's what I say," chimed in Arthur. "We've twelve miles farther to go, and I am in favor of setting out at once; for the longer we stay here the lazier we'll get. Let's follow the path until we get on the other side of those patches of sand, and then make the pace hot and get to Dorchester as soon as we can. We'll have to lie by to-morrow, for it's going to rain." The clouds certainly looked threatening, and the prospect of being caught in a smart shower before they could reach the shelter of the hotel at which they intended to stop for the night, was enough to put energy even into Roy Sheldon, who was called the laziest boy in the party. He didn't want to be put to the trouble of cleaning the mud off his fine wheel before he went to bed; so he led the way at a brisk gait, paying little or no attention to where he was going so long as the path was smooth and plain, and the first thing he knew he was brought up standing by a brush pile in front of him. "This bangs me; now where's the trail?" was all he had to say about it. "It has ended as nearly all trails do," replied Joe, quoting from one of his favorite authors and trying to get a glimpse at the clouds through the net-work of branches above his head. "It branched off to right and left, grew dimmer and slimmer, degenerated into a rabbit path, petered out in a squirrel track, ran up a tree and lost itself in a knot-hole." "But I don't think I shall go up to find it," answered Roy. "It will be easier to take the back track." And it was easier to say that than it was to do it, as Arthur Hastings found when he came to make the attempt. When the line faced about he became the leader, and before he had gone a dozen yards he found himself at fault. The ground was so hard and so thickly covered with leaves that their wheels left no trail that could be followed, and as the bell had been left out of hearing they could not find the glade. To make matters worse, all the signs seemed to indicate that the cows which were pastured there had done nothing during the past year but travel about from one end of the wood-lot to the other; for the trails they had made were numerous, and twisted about in the most bewildering way. In sheer desperation Arthur turned into every one he came to, trundling his wheel beside him, and his companions blindly followed in his wake. "This will begin to get interesting if we don't get out pretty soon," said Joe, glancing at his watch. "Night is coming on apace and we're twelve miles from shelter." "But we are within easy reach of our blankets, matches and camp-axes," replied Arthur, "and if we have to sleep in the woods, it will not be the first time we have done it." "But we haven't a bite to eat," groaned the hungry boy of the party. At last Arthur fell back to the rear and gave place to Joe Wayring, who in his turn gave way to Roy; but one guide was about as good as another, for all the best of them did was to lead his companions farther from the road they wanted to find and deeper into the woods. There were paths enough, otherwise they would have found it impossible to walk as far as they did, for the bushes on each side were so thick that they could not have carried their wheels through them. But the difficulty was, those paths ran in every direction, and did not tend toward any particular point of the compass. The woods grew darker every minute, and at last, when they were beginning to talk seriously of making a camp and going supper-less to bed, Roy Sheldon shouted out that he could see daylight before him, and presently the three boys emerged from the woods. "I knew I could bring you out if you would trust to my superior knowledge of woodcraft," said Roy complacently. "I tell you, you can't lose me in any little piece of woods like this." "But what sort of a place have you brought us to with your superior knowledge?" exclaimed Arthur. "This isn't our road." "I didn't say it was, my friend," was Roy's reply. "I simply said I had brought you out of the woods." "Only to lose us again," chimed in Joe. "This is a railroad." "And a one-track concern at that," said Arthur. "Crooked as a ram's horn, so that we can't see a train until it is close upon us, and consequently dangerous. It's been raining hard here. The ditches on each side are full of water." "Which means muddy wheels to clean to-night in case a train drives us off the track. Shall we try it?" "Of course. But which end of the road will take us to our destination? That's what I should like to know." "Ask us something easy," answered Joe, as he lifted his wheel over the ditch and placed it upon the track. "Dorchester must be at one end or the other, but we'll have to go it blind. Which way shall we start?" added Joe, who while he was speaking kept turning his wheel first up and then down the track. "The majority rules." "That way," said Roy. "Come on then. Let's cover as many miles as we can while daylight lasts. We'll have to touch a match to our lamps pretty soon." It was fine wheeling on the hard road-bed, and Joe Wayring made the pace hot enough to satisfy anybody but a professional racer; but fast as he went, the darkness traveled faster, and when they had gone about three miles, he suggested that the lamps ought to be lighted. "These thick woods and high banks on each side shut out what little light there is," said he, "and it is darker where we are than it ought to be. We have never been this way before, and no one knows how soon we may blunder into a cattle-guard and get a broken head without a chance to see what hurt us." Another start at a more moderate pace was made as soon as the lamps had been lit, and by the time the fourth mile had been left behind, it was as dark as a pocket. This was a new experience, and the boys did not like it. Although they had often seen wheelmen running about the streets when it was so dark they could not tell where they were going, Joe and his chums had never tried to do it themselves, because they did not like to trust so much to luck. A small stone or a stick which some careless boy had left in the track might send them to the ground, and my master was not fond of taking headers. Thus far he and his friends had been very fortunate in avoiding any very serious falls, and they did not care to run any risk of spoiling their record. But Joe came within a hair's breadth of scoring a bad fall on this particular night. Although he thought he was paying especial attention to the road close in front of him, he was really paying more to the rippling of a brook that flowed through a yawning gulf on his right hand, and at the same time he was keeping a bright lookout for a locomotive headlight. "That's an awful pokerish place over in there," Arthur remarked, jerking his head sideways toward the ravine of which I have spoken, "and the railroad seems to have been built on the very brink of it. Why didn't the engineers cut out more of the hill on the opposite side and put it farther--eh?" A warning shout from Joe Wayring cut short Arthur's criticism, and brought him and Roy to a sudden halt. There was a rock lying on the track, and it was so large that it covered the rails on both sides. Then followed that hurried consultation which I have recorded at the beginning of my story. While it was going on Joe, with the aid of his lamp, examined the face of the bluff, and could distinctly trace the path made by the bowlder when it rolled down from the top, and the others took a good look at the rock itself. Two things were plain to them: The rock was on the track, and they could not muster force enough to get it off. The first train that came along would find it there, as well as a gulf of unknown depth ready to receive all the cars that were tumbled into it. "Suppose it should be a passenger train?" gasped Roy. "Or an excursion?" added Arthur. Something must be done, and that, too, with out the loss of a moment. CHAPTER XII. JOE'S WILD RIDE. "Boys, we've got to stop that train," said Joe, speaking rapidly but calmly. "But how do we know which way it is coming from?" asked Roy, who did not show half as much pluck now as he did while he was struggling with the mate on board the White Squall. "We don't know," answered Joe. "It's our business to find out. Art, you go back along the way we have come, and I'll go ahead. Roy, you stay here and be ready to signal either way in case anything happens to us and we don't succeed in stopping the train. Raise your lamp as high in the air as you can and lower it suddenly. That's 'down brakes' on the Mount Airy road, and I suppose the signal is the same the world over. At any rate an engineer with half sense will understand it. Off we go now. Don't be reckless of headers, Art, but speed along lively." In two seconds more my master and Arthur Hastings were hurrying away in different directions, and Roy, having carried his wheel across the ditch and placed it against the face of the bluff, was sitting on the rock with his lamp in his hand. In another two seconds Joe and I whirled around a sharp bend and were out of sight of everybody. That was the wildest and most reckless run I ever undertook, for my master did not by any means follow the advice he had given Arthur Hastings. When Joe Wayring went into a thing he went in with his whole heart. I went ahead faster that I had ever been driven before, but a tricycle could not have run with more steadiness. Joe did not need the whole road-bed to travel in as he would if he had attempted a fast gait a week before, but held me firmly in one track. I could plainly see the way for a short distance in front of me, catch the glimmering of the wet rails on each side, and hear the faint "swishing" sound made by the rubber tires as they spurned the ground under them; but all on a sudden this sound ceased--or, rather, it gave way to a very low rumble, such as I had never heard before. The high bank on the left sank out of sight; the gurgling of the stream far below became a roar; solid walls of blackness surrounded us on all sides, relieved only by that little streak of light in front; and to my inexpressible horror I discovered that we no longer had the firm road-bed beneath us. We had left it, and were rushing with almost breathless speed over a trestle-work whose height could only be guessed at. An eight-inch plank nailed to the timbers between the tracks was our pathway. It was plenty wide enough for Joe, now that he had "mended his style of riding," if the plank had only been on the ground, and he had had daylight to show him where he was going; but there was plenty of room for accident. Suppose the plank should not extend entirely across the trestle, which was so long that I began to wonder if there was any other end to it! Or what if a tire should come off? Such accidents sometimes happen to the most careful bicyclists, and when I pictured to myself Joe Wayring lying stunned and bleeding among those timbers, and in danger of slipping through into the rocky bed of the stream beneath while I toppled over the edge--when I thought of these things, I shivered so violently that my nickel-plated spokes would have rattled if they had not been tangent and tied together. As for Joe Wayring, there was not the faintest exclamation from him to show that he realized his danger, although I knew well enough that he couldn't help seeing it. If his nerves had not been in perfect health, something disastrous would surely have happened. He struck the plank and passed over thirty feet of its length before he had time to take in the situation. Once started along the trestle he had to go on; there was no help for it. The light from the lamp was all thrown ahead, and an effort to dismount in the darkness might have resulted in a disabling fall among the timbers with me on top. Then what would become of the train, if it approached from the direction in which he was going? Plainly his only chance was to keep in motion; and Joe not only did that, but he laid out extra power on the pedals, and sent me ahead with increased speed. The rails looked like two continuous streaks of light, and the timbers passed behind with such rapidity that they presented the appearance of a solid floor. So great was our speed that by the time I had thought of all this, and become so badly frightened that I would have tumbled over if my momentum had not kept me right side up, that low rumbling sound ceased as suddenly as it had begun, the graveled road-bed, trodden smooth in the middle, shot into view and came rushing under the wheels, two high bluffs came out of the darkness and shut us in on both sides, and the trestle and its terrors were left behind. At the same instant, as if by a preconcerted signal, a bright light appeared far up the track, which at this point was perfectly straight, and another still nearer. The first was from the headlight of the approaching train, and the second was emitted by a lantern in the hands of a man who seemed to be searching for something, for he held his light first toward one rail and then toward the other. He was moving away from us. "It's the track-walker," gasped Joe, as he sounded his bell; and those were the first words I had heard him speak since we left the rock. "Suppose I had run onto him while I was scooting along that narrow plank! I'd be dead now, sure." The moment the man with the lantern heard the bell he faced about; but, to my surprise, he did not appear to be at all alarmed. The orders he straightway began shouting at us showed conclusively that he was used to wheelmen and their methods. "Git aff the track, ye shpalpeen," he yelled, frantically flourishing his lantern in the air. "Don't ye see the kyars coming forninst ye, an' haven't I towled ye times widout number, that if ye gets killed ye can't get no damages from the company? Will yees git aff the track?" "Stop that train," shouted Joe, in reply. "There's an obstruction on the track just beyond the trestle." "What for lookin' abstraction is it?" inquired the track-walker, incredulously. "A big rock," replied Joe; and seeing at once that he had a stupid, and no doubt an obstinate, man to deal with, he did not neglect to make preparations to stop the train himself. He promptly got me out of the way and detached the lamp; and when he bent over so that the light fell upon his face, I started in spite of myself. He was as white as a sheet. "Aw! G'long wid ye now," said the track-walker. "Don't I be goin' down beyant there onct or twicst bechune trains iv'ry blessed day of me loife for three years an' better? An' don't I know--" "I don't care what you have done during the last three years, or what you know," interrupted Joe, as he ran back to the track and signaled "down brakes" with his lamp. "There's a rock on the track--What are you trying to do, you loon?" exclaimed Joe, hotly, as the man made an effort to push him away and take his lamp from him. "Let me alone or I will report you. There'll be a wreck here in a minute more, and you will lose your place on the road." Although the man didn't like the idea of allowing an outsider to interfere with his business, Joe's words had just the effect upon him that the boy intended they should have, and after a little hesitation he began signaling with his own light. Between them they succeeded in attracting the attention of the engineer, who called for brakes, and stopped his train within a few feet of the place where Joe and the track-walker stood. "What's the trouble?" he asked from his cab window; and while Joe was explaining, the conductor came up and listened. The latter looked first at my master and then at me, and presently said: "You didn't ride across the trestle, of course." "Of course I did," replied Joe, "I couldn't have got across any other way. I would have been afraid to walk that narrow plank in the dark. How high is it above the water?" "Sixty feet in some places, and the trestle is just half a mile long," answered the conductor. "Here, boys, put that wheel into the baggage car. Young man, you come with me, and I will take you to Dorchester." "That's where we want to go," said Joe, surprised to learn that he and his friends had been riding on the back track ever since they struck the railroad. In obedience to the conductor's order I was hoisted into the baggage car, placed against a pile of trunks so that I could see through the wide-open door and the engineer pulled slowly ahead. I had little idea how far we had run after leaving the trestle, but we were fully five minutes in getting back to it, and much longer in crossing it. There seemed to be no bottom to the gulf it spanned. It was so deep that I could see nothing but the tops of the trees that grew in it. About the time we got to the other end of it the baggage-master, who had been leaning half-way out the opposite door, drew in his head long enough to remark to some one whom I took to be his assistant: "There's a chap out there calling for brakes the best he knows how," and I straightway made up my mind that it must be Roy Sheldon. "This would be a bad place for an accident with such a trainful of passengers as we've got. There's the rock," he added, a moment later, "and it's as big as this car." It wasn't quite as large as that, nor do I suppose it was even half as large as Rube Royall's cabin; but it was big and heavy enough to tax the strength of all the men who could get around it, including the engineer, fireman, conductor, all the brakemen, some of the passengers and two wheelmen. With the aid of levers and much lifting and pushing they got it started at last, and it went down into the gulf with a terrific crash. I heard the engineer say, as he climbed back into his cab, that if he had struck that rock going as fast as he usually did at that place, he would have demolished his train so completely that it would have taken a microscope to find the wreck. "All clear," shouted the conductor. "All aboard. Pass along that other wheel." "One moment, please. There's another man in our party who went down that way because we didn't know where to look for the first train," said Joe, waving his hand in the direction in which Arthur Hastings had disappeared. "He'll be back directly, and as we don't care to be separated, perhaps you had better leave us here. We're just as much obliged to you, however." "Has the other man got a lamp? All right, Jake," said the conductor, addressing the engineer, "keep a lookout for another wheelman a mile or so down the road. That'll be all right. Pile in." Joe and Roy went into one of the passenger cars, while the latter's wheel was placed at my side against the trunks. The first words he uttered were: "It's just dreadful to think of, isn't it?" "Not so much so as it might be," said I. "If I had broken Joe Wayring's head for him while he was driving me at top speed across that trestle, then you might have had something to talk about." "We've enough as it is. I know it might have been worse, and some unknown villains meant it should be. Roy Sheldon showed the marks to the engineer as soon as he got out of his cab." "What marks?" "Why, the marks on the rock. The engineer called the conductor's attention to them, and together they made it up not to say a word about it in the hearing of the passengers for fear of frightening them." "What in the world did the passengers have to be frightened about so long as Joe and I stopped the train and averted the disaster? They ought to be tickled." "Well, they wouldn't be if they knew how that rock came to be on the track. You probably did not see the conductor when he threw some pieces of round wood over the brink into the ravine, but I did, and I know that they were the rollers that were used to bring that bowlder into place after it had been tumbled down from the bluff. There's train-wreckers in this country, I tell you." Roy's bike was so excited over what might have happened if we had found that railroad half an hour later, that he could not tell a straight story; but this is what I managed to draw from him after much patient and ingenious questioning: When Joe and I disappeared in one direction and Arthur Hastings and his wheel sped swiftly away in the other, Roy Sheldon seated himself upon the rock with his lamp in his hand, and whistled softly, keeping time with his heels, for a full minute; then he grew tired of doing nothing, jumped off the rock and made a circuit of it, looking closely at it on all sides. It had cut a deep gash in the bluff as it came down, but Roy thought the ditch ought to have stopped it, because it was lower than the track. Somehow Roy could not bring himself to believe that it had come down with speed enough to run across a three foot ditch, up a hill that was eighteen inches high and six feet long, and stop so squarely in the middle of the track. "There's something rather queer about it," soliloquized the young wheelman, as he moved around the obstruction. "Now, then, what's that?" Just then something attracted his attention, and he bent over to examine it. It was the print of a foot in the soft earth at the end of one of the sleepers. Roy placed his own foot within it, and found, to his consternation, that it was at least a third larger than his shoe. Then he made another impression beside it, and the difference in size satisfied him beyond all doubt that he had not made that suspicious track himself. There were hobnails in the track, and that proved that none of Roy's party could have stepped in that particular spot, for there were no nails of that sort in their foot-gear. "This rock was put here for a purpose," said Roy; and when the thought passed through his mind the cold chills crept all over him. "There must have been a good many of them in the gang, for half a dozen men couldn't roll so heavy a weight out of the ditch unless they had something to work with. What's this and this, and those pieces of timber over there?" The longer the boy continued his investigations, the more he found to confirm the alarming suspicions that had arisen in his mind. The objects that now attracted his notice were several pieces of round wood, with the bark scratched and torn from them, and as many sticks of timber that were likewise covered with wounds and abrasions. There were other large footprints too in abundance--in fact the ground about looked as though a large party of men had been at work there for a long time--and presently the boy discovered marks upon the bowlder itself which might have been made with a spade or crowbar. "Were we all blind that we didn't notice these things when we first came here?" said Roy to himself. "Probably we were so highly excited that we couldn't notice any thing except the rock. The fiends who put this thing on the track with the intention of wrecking the train ought to be hanged without judge or jury. I am glad I didn't know what I know now, for I wouldn't have had the courage to stay here alone." Just then the thought flashed through Roy's mind that perhaps the would-be train-wreckers were concealed somewhere in the vicinity waiting for the time when they could descend into the gulf and complete their work, and that their evil eyes might at that very moment be fastened upon him, while they were discussing plans for getting him out of their way. If Joe and Arthur had known all this, would they have been so ready to dash off into the darkness to warn the unsuspecting engineer of his peril? How easily one of those concealed villains could have tumbled both his friends out of their saddles with a shot from a revolver! And what had prevented them, when the boys first started away, from throwing from the top of the bluff an obstruction upon the track that would have sent both the wheelmen to the ground? No doubt it was because Roy and his friends acted with so much promptness that they did not have time to think of it; but hadn't they had plenty of time since then to recover from their surprise and plan vengeance? This fear almost unnerved Roy. He took one step toward his wheel, but the thought that passed through his mind was driven out as quickly as it came. Come what might, he would not desert his post. He would stay there and warn the train, if one of his companions did not succeed in doing it, and in the mean time if those scoundrels wanted a fight, they could have it. Roy's first care was to put his lamp behind the rock out of sight, and his second to pull his bicycle case off his shoulder and take out the rifle it contained. He had done considerable shooting with it since he had been on the road, although it had not yet brought him a young squirrel for his dinner. As often as he and his companions halted for a rest their little weapons were brought out, and Roy had learned by actual test that the one he owned could be depended on to shoot "right where it was held." "Now I am ready for them," said Roy, taking his stand behind the rock outside the circle of light that came from the lamp. "If they advance along the road they had better make sure work of me at the start, for if they don't, some of them will get hurt." If the train-wreckers were hidden where they could see him (and it was reasonable to suppose they were), they must have taken note of Roy's movements, and perhaps they saw that he had a weapon of some sort in his hands and was ready to defend himself. Be that as it may, they did not molest him, and the boy stuck to his post until the glare of the locomotive headlight fell upon him. The train was moving slowly, and that was proof enough that Joe Wayring had warned it; but to make sure of it, Roy caught up his lamp and "called for brakes the best he knew how." The engineer was the first man to speak to him, and when Roy called his attention to the marks on the rock, the big footprints on the ground and the timbers that were scattered about, the brave fellow turned so white that it showed through the black on his face. He in turn told the conductor, and the latter at once threw the timbers into the ditch, and pitched the pieces of round wood into the gulf. "Don't lisp a word of it," he said, earnestly. "We've got a heavy, packed train, and the folks would be scared to death. Young fellow," he added, turning to give Joe Wayring a hearty slap on the shoulder, "you have been the means of preventing a slaughter. I'll bet there isn't another wheelman in the State who can ride over that trestle." "Haw, haw!" laughed Joe. "I guess you haven't seen many wheelmen, have you?" "Or who would have the courage to attempt it in daylight, let alone a dark night like this," continued the conductor. "Why, man alive, it's a very narrow plank that was put there for the convenience of the track-walker, and the trestle is sixty feet high and half a mile long." "I am glad I didn't know that when I was going over it," was all Joe had to say in reply. This is what I meant when I said a while ago that little things often bring about great events. I now know that my master was frightened out of a year's growth when he found himself on that trestle, but he had confidence and nerve enough to go ahead without attempting to dismount. It was that short interview with the strange wheelman that did it, and made Joe Wayring the steady rider he was that night. He knew as well as anybody that he "wobbled too much," but he supposed that was something every novice did, and that the fault would correct itself without any care or trouble on his part. But as soon as his attention was called to it he promptly set about "mending his style," and this was the result. He was glad of it now. It was the only thing that put it in his power to save the train, for on the day he encountered that strange wheelman he could not have ridden fifty feet on an eight-inch plank at full speed without falling off. By this time all the trainmen had come forward, accompanied by some of the wakeful passengers who wanted to inquire into the cause of this second stoppage, and by their united efforts the rock was tumbled harmlessly over the brink of the gulf and the engineer pulled out for Dorchester, keeping watch along the way for Arthur Hastings. He found him about two miles farther on, but the boy was not signaling, because the appearance of the train was proof enough that Joe had met and warned it. Arthur was surprised to see it come to a stop at the place where he got off the track, and to hear the engineer shout at him to chuck his bike into the baggage car and get aboard, for he was half an hour behind already. But he lost not a moment in thinking about it after he saw Joe and Roy beckoning to him from the platform of one of the passenger cars, and the train once more started on its way, this time moving at a rate of speed that gave me a faint idea of the crash that would have followed and the fearful loss of life that would have taken place if it had come in contact with that bowlder. This is the substance of the story Roy's wheel told me during the run to Dorchester, and the one to which Joe and Arthur listened while perched upon the wood-box in one of the crowded cars. The conductor could not give them a seat, for every one was filled with weary travelers who had slumbered serenely through it all, and who when they awoke at intervals, and looked with sleepy eyes toward the three dusty, white-faced boys behind the stove-pipe, never dreamed that one of them, a short half-hour before, held all their lives in his hand. The conductor knew it and could hardly find words with which to express his gratitude, although he tried hard enough. The young wheelmen conversed in whispers and looked frightened, as indeed they were; and Joe Wayring hoped from the bottom of his heart that no such responsibility would ever devolve upon him again. "I don't know what you fellows want to go to Dorchester for," said the conductor, who came into their car as soon as the train was fairly under way. "The place has a big name, but there are only three houses in it. There's no hotel at which you can stop. There is a boarding-house, but I tell you plainly that it will be of no use to go there, for old man Kane won't let you in. He says he can eat anybody who comes along, but he can't and won't sleep 'em." "That's queer," said Joe. "The author of our road-book has been through here, and says he got the best kind of treatment at Kane's boarding-house." "Oh, the old fellow sets a good table, and can be civil and obliging enough when he feels like it; but he won't get up after he has gone to bed. It's against his principles." "Why do you stop at such an out-of-the-way place?" "Because there's a horse railroad there that connects with a little town a few miles back in the country, and there are some people aboard who want to get off. The depot is always kept locked at night, and I am afraid you will have to bunk on the platform unless you will go on with me. Will you? I'll bring you back." The boys thanked him, but said they didn't think that was the best thing they could do. Their route ahead was laid out, and they wanted to stick as closely to it as they could. They were used to camping out, had warm blankets in their bundles, and would just as soon sleep on the platform as in a bed, provided old man Kane could be prevailed upon to give them a good breakfast in the morning. "But there's one thing about it," said Joe. "Every wheelman in the State ought to be warned that if he intends to travel this route, he had better time his runs so as to pass through this contemptible little Dorchester in daylight, unless he is prepared to camp out." Arthur Hastings thought it would be a good plan for one of them to state the facts of the case to the man who wrote the guide-book, so that he could have the warning put in subsequent editions. CHAPTER XIII. GOING INTO A HOT PLACE. "Where have you started for, anyway?" inquired the conductor, after a little pause. Joe replied that they had set out from Mount Airy to run across the State, and that when they reached the farther end of their route they would be about three hundred miles from home. "I suppose your object is to have fun and see the country, isn't it?" said the conductor. "Now of course I don't know anything about wheeling, but I should say that you could not have selected a worse route. You'll see the wildest bit of country there is, but how much fun you'll have I don't know. After you leave Dorchester you'll get into the mountains, and then your road will be all up-hill." "But the ascent is so gradual that we can easily accomplish it," said Roy. "Our road-book tells us it is so very gradual that we will hardly know we are going up. We understand that there is plenty of sport in the way of hunting and trout fishing in the neighborhood of Glen's Falls, and we intend to take our first rest there, if we can find any one who is willing to board us for a few days." "And if we can't do that, we shall camp out," added Joe. "We came prepared to do it." "I don't know much about hunting and fishing either," said the conductor. "All I do know is railroading; but some of my friends used to spend a month or so about the Glen every year, and always came back with the report that they had had the best kind of a time. But I notice they don't go there any more." "What's the reason they don't?" "Doesn't your guide-book warn you that there are some fellows up that way you had better keep clear of?" asked the conductor in reply. "It doesn't hint at such a thing." "It ought to. How long since it was written?" "Two years; but it has been revised since then." "Couldn't it be possible that no change was made in this particular route--I mean the one you are now taking?" inquired the official. "A good many things have happened at the Glen during the last two years. To begin with, the town had over a thousand inhabitants, and now it has hardly a quarter as many. Take 'em as a class, they're a rough set up there. They are lazy and shiftless, hate work as bad as so many tramps, and would be called tramps if it were not for the fact that they have permanent abodes most of the year. The rest of the time they are in the woods shooting game in violation of the law." "Are there no officers in the vicinity?" asked Arthur. "Oh, there are officers enough, but they are afraid to do anything toward bringing the law-breakers to justice. You see the latter are in the majority. They steal timber as often as they feel like it, go through every logging camp they find unguarded, and if you lodge a complaint against one of them, the whole band will turn in to clear him by false swearing, and then they will take satisfaction out of you by burning your mill, barn or house, and by shooting or poisoning your cattle. They're a fine lot, I assure you, and I shouldn't think you would like to go among them." "What a splendid place that would be for Matt Coyle if he were on deck now!" exclaimed Roy. "Why didn't he hunt up that band--did you say there was a band of them?" "Yes; and I have heard it is regularly organized, and that when one of them has to stand trial or give bonds to keep the peace with those he has threatened, he gets help from all over the county." "Why didn't Matt hunt up that band and live among them instead of going to such a place as Indian Lake?" said Roy. "Perhaps he wouldn't have got any independent guiding in that part of the State," suggested Joe. "There are, or used to be, plenty of guides up there," said the conductor, "but I don't suppose they get much to do now. A man who goes into the woods for fun doesn't pick guides from among a lot of fellows who will rob him the first chance they get. Of course there are some nice people about the Glen, and they will be glad to take you in if the Buster band will let them do it." "What has the Buster band to say about it?" demanded Joe. "Who are they, and where did they get that name?" added Roy. "They are the ones I have been telling you about--the lawless people in the Glen's Falls neighborhood," replied the conductor. "They 'bust up' property when things don't go to suit them, and that's the reason they call themselves the Buster band." "But what's the reason they will not allow any of the nice folks in town to board us if they want to?" asked Arthur. "Of course I am not sure that they will object to any arrangements you may be able to make with the family whose name I shall presently give you, but I think they will," answered the conductor. "You see, Dave Daily, the leader of the band, was indicted for arson, and there's a warrant out for him now. He and a companion were arrested for stealing timber; but they got out of jail somehow (every one says they must have had help from the outside in order to do it), and that night the man who complained of them lost everything he had in the world. Everything that would burn went up in smoke, and his stock was either poisoned or shot. After that Daily and his friend took to the woods, and Daily is there yet, or was the last I heard of him; but the friend was run down by a Middleport officer who went up there for that purpose." "That was all right," said Joe, when the conductor paused. "I wish he had caught Daily also." "So do I; but it seems he didn't. What I was going to say is this: That officer went up to Glen's Falls on his wheel." "Ah! That explains it, and the matter is perfectly clear to me now," said Arthur. "You think that Daily or his friends will think we are officers too, and that they will tell this man to whom you are going to direct us--what did you say his name is?" "I didn't say," answered the conductor, with a laugh. "But his name is Holmes, and he lives on the road you will have to take to reach the town. I don't know him personally, but my friends who have been there say he keeps the best house, and that he is the best guide for that neck of the woods. Yes; that is what I was thinking of. Some of the band will be sure to see you if you stop there, and they may--mind I don't say they will, but they may--send him word to get rid of you in short order. He'll have to do it, for the board you would be likely to pay him wouldn't recompense him for the loss of his cow, horse, or barn." "Of course it wouldn't," replied Joe. "We'll state the case to him as plainly as we know how, if we can find him, and if we learn that your suspicions are well-grounded, we'll not ask him to shelter us." "Well, if this isn't a pretty state of affairs I wouldn't say so," exclaimed Arthur, who was very much disgusted. "They must be a brave lot up there to let a few lawless people keep them so completely under their thumbs." "But don't you know that they are in the minority?" demanded Joe. "Yes; and a big one, too," added the conductor. "If the members of that Buster band don't work, how do they live?" inquired Roy. "They don't live; they just stay. They all own a little land, and work it enough to raise a few vegetables, like turnips and potatoes, and a little corn. Their meat they get out of the woods. They will steal timber, and then walk up and sell it to the man to whom it belongs, and who is generally the owner of a saw-mill he can't afford to have burned down. They sell their pigs, and by various other shifts make out to keep themselves in tobacco and clothes. And between you and me," added the conductor, sinking his voice to a whisper, "I believe they had something to do with the rock you young gentlemen found on the track." "Is _that_ the sort of folks they are?" exclaimed Joe. "Of course I can't prove anything against them, but I bet you that when I make my report, there'll be a detective sent up there to look into the matter. I understand that there are spies in that band now, working in the interests of law and order, and if the detective can only strike one of them, he may learn something. There's Dorchester," he continued, as a long whistle from the engine awoke the echoes of the woods, "and I must say good-by. I don't want you to forget that you have made a friend of every man on the road by--" "We should think you a mighty queer set if we hadn't," Joe interposed. "It's all right. Any decent fellows in the world would do the same, of course, but it happened to come in our way. We are greatly obliged for the information and warning you have given us." "You will change your route then?" replied the conductor, and the boys thought he looked relieved when he said it. "I was sure you would, when you knew what sort of folks they are in that section of the country. Good-by and good luck to you." When the young wheelmen stepped upon the platform they shook hands with all the trainmen, who wished them a pleasant trip and no end of fun while it lasted, and then leaned their wheels under the eaves of the little building that served as warehouse, operator's office and waiting-room, and looked about them. The light that shone from the conductor's lantern, and from the windows of the horse-car standing upon the branch track, gave them a clear view of their surroundings, which were so cheerless that the boys wondered how any road-book maker could advise wheelmen to come that way, unless he wanted to have them fooled as he had been fooled himself. At least that was the way Arthur Hastings expressed it. "He probably came through here in the day-time, when old man Kane had a good dinner ready for him, and everything looked different," said Joe. "He wouldn't have had so much to say in favor of Dorchester's boarding-house if he had passed through in the night and been shut out of doors." "Are we going to let what the conductor said about that Buster band induce us to change our route?" inquired Roy, who, as soon as the train pulled out and the horse-car disappeared down the branch track, began untying his bundle and taking out his blankets as if it were a settled thing that he and his companions were to camp right where they stood. "That's the question now before the house." "I stand ready to yield to the majority, but for myself I say 'No,'" answered Joe. "Hear, hear!" cried Arthur. "But it does look dark now that the lights have gone, don't it? To tell the truth, I wish that detective had not gone up there on his wheel. Somehow it brings to my mind all the stories I have read about the sudden and mysterious disappearance of men who have been foolish enough to wear blue blouses through the regions where the moonshiners hang out. Those interesting people think that every one who dresses in blue must be a revenue officer, and make it a point to shoot him from the bushes without troubling him with any questions." "That's a cheerful way to talk to homeless boys who have nearly sixty miles of mountain travel before them," said Joe, driving his knife into the side of the building and hanging his lighted lamp upon it. "That makes things look a little pleasanter, doesn't it? I don't know how it is with you, but I am tired and sleepy, and I'm going to lie down." After fastening their wheels together with a couple of chains and padlocks, so that if any light-footed prowler happened along and carried one of them off he would have to take all, the boys spread their blankets upon the platform, and went to sleep. Just before he closed his eyes Arthur said he knew he would dream of that rock and a train tumbling over into the gulf, but he slept too soundly to dream about anything until he was aroused by the stentorian voice of old man Kane, the man who would eat anybody who came that way but wouldn't sleep him. As soon as he opened his doors he saw the wheels resting against the station-house, and came over to ask the boys if they didn't think it about time to get up to breakfast. "All right," replied Arthur. "We'll be there directly. It was that jolly, good-natured face of his that deceived the author of our road-book, and made him think Kane was a bully landlord," he added, as the man turned away to hurry up the breakfast. "If we had a piece of bread as big as a walnut I'd see him happy before I would show my face inside the house he keeps locked against belated wheelmen. No one will ever come this route by my advice." But after he had bathed his hands and face in the cold water that came from the spring behind the house, drank two big cups of coffee, and eaten two boys' share of the excellent breakfast that was placed before him, Arthur did not feel quite so much disposed to growl at old man Kane. He voted him a number one caterer, and that was more than could be said of every boarding-house keeper. While they were at the table they heard a train stop at the station-house, and after what seemed a long delay, they saw the horse-car pass the window with a lot of passengers aboard; but they thought nothing of it until they went into the office, which was also the sitting and loafing room, and stepped up to the desk to pay their bill. "Put that back! Put that money back," exclaimed the landlord, almost fiercely. "Bless my heart! I've a good notion to come out from behind the desk and shake the last one of you boys, and I can do it too, old as I am. I've just heard about it. Why didn't you wake me up last night, instead of going to bed there on the platform?" Roy tried to explain that they did not want to disturb him after he had gone to bed (he didn't say why), and that their blankets afforded them as soft a bed as they cared for, but the old man did so much talking himself that Roy finally gave it up. He listened while the landlord told that the men on the up-train, as well as the passengers they had seen go by the dining-room window, had brought a full report of last night's doings, and he wanted to give them a breakfast to pay them for it, because he would have felt bad if that train had run into the rock and been smashed up. "I always did look upon wheelmen as a nuisance," said he, with refreshing candor. "They eat you out of house and home, and the fifty cents you charge 'em for it don't begin to pay for the damage they do; but now I know that they ain't a nuisance. I've seen that trestle, and I say that the boy who can ride over it in the dark has got the right kind of pluck to make a man out of him some of these days. No, sir, I won't tax you a cent for that breakfast; but I want to see the chap that went over that plank. Which one was it?" "It's nothing to make a fuss about," answered Joe, who knew that if he did not speak Roy and Arthur would. He thought the man would have something complimentary to say to him; but instead of that he pushed the register toward him with the request that Joe would draw a line under his name so that he (Kane) would know it the next time he saw it. "Do you know what I am going to do?" said he, when the boy handed back the pen. "I'm going to show that name to every wheelman who comes along, and double-dare him to go up to the trestle and ride over that plank. If he'll do it, and prove that he does it, I'll give him all he can eat as long as he has a mind to stay." It was right on the point of Roy Sheldon's tongue to inquire: "And will you expect him to sleep on the platform of nights?" But instead of that he said: "Then you will be bankrupt in less than six months if many wheelmen come this way." Old man Kane declared that he didn't believe a word of it, and the boys went out on the porch and sat down to read over the day's route, and fix it firmly in their minds, so that they would not be obliged to refer constantly to the guide-book. It was a short one, only twenty-six miles, but it was all they would want to do in one day, because it was the worst part of the sixty-mile mountain road that lay before them. The next day's run would take them to Glen's Falls, which, so the book said, was just the place for a brain-weary wheelman to stop and take a few days' rest. But in order to reap the full benefit of it, he ought to go at once, before telegraph communication was opened with the rest of the world, as it certainly would be next year. "As the book was written two years ago that means last year," said Joe. "Unless that conductor was greatly mistaken, the town is as much secluded now as it was then." "More so, and further away from telegraphic communication with the rest of the world," said Roy, "because that Buster band has driven every one away from there. Who knows but it will drive us away too? Let's get there and see." Having taken leave of old man Kane and thanked him for the good breakfast he had given them, the boys mounted and rode away. Joe Wayring was right when he said that Dorchester probably looked more cheerful in broad daylight than it did in the dark. Although there were but few people stirring, and they were mostly section hands, and there was little business done except at train time, it was a pleasant spot, and one that many a sweltering city boy would be glad to get away to during his summer vacation. The guide-book said there was fine fishing in the neighboring ponds, and the boys knew that squirrels were abundant, for they heard them barking on all sides as they crossed the railroad and wheeled away among the trees on the other side. This proved to be the hardest day's run so far, but the boys "took it easy," stopped beside every babbling brook they found, and long before the hands on their watches told them it was twelve o'clock, every crumb of the generous lunch that old man Kane put up for them had disappeared. The road was steeper than they expected to find it, the log bridges over the streams were not in the best of repair, and there were so many stones on the hill that any attempt at coasting would have been perilous. The house at which they intended to stop for the night, provided the owner did not object to the company of strangers, looked very cool and inviting when they came within sight of it. It was nestled among the trees at the farther end of a long bridge, there was a neat mill beside it, and the rumble of the machinery was just dying away as the boys drew up in front of the open door. "Hallo!" said a voice from the interior, removing all doubts from their minds at once. "How many of you fellows are there, anyway? Went down to New London t'other day and saw as many as seventy-five or thirty of you, all going somewhere, but you're the first to come our way this season. Alight and hitch." "Thank you; but our horses stand without hitching," replied Arthur. "Will it be convenient for you to keep us to-night?" The dusty miller, following his voice to the door, said it would not only be quite convenient, but he would be glad to do it, for he was lonely up there in the hills, and he and his family were always pleased to see new faces. The first wheelman who ever came that way stopped with him for a week, and promised to tell any who came after him to do the same. The miller was surprised when Arthur produced the road-book, showed him his name, and told him that they had had him and his house in mind ever since they left Mount Airy. "And do you mean to say that you have come that distance with nothing but a book to guide you?" he exclaimed. "Now that is the neatest kind of a trick, ain't it? Well, come in and we'll get some of the dust off." That night after supper, while they were sitting on the porch, the boys told Mr. Hudson (that was the miller's name) that they were going on to Glen's Falls with the intention of taking a few days' rest there, and to their surprise and relief he did not say a word to turn them from their purpose, as they were sure he would have done if the people in that neighborhood had been the desperate lot that the conductor represented them to be. This led Joe to believe that the conductor had been misinformed, and I heard him say as much to his chums when the miller went into the house after his pipe. "And don't you believe in the existence of the Buster band either?" I heard Roy ask him. "Oh, there may be lawless men about Glen's Falls, and where in the world will you go amiss of them?" answered Joe. "But I don't, and never have, put any faith in that story about an organized band of outlaws who terrorize the country, and roam around destroying buildings and stock when things do not go to please them. Why, just think of the absurdity of it! How long would it be before the whole power of the State would be put forth to bring them to justice?" "I never placed much faith in the tales I have heard and read of men being shanghaied and taken to sea against their will," said Roy, with a wink at Arthur; "but I do now." "I don't blame you," answered Arthur, "and we may be quite as willing to swallow all we have heard about that Buster band before we are a week older. I don't think that conductor meant to fool us, but he certainly did exaggerate things and make mountains out of mole-hills." I had hoped so all along, and now I began to be sure of it. You can imagine, then, how astounded and frightened I was when I heard the miller say to his wife, after Joe and his friends had gone up-stairs to bed: "I really wish those boys would keep away from Glen's Falls, for I am afraid they will get into trouble if they do not. I suppose I ought to tell them about the Buster band, who make targets of the officers of the law, and destroy the houses of those who complain of them, but, Mollie, I am afraid to do it. Every dollar I have in the world is invested right here beside this little stream of water, and if I tried to put the boys on their guard, and they should go up to the Falls and repeat what I said to them, how long do you think my buildings would stand? They're strangers to me, and I don't know how far to trust them." "And don't you remember that the detective who arrested that friend of Dave Daily's came up here on a wheel?" said Mrs. Hudson. "And haven't the band said that every man who comes into the country on a wheel can make up his mind to go out of it on foot? I think myself that your safest plan is to keep still. If you knew the boys could be depended on, the case would be different. I'm almost sorry you agreed to keep them all night." "So am I," said the miller. "I don't believe I shall ever do the like again." I shivered all over as I leaned against the side of the house and listened to this conversation. If my master had heard it, I am sure he would have turned back and given Glen's Falls a wide berth. CHAPTER XIV. ARTHUR'S READY RIFLE. Knowing nothing of the fears that disturbed the minds of the miller and his wife Joe and his friends slept soundly, and after an early breakfast resumed their journey with light hearts; but there was something in Mr. Hudson's manner, more than in his words, when he bade them good-by that made the boys wonder if he had anything on his mind that he was keeping from them. "You've had the best kind of luck so far and I hope it may continue; but I don't know," said he, kicking a pebble out of the path. "Looks to me as though wheeling through a country that you are not acquainted with, and going among people you don't know anything about, is mighty risky business. If I was your folks, I'd be sort o' uneasy till I saw you safe back." "I don't know whether we've had the best kind of luck so far or not," said Arthur, as the three lifted their caps to the miller's wife and wheeled away. "What would he say if he knew about Roy's long swim in New London harbor?" "Or about Joe's wild ride over that trestle?" chimed in Roy. "Of course he had good luck in getting over without a broken head, but it was bad luck that brought him into the scrape." "Mr. Hudson probably had reference to the dangers of wheeling, and not to anything else," replied Joe. "I wouldn't give a cent to go on a trip of this kind if we did not pass through a strange country and see new faces at every mile of the way. Now for a coast; the first we have had since we struck this lovely road. Look out for heads everybody." "And for the corduroy bridge at the bottom of the hill," added Arthur, quoting from the guide-book. The latter faithfully warned them of all the bad places that were to be found in the road when its author passed that way two years before, but it was silent on the subject of some things that were more to be feared than sticks, stones, and corduroy bridges. They encountered two of them about three o'clock that afternoon, when they thought they ought to be within a mile or two of Glen's Falls. Joe Wayring, who was leading the way, was the first to discover them. They were vagabond dogs which came slowly out of the thick bushes on one side of the road, dragging after them something that proved to be the carcass of a freshly slaughtered sheep. Now if there was anything in the world that Joe was afraid of it was an ugly dog; and that these brutes were ugly as well as bold (if they hadn't been bold they would not have killed that sheep in broad daylight) was quickly made apparent. The minute Joe came within sight of them he sounded his bell, whereupon the dogs dropped their prey and raised their heads; but instead of taking themselves off, as my master thought they would, they stood their ground, snarling and showing their white, gleaming fangs as a welcome to the advancing wheelman. "By gracious! They want a fight!" exclaimed Joe. "All right. They can have it," replied Roy. "Sheep-killing dogs have no rights that any one is bound to respect, and these villains have been caught in the act." "Down with them," cried Arthur, whipping his ready rifle from its case before his wheel fairly came to a standstill. "We've more right to the road than they have, and if they won't let us go by--" "Don't do anything hasty," interrupted Joe. "Think of the reputation of the people to whom these brutes undoubtedly belong, and bear in mind that we've got to go through Glen's Falls or turn back." "We haven't come almost fifty miles over the worst road in the United States to be turned back now," answered Roy. "Did anybody ever see uglier looking things, I wonder?" he added, as the two yellow, stump-tailed dogs, with their dripping lips raised, and their short ears laid back close to their heads, crouched upon the body of the sheep like panthers preparing for a spring. "Let's see what effect a stone will have upon their courage." By this time the young wheelmen had dismounted; they had to, for the savage beasts had possession of the road. There was room enough on one side to run by them, and Joe and his friends would have made the attempt if they had had any reason to suppose that the dogs would remain close to the sheep while they were doing it; but that would be taking too much risk. If the dogs jumped at them while they were going by, no matter whether they succeeded in laying hold of one of their number or not, they would be pretty certain to throw somebody from his saddle, and then there would be trouble. The unfortunate sheep's throat looked as though it had been cut with a knife, and that proved that their long teeth were sharp. Joe and Arthur were not in favor of beginning a fight with the dogs, hoping that if they were left alone they would drag the sheep across the road and into the woods on the other side; but before they could say or do anything to prevent it, Roy Sheldon made one of his sure, left-hand shots; a heavy stone took one of the canine vagabonds plumb in the mouth and tumbled him over backward. "Whoop-pee! That was a bully shot, Jakey," yelled Roy, recalling some of the incidents of the first battle he and his chums had with Matt Coyle and his family. "Throw another, Jakey. Great Scott! They're coming for us." That was plain enough to boys who could see as well as Joe and Arthur could. The stone certainly had an effect upon them, for they no longer stood on the defensive. They charged at once, the stricken brute leading the way, and his companion keeping close at his heels. I tell you the sight they presented was enough to frighten anybody, unless his nerves were made of steel, as mine were, but we did not run. I couldn't without help, and Joe and his chums wouldn't. In less time than it takes to tell it one of the charging brutes was knocked flat by a second stone from Roy's unerring hand, and the other fell with a bullet in his brain, shot fairly in the eye by Arthur Hastings's pocket rifle. But the death of his companion and the crack of the cartridge did not take the fight out of the surviving dog. Almost stunned as he was, he sprang up again in an instant, only to be floored by Joe Wayring. A second later Arthur's little rifle spoke again, and this time the dog did not get up. He was as dead as the sheep he had helped pull out of the bushes. [Illustration: The Death of Matt Coyle's Dogs.] "This is rather ahead of my time," said Joe, who was the first to speak. "I never dreamed that domestic dogs could be so savage. Why, a couple of wild-cats or panthers couldn't have made a worse fight, nor frightened me more," he added, lifting his cap and wiping the big drops of perspiration from his forehead. "I hope this is the last of it, but I'm afraid it isn't." Before Joe's friends had time to ask him what he meant, or to recover from the nervousness into which they had been thrown by the sudden onset of the sheep-killers, they heard a great crashing in the bushes, which were so thick on both sides of the road that one could not see any object in them at the distance of ten feet, and a heavy voice called out: "So you've come again, have you? Three on you this time 'stead of one. All right. I'll be there directly. I'm coming jest as fast as the bresh'll let me." "There comes the owner of these dogs," said Joe. "Now we are in for it sure." "Who cares?" replied Roy. "If he thinks we are going to stand still and let his ferocious dogs eat us up, he don't know us; that's all." Meanwhile the noise in the bushes grew louder, and now a tall, heavily built man forced his way out and stepped into the middle of the road. "Come again, have you?" was the way in which he greeted the boys. "And brung two fellers with you to help. Wal, you'll need 'em all. Take me, if you want to. See!" he went on rapidly, laying his rifle upon the ground and standing erect with his arms spread out as if to show that he had no other weapon about him. "I'll put my shooting-iron outen my hands and ask you again to take me if you have come here for that purpose. I double-dare you to lay a finger on me. Come now!" A blind man could have told by the tones of his voice that the new-comer was "as full of mad as he could hold"; so very angry in fact, that he scarcely took two looks at the boys to whom he was talking until after he had laid down his rifle and spread out his arms. When he saw that he was confronting a trio of boys, and not bearded men, he dropped his hands and gave utterance to two emphatic words; but as they were swear-words I don't repeat them. "Who did you think we were?" inquired Joe, who saw at once that the broad-shouldered backwoodsman had make a mistake. "I took you for jest what I thought you was--the detective that come up here on one of them two-wheeled wagons and run my pardner to earth like a woodchuck in his hole," said the man, nodding at the bicycles. "But you ain't, be you?" "Of course we are not officers," answered Roy. "We are tourist-wheelmen traveling for pleasure." "Oh," said the man, in a rather doubtful tone, as if he did not quite understand what the boys were, after all. Then he turned his head over his shoulder and shouted at the woods: "It is all right, boys, and you can come along without shooting. You see," he went on, as another crashing in the bushes told Joe and his friends that there were more men coming, "I seen you from my place up there on the mounting when you crossed over the brook below, and I was kinder laying for you. Understand? These here fellers are pardners of mine," he continued, as two stalwart woodsmen presented themselves to view. "They was laying back there in the bresh where they had a fair squint at you; if you'd a put a finger on to me when I dropped my rifle and told you to come on, some of you would have been deader now than them dogs you plumped over. What did you do it with? I heared something pop like a gun-cap, and over them dogs went." Arthur Hastings handed over his rifle because he held it in plain sight, and did not think it would be prudent to do anything else. The man seemed to grow friendly as soon as he was satisfied that the boys were not detectives who had come to the mountains for the purpose of arresting him, and Arthur was afraid that if anything were done to excite his rage, he might become as savage as the dogs from whose fangs he and his chums had been saved by his good shooting. The man took the pocket rifle with many exclamations of wonder and amusement, and while he and his "pardners" were giving it a good looking-over, Arthur and his friends improved the opportunity to take an equally close survey of the mountaineers; but there was some apprehension mingled with their curiosity, for they knew, as well as they knew anything, that they were in the presence of some of the Buster band. The first one who showed himself was Dave Daily, the leader of the band, who had been in hiding for a year or so to escape arrest. "That's a mighty cute little trick of a gun," said the latter, when he handed back the pocket rifle. "But you wouldn't like to bet a dollar that she can beat my deer-killer at the distance of a hundred yards, would you? No, I don't reckon you would, because you would be certain sure to lose your dollar. Do you know who's talking to you?" he added, abruptly. Joe replied that they not only knew his name, but that they had heard something about him down at Dorchester; and then he wondered why the man did not say something about the dogs that were lying in plain sight. Did they belong to him, and was he going to raise a fuss with his friend Arthur for shooting them? If he did, there would be but one way out of the scrape, and that was to pay the man every cent he chose to demand for the worthless brutes. "I'll bet you didn't hear nothing good about us down Dorchester way," said Daily, for it was he. "But I'll tell you what is a fact: We're not the terrible chaps that some folks would try to make you think we are. So long as everybody minds their own business and lets us alone, so long do we mind our business and let other folks be. Set down a while," he added, growing communicative, "and I'll tell you jest how the fuss commenced in the first place." There was nothing for it but to comply with this request, for Daily did not look or speak like a man who would take "no" for an answer unless he felt like it. So the boys leaned their wheels against convenient trees, seated themselves by Daily's side under the shade of another, while his two friends stretched their heavy frames upon the leaves close by, and the leader went on with his story. "Us and our folks was raised right here in this neck of woods, we've always lived here, and we don't know no other country outside," said he. "We never had no fuss with nobody so long as we was let alone. We cultivated our little craps, shot our meat in the woods when we wanted it, ketched our trout in the brooks, sot lines through the ice for pickerel in winter, went to school when we wanted to, and were happy like the Injuns was before the white man come to this country and drove them out. First thing we knew, some fellers down in Washington, wherever that is, kicked up a war with somebody else, and sent word to our folks that they'd got to come and help fight it out. Well, they wouldn't do it, our folks wouldn't, because it wasn't their fight, they hadn't no hand in getting it up, they didn't care which one whipped, and so they said they'd stay to home. Then what does them big fellers in Washington do but send an officer of some sort up here to take down the names of all of us, except the little boys, so't they could be drafted into the army. Our folks told him he wasn't wanted here and that he'd better go home, but he wouldn't, and so they run him out and everybody like him who came here afterwards." "In short, you resisted the draft," said Joe. "You're right we did, and we'll do it again," said Daily, in savage tones. "Whenever we raise a fight amongst ourselves, we stick to it till one or t'other gets licked; but we don't take up outsiders' quarrels. Well, that was where the fuss commenced, and for as much as four years our folks had to keep hid in the mountings so't them drafting officers couldn't get a hold of 'em. When the war was over we thought we should have peace and be let alone like we was before; but we wasn't. Some smart Alecks, who had been elected to go to the Capital, and who had never been up here, passed a law--without once asking us, mind you--that deer shouldn't be killed at such and such times; that trout mustn't be ketched only jest when they said so; and that if we didn't give some heed to them laws, they would take us up and put us in jail. Well, they tried it, and how did they come out? Tell me that, will you?" "At the little end of the horn," said one of the "pardners," who had thus far kept silent. "You're right they did, Spence; at the little end of the horn," exclaimed Daily. "And that's the way everybody will come out who takes it upon himself to make laws for us. We're free Amerikin citizens and we mean to keep so. We don't ask no outsiders to make laws for us, because we can take care of ourselves. We kept right along jest as we had always been doing, shooting deer whenever we wanted the meat (violating the law they called it), and one night Zeb Harris and me was took outen our beds and slapped into the jail down at Machias. You see we didn't have no jail up here at Glen's Falls, because we never needed such a thing. We knew well enough who it was that complained of us, for our friends kept us posted; so I writ him a little letter telling him what Zeb and me allowed to do as soon as we got out. We did get out pretty quick, and somehow everything happened to him jest as we said it would. While I was in jail I writ to the papers about it, so't the folks outside could know how we had been treated and trod upon, and all my pieces was published jest as I writ 'em. Don't believe it, do you?" said Daily, thrusting his hand into an inside pocket and pulling out a greasy note-book. "I want you to understand that I can write as well as anybody, even if I haven't had much schooling, and when it comes to poetry, I don't give in to no living man on top of the broad earth. Look at that, and see if you can beat it with all your education." As Daily said this he placed in Roy Sheldon's hands a clipping from a newspaper, with the request that he would "read her out loud so't everybody could hear it." The boy found that it was going to be a task to read it at all, for the paper had been so often and so roughly handled that in some places the words were quite obliterated. The poem, if that was the right name for the chief law-breaker's effusion, was nearly a column in length, and it required no little effort on Roy's part to make out the first two verses of it. They ran as follows: "it was in the town of glens fals as you shal understand thair lived a crowd of young men thay was cald the buster band and thay was accused of menny a bad deed let them be gilty or not but thay hunted deer the year round and for the wardens made it hot thair was one young man among them the wardens all knew wel and by this felows rifl thair was menny a fine deer fel he hunted upon an old stream i would have you all to know and sed that that was one place the wardens dast not go" "What was the reason the wardens dared not go there?" inquired Arthur, when Roy handed back the paper declaring that the letters were so dim he could not make sense out of the rest of it. "What were they afraid of?" "Of me. I was up there," answered Daily, who seemed to think he had done something very brave when he concealed himself in the woods and sent word back to the settlement that he would fire upon the first officer who came along his trail to arrest him. "I tell you it wasn't healthy around where I was about that time for anybody but me and my friends. If you don't believe it, read that." With the words another choice bit of composition was thrust into Roy's hand. It proved to be a warning to one of the recently appointed wardens that the Buster band, having "commenced the fun" by burning the house of the man who had dared to enter complaint against Dave Daily and his friend Zeb Harris, would keep it up by visiting the home of the warden if he did not at once throw up his office and let unlawful deer-hunters alone. There was still a third clipping which proved of more interest to the boys than either of the others, for it related to the detective who had come to Glen's Falls on his wheel. It was addressed to the very man whose house they had intended to make their headquarters during their stay at the Falls. It ran thus: "Mr. Jon Homes:--if you keep that black whiskered felow with the nee britches about your house any longer you will have roast pig to and in short order we know he is a detektive be cause he has been talking with one of our boys who he thinks is a spy on us in the pay of what you call the law and order sosiation but thair ant no spies amongst our crowd i want you to understand git rid of him for if you dont you will be burnt out before a week goes by we have started the fun and we will keep it up we mean bisness git rid of him and your all rite if you dont down she comes by the time you git this we shal have taken some of your stock as proof that we mean bisiness, from a frind remember." By the time Roy Sheldon had finished reading this precious document he and his two friends were so angry that they could scarcely refrain from telling Dave Daily what they thought of so mean and cowardly a villain as these productions of his proved him to be. Joe Wayring showed very plainly that he had had quite enough of this nonsense. He got upon his feet, brushed the leaves from his clothes, and remarked that it was high time he and his chums were moving. "What's your hurry?" inquired Dave. "You can't find no better company than we be anywhere about the Falls. Where do you stop when you get there, seeing there ain't no hotel to put up at?" "We're not going to put up at the Falls," replied Joe. "We shall stop there just long enough to buy a glass of milk or beg a drink of water of somebody, and then we shall take to the road for a ten-mile run before dark." "Those dogs over there," said Roy, jerking his head toward the prostrate animals, "disputed the right of way with us, and when I tried to drive them out of the road they came at us with such fury that we had to shoot them in self-defense. I hope they don't belong to any of you?" Roy said this, not because he cared a straw who owned the worthless curs, but for the reason that he felt some curiosity to know why Daily and his companions were so very indifferent regarding them and their fate. He had looked for a row the minute the men saw the bodies of the four-footed vagabonds; but instead of that, the woodsmen had not referred to the matter since they asked to see the weapon with which the shooting was done. "No; the dogs don't belong to none of us nor the sheep, neither," answered Daily. "Do you see them letters on the critter's head all mixed up together? That's Holmes's mark, and them dogs or any others are welcome to kill all the sheep he's got, for all we care. We don't like him none too well, for he harbored that detective till we told him to shove him out, and he would be one of the wardens if he wasn't afraid. Matt'll be staving blind mad when he hears of it, and mebbe you'd best keep outen his way when you get started, for he'll make you pay ten times what the critters was fairly worth. He sets a heap of store by them, for he brought 'em up here for watch-dogs to tell him when there was anybody coming to his shanty." "Did you say _Matt_ would be mad?" asked Joe, with a strange look on his face. "Matt who? What is his other name?" "His whole name is Matt Coyle," replied Daily. CHAPTER XV. MR. HOLMES'S WARNING. This was a surprise, and for some reasons it was a most disagreeable one. Of course Joe Wayring and his chums were not sorry that their old enemy, Matt Coyle, had escaped with his life when the canvas canoe was snagged and sunk in Indian River, but they were sorry that they had stumbled upon him in this unexpected way. Beyond a doubt Matt's failure to make himself master of the six thousand dollars that had been stolen from the Irvington bank, taken in connection with the loss of all his worldly goods and the imprisonment of his wife and boys, had had an effect upon him, and if such a thing were possible, Matt hated Joe and his friends with greatly increased hatred. The fact that the boys were in no way to blame for his misfortunes would not make the least difference to Matt Coyle. His bad luck began on the very day he made the acquaintance of the Wayring family, he looked upon Joe as his evil genius, and the young wheelmen knew well enough that unless they got out of the Glen's Falls neighborhood before Matt learned they were there, they would surely find themselves in trouble of some sort. "His whole name is Matt Coyle," repeated Daily. "He was the best guide, boatman and hunter down the Injun Lake way, but for some reason or other the rest of the men who were in that business didn't take to him, and so they clubbed together and drove him out. That wouldn't have been so very hard on Matt, for Ameriky is a tolerable big country and there's plenty of places for a guide and hunter to go; but they had to go and smash up everything he had so't he couldn't stay. They even took all his money and his rifle and clothes away from him, and turned him out to starve. He made his way up here by accident, and he's been living with us ever since. He's a good chap, and when he told me his story, I said to him that if I was in his place, I wouldn't sleep sound till every man and boy who had had a hand in mistreating me was burned outen house and home. Why, he lost six thousand dollars in hard money, Matt did; all the savings of years of honest work." "But he knows a way to get it all back and more too," said one of Dave's partners. "We expect him home with some of the boys to-day, and when he comes we'll all be rich." "Spence, you talk too much for a little man," said Dave, sternly. "Matt won't take it kind of you telling all his secrets. He warned us all not to say anything about it." "Fellows, we must be going," exclaimed Joe. "I know that everything these men have to say is full of interest, but listening to stories will not take us to our journey's end. By the way, how far is the railroad from here? I mean the one that runs through Dorchester?" "Fifteen miles, or such a matter," answered Daily. "But you couldn't never get there. The woods is so thick you couldn't take them wagons through. Your best plan is to stick to the road. Where did you say you was going to stop to-night?" "If we stay here much longer we'll have to stop in town," replied Joe. "We don't want to do that, so we shall keep going and get as close to a level country as we can before the dark overtakes us. Good-by." This was a moment that all the boys had been looking forward to with many misgivings. Would Daily and his men permit them to leave when they got ready? was a question that had often shaped itself in their minds, and which would now be answered in a very few seconds. To their immense relief the men who had been ready to shoot them half an hour before, showed no disposition to molest them or their property. They might be thieves and law-breakers, but they were not highwaymen. They said "So-long" very cordially, and saw the boys mount and ride away. "Now here's a mess, or will be if we don't make the best time we know how before night comes," said Arthur, when the first turn in the road took them out of sight of Dave Daily and his friends. "I don't know when I have been more astounded than I was when that outlaw pronounced Matt Coyle's name." "Didn't that juryman say that he believed Matt would some day turn up alive and as full of mischief as ever?" said Roy Sheldon. "And didn't we say that the Glen's Falls neighborhood would be just the place for him if he were on deck? Well, he's here. He must have had a time of it tramping all the way from Sherwin's Pond through the woods. But then I suppose he is used to such things." "He is at home wherever night overtakes him," said Arthur. "But I shouldn't think he would stick to the woods when there were so many roads handy." "Wouldn't he want to keep out of sight of the officers who were looking for the money he was known to have in his possession? So those six thousand dollars were the fruits of his honest toil, were they? And Matt was the best guide, boatman, and hunter in the Indian Lake country? That's news to me." "It's news to all of us," answered Joe; "but, to my notion, there's worse behind it. Where has Matt been with those men who are going to make the Buster band rich when they return?" "That's so," exclaimed Arthur. "Where has he? I noticed you inquired the distance to the railroad, and that made me think you were disturbed by the same suspicions I was. Do you believe Matt and his crowd were down there, and that they had anything to do with the rock we found on the track?" "I don't know what else to think," replied Joe. "It was the way those men acted rather than what they said that aroused my suspicions. Matt has been rich once, that is to say, he has had the handling of more money than he will ever make by his own labor, and isn't it natural to suppose that when he lost it he set his wits at work to conjure up some plan to get more? A man who will do the things Matt Coyle has done and threatened, will do worse if he gets the chance. It's time that fellow was shut up. The next time he tries to wreck a train he may be successful." This was all the boys had to say on the subject, but it was easy enough to see that they had resolved to put an officer on the squatter's track at the first opportunity. But then there was Tom Bigden, with whose doings I was by this time pretty well acquainted. Would they want him disgraced by the revelations Matt would be sure to make if he were brought before a court to be tried for his crimes? As Roy Sheldon afterward remarked, a big load would have been taken off Tom Bigden's shoulders if Matt Coyle had never been born. As soon as Daily and his men had been left out of sight Arthur Hastings began making the pace; and he made it so rapid that scarcely twenty minutes elapsed before they passed through an open gate and drew up before the back door of Mr. Holmes's house. They knew it when they saw it; and as they looked at all the evidences of thrift and comfort with which it was surrounded, they wished most heartily that Daily and all the rest of the Buster band might be brought to justice and that speedily. "Boys, we'll not put this fine property in jeopardy by stopping here," said Joe, in a low tone. "We'd be worse than heathen if we did, and Mr. Holmes ought to kick us off the place for hinting at such a thing. Good-evening, sir," he added, touching his cap to a gray-headed man in his shirt sleeves who just then came around the corner with a bucket of water in his hand. "Have you a pitcher of milk to spare, and can you give us a good big lunch to eat along the way?" "Oh, yes, I can do that," replied the man, whose countenance grew clouded when he saw the boys getting off their wheels, but brightened again at once when he learned that they did not intend to ask him for lodgings. "Plenty of milk and provender to spare, but no beds made up." "Mr. Holmes, we understand you perfectly," Joe hastened to reply. "We know just how you are situated, we sympathize with you, and we wouldn't stay in your house to-night if we knew your doors were open to us. We met Daily up the road a piece." "You did?" exclaimed Mr. Holmes. "And did you tell him you were going to stop here?" "We simply told him we should stop somewhere in town long enough to buy a glass of milk or beg a drink of water, and he raised no objection to it. I think you ought to know that Matt Coyle's dogs have been on the warpath again, and you have lost another sheep. Daily said it was in your mark." "That's too bad; too bad," said the old man, who had long ago ceased to hope for better times. "If they keep on they will kill all my stock. The members of the Buster band don't always go into the woods after meat now. The pastures are handier, and a sheep, calf, or nice young heifer is easier to shoot than deer. We can't prove anything against them, and are afraid to prosecute if we could." "Those dogs will never kill any more sheep for you," said Roy. "They wouldn't give us the road and we shot them. They're deader than herrings." I noticed that Roy always said "we" when speaking of this little circumstance. If anything unpleasant grew out of it, he did not mean that his friend Arthur should bear all the blame or take all the punishment. Mr. Holmes's face grew bright again, but he showed a little anxiety when he asked: "Did Daily see you do it, or does he know anything about it? Then I am surprised that he didn't make you pay for the dogs. Say," he went on, in a more guarded tone, "where are you going to stop to night?" Joe answered that they intended to camp in the woods, and hoped he could furnish them grub enough for supper and breakfast the next morning. "Of course I'll do that," said Mr. Holmes. "But take my advice and don't light a fire. The owner of the dogs you shot is a savage. He gets around at night as well as in the day-time, and since he came here last fall, he has put more mischief into the Buster band than they ever had in them before, and that was quite unnecessary. They never thought of shooting stock for their own use before he went among them, but they often do it now. They seem to take delight in breaking open every door that is fastened of nights, no matter whether they want to steal anything or not. I'd give something to know positively what that man Coyle intended to do with the spades, crowbar and axes he took out of my tool-house the other night." "What do you think he meant to do with them?" inquired Arthur, who thought from the way the man spoke that he had his suspicions. "I'm almost afraid to speak it out loud, for it don't seem possible that any man can be so wicked," replied Mr. Holmes. "The lawless acts of the Buster band have driven nearly everything away from us, but we've got the post-office left, and last night I got my weekly papers out of it. In one of them I read that a terrible railroad accident had been averted by the coolness and courage of a wheelman who rode across a trestle in the dark to warn the engineer of an approaching train that there was a rock on the track." "He rode over a trestle in the dark?" exclaimed Roy, who, impatient as he was to hear what else Mr. Holmes had to say, could not resist the temptation to torment Joe Wayring. "Now that's what I call pluck." "That is what the papers call it too," said Mr. Holmes. "Well, when the trainmen came to look into things they found that that rock didn't get upon the track by accident, but had been dug out of its bed on the top of the bluff and rolled there. Since then that bluff has been examined by detectives in the employ of the railroad, who found there a couple of spades, an axe and a crowbar all marked J.H. Those are the initials of my name, and they are on every tool I've got. They're in New London now, and if I thought anything would come of it, I would run down and look at them. If they are mine, that man Coyle was the leader of the gang who tried to wreck the train. At least he stole the tools, and I say he is the leader because the Buster band never would have thought of such a thing if he had not put it into their heads." "How do you know he stole your tools?" asked Roy, in some excitement. "Because I saw the prints of his feet in front of the door of the shop. They're as big as all out-doors, and his shoes are so nearly torn to pieces that it is a wonder to me how he can keep them on. Mebbe it's a little thing to build so much upon, but I know I am right," said the old man, earnestly. "If you could see that track once you would recognize it again the minute you saw it." Now, when it was too late to make amends for the oversight, Roy Sheldon proceeded to take himself severely to task for not making a closer examination of those big footprints he had seen about the rock. If Matt Coyle's track was there he could have picked it out from among the rest, for hadn't he and his companions taken a good look at it on the night Mr. Swan "surrounded" Matt's camp, and Matt crept up in their rear and stole all their boats? That "hoof" of his, as Mr. Swan called it, had "given the squatter away" on one occasion, and seemed in a fair way to do it again. Evidence that Matt was one of those who had tried to wreck the train was accumulating with encouraging rapidity. No doubt he and his gang had expected to bring a rich harvest out of that gulf after the sleeping passengers had been plunged into it, and that was what Daily's companion meant by saying that Matt would make them all wealthy when he came back. But what would they say when they learned that he had not brought a cent with him? "Of course it is not my place to offer advice, Mr. Holmes," said Arthur, at length, "but I really think it would be a good plan for you to go to the city and look at those tools. If they are yours you can say so, and may be the means of breaking up this nest of ruffians. There'll be a detective sent up." "But I don't want one sent here," exclaimed Mr. Holmes. "I'd be afraid to have him around, for the minute he went away I'd lose everything I've got." "He need not come near you," replied Arthur. "And he need not come on a wheel, either," added Joe. "If he does, he may get some innocent tourist into trouble. Let him be a tramp or a fugitive from justice, if you please." "That's the idea," interrupted the old man, excitedly. "Young fellow, your head's level. That would be his game, if he would only consent to play it, for fugitives and tramps are the ones the Buster band always receive with open arms." "That is what I thought. Well, they have a good one now, and what's more, they must like him, for Daily said Matt was a fine fellow; or something like that," soliloquized Joe. He did not utter the words aloud, for he wasn't sure it would be prudent to tell Mr. Holmes that he and his two friends were better acquainted with Matt Coyle than anybody in the Glen's Falls country. If they could help it, the boys did not mean to tell who they were or where they came from, for fear that the information might reach Matt's ears in a roundabout way. He was glad when Roy said: "Haven't we stayed here about long enough? If we want this to be our last night in the mountains we had better take to the road again." "I guess you had," replied Mr. Holmes, reluctantly. "I never was guilty of so inhospitable an act before, except when I showed Daily's letter to the detective who was stopping with me and asked him what I had better do about it, and I would not be guilty of it now if I could do as I pleased. Remember my advice and go to bed in the dark; for if you don't I am afraid you will have visitors before morning." The boys promised to bear the matter in mind, at the same time assuring the old man that it was no hardship for them to sleep out of doors, and Mr. Holmes hurried away to get the pitcher of milk and have a supper and breakfast put up for them. Being apprehensive that some of the Buster band might be on the watch, hoping to collect some damaging evidence against the farmer that would warrant them in burning his house, Joe Wayring and his friends did not once venture across the threshold, although often urged, but ate a lunch and drank their fill of milk while sitting on the back steps. When the boys offered to pay for being so royally entertained, Mr. Holmes would not listen to it. By putting it out of the power of those sheep-killing dogs to do any more mischief, they had done him and all the rest of the law-abiding men in the settlement a kindness, and he wished they could stay there for a week so that he and his neighbors might show them how grateful they were for it. If any citizen of that region had shot those dogs, he would have been homeless before another week had passed over his head. "I hope that Matt will not think that a citizen did do it, and proceed to wreak vengeance upon some one against whom he happens to hold a grudge," said Roy, as they moved swiftly out of the gate and turned down the road. "I still think that if Mr. Holmes and a few determined men would wake up and go about it in earnest, they could put an end to this reign of terror. I can't see why they don't try it." But there was one thing that Roy and his friends did not know, and Mr. Holmes had forgotten to speak of it. There was not a single building in Glen's Falls that had a dollar's worth of insurance upon it. The risks had all been canceled at the breaking out of the war of the Rebellion, and there had been none taken there since. This was one thing that made Mr. Holmes and his neighbors so very timid. The town of Glen's Falls was a dreary looking spot, as the boys found when they came to ride through it. There was a forest of fine shade-trees on each side of the wide principal thoroughfare, but there was grass instead of walks under them, and the buildings behind were rapidly falling to pieces. The evidences of former prosperity that met their eyes on every hand proved that there had once been money and brains in the place, and that it would have amounted to something before this time if Dave Daily and the rest of the Buster band had been out of the way. They slaked their thirst at a pump on the corner of a cross-road and continued on their way without meeting a single person. If it had not been for an occasional head they saw through the windows of some of the houses they passed, they would have said that the town was deserted. Their guide-book told them that the road that led from Glen's Falls through the mountains to the low country beyond was so plain it could not be missed, and perhaps it was when the man who wrote the book passed that way on his wheel; but it was not so now. Roads there were in abundance, and they all ran down hill in the direction the boys wanted to go; but they were filled with obstructions, and no particular one of them showed more signs of travel than another. "I'd like to see the fellow who says he had a mile of the best of coasting along this road try his hand at it now," said Roy, seating himself on a log and cooling his flushed face with his cap while he waited for one or the other of his friends to go ahead and take the lead. "I'm tired out, and if I was sure it would be quite safe to do so, I should be in favor of going into camp." "I don't believe he ever came along this road," said Joe. "We've got a little out of our reckoning, that's all." "And not only are there no cows near by to give us a drink of milk, but we wouldn't dare go after it if there were, for fear of that villain Matt Coyle," groaned Roy. "Doesn't it beat you how that fellow keeps turning up?" "And at the very time he isn't wanted," chimed in Arthur. "If you want to stop, all right; but don't let's stop here. I think it would be safer to go into the bushes and hide. I don't much like the idea of passing the night without a fire, but I confess that what Mr. Holmes said frightened me. I wish we might get a hundred miles away before Matt comes home and hears that his watch-dogs have been shot." The others wished so too, but they hadn't energy enough to go any farther that night, and besides the appearance of the road ahead of them was discouraging. It ran down a steep bank until it was lost among the trees and bushes as its foot, and probably there was another bank just as rough and steep on the other side of the brook which ran through the gully. They made the descent, and there they found a stream of water so sparkling and cold that the sight of it was more than they could resist. They carried their wheels into the bushes, making as little trail as possible, and at the distance of ten or fifteen yards from the road found a camping place; or, rather, a thicket that would be a nice spot for a camp when some of its interior was cut away so that they could spread their blankets. They did not use their camp-axes for fear that the noise they would necessarily make in chopping away the brush would serve as a guide to some one they did not care to see. They worked silently with their knives, and at the end of half an hour had as comfortable a camp as a tired boy would wish to see, if there had only been a cheerful fire to light it. They ate their supper in the dark, took a refreshing bath in the brook, and then lay down with their blankets about them and their loaded pocket rifles close at hand. This was the first time they had found it necessary to adopt this precaution, and they hoped it would be the last. About an hour after my master's regular breathing told me that he had fallen fast asleep, I was startled by hearing voices a little distance away. I could not tell which direction they came from, but I knew they were men's voices, and that they were angrily discussing some point on which there seemed to be a difference of opinion. I was still more startled when Arthur Hastings raised himself upon his elbow, shook Joe Wayring roughly by the shoulder, and whispered in his ear: "Wake up, here. Matt Coyle's coming." "Where?" asked Joe, who was wide awake in an instant. "Coming along the very road we'd had to go up if we'd climbed the hill on the other side of the brook," replied Arthur. "Do you hear that? They're stopping for a drink. Reach over and give Roy a shove. Be careful to put your hand on his mouth for he is apt to speak out when he is suddenly aroused." Be careful maneuvering on Joe's part Roy was awakened without betraying his presence to the men, who had by this time halted at the brook, and then the three boys sat up on their blankets and listened. CHAPTER XVI. TWO NARROW ESCAPES. "I tell you I feel so savage that I could bite a nail in two an' not half try," were the first words that came to the ears of the listening wheelmen. They were preceded by a long-drawn sigh of satisfaction, such as a thirsty boy sometimes utters when he has taken a hearty drink of water. "Seems to me that I can't turn in no direction no way but I find them oneasy chaps at my heels to pester the life out of me. They're to blame for me losin' them six thousand dollars of mine that I worked hard fur, dog-gone 'em." How the boys trembled when that harsh voice grated on their ears. It was Matt Coyle's, sure enough. They had heard it so often that there could be no mistake about it. "They was the ones that blocked this little game of mine, an' sent me an' the fellers hum empty-handed when we thought to come back rich," Matt went on, growing angrier and raising his voice to a higher key as he proceeded. "I seen 'em as plain as daylight; an' now I come hum to find that they've been here an' shot them two dogs that I was dependin' on to keep the constable away from my shanty. Did anybody ever hear of sich pizen luck?" "If you saw them there at the rock, what was the reason you did not drive them off so't the train could run into it?" inquired another familiar voice,--in point of fact, the voice of Dave Daily. The boys were surprised to know that he was there, and wondered if he had come out to meet Matt and put him on their trail. If he had, what was his object in doing it? Did he want to see them punished for shooting those savage dogs, or did he want to have them robbed? "You say you and your crowd worked hard to get that rock down the bluff and onto the track, and yet you sot there in the bresh and let one single boy turn you from your purpose, which was to bust up the train," continued Daily. "He must have been alone, for you say yourself that one of his friends went one way and t'other went t'other to tell the engineer to watch out. Why didn't you go down and pitch him into the ravine?" "What would have been the good of doin' that, seein' that Joe an' Arthur had already went off?" demanded the squatter, with some show of spirit. "An' don't I tell you that he had a pistol or something in his hand." Daily uttered an exclamation of impatience. "'Twasn't a pistol nor nothing of the sort," said he. "It was a little pop-gun that wouldn't hit the side of a barn nor shoot through a piece of card-board. Before I would say that I was scared by a little thing like that I would go off and hide myself; wouldn't you, Spence?" "Them pop-guns was big enough an' ugly enough to kill them two dogs of mine, an' I ain't got no call to face sich we'pons," retorted Matt, who, as you know, always took care to look out for number one. "An' here we've been hidin' around in the bresh fur most a week, fearin' the officers, when we might as well come hum to onct. That's another thing that makes me mad. I do wish I could get my two hands onto them boys fur a little while, an' you fellers here to help me. I'd larrup 'em so't they wouldn't ever come nigh here agin, I bet you." "I don't know whether you would or not," replied Daily. "I kinder liked 'em, and as long as they ain't officers--" "That's so," interrupted Matt. "But they're jest the chaps to put the constables onto your trail an' mine. That's their best holt. Didn't you say that if you was in my place you wouldn't rest easy till everybody who had had a hand in mistreatin' you had been burned outen house an' home? Well, them are three of 'em." "Now why didn't you say so?" demanded the chief of the Buster band. "If we'd only knowed that, we'd a kept 'em for you," added Spence's voice. "Wouldn't we, Dave? Now that I come to think of it, the youngsters never told us who they was or where they come from, and we didn't think to ask them." "They'd a lied to you if you had," said Matt, and the boys judged by the sound of crunching gravel that he was pacing back and forth across the road like some caged wild animal. "That's the kind of fellers they be; an' now I'll tell you what's a fact: If you don't help me ketch them fellers an' hold 'em so't they can't get away till we get ready to let 'em, this country of your'n will be thick with officers afore two weeks more has gone by. That's the way it was down to Injun Lake." "And this is what we get by taking you in and feeding you when you was nigh about dead, is it?" exclaimed Daily, in angry tones. "I bet you that the next tramp who comes this way will be kicked out before he has time to tell his story. You've brought some of our boys into trouble by talking them big notions of your'n into their heads, and telling how easy it was to smash a train and get thousands of dollars outen the pocket of the folks--Ugh! I can't bear to think of what fools we made of ourselves by listening to you. Now you clear yourself, before we make an end of you for good." "I come here 'cause I had to go somewhere, didn't I?" said Matt, in tones that were fully as angry and fierce as Daily's. "I'm sorry enough I done it, for you're not the men I took you for. You're willin' to stand here with your hands in your pockets an' let them rich folks tell you what an' when you shall eat." "No, we ain't," roared Daily. "We're free Amerikin citizens, and we don't allow nobody to tell us what we shall do." "Well, then, what makes you talk to me that-a-way?" cried Matt. "I come here to help, an' I've told you of more ways to bother the folks who want to make laws for you than you would have thought of in ten years' time. As fur puttin' that rock on the track, nobody suspicions who done it, an' we laid around in the bresh so't the officers, if any happened to be here, shouldn't see us comin' from t'wards the railroad. I'm free to say that I didn't want to go down to the track alone an' face the we'pon that Sheldon boy had in his hand (I knowed him dark as it was), but I offered to go if any one would go with me; an' they wouldn't. Ask 'em if it ain't so." This proved to Roy Sheldon's entire satisfaction that he had done the right thing when he pulled his pocket rifle from its case, shoved a cartridge into it, and prepared to defend himself if the train-wreckers thought it best to attack him. It seems that they did watch him and discuss plans for getting him out of their way, but some of the timid ones among them saw the light reflected from the nickel-plated ornaments on his rifle, and could not muster courage enough to show themselves. "Nobody don't suspicion that we put the rock on the track," repeated Matt, "an' that ain't why the officers will come here. You're the one who done the mischief--you, yourself. As soon as one of them boys began to let on that they knowed who you was, you showed them all the letters an' things you writ for the papers, an' talked to 'em like they was friends of your'n. You will find yourself in trouble all along of that nonsense, if you don't do what I say." "That puts a different look on the matter," said Daily, in a much milder tone, "and, Matt, I'm sorry I jawed you that-a-way. Fact of it is, I couldn't help it. We've been in a power of trouble and trib'lation ever since them rich folks down to Washington sent for us to go and fight their war for 'em, and then went and made laws against shooting deer and ketching trout, and we've got pretty well riled up. What do you think we had best do?" "Nab them boys fust an' foremost," said the squatter emphatically. "That's the fust thing; then, after I have had my satisfaction outen 'em, by tyin' 'em to a tree an' larrupin' 'em with hickories, like I would have done with that there pizen Joe Wayring if them friends of his'n hadn't come up an' rescooed him--after I've done all that, I'll take a day off an' think what we'll do next. One thing is sartin: them boys must not be let go out of these mountings till their mouths has been shut about the Buster band in some way or 'nuther." "Ketching of 'em is going to be the hardest part of the whole business," remarked Spence. "They skum along right peart after we let them go, and I b'lieve they are plumb outen the mountings by this time. If they are--" "But they ain't, I tell you," Matt Coyle interposed. "It don't lay in no steam injun, let alone a bisickle, to get outen these mountings betwixt five o'clock an' dark. They're camped summers between here an' Ogden, an' all we've got to do is to circle round to our usual lookin'-out place an' stay there till we see 'em comin'; then we'll run down an' stop 'em. When I get my hands onto 'em they'd best watch out, fur I feel jest like poundin' 'em plumb to death to pay'em fur stickin' that innercent ole woman of mine in jail. An' the boys too; the very best, honestest an' hardest workin' boys that any pap ever had. They're likewise shut up all along of that pizen Joe Wayring an' his rich friends." These words were followed by the strangest sounds the boys had ever heard. If they had not known Matt Coyle as well as they did, they would have been sure he was crying. All this while the men (and there seemed to be a large party of them) had been taking turns drinking at the brook; and having quenched their thirst they started on again with a common impulse, not along the road, but up the stream on whose right-hand bank the boys were encamped. There could be no doubt of it, for there was no longer any crunching of gravel under the heels of their heavy boots, but the bushes snapped and swayed, and the voices came more distinctly to their ears. Matt Coyle was the one who did most of the talking. He did not seem to take his failure to wreck the train so very much to heart, but he bewailed the loss of his dogs, whose good qualities could not be enumerated by any one man, and asked who would warn him now if the officers came to his shanty some dark night to arrest him. "They are coming this way as sure as the world," whispered Roy, drawing his feet closer to him and placing an elbow on each knee so that he could have a dead rest with his rifle. "Why don't the fools stick to the road? It's easier walking there than it is in the bushes." "This is no doubt a short cut to their hiding-place," replied Joe. "Stand together, fellows, and we'll show them what we are made of. We'll give them fair warning, and if they are foolish enough to disregard it, they will have to take the consequences." "That's what's the matter," whispered Arthur, cautiously moving a little closer to his friends. "I'm afraid, but I'll never be tied to a tree and whipped; they can bet on that." I can not begin to tell you how frightened I was as I stood there and listened to the voices and footsteps of those desperate men who were every minute drawing nearer to our place of concealment. Remember, I was utterly helpless. However good my will may have been, I did not possess the power to do the first thing to aid my master in the fight which I firmly believed would be commenced in less than ten seconds. And bear another thing in mind: If the young wheelmen were found there, and were overpowered and taken captive, the shooting of Matt Coyle's worthless dogs was not the only thing for which they would be punished. They knew Matt's secret. They knew that he and some of his party had tried to wreck a train. They had talked about it where the boys could plainly hear every word they uttered. Of course Matt would know it, if he found them there in the bushes, and what would he do? How would he go to work to "shut up their mouths," as he had spoken of doing? I assure you this thought was enough to make even my steel nerves shake; and I believe it must have passed through Joe Wayring's mind and frightened him, for I heard him say, in a scarcely audible whisper: "It's do or die, fellows. That villain will be wild with rage if he learns that we heard all he said to Dave Daily. If the worst must come, be sure of your man before you shoot." That moment's terrible suspense is something I never shall forget; then the reaction came, and I felt as if I were going to fall in a heap like a piece of wet rope. There was a tolerably well-beaten path along the bank of the brook, but it was on the other side. Dave Daily and his gang of villains followed it, and that was all that saved us. If there had been a spark of fire on our side the brook as big as the end of your finger, I should have had a different story to tell. I was so confused that I could not pay any attention to their conversation, but I counted them as they passed along in Indian file, and when at last they were out of hearing and Roy Sheldon spoke, I knew his count agreed with mine. "Thirteen," was all he said; and then he lay down on his blanket and probably looked as nerveless as I felt. "And at least half of them must have been with Matt," added Arthur Hastings. "I know it took six or seven men to roll that bowlder out of the ditch and place it on the track. Great Scott! Wasn't that a narrow escape!" "I'd like to know how we shall come out to-morrow," said Joe, anxiously. "That 'looking-out place' that Matt spoke of must command a view of the road along which we will have to go to get to Ogden, and if we do not mind what we are about, Matt will meet and stop us there." This was another thing the young wheelmen had to worry over, and taken in connection with the vivid recollection of the exciting scene through which they had just passed, it effectually banished sleep from their eyes for the rest of the night. And daylight was a long time coming, as it always is when anxiously waited and watched for. They ate breakfast as they had eaten supper--in the dark--and when the birds began singing picked up their wheels and struck out for the road, which they found to be quite as bad as it looked on the previous evening. The first hill they encountered was a hard one, as they knew it was going to be, and when they gained the top they had to go down again on the other side. Of course the woods were about as dark as they could be, and it was anything but pleasant for the leading boy to feel his way while trundling his wheel beside him. But the fear of Matt Coyle's wrath and the hope of passing his "looking-out place" before the sun arose, drove them on, and to such good purpose that, by the time they could see to ride, they found themselves on a smooth, well-traveled highway. They did not stop to ask one another whether or not it was the road they wanted to find. It led away from the mountains, and that was all they cared to know. "Away we go on our wheels, boys," sang Joe; and suiting the action to the word he sprang into his saddle and set out at a lively pace. "Now, Matt Coyle, come on. It would take a better horse than you ever did or ever will own to stop us." "But a stick thrown into the road might do the business for us," suggested Roy. "You don't suppose Matt knows that, do you?" said Arthur. "Does anybody see anything that looks as though it might be used for a lookout station?" Nobody did. There was nothing to be seen but a cultivated field on the right hand, a thickly wooded hill-side on the left, and a farm house in the distance. True there was a high, bald peak a little to the left of the hill over which the road disappeared, but it was all of ten or fifteen miles away, and a man stationed on its summit would have needed a good glass to make us out. At least that was what Joe Wayring said, and then he dismissed all fears of Matt Coyle from his mind, and made a motion with his hand as if to throw open the breech of his pocket rifle, which he had thus far carried in readiness for any emergency that might arise, and remove the cartridge; but, on reflection, he decided to wait a little longer. It was lucky he did so, and that his companions followed his example. If the Buster band really had a "looking-out place" anywhere within sight of the road I don't know it, but I do know that by taking short cuts through the mountains they managed to reach the highway in advance of us, for when we reached the top of the hill of which I have spoken, and the wheelmen were about to stow the rifles in their cases preparatory to a coast, Matt Coyle and Dave Daily suddenly stepped out of a thicket on one side of the road, and as many more ruffians arose from behind the fence on the other. They were about thirty yards away, and although all except Matt carried guns in their hands, I was relieved to see that there was not a club or stone among them. They supposed that all they had to do was to form across the road, call upon the boys to halt, and they would be obeyed. "Them's the fellers--the very chaps I've been a-lookin' fur," yelled the squatter, shaking his fists in the air and striking up a war-dance in the middle of the road. "Now I'll have the whole on you, an' there won't be nobody to interfere when I--" "Full speed, boys," said Joe, in a low tone. "Hold fast to your guns and be ready to stop if anybody gets unhorsed. It's our only chance. Get out of the way," he cried, flourishing his cocked rifle above his head with one hand while he guided me with the other. "Get out of the way or we will run you down. If we strike you, you are dead men." It never occurred to Matt and Dave to ask each other what would become of the boys themselves if their headlong progress were suddenly stopped, and neither did they linger to try the experiment. The three Columbias fairly whistled through the air; and when Matt saw that his peremptory orders to halt were disregarded, and that we were charging down upon him with apparently irresistible force, he scuttled out of the way with the greatest haste, and Dave Daily, the terrible man who hid in the woods and shot at officers unawares, was not an inch behind him. "Look out for them pop-guns," he yelled. "Yes, look out for them," shouted Arthur. "They're death on all sorts of varmints." In less time than it takes to tell it the danger was over. Moving abreast and going at almost railroad speed we flew down the hill, and the way was clear. I caught just one glimpse of Matt Coyle's scowling and astonished face as we sped by, and that was the first and last time I ever saw him. After that I did not wonder that my master and his friends were resolved to fight to the death and take any risks rather than fall into his power, for if I ever saw an evil face I saw it then. But the man who carried it around with him was a coward, and so was the leader of the Buster band, who was afraid of the pocket rifles. If those handy little weapons had brought their owners into difficulty, they had also assisted in getting them out of it. Being afraid to apply the brakes the boys regulated their speed with the pedals as well as they could, and when the foot of the hill was reached they stopped and looked behind them. There was no one in sight. [Illustration: The Run for Safety.] "That was another tight squeak," said Roy, holding fast to his wheel with one hand and fanning himself with the other, as he always did when a halt was made, "and nothing but Matt's ignorance and Dave's brought us through. Well, I don't know that we are to blame if they didn't have sense enough to throw something in the road in front of us." The excitement for that day was all over now, and I was very glad of it. The road being good and the coasting places frequent, we bowled along at a lively pace, and at four o'clock in the afternoon rode into the village of Ogden, where we halted for the night. One of the loungers on the porch was reading aloud from a weekly paper which had but just arrived with news that was no news to city people by this time. Of course the work of the train-wreckers was given a prominent place, as well as a lengthy notice. As I leaned against the porch and listened, I asked myself what those loungers would have said if some one had told them that the three dusty boys who had just disappeared through the doorway were the ones who brought the efforts of the train-wreckers to naught. Roy and Arthur respected Joe's wishes, and never, in any one's hearing, spoke of what he had done that night. CHAPTER XVII. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. From the morning Joe Wayring and his friends left Ogden up to the time they wheeled over the old familiar road that led into Mount Airy, not a single thing happened to mar the pleasure of their trip. I do not mean to say that the roads were always good, or that they were never weather-bound; for those petty annoyances fall to the lot of every tourist, he expects them, and knows how to make the best of them. But they found no more train-wreckers along the route, nor were there any Buster bands or Matt Coyles to be afraid of. They spent many a night in camp; their pocket rifles brought them all the young squirrels they cared to eat; they encountered tramps on nearly every mile of the way, and although they never had the least trouble with these social outcasts, they listened to a story from the lips of two of them that interested them exceedingly, and proved to Roy Sheldon's entire satisfaction that the clear-sighted Joe Wayring had hit pretty close to the mark when he declared that Roy's presence aboard the White Squall had not been brought about by accident. Their destination was Plymouth, a little sea-port town situated on a bay of the same name. They spent a day roaming about the wharves, looking at everything there was to be seen, especially the ships, which would hardly have attracted more than a passing notice from them, had it not been for Roy's experience in New London harbor. They went aboard of one, looked all over it, marveled at its strength and more at the power of the winds and waves which could so easily make a wreck of man's best handiwork. They turned up their noses at the dingy forecastle, smelling of tar and bilgewater, and wondered how any one could bring himself to bunk in it during a long voyage. "I would much rather sleep on a bed of hemlock boughs," said Joe, "and go out in the morning and catch my own breakfast from the sparkling waters of a lake or brook, and serve it up on a piece of clean bark. If I had been in love with the sea when I came here, I would be all over it now." "It's rough, isn't it?" said Roy, as he and his companions went down the gang-plank to the wharf; and he trembled all over when he thought how near he had come to being carried to distant countries against his will. "The little I saw of a sailor's life while I was on the White Squall convinced me that the officers are more to be dreaded than the forecastle. They can be as brutal as they please when they are out of sight of land, and there's no law to touch them." "There's law enough," answered Joe, "but the trouble is, a sailor man can't use it. Suppose he has the officers of his vessel arrested for cruelty while he has the rest of the crew at hand to prove it against them. They are put under bonds, but the case is postponed on one pretext or another, and while that is being done, how is Jack going to live? Of course the minute he gets ashore he makes haste to spend his wages, and when his last dollar is gone what recourse has he but to ship for another voyage? Then the case is called, and there being no one to prosecute, the captain and his mates are discharged and go aboard their vessel to play the same game over again." "That's about the way those light-ship men put it when I threatened to have Captain Jack punished for kidnapping me," said Roy. "That may be law, but it isn't justice. I wonder where the White Squall and Tony and Bob are now." "I shouldn't think you would care," replied Arthur. "I know I shouldn't if I had been treated as you have." "I don't much care what becomes of the ship and her officers, but I am sorry for the crew. I tell you that Tony and Bob were shanghaied the same as I was." Becoming weary of Plymouth and its surroundings at last, the boys took the road again, this time with their faces turned toward Mount Airy. They went back by a different route, as they intended to do when they set out; but they had another reason for it now. Money would not have hired them to return across the mountains and take their chances of capture by Matt Coyle and the Buster band. Now that they could think over their adventures with calmness, they were surprised at the ease with which they had slipped through those ruffians' fingers. They knew they couldn't do it again, and they would have gone home by rail rather than try the mountain route a second time. There was one thing about it, Arthur repeatedly declared: The man who wrote their guide-book must be posted so that he could warn wheelmen to keep away from Glen's Falls until the mischief-making squatter and his new allies had been arrested and lodged in jail. On the afternoon of the second day after leaving Plymouth, the boys came suddenly upon a couple of tramps who had halted under the shade of a tree by the road-side to eat the bread and meat they had begged at the nearest farmhouse. But these men were not like the other tramps they had seen. They were sailors on the face of them, and looked out of place there in the country so far from salt water. Roy Sheldon was sure there was something familiar about them, and hardly knowing why he did so, he called out, as he moved past them, "Bob, Tony," whereupon the men jumped to their feet and stared hard at him without saying a word. They were evidently frightened, and would have taken to their heels if they had seen the least chance for escape. "I declare, I believe they are Tony and Bob," said Roy, who was utterly amazed at the effect his words had produced upon the tramps; and turning about, he rode back to the tree under which they stood. "How in the name of all that's wonderful did you get stranded here?" "Is--is it Rowe Shelly?" one of the men managed to ask. "Yes, sir, they are Tony and Bob," exclaimed Roy, getting off his wheel and nodding at his companions. "Dusty as they are, I know them. What's the matter?" he added, as the men began backing away as if they did not want him to come any nearer. "You are not afraid of me, are you? I am not a ghost, and neither am I Rowe Shelly, although my name sounds somewhat like his, and I have been told that I look like him. I am a different boy altogether. Now let's have the straight of this thing before we go any farther. I saw you carried to sea on the White Squall. How did you escape from her, and where is she now?" "At the bottom of the ocean," replied one of the men; and the boys thought from the way he spoke he was glad to be able to say it. "At the bottom of--" began Roy, incredulously. "Serves her just right. She had no business to--but everything goes to show that you took me aboard of her on purpose to have me kidnapped. What have you to say about it? Sit down and eat your dinner. You can talk just as well, and you act as though you were very hungry." "So we are, sir," said the one whom Roy had picked out, and who he afterward addressed as Tony. "We never done such a thing before, sir, but we had to come to it. It's no use trying to hide the truth any longer, for it has come out on us. Yes, sir; me and Bob did take you aboard that ship on purpose." "There, now," cried Joe, indignantly, while Arthur Hastings looked and acted as though he wanted to light. "But what object did you have in doing it?" continued Roy. "Who put you up to it--Willis?" "He's the very chap, sir: but we've been punished for it, and we hope--" "You've nothing whatever to fear from me, if that is what you want to say," interposed Roy, who was impatient to get at the bottom of what was to him a deep mystery. "You know how I got away, and here I am, safe and sound. Your actions proved that you did not think you were going to be shanghaied yourselves--what are you looking for?" "You're right we didn't know it, sir," answered Tony, who pulled out his ditty-bag, and after a little fumbling in it drew forth a piece of soiled paper which he handed to Roy. "That, sir, is the letter I took to Cap'n Jack that night. If I had only known what was writ onto it, me and Bob would have kept clear of that ship, you may be sare. The cap'n dropped it on deck shortly after you went overboard, and I made bold to pick it up without saying a word to him about it. I thought it would come handy some day. Read it for yourself, sir, and you will see that me and Bob was innocent of any intention of doing the least harm to you, sir." "Didn't you know that I was going to be kidnapped?" exclaimed Roy, almost fiercely. "You did. Everything goes to prove it; but you thought you could get me into trouble and slip off the ship without getting into trouble yourselves." "Not a bit of it, sir," said Tony, with so much earnestness that Roy was almost ready to believe him. "Read that paper, and then I will tell you just what was said and done in my house on the beach while you was fast asleep up-stairs." The letter, which bore neither date nor signature, ran as follows: "CAPTAIN JACK ROWAN:--Knowing that you have been delayed nearly three weeks waiting for a crew, I send you three men who, I think, will be of use to you. Two of them used to be sailors, but the other is green and will have to be broken in. Ask no questions, but take them along. A FRIEND." Roy Sheldon was so surprised that he could not speak again immediately. He leaned his wheel against the tree, looked first at Tony and then at his friends, and finally sat down on a convenient bowlder. "Seems to me that there letter clears me and Bob of everything except taking you aboard the White Squall when we didn't want to do it," said Tony, after a pause. "We was as innocent as babbies of what happened afterwards." "If you didn't want to do it what made you?" demanded Joe. This brought Tony to the story he had to tell; and as I believe I can make it clearer to you than he did to Joe and his friends, I will tell it in my own language. Rowe Shelly's guardian, who was fond of the water, kept a swift sailing-vessel as well as a steam yacht, and Tony and Bob Bradley belonged to it. The colonel furnished them a house, gave them regular employment during the yachting season, and in the winter time permitted them to make what money they could by shooting water-fowl at the lower end of the island for the New London markets. They knew nothing whatever of the colonel's private affairs. They had heard a good many rumors. "I want to say a word right there," interrupted Roy. "Where did those rumors come from?" The boys had seated themselves on the ground on each side of the sailors, who ate their dinner as they talked. Tony acted as spokesman, but his brother jogged his memory with a word now and then. The former could not say where the rumors came from, but the mischief was all done by an old sailor, who settled on one of the uninhabited islands in the harbor and went to fishing for a livelihood. Rowe Shelly chanced to run athwart his hawse one day while sailing about in his boat. He talked with the old fellow for more than two hours, and when he came home he exploded a bomb-shell in his guardian's ear. In other words, he told the colonel that there was no relationship between them; that he had no business with the money he was squandering; that his father had not been lost at sea, as the colonel affirmed; that he was still alive, and so was his mother; that they lived in Chelsea, Maryland; and that he was going to them as soon as he could get off the island. "I know that was a sassy way for him to talk to the man who had always been so good to him, seeing that he hadn't no better evidence than an old sailor-man's unsupported word to back him up," said Tony, "but the way the colonel acted satisfied Rowe at once that there was more'n a grain of truth in what he had heard. The first thing he done was to take away the boy's boat, and shut him up on the island as close as if it had been a jail, and his second, to get rid of the fisherman. How he done it nobody seems to know; but he wasn't never seen again, nuther by Rowe Shelly nor nobody else. But the mischief had been done, and the first thing we knowed, Rowe Shelly couldn't be found. How he got off the island nobody couldn't tell, but he and his bisickle was gone. They was gone for more'n two weeks; but Willis, who acts like he was as big a man on the island as the colonel himself, follered him up and ketched him with the help of detectives." "How did this fisherman happen to know so much about Rowe's father and mother?" inquired Arthur. "He was shipmates with 'em; lived next door to them in some town down South," replied Tony. "He knowed the little boy, Rowe Shelly, and used to trot him on his knee and tell him stories of furrin parts, and he knowed well enough that there was some sort o' hocus-pocus about it, or the colonel wouldn't never had that money the old grandfather left. You see it sorter hurt the old feller when Cap'n Shelly, who was his only child, married a widder with a growed-up son against his will, and it hurt him, too, to have the cap'n keep on going to sea when he didn't want him to; and so he said that the cap'n shouldn't never have a red cent of his money. But when Grandfather Shelly found that he'd got to pass in his checks, and that the dark river was waiting for him, he gives in and willed all the money to the cap'n, provided he would settle down on shore." When this happened, as you have already heard, Captain Shelly was at sea. His ship, the Mary Ann Tolliver, was lost, and as nothing was heard from him or any of the crew everybody supposed that all hands had been lost with her. This was the opportunity for the rascally step-son, and straightway he was up and doing. With his mother's full and free consent he was appointed Rowe's guardian and administrator of the property that had fallen to him, and then he was in clover. Finding that the boy's mother was in his way, and that she was strenuously opposed to any squandering of Rowe's money, he proceeded to rid himself of her presence. He did not exactly turn her out of doors, as Rowe thought he did, but he _lost_ her--sent her away on a visit, and when she returned he wasn't to be found. He and Rowe were in Europe, and there they stayed until the guardian thought she had had ample time to die or forget him. Then he came back, bought an island in New London harbor, so that he could not readily be intruded upon and Rowe could not easily slip out of his grasp if he wanted to, and set himself up for a gentleman of wealth and leisure. In the mean time Captain Shelly and some of his men, who had been picked up and carried to some distant port, returned, and the captain and his wife were reunited; but the former, being broken in health and spirits and ruined financially (every dollar he owned in the world went down with his ship), did not and could not make any very persevering effort to find out what had become of his scapegrace step-son and the little boy who was worse than orphaned. After a year or two spent in useless search he gave them up for lost; but others interested themselves in the matter, not for the purpose of aiding in restoring Captain Shelly to his rights, but simply to benefit their own pockets, and two of them, who succeeded in learning enough to keep Rowe's guardian in constant fear of exposure, were Willis and his son, Benny, who were given a home and paying situations on the island. "If that isn't the biggest piece of villainy I ever heard of I wouldn't say so," exclaimed Joe, his face flushing with honest indignation. "Did you ever talk to Rowe Shelly about these things?" "Who? Me?" cried Tony, in surprise. "Not by a great sight, sir. If I had, I would have been bundled off that there island so quick that I couldn't have told what my name was. I had a good home, and didn't want to lose it by meddling in things that didn't concern me." "Well, your story agrees with the one Rowe told us on the night our friend was kidnapped and taken to the island, and I, for one, am inclined to believe it." "I give it to you, sir, just as I got it," answered Tony. "You asked what them rumors was that we heard, and I have told you. If there wasn't no truth in 'em, what made the colonel act as he did--take the boy's boat away from him and keep him close about home, with orders to all of us from Willis to watch out for him?" "That also confirms Rowe's story," said Arthur. "You know he told us he thought every one on the island was hired to keep an eye on him. We are all satisfied so far," he continued, turning to the old sailor. "Now, go ahead and tell us how you came to take Roy Sheldon over to that ship when you didn't want to?" "Me and Bob never served aboard that ship till we was shanghaied on her," answered Tony, "but we had heard enough about her to make our hair stand on end. She was so rotten in some places that you could jab a knife into her timbers the whole length of the blade, and the companies wouldn't put a cent of insurance on her, and nobody but such reckless men as Cap'n Jack and his mates would sail on her. They got good pay for doing it, and for shipping crews against their will and holding a still tongue about the vessel's condition. But she's gone now," said Tony, rubbing his horny hands together almost gleefully, "and nobody will ever be fooled with her again. She sprung a leak in less'n half a gale 'bout two hunderd miles off the Cape, and went down like a log spite of all we could do at the pumps. We kept her afloat for seventy-two hours, and just as we were nigh going down, the brig Sarah West took us off and brung us into Plymouth." "Where are you going now?" asked Roy. "Back to the island where our families is," replied Tony. "We ain't got no place else to go, but we ain't going to stay there. We'll take our dunnage and go somewheres else, for fear that the island may sink into the harbor with such men aboard of it. We dassent stay there no longer. If Rowe has got safe off, knowing what he does, he'll kick up a row there, and if they'll let me into court, I'd just like to shove this paper at the judge and ask him will he take a squint at it, if he wants to see what sort of a landshark that man Willis is. We are powerful glad to see you again," he added, extending his hand to Roy, who shook it cordially, "and to know you didn't come to no harm all along of our taking you aboard the White Squall." After this Tony went on with his story, to which, in order to make it plain to you, I will add a few things that he did not know. They came out months afterward, but this is the place to speak of them. Although the housekeeper and all the people who were on the jetty when the yacht arrived were willing to believe that Roy Sheldon was really Rowe Shelly, Willis himself was perfectly well satisfied that he and Babcock had made the biggest kind of a blunder. The question was: How should he get out of his difficulty? Willis looked everywhere for Benny, who was his right-hand man in all emergencies; but that worthy had gone over to the city that afternoon, and would probably return on a hired tug some time in the morning. You will remember that while Mrs. Moffatt was talking to Roy, and urging him to let her send up a lunch to that he might have a bite handy in case he became hungry before morning, the superintendent paced the room lost in thought. As he looked at the matter, it was absolutely necessary that Roy should be got rid of before daylight, and so effectually that no trace of him could be discovered. The superintendent's first thought was to drug him, put him into a boat, and shove him out into the harbor in time for the storm, which was already muttering in the distance, to blow him to sea. But that would involve too many risks of a rescue, and Willis at last decided to hold to his original plan and "take Tony into his confidence." When he went downstairs with Mrs. Moffatt he left the house and hurried to Tony's cabin on the beach. "The minute he come into the door I knew there was something the matter of him," said the sailor, "for I had never seen him look so queer and wild before; but how he ever made out to pull the wool over my eyes and Bob's as he done by the ridikilis tale he told us, is something I can't now get through my head. Nuther can Bob, and we've talked about it a hunderd times or more. Seems now that we'd oughter known it wasn't so, but we didn't. 'Boys,' says he, mighty soft and palavering like, but all the while acting as though there wasn't nothing wrong, 'I want you to do something for me. Two weeks ago Cap'n Jack Rowan of the White Squall borrered five hundred dollars of the old man (that was Colonel Shelly, you know), and the old man told me to be sure and get it of him before he sailed. While I was in the city I got a letter from the cap'n stating that if I would send for the money to-night, I could have it; so I want you and Bob to take Rowe and go and get it. I'll give him an order for it. Be lively, for there'll be a gale on in an hour or so.' That was what Willis said to me and Bob; and although we didn't much like the idee of going aboard the White Squall, knowing what sort of a chap Cap'n Jack was, we told him we'd go, like a couple of fools. 'All right,' says he. 'You get the boat ready, and I'll go and tell Rowe to hurry up. But mind, you mustn't say one word to him where you're going. If you do, he'll stay ashore and I won't get that money.' And then what does that old scamp do," exclaimed Tony, with rising indignation, "but run up to the house and write this here letter to Cap'n Jack, telling him that here was three men for him, and he'd best take us along without asking no questions." "Then he came into the room where I was and told me a funny story, too," said Roy, who was listening with all his ears. "I should like to know who came in with him, and what the pair of them would have done if I had not awakened just as I did." "I guess it was Benny," said Bob; and he guessed right. "Them two is both tarred with the same stick." Benny was ashore, as I told you, and by the merest chance met the detective Babcock, who made a clean breast of the whole business; whereupon Benny hired a tug, and started for home. By the time he got there he was as frightened as was his father, whom he met setting out for Tony's house. "You needn't waste words with me," said the dutiful son, the minute he saw that his sire was about to begin a lengthy explanation. "I saw Bab, and he told me all about it. You are a pretty pair, I must say. Who is this chap who looks so much like Rowe, and what are you going to do with him?" "His name is Roy Sheldon, and he is a Mount Airy wheelman," replied Willis. "I am going to send him to sea on the White Squall." "The very plan I had in my own head," said Benny, approvingly. "Who's going to take him there?" "I thought of asking Tony and Bob. I'll offer--" "Don't offer them a cent," interrupted Benny. "Tell them to go and get five hundred dollars that Cap'n Jack borrowed of the old man, and send this wheelman along as Rowe Shelly, to get it. Understand?" No; the superintendent did not quite grasp his son's meaning, and he was afraid Roy might not be willing to personate Rowe Shelly. It took Benny a long time to explain, but he succeeded at last, and then he asked his father if there was not some way in which he could get a glimpse of Roy so that he could satisfy himself that a mistake had been made. This was the way he came to be introduced into the presence of the young wheelman, who was fast asleep. The moment Benny's eyes rested upon the boy's face he knew he had never seen him before. "You've done it as sure as the world," said he, in a savage whisper. "Get rid of him. Send him to the White Squall, and have Tony and Bob shanghaied at the same time, or they will get you into deeper trouble. Wake him up, tell him you have found out who he is, and say that you're going to send him back to his friends. In that way you can get him off without any fuss, and--" Just then Roy stirred in his sleep, and Benny took to his heels, barely having time to close the door behind him before the boy was wide-awake. CHAPTER XVIII. CONCLUSION. "Benny is old man Willis's son," Tony hastened to explain. "If you was to shake 'em both up in a hat, it is hard to tell which one of 'em would come out first for meanness. That's our story, sir. You know what happened after we got aboard the White Squall." "What did Willis mean when he called you off on one side saying that he had an order for you?" inquired Roy. "Did he want me to believe that he was about to send you to the city for goods?" "I don't know what he meant you should believe; he jest wanted to give me a few parting instructions. He said you didn't much like the idee of going out in that wind, and that if you raised a fuss about it after we got started, we must quiet you by saying that we dassent turn around for fear of a capsize. He said, furder, that we mustn't talk to you more'n we could help, for you'd kick if you found you was going aboard the White Squall. He said you had the order for the money in your pocket, and what was writ on the paper he give me was meant to hurry Cap'n Jack up, so't we could get back to the island before the wind riz any higher. But t'wasn't no such thing," continued Tony, wrathfully. "It told Cap'n Jack to take us to sea and say nothing about it." "And were you stupid enough to believe that our friend Roy was Rowe Shelly? You stood within arm's-length of him, and it looks to me as if you ought to have seen at a glance that it wasn't any one you knew," said Arthur, forgetting that he had once stood within less than arm's-length of Rowe Shelly, and never suspected that he wasn't Roy Sheldon until he had come pretty near being thrown on his head. "We never knew the difference," said Tony, earnestly, "for the reason that we didn't know there was anything wrong. We knew Rowe had run away, and as me and Bob supposed that he had been ketched and brung back, like he was before, we didn't ask no questions. Of course we thought it was Rowe that we were going to take off to the ship after that money, and why should we not? How could we tell one from t'other when the night was so dark, and they were both dressed alike and the wind blowed so loud that we couldn't re_cog_nize his voice?" "What did you think when you saw him jump into the harbor?" inquired Joe. "Well, sir, we was scared to death, and there isn't no manner of sense in saying we wasn't. We wouldn't never dared to show our faces in New London again if I hadn't found this letter, 'cause we'd been afraid that we might be tooken up for trying to make way with Rowe, though Lord knows we wouldn't a raised a finger against him. What's writ onto this here paper will clear us, won't it, sir?" "I think it will; but if you need any more evidence, drop a line to me. I will give you my address," said Roy. "What made you back away from me when I got off my wheel and walked toward you? Did you think I was a ghost?" "I ain't quite sure that there is such things as ghosts in the world," replied Tony, "though in my time I've talked to more'n one who has seen 'em; but wouldn't you feel kinder oneasy under them circumstances? We took you aboard the ship a purpose, like we told you, but we didn't do it to get you used like you was." "Then you knew that ship was the White Squall, and that she was not going into the harbor for shelter?" said Joe. "Course we did, sir. What would any craft want to run from a fair sailing wind like that for? We knew she was going to sea, and was in a hurry to get you aboard so't you could get the money we thought you wanted. We thought it kinder queer 'cause you didn't give the cap'n the order when I give him the letter, but we didn't mistrust anything till we seen you go overboard. Of course we knew before that, that we had all been shanghaied; but what I mean is, that we never mistrusted till then that mebbe you wasn't Rowe Shelly. We didn't think he'd have the pluck to jump overboard, for he isn't much of a boy for going a swimming. When we was running into Plymouth some of them Bethel fellers flung a lot of papers aboard of us, and me and Bob happened to get hold of one that told us all about it, only it didn't say anything about Rowe Shelly. Ain't your name Peter Smith?" "Not much," replied Roy, with a laugh. "But I am the fellow who jumped overboard, all the same. Now, what induced you two to tramp back to New London instead of shipping on some vessel that would take you there?" "There are two reasons for it," answered Tony. "In the first place, there wasn't no ship in port that was going where we wanted to go; and in the next, we've had enough of the water and thought we'd like to stay on shore for a spell. You see, we ain't by no means as young as we used to be, and can't stand the hard knocks as well. We never got a blow after we was drove for'ard that night, 'cause we know what a sailor man's duty is and we done it; but them was a rough lot of officers, I tell you. Do you know where Rowe Shelly is now?" "I am sorry to say we don't," replied Arthur. "We hoped to hear from him before this time, but if he has written us, the letter hasn't caught up with us. But we can tell you one thing: when you get back to the island you'll not find matters as they were when you left. My two friends here saw Rowe, mistook him for me just as Willis and Babcock mistook me for Rowe, had a long talk with him, and put some ideas into his head. Colonel Shelly will have to give up Rowe's money and get out of that--you'll see; and if Captain Shelly is still alive, he will come to that island and take possession." Joe Wayring and his friends spent the best part of the afternoon in Tony's company and Bob's, and did not take leave of them until they had learned as much of Rowe Shelly's history as the men were able to tell them. They also asked after Captain Jack; but that worthy and his mates had disappeared the moment the Sarah West had reached the wharf at Plymouth, and Tony could not say where they were. No doubt they had gone to New London on the cars, while the foremast hands, having no money at their command, had to ship again as soon as they could, or turn tramps for a season as Tony and Bob had done. Roy gave them his address, advised them to use all the means in their power to open communication with Rowe when they reached the city, and stand by to aid him in getting his rights; and then he and his friends shared their small stock of money with them, and once more turned their faces toward Mount Airy. "Didn't I tell you that you were taken aboard the White Squall on purpose?" said Joe, as they shot around the first bend in the road and left the sailors out of sight. "I guess you are willing to believe it now." "And I think you are equally willing to believe that I was right when I said that Tony and Bob were shanghaied the same as I was," retorted Roy. "That man Willis is a schemer from way back. I shall always think that the easiest way for him to get out of his difficulty would have been to send me ashore, as I thought he was going to do. I never would have made him trouble, for up to the time I was sent aboard that ship I was treated as well as I wanted to be." "I think Willis was afraid he would lose his situation if he told the colonel that he had made a mistake, captured the wrong boy, and given Rowe a chance to get away," said Arthur. "I don't see why he should be, for if I understand the situation, his employer would not dare discharge him," continued Roy. "For some reason or other Willis made up his mind that the only thing he could do was to get rid of me; he was afraid to hire Tony and Bob to take me aboard that ship and leave me there, for that would give them a hold upon him; so he thought the best way was to get rid of the whole of us in a lump. I will say this much for Willis: he came pretty near doing it. I felt tolerable mad at Tony and Bob when you fellows suggested that they had been hired to have me kidnapped, and here I've gone and divided my last dollar with them." "And we felt just as angry at Rowe for getting you into a scrape, and yet we are ready to stand by him," said Joe. "On the whole, I am satisfied with what we have done on this trip." I thought he had reason to be. There was no one along the route who knew what Joe had done to avert that railroad disaster, but the folks at home had been posted before this time. On the day they left Plymouth Arthur and Roy mailed the full details of Joe's "Wild Ride," but the latter knew nothing of it until a week had passed, and they stopped for the night at a railway station where they found their trunks and a package of mail waiting for them. When Joe glanced at his mother's letter beginning: "My dear boy, how could you do it? I am frightened every time I think of it," and the first line of Uncle Joe's, which ran: "I am proud of my brave namesake. You have covered yourself with glory enough for one summer, and had better come home and relieve your mother's anxiety," he knew just what had been going on, and congratulated himself on having escaped return orders until his face was toward Mount Airy. All he said to his friends was: "You fellows spread ink a trifle too freely while we were in Plymouth. If I had suspected it, I would have dropped the pair of you over the end of the pier like a couple of kittens." "Perhaps that wouldn't have been so easy, either," replied Arthur. "More than twenty days' steady wheeling has brought us a tolerable muscle, I want you to remember. But what's the odds? It was bound to come out, and Roy and I kept still about it until we were homeward bound. When you write all you've got to do is to tell Uncle Joe we're coming." Joe wrote that very night, and his letter contained a complete history of Roy's doings in New London harbor, and told how Arthur had come near getting them into serious trouble by shooting Matt Coyle's watch-dogs. He omitted nothing, and when he finished, he flattered himself that he had described the thing in language so graphic that Roy and Arthur would be invited to expedite their return. The next time they came up with their letters, they also found papers containing some surprising as well as gratifying intelligence. Every man in the Buster band, including Matt Coyle and his gang of train-wreckers, had been arrested and put under lock and key. Acting upon the advice given him by the young wheelmen, Mr. Holmes had gone to New London and identified his property; that is, the implements that had been used to force that big rock from its bed and roll it upon the track. It was by his suggestion (which in the first place came from one of our three friends, as you will remember) that a couple of officers, disguised as tramp hunters, came to Glen's Falls and proceeded to "spot" every man they wanted. More strange tramps came in at intervals, and when the officers, for that was what they really were, were nearly equal in number to the law-breakers, they "corralled the whole business and ran them in." To quote from Roy Sheldon, who was so highly excited that he wanted to yell, it was a "pretty slick scheme," and by the time Matt was through serving the sentence that would surely be passed upon him, they would no longer stand in any fear of him, for they would be big enough to punch his head if he didn't let them alone. "But I am really afraid our friend Bigden will see fun now," said Roy, in conclusion. "If Matt gets half a chance he will tell all he knows." "I don't believe the things he did in the Indian Lake country will be brought against him," said Joe. "He'll come in for trying to wreck the train; and by the time he has been punished for that, he won't want to get into any more scrapes." "And where will we come in? Look here, Bub," exclaimed Roy, shaking his finger at Joe. "When you took that unworthy revenge upon Art and me, and told your mother what we have done and suffered since we have been on the road, you told her that we laid in the bushes and heard all Matt and his fellow rascals had to say, didn't you? I thought as much. Well, _that_ will be sure to come out, with all the rest of the things, and the last one of us will be _subpoenaed_. If any one of us spread ink too freely, you are the man." "I didn't see Matt that night," protested Joe, "for it was so dark I couldn't see anybody." "No matter, you heard his voice. You will be called upon to tell how you knew it was his voice, and all that, and the first thing you know there'll be something wormed out of you that you don't mean to tell." Joe Wayring did not like to think about that, but still he did not eat or sleep any the less for fear of it. He enjoyed the homeward run and so did his friends, for they had done what they set out to do, and more too. They stopped for one night at the Lafayette House, and spent the evening at the Academy of Music; but there was no detective waiting to take one of them by the arm when they came out, and neither did they meet any one who could give them any information concerning Rowe Shelly. They sent a despatch to their parents, telling where they were, and when they would be home, and the result was that about three miles out of Mount Airy they found a delegation of wheelmen waiting for them. Of course the drug-store crowd was not represented, but Tom Bigden and his cousins were there. Joe thought he knew what Tom had come for, and was made sure of it when Tom ranged alongside of him, after a short halt had been made and the hand-shaking was over, and in a roundabout way began making inquiries concerning Matt Coyle. Joe was sorry he couldn't tell much about him, but he said enough to set Tom's fears at rest. He declared--not as if he thought Tom had the least interest in the matter, but merely as an item of news--that he would not prosecute Matt for stealing his canoe or tying him to a tree, because he would have enough to answer for when he was brought up for putting that rock on the railroad track. Joe was not revengeful, but he did want to see the squatter punished for that. It is hardly necessary to add that Tom Bigden breathed easier after his talk with Joe, and when he left the latter at his gate and told him he was glad he and his friends had had an enjoyable run and come safely home, in spite of everybody and everything that had tried to hinder them, the words came from his heart. Tom had been on nettles ever since he read in the papers that Matt was still alive, and in a fair way to be brought to justice, and although he felt relieved, he knew he would not sleep soundly until Matt's trial was over and prison doors had closed upon him. "Six hundred and forty-two miles in thirty-five days," said Joe, when he had kissed his mother and shaken hands with every one who was on the back porch. "A little over eighteen miles a day. That wouldn't be anything to brag of if the roads had been good all the way; but when you take the mountains and long patches of sand into consideration--" "And Matt Coyle and the train-wreckers," added Uncle Joe. "They didn't delay us any to speak of," replied the young wheelman, "but that Roy Sheldon, with his black eyes and lame arm, did. Well, I'm glad to get back, and why don't you say you are glad to see me?" Every one of them had said so more than once, for I had heard them, and besides, they showed it very plainly by their actions. Everybody in town was glad to see him, and he had so much visiting to do that for a time I was entirely neglected. One morning I had a chance to say "hello!" to the Canvas Canoe and Fly-rod as they were carried across the porch and down the path that led to the lake, and when they returned at dark I exchanged a few words with them before they were taken up-stairs. In as few words as possible I told them where I had been and what I had seen during my long absence, and in return Fly-rod told me that he had that day seen two old acquaintances; or as he expressed it, "the whole of one and a part of the other." "In the show-case in which I stood before Joe Wayring bought me, were a couple of high-priced lads, a split-bamboo and a double-barrel shot-gun, who wouldn't say a civil word to me because I was worth only six dollars and a half," said Fly-rod, with a ring of triumph in his tones. "The gun was purchased by a dude who went into the woods because it was fashionable, and the bamboo became the property of one of the handsomest little girls you ever saw. Well, I saw that rod to-day lying flat in the mud, while his owner was paddling in the water with bare feet. He was rusted all over where there was any thing to rust, and you could see daylight between his ribs where they had been glued together. He was ashamed to speak to me, for he had boasted that he was going to Canada to do battle with the lordly salmon. A little while afterward we heard a booming up the lake and saw a commotion in a boat whose crew were engaged in shooting wood-ducks. The Canvas Canoe took us up there in a hurry, and we found that a gun had burst in the hands of one of the party--the very dude who bought that double-barrel shot-gun. There wasn't much left of the gun, nothing but the stock and locks, in fact, but I knew him. The dude wasn't hurt, for a wonder, but he was mad, and the minute he recovered from the fright into which he had been thrown, he grabbed the wreck of that gun and sent it as far as he could into the bushes. Here _I_ am, sound as a dollar, thanks to the good treatment I have received, supple as ever and ready to catch another black bass any time I am called upon." The next thing that interested me was hearing a letter from Rowe Shelly read on the porch. He hadn't written before for the very good reason that he had nothing to say; and although he had plenty now, he had no time to say it, for he was going after his father and mother who were alive and well, but poor owing to ill health. He went into hiding, as Joe said he did, and found a lawyer to interest himself in his case; but although the latter went to work very quietly, Colonel Shelly and Willis and Benny had taken the alarm and cleared out. His parents had been advertised for and found, and Rowe was going to them by the first train. He would have more to tell them in his next letter, and wanted them, one and all, to get ready to visit him the minute he sent them word. He owed them everything he had, or was going to have, and they would see that he wasn't the boy to forget such things. And neither did Roy Sheldon forget those men on the light-ship. Of course they did nothing more than their duty when they pulled Roy out of the water and took care of him, but that did not lessen the boy's gratitude nor his father's, either. Mr. Sheldon made it his business to drop into a bank shortly after Roy came home, and when he left it those old sea dogs had a handsome sum of money to draw on, though they were advised to let it accumulate so that they would have something to fall back upon when they became too old to attend to the light-ship. Before I went into winter quarters I had the satisfaction of knowing that everything had turned out just as Joe Wayring and his friends wished. Rowe Shelly found his parents and easily established their identity, with his lawyer's help, and the rascally guardian, as well as those who aided him in keeping the boy out of his rights, were overhauled before they had left the city many miles behind; but they were not brought to trial. They simply surrendered their ill-gotten gains, Captain Shelly took quiet possession of his island home, and that was the end of the matter so far as they were concerned; but the gossips had something to talk about for weeks afterward. Joe Wayring and his friends were not needed when Matt Coyle was brought before the court in Bloomingdale, for those tramp detectives had all the evidence they wanted to send him and his gang to prison. Then Tom Bigden felt safe, and I hope he has turned over a new leaf as he has often promised to do. Although every one in Mount Airy heard of the things that George Prime threw up to him, there were few who believed them, thanks to the way Joe and his chums stuck to him through thick and thin. A few days ago Rowe Shelly wrote that he was ready and waiting for Joe and the "rest of his crowd," and the sooner they came to see him the better he would like it. They will accept the invitation for the coming holidays; and if I am any judge of boys' tastes they will find few topics of conversation that will be of more interest to them than the incidents I have attempted to describe in my story, and which happened during THE RAMBLES OF A BICYCLE. THE END. FAMOUS CASTLEMON BOOKS. GUNBOAT SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 6 vols. 12mo. Frank the Young Naturalist. Frank in the Woods. Frank on the Lower Mississippi. Frank on a Gunboat. Frank before Vicksburg. Frank on the Prairie. ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth. Frank among the Rancheros. Frank in the Mountains. Frank at Don Carlos' Ranch. SPORTSMAN'S CLUB SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth. The Sportsman's Club in the Saddle. The Sportsman's Club Afloat. The Sportsman's Club among the Trappers. FRANK NELSON SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth. Snowed Up. Frank in the Forecastle. The Boy Traders. BOY TRAPPER SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth. The Buried Treasure. The Boy Trapper. The Mail-Carrier. ROUGHING IT SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth. George in Camp. George at the Wheel. George at the Fort. ROD AND GUN SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth. Don Gordon's Shooting Box. The Young Wild Fowlers. Rod and Gun Club. GO-AHEAD SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth. Tom Newcombe. Go-Ahead. No Moss. FOREST AND STREAM SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth. Joe Wayring. Snagged and Sunk. Steel Horse. WAR SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 5 vols. 12mo. Cloth. True to his Colors. Rodney the Overseer. Marcy the Refugee. Rodney the Partisan. Marcy the Blockade-Runner. _Other Volumes in Preparation._ Copyright, 1888 by Porter & Coates. FAMOUS STANDARD JUVENILE LIBRARIES. ANY VOLUME SOLD SEPARATELY AT $1.00 PER VOLUME (Except the Sportsman's Club Series, Frank Nelson Series and Jack Hazard Series.). Each Volume Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth. HORATIO ALGER, JR. The enormous sales of the books of Horatio Alger, Jr., show the greatness of his popularity among the boys, and prove that he is one of their most favored writers. I am told that more than half a million copies altogether have been sold, and that all the large circulating libraries in the country have several complete sets, of which only two or three volumes are ever on the shelves at one time. If this is true, what thousands and thousands of boys have read and are reading Mr. Alger's books! His peculiar style of stories, often imitated but never equaled, have taken a hold upon the young people, and, despite their similarity, are eagerly read as soon as they appear. Mr. Alger became famous with the publication of that undying book, "Ragged Dick, or Street Life in New York." It was his first book for young people, and its success was so great that he immediately devoted himself to that kind of writing. It was a new and fertile field for a writer then, and Mr. Alger's treatment of it at once caught the fancy of the boys. "Ragged Dick" first appeared in 1868, and ever since then it has been selling steadily, until now it is estimated that about 200,000 copies of the series have been sold. --_Pleasant Hours for Boys and Girls._ 
21747	----	THE LONELY ISLAND; OR, THE REFUGE OF THE MUTINEERS, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE. CHAPTER ONE. THE REFUGE OF THE MUTINEERS. THE MUTINY. On a profoundly calm and most beautiful evening towards the end of the last century, a ship lay becalmed on the fair bosom of the Pacific Ocean. Although there was nothing piratical in the aspect of the ship--if we except her guns--a few of the men who formed her crew might have been easily mistaken for roving buccaneers. There was a certain swagger in the gait of some, and a sulky defiance on the brow of others, which told powerfully of discontent from some cause or other, and suggested the idea that the peaceful aspect of the sleeping sea was by no means reflected in the breasts of the men. They were all British seamen, but displayed at that time none of the well-known hearty off-hand rollicking characteristics of the Jack-tar. It is natural for man to rejoice in sunshine. His sympathy with cats in this respect is profound and universal. Not less deep and wide is his discord with the moles and bats. Nevertheless, there was scarcely a man on board of that ship on the evening in question who vouchsafed even a passing glance at a sunset which was marked by unwonted splendour. The vessel slowly rose and sank on a scarce perceptible ocean-swell in the centre of a great circular field of liquid glass, on whose undulations the sun gleamed in dazzling flashes, and in whose depths were reflected the fantastic forms, snowy lights, and pearly shadows of cloudland. In ordinary circumstances such an evening might have raised the thoughts of ordinary men to their Creator, but the circumstances of the men on board of that vessel were not ordinary--very much the reverse. "No, Bill McCoy," muttered one of the sailors, who sat on the breach of a gun near the forecastle, "I've bin flogged twice for merely growlin', which is an Englishman's birthright, an' I won't stand it no longer. A pretty pass things has come to when a man mayn't growl without tastin' the cat; but if Captain Bligh won't let me growl, I'll treat him to a roar that'll make him cock his ears an' wink six times without speakin'." The sailor who said this, Matthew Quintal by name, was a short, thick-set young man of twenty-one or thereabouts, with a forbidding aspect and a savage expression of face, which was intensified at the moment by thoughts of recent wrongs. Bill McCoy, to whom he said it, was much the same in size and appearance, but a few years older, and with a cynical expression of countenance. "Whether you growl or roar, Matt," said McCoy, with a low-toned laugh, "I'd advise you to do it in the minor key, else the Captain will give you another taste of the cat. He's awful savage just now. You should have heard him abusin' the officers this afternoon about his cocoa-nuts." "So I should," returned Quintal. "As ill luck would have it, I was below at the time. They say he was pretty hard on Mr Christian." "Hard on him! I should think he was," rejoined McCoy. "Why, if Mr Christian had been one of the worst men in the ship instead of the best officer, the Cap'n could not have abused him worse. I heard and saw 'im with my own ears and eyes. The cocoa-nuts was lyin', as it might be here, between the guns, and the Cap'n he came on deck an' said he missed some of his nuts. He went into a towerin' rage right off--in the old style--and sent for all the officers. When they came aft he says to them, says he, `Who stole my cocoa-nuts?' Of course they all said they didn't know, and hadn't seen any of the people take 'em. `Then,' says the Cap'n, fiercer than ever, `you must have stole 'em yourselves, for they couldn't have been taken away without your knowledge.' So he questioned each officer separately. Mr Christian, when he came to him, answered, `I don't know, sir, who took the nuts, but I hope you do not think me so mean as to be guilty of stealing yours.' Whereupon the Cap'n he flared up like gunpowder. `Yes, you hungry hound, I do,' says he; `you must have stolen them from me, or you would have been able to give a better account of them.'" "That was pitchin' into 'im pretty stiff," said Quintal, with a grim smile. "What said Mr Christian?" "He said nothin', but he looked thunder. I saw him git as red as a turkey cock, an' bite his lips till the blood came. It's my opinion, messmate," added McCoy, in a lower tone, "that if Cap'n Bligh don't change his tone there'll be--" "Come, come, mate," interrupted a voice behind him; "if you talk mutiny like that you'll swing at the end o' the yard-arm some fine mornin'." The sailor who joined the others and thus spoke was a short, sturdy specimen of his class, and much more like a hearty hare-brained tar than his two comrades. He was about twenty-two years of age, deeply pitted with small-pox, and with a jovial carelessness of manner that had won for him the sobriquet of Reckless Jack. "I'm not the only one that talks mutiny in this ship," growled McCoy. "There's a lot of us whose backs have bin made to smart, and whose grog has been stopped for nothin' but spite, John Adams, and you know it." "Yes, I do know it," returned Adams, sharply; "and I also know that there's justice to be had in England. We've got a good case against the Captain, so we'd better wait till we get home rather than take the law into our own hands." "I don't agree with you, Jack," said Quintal, with much decision, "and I wonder to see you, of all men, show the white feather." Adams turned away with a light laugh of contempt, and the other two joined a group of their mates, who were talking in low tones near the windlass. Matthew Quintal was not the only man on board who did not agree with the more moderate counsels of Reckless Jack, _alias_ John Adams, _alias_ John Smith, for by each of those names was he known. On the quarter-deck as well as on the forecastle mutterings of deep indignation were heard. The vessel was the celebrated _Bounty_, which had been fitted up for the express purpose of proceeding to the island of Otaheite, (now named Tahiti), in the Pacific for plants of the breadfruit tree, it being thought desirable to introduce that tree into the West India Islands. We may remark in passing, that the transplantation was afterwards accomplished, though it failed at this time. The _Bounty_ had been placed under the command of Lieutenant Bligh of the Royal Navy. Her burden was about 215 tons. She had been fitted with every appliance and convenience for her special mission, and had sailed from Spithead on the 23rd December 1787. Lieutenant Bligh, although an able and energetic seaman, was of an angry tyrannical disposition. On the voyage out, and afterwards at Otaheite, he had behaved so shamefully, and with such unjustifiable severity, both to officers and men, that he was regarded by a large proportion of them with bitter hatred. It is painful to be obliged to write thus of one who rose to positions of honour in the service; but the evidence led in open court, coupled with Bligh's own writings, and testimony from other quarters, proves beyond a doubt that his conduct on board the _Bounty_ was not only dishonourable but absolutely brutal. When the islanders were asked at first the name of the island, they replied, "O-Tahiti," which means, "It is Tahiti", hence the earlier form of the name--_Otaheite_. It was after the _Bounty_ had taken in the breadfruit trees at Otaheite, and was advanced a short distance on the homeward voyage, that the events we are about to narrate occurred. We have said that mutterings of deep discontent were heard on the quarter-deck. Fletcher Christian, acting lieutenant, or master's mate, leaned over the bulwarks on that lovely evening, and with compressed lips and frowning brows gazed down into the sea. The gorgeous clouds and their grand reflections had no beauty for him, but a shark, which swam lazily alongside, showing a fin now and then above water, seemed to afford him a species of savage satisfaction. "Yes," he muttered, "if one of his legs were once within your ugly jaws, we'd have something like peace again after these months of torment." Fletcher Christian, although what is called a high-spirited youth, was not quick to resent injury or insult. On the contrary, he had borne with much forbearance the oft-repeated and coarse insolence of his superior. His natural expression was bright and his temperament sunny. He possessed a powerful frame and commanding stature, was agile and athletic, and a favourite with officers and men. But Bligh's conduct had soured him. His countenance was now changed. The last insult about the cocoa-nuts, delivered openly, was more than he could bear. "When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war." In this case the tug was tremendous, the immediate results were disastrous, and the ultimate issues amazing, as will be seen in the sequel of our tale. "To whom does your amiable wish refer?" asked a brother-officer named Stewart, who came up just then and leaned over the bulwarks beside him. "Can you not guess?" said the other, sternly. "Yes, I can guess," returned the midshipman, gazing contemplatively at the shark's fin. "But, I say, surely you don't really mean to carry out your mad intention of deserting." "Yes, I do," said Christian with emphasis. "I've been to the fore-cockpit several times to-day, and seen the boatswain and carpenter, both of whom have agreed to help me. I've had a plank rigged up with staves into a sort of raft, on which I mean to take my chance. There's a bag all ready with some victuals in it, and another with a few nails, beads, etcetera, to propitiate the natives. Young Hayward is the only other officer besides yourself to whom I have revealed my intention. Like you, he attempts to dissuade me, but in vain. I shall go to-night." "But where will you go to?" asked Stewart. Christian pointed to Tofoa, one of the Friendly Islands, which was then in sight like a little black speck on the glowing sky where the sun had just disappeared. "And how do you propose to escape _him_?" said the midshipman, pointing significantly to the shark, which at the moment gave a wriggle with its tail as if it understood the allusion and enjoyed it. "I'll take my chance of that," said Christian, bitterly, and with a countenance so haggard yet so fierce that his young companion felt alarmed. "See here," he added, tearing open his vest and revealing within it a deep sea-lead suspended round his neck; "I had rather die than live in the torments of the last three weeks. If I fail to escape, you see, there will be no chance of taking me alive." "_Better try to take the ship_!" whispered a voice behind him. Christian started and grew paler, but did not turn his head to see who had spoken. The midshipman at his side had evidently not heard the whisper. "I cannot help thinking you are wrong," said Stewart. "We have only to bear it a little longer, and then we shall have justice done to us in England." Well would it have been for Fletcher Christian, and well for all on board the _Bounty_, if he had taken the advice of his young friend, but his spirit had been tried beyond its powers of endurance--at least so he thought--and his mind was made up. What moral suasion failed to effect, however, the weather accomplished. It prevented his first intention from being carried out. While the shades of evening fell and deepened into a night of unusual magnificence, the profound calm continued, and the ship lay motionless on the sea. The people, too, kept moving quietly about the deck, either induced thereto by the sweet influences around them, or by some indefinable impression that a storm sometimes succeeds a calm as well in the moral as the material world. As the ship had no way through the water, it was impossible for the rash youth to carry out his plan either during the first or middle watches. He was therefore compelled to give it up, at least for that night, and about half-past three in the morning he lay down to rest a few minutes, as he was to be called by Stewart to relieve the watch at four o'clock. He had barely fallen into a troubled slumber when he was awakened by Stewart, and rose at once to go on deck. He observed in passing that young Hayward, the mate of his watch, had lain down to take a nap on the arm-chest. Mr Hallet, the other midshipman of the watch, had also gone to sleep somewhere, for he was not to be seen. Whether the seriously reprehensible conduct of these two officers roused his already excited spirit to an ungovernable pitch, or their absence afforded a favourable opportunity, we cannot tell, but certain it is that Fletcher Christian opened his ear at that time to the voice of the tempter. "_Better try to take the ship_," seemed burning in words of fire into his brain. Quick to act as well as to conceive, he looked lustily and earnestly at the men of his watch. The one who stood nearest him, looking vacantly out upon the sea, was Matthew Quintal. To him Christian revealed his hastily adopted plan of seizing the ship, and asked if he would join him. Quintal was what men call a deep villain. He was quite ripe for mutiny, but from some motive known only to himself he held back, and expressed doubt as to the possibility of carrying out the plan. "I did not expect to find cowardice in _you_," said Christian, with a look of scornful indignation. "It is not cowardice, sir," retorted Quintal. "I will join if others do. Try some one else. Try Martin there, for instance." Isaac Martin was a raw-boned, sallow, six-foot man of about thirty, who had been undeservedly flogged by Bligh. Christian went to him at once, and put the question, "Will you join me in taking the ship?" "The very thing, Mr Christian. I'm with you," answered Martin, promptly. The eager readiness of this man at once decided Quintal. Christian then went to every man in his watch, all of whom had received more or less harsh treatment from the Captain, and most of whom were more than willing to join the conspirators. Those who hesitated, whatever might have been their motives, had not sufficient regard for their commander to warn him of his danger. Perhaps the very suddenness of the proposal, as well as fear of the mutineers, induced them to remain silent. In passing along the deck Christian encountered a man named William Brown. He was assistant-botanist, or gardener, to the expedition, and having been very intimate with Christian, at once agreed to join him. Although a slenderly made young man, Brown was full of vigour and resolution. "We must look sharp," said Christian to him, in that low eager whisper in which the conversation among the mutineers had hitherto been carried on. "It will soon be daylight. You know the men as well as I do. Go below and gain over those whom you feel sure of influencing. Don't waste your time on the lukewarm or cowardly. Away with you. Here, Williams," he added, turning to another man who was already in the plot, "go below and send up the gunner's mate, I want him; then call John Adams,--I feel sure that Reckless Jack will join; but do it softly. No noise or excitement." In a few seconds John Mills, the gunner's mate, a strongly-built middle-aged man, came on deck, and agreeing at once to join, was sent to fetch the keys of the arm-chest from the armourer, under pretence of getting out a musket to shoot a shark which was alongside. Meanwhile John Williams went to the hammock of John Adams and roused him. "I don't half like it," said Adams, when he was sufficiently awake to understand the message of his mate. "It's all very true what you say, Williams; the ship _has_ been little better than a hell since we left Spithead, and Captain Bligh don't deserve much mercy, but mutiny is wrong any way you look at it, and I've got my doubts whether any circumstances can make it right." The reasoning of Adams was good, but his doubts were cleared away, if not solved, by the abrupt entrance of Christian, who went to the arm-chest just opposite Adams's hammock and began to distribute arms to all the men who came for them. Seeing this, and fearing to be left on the weaker side, Adams rose, armed himself with a cutlass, and went on deck. The morning of the 28th of April was now beginning to dawn. Before that the greater part of the ship's company had been gained over and armed; yet all this was done so quietly and with such firmness that the remainder of the crew were ignorant of what was going on. No doubt a few who might have given the alarm were afraid to do so. Among those who were asleep was one deserving of special notice, namely, Peter Heywood, a midshipman who was true as steel at heart, but whose extreme youth and inexperience, coupled with the surprise and alarm of being awakened to witness scenes of violence, produced a condition of inaction which resulted in his being left, and afterwards classed, with the mutineers. Shortly after five o'clock the armed men streamed quietly up the fore-hatch and took possession of the deck. Sentinels were placed below at the doors of the officers' berths, and above at the hatchways. Then Fletcher Christian, John Adams, Matthew Quintal, William McCoy, Isaac Martin, and several others went aft, armed with muskets, bayonets, and cutlasses. Leaving Martin in charge of the quarter-deck, they descended to Captain Bligh's cabin. The commander of the _Bounty_, all ignorant of the coming storm which his ungentlemanly and cruel conduct had raised, was sleeping calmly in his berth. He was roughly awakened and bidden to rise. "What is the reason of such violence?" he demanded, addressing Christian, as they half forced him out of bed. "Silence, sir," said Christian, sternly; "you know the reason well enough. Tie his hands, lads." Disregarding the order to be silent, Bligh shouted "murder!" at the top of his voice. "Hold your tongue, sir, else you're a dead man," said Christian, seizing him by the tied hands with a powerful grasp, and holding a bayonet to his breast. Of course no one responded to the Captain's cry, the hatchways, etcetera, being guarded. They gave him no time to dress, but hurried him on deck, where, amid much confusion and many abusive cries, preparations were being made for getting out a boat, for it was resolved to set Bligh and his friends adrift. At first there was some disputing among the mutineers as to which boat should be given to them. Eventually the launch was decided on. "Hoist her out, bo's'n. Do it smartly and instantly, or look-out for yourself." The order was given sternly, for the boatswain was known to be friendly to Bligh. He obeyed at once, with the assistance of willing men who were only too glad to get rid of their tyrannical commander. "Now, Mr Hayward and Mr Hallet, get into the boat," said Christian, who seemed to be torn with conflicting emotions. His tone and look were sufficient for those young midshipmen. They obeyed promptly. Mr Samuel the clerk and several more of the crew were then ordered into the boat. At this point Captain Bligh attempted to interfere. He demanded the intentions of the mutineers, but was told to hold his tongue, with threats of instant death if he did not obey. Particular persons were then called on to go into the boat, and some of these were allowed to collect twine, canvas, lines, sails, cordage, and other things to take with them. They were also allowed an eight-and-twenty gallon cask of water, fifty pounds of bread, a small quantity of rum and wine, a quadrant, and a compass. When all the men obnoxious to the mutineers were in the boat, Captain Bligh was ordered into it. Isaac Martin had been placed as a guard over the Captain, and appeared to favour him, as he enabled him to moisten his parched lips with a shaddock. For this he was removed, and Adams took his place. Bligh looked round, but no friendly eye met his. He had forfeited the regard of all on board, though there were undoubtedly men there whose detestation of mutiny and whose sense of honour would have inclined them to aid him if they had not been overawed by the numbers and resolution of the mutineers. The master, indeed, had already made an attempt to rally some of the men round him, but had failed, and been sent to his cabin. He, with the others, was now in the boat. Poor young Peter Heywood the middy looked on bewildered as if in a dream. He could not be said in any sense, either by look or act, to have taken part with the mutineers. At last he went below for some things, intending to go in the boat, but was ordered to remain below. So also, it is thought, was Edward Young, another midshipman, who did not make his appearance on deck at all during the progress of the mutiny. It was afterwards said that the leading seamen among the mutineers had purposely ordered these officers below, and detained them with a view to their working the ship in the event of anything happening to Christian. Bligh now made a last appeal. "I'll give you my honour, Mr Christian," he said, "never to think of what has passed this day if you will desist. To cast us adrift here in an open boat is to consign us to destruction. Think of my wife and family!" "No, Captain Bligh," replied Christian, sternly; "if you had any honour things had not come to this; and if you had any regard for your wife and family, you should have thought of them before and not behaved so much like a villain. It is too late. You have treated me like a dog all the voyage. Come, sir, your officers and men are now in the boat, and you must go with them. If you attempt resistance you shall be put to death." Seeing that further appeal would be useless, Bligh allowed himself to be forced over the side. When in the boat his hands were untied. "You will at least allow us arms, to defend ourselves from the savages," he said. Fire-arms were refused, but four cutlasses were ultimately allowed him. At this point Isaac Martin quietly descended into the boat, but Quintal, pointing a musket at him, threatened to shoot him if he did not return to the ship. He obeyed the order with reluctance, and soon after the boat was cast adrift. The crew of the _Bounty_ at the time consisted of forty-four souls, all told. Eighteen of these went adrift with the Captain. The remaining twenty-five steered back to the sunny isles of the Pacific. CHAPTER TWO. RECORDS THE DUTIES AND TROUBLES OF THE MUTINEERS. It is not our purpose to follow the fortunes of Captain Bligh. The mutineers in the _Bounty_ claim our undivided attention. As regards Bligh, it is sufficient to say that he performed one of the most remarkable boat-voyages on record. In an overloaded and open boat, on the shortest allowance of provision compatible with existence, through calm and tempest, heat and cold, exposed to the attacks of cannibals and to the reproaches of worn-out and mutinous men, he traversed 3618 miles of ocean in forty-one days, and brought himself and his followers to land, with the exception of one man who was killed by the natives. In this achievement he displayed those qualities of indomitable resolution and unflagging courage which ultimately raised him to high rank in the navy. But we leave him now to trace those incidents which result from the display of his other qualities-- ungovernable passion, overbearing impetuosity, and incomprehensible meanness. The first act of Fletcher Christian, after taking command of the ship, was to serve out a glass of grog all round. He then called a council of war, in which the mutineers discussed the question what they should do. "You see, lads," said Christian, "it is absolutely certain that we shan't be left among these islands in peace. Whether Bligh manages to get home or not, the British Government is sure to send out to see what has become of us. My notion is that we should bear away to the south'ard, far out of the usual track of ships, find out some uninhabited and suitable island, and establish ourselves thereon?" "What! without wives, or sisters, or mothers, or grandmothers, to say nothin' o' mothers-in-law, to cook our victuals an' look after our shirt-buttons?" said Isaac Martin, who, having been detained against his will, had become lugubriously, or recklessly, facetious, and was stimulated to a sort of fierce hilarity by his glass of rum. "You're right, Martin," said Brown, the assistant botanist, "we couldn't get along without wives, so I vote that we go back to Otaheite, get married, every man of us, an' ho! for the South Pole. The British cruisers would never find us there." There was a general laugh at this sally, but gravity returned almost instantly to every face, for they were in no humour just then for jesting. It is probable that each man began to realise the dreadful nature of his position as an outlaw whose life was forfeited to his country, and who could never more hope to tread the shores of Old England, or look upon the faces of kindred or friends. In such circumstances men sometimes try to hide their true feelings under a veil of recklessness or forced mirth, but seldom succeed in the attempt. "No man in his senses would go back to Otaheite--at least not to stay there," said John Adams, gravely; "it's the first place they will send to look for us." "What's the odds?" growled one of the seamen. "They won't look there for us for a long time to come, unless Cap'n Bligh borrows a pair of wings from an albatross, an' goes home as the crow flies." At this point John Mills, the gunner's mate, a man of about forty, cleared his throat and gave it as his opinion that they should not go back to Otaheite, but should leave the matter of their future destination in the hands of Mr Christian, who was well able to guide them. This proposal was heartily backed by Edward Young, midshipman, a stout young fellow of twenty-two, who was fond of Christian; but there were one or two dissentient voices, among which were the little middy Peter Heywood, his brother-officer George Stewart, and James Morrison the boatswain's mate. These wished to return to Otaheite, but the counsel of the majority prevailed, and Christian ultimately steered for the island of Toubouai, which lay some five hundred miles to the south of Otaheite. There he expected to be safe from pursuit, and there it was resolved that the mutineers should take up their abode if the natives proved friendly. That night, while the _Bounty_ was skimming gently over the starlit sea before a light breeze, the three officers, Heywood, Stewart, and Young, leaned over the weather side of the quarter-deck, and held a whispered conversation. "Why did you vote for going back to Otaheite, Heywood?" asked Young. "Because it is to Otaheite that they will send to look after us, and I should like to be there to give myself up, the instant a man-of-war arrives, and declare my innocence of the crime of mutiny." "You are right, Heywood," said Stewart; "I, too, would like to give myself up the moment I get the chance. Captain Bligh knows that you and I had no hand in the mutiny, and if he reaches England will clear us of so foul a stain. It's a pity that those who voted for Otaheite were not in the majority." "That's all very well for you, who were seen to go below to fetch your clothes, and were detained against your will," said Young, "but it was not so with me. I was forcibly detained below. They would not allow me to go on deck at all until the launch had left, so that it would go hard with me before a court-martial. But the die is now cast, and there's no help for it. Although I took no part in the mutiny, I won't risk falling into the hands of justice, with such an unprincipled scoundrel as Bligh to witness against me. My future fortunes now lie with Fletcher Christian. I cannot avoid my fate." Young spoke sadly, yet with some bitterness of tone, like one who has made up his mind to face and endure the worst. On reaching the remote island of Toubouai the mutineers were much impressed with its beauty. It seemed exceedingly fertile, was wooded to the water's edge, and surrounded by a coral reef, with one opening through which a ship might enter. Altogether it seemed a most suitable refuge, but here they met with an insurmountable difficulty. On drawing near to the shore they saw hundreds of natives, who, armed with clubs and spears, lined the beach, blew their shell-horns, and resolutely opposed the landing of the strangers. As all efforts to conciliate them were fruitless, resort was had to cannon and musketry. Of course the terrible thunder of the white man's artillery had its usual effect on the savages. They fled inland, and the mutineers gained a footing on the island. But the natives continued their opposition so vigorously, that this refuge proved to be the reverse of a place of rest. Christian therefore changed his plan, and, re-embarking in the _Bounty_, set sail for Otaheite. On the way thither the mutineers disagreed among themselves. Some of those who had been forcibly detained even began to plot the retaking of the ship, but their intentions were discovered and prevented. On the 6th of June they reached their former anchorage in Otaheite, where the natives received them with much joy and some surprise, but a story was trumped up to account for this sudden re-appearance of the mutineers. Christian, however, had not yet given up his intention of settling on the island of Toubouai. He foresaw the doom that awaited him if he should remain at Otaheite, and resolved to return to the former island with a quantity of livestock. He began to barter with the friendly Otaheitans, and soon had as many hogs, goats, fowls, cats, and dogs as he required, besides a bull and a cow which had been left there by Captain Cook. With these and several natives he sailed again for Toubouai. Arriving there in nine days, he found that a change had come over the spirit of the natives. They were decidedly and unaccountably amiable. They not only permitted the white men to land, but assisted them in warping the ship into a place of shelter, as well as in landing provisions and stores. Fletcher Christian, whatever his faults may have been, seems to have had peaceful tendencies. He had not only secured the friendship of the Otaheitans by his just and considerate treatment of them while engaged in barter, but he now managed to conciliate some of the chiefs of Toubouai. As a precaution, however, he set about building an entrenched fortress, in the labours connected with which he took his full share of work with the men. While the building was in progress the natives, despite the friendly chiefs, threw off the mask of good-will, which had doubtless been put on for the purpose of getting the white men into their power. Strong in overwhelming numbers, they made frequent attacks on the mutineers, which these latter, being strong in arms, successfully repelled. It soon became evident that warfare, not peace, was to be the lot of the residents on Toubouai, and, finally, it was agreed that the _Bounty_ should be got ready for sea, and the whole party should return to Otaheite. The resolution was soon carried into effect, and the mutineers ere long found themselves once again drawing near to the island. As they approached it under full sail, for the wind was light, the men stood looking at it, commenting on its beauty and the amiableness of its people, but Fletcher Christian stood apart by himself, with his back to the shore, gazing in the opposite direction. Edward Young went up to him. "If this breeze holds, sir, we shall soon be at anchor in our old quarters." The midshipman spoke in the respectful tone of one addressing his superior officer. Indeed, although Christian had, by his rash and desperate act of mutiny, forfeited his position, and lowered himself to a level with the worst of his associates, he never lost their respect. It is recorded that they styled him _Mister_ Christian to the end. "At anchor!" said Christian, in a tone of deepest despondency. "Ah, Edward Young, there is no anchorage for us now in this world! We may anchor in Matavai Bay to-night, but it will only be to up anchor and off again in a few days." "Come, come, sir," said Young, heartily, "don't give way to despondency. You know we were driven to act as we did, and it can't be helped now." "_We_ were driven! My poor fellow," returned Christian, laying a hand on the midshipman's shoulder, "_you_ had no part in this miserable business. It is I who have drawn you all into it, but--well, well, as you say, it can't be helped now. We must make the best of it,--God help us!" He spoke in a low, soft tone of profound sadness, and continued his wistful gaze over the stern of the _Bounty_. Presently he looked quickly round, and, taking Young's arm, began to pace the deck while he spoke to him. "As you say, Edward, we shall anchor once more in Matavai Bay, but I am firmly resolved not to remain there." "I'm sorry to hear it, sir," said Young, "for most of the men are as firmly resolved to stay, and you know several of them are resolute, not to say desperate, characters." "I am quite aware of that, but I shall make a proposal to them, which I think they will accept. I will first of all propose to leave Otaheite for some safer place of refuge, and when they object to that, I will propose to divide the whole of the ship's stores and property among us all, landing that portion which belongs to those who elect to remain on the island, and sailing away with the rest, and with those who choose to follow my fortunes, to seek a more distant and a safer home." "That may perhaps suit them," said Young. "Suit _them_," rejoined Christian, with a quick glance; "then _you_ don't count yourself one of them?" "No," returned the midshipman with a frank look, "I will follow you now, sir, to the end. How far I am guilty is a question that does not concern me at present. If the British Government gets hold of me, my fate is sealed. I am in the same boat with yourself, Mr Christian, and I mean to stick by it." There was a strange spasm on Christian's countenance, as if of conflicting emotions, while he grasped the youth's hand and squeezed it. "Thank you, Edward, thank you. Go now and see the anchor cleared to let go." He descended quickly to the cabin, while the unfortunate midshipman went forward to give the order. When the proposal just referred to was made the following day, after landing at Otaheite, it was at once agreed to. Peter Heywood, Stewart, Morrison, and others who had taken no active part in the mutiny, were glad to have the prospect of being enabled, sooner or later, to make a voluntary surrender of themselves, while the thoughtless and reckless among the men were well pleased to have done with uncertain wanderings, and to be allowed to settle among their amiable native friends. Preparations for instant departure were made by Christian and those who chose to follow his lead. The contents of the _Bounty_ were landed and fairly divided; then the vessel was got ready for her final voyage. Those who resolved to sail in her were as follows:-- Fletcher Christian, formerly acting lieutenant--age 24. Edward Young, midshipman--age 22. John Adams, seaman--age 22. William McCoy, seaman--age 25. Matthew Quintal, seaman--age 21. John Williams, seaman--age 25. Isaac Martin, seaman--age 30. John Mills, gunner's mate--age 40. William Brown, botanist's assistant--age 27. All these had married native women of Otaheite, who agreed to forsake home and kindred and follow the fortunes of their white husbands. There were also six native men who consented to accompany them. Their names were Talaloo, Ohoo, Timoa, Nehow, Tetaheite, and Menalee. Three of these had wives, and one of the wives had a baby girl by a former husband. The European sailors named the infant Sally. She was a round light-brown embodiment of gleeful impudence, and had barely reached the staggering age of infancy when taken on board the _Bounty_ to begin her strange career. Thus the party consisted of twenty-eight souls--namely, nine mutineers, six native men, twelve native women, and the light-brown baby. It was a pleasant bright morning in September 1790 when Fletcher Christian and his followers bade farewell to Otaheite. For some time the breeze was light, and the _Bounty_ hovered round the Island as if loath to leave it. In the dusk of evening a boat put off from her, pulled to the shore, and Christian landed, alone, near the house of a chief who had become the special friend of Peter Heywood and Stewart. With the two midshipmen he spent some time in earnest conversation. "I could not leave you," he said in conclusion, "without relieving my mind of all that I have just said about the mutiny, because you are sure to be sent for and taken to England as soon as the intelligence of this sad affair reaches. I advise you to go off at once to the first ship that may appear, and give yourselves up to the commander." "Such is our intention," said Heywood. "Right," rejoined Christian; "you are both innocent. No harm can come to you, for you took no part in the mutiny. For me, my fate is fixed. I go to search for some remote and uninhabited island, where I hope to spend the remainder of my days without seeing the face of any Europeans except those who accompany me. It is a dreary thought, lads, to lose country and kindred and friends for _ever_ by the act of one dark hour. Now, remember, Heywood, what I have told you to tell my friends. God knows I do not plead guiltless; I am alone responsible for the mutiny, and I exonerate all, even my adherents, from so much as suggesting it to me; nevertheless, there are some who love me in England, to whom I would beg of you to relate the circumstances that I have told you. These may extenuate though they cannot justify the crime I have committed. I assure you, most solemnly, that almost up to the last I had no intention of doing more than making my own escape from the ship which the injustice and brutality of Bligh had made a place of torment to me. When you called me, Stewart, to relieve the watch, my brain seemed on fire, and it was when I found the two officers both asleep, who should have been on duty, that I suddenly made up my mind to take the ship. Now," concluded Christian, grasping the hands of the youths, "I must say farewell. I have done you grievous wrong. God forgive me, and bless you. Good-bye, Peter; good-bye, Stewart, good-bye." He turned abruptly, stepped into his boat, and was rowed out to sea. The young midshipmen, with moistened eyes, stood silently watching the boat until it reached the ship. Then they saw the _Bounty_ steering away to the northward. Before daylight was quite gone she had disappeared on the distant horizon. Thus did Fletcher Christian and his comrades pass from the sight and ken of man, and they were not heard of after that for more than twenty years! But you and I, reader, have a special privilege to follow up these mutineers. Before doing so, however, let us note briefly what became of their comrades left on Otaheite. These, to the number of sixteen, soon distributed themselves among the houses of their various friends, and proceeded to make themselves quite at home. Some of them, however, were not disposed to take up a permanent abode there. Among these was the boatswain's mate, James Morrison, a man of superior mental power and energy, who kept an interesting and graphic journal of events. [See note.] He, with the armourer, cooper, carpenter's mate, and others, set to work to construct a small vessel, in which they meant to sail to Batavia, whence they hoped to procure a passage to England. The natives opposed this at first, but on being told that the vessel was only meant for pleasure trips round the island, they ceased their opposition, and watched with great wonder at the process of ship-building, which was carried on industriously from day to day. During the progress of the work there was witnessed an interesting ceremony, which, according to custom, was annually performed by the chief of the district and a vast concourse of natives. It shows how deeply the celebrated Captain Cook had gained the reverence and love of the people of Otaheite. A picture of the circumnavigator, which had been presented to the islanders by the captain of a merchant vessel, was brought out with great ceremony and held up before the people, who, including their queen, Eddea, paid homage to it. A ceremonial dance was also performed in its honour, and a long oration was pronounced by a leading chief, after which the portrait was returned to the care of an old man, who was its appointed custodian. Long and earnestly did the white men labour at their little ship, and with equal, if not superior, earnestness did the natives flock from all parts of the island to see the wonderful work advance, bringing supplies of provisions to the whites as a sort of payment for admission to the show. The vessel was completed and launched after months of toil, but its sails of matting were found to be so untrustworthy that the plan of proceeding in it to Batavia had to be given up. Meanwhile, two of the worst of the mutineers, named Thompson and Churchill, came to a tragical end. The former insulted a member of the family with whom he resided, and was knocked down. He left them in high dudgeon, and went to that part of the island where the vessel above referred to was being built. One day a canoe from a distant district touched there, and the owner landed with his wife and family, carrying his youngest child in his arms. Thompson angrily ordered him to go away, but the man did not obey the order, whereupon Thompson seized his musket and shot father and child with the same bullet. For this murder he was shunned with abhorrence by his comrades, and obliged to go off to another part of the island, accompanied by Churchill. These two took up their abode with a chief who was a _tayo_, or sworn friend, of the latter. This chief died shortly afterwards, leaving no children behind him; and Churchill, being his _tayo_, succeeded to his possessions and dignity, according to the custom of the country. He did not, however, enjoy his new position long, for Thompson, from jealousy or some other cause, shot him. The natives were so incensed at this that they arose _en masse_ and stoned Thompson to death. While these events were occurring, a messenger of retribution was speeding over the sea to Otaheite. On the morning of 23rd March 1791, exactly sixteen months after the landing of the mutineers, H.M.S. _Pandora_, Captain Edwards, sailed into Matavai Bay. Before she had anchored, Coleman the armourer swam off to her, and Peter Heywood and Stewart immediately followed and surrendered themselves. These, and all the mutineers, were immediately put in irons, and thrown into a specially prepared prison on the quarter-deck, named the "Pandora's Box," in which they were conveyed to England. We have not space to recount the stirring incidents of this remarkable and disastrous voyage, and the subsequent trial of the mutineers. Let it suffice to say, that the _Pandora_, after spending three months in a fruitless search for the _Bounty_, was wrecked on the homeward voyage, and a large number of the crew and some of the prisoners were drowned, among whom was poor Stewart the midshipman. The remainder of the crew were saved in the ship's boats, after performing a voyage which, as to its length and the sufferings endured, rivals that previously made by Bligh. Thereafter, on reaching England, the mutineers were tried by court-martial; some were honourably acquitted, others were condemned to death but afterwards pardoned, and ultimately only three were executed. Among those who were condemned, but afterwards pardoned as being unquestionably innocent, was Peter Heywood, whose admirable defence and correspondence with his family, especially that between himself and his charming sister Nessy, form a most interesting feature in the records of the trial; but all this must be passed over in silence, while we resume the thread of our story. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note. Part of this journal is quoted in an excellent account of the _Mutineers of the Bounty_, by Lady Belcher. CHAPTER THREE. THE LONELY ISLAND SIGHTED. It is pleasant to turn for a time from the dark doings of evil men to the contemplation of innocent infancy. We return to the _Bounty_, and solicit the reader's attention to a plump brown ball which rolls about that vessel's deck, exhibiting a marked tendency to gravitate towards the lee scuppers. This brown ball is Sally, the Otaheitan infant. Although brown, Sally's face is extremely pretty, by reason of the regularity of her little features, the beauty of her little white teeth, and the brilliancy of her large black eyes, to say nothing of her luxuriant hair and the gleeful insolence of her sweet expression. We cannot say how many, or rather how few, months old the child is, but, as we have already remarked, she is a staggerer. That is to say, she has begun to assert the independence of her little brown legs, and progresses, even when on shore, with all the uncertainty of a drunken woman. Of course, the ship's motion does not tend to remedy this defect. Sally's chief delight is wallowing. No matter what part of the ship's deck she may select for her operations--whether the scuppers, the quarter-deck, or the forecastle--she lays her down straightway for a luxurious wallow. If the spot be dirty, she wallows it clean; if it be clean, she wallows it dirty. This might seem an awkward habit to an English mother; but it is a matter of supreme indifference to Sally's mother, who sits on a gun-carriage plaiting a mat of cocoa-nut fibre, for Sally, being naked, requires little washing. A shower of rain or a dash of spray suffices to cleanse her when at sea. On shore she lives, if we may say so, more in the water than on the land. The day is fine, and the breeze so light that it scarce ruffles the face of the great ocean, though it manages to fill the topsails of the _Bounty_, causing her to glide quietly on. Some of the mutineers are seated on the deck or bulwarks, patching a canvas jacket or plaiting a grass hat. Others are smoking contemplatively. John Adams is winding up the log-line with McCoy. Edward Young stands gazing through a telescope at something which he fancies is visible on the horizon, and Fletcher Christian is down in the cabin poring over Carteret's account of his voyage in the Pacific. There were goats on board. One of these, having become a pet with the crew, was allowed to walk at liberty, and became a grand playmate for Sally. Besides the goats, Christian had taken care to procure a number of hogs and poultry from Otaheite; also a supply of young breadfruit-trees and other vegetable products of the island, wherewith to enrich his new home when he should find it. All the animals were confined in cribs and pens with the exception of Sally's playmate. "Take care!" exclaimed John Adams as he left the quarter-deck with his hands in his pockets; "your mate'll butt you overboard, Sal, if you don't look-out." There was, indeed, some fear of such a catastrophe, for the precocious infant had a tendency to scramble on any object which enabled her to look over the low bulwarks, and the goat had a propensity to advance on its hind legs with a playful toss of its head and take its playmate by surprise, in truth, what between the fore-hatch, the companion-hatch, and the low bulwarks, it may be said that Sally led a life of constant and imminent danger. She was frequently plucked by the men out of the very jaws of death, and seemed to enjoy the fun. While attempting to avoid one of the goat's playful assaults, Sally stumbled up against Matthew Quintal, deranged the work on which he was engaged, and caused him to prick his hand with a sail-needle, at which William McCoy, who was beside him, laughed. "Get out o' that, you little nigger!" exclaimed Quintal, angrily, giving the child a push with his foot which sent her rolling to the side of the ship, where her head came in contact with an iron bolt. Sally opened her mouth, shut her eyes, and howled. Quintal had probably not intended to hurt the child, but he expressed no regret. On the contrary, seeing that she was not much injured, he laughed in concert with McCoy. These two, Quintal and McCoy, were emphatically the bad men of the party. They did not sympathise much, if at all, with human suffering-- certainly not with those whom they styled "niggers;" but there was one witness of the act whose heart was as tender towards the natives as Quintal's was hard. "If you ever dare to touch her so again," said Young, striding up to Quintal, "I'll kick you into the pig-sty." The midshipman seemed to be the last man on board whose natural disposition would lead him to utter such a threat, and Quintal was quite taken aback; but as Young was a powerful fellow, perfectly capable of carrying his threat into execution, and seemed, moreover, thoroughly roused, the former thought it best to hold his tongue, even though lugubrious Isaac Martin chuckled audibly, and Ohoo, one of the natives, who stood near, displayed his fine teeth from ear to ear. Lifting up Sally with much tenderness, Young carried her to her mother, who, after a not very careful examination of the bruised head, set her down on the deck, where she immediately began to wallow as before. Rising on her brown little feet, she staggered forward a few paces, and then seated herself without bending her knees. From this position she rolled towards the starboard side of the ship and squeezed herself between a gun-carriage and the bulwarks, until she got into the porthole. Thrusting her head over the edge of this, she gazed at the ripples that rolled pleasantly from the side. This was paradise! The sun glittered on these ripples, and Sally's eyes glittered in sympathy. A very gentle lurch of the ship soon after sent Sally head foremost into the midst of the ripples. This event was nothing new to Sally. In her Otaheitan home her mother had been wont to take her out for a swim as British mothers take their offspring for a walk. Frequently had that mother pitched Sally off her shoulders and left her to wabble in the water, as eagles are said to toss their eaglets into the air, and leave them to flutter until failing strength renders aid advisable. No doubt when Sally, falling from such a height, and turning so as to come flat on her back, experienced a tingling slap upon her skin, she felt disposed to shed a salt tear or two into the mighty ocean; but when the smart passed away, she took to wallowing in the water, by way of making the most of her opportunities. Both Christian and Young heard the plunge. The former leaped up the companion ladder, the latter ran to the stern of the ship, but before either could gain the side one of the Otaheitan men, who had witnessed the accident, plunged into the sea and was soon close to Sally. The playful creature, after giving him a kick in the face, consented to be placed on his shoulders. The ship of course was brought up to the wind and her topsails backed as quickly as possible, but the swimmers were left a considerable distance astern before this was accomplished. "No need to lower a boat," remarked Christian, as he drew out the tubes of his telescope; "that fellow swims like a fish." "So do all his countrymen," said Young. "And the women and children too," added John Adams, who was at the helm. "She's tugging at the man's woolly head as if it were a door mat," said Christian, laughing; "and I do believe--yes--the little thing is now reaching round--and pulling his nose. Look at them, Young." Handing the glass to the midshipman, he turned to inquire for the child's mother, and to his astonishment found that brown lady sitting on the deck busy with her mat-making, as unconcerned as if nothing unusual were going on. The fact was, that Sally's mother thought no more of Sally falling into the sea than a white mother might of her child falling on its nose--not so much, perhaps. She knew that the ship would wait to pick her up. She also knew that Sally was an expert swimmer for her age, and that the man who had gone to her rescue was thoroughly able for the duty, having, like all the South Sea Islanders, been accustomed from infancy to spend hours at a time in the water. In a few minutes he came alongside, with Sally sitting astride his neck, holding on to both sides of his head, and lifting her large eyes with a gaze of ecstasy to those who looked over the vessel's side. She evidently regarded the adventure as one of the most charming that had up to that time gladdened her brief career. Not only so, but, no sooner had she been hauled on board with her deliverer, than she made straight for the porthole from which she had fallen, and attempted to repeat the manoeuvre, amid shouts of laughter from all who saw her. After that the various portholes had to be closed up, and the precocious baby to be more carefully watched. "I have come to the conclusion," said Christian to Young, as they paced the deck by moonlight that same night, "that it is better to settle on Pitcairn's Island than on any of the Marquesas group. It is farther out of the track of ships than any known island of the Pacific, and if Carteret's account of it be correct, its precipitous sides will induce passers-by to continue their voyage without stopping." "If we find it, and it should turn out to be suitable, what then!" asked Young. "We shall land, form a settlement, and live and die there," answered Christian. "A sad end to all our bright hopes and ambitions," said Young, as if speaking to himself, while he gazed far away on the rippling pathway made by the sun upon the sea. Christian made no rejoinder. The subject was not a pleasant one to contemplate. He thought it best to confront the inevitable in silence. Captain Carteret, the navigator who discovered the island and named it Pitcairn, after the young officer of his ship who was the first to see and report it, had placed it on his chart no less than three degrees out of its true longitude. Hence Christian cruised about unsuccessfully in search of it for several weeks. At last, when he was on the point of giving up the search in despair, a solitary rock was descried in the far distance rising out of the ocean. "There it is at last!" said Christian, with a sigh that seemed to indicate the removal of a great weight from his spirit. Immediately every man in the ship hurried to the bow of the vessel, and gazed with strangely mingled feelings on what was to be his future home. Even the natives, men and women, were roused to a feeling of interest by the evident excitement of the Europeans, and hastened to parts of the ship whence they could obtain a clear view. By degrees tongues began to loosen. "It's like a fortress, with its high perpendicular cliffs," remarked John Adams. "All the better for us," said Quintal; "we'll need some place that's difficult to get at and easy to defend, if one o' the King's ships should find us out." "So we will," laughed McCoy in gruff tones, "and it's my notion that there's a natural barrier round that island which will go further to defend us agin the King's ships than anything that we could do. Isn't that white line at the foot o' the cliffs like a heavy surf, boys?" "It looks like it," answered John Mills, the gunner's mate; "an' wherever you find cliffs rising like high walls out o' the sea, you may be pretty sure the water's too deep for good anchorage." "That's in our favour too," returned Quintal; "nothin' like a heavy surf and bad anchorage to indooce ships to give us a wide berth." "I hope," said William Brown the botanist, "that there's some vegetation on it. I don't see much as yet." "Ain't it a strange thing," remarked long-legged Isaac Martin, in a more than usually sepulchral tone, "that land-lubbers invariably shows a fund of ignorance when at sea, even in regard to things they might be supposed to know somethin' about?" "How have I shown ignorance just now?" asked Brown, with a smile, for he was a good-humoured man, and could stand a great deal of chaffing. "Why, how can you, bein' a gardener," returned Martin, "expect to see wegitation on the face of a perpindikler cliff?" "You're right, Martin; but then, you know, there is generally an interior as well as a face to a cliffy island, and one might expect to find vegetation there, don't you see." "That's true--to _find_ it," retorted Martin, "but not to _see_ it through tons of solid rock, and from five or six miles out at sea." "But what if there's niggers on it?" suggested Adams, who joined the party at this point. "Fight 'em, of coorse," said John Williams. "An' drive 'em into the sea," added Quintal. "Ay, the place ain't big enough for more than one lot," said McCoy. "It don't seem more than four miles long, or thereabouts." An order to shorten sail stopped the conversation at this point. "It is too late to attempt a landing to-night," said Christian to Young. "We'll dodge off and on till morning." The _Bounty_ was accordingly put about, and her crew spent the remainder of the night in chatting or dreaming about their future home. CHAPTER FOUR. THE ISLAND EXPLORED. A bright and pleasant morning forms a powerful antidote to the evils of a cheerless night. Few of the mutineers slept soundly on the night of their arrival off Pitcairn, and their dreams of that island were more or less unpleasantly mingled with manacles and barred windows, and men dangling from yard-arms. The blessed sunshine dissipated all this, rousing, in the hearts of some, feelings of hope and forgiveness, in the breasts of others, only those sensations of animal enjoyment which man shares in common with the brutes. "Lower away the boat there," said Fletcher Christian, coming on deck with a more cheerful air than he had worn since the day of the mutiny; "we shall row round the island and search for a landing-place. You will take charge, Mr Young, during my absence. Put muskets and ammunition into the boat, John Adams; the place may be inhabited--there's no saying--and South Sea savages are not a hospitable race as a rule. Now then, look sharp, lads." In a few minutes, Adams, Martin, McCoy, Brown, and Quintal were in the boat, with two of the Otaheitan men. "Won't you take cutlasses?" asked Young, looking over the side. "Well, yes, hand down half-a-dozen; and don't go far from this end of the island, Mr Young. Just keep dodging off and on." "Ay, ay, sir," said the middy, touching his cap from the mere force of habit. "Shove off," said Christian, seating himself at the helm. In a few minutes the boat was skimming over the calm water towards the shore, while the _Bounty_, wearing round, went slowly out to sea. As the boat neared the shore it soon became evident that it would be extremely difficult to effect a landing. Nothing could be seen but high precipitous cliffs without any sign of a harbour or creek sufficiently large or safe to afford anchorage for the ship. Worst of all, the only spot that seemed to offer any prospect of a landing-place, even for a boat, was guarded by tremendous breakers that seemed to bid defiance to man's feeble powers. These great waves, or rollers, were not the result of storm or wind, but of the mere ocean-swell of the great Pacific, which undulates over her broad breast even when becalmed. No signs of the coming waves were visible more than a few hundred yards from the shore. There, each roller gradually and silently arose when the undulating motion of the sea caught the bottom. A little farther in it assumed the form of a magnificent green wall of liquid glass, which became more and more vast and perpendicular as it rolled on, until it curled over and rushed with a mighty roar and a snowy crest towards the beach. There it dashed itself in tumultuous foam among the rocks. "Give way, lads," said Christian, sitting down after a prolonged gaze at this scene; "we may find a better spot farther on." As they proceeded they were received with wild and plaintive cries by innumerable sea-birds, whose homes were on the cliffs, and who evidently resented this intrusion of strangers. "Shall we give 'em a shot, sir?" asked McCoy, laying his hand on a musket. "No, time enough for that," replied Christian, shortly. They pulled right round the island without seeing a single spot more available for a landing than the place they had first approached. It was a very little bay, with a small clump of six cocoa-nut trees near the water's edge on the right, and a single cocoa-nut tree on the left, about two hundred yards from the others. Above these, on a hill a little to the westward, there was a grove of the same species. "We'll have to try it, sir," said John Adams, looking at his leader inquiringly. "We're sure to capsize," observed McCoy. "No matter," said Christian; "we have at last reached _home_, and I'm bound not to be baffled at the door. Come, Ohoo, you know something about beaching canoes in a surf; there can't be much difference with a boat. Get up in the bow and direct me how to steer." He spoke to one of the native in the imperfect jumble of Otaheitan and English with which the white men had learned to communicate with the natives. Ohoo understood, and at once went to the bow of the boat, the head of which was now directed towards a place in the cliffs where there seemed to be a small bay or creek. The native gave directions with his arms right or left, and did not require to speak. Christian steered with one of the oars instead of the rudder, to give him more power over the boat. Soon they began to feel the influence of the in-going wave. It was a moment of intense anxiety. Christian ordered the men to cease rowing. Ohoo made a sudden and violent indication with his left arm. Christian obeyed. "Give a gentle pull, boys," he said. They rose as he spoke on the top of a wave so high that they could look down for a moment on the seething foam that raged between them and the beach, and Christian was about to order the men to pull hard, when the native looked back and shook his head excitedly. They had not got sufficiently into the grasp of that wave; they must wait for the next. "Back all!" shouted the steersman. The boat slid back into the trough of the sea, while the wave went roaring inward. The succeeding wave was soon close astern. It seemed to curl over them, threatening destruction, but it lifted them, instead, on its high shoulders. There was a slight appearance of boiling on the surface of the moving billow as it caught them. It was about to break, and the boat was fairly in its grasp. "Give way!" shouted Christian, in a sharp, loud voice. A moment more, and they were rushing grandly in on a mountain of snow, with black rocks rising on either side. It was nervous work. A little to the right or a little to the left, and their frail bark would have been dashed to pieces. As it was, they were launched upon a strip of sand and gravel that lay at the foot of the towering cliffs. "Hurrah!" cried Martin and Brown, in wild excitement, as they leaped over the bow after the natives, while Christian, Adams, Quintal, and McCoy went over the stern to prevent the boat being dragged back by the recoiling foam, and pushed it high and dry on the beach. "Well done! Here we are at last in Bounty Bay!" exclaimed Christian, with a look of satisfaction, giving to the spot, for the first time, that name which it ever afterwards retained. "Make fast the painter-- there; get your arms now, boys, and follow me." At the head of the bay there was a hill, almost a cliff, up which there wound something that had the appearance of a path, or the almost dry bed of a water-course. It was exceedingly steep, but seemed the only route by which the interior of the island could be reached. Up the tangled pass for about three hundred yards the explorers advanced in single file, all except Quintal, who was left in charge of the boat. "It looks very like a path that has been made by men," said Christian, pausing to breathe, and turning round when half-way up the height; "don't you think so, Brown?" Thus appealed to, the botanist, whose eyes had been enchained by the luxuriant and lovely herbage of the place, stooped to inspect the path. "It does look a little like it, sir," he replied, with some caution, "but it also looks not unlike a water-course. You see it is a little wet just hereabouts. Isn't it? What think you, Isaac Martin?" "I don't think nothin' about it," returned Martin, solemnly, turning over the quid of tobacco that bulged his cheek; "but if I might ventur' for to give an opinion, I should say it don't much matter what it is, one way or another." "That's true, Isaac," said Christian, with a short laugh, as he resumed his march up the cliff. On the way they were shaded and kept pleasantly cool by the neighbouring precipices but on gaining the top they came into a blaze of sunshine, and then became suddenly aware that they had discovered a perfect paradise. They stood on a table-land which was thickly covered with cocoa-nut trees. A quarter of a mile farther on lay a beautiful valley, the slopes and mounds of which were clothed with trees and beautiful flowering herbage of various kinds, in clumps and groves of picturesque form, with open glades and little meadows between, the whole being backed by a grand mountain-range which traversed the island, and rose to a height of more than a thousand feet. "It is heaven upon earth!" exclaimed Brown, as they began to push into the heart of the lovely scene. "Humph! It's not all gold that glitters," growled McCoy, with a sarcastic smile. "It's pretty real, nevertheless," observed Isaac Martin; "I only hope there ain't none o' the rascally niggers livin' here." Christian said nothing, but wandered on, looking about him like one in a dream. Besides cocoa-nut palms and other trees and shrubs, there were banyan-trees, the branches of which dropped downwards to the earth and there took root, and other large timber-trees, and plantains, bananas, yams, taro-roots, mulberry, tee-plant, and other fruit-bearing plants in great profusion. Over this richly varied scene the eyes of William Brown wandered in rapture. "Magnificent!" he exclaimed; "a perfect garden!" "Rich enough soil, eh?" said Martin, turning some of it up with the point of his shoe. "Rich enough, ay; couldn't be finer," said Brown. "I should think, from its deep red colour, that it is chiefly decomposed lava. The island is evidently volcanic in its origin. I hope we shall find fresh water. We've not seen much yet, but it's sure to be found somewhere, for such magnificent vegetation could not exist without it." "What have we here?" said Christian, stooping to pick up something. "A stone implement of some kind, like a spear-head, I think. It seems to me that the island must have been inhabited once, although it does not appear to be so now." After they had wandered about for some time, examining the land, and passing many a commentary, both grave and humorous, they turned to retrace their steps, when Brown, who had gone on in advance, was heard to cheer as he waved his hat above his head. He had discovered a spring. They all hastened towards the spot. It lay like a clear gem in the hollow of a rock a considerable distance up the mountain. It was unanimously named "Brown's Pool," but it did not contain much water at the time. "Can we do better than dine here?" said Isaac Martin. "There's lots o' food around us." This was true, for of the various fruits which grew wild in the island, the cocoa-nut, plantain, and banana were to be had all the year round. Brown had brought a small hatchet with him, which enabled them to break open several cocoa-nuts, whose hard outer husks would not have yielded easily to a clasp-knife. While they sat thus enjoying themselves beside Brown's Pool, a small lizard was observed to run over a rock near to them. It stopped for a moment to raise its little head and look at the visitors, apparently with great surprise. A rat was also seen, and chased without success, by Isaac Martin. A small species of fly-catcher, of a whitey-brown colour, was likewise observed, and those creatures, it was afterwards ascertained, were the only living things to be found on the island, with the exception of a variety of insects and the innumerable gulls already mentioned. "Here, then," said Christian, raising a piece of the cocoa-nut shell filled with water to his lips, "I drink to our health and happiness in our island home." There was a strange mingling of pathos with heartiness in his tone, which did not fail to impress his companions, who cheerfully responded to the toast. "I only wish we had something stronger than water to drink it in," said McCoy. "Better without strong drink," remarked John Adams, who was naturally a temperate man. "Worse without it, _I_ think," growled McCoy, who was naturally contentious and quarrelsome; "don't it warm the heart and raise the spirits and strengthen the frame, and--" "Ay, and clear the brain," interrupted Martin, with one of his most lugubrious looks, "an' steady the gait, specially w'en one's pretty far gone, an' beautify the expression, an'--an'--clear the int'leck, an' (hic) an' gen'r'ly in--in--tenshify sh' powers (hic) of c-converzashun, eh?" Martin was a pretty fair mimic, and illustrated his meaning so well, not only with his tongue but with his solemn countenance, that the whole party burst into a laugh, with the exception of McCoy, who replied with the single word, "Bosh!" To which Martin returned, "Bam!" "Just so," said Christian, as he stooped to refill the cocoa-nut shell; "you may be said to have reduced that spirited question to an essence, which is much beyond proof, and closed it; we will therefore return to the shore, get on board as quickly as possible, and make arrangements for anchoring in the bay." "I doubt it's too deep for anchoring," remarked Adams, as they walked down the hill. "Well, then, we shall run the ship on shore," said Christian, curtly, "for here we must remain. There is no other island that I know of in these regions. Besides, this one seems the very thing we want. It has wood and water in abundance; fruits and roots of many kinds; a splendid soil, if we may believe our eyes, to say nothing of Brown's opinion; bad anchorage for ships, great difficulty and some danger in landing even in fine weather, and impossible to land at all, I should think, in bad; beautiful little valleys and hills; rugged mountains with passes so difficult that a few resolute men might defy a host, and caves to which we might retreat and sell our lives dearly if hard pushed. What more could we wish for?" In a short time they reached the little narrow strip of shingly beach where the boat had been left in charge of Quintal. Here they had to encounter the great difficulty of forcing their way through the surf which had borne them shoreward in such grand style. The chief danger lay in the liability of the boat to be caught by the bow, turned broadside to the great tumbling billows, and overturned. Safety and success lay in keeping the boat's bow straight "end-on" to the seas, and pulling hard. To accomplish this, Fletcher Christian again took an oar to steer with, in preference to the rudder. Besides being the most powerful man of the party, he was the best boatman, and the most agile in his movements. "Steady, now!" he said, as the boat lay in the seething foam partially sheltered by a rock, while the men sat with oars out, ready for instant action. A bigger wave than usual had just hurled itself with a thunderous roar on the reverberating cliffs, and the great sheet of foaming water had just reached that momentary pause which indicated the turning-point previous to the backward rush, when Christian shouted-- "Give way!" The boat leaped out, was kept end-on by a powerful stroke of the steersman, rushed on the back-draught as if down a cataract, and met the succeeding billow fairly. The bow was thrown up so high that it seemed as if the boat were standing on end, and must inevitably be thrown right over, but the impetus given by the willing men forced her half through and half over the crest of the watery mountain. "With a will, boys, with a will!" cried Christian. Another moment and they slid down the billow's back into the trough between the seas. A few more energetic strokes carried them over the next wave. After that the danger was past, and in less than half-an-hour they were once more on board the _Bounty_. CHAPTER FIVE. THE LANDING OF THE LIVESTOCK IN BOUNTY BAY. Preparations were now made for landing. The bay which they had discovered, and was the only one on the island, lay on its northern side. Into it they succeeded in running the _Bounty_, and cast anchor. Soon the women, with little Sally, were landed and sent up to the table-land above, to make some sort of encampment, under the charge of midshipman Young. The ship was warped close up to the cliffs, so close that she ran the end of her bowsprit against them and broke it off. Here there was a narrow ledge that seemed suitable for a landing-place. Night put a stop to their labours on board. While some lighted fires and encamped on the shore, others remained in the ship to guard her and to be ready for the debarkation that was to take place in the morning. And a strange debarkation it was. It had been found that there was a rise of eight feet in the tide. This enabled Christian to lay the ship in such a position that it was possible to extend several long planks from the bow to the beach. Fortunately the weather was fine, otherwise the landing would have been difficult if not disastrous. When all was complete, the goats were collected and driven over the bow to the shore. The procession was headed by an old billy-goat, who looked supremely philosophical as he went slowly along the rough gangway. "It minds one o' pirates makin' the crew of a merchantman walk the plank," remarked John Williams, as he assisted to urge the unwilling flock along. "Quite like a menadgeree," suggested Mills. "More like old Noah comin' out o' the ark," said Williams, "on the top o' Mount--Mount--what was its name? I forget." "Mount Sy-nee," suggested Quintal. "Not at all; it was Mount Arrowroot," said Isaac Martin, with the air of an oracle. "Clear the way, lads, for the poultry," shouted midshipman Young. A tremendous cackling in rear rendered further orders inaudible as well as unnecessary, while the men stood aside from the opening to the gangway of planks. A considerable number of fowls had been taken on board at Otaheite, and these, besides being bewildered and uncertain as to the point to which they were being driven, and the precise duty that was required of them, were infected with the general obstinacy of the rest of the animal kingdom. At last, however, a splendid cock was persuaded to enter the gangway, down which he ran, and flew shrieking to the shore, followed by the rest of his kindred. "Now for the hogs," said Quintal, to whose domineering spirit the work was congenial. But the hogs were not to be managed as easily as the goats and fowls had been. With native obstinacy and amazing energy they refused to do what they were bid, and shrieked defiance when force was attempted. The noise was further increased by the butting of a few goats and the cackling of some poultry, which had got mixed up with them. First of all they declined to leave the enclosures, out of which they had tried pertinaciously to escape all the voyage. By way of overcoming this difficulty, Christian ordered the enclosures to be torn down, and the planks with which they had been formed were used as persuaders to urge the refractory creatures on. As each poke or slap produced a series of horrible yells, it may be understood that the operation was accompanied with noise. At last some of the men, losing patience, rushed at the hogs, seized them by ears and tails, and forcibly dragged them to the gangway. McCoy and Quintal distinguished themselves in this service, hurling their animals on the planks with such violence that several of them fell over into the sea, and swam towards the shore in the surf from which they were rescued by the Otaheitan men, who danced about in the water, highly enjoying this part of their labour. A profound calm seemed to succeed a wild storm when the last of the unruly pigs had left the ship. "We've got 'em all out at last," said one of the men, with a sigh, wiping the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve. "Bad luck to them," growled another, tying up a slight wound received in the conflict. "We've done with the live stock, anyhow, and that's a comfort," said a third. "Done with the live stock!" exclaimed Martin. "Why, the worst lot has yet to come." "That must be yourself, then, Martin, my boy," said Brown. "I wish it was, Brown," retorted Martin; "but you've forgotten the cats." "So we have!" exclaimed everybody. "And you may be sure they'll give us some trouble," said Christian. "Come, let's go at 'em at once." This estimate of the cats was fully justified by what followed. A considerable number of these useful creatures, black, white, and grey, had been brought from Otaheite for the purpose of keeping down the rats, with which many of the South Sea Islands are afflicted. During the voyage most of them had retired to the privacy of the hold, where they found holes and corners about the cargo, and came out only at night, like evil spirits, to pick up a precarious livelihood. During the recent conflict a few had found insecure refuge in holes and corners about the deck, where yelling and fugitive pigs had convulsed them with horror; and one, a huge grey cat, having taken madly to the rigging, rushed out to the end of the foresail-yard, where it was immediately roused to frenzy by a flock of astonished gulls. Now, these cats had to be rummaged out of their retreats by violence, in which work all the white men in the ship had to take part amid a chorus of awful skirling, serpentlike fuffing, ominous and deadly growling, and, generally, hideous caterwauling, that no pen, however gifted, could adequately describe. "_I_ see 'im," cried Mills, with his head thrust down between a nail-cask and a bundle of Otaheitan roots. "Where?" from John Adams, who, with heels and legs in the air, and head and shoulders down somewhere about the keel, was poking a long stick into total darkness. "There, right under you, with a pair of eyes blazing like green lamps." A poke in the right direction caused a convulsion in the bowels of the cargo like a miniature earthquake. It was accompanied by a fearful yell. "I've touched him at last," said Adams, quietly. "Look-out there, Brown, he's goin' to scramble up the bulkhead." "There goes another," shouted Martin, whose head was so far down among the cargo that his voice had a muffled sound. There was no occasion to ask where this time, for, with a wild shriek, a large black fellow left its retreat, sprang up the hatchway, and sought refuge in the rigging. At the same moment there came a sepulchral moan from a cat whose place of refuge was invaded by Quintal. The moan was followed by a cry, loud and deep, that would have done credit to a mad baby. "Isn't it appalling to see creeturs so furious?" said Adams, solemnly, as he drew his head and shoulders out of the depths. "They're fiendishly inclined, no doubt," said Christian, who stood hard by with a stick, ready to expedite the process of ejection when a cat ventured to show itself. At last, with infinite trouble the whole body of the enemy were routed from the hold, and the hatches fastened down to prevent a return. But the end was not yet gained, for the creatures had found various refuges on deck, and some had taken to the rigging. "Come out o' that," cried Martin, making a poke at the big grey cat, like a small tiger, which had fled to the foretop. With a ferocious caterwaul and fuff the creature sprang down the shrouds on the opposite side as if it had been born and bred a sailor. Unfortunately it made a wild leap at a pendant rope in passing, missed it, and came down on the deck with a prodigious flop. Only one of its nine lives, apparently, was damaged. With the other eight it rushed to the opening in the bow, and soon gained the shore, where it immediately sprang to the leafy head of a cocoa-nut palm. At the same moment a black-and-white cat was sent flying in the same direction by Young. Quintal, indulging his savage nature, caught one of the cats by the neck and tried to strangle it into subjection, but received such punishment with teeth and claws that he was fain to fling it into the sea. It swam ashore, emerged a melancholy "drookit" spectacle, and dashed into the nearest underwood. Thus, one by one, the cats were hunted out of the _Bounty_, and introduced to their future home. The last to give in was, appropriately, an enormous black Tom, which, with deadly yellow eyes, erect hair, bristling tail, curved back, extended claws, and flattened ears, rushed fuffing and squealing from one refuge to another, until at last, giving way to the concentrated attack of the assembled crew, it burst through the opening, scurried down the gangway, and went like a shot into the bushes, a confirmed maniac,--if not worse. CHAPTER SIX. SETTLING DOWN AND EXPLORATION. The first few days were devoted by the mutineers to conveying ashore every article that was likely to prove useful. Not only were chests, boxes, tools, bedding, culinary implements, etcetera, removed from the vessel, but the planks that formed the bulkheads, much of the cordage, and all the loose spars and removable iron-work were carried ashore. In short, the vessel was completely gutted. When this was finished, a council was called to decide what should be done with the _Bounty_ herself, for although Christian was the acknowledged leader of the party, he took no important step without consulting his comrades. "You see it is useless," he said, "to think of venturing again to sea in the _Bounty_; we are too short-handed for that. Besides, we could not find a more suitable island than this. I therefore propose that we should burn the ship, to prevent her being seen by any chance vessel that may pass this way. If she were observed, men might be tempted to land, and of course they would tell that we were here, and His Majesty would soon have a cruiser out in search of us. What say you?" "I say wait a bit and consider," replied Young. "Ditto," said Adams. Some of the others thought with Christian. Quintal, in particular, who seemed to live in a chronic state of objection to being hanged, was strong for destroying the vessel. Eventually, after a good deal of delay and much discussion, the good ship _Bounty_ finished her career by being burned to the water's edge in Bounty Bay. This occurred on the 23rd January 1790. The lower part of the vessel, which would not burn, was towed out into deep water and sunk, so that not a vestige of her remained. And now all was bustling activity. A spot some few hundred yards farther inland than that selected as their camping-ground on the day of arrival, was fixed on as suitable for their permanent location. It was beautifully situated, and pleasantly sheltered by trees, through between the stems of which the sea was visible. To this spot everything was conveyed, and several of the most powerful of the men began to clear the ground, and fell the trees with axes. One morning, soon after landing, a party was organised to traverse the island and investigate its character and resources. As they were not yet quite sure that it was uninhabited, this party was a strong one and well armed. It consisted of Christian, Adams, Brown, Martin, and four of the Otaheitans. Edward Young stayed at the encampment with the remaining men and the women. "In which direction shall we go?" asked Christian, appealing to Brown. The botanist hesitated, and glanced round him. "If I might make so bold, sir," said Isaac Martin, "I would suggest that we go right up to the top o' the mountains. There's nothin' like a bird's-eye view for fillin' the mind wi' right notions o' form, an' size, an' character." Following this advice, they traversed the lower ground, which was found very prolific everywhere. Then they ascended the undulating slopes of the mountain-sides until they reached the rugged and bare rocks of the higher ground. On the way they found further and indisputable evidence of the island having been inhabited at some previous and probably long past era. Among these evidences were spear-heads, and axes of stone, and several warlike weapons. "Hallo! here's a circumstance," exclaimed Martin, stopping in front of an object which lay on the ground. On closer examination the "circumstance" turned out to be an image made of a hard and coarse red stone. "It is evidently an idol," said Christian; "and here are some smooth round stones, resembling those used by the Otaheitans in war." Not far from the spot, and in other places as they advanced, the exploring party found heaps of stone chips, as well as more images and tools. "I've been thinking," said Brown, turning for a moment to look down at the sea, which now lay spread out far below them like a blue plain, "I've been thinking that the proof of people having been here long ago lies not only in these stones, axes, spears, and images, but also in the fact that we find the cocoa-nut trees, bananas, plantains, breadfruit-trees, as well as yams and sweet potatoes, grow chiefly in the sunny and sheltered parts of the island, and gathered together as if they had been planted there." "Here's the best proof of all," exclaimed Martin, who had a tendency to poke about, with his long nose advanced, as if scenting out things. They looked at the spot to which Martin pointed, and there saw a human skeleton in the last stage of decay, with a large pearl shell under the skull. Not far-off more human bones were discovered. "That's proof positive," said Brown. "Now, I wonder why these natives came here, and why they went away." "P'r'aps they didn't come, but was born'd here," suggested Martin; "an' mayhap they didn't go away at all, but died here." "True, Martin," said Adams; "and that shell reminds me of what Captain Bligh once told me, that the natives o' the Gambier Islands, which must lie to wind'ard o' this, have a custom of puttin' a shell under the heads of the dead in this fashion. Moreover, he told me that these same Gambier chaps, long ago, used to put the people they vanquished in war on rafts, and turn 'em adrift to sink or swim, or fetch what land they might. No doubt some of these people got drifted here." As he spoke the party emerged from a somewhat rugged pass, close to the highest peak of the mountain-ranges. A few minutes' scramble brought them to the summit, whence they obtained a magnificent view of the entire circuit of the island. We have said that the peak is just over a thousand feet high. From this commanding position the Pacific was seen with a boundless horizon all round. Not a speck of land visible save the rocky isle on which they stood. Not a sail to mark the vast expanse of water, which, from that height, seemed perfectly flat and smooth, though a steady breeze was blowing, and the islet was fringed with a pure white ring of foam. Not a cloud even to break the monotony of the clear sky, and no sound to disturb the stillness of nature save the plaintive cries, mellowed by distance, of the myriads of sea-fowl which sailed round the cliffs, or dipped into the water far below. "Solitude profound," said Christian, in a low voice, breaking the silence which had fallen on the party as they gazed slowly round them. Just then a loud and hideous yell issued from, apparently; the bowels of the earth, and rudely put to flight the feeling of profound solitude. The cry, although very loud, had a strangely muffled sound, and was repeated as if by an echo. The explorers looked in each other's faces inquiringly, and not without an expression of awe. "Strange," said Adams; "an' it sounded very like some one in distress." It was observed suddenly that Isaac Martin was absent. "But the voice was not like his," said Brown. The mysterious cry was repeated at the moment, and Christian ran quickly in the direction whence it seemed to come. As they neared a rugged mass of rocks which lay close to the peak on which they had been standing, the cry lost much of its mystery, and finally assumed the tones of Martin's voice. "Hallo! hi! murder! help! O my leg! Mr Christian, Adams, Brown, this way. Help! ho! hi!" What between the muffled sound and the echo, Martin created a noise that would have set his friends into fits of laughter if they had not been greatly alarmed. In a few seconds the party reached what seemed to be a dark hole, out of which the poor man's left leg was seen protruding. Christian and Adams grasped it. Brown and one of the Otaheitans lent a hand, and Martin was quickly dragged out of danger and set on his legs. "I say, Martin," said Brown, anxiously, "sit down or you'll bu'st. Every drop o' blood in your body has gone to your head." "No wonder," gasped Isaac, "if you'd bin hangin' by one fut half as long, your blood would have blowed your head off altogether." "There now, sit down a minute, and you'll be all right," said Christian. "How did it happen?" To this Martin replied that it was simple enough. He had fallen a few yards behind, and, taking a wrong turn, had come on a hole, into which he looked. Seeing something like a light at the bottom of it, he stooped down to look further, slipped on the rocks, and went in head foremost, but was arrested by his foot catching between two rocks and getting jammed. In this position he would soon have perished had not his comrades come to the rescue. With some curiosity they now proceeded to examine the hole. It turned out to be the entrance to a cave which opened towards the northern side of the island, and from which a splendid sweep of the sea could be seen, while in the immediate neighbourhood, far down the precipices, innumerable sea-birds were seen like flakes of snow circling round the cliffs. A few of the inquisitive among these mounted to the giddy height of the cave's seaward-mouth, and seemed to gaze in surprise at the unwonted sight of man. "A most suitable cavern for a hermit or a monk," said Brown. "More fit for a monkey," said Martin. "Not a bad place of refuge in case our retreat should be discovered," observed Christian. "H'm! the Mutineers' Retreat," muttered John Adams, in a slightly bitter tone. "A few resolute men," continued Christian, taking no notice of the last remark, "could hold out here against a hundred--at least while their ammunition lasted." He returned as he spoke to the cave's landward entrance, and clambered out with some difficulty, followed by his companions. Proceeding with their investigations, they found that, while a large part of the island was covered with rich soil, bearing fruit-trees and shrubs in abundance, the remainder of it was mountainous, rugged, and barren. They also ascertained that, although the place had been inhabited in times long past, there seemed to be no inhabitants at that time to dispute their taking possession. Satisfied with the result of their investigations, they descended to their encampment on the table-land close to the heights above Bounty Bay. On drawing near to the clearing they heard the sound of voices raised as if in anger. "It's Quintal and McCoy," said Adams; "I know the sound o' their ill-natured voices." Presently the two men could be seen through the trees. Quintal was sitting on a felled tree, looking fiercely at McCoy, who stood beside him. "I tell you the baccy is mine," said Quintal. "It's nothin' o' the sort, it's mine," answered McCoy, snatching the coveted weed out of the other's hand. Quintal jumped up, hit McCoy on the forehead, and knocked him down. McCoy instantly rose, hit Quintal on the nose, and tumbled him over the log on which he had been sitting. Not much the worse, Quintal sprang to his feet, and a furious set-to would have immediately followed if the arrival of Christian and his party had not prevented it. It was no easy matter to calm the ruffled spirits of the men who had treated each other so unceremoniously, and there is no doubt the bad feeling would have been kept up about the tobacco in dispute if Christian had not intervened. McCoy reiterated stoutly that the tobacco was his. "You are wrong," said Christian, quietly; "it belongs to Quintal. I gave it to him this morning." As there was no getting over this, McCoy returned the tobacco with a bad grace, and Christian was about to give the assembled party some good advice about not quarrelling, when the mother of little Sally appeared suddenly, wringing her hands, and exclaiming in her native tongue, "My child is lost! my child is lost!" As every one of the party, even the roughest, was fond of Sally, there was an eager and anxious chorus of questioning. "Where away did 'ee lose her?" asked McCoy; but the poor mother could only wring her hands and cry, "Lost! lost!" "Has she gone over the cliffs?" asked Edward Young, who came up at the moment; but the woman would say nothing but "Lost! lost!" amid floods of tears. Fortunately some of the other women, who had been away collecting cocoa-nuts, arrived just then, and somewhat relieved the men by prevailing on the mother to explain that, although she could not say positively her child had fallen over the cliffs, or come by any other mishap, Sally had nevertheless disappeared early in the forenoon, and that she had been searching for her ever since without success. The process of interrogation was conducted chiefly by Isabella, _alias_ Mainmast, the wife of Fletcher Christian, and Susannah, the wife of Edward Young; and it was interesting to note how anxious were the native men, Talaloo, Timoa, Ohoo, Nehow, Tetaheite, and Menalee. They were evidently as concerned about the safety of the child as were the white men. "Now, lads," said Christian, after it was ascertained that the poor woman could give no information whatever, "we must search at once, but we must go about it according to a fixed plan. I remember once reading of a General having got lost in a great swamp one evening with his staff. It was near the sea, I think, and the tide was making. He collected his officers and bade them radiate out from him in all directions, each one in a straight line, so as to make sure of at least one of them finding the right road out of the danger. We will do likewise." Following out this plan, the entire party scattered themselves into the bush, each keeping in a straight line, searching as he went, and widening the field of search as his distance from the centre increased. There was no time to lose, for the shades of night had already begun to fall. Anxiously did the poor mother and one or two of the other women sit in the clearing, listening for the expected shout which should indicate success. For a long time no shout of any kind was heard, though there was considerable noise when the searching party came upon the lairs of members of the livestock that had taken up their quarters in the bush. We will follow only the line of search which ended in success. It was pursued by Christian himself. At first he came on spots where domestic fowls had taken up their abode. Then, while tramping through a mass of luxuriant ferns, he trod on the toes of a slumbering hog, which immediately set up a shriek comparable only to the brake of an ill-used locomotive. This uncalled-for disturbance roused and routed a considerable number of the same family which had taken refuge in the same locality. After that he came on a bevy of cats, seated at respectful distances from each other, in glaring and armed neutrality. His sudden and evidently unexpected appearance scattered these to the four points of the compass. Presently he came upon a pretty open spot of small size, which was surrounded by shrubs and trees, through the leafy branches of which the setting sun streamed in a thousand rays. One of these rays dazzled the eyes, and another kissed the lips of a Nanny-goat. It was Sally's pet, lying down and dozing. Beside it lay Sally herself, sound asleep, with her pretty little face resting on its side, and one of her little fat hands holding on to a lock of its white hair. With a loud shout Christian proclaimed his success to the Pitcairn world, and, picking up the still slumbering child, carried her home in triumph to her mother. CHAPTER SEVEN. ROASTING, FORAGING, AND FABRICATING. One morning John Adams awoke from a pleasant dream and lay for some time on his back, in that lazy, half-conscious fashion in which some men love to lie on first awaking. The canopy above him was a leafy structure through which he could see the deep azure of the sky with its few clouds of fleecy white. Around him were the rude huts of leaves and boughs which his comrades had constructed for themselves more or less tastefully, and the lairs under bush and tree with which the Otaheitan natives were content. Just in front of his own hut was that of Fletcher Christian. It was more thoroughly built than the others, being partly formed of planks and other woodwork saved from the _Bounty_, and was well thatched with the broad leaves of tropical plants. In front of the hut Christian's wife, Isabella, was busily engaged digging a hole in the ground. She was the only member of the party astir that morning. "I wonder why Mainmast is up so early," murmured Adams, rousing himself and using his elbow as a prop while he observed her. Mainmast, who was better known by that sobriquet than by the name which Christian had given to her on his wedding-day at Otaheite, was a very comely and naturally amiable creature, graceful in form, and although a so-called savage, possessing an air of simple dignity and refinement which might almost be termed lady-like. Indeed, several of the other native wives of the mutineers were similar to Mrs Christian in these respects, and, despite their brown complexions, were remarkably good-looking. One or two, however, were commonplace enough, especially the wives of the three married Otaheitan men, who seemed to be, as no doubt they were, of a lower social class than the others who had mingled with the best Otaheitan society, Edward Young's wife, for instance, being a sort of native princess--at least she was the daughter of a great chief. The dress of these women was simple, like themselves, and not ungraceful. It consisted of a short petticoat of tapa, or native cloth, reaching below the knees, and a loose shawl or scarf of the same material thrown over the shoulders. After gazing a short time, Adams perceived what Mainmast was about. She was preparing breakfast, which consisted of a hog. It had been shot by Christian the night before, partly because it annoyed him with pertinacious grunting in the neighbourhood of his hut, and partly because several families of hoglets having been born soon after their arrival on the island, he could not be charged with extravagance in giving the people a treat of flesh once in a way. The process of cooking the hog was slow, hence the early move. It was also peculiar, therefore we shall describe it in detail, in order that the enterprising housewives of England may try the plan if convenient. Mainmast's first act was to kindle a large fire, into which she put a number of goodly-sized and rounded stones. While these were heating, she dug a large hole in the ground with a broken shovel, which was the only implement of husbandry possessed at that time by the community. This hole was the oven. The bottom of it she covered with fresh plantain leaves. The stones having been heated, were spread over the bottom of the hole and then covered with leaves. On this hotbed the carcass of the pig was placed, and another layer of leaves spread over it. Some more hot stones were placed above that, over which green leaves were strewn in bunches, and, finally, the whole was covered up with earth and rubbish piled up so as to keep in the heat. Just as she had accomplished this, Mainmast was joined by Mrs Young (Susannah) and Mrs McCoy. "Good-morning," said Mrs Christian, using the words of salutation which she had learned from the Europeans. "The hog will not be ready for a long time; will you help me with the cakes?" The women at once assented, and set to work. They spoke to each other in the Otaheitan tongue. To their husbands they spoke in a jumble of that tongue and English. For convenience we shall, throughout our tale, give their conversations in ordinary English. While Mrs McCoy prepared some yams and sweet potatoes for baking, Mrs Young compounded a cake of yams and plantains, beaten up, to be baked in leaves. Mainmast also roasted some breadfruit. This celebrated fruit--but for which the _Bounty_, would never have been sent forth, and the mutiny with its wonderful consequences would never have occurred--grows on a tree the size of a large apple-tree, the leaves of which are of a very deep green. The fruit, larger than an orange, has a thick rind, and if gathered before becoming ripe, and baked in an oven, the inside resembles the crumb of wheaten bread, and is very palatable. It lasts in season about eight months of the year. While the culinary operations were going on, the precocious Sally, awaking from her slumbers, rose and staggered forth to survey the face of the newborn day. Her little body was clothed in an admirably fitting garment of light-brown skin, the gift of Nature. Having yawned and rubbed her eyes, she strayed towards the fire. Mrs Christian received her with an affable smile, and presented her with a pannikin of cocoa-nut milk to keep her quiet. Quaffing this beverage with evident delight, she dropped the pannikin, smacked her rosy lips, and toddled off to seek adventures. Her first act was to stand in front of Isaac Martin's hut, and gaze with a look not unmixed with awe at the long nose pointing to the sky, from which sonorous sounds were issuing. It is said that familiarity breeds contempt. It was obvious that the awesome feeling passed from the infant's mind as she gazed. Under the impulse of a sudden inspiration she entered the hut, went up to the nose, and tweaked it. "Hallo!" shouted Martin, springing up and tumbling Sally head over heels in the act. "Oh, poor thing, I haven't hurt you, have I?" He caught the child in his arms and kissed her; but Sally seemed to care neither for the tumble nor the kisses. Having been released, she sallied from the hut in search of more adventures. Martin, meanwhile, having been thoroughly aroused, got up and went towards the fire. "You're bright and early, Mainmast," he said, slowly filling his pipe. "Yes, hog takes time to cook." "Hog is it, eh? That'll be first-rate. Got sauce for it?" "Hog needs no sauce," said Mrs Christian, with a laugh. To say truth, it required very little to arouse her merriment, or that of her amiable sisterhood. When Martin had lighted his pipe, he stood gazing at the fire profoundly, as if absorbed in meditation. Presently he seized a frying-pan which lay on the ground, and descended therewith by way of the steep cliffs to the sea. While he was gone, one and another of the party came to the fire and began to chat or smoke, or both, according to fancy. Ere long Martin was seen slowly ascending the cliffs, holding the frying-pan with great care. "What have you got there?" asked one. "Oysters, eh?" said another, scrutinising the pan. "More like jelly-fish," said Young. "What in all the world is it?" asked Adams, as the pan was put on the fire. "You'll see when it boils," said Martin. "There's nothin' in it at all but water," said Quintal, somewhat contemptuously. "Well, I've heerd of many a thing, but never fried water," remarked McCoy. "I should think it indigestible," said Christian, coming up at the moment. Whether the natives understood the jest or not we cannot say, but certain it is that all of them, men and women, burst into a fit of laughter at this, in which they were joined by Otaheitan Sally from mere sympathy. "Well, what is to be the order of the day?" asked Christian, turning to Young. "Shall we proceed with our dwellings, or divide the island into locations?" "I think," answered the midshipman, "that some of us at least should set up the forge. I know that Williams's fingers are tingling to grasp the sledge-hammer, and the sooner he goes at it, too, the better, for we're badly off for tools." "If you don't require my services," said Brown, "I'll go plant some breadfruits and other things at that sheltered spot we fell upon yesterday." "I intend to finish the thatching of my hut," said Quintal, in that off-hand tone of independence and disregard of the wishes of others which was one of his characteristics. "Well, there are plenty of us to do all the work," said Christian. "Let every man do what pleases himself. I would only ask for one or two volunteers to cut the water-tanks I spoke of yesterday. The water we have discovered, although a plentiful supply for present needs, may run short or cease altogether if drought comes. So we must provide against a dry instead of a rainy day, by cutting a tank or two in the solid rock to hold a reserve." Adams and Mills at once volunteered for this duty. Other arrangements were soon made, and they sat down to breakfast, some using plates saved from the _Bounty_, others flat stones as substitutes, while empty cocoa-nut shells served for drinking-cups. "Your water pancake should be done brown by this time," said Young, as he sat down on the turf tailor-wise. "Not quite, but nearly," returned Martin, as he stirred the furiously-boiling contents of the frying-pan. In a few minutes more the sea water had boiled quite away, leaving a white residuum, which Martin scraped carefully off into a cocoa-nut cup. "You see, boys," he said, setting down the salt thus procured, "I never could abide fresh meat without a pick o' salt to give it a relish. It may be weakness perhaps, but--" "Being the weakness of an old salt," interrupted Christian, "it's excusable. Now, boys, fall-to with a will. We've got plenty of work before us, an' can't afford to waste time." This exhortation was needless. The savoury smell of the roast pig, when it had been carefully disentombed, might have given appetite to a seasick man. They ate heartily, and for some time in silence. The women, however, did not join in the feast at that time. It was the custom among the Otaheitans that the men should eat first, the women afterwards; and the mutineers, having become habituated to the custom, did not see fit to change it. When the men had finished and discussed the day's proceedings, the remainder of the pig, fruits, and vegetables, were consumed by the females, among whom, we are bound to state, Sally was the greatest gourmand. When pipes were finished, and the digestion of healthy young men had been thus impaired as far as was possible in the circumstances, the party went off in several groups about their various avocations. Among other things removed from the _Bounty_ were a smith's anvil and bellows, with various hammers, files, etcetera, and a large quantity of iron-work and copper. One party, therefore, under Young and Williams the armourer, busied themselves in setting up a forge near their settlement, and preparing charcoal for the forge fire. Another party, under Christian, proceeded to some neighbouring rocks, and there, with sledge-hammer and crowbars, which they used as jumpers, began the laborious task of boring the solid rock, intending afterwards to blast, and partly to cut it, into large water-tanks. Quintal continued the thatching of his hut, in which work his humble wife aided him effectively. Brown proceeded with the planting operations which he had begun almost immediately after landing; and the women busied themselves variously, some in preparing the mid-day meal, some in gathering fruits and roots for future use, and others in improving the internal arrangements of their various huts, or in clearing away the debris of the late feast. As for little Sally, she superintended generally the work of the home department, and when she tired of that, went further afield in search of adventures. CHAPTER EIGHT. DIVISION OF THE ISLAND--MORALISINGS, MISGIVINGS, AND A GREAT EVENT. There was no difficulty in apportioning the new possessions to which the mutineers had served themselves heirs. In that free-and-easy mode in which men in power sometimes arrange matters for their own special behoof, they divided the island into nine equal parts, of which each appropriated one part. The six native men were not only ignored in this arrangement, but they were soon given to understand, by at least several of their captors, that they were to be regarded as slaves and treated as such. It is, however, but just to Edward Young to say that he invariably treated the natives well and was much liked by them, from which it is to be supposed that he did not quite fall in with the views of his associates, although he made no objection to the unjust distribution of the land. John Adams, being an amiable and kindly man, also treated the natives well, and so did Fletcher Christian; but the others were more or less tyrannical, and those kindred spirits, Matthew Quintal and William McCoy, treated them with great severity, sometimes with excessive cruelty. At first, however, things went well. The novelty and romance of their situation kept them all in good spirits. The necessity for constant activity in laying out their gardens, clearing the land around the place of settlement, and erecting good log-houses,--all this, with fresh air and abundance of good food, kept them in excellent health and spirits, so that even the worst among them were for a time amiably disposed; and it seemed as if those nine men had, by their act of mutiny, really introduced themselves into a terrestrial paradise. And so they had, as far as nature was concerned, but the seeds of evil in themselves began ere long to grow and bear fruit. The fear of the avenger in the form of a man-of-war was constantly before their minds. We have said that the _Bounty_ had been burnt, and her charred remnants sunk to remove all traces of their presence on the island. For the same end a fringe of trees was left standing on the seaward side of their clearing, and no erection of any kind was allowed upon the seaward cliffs or inland heights. One afternoon, Christian, who had been labouring in his garden, threw down his tools, and taking up the musket which he seldom left far from his hand, betook himself to the hills. He was fond of going there, and often spent many hours in solitary watching in the cave near the precipitous mountain-peak. On his way up he had to pass the hut of William McCoy. The others, conforming to the natural tendency of mankind to congregate together, had built their houses round the cleared space on the table-land above Bounty Bay, from which central point they were wont to sally forth each morning to their farms or gardens, which were scattered wide apart in separate valleys. McCoy, however, aspired to higher heights and grander solitudes. His dwelling, a substantial log-hut, was perched upon a knoll overlooking the particular valley which he cultivated with the aid of his Otaheitan wife and one of the native men. "You are getting on well," said Christian to McCoy, who was felling a tree when he came up to him. "Ay, slowly, but I'd get on a deal faster if that lazy brown-skin Ohoo would work harder. Just look at him. He digs up that bit o' ground as if he was paid by the number o' minutes he took to do it. I had to give him a taste of a rope's end this morning, but it don't seem to have done him much good." "It didn't seem to do much good to you when you got it on board the _Bounty_," said Christian, gravely. "P'r'aps not; but we're not on board the _Bounty_, now," returned McCoy, somewhat angrily. "Depend on it, McCoy," said Christian, softening his tone, "that the cat never made any man work well. It can only force a scoundrel to obedience, nothing more." "H'm, I b'lieve you're not far wrong, sir," returned the other, resuming his work. Giving a friendly nod to Ohoo as he passed, and a cheerful "good-morning" to Mrs McCoy, who was busy inside the hut, Christian passed slowly on through the luxuriant herbage with which that part of the hillside was covered. At first he walked in the shade of many-stemmed banyans and feathery-topped palms, while the leaves of tall and graceful ferns brushed his cheeks, and numerous luxuriant flowering plants perfumed the air. Then he came to a clump of bushes, into which darted one of the goats that had by this time become almost wild. The goat's rush disturbed a huge sow with a litter of quite new pigs, the gruntings and squeakings of which gave liveliness to an otherwise quiet and peaceful scene. Coming out on the shoulder of the mountain just above the woods, he turned round to look back. It was a splendid panorama of tropical vegetation, rounded knolls, picturesque mounds, green patches, and rugged cliffs, extending downwards to Bounty Bay with its fringe of surf, and beyond--all round--the sleeping sea. Two or three little brown, sparrow-like birds twittered in the bushes near, and looked askance, as if they would question the man's right to walk there. One or two active lizards ran across his path, pausing now and then, and glancing upwards as if in great surprise. Christian smiled sadly as he looked at them, then turned to breast the hill. It was a rugged climb. Towards the top, where he diverged to the cave, every step became more difficult. Reaching the hole where Isaac Martin had come by his misadventure, Christian descended by means of a rude ladder which he had constructed and let down into it. Entering the cave, he rested his musket against the wall of rock, and sat down on a ledge near the opening towards the sea. It was a giddy height. As he sat there with hands clasped over one knee and eyes fixed wistfully on the horizon, his right foot, thrust a little beyond the edge of the rock, overhung a tremendous precipice, many hundred feet deep. For a long time he gazed so steadfastly and remained so motionless as to seem a portion of the rock itself. Then he heaved a sigh that relieved the pent-up feelings of an overburdened soul. "So early!" he muttered, in a scarcely audible voice. "At the very beginning of life, just when hope, health, manhood, and opportunity were at the flood." He stopped, and again remained motionless for a long time. Then, continuing in the same low, sad tone, but without altering his position or his wistful gaze. "And _now_, an outlaw, an outcast, doomed, if taken, to a felon's death! Comrades seduced to their ruin! The brand of Cain not more terrible than mine! Self-exiled for life! Never, _never_ more to see friends, country, kindred, sisters--mother! God help me!" He laid his face in his hands and groaned aloud. Again he was silent, and remained without motion for nearly an hour. "_Can_ it be true?" he cried in a voice of suppressed agony, looking up as if expecting an answer from heaven. "Shall I never, never, _never_ awake from this hideous dream!" The conscience-smitten young man laid strong constraint upon himself and became calmer. When the sun began to approach the horizon he rose, and with an air of stern resolution, set about making various arrangements in the cave. From the first Fletcher Christian had fixed on this cavern as a retreat, in case his place of refuge should be discovered. His hope was that, if a man-of-war should come at last and search the island, he and his comrades might escape detection in such a sequestered and well-concealed cavern. If not, they could hold out to the last and sell their lives dearly. Already he had conveyed to it, by degrees, a considerable supply of ammunition, some of the arms and a quantity of such provisions as would not readily spoil with time. Among other things, he carried to that elevated outlook Carteret's book of voyages and some other works, which had formed the very small library of the _Bounty_, including a Bible and a Church of England Prayer-book. When not gazing on the horizon, expecting yet fearing the appearance of a sail, he passed much of his time in reading. On the evening of which we write he had beguiled some time with Carteret, when a slight sound was heard outside the cavern. Starting up with the nervous susceptibility induced by a guilty conscience, he seized his musket and cocked it. As quickly he set it down again, and smiled at his weakness. Next moment he heard a voice shouting. It drew nearer. "Hallo, sir! Mr Christian!" cried John Adams, stooping down at the entrance. "Come down, Adams, come down; there's no occasion to keep shouting up there." "True, sir; but do you come up. You're wanted immediately." There was something in the man's voice which alarmed Christian. Grasping his musket, he sprang up the ladder and stood beside his comrade. "Well?" "It's--it's all right, sir," said Adams, panting with his exertions in climbing the hill; "it's--it's a _boy_!" Without a word of reply Christian shouldered his weapon, and hurried down the mountain-side in the direction of home. CHAPTER NINE. SALLY'S CHIEF JOYS--DARK CLOUDS OVERSPREAD THE PITCAIRN SKY, AND DARKER DEEDS ARE DONE. Just before John Adams left the settlement for the purpose of calling Christian, whose retreat at the mountain-top was by that time well-known to every one, little Sally had gone, as was her wont, to enjoy herself in her favourite playground. This was a spot close to the house of Edward Young, where the debris of material saved from the _Bounty_ had been deposited. It formed a bristling pile of masts, spars, planks, cross-trees, oars, anchors, nails, copper-bolts, sails, and cordage. No material compound could have been more dangerous to childhood, and nothing conceivable more attractive to Sally. The way in which that pretty little nude infant disported herself on that pile was absolutely tremendous. She sprang over things as if she had been made expressly to fly. She tumbled off things as if she had been created to fall. She insinuated herself among anchor-flukes and chains as if she had been born an eel. She rolled out from among the folds of sails as if she were a live dumpling. She seemed to dance upon upturned nails, and to spike herself on bristling bolts; but she never hurt herself,--at least if she did she never cried, except in exuberant glee. Now, it was while thus engaged one day that Sally became suddenly conscious of a new sound. Young as she was, she was fully alive to the influence of a new sensation. She paused in an attitude of eager attention. The strange sound came from Christian's hut. Sally waddled thither and looked in. The first thing that met her gaze was her own mother with a live creature in her hands, which she was carefully wrapping up in a piece of cloth. It was a pitifully thin whitey-brown creature, with a puckered face, resembling that of a monkey; but Sally had never seen a monkey, and probably did not think of the comparison. Presently the creature opened its mouth, shut its eyes, and uttered a painfully weak squall. Cause and effect are not infrequently involved in mystery. We cannot tell why Sally, who never cried, either when hurt or scolded, should, on beholding this sight, set up a tremendous howl; but she did, and she kept up the howl with such vigour that John Adams was attracted to the spot in some alarm. Stopping only long enough to look at the infant and see that the mother was all right, Adams ran off at full speed to the mountain-top, as we have seen, to be the first to announce the joyful news to the father. Thus came into the world the first "descendant" of the mutineers of the _Bounty_. It was with unwonted animation that the men sat down to supper that evening, each having congratulated Christian and inquired at the hut for the baby and mother, as he came in from work. "What will you call him?" inquired Young, after pledging the new arrival in a cup of cocoa-nut milk. "What day is it?" asked Christian. "Thursday," answered Martin. "Then I'll call him Thursday," said Christian; "it will commemorate the day." "You'd better add `October,' and commemorate the month," said Adams. "So I will," said Christian. "An' stick on `Seventeen-ninety' to commemorate the year," suggested Mills. "No, there are limits to everything," returned Christian; "three names are enough. Come, fill up your cups, lads, and drink to Thursday October Christian!" With enthusiasm and a shout of laughter, the toast was pledged in cocoa-nut milk, and once again Christian's hand was shaken by his comrades all round. The advent of TOC, as Adams called him, (or Toc, as he afterwards came to be styled), was, as it were, the breaking of the ice. It was followed ere long by quite a crop of babies. In a few months more a Matthew Quintal was added to the roll. Then a Daniel McCoy furnished another voice in the chorus, and Sally ceased to disquiet herself because of that which had ceased to be a novelty. This all occurred in 1791. After that there was a pause for a brief period; then, in 1792, Elizabeth Mills burst upon the astonished gaze of her father, and was followed immediately by another Christian, whom Fletcher, discarding his eccentric taste for days and months, named Charles. By this time Sally had developed such a degree of matronly solicitude, that she was absolutely intrusted at times with the care of the other children. In a special manner she devoted herself to little Charlie Christian, who was a particularly sedate infant. Indeed, solemnity was stamped upon that child's visage from his birth. This seemed to harmonise intensely with Sally's sense of fun. She was wont to take Charlie away from his mother, and set him up on a log, or the rusty shank of the _Bounty's_ "best bower," prop him up with sticks or bushes--any rubbish that came to hand--and sit down in front of him to gaze. Charlie, after the first few months of precarious infancy, became extremely fat. He used to open his solemn eyes as wide as was possible in the circumstances, and return the gaze with interest. Unable to restrain herself, Sally would then open her pretty mouth, shut her gorgeous eyes, and give vent to the richest peals of laughter. "Oh, you's so good, Charlie!" She had learned by that time to speak broken English in an infantine fashion, and her assertion was absolutely true, for Charlie Christian was preternaturally good. The same cannot be said of all the members of this little community. Ere long, a period approached when the harmony which had hitherto prevailed was about to be broken. Increasing life had marked their course hitherto. Death now stepped in to claim his share. The wife of John Williams went out one day to gather gulls' eggs among the cliffs. The women were all in the habit of doing this at times, and they had become expert climbers, as were also the men, both white and brown. When day began to close, they wondered why Mrs Williams was so late of returning. Soon her husband became uneasy; then, taking alarm, he went off to search for her, accompanied by all the men. The unfortunate woman was found dead at the base of the cliffs. She had missed her footing and fallen while searching for eggs. This accident had at first a deeply solemnising effect on the whole community. Accustomed though these men were to the sight of death in some of its worst forms in war, they were awed by this sudden and unexpected assault of the great enemy. The poor mangled body lying so quietly among the rocks at the foot of the awful precipice, the sight of the husband's grief, the sad and silent procession with the ghastly burden in the deepening gloom of evening, the wailing of the women, and the awestruck gaze of such of the children as were old enough to know that something terrible had occurred, though unable to understand it,-- all conspired to deepen the impression, even on those among the men who were least easily impressed; and it was with softened feelings of pity that Quintal and McCoy, volunteering their services on the occasion, dug the first grave at Pitcairn. Time, however, soon wore away these feelings. Williams not only got over his bereavement easily, but soon began to wish for another wife. It was, of course, impossible to obtain one righteously in the circumstances; he therefore resolved to take the wife of Talaloo the Otaheitan. It must not be supposed that all Williams', comrades supported him in this wicked design. Christian, Young, and Adams remonstrated with him strongly; but he was obstinate, and threatened to take the boat and leave the island if they interfered with him. As he was an expert blacksmith, his comrades could not afford to lose him, and ceased remonstrating. Eventually he carried out his intention. This was, as might have been expected, the beginning of trouble. The coloured men made common cause of it, and from that time forward began to plot the destruction of their white masters. What made matters worse was that Talaloo's wife was not averse to the change, and from that time became a bitter enemy of her Otaheitan husband. It was owing to this wicked woman's preference for Williams that the plot was afterwards revealed. One evening, while sitting in Christian's house, Talaloo's wife began to sing a sort of extempore song, the chorus to which was:-- "Why does black man sharpen axe? To kill white man." Hearing this, Christian, who was close at hand, entered the hut and demanded an explanation. On being informed of the plot of the Otaheitan men to murder all the whites, a dark frown overspread his face. Hastily seizing his musket, he loaded it, but it was observed that he put no bullet in. The Otaheitans were assembled at the time in a neighbouring house. Christian went straight to the house, charged the men with their guilty intentions, pointed his gun at them, and pulled the trigger. The piece missed fire. Before he could re-cock, Talaloo leaped through the doorway, followed by his friend Timoa, and took shelter in the woods. The other four men begged for mercy, said that the two who had just left were the instigators as well as ringleaders in the plot, and promised to hunt them down and murder them if their own lives should be spared. As Christian had probably no fixed intention to kill any of the men, and his sudden anger soon abated, he accepted their excuses and left them. It was impossible, however, for the mutineers to feel confidence in the natives after that. The two men who had fled for refuge to the bush did not return to the settlement, but remained in hiding. One day Talaloo's wife went, with some of the other women, to the southern side of the island to fish from the rocks. They were soon busily at work. The lines used had been made by themselves from the fibrous husk of the cocoa-nut. The hooks had been brought on shore from the _Bounty_. Chattering and laughing with the free-and-easy gaiety of savages, they plied their work--it seemed more like play--with varying success. Suddenly the wife of Talaloo heard a faint hiss behind her. Turning her head, she saw her former husband in the bushes. He beckoned to her, and disappeared. None of the other women appeared to have heard or observed the man. Presently, Talaloo's wife rose, and going into the woods, joined her husband. She found him in company with Timoa. "Is Talaloo become a dog that he should be driven to live in the bush?" demanded the man, with a stern air. "The white men are strong," answered his wife, with a subdued look; "the women can do nothing." "You can stay with me here in the bush if you will," said Talaloo. "The white men are strong, but we are stronger. We will kill the white men." He turned with an air of offended dignity, and strode away. His wife meekly followed, and Timoa went with them. Now, there was one woman among the fishers whose eyes were sharp and her hearing was keen. This was Susannah, the wife of the midshipman Edward Young. She had followed Talaloo's wife, saw what occurred, and carried back a report to the settlement. A council of war was at once held. "If we leave these men at liberty," said Williams, "we shall never again be able to go to rest in security." "Something must be done," said Christian, with the air of a man whose mind wanders far away from the subject in hand. "Kill them," suggested McCoy. "Yes," said Quintal; "I vote that we get up a grand hunt, run them to earth, and shoot them like dogs, as they are." "Not so easy as you think to hunt down such men among these wild and wooded hills," said Young. "Besides, it is only Talaloo who has threatened us; Timoa is guiltless, I think." "I'll tell you what we'll do, lads; we'll poison 'em," said Williams. "I've heard of such a thing bein' done at Otaheite by one of the women. She knows how to get the poison from some sort of plant, I believe, and I'm pretty sure that Menalee will help us." The plan thus suggested was finally adopted. One of the women made three puddings, two of which were good, the third was poisoned. Menalee at once agreed to go to the fugitives, say he had stolen the puddings, and would be willing to share them. The two good puddings were to be given to Talaloo's wife and Timoa, the poisoned one to Talaloo himself. For further security Menalee was to carry a pistol with him, and use it if necessary. The assassin was not long in tracking out his countrymen. "You bring us food?" said Talaloo. "Yes, I have stolen it. Will you have some?" They all accepted the puddings, and Timoa and the woman began to eat; but Talaloo was quick witted. He observed something unusual in Menalee's manner, suspected poison, and would not eat his pudding. Laying it aside, he ate that of his wife along with her. Menalee pretended not to notice this. After the others had done eating, he proposed that they should all go a little farther up into the bushes, where, he said, he had left his own wife among some breadfruit trees. Talaloo agreeing to this, they rose and walked away. The footpath being narrow, they were obliged to go in single file. Menalee walked behind Talaloo. After having gone a few paces, the former drew his pistol, pointed it at the back of his countryman's head, and pulled the trigger, but it missed fire. Talaloo hearing the click, turned round, saw the pistol, and immediately fled; but his enemy was swift of foot, soon overtook him, and the two grappled. A severe struggle ensued, Timoa and the woman standing by and looking on, but rendering help to neither party. The two combatants were pretty well matched. The pistol had fallen at the first onset, and for a few minutes it seemed doubtful which should prove the victor, as they swayed to and fro, straining their dark and sinewy forms in deadly conflict. At last the strength of Talaloo seemed to give way, but still he retained a vice-like grasp of his antagonist's right wrist. "Won't you help me?" gasped Talaloo, turning an appealing glance on his wife. "No," cried Menalee, "but she will help me to kill Talaloo." The hardened woman picked up the pistol, and going towards her husband struck him on the head. Menalee quickly finished with his knife what the murderess had begun. For a few minutes the three stood looking at the murdered man in silence, when they returned to the settlement and told what they had done. But the assassin's work was not yet over. Another of the natives, named Ohoo, had fled to the woods, threatening vengeance against the white men. It was deemed necessary that he too should be killed, and Menalee was again found to be a willing instrument. Timoa, who had exhibited such callous indifference at the murder of Talaloo, was his fitting companion. They soon found Ohoo, and succeeded in killing him. Strange to say, the mutineers, after these foul deeds, dwelt for a long time in comparative peace and harmony. It seemed as if their worst feelings had found full vent and been expended in the double murder. No doubt this state of hollow peace was partly owing to the fact that the native men, now being reduced to four in number, felt themselves to be unable to cope with their masters, and quietly submitted to the inevitable. But by degrees the evil spirits in some of the party began to reassert their power. McCoy and Quintal in particular became very savage and cruel. They never hesitated to flog or knock down a native on the slightest pretext, insomuch that these unhappy men were again driven to plot the destruction of their masters. Adams, Christian, and Young were free from the stain of wanton cruelty. Young in particular was kind to the natives, and a favourite both with men and women. CHAPTER TEN. DANGERS, JOYS, TRIALS, AND MULTIPLICATION. "I'm going to the cliffs to-day, Williams," said Young one morning. "Will you come?" Williams was busy at the forge under the pleasant shade of the great banyan-tree. Resting his hammer on the anvil, he looked up. "No," he answered. "I can't go till I've finished this spade. It's the last bit of iron we have left that'll serve for such a purpose." "That's no reason why you should not let it lie till the afternoon or to-morrow." "True, but I've got another reason for pushing through with it. Isaac Martin says the want of a spade keeps him idle, and you know it's a pity to encourage idleness in a lazy fellow." "You are right. What is Martin about just now?" "Working at the big water-tank. It suits him, a heavy quiet sort of job with the pick, requiring no energy or thought,--only a sleepy sort o' perseverance, of which long-legged Isaac has plenty." "Come, now," returned Young, with a laugh. "I see you are getting jealous of Martin's superior intellect. But where are Quintal and McCoy?" "Diggin' in their gardens, I suppose. Leastwise, I heerd Mr Christian say to Mainmast he'd seen 'em go off in that direction. Mr Christian himself has gone to his old outlook aloft on the mountains. If he don't see a sail at last it won't be for want o' keepin' a bright look-out." The armourer smiled grimly as he thrust the edge of the half-formed spade into the fire, and began to blow his bellows. "You've got them to work again," said Young, referring to the bellows which had belonged to the _Bounty_. "Ay, patched 'em up after a fashion, though there's a good deal o' windage somewheres. If them rats git hold of 'em again, the blacksmith's occupation'll be gone. Here comes Bill Brown; p'r'aps _he_ won't object to go bird-nestin' with 'ee." The armourer drew the glowing metal from the fire as he spoke, and sent the bright sparks flying up into the leaves of the banyan-tree while the botanist approached. "I'll go, with all my heart," said Brown, on being invited by Young to accompany him. "We'd better take Nehow with us. He is the best cliff-man among the natives." "That's just what I thought of doing," said Young, "and--ah! here comes some one else who will be glad to go." The midshipman's tone and manner changed suddenly as he held out both hands by way of invitation to Sally, who came skipping forward, and ran gleefully towards him. Sally was no longer the nude cherub which had landed on the island. She had not only attained to maturer years, but was precocious both in body and mind,--had, as we have shown, become matronly in her ideas and actions, and was clothed in a short petticoat of native cloth, and a little scarf of the same, her pretty little head being decorated with a wreath of flowers culled and constructed by herself. "No, I can't go," answered Sally to Young's invitation, with a solemn shake of her head. "Why not?" "'Cause I's got to look arter babby." Up to this period Sally had shown a decided preference for the ungrammatical language of the seamen, though she associated freely with Young and Christian. Perhaps her particular fondness for John Adams may have had something to do with this. "Which baby, Sall? You know your family is a pretty large one." "Yes, there's a stunnin' lot of 'em--a'most too many for me; but I said _the_ babby." "Oh, I suppose you mean Charlie Christian?" "In coorse I means Challie," replied the child, with a smile that displayed a dazzling set of teeth, the sparkle of which was only equalled by that of her eyes. "Well, but you can bring Charlie along with you," said Young, "and I'll engage to carry him and you too if you get tired. There, run away; find him, and fetch him quick." Little Sall went off like the wind, and soon returned with the redoubtable Charles in her arms. It was all she could do to stagger under the load; but Charlie Christian had not yet attained to facility in walking. He was still in the nude stage of childhood, and his faithful nurse, being afraid lest he should get badly scratched if dragged at a rapid pace through the bushes, had carried him. Submitting, according to custom, in solemn and resigned surprise, Charlie was soon seated on the shoulders of our midshipman, who led the way to the cliffs. William Brown followed, leading Sally by the hand, for she refused to be carried, and Nehow brought up the rear. The cliffs to which their steps were directed were not more than an hour's walk from the settlement at Bounty Bay, though, for Sally's sake, the time occupied in going was about half-an-hour longer. It was a wild spot which had been selected. The towering walls of rock were rugged with ledges, spurs, and indentations, where sea-birds in myriads gave life to the scene, and awakened millions of echoes to their plaintive cries. There was a pleasant appearance of sociability about the birds which was powerfully attractive. Even Nehow, accustomed as he was to such scenes, appeared to be impressed. The middy and the botanist were excited. As for Sally, she was in ecstasies, and the baby seemed lost in the profoundest fit of wonder he had experienced since the day of his birth. "Oh, Challie," exclaimed his nurse in a burst of laughter, "what a face you's got! Jis' like de fig'r'ead o' the _Bounty_." (Sall quoted here!) "Ain't they bootiful birds?" She effectually prevented reply, even if such had been intended, by suddenly seizing her little charge round the neck and kissing his right eye passionately. Master Charlie cared nothing for that. He gazed past her at the gulls with the unobliterated eye. When she kissed him on the left cheek, he gazed past her at the gulls with the other eye. When she let him go, he continued to gaze at the gulls with both eyes. He had often seen the same gulls at a distance, from the lower level of Bounty Bay, but he had never before stood on their own giddy cliffs, and watched them from their own favourite bird's-eye-view point; for there were thousands of them sloping, diving, and wheeling in the airy abyss, pictured against the dark blue sea below, as well as thousands more circling upwards, floating and gyrating in the bright blue sky above. It seemed as if giant snowflakes were trembling in the air in all directions. Some of the gulls came so near to those who watched them that their black inquiring eyes became distinctly visible; others swept towards them with rustling wings, as if intending to strike, and then glanced sharply off, or upwards, with wild cries. "Wouldn't it be fun to have wings?" asked Brown of Sally, as she stood there open-mouthed and eyed. "Oh, _wouldn't_ it?" "If I had wings," said Young, with a touch of sadness in his tone, "I'd steer a straight course through the air for Old England." "I didn't know you had such a strong desire to be hanged," said Brown. "They'd never hang me," returned Young. "I'm innocent of the crime of mutiny, and Captain Bligh knows it." "Bligh would be but a broken reed to lean on," rejoined Brown, with a shrug of contempt. "If he liked you, he'd favour you; if he didn't, he'd go dead against you. I wouldn't trust myself in _his_ hands whether innocent or guilty. Depend upon it, Mr Young, Fletcher Christian would have been an honour to the service if he had not been driven all but mad by Bligh. I don't justify Mr Christian's act--it cannot be defended,--but I have great sympathy with him. The only man who deserves to be hanged for the mutiny of the _Bounty_, in my opinion, is Mr Bligh himself; but men seldom get their due in this world, either one way or another." "That's a powerfully radical sentiment," said Young, laughing; "it's to be hoped that men will at all events get their due in the next world, and it is well for you that Pitcairn is a free republic. But come, we must go to work if we would have a kettle of fresh eggs. I see a ledge which seems accessible, and where there must be plenty of eggs, to judge from the row the gulls are making round it. I'll try. See, now, that you don't get yourself into a fix that you can't get out of. You know that the heads of you landsmen are not so steady as those of seamen." "I know that the heads of landsmen are not stuffed with such conceit as the heads of you sailors," retorted Brown, as he went off to gather eggs. "Now, Sally, do you stop here and take care of Charlie," said Young, leading the little girl to a soft grassy mound, as far back from the edge of the cliff as possible. "Mind that you don't leave this spot till I return. I know I can trust you, and as for Charlie--" "Oh, he never moves a'most, 'xcept w'en I lifts 'im. He's _so_ good!" interrupted Sally. "Well, just keep a sharp eye on him, and we'll soon be back with lots of eggs." While Edward Young was thus cautioning the child, William Brown was busy making his way down the cliffs to some promising ledges below, and Nehow, the Otaheitan, clambered up the almost perpendicular face of the part that rose above them. [See frontispiece.] It was interesting to watch the movements of the three men. Each was, in his own way, venturesome, fearless, and more or less practised in cliff climbing. The midshipman ascended the perpendicular face with something of a nautical swagger, but inasmuch as the ledges, crevices, and projections were neither so well adapted to the hands nor so sure as ratlines and ropes, there was a wholesome degree of caution mingled with his confidence. When the wished-for ledge was gained, he gave relief to his feelings in a hearty British cheer that reverberated from cliff to cliff, causing the startled sea-gulls to drive the very echoes mad with their clangour. The botanist, on the other hand, proceeded with the extreme care of a man who knew that a false step or uncertain grip might send him into the seething mass of foam and rocks below. But he did not hesitate or betray want of courage in attempting any difficulty which he had made up his mind to face. The proceedings of Nehow, however, seemed little short of miraculous. He appeared to run up perpendicular places like a cat; to leap where the others crept, to scramble where his companions did not dare to venture, and, loosely speaking, to hang on occasionally to nothing by the point of his nose, his eyelids, or his finger-nails! We say that he appeared to do all this, but the gulls who watched and followed him in noisy indignation could have told you, if they had chosen, that his eye was quick, that his feet and hands were sure, and that he never trusted foot or hand for one moment on a doubtful projection or crevice. For some time all went well. The three men soon returned, each with a few eggs which they laid on the grass in three little heaps, to be watched and guarded by Sally, and to be stared at in grave surprise by Charlie. They carried their eggs in three round baskets without lids, and with handles which folded over on one side, so that the baskets could be fitted into each other when not in use, or slung round the necks of the egg-collectors while they were climbing. The last to return to the children was William Brown. He brought his basket nearly half full of fine eggs, and set it down beside the two heaps already brought in. "Ain't they lovely, Sall?" asked Brown, wiping the perspiration from his brow with the sleeve of his coat. That same coat, by the way, was very disreputable--threadbare and worn,--being four years old on the lowest calculation, and having seen much rough service, for Brown had an objection to the tapa cloth, and said he would stick to the old coat as long as it would stick to him. The truth is he felt it, with his worn canvas trousers and Guernsey shirt, to be in some sense a last link to "home," and he was loath to part with them. "Lovely!" exclaimed Sally, "they's jus' bootiful." Nothing could exceed "bootiful" in Sally's mind--she had paid the eggs the highest possible compliment. Charlie did them, at the same moment, the greatest possible damage, by sitting down in the basket, unintentionally, with an awful crash. From the gaze of horror that he cast upwards, it was evident that he was impressed with a strong belief that he had done something wrong, though the result did not seem to him unpleasant. The gaze of horror quickly changed into one of alarm when he observed the shocked countenance of Sally, and he burst into uncontrollable tears. "Poor thing," said Brown, lifting him out of the mess and setting him on his legs. "Never mind, old man, I'll fetch you a better basketful soon. You clean him up, Sall, and I'll be back in a jiffy." So saying, Brown took up his basket, emptied out the mess, wiped it with a bunch of grass, and descended the short slope to the cliff edge, laughing as he went. Poor Sally's shocked expression had not yet passed off when Charlie came to a sudden stop, shut his mouth tightly and opened his eyes, as though to say, "Well, how do you take it now?" "Oh, Challie, but you _is_ bad to-day." This was enough. The shades of darkest night settled down on Charlie's miserable soul. Re-shutting his eyes and reopening his mouth, he poured forth the woe of his inconsolable heart in prolonged and passionate howling. "No, no; O _don't_!" cried the repentant Sally, her arms round his neck and fondling him. "I didn't mean it. I'm _so_ sorry. It's me that's bad--badder than you ever was." But Charlie refused to be comforted. He flung himself on the grass in agony of spirit, to the alarm and grief of his poor nurse. "Me's dood?" he cried, pausing suddenly, with a blaze of inquiry in his wet visage. "Yes, yes, good as gold--gooder, far gooder!" Sally did not possess an enlightened conscience at that time. She would have said anything to quiet him, but he would not be quieted. "Me's dood--O _dood_! ah-o-ee-aw-ee!" The noise was bad enough, but the way he flung himself about was worse. There was no occasion for Sally to clean him up. Rolling thus on the green turf made him as pure, if not bright, as a new pin; but it had another effect, which gave Sally a fright such as she had never up to that time conceived of, and never afterwards forgot. In his rollings Charlie came to the edge of the knoll where a thick but soft bush concealed a ledge, or drop, of about two feet. Through this bush he passed in a moment. Sally leaped up and sprang to the spot, just in time to see her charge rolling helplessly down the slope to what appeared to be certain death. There was but a short slope between the bush and the cliff. Rotund little Charlie "fetched way" as he advanced, despite one or two feeble clutches at the rocks. If Sally had been a few years older she would have bounded after him like a goat, but she had only reached that period of life which rendered petrifaction possible. She stood ridged for a few moments with heart, head, and eyes apparently about to burst. At last her voice found vent in a shriek so awful that it made the heart of Young, high on the cliffs above, stand still. It had quite the contrary effect on the legs of Brown. That cautious man chanced to be climbing the cliff slowly with a fresh basketful of eggs. Hearing the shriek, and knowing full well that it meant imminent danger, he leaped up the last few steps of the precipice with a degree of heedless agility that equalled that of Nehow himself. He was just in time to see Charlie coming straight at him like a cannon shot. It was really an awful situation. To have received the shock while his footing was still precarious would have insured his own destruction as well as that of the child. Feeling this, he made a kangaroo-like bound over the edge of the cliff, and succeeded in planting both feet and knees firmly on a grassy foundation, just in time. Letting go his burden, he spread out both arms. Charlie came into his bosom with extreme violence, but he remained firm, while the basket of eggs went wildly downward to destruction. Meanwhile, Sally stood there with clasped hands and glazed eyes, sending up shriek after shriek, which sent successive stabs to the heart of Edward Young, as he scurried and tumbled, rather than ran, down from the upper cliffs towards her. In a few minutes he came in pale and panting. A minute later and Nehow ran round a neighbouring point like a greyhound. "All right?" gasped Young. "All right," replied Brown. "Wheeaow-ho!" exclaimed Nehow, expanding his cavernous mouth with a grin of satisfaction. It is worthy of record that little Sally did not revisit these particular cliffs for several years after that exciting and eventful day, and that she returned to the settlement with a beating and grateful heart. It must not be supposed that Charlie Christian remained for any great length of time "the babby" of that infant colony. By no means. In a short time after the event which we have just described, there came to Pitcairn a little sister to Charlie. She was named Mary, despite the earnest suggestion of Isaac Martin, that as she was "born of a Wednesday," she ought to be called by that name. Of course Otaheitan Sally at once devoted herself to the newcomer, but she did not on that account forsake her first love. No; her little brown heart remained true to Charlie, though she necessarily gave him less of her society than before. Then Mrs Quintal gave her husband the additional burden, as he styled it, of a daughter, whom he named Sarah, for no other reason, that any one could make out, than the fact that his wife did not like it, and his friend McCoy had advised him on no account to adopt it. Thus was little Matthew Quintal also provided with a sister. Shortly after that, John Adams became a moderately happy father, and called the child Dinah, because he had never had a female relation of that name; indeed, he had never possessed a relation of any kind whatever that he knew of, having been a London street-boy, a mere waif, when he first became aware, so to speak, of his own existence. About the same time that little Dinah was born, John Mills rushed one day into the yam-field of Edward Young, where the midshipman was at work, seized his hand, and exclaimed--"I wish you joy, sir, it's a _girl_!" Not to be out-done in civility, Young carefully watched his opportunity, and, only four days later, rushed into the yam-garden of John Mills, where he was smoking, seized his hand, and exclaimed--"I congratulate you, Mills, it's a _boy_!" So, Young called his daughter Folly, because he had an old aunt of that name who had been kind to him; and Mills called his son John, after himself, who, he said, was the kindest friend he ever had. By this time poor Otaheitan Sally became overburdened with care. It became evident that she could not manage to look after so large a family of helpless infants, even though her services should only be required when the mothers were busy in the gardens. Mrs Isabella Christian, _alias_ Mainmast, was therefore relieved of part of her field duties, and set apart for infantry drill. Thus the rising generation multiplied and grew apace; and merry innocent laughter and gleeful childlike shouts began to resound among the cliffs and groves of the lonely refuge of the mutineers. CHAPTER ELEVEN. SPORTING, SCHOOLING AND MORALISING. Time flew by with rapid wing, and the infant colony prospered in many ways, though not in all. One day John Adams took down his gun from the pegs on which it rested above the door of his hut. Saying to his wife that he was going to shoot a few cats and bring home a pig for supper, he sallied forth, and took the footpath that led to one of the darkest recesses of the lonely island. Lest the reader should imagine that Adams was a cruel man, we must explain that, several years having elapsed since the landing of the mutineers on Pitcairn, the cats had by that time multiplied excessively, and instead of killing the rats, which was their duty, had taken to hunting and devouring the chickens. For this crime the race of cats was condemned to death, and the sentence was put in force whenever opportunity offered. Fortunately, the poultry had also multiplied quickly, and the hogs had increased to such a degree that many of them had been allowed to take to a wild life in the woods, where they were hunted and shot when required for food. Sporting, however, was not often practised, because the gunpowder which had been saved from the _Bounty_ had by this time sensibly diminished. Strange to say, it did not seem to occur to any of the men that the bow and arrow might become of use when guns became useless. Probably they looked upon such weapons with contempt, for they only made little bows, as playthings for the children, with harmless, blunt-headed arrows. On turning from the clearing into the bush, Adams came on a sight which amused him not a little. In an open place, partially screened from the sun by the graceful leaves of palms and bananas, through which was obtained a glimpse of the sea, Otaheitan Sally was busily engaged in playing at "school." Seated on the end of a felled tree was Thursday October Christian, who had become, as Isaac Martin expressed it, a great lout of a boy for his age. Thursday was at the head of the class, not in virtue of his superior knowledge, but his size. He was a strong-made fellow, with a bright, intelligent, good-humoured face, like that of his father. Next to him sat little Matt Quintal, rather heavy and stupid in expression, but quiet and peaceable in temperament, like his mother. Next came Daniel McCoy, whose sharp sparkling countenance seemed the very embodiment of mischief, in which quality he resembled his father. Fortunately for little Dan, his mother was the gentlest and most unselfish of all the native women, and these qualities, transmitted to her son, were the means of neutralising the evil which he inherited from his father. After him came Elizabeth Mills, whose pretty little whitey-brown face was the counterpart of her mother's in expression. Indeed, all of these little ones inherited in a great degree that sweet pliability of character for which the Otaheitan women were, and we believe still are, famous. Last, but not least, sat Charlie Christian at the bottom of the class. "Now, hol' up your heads an' pay 'tention," said the teacher, with the air of authority suitable to her position. It may be observed here, that Sally's knowledge of schooling and class-work was derived from Edward Young, who sometimes amused himself and the children by playing at "school," and even imparted a little instruction in this way. "Don't wink, Dan'l McCoy," said Sally, in a voice which was meant to be very stern, but was laughably sweet. "P'ease, Missis, Toc's vinkin' too." Thus had Dan learned to express Thursday's name by his initials. There was a touch of McCoy senior in this barefaced attempt to divert attention from himself by criminating another. "I know that Toc is winking," replied Sally, holding up a finger of reproof; "but he winks with _both_ eyes, an' you does it with only _one_, which is naughty. An' when you speaks to me, sir, don't say vink--say wink." "Yis, mum," replied little Dan, casting down his eyes with a look of humility so intense that there was a sudden irruption of dazzling teeth along the whole class. "Now, Toc, how much does two and three make?" "Six," replied Thursday, without a moment's hesitation. "Oh, you booby!" said Sally. "P'ease, mum, he ain't booby, him's dux," said Dan. "But he's a booby for all that, sir. You hold you tongue, Dan'l, an' tell me what three and two makes." "P'ease, mum, I can't," answered Dan, folding his hands meekly; "but p'r'aps Charlie can; he's clebber you know. Won't you ax 'im?" "Yes, I will ask 'im. Challie, what's three an' two?" If Charlie had been asked how to square the circle, he could not have looked more innocently blank, but the desire to please Sally was in him a sort of passion. Gazing at her intently with reddening face, he made a desperate guess, and by the merest chance said, "Five." Sally gave a little shriek of delight, and looked in triumph at Dan. That little creature, who seemed scarce old enough to receive a joke, much less to make one, looked first at Charlie and winked with his left eye, then at Thursday and winked with his right one. "You're winkin' again, sir," cried Sally, sharply. "Yis, mum, but with _bof_ eyes this time, vich isn't naughty, you know." "But it _is_ naughty, sir, unless you do it with both eyes at _once_." "Oh, with bof at vunce!" exclaimed Dan, who thereupon shut both eyes very tight indeed, and then opened them in the widest possible condition of surprise. This was too much for Sally. She burst into a hearty fit of laughter. Her class, being ever ready to imitate such an example, followed suit. Charlie tumbled forward and rolled on the grass with delight, little Dan kicked up his heels and tumbled back over the log in ecstasy, and Thursday October swayed himself to and fro, while the other two got up and danced with glee. It was while the school was in this disorganised state that John Adams came upon them. "That's right, Sall," he said, heartily, as he patted the child's head. "You keep 'em at it. Nothin' like havin' their noses held to the grindstone when they're young. You didn't see anybody pass this way, did you?" "No," replied the child, looking earnestly up into the seaman's countenance. It was a peculiarity of these children that they could change from gay to grave with wonderful facility. The mere putting of the question had changed the current of their minds as they earnestly and gravely strove to recollect whether any one had been seen to pass during the morning. "No," repeated Sally, "don't think nobody have pass this mornin'." "Yis, there vas vun," said little Dan, who had become more profoundly thoughtful than the others. "Ay, who was that, my little man?" said Adams. "Isaac Martin's big sow," replied Dan, gravely. The shout of laughter that followed this was not in proportion to the depth but the unexpectedness of the joke, and John Adams went on his way, chuckling at the impudence of what he called the precocious snipe. In a short time the seaman found himself in a thicket, so dense that it was with difficulty he could make his way through the luxuriant underwood. On his left hand he could see the sky through the leaves, on his right the steep sides of the mountain ridge that divided the island. Coming to a partially open space, he thought he saw the yellow side of a hog. He raised his gun to fire, when a squeaky grunt told him that this was a mother reposing with her family. He contented himself, therefore, with a look at them, and gave vent to a shout that sent them scampering down the hill. Soon after that he came upon a solitary animal and shot it. The report of the musket and the accompanying yell brought the Otaheitan man Tetaheite to his side. "Well met, Tighty," (so he styled him); "I want you to carry that pig to Mrs Adams. You didn't see any cats about, did you?" "No, sar." "Have you seen Mr Christian at the tanks this morning?" "Yis, sar; but him's no dere now. Him's go to de mountain-top." "Ha! I thought so. Well, take the pig to my wife, Tighty, and say I'll be back before dark." The native threw the animal over his broad shoulders, and Adams directed his steps to the well-known cave on the mountain-top, where the chief of the mutineers spent so much of his leisure time. After the murder of the two natives, Talaloo and Ohoo, Fletcher Christian had become very morose. It seemed as if a fit of deep melancholy had taken entire possession of him. His temper had become greatly soured. He would scarcely condescend to hold intercourse with any one, and sought the retirement of his outlook in the cave on the mountain-top, where few of his comrades ventured to disturb him, save when matters of importance claimed his immediate attention. Latterly, however, a change had been observed in his demeanour. He had become gentle, almost amiable, and much more like his former self before the blighting influence of Bligh had fallen on him. Though he seldom laughed, he would chat pleasantly with his companions, as in days gone by, and frequently took pains to amuse the children. In particular, he began to go frequently for long walks in the woods with his own sons-- little Charlie on his back, and Thursday October gambolling by his side; also Otaheitan Sally, for that careful nurse refused to acknowledge any claim to the guardianship of Charlie as being superior to her own, not even that of a father. But Fletcher Christian, although thus changed for the better in many respects, did not change in his desire for solitude. His visits to the outlook became not less but rather more frequent and prolonged than before. He took no one into his confidence. The only man of the party who ever ventured to visit him in his "outlook" was Edward Young; but his visits were not frequent, though they were usually protracted when they did take place, and the midshipman always returned from them with an expression of seriousness, which, it was observed, never passed quickly away. But Young was not more disposed to be communicative as to these visits than Christian himself, and his comrades soon ceased to think or care about the matter. With his mind, meditating on these things, John Adams slowly wended his way up the mountain-side, until he drew near to the elevated hermitage of his once superior officer, now his comrade in disgrace and exile. Stout John Adams felt his blunt, straightforward, seafaring spirit slightly abashed as he thus ventured to intrude on the privacy of one for whom, despite his sins and their terrible consequences, he had never lost respect. It felt like going into the captain's cabin without orders. The seaman's purpose was to remonstrate with Christian for thus daily giving himself up, as he expressed it, "to such a long spell o' the blues." Drawing near to the entrance of the cavern, he was surprised to hear the sound of voices within. "Humph, somebody here before me," he muttered, coming to an abrupt pause, and turning, as if with the intention of retracing his steps,-- but the peculiarity of the sounds that issued from the cave held him as if spellbound. CHAPTER TWELVE. CONVERSE IN THE CAVE--CRUELTY, PUNISHMENT, AND REVELRY. It was Fletcher Christian's voice,--there could be no doubt about that; but it was raised in very unfamiliar tones, and it went on steadily, with inflections, as if in pathos and entreaty. "Can he be praying?" thought Adams, in surprise, for the tones, though audible, were not articulate. Suddenly they waxed louder, and "God be merciful to me, a sinner!" broke on the listener's ear. "Oh bless and deliver the men whom I have led astray--poor Edward Young, John Adams, Isaac Martin--" The tones here sank and again became inarticulate, but Adams could not doubt that Christian was praying, by name, for the rest of his companions. Presently the name of Jesus was heard distinctly, and then the voice ceased. Ashamed to have been thus unintentionally led into eavesdropping, Adams coughed, and made as much noise as possible while stooping to pass under the low entrance to the cave. There was no door of any kind, but a turn in the short passage concealed the cave itself from view. Before entering, Adams stopped. "May I come in, sir?" he called out. "Is that you, Adams? By all means come in." Christian was seated, partly in the shadow, partly in the light that streamed in from the seaward opening. A quiet smile was on his lips, and his hand rested on an open book. It was the old Bible of the _Bounty_. "Beg pardon, sir," said Adams, touching his hat. "Hope I don't intrude. I heard you was--was--" "Praying," said Christian. "Yes, Adams, I have been praying." "Well, sir," said Adams, feeling rather awkward, but assuming an air of encouragement, "you've got no reason to be ashamed of that." "Quite true, Adams, and I'm _not_ ashamed of it. I've not only got no reason to be ashamed of praying, but I have strong reason to be thankful that I'm inclined to pray. Sit down, Adams, on the ledge opposite. You've got something on your mind, I see, that you want to get rid of. Come, let's have it." There was nothing but good-natured encouragement in Christian's look and tone; nevertheless, John Adams felt it extremely difficult to speak, and wished with all his heart that he had not come to the cave. But he was too bold and outspoken a man to be long oppressed with such feelings. Clearing his voice, he said, "Well, Mr Christian, here's what I've got to say. I've bin thinkin' for a long time past that it's of no manner of use your comin' up here day after day an' mopin' away about what can't be mended, an' goin' into the blues. You'll excuse me, sir, for bein' so free, but you shouldn't do it, sir. You can't alter what's bin done by cryin' over spilt milk, an' it comes heavy on the rest of us, like. Indeed it do. So I've made so bold as to come an' say you'd better drop it and come along with me for a day's shootin' of the cats an' pigs, and then we'll go home an' have a royal supper an' a song or two, or maybe a game at blind-man's-buff with the child'n. That's what'll do you good, sir, an' make you forget what's past, take my word for it, Mister Christian." While Adams was speaking, Christian's expression varied, passing from the kindly smile with which he had received his friend to a look of profound gravity. "You are both right and wrong, Adams, like the rest of us," he said, grasping the sailor's extended hand; "thank you all the same for your advice and good feeling. You are wrong in supposing that anything short of death can make me forget the past or lessen my feeling of self-condemnation; but you are right in urging me to cease moping here in solitude. I have been told that already much more strongly than you have put it." "Have you, sir?" said Adams, with a look of surprise. "Yes," said Christian, touching the open Bible, "God's book has told me. It has told me more than that. It has told me there is forgiveness for the chief of sinners." "You say the truth, sir," returned Adams, with an approving nod. "Repenting as you do, sir, an' as I may say we all do, of what is past and can't be helped, a merciful God will no doubt forgive us all." "That's not it, that's not it," said Christian, quickly. "Repentance is not enough. Why, man, do you think if I went to England just now, and said ever so earnestly or so truly, `I repent,' that I'd escape swinging at the yard-arm?" "Well, I can't say you would," replied the sailor, somewhat puzzled; "but then man's ways ain't the same as God's ways; are they, sir?" "That's true, Adams; but justice is always the same, whether with God or man. Besides, if repentance alone would do, where is the need of a Saviour?" Adams's puzzled look increased, and finally settled on the horizon. The matter had evidently never occurred to him before in that light. After a short silence he turned again to Christian. "Well, sir, to be frank with you, I must say that I don't rightly understand it." "But I do," said Christian, again laying his hand on the Bible, "at least I think I do. God has forgiven me for Jesus Christ's sake, and His Spirit has made me repent and accept the forgiveness, and now I feel that there is work, serious work, for me to do. I have just been praying that God would help me to do it. I'll explain more about this hereafter. Meanwhile, I will go with you to the settlement, and try at least some parts of your plan. Come." There was a quiet yet cheerful air of alacrity about Fletcher Christian that day, so strongly in contrast with his previous sad and even moody deportment, that John Adams could only note it in silent surprise. "Have you been readin' much o' that book up here, sir?" he asked, as they began to descend the hill. "Do you mean God's book?" "Yes." "Well, yes, I've been reading it, off and on, for a considerable time past; but I didn't quite see the way of salvation until recently." "Ha! that's it; that's what must have turned your head." "What!" exclaimed Christian, with a smiling glance at his perplexed comrade. "Do you mean turned in the right or the wrong direction?" "Well, whether right or wrong, it's not for me to say but for you to prove, Mr Christian." This reply seemed to set the mind of the other wandering, for he continued to lead his companion down the hill in silence after that. At last he said-- "John Adams, whatever turn my head may have got, I shall have reason to thank God for it all the days of my life--ay, and afterwards throughout eternity." The silence which ensued after this remark was broken soon after by a series of yells, which came from the direction of Matthew Quintal's house, and caused both Christian and Adams to frown as they hastened forward. "There's one man that needs forgiveness," said Adams, sternly. "Whether he'll get it or not is a question." Christian made no reply. He knew full well that both McCoy and Quintal were in the habit of flogging their slaves, Nehow and Timoa, and otherwise treating them with great cruelty. Indeed, there had reached him a report of treatment so shocking that he could scarcely credit it, and thought it best at the time to take no notice of the rumour; but afterwards he was told of a repetition of the cruelty, and now he seemed about to witness it with his own eyes. Burning indignation at first fired his soul, and he resolved to punish Quintal. Then came the thought, "Who was it that tempted Quintal to mutiny, and placed him in his present circumstances?" The continued cries of agony, however, drove all connected thought from his brain as he ran with Adams towards the house. They found poor Nehow tied to a cocoa-nut tree, and Quintal beside him. He had just finished giving him a cruel flogging, and was now engaged in rubbing salt into the wounds on his lacerated back. With a furious shout Christian rushed forward. Quintal faced round quickly. He was livid with passion, and raised a heavy stick to strike the intruders; but Christian guarded the blow with his left arm, and with his right fist knocked the monster down. At the same time Adams cut the lashings that fastened Nehow, who instantly fled to the bush. Quintal, although partially stunned, rose at once and faced his adversary, but although possessed of bulldog courage, he could not withstand the towering wrath of Christian. He shrank backward a step, with a growl like a cowed but not conquered tiger. "The slave is _mine_!" he hissed between his teeth. "He is _not_; he belongs to God," said Christian. "And hark 'ee, Matthew Quintal, if ever again you do such a dastardly, cowardly, brutal act, I'll take on myself the office of your executioner, and will beat out your brains. _You_ know me, Quintal; I never threaten twice." Christian's tone was calm, though firm, but there was something so deadly in the glare of his clear blue eyes, that Quintal retreated another step. In doing so he tripped over a root and fell prone upon the ground. "Ha!" exclaimed Adams, with a bitter laugh, "you'd better lie still. It's your suitable position, you blackguard." Without another word he and Christian turned on their heels and walked away. "This is a bad beginning to my new resolves," said Christian, with a sigh, as they descended the hill. "A bad beginning," echoed Adams, "to give a well-deserved blow to as great a rascal as ever walked?" "No, not exactly that; but--Well, no matter, we'll dismiss the subject, and go have a lark with the children." Christian said this with something like a return to his previous good-humour. A few minutes later they passed under the banyan-tree at the side of Adams's house, and entered the square of the village, where children, kittens, fowls, and pigs were disporting themselves in joyous revelry. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. TYRANTS AND PLOTTERS. Leaving Christian and Adams to carry out their philanthropic intentions, we return to Matthew Quintal, whom we left sprawling on the ground in his garden. This garden was situated in one of the little valleys not far from Bounty Bay. Higher up in the same valley stood the hut of McCoy. Towards this hut Quintal, after gathering himself up, wended his way in a state of unenviable sulkiness. His friend McCoy was engaged at the time in smoking his evening pipe, but that pipe did not now seem to render him much comfort, for he growled and puffed in a way that showed he was not soothed by it, the reason being that there was no tobacco in the pipe. That weed,--which many people deem so needful and so precious that one sometimes wonders how the world managed to exist before Sir Walter Raleigh put it to its unnatural use--had at last been exhausted on Pitcairn Island, and the mutineers had to learn to do without it. Some of them said they didn't care, and submitted with a good grace to the inevitable. Others growled and swore and fretted, saying that they knew they couldn't live without it. To their astonishment, and no doubt to their disgust, they did manage to live quite as healthily as before, and with obvious advantage to health and teeth. Two there were, however, namely, Quintal and McCoy, who would not give in, but vowed with their usual violence of language that they would smoke seaweed rather than want their pipes. Like most men of powerful tongue and weak will, they did not fulfil their vows. Seaweed was left to the gulls, but they tried almost every leaf and flower on the island without success. Then they scraped and dried various kinds of bark, and smoked that. Then they tried the fibrous husk of the cocoa-nut, and then the dried and pounded kernel, but all in vain. Smoke, indeed, they produced in huge volumes, but of satisfaction they had none. It was a sad case. "If we could only taste the flavour o' baccy ever so mild," they were wont to say to their comrades, "the craving would be satisfied." To which Isaac Martin, who had no mercy on them, would reply, "If ye hadn't created the cravin' boys, ye wouldn't have bin growlin' and hankerin' after satisfaction." As we have said, McCoy was smoking, perhaps we should say agonising, over his evening pipe. His man, or slave, Timoa, was seated on the opposite side of the hut, playing an accompaniment on the flute to McCoy's wife and two other native women, who were singing. The flute was one of those rough-and-ready yellow things, like the leg of a chair, which might serve equally well as a policeman's baton or a musical instrument. It had been given by one of the sailors to Timoa, who developed a wonderful capacity for drawing unmusical sounds out of it. The singing was now low and plaintive, anon loud and harsh--always wild, like the song of the savages. The two combined assisted the pipe in soothing William McCoy--at least so we may assume, because he had commanded the music, and lay in his bunk in the attitude of one enjoying it. He sometimes even added to the harmony by uttering a bass growl at the pipe. During a brief pause in the accompaniment Timoa became aware of a low hiss outside, as if of a serpent. With glistening eyes and head turned to one side he listened intently. The hiss was repeated, and Timoa became aware that one of his kinsmen wished to speak with him in secret. He did not dare, however, to move. McCoy was so much taken up with his pipe that he failed to notice the hiss, but he observed the stoppage of the flute's wail. "Why don't you go on, you brute!" he cried, angrily, at the same time throwing one of his shoes at the musician, which hit him on the shin and caused him a moment's sharp pain. Timoa would not suffer his countenance to betray his feelings. He merely raised the flute to his lips, exchanged a glance with the women, and continued his dismal strain. His mind, however, was so engrossed with his comrade outside that the harmony became worse than ever. Even McCoy, who professed himself to be no judge of music, could not stand it, and he was contemplating the application of the other shoe, when a step was heard outside. Next moment his friend Quintal strode in and sat down on a stool beside the door. "Oh, I say, Matt," cried McCoy, "who put that cocoa-nut on the bridge of your nose?" "Who?" grow led Quintal, with an oath. "Who on the island would dare to do it but that domineerin' upstart, Christian?" "Humph!" answered McCoy, with a slight sneer. He followed this up with a curse on domineerers in general, and on Fletcher Christian in particular. It is right to observe here that though we have spoken of these two men as friends, it must not be understood that they were friendly. They had no personal regard for each other, and no tastes in common, save the taste for tobacco and drink; but finding that they disliked each other less than they disliked their comrades, they were thus drawn into a hollow friendship, as it were, under protest. "How did it happen?" asked McCoy. "Give us a whiff an' I'll tell 'ee. What sort o' stuff are you tryin' now?" "Cocoa-nut chips ground small. The best o' baccy, Matt, for lunatics, which we was when we cast anchor on this island. Here, fill your pipe an' fire away. You won't notice the difference if you don't think about it. My! what a cropper you must have come down when you got that dab on your proboscis!" "Stop your howlin'," shouted Quintal to the musicians, in order to vent some of the spleen which his friend's remark had stirred up. Timoa, not feeling sure whether the command was meant for the women or himself, or, perhaps, regarding McCoy as the proper authority from whom such an order should come, continued his dismal blowing. Quintal could not stand this in his roused condition. Leaping up, he sprang towards Timoa, snatched the flute from his hand, broke it over his head, and kicked him out of the hut. Excepting the blow and the kick, this was just what the Otaheitan wanted. He ran straight into the bush, which was by that time growing dark under the shades of evening, and found Nehow leaning against a tree and groaning heavily, though in a suppressed tone. "Quick, come with me to the spring and wash my back," he cried, starting up. They did not converse in broken English now, of course, but in their native tongue. "What has happened?" asked Timoa, anxiously. While Nehow explained the nature of the cruel treatment he had just received, they ran together to the nearest water-course. It chanced to be pretty full at the time, heavy rain having fallen the day before. "There; oh! ha-a! not so hard," groaned the unfortunate man, as his friend laved the water on his lacerated back. In a few minutes the salt was washed out of the wounds, and Nehow began to feel easier. "Where is Menalee?" he asked, abruptly, as he sat down under the deep shadow of a banyan-tree. "In his master's hut, I suppose," answered Timoa. "Go find him and Tetaheite; fetch them both here," he said, with an expression of ferocity on his dark face. Timoa looked at him with an intelligent grin. "The white men must die," he said. "Yes," Nehow replied, "the white men shall die." Timoa pointed to the lump which had been raised on his shin, grinned again, and turning quickly round, glided into the underwood like an evil spirit of the night. At that time Menalee was engaged in some menial work in the hut of John Mills. Managing to attract his attention, Timoa sent him into the woods to join Nehow. When Timoa crept forward, Tetaheite was standing near to a large bush, watching with intense interest the ongoings of Christian, Adams, and Young. These three, in pursuance of the philanthropic principle which had begun to operate, were playing an uproarious game with the children round a huge bonfire; but there was no "method in their madness;" the children, excepting Thursday October Christian and Sally, were still too young for concerted play. They were still staggerers, and the game was simply one of romps. Tetaheite's good-humoured visage was glistening in the firelight, the mouth expanded from ear to ear, and the eyes almost closed. Suddenly he became aware of a low hissing sound. The mouth closed, and the eyes opened so abruptly, that there seemed some necessary connection between the two acts. Moving quietly round the bush until he got into its shadow, his dark form melted from the scene without any one observing his disappearance. Soon the four conspirators were seated in a dark group under shade of the trees. "The time has come when the black man must be revenged," said Nehow. "Look my back. Salt was rubbed into these wounds. It is not the first time. It shall be the last! Some of you have suffered in the same way." It scarcely needed this remark to call forth looks of deadly hate on the Otaheitan faces around him. "The white men must die," he continued. "They have no mercy. We will show none." Even in the darkness of that secluded spot the glistening of the eyes of these ill-treated men might have been seen as they gave ready assent to this proposal in low guttural tones. "How is it to be done?" asked Menalee, after a short pause. "That is what we have met to talk about," returned Nehow. "I would hear what my brothers have to say. When they have spoken I will open my mouth." The group now drew closer together, and speaking in still lower tones, as if they feared that the very bushes might overhear and betray them, they secretly plotted the murder of the mutineers. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. THE INFLUENCE OF INFANCY, ALSO OF VILLAINY. While the dark plots referred to in the last chapter were being hatched, another life was introduced into the little community in the form of a third child to Fletcher Christian,--a little girl. Much though this man loved his two boys, a tenderer, though not, perhaps, a deeper region of his heart was touched by his daughter. He at once named her Mary. Who can tell the multitude of old memories and affections which were revived by this name? Might it not have been that a mother, a sister, some lost though not forgotten one, came forcibly to mind, and accounted, in some degree at least, for the wealth of affection which he lavished on the infant from the day of her birth? We cannot tell, but certain it is that there never was a more devoted father than this man, who in England had been branded with all that was ferocious, mean, desperate,--this hardened outlaw, this chief of the mutineers. Otaheitan mothers are not particular in the matter of infant costume. Little Mary's dress may be described in one word--nothing. Neither are such mothers much troubled with maternal anxieties. Long before a European baby would have been let out of the hands of mother or nurse, even for a moment, little Molly Christian was committed to the care of her delighted father, who daily bore her off to a favourite resort among the cliffs, and there played with her. One day, on reaching his place of retirement, he was surprised to find a man in possession before him. Drawing nearer, he observed that the man also had a baby in his arms. "Why, I declare, it's Edward Young!" he exclaimed, on going up. "Of course it is," said the midshipman, smiling, as he held his own little daughter Jane aloft. "Do you think you are to have it all to yourself? And do you imagine that yours is the only baby in the world worth looking at?" "You are right, Young," returned Christian, with the nearest approach to a laugh he had made for years. "Come now," he added, sitting down on a rock, and placing little Moll tenderly in the hollow of his left arm, so as to make her face his friend, "let's set them up, and compare notes; isn't she a beauty?" "No doubt of it whatever; and isn't mine ditto?" asked the midshipman, sitting down, and placing little Poll in a similar position on his right arm. "But, I say, if you and I are to get on amicably, we mustn't praise our own babies. Let it be an agreement that you praise my Poll, and I'll praise your Moll. Don't they make lovely _pendants_! Come, let us change them for a bit." Christian agreeing to this, the infants were exchanged, and thereupon these two fathers lay down on the soft grass, and perpetrated practical jokes upon, and talked as much ineffable nonsense to, those two whitey-brown balls, as if they had been splendid specimens of orthodox pink and white. It was observed, however, by the more sagacious of the wondering gulls that circled round them, that a state of perfect satisfaction was not attained until the babies were again exchanged, and each father had become exclusively engrossed with his own particular ball. "Now, I say, Fletcher," remarked Young, rising, and placing himself nearer his friend, "it's all very well for you and me to waste our time and make fools of ourselves here; but I didn't merely come to show off my Polly. I came to ask what you think of that rumour we heard last night, that there has been some sort of plotting going on among the Otaheitan men." "I don't think anything of it at all," replied Christian, whose countenance at once assumed that look of gravity which had become habitual to him since the day of the mutiny. "They have had too good reason to plot, poor fellows, but I have such faith in their native amiability of disposition, that I don't believe they will ever think of anything beyond a brief show of rebellion." "I also have had faith in their amiability," rejoined Young; "but some of us, I fear, have tried them too severely. I don't like the looks they sometimes give us now. We did wrong at the first in treating them as servants." "No doubt we did, but it would have been difficult to do otherwise," said Christian; "they fell so naturally into the position of servants of their own accord, regarding us, as they did, as superior beings. We should have considered their interests when we divided the land, no doubt. However, that can't well be remedied now." "Perhaps not," remarked Young, in an absent tone. "It would be well, however, to take some precautions." "Come, we can discuss this matter as we go home," said Christian, rising. "I have to work in my yam-plot to-day, and must deliver Molly to her mother." They both rose and descended the slope that led to the village, chatting as they went. Now, although the native men were of one mind as to the slaying of the Englishmen, they seemed to have some difference of opinion as to the best method of putting their bloody design in execution. Menalee, especially, had many objections to make to the various proposals of his countrymen. In fact, this wily savage was deceitful. Like Quintal and McCoy among the whites, he was among the blacks a bad specimen of humanity. The consequence was that Timoa and Nehow, being resolved to submit no longer to the harsh treatment they had hitherto received, ran away from their persecutors, and took refuge in the bush. To those who have travelled much about this world, it may sound absurd to talk of hiding away in an island of such small size; but it must be borne in mind that the miniature valleys and hills of the interior were, in many places, very rugged and densely clothed with jungle, so that it was, in reality, about as difficult to catch an agile native among them as to catch a rabbit in a whin-field. Moreover, the two desperate men carried off two muskets and ammunition, so that it was certain to be a work of danger to attempt their recapture. In these circumstances, Christian and Young thought it best to leave them alone for a time. "You may be sure," said the former, as they joined their comrades, "that they'll soon tire of rambling, especially when their ammunition is spent." Quintal, who stood with all the other men by the forge watching John Williams as he wrought at a piece of red-hot iron, and overheard the remark, did not, he said, feel so sure of that. Them niggers was fond o' their liberty, and it was his opinion they should get up a grand hunt, and shoot 'em down off-hand. There would be no peace till that was done. "There would be no peace even after that was done," said Isaac Martin, with a leer, "unless we shot you along wi' them." "It's impossible either to shoot or drown Matt Quintal, for he's born to be hanged," said McCoy, sucking viciously at his cocoa-nut-loaded pipe, which did not seem to draw well. "That's true," cried Mills, with a laugh, in which all the party except Christian joined more or less sarcastically according to humour. "Oh, mother," exclaimed Otaheitan Sally, going into her hut on tiptoe a few minutes later, with her great eyes dilated in horror, "the white mens is talkin' of shootin' Timoa and Nehow!" "Never mind, dear," replied her mother in her own language, "it's only talk. They'll never do such a thing. I'm sure Mr Young did not agree to help in such a deed, did he?" "O no, mother," answered Sally, with tremendous emphasis; "he said it would be very _very_, wicked to do such tings." "So it would, dear. No fear. It's only talk." Satisfied with this assurance, Sally went off with a cleared visage to superintend some operation in connection with her ever-increasing infantry charge, probably to pay some special attention to her favourite Charlie, or to chaff "that booby" Thursday October, though, to say truth, Thursday was no booby, but a smart intelligent fellow. The very next day after that, Timoa and Nehow came down to Edward Young as he was at work alone in his yam-field. This field was at a considerable distance from the settlement, high up on the mountain-side. The two men had left their weapons behind them. "We's comed for give you a helpin' hand, Missr Yong, if you no lay hands on us," said Nehow. "I have no wish to lay hands on you," replied Young; "besides, I have no right to do so. You know I never regarded you as slaves, nor did I approve of your bad treatment. But let me advise you to rejoin us peaceably, and I promise to do what I can to make things go easier." "Nebber!" exclaimed Nehow, fiercely. "Well, it will be the worse for yourselves in the long-run," said Young, "for Quintal and McCoy will be sure to go after you at last and shoot you." The two men looked at each other when he said that, and smiled intelligently. "However, if you choose to help me now," continued Young, "I'll be obliged to you, and will pay you for what you do." The men set to work with a will, for they were fond of the kindly midshipman; but they kept a bright look-out all the time, lest any of the other Englishmen should come up and find them there. For two or three evenings in succession Timoa and Nehow came to Young's field and acted in this way. Young made no secret of the fact, and Quintal, on hearing of it, at once suggested that he and McCoy should go up and lie in ambush for them. "If you do," said Young, with indignation, "I'll shoot you both. I don't jest. You may depend on it, if I find either of you fellows skulking near my field when these men are at work there, your lives won't be worth a sixpence." At this Quintal and McCoy both laughed, and said they were jesting. Nevertheless, while walking home together after that conversation, they planned the carrying out of their murderous intention. Thus, with plot and counterplot, did the mutineers and Otaheitans render their lives wretched. What with the bitter enmity existing between the whites and blacks, and the mutual jealousies among themselves, both parties were kept in a state of perpetual anxiety, and the beautiful isle, which was fitted by its Maker to become a paradise, was turned into a place of torment. Sometimes the other native men, Tetaheite and Menalee, joined Nehow and Timoa in working in Young's garden, and afterwards went with them into the bush, where they planned the attack which was afterwards made. At last the lowering cloud was fully charged, and the thunderbolt fell. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. MURDER! The planting time came round at Pitcairn, and all was busy activity in the little settlement at Bounty Bay. The women, engaged in household work and in the preparation of food, scarcely troubled themselves to cast an anxious eye on the numerous children who, according to age and capacity, rolled, tumbled, staggered, and jumped about in noisy play. The sun, streaming through the leaves of the woods, studded shady places with balls of quivering light, and blazed in fierce heat in the open where the men were at work, each in his respective garden. We have said that those gardens lay apart, at some distance from each other, and were partially concealed by shrubs or undulating knolls. The garden of John Williams was farthest off from the settlement. He wrought in it alone on the day of which we write. Next to it was that of Fletcher Christian. He also worked alone that day. About two hundred yards from his garden, and screened from it by a wooded rising ground, was a piece of plantation, in which John Mills, William McCoy, and Menalee were at work together. John Adams, William Brown, and Isaac Martin were working in their own gardens near their respective houses, and Quintal was resting in his hut. So was Edward Young, who, having been at work since early morning, had lain down and fallen into a deep slumber. The three native men, Timoa, Nehow, and Tetaheite, were still away in the woods. If the unfortunate Englishmen had known what these men were about, they would not have toiled so quietly on that peaceful morning! The Otaheitans met in a cocoa-nut grove at some distance to the eastward of the settlement. Each had a musket, which he loaded with ball. They did not speak much, and what they did say was uttered in a suppressed tone of voice. "Come," said Timoa, leading the way through the woods. The others followed in single file, until they reached the garden where Williams was at work. Here their movements were more cautious. As they advanced, they crept along on their knees with the motion of cats, and with as little noise. They could hear the sound of the armourer's spade, as he turned up the soil. Presently they came to an opening in the bushes, through which they could see him, not thirty yards off. Timoa drew himself together, and in a crouching attitude levelled his musket. During their absence in the woods, these men had practised shooting at a mark, doubtless in preparation for the occasion which had now arrived. The woods and cliffs rang to the loud report, and Williams fell forward without a cry or groan, shot through the heart. The murderers rose and looked at each other, but uttered not a word, while Timoa recharged his gun. The report had, of course, been heard by every one in the settlement, but it was a familiar sound, and caused neither surprise nor alarm. McCoy merely raised himself for a moment, remarked to Mills that some one must have taken a fancy for a bit of pork to supper, and then resumed his work. Christian also heard the shot, but seemed to pay no regard to it. Ceasing his labour in a few minutes, he raised himself, wiped his forehead, and resting both hands on his spade, looked upwards at the bright blue sky. Fleecy clouds passed across it now and then, intensifying its depth, and apparently riveting Christian's gaze, for he continued motionless for several minutes, with his clear eye fixed on the blue vault, and a sad, wistful expression on his handsome face, as if memory, busy with the past and future, had forgotten the present. It was his last look. A bullet from the bushes struck him at that moment on the breast. Uttering one short, sharp cry, he threw both hands high above his head, and fell backwards. The spasm of pain was but momentary. The sad, wistful look was replaced by a quiet smile. He never knew who had released his spirit from the prison-house of clay, for the eyes remained fixed on the bright blue sky, clear and steadfast, until death descended. Then the light went out, just as his murderers came forward, but the quiet smile remained, and his spirit returned to God who gave it. It seemed as if the murderers were, for a few moments, awestruck and horrified by what they had done; but they quickly recovered. What they had set their faces to accomplish must now be done at all hazards. "Did you hear that cry?" said McCoy, raising himself from his work in the neighbouring garden. "Yes; what then?" demanded Quintal. "It sounded to me uncommon like the cry of a wounded man," said McCoy. "Didn't sound like that to me," returned Quintal; "more like Mainmast callin' her husband to dinner." As he spoke, Tetaheite appeared at the edge of the garden with a musket in his hand, the other two natives remaining concealed in the bushes. "Ho, Missr Mills," he called out, in his broken English, "me have just shoot a large pig. Will you let Menalee help carry him home?" "Yes;--you may go," said Mills, turning to Menalee. The Otaheitan threw down his tools, and joined his comrades in the bush, where he was at once told what had been done. Menalee did not at first seem as much pleased as his comrades had expected, nevertheless, he agreed to go with them. "How shall we kill Mills and McCoy?" asked Timoa, in a low whisper. "Shoot them," answered Menalee; "you have three muskets." "But they also have muskets," objected Tetaheite, "and are good shots. If we miss them, some of us shall be dead men at once." "I'll tell you what we'll do," said Nehow, who thereupon hastily detailed a plan, which they proceeded at once to carry out. Creeping round through the woods, they managed to get into McCoy's house by a back window, unobserved. Menalee then ran down to the garden, as if in a state of great excitement. "Oh, Missr McCoy, Timoa and Nehow hab come down from mountain, an' is robbin' you house!" The bait took. McCoy ran up to his house. As soon as he reached the door there was a volley from within, but McCoy remained untouched. Seeing this, and, no doubt, supposing that he must be badly wounded, Menalee, who had followed him, seized him from behind. But McCoy, being the stronger man, twisted himself suddenly round, grasped Menalee by the waist with both hands, and flung him headlong into a neighbouring pig-sty. He then turned and ran back to his garden to warn Mills. "Run for it, Mills," he cried; "run and take to the bush. All the black scoundrels have united to murder us." He set the example by at once disappearing in the thick bush. But Mills did not believe him. He and Menalee had always been good friends, and he seemed to think it impossible that they would kill him. He hesitated, and the hesitation cost him his life, for next moment a bullet laid him low. Meanwhile McCoy ran to warn Christian. Reaching his garden, he found him there, dead, with the tranquil smile still on his cold lips, and the now glazed eyes still gazing upwards. One glance sufficed. He turned and ran back to Christian's house to tell his wife what he had seen, but the poor woman was sick in bed at the time and could not move. Running then to Quintal's garden, he found him alive, but quite ignorant of what was going on. "They seem to be wastin' a deal of powder to-day," he growled, without raising himself, as McCoy came up; "but--hallo! you're blowing hard. What's wrong?" As soon as he heard the terrible story he ran to his wife, who chanced to be sitting near the edge of his garden. "Up, old girl," he cried, "your nigger countrymen are murderin' us all. If you want to see any of us escape you'd better go and warn 'em. I shall look after number one." Accordingly, with his friend of kindred spirit, he sought refuge in the bush. Mrs Quintal had no desire to see all the white men slaughtered by her countrymen. She therefore started off at once, and in passing the garden of John Adams, called to him to take to the bush without delay, and ran on. Unfortunately Adams did not understand what she meant. He, like the others, had heard the firing, but had only thought of it as a foolish waste of ammunition. Nothing was further from his thoughts on that peaceful day and hour than deeds of violence and bloodshed. He therefore continued at work. The four murderers, meanwhile, ran down to Isaac Martin's house, found him in the garden, and pointing their muskets at him, pulled the triggers. The pieces missed fire, and poor Martin, thinking probably that it was a practical joke, laughed at them. They cocked again, however, and fired. Martin, although he fell mortally wounded, had strength to rise again and fly towards his house. The natives followed him into it. There was one of the sledge-hammers of the _Bounty_ there. One of them seized it, and with one blow beat in the poor man's skull. Roused, apparently, to madness by their bloody work, the Otaheitans now rushed in a body to Brown's garden. The botanist had been somewhat surprised at the frequent firing, but like his unfortunate fellow-countrymen, appeared to have not the remotest suspicion of what was going on. The sight of the natives, however, quickly opened his eyes. He turned as if to fly, but before he could gain the bushes, a well-aimed volley killed him. Thus in little more than an hour were five of the Englishmen murdered. It now seemed as if the revenge of the Otaheitans had been sated, for after the last tragic act they remained for some time in front of Brown's house talking, and resting their hands on the muzzles of their guns. All this time Edward Young was lying asleep in ignorance of what was being done, and purposely kept in ignorance by the women. Having been told by Quintal's wife, they knew part of the terrible details of the massacre, but they had no power to check the murderers. They, however, adopted what means they could to shield Young, who, as we have said, was a favourite with all the natives, and closed the door of the hut in which he lay to prevent his being awakened. The suspicions of Adams having at length been aroused, he went down to Brown's house to see what all the firing could be about. The children, meanwhile, having some vague fears that danger threatened, had run into their mother's huts. Everything passed so quickly, in fact, that few of the people had time to understand or think, or take action in any way. Reaching the edge of Brown's garden, and seeing the four Otaheitans standing as we have described, Adams stopped and called out to know what was the matter. "Silence," shouted one of them, pointing his gun. Being unarmed, and observing the body of Brown on the ground, Adams at once leaped into the bush and ran. He was hotly pursued by the four men, but being strong and swift of foot, he soon left them behind. In passing Williams's house, he went towards it, intending to snatch up some thick garments, and, if possible, a musket and ammunition, for he had no doubt now that some of his countrymen must have been killed, and that he would have to take to the bush along with them. An exclamation of horror escaped him when he came upon the armourer's body. It needed no second glance to tell that his comrade was dead. Passing into the house, he caught up an old blanket and a coat, but there was no musket. He knew that without arms he would be at the mercy of the savages. Being a cool and courageous man, he therefore made a long detour through the bush until he reached his own house, and entered by a back window. His sick wife received him with a look of glad surprise. "Is it true they have killed some of the white men?" she asked. "Ay, too true," he replied, quickly; "and I must take to the bush for a while. Where can I find a bag to hold some yams? Ah, here you are. There's no fear o' them hurting you, lass." As he spoke a shot was heard. The natives had seen and followed him. A ball, coming through the window, entered the back of his neck and came out at the front. He fell, but instantly sprang up and leaped through the doorway, where he was met by the four natives. Besides being a powerful man, Adams was very active, and the wound in his neck was only a flesh one. He knocked down Timoa, the foremost of the band, with one blow of his fist, and grappling with Nehow, threw him violently over his prostrate comrade; but Menalee, coming up at the moment, clubbed his musket and made a furious blow at Adams's head. He guarded it with one hand, and in so doing had one of his fingers broken. Tetaheite and Menalee then both sprang upon him, but he nearly throttled the one, tripped up the other, and, succeeding by a violent wrench in breaking loose, once more took to his heels. In running, the Otaheitans were no match for him. He gradually left them behind. Then Timoa called out to him to stop. "No, you scoundrels," he shouted back in reply, "you want to kill me; but you'll find it a harder job than you think." "No, no," cried Nehow, vehemently, "we don't want to kill you. Stop, and we won't hurt you." Adams felt that loss of blood from his wound was quickly reducing his strength. His case was desperate. He formed a quick resolve and acted promptly. Stopping, he turned about and walked slowly but steadily back towards the natives, with his hands in his pockets and his eyes fixed sternly upon them. "Well, I have stopped, you see," he said, on coming up. "I will take you at your word." "We will do you no harm if you will follow us," said Timoa. They then went together to the house of Young. Here they found its owner, just roused by the noise of the scuffle with Adams, listening to the explanations of the women, who were purposely trying to lead him astray lest he should go out and be shot. The entrance of the four natives, armed and covered with blood, and Adams unarmed and wounded, at once showed him how matters stood. "This is a terrible business," he said in a low tone to Adams, while the murderers were disputing noisily about going into the woods to hunt down McCoy and Quintal. "Have they killed many of our comrades?" "God knows," said Adams, while Quintal's wife bound up the wound in his neck. "There has been firin' enough to have killed us all twice over. I thought some of you were spending the ammunition foolishly on hogs or gulls. Williams is dead, I know, and poor Brown, for I saw their bodies, but I can't say--" "Fletcher Christian is killed," said Quintal's wife, interrupting. "Fletcher Christian!" exclaimed Adams and Young in the same breath. "Ay, and Isaac Martin and John Mills," continued the woman. While she was speaking, the four Otaheitans, having apparently come to an agreement as to their future proceedings, loaded their muskets hastily, and rushing from the house soon disappeared in the woods. We shall not harrow the reader's feelings by following farther the bloody details of this massacre. Let it suffice to add, briefly, that after retiring from a fruitless search for the white men in the bush, Menalee quarrelled with Timoa and shot him. This roused the anger of the other two against Menalee, who fled to the bush and tried to make friends with McCoy and Quintal. This he appeared to succeed in doing, but when he was induced by them to give up his musket, he found out his mistake, for they soon turned it on himself and killed him. Then Young's wife, Susannah, was induced to kill Tetaheite with an axe, and Young himself immediately after shot Nehow. When McCoy and Quintal were told that all the Otaheitan men were dead they returned to the settlement. It was a terrible scene of desolation and woe. Even these two rough and heartless men were awed for a time into something like solemnity. The men now left alive on the island were Young, Adams, Quintal, and McCoy. In the households of these four the widows and children of the slain were distributed. The evidences of the bloody tragedy were removed, the murdered men were buried, and thus came to a close the first great epoch in the chequered history of Pitcairn Island. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. MATT QUINTAL MAKES A TREMENDOUS DISCOVERY. Upwards of four years had now elapsed since the mutiny of the _Bounty_, and of the nine mutineers who escaped to Pitcairn Island, only four remained, with eleven women and a number of children. These latter had now become an important and remarkably noisy element in the colony. They and time together did much to efface the saddening effects of the gloomy epoch which had just come to a close. Time, however, did more than merely relieve the feelings of the surviving mutineers and widows. It increased the infantry force on the island considerably, so that in the course of a few years there were added to it a Robert, William, and Edward Young, with a little sister named Dolly Young, to keep them in countenance. There also came a Jane Quintal and an Arthur Quintal, who were closely followed by a Rebecca Adams and a James Young. So that the self-imposed cares and burdens of that pretty, active, and self-denying little creature, Otaheitan Sally, increased with her years and stature. Before the most of these made their appearance, however, the poor Otaheitan wives and widows became downcast and discontented. One cannot wonder at this. Accustomed though they no doubt had been to war and bloodshed on their native island, they must have been shocked beyond measure by the scenes of brutality and murder through which they had passed. The most of them being now without husbands, and the men who remained being not on very amicable terms among themselves, these poor creatures seem to have been driven to a state of desperation, for they began to pine for their old home, and actually made up their minds to quit the island in one of the _Bounty's_ old boats, and leave the white men and even the children behind them. See Note 1. The old boat turned out to be so leaky, however, that they were compelled to return. But they did not cease to repine and to desire deliverance. Gentle-spirited and tractable though they undoubtedly were, they had evidently been tried beyond their powers of endurance. They were roused, and when meek people are roused they not unfrequently give their friends and acquaintances, (to say nothing of those nearer), a considerable surprise. Matthew Quintal, who had a good deal of sly humour about him, eventually hit on a plan to quiet them, at least for a time. "What makes you so grumpy, old girl?" he said one day to his wife, while eating his dinner under the shade of a palm-tree. "We wiss to go home," she replied, in a plaintive tone. "Well, well, you _shall_ go home, so don't let your spirits go down. If you've got tired of me, lass, you're not worth keeping. We'll set to work and build you a new boat out o' the old un. We'll begin this very day, and when it's finished, you may up anchor and away to Otaheite, or Timbuctoo for all that I care." The poor woman seemed pleased to hear this, and true to his word, Quintal set to work that very day, with McCoy, whom he persuaded to assist him. His friend thought that Quintal was only jesting about the women, and that in reality he meant to build a serviceable boat for fishing purposes. Young and Adams took little notice of what the other two were about; but one day when the former came down to the beach on Bounty Bay, he could not help remarking on the strange shape of the boat. "It'll never float," he remarked, with a look of surprise. "It's not wanted to float," replied Quintal, "at least not just yet. We can make it float well enough with a few improvements afterwards." Young looked still more surprised, but when Quintal whispered something in his ear, he laughed and went away. The boat was soon ready, for it was to some extent merely a modification of the old boat. Then all the women were desired to get into it and push off, to see how it did. "Get in carefully now, old girls," said Quintal, with a leer. "Lay hold of the oars and we'll shove you through the first o' the surf. Lend a hand, McCoy. Now then, give way all--hi!" With a vigorous shove the two men sent the boat shooting through the surf, which was unusually low that day. Young and Adams, with some of the children, stood on the rocks and looked on. The women lay to their oars like men, and the boat leaped like a flying-fish through the surf into deep water. Forgetting, in the excitement of the moment, the object they had in view, the poor things shouted and laughed with glee; but they dipped their oars with sad irregularity, and the boat began to rock in a violent manner. Then Young's wife, Susannah, caught what in nautical parlance is called "a crab;" that is, she missed her stroke and fell backwards into the bottom of the boat. With that readiness to render help which was a characteristic of these women, Christian's widow, Mainmast, leaped up to assist the fallen Susannah. It only wanted this to destroy the equilibrium of the boat altogether. It turned bottom up in a moment, and left the female crew floundering in the sea. To women of civilised lands this might have been a serious accident, but to these Otaheitan ladies it was a mere trifle. Each had been able to swim like a duck from earliest childhood. Indeed, it was evident that some of their own little ones were equally gifted, for several of them, led by Sally, plunged into the surf and went out to meet their parents as they swam ashore. The men laughed heartily, and, after securing the boat and hauling it up on the beach, returned to the settlement, whither the women had gone before them to change their garments. This incident effectually cured the native women of any intention to escape from the island, at least by boat, but it did not tend to calm their feelings. On the contrary, it seemed to have the effect of filling them with a thirst for vengeance, and they spent part of that day in whispered plottings against the men. They determined to take their lives that very night. While they were thus engaged, their innocent offspring were playing about the settlement at different games, screaming at times with vehement delight, and making the palm-groves ring with laughter. The bright sun shone equally upon the heads that whirled with merriment and those that throbbed with dark despair. Suddenly, in the midst of her play, little Sally came to an abrupt pause. She missed little Matt Quintal from the group. "Where's he gone, Charlie?" she demanded of her favourite playmate, whose name she had by that time learned to pronounce. "I dunno," answered Charlie, whose language partook more of the nautical tone of Quintal than of his late father. "D'you know, Dan'l?" she asked of little McCoy. "I dunno nuffin'," replied Dan, "'xcep' he's not here." "Well, I must go an' seek 'im. You stop an' play here. I leave 'em in your care, Toc. See you be good." It would have amused you, reader, if you had seen with your bodily eyes the little creatures who were thus warned to be good. Even Dan McCoy, who was considered out and out the worst of them, might have sat to Rubens for a cherub; and as for the others, they were, we might almost say, appallingly good. Thursday October, in particular, was the very personification of innocence. It would have been much more appropriate to have named him Sunday July, because in his meek countenance goodness and beauty sat enthroned. Of course we do not mean to say that these children were good from principle. They had no principle at that time. No, their actuating motive was selfishness; but it was not concentrated, regardless selfishness, and it was beautifully counteracted by natural amiability of temperament. But they were quite capable of sin. For instance, when Sally had left them to search for her lost sheep, little Dan McCoy, moved by a desire for fun, went up behind little Charlie Christian and gave him an unmerited kick. It chanced to be a painful kick, and Charlie, without a thought of resentment or revenge, immediately opened his mouth, shut his eyes, and roared. Horrified by this unexpected result, little Dan also shut his eyes, opened his mouth, and roared. The face that Charlie made in these circumstances was so ineffably funny, that Toc burst into uncontrollable laughter. Hearing this, the roarers opened their eyes, slid quickly into the same key, and tumbled head over heels on the grass, in which evolutions they were imitated by the whole party, except such as had not at that time passed beyond the staggering age. Meanwhile Sally searched the neighbouring bush in vain; then bethinking her that Matt Quintal, who was fond of dangerous places, might have clambered down to the rocks to bathe, she made the best of her way to the beach, at a place which, being somewhat difficult of access from above, was seldom visited by any save the wild and venturesome. She had only descended a few yards when she met the lost one clambering up in frantic haste, panting violently, his fat cheeks on fire, and his large eyes blazing. "Oh, Matt, what is it?" she exclaimed, awestruck at the sight of him. "Sip!--sip!" he cried, with labouring breath, as he pointed with one hand eagerly to the sea and with the other to the shore; "bin men down dare!--look, got suffin'! Oh!" A prolonged groan of despair escaped the child as he fumbled in a trousers-pocket and pushed three fingers through a hole in the bottom of it. "It's hoed through!" "What's hoed through?" asked Sally, with quick sympathy, trying to console the urchin for some loss he had sustained. "De knife!" exclaimed little Dan, with a face of blank woe. "The knife! what knife? But don't cry, dear; if you lost it through that hole it must be lying on the track, you know, somewhere between us and the beach." This happy thought did not seem to have occurred to Matt, whose cheeks at once resumed their flush and his eyes their blaze. Taking his hand, Sally led him down the track. They looked carefully as they went, and had not gone far when Matt sprang forward with a scream of delight and picked up a clasp-knife. It was by no means a valuable one. It had a buckhorn handle, and its solitary blade, besides being broken at the point, was affected with rust and tobacco in about equal proportions. "Oh, Matt, where did you find it?" "Come down and you see," he exclaimed, pointing with greater excitement than ever to the beach below. They were soon down, and there, on the margin of the woods, they found a heap of cocoa-nut shells scattered about. "Found de knife dere," said Matt, pointing to the midst of the shells, and speaking in a low earnest voice, as if the subject were a solemn one. "Oh!" exclaimed Sally, under her breath. "An' look here," said Matt, leading the girl to a sandy spot close by. They both stood transfixed and silent, for there were _strange foot-prints_ on the sand. They could not be mistaken. Sally and Matt knew every foot and every shoe, white or black, in Pitcairn. The marks before them had been made by unknown shoes. Just in proportion as youth is more susceptible of astonishment than age, so was the surprise of those little ones immeasurably greater than that of Robinson Crusoe in similar circumstances. With awestruck faces they traced the foot-prints down to the water's edge. Then, for the first time, it struck Matt that he had forgotten something. "Oh, me forget de sip--de sip!" he cried, and pointed out to sea. Sally raised her eyes and uttered an exclamation of fresh astonishment, as well she might, for there, like a seagull on the blue wave, was a ship under full sail. It was far-off, nearly on the horizon, but quite distinct, and large enough to be recognised. Of course the gazers were spellbound again. It was the first real ship they had ever seen, but they easily recognised it, being familiar with man's floating prisons from the frequent descriptions given to them by John Adams, and especially from a drawing made by him, years ago, on the back of an old letter, representing a full-rigged man-of-war. This masterpiece of fine art had been nailed up on the walls of John Adams's hut, and had been fully expounded to each child in succession, as soon after its birth as was consistent with common-sense--sometimes sooner. Suddenly Otaheitan Sally recovered herself. "Come, Matt, we must run home an' tell what we've seen." Away they went like two goats up the cliffs. Panting and blazing, they charged down on their amazed playmates, shouting, "A sip! a sip!" but never turning aside nor slacking their pace until they burst with the news on the astonished mutineers. Something more than astonishment, however, mingled with the feelings of the seamen, and it was not until they had handled the knife, and visited the sandy cove, and seen the foot-prints, and beheld the vessel herself, that they became fully convinced that she had really been close to the island, that men had apparently landed to gather cocoa-nuts, and had gone away without having discovered the settlement, which was hid from their view by the high cliffs to the eastward of Bounty Bay. The vessel had increased her distance so much by the time the men reached the cove, that it was impossible to make out what she was. "A man-o'-war, mayhap, sent to search for us," suggested Quintal. "Not likely," said Adams. "If she'd bin sent to search for us, she wouldn't have contented herself with only pickin' a few nuts." "I should say she is a trader that has got out of her course," said Young; "but whatever she is, we've seen the last of her. I'm not sure that I wouldn't have run the risk of having our hiding-place found out, and of being hung, for the sake of seeing once more the fresh face of a white man." He spoke with a touch of sadness in his tone, which contrasted forcibly with the remark that followed. "It's little _I_ would care about the risk o' bein' scragged," said Quintal, "if I could only once more have a stiff glass o' grog an' a pipe o' good, strong, genuine baccy!" "You'll maybe have the first sooner than you think," observed McCoy, with a look of intelligence. "What d'ye mean?" asked Quintal. "Ax no questions an' you'll be told no lies," was McCoy's polite rejoinder, to which Quintal returned a not less complimentary remark, and followed Young and Adams, who had already begun to reascend the cliffs. This little glimpse of the great outer world was obtained by the mutineers in 1795, and was the only break of the kind that occurred during a residence of many years on the lonely island. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. We are led to this conclusion in regard to the children by the fact that in the various records which tell us of these women attempting their flight, no mention is made of the children being with them. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. THE CLOUDS GROW THICKER AND BLACKER. This glimpse of a stray vessel left a deep impression on the minds of the exiles for many days, and it so far influenced the women that they postponed their scheme of vengeance for some time. It must not be supposed, however, that all of those women, whom we have described as being so gentle in character, were suddenly transformed into demons. It was only two or three of the more energetic and passionate among them who stirred up the rest, and forced them to fall in with their views. These passionate ones were the widows of the men who had been slain. They not only felt their loss most bitterly, but became almost mad with the despair caused by their forlorn condition, and the apparent hopelessness of deliverance. The sight of the passing ship had diverted their thoughts for a time, perhaps had infused a little hope; but when the excitement died down they renewed their plots against the men and at last made a desperate attempt to carry them out. It was on a dark and stormy night. Thunder was rolling in the sky. Lightning flashed among the mountain-peaks. Rain, the first that had descended for many days, fell in fitful showers. It must have seemed to the women either that the elements sympathised with them, or that the extreme darkness was favourable to the execution of their plan, for about midnight one of them rose from her bed, and crept noiselessly to the corner of her hut, where she had seen Quintal deposit a loaded musket the previous day. Possessing herself of the weapon, she went straight to the widow of Fletcher Christian, and wakened her. She rose, somewhat reluctantly, and followed the woman, whose face was concealed in a kerchief of native cloth. The two then went cautiously to another hat, where two of the wives of the murdered Otaheitans awaited them, the one with a long knife, the other with an axe in her hand. They whispered together for a few seconds. As they did so there came a tremendous crash of thunder, followed by a flash which revealed the dark heads and glistening eyeballs drawn together in a group. "We had better not try to-night," said one voice, timidly. "Faint heart, you may stay behind," replied another voice, firmly. "Come, let us not delay. They were cruel; we will be cruel too." They all crouched down, and seemed to melt into the dark earth. When the next lightning-flash rent the heavens they were gone. Lying in his bunk, opposite the door of his house, that night, John Adams lay half asleep and half-conscious of the storm outside. As he lay with closed eyes there came a glaring flash of light. It revealed in the open doorway several pallid faces and glistening eyeballs. "A strange dream," thought Adams; "stranger still to dream of dreaming." The thunder-clap that followed was mingled with a crash, a burst of smoke, and a shriek that caused Adams to leap from his couch as a bullet whistled past his ear. In the succeeding lightning-flash he beheld a woman near him with an uplifted axe, another with a gleaming knife, and Edward Young, who slept in his house that night, in the act of leaping upon her. Adams was prompt to act on all occasions. He caught the uplifted axe, and wrenching it from her grasp, thrust the woman out of the door. "There," he said, quietly, "go thy way, lass. I don't care to know which of 'ee's done it. Let the other one go too, Mr Young. It's not worth while making a work about it." The midshipman obeyed, and going to a shelf in a corner, took down a torch made of small nuts strung on a palm-spine, struck a light, and kindled it. "Poor things," he said, "I'm sorry for them. They've had hard times here." "They won't try it again," remarked Adams, as he closed the door, and quietly turned again into his sleeping-bunk. But John Adams was wrong. Foiled though they were on this occasion, and glad though some of them must have been at their failure, there were one or two who could not rest, and who afterwards made another attempt on the lives of the men. This also failed. The first offence had been freely forgiven, but this time it was intimated that if another attempt were made, they should all be put to death. Fortunately, the courage of even the most violent of the women had been exhausted. To the relief of the others they gave up their murderous designs, and settled down into that state of submission which was natural to them. One might have thought that now, at last, the little colony of Pitcairn had passed its worst days, most of the disturbing elements having been removed; but there was yet one other cloud, the blackest of all, to burst over them. One of the world's greatest curses was about to be introduced among them. It happened thus:-- One night William McCoy went to his house up on the mountain-side, entered it, and shut and bolted the door. This was an unusual proceeding on his part, and had no connection with the recent attempts at murder made by the women, because he was quite fearless in regard to that, and scoffed at the possibility of being killed by women. He also carefully fastened the window-shutters. He appeared to be somewhat excited, and went about his operations with an air at once of slyness and of mystery. A small torch or nut-candle which he lighted and set on a bracket on the wall gave out a faint flickering light, which barely rendered darkness visible, and from its position threw parts of the chamber into deepest gloom. It looked not unlike what we suppose would be the laboratory of an alchemist of the olden time, and McCoy himself, with his eager yet frowning visage, a native-made hat slouched over his brows, and a piece of native cloth thrown over his shoulders like a plaid, was no bad representative of an old doctor toiling for the secrets that turn base metal into gold, and old age into youth--secrets, by the way, which have been lying open to man's hand for centuries in the Word of God. Taking down from a shelf a large kettle which had formed part of the furniture of the _Bounty_, and a twisted metal pipe derived from the same source, he fitted them up on a species of stove or oven made of clay. The darkness of the place rendered his movements not very obvious; but he appeared to put something into the kettle, and fill it with water. Then he put charcoal into the oven, kindled it, and blew it laboriously with his mouth until it became red-hot. This flameless fire did not tend much to enlighten surrounding objects; it merely added to them a lurid tinge of red. The operator's face, being close in front of the fire as he blew, seemed almost as hot as the glowing coals. With patient watchfulness he sat there crouching over the fire for several hours, occasionally blowing it up or adding more fuel. As the experiment went on, McCoy's eyes seemed to dilate with expectation, and his breathing quickened. After a time he rose and lifted a bottle out of a tub of water near the stove. The bottle was attached to one end of the twisted tube, which was connected with the kettle on the fire. Detaching it therefrom, he raised it quickly to the light. Then he put it to his nose and smelt it. As he did so his face lit up with an expression of delight. Taking down from a shelf a cocoa-nut cup, he poured into it some sparkling liquid from the bottle. It is a question which at that moment sparkled most, McCoy's eyes or the liquid. He sipped a little, and his rough visage broke into a beaming smile. He drank it all, and then he smacked his lips and laughed--not quite a joyous laugh, but a wild, fierce, triumphant laugh, such as one might imagine would issue from the panting lips of some stout victor of the olden time as he clutched a much-coveted prize, after slaying some half-dozen enemies. "Ha ha! I've got it at last!" he cried aloud, smacking his lips again. And so he had. Long and earnestly had he laboured to make use of a fatal piece of knowledge which he possessed. Among the hills of Scotland McCoy had learned the art of making ardent spirits. After many failures, he had on this night made a successful attempt with the ti-root, which grew in abundance on Pitcairn. The spirit was at last produced. As the liquid ran burning down his throat, the memory of a passion which he had not felt for years came back upon him with overwhelming force. In his new-born ecstasy he uttered a wild cheer, and filling more spirit into the cup, quaffed it again. "Splendid!" he cried, "first-rate. Hurrah!" A tremendous knocking at the door checked him, and arrested his hand as he was about to fill another cup. "Who's that?" he demanded, angrily. "Open the door an' you'll see." The voice was that of Matthew Quintal. McCoy let him in at once. "See here," he cried, eagerly, holding up the bottle with a leer, "I've got it at last!" "So any deaf man might have found out by the way you've bin shoutin' it. Why didn't you open sooner?" "Never heard you, Matt. Was too much engaged with my new friend, I suppose. Come, I'll introdooce him to you." "Look alive, then," growled Quintal, impatiently, for he seemed to have smelt the spirit, as the warhorse is said to smell the battle from afar. "Give us hold o' the cup and fill up; fill up, I say, to the brim. None o' your half measures for me." He took a mouthful, rolled it round and round with his tongue once or twice, and swallowed it. "Heh, that's _it_ once more! Come, here's your health, McCoy! We'll be better friends than ever now; good luck to 'ee." McCoy thought that there was room for improvement in their friendship, but said nothing, as he watched his comrade pour the fiery liquid slowly down his throat, as if he wished to prolong the sensation. "Another," he said, holding out the cup. "No, no; drink fair, Matt Quintal; wotever you do, drink fair. It's my turn now." "Your turn?" retorted Quintal, fiercely; "why, you've bin swillin' away for half-an-hour before I came." "No, Matt, no; honour bright. I'd only just begun. But come, we won't quarrel over it. Here's the other half o' the nut, so we'll drink together. Now, hold steady." "More need for me to give you that advice; you shake the bottle as if you'd got the ague. If you spill a drop, now, I'll--I'll flatten your big nose on your ugly face." Not in the least hurt by such uncomplimentary threats, McCoy smiled as he filled the cup held by his comrade. The spirit was beginning to tell on him, and the smile was of that imbecile character which denotes perfect self-satisfaction and good-will. Having poured the remainder into his own cup, he refixed the bottle to the tube of the "still," and while more of the liquid was being extracted, the cronies sat down on low stools before the stove, to spend a pleasant evening in poisoning themselves! It may be interesting and instructive, though somewhat sad, to trace the steps by which those two men, formed originally in God's image, reduced themselves, of their own free will, to a level much lower than that of the brutes. "Doesn't the taste of it bring back old times?" said McCoy, holding his cup to the light as he might have held up a transparent glass. "Ay," assented Quintal, gradually becoming amiable, "the good old times before that fool Fletcher Christian indooced us to jine him. Here's to 'ee, lad, once more." "Why, when I think o' the jolly times I've had at the Blue Boar of Plymouth," said McCoy, "or at the Swan wi' the two throttles, in--in--I forget where, I feel--I feel--like--like--here's your health again, Matt Quintal. Give us your flipper, man. You're not a bad feller, if you wasn't given to grumpin' so much." Quintal's amiability, even when roused to excess by drink, was easily dissipated. The free remarks of his comrade did not tend to increase it, but he said nothing, and refreshed himself with another sip. "I really do think," continued McCoy, looking at his companion with an intensity of feeling which is not describable, "I really do think that-- that--when I think o' that Blue Boar, I could a'most become poetical." "If you did," growled Quintal, "you would not be the first that had become a big fool on a worse subjec'." "I shay, Matt Quintal," returned the other, who was beginning to talk rather thickly, so powerful was the effect of the liquor on his unaccustomed nerves; "I shay, ole feller, you used to sing well once. Come g-give us a stave now." "Bah!" was Quintal's reply, with a look of undisguised contempt. "Jus-so. 'Xactly my opinion about it. Well, as you won't sing, I'll give you a ditty myself." Hereupon McCoy struck up a song, which, being deficient in taste, while its execution was defective as well as tuneless, did not seem to produce much effect on Quintal. He bore it with equanimity, until McCoy came to a note so far beyond his powers that he broke into a shriek. "Come, get some more drink," growled his comrade, pointing to the still; "it must be ready by this time." "Shum more drink!" exclaimed McCoy, with a look of indignant surprise. Then, sliding into a smile of imbecile good-humour, "You shl-'ave-it, my boy, you shl-'ave-it." He unfixed the bottle with an unsteady hand, and winking with dreadful solemnity, filled up his companion's cup. Then he filled his own, and sat down to resume his song. But Quintal could stand no more of it; he ordered his comrade to "stop his noise." "Shtop my noise!" exclaimed McCoy, with a look of lofty disdain. "Yes, stop it, an' let's talk." "Well, I'm w-willin' t' talk," returned McCoy, after a grave and thoughtful pause. They chose politics as a light, agreeable subject of conversation. "Now, you see, 's my 'pinion, Matt, that them coves up't th' Admiralty don't know no more how to guv'n this country than they knows how to work a Turk's head on a man-rope." "P'r'aps not," replied Quintal, with a look of wise solemnity. "Nor'-a-bit--on it," continued McCoy, becoming earnest. "An' wot on earth's the use o' the Lords an' Commons an' War Office? W'y don't they slump 'em all together into one 'ouse, an' get the Archbishop o' Cantingbury to bless 'em all, right off, same as the Pope does. That's w'ere it is. D'ye see? That's w'ere the shoe pinches." "Ah, an' what would you make o' the King?" demanded Quintal, with an argumentative frown. "The King, eh?" said McCoy, bringing his fuddled mind to bear on this royal difficulty; "the King, eh? Why, I'd--I'd make lop-scouse o' the King." "Come, that's treason. You shan't speak treason in _my_ company, Bill McCoy. I'm a man-o'-war's man. It won't do to shove treason in the face of a mar-o'-wa-a-r. If I _am_ a mutineer, w'at o' that? I'll let no other man haul down my colours. So don't go shovin' treason at me, Bill McCoy." "I'll shove treason w'erever I please," said McCoy, fiercely. "No you shan't." "Yes I shall." From this point the conversation became very contradictory in tone, then recriminative, and after that personally abusive. At last Quintal, losing temper, threw the remains of his last cup of spirits in his friend's face. McCoy at once hit Quintal on the nose. He returned wildly on the eye, and jumping up, the two grappled in fierce anger. They were both powerful men, whose natural tendency to personal violence towards each other had, up to this time, been restrained by prudence; but now that the great destroyer of sense and sanity was once again coursing through their veins, there was nothing to check them. All the grudges and bitternesses of the past few years seemed to have been revived and concentrated on that night, and they struggled about the little room with the fury of madmen, striking out savagely, but with comparatively little effect, because of excessive passion, coupled with intoxication, clutching and tugging at each other's whiskers and hair, and cursing with dreadful sincerity. There was little furniture in the room, but what there was they smashed in pieces. Quintal flung McCoy on the table, and jumping on the top of him, broke it down. The other managed to get on his legs again, clutched Quintal by the throat, and thrust him backward with such violence that he went crashing against the little window-shutters, split them up, and drove them out. In one of their wildest bursts they both fell into the fireplace, overturned the still, and scattered the fire. Fortunately, the embers were nearly out by this time. Tumbling over the stools and wreck, these men--who had begun the evening as friends, continued it as fools, and ended it as fiends--fell side by side into one of the sleeping-bunks, the bottom of which was driven down by the shock as they sank exhausted amid the wreck, foaming with passion, and covered with blood. This was the climax; they fell into a state of partial insensibility, which degenerated at last into a deep lethargic slumber. Hitherto the quarrels and fights that had so disturbed the peace of Pitcairn, and darkened her moral sky, had been at least intelligently founded on hatred or revenge, with a definite object and murderous end in view. Now, for the first time, a furious battle had been fought for nothing, with no object to be gained, and no end in view; with besotted idiots for the champions, and with strong drink for the cause. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. AQUATIC AMUSEMENTS. Now, it must not be supposed that the wives and widows of these mutineers gave themselves up to moping or sadness after the failure of their wild attempt to make their condition worse by slaying all the men. By no means. By degrees they recovered the natural tone of their mild yet hearty dispositions, and at last, we presume, came to wonder that they had ever been so mad or so bad. Neither must it be imagined that these women were condemned to be the laborious drudges who are fitly described as "hewers of wood and drawers of water." They did indeed draw a good deal of water in the course of each day, but they spent much time also in making the tapa cloth with which they repaired the worn-out clothes of their husbands, or fabricated petticoats for themselves and such of the children as had grown old enough to require such garments. But besides these occupations, they spent a portion of their time in prattling gossip, which, whatever the subject might be, was always accompanied with a great deal of merriment and hearty laughter. They also spent no small portion of their time in the sea, for bathing was one of the favourite amusements of the Pitcairners, young and old. Coming up one day to Susannah, the wife of Edward Young, Thursday October Christian begged that she would go with him and bathe. Susannah was engaged in making the native cloth at the time, and laid down her mallet with a look of indecision. It may be remarked here that a mallet is used in the making of this cloth, which is not woven, but beaten out from a state of pulp; it is, in fact, rather a species of tough paper than cloth, and is produced from the bark of the paper mulberry. "I's got to finish dis bit of cloth to-day, Toc," said Susannah, in broken English, for she knew that Master Thursday October preferred that tongue to Otaheitan, though he could speak both, "an' it's gettin' late." "Oh, _what_ a pity!" said TOC, with a look of mild disappointment. Now Susannah was by far the youngest and most girlish among the Otaheitan women, and could not resist an appeal to her feelings even when uttered only by the eyes. Besides, little Toc was a great favourite with her. She therefore burst into a merry laugh, gently pulled Thursday's nose, and said, "Well, come along; but we'll git some o' the others for go too, an' have some fun. You go klect de jumpers. Me git de womans." Susannah referred to the older children by the term "Jumpers." Highly pleased, the urchin started off at once. He found one of the jumpers, namely, Otaheitan Sally, nursing Polly Young, while she delivered an oracular discourse to Charlie Christian, who sat at her feet, meekly receiving and believing the most outrageous nonsense that ever was heard. It is but just to Sally, however, to say that she gave her information in all good faith, having been previously instructed by John Adams, whose desire for the good of the young people was at that period stronger than his love of truth. Wishing to keep their minds as long as possible ignorant of the outer world, he had told them that ships came out of a hole in the clouds on the horizon. "Yes, Charlie, it's quite true; father Adams says so. They comes out of a hole on the horizon." Charlie's huge eyes gazed in perplexity from his instructor's face to the horizon, as if he expected to behold a ship emerging from a hole then and there. Then, turning to Sally again with a simple look, he asked-- "But why does sips come out of holes on de 'rizon?" Sally was silenced. She was not the first knowing one who had been silenced by a child. Little Daniel McCoy came up at the moment. Having passed the "staggering" period of life, he no longer walked the earth in a state of nudity, but was decorated with a pair of very short tapa trousers, cut in imitation of seafaring ducks, but reaching only to the knees. He also wore a little shirt. "Me kin tell why ships come out ob de hole in de horizon," he said, with a twinkle in his eyes; "just for notin' else dan to turn about an' go back into de hole again." "Nonsense, Dan'l!" cried Sally, with a laugh. "Nonsense!" repeated Dan, with an injured look. "Didn't you saw'd it happen jus' t'other day?" "Well, I did saw the ship go farer an' farer away, an' vanish," admitted Sall; "but he didn't go into a hole that time." "Pooh!" ejaculated little Dan, "dat's 'cause de hole was too far away to be seen." Further discussion of the subject was prevented by the arrival of Thursday. "Well, Toc, you's in a hurry to-day," said little Dan, with a look of innocent insolence. "We're all to go an' bathe, child'n," cried Thursday, with a look of delight; "Susannah's goin', an' all the 'oomans, an' she send me for you." "Hurrah!" shouted Dan and Sally. "Goin' to bave," cried Charlie Christian to Lizzie Mills, who was attracted by the cheering, which also brought up Matt Quintal, who led his little sister Sarah by the hand. Sarah was yet a staggerer, and so was Dinah Adams, also Mary Christian; Polly Young and John Mills had not yet attained even to the staggering period--they were only what little Dan McCoy called sprawlers. Before many minutes had elapsed, the whole colony of women, jumpers, staggerers, and sprawlers, were assembled on the beach at Bounty Bay. It could scarcely be said that the women undressed--they merely threw off the light scarf or bodice that covered their shoulders, but kept on the short skirts, which were no impediment to their graceful movements in the water. The jumpers, of course, were only too glad of the excuse to get out of their very meagre allowance of clothing, and the rest were, so to speak, naturally ready for the plunge. It was a splendid forenoon. There was not a zephyr to ruffle the calm breast of the Pacific, nevertheless the gentle undulation of that mighty bosom sent wave after wave like green liquid walls into the bay in ceaseless regularity. These, toppling over, and breaking, and coming in with a succession of magnificent roars, finally hissed in harmless foam on the shingly beach. "Now, T'ursday," said Mrs Adams, "you stop here an' take care o' de sprawlers." Adams's helpmate was the oldest of the women, and defective in vision. Her commands were law. Thursday October would as soon have thought of disobeying Adams himself as his wife. It was not in his nature, despite its goodness, to help feeling disappointed at being left in charge of the little ones. However, he made up his mind at once to the sacrifice. "Never mind, Toc," said Young's wife, with a bright smile, "I'll stay an' keep you company." This was ample compensation to Thursday. He immediately flung himself into the shallow surf, and turning his face to the land, held out his arms and dared the little ones to come to him. Two of them instantly accepted the challenge, crept down to the water, and were beaten back by the next rush of foam. But they were caught up and held aloft with a shout of glee by Susannah. Meanwhile, the women advanced into the deep surf with the small children on their shoulders, while the others, being able to look after themselves, followed, panting with excitement for although able to swim like corks they found it extremely difficult to do battle with the rushing water. Deeper and deeper the foremost women went, until they neared the unbroken glassy billows. "I'll go at de nixt," muttered Mrs Adams to Mary Christian, who was on her back, clutching tight round her neck. The "nixt" was a liquid wall that came rolling grandly in with ever-increasing force and volume, until it hovered to its fall almost over the heads of the daring women. Mrs Adams, Mainmast, and Mills's widow, who were the foremost of the group, bent their heads forward, and with a graceful but vigorous plunge, sprang straight into the wall of water and went right through it. The others, though a moment later, were quite in time. The children also, uttering wild screams in varied keys, faced the billow gallantly, and pierced it like needles. Another moment, and they were all safe in deep water on the seaward side, while the wave went thundering to the shore in a tumultuous wilderness of foam, and spent its weakened force among the babies. The moment the women were safe beyond the rolling influence of these great waves, in the calm sea beyond, they threw the staggerers from their shoulders and let them try their own unaided powers, while the jumpers swam and floated around to watch the result. These wonderful infants disported themselves variously in the sea. Mary Christian wobbled about easily, as if too fat to sink, and Bessy Mills supported herself bravely, being much encouraged by the presence and the cheering remarks of that humorous imp Dan McCoy. But Charlie Christian showed symptoms of alarm, and losing heart after a few moments, threw up his fat little arms and sank. Like the swooping eagle, his mother plunged forward, placed a hand under him, and lifted him on her shoulders, where he recovered equanimity in a few minutes, and soon wanted to be again sent afloat. When this had gone on for a little time, the women reshouldered their babies and swam boldly out to sea, followed at various distances by the youngsters. Of these latter, Sall of Otaheite was by far the best. She easily outstripped the other children, and could almost keep pace with the women. Meanwhile Thursday October Christian and Susannah Young performed amazing feats with the infants in the shallow water on the beach. Sarah Quintal and Johnny Mills gave them some trouble, having a strong disposition to explore places beyond their depth; but Dinah Adams and Polly Young were as good as gold, spluttering towards their guardians when called, and showing no tendency to do anything of their own immediate free will, except sit on the sand and let the foam rush round and over them like soap-suds. Now, it is well-known that every now and then there are waves of the sea which seem to have been born on a gigantic scale, and which, emerging somewhere from the great deep, come to shore with a grander roar and a higher rush than ordinary waves. One such roller came in while no one was on the look-out for it. Its deep-toned roar first apprised Susannah of its approach, but before she could run to the rescue its white crest was careering up the beach in magnificent style. It caught the infants, each sitting with a look of innocent surprise on the sand. It turned them head over heels, and swept them up the shingly shore. It tumbled Susannah herself over in its might, and swept Thursday October fairly off his legs. Having terminated its career thus playfully, the big wave retired, carrying four babies in its embrace. But Susannah and Thursday had regained their footing and their presence of mind. With a brave and, for him, a rapid spring, Thursday caught little Sarah and Dinah as they were rolling helpless down the strand, the one by an arm, the other by a leg, and held on. At the same instant Susannah sprang forward and grasped Jack Mills by the hair of the head, but poor Polly Young was beyond her reach. Little Polly was the smallest, the neatest, and the dearest of the sprawling band. She was rolling to her doom. The case was desperate. In this emergency Susannah suddenly hurled Jack Mills at Thursday. The poor boy had to drop the other two in order to catch the flying Jack, but the other two, sliding down his body, held each to a Thursday October leg like limpets. The result was that the four remained firm and safe, while Susannah leaped into the surf and rescued little Poll. It all happened so quickly that the actors had scarcely time to think. Having reached the dry land, they looked seaward, and there saw their more practised companions about to come in on the top of a wave. For a few seconds their heads were seen bobbing now on the top, now between the hollows of the waves. Then they were seen on a towering snowy crest which was just about to fall. On the summit of the roaring wave, as if on a snowy mountain, they came rushing on with railway speed. To an unpractised eye destruction among the rocks was their doom. But they had taken good aim, and came careering to the sandy patch where the little ones sprawled. In another moment they stood safe and sound upon the land. This was but an everyday feat of the Pitcairners, who went up to their village chatting merrily, and thinking nothing more about the adventure than that it was capital fun. CHAPTER NINETEEN. THE DARKEST HOUR. A long time after the events narrated in the last chapter, John Adams and Edward Young sat together one evening in the cave at the top of the mountain, where poor Fletcher Christian had been wont to hold his lonely vigils. "I've bin thinkin' of late," said Young, "that it is very foolish of us to content ourselves with merely fishing from the rocks, when there are better fish to be had in deep water, and plenty of material at hand for making canoes." "You're right, sir; we ought to try our hands at a canoe. Pity we didn't do so before the native men was all killed. They knew what sort o' trees to use, and how to split 'em up into planks, an' all that sort o' thing." "But McCoy used to study that subject, and talk much about it, when we were in Otaheite," returned Young. "I've no doubt that with his aid we could build a good enough canoe, and the women would be as able as the men, no doubt, to direct us what to do if we were in a difficulty. McCoy is a handy fellow, you know, with tools, as he has proved more than once since the death of poor Williams." Adams shook his head. "No doubt, Mr Young, he's handy enough with the tools; but ever since he discovered how to make spirits, neither he nor Quintal, as you know, sir, are fit for anything." "True," said Young, with a perplexed look; "it never occurred to me before that strong drink was such a curse. I begin now to understand why some men that I have known have been so enthusiastic in their outcry against it. Perhaps it would be right for you and me to refuse to drink with Quintal and McCoy, seeing that they are evidently killing themselves with it." "I don't quite see that, sir," objected Adams. "A glass of grog don't do me no harm that I knows of, an' it wouldn't do them no good if we was to stop our allowance." "It might; who can tell?" said Young. "I've not thought much about the matter, however, so we won't discuss it. But what would you say if we were to hide the kettle that McCoy makes it in, and refuse to give it up till the canoe is finished?" Again Adams shook his head. "They'd both go mad with DT," said he, by which letters he referred to the drunkard's awful disease, _delirium tremens_. "Well, at all events, we will try to persuade him to go to work, and the sooner the better," said Young, rising and leaving the cave. In pursuance of this plan, Young spoke to McCoy in one of his few sober moments, and got him persuaded to begin the work, and to drink less while engaged in it. Under the impulse of this novelty in his occupation, the unhappy man did make an attempt to curb himself, and succeeded so far that he worked pretty steadily for several days, and made considerable progress with the canoe. The wood was chosen, the tree felled, the trunk cut to the proper length and split up into very fair planks, which were further smoothed by means of a stone adze, brought by the natives from Otaheite, and it seemed as if the job would be quickly finished, when the terrible demon by whom McCoy had been enslaved suddenly asserted his tyrannical power. Quintal, who rendered no assistance in canoe-building, had employed himself in making a "new brew," as he expressed it, and McCoy went up to his hut in the mountain one evening to taste. The result, of course, was that he was absolutely incapable of work next day; and then, giving way to the maddening desire, he and his comrade-in-debauchery went in, as they said, for a regular spree. It lasted for more than a week, and when it came to an end, the two men, with cracked lips, bloodshot eyes, and haggard faces, looked as if they had just escaped from a madhouse. Edward Young now positively refused to drink any more of the spirits, and Adams, although he would not go quite to that length, restricted himself to one glass in the day. This at first enraged both Quintal and McCoy. The former cursed his comrades in unmeasured terms, and drank more deeply just to spite them. The latter refused to work at the canoe, and both men became so uproarious, that Young and Adams were obliged to turn them out of the house where they were wont occasionally to meet for a social evening. Thus things went on for many a day from bad to worse. Bad as things had been in former years, it seemed as if the profoundest depth of sin and misery had not yet been fathomed by these unhappy mutineers. In all these doings, it would have gone hard with the poor women and children if Adams and Young had not increased in their kindness and consideration for them, as the other two men became more savage and tyrannical. At last matters came to such a crisis that it became once more a matter of discussion with Young and Adams whether they should not destroy the machinery by which the spirits were made, and it is probable that they might have done this, if events had not occurred which rendered the act unnecessary. One day William McCoy was proceeding with a very uncertain step along the winding footpath that led to his house up in the mountain. The man's face worked convulsively, and it seemed as if terrible thoughts filled his brain. Muttering to himself as he staggered along, he suddenly met his own son, who had grown apace by that time, being nearly seven years of age. Both father and son stopped abruptly, and looked intently at each other. "What brings you here?" demanded the father, with a look of as much dignity as it was in his power to assume. The poor boy hesitated, and looked frightened. His natural spirit of fun and frolic seemed of late to have forsaken him. "What are 'ee afraid of?" roared McCoy, who had not quite recovered from his last fit of _delirium tremens_. "Why don't 'ee speak?" "Mother's not well," said Daniel, softly; "she bid me come and tell you." "What's that to me?" cried McCoy, savagely. "Come here, Dan." He lowered his tone, and held out his hand, but the poor boy was afraid to approach. Uttering a low growl, the father made a rush at him, stumbled over a tree-root, and fell heavily to the earth. Little Dan darted into the bush, and fled home. Rising slowly, McCoy looked half-stunned at first, but speedily recovering himself, staggered on till he reached the hut, when he wildly seized the bottle from its shelf, and put it to his lips, which were bleeding from the fall, and covered with dust. "Ha ha!" he shouted, while the light of delirium rekindled in his eyes, "this is the grand cure for everything. My own son's afraid o' me now, but who cares? What's that to Bill McCoy! an' his mother's ill too-- ha!--" He checked himself in the middle of a fierce laugh, and stared before him as if horror-stricken. "No, no!" he gasped. "I--I didn't. Oh! God be merciful to me!" Again he stopped, raised both hands high above his head, uttered a wild laugh which terminated in a prolonged yell, as he dashed the bottle on the floor, and darted from the hut. All the strength and vigour which the wretched man had squandered seemed to come back to him in that hour. The swiftness of youth returned to his limbs. He ran down the path by which he had just come, and passed Quintal on the way. "Hallo, Bill! you're pretty bad to-night," said his comrade, looking after him. He then followed at a smart run, as if some new idea had suddenly occurred to him. Two of the women met McCoy further down, but as if to evade them, he darted away to the right along the track leading to the eastward cliffs. The women joined Quintal in pursuit, but before they came near him, they saw him rush to the highest part of the cliffs and leap up into the air, turning completely over as he vanished from their sight. At that spot the cliff appeared to overhang its base, and was several hundred feet high. Far down there was a projecting rock, where sea-gulls clustered in great numbers. McCoy, like the lightning-flash, came in contact with the rock, and was dashed violently out into space, while the affrighted sea-birds fled shrieking from the spot. Next moment the man's mangled body cleft the dark water like an arrow, leaving only a little spot of foam behind to mark for a few seconds his watery grave. It might have been thought that this terrible event would have had a sobering effect upon Matthew Quintal, but instead of that it made him worse. The death of his wife, too, by a fall from the cliffs about the same time, seemed only to have the effect of rendering him more savage; insomuch that he became a terror to the whole community, and frequently threatened to take the lives of his remaining comrades. In short, the man seemed to have gone mad, and Young and Adams resolved, in self-defence, to put him to death. We spare the reader the sickening details. They accomplished the terrible deed with an axe, and thus the number of the male refugees on Pitcairn was reduced to two. The darkest hour of the lonely island had been reached--the hour before the dawn. CHAPTER TWENTY. THE DAWN OF A BETTER DAY. The eighteenth century passed away, and as the nineteenth began its course, a great and marvellous change came over the dwellers on the lonely island in that almost unknown region of the Southern Seas. It was a change both spiritual and physical, the latter resulting from the former, and both having their roots, as all things good must have, in the blessed laws of God. The change did not come instantaneously. It rose upon Pitcairn with the sure but gradual influence of the morning dawn, and its progress, like its advent, was unique in the history of the Church of God. No preacher went forth to the ignorant people, armed with the powers of a more or less correct theology. No prejudices had to be overcome, or pre-existing forms of idolatry uprooted, and the people who had to be changed were what might have been deemed most unlikely soil--mutineers, murderers, and their descendants. The one hopeful characteristic among them was the natural amiability of the women, for Young and Adams did not display more than the average good-humour of men, yet these amiable women, as we have seen, twice plotted and attempted the destruction of the men, and two of them murdered in cold blood two of their own kinsmen. It may, perhaps, have already been seen that Young and Adams were of a grave and earnest turn of mind. The terrible scenes which they had passed through naturally deepened this characteristic, especially when they thought of the dreadful necessity which had been forced on them-- the deliberate slaying of Matthew Quintal, an act which caused them to _feel_ like murderers, however justifiable it may have seemed to them. Like most men who are under deep and serious impressions, they kept their thoughts to themselves. Indeed, John Adams, with his grave matter-of-fact tendencies and undemonstrative disposition, would probably never have opened his lips on spiritual things to his companion if Young had not broken the ice; and even when the latter did venture to do so, Adams resisted at first with the dogged resolution of an unbelieving man. "We've been awful sinners, John Adams," said Young one afternoon as they were sauntering home from their plantations to dinner. "Well, sir, no doubt there's some truth in what you say," replied Adams, slowly, "but then, d'ye see, we've bin placed in what you may call awful circumstances." "That's true, that's true," returned Young, with a perplexed look, "and I've said the same thing, or something like it, to myself many a time; but, man, the Bible doesn't seem to harmonise with that idea somehow. It seems to make no difference between big and little sinners, so to speak, at least as far as the matter of salvation is concerned; and yet I can't help feeling somehow that men who have sinned much ought to repent much." "Just so, sir," said John Adams, with a self-satisfied air, "you're right, sir. We have been awful sinners, as you say, an' now we've got to repent as hard as we can and lead better lives, though, of course, we can't make much difference in our style o' livin', seein' that our circumstances don't allow o' much change, an' neither of us has bin much given to drink or swearin'." "Strange!" rejoined Young. "You almost echo what I've been saying to myself over and over again, yet I can't feel quite easy, for if we have only got to repent and try to lead better lives, what's the use of our talking about `Our Saviour?' and what does the Bible mean in such words as these: `Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.' `Only believe.' `By grace are ye saved, through faith, and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God.' `By the works of the law shall no flesh living be justified.'" "Do you mean to say, sir, that them words are all out of the Bible?" asked Adams. "Yes, I know they are, for I read them all this morning. I had a long hunt after the Bible before I found it, for poor Christian never told me where he kept it. I turned it up at last under a bit of tarpaulin in the cave, and I've been reading it a good deal since, and I confess that I've been much puzzled. Hold on a bit here," he added, stopping and seating himself on a flowering bank beside the path; "that old complaint of mine has been troubling me a good deal of late. Let's rest a bit." Young referred here to an asthmatic affection to which he was subject, and which had begun to give him more annoyance since the catching of a severe cold while out shooting among the hills a year before. "From what you say, sir," said Adams, thoughtfully, after they had sat down, "it seems to me that if we can do _nothing_ in the matter o' workin' out our salvation, and have nothin' to do but sit still an' receive it, we can't be to blame if we don't get it." "But we may be to blame for refusing it when it's offered," returned Young. "Besides, the Bible says, `Ask and ye shall receive,' so that knocks away the ground from under your notion of sitting still." "P'r'aps you're right, sir," continued Adams, after a few minutes' thought, during which he shook his head slowly as if not convinced; "but I can't help thinkin' that if a man only does his best to do his dooty, it'll be all right with him. That's all that's required in His Majesty's service, you know, of any man." "True, but if a man _doesn't_ do his best, what then? Or if he is so careless about learning his duty that he scarce knows what it is, and in consequence falls into sundry gross mistakes, what then? Moreover, suppose that you and I, having both done our duty perfectly up to the time of the mutiny, were now to go back to England and say, like the bad boys, `We will never do it again,' what would come of it, think you?" "We'd both be hanged for certain," answered Adams, with emphasis. "Well, then, the matter isn't as simple an you thought it, at least according to _your_ view." "It is more puzzlin' than I thought it," returned Adams; "but then that's no great wonder, for if it puzzles you it's no wonder that it should puzzle me, who has had no edication whatever 'xcep what I've picked up in the streets. But it surprises me--you'll excuse me, Mr Young--that you who's bin at school shouldn't have your mind more clear about religion. Don't they teach it at school?" "They used to read a few verses of the Bible where I was at school," said Young, "and the master, who didn't seem to have any religion in himself, read over a formal prayer; but I fear that that didn't do us much good, for we never listened to it. Anyhow, it could not be called religious teaching. But were you never at school, Adams?" "No, sir, not I," answered the seaman, with a quiet laugh; "leastwise not at a reg'lar true-blue school. I was brought up chiefly in the streets of London, though that's a pretty good school too of its kind. It teaches lads to be uncommon smart, I tell you, and up to a thing or two, but it don't do much for us in the book-larnin' way. I can scarcely read even now, an' what I have of it was got through spellin' out the playbills in the public-house windows. But what d'ye say, sir, now that we both seem inclined to turn over a new leaf, if you was to turn schoolmaster an' teach me to read and write a bit better than I can do at present? I'd promise to be a willin' scholar an' a good boy." "Not a bad idea," said Young, with a laugh, as he rose and continued the descent of the track leading to the settlement. The village had by this time improved very much in appearance, good substantial cottages, made of the tafano or flower wood, and the aruni, having taken the place of the original huts run up at the period of landing. Some of the cottages were from forty to fifty feet long, by fifteen wide and thirteen high. It was evident that ships were, partly at least, the model on which they had been constructed; for the sleeping-places were a row of berths opposite the door, each with its separate little window or porthole. There were no fireplaces, the range of the thermometer on the island being from 55 degrees to 85 degrees, and all cooking operations were performed in detached outhouses and ovens. In the chief of these cottages might have been found, among the many miscellaneous objects of use and ornament, two articles which lay apart on a shelf, and were guarded by Young and Adams with almost reverential care. These were the chronometer and the azimuth compass of the _Bounty_. The cottages, some of which had two stories, were arranged so as to enclose a large grassy square, which was guarded by a strong palisade from the encroachments of errant hogs, goats, and fowls. This spot, among other uses, served as a convenient day-nursery for the babies, and also a place of occasional frolic and recreation to the elder children. To the first of these was added, not long after the death of their respective fathers, Edward Quintal and Catherine McCoy. To John Adams, also, a daughter was born, whom he named Hannah, after a poor girl who had been in the habit of chucking him under the chin, and giving him sugar-plums when he was an arab in the streets of London--at least so he jestingly remarked to his spouse on the day she presented the new baby to his notice. On the day of which we write, Young and Adams found the square above-mentioned in possession of the infantry, under command of their self-elected captain, Otaheitan Sally, who was now, according to John Adams, "no longer a chicken." Being in her eleventh year, and, like her country-women generally at that age, far advanced towards big girlhood, she presented a tall, slight, graceful, and beautifully moulded figure, with a sweet sprightly face, and a smile that was ever disclosing her fine white teeth. Her profusion of black hair was gathered into a knot which hung low on the back of her pretty round head. She was crowned with a wreath of wild-flowers, made and presented by her troops. It is needless to say that every one of these, big and little, was passionately attached to Sally. Chief among her admirers now, as of old, was Charlie Christian, who, being about eight years of age, well grown and stalwart like his father, was now almost as tall as his former nurse. Charlie had not with years lost one jot of that intensely innocent and guileless look of childhood, which inclined one to laugh while he merely cast earnest gaze into one's face; but years had given to him a certain gravity and air of self-possession which commanded respect, even from that volatile imp, his contemporary, Dan McCoy. Thursday October Christian, who was less than a year younger than Sally, had also shot up into a long-legged boy, and bade fair to become a tall and sturdy man. He, like his brother, was naturally grave and earnest, but was easily roused to action, and if he did not himself originate fun, was ever ready to appreciate the antics and mild wickedness of Dan McCoy, or to burst into sudden and uproarious laughter at the tumbles or ludicrous doings of the sprawlers, who rolled their plump-made forms on the soft grass. Not one of the band, however, had yet attained to the age which renders young people ashamed of childish play. When Young and Adams appeared on the scene, Sally, her hair broken loose and the wreath confusedly mingled with it, was flying round the square with Dolly Young on her shoulder, and chased by Charlie Christian, who pretended, in the most obvious manner, that he could not catch her. Toc was sitting on the fence watching them, and perceiving his brother's transparent hypocrisy, was chuckling to himself with great delight. Matt Quintal and Dan McCoy, at the head of two opposing groups, were engaged in playing French and English, each group endeavouring to pull the other over a rope laid on the grass between them. Several of the others, being too little, were not allowed to join in the game, and contented themselves with general scrimmaging and skylarking, while Edward Quintal, Catherine McCoy, and Hannah Adams, the most recent additions to the community, rolled about in meaningless felicity. "Hold on hard," shouted Dan McCoy, whose flushed face and blue eyes beamed and flashed under a mass of curling yellow hair, and who was the foremost boy of the French band. "I'm holdin' on," cried Matt Quintal, who was intellectually rather obtuse. "Tight," cried Dan. "Tight," repeated Matt. "There, don't let go--oh! hup!" The grasp of Dan suddenly relaxed when Matt and his Englishmen were straining their utmost. Of course they went back on the top of each other in a wild jumble, while Dan, having put a foot well back, was prepared, and stood comparatively firm. "You did that a-purpose," cried Matt, springing up and glaring. "I know you did it a-purpose," retorted Dan. "But--but I said that--that _you_ did it a-purpose," stammered Matt. "Well, an' didn't I say that you said that I said _you_ did it a-purpose?" A yell of delight followed this reply, in which, however, Matt did not join. Like his father, Matt Quintal was short in the temper--at least, short for a Pitcairn boy. He suddenly gave Dan McCoy a dab on the nose with his fist. Now, as every one must know, a dab on the nose is painful; moreover, it sometimes produces blood. Dan McCoy, who also inherited a shortish temper from his father, feeling the pain, and seeing the blood, suddenly flushed to the temples, and administered to Matt a sounding slap on the side of the head, which sent him tumbling on the grass. But Matt was not conquered, though overturned. Jumping up, he made a rush at Dan, who stood on the defensive. The other children, being more gentle in their natures, stood by, and anticipated with feelings of awe the threatened encounter; but Thursday October Christian, who had listened with eager ears, ever since his intelligence dawned, to the conversations of the mutineers, here stepped between the combatants. "Come, come," said he, authoritatively, in virtue of his greater age and superior size, "let's have fair play. If you must fight, do it ship-shape, an', accordin' to the articles of war. We must form a ring first, you know, an' get a bottle an' a sponge and--" An appalling yell at this point nearly froze the marrow in everybody's bones. It was caused by a huge pig, which, observing that the gate had been left open, had entered the square, and gone up to snuff at one of the nude babies, who, seated like a whitey-brown petrifaction, gazed with a look of horror in the pig's placid face. If ever a pig in this sublunary sphere regretted a foolish act, that Pitcairn pig must have been steeped in repentance to the latest day of its life. With one howl in unison, the entire field, _minus_ the infants, ran at that pig like a human tornado. It was of no avail that the pig made straight for the gate by which it had entered. That gate had either removed or shut itself. In frantic haste, the unhappy creature coursed round the square, followed by its pursuers, who soon caught it by the tail, then by an ear, then by the nose and the other ear, and a fore leg and two hind ones, and finally hurled it over the fence, amid a torrent of shrieks which only a Pitcairn pig could utter or a Pitcairn mind conceive. It fell with a bursting squeak, and retired in grumpy silence to ruminate over the dire consequences of a too earnest gaze in the face of a child. "Well done, child'n!" cried John Adams. "Sarves him right. Come, now, to grub, all of you." Even though the Pitcairn children had been disobedient by nature, they would have obeyed that order with alacrity. In a few brief minutes a profound silence proclaimed, more clearly than could a trumpet-tongue, that the inhabitants of the lonely island were at dinner. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. THE LAST MAN. One morning John Adams, instead of going to work in his garden, as was his wont, took down his musket from its accustomed pegs above the door, and sallied forth into the woods behind the village. He had not gone far when he heard a rustling of the leaves, and looking back, beheld the graceful form of Sally bounding towards him. "Are you going to shoot, father?" she said, on coming up. The young people of the village had by this time got into the habit of calling Adams "father," and regarded him as the head of the community; not because of his age, for at this time he was only between thirty and forty years, but because of his sedate, quiet character, and a certain air of elderly wisdom which distinguished him. Even Edward Young, who was about the same age, but more juvenile both in feeling and appearance, felt the influence of his solid, unpretending temperament, and laughingly acknowledged him King of Pitcairn. "No, dear, I'm not goin' to shoot," said Adams, in reply, "I'm only going up to Christian's outlook to try if I can find somethin' there, an' I always like to have the old blunderbuss with me. It feels sort of company, you know, an' minds me of old times; but you'll not understand what I mean, Sall." "No, because I've no old times to mind about," said Sally, with a peculiar smile. "May I go with you, father?" "Of course you may. Come along, lass." Adams held out his strong hand. Sally put her peculiarly small one into it, and the two went slowly up the mountain-track together. On reaching the top of a little knoll or plateau, they stopped, and turned to look back. They could see over the tops of the palm-groves from that place. The track by which they had ascended was visible here and there, winding among the flowering shrubs and trees. The village lay far below, like a gem in a setting of bright green, which contrasted pleasantly with the warm clouds and the blue sea beyond. The sun was bright and the air was calm--so calm that the voices of the children at play came up to them distinctly in silvery ripples. "How comes it, Sall, that you've deserted your post to-day?" "Because the guard has been relieved; same as you say they do on board a man-of-war. I left the sprawlers in charge of Bessy Mills, and the staggerers are shut into the green. You see, I'm feeling a little tired to-day, and thought I would like to have a quiet walk in the woods." She finished this explanation with a little sigh. "Dear, dear me!" exclaimed Adams, with a look of amused surprise, "you're not becomin' sentimental are you, Sally?" "What is sentimental, father!" "Why, it's a--it's a sort of a feelin'--a sensation, you know, a kind of all-overishness, that--d'ye see--" He stopped short and stared with a perplexed air at the girl, who burst into a merry laugh. "That's one of your puzzlers, I think," she said, looking up slyly from the corners of her eyes. "Well, Sall, that _is_ a puzzler," returned Adams, with a self-condemning shake of the head. "I never before felt so powerfully the want o' dictionary knowledge. I'll be shot if I can tell you what sentimental is, though I _know_ what it is as well as I know what six-water grog or plum-duff is. We must ask Mr Young to explain it. He's bin to school, you know, an' that's more than I have--more's the pity." "Well," said Sally, as they proceeded on their way, "whatever senti-- senti--" "Mental," said Adams. "Whatever sentimental is, I'm not that, because I'm just the same as ever I was, for I often want to be quiet and alone, and I often am quiet and alone in the bush." "And what do you think about, Sall, when you're alone in the bush?" said the seaman, looking down with more interest than usual at the innocent face beside him. "Oh, about heaps and heaps of things. I couldn't tell you in a month all I think about; but one thing I think most about is a man-of-war." "A man-of-war, Sall?" "Yes; I would give anything to see a man-of-war, what you've so often told us about, with all its masts and sails, and bunks and guns and anchors, and officers and men. I often wonder _so_ much what new faces would be like. You see I'm so used to the faces of yourself and Mr Young, and Mainmast and Susannah, and Toc and Matt and Dan and--" "Just say the rest o' the youngsters, dear," interrupted Adams. "There's no use in goin' over 'em all by name." "Well, I'm so used to them that I can't fancy how any other faces can be different, and yet I heard Mr Young say the other day that there's no two faces in the world exactly alike, and you know there must be hundreds and hundreds of faces in the world." "Ay, there's thousands and thousands--for the matter o' that, there's millions and millions of 'em--an it's quite true that you can't ever pick out two that would fit into the same mould. Of course," continued Adams, in an argumentative tone, "I'm not goin' for to say but that you could find a dozen men any day with hook noses an' black eyes an' lanky hair, just as you can find another dozen with turn-up noses an' grey eyes an' carroty hair; but what I mean to say is, that you won't find no two of 'em that han't got a difference of some sort somewheres. It's very odd, but it's a fact." "Another puzzler," said Sally, with a laugh. "_Just_ so. But what else do you think about, Sall?" "Sometimes I think about those fine ladies you've told us of, who drive about in grand carriages with horses. Oh, these horses; what I would give to see horses! Have they got tails, father?" "Tails!" cried Adams, with a laugh, "of course they have; long hairy ones, and manes too; that's hair down the back o' their necks, dear. See here, fetch me that bit of red stone and I'll draw you a horse." Sally brought the piece of red stone, and her companion, sitting down beside a smooth rock, from which he wiped the dust with the sleeve of his shirt, began, slowly and with compressed lips, frowning eyebrows, and many a hard-drawn sigh, to draw the portrait of a horse. Adams was not an artist. The drawing might have served almost equally well for an ass, or even for a cow, but Sally watched it with intense interest. "You see, dear," said the artist, commenting as the work proceeded, "this is his head, with a turn-up--there--like that, for his nose. A little too bluff, no doubt, but no matter. Then comes the ears, two of 'em, somewhat longish--so, not exactly fore an' aft, as I've made 'em, but ath'ort ships, so to speak, only I never could understand how painters manage to make one thing look as if it was behind another. I can't get behind the one ear to put on the other one nohow." "A puzzler!" ejaculated Sally. "Just so. Well, you have them both, anyhow, only fore an' aft, as I said before. Well, then comes his back with a hollow--so, for people to sit in when they go cruisin' about on shore; then here's his legs-- somethin' like that, the fore ones straight an' the aft ones crooked." "Has he only two legs," asked Sally, in surprise, "one before an' one behind?" "No, dear, he's got four, but I've the same difficulty wi' them that I had wi' the ears--one behind the other, you know. However, there you have 'em--so, in the fore-an'-aft style. Then he's got hoofs at the end o' the legs, like the goats, you know, only not split up the middle, though why they're not split is more than I can tell; an' there's a sort o' curl behind, a little above it--the fetlock I think they call it, but that's far beyond my powers o' drawin'." "But you've forgot the tail," said Sally. "So I have; think o' that now, to forget his tail! He'd never do that himself if he was alive. It sticks out from hereabouts. There you have it, flowin' quite graceful down a'most to his heels. Now, Sally, that's a horse, an' not much to boast of after all in the way of a likeness, though I say it that shouldn't." "How I _should_ like to see a real one!" said the girl, gazing intently at the wild caricature, while her instructor looked on with a benignant smile. "Then I often think of the poor people Mr Young is so fond of telling us stories about," continued Sally, as they resumed their upward path, "though I'm much puzzled about them. Why are they poor? Why are they not rich like other people?" "There's a many reasons why, dear," continued Adams, whose knowledge of political economy was limited; "some of 'em don't work, an' some of 'em won't work, and some of 'em can't work, an' what between one thing an' another, there's a powerful lot of 'em everywhere." Sally, whose thirst for knowledge was great, continued to ply poor John Adams with questions regarding the poor, until he became so involved in "puzzlers" that he was fain to change the subject, and for a time they talked pleasantly on many themes. Then they came to the steep parts of the mountains, and relapsed into silence. On reaching another plateau or flat knoll, where they turned to survey the magnificent panorama spread out before them, Sally said, slowly-- "Sometimes when I'm alone in the bush I think of God. Mr Young has been talking to me about Him lately, and I am wondering and wanting to know more about Him. Do you know anything about Him, father?" John Adams had looked at his simple interrogator with surprise and not a little perplexity. "Well, to tell you the honest truth," said he, "I can't say that I do know much about Him, more shame to me; an' some talks I've had lately with Mr Young have made me see that I know even less than I thought I did. But we'll ask Mr Young to explain these matters to us when we return home. As it happens. I've come up here to search for the very book that tells us about God--His own book, the Bible. Mr Christian used to read it, an' kept it in his cave." Soon afterwards the man and child reached the cave referred to. On entering, they were surprised to find Young himself there before them. He was reading the Bible, and Adams could not help recalling his previous visit, when he had found poor Fletcher Christian similarly occupied. "I didn't know you was here, Mr Young, else I wouldn't have disturbed you," said Adams. "I just came up to see if I could find the book, for it seems to me that if you agree to carry out your notion of turnin' schoolmaster, it would be as well to have the school-book down beside us." "_My_ notion of turning schoolmaster," said Young, with a faint smile; "it was _your_ notion, Adams. However, I've no objection to fall in with it, and I quite agree about carrying the Bible home with us, for, to say truth, I don't feel the climbing of the mountain as easy as I used to." Again the faint smile played on the midshipman's lips for a moment or two. "I'm sorry to hear you say that, sir," said Adams, with a look of concern. "And it can't be age, you know," continued Young, in a tone of pleasantry, "for I'm not much above thirty. I suspect it's that asthmatic affection that has troubled me of late. However," he added, in a heartier tone, "it won't do to get downhearted about that. Come, what say you to begin school at once? We'll put you at the bottom of the class, being so stupid, and we'll put Sally at the top. Will you join, Sall?" We need scarcely say that Sally, who was always ready for anything, whether agreeable to her or otherwise, assented heartily to the proposition, and then and there began to learn to read out of the Bible, with John Adams for a class-fellow. Of course it was uphill work at first. It was found that Adams could blunder on pretty well with the small words, but made sad havoc among the long ones. Still his condition was pronounced hopeful. As to Sally, she seemed to take up the letters at the first sitting, and even began to form some correct notion of the power of syllables. After a short trial, Young said that that was quite enough for the first day, and then went on to read a passage or two from the Bible himself. And now, for the first time, Otaheitan Sally heard the old, old story of the love of God to man in the gift of Jesus Christ. The name of Jesus was, indeed, not quite unfamiliar to her; but it was chiefly as an oath that her associations presented it to her. Now she learned that it was the name of Immanuel, God with us, the Just One, who died that sinful man might be justified and saved from the power of sin. She did not, indeed, learn all this at that time; but she had her receptive mind opened to the first lessons of the glorious truth on than summer evening on the mountain-top. From this date forward, Edward Young became a real schoolmaster; for he not only taught Adams to read better than he had ever yet read, but he daily assembled all the children, except the very little ones, and gave them instruction in reading out of the Word of God. In all this John Adams gave him hearty assistance, and, when not acting as a pupil, did good service in teaching the smaller children their letters. But Young went a step further. "John Adams," said he, one morning, "it has been much on my mind of late that God has spared you and me in order that we may teach these women and children the way of salvation through Jesus Christ." "It may be as you say, sir," returned Adams, "but I can't exactly feel that I'm fit to say much to 'em about that. I can only give the little uns their A B C, an' p'r'aps a little figurin'. But I'll go in with you, Mr Young, an' do my best." "Thank you, Adams, thank you. I feel sure that you will do well, and that God will bless our efforts. Do you know, John, I think my difficulties about the _way_ are somewhat cleared up. It's simpler than I thought. The whole work of our salvation is already accomplished by our blessed Lord Jesus. All we have got to _do_ is, _not to refuse it_. You see, whatever I know about it is got from the Bible, an' you can judge of that as well as I. Besides the passages that I have already shown you about believing, I find this, `Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest;' and this, `Whosoever will, let him come;' and this, `Turn ye, turn ye, for why will ye die.' So you see there's no doubt the _offer_ is made to every one who will; and then it is written that the Holy Spirit is able to make us willing. If God entreats us to `come,' and provides the `way,' what is it that hinders but unwillingness? Indeed, the Word says as much, for I find it written, `Ye _will_ not come to me, that ye might have life.'" "What you say seems very true, sir," replied Adams, knitting his brows and shaking his head dubiously; "but then, sir, do you mean to say a man's good behaviour has nothin' to do with his salvation at all?" "Nothing whatever, John, as far as I can make out from the Bible--at least, not in the matter of _procuring_ his salvation. As a consequence of salvation, yes. Why, is it not said by the Lord, `If ye love me, keep my commandments?' What could be plainer or stronger than that? If I won't behave myself because of love to my Lord, I'll not do it on any lower ground." Still John Adams shook his head. He admitted that the arguments of his friend did seem unanswerable, but,--in short, he became an illustration of the truth of the proverb, `A man convinced against his will is of the same opinion still.' He had promised, however, to render all the aid in his power, and he was not the man to draw back from his word. When, therefore, Edward Young proposed to read daily prayers out of the Church of England Prayer-book, which had been taken from the _Bounty_ with the Bible and Carteret's _Voyages_, he made no objection; and he was similarly `agreeable,' as he expressed it, when Young further proposed to have service forenoon and afternoon on Sundays. For some months these various occupations and duties were carried on with great vigour, much to the interest of all concerned, the native women being quite as tractable scholars as the children. We cannot tell now whether it was the extra labour thus undertaken by Young, or some other cause, that threw him into bad health; but certain it is, that a very few months later, he began to feel his strength give way, and a severe attack of his old complaint, asthma, at last obliged him to give up the work for a time. It is equally certain that at this important period in the history of the lonely island, the `good seed' was sown in `good ground,' for Young had laboured in the name of the Lord Jesus, and the promise regarding such work is sure: "Your labour is not in vain in the Lord." "I must knock under for a time, John," he said, with a wearied look, on the occasion of his ceasing to work. He had of late taken to calling Adams by his Christian name, and the latter had been made unaccountably uneasy thereby. "Never mind, sir," said the bluff seaman, in an encouraging tone. "You just rest yourself for a bit, an' I'll carry on the school business, Sunday services an' all. I ain't much of a parson, no doubt, but I'll do my best, and a man can't do no more." "All right, John, I hand it over to you. A short time of loafing about and taking it easy will set me all to rights again, and I'll resume office as fresh as ever." Alas! poor Edward Young's day of labour was ended. He never more resumed office on earth. Shortly after the above conversation he had another and extremely violent attack of asthma. It prostrated him completely, so that for several days he could not speak. Afterwards he became a little better, but it was evident to every one that he was dying, and it was touching to see the earnest way in which the tearful women, who were so fond of him, vied with each other in seeking to relieve his sufferings. John Adams sat by his bedside almost continually at last. He seemed to require neither food nor rest, but kept watching on hour after hour, sometimes moistening the patient's lips with water, sometimes reading a few verses out of the Bible to him. "John," said the poor invalid one afternoon, faintly, "your hand. I'm going--John--to be--for ever with the Lord--the dear Lord!" There was a long pause, then-- "You'll--carry on--the work, John; not in your own strength, John--in His?" Adams promised earnestly in a choking voice, and the sick man seemed to sink to rest with a smile on his lips. He never spoke again. Next day he was buried under the palm-trees, far from the home of his childhood, from the land which had condemned him as a heartless mutineer. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. JOHN ADAMS LONGS FOR A CHUM AND BECOMES A STORY-TELLER. Faithful to his promise, John Adams, after the death of Young, did his best to carry on the good work that had been begun. But at first his spirit was very heavy. It had not before occurred to him that there was a solitude far more profound and overwhelming than anything he had hitherto experienced. The difference between ten companions and one companion is not very great, but the difference between one and none is immeasurable. Of course we refer to that companionship which is capable of intelligent sympathy. The solitary seaman still had his Otaheitan wife and the bright children of the mutineers around him, and the death of Young had drawn out his heart more powerfully than ever towards these, but they could not in any degree fill the place of one who could talk intelligently of home, of Old England, of British battles fought and won, of ships and men, and things that might have belonged, as far as the women and children were concerned, to another world. They could only in a slight degree appreciate the nautical phraseology in which he had been wont to convey some of his strongest sentiments, and they could not in any degree enter into his feelings when, forgetting for a moment his circumstances, he came out with a pithy forecastle allusion to the politics or the Government of his native land. "Oh, you meek-faced brute, if you could only speak!" he exclaimed one day, dropping his eyes from the sea, on which he had been gazing, to the eyes of a pet goat that had been looking up in his face. "What's the use of having a tongue in your head if you can't use it!" As may be imagined, the goat made no reply to this remark, but continued its gaze with somewhat of the solemnity of the man himself. For want of a companion, poor Adams at this time took to talking frequently in a quiet undertone to himself. He also fell a good deal into Fletcher Christian's habit of retiring to the cave on the mountain-top, but he did not read the Bible while there. He merely communed with his own spirit, meditated sadly on the past, and wondered a good deal as to the probable future. "It's not that I ain't happy enough here," he muttered softly to himself one evening, while he gazed wistfully at the horizon as Christian had been wont to gaze. "I'm happy enough--more so than what I deserve to be, God knows--with them good--natured women an' jolly bit things of child'n, but--but I'm awful hard up for a chum! I do believe that if Bill McCoy, or even Matt Quintal, was here, I'd get along pretty well with either of 'em. Ah, poor Quintal! I feel as if I'd never git over that. If it wasn't murder, it feels awful like it; an' yet I can't see that they could call it murder. If we hadn't done it he would certainly have killed both me an' Mr Young, for Matt never threatened without performin', and then he'd have gone mad an' done for the women an' child'n as well. No, it wasn't murder. It was necessity." He remained silent for some time, and then his thoughts appeared to revert to the former channel. "If only a ship would come an' be wrecked here, now, we could start fresh once more with a new lot maybe, but I'm not so sure about that either. P'r'aps we'd quarrel an' fight an' go through the bloody business all over again. No, it's better as it is. But a ship might touch in passin', an' we could prevail on two or three of the crew, or even one, to stop with us. What would I not give to hear a man's voice once more, a good growlin' bass. I wouldn't be partickler as to sentiments or grammar, not I, if it was only gruff, an' well spiced with sea-lingo an' smelt o' baccy. Not that I cares for baccy myself now, or grog either. Humph! it do make me a'most laugh to think o' the times I've said, ay, and thought, that I couldn't git along nohow without my pipe an' my glass. Why, I wouldn't give a chip of a brass farden for a pipe now, an' as to grog, after what I've seen of its cursed natur', I wouldn't taste a drop even if they was to offer to make me Lord High Admiral o' the British fleet for so doin'. But I _would_ like once more to see a bearded man; even an unbearded one would be better than nothin'. Ah, well, it's no manner o' use sighin', any more than cryin', over spilt milk. Here I am, an' I suppose here I shall be to the end o' the chapter." Again he was silent for a long time, while his eyes remained fixed, as usual, on the horizon. Suddenly the gaze became intent, and, leaning forward with an eager expression, he shaded his eyes with his hand. "It's not creditable," he murmured, as he fell back again into his former listless attitude, "it's not creditable for an old salt like me to go mistakin' sea-gulls for sails, as I've bin doin' so often of late. I'm out o' practice, that's where it is." "Come, John Adams," he added, after another pause, and jumping up smartly, "this will never do. Rouse yourself, John, an' give up this mumble-bumble style o' thing. Why, it'll kill you in the long-run if you don't. Besides, you promised Mr Young to carry on the work, and you must keep your promise, old boy." "Yes," rang out a clear sweet voice from the inner end of the cave, "and you promised to give up coming here to mope; so you must keep your promise to me as well, father." Otaheitan Sally tripped into the cave, and seating herself on the stone ledge opposite, beamed up in the sailor's face. "You're a good girl, Sall, an' I'll keep my promise to you from this day forth; see if I don't. I'll make a note of it in the log." The log to which Adams here referred was a journal or register, which Edward Young had begun to keep, and in which were inserted the incidents of chief interest, including the births and deaths, that took place on the island from the day of landing. After Young's death, John Adams continued to post it up from time to time. The promise to Sally was faithfully kept. From that time forward, Adams gave up going to the outlook, except now and then when anything unusual appeared on the sea, but never again to mope. He also devoted himself with increased assiduity to the instruction of the women and children in Bible truths, although still himself not very clear in his own mind as to the great central truth of all. In this work he was ably assisted by Sally, and also by Young's widow, Susannah. We have mentioned this woman as being one of the youngest of the Otaheitans. She was also one of the most graceful, and, strange to say, though it was she who killed Tetaheite, she was by nature one of the gentlest of them all. The school never became a prison-house to these islanders, either women or children. Adams had wisdom enough at first to start it as a sort of play, and never fell into the civilised error of giving the pupils too much to do at a time. All the children answered the daily summons to school with equal alacrity, though it cannot be said that their performances there were equally creditable. Some were quick and intelligent, others were slow and stupid, while a few were slow but by no means stupid. Charlie Christian was among these last. "Oh, Charlie, you _are_ such a booby!" one day exclaimed Otaheitan Sally, who, being advanced to the dignity of monitor, devoted much of her time to the instruction of her old favourite. "What _can_ be the matter with your brains?" The innocent gaze of blank wonder with which the "Challie" of infancy had been wont to receive his companion's laughing questions, had not quite departed; but it was chastened by this time with a slight puckering of the mouth and a faint twinkle of the eyes that were suggestive. Sitting modestly on the low bench, with his hands clasped before him, this strapping pupil looked at his teacher, and said that really he did not know what was wrong with his brains. "Perhaps," he added, looking thoughtfully into the girl's upturned orbs, "perhaps I haven't got any brains at all." "O yes, you have," cried Sall, with a laugh; "you have got plenty, if you'd only use them." "Ah!" sighed Charlie, stretching out one of his strong muscular arms and hands, "if brains were only things that one could lay hold of like an oar, or an axe, or a sledge-hammer, I'd soon let you see me use them; but bein' only a soft kind o' stuff in one's skull, you know--" A burst of laughter from Sally not only cut short the sentence, but stopped the general hum of the school, and drew the attention of the master. "Hallo, Sall, I say, you know," said Adams, in remonstrative tone, "you forget that you're a monitor. If you go on like that we'll have to make a school-girl of you again." "Please, father, I couldn't help it," said Sally, while her cheeks flushed crimson, "Charlie is such a--" She stopped short, covered her face with both hands, and bending forward till she hid her confusion on her knees, went into an uncontrollable giggle, the only evidences of which, however, were the convulsive movements of her shoulders and an occasional squeak in the region of her little nose. "Come now, child'n," cried Adams, seating himself on an inverted tea-box, which formed his official chair, "time's up, so we'll have a slap at Carteret before dismissing. Thursday October Christian will bring the book." There was a general hum of satisfaction when this was said, for Carteret's Voyages, which, with the Bible and Prayer-book, formed the only class-books of that singular school, were highly appreciated by young and old alike, especially as read to them by Adams, who accompanied his reading with a free running commentary of explanation, which infused great additional interest into that old writer's book. TOC rose with alacrity, displaying in the act the immense relative difference between his very long legs and his ordinary body, in regard to which Adams used to console him by saying, "Never mind, Toc, your legs'll stop growin' at last, and when they do, your body will come out like a telescope. You'll be a six-footer yet. Why, you're taller than I am already by two inches." In process of time Carteret was finished; it was then begun a second time, and once more read through. After that Adams felt a chill feeling of helplessness steal over him, for Carteret could not be read over and over again like the Bible, and he could not quite see his way to reading the Church of England prayers by way of recreation. In his extremity he had recourse to Sally for advice. Indeed, now that Sall was approaching young womanhood, not only the children but all the grown people of the island, including their chief or "father," found themselves when in trouble gravitating, as if by instinct, to the sympathetic heart and the ready hand. "I'll tell you what to do," said Sally, when appealed to, as she took the seaman's rough hand and fondled it; "just try to invent stories, and tell them to us as if you was readin' a book. You might even turn Carteret upside down and pretend that you was readin'." Adams shook his head. "I never could invent anything, Sall, 'xcept w'en I was tellin' lies, an' that's a long while ago now--a long, long while. No; I doubt that I couldn't invent, but I'll tell 'ee what; I'll try to remember some old yarns, and spin them off as well as I can." The new idea broke on Adams's mind so suddenly that his eyes sparkled, and he bestowed a nautical slap on his thigh. "The very thing!" cried Sally, whose eyes sparkled fully more than those of the sailor, while she clapped her hands; "nothing could be better. What will you begin with?" "Let me see," said Adams, seating himself on a tree-stump, and knitting his brows with a severe strain of memory. "There's Cinderella; an' there's Ally Babby or the fifty thieves--if it wasn't forty--I'm not rightly sure which, but it don't much matter; an' there's Jack the Giant-killer, an' Jack and the Pea-stalk--no; let me see; it was a beanstalk, I think--anyhow, it was the stalk of a vegetable o' some sort. Why, I wonder it never struck me before to tell you all about them tales." Reader, if you had seen the joy depicted on Sally's face, and the rich flush of her cheek, and her half-open mouth with its double row of pearls, while Adams ran over this familiar list, you would have thought it well worth that seaman's while to tax his memory even more severely than he did. "And then," he continued, knitting his brows still more severely, "there's Gulliver an' the Lillycups or putts, an' the Pilgrim's Progress--though, of course, I don't mean for to say I knows 'em all right off by heart, but that's no odds. An' there's Robinson Crusoe-- ha! _that's_ the story for you, Sall; that's the tale that'll make your hair stand on end, an' a'most split your sides open, an' cause the very marrow in your spine to wriggle. Yes; we'll begin with Robinson Crusoe." Having settled this point to their mutual and entire satisfaction, the two went off for a short walk before supper. On the way, they met Elizabeth Mills and Mary Christian, both of whom were now no longer staggerers, but far advanced as jumpers. They led between them Adams's little daughter Dinah, who, being still very small, could not take long walks without assistance and an occasional carry. "Di, my pet," cried her father, seizing the willing child, and hoisting her on his shoulder. "Come, you shall go along with us. And you too, lassies, if you have no other business in hand." "Yes, we'll go with you," cried Bessy Mills. "May was just saying it was too soon to go home to supper." "Come along, then," cried Adams, tossing his child in the air as he went. "My beauty, you'll beat your mammy in looks yet, eh? an' when you're old enough we'll tell you all about Rob--" He checked himself abruptly, cleared his voice, and looked at Sally. "Well, father," said May Christian, quickly, "about Rob who?" "Ahem! eh? well, yes, about Rob--ha, but we won't talk about him just now, dear. Sally and I were havin' some private conversation just now about Rob, though that isn't the whole of his name neither, but we won't make it public at present. You'll hear about him time enough--eh, Sall?" The girls were so little accustomed to anything approaching to mystery or secrecy in John Adams, that they looked at him in silent wonder. Then they glanced at Sally, whose suppressed smile and downcast eyes told eloquently that there was, as Adams would have said, "something in the wind," and they tried to get her to reveal the secret, but Sall was immovable. She would not add a single syllable to the information given inadvertently by Adams, but she and he laughed a good deal in a quiet way, and made frequent references to Rob in the course of the walk. Of course, when the mysterious word was pronounced in the village in the evening, and what had been said and hinted about it was repeated, curiosity was kindled into a violent flame; and when the entire colony was invited to a feast that night, the excitement was intense. From the oldest to the youngest, excluding the more recently arrived sprawlers, every eye was fixed on John Adams during the whole course of supper, except at the commencement, when the customary blessing was asked, at which point every eye was tightly closed. Adams, conscious of increased importance, spoke little during the meal, and maintained an air of profounder gravity than usual until the dishes were cleared away. Then he looked round the assembled circle, and said, "Women an' child'n, I'm goin' to tell 'ee a story." CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. THE PITCAIRNERS HAVE A NIGHT OF IT. Although John Adams had often, in the course of his residence on Pitcairn, jested and chatted and taken his share in relating many an anecdote, he had never up till that time resolved to "go in," as he said, "for a regular story, like a book." "Women an' child'n," he began, "it may be that I'm goin' to attempt more than I'm fit to carry out in this business, for my memory's none o' the best. However, that won't matter much, for I tell 'ee, fair an' aboveboard at the beginnin', that when I come to gaps that I can't fill up from memory, I'll just bridge 'em over from imagination, d'ye see?" "What's imagination?" demanded Dan McCoy, whose tendency to pert interruption and reply nothing yet discovered could restrain. "It's a puzzler," said Otaheitan Sally, in a low tone, which called forth a laugh from the others. It did not take much to make these people laugh, as the observant reader will have perceived. "Well, it _is_ a puzzler," said Adams, with a quiet smile and a perplexed look. "I may say, Dan McCoy, in an off-hand rough-an'-ready sort o' way, that imagination is that power o' the mind which enables a man to tell lies." There was a general opening of juvenile eyes at this, as if recent biblical instruction had led them to believe that the use of such a power must be naughty. "You see," explained Adams, "when a man, usin' his imagination, tells what's not true, just to deceive people an' mislead 'em, we call it lyin', but when his imagination invents what's not true merely for the fun o' the thing, an' tells it as a joke, never pretendin' that it's true, he ain't lyin', he's only tellin' a story, or a anecdote, or a parable. Now, Dan, put that in your pipe an' smoke it. Likewise shut your potato-trap, and let me go on wi' my story, which is, (he looked impressively round, while every eye gazed, and ear listened, and mouth opened in breathless attention), the Adventure of Robinson Crusoe an' his man Friday!" All eyes were turned, as if by magic, on Thursday,--as if there must be some strange connection here. Toc suddenly shut his mouth and hung his head in confusion at this unexpected concentration of attention on himself. "You've no need to be ashamed, Thursday," said Adams, with a laugh. "You've got the advantage of Friday, anyhow, bein' a day in advance of him. Well, as I was about to say, boys an' girls, this Robinson Crusoe was a seafarin' man, just like myself; an' he went to sea, an' was shipwrecked on a desolate island just like this, but there was nobody whatever on that island, not even a woman or a babby. Poor Robinson was all alone, an' it wasn't till a consid'rable time after he had gone ashore that he discovered Friday, (who was a black savage), through seein' his footprint in the sand." Adams having burst thus suddenly into the very marrow of his story, had no reason thereafter to complain either of interruption or inattention. Neither had he reason to find fault with the wealth of his prolific imagination. It would have done the soul of a painter good to have watched the faces of that rapt, eager, breathless audience, and it would have afforded much material for reflection to a student of mind, had he, knowing the original story of Robinson Crusoe, been permitted to trace the ingenious sinuosities and astounding creations by which Adams wove his meagre amount of original matter into a magnificent tale, which not only thrilled his audience, but amazed himself. In short, he quite justified the assurance formerly given to Sally, that the story of Robinson Crusoe would make the hair of his hearers stand on end, their sides almost split open, and the very marrow in their spines wriggle. Indeed, his version of the tale might have caused similar results in Robinson Crusoe himself, had he been there to hear it, besides causing his eyebrows to rise and vanish evermore among the hair of his head with astonishment. It was the same with the Pilgrim's Progress, which he often told to them afterwards. Simple justice to Adams, however, requires us to state that he was particularly careful to impress on his hearers that the Pilgrim's Progress was a religious tale. "It's a allegory, you must know," he said, on first introducing it, "which means a story intended to teach some good lesson--a story which says one thing and means another." He looked pointedly at Dan McCoy here, as if to say, "That's an exhaustive explanation, which takes the wind out o' _your_ sails, young man," but Dan was not to be so easily silenced. "What's the use, father," he asked, with an air of affected simplicity, "of a story sayin' one thing an' meanin' another? Wouldn't it be more honest like if it said what it meant at once, straight off?" "P'r'aps it would," returned Adams, who secretly enjoyed Dan's irrepressible impudence; "but, then, if it did, Dan, it would take away your chance of askin' questions, d'ye see? Anyhow, _this_ story don't say what it means straight off, an' that gives me a chance to expound it." Now, it was in the expounding of the Pilgrim's Progress that John Adams's peculiar talents shone out brilliantly, for not only did he "misremember," jumble, and confuse the whole allegory, but he so misapprehended its meaning in many points, that the lessons taught and the morals drawn were very wide of the mark indeed. In regard to some particular points, too, he felt himself at liberty to let his genius have free untrammelled scope, as, for instance, in the celebrated battle between Christian and Apollyon. Arguing with himself that it was not possible for any man to overdo a fight with the devil, Adams made up his mind to "go well in" for that incident, and spent a whole evening over it, keeping his audience glaring and on the rack of expectation the whole time. Taking, perhaps, an unfair advantage of his minute knowledge as a man-of-war's-man of cutlass-drill and of fighting in general, from pugilistic encounters to great-gun exercise, including all the intermediate performances with rapiers, swords, muskets, pistols, blunderbusses, and other weapons for "general scrimmaging," he so wrought upon the nerves of his hearers that they quivered with emotion, and when at last he drove Apollyon discomfited from the field, like chaff before the wind, there burst forth a united cheer of triumph and relief, Dan McCoy, in particular, jumping up with tumbled yellow locks and glittering eyes in a perfect yell of exultation. But, to return from this digression to the story of Robinson Crusoe. It must not be supposed that Adams exhausted that tale in one night. No; soon discovering that he had struck an intellectual vein, so to speak, he resolved to work it out economically, and with that end in view, devoted the first evening to a minute dissection of Crusoe's character as a man and a seaman, to the supposed fitting out and provisioning of his ship, to the imaginary cause of the disaster to the ship, which, (with Bligh, no doubt, in memory), he referred to the incompetence and wickedness of the skipper, and to the terrible incidents of the wreck, winding up with the landing of his hero, half-dead and alone, on the uninhabited island. "Now, child'n," he concluded, "that'll do for one night; and as it's of no manner of use sending you all to bed to dream of bein' shipwrecked and drownded, we'll finish off with a game of blind-man's-buff." Need we say that the disappointment at the cutting short of the story was fully compensated by the game? Leaping up with another cheer, taught them by the best authorities, and given with true British fervour, they scattered about the room. Otaheitan Sally was, as a matter of course, the first to be blindfolded. And really, reader, it was wonderful how like that game, as played at Pitcairn, was to the same as performed in England. To justify this remark, let us describe it, and see whether there were any points of material difference. The apartment, let it be understood, was a pretty large one, lighted by two nut-candles in brackets on the walls. There was little furniture in it, only a few stools and two small tables, which were quickly thrust into a corner. Then Sally was taken to the centre of the room by Adams, and there blindfolded with a snuff-coloured silken bandana handkerchief, which had seen much service on board of the _Bounty_. "Now, Sall, can you see?" asks Adams. "No, not one bit." "Oh, yes you can," from Charlie Christian, who hovers round her like the moth round the candle. "No, really, I can't." "Yes you can," from Dan McCoy, who is on the alert; "I see your piercin' black eyes comin' right through the hankitchif." "Get along, then," cries Adams, twirling Sally round, and skipping out of the way. It is not the first time the women have played at that game, and their short garments, reaching little below the knees, seem admirably adapted to it, while they glide about with motions little less easy and agile than those of the children, and cause the roof to ring with laughter at the various misadventures that occur. Mrs Adams, however, does not join. Besides being considerably older than her husband, that good woman has become prematurely short-sighted and deaf. This being so, she sits in a corner, not inappropriately, to act the part of grandmother to the players, and to serve as an occasional buffer to such of the children as are hurled against her. Now, Otaheitan Sally, having gone rather cautiously about without catching any one except Charlie--whom she pretends not to know, examines from head to foot, and then guesses wrong on purpose--becomes suddenly wild, makes a desperate lunge, as she thinks, at Dan McCoy, and tumbles into Mrs Adams's lap, amid shouts of delight. Of course Dan brought about this incident by wise forethought. His next success is unpremeditated. Making a pull at Sally's skirt, he glides quickly out of her way as she wheels round, and hits Mainmast an unintentional backhander on the nose. This is received by Mainmast with a little scream, and by the children with an "Oh! o-o" of consternation, while Sally, pulling down the handkerchief, hastens to give needless assurance that she is "_so_ vexed," etcetera. Susannah joins her in condoling, and so does widow Martin; but Mainmast, with tears in her eyes, (drawn by the blow), and a smile on her lips, declares that she "don't care a button." Sally is therefore blindfolded again. She catches Charlie Christian immediately, and feeling that there is no other way of escaping from him, names him. Then Charlie, being blindfolded, sets to work with one solitary end in view, namely, to capture Sally. The injustice to the others of this proceeding never enters his innocent mind. He hears no voice but Sally's; he clutches at nobody but Sally. When he is compelled to lay hold of any one else, he guesses wrong, not on purpose, but because he is thinking of Sally. Perceiving this, Sally retires quietly behind Mrs Adams's chair, and Charlie, growing desperate, makes wild dashes, tumbling into the corner among the tables and stools, sending the staggerers spinning in all directions, and finally pitching headlong into Mrs Adams's lap. At last he catches John Adams himself and as there is no possibility of mistaking him, the handkerchief is changed, and the game becomes more sedate, at the same time more nervous, for the stride of the seaman is awful, and the sweep of his outstretched arms comprehensive. Besides, he has a way of listening and making sudden darts in unexpected directions, which is very perplexing. After a few failures, Adams makes what he calls a wild roll to starboard, followed instantly by a heavy lurch to port, and pins Dan McCoy into a corner. "Ha! I've grabbed you at last, have I?" says he. "Who is it?" shout half-a-dozen voices. "Who but Dan'l? There's impudence in the very feel of his hair." So Dan is blindfolded. And now comes the tug of war. If it was fast and furious before, it is maniacal madness now. The noise is indescribable, yet it fails to waken two infants, who, with expressions of perfect peace on their innocent faces, repose in two bunks at one side of the room. At last Thursday October tumbles into one of these bunks, and all but immolates an infant. Mrs Adams is fairly overturned; one table comes by a damaged leg, the other is split lengthwise, and one of the candles is blown out. These symptoms are as good as a weather-glass to Adams. "Now, then, one and all, it's time for bed," he says. Instantly the rioting comes to a close, and still panting from their exertions, the elder children carry out the tables and rectify their damages as well as may be, while the younger range the stools round the wall and sit down on them or on the floor. "Fetch the Bible and Prayer-book, Matt Quintal," says Adams. They are about to close the evening with worship. It has become habitual now, and there is no difficulty in calming the spirits of the children to the proper tone, for they have been trained by a man who is unaffected and sincere. They slide easily, because naturally, from gay to grave; and they would as soon think of going to work without breakfast, as of going to rest without worship. A chapter is read with comparative ease by John Adams, for he has applied himself heartily to his task, and overcome most of his old difficulties. Then he reads a short prayer, selected from the Prayer-book. The Lord's Prayer follows, in which they all join, and the evening comes to a close. Trooping from Adams's house, they dispersed to their respective homes. The lights are extinguished. Only the quiet stars remain to shed a soft radiance over the pleasant scene; and in a few minutes more the people of Pitcairn are wrapped in deep, healthy, sound repose. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. REFERS TO THINGS SPIRITUAL AND PHYSICAL. It was not until some years had elapsed after the death of Edward Young, that John Adams became _seriously_ impressed with the great responsibility of his position. In the year 1804 a son was born to him, whom he named George, whether after the King of England or a relative of his own we are not prepared to state. After the King very likely, for Adams, although a mutineer, was a loyal subject at heart, and never ceased to condemn and deplore the act of mutiny into which, after all, he had been surprised rather than willingly led. This infant, George, was the last of this first generation, and his father was extremely proud and fond of him. Having already three daughters, he seemed to have peculiar satisfaction in the advent of a son; and having latterly acquired the habit of mingling a dash of Scriptural language with his usual phraseology, he went about the first day or two after the child's birth, murmuring, "I've gotten a man-child from the Lord--a man-child, let's be thankful; an' a regular ship-shape, trim little craft he is too." There can be no doubt that the seaman's naturally serious mind became more profoundly impressed with religion shortly after this event. A dream which he appears to have had deepened his impressions. Like most dreams, it was not in itself very definite or noteworthy, but we have no doubt it was used as a means towards perfecting the good work which had been already begun. At all events, it is certain that about this time Adams began to understand the way of life more clearly, and to teach it more zealously to the little community which was fast growing up around him. The duties which he had undertaken to fulfil were now no longer carried on merely because of his promise to Edward Young and a sense of honour. While these motives did indeed continue to operate with all their original force, he was now attracted to his labour out of regard to the commands of God, and a strong desire for the welfare of the souls committed to his charge. Naturally he fell into one or two errors of judgment. Among other things, he at first imagined that it was his duty to attempt the keeping of all the Jewish festivals, and to institute a fast twice in the week. These errors were, however, corrected by increased knowledge in the course of time. But it must not be supposed that this earnest searcher after truth became ascetic or morose. Despite his mistakes, and the somewhat severe discipline which he was thereby led to impose on himself and the community, the effect on him and his large family of the Scriptures-- pure, unadulterated, and without note or comment--was to create love to God, to intensify their love for each other, to render them anxious to imitate the example and walk in the footsteps of Jesus, and to cause them to _rejoice_ at all times. It was quite evident, ere long, that the whole community had drunk deeply into the spirit of such passages in the Word as these:--"Delight thyself in the Lord,"--"By love serve one another,"--"Rejoice in the Lord alway: and again I say, rejoice,"--"Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might, as unto the Lord and not unto men,"--"Ask and ye shall receive, seek and ye shall find, knock and it shall be opened unto you,"--"Let each esteem other better than himself."--"Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so to them."--"Love is the fulfilling of the law,"--"Let not the sun go down upon your wrath." The last text was a favourite one with Adams, who occasionally found that even among the tractable and kindly troop he had to deal with, sin was by no means extinct. Do not suppose, good reader, that we are now attempting to depict a species of exceptional innocence which never existed, an Arcadia which never really had a local habitation. On the contrary, we are taking pains to analyse the cause of a state of human goodness and felicity, springing up in the midst of exceptionally unpromising circumstances, which has no parallel, we think, in the history of mankind; which not only did exist, but which, with modifications, does still exist, and has been borne witness to through more than half a century by men of varied and unquestionable authority, including merchant-skippers, discoverers, travellers, captains and admirals in the Royal Navy. The point that we wish to press is, not that the enviable condition of things we have described is essentially true, but that this condition has been brought about by the unaided Word of God; that Word which so many now-a-days would fain underrate, but which for those who are taught by the Holy Spirit is still the power of God unto salvation. The hilarity of the Pitcairners increased rather than diminished as their love for the Bible deepened. Fun and solemnity are not necessarily, and never need be, antagonistic. Hand in hand these two have walked the earth together since Adam and Eve bid each other good-morning in the peaceful groves of Paradise. They are subject, no doubt, to the universal laws which make it impossible for two things to fill the same place at the same time, and they sometimes do get, as it were, out of step, and jostle each other slightly, which calls forth a gentle shake of the head from the one and a deprecatory smile from the other; but they seldom disagree, and never fight. Thus it came to pass that though John Adams, as time went on, read more than ever of the Bible to his audiences, and dilated much on the parables, he did not dismiss Robinson Crusoe, or expel Gulliver, or put a stop to blind-man's-buff. On the contrary, waxing courageous under the influence of success, he cast off his moorings from the skeletons of the stories to which he had at first timidly attached himself, and crowding all sail alow and aloft, swept out into the unexplored seas of pure, unadulterated, and outrageous fiction of his own invention. "Them's the stories for me," Daniel McCoy was wont to say, when commenting on this subject. "Truth is all very well in its way, you know, but it's a great bother when you've got to stick to it; of course I mean when story-tellin'." Neither John Adams nor his pupils knew at that time, though doubtless their descendants have learned long ere now, that after all truth is in very deed stranger than fiction. As time passed changes more or less momentous occurred in the lonely island. True, none of those convulsions which rack and overturn the larger communities of men on earth visited that favoured spot; but forces of Nature were being slowly yet surely developed, which began to tell with considerable effect on the people of Pitcairn. They were not, however, much troubled by the ills that flesh is heir to. Leading, as they did, natural and healthy lives, eating simple and to a large extent vegetable fare, and knowing nothing of the abominations of tobacco or strong drink, their maladies were few and seldom fatal. John Adams himself had the constitution of a horse. Nevertheless, he was troubled now and then with a bad tooth, and once had a regular attack of raging toothache. As none of the people had ever even heard of this malady, they were much alarmed and not a little solemnised by its effects on their chief. Walking up and down the floor of his house, holding his afflicted jaw with both hands, the poor man endeavoured to endure it with fortitude; but when the quivering nerve began, as it were, to dance a hornpipe inside of his tooth, irrepressible groans burst from him and awed the community. "Is it _very_ bad, John?" asked his sympathetic wife, who was cleaning up the house at the time. "Ho-o-o-rible!" answered John. "I'm _very_ sorry, John," said the wife. "Oh-o-o-o-oh!" groaned the husband. When it became known in the village that Adams was suffering from some mysterious complaint that nearly drove him mad, two or three of the children, unable to restrain their curiosity, ran to his house and peeped in at the open door and windows. The sufferer either disregarded or did not see them. In a few minutes the poor man's steps became more frantic, and another groan burst from him. Then he stopped in the middle of the room, uttered a deep growl, and stamped. At this the heads of the peeping children disappeared. They gazed at each other in solemn wonder. They had never seen the like of this before. To stamp on the floor without an apparent reason, and without being done in fun, was beyond their comprehension. "Where's the tool-box, lass?" gasped Adams suddenly. His helpmate brought to him an old hand-box for nails and small tools, which had once done service in the _Bounty_. With eager haste Adams selected a pair of pincers, and, seizing his tooth therewith, he began to twist. At the same time his features began to screw up into an expression of agony. "Howgh!" he exclaimed, between a gasp and a short roar, as the pincers slipped. And no wonder, for it was a three-fanged grinder of the largest size, situate in the remote backwoods of the under jaw. He tried again, and again failed. Then a third time, and then discovered that, up to a certain point, his will was free to act, but that beyond that point, the agony was so intense that the muscles of the hand and arm refused to act responsive to the will. In other circumstances he might have moralised on this curious fact. As it was he only moaned aloud. Two of the children, of peculiarly sympathetic natures, echoed the moan unintentionally. They immediately vanished, but soon peeped up again in irresistible curiosity. "Old 'ooman," said Adams, "this is out o' sight the worst fit as ever I had. Just fetch me a bit of that small strong cord out o' the cupboard there." Mrs Adams did as she was bid, and her husband, making a sailor-like loop on it, fastened the same round his tooth, which was not difficult, for the evil grinder stood unsupported and isolated in the jaw. "Now," said her husband, "you take hold o' the end o' this and haul; haul hard,--don't be afraid." Mrs Adams felt nervous, and remonstrated, but being persuaded after a time to try again, she gave a vigorous pull, which drew from the unhappy man a terrible yell, but did not draw the tooth. "This'll never do," groaned John, feeling the rebellious molar with his finger; "it's as firm as a copper bolt yet. Come, wife, I'll try another plan. You go outside that door an' do what I bid you. Mind, never you heed what it means; you just obey orders exactly." It was not necessary thus to caution poor tractable Mrs Adams. She went outside the door as bid. "Now, then," said her husband, "when I cry, `Pull,' you shut the door with all your might--with a bang. D'ye hear?" "Yes," replied the wife, faintly. Fastening the cord once more round the tooth, the wretched sailor attached the other end to the handle of the door, and retiring till there was only about eight inches or a foot of "slack" cord left, stood up and drew a long breath. The glaring children also drew long breaths. One very small one, who had been lifted on to the window-sill by an amiable companion, lay there on his breast visibly affected by alarm. "Shut the door!" cried Adams. There was a tremendous bang, followed by an instantaneous yell. The children jumped nearly out of their own skins, and the little one on the window-sill fell flat on the ground in speechless horror; but the tooth was not yet out. The cord had slipped again. "This is becomin' terrible," said Adams, with a solemn look. "I'll tell 'ee what, lass; you run round to the smiddy an' tell Thursday that I want him d'rectly, an' look alive, old girl." Mrs Adams hastened out, and scattering the children, soon returned with the desired youth. And a most respectable youth had Thursday October Christian become at that time. He was over six feet high, though not quite sixteen years of age, with a breadth of shoulder and depth of chest that would have befitted a man of six-and-twenty. He had no beard, but he possessed a deep bass voice, which more than satisfied John Adams's oft-expressed wish of earlier days to hear the "sound of a man." "Toc," said Adams, holding his jaw with one hand and the pincers in the other, "I've got a most astoundin' fit o' the toothache, and _must_ git rid o' this grinder; but it's an awful one to hold on. I've tried it three times myself wi' them pincers, an' my old 'ooman has tried it wi' this here cable--once with her fist an' once wi' the door as a sort o' capstan; but it's still hard an' fast, like the sheet-anchor of a seventy-four. Now, Toc, my lad, you're a stout young chap for your age. Just you take them pincers, lay hold o' the rascally thing, an' haul him out. Don't be afeared. He _must_ come if you only heave with a will." "What, father, do you mean that I'm to lay hold o' that tooth wi' them pincers an' wrench it bodily out of your head?" "That's just about what I do mean, Toc," returned Adams, with a grim smile. "Moreover, I want you to make no bungle of it. Don't let your narves come into play. Just take a grip like a brave man, heave away wi' the force of a windlass, an' don't stop for my yellin'." Thus adjured, Thursday October took the pincers, and gazed with a look of great anxiety into the cavernous mouth that Adams opened to his view. "Which one is it, father, asked Toc," rolling up his shirt sleeves to the shoulder and displaying arms worthy of Vulcan. "Man alive! don't you see it? The one furthest aft, with a black hole in it big enough a'most to stuff my George into." Thursday applied the pincers gently. Adams, unable to use clear speech in the circumstances, said chokingly, "'At's 'e un--'ool away!" which, interpreted, is, "That's the one--pull away." Toc pulled, Adams roared, the children quaked, and the pincers slipped. "Oh, Toc, Toc!" cried Adams, with a remonstrative look, such as martyrs are said to give when their heads are not properly cut off; "is that all you can do with your big strong arms? Fie, man, fie!" This disparaging reference to his strength put poor Thursday on his mettle. "I'll try again, father," he said. "Well, do; an' see you make a better job of it this time." The powerful youth got hold of the tooth a second time, and gave it a terrible wrench. Adams roared like a bull of Bashan, but Toc's heart was hardened now; he wrenched again--a long, strong, and steady pull. The martyr howled as if his spinal marrow were being extracted. Toc suddenly staggered back; his arm flew up, displaying a bloody tooth with three enormous fangs. The "old 'ooman" shrieked, the child on the window-sill fell again therefrom in convulsions, and the others fled panic-struck into the woods, where they displayed their imitative tendencies and relieved their feelings by tearing up wild shrubs by the roots, amid yells and roars of agony, during the remainder of the day. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. TELLS OF AN IMPORTANT MATTER. Not very long after this, Thursday October Christian experienced at the hands of John Adams treatment which bore some slight resemblance to a species of tooth-drawing. In fact, Adams may be said to have had his revenge. It happened thus:-- Adams was seated, one afternoon, in front of his house on a low stool, where he was wont to sun himself and smoke an imaginary pipe, while the children were at play in the grassy square. He was absorbed, apparently, in what he used to term a brown study. Thursday October, making his appearance from among the bushes on the opposite side of the square, leaped the four-foot fence like a greyhound, without a run, and crossed over. Whether it was the leap or the rate at which he had walked home through the woods, we cannot say; but his handsome face was unusually flushed, and he stopped once or twice on nearing Adams, as if undecided what to do. At last he seemed to make up his mind, walked straight up to the seaman, and stood before him with folded arms. "Hallo, Toc," said Adams, rousing himself; "you've caught me napping. The truth is, I've bin inventin' a lot of awful whackers to spin a yarn out o' for the child'n. This is Friday, you know, an' as they've bin fastin', poor things, I want to give 'em what you may call mental food, to keep their bread-baskets quiet, d'ye see? But you've got somethin' to tell me, Toc; what is it?" "Father," said Thursday,--and then followed a long pause, during which the youth shifted from one leg to the other. "Well, now, Toc," said Adams, eyeing the lad with a twinkling expression, "d'ye know, I _have_ heard it said or writ somewhere, that brevity is the soul of wit. If that sayin's true, an' I've no reason for to suppose that it isn't, I should say that that observation of yours was wit without either soul or body, it's so uncommon short; too witty, in short. Couldn't you manage to add something more to it?" "Yes, father," said Thursday, with a deprecating smile, "I have come to ask--to ask you for leave to--to--to--" "Well, Toc, you have my cheerful leave to--to--to, and tootle too, as much as you please," replied Adams, with a bland smile. "In short," said Thursday, with a desperate air, "I--I--want leave to marry." "Whew!" whistled Adams, with a larger display of eyeball than he had made since he settled on the island. "You've come to the point _now_, and no mistake. You--want--leave--to--marry, Thursday October Christian, eh?" "Yes, father, if you've no objection." "Hem! no objection, marry--eh?" said Adams, while his eyebrows began to return slowly to their wonted position. "Ha! well, now, let's hear; _who_ do you want to marry?" Having fairly broken the ice, the bashful youth said quickly, "Susannah." Again John Adams uttered a prolonged whistle, while his eyebrows sprang once more to the roots of his hair. "What! the widdy?" "Yes, Mr Young's widow," replied Thursday, covered with confusion. "Well, I never! But this _does_ beat cock-fightin'." He gave his thigh a sounding slap, and seemed about to give way to irrepressible laughter, when he suddenly checked himself and became grave. "I say, Toc," said he, earnestly, "hand me down the Prayer-book." Somewhat surprised, the lad took the book from its shelf, and placed it on the sailor's knees. "Look 'ee here, Toc; there's somethin' here that touches on your case, if I don't misremember where. Let me see. Ah, here it is, `A man may not marry his grandmother,' much less a boy," he added, looking up. "But, father, Susannah ain't my grandmother," said Toc, stoutly feeling that he had got an advantage here. "True, lad, but she might be your mother. She's to the full sixteen years older than yourself. But seriously, boy, do you mean it, and is she willin'?" "Yes, father, I do mean it, an' she is quite willin'. Susannah has bin kinder to me than any one else I ever knew, and I love her better than everybody else put together. She did laugh a bit at first when I spoke to her about it, an' told me not to talk so foolishly, an' said, just as you did, that she might be my mother; but that made no odds to me, for she's not one bit like my mother, you know." "No, she's not," said Adams, with an assenting nod. "She's not like Mainmast by any means, bein' a deal younger an' better lookin'. Well, now, Toc, you've given me matter to put in my pipe, (if I had one), an' smoke it for some time to come--food for reflection, so to speak. Just you go to work, my lad, as if there was nothin' in the wind, an' when I've turned it over, looked at it on all sides, gone right round the compass with it, worked at it, so to speak, like a cooper round a cask, I'll send for you an' let you know how the land lies." When Adams had anything perplexing on his mind, he generally retired to the outlook cave at the mountain-top. Thither he went upon this occasion. The result was, that on the following day he sent for Thursday, and made him the following oration:-- "Thursday, my lad, it's not for the likes o' me to fly in the face o' Providence. If you still remain in earnest about this little matter, an' Susannah's mind ain't changed, I'll throw no difficulty in your way. I've bin searchin' the Book in reference to it, an' I see nothin' particular there regardin' age one way or another. It's usual in Old England, Toc, for the man to be a deal older than the wife, but there's no law against its bein' the other way, as I knows on. All I can find on the subject is, that a man must leave his father and mother, an' cleave to his wife. You han't got no father to leave, my boy, more's the pity, an' as for Mainmast, you can leave her when you like, though, in the circumstances, you can't go very far away from her, your tether bein' somewhat limited. As to the ceremony, I can't find nothin' about that in the Bible, but there's full directions in the Prayer-book; so I'll marry you off all ship-shape, fair an' above board, when the time comes. But there's one point. Toc, that I feel bound to settle, and it's this: That you can't be married till you've got a good bit of ground under cultivation, so that you may be able to keep your wife comfortably without callin' on her to work too hard. You've bin a busy enough fellow, I admit, since ever you was able to do a hand's turn, but you haven't got a garden of your own yet. Now, I'll go up with you to-morrow, an' mark off a bit o' your father's property, which you can go to work on, an' when you've got it into something of a for'ard state, I'll marry you. So--that's a good job settled." When Adams finished, he turned away with a profound sigh of relief, as if he felt that he had not only disposed of a particular and knotty case, but had laid down a great general principle by which he should steer his course in all time to come. It need scarcely be said that Thursday October was quite prepared to undertake this probationary work; that the new garden was quickly got into a sufficiently "for'ard state;" and that, ere long, the first wedding on Pitcairn was celebrated under circumstances of jubilant rejoicing. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. TREATS OF A BIRTH AND OF DEVASTATION. More than eighteen years had now elapsed without the dwellers on that little isle of the Southern Sea having beheld a visitant from the great world around them. That world, meanwhile, had been convulsed with useless wars. The great Napoleon had run through a considerable portion of his withering career, drenching the earth with blood, and heaping heavy burdens of debt on the unfortunate nations of Europe. Nelson had shattered his fleets, and Wellington was on the eve of commencing that victorious career which was destined, ere long, to scatter his armies; but no echo of the turmoil in which all this was being accomplished had reached the peaceful dwellers on Pitcairn, who went on the even tenor of their way, proving, in the most convincing and interesting manner, that after all "love is the fulfilling of the law." But the year 1808 had now arrived, a year fraught with novelty, interest, and importance to the Pitcairners. The first great event of that year was the birth of a son to Thursday October Christian, and if ever there was a juvenile papa who opened his eyes to the uttermost, stared in sceptical wonder, pinched himself to see if he were awake, and went away into the bush to laugh and rejoice in secret, that man was TOC. "Boys and girls," said Thursday, about a month after the birth, "we'll celebrate this event with a picnic to Martin's Cove, if you would like it." There was an assumption of fine paternal dignity about Toc when he said this, which was quite beautiful to behold. His making the proposal, too, without any reference to John Adams, was noted as being unusual. "Don't you think we'd better ask father first?" suggested Otaheitan Sally. "Of course I do," said Toc, on whose ear the word "father" fell pleasantly. "You don't suppose, do you, that I'd propose to do anything of importance without his consent?" It may strike the supercilious reader here that a picnic, even on Pitcairn, was not a matter of profound importance, but he must remember that that particular picnic was to be held in honour of Thursday's baby. It may be that this remark is thrown away on those who are not in the position of Thursday. If so, let it pass. "We will invite Father Adams to go with us," continued Toc, ingeniously referring to Adams in a manner suggestive of the idea that there were other fathers on the island as well as he. When Father Adams was invited, he accepted the invitation heartily, and, slapping Toc on his huge broad back, wished him joy of the "noo babby," and hoped he might live to see it grow up to have "a babby of its own similar to itself, d'ye see?" at which remark Toc laughed with evident delight. Well, the whole thing was arranged, and they proceeded to carry the picnic into effect. It was settled that some were to go by land, though the descent from the cliffs to the cove was not an easy or safe one. Others were to go by water, and the water-party was sub-divided into two bands. One band, which included Susannah and the amazing baby, was to go in canoes; the other was to swim. The distance by water might be about eight miles, but that was a mere trifle to the Pitcairners, some of whom could swim right round their island. It turned out, however, that that charming island was not altogether exempt from those vicissitudes of weather which play such a prominent part in the picnicry of other and less favoured lands, for while they were yet discussing the arrangements of the day, a typhoon stepped in unexpectedly to arrest them. It may be that there are some persons in Britain who do not know precisely what a typhoon is. If they saw or felt one, they would not be apt to forget it. Roughly speaking, a typhoon is a terrific storm. Cyclopaedias, which are supposed to tell us about everything, say that the Chinese name such a storm "Tei-fun," or "hot-wind." No-fun would seem to be a more appropriate term, if one were to name it from results. One writer says of typhoons, "They are storms which rage with such intensity and fury that those who have never seen them can form no conception of them; you would say that heaven and earth wished to return to their original chaos." Obviously, if this writer be correct, there would be no use in our attempting to enlighten those "who can form no conception" of the thing. Nevertheless, in the hope that the writer referred to may be as ignorant on this point as he is in regard to the "wishes" of "heaven and earth," we will attempt a brief description of the event which put such a sudden stop to what may be called the Toc-baby-picnic. For several days previously the weather had been rather cloudy, and there had been a few showers; but this would not have checked the proceedings if the wind had not risen so as to render it dangerous to launch the canoes into the surf on the beach of Bounty Bay. As the day advanced it blew a gale, and Toc congratulated himself on having resisted the urgent advice of the volatile Dan McCoy to stick at nothing. About sunset the gale increased to a hurricane. John Adams, with several of the older youths, went to the edge of the precipice, near the eastern part of the village, where a deep ravine ran up into the mountains. There, under the shelter of a rock, they discussed the situation. "Lucky that you didn't go, Toc," said Adams, pointing at the sea, whose waves were lashed and churned into seething foam. "Yes, thanks be to God," replied Thursday. "It will blow harder yet, I think," said Charlie Christian, who had grown into a tall stripling of about seventeen. He resembled his father in the bright expression of his handsome face and in the vigour of his lithe frame. "Looks like it, Charlie. It minds me o' a regular typhoon we had when you was quite a babby, that blew down a lot o' trees, an' almost took the roofs off our huts." As he spoke it seemed as if the wind grew savage at having been recognised, for it came round the corner of the rock with a tremendous roar, and nearly swept Adams's old seafaring hat into the rising sea. "I'd ha' bin sorry to lose 'ee," muttered John, as he thrust the glazed and battered covering well down on his brows. "I wore you in the _Bounty_, and I expect, with care, to make you last out my time, an' leave you as a legacy to my son George." "Look-out, father!" shouted Matt Quintal and Jack Mills in the same breath. The whole party crouched close in beside the rock, and looked anxiously upwards, where a loud rending sound was going on. Another moment and a large cocoa-nut palm, growing in an exposed situation, was wrenched from its hold and hurled like a feather over the cliffs, carrying a mass of earth and stones along with it. "It's well the rock overhangs a bit, or we'd have got the benefit o' that shower," said Adams. "Come, boys, it's clear that we're goin' to have a dirty night of it, an' I think we'd better look to our roofs an' make all snug. If our ground-tackle ain't better than that o' the tree which has just gone by the board, we shall have a poor look-out." There was much cause for the anxiety which the seaman expressed regarding the roofs of the houses. Already, before they got back to the village, part of the roof of one of the oldest huts had been stripped off, and the women were beginning to look anxiously upwards as they heard the clattering overhead. "Now, lads, all hands to work. Not a moment too soon either. Out wi' the old tacklin' o' the _Bounty_. Get the tarpaulins up. Lash one over Toc's hut. Clap some big stones on Quintal's. Fetch the ladders, some o' you youngsters. Out o' the way, boys. Here, Mainmast; you get the little 'uns off to their bunks. Fetch me the big sledge-hammer, Charlie. Look alive, lads!" While he shouted these directions, John Adams went to work as actively as the youngest among them. Every one wrought with a will. In a few minutes all moveables were carried under shelter, heavy stones were placed where they were required, tarpaulins and stout ropes were lashed over roofs and pegged to the ground, shutters and doors were made fast, and, in short, the whole village was "made snug" for a "dirty night" with almost as much celerity as if it had been a fully-manned and well-disciplined ship of the line. As John Adams had said, it was not begun a moment too soon. They had barely finished, indeed, when the heavens appeared to rend with a blinding flash of lightning. Then came a thunder crash, or, rather, a series of crashes and flashes, that seemed to imply the final crack of doom. This was followed by rain in sheets so heavy that it seemed as if the ocean had been lifted and poured upon the island. To render the confusion worse confounded, the wind came in what may be called swirls, overturning trees as if they were straws, and mixing up rain, mud, stones, and branches in the great hurly-burly, until ancient chaos seemed to reign on land and sea. "It's an awful night," said John Adams, as he sat beside his wife and listened, while the children, unable to sleep, peeped in awe and wonder from their several bunks round the room. "God save them that's at sea this night." "Amen!" said Mrs Adams. By midnight the typhoon had reached its height. The timbers of the houses appeared to groan under the strain to which they were subjected. The whole heavens seemed in a continual blaze, and the thunder came, not in bursts, but in one incessant roar, with intermittent cracks now and then. Occasionally there were louder crashes than usual, which were supposed to be only more violent thunder, but they were afterwards found to be the results of very different causes. "Now, old 'ooman, you turn in," said Adams, when the small hours of morning had advanced a little. "You'll only be unfit for work to-morrow if you sit up bobbin' about on your stool like that." Mrs Adams obediently and literally tumbled into her bunk without taking the trouble to undress, while her anxious husband trimmed the lamp, took down the _Bounty's_ Bible, and made up his mind to spend the remainder of the night in study. Away at the other end of the village, near the margin of the ravine before referred to, there stood a cottage, in which there was evidently a watcher, for the rays of his light could be seen through the chinks of the shutters. This was the house occupied by Thursday October Christian and his wife and baby. Thursday, like Adams, felt the anxieties of fatherhood strong upon him, and was unable to sleep. He therefore, also like Adams, made up his mind to sit up and read. Carteret's Voyages claimed his attention, and he was soon deep in this old book, while his wife lay sound asleep, with the baby in her arms in the same condition. Both were quite deaf to the elemental turmoil going on around them. The watchful husband and father was still poring over his book, when there came a noise so deafening that it caused him to start to his feet, and awoke his wife. "_That_ can't be thunder," he exclaimed, and sprang to the door. The sight that met his gale when he looked out was sufficiently terrible. Day had begun to dawn, and the grey light showed him a large mass of earth and trees moving down the ravine. The latter were crashing and overturning. As he gazed they went bodily over the cliffs, a mighty avalanche, into the sea. The whole had evidently been loosened from the rocks by the action of the wind on the trees, coupled with the deluges of rain. But this was not the worst of it. While Thursday was gazing at this sight, another crash was heard higher up the ravine. Turning quickly in that direction, he saw the land moving slowly towards him. Immense masses of rock were borne along with slow but irresistible violence. Many cocoa-nut trees were torn up by the roots and carried bodily along with the tough stream of mud and stones and general debris. Some of these trees advanced several yards in an upright position, and then fell in dire confusion. Suddenly Toc observed to his horror that the mass was slowly bearing down straight towards his hut. Indeed, so much had his mind been impressed with the general wreck, that he had failed to observe a few tons of stones and rubbish which even then appeared on the point of overwhelming him. Without uttering a word he sprang into the hut. "What's wrong, Thursday?" asked his wife, in some alarm. "Never mind. Hold your tongue, an' hold tight to Dumplin'." The baby had been named Charles, after Toc's young brother, and the inelegant name of "Dumplin'" had been given him to prevent his being confounded with Charlie, senior. Susannah did as she was bid, and the young giant, rolling her and the baby and the bedclothes into one bundle, lifted them in his wide-spreading arms and rushed out of the house. He had to pass a neighbour's house on the way, which also stood dangerously near the ravine. Kicking its door open, he shouted, "All hands, ahoy! Turn out! turn out!" and passed on. A few seconds later John Adams, who had gone to sleep with his nose flattened on the Bible, was startled by the bursting in of his door. "Hallo, Toc!" he cried, starting up; "what's wrong, eh?" "All right, father, but the ravine is bearin' down on us." Thrusting his living bundle into an empty bunk, the stout youth left it to look after itself, and rushed out with Adams to the scene of devastation. The avalanche was still advancing when they reached the spot, but a fortunate obstruction had turned it away from the houses. It moved slowly but steadily downwards like genuine lava, and in the course of a few hours swept some hundreds of cocoa-nut trees, a yam ground, containing nearly a thousand yams, one of the canoes, and a great mass of heterogeneous material, over the cliffs into the sea. Then the stream ceased to flow, the consternation of the people began to abate, and they commenced to repair, as far as possible, the damage caused by that memorable typhoon. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. A PICNIC AND A SURPRISE. But the cyclone, terrible though it was, did not altogether put an end to the Dumplin' picnic, if we may be allowed the phrase. It only delayed it. As soon as the weather cleared up, that interesting event came off. "Who'll go by land and who'll go by water?" asked Thursday, when the heads of houses were assembled in consultation on the morning of the great day, for great it was in more ways than one in the annals of Pitcairn. "I'll go by water," said Charlie Christian, who was one of the "heads," inasmuch as he had been appointed to take charge of the hut which had been nearly carried away. "Does any one know how the girls are going?" asked Matt Quintal. "I'm not sure," said John Adams, with one of those significant glances for which he was noted. "I did hear say that Sally meant to go by land, but, of course, I can't tell. Girls will be girls, you know, an' there's no knowing when you have them." "Well, perhaps the land road will be pleasanter," said Charlie. "Yes, now I think of it, I'll go by land." "I think, also," continued Adams, without noticing Charlie's remark, "that some one said Bessy Mills was going by water." "You're all wrong, Charlie, about the land road," said Matt Quintal; "the water is far better. _I_ shall go by water." "Dan'l, my lad," said Adams, addressing young McCoy, "which way did _you_ say you'd go?" "I didn't say I'd go any way, father," answered Dan. "That may be so, lad, but you'll have to go one way or other." "Not of necessity, father. Mightn't I stay at home and take care of the pigs?" "You might," said Adams, with a smile, "if you think they would be suitable company for you. Well, now, the sooner we start the better. I mean to go by water myself, for I'm gettin' rather stiff in the legs for cliff-work. Besides, I promised to give Sarah Quintal a lesson in deep-sea fishing, so she's goin' with me." "Perhaps," observed Dan McCoy, after a pause, "I might as well go by water too, and if you've no objection to take me in your canoe, I would lend you a hand wi' the paddle. I would be suitable company for you, father, you know, and I'm very anxious to improve in deep-sea fishin'." "It don't take much fishin' to find out how the wind blows, you blessed innocents," thought John Adams, with a quiet chuckle, which somewhat disconcerted Dan; but he only said aloud, "Well, yes, you may come, but only on condition that you swim alongside, for I mean to carry a cargo of staggerers and sprawlers." "There's only one staggerer and one sprawler now," said Dan, with a laugh; "your own George and Toc's Dumplin'." "Just so, but ain't these a host in themselves? You keep your tongue under hatches, Dan, or I'll have to lash it to your jaw with a bit o' rope-yarn." "Oh, _what_ a yarn I'd spin with it if you did!" retorted the incorrigible Dan. "But how are the jumpers to go, and where are they?" "They may go as they please," returned Adams, as he led the way to the footpath down the cliffs; "they went to help the women wi' the victuals, an' I've no doubt are at their favourite game of slidin' on the waves." He was right in this conjecture. While the younger women and girls of the village were busy carrying the provisions to the beach, those active little members of the community who were styled jumpers, and of whom there were still half-a-dozen, were engaged in their favourite game. It was conducted amid shouts and screams of delight, which rose above the thunder of the mighty waves that rolled in grand procession into the bay. Ned Quintal, the stoutest and most daring, as well as the oldest of these jumpers, being over eight years, was the best slider. He was on the point of dashing into the sea when Adams and the others arrived on the scene. Clothed only with a little piece of tapa cloth formed into breeches reaching to about the knees, his muscular little frame was shown to full advantage, as he stood with streaming curly hair, having a thin board under his arm, about three feet long, and shaped like a canoe. He watched a mighty wave which was coming majestically towards him. Just as it was on the point of falling, little Ned held up the board in front of him, and with one vigorous leap dived right through the wave, and came out at the other side. Thus he escaped being carried by it to the shore, and swam over the rolling backs of the waves that followed it until he got out to sea. Then, turning his face landward, he laid his board on the water, and pushing it under himself, came slowly in, watching for a larger wave than usual. As he moved along, little Billy Young ranged alongside. "Here's a big un, Billy," cried Ned, panting with excitement and exertion, as he looked eagerly over his shoulder at a billow which seemed big enough to have wrecked an East Indiaman. Billy did not reply, for, having a spice of Dan McCoy's fun-loving spirit in him, he was intent on giving Ned's board a tip and turning it over. As the wave came up under them, it began as it were to boil on the surface, a sure sign that it was about to break. With a shout Ned thrust his board along, and actually mounted it in a sitting posture. Billy made a violent kick, missed his aim, lost hold of his own board, and was left ignominiously behind. Ned, caught on the wave's crest, was carried with a terrific rush towards the shore. He retained his position for a few seconds, then tumbled over in the tumult of water, but got the board under him again as he was swept along. How that boy escaped being dashed to pieces on the rocks which studded Bounty Bay is more than we can comprehend, much more, therefore, than we can describe. Suffice it to say, that he arrived, somehow, on his legs, and was turning to repeat the manoeuvre, when Adams called to him and all the others to come ashore an' get their sailin' orders. Things having been finally arranged, Adams said, "By the way, who's stopping to take charge of poor Jimmy Young?" A sympathetic look from every one and a sudden cessation of merriment followed the question, for poor little James Young, the only invalid on Pitcairn, was afflicted with a complaint somewhat resembling that which carried off his father. "Of course," continued Adams, "I know that my old 'ooman an' Mainmast are with him, but I mean who of the young folk?" "May Christian," said Sally, who had come down to see the water-party start. "Two or three of us offered also to stay, father, but Jim wouldn't hear of it, an' said he would cry all the time if we stayed. He said that May was all he wanted." "Dear little Jim," said Adams, "I do believe he's got more o' God's book into him, small though he is, than all the rest of us put together. An' he's not far wrong, neither, about May. She's worth a dozen or'nary girls. Now then, lend a hand wi' the canoe. Are you ready, Mistress Toc?" "Quite," replied the heroine of the day, with a pleased glance in Thursday's somewhat sheepish face. "An' Dumplin', is _he_ ready?" said the seaman. The hero of the day was held up in the arms of his proud father. "Now then, lads, shove off!" In a few minutes the canoe, with its precious freight and Thursday at the steering-paddle, was thrust through the wild surf, and went skimming over the smooth sea beyond. Immediately thereafter another canoe was launched, with John Adams and a miscellaneous cargo of children, women, and girls, including graceful Bessy Mills and pretty Sarah Quintal. "Now then, here goes," cried Matt Quintal, wading deep into the surf. "Are you coming, Dan?" "I'm your man," said Dan, following. Both youths raised their hands and leaped together. They went through the first wave like two stalwart eels, and were soon speeding after the canoes, spurning the water behind them, and conversing as comfortably on the voyage as though the sea were their native element. Close on their heels went two of the most athletic among the smaller boys, while one bold infant was arrested in a reckless attempt to follow by Otaheitan Sally, who had to rush into the surf after him. Descended though he was of an amiable race, it is highly probable that this infant would have displayed the presence of white blood in his veins had his detainer been any other than Sally; but she possessed a power to charm the wildest spirit on the island. So the child consented to "be good," and go along with her overland. "Now, are you ready to go?" said Sally to Charlie, who was the only other one of the band left on the beach besides herself. Poor Charlie stood looking innocently into the sparkling face of the brunette. He did not know what was the matter with him, still less did he care. He knew that he was supremely happy. That was enough. Sally, who knew quite well what was the matter--quite as well, almost, as if she had gone through a regular civilised education--laughed heartily, grasped the infant's fat paw, and led him up the hill. Truly it was a pleasant picnic these people had that day. Healthy and hearty, they probably came as near to the realisation of heaven upon earth as it is ever given to poor sinful man to know, for they had love in their hearts, and their religion, drawn direct from the pure fountain-head, was neither dimmed by false sentimentality on the one hand, nor by hypocrisy on the other. Perhaps John Adams was the only one of the band who wondered at the sight, and thanked God for undeserved and unexpected mercy, for he alone fully understood the polluted stock from which they had all sprung, and the terrible pit of heathenish wickedness from which they had been rescued, not by _him_ (the humbled mutineer had long since escaped from that delusion), but by the Word of God. After proceeding a considerable distance along the rocky coast of their little isle, John Adams ordered the canoes to lie-to, while he made an attempt to catch a fresh cod for dinner. Of course, Matt Quintal and Dan McCoy ranged up alongside, and were speedily joined by some of the adventurous small boys. Adams took these latter into the canoe, but the former he ordered away. "No, no," he said, while Sarah Quintal assisted to get out the bait and Bessy Mills to arrange the line. "No, no, we don't want no idlers here. You be off to the rocks, Matt and Dan, an' see what you can catch. Remember, he who won't work shall not eat. There should be lots o' crawfish about, or you might try for a red-snapper. Now, be off, both of you." "Ay, ay, father," replied the youths, pushing off and swimming shoreward rather unwillingly. "I don't feel much inclined to go after crawfish or red-snappers to-day, Matt, do you?" asked Dan, brushing the curls out of his eyes with his right hand. "No, not I; but we're bound to do something towards the dinner, you know." At that moment there was a loud shouting and screaming from the canoe. They looked quickly back. Adams was evidently struggling with something in the water. "He has hooked something big," cried Matt; "let's go see." Dan said nothing, but turned and made for the canoe with the speed of a porpoise. His companion followed. Adams had indeed hooked a large cod, or something like it, and had hauled it near to the surface when the youths came up. "Have a care. He bolts about like a mad cracker," cried Adams. "There, I have him now. Stand clear all!" Gently did the seaman raise the big fish to the surface, and very tenderly did he play him, on observing that he was not well hooked. "Come along, my beauty! What a wopper! Won't he go down without sauce? Pity I've got no kleek to gaff him. Not quite so close, Dan, he'll get--Hah!" The weight of the fish tore it from the hook at that moment, and it dropped. Dropped, ay, but not exactly into its native element. It dropped into Dan's bosom! With a convulsive grasp Dan embraced it in his strong arms and sank. Matt Quintal dived, also caught hold of the fish with both hands and worked his two thumbs deep into its gills. By the process called treading water, the two soon regained the surface. Sarah Quintal seized Dan McCoy by the hair, Bessy Mills made a grasp at Matt and caught him by the ear, while John Adams made a grab at the fish, got him by the nose, thrust a hand into his mouth, which was wide open with surprise or something else, as well it might be, and caught it by the tongue. Another moment, and a wild cheer from the boys announced that the fish was safe in the canoe. "We're entitled to dinner now, father," said Dan, laughing. "Not a bit of it, you lazy boys; that fish is only big enough for the girls. We want something for the men and child'n. Be off again." With much more readiness the youths, now gratified by their success, turned to the outlying rocks of a low promontory which jutted from the inaccessible cliffs at that part. Effecting a landing with some difficulty, they proceeded to look for crawfish, a species of lobster which abounds there. Leaning over a ledge of rock, and peering keenly down into a clear pool which was sheltered from the surf, Dan suddenly exclaimed, "There's one, Matt; I see his feelers." As he spoke he dived into the water and disappeared. Even a pearl diver might have wondered at the length of time he remained below. Presently he reappeared, puffing like a grampus, and holding a huge lobster-like creature in his hands. "That'll stop the mouths of two or three of us, Matt!" he exclaimed, looking round. But Matt Quintal was nowhere to be seen. He, too, had seen a fish, and gone to beard the lobster in his den. In a few seconds he reappeared with another crawfish. Thus, in the course of a short time, these youths captured four fine fish, and returned to the canoe, swimming on their backs, with one in each hand. While things were progressing thus favourably at sea, matters were being conducted not less admirably, though with less noise, on land. The canoe containing Mrs Toc and the celebrated baby went direct to the landing-place at Martin's Cove, which was a mere spot of sand in a narrow creek, where landing was by no means easy even for these expert canoemen. Here the women kindled a fire and heated the culinary stones, while Toc and some of the others clambered up the cliffs to obtain gulls' eggs and cocoa-nuts. Meanwhile Charlie Christian and Otaheitan Sally and the staggerer wended their way overland to the same rendezvous slowly--remarkably slowly. They had so much to talk about; not of politics, you may be sure, nor yet of love, for they were somewhat shy of that, being, so to speak, new to it. "I wonder," said Charlie, sitting down for the fiftieth time, on a bank "whereon time grew" to such an extent that he seemed to take no account of it whatever; "I wonder if the people in the big world we've heard so much of from father lead as pleasant lives as we do." "Some of 'em do, of course," said Sally. "You know there are plenty of busy people among them who go about working, read their Bible, an' try to make other people happy, so of course they must be happy themselves." "That's true, Sall; but then they have many things to worry them, an' you know _we_ haven't." "Yes, they've many things to worry them, I suppose," rejoined Sall, with a pensive look at the ground. "I wonder what sort of things worry them most? It can't be dressin' up grand, an' goin' out to great parties, an' drivin' in lovely carriages. Nobody could be worried by that, you know." Charlie nodded his head, and agreed with her entirely. "Neither can it be money," resumed Sall, "for money buys everything you want, as father says, and that can be nothin' but pleasure. If their yam-fields went wrong, I could understand that, because even you and I know somethin' about such worries; but, you see, they haven't got no yam-fields. Then father says the rich ones among 'em eat an' drink whatever they like, and as much as they like, and sleep as long as they like, an' _we_ know that eatin' an' drinkin' an' sleepin' don't worry us, do they, Charlie?" Again Charlie accorded unmeasured assent to Sall's propositions. "I can understand better," continued Sall, "how the poor ones among 'em are worried. It must worry 'em a good deal, I should think, to see some people with far more than they want, when they haven't got half as much as they want; an' father says some of 'em are sometimes well-nigh starvin'. Now, it must be a dreadful worry to starve. Just think how funny it would feel to have nothin' to eat at all, not even a yam! Then it must be a dreadful thing for the poor to see their child'n without enough to eat. Yes, the poor child'n of the poor must be a worry to 'em, though the child'n of the rich never are." At this point a wild shriek from the little child caused Sally's heart to bound. She looked up, and beheld the fat legs of her charge fly up as he went headlong over a precipice. Fortunately the precipice was only three feet high, so that when Sally and Charlie ran panting to the spot, he was already on his feet, looking much surprised, but none the worse for his tumble. This incident sobered the inquisitive friends, and brought them back from fanciful to actual life. They hurried over the remainder of the journey, and arrived at Martin's Cove just as the picnic party were beginning dinner. Feasting is a commonplace and rather gross subject, having many points of similitude in all lands. We shall therefore pass over this part of the day's enjoyment, merely remarking that, what with fish and lobster, and yams and cocoa-nuts, and bananas and plantains, and sundry compounds of the same made into cakes, and clear water from the mountain-side, there was ample provision for the wants of nature. There was no lack, either, of that feast which is said to flow from "reason" and "soul" There was incident, also, to enliven the proceedings; for the child who had come by the overland route with Sally fell into something resembling a yam-pie, and the hero of the day managed to roll into the oven which had cooked the victuals. Fortunately, it had cooled somewhat by that time, and seemed to tickle his fancy rather than otherwise. Dinner was concluded; and as it had been preceded by asking a blessing, it was now closed with thanksgiving. Then Dinah Adams began to show a tendency to clear up the debris, when Dan McCoy, who had wandered away with Sarah Quintal in search of shells to a neighbouring promontory, suddenly uttered a tremendous and altogether new cry. "What _is_ he up to now?" said John Adams, rising hastily and shading his eyes with his hand. Dan was seen to be gesticulating frantically on the rocks, and pointing wildly out to sea. The whole party ran towards him, and soon became as wildly excited as himself, for there, at long last, was a _ship_, far away on the horizon! To launch the canoes and make for home was the work of a very few minutes. No one thought of swimming now. Those who did not go in the canoes went by the land road as fast as they could run and clamber. In a short time the gulls were left in undisturbed possession of Martin's Cove. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. THE FIRST SHIP, AND NEWS OF HOME. No wonder that there was wild excitement on the lonely island at the sight of this sail, for, with the exception of the ship that had been seen years before, and only for a few minutes, by Sally and Matt Quintal, no vessel of any kind had visited them during the space of nineteen years. "I've longed for it, old 'ooman, as nobody but myself can understand," said Adams, in a low, earnest voice to his wife, who stood on the cliffs beside him. Although nearly blind, Mrs Adams was straining her eyes in the direction of the strange sail. "And now that it's come," continued her husband, "I confess to you, lass, I'm somewhat afeared to face it. It's not that I fear to die more than other men, but I'd feel it awful hard to be took away from you an' all them dear child'n. But God's will be done." "They'd never take you from us, father," exclaimed Dinah Adams, who overheard this speech. "There's no sayin', Di. I've forfeited my life to the laws of England. I tell 'ee what it is, Thursday," said Adams, going up to the youth, who was gazing wistfully like the others at the rapidly approaching vessel, "it may be a man-o'-war, an' they may p'r'aps want to ship me off to England on rather short notice. If so, I must go; but I'd rather not. So I'll retire into the bushes, Toc, while you go aboard in the canoe. I'll have time to think over matters before you come back with word who they are, an' where they hail from." While Thursday went down to the beach, accompanied by Charlie, to prepare a canoe for this mission, the ship drew rapidly near the island, and soon after hove to, just outside of Bounty Bay. As she showed no colours, and did not look like a man-of-war, Adams began to feel easier in his mind, and again going out on the cliffs, watched the canoe as it dashed through the surf. Under the vigorous strokes of Thursday and Charlie Christian, it was soon alongside the strange ship. To judge from the extent to which the men opened their eyes, there is reason to believe that those on board of that strange ship were filled with unusual surprise; and well they might be, for the appearance of our two heroes was not that which voyagers in the South Pacific were accustomed to expect. The remarks of two of the surprised ones, as the canoe approached, will explain their state of mind better than any commentary. "I say, Jack, it ain't a boat; I guess it's a canoe." "Yes, Bill, it's a canoe." "What d'ye make 'em out to be, Jack?" "Men, I think; leastwise they're not much like monkeys; though, of coorse, a feller can't be sure till they stand up an' show their tails,--or the want of 'em." "Well, now," remarked Bill, as the canoe drew nearer, "that's the most puzzlin' lot I've seen since I was raised. They ain't niggers, that's plain; they're too light-coloured for that, an' has none o' the nigger brick-dust in their faces. One on 'em, moreover, seems to have fair curly hair, an' they wears jackets an' hats with something of a sailor-cut about 'em. Why, I do b'lieve they're shipwrecked sailors." "No," returned Jack, with a critical frown, "they're not just the colour o' white men. Mayhap, they're a noo style o' savage, this bein' raither an out-o'-the-way quarter." "Stand by with a rope there," cried the captain of the vessel, cutting short the discussion, while the canoe ranged longside. "Ship ahoy!" shouted Thursday, in the true nautical style which he had learned from Adams. If the eyes of the men who looked over the side of the ship were wide open with surprise before, they seemed to blaze with amazement at the next remark by Thursday. "Where d'ye hail from, an' what's your name?" he asked, as Charlie made fast to the rope which was thrown to them. "The _Topaz_, from America, Captain Folger," answered the captain, with a smile. With an agility worthy of monkeys, and that might have justified Jack and Bill looking for tails, the brothers immediately stood on the deck, and holding out their hands, offered with affable smiles to shake hands. We need scarcely say the offer was heartily accepted by every one of the crew. "And who may _you_ be, my good fellows?" asked Captain Folger, with an amused expression. "I am Thursday October Christian," answered the youth, drawing himself up as if he were announcing himself the king of the Cannibal Islands. "I'm the oldest son of Fletcher Christian, one of the mutineers of the _Bounty_, an' this is my brother Charlie." The sailors glanced at each other and then at the stalwart youths, as if they doubted the truth of the assertion. "I've heard of that mutiny," said Captain Folger. "It was celebrated enough to make a noise even on our side of the Atlantic. If I remember rightly, most of the mutineers were caught on Otaheite and taken to England, being wrecked and some drowned on the way; the rest were tried, and some acquitted, some pardoned, and some hanged." "I know nothin' about all that," said Thursday, with an interested but perplexed look. "But I do, sir," said the man whom we have styled Jack, touching his hat to the captain. "I'm an Englishman, as you knows, an' chanced to be in England at the very time when the mutineers was tried. There was nine o' the mutineers, sir, as went off wi' the _Bounty_ from Otaheite, an' they've never bin heard on from that day to this." "Yes, yes!" exclaimed Thursday, with sudden animation, "that's _us_. The nine mutineers came to our island here, Pitcairn, an' remained here ever since, an' we've all bin born here; there's lots more of us,--boys and girls." "You _don't_ say so!" exclaimed the captain, whose interest was now thoroughly aroused. "Are the nine mutineers all on Pitcairn still?" Thursday's mobile countenance at once became profoundly sad, and he shook his head slowly. "No," said he, "they're all dead but one. John Adams is his name." "Don't remember that name among the nine said to be lost," remarked the Englishman. "I've heard father say he was sometimes called John Smith," said Thursday. "Ah, yes! I remember the name of Smith," said Jack. "_He_ was one of 'em." "And is he the only man left on the island?" asked the captain. "Yes, the only man," replied Thursday, who had never yet thought of himself in any other light than a boy; "an' if you'll come ashore in our canoe, father'll take you to his house an' treat you to the best he's got. He'll be right glad to see you too, for he's not seen a soul except ourselves for nigh twenty years." "Not seen a soul! D'ye mean to say no ship has touched here for that length of time?" asked the captain in surprise. "No, except one that only touched an' went off without discovering that we were here, an' none of us found out she had bin here till we chanced to see her sailin' away far out to sea. That was five years ago." "That's very strange and interestin'. I'd like well to visit old Adams, lad, an' I thank 'ee for the invitation; but I won't run my ship through such a surf as that, an' don't like to risk leavin' her to go ashore in your canoe." "If you please, sir, I'd be very glad to go, an' bring off what news there is," said Jack, the English sailor, whose surname was Brace. At first Captain Folger refused this offer, but on consideration he allowed Jack to go, promising at the same time to keep as near to the shore as possible, so that if there was anything like treachery he might have a chance of swimming off. "So your father is dead?" asked the captain, as he walked with Thursday to the side. "Yes, long, long ago." "But you called Adams `father' just now. How's that?" "Oh, we all calls 'im that. It's only a way we've got into." "What made your father call you Thursday?" "'Cause I was born on a Thursday." "H'm I an' I suppose if you'd bin born on a Tuesday or Saturday, he'd have called you by one or other of these days?" "S'pose so," said Thursday, with much simplicity. "Are you married, Thursday?" "Yes, I'm married to Susannah," said Thursday, with a pleased smile; "she's a dear girl, though she's a deal older than me--old enough to be my mother. And I've got a babby too--a _splendid_ babby!" Thursday passed ever the side as he said this, and fortunately did not see the merriment which him remarks created. Jack Brace followed him into the canoe, and in less than half-an-hour he found himself among the wondering, admiring, almost awestruck, islanders of Pitcairn. "It's a _man_!" whispered poor Mainmast to Susannah, with the memory of Fletcher Christian strong upon her. "What a lovely beard he has!" murmured Sally to Bessy Mills. Charlie Christian and Matt Quintal chancing, curiously enough, to be near Sally and Bessy, overheard the whisper, and for the first time each received a painful stab from the green-eyed demon, jealousy. But the children did not whisper their comments. They crowded round the seaman eagerly. "You've come to live with us?" asked Dolly Young, looking up in his face with an innocent smile, and taking his rough hand. "To tell us stories?" said little Arthur Quintal, with an equally innocent smile. "Well, no, my dears, not exactly," answered the seaman, looking in a dazed manner at the pretty faces and graceful forms around him; "but if I only had the chance to remain here, it's my belief that I would." Further remark was stopped by the appearance of John Adams coming towards the group. He walked slowly, and kept his eyes steadily, yet wistfully, fastened on the seaman. Holding out his hand, he said in a low tone, as if he were soliloquising, "At last! It's like a dream!" Then, as the sailor grasped his hand and shook it warmly, he added aloud a hearty "Welcome, welcome to Pitcairn." "Thank 'ee, thank 'ee," said Jack Brace, not less heartily; "an' may I ax if you _are_ one o' the _Bounty_ mutineers, an' no mistake?" "The old tone," murmured Adams, "and the old lingo, an' the old cut o' the jib, an'--an'--the old toggery." He took hold of a flap of Jack's pea-jacket, and almost fondled it. "Oh, man, but it does my heart good to see you! Come, come away up to my house an' have some grub. Yes, yes--axin' your pardon for not answerin' right off--I _am_ one o' the _Bounty_ mutineers; the last one--John Smith once, better known now as John Adams. But where do you hail from, friend?" Jack at once gave him the desired information, told him on the way up all he knew about the fate of the mutineers who had remained at Otaheite, and received in exchange a brief outline of the history of the nine mutineers who had landed on Pitcairn. The excitement of the two men and their interest in each other increased every moment; the one being full of the idea of having made a wonderful discovery of, as it were, a lost community, the other being equally full of the delight of once more talking to a man--a seaman--a messmate, he might soon say, for he meant to feed him like a prince. "Get a pig cooked, Molly," he said, during a brief interval in the conversation, "an' do it as fast as you can." "There's one a'most ready-baked now," replied Mrs Adams. "All right, send the girls for fruit, and make a glorious spread-- outside; he'll like it better than in the house--under the banyan-tree. Sit down, sit down, messmate." Turning to the sailor, "Man, _what_ a time it is since I've used that blessed word! Sit down and have a glass." Jack Brace smacked his lips in anticipation, thanked Adams in advance, and drew his sleeve across his mouth in preparation, while his host set a cocoa-nut-cup filled with a whitish substance before him. "That's a noo sort of a glass, John Adams," remarked the man, as he raised and smelt it; "also a strange kind o' tipple." He sipped, and seemed disappointed. Then he sipped again, and seemed pleased. "What is it, may I ax?" "It's milk of the cocoa-nut," answered Adams. "Milk o' the ko-ko-nut, eh? Well, now, that is queer. If you'd 'a called it the milk o' the cow-cow-nut, I could have believed it. Hows'ever, it ain't bad, tho' raither wishy-washy. Got no stronger tipple than that?" "Nothin' stronger than that, 'xcept water," said John, with one of his sly glances; "but it's a toss up which is the strongest." "Well, it'll be a toss down with me whichever is the strongest," said the accommodating tar, as he once more raised the cup to his lips, and drained it. "But, I say, you unhung mutineer, do you mean for to tell me that all them good-lookin' boys an' girls are yours?" He looked round on the crowd of open-mouthed young people, who, from six-foot Toc down to the youngest staggerer, gazed at him solemnly, all eyes and ears. "No, they ain't," answered Adams, with a laugh. "What makes you ask?" "'Cause they all calls you father." "Oh!" replied his host, "that's only a way they have; but there's only four of 'em mine, three girls an' a boy. The rest are the descendants of my eight comrades, who are now dead and gone." "Well, now, d'ye know, John Adams, _alias_ Smith, mutineer, as ought to have bin hung but wasn't, an' as nobody would have the heart to hang now, even if they had the chance, this here adventur is out o' sight one o' the most extraor'nar circumstances as ever did happen to me since I was the length of a marlinspike." As Mainmast here entered to announce that the pig was ready for consumption, the amazed mariner was led to a rich repast under the neighbouring banyan-tree. Here he was bereft of speech for a considerable time, whether owing to the application of his jaws to food, or increased astonishment, it is difficult to say. Before the repast began, Adams, according to custom, stood up, removed his hat, and briefly asked a blessing. To which all assembled, with clasped hands and closed eyes, responded Amen. This, no doubt, was another source of profound wonder to Jack Brace, but he made no remark at the time. Neither did he remark on the fact that the women did not sit down to eat with the males of the party, but stood behind and served them, conversing pleasantly the while. After dinner was concluded, and thanks had been returned, Jack Brace leaned his back against one of the descending branches of the banyan-tree, and with a look of supreme satisfaction drew forth a short black pipe. At sight of this the countenance of Adams flushed, and his eyes almost sparkled. "There it is again," he murmured; "the old pipe once more! Let me look at it, Jack Brace; it's not the first by a long way that I've handled." Jack handed over the pipe, a good deal amused at the manner of his host, who took the implement of fumigation and examined it carefully, handling it with tender care, as if it were a living and delicate creature. Then he smelt it, then put it in his mouth and gave it a gentle draw, while an expression of pathetic satisfaction passed over his somewhat care-worn countenance. "The old taste, not a bit changed," he murmured, shutting his eyes. "Brings back the old ships, and the old messmates, and the old times, and Old England." "Come, old feller," said Jack Brace, "if it's so powerful, why not light it and have a real good pull, for old acquaintance sake?" He drew from his pocket flint and tinder, matches being unknown in those days, and began to strike a light, when Adams took the pipe hastily from his mouth and handed it back. "No, no," he said, with decision, "it's only the old associations that it calls up, that's all. As for baccy, I've bin so long without it now, that I don't want it; and it would only be foolish in me to rouse up the old cravin'. There, you light it, Jack. I'll content myself wi' the smell of it." "Well, John Adams, have your way. You are king here, you know; nobody to contradict you. So I'll smoke instead of you, if these young ladies won't object." The young ladies referred to were so far from objecting, that they were burning with impatience to see a real smoker go to work, for the tobacco of the mutineers had been exhausted, and all the pipes broken or lost, before most of them were born. "And let me tell you, John Adams," continued the sailor, when the pipe was fairly alight, "I've not smoked a pipe in such koorious circumstances since I lit one, an' had my right fore-finger shot off when I was stuffin' down the baccy, in the main-top o' the _Victory_ at the battle o' Trafalgar. But it was against all rules to smoke in action, an' served me right. Hows'ever, it got me my discharge, and that's how I come to be in a Yankee merchantman this good day." At the mention of battle and being wounded in action, the old professional sympathies of John Adams were awakened. "What battle might that have been?" he asked. "Which?" said Jack. "Traflegar," said the other. Jack Brace took the pipe out of his mouth and looked at Adams, as though he had asked where Adam and Eve had been born. For some time he could not make up his mind how to reply. "You don't mean to tell me," he said at length, "that you've never heard of the--battle--of--Trafalgar?" "Never," answered Adams, with a faint smile. "Nor of the great Lord Nelson?" "Never heard his name till to-day. You forget, Jack, that I've not seen a mortal man from Old England, or any other part o' the civilised world, since the 28th day of April 1789, and that's full nineteen years ago." "That's true, John; that's true," said the seaman, slowly, as if endeavouring to obtain some comprehension of what depths of ignorance the fact implied. "So, I suppose you've never heerd tell of--hold on; let me rake up my brain-pan a bit." He tilted his straw hat, and scratched his head for a few minutes, puffing the while immense clouds of smoke, to the inexpressible delight of the open-mouthed youngsters around him. "You--you've never heerd tell of Lord Howe, who licked the French off Ushant, somewheres about sixteen years gone by?" "Never." "Nor of the great victories gained in the '95 by Sir Edward Pellew, an' Admiral Hotham, an' Admiral Cornwallis, an' Lord Bridgeport?" "No, of coorse ye couldn't; nor yet of Admiral Duncan, who, in the '97, (I think it was), beat the Dutch fleet near Camperdown all to sticks. Nor yet of that tremendous fight off Cape Saint Vincent in the same year, when Sir John Jervis, with nothin' more than fifteen sail o' the Mediterranean fleet, attacked the Spaniards wi' their twenty-seven ships o' the line--line-o'-battle ships, you'll observe, John Adams--an' took four of 'em, knocked half of the remainder into universal smash, an' sunk all the rest?" "That was splendid!" exclaimed Adams, his martial spirit rising, while the eyes of the young listeners around kept pace with their mouths in dilating. "Splendid? Pooh!" said Jack Brace, delivering puffs between sentences that resembled the shots of miniature seventy-fours, "that was nothin' to what followed. Nelson was in that fight, he was, an' Nelson began to shove out his horns a bit soon after that, _I_ tell you. Well, well," continued the British tar with a resigned look, "to think of meetin' a man out of Bedlam who hasn't heerd of Nelson and the Nile, w'ich, of coorse, ye haven't. It's worth while comin' all this way to see you." Adams smiled and said, "Let's hear all about it." "All about it, John? Why, it would take me all night to tell you all about it," (there was an audible gasp of delight among the listeners), "and I haven't time for that; but you must know that Lord Nelson, bein' Sir Horatio Nelson at that time, chased the French fleet, under Admiral Brueys, into Aboukir Bay, (that's on the coast of Egypt), sailed in after 'em, anchored alongside of 'em, opened on 'em wi' both broadsides at once, an' blew them all to bits." "You don't say that, Jack Brace!" "Yes, I do, John Adams; an' nine French line-o'-battle ships was took, two was burnt, two escaped, and the biggest o' the lot, the great three-decker, the _Orient_, was blowed up, an' sent to the bottom. It was a thorough-goin' piece o' business that, _I_ tell you, an' Nelson meant it to be, for w'en he gave the signal to go into close action, he shouted, `Victory or Westminster Abbey.'" "What did he mean by that?" asked Adams. "Why, don't you see, Westminster Abbey is the old church in London where they bury the great nobs o' the nation in; there's none but _great_ nobs there, you know--snobs not allowed on no account whatever. So he meant, of coorse, victory or death, d'ye see? After which he'd be put into Westminster Abbey. An' death it was to many a good man that day. Why, if you take even the _Orient_ alone, w'en she was blowed up, Admiral Brueys himself an' a thousand men went up along with her, an' never came down again, so far as _we_ know." "It must have bin bloody work," said Adams. "I believe you, my boy," continued the sailor, "it _was_ bloody work. There was some of our chaps that was always for reasonin' about things, an' would never take anything on trust, 'xcept their own inventions, who used to argufy that it was an awful waste o' human life, to say nothin' o' treasure, (as they called it), all for _nothin'_. I used to wonder sometimes why them _reasoners_ jined the sarvice at all, but to be sure most of 'em had been pressed. To my thinkin', war wouldn't be worth a brass farthin' if there wasn't a deal o' blood and thunder about it; an', of coorse, if we're goin' to have that sort o' thing we must pay for it. Then, we didn't do it for _nothin'_. Is it nothin' to have the honour an' glory of lickin' the Mounseers an' bein' able to sing `Britannia rules the waves?'" John Adams, who was not fond of argument, and did not agree with some of Jack's reasoning, said, "P'r'aps;" and then, drawing closer to his new friend with deepening interest, said, "Well, Jack, what more has happened?" "What more? Why, I'll have to start a fresh pipe before I can answer that." Having started a fresh pipe he proceeded, and the group settled down again to devour his words, and watch and smell the smoke. "Well, then, there was--but you know I ain't a diction'ry, or a cyclopodia, or a gazinteer--let me see. After the battle o' the Nile there came the Irish Rebellion." "Did that do 'em much good, Jack?" "O yes, John; it united 'em immediately after to Old England, so that we're now Great Britain an' Ireland. Then Sir Ralph Abercromby, he gave the French an awful lickin' on land in Egypt at Aboukir, where Nelson had wopped 'em on the sea, and, last of all came the glorious battle of Trafalgar. But it wasn't all glory, for we lost Lord Nelson there. He was killed." "That was a bad business," said Adams, with a look of sympathy. "And you was in that battle, was you?" "In it! I should just think so," replied Jack Brace, looking contemplatively at his mutilated finger. "Why, I was in Lord Nelson's own ship, the _Victory_. Come, I'll give you an outline of it. This is how it began." The ex-man-of-war's-man puffed vigorously for a few seconds, to get the pipe well alight, he remarked, and collect his thoughts. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. JACK BRACE STIRS UP THE WAR SPIRIT OF ADAMS. "You must know, John Adams," said Jack Brace, with a look and a clearing of the throat that raised great expectations in the breasts of the listeners, "you must know that for a long while before the battle Lord Nelson had bin scourin' the seas, far and near, in search o' the French and Spanish fleets, but do what he would, he could never fall in with 'em. At last he got wind of 'em in Cadiz Harbour, and made all sail to catch 'em. It was on the 19th of October 1805 that Villeneuve, that was the French admiral, put to sea with the combined fleets o' France and Spain. It wasn't till daybreak of the 21st that we got sight of 'em, right ahead, formed in close line, about twelve miles to lee'ard, standin' to the s'uth'ard, off Cape Trafalgar. "Ha, John Adams, an' boys an' girls all, you should have seen that sight; it would have done you good. An' you should have felt our buzzums; they was fit to bust, _I_ tell you! You see, we'd bin chasin' of 'em so long, that we could scarce believe our eyes when we saw 'em at long last. They wor bigger ships and more of 'em than ours; but what cared Nelson for that? not the shank of a brass button! he rather liked that sort o' thing; for, you know, one Englishman is equal to three Frenchmen any day." "No, no, Jack Brace," said John Adams, with a quiet smile and shake of the head; "'snot quite so many as that." "Not _quite_!" repeated Brace, vehemently; "why, it's my opinion that I could lick any six o' the Mounseers myself. Thursday November Christian there--" "He ain't November yet," interrupted Adams, quietly, "he's only October." "No matter, it's all the same. I tell 'ee, John, that he could wallop twenty of 'em, easy. There ain't no go in 'em at all." "Didn't you tell me, Jack Brace, that Trafalgar was a glorious battle?" "In coorse I did, for so it was." "Didn't the Frenchmen stick to their guns like men?" "No doubt of it." "An' they didn't haul down their colours, I suppose, till they was about blown to shivers?" "You're about right there, John Adams." "Well, then, you can't say they've got no go in 'em. Don't underrate your enemy, whatever you do, for it's not fair; besides, in so doin' you underrate your own deeds. Moreover, we don't allow boastin' aboard of this island; so go ahead, Jack Brace, and tell us what you did do, without referrin' to what you think you could do. Mind, I'm king here, and I'll have to clap you in irons if you let your tongue wag too freely." "All right, your majesty," replied Brace, with a bow of graceful humility, which deeply impressed his juvenile audience; "I'll behave better in futur' if you'll forgive me this time. Well, as I was about to say, when you sent that round shot across my bows and brought me up, Nelson he would have fought 'em if they'd had ten times the number o' ships that we had. As it was, the enemy had thirty-three sail of the line and seven frigates. We had only twenty-seven sail of the line and four frigates, so we was outnumbered by nine vessels. Moreover the enemy had 4000 lobsters on board--" "Lobsters bein' land sodgers, my dears," remarked Adams, in explanation, "so-called 'cause of their bein' all red-coated; but the French sodgers are only red-trousered, coats bein' blue. Axin' your pardon, Brace, go on." The seaman, who had availed himself of the interruption to stir up and stuff down his pipe, resumed. "Likewise one of their line-o'-battle ships was a huge four-decker, called the _Santissima Trinidad_, and they had some of the best Tyrolese riflemen that could be got scattered throughout the fleet, as we afterwards came to find out to our cost. "Soon after daylight Nelson came on deck. I see him as plain as if he was before me at this moment, for, bein' stationed in the mizzen-top o' the _Victory_--that was Nelson's ship, you know--I could see everything quite plain. He stood there for a minute or so, with his admiral's frock-coat covered with orders on the left breast, and his empty right sleeve fastened up to it; for you must know he had lost his right arm in action before that, and also his right eye, but the arm and eye that were left were quite enough for him to work with. After a word or two with the officers, he signalled to bear down on the enemy in two lines. "Then it seemed to have occurred to him that the smoke of battle might render the signals difficult or impossible to make out, for he immediately made one that would serve for everything. It was this: `if signals can't be seen, no captain can do wrong if he places his ship alongside an enemy.' Of coorse we all knew that he meant to win that battle; but, for the matter of that, every soul in the fleet, from the admiral to the smallest powder-monkey, meant--" "Boasting not allowed," said Dan McCoy, displaying his fine teeth from ear to ear. The seaman looked at him with a heavy frown. "You young slip of a pump-handle, what d'ye mean?" "The king's orders," said Dan, pointing to Adams, while the rest of the Pitcairners seemed awestruck by his presumption. The frown slowly left the visage of Jack Brace. He shut his eyes, smiled benignly, and delivered a series of heavy puffs from the starboard side of his mouth. Then a little squeak that had been bottled up in the nose of Otaheitan Sally forced a vent, and the whole party burst into hilarious laughter. "Just so," resumed Brace, when they had recovered, "that is exactly what we did in the mizzen-top o' the _Victory_ when we made out the signal, only we stuck a cheer on to the end o' the laugh. After that came another signal, just as we were about to go into action, `England expects that every man will this day do his duty.' The effect of that signal was just treemendious, _I_ tell you. "I noticed at this time that some of Nelson's officers were botherin' him,--tryin' to persuade him, so to speak, to do somethin' he didn't want to. I afterwards found out that they were tryin' to persuade him not to wear his orders, but he wouldn't listen to 'em. Then they tried to convince him it would be wise for him to keep out of action as long as possible. He seemed to give in to this, for he immediately signalled the _Temeraire_ and _Leviathan_, which were abreast of us, to pass ahead; but in _my_ opinion this was nothin' more than a sly joke of the Admiral, for he kept carrying on all sail on the _Victory_, so that it wasn't possible for these ships to obey the order. "We made the attack in two lines. The _Victory_ led the weather-line of fourteen ships, and Collingwood, in the _Royal Sovereign_, led the lee-line of thirteen ships. "As we bore down, the enemy opened the ball. We held our breath, for, as no doubt you know, messmate, just before the beginnin' of a fight, when a man is standin' still an' doin' nothin', he's got time to think; an' he _does_ think, too, in a way, mayhap, that he's not much used to think." "That's true, Jack Brace," responded Adams, with a grave nod; "an', d'ye know, it strikes me that it would be better for all of us if we'd think oftener in that fashion when we've got time to do it." "You're right, John Adams; you're right. Hows'ever, we hadn't much time to think that morning, for the shot soon began to tell. One round shot came, as it seemed, straight for my head, but it missed me by a shave, an' only took off the hat of a man beside me that was about a fut shorter than myself. "`You see the advantage,' says he, `o' bein' a little feller.' `That's so,' says I, but I didn't say or think no more that I knows on after that, for we had got within musket range, and the small bullets went whistling about our heads, pickin' off or woundin' a man here an' there. "It was just then that I thought it time to put my pipe in my pocket, for, you see, I had been havin' a puff on the sly as we was bearin' down; an' I put up my fore-finger to shove the baccy down, when one o' them stingin' little things comes along, whips my best cutty out o' my mouth, an' carries the finger along with it. Of coorse I warn't goin' below for such a small matter, so I pulls out my hankerchief, an' says I to the little man that lost his hat, `Just take a round turn here, Jim,' says I, `an' I'll be ready for action again in two minutes.' Jim, he tied it up, but before he quite done it, the round shot was pitchin' into us like hail, cuttin' up the sails and riggin' most awful. "They told me afterwards that Nelson gave orders to steer straight for the bow of the great _Santissima Trinidad_, and remarked, `It's too warm work to last long,' but he did not return a single shot, though about fifty of our men had been killed and wounded. You see, he never was fond of wastin' powder an' shot. He generally reserved his fire till it could be delivered with stunnin' effect. "Just then a round shot carried away our main-topmast with all her stun-s'ls an' booms. By good luck, however, we were close alongside o' the enemy's ship _Redoubtable_ by that time. Our tiller ropes were shot away too, but it didn't matter much now. The word was given, and we opened with both broadsides at once. You should have felt the _Victory_ tremble, John Adams. We tackled the _Redoubtable_ with the starboard guns, and the _Bucentaur_ and _Santissima Trinidad_ with the port guns. Of course they gave it us hot and strong in reply. At the same time Captain Hardy, in the _Temeraire_, fell on board the _Redoubtable_ on her other side, and the _Fougueux_, another o' the enemy, fell on board the _Temeraire_; so there we were four ships abreast--a compact tier-- blazin' into each other like mad, with the muzzles of the guns touchin' the sides when they were run out, an' men stationed with buckets at the ports, to throw water into the shot-holes to prevent their takin' fire. "It was awful work, I tell you, with the never-stopping roar of great guns and rattle of small arms, an' the smoke, an' the decks slippery with blood. The order was given to depress our guns and load with light charges of powder, to prevent the shot going right through the enemy into our own ship on the other side. "The _Redoubtable_ flew no colours, so we couldn't tell when she struck, and twice the Admiral, wishing to spare life, gave orders to cease firing, thinking she had given in. But she had not done so, and soon after a ball from her mizzen-top struck Nelson on the left shoulder, and he fell. They took him below at once. "Of course we in the mizzen-top knew nothing of this, for we couldn't see almost anything for the smoke, only here and there a bit of a mast, or a yard-arm, or a bowsprit, while the very air trembled with the tremendous and continuous roar. "We were most of us wounded by that time, more or less, but kept blazing away as long as we could stand. Then there came cheers of triumph mingling with the shouts and cries of battle. The ships of the enemy were beginning to strike. One after another the flags went down. Before long the cry was, `Five have struck!' then `Ten, hurrah!' then fifteen, then twenty, hurrah!" "Hurrah! Old England for ever!" cried Adams, starting to his feet and waving his hat in a burst of irrepressible excitement, which roused the spirits of the youths around, who, leaping up with flushed faces and glittering eyes, sent up from the groves of Pitcairn a vigorous British cheer in honour of the great victory of Trafalgar. "But," continued Jack Brace, when the excitement had abated, "there was great sorrow mingled with our triumph that day, for Nelson, the hero of a hundred fights, was dead. The ball had entered his spine. He lived just long enough to know that our victory was complete, and died thanking God that he had done his duty." "That was truly a great battle," said Adams, while Brace, having concluded, was refilling his pipe. "Right you are, John," said the other; "about the greatest victory we ever gained. It has settled the fleets of France and Spain, I guess, for the next fifty years." "But what was it all for?" asked Bessy Mills, looking up in the sailor's face with much simplicity. "What was it for?" repeated Brace, with a perplexed look. "Why, my dear, it was--it was for the honour and glory of Old England, to be sure." "No, no, Jack, not quite that," interposed Adams, with a laugh, "it was to clap a stopper on the ambition of the French, as far as I can make out; or rather to snub that rascal Napoleon Bonnypart, an' keep him within bounds." "But he ain't easy to keep within bounds," said Brace, putting his pipe in his pocket and rising; "for he's been knockin' the lobsters of Europe over like ninepins of late years. Hows'ever, we'll lick him yet on land, as we've licked him already on the sea, or my name's not--" He stopped abruptly, having caught sight of Dan McCoy's twinkling eye. "Now, John Adams, I must go, else the Cap'n'll think I've deserted altogether." "Oh, _don't_ go yet; please don't!" pleaded Dolly Young, as she grasped and fondled the seaman's huge hand. Dolly was at that time about nine years of age, and full of enthusiasm. She was seconded in her entreaties by Dinah Adams, who seized the other hand, while several of the older girls sought to influence him by words and smiles; but Jack Brace was not to be overcome. "I'll be ashore again to-morrow, p'r'aps, with the Captain, if he lands," said Brace, "and spin you some more yarns about the wars." With this promise they were obliged to rest content. In a few minutes the visitor was carried over the surf by Toc and Charlie in their canoe, and soon put on board the _Topaz_, which stood inshore to receive him. CHAPTER THIRTY. ADAMS AND THE GIRLS. Great was the interest aroused on board the _Topaz_ when Jack Brace narrated his experiences among the islanders, and Captain Folger resolved to pay them a visit. He did so next day, accompanied by the Englishman and some of the other men, the sight of whom gladdened the eyes and hearts of Adams and his large family. Besides assuring himself of the truth of Brace's statements, the Captain obtained additional proof of the truth of Adams's account of himself and his community in the form of the chronometer and azimuth compass of the _Bounty_. "How many did you say your colony consists of?" asked Folger. "Thirty-five all told, sir," answered Adams; "but I fear we shall be only thirty-four soon." "How so?" "One of our lads, a dear boy of about eight years of age, is dying, I fear," returned Adams, sadly. "I'm sorry to hear it, and still more sorry that I have no doctor in my ship," said Folger, "but I have a smatterin' of doctors' work myself. Let me see him." Adams led the way to the hut where poor James Young lay, tenderly nursed by Mary Christian. The boy was lying on his bed as they entered, gazing wistfully out at the little window which opened from the side of it like the port-lights or bull's-eyes of a ship's berth. His young nurse sat beside him with the _Bounty_ Bible open on her knees. She shut it and rose as the strangers entered. The poor invalid was too weak to take much interest in them. He was extremely thin, and breathed with great difficulty. Nevertheless his face flushed, and a gleam of surprise shot from his eyes as he turned languidly towards the Captain. "My poor boy," said Folger, taking his hand and gently feeling his pulse, "do you suffer much?" "Yes,--very much," said little James, with a sickly smile. "Can you rest at all?" asked the Captain. "I am--always--resting," he replied, with a pause between each word; "resting--on Jesus." The Captain was evidently surprised by the answer. "Who told you about Jesus?" he asked. "God's book--and--the Holy--Spirit." It was obvious that the exertion of thinking and talking was not good for poor little James. Captain Folger therefore, after smoothing the hair on his forehead once or twice very tenderly, bade him good-bye, and went out. "Doctors could do nothing for the child," he said, while returning with Adams to his house; "but he is rather to be envied than pitied. I would give much for the _rest_ which he apparently has found." "_Give_ much!" exclaimed Adams, with an earnest look. "Rest in the Lord is not to be purchased by gifts. Itself is the grand free gift of God to man, to be had for the asking." "I know it," was the Captain's curt reply, as he entered Adams's house. "Where got you the chronometer and azimuth compass?" he said, on observing these instruments. "They belonged to the _Bounty_. You are heartily welcome to both of them if you choose; they are of no use to me." [See Note.] Folger accepted the gift, and promised to write to England and acquaint the Government with his discovery of the colony. "You see, sir," said Adams, with a grave look, while hospitably entertaining his visitor that afternoon, "we are increasing at a great rate, and although they may perhaps take me home and swing me up to the yard-arm, I think it better to run the risk o' that than to leave all these poor young things here unprotected. Why, just think what might happen if one o' them traders which are little better than pirates were to come an' find us here." He looked at the Captain earnestly. "Now, if we were under the protection o' the British flag--only just recognised, as it were,--that would go a long way to help us, and prevent mischief." At this point the importunities of some of the young people to hear about the outside world prevailed, and Folger began, as Jack Brace had done the day before, to tell them some of the most stirring events in the history of his own land. But he soon found out that the mental capacity of the Pitcairners was like a bottomless pit. However much they got, they wanted more. Anecdote after anecdote, story after story, fact after fact, was thrown into the gulf, and still the cry was, "More! more!" At last he tore himself away. "Good-bye, and God bless you all," he said, while stepping into the canoe which was to carry him off. "I won't forget my promise." "And tell 'em to send us story-books," shouted Daniel McCoy, as the canoe rose on the back of the breakers. The Captain waved his hand. Most of the women and children wiped their eyes, and then they all ran to the heights to watch the _Topaz_ as she sailed away. They watched her till she vanished over that mysterious horizon which seemed to the Pitcairners the utmost boundary of the world, and some of them continued to gaze until the stars came out, and the gulls retired to bed, and the soft black mantle of night descended like a blessing of tranquillity on land and sea. Before bidding the _Topaz_ farewell, we may remark that Captain Folger faithfully fulfilled his promise. He wrote a letter to England giving a full account of his discovery of the retreat of the mutineers, which aroused much interest all over the land; but at that time the stirring events of warfare filled the minds of men in Europe so exclusively, that the lonely island and its inhabitants were soon forgotten--at least no action was taken by the Government--and six years elapsed before another vessel sailed out of the great world into the circle of vision around Pitcairn. Meanwhile the Pitcairners, knowing that, even at the shortest, a long, long time must pass before Folger could communicate with the "old country," continued the even tenor of their innocent lives. The school prospered and became a vigorous institution. The church not less so. More children were born to Thursday October, insomuch that he at last had one for every working-day in the week; more yam-fields were cultivated, and more marriages took place--but hold, this is anticipating. We have said that the school prospered. The entire community went to it, male and female, old and young. John Adams not only taught his pupils all he knew, but set himself laboriously to acquire all the knowledge that was to be obtained by severe study of the Bible, the Prayer-book. Carteret's Voyages, and by original meditation. From the first mine he gathered and taught the grand, plain, and blessed truths about salvation through Jesus, together with a few tares of error resulting from misconception and imperfect reasoning. From the second he adopted the forms of worship of the Church of England. From the third he gleaned and amplified a modicum of nautical, geographical, and general information; and from the fourth he extracted a flood of miscellaneous, incomplete, and disjointed facts, fancies, and fallacies, which at all events served the good purpose of interesting his pupils and exercising their mental powers. But into the midst of all this life death stepped and claimed a victim. The great destroyer came not, however, as an enemy but as a friend, to raise little James Young to that perfect rest of which he had already had a foretaste on the island. It was the first death among the second generation, and naturally had a deeply solemnising effect on the young people. This occurred soon after the departure of the _Topaz_. The little grave was made under the shade of a palm-grove, where wild-flowers grew in abundance, and openings in the leafy canopy let in the glance of heaven's blue eye. One evening, about six months after this event, Adams went up the hill to an eminence to which he was fond of retiring when a knotty problem in arithmetic had to be tackled. Arithmetic was his chief difficulty. The soliloquy which he uttered on reaching his place of meditation will explain his perplexities. "That 'rithmetic do bother me, an' no mistake," he said, with a grave shake of the head at a lively lizard which was looking up in his face. "You see, history is easy. What I knows I knows an' can teach, an' what I don't know I let alone, an there's an end on't. There's no makin' a better o' _that_. Then, as to writin', though my hand is crabbed enough, and my pot-hooks are shaky and sprawly, still I know the shapes o' things, an' the youngsters are so quick that they can most of 'em write better than myself; but in regard to that 'rithmetic, it's a heartbreak altogether, for I've only just got enough of it to puzzle me. Wi' the use o' my fingers I can do simple addition pretty well, an' I can screw round subtraction, but multiplication's a terrible business. Unfort'nitely my edication has carried me only the length o' the fourth line, an' that ain't enough." He paused, and the lively lizard, ready to fly at a moment's notice, put its head on one side as if interested in the man's difficulty. "Seven times eight, now," continued Adams. "I've no more notion what that is than the man in the moon. An' I've no table to tell me, an' no way o' findin' it out--eh? Why, yes I have. I'll mark 'em down one at a time an' count 'em up." He gave his thigh a slap, which sent the lively lizard into his hole, horrified. "Poor thing, I didn't mean that," he said to the absent animal. "Hows'ever, I'll try it. Why, I'll make a multiplication-table for myself. Strange that that way never struck me before." As he went on muttering he busied himself in rubbing clean a flat surface of rock, on which, with a piece of reddish stone, he made a row of eight marks, one below another. Alongside of that he made another row of eight marks, and so on till he had put down seven rows, when he counted them up, and found the result to be fifty-six. This piece of acquired knowledge he jotted down in a little notebook, which, with a quantity of other stationery, had originally belonged to that great fountain of wealth, the _Bounty_. "Why, I'll make out the whole table in this way," he said, quite heartily, as he sat down again on the flat rock and went to work. Of course he found the process laborious, especially when he got among the higher numbers; but Adams was not a man to be turned from his purpose by trifles. He persevered until his efforts were crowned with success. While he was engaged with the multiplication problem on that day, he was interrupted by the sound of merry voices, and soon Otaheitan Sally, Bessy Mills, May Christian, Sarah Quintal, and his own daughter Dinah, came tripping up the hill towards him. These five, ranging from fifteen to nineteen, were fond of rambling through the woods in company, being not only the older members of the young flock, but like-minded in many things. Sally was looked up to by the other four as being the eldest and wisest, as well as the most beautiful; and truly, the fine clear complexion of the pretty brunette contrasted well with their fairer skins and golden or light-brown locks. "We came up to have a chat with you, father," said Sally, as they drew near. "Are you too busy to be bothered with us?" "Never too busy to chat with such dear girls," said the gallant seaman, throwing down his piece of red chalk, and taking one of Sally's hands in his. "Sit down, Sall; sit down, May, on the other side--there. Now, what have you come to chat about?" "About that dear _Topaz_, of course, and that darling Captain Folger, and Jack Brace, and all the rest of them," answered Sarah Quintal, with sparkling eyes. "Hallo, Sarah! you've sent your heart away with them, I fear," said Adams. "Not quite, but nearly," returned Sarah. "I would give anything if the whole crew would only have stayed with us altogether." "Oh! how charming! delightful! _so_ nice!" exclaimed three of the others. Sally said nothing, but gave a little smile, which sent a sparkle from her pearly teeth that harmonised well with the gleam of her laughter-loving eyes. "No doubt," said Adams, with a peculiar laugh; "but, I say, girls, you must not go on thinking for ever about that ship. Why, it is six months or more since it left us, and you are all as full of it as if it had sailed but yesterday." "How can we help it, father?" said Sally. "It is about the most wonderful thing that has happened since we were born, and you can't expect us to get it out of our heads easily." "And how can we help thinking, and talking too," said Bessy Mills, "about all the new and strange things that Jack Brace related to us?" "Besides, father," said Dinah, "you are quite as bad as we are, for you talk about nothing else now, almost, except Lord Nelson and the battles of the Nile and Trafalgar." "Come, come, Di; don't be hard on me. I don't say much about them battles now." "Indeed you do," cried May Christian, "and it is only last night that I heard you muttering something about Trafalgar in your sleep, and you suddenly broke out with a half-muttered shout like this: `Englan' 'specs every man'll do's dooty!'" May was not a bad mimic. This was received with a shout of laughter by the other girls. While they were conversing thus two tall and slim but broad-shouldered youths were seen climbing the hill towards them, engaged in very earnest conversation. And this reference to conversation reminds us of the curious fact that the language of the young Pitcairners had greatly improved of late. As they had no other living model to improve upon than John Adams, this must have been entirely the result of reading. Although the books they had were few, they proved to be sufficient not only to fill their minds with higher thoughts, but their mouths with purer English than that nautical type which had been peculiar to the mutineers. The tall striplings who now approached were Daniel McCoy and Charlie Christian. These two were great friends and confidants. We will not reveal the subject of their remarkably earnest conversation, but merely give the concluding sentences. "Well, Charlie," said Dan, as they came in view of the knoll on which Adams and the girls were seated, "we will pluck up courage and make a dash at it together." "Ye-es," said Charlie, with hesitation. "And shall we break the ice by referring to Toc's condition, eh?" said Dan. "Well, it seems to me the easiest plan; perhaps I should say the least difficult," returned Charlie, with a faint smile. "Come, don't lose heart, Charlie," said Dan, with an attempt to look humorous, which signally failed. "Hallo, lads! where away?" said Adams, as they came up. "Just bin havin' a walk and a talk, father," answered Dan. "We saw you up here, and came to walk back with you." "I'm not so sure that we'll let you. The girls and I have been having a pleasant confab, an' p'r'aps they don't want to be interrupted." "Oh, we don't mind; they may come," said Di Adams, with a laugh. So the youths joined the party, and they all descended the mountain in company. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ A footnote in Lady Belcher's book tells us that this chronometer had been twice carried out by Captain Cook on his voyages of discovery. It was afterwards supplied to the _Bounty_ when she was fitted out for what was to be her last voyage, and carried by the mutineers to Pitcairn Island. Captain Folger brought it away, but it was taken from him the same year by the governor of Juan Fernandez, and sold in Chili to A Caldeleugh, Esquire, of Valparaiso, from whom it was purchased by Captain, (afterwards Admiral), Sir T. Herbert for fifty guineas. That officer took it to China, and in 1843 brought it to England and transmitted it to the Admiralty, by which department it was presented to the United Service Museum, in Great Scotland Yard, where the writer saw it only a few days ago, and was told that it keeps excellent time still. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. TREATS OF INTERESTING MATTERS. Of course Charlie Christian gravitated towards Sally, and these two, falling slowly behind the rest, soon turned aside, and descended by another of the numerous paths which traversed that part of the mountain. Of course, also, Daniel McCoy drew near to Sarah Quintal, and these two, falling slowly behind, sought another of the mountain-paths. It will be seen that these young people were charmingly unsophisticated. For a considerable time Charlie walked beside Sally without uttering a word, and Sally, seeing that there was something on his mind, kept silence. At last Charlie lifted his eyes from the ground, and with the same innocent gaze with which, as an infant, he had been wont to look up to his guardian, he now looked down at her, and said, "Sally." "Well, Charlie?" There was a little smile lurking about the corners of the girl's mouth, which seemed to play hide-and-seek with the twinkle in her downcast eyes. "Well, Charlie, what are you going to tell me?" "Isn't Toc--very--happy?" He blushed to the roots of his hair when he said this, and dropped his eyes again on the ground. "Of course he is," replied Sally, with a touch of surprise. "But--but--I mean, as--" "Well, why don't you go on, Charlie?" "I mean as a--a married man." "Every one sees and knows that, Charlie." There was another silence, during which the timid youth cleared his throat several times. At last he became desperate. "And--and--Sally, don't you think that _other_ people might be happy too if they were married?" "To be sure they might," said the girl, with provoking coolness. "There's Dan McCoy, now, and Sarah Quintal, they will be very happy when--" "Why, how do _you_ know?"--Charlie spoke with a look of surprise and stopped short. The girl laughed in a low tone, but did not reply, and the youth, becoming still more desperate, said-- "But I--I didn't mean Dan and Sarah, when I--Oh, Sally, don't you _know_ that I love you?" "Yes, I know that," replied the girl, with a blush and a little tremulous smile. "I couldn't help knowing that." "Have I made it so plain, then?" he asked, in surprise. "Haven't you followed me ever since you were a staggerer?" asked Sally, with a simple look. "O yes, of course--but--but I love you far _far_ more now. In short, I want to marry you, Sally." He had reached the culminating point at last. "Well, Charlie, why don't you ask father's leave?" said the maiden. "And you agree?" he exclaimed, timidly taking her hand. "Oh, Charlie," returned Sally, looking up in his face, with an arch smile, "how stupid you are! Nothing goes into your dear head without such a deal of hammering. Will you never become wise, and--" Charlie became wise at last, and stopped her impudent mouth effectively; but she broke from him and ran into the woods, while he went down to the village to tell Adams. Meanwhile Daniel McCoy led Sarah Quintal by a round-about path to the cliffs above Pitcairn. Pretty little Sarah was timid, and had a vague suspicion of something that caused her heart to flutter. "I say, Sarah," said the bold and stalwart Dan, "did you ever see such a jolly couple as Toc and his wife before?" "I never saw any couple before, you know," replied the girl, simply, "except father Adams and his wife." "Well, they are an oldish couple," returned Dan, with a laugh; "but it's my opinion that before long you'll see a good many more couples--young ones, too." "Indeed," said Sarah, becoming much interested, for this was the first time that any young man had ventured to refer to such a subject, though she and her female companions had often canvassed the possibilities that surrounded them. "Yes, indeed," returned Dan. "Let me see, now. There's Charlie Christian and Otaheitan Sally--" "Why, how did you come to know _that_?" asked Sarah, in genuine surprise. Dan laughed heartily. "Come to know what?" he asked. "That--that he is fond of Sally," stammered Sarah. "Why, everybody knows that," returned Dan; "the very gulls must be aware of it by this time, unless they are geese." "Yes, of course," said the poor girl, blushing crimson at the thought of having been led almost to betray her friend's confidences. "Well, then," continued Dan, "Charlie and Sall bein' so fond o' one another--" "I did not say that Sally was fond of Charlie," interrupted Sarah, quickly. "Oh _dear_ no!" said Dan, with deep solemnity; "of _course_ you didn't; nevertheless I know it, and it wouldn't surprise me much if something came of it--a wedding, for instance." Sarah, being afraid to commit herself in some way if she opened her lips, said nothing, but gazed intently at the ground as they walked slowly among the sweet-scented shrubs. "But there's one o' the boys that wants to marry _you_, Sarah Quintal, and it is for him I want to put in a good word to-day." A flutter of surprise, mingled with dismay at her heart, tended still further to confuse the poor girl. Not knowing what to say, she stammered, "Indeed! Who can it--it--" and stopped short. "They sometimes call him Dan," said the youth, suddenly grasping Sarah's hand and passing an arm round her waist, "but his full name is Daniel McCoy." Sarah Quintal became as suddenly pale now as she had formerly become red, and struggled to get free. "Oh, Dan, Dan, don't!" she cried, earnestly; "_do_ let me go, if you love me!" "Well, I will, if you say I may speak to Father Adams about it." Sarah's answer was quite inaudible to ordinary ears, but it caused Dan to loosen his hold; and the girl, bounding away like a frightened gazelle, disappeared among the palm-groves. "Well," exclaimed Dan, thrusting both hands into his trousers-pockets as he walked smartly down the hill, "you _are_ the dearest girl in all the world. There can't be two opinions on that point." Dan's world was a remarkably small one, as worlds go, but it was quite large enough to fill his heart to overflowing at that time. In turning into another path he almost ran against Charlie Christian. "Well?" exclaimed Charlie, with a brilliant smile. "Well?" repeated Dan, with a beaming countenance. "All right," said Charlie. "Ditto," said Dan, as he took his friend's arm, and hastened to the abode of John Adams, the great referee in all important matters. They found him seated at his table, with the big Bible open before him. "Well, my lads," he said, with a kindly smile as they entered, "you find me meditatin' over a verse that seems to me full o' suggestive thoughts." "Yes, father, what is it?" asked Dan. "`A prudent wife is from the Lord.' You'll find it in the nineteenth chapter o' Proverbs." The youths looked at each other in great surprise. "It is very strange," said Charlie, "that you should hit upon that text to-day." "Why so, Charlie?" "Because--because--we came to--that is to say, we want to--" "Get spliced, Charlie; out with it, man. You keep shuffling about the edge like a timid boy goin' to dive into deep water for the first time." "Well, and so it _is_ deep water," replied Charlie; "so deep that we can't fathom it easily; and this _is_ the first time too." "The fact is, you've come to tell me," said Adams, looking at Charlie, "that you want to marry Otaheitan Sally, and that Dan there wants to marry Sarah Quintal. Is it not so?" "I think, father, you must be a wizard," said Dan, with a surprised look. "How did you come to guess it?" "I didn't guess it, lad; I saw it as plain as the nose on your own face. Anybody could see it with half an eye. Why, I've seen it for years past; but that's not the point. The first question is, Are you able to feed your wives without requirin' them to work too hard in the fields?" "Yes, father," answered Dan, promptly. "Charlie helped me, and I helped him, and so we've both got enough of land enclosed and stocked to keep our--our--wives comfortably," (even Dan looked modest here!) "without requiring them to work at all, for a long time at least." "Well. I don't want 'em not to work at all--that's good for neither man, nor woman, nor beast. Even child'n work hard, poor things, while playin' at pretendin' to work. However, I'm glad to hear you are ready. Of course I knew what you were up to all along. Now, you'll want to borrow a few odds an' ends from the general stock, therefore go an' make out lists of what you require, and I'll see about it. Is it long since you arranged it wi' the girls?" "About half-an-hour," returned Dan. "H'm! sharp practice. You'll be the better of meditation for a week or two. Now, get along with you, lads, and think of the word I have given you from God's book about marriage. I'll not keep you waitin' longer than I think right." So Dan and Charlie left the presence-chamber of their nautical ruler, quite content to wait for a couple of weeks, having plenty to keep them employed, body and mind, in labouring in their gardens, perfecting the arrangements of their respective cottages, and making out lists of the various things they required to borrow. In all of which operations they were lovingly assisted by their intended wives, with a matter-of-fact gravity that would have been quite touching if it had not been half ridiculous. The list of things to be borrowed was made out in accordance with a system of barter, exchange, and loan, which had begun in necessity, and was afterwards conducted on regular principles by Adams, who kept a systematic journal and record of accounts, in which he entered the nature and quantity of work performed by each family, what each had received, and what each was due on account. The exchanges also were made in a systematic manner. Thus, when one family had too many salt fish, and another had too much fruit or vegetables, a fair exchange restored the equilibrium to the satisfaction of both parties; and when the stores of one family were exhausted, a fresh supply was raised for it from the general possessions of all the rest, to be repaid, however, in exact measure when the suffering family should be again in affluence, through good harvests and hard work. All details were minutely noted down by Adams, so that injustice to individuals or to the community at large was avoided. It is interesting to trace, in this well-conducted colony, the great root-principles on which the colossal system of the world's commerce and trade has been reared, and to recognise in John Adams the germs of those principles of equity and method which have raised England to her high commercial position. But still more interesting is it to recognise in him that good seed, the love of God and His truth, spiritual, intellectual, and material, which, originated by the Holy Spirit, and founded in Jesus Christ, produces the "righteousness that exalteth a nation." When the short period of probation was past, Charlie Christian became the happy husband of the girl whom he had all but worshipped from the earliest rememberable days of infancy, and Dan McCoy was united to Sarah Quintal. As in the first case of marriage, Otaheitan Sall was older than her husband; but in her case the difference was so slight as scarcely to be worth mentioning. As to appearance, tall, serious, strapping Charlie _looked_ old enough to have been Sally's father. The wedding-day was a day of great rejoicing, considerable solemnity, and not a little fun; for the religion of the Pitcairners, being drawn direct from the inspired Word, was the reverse of dolorous. Indeed, the simplicity of their faith was extreme, for it consisted in merely asking the question, "What does God wish me to do?" and _doing it_. Of course the simplicity of this rule was, in Pitcairn as elsewhere, unrecognised by ignorance, or rendered hazy and involved by stupidity. Adams had his own difficulties in combating the effects of evil in the hearts of his children, for, as we have said before, they were by no means perfect, though unusually good. For instance, one day one of those boys who was passing into the hobbledehoy stage of life, came with a perplexed air, and said-- "Didn't you tell us in school yesterday, father, that if we were good Jesus would save us?" "No, Jack Mills, I told you just the reverse. I told you that if Jesus saved you you would be good." "Then why doesn't He save me and make me good?" asked Jack, anxious to cast the blame of his indecision about his salvation off his own shoulders. "Because you refuse to be saved," said Adams, pointedly. Jack Mills felt and looked somewhat hurt at this. He was one of the steadiest boys at the school, always learned his tasks well, and was generally pretty well behaved; but there was in him an ugly, half-hidden root of selfishness, which he did not himself perceive. "Do you remember going to the shore yesterday?" asked Adams, replying to the look,--for the boy did not speak. "Yes, father." "And you remember that two little boys had just got into a canoe, and were pushing off to enjoy themselves, when you ran down, turned them out, and took the canoe to yourself?" Jack did not reply; but his flushed face told that he had not forgotten the incident. "That's right, dear boy," continued Adam, "Your blood tells the truth for you, and your tongue don't contradict it. So long's you keep the unruly member straight you'll get along. Well, now, Jack, that was a sin of unkindness, and a sort of robbery, too, for the canoe belonged to the boys while they had possession. Did you want to be saved from that sin, my boy?" Jack was still silent. He knew that he had not wished to be saved at the time, because, if he had, he would have at once returned to the shore and restored the canoe, with an apology for having taken it by force. "But I was sorry afterwards, father," pleaded the boy. "I know you were, Jack, and your guilty conscience longed for forgiveness. But Jesus did not come to this world to forgive us. He came to save us--to save this people from their sins; _His_ people,--_forgiven_ people, my boy,--from their sins. If you had looked to Jesus, He would have sent His Spirit into you, and brought His Word to your mind, `Be ye kind one to another,' or, `Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them:' or in some way or other He would have turned you back and saved you from sin, but you did not look to Jesus; in short, you refused to be saved just then, and thought to make up for it by being sorry afterwards. Isn't that the way of it, Jack?" "Yes, father," said Jack, with downcast but no longer hurt looks, for Adams's tone and manner were very kind. "Then you know now, Jack Mills, why you're not yet saved, and you can't be good till you _are_ saved, any more than you can fly till you've got wings. But don't be cast down, my lad; He will save you yet. All you've got to do is to _cease your opposition_, and let Him take you in hand." Thus, or in some such way, did this God-appointed pastor lead his little flock from day to day and year to year. But to return from this digression. We have said that the double wedding-day was one of mingled rejoicing, solemnity, and fun. If you insist on further explanation, good reader, and want to know something more about the rejoicing, we can only direct you to yonder clump of blossoming plants in the shade of the palm-grove. There you will find Charlie Christian looking timidly down into the gorgeous orbs of Otaheitan Sally as they hold sweet converse of things past, present, and to come. They have been so trained in ways of righteousness, that the omission of the world-to-come from their love-making, (not flirtation, observe), would be as ridiculous as the absence of reference to the wedding-day. On the other side of the same knoll Daniel McCoy sits by the side of modest Sarah Quintal, his only half-tamed spirit torn by the conflicting emotions aroused by a compound of jollity, love, joy, thankfulness, and fun, which render his words too incoherent to be worthy of record. In regard to solemnity, reader, we refer you to the little school-room, which also serves for a chapel, where John Adams, in tones befitting a bishop and with feelings worthy of an apostle, reads the marriage service in the midst of the assembled population of the island. He has a brass curtain-ring which did duty at the marriage of Thursday October Christian, and which is destined to do duty in similar circumstances in many coming years. The knots are soon tied. There are no sad tears, for at Pitcairn there are no partings of parents and children, but there are many tears of joy, for Adams's words are telling though few, and his prayers are brief but deeply impressive, while the people, young and middle-aged, are powerfully sympathetic. The most of the girls break down when Adams draws to an abrupt close, and most of the youths find it hard to behave like men. They succeed, however, and then the wedding party goes off to have a spell of fun. If you had been there, reader, to behold things for yourself, it is not improbable that some of the solemnity of the wedding would have been scattered, (for you, at least), and some of the fun introduced too soon, for the costumes of the chief actors were not perfect; indeed, not quite appropriate, according to our ideas of the fitness of things. It is not that we could object to the bare feet of nearly all the party, for to such we are accustomed among our own poor. Neither could we find the slightest fault with the brides. Their simple loose robes, flowing hair, and wreaths of natural flowers, were in perfect keeping with the beauty of their faces. But the garb of guileless Charlie Christian was incongruous, to say the least of it. During the visit of the _Topaz_ a few old clothes had been given by the seamen to the islanders, and Charlie had become the proud possessor of a huge black beaver hat, which had to be put on sidewise to prevent its settling down on the back of his neck; also, of a blue dress-coat with brass buttons, the waist and sleeves of which were much too short, and the tails unaccountably long; likewise, of a pair of Wellington boots, the tops of which did not, by four inches, reach the legs of his native trousers, and therefore displayed that amount of brawny, well-made limbs, while the absence of a vest and the impossibility of buttoning the coat left a broad, sunburnt expanse of manly chest exposed to view. But such is the difference of opinion resulting from difference of custom, that not a muscle of any face moved when he appeared, save in open admiration, though there was just the shade of a twinkle for one moment in the eye of John Adams, for he had seen other, though not better, days. Even Dan's excitable sense of the ridiculous was not touched. Himself, indeed, was a greater guy than Charlie, for he wore a richly-flowered vest, so tight that it would hardly button, and had been split up the back while being put on. As he wore a shell-jacket, much too short for him, this accident to the vest and a portion of his powerful back were clearly revealed. But these things were trifles on that great day, and when the fun did begin, it was kept up with spirit. First, the greater part of the population went to the beach for a little surf-sliding. It is not necessary to repeat our description of that exercise. The waves were in splendid order. It seemed as if the great Pacific itself were pulsating with unwonted joy. The billows were bigger grander, almost slower and more sedate than usual. Outside it was dead calm. The fall of each liquid wall was more thunderous, its roar more deep-toned, and the confusion of the surf more riotous than ever. For average rejoicers this exercise might in itself have sufficed for one day, but they were used to it, and wanted variety; so the youths took to racing on the sands, and the maidens to applauding, while the elderly looked on and criticised. The small children went, loosely speaking, mad. Some there were who went off on their own accounts, and cast a few of those shadows which are said to precede "coming events." Others, less poetically inclined just then, remained in the village to prepare roast pig, yam-pie, and those various delicacies compounded of fruits and vegetables, which they knew from experience would be in great demand ere long. As evening descended they all returned to the village, and at sunset hauled down their flag. This flag, by the way, was another souvenir of the _Topaz_. It was an old Union Jack, for which Adams had set up a flagstaff, having by that time ceased to dread the approach of a ship. By Jack Brace he had been reminded of the date of the king's birthday, and by a strange coincidence that happened to be the very day on which the two couples were united. Hence there was a double, (perhaps we should say a treble), reason for rejoicing. As John Adams was now endeavouring to undo the evils of his former life, he naturally became an enthusiastic loyalist. On passing the flagstaff he called for three cheers for the British king, and with his own voice led off the first verse of the national anthem before hauling down the colours. Thereafter, assembling round the festive board in the school-room, they proceeded to take physical nourishment, with the memory of mental food strong upon them. Before the meal a profound hush fell on all the scene, and the deep voice of Adams was heard asking a blessing on the food they were about to receive. Thanks were returned with equal solemnity after meat. Then the tables were cleared, and games became the order of the evening. When a point of semi-exhaustion was reached, a story was called for, and the nautical pastor at once launched into oceans of imagination and fancy, in which he bid fair to be wrecked and drowned. During the recital of this the falling of a pin would have been heard, if there had been such a thing as a pin at Pitcairn to fall. Last, but not least, came blind-man's-buff. This exhausted the last spark of physical energy left even in the strongest. But the mental and spiritual powers were still vigorous, so that when they all sat down in quiescence round the room, and Toc took down the family Bible from its accustomed shelf and set it before Adams, they were all, young and old, in a suitable state of mind to join in the worship of Him who had given them the capacity, as well as the opportunity, to enjoy that glorious and ever memorable day. CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. ANOTHER VISIT FROM THE GREAT WORLD. If ever there had been a doubt of the truth of the proverb that example is better than precept, the behaviour of the young men and maidens of Pitcairn, after the wedding just described, would have cleared that doubt away for ever. The demands upon poor Adams's services became ridiculous, insomuch that he began to make laws somewhat in the spirit of the Medo-Persic lawmakers, and sternly refused to allow any man to marry under the age of twenty years, or any woman under eighteen. Even with this drag on the wheels, the evil--if evil it were--did not abate, but as time went on, steadily increased. It seemed as if, the ice having been broken, the entire population kept on tumbling into the water. Among others, our once little friend Matthew Quintal married Bessy Mills. The cares of the little colony now began to tell heavily on John Adams, for he was what is termed a willing horse, and would not turn over to another the duties which he could perform with his own hands. Besides acting the part of pastor, schoolmaster, law-maker, and law-enforcer, he had to become the sympathetic counsellor of all who chose to call upon him; also public registrar of events, baptiser of infants, and medical practitioner. It is a question whether there ever was a man placed in so difficult and arduous a position as this last mutineer of the _Bounty_, and it is not a question at all, but an amazing and memorable fact, that he filled his unique post with statesmanlike ability. As time went on, he, of course, obtained help, sympathy, and counsel from the men and women whom he had been training for God around him; but he seems to have been loath formally to hand over the helm, either wholly or in part, to any one else as long as he had strength to steer the ship. We have said that England was too much engaged with her European wars to give much thought to this gem in her crown, which was thus gradually being polished to such a dazzling brightness. She knew it was but a little gem, if gem at all, and at such a distance did not see its brilliant sheen. Amid the smoke and turmoil of war she forgot it; yet the God of Battles and the Prince of Peace were winning a grand, moral, bloodless victory in that lonely little island. It was not till the year 1814, six years after the visit of the _Topaz_, that the solitude of Pitcairn was again broken in upon by visitors from the outside world. In that year two frigates, H.M.S. _Britain_ and _Tagus_, commanded respectively by Captain Sir F. Staines and Captain Pipon, came unexpectedly on Pitcairn Island while in pursuit of an American ship, the _Essex_, which had been doing mischief among the British whalers. It was evening when the ships sighted Pitcairn, and were observed by one of the almost innumerable youngsters with which the island had by that time been peopled. With blazing eyes and labouring breath, the boy rushed down the cliffs, bounded over the level ground, and burst into the village, shouting, "Ships!" No warwhoop of Red Indians ever created greater excitement. Pitcairn swarmed at once to the cliffs with flushed faces, glittering eyes, and hopeful looks. Yes, there they were, and no mistake,--two ships! "They're men-o'-war, father," said Thursday October Christian, a little anxiously. "So I see, lad; but I won't hide _this_ time. I don't believe they'd think it worth while hangin' me now. Anyhow, I'll risk it." Many of the people spent the whole of that night on the cliffs, for, as it was too late to attempt a landing, Captain Staines did not venture to approach till the following morning. Soon after daybreak the ships were seen to stand inshore, and a canoe was launched through the surf to meet them. As on the occasion of the visit of the _Topaz_, Thursday was deputed to represent the islanders. He was accompanied by Edward Young, now a handsome youth of eighteen years of age. As on the previous boarding of a ship, Toc amazed the sailors by shouting in English to "throw him a rope." Being now possessed of a wardrobe, he had in his heart resolved to appear in a costume worthy of the great occasion. For this end he had put on a vest without sleeves, trousers that had done duty in the _Topaz_, and were much too short, and a beaver hat which he had jauntily ornamented with cock-tail feathers, and wore very much on the back of his head. Thursday met the eager inquiries of Sir F. Staines with his usual good-humoured off-hand urbanity, and gave his name in full; but a sudden change came over his face while he spoke--a look of amazement, mingled with alarm. "Look! look there, Ned," he said, in a low tone, laying his hand on his comrade's shoulder and pointing towards a certain part of the ship. "What is that?" Ned looked with an expression of awe in the direction indicated. "What is it that puzzles you?" asked the Captain, not a little amused by their looks. "The beast! the beast!" said Toc. "What, d'you mean the cow?" "Is it a cow?" asked Toc in wonder. "Of course it is. Did you never see a cow before?" "No, never. I thought it was a big goat, or a horned sow," returned the young man, as he approached the quiet animal cautiously. "I say, Ned, it's a _cow_! It don't look much like the things that father Adams used to draw, do it?" Ned agreed that Adams's representation fell far short of the original, and for some time they stood cautiously examining the strange creature, and gently touching its sides. Just then a little black terrier came bounding forward and frisked round the Captain. "Ha!" exclaimed Edward Young, with an intelligent look, "I know that beast, Toc; it's a dog! I'm sure it is, for I have read of such things in Carteret, and father has described 'em often, so have the women. They have dogs, you know, on some islands." But the surprise and interest raised in them by two animals were nothing to what they felt on being conducted over the ship and shown all the details of stores and armament in a man-of-war. The surprise changed sides, however, when, on being asked to partake of luncheon, these men stood up, clasped their hands, shut their eyes, and asked a blessing before commencing to eat, in the familiar phrase, "For what we are about to receive," etcetera. Of course Captains Staines and Pipon went on shore, where they were received by Adams, hat in hand, and by the rest of the population down to the minutest infant, for no one would consent to miss the sight, and there was no sick person to be looked after. Up at the village the pigs and poultry had it all their own way, and made the most of their opportunity. It was curious to mark the air of respect with which Adams regarded the naval uniform which had once been so familiar. As he stood conversing with the officers, he occasionally, in sailor-like fashion, smoothed down his scanty locks, for although little more than fifty at that time, care, sorrow, and anxiety had given his countenance an aged and worn look, though his frame was still robust and healthy. In the course of the interview, Captain Pipon offered to give him a passage to England, with any of his family who chose to accompany him. To his surprise Adams at once expressed a desire to go. We know not whether this was a piece of pleasantry on Adams's part, but when he sent for his old wife and daughters to tell them of it, the scene of distress that ensued baffles description. The old woman was in despair. Dinah Adams burst into tears, and entreated the officers not to take her dear father away. Her sister Rachel flung her arms round her father's neck and held on. Hannah Adams clasped her hands and wept in silent despair, and even George, at that time about ten years of age, and not at all given to the melting mood, felt a tear of sympathy trickling down his nose. Of course, when the cause of the ebullition became known, the whole Pitcairn colony was dissolved in tears or lamentations, insomuch that Adams gave up all idea of leaving them. We firmly believe that he never had any intention of doing so, but had merely thrown out the hint to see what effect it would have. Like Captain Folger of the _Topaz_, the captains of the _Britain_ and _Tagus_ wrote eloquent and enthusiastic letters to the Admiralty about their discovery, but the dogs of war were still loose in Europe. Their Lordships at Whitehall had no time to devote to such matters, and once again the lonely island was forgotten. It is a curious coincidence that death came close on the heels of this visit, as it had come on that of the _Topaz_. Scarcely had the two frigates left when Matthew Quintal took a fit while out fishing in his canoe and was drowned. About the same time Jack Mills was killed by falling from the rocks when out after gulls' eggs. Thus poor Bessy Quintal lost her husband and brother in the same year, but she was not without comfort. She had been early taught to carry her cares to Jesus, and found Him now a very present help. Besides, she had now two little sons, John and Matthew, who were old enough to fondle her and sympathise with her to some extent, though they scarce understood her sorrow; and her fast friend and comforter, Sally Christian, did not fail her in the hour of need. Indeed, that warm-hearted Otaheitan would have taken poor Bessy into her house to live with her and Charlie, but for the difficulty that six riotous little creatures of her own, named Fletcher, Edward, Charles, Isaac, Sarah, and Maria, already filled it to overflowing. A little more than six years after this, there came a visitant of a rare and heart-gladdening kind, namely, a parcel of _books_. Although the Government of England was too busy to think of the far-off isle, there were Englishmen who did not forget her. The _Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge_, happening, in 1819, to hear of an opportunity of communicating with Pitcairn, made up and despatched to it a parcel of books, containing, besides Bibles and Prayer-books, "works of instruction fitted for all ages." Who can imagine the delight produced by this gift to minds which had been well educated and were thirsting for more knowledge? It must have been as food to the starving; as water to the dry ground. Four years after that, a whale-ship from London, named the _Cyrus_, touched in passing. As this visit was a noteworthy epoch in the lonely island, we shall devote a new chapter to it. CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. NEW ARRIVALS AND STRANGE ADVENTURES. "My dear," said Adams one morning to his spouse, as he was about to go forth to superintend the working of his busy hive, "I'm beginnin' to feel as if I was gettin' old, and would soon have to lay up like an old hulk." "You've done good service for the Master, John; perhaps He thinks you should rest now," answered his wife. "You've got plenty able helpers to take the heavy work off your hands." "True, old woman, able, willin', and good helpers, thank God, but they want a headpiece still. However, there's a deal of life in the old dog yet. If that dear angel, Otaheitan Sally, were only a man, now, I could resign the command of the ship without a thought. But I've committed the matter to the Lord. He will provide in His own good time. Good-day, old girl. If any one wants me, you know where to send 'em." Not many days after that in which these remarks were made a sail was seen on the horizon. So few and far between had these visitants been that the excitement of the people was as wild as when the first ship appeared, and much more noisy, seeing that the juveniles had now become so very numerous. The ship soon drew near. Canoes were sent off to board her. Thursday October, as of old, introduced himself, and soon the captain and several men were brought on shore, to the intense joy of the inhabitants. One of the sailors who landed attracted Adams's attention in a special manner, not so much because of his appearance, which was nothing uncommon, as because of a certain grave, kindly, serious air which distinguished him. This man's name was John Buffett. Another of the men, named John Evans, less serious in manner, but not less hearty and open, made himself very agreeable to the women, especially to old Mrs Adams, to whom he told a number of nautical anecdotes in an undertone while the captain was chatting with Adams himself. Buffett spoke little. After spending an agreeable day on shore, the sailors walked down to the beach towards evening to return to their ship. "You lead a happy life here, Mr Adams," said Buffett, in an earnest tone. "Would you object to a stranger staying among you!" "Object!" said Adams, with a quick, pleasant glance. "I only wish the Lord would send us one; one at least who is a follower of Himself." John Buffett said no more, but that same evening he expressed to his captain so strong a desire to remain behind that he obtained leave, and next day was sent on shore. The sailor named John Evans accompanied him to see him all right and bring off the latest news; but Evans himself had become so delighted with the appearance of the place and people, that he deserted into the mountains, and the ship had to sail without him. Thus were two new names added to the muster-roll of Pitcairn. John Buffett in particular turned out to be an invaluable acquisition. He was a man of earnest piety, and had obtained a fairly good education. Adams and he drew together at once. "You'll not object, p'r'aps," said the former on the occasion of their first talk over future plans, "to give me a lift wi' the school?" "Nothing would please me better," answered Buffett. "I'm rather fond o' teachin', to say truth, and am ready to begin work at once." Not only did Buffett thereafter become to Adams as a right arm in the school, but he assisted in the church services on Sundays, and eventually came to read sermons, which, for the fixing of them more effectually on the minds of the people, he was wont to deliver three times over. But Buffett could tell stories as well as read sermons. One afternoon some of the youngsters caught him meditating under a cocoa-nut tree, and insisted on his telling the story of his life. "It ain't a long story, boys an' girls," said he, "for I've only lived some six-and-twenty years yet. I was born in 1797, near Bristol, and was apprenticed to a cabinet-maker. Not takin' kindly to that sort o' work, I gave it up an' went to sea. However, I'm bound to say, that the experience I had with the saw and plane has been of the greatest service to me ever since; and it's my opinion, that what ever a man is, or whoever he may be, he should learn a trade; ay, even though he should be a king." The Pitcairn juveniles did not see the full force of this remark, but nevertheless they believed it heartily. "It was the American merchant service I entered," continued Buffett, "an' my first voyage was to the Gulf of Saint Lawrence. I was wrecked there, and most o' the crew perished; but I swam ashore and was saved, through God's mercy. Mark that, child'n. It wasn't by good luck, or good swimmin', or chance, or fate, or anything else in the shape of a second cause, but it was the good God himself that saved, or rather spared me. Now, I say that because there's plenty of people who don't like to give their Maker credit for anything, 'cept when they do it in a humdrum, matter-of-course way at church." These last remarks were quite thrown away upon the children, whose training from birth had been to acknowledge the goodness of God in everything, and who could not, of course, comprehend the allusions to formalism. "Well," he continued, "after suffering a good deal, I was picked up by some Canadian fishermen, and again went to sea, to be once again wrecked and saved. That was in the year 1821. Then I went to England, and entered on board a ship bound for China, from which we proceeded to Manilla, and afterwards to California, where I stayed some time. Then I entered an English whaler homeward bound, intendin' to go home, and the Lord _did_ bring me home, for he brought me here, and here I mean to stay." "And we're all _so_ glad!" exclaimed Dolly Young, who had now become an enthusiastic, warm-hearted, pretty young woman of twenty-three summers. Dolly blushed as she spoke, but not with consciousness. It was but innocent truthfulness. John Buffett paused, and looked at her steadily. What John Buffett thought we are not prepared to say, but it may be guessed, when we state that within two months of that date, he and Dolly Young were united in marriage by old Adams, with all the usual ceremonial, including the curtain-ring which did duty on all such occasions, and the unfailing game of blind-man's-buff. John Evans was encouraged, a few months later, to take heart and do likewise. He was even bolder than Buffett, for he wooed and won a princess; at least, if John Adams was in any sense a king, his second daughter Rachel must have been a princess! Be this as it may, Evans married her, and became a respected member of the little community. And now another of these angel-like visits was looming in the distance. About twelve years after the departure of the _Britain_ and _Tagus_, one of H.M. cruisers, the _Blossom_, Captain Beechy, sailed out of the Great Unknown into the circlet of Pitcairn, and threw the islanders into a more intense flutter than ever, for there were now upwards of fifty souls there, many of whom had not only never seen a man-of-war, but had had their imaginations excited by the glowing descriptions of those who had. This was in 1825. The _Blossom_ had been fitted out for discovery. When Buffett first recognised her pennant he was in great trepidation lest they had come to carry off Adams, but such was not the case. It was merely a passing visit. Three weeks the _Blossom_ stayed, during which the captain and officers were entertained in turn at the different houses; and it seems to have been to both parties like a brief foretaste of the land of Beulah. Naturally, Captain Beechy was anxious to test the truth of the glowing testimony of former visitors. He had ample opportunity, and afterwards sent home letters quite as enthusiastic as those of his predecessors in regard to the simplicity, truthfulness, and genuine piety alike of old and young. If a few hours' visit had on former occasions given the community food for talk and reflection, you may be sure that the three weeks' of the _Blossom's_ sojourn gave them a large supply for future years. It seemed to Otaheitan Sally, and Dinah Adams, and Dolly and Polly Young, and the rest of them, that the island was not large enough now to contain all their new ideas, and they said so to John Adams one evening. "My dears," said John, in reply, laying his hand on that of Sally, who sat beside him on their favourite confabulation-knoll, which overlooked Bounty Bay, "ideas don't take up much room, and if they did, we could send 'em out on the sea, for they won't drown. Ah! Sall, Sall--" "What are you thinking of, dear father?" asked Sally, with a sympathetic look, as the old man stopped. "That my time can't be long now. I feel as if I was about worn-out." "Oh, _don't_ say that, father!" cried his daughter Hannah, laying her cheek on his arm, and hugging it. "There's ever so much life in you yet." "It may be so. It _shall_ be so if the Lord will," said Adams, with a little smile; "but I'm not the man I was." Poor John Adams spoke truly. He had landed on Pitcairn a slim young fellow with broad shoulders, powerful frame, and curling brown hair. He was now growing feeble and rather corpulent; his brow was bald, his scanty locks were grey, and his countenance deeply care-worn. No wonder, considering all he had gone through, and the severe wound he had received upwards of thirty years before. Nevertheless, Hannah was right when she said there was a good deal of life in the old man yet. He lived after that day to tie the wedding-knot between his own youngest child George, and Polly Young. More than that, he lived to dandle George's eldest son, Johnny, on his knees, and to dismiss him in favour of his little brother Jonathan when that child made his appearance. But before this latter event the crowning joy of John Adams's life was vouchsafed to him, in the shape of a worthy successor to his Pitcairn throne. The successor's name was neither pretty nor suggestive of romance, yet was closely allied with both. It was George Nobbs. He arrived at the island in very peculiar circumstances, on the 15th of November 1828, and told his story one afternoon under the banyan-tree to Adams and Buffett, and as many of the young generation as could conveniently get near him, as follows:-- "Entering the navy at an early period of life, I went through many vicissitudes and experiences in various quarters of the globe. But circumstances induced me to quit the navy, and for a short time I remained inactive, until my old commander offered to procure me a berth on board a ship of eighteen guns, designed for the use of the patriots in South America. "Accepting the offer, I left England early in 1816 for Valparaiso, and cruised there for sixteen months, taking many prizes. While on board of one of our prizes I was taken prisoner, and carried into Callao, where I and my comrades were exposed to the gaze and insults of the people. Here, for many months, I walked about the streets with fifty pounds weight of iron attached to me, on a spare diet of beans and Chili peppers, with a stone at night for a pillow. We were made to carry stones to repair the forts of the place. There were seventeen of us. Five or six of our party died of fever and exposure to the sun, after which our guardians became careless about us. We managed to get rid of our irons by degrees, and at length were left to shift for ourselves. Soon after, with some of my comrades, I escaped on board a vessel in the bay, and succeeded in getting put on board our own vessel again, which was still cruising in these seas. "Entering Valparaiso in the latter part of 1817, I had now an opportunity of forwarding about 140 pounds to my poor mother in England, who was sorely in need of help at the time. Some time after that I went with a number of men in a launch to attempt the cutting out of a large merchant ship from Cadiz. We were successful, and my share of the prize-money came to about 200 pounds, one hundred of which I also sent to my mother. After this I took a situation as prize-master on board a vessel commanded by a Frenchman. Deserting from it, I sought to discover a road to Guayaquil through the woods, where I suffered great hardships, and failed in the attempt." The adventurer paused a few seconds, and looked earnestly in Adams's countenance. "I am not justifying my conduct," he said, "still less boasting." "Right you are, Nobbs," said Adams, with an approving nod. "Your line of life won't stand justification according to the rule of God's book." "I know it, Adams; I am merely telling you a few of the facts of my life, which you have a right to know from one who seeks an asylum among your people. Well, returning to the coast, I went on board an English whaler, by the captain of which I was kindly treated and landed at Talcahuans. I had not been long there, when, at midnight, on the 7th May, in the year 1819, the Chilian garrison, fifteen in number, was attacked by Benevades and his Indian troops. A number of the inhabitants were killed, the town was sacked, and a large number of prisoners, myself included, carried off. Next morning troops from Concepcion came in pursuit, and rescued us as we were crossing a river. "Soon after this affair I returned to Valparaiso, and engaged as first officer of a ship named the _Minerva_, which had been hired by the Chilian Government as a transport to carry out troops to Peru. Having landed the troops, I took part, on 5th November, in cutting out a Spanish frigate named the _Esmeraldas_ from under the Callao batteries. This affair was planned and headed by Lord Cochrane. Owing to my being in this affair I was appointed to a Chilian sloop of war, and received a lieutenant's commission. "I will not take up your time at present with an account of the various cuttings-out and other warlike expeditions I was engaged in while in the Chilian service. It is enough to refer to the last, which ended my connection with that service. Having been sent in charge of a boat up a river, to recover a quantity of property belonging to British and American merchants, which had been seized by the miscreant Benevades, we set off and pulled up unmolested, but finding nothing of consequence, turned to pull back again, when volleys of musketry were poured into us from both banks. We saw no one, and could do nothing but pull down as fast as possible, losing many men as we went. At last a few horsemen showed themselves. We had a carronade in the bow, which we instantly turned on them and discharged. This was just what they wanted. At the signal, a large boat filled with soldiers shoved out and boarded us. We fought, of course; but with so many wounded, and assailed by superior numbers, we had no chance, and were soon beaten. I received a tremendous blow on the back of the neck, which nearly killed me. Fortunately I did not fall. Those who did, or were too badly wounded to walk, were at once thrown into the river. The rest of us had our clothes stripped off, and some rags given us in exchange. A pair of trousers cut off at the knees, a ragged poncho, and a sombrero fell to my share. We were marched off to prison, where we lay three weeks. Every Chilian of our party was shot, while I and three other Europeans were exchanged for four of Benevades's officers. "Soon after this event, while at Valparaiso, I received a letter from my dear mother telling me that she was ill. I quitted the Chilian navy at once, and went home, alas! to see her die. "In 1822 I went to Naples, and was wrecked while on my way to Messina. In the following year I went to Sierra Leone as chief mate of a ship called the _Gambia_. Of nineteen persons who went out in that ship, only the captain, two coloured men, and myself lived to return." "Why, Mr Nobbs," interrupted John Buffett at this point, "I used to think I'd seen a deal o' rough service, but I couldn't hold a candle to you, sir." "It is an unenviable advantage to have of you," returned the other, with a sad smile. "However, I'm getting near the end now. In all that I have said I have not told you what the Lord has done for my soul. Another time I will tell that to you. At present it is enough to say, that I had heard of your little island here, and of the wonderful accounts of it brought home at various times. I had an intense longing to reach it and devote my life to the service of Jesus. I sold all my little possessions, resolving to quit England for ever. But I could find no means of getting to Pitcairn. Leaving England, however, in November 1825, I reached Calcutta in May 1826, sailed thence for Valparaiso in 1827, and proceeded on to Callao. Here I fell in with Bunker, to whom you have all been so kind. Finding no vessel going in this direction, and my finances being nearly exhausted, I agreed on a plan with him. He had a launch of eighteen tons, a mere boat, as you know, but, being in bad health and without means, could not fit her out. I agreed to spend my all in fitting this launch for sea, on the understanding that I should become part proprietor, and that Bunker should accompany me to Pitcairn. "Well, you see, friends, we have managed it. Through the mercy of God we have, by our two selves, made this voyage of 3500 miles, and now I hope that my days of wandering are over, and that I shall begin here to do the work of the Prince of Peace; but, alas! I fear that my poor friend Bunker's days are numbered." He was right. This bold adventurer, about whose history we know nothing, died a few weeks after his arrival at Pitcairn. CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. FAREWELL! And now, at last, approached a crisis in the Life of Pitcairn, which had indeed been long foreseen, long dreaded, and often thought of, but seldom hinted at by the islanders. Good, patient, long-enduring John Adams began to draw towards the end of his strange, unique, and glorious career. For him to live had been Christ, to die was gain. And he knew it. "George Nobbs," said he, about four months after the arrival of the former, "the Lord's ways are wonderful, past finding out, but always sure and _safe_. Nothing puzzles me so much as my own want of faith, when there's such good ground for confidence. But God's book tells me to expect even that," he added, after a pause, with a faint smile. "Does it not tell of the _desperately_ wicked and deceitful heart?" "True, Mr Adams," replied his friend, with the term of respect which he felt constrained to use, "but it also tells of salvation to the _uttermost_." "Ay. I know that too," returned Adams, with a cheery smile. "_Well_ do I know that. But don't mister me, George. There are times when the little titles of this world are ridiculous. Such a time is now. I am going to leave you, George. The hour of my departure is at hand. Strange, how anxious I used to feel! I used to think, what if I am killed by a fall from the cliffs, or by sickness, and these poor helpless children should be left fatherless! The dear Lord sent me a rebuke. He sent John Buffett to help me. But John Buffett has not the experience, or the education that's needful. Not that I had education myself, but, somehow, my experience, beginnin' as it did from the _very_ beginnin', went a long way to counterbalance that. Then, anxious thoughts _would_ rise up again. Want of faith, nothing else, George, nothing else. So the Lord rebuked me again, for he sent _you_." "Ah, father, I hope it is as you say. I dare hardly believe it, yet I earnestly hope so." "_I_ have no doubt, now," resumed Adams. "You have got just the qualities that are wanted. Regularly stored and victualled for the cruise. They'll be far better off than ever they were before. If I had only trusted more I should have suffered less. But I was always thinking of John Adams. Ah! that has been the great curse of my life--_John Adams_!--as if everything depended on him. Why," continued the old man, kindling with a sudden burst of indignation, "could _I_ have saved these souls by merely teaching 'em readin' and writin', or even by readin' God's book to 'em? Isn't it read every day by thousands to millions, against whom it falls like the sea on a great rock? Can the absence of temptation be pleaded, when here, in full force, there have been the most powerful temptations to disobedience continually? If that would have done, why were not all my brother mutineers saved from sin? It was not even when we read the Bible that deliverance came. I read it for ten years as a sealed book. No, George, no; it was when God's Holy Spirit opened the eyes and the heart, that I an' the dear women an' child'n became nothin', and fell in with His ways." He stopped suddenly, as if exhausted, and his new friend led him gently to his house. Many loving eyes watched him as he went along, and many tender hearts beat for him, but better still, many true hearts prayed for him. That night he became weaker, and next day he did not rise. When this became known, all the settlement crowded to his house, while from his bed there was a constant coming and going of those who had the right to be nearest to him. Nursed by the loving women whom he had led--and whose children's children he had led--to Jesus, and surrounded by men whom he had dandled, played with, reared, and counselled, he passed into the presence of God, to behold "the King in his beauty," to be "for ever with the Lord." May we join him, reader, you and I, when our time comes! On a tombstone over a grave under the banyan-tree near his house, is the simple record, "John Adams, died 5th March 1829, aged 65." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ And here our tale must end, for the good work which we have sought to describe has no end. Yet, for the sake of those who have a regard for higher things than a mere tale, we would add a few words before making our farewell bow. The colony of Pitcairn still exists and flourishes. But many changes have occurred since Adams left the scene, though the simple, guileless spirit of the people remains unchanged. Here is a brief summary of its history since 1829. George Nobbs had gained the affections of the people before Adams's death, and he at once filled the vacant place as well as it was possible for a stranger to do so. In 1830 the colony consisted of nearly ninety souls, and it had for some time been a matter of grave consideration that the failure of water by drought might perhaps prove a terrible calamity. It was therefore proposed by Government that the people of Pitcairn should remove to Otaheite, or, to give the island its modern name, Tahiti. There was much division of opinion among the islanders, and Mr Nobbs objected. However, the experiment was tried, and it failed signally. The whole community was transported in a ship to Tahiti in March 1831. But the loose manners and evil habits of many of the people there had such an effect on the Pitcairners that they took the first opportunity of returning to their much-loved island. John Buffett and a few families went first. The remainder soon followed in an American brig. Thereafter, life on the Lonely Island flowed as happily as ever for many years, with the exception of a brief but dark interval, when a scoundrel, named Joshua Hill, went to the island, passed himself off as an agent of the British Government, misled the trusting inhabitants, and established a reign of terror, ill-treating Nobbs, Buffett, and Evans, whom for a time he compelled to quit the place. Fortunately this impostor was soon found out and removed. The banished men returned, and all went well again. Rear-Admiral Moresby visited Pitcairn in 1851, and experienced a warm reception. Finding that the people wished Mr Nobbs to be ordained, he took him to England for this purpose. The faithful pastor did not fail to interest the English public in the romantic isle of which God had given him the oversight. During his visit he was presented to the Queen, who gave him portraits of herself and the Royal family. The Society for the Propagation of the Gospel placed Mr Nobbs on their missionary list, with a salary of 50 pounds per annum. Soon after this the increasing population of Pitcairn Island rendered it necessary that the islanders should find a wider home. Government, therefore, offered them houses and land in Norfolk Island, a penal settlement from which the convicts had been removed. Of course the people shrank from the idea of leaving Pitcairn when it was first proposed, but ultimately assented, and were landed on Norfolk Island, hundreds of miles from their old home, in June 1856. On this lovely spot the descendants of the mutineers of the _Bounty_ have lived ever since, under the care of that loved pastor on whom John Adams had dropped his mantle. We believe that the Reverend George H. Nobbs is still alive. At all events he was so last year, (1879), having written a letter in June to the Secretary of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, in which, among other things, he speaks of the "rapidly increasing community, now numbering 370 persons." He adds--"I am becoming very feeble from age, and my memory fails me in consequence of an operation at the back of my neck for carbuncle two years since;" and goes on to tell of the flourishing condition of his flock. In regard to the other personages who have figured in our little tale, very few, perhaps none, now survive. So late as the year 1872 we read in a pamphlet of the "Melanesian Mission," that George Adams and his sister, Rachel Evans, (both over seventy years of age), were present at an evening service in Norfolk Island, and that Arthur Quintal was still alive, though quite imbecile. But dear Otaheitan Sally and her loving Charlie and all the rest had long before joined the Church above. There was, however, a home-sick party of the Pitcairners who could by no means reconcile themselves to the new home. These left it not very long after landing in 1856, and returned to their beloved Pitcairn. Multiplying by degrees, as the first settlers had done, they gradually became an organised community; and now, while we write, the palm-groves of Pitcairn resound with the shouts of children's merriment and with the hymn of praise as in days of yore. A.J.R. McCoy is chief magistrate, and a Simon Young acts as minister, doctor, and schoolmaster, while his daughter, Rosalind Amelia, assists in the school. In a report from the chief magistrate, we learn that, although still out of the beaten track of commerce, the Pitcairners are more frequently visited by whalers than they used to be. Their simplicity of life, manners, and piety appears to be unchanged. He says, among other things:-- "No work is done on the Sabbath-day. We have a Bible-class every Wednesday, and a prayer-meeting the first Friday of each month. Every family has morning and evening prayers without intermission. We have a public or church library, at which all may read. Clothing we generally get from whalers who call in for refreshments. No alcoholic liquors of any kind are used on the island, except for medical purposes. A drunkard is unknown here." So the good seed sown under such peculiar circumstances at the beginning of the century continues to grow and spread and flourish, bringing forth fruit to the glory of God. Thus He causes light to spring out of darkness, good to arise out of evil; and the Lonely Island, once an almost unknown rock in the Pacific Ocean, was made a centre of blessed Christian influence soon after the time when it became--the refuge of the mutineers. 
31096	----	[Illustration: A Meeting In Mid Ocean.] The LILY AND THE CROSS. A Tale of Acadia. By PROF. JAMES DE MILLE, Author Of "the Dodge Club," "Cord And Creese," "the B. O. W. C. Stories," "the Young Dodge Club," Etc ILLUSTRATED. BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, By LEE AND SHEPARD, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. A Voice Out Of The Deep CHAPTER II. A Meeting In Mid Ocean CHAPTER III. New Friends CHAPTER IV. Mimi And Margot CHAPTER V. A Strange Revelation CHAPTER VI. A French Frigate CHAPTER VII. Caught In A Trap CHAPTER VIII. Under Arrest CHAPTER IX. Grand Pre CHAPTER X. Alone In The World CHAPTER XI. A Friend In Need CHAPTER XII. The Parson Among The Philistines CHAPTER XIII. A Stroke For Liberty CHAPTER XIV. Manoeuvres Of Zac CHAPTER XV. Flight CHAPTER XVI. Reunion CHAPTER XVII. Among Friends CHAPTER XVIII. Louisbourg CHAPTER XIX. The Captive And The Captors CHAPTER XX. Examinations CHAPTER XXI. A Ray Of Light CHAPTER XXII. Escape CHAPTER XXIII. Pursuit CHAPTER XXIV. Zac And Margot CHAPTER XXV. The Court Martial CHAPTER XXVI. News From Home THE LILY AND THE CROSS. A TALE OF ACADIA. CHAPTER I. A VOICE OUT OF THE DEEP. Once upon a time there was a schooner belonging to Boston which was registered under the somewhat singular name of the "Rev. Amos Adams." This was her formal title, used on state occasions, and was, no doubt, quite as appropriate as the more pretentious one of the "Duke of Marlborough," or the "Lord Warden." As a general thing, however, people designated her in a less formal manner, using the simpler and shorter title of the "Parson." Her owner and commander was a tall, lean, sinewy young man, whoso Sunday-go-to-meeting name was Zion Awake Cox, but who was usually referred to by an ingenious combination of the initials of these three names, and thus became Zac, and occasionally Zachariah. This was the schooner which, on a fine May morning, might have been seen "bounding over the billows" on her way to the North Pole. About her motion on the present occasion, it must be confessed there was not much bounding, nor much billow. Nor, again, would it have been easy for any one to see her, even if he had been brought close to her; for the simple reason that the "Parson," as she went on her way, carrying Zac and his fortunes, had become involved in a fog bank, in the midst of which she now lay, with little or no wind to help her out of it. Zac was not alone on board, nor had the present voyage been undertaken on his own account, or of his own motion. There were two passengers, one of whom had engaged the schooner for his own purposes. This one was a young fellow who called himself Claude Motier, of Randolph. His name, as well as his face, had a foreign character; yet he spoke English with the accent of an Englishman, and had been brought up in Massachusetts, near Boston, where he and Zac had seen very much of one another, on sea and on shore. The other passenger was a Roman Catholic priest, whose look and accent proclaimed him to be a Frenchman. He seemed about fifty years of age, and his bronzed faced, grizzled hair, and deeply-wrinkled brow, all showed the man of action rather than the recluse. Between these two passengers there was the widest possible difference. The one was almost a boy, the other a world-worn old man; the one full of life and vivacity, the other sombre and abstracted; yet between the two there was, however, a mysterious resemblance, which possibly may have been something more than that air of France, which they both had. Whatever it may have been, they had been strangers to one another until the past few days, for Claude Motier had not seen the priest until after he had chartered the schooner for a voyage to Louisbourg. The priest had then come, asking for a passage to that port. He gave his name as the Abbé Michel, and addressed Claude in such bad English that the young man answered in French of the best sort, whereat the good priest seemed much delighted, and the two afterwards conversed with each other altogether in that language. Besides these three, there were the ship's company dispersed about the vessel. This company were not very extensive, not numbering over three, in addition to Zac. These three all differed in age, in race, and in character. The aged colored man, who was at that moment washing out some tins at the bows, came aboard as cook, with the understanding that he was to be man of all work. He was a slave of Zac's, but, like many domestic slaves in those days, he seemed to regard himself as part of his master's family,--in fact, a sort of respected relative. He rejoiced in the name of Jericho, which was often shortened to Jerry, though the aged African considered the shorter name as a species of familiarity which was only to be tolerated on the part of his master. The second of the ship's company was a short, athletic, rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed, round-faced lad, who was always singing and dancing except when he was whistling. His name was Terry, and his country Ireland. In addition to Jerry and Terry, there was a third. He was a short, dull, and somewhat doleful looking boy of about twelve, who had a crushed expression, and seemed to take gloomy views of life. The only name by which he was known to himself and others was Biler; but whether that was a Christian name, or a surname, or a nickname, cannot be said. Biler's chief trouble in life was an inordinate and insatiable appetite. Nothing came amiss, and nothing was ever refused. Zac had picked the boy up three years before, and since that time he had never known him to be satisfied. At the present moment, Terry was standing at the tiller, while Biler was at the masthead, to which he had climbed to get rid of the disappointments of the world below, in a more elevated sphere, and from his lofty perch he was gazing with a hungry eye forth into space, and from time to time pulling bits of dried codfish from his pocket, and thrusting them into his mouth. "Hy da!" suddenly shouted the aged Jericho, looking up. "You da, Biler? You jis come down heah an' help me fotch along dese yar tings. Ef you ain't got notin' to do, Ise precious soon find you lots ob tings. Hurry down, da; make haste; relse I'll pitch some hot water up at you. I can't be boddered wid dese yer pots an' pans any longer, cos Ise got de dinna to meditate 'bout." With these words Jericho stood up, regarding Biler with an appearance of grave dignity, which would have overawed even a less solemn lad than this. Biler did not refuse obedience, but thrusting a few fragments of dried codfish into his mouth, heaved a sigh, gave another dejected look at surrounding space, and then slowly and mournfully descended to the lower world. The priest was seated on a water-cask, reading his Breviary, while Zac stood not far off, looking thoughtfully over the vessel's side. Terry was at the tiller, not because there was any steering to be done, but because he thought it would be as well for every one to be at his post in the event of a change of wind. He had whistled "St. Patrick's Day in the Morning," and was about beginning another interminable strain of the same kind. Claude was lounging about, and gradually drew nearer to the meditative Zac, whom he accosted. "Well, we don't appear to be making much progress--do we?" said he. Zac slowly shook his head. "No," said he; "I must say, I don't like this here one mite. 'Tain't quite right. Seems kin' o' unlucky." "Unlucky? How?" "Wal, fust and foremost, ef it hadn't been you, you'd never a' got me to pint the Parson's nose for that French hole, Louisbourg." "Why not?" asked Claude, in some surprise; "you don't suppose that there's any danger--do you?" "Wal, it's a risky business--no doubt o' that thar. You see, my 'pinion is this, that Moosoo's my nat'ral born enemy, an' so I don't like to put myself into his power." "O, there's no danger," said Claude, cheerily. "There's peace now, you know--as yet." Zac shook his head. "No," said he, "that ain't so. There ain't never real peace out here. There's on'y a kin' o' partial peace in the old country. Out here, we fight, an' we've got to go on fightin', till one or the other goes down. An' as to peace, 'tain't goin' to last long, even in the old country, 'cordin' to all accounts. There's fightin' already off in Germany, or somewhars, they say." "But you know," said Claude, "you thought you could manage this for me somehow. You said you could put me ashore somewhere without trusting yourself in Louisbourg harbor--some bay or other--wasn't it? I forget what the name is. There's no trouble about that now--is there?" "Wal, not more'n thar was afore," said Zac, slowly; "on'y it seems more resky to me here, jest now, settin' here this way, inactive like; p'aps it's the fog that's had a kin' o' depressin' effect on my sperrits; it's often so. Or mebbe it's the effect of the continooal hearin' of that darned frog-eatin' French lingo that you go on a jabberin' with the priest thar. I never could abide it, nor my fathers afore me; an' how ever you--you, a good Protestant, an' a Massachusetts boy, an' a loyal subject of his most gracious majesty, King George--can go on that way, jabberin' all day long with that thar priest in that darned outlandish lingo,--wal, it beats me,--it doos clar." At this Claude burst into a merry laugh. "Well, by George," he cried, "if this ain't the greatest case of patriotic prejudice! What's the matter with the French language? It's better than English to talk with. Besides, even if it wern't, the French can't help their language. If it were yours, you'd like it, you know. And then I hope you're not beginning to take a prejudice against the good Père Michel. He's as fine a fellow as ever lived, by George!" "O, mind you, now, I wan't intendin' to say anythin' agin him," said Zac. "I like him, an' can't help it, he's so gentle, an' meek, an' has sech a look out of his eyes. Blamed if I don't sometimes feel jest as though he's my father. O, no, I ain't got anythin' agin' him. Far from it. But it's the idee. For here, you see--this is the way it is; here aboard the Parson I see a Roman Catholic priest; I hear two people jabber French all day long. It makes me feel jest for all the world as though I'd got somehow into the hands of the Philistines. It seems like bein' a captive. It kin' o' seems a sort o' bad lookout; a kin' o' sort o' sign, you know, of what's a goin' to happen afore I git back agin." At this, which was spoken with much earnestness, and with a very solemn face, Claude gave another laugh. "O, that's all nonsense," said he, gayly. "Why, you don't really think, now, that you're going to get into trouble through me--do you? And then as to Père Michel, why, I feel as much confidence in him as I do in myself. So come, don't get into this low state of mind, but pluck up your spirits. Never mind the fog, or the French language. They oughtn't to have such an effect on a fellow of your size and general build. You'll put us ashore at that bay you spoke of, and then go home all right. That's the way of it. As to the land, you can't have any danger from that quarter; and as to the sea, why, you yourself said that the French cruiser was never built that could catch you." "Wal," said Zac, "that's a fac', an' no mistake. Give me any kin' of wind, an' thar ain't a Moosoo afloat that can come anywhar nigh the Parson. Still, jest now, in this here fog,--an' in the calm, too,--if a Moosoo was to come along, why, I railly don't--quite--know--what--I could--railly do." "The fog! O, in the fog you'll be all right enough, you know," said Claude. "O, but that's the very thing I don't know," said Zac. "That thar pint's the very identical pint that I don't feel at all clear about, an' would like to have settled." Claude said nothing for a few moments. He now began to notice in the face, the tone, and the manner of Zac something very different from usual--a certain uneasiness approaching to anxiety, which seemed to be founded on something which he had not yet disclosed. "What do you mean?" he asked, rather gravely, suddenly dropping his air of light banter. Zac drew a long breath. "Wal," said he, "this here fog makes it very easy for a Moosoo to haul up alongside all of a suddent, an' ax you for your papers. An' what's more," he continued, dropping his voice to a lower tone, and stooping, to bring his mouth nearer to Claude's ear, "what's more, I don't know but what, at this very moment, there's a Moosoo railly an' truly a little mite nearer to us than I altogether keer for to hev him." "What!" exclaimed Claude, with a start; "do you really think so? What! near us, here in this fog?" "Railly an' truly," said Zac, solemnly, "that's my identical meanin'--jest it, exactly; an' 'tain't overly pleasant, no how. See here;" and Zac dropped his voice to still lower tones, and drew still nearer to Claude, as he continued--"see here, now; I'll tell you what happened jest now. As I was a standin' here, jest afore you come up, I thought I heerd voices out thar on the starboard quarter --voices--" "Voices!" said Claude. "O, nonsense! Voices! How can there be voices out there? It must have been the water." "Wal," continued Zac, still speaking in a low tone, "that's the very thing I thought when I fust heerd 'em; I thought, too, it must be the water. But, if you jest take the trouble to examine, you'll find that thur ain't enough motion in the water to make any sound at all. 'Tain't as if thar was a puffin' of the wind an a dashin' of the waves. Thar ain't no wind an' no waves, unfort'nat'ly; so it seems beyond a doubt that it must either be actooal voices, or else somethin' supernat'ral. An' for my part I'd give somethin' for the wind to rise jest a leetle mite, so's I could step off out o' this, an' git out o' hearin', at least." At this Claude was again silent for some time, thinking to himself whether the possibility of a French ship being near was to be wished or dreaded. Much was to be said on both sides. To himself it would, perhaps, be desirable; yet not so to Zac, although he tried to reassure the dejected skipper by telling him that if a French vessel should really be so near, it would be all the better, since his voyage would thereby be made all the shorter, for he himself could go aboard, and the Parson might return to Boston. But Zac refused to be so easily comforted. "No," said he; "once I git into their clutches, they'll never let me go; and as for the poor old Parson, why, they'll go an' turn her into a Papist priest. And that," he added, with a deep sigh, "would be too--almighty--bad!" Claude now found that Zac was in too despondent a mood to listen to what he called reason, and therefore he held his tongue. The idea that a French ship might be somewhere near, behind that wall of fog, had in it something which to him was not unpleasant, since it afforded some variety to the monotony of his situation. He stood, therefore, in silence, with his face turned towards the direction indicated by Zac, and listened intently, while the skipper stood in silence by his side, listening also. There was no wind whatever. The water was quite smooth, and the Parson rose and fell at the slow undulations of the long ocean rollers, while at every motion the spars creaked and the sails flapped idly. All around there arose a gray wall of fog, deep, dense, and fixed, which shut them in on every side, while overhead the sky itself was concealed from view by the same dull-gray canopy. Behind that wall of fog anything might lie concealed; the whole French fleet might be there, without those on board the Parson being anything the wiser. This Claude felt, and as he thought of the possibility of this, he began to see that Zac's anxiety was very well founded, and that if the Parson should be captured it would be no easy task to deliver her from the grasp of the captor. Still there came no further sounds, and Claude, after listening for a long time without hearing anything, began, at length, to conclude that Zac had been deceived. "Don't you think," he asked, "that it may, after all, have been the rustle of the sails, or the creaking of the spars?" Zac shook his head. "No," said he; "I've heerd it twice; an' I know very well all the sounds that sails an' spars can make; an' I don't see as how I can be mistook. O, no; it was human voice, an' nothin' else in natur'. I wouldn't mind it a mite if I could do anythin'. But to set here an' jest git caught, like a rat in a trap, is what I call too--almighty--bad!" At this very instant, and while Zac was yet speaking, there came through the fog the sound of a voice. Claude heard it, and Zac also. The latter grasped the arm of his friend, and held his breath. It was a human voice. There was not the slightest doubt now of that. Words had been spoken, but they were unintelligible. They listened still. There was silence for a few moments, and then the silence was broken once more. Words were again heard. They were French, and they heard them this time with perfect distinctness. They were these:-- "_Put her head a little over this way_." CHAPTER II. A MEETING IN MID OCEAN. _Put her head a little over this way_! They were French words. To Claude, of course, they were perfectly intelligible, though not so to Zac, who did not understand any language but his mother Yankee. Judging by the distinctness and the loudness of the sound, the speaker could not be very far away. The voice seemed to come from the water astern. No sight, however, was visible; and the two, as they stared into the fog, saw nothing whatever. Nor did any of the others on board seem to have heard the voice. The priest was still intent on his Breviary. Terry was still whistling his abominable tune. Jericho was below with his pots and pans; and Biler, taking advantage of his absence, was seated on the taffrail devouring a raw turnip, which he chewed with a melancholy air. To none of these had the voice been audible, and therefore Claude and Zac alone were confronted with this mystery of the deep. But it was a mystery which they could not fathom; for the fog was all around, hiding everything from view, and the more they peered into the gloom the less were they able to understand it. Neither of them spoke for some time. Zac had not understood the words, but was more puzzled about the fact of a speaker being so near on the water, behind the fog, than he was about the meaning of the words which had been spoken. That seemed to be quite a secondary consideration. And it was not until he had exhausted his resources in trying to imagine what or where the one might be, that, he thought of asking about the other. "What did it mean?" he asked, at length. Claude told him. Zac said nothing for some time. "I wonder whether they've seen us," said he, at length. "No--'tain't possible. The fog's too thick--and we're as invisible to them as they are to us. Besides, these words show that they ain't thinkin' about anybody but themselves. Well, all we've got to do is to keep as still as a mouse, an' I'll jest go an' warn the boys." With these words Zac moved softly away to warn his crew. First he went to Terry, and informed him that the whole fleet of France was around the Parson, and that their only chance of safety was to keep silent--a piece of information which effectually stopped Terry's singing and whistling for some time; then he told Biler, in a friendly way, that if he spoke above a whisper, or made any noise, he'd pitch him overboard with an anchor tied to his neck. Then he warned Jericho. As for Père Michel, he felt that warning was unnecessary, for the priest was too absorbed in his book to be conscious of the external world. After this, he came back to Claude, who had been listening ever since he left, but without hearing anything more. "We must have drifted nearer together," said Zac. "The voice was a good deal louder than when I fust heerd it. My only hope is, that they'll drift past us, an' we'll git further away from them. But I wonder what they meant by bringin' her head around. P'aps they've seen us, after all--an' then, again, p'aps they haven't." He said this in a whisper, and Clause answered in another whisper. "It seems to me," said Claude, "that if they'd seen us, they'd have said something more--or at any rate, they'd have made more noise. But as it is, they've been perfectly silent." "Wal--I on'y hope we won't hear anythin' more of them." For more than two hours silence was observed on board the Parson. Terry stopped all whistling, and occupied himself with scratching his bullet head. The priest sat motionless, reading his book. Jericho drew the unhappy Biler down below for safe keeping, and detained him there a melancholy prisoner. Claude and Zac stood listening, but nothing more was heard. To Claude there seemed something weird and ghostly in this incident--a voice thus sounding suddenly forth out of nothingness, and then dying away into the silence from which it had emerged: there was that in it which made him feel a sensation of involuntary awe; and the longer the silence continued, the more did this incident surround itself with a certain supernatural element, until, at length, he began to fancy that his senses might have deceived him. Yet he knew this had not been the case. Zac had heard the voice as well as he, and the words to him had been perfectly plain. _Put her head a little over this way_! Singular words, too, they seemed to be, as he turned them over in his mind. Under other circumstances they might have been regarded as perfectly commonplace, but now the surroundings gave them the possibility of a varied interpretation. Who was the "her"? What was meant? Was it a ship or a woman? What could the meaning be? Or, again, might not this have been some supernatural voice speaking to them from the Unseen, and conveying to them some sentence either of good or evil omen, giving them some direction, perhaps, about the course of the schooner in which he was? Not that Claude was what is called a superstitious man. From ordinary superstition he was, indeed, quite as free as any man of his age or epoch; not was he even influenced by any of the common superstitious fancies then prevalent. But still there is a natural belief in the unseen which prevails among all men, and Claude's fancy was busy, being stimulated by this incident, so that, as he endeavored to account for it, he was as easily drawn towards a supernatural theory as to a natural one. Hundreds of miles from land, on the broad ocean, a voice had sounded from behind the impenetrable cloud, and it was scarcely to be wondered at that he considered it something unearthly. Under other circumstances Zac might also have yielded to superstitious fancies; but as it was, his mind had been too completely filled with the one absorbing idea of the French fleet to find room for any other thought. It was not an unsubstantial ghost which Zac dreaded, but the too substantial form of some frigate looming through the fog, and firing a gun to bring him on board. Every additional moment of silence gave him a feeling of relief, for he felt that these moments, as they passed, drew him away farther from the danger that had been so near. At length a new turn came to the current of affairs. A puff of wind suddenly filled the sails, and at its first breath Zac started up with a low chuckle. "I'd give ten guineas," said he, "for one good hooray--I would, by George! But bein' as it is, I'll postpone that till I haul off a few miles from this." "Why, what's the matter?" said Claude, rousing himself out of abstraction. "Matter?" repeated Zac. "Why, the wind's hauled round to the nor'west, and the fog's goin' to lift, an' the Parson's goin' to show her heels." With these words, Zac hurried to the tiller, which he took from the smiling Terry, and began to being the vessel around to run her before the wind. "Don't care a darn whar I go jest now," said he, "so's I on'y put a mile or two between us and the Frenchman. Arter that we can shape our course satisfactory." And now the wind, which had thus turned, blew more steadily till it became a sustained breeze of sufficient strength to carry the schooner, with very satisfactory speed, out of the unpleasant proximity to the Frenchman. And as it blew, the clouds lessened, and the circle of fog which had surrounded them was every moment removed to a greater distance, while the view over the water grew wider and clearer. All this was inexpressibly delightful to Zac, who, as it were, with one bound passed from the depths of despondency up to joyousness and hope. But suddenly a sight appeared which filled him with amazement, a sight which attracted all his thoughts, and in an instant changed all his feelings and plans. It was a sight which had become revealed on the dispersion of the fog, showing itself to their wondering eyes out there upon the sea astern, in the place where they had been looking for that French cruiser, which Zac had feared. No French cruiser was it that they saw, no ship of war with a hostile flag and hostile arms, no sight of fear; but a sight full of infinite pathos and sadness--a pitiable, a melancholy sight. It was about half a mile behind them, for that was about the distance which they had traversed since the wind had changed and the schooner's direction had been altered. It seemed at first like a black spot on the water, such as a projection rock or a floating spar; but as the fog faded away the object became more perceptible. Then they could see human figures, some of whom were erect, and others lying down. They were on what seemed to be a sort of raft, and the whole attitude of the little group showed most plainly that they had suffered shipwreck, and were here now floating about helplessly, and at the mercy of the tide, far out at sea. Moreover, these had already seen the schooner, for they were waving their arms and gesticulating wildly. One glance was enough for both Zac and Claude, and then the exclamation which they gave drew there the attention of all the others. The priest looked up, and putting his book back in his pocket, walked towards them, while Terry gave one swift look, and then disappeared below. "Quick wid ye," he called to Jericho; "put on a couple of barls o' taters to bile. There's a shipwrecked raft afloat out there beyant, an' they're all dyin' or dead av starvation, so they are." "O, you jes go long wid yer nonsensical tomfoolery," said Jericho. "Tomfoolery, is it? Go up, thin, an' luk for yerself," cried Terry, who bounded up on deck again, and began to prepare for action. At this Jericho put on his nose an enormous pair of spectacles, and thus equipped climbed upon deck, followed closely by the melancholy Biler, who devoured a carrot as he went up. By this time Zac had brought the Parson's head round once more, and steered for the raft, calling out to Terry to get the boat afloat. Terry and Jerry then went to work, assisted by Biler, and soon the boat was in the water. "Ef I hadn't ben sich a darned donkey," said Zac, in a tone of vexation, "I might have got at 'em before an' saved them all these hours of extra starvation. Ef I'd only yelled back when I fust heerd the voice! Who knows but that some of 'em hev died in the time that's ben lost?" "Can't we run alongside without the boat?" asked Claude. "Wal, yes," said Zac; "but then, you know, we couldn't stay alongside when we got that, an' so we've got to take 'em off with the boat the best way we can." They were not long in retracing their way, and soon came near enough. Zac then gave up the tiller to Terry, telling him to keep as near as possible. He then got into the boat, and Claude followed, by Zac's invitation, as well as his own urgent request. Each took an oar, and after a few strokes, they were up to the raft. The raft was on a level with the water and was barely able to sustain the weight of those who had found refuge on it. It seemed like the poop or round house of some ship which had been beaten off by the fury of the waves, and had afterwards been resorted to by those who now clung to it. The occupants of the raft were, indeed, a melancholy group. They were seven in number. Of these, two were common seamen; a third looked like a ship's officer, and wore the uniform of a second lieutenant; the fourth was a gentleman, who seemed about forty years of age. These four were standing, and as the boat approached them they gave utterance to every possible cry of joy and gratitude. But it was the other three occupants of the raft that most excited the attention of Claude and Zac. An old man was seated there, with thin, emaciated frame, and snow-white hair. He was holding in his arms a young girl, while beside her knelt another young girl who seemed like the attendant of the first, and both the old man and the maid were most solicitous in their attentions. The object of these attentions was exquisitely beautiful. Her slender frame seemed to have been worn by long privation, and weakened by famine and exposure. Her face was pale and wan, but still showed the rounded outlines of youth. Her hair was all dishevelled, as though it had been long the sport of the rude tempest and the ocean billow, and hung in disordered masses over her head and shoulders. Her dress, though saturated with wet from the sea and the fog, was of rich material, and showed her to belong to lofty rank; while the costume of the old man indicated the same high social position. The young lady was not senseless, but only weak, perhaps from sudden excitement. As she reclined in the old man's arms, her eyes were fixed upon the open boat; and Claude, as he turned to grasp the raft, caught her full gaze fixed upon him, with a glance from her large dark eyes that thrilled through him, full of unutterable gratitude. Her lips moved, not a word escaped, but tears more eloquent than words rolled slowly down. Such was the sight that greeted Claude as he stepped from the boat upon the raft. In an instant he was caught in the embraces of the men, who, frenzied with joy at the approach of deliverance, flung themselves upon him. But Claude had no eyes for any one but the lovely young girl, whose gaze of speechless gratitude was never removed from him. "Messieurs," said Claude, who knew them to be French, and addressed them in their own language, "you shall all be saved; but we cannot all go at once; we must save the weakest first; and will, therefore, take these now, and come back for you afterwards." Saying this, he stooped down so to raise the young lady in his arms, and carry her aboard. The old man held her up, uttering inarticulate murmurs, that sounded like blessings on their deliverer. Claude lifted the girl as though she had been a child, and stepped towards the boat. Zac was already on the raft, and held the boat, while Claude stepped aboard. The old man then tried to rise and follow, assisted by the maid, but, after one or two efforts, sank back, incapable of keeping his feet. Upon this Zac flung the rope to the French lieutenant, and walked over to the old man. Claude now had returned, having left the girl in the stern of the boat. "Look here," said Zac, as he came up; "the old gentleman can't walk. You'd best carry him aboard, and I'll carry the gal." With these words Zac turned towards the maid; she looked up at him with a shy glance and showed such a pretty face, such black eyes and smiling lips, that Zac for a moment hesitated, feeling quite paralyzed by an overflow of bashfulness. But it was not a time to stand on ceremony; and so honest Zac, without more ado, seized the girl in his arms, and bore her to the boat, where he deposited her carefully by the side of the other. Claude now followed, carrying the old man, whom he placed beside the young lady, so that he and the maid could support her as before. There was yet room for one more, and the gentleman still on the raft came forward at Claude's invitation, and took his place in the bows. The rest waited on the raft. The boat then returned to the schooner, which now had come very close. Here Claude lifted the lady high in the air, and Père Michel took her from his arms. Claude then got on board the schooner, and took her to the cabin, where he laid her on a couch. Zac then lifted up the maid, who was helped on board by Père Michel, where Claude met her, and took her to the cabin. Zac then lifted up the old man, and Père Michel stood ready to receive him also. And now a singular incident occurred. As Zac raised the old man, Père Michel caught sight of the face, and regarded it distinctly. The old man's eyes were half closed, and he took no notice of anything; but there was something in that face which produced a profound impression on Père Michel. He stood rigid, as though rooted to the spot, looking at the old man with a fixed stare. Then his arms sank down, his head also fell forward, and turning abruptly away, he walked forward to the bows. Upon this Jericho came forward; and he it was who lifted the old man on board and assisted him to the cabin. After this, the other gentleman got on board, and then the boat returned and took off the other occupants of the raft. CHAPTER III. NEW FRIENDS. Every arrangement was made that could be made within the confines of a small schooner to secure the comfort of the strangers. To the young lady and her maid Claude gave up the state-room which he himself had thus far occupied, and which was the best on board, while Zac gave up his to the old man. The others were all comfortably disposed of, and Zac and Claude stowed themselves away as best they could feeling indifferent about themselves as long as they could minister to the wants of their guests. Food and sleep were the things that were the most needed by all these new-comers, and these they had in abundance. Under the beneficial effects of these, they began to regain their strength. The seaman rallied first, as was most natural; and from these Claude learned the story of their misfortunes. The lost ship had been the French frigate Arethuse, which had left Brest about a moth previously, on a voyage to Louisbourg and Quebec. The old gentleman was the Comte de Laborde, and the two girls whom they had saved, one was his daughter, and the other her maid. The other gentleman was the Comte de Cazeneau. This last was on his way to Louisbourg, where an important post was awaiting him. About a week before this the Arethuse had encountered a severe gale, accompanied by a dense fog, in which they had lost their reckoning. To add to their miseries, they found themselves surrounded by icebergs, among which navigation was so difficult that the seamen all became demoralized. At length the ship struck one of these floating masses, and instantly began to fill. The desperate efforts of the crew, however, served to keep her afloat for another day, and might have saved her, had it not been for the continuation of the fog. On the following night, in the midst of intense darkness, she once more struck against an iceberg, and this time the consequences were more serious. A huge fragment of ice fell upon the poop, shattering it and sweeping it overboard. In an instant all discipline was at an end. It was _sauve qui peut_. The crew took to the boats. One of these went down with all on board, while the others passed away into the darkness. This little handful had thrown themselves upon the ship's poop, which was floating alongside within reach, just in time to escape being dragged down by the sinking ship; and there, for days and nights, with scarcely any food, and no shelter whatever, they had drifted amid the dense fog, until all hope had died out utterly. Such had been their situation when rescue came. Claude, upon hearing this story, expressed a sympathy which was most sincere; and to the seamen it was all the pleasanter as his accent showed him to be a countryman. But the general sympathy which the young man felt, sincere though it was, could not be compared with that special sympathy which he experienced for the lovely young girl whom he had borne from the raft into the schooner, and whose deep glance of speechless gratitude had never since faded from his memory. She was now aboard, and was occupying his own room. More than this, she had already taken up a position within his mind which was a pre-eminent one. She had driven out every thought of everything else. The highest desire which he had was to see once again that face which had become so vividly impressed upon his memory, and find out what it might be like in less anxious moments. But for this he would have to wait. Meanwhile the schooner had resumed her voyage, in which, however, she made but slow progress. The wind, which had come up so opportunely, died out again; and, though the fog had gone, still for a few days they did little else than drift. After the first day and night the Count de Laborde came upon deck. He was extremely feeble, and had great difficulty in walking; with him were his daughter and her maid. Although her exhaustion and prostration on the raft had, apparently, been even greater than his, yet youth was on her side, and she had been able to rally much more rapidly. She and her maid supported the feeble old count, and anxiously anticipated his wants with the fondest care. Claude had hoped for this appearance, and was not disappointed. He had seen her first as she was emerging from the valley of the shadow of death, with the stamp of sorrow and despair upon her features; but now no trace of despair remained; her face was sweet and joyous beyond expression, with the grace of a child-like innocence and purity. The other passenger, whom the lieutenant of the Arethuse had called the Count de Cazeneau, was also on deck, and, on seeing Laborde and his daughter, he hastened towards them with the utmost fervor of congratulations. The lieutenant also went to pay his respects. The young countess was most gracious, thanking them for their good wishes, and assuring them that she was as well as ever; and then her eyes wandered away, and, after a brief interval, at length rested with a fixed and earnest look full upon Claude. The glance thrilled through him. For a moment he stood as if fixed to the spot; but at length, mastering his emotion, he went towards her. "Here he is, papa, dearest," said she,--"our noble deliverer.--And, O, monsieur, how can we ever find words to thank you?" "Dear monsieur," said the old count, embracing Claude, "Heaven will reward you; our words are useless.--Mimi," he continued, turning to his daughter, "your dream was a true one.--You must know, monsieur, that she dreamed that a young Frenchman came in an open boat to save us. And so it really was." Mimi smiled and blushed. "Ah, papa, dear," she said, "I dreamed because I hoped. I always hoped, but you always desponded. And now it has been better than our hopes.--But, monsieur, may we not know the name of our deliverer?" She held out her little hand as she said this. Claude raised it respectfully to his lips, bowing low as he did so. He then gave his name, but hastened to assure them that he was not their preserver, insisting that Zac had the better claim to that title. To this, however, the others listened with polite incredulity, and Mimi evidently considered it all the mere expression of a young man's modesty. She waved her little hand with a sunny smile. "_Eh bien_," she said, "I see, monsieur, it pains you to have people too grateful; so we will say no more about it. We must satisfy ourselves by remembering and by praying." Here the conversation was interrupted by the interposition of the Count de Cazeneau, who came forward to add his thanks to those of Laborde. He made a little set speech, to which Claude listened with something of chagrin, for he did not like being placed in the position of general savior and preserver, when he knew that Zac deserved quite as much credit for what had been done as he did. This was not unobserved by Mimi, who appreciated his feelings and came to his relief. "M. Motier does not like being praised," said she. "Let us respect his delicacy." But Cazeneau was not to be stopped so easily. He seemed like one who had prepared a speech carefully and with much labor, and was, accordingly, bound to give it all; so Claude was forced to listen to an eloquent and inflated panegyric about himself and his heroism, without being able to offer anything more than an occasional modest disclaimer. And all the time the deep, dark glance of Mimi was fixed on him, as though she would read his soul. If, indeed, he had any skill in reading character, it was easy enough to see in the face of that young man a pure, a lofty, and a generous nature, unsullied by anything mean or low, a guileless and earnest heart, a soul _sans peur et sans reproche_; and it did seem by the expression of her own face as though she had read all this in Claude. Further conversation of a general nature followed, which served to explain the position of all of them with reference to one another. Claude was the virtual master of the schooner, since he had chartered it for his own purposes. To all of them, therefore, he seemed first their savior, and secondly their host and entertainer, to whom they were bound to feel chiefly grateful. Yet none the less did they endeavor to include the honest skipper in their gratitude; and Zac came in for a large share of it. Though he could not understand any of the words which they addressed to him, yet he was easily able to guess what they were driving at, and so he modestly disclaimed it all with the expression,-- "O, sho! sho, now! sho, sho!" They now learned that Claude was on his way to Louisbourg, and that they would thus be able to reach their original destination. They also learned the circumstances of Zac, and his peculiar unwillingness to trust his schooner inside the harbor of Louisbourg. Zac's scruples were respected by them, though they all declared that there was no real danger. They were sufficiently satisfied to be able to reach any point near Louisbourg, and did not seek to press Zac against his will, or to change his opinion upon a point where it was so strongly expressed. No sooner had these new passengers thus unexpectedly appeared, than a very marked change came over Père Michel, which to Claude was quite inexplicable. To him and to Zac the good priest had thus far seemed everything that was most amiable and companionable; but now, ever since the moment when he had turned away at the sight of the face of Laborde, he had grown strangely silent, and reticent, and self-absorbed. Old Laborde had made advances which had been coldly repelled. Cazeneau, also, had tried to draw him out, but without success. To the lieutenant only was he at all inclined to unbend. Yet this strange reserve did not last long, and at length Père Michel regained his old manner, and received the advances of Laborde with sufficient courtesy, while to Mimi he showed that paternal gentleness which had already endeared him to Claude and to Zac. Several days thus passed, during which but little progress was made. The schooner seemed rather to drift than to sail. Whenever a slight breeze would arise, it was sure to be adverse, and was not of long duration. Then a calm would follow, and the schooner would lie idle upon the bosom of the deep. During these days Mimi steadily regained her strength; and the bloom and the sprightliness of youth came back, and the roses began to return to her cheeks, and her wan face resumed its plumpness, and her eyes shone with the light of joyousness. Within the narrow confines of a small schooner, Claude was thrown in her way more frequently than could have been the case under other circumstances; and the situation in which they were placed towards one another connected them more closely, and formed a bond which made an easy way to friendship, and even intimacy. As a matter of course, Claude found her society pleasanter by far than that of any one else on board; while, on the other hand, Mimi did not seem at all averse to his companionship. She seemed desirous to know all about him. "But, monsieur," she said once, in the course of a conversation, "it seems strange to me that you have lived so long among the English here in America." "It is strange," said Claude; "and, to tell the truth, I don't altogether understand myself how it has happened." "Ah, you don't understand yourself how it has happened," repeated Mimi, in a tone of voice that was evidently intended to elicit further confidences. "No," said Claude, who was not at all unwilling to receive her as his confidante. "You see I was taken away from France when I was an infant." "When you were an infant!" said Mimi. "How very, very sad!" and saying this, she turned her eyes, with a look full of deepest commiseration, upon him. "And so, of course, you cannot remember anything at all about France." Claude shook his head. "No, nothing at all," said he. "But I'm on my way there now; and I hope to see it before long. It's the most beautiful country in all the world--isn't it?' "Beautiful!" exclaimed Mimi, throwing up her eyes; "there are no words to describe it. It is heaven! Alas! how can I ever bear to live here in this wild and savage wilderness of America!" "You did not wish to leave France then?" said Claude, who felt touched by this display of feeling. "I!" exclaimed Mimi; "I wish to leave France! Alas, monsieur! it was the very saddest day of all my life. But dear papa had to go, and I do not know why it was. He offered to let me stay; but I could not let him go alone, for he is so old and feeble, and I was willing to endure all for his sake." "What part of France did you live in?" asked Claude. "Versailles." "That is where the court is," said Claude. "Of course," said Mimi, with a smile. "But how funny it seems to hear a Frenchman make such a remark, and in such an uncertain way, as though he did not feel quite sure. Why, monsieur, in France Versailles is everything; Versailles is the king and court. In a word, monsieur, Versailles is France." "I suppose you saw very much of the splendor and magnificence of the court?" said Claude. "I!" said Mimi; "splendor and magnificence! the court! _Ma foi_, monsieur, I did not see any of it at all. In France young girls are kept close-guarded. You have lived among the English, and among them I have heard that young girls can go anywhere and do anything. But for my part I have always lived most secluded--sometimes at school, and afterwards at home." "How strange it is," said Claude, "that your father should leave France, when he is so old and feeble, and take you, too, and come to this wild country!" "O, it is very strange," said Mimi, "and very sad; and I don't know why in the world it was, for he will never tell me. Sometimes I think that something unfortunate has happened, which has made him go into exile this way. But then, if that were so, I don't see why he should remain in French possessions. If his political enemies have driven him away, he would not be safe in French colonies; and so I don't know why in the world he ever left home." "Does he intend to remain at Louisbourg, or go farther?" asked Claude, after a thoughtful pause. "I'm sure I don't know," said Mimi; "but I don't think he has decided yet. It is just as if he was looking for something, and as if he would travel about till he found it; though what it is that he wants I can hardly tell. And such, monsieur, is our mournful position. We may remain at Louisbourg a short time or a long time: it depends upon circumstances. We may go to Quebec, or even to New Orleans." "New Orleans!" exclaimed Claude. "Yes; I heard him hint as much. And he said, also, that if he did go as far as that, he would leave me at Quebec or Louisbourg. But I will never consent to that, and I will go with him wherever he goes." "I should think that such a roving life would make you feel very unhappy." "O, no; I am not unhappy," said Mimi, cheerfully. "I should, indeed, feel unhappy if I were left behind in France, or anywhere else, and if poor papa should go roaming about without any one to care for him. I am not much; but I know that he loves me dearly, and that he is very much happier with me than without me. And that is the reason why I am determined to go with him wherever he goes,--yes, even if he goes among the savages. Besides, while I am with him, he has a certain amount of anxiety about me, and this distracts his thoughts, and prevents him from brooding too much over his own personal troubles. But O, how I envy you, Monsieur Motier, and O, how I should love to be going back to France, if dear papa were only going there too! I shall never be happy again, I know, never, till I am back again in France." CHAPTER IV. MIMI AND MARGOT. While Claude was doing the honors of hospitality to the guests aft, the crew of the Parson was fraternizing with the seamen of the wrecked Arethuse, forward. The first and most important act of friendly intercourse was the work of Jericho, who put forth all his skill in preparing for the half-starved sailors a series of repasts upon which he lavished all his genius, together with the greater part of the stores of the schooner. To these repasts the seamen did ample justice, wasting but little time in unnecessary words, but eating as only those can eat who have been on the borders of starvation. Yet it may be questioned whether their voracity exceeded that of a certain melancholy boy, who waited on the banquet, and whose appetite seemed now even more insatiable in the midst of the abundant supplies which Jericho produced, than it had been in former days, when eatables had been less choice and repasts less frequent. In fact, Biler outdid himself, and completely wore out the patience of the long-suffering Jericho. "You jes look heah, you Biler," he said; "you better mind, for I ain't goin' to stand dese yer goins on no longer. Bar's limits to eberyting--and dese yer 'visiums has got to be 'commonized, an' not to be all gobbled up by one small boy. Tell you what, I got a great mind to put you on a lowns, an' gib you one rore turnip a day, an' ef you can ketch a fish I'll 'gree to cook it. Why, dar ain't de vessel afloat dat can stand dis yer. You eat fifty-nine meals a day, an' more. You nebber do notin' else but eat--morn', noon, an' night." "Arrah, Jerry, let the b'y ate his fill," said Terry: "sure an' a growin' b'y has to ate more'n a grown man, so as to get flesh to grow wid." "Can't do it," said Jerry, "an' won't do it. Didn't mind it so much afore, but now we'se got to 'commonize. Bar's ebber so many more moufs aboard now, an' all on 'em eat like sin. Dis yer calm keeps us out heah in one spot, an' when we're ebber a goin' to get to de end ov de vyge's more'n I can tell. No use frowin' away our val'ble 'visiums on dis yer boy--make him eat soap fat and oakum--good enough for him. No 'casium for him to be eatin' a hundred times more'n all de res ob us. If he wants to eat he'll hab to find his own 'visiums, an' ketch a shark, an' I'll put it in pickle for he own private use." With these words Jericho turned away with deep trouble and perplexity visible on his ebon brow, and Biler, pocketing a few potatoes and turnips, climbed to the mast-head, where he sat gazing in a melancholy way into space. To Terry these new comers were most welcome. At a distance he professed to hate and despise the French; but now that they appeared face to face, his hate was nowhere, and in its place there was nothing but a most earnest desire to form an eternal friendship with the shipwrecked seamen. There was certainly one difficulty in the way which was of no slight character; and that was, that neither of them knew the language of the other. But Terry was not easily daunted, and the very presence of a difficulty was enough to make him feel eager to triumph over it. In his first approaches he made the very common mistake of addressing the French sailors as though they were deaf. Thus he went up to them one after the other, shaking hands with each, and shouting in their ears as loud as he could, "_How do yez do_?" "_Good day_." "_The top av the mornin' to yez_." To which the good-natured Frenchmen responded in a sympathetic way, shaking his hand vigorously,--and grinning and chattering. Terry kept this up for some time; but at length it became somewhat monotonous, and he set his wits to work to try to discover some more satisfactory mode of effecting a communication with them. The next way that he thought of was something like the first, and, like the first, is also frequently resorted to by those who have occasion to speak to foreigners. It was to address them in broken English, or rather in a species of baby talk; for to Terry it seemed no more than natural that this sort of dialect would be more intelligible than the speech of full-grown men. Accordingly, as soon as Terry thought of this, he put it in practice. He began by shaking hands once more, and then said to them, "Me berry glad see you--me sposy you berry hundy. Polly want a cracker. He sall hab penty mate den, so he sall. Did de naughty water boos um den?" But unfortunately this effort proved as much of a failure as the other; so Terry was once more compolled to trust to his wits. Those wits of his, being active, did not fail, indeed, to suggest many ways, and of the best kind, by which he brought himself into communication with his new friends. At the first repast he found this out, and insisted upon passing everything to them with his own hands, accompanying each friendly offer with an affectionate smile, which went straight to the hearts of the forlorn and half-starved guests. This was a language which was every way intelligible, the language of universal humanity, in which the noblest precept is, to be kind to enemies and to feed the hungry. In addition to this, Terry also found out other ways of holding communication with them, the chief of which was by the language of song. Terry's irrepressible tendency to singing thus burst forth in their presence, and after trolling out a few Irish melodies, he succeeded in eliciting from them a sympathetic response in the shape of some lively French songs. The result proved most delightful to all concerned; and thereafter the muse of Ireland and the muse of France kept up a perpetual antiphonal song, which beguiled many a tedious hour. While the various characters on board the schooner were thus entering into communication with one another, Zac endeavored also to scrape an acquaintance with one of the rescued party, who seemed to him to be worth all the rest put together. This was Mimi's maid, Margot, a beautiful little creature, full of life and spirit, and fit companion for such a mistress as hers. The good little Margot was very accessible, and had not failed to pour forth in language not very intelligible her sense of gratitude to Zac. She had not forgotten that it was Zac who had conveyed her in his strong arms from death to life, and therefore persisted in regarding him not only as the preserver of her own self, but as the real and only preserver of all the others. Margot had one advantage which was delightful to Zac; and that was, she could speak a little English. She had once spent a year in England, where she had picked up enough of the language to come and go upon, and this knowledge now proved to be of very great advantage. The calm weather which continued gave Zac many opportunities of drifting away towards Margot, and talking with her, in which talks they gradually grew to be better acquainted. "I am so happy zat I spik Ingelis!" said Margot; "I nevar did sink dat it was evare useful." "An' pooty blamed lucky it's ben for me, too," said Zac, in a joyous tone; "for as I don't know French, like Claude over there, I have to trust to you to keep up the conversation." "I not know mooch Ingelis," said Margot, "for I not understan de mooch of what you say." "O, you'll learn dreadful fast out here," said Zac. "But I not weesh to stay here so long as to learn," said Margot. "Not wish! Sho, now! Why, it's a better country than France." "Than France--better!" cried Margot, lifting her hands and throwing up her eyes in amazement. "France! Monsieur, France is a heaven--mais--dees--dees--is different." "Why, what's the matter with America?" said Zac. "Amérique--eet ees all full of de sauvage--de Indian--de wild men--an' wild beasts--an' desert." "O, you ain't ben to Boston; that's clar," said Zac, mildly. "Jest you wait till you see Boston; that's all." "Boston! I nevare hear of Boston," said Margot, "till you tell me. I do not believe eet it is more magnifique dan Paris." "The most magnificent town in the hull world," said Zac, calmly. "You take the House of Assembly an' Govement House--take King Street and Queen Street, an' I'd like to know whar you'll find a better show any whar on airth." "Sais pas," said Margot; "nevare see Boston. Mais vous--you nevare see Paris--so we are not able to compare." "O, well, it's nat'ral enough for you," said Zac, with magnanimity, "nat'ral enough for you, course, to like your own place best--'twouldn't be nat'ral ef you didn't. All your friends live thar, course. You were born thar, and I s'pose your pa an' ma may be there now, anxiously expectin' to hear from you." Zac put this in an interrogative way, for he wanted to know. But as he said these words, the smiling face of Margot turned sad; she shook her head, and said,-- "No; I have no one, no one!" "What! no relatives!" said Zac, in a voice full of commiseration and tender pity. Margot shook her head. "An' so you've got no father nor mother, an' you're a poor little orphan girl!" said Zac, in a broken voice. Margot shook her head, and looked sadder than over. Tears came to Zac's eyes. He felt as he had never felt before. There was something so inexpressibly touching about this orphan! He took her little hand tenderly in his own great, brown, toil-worn fist, and looked at her very wistfully. For a few moments he said nothing. Margot looked up at him with her great brown eyes, and then looked meekly at the deck. Zac heaved a deep sigh; then he placed his disengaged hand solemnly upon her head. "Wal," said he, gravely, "I'll protect you. Ef anybody ever harms you, you jest come to me. I'll--I'll be--a father to you." Again Margot looked up at him with her great brown eyes. "O, dat's noting," she said. "I don't want you to be my fader. But, all de same, I tink you one very nice man; an' you safe my life; an' I sall not forget--nevare; an' I weesh--. Sall I tell you what I weesh?" "Yes, yes," said Zac, eagerly, with a strange thrill of excitement. Margot threw a quick look around. "Dees Monsieur de Cazeneau," said she, drawing nearer to Zac, and speaking in a low, quick voice, "I 'fraid of heem. Dere is danjaire for my mademoiselle. He is a bad man. He haf a plot--a plan. You moos safe us. Dees Monsieur Motier is no good. You haf safe us from death; you moos safe us from dees danjaire." "How?" asked Zac, who took in at once the meaning of Margot's words, though not fully understanding them. "I will tell. Dess Monsieur de Cazeneau wish to get us to Louisbourg, where he will ruin us all--dat is, de ole count and de mademoiselle. You moos turn about, and take us to Boston." "Take you to Boston! But this schooner is engaged to go to Louisbourg with Mr. Motier." Margot shook her head. "You moos do it," said she, "or we sall be ruin. You moos tell Monsieur Motier--" Zac now began questioning her further; but Margot could not remain any longer; she therefore hurried away, with the promise to see him again and explain more about it; and Zac was left alone with his own thoughts, not knowing exactly what he could say to Claude, or how he could make up, out of Margot's scanty information, a story which might offer sufficient ground for a change in the purpose of the voyage. Meanwhile Claude had seen Mimi at various times, and had conversed with her, as before, in a very confidential manner. The danger of which Margot had spoken was present in Mimi's thoughts, also; and she was anxious to secure Claude's assistance. Thus it was that Mimi communicated to Claude all about her personal affairs. There was something almost childish in this ready communicativeness; but she knew no reason for concealing anything, and therefore was thus frank and outspoken. Claude, also, was quite as willing to tell all about himself; though his own story was somewhat more involved, and could not be told piecemeal, but required a longer and more elaborate explanation. "Have you many friends in France?" asked Mimi, in an abrupt sort of way, the next time they met. "Friends in France?" repeated Claude; "not one, that I know of." "No friends! Then what can you do there?" she asked, innocently. "Well, I don't know yet," said he. "I will see when I get there. The fact is, I am going there to find out something about my own family--my parents and myself." At this Mimi fastened her large eyes upon Claude with intense interest. "How strangely you talk!" said she. "I'll tell you a secret," said Claude, after a pause. "What?" she asked. "You will never tell it to any one? It's very important." "I tell it?" repeated Mimi; "I! Never. Of course not. So, now, what is the secret?" "Well, it's this: my name is not Motier." "Well," said Mimi, "I'm sure I'm very glad that it isn't; and it seemed strange when you told me first, for Motier is a plebeian name; and you certainly are no plebeian." "I am not a plebeian," said Claude, proudly. "You are right. My name is one of the noblest in France. I wonder if you can tell me what I want to know!" "I! Why, how can I?" said Mimi. "But I should so like to know what it is that you want to know! And O, monsieur, I should so love to know what is your real name and family!" "Well," said Claude, "I don't as yet know much about it myself. But I do know what my real name is. I am the Count de Montresor." "Montresor," exclaimed Mimi, "Montresor!" As she said this, there was an evident agitation in her voice and manner which did not escape Claude. "What's the matter?" said he. "You know something. Tell me what it is! O, tell me!" Mimi looked at him very earnestly. "I don't know," said she; "I don't know anything at all. I only know this, that poor papa's troubles are connected in some way with some one whose name is Montresor. But his troubles are a thing that I am afraid to speak about, and therefore I have never found out anything about them. So I don't know anything about Montresor, more than this. And the trouble is something terrible, I know," continued Mimi, "for it has forced him, at his time of life, to leave his home and become an exile. And I'm afraid--that is, I imagine--that he himself has done some wrong in his early life to some Montresor. But I'm afraid to ask him; and I think now that the sole object of his journey is to atone for this wrong that he has done. And O, monsieur, now that you tell your name, now that you say how you have been living here all your life, I have a fearful suspicion that my papa has been the cause of it. Montrosor! How strange!" Mimi was very much agitated; so much so, indeed, that Claude repented having told her this. But it was now too late to repent, and he could only try to find some way of remedying the evil. "Suppose I go to your father," said he, "and tell him who I am, and all about myself." "No, no," cried Mimi, earnestly; "do not! O, do not! I would not have you for worlds. My hope is, that he may give up his search and go home again, and find peace. There is nothing that you can do. What it is that troubles him I don't know; but it was something that took place before you or I were born--many, many years ago. You can do nothing. You would only trouble him the more. If he has done wrong to you or yours, you would only make his remorse the worse, for he would see in you one whom his acts have made an exile." "O, nonsense!" said Claude, cheerily; "I haven't been anything of the kind. For my part, I've lived a very happy life indeed; and it's only of late that I found out my real name. I'll tell you all about it some time, and then you'll understand better. As to anybody feeling remorse about my life, that's all nonsense. I consider my life rather an enviable one thus far." At this Mimi's agitation left her, and she grew calm again. She looked at Claude with a glance of deep gratitude, and said,-- "O, how glad, how very glad, I am to hear you say that! Perhaps you may be able yet to tell that to my dear papa. But still, I do not wish you to say anything to him at all till I may find some time when you may do it safely. And you will promise me--will you not?--that you will keep this a secret from him till he is able to bear it." "Promise? Of course," said Claude. She held out her hand, and Claude took it and carried it to his lips. They had been sitting at the bows of the schooner during this conversation. No one was near, and they had been undisturbed. CHAPTER V. A STRANGE REVELATION. The old Count Laborde had been too much weakened by suffering and privation to recover very rapidly. For a few days he spent most of his time reclining upon a couch in the little cabin, where Mimi devoted herself to him with the tenderest care. At times she would come upon deck at the urgent request of her father, and then Claude would devote himself to her with still more tender care. The old man did not take much notice of surrounding things. He lay most of the time with his eyes closed, in a half-dreamy state, and it was only with an effort that he was able to rouse himself to speak. He took no notice whatever of any one but his daughter. Cazeneau made several efforts to engage his attention, but he could not be roused. Thus there were short intervals, on successive days, when Claude was able to devote himself to Mimi, for the laudable purpose of beguiling the time which he thought must hang heavy on her hands. He considered that as he was in some sort the master of the schooner, these strangers were all his guests, and he was therefore bound by the sacred laws of hospitality to make it as pleasant for them as possible. Of course, also, it was necessary that he should exert his hospitable powers most chiefly for the benefit of the lady; and this necessity he followed up with very great spirit and assiduity. By the conversation which he had already had with her, it will be seen that they had made rapid advances towards intimacy. Claude was eager to extend this advance still farther, to take her still more into his confidence, and induce her to take him into hers. He was very eager to tell her all about himself, and the nature of his present voyage; he was still more eager to learn from her all that she might know about the Montresor family. And thus he was ever on the lookout for her appearance on deck. These appearances were not so frequent as he desired; but Mimi's devotion to her father kept her below most of the time. At such times Claude did the agreeable to the other passengers, with varying success. With the lieutenant he succeeded in ingratiating himself very rapidly; but with Cazeneau all his efforts proved futile. There was about this man a sullen reserve and _hauteur_ which made conversation difficult and friendship impossible. Claude was full of _bonhomie_, good-nature generally, and sociability; but Cazeneau was more than he could endure; so that, after a few attempts, he retired, baffled, vexed at what he considered the other's aristocratic pride. What was more noticed by him now, was the fact that Père Michel had grown more reserved with him; not that there was any visible change in the good priest's friendly manner, but he seemed pro-occupied and strangely self-absorbed. And so things went on. Meantime the schooner can hardly be said to have gone on at all. What with light head winds, and currents, and calms, her progress was but slow. This state of things was very irritating to Zac, who began to mutter something about these rascally Moosoos bringing bad luck, and "he'd be darned if he wouldn't like to know where in blamenation it was all going to end." But as Claude was no longer so good a listener as he used to be, Zac grew tired of talking to empty space, and finally held his peace. The winds and tides, and the delay, however, made no difference with Claude, nor did it interfere in the slightest with his self-content and self-complacency. In fact, he looked as though he rather enjoyed the situation; and this was not the least aggravating thing in the surroundings to the mind of the impatient skipper. Thus several days passed, and at length Claude had an opportunity of drawing Mimi into another somewhat protracted conversation. "I am very much obliged to you," said Claude, gayly, "for making your appearance. I have been trying to do the agreeable to your shipmate Cazeneau, but without success. Is he always so amiable? and is he a friend of yours?" Mimi looked at Claude with a very serious expression as he said this, and was silent for a few minutes. "He is a friend of papa's," said she at last. "He came out with us--" "Is he a great friend of yours?" asked Claude. Mimi hesitated for a moment, and then said,-- "No; I do not like him at all." Claude drew a long breath. "Nor do I," said he. "Perhaps I am doing him injustice," said Mimi, "but I cannot help feeling as though he is in some way connected with dear papa's troubles. I do not mean to say that he is the cause of them. I merely mean that, as far as I know anything about them, it is always in such a way that he seems mixed up with them. And I don't think, either, that his face is very much in his favor, for there is something so harsh and cruel in his expression, that I always wish that papa had chosen some different kind of a person for his friend and confidant." "Is he all that?" asked Claude. "O, I suppose so," said Mimi. "They have secrets together, and make, together, plans that I know nothing about." "Do you suppose," asked Claude, "that you will ever be in any way connected with their plans?" He put this question, which was a general one, in a very peculiar tone, which indicated some deeper meaning. It seemed as though Mimi understood him, for she threw at him a hurried and half-frightened look. "Why?" she asked. "What makes you ask such a question as that?" "O, I don't know," said Claude. "The thought merely entered my mind--perhaps because I dislike him, and suspect him, and am ready to imagine all kinds of evil about him." Mimi regarded him now with a very earnest look, and said nothing for some time. "Have you any recollection," she asked, at length, "of ever having seen his face anywhere, at any time, very long ago?" Claude shook his head. "Not the slightest," said he. "I never saw him in all my life, or any one like him, till I saw him on the raft. But what makes you ask so strange a question?" "I hardly know," said Mimi, "except that he seems so in papa's confidence,--and I know that papa's chief trouble arises from some affair that he had with some Montresor,--and I thought--well, I'll tell you what I thought. I thought that, as this Montresor had to leave France--that perhaps he had been followed to America, or sought after; and, as you are a member of that family, you might have seen some of those who were watching the family; and the Count do Cazeneau seemed to be one who might be connected with it. But I'm afraid I'm speaking in rather a confused way; and no wonder, for I hardly know what it is that I do really suspect." "O, I understand," said Claude; "you suspect that my father was badly treated, and had to leave France, and that this man was at the bottom of it. Well, I dare say he was, and that he is quite capable of any piece of villany; but as to his hunting us in America, I can acquit him of that charge, as far as my experience goes, for I never saw him, and never heard of any one ever being on our track. But can't you tell me something more definite about it? Can't you tell me exactly what you know?" Mimi shook her head. "I don't know anything," said she, "except what little I told you--that poor papa's trouble of mind comes from some wrong which he did to some Montresor, who had to go to America. And you may not be connected with that Montresor, after all; but I'm afraid you must be, and that--you--will have to be--poor papa's--enemy." "Never!" said Claude, vehemently; "never! not if your father--Whatever has happened, I will let it pass--so far as I am concerned." "O, you don't know what it is that has happened." "Neither do you, for that matter; so there now; and for my part I don't want to know, and I won't try to find out, if you think I'd better not." "I don't dare to think anything about it; I only know that a good son has duties towards his parents, and that he must devote his life to the vindication of their honor." "Undoubtedly," said Claude, placidly; "but as it happens my parents have never communicated to me any story of any wrongs of theirs, I know very little about them. They never desired that I should investigate their lives; and, as I have never heard of any wrongs which they suffered, I don't see how I can go about to vindicate their honor. I have, by the merest chance, come upon something which excited my curiosity, and made me anxious to know something more. I have had no deeper feeling than curiosity; and if you think that my search will make me an enemy of your father, I hereby give up the search, and decline to pursue it any farther. In fact, I'll fall back upon my old name and rank, and become plain Claude Motier." Claude tried to speak in an off-hand tone; but his assumed indifference could not conceal the deep devotion of the look which he gave to Mimi, or the profound emotion which was in his heart. It was for her sake that he thus offered to relinquish his purpose. She knew it and felt it. "I'm sure," said she, "I don't know what to say to that. I'm afraid to say anything. I don't know what may happen yet; you may at any time find out something which would break through all your indifference, and fill you with a thirst for vengeance. I don't know, and you don't know, what may be--before us. So don't make any rash offers, but merely do as I asked you before; and that is,--while papa is here,--refrain from mentioning this subject to him. It is simply for the sake of his--his peace of mind--and--and--his health. I know it will excite him so dreadfully--that I tremble for the result." "O, of course," said Claude, "I promise, as I did before. You needn't be at all afraid." "Would you have any objection," she asked, after a short silence, "to tell me how much you do really know?" "Of course not," said Claude, with his usual frankness. "I'll tell you the whole story. There isn't much of it. I always believed myself to be the son of Jean Motier, until a short time ago. We lived near Boston, a place that you, perhaps, have heard of. He was always careful to give me the best education that could be had in a colony, and particularly in all the accomplishments of a gentleman. We were both very happy, and lived very well, and I called him father, and he called me son; and so things went on until a few weeks ago. I went off hunting with some British officers, and on my return found the old man dying. The shock to me was a terrible one. At that time I believed that it was my father that I was losing. What made it worse, was the evident fact that there was something on his mind, something that he was longing to tell me; but he could not collect his thoughts, and he could only speak a few broken words. He kept muttering, '_Mon trésor_, _Mon trésor_;' but I thought it was merely some loving words of endearment to me, and did not imagine what they really meant. Still I saw that there was something on his mind, and that he died without being able to tell it." Claude paused for a moment, quite overcome by his recollections, and Mimi's large dark eyes filled with tears in her deep sympathy with his sorrows. "Well," said Claude, regaining his composure with an effort, "I'll go on. As soon as he was buried I began to search the papers, partly to see how the business was, and how I was situated in the world; but more for the sake of trying to find out what this secret could be. There was an old cabinet filled with papers and parcels, and here I began my search. For a long time I found nothing but old business letters and receipts; but at last I found some religious books--with a name written in them. The name was Louise de Montresor. Well, no sooner had I seen this than I at once recollected the words of my father, as I supposed him, which I thought words of endearment--Montresor, Montresor. I saw now that it was the name of a person--of a woman; so this excited me greatly, and I continued the search with greater ardor. "After a while I came to a drawer in which was a quantity of gold coins, amounting to over a hundred guineas. In this same drawer was a gold watch; on the back of it were engraved the letters L. D. M., showing that it was evidently the property of this Louise de Montresor. A gold chain was connected with it, upon which was fastened a seal. On this was engraved a griffin rampant, with the motto, _Noblesse oblige_. "Well, after this I found another drawer, in which were several lady's ornaments, and among them was a package carefully wrapped up. On opening it I found the miniature portrait of a lady, and this lady was the same Louise de Montresor, for her name was written on the back." "Have you it now?" asked Mimi, with intense interest. "Yes," said Claude; "and I'll show it to you some time. But I have something else to show you just now. Wait a minute, and I'll explain. After I found the portrait, I went on searching, and came to another package. On opening this I found some papers which seemed totally different from anything I had seen as yet. The ink was faded; the writing was a plain, bold hand; and now I'll let you read this for yourself; and you'll know as much as I do." Saying this, Claude produced from his pocket a paper, which he opened and handed to Mimi. It was a sheet of foolscap, written on three sides, in a plain, bold hand. The ink was quite faded. As Mimi took the paper, her hand trembled with excitement, and over her face there came a sudden anxious, half-frightened look, as though she dreaded to make herself acquainted with the contents of this old document. After a moment's hesitation she mustered up her resolution, and began to read. It was as follows:-- "QUEBEC, June 10, 1725. "Instructions to Jean Motier with reference to my son, Claude de Montresor, and my property. "As I do not know how long I shall be absent, I think it better to leave directions about my son, which may be your guide in the event of my death. I must stay away long enough to enable me to overcome the grief that I feel. Long, long indeed, must it be before I shall feel able to settle in any one place. The death of my dearest wife, Louise, has left me desolate beyond expression, and there is no home for me any more on earth, since she has gone. "I have property enough for you to bring up Claude as a gentleman. I wish him to have the best education which he can get in the colonies. I do not wish him to know about his family and the past history of his unhappy parents until he shall be old enough to judge for himself. In any case, I should wish him not to think of France. Let him content himself in America. It is done. In France there is no redress. The government is hopelessly corrupt, and there is no possibility of wrong being righted. Besides, the laws against the Huguenots are in full force, and he can never live with his mother's enemies. I revere the sacred memory of my Huguenot wife, and curse the knaves and fanatics who wronged her and cast her out; yet I thank God that I was able to save her from the horrible fate that awaited her. "I wish my son, therefore, to know nothing of France, at least until he shall be of age, and his own master; and even then I should wish him never to go there. Let him content himself in the colonies. For how could he ever redeem the position which is lost? or how could he hope to face the powerful and unscrupulous enemies who have wrought my ruin; the false friend who betrayed me; his base and infernal accomplice; the ungrateful government which did such foul wrong to a loyal servant? All is lost. The estates are confiscated. The unjust deed can never be undone. Let my son, therefore, resign himself to fate, and be content with the position in which he may find himself. "The property will be sufficient to maintain him in comfort and independence. Here he will have all that he may want; here the church will give him her consolations without bigotry, or fanaticism, or corruption, or persecution. He will be free from the vices and temptations of the old world, and will have a happier fate than that of his unhappy father. "EUGENE DE MONTRESOR." Another paper was folded up with this. It was written in a different hand, and was as follows:-- "BOSTON, June 20, 1740. "Count Eugene de Montresor left on the 2d July, 1725, and has never since been heard of. I have followed all his instructions, with one exception. It was from the countess that I first heard the word of life, and learned the truth. The priests at Quebec gave me no peace; and so I had to leave and come here, among a people who are of another nation, but own and hold my faith--the faith of the pure worship of Christ. The count wished me to bring you up a Catholic; but I had a higher duty than his will, and I have brought you up not in your father's religion, but in your mother's faith. Your father was a good man, though in error. He has, no doubt, long since rejoined the saint who was his wife on earth; and I know that the spirits of your father and mother smile approvingly on my acts. "If I die before I tell you all, dear Claude, you will see this, and will understand that I did my duty to your parents and to you--" Here it ended abruptly. There was no name, and it was evidently unfinished. CHAPTER VI. A FRENCH FRIGATE. Mimi read both papers through rapidly and breathlessly, and having finished them, she read them over once more. As she finished the second reading, Claude presented to her in silence a small package. She took it in the same silence. On opening it, she saw inside a miniature portrait of a lady--the same one which Claude had mentioned. She was young and exquisitely beautiful, with rich dark hair, that flowed luxuriantly around her head; soft hazel eyes, that rested with inexpressible sweetness upon the spectator; and a gentle, winning smile. This face produced an unwonted impression upon Mimi. Long and eagerly did she gaze upon it, and when, at length, she handed it back to Claude, her eyes were moist with tears. Claude replaced the portrait in its wrapper, and then restored it, with the letters, to his pocket. For some time they sat in silence, and then Claude said,-- "You see there is no great duty laid on me. Judging by the tone of that letter, I should be doing my duty to my father if I did not go to France--and if I did not seek after anything." "Ah! but how could you possibly live, and leave all this unexplained?" "I could do it very easily," said Claude. "You don't know yourself." "O, yes, I could; I could live very easily and very happily--if I only had your assistance." At these words, which were spoken in a low, earnest voice, full of hidden meaning, Mimi darted a rapid glance at Claude, and caught his eyes fixed on her. Her own eyes fell before the fervid eagerness of the young man's gaze, a flush overspread her face, and she said not a word. Nor did Claude say anything more just then; but it was rather as though he felt afraid of having gone too far, for he instantly changed the subject. "I'm afraid," said he, "that I shall not be able to find out very much. You cannot give me any enlightenment, and there is nothing very precise in these papers. The chief thing that I learned from them was the fact that Jean Motier was not my father, but my guardian. Then a few other things are stated which can easily be mentioned. First, that my father was the Count Eugene de Montresor; then that he was driven to exile by some false charge which he did not seem able to meet; then, that his estates were confiscated; then, that his wife, my mother, was a Huguenot, and also in danger. I see, also, that my father considered his enemies altogether too powerful for any hope to remain that he could resist them, and that finally, after my mother's death, he grew weary of the world, and went away somewhere to die. "Now, the fact that he lived two years in Quebec made me have some thoughts at first of going there; but afterwards I recollected how long it had been since he was there, and it seemed quite improbable that I should find any one now who could tell me anything about him; while, if I went to France, I thought it might be comparatively easy to learn the cause of his exile and punishment. And so, as I couldn't find any vessels going direct from Boston, I concluded to go to Louisbourg and take ship there. I thought also that I might find out something at Louisbourg; though what I expected I can hardly say. "You spoke as though you supposed that this Cazeneau had something to do with my father's trouble. Do you think that his present journey has anything to do with it? That is, do you think he is coming out on the same errand as your father?" "I really do not know what to say about that. I should think not. I know that he has some office in Louisbourg, and I do not see what motive he can have to search after the Montresors. I believe that papa hopes to find your papa, so as to make some atonement, or something of that sort; but I do not believe that Cazeneau is capable of making atonement for anything. I do not believe that Cazeneau has a single good quality. Cazeneau is my father's evil genius." Mimi spoke these words with much vehemence, not caring, in her excitement, whether she was overheard or not; but scarce had she uttered them than she saw emerging from the forecastle the head of Cazeneau himself. She stopped short, and looked at him in amazement and consternation. He bowed blandly, and coming upon deck, walked past her to the stern. After he had passed, Mimi looked at Claude with a face full of vexation. "Who could have supposed," said she, "that he was so near? He must have heard every word!" "Undoubtedly he did," said Claude, "and he had a chance of verifying the old adage that 'listeners never hear good of themselves.'" "O, I wish you would be on your guard!" said Mimi, in real distress. "It makes me feel very anxious." She threw at Claude a glance so full of tender interest and pathetic appeal, that Claude's playful mood gave way to one of a more sentimental character; and it is quite impossible to tell what he would have done or said had not Cazeneau again made his appearance, on his way back to the forecastle. He smiled a cold smile as he passed them. "Charming weather for a _tête-à-tête_, mademoiselle," said he. "_Parbleu_! Monsieur Motier, I don't wonder you don't make your vessel go faster. I quite envy you; but at present I must see about my fellows below here." With these words he turned away, and descended into the forecastle. Mimi also turned away, and Claude accompanied her to the stern. "How old do you suppose he is?" asked Claude, very gravely. "How old? What a funny question! Why, he must be nearly fifty by this time." "Fifty!" exclaimed Claude, in surprise. "Yes." "Why, I thought he was about thirty, or thirty-five." "Well, he certainly doesn't look over forty; but he is a wonderfully well-kept man. Even on the raft, the ruling passion remained strong in the very presence of death, and he managed to keep up his youthful appearance; but I know that he is almost, if not quite, as old as papa." "Is it possible?" cried Claude, in amazement. Mimi turned, and with her face close to Claude's, regarded him with an anxious look, and spoke in a low, hurried voice:-- "O, be on your guard--beware of him. Even now he is engaged in some plot against you. I know it by his face. That's what takes him down there to confer with the seamen. He is not to be trusted. He is all false--in face, in figure, in mind, and in heart. He knows nothing about honor, or justice, or mercy. He has been the deadly enemy of the Montresors, and if he finds out who you are, he will be your deadly enemy. O, don't smile that way! Don't despise this enemy! Be careful--be on your guard, I entreat you--_for my sake_!" These last words were spoken in a hurried whisper, and the next moment Mimi turned and hastened down into the cabin to her father, while Claude remained there, thinking over these words. Yet of them all it was not the warning contained in them that was present in his memory, but rather the sweet meaning convoyed in those last three words, and in the tone in which they were uttered--the words _for my sake_! Out of his meditations on this theme he was at length aroused by an exclamation from Zac. Looking up, he saw that worthy close beside him, intently watching something far away on the horizon, through a glass. "I'll be darned if it ain't a French frigate!" This was the exclamation that roused Claude. He at once returned to himself, and turning to Zac, he asked him what he meant. Zac said nothing, but, handing him the spy-glass, pointed away to the west, where a sail was visible on the horizon. That sail was an object of curious interest to others on board; to the lieutenant and seamen of the wrecked vessel, who were staring at her from the bows; and to Cazeneau, who was with them, staring with equal interest. Claude took the glass, and raising it to his eye, examined the strange sail long and carefully, but without being able to distinguish anything in particular about her. "What makes you think that she is a French frigate?" he asked, as he handed the glass back to Zac. "I cannot make out that she is French any more than English." "O, I can tell easy enough," said Zac, "by the cut of her jib. Then, too, I judge by her course. That there craft is comin' down out of the Bay of Fundy, which the Moosoos in their lingo call Fonde de la Baie. She's been up at some of the French settlements. Now, she may be goin' to France--or mayhap she's goin' to Louisbourg--an' if so be as she's goin' to Louisbourg, why, I shouldn't wonder if it mightn't be a good idee for our French friends here to go aboard of her and finish their voyage in a vessel of their own. One reason why I'd rather have it so is, that I don't altogether like the manoeuvrin's of that French count over thar. He's too sly; an' he's up to somethin', an' I don't fancy havin' to keep up a eternal watch agin him. If I was well red of him I could breathe freer; but at the same time I don't altogether relish the idee of puttin' myself into the clutches of that thar frigate. It's easy enough for me to keep out of her way; but if I was once to get under her guns, thar'd be an end of the Parson. This here count ain't to be trusted, no how; an' if he once got into communication with that there frigate, he'd be my master. An' so I'm in a reg'lar quan-dary, an' no mistake. Darned if I know what in the blamenation to do about it." Zac stopped short, and looked with an air of mild inquiry at Claude. Claude, on his part, was rather startled by Zac's estimate of the character of Cazeneau, for it chimed in so perfectly with Mimi's opinion that it affected him in spite of himself. But it was only for a moment, and then his own self-confidence gained the mastery. CHAPTER VII. CAUGHT IN A TRAP. The schooner was now directed towards the stranger, and before very long they saw that her course had been changed, and that she was now bearing down upon them. Zac stood at the helm saying nothing, but keeping his eyes fixed upon the frigate, which drew nearer and nearer, till finally she came near enough for her flag to be plainly seen. They had been right in their conjectures, and the new comer was a French frigate. This assurance seemed to open the mouth of Zac. "I must say," he remarked to Claude, "the nearer I get to her, the less I like it. I've met Moosoo before this on the high seas, but I allus went on the plan of keepin' out of his way. This here system of goin' right into his jaws don't suit me at all." "O, come now," said Claude, "don't begin again. I thought you'd given up all anxiety. There's not the slightest occasion for being worried about it. I'll find out whether they can take me to Louisbourg, and so I'll leave you, and you'll get back to Boston quicker than if you took me where you first proposed." "Yes; but suppose she's goin' to France, and chooses to take me prisoner?" said Zac. "O, nonsense!" said Claude. "They couldn't. What, after saving so many lives, and conveying these rescued fellow-countrymen to their own flag, do you suppose they could think of arresting you? Nonsense! The thing's impossible." Zac said no more, but was evidently ill at ease, and in his own mind there was no end of dark forebodings as to the event of this meeting. These forebodings were in no way lessened as the schooner rounded to under the lee of the frigate, and Zac saw a row of guns heavy enough to blow him and his "Parson" to atoms. The frigate did not wait for the schooner to send a boat aboard, for her own boat was all ready, and soon appeared, well manned, rowing towards the schooner. On coming alongside, the officer in command stepped on board, and Claude at once went forward to meet him. Cazeneau also walked forward with the same purpose. Claude politely raised his hat, and the officer civilly returned his greeting. "This, monsieur, is the schooner Amos Adams, of Boston. We have recently picked up the survivors of His Royal French Majesty's frigate 'Arethuse,' which has been lost at sea, and we have come to see whether you could take them. Will you have the goodness to tell me where you are going?" "Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the officer, "the Arethuse lost! Is it possible? What a terrible misfortune! And she had on board the new commandant for Louisbourg." At this Cazeneau came forward. "He is safe, monsieur, for I am he." The officer respectfully removed his hat, and bowed very low. "What ship is this?" asked Cazeneau, in the tone of a superior. "L'Aigle," replied the officer. "Where are you bound?" "To Brest. We have just been cruising to the different settlements and forts on the Bay of Fundy, with some supplies which were sent from Louisbourg." "Ah! And you are now on your return to France?" "Yes." "Who commands your ship?" "Captain Ducrot." "Ah! Very good. You see, monsieur," said Cazeneau to Claude, "this ship is bound to France; and that destination will not suit any of us. I think I had better go aboard and see the captain, with whom I may have some little influence. Perhaps, as my command is an important one, he may be persuaded to alter his course, and land us at Louisbourg, or some other place.--And so, monsieur," he continued, turning to the officer, "I shall be obliged to you if you will put me aboard the Aigle." The officer assured him that the boat was altogether at his service; whereupon Cazeneau stepped aboard, followed by the officer, and in a short time the boat was on its way back to the frigate. Claude watched this in silence, and without any misgivings. It seemed to him quite natural, and, indeed, the best thing that could be done, under the circumstances. If the ship was going to France, she could not be of service to them; but if her captain could be induced to change his course and land them at Louisbourg, this would be exactly what they wanted; and Cazeneau seemed to be the only one on board who was at all likely to persuade the captain of the Aigle to do such a thing as this. It seemed a long time before any further notice was taken of the schooner. Meanwhile, all on board were watching the frigate with much anxiety, and wondering what the result would be. In any case it did not seem a matter of very great importance to any one; for the lieutenant and the two sailors, who might have been most concerned, were very well treated on board the schooner,--better, perhaps, than they would be on board a frigate,--and evinced no particular desire to leave. The priest said nothing; and to him, as well as to Claude, there was nothing to be gained by taking to the ship. As for the aged Laborde, he was still too weak to take any notice of events going on around him; while Mimi, perhaps, found herself as well situated here, under the care of Claude, as she could possibly be on the larger ship, under the care of one who might be less agreeable. Claude himself would certainly have preferred letting things remain as they were. The situation was very pleasant. Mimi's occasional companionship seemed sweeter than anything he had ever known; and, as he was master on board, he naturally had a certain right to show her attentions; which right he could not have under other circumstances. He would have liked to see Cazeneau take his departure for good, together with the French sailors, leaving Laborde and Mimi on board the schooner. Finally, Zac was not at all pleased with anything in his present situation. The thought of possible foul play never left his mind for an instant; and though the blow was delayed for a considerable time, he could not help feeling sure that it would fall. During this period of waiting, the aged Laborde had been brought up on deck, and placed there on a seat. This was done from a hope which Mimi had that he would be benefited by the excitement of the change. The sight of the ship, however, produced but little effect of any kind upon the languid and worn-out old man. He gave an indifferent glance at the frigate and the surrounding scene, and then subsided into himself, while Mimi in vain strove to rouse him from his indifference. At last their suspense came to an end, and they saw preparations making for another visit to the schooner. This time a second boat was lowered, which was filled with marines. The sight of this formidable boat's crew produced on Claude an impression of surprise; while in Zac it enforced a conviction that his worst fears were now to be realized. "Look thar!" said he in a hoarse whisper. "Now you see what's a comin'! Good by, poor old Parson! Yer in the claws of the Philistines now, an' no mistake." To this Claude made no reply, for he began to feel rather perplexed himself, and to imagine that Cazeneau might have been playing him false. All that Mimi had said about him now came to his mind, and the armed boat's crew seemed like the first act of a traitor. He tried to account for this in some other way, but was not able. He could no longer laugh away Zac's fears. He could only be still and wait. The two boats rowed towards the schooner. Cazeneau was not in either of them. He had remained on board. At length one of the boats touched the schooner, and the same officer who had visited her before again stepped on board. "Is the Count de Laborde here?" he asked. Claude pointed to where the old man was seated. The officer advanced, and removed his hat with a bow to the old count, and another to the beautiful Mimi. "Monsieur le Comte," said he, "I have the honor to convoy to you the compliments of Captain Ducrot, with the request that you would honor him with your company on board the Aigle. His excellency the Comte de Cazeneau, commandant of Louisbourg, has persuaded him to convey himself, and you, and some others, to the nearest French fort. It is the intention of Captain Ducrot to sail back up the Bay of Fundy, and land you at Grand Pré, from which place you can reach Louisbourg by land." To this Laborde murmured a few indistinct words in reply, while Mimi made no remark whatever. She was anxious to know what Claude was intending to do. The officer now turned away to the others. "My instructions," said he, "are, to convey the invitation of Captain Ducrot to Monsieur l'Abbé Michel and Lieutenant d'Angers, whom he will be happy to receive on board the Aigle, and convey them to Grand Pré, or France. The two seamen of the Arethuse will also go on board and report themselves." The officer now went back to Laborde, and offered, to assist him. The old man rose, and taking his arm, walked feebly towards the vessel's side, whence he descended into the boat, and was assisted to the stern by the seamen. The officer then assisted Mimi to a place by her father's side, anticipating Claude, who stepped forward with the offer of his assistance. Then followed Père Michel, and Lieutenant d'Angers, of the Arethuse; then Margot; and, finally, the two seamen. Meanwhile nothing was said to Claude. He was not included in the compliments of Captain Ducrot, nor was any notice taken of him in any way. He could not help feeling slighted and irritated at the whole proceeding. To himself and to Zac this whole party owed their lives, and they were all leaving him now with no more regard for him than if he were, a perfect stranger. But the fact was, the whole party took it for granted that he and Zac would be invited on board, and that they would see them both again, and supposed that they were coming in the same boat. Mimi and Père Michel both thought that Claude, at least, was going with them; for he had told them both that he was going to leave the schooner and send Zac home. But Claude's feelings were somewhat embittered by this whole incident, and were destined to be still more so before it was all over. The lieutenant remained on board. The boat rowed back to the Aigle, carrying the passengers above named, after which the lieutenant motioned to the other boat. This one moved alongside, and a half-dozen armed seamen stepped on board. "Monsieur," said the lieutenant, advancing to Claude, "I hope you will pardon me for being the instrument in a very unpleasant duty. I am pained to inform you that you are my prisoner, on the command of his excellency the commandant of Louisbourg, whose instructions I am ordered to fulfil. I deeply regret this painful necessity, and most sincerely hope that it may prove only a temporary inconvenience." At this Claude was so astounded that for some time he could only stare at the officer, without being able to utter a syllable. At length he said,-- "What, monsieur! A prisoner? You must be mistaken! And who--The commandant of Louisbourg--is not that the Count de Cazeneau?" "It is." "But, monsieur, it must be a mistake. I have never injured him or any one. I have done nothing but good to him. My friend here, the captain of this schooner, and I, saved his life; and we have treated him with the utmost kindness since he was on board here. Finally, we sailed towards you, and put ourselves in your power, solely that these shipwrecked passengers, of whom the Count de Cazeneau was one, might reach their friends sooner. How, then, can he possibly mean to arrest me?" "Monsieur, I assure you that it grieves mo most deeply," said the officer--"most exquisitely. I know all this--all, and so does Captain Ducrot; but there is no mistake, and it must be." "But what authority has he here, and why should your captain do his orders?" "Monsieur, I am only a subordinate, and I know nothing but my orders. At the same time, you must know that the commandant of Louisbourg has general control, by land and sea, and is my captain's superior." Claude made no reply. He saw that this man was but, as he said, a subordinate, and was only obeying his orders. But the officer had something still on his mind. His words and his looks all showed that the present business was exceedingly distasteful to him, and that he was only doing it under pressure. "Monsieur," said he, after a pause, "I have another painful duty to perform. I am ordered to take possession of this schooner, as a prize of war, and take the captain and crew as prisoners of war." At this Claude stared at the officer once more, utterly stupefied. "Mon Dieu!" he cried, at length. "Are you a Frenchman? Is your captain a French gentleman? Do you know, monsieur, what you are doing? We have saved some shipwrecked Frenchmen; we have carried them to a place of safety; and for this we are arrested! This honest man, the captain, might expect a reward for his generosity; and what does he get? Why, he is seized as a prisoner of war, and his schooner is made a prize! Is there any chivalry left in France? Are these the acts of Frenchmen? Great Heavens! Has it come to this?" "Monsieur," said the officer, "be calm, I implore you. All this gives me the most exquisite distress. But I must obey orders." "You are right," said Claude. "You are a subordinate. I am wasting words to talk with you. Take me to your captain, or to the Count de Cazeneau. Let me learn what it is that induces him to act towards us with such unparalleled baseness." "Monsieur, I shall be happy to do all that I can. I will take you to the Aigle,--under guard,--and you will be a prisoner there. I hope that his excellency will accord you the favor of an interview." All this time Zac had been a silent spectator of the scene. He had not understood the words that were spoken, but he had gathered the general meaning of this scene from the gestures and expression of the two speakers. The presence, also, of the armed guard was enough to show him that the blow which he dreaded had fallen. And now, since the worst had happened, all his uneasiness departed, and he resumed all the vigor of his mind. He at once decided upon the best course to follow, and that course was to be emphatically one of quiet, and calmness, and cool watchfulness. Claude had become excited at this event; Zac had become cool. "Wal," said he, advancing towards Claude, "it's just as I said. I allus said that these here frog-eatin' Frenchmen wan't to be trusted; and here, you see, I was right. I see about how it is. The poor, unfort'nate Parson's done for, an' I'm in for it, too, I s'pose." Claude turned, and gave Zac a look of indescribable distress. "There's some infernal villain at work, Zac," said he, "out of the common course, altogether. I'm arrested myself." "You? Ah!" said Zac, who did not appear to be at all surprised. "You don't say so! Wal, you've got the advantage of me, since you can speak their darned lingo. So they've gone an' 'rested you, too--have they?" "It's that infernal Cazeneau," said Claude; "and I haven't got the faintest idea why." "Cazeneau, is it? O, well," said Zac, "they're all alike. It's my opinion that it's the captain of the frigate, an' he's doin' it in Cazeneau's name. Ye see he's ben a cruisin' about, an' hankers after a prize; an' I'm the only one he's picked up. You're 'rested--course--as one of the belongin's of the Parson. You an' I an' the hull crew: that's it! We're all prisoners of war!" "O, no," said Claude. "It isn't that, altogether; there's some deeper game." "Pooh!" said Zac; "the game ain't a deep one, at all; it's an every-day game. But I must say it is hard to be done for jest because we had a leetle too much hooman feelin'. Now, ef we'd only let them Frenchies rot and drown on their raft,--or ef we'd a' taken them as prisoners to Boston,--we'd ben spared this present tribulation." Zac heaved a sigh as he said this, and turned away. Then a sudden thought struck him. "O, look here," said he; "jest ask 'em one thing, as a partiklar favor. You needn't mention me, though. It's this. Ask 'em if they won't leave me free--that is, I don't want to be handcuffed." "Handcuffed!" exclaimed Claude, grinding his teeth in futile rage. "They won't dare to do that!" "O, you jest ask this Moosoo, as a favor. They needn't object." Upon this Claude turned to the officer. "Monsieur," said he, "I have a favor to ask. I and my friend here are your prisoners, but we do not wish to be treated with unnecessary indignity or insult. I ask, then, that we may be spared the insult of being bound. Our offence has not been great. Wo have only saved the lives of six of your fellow-countrymen. Is it presumption to expect this favor?" "Monsieur," said the officer, "I assure you that, as far as I have anything to say, you shall not be bound. And as to this brave fellow, he may be at liberty to move about in this schooner as long as he is quiet and gives no offence--that is, for the present. And now, monsieur, I will ask you to accompany me on board the Aigle." With these words the officer prepared to quit the schooner. Before doing so he addressed some words to the six seamen, who were to be left in charge as a prize crew, with one midshipman at their head. He directed them to follow the frigate until further orders, and also, until further orders, to leave the captain of the schooner unbound, and let him have the run of the vessel. After this the officer returned to the Aigle, taking Claude with him. CHAPTER VIII. UNDER ARREST. By the time that Claude reached the Aigle, the evening of this eventful day was at hand. He was taken to a room on the gun-deck, which seemed as though used for a prison, from the general character of the bolts and bars, and other fixtures. Claude asked to see the captain, and the lieutenant promised to carry the message to him. After about an hour he came back with the message that the captain could not see him that evening. Upon this Claude begged him to ask Count de Cazeneau for an interview. The officer went off once more, and returned with the same answer. Upon this Claude was compelled to submit to his fate as best he might. It was a hard thing for him, in the midst of health, and strength, and joy, with all the bounding activity and eager energy of youth, to be cast down into a prison; but to be arrested and imprisoned under such circumstances; to be so foully wronged by the very man whose life he had saved; to have his own kindness and hospitality repaid by treachery, and bonds, and insult,--all this was galling in the highest degree, and well nigh intolerable. That night Claude did not sleep. He lay awake wondering what could be the cause of Cazeneau's enmity, and trying in vain to conjecture. All the next morning Claude waited for some message from Captain Ducrot; but none came. His breakfast was brought to him, consisting of the coarse fare of common seamen, and then his dinner; but the captain did not make his appearance. Even the officer who had arrested him, and who had hitherto shown himself sufficiently sympathetic, did not appear. The sailor who brought his meals gave no answer to his questions. It seemed to Claude as though his captors were unwilling to give him a hearing. At length, in about the middle of the afternoon, Claude heard the tramp of men approaching his prison; the door was opened, and he saw an officer enter, while three marines, with fixed bayonets, stood outside. "Have I the honor of speaking to Captain Ducrot?" asked Claude. "I am Captain Ducrot," said the other. He was a small, wiry man, dressed with extreme neatness, who looked rather like an attorney than a seaman. His voice was thin and harsh,--his manner cold and repulsive, with an air of primness and formality that made him seem more like a machine than a man. The first sight of him made Claude feel as though any appeal to his humanity or generosity, or even justice, would be useless. He looked like an automaton, fit to obey the will of another, but without any independent will of his own. Nevertheless, Claude had no other resource; so he began:-- "I have asked for this interview, monsieur," said he, "from a conviction that there must be some mistake. Listen to me for a moment. I have lived in Boston all my life. I was on my way to Louisbourg, intending to go to France from there, on business. I had engaged a schooner to take me to Louisbourg; and at sea I came across a portion of the wreck of the Arethuse, with six people on board, one of whom was the Count de Cazeneau. I saved them all--that is, with the assistance of the captain of the schooner. After I brought them on board the schooner, I treated them all with the utmost kindness; and finally, when I saw your ship in the distance, I voluntarily sailed towards you, for the purpose of allowing my passengers to go on board. I had designed coming on board myself also, if your destination suited my views. And now, monsieur, for all this I find myself arrested, held here in prison, treated as a common felon, and all because I have saved the lives of some shipwrecked fellow-beings. Monsieur, it is not possible that this can be done with your knowledge. If you want confirmation of my words, ask the good priest Père Michel, and he will confirm all that I have said." The captain listened to all this very patiently, and without any interruption. At length, as Claude ended, he replied,-- "But you yourself cannot suppose that you, as you say, are imprisoned merely for this. People do not arrest their benefactors merely because they are their benefactors; and if you have saved the life of his excellency, you cannot suppose that he has ordered your arrest for that sole reason. Monsieur has more good sense, and must understand well that there is some sort of charge against him." "Monsieur," said Claude, "I swear to you I not only know no reason for my arrest, but I cannot even imagine one; and I entreat you, as a man of honor, to tell me what the charge against me is." "Monsieur," said the captain, blandly, "we are both men of honor, of course. Of your honor I have no doubt. It is untouched. Every day men of honor, and of rank, too, are getting into difficulties; and whenever one meddles with political affairs it must be so." "Political affairs!" cried Claude. "What have I to do with political affairs?" The captain again smiled blandly. "_Parbleu_, monsieur, but that is not for me to say." "But is that the charge against me?" "Most certainly. How could it be otherwise?" "Politics, politics!" cried Claude. "I don't understand you! I must be taken for some other person." "O, no," said the captain; "there's no mistake." "Pardon me, monsieur, there must be." "Then, monsieur, allow me to indulge the hope that you may be able to show where the mistake is, at your trial." The captain made a movement now as though he was about to leave; but Claude detained him. "One moment, monsieur," said he. "Will you not tell me something more? Will you not tell me what these political charges are? For, I swear to you, I cannot imagine. How can I, who have lived all my life in Boston, be connected with politics in any way? Let me know, then, something about these charges; for nothing is more distressing than to be in a situation like this, and have no idea whatever of the cause of it." [Illustration: "Of Your Honor I Have No Doubt."] "_Eh bien_, monsieur," said the captain, "since you wish it, I have no objection whatever to state what they are; and if you can clear yourself and show your innocence, I shall be the first to congratulate you. His excellency will not object to my telling you, I am sure, for he is the soul of goodness, and is full of generous impulses. Very well, then. In the first place you call yourself Claude Motier. Now, this is said to be an assumed name. Your real name is said to be Claude de Montresor; and it is said that you are the son of a certain Eugene de Moutresor, who committed grave offences about twenty years ago, for which he would have been severely punished had he not fled from the country. His wife, also,--your mother, perhaps,--was proscribed, and would have been arrested and punished had she not escaped with her husband. They were then outlawed, and their estates were confiscated. The wife died, the husband disappeared. This is what happened to them." "That is all true," said Claude. "But my father and mother were both most foully wronged--" "Pardon, monsieur," said the captain. "That is very probable; but I am not here as judge; I am only giving you information about the charge against you. I have not time to listen to your answer; and I would advise you not to speak too hastily. You have already confessed to the assumed name. I would advise you to be careful in your statements. And now, monsieur, should you like to hear any more?" "Yes, yes!" cried Claude, eagerly; "tell me all that there is to know." "Very well," said the captain. "Now you, under an assumed name, engage a schooner to take you, not to Louisbourg, but to some place in the vicinity of Louisbourg. Being the son of two dangerous political offenders, who were both outlawed for grave crimes, you are found coming from Boston to Louisbourg under an assumed name, and upon a secret errand, which you keep to yourself. Under these circumstances the commandant could not overlook your case. It seemed to him one which was full of suspicion, and, in spite of the gratitude which he felt for your kind offices, he nevertheless was compelled, by a strong sense of public duty, to order your arrest. You will be accorded a fair trial; and, though appearances are against you, you may succeed in proving your innocence; in which case, monsieur, I am sure that no one will be more rejoiced than myself and his excellency. "You have also complained, monsieur, of the arrest of your captain. That was done on account of his unfortunate connection with you. He may be innocent, but that remains to be seen. At present appearances are against him, and he must take his share of the guilt which attaches to you. His arrest was a political necessity." After this the captain left; and, as Claude saw how useless it was to attempt to plead his cause to this man, he made no further attempt to detain him. Left once more to his own reflections, Claude recalled all that the captain had said, and at first was lost in wonder at the gravity of the charges that had been raised up against him. Nor could he conceal from himself that, though they were based on nothing, they still were serious and formidable. Even in France charges of a political kind would lead to serious consequences; and here in the colonies he felt less sure of justice. Indeed, as far as justice was concerned, he hardly hoped to experience anything of the kind, for his judge would be the very man who had got up these charges, and had treated him with such baseness and treachery. The fact was, that he would be called before a court where accuser, witness, and judge would all be one and the same person, and, what was more, the person who for some reason had chosen to become his bitterest enemy. Dark indeed and gloomy was the prospect that now lowered before him. Before an impartial court the charges against him might be answered or refuted; but where could he find such a court? Cazeneau had created the charges, and would know how to make them still more formidable. And now he felt that behind these charges there must lurk something more dangerous still. Already there had arisen in his mind certain suspicions as to Cazeneau's designs upon Mimi. These suspicions he had hinted at in conversation with her, and his present circumstances deepened them into convictions. It began now to seem to him that Cazeneau had designs to make the beautiful, high-born girl his wife. Everything favored him. He was supreme in authority out here; the old Laborde was under his influence; the daughter's consent alone was wanting. Of that consent, under ordinary circumstances, he could make sure. But he had seen a close and strong friendship arising between Mimi and her preserver. This Claude considered as a better and more probable cause for his hate. If this were indeed so, and if this hate grew up out of jealousy, then his prospects were indeed dark, for jealousy is as cruel as the grave. The more Claude thought of this, the greater was the importance which he attached to it. It seemed to be this which had made Cazeneau transform himself into an eavesdropper; this which had occasioned his dark looks, his morose words, and haughty reticence. In his eavesdropping he must have heard enough to excite his utmost jealousy; and Claude, in recalling his conversations with Mimi, could remember words which must have been gall and bitterness to such a jealous listener. CHAPTER IX. GRAND PRE. Nearly thirty years before this, the French government had been compelled to give up the possession of Acadie to the English, and to retire to the Island of Cape Breton. Here they had built a stronghold at Louisbourg, which they were enlarging and strengthening every year, to the great disgust and alarm of the New England colonies. But though Acadie had been given up to the English, it could hardly be said to be held by them. Only two posts were occupied, the one at Canso, in the strait that separated Cape Breton from Acadie, and the other at Annapolis Royal. At Canso there was a wooden block-house, with a handful of soldiers: while at Annapolis Royal, where the English governor resided, the fortifications were more extensive, yet in a miserable condition. At this last place there were a few companies of soldiers, and here the governor tried to perform the difficult task of transforming the French Acadians to loyal British subjects. But the French at Louisbourg never forgot their fellow-countrymen, and never relinquished their designs on Acadie. The French inhabitants of that province amounted to several thousands, who occupied the best portions of the country, while the English consisted of only a few individuals in one or two posts. Among the French Acadians emissaries were constantly moving about, who sought to keep up among them their old loyalty to the French crown, and by their pertinacity sorely disturbed the peace of the English governor at Annapolis Royal. The French governor at Louisbourg was not slow to second these efforts by keeping the Acadians supplied with arms and ammunition; and it was for this purpose that the Aigle had been sent to the settlements up the Bay of Fundy. Up the bays he now sailed, in accordance with the wish of Cazeneau. His reason for this course was, that he might see the people for himself, and judge how far they might be relied on in the event of war, which he knew must soon be declared. It was his intention to land at Grand Pré, the chief Acadian settlement, and thence proceed by land to Louisbourg. He had understood from Captain Ducrot that an Indian trail went all the way through the woods, which could be traversed on horseback. Such a course would impose more hardship upon the aged Laborde and Mimi than would be encountered on shipboard; but Cazeneau had his own purposes, which were favored, to a great extent, by the land route. Besides, he had the schooner with him, so that if, after all, it should be advisable to go by water, they could make the journey in her. The Aigle sailed, and the schooner followed. The wind had changed, and now blew more steadily, and from a favorable quarter. The currents delayed them somewhat; but on the third morning after the two vessels had met, they reached the entrance of the Basin of Minas. The scenery here was wild and grand. A few miles from the shore there rose a lofty rocky island, precipitous on all sides save one, its summit crested with trees, its base worn by the restless waves. Opposite this was a rocky shore, with cliffs crowned with the primeval forest. From this pond the strait began, and went on for miles, till it reached the Basin, forming a majestic avenue, with a sublime gateway. On one side of this gateway were rocky shores receding into wooded hills, while on the other was a towering cliff standing apart from the shore, rising abruptly from the water, torn by the tempest and worn by the tide. From this the precipitous cliff ran on for miles, forming one side of the strait, till it terminated in a majestic promontory. This promontory rose on one side, and on the other a lofty, wooded island, inside of which was a winding shore, curving into a harbor. Here the strait terminated, and beyond this the waters of the Basin of Minas spread away for many a mile, surrounded on every side by green, wooded shores. In one place was a cluster of small islands; in another, rivers rolled their turbid floods, bearing with them the sediment of long and fertile valleys. The blue waters sparkled in the sun under the blue sky; the sea-gulls whirled and screamed through the air; nowhere could the eye discern any of the works of man. It seemed like some secluded corner of the universe, and as if those on board the ship "were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea." But, though not visible from this point, the settlements of man were here, and the works of human industry lying far away on the slopes of distant hills and the edges of low, marshy shores. It was not without much caution that they had passed through the strait. They had waited for the tide to come in, and then, with a favorable wind, they had made the venture. Borne onward by wind and tide together, they sailed on far into the bay, and then, directing their course to the southward, they sailed onward for a few miles farther. The captain had been here before, and was anxious to find his former anchorage. On the former occasion he had waited outside and sent in for a pilot, but now he had ventured inside without one, trusting to his memory. He knew well the perils that attend upon navigation in this place, and was not inclined to risk too much. For here were the highest tides in the world to be encountered, and swift currents, and sudden gusts of wind, and far-spreading shoals and treacherous quicksands, among which the unwary navigator could come to destruction only too easily. But no accident happened on this occasion; the navigation was made with the utmost circumspection, the schooner being sent ahead to sound all the way, and the ship following. At length both came to anchor at a distance from the shore of about five miles. Nearer than that the captain did not dare to go, for fear of the sand-banks and shoals. Here a boat was lowered, and Cazeneau prepared to land, together with the aged Laborde and Mimi. The Abbé Michel also prepared to accompany them. Ever since Laborde had been saved from the wreck, he had been weak and listless. It seemed as though the exhaustion, and exposure, and privation of that event had utterly broken down his constitution. Since he had been taken to the ship, however, he had grown much worse, and was no longer able to walk. He had not risen from his berth since he had come on board the Aigle. Mimi's anxiety about him had been excessive, and she had no thought for anything else. The situation of Claude was unknown to her, and her distress about her father's increasing weakness prevented her from thinking much about him. Her only hope now was, that on reaching the shore her father would experience a change for the better, and be benefited by the land air. On removing Laborde from his berth, it was found that he not only had not strength to stand, but that he was even so weak that this motion served of itself to exhaust him fearfully. He had to be placed on a mattress, and carried in that way by four sailors to the ship's side, where he was carefully let clown into the boat. There the mattress was placed in the boat's stern, and Laborde lay upon this, with his head supported against Mimi, who held him encircled in her arms. In this way he was taken ashore. It was a long row, but the water was comparatively smooth, and the landing had been postponed until the flood tide, which made the boat's progress easier and swifter. The nearest shore was very low, and the landing-place was two or three miles farther on. In the distance the land rose higher, and was covered with trees, with here and there a clearing. The land which they first approached was well wooded on the water side, but on passing this the whole scene changed. This land was an island, about two miles distant from the shore, with its inner side cleared, and dotted with houses and barns. Between this and the shore there extended a continuous tract of low land, which had evidently once been a salt-water marsh, for along the water's edge the coarse grass grew luxuriantly; but a little distance back there was a dike, about six or eight feet high, which ran from the island to the shore, and evidently protected the intervening level from the sea. The island itself thus served as a dike, and the artificial works that had been made ran where the sea had the least possible effect. At length they approached the main land, and here they saw the low marsh-land all around them. Here a turbid river ran into the Basin, which came down a valley enclosed between wooded hills, and, with voluminous windings, terminated its course. At this place there was a convenient beach for landing, and here Laborde was removed from the boat and carried up on the bank, where he was laid on his mattress under a shadowy willow tree. This point, though not very elevated, commanded a prospect which, to these new comers who had suffered so much from the sea, might have afforded the highest delight, had they been sufficiently free from care to take it all in. All around them lay one of the most fertile countries in all the world, and one of the most beautiful. The slopes of the hills rose in gentle acclivities, cultivated, dotted with groves and orchards, and lined with rows of tall poplars. The simple houses of the Acadian farmers, with their out-buildings, gave animation to the scene. At their feet lay a broad extent of dike-land, green and glowing with the verdure of Juno, spreading away to that island, which acted as a natural dike against the waters of the sea. Beyond this lay the blue waters of Minas Basin, on whose bosom floated the ship and the schooner, while in the distance rose the cliff which marked the entrance into the Basin, and all the enclosing shores. But none of the party noticed this. Cazeneau was absorbed with his own plans; Laborde lay extended on the mattress, without any appearance of life except a faint breathing and an occasional movement; over him Mimi hung in intense anxiety, watching every change in his face, and filled with the most dreadful apprehensions; at a little distance stood Père Michel, watching them with sad and respectful sympathy. Captain Ducrot had come ashore in the boat, and, leaving Laborde, he accompanied Cazeneau to a house which stood not far away. It was rather larger than the average, with a row of tall poplars in front and an orchard on one side. A road ran from the landing, past this house, up the hill, to the rest of the settlement farther on. An old man was seated on a bench in the doorway. He rose as he saw the strangers, and respectfully removed his hat. "How do you do, Robicheau?" said Ducrot. "You see I have come back again sooner than I expected. I have brought with me his excellency the governor of Louisbourg, who will be obliged if you can make him comfortable for a few days. Also there are the Count de Laborde and his daughter, whom I should like to bring here; but if you cannot make them comfortable, I can take them to Comeau's." Upon this, Robicheau, with a low bow to Cazeneau, informed him that he thought there might be room for them all, if they would be willing to accept his humble hospitality. The old man spoke with much embarrassment, yet with sincere good will. He was evidently overwhelmed by the grandeur of his visitors, yet anxious to do all in his power to give them fitting entertainment. Ducrot now informed him that the Count de Laborde needed immediate rest and attention; whereupon Robicheau went in to summon his dame, who at once set to work to prepare rooms for the guests. Ducrot now returned to the landing, and ordered the sailors to carry Laborde to Robicheau's house. They carried him on the mattress, supporting it on two oars, which were fastened with ropes in such a way as to form a very easy litter. Mimi walked by her father's side, while Père Michel followed in the rear. In this way they reached Robicheau's house. The room and the bed were already prepared, and Laborde was carried there. As he was placed upon that bed, Mimi looked at him with intense anxiety and alarm, for his pale, emaciated face and weak, attenuated frame seemed to belong to one who was at the last verge of life. An awful fear of the worst came over her--the fear of bereavement in this distant land, the presentiment of an appalling desolation, which crushed her young heart and reduced her to despair. Her father, her only relative, her only protector, was slipping away from her; and in the future there seemed nothing before her but the very blackness of darkness. The good dame Robicheau saw her bitter grief, and shed tears of sympathy. She offered no word of consolation, for to her experienced eyes this feeble old man seemed already beyond the reach of hope. She could only show her compassion by her tears. Père Michel, also, had nothing to say; and to all the distress of the despairing young girl he could offer no word of comfort. It was a case where comfort could not be administered, and where the stricken heart could only be left to struggle with its own griefs--alone. A few hours after the first boat went ashore, a second boat landed. By this time, a large number of the inhabitants had assembled at the landing-place, to see what was going on; for to these people the sight of a ship was a rare occurrence, and they all recognized the Aigle, and wondered why she had returned. This second boat carried Claude, who had thus been removed from the ship to the shore for the purpose of being conveyed to Louisbourg. Captain Ducrot and Cazeneau had already succeeded in finding a place where he could be kept. It was the house of one of the fanners of Grand Pré, named Comeau, one of the largest in the whole settlement. Claude landed, and was committed to the care of Comeau, who had come down to receive his prisoner. It was not thought worth while to bind him, since, in so remote a place as this, there would be scarcely any inducement for him to try to escape. If he did so, he could only fly to the woods, and, as he could not support his life there, he would be compelled to return to the settlement, or else seek shelter and food among the Indians. In either case he would be recaptured; for the Acadians would all obey the order of the governor of Louisbourg, and deliver up to him any one whom he might designate; while the Indians would do the same with equal readiness, since they were all his allies. Under these circumstances, Claude was allowed to go with his hands free; and in this way he accompanied Comeau, to whose charge he was committed. He walked through the crowd at the landing without exciting any very particular attention, and in company with Comeau he walked for about half a mile, when he arrived at the house. Here he was taken to a room which opened into the general sitting-room, and was lighted by a small window in the rear of the house, and contained a bed and a chair. The door was locked, and Claude was left to his own reflections. Left thus to himself, Claude did not find his own thoughts very agreeable. He could not help feeling that he was now, more than ever, in the power of the man who had shown himself so relentless and persevering in his enmity. He was far away from any one whom he could claim as a friend. The people here were evidently all the creatures of Ducrot and Cazeneau. He saw that escape was useless. To get away from this particular place of imprisonment might be possible, for the window could be opened, and escape thus effected; but, if he should succeed in flying, where could he go? Annapolis Royal was many miles away; He did not know the way there; he could not ask; and even if he did know the way, he could only go there by running the gantlet of a population who were in league with Cazeneau. That evening, as old Comeau brought him some food, he tried to enter into conversation with him. He began in a gradual way, and as his host, or, rather, his jailer, listened, he went on to tell his whole story, insisting particularly on the idea that Cazeneau must be mistaken; for he thought it best not to charge him with deliberate malice. He hinted, also, that if he could escape he might bestow a handsome reward upon the man who might help him. To all this Comeau listened, and even gave utterance to many expressions of sympathy; but the end of it all was nothing. Either Comeau disbelieved him utterly, but was too polite to say so, or else he was afraid to permit the escape of the prisoner who had been intrusted to his care. Claude then tried another means of influencing him. He reminded him that the governor of Louisbourg had no jurisdiction here; that the Acadians of Grand Pré were subject to the King of England, and that all concerned in this business would be severely punished by the English as soon as they heard of it. But here Claude utterly missed his mark. No sooner had he said this, than old Comeau began to denounce the English with the utmost scorn and contempt. He told Claude that there were many thousands of French in Acadia, and only a hundred English; that they were weak and powerless; that their fort at Annapolis was in a ruinous state; and that, before another year, they would be driven out forever. He asserted that the King of France was the greatest of all kings; that France was the most powerful of all countries; that Louisbourg was the strongest fortress in the universe; and that the French would drive the English, not only out of Acadia, but out of America. In fact, Claude's allusion to the English proved to be a most unfortunate one; for, whereas at first the old man seemed to feel some sort of sympathy with his misfortunes, so, at the last, excited by this allusion, he seemed to look upon him as a traitor to the cause of France, and as a criminal who was guilty of all that Cazeneau had laid to his charge. CHAPTER X. ALONE IN THE WORLD. The condition of the old Count de Laborde grew steadily worse. The change to the land had done him no good, nor was all the loving care of Mimi of any avail whatever. Every one felt that he was doomed: and Mimi herself, though she struggled against that thought, still had in her heart a dark terror of the truth. This truth could at last be concealed no longer even from herself, for Père Michel came to administer the holy eucharist to the dying man, and to receive his last confession. Mimi could not be present while the dying man unfolded to his priest the secrets of his heart, nor could she hope to know what those secrets were. But dark indeed must they have been, and far, very far, beyond the scope of ordinary confessions, for the face of Père Michel, as he came forth from that room, was pale and sombre; and so occupied was he with his own thoughts that he took no notice of the weeping girl who stood there, longing to hear from him some word of comfort. But Père Michel had none to give. He left the house, and did not return till the next day. By that time all was over. Laborde had passed away in the night. The priest went in to look upon the form of the dead. Mimi was there, bowed down in the deepest grief, for she felt herself all alone in the world. The priest stood looking at the face of the dead for some time with that same gloom upon his face which had been there on the preceding day, when he left that bedside. At length he turned to Mimi. "Child," said he, in a voice full of pity, "I will not attempt to utter any words of condolence. I know well how the heart feels during the first emotions of sorrow over bereavement. Words are useless. I can only point you to Heaven, where all comfort dwells, and direct you to remember in your prayers him who lies here. The church is yours, with all her holy offices. The dearest friend must turn away from the dead, but the church remains, and follows him into the other world. Your heart may still be consoled, for you can still do something for the dear father whom you loved. You can pray for the soul of the departed, and thus it will seem to you as though you have not altogether lost him. He will seem near you yet when you pray for him; your spirit will seem to blend with his; his presence will seem about you. And besides, my dear child, this also I wish to say: you are not altogether alone in the world. I will watch over you till you go wherever you may wish. It is not much that I can do; but perhaps I can do for you all that you may now wish to be done for yourself. Think of this, then, dear child, and whenever you wish to have a friend's advice or assistance, come to me." To this Mimi listened with streaming eyes; and as the priest ended, she pressed his hand gratefully, and uttered some unintelligible words. His offer had come to her like balm. It did not seem now as though she was so desolate, for she had learned already to love the good priest with something of a daughter's feelings, and to trust in him profoundly. Laborde was buried in the little churchyard of Grand Pré; and now, in addition to the pangs of bereavement, Mimi began to feel other cares about her future. What was she to do? Could she go back to France? That was her only present course. But how? She could not go in the Aigle, for that frigate had left the day after her arrival, not having any time to spare. There was no other way of going to France now, except by going first to Louisbourg, and taking a ship from that place. But she was not left very long in suspense, for, two or three days after her father's burial, the Count de Cazeneau came to see her. "I hope," he began, "that it is not necessary for me to say to you how deeply I sympathize with you in your bereavement, for I myself have my own bereavement to mourn over--the loss of my best, my only friend, the friend of a lifetime, the high-minded, the noble Laborde. The loss to me is irrevocable, and never can I hope to find any mere friend who may fill his place. We were always inseparable. We were congenial in taste and in spirit. My coming to America was largely due to his unfortunate resolve to come here, a resolve which I always combated to the best of my ability, and over which you and I must now mourn. But regrets are useless, and it remains for both of us to see about the future." This somewhat formal opening was quite characteristic of Cazeneau, who, being of a distant, reserved nature, very seldom allowed himself to unbend; and, though he threw as much softness into his voice and manner as he was capable of using, yet Mimi felt repelled, and dreaded what might be coming. "When we were first picked up by the Aigle," he continued, "it was in my power either to go direct to Louisbourg, or to come here, and then go on by land. I chose to come here, for two reasons; first, because I hoped that my dear friend would be benefited by reaching the land as soon as possible, and I thought that the pure, fresh air, and genial climate, and beautiful scenery of this lovely place would exercise upon him an immediate effect for the better. Another purpose which I had was an official one. I wished to see this place and this people with reference to my own administration and designs for the future. Unhappily, my hopes for my friend have proved unfounded, and my only consolation is that, though I have been disappointed as a private man in my affections, yet, as a public official, I have been able, during my short stay here, to do good service to my country, in a way which my country's enemies shall feel at a vital point before another year has passed away." To this Mimi had nothing to say, for it was all preliminary, and she expected something more. She therefore waited in silence, though with much trepidation, to see what it might be that this man had in view with regard to her. Cazeneau then continued:-- "As I have now done all that I intended to do in this place, it is my intention to set forth for Louisbourg by land. I have some faithful Indians as guides, and the journey is not very fatiguing. In Louisbourg you will be able to obtain every comfort, and there will be friends and associates for you, your own social equals, who may make your life pleasanter than it has been for a long time." By this Cazeneau directly stated his intention of taking Mimi with him to Louisbourg--a statement which did not surprise Mimi, for it was what she had expected. Now, however, that he said this, and in this way, without pretending to ask her consent, her trepidation increased, and she thought with terror over that long and lonely journey, which she would have to make with this man and a band of savages. There was nothing else, however, to be done. She could neither hope nor desire to remain in Grand Pré. Her position was a painful one, and the only hope remaining was that of returning to France. And to go to Louisbourg was the surest way of doing that. One thing, however, she could not help asking, for this she felt to be a matter of extreme importance. "Is Père Michel going?" "He is," said Cazeneau. "He has asked permission to go with our party, and I have granted it." At this answer a great relief was felt by Mimi, and the future seemed less dark. "I have granted it," said Cazeneau, "because he seems a harmless man, and may be useful in various ways to me, hereafter, in my plans. He seems to know the people about here. I dare say he's been here before. "Your position at Louisbourg," continued Cazeneau, "will be one which will be most honorable: as the daughter of the Count de Laborde, you will receive universal attention, and my influence shall be exerted to make everything contribute to your happiness. As commandant, I shall, of course, be supreme; my house will be like a small vice-regal court, and the little world of Louisbourg will all do homage to any one whom I may hold up before them as a worthy object." Cazeneau paused after he had said this. It was a speech which was uttered slowly and with emphasis, but its meaning was not altogether apparent to Mimi. Still there was enough of it intelligible to her to make it seem excessively unpleasant. What he exactly meant was of no importance, the general meaning being certainly this: that he designed for her some prolonged stay there, during which he intended to secure homage and respect for her. Now, that was a thing that Mimi recoiled from with distaste. She had always detested this man, she had always shrunk from him. Her present position of dependence was most bitter; but to have that position continue was intolerable. It was as though he tried to put himself into the place of her beloved father,--he, whom she regarded as her father's evil genius,--as though he intended to make himself her guardian, and introduce her as his ward. "You speak," said she, in a trembling voice, "just as--as if--I--you supposed that I was going to live at Louisbourg." "And where else do you wish to live?" asked Cazeneau, placidly. "I want to go home," said Mimi, her eyes filling with tears, and her voice sounding like the wail of a child that has lost its way. "My poor child," said Cazeneau, more tenderly than he had yet spoken, "you evidently do not understand your position as yet. I did not intend to say anything about it; but, since you feel this way, and have spoken so, I suppose I must make some explanation. Well, then, my poor child, when your father left France on this unfortunate errand, he turned all his property into money, expecting to use that money in America in some way, in that mysterious design of his which brought him out here. All this money was on board the Arethuse with him, and it is hardly necessary to say that it was all lost. I know that his grief over this, and the thought that he was leaving you penniless, did more to shorten his life than the sufferings which he had on the sea. He sank under it. He told me that he could not rally from it; and it was his utter hopelessness that made him give way so completely. So, my poor child, this is your present situation: your father's estates are sold, and are now in the hands of strangers; your father's money is now at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean; so that to return to France is, for the present, at least, not to be thought of. "For my part," continued Cazeneau, as Mimi sat there dumb with horror at hearing this fresh and crushing news, "I do not see anything in your situation which need give you one moment's uneasiness. You have lost your father, but your father's best friend still lives, and he will never see the daughter of his friend know one single trouble, if he can help it. We were more than brothers. Suppose you try to think of me with something of the same confidence that your father felt. I, for my part, will put you in his place. You shall never know a care. You may consider yourself rich. You shall have no trouble except that deep sorrow which you feel as a fond daughter." "I cannot live in America," moaned Mimi, despairingly, recoiling in her heart from Cazeneau, and dreading him more than ever. "I cannot. I want to go home; or, if I have no home, I want to go to France. I will enter a convent." Cazeneau smiled at this. "Such a wish, dear child," said he, "is quite natural now, in the first freshness of your bereavement; but time alleviates all sorrow, and you may think differently hereafter. As to returning to France, you shall most certainly do that. I intend to go back after a time; and you will once more live in our dear, native land. But, for the present, let us not talk of these things. Louisbourg is now our destination. Fear nothing. You shall not know a care. You shall be guarded from every want, and every wish shall be gratified. You shall find yourself surrounded by the most anxious, and tender, and solicitous care for your happiness." These last words were spoken in a warmer and more impassioned manner than Cazeneau had thus far used, and their effect upon Mimi was so much the more unpleasant. He then raised her hand to his lips with respectful affection, and took his departure. Mimi was for a time quite overwhelmed. The sorrow which she had experienced for her father gave way to a new feeling--one of terror, deep, dark, and irremovable--about herself and her own future. All Cazeneau's words recurred to her, and the more she thought of them, the more hateful did they seem. Out of them all several things appeared plain to her mind. First, that she was a pauper. Of Cazeneau's words she did not doubt the truth. It seemed in the highest degree probable. She had all along known that her father had come to America to search after some of the Montresors, and to made reparation. Cazeneau now had informed her that he had turned all his property into money. It must have been for that purpose. The thought had never occurred to her before; but, now that it was stated, she did not dream of doubting it. It seemed too true. Secondly, she saw that Cazeneau, for some reason or other, was determined to keep her under his control. He was determined not to allow her to return to France, and not to enter a convent. He was bent upon associating her with his own life, and causing her to be admired in Louisbourg. Added to this was his promise to take her back to France with himself. All this showed that he would on no account allow her to part with him. What was the meaning of it all? And now the thought could no longer be kept out of her mind: Cazeneau's purpose was to make her his wife. His wife! The thought was to her most odious; but, having once presented itself, she could not argue it away, nor could she get rid of it at all. Yes, that was the meaning that lurked behind his words all the time. That was the meaning of his promise to make her admired and happy. Finally, she remembered how he had stated to her the fact that he was supreme in Louisbourg, and that through his grandeur she was to receive homage from all the lesser throng. To her this seemed like a plain statement that she was in his power, and entirely at his mercy. And now, what could she do? The future was worse than ever. She was completely in the power of a man whom she detested--a man upon whom she looked as her father's evil genius, as one whose evil counsel had long ago led her father to that act which he had atoned for by remorse and death. She was now in the hands of this villain. Escape seemed impossible. He was supreme here. From him there was no appeal. And she was a beggar. But, even if she were rich, what hope could she have against him? As she asked herself this question, there was no answer. She did not know what she could do, and could scarcely hope that she would ever know. It was in this state of mind that Père Michel found her, on the evening of that day. Mimi saw his arrival with intense delight. Here seemed one who might relieve her in her distress. Accordingly she proceeded to tell him her whole story, all the words of Cazeneau, with all their implied meaning, and all her own fears, from beginning to end. The priest heard her narration in profound silence, and after she had told him all, he remained in deep thought for some time, while Mimi sat anxiously awaiting what he might say. "My dear child," said the priest, at length, "it is difficult for me to give you advice, for your situation is most unpleasant, and most distressing to me. I can only entreat you to put your trust in that Heaven who never deserts the innocent. You must go to Louisbourg--there is no hope of escaping that. Besides, you yourself wish to go there. The Count de Cazeneau certainly has the chief power there; but whether he is omnipotent remains to be seen. Who knows what other powers may be there? I have known cases where the commandant has had powerful rivals,--such as the admiral of the fleet, or some subordinate who had influence at court at home. I have known places where the bishop could interfere and prevent his doing wrong. So, be calm, my daughter, put your trust in Heaven, and recollect that the commandant cannot break through all restraints, but that there must be some barriers that he cannot force. If you wish the protection of the church, that will always be yours. Beware how you do anything rashly. Confide in me. Perhaps, after all, these troubles may have a good end." CHAPTER XI. A FRIEND IN NEED. For more than a week Claude had been kept in confinement, and had seen nothing of any of his former acquaintances. The confinement was not so close as it might have been, and escape was not absolutely impossible, for the window which lighted the chamber was merely a wooden sash, with four panes of glass, which Claude could have removed, had he been so disposed; but this he was not inclined to do, and for two reasons. One reason was, because, if he did get out, he had no idea where to go. Annapolis Royal was the nearest settlement belonging to the English; but he did not know in which direction it lay. He knew, however, that between Grand Pré and that place the country was settled by the French, among whom he could not go without being captured by his pursuers, while if he took to the woods he would be sure to fall into the hands of the Indians, who were the zealous allies of the French. Such a prospect was of itself sufficient to deter him from the attempt to escape. But there was also another reason. He could not bear the thought of leaving Mimi forever, and never seeing her again. If he should succeed in escaping to Annapolis Royal, it would be an eternal separation between her and himself. Grand Pré seemed pleasant to him since she was here; and he thought it better to be a prisoner here than a free man elsewhere. He, therefore, deliberately preferred to run any risk that might be before him, with the faint hope of seeing Mimi again, rather than to attempt flight. What had happened since he had come here he did not know very clearly. From conversation which he had overheard he had gathered that Labordo was dead; but, when he asked any of them about it, they refused to tell him anything at all. Claude was, therefore, left to make the most that he could out of this vague information. But the intelligence caused him to feel much anxiety about Mimi. He remembered well all that she had ever told him, and could not help wondering what she would do under present circumstances. Would she be willing to remain in the neighborhood of Cazeneau? But how could she help it? Would not Cazeneau take advantage of her present loneliness to urge forward any plans that he might have about her? Already the suspicion had come to Claude that Cazeneau had certain plans about Mimi. What he thought was this: that Laborde was rich, that Mimi was his heiress, and that Cazeneau was a man of profligate life and ruined fortunes, who was anxious to repair his fortunes by marrying this heiress. To such a man the disparity in their years would make no difference, nor would he particularly care whether Mimi loved him or not, so long as he could make her his wife, and gain control over her property. What had given him this idea about Cazeneau's position and plans it is difficult to say; but it was probably his own jealous fears about Mimi, and his deep detestation of his enemy. And now he began to chafe against the narrow confines of his chamber with greater impatience. He longed to have some one with whom he could talk. He wondered whether Cazeneau would remain here much longer, and, if he went away, whether he would take Mimi or leave her. He wondered, also, whether he would be taken to Louisbourg. He felt as if he would rather go there, if Mimi was to go, even at the risk of his life, than remain behind after she had left. But all his thoughts and wonders resulted in nothing whatever, for it was impossible to create any knowledge out of his own conjectures. He was in the midst of such thoughts as these when his ears were attracted by the sound of a familiar voice. He listened attentively. It was the voice of Père Michel. No sooner had Claude satisfied himself that it was indeed the priest, than he felt sure that he had come here to visit him; and a little longer waiting showed that this was the case. There were advancing footsteps. Madame Comeau opened the door, and Père Michel entered the chamber. The door was then shut, and the two were alone. So overcome was Claude by joy that he flung himself into the priest's arms and embraced him. The good priest seemed to reciprocate his emotion, for there were tears in his eyes, and the first words that he spoke were in tremulous tones. "My son," the priest commenced, in gentle, paternal tones, and in a voice that was tremulous with emotion, "you must calm yourself." Then, suddenly speaking in English, he said, "It is necessaire dat we sall spik Ingeles, for ze peuple of ze house may suspeck--" Upon this Claude poured forth a torrent of questions in English, asking about Laborde, Cazeneau, Zac, and Mimi. It will not be necessary to report the words of the priest in his broken English, but rather to set them down according to the sense of them. So the priest said,-- "You speak too fast, my son. One thing at a time. The poor Laborde is dead and buried. The Count Cazeneau is about to go to Louisbourg. Mimi is going with him." "Mimi going with him!" cried Claude, in deep agitation. "Be calm, my son. Do not speak so loud. I have told the people of this house that your life is in danger, and that I have come as a priest, to hear your last confession. I do not wish them to suspect my real errand. We may talk as we wish, only do not allow yourself to be agitated." "But tell me," said Claude, in a calmer voice, "how is it possible that Mimi can trust herself with Cazeneau?" "_Ma foi_," said the priest, "it is possible, for she cannot help it. But do not fear. I am going to accompany them, and, as far as my feeble power can do anything, I will watch over her, and see that she suffers no injustice. I hope that Heaven will assist her innocence and my protection; so do not allow yourself to be uneasy about her; but hope for the best, and trust in Heaven." At this Claude was silent for a few moments. At length he said,-- "O, Père Michel, must I stay here when she goes? Can you tell me what they are going to do with me?" "It is about yourself that I am going to speak, and it was for this that I came," said the priest. "Can I go with the others to Louisbourg?" asked Claude, eagerly; for he thought only of being near Mimi. "Heaven forbid!" said the priest. "It is in a for different way that you are to go. Listen to me. The Count de Cazeneau is going to set out to-morrow, with a party of Indians as escort. Mimi is to be taken with him. I am going, too. It is his intention to leave you here for a time, till his escort can return. They will then take you to Louisbourg. If he can find any Indians on the way whom he can make use of, he will send them here for you. But meantime you are to be kept imprisoned here. "Now, I am acquainted with the Indians better than most men. I lived in Acadie formerly, long enough to be well known to the whole tribe. I am also well known to the Acadians. Among the Indians and the Acadians there are many who would willingly lay down their lives for me. I could have delivered you before this, but I saw that you were not in any immediate danger; so I preferred postponing it until the Count de Cazeneau had left. I do not wish him to suspect that I have any interest in you; and when he hears of your escape, I do not wish him to think that I had anything to do with it. But I have already made all the plans that are necessary, and the men are in this neighborhood with whom I have arranged for your escape." "What is the plan?" asked Claude, eagerly. "I will tell you," said the priest. "There are six Indians, all of them devoted to me. They will guide you to a place of safety, and will be perfectly faithful to you as long as they are with you. They are ready to go anywhere with you, to do anything for you, even to the extent of laying down their lives for you. It is for my sake that they are willing to show this devotion. I have presented you to them as my representative, and they look upon you as they would look upon me. But, first of all, you are to get out of this. Can you open that window?" "It was fastened tight when I first came," said Claude; "but I have loosened it, so that I can take it out very quickly." "Very good. Now, one of these Indians will be here to-morrow night. We shall leave to-morrow morning; and I do not want you to be rescued till after our departure. At midnight, to-morrow, then, the Indian will be here. He will give a sound like a frog, immediately outside, under the window. You must then open the window. If you see him, or hear him, you must then get out, and he will take you to the woods. After that he and the rest of the Indians will take you through the woods to Port Royal, which they call Annapolis Royal. Here you will be safe from Cazeneau until such time as may suit you to go back to Boston. Annapolis Royal is about twenty-four leagues from this place, and you can easily go there in two days." Claude listened to all this without a word; and, after the priest had ended, he remained silent for some time, with his eyes fixed on the floor. "The Indians will be armed," said the priest, "and will have a rifle and a sword for you. So you need have no trouble about anything." "My dear Père Michel," said Claude, at last, "you lay me under very great obligations; but will you not add to them by allowing me to select my own route?" "Your own route?" asked the priest. "What do you mean? You don't know the country, especially the woods, while these Indians will be at home there." "What I mean is this," said Claude: "will you not allow me the use of this Indian escort in another direction than the one you mention?" "Another direction? Why, where else can you possibly go? Annapolis is the nearest place for safety." "I should very much prefer," said Claude "to go to Canso." "To Canso!" said the priest, in great surprise; "to Canso! Why, you would come on our track!" "That is the very reason why I wish to go there. Once in Canso, I should be as safe as in Annapolis." The priest shook his head. "From what I hear, Canso cannot be a safe place for you very long. England and France are on the eve of war, and Cazeneau expects to get back Acadie--a thing that is very easy for him to do. But why do you wish to venture so near to Louisburg? Cazeneau will be there now; and it will be a very different place from what it would have been had you not saved Cazeneau from the wreck, and made him your enemy." "My dear Père Michel," said Claude, "I will be candid with you. The reason why I wish to go in that direction is for the sake of being near to Mimi, and on account of the hope I have that I may rescue her." "Mimi! Rescue her!" exclaimed the priest, astonished, not at the young man's feelings towards Mimi, for those he had already discovered, but rather at the boldness of his plan,--"rescue her! Why how can you possibly hope for that, when she will be under the vigilant eye of Cazeneau?" "I will hope it, at any rate," said Claude. "Besides, Cazeneau will not be vigilant, as he will not suspect that he is followed. His Indians will suspect nothing. I may be able, by means of my Indians, to entice her away, especially if you prepare her mind for my enterprise." The priest was struck by this, and did not have any argument against it; yet the project was evidently distasteful to him. "It's madness," said he. "My poor boy, it may cost you your life." "Very well," said Claude; "let it go. I'd rather not live, if I can't have Mimi." The priest looked at him sadly and solemnly. "My poor boy," said he, "has it gone so far as that with you?" "As far as that--yes," said Claude, "and farther. Recollect I saved her life. It seems to me as if Heaven threw her in my way; and I'll not give her up without striking a blow. Think of that scoundrel Cazeneau. Think of the danger she is in while under his power. There is no hope for her if he once gets her in Louisbourg; the only hope for her is before she reaches that place; and the only one who can save her is myself. Are my Indians faithful for an enterprise of that kind?" "I have already told you," said the priest, "that they would all lay down their lives for you. They will go wherever you lead. And now, my dear son," continued the priest, "I did not think that you would dream of an enterprise like this. But, since you have made the proposal, and since you are so earnest about it, why, I make no opposition. I say, come, in Heaven's name. Follow after us; and, if you can come up with us, and effect a communication with Mimi, do so. Your Indians must be careful; and you will find that they can be trusted in a matter of this kind. If I see that you are coming up with us, and find any visitors from you, I will prepare Mimi for it. But suppose you succeed in rescuing her," added the priest; "have you thought what you would do next?" "No," said Claude; "nor do I intend to think about that. It will depend upon where I am. If I am near Canso, I shall go there, and trust to finding some fisherman; if not, I shall trust to my Indians to take us back through the woods to Annapolis. But there's one thing that you might do." "What?" "Zac--is he on board the schooner, or ashore?" "The skipper?" said the priest. "No. I have not seen him. I think he must be aboard the schooner. It is my intention to communicate with him before I leave this place." "Do so," said Claude, eagerly; "and see if you can't get him free, as you have managed for me; and if you can persuade him, or beg him for me, to sail around to Canso, and meet me there, all will be well. That is the very thing we want. If he will only promise to go there, I will push on to Canso myself, at all hazards." The priest now prepared to go. A few more words were exchanged, after which Claude and Père Michel embraced. The priest kissed him on both cheeks. "Adieu, my dear son," said he. "I hope we may meet again." "Adieu, dear Père Michel," said Claude. "I shall never forget your kindness." With this farewell the two separated; the priest went out, and the door was fastened again upon Claude. For the remainder of that night, Claude did not sleep much. His mind was filled with the new prospect that the priest's message had opened before him. The thought of being free once more, and at the head of a band of devoted followers, on the track of Mimi, filled him with excitement. That he would be able to overtake the party of Cazeneau, he did not doubt; that he would be able to rescue Mimi, he felt confident. The revulsion from gloom and despondency to hope and joy was complete, and the buoyant nature of Claude made the transition an easy one. It was with difficulty that he could prevent himself from bursting forth into songs. But this would have been too dangerous, since it would have attracted the attention of the people of the house, and led them to suspect that the priest had spoken other words to him than those of absolution; or they might report this sudden change to Cazeneau, and thereby excite his suspicions. The next day came. Claude knew that on this day Cazeneau and his party had left, for he overheard the people of the house speaking about it. According to their statements, the party had left at about four in the morning. This filled Claude with a fever of impatience, for he saw that this first day's march would put them a long way ahead, and make it difficult for him to catch up with them. But there was only one day, and he tried to comfort himself with the thought that he could travel faster than the others, and also that the priest and Mimi would both manage to retard their progress, so as to allow him to catch up. The day passed thus, and evening came at last. Hour after hour went by. All the family retired, and the house was still. Claude then slowly, and carefully, and noiselessly removed the window from its place. Then he waited. The hours still passed on. At last he know that it must be about midnight. Suddenly he heard, immediately outside, a low, guttural sound--the well-known sound of a frog. It was the signal mentioned by the priest. The time had come. He put his head cautiously outside. Crouched there against the wall of the house, close underneath, he saw a dusky figure. A low, whispered warning came up. Claude responded in a similar manner. Then, softly and noiselessly, he climbed out of the window. His feet touched the ground. No one had heard him. He was saved. CHAPTER XII. THE PARSON AMONG THE PHILISTINES. A map of this part of America, in this year, 1743, would show a very different scene from that which is presented by one of the present date. The country held by the English did not reach beyond the Kennebec, although claimed by them. But north of this river it was all in the virtual possession of the French, and on the map it was distinguished by the French colors. A line drawn from the mouth of the Penobscot, due north, to the River St. Lawrence, divided New England from the equally extensive territory of New Scotland, or Nova Scotia. This New England was bordered on the east by Nova Scotia, on the north by the River St. Lawrence, and on the west by the province of New York. But in New England the French colors prevailed over quite one half of this territory; and in Nova Scotia, though all was claimed by the English, every part was actually held by the French, except one or two points of a most unimportant character. Looking over such a map, we perceive the present characteristics all gone, and a vast wilderness, full of roaming tribes of Indians, filling the scene. North of Boston there are a few towns; but beyond the little town of Falmouth, the English settlements are all called Fort this and Fort that. Up the valley of the Kennebec is the mark of a road to Quebec; and about half way, at the head waters of the Kennebec, a point is marked on the map with these words: "_Indian and French rendezvous. Extremely proper for a fort, which mould restrain the French and curb the Abenakki Indians_." And also: "_From Quebec to Kennebek River mouth, not much above half way to Boston, and one third to New York, thence by that R. and ye Chaudiere ye road to Canada is short_." North of the St. Lawrence is a vast country, which is called New France. As Old France and Old England struggle for the supremacy in the old world, so New France and New England struggle for the supremacy in the new world, and the bone of contention is this very district alluded to,--this border-ground,--called by the French L'Acadie, but claimed by the English as Nova Scotia, which bordered both on New England and New France. This debatable territory on the map is full of vast waste spaces, together with the names of savage tribes never heard of before or since, some of which are familiar names, merely spelled in an unusual manner, while others owe their origin, perhaps, to the imagination of the map-maker or his informant. Thus, for example, we have Massasuk, Arusegenticook, Saga Dahok, and others of equally singular sound. In this debatable territory are numerous forts, both French and English. These are situated, for the most part, in the valleys of rivers, for the very good reason that these valleys afford the best places for settlement, and also for the further reason that they are generally used as the most convenient routes of travel by those who go by land from one post to another. These forts are numerous on the west of New England; they also stud the map in various places towards the north. The valley of the St. John, in Nova Scotia, is marked by several of these. Farther on, the important isthmus which connects the peninsula of Nova Scotia with the main land is protected by the strong post called Fort Beausejour. In this peninsula of Nova Scotia, various settlements are marked. One is named Minas, which is also known as Grand Pré, a large and important community, situated in one of the most beautiful and fertile valleys in America. In the neighborhood of this are a half dozen points, marked with the general name of French settlements, while the vacant places between and beyond are marked with the name Mic Macs, which is the title of the Indians who inhabit Nova Scotia. One post here, however, possesses a singular interest in the eyes of the good people of Boston. It is marked on the map by the name of Annapolis, once the French Port Royal, but now the only English post of any consequence in all Nova Scotia. Here resides the handful of Englishmen who claim to rule the province. But the government is a mockery, and the French set it at defiance. If England wishes to assert her power here, she must have a far different force in the country from the handful of ragged and ill-armed soldiers who mount guard on the tumble-down forts at Annapolis. Beyond all these, at the extreme east of the peninsula, is an island called by the French Ile Royale, and by the English Cape Breton. This is held by the French. Here is their greatest stronghold in America, except Quebec, and one, too, which is regarded by Boston with greater jealousy and dread than the latter, since it is actually nearer, is open winter and summer, and can strike a more immediate blow. This was the extreme eastern outpost of French power in America. Here the French colonies reached out their arms to the mother country. Here began that great chain of fortresses, which ran up the valleys of navigable rivers, and connected with the great fortress of Quebec the almost impregnable outpost of Ticonderoga, and the posts of Montreal Island. From these the chain of military occupation extended itself towards the south, through the valleys of the Ohio and the Mississippi, until they were connected with the flourishing colony at New Orleans. Thus it was, and with these advantages, that the French engaged in the great and momentous conflict with the English for the possession of America, and on the side of the former were the greater part of the wild and warlike Indians. And now let us return to our friend Zac, who for some time has been lost sight of. When the Aigle came to anchor, the schooner did the same, and lay under her guns some miles out from the shore. Zac had been allowed a certain amount of freedom, for, as the lieutenant had promised, his hands had not been bound. The same liberty was allowed to the others on board. Six French seamen were on board, who navigated the schooner, and acted as her guard. These were armed, while Zac and his friends were all unarmed. While sailing up the bay this guard was hardly necessary, as the schooner was under the guns of the frigate; but afterwards the necessity was more apparent. The Aigle could not wait at Grand Pré longer than was requisite to land those who were going ashore. The boat that landed these brought back a half dozen Acadians from Grand Pré, whom it left on board the schooner. Then, taking back again her own seamen, the Aigle spread her white wings and sailed away for _La Belle France_. Zac saw this change in affairs with varied feelings. First of all, he had half hoped that he might be let off, after all; partly because it was not a time of formal war, and partly because the schooner had saved some important lives, and therefore, at the very least, ought to be let off. But this change in her masters dispelled Zac's hope, and made him see that there was not at all any prospect of an immediate release. From that moment Zac gave up all hope of any release whatever, and began to see that, if escape were to be made, it must be effected by his own skill and daring. The new comers seemed willing to maintain the old state of things, and showed no inclination to keep their prisoners in bonds. They were a good-natured lot, with simple, unsophisticated faces, and looked with amiable smiles upon the schooner and its company. Still, they were all stout, able-bodied fellows, and all were armed. The leader was a man of about forty, who seemed to be regarded by the rest with considerable respect. He was also able to speak a few words of English. They contented themselves with keeping a general lookout over the schooner and its crew, and taking turns at the night watch. In fact, the simple confidence of the Acadians in the security of their guard seemed to be justified by circumstances. These six stout men wore armed; Zac and his followers were unarmed. All the floating craft in the Basin belonged to the Acadians, and all the settlements. For Zac to escape by water was scarcely possible, and to get off by land was not to be thought of. The nearest English settlement was many miles away, and to reach it he would have to run the gantlet of a population of French and Indians. Day after day passed, and Zac spent most of the time in meditating over his situation and keeping his eyes and ears on the alert. He understood pretty well that to the villany of Cazeneau were due both his own captivity and the more serious danger which threatened his friend. It was from Margot that he had first heard of Cazeneau as an enemy, and little more had he been able to find out beyond what she had told him in the brief conversation already related. The illness of Laborde had necessitated her attendance on her master and mistress, and prevented any further confidences. Only a few occasional greetings were possible after that. Then followed the arrival of the Aigle, and the transfer of Margot, with the rest, to the French frigate. Zac had consequently been left in the dark as to the particular villany of Cazeneau towards Laborde and Mimi. But he had seen enough and felt enough to be sure that his enmity, from whatever cause it arose, was of no common kind, that Claude was in great danger, and that he himself was involved in the same peril, though to a less degree. This conviction served, therefore, to keep his mind continually on the alert, so as to find out what was the present situation of Claude, and also to devise and lay hold of some plan of action for himself. In his thoughts the good Père Michel was suggested as the only one who could do anything for either of them. What his influence might be, he could not guess; but he at least believed in his friendliness and good faith, and he could not help feeling that the priest would do all that was possible. It seemed to him not unlikely that the priest might come out to see him, and convey to him some information about the present state of affairs in Grand Pré. And besides this, he could not help feeling a vague hope that, even if the priest were unable to do anything, he might receive some sort of a message from one whom he could not help as regarding in the light of a friend--namely, the amiable Margot. The situation had been accepted by the rest of the ship's company without any great display of emotion. Biler's melancholy remained unchanged, and still, as of yore, he passed much of his time at the mast-head, contemplating the universe, and eating raw turnips. Jericho remained as busy as ever, and cared for his pots, and his kettles, and his pans, without apparently being conscious that his master was a slave now, as well as himself. Upon Terry, also, the yoke of captivity lay but lightly. It was not in the nature of Terry to be downcast or sullen; and the simple expedients which had led him to fraternize with the shipwrecked sailors had afterwards enabled him to fraternize equally well with the crew of the Aigle that had been put on board. These had gone, and it remained now for him to come to an understanding with the Acadians. Constant practice had made him more capable, and, in addition to his own natural advantages, he had also learned a few French words, of which he made constant use in the most efficient way. The Acadians responded to Terry's advances quite as readily as any of the others had done; and before they had been on board one day they were all singing and laughing with the merry Irish lad, and going into fits of uproarious mirth at Terry's incessant use of the few French words which he had learned; for it was Terry's delight to stop each one of them, and insist on shaking hands, whenever he met them, saying at the same time, with all the gravity in the world,-- "_Commy voo party voo, bong tong. Bon jure, moosoo_!" Thus nearly a week passed, and during all that time Zac had heard nothing about the fate of his friends ashore. Neither the priest nor Margot sent him any message whatever. The Acadians themselves did not hold any communication with the shore, but remained on board quite placidly, in a state of calm content--as placidly, indeed, as though they had been living on board the Parson all their lives. During all the time Zac had been meditating over his situation, and trying to see his way out of it. At length a ray of light began to dawn into his mind, which illuminated his present position, and opened up to him a way of action. One day after dinner, while the Acadians were lolling in the sun, and while Terry was smoking his pipe forward, Zac sauntered up to him in a careless fashion, and placing himself near Terry, where he could not be overheard, he began to talk in an easy tone with the other, "Terry, lad," said he, "I'm getting tired o' this here." "Faix, an' it's mesilf that's been waitin' to hear ye say that same for a week an' more--so it is." [Illustration: "I Think We Can Manage To Get The Schooner From These Chaps."] "Wal, ye see, I ben a turnin' it over in my mind, and hain't altogether seen my way clear afore; but now it seems to me as how it's a burnin' shame to stand this here any longer." "Thrue for you; an' so it is," said Terry. "An' so, ef ye've got anythin' on yer mind that ye want to do, why, out with it, for I'm your man." "Wal, ye see," resumed Zac, "it's this here; I don't want to go away out o' this jest yet." "Not go away! Tare an ages," cried Terry; "d'ye want to be a prisoner?" "Course not. I mean this: I don't want to go an' leave my friend here, Motier, in the hands of the Philistines." "Sure ye can't do anythin' for him; an' he's among his own kin--so he is; for he jabbers French ayqual to the best of thim." "No, I can't do anything for him as I am; that's a fact; and so I'm bound to put myself in a position whar I can do somethin'; that is, I'm bound to seize this here schewner, an' bring the old Parson back to the fold." "Arrah, sure, an' that's the right sort of talk--so it is; an' it's mesilf that's glad to hear ye. An' so, what is it, captain dear? Out with it. Tell me what yer plan is, an' I'm wid ye--so I am." "I think, Terry, that we can manage to get the schewner from these chaps--can't we?" "Sure we can. Sure, an' I'd ingage to do it alone, almost." "They don't watch much." "Not a bit of it." "The two that watch at night sleep half the time." "Sure, an' that's thrue for you, for I've seed thim at it whin I was asleep mesilf." "We can git Jericho to bar down the cabin door, Terry, an' then you an' I can seize the two on deck." "Aisy enough--so it is. They'll all be dead asleep--so they will." "Wal, thar we'll have them; an' then I hope to be able to bring a pressure on the natyves of these regions by which I may git my friend out of their clutches." "Sure, an' I don't onderstand ye at all, at all." "Why, I'll have these six Acadians prisoners, an' then I'll sail up off Grand Pré, an' threaten to cut the throats of all of them if they don't send off Motier to me in ten minutes." "Tare an' ages!" cried Terry. "Whoroo! but isn't that the plan? It is. It bates the wurruld--so it does. An whin'll ye begin, captain darlint?" "To-night," said Zac. CHAPTER XIII. A STROKE FOE LIBERTY. Zac and Terry talked for a long time over the plan, trying to chat in an off-hand and careless manner, so as not to excite any suspicion. No suspicion appeared to be raised among the Acadians, who took no notice of them whatever. So Zac and Terry had sufficient opportunity to arrange all the details of the plan, and it was decided that Terry should indicate to Jericho what was to be done by him. It was agreed that the best time would be about three o'clock in the morning; for then the Acadians below would all be in their soundest sleep, while those who kept watch on deck would probably, in accordance with their usual careless fashion, be sunk into a slumber no less sound. Terry at length left Zac, and moved about in a desultory fashion, after which he finally settled down among the Acadians, and began to sing to them the immortal strain of St. Patrick. Although Zac had upon his mind the weight of such an important enterprise, yet it did not at all interfere with his usual slumbers. He went to bed at nine, and slept soundly. At about half past two he awoke, and waited a little longer. Then he roused Terry and Jericho. Terry then went upon deck noiselessly, and reconnoitred. It was as they had hoped it would be. Two men were on deck as a watch, but both were crouched under the taffrail fast asleep. Terry proposed to go and shut down the cabin door, where the rest of the Acadians were; but Zac concluded that it would be best for Jericho to do this, so that in case the noise should wake the watch, he and Terry might be on hand to deal with them. Jericho was now sent aft, charged with the burden of an important commission. He went softly and swiftly, like a spirit of night. His whole nature seemed changed by the purpose before him. In an instant he had ceased to be the lowly slave intent on cookery, and had started up into the attitude of an African warrior. As he glided along, Zac and Terry, with equal noiselessness, moved towards the slumbering watch, and then waited. It was necessary that the cabin should first be closed, so that those within, if alarmed by the outcry of their friends, should not be able to help them. All went on well. Jericho reached the cabin, and then swiftly, and with as little noise as possible, shut the door and fastened it. Upon this, Zac and Terry each seized one of the slumbering Acadians, and before they were fairly awake they were disarmed. Zac and Terry both scorned to bind them, partly out of kindly feeling towards them, partly because they themselves had not been bound, and partly out of the pride of their manhood. The Acadians at first stood stupefied, and then, recognizing the whole truth, they slunk forward, and stood dejectedly in the bows, where they awaited with fear the further action of their late prisoners. Both Terry and Zac made friendly signs to them, pressing their hands on their hearts, smiling, nodding, and so forth; while Terry even went so far as to whistle one of their favorite melodies. But the Acadians were not to be reassured. They looked upon themselves as lost men, and evidently regarded Terry as a traitor of the deepest dye. They now waited till the others in the cabin should make some sign. Jericho had armed himself with an axe, with which he stood ready to act in case of a fight. It was evident that the Acadians in the cabin had heard nothing whatever, and not one of them awaked before the usual time. Then, of course, the painful discovery was made by them. At first, loud cries and threats were made; but these were stilled by Zac, who in a voice of thunder awed them into silence. "You are prisoners!" said he. "Give up your arms." The one who understood a little English was able to comprehend this. The command was followed by an excited debate among the four, which was at last ended by a second mandate from Zac, accompanied by a threat to fire upon them. At this a hurried answer was given:-- "We render. We render. Fire not." A small skylight was then opened, and all the arms and equipments of the prisoners were passed up. These were appropriated by Zac. The door of the cabin was then unfastened and opened, and the prisoners called upon to come forth. They came looking fearful and dejected, as though apprehending the worst. Zac, Terry, and Jericho, each with his musket, stood at the stern, and as they came out they motioned to them to go to the bows. The Acadians obeyed in silence, and soon joined their two companions. Some time was now occupied by Zac in talking over with Terry the best course to be pursued. They at length decided to allow the Acadians to remain unbound by day, and to shut them down at night, or while sailing. As long as these men were unarmed and themselves armed, they had not the slightest fear of any trouble arising. For the Acadians, though stout, muscular fellows, were all so good-natured and phlegmatic in their faces that no danger of anything so desperate as an attack on their part was to be anticipated. It was decided, however, while they were on deck, to keep them confined to the forward part of the schooner. This Zac succeeded in making known to them. "We won't do you no harm," said he. "We won't tie you or bind you. At night you must go below to sleep. If any of you make an attack, we won't show you any mercy. So you'd best keep quiet." The chief Acadian understood this as well by the signs with which it was accompanied as from the words, and he explained it to his followers. He then informed Zac that they would be quiet; whereupon Terry went forward and shook hands with each and all of them. "_Commy porty-voo? Bon jure, moosoo_," said he; to which the Acadians, however, made no response. They did indeed allow him to shake their hands; but they would not say anything, and evidently regarded him as a perjured villain, and traitor to their cause. "Biler!" roared Zac. "Whar are you, you young cuss of life?" Upon this the young cuss of life slowly emerged from the forecastle, holding a cold potato in his hand. The scene on deck made no impression on him, but he walked aft with his eyes fixed on Zac. "Stand there!" commanded Zac; and Biler stood. "Feller seamen and comrades at arms," said Zac, stretching out his arm in the oratorical fashion which he had seen used at town meetings "to hum." "This is a gellorious day for his great and gracious majesty King George, whose loyal subjects we air, as we have proved by this rescoo of his ship from the hands of the Philistines. It air all very well for the king to send out his red-coats; but I tell you what it is, I ain't seen a red-coat that lives that's equal to the natyve pro-vincial. Who air the ones that doos the best fightin' out here? The pro-vincials! Who air the men that's druv the wild and bloodthusty Injin back to his natyve woods? The pro-vincial! And who air the men that's goin' to settle the business of Moosoo, an' make America too hot to hold him an' his'n? The red-coats? Nay; but rayther the pro-vincials, the men that's fit the catamounts, an' bars, an' Injins, an' turned the waste an' howlin' wilderness into a gardin', an' made the desert blossom like a rose. So, I say, Hooray for the pro-vincials!" At this Zac removed his hat. Terry did the same; so did Jericho. Biler had none to remove, but he raised his potato in the air. Zac led off--"Hip, hip, hip, h-o-o-o-r-a-a-a-y!" "Arrah, captain, darlint, an' while yo's about it, sure ye won't be forgettin' ould Ireland," cried Terry, as the ringing cheers died away over the waters. "Certingly," said Zac. "Course. Here goes!" And three cheers in the same fashion followed for Terry's native land. "Tare an' ages!" cried Terry; "an' while we're about it, sure an' we's ought to give three chairs for Africa, in honor of Jericho." "Hooray!" cried Zac. "Here goes!" And three cheers followed for Africa. Whether Jericho knew much about Africa, may be a question; but he understood at least that this honor was offered to himself, and accepted it accordingly. It almost overwhelmed him. A wild chuckle of spasmodic delight burst from him, which threatened to end in a convulsion. And though he rallied from this, yet he was quite demoralized, and it was a long time before he settled down into that sedate old darky which was his normal condition. And now Zac waited. Finding himself in command of his own schooner again, he felt more able to act in case of necessity. He was so far out from the shore that he was easily able to guard against the unexpected arrival of any boat. By day he lay at anchor; but when night came the Acadians were sent below, the anchor was raised, and the schooner cruised about the bay. The strong tides and currents caused a little trouble, but Zac soon got the run of them, at least in a general way, and several nights were thus passed. At length he began to grow impatient, and felt quite at a loss what to do. He was half inclined to send one of the Acadians ashore with a message, but as yet concluded to wait a little longer. The Acadians, whether from fear or policy, did as they promised, and kept quiet. They kept by themselves always, and refused to accept the advances of Terry, though they were frequently made. They all appeared listless and dejected, and the smiles, the laughter, and the singing which had characterized their first days on board had all passed away, and given place to low, murmured conversation or silence. At length, one evening at about six o'clock, Zac saw a solitary boat coming from the shore. It was a long way off when he first saw it, and it seemed to be coming towards the schooner. The tide was unfavorable, so that the progress was quite slow; but its course lay steadily towards him, and Zac, who watched it intently, was turning over in his mind his best plan of action. It did not seem large enough to contain any very formidable force; but Zac thought best to take every precaution, and so sent all the Acadians below, while Terry and Jericho stood ready for action. The time passed away, and the boat drew steadily nearer. At length it came near enough for Zac to see that it was rowed by two men, which sight was most welcome, since it assured him that no danger was to be apprehended. As he watched it, the boat drew nearer and nearer. He said nothing, but waited for them to speak first. He could see that both of the men were unarmed. At last the boat touched the schooner's side. One of the men leaped on board, securing the boat, and the other followed immediately. They were both dressed like all the Acadians, but the second boatman had a slouched hat, which concealed his face. Zac, who carelessly regarded him, noticed that he was a smooth-faced boy, while the first boatman was a grizzled old man. Both of these looked around, and seemed surprised. At length the boy advanced towards Zac. "Capitaine," said this boy, "what ees dees? You no seem a preesonaire. You haf a gun. Air you free?" At the sound of this voice Zac started back a step or two in utter amazement. Could it be possible? Yet that voice could not belong to any other. It must be. And even as he stood thus bewildered, the boy raised his hat with a shy smile, with which there was also much sadness mingled, and revealed the face of the little Margot. "Wal," exclaimed Zac, "this doos beat creation!" Zac then caught both her hands, and held them in a tight grip, and for a few moments could not speak. "I do feel good, little one," said he, in a tremulous voice. "This here's what I ben a waitin' for--to see you--an' you only--though I skurse dared to hope it. At any rate, I did hope and feel that you wouldn't go off without a word, and no more you heven't; an' I feel so happy that I could cry." It was not exaggerated. Honest Zac was unused to such emotions, and hardly understood them. His eyes were moist as he looked upon Margot, and she saw that his simple confession was true. Her own emotion was as great as his. Tears started to her own eyes, and in her sadness she leaned on his arm and wept. Whereupon Zac's tears fell in spite of him, and he began to call himself a darned fool, and her a dear little pet; till the scolding of himself and the soothing of Margot became so hopelessly intermingled that he called her a darned old pet, and himself a dear little fool. Whereupon Margot burst into a laugh, dashed her tears away, and started off from Zac's grasp. And now Margot proceeded to tell Zac the reason of her journey. From her he learned for the first time the events that had taken place on shore. First, she informed him that Claude was in confinement, and that Cazeneau intended to take him or send him to Louisbourg; that Cazeneau himself was bitterly hostile to him. She informed him that Laborde was dead; that Mimi was in terrible distress, and in mortal terror of Cazeneau; and finally, that she was to be taken to Louisbourg. All this filled Zac with concern and apprehension. She informed Zac that she and her mistress were to be taken away early on the following morning, and that she had slipped off thus in disguise, with the consent of her mistress, to let him know the danger of his friend; for Claude was to remain in Grand Pré for some time longer, and her mistress thought that after Cazeneau had departed, it might be possible to do something to save him. This occupied some time, and Zac interrupted her with many questions. At length, having told her story, Margot turned away. This startled Zac. "What!" said he; "you're not a goin' to leave me!" and poor Zac's voice was like a wail of despair. "Why, what ees eet posseeble to do? I moos go to ma maitresse." "But-but what'll become of me?" mourned Zac. "I may never see you again." Margot sighed. "I moos go to ma maitresse," she murmured. "O, don't! don't now!" cried Zac. "She ain't half as fond of you as me. She can take care of herself. The priest'll watch over her. O, don't go, don't! I declar I feel like droundin' myself at the bare idee." Zac, upon this, seized her hand, and begged, and coaxed, and prayed her to stay; till poor little Margot began to cry bitterly, and could only plead in broken tones her love for her dear mistress, who was in such danger, and how base it would be to desert her at such a time. "Wal, wal--would you--would you come with me if--if it warn't for her?" mourned Zac. Margot looked up at his face with a slight smile shining through her tears, which seemed to reassure poor Zac. "We sall meet again," said Margot, in a more cheerful voice. Zac shook his head disconsolately. "And so, adieu," said Margot, in a low voice. Zac said nothing, but with an expression of despair he took her in his arms, kissed her, and then turned away and wept. Margot cried bitterly, and got into the boat. The old Acadian followed. The boat rowed away. "_Adieu, et au revoir, cher Zac_," said Margot, calling back and waving her hat. "Goo-oo-d by-ye," said Zac, in a wail of despair. For hours Zac stood looking after the boat in perfect silence. At last he turned away, gulping down a sigh. "Darned ef I know what on airth's the matter with me," he murmured. CHAPTER XIV. MANOEUVRES OF ZAC. Zac slept but little that night. There were two causes for wakefulness. The first was Margot, who had wrought such mischief with his thoughts and feelings that he did not know what was the matter with him. The second cause was the condition of Claude. Gradually Margot's image faded away, and he began to turn his thoughts towards the problem of delivering Claude. How was that to be done? Over this he thought for the greater part of that night. Towards morning he called Terry, who was to watch for the remainder of the night, and proceeded to hold a council of war. First of all he acquainted Terry with the general state of affairs. Part of Margot's information had been overheard by him; but Terry, seeing how things were, had discreetly withdrawn aft, and kept up a loud whistle, so as to prevent himself from overhearing their words; so that now the greater part of this information was news to the Irish boy. "And have ye thought of anythin' at all, at all?" he asked. "Wal, I've thought over most everythin'," said Zac. "You see, the state of the case is this: they've got one of us a prisoner ashore over there, but we've got six of them a prisoner out here." "Thrue for you," said Terry. "Wal, now, you see, if this Cazeneau was here, he hates Motier so like pison that he'd sacrifice a hundred Frenchmen rayther'n let him go--an' in my 'pinion he's worth a hundred Frenchmen, an' more. But now, bein' as Cazeneau's goin' away to-morrer, we'll be in a position to deal with the people here that's a keepin' Motier; an' when it comes to them--why, they won't feel like losin' six of their men for the sake of one stranger." "I wonder," said Terry, "whether the owld boy that came out in the boat found out anythin'. 'Deed, if he'd had his wits about him, an' eyes in his head, he'd have seen it all,--so he would." "Wal, we'll hev to let 'em know, right straight off." "To-morra'd be best." "Yes; an' then Cazeneau'll be off. I'd rayther wait till then; it'll be better for us to have him out of the way." "What'll ye do?" "Wal, I'll sail up, and send word ashore." "How'll you sind word? We can't spake a word of the lingo." "Wal, I ben a thinkin' it over, an' I've about come to the conclusion that the old Frenchman down thar in the cabin'll be the best one to send." "Sure, an' ye won't sind the Frenchman ashore in yer own boat!" "Why not?" "He'll niver bring it back; so he won't." "Then we'll keep the other five Frenchmen." "Sure, an' it's a hard thing altogether, so it is, to hev to thrust him. He'll be after rousin' the country, an' they'll power down upon us in five hundred fishin' boats; so they will." "Wal, if I staid here to anchor, that might be dangerous," said Zac; "but I ain't got no idee of standin' still in one place for them to attack me." "Sure, an' it'll be best to let him see that if he don't come back wid Misther Motier, the whole five'll hev their brains blown out." "Sartin. He'll have to go with that in his mind; an' what's more, I'll make him swear an oath to come back." "Sure, an' it'll be the hard thing to do when neither of yez ondherstan' enough of one another's lingo to ax the time af day." "Wal, then I'll have to be satisfied with the other five Moosoos. If the first Moosoo runs for it, he'll leave the other five, an' I ain't goin' to b'lieve that the farmers here air goin' to let five of their own relatives and connections perish, rayther'n give up one stranger." A few more words followed, and then Zac retired below, leaving Terry on deck. A few hours' sleep sufficed for Zac, and not long after sunrise he was all ready for action. But the tide was not quite high enough for his purposes. The long-extended mud flats lay bare in the distance for miles, and Zac had to wait until a portion, at least, of this space should be covered. At length the water had spread over as much of the red mud as seemed desirable, while every hour the schooner would have a greater depth beneath her; so Zac concluded to start. Up then went the anchor, the sails were set, and yielding to the impulse of a favorable breeze, the Parson turned her head towards the landing-place at Grand Pré. Various preparations had to be made, and these now engaged the attention of Zac, who committed the care of the helm to Terry. The first was the composition of a letter. It was to be short and to the point. Zac had already settled in his own mind about the wording of this, so that the writing of it now occupied but a little time. It was as follows:-- "_To any Magistrate at Grand Pré_:-- "Know all men by this, that the six Acadians sent to take charge of the schooner 'Rev. Amos Adams,' are now held by me as my prisoners until such time as Mr. Claude Motier shall be delivered free from prison. And if Mr. Claude Motier shall not be set free, these six shall be carried to prison to Boston. And if Mr. Claude Motier be put to death, these six shall one and all be put to death likewise. "An answer is required within three hours. "Zion Awake Cox, "Master of the schooner 'Rev. Amos Adams.' "Minas Basin, May 28, 1743." This Zac folded and addressed, thinking that if no one in Grand Pré could read English, it would be taken to Claude himself for translation. He next prepared to hoist a large British ensign. It was not often that the Parson showed her colors, but on this occasion it was necessary, and Zac saw that this display of English colors would be an act which would tell its own story, and show Moosoo that the schooner had once more changed masters. The colors lay on deck, ready to be hoisted at the proper moment. What that moment was to be he had already decided. Zac, in his preparations on this occasion, showed that he possessed a line eye for dramatic effect, and knew how to create a sensation. There was a small howitzer amidships,--Zac's joy and pride,--which, like the ensign, was made use of only on great and rare occasions, such as the king's birthday, or other seasons of general rejoicing. This he determined to make use of at the present crisis, thinking that it would speak in tones that would strike terror to the heart of Moosoo, both on board and ashore. Last of all, it remained to explain to the Acadians on board the purposes upon which he was bent. They were still below. Jericho had supplied them with their breakfast there, but Zac had not allowed them on deck. Now, however, he summoned forth their chief man, leaving the others behind, and proceeded to endeavor, as far as possible, to explain to this man what he wished. The Acadian's stock of English words was but small, yet Zac was able, after all, by the help of signs, to give him some idea of his purpose. The letter also was shown him, and he seemed able to gather from it a general idea of its meaning. His words to Zac indicated a very lively idea of the danger which was impending over the prisoners. "Me go," he said. "Put me 'shore. Me go _tout de suite_; me deliver M. Motier; make come here _tout de suite--bon_!" "All right," said Zac; "but mind you, he must be here in three hours--three," he repeated, holding up three fingers; "three hours." "O, _oui_--yes--_certainement_--tree hour." "These others will be all prisoners if he don't come." "O, _oui_--yes; all personaire; _mais_ he vill come, _tout certainement_." "You und'stand now, Moosoo, sure?" "O, _oui_; me _comprends_--ond'stand--_certainement_." "Well, then, you wait up here till we get nearer, and then you can go ashore in the boat." But Zac's preparations were destined to undergo some delay, for the wind died out, and the schooner lay idle upon the surface of the water. For several hours Zac waited patiently, hoping for a change; but no change came. At length the tide turned, and after a time the schooner, which had already been drifting helplessly, now began to be carried back towards the place from which she had started. Zac was now left to his own invention, and could only decide that on the following day, if the wind should fail him, he would send the boat ashore from his present anchorage, and wait the result. For various reasons, however, he preferred going nearer; and therefore he had refrained from sending the boat ashore that day. The next day came. There was a fresh breeze and a favorable one. The waters began to rise. Zac was all ready. Up went the anchor, the sails were set, and once more the Parson was turned towards the landing. The breeze now blew steadily, and in course of time Zac found himself sufficiently near for his purposes, and he began to act. First of all, up went the British ensign. Then, the howitzer was fired. The noise of the report did not fail of the effect which Zac had anticipated. He saw the people turning out from their houses, some standing still and looking, others running towards the landing. Again and again the gun was fired, each report serving to increase the excitement among the people ashore. The British ensign was fully visible, and showed them what had taken place. After this Zac sent Jericho ashore in the boat, along with the chief Acadian. The others were confined below. Zac saw the Acadian land, and Jericho return. Then he waited. But it was not possible for him to wait here, nor was it safe. The tide would soon fall, leaving, as it retreated, a vast expanse of bare mud flats. He did not wish to run any risk of the schooner grounding in a place like this, and therefore allowed her to fall with the tide, and gradually move back to the bay without. All the time, however, he kept one eye on the shore. The three hours passed. He had drifted down again for several miles, and it was no longer easy to discern objects. But at length he saw a boat sailing from the shore to the schooner. As the boat came nearer, he saw that Claude was not on board. Two men were in her, one of whom was the man whom he had sent away, and the other was a stranger. This stranger was an elderly man, of venerable appearance. They came up, and both went on board. The elderly man was one of the chief men of the settlement, and spoke English sufficiently well to carry on a conversation. The information which he gave Zac was not at all to the satisfaction of the latter. It was to the following effect:-- That M. Motier had been kept in confinement at the house of Comeau; that early on the previous day M. Cazeneau had departed for Louisbourg, with the Abbé Michel, and the Countess de Laborde and her maid; that M. Motier, however, on the previous night, had somehow effected his escape. Then the old man tried to induce Zac to set the Acadians free, except one, arguing that one life was enough to hold against that of Motier. But to this Zac sternly responded that one hundred Acadians would not be of sufficient value to counterbalance the sacred life of his friend. The only thing that Zac conceded was the liberty of the Acadian whom he had sent ashore; for he felt touched by the plucky conduct of this man in returning to the schooner. To his amazement, however, this man refused to go, declaring that he had come back to stand by his friends, and one of the others might be freed instead. On referring the matter to them, one was found who was weak enough to take advantage of this offer, and he it was who rowed the old man ashore. Towards evening a canoe came gliding over the water, containing a single Indian. This Indian held aloof at a certain distance, scanning the schooner curiously. Zac, seeing this, sprang upon the taffrail, and called and beckoned to him; for a sudden thought came to him that the Indian might have been despatched by Claude to tell him something, and not knowing that he was no longer a prisoner, might be hesitating as to the best way of approaching. His conjecture seemed to be right, for this Indian, on seeing him, at once drew near, and came on board. The Indian said not a word, but handed Zac a letter. Zac opened it, and read the following:-- "Claude Motier is free. Indians hafe safed him, and guide him to Louisbourg on the trail of Cazeneau. He wishes that you go to Canso, where you will be useful. He hope to safe Comtesse de Laborde, and want you to help to safe she. Go, then, to Canso; and if you arrive immediately, you sall see Indians, and must tell. They sall bing the intelligence to us. "The Père Michel." On reading this, Zac understood all. He saw that Père Michel had been a friend, and had engaged the Indians to help Claude. He at once determined to go to Canso. That very night he sent the Acadians ashore, and set sail. CHAPTER XV. FLIGHT. On leaving the house, the Indian led the way in silence for some distance. In the immediate neighborhood of the house were open fields, while in front of it was the road which ran down to the river. The house was on the declivity of a hill, at the foot of which were broad dike-lands, which ran far out till they terminated at the island already mentioned. Beyond this lay the Basin of Minas, and in the distance the shadowy outline of the surrounding shores. The Indian led the way for some distance across the fields, and then turned into the road. Along this he passed till he reached the river. It was the Gaspereaux, at the mouth of which was the place where Claude had landed. Here the Indian crossed, and Claude followed, the water not being much above their knees. On reaching the other side, the Indian walked down the stream, keeping in the open as much as possible. At length they left the river, and went on where the ground rose gradually. Here they soon entered the woods. It was a broad trail, and though in the shadow of the trees it was rather dark, yet the trail was wide enough to allow of Claude following his guide without any difficulty whatever. For about an hour they walked on in this way, ascending steadily most of the time, until at length Claude found himself upon an open space overgrown with shrubbery, and altogether bare of trees. Here several dusky figures appeared, and the guide conversed with them for some time. Claude now seated himself on the ground. He felt so fatigued already from this first tramp, that he began to experience a sense of discouragement, and to think that his confinement had affected his strength. He gazed wearily and dreamily upon the scene before him. There, spread out at his feet, was a magnificent prospect. The land went sloping down to the water. Towards the left were the low dike-lands running out to the island; beyond this the waters of Minas Basin lay spread out before him. Thus far there had been no moonlight; but now, as he looked towards the east, he noticed that the sky was already flushing with the tints of dawn. But even this failed to rouse him.. A profound weariness and inertness settled slowly over every sense and limb, and falling back, he fell into a deep sleep. When he awaked, he saw that it was broad day, and that the sun was already high up in the sky. He started to his feet, and his first thought was one of joy at finding that his strength had all returned. At his question, the Indian who was the spokesman told him that Louisbourg was more than twelve days' journey away, and that the path lay through the woods for the whole distance. Before setting forth, the Indian gave him a rifle and a sword, which he said Père Michel had requested him to give him. There was also a sufficient supply of powder and ball. Taking these, Claude then set out on his long tramp. There were six Indians. Of these, three went in front, and three in the rear, the whole party going in single file. The trail was a wide one, and comparatively smooth. The guide drew Claude's attention to tracks on the ground, which could easily be recognized as the prints of horse hoofs. To Claude's inquiry how many there were, the Indian informed him that there were four. By this it seemed to Claude that Mimi and her maid had each one, while the other two were used by Cazeneau and the priest. After several hours they at length came to a river. It was like the Gaspereaux in one respect, for it was turbid, and rolled with a swift current. The banks also were lined with marshes, and the edges were composed of soft mud. No way of crossing it appeared, and as they approached it, the Indians turned away to go up the stream. The prospect of a long detour was very unpleasant to Claude; and when at length he came to a place where the tracks of the horses went towards the river, he asked why this was. The Indians informed him that the horses had crossed here, but that they would have to go farther up. It did not turn out so bad as Claude had feared, for after about half an hour's further walk, they stopped at the bank of the river, and waited. To Claude's question why they waited, an extraordinary answer was given. It was, that they were waiting till the water ran out. This reminded him of the old classic story about the fool who came to a river bank and waited for the water to run out, so that he might cross. Claude could not understand it; but, supposing that his guides knew what they were about, he waited for the result, taking advantage of this rest to fortify his inner man with a sound repast. After this was over, he rose to examine the situation; and the first sight showed him an astonishing change. He had lingered over his repast, now eating, now smoking, for about an hour, and in that time there had been wrought what seemed to him like a wonder of Nature. The water of the river had indeed been running out, as the Indian said; and there before him lay the channel, running low, with its waters still pouring forward at a rate which seemed to threaten final emptiness. And as he looked, the waters fell lower and lower, until at length, after he had been there three hours, the channel was almost empty. This particular spot was not so muddy as other parts of the river bed, and therefore it had been chosen as the best place for crossing. It was quite hard, except in the middle, where the mud and water together rose over their knees; and thus this mighty flood was crossed as though it had been some small brook. A few hours more served to bring them to the foot of some hills; and here the party halted. They had once more picked up the trail, and Claude was encouraged by the sight of the horse tracks. He now unfolded to the Indian his design. To his great pleasure he found that Père Michel had already anticipated him, and that the Indian understood very well what was wanted. He assured Claude that he could easily communicate with the others so as not to be suspected, and lead back Père Michel and the women to him. His plan was to make a _detour_, and get ahead of them, approaching them from that direction, so as to avoid suspicion, while Claude might remain with the other Indians in some place where they could be found again. This plan seemed to Claude so simple and so feasible that he grew exultant over the prospect, forgetting the many difficulties that would still be before him, even if this first enterprise should succeed. Their repast was simple and easily procured. The woods and waters furnished all that they required. A hare and some snipe and plover, with a few trout and a salmon, were the result of a short excursion, that did not extend much farther than a stone's throw from the encampment. The next day they resumed their journey. It lay over the hills, which were steep, though not very high. The trail now grew rougher, being covered with stones in many places, so as to resemble the dry channel of a mountain torrent, while in other places the roots of trees which ran across interfered with rapid progress. This Claude saw with great satisfaction, for he knew that horses could go but slowly over a path like this; and therefore every step seemed to lessen the distance between him and Mimi. All that day they were traversing these hills. The next day their journey lay through a gentle, undulating country, where the towering trees of the forest rose high all around, while at their feet were mosses, and wild grasses, and ferns, and flowers of a kind that were utterly strange to Claude. It was the month of June, the time when all nature in Acadie robes herself in her fairest charms. Thus day after day passed, each day being the counterpart of the other in its cloudless skies, its breath from the perfumed woods, and the song of birds. On the sixth day the tracks of the horses seemed to be fresher than usual; and to Claude's question the Indian replied that they must be close by them. At this Claude hurried on more vigorously, and kept up his march later than usual. He was even anxious to go forward all night; but the Indian was unwilling. He wished to approach them by day rather than by night, and was afraid of coming too suddenly upon them, and thus being discovered, if they went on while the others might be resting. Thus Claude was compelled to restrain his impatient desires, and wait for the following day. When it came they set forth, and kept up a rapid pace for some hours. At length they came to an opening in the woods where the scene was no longer shut in by trees, but showed a wide-extended prospect. It was a valley, through which ran a small stream, bordered on each side with willows. The valley was green with the richest vegetation. Clusters of maples appeared like groves, here and there interspersed with beech and towering oaks, while at intervals appeared the magnificent forms of grand elms all covered with drooping foliage, and even the massive trunks green with the garlands of tender and gracefully-bending shoots. For a moment Claude stood full of admiration at this lovely scene, and then hurried on after his guide. The guide now appeared desirous of slackening his pace, for he saw that if the other party were not far away he would be more liable to discovery in this open valley; but it was not very wide. About half a mile farther on, the deep woods arose once more; and, as there were no signs of life here, he yielded to Claude's impatient entreaty, and went on at his usual pace. Half way across the valley there was a grove of maple trees; the path ran close beside it, skirting it, and then going beyond it. Along this they went, and were just emerging from its shelter, when the guide made a warning movement, and stood still. The next instant Claude was at his side. The Indian grasped Claude's arm, and made a stealthy movement backward. That very instant Claude saw it all. A man was there--a European. Two Indians were with him. He was counting some birds which the Indians were carrying. It seemed as though they had been shooting through the valley, and this was their game. They could not have been shooting very recently, however, as no sound had been heard. This was the sight that met Claude's eyes as he stood by the Indian, and as the Indian grasped his arm. It was too late. The European looked up. It was Cazeneau! For a moment he stood staring at Claude as though he was some apparition. But the Indians who were behind, and who came forward, not knowing what was the matter, gave to this vision too practical a character; and Cazeneau saw plainly enough that, however unaccountable it might be, this was in very deed the man whom he believed to be in safe confinement at Grand Pré. A bitter curse escaped him. He rushed towards Claude, followed by his Indians. "Scoundrel," he cried, "you have escaped! Aha! and do you dare to come on my track! This time I will make sure of you." He gnashed his teeth in his fury, and, snatching a rifle from one of his Indians who were near him, aimed it at Claude, and pulled the trigger. But the trigger clicked, and that was all. It was not loaded. With another curse Cazeneau dashed the rifle to the ground, and turned towards the other Indian. All this had been the work of a moment. The next moment Claude sprang forward with drawn sword. "Villain," he cried, "and assassin! draw, and fight like a man!" At these words Cazeneau was forced to turn, without having had time to get the other Indian's rifle, for Claude was close to him, and the glittering steel flashed before his eyes. He drew his sword, and retreating backward, put himself on guard. "Seize this fellow!" he cried to his Indians; "seize him! In the name of your great father, the King of France, seize him, I tell you!" The Indians looked forward. There, behind Claude, they saw six other Indians--their own friends. They shook their heads. "Too many," said they. "You fellows!" cried Cazeneau to Claude's Indians, "I am the officer of your great father, the King of France. This man is a traitor. I order you to seize him, in the king's name." Claude's Indians stood there motionless. They did not seem to understand. All this time Cazeneau was keeping up a defence, and parrying Claude's attack. He was a skilful swordsman, and he wished to take Claude alive if possible, rather than to fight with him. So he tried once more. He supposed that Claude's Indians did not understand. He therefore told his Indians to tell the others in their language what was wanted. At this the two walked over to the six, and began talking. Caseneau watched them earnestly. He saw, to his infinite rage, that his words had no effect whatever on Claude's Indians. "Coward," cried Claude, "coward and villain! you must fight. My Indians are faithful to me. You hate to fight,--you are afraid,--but you must, or I will beat you to death with the blade of my sword." At this Cazeneau turned purple with rage. He saw how it was. He determined to show this colonist all his skill, and wound him, and still take him alive. So, with a curse, he rushed upon Claude. But his own excitement interfered with that display of skill which he intended to show; and Claude, who had regained his coolness, had the advantage in this respect. A few strokes showed Cazeneau that he had found his master. But this discovery only added to his rage. He determined to bring the contest to a speedy issue. With this intent he lunged forward with a deadly thrust. But the thrust was turned aside, and the next instant Claude's sword passed through the body of Cazeneau. CHAPTER XVI. REUNION. The wounded man fell to the ground, and Claude, dropping his sword, sank on his knees beside him. In that one instant all his anger and his hate fled away. It was no longer Cazeneau, his mortal enemy, whom he saw, but his fellow-creature, laid low by his hand. The thought sent a quiver through every nerve, and it was with no ordinary emotion that Claude sought to relieve his fallen enemy. But Cazeneau was unchanged in his implacable hate; or, if possible, he was even more bitter and more malignant now, since he had thus been beaten. "Away!" he cried, in a faint voice. "Away! Touch me not. Do not exult yet, Montresor. You think you have--avenged--your cursed father--and your mother. Do not exult too soon; at least you are--a pauper--a pauper--a pauper! Away! My own people--will care for me." Claude rose at this, and motioned to Cazeneau's Indians. They came up. One of them examined the wound. He then looked up at Claude, and solemnly shook his head. "May Heaven have mercy on his soul!" murmured Claude. "I thank Heaven that I do not know all the bitter wrong that he has done to my parents. What he has done to me I forgive." Then, by a sudden impulse, he bent down over the fallen man. "Cazeneau," said he, "you're a dying man. You have something on your conscience now. What you have done to me I forgive. May others whom you have injured do the same." At this magnanimous speech Cazeneau rolled his glaring eyes furiously towards the young man, and then, supplied with a sudden spasmodic strength by his own passion, he cried out, with bitter oaths and execrations,-- "Curse you! you and all your race!" He raised himself slightly as he said this. The next instant he fell back, senseless. For a moment Claude stood looking at the lifeless form, undecided what to do. Should he remain here longer? If Cazeneau should revive, it would only be to curse him; if he died, he could do nothing. Would it not be better to hurry forward after the rest of the party, who could not be very far away? If so, he could send back the priest, who would come in time either for life or death. The moment that he thought of this he decided that he would hurry forward for the priest. He then explained to his guide what he wished, and asked the Indians of Cazeneau how far the rest of the party were. They could speak but very little French, but managed to make Claude understand that they were not far. To his Indian they said more, and he told his employer. What they said was to this effect: that on this morning Cazeneau had left the party with these two Indians, for the sake of a little recreation in hunting. The rest had gone forward, with the understanding that they should not go more than two or three hours. Then they were to halt and wait. Cazeneau was just about to go after them as Claude came up. [Illustration: "Curse You And All Your Race."] This information showed Claude that the rest of the party were within easy distance, and that the priest could be reached and sent back before evening. Accordingly he hesitated no longer, but set forth at once in the greatest haste. The thought that Mimi was so near inspired Claude with fresh energy. Although he had been on the tramp all day, and without rest,--although he had received a severe and unparalleled shock in the terrible fate of Cazeneau,--yet the thought of Mimi had sufficient power over him to chase away the gloom that for a time had fallen over his soul. It was enough to him now that a priest was within reach. Upon that priest he could throw all the responsibility which arose out of the situation of his enemy. These were the thoughts that animated him, and urged him forward. The Indians of Cazeneau had made him understand that they were only a few hours ahead; but Claude thought that they were even nearer. He thought it unlikely that Cazeneau would let them go very far, and supposed that he had ordered the other Indians to go slowly, and halt after about three or four miles. He therefore confidently expected to come up with them after traversing about that distance. With this belief he urged on his attendants, and himself put forth all his powers, until at length, after nearly two hours, he was compelled to slacken his speed. This showed that they were not so near as he had expected; yet still he believed that they were just ahead, and that he would come up with them every moment. Thus his mind was kept upon a constant strain, and he was always on the lookout, watching both with eyes and ears either to see some sign of them, or to hear them as they went on before him. And this constant strain of mind and of sense, and this sustained attitude of expectation, made the way seem less, and the time seem short; and thus, though there was a certain disappointment, yet still the hope of seeing them every next minute kept up his spirits and his energies. Thus he went on, like one who pursues an _ignis fatuus_, until at length the light of day faded out, and the shades of night settled down over the forest. He would certainly have thought that he had missed the way, had it not been for one fact; and that was, that the track of the party whom he was pursuing was as plain as ever, and quite fresh, showing that they had passed over it this very day. The Indians with him were all certain of this. It showed him that however fast he had gone, they had been going yet faster, and that all his eagerness to catch up with them had not been greater than their eagerness to advance. Why was this? Suddenly the whole truth flashed upon his mind. The priest had unexpectedly shaken off Cazeneau. He had evidently resolved to try to escape. His strange influence over the Indians had, no doubt, enabled him to make them his accomplices. With the hope, therefore, of shaking off Cazeneau, he had hurried on as fast as possible. Still there was one thing, and that was, that they would have to bring up somewhere. It was more than probable that the priest would try to reach Canso. In that case Claude had only to keep on his track, and he would get to that place not very long after him; sufficiently soon, at any rate, to prevent missing him. As to Louisbourg, if the priest should go there, he also could go there, and with impunity now, since his enemy was no more. As for the unhappy Cazeneau, he found himself no longer able to send him the priest; but he did not feel himself to blame for that, and could only hope that he might reach the priest before it should be altogether too late. A slight repast that night, which was made from some fragments which he had carried in his pocket, a few hours' sleep, and another slight repast on the following morning, made from an early bird which he had shot when it was on its way to get its worm, served to prepare him for the journey before him. The Indians informed him that the Strait of Canso was now not more than a day and a half distant. The news was most welcome to Claude. The Strait of Canso seemed like a place where the priest would be compelled to make some sort of a halt, either while waiting for a chance to cross or while making a detour to get to Canso. For his part, he would have one great advantage, and that was, that he would not be compelled to think about his course. All that he had to do was to follow the track before him as rapidly and as perseveringly as possible. All that day Claude hurried onward without stopping to halt, being sustained by his own burning impatience, and also by that same hope which had supported him on the preceding day. But it was, as before, like the pursuit of an _ignis fatuus_, and ever the objects of his pursuit seemed to elude him. At length, towards the close of the day, they reached a river, and the trail ran along by its side for miles, sometimes leaving it, and again returning to it. The path was broad, the woods were free from underbrush, and more open than usual. Suddenly the guide stopped and looked forward, with the instinct of his Indian caution. But Claude had one idea only in his mind, and knowing well that there could be no enemy now, since Cazeneau was out of the way, he hurried onward. Some moving figures attracted his gaze. Then he saw horses, and some men and women. Then he emerged from the trees, bursting forth at a run into an open place which lay upon the river bank. One glance was sufficient. It was the priest and his party. With a cry of joy he rushed forward. The others saw him coming. The priest turned in amazement; for he had no idea that Claude was so near. Before he could speak a word, however, the young man had flung himself into his arms, and the priest returned his embrace with equal warmth. Claude then turned to Mimi, who was standing near, and in the rapture of that meeting was on the point of catching her in his arms also; but Mimi saw the movement, and retreated shyly, while a mantling blush over her lovely features showed both joy and confusion. So Claude had to content himself with taking her hand, which he seized in both of his, and held as though he would never let go. After these first greetings, there followed a torrent of questions from both sides. The priest's story was but a short one. On the day when Cazeneau had left them, he had gone on a short hunting excursion, simply for the sake of relieving the monotony of the long tramp. He had charged the Indians not to go farther than two hours ahead. His intention was to make a circuit, and join them by evening. But the Indians were altogether under the influence of Père Michel, and were willing to do anything that he wished. The "Great Father,"--the French king,--with whom Cazeneau thought he could overawe them, was in truth a very shadowy and unsubstantial personage. But Père Michel was one whom they knew, and for some reason regarded with boundless veneration. When, therefore, he proposed to them to go on, they at once acceded. For Père Michel caught at this unexpected opportunity to escape, which was thus presented, and at once set forth at the utmost possible speed. He travelled all that day and far into the night, until he thought that a sufficient distance had been put between himself and Cazeneau to prevent capture. He would have gone much farther on this day had it not been for Mimi, who, already fatigued by her long journey, was unable to endure this increased exertion, and after trying in vain to keep up, was compelled to rest. They had been encamping here for about three hours, and were already deliberating about a night journey, when Claude came up. The time had been spent in constructing a sort of litter, which the priest intended to sling between two horses, hoping by this means to take Mimi onward with less fatigue. He had made up his mind, as Claude indeed had suspected, to make for Canso, so as to put himself out of the reach of Cazeneau. Claude then told the priest his story, to which the latter listened with deep emotion. He had not anticipated anything like this. Amazed as he had been at the sudden appearance of Claude, he had thought that by some happy accident the young man had eluded Cazeneau, and he now learned how it really was. For some time he said not a single word, and indeed there was nothing that he could say. He knew well that Claude had been deeply and foully wronged by Cazeneau, and he knew also that this last act was hardly to be considered as anything else than the act of Cazeneau himself, who first attacked Claude, and forced him to fight. But there still remained to be considered what might now be done. Claude's first thought was the one which had been in his mind during the past day; that is to say, he still thought of sending the priest back to Cazeneau, without thinking of the distance, and the time that now lay between. His excitement had prevented him from taking this into consideration. The priest, however, at once reminded him of it. "I do not see," said he, "what I can do. You forget how long it is since you left him. He must be dead and buried by this time. Even if he should linger longer than you expected, I could not hope to reach that place in time to do anything, not even to bury him. It is a good two days' journey from here to there. It is two days since you left him. It would take two days more for me to reach him. That makes four days. By that time, if he is dead, he would already be buried; and if he is living, he would be conveyed by the Indians to some place of rest and shelter. "As long as I thought that Cazeneau was pursuing us," continued the priest, "I tried to advance as rapidly as possible, and intended to go to Canso, where I should be safe from him. But now that he can trouble us no more, there is no reason why we should not go to Louisbourg. That will be better for Mimi, and it will also suit my views better. You, too, may as well go there, since you will be able to carry out your own plans, whatever they are, from that place better than from any other." The result of this conversation was, that they decided to go to Louisbourg. CHAPTER XVII. AMONG FRIENDS. In order to make their escape the more certain, the priest had carried off the horse which Cazeneau had used, so that now Claude was no more obliged to go on foot. Mimi no longer complained of fatigue, but was able to bear up with the fatigues of the rest of the journey in a wonderful way. Claude did not seem inclined to make much use of the spare horse, for he walked much of the way at Mimi's side, and where there was not room, he walked at her horse's head. The remainder of the journey occupied about four days, and it was very much like what it had been; that is, a track through the woods, sometimes rough, sometimes smooth. The whole track showed marks of constant use, which the priest explained to Claude as being caused by droves of cattle, which were constantly being sent from Grand Pré to Louisbourg, where they fetched a handsome price. The Indian trails in other places were far rougher and narrower, besides being interrupted by fallen trees. The only difficulty that they had to encounter was in crossing the Strait of Canso; but after following the shore for a few miles, they came to a place where there was a barge, used to transport cattle. Two or three French fishermen lived here, and they took the whole party over to the opposite side. After this they continued their journey. That journey seemed to Claude altogether too short. Each day passed away too rapidly. Wandering by the side of Mimi through the fragrant forests, under the clear sky, listening to her gentle voice, and catching the sweet smile of her innocent face, it seemed to him as though he would like to go on this way forever. A cloud of sadness rested on her gentle brow, which made her somewhat unlike the sprightly girl of the schooner, and more like the despairing maid whom he had rescued on the raft. But there was reason for this sadness. Mimi was a fond and loving daughter. She had chosen to follow her father across the ocean, when she might have lived at home in comfort; and the death of that father had been a terrible blow. For some time the blow had been alleviated by the terrors which she felt about Cazeneau and his designs. But now, since he and his designs were no more to be thought of, the sorrow of her bereavement returned. Still, she was not without consolation, and even joy. It was joy to her to have escaped from the man and from the danger that she dreaded. It was also joy to her to find herself once more in company with Claude, in whom she had all along taken a tender interest. Until she heard his story from his own lips she had not had any idea that he had been the victim of Cazeneau. She had supposed that he was in the schooner all the time, and had wondered why he did not make his appearance. And her anxiety about her father, and grief over his death, prevented her from dwelling much upon this. At length they came in sight of the sea. The trees here were small, stunted, and scrubby; the soil was poor, the grass coarse and interspersed with moss and stones. In many places it was boggy, while in others it was rocky. Their path ran along the shore for some miles, and then entered the woods. For some distance farther they went on, and then emerged into an open country, where they saw before them the goal of their long journey. Open fields lay before them, with houses and barns. Farther on there lay a beautiful harbor, about five or six miles long and one mile wide, with a narrow entrance into the outer sea, and an island which commanded the entrance. Upon this island, and also on one side of the entrance, were batteries, while on the side of the harbor on which they were standing, and about two miles away, was another battery, larger than either of these. At the farthest end of the harbor were small houses of farmers or fishermen, with barns and cultivated fields. In the harbor were some schooners and small fishing vessels, and two large frigates. But it was upon the end of the harbor nearest to themselves that their eyes turned with the most pleasure. Here Louisbourg stood, its walls and spires rising before them, and the flag of France floating from the citadel. The town was about half a mile long, surrounded by a stockade and occasional batteries. Upon the highest point the citadel stood, with the guns peeping over the parapet. The path here entered a road, which ran towards the town; and now, going to this road, they went on, and soon reached the gate. On entering the gate, they were stopped and questioned; but the priest, who seemed to be known, easily satisfied his examiners, and they were allowed to go on. They went along a wide street, which, however, was unpaved, and lined on each side with houses of unpretending appearance. Most of them were built of wood, some of logs, one or two of stone. All were of small size, with small doors and windows, and huge, stumpy chimneys. The street was straight, and led to the citadel, in which was the governor's residence. Other streets crossed at right angles with much regularity. There were a few shops, but not many. Most of these were lower down, near the water, and were of that class to which the soldiers and sailors resorted. Outside the citadel was a large church, built of undressed stone, and without any pretensions to architectural beauty. Beyond this was the entrance to the citadel. This place was on the crest of the hill, and was surrounded by a dry ditch and a wall. A drawbridge led across the ditch to the gate. On reaching this place the party had to stop, and the priest sent in his name to the governor or commandant. After waiting some time, a message came to admit them. Thereupon they all passed through, and found themselves inside the citadel. They found this to be an irregular space, about two hundred feet in length and width, surrounded by walls, under which were arched cells, that were used for storage or magazines, and might also serve as casemates in time of siege. There were barracks at one end, and at the other the governor's residence, built of stone. Upon the parade troops were exercising, and in front of the barracks a band was playing. The whole scene was thus one of much animation; indeed, it seemed very much so to the eyes of these wanderers, so long accustomed to the solitude of the sea, or of the primeval forest. However, they did not wait to gaze upon the scene, but went on at once, without delay, to the commandant. The commandant--Monsieur Auguste de Florian--received them with much politeness. He was a man of apparently about forty years of age, medium stature, and good-natured face, without any particular sign of character or talent in his general expression. This was the man whom Cazeneau was to succeed, whose arrival he had been expecting for a long time. He received the new comers politely, and, after having heard the priest's account of Mimi,--who she was, and how he had found her,--he at once sent for his wife, who took her to her own apartments, and informed her that this must be her home as long as she was at Louisbourg. The commandant now questioned the priest more particularly about the Arethuse. Père Michel left the narration to Claude. He had been introduced under the name of M. Motier, and did not choose to say anything about his real name and rank, for fear that it might lead him into fresh difficulties. So Claude gave an account of the meeting between the schooner and the raft, and also told all that he knew about the fate of the Arethuse. The priest added something more that he had learned, and informed the commandant that he could learn all the rest from Mimi. The governor's polite attention did not end with this visit. He at once set about procuring a place where Claude might stay, and would have done the same kind office to Père Michel, had not the priest declined. He had a place where he could stay with one of the priests of the town, who was a friend; and besides, he intended to carry on the duties of his sacred office. Claude, therefore, was compelled to separate himself from the good priest, who, however, assured him that he would see him often. Before evening he found himself in comfortable quarters in the house of the naval storekeeper, who received him with the utmost cordiality as the friend of the commandant. The next day Claude saw Père Michel. He seemed troubled in mind, and, after some questions, informed him that he had come all the way to Louisbourg for the express purpose of getting some letters which he had been expecting from France. They should have been here by this time, but had not come, and he was afraid that they had been sent out in the Arethuse. If so, there might be endless trouble and confusion, since it would take too long altogether to write again and receive answers. It was a business of infinite importance to himself and to others; and Père Michel, who had never before, since Claude had known him, lost his serenity, now appeared quite broken down by disappointment. His present purpose was to go back and see about the burial of Cazeneau; but he would wait for another week, partly for the sake of rest, and partly to wait until Cazeneau's Indians had been heard from. He had sent out two of the Indians who had come with him to make inquiries; and when they returned, he would go. He was also waiting in the hope that another ship might arrive. There was some talk of a frigate which was to bring out some sappers and engineers for the works. It was the Grand Monarque. She had not come as yet, nor had she left by last advices; but still she was liable to leave at any moment. "Still," said the priest, "it is useless to expect anything or to hope for anything. The king is weak. He is nothing. How many years has he been a _roi fainéant_? Fleury was a fit minister for such a king. Weak, bigoted, conceited, Fleury had only one policy, and that was, to keep things quiet, and not suffer any change. If wrongs had been done, he refused to right them. Fleury has been a curse to France. But since his death his successors may be even worse. The state of France is hopeless. The country is overwhelmed with debt, and is in the hands of unprincipled vagabonds. The king has said that he would govern without ministers; but that only means that he will allow himself to be swayed by favorites. Fleury has gone, and in his place there comes--who? Why, the Duchesse de Chateauroux. She is now the minister of France." The priest spoke with indescribable bitterness; so much so, indeed, that Claude was amazed. "The latest news," continued Père Michel, "is, that England is going to send an army to assist Austria. The queen, Maria Theresa, will now be able to turn the scales against France. This means war, and the declaration must follow soon. Well, poor old Fleury kept out of war with England till he died. But that was Walpole's doing, perhaps. They were wonderful friends; and perhaps it was just as well. But this new ministry--this woman and her friends--they will make a change for France; and I only hope, while they are reversing Fleury's policy in some things, they'll do it in others. "France," continued Père Michel, in a gloomy tone, "France is rotten to the core--all France, both at home and abroad. Why, even out here the fatal system reigns. This commandant," he went on, dropping his voice, "is as deeply implicated as any of them. He was appointed by a court favorite; so was Cazeneau. He came out with the intention of making his fortune, not for the sake of building up a French empire in America. "It's no use. France can't build up an empire here. The English will get America. They come out as a people, and settle in the forest; but we come out as officials, to make money out of our country. Already the English are millions, and we are thousands. What chance is there for us? Some day an English army will come and drive us out of Ile Royale, and out of Canada, as they've already driven us out of Acadie. Our own people are discouraged; and, though they love France, yet they feel less oppressed under English rule. Can there be a worse commentary on French rule than that? "And you, my son," continued the priest, in a milder tone, but one which was equally earnest, "don't think of going to France. You can do nothing there. It would require the expenditure of a fortune in bribery to get to the ears of those who surround the king; and then there would be no hope of obtaining justice from them. All are interested in letting things remain as they were. The wrong done was committed years ago. The estates have passed into other hands, and from one owner to another. The present holders are all-powerful at court; and if you wore to go there, you would only wear out your youth, and accomplish nothing." CHAPTER XVIII. LOUISBOURG. There was a little _beau monde_ at Louisbourg, which, as might be expected, was quite gay, since it was French. At the head stood, of course; the commandant and his lady; then came the military officers with their ladies, and the naval officers without their ladies, together with the unmarried officers of both services. As the gentlemen far outnumbered the ladies, the latter were always in great demand; so that the ladies of the civilians, though of a decidedly inferior grade, were objects of attention and of homage. This being the case, it will readily be perceived what an effect was produced upon the _beau monde_ at Louisbourg by the advent of such a bright, particular star as Mimi. Young, beautiful, accomplished, she also added the charms of rank, and title, and supposed wealth. The Count de Laborde had been prominent at court, and his name was well known. His daughter was therefore looked upon as one of the greatest heiresses of France, and there was not a young officer at Louisbourg who did not inwardly vow to strive to win so dazzling a prize. She would at once have been compelled to undergo a round of the most exhaustive festivities, had it not been for one thing--she was in mourning. Her bereavement had been severe, and was so recent that all thoughts of gayety were out of the question. This fact lessened the chances which the gallant French cavaliers might otherwise have had, but in no respect lessened their devotion. Beauty in distress is always a touching and a resistless object to every chivalrous heart; and here the beauty was exquisite, and the distress was undeniably great. The commandant and his lady had appropriated Mimi from the first, and Mimi congratulated herself on having found a home so easily. It was pleasant to her, after her recent imprisonment, to be among people who looked up to her with respectful and affectionate esteem. Monsieur de Florian may not have been one of the best of men; indeed, it was said that he had been diligently feathering his nest at the expense of the government ever since he had been in Louisbourg; but in spite of that, he was a kindhearted man, while his wife was a kind-hearted woman, and one, too, who was full of tact and delicacy. Mimi's position, therefore, was as pleasant as it could be, under the circumstances. After one or two days had passed, Claude began to be aware of the fact that life in Louisbourg was much less pleasant than life on the road. There he was all day long close beside Mimi, or at her horse's bridle, with confidential chat about a thousand things, with eloquent nothings, and shy glances, and tender little attentions, and delicate services. Here, however, it was all different. All this had come to an end. The difficulty now was, to see Mimi at all. It is true there was no lack of friendliness on the part of the commandant, or of his good lady; but then he was only one among many, who all were received with the same genial welcome by this genial and polished pair. The chivalry of Louisbourg crowded to do homage to the beautiful stranger, and the position of Claude did not seem to be at all more favorable than that of the youngest cadet in the service. His obscurity now troubled Claude greatly. He found himself quite insignificant in Louisbourg. If he had possessed the smallest military rank, he would have been of more consequence. He thought of coming out in his true name, as the Count de Montresor, but was deterred by the thought of the troubles into which he had already fallen by the discovery of his name. How much of that arrest was due to the ill will of Cazeneau, and how much to the actual dangers besetting him as a Montresor, he could not know. He saw plainly enough that the declaration of his name and rank might lead to a new arrest at the hands of this commandant, in which case escape could hardly be thought of. He saw that it was better far for him to be insignificant, yet free, than to be the highest personage in Louisbourg, and liable to be flung into a dungeon. His ignorance of French affairs, and of the actual history of his family, made him cautious; so that he resolved not to mention the truth about himself to any one. Under all these circumstances, Claude saw no other resource but to endure as best he could the unpleasantness of his personal situation, and live in the hope that in the course of time some change might take place by which he could be brought into closer connection with Mimi. Fortunately for him, an opportunity of seeing Mimi occurred before he had gone too deep down into despondency. He went up one day to the citadel, about a week after he had come to Louisbourg. Mimi was at the window, and as he came she saw him, and ran to the door. Her face was radiant with smiles. "O, I am so glad," she said, "that you have come! I did so want to see you, to ask you about something!" "I never see you alone now," said Claude, sadly, holding her hand as though unwilling to relinquish it. "No," said Mimi, with a slight flush, gently withdrawing her hand, "I am never alone, and there are so many callers; but M. Florian has gone out, taking the madame, on an affair of some importance; and so, you see, we can talk without interruption." "Especially if we walk over into the garden," said Claude. Mimi assented, and the two walked into the garden that was on the west side of the residence, and for some time neither of them said a word. The trees had just come into leaf; for the season is late in this climate, but the delay is made good by the rapid growth of vegetation after it has once started; and now the leaves were bursting forth in glorious richness and profusion, some more advanced than others, and exhibiting every stage of development. The lilacs, above all, were conspicuous for beauty; for they were covered with blossoms, with the perfume of which the air was loaded. "I never see you now," said Claude, at length. "No," said Mimi, sadly. "It is not as it used to be," said Claude, with a mournful smile, "when I walked by your side day after day." Mimi sighed, and said nothing. "It is different with you," said Claude; "you are the centre of universal admiration, and everybody pays you attention. The time never passes heavily with you; but think of me--miserable, obscure, friendless!" Mimi turned, and looked at him with such a piteous face that Claude stopped short. Her eyes were fixed on his with tender melancholy and reproach. They were filled with tears. "And do you really believe that?" she said--"that the time never passes heavily with me? It has been a sad time ever since I came here. Think how short a time it is since poor, dear papa left me! Do you think I can have the heart for much enjoyment?" "Forgive me," said Claude, deeply moved; "I had forgotten; I did not think what I was saying; I was too selfish." "That is true," said Mimi. "While you were suffering from loneliness, you should have thought that I, too, was suffering, even in the midst of the crowd. But what are they all to me? They are all strangers. It is my friends that I want to see; and you are away, and the good Père Michel never comes!" "Were you lonely on the road?" asked Claude. "Never," said Mimi, innocently, "after you came." As she said this, a flush passed over her lovely face, and she looked away confused. Claude seized her hand, and pressed it to his lips. They then walked on in silence for some time. At last Claude spoke again. "The ship will not leave for six weeks. If I were alone, I think I should go back to Boston. But if you go to France, I shall go, too. Have you ever thought of what you will do when you get there?" "I suppose I shall have to go to France," said Mimi; "but why should you think of going to Boston? Are you not going on your family business?" "I am not," said Claude. "I am only going because you are going. As to my family business, I have forgotten all about it; and, indeed, I very much doubt whether I could do anything at all. I do not even know how I am to begin. But I wish to see you safe and happy among your friends." Mimi looked at him in sad surprise. "I do not know whether I have any friends or not," said she. "I have only one relative, whom I have never seen. I had intended to go to her. I do not know what I shall do. If this aunt is willing to take me, I shall live with her; but she is not very rich, and I may be a burden." "A burden!" said Claude; "that is impossible! And besides, such a great heiress as you will be welcome wherever you go." He spoke this with a touch of bitterness in his voice; for Mimi's supposed possessions seemed to him to be the chief barrier between himself and her. "A great heiress!" said Mimi, sadly. "I don't know what put that into your head. Unfortunately, as far as I know, I have nothing. My papa sold all his estates, and had all his money on board the Arethuse. It was all lost in the ship, and though I was an heiress when I left home, I shall go back nothing better than a beggar, to beg a home from my unknown aunt. Or," she continued, "if my aunt shows no affection, it is my intention to go back to the convent of St. Cecilia, where I was educated, and I know they will be glad to have me; and I could not find a better home for the rest of my life than among those dear sisters who love me so well." "O, Mimi," he cried, "O, what joy it is to hear that you are a beggar! Mimi, Mimi! I have always felt that you were far above me--too far for me to raise my thoughts to you. Mimi, you are a beggar, and not an heiress! You must not go to France. I will not go. Let us remain together. I can be more to you than any friend. Come with me. Be mine. O, let me spend my life in trying to show you how I love you!" He spoke these words quickly, feverishly, and passionately, seizing her hand in both of his. He had never called her before by her name; but now he called her by it over and over, with loving intonations. Mimi had hardly been prepared for this; but though unprepared, she was not offended. On the contrary, she looked up at him with a face that told him more than words could convey. He could not help reading its eloquent meaning. Her glance penetrated to his heart--her soul spoke to his. He caught her in his arms, and little Mimi leaned her head on his breast and wept. But from this dream of hope and happiness they were destined to have a sudden and very rude awakening. There was a sound in the shrubbery behind them, and a voice said, in a low, cautious tone,-- "H-s-s-t!" At this they both started, and turned. It was the Père Michel. Both started as they saw him, partly from surprise, and partly, also, from the shock which they felt at the expression of his face. He was pale and agitated, and the calmness and self-control which usually characterized him had departed. "My dear friend," said Claude, hurriedly, turning towards him and seizing his hand, "what is the matter? Are you not well? Has anything happened? You are agitated. What is the matter?" "The very worst," said Père Michel--"M. de Cazeneau!" "What of him? Why, he is dead!" "Dead? No; he is alive. Worse--he is here--here--in Louisbourg. I have just seen him!" "What!" cried Claude, starting back, "M. de Cazeneau alive, and here in Louisbourg! How is that possible?" "I don't know," said the priest. "I only know this, that I have just seen him!" "Seen him?" "Yes." "Where? You must be mistaken." "No, no," said the priest, hurriedly. "I know him--only too well. I saw him at the Ordnance. He has just arrived. He was brought here by Indians, on a litter. The commandant is even now with him. I saw him go in. I hurried here, for I knew that you were here, to tell you to fly. Fly then, at once, and for your life. I can get you away now, if you fly at once." "Fly?" repeated Claude, casting a glance at Mimi. "Yes, fly!" cried the priest, in earnest tones. "Don't think of her, --or, rather, do you, Mimi, if you value his life, urge him, entreat him, pray him to fly. He is lost if he stays. One moment more may destroy him." Mimi turned as pale as death. Her lips parted. She would have spoken, but could say nothing. "Come," cried the priest, "come, hasten, fly! It may be only for a few weeks--a few weeks only--think of that. There is more at stake than you imagine. Boy, you know not what you are risking--not your own life, but the lives of others; the honor of your family; the hope of the final redemption of your race. Haste--fly, fly!" The priest spoke in tones of feverish impetuosity. At these words Claude stood thunder-struck. It seemed as though this priest knew something about his family. What did he know? How could he allude to the honor of that family, and the hope of its redemption? "O, fly! O, fly! Haste!" cried Mimi, who had at last found her voice. "Don't think of me. Fly--save yourself, before it's too late." "What! and leave you at his mercy?" said Claude. "O, don't think of me," cried Mimi; "save yourself." "Haste--come," cried the priest; "it is already too late. You have wasted precious moments." "I cannot," cried Claude, as he looked at Mimi, who stood in an attitude of despair. "Then you are lost," groaned the priest, in a voice of bitterest grief. [Illustration: "Mimi Suddenly Caught Claude By The Arm."] CHAPTER XIX. THE CAPTIVE AND THE CAPTORS. Further conversation was now prevented by the approach of a company of soldiers, headed by the commandant. Mimi stood as if rooted to the spot, and then suddenly caught Claude by the arm, as though by her weak strength she could save him from the fate which was impending over him; but the priest interposed, and gently drew her away. The soldiers halted at the entrance to the garden, and the commandant came forward. His face was clouded and somewhat stern, and every particle of his old friendliness seemed to have departed. "I regret, monsieur," said he, "the unpleasant necessity which forces me to arrest you; but, had I known anything about your crime, you would have been put under arrest before you had enjoyed my hospitality." "O, monsieur!" interrupted Mimi. The commandant turned, and said, severely, "I trust that the Countess de Laborde will see the impropriety of her presence here. Monsieur L'Abbé, will you give the countess your arm into the house?" Père Michel, at this, led Mimi away. One parting look she threw upon Claude, full of utter despair, and then, leaning upon the arm of the priest, walked slowly in. Claude said not a word in reply to the address of the commandant. He knew too well that under present circumstances words would be utterly useless. If Cazeneau was indeed alive, and now in Louisbourg, then there could be no hope for himself. If the former charges which led to his arrest should be insufficient to condemn him, his attack upon Cazeneau would afford sufficient cause to his enemy to glut his vengeance. The soldiers took him in charge, and he was marched away across the parade to the prison. This was a stone building, one story in height, with small grated windows, and stout oaken door studded with iron nails. Inside there were two rooms, one on each side of the entrance. These rooms were low, and the floor, which was laid on the earth, was composed of boards, which were decayed and moulded with damp. The ceiling was low, and the light but scanty. A stout table and stool formed the only furniture, while a bundle of mouldy straw in one corner was evidently intended to be his bed. Into this place Claude entered; the door was fastened, and he was left alone. On finding himself alone in this place, he sat upon the stool, and for some time his thoughts were scarcely of a coherent kind. It was not easy for him to understand or realize his position, such a short interval had elapsed since he was enjoying the sweets of an interview with Mimi. The transition had been sudden and terrible. It had cast him down from the highest happiness to the lowest misery. A few moments ago, and all was bright hope; now all was black despair. Indeed, his present situation had an additional gloom from the very happiness which he had recently enjoyed, and in direct proportion to it. Had it not been for that last interview, he would not have known what he had lost. Hope for himself there was none. Even under ordinary circumstances, there could hardly have been any chance of his escape; but now, after Cazeneau had so nearly lost his life, there could be nothing in store for him but sure and speedy death. He saw that he would most undoubtedly be tried, condemned, and executed here in Louisbourg, and that there was not the slightest hope that he would be sent to France for his trial. Not long after Claude had been thrust into his prison, a party entered the citadel, bearing with them a litter, upon which reclined the form of a feeble and suffering man. It was Cazeneau. The wound which Claude had given him had not been fatal, after all; and he had recovered sufficiently to endure a long journey in this way; yet it had been a severe one, and had made great ravages in him. He appeared many years older. Formerly, he had not looked over forty; now he looked at least as old as Père Michel. His face was wan; his complexion a grayish pallor; his frame was emaciated and weak. As he was brought into the citadel, the commandant came out from his residence to meet him, accompanied by some servants, and by these the suffering man was borne into the house. "All is ready, my dear count," said the commandant. "You will feel much better after you have some rest of the proper kind." "But have you arrested him?" asked Cazeneau, earnestly. "I have; he is safe now in prison." "Very good. And now, Monsieur Le Commandant, if you will have the kindness to send me to my room--" "Monsieur Le Commandant, you reign here now," said the other. "My authority is over since you have come, and you have only to give your orders." "At any rate, _mon ami_, you must remain in power till I get some rest and sleep," said Cazeneau. Rest, food, and, above all, a good night's sleep, had a very favorable effect upon Cazeneau, and on the following morning, when the commandant waited on him, he congratulated him on the improvement in his appearance. Cazeneau acknowledged that he felt better, and made very pointed inquiries about Mimi, which led to the recital of the circumstances of Claude's arrest in Mimi's presence. Whatever impression this may have made upon the hearer, he did not show it, but preserved an unchanged demeanor. A conversation of a general nature now followed, turning chiefly upon affairs in France. "You had a long voyage," remarked the commandant. "Yes; and an unpleasant one. We left in March, but it seems longer than that; for it was in February that I left Versailles, only a little while after the death of his eminence." "I fancy there will be a great change now in the policy of the government." "O, of course. The peace policy is over. War with England must be. The king professes now to do like his predecessor, and govern without a minister; but we all know what that means. To do without a minister is one thing for Louis Quatorze, but another thing altogether for Louis Quinze. The Duchesse de Chateauroux will be minister--for the present. Then we have D'Aguesseau, D'Argenson, and Maurepas. O, there'll be war at once. I dare say it has already been declared. At any rate, it's best to act on that principle." "Well, as to that, monsieur, we generally do act on that principle out here. But Fleury was a wonderful old man." "Yes; but he died too soon." "Too soon! What, at the age of ninety?" "O, well, I meant too soon for me. Had he died ten years ago, or had he lived two years longer, I should not have come out here." "I did not know that it was a matter of regret to monsieur." "Regret?" said Cazeneau, in a querulous tone--"regret? Monsieur, one does not leave a place like Versailles for a place like Louisbourg without regrets." "True," said the other, who saw that it was a sore subject. "With Fleury I had influence; but with the present company at Versailles, it is--well, different; and I am better here. Out of sight, out of mind. It was one of Fleury's last acts--this appointment. I solicited it, for certain reasons; chiefly because I saw that he could not last long. Well, they'll have enough to think of without calling me to mind; for, if I'm not mistaken, the Queen of Hungary will find occupation enough for them." After some further conversation of this kind, Cazeneau returned to the subject of Mimi, asking particularly about her life in Louisbourg, and whether Claude had seen her often. The information which he received on this point seemed to give him satisfaction. "Does this young man claim to be a Montresor?" asked the commandant, "or is he merely interesting himself in the affairs of that family by way of au intrigue?" "It is an intrigue," said Cazeneau. "He does not call himself Montresor openly, but I have reason to know that he is intending to pass himself off as the son and heir of the Count Eugene, who was outlawed nearly twenty years ago. Perhaps you have heard of that." "O, yes; I remember all about that. His wife was a Huguenot, and both of them got off. His estates were confiscated. It was private enmity, I believe. Some one got a rich haul. Ha, ha, ha!" At this Cazeneau's face turned as black as a thundercloud. The commandant saw that his remark had been an unfortunate one, and hastened to change the conversation. "So this young fellow has a plan of that sort, you think. Of course he's put up by others--some wirepullers behind the scenes. Well, he's safe enough now, and he has that hanging over him which will put an end to this scheme, whoever may have started it." At this Cazeneau recovered his former calmness, and smiled somewhat grimly. "I can guess pretty well," said Cazeneau, "how this plot may have originated. You must know that when the Count de Montresor and his countess fled, they took with them a servant who had been their steward. This man's name was Motier. Now, both the count and countess died shortly after their arrival in America. The countess died first, somewhere in Canada, and then the count seemed to lose his reason; for he went off into the wilderness, and has never been heard of since. He must have perished at once. His steward, Motier, was then left. This man was a Huguenot and an incorrigible rascal. He found Canada too hot to hold him with his infidel Huguenot faith, and so he went among the English. I dare say that this Motier, ever since, has been concocting a plan by which he might make his fortune out of the Montresor estates. This Claude Motier is his son, and has, no doubt, been brought up by old Motier to believe that he is the son of the count; or else the young villain is his partner. You see his game now--don't you? He hired a schooner to take him here. He would have began his work here by getting some of you on his side, and gaining some influence, or money, perhaps, to begin with. Very well; what then? Why, then off he goes to France, where he probably intended to take advantage of the change in the ministry to push his claims, in the hope of making something out of them. And there is no doubt that, with his impudence, the young villain might have done something. And that reminds me to ask you whether you found anything at his lodgings." "No, nothing." "He should be searched. He must have some papers." "He shall be searched to-night." "I should have done that before. I left word to have that done before sending him from Grand Pré; but, as the fellow got off, why, of course that was no use. And I only hope he hasn't thought of destroying the papers. But if he has any, he won't want to destroy them--till the last moment. Perhaps he won't even think of it." "Do you suppose that this Motier has lived among the English all his life?" "I believe so." "Impossible!" "Why so?" "His manner, his accent, and his look are all as French as they can possibly be." "How he has done it I am unable to conjecture. This Motier, père, must have been a man of superior culture, to have brought up such a very gentlemanly young fellow as this." "Well, there is a difficulty about that. My opinion of the New Englanders is such that I do not think they would allow a man to live among them who looked so like a Frenchman." "Bah! his looks are nothing; and they don't know what his French accent may be." "Do you think, after all, that his own story is true about living in New England? May he not be some adventurer, who has drifted away from France of late years, and has come in contact with Motier? Or, better yet, may he not have been prepared for his part, and sent out by some parties in France, who are familiar with the whole Montresor business, and are playing a deep game?" Cazeneau, at this, sat for a time in deep thought. "Your suggestion," said he, at length, "is certainly a good one, and worth consideration. Yet I don't see how it can be so. No--for this reason: the captain of the schooner was certainly a New Englander, and e spoke in my hearing, on several occasions, as though this Motier was, like himself, a native of New England, and as one, too, whom he had known for years. Once he spoke as though he had known him from boyhood. I know enough English to understand that. Besides, this fellow's English is as perfect as his French. No, it cannot be possible that he has been sent out by any parties in France. He must have lived in New England nearly all his life, even if he was not born there; and I cannot agree with you." "O, I only made the suggestion. It was merely a passing thought." "Be assured this steward Motier has brought him up with an eye to using him for the very purpose on which he is now going." "Do you suppose that Motier is alive?" "Of course." "He may be dead." "And what then?" "In that case this young fellow is not an agent of anybody, but is acting for himself." "Even if that were so, I do not see what difference it would make. He has been educated for the part which he is now playing." "Do you think," asked the commandant, after a pause, "that the Count de Montresor had a son?" "Certainly not." "He may have had, and this young fellow may be the one." "That's what he says," said Cazeneau; "but he can never prove it; and, besides, it was impossible, for the count would never have left him as he did." CHAPTER XX. EXAMINATIONS. Cazeneau improved in health and strength every day. A week passed, during which period he devoted all his attention to himself, keeping quietly to his room, with the exception of an occasional walk in the sun, when the weather was warm, and letting Nature do all she could. The wound had been severe, though not mortal, and hardly what could be called even dangerous. The worst was already past on the journey to Louisbourg; and when once he had arrived there, he had but to wait for his strength to rally from the shock. While thus waiting, he saw no one outside of the family of the commandant. Mimi was not interfered with. Claude received no communications from him for good or evil. Père Michel, who expected to be put through a course of questioning, remained unquestioned; nor did he assume the office of commandant, which now was his. At the end of a week he found himself so much better that he began to think himself able to carry out the various purposes which lay in his mind. First of all, he relieved the late commandant of his office, and took that dignity upon himself. All this time Mimi had been under the same roof, a prey to the deepest anxiety. The poignant grief which she had felt for the loss of her father had been alleviated for a time by the escape of Claude; but now, since his arrest, and the arrival of the dreaded Cazeneau, it seemed worse than ever; the old grief returned, and, in addition, there were new ones of equal force. There was the terror about her own future, which looked dark indeed before her, from the purposes of Cazeneau; and then there was also the deep anxiety, which never left her, about the fate of Claude. Of him she knew nothing, having heard not one word since his arrest. She had not seen Père Michel, and there was no one whom she could ask. The lady of the commandant was kind enough; but to Mimi she seemed a mere creature of Cazeneau, and for this reason she never dreamed of taking her into her confidence, though that good lady made several unmistakable attempts to enter into her secret. Such was her state of mind when she received a message that M. Le Comte de Cazeneau wished to pay his respects to her. Mimi knew only too well what that meant, and would have avoided the interview under any plea whatever, if it had been possible. But that could not be done; and so, with a heart that throbbed with painful emotions, she went to meet him. After waiting a little time, Cazeneau made his appearance, and greeted her with very much warmth and earnestness. He endeavored to infuse into his manner as much as possible of the cordiality of an old and tried friend, together with the tenderness which might be shown by a father or an elder brother. He was careful not to exhibit the slightest trace of annoyance at anything that had happened since he last saw her, nor to show any suspicion that she could be in any way implicated with his enemy. But Mimi did not meet him half way. She was cold and repellent; or, rather, perhaps it may with more truth be said, she was frightened and embarrassed. In spite of Cazeneau's determination to touch on nothing unpleasant, he could not help noticing Mimi's reserve, and remarking on it. "You do not congratulate me," said he. "Perhaps you have not heard the reason why I left your party in the woods. It was not because I grew tired of your company. It was because I was attacked by an assassin, and narrowly escaped with my life. It has only been by a miracle that I have come here; and, though I still have something of my strength, yet I am very far from being the man that I was when you saw me last." At these words Mimi took another look at Cazeneau, and surveyed him somewhat more closely. She felt a slight shock at noticing now the change which had taken place in him. He looked so haggard, and so old! She murmured a few words, which Cazeneau accepted as expressions of good will, and thanked her accordingly. The conversation did not last much longer. Cazeneau himself found it rather too tedious where he had to do all the talking, and where the other was only a girl too sad or too sullen to answer. One final remark was made, which seemed to Mimi to express the whole purpose of his visit. "You need not fear, mademoiselle," said he, "that this assassin will escape. That is impossible, since he is under strict confinement, and in a few days must be tried for his crimes." What that meant Mimi knew only too well; and after Cazeneau left, these words rang in her heart. After his call on Mimi, Cazeneau was waited on by the ex-commandant, who acquainted him with the result of certain inquiries which he had been making. These inquiries had been made by means of a prisoner, who had been put in with Claude in order to win the young man's confidence, and thus get at his secret; for Cazeneau had been of the opinion that there were accomplices or allies of Claude in France, of whom it would be well to know the names. The ex-commandant was still more eager to know. He had been very much struck by the claim of Claude to be a De Montresor, and by Cazeneau's own confession that the present _régime_ was unfavorable to him; and under these circumstances the worthy functionary, who always looked out for number one, was busy weighing the advantages of the party of Claude as against the party of Cazeneau. On the evening of the day when he had called on Mimi, Cazeneau was waited on by Père Michel. He himself had sent for the priest, whom he had summoned somewhat abruptly. The priest entered the apartment, and, with a bow, announced himself. As Cazeneau looked up, he appeared for a moment struck with involuntary respect by the venerable appearance of this man, or there may have been something else at work in him; but, whatever the cause, he regarded the priest attentively for a few moments, without saying a word. "Père Michel," said he, at length, "I have called you before me in private, to come to an understanding with you. Had I followed my own impulses, I would have ordered your arrest, on my entrance into Louisbourg, as an accomplice of that young villain. I thought it sufficient, however, to spare you for the present, and keep you under surveillance. I am, on the whole, glad that I did not yield to my first impulse of anger, for I can now, in perfect calmness, go with you over your acts during the journey here, and ask you for an explanation." The priest bowed. "Understand me, Père Michel," said Cazeneau; "I have now no hard feeling left. I may say, I have almost no suspicion. I wish to be assured of your innocence. I will take anything that seems like a plausible excuse. I respect your character, and would rather have you as my friend than--than not." The priest again bowed, without appearing at all affected by these conciliatory words. "After I was assassinated in the woods," said Cazeneau, "I was saved from death by the skill and fidelity of my Indians. It seems to me still, Père Michel, as it seemed then, that something might have been done by you. Had you been in league with my enemy, you could not have done worse. You hastened forward with all speed, leaving me to my fate. As a friend, you should have turned back to save a friend; as a priest, you should have turned back to give me Christian burial. What answer have you to make to this?" "Simply this," said the priest, with perfect calmness: "that when you left us you gave orders that we should go on, and that you would find your way to us. I had no thought of turning back, or waiting. I knew the Indians well, and knew that they can find their way through the woods as easily as you can through the streets of Paris. I went forward, then, without any thought of waiting for you, thinking that of course you would join us, as you said." "When did Motier come up with you?" asked Cazeneau. "On the following day," answered the priest. "Did he inform you what had taken place?" "He did." "Why, then, did you not turn back to help me?" "Because Motier informed me that you were dead." "Very good. He believed so, I doubt not; but, at any rate, you might have turned back, if only to give Christian burial." "I intended to do that at some future time," said Père Michel; "but at that time I felt my chief duty to be to the living. How could I have left the Countess Laborde? Motier would not have been a proper guardian to convey her to Louisbourg, and to take her back with me was impossible. I therefore decided to go on, as you said, and take her first to Louisbourg, and afterwards to return." "You showed no haste about it," said Cazeneau. "I had to wait here," said the priest. "May I ask what could have been the urgent business which kept you from the sacred duty of the burial of the dead?" "A ship is expected every day, and I waited to get the letters of my superiors, with reference to further movements on my mission." "You say that Motier informed you about my death. Did he tell you how it had happened?" "He said that you and he had fought, and that you had been killed." "Why, then, did you not denounce him to the authorities on your arrival here?" "On what charge?" "On the charge of murder." "I did not know that when one gentleman is unfortunate enough to kill another, in fair fight, that it can be considered murder. The duel is as lawful in America as in France." "This was not a duel!" cried Cazeneau. "It was an act of assassination. Motier is no better than a murderer." "I only knew his own account," said the priest. "Besides," continued Cazeneau, "a duel can only take place between two equals; and this Motier is one of the _canaille_, one not worthy of my sword." "Yet, monsieur," said the priest, "when you arrested him first, it was not as one of the _canaille_, but as the son of the outlawed Count de Montresor." "True," said Cazeneau; "but I have reason to believe that he is merely some impostor. He is now under a different accusation. But one more point. How did Motier manage to escape?" "As to that, monsieur, I always supposed that his escape was easy enough, and that he could have effected it at once. The farm-houses of the Acadians are not adapted to be very secure prisons. There were no bolts and bars, and no adequate watch." "True; but the most significant part of his escape is, that he had external assistance. Who were those Indians who led him on my trail? How did he, a stranger, win them over?" "You forget, monsieur, that this young man has lived all his life in America. I know that he has been much in the woods in New England, and has had much intercourse with the Indians there. It was, no doubt, very easy for him to enter into communication with Indians here. They are all alike." "But how could he have found them? He must have had them at the house, or else friends outside must have sent them." "He might have bribed the people of the house." "Impossible!" "Monsieur does not mean to say that anything is impossible to one who has gold. Men of this age do anything for gold." Cazeneau was silent. To him this was so profoundly true that he had nothing to say. He sat in silence for a little while, and then continued:-- "I understand that at the time of the arrest of Motier, he was in the garden of the residence, with the Countess de Laborde, and that you were with them. How is this? Did this interview take place with your sanction or connivance?" "I knew nothing about it. It was by the merest accident, as far as I know." "You did not help them in this way?" "I did not." "Monsieur L'Abbé," said Cazeneau, "I am glad that you have answered my questions so fully and so frankly. I confess that, in my first anger, I considered that in some way you had taken part against me. To think so gave me great pain, as I have had too high an esteem for you to be willing to think of you as an enemy. But your explanations are in every way satisfactory. T hope, monsieur, that whatever letters you receive from France, they will not take you away from this part of the world. I feel confident that you, with your influence over the Indians here, will be an invaluable ally to one in my position, in the endeavors which I shall make to further in these parts the interests of France and of the church." CHAPTER XXI. A RAY OF LIGHT. After leaving Cazeneau, Père Michel went to the prison where Claude was confined. The young man looked pale and dejected, for the confinement had told upon his health and spirits; and worse than the confinement was the utter despair which had settled down upon his soul. At the sight of the priest, he gave a cry of joy, and hurried forward. "I thought you had forgotten all about me," said Claude, as he embraced the good priest, while tears of joy started to his eyes. "I have never forgotten you, my son," said the priest, as he returned his embrace; "that is impossible. I have thought of you both night and day, and have been trying to do something for you." "For me," said Claude, gloomily, "nothing can be done. But tell me about her. How does she bear this?" "Badly," said the priest, "as you may suppose." Claude sighed. "My son," said the priest, "I have come to you now on important business; and, first of all, I wish to speak to you about a subject that you will consider most important. I mean that secret which you wish to discover, and which drew you away from your home." "Do you know anything about it?" "Much. Remember I was with Laborde in his last hours, and received his confession. I am, therefore, able to tell you all that you wish to know; and after that you must decide for yourself another question, which will grow out of this. "About twenty years ago there was a beautiful heiress, who was presented at court. Her name was the Countess de Besançon. She was a Huguenot, and therefore not one whom you would expect to see amid the vicious circles at Versailles. But her guardians were Catholic, and hoped that the attractions of the court might weaken her faith. She became the admired of all, and great was the rivalry for her favor. Two, in particular, devoted themselves to her--the Count de Montresor and the Count de Laborde. She preferred the former, and they were married. After this, the count and countess left the court, and retired to the Chateau de Montresor. "Laborde and Montresor had always been firm friends until this; but now Laborde, stung by jealousy and hate, sought to effect the ruin of Montresor. At first his feeling was only one of jealousy, which was not unnatural, under the circumstances. Left to himself, I doubt not that it would have died a natural death; but, unfortunately, Laborde was under the influence of a crafty adventurer, who now, when Montresor's friendship was removed, gained an ascendency over him. This man was this Cazeneau, who has treated you so shamefully. "I will not enlarge upon his character. You yourself know now well enough what that is. He was a man of low origin, who had grown up amid the vilest court on the surface of the earth. At that time the Duke of Orleans and the Abbé Dubois had control of everything, and the whole court was an infamous scene of corruption. Cazeneau soon found means to turn the jealousy of Laborde into a deeper hate, and to gain his co-operation in a scheme which he had formed for his own profit. "Cazeneau's plan was this: The laws against the Huguenots were very stringent, and were in force, as, indeed, they are yet. The Countess de Montresor was a Huguenot, and nothing could make her swerve from her faith. The first blow was levelled at her, for in this way they knew that they could inflict a deeper wound upon her husband. She was to be arrested, subjected to the mockery of French justice, and condemned to the terrible punishment which the laws inflicted upon heretics. Had Montresor remained at court, he could easily have fought off this pair of conspirators; but, being away, he knew nothing about it till all was ready; and then he had nothing to do but to fly, in order to save his wife. "Upon this, fresh charges were made against him, and lettres de cachet were issued. These would have flung him into the Bastile, to rot and die forgotten. But Montresor had effectually concealed himself, together with his wife, and the emissaries of the government were baffled. It was by that time too late for him to defend himself in any way; and the end of it was, that he decided to fly from France. He did so, and succeeded in reaching Quebec in safety. Here he hoped to remain only for a time, and expected that before long a change in the ministry might take place, by means of which he might regain his rights. "But Fleury was all-powerful with the king, and Cazeneau managed somehow to get into Fleury's good graces, so that Montresor had no chance. The Montresor estates, and all the possessions of his wife, were confiscated, and Laborde and Cazeneau secured much of them. But Montresor had other things to trouble him. His wife grew ill, and died not long after his arrival, leaving an infant son. Montresor now had nothing which seemed to him worth living for. He therefore left his child to the care of the faithful Motier, and disappeared, as you have told me, and has never been heard of since. "Of course Laborde knew nothing of this, and I only add this to the information which he gave, in order to make it as plain to you as it is to me. Laborde asserted that after the first blow he recoiled, conscience-stricken, and refused further to pursue your father, though Cazeneau was intent upon his complete destruction; and perhaps this is the reason why Montresor was not molested at Quebec. A better reason, however, is to be found in the merciful nature of Fleury, whom I believe at bottom to have been a good man. "After this, years passed. To Laborde they were years of remorse. Hoping to get rid of his misery, he married. A daughter was born to him. It was of no use. His wife died. His daughter was sent to a convent to be educated. He himself was a lonely, aimless man. What was worse, he was always under the power of Cazeneau, who never would let go his hold. This Cazeneau squandered the plunder of the Montresors upon his own vices, and soon became as poor as he was originally. After this he lived upon Laborde. His knowledge of Laborde's remorse gave him a power over him which his unhappy victim could not resist. The false information which Laborde had sworn to against the Count de Montresor was perjury; and Cazeneau, the very man who had suggested it, was always ready to threaten to denounce him to Fleury. "So time went on. Laborde grew older, and at last the one desire of his life was to make amends before he died. At length Fleury died. The new ministry were different. All of them detested Cazeneau. One of them--Maurepas--was a friend to Laborde. To this Maurepas, Laborde told his whole story, and Maurepas promised that he would do all in his power to make amends. The greatest desire of Laborde was to discover some one of the family. He had heard that the count and countess were both dead, but that they had left an infant son. It was this that brought him out here. He hoped to find that son, and perhaps the count himself, for the proof of his death was not very clear. He did, indeed, find that son, most wonderfully, too, and without knowing it; for, as you yourself see, there cannot be a doubt that you are that son. "Now, Laborde kept all this a profound secret from Cazeneau, and hoped, on leaving France, never to see him again. What, however, was his amazement, on reaching the ship, to learn that Cazeneau also was going! He had got the appointment to Louisbourg from Fleury before his death, and the appointment had been confirmed by the new ministry, for some reason or other. I believe that they will recall him at once, and use his absence to effect his ruin. I believe Cazeneau expects this, and is trying to strengthen his resources by getting control of the Laborde estates. His object in marrying Mimi is simply this. This was the chief dread of Laborde in dying, and with his last words he entreated me to watch over his daughter. "Cazeneau's enmity to you must be accounted for on the ground that he discovered, somehow, your parentage. Mimi told me afterwards, that he was near you one day, concealed, while you were telling her. He was listening, beyond a doubt, and on the first opportunity determined to put you out of the way. He dreads, above all things, your appearance in France as the son of the unfortunate Count de Montresor. For now all those who were once powerful are dead, and the present government would be very glad to espouse the Montresor cause, and make amends, as far as possible, for his wrongs. They would like to use you as a means of dealing a destructive blow against Cazeneau himself. Cazeneau's first plan was to put you out of the way on some charge of treason; but now, of course, the charge against you will be attempt at murder." To all this Claude listened with much less interest than he would have felt formerly. But the sentence of death seemed impending, and it is not surprising that the things of this life seemed of small moment. "Well," said he, with a sigh, "I'm much obliged to you for telling me all this; but it makes very little difference to me now." "Wait till you have heard all," said the priest. "I have come here for something more; but it was necessary to tell you all this at the first. I have now to tell you that--your position is full of hope; in fact--" Here the priest put his head close to Claude's ear, and whispered, "I have come to save you." "What!" cried Claude. The priest placed his hand on Claude's mouth. "No one is listening; but it is best to be on our guard," he whispered. "Yes, I can save you, and will. This very night you shall be free, on your way to join your friend, the captain. To-day I received a message from him by an Indian. He had reached Canso. I had warned him to go there. The Indians went on board, and brought his message. He will wait there for us." At this intelligence, which to Claude was unexpected and amazing, he could not say one word, but sat with clasped hands and a face of rapture. But suddenly a thought came to his mind, which disturbed his joy. "Mimi--what of her?" "You must go alone," said the priest. Claude's face grew dark. He shook his head. "Then I will not go at all." "Not go! Who is she--do you know? She is the daughter of Laborde, the man who ruined your father." Claude compressed his lips, and looked with fixed determination at the priest. "She is not to blame," said he, "for her father's faults. She has never known them, and never shall know them. Besides, for all that he did, her father suffered, and died while seeking to make atonement. My father himself, were he alive, would surely forgive that man for all he did; and I surely will not cherish hate against his memory. So Mimi shall be mine. She is mine; we have exchanged vows. I will stay here and die, rather than go and leave her." "Spoken like a young fool, as you are!" said the priest. "Well, if you will not go without her, you shall go with her; but go you must, and to-night." "What? can she go too, after all? O, my best Père Michel, what can I say?" "Say nothing as yet, for there is one condition." "What is that? I will agree to anything. Never mind conditions." "You must be married before you go." "Married!" cried Claude, in amazement. "Yes." "Married! How? Am I not here in a dungeon? How can she and I be married?" "I will tell you how presently. But first, let me tell you why. First of all, we may all get scattered in the woods. It will be very desirable that she should have you for her lawful lord and master, so that you can have a right to stand by her to the last. You can do far more for her than I can, and I do not wish to have all the responsibility. This is one reason. "But there is another reason, which, to me, is of greater importance. It is this, my son: You may be captured. The worst may come to the worst. You may--which may Heaven forbid--yet you may be put to death. I do not think so. I hope not. I hope, indeed, that Cazeneau may eventually fall a prey to his own machinations. But it is necessary to take this into account. And then, my son, if such a sad fate should indeed be yours, we must both of us think what will be the fate of Mimi. If you are not married, her fate will be swift and certain. She will be forced to marry this infamous miscreant, who does not even pretend to love her, but merely wants her money. He has already told her his intention--telling her that her father left nothing, and that he wishes to save her from want, whereas her father left a very large estate. Such will be her fate if she is single. But if she is your wife, all will be different. As your widow, she will be safe. He would have to allow her a decent time for mourning; and in any case he would scarce be able so to defy public opinion as to seek to marry the widow of the man whom he had killed. Besides, to gain time would be everything; and before a year would be over, a host of friends would spring up to save her from him. This, then, is the reason why I think that you should be married." "I am all amazement," cried Claude, "I am bewildered. Married! Such a thing would be my highest wish. But I don't understand all this. How is it possible to think of marriage at such a time as this?" "Well, I will now explain that," said the priest. "The late commandant is a friend of mine. We were acquainted with each other years ago in France. As soon as Cazeneau made his appearance here, and you were arrested, I went to him and told him the whole story of your parents, as I have just now told you. He had heard something about their sad fate in former years, and his sympathies were all enlisted. Besides, he looks upon Cazeneau as a doomed man, the creature of the late regime, the fallen government. He expects that Cazeneau will be speedily recalled, disgraced, and punished. He also expects that the honors of the Count de Montresor will be restored to you. He is sufficient of an aristocrat to prefer an old and honorable name, like Montresor, to that of a low and unprincipled adventurer, like Cazeneau, and does not wish to see the Countess Laborde fall a victim to the machinations of a worn-out scoundrel. And so the ex-commandant will do all that he can. Were it not for him, I do not think I could succeed in freeing both of you, though I still might contrive to free you alone." "O, my dear Père Michel! What can I say? I am dumb!" "Say nothing. I must go now." "When will you come?" "At midnight. There will be a change of guards then. The new sentry will be favorable; he will run away with us, so as to save himself from punishment." "And when shall we be married?" "To-night. You will go from here to the commandant's residence, and then out. But we must haste, for by daybreak Cazeneau will discover all--perhaps before. We can be sure, however, of three hours. I hope it will be light. Well, we must trust to Providence. And now, my son, farewell till midnight." CHAPTER XXII. ESCAPE. Claude remained alone once more, with his brain in a whirl from the tumult of thought which had arisen. This interview with the priest had been the most eventful hour of his life. He had learned the secret of his parentage, the wrongs and sufferings of his father and mother, the villany of Cazeneau, the true reason for the bitter enmity which in him had triumphed over gratitude, and made him seek so pertinaciously the life of the man who had once saved his own. It seemed like a dream. But a short time before, not one ray of hope appeared to illuminate the midnight gloom which reigned around him and within him. Now all was dazzling brightness. It seemed too bright; it was unnatural; it was too much to hope for. That he should escape was of itself happiness enough; but that he should also join Mimi once more, and that he should be joined to her, no more to part till death, was an incredible thing. Mimi herself must also know this, and was even now waiting for him, as he was waiting for her. Claude waited in a fever of impatience. The monotonous step of the sentry sounded out as he paced to and fro. At times Claude thought he heard the approach of footsteps, and listened eagerly; but over and over again he was compelled to desist, on finding that his senses deceived him. Thus the time passed, and as it passed, his impatience grew the more uncontrollable. Had it been possible, he would have burst open the door, and ventured forth so as to shorten his suspense. At length a sound of approaching footsteps did in reality arise. This time there was no mistake. He heard voices outside, the challenge and reply of the changing guard. Then footsteps departed, and the tramp died away, leaving only the pacing of the sentinel for Claude to hear. What now? Was this the sentinel who was to be his friend? He thought so. He believed so. The time passed--too long a time, he thought, for the sentinel gave no sign: still he kept up his monotonous tramp. Claude repressed his impatience, and waited till, to his astonishment, what seemed an immense time had passed away; and the sentinel came not to his aid. Still the time passed. Claude did not know what to think. Gradually a sickening fear arose--the fear that the whole plan had been discovered, and that the priest had failed. Perhaps the commandant had played him false, and had pretended to sympathize with him so as to draw out his purpose, which he would reveal to Cazeneau, in order to gain his gratitude, and lay him under obligation. The priest, he thought, was too guileless to deal with men of the world like these. He had been caught in a trap, and had involved himself with all the rest. His own fate could be no worse than it was before, but it was doubly bitter to fall back into his despair, after having been for a brief interval raised up to so bright a hope. Such were the thoughts that finally took possession of Claude, and, with every passing moment, deepened into conviction. Midnight had passed; the sentry had come, and there he paced mechanically, with no thought of him. Either the ex-commandant or the sentinel had betrayed them. Too many had been in the secret. Better never to have heard of this plan than, having heard of it, to find it thus dashed away on the very eve of its accomplishment. Time passed, and every moment only added to Claude's bitterness; time passed, and every moment only served to show him that all was over. A vague thought came of speaking to the sentinel; but that was dismissed. Then another thought came, of trying to tear away the iron grating; but the impossibility of that soon showed itself. He sank down upon his litter of straw in one corner, and bade adieu to hope. Then he started up, and paced up and down wildly, unable to yield so calmly to despair. Then once more he sank down upon the straw. Thus he was lying, crouched down, his head in his hands, overwhelmed utterly, when suddenly a deep sound came to his ears, which in an instant made him start to his feet, and drove away every despairing thought, bringing in place of these a new wave of hope, and joy, and amazement. It was the single toll of the great bell, which, as he knew, always sounded at midnight. Midnight! Was it possible? Midnight had not passed, then. The change of sentry had been at nine o'clock, which he, deceived by the slow progress of the hours, had supposed to be midnight. He had been mistaken. There was yet hope. He rushed to the grating, and listened. There were footsteps approaching--the tramp of the relieving guard. He listened till the guard was relieved, and the departing footsteps died away. Then began the pace of the new sentry. What now? Was there to be a repetition of his former experience? Was he again to be dashed down from this fresh hope into a fresh despair? He nerved himself for this new ordeal, and waited with a painfully throbbing heart. At the grating he stood, motionless, listening, with all his soul wrapped and absorbed in his single sense of hearing. There were an inner grating and an outer one, and between the two a sash with two panes of glass. He could hear the sentry as he paced up and down; he could also hear, far away, the long, shrill note of innumerable frogs; and the one seemed as monotonous, as unchangeable, and as interminable as the other. But at length the pacing of the sentry ceased. Claude listened; the sentinel stopped; there was no longer any sound. Claude listened still. This was the supreme hour of his fate. On this moment depended all his future. What did this mean? Would the sentry begin his tramp? He would; he did. In despair Claude fled from the grating, and fell back upon the straw. For a time he seemed unconscious of everything; but at length he was roused by a rattle at the door of his cell. In a moment he was on his feet, listening. It was the sound of a key as it slowly turned in the lock. Claude moved not, spoke not; he waited. If this was his deliverer, all well; if not, he was resolved to have a struggle for freedom. Then he stole cautiously to the door. It opened. Claude thrust his hand through, and seized a human arm. A man's voice whispered back,-- "H-s-s-t! _Suivez moi_." A thrill of rapture unutterable passed through every nerve and fibre of Claude. At once all the past was forgotten; forgotten, also, were all the dangers that still lay before him. It was enough that this hope had not been frustrated, that the sentinel had come to deliver him from the cell at the midnight hour. The cool breeze of night was wafted in through the open door, and fanned the fevered brow of the prisoner, bearing on its wings a soothing influence, a healing balm, and life, and hope. His presence of mind all came back: he was self-poised, vigilant, cool: all this in one instant. All his powers would be needed to carry him through the remainder of the night; and these all were summoned forth, and came at his bidding. And so Claude followed his guide. The sentinel led the way, under the shadow of the wall, towards the Residency. At one end of this was the chapel. Towards this the sentinel guided Claude, and, on reaching it, opened the door. A hand seized his arm, a voice whispered in his ear,-- "Welcome, my son. Here is your bride." And then a soft hand was placed in his. Claude knew whose hand it was. He flung his arms around the slender figure of Mimi, and pressed her to his heart. "Come," said the priest. He drew them up towards the altar. Others were present. Claude could not see them; one, however, he could see, was a female, whom he supposed to be Margot. The moonlight shone in through the great window over the altar. Here the priest stood, and placed Claude and Mimi before him. Then he went through the marriage service. It was a strange wedding there at midnight, in the moonlit chapel, with the forms of the spectators so faintly discerned, and the ghostly outline of priest, altar, and window before them as they knelt. But they were married; and Claude once more, in a rapture of feeling, pressed his wife to his heart. They now left the chapel by another door in the rear. The priest led the way, together with the sentinel. Here was the wall. A flight of steps led to the top. On reaching this they came to a place where there was a ladder. Down this they all descended in silence, and found themselves in the ditch. The ladder was once more made use of to climb out of this, and then Claude saw a figure crouched on the ground and creeping towards them. It was an Indian, with whom the priest conversed in his own language for a moment. "All is well," he whispered to Claude. "The captain is waiting for us many miles from this. And now, forward!" The Indian led the way; then went the priest; then Claude with Mimi; then Margot; last of all came the sentinel, who had deserted his post, and was now seeking safety in flight under the protection of Père Michel. Such was the little party of fugitives that now sought to escape from Louisbourg into the wild forest around. After walking for about a mile, they reached a place where five horses were bound. Here they proceeded to mount. "I sent these out after sundown," said the priest to Claude. "There are not many horses in Louisbourg. These will assist us to escape, and will be lost to those who pursue. Here, my son, arm yourself, so as to defend your wife, in case of need." With these words the priest handed Claude a sword, pointing also to pistols which were in the holster. The Indian alone remained on foot. He held the bridle of the priest's horse, and led the way, sometimes on what is called an "Indian trot," at other times on a walk. The others all followed at the same pace. The road was the same one which had been traversed by Claude and Mimi when they first came to Louisbourg--a wide trail, rough, yet serviceable, over which many pack-horses and droves of cattle had passed, but one which was not fitted for wheels, and was rather a trail than a road. On each side the trees arose, which threw a deep shade, so that, in spite of the moon which shone overhead, it was too dark to go at any very rapid pace. "We must make all the haste we can," said the priest. "In three hours they will probably discover all. The alarm will be given, and we shall be pursued. In these three hours, then, we must get so far ahead that they may not be able to come up with us." At first the pathway was wide enough for them all to move at a rapid pace; but soon it began to grow narrower. As they advanced, the trees grew taller, and the shadows which they threw were darker. The path became more winding, for, like all trails, it avoided the larger trees or stones, and wound around them, where a road would have led to their removal. The path also became rougher, from stones which protruded in many places, or from long roots stretching across, which in the darkness made the horses stumble incessantly. These it was impossible to avoid. In addition to these, there were miry places, where the horses sank deep, and could only extricate themselves with difficulty. Thus their progress grew less and less, till at length it dwindled to a walk, and a slow one at that. Nothing else could be done. They all saw the impossibility of more rapid progress, in the darkness, over such a path. Of them all, Claude was the most impatient, as was natural. His sense of danger was most keen. The terror of the night had not yet passed away. Already, more than once, he had gone from despair to hope, and back once more to despair; and it seemed to him as though his soul must still vibrate between these two extremes. The hope which was born out of new-found freedom was now rapidly yielding to the fear of pursuit and re-capture. In the midst of these thoughts, he came forth suddenly upon a broad, open plain, filled with stout underbrush. Through this the trail ran. Reaching this, the whole party urged their horses at full speed, and for at least three miles they were able to maintain this rapid progress. At the end of that distance, the trail once more entered the woods, and the pace dwindled to a walk. But that three-mile run cheered the spirits of all. "How many miles have we come, I wonder?" asked Claude. "About six," said the priest. "How many miles is it to the schooner?" "About forty." Claude drew a long breath. "It must be nearly three o'clock in the morning now," said he. "I dare say they are finding it out now." "Well, we needn't stop to listen," said the priest. "No; we'll hear them soon enough." "At any rate, the dawn is coming," said the priest. "The day will soon be here, and then we can go on as fast as we wish." CHAPTER XXIII. PURSUIT. As they hurried on, it grew gradually lighter, so that they were able to advance more rapidly. The path remained about the same, winding as before, and with the same alternations of roots, stones, and swamp; but the daylight made all the difference in the world, and they were now able to urge their horses at the top of their speed. The Indian who was at their head was able to keep there without much apparent effort, never holding back or falling behind, though if the ground had been smoother he could scarcely have done so. With every step the dawn advanced, until at last the sun rose, and all the forest grew bright in the beams of day. A feeling of hope and joy succeeded to the late despondency which had been creeping over them; but this only stimulated them to redoubled exertions, so that they might not, after all, find themselves at last cheated out of these bright hopes. That they were now pursued they all felt confident. At three o'clock the absence of the sentry must have been discovered, and, of course, the flight of Claude. Thereupon the alarm would at once be given. Cazeneau would probably be aroused, and would proceed to take action immediately. Even under what might be the most favorable circumstances to them, it was not likely that there would be a delay of more than an hour. Besides, the pursuer had an advantage over them. They had a start of three hours; but those three hours were spent in darkness, when they were able to go over but little ground. All that they had toiled so long in order to traverse, their pursuers could pass over in one quarter the time, and one quarter the labor. They were virtually not more than one hour in advance of the enemy, who would have fresher horses, with which to lessen even this small advantage. And by the most favorable calculation, there remained yet before them at least thirty miles, over a rough and toilsome country. Could they hope to escape? Such were the thoughts that came to Claude's mind, and such the question that came to him. That question he did not care to discuss with himself. He could only resolve to keep up the flight till the last moment, and then resist to the bitter end. But now there arose a new danger, which brought fresh difficulties with it, and filled Claude with new despondency. This danger arose from a quarter in which he was most assailable to fear and anxiety--from Mimi. He had never ceased, since they first left, to watch over his bride with the most anxious solicitude, sometimes riding by her side and holding her hand, when the path admitted it, at other times riding behind her, so as to keep her in view, and all the time never ceasing to address to her words of comfort and good cheer. To all his questions Mimi had never failed to respond in a voice which was full of cheerfulness and sprightliness, and no misgivings on her account entered his mind until the light grew bright enough for him to see her face. Then he was struck by her appearance. She seemed so feeble, so worn, so fatigued, that a great fear came over him. "O, Mimi, darling!" he cried, "this is too much for you." "O, no," she replied, in the same tone; "I can keep up as long as you wish me to." "But you look so completely worn out!" "O, that's because I've been fretting about you--you bad boy; it's not this ride at all." "Are you sure that you can keep up?" "Why, of course I am; and I must, for there's nothing else to be done." "O, Mimi, I'm afraid--I'm very much afraid that you will break down." At this Mimi gave a little laugh, but said nothing, and Claude found himself compelled to trust to hope. Thus they went on for some time longer. But at length Claude was no longer able to conceal the truth from himself, nor was Mimi able any longer to maintain her loving deception. She was exceedingly weak; she was utterly worn out; and in pain Claude saw her form sway to and fro and tremble. He asked her imploringly to stop and rest. But at the sound of his voice, Mimi roused herself once more, by a great effort. "O, no," she said, with a strong attempt to speak unconcernedly; "O, no. I acknowledge I am a little tired; and if we come to any place where we may rest, I think I shall do so; but not here, not here; let us go farther." Claude drew a long breath. Deep anxiety overwhelmed him. Mimi was, in truth, right. How could they dare to pause just here? The pursuer was on their track! No; they must keep on; and if Mimi did sink, what then? But he would not think of it; he would hope that Mimi would be able, after all, to hold out. But at length what Claude had feared came to pass. He had been riding behind Mimi for some time, so as to watch her better, when suddenly he saw her slender frame reel to one side. A low cry came from her. In an instant Claude was at her side, and caught her in his arms in time to save her from a fall. Mimi had not fainted, but was simply prostrated from sheer fatigue. No strength was left, and it was impossible for her to sit up any longer. She had struggled to bear up as long as possible, and finally had given way altogether. "I cannot help it," she murmured. "O, my darling!" cried Claude, in a voice of anguish. "Forgive me, dear Claude. I cannot help it!" "O, don't talk so," said Claude. "I ought to have seen your weakness before, and given you assistance. But come now; I will hold you in my arms, and we will still be able to go on." "I wish you would leave me; only leave me, and then you can be saved. There is no danger for me; but if you are captured, your life will be taken. O, Claude, dearest Claude, leave me and fly." "You distress me, Mimi, darling, by all this. I cannot leave you; I would rather die than do so. And so, if you love me, don't talk so." At this, with a little sob, Mimi relapsed into silence. "Courage, darling," said Claude, in soothing tones. "Who knows but that they are still in Louisbourg, and have not yet left? We may get away, after all; or we may find some place of hiding." The additional burden which he had been forced to assume overweighted very seriously Claude's horse, and signs of this began to appear before long. No sooner, however, had Claude perceived that it was difficult to keep with the rest of the party, than he concluded to shift himself, with Mimi, to the horse which Mimi had left. This was one of the best and freshest of the whole party, and but a slight delay was occasioned by the change. After this they kept up a good rate of speed for more than two hours, when Claude once more changed to another horse. This time it was to Margot's horse, which had done less thus far than any of the others. Margot then took the horse which Claude had at first, and thus they went on. It was a good contrivance, for thus by changing about from one to another, and by allowing one horse to be led, the endurance of the whole was maintained longer than would otherwise have been possible. But at length the long and fatiguing journey began to tell most seriously on all the horses, and all began to see that further progress would not be much longer possible. For many hours they had kept on their path; and, though the distance which they had gone was not more than twenty-five miles, yet, so rough had been the road that the labor had been excessive, and all the horses needed rest. By this time it was midday, and they all found themselves face to face with a question of fearful import, which none of them knew how to answer. The question was, what to do. Could they stop? Dare they? Yet they must. For the present they continued on a little longer. They now came to another open space, overgrown with shrubbery, similar to that which they had traversed in the night. It was about two miles in extent, and at the other end arose a bare, rocky hill, beyond which was the forest. "We must halt at the top of that hill," said Claude. "It's the best place. We can guard against a surprise, at any rate. Some of the horses will drop if we go on much farther." "I suppose we'll have to," said the priest. "We must rest for half an hour, at least," said Claude. "If they come up, we'll have to scatter, and take to the woods." With these words they rode on, and at length reached the hill. The path wound up it, and in due time they reached the top. But scarcely had they done so, than a loud cry sounded out, which thrilled through all hearts. Immediately after, a figure came bounding towards them. "Hooray! Hip, hip, hooray!" shouted the new comer. "Heavens! Zac!" cried Claude; "you here?" "Nobody else," replied Zac, wringing his hand. "But what are you going to do?" "Our horses are blown; we are pursued, but have to halt for a half hour or so. If they come up, we'll have to scatter, and take to the woods, and start the horses ahead on the path. This is a good lookout place." With these words Claude began to dismount, bearing his beloved burden. The priest assisted him. Zac, after his first hurried greeting, had moved towards Margot, around whom he threw his arms, with an energetic clasp, and lifted her from the saddle to the ground. Then he shook hands with her. "I'm ver mooch glad to see you," said Margot. "Ees your sheep far off?" "So, they're after you--air they?" said he. "Wal, little one, when they come, you stick to me--mind that; an' I engage to get you off free. Stick to me, though. Be handy, an' I'll take you clar of them." Claude was now engaged in finding a comfortable place upon which Mimi might recline. The Indian stood as lookout; the deserter busied himself with the horses; the priest stood near, watching Claude and Mimi, while Zac devoted himself to Margot. In the midst of this, the Indian came and said something to the priest. Claude noticed this, and started. "What is it?" he asked. "He hears them," said the priest, significantly. "So soon!" exclaimed Claude. "Then we must scatter. The horses will be of no use. Our last chance is the woods." In a moment the alarm was made; hasty directions were given for each one to take care of himself, and if he eluded the pursuers, to follow the path to the place where the schooner lay. Meanwhile the horses were to be driven ahead by the Indian as far as possible. The Indian at once went off, together with the deserter, and these two drove the horses before them into the woods, along the path. Then Zac followed. Lifting Margot in his arms, he bore her lightly along, and soon disappeared in the woods. Then Claude took Mimi in his arms, and hastened as fast as he could towards the shelter of the woods. But Claude had not Zac's strength, and besides, Mimi was more of a dead weight than Margot, so that he could not go nearly so fast. Zac was in the woods, and out of sight, long before Claude had reached the place; and by that time the rest of the party, both horses and men, had all disappeared, with the exception of Père Michel. The good priest kept close by the young man, as though resolved to share his fate, whether in life or death. If it was difficult while carrying Mimi over the path, Claude found it far more so on reaching the woods. Here he dared not keep to the path, for the very object of going to the woods was to elude observation by plunging into its darkest and deepest recesses. Zac had gone there at a headlong rate, like a fox to his covert. Such a speed Claude could not rival, and no sooner did he take one step in the woods, than he perceived the full difficulty of his task. The woods were of the wildest kind, filled with rocks and fallen trees, the surface of the ground being most irregular. At every other step it was necessary to clamber over some obstacle, or crawl under it. "We cannot hope to go far," said the priest. "Our only course now will be to find some convenient hiding-place. Perhaps they will pass on ahead, and then we can go farther on." At this very moment the noise of horses and men sounded close behind. One hurried look showed them all. Their pursuers had reached their late halting-place, and were hurrying forward. The place bore traces of their halt, which did not escape the keen eyes of their enemies. At the sight, Claude threw himself down in a hollow behind a tree, with Mimi beside him, while the priest did the same. The suspicions of the pursuers seemed to have been awakened by the signs which they had seen at the last halting-place. They rode on more slowly. At length they divided, half of them riding rapidly ahead, and the other half moving forward at a walk, and scanning every foot of ground in the open and in the woods. At last a cry escaped one of them. Claude heard it. The next moment he heard footsteps. The enemy were upon him; their cries rang in his ears. In all the fury of despair, he started to his feet with only one thought, and that was, to sell his life as dearly as possible. But Mimi flung herself in his arms, and the priest held his hands. "Yield," said the priest. "You can do nothing. There is yet hope." The next moment Claude was disarmed, and in the hands of his enemies. CHAPTER XXIV. ZAC AND MARGOT. Seizing Margot in his arms at the first alarm, Zac had fled to the woods. Being stronger than Claude, he was fortunate in having a less unwieldy burden; for Margot did not lie like a heavyweight in his arms, but was able to dispose herself in a way which rendered her more easy to be carried. On reaching the woods, Zac did not at once plunge in among the trees, but continued along the trail for some distance, asking Margot to tell him the moment she saw one of the pursuing party. As Margot's face was turned back, she was in a position to watch. It was Zac's intention to find some better place for flight than the stony and swampy ground at the outer edge of the forest; and as he hurried along, he watched narrowly for a good opportunity to leave the path. At length he reached a place where the ground descended on the other side of the hill, and here he came to some pine trees. There was but little underbrush, the surface of the ground was comparatively smooth, and good progress could be made here without much difficulty. Here, then, Zac turned in. As he hurried onward, he found the pine forest continuing along the whole slope, and but few obstacles in his way. Occasionally a fallen tree lay before him, and this he could easily avoid. Hurrying on, then, under these favorable circumstances, Zac was soon lost in the vast forest, and out of sight as well as out of hearing of all his purposes. Here he might have rested; but still he kept on. He was not one to do things by halves, and chose rather to make assurance doubly sure; and although even Margot begged him to put her down, yet he would not. "Wal," said he, at last, "'tain't often I have you; an' now I got you, I ain't goin' to let you go for a good bit yet. Besides, you can't ever tell when you're safe. Nothin' like makin' things sure, I say." With these words Zac kept on his way, though at a slower pace. It was not necessary for him to fly so rapidly, nor was he quite so fresh as when he started. Margot also noticed this, and began to insist so vehemently on getting down, that he was compelled to grant her request. He still held her hand, however, and thus the two went on for some distance farther. At last they reached a point where there was an abrupt and almost precipitous descent. From this crest of the precipice the eye could wander over a boundless prospect of green forest, terminated in the distance by wooded hills. "Wal," said Zac, "I think we may as well rest ourselves here." "Dat is ver nice," said Margot. Zac now arranged a seat for her by gathering some moss at the foot of a tree. She seated herself here, and Zac placed himself by her side. He then opened a bag which he carried slung about his shoulders, and brought forth some biscuit and ham, which proved a most grateful repast to his companion. "Do you tink dey chase us here?" asked Margot. "Wal, we're safer here, ef they do," said Zac. "We can't be taken by surprise in the rear, for they can't climb up very easy without our seein' 'em; an' as for a front attack, why, I'll keep my eye open: an' I'd like to see the Injin or the Moosoo that can come unawars on me. I don't mind two or three of 'em, any way," continued Zac, "for I've got a couple of bulldogs." "Boul-dogs?" said Margot, inquiringly. "Yes, these here," said Zac, opening his frock, and displaying a belt around his waist, which held a brace of pistols. "But I don't expect I'll have to use 'em, except when I heave in sight of the skewner, an' want to hail 'em." "But we are loss," said Margot, "in dis great woos. How sall we ever get any whar out of him?" "O, that's easy enough," said Zac. "I know all about the woods, and can find my way anywhars. My idee is, to go back towards the trail, strike into it, an' move along slowly an' cautiously, till we git nigh the place whar I left the skewner." Zac waited in this place till towards evening, and then started once more. He began to retrace his steps in a direction which he judged would ultimately strike the trail, along which he had resolved to go. He had weighed the chances, and concluded that this would be his best course. He would have the night to do it in; and if he should come unawares upon any of his enemies, he thought it would be easy to dash into the woods, and escape under the cover of the darkness. Vigilance only was necessary, together with coolness and nerve, and all these qualities he believed himself to have. The knowledge of the woods which Zac claimed stood him in good stead on the present occasion; he was able to guide his course in a very satisfactory manner; and about sundown, or a little after, he struck the trail. Here he waited for a short time, watching and listening; and then, having heard nothing whatever that indicated danger, he went boldly forward, with Margot close behind. As they advanced, it grew gradually darker, and at length the night came down. Overhead the moon shone, disclosing a strip of sky where the trees opened above the path. For hours they walked along. No enemy appeared; and at length Zac concluded that they had all dispersed through the woods, at the point where they had first come upon them, and had not followed the path any farther. What had become of Claude he could not imagine, but could only hope for the best. They rested for about an hour at midnight. Then Zac carried Margot for another hour. After this, Margot insisted on walking. At length, after having thus passed the whole night, the path came to a creek. Here Zac paused. "Now, little gal," said he, "you may go to sleep till mornin', for I think we've got pooty nigh onto the end of our tramp." With these words Zac led the way a little distance from the path, and here Margot flung herself upon a grassy knoll, and fell sound asleep, while Zac, at a little distance off, held watch and guard over her. Several hours passed, and Zac watched patiently. He had not the heart to rouse her, unless compelled by absolute necessity. In this case, however, no necessity arose, and he left her to wake herself. When at length Margot awoke, the sun was high in the heavens, and Zac only smiled pleasantly when she reproached him for not waking her before. "O, no harm; no 'casion has riz, an' so you were better havin' your nap. You'll be all the abler to do what you may hev yet before you. An' now, little un, if you're agreed, we'll hev a bite o' breakfast." A short breakfast, composed of hard biscuit and ham, washed down with cool water from a neighboring brook, served to fortify both for the duties that lay before them; and after this Zac proposed an immediate start. He led the way along the bank of the creek, and Margot followed. They walked here for about two miles, until at length they came in sight of a small harbor, into which the creek ran. In the distance was the sea; nearer was a headland. "This here's the place, the i-dentical place," said Zac, in joyous tones. "I knowed it; I was sure of it. Come along, little un. We ain't got much further to go--only to that thar headland; and then, ef I ain't mistook, we'll find the end to our tramp." With these cheering words he led the way along the shore, until at last they reached the headland. It was rocky and bare of trees. Up this Zac ran, followed by Margot, and soon reached the top. "All right!" he cried. "See thar!" and he pointed out to the sea. Margot had Already seen it: it was the schooner, lying there at anchor. "Eet ees de sheep," said Margot, joyously; "but how sall we geet to her?" "O, they're on the lookout," said Zac. "I'll give signals." The schooner was not more than a quarter of a mile off. Zac and Margot were on the bare headland, and could easily be seen. On board the schooner figures were moving up and down. Zac looked for a few moments, as if to see whether it was all right, and then gave a peculiar cry, something like the cawing of a crow, which he repeated three times. The sound was evidently heard, for at once there was a movement on board. Zac waved his hat. Then the movement stopped, and a boat shot out from the schooner, with a man in it, who rowed towards the headland. He soon came near enough to be recognized. It was Terry. Zac and Margot hurried to the shore to meet it, and in a short time both were on board the Parson. Great was the joy that was evinced by Terry at the return of his captain. He had a host of questions to ask about his adventures, and reproached Zac over and over for not allowing him to go also. Jericho showed equal feeling, but in a more emphatic form, since it was evinced in the shape of a substantial meal, which was most welcome to Zac, and to Margot also. As for Biler, he said not a word, but stood with his melancholy face turned towards his master, and his jaws moving as though engaged in devouring something. "Sure, an' it's glad I am," said Terry, "for it's not comfortable I've been--so it ain't. I don't like bein' shut up here, at all, at all. So we'll just up sail, captain dear, an' be off out of this." "O, no," said Zac; "we've got to wait for the others." "Wait--is it?" said Terry. "Yes." "Sure, thin, an' there's a sail out beyant. Ye can't see it now, but ye'll see it soon, for it's been batin' up to the land all the mornin'." "A sail!" exclaimed Zac. "Yis; an' it's a Frinchman--so it is; an' big enough for a dozen of the likes of us." Further inquiry elicited the startling information that early in the morning Terry had seen, far away in the horizon, a large ship, which had passed backward and forward while beating up towards the land against a head wind, and was just now concealed behind a promontory on the south. At this Zac felt that his situation was a serious one, and he had to decide what to do. To hoist sail and venture forth to sea would be to discover himself, and lay himself open to certain capture; while to remain where he was gave him the chance of being overlooked. So he decided to remain, and trust to luck. Once, indeed, he thought of going ashore once more, but this thought was at once dismissed. On shore he would be lost. The woods were full of his enemies, and he could hardly hope to reach any English settlement. To himself alone the chance was but slight, while for Margot it was impossible. To leave her now was not to be thought of, and besides, the schooner was the only hope for Claude, who might still be in the neighborhood. The consequence was, that Zac decided to do nothing but remain here and meet his fate, whatever that might be. Scarcely had he come to this decision, when a sight met his eyes out beyond the southern promontory, where his gaze had been turned. There, moving majestically along the sea, he saw a large frigate. It was not more than a mile away. For about a quarter of an hour the ship sailed along, and Zac was just beginning to hope that he had not been seen, when suddenly she came to, and a boat was lowered. "She sees us!" said Terry. Zac made no reply. Yes; there was no doubt of it. They had been seen. Those on board the ship had been keeping a sharp lookout, and had detected the outline of the schooner sharply defined against the light limestone rock of the headland near which she lay. To escape was not to be thought of. The boat was coming towards them, filled with armed men. Zac stood quite overwhelmed with dejection; and thus he stood as the Parson was boarded and seized by the lieutenant of his French majesty's Vengeur, who took possession of her in the name of his king. No sooner had Zac found himself in the power of the enemy, than a remarkable change took place in the respective positions of himself and Margot with regard to one another. Thus far he had been her protector; but now she became his. The first words that she spoke to the lieutenant served to conciliate his favor, and secure very respectful treatment for Zac, and seemed to convey such important intelligence that he concluded at once to transfer Margot to the Vengeur, where she could tell her story to the captain. "Adieu," said she. "We sall soon see again. Do not fear. I make zem let you go." "Wal, little un, I'll try an' hope. But, mind, unless I get you, I don't much mind what becomes o' me." Margot, on being taken on board the Vengeur, was at once examined by the captain--the Vicomte de Brissac, who found her statement most important. She contented herself with telling everything that was essential, and did not think it at all necessary for her to state that Zac had already been in the hands of French captors, and had effected an escape. She announced herself as the maid of the Countess Laborde, who had accompanied her father in the ship Arethuse. She narrated the shipwreck, and the rescue by Zac and the young Count de Montresor, the encounter with the Aigle, and the subsequent arrest of Claude. She mentioned the death of Laborde, and the journey to Louisbourg by land, with the escape and pursuit of Claude, the fight with Cazeneau, and his subsequent arrival. She then described their escape, their pursuit and separation, down to the time of speaking. She affirmed that Zac had come here from Minas Basin to save his friend, and was awaiting his arrival when the Vengeur appeared. The captain listened with the most anxious attention to every word; questioned her most minutely about the reasons why Cazeneau had arrested Claude, and also about his designs on Louisbourg. Margot answered everything most frankly, and was able to tell him the truth, inasmuch as she had enjoyed very much of the confidence of Mimi, and had learned from her about Cazeneau's plans. Captain de Brissac showed no emotion of any kind, whether of sympathy or indignation; but Margot formed a very favorable estimate of his character from his face, and could not help believing that she had won him over as an ally. She could see that her story had produced a most profound impression. Captain de Brissac was anxious to know what had been the fate of the other fugitives, especially of Claude and Mimi; but of this Margot could, of course, give no information. When she had last seen them they were flying to the woods, and she could only hope that they had been sufficiently fortunate to get under cover before the arrival of the enemy. Captain de Brissac then sent a crew aboard the Parson, and ordered them to follow the Vengeur to Louisbourg. Upon this new crew Terry looked with careful scrutiny. "Whisper, captain dear," said he, as he drew up to the meditative Zac. "Here's another lot o' Frinchmen. Is it afther thrying agin that ye are, to give 'em the slip?" Zac drew a long breath, and looked with a melancholy face at the Vengeur, which was shaking out her sails, and heading east for Louisbourg. On the stern he could see a female figure. He could not recognize the face, but he felt sure that it was Margot. "Wal," said he, "I guess we'd better wait a while fust, and see how things turn out. The little un's oncommon spry, an' may give us a lift somehow." CHAPTER XXV. THE COURT MARTIAL. Claude was treated roughly, bound, and sent forward on foot; but the representations of Père Michel secured better treatment for Mimi. A litter was made for her, and on this she was carried. As for Père Michel himself, he, too, was conducted back as a prisoner; but the respect of the commander of the soldiers for the venerable priest caused him to leave his hands unbound. After a weary tramp they reached Louisbourg. Cazeneau was at the gate, and greeted them with a sinister smile. Mimi, utterly worn out, both by fatigue and grief, took no notice of him, nor did she hear what he said. "Take the Countess de Laborde to the Residency." "Pardon," said the priest; "that lady is now the Countess de Montresor." At this Cazeneau turned upon him in fury. "Traitor!" he hissed; "what do you mean?" "I mean that I married her to the Count de Montresor last night." "It's a lie! It's a lie!" "There are witnesses," said Père Michel, "who can prove it." "It's a lie," said Cazeneau; "but even if it is true, it won't help her. She'll be a widow before two days. And as for you, you villain and traitor, you shall bitterly repent your part in last night's work." Père Michel shrugged his shoulders, and turned away. This act seemed to madden Cazeneau still more. "Why did you not bind this fellow?" he cried, turning to the commander of the detachment. "Your excellency, I had his parole." "A curse on his parole! Take him to the prison with Motier, and bind him like the other." Upon this, Mimi was taken to the Residency, and Claude and Père Michel were conducted to prison, where both of them were confined. Cazeneau himself then returned to the Residency. The ex-commandant, Florian, was at the door. He saw the whole proceeding, but showed no particular emotion. Cazeneau regarded him coldly, and Florian returned his gaze with haughty indifference. "Your plans have not succeeded very well, you see, monsieur," said Cazeneau. "It is not time enough yet to decide," said Florian. "To-morrow will decide." "I think not. You will find, Monsieur le Commandant, that there is public opinion, even in Louisbourg, which cannot be despised." "Public opinion which favors traitors may safely be despised." "True," said Florian; and with these words the two parted. The following day came. A court martial had been called to sit at two in the afternoon. At that hour the session was opened by Cazeneau. The chief officers of the garrison were present. With them came Florian. "I am sorry, monsieur," said Cazeneau, "that I cannot invite you to a seat in this court." "By virtue of my military rank," said Florian, "I claim a seat here, if not as judge, at least as spectator. I have come to see that the Count de Montresor has justice." "There is no such person. We are to try one Motier." "It can be proved," said Florian, "that he is the Count de Montresor. You yourself arrested him first as such." "I was mistaken," said Cazeneau. "As a peer of France, he can appeal to the king; and this court has no final jurisdiction. I call all present to witness this. If my warning is neglected here, it will be felt in a higher quarter. Recollect, monsieur, that I shall soon be able to report to his majesty himself. I flatter myself that my influence at court just now is not inferior to that of the Count de Cazeneau." "Perhaps, monsieur," said Cazeneau, with a sneer, "you would wish to be commandant a little longer." "All present," said Florian, "have heard my words. Let them remember that the prisoner is undoubtedly the Count de Montresor, a peer of France. Witnesses can be produced; among others, the Countess de Montresor." "There is no such person," said Cazeneau, angrily. "That lady is the Countess de Laborde." "She was married two nights since. All present may take warning by what I have announced. I will say no more." The words of Florian had made a profound impression. It was no light thing for a colonial court martial to deal with a peer of France. Besides, Florian himself would soon be at court, and could tell his own story. Cazeneau saw that a limit would be placed to his power if he did not manage carefully. He decided to act less harshly, and with more cunning. He therefore assumed a milder tone, assured the court that Florian was mistaken, disclaimed any personal feeling, and finally invited Florian to sit among the judges. Upon this Florian took his seat. The prisoner was now brought forward, and the witnesses prepared. The charges were then read. These were to the effect that he had been captured while coming to Louisbourg under a suspicious character, calling himself Motier, but pretending to be the son of the outlawed De Montresor; that afterwards he had escaped from confinement, and followed Cazeneau, upon whom he had made a murderous attack. Claude was then questioned. He told his story fully and frankly as has already been stated. After a severe questioning, he was allowed to sit down, and Père Michel was then summoned. Père Michel was first asked what he knew about the prisoner. The priest answered, simply,-- "Everything." "What do you mean? Go on and tell what you know about him." Père Michel hesitated for a moment, and then, looking at Claude, with a face expressive of the deepest emotion, he said in a low voice,-- "He is my son." At this declaration amazement filled all present. Claude was affected most of all. He started to his feet, and stood gazing at Père Michel with wonder and incredulity. [Illustration: Claude In His Father's Arms.] "I don't understand," said Cazeneau; "at any rate, this shows that he is a low-born adventurer." At this Père Michel turned to Cazeneau, and said,-- "He is my son, yet neither low-born nor an adventurer. Do you not know--you--who I am? Often have we seen one another face to face within the last few weeks; and yet you have not recognized me! What! have I so changed that not a trace of my former self is visible? Yet what I was once you see now in my son, whom you best know to be what he claims. Yes, gentlemen, I am Eugene, Count de Montresor, and this is my son Claude.--Come, Claude," he continued, "come, my son, to him who has so often yearned to take you to a father's embrace. I hoped to defer this declaration until my name should be freed from dishonor; but in such an hour as this I can keep silent no longer. Yet you know, my son, that the dishonor is not real, and that in the eyes of Heaven your father's name is pure and unsullied." As he said these words, he moved towards Claude. The young man stood, as pale as death, and trembling from head to foot with excessive agitation. He flung himself, with a low cry, into his father's arms, and leaned his head upon his breast, and wept. The whole court was overcome by this spectacle. There seemed something sacred in this strange meeting of those so near, who for a lifetime had been separated, and had at length been brought together so wonderfully. The silence was oppressive to Cazeneau, who now felt as though all his power was slipping away. It was broken at last by his harsh voice. "It's false," he said. "The Count de Montresor has been dead for years. It is a piece of acting that may do for the Théâtre Français, but is absurd to sensible men. Gentlemen, these two concocted this whole plan last night when together in their cell. I once knew old Montresor well, and this priest has not a feature in common with him." The Count de Montresor turned from his son, and faced the court. "Cazeneau," said he, with scornful emphasis, "now commandant of Louisbourg, once equerry to the Count de Laborde, you never knew me but at a distance, and as your superior. But Florian, here, remembers me, and can testify to my truth. To this court I have only to say that I fled to this country from the result of a plot contrived by this villain; that on the death of my beloved wife I committed my infant son to the care of my faithful valet,--Motier,--and became a missionary priest. For twenty years, nearly, I have labored here among the Acadians and Indians. This year I went to New England in search of Motier. I had already been carrying on correspondence with friends in France, who held out hopes that my wrongs would be righted, and my name saved from dishonor. I did not wish to make myself known to my son till I could give him an unsullied name. I found Motier dead, and learned that my son was going to Louisbourg, _en route_, to France. I asked for a passage, and was thus able to be near my son, and study his character. It was I who saved him from prison at Grand Pré; it was I who heard the last words of my former enemy, Laborde; it was I who saved my son, two nights since, from prison. He is guilty of nothing. If any one is guilty, that one am I alone. I ask, then, that I be considered as a prisoner, and that this innocent young man be set free. But as a peer of France, I claim to be sent to France, where I can be tried by my peers, since this court is one that can have no jurisdiction over one of my rank." Here the Count de Montresor ceased, and turning to his son, stood conversing with him in a low whisper. "Every word is true," said Florian. "I assert that Père Michel is the Count de Montresor. I had noticed the likeness formerly; but, as I believed the count to be dead, I thought it only accidental, until a few days ago, when he revealed the truth to me. I recognized him by facts and statements which he made. He has changed greatly since the old days, yet not beyond recognition by a friend. This being the case, then, we have nothing to do, except to send him to France by the next ship. As to the young count, his son, I cannot see that we have any charge against him whatever." All present, with one exception, had been profoundly moved by the meeting between father and son, nor had they been much less deeply moved by the words of the old count, which, though somewhat incoherent, had been spoken with impressiveness and dignity. The announcement of his lofty rank; the remembrance of his misfortunes, of which most present had heard, and which were universally believed to be unmerited; the assertion that Cazeneau had been the arch villain and plotter,--all combined to increase the common feeling of sympathy for the two before them. This feeling was deepened by Florian's words. His influence, but recently so strong, had not yet passed away. The new commandant, even under ordinary circumstances, would have been unpopular; but on the present occasion he was detested. The feeling, therefore, was general that nothing ought to be done; and Cazeneau, his heart full of vengeance, found himself well nigh powerless. But he was not a man who could readily give up the purpose of his heart; and therefore he quickly seized the only resource left him. "Gentlemen," said he, "we must not allow ourselves to be influenced by purely sentimental considerations. I believe that this priest speaks falsely, and that he has imposed upon the sympathies of M. de Florian. Besides, he is an outlaw and a criminal in the eyes of French justice. As to the young man, whom he calls his son, there is the charge of a murderous assault upon me, the commandant of Louisbourg. This must be investigated. But in the present state of mind of those present, I despair of conducting any important trial, and I therefore declare this court adjourned until further notice. Guards, remove these two prisoners, and this time place them in separate cells, where they can no longer have communication with each other." To this no one raised any objection. As commandant, Cazeneau had the right to adjourn; and, of course, until some actual decision had been reached, he could dispose of them as he saw fit. They could only bring a moral pressure to bear, at least for the present. Father and son were therefore taken back to their prison, and Cazeneau quitted the court, to take counsel with himself as to his future course. He hoped yet to have the game in his own hands. He saw that until Florian was gone it would be difficult, but after that he might manage to control the opinions of the majority of the officers. Florian, however, could not go until the next ship should arrive, and he now awaited its coming with curiosity and eagerness. He did not have to wait very long. The court broke up, and the officers talked over the matter among themselves. Florian was now quite communicative, and told them all about the early career of Montresor, and his misfortunes. Cazeneau was the evil cause of all; and Florian was bitter and unsparing in his denunciations of this man's villany. He took care to remind them that Mimi, though the wife of Claude, was still held by him under the pretence that she was his ward, and that Cazeneau, being the creature of the defunct ministry of the late Fleury, could not be kept long in his present office by the hostile ministry which had succeeded. He also assured them that the Montresors had friends among those now in power, and that the old count was anxiously awaiting the arrival of the next ship, in the confident hope that justice would at last be done to him. By these words, and by this information about things unknown to Cazeneau, Florian deepened the impression which had been made by the events of the trial. All were desirous that the Montresors should at last escape from the machinations of Cazeneau. All looked for the speedy recall and disgrace of Cazeneau himself, and therefore no one was inclined to sacrifice his feelings or convictions for the purpose of gaining favor with one whose stay was to be merely temporary. While they were yet gathered together discussing these things, they were disturbed by the report of a gun. Another followed, and yet another. All of them hurried to the signal station, from which a view of the harbor was commanded. There a noble sight appeared before their eyes. With all sail set, a frigate came into the harbor, and then, rounding to, swept grandly up towards the town. Gun after gun sounded, as the salute was given and returned. After her came a schooner. "It's the Vengeur," said Florian. "I wonder whether Montresor will get his despatches. Gentlemen, I must go aboard." With these words Florian hurried away from the citadel to the shore. CHAPTER XXVI. NEWS FROM HOME. Cazeneau had heard the guns, and had learned that the long-expected frigate had arrived, together with a schooner that looked like a prize. To him the matter afforded much gratification, since it offered a quick and easy way of getting rid of Florian, and of making the way easier towards the accomplishment of his own purposes. He did not know that Florian had hurried aboard, nor, had he known, would he have cared. For his own part he remained where he was, awaiting the visit which the captain of the Vengeur would make, to report his arrival. After more than two hours of waiting, it began to strike him that the said captain was somewhat dilatory, and he began to meditate a reprimand for such a neglect of his dignity. All this time had been spent by Florian on board, where he had much to say to De Brisset, and much to ask of him and also of Margot. At length a boat came ashore. In the boat were Florian, De Brisset, and Margot. On landing, these three went up to the citadel; and on their way De Brisset was stopped by several of the officers, who were old acquaintances, and were anxious to learn the latest news. Florian also had much to tell them which he had just learned. While they were talking, Margot hurried to the Residency, where she found Mimi, to whom she gave information of a startling kind; so startling, indeed, was it, that it acted like a powerful remedy, and roused Mimi from a deep stupor of inconsolable grief up to life, and hope, and joy, and strength. The information which De Brisset gave the officers was of the same startling kind, and Florian was able to corroborate it by a despatch which he had received. The despatch was to the effect that he--the Count de Florian--was hereby reinstated in his office as commandant of Louisbourg, and conveyed to him the flattering intelligence that his former administration was favorably regarded by the government, who would reward him with some higher command. With this despatch there came also to Florian, as commandant, a warrant to arrest Cazeneau, the late commandant, on certain charges of fraud, peculation, and malversation in office, under the late ministry. De Brisset also had orders to bring Cazeneau back to France in the Vengeur. These documents were shown to the officers, who were very earnest in their congratulations to Florian. There were also despatches to the Count de Montresor, the contents of which were known to De Brisset, who also knew that he was now laboring in the colonies as the missionary priest Père Michel. Florian at once took these to the prison where he was confined, acquainted him with the change that had taken place, and set both him and Claude free with his own hands. Then he presented the despatches. Père Michel, as we may still call him, tore open the despatch with a trembling hand, and there read that, at last, after so many years, the wrong done him had been remedied, as far as possible; that all his dignities were restored, together with his estates. These last had passed to other hands, but the strong arm of the government was even now being put forth to reclaim them, so that they might be rendered back to the deeply injured man to whom they rightly belonged. "There, my boy," said Père Michel, as he showed it to his son, "all is right at last; and now you can wear your name and dignity in the face of the world, and not be ashamed." "O, my father!" said Claude, in a voice which was broken with emotion, "Heaven knows I never was ashamed. I believed your innocence, and wept over your wrongs. I am glad now, not for myself, but for you." "Where is the Countess de Montresor?" said Père Michel. "She should not be kept in restraint any longer." Cazeneau all this time sat in his apartment, awaiting the arrival of the captain of the Vengeur and the despatches. The captain at length appeared; but with him were others, the sight of whom awakened strange sensations in his breast. For there was Florian, and with him was Père Michel; Claude was there also, and beyond he saw some soldiers. The sight was to him most appalling, and something in the face and bearing of De Brisset and Florian was more appalling still. "Monsieur le Comte de Cazeneau," said Florian, "I have the honor to present you with this commission, by which you will see that I am reappointcd commandant of Louisbourg. I also have the honor to state that I hold a warrant for your arrest, on certain charges specified therein, and for sending you back to France for trial in the Vengeur, on her return voyage." Cazeneau listened to this with a pallid face. "Impossible!" he faltered. "It's quite true," said De Brisset; "I also have orders to the same effect, which I have already shown to Monsieur le Commandant Florian. There is no possibility of any mistake, or of any resistance. You will therefore do well to submit." Cazeneau had remained seated in the attitude which he had taken up, when he expected to receive the respectful greeting of his subordinate. The news was so sudden, and so appalling, that he remained motionless. He sat staring, like one suddenly petrified. He turned his eyes from one to another, but in all those faces he saw nothing to reassure him. All were hostile except Père Michel, who alone looked at him without hate. The priest showed the same mild serenity which had always distinguished him. He seemed like one who had overcome the world, who had conquered worldly ambition and worldly passion, and had passed beyond the reach of revenge. Cazeneau saw this. He rose from his seat, and fell at the feet of Père Michel. "Pardon," he faltered; "Comte de Montresor, do not pursue a fallen man with your vengeance." At this unexpected exhibition, all present looked with scorn. They had known Cazeneau to be cruel and unscrupulous; they had not suspected that he was cowardly as well. Père Michel also preserved an unchanged demeanor. "You are mistaken, Cazeneau," he said. "I feel no desire for vengeance. I seek none. Moreover, I have no influence or authority. You must direct your prayers elsewhere." Upon this the wretched man turned to Florian. "Come, come," said Florian, impatiently. "This will never do. Rise, monsieur. Remember that you are a Frenchman. Bear up like a man. For my part, I can do nothing for you, and have to obey orders." Cazeneau's break down was utter, and effectually destroyed all sympathy. His present weakness was compared with his late vindictiveness, and he who had just refused mercy to others could hardly gain pity on himself. He only succeeded in utterly disgracing himself, without inspiring a particle of commiseration. Still Florian was not cruel, and contented himself with keeping his prisoner in a room in the Residency, satisfied that there was no possibility of escape. Some of the officers, however, were loud in their condemnation of Florian's mildness, and asserted that the dungeon and the chains, which had been inflicted by him on the Montresors, should be his doom also. But Florian thought otherwise, and held him thus a prisoner until the Vengeur returned. Then Cazeneau was sent back to be tried and convicted. His life was spared; but he was cast down to hopeless degradation and want, in which state his existence ultimately terminated. Before the scene with Cazeneau was over, Claude had gone away and found his wife. Already Mimi's strength had begun to return, and her new-born hope, and the rush of her great happiness, coming, as it did, after so much misery and despair, served to restore her rapidly. "I should have died if this had lasted one day more," said she. "But now it is all over, Mimi, dearest," said Claude, "and you must live for me. This moment repays me for all my sufferings." "And for mine," sighed Mimi. Margot saw that her mistress had for the present an attendant who was more serviceable than herself, and now all her thoughts turned to that faithful friend whom she had been compelled for the time to leave, but whom she had not for one moment forgotten. She waited patiently till she could get a chance to speak to Claude, and then told him what he did not know yet--that Zac was still a prisoner. At that intelligence, his own happiness did not allow him to delay to serve his friend. He at once hurried forth to see De Brisset. To him he explained Zac's position in such forcible language, that De Brisset at once issued an order for the release of himself and his schooner, without any conditions, and the recall of his seamen. To make the act more complete, the order was committed to Margot, who was sent in the ship's boat to the schooner. On the arrival of this boat, Zac seemed quite indifferent to the safety of the schooner, and only aware of the presence of Margot. He held her hand, and stood looking at her with moistened eyes, until after the seamen of the Vengeur had gone. Terry looked away; Jericho vanished below, with vague plans about a great supper. Biler gazed upon Louisbourg with a pensive eye and a half-eaten turnip. "I knowed you'd be back, little un," said Zac; "I felt it; an', now you've come, don't go away agin." "O, but I haf to go to ze comtesse," said Margot; "zat ees--to-day--" "Go back to the countess! Why, you ain't goin' to give me up--air you?" said Zac, dolefully. "O, no, not eef you don't want me to," said Margot. "But to-day I moos go to ze comtesse, an' afterward you sall ask her, eef you want me." At this, which was spoken in a timid, hesitating way, Zac took her in his arms, and gave her a tremendous smack, which Terry tried hard not to hear. "Wal," said he, "thar's Père Michel, that's a Moosoo an' a Roman Catholic; but he'll do." "O, but you moos not talk of Père Michel till you see ze comtesse," said Margot; "an' now I sall tank you to take me back to her, or send me back by one of de men." Zac did not send her back, but took her back to the shore himself. Then the fortifications of Louisbourg--the dread and bugbear of all New England--closed him in; but Zac noticed nothing of these. It was only Margot whom he saw; and he took her to the citadel, to the Residency. On his arrival, Claude came forth to greet him, with beaming eyes and open arms. Père Michel greeted him, also, with affectionate cordiality. For the simple Yankee had won the priest's heart, as well on account of his own virtues as for his son's sake. He also took enough interest in him to note his dealings with Margot, and to suggest to him, in a sly way, that, under the circumstances, although Zac was a bigoted Protestant, a Roman Catholic priest could do just as well as a Protestant parson. Whereupon Zac went off with a broad grin, that lasted for weeks. The postponement of Florian's departure caused some disappointment to that worthy gentleman, which, however, was alleviated by the thought that he had been able to benefit his injured friend, and bring a villain to punishment; and also by the thought that his departure to France would not be long delayed. To those friends he devoted himself, and sought by every means in his power to make their recollections of Louisbourg more pleasant than they had thus far been. Claude, and his bride, and his father were honored guests at the Residency, where they were urged to remain as long as they could content themselves, and until they could decide about their future movements. For now, though the name of Montresor had been redeemed, and justice had at last been done, it was not easy for them to decide about their future movements. Père Michel, after some thought, had at length made up his mind, and had given Claude the benefit of his opinion and his advice. "I have made up my mind," said he. "I will never go back to France. What can I do in France? As a French noble, I should be powerless; as a priest, useless. France is corrupt to the heart's core. The government is corrupt. The whole head is sick, the whole heart faint. Ministry succeeds to ministry, not by means of ability, not from patriotism or a public spirit, but simply through corrupt favoritism. There are no statesmen in France. They are all courtiers. In that court every man is ready to sell himself for money. There is no sense of honor. At the head of all is the worst of all, the king himself, who sets an example of sin and iniquity, which is followed by all the nation. The peasantry are slaves, trodden in the dust, without hope and without spirit. The nobles are obsequious time-servers and place-hunters. The old sentiment of chivalry is dead. I will never go to such a country. Here, in this land, where I have lived the best part of my life, I intend to remain, to labor among these simple Acadians, and these children of the forest, and to die among them. "As for you, my son, France is no place for you. The proper place for you, if you wish to lead a virtuous and honorable life, is among the people who look upon you as one of themselves, with whom you have been brought up. Your religion, my son, is different from mine; but we worship the same God, believe in the same Bible, put our trust in the same Saviour, and hope for the same heaven. What can France give you that can be equal to what you have in New England? She can give you simply honors, but with these the deadly poison of her own corruption, and a future full of awful peril. But in New England you have a virgin country. There all men are free. There you have no nobility. There are no down-trodden peasants, but free farmers. Every man has his own rights, and knows how to maintain them. You have been brought up to be the free citizen of a free country. Enough. Why wish to be a noble in a nation of slaves? Take your name of Montresor, if you wish. It is yours now, and free from stain. Remember, also, if you wish, the glory of your ancestors, and let that memory inspire you to noble actions. But remain in New England, and cast in your lot with the citizens of your own free, adopted land." Such were the words of the priest, and Claude's training had been such that they chimed in altogether with his own tastes. He did not feel himself entirely capable of playing the part of a noble in such a country as that France which his father described; of associating with such a society, or of courting the favor of such a king. Besides, his religion was the religion of his mother: and her fate was a sufficient warning. And so it was that Claude resolved to give up all thoughts of France, and return to the humble New England farm. If from the wreck of the Montresor fortunes anything should be restored, he felt that he could employ it better in his own home than in the home of his fathers; while the estate of Laborde, which Mimi would inherit, would double his own means, and give him new resources. This, then, was his final decision; and, though it caused much surprise to Florian, he did not attempt to oppose it. Mimi raised no objection. She had no ties in France; and wherever her husband might be was welcome to her. And so Zac was informed that Claude would hire his schooner once more, to convey himself and his wife back to Boston, together with his father, who, at their urgent solicitation, consented to pay them a visit. But Zac had purposes of his own, which had to be accomplished before setting forth on his return. He wished to secure the services of Père Michel, which services were readily offered; and Zac and Margot were made one in the very chapel which had witnessed the marriage of Claude and Mimi. 
21696	----	RED ROONEY, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE. A Tale of Eskimo (Innuit) Life in Greenland at the end of the Eighteenth Century. CHAPTER ONE. THE LAST OF THE CREW. LOST AND FOUND. There is a particular spot in those wild regions which lie somewhere near the northern parts of Baffin's Bay, where Nature seems to have set up her workshop for the manufacture of icebergs, where Polar bears, in company with seals and Greenland whales, are wont to gambol, and where the family of Jack Frost may be said to have taken permanent possession of the land. One winter day, in the early part of the eighteenth century, a solitary man might have been seen in that neighbourhood, travelling on foot over the frozen sea in a staggering, stumbling, hurried manner, as if his powers, though not his will, were exhausted. The man's hairy garb of grey sealskin might have suggested that he was a denizen of those northern wilds, had not the colour of his face, his brown locks, and his bushy beard, betokened him a native of a very different region. Although possessing a broad and stalwart frame, his movements indicated, as we have said, excessive weakness. A morsel of ice in his path, that would have been no impediment even to a child, caused him to stumble. Recovering himself, with an evidently painful effort, he continued to advance with quick, yet wavering steps. There was, however, a strange mixture of determination with his feebleness. Energy and despair seemed to be conjoined in his look and action--and no wonder, for Red Rooney, although brave and resolute by nature, was alone in that Arctic wilderness, and reduced to nearly the last extremity by fatigue and famine. For some days--how many he scarcely remembered--he had maintained life by chewing a bit of raw sealskin as he travelled over the frozen waste; but this source of strength had at last been consumed, and he was now sinking from absolute want. The indomitable spirit of the man, however, kept his weakened body moving, even after the mind had begun to sink into that dreamy, lethargic state which is said to indicate the immediate approach of death, and there was still a red spot in each of his pale and hollow cheeks, as well as an eager gleam of hope in his sunken eyes; for the purpose that Red Rooney had in view was to reach the land. It was indeed a miserably faint hope that urged the poor fellow on, for the desolate shore of Western Greenland offered little better prospect of shelter than did the ice-clad sea; but, as in the case of the drowning man, he clutched at this miserable straw of hope, and held on for life. There was the bare possibility that some of the migratory Eskimos might be there, or, if not, that some scraps of their food--some bits of refuse, even a few bones--might be found. Death, he felt, was quickly closing with him on the sea. The great enemy might, perhaps, be fought with and kept at bay for a time if he could only reach the land. Encouraging himself with such thoughts, he pushed on, but again stumbled and fell--this time at full length. He lay quiet for a few seconds. It was so inexpressibly sweet to _rest_, and feel the worn-out senses floating away, as it were, into dreamland! But the strong will burst the tightening bands of death, and, rising once more, with the exclamation, "God help me!" he resumed his weary march. All around him the great ocean was covered with its coat of solid, unbroken ice; for although winter was past, and the sun of early spring was at the time gleaming on bergs that raised their battlements and pinnacles into a bright blue sky, the hoary king of the far north refused as yet to resign his sceptre and submit to the interregnum of the genial sun. A large hummock or ridge of ice lay in front of the man, blocking his view of the horizon in that direction. It had probably been heaved up by one of the convulsions of the previous autumn, and was broken into a chaotic mass. Here he stopped and looked up, with a sigh. But the sinking of the heart was momentary. Deep snow had so filled up the crevices of the shattered blocks that it was possible to advance slowly by winding in and out among them. As the ascent grew steeper the forlorn man dropped on all-fours and crawled upwards until he reached the top. The view that burst upon him would have roused enthusiasm if his situation had been less critical. Even as it was, an exclamation of surprise broke from him, for there, not five miles distant, was the coast of Greenland; desolate, indeed, and ice-bound--he had expected that--but inexpressibly grand even in its desolation. A mighty tongue of a great glacier protruded itself into the frozen sea. The tip of this tongue had been broken off, and the edge presented a gigantic wall of crystal several hundred feet high, on which the sun glittered in blinding rays. This tongue--a mere offshoot of the great glacier itself--filled a valley full ten miles in length, measuring from its tip in the ocean to its root on the mountain brow, where the snow-line was seen to cut sharply against the sky. For some minutes Red Rooney sat on one of the ice-blocks, gazing with intense eagerness along the shore, in the hope of discerning smoke or some other evidence of man's presence. But nothing met his disappointed gaze save the same uniform, interminable waste of white and grey, with here and there a few dark frowning patches where the cliffs were too precipitous to sustain the snow. Another despairing sigh rose to the man's lips, but these refused to give it passage. With stern resolve he arose and stumbled hurriedly forward. The strain, however, proved too great. On reaching the level ice on the other side of the ridge he fell, apparently for the last time, and lay perfectly still. Ah! how many must have fallen thus, to rise no more, since men first began to search out the secrets of that grand mysterious region! But Red Rooney was not doomed to be among those who have perished there. Not far from the spot where he fell, one of the short but muscular and hairy-robed denizens of that country was busily engaged in removing the skin from a Polar bear which he had just succeeded in spearing, after a combat which very nearly cost him his life. During the heat of the battle the brave little man's foot had slipped, and the desperately wounded monster, making a rush at the moment, overturned him into a crevice between two ice-blocks, fortunately the impetus of the rush caused the animal to shoot into another crevice beyond, and the man, proving more active than the bear, sprang out of his hole in time to meet his foe with a spear-thrust so deadly that it killed him on the spot. Immediately he began to skin the animal, intending to go home with the skin, and return with a team of dogs for the meat and the carcass of a recently-caught seal. Meanwhile, having removed and packed up the bear-skin, he swung it on his broad shoulders, and made for the shore as fast as his short legs would carry him. On the way he came to the spot where the fallen traveller lay. His first act was to open his eyes to the uttermost, and, considering the small, twinkling appearance of those eyes just a minute before, the change was marvellous. "Hoi!" then burst from him with tremendous emphasis, after which he dropped his bundle, turned poor Rooney over on his back, and looked at his face with an expression of awe. "Dead!" said the Eskimo, under his breath--in his own tongue, of course, not in English, of which, we need scarcely add, he knew nothing. After feeling the man's breast, under his coat, for a few seconds, he murmured the word "Kablunet" (foreigner), and shook his head mournfully. It was not so much grief for the man's fate that agitated this child of the northern wilderness, as regret at his own bad fortune. Marvellous were the reports which from the south of Greenland had reached him, in his far northern home, of the strange Kablunets or foreigners who had arrived there to trade with the Eskimos--men who, so the reports went, wore smooth coats without hair, little round things on their heads instead of hoods, and flapping things on their legs instead of sealskin boots--men who had come in monster kayaks (canoes), as big as icebergs; men who seemed to possess everything, had the power to do anything, and feared nothing. No fabrications in the _Arabian Nights_, or _Gulliver_, or _Baron Munchausen_, ever transcended the stories about those Kablunets which had reached this broad, short, sturdy Eskimo--stories which no doubt began in the south of Greenland with a substratum of truth, but which, in travelling several hundreds of miles northward, had grown, as a snowball might have grown if rolled the same distance over the Arctic wastes; with this difference--that whereas the snowball would have retained its original shape, though not its size, the tales lost not only their pristine form and size, but became so amazingly distorted that the original reporters would probably have failed to recognise them. And now, at last, here was actually a Kablunet--a _real_ foreigner in the body; but not alive! It was extremely disappointing! Our sturdy Eskimo, however, was not a good judge of Kablunet vitality. He was yet rubbing the man's broad chest, with a sort of pathetic pity, when a flutter of the heart startled him. He rubbed with more vigour. He became excited, and, seizing Red Rooney by the arms, shook him with considerable violence, the result being that the foreigner opened his eyes and looked at him inquiringly. "Hallo, my lad," said Rooney, in a faint voice; "not quite so hard. I'm all right. Just help me up, like a good fellow." He spoke in English, which was, of course, a waste of breath in the circumstances. In proof of his being "all right," he fell back again, and fainted away. The Eskimo leaped up. He was one of those energetic beings who seem to know in all emergencies what is best to be done, and do it promptly. Unrolling the bear-skin, which yet retained a little of its first owner's warmth, he wrapped the Kablunet in it from head to foot, leaving an opening in front of his mouth for breathing purposes. With his knife--a stone one--he cut off a little lump of blubber from the seal, and placed that in the opening, so that the stranger might eat on reviving, if so inclined, or let it alone, if so disposed. Then, turning his face towards the land, he scurried away over the ice like a hunted partridge, or a hairy ball driven before an Arctic breeze. He made such good use of his short legs that in less than an hour he reached a little hut, which seemed to nestle under the wing of a great cliff in order to avoid destruction by the glittering walls of an impending glacier. The hut had no proper doorway, but a tunnel-shaped entrance, about three feet high and several feet long. Falling on his knees, the Eskimo crept into the tunnel and disappeared. Gaining the inner end of it, he stood up and glared, speechless, at his astonished wife. She had cause for surprise, for never since their wedding-day had Nuna beheld such an expression on the fat face of her amiable husband. "Okiok," she said, "have you seen an evil spirit?" "No," he replied. "Why, then, do you glare?" Of course Nuna spoke in choice Eskimo, which we render into English with as much fidelity to the native idiom as seems consistent with the agreeable narration of our tale. "Hoi!" exclaimed Okiok, in reply to her question, but without ceasing to glare and breathe hard. "Has my husband become a walrus, that he can only shout and snort?" inquired Nuna, with the slightest possible twinkle in her eyes, as she raised herself out of the lamp-smoke, and laid down the stick with which she had been stirring the contents of a stone pot. Instead of answering the question, Okiok turned to two chubby and staring youths, of about fifteen and sixteen respectively, who were mending spears, and said sharply, "Norrak, Ermigit, go, harness the dogs." Norrak rose with a bound, and dived into the tunnel. Ermigit, although willing enough, was not quite so sharp. As he crawled into the tunnel and was disappearing, his father sent his foot in the same direction, and, having thus intimated the necessity for urgent haste, he turned again to his wife with a somewhat softened expression. "Give me food, Nuna. Little food has passed into me since yesterday at sunrise. I starve. When I have eaten, you shall hear words that will make you dream for a moon. I have seen,"--he became solemn at this point, and lowered his voice to a whisper as he advanced his head and glared again--"I have seen a--a--Kablunet!" He drew back and gazed at his wife as connoisseurs are wont to do when examining a picture. And truly Nuna's countenance _was_ a picture-round, fat, comely, oily, also open-mouthed and eyed, with unbounded astonishment depicted thereon; for she thoroughly believed her husband, knowing that he was upright and never told lies. Her mental condition did not, however, interfere with her duties. A wooden slab or plate, laden with a mess of broiled meat, soon smoked before her lord. He quickly seated himself on a raised platform, and had done some justice to it before Nuna recovered the use of her tongue. "A Kablunet!" she exclaimed, almost solemnly. "Is he dead?" Okiok paused, with a lump of blubber in his fingers close to his mouth. "No; he is alive. At least he was alive when I left him. If he has not died since, he is alive still." Having uttered this truism, he thrust the blubber well home, and continued his meal. Nuna's curiosity, having been aroused, was not easily allayed. She sat down beside her spouse, and plied him with numerous questions, to which Okiok gave her brief and very tantalising replies until he was gorged, when, throwing down the platter, he turned abruptly to his wife, and said impressively-- "Open your ears, Nuna. Okiok is no longer what he was. He has been born only to-day. He has at last seen with his two eyes--a Kablunet!" He paused to restrain his excitement. His wife clasped her hands and looked at him excitedly, waiting for more. "This Kablunet," he continued, "is very white, and not so ruddy as we have been told they are. His hair is brown, and twists in little circles. He wears it on the top of his head, and on the bottom of his head also--all round. He is not small or short. No; he is long and broad,--but he is thin, very thin, like the young ice at the beginning of winter. His eyes are the colour of the summer sky. His nose is like the eagle's beak, but not so long. His mouth--I know not what his mouth is like; it is hid in a nest of hair. His words I understand not. They seem to me nonsense, but his voice is soft and deep." "And his dress--how does he dress?" asked Nuna, with natural feminine curiosity. "Like ourselves," replied Okiok, with a touch of disappointment in his tone. "The men who said the Kablunets wear strange things on their heads and long flapping things on their legs told lies." "Why did you not bring him here?" asked Nuna, after a few moments' meditation on these marvels. "Because he is too heavy to lift, and too weak to walk. He has been starving. I wrapped him in the skin of a bear, and left him with a piece of blubber at his nose. When he wakes up he will smell; then he will eat. Perhaps he will live; perhaps he will die. Who can tell? I go to fetch him." As the Eskimo spoke, the yelping of dogs outside told that his sons had obeyed his commands, and got ready the sledge. Without another word he crept out of the hut and jumped on the sledge, which was covered with two or three warm bearskins. Ermigit restrained the dogs, of which there were about eight, each fastened to the vehicle by a single line. Norrak handed his father the short-handled but heavy, long-lashed whip. Okiok looked at Norrak as he grasped the instrument of punishment. "Jump on," he said. Norrak did so with evident good-will. The whip flashed in the air with a serpentine swing, and went off like a pistol. The dogs yelled in alarm, and, springing away at full speed, were soon lost among the hummocks of the Arctic sea. CHAPTER TWO. DESCRIBES A RESCUE AND A HAPPY FAMILY. While the Eskimos were thus rushing to his rescue, poor Red Rooney-- whose shipmates, we may explain at once, had thus contracted his Christian name of Reginald--began to recover from his swoon, and to wonder in a listless fashion where he was. Feeling comparatively comfortable in his bear-skin, he did not at first care to press the inquiry; but, as Okiok had anticipated, the peculiar smell near his nose tended to arouse him. Drawing his hand gently up, he touched the object in front of his mouth. It felt very like blubber, with which substance he was familiar. Extending his tongue, he found that it also tasted like blubber. To a starving man this was enough. He pulled the end of the raw morsel into his mouth and began to chew. Ah, reader, turn not up your refined nose! When you have been for several months on short allowance, when you have scraped every shred of meat off the very last bones of your provisions, and sucked out the last drop of marrow, and then roasted and eaten your spare boots, you may perhaps be in a position to estimate and enjoy a morsel of raw blubber. Regardless of time, place, and circumstance, our poor wanderer continued to chew until in his great weakness he fell into a sort of half slumber, and dreamed--dreamed of feasting on viands more delightful than the waking imagination of man has ever conceived. From this state of bliss he was rudely awakened by a roughish poke in the back. The poke was accompanied by a snuffing sound which caused the blood of the poor man to curdle. Could it be a bear? He was not left long in doubt. After giving him another poke on the shoulder, the creature walked round him, snuffing as it went, and, on reaching the air-hole already referred to, thrust its snout in and snorted. Rooney turned his face aside to avoid the blast, but otherwise lay quite still, knowing well that whatever animal his visitor might be, his only hope lay in absolute inaction. Venturing in a few seconds to turn his face round and peep through the opening, he found that the animal was in very deed a large white bear, which, having found and abstracted the remains of the blubber he had been chewing, was at that moment licking its lips after swallowing it. Of course, finding the morsel satisfactory, the bear returned to the hole for more. It is easier to conceive than to describe the poor man's feelings at that moment, therefore we leave the reader to conceive them. The natural and desperate tendency to spring up and defend himself had to be combated by the certain knowledge that, encased as he was, he could not spring up, and had nothing wherewith to defend himself except his fingers, which were no match for the claws of a Polar bear. The blood which a moment before had begun apparently to curdle, now seemed turned into liquid fire; and when the snout again entered and touched his own, he could contain himself no longer, but gave vent to a yell, which caused the startled bear to draw sharply back in alarm. Probably it had never heard a yell through the medium of its nose before, and every one must know how strong is the influence of a new sensation. For some minutes the monster stood in silent contemplation of the mysterious hole. Rooney of course lay perfectly still. The success of his involuntary explosion encouraged hope. What the bear might have done next we cannot tell, for at that moment a shout was heard. It was followed by what seemed a succession of pistol shots and the howling of dogs. It was the arrival of Okiok on the scene with his sledge and team. Never was an arrival more opportune. The bear looked round with a distinct expression of indignation on his countenance. Possibly the voice of Okiok was familiar to him. It may be that relations or friends of that bear had mysteriously disappeared after the sounding of that voice. Perhaps the animal in whose skin Rooney was encased had been a brother. At all events, the increasing hullabaloo of the approaching Eskimo had the effect of intimidating the animal, for it retired quickly, though with evident sulkiness, from the scene. A few seconds more, and Okiok dashed up, leaped from his vehicle, left the panting team to the control of Norrak, and ran eagerly to the prostrate figure. Unwrapping the head so as to set it free, the Eskimo saw with intense satisfaction that the Kablunet was still alive. He called at once to Norrak, who fetched from the sledge a platter made of a seal's shoulder-blade, on which was a mass of cooked food. This he presented to the starving man, who, with a look of intense gratitude, but with no words, eagerly ate it up. The Eskimo and his son meanwhile stood looking at him with an expression of mingled interest, awe, and surprise on their round faces. When the meal was ended, Red Rooney, heaving a deep sigh of satisfaction, said, "Thank God, and thank _you_, my friends!" There was reason for the increase of surprise with which this was received by the two natives, for this time the foreigner spoke to them in their own language. "Is the Kablunet a messenger from heaven," asked Okiok, with increased solemnity, "that he speaks with the tongue of the Innuit?" "No, my friend," replied Rooney, with a faint smile; "I bring no message either from heaven or anywhere else. I'm only a wrecked seaman. But, after a fashion, you are messengers from heaven to _me_, and the message you bring is that I'm not to die just yet. If it had not been for you, my friends, it strikes me I should have been dead by this time. As to my speaking your lingo, it's no mystery. I've learned it by livin' a long time wi' the traders in the south of Greenland, and I suppose I've got a sort o' talent that way; d'ye see?" Red Rooney delivered these remarks fluently in a curious sort of Eskimo language; but we have rendered it into that kind of English which the wrecked seaman was in the habit of using--chiefly because by so doing we shall give the reader a more correct idea of the character of the man. "We are very glad to see you," returned Okiok. "We have heard of you for many moons. We have wished for you very hard. Now you have come, we will treat you well." "Are your huts far off?" asked the seaman anxiously. "Not far. They are close to the ice-mountain--on the land." "Take me to them, then, like a good fellow, for I'm dead-beat, and stand much in need of rest." The poor man was so helpless that he could not walk to the sledge when they unrolled him. It seemed as if his power of will and energy had collapsed at the very moment of his rescue. Up to that time the fear of death had urged him on, but now, feeling that he was, comparatively speaking, safe, he gave way to the languor which had so long oppressed him, and thus, the impulse of the will being removed, he suddenly became as helpless as an infant. Seeing his condition, the father and son lifted him on the sledge, wrapped him in skins, and drove back to the huts at full speed. Nuna was awaiting them outside, with eager eyes and beating heart, for the discovery of a real live Kablunet was to her an object of as solemn and anxious curiosity as the finding of a veritable living ghost might be to a civilised man. But Nuna was not alone. There were two other members of the household present, who had been absent when Okiok first arrived, and whom we will now introduce to the reader. One was Nuna's only daughter, an exceedingly pretty girl--according to Eskimo notions of female beauty. She was seventeen years of age, black-eyed, healthily-complexioned, round-faced, sweet-expressioned, comfortably stout, and unusually graceful--for an Eskimo. Among her other charms, modesty and good-nature shone conspicuous. She was in all respects a superior counterpart of her mother, and her name was Nunaga. Nuna was small, Nunaga was smaller. Nuna was comparatively young, Nunaga was necessarily younger. The former was kind, the latter was kinder. The mother was graceful and pretty, the daughter was more graceful and prettier. Nuna wore her hair gathered on the top of her head into a high top-knot, Nunaga wore a higher top-knot. In regard to costume, Nuna wore sealskin boots the whole length of her legs--which were not long--and a frock or skirt reaching nearly to her knees, with a short tail in front and a long tail behind; Nunaga, being similarly clothed, had a shorter tail in front and a longer tail behind. It may be interesting to note here that Eskimos are sometimes named because of qualities possessed, or appearance, or peculiar circumstances connected with them. The word Nuna signifies "land" in Eskimo. We cannot tell why this particular lady was named Land, unless it were that she was born on the land, and not on the ice; or perhaps because she was so nice that when any man came into her company he might have thought that he had reached the land of his hopes, and was disposed to settle down there and remain. Certainly many of the Eskimo young men seemed to be of that mind until Okiok carried her off in triumph. And let us tell you, reader, that a good and pretty woman is as much esteemed among the Eskimos as among ourselves. We do not say that she is better treated; neither do we hint that she is sometimes treated worse. The Eskimo word Nunaga signifies "_my_ land," and was bestowed by Okiok on his eldest-born in a flood of tenderness at her birth. Apologising for this philological digression, we proceed. Besides Nuna and Nunaga there was a baby boy--a fat, oily, contented boy--without a name at that time, and without a particle of clothing of any sort, his proper condition of heat being maintained when out of doors chiefly by being carried between his mother's dress and her shoulders; also by being stuffed to repletion with blubber. The whole family cried out vigorously with delight, in various keys, when the team came yelping home with the Kablunet. Even the baby gave a joyous crow--in Eskimo. But the exclamations were changed to pity when the Kablunet was assisted to rise, and staggered feebly towards the hut, even when supported by Okiok and his sons. The sailor was not ignorant of Eskimo ways. His residence in South Greenland had taught him many things. He dropped, therefore, quite naturally--indeed gladly--on his hands and knees on coming to the mouth of the tunnel, and crept slowly into the hut, followed by the whole family, except Ermigit, who was left to unfasten the dogs. The weather at the time was by no means cold, for spring was rapidly advancing; nevertheless, to one who had been so reduced in strength, the warmth of the Eskimo hut was inexpressibly grateful. With a great sigh of relief the rescued man flung himself on the raised part of the floor on which Eskimos are wont to sit and sleep. "Thank God, and again I thank _you_, my friends!" he said, repeating the phrase which he had already used, for the sudden change from despair to hope, from all but death to restored life, had filled his heart with gratitude. "You are weary?" said Okiok. "Ay, ay--very weary; well-nigh to death," he replied. "Will the Kablunet sleep?" asked Nuna, pointing to a couch of skins close behind the seaman. Rooney looked round. "Thankee; yes, I will." He crept to the couch, and dropped upon it, with his head resting on an eider-down pillow. Like a tired infant, his eyes closed, and he was asleep almost instantaneously. Seeing this, the Eskimos began to move about with care, and to speak in whispers, though it was needless caution, for in his condition the man would probably have continued to sleep through the wildest thunderstorm. Even when baby, tumbling headlong off the elevated floor, narrowly missed spiking himself on a walrus spear, and set up a yell that might have startled the stone deaf, the wearied Kablunet did not move. Okiok did, however. He moved smartly towards the infant, caught him by the throat, and almost strangled him in a fierce attempt to keep him quiet. "Stupid tumbler!" he growled--referring to the child's general and awkward habit of falling--"Can't you shut your mouth?" Curious similarity between the thoughts and words of civilised and savage man in similar circumstances! And it is interesting to note the truth of what the song says:-- "We little know what great things from little things may rise." From that slight incident the Eskimo child derived his future name of "Tumbler"! We forget what the precise Eskimo term is, but the English equivalent will do as well. When supper-time arrived that night, Okiok and Nuna consulted as to whether they should waken their guest, or let him lie still--for, from the instant he lay down, he had remained without the slightest motion, save the slow, regular heaving of his broad chest. "Let him sleep. He is tired," said Okiok. "But he must be hungry, and he is weak," said Nuna. "He can feed when he wakens," returned the man, admiring his guest as a collector might admire a foreign curiosity which he had just found. "Kablunets sleep sounder than Eskimos," remarked the woman. "Stupid one! Your head is thick, like the skull of the walrus," said the man. "Don't you see that it is because he is worn-out?" Eskimos are singularly simple and straightforward in their speech. They express their opinions with the utmost candour, and without the slightest intention of hurting each other's feelings. Nuna took no offence at her husband's plain speaking, but continued to gaze with a gratified expression at the stranger. And sooth to say Reginald Rooney was a pleasant object for contemplation, as well as a striking contrast to the men with whom Nuna had been hitherto associated. His brow was broad; the nose, which had been compared to the eagle's beak, was in reality a fine aquiline; the mouth, although partially concealed by a brown drooping moustache, was well formed, large, and firm; the beard bushy, and the hair voluminous as well as curly. Altogether, this poor castaway was as fine a specimen of a British tar as one could wish to see, despite his wasted condition and his un-British garb. It was finally decided to leave him undisturbed, and the Eskimo family took care while supping to eat their food in comparative silence. Usually the evening meal was a noisy, hilarious festival, at which Okiok and Norrak and Ermigit were wont to relate the various incidents of the day's hunt, with more or less of exaggeration, not unmingled with fun, and only a little of that shameless boasting which is too strong a characteristic of the North American Indian. The women of the household were excellent listeners; also splendid laughers, and Tumbler was unrivalled in the matter of crowing, so that noise as well as feasting was usually the order of the night. But on this great occasion that was all changed. The feasting was done in dead silence; and another very striking peculiarity of the occasion was that, while the six pairs of jaws kept moving with unflagging pertinacity, the twelve wide-open eyes kept glaring with unwinking intensity at the sleeping man. Indeed this unwavering glare continued long after supper was over, for each member of the family lay down to rest with his or her face towards the stranger, and kept up the glare until irresistible Nature closed the lids and thus put out the eyes, like the stars of morning, one by one; perhaps it would be more strictly correct to say two by two. Okiok and his wife were the last to succumb. Long after the others were buried in slumber, these two sat up by the lamp-light, solacing themselves with little scraps and tit-bits of walrus during the intervals of whispered conversation. "What shall we do with him?" asked Okiok, after a brief silence. "Keep him," replied Nuna, with decision. "But we cannot force him to stay." "He cannot travel alone," said Nuna, "and we will not help him to go." "We are not the only Innuits in all the land. Others will help him if we refuse." This was so obvious that the woman could not reply, but gazed for some time in perplexity at the lamp-smoke. And really there was much inspiration to be derived from the lamp-smoke, for the wick being a mass of moss steeped in an open cup of seal-oil, the smoke of it rose in varied convolutions that afforded almost as much scope for suggestive contemplation as our familiar coal-fires. Suddenly the little woman glanced at her slumbering household, cast a meaning look at her husband, and laughed--silently of course. "Has Nuna become a fool that she laughs at nothing?" demanded Okiok simply. Instead of replying to the well-meant though impolite question, Nuna laughed again, and looked into the dark corner where the pretty little round face of Nunaga was dimly visible, with the eyes shut, and the little mouth wide-open. "We will marry him to Nunaga," she said, suddenly becoming grave. "Pooh!" exclaimed Okiok--or some expression equivalent to that--"Marry Nunaga to a Kablunet? Never! Do you not know that Angut wants her?" It was evident from the look of surprise with which Nuna received this piece of information that she was _not_ aware of Angut's aspirations, and it was equally evident from the perplexed expression that followed that her hastily-conceived little matrimonial speculation had been knocked on the head. After this their thoughts either strayed into other channels, or became too deep for utterance, for they conversed no more, but soon joined the rest of the family in the realms of oblivion. CHAPTER THREE. OUR HERO AND HIS FRIENDS BECOME FAMILIAR. It was a fine balmy brilliant morning when Red Rooney awoke from the most refreshing sleep he had enjoyed for many a day, gazed thoughtfully up at the blackened roof of the Eskimo hut, and wondered where he was. There was nothing that met his eyes to recall his scattered senses, for all the members of the family had gone out to their various avocations, and one of them having thrust a sealskin into the hole in the wall which served for a window the sun found admittance only through crevices, and but faintly illumined the interior. The poor man felt intensely weak, yet delightfully restful--so much so that mere curiosity seemed to have died within him, and he was content to lie still and think of whatever his wayward mind chose to fasten on, or not to think at all, if his mind saw fit to adopt that course in its vagaries. In short, he felt as if he had no more control over his thoughts than a man in a dream, and was quite satisfied that it should be so. As his eyes became accustomed to the dim light, however, he began slowly to perceive that the walls around him were made of rough unhewn stone, that the rafters were of drift timber, and the roof of moss, or something like it; but the whole was so thickly coated with soot as to present a uniform appearance of blackness. He also saw, from the position in which he lay, a stone vessel, like a primitive classical lamp, with a wick projecting from its lip, but no flame. Several skulls of large animals lay on the floor within the range of his vision, and some sealskin and other garments hung on pegs of bone driven into the wall. Just opposite to him was the entrance to the tunnel, which formed the passage or corridor of the mansion, and within it gleamed a subdued light which entered from the outer end. Rooney knew that he saw these things, and took note of them, yet if you had asked him what he had seen it is probable that he would have been unable to tell--so near had he approached to the confines of that land from which no traveller returns. Heaving a deep sigh, the man uttered the words, "Thank God!" for the third time within the last four-and-twenty hours. It was an appropriate prelude to his sinking into that mysterious region of oblivion in which the mind of worn-out man finds rest, and out of which it can be so familiarly yet mysteriously summoned--sometimes by his own pre-determination, but more frequently by a fellow-mortal. He had not lain long thus when the tunnel was suddenly darkened by an advancing body, which proved to be the mistress of the mansion. Nuna, on thrusting her head into the interior, looked inquiringly up before venturing to rise. After a good stare at the slumbering Kablunet, she went cautiously towards the window and removed the obstruction. A flood of light was let in, which illumined, but did not awaken, the sleeper. Cautiously and on tip-toe the considerate little woman went about her household duties, but with her eyes fixed, as if in fascination, on her interesting guest. It is at all times an awkward as well as a dangerous mode of proceeding, to walk in one direction and look in another. In crossing the hut, Nuna fell over a walrus skull, upset the lamp, and sent several other articles of furniture against the opposite wall with a startling crash. The poor creature did not rise. She was too much overwhelmed with shame. She merely turned her head as she lay, and cast a horrified gaze at the sleeper. To her great joy she saw that Red Rooney had not been disturbed. He slept through it all with the placidity of an infant. Much relieved, the little woman got up, and moved about more freely. She replenished the lamp with oil, and kindled it. Then she proceeded to roast and fry and grill bear ribs, seal chops, and walrus steaks with a dexterity that was quite marvellous, considering the rude culinary implements with which she had to deal. In a short time breakfast was prepared, and Nuna went out to announce the fact. Slowly and with the utmost caution each member of the family crept in, and, before rising, cast the same admiring, inquiring, partially awe-stricken gaze at the unconscious Kablunet. Okiok, Nunaga, Norrak, Ermigit, and Tumbler all filed in, and sat down in solemn silence. Okiok took Tumbler on his knee, so as to be ready to throttle him on the shortest notice if he should venture to cry, or even crow. But as the best of human arrangements often fail through unforeseen circumstances, so the quietude was broken a second time that morning unexpectedly. One of the hungry dogs outside, rendered desperate by the delicious fumes that issued from the hut, took heart, dashed in, caught up a mass of blubber, and attempted to make off. A walrus rib, however, from Norrak's unerring hand, caught him on the haunch as he entered the tunnel, and caused him to utter such a piercing howl that Red Rooney not only awoke, but sat bolt upright, and gazed at the horrified Eskimos inquiringly. Evidently the seaman was touched with a sense of the ludicrous, for he merely smiled and lay down again. But he did not try to sleep. Having been by that time thoroughly refreshed, he began to sniff the scent of savoury food as the war-horse is said to scent the battle from afar-- that is, with an intense longing to "go at it." Okiok, guessing the state of his feelings, brought him a walrus rib. Red Rooney accepted it, and began to eat at once without the use of knife or fork. "Thankee, friend. It's the same I'll do for yourself if you ever come to starvation point when I've got a crust to spare." Charmed beyond measure at hearing their native tongue from the mouth of a foreigner, the stare of the whole party became more intense, and for a few moments they actually ceased to chew--a sure sign that they were, so to speak, transfixed with interest. "My man," said Rooney, after a few minutes' intense application to the rib, "what is your name?" "Okiok," replied the Eskimo. "Okiok," muttered the seaman to himself in English; "why, that's the Eskimo word for winter." Then, after a few minutes' further attention to the rib, "Why did they name you after the cold season o' the year?" "I know not," said Okiok. "When my father named me I was very small, and could not ask his reason. He never told any one. Before I was old enough to ask, a bear killed him. My mother thought it was because the winter when I was born was very cold and long." Again the hungry man applied himself to the rib, and nothing more was said till it was finished. Feeling still somewhat fatigued, Rooney settled himself among his furs in a more upright position, and gave his attention to the natives, who instantly removed their eyes from him, and resumed eating with a will. Of course they could not restrain furtive glances, but they had ceased to stare. In a few minutes Okiok paused, and in turn became the questioner. "No Kablunet ever came here before," he said. "We are glad to see you; but why do you come, and why alone, and why starving?" "Not very easy to answer these questions off-hand to the likes of you," said Rooney. "However, I'll try. You've heard of the settlements--the traders--no doubt, in the far-off land over _there_?" Rooney pointed to the southward, the direction of which he knew from the position of the sun and the time of day, which latter he guessed roughly. The Eskimo nodded. From the special character of the nod it was evident that he meant it to express intelligence. And it did! "Well," continued Rooney, "you may have heard that big, big--tremendous big--kayaks, or rather oomiaks, have come to that country, an' landed men and women, who have built houses--igloos--and have settled there to trade?" At this his host nodded with such decision, and so frequently, as to show that he not only knew of the Kablunet settlements, but was deeply interested in them, and would be glad to know something more. "Well, then," continued the sailor, "I came out from a great and rich country, called England, in one o' these big tradin' canoes, which was wrecked close to the settlements, and there I stayed with my mates, waiting for another big kayak to come an' take us off; but no kayak came for two winters--so that's the way I came to understand an' speak the Eskimo--" At this point, as if it could endure the stranger's voice no longer, Tumbler set up a sudden and tremendous howl. He was instantly seized, half strangled, metaphorically sat upon, and reduced to sobbing silence, when the sailor resumed his narrative. "All that time I was workin' off and on for the--" He stopped abruptly, not having any words in the native language by which to name the Moravian Missionaries. The Eskimos waited with eager looks for the next word. "Well, well," resumed Rooney, with a pathetic smile, "it _is_ a pity the whole world don't speak one language. I was workin' for, for--these Kablunets who have come to Greenland, (that's the name we've given to your country, you must know)--who have come to Greenland, not to trade, but to teach men about God--about Torngarsuk, the Good Spirit--who made all the world, and men, and beasts." At this point the interest of Okiok became, if possible, more intense. "Do the Kablunets know God, the Good Spirit? Have they seen him?" he asked. "They haven't exactly seen Him," replied the sailor; "but they have got a book, a writing, which tells about Him, and they know something of His nature and His wishes." Of course this reference to a book and a writing--which Rooney had learned to speak of from the Moravians--was quite incomprehensible to the Eskimo. He understood enough of what was said, however, to see the drift of his visitor's meaning. "Huk!" he exclaimed, with a look of satisfaction; "Angut will be glad to hear this." "Who is Angut?" asked the sailor. The whole party looked peculiarly solemn at this question. "Angut is a great angekok," answered Okiok, in a low voice. "Oh! he is one of your wise men, is he?" returned Rooney, with an involuntary shrug of his shoulders, for he had heard and seen enough during his residence at the settlements to convince him that the angekoks, or sorcerers, or wise men of the Eskimos, were mostly a set of clever charlatans, like the medicine-men of the North American Indians, who practised on the credulity and superstition of their fellow-men in order to gain their own ends. Some of these angekoks, no doubt, were partly self-deceivers, believing to some extent the deceptions which they practised, and desiring more or less the welfare of their dupes; but others were thorough, as well as clever, rogues, whose sole object was self-interest. "Well, then," continued Rooney, "after I'd been two winters with these Kablunets, another big kayak came to the settlement, not to trade, nor to teach about God, but to go as far as they could into the ice, and try to discover new lands." "Poor men!" remarked Okiok pitifully; "had they no lands of their own?" "O, yes; they had lands at home," replied the sailor, laughing. "Huk!" exclaimed several of the natives, glancing at each other with quite a pleased expression. It was evident that they were relieved as well as glad to find that their visitor could laugh, for his worn and woe-begone expression, which was just beginning to disappear under the influence of rest and food, had induced the belief that he could only go the length of smiling. "Yes," continued the sailor; "they had lands, more or less--some of them, at least--and some of them had money; but you must know, Okiok, that however much a Kablunet may have, he always wants more." "Is he _never_ content?" asked the Eskimo. "Never; at least not often." "Wonderful!" exclaimed Okiok; "when I am stuffed with seal-blubber as full as I can hold, I want nothing more." Again the sailor laughed, and there was something so hearty and jovial in the sound that it became infectious, and the natives joined him, though quite ignorant of the exciting cause. Even Tumbler took advantage of the occasion to give vent to another howl, which, having something of the risible in it, was tolerated. When silence was restored, the visitor resumed-- "I joined these searchers, as they wanted an interpreter, and we came away north here. Nothing particular happened at first. We had a deal of squeezing an' bumping in the ice of course, but got little damage, till about six days back I think, or thereabouts, when we got a nip that seemed to me to cut the bottom clean out o' the big kayak, for when the ice eased off again it went straight to the bottom. We had only time to throw some provisions on the ice and jump out before it went down. As our provisions were not sufficient to last more than a few days, I was sent off with some men over the floe to hunt for seals. We only saw one, asleep near its hole. Bein' afraid that the sailors might waken it, I told them to wait, and I would go after it alone. They agreed, but I failed. The seal was lively. He saw me before I got near enough, and dived into his hole. On returnin' to where I had left the men I found a great split in the ice, which cut me off from them. The space widened. I had no small kayak to take me across. It was too cold to swim. The floe on which my comrades stood was driftin', along wi' the big floe, where the rest of them were. The ice on which I stood was fast. A breeze was blowin' at the time, which soon carried the pack away. In an hour they were out of sight, and I saw them no more. I knew that it was land-ice on which I stood, and also that the coast could not be far off; but the hummocks and the snow-drift prevented me from seein' far in any direction. I knew also that death would be my portion if I remained where I was, so I set off straight for land as fast as I could go. How long I've been on the way I can't tell, for I don't feel quite sure, and latterly my brain has got into a confused state. I had a small piece of seal meat in my pouch when I started. When it was done I cut a strip off my sealskin coat an' sucked that. It just kept body and soul together. At last I saw the land, but fell, and should have died there if the Good Spirit had not sent you to save me, Okiok--so give us a shake of your hand, old boy!" To this narrative the natives listened with breathless attention, but at the conclusion Okiok looked at the extended hand in surprise, not knowing what was expected of him. Seeing this, Rooney leaned forward, grasped the man's right hand, shook it warmly, patted it on the back, then, raising it to his lips, kissed it. Stupid indeed would the man have been, and unusually savage, who could have failed to understand that friendship and good-will lay in these actions. But Okiok was not stupid. On the contrary, he was brightly intelligent, and, being somewhat humorous in addition, he seized Rooney's hand instantly after, and repeated the operation, with a broad smile on his beaming face. Then, turning suddenly to Tumbler, he grasped and shook that naked infant's hand, as it sat on the floor in a pool of oil from a lamp which it had overturned. An explosion of laughter from everybody showed that the little joke was appreciated; but Okiok became suddenly grave, and sobered his family instantly, as he turned to Rooney and said-- "I wish that Angut had been there. He would have saved your big oomiak and all the men." "Indeed. Is he then such a powerful angekok?" "Yes; very, very powerful. There never was an angekok like him." "I suppose not," returned Rooney, with a feeling of doubt, which, however, he took care to hide. "What like is this great wise man--very big, I suppose?" "No, he is not big, but he is not small. He is middling, and very strong, like the bear; very active and supple, like the seal or the white fox; and very swift, like the deer--and very different from other angekoks." "He must be a fine man," said the sailor, becoming interested in this angekok; "tell me wherein he differs from others." "He is not only strong and wise, but he is good; and he cares nothing for our customs, or for the ways of other angekoks. He says that they are all lies and nonsense. Yes, he even says that he is not an angekok at all; but we know better, for he is. Everybody can see that he is. He knows everything; he can do anything. Do I not speak what is true?" He turned to his wife and daughter as he spoke. Thus appealed to, Nuna said it was all true, and Nunaga said it was all _very_ true, and blushed--and, really, for an Eskimo, she looked quite pretty. Don't laugh, good reader, at the idea of an Eskimo blushing. Depend upon it, that that is one of those touches of nature which prove the kinship of the world everywhere. While they were talking a step was heard outside, and the Eskimos looked intelligently at each other. They knew that the comer must be a friend, because, had he been a stranger, the dogs would have given notice of his approach. Besides, these animals were heard fawning round him as he spoke to them. "Ujarak!" exclaimed Okiok, in a low voice. "Is Ujarak a friend?" asked the sailor. "He is an angekok," said the Eskimo evasively--"a great angekok, but not so great as Angut." Another moment, and a man was seen to creep into the tunnel. Standing up when inside, he proved to be a tall, powerful Eskimo, with a not unhandsome but stern countenance, which was somewhat marred by a deep scar over the left eye. CHAPTER FOUR. OKIOK BECOMES SIMPLE BUT DEEP, AND THE WIZARD TRIES TO MAKE CAPITAL OUT OF EVENTS. Of course Ujarak, wise man though he was esteemed to be, could not help being struck dumb by the unexpected sight of the gaunt foreigner. Indeed, having so long held supposed intercourse with familiar spirits, it is not improbable that he imagined that one of them had at last come, without waiting for a summons, to punish him because of his deceptive practices, for he turned pale--or rather faintly green--and breathed hard. Perceiving his state, it suddenly occurred to the sailor to say--"Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you." He inadvertently said it in English, however, so that Ujarak was none the wiser. "Who is he?" demanded the angekok--perhaps it were more correct to call him wizard. Okiok, expecting Rooney to reply, looked at him, but a spirit of silence seemed to have come over the stranger, for he made no reply, but shut his eyes, as if he had dropped asleep. "He is a Kablunet," said Okiok. "I could see that, even if I had not the double sight of the angekok," replied the other, with a touch of sarcasm, for Eskimos, although by no means addicted to quarrelling, are very fond of satire. They are also prone to go straight to the point in conversation, and although fond of similes and figurative language, they seldom indulge in bombast. With much solemnity Okiok rejoined that he had no doubt of Ujarak's being aware that the man was a Kablunet. "And I am glad you have come," he added, "for of course you can also tell me where the Kablunet has come from, and whither he is going?" The angekok glanced at his host quickly, for he knew--at least he strongly suspected--that he was one of that uncomfortable class of sceptics who refuse to swallow without question all that self-constituted "wise men" choose to tell them. Okiok was gazing at him, however, with an air of the most infantine simplicity and deference. "I cannot tell you that," replied the wizard, "because I have not consulted my torngak about him." It must be explained here that each angekok has a private spirit, or familiar, whose business it is to enlighten him on all points, and conduct him on his occasional visits to the land of spirits. This familiar is styled his "torngak." "Did your torngak tell you that he was a Kablunet?" asked Okiok simply-- so simply that there was no room for Ujarak to take offence. "No; my eyes told me that." "I did not know that you had ever seen a Kablunet," returned the other, with a look of surprise. "Nor have I. But have I not often heard them described by the men of the south? and has not my torngak showed them to me in dreams?" The wizard said this somewhat tartly, and Okiok, feeling that he had gone far enough, turned away his sharp little eyes, and gazed at the lamp-smoke with an air of profound humility. "You have got seal-flesh?" said Ujarak, glad to change the subject. "Yes; I killed it yesterday. You are hungry? Nuna will give you some." "No; I am not hungry. Nevertheless I will eat. It is good to eat at all times." "Except when we are stuffed quite full," murmured Okiok, casting at Nunaga a sly glance, which threw that Eskimo maiden into what strongly resembled a suppressed giggle. It was catching, for her brothers Norrak and Ermigit were thrown into a similar condition, and even the baby crowed out of sympathy. Indeed Red Rooney himself, who only simulated sleep, found it difficult to restrain his feelings, for he began to understand Okiok's character, and to perceive that he was more than a match for the wizard with all his wisdom. Whatever Ujarak may have felt, he revealed nothing, for he possessed that well-known quality of the Eskimo--the power to restrain and conceal his feelings--in a high degree. With a quiet patronising smile, he bent down in quite a lover-like way, and asked Nunaga if the seal-flesh was good. "Yes, it is good; _very_ good," answered the maiden, looking modestly down, and toying with the end of her tail. You see she had no scent-bottle or fan to toy with. To be sure she had gloves--thick sealskin mittens--but these were not available at the moment. "I knew you had a seal," said the angekok, pausing between bites, after the edge of his appetite had been taken off; "my torngak told me you had found one at last." "Did he tell you that I had also found a bear?" asked Okiok, with deeper simplicity than ever. The wizard, without raising his head, and stuffing his mouth full to prevent the power of speech, glanced keenly about the floor. Observing the fresh skin in a corner, and one or two ribs, he bolted the bite, and said-- "O yes. My torngak is kind; he tells me many things without being asked. He said to me two days ago, `Okiok is a clever man. Though all the people are starving just now, he has killed a seal and a bear.'" "Can torngaks make mistakes?" asked Okiok, with a puzzled look. "It was _yesterday_ that I killed the seal and the bear." "Torngaks _never_ make mistakes," was the wizard's prompt and solemn reply; "but they see and know the future as well as the past, and they sometimes speak of both as the present." "How puzzling!" returned the other meekly. "He meant you, then, to understand that I was _going_ to kill a seal and a bear. Glad am I that I am not an angekok, for it would be very difficult work for a stupid man,--enough almost to kill him!" "You are right. It is difficult and hard work. So you see the torngak told me go feast with Okiok, and at his bidding of course I have come, on purpose to do so." "That's a lie. You came to see my Nunaga, and you hope to get her; but you never will!" said Okiok. He said it only to himself, however, being far too polite to say it to his guest, to whom he replied deferentially-- "If they are starving at your village, why did you not bring your mother and your father? They would have been welcome, for a seal and a bear would be enough to stuff us all quite full, and leave something to send to the rest." For some minutes the wizard did not reply. Perhaps he was meditating, perchance inventing. "I brought no one," he said at last, "because I want you and your family to return with me to the village. You know it is only two days distant, and we can take the seal and the bear with us. We are going to have a great feast and games." "Did you not say the people were starving?" asked Okiok, with a look of gentle surprise. "They _were_ starving," returned Ujarak quickly; "but two walruses and four seals were brought in yesterday and my torngak has told me that he will point out where many more are to be found if I consult him on the night of the feast. Will you come back with me?" Okiok glanced at the Kablunet. "I cannot leave my guest," he said. "True, but we can take him with us." "Impossible. Do you not see he is only bones in a bag of skin? He must rest and feed." "That will be no difficulty," returned the wizard, "for the feast is not to be held for twice seven days. By that time the Kablunet will be well, and getting strong. Of course he must rest and be well stuffed just now. So I will go back, and say that you are coming, and tell them also what you have found--a Kablunet. Huk!" "Yes; and he speaks our language," said Okiok. "That was not our language which he spoke when I came in." "No; yet he speaks it." "I should like to hear him speak." "You must not wake him," said Okiok, with an assumed look of horror. "He would be sure to kill you with a look or a breath if you did. See; he moves!" Rooney certainly did move at the moment, for the conversation had tickled him a good deal, and the last remark was almost too much for him. Not wishing, however, to let the angekok go without some conversation, he conveniently awoke, yawned, and stretched himself. In the act he displayed an amount of bone and sinew, if not flesh, which made a very favourable impression on the Eskimos, for physical strength and capacity is always, and naturally, rated highly among savages. Our shipwrecked hero had now heard and seen enough to understand something of the character of the men with whom he had to deal. He went therefore direct to the point, without introduction or ceremony, by asking the angekok who he was and where he came from. After catechising him closely, he then sought to establish a kind of superiority over him by voluntarily relating his own story, as we have already given it, and thus preventing his being questioned in return by the wizard. "Now," said Red Rooney in conclusion, "when you go home to your village, tell the people that the Kablunet, having been nearly starved, must have some days to get well. He will stay with his friend Okiok, and rest till he is strong. Then he will go to your village with his friends, and join in the feast and games." There was a quiet matter-of-course tone of command about the seaman, which completely overawed the poor angekok, inducing him to submit at once to the implied superiority, though hitherto accustomed to carry matters with a high hand among his compatriots. His self-esteem, however, was somewhat compensated by the fact that he should be the bearer of such wonderful news to his people, and by the consideration that he could say his torngak had told him of the arrival of the Kablunet--an assertion which they would believe all the more readily that he had left home with some mysterious statements that something wonderful was likely to be discovered. In truth, this astute wizard never failed to leave some such prediction behind him every time he quitted home, so as to prepare the people for whatever might occur; and, should nothing occur, he could generally manage to colour some event or incident with sufficient importance to make it fulfil the prediction, at least in some degree. When at last he rose to depart, Ujarak turned to Nunaga. As her father had rightly guessed, the wizard, who was quite a young man, had come there on matrimonial views intent; and he was not the man to leave the main purpose of his journey unattempted. "Nunaga," he said, in a comparatively low yet sufficiently audible voice, "my sledge is large. It is too large for one--" He was interrupted suddenly at this point by Rooney, who saw at once what was coming. "Okiok," he said, "I want Nunaga to mend and patch my torn garments for the next few days. Her mother has enough to do with cooking and looking after the house. Can you spare her for that work?" Yes, Okiok could spare her; and was very glad to do all that he could to accommodate the foreigner. "Will Ujarak carry a message from the Kablunet to his village?" asked Rooney, turning to the wizard. "He will," replied the latter somewhat sulkily. "Does he know the angekok named Angut?" It is doubtful whether anger or surprise was most strongly expressed in the countenance of the Eskimo as he replied sternly, "Yes." "Then tell him that the Kablunet will stay in his hut when he visits your village." Having delivered this message, he turned his face to the wall, and, without awaiting a reply, coolly went to sleep, or appeared to do so, while Ujarak went off, with a storm of very mingled feelings harrowing his savage breast. When he was gone Red Rooney raised himself on one elbow, and looked over his shoulder at Okiok with a broad grin. Okiok, who felt grave enough at the moment, and somewhat perplexed, opened his eyes gradually, and reciprocated the smile with interest. By degrees he closed the eyes, and allowed the smile to develop into a high falsetto chuckle which convulsed his broad hairy shoulders for full five minutes. From that hour Okiok and the Kablunet were united! They understood each other. The chords of sympathetic humour had vibrated within them in harmony. They were thenceforward _en rapport_, and felt towards each other like brothers, or rather like father and son, for Okiok was forty-five years of age at least, while Rooney was not yet thirty. "He's a very bad man, is he not?" asked the seaman, when the heaving of the shoulders had subsided. "Ho! yes. Bad, bad! _very_ bad! He lies, and steals, and cheats, and talks nonsense, and wants Nunaga for a wife." "And you don't want him for a son?" "No!"--very decidedly. Rooney laughed, and, turning away with a wink and a nod, lay down to sleep--this time in earnest. Okiok responded with a falsetto chuckle, after which he proceeded to solace himself with a mass of half-cooked blubber. Observing that Tumbler was regarding him with longing looks, he good-naturedly cut off part of the savoury morsel, and handed it to the child. It is well-known that the force of example is strong-- stronger than that of precept. In a few minutes the entire family set to work again on the viands with as much gusto as though they had eaten little or nothing for a week. Leaving them thus pleasantly and profitably occupied, let us follow Ujarak to his village. Every man and woman of superior intelligence in this world has probably one blind worshipper, if not more--some weak brother who admires, believes in, perhaps envies, but always bows to the demigod. Such a worshipper had Ujarak in Ippegoo, a tall young man, of weak physical frame, and still weaker mental capacity. Ippegoo was not malevolent, like his master, but he was sufficiently wicked to laugh at his evil doings, and to assist him in his various plans, in the implicit belief that he was aiding a great and wise man. He did so all the more readily that he himself aimed at the high and dignified office of an angekok, an aspiration which had at first been planted in him, and afterwards been carefully encouraged by his deceiver, because it made his dupe, if possible, a blinder and more willing tool. "Ippegoo," said Ujarak, on drawing near to the outskirts of his village, and coming unexpectedly on his satellite, who was in the act of dragging home a seal which he had just killed, "I meet you in the nick of time-- but that is no wonder, for did not my torngak tell me he would cause you to meet me near the village? I want your assistance just now." "I am glad, then, that we have met," said Ippegoo, with a cringing motion not unlike a bow--though of the ceremonial bow the Eskimos have no knowledge. "Yes, strange things have happened," continued the angekok, rolling his eyes impressively. "Did I not tell you before I started to visit Okiok that strange things would happen?" Ippegoo, who had a good deal of straightforward simplicity in his nature, looked puzzled, and tried hard to recollect what Ujarak had told him. "You will never make an angekok," said Ujarak, with a look of displeasure, "if you do not rouse up your memory more. Do you not remember when I whispered to you in a dream last night that strange things were going to happen?" "O ye-e-es,--in a dream; yes, I remember now," returned the satellite in some confusion, yet with a good deal of faith, for he was a heavy feeder, and subject to nightmares, so that it was not difficult to imagine the "whisper" which had been suggested to him. "Yes, you remember now, stupid walrus! Well, then, what was the strange thing like?" Ujarak looked awfully solemn while he put this question. "What was it like?" repeated the poor youth with hesitation, and an uneasy glance at the sky, as if for inspiration. "What--was--it--oh, I remember; it was big--big; very big--so high," (holding his hand up about seven feet from the ice). "No, Ippegoo, not _so_ big. He was about my size. Don't you remember? and he was pale, with hair twisted into little rings all over his head, and--" "Yes, yes; and a nose as long as my leg," interrupted the eager pupil. "Not at all, stupid puffin! A nose no longer than your own, and much better-shaped." The angekok said this so sternly that the too willing Ippegoo collapsed, and looked, as he felt, superlatively humble. "Now go," resumed Ujarak, with an unrelaxed brow; "go tell your story to the people assembled in the big hut. They feast there to-night, I know. Tell them what your dream has revealed. Tell them how I spoke to you before I left the village--but don't be too particular in your description. Let that be--like your own mind--confused, and then it will be true to nature. Tell them also that you expect me soon, but say not that you have met me to-day, for that might displease my torngak, whom I go to consult." Without giving his pupil time to reply, the wizard strode off, and disappeared among the ice hummocks, as a bad actor might strut behind the side scenes. Deeply impressed with the solemnity of the whole affair, and with the importance of his mission, the young Eskimo went off to the village, dragging his seal behind him, and wondering what new discovery had been made by his mysterious patron. That something of unusual import had occurred he never doubted, for although he had often seen Ujarak, with unbounded admiration, wriggle out of unfulfilled prophecy like an eel, he had never seen him give way to demonstrations such as we have described without something real and surprising turning up ere long. Strong in this faith, he ran into the large hut where a considerable party of his tribe were feasting on a recently captured walrus, and told them that something tremendous, something marrow-thrilling, had occurred to the great angekok Ujarak, who, before leaving the village, had told him that he was going off to find a--a--something--he knew not exactly what--with rings of hair all over its body, pale as the ice-floe, more wonderful than the streaming lights--incomprehensible!--immense! At this point he glared, and became dumb. Not knowing well what to say next, he judiciously remained silent, then sat down and gasped, while the united company exclaimed "Huk!" with unusual emphasis. The consultation which Ujarak had with his torngak was somewhat peculiar. It consisted chiefly in a wild run at full speed out upon the floes. Having pretty well exhausted himself by this device, and brought on profuse perspiration, he turned homewards. Drawing near to the village, he flung back his hood, ran his fingers through his long black hair until it was wildly dishevelled, then, springing suddenly into the midst of the festive party, he overturned feasters right and left, as he made his way to the part of the edifice furthest from the door. A close observer might have noted, however, that there was method in his madness, for he overturned only women and children, and kept carefully clear of men--at least of such men as he knew would resent his roughness. Wheeling suddenly round, and facing the solemnised assembly, he addressed it, as if with difficulty, in a low-toned, awesome voice. CHAPTER FIVE. PLOTS AND COUNTER-PLOTS ALREADY. It is not necessary, neither would it be profitable, to give in full detail what Ujarak said to the gaping crowd. Enough to know that, like other statesmen, he made the most of his subject, and fully impressed his audience with the belief that this first of Kablunets who had ever visited these ice-bound regions had been mysteriously, yet irresistibly, drawn there through his, Ujarak's, influence, with the assistance of his torngak or familiar spirit. One man there was in that assembly, however, who seemed to be not very deeply touched by the wizard's eloquence. Yet he did not express unbelief by his looks, but received all that was said with profound gravity. This was Angut, the reputed angekok, to whom reference has been made in a previous chapter. Although a thorough Eskimo in dress and in cast of feature, there was a refinement, a gravity, a kindliness, and a _something_ quite indescribable about this man, which marked him out as an exceptional character among his fellows. As we have said elsewhere, he was not unusually large, though he was unusually strong, for his power lay rather in a well-knit and splendidly proportioned than a bulky frame. Ujarak was taller and broader, yet did not possess half his muscular strength. Ujarak knew this, and had hitherto avoided coming into collision with him. But there was also a moral strength and enthusiasm in Angut, which placed him on a platform high above not only Ujarak, but all the other men of his time and country. In short, he was one of those far-seeing and thoughtful characters, who exist in all countries, in all ranks and conditions of life, civilised and savage, and who are sometimes styled "Nature's gentlemen." Despite his surroundings, temptations, examples, trials, and worries, Angut was at all times unvaryingly urbane, kind, sedate, equable, obliging, honest, and self-sacrificing. It mattered not that other men spoke freely--sometimes even a little boastfully--of their exploits. Angut never did so of his, although no other man could hold a candle-- perhaps we should say a lamp--to him in the matter of daring. It signified not that Eskimos in general were in the habit of treating friendless widows and orphans ill, even robbing as well as neglecting them, Angut always treated well those with whom he had to do. Other men might neglect people in distress, but he helped and defended them; and it was a matter of absolute indifference to him what "people" thought of his conduct. There is a modified "Mrs Grundy" even in Eskimo land, but Angut despised her. Indeed she was the only creature or thing in his limited world that this good man did despise. He puzzled his countrymen very much, for they could not understand him. Other men they could put to shame, or laugh out of their ideas and plans, or frighten into submission--at least into conformity. Not so Angut. He was immovable, like an ancient iceberg; proof against threats, wheedling, cajoling, terrifying, sarcasm--proof against everything but kindness. He could not stand before that. He went down before it as bergs go down before the summer sun. Angut was shrewd also and profound of thought, insomuch that, mentally, he stood high above his kinsfolk. He seemed to see through his fellows as if their bosoms and brains had been made of glass, and all their thoughts visible. Ujarak knew this also, and did not like it. But no one suffered because of Angut's superior penetration, for he was too amiable to hurt the feelings of a mosquito. After all that we have said, the reader will perhaps be prepared to expect that Angut never opened his mouth save to drop words of love and wisdom. Not so. Angut was modest to excess. He doubted his own wisdom; he suspected his own feelings; he felt a strong tendency to defer to the opinion of others, and was prone rather to listen than to speak. He was fond of a joke too, but seldom perpetrated one, and was seldom severe. While Ujarak was speaking, Angut listened with that look of unmoved gravity with which he always met a new thing or idea, and which effectually concealed his real feelings, though the concealment was unintentional. But when at last the wizard came to the most distasteful part of his discourse, namely the message from Reginald Rooney, that, on the occasion of his visit to the camp, he would take up his abode with Angut, that hero's countenance lighted up with surprise, not unmingled with pleasure. "Is Ujarak sure that the Kablunet said this?" asked Angut. "Quite sure," replied the wizard. "Huk!" exclaimed Angut, by which exclamation you may be sure that he meant to express much satisfaction. "But," continued the wizard, "the Kablunet is ill. He is thin; he is weak. He wants rest. I have consulted with my torngak, who tells me he will get better soon if we do not trouble him." At this point Ujarak glanced at Angut, but that worthy's countenance had resumed its look of impenetrable gravity. "We must not worry him or go near him for some days," continued the wizard. "We must let him alone. And this will not try our patience, for my torngak tells me that seals have come. Yesterday I went to the house of the great Fury under the sea, and wrestled with her; and my torngak and I overcame her, and set many of the seals and other animals free." "Huk!" exclaimed the assembly, in gratified surprise. Lest the reader should feel some surprise also, we may as well explain what the Greenlanders believed in former times. They held, (perhaps they still hold), that there were two great spirits--the one was good, named Torngarsuk; the other was bad, and a female--a Fury--without a name. This malevolent woman was supposed to live in a great house under the ocean, in which by the power of her spells she enthralled and imprisoned many of the sea monsters and birds, thus causing scarcity of food among the Eskimos. The angekoks claimed to have the power of remedying this state of things by paying a visit to the abode of the Fury. When an angekok has sufficient courage to undertake this journey, his torngak, after giving him minute instructions how to act, conducts him under the earth or sea, passing on the way through the kingdom of those good souls who spend their lives in felicity and ease. Soon they come to a frightful vacuity--a sort of vasty deep--over which is suspended a narrow wheel, which whirls round with great rapidity. This awful abyss is bridged by a rope, and guarded by seal sentinels. Taking the angekok by the hand, his torngak leads him on the rope over the chasm and past the sentinels into the palace of the Fury. No sooner does the wicked creature spy the unwelcome visitors than, trembling and foaming with rage, she immediately sets on fire the wing of a sea-fowl, with the stench of which she hopes to suffocate angekok and torngak together, and make both of them captives. The heroes, however, are prepared for this. They seize the Fury before she has succeeded in setting fire to the wing, pull her down, and strip her of those amulets by the occult powers of which she has enslaved the inhabitants of ocean. Thus the spell is broken, for the time at least, and the creatures, being set free, ascend to their proper abodes at the surface of the sea! After this explanation the reader will easily understand the flutter of excitement that passed through the assembly, for, although feasting at that moment on a walrus, they had suffered much during the latter part of that winter from the scarcity of animals of all kinds. But Angut did not flutter. That peculiar man was an incorrigible sceptic. He merely smiled, and, chucking a rotund little boy beside him under the chin, said, "What think ye of that, my little ball of fat?" or some Eskimo equivalent for that question. Our intelligent wizard had not, however, ventured on these statements without some ground to go on. The fact is, that, being a close observer and good judge of the weather, he had perceived a change of some sort coming on. While on his way to the hut of Okiok he had also observed that a few seals were playing about on the margin of some ice-floes, and from other symptoms, recognisable only by angekoks, he had come to the conclusion that it would be safe as well as wise at that time to prophesy a period of plenty. "Now I would advise," he said, in concluding his discourse, "that we should send off a hunting party to the south, for I can tell you that seals will be found there--if the young men do not put off time on the way." This last proviso was a judicious back-door of escape. Slight delays, he knew, were almost inevitable, so that, if the hunt should prove a failure, he would have little difficulty in accounting for it, and saving his credit. The most of his credulous and simple-minded hearers did not reflect on the significance of the back-door remark, but Angut did, and grinned a peculiar grin at the little fat boy, whom he chucked a second time under the chin. Ujarak noted the grin, and did not like it. Among the people there who gave strongest expression to their joy at the prospect of the good living in store for them, were several young and middle-aged females who sat in a corner grouped together, and conveyed their approval of what was said to each other by sundry smirks and smiles and nods of the head, which went far to prove that they constituted a little coterie or clique. One of these was the wife of Simek, the best hunter of the tribe. Her name was Pussimek. She was round and short, comely and young, and given to giggling. She had a baby--a female baby--named after her, but more briefly, Pussi, which resembled her in all respects except size. Beside her sat the mother of Ippegoo. We know not her maiden name, but as her dead husband had been called by the same name as the son, we will style her Mrs Ippegoo. There was also the mother of Arbalik, a youth who was celebrated as a wonderful killer of birds on the wing--a sort of Eskimo Robin Hood--with the small spear or dart. The mother of Arbalik was elderly, and stern--for an Eskimo. She was sister to the great hunter Simek. Kannoa, a very old dried-up but lively woman with sparkling black eyes, also formed one of the group. "Won't we be happy!" whispered Pussimek, when Ujarak spoke in glowing terms of the abundance that was in prospect. She followed up the whisper by hugging the baby. "Yes, a good time is coming," said the mother of Ippegoo, with a pleasant nod. "We will keep the cooking-lamps blazing night and--" "And stuff," rejoined Pussimek, with a giggle, "till we can hold no more." "Do you want to grow fatter?" asked the mother of Arbalik in a sharp tone, which drew forth a smothered laugh all round, for Pussimek had reached that condition of _embonpoint_ which rendered an increase undesirable. "I would not object to be fatter," replied the wife of Simek, with perfect good-humour, for Eskimos, as a rule, do not take offence easily. "Stuff, stuff," murmured Kannoa, nodding her old head contemplatively; "that's what I'm fond of; stuff--stuff--stuff." "All your stuffing will never make _you_ fat," said the stern and rather cynical mother of Arbalik. She paid no attention to Kannoa's reply--which, to do her justice, was very mild--for, at the moment, Arbalik himself rose to address the assembly. He was a fine specimen of an Eskimo--a good-looking young savage; slim and wiry, with a nose not too flat, and only a little turned up; a mouth that was well shaped and pleasant to look at, though very large, and absolutely cavernous when in the act of yawning; and his eyes looked sharp and eager, as if always on the outlook for some passing bird, with a view to transfixion. "The words of Ujarak are wise," he said. "I was down at the high bluffs yesterday, and saw that what he says is true, for many seals are coming up already, and birds too. Let us go out to the hunt." "We would like much to see this wonderful Kablunet," remarked the jovial big hunter Simek, with a bland look at the company, "but Ujarak knows best. If the Kablunet needs rest, he must have it. If he needs sleep, he must have it. If he wants food, he must have it. By all means let him have it. We will not disturb him. What the torngak of Ujarak advises we will do." Several of the other leading men also spoke on this occasion--some inclining to accept the wizard's advice; others, who were intolerably anxious to see the Kablunet, rather inclining to the opinion that they should remain where they were till he recovered strength enough to be able to pay his contemplated visit. Ippegoo spoke last. Indeed, it was not usual for him to raise his voice in council, but as he had been the first to carry the important news, and was known to be an ardent admirer and pupil of Ujarak, he felt that he was bound to back his patron; and his arguments, though not cogent, prevailed. "Let us not doubt the wisdom of the angekok," he said. "His torngak speaks. It is our business to obey. We have starved much for some moons; let us now feast, and grow fat and strong." "Huk!" exclaimed the auditors, who had been touched on their weakest point. "But Angut has not yet uttered his mind," said the jovial Simek, turning with a bland expression to the man in question; "he is an angekok, though he will not admit it. Has not his familiar spirit said anything to him?" Angut looked gravely at the speaker for a moment or two, and shook his head. Dead silence prevailed. Then in a voice that was unusually soft and deep he said: "I am no angekok. No torngak ever speaks to me. The winds that whistle round the icebergs and rush among the hummocks on the frozen sea speak to me sometimes; the crashing ice-cliffs that thunder down the glens speak to me; the noisy rivulets, the rising sun and moon and winking stars all speak to me, though it is difficult to understand what they say; but no familiar spirit ever speaks to me." The man said this quietly, and in a tone of regret, but without the slightest intention of expressing poetical ideas, or laying claim to originality of thought. Yet his distinct denial of being an angekok or wise man, and his sentiments regarding the voices of Nature, only confirmed his countrymen in their belief that he was the greatest angekok they had ever seen or heard of. "But surely," urged Simek, "if so many spirits speak to you, they must tell you _something_?" "They tell me much," replied Angut in a contemplative tone, "but nothing about hunting." "Have you no opinion, then, on that subject?" "Yes, I have an opinion, and it is strong. Let all the hunters go south after seals without delay; but I will not go. I shall go among the icebergs--alone." "He will go to hold converse with his numerous torngaks," whispered old Kannoa to Pussimek. "He will go to visit Okiok, and see the Kablunet, and court Nunaga," thought the jealous and suspicious Ujarak. And Ujarak was right; yet he dared not follow, for he feared the grave, thoughtful man, in spite of his determination to regard and treat him with lofty disdain. Utterly ignorant of the wizard's feelings towards him--for he was slow to observe or believe in ill-will towards himself when he felt none to any one else--Angut set off alone next morning in the direction that led to the great glacier, while his countrymen harnessed their dogs, loaded their sledges with lines and weapons, and went away southward on a hunting expedition. Wishing the latter all success, we will follow the fortunes of Angut, the eccentric angekok. Had you and I, reader, been obliged to follow him in the body, we should soon have been left far behind; fortunately, spirit is more powerful and fleet than matter! Without rest or halt, the stalwart Eskimo journeyed over the ice until he reached the residence of Okiok. The dogs knew his step well, and gave no noisy sign of his approach, though they rose to welcome him with wagging tails, and rubbed their noses against his fur coat as he patted their heads. Creeping into the hut, he presented himself unexpectedly. Okiok bade him silent welcome, with a broad grin of satisfaction. Nunaga did the same, with a pleased smile and a decided blush. The other inmates of the hut showed similar friendship, and Tumbler, trying to look up, fell over into an oil-puddle, with a loud crow of joy. They all then gazed suddenly and simultaneously, with mysterious meaning, at Red Rooney, who lay coiled up, and apparently sound asleep, in the innermost corner. Angut also gazed with intense interest, though nothing of the sleeping man was visible save the point of his nose and a mass of curling brown hair protruding from his deerskin coverings. Seating himself quietly between Nunaga and Nuna, and taking the oily Tumbler on his knee, the visitor entered into a low-toned conversation respecting this great event of their lives--the arrival of a real live Kablunet! They also talked of Kablunets in general, and their reported ways and manners. It is to be noted here that they did not talk in whispers. Okiok and Nuna had indeed begun the conversation thus, but had been immediately checked by Angut, whose intelligence had long ago taught him that no sound is so apt to awaken a sleeper as the hiss of a whisper; and that a steady, low-toned hum of conversation is more fitted to deepen than interrupt slumber. "Is he _very_ thin?" asked Angut, who had been somewhat impressed by Ujarak's description of the stranger, and his evident desire that no one should go near him. "He is not fat," answered Okiok, "but he has not been starving long; sleeping and stuffing will soon make him strong. Don't you think so, Norrak? You saw him at his worst, when we found him on the ice." Thus appealed to, Okiok's eldest son laid down the piece of blubber with which he had been engaged, nodded his head several times, and said, "Yes, he will be able to run, and jump soon." "And he speaks our language _well_," said Okiok, with a look of great interest. "I know it," returned his friend; "Ujarak told us about that. It is because of that, that I have come at once to see him." Nunaga winced here, for she had timidly hoped that Angut had come to see _her_! "I would not," continued the visitor, "that Ujarak should be the first to speak to him, for he will poison his ears." "Yes, Ujarak is a dreadful liar," said Okiok solemnly, but without the slightest touch of ill feeling. "An awful liar," remarked Nuna softly. Nunaga smiled, as though acquiescing in the sentiment, but said nothing. Just as they gave utterance to this decided opinion as to the character of the wizard, Red Rooney turned round, stretched himself, yawned, and sat up. CHAPTER SIX. ANGUT AND ROONEY HOLD CONVERSE ON MANY THINGS. At first Rooney did not observe that there was a visitor in the hut, but, when his eyes alighted on him, he rose at once, for he felt that he was in the presence of a man possessed of intelligence vastly superior to that of the ordinary natives. It was not so much that Angut's presence was commanding or noble, as that his grave expression, broad forehead, and earnest gaze suggested the idea of a man of profound thought. The angekok who had been so graphically described to him by Okiok at once recurred to Rooney's mind. Turning to his host, he said, with a bland expression-- "I suppose this is your friend Angut, the angekok?" "Yes," replied Okiok. While the mysterious foreigner was speaking, Angut gazed at him with looks and feelings of awe, but when he stepped forward, and frankly held out his hand, the Eskimo looked puzzled. A whispered word from his host, however, sufficed to explain. Falling in at once with the idea, he grasped the offered hand, and gave it a squeeze of good-will that almost caused the seaman to wince. "I am glad to meet you," said Rooney. "I am more than glad," exclaimed the Eskimo with enthusiasm; "I have not language to tell of what is in my mind. I have heard of Kablunets, dreamed of them, thought of them. _Now_ my longings are gratified--I behold one! I have been told that Kablunets know nearly everything; _I_ know next to nothing. We will talk much. It seems to me as if I had been born only to-day. Come; let us begin!" "My friend, you expect too much," replied Rooney, with a laugh, as he sat down to devote himself to the bear-steak which Nunaga had placed before him. "I am but an average sort of sailor, and can't boast of very much education, though I have a smattering; but we have men in my country who do seem to know 'most everything--wise men they are. We call them philosophers; you call 'em angekoks. Here, won't you go in for a steak or a rib? If you were as hungry as I am, you'd be only too glad and thankful to have the chance." Angut accepted a rib, evidently under the impression that the Kablunet would think it impolite were he to refuse. He began to eat, however, in a languid manner, being far too deeply engaged with mental food just then to care for grosser forms of nourishment. "Tell me," said the Eskimo, who was impatient to begin his catechising, "do your countrymen all dress like this?" He touched the sealskin coat worn by the sailor. "O no," said Rooney, laughing; "I only dress this way because I am in Eskimo land, and it is well suited to the country; but the men in my land--Ireland we call it--dress in all sorts of fine cloth, made from the hair of small animals--Why, what do you stare at, Angut? Oh, I see--my knife! I forgot that you are not used to such things, though you have knives--stone ones, at least. This one, you see, is made of steel, or iron--the stuff, you know, that the southern Eskimos bring sometimes to barter with you northern men for the horns of the narwhal an' other things." "Yes, I have seen iron, but never had any," said Angut, with a little sigh; "they bring very little of it here. The Innuits of the South catch nearly the whole of it on its journey north, and they keep it." "Greedy fellows!" said Rooney. "Well, this knife is called a clasp-knife, because it shuts and opens, as you see, and it has three blades--a big one for cuttin' up your victuals with, as you see me doin'; and two little ones for parin' your nails and pickin' your teeth, an' mendin' pens an' pencils--though of course you don't know what that means. Then here, you see, there are two little things stuck into the handle. One is called tweezers, an' is of no earthly use that I know of except to pull the hairs out o' your nose, which no man in his senses ever wants to do; and the other thing is, I suppose, for borin' small holes in things--it's almost as useless. This thing on the back is for pickin' stones out of horses' hoofs--but I forgot you never saw horses or hoofs! Well, no matter; it's for pickin' things out of things, when--when you want to pick 'em out! But below this is an uncommon useful thing--a screw--a thing for drawin' corks out of bottles--there, again, I'm forgettin'. You never saw corks or bottles. Happy people-- as the people who don't drink spirits would call you--and, to say truth, I think they are right. Indeed, I've been one of them myself ever since I came to this region. Give us another steak, Nunaga, my dear--no, not a bear one; I like the walrus better. It's like yourself--tender." The fair Nunaga fell into a tremendous giggle at this joke, for although our hero's Eskimo was not very perfect, he possessed all an Irishman's capacity for making his meaning understood, more or less; and truly it was a sight to behold the varied expressions of face--the childlike surprise, admiration, curiosity, and something approaching to awe--with which those unsophisticated natives received the explanation of the different parts of that clasp-knife! "But what did we begin our talk about?" he continued, as he tackled the walrus. "O yes; it was about our garments. Well, besides using different kinds of cloths, our coats are of many different shapes: we have short coats called jackets, and long coats, and coats with tails behind--" "Do your men wear tails behind?" asked Angut, in surprise. "Yes; two tails," replied Rooney, "and two buttons above them." "Strange," remarked Angut; "it is only our women who have tails; and they have only one tail each, with one button in front--not behind--to fasten the end of the tail to when on a journey." "Women with tails look very well," remarked Okiok, "especially when they swing them about in a neat way that I know well but cannot describe. But men with tails must look very funny." Here Mrs Okiok ventured to ask how the Kablunet women dressed. "Well, it's not easy to describe that to folk who have never seen them," said the sailor, with a slight grin. "In the first place, they don't wear boots the whole length of their legs like you, Nuna." "Surely, then," remarked the hostess, "their legs must be cold?" "By no means, for they cover 'em well up with loose flapping garments, extending from the waist all the way down to the feet. Then they don't wear hoods like you, but stick queer things on their heads, of all shapes and sizes--sometimes of no shape at all and very small size-- which they cover over with feathers, an' flowers, an' fluttering things of all colours, besides lots of other gimcracks." How Rooney rendered "gimcracks" into Eskimo we are not prepared to say, but the whole description sent Nunaga and her mother into fits of giggling, for those simple-minded creatures of the icy north--unlike sedate Europeans--are easily made to laugh. At this point Angut struck in again, for he felt that the conversation was becoming frivolous. "Tell me, Kablunet," he began; but Rooney interrupted him. "Don't call me Kablunet. Call me Red Rooney. It will be more friendly-like, and will remind me of my poor shipmates." "Then tell me, Ridroonee," said Angut, "is it true what I have heard, that your countrymen can make marks on flat white stuff, like the thin skin of the duck, which will tell men far away what they are thinking about?" "Ay, that's true enough," replied the sailor, with an easy smile of patronage; "we call it writing." A look of grave perplexity rested on the visage of the Eskimo. "It's quite easy when you understand it, and know how to do it," continued Rooney; "nothing easier." A humorous look chased away the Eskimo's perplexity as he replied-- "Everything is easy when you understand it." "Ha! you have me there, Angut," laughed the sailor; "you're a 'cute fellow, as the Yankees say. But come, I'll try to show you how easy it is. See here." He pulled a small note-book from his pocket, and drew thereon the picture of a walrus. "Now, you understand that, don't you?" "Yes; _we_ draw like that, and understand each other." "Well, then, we put down for that w-a-l-r-u-s; and there you have it-- walrus; nothing simpler!" The perplexed look returned, and Angut said-- "That is not very easy to understand. Yet I see something--always the same marks for the same beast; other marks for other beasts?" "Just so. You've hit it!" exclaimed Rooney, quite pleased with the intelligence of his pupil. "But how if it is not a beast?" asked the Eskimo. "How if you cannot see him at all, yet want to tell of him in--in--what did you say-- writing? I want to send marks to my mother to say that I have talked with my torngak. How do you mark torngak? I never saw him. No man ever saw a torngak. And how do you make marks for cold, for wind, for all our thoughts, and for the light?" It was now Red Rooney's turn to look perplexed. He knew that writing was easy enough to him who understands it, and he felt that there must be some method of explaining the matter, but how to go about the explanation to one so utterly ignorant did not at once occur to him. We have seen, however, that Rooney was a resolute man, not to be easily baffled. After a few moments' thought he said-- "Look here now, Angut. Your people can count?" "Yes; they can go up to twenty. I can go a little further, but most of the Innuits get confused in mind beyond twenty, because they have only ten fingers and ten toes to look at." "Well now," continued Rooney, holding up his left hand, with the fingers extended, "that's five." Yes, Angut understood that well. "Well, then," resumed Rooney, jotting down the figure 5, "there you have it--five. Any boy at school could tell you what that is." The Eskimo pondered deeply and stared. The other Eskimos did the same. "But what," asked Okiok, "if a boy should say that it was six, and not five?" "Why, then we'd whack him, and he'd never say that again." There was an explosion of laughter at this, for Eskimos are tender and indulgent to their children, and seldom or never whack them. It would be tedious to go further into this subject, or to describe the ingenious methods by which the seaman sought to break up the fallow ground of Angut's eminently receptive mind. Suffice it to say that Rooney made the discovery that the possession of knowledge is one thing, and the power to communicate it another and a very different thing. Angut also came to the conclusion that, ignorant as he had thought himself to be, his first talk with the Kablunet had proved him to be immeasurably more ignorant than he had supposed. The sailor marked the depression which was caused by this piece of knowledge, and set himself good-naturedly to counteract the evil by displaying his watch, at sight of which there was a wild exclamation of surprise and delight from all except Angut, who, however deep his feelings might be, always kept them bridled. The expansion of his nostrils and glitter of his eyes, however, told their tale, though no exclamation passed his lips. Once or twice, when Rooney attempted to explain the use of the instrument, the inquisitive man was almost irresistibly led to put some leading questions as to the nature of Time; but whenever he observed this tendency, the sailor, thinking that he had given him quite enough of philosophy for one evening, adroitly turned him off the scent by drawing particular attention to some other portion of the timepiece. The watch and the knife, to which they reverted later on, kept the lecturer and audience going till late in the evening, by which time our sailor had completely won the hearts of the Eskimos, and they had all become again so hungry that Okiok gave a hint to his wife to stir up the lamp and prepare supper. Then, with a sigh of relief, they all allowed their strained minds to relax, and the conversation took a more general turn. It is but fair to add that, as the sailor had won the hearts of the natives, so his heart had been effectually enthralled by them. For Angut, in particular, Rooney felt that powerful attraction which is the result of similar tastes, mutual sympathies, and diversity of character. Rooney had a strong tendency to explain and teach; Angut a stronger tendency to listen and learn. The former was impulsive and hasty; the latter meditative and patient. Rooney was humorously disposed and jovial, while his Eskimo friend, though by no means devoid of humour, was naturally grave and sedate. Thus their dispositions formed a pleasing contrast, and their tastes an agreeable harmony. "What did you say was the name of your country?" asked Angut, during a brief pause in the consumption of the meal. "England," said Rooney. "That was not the name you told me before." "True; I suppose I said Ireland before, but the fact is, I can scarcely claim it as my own, for you see my father was Irish and my mother was Scotch. I was born in Wales, an' I've lived a good bit o' my life in England. So you see I can't claim to be anything in particular." As this was utterly incomprehensible to the Eskimo, he resumed his bit of blubber without saying a word. After a brief silence, he looked at the Kablunet again, and said-- "Have they houses in your land?" "Houses? O yes; plenty of 'em--made of stone." "Like the summer-houses of the Innuit, I suppose?" said Angut. "Are they as big?" Rooney laughed at this, and said, Yes; they were much bigger--as big as the cliffs alongside. "Huk!" exclaimed the Eskimos in various tones. Okiok's tone, indeed, was one of doubt; but Angut did not doubt his new friend for a moment, though his credulity was severely tested when the seaman told him that one of the villages of his countrymen covered a space as big as they could see--away to the very horizon, and beyond it. "But, Angut," said Rooney, growing somewhat weary at last, "you've asked me many questions; will you answer a few now?" "I will answer." "I have heard it said," began the sailor, "that Angut is a wise man--an angekok--among his people, but that he denies the fact. Why does he deny it?" The Eskimo exchanged solemn glances with his host, then looked round the circle, and said that some things could not be explained easily. He would think first, and afterwards he would talk. "That is well said," returned Rooney. "`Think well before you speak' is a saying among my own people." He remained silent for a few moments after that, and observed that Okiok made a signal to his two boys. They rose immediately, and left the hut. "Now," said Okiok, "Angut may speak. There are none but safe tongues here. My boys are good, but their tongues wag too freely." "Yes, they wag too freely," echoed Mrs Okiok, with a nod. Thus freed from the danger of being misreported, Angut turned to the seaman, and said-- "I deny that I am an angekok, because angekoks are deceivers. They deceive foolish men and women. Some of them are wicked, and only people-deceivers. They do not believe what they teach. Some of them are self-deceivers. They are good enough men, and believe what they teach, though it is false. These men puzzle me. I cannot understand them." The Eskimo became meditative at this point, as if his mind were running on the abstract idea of self-delusion. Indeed he said as much. Rooney admitted that it _was_ somewhat puzzling. "I suppose," resumed the Eskimo, "that Kablunets never deceive themselves or others; they are too wise. Is it so?" "Well, now you put the question," said Rooney, "I rather fear that some of us do, occasionally; an' there's not a few who have a decided tendency to deceive others. And so that is the reason you won't be an angekok, is it? Well, it does you credit. But what sort o' things do they believe, in these northern regions, that you can't go in with? Much the same, I fancy, that the southern Eskimos believe?" "I know not what the southern Eskimos believe, for I have met them seldom. But our angekoks believe in torngaks, familiar spirits, which they say meet and talk with them. There is no torngak. It is a lie." "But you believe in one great and good Spirit, don't you?" asked the seaman, with a serious look. "Yes; I believe in One," returned the Eskimo in a low voice, "One who made me, and all things, and who _must_ be good." "There are people in my land who deny that there is One, because they never saw, or felt, or heard Him--so they say they cannot know," said Rooney. Angut looked surprised. "They must be fools," he said. "I see a sledge, and I know that some man made it--for who ever heard of a sledge making itself? I see a world, and I know that the Great Spirit made it, because a world cannot make itself. The greatest Spirit must be One, because two greatests are impossible, and He is good--because good is better than evil, and the Greatest includes the Best." The seaman stared, as well he might, while the Eskimo spoke these words, gazing dreamily at the lamp-flame, as if he were communing with his own spirit rather than with his companion. Evidently Okiok had a glimmering of what he meant, for he looked pleased as well as solemn. It might be tedious to continue the conversation. Leaving them therefore to their profound discussions, we will turn to another and very different social group. CHAPTER SEVEN. TREATS OF CROSS-PURPOSES AND DIFFICULTIES. Partially concealed in a cavern at the base of a stupendous, almost perpendicular, cliff, stood the wizard Ujarak and his pupil Ippegoo. The former silently watched the latter as he fitted a slender spear, or rather giant arrow, to a short handle, and prepared to discharge it at a flock of sea-birds which were flying about in front of them within what we would call easy gunshot. The handle referred to acted as a short lever, by means of which the spear could be launched not only with more precision but with much greater force than if thrown simply by hand like a javelin. "There, dart it now!" cried Ujarak, as a bird swept close to the cave's mouth. "Boh! you are too slow. Here is another; quick! dart!" Ippegoo let fly hastily, and missed. "Poo! you are of no more use than the rotten ice of spring. There; try again," said Ujarak, pointing to a flock of birds which came sweeping towards them. The crestfallen youth fitted another spear to the handle--for he carried several--and launched it in desperation into the middle of the flock. It ruffled the wings of one bird, and sent it screaming up the cliffs, but brought down none. "Boo!" exclaimed the wizard, varying the expression of his contempt. "It is well that your mother has only a small family." Ippegoo was accustomed to severe backhanders from his patron; he was not offended, but smiled in a pathetic manner as he went out in silence to pick up his weapons. Just as he was returning, Arbalik, nephew to the jovial Simek, appeared upon the scene, and joined them. The wizard appeared to be slightly annoyed, but had completely dissembled his feelings when the young man walked up. "Have the hunters found no seals?" asked Ujarak. "Yes, plenty," answered Arbalik cheerily, for he had a good deal of his old uncle's spirit in him, "but you know variety is agreeable. Birds are good at a feast. They enable you to go on eating when you can hold no more seal or walrus blubber." "That is true," returned the wizard, with a grave nod of appreciation. "Show Ippegoo how to dart the spear. He is yet a baby!" Arbalik laughed lightly as he let fly a spear with a jaunty, almost careless, air, and transfixed a bird on the wing. "Well done!" cried the wizard, with a burst of genuine admiration; "your wife will never know hunger." "Not after I get her," returned the youth, with a laugh, as he flung another spear, and transfixed a second bird. Ippegoo looked on with slightly envious but not malevolent feelings, for he was a harmless lad. "Try again," cried Arbalik, turning to him with a broad grin, as he offered him one of his own spears. Ippegoo took the weapon, launched it, and, to his own great surprise and delight, sent it straight through the heart of a bird, which fell like a stone. A shout of pleasure burst from Arbalik, who was far too good a shot to entertain mean feelings of jealousy at the success of others. "It is the luck of the spear," said Ujarak, "not the skill of the hunter." This would have been an unkind cut to ordinary mortals, but it fell as harmless on Ippegoo as water on the back of the eider-duck. A snub from the wizard he took almost as a compliment, and the mere success of his shot afforded him unbounded pleasure. The good-natured Arbalik offered him another spear, but Ujarak interposed. "No; Ippegoo must come with me," he said. "I have work for him to do. One who would be an angekok must leave bird-spearing to boys." Then turning to Arbalik--"Did you not say that the hunters have found plenty of game?" "Yes, plenty." "I told you so," said the wizard, using a phrase not unfamiliar to civilised ears. "Remain here, and spear plenty of birds; or go where you will." Having thus graciously given the youth free permission to do as he pleased--which Arbalik received with inward scorn, though outward respect--he left the cave, followed meekly by his satellite. After walking in silence till well out of earshot of the expert young hunter, the wizard said in solemn tones-- "Ippegoo, I have work of more importance for you to do than spearing birds--work that requires the wisdom of a young angekok." All Ujarak's backhanders vanished before this confidential remark, and the poor tool began to feel as if he were growing taller and broader even as he walked. "You know the hut of Okiok?" continued the wizard. "Yes; under the ice-topped cliff." "Well, Angut is there. I hate Angut!" "So do I," said Ippegoo, with emphasis quite equal to that of his master. "And Nunaga is there," continued Ujarak. "I--I love Nunaga!" "So do I," exclaimed Ippegoo fervently, but seeing by the wizard's majestic frown that he had been precipitate, he took refuge in the hasty explanation--"Of course I mean that--that--I love her because _you_ love her. I do not love her for herself. If _you_ did not love her, I would hate her. To me she is not of so much value as the snout of a seal." The wizard seemed pacified, for his frown relaxed, and after a few moments' thought he went on savagely-- "Angut also loves Nunaga." "The madman! the insolent! the fool!" exclaimed Ippegoo; "what can he expect but death?" "Nothing else, and nothing less," growled the wizard, clenching his teeth--"_if_ he gets her! But he shall never get her! I will stop that; and that is why I ask you to listen--for you must be ready to act, and in haste." As Ippegoo began to entertain uncomfortable suspicions that the wizard was about to use him as an instrument of vengeance, he made no response whatever to the last remark. "Now," continued his master, "you will go to the hut of Okiok. Enter it hurriedly, and say to Nunaga that her father's grandmother, Kannoa, is ill--ill in her mind--and will not rest till she comes to see her. Take a small sledge that will only hold her and yourself; and if Okiok or Angut offer to go with you, say that old Kannoa wants to see the girl alone, that there is a spell upon her, that she is bewitched, and will see no one else. They will trust you, for they know that your mind is weak and your heart good." "If my mind is weak," said Ippegoo somewhat sadly, "how can I ever become an angekok?" With much affectation of confidence, the wizard replied that there were two kinds of men who were fit to be angekoks--men with weak minds and warm hearts, or men with strong minds and cold hearts. "And have you the strong mind?" asked Ippegoo. "Yes, of course, very strong--and also the cold heart," replied Ujarak. "But how can that be," returned the pupil, with a puzzled look, "when your heart is warmed by Nunaga?" "Because--because," rejoined the wizard slowly, with some hesitation and a look of profound wisdom, "because men of strong mind do not love as other men. They are quite different--so different that you cannot understand them." Ippegoo felt the reproof, and was silent. "So, when you have got Nunaga on the sledge," resumed Ujarak, "you will drive her towards the village; but you will turn off at the Cliff of Seals, and drive at full speed to the spot where I speared the white bear last moon. You know it?" "Yes; near Walrus Bay?" "Just so. There you will find me with two sledges. On one I will drive Nunaga away to the far-south, where the Innuit who have much iron dwell. On the other you will follow. We will live there for ever. They will be glad to receive us." "But--but--" said Ippegoo hesitatingly, and with some anxiety, for he did not like to differ on any point from his master--"I cannot leave my--my mother!" "Why not?" "I suppose it is because I love her. You know you told me that the weak minds have warm hearts--and my mind must be very, very weak indeed, for my heart is _very_ warm--quite hot--for my mother." The wizard perceived that incipient rebellion was in the air, so, like a wise man, a true angekok, he trimmed his sails accordingly. "Bring your mother with you," he said abruptly. "But she won't come." "Command her to come." "Command my _mother_!" exclaimed Ippegoo, in amazement. Again the wizard was obliged to have recourse to his wisdom in order to subdue this weak mind. "Yes, of course," he replied; "tell your mother that your torngak--no, you haven't got one yet--that Ujarak's torngak--told him in a vision that a visit to the lands of the far-south would do her good, would remove the pains that sometimes stiffen her joints, and the cough that has troubled her so much. So you will incline her to obey. Go, tell her to prepare for a journey; but say nothing more, except that I will call for her soon, and take her on my sledge. Away!" The peremptory tone of the last word decided the poor youth's wavering mind. Without a word more he ran to the place where his dogs were fastened, harnessed them to his sledge, and was soon driving furiously back to the Eskimo village over the frozen sea, while the wizard returned to the place where the hunters of his tribe were still busy hauling in the carcases of seals and other game, which they had succeeded in killing in considerable numbers. Approaching one of the band of hunters, which was headed by the jovial Simek, and had halted for the purpose of refreshment, Ujarak accosted them with-- "Have the young men become impatient women, that they cannot wait to have their food cooked?" "Ha! _ha_!" laughed Simek, holding up a strip of raw and bloody seal's flesh, with which he had already besmeared the region of his mouth and nose; "Yes, we have become like women; we know what is good for us, and take it when we need it, not caring much about the cooking. My young men are hungry. Must they wait till the lamps are lighted before they eat? Come, Ujarak, join us. Even an angekok may find a bit of good fat seal worth swallowing. Did you not set them free? You deserve a bit!" There was a spice of chaff as well as jollity in the big Eskimo's tone and manner; but he was such a gushing fellow, and withal so powerful, that the wizard deemed it wise not to take offence. "It is not long since I fed," he replied, with a grim smile; "I have other work on hand just now." "I also have work--plenty of it; and I work best when stuffed full." So saying, Simek put a full stop, as it were, to the sentence with a mass of blubber, while the wizard went off, as he said, to consult his torngak as to state affairs of importance. Meanwhile Ippegoo went careering over the ice, plying his long-lashed whip with the energy of a man who had pressing business on hand. Arrived at the village, he sought his mother's hut. Kunelik, as his mother was named, was seated therein, not exactly darning his socks, but engaged in the Eskimo equivalent--mending his waterproof boots. These were made of undressed sealskin, with soles of walrus hide; and the pleasant-faced little woman was stitching together the sides of a rent in the upper leather, using a fine sharp fish-bone as a needle and a delicate shred of sinew as a thread, when her son entered. "Mother," he said in a somewhat excited tone, as he sat down beside his maternal parent, "I go to the hut of Okiok." Kunelik bestowed an inquiring glance upon her boy. "Ippe," she said, (for Eskimos sometimes use endearing abbreviations), "has Nunaga turned you upside down?" The lad protested fervently that his head was yet in its proper position. "But," he added, "the mother of Oki--no, the grandmother of Okiok--is sick--very sick--and I am to go and fetch the mother of--no, I mean the daughter of--of Okiok, to see her, because--because--" "Take time, Ippe," interrupted Kunelik; "I see that your head is down, and your boots are in the air." Again Ippegoo protested earnestly that he was in the reverse position, and that Nunaga was no more to him than the snout of a seal; but he protested in vain, for his pleasant little mother believed that she understood the language of symptoms, and nodded her disbelief smilingly. "But why do you say that Kannoa is very ill, Ippe?" she asked; "I have just come from her hut where she was seemingly quite well. Moreover, she has agreed to sup this very night with the mother of Arbalik, and she could not do that if she was ill, for that means much stuffing, because the mother of Arbalik has plenty of food and cooks it very fast." "Oh, but it is not Kannoa's body that is ill," said Ippegoo quickly; "it is her mind that is ill--very ill; and nothing will make it better but a sight of Nunaga. It was Ujarak that told me so; and you know, mother, that whatever he says _must_ be true somehow, whether it be true or not." "Ujarak is a fool," said Kunelik quietly; "and you are another, my son." We must again remind the reader here that the Eskimos are a simple as well as straightforward folk. They say what they mean and mean what they say, without the smallest intention of hurting each other's feelings. "And, mother," continued the son, scarce noticing her remark, "I want you to prepare for a journey." Kunelik looked surprised. "Where to, my son?" "It matters not just now. You shall know in time. Will you get ready?" "No, my son, I won't." "But Ujarak says you are to get ready." "Still, my son, I won't." "Mother!" exclaimed Ippegoo, with that look and tone which usually follows the saying of something very wicked; but the pleasant little woman went on with her work with an air of such calm good-natured resolution that her son felt helpless. "Then, mother, I know not what to do." "What did he tell you to do?" asked Kunelik abruptly. The youth gave as much of his conversation with the wizard as sufficed to utterly perplex his mother's mind without enlightening it much. When he had finished, or rather had come to an abrupt stop, she looked at him calmly, and said-- "My son, whatever he told you to do, go and do it. Leave the rest to me." From infancy Ippegoo had rejoiced in his wise little mother's decisions. To be saved the trouble of thinking; to have a straight and simple course clearly pointed out to him, so that he should have nothing to do but shut his eyes and walk therein--or, if need be, run--was the height of Ippegoo's ambition--next to solid feeding. But be not hard on him, good reader. Remember that he was an ignorant savage, and that you could not expect him to be as absolutely and entirely free from this low type of spirit as civilised people are! Without another word, therefore, the youth leaped on to his sledge, cracked his whip, and set off on his delicate mission. Poor lad! disappointment was in store for him. But compensation was in store also. While he was galloping along under the ice-cliffs on the east side of a great berg, not far from the end of his journey, Okiok, with his wife and daughter on a sledge, chanced to be galloping with equal speed in the opposite direction on the west side of the same berg. It was a mighty berg--an ice-mountain of nearly half a mile in length--so that no sound of cracking lash or yelping dogs passed from the one party to the other. Thus when Ippegoo arrived at his destination he found his fair bird flown. But he found a much more interesting personage in the Kablunet, who had been left under the care of Angut and Ermigit. This great sight effectually banished disappointment and every other feeling from his breast. He first caught a glimpse of the wonderful man when half-way through the tunnel-lobby, and the sight rooted him to the spot, for Red Rooney had just finished making a full-dress suit of clothes for little Tumbler, and was in the act of fitting them on when the young Eskimo arrived. That day Ermigit had managed to spear a huge raven. Rooney, being something of a naturalist, had skinned it, and it was while little Tumbler was gazing at him in open-eyed admiration that the thought struck him--Tumbler being very small and the raven very large. "Come," said he, seizing the child--with whom he was by that time on the most intimate terms of affection--"Come, I'll dress you up." Tumbler was naked at the moment, and willingly consented. A few stitches with needle and thread, which the sailor always carried in his pocket, soon converted the wings of the bird into sleeves, a button at the chest formed the skin into a rude cut-away coat, the head, with the beak in front, formed a convenient cap, and the tail hung most naturally down behind. A better full-dress coat was never more quickly manufactured. Ermigit went into convulsions of laughter over it, and the sailor, charmed with his work, kept up a running commentary in mingled English and Eskimo. "Splendid!" he cried; "the best slop-shop in Portsmouth couldn't match it! Cap and coat all in one! The fit perfect--and what a magnificent tail!" At this point Ermigit caught sight of the gaping and glaring Ippegoo in the passage. With a bound he fell upon him, caught him by the hair, and dragged him in. Of course there followed a deal of questioning, which the hapless youth tried to answer; but the fascination of the Kablunet was too much for him. He could do nothing but give random replies and stare; seeing which, Rooney suggested that the best way to revive him would be to give him something to eat. CHAPTER EIGHT. MRS. OKIOK'S LITTLE EVENING PARTY. In Eskimo land, as in England, power and industry result in the elevation and enrichment of individuals, though they have not yet resulted there, as here, in vast accumulations of wealth, or in class distinctions. The elevating tendency of superior power and practice is seen in the fact that while some hunters are nearly always pretty well off--"well-to-do," as we would express it--others are often in a state of poverty and semi-starvation. A few of them possess two establishments, and some even go the length of possessing two wives. It is but just to add, however, that these last are rare. Most Eskimo men deem one wife quite as much as they can manage to feed. Our friend Okiok was what we may style one of the aristocracy of the land. He did not, indeed, derive his position from inheritance, but from the circumstance of his being a successful hunter, a splendid canoe-man, and a tremendous fighter. When it is added that his fights were often single-handed against the Polar bear, it may be understood that both his activity and courage were great. He was not an angekok, for, like his friend Angut, he did not believe in wizards; nevertheless he was very truly an angekok, in the sense of being an uncommonly wise man, and his countrymen, recognising the fact, paid him suitable respect. Okiok possessed a town and a country mansion. That is to say, besides the solitary residence already mentioned, close to the great glacier, he owned the largest hut in the Eskimo village. It was indeed quite a palatial residence, capable of holding several families, and having several holes in it--or windows--which were glazed, if we may say so, with the scraped intestines of animals. It was to this residence that Okiok drove on the afternoon of the day that he missed Ippegoo's visit. On finding that most of the men had gone southward to hunt, he resolved to follow them, for his purpose was to consult about the Kablunet, who had so recently fallen like a meteor from the sky into their midst. "But you will stop here, Nuna, with Nunaga, and tell the women all about the Kablunet, while I go south alone. Make a feast; you have plenty to give them. Here, help me to carry the things inside." Okiok had brought quite a sledge-load of provisions with him, for it had been his intention to give a feast to as many of the community as could be got inside his hut. The carrying in of the supplies, therefore, involving as it did creeping on hands and knees through a low tunnel with each article, was not a trifling duty. "Now," said he, when at last ready to start, "be sure that you ask the liars and the stupid ones to the feast, as well as the wise; and make them sit near you, for if these don't hear all about it from your own mouth they will be sure to carry away nonsense, and spread it. Don't give them the chance to invent." While her husband was rattling away south over the hummocky sea in his empty sledge, Nuna lighted her lamps, opened her stores, and began to cook. "Go now, Nunaga," she said, "and tell the women who are to feed with us to-night." "Who shall I invite, mother?" asked pretty little Nunaga, preparing to set forth on her mission. "Invite old Kannoa, of course. She is good." "Yes, mother, and she is also griggy." We may remark in passing that it is impossible to convey the exact meaning of the Eskimo word which we have rendered "griggy." Enough to say, once for all, that in difficult words and phrases we give as nearly as possible our English equivalents. "And Kunelik," said Nuna, continuing to enumerate her guests; "I like the mother of Ippegoo. She is a pleasant little woman." "But father said we were to ask liars," remarked Nunaga, with a sweet look. "I'm coming to them, child," said Mrs Okiok, with a touch of petulance--the result of a gulp of lamp-smoke; "yes, you may ask Pussimek also. The wife of Simek is always full of wise talk, and her baby does not squall, which is lucky, for she cannot be forced to leave Pussi behind." "But name the liars and stupid ones, mother," urged Nunaga, who, being a dutiful child, and anxious to carry out her father's wishes to the letter, stuck to her point. "Tell Issek, then, the mother of Arbalik, to come," returned Nuna, making a wry face. "If she is not stupid, she is wicked enough, and dreadful at lies. And the sisters Kabelaw and Sigokow; they are the worst liars in all the village, besides being stupider than puffins. There, that will be enough for our first feed. When these have stuffed, we can have more. Too many at once makes much cooking and little talk. Go, my child." An hour later, and the gossips of the Eskimo village were assembled round Mrs Okiok's hospitable lamp--she had no "board,"--the raised floor at the further end of the hut serving both for seat and table in the daytime and for bed at night. Of course they were all bursting with curiosity, and eager to talk. But food at first claimed too much attention to permit of free conversation. Yet it must not be supposed that the company was gluttonous or greedy. Whatever Eskimos may feel at a feast, it is a point of etiquette that guests should not appear anxious about what is set before them. Indeed, they require a little pressing on the part of the host at first, but they always contrive to make amends for such self-restraint before the feast is over. And it was by no means a simple feast to which that party sat down. There were dried herrings and dried seal's flesh, and the same boiled; also boiled auks, dried salmon, dried reindeer venison, and a much-esteemed dish consisting of half raw and slightly putrid seal's flesh, called _mikiak_--something similar in these respects to our own game. But the principal dish was part of a whale's tail in a high or gamey condition. Besides these delicacies, there was a pudding, or dessert, of preserved crowberries, mixed with "chyle" from the maw of the reindeer, with train oil for sauce. [See note.] Gradually, as appetite was satisfied, tongues were loosened, and information about the wonderful foreigner, which had been fragmentary at first, flowed in a copious stream. Then commentary and question began in right earnest. "Have some more mikiak?" said Mrs Okiok to Pussimek. "No," replied Mrs P, with a sigh. These northern Eskimos did not, at least at the time of which we write, say "thank you"--not that there was any want of good feeling or civility among them, but simply because it was not customary to do so. Mrs Okiok then offered some more of the delicacy mentioned to the mother of Ippegoo. "No," said Kunelik, leaning back with a contented air against the wall; "I am pleasantly stuffed already." "But tell me," cried Issek, the stern mother of Arbalik, "what does the Kablunet say the people eat in his own land?" "They eat no whales," said Nuna; "they _have_ no whales." "No whales!" exclaimed Pussimek, with a `huk' of surprise! "No; no whales," said Nuna--"and no bears," she added impressively. "Ridroonee, (that's his name), says they eat a thing called bread, which grows out of the ground like grass." "Eat grass!" exclaimed the mother of Arbalik. "So he says, and also beasts that have horns--" "Reindeer?" suggested Kunelik. "No; the horns are short, with only one point to each; and the beasts are much heavier than reindeer. They have also great beasts, with no name in our language--hurses or hosses he calls them,--but they don't eat these; they make them haul sledges on little round things called weels--" "_I_ know," cried Sigokow; "they must be big dogs!" "Huk!" exclaimed old Kannoa, who confined her observations chiefly to that monosyllable and a quiet chuckle. "No," returned Nuna, becoming a little impatient under these frequent interruptions; "they are not dogs at all, but hurses--hosses--with hard feet like stones, and iron boots on them." A general exclamation of incredulous surprise broke forth at this point, and the mother of Arbalik silently came to the conclusion that Nuna had at last joined the liars of the community, and was making the most of her opportunities, and coming out strong. "Let there be no talk, and I will speak," said Nuna somewhat indignantly; "if you interrupt me again, I will send you all away to your huts!" This threat produced silence, and a sniff from Arbalik's mother. Mrs Okiok went on:-- "The land, Ridroonee says, is very rich. They have all that they wish-- and _more_!" ("Huk!" from the company)--"except a great many people, called poo-oor, who have not all that they wish--and who sometimes want a little more." (A groan of remonstrative pity from the audience.) "But they have not many seals, and they _never_ eat them." "Poo! I would not care to live there," said Pussimek. "And no walruses at all," added Mrs Okiok. "Boo! a miserable country!" exclaimed Ippegoo's mother. "Then they have villages--so big!--oh!" Nuna paused from incapacity to describe, for Eskimos, being unable to comprehend large numbers, are often obliged to have recourse to illustration. "Listen," continued Nuna, holding up a finger; "if all the whales we catch in a year were to be cooked, they would not feed the people of their largest village for _one_ day!" The mother of Arbalik now felt that she had sufficient ground for the belief that Mrs Okiok was utterly demoralised and lost, in the matter of veracity. Mrs Okiok, looking at her, perceived this in her countenance, and dropped that subject with a soft smile of conscious innocence. Thereupon curiosity broke forth again with redoubled violence. "But what is the Kablunet like?" cried Kabelaw, as eagerly as if it were the first time of asking. "I have told you six times," replied Nuna. "Tell her again," cried the mother of Arbalik, with a sniff; "she's so used to lies that she finds it hard to take in _the truth_." There was a sort of double hit intended here, which immensely tickled the Eskimos, who laughed heartily, for they are fond of a touch of sarcastic humour. "Yes, tell her again," they cried unanimously--"for," added Pussimek, "we're not tired of it yet. Are we, Pussi?" The query was addressed to her stark naked baby, which broke from a tremendous stare into a benignant laugh, that had the effect of shutting up its eyes at the same time that it opened its little mouth. It must be remarked here that although we have called Pussi a baby, she was not exactly an infant. She could walk, and understand, and even talk. She did not, however, (desirable child!) use her tongue freely. In fact, Eskimo children seldom do so in the company of their elders. They are prone to listen, and gaze, and swallow, (mentally), and to reply only when questioned. But they seem to consider themselves free to laugh at will--hence Pussi's explosion. "Well, then," continued Mrs Okiok good-naturedly, "I will tell you again. The Kablunet is a fine man. He must be very much finer when he is fat, for he is broad and tall, and looks strong; but he is thin just now--oh, so thin!--as thin almost as Ippegoo!" Ippegoo's mother took this in good part, as, indeed, it was intended. "But that will soon mend with stuffing," continued Nuna. "And his hair is brown--not black--and is in little rings; and there is nearly as much below his nose as above it, so that his mouth can only be seen when open. He carries needles and soft sinews, too, in his bag; but his needles are not fish-bones--they are iron; and the sinews are not like our sinews. They are--I know not what! He has a round thing also, made of white iron, in his pocket, and it is alive. He says, `No, it is a dead thing,' but he lies, for one day when he was out I heard it speaking to itself in a low soft little voice, but I was afraid to touch it for fear it should bite." ("Lies again!" muttered Issek, the mother of Arbalik, to herself.) "He says that it tells him about time," continued Nuna; "but how can it tell him about anything if it is dead? Alive and dead at the same time!" "Impossible!" cried Pussimek. "Ridiculous!" cried every one else. "Huk!" ejaculated old Kannoa, wrinkling up her mild face and exposing her toothless gums in a stupendous chuckle. "Yes, impossible! But I think he does not tell many lies," said Nuna apologetically. "I think he only does it a little. Then he goes on his knees every night before lying down, and every morning when he rises, and speaks to himself." "Why?" cried every one in blazing astonishment. "I know not," replied Nuna, "and he does not tell." "He must be a fool," suggested Kunelik. "I suppose so," returned Nuna, "yet he does not look like a fool." At this point the description of Rooney's person and characteristics was interrupted by a tremendous splash. It was poor Pussi, who, having grown wearied of the conversation, had slipped from her mother's side, and while wandering in the background had tumbled into the oil-tub, from which she quickly emerged gasping, gazing, and glittering. A mild remonstrance, with a good wipe down, soon put her to rights, and Nuna was about to resume her discourse, when the sound of rushing footsteps outside arrested her. Next moment a wild scrambling was heard in the tunnel--as of a giant rat in a hurry--and Ippegoo tumbled into the hut in a state of wild excitement, which irresistibly affected the women. "What has happened?" demanded Nuna. "Mother," gasped the youth, turning to the natural repository of all his cares and troubles, "he is coming!" "Who is coming, my son?" asked Kunelik, in a quiet, soothing tone, for the pleasant little woman, unlike most of the others, was not easily thrown into a state of agitation. "The Kablunet," cried Ippegoo. "Where, when, who, how, which, what?" burst simultaneously from the gaping crowd. But for some minutes the evidently exhausted youth could not answer. He could only glare and pant. By degrees, however, and with much patience, his mother extracted his news from him, piecemeal, to the following effect. After having sat and gazed in mute surprise at the Kablunet for a considerable time, as already mentioned, and having devoured a good meal at the same time, Ippegoo had been closely questioned by Angut as to the reason of his unexpected visit. He had done his best to conceal matters, with which Angut, he said, had nothing to do; but somehow that wonderfully wise man had seen, as it were, into his brain, and at once became suspicious. Then he looked so fierce, and demanded the truth so sternly, that he, (Ippegoo), had fled in terror from the hut of Okiok, and did not stop till he had reached the top of a hummock, where he paused to recover breath. Looking back, he saw that Angut had already harnessed the dogs to his sledge, and was packing the Kablunet upon it--"All lies," interrupted Arbalik's mother, Issek, at this point. "If this is true, how comes it that Ippegoo is here first? No doubt the legs of the simple one are the best part of him, but every one knows that they could not beat the dogs of Angut." "Issek is wise," said Kunelik pleasantly, "almost _too_ wise!--but no doubt the simple one can explain." "Speak, my son." "Yes, mother, I can explain. You must know that Angut was in such a fierce hurry that he made his whip crack like the splitting of an iceberg, and the dogs gave such a yell and bound that they dashed the sledge against a hummock, and broke some part of it. What part of it I did not stop to see. Only I saw that they had to unload, and the Kablunet helped to mend it. Then I turned and ran. So I am here first." There was a huk of approval at this explanation, which was given in a slightly exulting tone, and with a glance of mild defiance at Arbalik's mother. But Issek was not a woman to be put down easily by a simpleton. She at once returned to the charge. "No doubt Ippegoo is right," she said, with forced calmness, "but he has talked of a message to Okiok. I dare say the wife of Okiok would like to hear what that message is." "Huk! That is true," said Nuna quickly. "And," continued Issek, "Ippegoo speaks of the suspicions of Angut. What does he suspect? We would all like to know that." "Huk! huk! That is also true," exclaimed every one. "My son," whispered Kunelik, "silence is the only hope of a fool. Speak not at all." Ippegoo was so accustomed to render blind and willing obedience to his mother that he instantly brought his teeth together with a snap, and thereafter not one word, good, bad, or indifferent, was to be extracted from the simple one. From what he had revealed, however, it was evident that a speedy visit from the wonderful foreigner was to be looked for. The little party therefore broke up in much excitement, each member of it going off in bursting importance to spread the news in her particular circle, with exaggerations suitable to her special nature and disposition. While they are thus engaged, we will return to the object of all their interest. When Ippegoo fled from Angut, as already told, the latter worthy turned quickly to Rooney, and said-- "There is danger somewhere--I know not where or what; but I must leave you. Ermigit will take good care of Ridroonee till I come again." "Nay, if there is danger anywhere I will share it," returned Rooney, rising and stretching himself; "I am already twice the man I was with all this resting and feeding." The Eskimo looked at the sailor doubtfully for a moment; but when action was necessary, he was a man of few words. Merely uttering the word "Come," he went out and harnessed his dog-team in a few minutes. Then, after wrapping the Kablunet carefully up in furs, he leaped on the fore-part of the sledge, cracked his whip, and went off at full speed. "What is the danger that threatens, think you?" asked Rooney; "you must have some notion about it." "I know not, but I guess," answered Angut, with a sternness that surprised his companion. "Ippegoo is a poor tool in the hands of a bad man. He comes from Ujarak, and he asks too earnestly for Nunaga. Ujarak is fond of Nunaga." Rooney looked pointedly and gravely at Angut. That Eskimo returned the look even more pointedly and with deeper gravity. Then what we may term a grave smile flitted across the features of the Eskimo. A similar smile enlivened the features of the seaman. He spoke no word, but from that moment Rooney knew that Angut was also fond of Nunaga; and he made up his mind to aid him to the utmost of his capacity both in love and war--for sympathy is not confined to races, creeds, or classes, but gloriously permeates the whole human family. It was at this point that the crash described by Ippegoo occurred. Fortunately no damage was done to the occupants of the sledge, though the vehicle itself had suffered fractures which it took them several hours to repair. Having finished the repairs, they set off again at greater speed than ever in the direction of the Eskimo village, accompanied by Ermigit and Tumbler, who, not caring to be left behind, had followed on a smaller sledge, and overtaken them. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note: For further light on this interesting subject see _History of Greenland and the Moravian Brethren_, volume one, page 159. Longman, 1820. CHAPTER NINE. SHOWS THAT THE WISE ARE A MATCH FOR THE WICKED, AND EXHIBITS TUMBLER AND PUSSI IN DANGER. When Red Rooney and his friend reached the village, and found that most of the men had gone south to hunt, and that Nunaga was living in peace with her mother in her father's town mansion, their fears were greatly relieved, although Angut was still rendered somewhat anxious by the suspicion that mischief of some sort was brewing. Being resolved if possible to discover and counteract it, he told Rooney that he meant to continue his journey southward, and join the hunters. "Good. I will rest here till you return," said the seaman, "for I feel that I'm not strong enough yet for much exertion." "But Ridroonee promised to dwell with _me_," returned Angut, somewhat anxiously. "So I did, and so I will, friend, when you come back. At present you tell me your hut is closed because you have no wife--no kinswoman." "That is true," returned the Eskimo; "my mother is dead; my father was killed; I have no brothers, no sisters. But when I am at home old Kannoa cooks for me. She is a good woman, and can make us comfortable." "Just so, Angut. I'll be content to have the old woman for a nurse as long as I need one. Good luck to you; and, I say, keep a sharp look-out on Ujarak. He's not to be trusted, if I am any judge of men's faces." Angut said no word in reply, but he smiled a grim smile as he turned and went his way. Being much fatigued with his recent exertions, Red Rooney turned into Okiok's hut, to the great sorrow of the women and children, who had gathered from all parts of the village to gaze at and admire him. "He is real--and alive!" remarked Kunelik in a low voice. "And Nuna is _not_ a liar," said the mother of Arbalik. "Yes; he is tall," said one. "And broad," observed another. "But _very_ thin," said Pussimek. "No matter; he can stuff," said Kabelaw, with a nod to her sister Sigokow, who was remarkably stout, and doubtless understood the virtue of the process. While this commentary was going on, the object of it was making himself comfortable on a couch of skins which Nuna had spread for him on the raised floor at the upper end of her hut. In a few minutes the wearied man was sound asleep, as was indicated by his nose. No sooner did Mrs Okiok note the peculiar sound than she went out and said to her assembled friends--"_Now_ you may come in; but--forget not-- no word is to be spoken. Use your eyes and bite your tongues. The one who speaks shall be put out." Under these conditions the multitude filed into the mansion, where they sat down in rows to gaze their fill in profound silence; and there they sat for more than an hour, rapt in contemplation of the wonderful sight. "He snorts," was on the lips of Pussimek, but a warning glance from Nuna checked the sentence in the bud. "He dreams!" had almost slipped from the lips of Kunelik, but she caught it in time. Certainly these primitive people availed themselves of the permission to use their eyes; nay, more, they also used their eyebrows--and indeed their entire faces, for, the lips being sealed, they not only drank in Rooney, so to speak, with their eyes, but tried to comment upon him with the same organs. Finding them very imperfect in this respect, they ventured to use their lips without sound--to speak, as it were, in dumb show--and the contortions of visage thus produced were indescribable. This state of things was at its height when Rooney chanced to awake. As he lay with his face to the foe, the _tableau vivant_ met his gaze the instant he opened his eyes. Rooney was quick-witted, and had great power of self-command. He reclosed the eyes at once, and then, through the merest chink between the lids, continued to watch the scene. But the wink had been observed. It caused an abrupt stoppage of the pantomime, and an intense glare of expectancy. This was too much for Rooney. He threw up his arms, and gave way to a violent explosion of loud and hearty laughter. If a bomb-shell had burst among the spectators, it could scarcely have caused greater consternation. A panic ensued. Incontinently the mother of Ippegoo plunged head first into the tunnel. The mother of Arbalik followed, overtook her friend, tried to pass, and stuck fast. The others, dashing in, sought to force them through, but only rammed them tighter. Seeing that egress was impossible, those in rear crouched against the furthest wall and turned looks of horror on the Kablunet, who they thought had suddenly gone mad. But observing that Nuna and her daughter did not share their alarm, they soon recovered, and when Rooney at last sat up and began to look grave, they evidently felt somewhat ashamed of themselves. Pussimek at last seized the mother of Ippegoo by the legs, and with a strong pull extracted her from the tunnel. Issek, being thus set free, quickly made her exit. The rest followed by degrees, until Rooney was left with Nuna and her daughter. "Your friends have had a fright," remarked the sailor. "They are easily frightened. Are you hungry?" "Yes; I feel as if I could eat a white bear raw." "So I expected," returned the little woman, with a laugh, as she placed a platter of broiled meat before her guest, who at once set to work. Let us now return to Ippegoo. Having borrowed a sledge, he had driven off to the appointed place of rendezvous, before the arrival of Rooney and Angut, as fast as the team could take him. Arrived there, he found Ujarak awaiting him. "You have failed," said the wizard gravely. "Yes, because Nunaga had left with her father and mother, and is now in the village. So is the Kablunet." Whatever Ujarak might have felt, he took good care that his countenance should not betray him. Indeed this capacity to conceal his feelings under a calm exterior constituted a large element of the power which he had obtained over his fellows. Without deigning a reply of any kind to his humble and humbled follower, he stepped quietly into the sledge, and drove away to the southward, intending to rejoin the hunters. Arrived at the ground, he set off on foot over the ice until he found a seal's breathing-hole. Here he arranged his spears, erected a screen of snow-blocks, and sat down to watch. "Ippegoo," he said, at last breaking silence, "we must not be beaten." "No, that must _not_ be," replied his pupil firmly. "This time we have failed," continued the wizard, "because I did not think that Okiok would leave his guest." "I thought," said Ippegoo, somewhat timidly, "that your torngak told you everything." "You are a fool, Ippegoo." "I know it, master; but can you not make me more wise by teaching me?" "Some people are hard to teach," said Ujarak. "That is also true," returned the youth mournfully. "I know that you can never make me an angekok. Perhaps it would be better not to try." "No. You are mistaken," said the wizard in a more cheerful tone, for he felt that he had gone too far. "You will make a good enough angekok in time, if you will only attend to what I say, and be obedient. Come, I will explain to you. Torngaks, you must understand, do not always tell all that they know. Sometimes they leave the angekok dark, for a purpose that is best known to themselves. But they always tell enough for the guidance of a wise man--" "But--but--I am not a wise man, you know," Ippegoo ventured to remark. "True; but when I have made you an angekok then you will become a wise man--don't you see?" As the word angekok signifies "wise man," Ippegoo would have been a fool indeed had he failed to see the truism. The sight raised his spirits, and made him look hopeful. "Well, then, stupid one, speak not, but listen. As I have before told you, I love Nunaga and Nunaga loves me--" "I--I thought she loved Angut," said Ippegoo. "O idiot," exclaimed the wizard; "did I not tell you that you cannot understand? The loves of angekoks are not as the loves of ordinary men. Sometimes one's torngak makes the girl seem uncertain which man she likes best--" "Ye-yes; but in this case there _seems_ no uncertainty, for she and Angut--" "Silence! you worse than baby walrus!" Ippegoo shut his mouth, and humbly drooped his eyelids. After a few minutes, Ujarak, having swallowed his wrath, continued in a calm tone-- "This time we have failed. Next time we will be sure to succeed, and--" "I suppose your torngak told--" "Silence! weak-minded puffin!" thundered the wizard, to the great astonishment of a seal which came up at that moment to breathe, and prudently retired in time to save its life. Once again the angekok with a mighty effort restrained his wrath, and after a time resumed-- "Now, Ippegoo, we dare not venture again to try till after the feast, for the suspicion which you have roused in Angut by the foolish wagging of your tongue must be allowed to die out. But in the meantime--though you cannot, _must_ not, speak--you can listen, and you can get your mother to listen, and, when you hear anything that you think I ought to know, you will tell me." "But if," said the pupil timidly, "I should only find out things that your torngak has already told you, what--" He stopped short, for Ujarak, springing up, walked smartly away, leaving his follower behind to finish the question, and gather up the spears. "Yes; he is right. I _am_ a fool," murmured Ippegoo. "Yet his conduct does seem strange. But he is an angekok. That must be the reason." Consoling himself with this reflection, the puzzled youth, putting the spears and hunting tackle on his shoulders, followed after his irate master towards the bay where the other hunters were encamped. We turn now to two other actors in our tale, who, although not very important characters, deserve passing notice. When Nuna's youngest son, little Tumbler, was brought to the Eskimo village, he made his appearance in the new black dress suit with which Rooney had clothed him--much to the surprise and delight of the whole community. Not long after arriving, he waddled away through the village in search of some piece of amusing mischief to do. On his ramble he fell in with a companion of about his own size, whose costume was that of a woman in miniature--namely, a short coat with a fully developed tail, which trailed on the ground with the approved fashionable swing. This was none other than Pussi, the little daughter of Simek, the great hunter. Now it chanced that there was a mutual liking--a strong bond of sympathy--between Tumbler and Pussi, which induced them always to play together when possible. No sooner, therefore, did Tumbler catch sight of his friend than he ran after her, grasped her greasy little hand, and waddled away to do, in company with her, what mischief might chance to be possible at the time. Immediately behind the village there stood a small iceberg, which had grounded there some years before, and was so little reduced in size or shape by the action of each brief summer's sun that it had become to the people almost as familiar a landmark as the solid rocks. In this berg there was a beautiful sea-green cavern whose depths had never yet been fathomed. It was supposed to be haunted, and was therefore visited only by the more daring and courageous among the children of the tribe. Tumbler and Pussi were unquestionably the most daring among these-- partly owing to native bravery in both, and partly to profound ignorance and inexperience of danger. "Let's go to ze g'een cave," suggested Tumbler. Pussi returned that most familiar of replies--a nod. We cannot, of course, convey the slightest idea of the infantine Eskimo lisp. As before said, we must be content with the nearest English equivalent. The green cave was not more than half a mile distant from the village. To reach it the children had to get upon the sea-ice, and this involved crossing what has been termed the ice-foot--namely, that belt of broken up and shattered ice caused by the daily tides--at the point where the grounded ice meets that which is afloat. It is a chaotic belt, varying in character and width according to position and depth of water, and always more or less dangerous to the tender limbs of childhood. Encountering thus an opportunity for mischievous daring at the very beginning of their ramble, our jovial hero and heroine proceeded to cross, with all the breathless, silent, and awesome delight that surrounds half-suspected wickedness--for they were quite old enough to know that they were on forbidden ground. "Come, you's not frighted?" said Tumbler, holding out his hand, as he stood on the top of a block, encouraging his companion to advance. "No--not fri--frighted--but--" She caught the extended hand, slipped her little foot, and slid violently downward, dragging the boy along with her. Scrambling to their feet, Pussi looked inclined to whimper, but as Tumbler laughed heartily, she thought better of it, and joined him. Few of the riven masses by which they were surrounded were much above five or six feet thick; but as the children were short of stature, the place seemed to the poor creatures an illimitable world of icy confusion, and many were the slips, glissades, and semi-falls which they experienced before reaching the other side. Reach it they did, however, in a very panting and dishevelled condition, and it said much for Red Rooney's tailoring capacity that the black dress coat was not riven to pieces in the process. "Look; help me. Shove me here," said Tumbler, as he laid hold of a block which formed the last difficulty. Pussi helped and shoved to the best of her small ability, so that Tumbler soon found himself on a ledge which communicated with the sea-ice. Seizing Pussi by her top-knot of hair, he hauled while she scrambled, until he caught a hand, then an arm, then her tail, finally one of her legs, and at last deposited her, flushed and panting, at his side. After a few minutes' rest they began to run--perhaps it were more correct to say waddle--in the direction of "ze g'een cave." Now it chanced that the said cave was haunted at that time, not by torngaks or other ghosts, but by two men, one of whom at least was filled with an evil spirit. Ujarak, having ascertained that Okiok had joined the hunting party, and that the Kablunet had reached the village, resolved to make a daring attempt to carry off the fair Nunaga from the very midst of her female friends, and for this purpose sought and found his dupe Ippegoo, whom he sent off to the green cave to await his arrival. "We must not go together," he said, "for we might be suspected; but you will go off to hunt seals to the south, and I will go out on the floes to consult my torngak." "But, master, if I go to the south after seals, how can we ever meet at the green cave?" "O stupid one! Do you not understand that you are only to pretend to go south? When you are well out of sight, then turn north, and make for the berg. You will find me there." Without further remark the stupid one went off, and in process of time the master and pupil met at the appointed rendezvous. The entrance to the cavern was light, owing to the transparency of the ice, and farther in it assumed that lovely bluish-green colour from which it derived its name; but the profound depths, which had never yet been fathomed, were as black as ebony--forming a splendid background, against which the icicles and crystal edges of the entrance were beautifully and sharply defined. Retiring sufficiently far within this natural grotto to be safe from observation in the event of any one chancing to pass by, the wizard looked earnestly into the anxious countenance of the young man. "Ippegoo," he said, with an air of unwonted solemnity, for, having made up his mind to a desperate venture, the wizard wished to subdue his tool entirely as well as promptly to his will; "Ippegoo, my torngak says the thing must be done to-night, if it is to be done at all. Putting off, he says, will perhaps produce failure." "`Perhaps'!" echoed the youth, with that perplexed look which so frequently crossed his features when the wizard's words puzzled him. "I thought that torngaks knew everything, and never needed to say `perhaps.'" "You think too much," said Ujarak testily. "Was it not yesterday," returned the pupil humbly, "that you told me to think well before speaking?" "True, O simple one! but there are times to think and times not to think. Your misfortune is that you always do both at the wrong time, and never do either at the right time." "I wish," returned Ippegoo, with a sigh, "that it were always the time not to think. How much pleasanter it would be!" "Well, it is time to listen just now," said the wizard, "so give me your attention. I shall this night harness my dogs, and carry off Nunaga by force. And you must harness your dogs in another sledge, and follow me." "But--but--my mother!" murmured the youth. "Must be left behind," said the wizard, with tremendous decision and a dark frown; but he had under-estimated his tool, who replied with decision quite equal to his own-- "That _must_ not be." Although taken much by surprise, Ujarak managed to dissemble. "Well, then," he said, "you must carry her away by force." "That is impossible," returned Ippegoo, with a faint smile and shake of the head. For the first time in his life the wizard lost all patience with his poor worshipper, and was on the point of giving way to wrath, when the sound of approaching footsteps outside the cave arrested him. Not caring to be interrupted at that moment, and without waiting to see who approached, Ujarak suddenly gave vent to a fearful intermittent yell, which was well understood by all Eskimos to be the laughter of a torngak or fiend, and, therefore, calculated to scare away any one who approached. In the present instance it did so most effectually, for poor little Pussi and Tumbler were already rather awed by the grandeur and mysterious appearance of the sea-green cave. Turning instantly, they fled--or toddled--on the wings of terror, and with so little regard to personal safety, that Pussi found herself suddenly on the edge of an ice-cliff, without the power to stop. Tumbler, however, had himself more under command. He pulled up in time, and caught hold of his companion by the tail, but she, being already on a steep gradient, dragged her champion on, and it is certain that both would have gone over the ice precipice and been killed, if Tumbler had not got both heels against an opportune lump of ice. Holding on to the tail with heroic resolution, while Pussi was already swinging in mid-air, the poor boy opened wide his eyes and mouth, and gave vent to a series of yells so tremendous that the hearts of Ujarak and Ippegoo leaped into their throats, as they rushed out of the cavern and hastened to the rescue. But another ear had been assailed by those cries. Just as Ippegoo--who was fleeter than his master--caught Tumbler with one hand, and Pussi's tail with the other, and lifted both children out of danger, Reginald Rooney, who chanced to be wandering in the vicinity, appeared, in a state of great anxiety, on the scene. "Glad am I you were in time, Ippegoo," said the seaman, shouldering the little girl, while the young Eskimo put the boy on his back, "but I thought that you and Ujarak were away south with the hunters. What has brought you back so soon? Nothing wrong, I trust?" "No; all goes well," returned Ippegoo, as they went towards the village. "We have only come back to--to--" "To make preparation for the feast when they return," said the wizard, coming quickly to the rescue of his unready follower. "Then they will be back immediately, I suppose?" said Rooney, looking pointedly at the wizard. "Yes, immediately," answered Ujarak, without appearing to observe the pointed look, "unless something happens to detain them." Suspecting that there was something behind this reply, the sailor said no more. Ujarak, feeling that he was suspected, and that his plan, therefore, must be given up for the time being, determined to set himself to work to allay suspicion by making himself generally useful, and giving himself up entirely to the festivities that were about to take place on the return of the men from their successful hunt. CHAPTER TEN. RED ROONEY BECOMES A SPECTACLE AND THEN A PRESIDENT. Late on the evening of the following day the fur-clad hunters arrived at their village with shouts of rejoicing--hairy and happy--for they brought with them many a carcass of walrus and seal wherewith to replenish their wardrobes and larders, and banish hunger and care from their dwellings for a considerable time to come. Be not too ready, most refined reader, to condemn those people for their somewhat gross and low ideas of enjoyment. Remember that they were "to the manner born." Consider, also, that "things are not what they seem," and that the difference between you and savages is, in some very important respects at least, not so great as would at first sight appear. You rejoice in literature, music, fine art, etcetera; but how about one or two o'clock? Would these afford you much satisfaction at such a time? "Bah!" you exclaim, "what a question! The animal wants must of course be supplied." True, most refined one, but a hunk of bread and a plate of soup would fully suffice for animal needs. Would your refined pleasures have as keen a relish for you if you had only to look forward to bread and water between six and nine? Answer, ye sportsmen, how would you get through your day's work if there were not a glorious dinner at the end of it? Speak, ye ballroom frequenters, how would you skip, even with the light of brilliant eyes to encourage you, if there were not what you call a jolly good supper somewhere in the background? Be honest, all of you, and confess--what you tacitly and obviously admit by your actions every day--that our mere animal wants are of vast importance, and that in our ministering to these the only difference between ourselves and the Eskimos is, a somewhat greater variety of viands, a little less of toil in obtaining them, a little more of refinement and cleanliness in the consumption of them, and, perchance, a little less of appetite. We feel impelled thus to claim for our northern brothers some forbearance and a little genuine sympathy, because we have to record that their first act on arriving was to fly to the cooking-lamps, and commence a feast which extended far into the night, and finally terminated in lethargic repose. But this was not the feast to which we have more than once referred. It was merely a mild preliminary whet. The hunters were hungry and tired after their recent exertions, as might have been expected, and went in for refreshment with a will. They did not, however, forget the Kablunet. Eager expectation was on tip-toe, and even hunger was forgotten for a short time in the desire to see the foreigner; but Okiok had made up his mind to give them only one glimpse--a sort of moral appetiser--and reserve the full display of his lion until the following day. Just before arriving at the village, therefore, he called a halt, and explained to the hunters that the Kablunet had been very much wearied by his recent journey, that he would not permit him to be disturbed that night; but as he was to dwell with Angut, and was at that time in his, (Okiok's), hut, they would have an opportunity of seeing him during his brief passage from the one hut to the other. They were, however, to be very careful not to crowd upon him or question him, and not to speak at all--in short, only to look! This having been settled and agreed to, Okiok pushed on alone in advance, to prevent Rooney from showing himself too soon. Arriving at his town residence, the Eskimo found his guest asleep, as usual, for the poor seaman found that alternate food and repose were the best means for the recovery of lost vigour. Nuna was quietly cooking the seaman's next meal, and Nunaga was mending one of his garments, when Okiok entered. Both held up a warning finger when he appeared. "Where is Tumbler?" he asked softly, looking round. "Gone to the hut of Pussimek to play with Pussi," replied the wife; "we could not keep him quiet, so we--" She stopped and looked solemn, for Rooney moved. The talking had roused him. Sitting up, he looked gravely first at Nunaga, then at her mother, then at her father, after which he smiled mildly and yawned. "So you've got back, Okiok?" "Yes, Ridroonee. And all the hunters are coming, with plenty to eat-- great plenty!" The women's eyes seemed to sparkle at these words, but they said nothing. "That's a good job, old boy," said the seaman, rising. "I think I'll go out and meet them. It will be dark in a short time." Here Okiok interposed with an earnest petition that he would not go out to the people that night, explaining that if he were to sit with them during supper none except the gluttons would be able to eat. The rest would only wonder and stare. Of course our seaman was amenable to reason. "But," he said, with a humorous glance, "would it not be good for them-- especially for the gluttons--to be prevented from eating too much?" It was evident from the blank look of his visage that Okiok did not understand his guest. The idea of an Eskimo eating too much had never before entered his imagination. "How can a man eat too much?" he asked. "Until a man is quite full he is not satisfied. When he is quite full, he wants no more; he can _hold_ no more!" "That says a good deal for Eskimo digestion," thought our hero, but as he knew no native word for digestion, he only laughed and expressed his readiness to act as his host wished. Just then the noise of cracking whips and yelping dogs was heard outside. "Remain here," said Okiok; "I will come again." Not long after the hospitable man's exit all the noise ceased, but the seaman could hear murmuring voices and stealthy footsteps gathering round the hut. In a few minutes Okiok returned. "Angut is now ready," he said, "to receive you. The people will look at you as you pass, but they will not disturb you." "I'm ready to go--though sorry to leave Nuna and Nunaga," said the gallant Rooney, rising. The sounds outside and Okiok's words had prepared him for some display of curiosity, but he was quite taken aback by the sight that met his eyes on emerging from the tunnel, for there, in absolute silence, with wide expectant eyes and mouths a-gape, stood every man, woman, and child capable of motion in the Eskimo village! They did not stand in a confused group, but in two long lines, with a space of four or five feet between, thus forming a living lane, extending from the door of Okiok's hut to that of Angut, which stood not far distant. At first our seaman felt an almost irresistible inclination to burst into a hearty fit of laughter, there seemed something so absurdly solemn in this cumulative stare, but good feeling fortunately checked him; yet he walked with his host along the lane with such a genuine expression of glee and good-will on his manly face that a softly uttered but universal and emphatic "Huk!" assured him he had made a good first impression. When he had entered the abode of Angut a deep sigh of relief escaped from the multitude, and they made up for their enforced silence by breaking into a gush of noisy conversation. In his new abode Red Rooney found Angut and old Kannoa, with a blazing lamp and steaming stove-kettle, ready to receive him. Few were the words of welcome uttered by Angut, for Eskimos are not addicted to ceremonial; nevertheless, with the promptitude of one ever ready to learn, he seized his visitor's hand, and shook it heartily in the manner which Rooney had taught him--with the slight mistake that he shook it from side to side instead of up and down. At the same time he pointed to a deerskin seat on the raised floor of the hut, where Kannoa had already placed a stone dish of smoking viands. The smile which had overspread Rooney's face at the handshaking faded away as he laid his hand on the old woman's shoulder, and, stooping down, gazed at her with an expression of great tenderness. Ah! Rooney, what is there in that old wrinkled visage, so scarred by the rude assaults of Time, yet with such a strong touch of pathos in the expression, that causes thy broad bosom to swell and thine eagle eyes to moisten? Does it remind thee of something very different, yet wonderfully like, in the old country? Rooney never distinctly told what it was, but as he had left a much-- loved grandmother at home, we may be permitted to guess. From that hour he took a tender interest in that little old woman, and somehow--from the expression of his eye, perhaps, or the touch of his strong hand--the old creature seemed to know it, and chuckled, in her own peculiar style, immensely. For old Kannoa had not been overburdened with demonstrative affection by the members of her tribe, some of whom had even called her an old witch--a name which had sent a thrill of great terror through her trembling old heart, for the doom of witches in Eskimo land in those days was very terrible. Next day, being that of the great feast, the entire village bestirred itself with the first light of morning. Men and women put on their best garments, the lamps were kindled, the cooking-kettles put on, and preparations generally commenced on a grand scale. Awaking and stretching himself, with his arms above his head and his mouth open, young Ermigit yawned vociferously. "Hah! how strong I feel," he said, "a white bear would be but a baby in my hands!" Going through a similar stretch-yawny process, his brother Norrak said that he felt as if he had strength to turn a walrus inside out. "Come, boys, turn yourselves out o' the house, and help to cut up the meat. It is not wise to boast in the morning," said Okiok. "True, father," returned Norrak quietly, "but if we don't boast in the morning, the men do it so much all the rest of the day that we'll have no chance." "These two will be a match for you in talk before long," remarked Nuna, after her sons had left. "Ay, and also in body," returned the father, who was rather proud of his well-grown boys. "Huk! what is Tumbler putting on?" he asked in astonishment. "The dress that the Kablunet made for him," said Nunaga, with a merry laugh. "Doesn't it fit well? My only fear is that if Arbalik sees him, he will pierce him with a dart before discovering his mistake." "What are you going to begin the day with?" asked Nuna, as she stirred her kettle. "With a feed," replied Okiok, glancing slyly at his better half. "As if I didn't know that!" returned the wife. "When did Okiok ever do anything before having his morning feed?" "When he was starving," retorted the husband promptly. This pleasantry was received with a giggle by the women. "Well, father, and what comes after the morning feed?" asked Nunaga. "Kick-ball," answered Okiok. "That is a hard game," said the wife; "it makes even the young men blow like walruses." "Ay, and eat like whales," added the husband. "And sleep like seals," remarked Nunaga. "And snore like--like Okioks," said Nuna. This was a hard hit, being founded on some degree of truth, and set Okiok off in a roar of laughter. Becoming suddenly serious, he asked if anything had been seen the day before of Ujarak the angekok. "Yes, he was in the village in the evening," replied Nuna as she arranged the food on platters. "He and Ippegoo were found in the green cave yesterday by the Kablunet. He was out about the ice-heaps, and came on them just as Tumbler saved Pussi, and Ippegoo saved them both." "Tumbler saved Pussi!" exclaimed the Eskimo, looking first at his daughter and then at his wife. "Yes; Pussi was tumbling over an ice-cliff," said Nunaga, "and Tumbler held on to her." "By the tail," said Nuna. "So Ippegoo rushed out of the cave, and saved them both. Ujarak would have been too late. It seems strange to me that his torngak did not warn him in time." "Torngaks must be very hard-hearted," said Okiok, with a look and tone of contempt that he did not care to conceal. "But what were they doing in the cave?" "Who knows?" replied Nuna. "These two are always plotting. Ridroonee says they looked as if worried at having been discovered. Come, fall-to. You must be strong to-day if you would play kick-ball well." Okiok glanced with a look of care upon his brow at Nunaga, shook his head gravely once or twice in silence, and began breakfast. After the meal was over he sallied forth to join in the sports, which were soon to begin. Going first to the hut of Angut, he found the most of his countrymen and women surrounding Red Rooney, who, having finished breakfast, was seated on a sledge conversing with Angut and Simek, and others of the chief men of the tribe. All the rest were gazing and listening with greedy eyes and ears. "Hi! Okiok," exclaimed the sailor heartily, as he rose and held out his hand, which his former host shook heartily, to the great surprise and delight of the crowd; "have you joined the gluttons, that you take so long to your morning feed? or have you slept longer than usual, to make you a better match for the young men?" "No; I was in dreamland," answered the Eskimo, with profound gravity, which his countrymen knew quite well was pretended; "and I met a torngak there, who told me that the Kablunet needed much sleep as well as food, and must not be roused by me, although other fools might disturb him." "How kind of the torngak!" returned Rooney. "But he was not polite, for if he spoke to you of `other' fools, he must have thought of you as _one_ fool. Was he your own torngak?" "No; I have no torngak. He was my grandmother's. And he told me that the Kablunet was a great angekok, and would have a torngak of his own soon. Moreover, he said the games must begin at once--so come along, Ippegoo." As he spoke, Okiok caught the slender youth in his powerful arms, laid him gently on his back, flung some snow in his face, and then ran away. Ippegoo, entering at once into the spirit of the fun, arose and gave chase. Excelling in speed as much as his opponent did in strength, the youth soon overtook him, managed to trip him up, and fell on the top of him. He was wildly cheered by the delighted crowd, and tried to punish Okiok; but his efforts were not very successful, for that worthy put both his mittened hands over his head, and, curling himself up like a hedgehog, lay invulnerable on the ice. Poor Ippegoo had not strength either to uncoil, or lift, or even move his foe, and failed to find a crevice in his hairy dress into which he might stuff snow. After a few minutes Okiok straightened himself out, jumped up, and scurried off again over the ice, in the direction of the berg of the green cave, followed by the entire village. It was on a level field of ice close to the berg referred to that the game of kick-ball was to be played. As Rooney was not yet strong enough to engage in rough play, a pile of deerskins was placed on a point of the berg, slightly higher than the heads of the people, and he was requested to mount thereon. There, as on a throne, he presided over the games, and became the gazing-stock of the tribe during the intervals of play. But these intervals were not numerous or prolonged, for most of the players were powerful men and boys, so thoroughly inured, by the nature of their lives, to hardship and vigorous action in every possible position of body that their muscles were always in the condition of those of a well-trained athlete. Even Ippegoo, with all his natural defects of mind and body, was by no means contemptible as a player, in those games, especially, which required agility and powers of endurance. First they had a game of hand-ball. It was very simple. The players, who were not selected, but entered the lists at their own pleasure, divided themselves into two parties, which stood a little apart from each other. Then an ordinary hand-ball was tossed into the air by Okiok, who led one of the parties. Simek, the mighty hunter, led the other. These men, although approaching middle age, were still at the height of their strength and activity, and therefore fitting leaders of the younger men in this as well as the more serious affairs of life. It seemed to Rooney at first as if Okiok and his band were bent on having all the fun to themselves, for they began to toss the ball to each other, without any regard to their opponents. But suddenly Simek and some of his best men made a rush into the midst of the other party with shouts and amazing bounds. Their object was to catch or wrest the ball from Okiok's party, and throw it into the midst of their own friends, who would then begin to amuse themselves with it until their opponents succeeded in wresting it from them. Of course this led to scenes of violent action and wild but good-humoured excitement. Wrestling and grasping each other were forbidden in this game, but hustling, tripping up, pushing, and charging were allowed, so that the victory did not always incline either to the strong or the agile. And the difficulty of taking the ball from either party was much greater than one might suppose. For full half an hour they played with the utmost energy, insomuch that they had to pause for a few seconds to recover breath. Then, with one accord, eyes were turned to the president, to see how he took it. Delight filled every bosom, for they saw that he was powerfully sympathetic. Indeed Rooney had become so excited as well as interested in the game, that it was all he could do to restrain himself from leaping into the midst of the struggling mass and taking a part. He greeted the pause and the inquiring gaze with a true British cheer, which additionally charmed as well as surprised the natives. But their period of rest was brief. Simek had the ball at the time. He suddenly sent it with a wild "Huk! hoo-o-o!" whirling into the air. The Kablunet was instantly forgotten. The ball came straight down towards a clumsy young man, who extended his hands, claw-like, to receive it. At that moment lppegoo launched himself like a thunderbolt into the small of the clumsy youth's back, and sent him sprawling on the snow amid shouts of laughter, while Norrak leaped neatly in, and, catching the ball as it rebounded, sent it up again on the same side. As it went up straight and came down perpendicularly, there was a concentric rush from all sides. Ujarak chanced to be the buffer who received the shock, and his big body was well able to sustain it. At the same moment he deftly caught the ball. "Ho! his torngak helps him!" shouted Okiok ironically. "So he does," cried the wizard, with a scoffing laugh, as he hurled the ball aloft; "why does not your torngak help _you_?" There was a loud titter at this, but the laugh was turned in favour of the other side when Ermigit caught the ball, and sent it over to the Okiok band, while their leader echoed the words, "So he does," and spun the ball from him with such force that it flew over all heads, and chanced to alight in the lap of Red Rooney. It could not have landed better, for that worthy returned it as a point-blank shot which took full effect on the unexpectant nose of Ermigit. The spirited lad was equal to the occasion. Although water rose unbidden to his eyes, he caught the ball, and with a shout of laughter flung it into the midst of his own side. Thus the play went on fast and furious, until both sides were gasping. Then with one consent they stopped for a more prolonged rest--for there was no winning or losing at this game. Their only aim was to see which side could get hold of the ball oftenest and keep it longest until all were exhausted. But the fun did not cease although the game did, for another and quieter game of strength was instituted. The whole party drew closer round their president, and many of them mounted to points of vantage on the berg, on the sides of which groups of the women and children had already taken up positions. It may be remarked here that the snow-covered ice on which the game of ball had been played was like a sheet of white marble, but not so hard, for a heavy stamp with a heel could produce an indentation, though no mark was left by the ordinary pressure of a foot. The competitors in the game of strength, or rather, of endurance, were only two in number. One was Okiok's eldest son, Norrak, the other the clumsy young man to whom reference has been already made. The former, although the smaller and much the younger of the two, was remarkably strong for his age. These two engaged in a singular style of boxing, in which, strange to say, the combatants did not face each other, nor did they guard or jump about. Stripped to the waist, like real heroes of the ring, they walked up to each other, and the clumsy youth turned his naked back to Norrak, who doubled his fist, and gave him a sounding thump thereon. Then Norrak wheeled about and submitted to a blow, which was delivered with such good-will that he almost tumbled forward. Again he turned about, and the clumsy one presented his back a second time; and thus they continued to pommel each other's backs until they began to pant vehemently. At last Norrak hit his adversary such a whack on the right shoulder that he absolutely spun him round, and caused him to roll over on his back, amid the plaudits of the assembly. The clumsy one rose with a somewhat confused look, but was not allowed to continue the battle. There was no such thing as fighting it out "to the bitter end" among these hilarious Eskimos. In fact, they were playing, not fighting. At this point Simek approached Rooney with a smiling countenance, and said-- "There is another game of strength which we sometimes play, and it is the custom to appoint a man to choose the players. Will the Kablunet act this part to-day?" Of course our seaman was quite ready to comply. After a few moments' consideration, he looked round, with a spice of mischief in his heart, but a smile on his countenance, and said-- "What could be more agreeable than to see the striving of two such good friends as Angut my host and Ujarak the angekok?" There was a sudden silence and opening of eyes at this, for every one was well aware that a latent feeling of enmity existed between these two, and their personal strength and courage being equally well-known, no one up to that time had ventured to pit these two against each other. There was no help for it now, however. They were bound in honour, as well as by the laws of the community, to enter into conflict. Indeed they showed no inclination to avoid the trial, for Angut at once stepped quietly into the space in front of the president, and began to strip off his upper garments, while Ujarak leaped forward with something of a bounce, and did the same. They were splendid specimens of physical manhood, both of them, for their well-trained muscles lay bulging on their limbs in a way that would have gladdened the sculptors of Hercules to behold. But there was a vast difference in the aspect of the two men. Both were about equal in height and breadth of shoulder, but Angut was much the slimmer and more elegant about the waist, as well as considerably lighter than his adversary. It was in the bearing of Angut, however, that the chief difference lay. There was a refinement of physiognomy and a grace of motion about him of which the other was utterly destitute; and it was plain that while the wizard was burning to come off victorious, the other was only willing, in a good-humoured way, to comply with the demands of custom. There was neither daring, defiance, contempt, nor fear in his countenance, which wore its wonted aspect of thoughtful serenity. After this description of the champions, we feel almost unwilling to disappoint the reader by saying that the game or trial was the reverse of martial or noble. Sitting down on the hard snow, they linked their legs and arms together in a most indescribable manner, and strove to out-pull each other. There was, indeed, much more of the comic than the grand in this display, yet, as the struggle went on, a feeling of breathless interest arose, for it was not often that two such stalwart frames were seen in what appeared to be a mortal effort. The great muscles seemed to leap up from arm and thigh, as each made sudden and desperate efforts--right and left--sometimes pulling and sometimes pushing back, in order to throw each other off guard, while perspiration burst forth and stood in beads upon their foreheads. At last Ujarak thrust his opponent back to the utmost extent of his long arms, and, with a sudden pull, raised him almost to his feet. There was a gasp of excitement, almost of regret, among the onlookers, for Angut was a decided favourite. But the pull was not quite powerful enough. Angut began to sink back to his old position. He seemed to feel that now or never was his chance. Taking advantage of his descending weight, he added to it a wrench which seemed to sink his ten fingers into the flesh of Ujarak's shoulders; a momentary check threw the latter off his guard, and next instant Angut not only pulled him over, but hurled him over his own head, and rolled him like a porpoise on the snow! A mighty shout hailed the victory as the wizard arose and retired crestfallen from the scene, while the victor gravely resumed his coat and mingled with the crowd. Ujarak chanced, in retiring, to pass close to Okiok. Although naturally amiable, that worthy, feeling certain that the wizard was playing a double part, and was actuated by sinister motives in some of his recent proceedings, could not resist the temptation to whisper-- "Was your torngak asleep, that he failed to help you just now?" The whisper was overheard by some of the women near, who could not suppress a subdued laugh. The wizard, who was not at that moment in a condition to take a jest with equanimity, turned a fierce look upon Okiok. "I challenge you," he said, "to a singing combat." "With all my heart," replied Okiok; "when shall it be?" "To-morrow," said the wizard sternly. "To-morrow let it be," returned Okiok, with the cool indifference of an Arctic hunter, to the immense delight of the women and others who heard the challenge, and anticipated rare sport from the impending duel. CHAPTER ELEVEN. THE HAIRY ONES FEAST AND ARE HAPPY. Lest the reader should anticipate, from the conclusion of the last chapter, that we are about to describe a scene of bloodshed and savagery, we may as well explain in passing that the custom of duelling, as practised among some tribes of the Eskimos, is entirely intellectual, and well worthy of recommendation to those civilised nations which still cling fondly and foolishly to the rapier and pistol. If an Eskimo of the region about which we write thinks himself aggrieved by another, he challenges him to a singing and dancing combat. The idea of taking their revenge, or "satisfying their honour," by risking their lives and proving their courage in mortal combat, does not seem to have occurred to them--probably because the act would be without significance among men whose whole existence is passed in the daily risk of life and limb and proof of courage. Certainly the singing combat has this advantage, that intellect triumphs over mere brute force, and the physically weak may prove to be more than a match for the strong. But as this duel was postponed to the following day, for the very good reason that a hearty supper and night of social enjoyment had first to be disposed of, we will turn again to the players on the ice-floe. "Come, Angut," said Rooney, descending from his throne or presidential chair, and taking the arm of his host; "I'm getting cold sitting up there. Let us have a walk together, and explain to me the meaning of this challenge." They went off in the direction of the sea-green cave, while Simek organised a game of kick-ball. "Okiok tells me," continued Rooney, "that there is to be no fighting or bloodshed in the matter. How is that?" Angut expounded, as we have already explained, and then asked-- "Have they no singing combats in your land?" "Well, not exactly; at least not for the purpose of settling quarrels." "How, then, are quarrels settled?" "By law, sometimes, and often by sword--you would call it spear--and pistol. A pistol is a thing that spouts fire and kills. Nations occasionally settle their quarrels in the same way, and call it war." Angut looked puzzled--as well he might! "When two men quarrel, can killing do any good?" he asked. "I fear not," answered the seaman, "for the mere gratification of revenge is not good. But they do not always kill. They sometimes only wound slightly, and then they say that honour is satisfied, and they become friends." "But--but," said the still puzzled Eskimo, "a wound cannot prove which quarreller is right. Is it the one who wounds that is thought right?" "No." "Is it then the wounded one?" "O no. It is neither. The fact is, the proving of who is right and who is wrong has nothing to do with the matter. All they want is to prove that they are both very brave. Often, when one is slightly wounded--no matter which--they say they are satisfied." "With what are they satisfied?" "That's more than I can tell, Angut. But it is only a class of men called _gentlemen_ who settle their quarrels thus. Common fellows like me are supposed to have no honour worth fighting about!" The Eskimo looked at his companion, supposing that he might be jesting, but seeing that he was quite grave and earnest, he rejoined in an undertone-- "Then my thoughts have been wrong." "In what respect, Angut?" "It has often come into my mind that the greatest fools in the world were to be found among the Innuit; but there must be greater fools in the lands you tell of." As he spoke the sound of child-voices arrested them, and one was heard to utter the name of Nunaga. The two men paused to listen. They were close to the entrance to the ice-cave, which was on the side of the berg opposite to the spot where the games were being held, and the voices were recognised as those of Pussi and Tumbler. With the indomitable perseverance that was natural to him, the latter had made a second attempt to lead Pussi to the cave, and had been successful. "What is he goin' to do?" asked Pussi, in a voice of alarm. "Goin' to run away vid sister Nunaga," replied Tumbler. "I heard Ippegoo say dat to his mudder. Ujarak is goin' to take her away, an' nebber, nebber come back no more." There was silence after this, silence so dead and prolonged that the listeners began to wonder. It was suddenly broken. Evidently the horrified Pussi had been gathering up her utmost energies, for there burst from the sea-green depths of the cave a roar of dismay so stupendous that Angut and our seaman ran hastily forward, under the impression that some accident had occurred; but the children were sitting there all safe--Tumbler gazing in surprise at his companion, whose eyes were tight shut and her mouth wide-open. The truth is that Pussi loved and was beloved by Nunaga, and the boy's information had told upon her much more powerfully than he had expected. Of course Tumbler was closely questioned by Angut, but beyond the scrap of information he had already given nothing more was to be gathered from him. The two friends were therefore obliged to rest content with the little they had learned, which was enough to put them on their guard. Ere long the sinking of the sun put an end to the games, but not before the whole community had kick-balled themselves into a state of utter incapacity for anything but feeding. To this process they now devoted themselves heart and soul, by the light of the cooking-lamps, within the shelter of their huts. The feast was indeed a grand one. Not only had they superabundance of the dishes which we have described in a previous chapter, but several others of a nature so savoury as to be almost overpowering to the poor man who was the honoured guest of the evening. But Red Rooney laid strong constraint on himself, and stood it bravely. There was something grandly picturesque and Rembrandtish in the whole scene, for the smoke of the lamps, combined with the deep shadows of the rotund and hairy figures, formed a background out of which the animated oily faces shone with ruddy and glittering effect. At first, of course, little sound was heard save the working of their jaws; but as nature began to feel more than adequately supplied, soft sighs began to be interpolated and murmuring conversation intervened. Then some of the more moderate began to dally with tit-bits, and the buzz of conversation swelled. At this point Rooney took Tumbler on his knee, and began to tempt him with savoury morsels. It is only just to the child, (who still wore his raven coat), to say that he yielded readily to persuasion. Rooney also amused and somewhat scandalised his friends by insisting on old Kannoa sitting beside him. "Ho! Ujarak," at last shouted the jovial Simek, who was one of those genial, uproarious, loud-laughing spirits, that can keep the fun of a social assembly going by the mere force and enthusiasm of his animal spirits; "come, tell us about that wonderful bear you had such a fight with last moon, you remember?" "Remember!" exclaimed the wizard, with a pleased look, for there was nothing he liked better than to be called on to relate his adventures-- and it must be added that there was nothing he found easier, for, when his genuine adventures were not sufficiently telling, he could without difficulty expand, exaggerate, modify, or even invent, so as to fit them for the ears of a fastidious company. "Remember!" he repeated in a loud voice, which attracted all eyes, and produced a sudden silence; "of course I remember. The difficulty with me is to forget--and I would that I could forget--for the adventure was ho-r-r-r-ible!" A low murmur of curiosity, hope, and joyful expectation, amounting to what we might style applause, broke from the company as the wizard dwelt on the last word. You see, Eskimos love excitement fully as much as other people, and as they have no spirituous drinks wherewith to render their festivities unnaturally hilarious, they are obliged to have recourse to exciting tales, comic songs, games, and other reasonable modes of creating that rapid flow of blood, which is sometimes styled the "feast of reason and the flow of soul." Simek's soul flowed chiefly from his eyes and from his smiling lips in the form of hearty laughter and encouragement to others--for in truth he was an unselfish man, preferring rather to draw out his friends than to be drawn out by them. "Tell us all about it, then, Ujarak," he cried. "Come, we are ready. Our ears are open--yes; they are very _wide_ open!" There was a slight titter at this sly reference to the magnitude of the lies that would have to be taken in, but Ujarak's vanity rendered him invulnerable to such light shafts. After glaring round with impressive solemnity, so as to deepen the silence and intensify the expectation, he began:-- "It was about the time when the ravens lay their eggs and the small birds appear. My torngak had told me to go out on the ice, far over the sea in a certain direction where I should find a great berg with many white peaks mounting up to the very sky. There, he said, I should find what I was to do. It was blowing hard at the time; also snowing and freezing. I did not wish to go, but an angekok _must_ go forward and fear nothing when his torngak points the way. Therefore I went." "Took no food? no sleigh? no dogs?" asked Okiok in surprise. "No. When it is a man's duty to obey, he must not think of small things. It is the business of a wise man to do or to die." There was such an air of stern grandeur about Ujarak as he gave utterance to this high-flown sentiment, that a murmur of approval burst from his believers, who formed decidedly the greater part of the revellers, and Okiok hid his diminished head in the breast of his coat to conceal his laughter. "I had no food with me--only my walrus spear and line," continued the wizard. "Many times I was swept off my feet by the violence of the gale, and once I was carried with such force towards a mass of upheaved ice that I expected to be dashed against it and killed, but just as this was about to happen the--" "Torngak helped--eh?" interrupted Okiok, with a simple look. "No; torngaks never help while we are above ground. They only advise, and leave it to the angekok's wisdom and courage to do the rest," retorted the wizard, who, although roused to wrath by these interruptions of Okiok, felt that his character would be damaged if he allowed the slightest appearance of it to escape him. "When, as I said, I was about to be hurled against the berg of ice, the wind seemed to bear me up. No doubt it was a long hollow at the foot of the ice that sent the wind upwards, but my mind was quick. Instead of resisting the impulse, I made a bound, and went up into the air and over the berg. It was a very low one," added the wizard, as a reply to some exclamations of extreme surprise--not unmingled with doubt--from some of his audience. "After that," continued Ujarak, "the air cleared a little, and I could see a short way around me, as I scudded on. Small bergs were on every side of me. There were many white foxes crouching in the lee of these for shelter. Among them I noticed some white bears. Becoming tired of thus scudding before the wind, I made a dash to one side, to get under the shelter of a small berg and take rest. Through the driving snow I could see the figure of a man crouching there before me. I ran to him, and grasped his coat to check my speed. He stood up--oh, _so_ high! It was not a man," (the wizard deepened his voice, and slowed here)--"it-- was--a--white--bear!" Huks and groans burst at this point from the audience, who were covered with the perspiration of anxiety, which would have been cold if the place had not been so warm. "I turned and ran," continued the angekok; "the bear followed. We came to a small hummock of ice. I doubled round it. The bear went past-- like one of Arbalik's arrows--sitting on its haunches, and trying to stop itself in vain, for the wind carried it on like an oomiak with the sail spread. When the bear stopped, it turned back, and soon came up with me, for I had doubled, and was by that time running nearly against the wind. Then my courage rose! I resolved to face the monster with my walrus spear. It was a desperate venture, but it was my duty. Just then the snow partly ceased, and I could see a berg with sloping sides. `Perhaps I may find a point of vantage there that I have not on the flat ice,' I thought, and away I ran for the sloping berg. It was rugged and broken. Among its masses I managed to dodge the bear till I got to the top. Here I resolved to stand and meet my foe, but as I stood I saw that the other side of the berg had been partly melted by the sun. It was a clear steep slope from the top to the bottom. The bear was scrambling up, foaming in its fury, with its eyes glaring like living lamps, and its red mouth a-gape. Another thought came to me--I have been quick of thought from my birth! Just as the bear was rising to the attack, I sat down on the slope, and flew rather than slid to the bottom. It was an awful plunge! I almost shut my eyes in horror--but-- but--kept them open. At the bottom there was a curve like a frozen wave. I left the top of this curve and finished the descent in the air. The crash at the end was awful, but I survived it. There was no time for thought. I looked back. The bear, as I expected, had watched me in amazement, and was preparing to follow--for bears, you know, fear nothing. It sat down at the top of the slope, and stuck its claws well into the ice in front of it. I ran back to the foot of the slope to meet it. Its claws lost hold, and it came down thundering, like a huge round stone from a mountain side. I stood, and, measuring exactly its line of descent, stuck the butt of my spear into the ice with the point sloping upwards. Then I retired to see the end, for I did not dare to stand near to it. It happened as I had wished: the bear came straight on my spear. The point went in at the breast-bone, and came out at the small of the back; but the bear was not checked. It went on, taking the spear along with it, and sending out streams of blood like the spouts of a dying whale. When at last it ceased to roll, it lay stretched out upon the ice--dead!" The wizard paused, and looked round. There was a deep-drawn sigh, as if the audience had been relieved from a severe strain of attention. And so they had; and the wizard accepted that involuntary sigh as an evidence of the success of his effort to amuse. "How big was that bear?" asked Ippegoo, gazing on his master with a look of envious admiration. "How big?" repeated Ujarak; "oh, as big--far bigger than--than--the-- biggest bear I have ever seen." "Oh, then it was an _invisible_ bear, was it?" asked Okiok in surprise. "How? What do you mean?" demanded the wizard, with an air of what was meant for grave contempt. "If it was bigger than the _biggest_ bear you have ever seen," replied Okiok, with a stupid look; "then you could not have seen _it_, because, you know, it could not well be bigger than itself." "Huk! that's true," exclaimed one, while others laughed heartily, for Eskimos dearly love a little banter. "Boh! ba! boo!" exclaimed Simek, after a sudden guffaw; "that's not equal to what _I_ did to the walrus. Did I ever tell it you, friends?-- but never mind whether I did or not. I'll tell it to our guest the Kablunet now." The jovial hunter was moved to this voluntary and abrupt offer of a story by his desire to prevent anything like angry feeling arising between Okiok and the wizard. Of course the company, as well as Rooney, greeted the proposal with pleasure, for although Simek did not often tell of his own exploits, and made no pretension to be a graphic story-teller, they all knew that whatever he undertook he did passably well, while his irrepressible good-humour and hilarity threw a sort of halo round all that he said. "Well, my friends, it was a terrible business!" Simek paused, and looked round on the company with a solemn stare, which produced a smothered laugh--in some cases a little shriek of delight-- for every one, except the wizard himself, recognised in the look and manner an imitation of Ujarak. "A dreadful business," continued Simek; "but I got over it, as you shall hear. I too have a torngak. You need not laugh, my friends. It is true. He is only a little one, however--about so high, (holding up his thumb), and he never visits me except at night. One night he came to me, as I was lying on my back, gazing through a hole in the roof at our departed friends dancing in the sky. [See note.] He sat down on the bridge of my nose, and looked at me. I looked at _him_. Then he changed his position, sat down on my chin, and looked at me over my nose. Then he spoke. "`Do you know White-bear Bay?' he asked. "`Know it?' said I--`do I know my own mother?' "`What answer is that?' he said in surprise. "Then I remembered that torngaks--especially little ones--don't understand jokes, nothing but simple speech; so I laughed. "`Don't laugh,' he said, `your breath is strong.' And that was true; besides, I had a bad cold at the time, so I advised him to get off my chin, for if I happened to cough he might fall in and be swallowed before I could prevent it. "`Tell me,' said he, with a frown, `do you know White-bear Bay?' "`Yes!' said I, in a shout that made him stagger. "`Go there,' said he, `and you shall see a great walrus, as big as one of the boats of the women. Kill it.' "The cold getting bad at that moment, I gave a tremendous sneeze, which blew my torngak away--" A shriek of delight, especially from the children, interrupted Simek at this point. Little Tumbler, who still sat on Rooney's knee, was the last to recover gravity, and little Pussi, who still nestled beside Nunaga, nearly rolled on the floor from sympathy. Before the story could be resumed, one of the women announced that a favourite dish which had been for some time preparing was ready. The desire for that dish proving stronger than the desire for the story, the company, including Simek, set to work on it with as much gusto as if they had eaten nothing for hours past! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note. Such is the Eskimo notion of the Aurora Borealis. CHAPTER TWELVE. COMBINES STORY-TELLING (IN BOTH SENSES) WITH FASTING, FUN, AND MORE SERIOUS MATTERS. The favourite dish having been disposed of, Simek continued his story. "Well," said he, "after my little torngak had been blown away, I waited a short time, hoping that he would come back, but he did not; so I got up, took a spear in my hand, and went off to White-bear Bay, determined to see if the little spirit had spoken the truth. Sure enough, when I got to the bay, there was the walrus sitting beside its hole, and looking about in all directions as if it were expecting me. It was a giant walrus," said Simek, lowering his remarkably deep voice to a sort of thunderous grumble that filled the hearts of his auditors with awe in spite of themselves, "a--most--awful walrus! It was bigger,"--here he looked pointedly at Okiok--"than--than the very _biggest_ walrus I have ever seen! I have not much courage, friends, but I went forward, and threw my spear at it." (The listeners gasped.) "It missed!" (They groaned.) "Then I turned, and, being filled with fear, I ran. Did you ever see me run?" "Yes, yes," from the eager company. "No, my friends, you never saw me run! Anything you ever saw me do was mere walking--creeping--standing still, compared with what I did then on that occasion. You know I run fast?" ("Yes, yes.") "But that big walrus ran faster. It overtook me; it overturned me; it _swallowed_ me!" Here Simek paused, as if to observe how many of them swallowed that. And, after all, the appeal to their credulity was not as much overstrained as the civilised reader may fancy, for in their superstitious beliefs Eskimos held that there was one point in the training of a superior class of angekoks which necessitated the swallowing of the neophyte by a bear and his returning to his friends alive and well after the operation! Besides, Simek had such an honest, truthful expression of countenance and tone of voice, that he could almost make people believe anything he chose to assert. Some there were among his hearers who understood the man well, and guessed what was coming; others there were who, having begun by thinking him in jest, now grew serious, under the impression that he was in earnest; but by far the greater number believed every word he said. All, however, remained in expectant silence while he gravely went on:-- "My friends, you will not doubt me when I say that it was very hot inside of that walrus. I stripped myself, but was still too hot. Then I sat down on one of his ribs to think. Suddenly it occurred to me to draw my knife and cut myself out. To my dismay, I found that my knife had been lost in the struggle when I was swallowed. I was in despair, for you all know, my friends, how impossible it is to cut up a walrus, either from out or inside, without a knife. In my agony I seized the monster's heart, and tried to tear it; but it was too hard-hearted for that. The effort only made the creature tremble and jump, which I found inconvenient. I also knew from the curious muffled sound outside that it was roaring. I sat down again on a rib to consider. If I had been a real angekok, my torngak no doubt would have helped me at that time--but he did not." "How could you have a torngak at all if you are not a _real_ angekok?" demanded the wizard, in a tone that savoured of contempt. "You shall hear. Patience!" returned Simek quietly, and then went on:-- "I had not sat long when I knew by the motions of the beast that he was travelling over the ice--no doubt making for his water-hole. `If he gets into the sea,' I thought, `it will be the end of me.' I knew, of course, that he could not breathe under water, and that he could hold his breath so long that before he came up again for fresh air I should be suffocated. My feelings became dreadful. I hope, my friends, that you will never be in a situation like it. In my despair I rushed about from the head to the tail. I must have hurt him dreadfully in doing so--at least I thought so, from the way he jumped about. Once or twice I was tossed from side to side as if he was rolling over. You know I am a man of tender heart. My wife says that, so it must be true; but my heart was hardened by that time; I cared not. I cared for nothing! "Suddenly I saw a small sinew, in the form of a loop, close to the creature's tail. As a last hope, without knowing why, I seized it and tugged. The tail, to my surprise, came slightly inwards. I tugged again. It came further in. A new thought came to me suddenly. This was curious, for, you know, that never since I was a little child have my thoughts been quick, and very seldom new. But somehow the thought came--without the aid of my torngak too! I tugged away at that tail with all my might. It came further and further in each tug. At last I got it in as far as the stomach. I was perspiring all over. Suddenly I felt a terrific heave. I guessed what that was. The walrus was sick, and was trying to vomit his own tail! It was awful! Each heave brought me nearer to the mouth. But now the difficulty of moving the mass that I had managed to get inside had become so great that I felt the thing to be quite beyond my power, and that I must leave the rest to nature. Still, however, I continued the tugging, in order to keep up the sickness--also to keep me employed, for whenever I paused to recover breath I was forced to resume work to prevent my fainting away altogether, being so terrified at the mere thought of my situation. To be inside a walrus is bad enough, but to be inside of a sick walrus!--my friends, I cannot describe it. "Suddenly there was a heave that almost rent the ribs of the creature apart. Like an arrow from a bow, I was shot out upon the ice, and with a clap like thunder that walrus turned inside out! And then," said Simek, with glaring solemnity, "I awoke--for it was all a dream!" There was a gasp and cheer of delight at this, mingled with prolonged laughter, for now the most obtuse even among the children understood that Simek had been indulging in a tale of the imagination, while those whose wits were sharper saw and enjoyed the sly hits which had been launched at Ujarak throughout. Indeed the wizard himself condescended to smile at the conclusion, for the tale being a dream, removed from it the only objectionable part in his estimation, namely, that any torngak, great or small, would condescend to have intercourse with one who was not an angekok. "Now," cried Okiok, starting up, "bring more meat; we are hungry again." "Huk! huk!" exclaimed the assenting company. "And when we are stuffed," continued Okiok, "we will be glad to hear what the Kablunet has to tell about his own land." The approval of this suggestion was so decided and hearty, that Red Rooney felt it to be his duty to gratify his hospitable friends to the utmost of his power. Accordingly he prepared himself while they were engaged with the second edition of supper. The task, however, proved to be surrounded with difficulties much greater than he had expected. Deeming it not only wise, but polite, to begin with something complimentary, he said:-- "My friends, the Innuits are a great people. They work hard; they are strong and brave, and have powerful wills." As these were facts which every one admitted, and Rooney uttered them with considerable emphasis and animation; the statement of them was received with nods, and huks, and other marks of approval. "The Innuits are also hospitable," he continued. "A Kablunet came to them starving, dying. The Great Spirit who made us all, and without whose permission nothing at all can happen, sent Okiok to help him. Okiok is kind; so is his wife; also his daughter. They took the poor Kablunet to their house. They fed--they stuffed--him. Now he is getting strong, and will soon be able to join in kick-ball, and pull-over, and he may perhaps, before long, teach your great angekok Ujarak some things that he does not yet know!" As this was said with a motion in one eye which strongly resembled a wink, the audience burst into mingled applause and laughter. To some, the idea of their wise man being taught anything by a poor benighted Kablunet was ridiculous. To others, the hope of seeing the wizard's pride humbled was what is slangily termed "nuts." Ujarak himself took the remark in good part, in consequence of the word "great" having been prefixed to his title. "But," continued the seaman, with much earnestness, "having said that I am grateful, I will not say more about the Innuit just now. I will only tell you, in few words, some things about my own country which will interest you. I have been asked if we have big villages. Yes, my friends, we have very big villages--so big that I fear you will find it difficult to understand what I say." "The Innuit have big understandings," said Simek, with a bland smile, describing a great circle with his outspread arms; "do not fear to try them." "Well, one village we have," resumed Rooney, "is as broad as from here to the house of Okiok under the great cliff, and it is equally long." The "huks" and "hois!" with which this was received proved that, big as their understandings were, the Eskimos were not prepared to take in so vast an idea. "Moreover," said the seaman, "because there is not enough of space, the houses are built on the top of each other--one--two--three--four--even five and six--one standing on the other." As each number was named, the eyes of the assembly opened wider with surprise, until they could open no further. "Men, women, and children live in these houses; and if you were to spread them all over the ice here, away as far as you can see in every direction, you would not be able to see the ice at all for the houses." "_What_ a liar!" murmured the mother of Arbalik to the mother of Ippegoo. "Dreadful!" responded the latter. "Moreover," continued Rooney, "these people can put their words and thoughts down on a substance called paper and send them to each other, so that men and women who may be hundreds of miles away can talk with each other and understand what they say and think, though they cannot hear or see each other, and though their words and thoughts take days and moons to travel." The breathless Eskimos glanced at each other, and tried to open their eyes wider, but, having already reached the utmost limit, they failed. Unfortunately at that moment our hero was so tickled by the appearance of the faces around him, that he smiled. In a moment the eyes collapsed and the mouths opened. "Ha! ha-a-a!" roared Simek, rubbing his hands; "the Kablunet is trying to beat my walrus." "And he has succeeded," cried Angut, who felt it his duty to stand up for the credit of his guest, though he greatly wished that he had on this occasion confined himself to sober truth. A beaming expression forthwith took the place of surprise on every face, as it suddenly dawned upon the company that Ridroonee was to be classed with the funny dogs whose chief delight it is to recount fairy tales and other exaggerated stories, with a view to make the men shout, the women laugh, and the children squeak with amusement. "Go on," they cried; "tell us more." Rooney at once perceived his mistake, and the misfortune that had befallen him. His character for veracity was shaken. He felt that it would be better to say no more, to leave what he had said to be regarded as a fairy tale, and to confine himself entirely to simple matters, such as an Eskimo might credit. He looked at his friend Angut. Angut returned the look with profound gravity, almost sorrow. Evidently his faith in the Kablunet was severely shaken. "I'll try them once more," thought Rooney. "It won't do to have a vast range of subjects tabooed just because they won't believe. Come, I'll try again." Putting on a look of intense earnestness, which was meant to carry irresistible conviction, he continued-- "We have kayaks--oomiaks--in my country, which are big enough to carry three or four times as many people as you have in this village." Another roar of laughter greeted this statement. "Isn't he a good liar?" whispered Arbalik's mother. "And so grave about it too," replied Kunelik. Red Rooney stopped. The mother of Ippegoo, fearing he had divined her thoughts, was overwhelmed, and tried to hide her blushing face behind Issek. "They don't believe me," said the seaman in a low voice to Okiok. "Of course they don't. You might as well tell us that the world is round, when we _see_ that it is flat!" Rooney sighed. He felt depressed. The impossibility of his ever getting these people to understand or believe many things was forced upon him. The undisguised assurance that they looked upon him as the best liar they had ever met with was unsatisfactory. "Besides all this, my friends," he cried, with a feeling and air of reckless gaiety, "we have grand feasts, just as you have, and games too, and dances, and songs--" "Songs!" shouted Simek, with an excited look; "have you songs? can you sing?" "Well, after a fashion I can," returned Rooney, with a modest look, "though I don't pretend to be much of a dab at it. Are you fond o' singin'?" "Fond!" echoed Simek, with a gaze of enthusiasm, "I love it! I love it _nearly_ as much as I love Pussimek; better, far, than I love blubber! Ho! sing to us, Ridroonee." "With all my heart," said Rooney, starting off with all his lung-power, which was by no means slight. "Rule Britannia," rendered in good time, with tremendous energy, and all the additional flourishes possible, nearly drove the audience wild with delight. They had never heard anything like it before. "That beats _you_, Okiok," said Simek. "That is true," replied Okiok humbly. "What! does _he_ sing?" asked Rooney. "Yes; he is our maker of songs, and sings a little." "Then he must sing to me," cried the sailor. "In my land the man who sings last has the right to say who shall sing next. I demand a song from Okiok." As the company approved highly of the demand, and Okiok was quite willing, there was neither difficulty nor delay. The good-natured man began at once, with an air of humorous modesty, if we may say so. Eskimos, as a rule, are not highly poetical in their sentiments, and their versification has not usually the grace of rhyme to render it agreeable, but Okiok was an exception to the rule, in that he could compose verses in rhyme, and was much esteemed because of this power. In a tuneful and moderate voice he sang. Of course, being rendered into English, his song necessarily loses much of its humour, but that, as every linguist knows, is unavoidable. It was Red Rooney who translated it, which will account for the slightly Hibernian tone throughout. I fear also that Rooney must have translated rather freely, but of course at this late period of the world's history it is impossible to ascertain anything certain on the point. We therefore give the song for what it is worth. OKIOK'S SONG. I. A seal once rowled upon the sea Beneath the shining sun, Said I, "My friend, this very day Your rowlin' days are done." "No, no," said he, "that must not be," (And splashed the snowy foam), "Beneath the wave there wait for me A wife and six at home." II. "A lie!" said I, "so you shall die!" I launched my whistling spear; Right up his nose the weapon goes, And out behind his ear. He looked reproachful; then he sank; My heart was very sore, For down, and down, and down he went. I never saw him more. III. Then straight from out the sea arose A female seal and six; "O kill us now, and let our blood With that of father's mix. We cannot hunt; we dare not beg; To steal we will not try; There's nothing now that we can do But blubber, burst, and die." IV. They seized my kayak by the point, They pulled me o'er the sea, They led me to an island lone, And thus they spoke to me: "Bad man, are there not bachelors Both old and young to spare, Whom you might kill, and eat your fill, For all the world would care?" V. "Why stain your weapon with the blood Of one whose very life Was spent in trying to provide For little ones and wife?" They paused and wept, and raised a howl. (The youngest only squealed). It stirred the marrow in my bones, My very conscience reeled. VI. I fell at once upon my knees, I begged them to forgive; I said I'd stay and fish for them As long as I should live. "And marry me," the widow cried; "I'd rather not," said I "But that's a point we'd better leave To talk of by and by." VII. I dwelt upon that island lone For many a wretched year, Serving that mother seal and six With kayak, line, and spear. And strange to say, the little ones No bigger ever grew; But, strangest sight of all, they changed From grey to brilliant blue. VII. "O set me free! O set me free!" I cried in my despair, For by enchantments unexplained They held and kept me there. "I will. But promise first," she said, "You'll never more transfix The father of a family, With little children six." IX. "I promise!" Scarce the words had fled, When, far upon the sea, Careering gaily homeward went My good kayak and me. A mist rolled off my wond'ring eyes, I heard my Nuna scream-- Like Simek with his walrus big, I'd only had a dream! The reception that this peculiar song met with was compound, though enthusiastic. As we have said, Okiok was an original genius among his people, who had never before heard the jingle of rhymes until he invented and introduced them. Besides being struck by the novelty of his verses, which greatly charmed them, they seemed to be much impressed with the wickedness of killing the father of a family; and some of the Eskimo widows then present experienced, probably for the first time in their lives, a touch of sympathy with widowed seals who happened to have large families to provide for. But there was one member of the company whose thoughts and feelings were very differently affected by the song of this national poet--this Eskimo Burns or Byron--namely the wizard Ujarak. In a moment of reckless anger he had challenged Okiok to combat, and, knowing that they would be called on to enter the arena and measure, not swords, but intellects, on the morrow, he felt ill at ease, for he could not hope to come off victorious. If it had been the ordinary battle of wits in blank verse, he might have had some chance he thought, but with this new and telling jingle at the end of alternate lines, he knew that he must of a surety fail. This was extremely galling, because, by the union of smartness, shrewd common sense, and at times judicious silence, he had managed up to that time to maintain his supremacy among his fellows. But on this unlucky day he had been physically overcome by his rival Angut, and now there was the prospect of being intellectually beaten by Okiok. "Strange!" thought the wizard; "I wonder if it was my intention to run away with Nunaga that brought this disgrace upon me." "It was," said a voice very close to him. The wizard looked round quickly, but no one seemed to be thinking of him. It was the voice of Conscience. Ujarak felt uneasy, and stifled it at once. Everybody can do that without much difficulty, as the reader knows, though nobody has ever yet succeeded in killing Conscience outright. He then set himself to devise some plan for escaping from this duel. His imagination was fertile. While the revellers continued to amuse themselves with food, and song, and story, the wizard took to thinking. No one thought his conduct strange, or sought to disturb him, for angekoks belong to a privileged class. But think as hard and as profoundly as he could, no way of escape presented itself until the evening was far advanced, and then, without an appreciable effort of thought, a door seemed to fly open, and that door was--Ippegoo. "Yes," thought the wizard; "that will do. Nothing could be better. I'll make him an angekok." It may be needful to explain here that the creation of an angekok is a serious matter. It involves much ceremonial action on the part of him who operates, and preparation on the part of him who is operated on. Moreover, it is an important matter. When once it has been decided on, nothing can be allowed to interfere with it. All other things--save the unavoidable and urgent--must give way before it. He would announce it that very night. He would boldly omit some of the preliminary ceremonial. The morrow would be a day of preparation. Next day would be the day of the ceremony of induction. After that it would be necessary for him to accompany the new-made wizard on his first journey to the realm of spirits. Thus the singing duel would have to be delayed. Ultimately he would manage to carry off Nunaga to the land of the southern Eskimo; thus he would be able to escape the ordeal altogether, and to laugh at Okiok and his jingling rhymes. When he stood up and made the announcement, declaring that his torngak had told him that another angekok must be created, though who that other one was had not yet been revealed to him, there was a slight feeling of disappointment, for Eskimos dearly love a musical combat; but when he pointed out that after the ceremonies were over, the singing duel might then come off, the people became reconciled to the delay. Being by that time exhausted in body and mind, they soon after retired to rest. Ere long oblivion brooded over the late hilarious crew, who lay down like bundles of hair in their festal garments, and the northern lights threw a flickering radiance over a scene of profound quietude and peace. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. MISCHIEF HATCHING. At early dawn next morning Ippegoo was awakened from a most refreshing slumber by a gentle shake of the shoulder. "Oh! not yet, mother," groaned the youth in the drowsiest of accents; "I've only just begun to sleep." He turned slowly on the other side, and tried to continue his repose, but another shake disturbed him, and a deep voice said, "Awake; arise, sleepy one." "Mother," he murmured, still half asleep, "you have got the throat s-sickness v-v-very bad," (referring to what we would style a cold). A grim smile played for a moment on the visage of the wizard, as he gave the youth a most unmotherly shake, and said, "Yes, my son, I am very sick, and want you to cure me." Ippegoo was wide awake in a moment. Rising with a somewhat abashed look, he followed his evil genius out of the hut, where, in another compartment, his mother lay, open-mouthed, singing a song of welcome to the dawning day through her nose. Ujarak led the youth to the berg with the sea-green cave. Stopping at the entrance, he turned a stern look on his pupil, and pointing to the cavern, uttered the single word--"Follow." As Ippegoo gazed into the sea-green depths of the place--which darkened into absolute blackness, with ghostly projections from the sides, and dim icicles pendent from the invisible roof, he felt a suspicion that the cave might be the vestibule to that dread world of the departed which he had often heard his master describe. "You're not going far, I hope," he said anxiously; "remember I am not yet an angekok." "True; but you are yet a fool," returned the wizard contemptuously. "Do you suppose I would lead you to certain death for no good end? No; but I will make you an angekok to-night, and after that we may explore the wonders of the spirit-world together. I have brought you here to speak about that, for the ears of some people are very quick. We shall be safe here. You have been long enough a fool. The time has arrived when you must join the ranks of the wise men. Come." Again he pointed to the cave, and led the way into its dim sea-green interior. Some men seek eagerly after honours which they cannot win; others have honours which they do not desire thrust upon them. Ippegoo was of the latter class. He followed humbly, and rather closely, for the bare idea of being alone in such a place terrified him. Although pronounced a fool, the poor fellow was wise enough to perceive that he was utterly unfitted, physically as well as mentally, for the high honour to which Ujarak destined him; but he was so thoroughly under the power of his influence that he felt resistance or refusal to be impossible. He advanced, therefore, with a heavy heart. Everything around was fitted to chill his ambition, even if he had possessed any, and to arouse the terrors of his weak and superstitious mind. When they had walked over the icy floor of the cave until the entrance behind them seemed no larger than a bright star, the wizard stopped abruptly. Ippegoo stumbled up against him with a gasp of alarm. The light was so feeble that surrounding objects were barely visible. Great blocks and spires and angular fragments of ice projected into observation out of profound obscurity. Overhead mighty and grotesque forms, attached to the invisible roof, seemed like creatures floating in the air, to which an imagination much less active than that of Ippegoo might easily have given grinning mouths and glaring eyes; and the atmosphere of the place was so intensely cold that even Eskimo garments could not prevent a shudder. The wizard turned on his victim a solemn gaze. As he stood facing the entrance of the cavern, there was just light enough to render his teeth and the whites of his eyes visible, though the rest of his features were shadowy. "Ippegoo," he said in a low voice, "the time has come--" At that moment a tremendous crash drowned his voice, and seemed to rend the cavern in twain. The reverberating echoes had not ceased when a clap as of the loudest thunder seemed to burst their ears. It was followed for a few seconds by a pattering shower, as of giant hail, and Ippegoo's very marrow quailed. It was only a crack in the berg, followed by the dislodgement of a great mass, which fell from the roof to the floor below--fortunately at some distance from the spot on which the Eskimos stood. "Bergs sometimes rend and fall asunder," gasped the trembling youth. Ujarak's voice was unwontedly solemn as he replied-- "Not in the spring-time, foolish one. Fear not, but listen. To-night you must be prepared to go through the customs that will admit you to the ranks of the wise men." "Don't you think," interposed the youth, with a shiver, "that it would be better to try it on some one else--on Angut, or Okiok, or even Norrak? Norrak is a fine boy, well-grown and strong, as well as clever, and I am such a fool, you know." "You have said truth, Ippegoo. But all that will be changed to-morrow. Once an angekok, your foolishness will depart, and wisdom will come." The poor youth was much cheered by this, because, although he felt utterly unfit for the grave and responsible character, he had enough of faith in his teacher to believe that the needed change would take place,--and change, he was well aware, could achieve wonders. Did he not see it when the change from summer to winter drove nearly all the birds away, converted the liquid sea into a solid plain, and turned the bright day into dismal night? and did he not feel it when the returning summer changed all that again, sent the sparkling waves for his light kayak to dance upon, and the glorious sunshine to call back the feathered tribes, to open the lovely flowers, to melt the hard ice, and gladden all the land? Yes, he knew well what "change" meant, though it never occurred to him to connect all this with a Creator who changes not. In this respect he resembled his master. "Besides," continued the wizard in a more confidential tone, which invariably had the effect of drawing the poor youth's heart towards him, "I cannot make whom I will an angekok. It is my torngak who settles that; I have only to obey. Now, what I want you to do is to become very solemn in your manner and speech from this moment till the deed is finished. Will you remember?" Ippegoo hesitated a moment. He felt just then so unusually solemn that he had difficulty in conceiving it possible to become more so, but remembering the change that was about to take place, he said brightly, "Yes, I'll remember." "You see," continued his instructor, "we must get people to suppose that you are troubled by a spirit of some sort--" "Oh! only to suppose it," cried Ippegoo hopefully. "Then I'm not _really_ to be troubled with a spirit?" "Of course you are, foolish man. But don't you understand people must see that you are, else how are they to know it?" Ippegoo thought that if he was really to be troubled in that way, the only difficulty would be to prevent people from knowing it, but observing that his master was getting angry, he wisely held his tongue, and listened with earnest attention while Ujarak related the details of the ordeal through which he was about to pass. At the time this conversation was being held in the sea-green cave, Okiok, rising from his lair with a prodigious yawn, said to his wife-- "Nuna, I go to see Kunelik." "And what may ye-a-o-u---my husband want with the mother of Ippegoo?" asked Nuna sleepily, but without moving. "I want to ye-a-o-u---ask about her son." "Ye-a-a-o-o-u!" exclaimed Nuna, turning on her other side; "go, then," and she collapsed. Seeing that his wife was unfit just then to enter into conversation, Okiok got up, accomplished what little toilet he deemed necessary in half a minute, and took his way to the hut of Ippegoo's mother. It is not usual in Eskimo land to indulge in ceremonious salutation. Okiok was naturally a straightforward and brusque man. It will not therefore surprise any one to be told that he began his interview with-- "Kunelik, your son Ippegoo is a lanky fool!" "He is," assented Kunelik, with quiet good-humour. "He has given himself," continued Okiok, "spirit and body, to that villain Ujarak." "He has," assented Kunelik again. "Where is he now?" "I do not know." "But me knows," said a small sweet little child-voice from the midst of a bundle of furs. It was the voice of Pussi. That Eskimo atom had been so overcome with sleep at the breaking up of the festivities of the previous night that she was unable to distinguish between those whom she loved and those for whom she cared not. In these circumstances, she had seized the first motherly tail that came within her reach, and followed it home. It chanced to belong to Kunelik, so she dropped down and slept beside her. "_You_ know, my dear little seal?" said Okiok in surprise. "Yes, me knows. When I was 'sleep, a big man comes an' stump on my toes--not much, only a leetle. Dat wokes me, an' I see Ujiyak. He shooks Ip'goo an' bose hoed out degidder." Okiok looked at Kunelik, Kunelik looked at Okiok, and both gravely shook their heads. Before they could resume the conversation, Ippegoo's voice was heard outside asking if his mother was in. "Go," said Kunelik; "though he is a fool, he is wise enough to hold his tongue when any one but me is near." Okiok took the hint, rose at once, and went out, passing the youth as he entered, and being much struck with the lugubrious solemnity of his visage. "Mother," said Ippegoo, sitting down on a skin beside the pleasant little woman, "it comes." "What comes, my son?" "I know not." "If you know not, how do you know that it comes?" asked Kunelik, who was slightly alarmed by the wild manner and unusual, almost dreadful, gravity of her boy. "It is useless to ask me, mother. I do not understand. My mind cannot take it in, but--but--it comes." "Yes; when is it coming?" asked Kunelik, who knew well how to humour him. "How can I tell? I--I think it has come _now_," said the youth, growing paler, or rather greener; "I think I feel it in my breast. Ujarak said the torngak would come to-day, and to-night I am to _be--changed_!" "Oho!" exclaimed Kunelik, with a slight touch of asperity, "it's a torngak that is to come, is it? and Ujarak says so? Don't you know, Ippe, that Ujarak is an idiot!" "Mother!" exclaimed the youth remonstratively, "Ujarak an idiot? Impossible! He is to make me an angekok to-night." "You, Ippe! You are not more fit for an angekok than I am for a seal-hunter." "Yes, true; but I am to _be--changed_!" returned the youth, with a bright look; then remembering that his _role_ was solemnity, he dropped the corners of his mouth, elongated his visage, turned up his eyes, and groaned. "Have you the stomach twist, my boy?" asked his mother tenderly. "No; but I suppose I--I--am changing." "No, you are not, Ippe. I have seen many angekoks made. There will be no change till you have gone through the customs, so make your mind easy, and have something to eat." The youth, having had no breakfast, was ravenously hungry, and as the process of feeding would not necessarily interfere with solemnity, he agreed to the proposal with his accustomed look of satisfaction--which, however, he suddenly nipped in the bud. Then, setting-to with an expression that might have indicated the woes of a lifetime, he made a hearty breakfast. Thereafter he kept moving about the village all day in absolute silence, and with a profound gloom on his face, by which the risibility of some was tickled, while not a few were more or less awe-stricken. It soon began to be rumoured that Ippegoo was the angekok-elect. In the afternoon Ujarak returned from a visit, as he said, to the nether world, and with his brother wizards--for there were several in the tribe-- confirmed the rumour. As evening approached, Rooney entered Okiok's hut. No one was at home except Nuna and Tumbler. The latter was playing, as usual, with his little friend Pussi. The goodwife was busy over the cooking-lamp. "Where is your husband, Nuna?" asked the sailor, sitting down on a walrus skull. "Out after seals." "And Nunaga?" "Visiting the mother of Arbalik." The seaman looked thoughtfully at the lamp-smoke for a few moments. "She is a hard woman, that mother of Arbalik," he said. "Issek is not so hard as she looks," returned Mrs Okiok; "her voice is rough, but her heart is soft." "I'm glad to hear you speak well of her," said Rooney, "for I don't like to think ill of any one if I can help it; but sometimes I can't help it. Now, there's your angekok Ujarak: I cannot think well of him. Have you a good word to say in his favour?" "No, not one. He is bad through and through--from the skin to the bone. I know him well," said Nuna, with a flourish of her cooking-stick that almost overturned the lamp. "But you may be mistaken," remarked Rooney, smiling. "You are mistaken even in the matter of his body, to say nothing of his spirit." "How so?" asked Nuna quickly. "You said he is bad through and through. From skin to bone is not through and through. To be quite correct, you must go from skin to marrow." Nuna acknowledged this by violently plunging her cooking-stick into the pot. "Well now, Nuna," continued Rooney, in a confidential tone, "tell me--" At that moment he was interrupted by the entrance of the master of the mansion, who quietly sat down on another skull close to his friend. "I was just going to ask your wife, Okiok, what she and you think of this business of making an angekok of poor Ippegoo," said Rooney. "We think it is like a seal with its tail where its head should be, its skin in its stomach, and all its bones outside; all nonsense-- foolishness," answered Okiok, with more of indignation in his look and tone than he was wont to display. "Then you don't believe in angekoks?" asked Rooney. "No," replied the Eskimo earnestly; "I don't. I think they are clever scoundrels--clever fools. And more, I don't believe in torngaks or any other spirits." "In that you are wrong," said Rooney. "There is one great and good Spirit, who made and rules the universe." "I'm not sure of that," returned the Eskimo, with a somewhat dogged and perplexed look, that showed the subject was not quite new to him. "I never saw, or heard, or tasted, or smelt, or felt a spirit. How can I know anything about it?" "Do you believe in your own spirit, Okiok?" "Yes, I must. I cannot help it. I am like other men. When a man dies there is something gone out of him. It must be his spirit." "Then you believe in other men's spirits as well as your own spirit," said Rooney, "though you have never seen, heard, tasted, smelt, or felt them?" For a moment the Eskimo was puzzled. Then suddenly his countenance brightened. "But I _have_ felt my own," he cried. "I have felt it moving within me, so that it made me _act_. My legs and arms and brain would not go into action if they were dead, if the spirit had gone out of them." "In the very same way," replied the seaman, "you may _feel_ the Great Spirit, for your own spirit could not go into action so as to cause your body to act unless a greater Spirit had given it life. So also we may feel or understand the Great Spirit when we look at the growing flowers, and hear the moving winds, and behold the shining stars, and feel the beating of our own hearts. I'm not much of a wise man, an angekok-- which they would call _scholar_ in my country--but I know enough to believe that it is only `the fool who has said in his heart, There is no Great Spirit.'" "There is something in what you say," returned the Eskimo, as the lines of unusually intense thought wrinkled his brow; "but for all that you say, I think there are no torngaks, and that Ujarak is a liar as well as a fool." "I agree with you, Okiok, because I think you have good reason for your disbelief. In the first place, it is well-known that Ujarak is a liar, but that is not enough, for liar though he be, he _sometimes_ tells the truth. Then, in the second place, he is an ass--hum! I forgot--you don't know what an ass is; well, it don't matter, for, in the third place, he never gave any proof to anybody of what he and his torngak are said to have seen and done, and, strongest reason of all, this familiar spirit of his acts unwisely--for what could be more foolish than to choose out of all the tribe a poor half-witted creature like Ippegoo for the next angekok?" A gleaming glance of intelligent humour lighted up Okiok's face as he said-- "Ujarak is wiser than his torngak in that. He wants to make use of the poor lad for his own wicked ends. I know not what these are--but I have my suspicions." "So have I," broke in Nuna at this point, giving her pot a rap with the cooking-stick by way of emphasis. Rooney laughed. "You think he must be watched, and his mischief prevented?" he said. "That's what I think," said Okiok firmly. "Tell me, what are the ceremonies to be gone through by that poor unwilling Ippegoo, before he can be changed into a wise man?" "Oh, he has much to do," returned Okiok, with his eyes on the lamp-flame and his head a little on one side, as if he were thinking. "But I am puzzled. Ujarak is cunning, though he is not wise; and I am quite sure he has some secret reason for hurrying on this business. He is changing the customs, and that is never done for nothing." "What customs has he changed?" asked Rooney. "The customs for the young angekok before he gets a torngak," replied the Eskimo. Okiok's further elucidation of this point was so complex that we prefer to give the reader our own explanation. Before assuming the office of an angekok or diviner, an Eskimo must procure one of the spirits of the elements for his own particular familiar spirit or torngak. These spirits would appear to be somewhat coquettish and difficult to win, and marvellous tales are related of the manner in which they are wooed. The aspirant must retire for a time to a desert place, where, entirely cut off from the society of his fellows, he may give himself up to fasting and profound meditation. He also prays to Torngarsuk to give him a torngak. This Torngarsuk is the chief of the good spirits, and dwells in a pleasant abode under the earth or sea. He is not, however, supposed to be God, who is named Pirksoma, i.e. "He that is above," and about whom most Eskimos profess to know nothing. As might be expected, the weakness of body and agitation of mind resulting from such exercises carried on in solitude throw into disorder the imaginative faculty of the would-be diviner, so that wonderful figures of men and monsters swim before his mental vision, which tend to throw his body into convulsions--all the more that he labours to cherish and increase such symptoms. How far the aspirants themselves believe in these delusions it is impossible to tell; but the fact that, after their utmost efforts, some of them fail to achieve the coveted office, leads one to think that some of them are too honest, or too strong-minded, to be led by them. Others, however, being either weak or double-minded, are successful. They assert that, on Torngarsuk appearing in answer to their earnest petition, they shriek aloud, and die from fear. At the end of three days they come to life again, and receive a torngak, who takes them forthwith on a journey to heaven and hell, after which they return home full-fledged angekoks, prepared to bless their fellows, and guide them with their counsels. "Now, you must know," said Okiok, after explaining all this, "what puzzles me is, that Ujarak intends to alter the customs at the beginning of the affair. Ippegoo is to be made an angekok to-night, and to be let off all the fasting and hard thinking and fits. If I believed in these things at all, I should think him only a half-made angekok. As it is, I don't care a puff of wind what they make of poor Ippegoo--so long as they don't kill him; but I'm uneasy because I'm afraid the rascal Ujarak has some bad end in view in all this." "I'm _quite_ sure of it," muttered Nuna, making a stab with her stick at the contents of her pot, as if Ujarak's heart were inside. At that moment Nunaga entered, looking radiant, in all the glory of a new under-garment of eider-duck pelts and a new sealskin upper coat with an extra long tail. "Have you seen Angut lately?" asked Rooney of the young girl. "Yes," she replied, with a modest smile that displayed her brilliant teeth; "he is in his own hut." "I will go and talk with him on this matter, Okiok," said the seaman. "Meanwhile, do you say nothing about it to any one." CHAPTER FOURTEEN. SOLEMN AND MYSTERIOUS DOINGS ARE BROUGHT TO A VIOLENT CLOSE. Angut was seated at the further end of his abode when his friend entered, apparently absorbed in contemplation of that remarkable specimen of Eskimo longevity, the grandmother of Okiok. "I have often wondered," said Angut, as the seaman sat down beside him, "at the contentment and good-humour and cheerfulness, sometimes running into fun, of that poor old woman Kannoa." "Speak lower," said Rooney in a soft voice; "she will hear you." "If she does, she will hear no evil. But she is nearly deaf, and takes no notice." "It may be so; poor thing!" returned the sailor in a tender tone, as he looked at the shrivelled-up old creature, who was moving actively round the never-idle lamp, and bending with inquiring interest over the earthen pot, which seemed to engross her entire being. "But why do you wonder?" "I wonder because she has so little to make her contented, and so much to ruin her good-humour and cheerfulness, and to stop her fun. Her life is a hard one. She has few relations to care for her. She is very old, and must soon grow feeble, and then--" "And then?" said Rooney, as the other paused. "Then she knows not what follows death--who does know?--and she does not believe in the nonsense that our people invent. It is a great mystery." The Eskimo said the last words in a low voice and with a wistful gaze, as if he were rather communing with himself than conversing with his friend. Rooney felt perplexed. The thoughts of Angut were often too profound for him. Not knowing what to say, he changed the subject by mentioning the object of his visit. At once Angut turned, and gave undivided attention to the subject, while the seaman described his recent conversation with Okiok. As he concluded, a peculiar look flitted across Angut's countenance. "I guess his reason," he said. "Yes; what may it be, think you?" "He fears to meet Okiok in a singing duel." Rooney laughed. "Well, you know best," he said; "I daresay you are right. Okiok is a sharp fellow, and Ujarak is but a blundering booby after--" A low chuckle in the region of the lamp attracted their attention at this point. They looked quickly at Kannoa, but that ancient's face was absolutely owlish in its gravity, and her little black eyes peered into her pot with a look of intense inquiry that was almost philosophic. Resuming their belief that she was as deaf as a post, or an iceberg, Rooney and Angut proceeded to discuss Ujarak and his probable plans without any regard to her. After having talked the matter over for some time, Angut shook his head, and said that Ujarak must be closely watched. "More than that," said Rooney, with decision; "he must be stultified." The seaman's rendering of the word "stultified" into Eskimo was curious, and cannot easily be explained, but it was well understood by Angut, and apparently by Kannoa, for another chuckle came just then from the culinary department. Again the two men glanced at the old woman inquiringly, and again were they baffled by that look of owlish intensity at the stewing meat. "She hears," whispered Rooney. "Impossible," replied Angut; "a dead seal is not much deafer." Continuing the conversation, the seaman explained how he thought it possible to stultify the wizard, by discrediting him in the eyes of his own people--by foiling him with his own weapons,--and himself undertook to accomplish the task of stultification. He was in the act of concluding his explanation when another chuckle burst upon them from the region of the lamp. This time there was no attempt at concealment, for there stood old Kannoa, partly enveloped in savoury steam, her head thrown back, and her mouth wide-open. With a laugh Rooney leaped up, and caught her by the arm. "You've heard what I've been saying, mother?" "Ye-yes. I've heard," she replied, trying to smother the laughter. "Now, look here. You must promise me not to tell _anybody_," said the seaman earnestly, almost sternly. "Oh, I not tell," returned the old woman; "I love not Ujarak." "Ah! just so; then you're pretty safe not to tell," said Rooney. "No fear of Kannoa," remarked Angut, with a pleasant nod; "she never tells anything to anybody." Satisfied, apparently, with this assurance, the seaman took the old woman into his counsels, congratulating himself not a little on having found an ally in the very hut in which it had been arranged that the mysterious performance was to take place. Shortly after that Angut left. "Now, Kannoa," said Rooney, after some preliminary talk, "you remember the big white bear that Angut killed two moons ago?" "Remember it? Ay," said Kannoa, licking her lips; "it was the fattest and best bear I ever chewed. Huk! it _was_ good!" "Well, where is that bear's skin?" The old dame pointed to a corner of the hut where the skin lay. Rooney went and picked it up, and laid it at the upper end of the hut farthest from the door. "Now, mother," said he; "you'll not touch that skin. Let it lie there, and let no one touch it till I come again. You understand?" "Yes," answered Kannoa, with a look so intensely knowing that it made the seaman laugh. "But tell me," said the old woman, becoming suddenly grave, and laying her thin scraggy hand on the man's arm; "why do you call me mother?" "Oh, it's just a way we have in my country when--when we feel kindly to an old woman. And I do feel kindly to you, Kannoa," he added, with sudden warmth and energy of look and tone, "because you are so like my own grandmother--only she was younger than you, and much better-looking." Rooney meant no rudeness by the last remark, but, having observed the straightforward simplicity of his new friends in saying exactly what they meant, he willingly adopted their style. Kannoa seemed much pleased with the explanation. "It is strange," she said pathetically, "that I should find you so very like my husband." "Indeed!" returned the seaman, who did not feel flattered by the compliment; "is it long since he died?" "O yes; long, long--very long," she answered, with a sigh. "Moons, moons, moons without number have passed since that day. He was as young as you when he was killed, but a far finer man. His face did not look dirty like yours--all over with hair. It was smooth and fat, and round and oily. His cheeks were plump, and they would shine when the sun was up. He was also bigger than you--higher and wider. Huk! he was grand!" Although Rooney felt inclined to laugh as he listened to this description, he restrained himself when he observed the tears gathering in the old eyes. Observing and appreciating the look of sympathy, she tightened her clutch on the seaman's arm and said, looking wistfully up in his face-- "Has Ridroonee ever felt something in here,"--she laid a hand on her withered bosom--"as if it broke in two, and then went dead for evermore? That is what I felt the day they brought my man home; he was so kind. Like my son Okiok, and Angut." As the seaman looked down at the pitiful old soul that had thus broken the floodgates of a long silence, and was pouring out her confidences to him, he felt an unusual lump in his throat. Under a sudden impulse, he stooped and kissed the wrinkled brow, and then, turning abruptly, left the hut. It was well he did so, for by that time it was nearly dark, and Kannoa had yet to arrange the place for the expected meeting. As the time drew near, the night seemed to sympathise with the occasion, for the sky became overcast with clouds, which obliterated the stars, and rendered it intensely dark. The chief performer in the approaching ceremony was in a fearful state of mind. He would have done or given anything to escape being made a wise man. But Ujarak was inexorable. Poor Ippegoo sought comfort from his mother, and, to say truth, Kunelik did her best for him, but she could not resist the decrees of Fate--i.e. of the wizard. "Be a man, my son, and all will go well," she said, as he sat beside her in her hut, with his chin on his breast and his thin hands clasped. "O mother, I _am_ such a fool! He might let me off. I'll be disgraced forever." "Not you, Ippe; you're not half such a fool as he is. Just go boldly, and do your best. Look as fierce and wild as you can, and make awful faces. There's nothing like frightening people! Howl as much as possible, and gasp sometimes. I have seen a good deal done in that way. I only wish they would try to make an angekok of _me_. I would astonish them." The plucky little woman had to stop here for a moment to chuckle at her own conceit, but her poor son did not respond. He had got far beyond the point where a perception of the ludicrous is possible. "But it is time to go now, my son. Don't forget your drum and the face-making. You know what you've got to do?" "Yes, yes, I know," said Ippegoo, looking anxiously over his shoulder, as if he half expected to see a torngak already approaching him; "I know only too well what I've got to do. Ujarak has been stuffing it into me the whole day till my brain feels ready to burst." The bitter tone in which the poor youth pronounced his master's name suggested to his mother that it would not require much more to make the worm turn upon its tormentor. But the time had arrived to send him off, so she was obliged to bring her questions and advices to an abrupt close. As Ippegoo walked towards the dreaded hut, he was conscious of many glaring eyes and whispered words around him. This happily had the effect of stirring up his pride, and made him resolve to strive to do his part creditably. At the door of the hut two dark figures glided swiftly in before him. One he could perceive was Angut; the other he thought looked very like the Kablunet "Ridroonee." The thought gave him some comfort--not much, indeed, but anything that distracted his mind for an instant from the business in hand afforded him comfort. He now braced himself desperately to the work. Seizing the drum which he had been told not to forget, he struck it several times, and began to twist his body about violently. There was just light enough to show to onlookers that the poor youth was whirling himself round in contortions of the most surprising kind. This he did for the purpose of working himself up to the proper pitch of enthusiasm. There seems little doubt that the mere exertion of great muscular effort, coupled with a resolute wish and intention to succeed in some object, has a powerful tendency to brace the energies of the human mind. Ippegoo had not contorted himself and beaten his drum for many minutes when his feeling of warmth and physical power began to increase. The feeling seemed to break on his mind as a revelation. "Ho!" he thought, "here it comes; it comes at last! Ujarak told the truth--I am becoming one of the wise men." So delighted was the poor fellow with the idea, and with the strong hope created thereby, that his blood began to course more rapidly and his heart to beat high. Under the impulse, he gave vent to a yell that drew a nod of gratified approval from his mother, and quite astonished those who knew him best. Redoubling his twistings and drummings, he soon wore himself out, and ere long fell down in a state of temporary exhaustion. Having thus, according to instruction, worked himself up to the proper pitch of enthusiasm, Ippegoo lay still and panted. Ujarak then, coming forward, led him into Angut's hut, which was lighted as usual with several cooking-lamps. The people flocked in after them till it was nearly full; but spaces in the centre and upper end were kept comparatively free. Near the lamp the Kablunet was seen seated, observing the proceedings with much gravity; Okiok sat near him. When all were seated, the wizard led his pupil into the centre space, and, making him sit down, bent him forward until his head was between his legs. He fastened it in that position, and then tied his hands behind his back. All the lights were now extinguished, for no one is allowed to witness the interview of the unfinished angekok with the torngak, nor to move a finger for fear of disturbing him. The room being now in the state which is described as darkness just visible, Ippegoo began to sing a song, in which all joined. Presently he took to groaning by way of variety; then he puffed and gasped, and in a quavering voice entreated his torngak to come. Spirits, however, like human creatures, are not always open to entreaty. At all events, Ippegoo's torngak refused to appear. In such circumstances it is usual for an aspirant to writhe about until he brings on a sort of _fit_, during the continuance of which his soul goes off to fetch the obstinate torngak. After a short time he returns with him, laughing loudly for joy, while a rustling noise, resembling the wings of birds as they swoop about the roof, is heard. But Ippegoo was not a sufficiently wise man to get through this part of the programme. True, he wrought himself into a wonderful state of excitement, and then humbly lay down on his side to have a fit. But the fit would not come. He tried his best to have it. He wished with all his heart for it, but all his efforts were vain. "O why won't you come to me, torngak?" demanded the poor youth, with a pitiful whine. "Because you are wise enough already," said a low voice, which startled the audience very much, and sent a thrill of alarm, not unmingled with surprise, to the hearts of Ippegoo and his master. The voice seemed to come from the outside of the hut. "Ask him to come inside and speak to us," whispered Ujarak, who was a good deal more surprised even than his pupil at this unexpected turn of affairs. "Won't you come in, torngak?" said Ippegoo timidly. "It is very cold outside. You will be more comfortable inside, and we shall hear you better. I suppose you can come as easily through the wall as by--" "Stop your stupid tongue!" growled Ujarak. At that moment a deep unearthly voice was heard inside the hut. Every one trembled, and there ensued a silence so oppressive as to suggest the idea that all present were holding their breath, and afraid to move even by a hair's-breadth. Suddenly there was a faint murmur, for at the upper end of the hut a dark form was seen slowly to arise. It must be remembered that there was barely light enough to render darkness visible. No features could be distinguished on this apparition, but it gradually assumed the form of a gigantic bear, rising nearly to the roof, and with its great forelegs extended, as if it were brooding over the assembly. Every one remained perfectly still, as if spell-bound. Only one of the audience was sceptical. Being himself a master of deception, Ujarak suspected some trick, and slowly approached the giant bear with the intention of testing its reality--in some trepidation, however, for he was naturally superstitious. When he had drawn near enough to touch it, he received a tremendous blow on the forehead, which laid him flat on his back in a partially stunned condition, with his head in Pussimek's lap. That amiable woman considerately allowed it to remain there, and as the wizard felt mentally confused he did not care to change his position. Presently a low musical voice broke upon the assembly. We need scarcely say that it was that of our hero, Red Rooney, but so changed in character and tone as to be quite unrecognisable by the company, most of whom, indeed, were not yet very familiar with it. Even his more intimate friends, Angut and the Okiok family, were startled by it. In fact, the seaman, besides being something of a mimic, possessed a metallic bass voice of profound depth, which, like most bass voices, was capable of mounting into the higher latitudes of tone by means of a falsetto. He utilised his gifts on the present occasion. "Ippegoo," he said solemnly and very slowly, "I am not your torngak. I am an angekok, and as I chanced to be passing by your hut in my wanderings, I stopped to hear. I have heard enough to be able to tell you that you shall never be an angekok. Nor shall you ever have a torngak. You do not need one. You are wise enough already, much wiser than your master, who is no better than a miserable puffin. Is it not the duty of one who would be an angekok to go away and live alone for many days fasting, and praying, and meditating? Has not Ujarak advised you to change the ancient customs? Pooh! he is a fool. You cannot succeed now. All the spirits of water, earth, and air have been insulted. This assembly must break up. You must leave off trying. You may all be thankful that the ice does not burst up and crush you; that the sky does not fall upon you; that the great sea does not roll its maddest waves over you. Up, all of you--Begone!" Rooney finished off with a roar so deep and fearsome that the very rafters trembled. A pile of wood, stones, and earthenware, previously prepared for the purpose, was tipped over, and fell with a most awful crash. At the same moment the seaman culminated in a falsetto shriek that might have shamed a steam whistle. It was enough. Had the tunnel entrance of the hut been long and strong, suffocation to many must have been the result, for they went into it pell-mell, rolling rather than running. Fortunately, it was short and weak. Ujarak and Simek, sticking in it, burst it up, and swept it away, thus clearing the passage for the rest. The last to disappear was Kunelik, whose tail flapped on the door-post like a small pistol-shot as she doubled round it and scrambled out, leaving Rooney, Angut, Kannoa, and Ippegoo to enjoy the situation. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. A GREAT SINGING DUEL INTERRUPTED BY A CATASTROPHE. When the lamps were rekindled by Kannoa, it was discovered that the old lady's nostrils were twitching and her throat contracting in a remarkable manner, with smothered laughter. Very different was the condition of Ippegoo, who still lay bound in the middle of the room. Fear and surprise in equal proportions seemed to have taken possession of him. Rooney, having dropped the bear-skin, approached him, while Angut stood beside the lamp looking on with a sort of serious smile. "Now, Ippegoo," said the sailor, stooping and cutting his bonds, "I set you free. It is to be hoped also that I have freed you from superstition." "But where is the bear-angekok?" asked the bewildered youth. "I am the bear-angekok." "Impossible!" cried Ippegoo. To this Rooney replied by going back to his bear-skin, spreading it over himself, getting on a stool so as to tower upwards, spreading out his long arms, and saying in his deepest bass tones-- "Now, Ippegoo, do you believe me?" A gleam of intelligence flashed on the youth's countenance, and at that moment he became more of a wise man than he had ever before been in his life, for he not only had his eyes opened as to the ease with which some people can be deceived, but had his confidence in the infallibility of his old tyrant completely shaken. He reasoned somewhat thus-- "If Ujarak's torngak was good and true, it would have told him of the deceit about to be practised on him, and would not have allowed him to submit to disgrace. If it did not care, it was a bad spirit. If it did not know, it was no better than a man, and not worth having--so I don't want to have one, and am very glad I have escaped so well." The poor fellow shrank from adding, "Ujarak must be a deceiver;" but he began to think that Red Rooney might not have been far wrong after all when he called him a fool. Ippegoo was now warned that he must keep carefully out of the wizard's way, and tell no one of the deceit that had been practised. He promised most faithfully to tell no one, and then went straight home and told his mother all about it--for it never for a moment occurred to the poor fellow to imagine that he was meant to conceal it from his mother! Fortunately Kunelik was a wise little woman. She knew how to keep her own counsel, and did not even by nod or look insinuate to any one that she was in possession of a secret. "Now, then, Angut, what is the next thing to be done?" asked Rooney, after Ippegoo had left. "Make Ujarak fight his duel," said Angut. "What! the singing duel with Okiok?" "Yes. The people have set their hearts on the thing, and Ujarak will try to escape. He will perhaps say that his torngak has told him to go hunting to-morrow. But our customs require him to keep his word. My fear is that he will sneak off in the night. He is a sly fox." "I will stop that," said Rooney. "How?" "You shall see. Come with me to the hut of Ujarak." On reaching the hut, they found its owner, as had been expected, sharpening his spears, and making other arrangements for a hunting expedition. "When do you start?" asked Rooney. "Immediately," replied the wizard. "Of course _after_ the duel," remarked Angut quietly. The wizard seemed annoyed. "It is unfortunate," he said, with a vexed look. "My torngak has told me of a place where a great number of seals have come. They may leave soon, and it would be such a pity to lose them." "That is true," said Angut; "but of course you cannot break our customs. It would ruin your character." "Of course, of course I will not break the custom," returned Ujarak quickly; "unless, indeed, my torngak _orders_ me to go. But that is not likely." "I want to ask you," said Rooney, sitting down, "about that trip you had last year to the land of the departed. They tell me you had a hard time of it, Ujarak, and barely escaped with your life." The sly seaman had spread a net with which the wizard could at all times be easily caught. He had turned him on to a tune at which he was always willing to work with the persistency of an organ-grinder. The wizard went on hour after hour with unwearied zeal in his narrations, being incited thereto by a judicious question now and then from the seaman, when he betrayed any symptom of flagging. At last Angut, who had often heard it before, could stand it no longer, and rose to depart. Having already picked up the Kablunet's mode of salutation, he held out his hand, and said "Goo'-nite." "Good-night, friend," returned Rooney, grasping the proffered hand. "I can't leave till I've heard the end of this most interesting story, so I'll just sleep in Ujarak's hut, if he will allow me, and thus avoid disturbing you by coming in late. Good-night." "Goo'-nite," responded Angut, and vanished from the scene. The wizard heaved a sigh. He perceived that his little plan of gliding away in the hours of darkness was knocked on the head, so, like a true philosopher, he resigned himself to the inevitable, and consoled himself by plunging into intricacies of fabulous adventure with a fertility of imagination which surprised even himself--so powerful is the influence of a sympathetic listener. When Ujarak at last discovered that his guest had fallen into a profound slumber, he brought his amazing narrative to an abrupt close, and, wrapping himself in a reindeer-skin, resigned himself to that repose which was so much needed to fit him for the combat of the approaching day. It was a brilliant sunny morning when Red Rooney awoke from a startling dream, in which he had been wrestling with monstrous creatures in the depths of ocean as well as in the bowels of the earth. The wizard was still locked in apparently dreamless slumber. Unwilling to disturb him, the seaman glided quietly out, and clambered to the top of a cliff, whence a magnificent sea-view was revealed to his wondering gaze. There are times when the atmosphere of this earth seems to be rarefied and freshened with celestial zephyrs, which not only half intoxicate the spirit, but intensify the powers of hearing and vision, so that gentle sounds which are very far off come floating to us, and mingle softly with those that are near at hand, while objects are seen at such immense distances that one feels as if the world itself had suddenly grown larger. To these influences were added on this occasion a sea which absolutely glittered with the icy gems that decked her calm and waveless bosom. It was not only that millions of white and glittering peaks, with facets and edges gleaming like diamonds, rose into the blue sky, but here and there open lanes of water, and elsewhere lakes and little ponds upon the melting ice caught the full orb of the rising sun, and sent its reflection into the man's eyes with dazzling refulgence, while the ripple or rush of ice-born water-falls and the plaintive cries of wild-fowl gave variety and animation to the scene. In a mind less religiously disposed than that of our seaman, the sights and sounds would have irresistibly aroused grateful thoughts to our Creator. On Rooney the effect was almost overpowering, yet, strange to say, it drew no word of thanksgiving from his lips. Clasping his hands and shutting his eyes, he muttered with bowed head the words, "God, be merciful to me a sinner!" Perhaps the recognition of the Father's great goodness and condescension, coupled with his own absolute unworthiness, and the impulse which called those words forth, was nearly the highest act of worship which the sailor could have offered. Far below, under the sheltering cliff, the huts of the Eskimo village could be seen like little black specks dotting the still snow-covered land; and the voices of children could be heard in faint but merry shouts and peals of laughter, as their owners, like still smaller specks, romped about. One of those specks Rooney recognised, from its intense blackness, to be his friend Tumbler, and a smaller and lighter speck he guessed to be Pussi, from the circumstance of its persistently following and keeping close to the raven-clad hero. The pleased look with which Rooney at first regarded the children slowly passed away, and was replaced by one of profound sadness; for how could he escape dejection when he thought of a sweet Irish wife and little ones, with a dear old grandmother, whom he had left in the old country, and who must long before that time have given him up as dead? His melancholy thoughts were dissipated by a sudden increase in the shouting of the little ones. On regarding them attentively, he observed that they scattered themselves in the direction of the several huts, and disappeared therein. Well did Rooney know that the movement meant breakfast, and having a personal interest in that game, he left his perch and the glorious view, and hastened down. After breakfast the entire community went with one consent to witness the singing combat. It was to take place on the ice near the scene of the recent kick-ball game, close to the berg of the sea-green cave. The people were much elated, for these savages were probably as much influenced by brilliant spring weather as civilised folk are, though not given to descant so much on their feelings. They were also in that cheerful frame of mind which results from what they correctly referred to as being stuffed; besides, much fun was expected from the contest. Lest our readers should anticipate similar delight, we must repeat that Eskimos are a simple folk, and easily pleased. "Won't it be a tussle?" remarked Issek, who marched in the centre of a group of women. "It will, for Ujarak is tough. He is like a walrus," responded an admirer of the wizard. "Poo!" exclaimed the mother of Ippegoo contemptuously; "he can indeed roar like the walrus, but he can do nothing else." "Yes; and his strength goes for nothing," cried a sympathiser, "for it is his brain, not his body, that has got to work." "We shall see," said Kabelaw, whose sister remarked--"if we are not blind." This mild observation was meant for a touch of pleasantry. Little touches of pleasantry often passed between these "lying sisters," as they were called, and they not infrequently culminated in touches of temper, which must have been the reverse of pleasant to either. Arrived at the arena, a ring was formed, and the wisdom as well as amiability of these poor people was shown by their putting the children in front, the little women in the second row, the tall women in the third, and the men behind. In a few minutes Ujarak bounded into the centre of the circle, with a small drum or tambourine in one hand, which he beat vigorously with the other. Okiok followed more sedately, armed with a similar musical instrument, and retired to one side of the arena, for the wizard, perhaps because he was the challenger, had the right to begin. A good authority on the Eskimo tongue says: "The language is not easily translatable, the brevity and force of a single sentence requiring to be rendered in many words of another tongue." The same authority also informs us that angekoks "speak in a metaphorical style sometimes, in order to exhibit their assumed superiority in learning and penetration." It will not be expected, therefore, that our translation should convey more than a general idea of the combat. Ujarak's first act, after bounding into the ring and drumming, was to glare at his adversary. Okiok returned the glare with interest, and, being liberal, threw a sneer of contempt into the bargain. Ujarak then glared round at the audience, and began his song, which consisted merely of short periods, without rhyme or measure, but with a sort of rhythmic musical cadence. He commenced with the chorus--"Amna ajah ajah hey!" which was vociferously repeated by his supporters among the audience. What these words, mean--whether they represent our "fal lal la" or "runity iddity"--we have not been able to ascertain, but they came in at irregular intervals, greatly to the satisfaction of the audience, thus:-- "Amna ajah ajah hey! There was once a man--a man (So it is said, but we are not sure), A puffin perhaps he was--or a stupid spirit Made in the likeness of a man; Amna ajah ajah hey!" Here the wizard not only accompanied the chorus with the drum, but with a species of dance, which, being a clumsy man, he performed in an extremely elephantine manner. After a few moments he went on:-- "This man--this puffin--was a liar: A liar, because he was a teller of lies. Did he not one time say that seals had come, And that birds were in the air? And when we went to look, no seals or birds were there. Amna ajah ajah Hey!" The extreme vigour with which the last word was uttered resulted from the wizard having tripped in his dance, and come down heavily on the ice, to the immense delight of his opponents and the children. But Ujarak rose, and quelling the laugh with a look of dignity, continued:-- "Worse than a liar was this foolish puffin. He hunted badly. When he flung the spear The seals would laugh before they went away. Sometimes he missed, sometimes he tipped the nose, Sometimes hit the wrong animal, And sometimes touched the tail. Amna ajah ajah hey!" This verse was a hit, for Okiok was known to be but an indifferent marksman with the throwing-spear; yet such was his industry and his ability to approach very near to his prey, that he was the reverse of a bad hunter. But men in all lands are prone to shut their eyes to the good, and to open them very wide to the evil, that may be said of an adversary. Consequently at this point the chorus was given with great vigour by the wizard faction, and the wizard himself, having worked himself into a breathless condition by the mental effort and the furious dance, deemed it a fitting occasion to take his first rest. The custom in those duels is for each combatant to devote a quarter of an hour or so to the attack, and then make way for his opponent, who at once steps forward and begins his counter-attack. After a short time he in like manner gives way, and his foe returns. Thus they proceed until one is exhausted or overwhelmed; and he who has the last word gains the victory, after which the dispute is held as settled, and they frequently become better friends than before. There was something in the expression of Okiok as he stepped sedately into the ring which gladdened his friends and distressed his opponents. Unlike the wizard, he was well formed, and all his movements were comparatively elegant, so that in his case the conventional bit of dance at the end of periods was pleasant to the eye, while his peculiar advantage of rhyming power rendered his performance grateful to the ear. After a little drumming he began:-- "Why must I step within this ring, To jump and dance, and drum and sing? You all know well that Okiok Was never made an angekok. Amna ajah ajah hey!" "Amna ajah ajah hey!" yelled the hunter's admirers, with enthusiasm. "But Ujarak's the man of skill, To kick or wrestle, sing or kill; He bids me meet him here to-day. Poor Okiok! he must obey. My Torngak, come here, I say! Thus loud I cried the other day-- `You always come to Ujarak; Thou come to me, my Torngak!' But he was deaf, and would not hear, Although I roared it in his ear. At last he said, `No, Okiok, For you are not an angekok!' Amna ajah ajah hey!" Here the hunter, after a neat pirouette and tickling of the drum, changed his tone to a soft insinuating whine: "'Tis true I'm not an angekok; I'm only hunter Okiok. But Torngak, dear Torngak, Don't go away. O do come back! If you'll be mine, and stick to me For evermore, I'll stick to thee. And every single thing I do I'll come and ask advice from you; Consult you morning, noon, and night; Consult you when I hunt or fight; Consult you when I sing and roar; Consult you when I sleep and snore; Consult you more than Ujarak-- My Tor--Tor--Tor--Tor--Torngak!" A roar of laughter and a stupendous "Amna ajah ajah hey!" greeted this flight, while Okiok gravely touched his drum, and performed a few more of his graceful evolutions. "`No, no,' he said; `I'll never make So gross and stupid a mistake. One man there is who tried to do it-- He thinks the spirits never knew it-- He tried to make an angekok-stew Out of a lad named Ippegoo!'" Here another yell of delight was followed by the chorus, and Okiok was about to resume, when a terrific rending sound seemed to paralyse every one. Well did they know that sound. It was the rending of the solid ice on which they stood. The advancing spring had so far weakened it that a huge cake had broken off from the land-ice, and was now detached. A shriek from some of the women drew attention to the fact that the disruption of the mass had so disturbed the equilibrium of the neighbouring berg that it was slowly toppling to its fall. A universal stampede instantly took place, for the danger of being crushed by its falling cliffs and pinnacles was very great. Everything but personal safety was forgotten in the panic that ensued. Red Rooney was almost swept off his legs in the rush. Women and children were overturned, but fortunately not hurt. A very few minutes sufficed to take them all clear of danger; but the succeeding crashes produced such an inconceivable roar that the terrified villagers ran on until close to the place where the ice had cracked off, and where a lane of water about three feet wide presented itself. Over this went men, women, and children at a flying leap--all except poor little Pussi. That fat little thing would have been left behind had not the mere force of the rush carried her on in a half running, half rolling way. Being unable to manage the jump, she went in with a plunge, and disappeared. A wild scream from the nearest female caused every one to stop and run back. "Pussi!" exclaimed Nunaga, pointing wildly to the water. "Where--where did she go in?" cried Rooney. "She must have gone under the ice!" gasped the poor girl. As she spoke a bubble of air rose to the surface. Next moment the seaman cleft the cold black water and disappeared. Then with a thrill of alarm the Eskimos observed that the great ice-cake which had broken off was being driven shoreward by the rising tide, and that the lane of water was rapidly closing. But they were not kept long in suspense. Another moment, and Rooney appeared with little Pussi in his arms. They were instantly seized by Okiok and Angut, and dragged violently out--not much too soon, for only a few seconds after they were rescued the ice closed with a grinding crash, that served to increase the fervency of the "Thank God!" with which the seaman hailed their deliverance. The child was not quite insensible, though nearly so. Rooney seized her in his arms, and ran as fast as he could towards the village, whither the fleet-footed Ippegoo had already been sent to prepare skins and warm food for the reception of rescued and rescuer. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. THE REBELLION OF THE WORM AND THE FALL OF THE WIZARD. The event which had so suddenly interrupted the singing duel was a matter of secret satisfaction to Ujarak, for he felt that he was no match for Okiok, and although he had intended to fight the battle out to the best of his ability, he knew that his ultimate defeat was so probable that its abrupt termination before that event was a piece of great good-fortune. Still, his position was unsatisfactory, for, in addition to the fact that his credit as a genuine angekok had been sadly shaken because of Ippegoo's failure, he was well aware that the combat which had been interrupted was only postponed. What was to be done in the circumstances became, therefore, the urgent question of the hour. In great perplexity he sought out his poor victim Ippegoo--with something of the feeling, no doubt, that induces a drowning man to clutch at a straw--and silently walked with him to a secluded spot near the neighbouring cliffs. "Ippegoo," he said, turning round abruptly; "it is certain that you will never be an angekok." "I don't want to be one," returned the simpleton quietly. The wizard looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean?" he asked sharply. "I mean that if the torngak you were going to get for me is no better than your own, he is a fool, and I would rather not have him." This unexpected rebellion of the worm which he had so often twisted round his finger was too much for Ujarak in his then irascible condition. He flew into a violent rage, grasped the handle of his knife, and glared fiercely at his pupil. Ippegoo returned the look with a quiet smile. This was perplexing. There are few things more trying to passionate men than uncertainty as to how their bursts of anger will be received. As a rule such men are merely actors. No doubt their rage may be genuine, but the manner in which they will display their anger depends very much on who are their witnesses, and what their opponents. Rage which fumes at some trifling insult, and tears off the coat, resolved on fighting, when a timid wife seeks to soothe, is likely to assume a very different appearance and follow some other course of action when a prize-fighter pulls the nose, and invites it to "do its worst." If Ippegoo had winced, or stood on the defensive, or stepped back, or shown the slightest sign of fear, it is probable that the strong and lawless man would have stabbed him to the heart in the first impulse of his anger, for the poor youth was well acquainted with all his secrets and most of his bad intentions. But the motionless figure and the smiling face not only surprised--it alarmed--Ujarak. It seemed so unnatural. What powers of sudden onslaught might not lie hidden within that calm exterior? what dynamitic capacities of swift explosion might not underlie that fearless expression? "Ippegoo," he said, stifling his anger with a painful effort, "are you going to turn against your best friend?" "My mother is my best friend," answered the youth stoutly. "You are right; I made a mistake." "Why does your torngak let you make so many mistakes?" Again a rush of anger prompted the wizard to sacrifice his quondam pupil, and once more the youth's imperturbable coolness overawed him. Bad as he was, Ujarak could not kill a smiling victim. "Ippegoo," said the wizard, suddenly changing his tone, and becoming intensely earnest, "I see what is the matter. Angut and the Kablunet have bewitched you. But now, I tell my torngak to enter into your heart, and unbewitch you. Now, do you not feel that he has done it?" The youth, still smiling, shook his head. "I knew it," continued the wizard, purposely misunderstanding the sign. "You are all right again. Once more I lay my commands on you. Listen. I want you to go at once and tell Nunaga that _Angut_ wants to see her alone." "Who?" asked Ippegoo in surprise. "Angut." "What! your rival?" "Yes; my rival. My torngak tells me that Angut wants to meet her-- alone, mind--out on the floes at Puffin Island this afternoon." "Are--are you sure your torngak has made no mistake?" asked the youth, with something of his old hesitancy. "Quite sure," replied Ujarak sternly. "Now, will you give her my message?" "Angut's message, you mean." "Yes, yes; I mean Angut's message," said the wizard impatiently. "You'll be _sure_ to do what I tell you, won't you?" "Quite sure," replied Ippegoo, the smile again overspreading his visage as he turned and quitted the spot. Half an hour later he entered Okiok's hut in quest of Nunaga, but only her mother was there. She told him that the girl had gone off with a sledge along the coast to Moss Bay to fetch a load of moss to stuff between the logs of the hut where they required repairing, and that she had taken Kabelaw as well as Tumbler and Pussi with her. "That's good," said Ippegoo, "then she can't and won't go to Puffin Island. I said I would tell her that Angut wants to meet her there alone." "Who told you to tell her that?" asked Nuna. "A fool," answered Ippegoo, promptly. "He must indeed have been a fool," returned Nuna, "for Angut has just been helping Nunaga to harness the dogs, and he is now with my husband in his own hut." This information caused the messenger to shut his eyes, open his mouth, and laugh silently, with evident enjoyment. "I intended to deliver my message," he said, on recovering composure, "for I promised to do so; and I also meant to tell Nunaga that the message was a _big lie_." At this amazing depth of slyness on his part, Ippegoo fell into another hearty though inaudible laugh, after which he went off to communicate his news to Okiok and Angut, but these worthies having gone out to visit some snares and traps, no one knew whither, he was obliged to seek counsel of Simek. On hearing of the plot that seemed to be hatching, that jovial hunter at once ordered his sledge to be got ready, and started off, with two stalwart sons and his nephew Arbalik, for Moss Bay, to warn Nunaga of her enemy's intentions, and to fetch her home. But alas! for even the best laid of human plans. It so happened that one of the Eskimo youths, who was rather inclined to tease Nunaga, had set a snow-trap for Arctic foxes about two miles from the village. As the spot was not much out of the way, the girl resolved to turn aside and visit the trap, take out the fox, if one chanced to be caught, and in any case set the trap off, or put a bit of stick into it by way of fun. The spot chanced to be only a short distance beyond the place where the wizard had met Ippegoo, but the sea-shore there was so covered with hummocks of ice that Nunaga had approached without being observed by either the wizard or the pupil. It was not more than a few minutes after Ippegoo had left on his errand to herself that she came suddenly in sight of Ujarak. He was seated, as if in contemplation, on a rock at the base of the cliff. Suspecting no evil, Nunaga stopped her team of dogs. It was her father's best team, consisting of the swiftest and most enduring animals in the village. The wizard observed this as he rose up and approached, rejoicing to think that Fortune had favoured him. And truly Fortune--or rather, God--was indeed favouring the wicked man at that time, though not in the way that he imagined. In a few moments Ujarak's plans were laid. The opportunity was too good to be lost. "Where goes Nunaga to-day?" he asked quietly, on reaching the sledge. "To Moss Bay," answered Nunaga. "Has Nunaga forgotten the road?" asked Ujarak, with a slight look of surprise. "This is not the way to Moss Bay." "It is not far out of the way," said Kabelaw, who was the more self-assertive of the two lying sisters; "we go to visit a trap, and have no time to waste with _you_." As she spoke she seized the heavy Eskimo whip out of Nunaga's hand, and brought it smartly down on the backs of the whole team, which started off with a yelp, and also with a bound that well-nigh left Tumbler and Pussi behind. But she was not quick enough for Ujarak, who exclaimed with a laugh, as he leaped on to the sledge and assumed the place of driver-- "I too am fond of trapping, and will go with you." He took the whip from Kabelaw, and guided the team. A few minutes, at the speed they were going, brought them close to a point or cape which, in the form of a frowning cliff two or three hundred feet high, jutted out into the sea. To round this, and place the great cape between them and the village, was Ujarak's aim. The ice was comparatively smooth and unbroken close to the land. "See!" exclaimed Nunaga, pointing towards the bushes on shore; "the trap is there. That is the place." Ujarak paid no heed to her. The die was cast. He had taken the first step, and must now go through with it at all hazards. Plying the cruel whip, so as to make the dogs run at their utmost speed, he drove on until the other side of the cape was gained. Then he relaxed the speed a little, for he knew that no shriek, however loud, could penetrate the cliffs that lay between him and the Eskimo village. Taking up a walrus-line with a running noose on it that lay on the sledge beside him, the wizard turned, dropped the noose suddenly over Kabelaw, and drew it tight, so as to pin her arms to her sides. Almost before she could realise what had occurred, he took a quick turn of the same line round Nunaga, drew the girls together, and fastened them to the sledge. They knew now full well, but too late, that Ujarak meant mischief. Screaming at the utmost pitch of their voices, they struggled to free themselves, but were too well secured for that. The wizard now glanced at the children. For a few moments he was perplexed. They could be of no use on a long journey, and might be troublesome--besides, they would have to be fed. There was one sure and easy method of getting rid of them. He grasped his knife-handle. The women observed the movement, and became instantly silent with horror. But the bold free air of Tumbler and the soft innocent look of Pussi were too much for the wizard. He abandoned the half-formed thought, and, turning to the women, said in a low, stern voice-- "If you cry or struggle again, these shall die." This was enough. The poor creatures remained perfectly silent and still after that, while the wizard guided the dogs out upon the floes on a totally different route from that which led to Moss Bay. Coming to a place where the ice had been cut up into many tracks by the Eskimos' sledges during the winter work of traffic to and from the hunting-grounds, Ujarak availed himself of the opportunity to lose, as it were, his own track among the others, so that, in the sure event of pursuit, the pursuers might be effectually baffled. The only point he had to consider after that was the necessity of diverging from the track with such care that the point of divergence should be impossible to find. In this he was again favoured by circumstances. Having driven at full speed straight out from the land in a westerly direction, he came to a place where the ice had been considerably broken up, so that the old tracks ended abruptly in many places where lanes of water had opened up. A sharp frost had set these lanes and open spaces fast again, and the new ice was just strong enough to bear a sledge. There was some risk in venturing on it, but what of that? Nothing bold can be successfully carried out in this world without more or less of risk! At a spot where the confusion of tracks was very great, he turned at a sharp angle, got upon a sheet of new ice, and went off at greater speed than ever towards the far-south. His aim was to travel some hundreds of miles, till he reached the Kablunet settlements on the south-western shores of Greenland, in regard to which, various and strange reports had reached the northern Eskimos from time to time. He said nothing, however, to his captives, but after driving some twenty miles or so--which he did in a couple of hours--he cast off their bonds, and bade them make themselves comfortable. The poor creatures were only too glad to avail themselves of the permission, for, although spring had set in, and the cold was not very severe, their constrained position had benumbed their limbs. Tumbler and Pussi, after gazing for a considerable time at each other in a state of blank amazement at the whole proceedings, had finally dropped off to sleep on a pile of deerskins. Nunaga and Kabelaw, wrapping themselves in two of these, leaned against each other and conversed in low whispers. And now the wizard began in good earnest a journey, which was destined to lead him, in more ways than one, far beyond the point at which he originally aimed. He plied the whip with vigour, for well did he know that it was a race for life. If any of the men of his tribe should overtake him, he felt assured that death would be his portion. The dogs, as we have said, were splendid animals. There were ten of them, resembling wolves both in size and appearance, each being fastened to the sledge by a single independent line. The vehicle itself was Okiok's hunting-sledge, having spears, bow and arrows, lines, bladders, etcetera, attached to it, so that, although there were no provisions on it except one small seal, which its owner had probably thought was not worth removing, the wizard knew that he possessed all the requisites for procuring a supply. The women, being also well aware of this, were filled with anxiety, for their one hope of rescue lay in their friends discovering their flight and engaging in instant and hot pursuit. Never since the commencement of his career had Ujarak displayed such anxiety to increase the distance between himself and his tribe. Never since that long-lashed, short-handled, heavy whip was made, had it given forth such a rapid series of pistol-like reports, and never since they were pups had those ten lanky wolfish dogs stretched out their long legs and scampered over the Arctic sea as they did on that occasion. The old ice was still sufficiently firm and smooth to afford a good road, and the new ice was fortunately strong enough to bear, for the pace was tremendous. With "the world before him where to choose," and death, as he imagined, on the track behind, the wizard's spirit had risen to the point of "neck or nothing." Mile after mile was passed at highest speed and in perfect silence, except when broken by the crack of whip and yelp of dogs. Occasional roughnesses in the way were crashed over. Small obstructions were taken in flying leaps, which rendered it necessary for the poor women to cling to each other, to the sledge, and to the children, to prevent their being hurled off. Once or twice a hummock which it seemed possible to leap turned out to be too high, and obliged the driver to turn aside with such violence that the sledge went for a few seconds on one runner, and all but turned over. This at last induced some degree of caution, for to break the vehicle at the beginning of the journey would have been almost certainly fatal to the enterprise. And oh! how earnestly Nunaga longed for a spill! In her despair, poor thing, it did not occur to her that at such a pace an upset might break the necks of the whole party. Towards sunset they rounded a high cape, beyond which was a deep and wide bay. On this the sun shone apparently on what appeared to be open water. For one moment a look of alarm flitted over the wizard's face, as he glanced quickly shoreward to see whether the ground-ice was passable; but it was only for a moment, for immediately he perceived that the light had dazzled and deceived him. It was not water, but new ice--smooth and refulgent as a mirror. The fringe of old ice on shore was disrupted and impassable. There was therefore only one course open to him. Knitting his brows and clenching his teeth, Ujarak resolved to take it at all hazards. Bringing the cruel lash to bear with extreme violence, he sent the dogs howling out upon the glassy surface. At first they slipped and sprawled a good deal, but soon gathered themselves well together. They were accustomed to such work, and the friction of the sledge being reduced, they skimmed along with ease. Although strong enough to bear, the ice undulated terribly as they swept over it, and sent forth rending sounds, which cannot be conceived by those whose experience of young ice has been derived chiefly from lakelets and ponds. Dogs in such circumstances are apt to become terrified and to stop, in which case immersion is almost certain. But Ujarak gave his team no time to think. With lash and voice he urged them on until they were nearly frantic. The undulations became greater as they advanced, and the rending sounds continuous. Still the wizard plied his whip and shouted. Indeed it was his only chance. At the other side of the bay the old ice still adhered to the shore. If that could be reached, they would be safe. Eagerly the women strained their eyes, and even stretched out their hands as if to grasp the shore, for the fear of instant death had banished all other thoughts. A few minutes more, and Ujarak, standing up in his eagerness, flourishing the great whip, and shouting at the pitch of his voice, drove the yelling dogs off the crackling sheet of ice to a place of safety on the solid floe. It did not require the wizard's altered tone to inform the sagacious animals that the danger was past. Down they flopped at once to rest, panting vehemently, and with tongues out; but they were not permitted to rest long, Ujarak's fear of pursuit was so great. Even while securing on the sledge the articles that had been disarranged, he could not help casting frequent suspicious glances in the direction from which they had come, for guilt is ever ready to anticipate retribution even when it is far distant. As soon as the fastenings were arranged he prepared to continue the flight. "Where do you take us to?" asked Kabelaw, in a tone of humility which was very foreign to her nature. "You shall know that in time," was the stern reply. Nunaga was too much frightened to speak, but little Tumbler was not. "Bad--bad man!" he exclaimed, with a fierce look that caused the wizard for a moment to smile grimly. Little Pussi was so horrified at the reckless presumption of the remark, that she hid her face in Nunaga's lap and did not venture to look up for some time. Getting on the sledge without another word, the wizard gave a hint to the dogs which was so unmistakable that they sprang up and resumed their journey at full gallop. Slowly the sun went down, and sea and berg and snow-clad cliff grew grey in the light of departing day. Still the panting team sped on over the frozen sea. Soon it became too dark to travel with safety. The pace was slackened. The run became a canter, then a trot, and then a walk. At last the driver stopped, jumped off the sledge, and ordered the women to get out the seal and feed the dogs. He also gave them permission to help themselves, but as there was no lamp or fire, it was evident that he meant them to eat their supper raw. Leaving them while thus engaged, he walked away out of sight. "I won't have raw seal," said Tumbler, in that tone of petulant resolve which tells of spoilt-childism. "An' me won't too," said Pussi, profiting by example. "But there's nothing else," said Nunaga, gently. "Yes, there is. I have got some cold seal in my boots--from this morning's breakfast," said Kabelaw, extracting a goodly-sized morsel; "I never go on a journey, however short, without a bit of cooked meat." Lest the reader should be perplexed here, we may explain that some Eskimo ladies often make the wide tops of their long sealskin boots do duty for pockets. The party was still engaged in discussing the delicacy referred to, and commenting in pitiable tones on their situation, when Ujarak returned, bade them resume their places, jumped on the sledge, and continued to advance. In half an hour the moon rose in a clear sky. The stars shone brightly, and to add to the beauty of the scene, the aurora borealis played and shot about vividly overhead, enabling them to resume a rapid gallop. It was not till the night was far advanced, and his dogs were nearly worn-out, and full sixty miles lay between him and his native village, that Ujarak felt himself to be comparatively safe, and halted for a prolonged rest. Without a word, he made for himself a shelter with a bear-skin under a low bush, devoured a lump of raw seal's flesh, and then went to sleep, leaving the women to look after themselves, the dogs, and the children, as best they might. Fortunately, they were well able to do so, and, being very weary, were not long in doing it. While they went about the work, however, they could not help remarking the unusually morose and surly manner of their master, and expressed the opinion that he was already troubled with that mental complaint to which we give the name of remorse. And they were right. Bad as the wizard was, he had hitherto kept within the bounds of Eskimo propriety; but now at last he had overstepped those bounds and become a criminal--an outlaw. By one hasty act he had cut, for ever, the cords which had united him to his kindred. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. TELLS OF DESPAIR AND A WILD PURSUIT. On discovering that Nunaga and the children were not at Moss Bay, and that there were no fresh sledge tracks in that region to tell of their whereabouts, Simek drove back to the village at a wild scamper, in a state of mind very much the reverse of jovial. His hope was that the girl might have been to some other locality, and had perhaps returned during his absence; but the first glance at Nuna put that hope to flight, for the poor woman was in a state of terrible anxiety. Cheery little Kunelik and her mild son did their best to comfort her, but without success, for she knew well the determined character of the man who had probably carried off her children. "Has she not come back?" demanded Simek, appearing, like an infuriated Polar bear, at the inside opening of the passage to Okiok's mansion. "No," gasped Nuna. Simek said no more, but backed out faster than he had come in. Ippegoo followed him. "Run, Ippe; tell all the men to get all their sledges and dogs ready, and come here to me." Ippegoo ran off at once, while the energetic hunter rearranged the fastenings of his own sledge and team as if for a long journey. He was thus engaged when Okiok and Angut were seen approaching the village at an easy trot. Evidently they knew nothing of what had occurred. Simek ran out to meet them. A few words sufficed to explain. The news seemed to stun both men at first, but the after-effect on each was wonderfully different. The blood rushed to Okiok's face like a torrent. He clenched his hands and teeth, glared and stamped, and went on like one deranged--as indeed for the moment he was. Angut, on the other hand, was perfectly self-possessed and subdued, but his heaving chest, quivering nostrils, compressed lips, and frowning brows told that a volcano of emotion raged within. Turning suddenly to Okiok, he seized him by both arms as if his hands were vices. "Listen," he said, with a sort of subdued intensity, that had the effect of quieting his friend; "get out your sledge and dogs." "All are ready," interposed Simek, eagerly. Angut waited for no more, but, leaving his friends, ran off at full speed towards the village. Okiok and Simek leaped on their respective sledges and followed. On arriving, it was found that most of the active men of the tribe were already assembled, with dogs harnessed, provisions and hunting-gear strapped down, and all ready for a journey of any length. To these Angut gave directions in a tone and manner that deeply impressed his friends. Not that he was loud or eager or violent; on the contrary, he was unusually calm, but deadly pale, and with an air of tremendous resolution about him that made the men listen intently and obey with promptitude. In a very few minutes he had sent off one and another in almost every direction, with instructions where to go, what to do, and how and when to return, in the event of failure. Then he leaped on his own sledge, and turned to Red Rooney, who was standing by. "Ridroonee," he said, in a somewhat sad tone, "I go to find Nunaga. If I succeed not, you will see me no more." He held out his hand to take farewell in the Kablunet's fashion. "What say you?" exclaimed Rooney, taken by surprise, "Nonsense! see you no--Pooh!--hold on a bit." He ran into his friend's hut, and quickly returned with his bear-skin sleeping-bag and a small wallet which contained his little all. "Now then," he cried, jumping on the sledge, "away you go as soon as you like. I'm with 'ee, lad." Angut shook his head. "But the Kablunet is not yet strong enough to travel," said the Eskimo, doubtfully. "The Kablunet is strong enough to pitch you over his head; and he'll do it too, if you don't drive on." With another doubtful look and shake of the head, Angut seized his whip. The dogs, knowing the signal well, sprang up. At that moment Angut observed the little eyes of Kannoa peering at him wistfully. "Come," he said, holding out a hand. The old woman's visage beamed with joy, as she seized the hand, and scrambled on the sledge. Then the lash came round with the wonted crack. The dogs winced, but did not suffer, for Angut was merciful to his beasts, and away they went at full speed--Okiok having dashed off in similar fashion with his two sons and Simek in another direction a few minutes before them. North, south, east, and west, on land and sea, did those Eskimos search for tracks of the fugitives; but the whole immediate neighbourhood was so cut up in all directions by the daily out-going and in-coming of their own hunters, that the discovering of a special track was not easy--indeed, almost impossible. All day they sped over the ice and snow in widening circles. When night came, they waited till the moon arose, and then continued the search. It was not till the forenoon of the following day that the unsuccessful searchers began to drop in one by one, worn-out and disheartened. Nuna and the other women had breakfast ready for them. Little was said, for the women were depressed, and the men, after eating, immediately sought much-needed repose. It was nearly evening before Okiok and his sons returned. "No sign anywhere," he said in reply to his poor wife's mute inquiry. "Ippegoo," he added, turning to the youth, whose woe-begone expression at another time would have been ludicrous, "I will sleep for some time. Let the dogs be well fed all round, and be ready to start with me when the moon rises." Without another word, he stretched himself on the floor, pillowed his head on a deerskin, and went to sleep almost on the instant. Meanwhile Angut had driven straight to Moss Bay. His search was not one of a wild haphazard nature. Despite the agitation of his breast, his mind was clear and his head cool. Judging that Nunaga must at least have started for her intended destination, whatever might afterwards have induced her to change her mind, he drove slowly along, observing with a lynx eye everything that looked in the slightest degree like a divergence from the route. The consequence was, that on reaching the place where the divergence had actually taken place, he pulled up, and got off the sledge to examine. "You're right," remarked Rooney, who accompanied his friend, while old Kannoa remained with the dogs. "It's easy to see that a sledge has turned off here." "Quite easy," responded the Eskimo, with suppressed eagerness; "we will follow." Running back, they turned the dogs into the fresh track, and soon came to the place where Ujarak had joined the women. Angut pointed to the footprints with a gleam of unusual ferocity in his eyes. For some time they could easily follow the track, and went along at a rapid pace; but when it led them to the point where it joined other tracks, the difficulty of following became great. Of course Angut at once understood the object of this ruse, and became more attentive to every mark that seemed in the remotest degree to indicate another divergence, but failed to hit upon the spot, and finally came to a halt when far out on the floes where drift had obliterated the old sledge-marks, and a recent track could not have escaped notice. Then he made a wide circular sweep, which was meant to cut across all the tracks that radiated from the village. In this manoeuvre he was more successful. Towards evening he came upon a recent track which led straight to the southward. "Got him at last!" exclaimed Rooney, with a shout of excitement and satisfaction. "I think so," said Angut, as he went down on his knees and carefully examined the marks on the floe. His opinion was clearly shown by his starting up suddenly, jumping on the sledge again, flourishing his whip savagely, and setting off at a pace that obliged Rooney to seize the lashings with both hands and hold on tight. Old Kannoa did the same, and stuck to the sledge like a limpet, with her chin resting on her knees and her sharp little eyes gazing anxiously ahead. Soon they came to the rough ground that had tried the quality of the wizard's sledge, and the vehicle bumped over the ice at such a rate that the poor old woman was almost pitched out. "Hallo! hold on!" cried Rooney, as they went over a hummock with a crash that made Kannoa gasp, "you'll kill the poor thing if you--" He stopped short, for another crash almost tumbled himself over the stern of the vehicle. Angut was roused to desperation. He scarcely knew what he was doing, as he lashed the yelping team furiously, hoping that when he should pass the cape ahead of him he would come in sight of the fugitives. "Here, catch hold of me, old woman," cried Rooney, putting an arm round the poor creature's waist; "sit on my legs. They'll act something like a buffer to your old bones." Kannoa gave a sort of lively chuckle at the novelty of the situation, let go her hold of the sledge, and made a sudden plunge at Rooney, grasping him tight round the neck with both arms. She was little more than a baby in the seaman's huge grasp, nevertheless, having only one arm to spare, and with a sledge that not only bumped, but swung about like a wild thing, he found her quite as much as he could manage. The night had fairly set in when the cape was rounded, so that nothing could be distinguished, not even the track they had been following--and travelling became dangerous. "No use to push on, Angut," remarked Rooney, as his friend pulled up; "we must have patience." "Yes; the moon will be up soon," returned his friend; "we will now rest and feed." The resting meant sitting there in the dark on the side of the sleigh, and the feeding consisted in devouring a lump of seal's flesh raw. Although not very palatable, this was eminently profitable food, as Angut well knew. As for Rooney, he had learned by that time to eat whatever came in his way with thankfulness--when hungry, and not to eat at all when otherwise. The moon rose at last, and revealed the sheet of glassy ice which had previously disconcerted Ujarak. Angut also beheld it with much concern, and went on foot to examine it. He returned with an anxious look. "They have crossed," he said moodily, "but the ice has cracked much, and my sledge is, I fear, heavier than theirs." "We can walk, you know, and so lighten it," said Rooney. "No; it is only by a dash at full speed that we can do it. Will my friend run the risk?" "He would not be your friend if he were not willing," returned the seaman gravely; "but what about Kannoa? It's not fair to risk her life." "We cannot leave her behind," said Angut, with a perplexed glance at the cowering figure on the sledge. "She could not return to the village on foot. That would be greater risk to her than going on with us." At this point the old woman looked up with a sort of pleasant grin, and croaked-- "Kannoa is not heavy. Take her with you. She is quite willing to live or die with Angut and Ridroonee." With a slight smile the Eskimo resumed his place and whip. Rooney patted Kannoa on the head as he sat down beside her, and called her a "brave old girl." Another moment, and the dogs were out on the glassy plain, galloping as well as they could, and yelping as much from fear of the rending and bending ice as the cracking whip. They had not advanced twenty yards when one of the sledge-runners broke through. This brought them to a sudden halt. Next moment the sledge went down, and Angut found himself struggling with the dogs in the sea. Fortunately Rooney, being near the back part of the sledge, was able to roll off in a sort of back-somersault before the vehicle was quite submerged. Even in the act he did not forget Kannoa. He made a blind grasp at her in passing, but found her not, for that remarkable woman, at the first alarm, and being well aware of what was coming, had sprawled off at the rear, and was already on the ice in safety. The two now set to work to rescue Angut and the dogs. The former had cut the latter free from the sledge, so that it was not difficult to haul them out along with their master. For it must be remembered that, although the thin ice had failed to bear the sledge, it was sufficiently strong to support the individuals singly. To get the sledge out of the water was, however, a matter of much greater difficulty, but they accomplished it in the course of an hour or so. The process of doing this helped to dry Angut's garments, which was fortunate. It was also fortunate that the sharp spring frost, which had set fast the space of open water, had by that time given way, so that there was no fear of evil consequences from the ducking either to dogs or man. But now came the serious question, What was to be done? "It is of no use trying it again," said Angut, in a frame of mind amounting almost to despair. "Could we not send Kannoa back with the sledge, and you and I make sail after them on foot?" asked Rooney. Angut shook his head despondingly. "Of no use," he said; "they have the best dogs in our village. As well might a rabbit pursue a deer. No; there is but one course. The land-ice is impassable, but the floes out on the sea seem still to be fast. If they break up while we are on them we shall be lost. Will Ridroonee agree to take old Kannoa back to her friends, and I will go forward with the sledge alone?" "What say you, Kannoa?" asked Rooney, turning to the old woman with a half-humorous look. "Kannoa says she will live or die with Angut and Ridroonee," she replied firmly. "You're a trump!" exclaimed the seaman in English. Then, turning to the Eskimo-- "You see, Angut, it's impossible to get rid of us, so up anchor, my boy, and off we go seaward. The truth is, I ought to feel more in my element when we get out to sea." Seeing that they were resolved, Angut made no further objection, but, directing the dogs' heads away from the land, flourished his long whip over them, and set off at as break-neck a pace as before over the seaward ice-floes. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. A TERRIBLE ENCOUNTER, DISASTROUS RESULTS, AND SINGULAR TERMINATION. Let us return now to the wizard and his captives. After travelling for several days at the utmost possible speed, the guilty man began to feel at ease as regarded pursuit, and commenced to advance at a more reasonable rate, giving the poor dogs time for sufficient rest, and going out once or twice on the floes to procure fresh supplies of seal-flesh for himself and his party. The thaw which had by that time set steadily in had not broken up the old ice to the southward, so that no more thin ice or open water was met with. But although he had thus begun to take things more easily, Ujarak did not by any means waste time. The wretched man was very morose, even savage, insomuch that he would scarcely reply to the questions which were timidly put to him at times by the women. It was evident that he repented of his hasty flight, and no doubt was rendered desperate by the reflection that the matter was by that time past remedy. One morning, on rounding one of those bluff precipitous capes which jut out from the western coast of Greenland into Baffin's Bay, they came unexpectedly in sight of a band of Eskimos who were travelling northwards. Ujarak pulled up at once, and for some moments seemed uncertain what to do. He had not yet been observed, so that there was a possibility of turning aside, if he were so disposed, and hiding among the rugged masses of ice which lined the bottom of the cliffs. Before he could make up his mind, however, on the subject, a loud shout from the Eskimos showed that he had been observed. Turning sharply, and with a savage scowl, to the women, he said in a low voice-- "If you say that I have run away with you, I will kill you and the children." A smile of contempt flickered on the face of Kabelaw at the moment. Observing it, the wizard added-- "There will be no escape for _you_. Your death will be certain, for even if these people were to kill me, and carry you back to the village, my torngak would follow you and kill you." He said no more, for he knew well that he had said enough. At first sight of the Eskimo band, Kabelaw's heart had leaped for joy, because she at once made up her mind to explain how matters stood, and claim protection, which she had no doubt they would grant. But some Eskimos, not less than many civilised people, are deeply imbued with superstition, and the bare idea of an invisible torngak pursuing her to the death--in the possibility of which she and Nunaga more or less believed--was too much for her. In fear and trembling she made up her mind to be silent, and submit to her fate. It need scarcely be added, so did her more timid companion. "Where do you come from?" asked the leader of the party when they met. "From the far-away _there_," replied the wily wizard, pointing northward. "I do not ask where _you_ come from." "Why not?" demanded the leader, in some surprise. "Because I know already," answered Ujarak, "that you come from the far-away _there_," pointing southward; "and I know that, because I am an angekok. You have come from a spot near to the land where the Kablunets have settled, and you are bringing iron and other things to exchange with my kinsmen for horns of the narwhal and tusks of the walrus." Knowing as he did from rumour that Eskimos from the Moravian settlements were in the habit of travelling northward for the purposes of barter, (though they had not up to that time travelled so far north as his own tribe), and observing bundles of hoop-iron on the sledges, it did not require much penetration on the part of a quick mind like that of Ujarak to guess whence the strangers had come, and what their object was. Nevertheless, the leader and most of the party who had circled round the wizard and his sledge, opened their eyes in amazement at this smart statement of their affairs. "My brother must indeed be a great angekok, for he seems to know all things. But we did not come from _near_ the land where the Kablunets have built their huts. We have come _from_ it," said the matter-of-fact leader. "Did I not say that?" returned Ujarak promptly. "No; you said near it--whereas we came from it, from inside of itself." "Inside of itself must be very near it, surely!" retorted the wizard, with a grave look of appeal to those around him. A laugh and nod of approval was the reply, for Eskimos appreciate even the small end of a joke, however poor, and often allow it to sway their judgment more powerfully than the best of reasoning--in which characteristic do they not strongly resemble some people who ought to know better? The matter-of-fact leader smiled grimly, and made no further objection to the wizard's claim to correct intelligence. "Now," continued Ujarak, for he felt the importance of at once taking and keeping the upper hand, "my tribe is not far from here; but they are going away on a hunting expedition, so you must lose no time, else they will be gone before you arrive. They want iron very much. They have horns and tusks in plenty. They will be glad to see you. My torngak told me you were coming, so I came out a long way to meet you. I brought my wives and children with me, because I want to visit the Kablunets, and inquire about their new religion." He paused for a moment or two, to let his tissue of lies have full effect, but the very matter-of-fact leader took advantage of the pause to ask how it was that if he, Ujarak, had been told by his torngak of the coming of the trading party, he had failed to tell his tribe _not_ to go on a hunting expedition, but to await their arrival. "Ha! ho!" exclaimed several of the Eskimos, turning a sharp gaze upon the wizard, as much as to say, "There's a puzzler for you, angekok!" But Ujarak, although pulled up for a moment, was not to be overturned easily. "Torngaks," he said, "do not always reveal all they know at once. If they did, angekoks would only have to listen to all they had to tell on every subject, and there would be an end of it; they would have no occasion to use their judgments at all. No; the torngaks tell what they choose by degrees. Mine told me to leave my tribe, and visit the Kablunets. On the way he told me more, but not _all_." This explanation seemed quite satisfactory to some, but not to all of them. Seeing this, the wizard hastened to turn their minds from the subject by asking how far it was to the land of the Kablunets. "Four suns' journey," replied the leader. "It is the same to the village of my kindred," exclaimed Ujarak, getting quickly on his sledge. "I must hasten on, and so must you. Time must not be wasted." With a flourish of his whip, he started his team at full speed, scattering the Eskimos right and left, and scouring over the ice like the wind. For a moment or two the leader of the band thought of pursuit, but seeing at a glance that none of his teams were equal to that of Ujarak, and feeling, perhaps, that it might be dangerous to pursue an angekok, he gave up the idea, and resumed his northward route. For two days more the wizard continued his journey, encamping each night at sunset, eating his supper apart, making his bed of bearskins in the lee of a shrub or under the shelter of an overhanging cliff, and leaving his captives to make themselves comfortable as best they could on the sledge. This they did without difficulty, all of them being well accustomed to rough it, and having plenty of bear and deerskins to keep them warm. The dogs also contributed to this end by crowding round the party, with deep humility of expression, as close as they were allowed to come. At the end of these two days an incident occurred which totally changed the aspect of affairs. On the morning of the third day they started with the dawn, and drove steadily southward for a couple of hours. They had just traversed a small bay, and were close to the high cape which formed its southern extremity, when one of the bars of the sledge broke, rendering a halt necessary. Breaking the gloomy silence which he had so long maintained, the wizard spoke: "Go," he said, "cook some food under the cliffs there. I will mend the sledge." The women replied, not by words, but by the more emphatic method of at once obeying the order. Kabelaw seized and shouldered a large piece of raw seal's flesh. Nunaga took up little Pussi with one hand, and the materials for producing fire with the other, and followed her companion. Tumbler brought up the rear, staggering under the weight of the cooking-lamp. They had only a couple of hundred yards to go. In a few minutes Kabelaw was busy under the cliffs producing fire, in the usual Eskimo fashion with two pieces of dry wood, while her friend set up the lamp and sliced the meat. The children, inheriting as they did the sterling helpful propensities of their parents, went actively about, interfering with everything, in their earnest endeavours to assist. "Isn't he strange?" remarked Kabelaw, glancing in the direction of Ujarak, as she diligently twirled the fire-stick between her palms; "so different from what he was." "I think," said Nunaga, pouring oil into the lamp, "that he is sorry for what he has done." "No; him not sorry," said Tumbler, as he assisted Pussi to rise, for she had tripped and fallen; "him not sorry--him sulky." Kabelaw took no notice of this juvenile observation, but, blowing the spark which she had at last evoked into a flame, expressed some doubt as to Ujarak's repentance, and said she had never seen him in a state of sorry-tude before. Whereupon Tumbler pertly rejoined that _he_ had often seen him in a state of sulky-tude! The damage to the sledge was slight. It was soon repaired, and the wizard brought it round with him to the spot where breakfast was being got ready. This was the first time he had eaten with them since the flight began. His manner, however, was not much changed. He was still silent and gloomy, though once or twice he condescended to make a remark or two about the weather. When a man talks upon the weather, the ice is fairly broken--even in Arctic regions--and from that well-nigh universal starting-point Ujarak went on to make a few more remarks. He did so very sternly, however, as though to protest against the idea that he was softening to the smallest extent. "Nunaga," he said, holding up a finger, "in two suns, or less, we shall arrive at the land where the Kablunets have built houses and settled down." We may explain that the wizard here referred to the Moravians, who had about that time sent out their first mission to Greenland. Of course he knew nothing of the object those self-sacrificing men had in view in thus establishing themselves in Greenland, only vague rumours having at that time reached his distant tribe. All he knew was that they were Kablunets, or foreigners, and that they had something mysterious to tell about the God of the Kablunets. Nunaga received Ujarak's information in silence, and waited for more. "And now," he continued, "I want you to say when you arrive there that you are my wife." "But I am _not_ your wife," returned Nunaga gently, yet firmly. The wizard frowned, then he glared fiercely, then he looked sad, then there settled on his visage a sulky look which gradually faded away, leaving nothing but a simple blank behind. After that he opened his lips, and was about to speak, when Nunaga opened her pretty eyes to their widest, also her pretty mouth, and gave vent to a tremendous shriek, which, reverberating among the cliffs, caused all the creatures around her, canine and human, to leap electrically to their feet. To account for this we must take the reader round to the other side of the cliff, at the foot of which the party sat enjoying their breakfast. There, all ignorant of the human beings so near at hand, sauntered an enormous Polar bear. It seated itself presently on its haunches, and swayed itself gently to and fro, with its head on one side, as if admiring the Arctic scenery. There was not much more than a space of five hundred yards between the parties, but owing to the great promontory which formed an effectual screen between them, and the fact that the light air blew from the land to the sea, neither bear nor dogs had scented each other. It seemed as if Bruin had only just got out of bed, for his little eyes blinked sleepily, his motions were exceedingly slow, and his yawns were frequent as well as remonstrative in tone. Doubtless bears, like men, dislike early rising! Having gazed at the scenery long enough, and shaken off its lethargy to some extent, the bear began probably to think of food. Then it arose, sauntered round the promontory, and presented itself to the more than astonished gaze of Nunaga, who was the only one that chanced to sit facing in its direction. The resulting shriek and its consequences seemed to have a petrifying effect on the animal, for it stood stock still for some moments, and simply gazed. This condition of things was instantly changed by three of the dogs breaking their traces, and rushing wildly at the animal. With two nimble pats of its great paws it sent two of the dogs into the air, almost killing them, while the third it dismissed, yelling hideously, with a bad tear in its flank. Quick as thought, Ujarak set the other dogs free, and the whole pack ran open-mouthed at their natural foe, but another dog being promptly sent away howling, the rest were cowed, and confined themselves to barking furiously round their powerful foe. Apparently this was an old bear, confident perhaps in its strength, and used, it might be, to dog-assaults, for it paid no further attention to its canine opponents, but advanced with a very threatening aspect towards the sledge. It is pretty well-known that two Eskimo men of average strength and courage are more than a snatch for the Polar bear, if armed with spears. The mode of attack is simple. The two men separate. The one who arranges to be the slayer of the animal advances on its left side; the other on its right. Thus the victim's attention is distracted; it becomes undecided which foe to attack first. The hunter on the right settles the question by running in, and giving him a prick with the spear. Turning in fury on this man, the bear exposes its left side to the full force of a deadly thrust of the spear, which usually reaches the heart, and finishes it. The chances, however, are very much in favour of the bear when the man is alone. Hence, single hunters are not fond of attacking a Polar bear, except when unusually strong and courageous, as well as confident of their dexterity. Now it happened that Ujarak, although strong and courageous enough, was not over-confident of his dexterity. With a tried comrade, he would readily have faced any bear in the Arctic regions, but on this occasion he felt he had to depend entirely on himself. Seizing a spear quickly, he looked at the approaching animal, and glanced uneasily at Nunaga. "If I am killed," he said, "you will have to defend the children." There was a tone of pathos in the voice, which showed that no touch of selfish fear influenced the man. Hitherto the women and children had stood absolutely horror-struck and helpless, but the vigorous nature of Kabelaw came to her aid. "We will help you," she suddenly cried, catching up two spears, and thrusting one into the hands of Nunaga; "two women may perhaps be equal to one man." The wizard smiled grimly in spite of circumstances at this heroic action, but there was no time for reply, as the bear was already close to them. Poor, timid Nunaga, trembling from skin to marrow, had just courage enough to grasp her spear and follow Kabelaw. The latter understood well how to act. She had often seen her own kinsmen do the work that was required of her. As for the two little ones, they continued throughout to stand limp and motionless, with eyes and mouths wide-open. Of course Kabelaw ran to the right, and Ujarak to the left of the foe. Advancing, as in duty bound, a step or two ahead of her male friend, the former proceeded to prick the bear; but when the monster rose on his hind legs, and towered to a height of eight feet, if not more, her heart failed her. Nevertheless, she made a gallant thrust, which might have at least incommoded the animal had not the spear received a blow which not only sent it spinning out of the woman's hand, but hurled poor Kabelaw herself on the ice, a small lump of which cut open her temple, and rendered her for the moment insensible. At the same instant the wizard took prompt advantage of his opportunity, and delivered what should have been the death-wound. But the very energy of the man foiled him, for the spear entered too near the shoulder, and stuck upon the bone. The fall of Kabelaw had the peculiar effect of producing a gush of desperation in the tender heart of Nunaga, which amounted, almost, to courage. With a lively shriek she shut her eyes, rushed in on the bear, and gave it a dab in the side, which actually sent her weapon into the flesh about an inch deep, and there it stuck fast. Feeling this new sting, the bear turned on her with a gasp of rage. She looked up. The great paws were extended over her head. The dreadful jaws were open. Letting go her weapon, Nunaga cast up her arms, shut her eyes again, and sank shuddering on the ice. Down came the bear, but at that critical moment an irresistible force effected what the united party had failed to accomplish. The butt of Nunaga's spear chanced to enter a crack in the ice, where it stuck fast, and the weight of the descending animal sent the point through flesh, ribs, and heart, and out at his backbone. The spear broke of course, but in breaking it turned the monster on one side, and saved the poor girl from being smothered. At the same moment Ujarak had made another desperate thrust, which, unlike the former, entered deep, but being misdirected, did not touch a vital part. In the violence of his effort the man fell, and the dying bear rolled upon him, rendering him also insensible. When poor little Nunaga, recovering from her state of semi-consciousness, opened her eyes, and sat up, her first impression was that the bear, the wizard, and Kabelaw lay around her dead. Bad as the state of matters was, however, it was not quite so bad as that. The poor girl's first act was to burst into a hysterical fit of laughter--so wonderfully constituted are some female minds--and she followed that up with an equally hysterical fit of weeping. But to do her justice, the fits did not last above half a minute. Then she suddenly stopped, dried her eyes, jumped up, and, pursing her lips and knitting her brows, ran to her friend, whom she found just returning to a state of consciousness. "What has happened?" asked Kabelaw, in a dazed manner, as she looked at the blood which flowed from her wound. Nunaga did not answer, but ran to the bear, which was quite dead, and began to drag it off Ujarak. With great difficulty, and by first hauling at its neck and then at its tail, she managed to move it just enough to set the man's head and chest free. The wizard, thus partially relieved, soon began to show signs of returning life. In a few minutes he was able to sit up and drag his right leg from under the bear, but he was much exhausted, and only got it free after great exertion. "Are you hurt?" asked Nunaga, in a tone of commiseration. "Not much, I think. I--I am not sure. I feel as if I had been much shaken, and my leg is painful. I hope," he added, feeling the limb with both hands, "that it is not--" He finished the sentence with a deep groan. But it was not a groan of pain so much as of despair, for his leg, he found, was broken just above the ankle. It may perhaps require a little thought on the part of those who dwell in civilised lands to understand fully all that this implied to the Eskimo. If it did not absolutely mean death by exposure and starvation, it at all events meant life under extremely uncomfortable conditions of helplessness and pain; it meant being completely at the mercy of two women whom he had grievously wronged; and it meant that, at the best, he could not avoid ultimately falling into the hands of his angry and outraged kinsmen. All this the wizard perceived at a glance--hence his groan. Now it may not be out of place to remark here that the qualities of mercy, pity, forgiveness, etcetera, are not by any means confined to the people of Christian lands. We believe that, as our Saviour "died for the sins of the whole world," so the Spirit of Jesus is to be found working righteousness among individuals of even the worst and most savage nations of the earth. The extreme helplessness and pain to which her enemy was reduced, instead of gratifying revenge in Nunaga, aroused in her gentle breast feelings of the tenderest pity; and she not only showed her sympathy in her looks and tones, but by her actions, for she at once set to work to bind up the broken limb to the best of her ability. In this operation she was gleefully assisted by little Tumbler and Pussi, who, having recovered from their horror when the bear fell dead, seemed to think that all succeeding acts were part of a play got up for their special amusement. When the surgical work was done, Nunaga again turned her attention to Kabelaw. She had indeed felt a little surprised that her friend seemed to take no interest in the work in which she was engaged, and was still more surprised when, on going up to her, she found her sitting in the same position in which she had left her, and wearing the same stupid half-stunned look on her face. A few words sufficed to reveal the truth, and, to Nunaga's consternation, she found that her friend was suffering from what is known among the civilised as concussion of the brain. When the full significance of her condition at last forced itself upon the poor girl, when she came to see clearly that she was, as it were, cast away in the Arctic wilderness, with the whole care of a helpless man and woman and two equally helpless children, besides a sledge and team of dogs, devolving on her she proved herself to be a true heroine by rising nobly to the occasion. Her first act was to return, with characteristic humility, and ask Ujarak what she must do. "You must take the dogs and sledge and the children," he answered in a low voice, "and save yourselves." "What! and leave you here?" "Yes; I am bad. It is well that I should die." "But Kabelaw?" said the girl, with a glance at her friend. "She has got the head-sickness and cannot help herself." "Leave her to die also," said the wizard carelessly; "she is not worth much." "Never!" cried Nunaga, with emphasis. "I will save her, I will save you all. Did you not tell me that the village of the Kablunets is only two suns from here?" "That is so, Nunaga." "Can you creep to the sledge?" asked the girl quickly. "I think I can." "Try, then." The wizard tried, and found that he could creep on his hands and one knee, dragging the wounded limb on the ice. It gave him excruciating pain, but he was too much of a man to mind that. In a few minutes he was lying at full length on the sledge. "Now, Tumbler and Pussi," said Nunaga, "cover him well up with skins, while I go and fetch Kabelaw, but _don't touch his leg_." She found that Kabelaw could walk slowly, with support, and after much exertion succeeded in getting her also laid out upon the sledge alongside of the wizard. Then Nunaga tied them both firmly down with long walrus-lines. She also attached the children to the sledge with lines round their waists, to prevent their being jolted off. Having thus made things secure, and having cut off some choice portions of the bear for food, she harnessed the dogs, grasped the whip, mounted to the driver's place, brought the heavy lash down with wonderful effect on the backs of the whole team, and set off at full gallop towards the land where Kablunets were said to dwell. Fortunately, the ice was smooth most of the way, for jolting was not only injurious to poor Kabelaw, but gave the wizard great additional pain. It also had the effect of bumping Tumbler and Pussi against each other, and sometimes strained their lashings almost to the breaking point. At night Nunaga selected as comfortable a spot as she could find under the shelter of the Greenland cliffs, and there--after detaching the children, re-dressing Ujarak's leg, arranging the couch of the semi-conscious Kabelaw, and feeding the hungry dogs--she set up her lamp, and cooked savoury seal and bear cutlets for the whole party. And, not withstanding the prejudices with which fastidious people may receive the information, it is an unquestionable fact that the frying of seal and bear cutlets sends a most delicious influence up the nose, though perhaps it may require intense hunger and an Eskimo's digestion to enable one to appreciate to the full the value of such food. These labours ended, Nunaga put the little ones to bed, made the wizard and Kabelaw as comfortable as possible for the night, fastened up the dogs, and, spreading her own couch in the most convenient spot beside them, commenced her well-earned night's repose. The first night her bed was a flat rock; the second, a patch of sand; but on both occasions the cheery little woman softened the place with a thick bear-skin, and, curling up, covered herself with the soft skin of a reindeer. And what were the thoughts of the wicked Ujarak as he lay there, helpless and suffering, silently watching Nunaga? We can tell, for he afterwards made a partial confession of them. "She is very pretty," he thought, "and very kind. I always knew that, but now I see that she is much more. She is forgiving. I took her from her home by force, and would have made her my wife against her will--yet she is good to me. I have been harsh, unkind, cruel, sulky to her ever since we left home--yet she is good to me. I have torn her from all those whom she loves, with the intention that she should never see them again--yet she is good to me. She might have left me to die, and might easily have gone home by herself, and it would have served me right, but--but she is good to me. I am not a man. I am a beast--a bear--a fox--a walrus--" As the wizard thought thus, a couple of tears overflowed their boundaries, and rolled down the hitherto untried channel of his cheeks. Do you think, reader, that this line of thought and emotion, even in a savage, was unnatural? Is not the same principle set forth in Scripture in reference to far higher things? Need we remind you that it is "the _goodness_ of God which leadeth thee, (or any one else), to repentance?" As it is in the spiritual world, so is it in the natural. At the time of which we write the same grand principle was powerfully at work in Nature. "Thick-ribbed ice," which the united forces of humanity could not have disrupted, was being silently yet rapidly dissolved by the genial influence of the sun, insomuch that on the evening of the day after Nunaga had been compelled by circumstances to assume command of the expedition, several sheets of open water appeared where ice had been expected, and the anxious charioteer was more than once obliged to risk the lives of the whole party by driving out to sea on the floes--that being better than the alternative of remaining where they were, to die of starvation. But by that time they were not far distant from the Kablunet settlements. CHAPTER NINETEEN. SPRING RETURNS--KAYAK EVOLUTIONS--ANGUT IS PUZZLED. Why some people should wink and blink as well as smirk when they are comfortable is a question which might possibly be answered by cats if they could speak, but which we do not profess to understand. Nevertheless we are bound to record the fact that on the very day when Nunaga and her invalids drew near to the first Moravian settlements in Greenland, Ippegoo slowly mounted a hillside which overlooked the icy sea, flung himself down on a moss-clad bank, and began to wink and blink and smirk in a way that surpassed the most comfortable cat that ever revelled on rug or slumbered in sunshine. Ippegoo was supremely happy, and his felicity, like that of most simple folk, reposed on a simple basis. It was merely this--that Spring had returned to the Arctic regions. Spring! Ha! who among the dwellers in our favoured land has the faintest idea of--of--pooh!--words are wanting. The British poets, alive and dead, have sung of Spring, and doubtless have fancied that they understood it. They had no more idea of what they were singing about than--than the man in the moon, if we may venture to use a rather hackneyed comparison. Listen, reader, humbly, as becometh the ignorant. Imagine yourself an Eskimo. Don't overdo it. You need not in imagination adopt the hairy garments, or smear yourself with oil, or eat raw blubber. For our purpose it will suffice to transport yourself into the Arctic regions, and invest yourself with the average intelligence of an ordinary human being who has not been debased by the artificial evils that surround modern civilisation, or demoralised by strong drink. In this condition of happy simplicity you draw near to the end of an Arctic winter. During eight months or so you have been more or less shrivelled-up, petrified, mummified, by frost of the most intense and well-nigh intolerable description. Your whole body has frequently been pierced by winds, the constituents of which seemed to be needles and fire. Shelter has been one of your chief subjects of meditation every day--ofttimes all day; unwillingness to quit that shelter and eagerness to return to it being your dominant characteristic. Darkness palpable has been around you for many weeks, followed by a twilight of gloom so prolonged that you _feel_ as if light were a long-past memory. Your eyes have become so accustomed to ice and snow that white, or rather whitey-grey, has long since usurped and exclusively held the place of colour in your imagination, so that even black--a black cliff or a black rock cropping up out of the snow--becomes a mitigated joy. Your ears have been so attuned to the howling blast with interludes of dead calm and variations of rending icebergs and bellowing walrus accompaniments, that melodious harmonies have fled affrighted from your brain. As for your nose--_esprit de marrow fat_, extract of singed hide, essence of lamp-smoke, _eau de cuisine_, and de-oxygenised atmosphere of snow-hut, have often inclined you to dash into the open air, regardless of frost and snow, for purposes of revivification. Imagine all these things intensified to the uttermost, and prolonged to nigh the limits of endurance, so that genial ideas and softening influences seem to have become things of the long-forgotten past, and _then_ try to imagine a change, compared to which all the transformation scenes of all the pantomimes that ever blazed are as a tomtit's chirp to a lion's roar, or a--a--Words fail again! No matter. But don't give in yet. Try, now, to imagine this sudden transformation wrought, perhaps, in a few days to the slow music of southern zephyrs, bearing on their wings light, and heat, and sunshine. Your ear is surprised--absolutely startled--by the sound of trickling water. Old memories that you thought were dead come back in the trumpet of the wild-goose, the whistling wing of the duck, the plaintive cry of the plover. Your nose--ah! your nose cocks up and snuffs a smell--pardon!-- a scent. It is the scent of the great orb on which you stand, saturated _at last_ with life-giving water, and beginning to vivify all the green things that have so long been hidden in her capacious bosom. But it is to your eye, perhaps, that the strongest appeal is made, for while you throw off one by one the garments which have protected you for so many months, and open up body and soul to the loved, long-absent, influences of warmth, and sound, and odour, your eye drinks up the mighty draughts of light--light not only blazing in the blue above, but reflected from the blue below--for the solid ice-fields are now split into fragments; the swell of old Ocean sends a musical ripple to the shore; great icebergs are being shed from their parent glaciers, and are seen floating away in solemn procession to the south, lifting their pinnacles towards their grandparent clouds, until finally reduced to the melting mood, and merged in their great-grandparent the sea. Imagine such visions and sensations coming suddenly, almost as a surprise, at the end of the stern Arctic winter, and then, perchance, you will have some idea of the bounding joy that fills the soul on the advent of Spring, inducing it to feel, if not to say, "Let every thing that hath breath praise the Lord." _This_ is Spring! The Eskimos understand it, and so do the dwellers in Rupert's Land; perchance, also, the poor exiles of Siberia--but the poets--pooh! Far down below the perch occupied by Ippegoo lay a little sandy bay, around which were scattered a number of Eskimo huts--rude and temporary buildings, meant to afford shelter for a time and then be forsaken. This was the bay which Angut, Okiok, Simek, Red Rooney, and the others had reached in their pursuit of the wizard when the ice broke up and effectually stopped them. As it was utterly impossible to advance farther with dog and sledge, they were compelled to restrain their impatience as best they could, and await open water, when they might resume their journey in kayaks. Meanwhile, as there was a lead of open water to the northward as far as they could see, the youth Arbalik had been despatched with a small sledge and four of the strongest dogs along the strip of land-ice, or "ice-foot," which clung to the shore. His mission was to reach the village, and fetch Nuna, Pussimek, Kunelik, Sigokow, and his own mother, in one of the oomiaks or women's boats when open water should permit. It was while our Eskimos were thus idly waiting for their wives, that the before-mentioned southern Eskimos arrived, and met them with every demonstration of friendliness and good-will. These men, who had been forced to make a long, difficult detour inland after the ice gave way, were not a little pleased to find that the ice-foot to the northward was still practicable, and that the Eskimo village was so near. Of course they told of their meeting with Ujarak's sledge, which rendered inaction on the part of the pursuers still more unbearable. But they were all men who could accept the inevitable with a good grace, and as they knew it was impossible to advance without kayaks and oomiaks, they awaited the return of Arbalik as patiently as possible. Meanwhile they made themselves agreeable to the new arrivals, whose hearts they gladdened by telling them that their friends in the north had plenty of narwhal horns and bones and walrus tusks and sinews to exchange for their wood and iron. But to return to Ippegoo on his distant and elevated outlook. While he gazed at the busy groups below, our weak-minded youth observed two of the party step into kayaks which lay on the beach, push off into the bay, and commence what may be styled "kayak exercise." As Ippegoo greatly enjoyed witnessing such exercises, he threw off his lethargy, and, leaping up, quickly descended to the shore. The kayaks were old ones which had been found by the party on arriving at the deserted village. They had probably been left as useless by previous visitors, but Okiok's boys, Norrak and Ermigit, being energetic and ingenious fellows, had set to work with fish-bone-needles and sinew-threads, and repaired them with sealskin patches. They were now about to test their workmanship and practise their drill. "Do they leak?" shouted Okiok, as the lads pushed off. "Not more than I can soak up," replied Norrak, looking back with a laugh. "Only a little," cried Ermigit, "and hoh! the water is still very cold." "Paddle hard, and you'll soon warm it," cried Rooney. When they had got fairly off, a spirit of emulation seized the brothers, and, without a direct challenge, they paddled side by side, gradually increasing their efforts, until they were putting forth their utmost exertions, and going through the water at racing speed. "Well done, Norrak!" shouted the father, in rising excitement. "Not so fast, Ermigit; not so fast," roared Simek. Heedless of the advice, the brothers pushed on until they were brought up by the pack-ice at the mouth of the bay. Here they turned as quickly as possible, and raced back with such equal speed that they came in close together--so close that it was impossible for those on shore to judge which was winning as they approached. As in all similar cases--whether on the Thames or on the Greenland seas--excitement became intense as the competitors neared the goal. They were still a hundred yards or so from land, when Ermigit missed a stroke of his paddle. The consequence was that the kayak overturned, and Ermigit disappeared. A kayak, as is generally known, is a very long and narrow canoe, made of a light wooden frame, and covered all over with sealskin with the exception of a single hole, in what may be called the deck, which is just big enough to admit one man. This hole is surrounded by a strip of wood, which prevents water washing into the canoe, and serves as a ledge over which the Eskimo fastens his sealskin coat. As canoe and coat are waterproof, the paddler is kept dry, even in rough weather, and these cockle-shell craft will ride on a sea that would swamp an open boat. But the kayak is easily overturned, and if the paddler is not expert in the use of his paddle, he runs a chance of being drowned, for it is not easy to disengage himself from his craft. Constant practice, however, makes most natives as expert and fearless as tight-rope dancers, and quite as safe. No sooner, therefore, did Ermigit find himself in the water, head downwards, than, with a rapid and peculiar action of the paddle, he sent himself quite round and up on the other side into the right position-- dripping, however, like a seal emerging from the sea. He lost the race, as a matter of course. Norrak, after touching the beach, returned to Ermigit, laughing at his mishap. "You laugh," said his brother somewhat sharply, "but you cannot do that as quickly as I did it." Without a word of reply, Norrak threw himself on one side, vanished in the water, and came up on the other side in a decidedly shorter time. "Well done!" cried Ermigit, who was, in truth, a good-natured fellow; "come, let us practise." "Agreed," responded Norrak; and both brothers pushed a little nearer to land, so that their father and the others might observe and criticise their evolutions. As the exercises which they went through are practised by Eskimos in order to fit them to cope with the accidents and emergencies of actual life, we will briefly describe them. First Norrak leaned over on one side, of course carrying the kayak with him, until his body lay on the water, in which position he maintained himself and prevented a total overset by manipulating his paddle, and then, with a downward dash of the blade and a vigorous jerk of his body, he regained his position, amid expressions of approval from the shore. Having performed the same feat on the other side, he nodded to Ermigit, and said-- "Now you go to work." Ermigit went to work so well, that even a critical judge could not have pronounced him better or worse than his brother. After that they both repeated the complete overturn and recovery already described. In this effort, however, the lads had the free use of their paddles; but as in actual service the paddle may easily get entangled with straps and fishing cordage, a special exercise is arranged to prepare the hunter against such misfortunes. Accordingly Norrak pushed one blade of his paddle among the straps and cordage, overset the kayak, and worked himself up again with a quick motion of the other blade. Of course this was not done either easily or quickly. Nevertheless, it was accomplished by both lads to the entire satisfaction of their critics. Next, they performed the same feat of upsetting and recovering position with the paddle held fast behind their backs, and then with it held across the nape of the neck--and in several other positions, all of which represented cases of possible entanglement. Sometimes, however, the paddle may be lost in an upset. This is the most serious misfortune that can befall a hunter. To prepare for it, therefore, the Eskimo boys and youths have a special drill, which Norrak now proceeded to go through. Overturning his kayak as before, he purposely let go the oar in the act, so that it floated on the water, and then, while thus inverted, he made an upward grasp, caught the paddle, pulled it down, and with it recovered his position. There would have been great danger in this if he had been alone, for in the event of his failing to catch the paddle he would probably have been drowned, but with Ermigit at hand to help, there was no danger. Other exercises there are which the sons of Okiok were not able to practise at that time because of the weather being unsuitable. One of these consists in threading their way among sunken rocks and dashing surges; another, in breasting the billows of a tempest. It must not be supposed that all Eskimos become efficient in rough work of this kind. Many do become exceedingly expert, others moderately so; but some there are who, although very fair seal-hunters, never become experts in the management of the kayak, and who, in cases of great difficulty, are apt to be lost during the seasons of seal-fishing. Now, it chanced while the youths were thus training themselves for future work, that a solitary seal put up its head, as if to have a look at the state of things in general above water. It also chanced that the Eskimos were to leeward of him, and a blaze of sunshine was at their backs, so that the seal when looking towards its human foes had its eyes dazzled. Ermigit had no weapons at the time, but by good-fortune a harpoon, line, and bladder were attached to Norrak's vessel. As the cat pounces on the unwary mouse, so Norrak, crouching low, dipped his paddle twice with noiseless vigour, and shot his craft like an arrow towards the seal. It happened to be a stupid attarsoak, and it raised its bullet head with a look that said plainly, "What, in all the ocean, is that queer thing in the sunshine?" Half a minute brought that queer thing in the sunshine within ten yards of him. Norrak grasped the light harpoon, and sent it whistling to its mark. Truer than the needle to the pole the weapon went, carrying its line with it, and sank deep into the shoulder of the seal. Ermigit, meanwhile, had made for the shore, got a lance thrown to him by the excited Okiok, received an encouraging nod from Rooney with an English recommendation to "go it," and was off again to render aid. And not a moment too soon did that aid come, for, contrary to usual experience, that seal--instead of diving, and giving them an hour's hot pursuit--made a furious assault on Norrak. Probably the spear had touched it in a tender spot. At all events the creature's ire was roused to such an extent that when it reached him it seized the kayak and tore a large hole in it. Down went the bow, as a matter of course, and up went the stern. Norrak hastily disengaged himself, so as to be ready to spring clear of the sinking wreck, and was on the point of jumping out when his brother's kayak shot past him, and Ermigit sent a spear deep into the vitals of the seal--so deep, indeed, that it turned over and died without a groan. By that time Norrak was in the water, but he made a vigorous grasp at his brother's kayak with one hand, while with the other he clutched the line of the harpoon--for well did he know that dead seals sink, and that if it went down it would perhaps carry the bladder along with it, and so be lost. "Give me the line, brother," said Ermigit, extending a hand. "No. I can hold it. You make for shore--quick." Ermigit plied his paddle with a will, and in a few minutes reached the shore with Norrak, bladder, line, and seal like a huge tail behind him. Need we say that they were received by their friends, as well as by the strange Eskimos, with enthusiasm? We think not. Neither is it necessary to comment on the enjoyment they found that night in a supper of fresh meat, and in fighting the battle, as well as a good many other battles, over again. But in the midst of it all there was a cloud on the brows of Angut, Simek, and Okiok, for their anxiety about the fate of Nunaga, Pussi, and Tumbler was intense. Angut was particularly restless during the night, and got up several times to take a look at the weather, as Rooney expressed it. On one of these occasions he found the Kablunet standing by the shore of the calm sea. "I don't like the look o' things," said Rooney, giving a sailor-like glance at the horizon and the sky. "It seems to me as if we were goin' to have dirty weather." Instead of replying to this remark, the Eskimo looked earnestly at his friend, and asked-- "Can Ridroonee tell me why the Great Spirit allows men to do evil?" "No, Angut, no. That is beyond my knowledge. Indeed I remember puttin' the same question, or somethin' like it, to a learned man in my country, and he said it is beyond the knowledge of the wisest men that have ever lived--so it's no wonder that it's beyond you and me." "But the Great Spirit is good," said Angut, rather as if he were soliloquising than addressing his friend. "Yes; He is good--_must_ be good," returned the sailor; "it cannot be otherwise." "Then why does evil exist?" asked Angut quickly. "Why did He make evil? You have told me He made everything." "So He did, but evil is not a _thing_. It is a state of being, so to speak." "It is a great mystery," said Angut. "It would be a greater mystery," returned the seaman, "if the Great Spirit was _not_ mysterious." "He has allowed Ujarak to carry off Nunaga, though she loves not Ujarak, and Ujarak does not love her, else he could not have treated her so badly. Why did the Great Spirit allow that?" demanded the Eskimo, with some bitterness of tone. "I know not, Angut, yet I know it is for good, because the Great Spirit is our Great Father, and if human fathers know how to treat their children well, does the Great Father of all not know?" The Eskimo gravely bowed his head in assent to this proposition, and the seaman continued-- "I have spoken to you more than once, Angut, about the men in our land called surgeons--that you call knife-men,--how they will cut and carve your body, and tie you down sometimes, and give you terrible and prolonged suffering for the purpose of curing you and relieving your pain." "True," replied Angut, who at once saw the drift of his friend's remark; "but then you _know_ that the knife-man's object is good. It is to cure, to relieve." "But suppose," argued Rooney, "that you did _not_ know that his object was good--that you looked on him as a cruel, bloody, heartless monster, who cared not for your cries of pain--would your ignorance change his character?" "No, no; he would remain good, whatever you might think," said Angut quickly; "I see. I see. I will try to think as you think--the Great Father is good, _must_ be good. And He will prove it some day. Don't you think so, Ridroonee?" "Ay, truly, I think so; I am sure of it. But listen! Do you not hear sounds?" They both listened intently, and gazed towards the northern headland of the bay, which at the time was bathed in brilliant moonlight. Presently two black specks, one larger than the other, were seen to round the point, and the chattering of women's voices was heard. It was Arbalik in a kayak, preceding an oomiak propelled by several women. In her impatience to join her lord, Madame Okiok had insisted on a forced march. A few minutes more, and the women landed amid noisy demonstrations of satisfaction. Ere long the united party were busy round the unfailing lamps, enjoying social intercourse over an intermediate meal which, as it came between supper and breakfast, has not yet obtained a name. CHAPTER TWENTY. THE CHASE CONTINUED AND DISASTROUSLY INTERRUPTED. The day following that on which the wives of Simek and Okiok, and the mothers of Arbalik and Ippegoo with the spinster Sigokow arrived, the southern Eskimos resumed their route northward, and the pursuers continued their journey to the south--the former in their sledges over the still unmelted ice-foot along the shore; the latter, in kayaks, by a lead of open water, which extended as far as the eye could reach. Angut, Okiok, and Simek led the way in kayaks, the kayak damaged by the seal having been repaired. The other men were forced to embark in the women's boat. Eskimo men deem this an undignified position, and will not usually condescend to work in oomiaks, which are invariably paddled by the women, but Rooney, being influenced by no such feelings, quietly took the steering paddle, and ultimately shamed Arbalik and Ippegoo as well as the sons of Okiok into lending a hand. During the first part of the voyage all went well, but next day the lead of open water was found to trend off the land, and run out into the pack, where numerous great glaciers were seen--some aground, others surging slowly southward with the Polar current. "I don't like the look of it," remarked Angut, when the other leaders of the party ranged alongside of him for a brief consultation. "Neither do I," said Simek. "The season is far advanced, and if there should be a general break-up of the ice while we are out among the floes, we should be lost." "But it is impossible for us to travel by land," said Okiok. "No man knows the land here. The sea runs so far in that we might spend many moons in going round the bays without advancing far on our journey." "So there is nothing left for us but to go on by water," said Angut, with decision. "Nunaga must be rescued." "And so must Tumbler," said Okiok. "And so must Pussi," said Simek. "What are you fellows consulting about?" shouted Red Rooney, coming up at that moment with the others in the oomiak. "We are talking of the danger of the ice breaking up," answered Angut. "But there is no other way to travel than by the open lead, so we have decided to go on." "Of course you have," returned Rooney; "what else can we do? We _must_ risk something to save Nunaga, Pussi, and Tumbler, to say nothing of Kabelaw. Get along, my hearties!" How Rooney translated the last phrase into Eskimo is a point on which we can throw no light,--but no matter. In a short time the party reached the neighbourhood of one of the largest bergs, one of those gigantic masses of ice which resemble moderately-sized mountains, the peaks of which rose several hundred feet above the sea-level, while its base was more than a mile in diameter. There were little valleys extending into its interior, through which flowed rivulets, whose winding courses were broken here and there by cascades. In short, the berg resembled a veritable island made of white sugar, the glittering sun-lit slopes of which contrasted finely with its green-grey shadows and the dark-blue depths of its wide rifts and profound caverns. The lead or lane of water ran to within fifty yards of this ice-island, so that Rooney had a splendid view of it, and, being of a romantic turn of mind, amused himself as the oomiak glided past by peopling the white cliffs and valleys with snow-white inhabitants. While he was thus employed, there occurred a sudden crashing and rending in the surrounding pack which filled him with consternation. It produced indeed the same effect on the Eskimos, as well it might, for the very catastrophe which they all dreaded was now taking place. A slight swell on the sea appeared to be the originating cause, but, whatever it was, the whole surface was soon broken up, and the disintegrated masses began to grind against each other in confusion. At the same time the lead which the voyagers had been following grew narrower, and that so rapidly, that they had barely time to jump upon a mass of ice when the opening closed and crushed the oomiak and Okiok's kayak to pieces. Angut and Simek had time to lift their kayaks on to the ice, but that, as it turned out, was of no advantage. "Make for the berg," shouted Angut to the women, at the same time seizing the hand of Kunelik, who chanced to be nearest to him, and assisting her to leap from one heaving mass to another. Rooney performed the same act of gallantry for old Kannoa, who, to his surprise, went over the ice like an antique squirrel. Okiok took his own wife in hand. As for Pussimek, she did not wait for assistance, but being of a lively and active, as well as a stout and cheery disposition, she set off at a pace which caused her tail to fly straight out behind her, and made it difficult for Simek to keep up with her. Ippegoo and Arbalik, with the sons of Okiok, tried their best to save the two kayaks, for well they knew the danger of being left on the ice without the means of escaping; but the suddenness of the disruption, the width of the various channels they had to leap, and the instability of the masses, compelled them, after much delay, to drop their burdens and save themselves. They only managed to reach the berg with extreme difficulty. "Thank God, all safe!--but we have had a close shave," exclaimed Rooney, as he held out his hand to assist Ippegoo, who was the last of the party to clamber up the rugged side of the berg from the broken floe-pieces which were grinding against it. "I wish we could say with truth `All safe,'" was Okiok's gloomy response, as he surveyed the ice-laden sea; "we have escaped being crushed or drowned, but only to be starved to death." "A living man may hope," returned Angut gravely. "Ay, and where there is life," added Rooney, "there ought to be thankfulness." "I would be more thankful," said Ippegoo, with a woe-begone expression, "if we had saved even a spear; but what can we do without food or weapons?" "Do? my son," said Kunelik; "can we not at least keep up heart? Who ever heard of any good coming of groaning and looking miserable?" "Right you are, old girl," cried Rooney, giving the mother of Ippegoo a hearty pat on the shoulder. "There is no use in despairing at the very beginning of our troubles; besides, is there not the Great Spirit who takes care of us, although we cannot see or hear Him? I believe in God, my friends, and I'll ask Him to help us now." So saying, to the surprise of the Eskimos, the seaman uncovered his head, and looking upwards, uttered a few words of earnest prayer in the name of Jesus. At first the unsophisticated natives looked about as if they expected some visible and immediate answer to the petition, but Rooney explained that the Great Spirit did not always answer at once or in the way that man might expect. "God works by means of us and through us," he said. "We have committed the care of ourselves to Him. What we have now to do is to go to work, and do the best we can, and see what things He will throw in our way, or enable us to do, in answer to our prayer. Now, the first thing that occurs to me is to get away from where we stand, because that overhanging cliff beside us may fall at any moment and crush us. Next, we should go and search out some safe cavern in which we may spend the night, for we sha'n't be able to find such a place easily in the dark, and though it will be but a cold shelter, still, cold shelter is better than none--so come along." These remarks of the sailor, though so familiar--perhaps commonplace--to us, seemed so just and full of wisdom to the unsophisticated natives, and were uttered in such an off-hand cheery tone, that a powerful effect was created, and the whole party at once followed the seaman, who, by this display of coolness, firmness, and trustfulness in a higher power, established a complete ascendancy over his friends. From that time they regarded him as their leader, even although in regard to the details of Eskimo life he was of course immeasurably their inferior. They soon found a small cave, not far from the spot where they had landed--if we may use that expression--and there made preparation to spend the night, which by that time was drawing on. Although their craft had been thus suddenly destroyed and lost, they were not left absolutely destitute, for each one, with that prompt mental activity which is usually found in people whose lives are passed in the midst of danger, had seized the bear-skin, deerskin, or fur bag on which he or she happened to be sitting, and had flung it on to the floes before leaping thereon; and Ippegoo, with that regard for internal sustenance which was one of his chief characteristics, had grasped a huge lump of seal's flesh, and carried it along with him. Thus the whole party possessed bedding, and food for at least one meal. Of course the meal was eaten not only cold but raw. In the circumstances, however, they were only too thankful, to care much about the style of it. Before it was finished daylight fled, the stars came out, and the aurora borealis was shooting brilliantly athwart the sky. Gradually the various members of the party spread their skins on the most level spot discoverable, and, with lumps of ice covered with bits of hide for pillows, went to sleep with what resembled free-and-easy indifference. Two of the party, however, could not thus easily drop into happy oblivion. Red Rooney felt ill at ease. His knowledge of those Arctic seas had taught him that their position was most critical, and that escape would be almost miraculous, for they were eight or ten miles at least off the land, on a perishable iceberg, with an ice-encumbered sea around, and no means of going afloat, even if the water had been free. A feeling of gloom which he had not felt before, and which he could not banish, rendered sleep impossible; he therefore rose, and sauntered out of the cave. Outside he found Angut, standing motionless near the edge of an ice-cliff, gazing up into the glorious constellations overhead. "I can't sleep, Angut," said the seaman; "I suppose you are much in the same way?" "I do not know. I did not try," returned the Eskimo in a low voice; "I wish to think, not to sleep. Why cannot the Kablunet sleep?" "Well, it's hard to tell. I suppose thinking too much has something to do with it. The fact is, Angut, that we've got into what I call a fix, and I can't for the life of me see how we are to get out of it. Indeed I greatly fear that we shall never get out of it." "If the Great Spirit wills that our end should be _now_," said Angut, "is the Kablunet afraid to die?" The question puzzled Rooney not a little. "Well," he replied, "I can't say that I'm afraid, but--but--I don't exactly _want_ to die just yet, you see. The fact is, my friend, that I've got a wife and children and a dear old grandmother at home, and I don't quite relish the idea of never seein' them again." "Have you not told me," said Angut, with a look of solemn surprise, "that all who love the Great Spirit shall meet again up there?" He pointed to the sky as he spoke. "Ay, truly, I said that, and I believe that. But a man sometimes wants to see his wife and children again in _this_ life--and, to my thinkin', that's not likely with me, as things go at present. Have _you_ much hope that we shall escape?" "Yes, I have hope," answered the Eskimo, with a touch of enthusiasm in his tone. "I know not why. I know not how. Perhaps the Great Spirit who made me put it into me. I cannot tell. All around and within me is beyond my understanding--but--the Great Spirit is all-wise, all-powerful, and--good. Did you not say so?" "Yes, I said so; and that's a trustworthy foundation, anyhow," returned the sailor meditatively; "wise, powerful, and good--a safe anchorage. But now, tell me, what chances, think you, have we of deliverance?" "I can think of only one," said Angut. "If the pack sets fast again, we may walk over it to the land. Once there, we could manage to live-- though not to continue our pursuit of Ujarak. _That_ is at an end." In spite of himself, the poor fellow said the last words in a tone which showed how deeply he was affected by the destruction of his hope to rescue Nunaga. "Now my friend seems to me inconsistent," said Rooney. "He trusts the Great Spirit for deliverance from danger. Is, then, the rescue of Nunaga too hard for Him?" "I know not," returned Angut, who was, how ever, cheered a little by his friend's tone and manner. "Everything is mystery. I look up, I look around, I look within; all is dark, mysterious. Only on this is my mind clear--the Great Spirit is good. He cannot be otherwise. I will trust Him. One day, perhaps, He will explain all. What I understood not as a little boy, I understand now as a man. Why should there not be more light when I am an older man? If things go on in the mind as they have been going ever since I can remember, perfect light may perhaps come at last." "You don't think like most of your countrymen," said Rooney, regarding the grave earnest face of his friend with increased interest. There was a touch of sadness in the tone of the Eskimo as he replied-- "No; I sometimes wonder--for their minds seem to remain in the childish condition; though Okiok and Simek do seem at times as if they were struggling into more light. I often wonder that they think so little, and think so foolishly; but I do not speak much about it; it only makes them fear that I am growing mad." "I have never asked you, Angut--do your tribes in the north here hold the same wild notions about the earth and heavens as the southern Eskimos do?" "I believe they do," replied Angut; "but I know not all they think in the south. In this land they think,"--here a smile of good-natured pity flickered for a moment on the man's face--"that the earth rests on pillars, which are now mouldering away by age, so that they frequently crack. These pillars would have fallen long ago if they had not been kept in repair by the angekoks, who try to prove the truth of what they say by bringing home bits of them--rotten pieces of wood. And the strange thing is, that the people believe them!" "Why don't you believe them, Angut?" "I know not why." "And what do your kinsmen think about heaven?" asked Rooney. "They think it is supported on the peak of a lofty mountain in the north, on which it revolves. The stars are supposed to be ancient Greenlanders, or animals which have managed in some mysterious way to mount up there, and who shine with varied brightness, according to the nature of their food. The streaming lights of winter are the souls of the dead dancing and playing ball in the sky." "These are strange ideas," observed Rooney; "what have you to say about them?" "I think they are childish thoughts," replied the Eskimo. "What, then, are your thoughts about these stars and streaming lights?" persisted the seaman, who was anxious to understand more of the mind of his philosophical companion. "I know not what I think. When I try to think on these things my mind gets confused. Only this am I sure of--that they are, they must be, the wonderful works of the Good Spirit." "But how do you know that?" asked Rooney. Angut looked at his questioner very earnestly for a few moments. "How does Ridroonee know that he is alive?" he asked abruptly. "Oh, as to that, you know, everything tells me that I am alive. I look around, and I see. I listen, and I hear. I think, and I understand-- leastwise to some extent,--and I _feel_ in mind and heart." "Now will I answer," said Angut. "Everything tells me that the Great Spirit is good, and the Maker of all things. I look, and I see Him in the things that exist. I listen, and I hear Him in the whispering wind, in the running water, in the voice of man and beast. I think, and I understand Him to some extent, and I _feel_ Him both in mind and heart." "I believe you are right, Angut, and your words bring strongly to my remembrance many of the words of the Great Spirit that my mother used to teach me when I was a little boy." From this point in the conversation Angut became the questioner, being anxious to know all that the Kablunet had to tell about the mysterious Book, of which he had spoken to him more than once, and the teachings of his mother. It was long past midnight when the descending moon warned them to turn their steps towards the ice-cave where they had left their slumbering companions. "The frost is sharp to-night," remarked Rooney as they were about to enter. Angut turned round, and cast a parting glance on sea and sky. "If it holds on like this," continued the sailor, "the ice will be firm enough to carry us to land in the morning." "It will not hold on like this," said Angut. "The Innuit are very ignorant, but they know many things about the weather, for they are always watching it. To-morrow will be warm. We cannot escape. It will be safest and wisest to remain where we are." "Remaining means starving," said the sailor in a desponding tone. "It may be so; we cannot tell," returned the Eskimo. With these uncomfortable reflections, the two men entered the cavern quietly, so as not to disturb their comrades. Spreading their bearskins on the ice-floor, they laid heads on ice-pillows, and soon fell into that dreamless, restful slumber which is the usual accompaniment of youth, health, and vigour. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. SHOWS A GLOOMY PROSPECT--STARVATION THREATENED, AND WONDERFULLY AVERTED. Angut was a true prophet. When Rooney awoke next morning, his ears told him that the rushing of ice-cold rivulets through ice-valleys, and the roar of ice-born cataracts had increased considerably during the hours of darkness. The warmth which caused this did not, indeed, at first strike him, for the air of the cavern and the character of his bed had chilled him so much that he was shivering with cold. On glancing at his still sleeping comrades in misfortune, he observed that these tough creatures slept with the peaceful aspect of infants, whom, being both fat and rotund, they resembled in nearly everything except size. Rising and going quietly out, he beat his arms vigorously across his chest until circulation was fully restored. Then he mounted a neighbouring ice-ledge, and saw at a glance that their case had become desperate. "Angut was right," he murmured bitterly, and then stood for a long time contemplating the scene in silence. Considered apart from their circumstances, the scene was indeed glorious. Not only had the warmth of the air begun to swell the rivulets which leaped and brawled down the pale-green slopes around him, but the pack had opened out, so as to completely change the aspect of the sea. Instead of being clothed with ice, showing only a lane of water here and there, it was now an open sea crowded with innumerable ice-islets of every fantastic shape and size. It added something to the bitterness of the poor man's feelings that this state of things would, he knew, have been the very best for their escape in kayaks and oomiaks, for a profound calm prevailed, and the sea, where clear of ice, glittered in the rising sun like a shield of polished gold. He was roused from his meditations by the sound of footsteps behind him. Turning quickly, he beheld Ippegoo holding his jaws with both hands and with an expression of unutterable woe on his face. "Halo, Ippe, what's wrong with you?" A groan was the reply, and Rooney, although somewhat anxious, found it difficult to restrain a laugh. "I've got--oh! oh! oh! oh!--a mad tooth," gasped the poor youth. "A mad tooth! Poor fellow!--we call that _toothache_ where I come from." "What care I whether you call it mad tooth or _tootik_?" cried Ippegoo petulantly. "It is horrible! dreadful! awful!--like fire and fury in the heart." The sufferer used one or two more Eskimo expressions, suggestive of excruciating agony, which are not translatable into English. "If I only had a pair of pincers, but--look, Ippe, look," said Rooney, pointing to the sea, in the hope of distracting his mind from present pain by referring to threatening danger; "look--our kayaks being lost, we have no hope of escaping, so we must starve." His little device, well-meant though it was, failed. A groan and glance of indifference was the Eskimo's reply, for starvation and danger were familiar and prospective evils, whereas toothache was a present horror. We fear it must be told of Ippegoo that he was not celebrated for endurance of pain, and that, being fond of sympathy, he was apt to give full vent to his feelings--the result, perhaps, of having an over-indulgent mother. Toothache--one of the diseases to which Greenlanders are peculiarly liable--invariably drew forth Ippegoo's tenderest feelings for himself, accompanied by touching lamentations. "Come, Ippe, be more of a man. Even your mother would scold you for groaning like that." "But it is so shriekingly bad!" returned the afflicted youth, with increasing petulance. "Of course it is. I know that; poor fellow! But come, I will try to cure you," said Rooney, who, under the impression that violent physical exertion coupled with distraction of mind would produce good effect, had suddenly conceived a simple ruse. "Do you see yon jutting ice-cliff that runs down to a point near the edge of the berg?" "Yes, I see," whimpered Ippegoo. "Well, it will require you to run at your top speed to get there while you count fifteen twenties. Now, if you run there within that time--at your very top speed, mind--" Rooney paused, and looked serious. "Yes; well?" said Ippegoo, whose curiosity had already begun to check the groans. "If you run there," continued the seaman, with a look and tone of deep solemnity, "at the very toppest speed that you can do, and look round that ice-point, you will see--" "What?" gasped Ippegoo excitedly--for he was easily excited. "_Something_," returned Rooney mysteriously. "I cannot tell exactly what you will see, because I am not an angekok, and have no torngak to tell me; but I am quite sure that you will see _something_! Only, the benefit of seeing it will depend on your running as fast as you can. Now, are you ready?" "Yes, quite ready," exclaimed the youth, tightening his girdle of sealskin eagerly. "Well then--_away_!" shouted Rooney. Off went Ippegoo at a pace which was obviously the best that he was capable of putting forth. Rooney counted as he ran, and in a much shorter time than had been specified he reached the point, for the level track, or what we may style sea-shore, of the berg was not a bad race-course. Suddenly, however, he came to an abrupt halt, and threw up his arms as if in amazement. Then he turned round and ran back at a pace that was even greater than he had achieved on the outward run. Rooney was himself greatly surprised at this, for, as the youth drew nearer, the expression of his face showed that he had indeed seen "something" which had not been in the seaman's calculations. He spluttered and gasped as he came near, in his effort to speak. "What is it?--take time, lad," said Rooney quietly. "A b-bear! a bear!" cried Ippegoo. "What! did it run at you?" asked Rooney, becoming slightly excited in his turn, and keeping his eye on the ice-point. "N-no; no. It was sitting on--on its tail--l-looking at the--the s-sea." "And we've no weapon bigger than an Eskimo knife," exclaimed the sailor, with a frown of discontent--"not even a bit of stick to tie the knife to. What a chance lost! He would have kept us in food for some weeks. Well, well, this _is_ bad luck. Come, Ippe, we'll go back to the cave, and consult about this." On returning to the cheerless retreat, they found the rest of the party just awakening. The men were yawning and rubbing their eyes, while the women, with characteristic activity and self-denial, were gathering together the few scraps of food that remained from the previous night's supper. "There is a bear just round the point--so Ippe says--what's to be done?" asked Rooney on entering. Up jumped the four men and two boys as if they had been made of indiarubber. "Attack it," cried Arbalik. "Kill it," exclaimed Norrak. "And eat it," said Ermigit. "What will you attack it with?" asked Simek in a slightly contemptuous tone--"with your fingernails? If so, you had better send Sigokow to do battle, for she could beat the three of you." The youths stood abashed. "We have no spears," said Simek, "and knives are useless. Bad luck follows us." "It is my opinion," said Okiok, "that whatever we do, or try to do, we had better eat something before doing it. Bring the victuals, Nuna." "Okiok is right," said Angut; "and Arbalik had better go out and watch while we consult, so as to give us timely warning if the bear comes this way." Without a word, Arbalik caught up a piece of blubber, and went out of the cave to enjoy his frugal breakfast while acting sentinel. The others, sitting down on their respective bearskins, ate and consulted hastily. The consultation was of little use, for they were utterly helpless, and the breakfast was not much more profitable, for there was far too little of it. Still, as Rooney truly remarked when the last morsel was consumed, it was better than nothing. "Well now, my friends," said Angut at last, "since our food is done, and all our talk has come to nothing, I propose that we go out in a body to see this bear. As we cannot kill him, we must get rid of him by driving him away, for if we let him remain on the berg, he will come upon us when we are asleep, perhaps, and kill us." "Yes, that is best," said Okiok. "If we separate, so as to distract him, and then make a united rush from all points, shrieking, that will drive him into the sea." "Let us put Ippe in front," suggested Simek, with a twinkling eye; "he yells better than any of us." "'Specially when he's got the toothache," added Rooney. The object of this touch of pleasantry smiled in a good-humouredly imbecile manner. It was clear that his malady had been cured, at least for the time. "But we must be very cautious," remarked Rooney, becoming serious, as they rose to proceed on their adventure. "It would not do to let any of our party get hurt. To my thinking, the women should take to the ice-cliffs before we begin, and get upon pinnacles, up which the bear could not climb." While he was speaking, Arbalik came running in with the information that the bear was approaching. "Has it seen you?" asked Angut, as they all ran out. "I think not. From the way it walks, I think it has no suspicion of any one being on the berg." In a few seconds they reached the point of the promontory or cliff in which their cave lay, and each member of the party peeped round with excessive caution, and there, sure enough, they beheld a white Polar bear of truly formidable size. But it had changed its course after Arbalik saw it, for by that time it had turned up one of the ice-valleys before-mentioned and begun to ascend into the interior of the berg. The slow, heavy gait of the unwieldy animal suggested to Rooney the idea that an active man could easily get out of its way, but the cat-like activity with which it bounded over one or two rivulets that came in its way quickly dissipated that idea. "The farther he goes up that valley," whispered Simek, "the more trouble we shall have in driving him into the sea." "He does not seem to know his own mind," remarked Okiok, as the bear again changed his course, and entered one of the small gorges that opened into the larger valley. "He knows it well enough," said Ermigit. "Don't you see he is making for the ice-top, where these gulls are sitting? The fool expects to catch them asleep." Ermigit seemed to have guessed rightly, for after clambering up the ice-gorge referred to until he gained a high ledge or plateau, he began regularly to stalk the birds with the sly patience of a cat. There was much in the bear's favour, for the recent fall of a pinnacle had covered the ledge with shattered blocks of all shapes and sizes, in the shelter of which it could creep towards its prey. Our Eskimos watched the proceeding open-mouthed, with profound interest. To within twenty yards or so of its game did that white-robed Arctic hunter approach. Then it crouched for a rush at the unconscious birds, for no other lump of ice lay between them and their foe. The charge was vigorously made, almost too vigorously, for when the birds flew lightly off the ledge, and descended to a narrower one a little farther down, it was all the bear could do to check itself on the very edge of the precipice. If it had gone over, the consequences would have been dire, for the precipice was, not sheer, but still a very steep slope of ice, several hundred feet deep, which terminated in those rugged masses on the berg-shore that had fallen from the cliffs above. There was only one break in the vast slope, namely, the narrow ledge half-way down on which the birds had taken refuge. Going to the extreme edge of the precipice, the bear sat down on his haunches, and hungrily contemplated the birds, which were now beyond his reach, twittering noisily as if to tantalise him. "I would that I had a spear," growled Okiok. "I would venture at him even with a big stick," said Simek. "My friends," said Rooney, with sudden animation, "listen to me. If you will promise me to keep very quiet, and not to follow me whatever may happen, I will show you how Kablunets overcome difficulties." Of course the Eskimos were ready to make any promises that might be required of them, and looked at their friend with surprise as he threw off his sealskin coat and tightened the belt round his waist. But they were still more surprised, when, without another word, he set off, in only shirt and trousers, to climb the valley of ice, and make for the spot where the bear sat in melancholy meditation. While ascending, Rooney took care to avail himself of the rugged nature of the ice, so as to conceal himself entirely from the bear--though this was scarcely needful, for the animal's back was turned towards the Kablunet, and his whole attention was concentrated on the gulls. As Rooney wore Eskimo boots--the soles of which are soft,--he made little or no noise in walking, and thus managed to gain the platform unperceived by the bear, though visible all the time to the Eskimos, to whom he looked little bigger than a crow on the height. Their delight, however, began to be tempered with anxiety when they saw the reckless man creep to within twenty yards of the monster, making use of the ice-blocks as it had done before him. The intentions of the Kablunet were incomprehensible to his friends. Could it be that, ignorant of the strength of the beast and its tenacity of life, the foolish man hoped to stab it to death with a small knife? Impossible! And yet he was evidently preparing for action of some sort. But Red Rooney was not quite so foolish as they supposed him to be. Having gained the nearest possible point to his victim, he made a sudden and tremendous rush at it. He knew that life and death were in the balance at any rate; but he also knew that to remain inactive on that iceberg would remove life out of the balance altogether. He therefore threw all his energy of soul and body into that rush, and launched himself against the broad back of the bear. It was an awful shock. Rooney was swift as well as heavy, so that his weight, multiplied into his velocity, sufficed to dislodge the wonder-stricken animal. One wild spasmodic effort it made to recover itself, and in doing so gave Rooney what may be called a backhander on the head, that sent him reeling on the ice. Curiously enough, it was this that saved the daring man, for if he had not received that blow, the impetus of his attack would have certainly sent himself as well as the bear over the cliff. As it was, the monster went over headlong, with a sort of compound shriek and howl that made the very ice-cliffs ring. Then, down he went--not head or feet first, or sideways, or any way, but every way by turns, and no way long. Indeed, he spun and, as it were, spurted down that mighty face of ice. Each instant intensified the velocity; each whirl increased the complex nature of the force. The ledge half-way down, from which the affrighted gulls fled shrieking, did not even check the descent, but with bursting violence shunted the victim out into space, through which he hurled till re-met by the terrific slope farther down, which let him glissade like a shooting star into indescribable ruin! Enough of that bear was left, however, to render it worth while picking up the fragments. Shouting with laughter and yelling with glee, the Eskimos made for the spot where the mangled carcass lay. Soon after they were joined by the hero of the day. "Food enough now for a moon, or more," said Rooney, as he came up. "Yes; and no need to beat the meat to make it tender," responded Okiok, lifting and letting fall one of the limp legs of the creature, whose every bone seemed to have been smashed to pieces in the tremendous descent. It was no doubt a considerable reduction of their satisfaction at supper that evening that they had to eat their bear-chops raw, not having the means of making fire; but they were not disposed to find fault with their good-fortune on that account. If they had only possessed two small pieces of wood with which to create the necessary friction, they could easily have made a lamp out of one of the bear's shoulder-blades, and found oil enough in his own fat, while a tag of sealskin, or some other portion of clothing might have supplied a wick; but not a scrap of wood was to be obtained on that verdureless island. Okiok did indeed suggest that Norrak and Ippegoo, being both possessed of hard and prominent noses, might rub these organs together till they caught fire; but Norrak turned up his nose at the suggestion, and Ippegoo shook his head doubtfully. In the circumstances, therefore, they obtained light at least for the purposes of vision by commencing supper long before sunset, and most of them continued it long after dark. Thus the second night was passed on the berg. On the third day, the weather being still warm and calm, Angut, Simek, Okiok, and Rooney ascended, after their bear-breakfast, to the break-neck height from which that breakfast had been precipitated, for the purpose of taking a meteorological observation. "It is quite plain to me," said Rooney--who, being in some sort at sea, was, as it were, more at home than his companions--"it is quite plain to me that we have got fairly into the great Polar current, and are travelling in a sou'-sou'-west direction down Davis Straits." No doubt Rooney gave "sou'-sou'-west" in some sort of Eskimo jargon with which we are not acquainted. His lingual powers were indeed marvellous, and when simple words failed him he took refuge in compound phraseology. "But," asked Okiok, "how can you tell that we are going south? The mist is thick; we cannot see land." "Do you not see the small pieces of ice?" replied Rooney, pointing to the sea. "Yes," said the Eskimo; "they are going north faster than we are; that is all." "Why do they go north faster than we do?" asked Rooney. "That I know not." "I will tell you, Okiok. It is because there is a surface current here flowing northward, and the small pieces of ice go with it because they are not deep. But this berg is very deep. There is far more of it below water than what we see above. Its bottom goes deep down into the under-current which flows south, and so it is being carried south--not north at all,--_against_ the variable surface-currents, and it would go even against the wind if there was any. Do you understand?" "Huk!" exclaimed the Eskimo, though he still looked perplexed. "I have seen these bergs breaking from the great land-ice since I was a little boy," said Angut, with earnest gravity, "and I have seen them float away and away till they vanished in the far-off. Can Ridroonee tell where they go to?" "Truly I can. They are carried by currents out into the great sea--we call it the Atlantic,--and there they melt and disappear." "Then shall we disappear with this berg, if we don't escape from it?" said Okiok, with a look so serious that it was almost humorous. "That is the pleasant prospect in store for us, as you say," returned Rooney; "but cheer up, lad. We intend to escape from it; so don't let your heart sink, else your body won't be able to swim." On the strength of this consolatory remark, the four men returned to the cave to recruit their energies and hopes on a fresh supply of the raw bear. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. A BRIEF BUT SINGULAR VOYAGE WINDS UP WITH A GREAT SURPRISE. The calm which had fortunately prevailed since Angut and his friends found refuge on the iceberg was not destined to continue. A smart breeze at last sprang up from the northward, which soon freshened into a gale, accompanied with heavy showers of snow, driving the party into the cave, where the cold was so severe that they were forced to take refuge in its deepest recesses, and to sit wrapped in their bearskins, and huddled together for warmth, as monkeys are sometimes seen on a cold day in a menagerie. Being from the north, the wind not only intensified the cold, and brought back for a time all the worst conditions of winter, but assisted the great ocean current to carry the berg southward at a high rate of speed. Their progress, however, was not very apparent to the eyes of our voyagers, because all the surrounding bergs travelled in the same direction and at nearly the same speed. The blinding snow effectually hid the land from their view, and the only point of which they were quite sure was that their berg must be the nearest to the Greenland coast because all the others lay on their right hand. Towards noon of the following day it was observed that the pack-ice thickened around them, and was seen in large fields here and there, through some of which the great berg ploughed its way with resistless momentum. Before the afternoon the pack had closed entirely around them, as if it had been one mass of solid, rugged ice--not a drop of water being visible. Even through this mass the berg ploughed its way slowly, but with great noise. "There is something very awful to me in the sight of such tremendous force," said Red Rooney to Angut, as they stood contemplating the havoc their strange ship was making. "Does it not make you think," returned the Eskimo, "how powerful must be the Great Spirit who made all things, when a little part of His work is so tremendous?" Rooney did not reply, for at that moment the berg grounded, with a shock that sent all its spires and pinnacles tumbling. Fortunately, the Eskimos were near their cavern, into which they rushed, and escaped the terrible shower. But the cave could no longer be regarded as a place of safety. It did indeed shelter them from the immediate shower of masses, even the smaller of which were heavy enough to have killed a walrus; but at that advanced period of spring the bergs were becoming, so to speak, rotten, and liable at any moment to fall to pieces and float away in the form of pack-ice. If such an event had occurred when our Eskimos were in the cave, the destruction of all would of course have been inevitable. "We dare not remain here," said Angut, when the icy shower had ceased. "No; we must take to the floes," said Simek. "Another shake like that," remarked Okiok, "might bring the whole berg down on our heads." "Let us go, then, at once," said Rooney; "the sky clears a little, so we'll know how to steer." No one replied, for all were already engaged with the utmost activity making bundles of their bear-skins and as much of the bear-meat as the men could carry--each of the women taking a smaller piece, according to her strength or her prudence. The sailor followed their example in silence, and in a very few minutes they issued from the cavern, and made for the shore of the berg. Some difficulty was experienced in scrambling over the chaotic masses which had been thrown up in front of them by the ploughing process before referred to. When they stood fairly on the floes, however, they found that, although very rough, these were sufficiently level to admit of slow travelling. They were in the act of arranging the order of march, when the berg slid off into deep water, and, wheeling round as if annoyed at the slight detention, rejoined its stately comrades in their solemn procession to their doom in more southerly seas. "Just in time," said Rooney, as they watched the berg floating slowly away, nodding its shattered head as if bidding them farewell. "Now then, ho! for the Greenland shore! Come, old Kannoa, I'll take you under my special care." He took the old woman's bundle from her as he spoke, and, putting his left hand under her right arm, began to help her over the frozen sea. But poor old thing though she certainly was, that antiquated creature became a griggy old thing immediately, and was so tickled with the idea of the stoutest and handsomest man of the party devoting himself entirely to her, when all the younger women were allowed to look after themselves, that she could scarcely walk during the first few minutes for laughing. But it must be said in justification of the Eskimo men, that their young women were quite capable of looking after themselves, and would, indeed, have been incommoded as well as surprised by offers of assistance. Rooney had spoken cheerily, though his feelings were anything but cheerful, for he knew well the extreme danger of their position, but he felt it a duty to do his best to encourage his friends. The Eskimos were equally well, if not better, aware of their danger, and took to the floes with resolute purpose and in profound silence--for true men in such circumstances are not garrulous. A gleam of sunshine from a rift in the dark clouds seemed sent as a heavenly messenger to guide them. By it the Eskimos as well as the sailor were enabled to judge of the position of land, and to steer, accordingly, in what western hunters would call "a bee-line." The great danger, of course, lay in the risk of the pack breaking up before they could reach the shore. There was also the possibility of the pack being a limited strip of floe-ice unconnected with the shore, which, if it had been so, would have decided their fate. In these circumstances they all pushed on at their best speed. At first the women seemed to get along as well as the men, but after a while the former showed evident symptoms of exhaustion, and towards dusk old Kannoa, despite Rooney's powerful aid, fairly broke down and refused to walk another step. The seaman overcame the difficulty by raising her in his arms and carrying her. As he had not at that time quite recovered his full strength, and was himself pretty well fatigued, he was constrained to think pretty steadily of the old woman's resemblance to his grandmother to enable him to hold out! After another mile or so the mother of Arbalik succumbed, whereupon her son put his arm round her waist and helped her on. Then the pleasant little mother of Ippegoo broke down with a pitiful wail; but her son was unable to help her, for he was already undulating about like a piece of tape, as if he had no backbone to speak of. Okiok therefore came to her aid. As for the hardy spinster Sikogow, she seemed inexhaustible, and scorned assistance. Nuna was also vigorous, but her sons Norrak and Ermigit, being amiable, came on each side of her, and took her in tow before the breaking-down point was reached. Thus they continued to advance until the darkness became so profound as to render further travelling impossible. The danger of delay they knew was extreme, but men must perforce bow to the inevitable. To advance without light over rugged ice, in which were cracks and fissures and hummocks innumerable, being out of the question, Rooney called a halt. "Rest and food, friends," he said, "are essential to life." "Huk!" was the brief reply. Without wasting breath on another word, they untied their bundles, spread their bearskins in the lee of a hummock, fed hastily but heartily, rolled themselves in their simple bedding, and went to sleep. During the night there occurred one of those sudden changes which are common in Arctic lands at that season of the year. Snow ceased to fall, the sky cleared, and the temperature rose until the air became quite balmy. The ice of the floes eased off, narrow openings grew into lanes and leads and wide pools, until water predominated, and the ice finally resolved itself into innumerable islets. When Rooney was at last awakened by a blaze of sunshine in his face, he found that the party occupied a small cake of ice in the midst of a grand crystal archipelago. Not a zephyr ruffled the sea, and the hills of Greenland were visible, not more than six or eight miles distant, on their left hand. What particular part of Greenland it was, of course they had no means of knowing. The sight was indeed such as might have filled human hearts with admiration and joy, but neither joy nor admiration touched the hearts of Red Rooney and his companions. So far from land, on a bit of ice scarce large enough to sustain them, and melting rapidly away, exposed to the vicissitudes of a changeful and stormy climate, without the means of escape--the case seemed very desperate. "The Great Spirit has forsaken us," said Angut gloomily, as he surveyed the scene. "That He has _not_," returned the sailor, "whatever may befall." An exclamation from Arbalik drew attention to a particular part of the horizon. "A flat island," said Okiok, after a long earnest gaze; "but we cannot reach it," he added in a low voice. "You know not," said Angut. "The current sets that way, I think." "A few minutes will show," said Rooney. With almost trembling eagerness they watched the islet, and, as Rooney had said, it soon became evident that the current was indeed carrying their ice-raft slowly towards the spot. "We can scarcely expect to drift right on to it," said Rooney, "and it is apparently our last chance, so we shall have to take to the water when near it. Can we all swim--eh?" To this question some answered Yes and some No, while others shook their heads as if uncertain on the point. But the seaman was wrong. Straight as an arrow to a bull's eye the raft went at that islet and struck on its upper end with such force as to send a tongue of ice high on the shore, so that the whole party actually landed dryshod. Even old Kannoa got on shore without assistance. The joy of the party at this piece of unlooked-for good-fortune was unbounded, although, after all, the improvement in their circumstances did not seem to be great, for the islet was not more than a hundred yards in diameter, and appeared to be quite barren, with only a clump of willows in its centre. Still, their recent danger had been so imminent that the spot seemed quite a secure refuge by contrast. The men of the party, after landing, were only just beginning to comment on their prospects, when they saw the willows in the centre of the islet part asunder, and a man of strange aspect and costume stood before them. The stranger who had burst thus unexpectedly upon them like a visitant from another world, bereaving them for a few minutes of speech and motion, was evidently not a native of the land. His pale and somewhat melancholy face, as well as parts of his costume, betokened him one who had come from civilised lands; and Rooney's first thought was that he must be a shipwrecked sailor like himself; but a second glance caused him to reject the idea. The calm dignity of his carriage, the intellectuality of his expression, and, withal, the look of gentle humility in his manner, were not the usual characteristics of seamen in those days. He also looked very haggard and worn, as if from severe fatigue or illness. A slight smile played for a moment on his lips as he observed the blank amazement which his appearance had produced. Hastening forward he held out his hand to Rooney whom he at once recognised as a man of civilised lands. "Let me congratulate you, friends, on your escape, for I can see that you must have been in great jeopardy from which the Lord has delivered you." The stranger spoke in the Danish language, which was of course utterly incomprehensible to the natives. Not so, however, to Red Rooney, who in his seafaring life had frequently visited Copenhagen, Bergen, and Christiania, and other Scandinavian ports, and had learned to speak Danish at least fluently, if not very correctly. He at once replied, at the same time returning the warm grasp of the stranger's hand-- "We have indeed just escaped from great danger, through the mercy of God. But who are _you_, and how come you to be in such a lonely place, and, if I do not greatly mistake, in a starving condition?" "I am a missionary to the Eskimos," replied the stranger, "and have been forced to take refuge here by stress of weather. But I am not absolutely alone, as you seem to think. There are five natives with me, and we have an oomiak up there in the bushes. They are now asleep under it. For five days we have been detained here almost without food, by the recent storm and the pack-ice. Now, thanks to my Father in heaven, we shall be able to launch our little boat, and get away. In fact, being the first of my party to awake this morning, I rose very quietly so as not to disturb the poor people, who stand much in need of rest, and I had come to look at the state of the ice when I unexpectedly discovered you on the shore." "Stay now, sir; not another word till you have broken your fast," said Rooney, with kindly violence, as he hastily cut a large slice from his piece of bear's meat. "Sit down on that stone, and eat it at once. A fasting man should not talk." "But my companions need food to the full as much as I do," objected the missionary. "Do as I bid ye, sir," returned Rooney, with decision. "You say they are asleep. Well, sleep is as needful as food and sleeping men cannot eat. When you have eaten we will go up and awake and feed them." Thus urged, the poor man began to eat the raw meat with as much relish as if it had been the finest venison cooked to a turn. Before commencing, however, he clasped his hands, closed his eyes, and audibly thanked God for the supply. While he was thus engaged Red Rooney did not speak, but sat looking at his new friend with profound interest. Perchance his interest would have deepened had he known that the man was none other than the famous Norwegian clergyman Hans Egede, the originator of the Danish mission to Greenland, who founded the colony of Godhaab in the year 1721, about twelve years before the commencement of the missions of the Moravian Brethren to that land. The surprise which our voyagers had received by the unexpected appearance of the missionary was, however, as nothing, compared with the surprise that was yet in store for them on that eventful day. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. DESCRIBES A MOST AMAZING SURPRISE, AND TREATS OF HANS EGEDE. When the starving missionary had taken the edge off his appetite, he closed the clasp-knife with which he had been eating. "Now, my friend," he said, looking at Rooney, "I have eaten quite enough to do me good in my present condition,--perhaps more than enough. You know it is not safe for starving men to eat heartily. Besides, I am anxious to give some food to the poor fellows who are with me. One of them has met with a severe accident and is dying I fear. He does not belong to my party, I found him on the mainland and brought him here just before the storm burst on us, intending to take him on to Godhaab. He stands more in need of food than sleep, I think." "Come, then, we will go to him at once," said Rooney, tying up the remains of Egede's breakfast. "How did he come by his accident?" continued the sailor, as the party walked up towards the bushes. "The girl who takes care of him--his daughter, I think--says he was injured by a bear." "If it is a case of broken bones, perhaps I may be of use to him," said Rooney, "for I've had some experience in that way." Egede shook his head, "I fear it is too late," he replied. "Besides, his mind seems to give him more trouble even than his wasted frame. He has come, he says, from the far north, and would certainly have perished after his accident if it had not been for the care and kindness of the women who are with him--especially the younger woman. See, there she comes. Her father must have awakened, for she rests near him at night and never leaves him in the morning till he wakes up." The missionary was startled at that moment by a loud shout from his companion. Next instant Angut rushed past him, and, catching the girl in his arms, gave her a most fervent and lover-like embrace, to which she seemed in no ways averse. It soon became obvious to the missionary that a most unexpected and pleasant meeting of friends was taking place; but the surprise expressed on his grave visage had barely given place to a benignant smile of sympathy, when a female shriek was heard, and Sigokow was seen running towards her sister Kabelaw. These two did not leap into each other's arms. The feelings of Eskimo females do not usually find vent in that way; but they waltzed round each other, and grinned, and smoothed each other's hair, and when Kabelaw observed that her sister had a huge black eye and a yet unhealed cut across the bridge of her rather flat nose, she clapped her hands, and went into fits of laughter, which helped her somewhat to relieve her feelings. The surprise and pleasure of this meeting was still at its height when two shrill cries were heard. These were instantly followed by the bursting of Pussi and Tumbler on the scene, the former of whom rushed into the ready arms of Pussimek, while the latter plunged into the bosom of Nuna. Ippegoo, unable to contain himself for joy, began an impromptu and original waltz round his own mother. Of course it was some time before the party calmed down sufficiently to give or receive explanations. When this state, however, was arrived at, a feeling of sadness was cast over, them all by the re-announcement of the fact that Ujarak was certainly dying. He had been carried out of the hole in the snow in which Egede and his party had taken refuge from the storm, and laid on a dry spot among the bushes where he could enjoy the sunshine, so that he became visible to his former friends the instant they entered the cleared space where he lay. Any feelings of revenge that may have lingered in the breast of Angut were dissipated like a summer cloud when he saw the thin worn frame, and the pale haggard countenance, of the poor wizard. He went forward at once, and, kneeling beside him, took hold of one of his hands. "You--you--forgive me, I _see_?" said Ujarak, anxiously. "Yes, I forgive you," replied Angut, with fervour, for his heart was touched at the sight of the once strong and self-reliant man, who in so short a time had been reduced to such utter helplessness. "I am glad--glad," continued Ujarak, "that you have come before I die. I thank God for sending you. I have prayed for this." "You thank God! you have prayed!" exclaimed Angut in surprise. "Is it the Kablunets' God you thank and pray to?" "Yes; Jesus--not only the Kablunets' God, but the God and Saviour of the Innuit also--the Saviour of the whole world. I have found Him--or rather, He has found _me_, the wicked angekok, since I came here." The dying man turned a grateful look on Egede as he spoke. "It is true," said the missionary, coming forward. "I believe that God, who brings about all good things, sent me here, and sent this man here, so that we should meet for the purpose of bringing about his salvation. The Almighty is confined to no such plans, yet it pleases Him to work by means, and often with poor tools." Egede spoke now in the language of the Eskimos, having long before that time learned to speak it sufficiently well to be understood. "Angut," said Ujarak, after a few moments, "listen to me. I cannot live long. Before I go, let me tell you that Nunaga is good--good--good! She is true to you, and she has been very, very good to _me_. She forgives me, though I meant to take her from you and from her home for ever. But for her, I should have been left to die on the ice. She must have had the Spirit of Jesus in her before she heard His name. Take care of her, Angut. She will serve you well. Listen to her, and she will teach you to be wise--" He ceased abruptly. The energy with which he spoke proved to be the last flare of the mysterious lamp of life. Next moment only the worn-out tenement of the angekok lay before his people, for his spirit had "returned to God who gave it." The joy which had been so suddenly created by this unexpected union of friends and kindred was damped, not only by the sad though happy death of the wizard, but by the recurrence of the storm which had already proved almost fatal to them all. The recent clearing up of the weather was only a lull in the gale. Soon the sky overclouded again, snow began to fall so thickly that they could not see more than a few yards in any direction, and the wind drove them back into the hole or cave in the snow out of which the short-lived sunshine had drawn them. The body of Ujarak was buried under a heap of stones, for they had no implements with which to dig a grave. Then Okiok and his party hastily constructed a rude snow-hut to protect them from the storm. Here for two more days and nights they were imprisoned, and much of that time they passed in listening to the pleasant discourse of Hans Egede, as he told the northern natives the wonderful story of redemption through Jesus Christ, or recounted some of his own difficulties in getting out to Greenland. Few missionaries, we should imagine, have experienced or overcome greater difficulties in getting to their field of labour than this same earnest Norwegian, Hans Egede, though doubtless many may have equalled him in their experience of dangers and difficulties after the fight began. Even after having made up his mind to go to Greenland out of pure desire for the salvation of souls--for his knowledge of that inhospitable land precluded the possibility of his having been _tempted_ to go to it from any other motive--he had to spend over ten years of his life in overcoming objections and obstructions to his starting. At first his friends gave him credit for being mad, for people are somewhat slow to believe in disinterested self-sacrifice; and the idea of a clergyman with a comfortable living in Norway, who had, besides, a wife and four small children, voluntarily resolving to go to a region in which men could be barely said to live, merely for the purpose of preaching Christ to uncivilised savages, seemed to them absurd. They little knew the power of the missionary spirit, or rather, the power of the Holy Spirit, by which some great men are actuated! But, after all, if in the world's experience many men are found ready to take their lives in their hands, and cheerfully go to the coldest, hottest, and wildest regions of earth at the call of duty, or "glory," or gold, is it strange that some men should be found willing to do the same thing for the love of God and the souls of men? Be this as it may, it is certain that the soul of good Hans Egede became inflamed with a burning desire to go as a missionary to Greenland, and from the time that the desire arose, he never ceased to pray and strive towards the accomplishment of his purpose. His thoughts were first turned in that direction by reading of Christian men from his own country, who, centuries before, had gone to Greenland, established colonies, been decimated by sickness, and then almost exterminated by the natives--at least so it was thought, but all knowledge of them had long been lost. A friend in Bergen who had made several voyages to Greenland aroused Egede's pity for his lost countrymen, some of whom, it was supposed, had sunk back into paganism for want of teachers. His thoughts and his desires grew, and the first difficulty presented itself in the form of a doubt as to whether it was allowable to forsake his congregation. Besides, several near relations as well as wife and children were dependent on him for sustenance, which increased the initial difficulty. But "where there's a will there's a way" is a proverb, the truth of which Hans Egede very soon began to exemplify. Not least among this good man's difficulties seemed to be his modesty, for he was troubled with "extreme diffidence and the fear of being charged with presumption." At last, in the year 1710, he determined to make a humble proposal to Bishop Randulph of Bergen, and to Bishop Krog of Drontheim, entreating them to support at court his plans for the conversion of the Greenlanders. Both bishops replied favourably; but when his friends saw that he was in earnest, they set up vehement opposition to what they styled his preposterous enterprise. Even his wife and family were at first among his foes, so that the poor man was greatly perplexed, and well-nigh gave up in despair. Happily, his wife at the time became involved in a series of troubles and persecutions, which so affected her that she left the enemy, and ever afterwards supported her husband loyally, heart and soul. That Egede regarded his wife's opposition as more formidable than that of all the rest of his kith and kin put together, may be gathered from the fact that he says, on her coming over, that his "joy was complete," and that he "believed every obstacle to have been vanquished." In the strength of these feelings he immediately drew up a memorial to the worthy College of Missions, and again entreated the help of the bishops of Bergen and Drontheim. But bishops then, as now, were not to be unduly hurried. They recommended patience till more favourable and peaceful times! Thus Egede's plans were postponed from year to year, for peaceful times seemed very far off. Moreover, he was assailed with all kinds of reproaches and misunderstandings as to motives, so that in the year 1715 he thought it necessary to draw up a vindication of his conduct entitled, "A Scriptural and Rational Solution and Explanation of the Difficulties and Objections raised against the Design of converting the Heathen Greenlanders." Then people tried to divert Egede from his purpose by picturing to him the dangers of his enterprise; the miseries he must endure; the cruelty of endangering the lives of his wife and children; and lastly, by pointing out the madness of relinquishing a certain for an uncertain livelihood. They even went so far as to insinuate that, under a cloak of religious motive, he wished to "aggrandise his reputation;" but Egede was heroically firm--some folk would say obstinate. Wearied with delays, and having reason to believe that his memorial was not properly supported, he resolved at last to go himself to the fountain-head. Resigning his office in 1718, he went to Bergen, from which port there had been in time past considerable trade with Greenland. Here he received little or no encouragement, but the sudden death at this time of King Charles the Twelfth, giving hopes of the speedy restoration of peace, Egede thought it advisable to go to Copenhagen and personally present his memorial to the College of Missions. He did so, and received the encouraging answer that the King would "consider his matter." Kings have a wonderful capacity for taking time to "consider matters"-- sometimes to the extent of passing out of time altogether, and leaving the consideration to successors. But the King on this occasion was true to his word. He gave Egede a private audience, and in 1719 sent orders to the magistrates of Bergen to collect all the opinions and information that could be gathered in regard to the trade with Greenland and the propriety of establishing a colony there, with a statement of the privileges that might be desired by adventurers wishing to settle in the new land. But, alas! no adventurers wished to settle there; the royal efforts failed, and poor Egede was left to fall back on his own exertions and private enterprise. For another year this indefatigable man vainly importuned the King and the College of Missions. At last he prevailed on a number of sympathisers to hold a conference. These, under his persuasive powers, subscribed forty pounds a-piece towards a mission fund. Egede set a good example by giving sixty pounds. Then, by begging from the bishop and people of Bergen, he raised the fund to about two thousand pounds. With this sum he bought a ship, and called it the _Hope_. Two other vessels were chartered and freighted--one for the whale fishery, the other to take home news of the colony. The King, although unable to start the enterprise, appointed Egede missionary to the colony with a salary of sixty pounds a year, besides a present of a hundred pounds for immediate expenses, and finally, on the 12th May 1721, the indomitable Hans, with his heroic wife and four children, set sail for "Greenland's icy mountains," after an unprecedented ten years' conflict. Dangers and partial disasters greeted them on their arrival, in July, at Baal's River, latitude 64 degrees, where they established the colony of Godhaab. It would require a volume to tell of Hans Egede's difficulties, doings, and sufferings in the new land. Suffice it to say that they were _tremendous_, and that he acted as the pioneer to the interesting missions of the Moravian Brethren to the same neighbourhood. Hans Egede had been several years at his post when the meeting already described took place between him and the northern Eskimos. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. ESCAPE FROM PRESENT DANGER, AND A CURIOUS INSTANCE OF THE EFFECTS OF GIN. Although Nunaga, Kabelaw, and the children were now happily re-united to friends and kindred, their dangers were by no means over, for a wide space of ice-blocked sea separated the small island from the shores of Greenland, and their supply of meat was not sufficient, even with economy, to maintain the whole party for more than a couple of days. In these circumstances they were much comforted, after the storm had blown itself out, to find that the pack had been considerably loosened, and that several lanes of open water extended through it in the direction of the shore. "There is a temporary settlement of natives not far from here, on the mainland," said Egede, when he and some of the men were assembled on the beach discussing their plans. "Although not very friendly, they would nevertheless help us, I think, in this hour of need. They have been demoralised by traders, and drawn away from the mission at Godhaab. But how we are to get to the mainland it is difficult to see, unless God mercifully clears away the ice." "Why don't you ask your God to clear it away?" demanded Simek. "Have you not told us that He answers prayer offered in the name of Jesus?" Egede looked at his questioner in some surprise, mingled with pleasure, for his experience had taught him that too many of the natives either assented without thought to whatever he said, or listened with absolute indifference, if not aversion--especially when he attempted to bring truth home, or apply it personally. "I am glad you ask the question, Simek," he replied, "because it gives me the opportunity of telling you that I _have_ asked God, in the name of Jesus, to bring us out of our present trouble, and also of explaining that I never pray without adding the words `if it be Thy will'--for God does not always answer prayer exactly in accordance with our request, but according to His own wisdom; so that, if He were hereafter to say, `Now, is not that better than you asked?' we would be obliged to reply, `Yes, Lord, it is better.'" As the expression on Simek's face showed that he was not quite convinced, Egede added-- "Listen, Simek. I and my people were starving here. I prayed to God, in Jesus' name, to send us deliverance. Did He not answer my prayer by sending you and your party with food!" "True," assented Simek. "Listen again, Simek. Were you not in great danger when your oomiak and kayaks were crushed in the ice?" "Yes." "Were you not in very great danger when you were imprisoned on the iceberg--in danger of starvation, in danger of being crushed by its disruption?" "Yes." "Well, now, if you had believed in the great and good Spirit at that time, what would you have asked Him to do for you?" "I would have asked Him to clear the sea of ice," replied the Eskimo promptly, "and send us kayaks and oomiaks to take us on shore." "And if He had answered you according to your prayer, you would have said, no doubt, `That is well.'" "Yes," answered Simek emphatically, and with a smile. "But suppose," continued Egede, "that God had answered you by delivering you in _another_ way--by keeping you on the berg; by making that berg, as it were, into a great oomiak, and causing it to voyage as no oomiak ever voyaged--causing it to plough through pack-ice as no ship made by man ever ploughed; to go straight to an island to which no human power could have brought you; and to have done it all in time to save your own dear Pussi and all the rest of us from starvation--would you not have said that God had answered your prayer in a way that was far better?" While the missionary was speaking, profound gravity took the place of the puzzled expression on the countenance of Simek and of the others who were listening, for their intelligence was quite quick enough to perceive the drift of his argument before it was finished. "But," said Simek earnestly, "I did _not_ pray for this, yet I got it." "True, the Good Spirit guided you, even though you did not pray," returned Egede. "Is not this a proof of His love? If He is so good to thankless and careless children, what sure ground have we for trusting that He will be good to those who love Him! What our Great Father wants is that we should love and trust Him." There was one man of the group whose lips were parted, and whose eyes seemed to glitter as he listened. This was Angut. Much and deeply had that intelligent Eskimo thought about the Great Spirit and the mysteries around and within himself, but never till that moment did the curtain seem to rise so decidedly from before his spiritual vision. Egede observed the keen gaze, though he judged it wise to take no notice of it at the time, but he did not fail to pray mentally that the good seed might take root. The attention of the party was called off the subject of discourse just then by a further movement of the pack-ice. "See, the lanes of open water widen," exclaimed Okiok eagerly, pointing seaward. "Perhaps," said Egede, "God intends to deliver us." "Have you prayed to be delivered?" asked Angut quickly. "Yes, I have." "Suppose," continued the inquisitive Eskimo, "that God does _not_ deliver you, but leaves you here to die. Would _that_ be answering your prayer?" "Yes; for instead of granting my request in the way I wished, namely, that I might be permitted to live and preach about the Great Spirit to your countrymen for many years, He would have answered my prayer for deliverance by taking me away from _all_ evil, to be with Jesus, _which is far better_." To the surprise of the missionary, a look of disappointment settled on the face of Angut. "What ails you?" he asked. "From what you say," returned the Eskimo, somewhat coldly, "I see that, with you, _whatever_ happens is best; _nothing_ can be wrong. There is something which tells me here,"--he placed his hand on his breast--"that that is not true." "You misunderstand me, friend," said Egede; "I did not say that nothing can be wrong. What I do say is that whatever God does is and must be right. But God has given to man a free will, and with his free will _man_ does wrong. It is just to save man from this wrong-doing that Jesus came to earth." "Free will?" murmured the Eskimo, with a recurrence of the perplexed look. And well might that look recur, for his untrained yet philosophical mind had been brought for the first time face to face with the great insoluble problem of the ages. "Yes," said Egede, "you have got hold of a thought which no man has ever yet been able to fathom. Free will is a great mystery, nevertheless every child knows that it is a great _fact_." From this point Angut seemed to commune only with his own spirit, for he put no more questions. At the same time the opening up of the pack rendered the less philosophical among the Eskimos anxious to make some practical efforts for their deliverance. At Rooney's suggestion it was arranged that the boldest of the men should take the missionary's boat--a very small one that could not carry above a third of the party,--and examine the leads of open water, until they should ascertain whether they seemed safe or practicable; then return at once, and, if the report should be favourable, begin by taking off the women and children. This plan was carried out. A favourable report was brought back, the women were immediately embarked, and before evening closed the whole party was landed on the mainland in safety. Being too late to proceed further that day, the Eskimos ran up a rude shelter of stones, moss, and sticks, the women being accommodated under the upturned boat. Next day they found that the pack had continued to ease off during the night, so that there was a lead of open water between it and the shore. "You have been praying during the night," said Okiok to Egede in an abrupt manner, almost as if he were accusing him of taking an unfair advantage of circumstances. "Truly I have," answered the missionary, with an amused look, "but I did not presume to ask the Great Spirit to help us in this particular way. I left that to His wisdom and love. I have been taught to trust Him." "And if you had not got an answer at all," returned Okiok, wrinkling his brows in perplexity, "you would still have said that all was right?" "Just so. If I get an answer it is well. If I get no answer it is still well, for then I know that He sees delay to be best for me and I feel sure that the answer will come at last, in the right way, and in good time, for in the Book of the Great Spirit I am told that `all things work together for good to them that love God.'" "What!" exclaimed Angut, who had listened to the conversation with intense interest; "would it be good for you if I killed you?" "Of course it would, if God allowed it. Thousands of men and women in time past have chosen to be killed rather than offend God by sinning." "This is very strange teaching," said Angut, glancing at his friend Okiok. "It is the teaching of Jesus, the Son of God. I am only His servant," said the missionary, "and I hope to tell you much more that will seem very strange before long; but at present we must arrange what is now to be done, for it is the duty of all men to take advantage of opportunities as they are presented to them." The truth of this was so obvious that the Eskimos at once dropped into the region of the practical by advising that the women should all get into the boat and advance by water, while the men should walk by the shore. This being agreed to, the boat was launched. Although not an Eskimo oomiak, the little craft, which was made of wood, and resembled a punt, was propelled by oomiak paddles, so that Madame Okiok, who was appointed steerswoman, felt herself quite at home when seated in her place. Sigokow, being a powerful creature, physically as well as mentally, was put in charge of the bow-paddle. The other women were ranged along the sides, each with a paddle except old Kannoa who was allowed to sit in the bottom of the craft as a passenger, and guardian of Pussi and Tumbler. As these last were prone to jump about under violent impulses of joyous hilarity, and had an irresistible desire to lean over the sides for the purpose of dipping their hands in the sea, the duty of the old woman, although connected with children's play, was by no mean's child's play. Three miles an hour being the average speed at which the boat went, the walkers easily kept up with it. Only once did a difficulty occur when they came to a narrow bay which, although not more than a mile or so across from point to point, ran so far inland that the walkers could not have gone round it without great loss of time. "We must be ferried across here," said Egede; "but as it is past noon, I think we had better call a halt, and dine before making the traverse." "That is my opinion, too, sir," said Rooney, throwing down the bundle he had been carrying. As the invitation to feed seldom comes amiss to a healthy Eskimo, Egede's proposal was at once agreed to, and in a few minutes they were all busily engaged. It was a pretty spot, that on which they dined. Bushes just beginning to bud surrounded them; brilliant sunshine drew forth delicious scents from the long, long frozen earth and the reviving herbage on which they sat. It also drew forth gushing rivulets from the patches of snow and heavy drifts, which here and there by their depth and solidity seemed to bid defiance to the sweet influences of spring. The ice-laden sea sent gentle wavelets to the pebbly shore. A group of large willows formed a background to their lordly hall, and behind them, in receding and grand perspective, uprose the great shoulders of Greenland's mountains. On all those natural objects of interest and beauty, however, the travellers did not at first bestow more than a passing glance. They were too much engrossed with "metal more attractive," in the shape of bear blubber; but when appetite began to fail conversation began to flow. At that point it occurred to Pussi and Tumbler that they would go and have some fun. Child-nature is much the same all the world over and curiously enough, it bears strong resemblance to adult nature. Having fed to satiety, these chips of Simek and Okiok lifted up their eyes, and beheld the surrounding shrubs. At once the idea arose--"Let us explore." The very same impulse that sent Mungo Park and Livingstone to Africa; Ross, Parry, Franklin, Kane, and all the rest of them toward the Pole, led our little hero and heroine into that thicket, and curiosity urged them to explore as far as possible. They did so, and, as a natural consequence, lost themselves. But what cared they for that? With youth, and health, and strength, they were as easy in their minds as Lieutenant Greely was with sextant, chart, and compass. As to food, were they not already victualled for, not a three years', but a three hours', expedition? And their parents were not disturbed on their account. Eskimo fathers and mothers are not, as a rule, nervous or anxious about their offspring. In a remarkably short space of time Pussi and Tumbler, walking hand in hand, put more than a mile of "bush" between them and their feeding-place. "Oh! wha's dat?" exclaimed Pussi, stopping short, and gazing into the thicket in front of her. We pause to remind the reader that our little ones lisped in Eskimo, and that, in order to delineate faithfully, our only resource is to translate into lisping English. "It's a man," exclaimed Tumbler. "I tink him's a funny man," murmured the little girl, as the man approached. Pussi was right. But it was not his dress, so much as his gait and expression, that were funny. For the stranger was obviously an Eskimo, being flat and fat-visaged, black-and-straight haired, and seal-skinnily clad. The singular point about him was his walk. To all appearance it was a recently acquired power, for the man frowned almost fiercely at the ground as he advanced, and took each step with an amount of forethought and deliberation which to the children seemed quite unaccountable. Nay, after having taken a step, he would seem suddenly to repent, and draw back, putting a foot behind him again, or even to one side or the other--anywhere, in short, rather than in front. Coming up to the children at last by this painful process, he became suddenly aware of their presence, and opened his eyes to an extent that could only be accounted for on the wild supposition that he had never seen a child in all his life before. Having stared for a minute or so with all the intensity of the most solemn surprise, he blinked like a sleepy owl, his mouth expanded, and his whole countenance beamed with good-will; but suddenly he changed back, as if by magic, to the solemn-surprise condition. This was too much for the children, who simultaneously burst into a hilarious fit of laughter. The fit seemed catching, for the man joined them with a loud roar of delight, swaying to and fro with closed eyes as he did so. The roar brought up Red Rooney, who had followed the children's steps and happened to be close to them at the time of the explosion. He looked at the man for a moment, and then his muttered remark, "Drunk as a fiddler!" cleared up the mystery. When the man opened his eyes, having finished his laugh, and beheld a tall Kablunet gazing sternly at him, all the fire of his ancestors blazed up in his breast, and came out at his eyes. Drawing his knife, he sprang at our seaman with the murderous weapon uplifted. Rooney caught his wrist, put a foot behind his leg, gave him a sort of twirl, and laid him flat on his back. The fall caused the knife to spin into the air, and the poor Eskimo found himself at the mercy of the Kablunet. Instead of taking the man's life, Rooney bade him sit up. The man did so with a solemn look, not unmixed with perplexity. There is a phase of that terrible vice drunkenness which is comic, and it is not of the slightest use to ignore that fact. There were probably few men who detested strong drink and grieved over its dire effects more than Red Rooney. He had been led, at a time when total abstinence was almost unknown, to hate the very name of drink and to become a total abstainer. Yet he could not for the life of him resist a hearty laugh when the befuddled Eskimo blinked up in his face with an imbecile smile, and said--"Wh-whash 'e matter, y-you st-stupid ole' K-K-Kablunet?" The difficulty and faulty nature of his pronunciation was such that slipshod English serves admirably to indicate his state of mind, although neither English nor Eskimo, Arabic nor Hebrew, will suffice to describe in adequate terms the tremendous solemnity of his gaze after the imbecile smile had passed away. "You disreputable old seal," said Rooney, "where did you get the drink?" Words are wanting to express the dignified look of injured innocence with which the man replied--"I--I've had _no_ d-drink. Nosh a d-drop!" "Yes, truly you _are_ a man and a brother," muttered Rooney, as he noted this "touch of nature," and felt that he was in the company of "kin." "What's your name, you walrus?" "K-Kazho," answered the man indignantly. "What!" "K-Ka-zho," he repeated, with emphasis. "I suppose you mean Kajo, you unnatural jellyfish." Kajo did not condescend to say what he meant, but continued to eye the Kablunet with lofty disdain, though the effect of his expression was marred by his attention being distracted by Pussi and Tumbler, whose faces were fiery red, owing to fits of suppressed laughter. "Get up now, you old rascal," said Rooney. "Come along with me, and I'll show you to my friends." At first the Eskimo showed a disposition to resist, but when the powerful seaman lifted him up by the neck of his coat, as if he had been a little dog, and set him on his legs, he thought better of it, smiled benignly, and moved on. Hans Egede at once recognised this fellow as one of the most troublesome of his flock. "I have done my best to keep strong drink from that man," he explained to Rooney, "but, as you must be aware from your long residence among them, the traders _will_ supply the poor creatures with rum, and Kajo's naturally sanguine temperament is unable to withstand its influence. Over and over again he has promised me--with tears of, I believe, true repentance in his eyes--to give it up; but as surely as the traders offer it to him, and prevail on him to take one drop, so surely does he give way to a regular debauch." While he spoke to Rooney in the Danish tongue, the subject of conversation stood with bowed head, conscience-smitten, before him, for, although he did not understand the language, he guessed correctly that the talk was about his own misdeeds. "Come with me," said the missionary, taking the poor man by the arm, leading him aside to some distance, and evidently entering into serious remonstrance--while Kajo, as evidently, commenced energetic protestations. On returning, Egede said that the Eskimo told him his tribe had moved along the coast to a better hunting-ground, and were at that moment located in an old deserted village, just beyond the point for which they were making, on the other side of the bay. He therefore advised that they should start off at once, so as to reach the camp early in the evening. "Kajo tells me," added Egede, "that his kayak lies hid in the bushes at no great distance; so he can go with us. He is not too drunk, I think, to manage his light craft." But Egede was wrong, for even while he was speaking Kajo had slipped quietly behind a bush. There, after a cautious look round to see that no one observed him, he drew a curious little flat earthenware bottle from some place of concealment about his dress, applied it to his lips, and took what Rooney would have styled "a long, hearty pull." That draught was the turning-point. The comic and humorous were put to flight, and nothing but fierce, furious savagery remained behind. Many men in their cups become lachrymose, others silly, and some combative. The fiery liquor had the latter effect on Kajo. Issuing from his place of retirement with a fiendish yell and glaring eyes, he made an insane attack on Angut. That Eskimo, having no desire to hurt the man, merely stepped lightly out of his way and let him pass. Fortunately his knife had been left on the ground where Rooney first met him, for he stumbled and fell upon Kabelaw, into whom he would certainly have plunged the weapon had it still been in his hand. Jumping up, he looked round with the glaring eyes of a tiger, while his fingers clutched nervously at the place where he was wont to carry the lost knife. Seeing his condition, Arbalik sprang towards him, but, stooping quickly, Kajo darted out of his way. At the same moment he snatched up a knife that had been left lying on the ground. The first effect of the last draught seemed for the time to have increased the man's powers of action, for, rushing round the circle, he came suddenly upon poor old Kannoa, who chanced to be seated a little apart from the others. Seizing her thin hair, Kajo brandished the knife in front of her throat, and, glaring at the men, gave vent to a wild laugh of triumph. It was evident that he was for the time quite mad and unaccountable for his actions--though by no means unaccountable for taking the accursed drink that reduced him to that state of temporary insanity. Red Rooney, aghast with horror at the impending fate of the dear old remembrancer of his grandmother, sprang forward with the agility of a wild cat, but his energy, intensified though it was by rage, could not have prevented the catastrophe if Ippegoo had not come to the rescue. Yes, that mild youth was the instrument chosen to avert the blow. He chanced to be standing beside a mass of turf which Okiok had cut from the ground for the purpose of making a dry seat for Nuna. Seizing this, Ippegoo hurled it at the head of the drunken Eskimo. Never before did the feeble youth make such a good shot. Full on the flat face of the drunkard it went, like the wad of a siege-gun, scattering earth and _debris_ all round--and down went the Eskimo. Unable to check himself, down also went Rooney on the top of him. Next moment the luckless Kajo was secured with a piece of walrus-line, and flung on one side, while the indignant party held a noisy consultation as to what was to be done with him. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. THE ESKIMO ENCAMPMENT--A MURDER AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. With Hans Egede, Red Rooney, and Angut as chief councillors, it may be easily understood that the punishment awarded to Kajo was not severe. He was merely condemned, in the meantime, to be taken to his own people as a prisoner, and then let go free with a rebuke. "But how are we to carry him there?" asked Egede. "He cannot walk, and we must not delay." "That's true," said Rooney; "and it will never do to burden the women's boat with him. It is too full already." "Did he not say that he had his kayak with him?" asked Angut. "He did," cried Okiok, with the sudden animation of one who has conceived an idea. "Run, Arbalik, Ippegoo, Ermigit, Norrak, and seek for the kayak." The youths named ran off to obey, with the alacrity of well-trained children, and in half an hour returned in triumph with the kayak on their shoulders. Meanwhile Kajo had recovered slightly, and was allowed to sit up, though his hands were still bound. "Now we'll try him. Launch the boat, boys," said Okiok, "and be ready to paddle." The young men did as they were bid, and Okiok, unloosening Kajo's bonds, asked him if he could manage his kayak. "O-of--c-course I can," replied the man, somewhat indignantly. "Come, then, embark an' do it," returned Okiok, seizing his arm, and giving it a squeeze to convince him that he was in the hands of a strong man. Kajo staggered towards his little vessel, and, lifting it with difficulty, went down to the beach. He would certainly have fallen and damaged it if Okiok had not stood on one side and Angut on the other to prevent a fall. When the kayak was launched, he attempted to step into the little oval opening in it, but with so little success that Okiok, losing patience, lifted, him in, and crammed him down. Then he sent him afloat with a vigorous push. Feeling all right, with the familiar paddle in his hands, Kajo tried to rouse himself, bethought him of flight, gave a hiccoughing cheer, and went skimming away like a sword-fish. "After him now, boys, and keep alongside," cried Okiok. Responsive to the order, the boat shot after the kayak, but they had barely got under weigh when Kajo made a false stroke with the paddle, lost his balance, and disappeared. "I expected that," remarked Okiok, with a laugh. "But the poor man will drown," said Egede anxiously; "he is too drunk to recover himself." This was obvious, for the overturned craft seemed to quiver like a dying whale, while its owner made wild but fruitless efforts to recover his proper position; and it is certain that the poor man would then and there have paid the penalty of his intemperance with his life, if the boat had not ranged alongside, and rescued him. "So then," said Angut to Egede, as they were bringing Kajo ashore, "this is the effect of the mad waters that I have often heard of, but never seen till now." "Yes, Angut, you see the effect of them--at least on one man; but their effects vary according to the nature of those who drink. Some men they make violent, like Kajo; others become silly; while not a few become heavy, stupid, and brutal. In my country most if not all of the murders that take place are committed under the influence of strong drink. The Red Indians, who dwell far to the south-west of your lands, call strong drink `fire-water.' Your own name `mad waters' is better, I think." Kajo was led forward at this moment, looking very much dejected, and greatly sobered. He made no further attempt to resist, but, as a precaution, his hands were again tied, and then he was left to dry in the sun, and to his meditations, while the party made the traverse of the bay. This was accomplished in three trips. As the last party was about to start, Okiok and Kajo alone remained on the shore. "You had better think twice," said Rooney, as he was about to push off the boat. "He may give you some trouble." "Fear not," returned Okiok, with a grin, in which there were mingled fun and contempt. "I have thought twice--three--four--ten times," and he extended the fingers of both hands. "Very good; we'll keep an eye on you," said Rooney, with a laugh. "He runs no risk," remarked Egede, taking up one of the paddles to share in the work. "His plan is one which Eskimos frequently adopt when one of their kayaks has been destroyed by rocks or walruses." The plan referred to consisted in making the man whose kayak has been lost lie out on what may be called the deck of a friend's kayak. The well-known little craft named the "Rob Roy Canoe" bears much resemblance to the Eskimo kayak--the chief difference being that the former is made of thin, light wood, the latter of a light framework covered with sealskin. Both are long and narrow; decked entirely over, with the exception of a hole in the centre; can hold only one person, and are propelled with one double paddle having a blade at each end. The only way, therefore, of helping a friend in distress with such craft is to lay him out flat at full length on the deck, and require him to keep perfectly still while you paddle to a place of safety. Okiok intended to take the helpless drunkard across the bay in this fashion, but for the sake of safety, resolved to do it in an unfriendly manner. When the boat had shot away, he pushed the kayak into the water until it was afloat in the fore-part, arranged the spears which formed its armament, made fast the various lines, and laid the paddle across the opening. Then he went up to Kajo, who had been watching his movements with much curiosity, not quite unmingled with discomfort. "Go," he said, pointing to the kayak, "and lay yourself out in front, on your face." Kajo looked earnestly at the speaker. There was much less of the heroic in his gaze by that time, and therefore more of manly determination; but Okiok said "go" again. And Kajo went. When he was laid flat on his face in front of the opening, with his feet on either side, and his head towards the bow, Okiok proceeded to tie him down there. "You need not fear," he said; "I will not move." Okiok did not cease his work, but he said-- "I will make sure that you do not move. Any man with the sense of a puffin might be trusted to lie still for his own sake, but I have learned this day that a man full of mad water is a fool--not to be trusted at all." Having expressed himself thus, and finished the lashing, he got softly into his place, pushed off, and paddled gently over the sea. He had not advanced far when Kajo, feeling uncomfortable, tried slightly to alter his position, whereupon Okiok took up a spear that lay handy, and gave him a slight prick by way of reminding him of his duty. The rest of the voyage was accomplished in peace and safety. In the evening the party arrived at the temporary abode of the tribe to which Kajo belonged. By that time the Eskimo was thoroughly sober, but the same could not be said of all his people--of whom there were upwards of a hundred men, besides women and children. It was found that a chance trader to Godhaab had brought a considerable quantity of rum, and the families of which we now speak had secured several kegs. All of these Eskimos were well acquainted with Egede, and a few of them were friendly towards him; but many were the reverse. There was great excitement among them at the time the party arrived--excitement that could scarcely be accounted for either by the rum or by the unexpected arrival. Egede soon found out what it was. A terrible murder had been committed the night before by one of the Eskimos, who was considered not only the best hunter of the band to which he belonged, but one of the best husbands and fathers. His name was Mangek. He was one of those who had been well disposed towards the missionary, and in regard to whom much hope had been entertained. But he had been treated to rum by the traders, and having conceived an ardent desire for more, had managed to obtain a keg of the mad water. Although kind and amiable by nature, his temperament was sanguine and his nerves sensitively strung. A very little of the rum excited him to extravagant exuberance of spirit, and a large dose made him temporarily insane. It was during one of these fits of insanity that Mangek had on the previous night struck his wife, when she was trying to soothe him. The blow would not in itself have killed her, but as she fell her head struck on a stone, her skull was fractured, and she died in a few minutes. Indifferent to--indeed, ignorant of--what he had done, the Eskimo sat beside the corpse all that night drinking. No one dared to go near him, until he fell back helplessly drunk. Then they removed the body of his wife. It was bad enough to see this hitherto respected man mad with drink, but it was ten times worse to see him next day mad with horror at what he had done. For it was not merely that his wife was dead, but that, although he had loved that wife with all his heart and soul, he had killed her with his own hand. The wretched man had rushed about the place shrieking all the morning, sometimes with horror and sometimes with fury, until he was physically exhausted. Every one had kept carefully out of his way. When our travellers arrived he was lying in his hut groaning heavily; but no one knew what state he was in, for they still feared to disturb him. No such fear affected Hans Egede. Knowing that he could point to the only remedy for sin and broken hearts, he went straight into the poor man's hut. Shortly afterwards the groaning ceased, and the natives listened with awe to what they knew was the voice of prayer. As they could not, however, distinguish the words, they gradually drew off, and circled round the strangers who had so unexpectedly arrived. Great was their surprise when they found that their comrade Kajo had been brought home as a prisoner; and still greater was their surprise when they found that a bottle of rum which had been stolen from one of their hunters, and carried off the day before, was found on the person of Kajo--for Kajo had been, like Mangek, a respectable man up to that date, and no one believed it possible that he would condescend to steal. One of those who was himself under the influence of rum at the time looked sternly at Kajo, and began to abuse him as a hypocrite and deceiver. "Now, look here," cried Red Rooney, stepping forward; "listen to me." Having regard to his commanding look and tone, the natives considered him the leader of the party, and listened with respect. "What right have _you_," he continued, turning sharply on the last speaker, "to look with contempt on Kajo? You have been drinking mad water yourself. I smell it in your breath. If you were to take a little more, you would be quite ready to commit murder." "No, I would not," replied the Eskimo stoutly. "Yes, you would," said the sailor, still more stoutly. "Even my good-natured friend Okiok here would be ready to murder his wife Nuna if he was full of mad water." This unexpected statement took our kindly Eskimo so much by surprise that for a moment or two he could not speak. Then he thundered forth-- "Never! What! kill Nuna? If I was stuffed with mad water from the toes to the eyelids, I _could_ not kill Nuna." At that moment an aged Eskimo pressed to the front. Tears were on his wrinkled cheeks, as he said, in a quavering voice-- "Yes, you _could_, my son. The wife of Mangek was my dear child. No man ever loved his wife better than Mangek loved my child. He would have killed himself sooner than he would have killed her. But Mangek did not kill her. It was the mad water that killed her. He did not know what the mad water would do when he drank it. How could he? It is the first time he has drunk it; he will _never_ drink it again. But that will not bring back my child." The old man tried to say more, but his lip trembled and his voice failed. His head drooped, and, turning abruptly round, he mingled with the crowd. It was evident that the people were deeply moved by this speech. Probably they had never before given the mad water much of their thoughts, but now, after what had been said, and especially after the awful event of the previous night, opinion on the subject was beginning to form. Red Rooney noted the fact, and was quick to take advantage of the opportunity. "My friends," he said, and the natives listened all the more eagerly that he spoke their language so well, "when a cruel enemy comes to your shore, and begins to kill, how do you act?" "We drive him into the sea; kill--destroy him," shouted the men promptly. "Is not mad water a cruel enemy? Has he not already begun his deadly work? Has he not killed one of your best women, and broken the heart of one of your best men?" "Huk! huk! Yes, that is true." "Then who will fight him?" shouted Rooney. There was a chorus of "I wills," and many of the men, running up to their huts, returned, some with bottles, and some with kegs. Foremost among them was the old father of the murdered woman. He stumbled, fell, and his keg rolled to Rooney's feet. Catching it up, the sailor raised it high above his head and dashed it to splinters on the stones. With a shout of enthusiasm the Eskimos followed his example with bottle and keg, and in another moment quite a cataract of the vile spirit was flowing into the sea. "That is well done," said Hans Egede, coming up at the moment. "You know how to take the tide at the flood, Rooney." "Nay, sir," returned the sailor; "God brought about all the circumstances that raised the tide, and gave me power to see and act when the tide was up. I claim to be naught but an instrument." "I will not quarrel with you on that point," rejoined Egede; "nevertheless, as an instrument, you did it well, and for that I thank God who has granted to you what I have prayed and toiled for, without success, for many a day. It is another illustration of prayer being answered in a different and better way from what I had asked or expected." In this strange manner was originated, on the spur of the moment, an effectual and comprehensive total abstinence movement. We are bound of course to recognise the fact that it began in impulse, and was continued from necessity--no more drink being obtainable there at that time. Still, Egede and Rooney, as well as the better-disposed among the Eskimos, rejoiced in the event, for it was an unquestionable blessing so far as it went. As the Eskimos had settled down on that spot for some weeks for the purpose of hunting--which was their only method of procuring the necessaries of life,--and as there was no pressing necessity for the missionary or his friends proceeding just then to Godhaab, it was resolved that they should all make a short stay at the place, to assist the Eskimos in their work, as well as to recruit the health and strength of those who had been enfeebled by recent hardship and starvation. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. TELLS OF MEN WHOSE ACTIONS END IN SMOKE, AND OF OTHERS WHOSE PLOTS END IN DEEDS OF DARKNESS. This is a world of surprises. However long we may live, and however much we may learn, the possibility of being surprised remains with us, and our capacity for blazing astonishment is as great as when first, with staggering gait, we escaped from the nursery into space and stood irresolute, with the world before us where to choose. These thoughts arise from the remembrance of Okiok as he stood one morning open-mouthed, open-eyed, open-souled, and, figuratively, petrified, gazing at something over a ledge of rock. What that something was we must learn from Okiok himself, after he had cautiously retired from the scene, and run breathlessly back towards the Eskimo village, where the first man he met was Red Rooney. "I--I've seen it," gasped the Eskimo, gripping the seaman's arm convulsively. "Seen what?" "Seen a man--on fire; and he seems not to mind it!" "On fire! A man! Surely not. You must be mistaken." "No, I am quite sure," returned Okiok, with intense earnestness. "I saw him with my two eyes, and smoke was coming out of him." Rooney half-suspected what the Eskimo had seen, but there was just enough of uncertainty to induce him to say, "Come, take me to him." "Is the man alone?" he asked, as they hurried along. "No; Ippegoo is with him, staring at him." They soon reached the ledge of rock where Okiok had seen the "something," and, looking cautiously over it, Rooney beheld his friend Kajo smoking a long clay pipe such as Dutchmen are supposed to love. Ippegoo was watching him in a state of ecstatic absorption. Rooney drew back and indulged in a fit of stifled laughter for a minute, but his companion was too much surprised even to smile. "Is he doing that curious thing," asked Okiok in a low voice, "which you once told me about--smookin' tibooko?" "Yes; that's it," replied Rooney with a broad grin, "only you had better say `smokin' tobacco' next time." "`Smokkin' tibucco,'" repeated the Eskimo; "well, that _is_ funny. But why does he spit it out? Does he not like it?" "Of course he likes it. At least I suppose he does, by the expression of his face." There could be little doubt that Rooney was right. Kajo had evidently got over the preliminary stages of incapacity and repugnance long ago, and had acquired the power of enjoying that mild and partial stupefaction--sometimes called "soothing influence"--which tobacco smoke affords. His eyes blinked happily, like those of a cat in the sunshine; his thickish lips protruded poutingly as they gripped the stem; and the smoke was expelled slowly at each puff, as if he grudged losing a single whiff of the full flavour. Scarcely less interesting was the entranced gaze of Ippegoo. Self-oblivion had been effectively achieved in that youth. A compound of feelings--interest, surprise, philosophical inquiry, eager expectancy, and mild alarm--played hide-and-seek with each other in his bosom, and kept him observant and still. "Why," asked Okiok, after gazing in silent admiration for a few minutes over the ledge, "why does he not swallow it, if he likes it, and keep it down?" "It's hard to say," answered Rooney. "Perhaps he'd blow up or catch fire if he were to try. It might be dangerous!" "See," exclaimed Okiok, in an eager whisper; "he is going to let Ippegoo taste it." Rooney looked on with increased interest, for at that moment Kajo, having had enough, offered the pipe to his friend, who accepted it with the air of a man who half expected it to bite and put the end in his mouth with diffidence. He was not successful with the first draw, for instead of taking the smoke merely into his mouth he drew it straight down his throat, and spent nearly five minutes thereafter in violent coughing with tears running down his cheeks. Kajo spent the same period in laughing, and then gravely and carefully explained how the thing should be done. Ippegoo was an apt scholar. Almost immediately he learned to puff, and in a very short time was rolling thick white clouds from him like a turret-gun in action. Evidently he was proud of his rapid attainments. "Humph! That won't last long," murmured Rooney to his companion. "Isn't it good?" said Kajo to Ippegoo. "Ye-es. O yes. It's good; a-at least, I suppose it is," replied the youth, with modesty. A peculiar tinge of pallor overspread his face at that moment. "What's wrong, Ippegoo?" "I--I--feel f-funny." "Never mind that," said Kajo. "It's always the way at first. When I first tried it I--" He was cut short by Ippegoo suddenly rising, dropping the pipe, clapping one hand on his breast, the other on his mouth, and rushing into the bushes where he disappeared like one of his own puffs of smoke. At the same moment Rooney and Okiok appeared on the scene, laughing heartily. "You rascal!" said Rooney to Kajo, on recovering his gravity; "you have learned to drink, and you have learned to smoke, and, not satisfied with that extent of depravity, you try to teach Ippegoo. You pitiful creature! Are you not ashamed of yourself?" Kajo looked sheepish, and admitted that he had some sensations of that sort, but wasn't sure. "Tell me," continued the seaman sternly, "before you tasted strong drink or tobacco, did you want them?" "No," replied Kajo. "Are you in better health now that you've got them?" "I--I _feel_ the better for them," replied Kajo. "I did not ask what you _feel_," returned Rooney. "_Are_ you better now than you were before? That's the question." But Rooney never got a satisfactory answer to that question, and Kajo continued to drink and smoke until, happily for himself, he had to quit the settlements and proceed to the lands of thick-ribbed ice, where nothing stronger than train oil and lamp-smoke were procurable. As for poor Ippegoo, he did not show himself to his friends during the remainder of that day. Being half an idiot, no one could prevail on him thereafter to touch another pipe. Now, while the Eskimos and our friends were engaged in hunting, and holding an unwonted amount both of religious and philosophical intercourse, a band of desperadoes was descending the valleys of the interior of Greenland, with a view to plunder the Eskimos of the coast. Hitherto we have written about comparatively well-behaved and genial natives, but it must not be supposed that there were no villains of an out-and-out character among those denizens of the north. It is true there were not many--for the sparseness of the population, the superabundance of game on land and sea, as well as the wealth of unoccupied hunting-grounds, and the rigour of the climate, rendered robbery and war quite unnecessary, as well as disagreeable. Still, there were a few spirits of evil even there, to whom a quiet life seemed an abomination, and for whom the violent acquisition of other men's goods possessed a charm far transcending the practice of the peaceful industries of life. The band referred to was not remarkably strong in numbers--about thirty or so; but these were sturdy and daring villains, led by a chief who must have had some of the old Norse blood in his veins, he was so tall, fair of complexion, and strong. Descending first on the little settlement of Godhaab at night, this robber band found that a Dutch trading-vessel had just arrived, the crew of which, added to the settlers attracted from their hunting-grounds to the village, formed a force which they dared not venture to attack openly. Grimlek, the robber chief, therefore resolved to wait for a better opportunity. Meanwhile, passing himself and band off as hunters, he purchased a few things from the traders and then proceeded along the coast, intending to hunt, as well as to wait till the vessel should depart. While the robbers were thus engaged, they came unexpectedly on another trading-ship--a Dutchman--part of the crew of which had landed for some purpose or other in their boat. On seeing the Eskimos, the Dutchmen got quickly into their boat, and pushed off; but the robbers made signs of peace to them, and, carrying their bows, arrows, and spears up to the woods, left them there, returning to the shore as if unarmed, though in reality they had retained their knives. Again they made signs, as if they wished to trade with the Dutchmen. Deceived by appearances, the sailors once more drew in to the shore. While they were approaching, Grimlek called his men round him and gave a few hasty directions. When the sailors had landed, the Eskimos mingled with them, and began to offer sealskins for trade--each selecting a particular man with whom to transact business. At a given signal they drew their knives from under their coats, and each robber stabbed his man to the heart. The men left in the ship, seeing what had occurred, and that it was too late to attempt rescue, instantly filled her sails, and went off to sea. The villains having thus easily slain their victims, carried off the booty found in the boat, and hid it in the bushes, to be taken away at a convenient opportunity. But this deed of darkness was not done unwitnessed. Early in the morning of that day, various hunting parties had dispersed in different directions--some to the hills, others to the sea. Among the latter was an oomiak full of women who went along-shore to fish, and with whom were old Kannoa, Nunaga, and others. They went in a northerly direction. Rooney, Angut, and Okiok proceeded along the coast to the southward. The direction taken by these last brought them near to the spot where the Dutch sailors had landed, at the critical moment when the robbers were mingling with their unsuspecting victims. Although only three to thirty, it is certain that our heroes would have sprung to the aid of the sailors if they had suspected what was about to happen, but the deed was done so promptly that there was no time for action. Fortunately Rooney and his companions had not shown themselves. They were therefore able to draw back into the shelter of the bushes, where they held a hasty council of war. "We must run back to camp," said Rooney, "tell what we have seen, and return with a band of men to punish the murderers." "Agreed," said Okiok; "but how are we to do it? The shore is open. We cannot take a step that way without being seen, and chased. We might outrun them, though I don't feel quite as supple as I used to; but we should barely arrive before them in time to warn the camp, and should then be almost unfit to fight." To this Angut replied that they could go inland over the hills, and so come down on the camp in rear. It might not, he thought, add much to the distance. This plan was quickly adopted and put in practice. But there are few things more deceptive than formation and distance in mountain lands. What seemed to the trio easy, proved to be tremendously difficult; and the distance they had to travel in order to avoid precipices and surmount ridges, gradually increased to many miles, so that it was late, and twilight was deepening into night, before they reached the camp. Meanwhile the robbers were not idle. Although ignorant of the fact that their bloody work had been observed, they were not long ignorant of the near neighbourhood of the Eskimo camp. Early in the morning they had sent two of their swiftest young men to spy out the land ahead. These had discovered the camp, entered it, professing to be wandering hunters, and had then returned to their friends with the news that many of the men had gone away hunting, and would probably remain out all night; also that an oomiak full of women had gone off to the southward to fish. The runners, happening to descend to the coast on the opposite side of a ridge from Rooney and his companions, just missed meeting them, and returned to their comrades shortly after the massacre. Grimlek knew that whatever course he should pursue must be prompt and decisive. He at once divided his men into two bands, one of which he sent to pursue and capture the women who had gone to fish; with the other, which he led in person, he resolved either to storm the camp or take it by surprise, as circumstances might point out. By the straight way of the shore the distance was not great. In fact, the camp might have been seen from the spot where the massacre had been perpetrated, but for a high promontory which concealed it. On rounding this promontory, the party detailed to pursue the women glided into the bushes and disappeared. Grimlek, with the remaining men, advanced straight and openly towards the camp. He saw, however, on drawing near, that the number of men in it were more than a match for his small party, and therefore approached with friendly demonstrations. They were hospitably received by Hans Egede. "My friends," he said, "you have arrived just as we are assembling to talk about the things that concern our souls, the future life, and the Good Spirit. Will you and your men sit down and listen?" For a few moments Grimlek did not reply. Then he said, "You are not an Eskimo?" "No, I am a Kablunet," replied Egede; "I have been sent to tell the Eskimos about the true God." Again the robber chief was silent. Then he said that he would consult with his men, and retired with them a short distance to do so. "Nothing better could have happened," he said in a low tone. "The Kablunet is going to talk to them about his God. All we have to do is to mingle with them. Let each of you choose his man and sit down beside him. When I give the signal, strike at once, and let no second blow be needed." A murmur of assent was all that the band returned to this speech, and Grimlek, returning to the missionary, said that he and his men were ready to hear. In a few minutes each of the assassins was seated on the ground beside his chosen victim. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. A STRANGE MEETING STRANGELY INTERRUPTED. The meeting which had been thus strangely invaded was no ordinary prayer or missionary meeting. It had been assembled by Egede for the express purpose of affording some unbelievers among the Eskimos an opportunity of stating their difficulties and objections in regard to the new religion. Interesting though its proceedings were, as showing the similarity of the workings of the civilised and savage minds, we cannot afford space to enter much into detail, yet some account of the matter seems necessary in order to show what it was that induced the robber chief to delay, though not to alter, his fell purpose. After prayer offered by the missionary, that the Holy Spirit might descend on and bless the discussion, a hymn was sung. It had been translated into Eskimo, and taught to his converts by Egede. Then the missionary made a brief but complete statement of the leading facts of the good news of salvation to sinful man in Jesus Christ,--this, not only to clear the way for what was to come, but for the purpose of teaching the newcomers, so as to render them somewhat intelligent listeners. Then an old grey-haired man arose. "I do not object to the new religion," he said, "but I am puzzled. You tell me that God is everywhere and knows everything; why, then, did he not go to our first mother, Eve, and warn her of her danger when the Evil One tempted her in the form of a serpent?" "My friend, the question you ask cannot be fully answered," said Egede. "I can explain, however, that our first parents were put into the world to be tried or tested in that way. To have warned Eve would have rendered the test useless. Enough for us to know that she was told what to do. Her duty was to obey. But let me ask _you_ a question: is not sin--is not murder--hateful?" Grimlek imagined that Egede looked him straight in the face as he asked the question, and felt uneasy, but was by no means softened. "Yes," answered the old man; "murder--sin--is hateful." "Yet it certainly exists," continued Egede; "you cannot help believing that?" "Yes, I must admit that." "Then why did God permit sin?" Of course the old man could not reply, and the missionary pointed out that some things were incomprehensible, and that that was one of them. "But," he continued, "that is no reason why we should not talk of things that _are_ comprehensible. Let us turn to these." At this point a middle-aged man with a burly frame and resolute expression started up, and said in an excited yet somewhat reckless manner-- "I don't believe a word that you say. Everything exists as it was from the beginning until now, and will continue the same to the end." "Who told you that?" asked Egede, in a prompt yet quiet manner. The man was silenced. He resumed his seat without answering. "You have talked of the `end,' my friend," continued the missionary, in the same quiet tone. "When is the end? and what will come after it? I wait for enlightenment." Still the man remained dumb. He had evidently exhausted himself in one grand explosion, and was unable for more. There was a disposition to quiet laughter on the part of the audience, but the missionary checked this by pointing to another man in the crowd and remarking-- "I think, friend, that you have something to say." Thus invited, the man spoke at once, and with unexpected vigour. He was a stupid-looking, heavy-faced man, but when roused, as he then was, his face lighted up amazingly. "We do not understand you," he said sternly. "Show us the God you describe; then we will believe in Him and obey Him. You make Him too high and incomprehensible. How can we know Him? Will He trouble Himself about the like of us? Some of us have prayed to Him when we were faint and hungry, but we got no answer. What you say of Him cannot be true, or, if you know Him better than we do, why don't you pray for us and procure for us plenty of food, good health, and a dry house? That is all we want. As for our souls, they are healthy enough already. You are of a different race from us. People in your country may have diseased souls. Very likely they have. From the specimens we have seen of them we are quite ready to believe that. For them a doctor of souls may be necessary. Your heaven and your spiritual joys may be good enough for you, but they would be very dull for us. We must have seals, and fishes, and birds. Our souls can no more live without these than our bodies. You say we shall not find any of these in your heaven; well then, we do not want to go there; we will leave it to you and to the worthless part of our own countrymen, but as for us, we prefer to go to Torngarsuk, where we shall find more than we require of all things, and enjoy them without trouble." [See Note.] With an energetic "humph!" or some such exclamation, this self-satisfied philosopher sat down, and many of his countrymen expressed their sympathy with his views by a decided "Huk!" but others remained silent and puzzled. And well they might, for in these few sentences the Eskimo had opened up a number of the problems on which man, both civilised and savage, has been exercising his brain unsuccessfully from the days of Adam and Eve until now. No wonder that poor Hans Egede paused thoughtfully--and no doubt prayerfully--for a few minutes ere he ventured a reply. He was about to open his lips, when, to his astonishment, a tall strong man who had been sitting near the outside circle of the audience close to the robber chief Grimlek started to his feet, and, in a tone that had in it more of a demand than a request, asked permission to speak. It was our friend Angut. Before listening to his remarks, however, it behoves us to account for his sudden appearance. Having been led, as we have said, far out of their way by the detour they were compelled to take, Red Rooney and his friends did not reach the camp till some time after the meeting above described had begun. As it was growing dusk at the time, they easily approached without being observed--all the more that during the whole time of the meeting men and women kept coming and going, according as they felt more or less interested in the proceedings. Great was the surprise of the three friends on arriving to find the band of robbers sitting peacefully among the audience; but still greater would have been their surprise had they known the murderous purpose these had in view. Rooney, however, having had knowledge of men in many savage lands, half guessed the true state of matters, and, touching his two friends on the shoulders, beckoned to them to withdraw. "Things look peaceful," he whispered when beyond the circle, "but there is no peace in the hearts of cold-blooded murderers. What they have done they will do again. `Quick' is the word. Let us gather a dozen strong young men." They had no difficulty in doing this. From among the youths who were indifferent to the proceedings at the meeting they soon gathered twelve of the strongest. "Now, lads," said Rooney, after having briefly told them of the recent massacre, "fifteen of these murderers are seated in that meeting. You cannot fail to know them from our own people, for they are all strangers. Let each one here creep into the meeting with a short spear, choose his man, sit down beside him, and be ready when the signal is given by Angut or me. But do not kill. You are young and strong. Throw each man on his back, but do not kill unless he seems likely to get the better of you. Hold them down, and wait for orders." No more was said. Rooney felt that delay might be fatal. With the promptitude of men accustomed to be led, the youths crept into the circle of listeners, and seated themselves as desired. Rooney and Okiok selected their men, like the rest. Angut chanced to place himself beside Grimlek. The chief cast a quick, suspicious glance on him as he sat down, but as Angut immediately became intent on the discussion that was going on, and as the robber himself had become interested in spite of himself, the suspicion was allayed as quickly as roused. These quiet proceedings took place just before the heavy-faced Eskimo began the speech which we have detailed. Notwithstanding the serious-- it might be bloody--work which was presently to engage all his physical energies, the spirit of Angut was deeply stirred by the string of objections which the man had flung out so easily. Most of the points touched on had often engaged his thoughtful mind, and he felt--as many reasoning men have felt before and since--how easy it is for a fool to state a string of objections in a few minutes, which it might take a learned man several hours fully to answer and refute. Oppressed, and, as it were, boiling over, with this feeling, Angut, as we have said, started to his feet, to the no small alarm of the guilty man at his side. But the chief's fears were dissipated when Angut spoke. "Foolish fellow!" he said, turning with a blazing gaze to the heavy-faced man. "You talk like a child of what you do not understand. You ask to see God, else you won't believe. You believe in your life, don't you? Yet you have never seen it. You stab a bear, and let its life out. You know when the life is there. You have let it out. You know when it is gone. But you have not _seen_ it. Then why do you believe in it? You do not see a sound, yet you believe in it. Do not lift your stupid face; I know what you would say: you _hear_ the sound, therefore it exists. A deaf man does not hear the sound. Does it therefore not exist? That which produces the sound is there, though the deaf man neither sees nor hears, nor feels nor tastes, nor smells it. My friend, the man of God, says he thinks the cause of sound is motion in the air passing from particle to particle, till the last particle next my ear is moved, and then--I hear. Is there, then, no motion in the air to cause sound because the deaf man does not hear? "O stupid-face! You say that God does not answer prayer, because you have asked and have not received. What would you think of your little boy if he should say, `I asked a dead poisonous fish from my father the other day, and he did not give it to me; therefore my father _never_ gives me what I want.' Would that be true? Every morning you awake hungry, and you _wish_ for food; then you get up, and you find it. Is not your wish a silent prayer? And is it not answered every day? Who sends the seals, and fishes, and birds, even when we do _not_ ask with our lips? Did these animals make themselves? Stupid-face! you say your soul is healthy. Sometimes you are angry, sometimes discontented, sometimes jealous, sometimes greedy. Is an angry, discontented, jealous, greedy soul healthy? You know it is not. It is diseased, and the disease of the soul is _sin_. This disease takes the bad forms I have mentioned, and many other bad forms--one of which is _murder_." Angut emphasised the last word and paused, but did not look at the robber beside him, for he knew that the arrow would reach its mark. Then he resumed-- "The Kablunet has brought to us the better knowledge of God. He tells us that God's great purpose from the beginning of time has been to cure our soul-disease. We deserve punishment for our sins: God sent His Son and Equal, Jesus Christ, to bear our sins. We need deliverance from the power of sin: God sent His Equal--the Spirit of Jesus--to cure us. I believe it. I have felt that Great Spirit in my breast long before I saw the Kablunets, and have asked the Great Spirit to send more light. He has answered my prayer. I _have_ more light, and am satisfied." Again Angut paused, while the Eskimos gazed at him in breathless interest, and a strange thrill--almost of expectation--passed through the assembly, while he continued in a low and solemn tone-- "Jesus," he said, "saves _from_ all sin. But,"--he turned his eyes here full on Grimlek--"He does not save _in_ sin. Murder--foul and wicked murder--has been done!" Grimlek grew pale, but did not otherwise betray himself. Reference to murder was no uncommon thing among his countrymen. He did not yet feel sure that Angut referred to the deed which he had so recently perpetrated. "This day," continued Angut, "I saw a band of Kablunet sailors--" He got no further than that, for Grimlek attempted to spring up. The heavy hand of Angut, however, crushed him back instantly, and a spear-point touched his throat. "Down with the villains!" shouted Rooney, laying the grasp of a vice on the neck of the man next to him, and hurling him to the ground. In the twinkling of an eye the fifteen robbers were lying flat on their backs, with fingers grasping their throats, knees compressing their stomachs, and spear-points at their hearts; but no blood was shed. One or two of the fiercest, indeed, struggled at first, but without avail-- for the intended victim of each robber was handy and ready to lend assistance at the capture, as if in righteous retribution. It was of course a startling incident to those who were not in the secret. Every man sprang up and drew his knife, not knowing where a foe might appear, but Rooney's strong voice quieted them. "We're all safe enough, Mr Egede," he cried, as he bound Grimlek's hands behind him with a cord. The Eskimos quickly performed the same office for their respective prisoners, and then, setting them up in a row, proceeded to talk over the massacre, and to discuss in their presence the best method of getting rid of the murderers. "I propose," said Okiok, whose naturally kind heart had been deeply stirred by the cowardly massacre which he had witnessed, "I propose that we should drown them." "No; drowning is far too good. Let us spear them," said Kajo, who had become sober by that time. "That would not hurt them," cried a fierce Eskimo, smiting his knee with his clenched fist. "We must cut off their ears and noses, poke out their eyes, and then roast them alive--" "Hush! hush!" cried Egede, stepping forward; "we must do nothing of the kind. We must not act like devils. Have we not been talking of the mercy of the Great Spirit? Let us be just, but let us temper justice with mercy. Angut has not yet spoken; let us hear what he will propose." Considering the energy with which he had denounced the murders, and the vigour with which he had captured Grimlek, Angut's proposal was somewhat surprising. "Kablunet," he said, turning to the missionary, "have you not told me that in your Book of God it is written that men should do to other men what they wish other men to do to them?" "Truly, that is so," answered Egede. "If I were very wicked," continued Angut, "and had done many evil deeds, I should like to be forgiven and set free; therefore, let us forgive these men, and set them free." We know not with what feelings the robbers listened to the inhuman proposals that were at first made as to their fate, but certain it is that after Angut had spoken there was a visible improvement in the expression of their faces. Considerable astonishment and dissatisfaction were expressed by the majority of the Eskimos. Even Egede, much though he delighted in the spirit which dictated it, could not quite see his way to so simple and direct an application of the golden rule in the case of men who had so recently been caught red-handed in a cold-blooded murder. While he was still hesitating as to his reply to this humane proposal, an event occurred which rendered all their discussion unnecessary. We have said that fifteen robbers had been captured; but there were sixteen who had entered the camp and joined the meeting. One of these had, without particular motive, seated himself on the outskirt of the circle under the shadow of a bush, which shadow had grown darker as the twilight deepened. Thus it came to pass that he had been overlooked, and, when the melee took place, he quietly retreated into the brush-wood. He was a brave man, however, although a robber, and scorned to forsake his comrades in their distress. While the discussion above described was going on, he crept stealthily towards the place where the captives had been ranged. This he did the more easily that they sat on the summit of a bank or mound which sloped behind them into the bushes. Thus he was able to pass in a serpentine fashion behind them all without being seen, and, as he did so, to cut the bonds of each. Their knives had been removed, else, being desperate villains, they might now have attacked their captors. As it was, when the cords of all had been cut, they rose up with a mingled yell of laughter and triumph and dashed into the bushes. The hunters were not slow to follow, with brandished knives and spears, but their chief called them back with a Stentorian roar, for well he knew that his men might as well try to follow up a troop of squirrels as pursue a band of reckless men in the rapidly increasing darkness, and that there was nearly as much likelihood of their stabbing each other by mistake in the dark, as of killing or catching their foes. When the hunters had again re-assembled in front of their chief man's house, they found new cause of anxiety which effectually put to flight their annoyance at having been outwitted by the robbers. This was the fact that, although night was coming on, the oomiak with the women had not returned. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note. This is no fanciful speech. It is the substance of an actual speech made by a Greenlander to the Moravian brethren in 1737. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. A CAPTURE, FLIGHT, SURPRISE, AND RESCUE. If true love is, according to the proverb, more distinctly proved to be true by the extreme roughness of its course, then must the truth of the love of Angut and Nunaga be held as proved beyond all question, for its course was a very cataract from beginning to end. Poor Nunaga, in the trusting simplicity of her nature, was strong in the belief that, having been found and saved by Angut, there was no further cause for anxiety. With an easy mind, therefore, she set herself to the present duty of spearing cat fish with a prong. It was fine healthy work, giving strength to the muscles, grace and activity to the frame, at the same time that it stimulated the appetite which the catfish were soon to appease. "It grows late," said Pussimek, "and will be dark before we get back to camp." "Never mind; who cares?" said the independent Sigokow, who was fond of "sport." "But the men will be angry," suggested the mother of Ippegoo. "Let them be angry--bo-o-o!" returned the reckless Kabelaw. "Nunaga," said Nuna, looking eagerly over the side, "there goes another--a big one; poke it." Nunaga poked it, but missed, and only brought up a small flat-fish, speared by accident. Old Kannoa, who also gazed into the clear depths, was here observed to smile benignantly, and wave one of her skinny arms, while with the other she pointed downwards. The sisters Kabelaw and Sigokow, each wielding a pronged stick, responded to the signal, and were gazing down into the sea with uplifted weapons when Pussimek uttered an exclamation of surprise and pointed to the shore, where, on a bush, a small piece of what resembled scarlet ribbon or a strip of cloth was seen waving in the wind. "A beast!" exclaimed Pussimek, who had never before seen or heard of scarlet ribbon. "Saw you ever a beast so _very_ red?" said the wife of Okiok doubtfully. "It is no beast," remarked the mother of Ippegoo; "it is only a bit of sealskin dyed red." "No sealskin ever fluttered like that," said the mother of Arbalik sternly. "It is something new and beautiful that some one has lost. We are lucky. Let us go and take it." No one objecting to this, the oomiak was paddled towards the land. Nunaga observed that the sisters Kabelaw and Sigokow were each eager to spring ashore before the other and snatch the prize. Having a spice of mischievous fun in her she resolved to be beforehand, and, being active as a kitten, while the sisters were only what we may style lumberingly vigorous, she succeeded. Before the boat quite touched the gravel, she had sprung on shore, and flew towards the coveted streamer. The sisters did not attempt to follow. Knowing that it would be useless, they sat still and the other women laughed. At the success of his little device the robber-lieutenant of Grimlek chuckled quietly, as he crouched behind that bush. When Nunaga laid her hand on the gaudy bait he sprang up, grasped her round the waist, and bore her off into the bushes. At the same moment the rest of the band made a rush at the oomiak. With a yell in unison, the women shoved off--only just in time, for the leading robber dashed into the sea nearly up to the neck, and his outstretched hand was within a foot of the gunwale when he received a smart rap over the knuckles from Sigokow. Another moment, and the oomiak was beyond his reach. Alas for old Kannoa! She had been seated on the gunwale of the craft, and the vigorous push that set the others free had toppled her over backwards into the sea. As this happened in shallow water, the poor old creature had no difficulty in creeping on to the beach. The incident would have tried the nerves of most old ladies, but Kannoa had no nerves; and in regard to being wet--well, she was naturally tough and accustomed to rough it. The disappointed robber observed her, of course, on wading back to land, but passed her with contemptuous indifference, as if she had been merely an over-grown crab or lobster. But Kannoa determined not to be left to die on the shore. She rose, squeezed the water out of her garments and followed the robber, whom she soon found in the bushes with his companions eagerly discussing their future plans. Nunaga was seated on the ground with her face bowed on her knees. Kannoa went and sat down beside her, patted her on the shoulder and began to comfort her. "We must not stay here," said the leader of the band, merely casting a look of indifference at the old creature. "The women who have escaped will tell the men, and in a very short time we shall have them howling on our track." "Let us wait and fight them," said one of the men, fiercely. "It would be great glory for a small band to fight a big one, no doubt," returned the leader in a sarcastic tone; "but it would be greater glory for one man to do that alone--so you had better stay here and fight them yourself." A short laugh greeted this remark. "It will be very dark to-night," said another man. "Yes; too dark for our foes to follow us, but not too dark for us to advance steadily, though slowly, into the mountains," returned the leader. "When there, we shall be safe. Come, we will start at once." "But what are we to do with the old woman?" asked one. "She cannot walk." "Leave her," said another. "No; she will bring evil on us if we leave her," cried the fierce man. "I am sure she is a witch. We must carry her with us, and when we come to a convenient cliff, toss her into the sea." In pursuance of this plan, the fierce robber tied the old woman up in a bear-skin--made a bundle of her, in fact--and swung her on his back. Fortunately, being rather deaf, Kannoa had not heard what was in store for her; and as the position she occupied on the fierce man's broad back was not uncomfortable, all things considered, she submitted with characteristic patience. Poor, horrified Nunaga thought it best to let her companion remain in ignorance of what was proposed, and cast about in her mind the possibility of making her escape, and carrying the news of her danger to the camp. If she could only get there and see Angut, she was sure that all would go well, for Angut, she felt, could put everything right--somehow. In a short time the robbers were far away from the scene of their consultation; and the darkness of the night, as predicted, became so intense that it was quite impossible to advance further over the rough ground without the risk of broken limbs, if not worse. A halt was therefore called for rest, food, and consultation. The spot on which they stood was the top of a little mound, with thick shrubs on the land side, which clothed a steep, almost precipitous descent. Just within these shrubs, as it were under the brow of the hill, Nunaga observed a small natural rut or hollow. The other, or sea, side of the mound, was quite free from underwood, and also very steep. On the top there was a low ledge of rock, on which the fierce robber laid his bundle down, while the others stood round and began to discuss their circumstances. The leader, who had taken charge of Nunaga, and held one of her hands during the journey, set the girl close in front of him, to prevent the possibility of her attempting to escape, for he had noted her activity and strength, and knew how easily she might elude him if once free in the dark woods. Although these woods were as black as Erebus, there was light enough to enable them to distinguish the glimmer of the sea not far off, and a tremendous cliff rising in solemn grandeur above it. "Yonder is a good place to throw your witch over," remarked the leader carelessly. The fierce robber looked at the place. "Yes," he said, "that might do; and the way to it is open enough to be crossed, even at night, without much trouble." At that moment a bright idea suddenly struck Nunaga. Have you ever noticed, reader, how invariably "bright ideas" deal sudden blows? This one struck Nunaga, as the saying goes, "all of a heap." She happened to observe that the leader of the band was standing with his heels close against the ledge of rock already mentioned. In an instant she plunged at the robber's chest like a female thunderbolt. Having no room to stagger back, of course the man was tripped up by the ledge, and, tumbling headlong over it, went down the steep slope on the other side with an indignant roar. The rest of the robbers were taken by surprise, and so immensely tickled with the humour of the thing that they burst into hearty laughter as they watched the frantic efforts of their chief to arrest his career. All at the same instant, however, seemed to recover their presence of mind, for they looked round simultaneously with sudden gravity--and found that Nunaga was gone! With a wild shout, they sprang after her--down the slope, crashing through the underwood, scattering right and left, and, in more than one instance, tumbling head over heels. They were quickly joined by their now furious leader; but they crashed, and tumbled, and searched in vain. Nunaga had vanished as completely and almost as mysteriously as if she had been a spirit. The explanation is simple. She had merely dropped into the rut or hollow under the brow of the hill; and there she lay, covered with grasses and branches, listening to the growlings of indignation and astonishment expressed by the men when they re-assembled on the top of the mound to bewail their bad fortune. "We've got the old witch, anyhow," growled the fierce robber, with a scowl at the bundle which was lying perfectly still. "Away, men," cried their leader, "and search the other side of the mound. The young witch may have doubled on us like a rabbit, while we were seeking towards the hills." Obedient to the command, they all dispersed again--this time towards the sea. What Nunaga's thought was at the time we cannot tell, but there is reason to believe it must have been equivalent to "Now or never," for she leaped out of her place of concealment and made for the hills at the top of her speed. Truth requires us to add that she was not much better on her legs than were the men, for darkness, haste, and rugged ground are a trying combination. But there is this to be said for the girl: being small, she fell lightly; being rotund, she fell softly; being india-rubbery, she rebounded; and, being young, she took it easily. In a very short time she felt quite safe from pursuit. Then she addressed herself diligently to find out the direction of the Eskimo camp, being filled with desperate anxiety for her old friend Kannoa. Strong, almost, as a young Greenland fawn, and gifted, apparently, with some of that animal's power to find its way through the woods, she was not long of hitting the right direction, and gaining the coast, along which she ran at her utmost speed. On arriving--breathless and thoroughly exhausted--she found to her dismay that Angut, Simek, Rooney, and Okiok had left. The news of her capture had already been brought in by the women with the oomiak, and these men, with as many others as could be spared, had started off instantly to the rescue. "But they are not long gone," said Nunaga's mother, by way of comforting her child. "What matters that?" cried Nunaga in despair; "dear old Kannoa will be lost, for they know nothing of her danger." While the poor girl spoke, her brother Ermigit began to prepare himself hastily for action. "Fear not, sister," he said; "I will run to the great cliff, for I know it well. They left me to help to guard the camp, but are there not enough to guard it without me?" With these words, the youth caught up a spear, and darted out of the hut. Well was it for old Kannoa that night that Ermigit was, when roused, one of the fleetest runners of his tribe. Down to the shore he sprang-- partly tumbled--and then sped along like the Arctic wind, which, we may remark, is fully as swift as more southerly breezes. The beach near the sea was mostly smooth, so that the absence of light was not a serious drawback. In a remarkably short space of time the lad overtook the rescue party, not far beyond the spot where the women had been surprised and Nunaga captured. Great was their satisfaction on hearing of the girl's safe return. "It's a pity you didn't arrive half an hour sooner, however," said Rooney, "for poor Angut has gone off with a party towards the hills, in a state of wild despair, to carry on the search in that direction. But you look anxious, boy; what more have you to tell?" In a few rapidly-spoken words Ermigit told of Kannoa's danger. Instant action was of course taken. One of the natives, who was well acquainted with the whole land, and knew the mound where the robbers had halted, was despatched with a strong party to search in that direction, while Rooney, Okiok, and the rest set off at a sharp run in the direction of the great cliff which they soon reached, panting like race-horses. Scrambling to the top, they found no one there. By that time the short night of spring had passed, and the faint light of the coming day enabled them to make an investigation of the ground, which tended to prove that no one had been there recently. "We can do nothing now but wait," said Red Rooney, as he sat on a projecting cliff, wiping the perspiration from his brow. "But we might send some of the young men to look round, and bring us word if they see any of the robbers," said Simek. "If we do that," replied Okiok, "they will get wind of us, and clear off. Then they would kill my great-mother before casting her away." "That's true, Okiok. We must keep quiet," said Rooney. "Besides, they are pretty sure to bring her to the cliff, for that is a favourite mode among you of getting rid of witches." "But what if they _don't_ come here?" asked Ippegoo. "Then we must hope that they have slept on the mound," returned Okiok; "and Angut will be sure to find them, and kill them all in their sleep." "Too good to hope for," murmured Arbalik. "We must hide, if we don't want to be seen," suggested Simek. Feeling the propriety of this suggestion, the whole party went into a cave which they found close at hand and sat down to wait as patiently as might be. Rooney was the last to enter. Before doing so he crept on hands and knees to the extreme edge of the cliff and looked down. Nothing was visible, however; only a black, unfathomable abyss. But he could hear the sullen roar of ocean as the waves rushed in and out of the rocky caverns far below. Drawing back with a shudder, a feeling of mingled horror, rage, and tender pity oppressed him as he thought of Kannoa's poor old bones being shattered on the rocks, or swallowed by the waves at the foot of the cliff, while behind and through Kannoa there rose up the vision of that grandmother in the old country, whose image seemed to have acquired a fixed habit of beckoning him to come home, with a remonstrative shake of the head and a kindly smile. They had not long to wait. They had been seated about ten minutes in the cavern when the man who had been left outside to watch came gliding in on tip-toe, stepping high, and with a blazing look about the eyes. "They come," he said in a hoarse whisper. "_Who_ come, you walrus?" whispered Okiok. "The man with the witch." On hearing this, Rooney, Okiok, and Simek went to the entrance of the cave, followed by the rest, who, however, were instructed to keep under cover till required, if no more than three or four men should arrive. A few seconds later, and the robber chief appeared on the flat space in front of them. He was closely followed by a squat comrade and the fierce man with the bundle on his back. As they passed the cave, the bundle gave a pitiful wail. This was enough. With a silent rush, like three bull-dogs, our heroes shot forth. Rooney, having forgotten his weapon, used his fist instead, planted his knuckles on the bridge of the leader's nose, and ruined it, as a bridge, for evermore. The robber went down, turned a complete back-somersault, regained his feet, and fled. Okiok seized the fierce man by the throat almost before he was aware of the attack, causing him to drop his bundle which Rooney was just in time to catch and carry into the cave. There he set it down tenderly, cut the fastenings of the skin, and freed the poor old woman's head. It was a beautiful sight to see the livid hue and gaze of horror change into a flush of loving benignity when Kannoa observed who it was that kneeled beside her. "Poor old woman!" shouted Rooney in her ear. "Are you much hurt?" "No; not hurt at all; only squeezed too much. But I'm afraid for Nunaga. I think she got away, but I was bundled, when I last heard her voice." "Fear no more, then, for Nunaga is safe," said Rooney; but at that moment all the men rushed from the cave, and he heard sounds outside which induced him to follow them and leave the old woman to look after herself. On issuing from the cave, he saw that the fierce robber was the only one captured, and that he was on the point of receiving summary justice, for Simek and Okiok had hold of his arms, while Arbalik and Ippegoo held his legs and bore him to the edge of the cliff. "Now then!" cried Simek. "Stop, stop!" shouted Rooney. "_One--two--heave_!" cried Okiok. And they did heave--vigorously and together, so that the fierce man went out from their grasp like a huge stone from a Roman catapult. There was a hideous yell, and, after a brief but suggestive pause, an awful splash! They did not wait to ascertain whether that fierce man managed to swim ashore--but certain it is that no one answering to his description has attempted to hurl a witch from those cliffs from that day to this. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. CONCLUSION. Need we enlarge on the despair of Angut being turned into joy on his return, when he found Nunaga and Kannoa safe and sound? We think not. A few days thereafter our adventurers arrived at the settlement of the Kablunets; and these northern Eskimos soon forgot their rough experiences under the influence of the kind, hospitable reception they met with from the Moravian Brethren. The joy of the brethren at welcoming Hans Egede, too, was very great, for they had heard of his recent expedition, and had begun to fear that he was lost. Not the less welcome was he that he came accompanied by a band of Eskimos who seemed not only willing to listen to the Gospel but more than usually able to understand it. The interest of these devoted men was specially roused by Angut, whom they at once recognised as of greatly superior mental power to his companions. "I cannot help thinking," said Egede, in commenting on his character to one of the brethren, "that he must be a descendant of those Norse settlers who inhabited this part of Greenland long, long ago, who, we think, were massacred by the natives, and the remains of whose buildings are still to be seen." "It may be so," returned the brother; "your Viking countrymen were vastly superior in brain-power to the Eskimos. We are glad and thankful that our Father has sent Angut to us, for it is not improbable that he may one day become an evangelist to his brethren in the far north." But of all those who were assembled at the station at that time, Red Rooney was the man who rejoiced most, for there he found an English vessel on the eve of starting for the "old country," the captain of which was not only willing but glad to get such an able seaman to strengthen his crew. "Angut," said Rooney, as they walked one evening by the margin of the sea, "it grieves me to the heart to leave you; but the best of friends must part. Even for your sake, much though I love you, I cannot remain here, now that I have got the chance of returning to my dear wife and bairns and my native land." "But we shall meet again," replied Angut earnestly. "Does not your great Book teach that the Father of all is bringing all people to Himself in Jesus Christ? In the spirit-land Angut and Nunaga, Okiok, Nuna, Simek, and all the Innuit friends, when washed in the blood of Jesus, will again see the face of Ridroonee, and rejoice." This was the first time that Angut had distinctly declared his faith, and it afforded matter for profound satisfaction to Rooney, who grasped and warmly shook his friend's hand. "Right--right you are, Angut," he said; "I do believe that we shall meet again in the Fatherland, and that hope takes away much o' the sadness of parting. But you have not yet told me about the wedding. Have you arranged it with the Brethren?" "Yes; it is fixed for the day beyond to-morrow." "Good; an' the next day we sail--so, my friend, I'll have the satisfaction of dancing at your wedding before I go." "I know not as to dancing," said Angut, with a grave smile, "but we are to have kick-ball, and a feast." "I'm game for both, or any other sort o' fun you like," returned the seaman heartily. While they were speaking they observed a youth running towards them in great haste, and in a state of violent excitement. A whale, he said, had stranded itself in a shallow bay not far off, and he was running to let the people of the settlement know the good news. The commotion occasioned by this event is indescribable. Every man and boy who could handle a kayak took to the water with harpoon and lance. Ippegoo, Arbalik, Okiok, Simek, Norrak, and Ermigit were among them, in borrowed kayaks, and mad as the maddest with glee. Even Kajo joined them. He was as drunk as the proverbial fiddler, having obtained rum from the sailors, and much more solemn than an owl. While these hastened to the conflict, the women and children who could run or walk proceeded by land to view the battle. And it was indeed a grand fight! The unlucky monster had got thoroughly embayed, and was evidently in a state of consternation, for in its efforts to regain deep water it rushed hither and thither, thrusting its blunt snout continually on some shoal, and wriggling off again with difficulty and enormous splutter. The shouts of men, shrieks of women, and yells of children co-mingled in stupendous discord. Simek, the mighty hunter, was first to launch his harpoon. It went deep and was well aimed. Blood dyed the sea at once, and the efforts of the whale to escape were redoubled. There was also danger in this attack, for no one could tell, each time the creature got into water deep enough to float in, to what point of the shore its next rush would be. "Look out!" cried Rooney in alarm, for, being close to Arbalik in a kayak, he saw that the whale was coming straight at them. It ran on a shoal when close to them, doubled round in terror and whirled its great tail aloft. Right over Arbalik's head the fan-like mass quivered for one moment. The youth did not give it a chance. Over he went and shot down into the water like an eel, just as the tail came down like a thunder-clap on his kayak, and reduced it to a jumble of its shattered elements, while Rooney paddled out of danger. Arbalik swam ashore, and landed just in time to see the whale rise out of the water, lifting Ippegoo in his kayak on its shoulders. The electrified youth uttered a shriek of horror in which the tone of surprise was discernible, slid off, kayak and all, into the sea--and was none the worse! By this time some dozens of harpoons had been fixed in the body of the whale, and the number of bladders attached to them interfered slightly with its movements, but did not render an approach to it by any means safer. At last Simek, losing patience, made a bold rush in his kayak, and drove his lance deep into the huge creature's side. The act was greeted with a cheer--or something like one,--which was repeated when Red Rooney followed suit successfully. Okiok and his two sons were not slow to repeat the process. Other Eskimos rushed in, hovered round, and acted their part, so that finally the whale was killed and hauled nearly out of the water by the united exertion of the entire population of the land. Then succeeded the distribution of the prize. Eskimos have peculiar and not unreasonable laws on such matters. If two hunters strike a seal at the same time, they divide it. The same holds in regard to wild-fowl or deer. If a dead seal is found with a harpoon sticking in it, the finder keeps the seal, but restores the harpoon to the owner. The harpooner of a walrus claims the head and tail, while any one may take away as much as he can carry of the carcass. But when a whale is captured, the harpooners have no special advantage. There is such a superabundance of wealth that all--even spectators--may cut and come again as often and as long as they please. When, therefore, the whale whose capture we have described was dead, hundreds of men and boys mounted at once, knife in hand, on the carcass, and the scene of blood and confusion that ensued baffles description. "Won't we stuff to-night!" remarked Kabelaw to her sister, as they went home bending under a weight of blubber. "Ay--and to-morrow," replied Sigokow. "And some days beyond to-morrow," observed old Kannoa, who staggered after them under a lighter load of the spoil. But it was not the Eskimos alone who derived benefit from this unexpected prize. The captain of the English ship also got some barrels of oil and a large quantity of whalebone to fill up his cargo, and the bright shawls and real _iron_ knives that were given in exchange soon graced the shoulders of the native women and the belts of the men. It was indeed a time of immense jubilation--for every one was gratified more or less--from the chief of the Moravian Brethren down to Tumbler and Pussi, who absolutely wallowed in fun and unctuous food, while Angut and Nunaga were of course supremely happy. The wedding ceremony, performed by Hans Egede, we need hardly say, was simple, and the festivities which followed were not complex. The game at kick-ball which preceded the wedding was admittedly one of the best that had ever been played at that station, partly, no doubt, because the captain and crew of the English ship, headed by Red Rooney, took part in it. Strange to say, the only man who seemed to be at all cast down on that occasion was Ippegoo. He was found by his mother in the evening in a retired spot by the sea, sitting on the rocks with a very disconsolate countenance. "My son, what is the matter?" "Mother, my heart is heavy. I cannot forget Ujarak." "But he treated you ill, my son." "Sometimes--not always. Often he was kind--and--and I loved him. I cannot help it." "Grieve not, Ippe," rejoined pleasant little Kunelik. "Do we not know now that we shall meet him again in the great Fatherland?" The poor youth was comforted. He dried his eyes, and went home with his mother. Yet he did not cease to mourn for his departed wizard friend. We will not harrow the reader's feelings by describing the leave-taking of the Eskimos from their friend the Kablunet. After he was gone those men of the North remained a considerable time at the settlement, listening to the missionaries as they revealed the love of God to man in Jesus Christ. What resulted from this of course we cannot tell, but of this we are certain--that their "labour was not in vain in the Lord." When the time comes for the Creator to reveal His plans to man, surely it will be found that no word spoken, no cup of water given, by these Danish and Moravian Christians, shall lose its appropriate reward. When at last the northern men and their families stood on the sea-shore, with their kayaks, oomiaks and families ready, Angut stood forth, and, grasping Hans Egede by the hand, said earnestly-- "Brother, farewell till we meet again. I go now to carry the Good News to my kindred who dwell where the ice-mountains cover the land and sea." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ But what of the Kablunet? Shall we permit him to slip quietly through our fingers, and disappear? Nay, verily. He reached England. He crossed over to Ireland. There, in a well-remembered cottage-home, he found a blooming "widow," who discovered to her inexpressible joy that she was still a wife! He found six children, who had grown so tremendously out of all remembrance that their faces seemed like a faint but familiar dream, which had to be dreamed over again a good deal and studied much, before the attainment by the seaman of a satisfactory state of mind. And, last, he found a little old woman with wrinkled brow and toothless gums, who looked at and listened to him with benignant wonder, and whose visage reminded him powerfully of another little old woman who dwelt in the land of ice and snow where he used to be known as the Kablunet. This Kablunet--_alias_ Ridroonee,--now regretfully makes his bow and exit from our little stage as RED ROONEY, THE LAST OF THE CREW. THE END. 
34799	----	file was produced from images generously made available by The Kentuckiana Digital Library) [Illustration: Harry pointed seaward, toward the brigantine, moving through the water slowly.--(See page 9.)] A RUNAWAY BRIG; OR, An Accidental Cruise. BY JAMES OTIS, _Author of_ "The Castaways," "Toby Tyler," "Mr. Stubbs' Brother," "Left Behind," "Raising the Pearl," "Silent Pete," etc., etc. ILLUSTRATED. [Illustration] NEW YORK: A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER. COPYRIGHT 1888, BY A. L. BURT. A RUNAWAY BRIG. CHAPTER I. THE SALLY WALKER. "I'm going down to the beach to find Jim Libby. If you'll come along we'll have a prime sail; and most likely this is the last chance we shall have to go out with him, for his vessel leaves in the morning." "How can I go when I've got to mind this young one all the forenoon just 'cause the nurse must go an' have a sick headache? I don't believe she feels half as bad as I do!" And Walter Morse looked mournfully out over the blue waters with but little care for his baby sister, who was already toddling dangerously near the long flight of steps leading from the veranda of the large summer hotel. "Can't you coax off for a couple of hours?" the first speaker, Harry Vandyne, asked. "It's no use. Mother has gone to ride, and said I was to stay here until she came back." Harry started toward the beach, determined not to lose a single hour of pleasure because of his friend's engagements; but before he had taken half a dozen steps a sudden, and what seemed like a very happy thought, occurred to him. "I'll tell you how it can be fixed. Hire one of the other nurses to take care of your sister till we get back. Any of them will do it for a quarter, an' we'll be home before your mother comes." The boys were spending the summer at the Isle of Shoals, off the New England coast. Harry's father was Robert Vandyne, the well-known ship-owner of New York, and Walter's was equally prominent in the wholesale dry-goods business on Broadway. During their stay at this summer resort they had made the acquaintance of Jim Libby, "cook's assistant and everybody's mate" on the fishing-schooner Mary Walker, a craft which visited the Shoals once each week to supply the hotels with fresh fish. Jim was at liberty to follow the dictates of his own fancy several hours each day while in port, and the boys found him ever ready to take them out sailing in the square-bowed, leaky tender belonging to the schooner. As Harry had said, this was Jim's last day on the island until the end of another cruise, and Walter was so eager to blister his hands and wet his feet once more by rowing the Sally Walker--the tender was dignified with a name--around the shore that he really did not stop to consider all Harry's advice implied. He wanted to go on the water; Bessie would have even better care from one of the nurses than he could give her; and it was not difficult to convince himself that, under all the circumstances, he would be warranted in disobeying the positive commands of his mother. "She didn't know Jim was going away in the morning, or I'm sure she'd 'a' fixed it so's I could take one more trip in the Sally." "Of course she won't care," Harry said in such a decided tone that Walter, who was more than willing to be convinced by the most flimsy argument, made his decision at once. "Come on; there's Mrs. Harvey's maid, and we'll ask her." The bribe of twenty-five cents was sufficient to enlist the good-natured girl's sympathies, and five minutes later the two boys were running at full speed toward the shore, while Bessie, apparently well content with the change of nurses, looked so happy that Walter really began to believe he had done the child such a very great favor that his mother could not but be pleased. The unwieldy-looking Sally Walker was drawn up in a little cove which, owing to a line of rocks just outside, made a most convenient landing-place, and on the bow sat Master Jim, his face striped with dirt but beaming with good-nature, and his clothes as ragged as they were redolent of fish. "I'd jes' begun to think you couldn't come, an' was goin' back," he cried as his neatly-dressed acquaintances came into view. "If we wanter do any sailin' it's time to be off, 'cause this wind's dyin' out mighty fast." "It's better late than never, Jim," Harry cried cheerily as he commenced to push at the bow of the boat. "Let's get the old craft afloat, and do our talking afterward." To launch the Sally into deep water was quite a hard task owing to her breadth of beam; but after that had been done the labor was ended for a time, save such as might be necessary with the bailing-dish. Jim stepped the short mast with its well-worn leg-of-mutton sail, got one of the oars aft as a rudder, and the full-bowed clipper began to move through the water slowly, but with a splashing and a wake sufficient for a craft ten times her size. "We can't run along the coast very well 'cause the wind's blowin' straight out to sea, an' she don't stand up to it like a narrower boat would," the skipper said as he settled himself back comfortably in the stern-sheets while he pulled the fragment of a straw hat down over his eyes. "Let's sail before the wind two or three miles and then row back," Walter suggested. "I'd like to get to the hotel before mother comes." "It'll be a tough pull," Jim replied as he glanced at the clumsy oars. "I'd rather row the Sally one mile than two." "Harry and I will do that part of the work." "Then let her go," and as Jim eased off on the sheet the old craft came around slowly, for she was by no means prompt in answering the helm. "See that ship over there? How far away is she?" Harry asked as he pointed seaward, when the Sally was well under way. "That ain't a ship," Jim replied with a slight tone of contempt because his companions were so ignorant. "She's a brigantine, an' hard on to three miles from here." "Let's run over to where she is. We can row back by dinner-time easily enough." Since his crew were to do all the work on the return trip Jim would have been perfectly willing had the distance been twice as far, and he gave assent by nodding his head in what he intended should be a truly nautical manner. The brig, which was now the objective point of the trip, appeared to be a craft of about three hundred tons, and moving through the water slowly, under the influence of the rapidly-decreasing wind, on a course at right-angles with the one the Sally was pursuing. She was running with yards square, under her upper and lower topsails, foresail, jib and foretop-mast stay-sail, and the head-sheets were flowing. "She ain't goin' so fast but what we can come up with her before the breeze dies away, I reckon, an' if she's becalmed they won't say anything agin our goin' aboard," Jim said after a few moments of silence, during which all hands gazed intently at the stranger. The idea of visiting a vessel at sea was very enticing to the city boys, and they were now as eager for a calm as they had previously been to have the wind freshen. The Sally took in so much water between her half-calked seams that it was necessary to keep the bailing-dish in constant use, consequently there was little time for speculation as to where the brig was bound until, when they had sailed not more than a mile and a half, Jim said in a tone of mild disappointment: "It's no use, fellers, we can't get there. It's dead calm, an' we ain't makin' a foot an hour." "What's to prevent our rowing?" Harry asked. "You take down the sail and keep the bailing dish going while Walter and I show you how to make the Sally walk." "I'm willin' if you are," and Jim unshipped the stumpy mast. "My vessel won't get under way before mornin', an' it makes no difference if I ain't back till sunrise." To make the Sally "walk" required a great deal of hard work; but since it was under the guise of play Harry and Walter went at it with a will, while Jim wondered what sport boys could find in pulling a heavy boat, for this was the one portion of a fisherman's life at which he rebelled. Slowly but surely the little craft gained upon the larger one, which swung to and fro on the lazy swell, and when they were about a quarter of a mile apart Jim said, in a tone of disapprobation: "The crew on that brig are worse'n fishermen. Every one of 'em must be below, for I haven't seen so much as a feller's nose yet. Perhaps some of the crew have gone ashore--the gangway's unshipped." Unacquainted with nautical matters as the city boys were, they did not think there was anything strange in such a condition of affairs, but kept steadily at work with the oars until Jim scrambled into the bow to fend off, the journey having been finished. "I'll make fast here while you go aboard," he said as he seized the ladder of rope and wood which hung over the rail as an invitation to visitors. "We'd better find out first whether they're willing to have us," Harry suggested. "That'll be all right," and Jim spoke very confidently. "If you're afraid I'll go first; but it seems kinder strange that somebody don't hail us." Having made the Sally's painter fast, Jim clambered over the side closely followed by his companions; but not a person could be seen on deck. The fore hatch was lying bottom upward, and the appearance of the ropes indicated decided carelessness on the part of the crew, yet no sound was heard save the creaking of the booms as they swung lazily to and fro. "What's the matter?" Harry asked in a whisper as he noted the look of fear which came over Jim's face. "I'm sure I don't know. Let's see if we can raise anybody;" and then Jim shouted, "Ahoy below! ahoy!" No reply came. Again and again was the cry repeated, until Walter asked, impatiently: "Are you afraid to go into the cabin and stir them up?" Jim would have braved many dangers rather than be thought a coward, and without answering the question he leaped down from the rail, running first into the forecastle and then the cabin, after which he returned to his companions with a very pale face as he said, in a tremulous whisper: "Boys, there ain't a single soul on this 'ere brig but ourselves, an' there's a sword on the cabin floor! Do you s'pose pirates are anywhere around?" CHAPTER II. THE BONITA. Harry and Walter remained motionless and speechless on the rail staring at Jim for several moments after this startling announcement had been made, and there was a decided look of fear on the faces of all three. The mere suggestion of pirates was enough to send the cold chills down their spinal columns, while the mystery connected with the abandonment of an apparently sound craft caused them to feel very uncomfortable in mind. Walter glanced apprehensively over his shoulder as if expecting to see some terrible sight seaward, and the slightest ominous sound would have sent the visitors into the Sally as the only place of refuge. It was fully five minutes before Harry succeeded in gaining the mastery over his fears, and then he said, with an evident attempt to make his voice sound firm as he leaped from the rail: "Say, boys, we're making fools of ourselves by getting frightened at an empty ship! Suppose the pirates _have_ been on board; there are none here now, and I don't see any reason why we shouldn't go below." "I'm with you," Jim replied; but by taking up his position at Harry's side he showed very plainly that it was not his intention to lead the exploring party. "I'll go, too, rather than stay on deck alone; but, according to my way of thinking, we'd better start for the Isle of Shoals instead of staying on a vessel like this." And once more Walter looked over the rail at the Sally, which was taking in water quite rapidly now that the bailing-dish was idle. Harry and Jim had started toward the cabin before Walter ceased speaking, therefore he had no choice save to follow them, and with an undefined feeling of awe the three went down the stairs into a comfortably but not expensively furnished saloon, from each side of which led the eight state-rooms. To judge by the general appearance of affairs one would have said that the officers had but just gone on deck. On the long, stationary table were sewing materials and a woman's work-basket; in one of the chairs an open book, and on a locker was the log-slate with the reckoning partially worked out. The only suspicious object to be seen was a sword, which had been withdrawn from its scabbard and thrown on the cabin floor. The blade was covered with spots which might have been blood-stains or nothing but rust, and the visitors gathered around the sinister-looking weapon without offering to touch it. "The sword doesn't prove that pirates have been here," Harry said, after a long silence. "There couldn't have been much of a fight or we should see more signs of it. Perhaps somebody is in one of the state-rooms." "It won't take long to find out." And Jim boldly opened the nearest door, a goodly portion of his courage having returned since the search thus far had failed to reveal any very horrible sight. In rapid succession the searchers went from one room to another, stopping at each only long enough to make sure no person was concealed therein, and to take a general but hasty survey of its contents. Every tiny apartment showed signs of recent occupancy. A sea-chest, clothes hanging on the walls, and such belongings as a sailor would deem necessary for a long voyage, could be seen. In one state-room was a set of gold studs and sleeve-buttons and a new quadrant. In another, which Jim confidently asserted was the captain's, a watch hung at the head of the berth, while a small writing-desk was littered with papers. "All hands have gone somewhere, that's certain," Jim said when the search was concluded; "an' before we go ashore it won't do any harm to have dinner. If the pantry has been left like the cabin, we stand a good chance of finding plenty of grub." "I'm hungry enough to eat almost anything," Harry replied with a laugh. "So if you know where the food is kept we'll have lunch before beginning the long pull home." Jim was thoroughly well acquainted with the general arrangement of vessels of this size, and without hesitation he led the way to the pantry, where was found a large assortment of delicacies for the cabin table. In this room were many boxes and packages which had not been broken, and as each bore the mark "Brig Bonita," the name of the craft was known as well as if the boys had seen the gilt letters under the stern. Just at this time, however, the visitors gave but little heed to anything connected with the abandoned craft save the provisions, and these they sampled generously, beginning with nuts and ending with jam; each one eating until it was an absolute impossibility to swallow another mouthful. During the varied but hearty meal they failed to notice that the brig had heeled over slightly, or that there was considerable more motion than when they first came aboard. The feast drove all thoughts of the general condition of affairs from their minds until it was finished, and then Jim said: "Now, what's to be done? It seems a pity to leave this craft and all these things; but I don't s'pose we could tow her in to the Shoals." Even though Harry and Walter knew nothing about seamanship, they understood how ridiculous it would be to make any attempt at towing a three-hundred-ton brig with a crazy little boat like the Sally, and their merriment was so great when Jim made this remark that he thought it necessary to defend himself by saying: "I've seen folks tow bigger vessels than this; an' I was only thinkin' how fine it would be to take her in, for since there's nobody aboard we'd own everything." "Well, so long as it can't be done we'd better go back," Walter said as he suddenly remembered his neglect of duty and the very grave reason why he should be at the hotel before his mother returned. Neither Harry nor Jim believed there was any necessity for making a hurried departure, and fully half an hour more elapsed before they were ready to go on deck. Even then they would have delayed still further had not a violent motion of the vessel caused Jim to cry, as he sprang toward the companion-way: "The wind has freshened, and if we want to get back to-night it's time we were off!" Then, as he gained the deck, fear and surprise took the place of his suddenly aroused anxiety. The wind had sprung up and must have done so a long while before, for now there was no sign of land in either direction, unless, indeed, a dark smudge far down to windward might be the island which had been so close aboard a few hours previous, and the Bonita was working on a zigzag course seaward. Owing to the fact that the head-sheets were flowing, each time she fell off sufficiently to get the wind abaft the beam she would fill her topsails and gather way, then come to, stop, and again fall off; making, as a sailor would say, "boards and half-boards." Harry and Walter were so thoroughly amazed and alarmed by this sudden disappearance of the land, as it were, that they gave no heed to anything around them, but stood by the port rail amidships, searching in vain with their eyes for the island. Jim's knowledge of seamanship was decidedly limited; but he understood fully why the Isle of Shoals was no longer in sight, and his one thought was how they could leave the vessel, which was literally running away with them. Springing to the main chains where the Sally had been made fast, a single glance was sufficient to show of what little service she would be to them just then. Leaking as she did, and towed now and then at a rapid rate, the little craft was filled with water, nothing save a very small portion of the bow upheld by the painter being visible. Hardly knowing what he did, the young fisherman ran fore and aft in a distracted way until Harry, aroused from his stupefaction by Jim's apparently aimless movements, asked in a sharp tone of nervous irritation: "What are you doing? Are we to stay here without trying to get back?" "I wish you would tell me what we can do;" and Jim stopped short as he plunged his hands deeply in his pockets, looking Harry squarely in the face. "The Isle of Shoals must be a dozen miles away by this time; the Sally is swamped, an' there's nothin' in the shape of a boat on board." "But we _can't_ stay here and be carried out to sea!" Walter cried in a shrill tone of fear. "If you think it's possible to swim back we won't stay; but I don't know of any other way to get there!" For an instant Walter acted as if he intended to make the attempt; and then, as Harry seized his arm to prevent him from leaping overboard, the poor boy gave way to the most passionate grief, he began to realize the full consequences of his disobedience, and could he have been transported to the land just at that moment, Bessie would have opened her eyes wide in surprise at the great display of brotherly affection. It seemed as if Walter's tears served to restore to Jim at least a portion of his senses, for he immediately assumed a business-like tone as he said: "Now see here, fellers, we're in a scrape of course; but it won't do any good to give up like this, 'cause if we try to help ourselves things may turn out all right." "If we can't get back in the Sally I don't see how we're going to help ourselves very much," and Harry made every effort to appear brave that Walter might be cheered. "Some vessel will surely heave in sight before long, an' we can signal to her. The first thing is to find a flag an' set it half-mast, union-down. Any craft would try to find out what the matter was after seein' a thing like that, an' jes' as likely as not we'll be picked up before dark. Then we must get some of this canvas off of her so she can't sail so fast, an' when that's done matters won't be so very bad, for we can keep goin' straight ahead till we come out somewhere." Jim spoke in such a matter-of-fact tone that the courage of his companions was revived at once. They had not thought of the possibility that a vessel might be sighted; but now it seemed very probable, and the two boys set about the proposed task with hopeful hearts. The wind continued to freshen, and in her limping way the Bonita worked slowly but surely seaward with a wide expanse of ocean before her, while the force on board was hardly sufficient to keep the helm steady in heavy weather. CHAPTER III. A SMALL CREW. As they searched for the flag-locker Jim did his best to keep hope alive in the hearts of his companions by talking as if it was impossible they could run many hours longer without meeting some craft from which assistance could be procured; but even as he spoke he knew it would not be strange if a week, or even more, elapsed before anything larger than a sea-bird's wing came within their range of vision. He had been in the Mary Walker on the fishing banks when it was known there were many vessels in the vicinity, and yet not a sail was seen for ten days. While the wind held in the same direction the Bonita would be too far north to sight any of the coastwise traders, and Jim was well aware that it might be a long while before they could summon aid. The flag-locker was found after a short search, and when the stars and stripes were hoisted as a signal of distress the bright colors appeared to afford Harry and Walter no slight amount of relief. "If a vessel comes within sight that must attract attention," Harry said hopefully. "I don't suppose any captain would pass us by without at least asking what was the matter." "It would be a pretty mean sailor who wouldn't try to help us," Jim replied; and then, as the thought came that it might be many days before the flag would be seen by any one save themselves, he added in a voice which was far from steady, "Now let's try to hoist the Sally inboard. She'll be knocked to pieces if we tow her, an' there's no knowin' how soon she may be needed." "Tell us what to do and we'll obey orders," Harry said cheerily. "I'm not sure but we can run this craft as well as a full crew could, so long as you know enough to be captain." Jim was thoroughly well aware of his own ignorance; but no good could be gained by admitting such a fact, and he began to give commands in a very loud tone, as if the noise would drive away his dismal forebodings. There was no lack of blocks which could be used, and by fastening a whip to the Sally's bow she was soon hauled in over the rail minus her cargo of water. "If we stay here long enough we must calk the seams," Jim said as he wiped the perspiration from his face. "It won't be a hard job, an' we may need her pretty bad." "Why not do it now?" Walter asked. "Because we ought to got some of this canvas in before it blows any harder; but it would puzzle a better sailor than I am to know how it's to be done unless we leave everything loose." Neither Harry nor Walter could give any advice, and Jim was forced to work out the problem unaided. "I'll tell you what it is," he said, after studying the matter in silence several moments. "It won't do to strip her entirely, for then we couldn't keep steerage-way on. The jib, foretopsail, and mainsail won't be more'n enough to steady her, and if the wind don't come any stronger, I reckon we can take care of the helm." "Do you mean that we're to pull down them big pieces of canvas?" Walter asked in dismay. "If I did mean that, it couldn't be done. By carrying the halyards to one of the winches, though, we can clew them up after awhile; but it'll be kinder hard work." Then Jim set about the task which at first sight appeared to be impossible, and, incredible though it may seem, had before dark stripped the brig of all the canvas save what he proposed to keep her under while the weather remained fair. His slight knowledge of seamanship was sufficient to show him how work should be performed, and with the winch as a very material aid the huge squares of canvas were clewed up after rather a clumsy fashion. When this had been done Jim went to the helm, which he lashed in one position when the task of shortening sail was first begun, and soon the Bonita was sailing properly dead before the wind, but in a lazy manner, as if sulking because deprived of so many of her white wings. "That's a good job well over," he said with a long-drawn sigh of relief. "Now, if it blows very hard, we can soon get rid of the mainsail and jib." "Where are we heading for?" Harry asked, the severe labor having in a certain measure dulled the grief in his heart. "I don't know--straight across the ocean I reckon," Jim replied; and then observing that his companions had noted the look of anxiety on his face, he added in a lighter tone, "It seems kinder funny that we three boys should be sailin' this craft like as if she was our own--don't it?" "I wish we'd never seen her nor the Sally Walker," Walter cried passionately. "Nobody knows when we can get back, and our parents will think we meant to run away!" "Now, don't get to feelin' bad ag'in," Jim said soothingly. "It won't do any good, an' you'll be jes' so much the worse off. We've got to have supper, an' who'll be cook?" "I'll do what I can toward it; but I don't believe I'd know how to make even so much as a cup of tea," and Harry rose to his feet. "Jes' bring up a lot of grub from the pantry; that'll be enough. To-morrow I'll show you how to steer, an' take a turn in the galley myself." Harry beckoned Walter to follow him; for, if the truth must be told, he felt rather nervous about going into the cabin alone. Now that they were on the open ocean, at the mercy of wind and wave, the deserted saloon seemed peopled with things none the less horrible because unseen. Every inanimate object had suddenly taken on a most sinister appearance; and the rusty sword on the floor seemed to bear witness of the tragedy which had caused a sound, well-found vessel to be abandoned in such haste. Neither of the boys cared to look around the saloon in which the shadows of night were gathering. They walked swiftly through into the pantry, selected such articles of food as were nearest at hand, and then went on deck very quickly. Jim had lashed the helm again and was in the maintop looking seaward in the vain hope of seeing a sail, and his apparent calmness, together with the warm breeze, the water sparkling under the rays of the setting sun, and the regular movement of the brig as she rose and fell on the swell, served to banish the fears caused by that desolate-looking cabin. When twilight came, that time when homesickness always appears with redoubled violence, the three involuntary voyagers were eating a meal composed chiefly of delicacies, and Jim understood that his companions must be prevented from dwelling upon their own condition; therefore, as a means of cheering all hands, himself included, he proposed to spin a yarn in true sailor fashion. From the number of so-called ghost stories which the crew of the Mary Walker were wont to relate during their leisure moments he chose the most horrible, and some time before it was concluded he understood that he had succeeded in banishing homesickness at the expense of an invitation to fear. Even he himself began to be afraid because of his own "yarn," when it was told on the deck of a vessel so mysteriously abandoned as had been the Bonita, and the sighing of the night-wind through the rigging sounded very "ghostly" in his ears. The three boys huddled close together, neither speaking above a whisper until after the moon rose, and then matters began to seem more cheerful. Jim changed the unpleasant current of thought by speculating upon the strange sights they might see if it was possible for them to keep the brig on the same course until they made land, and by ten o'clock all hands had so far gained the mastery over fear that the young captain proposed an arrangement for the night. "We can't stay awake all the time," he said sagely, "so s'posin' you fellers go below an' turn in. If the wind dies out much more I'll lash the wheel an' join you; but if it don't one of you will have to spell me 'long toward mornin'." "I don't care about going below," Walter replied in a half-whisper. "Why can't we sleep out here on deck?" "There's nothin' to prevent it; but you'll be cold before mornin' if you don't get some blankets from the cabin." Even Harry was timid about venturing into the saloon since that particularly horrible ghost story had been told; and very likely Jim understood this fact, for he said, after a brief pause: "If you'll hold the wheel, Walter, an' Harry will come with me, I'll get the bedclothes." This proposition was accepted, and a few moments later a mattress and half a dozen blankets were spread out on the deck aft, the whole forming such a bed as even less tired boys would not have despised. There was yet sufficient food remaining from the supply brought for supper to serve as a lunch in case any of the party grew hungry before daylight; therefore, as Jim said, "they were pretty well fixed for the night." The wind was decreasing each moment, and, regardless of the possibility that it might spring up again from a different quarter, the helm was lashed amidships that all hands might sleep. "I reckon some of us will wake up if it blows hard, an' considering that we don't know where we're goin', it can't make much difference whether anybody is at the wheel or not." The young fisherman laid down as he ceased speaking, and his companions, in blissful ignorance of the possible danger to be incurred by this unseamanlike proceeding, seeing nothing rash or strange in thus leaving the brig to care for herself, followed the example of their commander. The bed was hardly as soft as Harry and Walter had been accustomed to sleeping on, perhaps; but it was not uncomfortable, and in a few moments all three were in dreamland. CHAPTER IV. A VOICE FROM THE SEA. The small crew of the Bonita were weary almost to the verge of exhaustion. Excitement and grief had fatigued them even more than the long pull in the Sally; therefore all three slept as soundly as if they had been snugly tucked-up in bed at home, and when the sun came from his bath in the sea they were yet unconscious that another day had dawned. When Jim, who was the first to awaken, opened his eyes, he rose suddenly to a sitting posture with a misty idea that his slumbers had been disturbed by the sound of a human voice. It was several seconds before he fully realized where he was; but the deserted deck of the brig and the Sally upturned on the main hatch soon brought back to his mind all the strange occurrences of the previous day, after which he began to speculate whether it was in a dream that he heard a low, feeble hail of "Brig ahoy!" Harry and Walter were both asleep, consequently neither of them had spoken. Rising to his feet he gazed eagerly over the placid ocean, but without seeing the ardently-longed-for sail. "I reckon I was dreaming," he said to himself, and then the thought of their lonely position drove everything else from his mind. "We must be out of the track of vessels or one would be in sight by this time; and when the next storm comes up it'll be good-by all hands, for we can't manage a craft like this in a gale. I ain't sure, but----" "Brig ahoy! ahoy!" This time there was no mistake. It was a hail hardly more than a whisper, but yet so distinct as to prevent any possibility that it was a trick of the imagination. One would have said it came from the sea directly beneath the brig's stern, and Jim's face grew pale with fear as he looked quickly around without seeing so much as a floating timber. "There's something wrong about this craft," he muttered, "Sailors don't run away from a sound vessel without a pretty good reason, an' I reckon she's haunted!" "Brig ahoy! Help a dying man! Ahoy on board!" The words were spoken more feebly than before, and Jim, thoroughly convinced he had heard something supernatural, awakened his companions by shaking them nervously. "Get up quick!" he said in a hoarse whisper. "This brig has been hailed three times, an' there isn't even a fly in sight!" Harry and Walter were on their feet in an instant gazing around in bewilderment; but seeing nothing, and after Jim had told his story, he asked in a voice trembling with fear: "What shall we do? I'd rather take my chances on the Sally, even if we are out of sight of land, than stay here another minute. This brig has got ghosts aboard!" "I don't hear anything," Harry said, the bright sun and sparkling water investing the vessel with a sense of life and animation directly at variance with any supposed supernatural visitations. "You're mistaken, Jim, that's all." "Wait a little while," Jim replied, shaking his head gravely as if the subject was too serious to admit of any discussion. The boys were destined to be skeptical but a few seconds longer. Before another moment had passed a low groan was heard as if coming from beneath their feet, and all three instinctively ran across the deck to the starboard rail, to put the greatest possible distance between themselves and the unearthly sound. This short flight was the one thing needed to reveal the seeming mystery; for as Jim leaped into the main rigging with the intention of going aloft, if the ghostly voice was heard again, he involuntarily glanced downward. "Look! Look there!" he cried excitedly, pointing toward the water; and, following with their eyes the direction indicated by his trembling hand, the boys saw a Whitehall-built boat about twenty feet long made fast to the main-chains. An oar lashed to one of the thwarts served as a mast, and fastened to this was a small piece of canvas. All these details were not at first remarked, for in the bottom, lying face downward as if dead, was a man. His outstretched hands looked like claws, so tightly was the skin drawn over the bones, and even though covered with clothing it could be seen that his body was wasted almost to a skeleton. Unaccustomed though Harry and Walter were to such sights, it was not necessary for Jim to explain that the occupant of the boat was a shipwrecked sailor in the last stages of starvation. The night had been calm, and he probably propelled his craft with oars after the wind died away, making her fast to the main-chains as he uttered the cry which awakened Jim, and ceasing his appeal for help only when consciousness deserted him. It was several moments that the boys stood gazing at these mute evidences of agony without making any effort to relieve the sufferer, and then Harry asked: "Can't we do something to help him? Perhaps instead of being dead he has only fainted." "I ought to be kicked for standin' here like a fool!" Jim exclaimed as he clambered over the side, and an instant later he was lifting the man to a sitting posture, crying, meanwhile: "Bring some water quick!" Walter ran into the cabin, all fear of the place having been banished by the desire to aid the sufferer, and in a few seconds passed a pitcher of water into the boat. Jim was an awkward nurse; but his patient had more vitality than was apparent at the first glance, and before the boy could bathe his face thoroughly he had revived sufficiently to grasp the pitcher with both hands, drinking most greedily. "Don't let him have all he wants!" Harry cried. "I've heard that people who have been almost starved shouldn't have too much at a time." Jim tried to wrest the pitcher from the man's desperate clutch, but he swallowed the liquid more eagerly, and the boy was forced to exert all his strength in order to accomplish his purpose. "Wait a bit," he said as he held the vessel behind him. "You can drink till you bu'st, after a spell, but I reckon Harry's right about takin' too much just now." The man looked fiercely at Jim for an instant as if about to spring upon him and thus obtain that which would quench his burning thirst, and then, controlling himself with an effort, he asked in a whisper: "Where are the crew?" "There ain't any on board. Us three boys are alone. Have you got strength enough to climb over the rail?" Instead of answering the question the man attempted to rise to his feet, but his limbs refused to obey the will, and he sank back on the thwart as if about to relapse into unconsciousness again. "Here, drink some more water," Jim cried quickly; and when the sufferer had swallowed half a dozen mouthfuls eagerly, he shouted to the others: "Lean over the rail and try to get hold of him!" At the same moment he lifted the emaciated form--he had often raised heavier burdens--until those above could seize him under the arms, after which the remainder of the task was easy of accomplishment. Harry and Walter carried the sailor to the mattress on the port side, lying him upon it tenderly; and while they were thus occupied, Jim climbed on deck once more, running directly to the pantry. A case of canned soup was among the stores, and without waiting to select any particular kind he seized one of the tins and carried it to the galley. To build so much of a fire as would be sufficient to heat the soup was but the work of a few moments, and then he carried a bowl full of the nourishing food aft, saying, as he handed it to the starving man: "I don't reckon it'll do you any harm to eat this. I'll get a spoon, an' one of us fellers will feed you." There was no necessity for any such preparation. The sailor still had strength enough to raise the bowl to his lips, and in the shortest possible space of time it had been drained of its contents. "I s'pose you could pump two or three gallons into him before he'd know there was anything inside," Jim said in a low tone to Harry as the sufferer laid back on the pillows with closed eyes. "What'll we do? Give him some more?" "Hold on a few minutes and see if he asks for it. I think he's going to sleep." Jim went forward again, where he could be alone while thinking over this addition to their number, and instead of finding relief in the coming of the stranger it seemed to him as if the matter had grown more complicated. "It was tough enough for us before," he said as he went into the galley; "but what we're goin' to do with a sick man on our hands beats me." He was not in so much despair as to forget that as yet they had not breakfasted, however, and he at once set about preparing a reasonably elaborate meal. The wind was not sufficient to lift the narrow thread of blue which hung from the mast-head. The brig rose and fell on the lazy swell, swinging her bow from one point of the compass to another under the influence of ocean currents or eddies, and there was nothing to claim Jim's attention save the culinary duties he had thus voluntarily assumed. Before breakfast was ready Harry came into the galley for more soup, explaining that the stranger had awakened and asked for food; and by the time the invalid was fed again Jim called his companions to partake of the result of his labors. The boys talked of little else, while they were eating, save regarding the man who slumbered on the mattress aft. His coming had temporarily driven from their minds the sorrow caused by the enforced absence from home, and in this respect, at least, it was productive of good. "There's one thing about it," Jim said, when the conversation was ended with the meal, and they had failed to realize that the shipwrecked man might be of great assistance in the future, "his boat is a long ways ahead of the Sally, an' I wouldn't be afraid to sail anywhere in her. She ought to be hoisted inboard, an' if he's asleep now we'd better try to hook her on the davit-falls." The man was asleep, and before washing the breakfast dishes Jim made preparations for securing the boat, which he rightly believed would be so valuable when the time came to abandon the Bonita. This work was by no means easy of accomplishment, even though there was neither sea nor wind to interfere with the laborers; but it was finally finished successfully, and the young captain had no slight satisfaction in the thought that he and his crew were now well prepared for the worst. It was two hours past noon before the rescued man awakened again, and Jim had more soup heated, this time allowing his patient to eat and drink all he wished. "Go ahead," he said as he served the food aft, placing a number of dishes on the house, "for there's plenty aboard to fill up a man twice your size. Call on us for what you want an' I reckon we can find it." The sailor was greatly refreshed by this third meal, and when it was concluded the ghastly look on his face had given place to what appeared very much like evidence of returning strength. "Tell me how you boys happen to be on board here alone?" he asked; and Jim began at once to relate their misadventures, which commenced with the cruise in the Sally. "We don't feel very much like stayin' on this vessel, for of course there's something wrong about her or the crew wouldn't 'a' left everything behind!" he said in conclusion; "but we couldn't start away in the Sally, 'cause she leaks so bad. Now that we've got your boat, we can say good-by to the brig as soon as you're well." "What's the use of abandonin' a good craft like this?" "'Cause we can't manage her, an'--an'--Well, to tell the truth, I'm kinder afraid." The stranger smiled as if he thought Jim's fears very foolish; but at the same time he could give no reasonable guess as to why the Bonita had been abandoned. CHAPTER V. BOB BRACE'S STORY. As a matter of course the boys were eager to hear the sailor's story; but no one asked any questions, believing he would relate the particulars of what was evidently a disaster when he had recovered his strength sufficiently to spin a lengthy yarn. And in this they were not mistaken. Before sunset he was able to sit up, and greatly to the satisfaction of his companions he volunteered the information they were so impatient to gain. "Most likely you're wantin' to know how Bob Brace, able seaman, got pulled down to a reg'lar bag of bones like this?" he said toward the close of the afternoon while the boys were gathered around him. "I reckon you've been wrecked," Jim replied, "an' we'd like to know about it, but don't want you to talk till you're feelin' all right." "A sailorman picks up mighty quick after he's where he can get hold of a well-filled mess-kid, an' when its cabin grub that's poured inter him the rarity of the thing helps out amazin'. I reckon I'm the only one of the Trade Wind's crew that's alive. We sailed from New York for Cardiff five weeks ago, an' had the best kind of weather for twenty days when a reg'lar nor'-easter struck us the afternoon of Thursday, nine days past as near as I can figger. There was time to get in the royals an' to'gallant sails before night; but the gale kept growin' worse so the spanker was downed, the main course hauled up an' furled, an' she was put fair before the wind, which had been workin' around to the east'ard. By the next mornin' we was snugged down with nothin' but the main-topsail, foresail an' fore-stays'l showin', an' the old hooker duffin' into it mighty hard. "It looked as if she'd weather it all right till eight bells on Friday mornin', when every thread of canvas was blown off the spars, leavin' us wallowin' in a chop sea that stove the bulwarks an' swept the decks clean before we could heave her to on the port tack by settin' the lower main-tops'l. By this time the fo'castle was drownded out, an' all hands bunked in the cabin till Saturday, when there was no more watches below, for she was takin' water so fast that everybody up to the captain had to stand by the pump. We managed to keep the old barkey afloat till Sunday, when the long-boat an' yawl--the gig had been stove--were launched. "There ain't much use to tell the rest, for it's like what you must 'a' heard many times. We in the yawl had six gallons of water, an' them in the long-boat had a bag of bread. Before we could divide the stores the bark went down, one of her spars striking the long-boat, an' we never saw a soul of 'em ag'in. I reckon pretty nigh every one was killed by the ruffle. The yawl held six, all told, an' I'm the last. The lack of food wasn't so bad till the water give out, an' then the weakest went first. Yesterday I threw the last body overboard, an' this mornin' after it fell calm your craft hove in sight. "I didn't believe I could lift an oar; but it was life or death for sure, an' I managed to do it, losin' my head entirely after makin' fast to the main-chains an' not gettin' any answer to the hail. That's the whole of the story. It ain't very much in the tellin'; but, lads, the livin' of it was somethin' a man don't like to think about very long at a time. The question to be settled now is, where are we, an' what's the course to the nearest port? Did you find anything below that looked like a log-book?" "We didn't hunt round in the cabin very much, but if it'll do any good we'll overhaul things now," Jim replied, the sense of companionship which had come when Bob Brace revived sufficiently to tell his story causing him to lose a certain portion of his fear at going below. "The log-book would tell us where the brig was when the crew abandoned her, an' from that we might shape some kind of a course. Help me over to the wheel, an' I can manage to hold her steady while you boys are rummagin'." The knowledge that immediate action was necessary to save their lives, as well as what might prove to be a valuable cargo, had a beneficial effect on Brace, and Harry fancied he could see him growing stronger each moment. With but little aid he seated himself near the wheel, after which the boys went below to make a thorough search of the saloon and state-rooms. The approach of night had already filled the cabin with gloom, and to dispel this Jim lighted the swinging lamps, thus giving to the interior a less sinister appearance. The sword still remained on the floor, however, and all felt that this reminder of what had possibly been a deadly encounter must be removed before the place could be divested of its horrors. "It ain't anything but a piece of steel, no matter what's been done with it," Jim said by way of reassuring himself; and then, lifting the weapon very gingerly, he threw it under the berth in one of the state-rooms, closing and locking the door quickly, as if fearing that by some supernatural agency it might spring upon him. This horror of an inanimate object may sound foolish when read in print with nothing in one's surroundings to inspire terror; but if the situation of these three boys be taken into consideration, together with the mystery attending the abandonment of the brig, very many excuses can be found for their superstitious fears. The search was made thoroughly, but no log could be found. The slate, on which the brig's position had been partially worked out, was the only article which might have thrown any light on the matter, and this Bob Brace could not understand. "You see I ain't much of a navigator at the best, an' this bit of figgerin' beats me," he said when the boys returned with the fruit of their labor. "If we can't get any idee of our true position we'll have to make a guess at it. How far do you reckon this 'ere brig has sailed since you come aboard?" Jim frankly confessed that he was ignorant on that point. He described the position of the canvas when they found the Bonita, and the probable time she had been under shortened sail; but this was not very valuable information. The statement was hardly concluded when Bob interrupted him by asking angrily, as his gaze fell upon some object forward: "Wasn't you in trouble enough when the brig carried you off but that it must be made worse by turnin' that hatch over?" "We didn't do it," Harry replied quickly. "It was in that position when we came aboard." "Then it's no wonder the crew took to the boats," and Bob wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his coat, apparently as much disturbed by this trifling matter as the boys had been at the sight of the sword. "Why?" Jim asked, disturbed in no slight degree by the look of fear on the old sailor's face. "How can a little thing like that do any harm?" "If you'd seen as much as I have you wouldn't call it a little thing," Bob replied in a solemn tone. "I had a messmate in the old Sea Queen what shipped on a English bark, an' the second day out one of the green hands turned the main hatch bottom up. What happened? Why, in less'n a month the bark turned turtle on 'em, an' all but four went to Davy Jones' Locker. It's a bad sign, lads, an' one that I never knew to fail!" "What is it a sign of?" Harry asked impatiently. "Didn't I jes' tell you? It's a sign that this 'ere craft will turn bottom up afore reachin' port, an' we're in big luck to have the Trade Wind's yawl hangin' at the davits." "Well, we'll fix that mighty sudden!" And Jim ran forward as he spoke; but the heavy hatch was more than he could lift unaided. "It won't do any good to turn it now, for the mischief has been done," Bob said in a lugubrious tone; "but you boys had better go for'ard an' help him set it ship-shape." Harry and Walter did as was suggested; but they did not move with alacrity, for the old sailor's superstitious fears had plunged them again into deepest despair. "Don't act as if you'd lost your best friend," Jim said in a whisper when the two came forward. "It's only a mess of sailor's nonsense." "But he says the sign always comes true!" Walter replied mournfully. "That don't make it so. If every fore-hatch what got turned upside down sunk a ship there wouldn't be many vessels afloat. He's all in a heap through bein' starved so long, an' most likely doesn't know more'n half of what he's talkin' about." The boys refused to be comforted. It was but natural that they should believe the eldest member of the party, and he an old sailor, rather than the youngest, more especially as the ominous prediction seemed to be in keeping with all that had happened since they boarded the brig. It was a mournful-looking group which clustered around the wheel when the sun descended behind the waste of waters, for even Jim could not appear cheerful while his companions were so gloomy; and as the darkness settled down over brig and sea Bob repeated the story of his sufferings in the open boat, until the sighing of the light wind through the rigging sounded in their ears like the moaning of some unearthly visitant. "What are you goin' to do about standin' watch?" Jim asked, in order to change the dismal current of thought. "You and I'll have to take the most of it," replied Bob. "I don't know as we can do any better than keep her steady as she goes till some kind of a course is figgered out, for we ain't makin' much headway with this wind. I'll take Harry in my watch an' give you Walter; then if we should have luck enough to sight a craft, a flare can be started without the helmsman's leavin' the wheel. Hunt in the pantry for alcohol--you'll find some there; get a basin outer the galley, an' a bunch of oakum from the fo'castle. We'll have everything ready to signal, an' if a ship does heave in sight there won't be any time lost." Jim didn't fancy searching through the deserted forecastle and cabin in the night; but it was necessary some one should set an example of courage to Harry and Walter, and he went below without a show of hesitation, returning a short time later with the materials Bob desired. When the flare was arranged to the old sailor's satisfaction, he proposed that Jim should stand the first watch, and with a few words of advice relative to the method of using the signal, in case it should become necessary, he and Harry went below, leaving the other two sole occupants of the deck. CHAPTER VI. A CHANGE OF WEATHER. Walter could be of but little assistance on deck, owing to his ignorance of nautical matters; yet in Jim's estimation he formed, as companion to himself, a very important portion of the watch. Brave though the young fisherman tried to appear, nothing short of actually saving his own life would have tempted him to remain on the Bonita's quarter-deck alone in the night; and even with an assistant it seemed necessary for him to whistle very loud during several minutes after Bob and Harry disappeared in the cabin before he had sufficient control over his voice to hide the fear which came upon him. Then he said in what was intended to be a cheery tone: "Well, Walt, I reckon this is the last night we'll run dead before the wind, unless it blows in our favor. By mornin' Bob oughter be strong enough, if he keeps on eatin' same as he has to-day, to help work ship, an' then the brig'll be headed toward home." Walter sighed deeply. Just at that moment he was thinking of the loved ones whom he knew must be mourning his absence, and the word "home" caused such an uncomfortably big lump to rise in his throat that it was impossible to make any reply. Perhaps the same syllable sent Jim's thoughts straying in a similar direction, for he began to whistle once more, and continued to do so until a voice from the companion-way asked, in a querulous tone: "What's the matter? Short-handed as we are, do you think it's goin' to help out by havin' more wind!" "It ain't blowin' any harder than it was when you went below," Jim replied in surprise, understanding by the tone of the voice that it was Bob Brace who had spoken. "That's jes' why you wanter tie up the whistle. It'll bring a gale if you keep on much longer!" Then the sound of footsteps told that the speaker had returned to the cabin, and Jim said, in a low tone, to Walter: "Them old sailors are as full of whims as a dog is of fleas. Some of them on the Mary Walker had signs for everything a feller did; but I never saw any come true. Tom Downey, the mate, allers fussed when birds flew 'round the schooner, 'cause he said they'd bring on a gale, an' in a dead calm he'd either whistle or wish he had a cat to throw overboard." "What for?" "So's to bring a wind. He says it'll allers come when you do that; but of course its foolishness. Then again, if _I_ happened to whistle, no matter how calm it was, I'd get a rope's endin' 'cause they think a boy mustn't so much as squeak. If I'd believed Bob could hear me I'd know'd enough to hold my tongue." "Did you get whipped very often on the Mary?" Walter asked, with a mild curiosity. "More times than I've got fingers an' toes. Whenever any of 'em, from the captain down to the cook, wanted something to do they'd stir me up, an' it makes a feller dance when he gets a good stout heavin'-line across his back; but I'd be willin' to take a pretty big dose of it if I could be on board the old schooner just now." There was no necessity for Walter to repeat this last sentiment. A severe punishment from his father at that moment would have been a positive pleasure. The lightest word in reference to home caused him to realize more keenly each hour the distance between those whom he loved and himself, and Jim's words seemed but the echo of his own thoughts. During fully half an hour the two remained in silence at the wheel, steering the brig through the darkness on a course indicated only by the wind, and then the young fisherman was suddenly recalled from memories of the Mary Walker to the Bonita. The breeze was increasing perceptibly, and the moisture in the atmosphere told that rain might be expected very soon. While the boys had given themselves up to reverie the clouds were gathering, until now it seemed as if they actually enveloped the brig as with an impenetrable vapor, and the waters dashed against the bow with that peculiar sullen sighing which betokens a storm. The Bonita no longer sailed freely, but tossed and plunged like some living thing harassed by obstacles in its path until wearied with the constant strife. Jim knew the meaning of this change in wind and wave, and he roused himself suddenly as does one who is rudely awakened. "I reckon it would be better if we 'tended to our business instead of whinin' about what can't be helped," he said grimly, clutching yet more tightly the spokes of the wheel. "You'll have to go below an' tell Bob that a storm is comin' on, so's we can get in some more of this canvas, if he thinks we're carryin' too much." Walter noted the change in his companion's voice rather than in the elements; but that was sufficient to cause him to move very quickly. It became necessary to look in several of the tiny apartments before finding the two who were enjoying their watch below, after which it was an affair of only a few seconds to arouse them. Bob sprung to his feet before Walter had repeated Jim's words, and he awakened Harry by saying, as he pulled him from the bunk: "Come on deck, lad; for we shall need the whole workin' force unless our fisherman has made a mistake!" To have seen Bob ascend the companion-way ladder one would hardly have supposed he had been so near death a few hours previous. The necessity for action seemed to call back all his strength, and on reaching the deck there was no evidence of weakness in his movements. "Well, the wind you was callin' for has got here," he said to Jim, looking out into the darkness. "I never knew much good to come of boys whistlin' at sea, an' I don't reckon any one else ever did." Jim had nothing to say. He didn't believe he was responsible for this sudden change in the weather; but long and sad experience had taught him how useless it would be to deny the imputation, and he asked meekly: "Do you think we're goin' to have much of a storm?" "It looks like it; but if we had half a crew aboard there wouldn't be any reason for touchin' a rope. The way we're fixed now makes things different, an' we'd better get her snugged down. I'll take the two boys for'ard, an' you ease her up a bit so we can furl the jib. Come on, lads; there ain't much time to waste." Harry and Walter followed Bob without the slightest idea of what was required. They could carry out his instructions when he set the example, however, and in half an hour the Bonita was plunging heavily into the rapidly-rising sea with nothing save the foretopsail drawing. She had no more canvas than might have been shown in the most furious gale; but, under the circumstances, it seemed to be all that was consistent with safety, for no one could say how much wind lurked behind the inky clouds. "Now light the binnacle lamp, Jim, so's we'll have some idea of where we're headin', an' then try your hand at makin' tea. I reckon this will be an all-night job for me, an' as I don't feel so very chipper yet, somethin' warm won't do any harm." Bob took the wheel as he spoke, and Jim obeyed orders, the other boys following him closely, for the stuffy galley was preferable to the deck, where the huge waves, roaring astern, appeared ever on the point of ingulfing the brig. By the time a pot of tea had been steeped the storm was full upon them, causing the Bonita to pitch and toss in what Harry and Walter thought a most dangerous manner. Jim did not feel disturbed by it, however, for in his mind was the knowledge of that greater peril concerning which his companions were ignorant. The brig was dashing on literally at the mercy of the gale, and at any moment might strike a reef or the mainland, to the destruction of all on board as well as her own stout timbers, for the helmsman had no idea of what lay before them. When Jim carried a pannikin of tea aft, leaving the other boys in the galley awaiting his return, Bob said in a low tone, as if fearing his words would be overheard: "You must take the wheel awhile, lad, so I can hunt for the charts. It won't do to storm along like this without a little smatterin' of what's ahead, an' we'll make some kind of a guess as to where the brig was when you picked me up." Jim grasped the spokes firmly, as much for the purpose of steadying himself against the vessel's furious plunging as to hold her before the wind, and after draining the pan of its bitter contents Bob Brace went into the cabin. Owing to the violent motion of the brig the boys in the galley made no effort to join the young fisherman at the helm, and he was left alone during half an hour, when Bob returned. "Did you find the charts?" Jim asked eagerly. "Yes; an' I reckon there's no call to worry ourselves very much. We're runnin' pretty nigh south, an' if the brig was a hundred miles off the coast when I came aboard there's nothin' between us an' the Bahamas. We've got thirteen or fourteen hundred miles of clear water, an' this breeze will blow itself out before----" "Look! Look there!" Jim cried excitedly, heaving the wheel down to port as rapidly as he could handle the spokes. Bob turned quickly, and but one brief glance was sufficient to cause him to spring to the helmsman's aid. There was good reason why the two were alarmed. Directly in the Bonita's course, less than half a cable's length away, a huge fabric of canvas and cordage came out of the gloom like a phantom, as if bent on running down the brig. The stranger had all lowersails set, and a collision would have been fatal to the smaller craft because her headway was so much less than that of the other. "Up with the helm, lad, to meet her as she comes around!" Bob screamed, when the wheel had been jammed hard down for a second, and the Bonita heeled over while responding to the rudder's sudden swing. "We shall clear her, but it'll be a rub." The stranger had also changed her course by this time, and as the two vessels swept past each other on a heaving, screaming sea of foam, hardly twenty feet apart, Jim sprang toward the flare. "You can't bring her to now, lad," Bob shouted as the boy ran into the galley with the basin of alcohol-saturated oakum. "Even if they were willin', we couldn't wear ship." Jim's excitement was so great that he did not hear the old sailor's words. When he emerged from the galley the spirit was sending up a blue flame which illumined the entire after-part of the brig; but the stranger had vanished in the gloom to starboard, and strain his eyes as he might it was impossible to see any answering signal. "You needn't spend much time lookin' for that craft, lad. We've been nearer to her than we shall ever be again, an' you'd better chuck the basin overboard before your fingers get burned." CHAPTER VII. AN UNEXPECTED DANGER. During the remainder of that night Bob Brace stood at the wheel, save now and then when Jim took his place that he might go into the galley to light his pipe or solace himself with a pannikin of tea. When the young fisherman lighted the flare both Harry and Walter firmly believed that the ship which had almost run them down would heave to and offer assistance; therefore, as the Bonita plunged on through the dense gloom and over the howling waters without receiving any answer to the mute appeal for aid, their despair was intense. To have been so near those who might have given help seemed to make their position even more desolate than it was before, and after watching in vain for some show of a light from the stranger the boys gave way to grief. "Now see here, fellers," Jim said gravely as he entered the galley and found them weeping, "feelin' bad won't help matters, an' it'll only make 'em worse. Bob says there wasn't a chance for them on the ship to lend us a hand, even if they wanted to, an' we must keep a stiff upper lip till the weather clears a bit. By this time to-morrow there may be a full crew on board, an' the brig standin' up for the coast; so don't take on so hard. It won't be any use to stay on deck 'cause neither Bob nor me can turn in, so you'd better go below. I'll sing out if there's need for help." Neither of the boys protested against following this advice. Both were perfectly willing to go where they could not witness the conflict of the elements, and when Jim went aft again they sought refuge in the cabin with but little heed to what a few hours previous had been a place peopled with phantoms of the imagination. They were yet below when another day dawned, and Jim prepared an appetizing breakfast before awakening them. The gale still continued in all its fury. With the single piece of canvas the Bonita plunged and rolled on her way southward, for the wind's direction had not changed by so much as half a point, and the watch on deck looked haggard and worn from the long vigil. During the early hours of the morning, while the sun, through its cloudy veil, was trying to dispel the gloom of night, Jim asked if it was not possible to stand nearer the land in the hope of making some port, and Bob replied very decidedly in the negative. "It can't be done, lad. The boys below wouldn't be of any account in makin' sail, an', besides, we'd stand a good show of plumpin' on the coast where there wouldn't be the ghost of a chance to get ashore. We'll keep her as she goes till this wind blows itself out, an' then take to the boat if there's no craft in sight. This brig never'll reach port, 'cordin' to my way of thinkin', and I'll be the first to say 'leave her' when the time comes." On this day there was but little change in the condition of affairs. The gale held strong from the north, but no sail appeared within the anxious watchers' range of vision. Harry and Walter were eager to be of some assistance; but beyond taking a few lessons in steering there was nothing they could do, and their time was passed in comparative idleness. Bob and Jim alternately stood watch and slept until, when night came again, they were in fair bodily condition for the work before them, and once more Harry and Walter retired to the cabin, knowing they ought to do a full share of the labor, but too ignorant to give any save the most trifling aid. Before midnight the wind fined down to a light breeze, still holding from the north, however; and Bob said, with a sigh, as Jim made ready to stand his trick at the wheel: "Ah, lad, if we only had a couple of good men aboard how quick the old hooker's head would be turned toward the coast." "In case we don't sight a vessel why can't you put her about, anyhow?" "We'll make a try to get the lower canvas on in the mornin'. You an' I must have a good bit of help from the watch below, an' they'd be worse than wooden boys in the night." This was not the only reason why Bob made no attempt to get sail on at once. He was yet feeble from the exposure and privations of the nine days in the Trade Wind's yawl, and although there was but little labor involved in such watches as had been kept since coming on board the Bonita, the anxiety prevented an immediate return of strength. "I've heard of vessels comin' in mighty short-handed," Jim said thoughtfully, as if trying to bring forward some argument which might induce the old sailor to take greater risks. "There was a fishin' schooner from Newburyport what lost all her boats in a fog, an' the captain brought her home with nobody but the cook to help." "I ain't a questionin' that, lad. The packet-ship Three Brothers, in the Chinese trade, anchored inside of Sandy Hook ten years ago, an' nobody aboard able to lift a hand but two men and the captain's wife--all the rest down with fever. I could spin yarns from now till daylight 'bout jes' sich cases; we're fixed different. None of us knows navigation, an' its got to be all dead reckonin', which is a pretty shaky way of runnin' even a fishin' schooner. Then, again, Harry an' Walter ain't strong enough to handle the wheel in any kind of a decent breeze, an' it's only you an' me. We must lay by till somethin' more'n a good fair chance comes, else we'll find ourselves in a bad scrape." "Of course you're the one that knows what we ought to do, an' I ain't sayin' a word if we run way down to South America; but it's kinder tough on the boys. I can see 'em, when they think I ain't lookin', wipin' their eyes an' actin' like as if it wouldn't take much to make both yell right out. If they didn't have no more of a home than I've got neither would bother 'bout how long the cruise is likely to last." "I s'pose it does seem rough," Bob said reflectively; "but what's to be done? I reckon they'd rather loaf 'round here a good many days than take chances on a raft. Sailorizin' is a mighty risky thing for green hands, an' while I can hold my own among the best of 'em in the fo'castle, I'd make a poor fist of navigation. They'll have to grin an' bear it same's many a good man has done before 'em." Jim had no reply to make. Even before the conversation was begun he realized the difficulty of reaching port unless under the most favorable circumstances; and now since Bob had spoken so freely he resolved to be patient, no matter how long they might remain at sea. The old sailor, instead of going below, where there would be some trouble to awaken him in the event of a sudden emergency, laid down on the deck to leeward of the house, and a few seconds later his loud breathing told of unconsciousness. To remain at the wheel, the only one of this small crew awake, and in a certain degree responsible for the safety of all, was a task from which even a more experienced sailor than Jim might be excused for shrinking; but it was a matter which could not well be bettered, and the boy stood up to it bravely. Now and then the white crest of a wave in the distance caused him to start with joy, only to be correspondingly depressed a few seconds later as the true nature of the object was discovered; and thus amid alternate hope and despondency the two long hours of his watch were passed. Then Bob took his trick at the wheel, Jim camping down on the deck in the place so lately vacated by the old sailor; and when his eyes were closed in slumber he did not open them again until the sun began to send long shafts of golden light across the leaping waters. "What made you let me sleep so long?" he asked, with just a shade of irritation in his tone. "I was better able to stand watch than you, an' a couple of hours' sleep would a'-fixed me up all right." "Well, lad, somehow the thinkin' of what might be the end o' this 'ere queer cruise kept me awake, an' when I wasn't sleepy there could be no reason for pullin' you out. We'll square it before dark, though. Now s'posen we get a little grub, call the watch below so's they can take a few lessons in steerin', an' be ready for settin' the canvas." Jim, feeling that he was in a certain degree responsible for having thus unconsciously shirked his duty, carried out these instructions with the greatest alacrity. When Harry and Walter were awakened they went aft to their teacher in seamanship, while the amateur cook prepared a hearty breakfast, which was served on the top of the house in order that all might eat at the same time. Then Bob went below for what he called a "double dose of snoozin'." Walter set things to rights in the galley, and Harry steered while Jim stood beside him to make sure the Bonita was kept on the course, exercising as much care as if it was the only one which could be pursued with safety. Although Bob had fully determined to turn the brig toward the coast on this day, there was no change in her course at noon, and for a very good reason. Before daylight the breeze had died away entirely, and at nine o'clock the Bonita was rising and falling on the glassy ocean with not air enough stirring to lift the narrow thread of blue bunting at the main-truck. The involuntary crew had spread the yawl's sail from the house to the starboard rail as an awning, for the heat in the cabin was too great to admit of their remaining below, and under this all sought shelter from the sun's fervent rays. Bob found a reasonably large stock of tobacco among the Bonita's stores, and with this and a short black pipe he occupied himself during the hours of enforced idleness, while the boys thought of home and the loved ones whom they might never see again. The seconds came and went until the sun was directly overhead, and the old sailor had but just settled down for a noonday nap when all four sprang to their feet in alarm, as the deafening crush of an explosion was heard. The brig quivered from stem to stern as if from the effects of a torpedo beneath her keel, and the fore hatch was flung high in the air while a dense cloud of what appeared to be smoke arose from the hold. Astonishment and fear rendered the younger members of the crew incapable either of speech or movement, and they might have remained staring stupidly forward an indefinite length of time if Bob had not shouted, excitedly: "It's a case of fire, lads! Jump to it for what provisions an' water can be got out in a hurry! There's no time to be lost if we want to leave, for most likely the hold is one mass of flame." These hurriedly-spoken commands aroused the boys from their stupefaction, and in an instant all three leaped toward the pantry. Each took what was nearest at hand, and in a very few moments there was a reasonably large but varied collection of canned provisions in the yawl. No water had been put on board for the very good reason that they could not find a breaker; and Jim shouted, after they had searched several moments in vain: "We shall have to leave without anything to drink, for we can't get one of the scuttle-butts on the boat." "I'll stand a pretty good scorchin' afore startin' like that," Bob said decidedly, "'cause you see I know what it is to be thirsty. Fill half a dozen of the fire-buckets while I hunt after bottles." During all this time the smoke had been pouring from the fore hatchway in dense clouds, apparently giving evidence of some mighty conflagration below; but before a supply of water could be put on the yawl it had fined down to a thin curl of vapor, and to this Jim called Bob's attention just as they were preparing to lower the boat. "It looks as if somethin' had put the fire out," he said; and Bob replied, as he let go the davit-falls: "Make fast there, lads, an' I'll take a look below. We don't want to abandon the brig while there's a chance of standin' by her." The old sailor went forward, the boys remaining aft ready to lower away at a moment's notice, and in a few seconds, to the surprise of all, he was seen going below. "Now, that's what I call queer!" Jim said after five minutes had passed and Bob did not make his appearance. "He couldn't stay down there very long if the fire amounted to much." "Perhaps he's been suffocated and can't get back," Harry suggested in a low, tremulous tone. This idea was sufficient to alarm the other boys, and stopping only long enough to make the falls fast they rushed forward, reaching the fore hatchway just as Bob began to ascend. "Is the fire very big?" Jim asked; and the reply astonished them quite as much as had the explosion. "There ain't even a spark!" "Then what caused the smoke?" "The brig is loaded with alcohol in casks made of red-oak. That kind of wood is porous, an' the fumes escapin' have formed a gas that looked like smoke, but which had force enough to blow off a hatch that wasn't battened down." Then, as Bob seated himself on the combing and wiped the perspiration from his face, he added: "Now we can have a pretty good idee as to why this craft was abandoned. There was an explosion same as happened a few minutes ago, an' all hands thought what we did--that the brig was on fire. They hove her to an' got the boats over, most likely meanin' to lay at a safe distance until it was possible to find out what would happen. The mainsail was stowed, so she had no after-canvas to hold her steady. Then she got stern-way-on an' backed off till the wind filled her topsails, when she started like a rocket, leavin' the crew behind. Of course she would run a couple of miles, then come to, an' before the men could catch her she'd be off once more. The chances are that them maneuvers were kept up till night set in, when she was lost entirely." The three boys listened with the utmost attention to this very plausible explanation of what had previously been such a deep mystery, and when Bob concluded there was a look of most intense relief on their faces. Up to this moment the brig herself terrified them because of what had possibly happened on board; but now all seemed changed, and she was suddenly transformed from something supernatural to the most innocent and peaceful of traders. "Then there's no reason for abandoning her?" Harry said half-interrogatively. "Not a bit of it, lad. We'll leave the hatch open to let the gas out, an' run her in on the coast if we don't speak a craft that can lend us two or three hands." "S'posin' you could get some more sailors, then how would you fix it?" Jim asked, remembering what the old man had said regarding his ignorance of navigation. "Take the chances of keepin' off the shore till we sighted a New York pilot-boat, an' then lay claim for a fat salvage." "And we should be landed at home!" Walter exclaimed in delight. "We might stop in front of Harry's father's store, which is close by the wharves; and I guess there'd be a big time when Mr. Vandyne found out who had brought in the Bonita!" "Don't count too much on anything like that, Walt," Harry added gravely. "Bob said he would try to make that port if he could find some sailors to help him; but according to the looks of things now it'll be a long while before such good luck comes." "We can believe it will be here any moment, and then the nights won't seem so lonely, nor the days so long." "That's right, lad; don't trouble trouble till trouble troubles you. Keep a stiff upper lip whatever happens, an' you'll stand a better show of pullin' through!" Bob cried in a cheery tone. "I was shipmate once with a chap what was allers worryin' 'bout findin' hisself on a haunted vessel. He never'd put his mark to the articles till after he'd asked all about the craft, an' whether there was any ghosts aboard. Now, you let a man go nosin' 'round expectin' to see things, an' it happens that what he's huntin' for most allers comes, or else he conjures 'em up. Well, so it was with Tom--Tom Byard, he called hisself. He got drunk one night, an' the next mornin' awoke on a ship bound 'round the Horn with a cargo of railroad iron. "It wasn't long before he commenced to hunt after ghosts, 'an this time he didn't have to look very far. I reckon the liquor--he'd been on a four days' spree--had considerable to do with his eyes; an' that very night, while they was within sight of Sandy Hook, he saw, or thought he did, the biggest kind of a ghost makin' right for him with a bloody knife. Tom was on the maint'gallant-yard with another chap when the thing come. He give a big yell, singing out that he knowed it would be there some time, an' over he went. Nobody ever saw hide or hair of him afterward, an' the captain put in the log-book as how it was delirium tre--tre--tremenjus, or somethin' like that, what killed him." The point that Bob sought to make was forgotten owing to the length of the story, and even he himself appeared to have lost sight of any moral; therefore, what had been intended as a strong argument why people should not seek out trouble passed for nothing better than a very improbable yarn. The boys were eager to see the cargo which had given them so much alarm, and had also possibly been the cause of the brig's abandonment by her original crew; therefore they went below on a tour of investigation, which was not very satisfactory because there was nothing but a quantity of casks to be seen. Ten minutes in the hot hold was sufficient to gratify their curiosity, and then the amateur cook sat about preparing the noonday meal. CHAPTER VIII. ANOTHER SIGNAL OF DISTRESS. Now that the boys had lost all fear of the Bonita, half their troubles seemed suddenly to have vanished. As a matter of course, Harry and Walter grieved because of the sorrow their unexplainable absence must have caused at home; but their distress of mind was lessened very materially by the belief that they would soon be in a condition to return. Even Bob appeared to be relieved by what was evidently the solution of the mystery, and it was quite a jolly party which gathered in the saloon to partake of the dinner prepared by Jim. "Now that things seem to be straightened up a bit, an' all hands are feelin' kinder nat'ral-like, I reckon we'll get some sail on the old hooker this afternoon," Bob said when the meal was finished and he had begun to make ready for the after-dinner smoke. "There ain't wind enough to lift a pocket-handkerchief," Jim suggested, "so why do you want more canvas?" "I don't reckon it'll hold calm a great while, an' we must be ready when the breeze does come. There's time now to give Harry an' Walter a lesson in workin' ship, an' they need it." The boys had no objection to make, for a certain amount of labor was necessary if they ever hoped to reach home again, and they signified their willingness to begin at once; but the old sailor insisted on finishing his smoke before doing anything else. "There's plenty of time," he said lazily, "an' we'll lay under the awnin' till the sun gets a little nearer the water." Then he arose from the table, and as the boys followed on deck they were electrified by hearing him shout, as he shaded his eyes from the glare and gazed southward: "There's a steamer, lads! Now all we've got to do is hook on an' be towed into port. Set the flag so's they'll know we're in distress, an' we'll overhaul the hawsers to save time." Before he ceased speaking the boys had made out that which caused Bob so much excitement. It was a small craft coming toward them under steam, as could be told from the thread of smoke which floated on the still air, and after one glance at her Jim hoisted the signal of distress while the others gathered in the bows to watch the welcome approach. "It ain't a very big steamer," the young fisherman said as he rejoined his companions. "Most likely she's a tug what's got blown out to sea," Bob replied as he went into the cabin for a glass; and when he came on deck again the boys waited impatiently to learn what could be seen. During fully ten minutes the old sailor held the glass to his eyes, while a mystified expression came over his face as he said to Jim: "Here, take this an' see what you can make out. It puzzles me, for a fact." "She looks like a tug," the boy said, after gazing at the approaching craft several seconds; "but there's something queer on her bow." "What about her spars?" Bob asked impatiently. "She's got two short masts, and----Why, what's that? She's flying a signal of distress!" "That's about the size of it," Bob exclaimed as he brought his hand down on the rail with a vigorous slap as if to give emphasis to his words. "I thought my eyes must be playin' me a trick, so that's why I asked you to look. Her bow has been stove, an' she's workin' up this way for help." "Well," and Jim lowered the glass with a gesture of disappointment, "she's comin' to a pretty poor place, for we've got our hands full tryin' to help ourselves." During the next half hour hardly a word was spoken, so occupied were all hands with watching the stranger, which approached very slowly, and at the end of that time she was almost within hailing distance. It was a small tug with a flag run half-way up the stumpy mainmast, and her bow stove from the cut-water nearly to the pilot-house. A stream of water coming from the starboard side told that the steam-pump was necessary to keep her afloat; but no person save a boy about eighteen years of age, who was at the wheel, could be seen. "She must be pretty nigh as short-handed as we are," Bob said; and then came a hail. "Brig ahoy!" "Ahoy on the tug!" "Can you send me some men? The steamer is sinking, and I am the only one on board." "Who's running the engine?" Bob shouted. "I am, and trying to steer at the same time." "There's only one man an' three boys here. Can't you manage to come alongside?" The helmsman waved his hand as if in reply and disappeared, when the steamer's speed was checked. Then he entered the pilot-house again, going below once more to stop the machinery entirely when within fifty yards of the brig. By this means the tug was brought so near that a heaving-line could be thrown aboard, and ten minutes later she was lying alongside the Bonita as a tired, hungry-looking boy stepped over the brig's rail. "I reckon you've been havin' a decently tough time," Bob said by way of starting the conversation. "Since yesterday morning I've been trying to keep her afloat. If some craft hadn't hove in sight to-day I should have given up, and probably gone to the bottom with her." "How did you get in such a mess?" "An ocean steamer ran into us at sunrise yesterday. Before she could clear herself every one of the tug's crew, except myself, climbed on board over the bow. I was the engineer, and had an assistant. He was on duty at the time, and I asleep in the after cabin. The shock of the collision threw me out of the bunk and stunned me, I reckon, for when I came on deck there was no craft in sight. Since then I've kept steam on so the pump would work, and run in the hope of sighting some craft." "Where do you hail from?" "Philadelphia. The Sea Bird is a new boat, and we were taking her to Cuba." "How long have you been out?" "Five days from the Capes." "Then we've made more of a southin' than I reckoned on," Bob said half to himself, and seeing a look of inquiry on the stranger's face he gave a brief account of the Bonita from the time the boys came aboard; saying, in conclusion: "We're better off than you, for the brig is sound; so you'd best bring your traps over the rail an' let the steamer sink when she gets ready. I reckon with your help we can crawl in toward the mainland an' make a tidy bit of salvage at the same time. What's your name?" "Joseph Taylor. The only work I have ever done on ship-board has been in the engine-room, and I'm afraid I sha'n't make much of a sailor." "You've got strength an' pluck," Bob said approvingly, "an' that's enough." "But I don't like to give up trying to save the Sea Bird. She isn't stove below the water-line, is new, and is worth fifteen thousand dollars." "I'm afraid, lad, that we haven't got force enough to do very much in the way of ship-building;" and Bob shook his head gravely as if to say he thought it a hopeless case. "Howsomever, while there's no wind we sha'n't be wastin' time, so it won't do any harm to have a look at her." Joe Taylor led the way over the rail, and the three boys, eager to see the little steamer, followed directly behind Bob, Jim whispering to his friends: "If this cruise don't end pretty soon we shall have a reg'lar cripples' crew aboard. Here's me, who come from the Mary Walker; you, that never belonged to any craft; the old Bonita, with nobody to work her; Bob, as a remnant of the Trade Wind, an' now another feller with a sinkin' tug. It's a nice crowd to talk about salvage when they can't help theirselves!" "Just let us get ashore once more, an' I'll be satisfied to have somebody else make money by taking these crafts into port!" and Walter leaped on to the deck of the tug in a discontented way, as if he fancied the shuttered steamer had brought fresh trouble and complications upon them. The litter of splintered timbers, loose ropes and general wreckage on the forward deck of the Sea Bird gave her the appearance of having suffered more injury than really was the case. Instead of a sharp, narrow bow, as is usual on crafts of her kind, the hull flared very decidedly from the water-line to the deck, thus giving her greater carrying capacity; and it was this upper portion which had been cut into, leaving the lower part in fair condition. All this Bob saw at a glance after going on board, and he at once began a careful examination with a view to ascertaining how badly her seams had been strained. "What amount of coal have you got?" he asked, coming on deck after spending fully half an hour in the hold. "Enough to run three or four days." "That wouldn't carry her to the Capes, if your reckonin' is right as to the time she's been out; but we might manage to make some nearer port," he said half to himself; and then added, in a louder tone: "I calculate the hole might be patched up with spare canvas an' plenty of tar; but we'd need fair weather till the job was done." "If you could manage that part of it I can tow the brig, providing one of your party steers," said the engineer eagerly. "Why not tackle the job? If the weather should change it would be only the loss of a few hours' time." Before committing himself to such a plan Bob made one more examination of the shattered timbers, looked again in the hold, and then, after lighting his pipe in the most deliberate manner, replied decidedly: "We'll do the best we can, lad, pervidin' the balance of the Bonita's crew is agreeable; an' by patchin' the steamer up I reckon it'll be possible to pull the brig out of what looks like a bad mess." He gazed inquiringly at the boys as he ceased speaking, and Harry, answering for the others as well as himself, said in a reasonably cheerful tone: "We'll do all we know how; and it won't be our fault if we don't succeed!" But even as he spoke he doubted the wisdom of taking another burden on their already overloaded shoulders; and that this opinion was shared by Jim and Walter could be told from the expression of their faces. Nevertheless, Bob's intentions were good. With the tug the brig could be towed in a calm, and her progress stayed entirely, or checked, during the hours of darkness when the danger of striking a reef would be greatest. An engineer and a helmsman was all the force needed by such an arrangement, and thus the voyage might be brought to a speedy conclusion without other aid. CHAPTER IX. THE HELMSMAN'S MISTAKE. Although the three boys had agreed with Bob that an attempt be made to so far repair the tug that she might be gotten into port, all of them believed she should have been left to sink. By making Joe Taylor a member of the crew the brig could be worked under lower sails, and there was little doubt but that she would soon reach the coast; whereas, by trying to save the steamer both crafts might be lost. The old sailor had already decided what should be done, and when the question was settled he went at once to the lazaret for such materials as would be needed. Joe Taylor disappeared in the Sea Bird's engine-room, and the boys were left standing by the rail, where they could discuss the matter privately. "If we didn't have hands enough to work the brig I'd like to know how much better we're off by taking charge of another craft?" Walter asked disconsolately; and Jim replied, in what he intended should be a cheery tone: "Bob knows what he's about. If the tug is kept afloat she can tow us in." "Unless her coal gives out," Harry added; "and then we'll be worse off than before." "We shall only have lost jes' so many days, for she can be abandoned at any time," Jim replied. "And it is the possible loss of those days which makes me feel that we ought not to make any attempt at saving her. Walter's father and mine would be willing to pay what she cost if they could find us, and every hour makes their sorrow greater." "Well," Jim said slowly, "it can't be helped, so we might as well look cheerful. Neither Bob nor the engineer would listen to us if we said the tug ought to be abandoned, and our only chance is to hurry up with the work." "I don't see why Bob even thinks of such a thing." And Walter spoke in a tone of discontent. "Here we are so far from the coast that the tug was five days out at the time of the collision, which means ten for a sailing vessel, and with half enough coal to get her back. What good will it do to patch her up if we can't keep on steam?" "That's somethin' I ain't able to answer," Jim replied gravely. "These old sailors are queer fish, an' nobody can ever tell what kind of a scheme they're likely to strike. This much is certain, though. Bob wouldn't listen to us, 'cause he thinks we don't know the meanin' of sich work." "It seems to me that it would be better to abandon the brig, which we can't navigate, and go on the tug as far us her coal will carry us," Harry suggested; but to such an idea the young fisherman made the most decided objections. "To leave a sound craft for one that's pretty nigh knocked to pieces would be foolish. I'd rather take my chances ten days' sail from the coast on the brig than go aboard a steamer like her for a trip half the distance. We're pretty sure of keepin' afloat here, but on the tug, Davy Jones' Locker seems mighty near!" By this time Bob had come on deck with a spare studding-sail, and the boys were prevented from holding any further discussion by the necessity of immediate action. There was not so much as a breath of air stirring. The sea was like glass, save for the lazy swell which caused both crafts to rise and fall in regular measure, and everything seemed favorable for the proposed task. "It ain't sich a big job, lads," the old sailor said, as, dropping the canvas on deck, he made his way toward the carpenter's-room. "I've seen crafts bunged up worse'n she is, an' yet finish the biggest end of a voyage." When Bob had collected such tools as might be needed he summoned all hands, and the work was begun by spreading a double thickness of canvas over the shattered portion of the hull outside, fastening it down firmly with copper nails. This temporary stoppage of the leak was carried as far below the surface as was possible without diving, and when the aperture had been thus closed a heavy coat of tar was put on over the entire canvas. Outside of this, again, were nailed light boards which could easily be bent to conform with the curve of the hull, and then another coat of tar. This portion of the work was hardly completed when night came, and the laborers rested only long enough to partake of a hearty meal, prepared by Jim, after which the old sailor said: "We are pretty nigh through, lads, an' it stands us in hand to finish the job while this calm lasts. We've got to brace our canvas on the inside so it'll stand a heavy sea without givin' way, an' we can work below in the night as well as after sunrise." The air was so still that the flame of a candle would hardly have flickered, and the motion of the sea had subsided until the two crafts rose and fell without so much chafing as would even rub the paint. There was no reason why all hands, save one to stand watch, should not work in the hold, for they could be of no assistance on deck; and leaving Harry as lookout in case a steamer should pass within hailing distance, the remainder of the party followed the old sailor. By tearing out the bulk-head of the Bonita's forecastle Bob secured such timbers as were needed, and with every one working industriously the task was completed before midnight. A sort of frame-work had been erected on the side where the timbers were stove, and directly against the canvas. As a matter of course it was impossible to fasten this except at the ends, and a heavy sea would soon wrench it off; therefore, braces running up from the keelson and down from the deck were put in to hold the whole in place. This was by no means a substantial job, as even the most inexperienced knew. In anything approaching stormy weather the tug would soon founder; but during such a "Dutchman's hurricane" as was now raging she would be as buoyant as when first launched. That the water no longer made its way through the hull of the Sea Bird could be told from the fact that the siphon, which had been in constant use to keep the furnace from being flooded, now pumped her almost dry, and the old sailor announced as his belief that she was in fit condition to weather any thing save a full gale. "We won't lose much time gettin' under way," he added, after an inspection had been made. "How soon can you raise steam?" "There's half a head now," the engineer replied, "and in ten minutes we can start." "Very well. While you are lookin' after the engine we'll get the hawsers out. The tug must tow alongside, unless the sea gets too high; for seein's how Jim an' me have got to do all the steerin', we're obliged to work it so's to catch a cat-nap now and then." Joe Taylor went into the engine-room, and before he had raised the necessary pressure two stout hawsers were made fast fore and aft, while more fenders were lowered to prevent chafing. "Are you goin' south any further?" Jim asked when the work was completed. "No; we'll haul around an' steer due west, now that it don't matter which direction the wind comes from. Harry an' I'll take the first watch, so you an' Walt'd better turn in, for it's little sleep we'll get the balance of this cruise, even if we scoop in every spare minute." Those comprising the watch below did not wait for this suggestion to be made a second time. The labor of the past fifteen hours had very nearly exhausted them, and their heads hardly touched the pillows before both were sleeping soundly. By the arrangement Bob had made, Joe Taylor was the only one who could not be relieved from duty, and when the old sailor went to consult him as to how it would be possible to keep the tug running, he replied: "We can fix that easily enough. I'll let you know when I can't keep my eyes open any longer, and then take cat-naps on one of the bunkers. If you ring the gong once every fifteen or twenty minutes I shall be awakened to see that everything is working properly. It's risky, I know; but under the circumstances there's nothing else that can be done." Then he announced that there was a full head of steam, and Bob went into the pilot-house. The Bonita's helm had been lashed amidships, and, save in the event of very heavy weather, both crafts could readily be steered from the tug. After explaining the bell signals to the old sailor Joe started the machinery, and for the time being all desire for slumber was driven from Harry's eyes by the pleasure of knowing that at last the brig was heading directly toward home. Very likely Joe Taylor was affected in a similar manner, because, although having had no rest for many hours, he stood at his post during Bob's watch without intimating the need of sleep. The weather could not have been more propitious than when what was hoped would prove to be the homeward cruise began. It is true the night was dark, even the stars being obscured by fleecy clouds; but not a breath of wind ruffled the waters, and the waves had sunk to rest. The Sea Bird towed the heavily laden brig at the rate of six or seven knots an hour, and it seemed to Harry that nothing could prevent their sighting the mainland before the tug's coal was exhausted. He walked fore and aft on the brig's deck in order to keep awake; but during the entire watch his services were not required, and at three o'clock in the morning Bob shouted: "Call Jim and Walt. We won't take too long stretches on this voyage, an' my eyes feel as if they were glued together." The sleepers were awakened after some difficulty, and, when Jim went into the Sea Bird's pilot-house Bob gave him his orders as follows: "Keep her as she heads, due west, an' have your eyes open for signs of land. I don't reckon there is any very near; but for all that we may be to the east'ard of the Bahamas, an' it would be pretty tough to bring up on them just now. The brig drags a bit an' that must be allowed for; but you'll soon get the hang of it." Then the old sailor went into the Bonita's cabin, and Jim was left alone at the wheel, trying to drive away the slumber which still hung heavily on his eyelids. Walter adopted Harry's plan for keeping awake; but the exertion was great and his body weary; therefore, in five minutes after the other watch had gone below he went into the pilot-house, stretching himself out on the cushioned locker as he said: "I'm only going to rest myself a little, and won't go to sleep. It don't seem as if we were below ten--min--minutes--before----" The sentence was finished with what sounded suspiciously like a snore, and Jim made no effort to arouse him. He knew by his own condition how difficult it was to remain awake, and griping the spokes of the wheel more tightly to quicken the circulation of blood, he muttered: "Let him take comfort if he can; there's really no need of both standing watch." During the next ten minutes he alternately tried to peer through the dense gloom, and looked at the compass-card, which was faintly illumined by a tiny lamp. The throbbing of the engine, the long, waving lines which marked the faint swell, and the whispering of the night air lulled the senses, despite every effort to perform his duties faithfully, until, without being conscious of the fact, his eyes closed in slumber even while standing at the wheel. In the engine-room Joe Taylor was battling against the same desire to which Jim had yielded. He shoveled coal, raked the fires, polished portions of the machinery which already shone like silver, and performed other needless tasks in order to prevent sleep from overcoming him, but ignorant of the fact that both brig and tug were running wild. The first hour of the watch passed, and yet the occupants of the pilot-house remained unconscious. Leaning over the wheel, with his head resting between the spokes, Jim heeded not the gray light in the sky which heralded the approach of day. Had his eyes been open he would have seen through the rapidly-vanishing gloom a long, low, black line which half encircled the two crafts and told that they were running into a harbor or bay. But he slept on, and each turn of the screw carried them nearer and nearer the dark mass until suddenly the brig staggered, rolled to starboard for an instant, when the tug came to a full stop with a crash and a quiver which sent the helmsman reeling backward against his companion as a rush and roar of steam from the engine-room told of a second disaster. CHAPTER X. AGROUND. As may be imagined, Jim felt very wide awake when he staggered to his feet, after being thrown so violently against Walter that both rolled to the floor, and his first thought was that all the trouble had originated in the engine-room. The escaping steam enveloped both brig and tug in a fog-like vapor so dense as to be almost stifling, and for several moments it was impossible to distinguish objects a dozen feet distant. That the old sailor had gained the Bonita's deck with wonderful celerity could be told from the shouts of inquiry which he uttered in rapid succession; and before the first bewilderment, caused by the shock, had passed away, Jim was outside the pilot-house trying to answer the questions. "Steamer ahoy! What's the matter?" Bob shouted. "I don't know; but it seems as if the tug has exploded somewhere!" "That can't be if she's still afloat," Bob cried testily, and from the sound of his voice Jim knew he was making his way toward the rail. "I must have fallen asleep for a second, an' was awakened by bein' knocked down," Jim said penitently. At that instant a dark figure could be seen coming from the engine-room, and a faint voice cried: "One of the boiler-tubes blew out when we struck the rock. Somebody must help draw the fires, for I'm burned pretty bad about the arms and face." "Struck a rock?" Bob shouted fiercely, as he made his way toward Joe, who had retreated aft to free his lungs of the deadly vapor. "Are we aground, Jim?" "Not that I know of," the young fisherman replied in a tone of bewilderment. "My eyes couldn't have been shut more'n a minute; an' there was nothin' in sight when I closed 'em." "Get out the lead-line while I see if Joe is hurt very much." The steam was yet pouring from the engine-room in such volumes as to prevent a view from either side, and Jim groped his way to the brig, Walter following close at his heels like one dazed. Master Libby remembered having seen the lead-line under the port rail forward, and but a short search was necessary to find it. Fully expecting they were yet in deep water, he reeled off twenty fathoms or more before casting, and to his surprise the greater portion remained on the rail instead of slipping through his fingers. "Why, we're--we're on a shoal!" he stammered as he pulled in the cord until the weight could be felt. "There isn't much more than two fathoms out." "An' as the brig don't draw less'n fourteen or fifteen feet, we can count on your havin' slept pretty nigh through the whole watch!" Bob said sharply. Jim made no reply. He realized now that his eyes must have been closed many minutes instead of one, and was well aware that all which had happened was the result of his own carelessness. "I'm in for it now," he whispered disconsolately to Walter. "Even if Bob don't use up a rope's end on my back I'll know that by goin' to sleep I've shut off our chances of gettin' home." "I must be just as much to blame as you," Walter replied, in a trembling voice. "My business was to stand watch, and the very first thing I did was to go to sleep." "But I had the helm, you see, an' oughter kept the sharpest lookout. I wish Bob would turn to an' give me the worst whalin' I ever got, 'cause it seems as if it might make me feel better." "Can't we get the brig off somehow?" Walter asked with a sob. "Seein's how the crew's so slim it don't seem very likely, an' everybody will say I cast 'em away when we was sure of gettin' home." "They'll have to say the same of me," Walter added, as if this thought might give his companion some consolation. "Let's go an' have it out right away." With clasped hands the two boys walked aft, fully expecting to receive a terrible punishment for their almost criminal carelessness; but no blows, however severe, could have caused as much pain as was already in their hearts. Time was too precious just then for the old sailor to spend any with the authors of this last trouble, even had he been so disposed. Matters in the engine-room required immediate attention, and Joe was ready to venture amid the scalding vapor once more; therefore he followed, to render all possible assistance. "Bend your head low, and keep this bit of waste over your mouth," the engineer said, thrusting a roll of cotton-threads in the sailor's hand as he went below. The engine-room was filled with steam, to breathe which would be severe agony, if not death; but neither of the brave fellows faltered. By keeping their faces covered as much as possible they were able to continue on, groping their way amid what would have seemed like a dense fog but for the intense heat, while the roaring of steam as it escaped gave warning of further disaster if precautionary measures were much longer delayed. Bob was unfamiliar with the interior of the tug; therefore it was necessary the engineer should lead the way, and after no slight trouble they succeeded in reaching the boiler from which the vapor was pouring in clouds. The most important work was to draw the fires, and by following Joe's example Bob so far aided in this that five minutes later the glowing coals were in the ash-pan or strewn on the cement flooring immediately in front of the furnace door. Short though this time was, it seemed very long in such a place, and ten seconds after the task had been accomplished the two were leaning over the rail aft, drinking in long draughts of pure, cool air. When they had recovered from the effects of the heat sufficiently to pay attention to their surroundings, it was possible to see where Jim's carelessness had brought the brig and tug. The steam had thinned down until it hardly obstructed their view, and at the same time day had been approaching so rapidly that near-by objects could be plainly distinguished. The brig was on a level keel in the cove of a small island, or key, the low-lying land, which was covered with luxuriant vegetation, hardly more than three hundred yards distant in either direction. Had Jim tried to steer her into this sheltered spot he could not have done it more exactly; and the fact that she would lie there without thumping, except when the wind blew from the east, was the only bit of comfort Bob could extract from the situation. The boys were on the Bonita's forecastle silently gazing at the odd foliage everywhere around, while Joe and the old sailor stood on the after deck of the tug, the latter saying, as he concluded a long survey of the scene: "It might be worse, for a fact; but I reckon both crafts will be tied up here till we're sick of lookin' at mangrove trees." "Where do you suppose we are?" Joe asked. "This must be some part of the Bahamas. Look at the keys all around. There is but one other place anywhere near the spot we oughter be which shows up like it, an' that is the Florida reefs. We couldn't a' made them without sightin' Cuba or the Bahamas, consequently we must be further to the nor'ard." "Should we be near any seaport?" "Nassau is somewhere about; but it may be two or three hundred miles away, an' seein's how I can't take an observation, we wouldn't know whether it was north or south. Did you get burned very bad?" "I thought so at first," Joe replied with a laugh; "but I guess it's only skin deep--more painful than serious." "You got out of it luckily; how can the engine be patched up again?" "If no more damage has been done than the blowing out of a tube I will soon have it in working order." "We'll get something to eat, and then see what's to be done. Jim!" he added, raising his voice, "cook the best breakfast you know how, to make up for this mess you've brought us into." Master Libby, who had been expecting a sound rating at the very least, because of his carelessness, was so thoroughly surprised at the friendly tone that he lost no time in obeying this order, and, as a partial atonement for his misdeeds, prepared a meal which in quantity and variety would have been sufficient for twenty hungry men. The sorrow which all hands felt because of the disaster did not prevent them from doing full justice to the unskillfully prepared food, and the table had been relieved of a large portion of its burden before any attempt at conversation was made. "While you're seein' how much damage has been done to the tug, me an' the boys will get an anchor out aft so's the brig can't work further inshore." Bob said to the engineer. "If you can get up steam, an' the tug's afloat, it oughtn't take very long to pull us off this sand-bank." "So far as I know it's only a case of blowing out one of the tubes," Joe replied. "Can it be fixed without much work?" "Yes, by driving in a piece of soft wood to hold the steam; but of course it'll make no end of bother until it is repaired properly. For a job like pulling the Bonita off the mud a plug will be as serviceable as a new tube, which can't be had until we reach some port." "Then you're to find out exactly what's needed, an' after the brig is in deep water agin we can lay here a day or two to get things ship-shape. Perhaps some craft will come in sight, an' we'll be able to find out just where we are." "I'll let you know----" Joe stopped speaking suddenly as what sounded very like a human voice rang out on the still air, and in obedience to his gesture all listened intently until it was repeated. "Brig ahoy! ahoy!" Bob actually looked alarmed. He had believed the key to be uninhabited, and, knowing there was no craft in sight when they came below, all his superstitious fears were aroused by the cry. Just for an instant he hesitated, as if not daring to go on deck, and then ran up the companion-ladder, closely followed by the remainder of the party. Surely there was nothing in that which met their gaze to cause alarm. On the shore stood three men, and when the old sailor made his appearance one of them repeated the hail. "Ahoy on shore," he replied. "Send a boat, will you? Our craft went away leaving us here, and we've been cooped up on this island nearly a week." "It won't do much good for us to take you aboard. We're hard and fast aground." "Somethin' to eat is what we're wantin' pretty bad," the man on shore cried; and Bob said, as he turned to Joe: "I reckon we oughter go after 'em; but somehow I don't jes' believe his yarn." "Why not?" "'Cause there's no reason why an honest vessel would stop here long enough for her crew to go ashore; an' then, agin, they haven't got a sailor cut about 'em." Having thus given words to his suspicions, Bob set about lowering the Trade Wind's yawl with as much alacrity as if some one in sore distress stood in need of their services, and five minutes later he and Joe were rowing ashore. The strangers stepped into the boat the instant her bow grated on the sand with the air of persons who are conferring rather than receiving a favor, and making no attempt to push the craft into deep water. "It's a sailor's rule for the last aboard to shove off," Bob said with just a shade of anger in his tone, and the man in the bow leaped ashore to perform that duty, after which the yawl was pulled toward the brig. The three boys were standing at the rail forward watching all which occurred, but saying nothing until the boat was near enough to admit of their seeing the strangers clearly. Then Jim whispered: "That's what I call a mighty hard-lookin' crowd, an' I don't wonder Bob says they haven't got the sailor cut. I wouldn't like to meet either one of 'em alone in the dark." Two of the three strangers appeared to be Americans, but of a disagreeable type, while the third was unmistakably a Mexican; and it was this last upon whom Jim looked with the most suspicion. There was no further opportunity for him to criticise them, however, since the boat was rapidly approaching the brig, and Bob had already shouted: "Heave that gangway-ladder over, an' then set about gettin' up another breakfast." The first order was quickly obeyed, and Jim went into the galley to comply with the second as the new-comers stepped on board and halted near the mainmast to gaze curiously around, as if taking a mental inventory of the brig's general condition. CHAPTER XI. THE STRANGERS. The new-comers were by no means pre-possessing in appearance, and would hardly have inspired confidence even had their manners been more agreeable. He who acted as spokesman for the party was a stout man with a very long body and short, bowed legs, that caused him to roll to and fro like a ship in a gale when he walked. It was his nose which attracted the most attention, for it was not only the most prominent feature of a not remarkably pleasing-looking countenance, but so enlarged and red at the end that one could well fancy he had fastened a boiled beet to his face as a partial disguise. The other American was exactly the reverse in form and feature. He was tall and thin, with a sickly yellow complexion and a little snub nose which looked as if made of putty for a much smaller face--one that might have been bought at auction because it was cheap, if noses could ever be sold. The Mexican would answer for a type of that class known as "greasers," save for the fact that he had discarded his national costume in favor of a dirty pair of duck trousers and a blue flannel shirt. In the boys' eyes, at least, the three appeared more like hardened villains than honest sailors; and this opinion was strengthened rather than lessened when they were better known. Although Bob doubted the story they told, he had no proof that it was false; therefore he treated them as if believing every word, and as the first move toward ministering to their alleged necessities had ordered Jim to prepare breakfast. As a matter of fact, the account which these men gave of themselves was such as could not well be questioned in the absence of evidence to the contrary. They were a portion of the crew of a turtling-schooner hailing from Nassau; so the red-nosed man had said during the short pull from the beach to the brig. Five days previous their craft put into this cove, and they, with two others, came ashore to search for turtles. At this work they followed around the shore of the key until so far away that night came on before the return journey could be made. The other two men had traveled in an opposite direction, consequently they were alone, but not at all disquieted at being forced to remain over night on the island, because in their business such incidents were of frequent occurrence. With never a thought of trouble they made themselves comfortable in the thicket, returning to the cove as soon as possible after sunrise. To their great surprise the schooner was no longer there, nor could the other members of the crew be found. They had been deserted; but why, neither of the party could even so much as guess. The Bonita and the tug were the first crafts the men had seen, and, quite naturally, they lost no time in hailing the crew. Jim was not an expert cook; therefore the work in the galley was done very slowly. It would have been nearly noon before the second meal could be served had not Harry and Walter assisted to the extent of making the table ready, and afterward carrying the food below. Bob and Joe had gone about their task of ascertaining the exact condition of the brig in order to form plans for floating her, and Jim was forced to announce breakfast when his culinary labors were ended. "You've been about it long enough to cook dinner for the President!" the man with the red nose said, in a surly tone. "If I was the skipper of this 'ere brig I'll find a way to make you more lively!" "Well, so long as you ain't the skipper, but only a sailor what says he's starvin' to death, s'posin' you buckle down to the grub that's cooked, so's I can get the cabin cleaned up!" Jim replied saucily; and before the words were hardly out of his mouth he received a blow on the side of his head which sent him reeling against the rail. Then, as if the uncalled-for punishment had been a kindly reward for services performed, the red-nosed man led the way below, followed by his companions, who seemed to think that gentleman's method of treating their hosts was something very comical. Jim was too much surprised to make any outcry. After looking around to learn if Bob had been a witness of the injury he retreated to the galley, soothing his anger by shaking his fist in the direction of the cabin. "You jes' wait," he muttered, seating himself on an empty mess-kid where he could nurse his sore face. "You jes' wait an' see if I don't fix the whole crowd! Talk about bein' sailors an' then cuffin' the cook when you're goin' to eat aft! I'll bet not one of them villains knows how to reef a jib, an' before they leave this vessel I'll show what I can do." It is not probable that Jim had any very clear idea as to what kind of punishment he would mete out to this man who had struck him without provocation; but he believed an opportunity of avenging his wrongs would present itself in the near future, and this thought had a wonderfully soothing effect. Harry and Walter, as attendants upon the guests, were treated with no more consideration than that shown Jim. When the men seated themselves at the table, both boys went toward the companion-way as if to go on deck; but the thin man cried gruffly: "Stay here, you young cubs! We may need somethin' more, an' in that case you're to bring it!" Just for an instant Harry glanced at Walter, as if questioning whether they should obey, and then, evidently concluding discretion was the better part of valor, he retreated to one corner of the cabin, where he would be ready to obey the commands of these strange guests. During the next ten minutes the men ate voraciously--not as if they had been on the verge of starvation, but like pigs; and at the end of that time he with the red nose asked, as he rested both elbows on the table and picked his teeth with a fork: "Where does this brig hail from?" "I don't know," Walter replied, after waiting in vain for Harry to speak. "Don't know? Haven't you got sense enough to tell where you come from?" "_We_ belong in New York. While we were at the Isle of Shoals, Jim and Harry and I rowed out to the brig, and found her abandoned. Then the wind sprung up and she ran away with us." "Where did the old sailor come aboard?" the man asked, after exchanging glances with his companions. Walter told him in the fewest possible words how Bob had become a member of the party, and also in what condition the Sea Bird was when Joe linked his fortunes with theirs. "How happened it that you run ashore here?" the Mexican asked, and this question Harry answered. "Then you've got no more right aboard this craft than we have," the first speaker said, "an' I reckon we'll stick by the ship. Do you know where there's any tobacco?" "No, I haven't seen a piece except that which Bob has." "Then hunt for some. In a well-found craft like this there's sure to be plenty." "We don't know anything about it, and do not intend to look!" Harry said decidedly, as he retreated toward the companion-way, taking up his stand directly in front of Walter. "I'll have to give you a lesson, the same's I did the other fellow!" the red-nosed man cried in an angry tone. "Are you goin' to obey orders?" "I'm willing to do any necessary work, but I don't intend to wait upon you!" and Harry tried very hard to prevent his voice from trembling. "That's jes' what you will do!" the man cried, as if beside himself with passion, and seizing a plate from the table he hurled it with better intent than aim directly at the boys, grasping another the instant the first had left his hands. The second he did not throw, however. As the crockery was shivered into fragments against the companion-ladder, passing within an inch of Harry's head, Bob appeared at the hatchway. "What's goin' on in here?" he asked sternly. "Them boys were givin' us some of their impudence, an' I was showin' 'em the proper place aboard ship, that's all," the red-nosed man replied in a mild, friendly tone, as if he had simply been doing his host a favor. "Look here, my friend," and it could be plainly seen that Bob was trying hard to control his temper. "It won't be well for you to show any one on this craft what his place is. We took you aboard believin' you were sailors an' starvin'; but we'll set the whole lot adrift mighty quick if I see any more of this kind of work." Then turning to the boys, he added, "Go on deck or stay here, as you choose; but don't play servant to a single person on the brig." "I allow you're lookin' at this matter wrong," the thin man said in a conciliatory tone, as Harry and Walter ascended the companion-ladder. "We haven't said or done anything out of the way. How was we to know but they was the reg'lar cabin-boys, an' when they insulted us jes' 'cause we'd lost our vessel an' luck was agin us, we only did what you would." As a matter of course, Bob was not absolutely certain but that there might be some truth in the man's statement, although from what he knew of Harry and Walter it did not seem probable; therefore he said, with less show of anger: "We'll let the matter drop; but you must understand that the boys are to be treated as I am. The one who acts as cook has been to sea a little, and can stand harder work than the others, who were never on board a vessel before. Neither of 'em are to be bossed or scolded, for all do what they can willingly, an' I'm standin' right by 'em. Now that you've had somethin' to eat, an' ain't sufferin', what do you propose doin'?" "You're short-handed, even if you had only the brig to look after; so what's to hinder our workin' a passage to sich port as you calculate on makin'?" and the red-nosed man spoke very humbly. "We reckon on leavin' the tug here," Bob replied gravely. "She's aground, an' what's worse, bunged up so bad that three weeks wouldn't be any too long for repairs. 'Cordin' to my figgerin' the brig can be floated reasonably easy; an' with Joe Taylor aboard I can run her to the mainland pretty nigh as quick as if we had more of a crew." "Do you mean that you don't care about takin' us along?" the slim man asked. Bob hesitated an instant, hardly caring to say plainly that he had no desire for their company, and then he replied: "It ain't wholly as I say. Considerin' what has been done, an' that the Sea Bird was disabled through the carelessness of one of my party, Joe has got as much interest here as I, an' he'd have to agree." "Does he make any objection to helping us out of this hole if we're willing to do our full share of work?" the Mexican asked. "I don't say he does, 'cause, you see, we haven't made any talk about sich a plan." "Then find out jes' what he's willin' to do;" and the thin man spoke very earnestly. "We'll agree to obey orders like as if we'd signed articles, an' before the brig reaches the coast you'll be mighty glad of our help." "Do you know what island this is?" Bob asked as if desiring to change the conversation. "It's one of the Double-Breasted Keys," the thin man replied. "On the Bahama Bank?" "Yes; pretty nigh the northern point of the shoal." "Then we're not more than three days' sail from Nassau?" "About that; but you can't get in without a pilot, an' it ain't much further to some port in the United States." To this Bob made no reply, but turned as if to leave the cabin when the Mexican stopped him by asking: "Will you say whether we are to be given a passage, or must we go ashore to starve?" "I'll talk the matter over with Joe. If he's agreed I won't say a word ag'in it, though I'd much rather take the brig in alone." And then Bob hurried up the companion-ladder, as if eager to escape from his guests. When the three men were alone their entire bearing changed, and the one with a red nose said in a whisper, as he shook his fist threateningly in the direction Bob had vanished: "We'll whine 'round only till the brig's afloat, an' then if we can't get away in her, leavin' that crowd behind, we deserve to stay!" "And when we do have a craft of our own we'll pay off some old scores to that meddlin' fool who broke up our little game in Nassau!" the thin man added. "It will be well if we do not show our hand too quickly," the Mexican said. "Without even so much as a revolver, we cannot hold possession in case they should decide to set us ashore." "What a coward you are!" And he with the red nose spoke in a tone of contempt. "There are only two of them, for the boys don't count, an' marlin'-spikes or belayin'-pins comes as cheap to us as any one else. If we wanted to drive that crowd over the rail it wouldn't be very hard work, unless we two was the same chicken-hearted lubbers you are!" The Mexican turned upon his heel as if the conversation was decidedly too personal; but he made no attempt to resent the insult, and the thin man said, in a soothing tone: "You're talkin' sense now, pardner; but we need them fellers worse'n they do us. The brig must be afloat before anything is done." "Of course she must. You don't think I'm sich a fool as not to think of them tricks. Leave me to boss the job, an' it won't be many hours till we have everything our own way." Then the three men went on deck apparently the most honest sailors to be found on the sea; and from his place of refuge in the galley Jim watched them distrustfully. CHAPTER XII. SIGNS OF TROUBLE. Bob was decidedly disturbed by this desire of the men to be taken from the key. If the story they told was true, he had every reason to expect from the first that such would be their request; and yet, now that he began to discern their true character, it was with considerable surprise he learned that they wished to link their fortunes with his, at least to the extent of leaving the island. "I don't want sich as them around," he muttered as he left the cabin and went forward to where Joe was sitting in the shade of the jib with his chin in his hands, trying to devise some simple plan for pulling the brig into deep water. "There's no way it can be done except by setting the sheet anchor thirty or forty fathoms toward the mouth of the harbor and working down to it by sheer expenditure of muscle." "Never mind that just now," Bob replied gloomily, "for there's another question to be settled. What do you s'pose that crowd in the cabin want?" "I reckon they're counting on our taking them away," Joe replied laughingly. "Most any fellow who had been marooned on this key would like to leave." "But I don't believe their yarn about bein' left behind, unless they were up to some mischief an' the captain didn't know what else to do with 'em." "They ain't very pleasant-looking customers, for a fact; but yet they may be honest sailors." "I don't take any stock in it, or they'd never carry sail as they do. The red-nosed fellow was heavin' plates at Harry when I went below, an' they tried to make me believe the boy had been givin' 'em impudence. Now they promise to do full work if we'll take them with us." "And I reckon that's just about what you'll have to do, Bob. It would be cruel to leave them here; and, besides, we shall need the whole crowd before the Bonita can be floated. If I could repair the tug in any reasonable length of time, it would be another matter; but since that can't be done, on account of the damage to the steam-chest, there's a good deal of heavy work ahead." "Then your advice is to tell 'em they can stay aboard," Bob said moodily. "I don't see what else you can do, more especially since it might be awkward if they should conclude to remain whether we wanted them or not." Bob was silent several moments, and then he said impatiently: "I reckon you're right; but it goes mightily agin the grain to take sich cattle as them along. Howsomever, 'what can't be cured must be endured;' but I'll have my weather-eye liftin' all the time, so they'd better keep out of mischief. The sooner we get an anchor over the better, an' I'll call 'em, so's they can give us a sample of their work." He was spared the labor of going below again, for just at that moment the three men came on deck, and at once made their way forward. "I hope you ain't goin' to refuse us a chance to give you a lift," the red-nosed man said in a whining tone; and Bob replied, without so much as looking at his guests: "Joe thinks we haven't got the right to say no; an', besides, we shall need a pretty big force to work the brig off the sand. S'posin' you take hold an' help us lay out an anchor astern?" "All right! You boss the job an' we'll stand by for every pound of strength we've got." Since there was no possibility of using the tug, it would be necessary to set about the task as Joe had said, and Bob explained to the apparently willing workers exactly how it was to be performed. "We've got to lay out the sheet-anchor, backin' it if the holdin'-ground ain't good," he said, addressing his conversation to the strangers, but looking directly at Joe. "She plumped on here pretty strong, I'll allow; but it wasn't more'n half-tide when we struck, an' she oughter be worked off in two or three floods. One of you get the boat around, an' I reckon it won't take very long to make ready for the job." The yawl was staunch enough to stand up under the weight of the stream-anchor, and while the Mexican was pulling her to the port bow, Bob rove a tackle on the yard-arm by which to raise the heavy mass of metal. Seeing that some important work was in progress the three boys came to assist; but the old sailor quickly dispensed with their services. "Stay aft, lads. There's force enough here for this job, an' by 'tendin' to the grub I reckon you'll be doin' your full share." Neither of the boys objected to this plan. They had good reason to dislike the strangers, and were not desirous of coming in any closer contact with them than was absolutely necessary. By the aid of the tackle the five men soon had the anchor in the boat with a manilla hawser, one end of which was made fast to the winch, coiled on top. Then the red-nosed man and Bob pulled the yawl straight away from the brig's stern, while the Mexican hove the fakes overboard as the distance was widened. This portion of the task was slow and wearisome, for the weight of the hawser caused the boat to hang despite the vigorous efforts at the oars; but the desired position was finally gained, and after a great deal of tugging and straining the anchor was dropped. Joe had two or three turns of the cable around the winch, and all hands began heaving on the bars until the stout rope was fairly taut, after which a sloper was put to it, and the laborers sat down in the shade for a breathing spell. The work was now completed until the tide should rise; and then, if the brig could not be pulled off, it would be necessary to break out some of the cargo in order to lighten her. The most captious could have found no fault with the new members of the crew while this portion of the task was being performed. They pulled and hauled with a will, making no effort to shirk any particularly severe duty, and striving earnestly to finish the job in the least possible space of time. When the heavy anchor was laid-out astern Joe congratulated himself on this addition to their number, and said to Bob, as they were stretched out on the deck while the strangers had gone toward the scuttle-butt: "It seems as if our taking them aboard was a big piece of luck. I'll admit that they are not over and above pleasant-looking; but think of the difference in the work. With no one but the boys to help us, you and I would have been all day setting the anchor. Now we've got a good crew of five, and there's no question about our being able to sail the brig." "You're right, Joe," Bob said thoughtfully; "an' I s'pose I'm a reg'lar old woman. The way they acted at first riled me so much that I couldn't see any good in 'em; but we'd be in a mighty tight place, now the tug is disabled, if they wasn't here." Then the two discussed matters relative to hauling the brig from her bed of sand, and gave no heed to the strangers, who were amidships conversing in low tones, as if fearful of being overheard. Their consultation was evidently satisfactory to all concerned, for the red-nosed man said, as the question under discussion was brought to a close: "She'll come away in a couple of tides at the longest. As near as I can make out she only hangs from the waist up, and if the anchor holds, five of us ought to yank her off without much trouble. We must be ready to carry out our plans at a moment's notice." Then the men separated to walk about the after part of the brig in an apparently aimless manner; but all three met in the cabin a few moments later, much to the discomfort of Walter, who was clearing off the table and putting things to rights generally. It seemed as if the strangers had not counted on finding any one below, for they looked at each other questioningly a moment, and then the thin man asked: "Why don't you go into the galley, where you belong?" "Because it's my turn to clear up the cabin," Walter replied as he continued his work. "Harry is washing the dishes and Jim's cooking dinner." The boy had no fear of violence since Bob interrupted the scene at the breakfast-table; and, besides, he was engaged in necessary work; therefore after answering the question he paid no further attention to the men, save that he noticed the Mexican walking to and fro, peeping into such of the state-rooms as were open. "Well, you needn't stay any longer," the thin man said gruffly. "If you're goin' to live aboard ship the first thing to learn is that you've got no business aft, when any one else is here, except while waiting on the table." "I can't go till the work is done," Walter replied innocently, as he continued the task with no change of manner save to move more quickly. "What do you mean by answering in that manner?" the red-nosed man asked angrily as he seized the boy by the collar and dragged him toward the companion-way. "If you don't know your place it's time somebody gave you a few lessons." Walter was both surprised and alarmed by this sudden attack. It had not occurred to him that he was doing anything wrong by remaining; but the grip on his neck was so strong, and seemingly vicious, that it was certain some terrible punishment would follow, and he screamed loudly for Harry. Up to this moment it is hardly probable that the man had any idea of doing more than eject him from the cabin, because he did not wish to arouse Bob's anger again; but Walter's screams made him furious, and he boxed the boy's ears half a dozen times with no gentle force. Matters were in this condition when the other boys came running aft, and one glance was sufficient to call forth all their anger. "Hi! Bob!" Jim yelled, and Harry rushed boldly into the cabin as he cried: "If you touch him again I'll knock you down!" Having been summoned from his labors so suddenly, he had not stopped even to lay aside the coffee-pot he was cleaning, and this now served as a weapon. Raising it above his head he ran forward to strike Walter's assailant; but he had hardly taken half a dozen steps when a blow from the red-nosed man felled him senseless to the floor. Quickly as all this happened, Bob answered Jim's shrill appeal before another move could be made, and Harry had but just fallen when the old sailor leaped below. "What mischief are you scoundrels up to now?" he cried angrily as he assumed a position of defense after pulling Walter from the man's grasp. "It seems to me you're playin' a pretty high hand for sailors who have been saved from starvin'!" "So far we've minded our own business and done all the work we could," he with the red nose said firmly; "but because you've helped us off the key there's no reason why we should take all the airs these cubs choose to put on. After you've heard their story an' cooled down a bit we'll talk with you, but not before!" Then with a swagger which was probably intended as a show of dignity the man went on deck, followed by his companions, just as Joe came below to see if his services were required. CHAPTER XIII. DEFIANCE. It was some moments before the little party could discuss the apparently serious turn which affairs had taken, for Harry remained as he had fallen, and all their thoughts were centered on restoring him to consciousness. A vigorous application of cold water soon had the desired effect, however, and in ten minutes after the self-invited guests went on deck he was apparently as well as ever, save for a big red lump under his left ear. "Do you feel all right, now?" Bob asked as the boy recovered from the bewilderment caused by the blow and began hunting for the coffee-pot, which had rolled under one of the lockers. "My ear aches pretty bad; but the rest of my body is sound enough, though it's hard to tell how long we fellers will be able to keep on our feet if those starving sailors stay aboard." "They'll go ashore mighty quick if this kind of work is kept up. Tell us what you did that started 'em?" "I don't know anything about it." And Harry rubbed his sore ear gently to soothe the pain. "Jim and I came when Walter screamed, and saw the red-nosed fellow pounding him. I was going to take his part with the coffee-pot, but before there was time to strike a blow one of them knocked me down." Then Walter gave a truthful account of all that had been said and done in the cabin, and Bob thought over the matter in silence several moments before speaking. "It looks as if they wanted to know what there is below here," he finally said half to himself. "I mistrusted them from the minute they got into the yawl without takin' the trouble to shove her bow off, an' if I ain't mistaken there'll be mischief done before this 'ere brig reaches port!" "I suppose they think we can't get along without them--which comes pretty near being a fact--and so feel at liberty to ride a high horse," Joe suggested. "They shall soon know that we'll lay aground all summer rather than let sich a crowd of sharks bully us!" Bob cried angrily. "Come out with me, Joe, an' we'll settle this matter one way or the other mighty quick!" "Keep your temper somewhere within soundings," the engineer said soothingly, "for they're three against two, and if it should come to a fight we might get worsted." "If I ain't a match for three sich lubbers as them I'll soak my head in the harness-cask." And with this promise, which savored strongly of boasting, the old sailor went on deck, Joe joining him as he walked forward. The strangers were lounging near the forecastle, apparently indifferent to the disturbance which had been made in the cabin. When Bob came on deck they glanced toward him as if there was no cause for angry thoughts, and then resumed their conversation. "Don't be hasty, now!" Joe whispered. "Talk the matter over calmly, to make sure Walter told the whole truth, and try to find out what they mean to do, before you threaten." Bob shook his head as if the advice was distasteful; but he followed it, nevertheless. Advancing until he stood opposite the men, he asked in a tone which to make sound calm required considerable effort: "Will you explain what caused the trouble in the cabin just now?" "I told one of them cubs to get out--they've got no right below--an' he yelled blue murder when I took hold of his coat to make him obey orders. That brought one of the others, who tried to hit me with a coffee-pot," the red-nosed stranger said without hesitation. "That's about all there is to it. We did jes' as you or your friend would do when a boy aboard ship was impudent." "Now see here," and it could be plainly perceived that Bob was struggling to keep his temper within bounds, "them lads are here by accident, an' two of 'em don't know what work is, yet they turn to like little men. I consider that they've got the same rights on this craft as I have, an' the man who tries to make 'em obey foolish orders is bound to have considerable trouble with me!" "There won't be any row if they stay in their place an' do a full share of the work," the red-nosed gentleman said very decidedly. "It ain't for you to say what their place or work is!" and now Bob's temper was gaining the ascendancy. "That's a matter of opinion," the man said in an offensive tone. "Me an' my mates reckon we've got jes' as much to say on this 'ere brig as you have. In the first place she was abandoned by her proper crew; the cubs were carried off in her, an' you jes' the same as drifted aboard. All you've done toward savin' her has been to run on this shoal. The tug's rightful engineer is in charge, so we've got nothin' to say about her; but we're calculatin' on stickin' to what's as much ours as yours!" If Bob had been alone it is most probable he would have struck the speaker, and thus precipitated a fight, which very likely was just what the strangers desired; but Joe held him back as he said, in a low tone: "Keep your temper, old man; this is no time for a row. Wait awhile." "I'll soon show how much right I've got here!" he cried angrily, struggling to release himself from Joe's detaining grasp, and paying no attention to the wise advice. "You couldn't do better than begin now," the red-nosed man said sneeringly as he and his companions put themselves in an attitude of defence. "Talk is cheap when a man hasn't got the nerve to back it up!" "Have some sense about you," Joe whispered angrily. "Can't you see that a row is just what they want?" Fortunately for all save the strangers, Bob realized the truth of this remark, and instead of rushing blindly forward to what would have been certain defeat, he stepped back a few paces to the foremast where he could reach a belaying-pin in case weapons became necessary, and Joe continued the conversation by saying: "This talk about your rights is all bosh. I was in charge of the tug, and picked up this vessel, towing her in here. Any court would recognize my claim as a just one. You wouldn't have a leg to stand on if it came to legal rights, for both crafts had a crew on board, and nobody asked for assistance. We propose to hold our ground, and before proceeding to extremities allow you ten minutes in which to leave this brig. If you go peaceably we will give you one of the Sea Bird's boats and a reasonable supply of provisions; but in case force is necessary, it may be a matter of swimming ashore!" "A reg'lar sea-lawyer, eh?" the red-nosed man said with a contemptuous laugh, in which his companions joined. "We've told you our ideas on the subject, an' if so be that they don't jes' agree with yours, then I s'pose we'll have to be put ashore--providin' it can be done without too much harm to them as tackles the job!" This speech afforded the strangers no slight amount of amusement, and as they laughed boisterously Bob seized a belaying-pin with the evident intention of deciding the question at once. "Be careful," Joe whispered. "Can't you see that they've got the capstan-bars ready for use? We should be knocked over like nine-pins before it would be possible to strike a blow. There may be some fire-arms aft, and if we get hold of them first all the advantage will be on our side." Bob had turned to follow the very sensible advice when the red-nosed man shouted, this time in a threatening tone: "Seein's how you've laid down the law for us, I reckon we'd better give you a dose. I don't say you've got to go ashore whether or no, for it's our way to let everybody have a chance. If you're willin' to say that we're on the same footin' as you, share an' share alike, there'll be no trouble. In case you don't look at it in that light, then somebody must take to the island; but it won't be any of us!" "Don't answer him," Joe said, as he literally pushed Bob aft. "They reckon on settlin' matters by a fight now, when they've got the best of it, an' we must be careful not to do anything foolish." The old sailor walked swiftly away, as if fearing to trust himself too long within sound of that mocking voice, and Joe kept close behind him until they were in the cabin, where the boys had remained until the result of the revolt should be determined. "Sit in the companion-way where you can keep your eye on those men, and sing out if they make any move toward coming aft," Joe said to Jim; and the latter obeyed at once by taking up his position where everything forward of the mainmast came within his range of vision. Bob's rage was so great that his only desire just now was to enforce authority, and he lost no time before beginning the search for weapons. From one state-room to another he went, looking into sea-chests, overhauling boxes, and upsetting drawers; but nothing more deadly than a sail-needle met his eager gaze. As a matter of coarse, there must have been fire-arms on board the brig when she left port; but those who abandoned her had taken everything of the kind with them. "I can't find so much as a sheath-knife," he said, coming into the saloon where Joe stood revolving this very serious turn of affairs in his mind. "We shall have to trust our fists and anything in the way of a club that can be picked up, for I'm not goin' to let another hour go by without showin' them villains that we intend to hold possession of this craft." "But we mustn't act until we've formed some plan," Joe replied. "Tell me just what you propose doing, and I'll stand by till the last." "I'm going to drive them over the side!" Bob cried, passionately. "Just now they are stronger than our crowd, and it may be a question as to who goes first." Joe spoke in a matter-of-fact tone; but it could be seen that he was laboring under no less excitement than the sailor; and the latter, beginning to realize the weakness of their position, asked hoarsely: "What do you think we ought to do?" "Wait awhile till we see how they're going to act;" and then the engineer ascended the companion-ladder to ascertain the condition of affairs forward. CHAPTER XIV. A BARGAIN. It surely seemed as if those who had been carried away by the Bonita were to have their cup of trouble filled to the brim. Running ashore on a pleasant night when there was every reason to believe they were near a home port was looked upon as a great disaster at the time; but now it dwindled into a trifle before the dangers which menaced. There could no longer be a question but that the strangers were ripe for any mischief, even at the expense of a drawn battle, and Joe was inclined to believe they might vanquish his party. "They're hard tickets, and were most likely marooned here because of their misdeeds," he muttered to himself as he lounged on deck to ascertain if the enemy had made any change of position. "It'll take some mighty neat work to get us out of this scrape, for we can't risk a fight, and it's a question whether Bob can be held in check." The men yet remained forward, where, in the shadow of the forecastle, they could have the benefit of the light land breeze, and were apparently indifferent as to what move the rightful crew of the brig might make. Joe stood on the quarter-dock nearly half an hour trying in vain to decide upon some plan which would at least promise success, and then he went below, looking, as in fact he felt, his lack of hope in the final result. "It's pretty near high water," he said to Bob, who was making one more search of the cabin with the idea that it might yet be possible to find weapons, "and the question is, are we going to lose this tide without making an effort to launch the brig?" "What can we do?" the old sailor asked impatiently. "It don't stand to reason that them villains would be any more decent if she was afloat than they are now!" "And before many days there'll come an easterly wind which will drive her up on the sand beyond all chance of ever being launched again!" "That's jes' what is makin' me almost wild!" Bob cried as he turned and faced the engineer, "She oughter be floated between now an' to-morrow night; but it can't be done!" "Why not?" Joe asked calmly. "I've been turning matters over in my mind, and don't see the slightest chance of ever being able to drive those men ashore. Wouldn't it be better to join forces rather than lose the brig entirely and be dependent upon sighting some vessel to take us off the key?" The old sailor looked up as if astonished that such a proposition should be made; but before the angry reply, which was trembling on his lips, could be spoken, Joe said gently: "Think the whole matter over before you say anything, and take plenty of time, for we don't want to make another mistake." Bob looked at the speaker angrily for a moment, and then seating himself at the table with his head in his hands, he remained silent so long that the boys, who were watching him intently, believed he had fallen asleep. "What's your plan?" he finally asked. "It isn't what can be called a plan, but, according to my way of thinking, the only course left for us to pursue. We've _got_ to make some kind of a trade with those villains in order to get away from this place, and the sooner it's done the better." "Go out an' see what they'll agree to!" Bob said hoarsely. "I'll stand by any bargain you think half-fair." Joe did not wait for further conversation. He was eager to take advantage of the tide, and no time was to be lost. "Look here, Jim," the old sailor said, when the engineer had left the cabin, "if Joe makes a trade with them scoundrels, as I reckon he will, something must be done to prevent you boys from bein' kicked 'round, for we can't have a fight every hour. While the brig is aground you'd best stay on board the tug, so's to be out of the way. When the grub is ready shove it on the table, an' then all three clear out, leavin' us to wait on ourselves. That'll ease things up a little." While Bob was thus planning to save the boys from brutal treatment, Joe had lost no time in finishing his very disagreeable task. When he went forward the men did not pay the slightest attention to his movements, but continued their conversation as if whatever he might do was no concern of theirs. It was not until he halted directly in front of the party that the red-nosed man so much as raised his eyes. "See here," Joe begun, as if to speak was distasteful; "we've got to come to some agreement, for splitting-up now, when the brig's aground, isn't much better than child's play." "That's my idee, to a dot!" he of the red nose replied with a leer; "but it ain't us what's makin' the row! We've got rights, no matter if you did bring us aboard; an' what's more, we're goin' to have 'em!" "We won't discuss that part of it," Joe said curtly. "You know as well as I do that if there'd been two or three more in our party you wouldn't have said a word about rights; but since it's your intention to take unfair advantage of those who tried to relieve suffering, we'll let the matter drop. None of us will gain anything if the brig goes to pieces, and it's for the interest of all hands to have her launched; therefore I've come to make a bargain." "Well, out with it!" the man said coarsely, as Joe ceased speaking. "I propose that we turn to, as if nothing had happened, each one swearing to do his utmost toward carrying the brig to the nearest American port, and there the whole matter can, as indeed it must, be submitted to the court for settlement. On your part you agree not to molest the boys in any way, and they are to do nothing but the cooking. We will recognize what I think are your unjust claims until the case is legally settled. No property is to be taken from the vessel, and, so far as possible, everything must remain as we found it." "An' it has taken you all this time to fix up that agreement, eh?" the man asked, with a boisterous laugh. "I don't see but it amounts to jes' what we wanted at first. Look here, Mister Engineer, you an' Bob have got an idee that we ain't on the square, an' it's a big mistake. When we found you needed our help to work the brig into port, an' couldn't do it alone, we said it was only fair play for us to share in whatever salvage might be made. Now we'll agree to your bargain, 'cause it's nothin' more nor less than what I proposed, an' the sooner we get to work on that hawser the better, 'cause it's about flood-tide." Joe realized this fact fully, and he went quickly aft for Bob, explaining to him in the fewest possible words the result of his interview. "I hate to knuckle down to them scoundrels; but I s'pose it can't be helped," the old sailor said as he arose to his feet. "Keep out of the way, boys, so there won't be any chance for more abuse." To have seen the party five minutes after Bob went forward, one would not fancy there had been any hard feelings among them. The strangers set about the work with a will, recognizing the old sailor as being in command, and with apparently no other thought than such us was for the benefit of all. The tide had ceased rising, it being that time known as "slack water," when the capstan-bars were brought into use, and every member of the party exerted all his strength in the effort. Once, twice, three times the men leaped against the stout bars without making any perceptible change in the brig's position, and Joe began to fancy it would have been as well if he had not humbled himself by making a trade with the strangers. "Buckle down to it once more," Bob shouted. "It lacked almost an hour of bein' high water when she struck, an' there can't be so very much sand under her bow. Break down once more!" No one hung back. The red-nosed man appeared to have the strength of a giant, and as he hove at the handles it seemed as if the wood or iron must surely give way under the enormous strain. "Grind her down!" he yelled, and when one more determined effort had been made there was a decided movement. The bars were started fully a quarter of a turn, and Bob shouted: "Now's the time, my hearties! Heave around once, an' we're clear of this blessed key!" Then every man hove down on the bars as the Mexican held turn, and inch by inch the heavy hawser came inboard until the winch revolved readily as the Bonita glided out into deeper water, until she lay clear of the shoal, swinging to the grip of the cable over her stern. "Hurrah!" Bob shouted, and the others joined in the cheers, causing the boys to come from the galley to learn the reason for such an uproar. "It's a matter of gettin' that anchor home, an' then when the wind springs up ag'in we can leave this sand-heap behind us," the red-nosed man said in a tone of satisfaction, as he wiped the perspiration from his face before following the example of the others, who had flung themselves at full length in the shadow of the forecastle. "What about the Sea Bird, Bob?" Joe asked when he had regained his breath sufficiently to talk. "I hate to leave the little craft to the mercy of wind and wave." "Why don't you swing this hawser right aboard of her?" the red-nosed man proposed. "The owners may think she's worth comin' after, an' she'll lay here comfortable enough, unless it blows a full gale from the east." The tug was still made fast to the brig, having came off the shoal at the same time, and, save for the huge patch of canvas over her bow, looking as staunch as when first launched. "That's just what we will do; an' it'll save heavin' up the heavy anchor!" Joe cried. "The Bonita can lay alongside as well as if she was moored, and it won't take us so long to get under way when the wind does come." As soon as the party had recovered somewhat from the fatigue of straining at the winch, the hawser was shifted to the forward bitt on the Sea Bird, and both crafts gradually swung around until they were headed for the open sea. "We'll have a breeze before morning," the thin man remarked, "for one has sprung up every night since we landed, an' it's safe to calculate on leavin' about midnight." "After we've had somethin' to eat we'll make ready for it," Bob said as he went toward the galley, for it was fully an hour past noon and the appetites of all were decidedly sharpened. The amateur cook had everything ready, and the three boys carried the food below without being molested by those whom they quite naturally looked upon as enemies. CHAPTER XV. AN UNWARRANTED SEARCH. Bob gave an expressive look to the boys when the repast had been placed on the table, and all three understood that he meant for them to leave the cabin rather than run any chance of another encounter with the men. A quarrel just now, however trivial the cause, might lead to very serious consequences, because the guests were unscrupulous and stronger than the Bonita's crew; therefore this precaution of the old sailor's was a wise one. Jim and Harry not only realized the fact, but they were more than eager to be beyond the reach of these quarrelsome strangers, whose blows were bestowed without provocation, and they went into the galley, closely followed by Walter. "I've sailed along of some pretty tough customers," Jim said with the air of one who has had many and varied experiences, as he seated himself on an empty keg just outside the galley door, "but I never run across anybody like them duffers. They're worse'n old Mose Pearson, an' folks used to say he was the ugliest skipper that ever hove a mackerel-line." "They act as if the brig belonged to them, and we were the ones who had been taken off the key," Harry said bitterly. "I wish Bob never'd allowed them aboard!" "So do I!" And Jim spoke very emphatically. "There'll be a heap of trouble before we get rid of that crowd, or else I don't know anything about sich fellers. If they put on many more airs us three will have to sleep aboard of the tug, where we won't run the risk of bein' knocked down." "We can stand a good deal if they help us get the brig into port," Walter said with a sigh. "I'm willing to be thumped every day for a week if I can get home once more." "Most any of us would;" and Jim again put on his air of exceeding wisdom; "but the trouble is we can't count on goin' where we want to while they are aboard. I wouldn't be much 'stonished to hear that red-nosed man order all hands, 'cept his own crowd, ashore any minute. I'll be satisfied if, when the next fight comes, Bob hits him one crack hard enough to send more'n a thousand stars dancin' before his eyes. A good thump is the only thing that'll make him walk straight!" The others would have been equally delighted at such a lesson; but there was not time to say so, for just at this moment Joe called for coffee, and Harry ran below with a fresh supply, after which the boys set about cleaning up the galley preparatory to getting their own dinner. In the cabin, matters were progressing so favorably that a stranger would hardly have supposed the party had been upon the verge of an open rupture but a few hours previous. The thin man was particularly affable, and seemed to be thinking of no other subject save that of sailing the brig to the nearest American port in the shortest space of time. "If you're no navigator, how do you calculate it'll be possible to make the trip?" he asked of Bob, during the course of the meal. "It'll have to be done by dead reckonin', of course," the old sailor replied in as near an approach to a friendly tone as he could command, for the recent trouble was yet too fresh in mind to admit of his feeling thoroughly at ease. "It don't matter what port we make, an' as it's all plain sailin' after we're clear of the bank, the job oughter be done without much trouble." "The most important question is, When can we start?" the Mexican said with an odd laugh. "I've had so much of this key lately that I'd like to see it a dozen miles astern just now." "I fancy we're all of the same mind," said Joe, who seemed to think it necessary he should say something, if only to show he harbored no resentment. "We shan't have long to wait, I hope." By this time the engineer and Bob had finished the meal, while the others seemed to have hardly begun. It was as if they had some purpose in remaining a long time at the table; but yet one could not have seen in their manner anything to arouse suspicion. The old sailor and Joe arose from the table and went up the companion-way ladder as the former said: "It's too hot to stay below any longer than a feller is obliged to, an' I reckon you can get on as well without us." The thin man replied that there was no reason why one should suffer discomfort because others were slow, and by the time he had finished speaking Bob and Joe were on deck, looking with satisfaction at the result of their labors. "We shan't be hanging round the Bahama banks much longer, my hearty," the old sailor said gleefully. "Now that the brig has deep water under her keel once more, it's only a question of wind." "I don't suppose it would pay to hang on here until the tug could be repaired?" Joe added half inquiringly, as he went forward where the shadow of the forecastle afforded a most refreshing shelter. "Indeed it wouldn't," and Bob spoke very decidedly. "In the first place we must get this craft off our hands without loss of time; an' then, ag'in, the sooner we've said good-by to them new shipmates the safer I'll feel. They ain't to be trusted any further'n you can see 'em; but we've got to mess with the crowd till the brig's in port." Joe looked toward the steamer wistfully. He had suffered so many hardships and been exposed to such great danger in her that it would be almost like parting with an old friend to leave the little craft to rot at her moorings, or be blown ashore when the next gale should come from the east. While these two were cheering themselves with the belief that in a few hours at the longest the brig would be under way again, those in the cabin were proceeding to make themselves thoroughly at home. Bob and Joe had no sooner gone on deck than the red-nosed man said, in a whisper: "Now, Dave, you stay here, where it'll be easy to see if any of them fools come this way, an' I'll make quick work of the search. If the brig's papers are to be found we shall run no risk in taking her anywhere, an' we'll soon set ourselves up for gentlemen." "Unless somebody overhauls us for that little job down in the channel," the thin man added gloomily. "Don't be a fool!" was the savage reply. "How is anyone to know we had a finger in that pie? Even if it should come out, we won't be in this part of the world much longer. We can put in to Key West, hire a full crew, and an hour afterwards sail for any port we like best. Come on, Pedro." The Mexican had already risen from the table, and was noiselessly making his way aft to the room on the starboard side which would naturally have been occupied by the Bonita's rightful captain. The red-nosed man made haste to overtake him, as if doubtful of his friend's honesty, and the two entered the apartment at the same moment. Up to this time no one had disturbed the watch which hung at the head of the berth. The boys and Bob believed that every article on board should be delivered up to the authorities; but these men had no such scruples. He with the red nose clutched it eagerly, almost overturning the other in his efforts to reach the time-piece first, and against this confiscation the Mexican protested angrily. "Don't be a fool! I've only taken charge of it for all hands. We're to whack up fair on everything!" "Then why didn't you let it hang on the wall?" "Because that fool of a Bob might have stowed it away before we've had a chance to take possession. Now, don't stop to chin, but help me hunt over these papers." The Mexican looked much as if he distrusted the softly-spoken words; but he made no further protest, and together the two men began to overhaul the contents of the desk. To find that for which they sought was not a difficult task. It was only necessary to examine half a dozen papers before the documents were discovered, and the red-nosed man said grimly, as he put them in his pocket: "I reckon we've got things pretty near as we want 'em. We're the masters now, an' there'll be mighty little talk made about rights. Come along; if we're not on deck soon them Miss Nancys may suspect somethin', an' we want to keep their eyes closed two or three hours longer." "But ain't we goin' to search the other rooms?" "What's the use? There'll be plenty of time to-morrow, when we're alone." The worthy Pedro was not content to wait. The loss of the watch, for he seemed to consider it such, troubled him, and he was eager to put something in his own pocket. When he who was evidently the leader of the party walked toward Dave to acquaint him with the pleasing fact that the search had been successful, Pedro darted from one room to another, and the studs and sleeve-buttons, which the boys had noted, did not escape his eager gaze. "These shall not be taken charge of for all hands," he whispered half to himself, and the articles had but just been secreted when Dave came to the door. "Do you want to spoil everything by loafin' 'round here?" he asked angrily. "These kind of chances don't come every day, an' if our plans are upset owin' to such nonsense I'll split you like a mackerel with your own knife!" That the Mexican was a rank coward could be told by the pallor which came over his yellow face as these words were spoken, and with a muttered but inaudible reply he followed Dave to the companion-way ladder. "Now what are we to do?" the thin man asked when the three were ready to go on deck; and the leader of the villains replied readily: "Nothin' yet awhile. Some chance will turn up before we're under way; but if it don't, the matter must be settled at night while they're below. It won't be a hard job, for they can't stay on deck together all the time, and when the crowd is separated it'll be like child's play. Don't act as if anything was in the wind, but be sweet as molasses till the flies are where we want 'em!" Then the three men ascended the ladder, and from the benign expression on their faces the most suspicious would hardly have fancied they had been plotting to murder those who befriended them in a time of need. CHAPTER XVI. TRICKED. When the conspirators came on deck, and before they finished smoking, the boys cleaned the cabin, ate their own dinner in the galley, and were at liberty to remain idle until it should be time to prepare supper. After the heat of the day had passed Bob proposed that all the brig's lower sails should be set; adding, in conclusion: "'Cordin' to my way of thinkin', there's goin' to be a decent kind of a breeze about sunset, an' if we're ready for it jes' so much time will be saved in leavin' this place." The three strangers appeared even more eager than he to see the brig under canvas once more, and all hands turned to with a will, pulling, hoisting, and sheeting home as if the wind which was to waft them toward the United States had already begun to blow. By the time this work was done there could no longer be any question but that a generous breeze from the south was near at hand. Thin, filmy clouds formed in the sky, while every now and then the heated air would be set in motion slightly, as a token of what might be expected. "There's no doubt now but that we'll be under way by sunset," Joe said, as he stood on the quarter-deck where the boys had taken refuge from the heat, "and it would be a good idea for me to be bringing my dunnage out of the tug, since it ain't likely I'll ever see the little craft again." "Ain't you goin' to try and save anything else?" Jim asked. "There isn't much that we can take. Suppose all hands go aboard and see if there's anything belonging to the crew that'll pay for carrying away?" The boys accepted the invitation readily, for they did not care to move about the deck of the brig very much lest they came in contact with the red-nosed man and his friends, and all four went into the tiny after-cabin of the Sea Bird, where Joe at once began his work of investigation. There were four chests here in addition to the one owned by Joe, and these were broken open without ceremony, for the engineer did not intend to burden himself with anything that might not be of considerable value to the owners. "We'll unpack 'em, and then put the things back carefully, in case the little craft is carried home again," he said, going to work systematically, while the boys watched him with mild curiosity. There was no apparent necessity for haste, therefore Joe set about his task leisurely because of the intense heat, which made the slightest exertion almost painful, and but two of the chests had been overhauled when Bob came below to learn what was going on. "Gettin' ready to leave, eh?" he asked, after looking at the perspiring engineer in silence several moments. "Well, it's time; for unless I've made a big mistake in them light clouds we'll start from here mighty soon." "If we were going alone I'd feel tiptop," Joe said, as he paused for an instant in his work; "but as it is, I'm afraid we'll have trouble with that crowd before the United States coast heaves in sight, even if they do talk so fair just now." "We must keep our weather-eyes liftin' every minute, an' at the first sign of a row pitch in so's to take 'em unawares;" and Bob stretched himself out on the port locker as if determined to enjoy all possible comfort before the serious work of sailing the brig without an experienced navigator was begun. "I wouldn't hesitate to give 'em the slip by leavin' the whole crowd here; but there's no chance of their goin' ashore after the wind rises." "No," Joe replied, with a long-drawn sigh, "we shall have to grin an' bear it, I reckon; but----" He ceased speaking very suddenly, for just at that moment a footstep was heard on the steamer's deck, and an instant later the unpleasant-looking face of the man with the red nose appeared at the companion-way. "You all got outer sight so quick that I thought p'rhaps you'd gone overboard," he said with a leer, glancing inquisitively around the cabin, but making no motion to descend. "Joe is overhaulin' this dunnage, to see if there's anything worth carryin' back to the States," Bob replied carelessly, as the engineer continued his work in silence. The man lowered his head as if to see the interior more plainly, and, unperceived by any one in the little apartment, made a quick motion with his hand, evidently for the benefit of those aboard the brig. During nearly five minutes he stood there carelessly pushing the hatch back and forth, until the Mexican waved his hat, when the red-nosed man suddenly shut both doors, shoving into place the bolts which fastened them together. The little party in the cabin looked up in surprise at this singular maneuver, but it was not until the sound of quick footsteps was heard on the deck as the man ran swiftly aboard the brig that any one thought of treachery. "They've locked us in here so's they can steal the Bonita!" Bob shouted, as he leaped to the companion-way and began pounding on the bolted doors. The oaken timbers were firm as a bulk-head, and, without a weapon, he might have worked there all day in vain. Joe had sprung to the windows; but his efforts were quite as useless as Bob's. Heavy iron gratings, intended to keep out intruders and break the force of the waves, were screwed so firmly in the wood-work that they could not be removed from the inside save by the use of proper tools. They were securely imprisoned, for the cabin had no outlet except at the companion-way, and two or three hours of hard work would be absolutely necessary before they could escape by the doors. While Bob and Joe were darting from one possible point of vantage to another, shouting for help and uttering wild threats in the same breath, the boys had gathered at one of the port windows which looked directly on the brig's bulwarks. "They ain't gettin' under way!" Jim cried, as if trying to persuade himself that the strangers were not intending to desert them. "There's no need for the pirates to hurry," Bob said hoarsely, as he stood in the center of the cabin, his face convulsed by rage and trembling like one in an ague fit. "If I had jumped on 'em with the belayin'-pin when Joe held me back, all of that crowd wouldn't be able to get away. Come here, you cowards, an' give us a fair show! Open this hatch or I'll foller you till your lives won't be worth the livin'!" "The hawsers have been cast off, an' now the brig is beginnin' to move through the water!" Jim reported, as he pressed his face close to the iron bars. This information gave fresh impetus to Bob's wrath. He rushed from one corner of the cabin to another shouting the wildest threats, and behaving generally like an insane person. Joe was quite as angry as the old sailor, but not to such an extent that his common sense had deserted him. While Bob strode back and forth he was working on the screws which held the bars in place. By breaking off the end of the largest blade in his pocket-knife quite an effective tool was made, and he had accomplished no slight portion of his task when Jim made the last report. Rapidly as the engineer might labor, however, he knew it would be impossible to remove this one particular barrier to freedom before the Bonita would be beyond their reach. The promised wind had come sooner than it was expected, as could be told by the rapidly increasing speed with which the black bulwarks of the brig slipped past the window, and the task was not half completed when blue water could be seen as the vessel's stern swept by, leaving a wake which bubbled and danced merrily in the sunlight. "There must be a pretty good breeze," Jim continued, speaking excitedly, as if the tears were very near his eyelids, "for the upper sails are all drawing. Now I can see that red-nosed bully at the wheel, an' he's wavin' his hat!" Joe continued to work at the bars, and now, when it was too late to effect anything, Bob recovered from his anger sufficiently to make at least an attempt at assisting, while Harry and Walter stood near the companion-way, so thoroughly bewildered by this last blow of a cruel fate that speech was well nigh impossible. The brig remained within Jim's range of vision but a few moments longer, and when she disappeared entirely he threw himself on a locker, trying to stifle with its cushion the sobs which convulsed him. Without speaking, breathing like one after a long race, and heeding not the wounds on his fingers inflicted by the sharp edge of the knife, Joe worked on until the iron grating was held in place only by a couple of screws on one side. Then, standing on the locker, he used his foot as a battering-ram until the wood-work gave way, and the bars fell to the deck with a clatter and a crash that must have been heard by those on the brig. If it had been possible to overtake the thieves the prisoners could not have clambered out through the window more quickly, and on gaining the deck the uselessness of any further efforts was painfully apparent. The Bonita was already out of the little harbor, bowing and courtesying on the ocean swell to the wind from the south which filled all her sails, and gliding through the water as if rejoicing at her escape from the shoal. "Can't we row out to them?" Jim cried excitedly. "It wouldn't take long to launch the tug's yawl!" "We couldn't catch 'em with anything slower than a steamer, now that they're well under way!" Bob cried angrily; and then, unfastening the hatch, he went into the cabin once more, as if unable to look longer at the rapidly retreating brig. "It's no use, boys; we've got to make the best of what can't be cured!" Joe said with a great but vain effort to speak in a cheery tone. "We must try and forget what has happened or we shall be in no condition to help ourselves." Then, noting the tears in Walter's eyes, he added kindly: "Think of how much worse we might be situated. The Sea Bird isn't injured past mending, and in her we can make any port we choose." "But you said it would be two or three weeks before she could be repaired," and Harry choked back a sob lest the evidences of his own grief should make Walter's sorrow greater. "In that I may have been mistaken. Let's set to work as if nothing had happened, and think only about going home presently with no one on board of whom we are afraid. You boys get the yawl into the water, so we can land at any time, and I'll begin the job on the engine." CHAPTER XVII. REPAIRING THE SEA BIRD. It was extremely difficult for anyone on the tug to set about work while the sense of injury and grief was so fresh in his mind, and had it not been for Joe all hands would have given way to sorrow and anger, a course which could certainly bring no relief. He bustled around as if there was not a thought in his mind beyond repairing the engine, calling for assistance first upon one of the boys and then Bob, until they were absolutely forced to take an interest in the work. He insisted that the yawl must be gotten into the water without delay, because his duties might necessitate his going ashore at a moment's notice; and it was nearly time for the sun to set before the little boat was in sailing trim. While the boys were engaged in this work Joe called upon Bob so often that the old sailor grew quite eager to see the job progress, and, like the others, almost ceased to dwell upon the bitter disappointment. When the boat was launched, Joe advised the boys to go into the tiny galley of the tug for the purpose of getting supper, concluding by saying: "It ain't as big as the one on the Bonita; but you'll find better tools to work with, because everything is new. There must be grub enough to last ten days or more; but if not, we'll do a little hunting and fishing. This is the season for turtles, so we can have plenty of meat and eggs; and there's no show of being put on short allowance, even if we should stay here a month." This remark about food aroused Bob from the mournful reverie into which he had fallen for the moment, and he said with something like his old cheerfulness, as he started forward: "I'll overhaul the stores, so we'll know jes' what there is on board; but it won't do any harm for you boys to go fishin' now an' then, seein' that you can't do very much work in the engine-room." Then he went into the fore-peak. Jim and Walter built a fire in the stove, which occupied fully half the space in the tiny galley, and Harry set about laying the forward-cabin table with the limited collection of crockery. Joe came from the hot engine-room when the others were fully occupied. He had not really begun, his task, nor did he intend to do so until the next morning when some kind of a bench could be set up in the open air, although he had moved about very lively to keep the minds of his companions on something besides their own misfortunes. It was not long before Bob finished taking account of the eatables, and on coming from the hold he reported: "We've got fully half a barrel of flour, about twenty pounds of salt pork, twice as much beef, and two hams. There's coffee enough to last this crew four or five weeks, with canned milk to help it out. Two dozen tins of assorted vegetables, three bushels of potatoes, plenty of salt, pepper, molasses and vinegar. Pretty nigh a whole tub of butter, another of lard, and a barrel two-thirds full of ship's-biscuit. We sha'n't starve yet awhile; but it stands us in hand to do some fishin' an' huntin' before we leave this place--if we ever do." "Now, don't talk that way, Bob," Joe said with a laugh. "I give you my word that the engine can be repaired, so of course we shall leave here." "How much coal have you got?" Joe's face darkened. The fuel supply was the only thing of which he had not thought, and he knew there was only such an amount on board as would serve to keep up steam about forty-eight hours. "I don't suppose we've got enough for the run across," he said after a short pause; "but we can take on plenty of wood, or make our way into Nassau, where, by giving a distress note on the steamer, it will be possible to get all that may be needed. If we could only manage to patch the bow a little better I wouldn't feel worried about anything." "That's jes' what I've made up my mind to do," Bob replied. "If you don't call on me too often, I reckon I can show a pretty decent job of carpentering by the time you're ready to make steam." "After to-morrow night I shan't need much help, so you'll have plenty of time," Joe said with a laugh; and then the conversation was interrupted by Walter's announcement that supper was ready. Jim had taken especial pains with this meal, probably acting on the belief that grief is lessened when the stomach is satisfied, and all hands seated themselves at the table, which occupied nearly the entire floor-space of the little cabin, looking far more cheerful than one would have supposed under the circumstances. "There's a big advantage about living here," Joe said, as he lighted the swinging lamp that the interior might seem more cheerful. "Everything is snugger than on the brig. We've got one bunk apiece, and none to spare; the bedding is clean because it's new, while Jim's work is easier owin' to the fact of the galley bein' alongside the dining-room." "Yes," Bob said, as he choked down a sigh with a big piece of ham, "we're pretty well fixed considerin'; an' if the Bonita had gone to the bottom, or been burned up, I wouldn't feel sore a bit. It's the idea that the same villains we brought off the key to save 'em from starvation have run away with the brig which riles me. Howsomever," he added, as he helped himself to another potato, "it don't do any good to talk of sich rascality, an' we may as well chuck ourselves under the chin 'cause things are no worse." Then Joe made sure the conversation would not again drift into such a dangerous channel by talking of the needed repairs until the meal was finished and the dishes washed, after which all hands went on deck to enjoy the cooling breeze. "If we could sleep here it would be possible to take some comfort," Harry suggested, as the old sailor made preparations for his after-supper smoke. "It'll be terribly hot in the cabin." "Suppose we do that same thing?" Joe said, quickly. "I'm going to spread the foresail as an awning in the morning to make a work-room, and if we should put it up now there'd be nothing else necessary but bring the bedding on deck." Bob showed that he thought the plan a good one by laying down his pipe and going forward. The others followed, and in a short time the little foresail was unbent, the canvas stretched from the roof of the house aft to a couple of oars lashed to the rail, and the boys made up the beds. It was fully half an hour before sunrise next morning when Bob called all hands, and the task of repairing the Sea Bird was begun without delay. Joe had his tools and spare fittings on deck by the time breakfast was ready, and Bob mapped out his work during the same interval. "You boys are to go ashore," the old sailor said when the little party had gathered around the table. "We haven't got much water, an' if you can find a spring it'll save wastin' coal to condense what'll be needed." An excursion on the island was by no means a hardship, and but little time was spent setting the galley and cabin to rights after the meal had been brought to an end. "The key ain't so small but that you can get lost on it an' not half try," Bob shouted, as Jim and Harry took up the oars, leaving Walter to play the part of coxswain. "Keep your bearings well in mind, an' don't go far from the shore." Jim waved his hand to show that the commands were understood, and then the little boat was propelled swiftly toward the key. Bob watched the boys until they landed, fastened the yawl by tying the painter around a projecting piece of coral, and disappeared in the underbrush, after which he went aft, where Joe had set up a very shaky work-bench and was busily engaged measuring a plate of metal. "Them two city-bred youngsters are having the worst end of this queer cruise," the sailor said thoughtfully. "To an old moss-back like me, it don't make much difference whether he's on the Bahamas or the Sandwich Islands, providin' there's plenty of grub; but the lads must come pretty nigh eatin' their hearts out sometimes when they think of home an' the sadness that's in it through their disappearin' so mysterious-like." "It's tough on them, and that's a fact," Joe replied; "but they keep the trouble to themselves in a way that ought to teach us a lesson. A man, or a boy either, for that matter, should put his best foot forward, no matter how hard a place he gets in, an' then half the battle's won before a blow can be struck." Joe had no opportunity to continue the subject because Bob walked into the cabin. The conversation was growing altogether too personal to please the old sailor, for he knew perfectly well that he had been more than foolish in giving such free rein to his temper and grief when the perfidy of the strangers was first made apparent, and, like many others, he did not care to be told of his faults. He proposed to further repair the damage done the Sea Bird by planking outside the canvas, and to procure the necessary lumber he must take it from the bulk-head between the after-cabin and the engine-room. This he now proceeded to do, and while the pounding and hammering went on below, as if the little steamer was being torn to pieces, Joe continued what was both a difficult and laborious task. A piece of metal such as could have been cut and planed down into the required shape in half a day with the proper tools, he was forced to fashion from thick plates with nothing more effective than a file. Although accustomed to "look upon the bright side of trouble," it was impossible to conceal from himself the unpleasant fact that two or three weeks might elapse before the job could be finished satisfactorily, and during such time a gale from the east might make the Sea Bird a total wreck. These disagreeable thoughts did not prevent him from working industriously on what seemed an almost endless task, and he had not ceased his labors for a single moment, even though fully two hours were passed, when a loud noise from the shore attracted his attention. "Something has gone wrong with the boys!" he shouted; and Bob rushed on deck in the greatest excitement as he asked, impatiently: "What's the matter? Have you seen anything?" "No; but listen to that yelling. It isn't possible they have found human beings on the key, and unless they're in trouble I don't see why there should be such an uproar." There was but little time for speculation. Almost before Joe ceased speaking the boys came from the underbrush at full speed and leaped into the boat after launching her, Jim and Walter pulling energetically at the oars while Harry waved some small object above his head. CHAPTER XVIII. A SINGULAR DOCUMENT. In order to better understand the cause of the boys' excitement it will be well to follow them from the time they stepped ashore on the little key in search of water; otherwise it might require the reader more time than it did Bob and Joe to learn all the details of the story. The novelty of standing on the solid earth once more, after having been tossed about by the sea, was very pleasant, and the boys enjoyed it hugely. The sun had not yet heated the cool night-air which lingered among the underbrush, and they plunged through the dense portions of the thicket as if the very contact of the foliage was a luxury. The oddly-shaped leaves, unfamiliar trees and wire-like grass claimed their attention for fully half an hour to the exclusion of everything else, and it is barely possible that the purpose for which they landed might have been forgotten if Jim had not reminded them of the fact by saying: "Look here, fellers, it won't do for us to caper 'round here much longer, 'cause Bob'll be hoppin' mad if we ain't back soon to tell him whether there's a supply of water. We'll have plenty chances to come ashore before the Sea Bird is repaired, an' to steer clear of a row we'd better get to work." Thus reminded of their duties, Harry and Walter assumed a business-like air, and under the direction of Jim set about exploring the key in a methodical manner. Before proceeding more than fifty yards straight back from the cove the question of water was settled, at the same time that evidences of the men who had done them such grievous injury were found. In the sand amid a thicket of palms was a spring whose clear, sparkling water bubbled up apparently through the solid rock, forming a tiny stream which flowed toward the east some distance and was then lost amid the dazzling sand. Near by the underbrush had been trampled down, while a quantity of embers told unmistakably that here the three men had camped several days. "They wasn't very near starvin' if this was where they hung out," Jim said as he lifted from amid the foliage a small sack of yams and another half-filled with ship's-biscuit. "Here's enough to keep 'em alive longer'n they had any right to live, an' by the looks of them oyster-shells I should think it had been a reg'lar Thanksgivin' Day with 'em." "All three ate as if they were hungry when they came aboard the brig," Harry suggested. "That was to throw dust into Bob's eyes. Anyhow, these bags show as how the villains weren't left here by accident. If we could know all about the crowd I reckon we'd think ourselves lucky in gettin' rid of them with only the loss of the brig." The thought of how they were tricked was one Harry did not care to entertain very long just at this time, when he had succeeded in partially banishing his great grief, and as a means of checking such conversation he said: "I suppose we ought to go back and tell Bob there is plenty of water here." "We've got time enough for that. Let's look 'round a little more, for I'd like to find out where them oysters came from," Jim replied; and Walter started at once through the thicket as if eager to hide from view this very unpleasant reminder of their enemies. "It won't take long to walk across the key," Jim said as he followed close behind the leader; "an' if we keep straight ahead there's no chance of gettin' lost." "We can go on for awhile, at any rate," Harry replied, "and if the distance is too great there's nothing to prevent us from turning around." [Illustration: Harry sprung forward with a shout as he pointed to a small, dark object.--(See page 155.)] It was destined, however, that they should not penetrate very far into the interior of the island. Walter had led the party little more than a quarter of a mile when he halted in front of a veritable hut in the midst of a palmetto thicket. Just for an instant the boys believed the key was inhabited; but as they pushed further among the luxuriant vegetation that question was settled, at least so far as this particular building was concerned. It had originally been a rude affair about ten feet square, and evidently built from the fragments of a vessel, but was now little more than a pile of timbers. One end and part of a side yet remained standing, the balance thrown down as if decay rather than man or the fury of the elements had caused the collapse. The boys walked around it, trying to peer under the rotten planks in the hope of seeing some evidences of its former occupancy, until Walter said impatiently: "There's nothing here worth looking at, so let's go on." "Wait a bit," Jim replied, as he began overhauling the ruins. "If we could find two or three sound planks Bob would think we'd made a fair day's work, 'cause he needs a good deal of lumber." Harry had not thought it possible the discovery could be of any value until this suggestion of Jim's, and then he worked with a will among the ruins, knowing full well how delighted the old sailor would be with two or three stout timbers. It seemed hardly probable any very useful material could be gathered from the pile of rubbish, for that portion of the hut yet standing was in such a condition of decay that, as the fragments inside were removed, it came tumbling down with a crash, sending the centipedes and other crawling things scuttling away in every direction, while the dust rose in dense clouds, which caused the boys to sneeze as if a huge snuff-box had been overturned. "According to the looks of that we sha'n't find very many serviceable pieces," Walter said when it was possible to speak again. "This stuff is so rotten that it wouldn't even make good fuel." "I reckon you're right;" and as he spoke Jim pulled toward him the corner-post, which had broken off close to the sand. In dragging it out the wood crumbled to pieces, and Harry, who was a few feet away, sprung forward with a shout as he pointed to a small, dark object amid the fragments. "Look at that! There's something hidden in the timber!" Pressing forward, the boys saw a square black mass five inches long, four wide, and a trifle more than one inch in thickness, which was lying apparently in the very heart of the wood. The briefest examination revealed the fact that the odd-looking thing was in a cavity or recess which had been cut in the timber at what must have been about four feet from the ground when the post formed a portion of the hut. It had been most skillfully done, and concealed from view by a thin piece of wood rabbeted-in so neatly as to make it appear like the solid post. Even now, after so many years must have elapsed, it was difficult to see the joints; therefore when first done one would have looked in vain for marks of a tool on the timber. "What is it?" Jim cried excitedly as he gazed at the black object, but made no move toward taking it from the recess where it had so long remained hidden. "It's something valuable, or it wouldn't have been put away like that. P'rhaps a pirate has left it for safe-keeping, and couldn't get back after it," Harry suggested. "He couldn't have been any very great shakes of a pirate if that's all he had to hide!" Jim said with a tone of contempt for the possibly blood-thirsty owner of the package which he now lifted from its wooden case. The boys gathered close around; but the most minute examination failed to reveal anything more valuable than a mass of tar. "There must be something inside!" Walter cried excitedly, "for no one would have taken so much trouble to put such stuff away. Cut it open!" Jim was soon chopping at the black mass with his pocket-knife, and but a few strokes were necessary to show that the tar simply covered a cunningly-plaited net-work of stout cord fashioned somewhat like an envelope. "Be careful when you stick the knife through!" Harry cried warningly. "There must be something precious inside, sure!" Jim did not intend to run any risk of ruining the contents by a hasty stroke. After scraping the tar off sufficiently to expose the cords straight across both ends, he cut them carefully apart until the envelope was divided like an open wallet, exposing to view two thin sheets of wood. "It's nothing but paper!" Walter exclaimed in a tone of most intense disappointment as Jim separated this inner covering, showing what appeared to be the attempt of some amateur to draw a diagram on a soiled piece of stout paper. At the top of the sheet, which was yellow and time-worn, were two lines, as follows: XLI. fathoms N. N. E. from this timber to palmetto tree. XII. fathoms S. E. by E. to coral-head. This information, if such it could be called, was jotted down in fanciful letters instead of writing, and immediately beneath it appeared the rude drawing of a hut, a crooked tree, and a rock or piece of coral. From one to the other arrows were placed to mark the probable direction as given above, while below was what looked like a representation of an island or key. Then was written, in angular penmanship, the following: We solemnly swear not to disturb the treasure buried by us this day, except in the presence of all the owners, or after receiving proof that one or more are dead. (Signed) BARTH MEADOWS. His PEDRO X GONZALES. mark. E. BONN. His JOSEF X HARTTMAN. mark. For several moments after Harry ceased reading this singular document the boys stood staring at the faded characters in silence, and then Jim exclaimed: "I'll bet them was pirates what wrote that, an' if we could only make out what it means there'd be a big pile of gold found. Let's go on board an' show it to Bob!" The mere suggestion that they had the clew to a buried treasure was sufficient to throw all three into a perfect fever of excitement, and after carefully gathering up the coverings they started at full speed for the shore, shouting to each other, as they ran, the most improbable theories concerning the ancient document and its signers until the key resounded with their cries. "Perhaps the men who ran away with the brig belong to the same gang who hid the paper," Walter suggested in a tremulous tone, glancing behind him every few moments, as if fancying they might be pursued. "That couldn't be," Harry replied, panting because of the rapid pace, "unless they've taken the gold with them." For an instant the boys' joy decreased very materially, and then grew strong once more as Jim said, confidently: "If they had we'd seen somethin' of it; but them duffers didn't have any baggage when they come aboard. The Bonita wouldn't 'a' left the cove so quick if the men had known about this. I tell you, fellers, it was lucky for us that they stole the brig!" [Illustration: Fac-simile of paper found by the boys.--(See page 157.)] Then, as if unable longer to act like rational beings, the explorers burst into loud, incoherent shouts, which sadly lessened their speed because of the extra amount of breath required to continue the outcries. It was this uproar which Joe heard, and he and Bob were wholly at a loss to understand what had happened as the yawl, with her noisy crew, approached the tug. CHAPTER XIX. AN UNEXPECTED VISIT. It was fully ten minutes after the excited boys arrived at the Sea Bird before Bob and Joe could understand the meaning of the document which Harry waved so triumphantly above his head, or learn where and how it had been found. Each one insisted on telling the story at the same time, and the result was that nothing could be distinctly heard until Bob shouted: "Hold up, lads! Give yourselves time to elect a president who can do the talkin', an' then p'rhaps me an' Joe'll find out whether you've seen the Bonita or discovered a bridge that leads to New York!" "Let Harry tell the story while Walt an' me bail the yawl. Her seams haven't swelled enough yet to prevent her from takin' in water;" and Jim went forward resolving not to say another word until the matter was fully explained; but before Harry had well begun the recital both he and Walter were assisting in the conversation. Bob and Joe did finally succeed in learning all the particulars regarding the finding of the manuscript, and then their excitement equaled that of the boys. "There ain't any question but what the lads have lighted on the secret of a pirate's treasure," the old sailor said in a positive tone, and looking around at his companions as if challenging either of them to contradict him. "Years ago these keys used to be a great place for 'em to sneak in an' out of, an' it stands to reason this would 'a' been jes' the kind of a harbor they'd try to make, 'cause there's water enough here to float a good-sized craft." "But it's a big question as to whether we can find it;" and Joe examined the document carefully once more. "It has been a good while since this was written, and perhaps both the tree and the coral rock have disappeared." "It won't take very long to learn that, matey," Bob replied in a tone so cheery that it would have been difficult to believe he had felt so angry and despondent a few hours previous. "There's a good compass in the pilot-house, an' with it an' your tape-measure we'll be able to lay out the course to a hair." "Do you mean to knock off work for the sake of going treasure-hunting?" Joe asked in mild surprise. "Why not? Two or three days won't make much difference to us when the repairs are a question of weeks, an' there's no great danger of an easterly gale at this time of year." It did not require any lengthy or able argument to convince Joe that he would be warranted in ceasing his work as machinist to become a treasure-seeker, for he was fully as eager as Bob to test the truth of the apparent statement contained in the document. Half an hour after the boys came on board all hands were ready for a return to the key. The compass had been placed in the stern-sheets of the yawl; Joe carried the measuring-tape in his pocket, and all was in readiness for the start, when the old sailor suggested that one of the Sea Bird's anchors be dropped. "I ain't afraid of her slippin' the Bonita's hawser," he said; "but it'll be a good idea to prevent her from swinging round into shoal water." Anything, no matter how much labor it might involve, which would guard against a loss or further disablement of their second and only remaining craft should be attended to, and all hands assisted in the work. The tug's smallest anchor was let go with the cable made fast to the stern bitt, and unless a violent storm should arise she would lay to her moorings as safely as if in a dry-dock. Bob looked once more to the stopper on the bow hawser, as if the idea of leaving the little steamer even for so short a time made him uneasy regarding her safety; and then, when, about to step over the rail into the yawl, he involuntarily glanced seaward. "Well, if that don't take all the wind outer my sails!" he exclaimed, pointing with one hand toward the open ocean as he shaded his eyes with the other. "An hour ago I'd 'a' been glad to see sich a sight as that; but with the paper the boys found I've kinder lost all hankerin' for a chance to leave this key." The remainder of the party were already on board the yawl, and it was some seconds before the full meaning of his words could be understood. It was Harry who first caught a glimpse of that which attracted the old sailor's attention, and he cried, as he clambered over the steamer's rail: "It's a vessel! Father has sent some one to look for us, and now we can go home!" "I reckon you're wrong there, lad," Bob said as his companions gathered around him, all gazing intently at a small schooner which was creeping slowly toward the key from the southeast, evidently heading directly for the cove. "That craft hasn't got American sailors on board by considerable. She looks like a fisherman--most likely comin' here for turtles. Whatever she is, we must put off goin' ashore for a spell." Joe quickly brought the compass from the yawl, that no evidences of their intended visit ashore should be seen, and said, as he took up his tools once more: "We'd better keep right on about our work, for in case they are coming here it may look suspicious to see us loafing when the steamer is so nearly a wreck." But for the document found by the boys Joe would not have had such a thought. Now, however, the possibility that there might be a large amount of treasure secreted on the key made him over-cautious and distrustful. Bob returned to the cabin, for the "curse of wealth" had also begun to make itself felt on him, and the three boys watched the approach of the stranger, but far less eagerly than would have been the case a few hours previous. Slowly the schooner drew nearer, still heading directly for the cove, and shortening sail only when she was inside the outer point of land. "Come on deck, Bob," Joe said in a low tone. "She's got just about way enough on to fetch us, and there's no question but that she's coming to anchor close alongside." Bob emerged from the companion-way as the schooner swung around to her cable, and a man who was standing near the wheel shouted: "Steamer ahoy!" "Halloo!" Bob replied. "What's the matter? Are you in distress?" "Not exactly; we've been at the wrong end of a collision, an' put in here to patch up a little." "Have you been ashore yet?" "Do you suppose they know we found the paper?" Walter whispered in alarm as Bob hesitated before saying: "Three of the crew landed this morning to look for water." "Did you see any men there?" "If you mean a Mexican, a thin feller, an' one with a red nose, we've seen more'n we wanted!" and by the tone of Bob's voice it could be easily understood that he was growing very angry. "That's the crowd we're looking for!" the man on the schooner said excitedly. "On what part of the key are they?" "You'll find 'em somewhere between here an' the coast of the United States. We had the brig Bonita in tow when we came to anchor, an' by lockin' us below on the tug they stole her!" The man conversed with those near him for a moment, and then resumed the conversation by asking: "When did that happen?" "About two hours before sunset yesterday afternoon. Do you know anything of the scoundrels?" "Considerable that ain't to their credit. They shipped at Nassau on a trading-vessel, and tried to get up a mutiny in order to seize the craft. The captain marooned them here, and we shouldn't have troubled our heads about such a lot if it had not been learned that they murdered two turtle-fishers in the North-west Channel three weeks ago simply for the small amount of money the men received from sale of the cargo. It looks now as if the villains had given us the slip." "I ain't so sure of that," Bob replied after some thought. "The brig is a decently heavy sailer, an' there hasn't been wind enough to take her very far away. The chances are they're loafin' 'round the Bank now." As may be supposed, the crew of the Sea Bird were astonished at learning the true character of those whom they would have befriended. That the men were scoundrels there had been good proof; but to learn they were murderers as well, shocked all hands. "It's a good thing we didn't sail on the Bonita," Walter said in a whisper. "If they'd kill two fishermen for a little money, I'm sure there wouldn't have been much hesitation about butchering us before we arrived in port, so they could claim the brig." "All that appears unfortunate is not ill-luck," Joe added; and then the captain of the schooner shouted: "We'll give them a chase, anyhow. Tell us the full particulars concerning the brig, and if we don't succeed in catching the murderers it will be easy to send the information to every port they're likely to enter. By that means they'll be prevented from enjoying the stolen property very long. Come aboard, where we can talk without such a waste of wind!" "Let's all hands go," Bob suggested; and in a few moments the crew of the Sea Bird were on the schooner--Harry telling the story of how he, Walter and Jim were carried away by the Bonita; Bob relating the particulars of the Trade Wind's loss, and Joe giving an account of the collision. "It's kind of a mixed up affair," the captain said, rubbing his nose vigorously, as if to quicken memory, "and I reckon it'll be safer to take down all the names, so's there'll be no mistake." "I'll write out the whole thing for you," Harry proposed, and the captain appeared to be relieved by the proposition. "I ain't got much of a fist for writin'," he replied half-apologetically, "an' it'll save me a deal of time." Then, as Harry began what of necessity would be quite a lengthy narrative, he asked Bob: "Is there anything we can do for you? Have you stores enough for a decently long voyage?" "I reckon we have everything needful except coal, an' we'll have to run into Nassau for that. If you'll give me the course it'll be a big help, seein's how I ain't very much of a navigator." This the captain was not only willing but pleased to do. He even went so far as to draw on a piece of brown paper a rude chart of the North-east Providence Channel, and the self imposed task was hardly completed when Harry brought his written story to an end. CHAPTER XX. TREASURE-SEEKERS. The crew of the schooner obtained the fullest particulars regarding the brig, the direction of the wind when she was gotten under way, and such other information as might be of benefit to them, for the chase was to be continued to the American coast, if necessary. "We can send for the legal papers in case the murderers have reached the United States," the captain of the schooner said; "and with such proof as we have got concerning their crime there is little doubt but that the Government will grant an extradition." "If you should catch them, make a claim in our name for salvage on the brig," Joe said. "We brought her through a gale in which she would have been dismasted if not totally wrecked, and as she was stolen from an anchorage our rights in the matter should be respected." "That's about the size of it, Joe," Bob added, approvingly. "If there's any fairness in law we oughter get a right tidy lot of money outer the old hooker." "I'll attend to the business for you, my hearties; an' what's more, them villains shall be made to answer for a cold-blooded murder if we have to keep the chase up six months. Now I allow we should get under way, for a good sailin' breeze mustn't be lost. We'll see you in Nassau, I reckon, for if things work favorably we'll be home again in a week at the latest." This was a decided hint for the visitors to take their departure, and a few moments later they were rowing toward the Sea Bird as the schooner glided swiftly out of the little cove. "Well, lads," Bob said, after they had watched the rapidly receding craft until her hull was shut out from view by the point of land, "now that they're off there's nothin' to prevent us from findin' out if what was writ down on that paper means anything. Get the compass. We'll take an ax an' the fire-shovel as well, for most likely there'll be a job at diggin' before it'll be possible to tell whether we're on a wild-goose chase or not." The boys were eager to follow up the clew given by the document found at the ruined hut, and in a very short space of time everything was ready once more for a visit to the key. It was now past noon, for the schooner had been in the harbor two or three hours; but in the excitement of hunting for treasure no one thought of eating. The heat was intense even where the sea-breeze had full range, and among the underbrush it would be almost stifling; but this discomfort was unheeded in the newborn thirst for gold. With Bob and Joe at the oars the yawl glided over the glassy waters very swiftly, and when she was pulled up on the sand beyond reach of the tide the old sailor said, as he raised the compass: "Lead the way, lads, an' make the course pretty nigh direct, for we don't want to cruise 'round any more'n is necessary. Joe, you take the shovel an' ax, so's the leaders can travel light." By following up their own trail, which was distinctly marked in the underbrush, the boys had no difficulty in going directly to the ruined hut, stopping only once on the way to quench their thirst at the spring. "This is the place, an' there's the hole in the timber where we found the paper," Harry said, as he laid his hand on the crumbling joist. "What puzzles me is to know from which side of it we're to measure forty-one fathoms." "There can't be much of a mistake if we're to travel nor'-nor'-east," and Bob placed the compass on that portion of the shattered timber which yet remained in the sand. "It'll be a decently hard job to walk in a straight line, though, an' if we should happen to get an inch or so out of the way at the start it would throw the whole course askew." "A few feet wouldn't matter a great deal while we've got the palmetto to guide us," Joe suggested. "We have, if it's standin' yet; but this 'ere document was fixed up a good while ago, my hearty, an' the tree they took their bearin's from may have been blowed down a dozen times since then." "I don't believe that could have happened more than once," Harry said, laughingly, "unless palmettoes are different from other trees." "Well," Bob replied, gravely, "once would be enough to knock us out of reckoning, an' instead of standin' here in the hot sun chatterin' like a lot of parrots we'd better find the true course." To lay out a straight line through the woods with nothing but a compass as guide is by no means a simple task, and of this the old sailor was well aware. He set about the work methodically, heeding not the time spent providing the result arrived at was correct, and in doing this the assistance of all was necessary. With the compass placed squarely over the end of the post Bob sighted across it, directing Jim, who had moved off at a distance of half a dozen yards, until he was in the desired position. Then the compass was carried forward to this point, and as Joe trimmed away the branches or hewed down trees which obstructed the view, Harry walked ahead according to the old sailor's orders. Walter made the third point in the observation; and thus the line was continued by the one in the rear going forward when the distance had been measured, until forty-one fathoms, or two hundred and forty-six feet, had been covered. "Here we are!" Joe cried as the final living peg was in position; "and there's nothing that looks like a palmetto anywhere near. Are you sure the course is true?" "I know it can't be half a fathom out of the way," Bob said as he wiped the perspiration from his face and gazed around in perplexity. "This is what comes of takin' a bearin' that's likely to be knocked outer line." "If the tree isn't where it ought to be must we give up the search?" Walter asked as a look of disappointment came over his face. "We won't cry quits quite so soon as this," Bob replied quickly. "Joe, drive a stake where Harry stands, so we can find the spot ag'in, an' then get ready to start on the other course." When this had been done Bob brought the compass forward once more, and Joe struck out southeast by east--a direction which caused them to return almost over the same course, the stake standing at the point of an acute angle. This second course was but little more than one-quarter the distance of the first; but the underbrush was more tangled, which made the labor of clearing a path proportionately greater, and it was nearly night-fall when Joe shouted, as he pressed on in advance: "There's no need of squinting across that compass-box any longer, for here's the coral-head as plain as the nose on a man's face!" Without thinking that by leaving their positions all this last portion of the work might have to be repeated, the boys rushed forward eagerly despite Bob's warning shouts; and thus deserted by his assistants, the old sailor could do no less than join the others, who were standing around what looked like a dull-white rock of the same form as that so rudely pictured on the time-stained paper. "I reckon we've struck it!" he said with a long-drawn sigh of relief; "but there's likely to be a big lot of diggin', an' it's gettin' late. My idee is that we'd better knock off now, an' come back in the mornin'." Joe was of the same opinion, and the two men began to gather up their belongings preparatory to a return to the steamer. The boys were decidedly disappointed. Even though all were very hungry, they would have preferred to settle the question then and there regardless of the amount of time that might be necessary; but as their views on the subject were not asked for, there was no other course open save to follow the leaders. The coral-head lay nearer the water's edge than did the hut, and after blazing two or three trees and ascertaining the bearings of the supposed treasure, the line of march was taken up. The sun had been below the horizon fully a quarter of an hour when they stepped on board the Sea Bird, and not until then did the boys realize how tired they were. The exertion even of cooking supper seemed too great; but it was a task which must be performed, and all hands aided in it, thus bringing the meal to a much earlier close than if Jim had officiated at the stove alone. It is safe to say that none of the steamer's crew were troubled with wakefulness five minutes after retiring, and Bob himself was wrapped in slumber when the sun came up out of the sea. His eyes were opened at a reasonably early hour, however, and when a hurried breakfast had been eaten the party set out for the spot where all believed a pirate's treasure would be found. To retrace their steps by the course laid out on the previous evening was not a difficult matter, for the trail through the tangled underbrush would have showed the way even without the compass, and before two hours of this new day were spent the little party stood once more around the coral-head. Owing to the fact that they had but one shovel the work of digging progressed slowly, and it was soon discovered that the task would require considerable time. The coral was of great size, very much larger at the base than the top, and imbedded in the sand to the depth of at least four feet. "We must spell each other every five minutes," Bob said, as he set the example by taking the tool from Joe's hands. "In that way we shall get along faster, because the one who's diggin' will always be fresh." Each of the party, including the boys, had taken his turn at the shovel half a dozen times when the huge mass of coral was finally uncovered, and then came the question of removing it entirely. To this end Joe cut three poles, to be used as levers, and with the most intense excitement depicted on every countenance the treasure-seekers set about this last portion of the task. The second attempt was successful. The coral was rolled up on the sand until it could be toppled over, and then, as Bob scraped the earth away from where it had rested so long, an oblong sheet of metal--apparently copper--was exposed to view. This was sufficient proof for the boys that the paper found in the hollow log referred to a hoard of gold, and they cheered again and again until all three were hoarse, while Bob said in a tone of mingled amazement and joy: "I'm blest if I thought the dockerment was anything more'n a bloomin' hoax; but this begins to look as if there might be a heap of truth in it, even if them as wrote the story was mighty bad hands with a pen." Despite all their anxiety to know what had been hidden in this place, the little party stood around the excavation in a frame of mind very much resembling awe until Joe said, impatiently: "Come, come! What's the sense of standing like images? Let's know what there is here, now that we're pretty near the end of the puzzle!" This was sufficient to awaken the treasure-seekers from their daze, and the work was continued without further delay. CHAPTER XXI. THE TREASURE. The sheet of metal, which was about eight feet square and half an inch in thickness, covered considerable more space than had the base of the coral-head, consequently it became necessary to work some time longer with the shovel before it could be raised. After the edges were exposed, and the sand had been thrown back to prevent any chance of its falling in and burying whatever might be beneath when the metal was removed, Bob said in a tone of caution, curbing his own excitement as much as possible: "Keep cool, lads, for too great speed jes' now may make no end of extra work. Joe, you take hold of this 'ere plate with me, while Jim stands by with the shovel in case we start the sand a runnin'. Don't let your hopes climb so high that you'll be disappointed if we fail to find anything here, my hearties, for there's a good many chances somebody has been at this place ahead of us, an' we'll have all our labor for nothin'. Calm down same's I am, an' then there won't be any harm done if we find nothin' but an empty hole." Bob's advice was good, but he did not follow it himself. Now they were so near the end of the task, he was actually trembling with suppressed excitement, and it was as if he had made this long speech for the purpose of quieting his own nerves. The boys stood around the excavation awaiting impatiently the moment when the secret was to be revealed; and although Jim held the shovel ready to check any flow of sand, it was apparent that he paid more heed to what might be under the metal plate than the duty assigned him. To raise the heavy covering was more difficult than the old sailor at first supposed. Four times did he and Joe make the attempt unsuccessfully, and then, as every muscle was strained to the utmost, it canted on edge, while five pairs of eyes peered eagerly into what was naturally supposed to be an excavation. If the anxious ones had expected an immediate view of treasure they were disappointed. A mass of what appeared to be canvas, but so discolored and decayed as to require a close scrutiny before such fact could be determined, was all that could be seen, and this in itself cheered Bob wonderfully. "Whatever was buried is still here, for if anybody had got at it they wouldn't a' taken the trouble to cover the hole over again. All hands turn to an' lift this chunk of metal out of the way." "An' don't be two or three hours about it either," Jim cried impatiently, as he grasped one side of the huge plate, "or we'll never find out what's under the canvas." The additional excitement lent strength to every arm, and as if it had been nothing more than a piece of wood the heavy mass was rolled end over end until it lay on the sand a dozen feet from the excavation. When this had been done there was no longer any delay in continuing the investigation. With one accord every member of the party seized at the same moment the discolored covering which hid from view the secret of the key. The fabric crumbled in their hands like tinder, and instead of lifting it off readily each pulled up a small quantity of moldering fiber. "Take the shovel!" Bob cried excitedly to Joe. "This stuff hasn't got much more substance than dust, an' it must be scraped away carefully." "It's a bad lookout for what may be beneath," Joe replied grimly, as he obeyed the order while the boys and Bob worked with their hands until a black, stiff surface was exposed. "This is tarred canvas, an' by gettin' hold of the edges we can lift it out, I reckon," the old sailor said; and as the others followed his example the second covering, together with the remaining fragments of the first, was raised without difficulty, exposing to view a sight well calculated to increase the already feverish excitement. An excavation about five feet square, dug down to the bed-rock and lined on the sides with tarred canvas, was revealed, while in it, packed with a view to economy of space, were a large number of small, black bags full to plumpness of something which bulged here and there like metal. Bob drew his sheath-knife in a twinkling, and instead of cutting the mouth of a bag which he lifted from its long resting-place, slit it down the side, allowing the contents to drop in a dull yellow shower on the sand. "Talk about wantin' salvage on the brig!" he cried; "why, here's more money than she and her cargo would fetch in any port! It's gold, lads! Here's a Spanish doubloon; this is an English sovereign; an' there's a Dutch piece. It would puzzle a lawyer to count it off-hand; but we oughter be satisfied at knowin' that every coin is good, lawful money, no matter how them as put their fists to the dockerment may a' got it!" Bob was almost beside himself with joy, and the others were not one whit more calm. Each had torn or cut open a bag, and was handling the contents as if every touch of the precious metal gave pleasure. That the hoard was valuable every member of the party knew beyond a doubt, even though no one could compute the actual amount. There were coins of almost every nation, some of gold, others of silver, all poured into the tarred canvas bags without any attempt at classification, but simply that they might be in a portable shape. The bag Harry opened contained, in addition to the money, several rings; but in the excitement of the moment there was no thought of examining them critically. It was sufficient that they were in possession of a large amount of treasure; the value of the find was a secondary consideration just then. The old sailor finally aroused himself from what can be called by no other name than a delirium of joy, and with his awakening to the reality came that which the accumulation of wealth always brings--fear lest it should be lost as suddenly as it was gained. "We mustn't sit here crowin' like idiots!" he cried sharply as he began to gather up the gold-pieces which had fallen on the ground. "There's no tellin' how soon somebody may come, an' if we want to hold what we've got it's time things around here were put into shape. These bags must be carried on board the Sea Bird, an' the hole filled in ag'in, so's no one will know we've been diggin'!" This suggestion started the remainder of the party into activity, and on the instant all were ready to set about the necessary work. It was now high noon. The rays of the sun beat down upon the sand with a heat that under any other circumstances would have seemed overpowering; but the treasure-finders heeded it not. The foliage shut out every breath of air, and the shadows cast by the trees were but so many stifling spots free only from the glare of the sand; yet no one hesitated to begin the laborious task, because the burdens were golden. Over all had come the fear that this new-found treasure might be wrested from them, and hunger or thirst, fatigue or exhaustion were alike forgotten. "A couple of bags are as much as Joe an' me can carry, while one will be a load for you boys; but in three turns we'll have them all at the boat; so let's get under way at once," Bob said as he set the example, while the others obeyed silently. No one speculated as to why so much gold had been buried in that particular spot, or how it happened that those who concealed the treasure had abandoned the rich hoard. The wonderful fact of its having come into their possession was the only thought which could be entertained. The burdens, as allotted by Bob, were reasonably heavy, and despite the excitement which lent fictitious strength, the journey to the boat occupied considerably more than half an hour. Joe and Bob scanned the horizon in every direction before depositing the first load of treasure to return for the second, but as no sail was in sight on the dazzling blue waters it was believed safe to leave the precious bags on the beach during the hour they would necessarily be absent. On the third trip neither Harry nor Walter carried a load. There were originally but nineteen packages in the excavation, as was shown by careful count, and since the two boys showed more signs of weariness than the others, Bob insisted that both travel empty-handed. When the tired party arrived at the beach with the last of the gold the boat was launched, the bags distributed evenly fore and aft, and with Joe and Bob rowing, the return to the steamer was begun. The movement of the yawl caused a light breeze which greatly refreshed the heated treasure-seekers, and with the relief thus afforded came speculation as to why so much wealth had been concealed on the key. "I reckon them as signed that 'ere dockerment were reg'lar pirates," Bob said in reply to a question from Harry. "It ain't likely honest folks would 'a' put the stuff there when it could easier have been carried somewhere else." "But why did they leave it?" Harry persisted. "From the looks of the hut it's been a good many years since anybody lived there, and of course the gold was buried when that was built." "Most likely the whole crowd are dead--killed in a fight--or we wouldn't 'a' hit on sich a find. Howsomever, it don't make much difference to us, seein' that we've got the pile. Look lively when we reach the steamer, lads, an' put the bags aboard in a hurry, for there's another trip ashore to be made before sunset." "What for?" Jim asked in surprise. "We must cover that hole up as it was when we found it, so's in case anybody stumbles over the place before the Sea Bird is ready to leave there won't be any suspicion as to what has been taken out. Joe an' me will 'tend to that part of it while you boys cook dinner." By this time the yawl was close alongside the steamer. Jim was in the bow, and as the rowers held her steady he leaped aboard with the painter. In accordance with Bob's orders Harry and Walter clambered over the steamer's rail, and stood ready to take the bags as they were passed up. "Stow 'em in the hold behind the water-casks," the old sailor said when the last valuable package was on board, "an' see to that part of it before doin' anything else." Then he and Joe rowed slowly back to the shore while the boys carried the treasure below. It was difficult for them to realize, even though they had such good proof, that all this weight was made up of gold coin; and Jim, who was more boisterous than any other member of that highly excited crew, insisted on opening every bag before stowing it away. There was nothing to interfere with such diversion, for Bob and Joe would necessarily be absent a long while, and each package was duly inspected. Harry wanted to count the money in one bag in order to get some idea of the total amount; but he was forced to abandon the task after a few moments' work. There were apparently coins of every nation, the majority of which the boys could only make a rough guess as to the value; and Jim said, when Harry announced his inability to arrive at even an approximate computation: "Never mind, fellers; we can weigh the whole lot when we get into port, an' then figger up somewhere near what it's worth. I'd jes' like to spread these all over the deck, where we could see 'em every minute; but I s'pose Bob would kick." "He'd have good reason," Harry said laughingly. "Besides bein' in the way, it wouldn't be safe to have so much gold around, for there's no knowing how soon some other craft may come into the cove." "All the same I'd like to see it on deck," Jim replied; and then, as if it required a mighty effort to put this desire far from him, he bustled to and fro in the most energetic fashion. After this work had been done, the amateur cook and his assistants went into the galley, where all the stores were overhauled in order that a most elaborate meal might be prepared; for despite the heat and his fatigue, Jim was determined to make of the dinner a regular Thanksgiving feast, to celebrate their rare good fortune. CHAPTER XXII. FROM JOY TO DISMAY. It was nearly sunset, and Jim's feast had been ready for the table fully an hour when Bob and Joe came out of the thicket and launched the boat once more. The boys, who were on deck watching for their return, could see that both the men were nearly exhausted. They rowed as if it was a great exertion even to lift the oars, and on reaching the steamer sat in the yawl some time before coming aboard. "You'd better hurry!" Jim said warningly. "I've had a swell dinner ready so long that it must be pretty nigh dried up by this time, an' if you fool 'round much more everything will taste like chips!" "I couldn't hurry, lad, if a month's grub rolled together was waitin' for me," Bob said as he mopped his sun-burned face with his shirt-sleeve. "That last job was a tough one, an' I feel as though all the marrow in my bones was toasted brown. This 'ere's the only shady place with any air stirrin' we've found since mornin', an' I mean to scoop in all the comfort I can for the next half-hour." Joe was equally as unwilling to move from the side of the tug, where slight but cooling draughts of air afforded the long-needed relief from intense heat, and Jim's feast was but little more than a cold lunch when the weary ones were ready to sit at the table in the stuffy cabin. Bob exerted himself but once more that night after the meal was finished, and then he went below to make sure the treasure had been stowed according to his directions. It was yet light when the tired crew stretched themselves on the mattresses which had been spread under the awning aft, and although there was such a fruitful topic, but little conversation was indulged in, because slumber came so quickly. But however tired Jim was, he could not refrain from speaking of the treasure they had so unexpectedly found. "What are you fellers goin' to do with your share of the gold?" he asked in a low tone, to avoid being overheard by Joe or Bob. "Give it to father, I suppose," Harry replied, displaying but little enthusiasm because of his weariness. "You can bet I'll keep what comes to me right in my own trousers-pocket!" Master Libby replied very decidedly. "I'm goin' to buy a vessel like the Mary Walker, an' make a voyage fishin' all by myself!" "But you'll have to take a crew," Walter suggested with a yawn. "Of course I'll have somebody to do the work an' stand watch; but I'll be the boss, an' won't so much as go on deck when it rains! I'll have a heavin'-line in my pocket, so's to whale the cook if the grub ain't first-class! I tell you the crew'll have to jump 'round when I'm aboard, or there'll be fun!" "I should think you had enough of that kind of work when those men were aboard," Harry said after a pause. "Well, you see I want to take my turn at floggin' once in a while, so's to know what it's like. I haven't had a chance yet; but I will when we get this money home." Neither Harry nor Walter made any reply to this rather cruel project, and in the silence which followed they soon fell asleep, leaving Jim his choice of indulging in more air-castles or that of benefiting by their example. The first rays of the rising sun failed to awaken them next morning, and all hands might have slept a good portion of the forenoon if Jim had not been aroused by a sensation of numbness in his arm, caused by the fact that Harry had unconsciously used it as a pillow. "It's early yet, an' I reckon I'd better take one more nap instead of callin' the other fellers," he muttered to himself as he sat bolt upright an instant for the purpose of restoring the circulation of blood to his misused limb. As he did this, however, mechanically glancing seaward, he saw that which drove from his eyelids all desire for sleep. A boat had just come into view from around the northern point of the cove, and was heading directly toward the steamer, rowed by two men who looked strangely familiar, although for a moment he could not clearly distinguish their features. "Bob! Bob!" he cried in a low tone as he shook the unconscious sailor. "There's a yawl comin' in here, an' I believe----" He did not finish the sentence, for Joe was on his feet by this time, and cried, before Jim could speak another word: "I'm a Dutchman if that red-nosed villain an' the Mexican haven't come back! What deviltry are they up to, I wonder?" Now the remainder of the crew were awake and peering out over the rail at the rapidly-approaching boat, the occupants of which could be clearly distinguished as two of the party for whom those on the schooner from Nassau were in search. "What are we to do?" Joe asked in a whisper. "They mustn't be allowed to come on board or we may have trouble in getting rid of them; and, besides, I don't fancy being shipmates with murderers." "Of course they can't come over the rail," Bob replied angrily. "Bring anything on deck that will serve in the place of weapons, an' we'll keep them at a distance. It's only two against two--without countin' the boys--an' I reckon we can hold our own!" Just as Joe disappeared inside the engine-room the new-comers, having arrived within thirty or forty yards of the steamer, ceased rowing, as he with the red nose shouted: "Ahoy, on the tug!" "What do you want?" Bob asked gruffly. "We've come to make a trade! The brig is aground on the shoal to the nor'ard of here, an' things shall be made fair an' square if you'll help us float her. I'll come aboard, where we can talk comfortable-like." "That's exactly what you won't do while I've got strength enough to break your head!" "Now don't get grumpy over the little trick we played," the man said, in a wheedling tone. "Do you call it nothin' but a trick to steal a vessel an' leave five of us on a disabled tug, after we'd done what we could to keep you from starvin'?" Bob shouted fiercely. "We knew there was plenty of grub aboard; you couldn't 'a' handled both crafts, so what we did was only dividin' things up. The Bonita is stranded now, an' will go to pieces in the first gale if you can't fix the tug to tow her off. We'll----" "The steamer couldn't be repaired in a month; but if she was in workin' order we wouldn't raise a hand toward savin' the brig while you were on board!" As Bob ceased speaking Joe came on deck with four lengths of iron pipe, each about three feet long, and the old sailor seized one of these with a look of exultation as he said to his companions: "I reckon they won't get over the rail while we can swing sich a handy club as this!" "They may have fire-arms," Joe suggested. "That ain't very likely, or they'd 'a' set us ashore ten minutes after we took 'em off the key." During this short conversation the two men were whispering together, and as the old sailor ceased speaking, he with the red nose cried, in a threatening tone: "You sea-lawyers want to be mighty careful with your tongues, or there'll be trouble. I've come here to make a fair trade, an' you'd better listen to it. We'll help repair the tug, an' give up an equal share of the brig if you'll turn to with us an' get her off the shoal." "We wouldn't lift a finger if she was sinking with all three of you on board!" Joe shouted, unable to remain silent any longer. "There's been a schooner up here from Nassau since that _trick_, as you call it, was played on us, and if her crew ever get hold of your crowd it won't make any difference whether the Bonita goes to pieces or floats!" For an instant the two men sat motionless and silent, staring at the engineer as if stupefied by the information; and then the one with the red nose cried hoarsely, as he shook his fist in impotent rage: "We was willin' to give you a fair show, an' do our share toward repairin' the steamer; but if that can't be done, look out for squalls. We'll pull the brig off the shoals; and, what's more, it will be done with that steamer!" "Come an' take her!" Bob cried derisively. "You've got to get rid of us first, then repair the machinery, an' afterwards learn to run it. By that time I reckon there'll be more gray hairs in your heads than there are now!" The angry man looked at the old sailor an instant as if about to make another threat, and then, evidently changing his mind, he spoke a few words to his companion, after which the two began to row leisurely toward the shore. The crew of the Sea Bird watched them in silence until the boat's bow grated on the sand, and as the men left her to go into the woods, Joe said: "If we worked lively it might be possible to tow that yawl out here before they knew what was being done. Then those two would be harmless, an' the one they've left on the brig wouldn't be able to do much mischief alone." "It could be done, I s'pose," Bob replied, thoughtfully; "but I'd rather let 'em go away than stay so near." "But we shall have to be on guard all the time, for no one knows when they'll make an attempt to steal this steamer." "I can't see that we should be as well off to coop 'em up on the island. We've got to take in a supply of water from there before it'll be safe to leave the harbor, an' they'd interfere with sich a job mightily." This was a view of the case which Joe had entirely overlooked, and it was sufficient to show the folly of his hastily-formed plan. "They may try to stave our boat when they come back," Jim suggested. "It could be done before we'd have a chance to stop 'em." "There's some truth in that, lad," Bob replied, quickly. "It won't do any harm to take her out of the water, so jump in an hook on the falls." When the yawl was hoisted inboard all hands seemed to realize that an encounter was extremely probable, even though the murderers could gain but little advantage in getting possession of a disabled steamer, and they gathered around Bob to learn what measures for defence he had to propose. "It's certain they won't try any game until the other man is here," he said after a long pause, during which he scrutinized the shore closely, "an' we'd better get ready for a fight. Jim, you an' Harry cook breakfast. Walter is to go on watch, and Joe an' I'll set about the work. Now that there is so much treasure aboard we must push the repairs for all we're worth." When the two cooks went below and the sentry took up his position in the pilot-house, Bob began making such preparations for defence as were possible with the limited means at his command. The pieces of iron pipe were laid near the rail aft, where they could be most conveniently reached; the boat-hook and oars were taken from the yawl that they might be ready for use, and then the old sailor brought on deck the largest rocks he could find among the ballast. "There's about a dozen below that'll weigh ten or fifteen pounds apiece," he said grimly in reply to Joe's question of what he intended to do with such primitive weapons. "One of 'em would make some disturbance if it struck a boat's plankin' below the rail inside, an' I reckon we can pitch 'em pretty true if the villains should be foolish enough to make an attack." By the time the steamer had been put in a state of defence Jim announced that breakfast was ready, and the two men went below while the cook and Walter stood guard to give an alarm at the first appearance of the enemy. CHAPTER XXIII. PREPARATIONS. While it was not possible that those who had stolen the Bonita could gain possession of the tug so long as her crew exercised ordinary care, nor probable that they would make any very desperate effort to do so in her disabled condition, every precaution was taken for the defense of the steamer and the safety of the treasure. Immediately after breakfast Bob, Joe and Harry went into the hold, and the work of stowing the bags among the ballast where it would escape observation was begun. The gravel and rocks were first dug away until the keelson was exposed, and on this timber the gold was packed, after which everything was replaced as before, leaving the bags buried to the depth of six or eight inches. The hoard was thus hidden so securely that there was little chance that it would be found unless the searchers had positive information of its being on board. This work was hardly finished when Walter came below with the information that the two men were leaving the key, and Bob and Joe hurried on deck, for it was by no means certain some demonstrations against the steamer would not be made. In this, however, they were happily mistaken. Neither he with the red nose nor the Mexican had any idea of trusting their precious bodies within reach of possible harm; but they stopped the boat fifty or sixty yards away while the leader shouted: "Do you still say that you won't lift a hand toward helpin' the brig off the shoal?" "There's nothin' we're able to do," Bob replied. "The tug is as useless as a raft, an' it'll be three weeks at the very soonest before the screw can be turned. I'm willin', though, to say we wouldn't help you if we could, so it's no use to do any chinnin'!" The red-nosed man appeared to think that some vent for his anger was absolutely necessary, and he catered to this feeling by shaking his fist threateningly, after which the two rowed out of the cove. "I don't reckon them kind of monkey-shines will do us much harm," Bob said philosophically as he walked slowly aft to where Joe had recommenced his long task of repairing the engine, as if time was too precious to be wasted on such villains as those in the boat. "If they're wise we sha'n't see so much as their noses again," the engineer said. "This craft wouldn't be of any service if we should offer to give her up, and the scoundrels ought to be in too much of a hurry to leave the vicinity, where the schooner from Nassau may put in at any moment, to waste much time on spite-work!" "I reckon you're about right; but at the same time, it stands us in hand to be ready if they should take it into their ugly heads to kick up a row. After we've made sure they're really gone I'll take two of the boys ashore an' bring off a cask of water. It's got to be done before we can leave, an' now's as good a time as any." There was nothing the remainder of the crew could do to help Joe, however disposed they might be for the task, and he made no objection to the plan. The yawl was lowered, an empty cask put on board, and, with Harry in the stern-sheets, Bob and Jim pulled the little craft out toward the open water until it was possible to see the enemy fully a mile away as they rowed around the key. "We're all right now," Bob said after one glance at the two men. "There's no chance of them villains getting back before we fill the cask; so head her for the shore, lad." It was a difficult job to get the water-butt, after it had been filled, from the spring to the boat, and the forenoon was well-nigh spent when the task had been accomplished. The only thing in the laborers' favor was the fact that the sun no longer sent down such fervent rays upon the parched land. At about ten o'clock clouds began to gather, and had continued to do so until the entire heavens were covered as by a veil, much to Bob's disquietude. "There's more than rain in them, lads," he said with an ominous shake of the head when they emerged from the thicket with the unwieldy burden. "If I ain't 'way out of my reckonin' we'll get a capful of wind from the east before mornin', an' the Sea Bird stands a slim chance of keepin' off the shore." "With both anchors down I don't see how any harm can come to her, no matter how much of a gale we have," Harry replied as he gazed toward the trim little steamer, which was moored so securely bow and stern. "I'm afeared you'll have a chance of seein' how it can be done. This sandy bottom ain't the best holdin'-ground for an anchor, an' once she begins to drag nothin' can stop her. Howsomever," he added in a more cheerful tone, "we needn't croak till the trouble comes; but it's best to get aboard lively an' make preparations for a dirty night. It won't take much of a wind to knock the brig to pieces if she's on the outer edge of the shoal, so we can reckon on that red-nosed villain an' his mates comin' ashore about sunset." It was necessary for the rowers to exert all their skill and strength on the oars to prevent the yawl from being swamped during the return to the steamer. Already had the sea begun to rise, and the white-capped waves which now beat heavily against the shore gave token of what force they would exert when roused to fury by the east wind, which was causing the trees to wave helplessly to and fro against the gray sky. The little boat was loaded to the gunwales, and despite every effort the green water rushed in over the rail very often, much to Harry's alarm. By pulling around to the starboard bow of the steamer, where they would be partially sheltered from both wind and wave, it was possible to get the heavy cask on board without mishap, after which the yawl was hooked on the falls and hoisted up; otherwise she would speedily have been stove to pieces against the larger craft. "It looks as if we were to have a bad night," Joe said when the work was finished and all hands went aft once more. "The worst we could have," Bob replied gloomily. "The chances are the steamer will be driven ashore, and there's no question about those villains leaving the brig; so unless this wind takes a different slant before sunset we can count on bein' penned up on the island with them as jolly companions. But we can't afford to moon 'round very long tellin' what's goin' to happen, for there's plenty of work to be done. The awnin' must be taken down an' the cables overhauled." Then he called for the boys to "bear a hand," and soon all were busily preparing for what was apparently the inevitable. By the time the deck had been cleared and everything made snug the Sea Bird was dancing about like a cork, flinging the spray fore and aft as she came up on the cables with a thud that caused the timbers to creak, or plunging her bow under until the deck was awash. At five o'clock in the afternoon the gale was full upon them, coming directly out of the east, and so furiously did the little craft toss and pitch that Bob took the precaution of stretching life-lines fore and aft. The cables had been slackened to give plenty of scope; but she overrode the bow anchor until one would have fancied, from the savage jerks which the steamer gave, that it had been hove short. There was no thought of cooking. Jim could hardly have remained on his feet in the galley, for the swell was shorter and more violent than it would have been on the open ocean; therefore the anxious ones were forced to eat dry ship's-biscuit with the poor consolation in mind that before morning all their stores might be at the bottom of the sea. The boys were in the pilot-house, where they could have a view of all that was going on and yet be in a position to render immediate assistance if it was needed. Joe and Bob remained on deck despite the spray which fell like rain; and the former said to the old sailor toward night, as he made his way forward after great difficulty: "We can get some pleasure out of the fact that the men haven't come ashore from the brig. There's no chance of their making harbor in the teeth of this wind, and we can count on having got rid of them." "That's where you make a mistake, my hearty. They most likely landed two or three hours ago, runnin' down the western shore, where they'd find sheltered water. Them men ain't fools if they are villains, an' by noon knowed the brig couldn't hold together much longer. The chances are she was bilged two hours ago, an' has gone to pieces by this time." Joe went aft again, looking more disconsolate than ever. He had felt positive the enemy had not abandoned the vessel, and his disappointment was all the greater because this hope had been so strong. When the gray light of day gave place to the darkness of night the anchors still held; but the steamer was laboring so much on account of the bow hawser that Bob decided it would be necessary to shift the strain, despite the danger attendant upon such an undertaking. "All hands on deck!" he shouted at the door of the pilot-house, adding warningly, as the boys crept out, "keep a firm hold of the life-lines, lads, for he who falls overboard will stand a poor chance of saving himself." To make the proposed change it was necessary to carry the cable astern after it was cast off the bitt, for all the slack had long since been let out, and rapidity of movement was as essential as strength. "Wait till she buries her nose once more, an' then rush when she rises," Bob shouted as he threw off two or three turns of the rope. Up, up the little craft rose as the great green waves swept beneath, and then when the hawser chucked her and the fall began, the signal was given: "All hands with a will now!" the old sailor shouted; and in an instant the crew were rushing madly aft, the heavy cable nearly dragging them from their feet. Bob had been correct as to the precise time when this maneuver should be executed; but he failed to give due consideration to the force the under-tow would exert in such shoal water. The hawser had but just been loosened from the bitt when the drag of the waters began. All hands clung with a force born of desperation; but their efforts were vain. A crew of giants could not have resisted the strain upon the wet, iron-like rope, and Bob shouted wildly when he was almost at the taffrail: "Let go! For your lives let go!" Fortunately this order was obeyed before any one had been injured in the rush, and as the hawser disappeared over the stern Joe muttered half to himself, but so loud that Harry could distinguish the words: "We've done all we could to wreck the little craft. It would have been better to let her labor with the risk of chafing the rope apart, rather than deliberately throw one anchor away when two hardly held her!" CHAPTER XXIV. ASHORE. The rain, which was now falling in torrents, the driving surf, and the pitching of the steamer, all served to make it difficult to keep one's footing on the slippery planks, and Jim motioned his companions to follow him into the pilot-house, for now that the hawser had been swallowed up by the waves their services were no longer required outside. "Stay on deck!" Bob cried, as he saw them moving away, and forced to shout at the full strength of his lungs in order to make himself heard above the roar of the tempest. "In case she strikes you must be where there's a chance of savin' your lives. Get under the lee of the house for'ard, an' hold on for all you're worth!" After some considerable difficulty the boys succeeded, by working along the life-lines, in reaching the bow, where, partially protected by the pilot-house, it was possible to remain in comparative shelter. "Do you think the tug will be wrecked, Jim?" Harry asked. "I reckon she'll drive ashore." "Then we shall be no better off than if we hadn't found the pirates' gold, for of course it'll all be lost." "Not unless she goes to pieces!" Jim replied in a decidedly shaky voice; and then, as if this subject was an unpleasant one, he changed it by asking, without any idea the question would be answered: "What's Bob doin' aft so long? He can't expect to pick up that hawser ag'in, an' it's more dangerous there than here!" "He's coming now," Walter replied as he crept to the corner of the house; and at the same instant that a huge wave rolled inboard, sweeping the decks with almost irresistible violence, the old sailor and Joe appeared, literally working their way hand over hand by means of the life-line. Arriving under the lee of the pilot-house they halted, and waited in silence for the shock which should tell that the Sea Bird had been forced into shoal water. This unpleasant information was not long delayed. The little steamer pitched and plunged more violently than before, but without the sickening motion of being dragged under, which was apparent when the bow anchor held, and after ten minutes of this wild tossing she lurched forward suddenly as if the screw had been set in motion. "Hold on for your lives!" Bob shouted, and a moment later the tug struck heavily, with such force that but for the timely warning more than one of the crew would have been hurled forward. All hands waited with bated breath for the succeeding shocks which would tell that she was pounding herself to pieces on the sand; but much to their surprise nothing of the kind was felt. "The stern anchor is holding her down!" Bob shouted to Joe, and the words were hardly spoken when the water dashed forward, flooding the decks even with the rail. "We'll be drowned here in short order!" Joe cried as he struggled toward the boys. "Get into the pilot-house, if you can, for the danger is less there while the decks are being swept!" Fortunately for all hands the door opened at the top of a short flight of stairs above the level of the rail, and this the engineer succeeded in opening by watching his opportunity between the heavy waves. Harry and Walter gained this shelter before the sea rushed forward again, and at the next interval of comparative quiet the remainder of the party joined them. It was now possible to converse without actually shouting, and Joe was eager to understand why the tug remained immovable when in the ordinary course of events she should be beating herself to pieces on the shoal. "The anchor slipped enough to let her drive ahead a bit," Bob said, in explanation, "an' then brought up just as she struck. You'll most likely find the hawser taut as an iron bar; and that, together with the hold the sand has got on her nose, keeps everything firm." "And if the anchor should give way once more she'd break up?" "There's no doubt about that; but I've got an idee the wind hasn't got as much force as it had half an hour ago. If the timbers will stand that poundin' astern there's a chance of our gettin' outer this scrape after all, even though things do look so tough." It was but natural that all hands should devote their entire attention to ascertaining if the gale really was abating, since this was their only hope, and when another half-hour had elapsed the question was decided. The seas still beat against the stranded steamer with the same violence, but the rain had nearly ceased, and the wind no longer howled around the doomed craft with its former fury. When this became an assured fact, it was, as nearly as Bob could judge, about midnight; and the weary boys thought with dismay of the many hours which must elapse before they could gain a place of absolute safety. "Lie down and go to sleep, if you can," the old sailor said, much as if he knew of what they were thinking. "I reckon the worst is over, an' since it's only a question of waitin' you'd best get all the rest possible." The boys followed this suggestion by curling themselves up on the cushioned locker; and, strange as it may seem, they fell asleep in a very short time despite the howling wind and raging waters. Weariness of body was greater than fear, and even in the midst of deadly dangers they crossed the borders of dreamland. Bob and Joe kept watch, and as the hours wore on the couriers of the coming dawn dispersed the storm-clouds until the heavens were smiling blue once more, and the waves no longer uplifted their crests in anger. "There's as big a danger passed as ever sailormen stood face to face with!" Bob said, giving vent to a long-drawn sigh of relief. "The little craft is hard and fast aground, of course; but six hours ago it didn't seem as if anything could save her from goin' to pieces, an' this same crowd here have got a mighty big reason for bein' thankful!" The decks were yet awash, and would probably continue so for several hours, or until the waters of the tiny harbor had subsided into their former quietude; but it was possible to make one's way fore and aft without danger, as Joe proved when the day had dawned. All the doors and hatches were securely closed when the gale first sprung up; therefore everything below was in much the same condition as before the storm. There had not water enough entered the seams or crevices to injure the stores, and the hull was comparatively free, as Bob learned on trying the hand-pump. "I don't reckon we can count on leavin' this key in the Sea Bird," he said as he dropped the lead over the bow. "She has stuck her nose mighty deep in the sand, an' though that cable is strainin' hard astern, there's little chance it will work her off." "And according to your ideas, those who stole the Bonita are ashore somewhere; so as long as we're obliged to stay here it's safe to say there's a chance of trouble from them?" "That's about the size of it, my hearty; but they may take a notion to put to sea, for it's likely their boat was cared for after comin' ashore. Howsomever, we won't look trouble in the face before it comes. Let's rouse up the boys an' get breakfast under way, for I'm growin' sharkish." It is needless to make any attempt at depicting the joy of those in the pilot-house, when they opened their eyes, to see the bright sun smiling and the raging winds subsiding into the gentlest zephyrs that were ever wafted over a coral reef. This decided change was so pleasing that, despite all the trouble which surrounded them, they were very cheerful. Jim bustled about in the galley as if cooking was the one delight of his life, and while Bob and Joe raised once more the awning to shelter them from the burning rays of the sun, Harry and Walter did their best toward spreading the breakfast-table in such a manner that it would at least look inviting. The only immediate trouble which might be apprehended was from those who had probably taken refuge on the key, and with this they were confronted much sooner than the most timid expected. Harry had just come on deck to announce that breakfast was ready, when a shout from the shore caused all hands to glance in that direction, where could be seen the red-nosed man and his companions emerging from the thicket. "Halloo!" he shouted in a friendly tone, and without replying Bob held up his hand in token that the hail had been heard. "The brig has gone to pieces, an' we're here with no chance of leavin' the key," the man continued, much as if giving valuable information. "Where's the boat? You came ashore in one, I reckon." "Yes: but she went adrift during the gale." "If you couldn't take better care of her there's no reason why you shouldn't stay there till the schooner from Nassau puts in here again!" Joe shouted angrily. "We're aground, and likely to remain so; but that's no reason why there should be any communication between us!" "Will you send us some grub ashore?" the red-nosed man asked after a short pause, during which he stood as if trying to control his anger. "Not so much as a biscuit if you were hungry; but that can't be, for it isn't likely you put off from the brig without provisions." "All right!" the man cried with a threatening gesture. "You can do as you please an' we've got the same privilege, so it's a question as to who has the best end of the trade!" "They thought we might be fools enough to take some grub ashore, when, all three of 'em were ready to seize the boat," Bob said, as the men disappeared in the thicket. "It's a case of standin' by with our weather-eyes liftin', for if their yawl has gone adrift they'll try hard to steal ours. I'll go on watch while the rest of you get breakfast, for the water around the bow ain't so deep but that they can wade out here;" and the old sailor seated himself on the starboard rail as Joe and the boys went into the forward cabin. CHAPTER XXV. A SERIOUS LOSS. Joe stood guard in turn while Bob ate his breakfast, the boys setting things to rights in the cabin and galley, and when the old sailor came on deck again the question of what should be done was discussed. "There ain't much chance we can do anything toward floating the steamer until after the machinery has been repaired," the engineer said, by way of beginning the conversation; "and before that can be done she will have settled so deep in the sand that the screw won't have any effect." "That's jes' about the way I figger it out," Bob replied, as a troubled look came over his face. "The cable will stop her from workin' ahead; but she'll keep on settlin' jes' the same." "And if we can't float her there's but one other course to pursue, which is to take to the yawl and run our risk of reaching Nassau." "There ain't much risk about it. She'll carry all hands an' the gold without crowdin'; an' as for danger, why, bless you, we can make harbor among these keys almost any hour in the day. It's abandonin' a sound craft like this that makes me sore," and Bob gave vent to a deep sigh of sorrow or disappointment. "But if it must be done, the sooner we start the better." "You're right, Joe, an' it ain't any use to whine about what can't be helped. If that rascally crew weren't ashore we might make one try to float her; but as they are there, an' can't get away very soon, we'd better go to work. If you'll find somethin' that'll answer for a mast, I'll cut the steamer's foresail into a leg-o'-mutton sail for the boat, an' by to-morrow we can make a start." When the boys came on deck, they were surprised at seeing the two men engaged in rigging the yawl instead of trying to float the Sea Bird; and after the proposed plan had been explained, Jim was thoroughly dissatisfied, although he took good care not to betray such fact to Joe or Bob. "It's just foolishness to abandon this steamer!" he said to the boys when the three were comparatively alone forward. "We've lost the brig that would have brought in a big lot of money through the salvage, an' now we're goin' to leave the Sea Bird for them murderers!" "With the gold-pieces we've got in the hold I don't think there's any reason to feel very badly about what might have been made out of the Bonita," Harry said laughingly. "It's a fact that we can't do very much while that crowd on the key stand ready to take every possible advantage, and neither Walter nor I are sorry to go away in the morning, no matter how much must be left behind." "Don't you care whether the steamer goes to pieces or not?" Jim asked almost angrily. "Of course we'd like to save her if it could be done quickly; but we had rather get home than have a dozen tugs just like her, and the sooner the yawl is under way the sooner our parents will know where we are." "But they must have found out all about it long before this," Jim said calmly. "How could that be?" "The captain of the schooner promised to report us, an' your fathers have read the whole story in the papers by this time." "But we can't get home any too soon," Walter said decidedly; and the conversation was brought to an abrupt conclusion as Jim went sulkily into the galley, where, a few minutes later, a terrible clattering of pots and pans told of his displeasure. There was no slight amount of work to be done before the little party could be ready to abandon the Sea Bird. The journey to Nassau might be a long one because of baffling winds, and plenty of food must be cooked. There were no kegs or small casks aboard, consequently it would be necessary to fill all the bottles and cans with water; and, in addition, Bob and Joe would be occupied a greater portion of the day in rigging the yawl. The uproar in the galley reminded the old sailor that very much should be done in that quarter, and the only benefit Master Jim derived from his outburst of ill-temper was such as might be extracted from an order to cook all the grub he could between then and sunset. During the day nothing was seen of the party on the key. Toward the close of the afternoon a thin thread of smoke, which apparently arose from the western shore, told they were still there, and also that the intimation of a scarcity of food was false. "They've most likely got more provisions, than we have," Bob said as Joe called his attention to the smoke. "It's safe to say that the boat was loaded with cabin-stores, an' I'll bet a farthing's worth of silver spoons they haven't lost so much as a biscuit." "Although we have no reason to sympathize with them in any way, I'm glad to know they're not hungry," Joe replied gravely. Until half an hour before sunset all hands worked industriously, and then the task had been accomplished, with the exception of putting the treasure and stores on board. The yawl was rigged with as much canvas as could safely be carried in a fair sailing breeze, and was made fast alongside ready to receive her cargo when another day should dawn. "It won't take half an hour to load," Bob said in a tone of satisfaction as he scrutinized the result of his labor, "an' we'll buckle down to stowin' away part of what Jim has cooked to-day. You take the first watch on deck, Joe, for I don't calculate it'll be safe to trust the boys after dark, an' I'll spell you when I'm through supper." Bob had decided that a vigilant watch must be kept during the night, although he did not believe the enemy would make any demonstrations, and an hour after supper all hands save the engineer "turned in" on mattresses spread under the awning. At ten o'clock Joe called the old sailor to his trick on deck, and he in turn was aroused at midnight, for the watches were only of two hours' duration. When Joe came on duty the second time all animate objects appeared to be in a state of the most complete repose. Not a sound could be heard save the musical ripple of waters on the beach or the faint murmur of the night-wind as it sung gently among the foliage. Owing to the wakefulness and excitement of the previous night, together with the exertions of the day just passed, Joe's eyes were heavy with sleep, and in order to shake off the drowsiness which pressed upon him he paced softly to and fro on the port side of the deck. It was unfortunate for the Sea Bird's crew that he chose that particular place for a promenade. Had he walked on the starboard side of the house it would have been possible to see by the faint sheen of the waters a small, round object that apparently floated out from the shore directly toward where the yawl was moored. Perhaps it might have aroused his curiosity, if not his suspicion, and that would have been sufficient to prevent a serious loss. As it was, however, he continued the promenade, bent only on keeping his eyes open, and the black sphere came nearer and nearer until one could have distinguished the countenance of the Mexican who had assisted in stealing the Bonita. Slowly but steadily the head advanced, causing hardly a ripple on the water, until it was hidden in the deep shadow cast by the steamer's hull. Then a hand, in which was held an open knife, appeared above the surface as its fellow grasped the yawl's painter. One quick, noiseless stroke and the rope was severed, after which the head and hands disappeared. Joe continued to pace the deck ignorant of what was taking place so near him, and inch by inch the yawl drifted toward the shore until fully three-quarters of the distance from the steamer to the key had been traversed, when the form of a man rose out of the water, which at that particular point was not more than three feet deep, and drew her boldly in on the beach. At two o'clock the engineer awakened Bob to stand what was now a useless watch, and half an hour later all hands were startled into wakefulness by his loud cry: "The yawl has gone adrift!" As they sprung to their feet in alarm he drew in the bit of rope that hung loosely from the rail, and after one glance at the severed end said angrily: "We're nice sailors, we are! Thought the boys couldn't stand watch, an' took the job ourselves only to have them villains steal the boat from under our noses! This rope has been cut, so there's no chance she went adrift by accident!" Joe insisted that he did not close his eyes while on duty, and Bob was equally certain that he kept vigilant watch; therefore there was no possibility of ascertaining when the theft had been committed. "The yawl is gone!" the old sailor said grimly after a long pause, "an' that's all we need to know just now. How she went don't make very much difference; but I'd like to have that red-nosed man within reach of my fist about three minutes!" This last misfortune seemed a most severe one in the boys' eyes, and for fully a quarter of an hour Jim was nearly speechless from excess of indignation and apprehension. "It seems like we was never going to get clear of this island," he said in a whisper when Bob and Joe went forward thinking it might be possible to see the stolen boat. "I believe the pirates' gold has something to do with our bad luck, an' I wish we'd never found that letter." "I don't see why you should feel out of sorts," Harry said in a sorrowful tone. "You were angry because we proposed to abandon the steamer, and now that it's impossible to get away you ought to be contented." "Stayin' here without a boat to go ashore in is a different thing from bein' able to sail anywhere around the key," Jim replied, and then he relapsed into silence once more. The conversation between Bob and Joe was no more satisfactory than that carried on by the boys. As a matter of course they had not been able to see the boat, which was now completely hidden in the shadow of the trees, and after straining their eyes in vain for some time the old sailor said, impatiently: "What's the use of standin' here like fools when we know she's hauled up somewhere along the beach? We'll turn in, an' after sunrise try to think out another plan which will come to the same end this has!" "I have a mind to swim ashore and settle matters now with those villains!" Joe said angrily. "You would be the one to get settled, I reckon;" and Bob had so nearly recovered his composure as to laugh at the engineer's expense. "Both of us together wouldn't stand any show, more especially in the night, when they'd have all the advantage. Turn in with the boys, an' I'll stand watch till I'm sleepy." CHAPTER XXVI. BOLD THIEVES. The old sailor remained on duty until the day began to break. The loss of the yawl troubled him more than he cared to say, and this, together with the possibility that she might have been taken during his watch, drove all desire for sleep from his eyes. When the yellow shafts of light shot up from the eastern sky to herald the approach of dawn he awakened his companions, and while the boys went into the galley to commence the labors of the day, he and Joe stood on the forward-bitt, eagerly scanning the surrounding shore for some signs of the boat. In this they were not to be disappointed, for as the shadows retreated the yawl stood revealed on the beach at the point where the Sea Bird's crew emerged from the thicket when staggering under the weight of the pirates' gold, and standing near, as if examining their stolen prize, were the three men. "There's one good thing about it," Bob said grimly. "By losin' our boat we shall get rid of Mr. Red-nose and his friends, an' I ain't sure but we'll be sellin' 'em reasonably cheap." Joe was so enraged by the sight that he could make no reply, and the old sailor continued half to himself: "It won't be sich a terrible job, after they've gone, to build a raft that'll carry us ashore, an' p'rhaps the outcome of it'll be our savin' the steamer." The watchers had not long to wait before it became apparent that the party on shore did not intend to delay their departure. All three busied themselves with bringing bundles and boxes from the thicket after the survey of the boat was ended, and in less than half an hour the little craft had a full load. A light breeze came from the west, and after stepping on board it was only necessary to row the yawl a short distance from the shore when the sail filled, causing her to glide slowly toward the open sea. Bob and Joe watched these maneuvers in silence without heeding Jim's announcement that breakfast was ready, and much to the astonishment of both, the sail was brailed up when the boat reached a point nearly opposite the steamer. "I'll be blowed if they haven't got the nerve to speak us!" the old sailor exclaimed; and almost at the same moment the red-nosed man shouted, as he raised his hat in mock politeness: "We're sorry to leave you here aground, and without a tender; but you didn't feel like makin' any friendly talk to us yesterday mornin', so we had to help ourselves. I had an idee we'd get the best end of the trade if it come to bein' disagreeable!" "Don't worry about us!" Bob shouted angrily. "We're glad to get rid of you at any price; but my advice is that you give Nassau a pretty wide berth!" "We should be ungrateful if we did not heed the counsel of those who have rigged the boat for us in such a satisfactory manner!" the Mexican replied with a laugh; and then the sheet was hauled aft once more and the little craft laid on such a course as would bring her close past the southerly point of the harbor. Bob and Joe remained silent and motionless until the thieves were shut out from view by the land, and then the former said, with an attempt to speak cheerfully: "That ends 'em, so far as we are concerned, an' its best not to think of the scoundrels ag'in. We've either got to take up our quarters on the island or rig some plan for floatin' the steamer, an' I reckon that'll occupy pretty much all our time. Let's get breakfast, an' then decide what's to be done." There was no necessity for spending many moments on deliberations when the morning meal had been eaten, for whatever might be done, the first step was to establish communication with the shore, and this Joe proposed to do when he came on deck again. The thieving crew were nowhere in sight, as would have been the case had they sailed in almost any other than a southerly direction, and it seemed probable that the yawl had been headed toward Nassau despite the danger the men would incur of being arrested. "I only hope they'll fool around in the vicinity until that schooner comes back and captures every one!" Joe said in anything rather than a friendly tone, after taking a deliberate survey of such portion of the ocean as could be seen from the tug; and then he added abruptly, as if determined to put all unpleasant thoughts far from his mind, "Now, what about getting on shore, Bob?" "We must rig up some kind of a raft, I reckon, an' then stretch one of the heavin' lines so's she can be pulled back and forth without too much work." "Jim, you and Harry overhaul the lines," Joe said as he began to undress; "and while Bob is building the raft I'll swim ashore." "Don't do it!" the old sailor cried, warningly. "There are too many sharks around these keys to make swimmin' very safe sport!" "We sha'n't be likely to find them in such shoal water. The boys can stay near the bow, and with all hands on the lookout I don't fancy there'll be much danger," Joe replied carelessly, as he knotted around his waist the line Jim brought. Then without more ado he leaped overboard; and so shallow was the cove at this point that hardly a dozen strokes were necessary before his feet touched the bottom, and he waded ashore to where a mangrove grew near the edge of the bank. Around this he fastened the rope, and then returned to the steamer, saying, as he stepped on board: "The Sea Bird crawled pretty well up on the shoal before the anchor caught." "Yes," Bob replied sadly; "she's got so much sand under her nose that I'm afraid she'll stay here, unless--which ain't at all likely--some steamer puts in. I was reckonin' on usin' timbers from the bulk-head for a raft; but seein's how there ain't much trouble in gettin' ashore it'll be best for the boys to make one out of tree-trunks while you keep to work on the engine." "Are you countin' on livin' ashore?" Jim asked, anxiously. "We may be glad to, lad, if another gale springs up. We'll be ready to abandon the little steamer if the worst comes; but all hands are to work tryin' to float her jes' the same as if we believed it could be done." The boys were not loath to be on the land once more. They undressed with alacrity, after bringing from below the axes and hatchets, and with their clothes packed in an empty cask from out of which one of the heads had been taken, they leaped overboard like a party of frogs. "Cut about twenty medium-sized trees, and drag them to the beach after trimming off the branches!" Joe shouted as they landed. The boys dressed quickly, for the swarms of mosquitoes rendered clothes very necessary, and at once set about the task of chopping, selecting such mangroves and palms as grew nearest the shore, in order to avoid, so far as possible, the labor of hauling them through the thick underbrush. Then Bob and Joe began their portion of the labor. Although the old sailor believed the tug to be immovably fixed upon the sand, he did not propose to neglect anything which would tend to extricate her. Of course it was possible something might occur to better her condition; and in such an improbable event it was necessary she should be in working order. Besides, as he said to Joe, "it was as well to have a job on hand to occupy their attention as to idle the time away on the key." By noon the boys had collected sufficient materials for the raft, and Bob swam ashore to assist in building it. Using ropes and vines instead of nails, which were very precious just then, quite a serviceable raft was put together, and on it, by the aid of the rope Joe had stretched ashore, all hands pulled themselves out to the steamer. The boys went into the galley to prepare dinner, and after it had been eaten the weary crew indulged in a long siesta, for the heat was almost overpowering. There was no thought of standing watch, now their enemies had left the island, and everybody gave himself up to the desire for slumber which made his eyelids heavy. No one was sleeping very soundly, and Bob had only fallen into a doze, when a report as loud as would have been caused by the discharge of a musket rang out on the still air, causing boys and men to leap to their feet in alarm. "What was it?" Joe asked, as he gazed around in bewilderment, but without seeing any living thing either on the sea or land. "I'm blest if I know!" Bob replied, in a tone of perplexity. "It sounded close aboard; but how can----Say, is there anything below which could explode?" "Not when there's no steam on." The old sailor stood staring at the shore in silence, evidently seriously disturbed, and the three boys gathered around him in alarm. They had experienced so much which was both mysterious and terrible since the morning of the sail in the Sally Walker, that to them every unusual sound or movement meant further disaster, and Bob's palpable fear caused something very like horror to come upon them. Joe had mechanically started forward, and before reaching the pilot-house he shouted, to the intense relief of all: "We were more scared than hurt this time! It was only the heaving-line. It has parted, and in doing so made the noise; but I don't understand how there could be so much strain." Bob glanced ashore quickly, assured himself that one end of the rope was still made fast to the tree, and then cried triumphantly as he pointed astern: "There's where the strain came from! The sun has been dryin' the hawser till it pulled the tug back far enough to break the line! That shows how much can be done by tryin'! The Sea Bird is ready to come off the shoal if we help her a bit; so turn to, lads, an' work for all you're worth till she's in deep water once more!" The slackened hawser, which a short time previous had been so taut, told that Bob's explanation was the correct one, and there was no necessity to urge either the boys or Joe any further. To have a chance of saving the little steamer after all had firmly believed she was helplessly stranded aroused every member of the crew as nothing else, save the actual arrival of friends, could have done. CHAPTER XXVII. THE CULMINATION OF DISASTERS. The first thing necessary was to ascertain exactly what portion of the steamer's hull was imbedded in the sand, and this Bob proceeded to do with the lead-line. It was found that only about twenty feet of the keel rested on the shoal, the remainder overhanging four or five fathoms of water. The tide was at its highest point, which accounted for the movement of the steamer as the hawser shrank, and Bob cried in a cheery tone: "I reckon it won't be impossible to launch the little craft, after all. By bringing the hawser on to the winch, shiftin' the ballast aft, an' heavin' down with every ounce of muscle we've got, somethin' oughter be done at the next tide." Every one was ready to exert himself to the utmost, and in a very short space of time the heavy rope was brought to the winch, after which all hands tugged and strained at the bars until the cable had been hove taut again. That done, there was an opportunity for rest. It would be useless to attempt anything more until the now receding waters should rise again, which would be the case twelve hours later, and the little crew gathered under the awning aft to discuss the new phase of affairs, while Joe continued his work on the metal; for this task, apparently so useless a few hours previous, had suddenly become very important. "The question is, How long may we have to stop here after the tug's afloat?" Bob remarked as he lighted his pipe, and began once more to select from the timbers taken out of the cabin such as could be used on the shattered hull. "By hard work it may be done in a week's time," Joe replied after some thought. "Then you'll keep steady at it while me an' the boys 'tend to the other matters. You sha'n't be called to turn your hand on anything else till thas is done. Have we got coal enough for a three-hundred-mile run?" Joe shook his head. "I'm afraid not; but by taking on some wood we ought to be able to make it, for I suppose you're counting on going to Nassau?" "That's the nearest port; an' we'll see to choppin' fuel when she's afloat, an' I've patched the bow a leetle more ship-shape." During the remainder of the day, when they were not engaged in the galley, Joe had some trifling work which could be performed by the boys, and his every command was obeyed with alacrity, for all hands were eager to utilize each moment in preparing for departure. That night a watch was kept, although there was nothing to be feared from their late enemies. Bob proposed to have some more exercise at the winch when the tide was at its full height again, and to that end it was necessary one of the party should remain awake to arouse the others at the proper time. This work, however, had no other result than that of awakening the weary sleepers unnecessarily. Labor as they did to the utmost of their strength, the steamer was not moved so much as a single inch, and the old sailor said, after realizing the uselessness of the task: "We'll have to shift everything aft, I reckon, before it's possible to pull her off this blessed sand. After sunset to-morrow we'll tackle the job, an' by the second tide have another turn at the winch." Had the weary ones known just how fortunate they were in thus failing to pull the Sea Bird into deep water there would have been far less repining as they laid down once more on the mattresses under the awning. The gray light of approaching dawn had but just begun to steal across the sky when Bob called all hands for another day's labor, and when the sun showed himself above the horizon each member of the crew was busily engaged. Jim had positive orders to finish his task in the galley in the least possible time, because Joe wished to use the stove as a forge; and the breakfast was by no means elaborate, coffee being the only thing served hot. "There isn't anything you boys can do on board this mornin', an' I reckon you'd better begin the job of cuttin' fuel to help out on the coal," Bob said when the rather unsatisfactory repast was brought to a close. "How are we to get ashore?" Harry asked. "The raft went adrift when the heaving-line parted." "She didn't go very far. Look off the port bow an' you'll see her on the beach. It won't be much of a job for Jim to run another rope out, an' he'll be all the better for a bath." The young fisherman was not averse to what was little less than sport, and if he did spend considerably more time in the water than was absolutely necessary, no one could say any had really been wasted. When the raft was in working order once more Harry and Walter clambered on board, and soon the shores of the harbor resounded with the blows of their axes. Owing to the scarcity of tools it was only possible for two to work at a time, consequently each had a certain number of minutes in which to rest. It was after they had been on shore about two hours that Walter, during his idle moments, wandered out from the thicket to see if there had by chance been any change in the steamer's position, and he had not left his companions more than five minutes when they heard him shout: "Come here, fellows, and see if you can tell what Joe is doing. It looks to me as if there was a big lot of smoke from the galley." Not thinking it possible there could be anything wrong on the steamer, neither Jim nor Harry obeyed the summons very quickly, and when five minutes more had elapsed they were yet in the thicket. "Harry! I'm sure there's some trouble aboard!" he shouted, and this time it was the tone rather than the words which caused them to move quickly. On arriving where a view of the steamer could be had, Joe and Bob were seen working industriously under the awning; but a thick, black smoke was flowing out of the companion-way. The light breeze carried it shoreward; consequently the laborers, from whom it was hidden by the deck-house, were wholly ignorant of what seemed to Walter very alarming. It did not require many seconds for Jim to make up his mind as to the cause of this unusual vapor, and his face grew pale as he cried sharply: "The steamer is on fire! Hurry up an' get aboard!" Then as he ran at full speed along the shore he shouted loudly, "Bob! Bob! Fire! Fire!" These cries were heard by the workmen before the boys gained the raft, and on glancing shoreward the tell-tale smoke was seen. In an instant both men were forward, and, after stopping only the merest fraction of time to investigate matters, Bob began to draw up water with the deck-bucket, thus giving full confirmation to the fears of those on the raft, who were pulling desperately toward the steamer. Both men were working with the utmost speed, dashing water into the companion-way, and causing the smoke to rise in yet denser volumes. Only once did either speak, and then when Bob shouted in a hoarse voice: "Hurry on, lads; we'll need all hands at this job if the steamer is to be saved!" This injunction was unnecessary, for the boys were making every effort to propel the raft at the swiftest possible rate of speed. The water boiled around the forward timbers as if a strong current was setting down toward them, and there was every danger that in their haste the frail craft would be forced asunder. Long though the time occupied in the passage appeared to be when so much might depend upon an early arrival, it was really not more than five minutes from the time the boys left the shore until they were on deck searching for some article in which water could be carried. With the exception of the two buckets used by Bob and Joe, everything of the kind was in the galley, and after a hurried, frantic search of the cabin and engine-room, the boys went forward empty-handed. "There isn't so much as a dipper here!" Jim screamed. "An' it's jes' as well," Bob replied hoarsely, as a volume of flame burst from the companion-way. "Nothin' less than a fire-engine would do any good now. It's time we saved what'll be needed ashore. Knock off, Joe, an' we'll load the raft." The engineer was not willing to give up the struggle so easily. He worked like a fury, dashing water on the roaring, leaping flames, which were already sending out long streams on the tar-covered seams; and not until the fire had full possession of the forward portion did he cease his more than useless labors to assist the others. Meanwhile Bob and the boys had been throwing bedding, tools, and every article within reach, on the raft. It was not until after they had been thus engaged several moments that any one thought of the treasure in the hold, and then Jim cried more frantically than before: "The gold! The gold! We _must_ get that out!" "It'll have to take its chances with the rest!" Bob replied sharply. "Even if we could get below, the fire would be upon us before the bags were uncovered. Life is worth more than money jes' now." Not until everything from the engine-room and cabin which could be of any service ashore had been piled up on the raft did Bob pause, and then the flames covered more than two-thirds of the deck. As a matter of course the heaving-line was long since burned from the winch, and nothing held the rude craft which now bore all their worldly possessions but the painter Harry had made fast to the stern-bitt. "We shall have to swim for it, lads," Bob said as he shielded his face from the intense heat with his hat. "The raft is loaded so deep that the weight of one of us would swamp her." As he spoke he seized Walter by the waist and leaped overboard, Jim waiting only long enough to ask Harry if he needed any assistance before following the example. "Don't bother about me!" Harry replied; and then as the flames came nearer he plunged into the sea, Joe lingering a few seconds longer, as if to take one last look at the little craft he had tried so hard to save. The wind carried the raft shoreward as soon as the painter was let go, therefore those in the water had nothing to care for save their own safety. In less than ten minutes all hands were standing on the beach watching, with deepest sorrow written on every feature of their countenances, the destruction of the tug in which they had so fondly hoped soon to be steaming toward home. [Illustration: The engineer seized Walter by the waist and leaped overboard.] CHAPTER XXVIII. SHORE LIFE. The little party on the beach remained as if spell-bound while the fire destroyed what seemed like the last link which bound them to home. The only sounds to be heard, save the roaring of the flames, were when a deep, quivering sigh came from Walter's lips, or Joe gave vent to a suppressed groan. The fire leaped and danced as if in fiendish glee, devouring the wood-work of the Sea Bird, and warping the machinery beyond all further usefulness, until there was no longer anything above water for it to feed upon. Then slowly, with many a protesting hiss and puff of steam, it gradually died away, the last smouldering ember expiring in less than two hours from the discovery of the danger. Nothing was left of what had been a jaunty little craft save the blackened lines which marked the position of the hull lying in six feet of water. When all was over and the smoke no longer arose, Bob said with an evident effort: "Well, lads, we're what you might call shipwrecked at last, though it jes' the same as took two good vessels an' a tug to finish us up. Whinin' won't do any good, an' we've got to make some kind of a start at buildin' a hut, for we're here till a craft puts in by mistake an' takes us off." "I'm the one to blame for this last disaster," Joe said moodily. "Nobody but a fool would have left a roaring fire in the galley without so much as looking at it now and then!" "Don't go to kickin' up a fuss with yourself," Bob said soothingly. "We all know it was an accident, for you set even more by the steamer than we did. What puzzles me, though, is how it could 'a' happened, no matter how much fire there was." "In order to heat the iron I took off the top of the stove and opened the entire front. On leaving I paid no attention to closing it, and of course some of the coals must have fallen out." "We was rich _once_, anyhow," Jim said with a sigh. "It's too bad we worked so hard to get the gold aboard, for it didn't have a chance to do us any good." "Jes' about this time grub is worth more to us than all the money pirates ever saw!" Bob replied quite sharply, as if realizing the necessity of arousing his companions from their unavailing sorrow. "We've got a tidy bit of work that must be done between this an' sunset, an' it's time we were beginning." As he spoke he went up the beach a short distance, to where the raft had grounded in twelve inches of water, and began to unload her, carrying the goods beyond the line of sand to the edge of the thicket. He was not allowed to labor alone but a few moments. The others were soon at his side, working with a will; and this necessary exertion was most beneficial, since it prevented the little party from dwelling on their misfortunes. The awning was among the articles saved from the steamer, and the first task after the raft had been unloaded was to set this up as a tent in the same place where the red-nosed man and his companions had encamped. Then it was necessary to build a fire-place, bring all the goods from the shore, and stow the perishable articles under the canvas, where they would not be destroyed in case of a storm. In order to complete this work before sunset it was essential that each member of the party should do his best regardless of fatigue, and when the task was finished, just as the sun began to descend beyond the horizon, the boys were so nearly exhausted that Bob said: "Crawl under the tent and lay down. I'll see to what little cookin' we've got on hand, an' it shall be your watch below till mornin'." The canvas had been fastened to four trees in such a manner as to form a shed-like roof, and while it would be of but little service in event of a heavy storm, it afforded sufficient shelter to protect the homeless ones from the dew and the sun; therefore until the weather changed it was all that could be desired. The question of food was the most disheartening and caused Bob no slight amount of anxiety. They had saved only such articles as chanced to be on deck. A round of pork which Jim brought from the fore-peak and left under the awning, quite by accident, when he was preparing for the voyage in the yawl; half a dozen pounds of ship's-biscuit from the cabin-locker; a sheet of corn-bread which, together with a jug of molasses, the workmen had taken from the galley to serve as lunch, and about a peck of potatoes, made up the total amount of provisions for five people until aid in some form should come. There was barely enough for two days' consumption, and no one knew better than Bob how long a time might elapse before a vessel approached near enough to be signaled. This was the one thought in his mind as he built a small fire and broiled a limited number of slices cut from the pork, while Joe was busily engaged stowing the last of their belongings under the canvas. "It's a case of turtle-huntin' to-morrow, I reckon," he said grimly as the engineer, having arranged the goods to his satisfaction, threw himself on the grass near the fire. "It'll be mighty short rations for all hands unless we look sharp." "There ought to be plenty of fish in the cove," Joe replied after a moment's thought. "I'll make something that'll serve as a hook, and the boys can spend their time on the raft. There are oysters here, most likely; and if the Bonita struck the shoal anywhere near, something eatable may have been washed ashore." "I hadn't thought of that!" and Bob's face brightened as he spoke. "You an' I will take a trip around the key in the mornin', an' then perhaps things will look more cheerful. I reckon we're all tired enough to sleep to-night, but from the next sunrise somebody must be on watch for a sail every hour. It's the only chance we've got now of ever leavin' this blessed place." "Then send Walter out on the point after breakfast. For the next few days standing watch will be the lightest work, an' he, being the smallest, should have the softest job." "I guess that's about the way we'll fix things," Bob replied as he laid the last slice of smoked and blackened pork on a broad leaf. "Let's have supper an' turn in, so's to be on deck early in the mornin'." It was not a very palatable meal to which the boys were summoned. A small piece of corn-bread, two ship's-biscuit, and one thick slice of the poor apology for meat was what Bob portioned out to each, and when the unsatisfactory repast was ended all save Joe crawled under the canvas on the two mattresses. He remained by the fire until a rude fish-hook had been fashioned from a stout piece of iron wire, when, joining the others, he also was soon wrapped in the blissful unconsciousness of sleep. At a very early hour next morning Jim resumed his duties as cook, and the breakfast was even less appetizing than the supper. Then Bob read the party a short lesson which he thought, and with good reason, they needed: "Now, my hearties, work is what we all want, to keep us from thinkin' too much of the little steamer that has gone up in smoke, an' there must be a good bit of it unless we're willin' to go hungry. Don't worry about anything, but remember some kind of craft is bound to put in here before long; an' if the gold is frettin' you, why I'm bound to say there's no reason to look on it as lost." This last remark caused no amount of surprise among his audience, and noting the good effect, he spoke more decidedly: "The treasure was packed under the ballast, an' before the fire could get anywhere near it the hull must 'a' been full of water. Now, to pull it out ain't much more'n child's play; but it's our duty to lay in a fair stock of grub before tacklin' the job, an' we can work knowin' all hands are as rich as they were before the fire started." This little speech did a wonderful amount of good. Despite their forlorn and perhaps dangerous position, every member of the party had bewailed the loss of the gold more than any other thing. But now that Bob spoke of recovering it in such a matter-of-fact tone, they suddenly regained all their lost courage, and were ready to begin the labors of the day. Immediately after being awakened Joe had begun the tedious task of weaving a fishing-line from the strands of the heaving-rope, and by the time Bob concluded his inspiriting speech a cord thirty feet long was completed. To attach the rudely-fashioned hook and a rock to serve as sinker required only a few moments, and then Jim and Harry had their portion of the work mapped out. "Use the pork as bait, an' when you've caught fish enough for dinner knock off. We've got nothin' to cure 'em with, an' there's no sense in takin' more'n we can eat at one time. Walter is to stand watch on the north point, an' you can join him when your job is finished." Then the two men and the boy started off around the shore to the only place on the key from which a passing craft could be seen, and the young fisherman, with some pieces of half-burned planks as oars, sculled the raft out into deep water. A brisk walk of half an hour was necessary before a sightly spot for the sentinel could be found; and Joe said, as he and Bob continued on around the beach to search for oysters: "It'll be a bit lonesome here, Walt; but you must do a share of the work. Keep your weather-eye lifting all the time, an' if you see any kind of a craft sing out till we answer." Walter did feel a trifle nervous at being left alone so far from his companions; but he made a manly effort to appear brave, and said, as the men walked swiftly away: "Don't trouble yourselves about me. I can stand watch as well as any one else, and if a sail does heave in sight you shall know it." "That's right, lad; keep up your courage whatever may happen, an' everything will come out ship-shape!" Bob shouted cheerily as he and Joe disappeared around a clump of bushes, leaving Walter alone with the mournful lip, lip, lip of the sea ringing in his ears like a funeral dirge. CHAPTER XXIX. PREPARING THE BEACONS. After leaving the sentinel on duty Bob and Joe walked around the shore at a rapid pace, for it was their purpose to explore the island while searching for food and wreckage; and since it would be almost dangerous to remain on the open beach after the sun was high in the heavens, there was really but a few hours during which their investigations could be pursued. As a matter of course they were eager to get some definite idea of where the Bonita had been stranded in order to know at which point the wreckage would be likely to come ashore, and this information was soon gained. After a brisk walk of half an hour the searchers were at the most northerly end of the key, and directly before them, not more than half a mile from the beach, in a westerly direction, was the wreck. The gale which had driven the Sea Bird ashore had torn and riven the ill-fated brig until she was little more than a shapeless mass of timbers, and then thrown her high up on the sands, where she presented a mournful-looking spectacle. In every direction could be seen casks, spars, cordage and splintered timbers, some half-buried on the beach, while others dotted the shoals along the west side of the key. "It will be a good week's work to overhaul all that stuff," Joe said after the two had surveyed the scene of desolation several moments in silence. "There is plenty of material with which to make a flare in case it should be needed." "That's what we'd better prepare fer before doin' anything else," Bob replied. "Those casks are full of alcohol, an' by rollin' half a dozen to different points along the shore from here to where we left Walter, I reckon we can make sich a show of fireworks that none but a blind crew could get past without seein' us." "I'm beginning to think vessels don't come this way. We shouldn't have seen a single one since we've been here if that schooner hadn't put in for the express purpose of capturing those men." "Don't get sich an idee into your head, lad," the old sailor said cheerily. "We're right in the track of traders an' steamers; but this is the wrong season of the year. A month from now you'll see two or three a week." "That's a long while to wait on short allowance." "It's way ahead of how we might 'a' been fixed. Now, instead of moonin' 'bout what can't be helped, s'pose we get the casks where they can be used when the right time comes." Joe's depression was but momentary. He understood quite as well as did his companion the evils of giving way to dismal thoughts when so much depended upon their own efforts, and without further words the task was begun. To roll the heavy casks over the loose sand was fatiguing, and when the sun climbed so high that the heat became almost unbearable, only three of the barrels were in position. The first of these was at the most northerly point of the island; another had been set on end beyond reach of the tide, two hundred yards south, and the last was about the same distance down the shore. These could be made ready for lighting in a few seconds, since it was proposed only to knock in the heads, pour out half the contents to prevent the possibility of an explosion, and set fire to the remainder. "By rollin' thirty or forty casks beyond high-water mark we shall have plenty of fuel in case the first attempt is a failure!" Bob said as they walked down the beach to where Walter was on watch. "There won't be any change in the weather for a week or more, an' in that time we can gather a good stock of alcohol." When Bob and Joe arrived at the point there was little need of asking if the sentinel had sighted anything resembling a sail, for while working they were able to gain even a more extended view than he, and not so much as a sea-gull's wing could be seen. Jim and Harry were with Walter, they having accomplished their task in the most satisfactory manner. "It didn't take ten minutes to catch all we can eat between now an' mornin'!" Jim said in reply to Joe's question. "If the Mary Walker was here she could get a full fare in half a day, for the fish bite like mackerel. Jes' say the word an' I'll roast some now, so we sha'n't have to walk back to the tent." "Go ahead, lad; an' after the sun gets a little lower we'll take you an' Harry up the beach, where there's considerable work to be done." Anticipating that his proposition would be accepted, Jim had made ready for the culinary operations to the extent of collecting a goodly supply of fuel, and in less than an hour the little party were feasting on fish roasted in leaves among the hot ashes. Until about three o'clock they remained within shelter of the foliage near the sea enjoying the siesta, even though their condition was well calculated to dishearten the most sanguine, and then Bob proposed that they continue the work of preparing beacons. In this labor the two boys could accomplish quite as much as Bob and Joe, and half an hour before sunset ten casks were in the desired positions. Now it would be possible in a very short time to send up such a volume of flame as would illumine all that portion of the coast, and from a craft within ten miles of the key it could readily be seen. "We can reckon on leavin' this place aboard the first vessel that heaves in sight," Bob said in a tone of satisfaction as they walked leisurely along the shore of the harbor toward the camp. "Of course it wouldn't do any good to stand watch after dark; but some one must be on the point every hour of daylight, an' the boys can divide that work to suit themselves." It would not be the most cheerful task, this remaining alone on the shore gazing out over the restless ocean; but only through such work was there a probable chance of rescue, and the discomfort or weariness did not have so much as a place in their thoughts. The preparations for attracting attention had caused the boys to believe their time of imprisonment was rapidly drawing to a close. Bob's positive statement that the chain of flares could not fail of being seen caused them to appear like the first real step taken toward home, and the thought of the pirates' treasure came uppermost in the minds of all. "Why not begin work on it to-morrow?" Jim asked, when Bob referred to the task as one easy of accomplishment. "Harry an' I can catch fish enough in half an hour to last a week, an' if we wait too long another storm may break up the hull so that the gold can't be found." "I reckon we've got little to fear from storms yet awhile," Bob replied carelessly. "This weather is likely to hold for a week or more." "That may be," Joe said; "and then, again, it's possible for you to be mistaken. I think as Jim does--that we ought to save it while there's a chance. If this weather holds, the casks of alcohol will stay where they are, and it is as well to let that portion of the work wait as delay the other and more important." "I'm agreeable to anything, only I didn't feel as if there was a great call to be in a hurry, 'cause it would have to be a roarin' old gale that could do much damage to the hulk;" and Bob looked across the harbor to the narrow line of charcoal and blackened timbers which might be seen just above the surface of the water. "If things are as I think, it won't be a long job, an' we can finish it up in one day." "Then what's the use of wasting time? If a vessel puts in here we would be ready to leave at once; and her crew might think themselves entitled to a good slice of the money if they helped us get it out of the wreck." The boys agreed perfectly with Joe, and since Bob had no objections to the plan, it was decided that the work should be begun on the following morning. The little party were in the tent by the time this decision was arrived at; and the shelter had been gained none too soon, for the gloom of another night had already settled down over the key. Although all hands were tired no one cared to go to sleep just then because of the excitement caused by mention of the treasure, and a small fire was built for the double purpose of driving away mosquitoes and lending a more cheerful aspect to the encampment. While Bob and Joe discussed plans for the next morning's work the boys listened intently, and it was not until a very late hour in the night that any one thought of retiring. Then the old sailor said gruffly, as if some peremptory command of his had been disobeyed: "Don't you ever mean to turn in, or must I lay every blessed son of you away? All hands want to become divers; but unless we get some sleep before mornin' there won't be much work done!" "I s'pose we can keep awake as long as the skipper does," Jim said laughingly; and for reply Bob picked him up bodily and threw him on one of the mattresses, with strict injunctions to "snore in five minutes or expect a taste of the rope's-end." Never since the day when the Bonita ran away with the crew of the Sally Walker had the boys been so cheerful, and this enviable frame of mind was brought about by the preparations made for signaling a vessel. They were not one whit nearer being rescued; but yet it seemed as if the time for leaving the key was already very close at hand. "If ten casks of alcohol can make this crowd feel so good we'd better end-up about a hundred to-morrow," Joe said as the camp-fire was extinguished and all hands crept under the canvas. "It seems as if we were going to see home at last," Harry replied. "Bob says we are certain of being sighted by the first crew that passes, and in that case it isn't likely we shall have to stay here much longer." "You can take my word for it, lad, that before another week goes by we shall be on our way either to the States or Nassau; so go to sleep, for I reckon on callin' all hands mighty early in the mornin'." It was not so easy for the boys to close their eyes in slumber owing to the unusual excitement; but they did finally succeed, and when Bob shouted "All hands on deck!" just as the sun showed his glowing face above the waters once more, every member of the party leaped to his feet ready for the day's work. Their toilets were soon made by a hurried plunge into the sea, and a not very pleasant "rub-down" with a piece of canvas--which does not make a satisfactory towel--and then, while Jim prepared breakfast from the limited material at his command, Bob went out to the point for his regular morning's survey of the surrounding waters. "There's nothin' in sight," he reported on his return in obedience to the cook's summons; "but we mustn't get discouraged if a craft don't show up for a week. Walter is to go on guard as soon as he gets breakfast, an' one of you boys can spell him toward noon." The toasted pork and ship's-biscuit was not so inviting as to induce any of the party to linger very long over the meal, and in a few moments after the old sailor's return all hands were ready to begin the work which would settle the question as to whether the treasure could be recovered, or if it had been found only to be lost forever. CHAPTER XXX. AMATEUR DIVERS. The details of the work had been decided upon during the conversation held the evening previous; therefore there was nothing to prevent them from putting into immediate execution the plan proposed by Bob. Walter went around to the left shore of the harbor to reach his lonely post of duty, while the others made their way in the opposite direction to where the raft had been partially pulled up on the beach. "It's a case of swimmin'; but I think we had better keep on our trousers and shirts, otherwise the flies and mosquitoes will make matters too lively for us," Bob said, as he removed a portion of his clothing, and then waded into the water to launch the raft. "On a hot day like this we shall soon dry off an' be none the worse for the bath." The work was to be done entirely by diving, as a matter of course; and since the laborers would be out of the water a greater portion of the time, the old sailor's advice was very good. To expose their bare skins to the fervent rays of the sun and the attacks of insects would cause great suffering. They carried with them nothing but a piece of the heaving-line and two lengths of iron pipe, which had been taken from the burning steamer only because they chanced to be on deck. These last would serve as a weight to hold them down in the water, and also as a poor apology for shovels in digging away the ballast covering the treasure; but Joe hoped to find the long fire-hoe, a tool which would lessen their labors very materially. The two elder members of the party waded out in advance, pulling the raft after them while the boys pushed on the timbers until the depth of water made swimming a necessity, when Harry and Jim allowed themselves to be towed. Not more than half an hour was spent getting the collection of timbers into position, and then they were made fast to the charred rail near the bow, opposite that portion of the hull where the treasure was supposed to be. If the machinery had fallen toward the stern there was every chance the work would be successful; but in case it tumbled forward when the wooden supports were burned, all hope was vain, because the heavy metal could not be hoisted out with the limited means at their command. The boiler remained upright, held in position by the bolts and bands of iron which were fastened to the keel itself; and Joe said, as the excited party stood a moment on the raft to survey the scene: "Six feet forward of the boiler is where we must search, and I'd better make the first attempt, for I can tell just what part of the machinery is in our road, while the rest of you wouldn't know so much about it." "Lower yourself by the timbers. It won't do to dive head foremost until we're sure everything is clear," and Bob held out his hand to assist the engineer in making the descent. Joe fastened the heaving-line to the iron pipes that he might have weight enough to hold him at the bottom while making the investigation, when those on the raft could haul up the metal to be used again, and, swinging clear of the rail with Bob's aid, he sunk beneath the surface. Never had a hundred seconds appeared so long to Harry as now. It seemed that the diver had been out of sight fully five minutes, and he was beginning to fear some accident had happened, when Joe reappeared, gasping for breath but looking very happy. "There's nothing to interfere with our working," he said, as soon as it was possible to speak. "Nearly everything has fallen aft, and, with the exception of some light fittings, the ballast is as free as when we left it." "Is the raft in the right position?" Bob asked. "As near as I can make out it should be run ahead, ten or a dozen feet. I pulled away five or six of the largest rocks; but a fellow can't do very much work when it's impossible to breathe." Bob was eager to make the descent, and after Jim had pulled in the pipe-weights he hauled the raft ahead where Harry and Joe made her fast again as the old sailor disappeared beneath the surface. He remained below several seconds longer than had the engineer, and on coming up confirmed the first report. "It's only a matter of time before we'll have our hands on that gold once more," he said. "I reckon Joe begun in the right place, an' we must all work on the same hole. Jim, you go over, and leave Harry to 'tend to the weights." "What's to be done when I'm down there?" "Pull away the rocks an' gravel as we've done. Don't try to stay too long at a time, but work lively while you are there." Jim was too good a swimmer to be afraid, and he leaped in from the rail, since there was no further fear in making the descent. He looked red in the face when Harry saw him again, but appeared to be in high glee. "It's nothin' more'n I've done down to the Isle of Shoals lots of times when the fellers have tried to see who could stay under water the longest," he said as Harry pulled in the weight and Joe took possession of it at once, that the work might not be delayed. "I thought it was my turn;" and Harry looked disappointed because he had not been allowed to follow Jim. "You'll have plenty of chances after awhile," Bob replied. "Although it don't seem very much to do, none of us can keep it up a great while. 'Tend to the weights 'till Jim needs a rest, an' then take his place." But little time was spent in conversation, now that the work had fairly begun. In rapid succession the divers leaped from the raft until each had made a dozen descents, when it became necessary for them to rest, and Harry was allowed to do his share. He performed but little work during the first descent, because by the time he had looked about him with no slight degree of curiosity it became necessary to rise to the surface for air. He was surprised, however, with the progress made. The ballast had been dug and pushed away until a deep excavation could be seen, and it seemed certain the greater portion of the treasure's covering had been removed. To his delight it was reserved for him to raise the first package of the precious metal. While the others were stretched out on the raft resting from the fatiguing work, he went down four times in rapid succession, and then electrified his companions by shouting as he came to the surface: "I've got one bag out; but can't bring it up!" During the next two or three moments the divers cheered until Walter must have heard the noise, and then Joe said, as he took from his pocket a stout piece of wire bent in the form of a hook: "While you fellows were talking last night I made this. We'll bend it on one end of the heaving-line, and it will only be necessary to stick the wire into the canvas when those on the raft can pull up the bag." Harry was eager to have the credit of taking out the first lot of treasure, and, recognizing his right, the others waited until he had fastened on the hook, Joe hauling in the coin, at the same time the diver's head appeared above the surface. Another prolonged cheer greeted this first tangible result of their labors, and it was so hearty that Walter appeared from around the point, having evidently come for the purpose of learning the cause of the noise. He was too far away for the happy divers to enter into any lengthy conversation with him, and Joe held up the bag of gold where it could be seen. There was no question but that he understood the good news, for during the next five minutes he capered around the beach in the most extravagant fashion, and not until the others turned to resume their labors did he go back to his post of duty. Since only one nineteenth of the treasure had been recovered there was yet considerable work to be performed, more especially as each could remain below but a few seconds at a time, and the task was continued with redoubled energy. When the divers were forced to rest again two more bags had been hoisted on to the raft, and after the number was increased to five, Bob said: "We must knock off until later in the day. It won't do to stay in the water too long, or this gold will cost the lives of some of us. We'll call Walter in, have dinner, and try again when the sun gets lower." Jim did not fancy ceasing work until the entire amount of treasure had been recovered, although he needed rest as much as either of the others. "It'll take two days at this rate if we keep diving all the time," he said disconsolately, "an' I think it ought to be finished right up." "The hardest part is done now that the ballast is well cleared away, an' I reckon we'll come mighty nigh endin' the job by sunset," Bob replied. "But no matter how long it lasts we've got to look out for ourselves, an' too much water is as bad as not enough. Halloo, Walter! Walter!" The remainder of the party joined in the cry until the sentinel appeared from around the point staggering under the weight of some heavy load which was carried on his back. By gestures the boy was made to understand that he should come to the camp, and the others speculated as to the nature of his burden while they pulled the raft and its precious cargo ashore. "Perhaps he's found more gold," Jim suggested. "I reckon it's oysters. There are some on the south side of the point, an' most likely that's how he has been fillin' up his time." In this supposition Bob was correct. Walter had occupied himself in gathering a quantity of the tiny bivalves, which he brought to camp by converting his coat into a bag; and a most welcome and appetizing meal did they make for the divers, who were too weary to spend any time fishing. The sentinel was profuse in his expressions of joy that the task of recovering the treasure had proved to be comparatively such a simple one, and he insisted on carrying every bag to the tent, that the divers might gain the greatest possible amount of rest before continuing their work. After a big fire had been built the tiny oysters were thrown on the coals, and drawn out with split sticks when they showed signs of being roasted. This was such delicious food that twice the number Walter brought could have been eaten, although the supply formed a reasonably hearty meal, and it was decided unanimously to spend at least one day gathering these delicacies as soon us the operations at the wreck were concluded. CHAPTER XXXI. SUSPENSE. On this day the siesta was not prolonged. Every member of the party was eager to be at work again, and much sooner than Bob had intended they were pushing the raft out to the wreck while Walter was making his way around the beach, to resume the apparently useless task of watching. Again was Harry forced to perform that which seemed to be the least important portion of the work. Bob believed, and with good reason, that the boy could not endure as much as the others, who were more accustomed to fatigue; therefore he positively forbade his diving save at rare intervals. The work during the afternoon was conducted as in the earlier portion of the day; but it progressed much more rapidly, because the ballast had been removed. To avoid a repetition of detail, it is sufficient to say that the sun was yet two hours high in the heavens when Harry pulled up the nineteenth bag, and that which had seemed a well-nigh hopeless task was accomplished. It was well that the last portion of the treasure had been taken out quickly, for the alternate diving and standing in the hot air affected all hands so severely that it is doubtful if either could have continued the work an hour longer. As a matter of course Harry was comparatively fresh, he having been under the water only five or six times, and when the clumsy craft was pulled ashore he insisted on carrying the entire treasure to the tent. The weary divers lay on the warm sand in wet clothing, which was being speedily dried by the sun, until the last heavy bag had been taken to the tent and covered by the mattresses. Even then they would have continued to enjoy their well-earned rest if a most welcome announcement had not been made by the sentinel. It was just as Harry returned from the final trip to the tent that he electrified his companions by shouting: "There comes Walt at full speed! Perhaps a vessel is in sight!" Every member of the party was on his feet in an instant watching the sentinel, who ran along the beach waving his hat in the most frantic manner, and on getting within hailing distance cried, using both hands as a speaking-trumpet: "I can see something to the northward! It's pretty far away, but I'm sure it's a vessel!" Harry and Jim were literally wild with excitement, because of this joyful news; but Bob remained sufficiently calm to be able to calculate as to the length of time before the stranger could approach within hailing distance. "There isn't wind enough to bring her this way very fast," he said after what seemed to be a long pause. "We've got time to start all the signals in good shape. Pick up the axes an' we'll see what kind of flares fifteen or twenty gallons of alcohol will make." Jim and Harry obeyed this command without loss of time, and then started around the beach at full speed; but Bob and Joe followed more leisurely. The boys might as well have husbanded their strength, as was learned on arriving at the point; for, to the great disappointment of both, the sail was so far away that it became necessary to search the horizon-line several moments before discovering the tiny white speck. "That isn't much to feel glad about," Harry said, as if believing the sentinel had caused needless excitement. "It's a good deal more than we've seen before, except when the schooner from Nassau put in here," Walter replied. "It didn't look half as big when I first saw it, and I watched a long time before telling you." While Harry and Jim were gazing at that which looked more like the wing of a bird than a canvas large enough to propel a ship, Bob and Joe arrived. They did not appear to be at all disappointed; and, in fact, the old sailor stared at the tiny object as if it was even nearer than he expected, while he said to the engineer: "I reckon we'll be able to make out what kind of a craft she is before dark. There is yet considerable of a job necessary to get the signals in workin' order, an' we'd better begin." The entire party would be needed, and all hands started up the beach, halting at the first cask. The head of this was knocked in, a little more than half its contents poured out, and one of the signals was in readiness for the spark of light which would send the flames mounting skyward. "Ain't you goin' to touch her off?" Jim asked, as the old sailor went toward the next beacon. "There'll be time enough when we've attended to the whole lot. That craft is on her reg'lar course, bound for Nassau most likely, an' will keep on within two or three miles of the key." It was an hour before the last cask had been prepared, and in that time the stranger had lessened the distance so much that Bob unhesitatingly pronounced her a top-sail schooner. "Her spars look a leetle too trim for a trader, an' she carries so much sail that I reckon she's a pleasure craft with a lot of fresh-water sailors aboard. Howsomever, they'll know enough to stand in when they see this 'ere illumination, an' that oughter satisfy us." Bob waited half an hour longer before firing the alcohol, and then the evening shadows were beginning to lengthen into the gloom of night. All the stranger's spars could be seen quite distinctly, and there was but little question that she was a yacht. When the bluish flames leaped up, casting a ghastly glare upon the surrounding objects, it was no longer possible for the party on the key to see any distance over the ocean because of the blinding light; but they had the intense satisfaction of knowing that the sudden illumination must of a necessity be observed by those on the schooner, and also that its purpose could not be mistaken. "Set 'em all ablaze, boys!" Bob shouted; and one by one the long pillars of flame shot up from the beach until that portion of the key was fringed with fiery monuments. After this had been done the little party stood at the water's edge trying in vain to peer through the gloom, which was growing more dense each moment; and in a short while it was ascertained that, brilliant though the beacons were, they would not continue so any very great length of time. The alcohol burned furiously, sending forth an intense heat which caused the casks to burst asunder, thereby allowing large quantities of the spirits to sink in the sand, and half an hour after the first had been ignited the volume of flame decreased very materially. "This won't do!" Joe cried in dismay. "By the time that schooner gets near the island our signals will have died out entirely, and they may keep on their course without thinking it worth while to stop." "We could cut some wood," Harry suggested; but realized, even as he spoke, how insignificant would be such a fire after these mighty shafts of flame. "It'll be better to roll more casks down," Bob said quickly. "Never mind the work, so long as we can hail that craft." No one cared how much labor might be involved providing the desired result was gained, and all hands ran swiftly up the beach to where the Bonita's cargo lay half buried in the sand. It was as much as the three boys could do to roll a heavy cask over the shingle; but they worked manfully while Bob and Joe struggled with another, and in a few moments after the first two signals had died out they were replaced by fresh supplies of this costly fuel. During the next three hours every member of the party tugged and pulled and lifted with a feverish energy born of the knowledge that their chances of being rescued depended upon the exertions made, and then it was not possible to longer continue the task. All were so exhausted that further efforts were absolutely out of the question, and Bob said, as he wiped away the perspiration which ran down his face in tiny streams: "It's no use, lads. What with the divin' an' this last job, I'm tuckered out. If she don't pay any attention to us after all this glare we couldn't make 'em stop by telling the whole story." "Perhaps she has already passed," Harry suggested, as he choked back a sob. "The rate at which that schooner was sailing when we last saw her would have brought her here long before this." "For all we can tell she may be hove-to half a mile off the shore," Bob said consolingly. "A captain would need know this shoal mighty well to run in here on a night so black as this one." "They've got the lights to guide them;" and from the tone of Walter's voice it could be understood he was giving way to despair. "That wouldn't do them any good, for these flames only illumine this portion of the coast, and throw the entrance of the harbor into deeper shadow," Joe said, speaking for the first time since the labors were brought to a close. "Besides, there are such things as false lights kindled for the purpose of wrecking vessels, and any careful captain would most likely want to wait for daylight; but he might at least send a boat ashore." This last portion of the engineer's remarks took from the boys any consolation they might have found in his speculations, and they seated themselves on the sand very wretched both in body and mind. The beacons expired one by one, and the last was but a feeble, flickering flame when the report of fire-arms rang out sharp and distinct on the still air, causing every member of that mournful party to spring to his feet in alarm. The detonations had not been heard at regular intervals, as one might naturally suppose would be the case if they served as signals to let the castaways know that succor was at hand, but came together in a rapid volley, as if several weapons were discharged at the same time, and those on the beach looked at each other in dismay. "What's the meaning of that?" Harry asked nervously, and the old sailor replied, gravely: "I don't know, lad. It may be they want us to understand that the schooner will stand by till mornin'; an' then, ag'in, there may be some trouble aboard." "Are they near enough for us to hail them?" "No; not accordin' to them sounds. I should say the schooner was a good half mile away. Anyhow, we know she's near, an' the rest can be found out at sunrise." To wait until morning before there could be an end to the painful suspense appeared almost as bad as to know the vessel had continued on without paying any attention to their signals; and Jim said petulantly: "It seems as if they might let us know what was goin' to be done." "There's no use to kick ag'in what can't be helped, lad. Try to go to sleep, an' then the time won't appear so long." To follow this advice was entirely out of the question. It would have been impossible for the weariest of the party to close his eyes in slumber, and in silence and fear they waited for the long, dreary hours of the night to pass. CHAPTER XXXII. JOY. It was useless for the boys to argue with themselves that the rapid discharge of musketry could have no sinister meaning. They were in that frame of mind when no silver lining can be seen, even to the smallest cloud; and against their own better judgment they decided that the strange schooner either would be of no assistance to them, or that she was manned by a crew which might attempt to inflict further injuries. Joe thoughtlessly suggested that perhaps the red-nosed man was in command, and had come to get the Bonita's cargo. This was said more in jest than as something with a possible foundation of truth; but it was sufficient to excite all of Jim's fears, and he actually tried to induce Harry and Walter to go with him into the thicket, where they might hide until the schooner had left the vicinity. While the boys would not agree to anything quite as wild as this, they were seriously alarmed; and when the rattle and splash of oars broke the stillness Walter was almost sorry he had not followed the young fisherman's advice. "We haven't got to wait long before findin' out if they'll take us away from this blessed key!" Bob said cheerily. "Here comes a boat, an' unless I'm makin' a big mistake we'll soon, be leavin' this 'ere cove bound for some civilized port!" Louder and more distinctly sounded the clink of oars in the row-locks until from out the darkness came the welcome hail: "Ahoy, on the island!" "Halloo!" Bob shouted with a roar, as if afraid any ordinary cry would not be heard by those from whom he expected assistance. "Have you got three boys there who were carried away from the Isle of Shoals in the brig Bonita?" "Ay! ay! an' they'll be mighty glad of a chance to leave!" This question surprised the boys almost to the verge of bewilderment. It was positive the red-nosed man would not ask for them so solicitously; and yet, who else in that lonely portion of the ocean knew anything regarding their mishaps? Harry and Walter clasped hands as if in a daze, both so excited as to be unable to speak until a second voice from out the darkness shouted: "Are you there, Harry?" "It's father! It's father!" Harry screamed, as he ran toward the water; and there, with Walter at his side, he stood straining his eyes in the vain effort to see the boat, but in his joyful astonishment giving no heed to the apparently strange fact that those whom he loved had known so well where to look for the Bonita's involuntary crew. It was not possible for the little craft to land with safety on the beach, where the surf was breaking with sufficient force to overturn if not stave her to pieces, and he who had first hailed now cried: "Is there a landing-place near by?" "You're at the mouth of a cove in which there's water enough to float a ship," Joe replied. "I'll walk along the beach to where there is no surf." By shouting continually he succeeded in piloting the boat behind the point where a landing could be effected, and a few moments later both Harry and Walter were clasped in Mr. Vandyne's arms. For some moments no word was spoken, and then the boys poured forth a flood of questions regarding the loved ones from whom they had been so long separated. "They are all well at home," Mr. Vandyne replied laughingly; "but we had better settle down for the night before I attempt to give you the information required. Shall we go aboard the schooner?" In their exceeding great joy the boys had forgotten the treasure entirely, and it is quite probable they would have said "Yes" to the last question but for Bob. He had not been in such a state of despair prior to the coming of the boat as to render happiness so bewildering, and he also had a very clear idea of what should be done. "I axes your pardon for interfering sir," he said, stepping very close to Mr. Vandyne and speaking in a low tone, "but there's particular reasons why you'd better have a chance to talk with us alone afore your crew comes ashore or we leave the key!" Harry's father was considerably mystified by this odd statement; but he hesitated only an instant before asking: "Have you got any kind of a shelter?" "A decently good tent, with a couple of mattresses to lie on," Bob replied. "It ain't the best that ever was, but you can manage to get along one night, I reckon." "It's something we've found that he wants you to see," Harry whispered; and turning to the crew, who were lying on their oars a short distance away, Mr. Vandyne said: "I will stay on shore until morning. Go back to the yacht; and at sunrise, if you think there's no danger, bring her into this cove." "Ay, ay, sir," a voice replied; and then the sound of oars in the water told that the boat was leaving the harbor, probably steering for a tiny red light which could now be seen some distance off the land. "What have you got which there is so much mystery about?" Mr. Vandyne asked, as the gentle splash and ripple of water which told that the sailors were returning to their craft died away in the distance. "We have found a pirate's treasure," Harry said in a whisper. "There are nineteen bags full of all kinds of money." "Pirates' treasure!" his father repeated in astonishment. "What the lad says is a fact, sir;" and Bob stepped forward once more. "We had no way of findin' out how much it was worth; but there's altogether too big an amount for us to run the risk of lettin' strangers see the pile." "Where is it?" "At the camp, sir. I'll lead the way. Jim, you foller behind me an' let Joe bring up the rear." Then Bob set out at such a rapid pace that there was but little opportunity for conversation until the entire distance had been traversed. Joe and Jim built a huge camp-fire, and after Harry introduced his father to the three members of the party who were strangers, Bob pulled from beneath the mattresses one of the treasure bags. "There are eighteen more jes' like that," he said, as he slashed the tarred canvas with his knife until the yellow coins fell in a golden stream at Mr. Vandyne's feet. "We haven't overhauled many of 'em; but one's a fair sample of the lot." "Why, you've got a fortune here!" the gentleman cried in surprise as he assured himself that the pieces were gold and of large denomination. "Where and how did you find it?" "It'll need a pretty long yarn to give you an understandin' of the whole cruise, an' we'll each do a share of the spinnin' so the thing will come out ship-shape," Bob said, as he began to fill a pipe, that his character of story-teller might be enacted properly. "You've got all night for the hearin', so there's no pertic'lar hurry. Harry shall begin, an' I'll chip in when he comes to the pickin' up of me after I'd thinned down pretty nearly to a ghost." Perhaps Mr. Vandyne would have preferred to hear the story in fragments rather than at one sitting; but Bob was bent on spinning a yarn, and as there was no practicable alternative he was forced to submit. Harry began without delay, Jim and Walter interrupting whenever he neglected to give all the details. The old sailor then related the particulars of the involuntary cruise up to the time Joe came aboard. He in turn told of the disaster to the Sea Bird, and Bob finished the story, which occupied considerably more than an hour in the telling. "We shall have to let the crew know what you've got here, although there's no necessity of explaining where or how it was found, for they will be needed to take the bags aboard," Mr. Vandyne said, after the lengthy "yarn" had been spun. "There is no danger, for the schooner is commanded by a man in whom I have every confidence, and there won't be a piece missing when we arrive in New York." "Now tell us how you knew where we were?" Harry asked. "The party who came in search of the murderers gave your written story to the newspapers in Savannah, and it was copied all over the country." Then Mr. Vandyne briefly related what had previously been done toward finding the boys. When the Sally Walker failed to return it was supposed she had been blown out to sea, and every available craft was hired to search for the missing party. When a week passed without the hoped-for result, it seemed certain that all were dead, and they were mourned for until the newspaper articles appeared. The remainder of the story was brief. Mr. Vandyne had just purchased the schooner-yacht Lorlie--the same craft which was now hove-to off the key--and in her he started for the Bahamas. "What was the meaning of those pistol-shots we heard, sir?" Joe asked. "They sounded like a fight rather than a signal." "I wanted to let you understand we were coming, and emptied my revolver at the same moment the captain did his. There was considerable noise, I'll admit; but knowing we should land in a few moments, I paid little attention to it at the time." The sun was already sending forth heralds of his coming when the happy party exhausted their questions and explanations, and half an hour later the Lorlie was anchored in the cove, with the five who had passed through so many adventures eating a hearty breakfast in her luxuriously-furnished cabin. After the meal had been concluded the work of taking the gold on board was begun, and before nine o'clock the yacht was slipping swiftly out of the harbor, heading for Nassau, all her white sails filled by a strong north-westerly breeze. Instead of going directly to New York, it was Mr. Vandyne's intention to run down the shoal for the purpose of sending wreckers to the key, in the hope of saving such cargo from the Bonita as was on or near the island. The three boys were standing aft as she passed the point where Walter had done duty as sentinel with such happy results, and it was very difficult for either to restrain his joy at thus bidding adieu to the key. "When I get my ship I won't come within a hundred miles of this place," Jim said emphatically; and his companions were quite positive it would not give them any pleasure to return. Swiftly the gallant yacht sped on, bowing her long, tapering spars to the ocean swell, until the key was hardly more than a spot of blue on the horizon, and the accidental cruise was well-nigh at an end. CHAPTER XXXIII. NASSAU. The three boys and Joe were given quarters in the yacht's cabin, but nothing Mr. Vandyne could say would induce Bob to remain aft. "For an old shell-back like me the only place is the fo'castle," he said in reply to all their arguments. "It don't stand to reason that a sailor would be comfortable anywhere else, an' I'd be like a fish out of water if I couldn't go on watch with the others of my kind." "But what's the use of working when father expects you to be his guest?" Harry asked; and Bob replied, with a hearty laugh: "Workin'? Why it's nothin' more'n the rarest kind of a lark to help handle a craft like this! She's fitter for a gold frame an' hung up as a' ornament than to carry sich old barnacles as me! Bless you, lad, I wouldn't miss my trick at the wheel on a beauty like this any sooner'n I'd lose the gold we've had so much trouble in the savin'!" Mr. Vandyne recognized the fact that the voyage would indeed be a disagreeable one to the old sailor if he was forced to play the part of passenger, and nothing more was said on the subject, although both Harry and Walter tried in vain many times afterward to coax him into the cabin at meal time. It may be supposed that the boys had experienced so many trials on the sea that they simply looked forward to being on land once more, surrounded by the comforts of home; but this was not so. The Lorlie was in every respect a beautiful craft, and sailing in her was so different from what it had been on the brig that it seemed almost like another kind of traveling. This, in connection with the fact that all mental troubles were banished, served to make the short trip to Nassau most enjoyable. It would be necessary for Mr. Vandyne to remain at this port two or three days in order to complete the preparations for saving the Bonita's cargo; but no one thought of taking up quarters on shore when it was possible to live so comfortably aboard the yacht. And now a word is necessary to explain why Harry's father interested himself in this work, which at first thought would seem too trifling to cause an extension of the cruise when Mrs. Vandyne and Mrs. Morse were anxiously waiting to greet once more the sons whom they had mourned as dead. This explanation seems to be the final link in the chain of mysterious or unaccountable occurrences which went to make up the career of the runaway brig. Mr. Vandyne owned one-third of the Bonita, and the first intimation he had of her abandonment was through the newspaper article which apprised him of his son's safety; therefore his business in Nassau was concerning the saving of his own property. It did seem remarkable, however, that Harry had been carried off by one of his father's vessels which at the time was supposed to be half-way across the Atlantic. "I am confident that Bob's theory as to the reason for her abandonment is the correct one," Mr. Vandyne said shortly after leaving the key, when they were discussing the matter, "and my reason for the belief is founded on a similar accident which happened to one of the first vessels I ever owned. She was bound to Genoa from New Orleans, also with a cargo of alcohol. One day during moderately fine weather there was a sudden explosion in the hold, which burst the tarpaulin and shattered the hatch. The captain saw dense volumes of what he thought smoke, and ordered all hands to abandon ship. They did get into the boats, but before casting off had the same experience you had, and the ship was saved. In the Bonita's case I have no doubt but that the boats foundered shortly after the crew left, although possibly they were picked up by some outward-bound craft, and we shall hear from them later." It was necessary for those who had been taken from the key to spend no small amount of time on shore giving evidence concerning the loss of the brig, that there might be no delay regarding payment of the insurance; and while attending to these matters they met an old acquaintance to whom they were deeply indebted. This was none other than the captain of the schooner which had visited the island in search of the murderers, and who gave the information leading to their rescue. "I was jes' thinkin' I'd run across the shoals an' see how you was gettin' on," he said, after a hearty greeting; "but I reckoned you had the steamer patched up before I got back from the States." Joe related briefly their misadventures on the key, and also the particulars of the rescue, concluding by asking if the red-nosed man and his companions had been captured. "I'm mighty glad that what we did in Savannah brought your friends on. I'd been blamin' myself for not stoppin' here when we come back; but as things turned out, a delay of two hours would 'a' given them villains the chance of showin' us their heels." "Then you caught 'em?" Bob asked eagerly. "That's jes' what we did, an' no mistake, though it was a close shave. We was comin' down past Egg Key, with a full breeze, when I saw a yawl edgin' inshore, like as if her crew wanted to get out of sight. None of us expected that gang was aboard, knowin' as how they'd stole your brig; but I thought it wouldn't do any harm to cut in between them and the land. Two hours later an' they'd 'a' been on the shoals, where we couldn't follow." "Did they show fight?" Bob asked. "They attempted to, but we was fixed for jes' sich a crowd. When we hove-to not fifty yards off, an' showed the muzzles of half a dozen rifles, every one of 'em quieted down like lambs. We clapped irons on the gang, an' next day they were here in jail. It was hard work to prove the murder on 'em, although everybody knew they did it. They were sentenced yesterday to twenty years' imprisonment, an' us who live around here feel a good deal more easy in mind, because it wasn't safe for a man to travel very far alone while they were free." Then the captain insisted on the boys going with him to the coral-reefs, where the spongers were at work, and a very pleasant afternoon did they spend. There were to be seen, by aid of a glass, sponges of all varieties, from the "sheep's wool" and "velvet" to the bright scarlet "gloves," which grow in the shape of huge hands, and owe their peculiar color to the insects which build them. Reef-sponges, yet covered with their manufacturers and black as a coal; wire sponges, and gray ones, fashioned in the form of a cup; sponges of all shapes and hues, until the shoal looked like a garden of brilliantly-colored flowers which had been suddenly inundated. The boys collected a huge store of curious things, among which was no small amount of purple and yellow fans, stars and trees of coral, which is so much more beautiful when living, and in the sea, than the dried specimens we see on land. The day's pleasuring was brought to a close by a visit to the sponge-yard, where the Captain's guests learned very much about this branch of industry, which in the Bahamas alone gives employment to several thousand persons and five or six hundred vessels. It was very like a revelation to them when the hospitable Captain explained that there were several grades of each variety of sheep-wool, white-reef, dark-reef, abaco, velvet, grass, boat, hard-head, yellow and glove sponges, all worth from five to ten cents per pound by the quantity; and, also, that when first taken from the water a sponge is useless for mechanical or domestic purposes. Probably every boy knows that a sponge, as we see it, is only the skeleton of an organism. When first gathered it is covered with a thick, black, gelatinous substance which must be removed. Then it is sorted, clipped, soaked in lime-water, and dried in the sun before being compressed into hundred-pound packages. It would be impossible to learn all that is really interesting concerning the sponge in one short article, or during a single visit to the yards; and Jim was so impressed with this fact that he said to Harry, when the latter hurried him away because the yacht's boat was waiting for them: "The first thing I buy out of my share of the money will be a book about these things, an' then I'll know a good deal more than I do now." On the third day after their arrival the boys saw a freighting-schooner, with a large crew of men, set sail for the key on which they had lived so long, to save what was left of the Bonita and her cargo. This completed the business for which they had visited Nassau--the wreckers being instructed to carry their find to New York--and word was given that every one should be ready for an early start homeward next morning. "You've had adventures enough for one year, and can well afford to study hard until next summer," Mr. Vandyne said as he announced the early departure of the Lorlie; and, hearing the words, a troubled look came over Jim's face. "We're ready for any amount of work at school after our accidental cruise," Harry replied promptly; "but what is to become of Jim?" "He will go home, of course, after receiving his share of the pirates' treasure." "But he hasn't a relative in the world, and it seems too bad for him to go on board the Mary Walker now that he has money enough to pay for a good education." Mr. Vandyne questioned the young fisherman at great length, and then he said: "You will be able to do as you choose, because the accidental cruise has made all hands moderately wealthy; therefore I am not offering anything like charity when I say you can live with Harry until some permanent arrangement is made. We will have a legal guardian appointed, that the money shall not be squandered, and you need not feel much anxiety as to the future until the time comes when you decide upon an occupation." Jim tried to thank Mr. Vandyne, but failed signally; and to hide his confusion he scuttled off to the forecastle, where he told Bob the good news, concluding by saying: "I'm through bein' rope's-ended by a crew of fishermen whenever they feel a little grouty, an' you jes' bet I'll study hard, now I've got a chance. But how will I ever see you ag'in?" "Why, bless you, lad, I'm goin' to stay close 'round there--sorter in the same family. Mr. Vandyne is a ship-owner, an' has plenty of work for an old shell-back like me. Joe an' I have both signed with him, an' whenever you want to know anything what can't be found in books, jes' shape a course for the docks an' ask Bob Brace." CHAPTER XXXIV. NEW YORK. Of the voyage to New York it is hardly necessary to speak, because nothing of an exciting or an interesting nature occurred. The wind favored the Lorlie to such an extent that not a rope was started from the time of leaving Nassau until she crossed the bar at Sandy Hook. The trip was as devoid of incident as the previous one in the Bonita had been filled with dangers and sorrows; and two hours after the yacht dropped anchor off Staten Island, Harry and Walter were clasped in their mothers' arms. The accidental cruise in a runaway brig was ended at last; and, fortunately, no harm had come from what at one time seemed certain would be attended with gravest dangers. It only remains now to chronicle the events which immediately followed their arrival; not because of any relation to the story already told, but owing to the influence they may exercise upon the future movements of the three boys. First, and at present the most important, is, How much treasure did they bring home? Mr. Vandyne was forced to engage the services of an expert money-changer in order to learn this fact himself; and, to the surprise of all, it was found that the bags averaged a trifle more than eighteen thousand dollars apiece, making a grand total of three hundred and forty-two thousand six hundred dollars. This was divided equally among the five who had been imprisoned on the key, and for the first time in his life Bob Brace enjoyed the distinction of being what he called "a blooming capitalist." It was no longer necessary for either the old sailor or Joe to do any very hard work; but as both preferred some kind of employment, and that which Mr. Vandyne offered was exactly suited to their ideas of ease, if not luxury, they concluded to hold to the agreement already made. While the money was being divided, Bob insisted very strongly that Harry's father should take a certain amount to repay him for the voyage to the Bahamas; but this was refused in such a decided manner as to leave no opportunity for discussion. "The treasure belongs to those who found it!" the merchant said; "and as I made the trip for the purpose of rescuing my son, there can be no question of payment. Yet I did have a reasonably profitable cruise, in addition to finding Harry. You were able to prove the loss of the Bonita, thus giving me an opportunity of claiming the insurance many months sooner than it could otherwise have been done; and, besides, I am expecting to realize something from salvage on the cargo." Bob and Joe decided to invest a portion of their share of the treasure in a vessel, and Mr. Vandyne agreed to act as their agent in the transaction. Three days after the arrival of the Lorlie the rescued party were engaged in their business, or pleasure, much as if they had never seen an island on the Bahama shoal. Jim was living at Harry's home, and Mr. Vandyne was to be his guardian as soon as the necessary formalities could he complied with. Walter was at home, within a block of his friend, while the other two members of the party who had taken an accidental cruise were busily engaged in Mr. Vandyne's service. On the fourth day after the Lorlie cast anchor off Staten Island the three boys went to the docks for the purpose of paying Bob and Joe a visit, and then the old sailor proposed such a scheme as met with the unqualified approval of all. "I want you lads to look at a little steam yacht that's layin' at the next pier," Bob said; and as a matter of course the boys were more than willing to make such inspection, since, after their late experience, anything in the way of boats or vessels had a new interest for them. The craft to which Bob and Joe led the party fully merited the praise which was bestowed so unstintedly. Her name was the Sea Foam, and she lie so jauntily on the water that one could but say it was in every way applicable to her. "Fifty-five foot keel, nine foot beam, compound engines, sound as a dollar, and guaranteed to make fourteen knots an hour," Joe said, as he pointed to the little steamer. "She's the most perfect thing of her kind I ever saw." The boys were not satisfied with gazing at her from the pier, but clambered on board, and a view of her interior arrangements only served to strengthen the good opinion formed by a single glance at the graceful lines of the hull. The Sea Foam had a roomy after-cabin handsomely but not expensively furnished, on either side of which were four bunks, separated from the saloon by heavy draperies. Swinging lamps and trays, large mirrors, the polished woods and the shining metal-work gave an air of beauty and homeliness to this portion of the steamer such as the boys thought very charming. Then the engine-room was visited, and although the three younger members of the party were not judges of machinery they could understand that Joe's words of praise were merited. The forward cabin, which also served as dining-room, contained four bunks, and leading from it was as complete and convenient a galley and pantry as the most fastidious cook could have desired. "Well, what do you think of her?" Bob asked, when the inspection was concluded. "She's the handsomest craft I ever saw," Harry replied enthusiastically. "Who owns her?" "A gentleman whose office is near your father's, and he wants to sell her. She's cheap at the price--three thousand--and my idea is that you boys couldn't do better than buy her. Then, next summer when you want to go off on a good time, Joe'll ship as engineer, I'll be crew, an' you'll only need a cook. She looks like a first-class sea-boat fit for any water." It is needless to add that the boys were highly excited by this proposition; but as it was impossible to say that the purchase could be made until Mr. Vandyne and Mr. Morse had been consulted, Harry and Walter started for the former's office at full speed, leaving the remainder of the party on board until their return. "Want to buy the Sea Foam, eh?" Mr. Vandyne said, when Harry pantingly asked him to come and look at the little steamer. "I examined her yesterday, and thought she would be a good pleasure-boat for you boys. Considering the fact that you've got more than money enough to make the purchase, I see no good reason why it shouldn't be done. I'll send a note to the owner, and you had better run down the bay on a trial trip. Tell Bob and Joe to stop work and go with you. Remember that while on the yacht the old sailor is to be obeyed as he was at the island." To get an order for the dock-master to deliver the Sea Foam to the parties named in Mr. Vandyne's note it was only necessary to walk a short distance, and in less than an hour after first seeing the yacht all hands were on board, steaming down the bay at a trifle more than a fifteen-knot rate. One trip was sufficient to convince the boys that the little craft was essential to their happiness, and even Bob and Joe were so pleased with her that it is quite probable they might have been tempted to purchase her themselves in case the young capitalists had not decided in favor of the scheme. "A two-weeks'-old baby might steer her if it knew enough," Bob said approvingly, as he stood at the wheel in the snug little pilot-house; "an' as for speed, why there's mighty few can touch her. We're gettin' a decently heavy swell now, an' her deck is as dry as a bone." "Would you dare to go from here to the Bahamas in her?" Walter asked. "Dare? Why, lad, she'd live in weather that would swamp many a bigger craft. You can cruise from here to South America in her, an' be a blessed sight more comfortable than ever we were on the old Bonita." Joe had even more to say in the Sea Foam's favor than Bob, and he insisted stoutly that it was nothing more than play to act the part of engineer. All this praise was needless, however, for the intending purchasers were more than pleased with the little craft, and their report to Mr. Vandyne was coupled with such urgent entreaties for him to close the bargain before any one else could take advantage of the offer that by noon of the next day she was transferred to Messrs. Vandyne, Morse & Libby. These young gentlemen are already making preparations to spend next summer on board the Sea Foam, and when they start it is safe to say the cruise will not be accidental. THE END. 
21475	----	Peter Trawl, the Adventures of a Whaler, by W.H.G. Kingston. ________________________________________________________________________ Peter is a young teenager in a family that suffers a series of disastrous events. Family money is lost due to the failure of a bank, not at all uncommon in those days, probably about 1830. They lived in Portsmouth, where the father was a wherryman, ferrying people out to the ships. The father meets with an accident, having ferried a passenger to his ship at anchor outside the harbour, is caught up by freak weather, which broke up his boat and drowned him. The mother does what she can, taking commodities out to the ships for the benefit of the sailors, but trade was bad at that time, and she became ill, and dies as well. Thus the family were left without any support, until a Mr Gray, a Quaker, comes on the scene, and takes them under his wing. He is also a shipowner, and he gives Peter a chance on one of his ships. However, there are various mishaps with this ship, and Peter and his friend Jim arrive in Shetland, an archipelago in the far north of Britain, where Peter discovers that he has relatives. He takes a lift in a ship back to Portsmouth, as the ship was due to call in at Plymouth, but due to fair weather passes it by. The ship is a whaler, and needs to get into the Pacific Ocean, but has a lot of trouble trying to round the Horn. Eventually they succeed. But Peter now has a new ambition, to find his long-lost brother Jack who had gone to sea years before, and never been heard of. By chance he hears that Jack may be alive. In due course they find Jack, and come home again with him to Portsmouth, where Mr Gray has kindly looked after the female members of Peter's family, including his sister Mary. Of course there are a lot of coincidences in this story, but that's part of the fun. ________________________________________________________________________ PETER TRAWL, THE ADVENTURES OF A WHALER, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON. CHAPTER ONE. MY EARLY DAYS AT HOME. Brother Jack, a seaman's bag over his shoulders, trudged sturdily ahead; father followed, carrying the oars, spars, sails, and other gear of the wherry, while as I toddled alongside him I held on with one hand to the skirt of his pea-jacket, and griped the boat-hook which had been given to my charge with the other. From the front of the well-known inn, the "Keppel's Head," the portrait of the brave old admiral, which I always looked at with awe and admiration, thinking what a great man he must have been, gazed sternly down on us as we made our way along the Common Hard of Portsea towards the water's edge. Father and Jack hauled in the wherry, and having deposited their burdens in her, set to work to mop her out and to put her to rights, while I stood, still grasping the boat-hook, which I held upright with the point in the ground, watching their proceedings, till father, lifting me up in his arms, placed me in the stern-sheets. "Sit there, Peter, and mind you don't topple overboard, my son," he said, in the kind tone in which he always spoke to me and Jack. I was too small to be of much use, indeed father had hitherto only taken me with him when he was merely going across to Gosport and back or plying about the harbour. It was a more eventful day to Jack than to me. When I saw mother packing his bag, I had a sort of idea that he was going to sea, and when the next morning she threw her arms round his neck and burst into tears, and Jack began to cry too, I understood that he would be away for a long time. Jack had been of great use to father, who grieved as much as mother to part with him, but, as he said, he wouldn't, if he could help it, bring him up as a long-shore lubber, and a few voyages would be the making of him. "He can't get none of the right sort of eddication on shore," observed father. "He'll learn on board a man-of-war what duty and discipline mean, and to my mind till a lad knows that he isn't worth his salt." The _Lapwing_ brig-of-war, fitted out at Sheerness, had brought up at Spithead, and her commander, Captain Rogers, with whom father had long served, meeting him on shore, and hearing that he had a son old enough to go to sea, offered to take Jack and look after him. When Commander Rogers was a midshipman, he fell overboard, and would have been drowned had not father jumped in and saved him. He was very grateful, but had not till now had an opportunity of practically showing his gratitude. Father, therefore, gladly accepted his offer, being sure that he would do his best for Jack; and as Blue Peter was flying from the masthead of the brig, there was no time to be lost in taking him on board. At the time I was too young, as I was saying, to understand these matters, but I learnt about them afterwards. All I then knew was that brother Jack was going for a sailor aboard of a man-of-war. Father and Jack were just shoving off, when two persons who had come out of the "Keppel's Head" were seen hurrying down the Hard with cases and packages in their hands and under their arms. One, as his dress and appearance showed, was a seafaring man; the other wore long toggery, as sailors call the costume of landsmen. "If you are going out to Spithead, my man, we'll go with you," shouted the first. "Ay, ay, sir! I'll be glad enough to take you," answered father, happy to get a fare, instead of making nothing by the trip. "We'll give you five shillings apiece," said the officer, for such he seemed to be. "Thank you, sir; that will do. What ship shall I put you aboard?" asked father. "The _Intrepid_, South Sea whaler--she's lying to the eastward of the men-of-war. We shall see her when we get abreast of Southsea Castle," answered the officer. "Step aboard, then, sir," said father. "The tide will soon have done making out of the harbour, and there's no time to lose." The strangers took their seats in the stern-sheets, and father and Jack, shoving off, pulled out into the stream. The officer took the yoke-lines, and by the way he handled them, showed that he knew what he was about. Careful steering is always required where tides run strong and vessels are assembled; but especially was it at that time, when, peace having been just proclaimed, Portsmouth Harbour was crowded with men-of-war lately returned from foreign stations, and with transports and victuallers come in to be discharged; while all the way up towards Porchester Castle lay, now dismantled in vast numbers, those stout old ships with names renowned which had borne the victorious flag of England in many a fierce engagement. Dockyard lighters, man-of-war boats, wherries crowded with passengers, and other craft of various descriptions, were sailing or pulling about in all directions, so that the stranger had to keep his eyes about him to avoid being run down by, or running into, some other boat or vessel. "We'll step the mast, and make sail while we're in smooth water, sir," said father. "There's a lop of a sea outside, when it wouldn't be pleasant to this gentleman if we were to wait till then," and he gave a look at the landsman, who even now did not seem altogether comfortable. "The doctor hasn't been used to the sea, but he'll soon get accustomed to it. No fear of that, Cockle, eh?" said the officer, who was, he afterwards told father, second mate of the _Intrepid_. "I hope I shall, Mr Griffiths, but I confess I don't much like the thought of going through those foaming waves out there in such a cockleshell of a boat as this," answered the doctor. "No offence to you, my friend," he added, turning to father. "Ha! Ha! Ha! That's just what the boat is at present," said the mate, laughing. "Do you twig, doctor? Do you twig? She carries you and your fortunes, and if she takes us safe alongside the _Intrepid_--and I see no reason why she shouldn't--we shall be obliged to her and her owner here. What's your name, my man?" "Jack Trawl, sir; at your service," answered father. "Many's the time I've been out to Spithead in this here wherry when it's been blowing great guns and small arms, and she's ridden over the seas like a duck. The gentleman needn't be afraid." The doctor, who did not seem to like the mate's joking, or father's remark about being afraid, sat silent for some time. "I'll take the helm, sir, if you please," said father, who had stepped the mast and hauled aft the sheets. "My wherry likes me to have hold of her, and maybe she mightn't behave as well as she should if a stranger was steering." "I understand," answered Mr Griffiths, laughing. "You are wise not to trust any one but yourself. I'll yield to you in handling this style of boat under sail, though I may have been more at sea than you have." "I doubt that, sir, as I went afloat not long after you were born, if not before, and for well-nigh thirty years seldom set foot on shore," answered father. "All that time I served His Majesty--God bless him-- and if there was to come another war I'd be ready to serve him again, as my boy Jack there is just going to do." "A fine lad he seems, but he'd better by half have joined the merchant service than submitted to the tyranny of a man-of-war," said the mate. "There are just two opinions, sir, as to that," answered father, dryly. "Haul down the tack, Jack, and get a pull of the foresheet," he sang out. There was a fresh breeze from the south-east blowing almost up the harbour, but by keeping over on the Portsmouth side, aided by the tide, we stood clear out of it. The wherry soon began to pitch into the seas, which came rolling in round Southsea Castle in a way which made the doctor look very blue. The mate tried to cheer him up, but he evidently didn't like it, especially when the spray came flying over the bows, and quickly wet him and most of us well-nigh through to the skin. Every now and then more than the mere spray came aboard us, and the doctor became more and more uncomfortable. Father now called Jack aft to bale out the water, and he set to work heaving it overboard as fast as it came in. I laughed, and did not feel a bit afraid, because when I looked up at father's face I saw that there was nothing to be afraid about. At length the mate seemed to think that we were carrying on too long. "Doctor Cockle is not accustomed to this sort of thing," he observed. "Hadn't we better take in a reef or two?" "Not if you wish to get aboard your ship, sir, before night," answered father. "I know my boat, and I know what she'll do. Trust me, sir, and in less than half-an-hour you'll be safe alongside the _Intrepid_." The mate seemed satisfied, and began talking to me, amused at the way I sat bobbing, as the spray came aboard, under an old pea-jacket which father had thrown over my shoulders, and grinning when I found that I had escaped the shower by which the others got well sprinkled. "I'll not forget you, my little fellow," he said, laughing. "You'll make a prime seaman one of these days. Will you remember my name?" "Yes, sir, I think I shall, and your face too," I answered. "You are a sharp chap, I see," he observed, in the same tone as before. "Do you intend to make a sailor of him?" he asked, turning to father. "Not if I can find a better calling for the boy, sir," answered father. "I've heard say, and believe it, that man proposes and God disposes. It mayn't be in my power to choose for him." "Ay, ay, you're right there, my friend," said the mate. "If he had been as old as his brother I would have given him a berth aboard the _Intrepid_." It may seem curious that, young as I was, I should have remembered these remarks, but so it was, and I had reason long afterwards to do so. Even sooner than father had said we had hooked on to the whaler, a barque of about three hundred tons, her black hull rising high out of the water, and with three boats, sharp at both ends, hoisted up to davits in a line on each side. The good-natured mate having paid the fare and given me a bright shilling in addition, helped the doctor, who wasn't very well able to help himself, up on deck, and we then, shoving off, stood for the man-of-war brig. Jack almost broke down as we approached her. Not that he was unwilling to go away, but that he was very sorry to part from father and me, and I know that we were very sorry to part with him. "Jack, my son," said father, and his voice wasn't as firm as usual, "we may never meet again on this side the grave. You may be taken or I may be taken. What I want to say to you is this, and they may be well-nigh the last words you will ever hear me speak. Ever remember that God's eye is upon you, and so live that you may be prepared at any moment to die. I can't say more than that, my boy. Bless you. God bless you." "I will, father, I will," answered Jack, and he passed the back of his hand across his eyes. We were soon up to the brig. He gave me a hug and a kiss, and then, having made fast the end of the rope hove to us, he griped father's hand, and sprang up the side of the brig. His bag was hoisted up after him by an old shipmate of father's, who sang out, "All right, Trawl, I'll look after your boy!" We had at once to shove off, for the brig was rolling considerably, and there was a risk of the wherry being swamped alongside. As we stood away I looked astern. Jack had climbed into the fore-rigging and was waving to us. We soon lost sight of him. When, if ever, should we see him again? Having the wind and tide with us, we quickly ran back into the harbour. For reasons which will appear by-and-by I ought to say a few words respecting my family, though I don't flatter myself the world in general will be much concerned about the matter. Some people are said to be born with silver spoons in their mouths; if that means, as I suppose it does, that from their earliest days they enjoy all the luxuries of life, then I may say that when I first saw the light I must have had a very rough wooden one between my toothless gums. However, as I've often since thought, it isn't so much what a man is born to which signifies, as what he becomes by his honesty, steadiness, perseverance, and above all by his earnest desire to do right in the sight of God. My father, Jack Trawl (as he spelt his name, or, rather, as others spelt it for him, he being no great hand with a pen), was an old man-of-war's-man. I well remember hearing him say that his father, who had been mate of a merchantman, and had been lost at sea when he himself was a boy, was a Shetlander; and in an old Testament which had belonged to his mother, and which he had treasured as the only relic of either of his parents, I found the name written Troil. The ink was very faint, but I made out the words clearly, "Margaret Troil, given to her by her husband Angus." This confirmed me in the idea I had formed, that both my father's parents had come from the far off island of Shetland. My father being a sober, steady man, having saved more of his pay and prize-money than had most of his shipmates, when he left the service bought a wherry, hired and furnished a house, and married my mother, Polly Treherne, the daughter of a bumboat-woman who plied her trade in Portsmouth Harbour. I have no cause to be ashamed of my grandmother, for every one who knew her said, and I am sure of it, that she was as worthy a woman in her line of life as ever lived. She gave good measure and charged honest prices, whether she was dealing in soft tack, fruit, vegetables, cheese, herrings, or any of the other miscellaneous articles with which she supplied the seamen of His Majesty's ships; and her daughter Polly, who assisted her, was acknowledged by all to be as good and kind-hearted as she was pretty. No wonder, then, that she won the heart of my brave father when she visited the ship in which he had just come home, or that, knowing his worth, although she had many suitors, she consented to marry him. For some time all went well, but what happened is a proof that honest, industrious persons may be overtaken by misfortunes as well as other people. Father had no intention that his wife should follow her mother's calling, as he could make enough to keep the pot boiling; but after they had been married a few years, and several children had been born, all of whom died in their infancy, except my eldest brother Jack, and me and Mary, the two youngest, bad times came. CHAPTER TWO. HOW A TRUE FRIEND WAS GAINED. Just before we two entered this world of troubles, the bank in which my father had deposited his savings broke, and all were lost. The sails of his wherry were worn out, and he had been about to buy a new suit, which he now couldn't do; the wherry herself was getting crazy, and required repairs, and he himself met with an accident which laid him up for several weeks. Grandmother also, who had lost nearly her all by the failure of the bank, though she had hitherto been hale and hearty, now began to talk of feeling the approach of old age. One evening, while father was laid up, she looked in on us. "Polly, my girl, there's no use trying to beat up in the teeth of a gale with a five-knot current against one," she exclaimed, as, dropping down into out big arm-chair and undoing her bonnet-strings and the red handkerchief she wore round her neck, she threw her bonnet over the back of her head. "I'm dead beat with to-day's work, and shall be worse to-morrow. Now, my dear, what I've got to say is this, I want you to help me. You know the trade as well as I do. It will be a good thing for you as well as for me; for look you, my dear, if anything should happen to your Jack, it will help you to keep the wolf from the door." This last argument, with her desire to help the good old lady, made mother say that if father was agreeable she would do as grandmother wished. She forthwith went upstairs, where father was lying in bed, scarcely able to move for the pain his hurt caused him. They talked the matter over, and he, knowing that something must be done for the support of the family, gave, though unwillingly, his consent. Thus it happened that my mother again took to bum-boating. Trade, however, wasn't like what it used to be in the war time, I heard grandmother say. Then seamen would have their pockets filled with five-pound notes and golden guineas, which they were eager to spend; now they rarely had more than a few shillings or a handful of coppers jingling in them. Still there was an honest livelihood to be made, and grandmother and mother contrived to make it. Poor grandmother, however, before long fell ill, as she said she should, and then all the work fell on mother. Father got better, and was able sometimes to go out with the wherry, but grandmother got worse and worse, and mother had to attend on her till she died. When she and father were away from home, Mary and I were left to the care of our brother Jack. He did his best to look after us, but not being skilled as a nursemaid, while he was tending Mary, who, being a girl--she was my twin sister, I should have said--required most of his care, he could not always manage to prevent me from getting into trouble. Fortunately nothing very serious happened. Dear, kind Jack! I was very fond of him, and generally obeyed him willingly. It would not be true to say that I always did so. He was very fond of Mary and me too, of that I am sure, and he used to show his fondness by spending for our benefit any coppers he picked up by running on errands or doing odd jobs for neighbours. As his purchases were usually brandy-balls, rock, and other sweets, it was perhaps fortunate for us that he had not many to spend. By diligently pursuing her trade, mother, in course of time, saved money enough to enable father to get the wherry repaired, and to buy a new suit of sails, and when he got plenty of employment he bade mother stay at home and look after Mary and me, while Jack went with him. As, however, it would not have been prudent to give up her business altogether, she hired a girl, Nancy Fidget, to take her place, as Jack had done, when she was from home. I don't remember that anything of importance happened after grandmother's death till Jack went to sea. We missed him very much, and Mary was always asking after him, wondering when he would come back. Still, if I had gone away, she would, I think, have fretted still more. Perhaps it was because we were twins that we were so fond of each other. We were, however, not much alike. She was a fair, blue-eyed little maiden, with flaxen hair and a rosy blush on her cheeks, and I was a broad-shouldered, strongly-built chap, the hue on my cheeks and the colour of my hair soon becoming deepened by my being constantly out of doors, while my eyes were, I fancy, of a far darker tint than my sister's. After Jack went mother seemed to concentrate all her affections on us two. I don't think, however, that any woman could have a warmer or larger heart than hers, although many may have a wider scope for the exercise of their feelings. She never turned a beggar away from her door without some relief even in the worst of times, and when any of the neighbours were in distress, she always did her best to help them. Often when she had been out bum-boating for the best part of the day, and had been attending to household matters for the remainder, she would sit up the whole night with a sick acquaintance who was too poor to hire a nurse, and had only thanks to give her, and perhaps of that not very liberally. I have said that my mother had as warm and generous a heart as ever beat in woman's bosom. I repeat it. I might give numerous instances to prove the truth of my assertion, and to show that I have reason to be proud of being her son, whatever the world may think about the matter. One will suffice. It had an important effect on my destinies, although at the time no one would have supposed that such would be the case. One evening, as my mother was returning home off the water after dark, she found a female fallen down close to our door, in what seemed to be a fit. Some of the neighbours had seen the poor creature, but had let her lie there, and gone indoors, and several persons passing showed by their remarks what they thought of her character; but mother, not stopping to consider who she was or what she was, lifting her up in her strong arms, carried her into the house, and placed her on the bed which used to be Jack's. Mother now saw by the light of the candle that the unhappy being she had taken charge of was still young, and once had been pretty, but the life she had led had marred her beauty and brought her to her present sad state. After mother had undressed her and given her food and a cordial in which she had great confidence, the girl slightly revived, but it became more evident than before that she was fearfully ill. She sobbed and groaned, and sometimes shrieked out in a way terrible to hear, but would give no account of herself. At length, mother, mistrusting her own skill, sent Nancy and me off to call Dr Rolt, the nearest medical man we knew of. He came at once, and shaking his head as soon as he saw the stranger, he advised that she should be removed forthwith to the hospital. "Not to-night, doctor, surely," said mother. "It might be the death of her, poor young creature!" "She may rapidly grow worse, and it may be still more dangerous to move her afterwards," remarked Dr Rolt. "Then, please God, I'll keep charge of her till she recovers, or He thinks fit to take her," said mother, in her determined way. "She will never recover, I fear," said the doctor; "but I will do the best for her I can." Telling mother how to act, and promising to send some medicine, he went away. When father, who had been across to Ryde in the wherry, came home, he approved of what mother had done. "Why, you see, Jack, what I think is this," I heard her say; "I've no right to point a finger at her, for if I hadn't had a good mother to show me right and wrong, I might have been just as she is." The next morning the doctor came again. He looked grave when he left the stranger's room. "You are still resolved to let this poor outcast remain in your house, Mrs Trawl?" he asked. "Yes, sir, my good man thinks as I do, that we ought," answered mother, positively. Dr Rolt returned in the afternoon, accompanied by a gentleman wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a straight-cut broadcloth coat of sombre hue. He smiled pleasantly at mother as he took the seat she offered him without doffing his hat, and beckoning to Mary and me, put his hands on our heads, while he looked into our faces and smiled as he had done to mother. "I have brought Mr Silas Gray, a member of the Society of Friends, knowing that I should have your leave, Mrs Trawl, as he desires to see the poor girl you have taken care of," said Dr Rolt. "Verily, sister, thou hast acted the part of the Good Samaritan towards the hapless one of whom friend Rolt has told me, and I would endeavour to minister to her spiritual necessities, the which I fear are great indeed; also with thy leave I will help thee in supplying such creature comforts as she may need," said Mr Gray. "Thank you kindly, sir," answered mother. "I couldn't say much on the matter of religion, except to tell her that God cares for her as well as He does for the richest lady in the land, and will pardon her sins if she will but turn to Him through Christ; and as to food, kickshaws fit for sick folk are not much in my way, still I'll--" "Thou knowest the very gist of the matter, sister," observed Mr Gray, interrupting her; "but time is precious. I'll go in with friend Rolt and speak to the wandering child." Saying this, Mr Gray accompanied the doctor into the stranger's room. He, after this, came again and again--never empty-handed--oftener indeed than the doctor, whose skill failed, as he feared it would, to arrest the poor girl's malady, while Mr Gray's ministrations were successful in giving her the happy assurance that "though her sins were as scarlet, she had become white as snow," so he assured mother. "Praise the Lord," was her reply. So the young stranger died--her name, her history, unknown. Mr Gray paid the expenses of her funeral, and frequently after that came to see us, to inquire, as he said, how we were getting on. We had not heard from brother Jack since he went aboard the _Lapwing_. Mother thought that he might have got some one to write for him, though he was no great hand with a pen himself. All we knew was that the brig had gone out to the East Indies, which being a long way off would have accounted for our not often getting letters from him; but just one father hoped he would have contrived to send after he had been a year away; now nearly three years had passed since then. Had the _Lapwing_ been fitted out at Portsmouth, we should have got news of him from others, but as none of her crew hailed from our town, there was no one to whom we could go to ask about him. Father had taken lately to talk much about Jack, and sometimes regretted that he had let him go away. "You acted for the best, and so don't be blaming yourself," observed mother, trying to console him. "There's One aloft looking after him better than we can, and He'll bring our boy back to us if He thinks fit." Mary and I little knew all the trials father and mother had to go through. Mother's trade was bad, and father was often out all day without bringing a shilling home. Younger men with more gaily-painted boats--he would not acknowledge that they were better--got fares when he could not manage to pick up one. Sometimes also he was laid up with the rheumatics, and was unable to go afloat. One day, while thus suffering, mother fetched Dr Rolt to see him. Father begged the doctor to get him well as soon as he could, seeing that he wanted to be out in the wherry to gain his livelihood. "All in good time, my man," answered the doctor. "You'll be about again in a few days, never fear. By-the-bye, I saw our friend Mr Gray lately, Mrs Trawl, and he was inquiring for you. He would have come to see your husband had he known that he was ill, but he went away to London yesterday, and may, I fear, be absent for some time. Many will miss him should he be long away." Sooner than father expected he was about again. I had gone down with father and mother to the Hard, mother to board a ship which had just come in, and father to look out for a fare, while Mary remained at home with Nancy. It was blowing pretty fresh, and there was a good deal of sea running outside, though in the harbour the water was not rough enough to prevent mother from going off. While she was waiting for old Tom Swatridge, who had been with grandmother and her for years to bring along her baskets of vegetables from the market, a gentleman came hurrying down the Hard, and seeing father getting the wherry ready, said: "I want you to put me aboard my ship, my man. She's lying out at Spithead; we must be off at once." "It's blowing uncommon fresh, sir," said father. "I don't know how you'll like it when we get outside; still there's not a wherry in the harbour that will take you aboard drier than mine, though there's some risk, sir, you'll understand." "Will a couple of guineas tempt you?" asked the stranger, thinking that father was doubting about the payment he was to receive. "I'll take you, sir," answered father. "Step aboard." I was already in the boat, thinking that I was to go, and was much disappointed when father said, "I am not going to take you, Peter, for your mother wants you to help her; but just run up and tell Ned Dore I want him. He's standing by the sentry-box." As I always did as father bade me, I ran up and called Ned, who at once came rolling along down the Hard, glad of a job. When he heard what he was wanted for he stepped aboard. "I hope to be back in a couple of hours, or three at furthest, Polly," father sang out to mother, as he shoved off the wherry. "Good-bye, lass, and see that Peter makes himself useful." Mother waved her hand. "Though two guineas are not to be picked up every day, I would as lief he had stayed in the harbour this blowing weather," she said to herself more than to me, as on seeing old Tom coming we stepped into her boat. When father first went to sea, Tom Swatridge had been his shipmate, and had done him many a kind turn which he had never forgotten. Old Tom had lost a leg at Trafalgar, of which battle he was fond of talking. He might have borne up for Greenwich, but he preferred his liberty, though he had to work for his daily bread, and, I am obliged to say, for his daily quantum of rum, which always kept his pockets empty. He had plenty of intelligence, but he could neither read nor write, and that, with his love of grog, had prevented him from getting on in life as well as his many good qualities would otherwise have enabled him to do. He was a tall gaunt man, with iron-grey hair, and a countenance wrinkled, battered, and bronzed by wind and weather. When he first came ashore he was almost as sober a man as father, and having plenty of prize-money he managed to purchase a small dwelling for himself, which I shall have by-and-by to describe. Old Tom taking the oars, we pulled aboard the _Dartmouth_, forty-two gun frigate, just come in from the Mediterranean. Several of the men had been shipmates with father, and all those belonging to Portsmouth knew mother. They were very glad to see her, and she had to answer questions of all sorts about their friends on shore. It is the business of a bumboat-woman to know everything going forward, what ships are likely to be commissioned, the characters of the captains and officers, when they are to sail, and where they are going to. Among so many friends mother drove a brisker trade than usual, and when the men heard that I was Jack Trawl's son they gave me many a bright shilling and sixpence, and kind pats on the head with their broad palms. "He's a chip of the old block, no doubt about that, missus," cried one. "He'll make a smart young topman one of these days," said another. Several gave her commissions to execute, and many sent messages to friends on shore. Altogether, when she left the frigate she was in better spirits than she had been for a long time. Scarcely had we shoved off, however, when down came the rain in torrents, well-nigh wetting us through. "It's blowing plaguey hard, missus," observed old Tom, as he tugged away at the oars, I helping him while mother steered. "I hope as how we shall find your good man safe ashore when we gets in." On reaching the Hard the wherry was not to be seen. After old Tom had made fast the boat, wet as she was mother waited and waited in the hopes that father would come in. Old Tom remained also. He seemed more than usually anxious. We all stood with our hands shielding our eyes as we looked down the harbour to try and make out the wherry, but the driving rain greatly limited our view. "Hast seen anything of Jack Trawl's wherry?" asked old Tom over and over again of the men in the different boats, as they came in under their mizens and foresails. The same answer was returned by all. "Maybe he got a fare at Spithead for Gosport and will be coming across soon, or he's gone ashore at the Point with some one's luggage," observed old Tom, trying to keep up mother's spirits; but that was a hard matter to do, for the wind blew stronger and stronger. A few vessels could be seen, under close-reefed canvas, running up the harbour for shelter, but we could nowhere perceive a single boat under sail. Still old Tom continued to suggest all sorts of reasons why father had not come back. Perhaps he had been detained on board the ship at Spithead to which he took the gentleman, and seeing the heavy weather coming on would remain till it moderated. Mother clung to this notion when hour after hour went by and she had given up all expectation of seeing father that evening. Still she could not tear herself from the Hard. Suddenly she remembered me. "You must be getting wet, Peter," she said. "Run home, my child, and tell Nancy to give you your tea and then to get supper ready. Father and I will be coming soon, I hope." I lingered, unwilling to leave her. "Won't you come yourself, mother?" I asked. "I'll wait a bit longer," she answered. "Go, Peter, go; do as I bid you." "You'd better go home with Peter, missus," said old Tom. "You'll be getting the rheumatics, I'm afraid. I'll stay and look out for your good man." I had never seen mother look as she did then, when she turned her face for a moment to reply to the old man. She was as pale as death; her voice sounded hoarse and hollow. "I can't go just yet, Tom," she said. I did not hear more, as, according to her bidding, I set off to run home. I found Mary and Nancy wondering what had kept mother so long. "Can anything have happened to father?" exclaimed Mary, when I told her that mother was waiting for him. "He has been a long time coming back from Spithead, and it's blowing fearfully hard," I answered. I saw Nancy clasp her hands and look upwards with an expression of alarm on her countenance which frightened me. Her father and brother had been lost some years before, crossing in a wherry from Ryde, and her widowed mother had found it a hard matter to keep herself and her children out of the workhouse. She said nothing, however, to Mary and me, but I heard her sighing and whispering to herself, "What will poor missus do? What will poor missus do?" She gave Mary and me our suppers, and then persuaded us to go to bed. I was glad to do so to get off my wet clothes, which she hung up to dry, but I could not go to sleep for thinking what had happened to father. At length mother came in alone. She sat down on a chair without speaking, and her hands dropped by her side. I could watch her as I looked out from the small closet in which my bunk was placed. Even since I had left her her countenance had become fearfully pale and haggard. She shivered all over several times, but did not move from her seat. "Won't you get those wet duds of yours off, missus, and have some hot tea and supper?" asked Nancy, who had been preparing it. Mother made no reply. "Don't take on so, missus," said Nancy, coming up to her and putting her hand affectionately on her shoulder. "Bless me, you're as wet as muck. I've put Peter and Mary to bed, and you must just go too, or you'll be having the rheumatics and I don't know what. Do go, missus, now do go." In vain Nancy pleaded, and was still endeavouring to persuade mother to take off her wet garments, when I at last fell asleep. When I awoke in the morning I saw Nancy alone bustling about the room. I soon jumped into my clothes. My first question was for father. "He's not yet come back, Peter," she answered. "But maybe he will before long, for the wind has fallen, and if he put into Ryde he'd have waited till now to come across." "Where's mother?" I next asked, not seeing her. "Hush, Peter, don't speak loud," she said in a low tone. "She's been in a sad taking all night, but she's quiet now, and we mustn't waken her." On hearing this I crept about as silent as a mouse till Mary got up, and then we sat looking at each other without speaking a word, wondering what was going to happen, while Nancy lit the fire and got breakfast ready. At last we heard mother call to Nancy to come to her, not knowing that Mary and I were on foot. "I must get up and go and look after my good man," she cried out, in a voice strangely unlike her own. "Just help me, Nancy, will you? What can have come over me? I feel very curious." She tried to rise, but could not, and after making several attempts, sank back on her bed with a groan. Mary and I now ran into her room. "What's the matter, mother dear?" asked Mary, in a tone of alarm. She gazed at us strangely, and groaned again. "Missus is, I fear, taken very bad," said Nancy. "I must run for a doctor, or she'll be getting worse. I'm sure I don't know what to do; I wish I did. Oh dear! Oh dear!" "Let me go," I said, eagerly. "I know where he lives and you stay and take care of mother. I can run faster than you can in and out among the people in the streets." Nancy agreed, and I set off. CHAPTER THREE. A SAD CHAPTER IN MY LIFE. As I ran for the doctor I felt that I was engaged in a matter of life and death, for I had never seen mother ill before. In my anxiety for her I almost forgot all about father. On I rushed, dodging in and out among the workmen going to their daily toil--there were not many other persons out at that early hour. Two or three times I heard the cry of "Stop thief!" uttered by some small urchins for mischiefs sake, and once an old watchman, who had overslept himself in his box, suddenly starting out attempted to seize hold of me, fancying that he was about to capture a burglar, but I slipped away, leaving him sprawling in the dust and attempting to spring his rattle, and I ran on at redoubled speed, soon getting out of his sight round a corner. At last I reached Dr Rolt's house and rang the surgery bell as hard as I could pull. It was some time before the door was opened by a sleepy maid-servant, who had evidently just hurried on her clothes. "Mother wants the doctor very badly," I exclaimed. "Ask him, please, to come at once." "The doctor can't come. He's away from home, in London," answered the girl. "You'd better run on to Dr Hunt's. Maybe he'll attend on your mother." I asked where Dr Hunt lived. She told me. His house was some way off, but I found it at last. Again I had to wait for the door to be opened, when, greatly to my disappointment, the maid told me that Dr Hunt had been out all night and might not be at home for an hour or more. "Oh dear! Oh dear! Who then can I get to see poor mother?" I cried out, bursting into tears. "There's Mr Jones, the apothecary, at the end of the next street. He'll go to your mother, no doubt," said the maid. "Don't cry, my boy. Run on now; the first turning to the left. You'll see the red and green globes in his window." Without stopping to hear more, off I set again. Mr Jones was in his dispensary, giving directions to his assistant. I told him my errand. "I'll go presently," he answered. "What's the number?" Our house had no number, and I could not manage to explain its position clearly enough for his comprehension. "Then I'll stay, sir, and show you the way," I said. "Wait a bit, and I'll be ready," he replied. He kept me waiting, however, a cruel long time, it seemed to me. At last he appeared with his silver-mounted cane in hand, and bade me go on. "Stop! Stop, boy. I can't move at that rate," he cried out, before we had got far. He was a short stout man, with a bald head and grey hair. I had to restrain my eagerness, and walked slower till we reached our house. Nancy was looking out at the door for me, wondering I had not returned. "How is mother?" I asked. "Very bad, Peter; very bad indeed, I'm afeard," she answered, almost ready to cry. Then seeing Mr Jones stop with me, she continued, "Come in, doctor, come in. You'll try and cure missus, won't you?" "I'll certainly do my best when I know what is the matter with her," answered Mr Jones, as he followed Nancy into the house. Mary was with mother. I stole in after the doctor, anxious to hear what he would say about her. He made no remark in her presence, however, but when he came out of the room he observed in a low voice to Nancy, "You must keep her quiet. Let there be nothing done to agitate her, tell her husband when he comes in. I'll send some medicine, and pay her another visit in the afternoon." "But it's about her husband that she's grieving, sir," said Nancy. "He went away to Spithead yesterday morning and has never come back." "Ah, that's bad," replied Mr Jones. "However, perhaps he will appear before long. If he doesn't, it can't be helped. You must give her the medicines, at all events. I'll write the directions clearly for you." Poor Nancy had to confess that she could not read. The doctor then tried to impress upon her how and when she was to give the physic. "You'll remember, and there can be no mistake," he added, as he hurried off. I fancied that everything now depended on the arrival of the apothecary's stuff, and kept running to the door looking out for the boy who was to bring it. He seemed very long coming. I had gone half-a-dozen times when I caught sight, as I turned my eyes the other way thinking he might have passed by, of Tom Swatridge stumping slowly up the street. He stopped when he saw me, and beckoned. He looked very downcast. I observed that he had a straw hat in his hand, and I knew that it was father's. "How is mother?" he asked, when I got up to him. "Very bad," I answered, looking at the hat, but afraid to ask questions. "The news I bring will make her worse, I'm afeard," he said, in a husky voice, as he took my hand. "Peter, you had as good a father as ever lived, but you haven't got one now. A cutter just come in picked up this hat off Saint Helen's, and afterwards an oar and a sprit which both belonged to the wherry. I went out the first thing this morning to the ship your father was to put the gentleman aboard. He had got alongside all right, for I saw the gentleman himself, and he told me that he had watched the wherry after she shoved off till he lost sight of her in a heavy squall of rain. When it cleared off she was nowhere to be seen. So, Peter, my poor boy, there's no hope, I'm afeard, and we shall never see my old messmate or Ned Dore again." "Oh, Tom! Tom! You don't mean to say that father's gone!" I cried out. "I'd sooner have lost another leg than have to say it," answered the old man. "But it must be said notwithstanding, and now how are we to tell mother?" I could not answer, but kept repeating to myself, "Gone! Gone! Father gone!" as Tom led me on to the house. We met the boy with the physic at the door. "Let Nancy give her the stuff first," said the old man, thoughtfully; "maybe it will give her strength, and help her to bear the bad news." Nancy took in the bottles, while Tom and I remained outside. After some time she came out and told Tom that mother wanted to see him. He went in, shaking all over so much that I thought he would have fallen. I followed, when, seeing Mary, I threw my arms round her neck and burst into tears. She guessed what had happened even before I told her. We sat down, holding each other's hands and crying together, while Tom went in to see mother. What he said I do not know, though I am sure he tried to break the news to her as gently as he could. When she saw the hat, which he still held in his hand, she knew that father was lost. She did not go off into fits, as Tom afterwards told me he thought she would, but remained terribly calm, and just bade him describe to her all that he knew. "I mustn't give in," she said at length, "I have the children to look after, for if I was to go what would become of them?" "While I'm able to work they shan't want, missus," answered Tom, firmly. "I know what you'd wish to do, Tom; but there's one thing won't let you: that thing is liquor," said mother. "Then I'll never touch another drop as long as I live, missus!" exclaimed Tom. "May God help me!" "He will help you, Tom, if you ask Him," said mother; "and I hope that, whether I live or die, you'll keep to that resolution." I believe that conversation with Tom did mother much good; it took her off from thinking of father. She was still, however, very ill, and had to keep her bed. The doctor came again and again; generally twice a day. He of course had to be paid, and a good deal too. There was nothing coming in, and poor mother became more and more anxious to get out and attend to her business. The doctor warned her that she would go at great risk--indeed, that she was not fit to leave her bed. "She had no money left to pay for food and rent and the doctor's bill," she answered, and go she must. Though she had no money, she had, however, ample credit to stock her bumboat. Very unwillingly Nancy assisted her to, dress. Out she would go, taking me with her to lay in a stock of the articles she required. People remarked on her changed looks, and some did not even know her. She acknowledged that she was very tired when we got home, but declared that she should be the better for going on the water. The next morning old Tom had his boat ready. "I do wish, missus, that you'd stayed at home a few days longer," he remarked, looking at her. "Howsomedever, as you've come, I hopes you'll just take what I say kindly, and not be from home longer than you can help. There's dirty weather coming up from the south-west." Tom was right. We had two ships to visit. Before we got alongside the second down came the rain. But mother would go on, and consequently got wet through. Tom was very unhappy, but she said that she had done a good trade, and that no harm would come of it. Unhappily she was mistaken; that night she was taken very ill--worse than before. I fetched the doctor; he shook his head and said he wouldn't answer for what might happen. Faithful Nancy was half distracted. Poor mother got worse and worse. At last one day she beckoned with her pale hand to Mary and me to come to her bedside. "I know that I am going to be taken from you, my dears," she said, in a low voice, for she could not speak loud. "I want you to promise me to be true to each other, to do your duty in God's sight, and always to ask Him to help you." "I do, mother--I do promise," said Mary, the tears dropping from her eyes. She could scarcely speak for sobbing. "I promise, too, mother, that I do!" I exclaimed, in a firmer voice; and I sincerely intended to fulfil my promise. Mother was holding our hands in hers. She said much more to us, anxious to give us all the advice in her power. Nancy came in with her medicine, after which she rallied, and bade us go to bed. I was awakened early in the morning by hearing Nancy cry out, "Run for the doctor, Peter! Run for the doctor! Missus is taken worse." I slipped into my clothes, and was off like a shot, without asking a question, or even looking into mother's room. I rang the night-bell, for no one was up. At last the servant opened the door, and said she would call her master. Mr Jones soon appeared. He had been paid regularly, and when he saw me he was the more ready to come. Eager as I was to get back, I did not like to run ahead of him; and, to do him justice, he exerted himself to walk as fast as his breath would allow him. He asked me several questions; then I told him that mother had been again out bum-boating. "Bad--very bad. I told her not to go. A relapse is a serious matter," he remarked, panting and puffing between his sentences. "However, we must try what can be done." Mary met us at the door. "Mother has been breathing very hard since you went, Peter," she said, "but she is quite quiet now." The doctor's face looked very serious when he heard this. He hurried into the room. "I thought so," I heard him remark to Nancy. "I could have done nothing if you had sent for me hours ago. The woman is dead." "Oh, dear! Oh, dear! What shall I do?" cried Nancy, sobbing bitterly. "The sooner you let any friends the children may have know what has happened the better, and then send for the undertaker," answered Mr Jones. "The boy is sharp--he'll run your errands. I can do no more than certify the cause of death." He hurried away without bestowing a look at Mary and me, as we stood holding each other's hands, unable as yet to realise the fact that we were orphans. He had so many poor patients that he could not afford, I suppose, to exercise his compassionate feelings. Even when Nancy afterwards took us in to see mother's body, I would scarcely believe that she herself had been taken from us. I will not stop to speak of Mary's and my grief. At last Nancy, her eyes red with crying, sat down, with her hands pressed against her head, to consider what was to be done. "Why, I ought to have sent for him at once!" she suddenly exclaimed. "Peter, run and find Tom Swatridge, and tell him that poor missus has gone." I needed no second bidding, and, thankful to have something to do, I started away. On reaching the Hard, where I expected to find old Tom, I heard from some of the watermen that he had gone off with a fare to Gosport, so I had to wait for his return. Many of the men standing about asked me after mother, and seemed very sorry to hear of her death. I saw them talking earnestly together while I waited for Tom. Others joined them, and then went away, so that the news soon spread about our part of the town. I had to wait a long time, till old Tom came back with several persons in his boat. He pocketed their fares, touching his hat to each before he took any notice of me. "What cheer, Peter? How's the missus?" he asked, stepping on shore and dropping the kedge to make fast his boat. "I feared she wouldn't be up to bum-boating to-day." "Mother's dead," I answered. "Dead! The missus dead!" he exclaimed, clapping his hand to his brow, and looking fixedly at me. "The Lord have mercy on us!" "Nancy wants you, Tom," I said. "I'm coming, Peter, I'm coming. I said I'd be a father to you and Mary, and I will, please God," he replied, recovering himself. He took my hand, and stumped away towards our house. "Dick Porter, look after my boat, will ye, till I comes back?" he said to one of the men on the Hard as we hurried by. "Ay, ay," was the cheerful answer--for Dick knew where old Tom was going. Not a word did the old man speak all the way. When we got to the house, what was my astonishment to find a number of people in the sitting-room, one of whom, with note-book in hand, was making an inventory of the furniture! Mary was sitting in a corner crying, and Nancy was looking as if she had a mind to try and turn them all out. As soon as Mary saw me she jumped up and took my hand. "What's all this about?" exclaimed old Tom, in an indignant tone. "You might have stopped, whatever right you may have here, till the dead woman was carried to her grave, I'm thinking." "And others had carried off the goods," answered the man with the note-book. "We are only acting according to law. Mrs Trawl has run into debt on all sides, and when the goods are sold there won't be five shillings in the pound to pay them, that I can see, so her children must take the consequences. There's the workhouse for them." "The work'us, do ye say? Mrs Trawl's children sent to the work'us!" exclaimed old Tom, and he rapped out an expression which I need not repeat. "Not while this here hand can pull an oar and I've a shiner in my pocket. If you've got the law on your side, do as the law lets you. But all I can say is, that it's got no bowels of compassion in it, to allow the orphans to be turned out of house and home, and the breath scarce out of their mother's body. Nancy, do you pack up the children's clothes, and any school-books or play-things you can find, and then come along to my house. The law can't touch them, I suppose." "What is that drunken old Swatridge talking about?" said one of the broker's men. Tom heard him. "Such I may have been, but I'll be no longer `drunken old Swatridge' while I have these children to look after," he exclaimed; and giving one hand to Mary and the other to me, he led us out of the house. CHAPTER FOUR. A FEARFUL CATASTROPHE. Leaving Nancy, who could well hold her own, to battle with the broker's men, Tom, holding Mary by the hand, and I walked on till we came to his house, which I knew well, having often been there to call him. It consisted of two small rooms--a parlour, and little inner bedchamber, and was better furnished than might have been expected; yet old Tom had at one time made a good deal of money, and had expended a portion of it in fitting up his dwelling. Had he always been sober he would now have been comfortably off. "Stay here, my dears, while I go out for a bit," he said, bidding us sit down on an old sea-chest on one side of the fireplace. "I haven't got much to amuse you, but here's the little craft I cut out for you, Peter, and you can go on rigging her as I've been doing. No matter if you don't do it all ship-shape. And here, Mary, is the stuff for the sails; I've shaped them, you see, and if you will hem them you'll help us finely to get the craft ready for sea." Mary gladly undertook the task allotted to her, and even smiled as Tom handed out a huge housewife full of needles and thread and buttons, and odds and ends of all sorts. "My thimble won't suit your finger, I've a notion, my little maid," he observed; "but I dare say you've got one of your own in your pocket. Feel for it, will you?" Mary produced a thimble, six of which would have fitted into Tom's. "Ay, I thought so," he said, and seeing us both busily employed, he hurried out of the house. He soon, however, returned, bringing a couple of plum buns for Mary, and some bread and cheese for me, with a small jug of milk. "There, my dears, that'll stay your hunger till Nancy comes to cook some supper for you, and to put things to rights," he said, as he placed them before us. "Good-bye. I'll be back again as soon as I can," and off he went once more. Mary and I, having eaten the provisions he brought in, worked away diligently, thankful to have some employment to occupy our attention. But she stopped every now and then, when her eyes were too full of tears to allow her to see her needle, and sobbed as if her dear heart would break. Then on she went again, sewing as fast as she could, anxious to please old Tom by showing him how much she had done. At length Nancy arrived with a big bundle on her back. "I've brought away all I could," she said, as she deposited her load on the floor. "I'd a hard job to get them, and shouldn't at all, if Tom Swatridge and two other men hadn't come in and said they'd be answerable if everything wasn't all square. He and they were ordering all about the funeral, and I've got two women to stay with the missus till she's put all comfortable into her coffin. Alack! Alack! That I should have to talk about her coffin!" Nancy's feelings overcame her. On recovering, she, without loss of time, began to busy herself with household duties--lighted the fire, put the kettle on to boil, and made up old Tom's bed with some fresh sheets which she had brought. "You and I are to sleep here, Mary," she said, "and Peter is to have a shakedown in the sitting-room." "And where is Tom going to put up himself?" I asked. "That's what he didn't say but I fancy he's going to stay at night with an old chum who has a room near here. He said his place isn't big enough for us all, and so he'd made up his mind to turn out." Such I found to be the case. Nothing would persuade our friend to sleep in his own house, for fear of crowding us. He and several other watermen, old shipmates, and friends of father's, had agreed to defray the expenses of mother's funeral, for otherwise she would have been carried to a pauper's grave. Her furniture and all the property she had possessed were not sufficient to pay her debts contracted during her illness, in spite of all her exertions. We, too, had not Tom taken charge of us, should have been sent to the workhouse, and Nancy would have been turned out into the world to seek her fortune, for her mother was dead, and she had no other relatives. She did talk of trying to get into service, which meant becoming a drudge in a small tradesman's family, that she might help us with her wages; but she could not bring herself to leave Mary; and Tom, indeed, said she must stay to look after her. As father had had no funeral, his old friends wished to show all the respect in their power to his widow, and a score or more attended, some carrying the coffin, and others walking two and two behind, with bits of black crepe round their hats and arms, while Mary and I, and Nancy and Tom, followed as chief mourners all the way to Kingston Cemetery. Nancy, with the help of a friend, a poor seamstress, had managed to make a black frock for Mary and a dress for herself, out of mother's gown, I suspect. They were not very scientifically cut, but she had sat up all night stitching at them, which showed her affection and her desire to do what she considered proper. Some weeks had passed since mother's death, and we were getting accustomed to our mode of life. Tom sent Mary to a school near at hand every morning, and she used to impart the knowledge she obtained to me in the evening, including sometimes even sewing. During the time Mary was at school Nancy went out charing, or tending the neighbours' children, or doing any other odd jobs of which she was capable, thus gaining enough to support herself, for she declared that she could not be beholden to the old man for her daily food. I always went out with Tom in his boat, and I was now big enough to make myself very useful. He used to make me take the helm when we were sailing, and by patiently explaining how the wind acted on the canvas, and showing me the reason of every manoeuvre, soon taught me to manage a boat as well as any man could do, so that when the wind was light I could go out by myself without the slightest fear. "You'll do, Peter; you'll do," said the old man, approvingly, when one day I had taken the boat out to Spithead alongside a vessel and back, he sitting on a thwart with his arms folded, and not touching a rope, though he occasionally peered under the foot of the foresail to see that I was steering right, and used the boat-hook when we were going alongside the vessel, and shoving off, which I should have had to do if he had been steering. "You'll now be able to gain your living, boy, and support Mary till she's old enough to go out to service, if I'm taken from you, and that's what I've been aiming at." Often when going along the Hard a friend would ask him to step into one of the many publics facing it to take a glass of spirits or beer. "No thank ye, mate," he would reply; "if I get the taste of one I shall be wanting another, and I shouldn't be happy if I didn't treat you in return, and I've got something else to do with my money instead of spending it on liquor." I never saw him angry except when hard pressed by an ill-judging friend to step into a public-house. "Would you like to see Jack Trawl's son in a ragged shirt, without shoes to his feet, and his daughter a beggar-girl, or something worse? Then don't be asking me, mate, to take a drop of the poisonous stuff. I know what I used to be, and I know what I should be again if I was to listen to you!" he exclaimed. "Stand out of my way, now! Stand out of my way! Come along, Peter," and, grasping my hand with a grip which made my fingers crack, he stumped along the Hard as fast as he could move his timber toe. It was a pleasure on getting home to find Mary looking bright and cheerful, with her work or books before her, and Nancy busy preparing supper. The old man and I always took our dinner with us--generally a loaf of bread, with a piece of cheese or bacon or fried fish, and sometimes Irish stew in a basin, done up in a cloth, and a stone bottle of water. I remember saying that I was born with a wooden spoon in my mouth, but when I come to reflect what excellent parents I had, and what true friends I found in Tom Swatridge and Nancy, I may say that, after all, it must have been of silver, though perhaps not quite so polished as those found in the mouths of some infants. Another change in my life was about to occur. We had taken off a gentleman from Gosport. From his way of speaking, we found that he was a foreigner, and he told us that he wanted to be put on board a foreign ship lying at Spithead. "Is dere any danger?" he asked, looking out across the Channel, and thinking what a long distance he had to go. "Not a bit, sir," answered Tom, for the water was as smooth as a mill-pond. There was a light air from the southward, and there was not a cloud in the sky. "We might cross the Channel to France for that matter, with weather like this." "Oh no, no! I only want to get to dat sheep out dere!" cried the foreigner, fancying that we might carry him across against his will. "Certainly, mounseer; we'll put you aboard in a jiffy as soon as we gets a breeze to help us along," said Tom. We pulled round Blockhouse Point, along shore, till we came off Fort Monkton, when opening Stokes Bay, the wind hauling a little to the westward, we made sail and stood for Spithead. A number of vessels were brought up there, and at the Mother-bank, off Ryde, among them a few men-of-war, but mostly merchantmen, outward bound, or lately come in waiting for orders. It was difficult as yet to distinguish the craft the foreigner wanted to be put aboard. "It won't matter if we have to dodge about a little to find her, mounseer, for one thing's certain: we couldn't have a finer day for a sail," observed old Tom, as we glided smoothly over the blue water, shining brightly in the rays of the unclouded sun. He gave me the helm while he looked out for the foreign ship. "That's her, I've a notion," he said at length, pointing to a deep-waisted craft with a raised poop and forecastle, and with much greater beam than our own wall-sided merchantmen. "Keep her away a bit, Peter. Steady! That will do." The tide was running to the westward, so that we were some time getting up to the ship. "You'll be aboard presently, if that is your ship, as I suppose, mounseer," said Tom. "Yes, yes; dat is my sheep," answered the foreigner, fumbling in his pockets, I fancied, for his purse. He uttered an exclamation of annoyance. "Ma monie gone! Some villain take it, no doubte. You come aboard de sheep, and I vill give it you, my friend," he said. "One half guinea is de charge, eh? I have also letter to write; you take it and I vill give two shillings more." "All right, mounseer, I will wait your pleasure, and promise to post your letter," answered Tom. As there were several boats alongside, he told me to keep under weigh till he should hail me to come for him, and as he was as active as any man, in spite of his wooden leg, taking the foreigner by the hand, he helped him up on deck. I then hauled the tacks aboard and stood off to a little distance. I waited and waited, watching the ship, and wondering why Tom was so long on board. The wind at last began to drop, and afraid of being carried to leeward, I was on the point of running up alongside when I heard a fearful roaring thundering sound. A cloud of black smoke rose above the ship, followed by lurid names, which burst out at all her ports; her tall masts were shot into the air, her deck was cast upwards, her sides were rent asunder; and shattered fragments of planks, and of timbers and spars, and blocks, and all sorts of articles from the hold, came flying round me. I instinctively steered away from the danger, and though huge pieces of burning wreck fell hissing into the water on either side, and far beyond where I was, none of any size touched the wherry. For a minute or more I was so confounded by the awful occurrence that I did not think of my old friend. I scarcely knew where I was or what I was doing. The moment I recovered my presence of mind I put the boat about, getting out an oar to help her along, and stood back towards the burning wreck, which appeared for a moment like a vast pyramid of flame rising above the surface, and then suddenly disappeared as the waters closed over the shattered hull. I stood up, eagerly gazing towards the spot to ascertain if any human beings had survived the dreadful catastrophe, though it seemed to me impossible that a single person could have escaped. One boat alone was afloat with some people in her, but they were sitting on the thwarts or lying at the bottom, not attempting to exert themselves, all more or less injured. The other boats had been dragged down, as the ship sank. All about were shattered spars and pieces of the deck, and some way off the masts with the yards still fast to them. Here and there was a body floating with the head or a limb torn off. One man was swimming, and I saw another in the distance clinging to a spar, but the former before I could get up to him sank without a cry, and I then steered for the man on the spar, hoping against hope that he might be old Tom. I shouted to him that he might know help was coming, but he did not answer. Meantime boats from the various ships lying around were approaching. I plied my oar with all my might, fearing that the man I have spoken of might let go his hold and be lost like the other before I could reach him. The nearer I got the more I feared that he was not Tom. His face was blackened, his clothes burnt and torn. Then I saw that he had two legs, and knew for certain that he was not my old friend. Still, of course, I continued on till I got up to the spar, when I tried to help the poor man into my boat, for he was too much hurt to get on board by himself. But my strength was insufficient for the purpose, and I was afraid of letting go lest he should sink and be lost. There was no small risk also of my being dragged overboard. Still, I did my best, but could get him no higher than the gunwale. "Well done, youngster! Hold fast, and we'll help you," I heard a voice sing out, and presently a man-of-war's boat dashing up, two of her crew springing into the wherry quickly hauled the man on board. "We must take him to our ship, lads, to let the surgeon attend to him," said the officer, a master's mate in charge of the man-of-war's boat. The man was accordingly lifted into her. It appeared to me, from his sad condition, that the surgeon would be unable to do him any good. "What, did you come out here all by yourself, youngster?" asked the officer. "No, sir, I came out with old Tom Swatridge, who went on board the ship which blew up," I answered. "Then I fear he must have been blown up with her, my lad," said the officer. "I hope not, sir, I hope not," I cried out, my heart ready to break as I began to realise that such might be the case. CHAPTER FIVE. A FRIEND LOST AND A FRIEND GAINED. It seemed but a moment since the ship blew up. I could not believe that old Tom had perished. "Some people have been picked up out there, sir, I think," observed the coxswain to the officer, pointing as he spoke to several boats surrounding the one I had before remarked with the injured men in her. "Maybe the old man the lad speaks of is among them." "Make the wherry fast astern, and we'll pull on and ascertain," said the officer. "If he is not found, or if found is badly hurt, I'll get leave for a couple of hands to help you back with your boat to Portsmouth." "I can take her back easily enough by myself if the wind holds as it does now; thank you all the same, sir," I answered. I felt, indeed, that if my faithful friend really was lost, which I could scarcely yet believe, I would rather be alone; and I had no fear about managing the wherry single-handed. As may be supposed, my anxiety became intense as we approached the boat. "Is old Tom Swatridge saved?" I shouted out. No answer came. "Tom! Tell me, Tom, if you are there!" I again shouted. "Step aboard the boat and see if your friend is among the injured men," said the good-natured officer, assisting me to get alongside. I eagerly scanned the blackened faces of the men sitting up, all of whom had been more or less scorched or burnt. A surgeon who had come off from one of the ships was attending to them. They were strangers to me. Two others lay dead in the bottom of the boat, but neither of them was old Tom. He was gone, of that I could no longer have a doubt. With a sad heart I returned to the wherry. The other boats had not succeeded in saving any of the hapless crew. The ship had been loaded with arms and gunpowder, bound for South America, I heard some one say. "Cheer up, my lad!" said the officer; "you must come aboard the _Lapwing_, and we'll then send you into Portsmouth, as we must have this poor fellow looked to by our surgeon before he is taken to the hospital." The name of the _Lapwing_ aroused me; she was the brig in which my brother Jack had gone to sea. For a moment I forgot my heavy loss with the thoughts that I might presently see dear Jack again. But it was only for a moment. As I sat steering the wherry towed by the man-of-war's boat my eyes filled with tears. What sad news I had to give to Jack! What would become of Mary and Nancy? For myself I did not care, as I knew that I could obtain employment at home, or could go to sea; but then I could not hope for a long time to come to make enough to support them. My chief feeling, however, was grief at the loss of my true-hearted old friend. Soon after we got alongside the brig of war the master's mate told me to come up on deck, while one of the men took charge of the wherry. He at once led me aft to the commander, who questioned me as to how I came to be in the wherry by myself. I described to him all that had happened. "You acted a brave part in trying to save the man from the ship which blew up. Indeed, had you not held on to him he would have been lost," he observed. "I must see that you are rewarded. What is your name?" "Peter Trawl, sir," I answered, and, eager to see Jack, for whom I had been looking out since I got out of the boat, thinking that we should know each other, I added, "I have a brother, sir, who went to sea aboard this brig, and we have been looking out for him ever so long to come home. Please, sir, can I go and find him?" The commander's countenance assumed a look of concern. "Poor fellow! I wish that he was on board for his sake and yours, my lad," he answered. "I cannot say positively that he is dead, but I have too much reason to believe that he is. While we were cruising among the islands of the East Indian Archipelago he formed one of a boat's crew which was, while at a distance from the ship, attacked by a large body of Malay pirates. When we got up we found only on man, mortally wounded, in the bottom of the boat, who before he died said that, to the best of his belief, the officer in charge and the rest of the men had been killed, as he had seen several dragged on board the proas, and then hacked to pieces and hove overboard. "We chased and sank some of the pirate fleet, and made every possible search for the missing men, in case any of them should have escaped on shore, to which they were close at the time of the attack, but no traces of them could be discovered. I left an account of the occurrence with the vessel which relieved me on the station, and should any of the poor fellows have been found I should have been informed of it. It was my intention, as soon as I was paid off the _Lapwing_, to come down to Portsmouth to break the news to his father. Say this from me, and that I yet hope to see him shortly." Commander Rogers seemed very sorry when I told him that father and mother were both dead. He asked me where I lived. I told him, as well as I could describe the house, forgetting that, too probably, Mary and I and Nancy would not be long allowed to remain there. "When I commission another ship, would you like to go with me, my lad?" he asked. "Very much, sir," I answered. "But I have a sister, and I couldn't go away with no one to take care of her; so I must not think of it now Tom Swatridge has gone. All the same, I thank you kindly, sir." "Well, well, my lad; we will see what can be done," he said, and just then a midshipman came up to report that the boat was ready to carry the rescued man, with the surgeon, to the shore. I found that the master's mate, Mr Harvey, and one of the men were going in my boat, and of course I did not like to say that I could get into the harbour very well without them. I touched my hat to the commander, who gave me a kind nod--it would not have done for him, I suppose, to shake hands with a poor boy on his quarter-deck even if he had been so disposed--and then I hurried down the side. I made sail, and took the helm just as if I had been by myself, Mr Harvey sitting by my side, while the seaman had merely to rig out the mainsail with the boat-hook, as we were directly before the wind. "You are in luck, youngster," observed Mr Harvey; "though you have lost one friend you've gained another, for our commander always means what he says, and, depend on it, he'll not lose sight of you." He seemed a very free-and-easy gentleman, and made me tell him all about myself, and how we had lost father and mother, and how Tom Swatridge had taken charge of Mary and me. His cheerful way of talking made me dwell less on my grief than I should have done had I sailed into the harbour all alone. "I should like to go and see your little sister and the faithful Nancy," he said, "but I must return to the brig as soon as that poor man has been carried to the hospital, and I have several things to do on shore. Land me at the Point, you can find your way to the Hard by yourself, I've no doubt." "The boat would find her way alone, sir, she's so accustomed to it," I answered. We ran in among a number of wherries with people embarking from the Point or landing at it. The Point, it should be understood by those who do not know Portsmouth, is a hard shingly beach on the east side, at the mouth of the harbour, and there was at that time close to it an old round stone tower, from which an iron chain formerly extended across to Blockhouse Fort, on the Gosport side, to prevent vessels from coming in without leave. "Here, my lad, is my fare," said Mr Harvey, slipping half a guinea into my hand as he stepped on shore, followed by the seaman; "it will help to keep Nancy's pot boiling till you can look about you and find friends. They will appear, depend on it." Before I could thank him he was away among the motley crowd of persons thronging the Point. I was thankful that no one asked me for old Tom, and, shoving out from among the other boats, I quickly ran on to the Hard. When I landed the trial came. A waterman had gained an inkling of what had occurred from one of the crew of the _Lapwings_ boat, and I was soon surrounded by people asking questions of how it happened. "I can't tell you more," I answered, at length breaking from them. "Tom's gone, and brother Jack's gone, and I must go and look after poor Mary." It was late by the time I reached home. Nancy had got supper ready on the table, and Mary had placed old Tom's chair for him in a snug corner by the fire. They saw that something was the matter, for I couldn't speak for a minute or more, not knowing how to break the news to them. At last I said, with a choking voice, pointing to the chair, "He'll never sit there more!" Dear me, I thought Mary's and Nancy's hearts would break outright when they understood what had happened. It was evident how much they loved the rough old man--I loved him too, but in a different way, I suppose, for I could not ease my heart by crying; indeed I was thinking about what Mary and Nancy would do, and of brother Jack's loss. I did not like to tell Mary of that at first, but it had to come out, and, strange as it may seem, it made her think for the time less about what was to us by far the greater loss. Supper remained long untasted, but at last I felt that I must eat, and so I fell to, and after a time Nancy followed my example and made Mary take something. Nancy then began to talk of what we must do to gain our living, and we sat up till late at night discussing our plans. There was the wherry, and I must get a mate, and I should do very well; then we had the house, for we never dreamed that we should not go on living in it, as we were sure Tom would have wished us to do. Nancy was very sanguine as to how she could manage. Her plain, pock-marked face beamed as she spoke of getting three times as much work as before. Short and awkward as was her figure, Nancy had an heroic soul. Mary must continue to attend school, and in time would be able to do something to help also. We talked on till we almost fell asleep on our seats. The next morning we were up betimes. Nancy got out some black stuff we had worn for mother, a piece of which she fastened round my arm to show respect to old Tom's memory, and after breakfast I hurried out to try and find a mate, that I might lose no time in doing what I could with the wherry. I had thought of Jim Pulley, a stout strong lad, a year or two older than myself, who, though not very bright, was steady and honest, and I knew that I could trust him; his strength would supply my want of it for certain work we had to do. Jim was the first person I met on the Hard. I made my offer to him; he at once accepted it. "To tell the truth, Peter, I was a-coming to say, that if thou hadst not got any one to go in the place of Tom Swatridge, I would help thee till thou art suited for nothing, or if thou wilt find me in bread and cheese I'll be thankful." In a few minutes after this Jim and I were plying for hire in the harbour, and we had not long to wait before we got a fare. The first day we did very well, and I gave Jim a quarter of what we took, with which he was perfectly content. "I wouldn't ask for more, Peter," he said, "for thou hast three mouths to feed, and I have only one." The next few days we were equally successful; indeed I went home every evening in good spirits as to my prospects. I made enough for all expenses, and could lay by something for the repairs of the wherry. Though Jim and I were mere boys, while the weather was fine people took our boat as willingly as they did those of grown men. Sometimes we got parties to go off to the _Victory_, at others across to the Victualling Yard, and occasionally up the harbour to Porchester Castle. We worked early and late, and Jim or I was always on the look-out for a fare. When I got home at night I had generally a good account to give of the day's proceedings. Now and then I asked Jim in to take a cup of tea, and many a hearty laugh we had at what the ladies and gentlemen we had taken out had said and done. Seeing that we were but boys they fancied that they could talk before us in a way they wouldn't have thought of doing if we had been grown men. It must not be supposed that we were able to save much, but still I put by something every week for the repairs of the boat I had got enough to give her a fresh coat of paint, which she much wanted, and we agreed that we would haul her up on Saturday afternoon for the purpose, so that she would be ready for Monday. We carried out our intentions, though it took every shilling I had put by, and we lost more than one fare by so doing. But the wherry looked so fresh and gay, that we hoped to make up for it the next week. Jim went to chapel on the Sunday with Mary and Nancy and me, and spent most of the day with us. He was so quiet and unassuming that we all liked him much. As we had put plenty of dryers in the paint, and the sun was hot on Sunday, by Monday forenoon we were able to ply as usual. We had taken a fare across to Gosport, when a person, whom we supposed to be a gentleman from his gay waistcoat and chains, and his top-boots, and hat stuck on one side, came down to the beach and told us to take him over to Portsea. We soon guessed by the way he talked that, in spite of his fine clothes, he was not a gentleman. "I say, you fellow, do you happen to know whereabouts an old chap, one Tom Swatridge, lives?" he asked of Jim. "He doesn't live anywhere; he's dead," answered Jim. "Dead! Dead, do you say?" he exclaimed. "Who's got his property?" "He had no property that I knows on," answered Jim; "except, maybe--" "Oh yes, he had; and if the old fellow had lived he would have been the possessor of a good round sum; but, as I am his nephew, that will be mine, and everything else he left behind him, the lawyer, Master Six-and-eightpence, as I call him, tells me." All this time I had not liked to say anything, but the last remark made me feel very uncomfortable. The speaker presently took a letter out of his pocket, and, reading it, said, "Ah! I see Mr Gull is the man I've got to go to. Can you show me where Mr Gull, the attorney, lives?" he asked of Jim; "he'll settle up this matter." Jim made no answer, for we were getting near the shore, and had to keep out of the way of two craft coming up the harbour. We soon ran up to the Hard, when the man, stepping out, offered Jim a sixpence. "A shilling's the fare, sir," said Jim, keeping back his hand. "No, no, you young rascal! I know better; but I'll give you another sixpence if you will show me the way to Mr Gull's." "You may find it by yourself," answered Jim, indignantly, as he picked up the sixpence thrown to him by our fare, who walked off. "Half a loaf is better than no bread, Peter, so it's as well not to lose the sixpence," said Jim, laughing. "But no gentleman would have offered less than a shilling. I wonder whether he really is old Tom's nephew?" CHAPTER SIX. TURNED OUT OF HOUSE AND HOME. We had just landed the gaily-dressed individual who had announced himself the nephew of old Tom Swatridge. Thinking that he might possibly be the person he said he was, and not knowing what tricks he might play, I was intending to row home, when a gentleman, with two young ladies and a boy, who I knew by their dress to be Quakers, came down, wishing to take a row round the harbour, and afterwards to visit the Victualling Yard. After we had pulled off some way, I asked if they would like to go aboard the _Victory_. "No, thank thee, young friend, we take no pleasure in visiting scenes, afloat or on shore, where the blood of our fellow-creatures has been shed," answered the gentleman. As he spoke I thought by his look and the tone of his voice that he must be Mr Silas Gray, who had come to our house when the poor girl mother took in was dying, but I did not like to ask him. The young people called him father. At last he began to ask Jim and me questions, and how, young as we were, we came to have a boat by ourselves. "I suppose thy father is ill on shore?" he said. Then I told him how he was lost at Spithead, and mother had died, and old Tom had been blown up, and I had taken his wherry, seeing there was no one else to own her; and how Mary and Nancy and I lived on in his house. "And art thou and this other lad brothers?" he inquired. "No, sir; but Jim Pulley and I feel very much as if we were," I answered. "My name is Peter Trawl." "And was thy mother a bumboat-woman, a true, honest soul, one of the excellent of the earth?" he asked. "Ay, ay, sir! That was my mother," I said, my heart beating with pleasure to hear her so spoken of. Then he told me that he was Mr Silas Gray, and asked if I remembered the visits he used to pay to our house. Of course I did. The young ladies and his son joined in the conversation, and very pleasant it was to hear them talk. We were out the whole afternoon, and it was quite late when we got back to Portsea. Mr Gray said that he was going away the next morning with his family to London, but that when he returned he would pay Mary a visit, and hoped before the summer was over to take some more trips in my wherry. He paid us liberally, and he and the young people gave us kind smiles and nods as they stepped on shore. While we were out I had not thought much about the fare we had brought across from Gosport in the morning, but now, recollecting what he had said, I hurried home, anxious to hear if he had found out the house. I had not to ask, for directly I appeared Nancy told me that while Mary was at school an impudent fellow had walked in and asked if old Tom Swatridge had once lived there, and when she said "Yes," had taken a note of everything, and then sat down and lighted his pipe, and told her to run out and bring him a jug of ale. "`A likely thing, indeed!' I answered him," said Nancy; "`what! When I come back to find whatever is worth taking carried off, or maybe the door locked and I unable to get in!' The fellow laughed when I said this--a nasty sort of a laugh it was--and said, `Ay! Just so.' I didn't know exactly what he meant, but presently he sang out, `What! Are you not gone yet, gal?' `No, and I shan't,' I answered; `and when Peter and Jim come in you'll pretty quickly find who has to go.' On this he thundered out, trying to frighten me, `Do you know that I am old Tom Swatridge's nephew and heir-at-law,' [I think that's what he called himself], `and that this house and everything in it is mine, and the wherry, and any money the old chap left behind him? I'll soon prove that you and your brother are swindlers, and you'll be sent off to prison, let me tell you.' He took me for Mary, do you see, Peter; and I was not going to undeceive him? I felt somewhat nonplussed when he said this, but without answering I walked to the window, working with my needle as I was doing when he came in, and looked out as if I was expecting you and Jim to be coming. I would give him no food, nor even a drink of water; so at last he grew tired, and, saying I should see him again soon, swinging his cane and whistling, he walked away." "What do you think, Peter? Can he really be old Tom's nephew?" asked Mary, when Nancy ceased speaking. "One thing is certain, that if he proves himself to be so we shall be bound to turn out of this house, and to give up the wherry," I answered. "Oh, Peter! What shall we do, then?" exclaimed Mary. "The best we can, my sister," I said. "Perhaps the man may not be able to prove that he is what he calls himself. I have heard of impostors playing all sorts of tricks. We'll hope for the best. And now, Nancy, let us have some supper." Though I tried to keep up the spirits of Mary and Nancy, I felt very anxious, and could scarcely sleep for thinking on the subject. Whatever might happen for myself I did not care, but I was greatly troubled about what Mary and Nancy would do. I naturally thought of Commander Rogers, from whom all this time I had heard nothing, though he had promised to come and see after Mary and me. Mr Gray had said that he was going away again, so that I could not obtain advice from him. "I have God to trust to, that's a comfort," I thought, and I soon dropped off to sleep. The next morning I remained at home to a later hour than usual. Just as I was going out a man came to the door, who said he was sent by Lawyer Gull, and put a paper into my hand, which he told me was a something I could not exactly make out, to quit the house within twenty-four hours. "His client, the owner of the property, wishes not to act harshly, so refrains from taking stronger measures at present," said the clerk, who, having performed his task, went away. I stopped a few minutes to talk with Mary and Nancy. Mary said quietly that if we must go we must, and that we had better look out for cheap lodgings at once. Nancy was very indignant, and declared that we had no business to turn out for such a scamp as that. Old Tom had never spoken of having a nephew; she did not believe the fellow was his nephew, and certainly, if he was, Tom would not have left his property to him. She advised me, however, to go out and try to get advice from some one who knew more about the law than she did. I accordingly set off for the Hard, where I was sure to find several friends among the watermen. I had not got far when I met Jim Pulley, looking very disconsolate. "What is the matter, Jim," I asked. "We've lost the wherry!" he exclaimed, nearly blubbering. "Two big fellows came down, and, asking what boat she was, told me to step ashore: and when I said I wouldn't for them, or for any one but you, they took me, crop and heels, and trundled me out of her." "That is only what I feared," I said. "I was coming down to find some one to advise us what to do." "Then you couldn't ask any better man than Bob Fox, he's been in prison half a score of times for smuggling and such like, so he must know a mighty deal about law," he answered. We soon found Bob Fox, who was considered an oracle on the Hard, and a number of men gathered round while he expressed his opinion. "Why, you see, mates, it's just this," he said, extending one of his hands to enforce his remarks; "you must either give in or go to prison when they brings anything agen you, and that, maybe, is the cheapest in the end; or, as there's always a lawyer on t'other side, you must set another lawyer on to fight him, and that's what I'd advise to be done in this here case. Now I knows a chap, one Lawyer Chalk, who's as sharp as a needle, and if any man can help young Peter and his sister to keep what is their own he'll do it. I'm ready to come down with some shiners to pay him, for, you see, these lawyer folk don't argify for nothing, and I'm sure some on you who loves justice will help Jack and Polly Trawl's children; so round goes the hat." Suiting the action to the word, Bob, taking off his tarpaulin, threw a handful of silver into it, and his example being followed by a number of other men, he grasped me by the hand, and set off forthwith to consult Lawyer Chalk. We quickly reached his office. Mr Chalk, a quiet-looking little man, with easy familiar manners, which won the confidence of his illiterate constituents, knowing Bob Fox well, received us graciously. His eyes glittered as he heard the money chink in Bob's pocket. "It's all as clear as a pikestaff," he observed, when he heard what I had got to say. "They must prove first that this fellow who has turned up is Tom Swatridge's nephew; then that he is his heir-at-law, and finally that the house and boat belonged to the deceased. Now possession is nine-tenths of the law; you've got them, and you must hold them till the law turns you out." "I couldn't, sir, if another has a better right to them than I have," I answered. "I lived on in the house and used the wherry because I was sure that old Tom would have wished me to do so, but then I didn't know that he had any relation to claim them." "And you don't know that he has any relation now," said Mr Chalk; "that has to be proved, my lad. The law requires proof; that's the beauty of the law. The man may swear till he's black in the face that he is the deceased's nephew, but if he has no proof he'll not gain his cause." Bob Fox was highly delighted with our visit to the lawyer. "I told you so, lad; I told you so!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands; "t'other chap will find he has met his match. Bless you! Old Chalk's as keen as a razor." As I could not use the wherry, I went home feeling in much better spirits than before about our prospects. I was able even to cheer up Mary and Nancy. I told them that, by Lawyer Chalk's advice, we were not to quit the house, and that he would manage everything. No one appeared during the day. The next morning we had breakfast as usual, and as the time went by I was beginning to hope that we should be unmolested, when two rough-looking men came to the door, and, though Nancy sprang up to bar them out, in they walked. One of them then thrust a paper out to her, but she drew back her hand as if it had been a hot iron. The man again attempted to make her take it. "One of you must have it," he growled out. "No, no! I couldn't make head or tail of it if I did," answered Nancy, still drawing back. "Let me have it," I said, wishing to know what the men really came for. "The sum total is, that you and the rest of you are to move away from this, and if you don't go sharp we're to turn you out!" exclaimed the bailiff, losing patience at the time I took to read the document. "It's an order of ejectment, you'll understand." "Don't you mind what it is, Peter!" exclaimed Nancy; "Mr Chalk said we was to stay here, and stay we will for all the scraps of paper in the world!" And Nancy, seating herself in a chair, folded her arms, and cast defiant looks at the officers of the law. They were, however, up to the emergency. Before either she or I were aware of what they were about to do, they had secured her arms to the back of the chair, and then, lifting it and her up, carried her out of the house and deposited her in the street, in spite of the incautious attempt I made to effect a rescue. The moment I got outside the house one of the bailiffs, turning round, seized me in a vice-like grasp, and the other then entering, led out Mary, who saw that resistance was hopeless. He next walked back, took the key from the door, and, having locked it, released Nancy and re-entered the house with the chair. Before Nancy could follow him he had shut himself in, while his companion, letting me go with a shove which sent me staggering across the street, walked off, I concluded to tell the lawyer who sent him and his mate that they had got possession of the house. Nancy was standing, with her fists clenched, too much astonished at the way she had been treated to speak. Mary was in tears, trembling all over. "Oh, Peter, what are we to do?" she asked. "I'll go to Lawyer Chalk and hear what he says," I answered. "If the house and boat ought to be ours, he'll get them back; if not, I can't say just now what we must do. Meantime do you and Nancy go to Widow Simmons's, and wait there. She was always a friend of mother's, and will be glad to help you." Mary agreed, but Nancy, who at length found her tongue, declared that she wasn't going to lose sight of the house, and that she would stay where she was and watch and tell the folks who passed how we had been treated. As nothing I could say would induce her to move, I accompanied Mary to the widow's, where I left her, and hastened on to Mr Chalk's. The lawyer made a long face when I told him how we had been treated. "I told you that `possession is nine-tenths of the law,' my lad, and now they are in and you are out," he answered. "It's a bad job--but we'll see what can be done. We must obtain at all events your clothes, and any other private property you may possess. Now go, my lad, and call upon me in a week or two; I shall see Bob Fox in the meantime." Soon after leaving the lawyer's I met Jim Pulley. Having seen Nancy, he was fuming with indignation at our having been turned out of our home, and proposed trying to break into the house to regain possession, but I had sense enough to know that we must abide by the law, whichever way that decided I found Nancy still keeping watch before the door, and vehemently appealing to all who would stop to listen to her. It was with some difficulty that I at length persuaded her to go with me to Mrs Simmons's. The kind widow was willing to give us shelter, and as Mary had fortunately my savings in her pocket, we had sufficient to pay for our food for some days. The next morning Mary went as usual to school; Nancy left the house, saying that she was going to look for work, and I set out, hoping to find employment in a wherry with one of the men who knew me. CHAPTER SEVEN. HELP COMES WHEN LEAST EXPECTED. I found it more difficult to obtain employment with wages sufficient to support Mary and me, not to speak of Nancy, than I had expected. Jim and I tried to hire a boat, but we could not obtain one to suit us for any sum we could hope to pay. Ours, for so we still called her, had been carried off, and locked up in a shed at Portsmouth. He and I picked up a sixpence or a shilling now and then, but some days we got nothing. There was a great risk of our becoming what my father had so strongly objected to "long-shore loafers." I would not desert Jim, who had served me so faithfully, and so we tried, as far as we could, to work together. Sometimes he talked of going off to sea, but as I could not leave Mary his heart failed him at the thought of going without me. At the time appointed I called on Lawyer Chalk. "Sorry to say we are beaten, my lad," were the words with which he greeted me. "I fought hard, but there's no doubt that Mr Gull's client is the nephew of Tom Swatridge, who died intestate, consequently his nephew is his heir. Had the old man wisely come to me I would have drawn up a will for him, securing his property to you or any one he might have desired. I am very sorry for you, but law is law, and it can't be helped. I hope that you will find employment somewhere soon. Good-day to you." And he waved me out of his office. In consequence of his failure in my cause, Lawyer Chalk sank considerably in the estimation of Bob Fox and his friends, who declared that the next time they wanted legal advice they would try what Lawyer Gull could do for them. I should have said that a day or two before he had sent a clerk armed with due authority to accompany Nancy and Mary, who brought away our clothing and all the articles which we had purchased with our own money. Curiously enough, I did not again set eyes on Mr Eben Swatridge, who was, I understood, the son of a younger brother of old Tom, who had gone into business in London and made money. Some property having been left to the two brothers, or to the survivor of either, Eben had been compelled to make inquiries respecting his long unrecognised uncle, and had thus been induced to pay the visit to Portsea which had produced such disastrous results to Mary and me. The house and furniture and wherry were sold, and directly afterwards he disappeared from Portsmouth. Perhaps he thought it wise to keep out of the way of Bob Fox and the other sturdy old salts who supported me. Not that one of them would have laid a finger on him, and Mary and I agreed that, far from having any ill-feeling, we should have been ready, for his uncle's sake, to have been friends if he had explained to us at the first who he was and his just rights in a quiet way. We had now a hard struggle to make the two ends meet. Mrs Simmons fell ill, and Mary, who could no longer go to school, had to attend on her, and I had to find food and, as it turned out, to pay her rent, she being no longer able to work for her own support. I did not grumble at this, for I was grateful to her for her kindness to us; but though we stinted ourselves to the utmost, we often had not a sixpence in the house to buy fit nourishment for the poor old lady. Nancy was ready to slave from morning to night, but was often unsuccessful in obtaining work, so that she made scarcely enough to support herself; she might have got a situation, but she would not leave Mary. Whenever honest Jim Pulley could save a shilling he brought it, as he said, for the widow, though I knew that besides his wish to help her he was much influenced by his regard for us. I often thought when the winter came what he and I should do then. I did not say anything to Mary about the future, but tried to keep up her spirits, for I saw that her cheek was becoming pale, and she was growing thinner and thinner every day. At last one morning, when I had got up just at daylight, and having taken a crust of bread and a drink of water for breakfast, was about to go out in search of work, Nancy came into the room, and said-- "I don't know what has come over Mary, but she has been talking and talking ever so strangely all night, and her cheek is as hot as a live cinder." I hurried into the little back room Mary and Nancy occupied next to the widow's. A glance told me that my dear little sister was in a high fever. My heart was ready to burst, for she did not know me Mrs Simmons was too ill to get up and say what she thought of its nature. "I must run for the doctor, Nancy," I exclaimed; "there's not a moment to lose;" and snatching up my hat I rushed out of the house, assured that Nancy would do her best in the meantime. I had caught sight of Dr Rolt passing along the street on the previous day, so I knew that he was at home, and I felt more inclined to go to him than to Mr Jones. I ran as I had not run for a long time, and no one ventured to stop me now. The doctor was on foot, early as was the hour. He remembered mother and Mary and me the moment I mentioned my name. "I'll come to see your little sister directly," he said. I waited for him, fearing that he might not find the house. He was soon ready, and, considering his age, I was surprised how well he kept up with me. I eagerly ushered him into the house. He had not been long with Mary before he sent me off to the chemist to get some medicine, for which I had fortunately enough in my pocket to pay. When I came back he gave it to her himself, and said that he would send some more in the evening; but he would not tell me what he thought of her. I will not dwell on this unhappy time. The doctor came twice every day and sometimes oftener, but Mary seemed to be getting no better. I had to go out to get work, but all I could make was not sufficient for our expenses, and I had to run into debt, besides which the widow's rent was due, and she could not pay it. One day Jim brought me a few shillings, which he said the watermen had given him, but times were bad with most of them, and they could do but little. This enabled me to get some things absolutely necessary for Mary and food for the rest of us. The landlord called two or three times for rent, and at last said that he must put in a distress if it was not paid. The thought of what the consequence of this would be to Mary made me tremble with fear. Ill as she and Mrs Simmons were, their beds might, notwithstanding, be taken from beneath them. The widow might be carried off to the workhouse, and we should be turned into the street I begged hard for delay, and promised that I would do all I could to raise the money. The landlord replied that he would give us two days more, but would not listen to anything further I had to say. The doctor had just before called, so that I could not then tell him of our difficulty. He had not yet given me any assurance that he thought Mary would recover. Nancy could not leave the house, as she was required every moment to attend on her and Mrs Simmons. I was not likely to find Dr Rolt till the evening, so I determined to consult Jim and Bob Fox. I soon met Jim; he was ready to cry when I told him. He scratched his head and rubbed his brow, in vain trying to suggest something. "Bob can't help us either," he said, at length. "He's got into trouble. Went away three days ago over to France in a smuggling lugger, the _Smiling Lass_, and she was catched last night with tubs aboard, so he's sure to want all the money he can get to pay Lawyer Chalk to keep him out of prison, if that's to be done, but I'm afeared even old Chalk will be nonplussed this time." "I wonder whether Lawyer Chalk would lend me the money," I said. "Might as well expect to get a hen's egg out of a block of granite," answered Jim. On inquiry I found that all my friends from whom I had the slightest hope of assistance were away over at Ryde, Cowes, or Southampton. "I tell you, Peter, as I knowed how much you wanted money, I'd a great mind to go aboard the _Smiling Lass_ t'other day, when Bob axed me. It's a good job I didn't, isn't it?" "I am very glad you didn't, not only because you would have been taken, but because you would have broken the law," I answered. "Father always set his face against smuggling." "Yes, maybe he did," said Jim, who did not see that smuggling was wrong as clearly as I did. "But now what's to be done?" "We'll go down to the Hard, and try to pick up a job," I answered. "A few pence will be better than nothing." We each got a job in different boats. The one I was in took some passengers over to Ryde, and thence some others to Spithead and back, so that it was late when I got home with a shilling and a few pence in my pocket. Mary was no better. The doctor had been, and Nancy had told him of the landlord's threats, but he had made no remark. "I'll tell you what I'll do, Nancy," I said; "I'll offer the landlord this shilling when he comes to-morrow to show that I am in earnest, and perhaps he will let us off for another day or two." "Better hear what the doctor thinks when he comes in the morning. I don't think that he'll allow Mary and Widow Simmons to have their beds taken from under them. Cheer up, Peter! Cheer up!" I did cheer up a little when Jim came in and brought another shilling, his day's earnings, declaring that he'd had a good dinner, and had still some coppers in his pocket to pay for the next day's breakfast. He, however, could not resist eating some bread and cheese which Nancy pressed on him before he went away. I could scarcely close my eyes for thinking of what the morrow might bring forth. About midnight Nancy came in and told me that Mary was sleeping more calmly than she had done since she was taken ill. Hoping that this was a good sign my mind became less disquieted, and I fell asleep. The next morning the usual hour for the doctor's coming passed and he did not appear. We waited and waited, anxious to know whether Mary really was better. At last there came a knocking at the door, and in walked the landlord, with a couple of men at his heels. "Have you the rent ready, good people?" he asked, in a gruff tone. "No, sir; but I have two shillings, and I promise to pay as much as I can every day till you've got what you demand," I said, as fast as I could speak. The men laughed as I said this. "Two shillings! That won't go no way, my lad," cried the landlord. "Let me see, why this old pot and kettle and the cups and plates, and table and chairs, and everything in this room won't sell for more than half my demands, so we must have the bedsteads and bedding and a chest of drawers or so; and as the old woman in there won't ever be able to pay me more rent, she and all of you must turn out with what remains! So now, Crouch and Scroggins, do your duty." The moment he had entered the house Nancy, passing behind me, had locked Mary's and Mrs Simmons's doors, and having put the keys in her pocket, had slipped into the scullery or little back kitchen, where we often cooked in summer. One of the men was in the act of placing one chair upon another, and his companion was approaching Mary's room, when suddenly Nancy rushed out of the back kitchen with a red-hot poker in her hand, and placing herself before it, exclaimed-- "Step an inch nearer if ye dare, ye cowards! Out on ye, Mr Grimes, to come and disturb a fever-sick girl and an old dying woman for the sake of a few filthy shillings! Peter here has offered you some, and has promised to pay you more when he can get them, and I promise too; and now let me see if one of you dare to lay a finger on any of Missus Simmons's things! Get out of this house! Get out of this house, I say!" And she began flourishing her poker and advancing towards the intruders in a way which made them beat a rapid retreat towards the door, Mr Grimes scrambling off the first, and shouting out-- "Assault and battery! I'll make you pay for this, you young vixen!" "I don't mind your salt and butter, nor what you call me either," cried Nancy; and she was just slamming the door behind them, when two persons appeared as if about to enter, one of whom exclaimed, in a voice which I recognised as that of Dr Rolt-- "Why, my good girl, what is all this about?" "They said that they was a-going to take Mary's and the widow's beds and all the things away, sir, and I wouldn't let them," she answered, panting and still grasping the hot poker. "Verily, daughter, thou hast taken a very effectual way of preventing them," said the other person, who I now saw to my great joy was Mr Silas Gray. He and the doctor at once entered the house. "Now listen to me, damsel," he continued. "Thou hast been prompted by affectionate zeal to defend thy friends, I doubt not, but nevertheless thou hast acted illegally, and the consequences to thyself may be serious; however, I will say no more on the subject at present. Put back thy weapon into the fireplace and attend on friend Rolt, who desires to see his patients." I saw Mr Gray and the doctor exchange smiles as Nancy, producing the keys from her pocket, unlocked the doors. He now, observing me, said-- "Tell me, my lad, how all this happened. I thought that thou wast doing well with thy wherry." So while the doctor was seeing Mary and Mrs Simmons, I gave him an exact account of all that had happened since the day he and his family were out with Jim and me on the water. I had just finished, when the doctor came into the room. "I can give you a favourable account of your young sister, my lad," said Dr Rolt. "Her patience and obedience, aided by Nancy's care, have been much in her favour, and she will, I trust, shortly recover. As soon as she has gained sufficient strength our friend Mr Gray wishes her to be removed to his house, and Nancy can remain here to look after the poor widow, whose days on earth are numbered." "Oh, thank you, gentlemen; thank you!" I exclaimed, my heart swelling so that I could scarcely utter the words. "And what about yourself, my son?" asked Mr Gray. "Oh, Jim and I will try to rub on together, and I'll try to pay the widow's rent as I promised, if you'll speak a word, sir, to Mr Grimes and get him not to press for payment," I answered. "Set thy mind at rest on that point. I will satisfy the demands of the widow's landlord," said Mr Gray; and he then added, "Come to my house to-morrow, and I will meantime consider what can be done to put you in the way of gaining your daily bread. I desire to show thee that I am pleased with thy conduct, but it were small kindness were I to enable thee to live in idleness." Again thanking Mr Gray from the bottom of my heart, I said, "What I want, sir, is work. Help me to get that, and it will be all I ask." Before going away Mr Gray saw Mary for a short time, and paid a long visit to poor Mrs Simmons, which she said did her heart good. I had never felt so happy in my life, and could not resist going out to tell Jim Pulley. "Ask him to set thee up with a wherry and we'll go out together again as we used to do. That will be fine, and we'll be as merry as two crickets!" he exclaimed. "I think I ought to leave it with him," I answered. "A wherry costs a lot of money, and he has already been very generous, though I should like him to do as you propose, and I promise you, Jim, whatever he proposes, to stick by you." "That's all I care for," answered my friend. He accompanied me to the door, but would not come in for fear of disturbing Mary. The next day I went to see Mr Gray, who lived in a pretty house some way out of Portsmouth. He and his daughters received me very kindly. He had, he said, been considering what he could do for me. He would obtain a wherry for me, but he considered that the life of a waterman was not suited to a lad like me, and he then said that he was a shipowner, and was about to despatch a brig in a few days to the coast of Norway for timber, and that, if I pleased, he would send me on board her as an apprentice. Also, as he considered that I was already a seaman, he would give me a trifle of pay. Remembering what my father used to say about not wishing Jack "to become a long-shore lubber," I at once replied that I would thankfully have accepted his offer, but that I could not desert Jim Pulley, who would well-nigh break his heart, if I were to go away without him. "Nor need thee do that, my son," he answered. "I will provide a berth also for thy friend on board the _Good Intent_, and he and thou need not be parted. I approve of thy constancy to him and of his faithfulness to thee. A long-shore life, such as thou wouldst lead if thou wast owner of a wherry, would be dangerous if not demoralising, albeit thou might live comfortably enough." "But, sir, what will my sister do without me when she recovers and leaves you, and where will Nancy go when the widow dies?" "I will be chargeable for both of them. Set thy mind at rest on that point. Should I be called away--and no man knows how long he has to live--I will direct my daughters to watch over them. Thou and thy friend Jim can, in the meantime, follow thy vocation of watermen, so that thou mayest eat the fruit of thy labours, which is sweeter far to brave hearts like thine than food, bestowed in charity." I did my best to thank Mr Gray as I ought, and hastened back to tell Mary and Nancy and Jim. "I'd have gone with thee, Peter, even if it had been to Botany Bay, or any of them outlandish parts," exclaimed Jim, when I told him what Mr Gray had promised. "I am glad; yes, I am glad!" We both tried at once to get employment, and did very well that afternoon and on the two following days. When I got home on the evening of the last I found that a message had been left by Mr Gray when he visited the widow and Mary, directing Jim and me to go the next morning at nine o'clock on board the _Good Intent_, which had just come into the Commercial Dock. I hastened off to tell Jim at once. As may be supposed, we were up betimes, and as we got to the dock before the hour appointed we were able to examine the _Good Intent_ at our leisure. She was a fair enough looking craft, but as she was deep in the water, having only just begun to discharge a cargo of coals brought from the north, and had a dingy appearance, from the black dust flying about, we could not judge of her properly. As the bells of Saint Thomas's Church began to strike nine we stepped on board, and directly afterwards Mr Gray, followed by a short, broad, oldish man, who had not a bit the look of a skipper, though such I guessed he was, came out of the cabin. "Right! Punctuality saves precious hours," said Mr Gray, with an approving nod. "These are the lads I desire to commit to thy care, Captain Finlay. Instruct them in their duties, so that they may become able seamen, and they will repay thy teaching." "I'll act justly by the laddies, Mr Gray, but there's an auld saying that `ye canna make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.' If they dinna keep their wits awake, or if they ha' na wits to keep awake, all the teaching in the world will na make them sailors." "They are fair sailors already, and thou wilt find them handy enough, I hope," observed Mr Gray. After putting a few questions, Captain Finlay told us to come aboard the next day but one with our bags, by which time the cargo would be discharged. We set off home greatly pleased, though puzzled to know how we should obtain a decent kit. With Nancy's help, I might be pretty well off, but poor Jim had scarcely a rag to his back besides the clothes he stood in. In the evening, however, a note came from Mr Gray with an order on an outfitter to give us each a complete kit suited to a cold climate. We were not slow to avail ourselves of it. The next day Dr Rolt considered Mary sufficiently well to be removed, and Mr Gray sent a closed carriage to convey her to his house. The doctor told me to be ready to accompany her, and kindly came himself. It was the first time I had ever been in a coach, and the rolling and pitching made me feel very queer. The young ladies received us as if we had been one of themselves, and Mary was carried up into a pretty, neat room, with white dimity curtains to the bed, and the fresh air blowing in at the open window. "I'll leave her to you, now, Miss Hannah," said the doctor. "This is all she requires, with your watchful care." After I had had a short talk with Mary alone I took my leave, and Miss Hannah told me to be sure to come back and see them before the _Good Intent_ sailed. It was not likely I should forget to do that. Jim and I now went to live on board the brig. We had plenty of work, cleaning out the hold and getting rid of the coal-dust, and then we scrubbed the deck, and blacked down the rigging, and painted the bulwarks and masts, till the change in the appearance of the dingy collier was like that of a scullery-maid when she puts on her Sunday best. We did not mind the hard work, though it was a good deal harder than any we had been accustomed to, but the master and the rest of the crew set us a good example. There was little grumbling, and what surprised me, no swearing, such as I had been accustomed to hear on the Hard. Captain Finlay would not allow it, and the mate supported him in checking any wrong expressions which some of the men had been in the habit of uttering. I got leave to run up and see Mary and to bid Nancy and Mrs Simmons good-bye. Miss Hannah and her sisters seemed to be making a great deal of Mary. It was evident they liked her much, and I was not surprised at that. The widow I never expected to see again. Nancy would scarcely let me go. "Oh, Peter, Peter! What should us do if anything was to happen to ye out on the cruel sea!" she cried, as she held my hand and rubbed her eyes with her apron. The next day the _Good Intent_ went out of harbour, and I began in earnest the seafaring life I was destined to lead. CHAPTER EIGHT. MY FIRST VOYAGE. Wind south-south-west. The North Foreland had been rounded; the countless craft, of all sizes and rigs, generally to be found off the mouth of the Thames, had been cleared, and the _Good Intent_, with studding-sails alow and aloft, was standing across the German Ocean. Jim and I soon found our sea-legs, and were as well able to go aloft to reef topsails as the older hands. We were already well up to the ordinary duties of seamen, and could take our place at the helm with any of them. "Mr Gray was not mistaken about thee, laddie," said the captain to me one day as I came aft to the wheel. "Go on as thou hast begun; obey God, and thou wilt prosper." I was much pleased with this praise, for the old man was not given to throwing words away. While I steered he stood by telling me not only what to do then, but how to act under various circumstances. At other times he made me come into the cabin and gave me lessons in navigation to fit me to become a mate and master. Jim, being unable to read, and showing no aptitude for learning, had not the same advantages. We both of us lived forward with the men, some of whom were a little jealous of the favour I received, and not only played me tricks, ordered me to do all sorts of disagreeable jobs, and gave me a taste of the rope's-end on the sly, but tried hard to set Jim against me. They soon, however, found out that they were not likely to succeed, for though Jim did not mind how they treated him, he was always ready to stick up for me. The forecastle of the _Good Intent_ was thus not a paradise to either of us. The greater number of the men were, however, well-disposed, and it was only when they were on deck that the others dared to behave as I have described, while, as we would not complain, the mate knew nothing of what was going forward below. I remember thinking to myself, "If these sort of things can be done on board a ship, with a well-disciplined crew and a good captain and mate, how hard must be the lot of the unhappy boys serving in a craft where the captain, officers, and men are alike brutal!" Jim was always ready to oblige, and I did my best to win over my enemies by trying to show that I did not mind how they treated me, and I soon succeeded. We were, I should have said, bound out to Bergen, on the coast of Norway, for a cargo of hides, tallow, salt fish, and spars, which we were to carry to London. The weather had hitherto been fine, a great advantage to Jim and me, as we had time to learn our duties and to get accustomed to going aloft before our nerves and muscles were put to any severe test. But though the sea was smooth, the breeze, which had at first carried us briskly along, shifted to the northward, so that we made but slow progress. Now we stood on one tack, now on the other, the wind each time heading us. At last the grumblers began to declare that we should never make our port. "The old craft has got a run of ill-luck, there's something worse a-going to happen," said Sam Norris, one of my chief persecutors, as during his watch below he sat with his arms folded on his chest in the fore-peak. "I seed a black cat come aboard the night afore we left the docks, and no one knows that she ever went ashore again." Some of the men looked uncomfortable at Sam's statement, but others laughed. "What harm could the black cat do, if she did come aboard?" I inquired. "Probably she came to look for rats, and having killed all she could find, slipped ashore again unseen by any one." "I didn't say a she-cat. It looked like a big tom-cat; but who knows that it was really a cat at all?" said Sam. "If it wasn't a tom-cat, what was it?" asked Bob Stout, a chum of Sam's. "Just what neither you nor I would like to meet if we had to go down into the hold alone," said Sam, in a mysterious tone. Just then the watch below was summoned on deck to shorten sail. Not a bit too soon either, and we were quickly swarming aloft and out on the yards. To reef sails in smooth water is easy enough, but when the ship is pitching into the fast-rising seas and heeling over to the gale, with the wind whistling through the rigging, blocks rattling, ropes lashing about, the hard canvas trying to escape from one's grip, and blatters of rain and sleet and hail in one's face, it is no pleasant matter. We had taken two reefs in the topsails, and even then the brig had as much canvas on her as she could stand up to, and we had all come down on deck, with the exception of Jim, who had been on the foreyard, when the mate, seeing a rope foul, ordered him to clear it. Jim performed his duty, but instead of coming down as he ought to have done, remained seated on the foreyard, holding on by the lift to get accustomed to the violent motion, in which he seemed to take a pleasure. The mate, not observing this, came aft to speak to the captain, who shortly afterwards, finding that the brig was falling off from the wind, which had before been baffling, having shifted ahead, ordered her to be put about. "Down with the helm," cried the captain. I saw the men hauling at the braces, when, looking up, I caught sight of Jim at the yardarm. I shrieked out with terror, expecting that the next instant, as the yardarm swung round, he would be dashed to pieces on the deck, or hove off into the raging sea. The kind-hearted mate, recollecting him, came rushing forward, also believing that his destruction was certain, unless he could be caught as he fell. My heart beat, and my eyes were fixed on my friend as if they would start out of my head I wildly stretched out my hands, yet I felt that I could do nothing to save him, when he made a desperate spring, and catching hold of the backstay, came gliding down by it on deck as if nothing particular had happened, scarcely conscious, indeed, of the fearful danger he had escaped. The mate rated him in stronger language than he generally used for his carelessness, winding up by asking: "Where do you think you would have been, boy, if you hadn't have jumped when you did or had missed your aim?" "Praise God for His great mercy to thee, laddie, and may thou never forget it all the days of thy life," said the old captain, who had beckoned Jim aft to speak to him. Jim, touching his hat, answered, "Ay, ay, sir!" but he was, perhaps, less aware of the danger he had been in than any one on board. The gale increased; several heavy seas struck the old brig, making her quiver from stem to stern, and at last one heavier than the rest breaking on board, carried the starboard bulwarks forward clean away. Some of the men were below; Jim and I and others were aft, and the rest, though half-drowned, managed to secure themselves. To avoid the risk of another sea striking her in the same fashion, the brig was hove-to under a close-reefed fore-topsail. As we had plenty of sea room, and the brig was tight as a bottle, so the mate affirmed, there was no danger; still, I for one heartily wished that the weather would moderate. I had gone aft, being sent by the cook to obtain the ingredients of a plum-pudding for the cabin dinner. Not thinking of danger, on my return I ran along on the lee side of the deck, but before I reached the caboose I saw a mountain sea rolling up with a terrific roar, and I heard a voice from aft shout, "Hold on for your lives!" Letting go the basin and dish I had in my hands, I grasped frantically at the nearest object I could meet with. It was a handspike sticking in the windlass, but it proved a treacherous holdfast, for, to my horror, out it came at the instant that the foaming sea broke on board, and away I was carried amid the whirl of waters right out through the shattered bulwarks. All hope of escape abandoned me. In that dreadful moment it seemed that every incident in my life came back to my memory; but Mary was the chief object of my thoughts. I knew that I was being carried off into the hungry ocean, and, as I supposed, there was no human aid at hand to save me, when the brig gave a violent lee lurch, and before I was borne away from her side I felt myself seized by the collar of my jacket, and dragged by a powerful arm, breathless and stunned with the roar of waters in my ears, into the galley. The cook, who had retreated within it when the sea struck the brig, had caught sight of me, and at the risk of his life had darted out, as a cat springs on her prey, and saved me. I quickly recovered my senses, but was not prepared for the torrent of abuse which my preserver, Bob Fritters, poured out on me for having come along on the lee instead of the weather side of the deck. Two or three of the watch who had been aft and fancied that I had been carried overboard, when they found that I was safe, instead of expressing any satisfaction, joined the cook in rating me for my folly. Feeling as I suppose a half-drowned rat might do, I was glad to make my escape below, where, with the assistance of Jim, I shifted into dry clothes, while he hurried on deck to obtain a fresh supply of materials for the captain's pudding. Shortly after this the gale abated, and the brig was again put on her course. I had been sent aloft one morning soon after daybreak to loose the fore-royal, when I saw right ahead a range of blue mountains, rising above the mist which still hung over the ocean. I knew that it must be the coast of Norway, for which we were bound. "Land! Land!" I shouted, pointing in the direction I saw the mountains, which I guessed were not visible from the deck. The mate soon came aloft to judge for himself. "You are right, Peter," he said. "We have made a good landfall, for if I mistake not we are just abreast of the entrance to the Bay of Jeltefiord, at the farther end of which stands Bergen, the town we are bound for." The mate was right. The breeze freshening we stood on, and in the course of the morning we ran between lofty and rugged rocks for several miles, through the narrow Straits of Carmesundt into the bay--or fiord rather--till we came to an anchor off the picturesque old town of Bergen. It was a thriving, bustling place; the inhabitants, people from all the northern nations of Europe, mostly engaged in mercantile pursuits. We soon discharged our cargo and began taking on board a very miscellaneous one, including a considerable quantity of spars to form the masts and yards of small vessels. The day seemed to me wonderfully long, indeed there was scarcely any night. Of course, we had plenty of hard work, as we were engaged for a large part of the twenty-four hours in hoisting in cargo. I should have thought all hands would have been too tired to think of carrying on any tricks, but it seemed that two or three of them had conceived a spite against Jim because he would not turn against me. One of our best men, Ned Andrews, who did duty as second mate, had brought for his own use a small cask of sugar, as only molasses and pea-coffee were served out forward. One morning, as I was employed aft under the captain's directions, Andrews came up and complained that on opening his cask he found it stuffed full of dirty clouts and the sugar gone. I never saw the captain so indignant. "A thief on board my brig!" he exclaimed; "verily, I'll make an example of him, whoever he is." Calling the mate, he ordered him forthwith to examine all the men's chests, supposing that the thief must have stowed the sugar in his own. "Go, Peter, and help him," he added, "for I am sure that thou, my son, art not the guilty one." I followed the mate into the fore-peak. Having first demanded the keys from the owners of those which were locked, he examined chest after chest, making me hold up the lids while he turned out the contents or plunged his hands to the bottom. No sugar was found in any of them. He then came to my chest, which I knew was not locked, and the idea came into my head that the stolen property would be there. I showed some anxiety, I suspect, as I lifted up the lid. The mate put in his hands with a careless air, as if he had no idea of the sort. Greatly to my relief he found nothing. There was but one chest to be examined. It was Jim's. Scarcely had I opened it when the mate, throwing off a jacket spread over the top, uttered an exclamation of surprise. There exposed to view was a large wooden bowl, procured the day before by the steward for washing up glasses and cups, and supposed to have fallen overboard, cram full of sugar. "Bring it along aft," cried the mate. "I did not think that of Pulley." "And I don't think it now, sir," I answered, in a confident tone, as I obeyed his order. "What's this? Where was it found?" inquired the captain, as we reached the quarter-deck. The mate told him. "I'll swear Jim never put it there, sir; not he!" I exclaimed. "Swear not at all, my son, albeit thou mayest be right," said the captain. "Send James Pulley aft." Jim quickly came. "Hast thou, James Pulley, been guilty of stealing thy shipmate's sugar?" asked the captain. "No, sir, please you, I never took it, and never put it where they say it was found," answered Jim, boldly. "Appearances are sadly against thee, James Pulley," observed the captain, with more sorrow than anger in his tone. "This matter must be investigated." "I am sure that Jim speaks the truth, sir," I exclaimed, unable to contain myself. "Somebody else stole the sugar and put it in his chest." The crew had gathered aft, and two or three looked thunder-clouds at me as I spoke. "Thine assertion needs proof," observed the captain. "Was thy cask of sugar open, Andrews?" "No, sir, tightly headed up," answered Andrews. "Then it must have been forced open by some iron instrument," said the captain. "Bring it aft here." The empty keg was brought. "I thought so," remarked the captain. "An axe was used to prise it open. Did any one see an axe in the hands of James Pulley?" There was no reply for some time. At last, Ben Grimes, one of the men who had always been most hostile to Jim and me, said, "I thinks I seed Jim Pulley going along the deck with what looked mighty like the handle of an axe sticking out from under his jacket." "The evidence is much against thee, James Pulley," said the captain. "I must, as in duty bound, report this affair to Mr Gray on our return, and it will, of course, prevent him from bestowing any further favours on you." "I didn't do it. I'd sooner have had my right hand cut off than have done it," cried Jim. "Let me go ashore, sir, and I'll try to gain my daily bread as I best can. I can't bear to stay aboard here to be called a thief; though Peter Trawl knows I didn't take the sugar; he'd never believe that of me; and the mate doesn't, and Andrews himself doesn't." "I am sorry for thee, lad. Thou must prove thine innocence," said the captain, turning away. Poor Jim was very unhappy. Though both he and I were convinced that one of the men for spite had put the sugar in his chest, we could not fix on the guilty person. I did my best to comfort him. He talked of running from the ship, but I persuaded him not to think more of doing so foolish a thing. "Stay, and your innocence will appear in due time," I said. As we went about the deck we heard Grimes and others whispering, "Birds of a feather flock together." They bullied Jim and me worse than ever, and took every occasion to call him a young thief, and other bad names besides. They saw how it vexed him, and that made them abuse him worse than before. The day after this we sailed. Poor Jim declared that if he could not clear himself he would never show his face in Portsmouth. I was sure that Andrews and the other good men did not believe him to be guilty, but they could not prove his innocence; and, as he said, the others would take care to blabber about him, and, worst of all, Mr Gray would think him a thief. An easterly breeze carried us clear of the harbour, but the wind then shifted to the southward, and then to the south-west, being very light, so that after three days we had not lost sight of the coast of Norway. There seemed every probability of our having a long passage. Some of the men said it was all owing to the black cat, and Grimes declared that we must expect ill-luck with such a psalm-singing Methodist old skipper as we had. Even Andrews prognosticated evil, but his idea was that it would be brought about by an old woman he had seen on shore, said by everyone to be a powerful witch. As, however, according to Andrews, she had the power of raising storms, and we had only to complain of calms and baffling winds, I could not see that she had had any influence over us. At last we got so far to the westward that we lost sight of the coast of Norway, but had not made good a mile to the southward--we had rather indeed drifted to the northward. Meantime, the captain hearing from the mate how the men were grumbling, called all hands aft. "Lads, I want ye to listen to me," he said. "Some of ye fancy that we are having these calms and baffling winds on one account, and some on another, but this I know, that He who rules the seas does not allow any other beings to interfere with His plans. Ye have heard, maybe, however, of the prophet Jonah. Once upon a time, Jonah, when ordered by God to go to a certain place and perform a certain duty, disobeyed his Master, and trying to escape from Him took passage on board a ship, fancying that he could get out of God's sight. Did he succeed? No! God had His eye on Jonah, and caused a hurricane which well-nigh sent the ship to the bottom. Not till Jonah was hove overboard did the tempest cease. Now, lads, just understand there are some aboard this brig who are disobeying Him and offending Him just as much as Jonah did, and it's not for me to say that He does not allow these calms, so unusual in this latitude, to prevail in consequence. That's all I've got to say, lads, but ye'll just think over it; and now go forward." Whether or not the men did think over it, or exactly understood what the old man meant, I cannot say, but the next morning the carpenter came aft to the captain and said that he had had a dream which made him remember that the evening before Andrews's sugar was found to have been stolen, Ben Grimes had borrowed an axe from him, on examining which afterwards he discovered that a small piece had been broken off on one side, and that Grimes acknowledged he had done it by striking a nail in a piece of wood he was chopping up. On hearing this the captain again summoned all hands aft, and ordered Andrews to bring his sugar cask. There in the head was found a piece of iron which exactly fitted the notch in the axe which the carpenter produced. "Now, lads, say who stole Andrews's sugar and concealed it in Pulley's chest?" asked the skipper. "Grimes! Grimes! No doubt about it!" shouted all the men, with the exception of the individual mentioned and one other. "You are right, lads, and Pulley is innocent," said the skipper. "As the babe unborn," answered the men, and they all, except Grimes and his chum, following my example, gave Jim a hearty shake of the hand. I thought that he would have blubbered outright with pleasure. Though I was sure that Jim had never touched the sugar, I was thankful that the captain and the rest were convinced of his innocence. Before noon that day a dark bank of clouds was seen coming up from the southward. In a short time several black masses broke away from the main body, and came careering across the sky. "Away aloft and shorten sail," cried the skipper. "Be smart, lads!" We hurried up the rigging, for there was no time to be lost. "Two reefs in the fore-topsail! Furl the main-topsail! Let fly topgallant sheets!" These orders came in quick succession. The captain, aided by the mate, was meantime lowering the mainsail. He at first, I believe, intended to heave the brig to, but, before the canvas was reduced the gale struck her--over she heeled--the topgallant sails, with their masts, were carried away just as Jim and I were about mounting the rigging, he the fore and I the main, to furl them; the mainsail, only half lowered, flying out, nearly knocked the mate overboard. I had got down on the weather side of the main-topsail yard to assist the hands on it, when the straining canvas broke loose from our grasp, and at the same instant the topgallant rigging, striking the two men on the lee yardarm, hurled them off into the foaming ocean. To lower a boat was impossible; we had not strength sufficient as it was to clear away the topgallant masts, and to hand the topsails. A grating and some spars were hove to them by the mate, who then, axe in hand, sprang aloft to assist us. None too soon, for we could do nothing but cling on to the yard till the topgallant rigging was cleared away. The men on the foreyard were more successful, and I saw Jim gallantly using his knife in a fashion which at length cleared away the wreck and enabled them to secure the sail. The mate succeeded also in his object, and we were expecting them to assist us in attempting to furl the main-topsail, when the captain, seeing that we were not likely to succeed, calling us down, ordered the helm to be put up and the yards squared away, and off we ran before the fast-increasing gale, leaving, we feared, our two shipmates, the carpenter and Grimes, to perish miserably. CHAPTER NINE. I EXPERIENCE THE PERILS OF THE SEA. The _Good Intent_ ran on before the increasing gale. The fast-rising seas came rolling up astern, threatening every instant to poop her, for, having a full cargo, she was much deeper in the water than when we sailed from Portsmouth. We quickly lost sight of the grating and spars thrown to our hapless shipmates, and they themselves had before then disappeared. The first thing now to be done was to get the main-topsail stowed, for, flying wildly in the wind, it seemed as if about to carry away the main-topmast. The mate, Andrews, and two other men were on the point of going aloft to try and haul it in, in spite of the danger they ran in so doing, when a report like that of thunder was heard, and the sail, split into ribbons, was torn from the bolt-ropes. The fragments, after streaming out wildly in the wind, lashed themselves round and round the yard, thus saving us the hazardous task of attempting to furl the sail. The brig flew on, now plunging into the roaring and foaming seas, now rolling from side to side so that it was difficult to keep our feet. The fore-staysail and jib had been stowed in time, and the flying jib had been blown away, so that the fore-topsail was the only sail set. Thus hour after hour passed. Had we been running in the opposite direction we should have been making good progress, but we were now going farther and farther from our destination, to be driven into even worse weather, and perhaps to have to make our way south round the Irish coast. To avoid this, the captain was anxious to heave the brig to, and I saw him and the mate consulting how it could be done. It was a dangerous operation, they both knew, for should she not quickly come up to the wind, a sea might strike her on the broadside and sweep over her deck, or throw her on her beam-ends. "If we get a lull it must be done," said the captain. "Ay, ay, sir!" answered the mate; and he ordered the men to stand ready to brace round the fore-topsail-yard as the brig came up to the wind. Still we watched in vain for the wished-for lull. In spite of the roaring seas I felt wonderfully sleepy, and could scarcely keep my eyes open as I held on to a stanchion at the after-part of the deck. Jim was much in the same condition, for we had both been on foot since the morning watch had been called, and we had had no food all day. The kind captain, observing the state we were in, instead of abusing us, as some skippers would have done, ordered us to go below to find something to eat and to lie down till we were wanted. We were making our way forward when he shouted out-- "Go into the cabin, laddies. There is some bread and cheese in the pantry, and ye'll be ready at hand when I call ye." We quickly slipped below, and he again closed the companion-hatch which he had opened to let us descend. The other hatches had been battened down, for at any moment a sea might break on board, and if they had not been secured, might fill the vessel. Not a ray of light came below, but Jim and I, groping about, found the bread and cheese we were in search of and soon satisfied our hunger. We then, thankful to get some rest, lay down on the deck of the cabin-- which landsmen would call the floor--for we should have considered it presumptuous to stretch ourselves in one of the berths or even on the locker; and in spite of the rolling and pitching of the brig we were quickly fast asleep. I seldom dreamed in those days, but, though tired as I was, my slumbers were troubled. Now I fancied that the brig was sinking, but that, somehow or other, I came to the surface, and was striking out amid the raging billows for the land; then I thought that I was again on board, and that the brig, after rushing rapidly on, struck upon a huge reef of black rocks, when, in an instant, her timbers split asunder, and we were all hurled into the seething waters. Suddenly I was awoke by the thundering, crashing sound of a tremendous blow on the side of the vessel, and I found myself hove right across the cabin, clutching fast hold of Jim, who shouted out, "Hillo, Peter, what is the matter? Are we all going to be drowned?" Before I could answer him there came from above us--indeed, it had begun while he was speaking--a deafening mingling of terrific noises, of rending planks, of falling spars, the rush and swirl and roar of waters, amid which could be heard the faint cries of human voices. The brig had been thrown on her beam-ends; of that there could be no doubt, for when we attempted to get on our feet we found the deck of the cabin almost perpendicular. "Do you think the brig will go down?" shouted Jim. The hubbub was so great that it was impossible to hear each other unless we spoke at the very top of our voices. "We must, at all events, get on deck as soon as we can, and do our best to save ourselves," I answered. Though I said this, I had very little hope of escaping, as I thought that the vessel might at any moment founder. Even to get on deck was no easy matter, for everything in the cabin was upside down--boxes and bales, and casks and articles of all sorts, thrown out of the lockers, mixed with the furniture which had broken adrift, were knocking about, while all the time we were in complete darkness. The dead-lights had fortunately been closed at the commencement of the gale, and the companion-hatch remained secure, so that, as yet, no water came below. Getting on our feet we were endeavouring to grope our way to the companion-ladder when we heard two loud crashes in quick succession, and directly afterwards, the brig righting with a violent jerk, we were thrown half across the cabin, bruised and almost stunned, among the numberless things knocking violently about. After a time, on recovering our senses, we picked ourselves up and made another attempt to get on deck. I now began to hope that the brig would not go down as soon as I had expected, but still I knew that she was in a fearfully perilous condition. I was sure from the crashing sounds we had heard that both her masts were gone: that very probably also she had sprung a leak, while we were far to the northward of the usual track of vessels. At last we found our way to the cabin door, but groped about in vain for the companion-ladder, till Jim suggested that it had been unshipped when the vessel went over. After some time we found it, but had great difficulty, in consequence of the way the brig was rolling, to get it replaced. As soon as it was so I mounted and shouted as loud as I could to some one to come and lift off the hatch. No voice replied. Again and again I shouted, fancying that the people might have gone forward for some reason or other and had forgotten us. "What can have happened?" cried Jim, in a tone of alarm. I dared not answer him, for I feared the worst. Feeling about, I discovered an axe slung just inside the companion-hatch, on which I began hammering away with all my might--but still no one came. "Jim, I'm afraid they must all be gone," I cried out at last. "Gone!" he exclaimed. "What, the old captain, and mate, and Andrews, and the rest?" "I am afraid so," I answered. Again I shouted and knocked. Still no one came. "We must break open the hatch," I said, and I attempted to force up the top with the axe, but did not succeed. "Let me try," cried Jim; "my arm is stronger than yours." I got down the ladder and gave him the axe. He took my place and began working away at the part where the hatch was placed. I could hear him giving stroke after stroke, but could see nothing, for the hatch fitted so closely that not a gleam of light came through it. Presently I heard him sing out, "I've done it," and I knew by the rush of cold damp air which came down below that he had got off the hatch. Still all was dark, but looking up I could distinguish the cloudy sky. Not till then did I know that it was night. We had gone to sleep in broad daylight, and I had no idea of the number of hours which had passed by since then. I sprang up the companion-ladder after Jim, who had stepped out on deck. The spectacle which met my eyes was appalling. The masts were gone, carried away a few feet from the deck--only the stumps were standing-- everything had been swept clear away, the caboose, the boats, the bulwark; the brig was a complete wreck; the dark foam-topped seas were rising up high above the deck, threatening to engulf her. The masts were still alongside hanging on by the rigging, their butt ends every now and then striking against her with so terrific a force that I feared they must before long drive a hole through the planking. As far as I could make out through the thick gloom, some spars which had apparently fallen before the masts gave way lay about the deck, kept from being washed away by the rigging attached to them having become entangled in the stanchions and the remaining portions of the shattered bulwarks. Not one of our shipmates could we see. Again we shouted, in the faint hope that some of them might be lying concealed forward. No one answered. "Maybe that they have gone down into the fore-peak," said Jim; "I'll go and knock on the hatch. They can't hear our shouts from where we are." I tried to persuade Jim not to make the attempt till daylight, for a sea might break on board and wash him away. "But do you see, Peter, we must try and get help to cut away the lower rigging, which keeps the masts battering against the sides?" he answered. "Then I'll go with you," I said. "We'll share the same fate, whatever that may be." "No, no, Peter! You stay by the companion-hatch; see, there are plenty of spars for me to catch hold of, and I'll take good care not to get washed away," answered Jim, beginning his journey forward. Notwithstanding what he said, I was following him when I fancied that I heard a faint groan. I stopped to listen. It might be only the sound produced by the rubbing of two spars together or the working of the timbers. Again I heard the groan. I was now sure that it was uttered by one of our shipmates. It came from a part of the deck covered by a mass of broken spars and sails and rigging. Though I could not see as far, I knew that Jim had reached the fore-hatchway by hearing him shouting and knocking with the back of the axe. "Are any of them there?" I cried out. "No! Not one, I'm afeared," he answered. "Then come and help me to see if there is any person under these spars here," I said. Of course we had to bawl out to each other at the top of our voices on account of the clashing of the seas, the groaning and creaking of the timbers and bulk-heads, and the thundering of the masts against the sides. Jim soon joined me. We had to be very cautious how we moved about, for besides the risk there was at any moment of a sea sweeping across the deck, we might on account of the darkness have stepped overboard. We lost no time in crawling to the spot whence I heard the groans proceeding. On feeling about we soon discovered a man, his body pressed down on the deck by a heavy spar, and partly concealed by the canvas. "Who are you?" cried Jim. "Speak to us,--do." A groan was the only answer. "Do you try and lift the spar, Jim, and I'll drag him out," I said. Jim tried to do as I told him, but though he exerted all his strength he could not succeed in raising the spar. "Oh, dear! Oh, dear! The poor fellow will die if we cannot get him free soon," I exclaimed, in despair. "This will do it," cried Jim, who had been searching about, and now came with the broken end of a topgallant-yard to serve as a handspike. By its means he prised up the spar, while I as gently as I could dragged out the man by the shoulders. No sooner did I feel his jacket than I was almost sure that he was no other than our good old skipper. He was breathing heavily, and had apparently been rendered unconscious by a blow on the head. I at length got him out from under the spar. "We must carry him below before another sea breaks on board," I said. "Come, help me, Jim." Together we lifted the old man, and staggering along the slippery deck, reached the companion-hatch in safety. To get him down without injury was more difficult. I going first and taking his legs, and Jim holding him by the shoulders, we succeeded at last. While Jim supported him at the bottom of the ladder, I hunted about till I found a tinder-box and matches and lighted the cabin lamp. It showed us, as I had supposed, that the person I had rescued was our captain. He was pale as death, and bleeding from a wound in the head. The light also exhibited the utter confusion into which the cabin had been thrown. I managed, however, to clear a way to the state cabin, to which we carried the captain, and then getting off his wet clothes placed him between the blankets in his berth. Fortunately, there was a cask of water in the pantry, which enabled us to wash and bind up his head, so as to staunch the blood flowing from it. The operation was performed but roughly, as all the time the sound of the masts thundering like battering-rams against the side of the vessel warned us that, we must try to cut them adrift without delay. I feared that already they had done some serious damage. Even before we left the captain he seemed to have somewhat recovered his consciousness, for I heard him mutter, "Be smart, lads. Tell mate--cut away wreck." Of course we did not let him know that besides himself we alone of all the crew were left alive. In the cabin I found another axe, and Jim and I, going on deck, began the difficult and dangerous task we had undertaken. The lower rigging, on what had been the weather side, had entirely given way, so that we had only to cut that on the opposite side, but in leaning over to reach the shrouds at the chains we ran a fearful risk of being carried off by the sea as the vessel rolled from side to side. We first tried to clear the mainmast. We had cut two of the shrouds, when a sea, having driven the butt end against the side with fearful force, lifted it just as the brig rolled over, and it came sweeping along the deck, nearly taking Jim and me off our legs. With the greatest difficulty we escaped. "It shan't do that again," cried Jim; and dashing forward with axe uplifted he cut the last shroud, and the mast was carried away by the next sea. We had still to get rid of the foremast and bowsprit, which were doing as much damage as the mainmast had done, by every now and then ramming away at the bows with a force sufficient, it seemed, to knock a hole through them at any moment. I felt anxious to return to the cabin to attend to our old captain, but the safety of the vessel required us not to delay a moment longer than could be helped in cutting away the remaining masts and bowsprit. I observed soon after the mainmast had gone that the wind had fallen, and that there was somewhat less sea running, and in a short time the light began to increase. I do not think that otherwise we should have accomplished our task. Jim sprang forward with his axe, taking always the post of danger, and hacking away at rope after rope as he could manage to reach them. I followed his example. Often we had to hold on for our lives as the seas washed over us. At length the work was accomplished. We gave a shout of satisfaction as, the last rope severed, we saw the mass of wreck drop clear of the brig. But our work was not done. There we were in the midst of the North Sea, without masts or canvas or boats, our bulwarks gone, the brig sorely battered, and only our two selves and our poor old captain to navigate her. To preserve his life our constant attention was required. "We'll go below and see how the old man gets on," I said. "There's nothing more for us to do on deck that I can see at present." "Not so sure of that, Peter," answered Jim. "You go and look after the skipper, and I'll just see how matters are forward and down in the hold." As I felt sure that the captain ought not to be left longer alone, I hurried into the cabin. He was conscious, but still scarcely able to speak. I told him that we had cleared away the wreck of the masts, and that the weather was moderating. "Thank God!" he murmured. Then, getting some more water, I again dressed his wounded head, and afterwards proposed lighting the cabin fire and trying to make him some broth. "Water! I only want water," he said, in the same low voice as before. I procured some in a mug. He drank it, and then said, "Get up jury-masts and steer west," not understanding as yet, I suppose, that the crew were lost. "Ay, ay, sir," I answered, being unwilling to undeceive him, though I wondered how Jim and I could alone obey his orders; yet, if we were ever to reach a port, jury-masts must be got up. As I could do nothing more just then for the captain, I was going on deck, when I met Jim at the companion-hatch, his face wearing an expression of the greatest alarm. "Things are very bad, Peter," he exclaimed. "The water is coming in through a big hole in the bows like a mill-sluice, and I'm much afeared that before long the old craft will carry us and the captain to the bottom." "Not if we keep our wits awake, Jim," I answered. "We must try to stop the hole. Come along." Hurrying forward, we dived down into the fore-peak. We could now venture to leave the hatch off, so as to give light below. Sure enough the water was coming in terribly fast, but not quite so fast as Jim described, though already the men's chests and other articles were afloat. The largest hole was, I saw, in the very centre of a bunk, so that we could easily get at it. Dragging out all the blankets from the other bunks, I rammed them into the hole. "Hand me a board or the top of a chest--knock it off quick!" I sang out. Jim, leaping on a chest, wrenched off the lid and gave it me. "Now that handspike." There was one close to him. By pressing the board against the blankets, and jamming the handspike down between it and the outer corner of the bunk, the gush of water was stopped. "Here's another hole still more forward, I can see the water bubbling in," cried Jim, holding a lantern, which he had lit that he might look round, to the place. We stopped it as we had the first. "It will be a mercy if there are no other holes in the side under the cargo," he said. "We'll try the well." We returned on deck, and Jim sounded the well. "Six feet of water or more," he said, in a mournful tone, as he examined the rod. "Then we must rig the pumps and try to clear her!" I exclaimed. "It will be a hard job, but it may be done, and we must not think of letting the old craft sink under our feet." We set to work, and pumped and pumped away, the water coming up in a clear stream, till our backs and arms ached, and we felt every moment ready to drop, but we cheered each other on, resolved not to give in as long as we could stand on our legs. CHAPTER TEN. ALONE ON THE OCEAN. "Are we gaining on the leaks, think you, Jim?" I at length gasped out, for I felt that if our efforts were producing some effect we should be encouraged to continue them, but that if not it would be wise before we were thoroughly exhausted to try and build a raft on which we might have a chance of saving our lives. My companion made no reply, but giving a look of doubt, still pumped on, the perspiration streaming down his face and neck showing the desperate exertions he was making. I was much in the same condition, though, like Jim, I had on only my shirt and trousers. I was the first to give in, and, utterly unable to move my arms, I sank down on the deck. Jim, still not uttering a word, doggedly worked on, bringing up a stream of water which flowed out through the scuppers. It seemed wonderful that he could go on, but after some time he also stopped, and staggered to where he had left the rod. "I'll try," he said. I gazed at him with intense anxiety. "Three inches less. We're gaining on the leaks!" he exclaimed. I sprang to my feet and seized the brake. Jim struck out with his arms "to take the turns out of the muscles," as he said, while he sat for a minute on the deck, and again went at it. All this time the wind was falling and the sea going down. As we laboured at the pumps we looked out anxiously for the appearance of a vessel which might afford us assistance, but not a sail appeared above the horizon. We must depend on our own exertions for preserving our lives. Though a calm would enable us the better to free the brig of water and to get up jury-masts, it would lessen our chance of obtaining help. Yet while the brig was rolling and tumbling about we could do nothing but pump, and pump we did till our strength failed us, and we both sank down on the deck. My eyes closed, and I felt that I was dropping off to sleep. How long I thus lay I could not tell, when I heard Jim sing out-- "Hurrah! We've gained six inches on the leak," and clank, clank, clank, went his pump. I cannot say that I sprang up, but I got, somehow or other, on my feet, and, seizing the brake, laboured away more like a person in his sleep than one awake. I saw the water flowing freely, so I knew that I was not pumping uselessly. Presently I heard Jim cry out-- "Hillo! Look there!" Turning my eyes aft, I saw the captain holding on by the companion-hatch, and gazing in utter astonishment along the deck. His head bound up in a white cloth, a blanket over his shoulders, his face pale as death, he looked more like a ghost than a living man. "Where are they, lads?" he exclaimed at length, in a hollow voice. "All gone overboard, sir," answered Jim, thinking he ought to speak. The old man, on hearing this, fell flat on the deck. We ran and lifted him up. At first I thought he was dead, but he soon opened his eyes and whispered-- "It was a passing weakness, and I'll be better soon. Trust in God, laddies; go on pumping, and He'll save your lives," he said. "We'll take you below first, sir. You'll be better in your berth than here," I answered. "No, no! I'll stay on deck; the fresh air will do me good," he said; but scarcely had he uttered the words than he fell back senseless. "We must get him below, or he'll die here," I said; so Jim and I carried him down as before, and got him into his bed. "He wants looking after," said Jim; "so, Peter, do you tend him, and I'll go back to the pumps." Thinking that he wanted food more than anything else, I lighted the cabin fire, and collecting some materials from the pantry for broth in a saucepan, put it on to boil. Though I had been actively engaged, I felt able once more to work the pumps. Jim said that he was certain the water in the hold was decreasing, while, as the brig was steadier, less was coming in. This increased our hopes of keeping her afloat, but we should want rest and sleep, and when we knocked off the water might once more gain on us. We did not forget, however, what the captain had said. When I could pump no longer I ran below, freshly dressed the old man's head, and gave him some broth, which was by this time ready. It evidently did him good. Then, taking a basin of it myself, I ran up on deck with another for Jim. "That puts life into one," he said, as, seated on the deck with his legs stretched out, he swallowed it nearly scalding hot. A draught of water which he told me to bring, however, cooled his throat, and he again set to, I following his example. By this time the day was far advanced, and even Jim confessed that he must soon give in, while I could scarcely stand. The wind had continued to go down, but the sea still rolled the vessel about too much to enable us to get up jury-masts, even if we had had strength to move, before dark. "It's no use trying to hold out longer, I must get a snooze," sighed Jim. He looked as if he were half asleep already. "We had better go and lie down in the cabin, so that we may be ready to help the captain," I answered; "but I'll tell you what, we'll take a look into the fore-peak first, to see how the leaks are going on there." "Oh, they are all right," said Jim. "We shouldn't have lessened the water so much if anything had given way." Still I persisted in going forward, and Jim followed me. Just then the vessel gave a pitch, which nearly sent me head first down the fore-hatchway. As we got below I heard the sound of a rush of water. The handspike which secured the chief leak had worked out of its place, and the blankets and boards were forced inwards. It required all our remaining strength to put them back. Had we been asleep aft the brig would have filled in a few minutes. Jim wanted to remain forward, but I persuaded him to come aft, being sure that he would sleep too soundly to hear the water coming in should the leaks break out afresh, and might be drowned before he awoke. Having done all we could to secure the handspikes, we crawled rather than walked to the cabin. We were thankful to find that the captain was asleep, so, without loss of time, Jim crept into one of the side berths, and I lay down on the after locker. In half a minute I had forgotten what had happened and where I was. As the old captain and we two lads lay fast asleep on board the demasted brig out there in the wild North Sea, a kind Providence watched over us. We might have been run down, or, the leaks breaking out afresh, the vessel might have foundered before we awoke. A voice which I supposed to be that of the captain aroused me. The sun was shining down through the cabin sky-light. The vessel was floating motionless. Not a sound did I hear except Jim's snoring. I tried to jump up, but found my limbs terribly stiff, every joint aching. I made my way, however, to the old man's berth. "How are you, Captain Finlay?" I asked. He did not reply. I stepped nearer. His eyes were closed. I thought he was dead; yet I heard his voice, I was certain of that. I stood looking at him, afraid to ascertain if what I feared was the case. A feeling of awe crept over me. I did not like to call out to Jim, yet I wanted him to come to me. At last I staggered over to the berth in which Jim was sleeping. "Jim! Jim!" I said, "I am afraid the captain is taken very bad." Jim did not awake, so I shook him several times till he sat up, still half asleep and rubbing his eyes. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Oh--ay, I know. We'll turn to at the pumps, Peter." I repeated what I had said. He was on his feet in a moment. He moved at first with as much difficulty as I had done. "Come along," I said, and together we went over to the state cabin. We looked at the old man without speaking. After some time Jim mustered courage to touch his hand. To my great relief the captain opened his eyes. "Praise God, who has preserved us during the night, my lads!" were the first words he spoke, and while we stood by his side he offered up a short prayer. He then told us to go on deck and learn the state of the weather. We hurried up. The sun was shining brightly; the sea was smooth as glass, unbroken by a single ripple. Jim did not forget the leak; he sounded the well. "We must turn to at the pumps, Peter," he exclaimed. "She's made a good deal of water during the night, and it will take us not a few hours to get it out of her, but we'll not give in." "I should think not, indeed," I answered. "But I'll go down and hear what the captain wants us to do." Before I had got half way down the companion-ladder I heard the clank of the pump. Jim had lost no time in setting to work. I hastened to the state-room. I was startled by the changed appearance of the captain's countenance during the short time I had been on deck. His eyes were turned towards me with a fixed look. I spoke, but he did not answer; I leant over him, no breath proceeded from his lips; I touched his brow, then I knew that the good old man was dead. Presently I closed his eyes, and with a sad heart returned on deck. "He's gone, Jim," I cried. "Gone! The captain gone! Then I am sorry," answered Jim, as he stopped pumping for a moment, though he still held the brake in his hands. "Then, Peter, you and I must just do our best to take the brig into port by ourselves." "I was thinking the same, Jim," I said. "He told us to get up jury-masts and steer west, and that's just what we must do if the wind will let us." The death of our good captain made us feel very sad, for we had learned to look upon him as our true friend. It caused us also to become more anxious even than before about ourselves. With his assistance we had had little doubt, should the weather remain fine, of reaching a port, but as we were neither of us accustomed to the use of charts, and did not know how to take an observation, we could not tell to what port we should steer our course. We had both, however, dauntless spirits, and had been accustomed from our childhood to trust to our own resources. Our grand idea was to steer west, if we could manage to get sail on the brig, but before this could be attempted we must pump her free of water. There was no time to mourn for our old captain, so without delay we turned to at the pumps. My arms and legs and every part of my body felt very stiff. Jim saw that I should not be able to continue long at it. "Peter, do you go below and look out for some spars to serve as jury-masts," he said; "I'll meantime keep on. We shall soon get the water under; it's only a wonder more hasn't come in." Jim and I never thought who was captain; if I told him to do a thing he did it, or if he gave an order I did not stop to consider whether or not he had the right to command. We worked together as if we had but one will. It was "a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull both together." There were plenty of spars below, and I soon selected some which I thought would serve for the masts and yards we required. I had to call Jim to help me get them up on deck. "There'll be no use for these till we can find some canvas to spread on them," I observed. "Nor till we get a breeze to fill the sails," said Jim. "However, we'll get them set while the calm lasts, and no doubt you'll find as many as we can carry in the sail-room." This was right aft, down a small hatchway. While Jim went again to his pump, I hunted about and hauled out two topgallantsails and royals, a fore-staysail, a second jib, and a main-trysail. If we could set all these we should do well, supposing we got a fair breeze. It would be no easy job, however, I knew, to get up the masts. We had one advantage. The proper masts had been carried away some six or seven feet from the deck, so that we might lash the spars to them. Before setting to work I again went below to hunt for rope. I got more than I expected from different parts of the vessel, and we had also saved some of the rigging, which had been entangled in the bulwarks. "We shall want every scrap of rope we can find!" cried Jim, panting and still pumping away. "I'll take a spell with you," I said. "Then we'll turn to and rig the ship." I pumped till I could pump no longer, and then, after a short rest, we commenced in earnest. We first lashed a short spar, with a tackle secured to its head, to the stump of the foremast, and then, having fitted two shrouds on a side, with a forestay and backstays, and blocks for the halliards, to the spar we had chosen for a foremast, we swayed it up my means of the short spar and tackle. We could not possibly in any other way have accomplished our object. We next lashed the spar to the stump of the mast. No time was lost in setting up the standing rigging. Our foremast being thus fixed, we surveyed it with infinite satisfaction, and then turned to and fitted the brig with a mainmast in the same fashion. This we made somewhat stronger, as we intended it to carry a mainsail should we have to haul on a wind. Our work, as may be supposed, was not especially neat--indeed, we had to knot most of the shrouds, as it was necessary to keep all the longer lengths of rope for halliards, and we had none to spare. I cannot stop to explain how we accomplished all this; we could not have done it without employing tackles, which we brought to the windlass, and thus gained twenty times as much power as we by ourselves possessed. We were now pretty well tired and hungry, for, except some bread and cheese and a jug of cold water, we had taken nothing all day. It was with a feeling of awe that we went down into the cabin where the old captain lay. Jim, however, closed the door of the state-room, so that we could not see him. We then lighted the fire and cooked some dinner--or rather supper, for evening was drawing on. Anxious to be again at work, we hurried over the meal. "I say, Peter, don't you think we ought to bury the skipper?" asked Jim, after a long silence. "Not for some days to come," I answered; "I hope that we may get into port first, so as to lay him in a grave on shore." "I don't think it will make much odds to him; and, to say the truth, now he's dead, I'd rather he were out of the ship," said Jim; "they say it's unlucky to have a dead man on board." I had some difficulty in persuading Jim of the folly of such a notion, but we finally agreed that we would try to carry the captain's body to land. Before bending sails we took a look down forward to see the condition of the leaks. The handspikes were in their places, and, except a slight moisture round the holes, we could not discover that any water was getting in. Still there was a great deal too much in the brig for safety, so we took another spell at the pumps before going on with the rigging. Darkness found us hard at work. We were too tired and sleepy to attempt keeping a look-out, but I bethought me of hoisting a lantern at each masthead, which would save us from being run down should a breeze spring up during the night Jim thought the idea capital, and promised to get up and trim the lamps. Fortunately, the nights were short, so that there was not much necessity for that. Our chief wish now was that the calm would continue for a few hours during the next day, that we might get the brig to rights. "One spell more at the pumps!" cried Jim. We seized the brakes, worked till we could work no longer, then went below, ate some food from the pantry, and lying down in the two larboard berths in the cabin, were fast asleep in a few seconds. People talk of sleeping like tops. A hard-worked ship-boy will beat any top in the world at sleeping soundly. For a second night the brig lay becalmed. I doubt that if even a fierce gale had sprung up it would have awakened us. The sun was shining when I opened my eyes. It might have been shining for hours for what I could tell. I roused up Jim, and we sprang on deck, vexed at having, as we supposed, lost so much precious time. By the height of the sun above the horizon, however, we judged that it was not so late as we had at first fancied. The clock in the cabin had been unshipped when the brig went over, and the captain's watch had stopped, so that we had otherwise no means of knowing how the hours passed by. It was still perfectly calm. We looked round in all directions. Not a sail was in sight. "We must get ready for the breeze, Jim, when it does spring up," I said. "It will come before many hours are over, I've a notion." I had observed some light clouds just under the sun. "May be; but we must take a spell at the pumps first," he answered--his first thought was always of them. We turned to as before, till our arms ached, and then we ran down and got some breakfast. We knew the value of time, but we couldn't get on without eating, any more than other people. On returning to the deck we lowered the lanterns, which had long since gone out, finished bending the sails, fitting braces, tacks, sheets, and bowlines, and were then ready to hoist away. We at once set all the sails we had ready, to see how they stood. To our satisfaction, they appeared to greater advantage than we had expected. "They'll do!" cried Jim, as we surveyed them; "only let us get a breeze from the right quarter, and we'll soon make the land." Fortunately, the rudder had been uninjured when the brig went over, and the wheel was in order. I stood at the helm, longing for the time when I should see the brig moving through the water. I may say, once for all, that at very frequent intervals Jim and I went to the pumps, but he stood longer at the work than I did. There was urgent necessity for our doing so, as, notwithstanding all our exertions, we had but slightly diminished the water in the hold. When not thus occupied we did various things that were necessary about the brig; among others we got life-lines round the shattered bulwarks, so that should a heavy sea get up, we might run less risk of being washed overboard. We also went to the store-room, and brought to the cabin various descriptions of provisions, that we might have them at hand when wanted. We knew that when once we got a wind we should have no time to do anything besides navigating the vessel. I had gone below to get dinner ready, the only hot meal we took in the day, leaving Jim pumping, when I heard him sing out down the companion-hatchway-- "Here it comes, and a rattling breeze, too." I sprang on deck and went to the helm, while Jim stood ready to trim sails. Looking astern I could see a line of white foam sweeping along towards us over the surface of the ocean. Before it was up to us the sails bulged out, the brig gathered way, and presently she was gliding at the rate of three or four knots through the water. Jim and I shouted with exultation--we forgot the past--we thought not of the future. We believed that we were about to reap the fruit of our labours. For several hours we ran on with the wind right aft, steering due west. I steered for most of the time, but Jim occasionally relieved me. So eager were we that we forgot all about eating, till he cried out-- "I must have some food, Peter, or I shall drop." I was running below to get it, feeling just as hungry as he did, when the wind hauled more to the southward. We took a pull at the starboard braces, and I then hurried below to bring up what we wanted. Just as I was cutting some meat which had been boiling till the fire went out, I heard a crash. I sprang up on deck. The brig was again dismasted, and Jim was struggling in the waves astern. CHAPTER ELEVEN. DANGERS MULTIPLY. For a moment I could not believe my senses. I fell like a person in a dreadful dream. What, Jim gone! The brig again dismasted, and I left alone on board her with the body of our dead captain! I was recalled to myself by hearing a faint shout, and looking over the stern I saw my old friend struggling amidst the waves some distance off. My first impulse was to leap into the sea and swim to his rescue, but then the thought happily came to me that if I did we should be unable to regain the vessel; so, instead, crying out, "Keep up, Jim--keep up, I'll help you!" I did what was far more likely to prove effectual--I unrove the peak-halliards, cutting them clear with my knife, and fastened one end to the wooden grating over the cabin sky-light. This I threw overboard, and as I feared that the halliards would not prove long enough, I bent on another rope to them. The grating appeared to be dropping astern very fast; and yet Jim, who was swimming strongly, seemed to be nearing it very slowly, by which I knew that the brig must still, urged on by the impetus she had before received, be moving through the water. Securing the line, I therefore put down the helm, and completely stopped her way. All was done faster than I have described it. Springing back to the taffrail, with straining eyes I watched Jim, for more I could not do to help him, except to give an occasional shout to cheer him up. The dreadful thought came that there might be sharks about, or that his strength might fail him before he could reach the grating. I did more than cheer, though--I prayed to God with all my soul that Jim might be saved. Often he seemed scarcely to be moving through the water--now he threw himself on his back to rest--then he once more struck bravely out, replying as he did so to my cheer. At length he got near the grating. My heart gave a bound of joy as I saw him seize it, when he gradually drew himself up and lay flat on its surface, the best way for making it afford him support. With a shout to Jim to hold on, I began to haul in the raft till I brought it under the quarter. "Wait a minute, Jim, while I get a tackle ready to haul you on board," I cried out. This did not take me the time I said, and forming a bowline I lowered it to him. He seemed so exhausted that I was afraid lest in trying to pass it over his shoulders he might slide off the grating; and I was about to go down to assist him, when, seeing the rope, he slipped his arms through it and exclaimed, "Haul away, Peter." I was not long in obeying him, it may be supposed, and I almost cried with joy as I had him at length safe on deck. I knew that the first thing now to be done was to get off his wet clothes, and to give him a restorative, but I had a hard job to carry him below, as he could not help himself. "Never mind, Peter," he said, faintly; "I shall soon be all to rights again." But I was not going to leave him in the cold air on deck, so going first, I let him slip gradually down the companion-ladder, and then stripping off his clothes, in a short time had him snug between the blankets. I then quickly relighted the fire and warmed up the broth I had before cooked, while I hung up Jim's clothes to dry. The hot broth seemed greatly to restore him, but as he was pretty well worn out before he had gone overboard, it is no wonder that as soon as the basin was emptied he fell fast asleep. I had not stopped to ask him how the accident had occurred, but I suspected, as I afterwards found was the case, that as the masts fell a rope had somehow or other caught his legs and whisked him overboard. He was, however, never very clear how it happened. Having performed my duties below, and taken some food, which I greatly needed, I went on deck. It was still blowing fresh, but there was not much sea on, and the brig lay like a log on the water. To my great relief I found that none of the spars or sails had been lost, all of them having fallen inboard, so I set to work to secure them as well as I could, knowing that till Jim was strong enough to help me I could do nothing towards getting up the masts again. I did not for a moment contemplate giving up the struggle. I next went down into the fore-peak to see if our arrangements for keeping out the water were secure. Nothing had moved. Still, as I knew that the water must be coming in and might gain upon us dangerously, I took a spell at pumping. This pretty well exhausted all my remaining strength, yet before turning in to get some rest there was another thing to be done. We might be in the track of some vessel or other, and should the night prove dark might be run down and sent to the bottom while we were asleep. I therefore trimmed the lamp in one of the lanterns, and with great labour having lashed a spar to the stump of the foremast, hoisted the lantern to the top of it. This done I could do no more, and crawling into my cabin was soon fast asleep in my berth. I slept tranquilly, knowing that He who had hitherto preserved us was watching over us still. I was awakened by the clanking sound of the pump. It was broad daylight; Jim was not in his berth, and on springing on deck there I saw him in his shirt and trowsers hard at work, forcing up the water at a great rate. "I'm all to rights, Peter," he said, in a cheerful tone, "and as I guessed that you had been up long after I went to sleep, I thought as how I would take a spell at the pump before rousing you up." Thanking him for his thoughtfulness, I seized the other brake and pumped till my arms ached. "Now, Peter, we must see about getting up the masts again," he said, when he saw me knock off. "You want some breakfast first, and so do I," I answered. "We'll then set to work with a will." We took some food, which rested and refreshed us, and then commenced the task we had undertaken. The wind had again fallen. What there was of it was fair, and the sea was almost as smooth as a mill-pond. Had it been rough we could scarcely have attempted the work. We had first to unreeve all the ropes, and unbend all the sails. We then selected two much stouter spars than before for fresh masts, got the standing rigging over their heads, and by means of tackles got them set up to the stumps of the fore and main masts, next securing them much more effectually we hoped than the former jury-masts had been, with light spars of different lengths lashed round them, and additional backstays. We made such good progress that by night we were almost ready to hoist the sails, having all the time rested only for a few minutes to obtain some food and then going on again. Nature, however, at last gave way, and if we stopped for a moment we went fast asleep with a rope or marlinespike in our hands. "It's no use trying to keep awake, Jim," I said. He, in a sleepy voice, agreed, and having again hoisted the lantern we went below to get the rest we so much needed. The next morning I heard as before the pump going. It was still dark, but Jim had awoke, and this was always his first thought. I joined him, and we laboured on till there was light enough to enable us to bend sails. The wind being fair we soon had them hoisted, and I went to the helm, Jim pulling and hauling to trim them as required. It must be understood that everything was done in a rough-and-ready fashion, but it was the best we could do. Once more the brig glided on towards the west at the rate, as we supposed, of three or four knots an hour. Jim, having done all that was required, took my place at the helm while I went below to get some food for breakfast. As I was unwilling to be off the deck a moment longer than was necessary, without stopping to light the fire I brought up a supply of provisions and water to last us for some time, as also some cloaks and blankets. We agreed that we must content ourselves with cold water, and ham, and cheese, and bread, and be thankful, remembering how many poor fellows had been much worse off than we were. We ate a hearty meal, I feeding Jim while he steered. He did not appear to have suffered from his long swim, except that he complained of being very sleepy. I therefore advised him to lie down on the coats and blankets I had brought on deck to get some rest, while I took his place at the helm, promising to call him should the breeze freshen and it become necessary to shorten sail. He agreed and I steered on, now looking at the compass, now at the canvas, and now all around on the chance of a vessel appearing from which we might learn our position. I own that I should have been very unwilling for any one to have come on board to take the brig into harbour, for we both thought how proud we should feel if we could carry her in ourselves without help. Still, for the sake of the owners we could not, we had agreed, refuse assistance should it be offered us. At last my eyes began to close, and it was with the greatest difficulty that I could keep them open, or prevent myself from sinking down on the deck. I was, therefore, very thankful when I saw Jim begin to move. I uttered his name. He was on his feet in an instant. "I'll take a spell at the pump first," he said, rubbing his eyes and looking round, especially ahead; "then I'll come to the helm." Talking to him aroused me a little, and I was able to hold on till he relieved me. I was almost asleep before I sank down on the blanket, only just hearing him say, "We must keep a bright look-out ahead, for we ought soon to be making the land." That sleep did me a great deal of good. We agreed that we would both take as much as we could during the day, that we might be more wide-awake at night. I had observed that there was something on Jim's mind, and while we were at supper, soon after sunset, I asked him what it was. "Why, you see, as I said afore, I wish that our old skipper was, somehow or other, out of the ship. Now if you are willing, Peter, I'll sew him up all comfortable like in an old sail, with a pig of iron at the feet; and as you are a better scholar than I am, you can say the prayers over him while we lower him overboard, and to my mind he'll be just as well off as he would be ashore." I reminded Jim that he had before consented to our keeping the body as long as we could, but knowing that his superstitious ideas induced him to make the proposal, and that he was really uncomfortable, I agreed to bury our skipper at the end of three days if we did not by that time sight the land. The night and another day went by, the wind still holding fair. I pointed out to Jim how thankful we should be for this, as I was certain that in the latitude where we were there was seldom so long a continuance of fine weather. He, however, was far from easy in his mind. He was sure, he said, that we ought to have seen the land before this, and was continually, when not working the pump, going forward to look out for it. "I knows that England is an island, as the song says, `Our right little, tight little island;' and don't you think that somehow we may have passed to the nor'ard of it, and be going away into the Atlantic?" "I hope not," I answered; "for if so we shall not get into port till we have run right across it; but I am sure the captain never intended us to do that when he told us to steer west; I think rather that we have not been going as fast as we supposed. I'll heave the log and try, though it will be a difficult job to do so." I got out the reel and glass. The latter I gave to Jim to hold with one hand, while he steered with the other. The handle of the reel I managed to put into a hole in the shattered bulwarks, so that it could run round easily. I then took the log-ship in my right hand and hove it. "Turn!" I cried. "Turn!" said Jim. The line ran slowly out. "Stop!" cried Jim. I examined the line. Two knots and a half was all it showed. Jim thought we were going four. I was thus certain that we had run a much shorter distance than he supposed, but he was not convinced that I was right. Day and night, between the intervals of pumping, he went forward to look out. Another day went by. It was again night Jim had been a long time pumping when he said that he would go forward and look out till it was his turn to take the helm. I advised him rather to lie down, as I was sure that he must be tired, but he would not, and away he went into the darkness towards the bows. I every now and then hailed him and he answered. I had not hailed for some time when I felt the breeze freshen. The main-topsail and mainsail bulged out, straining at the sheets, and the masts began to complain. "Jim! Jim!" I shouted, "shorten sail, be smart about it." But Jim did not answer. I dared not leave the helm lest the brig should broach to and our masts again be carried overboard. Once more I shouted, "Jim! Jim!" Still he did not come, and the dreadful idea arose in my mind that he had fallen overboard. At last I could withstand the desire no longer of rushing forward to ascertain what had become of him. What mattered it, if he were lost, what else might happen? I made a dash forward, keeping my eye on the stars. I had got as far as the mainmast when I saw that the brig's head was moving round, so I sprang back to right the helm. Again and again I shrieked out my companion's name at the top of my voice, springing forward, but had only got a little farther than before when I had to return. The wind continued to get up. The masts would go, I saw, if sail were not shortened. I let go the main-topsail, and throat and peak-halliards. The sails flapped loudly in the wind, but as the brig now kept more steadily before it, I thought that I should be able to reach the forecastle, though I had very little hope of finding Jim. I was still shouting his name, when what was my joy to hear him cry out, "Hillo! What's the matter?" and I saw his head rise from just before the windlass. I never in my life felt more inclined to abuse him for the fright he had given me, thankful as I was that no harm had happened to him. I did not even tell him how much I had been alarmed, but merely cried out, "Come, be smart, Jim, we must stow the canvas." We were beginning to do so, when the wind fell, and instead we again hoisted the fore-topsail. Jim owned that while he fancied he was looking out his legs gave way and that he had sunk down on the deck. "Take care that the same doesn't happen when you are steering, or worse consequences may follow," I remarked. He now let me take my nap, and when I awoke he said that we had had a famous run; but towards noon the wind dropped, and it became towards evening a stark calm. This lasted all night and far into the next day. "Peter, do you know if there's a prayer-book aboard?" asked Jim. The question surprised me. I was nearly certain that there was not. "Well then, you can say some prayers without one," he continued. "For, Peter, there's no use talking longer about it; we must bury the skipper." Reluctantly I agreed. Jim got a piece of canvas, a sail-maker's needle, and some twine, with a pig of iron ballast which had been used in one of the boats. As there was no sign of a breeze, with these he went below, and for the first time since his death opened the captain's state-room. We brought the corpse into the main cabin, and placing it on the canvas, without loss of time Jim began sewing it up. The old man's kind face had scarcely changed. We took one respectful last look at it, and then Jim, drawing the canvas over it, shut it out from sight. We had now to get the body on deck, but without a tackle this we could not have done. At last we managed to haul it up the companion-ladder. When Jim went below for more canvas and twine to fasten on the pig of iron to the feet, we had been longer about our task than we had supposed. Looking astern, I saw that the sky was darkened by heavy masses of clouds, while a line of foam came hissing over the surface of the deep towards us. "Quick! Quick! Jim," I shouted; "shorten sail, or the masts will be over the side!" I ran as I spoke to the halliards; he followed; we had to be smart about it, and even thus the gale was on us before we could get the canvas stowed. That was not to be done in a hurry. First one sail got loose, then another, and we had to hurry to secure them. The sea rose with unusual suddenness, and the brig was soon tossing about in a way which made us fear that another leak would be sprung, or the old ones break out. We managed at length to set the fore-topsail, closely reefed, and I going to the helm, we ran before the gale. If Jim was before anxious about our being near the land, he was more so now. His eyes were nearly always turned ahead, but I began to think more about the leaks. I asked him what he thought. "We'll try the well," he answered. No sooner had he examined the rod than he exclaimed-- "We must turn to at the pumps, Peter, if we don't want to go to the bottom." We no longer thought of burying the captain, or doing anything but keeping the brig afloat. The night began; Jim worked away as hard as his failing strength would allow. I shouted to him to let me take a spell. "No, no; you keep at the helm, Peter," he answered; "I'll work till I drop." He only stopped now and then to take a look-out ahead. The gale seemed to be increasing; the brig pitched and rolled more and more. Suddenly there came a loud clap. The foresail had given way. Jim ran forward, and lowered it on deck. As I could no longer be of use at the helm, I ran to his help, and we tried to set it again, but all our efforts were in vain. Every moment, too, the seas now raging round the vessel threatened to break on board. "Peter, the water is coming in as fast as we get it out, and if we don't keep pumping it will gain upon us," said Jim. For fear of being carried away, we made ourselves fast to some stanchions near the pumps, so that we could reach the brakes, and worked away till we were both ready to drop. Now and then we had to stop to draw breath and regain our strength. The hard battered brig pitched and rolled and tumbled, the seas dancing up wildly on every side of her. Again we had stopped, when Jim exclaimed, "Hark! I hear the breakers." I listened. The dreaded sound reached my ears. The brig was driving rapidly towards them. CHAPTER TWELVE. PORT REACHED IN AN UNEXPECTED MANNER. The sound of the breakers grew louder and louder. Every instant we expected to find the brig sent crashing on the rocks, and to have the furious seas breaking over us. "There's no use pumping any longer, Peter," said Jim. "We must cling to whatever we can get hold of, and hope for the chance of being hove up on the beach, if there is one." "A poor chance that," I could not help answering. "Perhaps the brig may be driven in between some rocks, and will hold together till the morning; if not we must be prepared to die." And I spoke to him as I think my mother would have spoken to me. Clinging to the shattered bulwarks, we waited for the dreadful event with all the resignation we could muster. Still the crash did not come, though the vessel appeared to be tossed about even more violently than before. "Peter, the breakers don't sound so loud as they did just now," exclaimed Jim, after some time. "Let's look at the compass," I said, casting off the rope round my waist. "I'll go too," cried Jim, doing the same. "What happens to you shall happen to both." Together we made our way to the binnacle, in which the lamp was still burning. As we eagerly examined the compass we found that the wind had shifted to the south-west, and if there was land, as we supposed, to the westward, was blowing partly off shore. We must have drifted past a headland, on which we had heard the seas breaking. Had the foresail stood we should have run on it, and we had cause, therefore, to be thankful that it had given way. Now, however, as it was important to keep off the land, we attempted to secure the clew and tack, and hauling together succeeded in again hoisting it. I then ran to the helm, and found that I could steer east by north or thereabouts. Though the brig moved very slowly, still I believed that we were getting away from the dreaded shore. We ran on for some time, when once more the wind shifted to the eastward of south, and blew with greater fury than before. "It's drawing more and more to the east," said Jim, looking at the compass. We hauled down the foresail, as it would only, we believed, drive us the faster to destruction. The brig tumbled and rolled and pitched about in a way that made it difficult for us to keep our feet, and every now and then the seas, washing over the deck, would have swept us off had we not again lashed ourselves to the stanchions near the pumps. These we worked as vigorously as our failing strength would allow. We had resolved not to give in while the brig remained afloat. How we longed for daylight, that we might see where we were, and judge how we could best try to save ourselves! That we were again driving towards the terrible rocks we knew too well, and several times Jim stopped pumping to listen for the sound of the breakers. At length he exclaimed, "I hear them, Peter! In less than ten minutes the brig will be in pieces! Good-bye, if the sea gets us; but we'll have a fight for it; so the moment she strikes we'll cast ourselves off from the stanchions." We were shaking hands while he spoke. I was not quite certain that I did hear the breakers, the noises on board the tumbling vessel making it difficult to distinguish sounds. Shortly after this there came a lull, but we thought it only the prelude to another squall. The wind fell more and more. "I see day breaking!" cried Jim, looking eastward. Faint yellow and red streaks were visible in that direction under the dark mass of clouds. The light increased, and to the westward, fringed by a line of rugged black rocks, a green island gradually rose before our sight. There were grassy slopes, and cliffs, and high, steep, round-topped hills, with clear streams running between them, forming lakelets near the beach, glittering in the rays of the rising sun, now bursting through the dissolving clouds. Far as our eyes could reach not a tree was visible, nor could we discover a single cottage or other habitation of man. As the light increased we found that we were about half a mile away from the entrance of a narrow gulf, which extended apparently far inland. Not a boat floated on the surface of the gulf, not a sail was to be seen along the coast. "I'm greatly afeared that yonder is a dissolute island," (meaning a desolate island), "and if no help comes to us from the shore we may be blown out to sea, and be worse off than before," said Jim. The wind had fallen to an almost perfect calm, but what there was blew out of the gulf, so that we could not hope to take the vessel up it, while the breakers still burst in sheets of foam on the rocks, and we lay tossed up and down by the glassy rolling seas. We were utterly helpless. While we were at breakfast a thought occurred to me. "I'll tell you what we'll do, Jim," I said; "we'll build a raft, put the poor old captain on it, take him ashore, and bury him. If we can find no people or houses we'll go off again. The brig won't drift far away in the meantime. If the wind will let us we'll run into the gulf, or if it shifts to the northward we'll steer along shore to the south and look out for another harbour. From what the captain said we may be sure there is one not far off where we shall find people to help us." Jim jumped at my proposal. "That's it, Peter; when once the dead man is out of the brig things will go better with us," he answered. I did not stop to argue the point, but turned to at once with him to form the proposed raft. We had plenty of spars below, so that our undertaking was not so difficult as it would have been had we not had a good supply. We first cut them into lengths with a saw we found below, and having placed them side by side, lashed others across on the top of them. Eager as we were to finish our task, we had more than once to stop and rest, for we were both very weak, and I felt a sensation of weariness I had not ever before experienced. In fact, we were thoroughly knocked up from the hard work we had gone through, and the little time we had had for rest. Having completed the raft and formed some paddles, we launched it overboard and secured it alongside. "Now, Jim," I said, "we must take some provisions, in case there are no people on the island, as we may have a longer pull back than we may like, and we have to bring up the captain and put him on the raft." We quickly collected some provisions, and I took the empty water-jar from the pantry. "What's that for?" asked Jim. "There's water enough on shore, surely." "Yes, but if we have a long pull back to the brig we shall be thankful for water," I answered. While thus employed we heard a voice coming from no great distance hail, "Ship ahoy!" My heart leapt within me at the sound, and running to the side we saw a boat with five men in her pulling towards us. An oldish man of portly figure, who looked like a sea captain, was steering. "Are ye the only people aboard?" he sang out as he saw us. "The only live ones, sir," answered Jim. There was no time to exchange more words before the boat was alongside, and the old gentleman and his men stepped on board. He gave a look of surprise as he saw the captain's body, and he then, turning to us, appeared more surprised still. "Why, my laddies, what has happened? How did this craft come here?" he asked, in a kind tone. I briefly told him how the masts had been carried away and the people washed overboard, and how the captain had been struck down and afterwards had died, and how we had kept him to bury him decently on shore, adding-- "He told us to steer west, sir, and so we did, but we don't know what country we've come to." "Why, surely, to Shetland, laddies," he answered. "But if ye had kept a little farther to the north ye would have passed our islands and run into the Atlantic, and it's weel for ye that ye didna do that. And now my men and I will take your craft up the voe and anchor her in safety. We might carry her to Lerwick, but the weather is unsettled, and she's na weel fitted to encounter another gale, no discredit to ye, laddies." Our new friend evidently compassionated our forlorn condition; indeed, now that the necessity for exerting ourselves was over, we both sank down utterly exhausted on the deck. The Shetlanders would have carried us below, but we begged to remain where we were, that we might see what was going forward. They therefore left us, and having placed the captain's body on the main hatch, covered by a flag, they proceeded to pull our raft to pieces and to hoist the spars composing it on board. This done, the four men jumped into the boat, and going ahead began to tow the brig, while the old gentleman went to the helm to steer. Before long, however, a breeze from the eastward springing up, the boat returned alongside, the men hoisted the canvas, and we stood in towards the voe, as the gulf, we found, was called. I could just distinguish the high green hills, with here and there grey cliffs and rocks jutting out from these on either side, as we sailed up the voe, but my eyes grew dimmer and dimmer till the brig's anchor was dropped, and I was just aware that we were being placed in the boat to be carried on shore. When I came to myself I found that I was in a comfortable bed with curtains round it, the sun shining brightly through the open window of the room, which looked neater and prettier than any I had ever slept in. Hearing a footstep, I peered through the curtains, and saw a lady and a little girl come in, carrying in their hands some things which they placed on the table. "I think the poor boy is awake, auntie," whispered the little girl. "I heard him move." "Perhaps he was only moving in his sleep, but I will see," answered the lady, and she approached the bed. I was looking all the time at the little girl, who seemed to me like an angel or a fairy, or some being altogether brighter than I had ever seen before--even than my sister Mary. "Yes, marm, I am awake, thank you," I said, as she opened the curtains, "and please, I want to get up and go aboard the brig to look after her and to see that our old captain is buried." "He was buried by the minister the day you came, and the brig is taken very good care of," she answered. "My father, Mr Angus Troil, has written to the owners to inform them of what has happened to her and of your brave conduct. He hopes soon to hear from them." "Thank you, marm," I again said, puzzled to know what the lady meant about hearing soon from Mr Gray, for I had supposed that Shetland was a long way from England. My first thought, however, had been about Jim. "Please, marm, where is the other boy, my shipmate?" I asked. "He was very ill only for three or four days, and is now well enough to go down to the brig with my father," she replied. "But I must not let you talk too much. You were to have some food, the doctor said, when you came to yourself. Here, Maggie, bring the broth and toast." Thereon the little girl brought the tray to the bedside and gazed compassionately at me, while the lady put the food into my mouth, for I was too weak to do so myself. It now dawned on me from what the lady said that I must have been in a state of unconsciousness for many days, and such I found was the case. I recollected nothing that had passed since I was placed in the boat. I could not speak much, but when I had finished the basin of broth I said-- "I am very thankful to you and your little daughter, marm, for all you have done for me." "You deserve to be taken care of, my boy," she answered; "but this little girl is not my daughter. Her father was my brother. He was lost at sea while captain of a ship, and her mother has since died, so that she is very precious to us." I looked at little Maggie with even more interest than before, and I said-- "My father was also drowned, and so was my grandfather, and I believe his father before him, for I come of a seafaring family." "That has been likewise the fate of many of the Troils," said the lady; "but I must not let you talk more now. Before long my father and your young shipmate will be returning, and they will be glad to hear from your own lips how you feel. In the meantime try to go to sleep again. The doctor says that the more you sleep the sooner you will regain your strength. Saying this, the lady, followed by the little girl, left the room." I thought over what she had said to me, and kept repeating to myself, "Margaret Troil! Margaret Troil! I know that name, I am sure!" but I did not think long before I forgot where I was and what had happened. I saw Maggie's sweet face peeping in at me when I woke, but as soon as she saw that my eyes were open she ran off, and shortly afterwards Mr Troil and Jim came into the room. The old gentleman spoke very kindly; told me that I must consider myself at home, and that though he hoped I should soon get well, I must be in no hurry to go away. He then went out, saying to Jim, "I can let you stay only five minutes with your friend. When the time is up I must call you." Jim could at first scarcely speak for joy at seeing me so much better. He then told me how highly Mr Troil spoke of me and him for the way we had kept the brig afloat, and brought her to the coast of Shetland. "I told him as how it wasn't us who did it," continued Jim, "but that God sent the wind as blew us here; and he says to me, `To be sure, that was the case in one way, but then that God rewarded your efforts, and thus you deserve great credit for what you did.' He promises to see that we are rewarded, and to do all he can for us himself. I told him as how you were really captain, and that I couldn't have done anything by myself, except pump, and that I had done with a will, seeing I am bigger and stronger than you." I was inclined to smile at Jim's modesty, though I felt very grateful to him for speaking so well of me, and was about to ask him what Mr Troil said in return, when our host called him out of the room. I was thus left to myself, except when the lady, who Jim had told me was Miss Troil, the old gentleman's daughter, or little Maggie looked in to see if I wanted anything. Two days after this I was able to dress and sit out in front of the house, enjoying the sun and air, looking down on the voe in which lay our brig, with a small sloop and several fishing vessels and boats. On that side, looking to the south, there was a view of the voe and the opposite bank, but on all the others the house, a square stone building, was protected by a high wall close to it, built to keep off the biting cold winds and snow of winter. Jim was out with Mr Troil, and as Miss Troil was engaged, Maggie came and sat by me with a book, and read and talked to me for a long time, getting me to tell her all about myself and our perilous voyage, till her aunt summoned her to attend to some household affairs. When I returned to my room I found that my chest had been brought on shore and placed there. Miss Troil came in and took out the things, which, having become damp and mildewy, she wished to dry. While doing so she came upon my old Testament, which, chancing to open, she examined the inside of the cover with intense curiosity. "Why, Peter, how did you come by this?" she asked. The family had got by this time to call me Peter. I told her that it had belonged to my father's mother, and then for the first time since I came to Shetland I recollected that the name in it was spelt in the same way as that of my host. "I must ask my father about this!" she exclaimed. "He had an uncle called Angus, after whom he was named, and who married a Margaret Halcro. There are none of the family remaining in Shetland, though at one time they were numerous. Peter, I should not be surprised if it turns out that you are a kinsman of ours. Should you like to be so?" "Indeed I should!" I answered; "I feel as if I were one already, from the kind way you have treated me, even before you thought I might be a relative." When Mr Trail came in he listened attentively to what his daughter told him, and, having examined the handwriting in the Testament, asked me the ages of my father and grandmother, and all other particulars I could tell him. "I have no doubt about your being a near relative of ours, Peter, and I rejoice to find you one, my dear boy," he said; "though why my aunt Margaret Troil did not come back to her husband's relatives after her husband's death I cannot tell." "Perhaps she had not the means to make the journey, or my father had gone away to sea, and she was afraid that he might be unable to find her on his return if she left her home; or, now I think of it, I remember my father saying that she died soon after my grandfather was lost, when he himself was a little chap." "Well, all is ordered for the best, though we don't see how," said Mr Troil. "And now you have come you must stay with us and turn back into a Shetlander. What do you say to my proposal?" "Oh, do stay with us, Cousin Peter!" exclaimed Maggie, taking my hand and looking up in my face. "Indeed, I should like very much to do so," I answered, "but there is my sister Mary, and I cannot desert her, even though I know that she is well off with Mr Gray." "Then Peter must go and fetch her!" exclaimed Maggie. "Oh, I should so like to have her here! I would love her as a sister." "A bright idea of yours, Maggie," said Mr Troil. "What do you say to it, Peter? I will furnish you with ample funds, and you can be back here in a month, as I feel very sure that your friend Mr Gray will willingly allow Mary to come." I need not say that I gladly accepted my generous relative's proposal, and it was arranged that as soon as I had quite recovered my strength I should go south in the first vessel sailing from Lerwick, accompanied by Jim, who wanted to see his friends, and hoped to be able to work his passage both ways, so that he might not be separated from me. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. A DISASTROUS VOYAGE. I was soon myself again, and ready for the proposed voyage southward. Accordingly, Mr Troil having received directions from Mr Gray to send the _Good Intent_ to Lerwick to be refitted, Tom and I, bidding farewell, as we hoped, only for a short season to Miss Troil and Maggie, went on board the brig to assist in carrying her there, intending to proceed by the first vessel sailing after our arrival. Mr Troil sent us a pilot and a good crew to navigate the vessel, and accompanied her himself in his sloop, that he might assist us if necessary. The wind was fair and the sea smooth, and thus without accident we arrived in that fine harbour called Brassa Sound, on the shore of which Lerwick, the capital of the islands, stands. We there found a vessel shortly to sail for Newcastle. Having taken in a cargo of coals, she was thence to proceed to Portsmouth. This so exactly suited our object that Mr Troil at once engaged a passage on board her for Jim and me. After Portsmouth the town appeared small, but the inhabitants have large warm hearts, and were very kind to Jim and me. As he remarked, it is better to have large hearts and live in a small place than small cold hearts and to live in a large place. They seemed never to tire of asking us questions about our voyage in the _Good Intent_, and how we two boys alone managed to rig jury-masts and to keep her afloat. "By just knowing how to do our work and sticking to it," answered Jim, to one of our friends. If we had remained much longer at Lerwick we should have begun to fancy ourselves much more important persons than we really were; but the brig _Nancy_, Captain Gowan, was ready for sea, and wishing farewell to my kind relative, Mr Troil, who set sail in his ship to return home, we went on board. We soon afterwards got under way with a fair breeze, and before night had left Sumburgh Head, the lofty point which forms the southern end of the Shetland Islands, far astern. The _Nancy_ was a very different sort of craft from the _Good Intent_. She was an old ill-found vessel, patched up in an imperfect manner, and scarcely seaworthy. Jim and I agreed that if she were to meet with the bad weather we encountered in our old ship she would go to the bottom or drive ashore. We discovered also before long that Captain Gowan was a very different person from our former captain. He had conducted himself pretty well on shore, so that people spoke of him as a very decent man, but when once at sea he threw off all restraint, abused the crew, quarrelled with the mate, and neglected us, who had been placed under his charge. Jim, who had to work his passage, slept in the fore-peak, but I was berthed aft. I, however, did as much duty as anyone. Jim told me that the men were a rough lot, and that he had never heard worse language in his life. They tried to bully him, but as he was strong enough to hold his own, and never lost his temper, they gave up the attempt. Captain Gowan growled when I came in to dinner the first day, which I knew that I had a right to do, and he asked if every ship-boy was to be turned into a young gentleman because he happened to have saved his life while others lost theirs? I did not answer him, for I saw an empty bottle on the locker, and another by his side with very little liquor remaining in it. After this I kept out of his way, and got my meals from the cook as best I could. Jim and I agreed that if the _Nancy_ had not been going direct to Portsmouth, we should do well to leave her at Newcastle, and try to make our way south on board some other vessel. Although we went, I believe, much out of our proper course, we at last entered the Tyne. Soon after we brought up, several curiously-shaped boats, called kreels, came alongside, containing eight tubs, each holding a chaldron; these tubs being hoisted on board, their bottoms were opened and the coals fell into the hold. The kreels, which were oval in shape, were propelled by a long oar or pole on each side, worked by a man who walked along the gunwale from the bow to the stern, pressing the upper end with his shoulder while the lower touched the ground. Another man stood in the stern with a similar long oar to steer. The crews were fine hardy fellows, known as kreelmen. I was astonished to hear them call each other bullies, till I found that the term signified "brothers." So bully Saunders meant brother Saunders. Jim and I had had the sense to put on our working clothes, which was fortunate, as before long, with the coal-dust flying about, we were as black as negroes, but as everything and all on board were coloured with the same brush, we did not mind that. With the help of the kreelmen the _Nancy_ was soon loaded, and we again sailed for the southward. Matters did not improve. The captain, having abstained from liquor while on shore, recompensed himself by taking a double allowance, and became proportionably morose and ill-tempered, never speaking civilly to me, and often passing a whole day without exchanging a word with his poor mate; and when he did open his mouth it was to abuse. The brig, though tolerably tight when light, now that she had a full cargo, as soon as a sea got up began to leak considerably, so that each watch had to pump for an hour to keep the water under. Jim and I took our turns without being ordered, but though accustomed to the exercise, it was hard work. When we cried "Spell ho!" for others to take our places, the captain shouted, "You began to pump for your own pleasure, now you shall go on for mine, you young rascals!" The men, however, though they at first laughed, having more humanity than the skipper, soon relieved us. This was the third day after we sailed, when the wind shifting to the south-west, and then to the south, we stood away to the eastward in order to double the North Foreland. After some time it came on to blow harder than ever, but the brig was made snug in time, though the leaks increased, and all hands in a watch were kept, spell and spell, at the pumps. The captain behaved just as before, drinking all day long, though he did not appear to lose his senses altogether. The mate, however, looked very anxious as the vessel pitched into the seas each time more violently than before. I asked him if he thought she would keep afloat. "That's more than I can promise you, my boy," he answered. "If the wind falls, and the sea goes down, we may perhaps manage to keep the leaks under; but if I were the captain I would run for Harwich or the Thames sooner than attempt to thrash the vessel round the Foreland." "Why don't you propose that to him, and if he does not agree, just steer as you think best?" I said. "I suspect that he would not find out in what direction we were standing." "Wouldn't he, though! Why, Peter, I tell you he would swear there was a mutiny, and knock me overboard," answered the poor mate in a tone of alarm. He was evidently completely cowed by the captain, and dared not oppose him. The night was just coming on; the seas kept breaking over the bows, washing the deck fore and aft, and the clank of the pumps was heard without cessation. The captain sat in his cabin, either drinking or sleeping, except when occasionally he clambered on deck, took a look around while holding on to the companion-hatch, and then, apparently thinking that all was going on well, went below again. When I could pump no longer I turned in, thinking it very probable that I should never see another sunrise. By continually pumping, the brig was kept afloat during the night; but when I came on deck in the morning, the mate, who looked as if he would drop from fatigue, told me that the leaks were gaining on us. We were now far out, I knew, in the German Ocean, and if the brig should go down, there was too much sea running to give us a chance of saving ourselves. Some time after daylight the captain came on deck, and he had not been there long when there was a lull. "Hands about ship!" he shouted. The watch below tumbled up, and the brig was got round. "Will you take charge, sir?" humbly asked the mate. "I have been on deck all night, and can scarcely stand." The captain raved at him for a lazy hound. "I haven't turned in, either," he said, though he had been asleep in his chair for several hours. "I want my breakfast; when I've had that I'll relieve you." The mate made no reply, and as soon as the captain went below he hurried forward to bid the cook make haste with the cabin breakfast. It was a difficult matter, however, to keep the galley fire alight, or the pots on it in their places. The weather seemed to be improving, but the men were well-nigh worn out with pumping. When the captain at last came on deck, in spite of their grumbling, he kept them labouring away as hard as ever, and ordered Jim and me to take our turn with the rest. This we did willingly, as we knew that unless all exerted themselves the brig must founder. As noon approached, the captain brought up his quadrant, and sent below to summon the mate to take observations though the clouds hung so densely over the sky that there was but little chance of doing this. "Might as well try to shoot the sun at midnight as now, with the clouds as dark as pitch," growled the mate. "What was the use of calling me up for such fool's work?" "What's that you say?" shouted the captain. "Do you call me a fool?" "Yes, I do, if you expect to take an observation with such a sky as we have got overhead," answered the mate. "Then take that!" screamed the captain, throwing the quadrant he held in his hand at the mate's head, not, for the moment, probably, recollecting what it was. It struck the mate on the temple, who, falling, let his own quadrant go, and both were broken to pieces. "Here's a pretty business," cried one of the men, "I wonder now what will become of us!" Good reason we had to wonder. The mate, picking himself up, flew at the captain, and a fearful struggle ensued. Both were too excited to know what they were about, and the captain, who was the stronger of the two, would have hove the mate overboard had not the crew rushed aft and separated them. The mate then went below, and the captain rolled about the deck, stamping and shouting that he would be revenged on him. At last he also went down into the cabin. Fearing that he would at once put his fearful threats into execution and attack the mate, I followed, intending to call the crew to my assistance should it be necessary. I saw him, however, take another pull at the rum bottle, and then, growling and muttering, turn into his bed. I waited till I supposed that he was asleep, and then I went to the mate's berth. "There is no one in charge of the deck, sir," I said. "And if it was to blow harder, as it seems likely to do, I don't know what will happen." "Nor do I either, Peter, with such a drunken skipper as ours," he answered. "What are the men about?" "They have knocked off from the pumps, and if you don't come on deck and order them to turn to again they'll let the brig go down without making any further effort to save her," I answered. My remarks had some effect, for though the mate had himself been drinking, or he would not have spoken as he did to the captain, he yet had some sense left in his head. He at last got up and came on deck. All the hands, except the man at the helm, were crouching down under the weather-bulwarks to avoid the showers of spray flying in dense masses over us. The sea had increased, and though we had not much sail set, the brig was heeling over to the furious blasts which every now and then struck her; if she righted it was only to bend lower still before the next. "Do you want to lose your lives or keep them, lads?" shouted the mate, after sounding the well. "Well then, I can tell you that if you don't turn to at once and work hard, and very hard, too, the brig will be at the bottom before the morning." Still the men did not move. Jim was holding on near me. "Come, let you and me try what we can do," I said; "we have pumped to good purpose before now." Jim needed no second asking. Seizing the brakes, we began, and pumped away with all our might, making the water rush across the deck in a full stream. Before long one man got up and joined, then another, and another. When we got tired and cried, "Spell ho!" the rest took our places. "I see you want to save your lives, lads," cried the mate, who occasionally took a spell himself. "But you must keep at it, or it will be of no use." All that day we stood on, the crew pumping without intermission. "If the wind moderates we'll set more sail," said the mate; "but the brig has as much on her as she can bear. We must be soon looking out for land, though. You, Peter, have a sharp pair of eyes--go aloft, and try if you can see it." Though the vessel was heeling over terribly at the time, I was about to obey, when Jim said, "No, you stay on deck; let me go, Peter." To this I would not agree. "Then I'll go with you," said Jim. So we both crawled up the weather-rigging together. Jim said he thought that he saw land on the starboard bow, but I did not get a glimpse of it, and felt sure that he was mistaken; at all events there was no land visible ahead. We remained aloft till darkness came on, and there was no use remaining longer. We made our reports to the mate. He said that Jim was right, and that we had probably passed the South Foreland. This was, however, I suspected, only to encourage the men to keep at the pumps. All night long, spell and spell, we laboured away. When the morning broke no land was in sight. By this time we were all pretty well knocked up, and most of the men declared that they could pump no longer. The mate now tried to make them keep on, reminding them that if they did not they would lose their lives. Some answered that they would take their chance, but Jim and I and others kept at our duty. Even we, however, began to feel that the struggle would be useless unless we should soon make the land, for the mate could not deny that the water was gaining on us. The wind, however, began to moderate, and the sun bursting forth from between the clouds cheered us up a little. At last the captain came on deck. After looking about him for some time he told me to go below and get his quadrant. He was apparently sober, and seemed to have forgotten what had happened. "Have you a second one, sir?" I asked. "No; bring the one I always use," he answered. "You hove it at the mate yesterday, sir," I said. "And he fell and broke his." "What lies are you telling, youngster?" he exclaimed, uttering a fearful oath. Then he shouted to the mate, who had gone forward to be out of his way. "Did I heave my quadrant at you?" "Yes, you did," answered the mate. "You made me break mine, too, and if we lose our lives you'll have them on your head." The captain made no reply. I think that the occurrence must have flashed on his mind. He looked at the compass, took two or three turns on deck, and then ordered more sail to be set, directly afterwards changing the ship's course to north-west. I therefore supposed that we were steering for the Downs, or perhaps for Saint Helens. The men, though very tired, went on pumping far more willingly than before. A bright look-out was kept for land, but no land appeared. For some hours the brig made fair progress, but as the evening drew on the wind again got up. The captain had gone below. He could not resist taking a pull at the rum bottle. We were carrying topsails and topgallantsails. A sudden squall laid the brig over. The captain sprang on deck and shouted-- "All hands shorten sail! You, Peter and Jim, up aloft with you and hand the main-topgallant-sail." The blast had passed over and the brig had righted. Jim and I ran aloft to obey the order. The rest of the people were still on deck except one man, who had gone up the fore-rigging, about to let fly the sheets and brail up; but, nearly worn out with labouring at the pumps, they must have very slowly obeyed the orders they received, for almost before a sheet was let go, another furious squall struck the brig. Over, over she heeled. Jim and I slid down into the main-top. "Hold on, whatever happens," cried Jim. The warning was given not a moment too soon. There was a fearful cracking sound, the mast quivered, it was almost right over the water, and just as the brig was on her beam-ends it gave way, tearing out the chain-plates on the weather side, and Jim and I were hurled with it into the raging sea. I expected every moment that we should be washed off as the mast was towed along, and so we must have been had not the lee shrouds given way. To regain the brig was impossible; the next instant the mast was clear and the brig drove on. Before she had got a cable's length from us the foremast also went by the board. We could see no one on it as it was towed along. A minute or more passed. The mast to which we clung rose to the top of a sea, we saw the brig plunge into another. Again we looked, for one instant we saw her stern, and the next she was gone. We were too far off to hear a cry. The foremast must have been drawn down with her. The boats were securely lashed. Nothing that we could see remained floating. We knew that our late shipmates had perished. Our own condition was fearful in the extreme. At any moment we might be washed from our hold! Now our head were under water! Now we rose to the top of a sea and looked down into a deep gulf below us. "Hold on; hold on, Peter," cried Jim, who was clinging on the mast close to me. "Don't give up. Here, I've cut a piece of rope for you. Lash yourself on with it. I'll get a piece for myself presently." I wanted him to secure himself first, but he insisted that I should take the rope, and I lashed myself with it. He soon afterwards secured himself in the same way. We might thus prolong our lives; but should we be able to hold out till a passing vessel might pick us up? I asked myself. We were far away from land, and hours, perhaps days, might go by before the mast was seen, and only our dead bodies would be found. We had no food, no fresh water; night was coming on. I did not tell my thoughts to Jim, nor did he say what was passing in his mind; but we tried to cheer each other up. For an instant the clouds broke asunder in the west, and the sun, just as he sank below the horizon, bursting forth, shed a bright glow over the foaming ocean. "He'll not be long down," cried Jim, "and he'll warm us on t'other side when he rises." Jim's remark did me good. We had cause to hope for the best. The squall which had carried away the brig's masts was the last of the gale. The wind rapidly fell, and the sea went down, so that in a short time we could keep ourselves almost entirely out of the water. The mast became more quiet. Had we not lashed ourselves to it when we fell asleep as we both did now and then, we might have dropped off. We talked as much as we could, both to keep up our spirits and to prevent ourselves from dozing. Thus the night passed. It seemed long enough, but not so long as I expected. I must have closed my eyes when I heard Jim shout, "A sail! A sail!" and opening them I saw a large ship under all sail about a couple of miles away, standing on a course which we hoped would bring her near us. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. JIM AND I CARRIED OFF AGAINST OUR WILL. "Shall we be seen, Jim, think you?" I asked, after we had gazed at the ship some minutes without speaking. "Ain't quite certain," answered Jim, in a sad voice; "if I thought so, I could sing for joy, that I could, but the ship's a long way off, and maybe she'll haul closer to the wind and pass us by." "Oh, Jim! Let us pray that she'll not do that," I exclaimed. "She's standing, as far as I can make out, directly towards us, and why should we fancy that we are to be deserted? Cheer up, Jim! Cheer up!" "That's what I'm trying to do," said Jim. "Still we must not make too certain. If she doesn't pick us up another vessel may. We are in the track of ships going up and down Channel, and that's one comfort." Jim did not say this all at once, for he stopped sometimes to take a look at the stranger, and every now and then a sea washed up and made us close our mouths. Still the seas were every instant growing less and less, and we at last unlashed ourselves that we might move about a little and stretch our limbs. We were on the top, it must be remembered, so that we did not run the same risk of falling off as we should have done if we had had only the mast to support us. With straining eyes we watched the ship. Still she held the same course on which she had been steering when we first saw her, and which was bringing her nearer and nearer to us. "Hurrah, Jim! We shall soon be seen, depend on that," I exclaimed, at last, "and perhaps before to-night we shall be safe on shore. Who can say that we shan't be landed at Portsmouth itself?" "I wish I could say I was as sure as you are, Peter," observed Jim, in a doleful voice. "If she had seen us it would have been all right; she would pick us up, but she may alter her course. Even now the wind is shifting, and she may have to keep away." I could not contradict this; still I kept on hoping that we should ere long be seen. I had a white handkerchief in my pocket, although it was rolled into a ball by the wet. I pulled it out, and waved it above my head as high as I could reach. Even now we might have attracted the attention of those on board the stranger, although we could distinguish no signal made to us in return. "She's a thumping big ship, whatever she is," I remarked. "She's high out of the water, and that makes her look bigger," observed Jim. "I have seen some like her brought up at Spithead, and to my mind she's a South Sea whaler, outward bound. That's the reason she looks so high. Yes, I am right, for I can make out her boats hoisted up at the davits." "I think you are right," I said; "but even if she is an outward bound ship, she'll put us on board another vessel homeward-bound, or land us on some part of the coast, the back of the Isle of Wight, or Portland." "First let us get on board her before we talk of where we shall be landed," said Jim. "It seems to me as if she was going about. The head sails are shaking." "No, no! the man at the wheel was not minding his helm," I answered. "I'll wave again." "They won't see that little bit of a rag," cried Jim, "I'll try what I can do. Here, Peter, just take hold of my jacket," he continued, as he stripped it off, and then loosening his waistband he pulled his shirt over his head, and began to wave it frantically. I waved my handkerchief, and then in our eagerness we shouted out at the top of our voices, as if the faint sounds could be carried as far as the ship. Presently our hearts sank, for there was no doubt that the ship was keeping away. Still, should anyone on board be using a spy-glass, and turn it towards us, we should, we hoped, be observed. We waved and shouted even more vehemently than before, but even I was almost in despair. "She's going to pass us after all," cried Jim, "and there's not another sail in sight." Just as he spoke there came a puff of smoke with a bright flash, from the ship's bows, followed by a sharp report. "We are seen! We are seen!" shouted Jim. "That's a signal to us. Hurrah! Hurrah!" The ship now came rapidly on, and we had no longer any doubt about being rescued. This very circumstance caused a reaction in our feelings, and, strange as it may seem, we both burst into tears. We recovered ourselves, however, very soon, and continued waving, still having an idea that the ship might sail away from us, but on and on she came. Presently her courses were brailed up, and she hove-to about three cables' lengths from our mast. Almost at the same instant one of her boats was lowered, and came pulling towards us as fast as the men could bend their backs to the oars. In a few minutes kindly hands were stretched out to help us into the boat. "Are you the only two?" asked the mate, who was steering. "Yes, sir; all the rest are gone," I answered. "Well, we'll hear all about it when we get you on board, lads, for you both seem as if you wanted looking after," he said. The boat leaving the mast, returned rapidly towards the ship. While most of the crew scrambled up the sides, the tackles were hooked on, and we were hoisted up in the boat, from whence we were speedily handed down on deck. I could not have stood if I had not been supported, and Jim was much in the same condition. We were soon surrounded by strange faces, some looking compassionately upon us, others with indifference, as if it was a matter of very little consequence that two boys should have been saved from perishing. Meantime the yards were swung round and the ship stood on her course. "We must have the lads below at once," said one of the persons standing round. "They have been many hours wet through and exposed on the mast, and even now, if we don't look out, they may slip through our fingers." "Very true, Doctor Cockle," said another, who was, I saw by his dress, an officer. "One of them may be put into my cabin, where you can look after him better than for'ard." "And the other can go into mine," said the doctor, the person who had first spoken. No one had asked us any questions; probably they saw by our condition that we should have been unable to answer them, for both Jim and I were fast verging towards unconsciousness. We were at once carried below, when I was put into the mate's cabin, where my clothes were stripped off by the doctor's orders, and, being rubbed dry, I was placed between the blankets. The doctor, who had been looking after Jim, soon came and gave me something out of a glass, which seemed to warm me up wonderfully. But even then I could not have spoken if my life had depended upon it. "Get some warm broth as quickly as you can," I heard the doctor say to someone, he in the meantime rubbing my feet and hands and chest. It seemed as if scarcely more than two or three minutes had passed when a basin of hot broth was brought me, which I drank without difficulty, and it did me more good than the stuff in the glass. "You may go to sleep now, my lad," said the doctor, in a kind tone; "you'll do well. You shall tell us by-and-by how you and your companion came to be on the mast." I obeyed the doctor's orders, and scarcely had the door been closed than I was fast asleep. I was awakened by the doctor coming in, accompanied by a boy who brought some more soup and some bread, and which, being very hungry, I thankfully swallowed. "You can eat something more substantial now," said the doctor, and he told the boy to bring in some fowl and more bread from the breakfast-table. By this I guessed that I must have had a long spell of sleep, and that a whole day and a night had passed since we were taken on board. I eagerly ate all that was given me. "You may get up now, my boy, and dress, and we will find another berth for you; we must not keep Mr Griffiths out of his bed," said the doctor. "I would not do that on any account, sir," I said; "I feel quite strong, and am accustomed to live forward." I soon dressed, and was glad to see that Jim also was up. There were two apprentices on board, who lived on the half-deck, and the doctor said that the first mate promised to have some berths knocked up for us with them. "How did you come to be on board the vessel which went down?" asked the doctor, when I accompanied him on deck. From the kind way he spoke I was encouraged to give him a full account of myself and Jim, so I told him that he and I belonged to Portsmouth, and had gone in the _Good Intent_ to Bergen; and how she had lost her masts, and the crew had been washed overboard. How the captain had died, and we had done our best to keep the brig afloat, and had been driven in close to Shetland, and that I had found a relative there, and was coming south in the _Nancy_ to fetch my sister. He then asked me about my father, and I told him that he had been lost at Spithead, and that mother had died, and old Tom had taken care of Mary and me, and how, after he had been blown up in the ship at Spithead, Jim and I had managed to gain our bread and support Mary and Nancy till a claimant appeared for old Tom's property, and our boat had been taken from us, and we had been turned out of the house, and should have been in a bad way if the good Quaker, Mr Gray, had not come to our assistance. The doctor listened attentively, and he then asked me what sort of man my father was, and whether I had a brother in the navy. I described my father, and then said that Jack had gone away on board the _Lapwing_ brig of war, but that he was supposed to have been cut off by savages in one of her boats when in the Indian seas. At all events, that we had never since heard of him. "That's very strange," he observed; "I think, Peter Trawl, that we have met before, when you were a very little chap. Do you remember your father taking off the doctor and the mate of a ship lying at Spithead, when you and your brother Jack were in the boat, and he was to be put on board the brig?" "Yes, sir," I said, looking up at his face: "I recollect it perfectly, as it was the last time I saw Jack, though I little thought then that I should never see him again." "I was the doctor, and the first mate of this ship was my companion. When I first heard your name, as it is a peculiar one, I all of a sudden recollected that it was that of the boatman who took Mr Griffiths and me off on the occasion I speak of. We are now brothers-in-law, and have ever since gone to sea together--that is to say, when we have gone to sea, for both of us have taken long spells on shore. If it hadn't been for that, Mr Griffiths would have been a captain years ago." "I am very glad to meet you and him again, sir," I said; "and now I look at you I fancy I recollect your countenance, as I did your voice. You were not as well accustomed to the sea then as you are now." "No," he answered, laughing. "That was my first voyage. I sometimes wish that I had lived comfortably on shore, and made it my last, but I got accustomed to a roving life, and having no regular business or tie, when circumstances compelled Mr Griffiths--who married my sister--to come to sea again, I agreed to accompany him." I felt sure from the kind way in which Doctor Cockle spoke that he would wish to serve me. I asked him if the ship was going to put into Saint Helens, or if not, would he get the captain to land Jim and me at Portland? "We are some way to the westward of Portland, already," he answered. "It is possible that he may land you at Plymouth or Falmouth, or if not put you on board some pilot or fishing boat, or any vessel we may fall in with coming up Channel." "Surely, sir, he would not carry us away from home? I would give anything to be on shore, where my young sister is expecting me, and it would break her heart to fancy I was lost, which she would do if I did not appear," I said. "As Mr Griffiths and I only joined the ship at Hull, ten days ago, we are not very intimate with the captain: but I hope he would not refuse your request." The doubtful way in which he spoke made me feel very unhappy. Still, I hoped that when I told the captain the strong reasons I had for wishing to be put on shore as soon as possible, he would not refuse. The doctor left me to attend to one of the men who was sick forward, and I joined Jim, who had also come on deck. I had a long talk with him about the matter. He fancied we were only then just abreast of the Downs, and that the captain would put in willingly enough for the sake of getting rid of us. It was a great disappointment to find that we were so far down Channel, and that we should thus, at all events, have a long journey back to Portsmouth. Still we neither of us doubted for a moment that we should be put on shore somewhere to the westward, as I saw by a look I had at the compass that we were standing for the land. While we were talking, the captain, whom we had not yet seen, came on deck. He was a fine, tall, sailor-like looking man, with a handsome countenance and large eyes, which seemed to take in everything at a glance--a person of whom the roughest crew would stand in awe. His bright eyes fell on Jim and me; he beckoned us to come up, and, looking at me, bade me give him the particulars of the loss of the brig, about which Mr Griffiths and the doctor had told him. I gave him the account as he desired, and then thought that I might venture to ask him to put Jim and me on shore, for that, as may be supposed, was the thing uppermost in my mind. "We will see about that, my lads," he answered. "If the wind holds as it now does it won't cause us any delay, but I can make no promises. Boys at your age ought to wish to see the world, and we can find employment for you on board. You are sharp fellows, I can see, or you would not have saved your lives. One of the apprentices isn't worth his salt, and the other will slip his cable before long, I suspect. His friends insisted on my taking him, fancying that the voyage would restore him to health." The captain spoke in so free-and-easy a way that the awe with which I was at first inclined to regard him vanished. The wind, I should have said, had shifted to the westward of south. We were standing about north-west, a course which would carry us over to the English coast before long. We were obliged to be content with the sort of promise that the captain had made, and I hoped that when the doctor and Mr Griffiths spoke to him, that he would not refuse to put us on shore. Though Jim and I were well enough to walk about the deck, we were too weak to venture aloft, or we should have been at the masthead looking out for land. We went forward, however, keeping our eyes over the starboard bow, where we expected every instant to see it. Several of the men spoke to us good-naturedly, and were as eager as the officers had been to hear what had happened to us. While we were standing there looking out, a lad came up and said, "So I hear you fellows are to be our messmates. What are your names?" I told him. "Mine's Ned Horner," he said, "and I hope we shall be friends, for I can't make anything of the fellow who messes with me, George Esdale. There's no fun in him, and he won't talk or do anything when it's his watch below but read and sing psalms." "I shall be glad to be friends with you," I answered, "but I don't suppose it will be for long, as I expect we shall leave the ship to-night or to-morrow morning." "That may or may not be," he remarked, with a laugh. "Have you been long at sea?" I told him that I had been brought up to it from my boyhood. "Well, you have the advantage of me, for this is my first voyage; and Esdale didn't know the stem from the stern when he first came on board. Now come along to the half-deck; he and I are going to dinner; I suppose you'll join us?" Jim and I were beginning to feel hungry, and willingly accepted Horner's invitation. The savoury whiffs which came out of the caboose as we passed made me feel more eager than ever for something to eat. Horner took us down to the half-deck, where we found Esdale, of whom he had spoken, seated on a chest reading. He was a pale, sickly-looking youth, taller a good deal than Jim. He put down his book and held out his hand to shake ours. "It's your turn to go for the dinner," he said to Horner, "and it must be ready by this time, but I'll go if you wish it." "Well, you may go," said Horner; "I want to do the honours to these fellows. Take care that you don't capsize with the things as you come along the deck." Then, without another word, Esdale got up, and putting his book into the chest, went forward. "I make him do just what I like," said Horner, in a contemptuous tone. "Take care that you don't treat him in the same way, for if he has too many masters he may be inclined to kick." Before long Esdale returned with a bowl of pea-soup, and a plate at the top of it containing some potatoes, and a piece of fat boiled pork. "Now fall to, youngsters," said Horner, in a patronising tone. "I am sorry not to be able to offer you better fare." While he was speaking he got out of a locker four plates and two metal spoons and two wooden ones. We did ample justice to the dinner, as we had been accustomed to nothing better while we were on board the _Nancy_. After the meal was finished we returned on deck, though Esdale did not offer to accompany us, as he spent his watch below, as Horner had said, in reading, writing, or singing in a low voice to himself. We passed the afternoon looking out for the land. At length, when night came on, in spite of my anxiety to see the coast, and the long sleep I had had, I felt scarcely able to keep my eyes open. Still, I should probably have remained on deck after dark had not the doctor come to us and said, "I have spoken to the captain, lads, and he promises to put you on shore to-morrow morning; so now go and turn in, for you require sleep." We went to the half-deck, where we found that the carpenter had knocked up some rough bunks, in which some mattresses and blankets had been placed. We were both glad enough to turn in. I observed that Esdale, before he did so, knelt down and said his prayers. It was Horner's watch on deck, so that he was not present. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. THE VOYAGE OF THE "INTREPID" BEGUN. I slept right through the night, and was surprised to find when I opened my eyes that it was daylight. Jim and I at once turned out and went on deck. There was the land, broad on the starboard bow, still at some distance. When I looked aloft I saw that the yards were square, and studding-sails on either side. A strong north-easterly wind was blowing, and we were running down Channel. The captain, the first mate, and the doctor were on deck. Jim and I gazed eagerly at the land. I went up to the doctor. "Whereabouts are we, sir?" I asked. "We are off the Start, my lad." "Off the Start!" I exclaimed. "Oh, sir, won't the captain put into Plymouth to land us as he promised? Do speak to him, sir." "These lads are very anxious to be landed, Captain Hawkins," he said. "It is of the greatest importance to young Trawl here, and it would not much delay us." The mate spoke in the same way, and entreated the captain even in stronger language than Dr Cockle had used. "No, no," he answered. "Very likely they do wish to be put on shore, but we cannot lose a moment of this fine breeze. The trip won't do them any harm, and they'll thank me for it by-and-by." Jim, when he heard this, was too angry on my account to speak, but I lifted up my hands and implored the captain to have pity on my young sister, if not on me. "Very fine, my lad," he answered, with a laugh; "but you are not quite of so much importance as you suppose. It might delay us not only for a few hours, but for days, perhaps, and, doctor, I cannot listen to you. We've got a favourable breeze, and I intend to make the best use of it." Once more I implored and entreated that the captain would not carry us away from home. All was of no use; he would not listen either to the doctor or the mate, or us. At length, growing angry, he said he would not hear another word on the subject, and Jim and I, by the doctor's advice, went for'ard to be out of his way. There we stood, watching with straining eyes the shore, past which we were running, and at length the Land's End came in sight. "Cheer up, my lads," said our kind friend, who came for'ard to us. "The wind may change, and we may be driven back, or we may be able to put you on board some homeward-bound ship. Cheer up! Cheer up!" The land, as I stood gazing at it, rapidly sank below the horizon. I strained my eyes--the last faint line had disappeared. I could have cried, but my grief was too bitter for tears. Not that I cared for being carried away on my own account, but I thought of the sorrow my kind relatives in Shetland would feel--Mr Trail and his daughter, and dear little Maggie, and more than all how Mary would feel as she waited day after day for the arrival of the brig which was never to appear, and then, when all hope was gone, how she would mourn for us, and Nancy also would, I knew, share her feelings. If I could have sent but a line to my sister to tell her I was safe, though I might be long absent, it would not have so much mattered. Mr Gray would take very good care of her, and she would have written to Mr Troil to explain what had happened; but as it was I could scarcely bear it. "The doctor told us to cheer up, and that's what I say to you, Peter," cried Jim, trying to console me. "Maybe we shall fall in with a homeward-bound ship after all, though I don't think there's much chance of our seeing the shores of old England again for a long time to come if we don't, as it looks as if the wind would hold in its present quarter till we are well out in the Atlantic." Jim was right. With yards squared and every stitch of canvas the ship could carry, we bowled along at a rate which soon left our native land far astern. I had been too long at sea, and knew the duties of a sailor too well, to feel for myself so much as many fellows of my age under similar circumstances would have done. Jim also tried to rouse me up, so instead of moping I determined to exert myself. I still had the hope to support me that before long we might fall in with a homeward-bound ship, and I concluded that the captain would, without hesitation, put Jim and me on board her. The day after we took our departure from the Land's End he saw us both together on deck. "What are those youngsters idling there for?" he exclaimed, turning to Mr Griffiths. "Put them in a watch at once, and let me see that they do their duty. If they don't, let them look out for squalls!" "Ay, ay, sir!" answered the mate, who, though of a very independent spirit, always spoke respectfully to the captain. He considerately placed us both in the same watch, knowing that we should like it, as we should be able to talk at night when we were on deck and had no especial duty to perform. We had no reason to complain of the way the men treated us, rough as some of them were. The doctor and Mr Griffiths always behaved kindly, but the captain took no further notice of us, except when he ordered Jim or me to do something. To my surprise, I found that the ship was the _Intrepid_--the very one my father and I had put Mr Griffiths and the doctor on board so many years before. She was then quite a new ship, and, being strongly-built, she was as sound as ever. I have spoken of her as a ship, but she was barque-rigged, as almost all whalers are, barques being more easily handled than ship-rigged craft. The _Intrepid_ was upwards of three hundred tons burden, with a crew of thirty hands all told, and stored, I found, for a cruise of two years or more. She carried six whale-boats, and materials for building others should any of them be lost. There were three mates, a carpenter and cooper and their mates; an armourer, a steward, and cook; four boat-steerers, four able seamen, six ordinary seamen, the doctor, two apprentices, Jim, and me. I had never before been on board a whaler, and as I listened to the long yarns of the men describing their hairbreadth escapes and the exciting chases after the monsters of the deep, I felt, had I not had such cogent reasons for returning home, that I would very gladly have gone out to the South Seas to witness with my own eyes the scenes the men spoke of. Still I longed as much as ever to get back to England. Jim and I made it out pretty well with the two apprentices. Horner was inclined to look down upon Jim for his want of education. Esdale treated us both alike with gentleness and consideration, and offered to teach Jim to read and write if he wished to learn. It had never occurred to me to try and do so. Indeed, although we had been so much together, I had not had many opportunities. The second night we were on board I was awakened by feeling some hairy creature nestling by my side. I sung out, not a little frightened. "What's up?" cried Horner, who had just come below to rouse Jim and me out to keep our watch. "A great big brute of some sort has come into my bunk; I wonder it hasn't bitten me," I answered. "Why, I've got another here!" exclaimed Jim, who just then awoke. "What in the world is it?" Horner laughed loudly. "Why, they're our ferrets," he answered. "Didn't you see them before?" "No, and I never wish to see them again," answered Jim, as he flung the creature down on the deck. Horner then told us that the captain had taken a couple on board at Hull to kill the rats, and that although a hutch had been made for them the creatures always managed to get out at night for the sake of obtaining a warm berth, and that if we put them into their hutch they would be sure to find their way back again into his or Esdale's bunks before they had been many minutes asleep. The truth was the ferrets were more afraid of the rats than the rats were of them. We bore the annoyance for three nights more, and then, by the unanimous consent of our mess, we got Horner to carry them down into the hold, from which they never ascended, and we concluded that they either got drowned in the bilge water or were eaten up by the rats. We had not been long at sea before a heavy gale sprang up, but as the wind was from the westward we were able to lay our course. To Jim and me it mattered very little, although the waves were much higher than I had seen them in the North Sea, but poor Esdale suffered very much, and Horner's conceit was taken down a good many pegs. Jim and I did our best to look after them, and to try to get them to eat something, but they could only swallow liquids. "Oh, let me alone! Let me alone!" cried Horner. The doctor came to see Esdale frequently, and advised that he should be taken to a spare berth in the cabin, but the captain would not allow it. "All lads get sick when they first come to sea if there's a gale of wind, and he'll come round again by-and-by," he remarked in his usual off-hand way. This was not told to Esdale, who said, indeed, that he preferred remaining where he was. As the weather was tolerably warm, I believe that he was as well off on the half-deck as he would have been in the cabin. At last the gale came to an end--or rather we ran out of it. Esdale got somewhat better again, but I observed that he had changed greatly in appearance since we came on board. I had now to abandon all hopes of the ship putting back, but there was still a possibility of getting on board a homeward-bound vessel. Two days after the gale had ceased, while I was below, I heard the cry of "Sail, ho!" from the man at the masthead. I hurried on deck. We had the wind abeam, and so had she--a soldier's wind as it is called. We should meet the approaching vessel before long and pass each other, with not a cable's length between us. I watched her eagerly. We drew closer and closer to each other. When we got nearly abreast I went up to the first mate and asked him what she was. "She's from the Brazils, bound for Liverpool," he answered. Just then I saw the captain come on deck. Forgetting what he was I rushed up to him. "Oh, Captain Hawkins, will you put Jim and me on board her?" I exclaimed. "You don't know how much I want to get home; it won't delay you ten minutes to put us on board." "Ten minutes of this fine breeze lost for the sake of a boy like you," he answered, with a scornful laugh. "I expended more than ten in heaving to to pick you up, and that was as much as you are worth. Go forward, you young monkey, and give me no more of your impudence." Undaunted by his heartless answer, I again and again implored that he would put me on board the Liverpool ship, but he stood looking contemptuously at me without uttering a word, till Jim, seeing that I was making no way, coming up, hat in hand, exclaimed-- "If you'll put Peter here on board yonder ship, sir, that he may go home to his young sister and friends, I'll stay here and work for you, and be your slave for as many years as you may want me. Do, sir--do let poor Peter go!" "Off with you for'ard," thundered the captain, with a fierce oath. "How dare you speak to me? Away, both of you! Somebody has been putting you up to this, I know." And he glanced angrily at Dr Cockle and the mate. "If you mean me, Captain Hawkins, I know that the lad has very good reasons for wishing to return home, but I did not advise him or Jim Pulley to speak to you. I certainly wish that you would put Peter Trawl on board that homeward-bound ship." "You may wish what you like, but I am not going to allow what I choose to do to be found fault with by you or any other man on board this ship!" cried the captain, turning on his heel. "So look out for yourself," he added, glancing half over his shoulder. The ordinary salutes were exchanged, and the two vessels stood on their course. My heart felt as if it would burst with indignation and sorrow. Had the wind been light, I might, perhaps, have been able to put a letter on board, even although the captain would not have let me go. Esdale tried to comfort me, and advised me to have one written ready to send should another opportunity occur. The first land we made soon after this was Madeira. Except the coast of Norway, I had seen no foreign country, and as we passed it within a quarter of a mile, it struck me as very beautiful and fertile. The wind being light we tarred down the rigging, and a few days afterwards, when we were about eight hundred miles from the land, one morning, on coming on deck, I noticed that the shrouds and every freshly-tarred rope looked as red as if they had been just painted. I asked the doctor, who allowed me to speak to him in a familiar way, what had caused this, and he told me that it was the red sand blown off the coast of Africa, and that it was a common occurrence in these latitudes. We passed in sight of the Cape de Verde islands, one of which, called Fogo, seemed of a prodigious height. The first place we touched at was the island of Brava, into which the captain put to obtain fresh provisions. "Now is my time," I thought. "If I can go on shore here, I shall be able to get back by the next homeward-bound vessel which calls at the place." Jim proposed that we should smuggle ourselves on board some shore-boat, but to this I would not agree. "We will go with the captain's leave," I answered, "and he surely will not refuse it now that he has no excuse for doing so." I therefore went up to him as soon as he came on deck. "Captain Hawkins," I said, in as firm a voice as I could command, "again I ask you will you allow Jim Pulley and me to leave your ship and wait on shore until we can get a passage home?" "Peter Trawl, if that's your name, I shall do no such thing," he answered. "If I find you attempting to go on shore I shall put you in irons." I knew from previous experience that there was no use in expostulating. When I told the doctor, he could scarcely conceal his indignation. "I feel inclined to help you, my lad, at every risk," he said, "but we must be cautious. Wait until the evening, and then we will see what can be done." I thanked him heartily, and promised to follow his advice. Jim was ready for anything. The doctor said he would go on shore and then send off a boat which would wait under the starboard bow, and that we must manage to slip into her as soon as it was dark. The captain in the meantime had landed, but returned very shortly with four tall negroes, whom he had engaged to pull the 'midship oars in the whale-boats. They are, I should say, first-rate oarsmen, and have a gentle disposition, ready to obey, and are happy under all circumstances. Besides the negroes, two boats loaded with fresh provisions came alongside. These were soon hoisted on board, when the captain ordered a gun to be fired and Blue Peter to be hoisted, a signal to all those on shore to return immediately. Dr Cockle and the third mate, with the cooper, whom the captain thought he could trust, had landed. Presently the captain ordered another and then another gun to be fired to hasten them, and then to my bitter disappointment he directed Mr Griffiths to loosen sails and heave up the anchor. According to Esdale's advice I had begun a letter to Mary, but had not had time to finish it. Hoping that I should not be missed by the captain, I ran below to add a few lines and then to close it, under the belief that I should be able to send it off by a shore-boat. I had to get out Esdale's ink-bottle and pen, which he had before lent me; the pen would not write, so I had to search for his penknife, and to try and mend it as well as I could, but having little experience in the art, this took me some time. I at last got the letter closed with a wafer, and directed to the care of Mr Gray, when I sprang with it on deck. Just then the eye of the captain fell on me. "Come aft here, youngster," he shouted. "Where have you been away from your duty?" I had the letter in my hand. "I wanted to get this ready to send on shore, sir," I answered, holding it up. "No excuse for leaving your station. Take that!" he cried, as he gave me a blow on the side of the head with his half-clenched fist, which brought me to the deck, and nearly stunned me. When I recovered myself the first person I saw was Dr Cockle, who, looking at me compassionately, said, "Come below, Peter, and I'll try to put your head to rights, for you seem to be much hurt. How did it happen?" "I can't tell you now, sir, for I much want to send this letter off by a shore-boat," I answered. As I spoke I observed that the crew were hoisting away and sheeting home the sails. I ran to the side and jumped on to the main chains. The only remaining boat was just shoving off. I shouted to the people in her to come and take my letter; but they did not understand me, or did not care to remain alongside, as the ship was rapidly gathering way; another stroke of their oars and they were at a distance from the ship. I waved and shouted to them to come back, but they did not heed me, and just then I heard the captain calling to me in an angry tone to attend to my duty. I was obliged to obey, expecting another cuff harder than the last; but when he saw me begin to pull and haul with the rest he said no more. Perhaps he observed the blood streaming from my head. The sails were now sheeted home, the yards trimmed, and the _Intrepid_ stood away from the land. Another opportunity of making my escape was lost. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. WE CROSS THE LINE AND ATTEMPT TO ROUND CAPE HORN. Jim was always saying, "Cheer up, Peter, cheer up!" but it was a very hard matter to be cheery when I thought of the cruel way in which I had been treated, and the sorrow my sister must be feeling at my supposed loss. I tried, as advised, to keep up my spirits, and did my best to obey the orders I received. Jim observed that it was all the same to him. His friends would not grieve much over his loss, and, as far as he was concerned, he would as soon be chasing whales in the Pacific as working a wherry in Portsmouth Harbour. As we approached the line I found that the men were making preparations for going through the ceremony which was performed on board most vessels in those days. One of the boat-steerers, Sam Ringold, who stood six feet four in his shoes, and was proportionably broad, was chosen to act the part of Neptune, and the cooper's mate, who was as wide as he was high, that of his wife. The armourer took the part of the barber, and the carpenter's mate, who was lank and tall, the doctor. Three of the ordinary seamen, the smallest fellows on board, were their attendants. All the chests were searched for the required dresses, and some curtains belonging to the cabin found their way forward to form a petticoat for Mrs Neptune. Some gold paper and pasteboard were manufactured into crowns, and some fishes' tails were ingeniously formed for the attendants. I discovered the preparations going forward, but was charged not to let Horner, or Esdale, or Jim know anything about them. I was more favoured than the rest of my messmates by the men, who seemed to have taken a liking to me; whether it was because they had heard how I had assisted to save the _Good Intent_, or thought that I was ill-treated by the captain, I do not know, but so it was. No one ever abused me, or gave me the taste of a rope's-end. We had been sailing on with light winds when one morning, after the decks had been washed down and the other duties of the ship performed, having run on for a short distance, we lay almost becalmed with the sea as smooth as a mill-pond. The captain and his mates were seen to be taking an observation, and soon afterwards it became known that we were just crossing the line. "I've often heard about it, but I can't say I see any line," said Jim. "Nor can I!" cried Horner, who was looking out eagerly. Presently a gruff voice was heard, hailing from forward. "What ship is that, shutting out the light from my palace window?" "The _Intrepid_" answered Captain Hawkins, who with the mates and doctor were standing aft. "Then go ahead, will you, or I'll indict you for a nuisance," cried the voice, the remark producing a general laugh. "I can't think of standing on until I have had the pleasure of a visit from Daddy Neptune," said the captain. "Ay, ay! Glad to hear that. Then I'll come aboard in a jiffy with my royal missus and some of our precious young family; and maybe, captain, you'll have something to give them, for they're very fond of any hot potions which may come in their way." "Be smart about it, then, Daddy, for I see a breeze springing up, and I may have to run you out of sight before you and your precious family have had time to take a sip apiece," cried the captain, who seemed to be in far better humour than usual. All this time Jim and Horner were standing with me abaft the main hatchway, with their eyes staring and their mouths agape, wondering what was going to happen. Presently, over the bows, appeared the strangest group I had ever set eyes on. First there came Daddy Neptune with a glittering crown, a beard of oakum reaching to his middle, a girdle of rope yarn round his waist, a cloak covered with strange devices, and a huge trident in his hand. His wife wore a crown like that of her husband, with ringlets of the same material as his beard, a huge sash of some gaily-coloured stuff, and a cloak formed out of a blanket. The barber had in his hand a pot containing lather, a big bowl tucked under one arm, with a razor a yard long and a shaving brush of huge size under the other; while the children or attendant imps--for it was hard to say what they were-- waddled about in green clothing, looking like sea monsters, behind them. "Well, I have heard of strange things, but these chaps are stranger than ever I saw," cried Jim. "Where do they come from?" "From the bottom of the sea, I suppose," said Horner, who evidently did not admire their looks as they advanced aft. The captain, after a little palavering, ordered the steward to bring up some grog and serve it out to them. Then retiring a short way forward, Neptune commanded all who had not before visited his dominions to come and pay their respects to him. We all did so, not feeling very comfortable as to what was to follow, when his attendants got hold of Jim and me. Horner tried to escape, but was quickly captured and brought back. No one interfered with Esdale, who had, I found, crossed Neptune's hand with a crown-piece; which, of course, none of us were able to do. A huge tub of water had been placed in front of his majesty. The barber now came forward and insisted on shaving all those who were for the first time crossing the line. Three of the ordinary seamen were novices like us. The barber first lathered our chins with some abominable mixture from his pot, and then, scraping it off with his razor, finally ducked our heads into the tub. Horner, when undergoing the operation, had the brush several times thrust into his mouth, and his whole face and head daubed over. When he opened his mouth to expostulate, in again went the brush. As he kicked and screamed and spluttered, he was treated worse and worse. Jim, taking a lesson from me, kept his mouth shut. I was let off even more easily than he was. Once Horner got loose, but instead of wisely remaining on deck and holding his tongue, he ran up the rigging and began abusing Daddy Neptune and his gang, whereupon he was again captured and compelled to undergo the same operation as before. Blacky the cook next brought out his fiddle, and Neptune and his party-- indeed, the whole crew--began dancing round and round, singing and shouting every now and then as an interlude, catching hold of the "green hands" and pitching them into the tub, chase being always made after those who attempted to escape. The grog circulated so rapidly among the crew that they would all soon have been intoxicated had not the captain, in a thundering voice, ordered them to knock off and bring their tomfoolery to an end. They obeyed. Neptune and his followers dived below, and presently returned like stout seamen as they were. The order was given to brace the yards sharp up, and, with an easterly wind, we stood on our course. The next land we made was a solitary islet. Near it stood a remarkable rock called the "Ninepin," detached from the land. The doctor told me that it is eighteen hundred feet in height. It had the appearance of a monument standing out of the ocean. There are no inhabitants on the island, nor any good landing-place, but fresh water is to be obtained there, as well as pigs and vegetables. We soon after this began to fall in with stormy weather. We found our ship, which had remarkably sharp ends, very wet, and as we were now approaching the land of storms in the dead of winter, with the days scarcely more than seven hours long, the greatest caution was deemed necessary. The royal masts were sent down and replaced by stump topgallant masts. The flying jib-boom was sent in and the studding-sail booms were also sent down. All the boats except one were got in, the hatches were battened down, and everything was done to make the ship light aloft. We were nearly off the River Plate when there were indications of an approaching gale. The hitherto blue sky was overcast, and the scud flew rapidly along, as if impelled by a hurricane. "You youngsters will have to look out for yourselves before long," said Tom Ringold, the boat-steerer, who had acted the part of Neptune. "We shall be having old Harry Cane aboard here, and he's a precious deal more difficult to tackle than Daddy Neptune, who paid us a visit on the line." "Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I wonder what we shall do?" cried Horner, who did not exactly understand what was going to happen. "Why, hold on to the weather-rigging, if you haven't to be pulling and hauling, and duck your head if you see a sea coming," answered Jim, who understood the joke about Harry Cane. In a short time the captain ordered the topsails to be reefed and the mainsail to be stowed and all the lighter sails handed. Jim and I were sent aloft to the fore-topgallant sailyard to furl the sail. We were laying out when, to my horror, I saw Jim disappear. I nearly fell from the yard myself, from thinking that he would be dashed to pieces, and that I should lose my staunchest friend. "Jim! Jim! Oh, save him! Save him!" I shouted out, not knowing what I was saying, or considering how useless it was to shout. "Here I am all right, Peter," cried Jim, and his voice seemed to come not far from me. What was my joy to discover that he had been caught in the belly of the sail, and there he lay as if he had been in a hammock, the reef tackle having been hauled out just at the time he fell. He quickly scrambled on to the yard again, resuming his duty as if nothing particular had occurred. We having finished our work came down. Scarcely was this done when the gale struck us, taking us right aback. The cabin dead-lights not being properly secured, the cabin was nearly filled with water. The carpenter and his mates hurried aft to close them, and we youngsters were sent below to help him, and put things to rights. When this was done down came the rain in such torrents that it seemed as if it would swamp the ship, while as she fell off into the trough of the sea, she began to roll in a way which threatened every instant to shake the masts out of her. It seemed wonderful that they stood. Had the rigging not been well set up they must have gone. The only accident I have to mention was that one of our remaining pigs was killed, but this did not grieve the crew, for as we had no salt on board, and the meat would not keep, the portion not required for the cabin was served out to us. Another, and what might have proved a far more serious matter, occurred. Tom Ringold was steering, when a sea striking the rudder with tremendous force knocked him over the wheel, carrying away several of the brass spokes as it flew round, and sent him against the bulwarks. For a moment everyone thought he was killed, but he picked himself up, and although he could not use his arm for two or three days, at the end of that time he was able to do his duty as well as ever. That storm soon came to an end, but the old hands told us that we might look out for others, and so the captain seemed to think, for although he was anxious to get round Cape Horn we were always under snug canvas at night, and during the day a bright look-out was kept, lest one of those sudden squalls called Pamperos might come off the land and whip the masts out of the ship, or lay her on her beam-ends, as frequently happens when the hands are not ready to shorten sail. We, however, got to the southward of the Falkland Islands without accident. My poor friend and messmate Esdale severely felt the cold which we now began to experience. He came on deck to attend to his duty, but a hacking cough and increasing weakness made him very unfit for it. The doctor at last insisted on his remaining below, although Esdale declared that he would rather be on deck and try to do his best. "But I insist on your remaining in your bunk until we round Cape Horn and reach a warmer latitude," said Dr Cockle. "I will see the captain, and tell him plainly that he will be answerable for your death, should he insist on your doing duty any longer." Esdale still pleaded, but the doctor was peremptory. "It is his only chance," he said to me; "I cannot promise that he will live. He will, however, certainly die if he is exposed to this biting wind and constant rain. I intend to tell the captain, but you, Trawl, go and stay with him whenever you can; it will cheer him up, poor fellow, to have someone to talk to, and that dull Horner cannot speak two words of sense." Before the doctor had time to do as he proposed, Captain Hawkins, missing Esdale from the deck, ordered me to tell him to come up. This I determined not to do, for it was blowing hard at the time from the south-west and the wind would have chilled him through in a minute. I, however, went below, and after remaining a little time, I returned, and said-- "Esdale is very ill, sir, and is not fit to come on deck." "How do you know that, youngster?" asked the captain, in an angry tone. "Dr Cockle has seen him and says so," I answered boldly. "Tell him to come up, or I'll send a couple of hands to bring him neck and crop," thundered the captain. I was as determined as before not to tell Esdale, knowing that he would come if sent for. "Go below and bring up that lazy young rascal," shouted the captain to Tom Ringold and another man standing near him. I immediately dived below to persuade Tom to let Esdale remain in his bunk. "It will be his death if he is exposed to this weather," I said. "I am not the fellow to kill a shipmate if I can help it," answered Tom. "Tell him to stay and I'll take the consequences." When Tom returned on deck, the captain enquired in a fierce voice why he had not carried out his orders. "Because he is too ill to be moved, Captain Hawkins," answered Tom, promptly. The captain, uttering an oath, and taking a coil of rope in his hand, was just about to go below when Doctor Cockle came on deck, and guessing, from the few words he heard, what was the captain's intention, came up to him and said-- "It would kill the lad to bring him up, and as he is my patient, I have told him to stay below." "Am I to be thwarted and insulted on board my own ship?" cried the captain. "Whether he is ill or well, up he comes." And going down to the half-deck, he asked Esdale why he had not obeyed his orders. Esdale, of course, had not received them, and said so, beginning at the same time to dress. Before, however, he could finish putting on his clothes the captain seized him by the arm and dragged him up. Scarcely, however, had he reached the deck when the poor fellow fainted right away. Tom, on seeing this, lifted him in his arms and carried him down again. "I warn you, Captain Hawkins, that you will cause the death of the lad if you compel him to be on deck in this weather," said the doctor firmly, as he turned to follow Tom and Esdale. The captain, making no remark, walked aft, and did not again interfere. Whether that sudden exposure to the cold had any serious effect I do not know, but Esdale after this got worse and worse. Whenever I could I went and sat by his side, when he used to talk to me of the happy land for which he was bound. He did not seem even to wish to live, and yet he was as cheerful as anyone on board. The doctor and first mate used also to come and talk to him, and he spoke to them as he did to me, and urged them to put their trust where he was putting his. I believe that his exhortations had a beneficial influence on them, as they had on me. When I said how I hoped that he would get better after we were round the Cape, he answered-- "I shall never see the Horn, Peter; I am as sure of that as I can be of anything." Two days after this land was sighted on the starboard bow. It proved to be Staten Island; but scarcely were we to the south of it when we encountered a furious gale blowing from the westward. For two days; by keeping close hauled, the captain endeavoured to gain ground to the westward, resolved, as he declared, "to thrash the ship round the Cape." On the third day, however, while I was on deck, a tremendous sea came rolling up. "Look out! Hold on for your lives, lads!" shouted the first mate. Every one clung to whatever was nearest to him. One poor fellow was to leeward. There was no avoiding the sea, which, like a mountain topped with foam, struck the bows. The ship plunged into it, and for a few seconds I thought would never rise again. On swept the roaring torrent, deluging the deck; and had not the hatches been battened down, would have half filled her. A loud, crashing sound followed, and when the water had passed over us nearly all the lee bulwarks were gone, and with them our shipmate who had been standing a minute before as full of life as any of us. He was not again seen, and must have gone down at once. The captain was compelled at last to heave the ship to, and there we lay, now rising to the top of a sea, now sinking into the trough, with walls of water, half as high as the main-top, round us. The seas in the German Ocean and Bay of Biscay were nothing to be compared to those we encountered off the Horn, though, perhaps, equally dangerous. As soon as I went below, I hurried to the side of Esdale. He asked what had happened. I told him. "Some one was carried overboard?" he inquired. "Yes," I said. "Poor Jack Norris," wondering how he knew it. "And I shall soon follow him," he replied. His words proved true. That very night, as I came off my watch and was about to turn in, I heard my messmate utter my name in a low voice. I went to him. "I'm going," he whispered. "Good-bye, Peter; you'll remember what I have said to you?" I promised him I would, and told him I must run and call the doctor. "No, stay," he said. "He can do me no good. Tell him I thank him for his kindness. Good-bye, Peter." The next instant his hand relaxed its hold of mine, and stooping down over him I found he had ceased to breathe. So died one of the most amiable and excellent young men I have ever met. The next morning he was sewn up in canvas, with a shot at his feet, and brought on deck. The captain stood aft watching the proceedings. Whether he felt he had hastened Esdale's death I know not; but his countenance was stern and gloomy as night. The boldest seaman on board would not have dared just then to speak to him. Hail and sleet were driving in our faces; a furious gale threatening to carry our only sail out of the bolt-ropes was blowing; the mountain seas raged round us; there was scarce time for a prayer, none for form or ceremony. A foaming billow came thundering against the bows; over the deck it swept. We clung for our lives to ropes, stanchions, and ring-bolts. When it had passed we found that it had borne our young shipmate to his ocean grave. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. ROUNDING CAPE HORN. For well-nigh six weeks we were endeavouring to get round Cape Horn, when the weather moderated, making way to the westward, but again being driven back often over more ground than we had gained. The captain was constantly on deck, exhibiting on all occasions his splendid seamanship. He was ever on the look-out to take advantage of the least change of wind which would enable us to lay our course. Day and night were alike to him; he seemed indifferent to the piercing wind and tremendous storms of sleet and hail we encountered. Twice we sighted Cape Horn, but each time, before many hours had passed, were again to the eastward of it. The captain thought he could endure anything, and certainly did not expose others more than he did himself. We saw numerous sea birds--albatrosses, Cape pigeons, stormy-petrels (or Mother Carey's chickens, as they are called), and many more. The albatross appeared to me a truly noble bird when on the wing; no matter how rough the weather or how heavy the sea, he sat on the water perfectly at ease, seeming to defy the very elements. One of the mates having got a strong line with a large hook at the end of it, a piece of meat as bait, and a cork to float it, let it drop astern. In an instant a huge albatross pounced down on the tempting bait, and was hooked. It required two men, however, to draw him on board over the taffrail. Even when brought on deck he attacked everyone who came near him. The doctor advised us to stand clear of his wings and beak, but Horner thoughtlessly held out his hat, when the bird, seizing hold of it, bit the crown clean out in a moment. Not until he had had several blows on the head with a handspike did he drop dead. He measured seventeen feet from tip to tip of the wings. The feathers under his wings and breast were as white as snow, and as they glanced in the sunlight, shone like silver. In contrast with the albatross was the stormy-petrel, a black bird scarcely larger than a sparrow, and, of course, web-footed. Vast numbers flew about the ship, but they were more difficult to catch than the albatrosses. Again we sighted Cape Horn, standing out solitary and grand into the Southern Ocean. The wind had moderated and become more in our favour, although the vast billows rolled on like moving mountains of water. Now the ship forced her way to the summit of one, the next instant to glide down rapidly into the vale below, performing the same course again and again. At length even the billows subsided, and we began to look forward to having fine weather. About noon one day the look-out from the masthead shouted-- "There she spouts! There she spouts!" A school of whales was in sight. "Lower two boats," cried the captain. No sooner was the order given than their crews, hurrying aft, jumped into them, and very few minutes were sufficient to place all their gear in readiness and to lower them into the water. The captain himself went in one as harpooner, the second mate in the other. I should have liked to go, but I knew that it was useless to ask leave of the captain. Away the boats pulled at a rapid rate to windward, the direction in which the whales had been seen, and that we might keep as near them as possible the ship was hauled close up. They were soon not discernible from the deck, and on they went increasing their distance till even the look-out from the masthead could no longer distinguish them. Still the first mate had carefully noted the direction they had taken, and seemed to have no doubt about picking them up. The weather, however, which had been fine all day, now gave signs of changing, and in a short time the wind began to blow in strong gusts, creating a nasty sea, but still it was not worse than whale-boats have often to encounter. Whether or not they had succeeded in striking a fish we could not tell, for the days were very short, and evening drew on. Fresh look-outs were sent to each of the mastheads, and we waited with anxiety for their reports. They soon hailed that they could see neither of the boats. At length, the darkness increasing, they were called down, and lanterns were got ready to show the position of the ship. "Shouldn't be surprised if we were to lose our skipper and the boats' crews," said Horner to me. "I've heard that such accidents have happened before now." "I hope not," I answered, "for although our captain is a severe man, it would be dreadful to have him and the other poor fellows lost out in this stormy ocean, with no land for hundreds of miles where they could find food and shelter, even were they to reach it." While we were speaking a heavy squall struck the ship, and the remaining hands were ordered aloft to take two reefs in the topsails. Jim and I were on the fore-yardarm. We had just finished our task, when Jim declared that he saw a light away to windward. On coming on deck we told Mr Griffiths. He at once ordered a gun to be fired as a signal. A blue light was then burnt, the glare of which, as it fell on our figures, gave us all so ghastly an appearance that Horner, who had never seen one before, cried out, "What has come over you fellows? Is anything dreadful going to happen?" As the firework died out we looked in the direction Jim had seen the light, and in a little time we caught sight of it from the deck. The men on this gave a hearty cheer to show their satisfaction. Now the light disappeared, now it came in sight again, as the boat rose on the summit of a sea. The ship was hove-to. Presently a faint hail was heard. We answered it with a shout from our united voices. At length one boat could be distinguished. Where was the other? The captain's voice assured us that he was in the first. He was soon on deck, and the boat was hoisted up. He looked pale and haggard, and much annoyed at not having killed a whale. The other boat he said was not far off. We kept hove-to for her, fearing that if she did not soon appear she might be swamped before she could be hoisted in, for as the wind and sea were now rapidly rising every moment was of importance. At length she came alongside, but it was with the greatest difficulty that the men got out of her. They looked thoroughly worn out with their long pull. We had scarcely made sail again and were standing on our course when the gale came down on us, more furiously than before, blowing right in our teeth. It was now evident that had a whale been killed we should have been compelled to abandon it. In spite of his fatigue the captain remained on deck, swearing fearfully at his ill-luck. Those who had been away with the boats were allowed to turn in, but the rest of us were kept on deck, for at any moment all our strength might be required. Suddenly, while I was aft, the captain uttered a loud cry, or shriek it seemed to me. "What's the matter, sir?" asked the mate. "I cannot see!" groaned the captain. "Where am I? What has happened?" The mate went to him and took his arm. "It may be but for a moment," he said. There had been no lightning; nothing, as far as we could discover, to produce blindness. Still the captain refused to leave the deck, declaring that it would pass over. The doctor, who had turned in, was called up, and came to him. The increasing gale compelled the mate to attend to the duties of the ship. The doctor summoned me to assist in leading the captain below. I took his arm; he was trembling like an aspen. We led him to his berth, and assisted him to undress. "Shall I be better in the morning, think you, doctor?" he asked, in an agitated tone. "I cannot say, Captain Hawkins. I believe that this blindness has come on in consequence of your having overtaxed your physical powers. In course of time, with rest and a warmer climate, I trust that you will recover your sight." "Oh that it may be so!" cried the captain, as he laid his head on the pillow. We had a heavier gale that night than we had before encountered. The seas again and again washed over the deck. It seemed wonderful that more of the men did not knock up. The first mate looked thin and haggard, and so did most of the other officers and men. The bulwarks on both sides had been carried away, two of the boats had been injured, and the ship had suffered various other damages. Still we kept at it; the wind shifted; Cape Horn was actually weathered, and at length a joyous cheer burst from the throats of the crew as the ship's head was directed to the north-west. It was some days, however, before we felt any sensible change of climate, but after that it grew warmer and warmer, for we were now fairly in the Pacific. The captain was disappointed in his expectations of recovering his sight. He came daily on deck and stood turning his head round in every direction, and I observed a painful expression on his countenance. "I'll tell you what, Peter, I've a notion how the captain came to lose his sight," said Horner to me in a confidential tone. "It's a punishment to him for the way he treated Esdale, and you, and Jim." "We have no right to think that," I answered; "even if he had treated me ten times worse than he has done, I should not wish him to suffer what must be to a man of his nature so terrible a misfortune." "Well, then, I suppose I must keep my opinion to myself," answered Horner. In a few days we reached the island of Juan Fernandez, and hove-to off it that the boats might go in close to the shore to catch some fish. Mr Griffiths gave Jim and me leave to go in one of them. We were provided with hooks and lines. The water was so clear that we could see the fish take the bait, which they did so ravenously, that in a short time we had as many rock cod and other fish as we required. We afterwards landed and brought off a quantity of wild mint, which grows in profusion over the island. We made it into tea, which we enjoyed very much after drinking pea-coffee so long. While we were collecting the mint we saw a number of goats bounding among the rocks, some standing still and looking down on us. They were descendants of those which inhabited the island in the days of Alexander Selkirk, who was taken off by Dampier during his last voyage to the Pacific. At first we thought that there were no inhabitants, but just as we were shoving off we heard a shout, and a white man and negro were seen rushing down towards us, shouting and gesticulating furiously. They were both dressed in skins, with high fur caps, and had long sticks in their hands to help themselves as they ran. "Why, I do believe that must be Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday," cried Horner, at which all hands laughed. "He got home long ago, or he never could have written his history, stupid," said the mate, "but whoever they are we'll wait for them." Still Horner had not got his first idea out of his head. He had not read much, but he had read Robinson Crusoe, and believed in it as a veracious history. The strangers soon reached the boat. "Now, I say, ain't you Robinson Crusoe?" cried Horner, as the white man got up to the boat. "No, my name is Miles Soper, and I know nothing of the chap you speak of," answered the stranger. "I say, mister," he continued, turning to the mate, "will you take us poor fellows off? We were cast ashore some six months ago or more, and are the only people out of our ship, which went down off there, who saved their lives, as far as I can tell. Sam Cole here and I came ashore on a bit of a raft, and we have had a hard time of it since then." "Why, as to that, my man, if you're willing to enter and serve aboard our ship, I daresay the captain will take you, but he doesn't want idlers." "Beggars can't be choosers," answered Miles Soper. "If you are willing to take us we shall be glad to go, and both Sam and I are able seamen." "Well, jump in, my lads," said the mate; "but haven't you anything at the place where you have lived so long to bring away?" "No, we've nothing but the clothes we stand up in, except it may be a few wooden bowls and such like things," answered the stranger, who looked hard at the mate as he spoke, probably suspecting that we might pull off, and that he and his chum might be left behind. Both the men seemed in tolerably good condition. They told us that they had had abundance of goat's flesh and vegetables, as well as fruit, but that they had got tired of the life, and had had a quarrel with four mongrel Spaniards, who lived on another part of the island, whom they thought might some day try to murder them. They both asked to take an oar, and, by the way they pulled, they showed that they were likely to be useful hands. When we got on board the _Intrepid_, Mr Griffiths spoke very kindly to them, and as they at once said that they would be glad to enter, their names were put down as belonging to the crew. I took a liking from the first to Miles Soper, though he was perfectly uneducated, and could neither read nor write. Sam also seemed an honest merry fellow. He and the other Africans soon became friends. The crew had been employed on the passage, whenever the weather permitted, in preparing what is called the "cutting-in gear," which consists of the various tackles and ropes for securing the whales alongside when caught and taking off the blubber. Then there was the gear of the various boats, and it would astonish anyone to see the enormous number of articles stowed away in a whale-boat when she starts after a whale. Everything was now got ready, as we were in expectation every day of falling in with whales, and the men were on the look-out from the mastheads from dawn until dark, in the hopes of seeing them. I longed to see a whale caught, for as yet the voyage had been profitless, and every one was out of spirits. The captain, who still remained perfectly blind, notwithstanding the assurances of Dr Cockle that he would recover, was so especially. He seemed like a heartbroken man; his countenance gloomy, as if troubled with melancholy thoughts, and his whole manner and appearance were changed. It was sad to see him come on deck and stand, sometimes for an hour together, turning his face round, as if he were picturing to himself the sparkling ocean, the blue sky overhead, and the busy scene which the deck of his ship presented. I observed that Mr Griffiths never gave an order if he could help it while the blind captain was on deck. The health of the latter, however, by degrees improved, the colour returned to his cheeks, and his voice, when he spoke, again had the ring in it which I had from the first remarked. Day after day, however, we sailed on without seeing a whale. At length one day, soon after noon, the first mate having just taken an observation, and the captain being in his cabin, we were cheered by the cry from the masthead of-- "There she spouts! There she spouts!" The loud tramping of the men on deck roused those below, who quickly sprang up, eager to engage in the expected chase. Among the first who appeared was the captain, who ran up the companion-ladder with as much agility as he had ever displayed. "Where away--where away?" he asked. The men pointed to windward, and to our surprise the captain turned his eyes in the same direction. "Lower three boats," he shouted. "I'll go in one of them." Presently I saw a low, bush-like spout of white mist rise from the surface of the sea, not two miles off. "There she spouts! There she spouts!" shouted the captain, showing that he saw too. With wonderful rapidity, as everything was prepared, the boats were lowered. The doctor had come on deck. "Where are you going, Captain Hawkins?" he asked, in an astonished tone. "In chase of those whales out there," answered the captain; "for, doctor, I can see them as well as you do." Of this there could be no doubt. Several at that instant appeared at various distances. The excitement of the moment had given the required stimulus to the captain's nerves, and he was restored to sight. I remembered the fruitless chase off Cape Horn, when the captain and those with him so nearly lost their lives, but this promised to be successful. The captain's boat took the lead. His aim was to get up to one of the monsters of the deep just as it returned to the surface for breathing, as it would be some time before it could go down again, and before that interval many a harpoon and lance might be plunged into its body. The captain soon took the lead; the men pulled as if their lives depended on it. Before they were half a mile away a whale rose just ahead of the captain's boat. Springing into the bows, he stood, harpoon in hand, ready to strike. Presently he was close up to the monster; the weapon flew from his grasp, followed by three lances hurled in rapid succession. The whale, feeling the pain, darted off. Another boat came up, and a second harpoon was made fast, while several more lances were plunged into its side. Presently its enormous flukes rose in the air. "He has sounded! He has sounded!" cried those on board. The whale had dived, and the lines coiled away in the tubs ran rapidly out. The monster, however, had not finished its breathing, and soon after a second line had been secured to the first it came again to the surface. The boats pulled rapidly towards it, and the harpooners plied it with their lances. Presently we saw them pull away as if for their lives. The whale rose nearly out of the water, and began turning round and lashing the surface with its flukes, each blow being sufficient to destroy any boat and her crew within its reach. "The monster is in its flurry," I heard the doctor say. "It is ours to a certainty." He was right. After lashing the water into a mass of blood-tinged foam, it lay perfectly still. Those on board raised a shout as they saw a little flag fixed on the body. The boats now made chase after another whale, which gave them more trouble than the first; but they attacked it bravely, now pulling up and hurling harpoons and lances into it, and now pulling away to avoid being attacked in return. Presently we saw one boat again dash forward, almost the next instant its fragments rose in the air, and the crew were scattered far and wide around. Which boat it was we could not tell. Some fancied it was the captain's, others that it was the second mate's. "He regained his sight to-day," said an old Orkneyman. "It's a question whether it wasn't that he might have a last look on his fellow-creatures and the mighty sea." CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. OUR FIRST WHALES CAUGHT--I HEAR NEWS OF JACK. The moment the accident was perceived Mr Griffiths ordered the only remaining boat away, and jumped into her, for the carpenter had not yet finished the two building to replace those lost off Cape Horn. I asked to go. "No! You stay on board and help to work the ship up to us," he answered. I accordingly went to the helm, as I steered better than most of those remaining on board, while the doctor and steward lent a hand to the rest in pulling and hauling, as we had continually to go about; but the wind was light, and it was not very hard work. I kept an eye constantly towards the boats, and soon saw a whift planted on the back of the last whale attacked, which showed that it was dead. Our anxiety was relieved when, instead of returning, they made chase after another whale. It proved that although the boat had been destroyed, the men had escaped with their lives. "I do believe we shan't have the skipper aboard again," observed Horner. "I hope so," I said. "Ahem!" was his answer, as he walked away. At length, shortening sail, we ran up alongside the first whale that had been killed. The men descended to its back with ropes round their waists to hook on the tackles to its head and flukes. We had then to wait until the boats towed the other whale up to the opposite side. We eagerly watched their proceedings. The third whale was attacked. After sounding twice and carrying out, apparently, three, if not four lines, we saw it suddenly come to the surface and leap completely out of the water. This is called breaching. It then began rolling round and round, endeavouring in its agony to get rid of the weapon sticking in it. The boats for some time kept at a distance. Then once more they approached, again to pull off as the whale commenced lashing the water with its huge flukes. "It's in its flurry," observed the doctor, who was looking through his telescope, which he handed to me. At last we saw the three boats approaching, towing the whale by the nose. The wind having fallen, and having a whale alongside, we were unable to near them to save them their long pull. On they came, towing the monster at the rate of a mile and a half an hour. It was thus upwards of that period of time before they got alongside. The first man handed up was Miles Soper--or Robinson Crusoe, as we called him--whose leg had been broken by the second whale attack. He had willingly endured the suffering, lying at the bottom of the boat, rather than give up the chase. No one else had been injured, though all had run a great risk of being drowned; but a whaler's crew know that such may be their fate at any moment. The doctor at once took the man under his charge. No time was lost in hooking on the other whale, and commencing the operation of "cutting-in." This I may briefly describe as taking off the blubber with large spades, the handles of which are twenty feet long. The whale is turned round and round by means of tackles brought to the windlass, the blanket-piece, or blubber covering, being thus gradually stripped off till it reaches the tail, which is hove on board with the last piece. The blubber is lowered down the main hatchway and cut up into small pieces, called "horse pieces." These are afterwards piled up on deck to be minced into thin slices for boiling in the pots. The operation of "cutting-in" is a very dangerous one when there is any sea on to make the ship roll. The first and second mates stand on stages lowered over the side, cutting the blubber from the whale as the crew heave it round with the windlass. The four boat-steerers are on the gang-ways attending to the guys and tackles, the captain superintending the whole process, while the carpenter grinds the spades. All round the sea swarms with sharks attracted by the oil and blubber. When not otherwise employed, Tom and I and Horner attacked them with the spades and killed great numbers. We worked away until night, but did not finish even then, as it takes twelve hours to strip the blubber off a large whale. We commenced again at daylight, and it was dark before we began to cut into the second whale. We had still a third to operate on, but as each was worth nearly a thousand pounds, no one complained. Fortunately the weather remained fine, and we got the blubber of the third whale on board by the end of the next day. We had also boiled the spermaceti oil out of the head, with small buckets at the ends of long poles. This is the most valuable production of the whale, and is used for making candles. For night work the ship's company was divided into two watches, from six to one, and from one to six. The instant the last piece of blubber was on board, the carcasses were cast loose to be devoured by fish and fowl. We began the operation of trying-out, as boiling the blubber is called, by first putting some wood under the try-pots. As soon as the blubber was boiled, the scraps which rose to the surface were skimmed off with a large ladle, and after being thrown into a pot with holes in the bottom to drain off the oil remaining in them, were used as fuel for boiling the remainder of the blubber. The appearance our decks presented, with huge fires blazing away under our pots, and the men with the ladles skimming off the scraps, or baling out the oil into the coolers, was strange and weird in the extreme. Had I been suddenly introduced among them, I should not have recognised them as my shipmates, begrimed as they were with smoke and oil. I was, however, much in the same condition. Dr Cockle had become accustomed to it, but I cannot fancy that it was very pleasant to him. The doctor told me that he should be glad, whenever I could, if I would go below and talk to poor Miles Soper. I willingly did so. He was suffering occasionally great pain, but in the intervals it cheered him to have some one to speak to. I found that he was even more ready to talk than listen, and I accordingly got him to tell me about himself. He happened to ask my name. I told him. "Peter Trawl!" he exclaimed. "Trawl! That's curious. I remember a chap of your name aboard the _Lapwing_ brig-of-war." I at once was deeply interested. "He must have been my brother Jack," I exclaimed. "Do tell me what has become of him, for I heard he was lost out in the Indian seas." "That's just where he and I were nearly lost. We were coming home when a boat was sent away, and we, with six more men and an officer, went in her, to visit an island on some business or other, I forget what, and I didn't know it's name. "There are wild sorts of chaps out in those parts, who go pirating in their proas, as they call them. While we were just shoving off, a dozen or more of these proas came round us. We knew if the pirates got hold of us we should all be knocked on the head, so we began blazing away to keep them at a distance. We kept on at it till we hadn't a charge left for our muskets. Two of our men were killed, and our officer badly wounded. The pirates then came nearer and fired their gingalls into us. Just then one of their proas caught fire, and sent up such clouds of smoke that for some time, as we were near her, we could not be seen. "`Now, lads,' said the officer, `those among you who are not wounded try and swim to shore. It's your only chance. The rest of us must die like men.' "Our oars, you see, were shattered, and by this time all hands except Jack and me were more or less hurt. We followed our brave officer's advice, and leaping overboard reached the beach before we were seen by the pirates. Some gingalls were fired at us, but we got away among the bushes, and ran as hard as our legs could carry us in shore. We did not know where we were going, or what sort of people we should meet. Whether the pirates landed or not we did not stop to learn, but as we ran for three or four hours there was not much chance of being overtaken. "We saw at last a river before us, and as it was too broad to cross, and we were afraid, should we attempt to swim over, that we might be picked off by one of those big scaly beasts they call crocodiles, we kept down along the bank, as we knew that it must lead us to the opposite side of the island to where we had landed. "`Cheer up,' said Jack to me. `Maybe our ship will come round there and take us off. Our fellows are sure to be searching round the coast on the chance of finding us.' "`I hope you're right, Jack,' said I, `for it will be a bad job for us if we can't get away, as how we are to find food is more than I can tell, and it's very clear we can't live without it.' "There were plenty of trees growing on the bank, though not so thickly but that we could manage to make our way between them. "Says Jack to me, `If those cut-throat fellows come after us, we must climb up one of these and hide ourselves among the branches.' "`I don't think they will take the trouble to follow us so far,' I answered. `But it's a good idea of yours, and it will give us a chance of saving our lives.' "We of course could not run as fast as we had been going in the open country. Sometimes we came across fallen trees, over which we had to climb, and at others we had to go round thick bushes which we could not get through. Still, what stopped us would stop our enemies. On and on we went, till just as we got out of a wood we saw before us a village of curious-looking houses, built on stout piles, many of them right in the water. "`Hadn't we better go back?' I said to Jack; `the people who live there may be the same sort of cut-throats as those we have got away from. They'll be for knocking us on the head when they see us.' "Jack agreed with me that it would be better to stay in the wood till it was dark, and we might then make our way clear of the village down to the sea. We were just going back, when a woman came out on a sort of verandah in front of the house nearest to us, and we knew by the way she was looking that we were seen. Then she turned round and called to another woman, who also came out. "`Come,' said Jack, `we had better go on boldly and ask those dark-skinned ladies to give us their protection. They are sure to do that if we look humble enough, and show them that we want to be friends, for to my mind women are alike all the world over.' "So we moved on, kissing our hands, and then holding them up clasped before us. The women did not run away, or seem a bit frightened; and as we got nearer one of them came down the ladder and held out both her hands, which we took and put on our heads. She then beckoned us up the steps, and made signs to us to sit down on mats inside the house. As we were both very hungry by this time, we pointed to our mouths to show that we wanted something to eat and drink. The younger girl went to another part of the house and brought back some fish and yams, and a bowl with some liquor in it. There was not much to be said for the taste, but we were too thirsty after our long run to be particular. We tried to make the women understand that there were enemies coming after us, and that we wanted to hide away, so when we had finished our meal they beckoned us to come into another room, and, placing some mats on the ground, they told us that we might sleep there safely--at least, that's what we made out. "Night came on, and Jack and I, agreeing that we had got into good quarters, went to sleep. There was no bell striking, and no bo'sun's mate to rouse us up, and so we slept on till it was broad daylight. We got up and looked out from the verandah, or platform, which went round the house, when we saw three men talking together. As soon as they caught sight of us they came towards the house, and one of them mounted the ladder. He looked at us with surprise, and seemed to be asking who we were. We told him as well as we could by signs that we had come across from the other side of the island, and wanted to get off to our ship, which would soon be round to take us aboard. This did not seem to satisfy him. Presently in came the women, and they had a talk about the matter, but what they said we could not make out. The first man then called the other two, and after more palavering they began to look savage, and gave us to understand that we were to be their slaves, and work for them. "`Well,' says Jack to me, `all we've got to do is to grin and bear it. Maybe, as we are near the sea, we shall have a chance of making our escape.' "This was one comfort; so we nodded, as much as to say we were ready to do what they bid us, for, you see, we were in their power and couldn't help ourselves. After we had gone into the house and sat down, waiting to see what would next happen, the women--bless them for their kindness!--brought us some more food for breakfast, and a capital one we made. Bad as was our lot, yet it was better than being knocked on the head or having our throats cut. A number of people now came out of their houses, and there was great rejoicing among them to think that they had got two white men as slaves. We found that we had plenty of work to do to cut wood and fetch water, and to hoe in their fields, which were some way from the village, or to go out fishing with them. "This we liked better than anything else. If it had not been for the women our lot would have been worse, for they took care to give us food every day, which I don't think the men would have troubled themselves about doing, for they were regular savages. "Day after day went by; we were getting accustomed to our life, and as yet had had no chance of escaping. A precious sharp look-out was at all times kept over us, and I don't think even the women would have wished us to go, for we had to do a good deal of the work which would have otherwise fallen to their lot. Though we were, as I was saying, used to the life we led, we both wanted to get away. "I've an old father down in Dorsetshire, and there's a bright young girl who lives with him whom I would give something to see again; and Jack sighed to go home, as he said, to see his father and mother, and a young brother and sister. He used to talk much to me about you all, and it seemed to me as if I knew you long before we ever met. "We found that we were much farther from the sea than we had at first supposed, for although we went a good way down the river we never reached its mouth. "The people in the village didn't lead quiet lives, for they were always on the watch, fearing that they might be attacked by enemies. At night they made fast their boats under their houses, and had their goods all ready for a start into the woods, while they had men on the look-out night and day to give notice should any strange vessels come up the river. "Jack and I agreed that if any enemies should come in the night we might have a good chance of escaping, but from what we had seen of the fellows who had attacked our boat we had no wish to fall into the hands of such characters. We thought that we might manage to slip into a boat and pull up the river and hide ourselves until the pirates had gone away. "You must know that we did not wish any ill to our masters, for though we were their slaves we had taken a liking to them, as they did not ill-treat us, and gave us a good deal of time to ourselves. "Weeks and months went by. We began to think that no enemy would come, and that we must try to get off by some other means than that we had first thought of. At last we saw the men sharpening their long knives and polishing their spears, and new painting their shields. "`Depend upon it there's something in the wind,' said Jack to me. `They are going on a war expedition.' "`No doubt about the matter,' I said, `and they'll want us to go with them.' "`Then we must take care not to go,' said Jack. `I for one won't be for killing men, women, and children, as these fellows are likely to do. We must pretend to be sick, or that we do not understand what they want of us, and get off somehow or other.' "Whether or not it was talking about being sick I don't know, but the very next night I was struck down with fever. Our masters saw that I was not shamming. The women also stood our friends, and declared that I was not fit to get up and work, while Jack was allowed to stay at home and nurse me. I was very bad, and I believe he thought that I should die. "If he had been my own mother's son he couldn't have looked after me better than he did; night and day he was always by my side, ready to give me what I wanted. One day I heard a loud shouting and singing, and Jack, who had gone out, came back and said that the men had all started with their spears and shields. They had wanted to make him go, but the women said he must stop behind, though he had a hard matter to escape from the men. I was already getting better, and this news made me feel better still. "`It will be a bad return to run off with one of their boats,' said Jack, `but there seems no help for it, and it may be our only chance, for the men will be back again in a day or two.' "That very night, while Jack and I were sitting up talking, we heard shrieks and cries in the distance; and presently, looking out, Jack said he saw the houses lower down the river burning. "Then depend upon it the pirates have taken the place, I said. "`No doubt about it,' exclaimed Jack, `and now is our chance. If we could defend the poor women and children we would, but we cannot do that. They'll know where to fly to, and so, I hope, escape.' "Suddenly I felt my strength come back, and I was able to follow Jack down the ladder, at the bottom of which the boat was kept moored. To cut the painter by which she was made fast didn't take us a moment, and springing into her we paddled across the stream. As we looked down the river we could see all the houses in a blaze, and here and there people running off into the woods, while we made out half a score or more of the dark proas stealing up along the shore." Just as Miles Soper had got thus far in his history I was summoned on deck, and eager as I was to hear how he and Jack had fared, I was obliged to attend to my duty. CHAPTER NINETEEN. MILES SOPER'S NARRATIVE CONCLUDED. "I've heard news of my brother Jack!" I exclaimed, as I met Jim directly after I sprang on deck. "What! Is he alive?" asked Jim. "Miles Soper, who was his shipmate, thinks so," I answered. "At all events, he wasn't killed when we thought he was." "Then, Peter, we'll find him if we search the world round!" cried Jim, giving me a warm grip of the hand. "I am glad; that I am!" It takes a whole day to "try out"--that is, to boil down the blubber of each whale. I found that the cooper and his mate had just finished filling up the casks from the coolers, and I was wanted, with others, to assist in rolling them aft. Here they were chocked and lashed and left to cool for several days before they were in a condition to be stowed away in the hold. In the meantime we had to get up all the empty casks on deck so that we might lay the ground-tier with the full casks. As the casks were piled up, one upon another, the ship was in consequence almost topheavy, and I saw the captain and Mr Griffiths frequently casting glances round the horizon, to watch for an indication of any change in the weather, for should a sudden squall strike the ship she might, while in this condition, be sent over in an instant. Every possible exertion was therefore made to get the task accomplished, and all hands were employed. Anxious as I was to hear what had become of my brother, I consequently had no opportunity for a long time of listening to a continuance of Miles Soper's narrative. I should have said that though the oil casks were stowed away empty and filled by means of the hose from the deck, the greatest care was required in bedding them, as they might have to remain three years or more in the hold. The blubber from the three whales was at length tryed out and secured in the casks, and the decks being washed down, the ship once more resumed her ordinary appearance, we meantime continuing our course northward. The first moment I was at liberty I went down to see Miles Soper. He said that he felt much better, though still unable to do duty. "And what about Jack?" I asked; "you and he were just pulling away across the river at night to escape from the Dyack pirates." "Yes; I have been thinking much about it since I told you. I would not have to go through that time again for a good deal if I could help it. We could hear the shrieks and cries of the old men, women, and children as the cruel pirates caught them and cut off their heads, and we could see the flames burst out from the houses all along the banks of the river. We were afraid that the light would be thrown upon our boat, so that we dare not venture down the river, but pulled up along the southern bank close under the bushes. We thought that we were safe, at all events, till daylight, when we caught sight of two boats coming out from among the pirate fleet and steering up stream. I gave up all for lost, as I knew that they would whip our heads off in a moment should they come up with us. "`Don't give in!' cried Jack; `perhaps it isn't us that they're after.' "We ceased pulling lest the light should fall on our oar-blades, for we should have had no chance if they had made chase. "`Let's paddle in under these bushes,' whispered Jack; `they're very thick, and we can lie hid here, while maybe they'll pass us.' "We did as he proposed. As the boughs overhung the water and almost touched it with their ends, we hoped that the pirates would not discover us. We could just look out across the river, and saw the boats still coming towards us. We both lay down in the bottom of our boat and remained as quiet as mice, scarcely daring to look up above the gunwale for fear of being seen. We could hear the voices of the pirates and the splash of their oars as they drew nearer. If they had before seen us they might have observed the spot where we had disappeared, and I expected every moment to have my head whipped off my shoulders. Just putting my eyes above the gunwale, I saw the two boats, broadside on, pulling along. They hadn't found us out. On and on they went, right up the stream. They must have thought that we were still ahead. We, of course, didn't dare to move, hoping that they would give up the chase and go back again. "`We must not be too sure that they won't look for us when they do come back,' said Jack. `Howsomdever, there's no use crying out till we're caught. I'll tell you what; the best thing we can do is to get on shore and make our way inland; then, though they may find the boat, they won't catch us.' I agreed; so, shoving the boat farther in till we reached the bank, we sprang on shore, and having secured her by the painter, set off directly away from the river. As it was very dark, we had to grope our way amongst the trees and bushes, though the glare in the sky from the burning houses enabled us to steer a right course. We half expected that a snake or a wild beast might pounce down upon us, and we had no arms to defend ourselves. But anything was better than to be caught by the pirates. At last, when our clothes were torn nearly off our backs, we reached some open ground, and set off running till we got to a wood on the opposite side. `Now,' says Jack, `we won't go farther, but hide here till the morning; then maybe, if we can climb to the top of a tree, we shall be able to catch sight of the river and find out what the pirates are doing.' I thought his idea a good one, so we sat down on the ground and waited. We could hear no sounds, so we concluded that all the poor people had been killed. We hoped, however, that the warriors might come back and beat the pirates off. Not that we wished to fall into the power of our old masters again, for they would have kept us prisoners if they didn't lake it into their heads to kill us. "At last the light returned, and seeing a tall tree near: Jack and I climbed up to the top. Jack went first. `Hurrah!' he shouted; `there go the pirates down the river, pulling away with all their oars out!' Sure enough I saw them also. `But I say, Jack, perhaps the warriors have come back and put them to flight; if so, we must take care not to be caught by them.' I said, `I can see where the village stood, but I don't see any people moving about.' `It's a long way, to be sure, so we must be careful,' answered Jack. We soon got down the tree and returned to our boat. The pirates hadn't discovered her, so we got on board, and cautiously shoved out to the edge of the bushes, stopping just inside them. We then took a look-out, but could discover no one moving on the opposite shore, so we pulled across to the village. It was a fearful sight we saw there. Bodies of old men, women, and children were scattered about, but the heads were gone. "We were in a hurry, you may be sure, to get away, but, says Jack, `It won't do to put to sea without food or water.' So we hunted about, and found in the bushes several baskets which the poor people had been trying to carry off with food of all sorts, and some calabashes, which we quickly filled at the spring where we were accustomed to get water. We hurried with them back to the boat, and once more shoved off. We then paddled away down the river. The current was running out, so that we made good way, and were soon out of sight of the burnt village. Our craft was not very well suited for a voyage, but anything was better than stopping to be killed on shore. We pulled on until nearly noon before we came in sight of the mouth of the river. There was no bar, and the sea was smooth, so we resolved to pull out at once, in the hope of being picked up by some passing vessel. We were still not certain even now that our masters would not make chase after us, so we didn't stop a moment, except just to look round, but pulled right away to sea. Just as we got outside we caught sight of the pirate fleet under sail, standing to the nor'ard. We therefore pulled south, not that there was much chance of their coming back, but we thought that if we went in their wake we should not fall in with any merchant vessel, for at any rate if they should have met one they would to a certainty have robbed and scuttled her. "We supposed that there were other islands away to the westward, but then they might be inhabited by the same cut-throat sort of fellows as those from whom we had escaped, and we didn't want to fall into their hands. Our chief hope was to be picked up by some passing vessel or other, perhaps by our own ship, but Jack said he thought she would not have remained at the station, and would have long ago given up searching for us. It was hot work paddling away all day, and we would have given much for a sail, but the boat was not fitted for one, and she was not fitted either for a heavy sea--not that there was much chance of that getting up at such time of the year. We had plenty of food and water, so we kept up our spirits. Where we were going to neither of us could tell; all we knew was that we were our own masters. We were queer characters to look at, with our clothes all torn to shreds, our hair long, and our faces as brown as berries. No one would have taken us for Englishmen, but we had English tongues and English hearts, and we made up our minds to stick at it and not be downcast. We wanted to get away as far as we could from the shore, for fear any of the natives might come after us--not that there was much chance of that. We paddled and paddled till our arms ached, and we were well-nigh roasted with the hot sun. We were thankful when night came on, and we were able to rest and take some food. "We had agreed to keep watch and watch, but it was of no use trying to keep awake, so we both lay down in the bottom of the boat and went fast asleep. When we awoke it was broad daylight, and presently up came the sun and beat down on our heads as hot as the day before. There we were floating on the sea with the water calm as a mill-pond, and not a sail in sight. There was no chance either of a vessel coming near us while the calm continued. We took our breakfasts, however, and talked of what we should do. Far away to the east we could see the blue outline of the island we had left, but what part to steer for we could not make up our minds. There was only one thing we determined--come what might, not to go back and be made slaves of. It seemed useless to be paddling away and yet not to know where we were going to; but we still hoped that we might fall in with some merchant vessel, it mattered not of what country, though we wished she might be English, and so we might find our way home. "`Come, let's be moving,' said Jack, at last. `I've heard say that there are Dutch and Spanish settlements out in these parts, and maybe we shall fall in with one of them, and both the mynheers and dons are good sort of people, and will treat us kindly.' "So we took to our paddles and made our way to the westward. All day we paddled on, but no land appeared in sight, and now and then we stopped to take some food and a drink of water, but it was tiring work. We were thankful when night came at last. We didn't sleep so long, and were at our paddles before daybreak, for we knew by the stars how to steer. "Next day we did just the same, and the next after that. "`I say, Miles,' said Jack, `we must soon manage to come to land or we shall be starving. We have not got food nor water for more than one day longer, and without them we shall not be able to hold out.' "That was very true; still neither of us thought of giving in. A light breeze from the eastward had sprung up, so that we made good way, but there was no land to be seen ahead. We didn't talk much, for we had said all we could say about our prospects, and they were bad enough. But they became worse when we had drunk up all the water and eaten every bit of food we had in the boat. I had heard of people going three or four days without eating, but the want of water was the worst. We would have given a heap of gold if we had had it for a cupful. The wind now shifted to the southward, and blew much stronger than before, knocking up a sea which threatened every moment to swamp our boat, which was not fitted for rough water. We now began to think that it was all up with us, and that all we could do was just to keep the boat's head to the seas to prevent her from capsizing. "At last Jack sang out, `A sail! A sail to the southward!' "There she was, coming up before the wind. A strange-looking, outlandish craft she seemed as she drew nearer. "`I wonder whether she's one of those Dyack or Malay pirates,' I said. `If so, we may as well let the boat turn over.' "`No, no; let us trust God, and hope for the best,' said Jack. `Cheer up, Miles! She's sent for our relief.' "I was not so sure of that, for it was easy to see from her outlandish rig that she was one of the craft of those seas. Presently, as she got near us, she lowered her sails and came close up. Ropes were hove to us, and hands were stretched out over the side to haul us on board, for we had scarcely strength enough left to help ourselves. They tried to secure the boat, but she drifted off and was swamped. We just saw that the people were Chinamen, pig-eyed, with turned-up noses and yellow skins. We both fainted away. They brought us some water, and in a short time we got better. They then carried us into a small cabin aft out of the hot sun. Presently they brought us some food--rice, and some stuff minced with it. We were not particular, for we were desperately hungry. "We now found that the people who had picked us up were honest traders bound northward with a cargo of sea-slugs, birds'-nests, and other things from these seas. We tried to talk to them, but could not manage it, as none of them understood English, and we couldn't speak their lingo. But as soon as we got stronger we made ourselves useful, pulling and hauling, and doing whatever came to hand. Where we were going to we could not make out, but we hoped that it was to some place at which the English ships touched, and that we might get home some day. As Jack said, we had reason to be thankful that we had been picked up, for the weather came on very bad, and our boat could not have lived through it. The Chinamen kept a bright look-out, and seemed terribly afraid of the pirates. We tried to make them understand that we had seen the fleet sail to nor'ard a short time before, and we ourselves didn't like the thoughts of falling in with them. We told them also that we would fight to the death sooner than yield. They understood us, and seemed to think that we were very fine fellows. We had been sailing on for three or four days, and we began to hope that we were free of the pirates, when just as we passed a headland we caught sight of a number of craft coming out from under it. On seeing them the Chinamen looked very much frightened, hoisted all sail, and brought their arms on deck. We watched the strangers, who, it was very clear, were making chase after us. We should have a hard fight for it, even if we should manage to get off. Presently, however, we saw their sails flapping against their masts as they came under the headland, whilst we still had a breeze and went away dancing merrily over the water. I never felt so pleased in my life, and the Chinamen seemed highly delighted, chattering and jabbering away like so many monkeys. It was pleasant to see the pirates' sails sink below the horizon, and pleasanter still to lose sight of them altogether. "We ran on day after day. The breeze held fair and we by degrees got accustomed to our new friends, and could make ourselves understood in a fashion. We sometimes were sailing between islands, and sometimes on the open sea. Whereabouts we were we had no idea, though we supposed that we were approaching the Chinamen's country. "We had been a fortnight or more on board when dark clouds rose up from the south-west, and it came on to blow very hard. The sails were lowered and we ran before the gale. I saw by the looks of the crew that they didn't like it, nor did we, for it seemed as if at any moment the clumsy craft might be capsized. We, however, pumped and baled, and tried to keep her clear of water. It all seemed, however, of no use, for the seas washed into her and she was leaking terribly. "We had been driven a long way out of our course. We did our best to cheer up our shipmates, and set them the example by working harder than any of them. "At last the gale ceased, and we once more made sail, but, do all we could, the water gained on us and the crew began to heave the cargo overboard to keep the junk afloat. The boats had been washed away, and we knew that if she went down we should all be drowned. Jack and I talked of what we could do to save our lives, but we agreed that we should have to share the fate of the rest. It seemed to us that the craft would not swim another night, when we made out a sail to the westward. "The Chinamen by this time were so knocked up that they were scarcely able to exert themselves. Jack and I sprang here and there, now pumping, now baling, now trying to make our companions do the same. It seemed to us that they would let the craft go down in sight of help. The stranger we judged by the cut of her sails to be a whaler. The junk was settling lower and lower in the water. Jack found a flag, an odd-looking piece of stuff it was. He ran it up half-mast high as a signal of distress. The stranger came on slowly, for the wind was light. It seemed even now that she would not be in time to save us. At last she got near enough to see our condition, and hove-to. Four boats were lowered, which came pulling towards us. "By this time the water was almost up to the lower deck. Jack and I stood ready to spring on board the first boat which came up. The brave crew came on, and were in time to haul the greater number of the Chinamen on board before the junk sunk beneath their feet. Several went down in her, too much knocked up to exert themselves. With us and those saved, the boats returned on board. We found that we had been picked up by the _Helen_, whaler. She had been cruising off the coast of Japan, and was going to Macao for fresh provisions. As she was short of hands Jack and I at once entered on board her. Having landed the unfortunate Chinamen and taken in the stores we wanted, we stood away into the Pacific. We found ourselves among a somewhat rough lot, but we were better off than we had been as slaves, though Jack and I agreed that we would much rather serve on board a man-o'-war. We had been cruising for some time, and had caught and stowed away about a dozen whales or more, when one night there was a cry of `Breakers ahead!' "The captain, who was on deck in a moment, gave the order to put up the helm and veer ship, but before she could be got round she struck heavily. We sounded round her and found the water deep on the starboard side. But all our efforts proving useless, the order was given to lower the boats. We had five fit for service, and they were got safely into the water. Jack went in one of them, I in another. We were ordered to keep off at a safe distance from the ship till daylight. When morning broke we found that the ship was a complete wreck, and that there was no chance of saving her. The captain then ordered the boats to come alongside one at a time and embark the rest of the crew, with such provisions as could be collected. We now saw land away to the nor'ard, and, having left the ship, pulled towards it. Our great want was water, and to obtain it the captain divided us into two parties to look into any bays we might discover and try and find a spring. I was in the second mate's boat. We were just pulling into a bay, when a dozen canoes full of black savages, with bows and spears, darted out and made chase after us, so we pulled away out to sea. What had become of the other boats we could not tell. Your brother Jack had gone in the captain's, and that was the last I saw of him." "Do you think they could have escaped from the savages?" I asked, anxiously. "I have no reason to suppose they didn't, just as we managed to escape," answered Miles, "but we didn't catch sight of them again. We had sails in our boat, and plenty of provisions, and the mate told us he intended to steer for the Sandwich Islands, the nearest civilised place he knew of, but that it was a long way off, and we should be a long time about it. He might have been right, but we were still many days' sail from it when we ran short of provisions and drank up all our water. I believe that we should have died if we hadn't fallen in with another whaler, which picked us up. I entered on board her, as did some of the men, but the mate and others preferred landing at Honolulu. I served on board her for some time. We had gone southward, having got a full ship, when we struck on a coral reef. Though we did all we could to keep her afloat, she went down with all hands, except the black and me, and we managed to get ashore on Robinson Crusoe's Island, from which you took us off." "But can't you give me any idea as to what has become of Jack?" I again asked. "Not more than I have told you," answered Miles; "but my idea is that some if not all the boats got off, though in what direction they steered I've no notion." I was prevented from talking more on the subject just then by being summoned on deck, and when I told Jim he repeated what he had before said-- "We'll find him, Peter. We'll find him." CHAPTER TWENTY. A MUTINY AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. I told Dr Cockle all I had heard about my brother Jack from Miles Soper. He seemed greatly interested, and said that he sincerely hoped we might find Jack or hear of him, though he confessed that it was very much like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay. Jim and I talked of little else. We neither of us any longer thought of going home, but I got a letter ready to send, by the first ship bound for England, to my sister Mary, and another to Mr Troil, telling them that I had got tidings of Jack, and much as I wished to get back, should stay out in those seas till I found him. My great wish now was to fall in with other whalers, that I might make inquiries about my brother. The captain--though, I suppose, Dr Cockle and Mr Griffiths told him what I had heard--seemed to take no interest in the matter, nor did he show me any more attention than before. We had left Juan Fernandez more than a month, when a cry came from the masthead of "Land ho!" It proved to be Chatham Island, one of the Galapagos, a group of volcanic islands almost under the line, some hundred miles away from the coast of Peru. We brought up in a fine bay, but the shore as far as we could see looked black and barren. There were, however, thick, low bushes of a peculiar kind, covering the ground at some distance from the beach. As Dr Cockle was going on shore with one of the mates and a party of the men, he to botanise and they to obtain fresh provisions, I went up to the captain and asked leave to accompany him. "I understand you have made up your mind not to run away," he observed, in his usual sarcastic tone. "Yes, sir," I answered; "I'm content to remain on board your ship, though I know that I would until lately have done anything to get back to England." "Take care you don't change your mind," he said, in the same tone as before. "If the doctor will be answerable for you, you can go." I told the doctor what the captain said. "I know that I can trust you. Peter, and I'll tell the captain that I'll undertake to bring you back," he answered. I was glad to find that Jim was to form one of the party. Horner also got leave to go. Though he and I were on good terms, I can't say I looked upon him as a friend, but I was well pleased that he should have a run on shore, as I hoped that it would put him in good humour, for of late he had become one of the most constant grumblers on board. I even now recollect the pleasure I felt on thus once more treading the firm ground, as, except for the short time I had landed on Juan Fernandez, I hadn't set foot on shore since I left Shetland. The rest of the seamen seemed greatly to enjoy their freedom. As soon as we had secured the boat we all set off together, running over the rough black ground, startling a number of strange-looking creatures like lizards, some of which slid off into the water, others hid themselves in holes and crevices of the rocks. Jim and I, however, went back to join the doctor, as we knew that he would want us to carry anything he might chance to pick up. The mate, after the men had had a good run, called them to him, and we proceeded more leisurely. The shrubs we had seen we found to be prickly pears. We had gone some distance when we caught sight of some enormous creatures like tortoises. The doctor called them terrapins. They had been feeding on the prickly pears, and were now leisurely making their way towards the hills which rose in the distance. We were all suffering from thirst, and the sun beat down on our heads with a great heat. We had in vain been looking for water. "I'd give anything for a mugful!" cried Jim. "So would I," "And I!" echoed several more of the men. "You needn't have long to wait if you can catch those creatures," said the doctor. "They'll yield as much cool water as we want." We all set off running after the terrapins, which, as they didn't move fast, we soon overtook. As we got close to them they drew their heads into their shells, and remained quiet. Horner had become unusually lively, and on seeing the creatures stop jumped on the back of one of them, when immediately on it went carrying him along with it. At first he thought it very good fun, and began snapping his fingers and pretending to dance, but whilst he was looking round at us the terrapin carried him against a prickly pear-bush, and over he went sprawling on the ground, to the great amusement of the men. "Oh, save me! Save me!" he shouted out, scarcely knowing what had happened, and believing that the creatures were going to turn upon him and run their bills into his body. Jim and I helped him up, and found that he was bleeding from a cut hand and a wound inflicted in his side by the point of one of the leaves. The doctor, however, on arriving at the spot, examined his hurts and comforted him by the assurance that there was not much the matter, and that if he didn't think about it he could go on as well as the rest of us. We soon again overtook the terrapins, when the men who were armed with spears ran them in under the creatures' necks and quickly killed them. We turned them over, and under the doctor's directions, found, as he said we should, plenty of perfectly cool water in their insides. It was fresh as if just out of the spring. Leaving the terrapins to carry back with us on our return, we pushed on in the hope of falling in with some more. We were not disappointed. We in a short time killed four, as many as we could manage to carry on board the boat, and sufficient to give us fresh meat for several days. I was in hopes of meeting with inhabitants, as I wanted, wherever I went, to make inquiries for Jack, not knowing where I might find him. As Miles had come to the east, I thought he might have found his way in the same direction. None of the islands are, however, inhabited, and only one of them, Charles Island, has a spring of water, though people might otherwise exist in them for years. We saw a vast number of birds, which were very tame, but not a single four-legged creature besides the terrapins and lizards. We had to make several trips to carry the meat to the boat. As we shoved off we saw the sea literally swarming with fish, and the next morning the captain sent in two boats, which, in a short time, caught as many as we could eat. In the evening we sailed and cruised in the neighbourhood of the islands, during which time we added the oil of four whales to our cargo. We also met several other whalers, from all of whom I made inquiries for Jack, but none of the people I spoke to had even heard of the wreck of the _Helen_, and could give me no information. At length the crew began to grumble at being kept so long at sea, and we sailed for Tumbez, on the mainland, where we took in wood and water. When this task was accomplished the captain gave leave to half of the crew to go ashore, and to remain away three days. On their return the other half had liberty granted them for the same time. I accompanied the doctor. We went up the river some distance, and then landing walked to a town surrounded by sand, far from having a pleasant look. With the assistance of the doctor, I made inquiries for Jack, thinking that if he belonged to a whaler he might have visited the place; but I could gain no intelligence of him. The night before we sailed it was my middle watch, and when it was over I tumbled into my bunk. I had been asleep for some time when I was awakened by hearing Horner's voice, exclaiming, "You are here, then? Rouse up and come on deck. The captain is in a great taking. He has found that a boat is missing and some of the hands, and he declares that you have gone with them." Slipping into my clothes, I hurried on deck. It was just daylight; the captain was standing aft, looking in a fearful rage, while the second mate was forward, shouting to the men to come up and show themselves. "Do you want me, sir?" I asked. "So you and Jim Pulley have not taken yourselves off?" he exclaimed. "No, sir; we never thought of doing so, and I gave you my word that I wouldn't desert." He made no reply, but ordered Mr Griffiths to call over the names of the men. Four were found missing. "Take a boat and six men, well armed, and see you bring the rascals back, alive or dead!" he exclaimed, turning to the mate. In a couple of minutes the boat was in the water and the men were ready, and Mr Griffiths pulled away. He was absent for some hours. At last we saw his boat coming back, but without the runaways. On reaching the deck Mr Griffiths reported that he had gone up the river and examined the coast on either side of it, but could find no traces of the boat or men. As soon as Captain Hawkins had abandoned all hopes of recovering the runaways he ordered Mr Griffiths to go again on shore to try and pick up some fresh hands in their place, and I was sent to look after the boat. On either side of the river as we pulled up it we saw numbers of alligators sunning themselves on the sandy banks. As we got near them they plunged into the water, and at first I thought they were about to attack the boat. As we got higher up, the river narrowed and the trees bent over our heads. In the branches we could see numbers of monkeys leaping from bough to bough and chattering at us. At last, after going six miles, we reached a landing-place, near which was an orange-grove coming close down to the water. Mr Griffiths, taking two men with him, ordered the rest of us to remain in the boat, and on no account to quit her. Scarcely, however, was he out of sight than the men declared that they must have some oranges. When I reminded them of the orders I had received they laughed at me, and one of them, springing ashore, ran off to the grove. He soon again appeared, with a handkerchief in his hands full of oranges, and sucking one as he came along. He was followed by an old gentleman, whom I at once guessed to be the owner of the orange-grove, and who came on till he reached the boat. He then stopped and said something in his native language, which none of us understood. When he found this he made signs to us that we had no business to take his oranges without leave. I tried to explain by pointing to the men's mouths that they were very thirsty, and that I couldn't prevent the sailor from taking the fruit. Whether it was from my manner or looks I can't say, but the old gentleman appeared to be pleased, and going back to an orange-tree picked off a quantity of the fruit, which he brought to me in his own handkerchief, patting me on the back at the same time, as if he was satisfied with my explanations. While sucking away at the oranges the men were kept quiet. All the time the monkeys chattered away at us from the neighbouring trees, and an ugly alligator would now and then poke his snout out of the water to have a look at us, but the shouts we raised made him swim off. At last Mr Griffiths appeared with four fresh hands, each man carrying a bundle containing all his worldly possessions. As soon as they stepped into the boat we shoved off, and gave way down the river. I was surprised to find all the men talk in a way far superior to that of common sailors, and soon found that they had deserted from American whalers, and had been, before they came to sea, in good positions, which they had lost by misconduct. The moment we got on board, though it was now late in the evening, the captain ordered the anchor to be hove up, and as the wind was off shore, we stood out to sea. We proceeded at once to our old cruising ground in the neighbourhood of the Galapagos. While we were on our way the new hands seemed perfectly contented, having little or nothing to do. I, of course, inquired of them if they had heard of anyone who had escaped from the _Helen_, but they could give me no information. To my surprise, I found that, though they had entered in different names, three of them were brothers, and the fourth an old friend. One of the brothers appeared to be a quiet, well-disposed man. As far as I could make out, he had come to sea to look after the others, and to try and keep them out of mischief, though he didn't appear to have been very successful, as time after time they had got into all sorts of scrapes, and it was a wonder that they had escaped with their lives. On reaching the old ground we fell in with a number of whales, and had very hard work, for scarcely had we stowed away the oil of one than we were in chase of another. The new hands grumbled, and so did some of the others. Of course they couldn't complain of our success in catching whales, that brought them the work to do. The mates knew of their grumbling, but took no notice of it. At last, one morning, when I came on deck, I found a letter lying on the companion-hatch, addressed to Captain Hawkins. I, of course, took it to him. "Who sent this?" he asked, in an angry tone. I told him where I had found it, and that I knew nothing more about the matter. Tearing it open, as he read it a frown gathered on his brow. "The mutinous rascals! I'll not yield to them," he exclaimed. "Say nothing about this till I come on deck," he said to me. "Send Mr Griffiths here." When the mate came the captain read the letter to him. They then armed themselves and went on deck, when the second mate was ordered to muster all hands aft. "Who wrote this letter?" asked the captain, in a firm tone. No one answered, and there was silence for some time, until the captain repeated the question. "It was Muggins," at last said one of the men. Muggins was one of the last hands shipped, and though a man of some education, he always seemed to me utterly worthless. He was a friend of the three brothers, who went by the names of Washington, Crampton, and Clifford. "But in this precious letter I have the names of all the crew," exclaimed the captain. Several of the men on this protested that they knew nothing about the letter, and had not put their names to any paper. "Well, then, let those who have agreed to it walk over to the port side, and those who wish to stick to their duty and remain in the ship go to the starboard side." Eight only walked over, including those I have mentioned. On this Miles Soper, stepping aft and touching his hat, said, "I never like to peach on shipmates, but, as an honest man, I can't hold my tongue. On two different nights I saw Muggins get up and change the meat and throw dirt in among the bread. One night he carried up some of the best pieces and hove them overboard. "It's clear to me that he did it to make the rest of us discontented with our victuals. I had made up my mind to speak about it, but I couldn't catch him at it again, though I'm certain he played the same trick more than once afterwards." "I believe you, Soper," said the captain, and at a signal from him the mates rushed forward and seized Muggins, whom they dragged aft, none of the others interfering. The captain then produced a pair of handcuffs which he had got ready, and fixed them on the wrists of the man. He then called to Horner, Jim, and me to assist the mates, and together we carried the man down below and shut him up in the cabin store-room, the captain meantime remaining by himself on deck. When we returned we found that the crew hadn't moved. "Now, lads!" he said; "you who have made up your minds to remain in the ship return to your duty." On this the men on the starboard side went forward, but the remaining seven mutineers stood where they were with their arms folded. I was in hopes that, as they were no longer under the influence of Muggins, they would yield, but they would make no promises. At length, tired of standing where they were, they moved lazily along forward. Dr Cockle told me that the captain intended to put into the Marquesas, where he could get rid of the men and obtain others. I found the next day that we were steering in that direction. After this not one of them would do any work, though they were allowed to remain at liberty. I fully expected that they would try to rescue their companion, but the captain and mates kept an eye on them, as did Jim and I. It was tantalising to us to see whales every day and yet not to go in chase of them, but the captain wouldn't send any boats away with the good men in them for fear of what the others might do in their absence. At length we reached Witahoo, one of the Marquesas, and brought up in a beautifully sheltered bay. Had there been any English authorities in the place the men would have been imprisoned, but as it was all the captain could do was to release Muggins from his handcuffs, and to send him and the other men ashore. The second mate went in one boat, and I had command of the other. The mutineers were ordered to get into them, and we pulled for the beach. Though they had only their clothes and a few articles put up in bundles, they stepped on shore with as jaunty an air as if they were going among friends, and having walked a little distance they turned round and jeered and laughed at us. "I pity you poor fellows who have to toil away on board that filthy whaler," cried Muggins. "It's a shame that you haven't spirit enough to lead the happy easy lives we are going to enjoy." Before we shoved off several natives came down to the beach, with whom the mutineers shook hands, as if they were old friends. Presently a huge fellow appeared, who, judging from the way the rest treated him, we supposed to be a chief. Though the others were of a gigantic size and magnificent proportions, he was taller than any of them. Every part of his body that we could see was tattooed over a deep blue colour, from the crown of his head to his feet. His head was shaven, and every hair, even to the eyelashes, was plucked out. He introduced himself to the mate, who was standing up in the boat, as Utatee, the chief of the island. He spoke a little English, and from him we made out that a missionary resided a short distance off up the bay. In a short time a number of other people came down, with several women and children. Nearly all the latter appeared to me to be very handsome, their good looks not being spoilt by tattooing. I have never seen so many fine-looking people together in any part of the world. The chief told us that we should be welcome to as much wood and water as we required, and offered to supply us with fresh provisions at a cheap rate. Next day the missionary came on board, and warned us to beware of the people. He had made but little progress with them, owing very much to the misconduct of the runaway sailors who lived on shore and set them a bad example. Still he had some converts, and he hoped, in time, to make more. I told him about my brother Jack, and how anxious I was to find him. I got Miles Soper to describe him minutely, and the missionary kindly promised to make inquiries for him. The captain returned with him on shore to look for men, and came back in the evening with eight he had picked up. One of them was a runaway sailor, who had been living on the island several years (such being termed a beachcomber), a Portuguese, and six Kanakas, as the natives are called. Meantime the blacks and the Sandwich Islanders, with a few of the white men, were employed in bringing off the fresh provisions we required. As Dr Cockle wished to visit a part of the bay a little distance off, he borrowed one of the boats manned with two natives, Jim Horner, and me. We visited two or three spots, where the doctor collected some plants and some shells from the shore. We were about to return when he proposed that we should look into a little bay a short distance farther on. The natives seemed disinclined to go there, and as far as we could make out advised us to return to the shore, saying that there were bad people in that neighbourhood. The doctor, however, who supposed that they only wished to save themselves from the longer pull, persisted in going on. As we got up towards the head of the bay we saw several natives, who ran off as we approached, and hid themselves behind the trees. "We must be cautious, for perhaps our men here didn't warn us without reason," observed the doctor as we pulled slowly in. Directly after he exclaimed, "There are two men lying on the beach. Who can they be? We must, at all events, go in and ascertain." He had brought his fowling-piece, and we had besides two muskets. He told Jim and me to stand up, with the muskets in our hands, for he didn't like to trust Horner, while he stepped on shore. Just as the boat reached the beach, and Jim, who was in the bows, was about to jump out, he exclaimed, "Why I do believe those two fellows are Muggins and Jones." The doctor leaped on shore, looking carefully round to ascertain that no natives were near. A cry of horror escaped him. The two men were dead, with their skulls fractured, the brains lying about. Their "free and happy" life on shore had come speedily to an end. Why they had been killed it was difficult to say. The doctor, stooping down, felt the bodies. "They are perfectly cold, and must have been dead some time," he observed. "They probably had a quarrel with some of the natives, and were trying to escape to the beach to cry for help, when they were overtaken." As we could do nothing we returned to the ship, thankful that we had escaped the treachery of the natives, though, as the doctor observed, the men who had suffered had evidently brought it all upon themselves. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. A CRUISE ACROSS THE PACIFIC AND THE ADVENTURES I MET WITH. On reaching the ship we found that the captain, the English missionary, and the big old chief, Utatee, had arrived on board just before us. The doctor at once told them what had occurred. "The fellows probably brought their fate upon themselves," said the captain. "They must have provoked the savages and got killed in consequence." "I'm afraid that such was the case," observed the missionary; "but I will ask the chief to inquire into the matter." Utatee said he would do so, but if the white men were guilty he could not undertake to punish their murderers. While we were talking some of the crew cried out, "A shark! A shark!" and sure enough there was a huge creature swimming up close under the counter, with his fin just above the water, his wicked eye glancing up at the ship. The chief said something to one of the natives who had come aboard with him, a fine athletic fellow, who, like the chief, appeared to be fully dressed in a tightly-fitting dark blue silk dress, but who, in reality, had only a loincloth round his waist, fastened by a girdle, in which were stuck a couple of knives, the rest of his body being perfectly tattooed from head to foot. The man looked at the shark, and waiting until it had gone a little ahead, overboard he went, and swam rapidly up after it. Presently he dived, and we saw the shark floundering in the water. I thought that he had turned to seize the man, and that the blood which tinged the waves was issuing from his body; but no, it was the shark which was wounded. The man rose, and again plunged his knife into the monster's side. He did the same several times, and then towing it up by the tail to the ship, made signs for the bight of a rope to be hove to him. He passed it over the shark's head, and another rope being secured near the tail, the monster was hoisted up, while the native, with wonderful agility, climbed on deck, apparently not in the slightest degree exhausted by his exertions. Immediately after this we saw a prodigious commotion near the entrance of the bay, while a loud sound like that of stones knocked together reached our ears. We soon made out a number of people, men, women, and children, who had come off from the extreme point forming one side of the entrance of the bay, and were swimming across it, shouting and striking together a couple of big stones, which they held in their hands. Having formed in a line across the bay, they turned and swam up it, and we saw that they were driving before them a shoal of porpoises. On they kept in perfect order, till the porpoises were driven right ashore at the head of the bay. Here a number of other natives met them. Together they attacked the creatures, which they quickly killed. The missionary told us that their object was to extract the teeth, through which they make holes for the purpose of forming necklaces. "You'll not forget, sir, I hope, to look out for my brother Jack," I said, as the missionary was going. "You may trust me for that, my young friend," he answered, kindly; "but I shall not be long on these islands, I fear, as the French are coming to take possession of them, and they'll allow no Protestant missionaries to live here." The captain had no wish to remain for the purpose of inquiring into the death of the two seamen, as they didn't belong to his ship, and we therefore sailed at daybreak the next morning for Dominica, the largest island of the group, where we understood that we could obtain a larger supply of pork than we had obtained at Witahoo. We quickly came off that island, but could discover only one bay into which we could safely enter. As soon as we brought up, two of the boats were sent ashore under charge of Mr Griffiths, he going in one, and I, with Jim and Horner, in another. As we got near the beach we saw that a heavy surf was breaking on it. Mr Griffiths, however, thought that we could land safely, and waiting till the wave had burst, we dashed on. Though we shipped a good deal of water, the boats got in safely. The natives being accustomed to supply whalers, guessing what we wanted, had come down with a number of hogs to sell. The price for one was a bottle of powder, and five could be purchased for an old musket. We had brought a number of these articles for barter. Mr Griffiths ordered me to stand by the boats while he carried on the trade. As was my custom, I looked about in the hopes of seeing some English sailor of whom I might make inquiries about my brother Jack. When we had purchased as many pigs as the boats would carry, we prepared to shove off. The natives made signs to us that we had better be careful, but we didn't understand them, and the pigs being put on board, we shoved off. "I'll lead," said Mr Griffiths. "When you see me safe outside you can follow," and away he went. He got through one breaker, but what was my horror to see the next catch the boat and roll her completely over! We knew that the place abounded with ground-sharks, and we expected to see either him or some of the other men carried off by the savage creatures. He was not a bad swimmer, but, at the same time, was unaccustomed to make his way through a heavy surf. The rest of the men clung to the boat, but he attempted to gain the shore by himself. I was about to tumble the pigs out of my boat, and to go off in her to his assistance, when three of the natives darted out through the foaming seas towards where he was struggling. Every instant I expected he would disappear, but they quickly reached him, and supporting him in their arms, brought him back safe to the beach, where the rest of the men arrived, without hurt, on the bottom of the boat. "We must not be defeated, lads," cried out Mr Griffiths, as soon as he had recovered. "We shall have better fortune next time." The boat was baled out and put to rights, and the pigs, which had swum ashore, being again put in her, away we pulled, but just as she had got to the middle of the roller she broached to and over she went. This time I, not without reason, feared that some of my shipmates would be lost, as I saw the boat tossing helplessly in the breakers, but presently she came driving, with all hands and the pigs, at a rapid rate towards the beach, where the natives received them, looking as if nothing unusual had occurred. Still undaunted, Mr Griffiths determined once more to make the attempt, and the next time succeeded. I waited until the largest roller, which I had carefully noted, had passed, and my men giving way, we got through, although the boat was nearly half full of water. We carried the pigs on board, but after this, at the suggestion of one of the natives, we anchored the boats a short distance from the shore by letting him dive down and make fast a cable to the coral at the bottom. The natives then swam off to us with the pigs and the cocoanuts which we bought of them, without making any additional charge for their trouble; indeed, to them it seemed a matter of course. We could obtain no yams, but we got instead some enormous plantains, which served us instead of potatoes. As we could bring off but a few pigs at a time it was rather a long business, and we had then to skin and salt them down. The wind changing, and the surf no longer breaking at the end of the bay, we were able to land without difficulty. I had one day accompanied the doctor, who took only three other men to pull the boat. As he wished to botanise and obtain some shells and other productions of the island, the men went with him to carry what could be got, while I remained by the boat to prevent the natives from stealing the lead and gear belonging to her. Before long two or three old women came down to the beach and began talking to me by signs, for words were of no use. Then others joined them. They took hold of my hands and seemed to be admiring my complexion and examining my clothes. As far as I could make out they wanted me to accompany them to their village. When I refused, for of course I was not going to neglect my duty and leave the boat, they grew angry, and at last several of them seized me by the arms and were attempting to drag me off. I struggled violently, and shouted out at the top of my voice, but they didn't seem to mind that. As they were very strong I was completely in their power, and I fully believed that I should be carried off, when I caught sight of a man running towards the boat. He proved to be one of our crew who had been sent back by the doctor for something he had left. When he saw what was taking place, holding his musket in his hand, he rushed towards the old women, who let me go and scampered off. "It's lucky for you, Peter, that they didn't succeed in getting you away," he said. "They would have tattooed you all over and turned you into a nigger and made you marry one of their girls. I'll stay by you, for the chances are they may come back and try again to make you a prisoner. The doctor must manage to do without his spud." When Dr Cockle returned, though at first he began to scold the man, when he heard why he remained he told him he was right. At all events, had the natives carried me off it might have caused a deal of trouble to recover me. Sailing from the Marquesas we gradually worked our way westward towards the Society Islands, catching a few whales, till we arrived at Totillah, one of the Samoa group. The scenery was magnificent, while everywhere the country was covered with beautiful trees, among them the pandanus palm, the tree-fern, the banyan, the bread-fruit tree, wild nutmeg, and superb bamboos. The natives also were very well-behaved and quiet, and were always inclined to treat us hospitably. Indeed, we might have travelled without the slightest risk from one end of the island to the other. The good behaviour of the inhabitants was the result of their having become Christians owing to the indefatigable exertions of missionaries. It was here that John Williams, the great apostle to the Pacific heathen, spent several years. Not far off from where we lay at anchor was Leoni Bay, the scene of the massacre of the French navigator Perouse and his companions. While we were here two of the men we had obtained ran off. Two others were shipped in their stead. One of them, who called himself John Brown, as he stepped on deck seemed to me a remarkably fine fellow. He had belonged to a whaler which had been wrecked some time before, and he had remained behind while the rest of the crew went on to Sydney. I immediately asked him the question which I put to everybody. "Do you know anything of a young fellow named Jack Trawl?" "It seems to me that I have heard of the name," he laid, "but when or where I can't say. When did you last get news of him?" "He was wrecked in the _Helen_, and was last seen in one of her boats when the crews were making their escape from the savages," I answered. "Then perhaps I may help you a little," he said. "Some time ago we fell in with a whaler, and we were talking to her crew. At last, as we were going to shove off, one of the men said that he had been on board the _Helen_, and he knew for certain two of her boats had got safely to Timor, but what became of the others he couldn't tell." I naturally asked which of the boats had reached Timor, and whether the captain's was one of them, but he could not say, and I was obliged to rest satisfied with this information. It gave me fresh hopes that Jack was alive. I have not described the bay in which we lay. It was very deep and narrow, and might rather have been called a gulf. Just as we got under way the wind came right in, and we had either to anchor again or work out. The captain decided to do the latter. Two boats were sent ahead to tow the ship round, the rest of the crew were at their stations. Not a word was spoken, for we all saw that we had no easy task to perform. As we went about, first on one tack then on the other, we each time gained but little ground. At last, as we were just again going about, a puff of wind drove her right ashore on a coral reef. In vain the men in the two boats endeavoured to pull her round. The captain and both the mates gave her up for lost, and the crew seemed to think the same, but Brown, who was looking round everywhere, called me, and we hauled away at the fore brace. The fore-topsail filled with a flaw of wind which came off the shore, and away the ship went, the wind favouring us till we were clear out of the bay. It was one of the narrowest escapes from shipwreck I ever had. The next land we made was "Boscawen" and "Keppel" Islands, the former being a high peak, the latter a low, level island. We here landed to obtain provisions, among which we got some of the finest yams I ever saw. The natives were good-looking, friendly people. We continued on to the north-west, and made the "Duke of Clarence" Island, which has no land within four hundred miles of it. The captain said that he had touched there years before, but that it was uninhabited. As we were nearing it, however, a number of natives came off in large canoes loaded with cocoanuts and fruits, so that they or their fathers must have made a long voyage to reach it in their frail-looking vessels. Thence we proceeded to the Kingsmill group, of which Byron's Island is the largest. The men, who were heathens, were quite naked, but the women wore small aprons of seaweed. They didn't tattoo themselves, but many of them had their skins rough and hanging in flakes, which gave them a most repulsive appearance. This was in consequence of their spending much of their time in the water. They were savage not only in their appearance but in their customs, for we heard that to prevent overcrowding, as they cannot provide sufficient food for a large population, they kill their infant children. Such were the people of all these islands, however handsome in appearance, before the missionaries went among them. Many of them had terrible wounds, produced in their battles with each other, either by their spears or clubs, which are covered with sharks' teeth. We didn't see the land till we were within about ten miles of it, as it is very low, being of coral formation. Its only vegetable production is the cocoanut tree, which is of the greatest value to the natives. They build their huts of the trunks and roof them with the leaves. Their canoes are composed of numerous pieces of the wood sewn together with cocoanut fibre. The form of these canoes, which are from eighteen to twenty feet long, is curious; the shape is that of a whale-boat cut in two lengthways; one side is round, and the other perfectly flat, and they are kept upright by having an outrigger to windward which extends about ten feet from the hull. The sail is triangular and made of matting, and in fine weather they can beat to windward with the fastest ship. We here spent several months, occasionally touching at Byron's Island for fresh cocoanuts and water. We had caught nineteen whales, when towards the evening of one day a twentieth was seen at a considerable distance. "We must have that fellow," said the captain. The boats were lowered; he went in one, Mr Griffiths in another, and Mr Harvey, the second mate, in a third. Another whale appeared much nearer, but in a somewhat different direction. While Mr Griffiths pulled for the first, the captain and the second mate made for the second. Both were to windward. We had a light breeze, and at once began to beat up after them. Just before sundown we found that the captain and the second mate had made fast. It took some time before the whale was killed, and we could scarcely perceive the whift planted on its back before darkness came on. We had, in the meantime, lost sight of Mr Griffiths's boat, but we hoped that he would be equally successful. We made tack after tack till we got up to the whale, which two boats were towing towards us. We burned a blue light to show the first mate our position, but looked in vain for an answering signal. At last the captain, being anxious at his non-appearance, and fearing that some accident must have happened, ordered the second mate to hang on to the whale while he beat the ship up in the direction Mr Griffiths's boat had taken. The hours went by and the wind increased and the sea got up. "Never mind," said the captain; "Harvey will hang on under the lee of the whale even if it does come on to blow harder, and he'll be safe enough." At last, at about half-an-hour to midnight, we made out a faint light dead to windward. It took us some time to get up to it, for, though we were sure it must come from the mate's boat, it didn't approach us. As we got near we could distinguish the people hanging to the bottom of the boat, one of them sitting astride of her and holding up a lantern. We immediately hove-to, and lowered a boat to take them on board. It then appeared that the boat had been stove in by a whale, when the mate and his men clung on to her, the whale fortunately not molesting them. The boat's lantern is always headed up tight in a keg, together with a tinder-box and candles, and having providentially secured the keg, they managed to open it, get out the lantern, and strike a light. We might otherwise have passed them in the dark, and they would all probably have perished, as we should have run back to pick up Mr Harvey's boat and the whale we had killed. We now did so at once, and a hard night's work we had of it, as we had to secure the whale alongside, and get ready for cutting-in as soon as it was day. Soon after this, while I was aloft, I saw Jim, who had just been relieved at the wheel, go to the side, and, throwing off his clothes, jump overboard. It was what we often did, always taking care to leave a rope overboard to get up by, to get rid of the soot and grease, besides which, as we were close under the line, the weather was very hot, and a bath refreshing. Jim swam some way ahead of the ship, when the cook, to play him a trick, hauled up his rope, which I didn't perceive, as I was looking at Jim. Just then I caught sight of the fin of a shark at no great distance off. I shouted to Jim to come back, and he, knowing that I should not give a false alarm, struck out lustily for the ship. Mr Griffiths, who was on deck, seeing his danger, at once hove him another rope, and shouted at the top of his voice to keep the shark off. Still the monster came nearer and nearer. I saw Jim, to my great relief, get up to the side, but as he took hold of the rope, from its being covered with grease, it slipped through his fingers. The mate shouted to the other men on deck to come and assist him in hauling Jim up. I slid down on deck as fast as I could. On came the shark. Jim was still in the water, and I expected to see my old friend caught. With all our strength we hauled at the rope, but still Jim couldn't hold on by it, and I feared that it would slip through his fingers altogether, when, as it turned out, there was a knot at the end. This enabled him to hold on, and we hauled him up, more dead than alive from fright, just as the shark, showing the white of its belly, shoved its snout out of the water and made a snap at his feet, not six inches from them. Jim was saved, and I never in my life felt more inclined to cry for joy than when I saw him out of danger. While the shark was still alongside looking for its prey, one of the Marquesas islanders who came on deck, taking a knife in his hand, leapt right down, feet first, on the monster's back, which so scared it that away it went like a flash of lightning. I have mentioned these circumstances just as they occurred to show the sort of life led by the crew of a whaler. I have more interesting events to narrate in the following chapters. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. A TYPHOON, AND HOW WE GOT THROUGH IT. The crew of a whaler had need to exercise much patience. Sometimes they watch for weeks and weeks together, but watch in vain, for fish. At others so many are caught that they have not a moment to rest between the time that one is tryed out and another is brought alongside. We had at first been very successful, but a week or more having passed without a whale being seen, Captain Hawkins ordered a course to be steered for the Japan whaling ground. The very first day that we arrived in the latitude of these islands, which were, however, far out of sight, we caught two whales. We had tryed out the first and had the other alongside when another whaler made her appearance. As she got within half a mile of us it feel calm. Soon afterwards a boat was lowered from her, which came pulling towards us. When she came alongside a fine, hale-looking old man stepped on board and introduced himself as Captain Barnett, of the _Eleanor_. He spoke in a hearty, cheery tone, which contrasted greatly with the rough and unpleasant way in which Captain Hawkins generally expressed himself. Captain Barnett dined on board, and then invited Captain Hawkins and Dr Cockle to come and sup with him, I managed to address the old gentleman, and told him about Jack. "Should I ever fall in with your brother I'll say that I met you, and that you were inquiring for him," he answered, kindly. When the two captains came on deck they took a look round the horizon. "You must excuse me from accompanying you," said Captain Hawkins, "for I tell you what, I don't like the look of the weather. There's something brewing somewhere I'd advise you to get on board as soon as you can." The ocean had hitherto been perfectly calm, but there now came from the north-east a slowly-heaving swell, which every minute increased, and the whole atmosphere in a short time assumed a sombre, melancholy appearance, while a peculiar light tinged the two ships and sea around, owing to the sun's rays passing through clouds of a dull yellowish-red colour. Before this, numbers of birds had been flying about the ship, but they now winged their way to distant lands. As soon as our visitor had pulled away, our captain ordered the hands aloft to shorten sail, although at the time there was not a breath of wind. Everything was taken in with the exception of a main-topsail and storm trysail. As the swell increased, the ship began to roll in a most frightful manner, her chain-plates striking the water every time she heeled over, while the water as it rose beat against the stern with a force so violent that we were almost thrown off our legs. We had to cast adrift the last whale caught before the whole blubber was cut in, as it was impossible, without the greatest risk, to keep it alongside. I asked Brown, who was the most intelligent seaman on board, what he thought was going to happen. "We shall have a typhoon--a precious hard one too, I suspect," he answered. All night long the swell went on increasing, when suddenly the wind sprang up and broke the hitherto calm swells into foaming seas, which furiously dashed round the ship though they did us no damage. Just as daylight came on the wind again dropped; but though the wind had fallen, the sea, instead of going down, raged more fiercely than ever, making the ship roll so violently that we feared that at any moment the masts might be carried away. Yet all this time there was scarcely a breath of wind. This state of things continued till about three o'clock, when suddenly, as Brown had foretold, the gale again broke upon us, and continued to blow with increasing violence until about two o'clock on the following morning, when a more furious blast than ever struck the ship. "Hold on for your lives!" shouted Mr Griffiths, who was on deck. The captain, followed by Dr Cockle, hurried from below. There was little need to give the warning; we all clung to the weather-bulwarks. Over went the ship right on her beam-ends, and away flew the storm trysail, while every article not securely lashed was carried away. Fearful indeed was the uproar. The wind howled savagely, the sea dashed with thundering roars against the sides of the ship, the masts groaned, the bulk-heads creaked, the ropes and blocks clashed together and rattled in a way I had never before heard. Indeed, I believed that our last moments had come, for it seemed impossible unless the masts went that the ship would right. Jim and I and Horner crouched down close to each other, sheltering ourselves as we could under the bulwarks. Not far off were Miles Soper, Sam Coal, and Brown. "Is there any chance for us?" asked Horner, his teeth chattering and his voice showing his terror. "Chance!" answered Brown; "the chance that many a stout ship has braved as bad a hurricane, and yet come out of it not much the worse." We looked out for the _Eleanor_, but she was nowhere to be seen. Some of the men declared that she must have gone down. "We're afloat and why shouldn't she be?" said Brown, who was ready to cheer every one up. Some of the hands stole below, and I believe if they could have got into the spirit-room they would have made themselves drunk in order to forget their fears. Most of us, however, preferred remaining on deck and watching what would happen. Suddenly, during a momentary cessation of the wind, the ship righted, and we flew on before it, though matters in other respects seemed but little mended. As the sea beat against the ship it seemed like a huge battering-ram trying to knock her to pieces, every blow making each plank shake though none gave way. Now she plunged her head into an immense hollow, now she rose rapidly to the top of a foaming sea, while the next instant another rolling on threatened to overwhelm us. Daylight came, but it brought no cessation of the hurricane. The hours went by; not one of us thought of breakfast. Indeed, it was impossible to cook anything. We watched the masts quivering as the ship plunged into the seas, and we expected every moment to see them go by the board. The carpenter and the first mate had got their axes ready to cut them away, should such occur. At length a tremendous sea came roaring towards our weather bow. The ship struggled as if to avoid it, but she pitched headlong into the deep hollow just before her, and a monstrous sea, lifting its head half way up to the foretop, came right down on our deck, sweeping up to the main hatchway. Horner and several of the men shrieked out with terror, believing that their last moments were come. I scarcely supposed that the ship would recover herself, but suddenly she came up with a jerk, the bowsprit carried away, and the next moment it came right across our forecastle. "Rouse up, lads, and secure the foremast," shouted the captain. Led by the mates, with Brown, Ringold, Soper, Jim, and me, the crew rushed forward to secure the fore-topmast stay. We then got the bowsprit inboard. After this the ship began to ride more easily, though the hurricane continued until near sunset, when it began to abate. The watch below turned in, eager to get some rest. I never slept more soundly in my life. Next morning the sun rose from a cloudless sky. A gentle breeze was blowing. The sea had already gone down, and in a few hours sparkling wavelets alone played over the surface of the deep. Two days afterwards we brought up under the lee of South Island to repair damages. After this we again sailed to resume our search for whales. I was forward, when I saw a dark object floating some distance on the weather bow. On my reporting it to the captain, he ordered a boat to be lowered to ascertain what it was. Mr Griffiths went in her with the doctor, Jim and I forming part of the crew. As we got near we saw that it was a creature of some sort, but it made no effort to avoid us, and seemed to be fast asleep. With his harpoon Mr Griffiths went forward. As we got closer it seemed to be an enormous turtle; the doctor said of the "trunk" species. We paddled as noiselessly as we could for fear of waking it, and on getting close Mr Griffiths plunged his harpoon deep into its body through its shell. The creature in a moment was lively enough, and, after swimming away a short distance, turned and made a snap at the rope, which it nearly bit in two. We were up to it again, however, and two or three plunges of a lance quickly finished it. We then secured a rope to it and towed it to the ship. By means of the windlass it was hoisted on board. When lying on deck it was found to measure seventeen feet in length, to be seven feet wide, and four feet six inches in depth. All on board declared that they had never seen a creature of that species of the same size. We boiled it down as we would the blubber of a whale, and it yielded nearly a barrelful. Fish in these seas are very numerous. Sometimes from the masthead I could see the whole ocean alive with them. Before leaving for the Sandwich Islands, for which we were next bound, we had a day's fishing, and in a few hours caught as many as we wanted. I here also saw numbers of the paper nautilus floating on the calm surface of the water. I managed, with a small net at the end of a long pole, to catch several for my friend the doctor. I'll not describe our voyage back to Honolulu, the capital of the Society Islands. There were two or three merchantmen and about forty whalers at anchor. The entrance to the harbour is surrounded by coral reefs, and is very intricate. The chief pilot came out in his whale-boat, manned by natives, and as he passed each ship he hailed to have a boat sent him to assist in towing us in. In a short time we had nearly fifty whale-boats, twenty-five on each bow, in two long lines. It was one of the prettiest sights I ever witnessed, towing on the big ship at the rate of about three knots an hour between the coral reefs, making what would otherwise have been a difficult business perfectly easy. Here we exchanged the fish we had salted down for fifty barrels of potatoes and twenty of onions. Among the ships was the _Eleanor_, from which we had parted off Japan. As the old captain had greatly taken Dr Cockle's fancy, he wished to pay him a visit, and invited me to accompany him. On getting on board the mate said that he was below, and considering all things, doing wonderfully well. "What do you mean?" asked Dr Cockle. "Why, sir, I'll tell you," answered the mate. "If I ever saw a wonderful thing done, our captain did it. While the typhoon which caught you as well as us was at its height our rudder broke adrift, and on getting it on board to repair, it came right down on his leg, crushing it fearfully. We all thought he must have died, for you see our doctor had left the ship some time before, and there was no one who knew what was to be done. So our skipper sat down on the deck and ordered the carpenter to bring him the surgical instruments. Our carpenter is a wonderfully clever fellow, and between them they managed to saw off the leg below the knee, to take up the arteries and stop the bleeding. [See Note 1.] We then got the old man, who is sixty years of age, into bed. Would you believe it? In a few weeks after the accident he had a turning-lathe brought to the side of his bed, and if he didn't turn out a first-rate wooden leg for himself." On going below the doctor found the old captain doing wonderfully well and not requiring any further aid. Before we left he was stumping about on deck as hearty and cheery as ever. Indeed, through his courage and coolness he had undoubtedly saved his own life. The old captain probably is dead, but Mr Rosden, the mate, who is the son of an old Downs pilot, will confirm the account I have given. The captain was constantly on shore, and Mr Griffiths kindly let me take one of the boats, with Jim, and Soper, and Coal as a crew, and we visited every ship in the harbour, that I might make inquiries for Jack. As we pulled about, though disappointed at one ship, we half hoped to find him on board another. My heart grew sick as I approached the last. "Do you think he's aboard her, Miles?" I asked. "If he isn't don't lose heart," was the answer. "No, no, don't lose heart, Peter," echoed Jim. "He'll turn up some time or other. It mayn't be to-day or it mayn't be to-morrow, but if he's alive--and there's no reason why he should have lost his life--he'll be somewhere no doubt, and you'll be led to him, that's my opinion." We got on board the ship. She was an American whaler, the _William and Eliza_. We found the crew in a great state of commotion, and they would scarcely listen to what I had to say. Their commander, Captain Rogers, who seemed to be a great favourite with them, had been wrongly accused of infringing the revenue laws, and had been imprisoned in a mud fort which guarded the landing-place, and they were determined to rescue him. Most of their boats were away visiting the other ships to obtain recruits, and they declared that if he was not let out that evening they would liberate him before morning. I, of course, could not join them, but Soper and Coal were very eager to lend a hand. I persuaded them, however, to come back with me to our ship after I had made all the inquiries I could for Jack without success. Miles and Coal brought the news, and what was to be done on board, and several of our men declared that they would join, as much for the sake of the spree as influenced by a regard for Captain Rogers. As evening drew in, a number of boats put off from all the American ships, and from several of the English, for the imprisoned skipper was much liked, not only by his own men, but by the captains and mates of nearly all the whaling ships. He was a great friend, too, I found, of Captain Hawkins. When the captain came on board again, he gave any of us leave to go that chose. I don't say we were right, but when I found the second mate about to lead a party of our men, Jim and I offered to go with them, and away we pulled for the _William and Eliza_. We found her surrounded by boats, carrying well-nigh two hundred men, the whole being under the command of an American captain. We waited till nearly midnight, when the order was given to shove off. We could not tell whether the authorities on shore knew anything of what was about to take place. We carried a number of scaling ladders, with stout ropes and hooks. The first who got up with the ladders were to fix on the hooks, so that the others might swarm up, and we might all mount the walls together. We had no firearms, only axes, blubber-spades, and spears. We pulled in, forming a long line abreast, as silently as possible. On reaching the shore, two hands were left in each boat, and the rest of us rushed up to the fort to fix the ladders. It took but a few seconds before we were all at the top, and down we leaped into the fort. Nearly the whole of the garrison were asleep. When they found the place full of men some of them ran away and hid themselves, and others dashed out at the gate. We soon found the room in which Captain Rogers was shut up. The door was broken open and he was set free. Not wishing to have a disturbance with the natives, we hurried back with him the way we came, and before long were on board again. The captain made us a speech, and thanked us for setting him free, and we returned to our respective ships. I don't know that any notice was taken of the affair by the authorities, but of course Captain Rogers was unable to go on shore again while he remained in the harbour. Having repaired our ship and taken on board several fresh hands, who wished to return home to England, we sailed again for the Marquesas, in order to land the natives whom we had taken from those islands. The passage lasted five weeks, during which time we didn't see a single ship. We proceeded at once to Resolution Bay. On entering we found a French man-of-war, which immediately sent a boat on board us. The officer in command informed the captain that the islands now belonged to France, and that we must not land anything in the shape of firearms or ammunition. While he was still on board a boat pulled off from the shore, bringing a dozen soldiers, who, without asking leave, came up the side. "Why do these men come on board my ship?" asked the captain. "To see that you comply with the orders you receive," answered the officer, who spoke very good English. "I have no intention of breaking the laws you impose," exclaimed the captain, who was not the man to stand that sort of thing, "but I'll not submit to have foreign soldiers placed on board my ship." The French officer shrugged his shoulders, and said that he was but carrying out the orders of his superiors. On this the captain ordered his boat to be lowered, and pulled away on board the French man-of-war. He there threatened to throw the ship on the hands of the French if the soldiers were not immediately withdrawn. After a little time the captain returned, accompanied by a French lieutenant, who brought an order for the soldiers to return on shore. Our stay here was rendered very unpleasant by the French. As soon as we got our fresh provisions on board we sailed again for the westward, proceeding as before among the coral reefs, which lie to the north of the Society Islands. The navigation is exceedingly dangerous, as many of them are so low that they cannot be seen till the ship is close to them, and we had to keep a very sharp look-out as we sailed on. The most dangerous of all those we sighted was the Sidney group, which consist of bare sandbanks, without the least vegetation, and are nearly level with the surface of the sea. We landed on some of them to obtain birds' eggs and fish, which are very plentiful, but they are uninhabited, as there is no fresh water. Still sailing west we touched at the Kingsmills, passing also several other islands, till we came off Strong's Island. Here is a magnificent harbour, surrounded by coral reefs, but the mouth is so narrow that we could not have attempted to enter had not the boats of three vessels lying there come out to assist in towing us in. On bringing up, a number of natives came off, who talked capital English, and seemed very intelligent fellows. We found that the chief of the island was named King George. In a short time another canoe came off with a fine-looking fellow on board, who seemed as eager to trade and obtain anything he could as the rest of the natives. At last Captain Hawkins, turning to him, said, rather roughly, "You and the other chaps must be off now." "You know who I am?" asked the native. "I King George, chief of all these islands." "I beg your majesty's pardon, but you don't look much like a king," said the captain, laughing. The chief, however, didn't appear to be angry, and shook hands with the captain and officers, and stepping into the canoe paddled away for the shore. "We must take care these fellows don't play us any trick," observed the captain to Mr Griffiths. "We'll give them a salute to show them that we're wide-awake." We carried four nine-pounders, which we forthwith fired. It was the first time we had to use them during the voyage. It was hoped that this would awe the natives, and that we should not be molested during the night. The sound of the last gun had scarcely died away, when a Captain Rounds, commanding one of the whalers, whose boats had assisted to tow us in, came on board. After he had shaken hands and the usual civilities had passed, he said-- "You are wise to show that you are wide-awake, and when you hear the account I have to give you of the fearful work which took place here not long ago, you will judge whether it will be prudent to put yourself or any of your people in the power of the natives." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. This account is true in every respect. My friend, Mr Henry Foster, Trinity pilot, vouches for it. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. A FEARFUL NARRATIVE--DOINGS AT STRONG'S ISLAND. As it was very hot below, the captain had ordered chairs and a small table to be brought on deck, and he, with Captain Rounds, Dr Cockle, and Mr Griffiths, took their seats, while Mr Harvey, Horner, and I stood within earshot to hear the account our visitor had promised to give. "I came in here about two months ago for the first time this voyage to obtain provisions and water," began Captain Rounds, "and as none of us understood the language of the people, I shipped a couple of natives who spoke English very fairly to act as interpreters. Besides having been to sea on board other whalers, they were, I thought, likely to prove useful hands. Everything went on in a satisfactory way while I lay here. The natives who came on board behaved themselves well, and King George, their chief, seemed a very decent sort of fellow, and was as honest in his dealings as I could expect. I had made it a rule when I came out to these parts never to trust many of my people ashore at a time among the heathen natives without having some of the principal natives on board as hostages, or so well-behaved and friendly did these appear that I should otherwise not have hesitated to let half my crew land at a time, feeling confident that they would be well treated. Thus it was that I every evening at sundown fired off my guns, and kept a strict watch during the night. I did this, not from any fear of being attacked, but that I considered it prudent to keep to the rule I had laid down, and to maintain discipline on board. You'll see that I was fortunate in doing so. I parted on good terms with King George and his people without having any reason to alter the favourable opinion I had formed of them, taking the two native interpreters with me. From the way I treated them they became very friendly and much attached to me. We had been at sea for some time, and had caught three or four whales, each of which cost us, perhaps, more than the usual trouble to take. The two natives, who go by the names of Jackey and Tubbs, seemed very much struck by the exertions we had to make to secure the whales, and one day they came to me and said that they could put me up to the means of filling the ship with perfect ease if I would follow their advice. I asked them what they meant. They then told me that a ship lay sunk in their harbour loaded with casks of oil, and that they knew the exact spot where she went down. I then learnt from them the following particulars. "You, Hawkins, well knew Barber, who commanded the _Harriet_, of London, as you sailed together as mates with old Captain Newton in the _Felicity_. I met Barber when I first came out to the Pacific, and was wondering that I had never since heard of him or the _Harriet_. The natives now told me that about a year ago she had put into this harbour, there being no other vessels here at the time. You remember what a good-natured, yet somewhat careless fellow he was. The natives came in numbers on board his ship, and appeared to be on the most friendly terms with him and his crew. They at length, one day, invited his men to go ashore, and he consequently allowed the greater number of them to land. This sort of thing continued while he lay in the harbour. King George and most of his though they came down to visit the ship when she first arrived, were, at that time, living in another part of the island, and the people just here did pretty much as they liked. "Barber, with a boat's crew, only remained on board, when, on going on deck in the morning, he caught sight of three of his men running down towards the beach as fast as they could go, with a posse of natives after them. Presently they were overtaken. First one was struck down by the club of a savage, and directly afterwards the other two shared the same fate. The natives, on reaching the shore, jumped into their canoes, a whole fleet of which came paddling off towards the ship. The crew, on seeing this, I suspect, took fright, thinking that they should all be murdered, as their mates on shore had been. Captain Barber himself would, I am certain, have stopped to defend his ship, but probably fearing that it would be of no use to make the attempt while his crew were so faint-hearted, he ordered the boat to be lowered with such provisions and water as could be hastily thrown into her. They had scarcely left the side of the ship before the savages were up to her. They pursued the boat for some distance, but at length gave up the chase, eager to get back and secure their prize. They then set to work to plunder the vessel of everything they considered of value. They stripped her of her sails and rigging, and all the iron-work they could get at, managing even to carry away her topmasts, jib-boom, and yards. Having done this, they towed the vessel higher up the harbour and scuttled her. "When King George, who had known Captain Barber and some of his people-- for he had been down at the harbour when the ship first arrived--heard of the massacre he was very indignant, and Jackey and Tubbs told me that he killed no less than thirty of those who had taken part in it with his own hand. Whether this was actually the case or not I could not make out; but, after cross-questioning the two natives, I came to the conclusion that he himself had no hand in the massacre, and was entirely ignorant of it till afterwards. What has become of poor Barber and his boat's crew I am anxious to ascertain; but he would have had a fearfully long passage to make to any other island, and I'm afraid that he and his companions must have perished from hunger and thirst before they could have reached any friendly shore. "Having fallen in shortly after I heard this with the _Lydia_ and _Pearl_, I communicated the intelligence to them, and we determined to put in here to ascertain the truth of the story. "Now you have come we shall be sufficiently strong-handed both to defend ourselves from the natives, and to recover the _Harriet's_ cargo if we cannot raise her." Captain Hawkins at once entered into Captain Rounds' views, and they agreed the next morning with their brother captains to set to work. Captain Rounds, who was a very ingenious man, had a diving-bell constructed out of a cask, with pipes to lead the air into it. Proceeding with the boats, we found the ship sunk in six fathoms of water at a spot Jackey and Tubbs pointed out. They willingly agreed to descend in the diving-bell, and Brown and another man also went down in it. It was then found that the ship had been set on fire, but she had sunk before the flames had reached the cargo. It was calculated that there were one thousand six hundred barrels of oil in her. Her figure-head and other articles were got up, thus clearly identifying her as the unfortunate _Harriet_. The captains proposed raising her, and dividing the oil between them; but after a great deal of consultation it was considered that they had better give up the plan, as it would have occupied a long time, and caused a difficulty on their arrival at home as to whether they had a right to possess themselves of it. Thus the results of many a hard month's labour were lost. King George watched our proceedings with much interest, generally hovering about the boats in his canoe while we were at work. Perhaps he thought from the first that we should not succeed, though I think we should have done so had it been desirable to make the attempt. As soon as the undertaking was abandoned, the other vessels, which had only come in for water and provisions, sailed, and we were left alone in the harbour. The king, who did not appear to be at all offended by the way Captain Hawkins had treated him on his first visit, at once came on board, and appeared to be excessively friendly. He spoke English remarkably well, having learned it on board a whaler in his youth, and kept it up by frequently talking to runaway sailors who had remained at the island. He invited the captain to go ashore and visit him in his palace, the name we gave to the great hut in which he lived. "With great pleasure, king," answered the captain: "but fair play's a jewel, you know. If I go to visit you, your brother here will remain on board to keep my mates company till I return." The captain told Mr Griffiths to keep a strict watch on the king's brother, and not to allow him to leave the cabin lest he might slip overboard and swim on shore. We called the young savage Charlie, though that was not his real name. Charlie, who spoke a little English, seemed perfectly content; and when the king and the captain went on shore, descended to the cabin without the slightest hesitation. As the stern-windows, through which Charlie might have squeezed himself if he had had a mind, were left open for the sake of the air, Mr Griffiths told me to remain in the cabin whenever he was on deck. At night he was locked up in the state-room. I don't know that the captain was very well pleased at having the savage sleeping in his bed. Next morning the captain came back, saying that he had been hospitably treated. In the afternoon, as Charlie wished to return, and as the doctor and several men were on shore, the captain sent me, with Miles Soper and Brown, to bring the king off, that he might take his brother's place. We pulled up a long narrow creek for several miles, till we arrived at the royal residence, which was a large hut with a framework of poles and roofed over with matting. Near it were other huts, and a number of natives were employed in different ways, some pounding kava between two large stones, when the root, thus thoroughly bruised, was thrown into water. This is a much pleasanter way of preparing the beverage than by employing the women to chew it, as is done in Samoa. The king was away when we arrived, and we had thus plenty of time to walk about the village and look around us. Some natives were engaged in cooking fish and yams. This was done by putting them into a hole on the top of some hot stones and leaves, and then covering them up with more hot stones, leaves, and earth at the top of all. We soon had an opportunity of tasting them, and I can answer for their being most delicious. As the king didn't appear we walked some little distance into the country, for we knew that we were perfectly safe while the king's brother remained as a hostage. Going into a hut we found a young woman about to light a fire. I watched the process. She first took half of the log that had been split in two and laid it down with the split side upwards; then taking a small piece of hard wood about a foot long and pointed at one end, she sat down astride of the log and commenced rubbing the sharp point of the stick up and down the grain of the large piece, thus making a groove, and shoving the shavings which she worked out to the farther end, till at length they ignited, when immediately catching up some dry leaves which lay handy, and blowing gently, she soon obtained a blaze. I tried the experiment under her directions and succeeded very well. Though simple and easy as is this method of obtaining fire, I have never seen it tried in any other place. On our return to the village we found the king, who invited us to feast on the fish and yams which I had seen cooking. We were now joined by the captain and Dr Cockle, with the second mate and several men, and I was directed to go back with the king, who had to take his brother's place on board. His majesty preferred going alone in his own canoe. I sat in the bows with a long pole to keep the bow off the rocks as we went down the creek, and he placed himself astern with a paddle in his hand. He giving the canoe a shove from the bank, away we went. I was highly amused at the thought of carrying off the king as a prisoner. He, however, seemed to take it as a matter of course, and chatted and laughed as we glided along. Presently he asked-- "You young Englishman ever been here before? I think I know your face." "When was it your majesty fancied that you saw me?" I inquired. "Let me see," he said, holding his paddle in the air for a moment; "were you ever aboard the ship that my rascally people sent to the bottom out there?" and he pointed to where the _Harriet_ lay. "No," I answered, a dreadful thought coming into my mind. "Was the person you fancy I am killed with the rest of the crew?" "I think not. If I think so, I no ask you," he answered. "I see him with the captain when he visit the shore, and each time I go on board the ship. When I come down to the harbour I took great fancy to him, and asked captain to let him stay with me, but he and captain say no. He want to go home to see father and mother, brother and sister. When I found the men killed I remembered him, but no find him 'mong them. Dat all I know, but me think that he was with captain when they got away in the boat." At first, on hearing what the king said, I was almost in despair, for I was very sure that he was speaking of my brother Jack, as I thought that by this time I should have grown very like him, as I often heard my mother say that I was so when I was at the age at which he went to sea. How he had got on board the _Harriet_ I could not tell, any more than I could what had become of her boat. Still there was a possibility of his having escaped. I had no wish to return on shore with "Prince Charlie" after I had handed the king over to the care of Mr Griffiths, as I wanted to talk about the matter to Jim. As may be supposed, we did talk about it for many an hour. I was now eager to be out of the harbour, in the hopes that we might visit some other islands at which Jack might be found. Jim was as sanguine as ever that he would be found. When I told Mr Griffiths he looked very grave. "It is possible, my lad," he said, "and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to find him at last; but you know what is likely to have been the fate of the poor fellows in a boat, with a scanty supply of provisions and a long voyage to the nearest land. Just look at the chart. We are away from all civilised countries, with the wildest savages on each side of us." Next day, when the captain and the rest of the party came on board, and as soon as our royal visitor had taken his departure, I was very glad to hear the order given to get under way. The breeze being fair we stood out of the harbour. We were soon at our old work again. My patience was sorely tried. If I had not been actively engaged I don't know what I should have done. My idea was that the captain would at once sail in search of the missing boat, but he had no idea of the sort in his head. He either was convinced that she was lost, or considered that it was his business to fill up his ship as soon as possible, and not to waste time in looking for those who might never be found. We had caught several whales, when the time came for returning to the Japan fishing ground, as it's called, some distance off the east coast of those islands. My hope of finding Jack decreased, but didn't die away altogether. Jim kept me up. "We don't know in what direction the boat went," he observed. "She may have steered to the northward, and we are as likely to fall in with him the way we're going as anywhere else." I often consulted the chart. To the northward of Strong's Island I saw the Caroline group, consisting of a vast number of coral islands, and north-west of them, again, the Ladrone Islands, the principal of which, Guam, is inhabited by Spaniards. Knowing this, Captain Barber may have attempted to reach it, and one day, to my satisfaction, I heard from the doctor that Captain Hawkins intended to call there before returning home. We were now leaving those islands I have mentioned to the southward. We were very successful on the Japan ground, and nearly completed our cargo, at least the lower hold was full. At length, one calm day, a large whale was seen spouting at some distance from the ship. Four boats were lowered. The captain, the two mates, and Brown went in them, Miles Soper going as the chief mate's boat-steerer. His boat was the first up, and in a short time Soper put two irons into the whale, which almost instantly turned over on its back, threw its lower jaw open, and nipped her clean in two. Wonderful to relate, the men all got clear, and Mr Griffiths, standing up on half of the boat, plunged his lance right down the whale's throat, and then jumped off and swam with the other men to the next boat coming up. The captain's boat now fastened to the whale, which, turning as before on its back, treated her in the way it had the first. When we who were on board saw this, we began to lower the spare boats as fast as we could. While we were thus employed, the doctor, who was looking on, exclaimed-- "There's a third boat caught!" And we saw that the second mate's boat, which had got up, had been nipped by the whale. Brown's boat, the fourth, now pulled gallantly up, watching every movement of the monster, if necessary to get out of its way; but the wound it had received had already weakened it, and though it made at his boat he escaped, and succeeded in plunging several harpoons and lances into its body. Meanwhile the crews of the other boats which had been destroyed had been hanging on to them, and though the sea was swarming with sharks it was a remarkable fact that not one of the men was lost. Sharks rarely bite people when a whale is bleeding, but keep following the track of the blood. Brown took some of the men on board, and we in the spare boats, leaving only the doctor and two hands to take care of the ship, pulled quickly up and rescued the remainder. We soon had the whale alongside; it was the largest we had caught-- nearly a hundred feet in length; but we got very little oil out of it, for, having been fastened to previously, there was a huge swelling on its back as big as a tun butt, which was, no doubt, the cause of the blubber being so thin. We had still some spare space, and the crew were eager to catch the additional whales required to complete our cargo, that we might at length direct our course homeward. Although I should have before been the most eager of any to return to England, yet now, with the idea that had taken hold of me that Jack was somewhere in the neighbourhood, I was anxious to remain until I had found him. Jim shared my feelings, but I didn't suppose anybody else did. We remained a week or more, however, after killing the last huge whale which had cost us so much trouble, without seeing another, when the captain determined to steer for the Ladrone Islands. As we had now been some months without obtaining fresh provisions, we first directed our course for the Bonins, some degrees to the eastward of the coast of Japan. We understood that there were wild pigs, if not goats and sheep, on them. At all events, that fish could be caught in abundance off the shore. In a few days we sighted them, and ran under the lee of one of the group called South Island. Here the ship was hove-to, and a boat lowered, in which Mr Griffiths, the doctor, Horner, Jim and I, Brown and Miles Soper and Coal, with two other men, went. We took with us besides fishing-lines the whaling gear and a couple of muskets, three or four casks to fill with water, and provisions for the day, for we didn't intend to get back to the ship till evening. Mr Griffiths, who had been there before, took the boat inside a high reef of rocks, where he had, he said, caught a number of fish. Our first object was to obtain bait. Miles Soper and Coal undertook to swim on shore with baskets and catch some crabs, for which the fish in these seas seem to have a special fondness. We pulled in as close as we could to land them, and in a short time they filled their baskets, and shouted to us to return and take them off. We now dropped our kedge anchor just inside the surf, in between two and three fathoms of water, which was so clear that we could see the fish as they swam about, darted at the bait, and swallowed the hooks. We quickly hauled in a number of magnificent fish. We were so eager at the sport that we didn't consider how rapidly the time passed, while the doctor was more occupied with admiring the variously-coloured coral, the richly-tinted seaweeds, and the curiously-shaped fish of all the hues of the rainbow, swimming in and out among the trees of their marine gardens. At last Mr Griffiths, pulling out his watch, exclaimed, "Hulloa! How time has gone by! Get up the anchor, lads. We ought to be off." The order was more easily given than obeyed. We hauled and hauled, but the anchor had got foul of the coral, and we ran a risk of losing it. Soper offered to go down and clear it, but just then a huge shark showed his ugly throat alongside, and Mr Griffiths would not let him go. At last, just as it was dark, Brown managed to get the anchor up. When we pulled outside the reef we found that the weather had changed. It was blowing very hard, though, sheltered as we had been, we had not discovered this. We looked eagerly out for the ship, but she was nowhere to be seen. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. OUR LIFE ON AN UNINHABITED ISLAND. We were still in smooth water, but the sea was breaking in the offing, the white caps rising against the dark sky. Mr Griffiths thought that the ship might have stood to the eastward and be concealed by the point of land which ran out in that direction. We eagerly gave way and pulled off from the shore. Several times he stood up to look about him. At length he cried out-- "There she is! There she is! She's burning a blue light." We all looked in the direction he pointed, which was almost abeam, and there we saw a light, appearing, however, just above the horizon. He at once steered the boat towards it, but as we pulled on the seas increased and frequently broke aboard us; the wind was rising rapidly, and in a short time blew a heavy gale. In vain we again looked out for the light; none could be seen, and there was a great risk, should we continue to pull on, of the boat being swamped. The doctor and Mr Griffiths talked together earnestly; the latter then said-- "Lads, there's no help for it, we must try and get on shore for the night, and in the morning, if the wind goes down, the captain will stand in to look for us." We all knew the danger we were in, for in pulling round the boat might be caught on her broadside and turned over; but it had to be done, and we trusted to Mr Griffiths' steering. We gave way as he told us, though for a moment I thought all was over as a sea struck the boat abeam and half swamped her. We got round, however, and while Horner and I baled her out, the men pulled in towards the shore. It was now very dark. All we could see ahead was an irregular line of black, but whether rocks or hills rising near the beach we could not tell. As we neared the shore Mr Griffiths stood up looking out for a landing-place, but no opening could he discover in the rocks, against which the surf was now breaking furiously; should we get within its power the boat, we knew, would be dashed to pieces in a moment. The wind went on increasing till it blew almost a hurricane. At last Dr Cockle exclaimed-- "There is an opening. We passed it this morning. I remember it by the clump of trees on the top of a rounded hill, and I can now make them out against the sky." Mr Griffiths hesitated. Should the doctor be wrong in another minute we should be hurled to destruction against the rugged rocks. Just then the moon rising on the other side of the island broke through the clouds and showed us clearly the outline of the trees and the hill. The mate hesitated no longer, but telling us to give way steered in for the opening. The surf broke wildly on either side of us, flying up above our heads; the seas came rearing on astern, threatening to engulf us. We all gave way steadily together. Now the boat rose on the top of a foaming sea, and then down she glided into comparatively smooth water inside the reef, and we were safe. Pulling on, we saw ahead a small bay with the trees coming down to the water's edge. Their tops were waving wildly, but we felt but little wind where we were, and we were able to run the boat's head on to the beach and land without difficulty. We at once drew her up and looked out for a sheltered spot under some rocks to camp. Here we got a fire lighted, as there were plenty of broken branches and leaves lying about, and soon had some of the fish we had caught cooking before it. Outside the tempest was howling furiously, and we had reason to be thankful that we had gained the shore, as no boat could have lived in the sea which was by this time running. After supper was over, and we had dried our clothes, wet through and through by the spray, we lay down to sleep under the rock. Mr Griffiths assured us that there were no wild beasts or natives to molest us in the island, though we were not altogether free from danger, as the trees which grew on the top of the rock above our heads might be blown down, or the upper part of the rock itself might give way and crush us. That we might have some chance in being awakened so as to enable us to attempt to escape, as also to prevent the fire going out, Mr Griffiths arranged that one of the party should keep watch. The doctor offered to keep the first watch. Mr Griffiths and the rest of the men then stowed themselves away close under the cliff. I, feeling no inclination to sleep, joined the doctor, who was sitting by the fire on one of the water-casks, every now and then throwing on a few sticks and making it blaze up cheerfully. I asked him if the ship were likely to return soon to take us off. "Not till the hurricane is over," he said; "the captain will not like to come near the coast for fear of being driven on it." "Then you think, sir, that we shall remain here long enough to explore the island?" I said. "Why do you wish to explore the island?" he asked. "Because I have a notion that my brother Jack is upon it," I replied. "They say there are pigs here, and there are, no doubt, plenty of birds, and he would be able to live as well as Miles Soper and Coal did on Juan Fernandez." "But it's a hundred to one--I may say a thousand to one--that the boat was driven here; besides which, so many whalers pass by this island that he would have been seen and taken off even if he had come here. You only raise up such ideas to disappoint yourself. Don't think about it; lie down and go to sleep." Notwithstanding what the doctor had said, I could not get the idea out of my head, and longed for morning, that I might set off and make a tour round the island with Jim, who, I knew, would be ready to come with me, as would Miles Soper and some of the others. Notwithstanding the howling of the wind above our heads, and the wild roar of the breakers on the rocky coast, contrary to my expectation I fell fast asleep, and didn't wake till the mate roused up all hands at daylight. The storm was raging as wildly as ever. Furious torrents of rain had come down, but the watch had managed to keep in the fire, and we all gathered round it to cook some more fish and dry our damp clothes. We were in good spirits, for we knew that the gale would blow itself out in a short time, and we expected that the ship would then come and take us off. As soon as I proposed to Jim to explore the island, he at once agreed to accompany me. The doctor and Miles Soper also said that they would go. The latter carried one of the muskets, which the mate said we might take, and the rest of us armed ourselves with long pointed sticks. The mate thought we might as well go armed, for though the island had hitherto been uninhabited, it was possible that some savages might have been driven as far north in their double canoes, and might attack us if they found we were unable to defend ourselves. We took some cooked fish for provisions, and we hoped to find water as we proceeded. We had first to make our way through a thick forest, of what the doctor called tamana-trees--some of them being of gigantic size. It was often so dark beneath their thick boughs that we could with difficulty see our way; but we went on, guided by the doctor's pocket-compass, in a straight line, until we at length got out of the forest into more open country. He proposed going on till we reached a hill which we saw some way off, and there to light a fire, that the smoke might attract the attention of any one living on the island. He carried out his plan, and collecting sticks as we neared the spot, having brought tinder and matches, we quickly had a fire blazing. We looked in vain, however, all round the island for an answering signal. "Perhaps, if there is any one, he is down by the shore, and has no means of striking a light," said the doctor; "or maybe he is still sheltering himself from the storm." As this seemed very likely, leaving the fire burning, we made our way down to the beach on the farther side of the island. The view from the hill on the north side showed us only rugged and broken ground, and we therefore proceeded along the shore as close as we could get towards the southern end. We saw plenty of birds, which would have afforded us food if we had had time to stop and shoot them. It was somewhat rough work, especially in the more exposed places against the wind. At last we got back to the part we had started from, just as night was falling. From every height we kept a look-out for the ship, but she did not appear. "You're convinced now, Peter, that your brother is not on this island," said the doctor. "I should have rejoiced if we had found him, but I did not think it at all likely that he is here. However, that is no reason why he should not be somewhere else." We had found water on our way, and the mate had discovered a spring not far from our camp. The hurricane, which had abated somewhat during the day, came on again as night approached, and we were thankful to obtain the shelter of our rock. The wind blew more furiously than ever, the lightning flashed and ran along the ground--now and again crashes were heard as some tall tree was struck and rent in two, while the rain at times came down in torrents, and nearly put out the fire. We, however, got shelter from the overhanging rock. We had just done supper, when Mr Griffiths observed-- "I'm afraid something may happen to our boat. The breakers sound so loud that they perhaps are dashing over the reef, and the sea may sweep up and carry her off." We hurried down to where we had left the boat. A bright flash of lightning revealed her to us, with the seething water rushing up under her keel. Dashing forward, we seized her just as a second wave was lifting her, and in a few seconds would have carried her off. We dragged her up the beach till we had placed her, as we hoped, out of the reach of the water. While we were thus employed we heard a loud crash coming from the direction of our camp. On returning, we discovered our fire nearly out, but it blazed sufficiently to show us a mass of earth and rock, and two tall trees, which had fallen on the very spot where a few minutes before we had all been collected. We were thankful for our preservation, though we had lost the only shelter we knew of. The mate suggested that we should go back to the boat, turn her over, and creep under her for shelter. As no trees were near where she lay, we hoped that we might thus rest in perfect safety. Having taken the things out of her, we did as he proposed, and one by one crept in, and stretched ourselves upon the damp ground. After the exertions I had made during the day I felt very sleepy, and though I remained awake for some time thinking of Jack, my eyes at length closed. I was awakened by hearing three distinct loud raps on the bottom of the boat. I fancied that I must be dreaming, but I found that Jim and Horner, who were sleeping next to me, were awake, and had heard the sounds. "What are you lads making that noise for?" asked Mr Griffiths. I told him of the raps which had awakened me. "I thought it was one of you that made them," he said. "I heard them also," remarked the doctor, from his end of the boat. The rest of the men were asleep; all of us were inside, and the sound certainly came from the outside. On this I crawled out from under the boat, half expecting to see some one standing there, but neither human being nor animal was visible. The rain had ceased, but the night was very dark, and there was time for a person after the knocks had been given to retreat into the woods. Still, I didn't think that it could have been Jack. I returned to the boat, supposing that whoever had knocked would knock again. The expectation of this kept me awake, and I determined that I would try to spring out and catch the person, whoever he was. I waited, however, in vain, and in less than two hours saw the daylight coming in under the gunwale. The surf was still breaking with a loud roar on the rocks, but the wind had ceased to howl through the trees, and I hoped that the hurricane was nearly over. The noise I made in getting out from under the boat awakened those sleeping near me, and the rest of the party were soon on foot. The first thing we did was to go back to our camp and see the effect of the landslip. The spot where we had been sitting was covered with a large mass of earth, rocks, and trees. We found a hollow in the rock near the spot, which appeared safe, and here we determined to light a fire and cook some more of our fish. While most of the people were thus employed, Mr Griffiths, the doctor, and I climbed to the highest rock in the neighbourhood, that we might take a look-out for the ship. The sun was just rising, and cast a ruddy glow over the still heaving ocean covered with foam-crested seas, which, rolling in towards the shore, broke into masses of spray as they reached the surrounding reefs. In vain we looked round for the ship; not the slightest speck of white appeared above the horizon. "Can anything have happened to her?" said the doctor, in an anxious tone. "She has weathered out many a worse gale than we have just had," observed the mate. "My only fear is that in attempting to make the land she may have been driven on one of the hidden reefs which abound everywhere hereabouts." "And if so, what are we to do?" inquired the doctor. "We must try to reach the nearest islands inhabited by civilised people. We have casks sufficient to hold water for the voyage." "I still hope she will come," said the doctor; "but we must not lose heart whatever happens." Taking another look round, we returned to the camp, where we found a blazing fire and the fish cooked. We remained all that day and the next, unable to get out and catch any more fish. By this time our stock was completely exhausted--indeed, for the last day it had been scarcely eatable. While two of the men remained on shore to collect salt from the rocks, the rest of us went off, and with the crab-bait soon caught a large quantity of fish. In two days we got as many as we could well carry. Some of these were salted, others were smoked over the fire. We didn't fail, as may be supposed, to pay frequent visits to our look-out place on the rock. Day after day went by and no sail appeared. "She's not coming back," said Mr Griffiths, at length; "something must have happened to her; and I put it to you whether we remain here or try to reach either Japan or the Ladrones. Though Guam, which is the chief island of the Ladrones, is much farther off than Japan, we are likely to receive better treatment from the Spaniards than we are from the Japanese, who may either send us off again or put us to death. The passage there is also likely to prove more boisterous than to Guam." The mate, having concluded his remarks, put the matter to the vote. Two of the men said they would rather remain on the island. No one proposed going to Japan, and the doctor and Miles Soper wished to steer for Guam. The rest of us voted with them. The mate considered that the sooner we were off the better. He said that the island was not a bad residence, but that when the winter came on we should have rains and storms, and might be unable to catch any fish or find other means of supporting life. We therefore at once set to work to prepare for the voyage. We first put off and caught a supply of fish, which we cured as before. We might have killed some birds, but we were unwilling to expend our small stock of powder, which we might require to defend ourselves against any natives who might prove hostile. Led by the doctor, Brown, Jim, and I started to explore the neighbourhood, to collect scurvy grass or roots of any sort which might serve as vegetables. The natural productions of the country appeared to be very limited, but we dug up some roots which the doctor pronounced wholesome. We were about returning in despair of obtaining what we wanted, when we came, near the shore on the other side of the bay, on a small open space overgrown with what at first looked like weeds, but I saw the doctor's eye brighten as he espied them. Hurrying on he pulled away eagerly at the seeming weeds. "Here are onions," he cried, "of more value to us than gold; and see, here are potatoes, and these are cabbages, though somewhat overgrown, but there are leaves enough to supply us for a month." We set to work to dig up the onions and potatoes with our pointed sticks, and to pull away at the cabbage leaves. "Some beneficent person must have planted a garden here not long ago," said the doctor, as we were labouring with might and main. "These vegetables may be the means of preserving our lives, for without them we should have run a great risk of suffering from scurvy." We each of us loaded ourselves with as many of the roots as we could carry, and staggered back with them to camp. We were received with a loud shout by our companions, who knew the value of what we had brought. We quickly had some of the potatoes roasting in the ashes, on which, with some onions and fish, we made a more hearty meal than we had taken since we landed. We had fortunately an iron pot, in which we were able to boil a quantity of the potatoes, and afterwards the greens and some of the roots, which, being well-seasoned with salt, the doctor hoped would keep for some time. All our preparations being made, one morning, having breakfasted at daylight, the doctor and I went up to the top of the rock to take a last look-out for the ship. On coming down we saw the boat in the water loaded, when, all hands getting aboard, we shoved off and stood out through the reef with a fair breeze from the north-west and a smooth sea. The wind would have been directly against us had we been bound for Japan, so we were glad that we had decided to sail to the southward. Our boat was somewhat deeply laden with provisions and water, but our cargo would be rapidly lightened, and Mr Griffiths told us we must be prepared to heave some of it overboard should bad weather come on. We were all in health and good spirits, our chief anxiety being about the fate of the ship. I must pass rapidly over the first part of our voyage. We had the boat's compass to steer by, but having no quadrant to take an observation or log-line to mark accurately the distance run, we could only guess at the rate we made. Mr Griffiths, however, was a good navigator, and was pretty certain that he was correct. We had, we fancied, plenty of food, but from the first he put us all on an allowance of water. While the sea remained smooth he also made us change our places constantly, and by the doctor's advice he ordered one at a time to stand up and move his arms and legs about to prevent them from becoming stiff. He also encouraged us to spin yarns and sing songs; indeed, he did everything in his power to keep us in good spirits. After the first day of our landing we had not touched any of the biscuits we had brought with us. These we now husbanded with great care in case our other provisions should run short or spoil, which the doctor feared might be the case. We were much indebted to him for the precautions taken, as Mr Griffiths carried out all his suggestions. We had a whole week of fine weather, and we could favourably compare our lot with that of many poor fellows who had to voyage in open boats in the Pacific, exposed to storms, and often with a scant allowance of food and water. The wind was generally from the northward, and when it fell calm we took to our oars. Mr Griffiths told us that we had a distance of between seven and eight hundred miles to run, as far as he could calculate, and that if the fine weather continued we might hope to reach Guam in ten days or a fortnight. We had got on so well that we began to fancy that we should have no difficulties to encounter. We were, of course, constantly on the look-out for vessels. At length we sighted a sail, but she was standing away from us. We steered after her for some distance, but before nightfall her topgallant sails sank beneath the horizon, and we again kept on our course. "I wonder whether that craft out there is the _Intrepid_," said Jim to me. "Little chance of that," I remarked. "If she escaped shipwreck, or has not been severely damaged, she would have come to look for us long before we left the island." "Perhaps the skipper fancied that we were lost, and didn't think it worth while to come and look for us," said Jim. Four days after this, according to Mr Griffiths's calculations, we were in the latitude of Guam, but to the eastward of the island. Brown, however, was of opinion that we had run farther to the south, and that if we stood east we should see it on our port bow. We accordingly hauled up on the port tack. Scarcely had we done so when the weather, which had lately looked threatening, completely changed. A strong wind began to blow from the north-west; it rapidly increased, and the sea got up and began to break over the bows in a way which threatened to swamp the boat. Three hands baled away together, but even thus we could scarcely keep the boat free of water. "We must form a raft to serve as a breakwater," said Mr Griffiths. We lashed three oars together, the sail was lowered, the boat rounded to, and the raft, with a stout rope to it, was hove overboard, the rope being secured to the bows. At the same time the steering-oar was peaked and fixed into the after-thwart, with the flat of the blade facing the bows. This served as a sail, and kept the boat's head to the sea. Thus, with the seas roaring and hissing round us, driving at the rate of two miles an hour to the southward and west, we prepared to pass the night, all of us feeling that we might never see another sun rise. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. A PERILOUS VOYAGE IN THE WHALE-BOAT. The night was very dark, the sea rose fearfully high. Now the water broke over the starboard, now over the port bow, nearly swamping the boat, and all hands were employed in baling it out. We worked for our lives, for should another sea come before the boat was clear she might be swamped. Some of the men cried out that we should not live through the night. Mr Griffiths and the doctor cheered them up, but if it hadn't been for the raft ahead, which broke the seas, I believe that we must have gone down. I had heard of boats being saved by hanging on under the lee of a dead whale, but I had not supposed that a few oars lashed together would have served as an effectual breakwater. The peaked oar played a most important part by keeping the boat's head to the wind, and at a sufficient distance from the raft. She must otherwise have broached to, and it must have been driven against her and stove in the side. As soon as the boat was clear of water, Brown sang out, "Now let's have a stave, lads," and he began to sing, but few were able to join in with him. Jim and I tried, knowing Brown's object, but we had scarcely got through a verse when another sea came roaring on board, nearly carrying over the men in the bows, and washing away some of our provisions. We all had immediately to turn to again and bale out the boat. No one thought of singing after this, for directly we were free of one sea another broke aboard us. It was a mercy that they didn't come together. "We must pray to God, lads," cried Mr Griffiths. "He who rules the seas and winds, if we ask Him, can save us if He thinks fit. Don't cease baling. He likes people to work and pray, but not to fall down on their knees while there's work to be done and leave it undone." He and the doctor set the example by baling away as hard as any of us. We had the boat's regular balers, our iron pot, and a couple of small buckets; the rest of us used our hats and caps. Still, do all we could, it was a difficult matter to keep the boat free from water. We were wet through, as was everything in the boat, and we were afraid that our provisions would be spoilt, except perhaps the onions and potatoes. Hour after hour went slowly by, for we had no time for talking to make it appear shorter. Still the night did come to an end at last, but there were no signs of the gale abating. As soon as the sun rose we looked out eagerly on all sides for land. Nothing broke the uniform line of the horizon except the foam-topped seas, which rose up tumultuously between us and it. We were driving all this time, it must be remembered, to the southward at the rate, the mate said, of two knots an hour, so that if we had been near Guam when the gale came on we were being driven farther and farther from it, and it would be a hard matter to regain the island. We had taken nothing during the night, and we now all cried out for food. The store of salt fish we had remaining was scarcely eatable, for the salt had been washed out of it, and it was becoming bad. What we had smoked was a little better, but that also was almost spoilt, yet such as it was we were glad to have a portion with an onion apiece, and a small mug half full of water. The mate would give us no more. "What I do is for the good of all of us, lads," he said. "I can't tell when we may make the land, or what provisions we may find when we get there." Horner sang out, "We had some biscuit. What has become of that? Why don't you let us have a piece for our breakfasts?" "Because the biscuits will keep longer than anything else, and are all we may have to depend upon," answered the doctor, who had got them under him in the stern-sheets, and had been trying from the first to keep them as free from water as possible. We had till now fancied that we had an abundance of food, but some had been washed overboard and some had been completely spoilt, so we found to our dismay that we had a very small quantity remaining. Horner now began to complain bitterly of hunger and thirst, declaring that if he didn't get some food he must die. Jim and I endeavoured to cheer him up. It was not a matter to joke about; indeed I was myself feeling the pangs of hunger and getting weaker and less able to work, though I did my best. Jim kept up better than I did. We had not much time to be thinking, however, for we were compelled to be constantly baling the greater part of the day. Towards evening the sun broke through the western clouds, sending his rays athwart the troubled ocean, and tinging the seas with a ruddy hue, while his heat dried our wet clothes. Soon afterwards the wind began to drop, but the seas still ran so high that the mate thought it prudent to hang on some time longer to our raft. However, they no longer broke on board as they had been doing, and we had better hopes than on the previous night that we should see another sun rise. We had been awake so long that none of us were able to keep our eyes open, and I suspect that at times every person in the boat was fast asleep. I know for my part that I must have dozed through the greater part of the night, for I was awakened by hearing the mate's voice saying-- "Now, lads, we will get the raft on board and make sail." I jumped up to lend a hand. We got the oars out and put the boat before the seas while we set up the mast and hoisted the sail. The wind was still in the same quarter, blowing directly from where we supposed Guam to be, and as there were no hopes of making it the mate determined to run for some island to the southward, where, though it might be uninhabited, we should probably find cocoanuts and water, and might catch some fish. As none of the islands are very close together we ran a great risk of passing between them without seeing land, but then again he argued that we might be days or weeks beating up to Guam, and as he could not tell its exact position, we might even pass it after all, while by keeping to the south we might have a better prospect of having fine weather, and finding food on any shore at which we might touch. On the other hand again there was the risk of falling among savages, for the natives of these latitudes were known to be fierce, treacherous, and inhospitable to strangers. We might, however, possibly meet with some ship, as we should cross the course pursued by Spanish vessels sailing from America to the Philippines. Should we pass through the Caroline group we should have another long channel to sail over, and must then reach the coast of New Guinea. If driven thus far south our prospect of escape was small indeed; though we might obtain food, the people were supposed to be extremely savage and cruel. The doctor, to cheer us, said that he had some doubts about that, for although such was the character of the natives of some parts, there were others who might treat us kindly should we fall among them, provided we behaved well and showed that we wished to be friendly. As we sailed on the sea gradually went down, and at length we were running with a light breeze over the smooth ocean. Though at first the warm sun was pleasant it soon became very hot, and while it dried our clothes increased our thirst. At the same time the heat destroyed the remaining portion of our fish, which became so bad that we were obliged to throw it overboard. We had now only a few raw potatoes and onions, and the little store of biscuits which the doctor had so wisely husbanded. The mate told us that we must make up our minds to live on very short allowance, and be content with a quarter of a biscuit, an onion, and a small piece of raw potato. To make the latter more wholesome he cut them and hung them up to dry in the sun. Our food was served out about noon, and each day we sat eagerly waiting for the hour. Horner would turn his eyes up and watch the sun till he fancied that it had gained its greatest altitude, and then cry out to the mate-- "It must be twelve o'clock, now, sir. Won't Dr Cockle look at his watch and see?" The doctor was the only person who kept his watch wound up. The mate had collected all the provisions and placed them in the stern-sheets, and he didn't think fit to tell us how rapidly they were going. The quantity he served out was scarcely sufficient to keep body and soul together, but he acted for the best; there was no doubt about that. We were all becoming rapidly weaker, and longing for some substantial fare. Horner at last cried out that if he didn't get it he must die. Two or three of the other men said much the same thing. As I looked at their faces I felt afraid that they spoke the truth. Our limbs were swollen, and we felt so stiff that we were scarcely able to move. "Trust in God, lads," said the mate, to try and cheer us up. We were no longer inclined to spin yarns or sing songs, and only now and then exchanged a few words with each other. Not long after this, as I was gazing over the side, I saw a movement in the water, and presently a score of flying-fish rose from the sea, their wings glittering in the sunlight, and about a dozen pitched into the boat. Oh, how eagerly we all stooped down to seize them! Just then, as I was looking out, expecting some more to come, I saw several dolphins, which had no doubt been pursuing the flying-fish, and now came close up to the boat, looking out for them. Notwithstanding our hunger the doctor advised that we should split the fish and hang them up in the sun to dry. We were, however, too hungry to do this, but the mate insisted that all should be handed to him. He then served out to each of us half a fish, which we eagerly devoured. This meal, scanty as it was, somewhat restored our strength. "I told you to trust in God, lads," said the mate. "See He has sent us these fish, and He'll send us more, never fear." Before long I saw, a hundred yards off, another flight of flying-fish rise from the sea, and come darting through the air like masses of silver, when, to our joy, a number struck the sail and dropped into the bottom of the boat. The mate immediately served out the remainder of those which had at first been sent to us. This made the men cheer up more than ever, as we expected that, now we had got into the tropics, we should have an ample supply every day. We saw large quantities of dolphins, bonitos, and albicores, which pursue the flying-fish, and induce them to seek for safety in flight; but none of the larger fish came near enough to enable us to catch them, though Brown, harpoon in hand, stood up as long as he could keep his feet, in the expectation of striking one. It was very tantalising to see them sporting round us, and yet not to be able to get one on board. We had, however, a sufficient number of flying-fish to give us a good meal each for that and the next day. The mate proposed drying some in the sun and reserving them in case no more should come aboard, but nearly all hands cried out that we were certain to have some more sent us, and begged so hard to have the fish while they were good that the mate yielded to their wishes. During the night we steered south-east, with the wind on our port quarter. It was in that direction Mr Griffiths said he knew the islands lay thickest. We had a regular watch set, and a bright look-out kept ahead, for we could not tell when we might come upon reefs, and the boat might be knocked to pieces on some uninhabited spot where neither food nor water was to be procured. The next day was passed much as the previous one had been, but no flying-fish came on board, though we saw them glittering in the air in the distance. It was drawing towards evening when I saw a black triangular fin, which I knew to be that of a shark, coming up astern. "What are you looking at?" asked the doctor. I told him. Presently we caught sight of the monster's cruel eyes and back a couple of fathoms from the boat. I saw by their looks that the men did not like its appearance. "We hab him," cried Sam Coal. "We eat him if he no eat us." Brown, on hearing this remark, stood up, with his harpoon in hand, but the savage brute seemed to know its danger, and kept just beyond his reach, eyeing us, we thought, as if he expected to make a feast of the whole party. The men made their remarks on the shark, for having had sufficient food they had somewhat recovered their spirits. Still I wished that the shark would take its departure, but it kept on swimming alongside the boat, and as the breeze freshened it made faster way to keep up with us. Brown at last proposed shooting it, for our powder, being in a metal flask, had kept dry, but Mr Griffiths objected to any being expended for the purpose. It was a hundred to one that the shark would be killed, he said, and every charge might be of value. Still, as no flying-fish had been caught, the men cried out that they must have the shark, and Mr Griffiths at length allowed Brown, who was a good shot, to try and hit it in a vital part. Just, however, as he stood up with the musket in his hands the shark dived and disappeared. "Ah, ha, Jack Shark know what you going to do. Him know eberyting," said Sam Coal. Shortly after this the sun sank amid a bank of black clouds, and darkness came down on the world of waters, the weather again looking very threatening. I was awakened by a splash of water in my face. On sitting up, though a heavy sea was running, I found that the boat was still keeping on her course. The sail had been reefed, but it was as much as we could carry. Again and again the sea broke on board. The sleepers were all aroused, and we had to bale as fast as we could. Presently the mate said, "We must heave her to, lads. Get the raft rigged." We soon had this done, but as we were rounding to a heavy sea came rolling up, and breaking on board, nearly carried Sam Coal over the side. The raft was hove into the water, and we lay head to wind as before, with the oar apeak. This did not prevent the seas from occasionally breaking on board, though they came with less violence than they would otherwise have done; but the boat was severely strained and shattered as they beat against her, and she now began to leak in a way which gave us just cause for alarm. We spent the night baling as hard as we could, all striving to save our lives; but we hoped almost against hope that we should succeed. At last some of the men, as before, began to despair, saying that it was as well to die now as a few hours later, and that it would be better to give in and let the boat sink, but seeing the mate and doctor calm and composed as ever, I tried to imitate their example. "God wants us to labour on, lads," cried Mr Griffiths. "He'll help us if we do. Gales in these latitudes never last long. Perhaps to-morrow we shall have a fine day and catch some more flying-fish, or maybe we are not far off from an island and we shall be able to stretch our legs and find plenty of cocoanuts, and perhaps yams and pigs. We shall soon have a fire alight and something cooking before it, and then won't we eat, boys!" This sort of talk had a good effect upon the men, and they no longer had any thought of giving in. Still, the night went by very slowly. Sleeping, even if we had had time, with the water washing into the boat, was next to impossible. Daylight came back at last, and as the sun rose the clouds dispersed, the wind rapidly dropped, and the sea went down. In a short time the mate ordered the raft to be got on board, and we ran on as before. We were very nearly starving, for we had had nothing to eat since we had devoured the raw flying-fish on the previous day. "The doctor's got some biscuit," said one of the men, and they at once all cried out, begging that they might have it. The mate, however, would only give us a quarter of a biscuit each, with a little water. It just served to stay the gnawings of hunger, but as the day grew on we wanted food as much as ever, and our spirits again sank. For the first time I began to think that I should not survive, even if the mate and Dr Cockle did. Though they had eaten no more than any of us, they endured their sufferings better. By this time we were a scarecrow crew, our hair long, our faces wan, our bodies shrunk, and our skin tanned to a yellow by the hot sun. At last the men entreated that they might have the remainder of the biscuit, declaring that they were ready to die after they had had one good meal if we could not catch any more flying-fish. "No, lads," said Mr Griffiths; "I know what is best for you. Your lives are committed to my charge, and I'll not yield to your wishes. See, while you have been talking the water has been coming into the boat. Turn to and bale away." They obeyed, though with scowling countenances. The mate had both the guns in the stern-sheets, and he and the doctor looked as if they were prepared to resist violence. The men knew also that Jim and I would have sided with the officers. The wind had dropped, and with a gentle breeze we were gliding on, when suddenly, not ten yards off, a number of flying-fish rose out of the water and came towards the boat. Some struck the sail, and others we beat back with our hands. "I told you not to despair, lads," said Mr Griffiths. "Thank God for what He has sent us!" I believe we all did so most heartily. The mate allowed all the fish we had caught to be eaten. I heard the doctor ask him why he did so, as we might catch no more till the next day. "I'll tell you presently," he answered. We had finished our meal, with just a small piece of biscuit apiece and a quarter of a pint of water, when the mate stood up, and, shading his eyes, gazed ahead. "I would not say so before, lads, for fear of disappointing you, but I now tell you that we're in sight of land. It is not very large, and may not be inhabited; it may have no cocoanuts or other vegetables on it, but it will give us room to stretch our legs, and we may be able to catch as many fish as we want off it." "Thank God!" burst from the lips of most of the crew, and I and some others knelt down to return thanks to Him who had thus far preserved us, while we prayed that we might be brought in time to a place of safety. We all now wanted to stand up and see the land. The mate told us to sit quiet, but he allowed each one of us at a time to rise to our feet and take a look ahead. A blue irregular line could just be distinguished above the horizon, clear and defined. That it was land none of us had any doubt. A fair breeze carried us along at the rate of four or five knots an hour. In less than a couple of hours we might hope to be on shore, but the sun was sinking, and it would be dark, unless the breeze freshened, before we could reach it. In a short time the wind fell, on which our hopes of landing before night were disappointed. We got out the oars, however, and pulled on. "We must be careful, lads," said the mate, after we had rowed some distance. "Most of these islands are surrounded by coral reefs, and we may run upon one of them in the dark and knock the boat to pieces. We must heave-to, shortly, and wait for daylight." Some of the men grumbled at this, and asserted that the noise of the surf upon the reefs would give us sufficient notice when we were approaching them, but the mate was firm. "I will not risk the safety of the boat for the sake of getting on shore a few hours earlier," he said. We all, however, had the satisfaction of taking another look at the land and assuring ourselves that it was land before darkness came on. Mr Griffiths then ordered us to lay in our oars, and except two who were to keep watch and bale out the water which leaked into the boat, to lie down and go to sleep. I don't think many of us did sleep. We were all thinking too much about getting on shore in the morning to care for rest. We forgot that before that time another gale might spring up and drive us off the land, or dash the boat a hopeless wreck upon the coral reef. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. MORE STARTLING ADVENTURES. The night passed by, and as dawn at length broke, the mate rousing up all hands, we hoisted the sail, and again stood towards the land. The sea was smooth, and the wind light and fair. As we glided on, the mate told Brown to stand up in the bows and keep a look-out for reefs. As we approached the land we could see trees on the shore and some on the hill, so that we had no doubt that we should find fresh water. It was a question, however, whether or not it was inhabited, and, if so, whether the natives would prove friendly or hostile. The mate told the doctor that he believed it was one of the most north-western of the Caroline group, the natives of which are generally more friendly to strangers than the inhabitants of the islands farther south; still, they are perfect savages, and it would be dangerous to trust them. We could, however, see no smoke or other signs of the country being inhabited. We had not gone far, when Brown sang out, "Starboard! Hard a-starboard! A reef ahead!" On this the mate, luffing up, ordered us to lower the sail. It was done in an instant, and not a moment too soon, for we saw close abeam a coral reef not two feet under the surface. "We may be thankful that we didn't stand on during the night," said Mr Griffiths to the doctor. We now got out the oars and pulled cautiously on. We soon found ourselves in a channel, with coral reefs on either side, all of them just below the surface; and as the passage twisted and turned in all directions, it required the greatest possible caution to thread our way through it. We might well be thankful not only that we did not stand on during the night, but that we had not driven farther south during the gale while we rode to the raft. Nothing could have preserved the boat from being dashed to pieces. At length we got clear of the encircling reef, and found ourselves in a broad expanse of perfectly smooth water. The rocks rising directly out of it formed the shore. We had to pull along them some distance to find a convenient landing-place. At last a beautiful bay opened out, with a sandy beach, the ground rising gradually from it, covered with cocoanut-trees. On seeing it, led by Brown, we uttered a cheer, and giving way with a will ran the boat's keel on the beach. He jumped out first, and we all followed, without thinking of savages, and only very grateful to find ourselves once more on firm ground. Led by the mate and the doctor, we fell on our knees, and I believe with grateful hearts returned thanks to God for our safety. We were hurrying up to the trees with our eyes fixed on the cocoanuts which hung temptingly from them, when the mate called to us to be cautious, for though we had seen no natives, there might be some in the neighbourhood, who might come suddenly down and attack us while we were engaged in obtaining the cocoanuts. He and the doctor then proceeded with their muskets in their hands a little way in advance, while under Brown's directions we prepared to get down the nuts. Miles Soper, Sam Coal, and Jim were the best climbers, but without assistance, weak as we all were, they found that they could not swarm up the trees. We therefore got some ropes from the boat, and Soper soon twisted one of them into a grummet, or hoop, round the tree, with sufficient space for his body inside it; then shoving the opposite side of the grummet above him, and holding on with his knees, he worked his way up the smooth trunk. Coal did the same on another tree, but Jim, after making the attempt, had to give up. "I never tried that sort of thing before, and can't manage it," he said, coming down and ready to cry for weakness. "Look out there!" shouted Sam Coal, who was the first to reach the top of his tree; and he threw down a cocoanut, and then another, and another, but they all broke as they touched the ground. "I say, that'll never do!" cried Brown, as he picked up one of them, while Horner and I got hold of the other two. "You must hang them round your neck somehow. We want the juice, which is the best part." Coal, on this, fastened three or four together in a handkerchief; Soper had in the meantime done the same, and they descended with four cocoanuts apiece. Horner and I had run with those we had picked up to Mr Griffiths and the doctor, munching a portion as we went, while Brown divided his among the other men, who were as eager to eat them as we were. So we found were the mate and the doctor. They tasted delicious to us, so long accustomed to salt or raw fish; but still more refreshing was the milk, which we got on tearing off the outer rind by cutting holes in the eyes with our knives. The cocoanuts, indeed, served us as meat and drink. All this time the doctor and mate had seen no signs of inhabitants, and as we were all far too weak to think of exploring the country, we sat down in the shade of the cocoanut-trees to rest. We talked a little to each other for a short time, and first one dropped off to sleep, then another. Mr Griffiths himself didn't long keep his eyes open, though I fancy I heard him tell Brown that we must set a watch, lest any natives should come suddenly down upon us. The mate and the doctor had both been awake during the whole of the last night in the boat--no wonder that they went to sleep. At last I opened my eyes, and sitting up, looked about me, trying to recollect where I was, and what had happened. This I soon did. My companions lay scattered around me on the ground. In front was the sea, and the two sides of the bay were formed by moderately high cliffs. Behind us was a grove of cocoanut-trees, extending along the shore to the cliffs, and beyond them I could see a hill, which formed the farther end of the valley, opening out on the bay. Every one was asleep, and I was thankful that while in that condition we had not been discovered by savages, who might have been tempted to massacre the whole of us. I was glad that I at all events was now awake. I didn't, however, like to arouse my companions, so I got up noiselessly, and to stretch my legs walked through the palm-grove. On my way I found a cocoanut fallen to the ground, and as I felt hungry, having taken off the rind, I sucked the milk, and then breaking the shell, ate as much of the fruit as I felt inclined to take. This restored my strength, and I went on till I got beyond the trees, which extended to no great distance up the valley. Farther on the ground was tolerably open, with here and there a few trees and bushes growing by the side of a stream which ran through the valley, and formed a small lake, without any outlet that I could discover. A number of birds, some of which I took to be pigeons, were flying about, but I saw no four-legged creatures of any sort. The birds were so tame that they came flying about me, and perched on the boughs without showing any signs of fear. "This is a beautiful spot," I thought to myself. "How thankful I am that we reached it! We shall have plenty of food, and if there are no natives we can remain as long as we like till we are all strong again, and Mr Griffiths determines to pursue the voyage." I was stopping, looking about, when I saw something move on the top of the hill at the farther end of the valley. The object stopped, and then I made out distinctly against the sky the figure of a man. He was too far off to enable me to make out how he was dressed, or whether he was a native or a white man. He stopped for some time, as if he was looking down into the valley, and I fancied that he might have seen me, for I was in an open spot, away from any trees or shrubs. At last I beckoned to him, to show that my companions and I wished to be friends with the natives. He took no notice of my signals, but stood looking down into the valley as before. At first I thought of going towards him, but then it struck me that others might appear, and that I might be taken prisoner, or perhaps killed, and that I ought to go back and tell Mr Griffiths what I had seen. I found him and the doctor awake. "I'm sorry to hear that," said the former. "I had hoped that there were no natives on the island. If the person you saw had been a white man he would have come down to us immediately. I suspect that he must be a native. We must look out for a visit from others, and keep a more careful watch than heretofore." He and the doctor agreed to return with me, and if the person was still where I had seen him, to try and open up a friendly communication with him and any others who might appear. Rousing up Brown and the rest of the people, and telling them where we were going, we set off. On our getting to the spot where I had been when I saw the man, he had disappeared. We, however, went on past a little lake, and along the bank of a stream, looking out very carefully on either side lest the natives might come down from the cliffs and cut us off. No one appeared; and as it was getting late, Mr Griffiths thought it wise to return. It was almost dark by the time we reached the palm-grove. We found that Soper and Coal had in the meantime collected some more cocoanuts; and that Brown, with the rest of the men, had obtained some large clams and other shell-fish from the rocks. They were now lighting a fire to cook them, while Jim had brought a kettle of water from the lake. We had thus materials for a hearty meal, of which we all partook with good appetites. We had been unable to do anything to the boat during the day, but Mr Griffiths remarked that our first care must be to put her to rights, that we might go out fishing in her, and afterwards make a voyage to some place where we might find a vessel to take us home. The mate said that we might either sail northward again to Guam, or westward to the Pellew Islands, the inhabitants of which were said to be friendly, and thence on to the Philippines. Various opinions were expressed, but nothing was decided. We had now to prepare for the night. Notwithstanding the sleep we had had during the day, we all felt that a longer rest was necessary to restore our strength. Mr Griffiths, however, insisted that a watch should be kept, as now that we had discovered the island to be inhabited, it would be folly to allow ourselves to be caught unawares at night. Though the weather was warm, as we had had no time to put up a shelter of any sort, the fire was found pleasant; we therefore agreed not to let it go out during the night. It was settled that the doctor should keep the first watch, Mr Griffiths the middle, and I was to have the third with Jim. Brown kept it with the doctor, and Soper with the mate. Our arrangements being made, we lay down to pass the night. It appeared to me that I had been asleep only a few minutes, when Mr Griffiths called me up, and Jim and I, taking the muskets, began our watch. The mate told me that the doctor's and his watches had passed quietly away, and they had not heard any sounds to indicate that any natives were near. As we were not obliged to keep close to the fire, and as there was a bright moon in the sky to enable us to see our way, I proposed to Jim that we should go through the grove, where, should any natives approach in the morning, we should discover them sooner on that side than we should by remaining at the camp. He agreed, and without difficulty we made our way through the trees, which stood apart, with little or no undergrowth. The scene which presented itself to us as we got out of the grove was very beautiful. The silver moon and the surrounding trees were reflected in the calm waters of the lake, while the outline of the hills on either side appeared sharp and distinct against the sky. Finding a clear piece of ground not far from the shore of the lake, Jim and I walked up and down, keeping a look-out now to one side, now to the other, as also up the valley. We had taken several turns, when Jim exclaimed, "Hillo! Look there!" Gazing up in the direction to which he pointed, I saw distinctly against the sky the figure of a man. How he was dressed it was impossible to say; still, he had on clothes of some sort. "He's not a native savage, at all events," said Jim. "We'll hail him, and if he's an Englishman he'll answer." We shouted at the top of our voices, but no reply came, and the figure disappeared. "That's strange," said Jim; "I thought he would have come down and had a talk with us, whoever he is. Can't we try and find him?" "We mustn't both leave our post," I answered; "but if you stop here I'll try and get up to where he was standing, and unless he has run away he can't be far off." Jim didn't like my going, but I persuaded him to stop, and hurried across the valley. When I got to the foot of the cliff I could find no way up it, and, after searching about, had to abandon the attempt. I returned to where I had left Jim, and we resumed our walk, thinking that perhaps the figure would again appear. "Perhaps if he sees us he won't show himself," said Jim. "Wouldn't it be better to go and stay under the trees? And then perhaps he'll come back." We did as Jim proposed, keeping our eyes in the direction of the cliff, but we looked in vain for the reappearance of the stranger. "He guesses that we are watching for him," said Jim. "Perhaps if we were to shout again he would come back. If he's a white man he'll understand us, and know that we are friends." "There can be no harm in shouting," I answered, "though he may be a native and there may be others with him; they would have come down before this and attacked us, had they had a mind to do so." We accordingly went from under the trees, and standing in the open ground, I shouted out-- "Hillo, stranger, we're friends, and want to have a talk with you. We have just come here for a day or two, and intend to be off again on our voyage." Jim then said much the same sort of thing, and as his voice was even louder than mine, we made sure that the stranger must have heard us. He didn't, however, show himself, though we sometimes shouted together, sometimes singly. At last we heard voices in the cocoanut grove. "I hope that no enemies have got down between us and the sea," I said. "We had no business to come so far away from the camp." We stood with our muskets ready, watching the wood. In a short time our anxiety was relieved by the appearance of the doctor and Mr Griffiths. "Why, lads, what made you shout out in that fashion?" asked the mate. "We fancied you wanted help." We told him of the man we had seen on the cliffs. "It's very extraordinary," said the doctor; "I don't think he can be a native, or he would not have shown himself in that way. He must be some white man who has been left by himself on the island, and has lost his wits, as often happens under such circumstances. He's been accustomed to see savages visit the island, and has kept out of their way to save himself from being killed or made a slave of. He had not the sense to distinguish between us and them." "I believe you are right," said Mr Griffiths. "We must take means to get hold of him, both for his own sake and ours. He'll soon come round, supposing he's an Englishman, when he finds himself among countrymen, and he'll be able to show us where to get provisions if the island produces any. He can't have lived always on cocoanuts and shell-fish." By this time the dawn began to appear, and after waiting a little longer we all returned to camp, and roused up the men to prepare for breakfast. Miles Soper and Sam Coal again climbed the trees to get some cocoanuts. Some of the men went down to the shore to collect shell-fish. Others made up the fire, while the mate and the doctor examined the boat to ascertain the damage she had received, and to see how she could best be repaired. "We have a few nails, and we must try to find some substance which will answer the purpose of pitch," observed the mate. "Doctor, I dare say you'll help us. We will strengthen her with additional planks, and get a strake put on above her gunwale. It will be a work of toil to cut the planks, but it must be done, and she will then be fit to go anywhere." At breakfast the mate told the men of his intentions. They all agreed to do their best to carry them out. We had first, however, to search for provisions. Not knowing whether there might be savages on the island, even supposing that the man we had seen was not one, the mate did not like to leave the boat unprotected. He therefore ordered Brown and one of the men to remain by her while the rest of us proceeded together to explore the island. The mate would not allow us to separate until we had ascertained whether or not there were inhabitants besides the man we had seen on the island. One musket was left with Brown, the mate carried the other, and we set off, keeping up the stream I have before described towards the end of the valley. We looked out on either side for the stranger, but he didn't appear. Some of the men declared that we had not really seen any one, and that we had mistaken a small tree or shrub for a man; but Jim and I were positive, and the doctor, at all events, believed us. On reaching the top of the hill, we looked down into a large hollow, with water at the bottom, dark rocks forming its sides, grown over with creepers, huge ferns, and various other plants. The doctor said that it was the crater of a long extinct volcano, and that the whole island was volcanic. There were many other hills out of which smoke was rising. The doctor said that this was an active volcano; indeed, the country in that direction presented a very different aspect from the part where we had landed. It was black and barren, with only here and there a few green spots. We therefore turned to the east, the direction which promised us a better chance of finding roots or fruits, or vegetable productions of some sort. The strange thing was, that though the island appeared fertile, not a single habitation or hut could we discover. The doctor supposed that this was on account of the occasional outbreak of the volcano, and that the people from the neighbouring islands were afraid to take up their residence on it. We now descended the hill, and went along another valley, of course looking out all the time for the stranger. We were passing a small grove near a hollow in the side of a hill, which was partly concealed by trees, when we heard a cock crow just as an English cock would do. At once that sound made my thoughts, as it did those of the others, probably, rush back to our far-distant homes. "If there's a cock, there must be hens and a hen-roost hereabouts," observed Miles Soper, hurrying in the direction whence the sounds proceeded. We followed; there, sure enough, sheltered by the hill, and under the shade of the trees, was not only a hen-house of good size, but a hut scarcely bigger than it was neatly built and thatched with palm-leaves. "It must be the residence of the stranger. He himself can't be far off," said the doctor. The hut was just large enough to hold one man. It had a door formed of thin poles lashed together with sennit. At the farther end was a bedstead covered with rough matting, and in the centre a small table, with a three-legged stool. No one had any longer any doubt that we had seen a man, or that this must be his abode, and that he must be a white man, but whether English or not was doubtful. Miles Soper examined the matting, and as he was looking about he found a knife on a shelf close to the bed. Taking it up, he examined it with a curious eye, opening and shutting it, and turning it round and round. "Well, that's queer, but I think I've seen this knife before," he said. "If the owner is the man I guess he is I am glad." "Who do you suppose he is?" I inquired, eagerly. "Well, Peter, that's what I don't want to say just yet. I must make sure first," he answered. "Can he be my brother Jack?" I exclaimed, my breath coming and going fast in my anxiety. "Well then, Peter, I'll tell you. Jack knew how to make matting just like this, because he learnt the way on board the _Harriet_, and so did I. He had a knife which, if this isn't it, is the fellow to it, so you see that I have some reason to think that the man who built this hut, and lives in it, is he. But then again, you know, I may be mistaken. "Why, if he is Jack, he should run away from us puzzles me. If he couldn't see our faces he must have known by our dress that we were English or American, and that there was no reason for him to hide himself. There are many men who know how to make this sort of matting, and there are many knives just like this, and that's the reason why I can't tell you whether he's Jack or not. But if Mr Griffiths will let me I'll go on alone and look for him, and when he sees who I am he'll come fast enough to me, and you may depend on it, Peter, if it's he I'll bring him back with a lighter heart than I've had for many a day." CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. THE LOST ONE FOUND AT LAST. I wanted to accompany Soper in his search for the stranger. "No, no, Peter," he answered; "if he is Jack he'll know me; but he won't know you; and if he's grown queer by living all alone on an island, as has happened to some poor fellows, he'll get out of our way if he sees two together." The doctor assented to the wisdom of this, and advised me to be contented and remain by while Soper set off himself. The rest of the party were meanwhile examining the hen-roost. The fowls were mostly of the English breed, which made us suppose that they had been landed from some English vessel. We were confirmed in this belief by discovering an old hen-coop, in which they had probably been washed ashore. There were other pieces of wreckage scattered about, but the hut itself was composed entirely of the products of the island. At last the doctor proposed that we should proceed onwards, as the stranger, whoever he was, would not be likely to come back if he saw us near his hut. I, however, believed that it must be Jack, and, notwithstanding the doubts that Soper had expressed, begged that I might be allowed to remain behind that I might the sooner meet him. Mr Griffiths gave me leave to stay if I wished it. I thought that Soper was more likely to bring him back to the hut than to follow the rest of the party. As soon as they had gone I closed the door and sat down on the three-legged stool. I should have been glad if I had had a book to read to employ my thoughts, but the hut contained only some cocoanuts cut in two for holding water, some long skewers, which had apparently been used for roasting birds, a small nut fixed in a stand to serve as an egg-cup, and a little wooden spoon. There were also shells, some clams, and others of different shapes. Two or three of these would serve as cups and plates. I could judge from this what had been the food of the solitary inhabitant of the hut. This didn't look as if he were out of his mind. The time appeared to go by very slowly. I remembered my disappointment at South's Island when I heard the mysterious knocks on the bottom of the boat, and I began to fear that after all the stranger might not prove to be Jack. I was now sorry that I had not accompanied the rest of the party--at all events the time would not have appeared so long if I had been walking and looking out for Jack. At length I determined to get up and to go out and try and find my companions--perhaps Soper and the stranger were all this time with them, though I knew they would come back and look for me. I rose and went to the window, which had a view right down the valley, probably that the inmate might watch anybody coming in that direction. I couldn't see any object moving, and I turned towards the door, intending to go out, when the sound of voices reached my ears. I listened. One of the speakers was Miles Soper, the other spoke so indistinctly that I could not make out what he said. I opened the door and saw two persons coming through the grove. One was, as I expected, Soper; the other a strange-looking being with long hair, his skin tanned of a deep brown, his dress composed of an old jacket and trousers, patched or rather covered over with leaves, while his feet and head were destitute of covering. I stood gazing at him for a few seconds, unable to trace in his countenance any of the features of my brother Jack, which I fancied I recollected. "What, don't you know one another?" exclaimed Soper. "This is Jack Trawl and no other--the only Jack Trawl I ever knew. Come, Jack, rouse up, that's your brother Peter Trawl. Give him your fist, man. He's been talking about you, and looking for you everywhere we've been." The stranger stopped and gazed eagerly in my face. "What, are you my little brother Peter?" he exclaimed. "How are Mary, and father, and mother, and Nancy?" I knew from this that he was Jack, and springing forward, took both his hands, and looked earnestly in his face. "Yes, I am Peter, and I know you are Jack. Mary was well when I left home long ago, though you wouldn't know her now, and Nancy is with her." I didn't like at first to tell Jack that father and mother were dead, but it had to come out at last, and it seemed for a time to do away with the happiness he and I felt at meeting; for he was happy, though he looked so strange and talked so curiously. He couldn't get out his words at first, but we sat down, he on the bed, I on the stool, and Miles Soper on the table, Miles drawing him out better than I could, and he telling us how he had come upon the island. He had been on board the _Harriet_, as I had believed, from what King George had told me, and had escaped from her with Captain Barber in the boat. They had had a long voyage, and suffered dreadfully, missing Guam, for which they had steered, just as we had done, and been driven south. The other men died, one and then another, till at last only Captain Barber and he had been left. The captain was in a dying state when the boat was driven on the reef, and Jack could not tell how he had managed to reach the shore. He found himself at last in the very bay where we had landed. He had just strength enough to crawl up to the palm-grove, where he found some cocoanuts on the ground, and managing to eat one of them he regained his strength. He looked about for the old captain, but could nowhere find him, and supposed that he was drowned when the boat went to pieces. He didn't want to die, he said, so he got some shell-fish and cocoanuts, and now and then caught some birds, which were very tame. He had learnt how to get a light from King George's people on "Strong's" Island, and after a few days he managed to make a fire and cooked the shell-fish. He found some roots, but was afraid to eat them for fear they might be poisonous. It was very melancholy work living thus alone, and some times for days together he scarcely knew what he was about. At last, however, came a furious storm, and as he went down to the beach he saw a ship driving towards the island. He knew that there were reefs all around it, so he feared that she would be knocked to pieces and bring no help to him. His fears proved true; the ship struck at a distance from where he was. He made his way down to the nearest point to where she was, hoping that some of the crew might reach the shore alive, but the only thing of any size which had come ashore was a hen-coop and some fowls lashed to some gratings and some spars. His idea was that the people had been trying to make a raft, but that the ship had gone to pieces before they could finish it, and the raft had been driven on shore by itself. He secured the hen-coop and fowls, most of which were alive, and carried them up to where he had built a hut for himself. Shortly afterwards, seeing three canoes full of wild-looking natives coming near the shore, he collected all his fowls and carried them away right up to the spot where he had built his present hut. He there lay concealed, as he was afraid of falling into the hands of the natives after the way in which he had seen his shipmates murdered at "Strong's" Island, as he thought the savages would treat him in the same way. This idea seemed to have upset his mind. He was nearly starved, for he would not kill any of his fowls because they were the only living beings that seemed to care for him. At last he ventured out from his hiding-place, and, creeping cautiously on, saw the savages sailing away in their canoes. They had nearly stripped the trees of cocoanuts, and found his hut and pulled it to pieces. Why they had gone so suddenly he could not tell, but on looking towards the burning mountain it was spurting out fire and smoke, and he concluded that they had gone away from being frightened at it. His mind was now more at rest. He employed himself in building his hut and the hen-roosts, where his fowls might be safe from hawks or such-like birds, or any animals which might be in the island. He had seen wild cats at some of those he had touched at, and knew that if they found out his fowl they would soon put an end to them. He had plenty to do to find food for his poultry. He got shell-fish and berries, roots and cocoanuts, and watched what they seemed to like best. They soon became so tame that they would come and sit on his shoulders and knees and run about between his feet. What seemed to have upset him was another visit from the savages some months afterwards, when he was nearly caught. Though they pursued him they didn't discover his hen-roost or hut, but after that he was always fancying they would come and kill him. When he saw our boat he thought we must be some savages, and yet he said he couldn't help coming down to have a look at us, though it was so long since he had heard a word of English spoken he didn't understand what was said. Fortunately, Miles Soper had passed close to the place where he was hiding. At length, when he heard his own name shouted in a voice which he recollected, he came out, and at once knew his old messmate. He could not at first understand that I had grown into a big fellow, and had come to look for him, though he told Miles Soper that he should know me at once if I were like what I had been when he went to sea. When Miles told him that Mr Griffiths and Dr Cockle were with me--the gentlemen father had put on board their ship at the time he had joined the _Lapwing_--he seemed to have no doubt on the matter, and by degrees, with Miles speaking soothingly to him, the balance of his mind seemed gradually to be restored. He still found, however, a great difficulty in speaking; he had been so long without uttering a word except when he talked to his poultry. He was almost all to rights when Mr Griffiths and the doctor and the other men came back. They seemed very much pleased at seeing Jack, and all shook him warmly by the hand. The doctor and Mr Griffiths told him that they remembered him well when he was a young lad, first going to sea, little thinking that from that day to this he should be knocking about the world far away from home. He looked very shy and reserved, and seemed inclined to keep close to Miles Soper and me, but in other respects he was as much in his senses as any of us. The doctor had found several roots and fruits, which he said were wholesome, and would serve us as food, and Jack offered to catch as many birds as we wanted, begging that we wouldn't touch his poultry. The doctor promised that they should not be molested while we remained on the island, but said to me-- "You must persuade your brother to let us have them for sea-stock when we go away; they will afford us sufficient provisions to enable us to reach the `Pellew' Islands or Manilla, with the help of the birds and fish we may salt." When Mr Griffiths was about to go away, Jack asked that Miles Soper and I might stay to keep him company, promising to go down to the boat the next morning. To this Mr Griffiths agreed, and Soper and I remained behind with Jack. When they had gone Jack said-- "I haven't food for all the party, but I can give you a good supper," and he showed us his store-room at the back of the hut, in which he had several cocoanuts, some birds dried in the sun, and a dozen eggs. He showed us a sort of trap he used for catching the birds without frightening the rest. He quickly got a fire from a split log in the way I have before described, and with the help of some fresh water and the milk of the cocoanuts we had a very good meal. He had a supply of mats like those on his bed, and with these he rigged us up a place for sleeping in when it was time to lie down. I felt happier than I had been for a long time. My hope of finding Brother Jack was realised, and now my great wish was to return home with him to Mary. I forgot for the moment that we were on a remote island, and that we had only a small boat to carry us to civilised lands. When we got up the next morning Jack seemed more refreshed and better able to talk than on the previous evening. As soon as we had had breakfast, which was very much like supper, we set off to join the rest of the party at the bay. We found them all busily employed, some in caulking the boat, others in splitting a tree to form planks. We fortunately had a couple of axes with us, which were of great service, and while Soper and I lent a hand Jack went down to collect shell-fish, which he did much more rapidly than we could, being well accustomed to it. The weather was so fine that we required only a very slight hut, which we formed partly of the boat's sails and partly of the boughs and stems of small trees. Jack showed us a way up to the top of the cliff, and here Mr Griffiths erected a flagstaff with a whift, which we had in the boat, increased in size by a couple of handkerchiefs. This was large enough to attract the attention of any vessel passing near the island, but Mr Griffiths said that he believed, owing to the surrounding reefs, none would intentionally approach. We were all anxious to get the boat finished as soon as possible and commence our voyage. We had many reasons for being in a hurry, though we might have lived very well on the island for months together, but the burning mountain might again burst forth and overwhelm us, and the savages might return in large numbers and either kill us or make us prisoners, for as we had only two muskets and a scanty supply of ammunition, we could scarcely hope to beat them off should they prove hostile. Mr Griffiths and the doctor talked the matter over. "One thing is certain," observed the mate, "the sooner we're away while the fine weather lasts the better, but at the same time it won't do to start until we have fitted the boat thoroughly for sea. We have a long trip before us, and if we're caught in a gale we shall have reason to regret it if we don't take the trouble to fit our boat in the best way we can." It took a long time, first with our axes to split up the planks, and then to smooth them with our knives. We had next to shape out additional timbers to strengthen the boat, as to which also to fix the planks to. We likewise decked over the fore and aft parts, both to keep out the sea and to prevent our provisions from getting wet. The doctor searched everywhere for some sort of resin which might serve to caulk our boat. He at last found some which he thought might answer, but as we had only a small iron pot to boil it in, we had to go without our soup or our hot water till the pot was again thoroughly cleaned out. It answered the purpose, however, better than we had expected, and with mosses and dried grass we made up a substance which served instead of oakum. Jack worked as hard as any of us, and was very useful in catching a number of birds, which he salted and dried in the sun. At length one day, when nearly all our preparations were concluded, the mate said, "And now, Jack Trawl, we must get you to bring your poultry-yard down. We shall not have room for all the fowl, in the boat but I think we can cut down and repair the old hen-coop to hold a good many, and we must kill and salt the rest." "What I kill my fowl--my old companions!" said Jack. "What! Cannot we let them live? They'll soon find food for themselves; they do that pretty well already, and I couldn't bear to see their necks wrung." "I wish we were able to do without them," said the mate; "but our lives are of more value than those of the fowl. I can enter into your feelings, and we will not ask you to kill any nor to eat them afterwards unless you change your mind. Look you here, Jack; if the savages came to the island they'd kill the fowl fast enough, and perhaps our lives may depend on our having them." The doctor then said something to the same effect, and at last Jack was talked over to allow some of his fowl to be killed at once, and dried and salted like the other birds. We brought the hen-coop down to the beach, and by dint of hard work cut it away so as to hold two dozen fowl closely packed. At night, when the birds had gone to roost, Miles, Coal, Jack, and I went up and took the others while roosting. What a cackling and screeching the poor creatures made on finding themselves hauled off their perches and having their legs tied! The noise they made might have been heard over half the island. We brought them down and stowed them away in the hen-coop. Jack, accompanied by Jim, had before collected a good supply of seeds, which might serve them as food with the help of the cocoanuts and scraps of fish which we might leave. Mr Griffiths and the doctor had arranged to start the next morning. All hands had agreed to do as they proposed, which was to be up at daylight, and as soon as we had breakfasted launch the boat and go on board. We lay down, as we hoped, for the last time in our hut. As the island was known to be uninhabited it was no longer thought necessary to keep a watch. All of us slept like tops, recollecting that we should not for many days get another thorough night's rest. I was the first to wake, and, calling up Jim, he and I agreed to go to the lake and fill our pot with water to boil for breakfast, knowing that the rest would light the fire as soon as they were aroused ready for it. There was just a single streak in the eastern sky, which showed us that it would soon be daylight, and we knew our way so well through the grove that we didn't think it worth while stopping till then. We carried the pot on a stick between us, and as we had to pass among the trees, of course we could not do so as fast as if it had been daylight. It took us some little time before we could reach the place where we could dip the pot in and get the water pure. We filled it, and set off again on our way back. We had just reached the grove of cocoanut-trees. I happened to look up at the hill where I had seen Jack the morning after our arrival, when I saw against the sky the forms of well-nigh a dozen savages. I rubbed my eyes for a moment, as I at first thought it might be fancy, and then whispered to Jim to look in the same direction and then tell me what he saw. "Savages," he answered, "no doubt about that." "Then we must rouse up the rest and be prepared for them," I said. We ran on among the trees, to which we were close, hoping that we hadn't been seen. Still I thought that the savages must know that we were on the island. We didn't like to abandon our pot, though we spilled some of the water as we hurried along. Our friends were still fast asleep. "Mr Griffiths! Dr Cockle! The savages have landed and are on the hill out there," Jim and I cried out. They started to their feet in a moment, and Jack and the rest of the men jumped up on hearing our voices. The mate seemed satisfied that what we said was true. "Then, lads," he said, "we will launch the boat at once; we must at all events avoid a fight, and we can't tell how they'll behave if we remain." Jack was about the most eager to get the boat in the water, and Horner looked not a little frightened. We soon had her afloat, and then as quickly as we could, running backwards and forwards, put the cargo on board. The doctor and mate were still on shore, seeing that nothing had been left behind, when loud shrieks reached our ears, and a score or more of tattooed savages, flourishing their war clubs, burst out of the grove and rushed towards us. "Quick, doctor," cried the mate. "Get on board, and I'll follow you." He stood, as he spoke, with his musket in his hand pointed towards the savages, and then slowly retreated, while Dr Cockle sprang on board. We had our oars ready to shove off as soon as the mate was safe. "Come on, Mr Griffiths, come on," cried several others. The savages were scarcely a dozen yards from us as the mate threw himself over the bows, and we quickly shoved the boat into deep water, while the savages stood yelling and heaving stones at us from the beach. Just, however, as we got the boat's head to sea we saw, coming round a point to the eastward, four or five large canoes. It seemed impossible that we could escape them. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. ESCAPE FROM THE ISLAND AND THE EVENTS WHICH FOLLOWED. "Give way, lads! Give way!" shouted Mr Griffiths; "if the worst comes we must fight for it, and try to save our lives, but I want, if we can, to avoid fighting." The men bent to their oars; the wind was ahead, so that it was useless to hoist the sail. The savages on shore howled and shrieked as they saw us getting off, and hurled stones at us. The big double canoes came round the point, two more appearing astern. They were close on a wind, and rapidly skimming the water. "There's an outlet from the bay to the westward, I marked it yesterday, we will make for it," said Mr Griffiths. The canoes were to the eastward, but it seemed very doubtful whether we could reach the outlet the mate spoke of before they would be up with us. We pulled for our lives, for there could be no doubt, from the behaviour of the savages on shore,--how those in the canoes would be inclined to treat us. While the mate steered, the doctor and I got the muskets ready; the rest of the crew were rowing, Horner helping the stroke oar. On the canoes came, nearer and nearer. We observed the sea breaking over the reef, but there was a clear channel between it and the shore. The savages had left the beach and were rushing towards the point which they knew we must pass; probably, as we supposed, to enjoy the satisfaction of seeing us overtaken and massacred. As the mate altered our course to steer for the channel, we found the wind on our starboard bow; should it shift a point or two more, it would come right ahead, and even the canoes, though they sail closer to the wind than any ordinary craft, would be unable to get through it; but they were already within one hundred fathoms of us, and coming on rapidly. I counted seven of them. One took the lead of the rest, and was coming up hand over hand with us. We could see the warriors on the raised deck dancing and leaping and flourishing their clubs, and hear them shouting and shrieking like their companions on shore. I looked anxiously at the channel. Soper was pulling bow oar. The mate told Horner to take it, and directed Soper to keep a look-out for reefs ahead. The leading canoe was now within fifty fathoms astern. "Give them a shot, doctor," said the mate; "but fire over their heads. It will show them that we are armed, but I don't want to kill any one." "Ay, ay!" answered the doctor; and shouting to the savages to make them understand what he was about to do, he fired. The first shot seemed to have no effect. Still the big canoe came on. We were as far from the passage as we were from them. Our men were straining every nerve, and could make the boat go no faster. The doctor waited till I had reloaded the first musket. He again fired, still aiming high, as the mate told him to do. The next instant down came the yard and sail of the canoe. The bullet must have cut the slings right in two. "It was a chance shot, and a fortunate one," said the doctor, as he saw its effect. The canoe still glided on, but the next, unable to alter her course, ran right into her, and the others, also coming up, were thrown into confusion. Our men cheered as they saw what had happened. The channel was reached before our pursuers could get clear of each other. Then on they came again. Before, however, they had come far, the wind shifted a point and then blew right ahead. First one lowered her sail, and then another and another, while we pulled through the channel, Soper keeping a bright look-out for sunken rocks. I caught sight of the savages on shore rushing along the beach, but we had passed the point before they had gained it, and there they stood shrieking, shouting, and gesticulating at us. We pulled away in the wind's eye, knowing that we should thus have a better chance of keeping ahead of our pursuers. They had not yet, however, given up the chase. We saw them at length coming through the channel urged on by their paddles. They could thus move but slowly. Once outside, however, they might again hoist their sails, and, by standing first on one tack and then on the other, come up with us. As we got away from the island we found the wind blowing steadily from the southward, while in shore it still came from the westward. This gave us a great advantage. "We'll hoist the sail, lads," said Mr Griffiths, "and see if a whale-boat can beat a double canoe." The men, who were streaming from every pore, gladly obeyed. The mast was set up in an instant, the sail hoisted, and "_Young Hopeful_," as the doctor called our boat, glided rapidly over the dancing waters. We had made good way before we saw the sails of the canoes once more hoisted, standing, as far as we could make out, for the north-west. Now we had got the wind, it would take them a long time to come up with us. The wind was too fresh to allow the oars to be of any use. We trusted, however, to the good providence of God to carry us clear. All that we would do was to sit quiet and hope that the wind would continue steady. We could see the canoes in the north-east hull down, and we hoped that we might keep ahead till night should hide us from their sight. The mate said he was sure that they would not then attempt to follow us farther. "But, I say, is any one hungry?" exclaimed Horner. "We've had no breakfast, you'll remember." We had all been too excited to think of eating, but the mention of food excited our appetites, and the mate told the doctor to serve out provisions. The occupation of eating assisted to pass the time, and to raise our spirits. The mate told us that he and the doctor had determined to steer for the Pellew Islands, the inhabitants of which, though uncivilised, were supposed to be of a mild disposition, and likely to treat us kindly. Even had we intended to steer for Guam, the canoes in that direction would have prevented us doing so. From the Pellew Islands we should have a long voyage round to Manilla. When once there we should be sure of finding European vessels on board of which we should be able to obtain a passage to some English settlement. Every now and then, while we were eating, I took a look at the canoes, but the sight of them didn't spoil my appetite, nor that of the rest of us, as far as I could judge. "They are getting no nearer," I observed. "Wait till they come about," said Horner; "they'll then be up with us fast enough, and this may be the last meal we shall ever eat." "Haul in the slack of that, you young croaker!" cried the mate, in an angry tone. "You would like to make the others as much afraid as you are yourself." Horner could not say he was not afraid, for he looked it. The breeze freshened, and the boat made good way in spite of being heavily laden, standing up well to all the sail we could set. For another hour or more we could see the canoes. At last the mate, standing up, took a look at them and then cried-- "Hurrah! They have gone about, and are steering for the land." Just as the sun set they disappeared, and we had no longer any fear of being followed. The mate now set a regular watch;--the rest of us lay down as we best could along the thwarts, or at the bottom of the boat, with some of Jack's matting for pillows. We were rather crowded, to be sure, but we were thankful to have escaped our enemies, and hoped, in spite of its length, that we should have a prosperous voyage. Day after day we sailed on. Mr Griffiths maintained good discipline among us. Everything was done with as much regularity as if we were aboard ship. He got us to spin yarns and sing songs. I thus heard more of Jack's adventures than I ever since have been able to get out of him. He corroborated all that Miles Soper had told me, and added much more. Sam Coal told us how he had once been a slave in the Southern States of America, and made his escape, and being followed, was nearly caught, and how a kind Quaker sheltered him, at the risk of his own life, and got him away on board a ship, where he found that he had not changed much for the better in some respects; but then, as he said-- "Dis nigger feel dat he was a free man, and dat make up for all de rest." The wind was fair and the sea calm. Our chief fear was that we might run short of water, so Mr Griffiths thought it wise to put us upon an allowance at once. Several times flying-fish fell aboard, which we didn't despise, although we had to eat them raw, or rather dried in the sun. If we had had fuel we might have managed to make a fire and cook them, but in our hurry to get off we had come away without any spare wood. "Never mind, lads," said the mate; "we'll get some at the Pellew Islands, and after that we'll have a hot meal every other day at least." Brown was always on the look-out with his harpoon, ready to strike any large fish which might come near us, but they seemed to know what we were about, and kept at a respectful distance. Now and then a shark would come up and have a look at us, and the men would call him all manner of names. One day, as we were running along at the rate of about five knots an hour, we saw a black fin coming up astern; it sheered off under the counter and then floated up abreast of us, just coming near enough to show us its wicked eye. It kept too far off, however, for Brown to strike it, or it might have paid dearly for its curiosity. At last, cocking its eye, it gave a turn of its tail, and off it went like a shot, followed by our roars of laughter. "Tend on it, Jack Shark find dat we not going to make dinner for him dis day!" cried Sam Coal, "so he tink better go look out sumber else." Such were the trifling incidents which afforded us amusement and assisted to keep up our spirits. It was trying work, thus to sit all day and day after day in an open boat with nothing to do, and unable to move about freely. We were very thankful, however, to be favoured by such fine weather. At last Mr Griffiths stood up in the stern-sheets, and, after shading his eyes for some time--for the sun had already passed the zenith, said quietly, "Lads, we have made a good landfall. I'm much mistaken if we have not the Pellew Islands in sight. I make out a dozen or more blue hillocks rising above the horizon. Sit quiet, however, for you won't see them just yet. We shall have to heave-to to-night outside the reef which surrounds them, but I hope we shall get ashore in the morning." This news cheered us up, for we were beginning to get somewhat downcast, and some of us thought that we must have passed the islands altogether, and might make no other land till we reached the Philippines. We ran on till dark, by which time we could make out one large island and a number of smaller ones, some to the northward and some to the southward, with a reef marked by a line of white foam surrounding them. As it would be dangerous to attempt looking for a passage through the reef except in daylight, we hove-to, and the watch below lay down--or "turned in," as we used to call it--rejoicing in the hope of setting our feet on dry ground the next morning, and getting a plentiful supply of provisions. I had to keep the middle watch with Jim. I took good care not to let my eyes close, for we were at no great distance from the reef, and I knew the danger of being drifted on it. Now I looked to windward to make sure that no vessel was approaching to run us down, now at the reef to find out whether we were drifting nearer it than was safe. After a long silence Jim spoke to me. "There's something on my mind, Peter," he said. "I'm afraid that now you have found your brother Jack you'll not be caring for me as you used to do, for the whole of the last day you have not opened your lips to me, while you have been talking away to him." "Don't let such an idea rest on your mind, Jim," I answered. "I very naturally talked to Jack, for of course I wanted to hear everything he had been about since he first went to sea, and it's only lately I have been able to get him to say much. I don't think that anything will make me forget your affection for me. Though Jack is my brother, you've been more than a brother, and as brothers we shall remain till the end of life." In this way I did my best to satisfy Jim's mind. It hadn't before occurred to me that there was any spice of jealousy in him, and I determined in future to do my best to prevent him having any such feeling. We talked on just as we used to do after that. The wind was light, and except a slight swell coming from the eastward, the sea was perfectly smooth. If it hadn't been for the talking I should have found it a hard matter to keep my eyes open. After I lay down, I had been for some time asleep, as I fancied, when I heard the mate cry-- "Out oars, lads! Pull for your lives!" I jumped up in a moment. The strong current into which the boat had got was carrying her along at the rate of five knots an hour towards the reef, over which the sea was breaking and rising up in a wall of white foam. There was now not a breath of wind, but a much greater swell was coming in than before. We all bent to our oars, and had good reason to be thankful that we had got them to help us, for a sailing vessel would very quickly have been dashed to pieces on the reef, and every soul aboard lost. The mate headed the boat off from the shore in a diagonal course, so that we hoped soon to get out of the current. Still, notwithstanding all our efforts, we appeared to be drawing nearer and nearer the reef as the current swept us along, and I began to think that, notwithstanding all we had gone through, we were doomed to be lost at last. The mate, however, cheered us up. Daylight soon broke. As the sun rose the wind increased, and presently, a fresh breeze springing up, he hauled aft the sheet, and with the help of the oars the boat moved quickly along till we got out of the current. We were now able to venture close enough to the reef to look out for a safe opening. At last we found one a little to the southward of the largest island, and hauling up, we steered for it. The sea broke on either side of the passage, which was large enough for a good-sized vessel to venture through. We stood on, keeping a look-out for dangers ahead. We were soon inside, where the water was perfectly smooth. Seeing a snug little harbour, we ran for it. As we approached, we saw a number of natives coming down, darkish-skinned fellows, though not so black as those of the Caroline Islands all of them without a stitch of clothing on except a loin cloth; but they were pleasant-looking, and we saw no weapons among them. The mate, however, kept the muskets concealed in the stern-sheets, ready for use in case they were only acting treacherously, and should suddenly rush down upon us with clubs and spears. Still, as we got nearer, and waved our hands, they showed no inclination to attack us, and made every sign to let us understand that they wished to be friends. We therefore lowered the sail, and pulled the boat gently towards the beach. On this they came down, and when we jumped out, helped us to haul her up. There was one man who seemed to be the chief. He came up and shook hands with Mr Griffiths, the doctor, and me, and then ordered six of his people to stay by the boat, as we supposed to guard her. He made no objection when the mate and the doctor went back to get the muskets, but seemed to think it very natural that they should wish to be armed amongst so many strangers. The other people were in the meantime making friends with the rest of our party. The chief now invited us up to his house. It was built of trunks of small trees and bamboo canes, and thatched with palm-leaves, much in the same style as the huts of other South Sea islanders, though of a fair size. It was also very clean, and the floors were covered with mats. He begged us to sit down near him, while he squatted on a mat at one end of the room. As we could only talk by signs we didn't say much. Presently a number of girls appeared, bringing clay dishes, with fish and fowl and vegetables. As soon as they were placed on the ground, he told us to fall to, and a very good meal we enjoyed, after the uncooked food we had lived on so long. The mate made signs that we had come from the eastward, and were bound west for the Philippines, of which he seemed to have heard. After dinner he took us down to the shore, and showed us some fine large canoes, with the stems and sterns well carved. They were used for going about between the islands, but I don't think they could have done much in a heavy sea. Some were large enough to hold thirty or forty men. He then had a look at our boat, and seemed to wonder that we had come so far in her. The mate explained to him that, though she was shorter, she had much higher sides, and was much lighter built than his canoes. From the way he behaved we had no doubts as to his friendly intentions, or any anxiety about the men who were attended to by other natives. In the evening he gave us another feast, and then took us to a clean new hut, which by his signs we understood we were to occupy. From the way he behaved we agreed that, though he looked liked a native savage, he was as civilised a gentleman as we could wish to meet. The rest of our party were billeted in huts close to us, and from the sounds of laughter which came from them we guessed that they and their hosts were mightily amused with each other. The chief, after making signs to us to lie down and go to sleep, took his leave, and we were left alone. "I hope our fellows will behave well, and not get into any quarrel with the natives," observed the doctor. "I don't think there's any chance of that, though it would be a serious matter if they did," answered Mr Griffiths. "If you'll give me leave, sir, I'll go and speak to them," I said. "I'm sure Jim and my brother Jack will behave properly, and so I should think would Brown." "It doesn't do always to trust men," said the mate. "Just tell them to be careful. I would rather that we had been all together, but it won't do to show that we're suspicious of the natives." I accordingly got up, and, directed by the sounds I heard, went to the other huts. I found Jack and Jim in one of them, with a number of natives sitting round them, examining their dresses and trying to imitate their way of speaking. I advised them to let their friends know that they were sleepy, and wanted to lie down. As soon as they did this, the natives got up in the politest way possible, and spread mats for them at one side of the room. In the next hut I found Miles Soper and Sam Coal. I said to them what I had said before to Jack and Jim, and I then went on to another hut, the natives in each behaving in precisely the same manner. When I told the mate, he was perfectly satisfied, and said that we must trust the natives. We were not mistaken. Early the next morning a plentiful meal was brought us, and during our stay on the island we were treated with the greatest kindness by these mild and courteous people. The doctor said that they were Malays, though very unlike many of their brethren scattered about the Indian seas. Having recovered completely from the effects of being cramped up so long in the boat, and the unwholesome food we had lived on, we were anxious to prosecute our voyage. The chief looked very sorrowful when the mate told him we must be going, and that we should be thankful to him for provisions and water for the voyage. When he told his people, they brought us down fowl and vegetables enough to fill the boat. We showed them our hen-coop, in which we could keep a number of the fowl alive, but that we wanted food for them. Off they ran, and quickly came back with a good supply. By this time we could understand each other wonderfully well, helping out what we said by signs. The chief gave us all a grand feast the last night of our stay, and the next morning, having shaken hands with all round, we went aboard, and once more put to sea. The natives at the same time came off in their canoes, and accompanied us some way outside the reef; then, with shouts and waving of hands, they wished us good-bye. We had a long passage before us, but we were in good health and spirits, and we hoped to perform it in safety. We had to keep a sharp look-out at night, for, as the mate told us, there were some small islands between the Pellew and the Philippines, and that, he not being certain of their exact position, we might run upon them. For a whole week we had fine weather, though, as the wind was light, we didn't make much way. At the end of that time clouds began to gather in the horizon, and soon covered the whole sky, while the wind shifted to the north-west, and in a short time was blowing a heavy gale. The sea got up, and the water every now and then, notwithstanding our high sides, broke aboard, and we had to take to baling. Night came on, and matters grew worse. We all had confidence in Mr Griffiths's skill; and as he had, by his good seamanship, preserved our lives before, we hoped that we should again escape. At length he determined to try his former plan, and, heaving the boat to, we cast out a raft, formed by the oars, and rode to it. The gale, however, increased, and seemed likely to turn into a regular typhoon. There was no sleep for any of us that night; all hands had to keep baling, while a heavier sea than we had yet encountered broke aboard and carried away a large portion of our provisions, besides drowning all the fowl in the hen-coop. Most of us, I suspect, began to think that we should never see another sunrise. It seemed a wonder, indeed, that the boat escaped being knocked to pieces. Had it continued long, we must have gone down. Towards morning, however, the wind moderated, and before noon we were able to haul the raft aboard and once more make sail. But there we were on the wide ocean, with but scanty provisions and a sorely battered boat. The weather still looked unsettled, and we feared that we should have another bad night of it. The greater part of the day had gone by, when Brown, who was at the helm while the mate was taking some rest, suddenly exclaimed-- "A sail! A sail! She's standing this way." We all looked out to the northward, and there made out a large vessel steering directly for us. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. ON BOARD OUR OLD SHIP--HER VOYAGE THROUGH EASTERN SEAS. The doctor awoke Mr Griffiths to tell him the good news. He at once hove the boat to. We sat eagerly watching the stranger. She could not possibly at present see us, and might alter her course before she came near enough to do so. Her topsails rose above the horizon, then in a short time her courses were seen, and then her hull itself as she came on swiftly before the breeze. I saw Mr Griffiths several times rub his eyes, then he stood up and looked fixedly at her. "Brown," he said, "did you ever see that ship before?" "Well, I was thinking that the same sail-maker cut her topsails that cut the _Intrepid's_; but there's no wonder in that," answered Brown. "What do you say to that white patch in the head of her foresail?" asked the mate. "It looks to me like one we put in when we were last at the Sandwich Islands. To be sure it's where the sail is likely to get worn, and another vessel may have had one put in like it, still, the _Intrepid's_ foresail had just such a patch as that." "What! Do you mean to say that she's the _Intrepid_?" exclaimed the doctor, interrupting him. "I mean to say that she's very like her, if she's not her," answered the mate. We all of us now looked with even greater eagerness than before at the approaching vessel. "Let draw the foresail," cried the mate. We stood on so that we might be in the best possible position for running alongside the whaler, for such she was, as soon as she hove-to. "We're seen!--we're seen!" shouted several of our crew. We waved our hats, and shouted. "She is the _Intrepid_!" cried Mr Griffiths. Presently she came to the wind, and we, lowering our sail and getting out our oars, were soon alongside her. There stood Captain Hawkins-- there the second mate, with many other faces we knew. I never saw people look so astonished as we sprang up the side, while our boat was hooked on and hoisted on board. "Why, Griffiths!--Cockle! Where have you come from?" exclaimed Captain Hawkins. "I had given you up for lost long ago." They gave a brief account of our adventures, but there was not much time for talking, for we had not been aboard five minutes before all hands were employed in shortening sail, and the gale came down upon us with even greater strength than on the previous night. Had we been exposed to it in our open boat there would have been little chance of our escape. We had thus much reason to be thankful to Heaven that we had got aboard in time. There being plenty of sea room, the _Intrepid_ was hove-to. Even as it was, the sea broke aboard and carried away one of her boats and did other damage. She had been nearly wrecked on the reef during the gale when we were on the island; and Captain Hawkins, believing that we had been lost, stood for Guam, where he had been detained for want of proper workmen and fresh hands. Had it not been for this she would long before have been on her homeward voyage. For some time I felt very strange on board, often when half asleep fancying myself still in the boat, and the air below seemed close and oppressive. The mate declared that he had caught cold from sleeping in a bed after not having been in one for so many months. The doctor suggested that his bed might have been damp. However, the gale being over, the sun came out brightly, and he soon got rid of his chill. The captain took no more notice of me than he did before, and did not even speak to Jack. His idea was to keep us at a proper distance, I suppose. He had heard, I have no doubt, of our adventures from Dr Cockle or the mate. It mattered very little to us, though I was afraid that he might take it into his head to turn Jack out of the ship at some place or other, on the plea that he did not belong to her. I advised my brother, therefore, to keep out of his sight as much as possible, especially when in harbour. Jim and I agreed that if he was sent ashore we would go also, wherever it might be. "So will I," said Miles Soper, who had heard us talking about the matter. "And I no stop eider, and den he lose four good hands. He no like dat," said Sam Coal. Brown, hearing from Jim of my apprehensions, said he would go likewise if the captain attempted to play any tricks of that sort. Three days after the gale we hove-to off three small islands surrounded by a reef. Brown, Miles Soper, two Africans and the New Zealander, the second mate and I, were sent on shore to catch turtle. We hauled the boat up and waited till the evening, at which time the creatures land to lay their eggs. Darkness approached, and we concealed ourselves behind some rocks, and watched for their coming. Presently one landed, and crawled slowly up the beach. Sam declared that she was as big as the boat. She was certainly an enormous creature. Then another and another came ashore, and commenced scraping away in the sand to make holes for their eggs. We waited till some thirty or forty had come ashore. "Now is your time," cried the mate; and rushing out, grasping the handspikes with which we were armed, we got between them and the sea, and turned them over on their backs, where they lay kicking their legs, unable to move. We had brought ropes to assist us in dragging them down to the water and hauling them on board. We had turned a dozen or more, when I said to Jim. "We mustn't let that big one go we first saw land." She and the other turtles still on their feet, had taken the alarm, and were scuttling down the beach. We made her out and attempted to turn her, but that was more than we could do. "She'll be off," cried Jim. We hove the bight of a rope over her head. "Hold on, Peter!" he cried; and he and I attempted to haul the turtle back, all the time shouting for help, for she was getting closer and closer to the water. At last in she got, dragging us after her. We could not stop her before, and there was very little chance of our doing so now. "Let her go, Jim," I cried out. "We shall lose the rope," he answered, still holding on. We were already up to our middles in the water. "It's of no use. Let go! Let go!" I cried out, "or we shall be dragged away to sea!" Supposing that he would do as I told him, I let go at the same moment, when what was my dismay to see Jim dragged away out of his depth. I swam off to him, still shouting loudly. Presently Soper and Sam Coal came up, and seeing what was happening, dashed into the water. Our united strength, however, could not stop the turtle, and Sam, who had a sharp knife in his pocket, drawing it, cut the rope, and we got Jim back to shore. The mate rated Jim for losing the rope, though Brown and the rest declared that he had behaved very pluckily, and that if help had come in time we should have saved the turtle. As it was we had turned more than we could carry off. Having been ordered not to attempt to regain the ship during the night, we turned the boat up and slept under it, while a couple of hands remained outside to watch the turtles and see that they did not manage to get on their feet again and escape. In the morning we loaded the boat, and pulled back with our prizes. The mate said nothing about the lost rope, as he knew the notion Brown and the rest had formed of Jim's courage. We sighted after this several small islands, and then made the coast of New Guinea. The captain, seeing a good place for landing, sent a boat ashore with the doctor and most of us who had been engaged in catching turtle. It seemed a beautiful country, with magnificent trees, and birds flying about in numbers among them. "This is a perfect paradise," said the doctor, as we approached the beach. Just then a number of natives came rushing out from the forest, brandishing clubs and spears. They were the ugliest set of people I ever saw, their bodies nearly naked and their heads covered with hair frizzled out like huge mops. They had also bows at their backs, but they did not point their arrows at us. The doctor and mate agreed that it would be folly to land amongst them, so we lay on our oars while the mate held up bottles and bits of iron hoops, beads and knives, and a few old clothes, to show them that we wished to trade. After a considerable time they seemed to understand what we wanted, and some of them going away returned with numbers of stuffed birds of a delicate yellow with long tails. We made signs that only those who wanted to trade must come near us. At last several came wading into the water bringing their birds. They set a high price on them, and we only bought a dozen or so. As the rest of the people behaved in as threatening a manner as before, as soon as the trading was over we pulled off, not wishing to risk an encounter with them. The doctor said that the birds were birds of paradise, and that they were such as the ladies of England wore in their hats. The curious thing was that none of the birds had feet. "Of course not," said the second mate, when I pointed this out to him; "they say that the birds come down from the skies and live in the air, and as they never perch, they don't want feet. That's why they're called birds of paradise." The doctor laughed. "That's a very old notion," he remarked, "but it's a wrong one notwithstanding, and has long since been exploded. They have legs and claws like other birds, though the natives cut them off and dry the birds as these have been over a hot fire. It's the only way they have of preserving them." The captain said we were very right not to land, as the natives might have been tempted to cut us off for the sake of possessing themselves of the articles in our boat. As we sailed along the coast the country seemed to be thickly populated, and the boat was frequently sent to try and land, but we always met with the same inhospitable reception. The moment we drew near the shore the black-skinned natives would rush down, apparently to prevent our landing. This was a great disappointment, for the captain was anxious to obtain fresh provisions, as several of the men, from having lived a long time on salt meat, were suffering from scurvy. Curiously enough, we, who had been in the boat, were free from it. At one place, however, we traded with the natives, and bought several more of the stuffed paradise birds, and a number of live lories, which we kept in cages, and beautiful little creatures they were. Our hope was to carry them safely home, but, either from improper food or change of climate, they all shortly died. Rounding New Guinea, and passing the island of Mysole, we came to a small island called Gely, at the south-east end of Gillolo, lying exactly under the equator. It contains a magnificent and secure harbour, in which we brought up. There being an abundance of good water, and trees from which spars can be cut, it is an excellent place for repairing damages. The second mate said that those suffering from scurvy would, now have an opportunity of being cured. The plan he proposed was to bury them up to their necks in the sand, and to leave them there for some hours. The doctor was unwilling to try the experiment, though he did not deny that it might be effectual. Two of our men suffering from the complaint were, however, perfectly willing to submit to the remedy, and, our boats having to go on shore to fill the water-casks, we carried them with us. Holes were dug, and the poor fellows, being stripped naked, were covered up side by side in the warm sand, leaving only their heads above the surface, so that they could not possibly extricate themselves. The captain, I should have said, approved of the plan, having before seen it tried with success; but the doctor, declaring that he would have nothing to do with the matter, went with Jack and another man in an opposite direction. Horner and I had charge of the watering party. The stream from which we filled our casks was at some distance from the place where the men were buried. I undertook to see to the casks being filled if Horner would remain by the men. We had just finished our work and were rolling the casks down to the boat when Horner came rushing up, with his eyes staring and his hair almost on end. "What's the matter? What has happened?" I asked, thinking he had gone out of his mind. "I can't bear it!" he exclaimed. "It's too dreadful. I couldn't help it." "What is dreadful? What could you not help?" I inquired. "The brutes of crocodiles. Poor fellows," he stammered out. "There won't be a bit of them left presently!" and he pointed to where we had buried our poor shipmates, and where he ought to have been watching. The men and I set off running to the spot. A dreadful sight met our eyes. The body of one man lay half eaten on the sand. A huge crocodile was dragging off the other. He had dragged it under the water before we could reach the spot. We could do nothing but shout at the crocodiles. Horner confessed that he had gone to a distance for a short time, during which the brutes had landed and killed the two men. We returned very sad to the boat. As for Horner, it was a long time before he could get over the horror he felt for his neglect of duty. Several canoes filled with natives came into the harbour from Gillolo, bringing potatoes and other vegetables. One of them brought a number of clam-shells of various sizes. One which we hoisted on board weighed four hundred-weight, and we afterwards saw on shore one which must have weighed a quarter of a ton. The natives use them as tubs; I saw a woman bathing a child in one. The meat of the creature when fried is very palatable. I also obtained some beautiful specimens of coral, which I wanted to carry home to Mary and my Shetland relations. I bought also two gallons of nutmegs for an old file, and a large number of shells for some old clothes. The harbour swarmed with sharks, which prevented us from bathing. We here cut some splendid spars for the use of the ship. I may mention that the inner harbour, from its perfect security, has obtained the name of "Abraham's Bosom." Were it not for the sharks and crocodiles the place would be perfect. All the crew having recovered from scurvy, and the ship being refitted, we once more put to sea. The weather was delightful, and we sailed on over the calm ocean with a light breeze. We had to keep a constant look-out for rocks and reefs. I can assert, though it is often denied, that when passing under the lee of the Spice Islands, the scent which came off from the shore was perfectly delicious. Whether this arises from the flowers of the cloves and nutmegs, or from the nature of the soil, I cannot determine. Though we generally had a light breeze, we were sometimes completely becalmed, on which occasions, when near shore, we ran the risk of being driven on the rocks by the currents, and more than once we had all the boats towing ahead to keep her off them till the breeze should spring up. We continued our course, passing to the eastward of Ceram and Banda, and steering for Timor, to the north-west of Australia. We had other dangers besides calms and currents. We had just left the Serwatty Islands astern when the wind dropped, and we lay becalmed. Though there was little chance of catching whales, we always kept a look-out for them from the masthead, as we could stow one or two more away. We were most of us on deck whistling for a breeze, when the look-out aloft shouted that he saw three craft stealing up from behind the island to the eastward. The second mate went up to have a look at them through his glass, and when he returned on deck he reported that they were three large proas, pulling, he should say, twenty oars or more, and full of men, and that he had no doubt they were pirates. Those seas, we knew, were infested with such gentry--generally Malays, the most bloodthirsty and cruel of their race. Many a merchant vessel has been captured by them and sunk, all hands being killed. "Whatever they are, we must be prepared for them!" cried Captain Hawkins. "I'll trust to you, lads, to fight to the last; and I tell you that if they once get alongside us we shall find it a difficult job to keep them off. We will have the arms on deck, Mr Griffiths, for if we don't get a breeze, as they pull fast, they'll soon be up to us." All the muskets were at once brought up and arranged in order; our two guns were loaded, and the armourer and carpenter set to work to sharpen the blubber-spades, harpoons, and spears. We had thus no lack of weapons; our high bulwarks also gave us an advantage; but the pirates, we knew, would probably out-number us by ten to one. However, we did not lose heart; Captain Hawkins looked cool and determined, and the mates imitated his example. I didn't think about myself, but the fear came over me that, after all, Jack might be killed, and that I should not have the happiness of taking him home. As the pirates approached, we made all necessary preparations for defending ourselves. Muskets and ammunition were served out to the men most accustomed to firearms; the others had the blubber-spades and spears put into their hands. The two mates took charge of the guns, which were loaded to their muzzles, and matches were got ready for firing them. The doctor provided himself with a couple of muskets and a sword. The captain told him he must not run the risk of being wounded, as he might be required to bind up the hurts of the rest of us. He laughed, and said that the first thing to be done was to drive back our enemies should they attempt to board the ship. The pirates came closer and closer. The captain looked anxiously round the horizon, for though, like a brave man, he was prepared to defend his ship to the last, he had no wish for a fight. As I looked over the sides I saw some cats-paws playing along the surface of the water. The pirates by this time were not a quarter of a mile astern. Presently the lighter canvas, which had hung down against the masts, bulged out, and then the topsails filled. "All hands trim sails!" shouted the captain. The breeze came from the eastward; the yards were squared, and the _Intrepid_ began to move through the water. She glided on but slowly; the pirates were still gaining on us. The wind, however, freshened. As we watched our pursuers, first one raised a mast and a long taper yard, then another, and they were soon under all sail standing after us. The breeze increased; we gave a cheer, hoping soon to get well ahead of them. Still on they came, and it seemed very doubtful whether we should succeed. I believe that some of the crew would rather have had a fight than have escaped without it. The pirates, by keeping their oars moving, still gained on us. To look at the captain, one might have supposed that it was a matter of indifference to him whether they came alongside or not, but our cargo was too valuable to risk the chance of being lost. We had soon studding-sails rigged below and aloft. Again the wind dropped, and the pirates were now almost within musket shot. "We will slew round one of our guns, and run it through the after port, Griffiths," said the captain. "A shot or two will teach the rascals what to expect should they come up to us." Just, however, as we had got the gun run out the wind again freshened. The _Intrepid_, deep in the water though she was, showed that she had not lost her power of sailing. Though the pirates were straining every nerve, we once more drew ahead of them. The more the breeze increased the faster we left them astern, and by the time the sun had set we had got fully four miles ahead, but still by going aloft we could see them following, evidently hoping that we should be again becalmed, and that they might get up with us. During the night we continued our course for Timor. At the usual hour the watch below turned in, though the captain remained on deck, and a sharp look-out was kept astern. However, as long as the breeze continued we had no fear of being overtaken. It was my morning watch. As soon as it was daylight I went aloft, and saw the proas the same distance off that they had been at nightfall. I told Mr Griffiths when I came below. "The rascals still expect to catch us," he said, "but we must hope that they'll be disappointed. However, we're prepared for them." For some hours the breeze continued steady. Soon after noon it again fell, and our pursuers crept closer to us. It was somewhat exciting, and kept us all alive, though it did not spoil our appetites. The whole of the day they were in sight, but when the wind freshened up again in the evening we once more distanced them. The night passed as the former had done. We could not tell when we went below what moment we might be roused up to fight for our lives. I for one did not sleep the worse for that. The breeze was pretty steady during the middle watch, and I was not on deck again till it was broad daylight. The second mate, who had been aloft, reported that the pirates were still in sight, but farther off than they were the day before, and the breeze now freshening, their hulls sank beneath the horizon, and we fully expected to see no more of them. We sighted Timor about three weeks after leaving Gely, and in the evening brought up in a small bay, with a town on its shore, called Cushbab. Our object was to obtain vegetables and buffalo meat. The natives are Malays, and talk Portuguese. Nearly all those we met on shore carried creeses, or long, sharp knives, in their belt, which they use on the slightest provocation. Every boy we saw had a cock under his arm. The people seemed to spend all their time in cock-fighting. They are very fond of the birds, which are of enormous size; considerably larger than any English cocks. Being unable to obtain any buffaloes here, we got under way, and anchored in another bay some way to the west, where we obtained twelve animals. At first they were very wild when we got them on board, but in a few hours became tame, and would eat out of our hands. They were destined, however, for the butcher's knife. Some of the meat we ate fresh, but the larger quantity was salted down for sea stores. The unsalted meat kept for a very short time, and we had to throw a large piece overboard. The instant it reached the water up came two tiger sharks, which fought for it, seizing each other in the most ferocious manner possible, and struggling together, although there was enough for both of them. After leaving Timor we steered along the south-east coast of Java, and then shaped a course across the Indian Ocean for the Cape of Good Hope. The wind was fair, the sea smooth, and I never remember enjoying a longer period of fine weather. In consequence of the light winds our passage was lengthened more than we had expected, and we were running short of provisions of all sorts. There were still two casks of bread left, each containing about four hundred-weight. "Never mind," observed the second mate, "we shall have enough to take us to the Cape." At length the first was finished, and we went below to get up the second. It was marked bread clearly enough, but when the carpenter knocked in the head, what was our dismay to find it full of new sails, it having been wrongly branded! The captain at once ordered a search to be made in the store-room for other provisions. The buffalo meat we had salted had long been exhausted, part of it having turned bad; and besides one cask of pork, which proved to be almost rancid, a couple of pounds of flour with a few other trifling articles, not a particle of food remained in the ship. Starvation stared us in the face. CHAPTER THIRTY. THE VOYAGE HOME, AND HOW IT ENDED. On hearing of the alarming scarcity of food on board, the captain called the crew aft. "Lads," he said, "I don't want to hide anything from you. Should the wind shift to the westward, it may be a month or more before we reach the Cape, so if you wish to save your lives, you must at once be put on a short allowance of food and water. A quarter of a pint of water, two ounces of pork, and half an ounce of flour is all I can allow for each man, and the officers and I will share alike with you." Not a word was said in reply, and the men went forward with gloomy looks. To make the flour go farther we mixed whale oil with it, and, though nauseous in the extreme, it served to keep body and soul together. At first the crew bore it pretty well, but they soon took to grumbling, saying that it was owing to the captain's want of forethought in not laying in more provisions that we were reduced to this state. Hitherto the wind had been fair, but any day it might change, and then, they asked, what would become of us? Most of them would have broken into open mutiny had not they known that the mates and doctor, Jack and I, Jim, and probably Brown and Soper, would have sided with the captain, though we felt that they were not altogether wrong in their accusation. I heard the doctor tell Mr Griffiths that he was afraid the scurvy would again appear if we were kept long on our present food. Day after day we glided on across the smooth ocean with a cloudless sky, our food and water gradually decreasing. We now often looked at each other, wondering what would be the end. At last, one night, when it was my middle watch on deck, Jim came aft to me. "I'm afraid the men won't stand it any longer," he said. "They vow that if the captain don't serve out more food and water they'll take it. I know that it will be death to all of us if they do, or I would not tell on them. You let Mr Griffiths know; maybe he'll bring them to a right mind. They don't care for Jack or me, and Brown, Soper, and Sam seemed inclined to side with the rest. Jack says whatever you do he'll do." "Thank you, Jim," I answered. "You try to show them what folly they'll commit if they attempt to do as they propose. They won't succeed, for the captain is a determined man, and there'll be bloodshed if they keep to their purpose." Jim went forward, and I took a turn on deck to consider what was best to be done. It was the second mate's watch, and it had only just struck two bells. I did not wish to say anything to him. I waited for a little, and then asked the second mate to let me go below for a minute, for I could not quit the deck without his leave. "You may go and turn in if you like," he said. "There's no chance of your being wanted on a night like this." "Thank you, sir," I answered, and at once ran down to Mr Griffiths's cabin. He awoke when I touched his shoulder, and I told him in a low voice what I had heard. "You have acted sensibly, Peter," he answered. "I'll be on deck in a moment. When the men see that we are prepared for them they'll change their minds." I again went on deck, and he soon appeared, with a brace of pistols in his belt, followed by the captain and the doctor, with muskets in their hands. At that moment up sprang from the fore-hatchway the greater part of the crew, evidently intending to make their way to the after store-room, where the provisions and water were kept. "What are you about to do, lads?" shouted the captain. "Go below, every one of you, except the watch on deck, and don't attempt to try this trick again." His tall figure holding a musket ready to fire cowed them in an instant, and they obeyed without uttering a word. The captain said that he should remain on deck, and told Mr Griffiths and the doctor that he would call them if they were wanted. Some time afterwards, going forward, I found Jim, who told me that they had all turned in. The night passed away without any disturbance. As soon as it was daylight the captain ordered me to go aloft and take a look round. I obeyed, though I felt so weak that I could scarcely climb the rigging. I glanced round the horizon, but no vessel could I see. A mist still hung over the water. I was just about to come down when the sun rose, and at the same moment I made out over our quarter, away to the southward, a white sail, on which his rays were cast, standing on the same course that we were. "Sail ho!" I shouted in a joyful tone, and pointed out in the direction in which I saw her. The captain, immediately I came down, ordered me to rouse up all hands, and every sail the ship could carry being set, we edged down to the stranger, making a signal that we desired to speak her. She was an English barque, also bound for the Cape. As we got close together, a boat being lowered, Mr Griffiths and I went on board and stated our wants. Her captain at once agreed to supply us with everything he could spare, and we soon had our boat loaded with a cask of bread, another of beef, and several other articles, and in addition a nautical almanack, for we had run out our last one within a week before this. We had a second trip to make, with casks to fill with water. As may be supposed, we had quenched our own thirst on our first visit. When we again got back we found the cook and two hands assisting him busily employed in preparing breakfast, and a right hearty one we had. We kept our charitable friends in sight till we reached the Cape, by which time we had expended all the provisions with which they had furnished us. In a few days, from the abundance of fresh meat and vegetables which we obtained from the shore, our health and strength returned, and I for one was eager once more to put to sea, that Jack and I might the sooner reach home. We had got so far on our way that it seemed to me as if we were almost there. We were, however, detained for several days refitting and provisioning the ship. Once more, however, the men showed their mutinous disposition, for when they were ordered to heave up the anchor they refused to man the windlass, on the plea that they had had no liberty on shore. Though this was the case, there having been work for all hands on board, there was no real excuse for their conduct, as they were amply supplied with provisions, and had not been really over-worked. "We shall see, my fine fellows," exclaimed the captain, on seeing them doggedly standing with their arms folded in a group forward. At once ordering his boat, which was pulled by Jack and Jim, Miles Soper and Brown, he went on shore. He soon returned, with the deputy captain of the port, who, stepping on board, called the men aft, and inquired what they had to complain of. As they were all silent, Captain McL--- made them a speech, pointing out to them that they were fortunate in being aboard a well-found and well-provisioned ship. "And, my lads," he continued, "you need not have any fear of falling sick, for the captain has an ample supply for you of anti-scorbutics." As none of the mutineers had a notion what this long word meant, they were taken completely aback; and after staring at him and then at each other, first one and then another went forward to the windlass, and we soon had the ship under way. Whenever during the voyage any of us talked about the matter, we always called Captain McL--- "Old Anti-Scorbutic." I felt happier than I had been for a long time when the ship's head was directed northward, and as we had a fresh breeze the men declared that their friends at home had got hold of the tow-rope, and that we should soon be there. On running down to Saint Helena we were followed for several days by some black whales of immense length. Sometimes they were so close to the ship's side that we might have lanced them from the deck. The fourth day after we saw them the second mate and Horner took it into their heads wantonly to fire musket-shots at them. At last one of the poor creatures was hit, when it dived, the others following its example, and we saw them no more. The only object of interest we met with crossing the north-east trades was the passage through the Gulf Stream, or Sargasso Sea, as it is sometimes called. It was curious to find ourselves surrounded by thick masses of seaweed as far as the eye could reach on every side, so that no clear water could be seen for miles away. I can compare it to nothing else than to sailing through a farmyard covered with deep straw. The first land we made was Fyal. Thence we ran across to Pico, where we obtained provisions and water. If we had got nothing else it would have been well, but the crew managed to smuggle on board a quantity of new rum, the effects of which were soon visible. Leaving Pico, we shaped a course for old England. The wind was now freshening, and all sail was made, as the captain was in a hurry to get the voyage over. In the evening, when the watch was called, not a man came on deck, every one of them being drunk, while most of the men in the other watch, who had managed to slip down every now and then, were in no better condition. The captain, who had been ailing, was in bed. Mr Griffiths, the doctor and I, Jim and Brown, were the only sober ones. The second mate evidently did not know what he was about. Mr Griffiths advised him to turn in. I was very sorry to see my brother Jack nearly as bad as the rest, though he afterwards told me that, having been so long without spirits, they had had an unexpected effect upon him. We sober ones had to remain all night on deck, running off when a puff of wind struck the sails. It was a mercy that it didn't come on to blow hard, for we could never have managed to shorten sail in time to save the spars. Indeed, very probably the masts would have gone. Brown, Jim, and I took it by turns to steer till morning broke, by which time some of the rest of the crew began to show signs of life. As we got into northern latitudes a strong north-easterly breeze made the weather feel bitterly cold to us, who had been for so long a time accustomed to a southern climate. During all that period I had not worn shoes. For the sake of warmth I now wanted to put on a pair, but my feet had so increased in size that I could not find any large enough in the slop-locker. At last the wind shifted to the south-west, and we ran before it up Channel. The first object we made was the Owers light-vessel, about ninety miles from the Downs. Having made a signal for a pilot, one boarded us out of a cutter off Dungeness. How eagerly all of us plied the old fellow for news, though as he was a man of few words it was with difficulty that the captain or mates could pump much out of him. We remained but a few hours in the Downs to obtain provisions, of which we were again short, and thence proceeded to the Thames, where we dropped our anchor for the last time before going into dock to unload. Jim and I, although we had been kept on board against our will and had never signed articles, found that we could claim wages. Though I had no reason to like Captain Hawkins, yet I felt that I ought to wish him good-bye. To my surprise, he seemed very friendly, and said that if I ever wished to go to sea again he should be very glad to have me with him, as well as my brother and Jim. Poor man! He had made his last voyage, for I heard of his death shortly afterwards. I was very sorry to part from Mr Griffiths and Dr Cockle. They invited me to come and see them, both of them saying that they never intended again to go afloat, though I heard that Mr Griffiths got the command of a fine ship shortly afterwards; so I supposed that like many others similarly situated he was induced to change his mind and tempt once more the dangers of the ocean. "We will meet again, Peter," said Miles Soper; "and I hope that if you and Jack go to sea, we shall all be aboard the same ship." Brown said the same thing, but from that day to this I have never been able to learn what became of him. Such is often the case in a sea life. For years people are living on the most intimate terms, and separate never to meet again in this life. After remaining a week in London for payment of our wages, Jim and I each received five-and-twenty pounds, Jack also obtaining nearly half that amount. Our first care before we set off for Portsmouth, to which we were eager to return, was, our clothes being worn out, to supply ourselves with decent suits of blue cloth and other necessaries. At daylight the morning after we were free, carrying our bundles and the various treasures we had collected, a pretty load altogether, we went to the place from which the coach started for Portsmouth, and finding three seats on the top, off we set with light hearts, thinking of the friends we should meet on our arriving there. Jack confessed that he had forgotten the appearance of most of them, though he longed to see Mary and to give her the curiosities he had brought. We had a couple of parrots, three other beautifully coloured birds, a big basket of shells, and a whole bundle of bows, and arrows, and darts, and a lot of other things. Rattling down the Portsmouth High Street, we at last dismounted and set off for Mr Gray's house, where I fully expected I should still find Mary living. As we walked along, the boys gathered round us to look at our birds, and some asked where we had come from with so many curious things. "From round the world," answered Jim, "since we were last at home," which was not a very definite answer. In vain we looked, about expecting to see some old acquaintances, but all the faces we set eyes on were strange. No wonder, considering how long we had been away, while certainly no one would have recognised us. It was not quite an easy matter to find our way to Mr Gray's house, and we had to stop every now and then while Jim and I consulted which turning to take, for we were ashamed to ask any one. At last, just as we got near it, we saw an old gentleman in a Quaker's dress coming along the road. He just glanced at us, as other people had done; when I, looking hard at him, felt sure he must be Mr Gray. I nudged Jim's shoulder. "Yes, it's he, I'm sure," whispered Jim. So I went up to him, and pulling off my hat said-- "Beg pardon, sir; may I be so bold as to ask if you are Mr Gray?" "Gray is my name, young man," he answered, looking somewhat surprised, "Who art thou?" "Peter Trawl, sir; and this Jim Pulley, and here is my brother Jack." If the kind Quaker had ever been addicted to uttering exclamations of surprise he would have done so on this occasion, I suspect, judging from the expression of astonishment which came over his countenance. "Peter Trawl! James Pulley! Why, it was reported that those two lads were lost in the North Sea years ago," he said. "We are the lads, sir, notwithstanding," I answered; and I briefly narrated to him how we had been picked up by the _Intrepid_ and carried off to the Pacific, and how I had there found my brother Jack. "Verily, this is good news, and will cheer the heart of thy young sister, who has never ceased to believe that thou wouldst turn up again some day or other," he said. "Is Mary well, sir? Is she still with you?" I inquired, eagerly. "Yes, Peter, thy sister is as one of my family. Though greatly pressed by her newly-found relatives in Shetland to go there and reside with them, she has always replied that she was sure thou wast alive, and that thou wouldst come back to Portsmouth to look for her and that it would grieve thee much not to find her." "How kind and thoughtful!" I exclaimed. "Do let me go on, sir, at once to see my young sister." "Stay, lad, stay," he answered. "The surprise might be too great for her. I will go back to my house and tell her that thou hast returned home safe. Thou art so changed that she would not know thee, and therefore thou and thy companions may follow close behind." We saw Mr Gray go to his door and knock. It was opened by a woman-servant, who I was sure, when I caught sight of her countenance, was Nancy herself. She saw me at the same moment, and directly Mr Gray had entered, came out on the doorstep, and regarded me intently. "Yes, I'm sure it is!" she exclaimed. "Peter, Peter, aren't you Peter, now? I have not forgotten thy face, though thee be grown into a young man!" and she stretched out her arms, quite regardless of the passers-by, ready to give me such another embrace as she had bestowed on me when I went away. I could not restrain myself any longer, but, giving the things I was carrying to Jack, sprang up the steps. "Here he is, Miss Mary, here he is!" cried Nancy, and I saw close behind her a tall, fair girl. Nancy, however, had time to give me a kiss and a hug before I could disengage myself, and the next moment my sweet sister Mary had her arms round my neck, and, half crying, half laughing, was exclaiming-- "I knew you would come, I knew you would, Peter; I was sure you were not lost!" My brother Jack and Jim were, meantime, staying outside, not liking to come in till they were summoned. Nancy did not recognise them, and thought that they were two shipmates who had accompanied me to carry my things. At last, when I told Mary that I had not only come myself, but had brought back our brother Jack, she was eager to see him, though she was so young when he went away that she had no recollection of his countenance, and scarcely knew him from Jim. Mary had let me into the parlour. I now went and beckoned them in. Nancy, when she knew who they were, welcomed them warmly, but did not bestow so affectionate a greeting on them as she had done on me. Jim stood outside the door while I brought Jack in. Though Mary kissed him, and told him how glad she was to see him, it was easy to see that she at first felt almost as if he were a stranger. Mr Gray left us to ourselves for some time, and then all the family came in and welcomed us kindly, insisting that Jack should remain with me in the parlour, while Nancy took care of Jim in the kitchen, where he was much more it his ease than he would have been with strangers. Jack, indeed, looked, as he afterwards confessed to me he felt, like a fish out of water in the presence of so many young ladies. Though I had twice written to Mary, and had directed my letters properly, neither had reached her; yet for all these fears she had not lost hope of seeing me. After supper, Jack and I were going away, but Mr Gray insisted that we should remain, as he had had beds arranged for us in the house. "I must not let you lads be exposed to the dangers and temptations of the town," he said in a kind tone. "You must stay here till you go to sea again." Mary at once wrote to Mr Troil to tell him of my return, and of my having brought my brother Jack back with me. While waiting for an answer, one day Jack and Jim and I were walking down the High Street, when we saw a large placard stating that the _Thisbe_ frigate, commissioned by Captain Rogers, was in want of hands. "I shouldn't wonder but what he was my old skipper," observed Jack. "And you fine young fellows couldn't do better than join her," exclaimed a petty officer, who was standing near, clapping Jack on the back. "Why I think I know your face," he added. "Maybe. I'm Jack Trawl. I'm not ashamed of my name," said my brother. "Jack Trawl!" exclaimed the man-of-war's man; "then you belong to the _Lapwing_. We all thought you were lost with the rest of the boat's crew." "No, I wasn't; Miles Soper and I escaped. Now I look at you, ain't you Bill Bolton?" "The same," was the answer. "Tell us how it all happened." Jack in a few words told his old shipmate what is already known to the reader. While he was speaking, who should come up but Miles Soper himself, come down to Portsmouth to look out for a berth, accompanied by Sam Coal. The long and the short of it was that they all three agreed to enter aboard the _Thisbe_, and did their best to persuade Jim to follow their example. I had no notion of doing so myself, for I knew that it would break Mary's heart to part with me again so soon, and I feared, indeed, that she would not like Jack's going. Still, taking all things into consideration, he could not do better I thought--for having been so long at sea, he felt, as he said, like a fish out of water among so many fine folks. Jim made no reply, but drawing me aside, said-- "Peter, I can't bear the thoughts of leaving you, and yet I know you wouldn't like to ship before the mast again; but if I stay ashore what am I to do? I've no fancy to spending my days in a wherry, and haven't got one if I had. I've taken a liking to Jack, and you've many friends, and can do without me, so if you don't say no I'll ship with the rest." I need not repeat what I said to Jim. I was sure that it was the best thing he could do, and advised him accordingly. "I'm with you, mates," he said, in a husky tone, going back to the rest, and away they all went together, while I returned to Mr Gray's. "I wish the lads had shipped on board a peaceable merchantman," he observed when I told him, "but I can't pretend to dictate to them. I am glad thou hast been better directed, Peter." Jack and Jim came to see us before the ship went out of harbour. Jack said he knew that he must work for his living, and that he would rather serve aboard a man-o'-war than do anything else. "I'll look after him as I used to do you, Peter," said Jim. "And I hope some day we'll come back with our pockets full of gold, and maybe bear up for wherever you've dropped your anchor." A few days after this a letter came from Mr Troil, inviting Mary, Jack, and me to Shetland. Mary was very unwilling to leave her kind friends, but Mr Gray said that it would be to our advantage, and advised Mary and me to go. He was right, for when we arrived Mr Troil received us as relatives. Mary became like a second daughter to him. I assisted in managing his property, and in the course of a few years Maggie, to whom he left everything he possessed, became my wife, while Mary married the owner of a neighbouring estate. Some few years after a small coaster came into the Voe. I went down to see what she had on board. A sailor-looking man, with a wooden leg, and a woman, stepped ashore. "That's him--that's him!" I heard them exclaim, and in a moment I was shaking hands with Jim and Nancy, who had become his wife. He had got his discharge, and had come, he said, to settle near me. I several times heard from my brother Jack, who, after serving as bo'sun on board a line-of-battle ship, retired from the service with a pension, and joined our family circle in Shetland, where he married, and declared that he was too happy ever to go to sea again. THE END. 
21484	----	Roger Willoughby, A Story of the Times of Benbow, by W.H.G. Kingston. ________________________________________________________________________ Sadly, this was the last book Kingston wrote. He was diagnosed with a rapid fatal illness while he was writing it, and he used the opportunity of bidding his young readers farewell in the Preface. There is a lot of action in the book, from encounters with the Barbary Pirates in what is now called Morocco, to military goings-on in Somerset and Dorset, to trials by Jeffreys, the Chief Justice (or Injustice might be a better name). It's just a little bit confusing! An example of how confusing is that there's a ship called Benbow, and a couple of chaps of that name as well. We have tried to sort out some inconsistencies in spelling, for example Axminster and Axeminster, Tregellen and Treleggen, but I think few of us would do any better if we were trying to finish a book in the few remaining days of our life. It's not a long book, and not a short one, either. About ten hours to read aloud. ________________________________________________________________________ ROGER WILLOUGHBY, A STORY OF THE TIMES OF BENBOW, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON. CHAPTER ONE. "Hillo, Roger! glad to find you at last. I have been hunting up and down along the cliffs for the last hour or more, till I began to fear that you must have been carried off by a Barbary corsair, or spirited away on the end of Mother Shipton's broomstick." The speaker was a fine-looking lad of sixteen, dressed in the costume worn by Puritans in the time of the second Charles--a long cloth coat of unobtrusive hue, knee-breeches, high-heeled shoes with large buckles, a thick neckcloth tied in a bow, and a high-crowned, broad-brimmed hat; but the brim of the lad's hat was looped up on one side by a rosette of silver lace, his shoe-buckles were of massive silver, his neckcloth was of silk, and his coat of fine cloth, betokening that he was of the rank of a gentleman, and that, if a Puritan, he had taken no small pains to set his person off to the best advantage. "Faith! I had no idea that I had been so long hidden away in my cosy nook, and if you had not ferreted me out, Stephen, I should likely enough have lain _perdu_ for another hour or more," answered Roger, a sturdy blue-eyed boy, apparently a year or two younger than Stephen Battiscombe, and of the same station in life; but his dress, though of gayer colours and less precise cut than that of his friend, was somewhat threadbare, and put on as if he had not troubled himself much about the matter. "See, I have been studying the art of navigation, and begin to hope that I shall be able to sail a ship through distant seas as well as Drake or Cavendish, or Sir Martin Frobisher, or Sir Richard Grenville, or the great Christopher Columbus himself,--ay, and maybe to imitate their gallant deeds," he continued, holding up a small well-thumbed volume. "I have not made as much progress this morning as I expected to do, for I have ever and anon been watching yonder fine ship, which has long been in sight, striving to beat down Channel against this light westerly breeze, but for some time past she has made no progress, or rather has been drifting back to the eastward." "It seems to me that she is standing in this way," observed Stephen, shading his eyes with his hand from the noonday sun. "Certes, she is a goodly craft, and light as is the wind slips swiftly through the water." "Would that I were on board of her!" exclaimed Roger. "She is doubtless bound out to some of those strange lands of which I have read in Master Purchas _Pilgrims_, and many another book of voyages. How I long to visit those regions, and to behold with mine own eyes the wonderful sights they present!" "Many, you should understand, are mere travellers' tales--lying fables-- such as Sir John de Mandeville would make us believe about monsters, half man and half beast, and people walking about with their heads under their arms, and cities of marble, the windows of precious stones, and the streets paved with gold, and such like extravagances," observed Stephen. "I much doubt also whether your father will readily accede to your wishes. Think how he would grieve should any of the many mishaps befall you which so often overtake those who voyage on the treacherous ocean." "My father knows that I must seek my fortune in some calling or other, and he would be well pleased were I to come back with a goodly store of the gold of Golconda to restore the impoverished fortunes of our house," answered Roger, still looking eagerly towards the approaching ship. "Day-dreams, my friend, day-dreams,--natural enough, but very unlikely to come true," said Stephen in a somewhat sententious tone, such as he considered became one of his mature years. If the truth were to have been known, however, Master Stephen Battiscombe was apt to indulge in day-dreams himself, though of a different character--a judge's wig and robes, or even a seat on the Woolsack, were not beyond his aspirations. He now added, "But we must stop talking here longer. See, the sun is already at his height in the heavens; an we delay the Colonel and Madam Pauline will be justly chiding us for being late to dinner." "I am ready," answered Roger, still, however, lingering and watching the ship in the offing. "But tell me, what cause brought you to Eversden this morning?" "I came over to ask you to return with me to Langton, that you might join us in making war on the young rooks, which have increased too greatly in our woods of late. Not finding you, I would fain, I own, have remained in the house to enjoy the society of sweet Mistress Alice, but Madame Pauline, cruelly insisting that she required her aid in the manufacture of some conserves, sent me out to search for you." "I am bound to be grateful to you for coming, whether willingly or not, to look for me, or I might have remained in my nest mayhap till the sun had sunk behind Beer Head out yonder," said Roger, beginning to climb up the cliff. "I would gladly, however, remain till the ship comes near enough to let us get a better sight of her." To this, however, Stephen would not consent, for the reason he had already given, and Roger also well knew that his uncle, Colonel Tregellen, would be displeased should they not appear at the regular dinner-hour. Roger Willoughby's cosy nook, as he called it, was a small hollow in the cliff a few feet from the summit, surrounded by a thick growth of purple bramble, scented clematis, pink thorn, and other shrubs, which formed a complete shelter from all but southerly winds, and likewise concealed it from any one passing along the downs above. It was on a part of the Dorsetshire coast between Lyme and Bridport, almost in the centre of the extensive bay which has Portland Bill on its eastern side and the Start Point on the west. To the right could be seen Lowesdon Hill and Pillesdon Pen rising above the surrounding country, while to the left a line of precipitous cliffs extended in a bold sweep for several miles to the conical height of the Gilten Cap, visible to the mariner far away out at sea, while inland, beyond a range of smooth undulating downs, were fields of grass and corn, orchards and woods, amid which appeared here and there a church steeple, the roof of a farm-house or labourer's cottage, or the tower or gable-end of some more pretentious residence. Still, Roger accompanied Stephen Battiscombe with evident reluctance, and turned more than once to take another look at the approaching ship which had so attracted his attention. "She must be purposing to come to an anchor close to the shore, and we may be able to go on board her," he exclaimed. "Very possibly her captain intends to bring up to wait till the tide turns," said Stephen in a tone of indifference. "If you have a fancy for visiting her, the sooner we get back to Eversden the more time you will have to accomplish your object, should your father not object to your going; but as we do not know the character of the vessel, he may doubt whether the trip is a safe one--she may be a pirate, or a trader in want of hands, and may kidnap you and your boatmen to fill up the complement of her crew." Roger laughed heartily as Stephen ceased speaking. "We need not fear any danger of that sort," he said. "My father is not so over-careful of me as you suppose. Neither he nor the Colonel will say me nay, and if you are unwilling to accompany me, I will go alone." "No! no!--if you go I will go with you," answered Stephen. "I merely wished to warn you, that you might not be disappointed." "I know well that I can always trust you, and that you are ever ready to please me when you can," said Roger. "But, as you say, it were a pity to lose time--so we will hasten on to the manor-house, and as soon as we have satisfied our hunger, we will return to the shore and get Ben Rullock and his boy Toby to put us aboard the stranger. See, she is still standing in for the land, and she would certainly not come so close except for the purpose of anchoring." The boys had now reached the highest part of the downs. After this, having to descend to the cultivated ground, they lost sight of the ship. Making a short cut across some fields enclosed by stone walls, they reached a lane with hedges on either side, along which they proceeded for a mile or more, as snake-like it twisted and turned in various directions, till, crossing what from its width looked like a high-road, though as full of ruts and holes as the lane, they passed through a gateway, the entrance to an avenue of fine beech-trees. The once stout gate shook and creaked on its rusty hinges as they pushed it open; the keeper's lodge was in ruins, burnt down many years ago, for the marks of fire were still visible on the portions of the walls seen between the ivy and other creepers partially covering them. The lads, hurrying up the avenue, soon reached a substantial house of some size, surrounded by a broad moat with a roughly constructed wooden bridge, where once a drawbridge had existed across the narrowest part, directly in front of the chief entrance. The most prominent feature of the building was a porch of stone, handsomely carved; on the right side of it was a breadth of wall with several windows, and at the end what appeared from its architecture to be a chapel, though the large window at the gable-end had been bricked up, a few loopholes only being left in it. On the other side of the porch was a still more extensive range of windows, giving light to a large hall, and beyond that again was a square stone tower, serving in the eyes of the architect as a balance to the chapel. The moat was a sufficient distance from the house to allow of a roadway round it to the back, where, guarded by a high wall, the offices and stables, the cow-house, the piggeries and poultry-yard, were situated. The boys hurried through the open doorway, the savoury odours proceeding from the hall on the left exciting their appetites. The family were already seated at table, and Master Holden, the parson of the parish, was in the act of saying grace. As soon as he had concluded, they took the places left vacant for them, Stephen managing to place himself next to Mistress Alice Tufnell, while Roger, who cared not where he sat, went to one on the opposite side of the table between his father and the parson, who had at first humbly taken a lower position. At the head of the table sat Colonel Tregellen, the owner of Eversden Manor, with his sprightly French wife, Madam Pauline, on his right, and his brother-in-law, Master Ralph Willoughby, Roger's father, on his left. "You are late, lads," said the Colonel, looking first at one, then at the other, in a somewhat stern manner. "You know the rules of the house--how comes it?" "Please, sir, I was looking for Roger, and only lately discovered him," answered Stephen, who was the elder, and thought it incumbent on him to speak first. "He was not aware how the hours had gone by." "And why were you not aware how time passed, Master Roger?" asked the Colonel, turning to his nephew. "The sun is shining in the heavens, and you should have known when noon arrived." "I was sitting in the shade and reading, good uncle," answered Roger in a brisk tone, which showed that he had little fear of the Colonel's displeasure; "besides, to say the truth, I was watching a fine ship standing in for the coast, which ship I have a notion has come to anchor not far from this, and as soon as Stephen and I have stowed away some food, with yours and my father's leave and good pleasure we propose going on board her to learn what cargo she carries, whither she is bound, and all about her." "You are of an inquisitive disposition regarding all things nautical, Roger," observed the Colonel. "I have no objection, if your father has not, but take care you are not carried off to sea. We must make Stephen Battiscombe answerable for that; and if the vessel has a suspicious look, remember that you are not to venture on board." "Ah, yes; do take care that the strange ship you speak of is not a pirate. It would be dreadful to have you spirited away, as I have heard has sometimes happened," observed Madam Pauline. "There is not much risk of that," observed Mr Willoughby. "Since the noble Blake commanded the fleets of England, such gentry have not dared to venture into the English Channel." "And are you also going, Master Battiscombe?" asked Alice, turning to Stephen. "I have no great fancy for the expedition, and would rather spend my time here, Mistress Alice," he answered. "But Roger begs for my companionship, and I must go to look after him, for I suspect that he would not be greatly grieved if he were to be carried off, as his heart is set on visiting foreign lands, and he knows not how to accomplish his wishes." "If you go I know you will advise him wisely," said Alice, in a tone which showed that she placed confidence in the person she was addressing. Stephen looked gratified. "I will not betray my trust," he said, "and I hope, Mistress Alice, that I shall act in a way to merit your approval." The lads did not allow their plates to remain idly before them. Roger sent his for an additional supply of the goodly sirloin which the Colonel was carving, and then, as soon as he had finished eating, without waiting for the pasties or Master Holden's grace, he started up and said: "We have your leave, uncle, my father not objecting, to visit the stranger, and I doubt not we shall bring you before evening a good account of her." Mr Willoughby nodded his assent. "You may go, Roger, and Stephen is his own master, but remember the caution you have received. Should you find, which is most probable, that the commander is a goodly person, and his ship is going to remain long enough at anchor, you may invite him up to the manor-house, and say we shall gladly receive him. It may be that he has been long at sea, and some fresh provisions will be welcome." "Thank you," said Roger, leaving his chair.--"Come along, Stephen; we shall find Ben Rullock and Toby at their hut before they leave for their evening fishing, if we make haste." Stephen, with less eagerness than that exhibited by his friend, rose from his seat, and bowing to Madam Pauline and Mistress Alice, followed Roger out of the hall. "They are spirited lads," observed the Colonel, "and as they have little enough to fill up their time, I like not to deny them such amusement as they discover for themselves." "Where it is harmless 'tis right that it should be encouraged," remarked Master Holden, who seldom said anything except it was to agree with the Colonel, his patron, by whose means he had been reinstated in the parish at the Restoration. Colonel Tregellen, a staunch Cavalier, the owner of Eversden, had during the Civil War been among the most active partisans of King Charles the First, in whose service he had expended large sums of money. On the triumph of Cromwell his property was confiscated, and he had judged it prudent to escape beyond seas. The manor, however, had been purchased by his brother-in-law, Roger Willoughby, who had married his sister, and who had held it during the period of the Commonwealth. Mr Willoughby was a rigid Puritan, and had been as active in supporting Cromwell as his brother-in-law had been in the cause of the opposite party. At the Restoration the tables were again turned, and Colonel Tregellen, who had some time before ventured back to England, had, by an amicable arrangement with his brother-in-law, again become possessed of the estate, it being settled that Mr Willoughby and his son should reside with him. While abroad, Colonel Tregellen had married a French Protestant lady, a very charming and lively person, who made herself liked by all who came in contact with her. Having no children of their own, they had adopted the grand-daughter of a Cavalier friend killed at Naseby, who had committed his only daughter to the Colonel's care. On his return to England she came to live at Eversden Manor, where she married Mr Harry Tufnell, the younger son of a gentleman of property in the county. He, however, soon afterwards died, leaving his widow and infant daughter slenderly provided for. Two years elapsed from his death, when Mrs Tufnell, who was then staying at the manor-house, followed him to the grave. Madam Pauline had promised to be a mother to her child, and such she had ever since truly proved. Alice, who was too young to feel her loss, had always looked upon the Colonel and his wife as her parents, and loved them as such, though the Colonel had considered it expedient that she should retain her father's name, and keep up such intercourse with her family as circumstances would permit. She amply rewarded the Colonel and Madam Pauline for the care they bestowed on her by the amiability of her disposition, her sweet and engaging manners, and the affection she exhibited towards them. She was a year or two younger than Roger, but from her intelligence and appearance, and a certain manner she had caught from Madam Pauline, she was generally supposed to be older. She and Roger were fast friends, and regarded each other as brother and sister. Of late she not only looked but felt herself the elder of the two, and treated him as young ladies are sometimes inclined to treat boys, in a slightly dictatorial way, ordering him about, and expecting him to obey her slightest behest; as he was invariably obedient they never quarrelled, and she always appeared to receive his service as her right. Mr Willoughby, who lost his wife some years after the Restoration, and was in infirm health, had sunk almost heart-broken into the position of a dependant on his brother-in-law. He had paid a heavy price to obtain Eversden, and had also expended large sums in support of the cause he advocated, besides which, certain mercantile speculations into which he had entered had been unsuccessful, so that when deprived of Eversden he had no means remaining for his support. The hope, which he probably entertained, that his son Roger would be Colonel Tregellen's heir, was somewhat damped when Mistress Alice was adopted as his daughter--not that he felt any jealousy of her in consequence,--indeed, he might possibly have entertained the idea that she would marry Roger, and that, should she become the Colonel's heiress, the property would thus be restored to the family. Had the subject, however, been spoken of to him, he would very likely have replied that he did not wish his thoughts to dwell on such sublunary matters, that, all being ordered for the best, he would leave them in the hands of Providence, without attempting to interfere. Still, as Alice grew up into a sweet and engaging girl, he could not help wishing, as he looked at her, that she would some day become his son's wife. It is certain, however, that such thought had never for a moment crossed Roger's mind, nor that of the young lady either. She would have laughed heartily if the subject had been mentioned to her, and declared that she should as soon have thought of marrying old Mr Willoughby himself, whom she always called her uncle. Fortunately no one had ever been silly enough to talk to her about the matter, and she and Roger had never had what might prove a barrier to their friendship placed between them. Roger's thoughts were generally occupied with his grand idea to go abroad to the Indies, or to America, or to the plantations, to make a fortune, and to restore the family to its former position. He did not consider that his father was dependent on the Colonel, but he saw that the latter himself had but limited means; for the estate, although of considerable extent, yielded but a poor income. Its owner had nothing else to depend on, so that he was unable to repair the house or to make improvements on the land. The King on his Restoration had promised to give him a lucrative post as soon as he could find one suited to his talents, but year after year passed by, and he received no appointment; at length he went up to London--a journey not easily performed in those days,--and after waiting for a considerable time, through the interest of an old friend he obtained an interview with the Merry Monarch. "Gadzooks, man!" exclaimed the King, when he saw him, "I remember you well,--a loyal, sturdy supporter of our cause. We have had so many loyal gentlemen applying for posts that we fear all have been filled up, but depend on it we will not forget you. Go back to Eversden, and wait with such patience as may be vouchsafed you. In due course of time you will receive notice of the appointment to which we shall have the satisfaction of naming you." Colonel Tregellen took his leave and returned to Eversden, but he was too old a soldier to have his hopes raised high, and from that time to the present he had received no further communication on the subject-- indeed, he had reason to believe that the King had forgotten all about him. Though he did not in consequence of this waver in his loyalty, it did not increase his affection for the King, and made him criticise the monarch's proceeding with more minuteness than might otherwise have been the case. He had ever been a firm Protestant, and he had become still more attached to the Reformed principles, and more enlightened, from the example set him by his wife, and also from the instruction he received from her. He was sufficiently acquainted with political affairs to know that the King was more than suspected of leaning to Romanism, while the Duke of York--the heir to the throne--was a professed Romanist. His love, therefore, for the family for whom he had fought and expended his fortune had greatly waned of late years, and he therefore agreed more nearly with the opinions of his brother-in-law than formerly. This change of sentiment permitted him willingly to receive young Battiscombe, who was of a Puritan family, at his house, though at one time he would not have admitted him within his doors. He also lived on friendly terms with other neighbours holding the same opinion as the owner of Langton Hall. Still, the Colonel did not altogether abandon his Cavalier habits and notions, which, without intending it perhaps, he instilled into the mind of his young nephew, who, although his father had been a supporter of Cromwell, was ready enough to acknowledge Charles as the rightful king of England. He and Stephen often had discussions on the subject, but as neither held his opinions with much obstinacy, they never fell out on the matter, and generally ended with a laugh, each asserting that he had the beat of the argument. Stephen, if not a bigoted Puritan, was a strong Protestant, and never failed to express his dread of the consequences should James come to the throne. Stephen Battiscombe was the second son of Mr Battiscombe of Langton Park, who had several other sons and daughters. He had been an officer in General Monk's army, and had consequently retained his paternal estates, although he had been compelled to part with some of his broad acres in order to secure the remainder. Stephen had been for the last year or two a constant visitor at Eversden, he and Roger having formed a friendship; it may be that he came oftener than he otherwise might have done for the sake of enjoying the society of Mistress Alice, whom he greatly admired. The early dinner being concluded, and the viands removed, the ladies retired to pursue their usual avocations, while the Colonel, with Mr Willoughby and Master Holden, sat still at the table, not so much to indulge in potations, though a flagon of wine and glasses stood before them, as to discuss certain parochial questions in which they were interested. The first matter to be discussed had scarcely been broached when the Colonel, whose quick ears had detected the sound of horses' hoofs in the court-yard, exclaimed, "Hark! here come visitors. I pray you, Master Holden, go and see who they are, and, should they have travelled far, and require food, bid the cook make ready a sufficiency; whether they be old friends or strangers, we must not show a want of hospitality if they come expecting to find it at Eversden." The curate, ever accustomed to obey his patron's directions, rose and hastened to the door. Not long after he had gone, Tobias Platt, the Colonel's serving-man, who performed the duties of butler, valet, and general factotum, entered the hall. "Master Thomas Handscombe, cloth-merchant of London, who has just come down from thence, craves to see Mr Roger Willoughby," he said. "Do you know him?" asked the Colonel of his brother-in-law. "Yes, an old and worthy friend," answered Mr Willoughby, rising from his seat. "Let him be admitted, and assure him of a welcome," said the Colonel, turning to Tobias Platt, who hurried out of the hall, while Mr Willoughby followed him somewhat more leisurely. He found his old friend, a middle-aged man of grave exterior, in travel-stained cloak, broad-brimmed beaver, just dismounting from a strongly-built nag, to whose saddle were attached a pair of huge holsters in front, and a valise behind. He was accompanied by two attendants, each of whose animals carried considerably heavier burdens, apparently merchandise, more or less of cloth and other articles, firmly secured by leathern straps. "I am glad to see you again, Master Handscombe," exclaimed Mr Willoughby, warmly pressing the hand of his old friend; "although I am no longer master of this mansion, I can bid you welcome, for my good brother-in-law, Colonel Tregellen, desires that all my friends should be his friends; but you will remember that he is an old Cavalier, and that there are certain subjects it were better not to touch on." "I mix too much with all classes of men not to be on my guard," answered the merchant, as he accompanied Mr Willoughby into the house, when Tobias Platt came forward to take his dusty cloak and beaver, and then followed Mr Willoughby into the hall, where the Colonel received him as his brother-in-law's friend. "You will be glad to shake off more of the dust of your journey while a repast is preparing," observed the Colonel. "The servant will provide you with water and other necessaries." The guest gladly accepted the offer. Mr Willoughby himself accompanied him to the room, that they might have an opportunity of conversing in private, which they might not afterwards obtain. Madam Pauline and Alice, on hearing from Master Holden of the arrival of a stranger from London, returned to the hall, where all the party were soon again assembled. Master Handscombe, though a man of grave deportment, had no objection to hear himself speak. "When did you leave London?" was one of the first questions very naturally put by the Colonel to his guest. "Just seven days ago, good sir," answered Mr Handscombe. "Having sent all my goods with my two servant-men by the stage-wagon, I took my place by the light coach which now runs from London to the West. There were six of us inside, who, till the moment we met, were not aware of each other's existence, though, before we parted, we had become as intimate as a litter of puppies. Pretty close stowing it was too--yet, considering the jolting, bumping, and rolling, that was an advantage. Oftentimes I feared that the coach would go over altogether into the ditch, when I was thankful that there was not any one outside except the coachman and guard, who are in a manner born to it, to break their necks. Still, notwithstanding all impediments, we accomplished thirty miles a day; that is fast going, you will allow, compared to the stage-wagon or other ancient means of conveyance. Once only we were stopped by highwaymen, but the guard's blunderbuss disposed of one of them, and an old officer, who was fortunately for us one of the passengers, though his legs were of the longest, shot another, and the rest, fearing that the Major's pistols would settle a third of their gang, rode off, leaving us to proceed unmolested. Mine host of the `Green Dragon,' where we had stopped, seemed greatly surprised at seeing us arrive safely, and pulled a long face at hearing of the highwayman whom the Major had shot, for he owed a long score, he acknowledged, which he had now no chance of getting paid. At Salisbury I found my nag and servants, and, leaving the coach, proceeded on to this place by such roads as I could discover. It was one comfort to believe that we were not likely to encounter highwaymen by paths so little frequented, though we had several streams to cross, where we ran no small risk of our lives, especially near Salisbury, where the waters were out, and for some hours no boat was to be found to ferry us across. However, at length, by God's kind providence, we got over, and as you see, good masters, I have arrived sound in health and limb." "Truly you have reason to be thankful," observed Mr Willoughby; "for it is a long time since I made a journey to London, and, of my own free will, I will never again undertake it." "And what news do you bring from the city?" asked the Colonel. "How go matters at Court?" "About the Court I know but little, except such as appears in the broad-sheet and scraps of information which reach the city. The Dukes of York and Monmouth are still at daggers drawn, the King now favouring one, now the other, though Monmouth by his affable and condescending manners wins the hearts of many of the people, while the Earl of Shaftesbury is ever plotting and contriving how he may keep the power in his own hands, and play one against the other. The Duke of Monmouth, who was, as you may have heard, banished, has returned without the King's permission, and, as he refuses again to quit the kingdom, has been stripped of his various offices; but a short time ago appeared a tract in which the Duke is clearly pointed out as the fittest person, from his courage, quality, and conduct, to become the ruler of these realms. It is remarked that he who has the worst title will make the best King. There is a story current of the existence of a black box in which is deposited the marriage-contract between the King and the Duke's mother, but some doubt, not without reason, whether such a black box exists, much more the contents spoken of. Be that as it may, many persons speak boldly of the Duke of Monmouth some day becoming King of England." "What is your opinion, Master Handscombe?" asked the Colonel. "I have merely reported what is said," answered the merchant. "My business is in buying and selling, and I have no wish to enter into political affairs." "Well answered, sir; but I would have it clearly understood that I hope none of those in whom I have an interest will ever draw sword or aid by tongue or otherwise in supporting any but the rightful and legitimate Sovereign of these realms. Though James has become a Papist, he will not interfere with the rights and privileges of his Protestant subjects." "On that point there exist adverse and strong opinions," answered Master Handscombe. "A Roman in power and a Roman out of power are two very different species of animals. The one rules it like the lordly lion, and strikes down with his powerful paw all opponents; the other creeps forward gently and noiselessly like the cat,--not the less resolved, however, to destroy his prey." "You would then rather see the Duke of Monmouth than the Duke of York king of England?" said the Colonel. "No, good sir, I said not so," answered Mr Handscombe. "I am merely repeating at your desire what people do say in the city, and in the towns also through which I passed." While they were speaking, Tobias Platt had placed a smoking hot dish before the hungry traveller, on which the Colonel bade him fall-to. Scarcely, however, had he commenced operations, when young Roger hurried into the hall. "We have brought him, uncle; he was very willing to come, and you will like him as much as we do. I ran on to announce him, and he and Stephen will be here anon." "But who is your friend?" asked the Colonel. "You have not told us." "He is the captain of the fine ship we saw entering the bay; his name is Benbow, and his ship is the _Benbow_ frigate. He received us in a courteous manner when we went on board, and told him that we had come to invite him on shore. He said as there was no prospect of a breeze for some hours, he would gladly accept your invitation.--Here he comes." A youngish, broadly-built man, with light blue eyes and somewhat sun-burnt complexion, dressed as a sea-going officer of those days, entered the hall accompanied by Stephen Battiscombe, and advanced, hat in hand, towards the Colonel, who rose to receive him. "You have come just in time, Captain Benbow, for such I hear is your name, to partake of a dinner prepared for a friend from London; you are heartily welcome." "Thanks, good sir, but I dined before I came on shore, though I shall be happy to quaff a glass of wine to your health and that of your guests," he answered, as he seated himself in a chair, which the Colonel offered, by his side. "We have not many visitors in this quiet place, and are always glad to receive those who have sailed, as you have undoubtedly, to many foreign lands," observed the Colonel, as he poured out a glass of sparkling wine for the new-comer, who, before putting it to his lips, bowed to the ladies and then to the Colonel and the other gentlemen. "Methinks I should know you, Captain Benbow," said Mr Handscombe, looking up at him from the other side of the table. "We have met on 'Change, and I may venture to say it in your presence that no sea-captain stands higher than you do in the estimation of the merchants of London." "Much obliged to you, Master Handscombe, for the opinion you express of me," said Captain Benbow, at once recognising the worthy merchant. "I have always wished to do my duty towards those whose goods I carry, and to defend my cargo against pirates, privateers, and corsairs of all descriptions, as well as to carry it safely to its destination." "The name of Benbow sounds familiar to my ears," said the Colonel, looking earnestly at the merchant captain. "I had two old well-loved comrades, Colonel Thomas and Colonel John Benbow, gentlemen of estate in Shropshire, who raised regiments in the service of his late Majesty, of pious memory, and for whom I also had the honour of drawing my sword. I well remember that 20th of September in the year of grace 1642, when they and many more came with their faithful men to Shrewsbury to enrol themselves under the King's standard, and opposed those who had resolved on his destruction. From that day forward we fought side by side in many a bloody battle, sometimes in the open field, sometimes in the defence of towns or fortified manor-houses, till the King's cause was lost and his sacred head struck off, though even then we did not despair that the cause of monarchy would triumph; and as soon as our present King, marching from Scotland, reached Worcester, I, with the two Colonel Benbows, who had mustered their Shropshire men, and a few other noble gentlemen--alack! not so many as we had a right to expect--arrayed ourselves under the King's standard. We had secured, as we hoped, a strong position, and expected that when Cromwell and his Ironsides marched against us we should drive them back and hold our own, with Wales and other loyal counties in our rear, till the nation was aroused. But such was not to be, for without waiting to give himself breathing-time after his march, Cromwell set upon us. Though many fought bravely, others grew faint-hearted, and took to flight, and the day was lost. I fell wounded, and was conveyed to the house of a faithful friend, who concealed me; but unhappily the Colonel Benbows were both made prisoners, and Colonel Thomas Benbow with the Earl of Derby and several other gallant noblemen. To my grief, I heard soon afterwards that Colonel Thomas Benbow was shot with the Earl and several others, for engaging in what the usurper pleased to call rebellion; but of my friend Colonel John Benbow I could for a long time hear nothing, and had myself to escape across seas." "I am the son of Colonel John Benbow, of whom you speak," said the Captain. "I know that my uncle Thomas was made prisoner in the fight at Worcester, and afterwards cruelly shot. My father escaped with the help of a friend, and remained concealed with my mother and their family, living in the humblest way, till King Charles the Second was restored to the throne. Through the influence of some friends my father obtained a small office connected with the Ordnance in the Tower, which brought him in sufficient to feed and clothe his family in a simple fashion. I was young, and used to what might be called penury, and I well knew that I must seek my fortune in the world, and work hard. I had an early taste for the sea, for we lived near the Thames, and I often used to make trips with the watermen, among whom I was a favourite. When I was old enough to make myself useful they paid me for the assistance I gave them, looking after boats, sometimes bringing them a fare from the shore, and often taking an oar. I was just ten years old when the present King came to the throne, and I might perchance have joined one of his ships, but from the way I heard my friends the watermen say that men were treated on board them, I had no fancy for joining a man-of-war. Soon after the time I speak of, an old friend of my father's got him an appointment in the Tower, which brought him in indeed but 80 pounds a year; yet as that was more than our family had had to live on for many a long year, it was a cause of much rejoicing and thanksgiving. Still it was not enough to allow any of us who could work to live in idleness, and I determined to try what I could do. I was one day looking out for a fare for an old waterman, John Cox by name, who had engaged my services, I being an especial favourite of his, when a sailor-like man came down and said he wanted to be put on board the _Rainbow_ frigate lying in the stream. `John Cox will put you on board,' says I; `there's his boat. I'll hail him, and he will be down in a moment.' "`That will do,' said the stranger, and he stepped on board the boat. "`Are you the old man's son?' he asked. "`No, sir; I am the son of Colonel Benbow, who has got an office in the Tower.' "`What! his son thus employed!' exclaimed the stranger. `Is he going to bring you up as a waterman?' "`An please you, sir, I am bringing myself up to gain an honest livelihood as best I can,' I answered. "`Would you like to go to sea and visit foreign countries?' asked the stranger. "`That I would, sir, with all my heart,' I answered. "`What will you say if I offer to take you?' he asked, looking at me. "`That I will accept your offer, and serve you faithfully,' I said. "`Then, lad, you shall come with me aboard the _Rainbow_. We will go back and see your father. I would not take you without his sanction; but if he approves, we shall have time to get such an outfit as you require, for I do not sail till to-morrow.' "John Cox and I put Captain Downing, for such was his name, on board the _Rainbow_. He told us to wait alongside for him. After some time he again stepped into the boat, and ordered John Cox to pull for the Tower Stairs. "On landing, he bade me conduct him to my father's lodgings, which I gladly did. My father, as it happened, had met Captain Downing, and knew him to be a man of probity. Thanking the Captain for his offer, he without hesitation gave me leave to accompany him as cabin-boy. It did not take long to get an outfit, and bidding my old father and my kind mother and brothers and sisters farewell, I went on board the _Rainbow_. We dropped down the Thames the next day, but it was nearly a week before we were fairly at sea. The moment I stepped on board, having determined to become a sailor, I set to work to learn everything I could. The Captain helped me in every way. I observed especially the manner he treated his men. He spoke kindly to them, took care that they had plenty of good provisions, and never demanded more work of them than he knew they could perform. Thus the same crew sailed with him voyage after voyage, and I said to myself, `Whenever I get command of a ship, I will treat my men in the same way.' We sailed for the Levant, and were more than a year away, and then made several voyages to Lisbon and Cadiz, and other places on the coast of Portugal and Spain, two out to the West Indies. When I got back I found my father holding his old post in the Tower, still cheerful and contented, though, as he said, he thought some of his old friends might have found him one with better pay, considering what he had lost for holding to the Royal cause. The first Dutch war was just over, when the Governor received notice that the King himself was going to visit the Tower to inspect the ordnance. All the officers, from the highest to the lowest, in their best attire, were drawn up to receive his Majesty. Among them stood my father, his white hair streaming over his shoulders, a head taller than any of the bystanders, I well remember the cry which was raised of `Here comes the King!' Presently his Majesty appeared. As he walked along, nodding to one, exchanging a word with another, his eye fell on my father, whom he knew at once, as he did most people, however long a time had passed since he had seen them. `Gadzooks! why, there's my old friend Colonel Benbow!' exclaimed the King, going up to him and giving him a warm embrace. `I have not seen you since we parted at Worcester; if all had acted as bravely as you did, we should have had a very different account to give of that day. What do you here?' "`An please your Majesty, I have a post of 80 pounds a year, in which I do my duty as cheerfully as I would were it 4000 pounds a year,' answered my father. "`Alack, alack! that an old and faithful friend should have been so neglected,' said the King. `You ought to have had one of the best posts I have it in my power to confer, for you lost not only your own property, but your brave brother lost his life, as I have heard, with many other gallant gentlemen.--Colonel Legge,' he said, turning to one of the officers in attendance, `bring Colonel Benbow to me to-morrow, and we will see what office we can best bestow on him. I will provide for him an his family as becomes me.' "As the King passed on, my honoured father, overcome with joy and gratitude for the King's intended goodness, sank down on a bench, where he sat motionless. Suddenly a pallor was seen to overspread his countenance, and he would have fallen forward had not some of those standing by hurried to support him;--but he was past human help; the sudden revulsion of feeling was more than his weak frame could stand, and before the King had left the Tower he had breathed his last. It was a sad day to my mother, but we tried to comfort her by reminding her that our father died from excessive joy, that the King would graciously bestow the favour he had intended for him on her and us. From that day forward, however, no message came from his Majesty to inquire why my father had not appeared at Court. Though means were also taken to let the King know of our father's death, and that his wife and family were almost destitute no notice was taken, and my mother had to depend on such support as I and her other children could give her; but do all we could, it was only sufficient to keep her from starving. Well may I say, `Put not your trust in princes.' "I need not trouble you, fair ladies and gentlemen, with a further account of my early life. I was in great favour with Captain Downing, with whom I sailed for many years as his chief officer, and on his death, which occurred at sea, he left me his share in the _Rainbow_, and other property. As she was getting old and unfit for long voyages, I sold her and built the _Benbow_ frigate, which ship several of my former crew joined as soon as she was ready for sea. Thus, you see, my life has not been a very eventful one, though I have risen to independence by just sticking to my duty. I do not say that I have not met with adventures, but I will occupy no more of your time by attempting to describe them." Roger and Stephen, especially the former, had been eagerly listening to the account Captain Benbow gave of himself. "How I should delight to sail with you, if my father would give me leave!" exclaimed Roger. "If there were time, I should be happy to take you on board my ship and teach you to become a sailor, but I fear there is no time, as I must be away again as soon as the tide changes, for I am bound up to the further end of the Mediterranean, and you require certain suits of clothing and other articles which cannot be procured in a moment." "If you propose putting into Plymouth, the difficulty might be obviated," said Roger, who looked much disappointed. "I could soon scrape such few things together as I require, for I care not much what I wear." "But you have not yet obtained your father's sanction to your going, young gentleman, and it was only provided that he should give his permission that I offered to receive you on board my ship," said the Captain. "Thank you heartily, Captain Benbow," said Mr Willoughby. "From the report I have heard of you through my friend Handscombe here, there is no man to whom I would more willingly confide my son, for he has set his heart on being a sailor; but, as you observe, he requires suitable clothing, and that cannot be procured forthwith; still, if you will give me intimation of your return to England, and are willing to take him on your next voyage, I will send him to the port at which your ship lies without fail." "I will do that," said the Captain.--"So, Master Roger, you may look upon yourself as my future shipmate." Still Roger appeared much disappointed, as he had expected to go off at once. "Cheer up, my lad," said the Captain good-humouredly. "I will not fail to give notice of my arrival to your father." The Captain evidently took compassion on the boy's eagerness, for he added, "To show my readiness to take you, if your friends will undertake to collect such needful articles as you must have, I will agree to wait till a breeze springs up, which may not be for several hours to come." "Thank you, sir, thank you," cried Roger, looking at his aunt and Mistress Alice, and then at his father and the Colonel, as much as to ask what they would do. "If your father gives you leave, I will not say you nay," observed the Colonel. "But I know nothing of the required preparations. Madam Pauline and Alice had better say what they and the maidens in the house can do in the course of a few hours." Roger turned inquiringly towards them. "As Captain Benbow is good enough to take you, we will do our best to get the things you require ready," said Madam Pauline. "I am loath to lose Roger, but if he will accept some of my clothing, I will ride back to Langton Park and get it for him," said Stephen. "It is much against the grain, though, I confess." "Thank you, thank you, Stephen," cried Roger, grasping his friend's hand. "I know that you are sorry to part from me, but then you know how much I long to go to sea, and may never have so good an opportunity." The matter being thus settled, Madam Pauline and Alice hastened to inspect poor Roger's scanty wardrobe, and to consider how with the materials in the house they could most speedily add to it, while Stephen, mounting his horse, rode away for Langton, and Roger himself, accompanied by Master Holden, hunted through the big lumber-room at the top of the house, with the hopes of finding a chest in which his property might be stowed. He soon found one of oak, clamped with iron, which, though larger and heavier than was desirable, might, he thought, serve the purpose required. Their next business was to collect the treasures, including a few well-thumbed books, which Roger wished to take with him, and which he at once placed in the bottom of the chest. The rest of the party remained at table, the Colonel talking chiefly with Captain Benbow, whom he looked upon as an old friend. "You will remain at the manor-house to-night, I hope," said the Colonel, "and you may return in the morning with my nephew at as early an hour as you desire. I suspect that the females of the family will take but few hours of rest, as their needles will be busy during the night in preparing the young fellow's wardrobe." "Thank you for the offer, Colonel, but I have made a rule, from which I never depart, always to sleep on board my ship," answered the Captain. "I know not what may happen during the night, and I am thus in readiness for any emergency." Mr Willoughby was engaged in earnest conversation with Master Handscombe, the merchant, on matters which, it appeared, they were unwilling should reach the ears of the Colonel. They spoke of the Duke of Monmouth, Lord Shaftesbury, and many other persons. Master Handscombe appeared to be very anxious to ascertain the political opinions of the landowners and other gentlemen residing in that part of Dorsetshire and the neighbouring counties of Wilts and Devon. It might have been suspected that the cloth-merchant had other objects in view besides those connected with his mercantile pursuits. In spite of the exertions made by the indefatigable Madame Pauline and her assistants during the evening, Roger's wardrobe was not completed; indeed, darkness was approaching before Stephen Battiscombe returned with the bundle of clothing which he had generously devoted to the use of his friend. Captain Benbow had risen from the table, and having wished the Colonel and the rest of the party good-bye, was prepared to set out on his return to his ship. Stephen and Roger insisted on accompanying him, and he was glad of their society, as he confessed that he might have some difficulty in finding his way alone. His boat was waiting for him at the beach. "You will come down with your traps as soon as possible after daylight, my lad," he said, as he stepped on board, "and I will send a boat on shore for you." "No fear, sir, about my being punctual," answered Roger, and his heart bounded as he thought that in a few hours more he should be on board the stout ship which rode at anchor out in the bay. He and Stephen stood on the beach watching the boat till she was lost to sight in the fast increasing gloom. Already, as they stood there, they observed that although the calm was as perfect as before, the water had begun to break with considerably more force than it had done since the morning. Smooth undulations came rolling in and burst with a dull splash on the sand, then rushed up in a sheet of snowy foam, which had scarcely disappeared before another took its place. "I cannot quite make it out," observed Stephen. "It seems to me that the sky is unusually dark away to the south and south-west; to say the truth, it looks to me as if there was a bank of dark clouds out there." "I do not see any bank. It is simply the coming gloom of evening which darkens the sky in that direction," answered Roger. "I think you are mistaken; however, it is time that we should get back, as I have many things to do, and I don't like to desert my poor father, as it will be the last evening I shall spend with him for many a day." Stephen acknowledging this, they hastened back to the manor-house. CHAPTER TWO. Madam Pauline, aided by Alice and several active-fingered maidens, laboured without cessation for several hours till they had prepared Roger's kit as far as circumstances would allow. The Colonel had retired to his chamber, and Mr Willoughby had seen Master Handscombe to one which had been prepared for him. Roger and Stephen had fallen asleep in spite of their intention of sitting up all night to be ready for the morning, when suddenly a strong blast, which found its way through the window, blew out two of the lamps at which the maidens had been working. Madam Pauline ordered them to run and shut it. Scarcely had this been done, when another blast, sweeping round the house, shook it almost to its foundation, setting all the windows and doors rattling and creaking. Even Stephen and Roger were at length awakened. The wind howled and whistled and shrieked among the surrounding trees, the thunder roared, the lightning flashed, the rain came down in torrents. "Which way does the wind blow, think you?" asked Roger in an anxious tone. "From the south-west, I fear," answered Stephen. "And if so, Captain Benbow will have reason to wish that he had got a good offing from the shore before it came on." "Surely she's a stout craft, and will stand a worse gale than this," answered Roger. "I do not know what you would call a worse gale than this," said Stephen. "It makes the house rock, and I should not be surprised to find many an old elm torn up by the roots." "I wish that I had been on board to assist our brave friend and his crew," said Roger. "You may have reason to be thankful that you are safe on shore," remarked Stephen. "Such a gale as this is sufficient to drive even a stouter ship than the _Benbow_ frigate from her anchors; but we must wait patiently till the morning to ascertain the truth." "Why should that be?" exclaimed Roger. "I am not afraid of the wind, and can find my way if it were twice as dark as it is.--Come along." Stephen, however, who was not inclined to expose himself to the inclemency of the weather, proposed that they should wait till the morning. "No, no," said Roger, rising and putting on his clothes; "if we are to be of any use we should go at once." "Certainly, if such is the case," said Stephen, also rising. "But I am afraid that we can render no assistance to the stout frigate if she is in peril." "Let us go and see about it, at all events," said Roger, who had finished dressing. They put on their thick overcoats; fortunately Stephen had left his some days before at the manor-house. They had hitherto awakened no one, and had just reached the side-door when they saw a light coming along the passage. "Who goes there?" asked a voice, which they recognised as that of Mr Willoughby. "Whither are you going, lads, on such a night as this?" he inquired. "We are greatly afraid that some misadventure may have befallen the _Benbow_ frigate, and are going to see, father. You will not say us no, I hope?" Mr Willoughby hesitated, but Roger pressed the point, and finally obtained leave, his father assisting them to close the door, to do which required no small amount of exertion. So great was the darkness, in spite of Roger's knowledge of the road and the lantern he carried, the lads could not at times clearly see their way. The wind blew in their faces the branches waved to and fro, the tall trees bent, while ever and anon down came the rain in huge drops battering against them. Still they struggled on. Crossing the downs, they had still to make greater exertions, or further progress would have been impossible, but they were not to be daunted. "We must take care that we do not go suddenly over the edge of the cliff," said Stephen, who was always cautious. "Even with the light of the lantern it is difficult to distinguish it." "I shall see it clearly enough when we get there," said Roger. "But I propose that we first visit Ben Rullock's cottage, and get him and his boy to help us; he will know whereabouts the ship lies." "But you do not think we can go off to the ship in his boat?" remarked Stephen. "No; my fear is that the ship may be driven in close to the shore, and that her crew may be unable to escape from her," said Roger. He, knowing the locality well, even in the darkness, managed to hit the path which led down to the old fisherman's cottage; he and his companion, however, had to walk cautiously, for it was narrow and winding, and a false step might have sent them over the cliff. On reaching the door they knocked loudly. "Ben Rullock, turn out! turn out! there is a ship in danger!" shouted Roger. But the dashing of the breakers on the shore, and the howling of the wind, produced so wild an uproar that his voice was not heard. Again and again he and Stephen shouted and knocked louder and louder. "Who's there wanting me at this hour of the morning?" they at length heard a voice from within exclaim. Roger repeated what he had before said, and at length old Ben came to the door with a candle, which was immediately blown out. "A ship in danger, young master!" he exclaimed. "I have not heard her guns firing, or other signal of distress, and my ears are pretty sharp, even when I am asleep." "We are anxious about the _Benbow_ frigate, as we are afraid that she may have been driven on shore." "Her captain knows too well what he is about to allow her to do that," answered old Ben. "He had not been aboard yesterday evening two minutes before he got under weigh, and must have gained a good offing before the gale came on." "I heartily hope that such may be the case," observed Stephen. "I am afraid that if he got under weigh he will not be coming back," said Roger. "We shall soon know," observed Ben. "Dawn is just breaking, and it will be daylight ere long.--Come in, young gentlemen, and in the meantime, for you are wet through, I will rouse up young Toby, and we will have a fire lighted to dry your wet duds." The lads were glad enough to accept old Ben's invitation, for though they had strained their eyes to the utmost no sign could they discover of the _Benbow_ frigate, but they fancied that the darkness, which is generally the greatest an hour before dawn, had concealed her from their sight. Toby, who turned out on being called, quickly lighted a fire with the driftwood, of which there was generally an abundant supply on the beach, and they sat before it for some time drying their wet clothes, its bright light preventing them from seeing how rapidly the dawn was advancing. At length Roger starting up exclaimed, "Why, it is nearly broad daylight: we shall be well able to see the ship where she lay at anchor." "I doubt if you will see her there or anywhere else," said old Ben, as he accompanied Roger and Stephen, who eagerly ran out of the cottage. Though the rain had ceased, the gale was blowing as hard as ever, while the spray which rose from the breakers dashing on the shore beneath their feet filled the air as they reached a point where, by shading their eyes with their hands, they could obtain a view over the whole bay. They eagerly looked out, but nowhere was the _Benbow_ frigate to be seen. Ben's information was correct. It was evident that Captain Benbow, on perceiving the approach of bad weather, had immediately got under weigh to gain a good offing. In vain the lads gazed along the whole line of the horizon extending from the Bill of Portland to the Start--not a sail was visible. "Maybe she's run in for shelter on the other side of Portland, or, still more likely, has stood on through the Needle passage to bring up inside the Isle of Wight," observed Ben. "She will not be coming back here, you may depend on?" As there was nothing more to be done, Roger, greatly disappointed, returned with Stephen to the manor-house. He was very glad to find that the ship had escaped, but he was afraid that it might be long before she would return, and his hopes of going to sea on board her would be realised. The gale lasted scarcely the usual three days, when the weather became as fine as before, and Roger paid many a visit to the shore in the hopes of seeing the _Benbow_ frigate coming once more to an anchorage. Though many ships passed by, they were bound up or down Channel, and none came near the land. It was the first great disappointment Roger had ever had. Day after day went by, but still the _Benbow_ frigate did not make her appearance. Sometimes he hoped that he should receive a letter from her captain, telling him to come to some port farther west; where he might go on board, but no letter was received. The thought occurred to him that the vessel had been wrecked or had gone down during that dreadful night, but old Ben assured him that she had got under weigh while the wind was sufficiently to westward to enable her to weather Portland Bill and its dreaded Race, and that she was well out at sea before the worst of it commenced. "All a sailor wishes for is a stout ship and plenty of sea-room, you should know, Master Roger, and if he gets that he is content, as I have a notion Captain Benbow was on that night," observed the old man. Roger often looked at his chest of clothes, and at length he did up those Stephen had brought him, and took them back to Langton Park, but his friend begged him to keep them. "You may want them still, I hope, and you will not refuse to oblige an old friend by accepting them," he said. Meantime Mr Handscombe accompanied Mr Willoughby to pay a visit to Squire Battiscombe at Langton Park; his object he did not explain. "I have a notion that your worthy friend has some other object besides attending to his mercantile affairs in his visit to the west country," observed the Colonel to his brother-in-law, who came back to the manor-house without his companion. "If you do not insist on knowing, it were as well that I should not tell you," answered Mr Willoughby. "All I can say is that he is much touched by the Duke of Monmouth, Lord Shaftesbury, and others, and that he is a true Protestant and right honest man. He is bound for Bristol, from which place he promises to write to me, though it may be some time before I shall hear from him." The Colonel was satisfied with this explanation; it did not occur to him that any evil consequences would arise from his receiving so respectable a personage as Mr Handscombe at his house. Roger was expecting another visit from Stephen, and perhaps Mistress Alice might have been looking forward with some pleasure to his coming, when a note was received from him saying that by his father's express desire he was about to accompany Mr Handscombe to Bristol; that before the note would reach Roger he should already have set out. He regretted not having had time to pay a farewell visit, and begged to send his kind regards to Madam Pauline and Mistress Alice, as also to the Colonel and Mr Willoughby. "Mr Handscombe," he continued, "undertakes to place me in a situation of trust, and my father thinks that it would be folly to decline so fine an opportunity of forwarding my interests in life. I promise you, Roger, that should I hear of any situation which you can fill with advantage, I will not fail to let you know, and I hope that your father and the Colonel will approve of your accepting it; you know that I mean what I say, and therefore do not look upon it as a mere make-believe promise." This last paragraph somewhat consoled Roger for the regret he felt at the loss of his friend and companion. "I am sure he will do his best," said Mistress Alice, who was always ready to praise Stephen; she, indeed, thought there were but few people like him in the world. "Yes, he is honest and truthful, two excellent qualities in a young man," observed Madam Pauline. "Yes, that he is, and I shall not find any one like him in this part of the country," said Roger. Stephen often said the same thing of his friend. Roger Willoughby had now plenty of time to attend to his studies; he continued working away steadily with his book of navigation, as well as with the few other works which he possessed, his uncle and father helping him to the best of their ability, but neither of them had had much time in their youth for study. He obtained rather more assistance from Master Holden, who was very willing to impart such knowledge as he possessed, albeit not of a description which Roger especially prized. Almost sooner than he expected, Roger received a note from Stephen Battiscombe, saying that his good fortune had been greater than he expected. He had got a situation in one of the principal mercantile houses in Bristol with which Mr Handscombe was connected, and that a post for which he considered Roger very well suited being vacant, he had applied and obtained it for him. "Lose no time in setting out," he wrote, "for after a few weeks' training we are to sail on board one of the ships belonging to the firm for the Levant." Mr Willoughby and the Colonel were highly pleased with this. It seemed to open the way to Roger's advancement, while he would be able to gratify his taste for the sea without being bound to it, as he would have been had he sailed with Captain Benbow. The question arose how he was to get to Bristol. The distance was considerable, upwards of sixty miles in a straight line, and much more when the turnings of the roads were calculated, which roads were in many places in a very bad condition. Roger himself, who was eager to set out, proposed performing the journey on a small horse or cob, with such luggage as could be carried in his valise and saddle-bags, while the remainder was to be sent by the stage-wagon from Lyme. "But, my dear boy, you might be attacked by highwaymen, and robbed and murdered on the road," said his father. "I will try to beat off any highwaymen who may attack me, or gallop away from them," answered Roger. "Besides, I doubt whether any gentlemen of the road would think it worth while to attack a boy like me; they generally fly at higher game. I have been talking to Tobias Platt, and he says that old Tony, though he has not done much work of late, will carry me well, and that if I do not push him too hard, I may do the journey in three days, or four at the most." Old Tony was a cob which Mr Willoughby had ridden several years, but was now allowed to spend most of his days in the meadows. As no better mode of conveyance could be suggested, it was arranged that Roger should set out in a couple of days with his valise and saddle-bags, with a brace of pistols and a sword for his protection, in the use of which he had been well instructed by the Colonel. Old Tony in the meantime was fed on oats to prepare him for the journey. Just as Roger was about to set out, the Colonel received an intimation that his neighbour, Mr Battiscombe, would proceed the following day in the same direction, and he accordingly rode over to Langton to ask whether he would allow Roger to travel in his company. "With great pleasure," he replied, "although, as I have several places to visit I may be longer about the journey than he would were he to go alone." This, however, was of little consequence compared to the advantage it would be to Roger to travel with a gentleman who would, of course, have several servants in attendance. The morning arrived in which Roger Willoughby was to start from the home of his childhood to commence the active business of life. He was to sleep at Langton Park that he might start at daybreak the following morning with Mr Battiscombe. The Colonel accompanied him part of the way. "It is as well that you should make your appearance alone," he observed. "It will show that you can take care of yourself, for your father and I have given you plenty of good advice, and all I have now to counsel you is to remember and follow it at the proper time. I have always found you to be honest and upright. Continue to be so. Fear God, and do your duty to man, and you will grow up all your father and I wish to see you. Now, fare thee well," he added, pressing Roger's hand. "If this proposed expedition to sea be carried out, you will witness strange sights and things of which you little dream at present, and you will come back, I hope, well able to amuse us two old men in our solitude with an account of your adventures." The Colonel turned his horse's head, and Roger rode forward on his nag to Langton Hall. The squire received him in the kindest way possible. "As I cannot take one of my sons, I am glad of your company, Roger, though it may delay your arrival at Bristol for some days," he observed. "I thought that the journey could be performed in three days," said Roger. "So it can under ordinary circumstances," answered Mr Battiscombe, "but there may be interruptions, and we may have to tarry at the houses of friends; but I will talk to you more about that matter when we are on the road." Roger was always treated as a friend by the family at Langton Hall, who thought of him more as the son of Mr Willoughby, who agreed with them in politics and religion, than as the nephew of the Cavalier Colonel Tregellen, with whom they differed on many points. At an early hour the following morning the whole family were astir to see the travellers start. Mr Battiscombe took with him a couple of stout serving-men, well mounted on strong horses. Farewells were uttered, and they set out. Leaving Axminster and Chard to the west, they proceeded northward along green lanes, the hedges on either side rich with flowers of varied tints. For some distance they met with few persons, for the labourers were out in the fields, and no travellers were journeying along those by-roads. The first day's journey was but a short one, as Mr Battiscombe was unwilling to run the risk of knocking up his horses. As there was no inn on the road, they stopped at the house of a friend of his, holding the same religious and political opinions. As Roger took but little interest in the subjects they discussed over the decanters of beer which were placed on the table at supper, he was not sorry to be ordered off to bed. "If we do not make more progress than we have done to-day, it will be a long time before we get to Bristol," he thought. "Had I been by myself, I could have made my nag go twice as far. However, we shall see how much we can accomplish to-morrow." As on the previous day, they started at early dawn, that, as Mr Battiscombe said, "they might run no risk of having to travel by night." They stopped at noon at a farm-house, with the owner of which Mr Battiscombe was well acquainted. The family were sitting down to dinner, and the travellers were warmly invited to enter and partake of the abundant though somewhat rough fare placed on the board. At one end of the table sat the sturdy farmer with his buxom wife and his sons and daughters; at the other were the farm-servants, with wooden bowls and platters before them, their knives the only implements they possessed to help themselves to food. "We are about to make holiday this afternoon Mr Battiscombe," said the farmer. "The great Duke of Monmouth, with a party of friends, has ridden down from London to pay us west country folks a visit, and is on his way to stop at White Lackington House, where Mr George Speke awaits to welcome him. The country people from all quarters are turning out to do him honour, and we wish to show the affection we all feel for the champion of the Protestant faith." "I had some intimation of this a few days ago, and so timed my journey to Bristol that I might be able to pay my respects to our brave Duke," said Mr Battiscombe. As soon as dinner was over the farmer and his sons mounted their horses, and the whole party rode forward at a more rapid rate than Mr Battiscombe and Roger had gone on the previous day. As they reached the high-road which was between Ilchester and Ilminster, they saw numbers of people, some on horseback, some on foot, hurrying up from all directions, both men and women, among them several parties of young maidens dressed in white, and carrying baskets of flowers, the men generally in their gayest costumes. Presently the cry arose, "The Duke is coming!" when the young women hurried on and strewed the road with herbs and flowers, and as the Duke appeared, incessant shouts arose, "God bless King Charles and the Protestant Duke!" No one could look on him without admiring his fine figure, his handsome features, and graceful manner, as he bowed with his plumed hat, now to one side, now to the other. It was truly an exciting scene. Banks lined with people in their gayest dresses, trees covered with boys who had climbed up to obtain a better view of the spectacle, banners with various devices waving everywhere, while the people bawled themselves hoarse with shouting their joyous welcomes. Mr Battiscombe was among those who rode forward to salute the Duke and then to fall into his train, which was rapidly increasing. At last two thousand appeared in one body from the direction of Ilminster, more and more continuing to pour in, till their numbers must have swelled to twenty thousand at least. Mr Battiscombe met several friends and acquaintances, with whom he held conversation, and all were unanimous in speaking of the affability and condescension of the Duke. Thus for several miles they rode on, their numbers increasing, till they reached the confines of White Lackington Park. Mr Speke, the owner, who had been prepared for the Duke's coming, rode out with a body of retainers to welcome his Grace; and that there might be no impediment to the entrance of the multitude who had arrived, he forthwith ordered several perches of the park paling to be taken down. In front of the house stood a group of Spanish chestnut-trees, famed for their size and beauty; beneath them were placed tables abundantly spread with all varieties of refreshment, of which the Duke with his immediate attendants were invited to partake. Mr Speke no sooner observed Mr Battiscombe than, beckoning to him, he introduced him to the Duke, with whom he had much conversation, while Roger was left by himself to watch the proceedings. The horsemen rode round and round that they might obtain a good view of the Duke, while those on foot pressed forward for the same purpose, and it was not without difficulty that they were prevented from approaching too near. No person, indeed, under royal rank had ever been received with the respect and honours now bestowed on the Duke. So well accustomed, however, was he to be thus treated, that he took everything as a matter of course; at the same time he expressed his gratitude to his noble entertainers for the honour they were doing him. He was leaning back talking to Mr Battiscombe, his hand hanging carelessly over the side of the chair, when from among the crowd a woman rushed forward, and eagerly seizing it, placed it on her head and face. The Duke, apparently much astonished, started up. "Why did you do that, good woman?" he asked. "That I might be cured of the king's evil, for which I have in vain applied all the remedies the surgeons can prescribe," she answered. "I have also travelled a score of miles that I might be touched by the seventh son of a seventh son, though all with no effect; but now I am assured that I shall recover." "I pray that you may, good woman," said the Duke, "though I know not how far the power of curing resides in me. What is your name?" "Elizabeth Parcet." "Here," said the Duke, producing a coin from his pocket, "this may help to console you should my touch fail to produce the desired effect." The woman on this immediately retired, telling all those present that she felt sure she should ere long recover. The Duke slept that night at White Lackington House, to which Mr Speke invited Mr Battiscombe and Roger, who had thus a further opportunity of seeing the Duke. The next day the Duke set forth to visit Sir John Sydenham at Brampton House, where he was entertained with a splendid dinner. In the evening he went on to Barrington Court, the seat of Sir William Strode, who had prepared another sumptuous entertainment to do him honour. After dinner, attended by a multitude of people, he rode to Chard, at which town he was met and welcomed by a crowd of men, women, and children, all shouting their welcomes till their voices were hoarse. At night he slept at Ford Abbey, where he was treated to a very splendid supper by the owner, Mr Edmund Prideaux. Mr Battiscombe would willingly have accompanied His Grace during the rest of his progress, but he was compelled to proceed on his journey. He, however, received due notice of the movements of the Duke, who visited many other gentlemen of rank and influence throughout Somersetshire and other parts in the west. He received, too, notice of the perfect cure of Elizabeth Parcet, the document being signed by Henry Clark, minister of Crewkerne, two captains, a clergyman, and four others, which was forwarded to him before he reached Bristol. "This is wonderful!" he exclaimed as he showed it to Roger. "It proves one of two things, either that the Duke of Monmouth is the lawful son of Charles the Second, or that imagination must have had a powerful influence on the poor woman, for it is here stated that in two days she was perfectly well." "Is it not possible that there may not be a third solution to the mystery?" asked Roger, who was clear-sighted and somewhat matter-of-fact. "There being a good many people who desire to have it supposed that the Duke is the rightful heir to the throne of England, it is possible that the paper was a bold forgery, drawn up for the purpose of influencing the populace. Either the woman may have been hired to play her part, and was not really a martyr to the king's evil, or she may not be cured. It might be worth while to inquire whether Mr Clark, the minister of Crewkerne, ever put his signature to the paper, or if such a person exists; such, I suspect, would be the opinion my uncle would have formed on the subject." "Thou art a thorough infidel, Roger!" exclaimed Mr Battiscombe in a half angry tone, though he confessed there was some probability in what Roger said. Be that as it may, the document produced the effect intended on the minds of many of the ignorant, not only in the West of England but in London, where it was circulated, and the Duke and his supporters were not persons generally inclined to contradict what was calculated to forward their objects. Instead of three or four days, more than a week had passed before Mr Battiscombe and Roger reached Bristol, where Stephen welcomed them at the lodgings he occupied, close to the mansion of the wealthy firm in whose service he was employed. Mr Handscombe was still there, though about to return to London. He was highly pleased at hearing of the reception the Duke had met with. "He has been sowing the seeds which will, I hope, produce ample fruit in good time," he observed. "While his present Majesty lives, though at heart more Papist than Protestant, it may be well for him to remain quiet; but should James Duke of York come to the throne, it will be time for all who love our Protestant principles to rally round the standard of Monmouth." Mr Battiscombe having soon transacted the business which had brought him to Bristol, took his departure to return south with Mr Handscombe. Roger set to work with the zeal which was one of his characteristics to master the details of the work he had undertaken, and soon won the approval and confidence of his employers. Bristol, though covering a much less extent of ground than at the present time, was then looked upon as a large city, but its beautiful churches were surrounded by a labyrinth of narrow lanes, through which a coach or cart could with difficulty pass along; goods were therefore conveyed about the town almost exclusively in trucks drawn by dogs. As even the chief merchants could not use carriages when they went abroad, they walked on foot, attended by servants in rich liveries. They were renowned also for their luxurious entertainments, when their guests were supplied with a beverage composed of the richest Spanish wines, known as "Bristol milk." The merchants traded chiefly to the West Indies and the American plantations, as also to the coast of Africa and the Levant. It was in one of these princely firms that Stephen Battiscombe and Roger Willoughby were so fortunate as to find employment, and, thanks to the strong recommendation of Mr Handscombe, they were both placed in posts of trust. CHAPTER THREE. Several months had passed away, during which Stephen Battiscombe and Roger Willoughby had performed their duties in the counting-house at Bristol much to the satisfaction of their employers. Roger had not abandoned his wish of going to sea, though he was too wise to give up his present situation till a good opportunity should offer. He had, while passing along the quay, observed a house with a large wooden quadrant over the door, and on inquiry he found that a certain master-mariner, Captain Trickett, who gave lessons in astronomy and navigation, resided there. He made bold to enter, and explaining his wish to master the subjects the captain taught, soon entered into an arrangement to attend three evenings a week. "I promise you, lad, before the winter is over, to turn you out as good a navigator as Sir Francis Drake, Master John Hawkins, or any other sea-captain you may be pleased to name," said the old captain. "Give your mind to it, that is the first requisite; it is of little use for an instructor to put information in one ear which pops out at the other as soon as it is received." Captain Trickett was an enthusiast in his art, had been pilot in his youth to several expeditions which had gone forth from England to explore foreign regions, and had many strange accounts to give of the buccaneers and logwood cutters in the Caribbean Sea, where he himself had spent some time. Roger made considerable progress in his studies, and at length persuaded Stephen Battiscombe to accompany him. "It would not be lost time if you also were to take some lessons and were to try to master the subject; it is very interesting, and perchance some day, if you have to sail on business to foreign lands, you may find the knowledge you acquire of use," said Roger. "Captain Trickett tells me that he has known instances where the officers of a ship have died, and no one on board remained capable of taking her into port." Thus instigated, Stephen, who had a very good head for mathematics, readily attended the instruction of Captain Trickett, and following the Captain's advice by giving his mind to the subject, soon acquired as much knowledge as Roger himself. On holidays, when the sun was up in the sky, the Captain delighted to accompany his pupils to some open space, where, with the aid of a false horizon, he could teach them practically how to take an observation or to "shoot the sun," as he called it. The mode in which the two lads were employing themselves came to the ears of the principals of the firm, who much approved of their diligence and industry. "Would that we had others like you!" said Mr Kempson. "Our difficulty is to find men who combine knowledge of business with that of seamanship and navigation. After a few voyages, if Captain Trickett does not speak of you in too laudatory terms, you will be able to take charge of a ship to sail either to the West Indies or to the North American plantations, or to the coast of Africa, or to the Levant. We will take care, in the meantime, that you have opportunities of exercising your skill." Roger and Stephen thanked the worthy merchant for the approval he had bestowed on them, and promised to continue as diligent as heretofore. Roger often went down to the river to inquire what vessels had arrived, in the hopes of meeting with Captain Benbow, who he felt sure would receive him on board his ship, but the _Benbow_ frigate did not make her appearance. He heard, however, that she had been met with bound for the Thames, so that he had the satisfaction of knowing that she had escaped the gale which caught her off the Dorsetshire coast. He was told, indeed, that she always traded between London and foreign ports, and that there was very little probability of her putting into Bristol, unless she should obtain a cargo from any merchants connected with that port, which was not likely, as they always reserved their freights for Bristol vessels. "I must hope for some other chance of meeting him," said Roger to Stephen as they were walking home. "I do not think he can have forgotten me, and he appeared to be a man who, having made a promise, would certainly keep to it, so that if I could fall in with his ship I should not hesitate to go on board and ask him to take me." "You are very well off where you are," remarked Stephen, "and I would advise you to stick to the desk till you have gained a thorough knowledge of mercantile affairs. You may then have an opportunity of turning them to good account, whereas at present you scarcely know enough to be of much use to you." Roger could not but acknowledge that this was the case, and he wisely determined to quell his impatience and to go on as he had begun. They both occasionally received letters from home, which seldom, however, contained much matter of interest except to themselves. More frequently news came from London of important public matters. They heard of the Rye-house Plot, of the fall of Shaftesbury and of his escape to Holland, the execution of Russell and Sydney, the death of Essex by his own hand in the Tower, to escape the fate awaiting him. Roger took but little interest in politics; Stephen, on the contrary, was always eager to read the _News-Letter_ when it arrived from the capital. He mourned over the banishment of the Duke of Monmouth, who, after the discovery of the Rye-house Plot, though forgiven by the King, thought it prudent to retire to Holland; and he was indignant at hearing of the way the Duke of York was ruling Scotland, of the odious laws he had passed, and of the barbarous punishments he caused to be inflicted, often himself being present when prisoners were subjected to torture. It was said that he watched the agony of the sufferers as if it afforded him intense satisfaction. "His tyrannical proceedings show clearly how he intends to govern England. Should he succeed to the throne of England, he must never be allowed to mount it," exclaimed Stephen. "He will not be content till he has crushed out our civil and religious liberties, which the best blood of our country has been shed to obtain. Would that when the gallant Duke of Monmouth came to the west, the thousands who greeted him had banded together and marched to London to insist on the exclusion of the Duke of York and the nomination of Monmouth as heir to his father." "Such a proceeding could scarcely have succeeded without bloodshed," observed Roger. "Better to have shed a few streamlets then than the rivers which may have to flow should the tyrant gain the throne," answered Stephen. The opinions of Stephen Battiscombe were held by a good many others, although, like wise men, when they could not benefit the cause they did not utter them in public. Bristol having had fighting enough in former years, they did not again wish to see war brought to her gates. Stephen might at present safely entertain his opinions, but there seemed no chance just then of his having an opportunity of practically acting on them. The summer had commenced, when one morning Mr Kempson sent for Stephen. "You know, Battiscombe, that we have a new vessel, the _Dolphin_, fitting out in the river, and judging from the intelligence you have shown and your aptitude for business that you will be well suited for the office, we propose sending you out as supercargo, and as young Roger Willoughby has given us satisfaction, we think of letting him go as cabin-boy that he may assist you. Are you willing to undertake the office?" "With all my heart," answered Stephen; "and I can answer for Willoughby, who will, I know, be delighted, for he has long wished to go to sea." "We will consider that matter settled, then," said Mr Kempson. "Here is a list of the cargo we intend shipping, and you and Willoughby will go on board to-morrow morning, and note each case and bale as it is lowered into the hold. You will also be supplied with samples of all the goods, so that you will be well acquainted with the articles under your charge. I will give you further directions by and by. In the meantime you can see about young Willoughby's outfit and your own, and tell Mr Tape the tailor to send in the account to us." Stephen was highly pleased with the complimentary way the senior partner spoke to him, and he was about to leave the room eager to tell Roger the good news, when a strongly-built black-bearded man entered. "Stay, Battiscombe," said the senior partner; "I will take this opportunity of introducing you to Captain Roberts, who commands the _Dolphin_, as you will be shipmates for some months, or longer." "Happy to make the young gentleman's acquaintance," said the Captain, putting out his hand and giving Stephen a grip which nearly wrung his fingers off; "hope we shall get on well together. I came up here, Mr Kempson, to say that the ship is ready to take in cargo as soon as you are ready to ship it." "We may say to-morrow, then, and Mr Battiscombe, with young Willoughby to assist him, will go on board and take charge of the cargo." As the Captain had some further business to transact with Mr Kempson, Stephen took his leave, and hurried out to tell Roger, who was just leaving the counting-house for the day. "What, are we really to be off soon!" exclaimed the latter. "I can scarcely believe the good news you tell me. I little thought when I got off my high stool, that it was the last time I was to mount it, for I suppose that the _Dolphin_ will sail as soon as the cargo is received on board." "Little doubt about that," said Stephen. "The sooner we see to getting our outfits the better." "I have brought a good store of things from home," said Roger. "You have outgrown a good lot of them, I should think," remarked Stephen; "and we will at once pay a visit to Mr Tape, who will know more or less what you require." "But how are they to be paid for?" asked Roger. "Mr Kempson will settle that," said Stephen. "He is very kind and generous, and I am grateful to him," said Roger. They at once carried out their intentions. The following morning by daybreak they went on board the _Dolphin_. As none of the cargo had arrived, they had time to look over the ship, and to take a glance round the cabin which was to be their home for some months to come. It was fitted up with several berths, besides a state cabin intended for the Captain's use. There were arms of various sorts, such as musketoons, pistols, pikes, and hangers, fixed against the after-bulkhead, and there was a table in the centre, surrounded by strong wooden chairs. There was not much in the way of ornament, everything seemed intended for use. While they were there the Captain, who had come on board, entered the cabin. "Glad to see you so soon, young gentlemen," he observed; "it is the early bird that gets the worm," as they say. "I thought that we should very likely have to wait for you, but now when the cargo comes down we may begin stowing away at once." In a short time a number of trucks arrived on the wharf, bringing bales and packages, which the crew began hoisting on board with the help of a crane and whips. The process was a somewhat long one compared to the rapid way in which vessels are laden at the present day. Stephen and Roger had plenty of time to note each bale, package, and cask before it was lowered into the hold, it being Roger's business to see where each was stowed, so that they might be got at when required. They worked on diligently, knocking off only for a short time to dine, so that in the afternoon, when Mr Kempson came down, they had made good progress. He commended them accordingly. Roger, as he looked at the pile of goods, wondered how room could be found for them on board, yet after all the cases had been stowed away in the capacious hold, there was plenty of room left for more. In three days, however, the cargo was complete, the hatches were put on and fastened down, and Captain Roberts announced that he was ready for sea. Stephen and Roger had but little time to get their things, to run round and bid their friends farewell; their last visit was to Captain Trickett. "Farewell, my boys, and a prosperous voyage to you!" he said, as he shook their hands warmly. "You may meet with adventures, some not as pleasant as you would desire, but stick to your duty, never say die, and hope for the best." That evening the _Dolphin_ began to drop down the river with the tide. She was a fine vessel, not so large, Roger thought, as the _Benbow_ frigate, but she had three masts, with a long mizzen-yard, on which a triangular sail was set. She was deep-waisted, with a high poop, and topgallant forecastle, from beneath each of which two guns were so placed that should boarders gain the deck, they would be quickly shot down. She had, besides, eight guns pointing out at the sides, and was able to defend herself against any ordinary enemies; indeed, in those days when pirates and buccaneers abounded, it was necessary for merchant vessels which had rich freights to guard to be well-armed, especially when they sailed alone, without convoy of a man-of-war. As the wind was from the northward, as soon as they got clear of the Severn all sail was hoisted, and they stood down the British Channel, and Roger walked the deck with no little satisfaction at finding himself at length on board ship. The following day they were out of sight of land. When Roger saw the Captain and his mates bring up their quadrants on deck just before noon to make an observation, he brought up his, and began in a methodical way to make preparations for taking one also. "What, youngster, have you been at sea before?" asked the Captain. "No, sir, but I have studied navigation, and I want to put my knowledge into practice." "Well, now is the time; let us see how you do it." Roger "shot the sun" in very good style; not only did that, but rapidly worked out the calculation on a small piece of paper, and it exactly agreed with that taken by the Captain, who looked well pleased, but it differed from that of one of the mates, who had made a mistake. "You will do, my boy," said Captain Roberts. "I will try you with other observations by and by. Where did you get your knowledge?" Roger told him. "What, from old Trickett? No wonder you are correct; there is not a better navigator in Bristol." Next day Stephen brought out his quadrant and did justice to his instructor, he also receiving a due amount of praise from the Captain. The mates looked rather jealous at the two youngsters, who had never before been to sea, who took observations as well as they could. Before the _Dolphin_ had got half-way across the Bay of Biscay it fell calm, and she lay laving her sides in the smooth water, as the swell, which is seldom wanting there, passed under her keel. For many hours she did not move her position; the big mizzen, which had been flapping with reports like thunder, was furled; the other sails were brailed up. Roger, who was always of a social disposition, took the opportunity of having a talk with some of the crew. Among them was a black, who, although still very young, being scarcely more than a boy, had met with many strange adventures,--among others, he had been made prisoner by the Moors. He could talk Arabic, he said, as well as English, which was not, by the by, very correctly. He was called Jack Jumbo on board, but he preferred being called Felix, a name, he told Roger, some gentlemen had given him because he was always a merry fellow. He hinted that he had been a prince in his own country, but he had been carried away at an early age; he did not know much about it. Roger took a great liking to him, for from his intelligence and good disposition he was a better companion than the rough seamen who formed the crew of the _Dolphin_. The only other person who need be named was Sam Stokes, an old sailor who had fought under Blake and Admiral Penn, had made half a dozen voyages to Virginia and the West India Islands, besides to many others in different parts of the world. He was rough enough to look at, being the colour of mahogany, his countenance wrinkled and furrowed by strong winds and hot suns. He was quiet in his manners, seemed kind-hearted, with plenty of sense under his bald head and its fringe of grizzled hair. He was an excellent seaman, and took a pleasure in instructing Roger, who always went to him when he wanted information. He would tell him not only how to do a thing, but the why and the wherefore each thing was done, so that Roger made rapid progress under his tuition. Of the mates and boatswain little need be said; they were tolerable seamen, but the first two were but poor navigators, and the boatswain could not take an observation or work a day's work, being unable to read or write, though he was the best seaman of the three. The crew were rough-and-ready fellows, were tolerably obedient when they were well treated and liquor was kept out of their way; but if anything was done to displease them, they were ready to grumble and try to right themselves after their own fashion. The two mates and the boatswain, who constituted the officers of the ship, were somewhat jealous of Stephen and Roger, whom they considered unduly favoured by the owners. Neither of them, however, took any notice of this. Roger's great object had been from the first to master all the details of seamanship. From morning till night he was at work getting the seamen to show him how to knot and splice, to steer and reef; whenever sail was to be made or taken in he was always on the yard, and as active as any one, so that he soon gained the respect of the seamen. It was a great advantage to him and Stephen to have fine weather for so long a period, though they made but slow progress on their voyage, but it enabled them to gain experience far more easily than they would have done had the sea been rough and the ship tumbling about. Owing to light and contrary winds, five weeks had passed before the _Dolphin_ got into the latitude of the Straits, nearly a hundred miles to the westward of them. "When, Captain Roberts, think you, shall we be into the Mediterranean?" asked Stephen, who had been examining the chart. "That must depend on the way the wind blows," answered the Captain. "It has been out of temper with us for a precious long time, and I cannot say when it is likely to get into a better humour." The Captain was right not to be too sanguine; before an hour had passed the wind shifted to the east-north-east. The _Dolphin_, close-hauled under larboard tack, stood towards the African coast. "What about Algerine corsairs, the Sallee rovers?" asked Roger. "If we fall in with any of the gentry, as our business is to trade not to fight, we must run if we can; but if they come up with us, we must show what British pluck can do, and beat them off," said the Captain. "As little honour is to be gained, we may hope not to encounter any of the gentlemen," said Stephen. The _Dolphin_ had been standing on to the south-east, a course which would take her some way to the southward of the Straits. Captain Roberts said he hoped that a tack or two would enable him to fetch the Straits, and once through them, that they should get a fair wind up the Mediterranean. Evening was approaching when the look-out from aloft shouted, "A sail on the weather-bow." "What does she look like?" asked the Captain. "She's a large craft, standing to the south-west, under all sail." The stranger's course would bring her directly down upon the _Dolphin_. Captain Roberts was provided with a telescope, an instrument not long introduced at sea, which many merchant vessels did not possess. Taking it with him, for he was not willing to intrust to the hands of any one else, he went aloft, steadying it against the mast; while he stood in the maintop, he took a long gaze at the stranger. Returning on deck, he immediately ordered the ship to be kept away, so as to bring her before the wind. All sail which she could possibly carry was set, some hanging down from the yards, rigged across the bowsprit to the very water, while stud-sails were rigged out on the foremast, and the sheet of the huge mizzen was eased off, and the sail bulged out with the freshening breeze. "What do you think of the stranger, sir?" asked Stephen of the Captain. "I deem her to be an Algerine, one of those piratical craft we were but just now speaking of. She's a large ship, more than twice our size, and probably carries heavy guns, and four or five times as many men as we do; we might beat her off, and if she comes up to us, that is what we must try to do, but it will be wiser to keep ahead of her. We shall soon see which is the fastest craft, and what chance we have of running out of her sight. We have the advantage of night coming on, and during the darkness we must alter our course so as to give her the slip." All hands were on deck at their stations, ready to shorten sail should it be necessary. Many an eye was turned towards the stranger to ascertain if she was getting nearer. "What do you think about it, Sam?" asked Roger of the old sailor. "Yonder craft is light, and we are heavily laden, though I will allow that the _Dolphin_ slips along at a good rate; but there is no doubt that she is gaining on us, though a stern chase is a long one. We may keep ahead of her for some hours to come, always provided we do not carry anything away." "But if she does come up with us, what shall we have to do?" asked Roger. "Beat her off, of course, though we have only eight guns, and may be she carries twenty or more; we must work ours twice as fast as she does hers. I know those Algerine cut-throats of yore; and if they are met bravely, they quickly show the white feather. It is only when the Christians cry out `Peccavi!' and seem inclined to give in, that they become wonderfully brave, and shout and shriek and wave their scimitars. I was with the brave Captain Harman, aboard the twenty-six-gun ship _Guernsey_, with a crew of a hundred and ten men all told, when we fell in up the Straits with an Algerine man-of-war, carrying fifty guns and five hundred men, called the _White Horse_. She stood down upon us, under all sail, having the weather-gauge, and as soon as she got within gunshot began blazing away. Several times she attempted to board, but we drove back her cut-throat crew, though the rest of her people were blazing away at us with musketry from her poop and forecastle. I believe we should have taken her, but our captain received three musket balls in his body, and was nearly knocked over by a gunshot; still he would not go below, and remained on deck till he sank from loss of blood. Our first lieutenant then took the command, and we continued engaging for another hour or more, till we had lost nine killed and three times as many wounded, for no one ever thought of giving in--that meant having our throats cut or being carried off into slavery; but at last the Algerine hauled off. Our rigging was too much cut about to allow us to follow, so she got away with the loss of not far short of a third of her crew, I suspect, from the number we saw hove overboard. Our brave captain died three days afterwards from the effects of his wounds, and the first lieutenant was promoted, as he deserved to be. Now, it is my belief that if we do not capture yonder craft, should she attack us, we may beat her off just as we did the _White Horse_." Old Sam told this story in a loud voice, so that his shipmates might hear and be encouraged to resist to the last. Captain Roberts walked the poop, every now and then taking a glance at the stranger through his telescope. Stephen and Roger joined him there. He looked calm and determined. "If I can, I intend to avoid fighting," he said; "but if we are attacked, I know I can rely on you two, as I have seen what stuff you are made of. You will do your best to keep the crew at their guns; and should anything happen to me, you will fight the ship as long as there is a shot in the locker or a charge of powder remains. I wish I had more confidence in my mates; but I am afraid that they have not the hearts of chickens, though they are good seamen, for I have been trying to make them understand that it is safer to fight than to yield, for if we give in, one and all of us will be knocked on the head or carried into slavery, so that it will be far better to let the ship sink under us than to strike our colours." Stephen and Roger fully agreed with the Captain, and promised to do their best to keep their men at the guns. At length the sun went down, his last rays shining on the lofty canvas of the stranger, now about two miles astern; still the _Dolphin_ might keep ahead. Darkness came on, but with the darkness the chance of escaping increased. At length the dim outline of their pursuer alone could be seen against the sky. Those on board the _Dolphin_ well knew that while she was visible to them, they must also be seen by her, and that it would be useless to attempt altering their course. They therefore kept on as before. The Captain kept his eye upon her, hoping that some change of the atmosphere might occur to hide her from sight, but that dark phantom-like form grew more and more distinct. "My lads," cried the Captain, "before another half-hour has passed she will be up with us. Have your matches ready, and fire as soon as I give the word; do not wait for further orders, but load as fast as you can, and blaze away at her hull. The Moors, if I mistake not, will soon have had enough of it; they are not fond of attacking vessels when they meet with opposition." Roger felt his heart beat quick when shortly after this he saw the ship's white-spread sails, towering towards the sky, come ranging up on their quarter. "Down with the helm," cried the Captain. "Now, lads, fire!" The _Dolphin_ sent a raking broadside aboard the Algerine, and the helm being immediately put up again, she stood on her former course. Shrieks and cries and groans came from the deck of the enemy, followed immediately by a broadside intended to rake the _Dolphin_. Though several shot came on board, no one was hurt. Captain Roberts knew, however, that he could not expect to execute the same manoeuvre with the like success. In a short time the Algerine was close abreast of her. All the _Dolphin's_ guns had been run over to the same side, and were now fired as rapidly as the crew could load and run them out. The enemy, however, were not idle, and their shot came crashing aboard; first one man was shot down, then another, still the British crew cheered, and kept blazing away. This sort of work had been going on for some time, when the Captain shouted, "Look out, lads! Boarders; repel boarders!" And the Algerine was seen ranging up so as to fall alongside, her rigging crowded with figures, arms and weapons waving, showing their eagerness for the fight. In another minute there came a loud crash, and a number of her crew, led by their captain. Most of them were cut down, others driven overboard, or back into their ship, the grappling-irons were cast loose, while the _Dolphin_ rushed forward on her former course. Still her after-guns were plied vigorously, though the enemy, again ranging up abreast, fired her broadsides in return. As far as Roger could perceive, the mates behaved well, assisting the men to work the guns. The Captain continued to cheer them on, and presently Roger, who was standing not far off, blazing away with his musket, saw him stagger, hurried to his assistance barely in time to save him before he fell on the deck. "Are you hurt, sir?" he asked. "I am afraid somewhat badly. Do not let the men know it. Help me to the bulwarks, where I can hold on." He called Stephen, who was also loading and firing as fast as he could, to come and help him. The Captain continued, wounded as he was, to cheer on the men. Several more broadsides were exchanged, the bullets all the time flying about like hail, when the pirate's bows were seen to be turning from them. Presently she hauled her wind, and stood away to the southward. The British crew on this raised a hearty cheer as they sent a few last shot flying after her. Scarcely had the shout died away than the brave Captain sank down on the deck. "We must carry him below and see to his wounds," said Stephen, and Roger called Sam Stokes and another man to their assistance. "Tell the mate to stand on till he loses sight of the pirate, and then haul to the northward," whispered the Captain in a faint voice. He could say no more. As soon as he was placed in his berth, Stephen and Roger did their best to doctor him, but they were unaccustomed to surgical operations. "Let me see what I can do," said Sam. "I have had half-a-dozen bullets in my body during my time, and seen hundreds of men wounded, so I ought to have a little notion." So he set to work in a methodical way to discover what had become of the bullet which had entered the Captain's side. He managed to find it, and, what was of great consequence, the cloth which had been carried in at the same time, and got them out, then stopped the blood and bound up the wound. "Cannot say how he will do, but I have done my best, and can do no more," observed old Sam as he left the cabin to look after some of his wounded messmates. Three men had been killed and five wounded out of the crew, which greatly reduced their strength. The first mate, who now took command, hauled up to the northward, as the Captain had directed him. As the _Dolphin_ had been running for so many hours out of her course, she was considerably to the southward of the Straits, though the mate asserted that they would be able to fetch the entrance of the Straits if the wind held the following day. Nothing more was seen of the Algerine during the night, and hopes were entertained that she would not again attempt to molest them. The Captain, notwithstanding that the bullet had been extracted, continued in a very weak state, and almost unconscious. Stephen and Roger, not trusting to the mate's navigation, got out the chart, marked down the course they had run to the best of their knowledge, and the next morning took an observation, which placed the _Dolphin_ considerably to the southward. Whereon the mate asserted that she was much nearer the coast, in fact she had been sailing almost parallel with it for a considerable distance, and soon after noon he put the ship about and steered due east. "I think, sir, that to sight the rock of Gibraltar we should be steering north-east," observed Stephen, pointing to the chart. "Ho, ho, young man, you fancy that you understand navigation better than I do," said the mate. "Just keep your remarks to yourself till I request you to make them." Stephen could say no more, but he and Roger agreed, when the first mate went below, they would try to get the second to alter the ship's course. The first mate seemed to suspect their intentions, for he remained on deck, and when the wind drew more from the east which it did shortly after noon, kept the ship away to the south-east. "The fellow will be running us on shore, or we shall be falling in with some Sallee rovers, for we cannot be far off their coast by this time," said Stephen. "I think we had better have a talk with Sam Stokes, and hear his opinion." Sam, although no navigator, was perfectly inclined to agree with them. "If the Captain was himself, we might get orders to put you under arrest, for it might be a serious affair if we did so and fell in with a man-of-war; we should be accused of mutiny and intending to turn pirates," observed Sam. Roger, however, was strongly of opinion that they ought to make the mate again tack to the northward. They again spoke to him on the subject, and warned him of the danger he was running. He laughed scornfully, and again told them to mind their own business, asserting that they had nothing whatever to do with the navigation of the ship. On this they applied to the second mate and boatswain, and did their best to alarm them. They were still speaking on the subject, and had some hope of success, when the first mate came up and inquired what they were talking about. "This is mutiny, downright mutiny!" he exclaimed, and without more ado he ordered the second mate and boatswain to lash their arms behind them and carry them into the cabin. "I do not wish to be hard with you, but I will not have my authority disputed, and you youngsters will remain there till I can prove to you that I am right and you are wrong." Though they protested loudly at this treatment, the mate would not listen to them; they had therefore to submit. In the evening Jumbo brought supper to them, but he said that he was ordered not to hold any conversation, but to come away again as soon as he had placed the supper before them. "But how is the ship going; what course is she steering?" asked Stephen. "Bery well as far as me make out," answered Jumbo. "Sometimes steer east-south-east, sometimes south-east." "Well, tell the men that that course will carry us on shore before daylight to-morrow morning," said Stephen. "Me tink dey break dis nigger's head if he stop talking," said Jumbo, hurrying away in a great fright. As their arms had been released, as soon as they had had their supper, being pretty well tired with the exertions which they had made the previous night, they lay down, and in spite of the danger they considered the ship was in. After some time Roger woke, and going to the door of the cabin, found to his surprise that Jumbo had not locked it. Anxious to know how the ship was steering, he went up on deck, hoping not to be perceived by either of the mates. Getting a glimpse at the compass, he found that the ship was still steering south-east, and that the wind had become very light; the boatswain had charge of the deck. He knew by examining the sailing directions that strong currents set in towards the coast thereabouts, and should the wind shift to the westward, he even fancied, as he looked over the bulwarks, that he could see the distant land. He accordingly went back to Stephen, and rousing him up, asked him to come on deck. Stephen immediately hurried up with him. "If the wind shifts to the westward, it will not be long before we are on the shore," said Stephen boldly to the boatswain. "Who told you?" asked the boatswain in a somewhat anxious tone. "My own sense," answered Stephen. Scarcely had he spoken than the wind, which had dropped almost to a calm, shifted suddenly to the westward, and began to blow with considerable force. "All hands shorten sail," shouted the boatswain, and the crew came tumbling up from below. The mates turned out of their berths, and the first mate looked with much astonishment at the state of affairs. The mate now saw that the ship's head must be put to the northward, and under diminished canvas he endeavoured to haul off shore. The wind blew harder and harder. Not half-an-hour had elapsed when a loud grating sound was heard. "Down with the helm!" shouted the mate. It was too late; the ship would not come about, but drove on till she stuck hard and fast with her broadside to the sea. Stephen and Roger hurried into the cabin to secure some important papers, also to see what could be done for the poor Captain, should the ship go to pieces. They had fancied him unconscious, but he had been aroused by the sound of the ship striking, the meaning of which he knew too well. "Battiscombe," he said, "help me on deck. I know what has happened, and that mate of mine has been the cause of it. I must see what can be done." Though he was very weak they did as he directed them. His appearance tended to restore order. "Men," he said, in as loud a voice as he could speak, "your lives depend upon obeying my directions. Battiscombe, you and Willoughby lower a boat, and carry a line ashore with you. Take Stokes and Jumbo with you. The rest of us must remain and try to get the ship afloat." They did as he told them. The boat being lowered, they carried a long rope so as to form a communication with the shore, that should the worst come, those who remained on board might have a chance of gaining it. They had got within fifty fathoms, when a roller came in and capsized the boat, and sent them all struggling into the water. Stephen, who was a good swimmer, struck out, calling to Roger and the rest to follow him, and in a few seconds his feet touched the sand. He scrambled out, but on looking round, what was his horror not to discover Roger! He saw Sam Stokes and Jumbo strike out for the land. He gazed for a moment towards where the boat had been capsized, when he saw a head and arms rise amid the surf. Darting forward, he breasted the waves, and soon caught hold of the person he had seen. It was Roger, who, on being hauled on shore, quickly came to himself. Together they managed to rescue the seamen, but the boat was knocked to pieces, and the end of the rope lost. They could now neither return nor help those on board to reach the shore. The wind was increasing, clouds covered the sky, and they lost sight of the vessel in the thick spray and darkness. Roger proposed lighting a fire as a signal to those on board, but no driftwood could be discovered, and the fierce gale would soon have scattered the ashes had they made the attempt. They shouted at the top of their voices. "It is no use in exhausting your strength," observed old Sam. "In the teeth of this hurricane our voices cannot travel half the distance to the wreck." Finding at length that they could do nothing on the beach, they sought for shelter under the lee of a sandhill, where, being exhausted by their exertions, they soon fell asleep. CHAPTER FOUR. When they awoke the next morning and looked out, not a vestige of the vessel could they see, but the beach was strewn with the wreck, while here and there lay the dead bodies of their shipmates. "Sad fate, poor fellows!" said Stephen. "We should be thankful to Heaven for being preserved, to Captain Roberts for sending us on shore; but, alack, what will become of the cargo? It will be a heavy loss to Kempson and Company, and we might try to collect whatever is driven on shore." "I am afraid if we did that the natives would soon come down and deprive us of our property. If we can find some food among the things cast on shore it will be more to the purpose." They searched about, and at length, to their infinite satisfaction, discovered a cask of pork and a case containing bottles of wine. "We are in luck," said Sam. "And I have a notion that the savages of these parts will not drink the wine or eat the pork, so that we may have a chance of its being left to us." They broke open the cask of pork. Having no means of cooking it, they were obliged to eat it raw, while the wine did little towards quenching their thirst. "I would give much for water," said Stephen, "though not a drop do I see anywhere." "There may be some, notwithstanding," observed Roger. "Many springs exist in the interior which lose themselves in the sand. We must push inland in search of one, and carry as much food as we can on our backs, while we hide the rest, with the wine, in the sand." Acting on this suggestion, the party provided themselves with broken spars to support their steps and serve as weapons of defence. Before starting they climbed to the top of a sandhill to take a look-out, but no vessel was in sight. The foam-covered sea came rolling in and dashed sullenly on the beach. "While the gale lasts no vessel will willingly approach near the shore," observed Stephen. "Water we want, and water we must have, or we shall perish." They accordingly set out, and all that day pushed on eastward, and the next, and the next. Their salt pork had turned bad, and the wine was nearly exhausted, and they were well-nigh starving. At last, getting to the top of a sandhill to look out, Roger fancied he saw some green trees in the distance. "There may be an oasis out there," he said; "we must try to gain it." In spite of the hot sun beating down on their heads they went on. Still the oasis, if such it was, appeared as far off as ever. Roger, whose strength, though he was the youngest, held out, did his best to cheer them on. At last old Sam declared that he could go no farther, and sank down, begging the others to bring him water if they could find it. In vain they tried to persuade him to move along, and they supported him for some distance till they came to another sandhill, where they placed him under some bushes which might afford some slight protection. Having no fire-arms they could only leave him a pointed stick with which to defend himself. They now hurried on, eager to obtain water not only for themselves, but that they might rescue their shipmate from death. They were almost sinking when their eyes were cheered by a grove of trees, though still far off. Roger acknowledged that they could not have been visible from where he had supposed he had seen them. "They are date-trees!" he exclaimed. "They will afford us food, and water we may hope to find under them." As they reached the oasis their eyes were gladdened by the sight of a small pool formed by a spring bubbling out of the earth. Falling on their knees they eagerly baled the water into their mouths with their hands. Thus revived, Jumbo was able to climb one of the trees and obtain as many bunches of dates as they wanted. They now thought of their old shipmate, but when the sun went down the sky became overcast, and to find him in the dark seemed impossible. "We cannot let him die," said Roger. "I am ready to run the risk." "And I will go with you," said Stephen. "I go too," said Jumbo. And much as they would have enjoyed the rest under the trees, they started without delay. Roger thought he knew the direction to take, and in the cool air of night travelling was easier than in the daytime. They did not trouble their heads about lions, or leopards, or beasts of prey; though ready to sink with fatigue, they went on till they fancied that they had reached the spot where they had left old Sam. They shouted his name, but no answer came. They searched about, keeping within hail of each other. At length Jumbo cried out, "Here he is, and he no speak." They hurried up, but poor Sam was apparently at the last gasp. Having poured some water, however, down his throat, he somewhat revived. "Thought you would never come back, mates," he said; "but give me some more water and I will soon be myself again." After a second draught of water Sam was able to eat a few dates, and now declared that he was ready, if they wished it, to go with them to the oasis; but Stephen and Roger were both too tired to walk so far, and throwing themselves down under the shelter of the bushes they fell asleep. The sun had already risen high when Roger awoke, and on going to the top of the sandhill to look out for the oasis, he saw between it and where he stood a number of objects. He called Stephen, who joined him. "There are two parties on camels and horses, it seems to me," said Stephen, "one flying from the other." Descending the sandhill they concealed themselves behind it lest they should be discovered; but Roger, unable to restrain his curiosity, crept on one side whence he could see what was taking place. The fugitives had turned round to meet their pursuers; a fierce fight was going forward, in which the camels on both sides seemed to be taking part by kicking and leaping at each other, and he could hear their peculiar cries amid the clash of the weapons and the shouts of the combatants. Presently he saw a person, who had apparently been thrown from his camel, come rushing at headlong speed towards the sandhill. Roger drew back, and in another minute the stranger came round to where the party lay. He was a mere boy, dressed in loose trousers, a silk jacket, a shawl round his waist, and a turban on his head. His alarm at seeing them was so great, that he was running on to avoid them, when Jumbo, who, it will be remembered, spoke Arabic, called to him gently, telling him that they were friends. On this he came and crouched down close to them, trembling in every limb. "Ask him from whom he was flying," said Stephen to Jumbo. "From the Ouadelins, who carried me off from my father's camp," said the young Arab. "But were your friends not pursuing?" asked Stephen. Jumbo as before put the question. "No; those who attacked my captors are equally enemies of my people, and had they taken me I should have fared worse than before," answered the young Arab. From the sounds which reached their ears Stephen and his companions knew that the fight was still raging, but moving farther and farther from where they lay. The young Arab could not refrain from trying to see what was going on, and had not Roger pulled him back, would very likely have been discovered. At length the sound ceased, and crawling to the brow of the hillock, so as just to look over it, Roger saw the two parties apparently still carrying on a straggling fight in the far distance. They were by this time getting very hungry and thirsty. "Come, gentlemen, let us be going to the date-grove," cried old Sam; "my throat is like a dust-bin." "Should the Arabs come back they will carry us off if we do," observed Stephen. "Better bear our hunger and thirst till the coast is clear." It was somewhat difficult, however, to restrain themselves. Seeing this, Selim, for so the young Arab was called, said Stephen's advice was good, and counselled them to remain concealed for the present. At last old Sam declared that he could stand it no longer, that he had eaten up the dates of the rest of the party and drunk up their water, and that it was his business to go and forage for them. Stephen again warned him, but in spite of this he set off, running for the date-grove. Roger, who had climbed to the top of the hill, watched as far as he could see his figure. At last he appeared to have entered the grove, and had been gone for some time, when Selim, who, accompanied by Jumbo, had been looking out from the top of the hill, said that his enemies were coming back and were making for the date-grove. Roger feared that old Sam would be on his way to rejoin them, and, being seen by the Arabs, would lead them to their hiding-place. The Arabs came nearer and nearer, and Roger fancied that he saw the old sailor just coming out of the grove, but on perceiving the Arabs, he darted back again, probably to conceal himself. His capture seemed certain. The Arabs reached the date-grove, and to the dismay of the shipwrecked party, appeared to be preparing to pass the night there. Their sufferings now became intense; they feared also that the old sailor would be compelled to betray them. The evening was approaching, and Roger and Stephen agreed that they could scarcely hope to live through the night unless they could obtain food. Suddenly Selim, observing their countenances, which showed how much they were suffering, put his hand in his pocket and produced a quantity of dried dates, which he offered to them. Though their thirst was great they were able to eat the dates, and felt much revived. "The Arabs will go by daylight to-morrow," said Selim, pointing to the grove, "and then we may obtain water." When night came, they lay down to rest. There was little risk of being discovered by their enemies, but a lion or some other wild beast might scent them. Both Roger and Stephen were, however, too tired to keep awake, but Selim seemed to divine how matters stood, and offered to sit up and watch while they slept. He was faithful to his trust, for when the dawn broke and Roger awoke, he saw him still sitting, with his eyes fixed on them. "Ouadelins are on the move," he said, "but we must lie close or they will discover us." Roger, however, went to the top of the hillock, on which a few bushes completely concealed him, and from thence he could see the date-grove. In a short time the Arabs, mounted on their camels, were seen moving to the north-east. Stephen and Roger, with their two dark-skinned companions, waited till the Arabs had disappeared in the distance; they then all four hurried to the grove. On reaching it they lost not a moment in quenching their thirst, and as soon as they had recovered their voices they shouted for old Sam, but no answer was returned. They hunted about in all directions, and at last came to the conclusion that the Arabs had carried him off. They had taken away a large portion of the dates, but a few remained, which Selim and Jumbo, climbing the tree, got for them. They remained in the grove all day eating dates and drinking water. "I say, Stephen, we cannot live here for ever," said Roger, "for we shall soon have eaten all the provisions the country supplies. We must consult with Selim as to what course to pursue." Selim, through Jumbo, advised that they should move northward. "It is a long journey to tents of my people," he said, but he thought that he could conduct them there in safety. Accordingly, after another night's rest, and having loaded themselves with dates and filled their bottles with water, they set out. Selim advised them to be very careful of the water, as it might be many days before they reached another spring. With their sticks in their hands they trudged over the plain. Though the heat was great, the country as they advanced was less arid and sandy than farther south. After travelling for five or six days they unexpectedly came upon another date-grove shading a pool. Here they replenished their provisions and water, and after a whole day's rest again set forward. Stephen suggested that they should return to the coast, where they might be taken off by some passing vessel. "You forget that passing vessels are more likely to be enemies than friends," observed Roger. "We cannot be very far off from Sallee and those ports out of which the rovers sail. Having thus unexpectedly met a friend, it will be better to stick by him, and he may, through his relatives, find the means of enabling us to escape from the country." When they spoke on the subject to Selim, he advised them not to go to the coast, but to continue on till they could meet with his people, who would be sure to show their gratitude for the service they had rendered him. Day after day they trudged on, sometimes almost starved and ready to die of thirst. Occasionally they saw what they supposed to be caravans moving in the distance, but Selim recommended that they should not attempt to join them, as he feared that the Arabs might carry them off to sell as slaves. At length one day they were traversing a wide open plain without either hillocks or bushes, when they saw some objects moving towards them. On they came rapidly, and were soon discovered to be a party of men on the backs of camels. "The camels are of the Bu Saif breed," cried Selim; "we cannot escape them." "Let us stand still and not make the attempt," said Stephen. They accordingly stood, as Stephen advised, close together, he in front, Selim and Jumbo on one side, and Roger on the other. As the camels drew nearer, it was seen that they were ridden by dark-skinned fellows, who were brandishing in their hands long spears and scimitars. Uttering loud shouts, the strangers dashed forward as if about to cut down the shipwrecked party, when suddenly Selim sprang forward, and raising his hands, exclaimed, "I am Selim Ben Hamid, the son of the chief of the Malashlas. Spare these white men, they are my friends." The Arabs instead of cutting down the party, instantly reined in their animals. One of their leaders took up Selim behind him, the three others--Stephen, Roger, and Jumbo--in their fashion treating the white young men with great respect; then, turning their camels' heads, they again set off at full speed northwards. "I say, Stephen, how do you like it?" asked Roger. "Not at all; but it is better than being killed," he answered. Indeed, in a few minutes, from the rough motions of the camels, the skin was nearly worn off their legs. For the remainder of the day they travelled on till they reached another oasis, where their friends encamped, and very glad Stephen and Roger were to get some rest. Selim told them that they had still many more days' journey before they could reach the town, or rather the camp, where his father was chief. When Roger observed that they did not think they could bear the bumping, he replied that they would soon get accustomed to it; indeed, a night's rest and some black biscuit, in addition to the dates, restored their strength, and next day they proceeded on their journey. "I am afraid I shall have to give in," cried Stephen, as the enduring camels went jogging on for twelve hours together without stopping. "What they and their masters are made of I cannot conceive, for the Arabs have eaten but a few dates each day since we started; for my part I feel nearly starved." "We must keep up, notwithstanding," said Roger; "it won't do to give in, or they will look on us with contempt;" for Selim had told them that would be the case. They got accustomed to that style of travelling, and by drawing their handkerchiefs tight round their waists, they did not suffer much from the pangs of hunger, though they in a short time became merely skin and bone. At length Selim told them that in two or three days' time they would reach his father's camp, and they were looking forward to the rest they so much needed. They were now passing over a hilly country covered with low shrubs of a peculiarly brittle character, between which the camels had to pick their way, winding in and out among them, which greatly increased the length of the road traversed. They observed that the Arabs moved with more caution than heretofore, several men being sent in front to act as scouts. Evening was approaching, and they were looking out for a spot on which to encamp, when, as they were passing the base of a rocky and precipitous hill, a party of horsemen dashed out from a narrow ravine on the left, where they had remained concealed from the scouts. At the same moment, another party of men on foot appeared on the heights above them. The chief of their own party, with whom Selim was riding, immediately turned his camel's head and made off to the eastward, calling on his men to follow. Some did so, but the horsemen dashed in between them and the remainder, whom they furiously attacked, shooting some of the camels and ham-stringing others. Stephen and Roger had in vain endeavoured to follow Selim and the chief, but both of their animals were brought to the ground. They fully expected to be cut down, but Jumbo, who had been riding near them, disdaining to fly, threw himself from his camel, which was uninjured. "These are white chiefs!" he shouted out. "They wish to be your friends; do not harm them." The Arabs as they heard these words paused for a moment. The horsemen, in the meantime, were pursuing Selim's party; but as no animals were faster than the Bu Saif breed of camels, they failed to overtake them. Roger and Stephen believed that their young friend had made his escape. Each of their assailants now inquired who they were, and where they were going. Turning to Jumbo, they desired him to reply that their ship had been wrecked, and that they wished to make their way to Mogador, or some other place whence they could get aboard an English merchantman or a man-of-war. The chief laughed. "It will be a long time before they reach their native land. They must understand that when Christians come into this country they have to work for us, their masters." "This is not pleasant news," observed Stephen, when Jumbo had translated what the chief said. "Cannot we try to move the barbarian's heart?" "We will see what Jumbo can say, but I am afraid there is no chance of doing that," said Roger. Jumbo confirmed Roger's opinion. "We must bear our misfortune as best we can," remarked Stephen. "However, we will lose no opportunity of trying to make our escape." The chief of the marauders now gathered his prisoners together, and ordered them to move forward, surrounded by his men on foot, while his mounted followers brought up the rear close behind them. They proceeded some distance, when, just at dusk, they encamped at a spot, a stream on one side and a hill on the other. Fires were lighted, sentries placed in the more exposed part, and the remainder of the people began cooking their provisions. Stephen and Roger had some camel's flesh given to them and a handful of dates, and Jumbo brought them water from the river. "Me stop here and do talkee," he said, as he sat himself down before the fire to assist in cooking the camel's meat. "Come, we are better off than we might have expected," said Stephen. They were allowed to lie down, covered up with pieces of camels' hair cloth, which one of the Arabs gave them. They woke before daylight. Jumbo was sitting up by their side. "Who is this robber chief; have you been able to learn anything about him?" asked Roger. "He called Sheik Beirouc, great man in his own country; me fear he make us all slavee," answered Jumbo. "Tell him that we would pay him well if he will liberate us and send us back to England," said Stephen. "He no trust us till he see de money in his hand," answered Jumbo, "and dat de difficulty." "So it is, but we must manage to overcome it," said Stephen. "Speak fair, and say that we are grateful to him for having given us food and this cloth to cover us." Jumbo promised to do as he was directed. At daybreak the whole camp was astir, when the Arabs went down on their knees looking towards Mecca to say their prayers, an impressive sight, for every man seemed in earnest. Soon afterwards the Sheik approached and inquired whether Stephen and Roger could ride. "Tell him, since we were children," answered Stephen. "If he will let us have horses we will show him." Some more dates and water were brought them for breakfast, shortly after which a man appeared leading two active little steeds. The lads, supposing that they were for them, leaped into the saddles, and at once galloped off into the open country. "If we knew our way to the coast it would be a good opportunity of escaping," said Roger. "It would be an act of folly to make the attempt," said Stephen. "Let us turn now and go back, and show the Sheik that he may place confidence in us." They returned at the same pace at which they had gone out. The Sheik smiled grimly at seeing them come back. "You shall have the horses to ride on for your journey," he said. "How are you to travel, Jumbo?" asked Roger. "Me go on camel," he answered. "The Sheik know that you can't run away without me. You can't talkee to the people." In a short time the order was given to march, and the Sheik led the way, accompanied by the two young Englishmen, and Jumbo rode behind another man on the camel. After proceeding for some miles they began to climb a range of mountains covered with heath, along beaten paths. On the summit there was suddenly a change of scenery. Behind was the monotonous sterility of the desert, and before a cultivated country, in every part of which were considerable camps in circular enclosures of from sixty to eighty tents over the plain. They perceived numerous horses and mules, as well as camels, while travellers continually passed them on the road, some mounted on camels, but the greater number on horses of a small size, all well-armed. About an hour after noon they arrived at a well, surrounded by a vast number of animals, camels, horses, mules, donkeys, goats; and so completely blocked up was the approach that it was with the greatest difficulty that they reached the water to satisfy their burning thirst. In the evening they reached some tents belonging to Beirouc, where they passed the night. He told them that the next day they would arrive at his town, where they were to spend some time. This was agreeable news, as they hoped to obtain some means of communicating with the coast. Towards evening Beirouc pointed out to them his habitation. At first they looked everywhere without perceiving any building, but at length discovered towards the east, at the foot of a mountain, a circle of reddish walls, in the middle of which rose a tower of considerable height. It had the appearance of being what it really was, a shelter for brigands. On their right was a forest of palm-trees, and some cultivated gardens, while a number of Moors were lying carelessly about outside the walls. The news of their arrival was soon circulated among all classes, and from every direction came men, women, and children, running to see the Christians, whom they looked upon as some singular wild beasts. At length Beirouc told one of his attendants to conduct the three prisoners to their habitation. The whole town was composed of houses built with sun-dried bricks of a yellowish tint. They were conducted into a square, out of which opened several chambers, or houses with small doors; one of these they were told to enter. It had a miserable and dirty appearance; at first, coming out of the glare of day, they could see nothing, but as their eyes got accustomed to the gloom they were much dismayed at perceiving the number of chains hung to the walls. Jumbo, however, relieved their anxiety by saying that they were merely to fasten up horses, the place having been used as a stable. Though the chief hitherto treated them with more humanity, still, as might have been expected, they felt that they were slaves, and they asked Jumbo to make inquiries. "Yes, we all slavee," he said. "Beirouc, he make us work; he sell us." Jumbo brought them further intelligence that they were not to remain at their present station long. They had little rest, being exposed from morning to night to the gaze of the Moors, who came to look at them from feelings of curiosity alone, without the slightest tinge of compassion. Many amused themselves by mocking at them, inquiring whether they wished to become gardeners, carpenters, bricklayers, or masons. At all hours of the day their unwelcome visitors appeared, regarding them much as if they were wild beasts shut up in a cage. There were really no bars nor any guard placed over them; indeed they might without difficulty have got out into the country. But Beirouc well knew that they would have been unable to find their way, and that they would either have been starved, or made prisoners by the inhabitants, or killed by wild beasts, and he told Jumbo to give them a hint that such would be their fate should they attempt it. They had therefore to submit as best they could to the indignities offered them. At length one day a new character, who accompanied Beirouc, made his appearance; he was a tall, fine-looking man, with a white beard, and handsome though somewhat stern countenance. Having seated himself on a carpet in the centre of the court, he ordered the two captives, accompanied by Jumbo, to approach him, and inquired who they were, whence they had come, and how they had hitherto been employed. Jumbo evidently took upon himself to give such a report of them as would increase their importance in the eyes of their captors. He declared that they were chiefs in their own country, that they were officers on board the ship, wonderfully expert navigators, and were possessed of great wealth, their object in leaving home having been to see the world. Stephen, who guessed that Jumbo was going on a little too far, stopped him. "All right, massa," he answered, "me tell the truth presently." Jumbo's account had certainly the effect of raising their value in the estimation of the new arrival. Jumbo informed them that the chief's name was Ibraim, that he resided in the northern part of the country, towards which they were forthwith to set out. Soon afterwards Jumbo on his return to their cell burst into tears. "What is the matter?" asked Stephen. "Beirouc say he no sell me, and that I stay here." "Tell him that we cannot do without you," said Stephen. "Me tell Ibraim; that more use," said Jumbo. Jumbo was evidently looked upon as a very clever fellow by the Arabs, and he so managed the matter that Ibraim purchased him as well as the two young Englishmen, and they immediately set forward on their journey northward. The whole party rode on horseback. Their steeds were small, active little animals, which managed to scuffle along at a great rate, up and down hill being apparently the same to them. Stephen and Roger agreed that it was far more pleasant riding than on camel-back. They were happier also when travelling than when stopping at night, when they were compelled to sleep in some dirty hut, with Jumbo and a number of Arabs as their companions. They were badly fed, and could seldom get any tolerable water to drink. At first they fancied that they were to be carried to Marocco, but they found Ibraim had no intention of visiting the capital, which he left far away on the right. On and farther on they went northward. "So much the better," said Roger. "The farther north, the more chance we shall have of escaping." At length, on passing over a lofty hill, Roger observed the blue ocean glittering brightly to the left, while in the far distance he made out the minarets, towers, and flat roofs of what appeared to him to be a large town. He pointed out the spot to Stephen. "That is a town, no doubt about it, and probably it is to be our future abode; we must get Jumbo to learn its name." "Dat Rabatt; they call it also Sallee," said Jumbo. "Why, that is the place where the Sallee rovers sail from!" exclaimed Roger. "For what we can tell, the one who attacked us came from there." "I think she was an Algerine; Captain Roberts thought so," remarked Stephen. Descending from the high ground they had been traversing they crossed a river, the third they had passed since morning. Continuing down its bank on the north side, they found themselves before an extensive and strongly-fortified town, with high walls, towers, and battlements. Ibraim, having passed through a gateway, continued on along narrow streets and alleys crowded with people of all colours, though mostly dressed in Moorish costume. Their arrival did not appear to create much interest; some stared at them, a few abused them as Christian slaves. At last Ibraim led the way into a court-yard, when he ordered them to dismount. He pointed to a cell much like the one they had before occupied, where he told them they might take up their abode. It had the advantage of being more airy and less damp than might have been the case, though they were somewhat exposed to public view. Ordering them to remain there, and to move out at their peril, Ibraim stalked away. Several persons made inquiries about them of Jumbo. This continued till dark, when they were allowed to rest on the bare ground in quiet. As no one brought them any food, and Ibraim seemed to have forgotten them altogether, they had to go supperless to sleep. Next morning they awoke very hungry, and as there was no other way of getting food, they told Jumbo to entreat their visitors to bring them some, but the hard-hearted Moors refused. At last a white-haired man, habited as a Moor, his dress of nautical cut, his turban set somewhat rakishly on one side, came in. He started as he saw them, and stood gazing at them for some minutes. "Who are you?" he exclaimed. "Did you really get off with your lives from the robbers?" "Is it possible that you are Sam Stokes?" exclaimed Roger. "I was Sam Stokes, but am now Mustapha Mouser." "Well, Sam, I cannot congratulate you on having turned renegade, but am glad to see you," observed Stephen. "Could not help myself, Mr Battiscombe; did it to save my life. Now I have found you, I want to see how I can help you. Maybe you are hungry?" "That indeed we are," exclaimed Roger. "Then without further palaver I will be off and try and get you some food," said Sam. "I hope he will be quick about it," observed Roger when Sam moved off, "for I am well-nigh starved." Old Sam did not disappoint them, for in a short time he returned with a flask of water and dried goat's flesh, bread, and dates. "Make haste, lest anybody should come by and my feet get a taste of the bastinado." They did ample justice to the repast, helped by Jumbo, who was as hungry as they were. Sam sat down and tried to look as much like a Moor as he could. "How are you employed?" asked Stephen. "I have been assisting in fitting out one of their vessels. She is a fine craft for her size, but I cannot say I quite like the work, for I suppose we shall go robbing on the high seas, and if we are caught shall be strung up like the rest." "Nor do I, Sam, for your sake," observed Stephen, "though you will only be engaged as Prince Rupert and Prince Morris were after the civil war; not that their example is one to be followed, and I would advise you to get clear of the pirates as soon as you can." "More easily said than done," answered Sam. "The Moors always keep a look-out on those whom they suspect, but I will not forget your advice if I have the opportunity of escaping; but I must not stop talking here, or I may be suspected of favouring you." And old Sam, getting up, rolled away with his hands in his pockets, looking as independent as any of the passing Moors. "I wonder what is to be our fate," said Roger. They asked Jumbo to make inquiries. His idea was that they were to be sold, but he said that he would try and find out. Though looked upon as a slave, he was allowed more liberty than they were, it being supposed that he would not desert them. Had they possessed money they would thus have had no difficulty in procuring food, but as they had been deprived of every coin they had had about them, they were entirely dependent on others. The appearance of old Sam Stokes somewhat relieved their minds on that score, as they hoped he would find means to supply their wants. When Jumbo came back late in the evening, he looked very melancholy. "Me afraid Ibraim sell us. Cruel master. Make workee; little food; plenty stick." "Patience," said Roger. "We must try to work hard and avoid the stick; and as to the food, we must be content with little if we cannot get much, and hope some day to get away." A guard was placed at the door of the yard, so that Jumbo could not get out during the night. The next morning Ibraim appeared with several other persons, one of whom, by his dress and the way he swaggered along, appeared to be a person of some consideration. Ibraim summoned the two lads and Jumbo much as he would have called as many dogs, and seemed to be expatiating on their various qualifications. The stranger, whom they heard called Hamet, then put several questions to them through Jumbo, chiefly relating to their previous mode of life. He seemed satisfied, and at once turning to Ibraim counted out the money which he had promised to pay for them. Scarcely looking at them, or uttering a word of farewell, the old Sheik pocketed the coin and walked away, while the new purchaser beckoned to Stephen, Roger, and Jumbo to follow him. "This is unbearable," exclaimed Stephen; "the old fellow treats us like goods and chattels. He fancies that we are willingly to be turned over to the man to whom he has thought fit to sell us. We must show him that we do not intend to be treated in that way." "What had we better do?" asked Roger. "Stay where we are, and refuse to follow him," said Stephen. "Oh, massa, don't do dat," cried Jumbo. "Dey soon show wid de bastinado dat dey got de power." Hamet, their new master, by the frown gathering on his brow as he observed their hesitation, soon showed them what they might expect, and they agreed that it would be wiser to submit to circumstances. They accordingly followed him as he led the way through the streets till he reached another court-yard, in which a number of persons were collected, dressed in all sorts of costumes, many in rags, and looking thin and careworn, their countenances being those of Europeans. "These must be Christian slaves," observed Stephen. "Yes, and it is very clear that we are to be compelled to labour with them," said Roger. They were not long in doubt as to this, for a number of persons gathered round them, and two addressed them in English, and inquired where they had come from, and how they had been captured. While they were narrating their adventures, others gathered round to listen. There were French, Portuguese, Spaniards, Italians, and Dutchmen. They all, it appeared, belonged to Hamet, who employed them in building a new house. At a signal from Hamet they formed into order, and were marched off to perform their daily task, under the charge of four guards with loaded fire-arms. Stephen and Roger were obliged to follow, for to refuse would have only brought down blows on their heads and backs. They walked along very unwillingly, though they tried to keep up their spirits. On arriving at the spot they were at once set to work. Though accustomed to manual labour, they found their tasks very severe in hauling up blocks of stone, carrying heavy beams and rafters. They were very thankful when the day's work was over. All the time not a particle of food had been given them, and it was with difficulty, suffering from hunger and thirst, that they could get back to their prison. "You will soon get accustomed to it," said one of their companions in misfortune. On reaching the yard the only provisions served to them and the rest of the slaves were some brown bread and some almost putrid water, which they could scarcely drink. Most of the prisoners were too low and broken-spirited to complain, but Stephen and Roger were very indignant; hunger and thirst however compelled them to eat the coarse bread and drink the water, bad as it was. At night they had to lie down in a place which had been used for stables, with a scanty supply of straw, and that not of the cleanest, for beds. Their companions in misfortune moaned and groaned in their different languages till they moaned themselves to sleep. "I wonder how long this is to last," said Roger. "Till we are set free," said Stephen. "But how are we to get free?" asked Roger. "Cannot we devise some means of escaping?" "We must try and let our friends at home know where we are in the first place, so that they may ransom us," said Stephen. "The difficulty will be to get a letter home. There is no communication between this place and any European port, as far as I can learn. Our unhappy companions have been here for years," said Roger. "If we cannot get off ourselves, perhaps Jumbo can make his escape and carry a letter for us," said Stephen. "A bright idea," exclaimed Roger. "He is asleep now; still we can think it over to-morrow and see how it can be managed." At length they top, merely with the toil they had gone through, closed their eyes, happily to dream of far distant scenes. They were awakened by their companions moving about, and another dole of brown bread and water was served out to them. Just, however, as they were about to be marched off to their daily toil, they caught sight of Sam Stokes, who was peering about in the court-yard, apparently in search of them. They eagerly beckoned to him. "I have been hunting for you young gentlemen since daylight," he said. "Here's some meat and sweet biscuits, some oranges, and a bottle of goat's milk; it is better than any water I could get. I should like to have brought you some stronger stuff, but if I was to be found with any I should have my head chopped off in a twinkling. It is against the rules of the Koran. Though I have not had time to learn much about the book, I know that." They thanked Sam cordially, and shared the provisions he had brought with Jumbo. He sat by to see that their companions did not rob them, which, from the wolfish glances they cast at the food, they seemed much inclined to do. "Stow away the remainder in your pockets, you will want it for dinner, and I will try to come back in the evening and give you more. I must now be off to my work," said Sam. The day was passed much as the former one had been, though they had a short time allowed them to eat the food Sam had brought. It was very hard and trying work, and they were well-nigh knocked up by the evening, when they had to return to their dirty prisons. Hunger had compelled them to begin munching their brown bread, when Sam appeared bringing a small quantity of provision. "It is all I could get," he said. "I am much afraid that I shall not be allowed to bring you much more. Captain Hamet, who bought you from the old Sheik and commands a vessel I have engaged to serve aboard, has found out that I bring the food to you, and does not seem well pleased. Why, I cannot exactly understand, as I should have thought he would rather have you strong and well than weak and sick, as you would be if you had no better food than that brown bread; however, I shall know more about the matter to-morrow. I will bring you word if I can." The morning came, but Sam did not appear, and, as before, they were marched away with the rest of the slaves to their daily toil. For three days after this they heard nothing of Sam, while they were obliged to subsist on the coarse fare supplied to the slaves. Their condition was now becoming very trying. They talked over all the plans they could possibly think of to effect their escape. Jumbo was willing to try and get off to carry a letter to Tangiers, but he warned them that he might very likely be captured and lose his life in making the attempt, and they were unwilling to expose him to so much danger. The other slaves told them of the dreadful punishment which had been inflicted on several of their number who had attempted to escape, while, so far as they knew, not one had succeeded. It seemed to them that they were doomed to spend the remainder of their lives in bondage, and worse bondage than that of Israel. The Jews, at all events, had plenty to eat, whereas they were almost starved; still, like brave lads as they were, they endeavoured to keep up their spirits. At length one morning, after they had endured for upwards of a fortnight the sort of life which has been described, their eyes were gladdened by the sight of Sam walking into the court-yard just as their morning meal had been served out. "I am thankful to say that I have been able to bring you some food, young gentlemen, and Captain Hamet has sent me to say that you are to go aboard the _Tiger_, the ship he commands." "But the vessel is a pirate!" exclaimed Stephen, "and we shall be assisting them in their evil deeds. I would rather remain here and toil as a wretched slave than turn corsair." "So would I," said Roger. "Tell Captain Hamet that we will not obey his orders." "Very sorry to hear you say that, Master Willoughby," said Sam. "You see it is not a matter of choice; the Captain has the power to make you do what he wishes, whether you like it or not." "There is an old saying that you may take a horse to water, but you cannot make him drink," said Stephen; "he may carry us aboard by main force, but he cannot compel us to do any duty when we are there." "Now, just look at the matter in this way, young gentlemen," said Sam. "The Captain has heard that you understand navigation, and he wants some one to navigate his ship, for, as far as I can learn, these Moorish fellows do not understand much about that thing. He will make officers of you and treat you well, and I do not suppose he expects you to fight." "How could he know that we understood navigation?" asked Stephen. "That is more than I can say," answered Sam. "I know that I did not tell him; he heard it by some means, and that was the reason he bought you of the old Sheik, and paid such a high price for you too. So you see he is not likely to be balked, and I'd advise you to come with a good grace. I am very sorry that you should have to do what you do not like, but you see you have no choice in the matter; when he asked me I had to confess that it was right." "Me tell how it happened," said Jumbo. "Me tell Captain Hamet that Massa Battiscombe and Massa Willoughby were two officers, and that if he buy dem he some day get a good ransom, but neber tink at de time dat he want dem to serve aboard his ship; dat's how it came about." "That explains the mystery, and we don't blame you, Jumbo," said Stephen. "But we cannot go and serve willingly on board a pirate." "Still I must obey orders, young gentlemen," said Sam, "and I came ashore with a boat's crew to carry you on board, and I will bear witness if we ever fall into the hands of a king's ship that you did not come willingly." As he spoke Sam made a sign to several men who were standing at the entrance to the court-yard, who at once, marching in, surrounded the two young Englishmen and Jumbo, and seizing their arms, began to drag them along into the street. They struggled to free themselves, but the Moors, strong muscular fellows, quickly mastered them, and conducted them along through the narrow lanes towards the port. On reaching it they were shoved somewhat unceremoniously into a boat, which immediately pulled away for a large vessel which lay at the entrance of the harbour. "Very sorry, gentlemen, that you should be treated in this fashion," said Sam. "If you had come willingly it would not have happened. It is not my fault, you will understand; but if I did not carry out the orders I receive, I should have my head whipped off in a moment." Stephen and Roger were too indignant just then to make any reply, though they saw clearly the position in which poor Sam was placed. Captain Hamet was walking the deck when they arrived alongside. He received them in a somewhat stern fashion, and calling Jumbo, told him to say that their treatment would depend on the way they behaved themselves. "Tell him that as he has compelled us to come on board, we desire to know what he requires us to do," said Stephen. On this Captain Hamet beckoned them to come into the cabin. He then placed several nautical instruments before them, with charts of the Mediterranean, the western shores of Africa and Europe, extending as far as England. "He wants you to make good use of these to mark down every day the course the ship has run,--her position at noon. He does not require you to fight; indeed, if we meet an enemy, he will allow you to go below and keep out of harm's way if you wish it." "Under those circumstances I do not think we should wisely refuse to obey him," observed Stephen. "I would rather not have to do it," said Roger. "But I do not see how we can get off, and we shall certainly, by remaining on board, have a better chance of escaping than if we were kept in slavery on shore," said Stephen. "Tell the Captain, Jumbo, that we will do as he desires, though we would rather have been allowed to pay a ransom for our liberty." Hamet, smiling grimly, nodded his approval, and then sent for Sam, who showed them a cabin which he told them they were to occupy. "I am glad to hear, gentlemen, that you have agreed to do as the Captain wishes. It would have been no earthly use to refuse, as he could have compelled you with a pistol at your heads." "I do not think he would have fired it, considering that he had paid a high price for us, though he might have ill-treated us till he could have obtained a price for setting us free." "Well, as far as I can see, all you have got to do is to put a good face on the matter, keep up your spirits, and navigate the ship carefully. I warn you that if you do not do that, he will heave you overboard without the slightest ceremony." "Then we will do our best to navigate the _Tiger_ wherever the Captain wants her to go; it won't be our fault if he some day catches a Tartar, or runs his nose into a lion's den." CHAPTER FIVE. As the harbour was very shallow, the _Tiger_ had to haul out into the outer roads, inside the island of Tedal, off the mouth of the river Gueron, before she could take her guns, powder, or stores on board. A number of boats came out with them, so that she soon had her lading and provisions on board, and was now ready for sea. She mounted twenty guns, and had a crew of a hundred men, sturdy, active, dark-skinned fellows, armed with sharp scimitars, with which they practised daily. They had also fire-arms, spears, and boarding-pikes; indeed were in every way well prepared for fighting. A strong westerly gale kept the _Tiger_ in the roads for some days, but at length, the wind shifting to the eastward, the anchor was hove up, and she stood out into the Atlantic. Hamet now intimated to Stephen and Roger that his wish was to get to the northward, so that he might attack vessels in latitudes where Sallee rovers were seldom to be found, and thus take them by surprise, and so be more likely to effect their capture without resistance. They were by this time able to understand much that he said. He told them that he wished each to keep a separate reckoning, so that he might compare the two; that they must take good care that they agreed. "That would be a puzzler for me," observed Stephen. "As you, Roger, are a much better navigator, you would probably be correct, whereas I am very likely to make mistakes. I think that I had better tell him at once that I am not much of a navigator, and that he would be wise to rely on you." "That may be the safest plan, though I will try to pass my calculations on to you without letting him discover that I do so," said Roger. The very next day, when they were out of sight of land, Stephen, who was ordered to stand at the forepart of the ship to take an observation, made some mistake, and placed their position a degree or more out. Of course, her Captain, who understood the use of the charts perfectly, afterwards told Roger to put it down, which he, having carefully taken his observation, did properly. "How is this?" exclaimed the Captain. "Which of the two am I to believe?" "You may trust me," said Roger, firmly. "My friend, though older, has less experience; but if you will allow me, I will teach him, and he in a short time will be as useful to you as I am." Thus the difficulty was got over, for happily the Captain did not suspect that any trick was being played him. Fortunately at first the weather was fine, and as the Moors were sober men, and not addicted to quarrel among each other, the _Tiger_ glided over the calm sea, and everything went smoothly. "Really, from the appearance of things, I should not have supposed that we were aboard a piratical craft," observed Stephen, "for truly they are a very gentlemanly set of cut-throats, and I doubt if Prince Rupert's men behaved half as well." "It may be not, but they did not knock all their prisoners on the head, or make them walk the plank, as these fellows are said to do; we as yet have only seen them in their good behaviour," observed Roger. Hamet insisted on their carrying the _Tiger_ northward till they were about in the latitude of the rock of Lisbon. Not a ship had been sighted which they could venture to attack. They had passed in the distance squadrons of three or more large ships, but Hamet deemed it prudent to stand away from them, though he discussed the possibility of cutting off the sternmost during the night-time, but old Sam dissuaded him from making the attempt. The sun had just risen on the top-mast canvas of a ship of some size coming down before a fresh breeze from the northward, the wind about north-east. Hamet possessed a telescope, and pointing the stranger out to Roger, bade him go aloft with the telescope, and on his return report to him what he thought she was. Roger, slinging the telescope over his shoulders, climbed up the rigging, and took a steady look at the stranger. She appeared to him to be a large ship--a man-of-war--carrying probably forty guns or more, with which the _Tiger_ would be utterly unable to cope. On coming down he told Hamet his opinion. "If she is a merchantman, the larger her size the better prize she will prove," he observed. "But should she be a man-of-war, you may find that instead of taking her you are taken yourself," said Roger. The Captain, who seldom did anything without consulting his officers, had a talk with them on the subject. Some were inclined to run alongside the stranger and try to capture her, but others thought such a proceeding would be dangerous. The two vessels approached nearer and nearer. "These are bold fellows to think of attacking a ship of that size," observed Roger. "I am nearly certain that she is an English man-of-war, and if so, the _Tiger_ will be taken, and if we are not killed, we may hope to gain our liberty." "One good thing is, we need not fight," said Stephen. "The most prudent thing we can do is to stow ourselves away as soon as we are within gunshot." "The agreement from the first was that we might remain in our cabin," remarked Roger. "Oh no; but I propose that we get into the lowest depths of the ship, where there is less chance of a shot coming," said Stephen. "Suppose she is sent to the bottom," said Roger, "we shall be drowned with the rest. We shall see the water rising, and if so, we must hurry up on deck." While Roger and Stephen were holding this conversation, they observed a good deal of excitement among the officers. Presently two or three came aft to the Captain, and, by their gestures, it was very evident that they were insisting that the ship should be put about, and that they should try and make their escape. The Captain yielded; the helm was put up, the yards squared, and away the _Tiger_ ran before the wind, every additional stitch of canvas which she could carry being set. The stranger was not near enough to fire, or it might have fared ill with the pirate. "Our chance of liberty is diminishing by this time," observed Roger. "The _Tiger_ before the wind has a remarkably fast pair of heels." The stranger, however, seeing what the pirate was about, also made all sail, and came bowling away after her, guessing probably her character. "She will not catch us, gentlemen," said Sam, who came up to them. "Cannot say that I am sorry we are running away. I put the officers up to insisting on it, by telling them that we should be sent to the bottom, or captured and strung up to the yard-arm, and they fortunately believed me." At first it was doubtful which ship was sailing the fastest; and Roger thought, in spite of what Sam said, that the stranger was coming up with them, but after a time it became evident that the _Tiger_ was getting ahead. The Captain told Roger to be careful to mark down their course, as they were standing away from the land to the westward. All day long the chase continued; there was still some chance of their falling in with another large ship, and if so, they might have to fight after all. It was some hours past noon; they had already sunk the courses of the stranger below the horizon, but there she was, in her former position, still following, though a dark bank of clouds was now seen rising to the westward, indicating a change of wind, and probably a heavy gale. The clouds rose fast, and came scouring across the blue sky, while the hitherto calm ocean was covered with foam-crested seas, which rose higher and higher. Hamet ordered sail at once to be taken in--not a moment too soon, for down came the gale, and the stout ship heeled over to it. The _Tiger_, however, still kept to the southward. At last the gale increased to such an extent that the Captain ordered her to be hove-to. Roger looked out for the stranger, but she was nowhere to be seen. That danger was escaped, but the question was how the slightly-built rover would endure the tempest. They might have run for a port on the Barbary coast, but that was a long way off, and no other would afford them shelter; for as their hands had turned against every nation, so every nation was a foe. Night came on, and as there was no good in their remaining on deck, Roger and Stephen went to their cabin. Poor Jumbo soon made his way there. "Oh dear, me tink we go to de bottom," he said. "Wish we had stayed on shore; all my doing too, for if I no say you knew how to manage de ship, Hamet not bring you." "You acted for the best, Jumbo, and I do not blame you. We must hope to escape this danger and make our escape another time. Remember that we do intend to make our escape, if we can, on board the first vessel the pirate gets alongside. It will be somewhat hazardous, but it is our only chance. You must try and escape also, and I hope that Sam will, though it would be more difficult for him, as he has to fight with the rest of the crew." Jumbo shook his head; he evidently thought Roger's plan impracticable. All night long the tempest howled, the ship was tossed to and fro, the blocks and rigging rattled, the sea dashed over her, the voices of the seamen were heard amid the uproar shouting to one another, while occasionally the clanking sound of pumps was added to the noise. Morning broke dark and gloomy. During the day the wind decreased, and Hamet told Roger to continue his course to the southward. He seemed to fancy that in those northerly regions he was likely to meet with more gales than were pleasant. The following day the weather had moderated greatly, and by degrees the sea went down, and the ship glided on as smoothly as before. A bright look-out was of course kept for strangers; and the _Tiger_ was about the latitude of the Straits of Gibraltar when a sail was seen to the eastward, which had apparently come out of the Mediterranean. Chase was at once made, for she appeared to be a merchant vessel, and, though of good size, not much larger than the rover. As they got nearer, she showed English colours. Roger and Stephen watched her anxiously, and they called Jumbo. "Remember what I told you," said Roger. "Follow our movements whatever happens; you are not expected to fight, so probably will not be missed." "What do you think of her?" asked Roger, who went in search of the old seaman. "That she is a stout English craft, likely not to give in without tough fighting; but she probably carries not more than thirty men, if so many, and we muster a hundred, so that she has very little chance if we run her alongside." "But you don't mean to say that you fight your countrymen, Sam?" said Roger. "Cannot help myself," he answered. "I would rather not; but should have my head whipped off in a moment if I was to show the white feather, or try to hide away." "Well, I tell you this much, Sam," said Roger. "I don't believe that craft will be taken, although she may have but thirty men on board; but they are thirty honest Englishmen against these hundred cut-throat Moors; and if you can manage to get on board and let them know that you are an Englishman wishing to escape, you will act wisely." "Cannot do it, Mr Willoughby," said Sam with a sigh. "I should like to be free. The chances are the Englishmen cut me down before I can open my mouth, and the Moors will whip off my head if they see me making the attempt." "Still you would have done the right thing, and I hope you will risk it," said Roger. He could not venture to say more, as the Moors always cast frowning glances at the Englishmen when they saw them talking together. Roger went back to Stephen, who was standing aft, watching the stranger. Suddenly he exclaimed, "She is wonderfully like the _Benbow_ frigate. Though so long a time has passed since we saw her, I remember her well. I hope she may be, for Captain Benbow is not a man to yield to a pirate. See, she has no intention of avoiding the fight." As he spoke, the English ship brailed up her courses and hove-to, preparing for the combat. This seemed somewhat to cool the courage of the Moors, who looked at each other, for they were accustomed to see the merchant vessels they attacked run from them and do their utmost to escape. The English ship remained stationary. The Sallee rover stood on, and as she got nearer, shortened sail to be more under command. Presently the former filled, not to escape, but to be ready for manoeuvring, and almost the next instant opened fire from ten long guns, run out from her sides, and the Moors began blazing away in return; but their shot fell short, whereas those of the English ship came rattling on board them. "I say, Roger, there is no use remaining on deck to be a target for our friends," said Stephen. "Let us slip below before we receive damage; we shall judge when the time arrives for us to act, by the noise they will make should the rovers run their opponents on board. I see Jumbo watching us." Roger unwillingly slipped down and followed Stephen, for he was anxious to see what was taking place. Their cabin was not altogether safe, for a shot might come through the rover's side and reach them; but, at the same time, they could from thence easily spring upon deck. They waited anxiously. Again and again the rover fired, while they heard the shot of the English ship come crashing on board, tearing up the planks, piercing the bulwarks, striking the masts and spars, occasionally knocking over one of the crew on the deck, while shrieks and cries arose as the Moors fell wounded to the deck. None were brought below, as there were no surgeons to attend to them, and they were left to lie as they fell. Hamet was anxious to put an end to this sort of work as soon as possible, and shouted orders to his men to prepare for boarding. The English ship had gained the weather-gauge, so he could not escape. Now, suddenly putting down his helm, he ran her aboard. A loud crash was heard as the two vessels struck together; grappling-irons were thrown aboard, the Moors swarmed into their rigging to drop down on the deck of the vessel they expected to capture. "Now is our time," cried Roger. "Come along, Stephen! Come along, Jumbo! We must look out not to be stopped by the Moors, and make ourselves known to our friends before they cut us down." They made for the after part of the ship; it was the only spot whence they could hope to escape. The vessels were surging against each other; now their bows almost meeting one instant, their quarters struck together. "Now is our time," cried Roger, who had been waiting for the opportunity, and together they all three sprang from the quarter-rail of the _Tiger_ on to that of the English ship, and throwing themselves over it, were the next moment on her deck, where Jumbo narrowly escaped being crushed before those parts of the vessel. "Look out, lads; we are being boarded aft," they heard a voice shout, and three or four seamen, with gleaming cutlasses, came springing towards them. "No, no, we are friends; we are Englishmen," shouted Roger and Stephen in chorus. "Save us! save us! We are escaping from the Moors." They could scarcely get the words out in time to prevent the sailors from making mince-meat of them. "I do believe they are Englishmen," cried one of the men. "All right," cried one of the seamen. "Lie quiet, or, if you like, you will find some spare cutlasses in the companion-hatch; go and get them and help us." "There is another Englishman on board who wants to escape," cried Roger, remembering poor Sam. "Try and save him if you can." "Ay, ay," answered the sailor, who the next instant sprang back to hack and slash away at the Moors, who were endeavouring to gain a footing on board. As yet, fiercely as they were fighting, the Moors had gained no advantage. Some indeed had reached the deck, but it was only to pay the penalty of temerity with their lives, for not one had succeeded in gaining a footing. Roger, looking up, recognised the Captain of the English ship; there was no doubt about it, he was Captain Benbow. With a huge hanger in his hand he was slashing away furiously at the enemy, driving back some, cutting down others. Roger and Stephen made their way to the companion-hatch, where they procured a couple of hangers and joined the brave Captain. They were seen by the rovers, several of whom, uttering expressions of rage, attempted to get at them, and paid the penalty of their daring with their lives, being cut down by the British seamen the moment they reached the deck. The rovers fought with desperation, believing that they could quickly overcome the small crew opposed to them. Fresh gangs, summoned by their Captain, were attempting to leap on board, when suddenly the grapnels gave way. While some were still clinging to the sides of the _Benbow_ frigate, the vessels parted, and the _Tiger_ forged ahead. Ere many seconds were over not a boarder remained alive; some were hurled into the sea, others fell inside the bulwarks on to the deck. "Now, ply them with the great guns," cried Captain Benbow. His crew, reloading them and running them out, in spite of the bodies which cumbered the deck, sent such showers of shot on board the rover that she did not again attempt to close, Hamet evidently considering her so tough a customer that he might pay too dear a price for victory, even should he gain at last. He was seen to haul his wind and to stand away on a bow-line, though he continued firing at the English vessel as long as he could bring his guns to bear. The shot, though they did no damage on deck, cut up the rigging and prevented the frigate from following, though Captain Benbow ordered his crew to knot and splice the ropes as rapidly as possible, in the hopes that she might be able to do so. The rover was soon out of range, and as she continued standing away the British crew gave her a lusty cheer as a farewell. On and on she stood, making all the sail she could carry. It was soon evident that the _Benbow_ frigate had no chance of overtaking her, though the crew worked away with right good-will at the rigging. Strange as it may appear, not one of the British crew had been killed, although about a third of their number had received wounds more or less severe. "Now, lads, let us count the bodies of these villainous Moors their friends have left behind," said the Captain. Thirteen were found stretched on the deck, presenting a ghastly appearance, and the crew were about to heave them overboard. "No, no, lads," cried Captain Benbow; "we must carry some trophy on shore to show our friends at Cadiz what we have done, or they may chance not to believe our report. Bring up a cask of salt." There were several on board that it was intended to fill with Spanish pork. The Moors' heads, as they were chopped off, were put into the cask with layers of salt between them, when, the whole being packed, and more salt added at the top, the head of the cask was then fastened down. The crew then set to work with buckets of water to wash down the blood-stained deck. Roger and Stephen had in the meantime, with Jumbo, been standing aft, waiting to make themselves known to the Captain, but he had hitherto been too much engaged to notice them. They now, seeing that he was for a moment disengaged while considering what was next to be done, advanced to him. "You probably do not recollect us, Captain Benbow, though we are old acquaintances of yours," said Stephen. "I am the lad you promised to take to sea when you visited Eversden manor-house on the Dorsetshire coast," said Roger. "Bless my heart alive, I remember the circumstance perfectly, though you have grown out of my recollection, young gentlemen; but how in the name of wonder did you happen to be aboard the rover, and how did you manage to gain the deck of this ship?" exclaimed the Captain, putting out his hand and shaking theirs warmly. "Very glad to see you, however it happened, and I can congratulate you on making your escape, for it must have been no easy matter." Stephen and Roger between them briefly explained what had occurred. They were again welcomed by the Captain. They also mentioned Sam Stokes, and his intention of attempting to escape. "Poor fellow, I know that he must have lost his life if he tried to do so," said the Captain, but he inquired among his crew whether they had recognised an English face among the rover's crew. On this two or three came aft and declared that they had observed an old man spring on to their forecastle, that he had warded off several blows aimed at him without attempting to strike in return, and had suddenly disappeared, they supposing that he had gone overboard, although, as they had been compelled to defend the forepart of the vessel from a party of rovers who were attempting to follow him, they had not time to take any special notice. "Then perchance he is the very man we were inquiring about, and may have succeeded in getting below. Let search be made for him," cried the Captain. Several of the crew on this leaped below, and one lighting a lantern, they began to search the fore peak. Before long the light from the lantern fell on an English-looking face in one of the bunks. "Halloo! how did you come here?" exclaimed the seaman with the lantern. "Don't cut my head off and I will tell you all about it," said the man in the bunk. "You need have no fear; come out of that and we will hear what you have got to say for yourself," said the seaman; and drawing off the blanket, he exposed to view a seeming Moor, who was quickly dragged out. "Why, you are the very man we are looking for," exclaimed the sailor. "Come up, our Captain wants to have a word with you." And Sam Stokes, willingly obeying, accompanied the men up on deck, where Stephen and Roger and Jumbo welcomed him. "Glad to see you have escaped, my man," said Captain Benbow, "for if you had been caught you would have had a great chance of losing your head." "Please you, sir, I do not feel it quite comfortable on my shoulders while I am dressed in this outlandish fashion among Christian men," said Sam; and he whispered to Roger, who was standing near him, "Do not say that I turned Moor, Mr Willoughby, an you love me. I will soon get whitewashed, I hope." The Captain, taking the hint, ordered a suit of sailor's clothes to be got up, which Sam without delay put on, and then doing up his Moorish dress in a bundle, hove it overboard, exclaiming, "I hope that I may not wear such duds as those again; and now, Captain, just to show that I am turned into a Christian once more, I shall feel greatly obliged if you will give me a glass of honest liquor. To say the truth, I have not dared to touch a drop since I turned Moor." "With all my heart," said the Captain, and he ordered a glass of strong waters to be handed to Sam, who quaffed it off at once, giving a deep sigh as he reached the bottom. "Come, that does a fellow good; I feel once more like Sam Stokes instead of the rascally Mustapha Mouser I was turned into." As soon as the ship had been put to rights a course was shaped for Cadiz, to which port Captain Benbow told his young friends he was bound when attacked by the Sallee rover. "Now that you have come on board, Master Willoughby, I shall be glad to fulfil my promise and keep you if you desire to remain," he said to Roger. "I was heartily sorry to have to leave you behind, as I knew how much you would be disappointed, but I was many months absent from England, and when I got back there was no time to send down to Dorsetshire and have you up, should you have been still willing to come; however, a promise is not broken as long as there is time to fulfil it, and so you are welcome to remain on board the _Benbow_ frigate." Roger warmly expressed his thanks, and said that he would rather serve with Captain Benbow than go on board any other ship. He made the same offer to Stephen, who, however, having no wish to follow the sea as a profession, declined accepting it, though he begged that he might return home. Sam was at once duly entered as belonging to the ship. Jumbo, when he first came on board, had fixed his big round eyes on the Captain with an inquiring glance, but had been apparently too much awed to speak to him, and now he came aft, and making a profound bow, said, "Me tink you remember Jumbo, Captain Benbow; serve on board dis ship to sweep cabin when little boy." "Cannot say that I recollect your face; to my eyes, one nigger is much like another; but I have no doubt about the truth of your story, and am pleased to have you aboard again, and will enter you on the ship's books as one of my crew if you wish it." "Oh yes, massa," said Jumbo, with a broad grin. "Bery glad serve Captain Benbow; hope to sail wid you while you keep de sea." "Not much chance of my keeping anywhere else," said the Captain. So the matter was settled, and Jumbo, to his great delight, found himself one of the crew of the _Benbow_ frigate. In about three days land was sighted, and that evening the ship entered the magnificent bay of Cadiz. Next morning after breakfast the Captain ordered his boat to go on shore, and invited Roger and Stephen to accompany him. "Jumbo, you will go with us," he said. "You will have to carry a sack on your shoulders, but you need not ask what is in it." "Neber mind, Captain, me ready to do whateber you tell me," answered Jumbo. Roger and Stephen had taken their seats in the boat with the Captain, when Jumbo appeared with a big canvas sack, which was handed down after him. The men who were looking over the side grinned as they watched it placed in the bows of the boat. "Give way, my lads," cried the Captain, and they pulled for the shore. They soon reached the quay, when, the Captain and his young friends stepping out, he ordered Jumbo to take up the sack and follow him. They had not gone far when they met two officers of the revenue, who stopped and inquired what was contained in the sack the negro carried. "Salt provisions for my own use," answered Captain Benbow. "You know me. I am a frequent trader to this port, and I have never attempted to smuggle." Still the officers insisted on seeing the contents of the sack. "No, no," said the Captain, "I have made up my mind not to show them. I tell you, I never ran any goods since I came to sea, and have no intention of doing so now." "We cannot help ourselves, Senor. What you say may be very true, but it is against our orders to allow you to pass. However, as the magistrates are sitting not far off, if you like to declare before them the contents of your sack, the negro may carry them wherever you order him." "The very thing I wish," said the Captain. "I will go before the magistrates, and if they desire to see my salt provisions, they shall be welcome to do so." Accordingly, Captain Benbow leading, with his two young friends, Jumbo following with the sack, and the two officers bringing up the rear, proceeded to the custom-house, where a party of grave and reverend Senors were sitting. The officers at once stated what had occurred, when the president, who knew Captain Benbow, greeted him politely, expressed his regret that he should have to inconvenience him for such a trifle, but observed that he must adhere to the laws; that as soon as he had shown what the sack contained he should be at liberty to proceed wherever he might choose. "Well, Senor, since you insist on seeing my salt provisions, I will show them to you," said the Captain. "Jumbo, open that sack and throw the contents out on the table." Jumbo did as he was ordered, the whites of his eyes glancing, and his mouth at a broad grin, for he was certainly not ignorant of what he had been carrying, and, untying the string, out rolled thirteen gory heads. The magistrates started back, some with amazement, others with horror expressed in their countenances. "There they are," cried the Captain, "and at your service." "How did you become possessed of them?" asked the president. "This bright sabre served me to cut the fruit from the branches," he answered, and then gave an account of how he had been attacked by the Sallee rover, and succeeded in driving her off, after she had lost a large number of her men, besides those who had fallen on the deck of his ship, and whose heads he now exhibited. The magistrates were greatly astonished, and highly delighted at his gallantry, for the Moors had much interfered with their trade of late, and had cut off a number of their ships. For although Admiral Blake, during Cromwell's firm rule, had punished them severely and kept them in order, they had, since Charles the Second came to the throne, resumed their predatory habits with greater vigour than ever, while the Governments of southern Europe had been too much engaged with their own internal affairs to send any of their squadrons to keep them in order. The president highly complimented Captain Benbow on his gallantry, and invited him to a public banquet, to take place the next day in the Town-Hall. What became of the heads history does not narrate. They were probably returned to their sack after due note had been taken of them, and carried out to sea, and sunk with a shot or two in deep water; for it would certainly have been believed that they would not rest quietly on Christian soil, the Spaniards overlooking the fact that the ancestors of these Moors had once possessed the country as lords and masters. Through Captain Benbow's liberality, Roger and Stephen obtained fitting costumes to attend him at the banquet, where they had the satisfaction of seeing his health drunk and due honour done him, while they also had, through an interpreter, to give some account of their own adventures. Some time was occupied in unloading the ship and receiving a fresh cargo. Before this was accomplished, Captain Benbow, to his astonishment, received an invitation from Charles the Second, King of Spain, to visit Madrid, and to give him personally an account of his exploit, of which his Majesty had heard through the officials at Cadiz. "I know nothing of kings and courts, and if I go, shall feel like a fish out of water," said the Captain to his young companions. "But, you see, kings' commands must be obeyed, and perchance I may get a good turn or some benefit to my trade. I should like to have taken you with me, but as the king has not invited you, and I require some one to look after the ship, I must leave you behind." Roger and Stephen were in hopes that Captain Benbow might have taken them, as they would have wonderfully liked to have seen Madrid, but they were proud of having so much confidence placed in them, and they promised to do their best to attend to the duties of the ship both when unloading and loading, and their experience at Bristol enabled them to do the task. They had some difficulty from not knowing Spanish, but they got over it with the help of gesticulating, and a word thrown in occasionally by those who knew English. There were several English merchants, even at that time, settled at Cadiz, some of whom were shipping by the _Benbow_ frigate. These, finding two young well-educated Englishmen on board, invited them to their houses, and were highly interested at hearing of their adventures during their captivity among the Moors, and their remarkable escape. As they became known they were made a great deal of, and thus greatly enjoyed their stay at Cadiz, though they were anxious to return home to relieve the anxiety of their fathers; but Captain Benbow had told them that the _Dolphin_ had long since been reported lost, and they probably had been given up by their friends as dead. They were delighted, therefore, when one evening, the day's work being over, they saw, advancing along the pier, a cavalier mounted on a stout mule, with a couple of attendants on foot. Till he drew near they did not recognise the mud-bespattered, dust-covered traveller as their Captain, but he soon made himself known by his hearty cheer as he saw them. "How fares it, lads, with you; how fares it?" he shouted out. "All right with the _Benbow_?" "Ay, ay, sir," answered Roger. "All right with the ship and all right with us. How did you fare with the king and his courtiers?" "A mighty deal better than I expected. Though they live in a big palace and are dressed in fine clothes, there is nothing after all, as I could see, about them to be afraid of, so I cracked my jokes and smoked my pipe, made myself at home, and his Majesty promised to write to his brother King of England, and tell him what a fine brave fellow he thought me, and it would be shame in him if he did not make me one of his own captains. The King of Spain asked me if I would become one of his, but I shook my head, and told him that I was born an Englishman, and an Englishman I hoped to die; that I had no wish to fight, but that if I did fight it would be for my country and my country alone. I am not exactly like Master William Penn, who thinks we can do without fighting altogether. The king gave me a letter which I am to deliver, and he said that he would write direct through his ambassador in London, so that this little affair of mine will make more stir in the world than I at first expected." The Captain received a further welcome from the inhabitants of Cadiz, who considered that in some way or other his feat reflected a great lustre on themselves. The exhibition of Moors' heads was in accordance with the barbarous customs of the times, and the grim humour of the brave Captain greatly took the fancy of people of all classes. As the _Benbow_ frigate sailed out of the bay, flags were flying at the mastheads of all the other vessels in the harbour and from the flagstaffs on shore, and guns were firing and trumpets braying to do her gallant Captain honour. CHAPTER SIX. The _Benbow_ frigate sailed out of the Bay of Cadiz bound for England. The wind was fair, the sea smooth, and she carried every stitch of canvas which could be set, eager to reach her destination, the port of London. Stephen and Roger walked the deck with her commander, who was in high spirits at the success of his voyage, for he had secured not only a good freight out and home, but had received a bag of gold and other presents from the King of Spain as a testimony to his gallantry. "And are you two young men willing to continue to sail with me?" he asked. "With all my heart," answered Roger promptly. "It has been the earnest desire of my heart ever since you came into our bay; and long before that I wished to go to sea, though it mattered but little to me with whom I should sail. Now I know you, I shall never wish to serve under another commander." Captain Benbow smiled at Roger's enthusiasm. "I may hope to keep afloat for many a year to come, and I am always glad to have those with me who serve from affection rather than from interest, so you may depend on having a berth on board whatever ship I may command, and I will never let the grass grow under the keel if I can help it. And, Master Battiscombe, what do you say to following sea life?" "I have not made up my mind for doing so," answered Stephen. "I had no intention of going afloat till I was appointed supercargo of the _Dolphin_, and the experience I have had does not tempt me to go again, though I thank you, sir, for the offer, and am bound to confess that I would rather serve under you than any other commander." "Well, well, each man to his taste," said the Captain. "I conclude that as you have been so long absent from home, and your friends must have been in great anxiety for your fate, that you would like to land as soon as possible. Should the weather permit, I will put you on shore either at the Start or the Bill of Portland. I cannot promise to run in to West Bay, lest I should be delayed in my passage up channel; may be, however, we shall fall in with a Torbay fisherman, or some craft bound to Lyme, which will land you still nearer home." Roger, on hearing this, was strongly tempted to ask leave to accompany Stephen, for he longed once more to see his father and uncle, and sweet Alice and Madam Pauline, but he restrained his feelings; he feared that should he once leave Captain Benbow it might not be again so easy to join him. He therefore said nothing on the subject, but applied himself as diligently as before to improving his knowledge of seamanship and navigation. Nothing has been said of Jumbo since he was employed in carrying the Moors' heads on shore. He had devoted himself to Captain Benbow, and fully expected to continue in his service. Sam Stokes also had entered as a seaman on board the _Benbow_ frigate, but he was greatly changed; he had never been quite himself since they sailed from Cadiz. "I cannot help thinking of those Moors' heads," he said one day to Roger, who inquired what was the matter. "Sometimes I see them dangling, and they taunt me for having deserted the ship when I had sworn on their Koran to stick to them to the last." "I am not very well able to say whether you are right or wrong in what you have done; still I think you were right in escaping from the Moors, for you would have died a Mohammedan if you had remained with them, and I hope you will die a Christian," said Roger, who was greatly puzzled to console poor Sam. "Cannot say, sir," murmured Sam. "I was a very poor one, or I should not have turned Moor; even to save my life. There were a good many other poor fellows who refused to turn, and got cruelly treated in consequence. It seems to me that I acted like a big coward, when, to save myself, I agreed to become a Moor, and I should have been served right if I had never been able to get away from them." "At all events, you have great reason to be thankful that you did get away from them," said Roger. "Now, you have to see that you behave yourself like a Christian man in future." "I will try," said Sam, gravely. "I wish you would speak to the Captain and have those heads thrown overboard." On this it occurred to Roger that the best thing was to tell Captain Benbow of the hallucination under which Sam was suffering. "I will soon settle that matter," said the Captain, and he directed one of the mates to go forward and tell the men that if he ordered them to heave overboard the Moorish heads ranged on the forecastle, they were to pretend to do so. Presently he came on deck, and calling Sam aft, asked how he dared to have allowed those heads to remain on the forecastle. He then, keeping Sam by him, ordered the men to heave them into the sea, and not let one remain. They, being prepared, went through the action of heaving heads overboard. Sam looked on with open eyes and mouth agape. "Now, my man," said the Captain, "we have got rid of those Moorish heads." "Ay, ay," said Sam, looking over the side to see some of them floating astern. "I hope we have seen the last of them; it's my belief they have all gone to the bottom." After this the _Benbow_ frigate continued her course across the Bay of Biscay without meeting with any adventure. One day the Captain was talking over his plans with Stephen. "When I get to London, as soon as I have discharged my cargo and secured another freight, one of the first things I shall have to do will be to present myself to King James and see what notice he is inclined to take of the King of Spain's recommendation." "To King James!" exclaimed Stephen. "Why, I was not aware that King Charles the Second was dead." "Dead he is though, and, as the Spaniards say, died a true Catholic. Cannot say it is much to his credit, as he always pretended to his subjects to be a Protestant, and now that King James, who is more honest in that respect, acknowledges himself to be a Catholic, the French and the Spaniards are rejoicing at the thought that England will be turned back to the old faith, and that the object of the Spanish Armada will be gained." "Heaven forbid that such should be the case!" exclaimed Stephen. "I have no wish for it, and do not believe the people of England will consent to such a change," remarked the Captain; "but as I am a tarpaulin, as they call us, I do not trouble myself with affairs on shore, and it is my business to obey the laws, and do my duty to whatever king is on the throne." "I cannot altogether agree with you there," said Stephen. "Our fathers fought to gain our civil and religious liberty, and it behoves us, their children, to defend those liberties with our lives." The Captain shrugged his shoulders, remarking that he had not given his thoughts to such matters. The news he had heard made Stephen meditate a great deal, and become more than ever anxious to return home. At length the Lizard was made, and the eyes of the adventurers were gladdened with the sight once more of their native land. The wind being fair, the _Benbow_ frigate soon afterwards passed the Start, when she came up with a small vessel running in for the land. The Captain hailed her. "Where are you bound for?" he asked. "Lyme," was the answer. "Heave-to, then, for I have a passenger for you." "Now, Battiscombe, here is an opportunity if you wish to take advantage of it." "Thank you, sir; I will do so," said Stephen. In another minute his small bag of clothing was got on deck. He thanked Captain Benbow for all his kindness; he and Roger grasped each other's hands; they felt the parting more than their words could express. "Tell them all about me," said Roger; "how much I should have liked to come home, but that I am bound to the ship and cannot leave Captain Benbow." He sent many more messages, which need not be repeated. A boat was lowered, and Stephen was speedily carried on board the trader, which stood on towards Lyme, too far off then to be perceived, while the frigate, having hoisted her boat in, continued her course up channel. The Bill of Portland was soon passed, and the high cliffs of the Isle of Wight sighted. Before the sun rose the next day, the _Benbow_ frigate had run through the Straits of Dover, and was about to haul round the North Foreland, when a heavy north-westerly gale sprang up, which compelled her quickly to shorten all sail. In vain an attempt was made to steer for the Downs; the gale increased with such fury that it became evident that she would run a fearful risk of being driven on the Goodwin Sands. The ship was stout and well found, and Captain Benbow still hoped to beat up against the wind; but he was driven farther and farther from the English coast, while under his lee he had the dangerous Flemish bank. Few men, however, knew the shoals of that coast better than he did. Now the ship was put on one tack, now on another, but on each tack she lost ground. He might, to be sure, have run for Dunkerque, Ostend, or other places along the coast, but night was coming on, and to steer in among the sandbanks was a dangerous undertaking, with the weather so thick and squally as it then was, and without a pilot; still, unless the _Benbow_ frigate could beat off the coast,--it was one of two alternatives which remained--she might ride to her anchors, though risk of her dragging them was very great. Still, as long as her masts and sails remained uninjured, Captain Benbow resolved to try and keep to sea; a shift of wind might enable him to gain either the Downs or the Thames. The cool intrepid way in which Captain Benbow managed his ship excited Roger's admiration, while the crew, accustomed to confide in his skill, executed his orders with prompt obedience. When morning at length broke, dark clouds covered the sky, while leaden seas, capped with foam, rolled up around them, but no land was in sight to leeward, which showed that they had not struggled in vain; still the wind was blowing as strong as ever, and, stiff as was the _Benbow_ frigate, it would have been dangerous to set more sail; indeed, she was already carrying as much as she could bear. "If the gale does not increase we shall do well," observed Captain Benbow to Roger. "As soon as it moderates we may stand in for the Thames." As the Captain had been on deck all night, he now went below to snatch a short sleep, leaving his first officer in command. Roger was also glad to turn in, for he could scarcely keep his eyes open. He might have been asleep for about a couple of hours, when he was awakened by hearing two loud crashes in rapid succession. He sprang up on deck to discover, to his dismay, that both mainmast and foremast were gone by the board. The Captain was already there issuing his orders to clear the wreck, and to prevent the butts of the masts striking the sides of the ship. Never, perhaps, before had the _Benbow_ frigate been in greater peril, and it was more difficult than ever to keep her off the shoals. The long dark night was coming on, the masts were pounding away against the sides, having been cut adrift. An effort was made to rig a spar on the stump of the foremast, so as to keep steerage-way on the ship, the Captain having resolved to steer for the Scheldt, in which river he hoped to find safe anchorage. Owing to the way the ship was tumbling about, some hours passed, however, before the jury-mast could be rigged and sail set on it. The ship was then kept as much as possible to the westward, and Captain Benbow expressed a hope that he should be able to reach the mouth of the river. Before the morning came the wind had dropped considerably, and had shifted to the southward, whereon the ship's head was immediately turned in the direction of the Thames. She had gone but a short distance, when a sail, which had been sighted at daylight coming from the northward, approached under Dutch colours. "Mynheers and I have always been friendly, and if yonder vessel has any spars on board, I doubt not that her Captain will gladly supply us with anything we want." The stranger soon drew near, and Captain Benbow having explained his wants, which were indeed very evident, the Dutch Captain at once offered not only to furnish him with spars, but, it being almost calm, to send some of his crew on board to assist in getting them set up. The offer was too good to be refused. The stranger was the _Elephant_, Captain Coopman, who, knowing Captain Benbow by reputation, said that he was delighted to be of service to him. While the two ships lay close alongside each other, their crews busily engaged with the work in hand, another ship was approaching, which was not discovered till she was a couple of miles or so off. Captain Coopman, on observing her, expressed his astonishment and annoyance. "She is French," he exclaimed. "By not keeping a proper look-out, I have allowed myself to be caught." "But I cannot permit you to be caught by the Frenchman," said Captain Benbow. "Thanks, friend," answered the Dutch Captain. "I would willingly not expose you to an attack from the Frenchman, but I cannot help myself. See, the wind has fallen completely; it has become a dead calm." While he was speaking, a boat was seen to put off from the stranger, and as she approached, it was observed that she was full of armed men. Captain Benbow, on this, ordered the guns to be loaded and run out, and directed his men, while the Dutch Captain, going on board his ship, followed his example. In a short time the stranger was alongside. Captain Benbow stood at the gangway. "You are welcome to come on board if you visit us as a friend," he said, "but I cannot allow you to step on my deck if you approach as an enemy." "Whither are you bound, and to what nation do you belong?" asked the stranger. "I am English," answered Benbow, "and am bound from Cadiz to the Thames. You, I see by the colours you carry, are French." "What is the other vessel alongside you?" asked the French Captain. "She is Dutch, and has delayed her voyage to render me assistance in getting fresh masts set up, as you will observe, mine having been carried away in the gale." "I regret to have to interfere with her, but I must, notwithstanding, make her my prize," said the French Captain. "If you make prize of her you must make prize of me," answered Captain Benbow. "In common gratitude I cannot allow her to be captured while I have the means of defending her." "Notwithstanding, I must take her, for I am bound to make prizes of all Dutch vessels I fall in with," answered the stranger. "At present, my friend, I think we are more likely to make you and your boat's crew prisoners," said Captain Benbow. "See, you are under our guns, and I have only to give the word, and we can sink you in a moment; however, what do you say to a compromise? You give me your word that you will let this vessel escape, and I promise not to make prisoners of you and your boat's crew, which I shall otherwise most certainly do." "Who are you?" asked the French Captain, standing up in his boat. He appeared to be in the prime of manhood, and exhibited a tall yet well-knit figure, and a fine bold handsome countenance. "John Benbow, at your service," answered the Captain. "May I ask your name?" "I am Jean Bart, in the service of the King of France. I am pretty well known in these seas." "That indeed you are; a better seaman does not sail out of Dunkerque," answered Benbow. "I have often heard of you and your doings, and from the number of prizes you have taken, I judge that you can afford to let one go without any loss to your reputation or purse. I tell you frankly that I am glad of having an opportunity of meeting you." Captain Bart looked pleased at the compliment paid him. "Come, my friend," said Captain Benbow, "agree to my proposal. Step on board; crack a bottle with Captain Coopman and me. Your men shall be entertained forward, and while the calm lasts you need be in no hurry to take your departure." Without further hesitation Captain Bart agreed to the proposal. "I trust to your honour, Captain Benbow," he said. "You may rest assured that, as you have given your word to allow the _Elephant_ to continue her voyage unmolested, you will be able to leave this ship whenever you desire." The three Captains were soon seated in the comfortable cabin of the _Benbow_ frigate. Captain Benbow, having regarded Captain Bart for an instant, put out his hand, exclaiming, "Why, we served together as lads for two years or more under Admiral Ruyter--surely I am not mistaken-- and saw a good deal of pretty hard fighting." "You are perfectly right," answered Captain Bart. "I remained with him till I was twenty-one and a half years of age, when I returned to my native town of Dunkerque, not supposing at the time that I should have to fight against my old friends the Dutch." "You and I must be about the same age, Captain Bart," observed Benbow, after they had been comparing notes of certain events which had taken place. "I was born in the year 1650," said Bart. "Very same year that I first saw the light," observed Benbow. "We both of us have been ploughing the salt water pretty nearly ever since." "For my part I expect to plough it to the end of my days, as most of my ancestors have done; for we men of Dunkerque are born seamen, and fond of the ocean," said Bart. "And to my belief I am the first of my race that ever went to sea," said Benbow. Roger had been an interested listener to the conversation carried on in English, which Bart spoke remarkably well, as did Captain Coopman. "Will you tell Captain Bart your adventure with the Moors' heads, sir?" he said, thinking it would interest their guests. The other Captain was eager to hear it, and Benbow gave the account, and told of the wonderful way in which Roger and Stephen had escaped. "You acted bravely, my young friend," said Captain Bart, turning to Roger. "It required no small amount of nerve and courage to escape from the _Tiger_. Those Sallee rovers have become the pest of the ocean. I hope that my Government will send me in search of them, though for my part I would rather catch them alive than cut off their heads, as each Moor fetches a good price as a slave, and very useful well-behaved servants they make, always provided their tempers are not irritated, and it is prudent not to allow them to carry arms of any description." After some time Captain Bart rose to take his leave. His men had, he found, been hospitably entertained by the crew of the _Benbow_ frigate. Very loath to quit her, the Frenchmen, embracing their hosts in a most demonstrative manner, swore eternal friendship, expressing the hope that England and France would hereafter, as now, remain on friendly terms. The Dutchmen had of late been suffering too much from the privateers of Dunkerque to regard the French with any amicable feeling, but wisely kept on board their own vessel. "Now, Captain Bart," said Benbow. "I must trust to your honour not to interfere with our friend here." "Certainly, certainly," answered Captain Bart, and shaking hands with his brother Captains, he stepped into his boat, which pulled leisurely towards his frigate. "Now, my friend," said Benbow to Captain Coopman, "yonder Frenchman may be a very honourable person, but it is as well not to trust him more than we can help. I would advise you to make sail directly it becomes dark, so that you may put as wide a distance as possible between your two vessels before to-morrow morning. I will remain here and show my lights for some time longer, so that he will not know in what direction you have gone." The Dutch Captain, considering Benbow's advice sound, promised to follow it. The calm continued till about half the first watch was over, when a light breeze sprang up from the northward, thus placing the English and Dutch vessels to windward of Jean Bart's frigate. The _Elephant_ immediately made all sail, and stood away for the Texel, not allowing a glimmer of light to proceed from her sides, and Captain Benbow trimmed his lanterns brighter than ever, and waited for an hour or more, when, a breeze freshening, he shaped a course for the Thames. "Come," he said, "we have done a good turn to our Dutch friend; I hope that he will manage to escape from their clutches." CHAPTER SEVEN. We must now return to Eversden. Months had passed by since Roger and Stephen had sailed from Bristol, and no news had been received of them. At length one day Mr Battiscombe made his appearance, having ridden over from Langton Park, and desired to have a word with the Colonel alone. He looked graver and sadder than usual. "I bring you news," he said, "and I beg you to break it to my friend Willoughby. Our two sons, as you know, sailed in the _Dolphin_. The owners write me word that so long a time has elapsed since they heard of her without receiving tidings of her, that they are compelled to give her up as lost. She had not been heard of at any of the ports up the Mediterranean. It is within the pale of possibility that the lads may have escaped, yet surely we should have heard." "God's will be done," said Mr Willoughby when he heard the account. "I will not give up all hope of their return, though what has happened to them it is indeed hard to guess; still there are chances by which they may have effected their escape." Though he could not at all times hide his grief, yet he bore up remarkably well. The only person in the family who would not consent to believe that Roger and Stephen were lost was Alice Tufnell. "If it had been known that the _Dolphin_ had gone down, and there was one survivor who could report that all the rest had perished, we might then believe that the ship had foundered," she said, talking to Madam Pauline. "Who can tell but that the _Dolphin_ may have been driven on the shore of some unknown island, whence the crew have been hitherto unable to escape? I have read of many such adventures. The ocean is very wide, and perhaps Roger and Stephen are even now living the lives of castaways, and engaged, may be, in building a vessel in which they will some day return home. If I were a man I should like to fit out a ship and go in search of them." "My dear, such undertakings appear very easy to the imagination, but practically the matter is very different," answered Madam Pauline. "It would be like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay. Supposing that the two dear lads are still alive, you would not know in what direction to go. You might sail about the ocean for years and visit every known and unknown island, and yet not find them. We must have patience and simply trust in God's mercy to bring them back if He had thought fit to save their lives." When, however, not only month after month, but year after year went by, and the young men did not make their appearance, even Alice began to lose hope of seeing them. She spoke of them less frequently than formerly, though a shadow of sadness occasionally crossed her fair brow, but yet little had occurred to draw out the character of Alice Tufnell. She was determined and energetic, zealous in all she undertook; at the same time she was gentle and affectionate to those who had befriended her, with her sweet and loving disposition and sweet temper. Her voice was sweet and musical, and Madam Pauline and the Colonel delighted in hearing her singing. She was now about seventeen, her figure of moderate height, well rounded and graceful, while her countenance exhibited the serene and joyous spirit which dwelt within. She frequently accompanied the Colonel on a small pony, which had been Roger's, on his walks about the country. Sometimes she attended Madam Pauline, who, however, did not often extend her perambulations beyond the grounds or the neighbouring village. Why it was she had scarcely been able to say, but, when not engaged, Alice frequently made her way across the Downs to the top of the cliff, sometimes descending to Ben Rullock's cottage, not that she often found the old man at home, as he was generally out fishing, or gone away to Lyme, or some other place on the coast, to do commissions for the villages. Sometimes she would sit in Roger's favourite nook, at others would pace up and down on the cliffs, gazing out over the ocean, now blue and calm, and sparkling in the sunlight, now of a leaden hue, covered with foaming seas which came roaring up on the beach with a thundering sound. Of course she more frequently came when the wind was light and the water calm, and she could sit and gaze at them with satisfaction. She had one day gone down to old Ben's cottage. Not finding him at home, she had strolled along the beach till she turned with her face towards Lyme, when she observed a boat slowly rowing along the shore. That must be old Ben's, and he probably has Toby with him, and they appear to have a passenger. It was curiosity perhaps which tempted her to linger for the arrival of the old man, to hear the news from Lyme, as it reached that place generally a day or two sooner than Eversden. She waited, now stooping to pick up a shell, now to mark with a stick she carried in her hand how far the sea had risen on the beach. Looking up as the boat drew near, she observed that the passenger had risen; as he did so he lifted his hat, but he again sat down as old Ben and Toby pulled rapidly in for the beach, up which they ran the bows of the boat. The stranger then stepping out advanced towards her, and once more bowed. "Miss Alice Tufnell?" he said in a tone of inquiry. "That is my name," she answered, looking at him with a somewhat doubtful expression. He was a young man, tallish and thin, with a complexion burnt to a dark brown, his countenance showing that he had undergone toil, if not probably also sickness and suffering. "How do you know my name?" she asked. "What, Alice! what, Miss Tufnell! don't you remember Stephen Battiscombe!" exclaimed the stranger. "Is it possible?" she exclaimed, putting out her hand and gazing at his face. "I knew you were not lost; I always said so. And Roger, my dear brother Roger, why has he not come with you? Where is he?" she asked in an anxious tone. "He is serving with the brave Captain Benbow. Though he longed to come and see you all, yet he would not quit his ship till she arrives in the Thames, and not then unless there is time to come down here and return before the Captain again puts to sea. Roger is wedded to a sailor's life, notwithstanding the dangers he has already run in following it; but he bade me give his best and truest love to you, Miss Alice, and his father and uncle and aunt." Mistress Alice lingered for some time on the beach, so interested in listening to what Stephen was telling her, that she forgot he might desire to be proceeding homewards to relieve the anxiety of his own family. At length, however, Stephen suggested that they should proceed towards Eversden, when she led the way by the narrow path up the cliff. They then walked on, somewhat slowly it must be confessed, which was but natural, that Stephen might have time to narrate some of his adventures since the loss of the _Dolphin_. Madam Pauline was the first person they met, and she uttered an exclamation of surprise as she saw Mistress Alice approaching with a strange young gentleman, with whom she appeared on terms of intimacy. "Who do you think he is, aunt?" asked Alice. "Roger; no, he cannot be Roger; surely he must be Stephen Battiscombe!" "You are right in your conjecture, my dear Madam Pauline," said Stephen; and the little French lady, seizing both his hands and looking into his face kindly, then hurried him off to see the Colonel and Mr Willoughby, to whom he had to narrate, as briefly as he could, his and Roger's adventures, and give the messages which his friend had sent by him. Mr Willoughby was anxious to see Roger before he again sailed, but his difficulty was to know where to find him. "I must write to Master Handscombe," he observed; "he will ascertain when the _Benbow_ frigate comes into port, and will easily convey a message on board desiring him to come, and requesting the Captain to give him leave." After partaking of some refreshment served to him by the fair hands of Mistress Alice, Stephen set off to return home. Next morning he came back to Eversden. He omitted in his hurry, he said, to pay old Ben Rullock for bringing him from Lyme. He invited Mistress Alice to accompany him to the beach. "It is a path I have often trod alone of late," she answered, "and I know not why I should hesitate in accompanying you." As Madam Pauline did not forbid her, she accompanied Stephen. Their conversation was probably interesting to themselves, but it need not be recorded. Stephen, of course, had a vast deal to tell her of his adventures, which she had not hitherto heard. This made them linger on the way, and sit down on the top of the cliffs, that they might converse more at their ease. Certain it was that Madam Pauline considered it her duty to chide Mistress Alice for being away so long from home, although Stephen took the blame on himself by saying that he had to wait for some time to see old Ben, who was out in his boat, but he promised to try and keep better time in future. Day after day, on some excuse or other, he returned to Eversden. His father, he said, had written to his friend Mr Kempson at Bristol, who would, he believed, restore him to his position in the counting-house, while he hoped, from the encouragement he had before received, that he should soon make a satisfactory income, which would enable him to set up house for himself. He did not venture to say who would share his fortune with him, or to hint that Mistress Alice might be interested in the matter. All this time no news had been received of Roger. Mr Willoughby had written to Mr Handscombe, who was still in London. He replied that the _Benbow_ frigate had not yet arrived, though she was long overdue, but the merchants to whom her freight was consigned had received notice of her having left Cadiz. Except from the account sent them through Stephen, they had not heard of her being in the channel. They spoke of the heavy gale which had occurred in the North Sea, and fears were entertained that she might have met with some disaster. This made the family at Eversden very anxious. Mr Handscombe wrote other news, however, to Mr Willoughby. He spoke of the extreme unpopularity of the king, especially among the Dissenters. Notwithstanding his promise not to support the Popish system, and to allow the right of free worship to all his subjects, he had already introduced innovations. The man who had governed Scotland with fire and sword, and murdered through his agents numberless persons for adhering to their religious principles, was, it was said, likely to commence a similar system of terrorism in England. Large numbers of Londoners, ever opposed to tyranny, were ready to revolt as soon as a leader should come forward. That leader had already been found, and only waited for an opportunity to carry out the proposed project, and to dethrone the Popish king. It was hoped that numbers in all parts of the country, especially in the western counties, would follow their example as soon as the signal was given, and the man to whom all looked as their leader had made his appearance on the scene. Mr Handscombe mentioned no names, he only spoke of reports, nor did he say whence the expected chief was likely to come; but Mr Willoughby was fully convinced that rebellion on a large scale was in prospect. He did mention the contents of this part of his letter to his brother-in-law. He felt sure that the Colonel would take no part in any proceeding of the sort, and might, from his loyal principles, feel himself called upon to support King James by sending notice of any information he might obtain, if not by taking more active measures. Mr Willoughby, however, rode over the next day to Langton Hall, and had a long consultation with Mr Battiscombe, who would, he knew, cordially support the cause calculated to overthrow the Papal system with which the country was threatened. They had a long and interesting discussion, at which his elder sons as well as Stephen were allowed to be present. Stephen had now to set off for Bristol, Mr Kempson having agreed to receive him, but begged that he might pay one more visit to Eversden to bid his friends farewell. He rode over on a good horse that he might have a longer time to spend there. He found Mistress Alice about to set off on her favourite walk to the cliffs. As Madam Pauline was engaged up-stairs, and the Colonel was out in the fields, he did not hesitate to offer to accompany her, and she did not forbid him. They had just reached the Downs when they saw three vessels, one of large size and two others of smaller dimensions, standing in for the land. They watched them with much interest, Alice wondering what they could be, as ships of large burden seldom came near that part of the coast, Stephen observed that he knew something about the matter. "His father had received notice that morning that the Duke of Argyll, with a large force, had landed in Scotland, that the Highlands were in revolt, and that the Duke of Monmouth had sailed from the Texel. There can be little doubt," he added, "therefore, that the ships we see belong to him, although they are fewer in number than I should have expected." "Then is there to be a rebellion in this part of the country?" asked Alice, in a tone of considerable anxiety. "Will the scenes I have read of in the time of Cromwell be again enacted?" "I fear it is the only way by which we can get our rights, my sweet Alice," answered Stephen. "I would that war could be averted, but better to have war than to be tyrannically treated, our religious and civil rights trampled on as they have been for many years past; but, for my own part, I am ready to draw the sword in defence of our freedom." "But can our freedom thus be secured?" asked Alice. "All the blood shed in former years gained nothing, and in the end the king, who has just died, was more securely seated on the throne than his father had been. You belong to a peaceable profession, and whatever is done, I entreat you not to engage personally in warlike undertakings." "I thought, Mistress Alice, that you were a heroine, and would have been ready to gird on my sword and bid me go forth and fight in a noble cause," said Stephen, in a half playful, half serious tone. "And so I would if I were convinced the cause was noble, right, and just, with a prospect of success." "I promise you, Mistress Alice, not to draw sword unless in a righteous cause," said Stephen. "Will that satisfy you?" "If the cause is righteous; but who is to settle that?" said Alice gravely. While they were speaking the ships stood off the coast, the wind flowing northerly, and soon again were lost to sight. "Perhaps after all that may not be the squadron which has been looked for," said Stephen. "Then you have uselessly been made anxious." "I trust it may be so," said Alice. And they continued their walk discoursing on subjects far more interesting to themselves than politics. Stephen spoke of his expected career at Bristol, and hoped, he said, to pay occasional visits to Langton and the spot endeared to him more than his paternal home. Though neither wished to return, they remembered that Madam Pauline and the Colonel might naturally complain were they long absent, and they at length bent their steps homeward. As they approached the manor house they were met by a loud shout; presently Roger came rushing out towards them. He greeted Alice as a sister, and shook Stephen warmly by the hand. "I have just arrived from London town," he exclaimed. "We only got into the Thames a week ago. I scarcely expected to get leave, but Master Handscombe pressed the point with the Captain, and undertook that I should return in ten days, so that my holiday will be a very short one, and I must make the most of it." Alice and Stephen expressed their delight at seeing him, and inquired the cause of his delay. He then described to them the gale in which the frigate had lost her masts, and their strange encounter with the French Captain Bart. Stephen required very little pressing to stop for the evening meal, which was soon to be placed on the table. He mentioned to Mr Willoughby that he and Alice had seen some strange vessels in the offing. Mr Willoughby seemed deeply interested at the account, and became very thoughtful. "It agrees with the message which Roger brought me down from London, and which I would have you carry to your father, for he would intrust nothing to him in writing. The future man is on his way, and whether our slavery is to continue or freedom is to be obtained depends on the preparations made for his reception. If the gentlemen and yeomen of the West rise to a man, success would be secured; pray say that I shall be glad to have some conversation with your father without loss of time." As the days were long, Stephen had broad daylight with which to return. Roger accompanied him, as the two young men had naturally much to talk about. Stephen again spoke of the vessels they had seen off the coast. He was convinced that they portended something of importance, and he proposed to Roger to ride into Lyme the next morning to learn any news the people of that town might have obtained on the subject. Roger gladly consented to accompany him, remarking, however, that he did not feel deeply interested in the matter. "Captain Benbow says that a sailor should stick to his ship and look after his men, and not trouble himself with affairs on shore, and I intend to follow his example." On getting back to Eversden, Roger had so much to talk about that he kept the family, who were eager to listen to him, up to a later hour than usual. Notwithstanding, he was on foot at an early hour, and mounting his father's horse, he in a short time joined Stephen on the road to Lyme. The road was somewhat circuitous, hilly, and rough, so that it took them nearly two hours to reach the high ground above the town, whereupon they gazed across it over the blue sea. Stephen exclaimed, "Why, those must be the very three ships I saw yesterday evening; then I was not wrong in my conjecture, they must be the ships; they have, probably, troops and stores on board, and perhaps the Duke is with them. Let us ride on and ascertain." Riding down into the valley, on the sides and at the bottom of which the town is built, the houses in outskirts being scattered somewhat irregularly about, they proceeded to the "George Inn," where they put up their horses, and to their surprise they found that no one was at all certain as to the object of the vessels in the offing; they were said to be Dutch, but they showed no colours. It was supposed that they were about to proceed along the coast; still there was some excitement. A boat had been seen to land at Seaton, some way to the east, and had put some persons on shore; who they were, and where they had gone, no one knew. Unable to gain any definite information in the town, Roger and Stephen walked down towards the Cob, where they saw a boat pulling out towards the ships. "If we had been a little sooner we should have been able to go in her and ascertain what those vessels really are," observed Stephen. "We shall know soon enough when the boat returns," observed Roger. But the morning went by, and still the boat did not come back to the shore. This seemed to have created some suspicions in the minds of the authorities. They then proceeded to the Church Cliffs, to the west of the town, from which lovely spot, as they walked up and down, they could observe the vessels. Here they found a number of persons, who all offered various surmises as to the character of the strangers. Among the persons present were the Mayor and other authorities of the town. The former suggested that a gun should be fired to recall the boat, when, it was thought, if she had been retained for any particular reason, a friendly signal would be made. "An excellent idea, Mr Mayor," answered another member of the Corporation. "But to confess the truth, we have not a grain of powder to fire a musket; we must wait patiently till the boat comes back." The day passed by, till towards evening the post arrived. On this the Mayor and several of the Corporation hurried to the post-house. The post had brought a weekly _News-Letter_, in which it was stated that three ships had lately sailed from a port in Holland, and were supposed by the English ambassador to be bound either for England or Scotland, and that the Duke of Monmouth was aboard. "What if those three ships out there are those spoken of!" exclaimed the Mayor. "We shall have an invasion, rebellion, and much fighting in these parts. My friends, we must call out the borough militia, we must oppose the landing, we must turn the tide of war from our own town to some other part of the coast." This speech was highly applauded by the loyal part of the inhabitants. The drum was immediately beat to summon the lieges to defend the town. A very few answered to the call; instead of doing so, their Captain mounted his horse, and galloped off to carry the information to London. The Mayor, finding that he had gone, with several other members of the Corporation quietly slipped out of the town, and in a short time the whole place was in a state of confusion. No one had been able to say what was about to take place. Seven boats were now seen approaching the beach west of the Cob. Roger and Stephen went down to meet them. "Come," said Stephen, "let us go down and meet them. We shall soon know all about the matter." "But, surely, you will not join them whether the Duke is there or not, till you understand what are their intentions," said Roger. "If the Duke comes, as I believe he will, to oppose the Papists and establish civil and religious liberty, I am bound to aid him with my life's blood," answered Stephen, enthusiastically. In a short time the boats got near the beach, and from the largest a tall graceful man of handsome countenance, dressed in purple, with a star on his breast and a sword by his side, stepped on shore, when about eighty-three other persons, many of them by their dress being gentlemen, landed at the same time. As soon as all were on shore, the Duke, in a loud voice, his countenance beaming with satisfaction, exclaimed, "Silence, my friends. Let us now return thanks to God for having preserved us from the dangers of the sea, and especially from the ships which would have prevented our progress." Kneeling down on the sand, all the rest imitating his example, he lifted up his voice in a prayer of thanksgiving, though some of those who might have joined him were silent. The Duke then rising, with a cheerful countenance, drew his sword, and, ordering his men to fall into their ranks, advanced towards the town. Numbers now rushed forward to welcome him and kiss his hand, so that it was with difficulty at times that he could make his way. Among the most eager was Stephen, who, in spite of what Roger had said, hurried up to the Duke and offered his services. The townsmen now came up shouting, "A Monmouth! A Monmouth! Protestant religion." Amid a considerable concourse the Duke made his way to the Church Cliff, where his blue standard with the motto, "Pro religione et libertate." This done, some temporary tables were formed, at which several writers took their seats with books before them, ready to enter the names of those who were willing to enlist under his standard. The volunteers flocked in rapidly, and the number of the force was soon increased by sixty stout young men, for whom arms were provided, chiefly from those stored in the Town-Hall for the use of the militia. The two principal leaders next to the Duke were Lord Grey of Wark, who had landed with a musket on his shoulder, a pair of pistols in his girdle, and, far more important to the cause, a Scotch gentleman, a soldier of experience, Fletcher of Salton, who, taking command of the men, at once ordered some to take possession of the forts, others to guard the avenues, and the remainder to get the arms and ammunition from on board ship, including four field-pieces--the only heavy guns brought with them. Roger had stood aloof, for he very well knew that were he to join, it would be, in the first place, in direct opposition to his uncle's wishes, and besides he had also engaged to serve with Captain Benbow on board a Royal ship, to which he expected shortly to be appointed. He was anxious, therefore, to return home as soon as possible, but he was unwilling to go without first ascertaining whether Stephen had made up his mind to remain with the Duke. He had some little difficulty in finding him among the crowd flocking round the standard, but at length he got up to him and took him by the arm. "I am loth to leave you," he said, "but go I must. Tell me, will you return to Langton and consult your father before joining the Duke? and if so, we should be on the road, for the day is waning, and little more can be done this evening." "I would rather ask you, Roger, if you have made up your mind not to join the noble cause. I tell you that I have resolved to throw in my lot with the Duke. You know not what I sacrifice by so doing, should success fail to attend our enterprise; but it must succeed, and ere many days are over, the Duke will be at the head of an army sufficient to drive James of York from his usurped throne." "I tell you I am sorry that you have so decided," answered Roger. "Am I then to bear any message to your father except to say that you will not return home?" "Yes, tell him that I have joined the Duke; and I am well assured that my brothers will, as soon as they hear of his landing, hasten to his standard." "Have you any other message?" asked Roger. "Yes, one which I know I can confide to you," answered Stephen in a low voice, not free from agitation; "it is to Alice. Tell her that I know I am acting contrary to her advice, and it grieves me deeply to do so, as it may appear that I am regardless of her wishes, but that I consider everything must be sacrificed to the cause of duty, and that no more sacred cause exists than the one in which I am engaged." "I will carry out your wishes," said Roger with a sigh. "It seems to me as if we two had changed places; you used once to act the part of my Mentor, now I am urging my advice on you, though, alack! you appear but little inclined to follow." "It is impossible, Roger, for I have already signed my name as one of the Duke's adherents, and I cannot desert him." Roger, all his expostulations useless, wishing his friend farewell, hurried back to the inn, where he was just in time to prevent his horse from being taken possession of by some of the Duke's zealous adherents, who were eager at once to form a body of cavalry. "Quick, young gentleman, and mount," whispered the landlord; "they have already secured all the steeds they could find at the `Pig and Whistle,' and will be here anon." Roger threw himself into the saddle. As he galloped off he heard shouts calling him back, but using whip and spur he was soon out of the town, nor did he pull rein till he was beyond reach of any pursuers. At the first hamlet through which he passed, several of the people seeing him riding fast, inquired if anything unusual had happened. Without considering that his prudent course would have been to keep silence, he replied, "Yes, the Duke of Monmouth landed this evening at Lyme, and I saw his standard set up in the market-place; what he is going to do, however, is more than I can say." "Hurrah! At last he has come to free us from our Popish tyrants and taxes," cried one of the villagers; and another raised the shout of "A Monmouth! A Monmouth! We will go to him and fight for him if he wants us." Roger rode on, and at the next village gave the same information with a like result. No sooner had he told the people that the Duke had landed, than nearly all were eager to join him. Roger had promised Stephen to ride straight for Langton Hall to inform Mr Battiscombe of what had occurred. He was delayed here and there by having to answer numerous interrogations, and at length he reached the Hall, by which time it was nearly dark. He told a servant to hold his horse while he went into the hall where the family were assembled at supper. "What brings you here, Master Roger, and what has become of Stephen?" asked Mr Battiscombe. "He has joined the standard of the Duke of Monmouth, who landed this afternoon, and he bade me ride on and tell you, being assured that you would approve of his proceeding." "Would that I could join him myself!" exclaimed Mr Battiscombe. "But I can, and I can," cried out two of his other sons, rising from their chairs as they spoke. "We will join him this very night; and you will return with us, Roger, of course." "I am bound homewards," answered Roger. "I could not take such a step without consulting my uncle and father." "For so glorious a cause we ought not to hesitate for a moment," exclaimed one of the young Battiscombes; "but if you will not go with us we must set out without you." "Better wait till to-morrow morning," said Mr Battiscombe. "Employ this evening in preparing your arms, and collecting such articles as you may require." After Roger's sturdy refusal to join the Duke, the young Battiscombes treated him with unusual coldness, barely indeed with civility; he, therefore, wishing them good-evening, mounted his horse and made his way towards the manor-house. "Have you heard anything more about the ships Alice saw last night?" asked his father. "Yes," answered Roger, and he described who had landed from them. "Stephen has joined the Duke, and wanted me much to do the same, but I declined till I had consulted you." "You acted wisely, Roger," said his uncle. "It may be that he will gain the day, it may be that he will lose it; but certain it is that he who brings civil war into a land brings a heavy curse." "And has Stephen actually joined the Duke of Monmouth?" exclaimed Alice, turning pale. "I urged him not to join so desperate a cause as that which the Duke's must be when he comes to oppose constituted authority." "But he does not consider it desperate," said Roger, "but a right noble cause; and judging by the enthusiasm exhibited by the people, if the Duke has brought arms to put into their hands, and officers to drill them, he may speedily have a large army under his command." "That remains to be seen," observed the Colonel. "I had hoped not to witness another civil war in our country." Mr Willoughby had all the time kept silence. Although, perhaps, thankful that his son had not joined Monmouth's standard, he rejoiced that the Duke had safely landed and that the people showed enthusiasm in his cause. His belief was that the whole of the west of England would quickly be up in arms, that the army of James would melt away, and that a bloodless victory would be obtained over the tyrant. He made a remark to that effect to the Colonel. "I wish no ill to the Duke of Monmouth," he answered. "If he succeeds he will be called the deliverer of our country, if he fails he will be branded as a traitor. It all depends on the prudence with which he acts, no less than on the purity of his views. If his cause is so intrinsically just, he is likely to obtain general support. If not, should he fail, he will be guilty of the ruin and destruction of those who engage with him. Undoubtedly the Duke, like you and others, believes that the whole of the west country, including the noblemen and gentlemen, will rise in his favour, that a rising will take place in London, that the Duke of Argyll will be successful in Scotland, and that the rebellion will be organised in Ireland; but all this remains to be proved, and it appears to me that the Duke, before he ventured on English ground, should have thoroughly assured himself that these events would occur." Such were the opinions of a large number of the upper classes who were not unfavourable to the Duke, but were unwilling to hazard their lives and fortunes by taking an active part in an enterprise which had been commenced, as they considered, without due and sufficient preparation. The older men had witnessed and the younger ones had heard too much of the horrors of civil war to desire again to see it commence, unless they could be satisfied that the cause they advocated would be speedily and entirely triumphant. The large majority of Protestants would gladly have seen the Popish king driven from the throne, but even that event might be purchased at too high a price, and thus they thought it prudent to remain neutral in the coming struggle. Before retiring to bed the Colonel summoned Roger to speak to him in private. Having commended him for the prudence with which he had acted, he added, "Now, my lad, I wish you to give me your word of honour that you will not be tempted by any persuasions to join the Duke. I know the enthusiastic spirit which animates your friend Stephen, who fully believes that he is engaged in a righteous cause, regardless of all the consequences of failure. He acts with the approval of his father, therefore I do not blame him; but I think it probable that he will endeavour to win you and others over, and I therefore wish to prepare you to resist all his arguments and solicitations." Roger was somewhat surprised at this address, for he fancied that Stephen, whatever he might say, was not at all likely to win him over. He, however, readily gave his word to his uncle. "I can now with much more satisfaction enjoy your society during your brief stay with us," said the Colonel, "and feel confident that you will make the best of your way back to London to join your ship when your leave is up." The next day Mr Battiscombe came over from Langton Hall to call on the Colonel and Mr Willoughby. The object of his visit was very evident. He at once entered into the subject of the Duke of Monmouth's enterprise, and used every argument he could think of to induce his friends to support it. He had given his sons, he said, to the cause, though his age and infirmities must prevent him from joining it personally, but he purposed setting to work to enlist men who would soon raise a body of cavalry, of which he hoped Colonel Tregellen would take command. "I will do nothing of the sort, my friend," answered the Colonel, laughing. "My fighting days are over, and even if I thought better of the Duke's cause than I do, I would not risk the safety of those dependent on me by engaging in it. As a friend, I would advise you to return home and remain quietly there; you have given your sons to the cause, and I pray that they may be preserved from the dangers to which they must inevitably be exposed." Madam Pauline and Alice were present; the former was greatly relieved when she heard the Colonel say this. Poor Alice looked pale and anxious. She was more ready than ever to forgive Stephen for having acted contrary to her advice, when she heard that he had done so in obedience to his father's wishes; still she dreaded the dangers to which he would be exposed,--dangers which the Colonel's remarks had conjured up in her imagination. Roger's stay was to be a very short one, he had spent so much time on his journey down; and as he would probably be longer returning, it was settled that he was to start on the following Monday. The family on Saturday night had retired to rest, but Roger, a very unusual thing for him, could not sleep. He had thrown open the window, which looked northward; before it, at some distance, ran the road between Lyme and Bridport. Presently he heard the tramp of feet and the murmur of voices. As he watched a part of the road which could be seen between the trees, he observed it filled with armed men marching eastward. There appeared to him to be a large number on foot pressing forward, then there came a body of horsemen. At length they all passed by. He was doubtful whether he should tell his uncle, but what would be the use, he thought, if they are Monmouth's men?--he would not join them. Or is it likely that the Duke could so soon have got an army together? If they are the king's, he might be called upon to give his assistance. He was very much inclined to let himself out of the house to go and ascertain what they were about. He resisted the temptation, however. Should he be discovered, his uncle, he felt, might suppose that he was breaking his word. Drowsiness stealing over him, he left his window open and turned into bed. He rose rather later than usual, and on going down to breakfast mentioned what he had heard during the night; but no one had been disturbed, and his father declared that he must have been dreaming. Roger asserted that he had both seen and heard a large body of men passing. The Colonel was somewhat unwell, and Mr Willoughby never left the house at an early hour, so Roger volunteered to go out and ascertain if anything unusual had taken place. He had just got to the edge of the plantations which bordered the high-road, when he heard the tramp of horses, and looking along it, saw a large body of mounted men trotting along at a fast rate coming from the direction of Bridport. Not wishing to encounter them, he crouched down among the underwood. At their head rode one of the officers who had landed with the Duke, who he heard was Lord Grey. His followers seemed to be in a desperate hurry, some pushing on before the others, as the oxen in a large drove are apt to do when the dogs are barking at their heels. They looked neither to the right hand nor to the left. The road was somewhat narrow, only three or four could ride abreast; thus they were some time in passing. Roger fancied they had all gone by, when, looking up, he observed a smaller party riding in better order. In the last among them, and apparently acting as an officer, he recognised Stephen Battiscombe, who kept continually turning round as if he expected some one to be following. Roger was much inclined to shout out and ask what had occurred, but he restrained himself, for he thought it possible that some of the men might look upon him as an enemy or a spy, and make him a prisoner. The appearance of Stephen had left no doubt that the party belonged to the Duke, and that they had been engaged in some expedition which had apparently not been successful. He now went on to the village, expecting there to obtain some certain information. Except the landlord of the little inn, who was too burly and short-winded to move, not a man did he find in the place. "They are all gone, Master Roger," said Joe Tippler; "marched away to Lyme to join the Duke of Monmouth. The Duke, they say, will soon have a mighty army, and go and take London town." Several women to whom he spoke could give him no further information; no one appeared to have heard the force passing during the night. Being unable to gain any further information, he was about to return home, when, on looking along the road, he saw towards the east another body of men on foot. It struck him that they might be the advanced guard of the king's forces, and that it would be prudent to keep out of their way. He hurried back, therefore, to the plantation in which he had before concealed himself. As they came up they appeared to be marching in tolerable order, and he soon saw by their flags that they were the Duke of Monmouth's men. They had among them several horses and a number of persons, who were evidently prisoners by the way they were guarded. Here and there some of the men appeared to have been wounded. Then there must have been fighting, and Monmouth's party after all have been victorious, thought Roger. He now returned home to make his report. He had done nothing heroic, but he had acted with prudence in keeping out of the way. The Colonel, with Madam Pauline and Alice, was preparing to go to church when he arrived, and by his uncle's desire he accompanied them. When they reached the church-door, however, except Master Holden and the clerk, with half a dozen poor women, no one was there. Notwithstanding, Master Holden performed the service, but it was evident that he was puzzled what to preach about, as it would have been useless to such a congregation to warn them against rebellion, as had probably been his intention. He therefore dismissed them without his usual address, observing that at any moment bodies of armed men might be visiting their peaceful village, and that they would be safer in their own houses than abroad. From Roger's account the Colonel had no doubt that Bridport had been attacked, that the cavalry having been roughly handled had retreated, neither horses nor men being accustomed to stand fire, while the infantry perhaps had held their own, having driven back their enemies, and had retired in good order. Roger wanted to go out again after dinner to obtain some more news, but the Colonel forbade him to leave the grounds, as it was likely that the king's forces would advance upon Lyme, if they were in sufficient number, and he might uselessly get involved in a skirmish. The remainder of the day, however, passed quietly. The next morning Roger was to start on his journey. He rose at an early hour; the whole family were up to see him off. It had been arranged that John Platt was to accompany him for the first twenty miles on the road towards London. He had a stout cob, which his uncle had given him to be sold in London for his benefit. "Your father's friend Mr Handscombe will certainly find a purchaser," observed the Colonel. "Now, farewell, my lad, it may be months, it may be years, before you come back; you know not to what part of the world you may be sent. You have acted wisely; continue to do so, and should your life be preserved you will rise in your profession." Roger's other farewells were made, and he mounted his horse. He carried a brace of pistols in his holsters, a sword by his side, and a valise strapped on behind the saddle. John Platt rode with an arquebuss hanging at his back, a good pistol in one holster, and a broadsword which had done duty in the Civil War. The Colonel ordered them to push forward as fast as possible towards London, that they might get clear of the excitement caused by the Duke's landing, and have less chance of being interrupted. John Platt promised to carry out his master's instructions. "They shall pay dear, whether king's men or rebels, if they attempt to stop us," he said, as he clutched his big sword, which in his younger days he had used with powerful effect as a trooper under the Colonel, though at present it seemed doubtful whether his arm had still strength enough to wield it. The Colonel gave them his parting charges as they rode out of the court-yard and pushed forward, as they had been directed, towards Salisbury by by-paths with which John Platt was well acquainted. Here and there they met peasants hurrying towards Lyme, who eagerly inquired news of the Duke. Some asked if a battle had already been fought; others said that they understood the Duke had landed with an army of ten thousand men, which by this time had increased to twenty thousand. "He landed with not ten thousand or not ten hundred either," answered John dryly. "He may have a thousand or two about him by this time. If you take my advice you will go back home and not risk your necks by joining him." The advice, however, was seldom if ever followed, the men looking upon honest John as a malignant. As they advanced they met bodies of militia marching westward under Tory country gentlemen, who considered it their duty to side with the king though they had no personal affection for him. Roger on each occasion had to give an account of himself, and he found some difficulty in persuading some of these zealous Royalists that his intentions were honest. He was allowed, however, to go on, till at length the time came for his separating from John Platt. They warmly shook hands, as Roger did not consider it derogatory. "Circumspect Master Roger," said the old man, "do not let strangers get into your confidence; give them the cold shoulder rather; ride straight on; when you arrive at an inn, see to your horse yourself that he gets properly fed; if a stranger enters into conversation, listen to what he may have to say, but give him as little information as you can in return." Roger promised to follow the old soldier's advice, and found it greatly to his advantage. His horse held out well, and by judicious management he contrived to get to London in five days after leaving Eversden. On entering London he found the city perfectly quiet, not the slightest sign, as far as he could discover, of a proposed outbreak, the fact being that the king had arrested all suspicious persons of influence. He inquired his way to the house of Mr Handscombe, who lived not far from the Thames. The cloth-merchant was at home, and received him kindly. He was looking somewhat pale and anxious, and made many inquiries as to what was going forward in the south. Roger gave him all the information he possessed, but Mr Handscombe made but few remarks in return. "Now, my lad," he said in a kind tone, "the sooner you get on board your ship the better for you. Captain Benbow is expecting you, and I promised to send you down as soon as you arrived, for I may not remain here long. Before you go you must take some refreshment, and I in the meantime will order a boat to be in waiting." "Where snail I find the _Benbow_ frigate?" asked Roger. "She is not the ship you are to join," answered Mr Handscombe. "Her Captain has parted with her, and is now in command of a fine king's ship, the _Ruby_, of fifty guns, lying at Deptford." Mr Handscombe was absent while Roger was taking the food provided for him; he appeared, on his return, in a travelling dress. "I have made arrangements for the sale of your horse as your father requests me; here is the amount which the animal will probably fetch, put it in your pocket and do not throw it away; and now come along." "What, are you going with me, sir?" asked Roger. "Yes, in the character of your father, going to see you on board your ship. Circumstances make it convenient to be away from London just at present, and the idea has struck me that I could not have a better opportunity. Your chest has been transferred to the _Ruby_, and you can carry your valise while I carry mine." They hastened down to the boat and immediately stepped aboard, when the boatmen began to row lustily down the stream, the tide fortunately favouring them. They safely shot under the arches of London Bridge, and were now among vessels of various sizes and rigs, some moored to the banks, others brought up in the stream. Though the day was long, it was dusk before they reached the _Ruby_ Shaking Roger by the hand, Mr Handscombe bade him answer the hail of the sentry, and then without loss of time stepped up the side with his valise. "Are you not coming, sir?" asked Roger. "No, my lad," was the answer; "I am going on board a merchant vessel which sails by the next tide. Fare thee well. I hope to meet you again some time when you return home; at present I know not exactly what is to be my destination." Roger, as desired, answered the sentry's hail, and was allowed to step on board, when the boat glided away immediately, and was lost to sight. Captain Benbow, who was on board, received him cordially, and expressed his satisfaction at seeing him return so punctually. Roger expected to be questioned as to what was taking place in the west, but the Captain showed very little interest in the matter. He merely observed, "The Duke of Monmouth has landed, I understand. He did a foolish thing, but will do a wiser if he gets out of the country as fast as he can. Now, Willoughby, there is plenty of work for us on board; we have to fresh-rig the ship and get the crew into good discipline. At present except the men I brought from the _Benbow_ frigate, for one and all volunteered to follow me, we have not many worth their salt." Roger was well pleased at being treated in a confidential way by his Captain; it showed that he was looked upon not only as a sailor, but as fit to become an officer. Except one lieutenant, the master, and boatswain, the other officers, strange as it may seem, had not been regularly bred to the sea. "We must get another tarpaulin or two if the ship is ever to be brought into order," observed Benbow; "these young gentlemen from the shore are very well in their way, but they are more ornamental than useful." As soon as Roger had parted from the Captain, on going round the ship he encountered old Sam Stokes. "Glad to see you aboard our new ship, Mr Willoughby, though somewhat bigger than our old craft, but doubt whether she has as fast a pair of heels; however, if there comes a war we shall do something in her, no doubt about that, with such a Captain as ours." Jumbo, on hearing that Roger had come on board, hurried up, and Roger had a talk with him of old times, and then went round among his old shipmates and spoke to each individually, thus winning their kindly feelings. He often wished that Stephen had been with him instead of having joined the hazardous enterprise in which he had engaged. He wrote twice to his friend. Not knowing where he might be, he addressed the letters to Langton Park, but he received no replies. At length the ship was ready for sea, and, dropping down the Thames, stood out in the channel for a cruise. CHAPTER EIGHT. We must now return to Lyme. The cordial reception Stephen Battiscombe met with from the Duke made him more than ever devoted to his cause. Having a good horse, he at once volunteered to ride out and collect horses with men accustomed to riding, who might be willing to join and form the nucleus of a cavalry force. The news of the Duke's landing rapidly spread far and wide. Other friends of the cause galloped off in all directions, running no little risk of being captured by the militia, who had been called out by several loyal noblemen and gentlemen on information being received that the rebellion had commenced. The Duke was indefatigable in his exertions. Rising at an early hour on the morning after his arrival, he was ready to receive the volunteers, who flocked in by hundreds from all directions. When he had caused their names to be taken down, he sent them by a messenger with a list to the Town-Hall, where the arms were stored, and persons ready to give them out. The volunteers were immediately armed and sent to the officers at different posts which had been established round the town, where they, without loss of time, were drilled and exercised. All day long, as well as the following night, people came crowding in, and the next day, which was Saturday the 13th, they appeared in such prodigious numbers that it was no easy matter to take down their names and to supply them with arms. Thus at the close of the day the Duke's army already amounted to a thousand foot and one hundred and fifty horse, which were every hour augmenting. Whatever the Duke and the gentlemen who accompanied him, Lord Grey, Fletcher of Salton, and others, might have thought of this force, their increasing number greatly raised the enthusiasm of his followers. They felt themselves ready to undertake any adventure which might be proposed. Stephen Battiscombe had met his brothers coming to join the camp. Together they proceeded to the houses of such friends and acquaintances as they knew were friendly to the cause. Some allowed their servants and dependants to join, and others sent horses, although they themselves thought it prudent not to appear in arms on the Duke's side. So energetically did Stephen execute his commission that in a few hours he returned with twenty mounted men and several spare horses. The Duke, immediately on his appearance, appointed him lieutenant of the troop, observing that he expected before long to be able to give him the rank of captain. "We shall probably before long meet the enemy, if they do not rather run away when they see us. Notice has just been brought in that the Duke of Albemarle is approaching with a strong body of militia, and intends to attack this night; but I intend to forestall him, and we are about to march out to form an ambush, so that we may set upon him suddenly should he approach." This news created considerable excitement among the young recruits, who were eager to strike a blow for the cause they had espoused. As evening approached the force marched out in silence, orders having been given that there should be no shouting, lest they should betray their whereabouts. The force amounted to eight hundred foot and one hundred and fifty horse, and with it three pieces of cannon. They took up their position at a cross road behind hedges, and in the narrow way behind which it was supposed that the Duke of Albemarle would come, the foot lying in the field with their arms in rank and file, the horsemen holding their bridles in their hands. Every moment they expected to be up and doing, but the night drew on and no enemy appeared. At length day dawned; the men rose to their feet. They had taken their first lesson in campaigning, and felt the better prepared for meeting the enemy. Stephen Battiscombe had had more experience than most of his companions during his adventures in Africa, so that the sort of work was not quite so new to him as it was to many others. As he surveyed the rapidly increasing army, he observed that though many of the recruits had no fire-arms, and were compelled to content themselves with scythes lashed to the end of stout poles, still these would prove formidable weapons in the hands of stout men. He rode back at the head of his little troop to join his brothers and other young gentlemen, some acting as officers, some as privates, at breakfast, not in those days a meal of toast, eggs, butter, and tea, but of beef, bread, and beer. They were still seated at table when the trampling of horses outside announced the arrival of another party. On running to the window they saw a grey-haired personage of no very aristocratic appearance, though mounted on a fine steed, at the head of about forty horsemen; but he was old Mr Dare, paymaster to the forces. He was one of the two persons who had landed at Seaton on the morning of the 11th, and had gone inland at no little risk to apprise Mr Speke of the Duke's arrival. He was a bold man with much intelligence, and was one of the moving spirits of the rebellion. As he arrived before the George Inn the Duke went out to meet him, and welcomed him cordially. The levies came in faster than ever, and it was as much as the Battiscombes, and other young gentlemen who could write, could do to take down their names and send them off to the regiments now forming, called after various colours, as was the custom in those days. Stephen's zeal was remarked by Fletcher of Salton, the principal officer of military experience who had joined the Duke, a man of great talents, but possessed of a hasty and irritable temper. "I see who will be among our future colonels," he observed, as he rode by, mounted on a somewhat sorry hack, to dine with the Duke of Monmouth. Thus encouraged, Stephen continued his labours. His disappointment was very great when he found that the arms and ammunition were already running short, and that no weapons were to be procured to put into the hands of the eager recruits. Numbers had to return home, fortunately for themselves, who would gladly have fought for the cause. In the afternoon information was received that a strong body of Dorset militia had occupied Bridport, and that another regiment, under Sir William Portman, was expected to disperse these forces. In the hopes that a large number would come over to him with their arms, the Duke determined on sending an expedition against the town. It was intended that Fletcher and Lord Grey should command the horse. The former, after dining with the Duke, sallied out to make the necessary preparations. Finding a handsome horse in the stables, he at once appropriated it without sending to ask leave of the owner, who proved to be Mr Dare, the paymaster. Stephen was getting his little troop in readiness, as he expected to be sent on the expedition, when Fletcher rode into the market square mounted on Mr Dare's horse. The owner, without considering Fletcher's military rank and social position, came up to him, and in an insulting manner inquired how Mr Fletcher ventured to take a horse belonging to him without first asking his leave. "The exigencies of the moment require it, my friend," answered Fletcher; "and as I am to command the cavalry, it is important that I should have a horse capable of performing whatever work I may demand of him. I therefore considered myself justified in taking the first horse suitable for my purpose, irrespective to whom he belongs." "But I am not thus to be ridden over by a Scotch Laird," exclaimed Dare in an insulting tone; "the horse is mine." "It may be," said Fletcher, "but you are not about to act as a cavalry officer, and I am. Therefore, for the good of the service, I consider myself justified in retaining the horse." "Retain it you shall not," cried Dare, flourishing a cane which he held in his hand. "Whether you are a cavalry officer or not, I will make you dismount from that horse," and he advanced with a threatening gesture towards the high-spirited Scotchman. A fatal moment. Fletcher drew a pistol and ordered Dare to stand back. Dare still advanced, when, to the horror of all the bystanders, the pistol exploded, and Dare fell mortally wounded to the ground. Stephen and others ran to lift up the fallen man, but life had fled. Fletcher was instantly seized with remorse at the fatal act he had committed, when he saw Dare was no more. Numbers gathered from all parts, and among them came the son of the slain man, accompanied by a number of the new levies, who demanded punishment of the assassin. The Duke of Monmouth, hurrying up, in vain endeavoured to allay their anger. They threatened that if Fletcher was not arrested, they would take the law into their own hands and tear him to pieces. The poor Duke was almost distracted by this unfortunate event. In Dare he had lost a devoted partisan, while Fletcher was the only man besides himself in his whole army who had seen service, who, by his talents, was capable of acting as a General. As the only way to save him, he told him to consider himself under arrest and, turning to Stephen, directed him to convey Mr Fletcher on board his frigate, which still lay in the outer roads. "I regret the duty I am called on to perform, Mr Fletcher," said Stephen; "you must at once accompany me to the harbour." "I am under your command," answered Mr Fletcher. Upon which Stephen surrounded him with a party of his own men, who with difficulty kept off the followers of Mr Dare, who were thirsting for his blood. They however reached the quay in safety, when Stephen, with his prisoner and four of his men, embarked on board one of the frigate's boats, which had just come to the shore. There was still a risk of their being pursued, so Stephen ordered the boat to pull off immediately for the frigate. "I hope, sir, when it is known what provocation Mr Dare gave you, that the anger of the people will be appeased, and that you will be able to return and take command of the army." "Though disappointed with the class of persons who have flocked to the Duke's standard, I will still gladly risk all for the sake of the noble cause in which he has embarked," said Fletcher, "and I may hope that in a few days the tide will turn in my favour, though I confess with the deepest regret the result of my hasty temper." "Can I, in the meantime, be of any use to you on shore?" asked Stephen. "Thank you, sir," answered Fletcher. "I shall be obliged to you if you will bring my valise and papers which I left at the George; and as I may not have an opportunity of seeing the Duke for some time, I beg that you will express to him how deeply I regret what has taken place." Mr Fletcher was silent for the greater part of the way, and Stephen, having seen his prisoner on board, returned with his men to the shore. On landing he was met by frowning looks from many of those who had accompanied Mr Dare. Stephen at once made his way back to report what he had done to the Duke, who replied, "I must send you back once more with orders to the master of the ship to sail immediately, and to proceed along the coast to Bristol. I have given directions to have a mariner, one John Kerridge, impressed, as he is a skilful pilot, and will be able to conduct the ship to Bristol. You will engage a boat from the shore, and put him with Mr Fletcher on board." With these directions Stephen returned to the quay, where he found John Kerridge, who seemed in no wise desirous of performing the duty imposed upon him. However, being in the hands of armed men, he could not help himself, and was placed with a guard in the boat, in which Stephen conveyed him on board the frigate. Whenever Stephen had left her side, he saw her crew making preparations for getting under weigh. Her anchor was hove up, her sails set, and the wind being off shore, she at once stood out to sea. "She seems to me to be standing more to the southward than her due course for the Start," he said to one of the boatmen. "May be the Captain does not know how the wind will come, which is to give the Start a wide berth," was the answer. As far, however, as Stephen could watch, he observed that she held a south-westerly course. On his arrival on shore he found that notwithstanding the untoward event of the afternoon, the expedition to Bridport was still to be carried out. He found a party of three hundred men under Colonel Wade, with a hundred men under Captain Goodenough, while the cavalry was commanded by Lord Grey, who had charge of the whole expedition. They were to march all night in great secrecy, hoping to fall on the militia early in the morning. They waited till sunset, when, all being prepared, they marched out of Lyme, the infantry leading, the cavalry bringing up the rear. The men were ordered to keep silence, and to make as little noise in any way as possible. It was no easy matter to induce raw recruits, however, to do this. Stephen of course, knew every inch of the way. They were still some three or four miles from Bridport, when the advanced guard met two men coming from the direction of the town. Instead of running away they advanced boldly, declared that they had escaped from the town, and that their wish was to join the Duke of Monmouth. "You have found them sooner than you expected," said Lieutenant Mitchell, the officer commanding the vanguard. The men willingly agreed to return with the party, although they said that there were no less than one thousand two hundred foot, and a hundred horse already holding the town. Still, as they had come thus far and were positively ordered to attack, the leaders were unwilling to go back without attempting something, although they were far outnumbered. A thick fog came on towards morning, which completely concealed their approach towards the end of the town, which consists of one long broad street with a stone bridge at either end, and a cross street running north and south. The bridge was quickly won, the outposts retiring with expedition to the main guard, who speedily retreated, standing only to receive one volley from Monmouth's vanguard. The king's horse, with a small body of infantry, alone occupied the town, and as the troopers ran away, they let their horses go, which were at once captured by the successful assailants. Colonel Venner now led on his men to attack the eastern bridge, leaving parties of musketeers and pikes to command the entrances to the other streets, and fighting took place in front of the inn, when two of the king's officers and others lost their lives, and several prisoners were made by Monmouth's men. Colonel Venner, however, was wounded. When Lord Grey was advancing on the bridge, the loyal militia fired a heavy volley, which induced him and his troop to turn their horses' heads and gallop off. On Colonel Venner being wounded, Colonel Wade took command, and led to the western part of the town, where for half-an-hour his men and those of the king's forces were shouting to each other. He then, finding that the rest of the force had retreated, considered it his duty to retire, which he did in pretty good order, with thirty horses and about fourteen prisoners. The whole transaction must have shown the Duke how little reliance he could place upon his new levies, or even upon some of his principal officers. The Duke complimented Stephen on his good conduct in bringing off his men. The party were pretty well knocked up by their march to Bridport and back, and there was little drilling that evening, except among the new levies; but early the next morning the drum beat to arms, the regiments were formed under their respective leaders, and the Duke, putting himself at the head, passed them all in review. As Stephen rode near the Duke, he observed that his countenance wore a melancholy expression, the animation which had at first appeared having quite faded from it. He evidently had taken greatly to heart the death of Dare; still, as he had commenced the enterprise, he seemed resolved to carry it out. His troops were in a very different mood; they saw not the dangers ahead, and were mostly under the belief that the king's forces would melt away before them should they be encountered. Stephen, as he rode among the ranks, observed the awkward movements of some of the men, the jaunty air of others, and the ragged appearance of the cavalry, many of the horses being large untrained colts, and began to feel less confident of success till he recollected that probably the militia regiments on the king's side were much in the same condition, and, moreover, that they were well-affected towards the Duke. The army marched slowly and leisurely along till they reached Axminster, where news was brought to the Duke that Albemarle was advancing with a large body of militia to attack them. Monmouth skilfully drew up his forces; the four field-pieces were planted so as to command the road along which the Royal troops were approaching, while the thick hedges which on each side overhung the narrow lanes were lined with musketeers; the cavalry were held in reserve. "Here they come, my lads," cried Stephen Battiscombe, as Albemarle's men were seen in the distance. "Steady, now; if they venture to attack us, we shall soon send them to the right-about." At first the enemy came on boldly and rapidly. While still beyond musket range they were seen to halt, then suddenly to retreat. The insurgents on this dashed forward. As they heard the cheers and shouts of Monmouth's men, throwing down their arms they took to flight, and scampered off in all directions across the country. They were pursued for some distance, and coats, muskets, and pikes were picked up by the victorious insurgents. "Now, surely the Duke of Monmouth will follow up the pursuit, and we shall probably capture Exeter without a blow," observed Stephen. "No chance of that, I fear," answered his brother Andrew, who was riding by his side. "Hark! there is the recall, and it is a signal our raw fellows will be glad enough to obey." This last remark was too true. The Duke of Monmouth, probably unwilling to employ his recruits in any hazardous service till they were better trained, thought it wise to be satisfied with the advantage he had already gained, and continued his march towards Taunton, and that evening reached the neighbourhood of Chard, where the troops encamped in a meadow outside the town. The Duke was now near the estates of those friends who had entertained him so sumptuously a few years before, and he naturally looked forward to being joined by a number of those gentlemen and their retainers; but only one, John Speke, the son of Mr George Speke of White Lackington Hall, arrived at the camp, with forty horsemen of no very imposing appearance from Chard. The next morning the Duke's forces marched to Ilminster, about four miles off, and encamped in a field about half a mile beyond the town; still he was looking forward to the arrival of fresh levies headed by men of consequence. None, however, arrived, though labouring men in vast numbers would have joined his standard if arms could have been found for them. Bad news also arrived from Lyme; the king's frigate had sailed into the harbour and had captured the _Pink_ and another vessel which had on board numerous barrels of gunpowder, and several thousand breast and head pieces for cavalry, though, considering that there were no horses or men to wear the defensive armour, it was not of much consequence. Thus far there had been no success. The Duke now resolved to march to Taunton, that celebrated and beautiful little town which had endured so heroic a siege under Blake. It was here that during his progress he had been received with such remarkable honours, and he fully expected now to receive a similar treatment. Taunton was densely populated, and was the seat of the trade in serges, and as most of the manufacturers were Dissenters, they were universally in favour of the Duke of Monmouth. As Monmouth approached Taunton several persons came out from the town, who informed him that it had been occupied till the day before by Royal troops, but they, hearing of the disorder into which the militia had been thrown between Axminster and Chard, about midnight, a drum sounding both officers and men, had marched out, having received orders to appear at Bridgewater. Messengers also promised a cordial reception to the Duke should he come. The Duke, having encamped his forces outside the town, prepared to enter it. He was met by a large body of men on horseback, every person who possessed a steed going out to meet him, while the rest of the inhabitants on foot rent the air with applause and acclamations. The streets through which he passed were strewed with flowers; the windows were thronged with spectators, all eager to gaze on the hero they had been taught to admire. The Duke's spirits rose higher than they had been since he landed. The Duke had taken up his residence at the house of Captain Hucker. The following morning it was announced to him that a procession was approaching to do him honour. He descended the steps in front of the house, when he saw coming towards him a band of young maidens, each carrying banners of different colours, which they had worked with their own hands. At their head appeared a lady of more mature age, carrying a naked sword in one hand and in the other a small curious Bible, which she presented with a short acceptable speech. The Duke, looking greatly pleased, assured her that he had undertaken with a resolution to defend the truth contained in the book, to seal it, should it be required, with his blood. He then saluted each of the young ladies, as did Lord Grey. His Grace then mounted his horse, and the twenty-seven young maidens followed, each bearing a banner, and led by a young man. Among the flags was a golden banner worked with the initials J.R. and a crown. Having paraded through the streets, the Duke returned to his abode, and the young maidens retired to their own homes. The day after, some of his principal advisers recommended the Duke to assume the title of King. The Duke was willing to do this, and there were many reasons in favour of the step, though many also against it. It was argued that a large number of the nobility were unwilling to take up arms in his cause, fearing that unless a king was at the head of the movement, it might result in the establishment of a Commonwealth, to which they were strongly opposed. Several of his Republican officers, on hearing of the proposal, expressed themselves greatly averse to it; and it was not without much difficulty that they were won over to give their consent, in the hopes that they should be immediately joined by the nobility and gentry, who were now hanging back. Stephen Battiscombe and his brothers, knowing their father's principles, felt sure that he would disapprove of this step; at the same time, they had become so attached to the Duke that they were ready to agree to anything which it was supposed would forward his interests. The subject was anxiously discussed by many of the best friends of the Duke. The flag carried by Miss Mary Mead, the work of the maids of Taunton, on which were emblazoned the initials J.R. and the crown, had been seen by thousands, and that emblem could not have been mistaken. No one had complained. The fatal step was quickly decided on,--fatal, because should the Duke fail and be captured, it would cut off all hope of pardon from James the Second. On Saturday, 20th June, some of the chief magistrates were compelled to attend in their gowns at the market crossing, where a large concourse of people were assembled. Mr Tyler then read the following proclamation:--"Whereas, upon the decease of our Sovereign, Charles the Second, late King of England, the succession to the Crown of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, with the dominions and territories thereunto belonging, did legally descend and devolve upon the most illustrious and high-born Prince, James, Duke of Monmouth, son and heir-apparent to the said King Charles the Second; but James, Duke of York, taking advantage of the absence of the said James, Duke of Monmouth, beyond the seas, did first cause the said late King to be poisoned, and immediately thereupon did usurp and invade the Crown, and doth continue so to do. We, therefore, the noblemen, gentlemen, and commons at present assembled, in the names of ourselves and all the loyal and Protestant noblemen, gentlemen, and commons of England, in pursuance of our duty and allegiance, and of the delivering of the kingdom from Popery, tyranny, and oppression, do recognise, publish, and proclaim the said high and mighty Prince, James, Duke of Monmouth, our lawful and rightful Sovereign and King, by the name of James the Second, by the grace of God, King of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, defender of the Faith," etcetera. "God bless the King," the people shouted, and immediately the officers of the army and the principal inhabitants advanced and kissed Monmouth's hand, and addressed him as, "Sire," and, "Your Majesty." The news spread far and wide, and an enthusiastic gentleman, Colonel Dore of Lymington, in Hampshire, proclaimed the Duke of Monmouth, and raised a troop of a hundred men for his service. Volunteers now poured in in even greater numbers than before. Many had to be sent back for want of arms of any description. There was not even a sufficiency of scythes for all Monmouth still waited in vain for news of an insurrection in London. Colonel Danvers, who had promised to head it, hung back, fearing to risk his life in the enterprise. The king's forces were now gathering from all directions to oppose the Duke. The household troops, the only real soldiers who could be depended upon, were marching from London, and were likely to prove formidable antagonists to Monmouth's ill-disciplined volunteers. Stephen had been sent on outpost duty with his small body of horse. He had been directed to proceed in the direction of Chard, when towards evening, as he was about to return, he discovered a party of Royal horse galloping towards him. Though he soon discovered that they were superior in numbers to him, he drew up his men to receive them. They came on, led by a young officer, who showed abundant bravery if not much skill. As the party advanced Stephen gave the word to charge. Shots were rapidly exchanged, and swords were clashing as the combatants met in a doubtful fight. First to fall was the young officer. Two of Stephen's men dropped from their horses, two others directly afterwards were shot. Notwithstanding, the Royal troopers, discouraged by the loss of their officer, wheeled round and took to flight. Several more of his men had been wounded, so that Stephen was unable to pursue the enemy, and he judged it wise to make the best of his way back to Taunton, fearing that he might be shut up in the town. The Duke at once resolved to march on Bridgewater, where he might hope to obtain arms and pecuniary assistance from the wealthy inhabitants devoted to his cause. It had been proposed to fortify Taunton, but since its memorable siege, when defended by Blake, the walls and fortifications had been destroyed, and a considerable number of men would have been required for its defence. The day after Monmouth had assumed the kingly title he marched out of Taunton at the head of an army, which, in point of numbers, might well have encouraged him with hopes of success, but Stephen Battiscombe observed with regret that he looked dispirited, in spite of the acclamations of the devoted thousands which were raised wherever he appeared. Stephen, as he was passing out of the town, observed Mr Ferguson, the Duke's chaplain, whom he had often met, standing with a drawn sword in his hand, looking more like a lunatic than a sane minister of the Gospel. "What can have come over the man?" remarked Stephen to his brother. "Hark! hear what he is saying." "Look at me, you have heard of me," shouted the chaplain. "I am Ferguson, the famous Ferguson, for whose head so many hundred pounds have been offered." Thus he continued uttering the same or similar phrases till the army had passed by. "I have long ago taken the man's measure, and have heartily wished that the Duke had a better adviser," said Andrew. The two brothers rode on with their men, keeping a watchful look-out on every side in case the enemy should suddenly appear. Bridgewater was reached without opposition, and in the evening Monmouth's army, now mustering six thousand tolerably armed men, entered Bridgewater. The Duke met with a cordial reception from the Mayor and Corporation of that town, who proclaimed him king at the High Cross. The army was encamped on Castle Field, on the east side of the town, and the Duke himself took up his lodgings in the castle close by. The Duke might have been encouraged when he thought of the siege and gallant defence of Bridgewater by the famous Blake, who was a native of the town. A body-guard of forty young men, well mounted and armed, who paid their own expenses, had been formed for the protection of Monmouth's person, while the whole of his cavalry amounted to a thousand horse. His object was now to push forward, and, if an opportunity offered, to capture Bristol. He therefore made but a short stay at Bridgewater, and proceeded on to Glastonbury, in the famous abbey of which a part of the army took up their quarters, while others occupied the neighbouring churches. His intention of taking Bristol was frustrated by the bridge across the Avon being broken-down, and by the Earl of Feversham having entered the city at the head of two hundred and fifty of the Horse Guards, formidable antagonists for Monmouth's ill-disciplined cavalry to encounter. During the march Monmouth's troops had been greatly harassed by the cavalry under Lord Churchill, afterwards the famous Duke of Marlborough. Monmouth knew that the inhabitants of Bristol were ready to rise the moment he should commence to attack, but the Duke of Beaufort, who commanded there, threatened to burn down the city at the least sign of rebellion, and Monmouth was delayed by the destruction of the bridge, while the king's forces were gathering round him in large numbers. He was compelled to abandon his design and to countermarch to Bridgewater. At Philip's Norton the advanced guard of the two armies met and had a sharp action, that of the Royal army being led by the Duke of Grafton, a half-brother of Monmouth. Grafton, leading on his men, found himself in a deep lane with fences on both sides of him, from which a galling fire of musketry was kept up, but he pushed on boldly till he came to the entrance of Philip's Norton; there his way was crossed by a barricade, from which a third fire met him full in front. His men now lost heart, and made the best of their way out of the lane; but before they got out of it more than a hundred of them had been killed or wounded. Grafton now encountered a party of Monmouth's cavalry, and cutting his way through them, came off safe. Though the two armies were now face to face, neither was anxious to engage in a general action. Feversham was waiting for his artillery, and Monmouth knew that his followers, in spite of their courage and zeal, were no match for regular soldiers. He had hoped that those regiments which he had formerly commanded would pass over to his standard, but that hope he was now compelled to relinquish; his heart filled, and he almost gave way to despair. Even at this time a proclamation was circulated, issued by James the Second, offering an amnesty to all who would lay down their arms and abandon Monmouth, excepting certain leaders who were expressly named. A meeting was accordingly held by some of Monmouth's chief supporters, who proposed that those who were excluded from the amnesty should retreat to the coast and embark for Holland, leaving their followers to make such terms as they could with the Government. Monmouth in the present desponding mood was much disposed to adopt this measure. He did not look upon it as a disgraceful proceeding. Many lives would be saved, and he and his officers would preserve theirs. The step, however, was strongly opposed by Lord Grey, who implored the Duke to face any danger rather than requite with ingratitude and treachery the devoted attachment of the western peasantry. Abandoning this project, Monmouth, hearing that there was a rising of the inhabitants of the districts in the neighbourhood of Bridgewater, determined to return thither, and re-entered that town on the 2nd of July, having passed through Wells on his way. He now thought of fortifying that place, and had commenced the undertaking when the king's forces appeared in sight. They consisted of two thousand five hundred troops, and one thousand five hundred of the Wiltshire militia. Instead of at once attacking the Duke, they encamped on the plain of Sedgemoor, about three miles from Bridgewater. Stephen Battiscombe, by his courage and judgment, had risen high in Monmouth's favour, and now, with several other officers, accompanied the Duke to the top of the parish church steeple, the loftiest in the county. From it a wide view could be obtained, and with their glasses they could distinguish across the moor the villages where the royal army was posted. In one of them, Weston Zoyland, lay the royal cavalry, and here Feversham had fixed his head-quarters. Further off lay Middle Zoy, where the Wiltshire militia were quartered, and upon the moor, not far from Chedzoy, were encamped several battalions of regular infantry. Among them the Duke distinguished Dumbarton's regiment, which he himself had once commanded. "I know those men," he said, turning to Stephen; "they will fight. If I had but them, all would go well." Still, formidable as the force appeared, the Duke knew Feversham's incapacity, and even on the eve of battle his spies brought in word to Monmouth that his troops were regaling themselves with cider, and that no regular outposts had been established. On this the idea occurred to him that it might be possible to surprise the king's forces, and to cut them to pieces. Lord Grey and the other principal officers agreed to this, and it was arranged that they should march out that very night. Castlefield, where they were encamped, presented on that Sunday afternoon a spectacle which for many a long year had not been seen in England since the disbanding of Cromwell's soldiers. The greater number of the men were Dissenters. The day was passed in religious exercises according to the Puritan fashion. The preachers who had taken up arms against Popery, some of whom had fought in the great Civil War, appeared in red coats and jack boots, with swords by their sides. Stephen Battiscombe heartily joined in the religious exercises, though he avoided the spot where Ferguson was holding forth, and endeavouring to prove that the war in which they were engaged was not rebellion, but a righteous enterprise which merited the support of Heaven. Among the soldiers were their wives and daughters, who had come into the town from the surrounding districts to see them on that Sabbath-day; and when the camp-meeting broke up, and the trumpet summoned the men to their ranks, many parted who were never to meet again. Evening of that summer day drew on, and the time to commence the march arrived. As the Duke, with his body-guard, rode out of the castle, many remarked that his look was sad and full of evil augury. The night was well suited for the contemplated enterprise. Though the moon was at the full, and the northern streamers were shining brilliantly, the marsh fog lay so thickly on Sedgemoor that no object could be discerned fifty paces off. The Duke himself led the infantry, while the cavalry, a thousand strong, had been committed to Lord Grey, notwithstanding the remonstrances of many who mistrusted him after his previous ill-success. Stephen would willingly have had a different leader, for though Lord Grey was faithful to the cause he had espoused and courageous in council, yet he was destitute of that nerve which is the great requisite of an officer. He could have had no confidence in the greater number of his men, who, though brave, were quite undisciplined. Many of them had been embodied but a few days, and had not learned the use of their weapons, while their horses were unaccustomed to stand fire, or to act in concert with each other, so that they could be scarcely kept in their ranks. Even on the march most of the infantry also lacked discipline. At the same time, many had served in the militia, and being all animated with the same zeal, knew that they could trust each other. The scythe-men especially were sturdy fellows, drawn from the neighbouring mines, and were ready to fight to the last. Although the distance to Feversham's camp was little more than three miles, in order to avoid two deep ditches, called in those parts plungeons or steanings, the Duke, led by a guide, took a circuitous route of nearly six miles in length. There was a third ditch, called the Rhine, which still lay between him and the king's camp, but of which he knew nothing. There was a ford across this Rhine, by which his troops might have passed over, but which in the darkness was missed. In silence and darkness Monmouth's devoted troops marched on. Some confusion and delay were caused by the first two ditches, but these having been passed, the Duke, believing no obstruction existed between him and the royal camp, fully expected to succeed in his enterprise. He here halted for the horse, consisting of eight squadrons, to advance. The four iron guns followed the horse, at the head of the foot, which consisted of five great battalions, each having one company of one hundred scythe-men, who did the duty of grenadiers. He had got within a mile of the camp, when the advanced sentries of the Royal Horse Guards were discovered. A party of Lord Grey's cavalry charged them, when they galloped off to arouse the camp. Just before this a pistol had been heard to go off, which undoubtedly drew the attention of the king's troops to the advancing force. Monmouth, hearing that the king's camp was alarmed, ordered Lord Grey to advance rapidly with the horse, and to fall among the tents of the foot, so as to take them in flank, being still ignorant of the great ditch which protected them. Lord Grey accordingly marched on, to execute the orders given him, towards the upper plungeon; but he missed the passage over the ditch, and led his men by the outside till they were opposite Dumbarton's regiment. Being challenged, some one answered "Albemarle," and he accordingly, supposing them to be friends, allowed five hundred of them to pass. Lord Grey, then coming to the first battalion of the Guards, Captain Berkley, who commanded the right wing of the musketeers, inquired whom they were for. The answer was, "The king." "What king?" he asked. "Monmouth, and God with us," was the reply. Berkley then cried out, "Take this with you," when his own and several battalions opened a heavy fire, and a considerable number of Grey's horses and men fell. When unable any longer to stand the fire, they rode off as hard as they could pelt. A smaller body of horse, to which Stephen belonged, under the command of Captain Jones, made several desperate charges, and were also compelled to retreat without having crossed the ditch, when they went off towards Sutton Hill, where they took up a position to see the issue of the fight. The flight of Lord Grey's horse threw many of the infantry into confusion. Some refused to advance, and others ran away; but a still greater disaster was in store, for on coming to the end of the moor, where forty-two ammunition wagons had been left, the drivers, alarmed at the arrival of the fugitives, and being told that the Duke's army had been routed, took to flight, and did not stop till they arrived at Ware and Axbridge, twelve miles off. Shortly after the Duke's horse had dispersed themselves over the moor, his infantry advanced at the double, guided through the gloom by the lighted matches of Dumbarton's regiment; but on reaching the edge of the Rhine they halted, and contrary to orders, began firing away, their fire being returned by part of the royal infantry on the opposite side of the bank. For three-quarters of an hour the roar of the musketry was incessant. The guns also opened fire, which was likewise returned by the king's cannon as soon as they could be brought up. For a considerable time the battle raged, the sturdy Somersetshire peasants behaving themselves as though they had been veteran soldiers, though they levelled their pieces too high. Monmouth was seen like a brave man, pike in hand, encouraging his men by voice and example. He by this time saw that all was over; his men had lost the advantage which surprise and darkness had given them. They were deserted by the horse and the ammunition wagons. Lord Churchill had made a new disposition of the royal infantry. The day was about to break. The event of a conflict on an open plain by broad sunlight could not be doubtful; yet, brave as he was, the hope of preserving his life prevailed above all other considerations. In a few minutes the royal cavalry would intercept his retreat. He mounted and rode for his life, till he was joined by Lord Grey and a few other officers; but his brave infantry still made a gallant stand. They were charged right and left by the Life Guards and Blues, but the Somersetshire clowns, with their scythes and butt-ends of their muskets, fought to the last. At length their powder and ball were spent, and cries were heard of "Ammunition; for God's sake give us ammunition!" But no ammunition was at hand. The king's artillery began playing on them, and they could no longer maintain their ranks against the king's cavalry. The infantry came pouring across the ditch, but even then the Mendip miners sold their lives dearly. Three hundred of the royal soldiers had been killed or wounded; of Monmouth's men more than a thousand lay dead on the moor. Their leader, it was found, had disappeared, the cavalry had been dispersed, and the survivors fled across the moor towards Bridgewater. The king's cavalry, meantime, were sweeping over the plain, cutting down those who attempted to make a stand, which some of the brave fellows did, while they captured others, till the whole army which marched out of Bridgewater the previous evening had been completely dispersed. Before evening five hundred prisoners had been crowded in the parish church of Weston Zoyland, many of them badly wounded. The church bells sent out a peal which must have had very different effects upon the ears of the victors and of the vanquished. The battle was over, but not the blood-shedding, for Feversham ordered a number of the prisoners for execution. Gibbets were erected in all directions, and the fatal Bussex Tree was long known as the place where numbers were put to death without the form of a trial. Among those captured was a fine young officer, an ensign in the Duke's army, who was celebrated for his extraordinary feats of agility; his powers were described to Feversham, who promised him his life if he would submit to be stripped, have one end of a rope fastened round his neck, and the other round that of a wild young colt, and would race the colt as long as it could run. He agreed to the ordeal; the brutal Generals and no less brutal soldiers collected round the young man to prepare him for the race, close to the Bussex Rhine in Weston. Away they started at a furious rate till the horse fell exhausted by the side of his ill-fated companion, at Brinsfield Bridge, Chedzoy, a distance of three-quarters of a mile. The young man, worn out with fatigue, extricating himself from the halter, claimed his pardon; but the inhuman General, regardless of his promise, ordered him to be hanged with the rest. A young lady to whom he was betrothed, on hearing of his fate, lost her reason, and for many years was to be seen dressed in white, wandering about the grave in which he and his companions were interred. The inhabitants of Zoyland still speak of the white lady. We will not enter into the details of the numerous barbarities which were committed, nor will we give a prolonged account of Monmouth's well-known fate. On leaving the battle-field, he was joined by Buise, who, was a German, Lord Grey, and a few other friends, among whom were Stephen Battiscombe and his brother. At Chedzoy he stopped a moment to mount a fresh horse, and then galloped on towards the English Channel. From the rising ground on the north of the fatal field he saw the last volley fired by his hapless followers, and before six o'clock he was twenty miles from Sedgemoor. Here he and his companions pulled rein, many of them advising him to seek refuge in Wales, but he fancied that he could more easily get across to Holland should he reach the New Forest, where, till he could find conveyance, he could hide in the cabins of the wood-cutters and deer-stealers who inhabited that part of the country. He, Lord Grey, and Buise consequently separated from the rest, who took different courses. He and his companions galloped on till they reached Cranbourne Chase, where their horses broke down. Having concealed the bridles and saddles, and disguised themselves in the dresses of countrymen, they proceeded on foot to the New Forest. The direction they had taken had been discovered, and a large body of militia surrounded them on every side. Lord Grey was first captured, and a short time afterwards Buise, who acknowledged that he had parted from the Duke only a few hours before. The pursuers recommenced the search with more zeal than ever, and at length a tall gaunt figure was discovered in a ditch. Some of the men were about to fire at him, but Sir William Portman coming up, forbade them to use violence. He was dressed as a shepherd, his beard, several days' growth, was prematurely grey. He trembled, and was unable to speak. Even those who had often seen the Duke of Monmouth did not recognise him, till, examining his pockets, the insignia of the George was discovered, with a purse of gold and other articles, among them some raw pease, which he had gathered to satisfy his hunger. This left no doubt who he was. He and Lord Grey were kept at Ringwood strictly guarded for two days, and then sent up to London. Broken-down in health and spirits, he wrote abject letters to his uncle entreating for pardon, and begging that the king would see him. The latter petition was agreed to, and he was brought into the presence of James, his arms secured by a silken cord. He had fancied that should the king see him, his life would be spared, and he made the most abject proposals to obtain it. James had resolved that the hated rival should be put out of the way as soon as possible, and refused to listen to his plea. Lord Grey behaved with far more dignity and courage than the Duke. Both were sent to the Tower; the Duke was ordered for execution, Lord Grey was allowed to live, and ultimately, on the payment of a heavy fine, escaped, though hundreds who were certainly less guilty in the eye of the law were mercilessly put to death. The Duke was beheaded a couple of days after being sent to the Tower. As his blood flowed on the scaffold, the crowd rushed forward to dip their handkerchiefs in it, and his memory was long cherished by those who had risen in arms to support his cause, while no inconsiderable number believed that he was still alive, and would appear again to lead them to victory. Two impostors in succession, taking advantage of this belief, represented Monmouth. One was whipped from Newgate to Tyburn; another, who had raised considerable contributions, was thrown into prison, where he was maintained in luxury by his deluded followers. So ends the ill-starred Monmouth's sad history. We must now return to the more prominent characters of our tale. Stephen and his brother Andrew, on parting from the Duke, consulted what direction they should take. They agreed that it would be madness to attempt returning home. They were proscribed men, and even should they reach Langton Park, search would be made for them, and their father would be exposed to danger for sheltering them. Stephen said that he was sure Mr Willoughby would willingly try to conceal them, but the Colonel might object to his doing so, from the danger to which he would be exposed should they be discovered. They agreed at length that their safest course would be to push to the north coast of Devon or Cornwall, where they might obtain concealment in the cottages of the fishermen or miners, who were generally favourable to the Protestant cause, and thence cross over to the Welsh coast. "Let us then commence our march," said Stephen, "and pray that we may escape the dangers that surround us." They rode on rapidly without speaking. Both their hearts were sad; they had lost many friends and faithful followers, whom they had led to join the ill-fated expedition. Stephen was full of self-reproaches. He thought of Alice, who had warned and besought him not to engage in the enterprise. He had acted with courage on several occasions, but following the example of his chief, he had fled from the field of battle, and he felt ashamed of himself for not having remained with the brave men who fought to the last, and fallen among them. "We should have done it," he exclaimed at length, as they had to rein in their steeds while they ascended a steep hill. "Done what?" asked Andrew. "Died on the field, as I wish that the Duke and Lord Grey had done rather than run away," replied Stephen. "As we are doing," remarked Andrew; "for my part, I think it is the wisest course we could have pursued. I hope they will escape to fight in the same cause on a more favourable occasion; we should have gained nothing by remaining on the field of battle, and lost everything if we should have either been killed or captured." "We should have preserved our honour," said Stephen. "I do not consider that we have lost that, since every man who had a horse to carry him has done the same; but there is little use discussing the subject. At present we must exert our wits to preserve our lives, and any honour we have lost may be retrieved on a future opportunity." Andrew had generally an answer for his brother's remarks. Having gained the brow of the hill, they again pushed forward, keeping as near the coast as the nature of the ground would allow, and avoiding all villages and hamlets, though they hoped that the news of their defeat would not have preceded them in the direction they were going. The evening of that fatal day was drawing on when they saw before them a lone cottage by the seaside. Both their horses were knocked up, and they themselves were much fatigued and desperately hungry. Still Stephen was unwilling to approach the cottage without first ascertaining the character of the inmates. "Ride on a short distance to the south and wait for me there," he said to his brother; "I will then turn back and see if the people are likely to treat us hospitably. I will tell them that we want a place of rest, as we know of none in the neighbourhood, and that if they will find some oats or beans or other provender for our horses, and provide us with some food, we will be thankful and pay them whatever they may demand." Near the cottage was a boat-house, which appeared to be high enough to serve as a stable, and they hoped that their horses might be sheltered in it during the night. Accordingly, after proceeding a little distance beyond the cottage, Stephen turned back and rode up to the door, and gave a couple of knocks with the hilt of his sword. The next instant it was opened, and a grey-headed old man in a fisherman's dress appeared. "What do you want here, master?" he asked. Stephen, after surveying the old man, answered as he had intended. "Food for a horse I don't keep in store, and for a man I have little enough, though I might give you some bread and cheese," said the old fisherman. "We will pay you for whatever you can supply us with and be thankful," said Stephen. "Two men and horses; why, you will eat me out of house and home," said the old man, peering forth at Andrew, whom he could see in the distance. "My son, however, will be in anon from fishing; if he has got a good haul there will be food enough, and as for the horses, why, now I come to think on't, I have a couple of sacks of damaged oats, got out of a vessel not far off; if your animals are hungry, as you say, they will manage to eat them." "By all means, my friend," said Stephen. "And I suppose you can put our horses up in your boat-house?" "As to that, as the boat's away, and it is summer weather, there is room for them." "Well, then, I will call my brother, and we will take advantage of your hospitality," said Stephen, and he rode back and called Andrew. "Bring us the oats without delay, my friend," said Stephen; "our poor beasts want food as much as we do." The old man went into his hut and reappeared with a good-sized basketful of oats. The young men, taking off their bridles, allowed the poor beasts to commence their meal, fastening them up with some ropes, of which there were several coils in the boat-house. "You have come far, I suspect," observed the old fisherman, as he watched the horses devour their provender. "You must give them some water, though," said Stephen, "or they will not get through enough food to sustain them." The old man got a bucket, and went to a well a little distance from the cottage, among a group of trees, the only ones to be seen in the neighbourhood. "A merciful man is merciful to his beast," he observed, as he brought the water, which the horses greedily drank. "Travellers have need to look after their steeds for their own sakes. Are you riding northward? It may be if you are, you are going to join the Duke of Monmouth's army. We have heard say that he has gone in that direction." "No, we have no intention of joining his army," answered Stephen evasively, thankful to find that the news of the Duke's defeat had not as yet reached thus far. They now, closing the door of the boat-house, accompanied the old man to the cottage. They fancied that he was alone, but on entering they discovered an old woman seated by the fire, engaged in preparing the evening meal. She looked up from her task, and asked her husband who the strangers were. "Travellers, goodwife; they want some food, and you must just put on whatever you have got to give them. Fry some more bacon and some of the salt fish we have in store. They will pay for it, goodwife," he whispered in her ear. "It is some time since your eyes have been gladdened by the sight of silver." The old lady looked satisfied, and was soon frying a further supply of bacon and fish. The smell made Stephen and Andrew feel so sick with hunger, that they begged leave to fall-to without waiting for the return of Mark, the son of the old couple. It took them some time, however, to appease their appetites. The old man and his wife looked on with astonishment at the amount of food they stowed away. "One would suppose that you two had not eaten anything since yesterday," observed the old man. "You are not far wrong, friend," answered Stephen. "We have had good reason for spurring fast. As we are weary, we will beg you to let us stow ourselves away in a corner of your room and go to sleep, asking you to call us should any strangers come near the hut." "You are welcome to do that, seeing we have no beds to offer you except Mark's, and he might grumble should he find himself turned out of his." "We would not do that on any account. Do let us lie down without delay," said Stephen. "See, my brother's head is already nodding over the table." They had brought in their cloaks, unstrapped from their saddles, and rolling themselves up in them, with some lumps of wood for pillows, they were asleep almost as soon as they had stretched themselves on the ground. The old man and his wife sat talking in low voices for some time, every now and then glancing at their guests, till the door opened, and the son they had spoken of entered the room. He was a big, broad-shouldered, black-bearded man. "Whom have we here?" he asked, turning his eyes towards the sleeping fugitives. "That is more than I can tell you, Mark," answered his father. "They say they came from the south, and, as far as I can make out, they are pushing on to Bristol. They seem to have ridden hard, and are dead beat." "That may or may not be," said Mark. "I heard say yesterday a good many men have been deserting from the Duke of Monmouth's army. That is not to be wondered at, seeing that the king's forces are rapidly gathering around him; wiser if they had never joined. However, that is no business of ours." "So I say, son Mark," said the old man. "You are a wise fellow not to run your head into danger, let the world wag as it lists; all we have to do is to catch fish and find a market for them. Have you had a good haul?" "Pretty fair; and I hope the packman will be here ere long to carry them to Bridgewater, where they say the Duke of Monmouth and his men are encamped. I will now turn in, father, to be ready to send off the fish as soon as the packman comes." Mark accordingly turned into his bunk in a little recess, for it could not be called a room, in the hut, and was soon snoring away, while his father sat up by the fire in a rough arm-chair, ready, apparently, to awaken him as soon as the packman should arrive. Stephen and Andrew were so thoroughly done up that they slept on the whole night through, undisturbed by voices or any other noise; indeed, had a gun been fired over their heads, they would scarcely have heard it. They started up at daybreak. "We should be off as soon as we have taken some food," whispered Stephen to his brother. "I wish that we had gone a couple of hours ago; the moon is in the sky, and we could have seen our way." They rose to their feet, and looked about them; they could see no one in the hut. Presently the old man appeared from behind a piece of an old sail, which served to screen off his sleeping-place. "We must be going, friend," said Stephen, "and we will thank you for some more food, as we know not when we may obtain any." "You shall be welcome to what we have," and he called out to his wife, "Mollie, Mollie, get up and cook some breakfast for these young gentlemen; they wish to be on their way." While the meal was preparing they went out to look at their horses. The animals were munching some oats, which it was evident that either the old man or his son had given them; the former followed and got some water, which the poor beasts much required. Both animals looked much better for their food and rest. Stephen and Andrew hoped that they should be able to make a long day's journey, and find some safer place of concealment than the hut of the old fisherman. On their return to it they found breakfast ready, which they discussed with good appetites; and then paying the old man handsomely for the food and lodging he had afforded them, hastened out again, intending to ride off without further delay. Stephen led out his horse, and Andrew followed, when, as he was about to mount, he exclaimed, "Why, the poor animal is lame." He led him on a few paces; there could be no doubt about it. "This is unfortunate," he said. "But I will not delay you, Stephen; you ride on, and I will run down his leg; perhaps in the course of an hour or two the lameness may go off. I cannot fancy what has caused it." "No, no," answered Stephen; "I will remain with you whatever happens; the chances are the news of the fight won't reach this place for some days to come. We will share each other's fortunes, whatever they may be." All Andrew could say would not induce Stephen to ride on alone. They examined the horse's leg, but could discover no cause for its lameness; they rubbed down the leg, and did all they could in hopes of taking it off. Presently the old fisherman appeared, and seemed much surprised at hearing that the horse was lame. "We must trust to your hospitality for a few hours longer," said Stephen. "We should run the risk of having the horse break down altogether were we to proceed in its present condition." The old man made no objection, so they put their horses back into the boat-house, and re-entered the hut. They inquired if his son had returned on the previous evening. "Yes," he answered; "and he has now gone out in the boat to catch some more fish, so we shall have enough to feed you. You must rest on the ground as you did last night." As they had scarcely recovered from their fatigue, they were glad enough to lie down again and get some more sleep. They were aroused for dinner, which was composed chiefly of fish, and as soon as it was over, they went out to look at their horses. Andrew led his from the stable, and walked it up and down; it already appeared better. "I really think we might push forward; it would be safer than staying here. The chances are Feversham's cavalry will be scouring the country in all directions to make prisoners, and before long some of them may be here." Stephen agreed, and went back to the hut to pay the old man and wish him good-bye. He was standing at the door of the hut, when Andrew cried out, "Quick! quick! I see some horsemen in the distance, and they are coming this way. They may be friends, but they are more likely to be enemies." The old man heard what was said, but made no remark. Stephen hurried to the boat-house, and quickly bridling and saddling his horse, mounted, without stopping to look behind them. "Halloo! I thought you were going the other way," the old man shouted after them. They waved their hands without replying. On they galloped, and soon lost sight of the horsemen; but whether the latter were pursuing them was the question. Andrew's horse went better than they expected. The country was generally level, though the roads were none of the best. They had proceeded for a couple of hours or more when Andrew's horse began to flag; the animal was evidently feeling its lameness; still they had reached no place where they could hope to obtain the concealment they sought for. Their wish was to get among the rocky and wooded part of North Devon, and beyond the district from which any of those who had joined the rebellion would come; there would then be less chance of their being sought for. Yet they felt, if it was suspected that they had been with Monmouth, they would even so run the risk of being betrayed. "We must obtain disguises of some sort, though it may be difficult to find them," said Stephen, "for it would be dangerous to enter a town." It was certainly important to get rid of their uniforms, for those alone would betray them, as soon as the fate of the battle was known. At the same time they thought if they could obtain the dresses of gentlemen, they should less likely be suspected while travelling, at all events, than if they disguised themselves as countrymen, as their dialect and appearance would at once show that they were strangers. The long summer's day was well-nigh closing in when they reached a hilly district, where they hoped to find concealment. "What shall we do with our horses?" asked Andrew. "It will be difficult to hide them and find provender for them at the same time; besides which, should they be discovered, they would betray that we were in the neighbourhood. To turn them loose would be equally dangerous, for they would break into some corn-field or garden, and inquiries would be made to whom they belonged." "The only way, I fear, will be to kill them and throw them over the cliffs," said Stephen. "Then we shall have no means of travelling farther on," observed Andrew. "At all events, do not let us kill them to-night, but try to find some place where we can conceal both ourselves and them." They rode on, the sun descending on their right into the waters of the Bristol Channel, enabling them to steer a tolerably direct course. At last they came to a deep wooded dell, the sides covered with trees, being so steep that it at first appeared that they could not possibly get down them. The sound of falling water assured them that there was a stream at the bottom, which would enable them to give their horses water. They were not likely to find a better place. They accordingly, dismounting, led their horses down, endeavouring as little as possible to disturb the ground, so as to leave no traces behind them. They were not disappointed in the locality. There was water and grass for their horses, and they had some dry bread and fish, with which the old fisherman supplied them, in their knapsacks for themselves, while the trees grew so closely that it was impossible for any one above to discover them. They, therefore, having watered their horses and eaten some of their scanty provision, lay down with a sense of tolerable security to sleep, while their animals cropped the grass close to them. Still they were anxious to get farther southward, where, among the rough Cornish miners, they were likely, they hoped, to be able to effectually conceal themselves till the search for fugitives from the battle-field was likely to be over. Night passed quietly away, the weather continuing fine, and at early dawn, their horses being thoroughly refreshed, they led them up out of the dell. The country was now much more wild and rugged than any they had yet passed over, and their progress was proportionately slow. Under other circumstances they would have enjoyed the scenery, but their hearts were too sad and their anxiety too great to enable them to think of anything but the means of securing their safety. They had proceeded for about a couple of hours, and were looking out for a place where they could stop and eat the scanty remains of food they had brought with them, when they caught sight of two horsemen coming towards them. "Who can those men be?" asked Andrew. "King's dragoons," answered Stephen. "It would be no use to fly. Our only chance is to dash forward and cut our way past them if they attempt to stop us." "Agreed," said Andrew. "You take the fellow on our right, and I will tackle the other." They rode quietly forward, nerved for the contest; but just as they were about to plunge their spurs into their horses' flanks, three other dragoons appeared coming along the road. There was a deep ravine on the right full of trees and brushwood. Andrew proposed that they should ride down it as far as they could go, and then throwing themselves from their horses, endeavour to make their way through the wood till they could find some place of concealment. The attempt was a desperate one, as the dragoons might follow as fast as they could. At the same time, they would have somewhat of a start, and being more lightly clad than the dragoons, would make quicker way. "Whatever we do let us keep together," said Stephen; "and, if die we must, die fighting side by side." "Agreed," said Andrew, who was always ready to follow his younger brother's lead. Just, however as Andrew was about to ride his horse down the steep bank, the dragoons dashed forward at so rapid a rate, that Stephen saw it would be impossible to follow without the risk of being cut down when unable to defend himself. "Keep on the road," he cried out to Andrew, who had just time to turn his rein, and drawing his sword, galloped forward. The next moment the dragoons fired. The weapons of all four were clashing together. Both were tolerably skilful swordsmen. Stephen wounded his antagonist in the sword-arm. Andrew gave the other a plunge in the side which made him reel in his saddle, and dashed on to encounter the other three, who were now spurring forward to meet them. They had some hope of success, and their courage was high, though their horses were not equal to those of their opponents. They quickly met, when Stephen found his sword whirled from his grasp, and his horse borne to the ground. At the same moment Andrew uttered a cry, and Stephen saw him, to his dismay, fall bleeding from his horse. "We give in," cried Stephen, anxious to save his brother. Notwithstanding, two of the dragoons, with swords uplifted, were about to cut them down, when the third, who appeared by his uniform to be an officer, cried out, "Do not strike," throwing up his men's weapons at the same time. "You have acted like gallant fellows, whoever you are," he said, turning to Stephen, and getting off his horse, stepped forward to assist in lifting up Andrew, whom Stephen was endeavouring to help. The two dragoons who had first been encountered now came up swearing vengeance. The officer ordered the other men to look to their hurts, while he attended to Andrew's, which was not so severe as Stephen had at first supposed. "You have come from the field of Sedgemoor," he said, surveying the two young men. "You will return with us to Lord Feversham's camp, and must take the consequences of your folly. You are gentlemen, and I do not wish to treat you as I should common clowns." The hurts of the wounded men being bound up, the two prisoners were placed on their own horses, having been deprived of their weapons, while their arms were bound behind them, and their feet secured under their saddles. The officer now led the way along the road they had just come. "We have had a long search for you," observed the officer. "We heard of your having been harboured at a fisherman's hut, and have been following you ever since, though you managed to elude us yesterday. I do not wish to alarm you, but you must be prepared for the fate which has overtaken all the rebels that have been captured. General Feversham is not very lenient, and Colonel Kirk, who is expected immediately, is inclined to hang every one he can catch. I myself will do what I can for you, for I am pleased with the bold way that you attacked us; I despise a cowardly enemy." "We are much obliged to you for your courtesy," answered Stephen. "But, sir, does it not occur to you that we should be less inconvenienced if we had at least our arms at liberty, and were able to guide our horses over this rough road. Should they fall, we shall be in an unpleasant predicament, and may chance to break our necks or limbs." "Will you give your word that you will not attempt to escape, rescue or no rescue?" asked the officer. Stephen thought for a moment without answering. There might be an opportunity of getting free, and should they give their word of honour not to escape, they would be unable to take advantage of it. There was, however, very little probability that any party of their friends would be found able to attack five well-armed dragoons, for even the wounded men were still able to make a stout defence. The officer appeared to suspect his thoughts. "Remember, my friends," he observed, "should a rescue be attempted, the first thing we should do would be to shoot each of you through the head." "Thank you for your frankness, sir," said Stephen. "What do you say, Andrew; shall we give a promise not to escape, with a remote prospect of being rescued, and the tolerable certainty of being shot should we make the attempt to take advantage of it?" said Stephen. "We will give our word provided we are also to have our legs at liberty, and can ride like gentlemen," answered Andrew. "We must do it provisionally, however. If the number of men who may attempt to rescue us is double that of the dragoons, they will then have a good excuse for letting us go; and that is, I believe, after all, what Cornet Bryce wishes." "I fear that the Cornet will not agree to our arrangement," said Stephen, "though he may think that there is very little chance of ten or twenty men suddenly appearing in this part of the country to rescue us." "Still let us try," said Andrew; "it will show him that we entertain some hope of being rescued, that our friends will revenge themselves on him if we are ill-treated. As to shooting us, I do not think he is the man to do that. We must run no small risk either way, and be prepared for it." "Well, lads, have you made up your minds?" asked the Cornet, who, though holding a subordinate rank, was a man of a certain age. Andrew, as the eldest, made the proposal he had suggested. "Not very likely that I should agree to it," he answered. "I have you now in my power, and if your friends attempt to rescue you, I must pistol you as I promised." "Look here, Cornet," said Andrew, "should you kill us, our friends will to a certainty cut you down in revenge; for supposing that twenty or thirty of them appear, you would have no chance, and as to giving our word not to attempt under such circumstances to escape, we cannot do it." "Well, then, you must take the consequences," answered the Cornet; "you must ride on with your legs bound under you, but I will allow you the use of your hands, for if your horses were to fall you might break your necks, and I should have only dead men to convey to the camp." Stephen, who all along had had no wish to give his word, was glad of this arrangement. The Cornet ordering his men to halt, himself unloosed the prisoners' hands, and bade them take the reins and see that they kept their horses on their feet. The cavalcade now moved forward at a more rapid rate than they before ventured to go. Neither Stephen nor Andrew had the slightest hope of being rescued, as few of the cavalry who had fled from Sedgemoor had kept together, each man having gone off in the direction where he hoped safety might most quickly be found. They concluded, with correctness, that many had been already captured, and that the dragoons were scouring the country in all directions in search of others. Their only consolation was, that they had fallen into the hands of a humane man, who was certainly not thirsting for their blood. Where there is life there is hope. They therefore rode on less downcast than under the circumstances might have been expected. CHAPTER NINE. Stephen and Andrew Battiscombe had, without hesitation, given their names and other particulars of their family to Cornet Bryce. "Well, my friends, I can tell you that I think there is a chance, though a slight one, that you may escape hanging," he observed, as he rode alongside them in a familiar fashion, two of his men going in front and two guarding the rear. "Our General and some of the officers under him are not above taking bribes, and if you can persuade them that your father will pay handsomely, you may possibly get off, provided they do not hang you without asking questions. I give you the hint, as it may be of value to you." "Thank you," said Andrew. "I am very sure that our father will be ready to pay any sum he can afford to save our lives; should we even now obtain our liberty, the person who enables us to escape would be handsomely rewarded." "He will probably be shot or lose his commission if caught, besides which, to do so he would neglect his duty as a soldier," answered the Cornet. "No, no, young gentlemen, I gave you advice for your benefit, not for my own. I am not surprised at your making the proposal to me; some might take it. I thirst for no man's blood, and I have no wish to handle blood-money. My father served under Cromwell, and though I am in the service of King James, I have not forgotten the principles of my ancestors. Would that I could free you without dishonour!" These remarks accounted for the Cornet's kind treatment to his prisoners. They had too much reason to fear that they should not find many like him in the camp. As they could reach no town that night, all the horses being too tired, the Cornet knocked at the door of a farm-house and demanded admittance. The farmer cast an eye of compassion on the two prisoners, but said nothing, and, without a moment's hesitation, admitted the officer and his troopers, while he sent two of his men to lead their horses to the stables. His wife, on observing that two of the troopers were wounded, came forward and offered at once to dress their hurts. "I have some skill in that way," she said, "and I hope that if any of the Duke of Monmouth's men were to come asking help, I should not be hardly dealt with if I gave it." "I would advise you, dame, not to try the experiment," said Cornet Bryce. "I fear you and your goodman would run a great risk of being hung up if you were to afford help to the youngest drummer-boy in the rebel army." "Alack! alack! these are cruel times," cried the good woman. "We hear that the king's General is hanging up the poor people by scores; we do not desire to get our necks into the same noose. You will note, good sir, that we are peaceable people, that we gave you an instant welcome, and will provide the best our house can afford." "Do as you propose, good dame, and I will report as well of you as I can," said the Cornet, placing himself at the table, where he directed his two prisoners to sit, close to him. The farmer busied himself in helping his wife. As Stephen examined his countenance, he thought he recognised it as that of a man who had been in Monmouth's army. He made no remark. Once or twice, while the Cornet and his men were engaged in discussing their food, the farmer cast a glance at Stephen and Andrew, which showed, Stephen thought, that he also recognised them, and said very clearly, "Do not take any notice of me." As soon as supper was over, Stephen, turning to the Cornet, said, "If you will give me leave, sir, I will take this opportunity of writing to my friends in Dorsetshire. I may not have another. Farmer Stubbs here will, I doubt not, be able to despatch a letter; and when he knows that life and death depend on it, he will exert himself to convey it in safety." The farmer started on hearing himself spoken of by name, which Stephen did inadvertently. "Ay, that I will, you may depend on it, young gentleman; I would rather be the means of saving a man's life than killing one, even in fair fight. If the Cornet will give me a safe pass that I may not be taken for one of those running away from the fight, I will undertake to convey the letter myself as soon as it is written." The Cornet did not appear to think that there was anything unusual in this proposal, and without hesitation promised to write a pass if Farmer Stubbs would find the paper. "Here it is, gentlemen," said the farmer's wife, who had got up and had been searching about in a cupboard, as she produced several sheets of coarse letter-paper, very different from the fine notepaper of the present day, together with a bottle of ink, some quill pens, and a piece of sealing-wax. Stephen at once commenced to write his proposed letter to his father, stating that he and Andrew had been captured on the supposition that they were escaping from the field of Sedgemoor; that they should probably be executed forthwith unless they were ransomed; and he pointed out to his father the importance of at once sending a person of trust with a sufficient sum, who might endeavour to obtain their liberation. Supposing that Roger Willoughby was still in England, he wrote a short letter to him to be forwarded by post, entreating that he would communicate with Mr Kempson and get him to exert his influence. This was done, it must be understood, under the idea which Stephen entertained, that after the slaughter of the battle-field was over, the prisoners captured would have a fair trial and time for their defence. He little dreamed of the cruel way Colonel Kirk and his lambs would treat those placed in their power, or the bloody assize under Judge Jeffreys. As soon as the letters were finished, he asked the Cornet to give his promised pass to the worthy farmer, as if it were a matter of no great consequence. "He shall have it, and I shall be very glad if he succeeds in obtaining your release," said the Cornet. At length the farmer proposed that his guests should retire to rest, observing that his good woman would see them off in the morning, as his journey being a matter of life and death, he intended to start a couple of hours before daylight. To this Cornet Bryce made no objection. "Very wise, as I suppose you know the road," he observed. More satisfied than they had been for some hours, Stephen and Andrew placed their heads on the pillow of the rough pallet which had been prepared for them; the soldiers stretched themselves on the floor, except the two wounded men, for whom the good dame made up separate beds, and again looked carefully to their hurts. They were all four soon snoring in concert. Andrew had joined them. Stephen kept awake, considering if there was any possibility of escaping. From what Cornet Bryce had told him, he knew that there was a risk the moment they arrived at Bridgewater of their being hung without examination or trial of any sort, numbers having been so treated by Feversham and Colonel Kirk. It was far safer, therefore, to escape, if it could be done. The Cornet himself, though he sat up talking with the farmer for some time, at length turned into the truckle bed provided for him, and was soon as fast asleep as his men. Farmer Stubbs was making certain preparations apparently for his journey, filling his saddle-bags with provisions, his holsters with a brace of pistols and ammunition. They were thus engaged as noiselessly as possible when the door opened, and two young men entered. The old woman put her finger to her lips as they gazed somewhat astonished at the number of occupants of the common room. Presently another came in; then the old lady, beckoning to them, accompanied them outside. On seeing this Stephen's hopes rose. If they were all staunch men they might overpower their guard without the slightest difficulty, but then serious consequences might ensue to the farmer. Probably his house would be burnt down and his property destroyed, should the troopers suffer any violence. It seems surprising that Cornet Bryce should so far have neglected his duty as to go to sleep without placing a watch over them. After some time one of the young men returned and came up to Stephen's bed. Finding that he was awake, he made a sign to him to get up, and arouse his brother as noiselessly as possible. As soon as they were both on foot he beckoned them out of the room. "Our father's ale and cider are pretty strong, and if these fellows wake we are more than a match for them. We may either bind them and keep them prisoners somewhere in the neighbourhood, or we may put them to death, or you may escape by yourselves, while you lame their horses to prevent them from following you." "If we had the power we would choose the latter course," said Stephen. "May they not revenge themselves by imprisoning your father and destroying his farm?" "He will be far away from this before morning," answered young Stubbs. "They will not catch a sight of any of us if we are in hiding, and they can scarcely injure our poor old mother, who will know nothing of your flight." "Then by all means let us try the latter course," said Stephen, his spirits rising as he thought of once more obtaining his liberty. "Come along then," said young Stubbs. "One of us is going with you, the rest remain, for we are safer in hiding close to the farm than we should be in travelling across the country. We wish to serve you as we know you well. Mother will remain in the house, and be as much surprised as the soldiers when they find you, their prisoners, have gone. She is a wonderful woman, and will not yield an inch, besides which, we shall be at hand; should any violence be offered her by the soldiers, we will be ready to astonish them." Simon said this while he led the way to the stables. He quickly led out Stephen's and Andrew's horses, with one for himself. "Mount," he said. "There is no time to lose. My brothers will look after the troopers' animals, and take good care that they are not in a fit condition to follow us. They have had no food all this time, poor brutes. Some they will lame, others they will let loose. Stay, there is one thing we forgot. The uniforms you wear are likely to betray you. It will be better to change them for my brothers' clothing. Wait here, and I will be back in a minute." Simon, who had not yet mounted, hurried into the house. He soon returned, bringing a couple of bundles, with two countrymen's hats. "Now we will mount and away, and change these when we are farther on the road, before daybreak." At first they walked the horses, till they had got out of hearing of the house, then stuck their spurs into the animals' flanks and galloped on. Simon knew the road, and did not pull rein for a dozen miles or more. He proposed, he said, riding right across Devonshire so as to reach the southern coast, where they might find a vessel going over to France, or still better, to Holland, where they would be among friends. Stephen and Andrew felt their spirits rise at thus finding themselves again at liberty, and they doubted not that this time they should make their escape. Simon was evidently a very intelligent fellow, and up to all sorts of plans and projects for eluding the enemy. As daylight approached he proposed entering a thick wood, in which he said he had no doubt a stream could be found for watering their horses; they could here change their clothes, and hide their uniforms in some place where they were not likely to be found. Stephen was inclined implicitly to follow his advice, and without hesitation did as he suggested; but after refreshing themselves, they changed their dresses, as proposed. Hunting about they found a hollow beneath an old tree; here they put in their uniforms, and covered the hole up again with light earth and leaves; they then remounting their horses, rode on again for a couple of hours more. Even should the Cornet and his men follow them, it was impossible that they could reach thus far for several hours to come; they accordingly dismounted by the side of a stream where there was sufficient grass for their horses; thanks to Simon's forethought, they had food to last them, he calculated, till they could reach the coast. The next two stages were made at night, thus avoiding any dangerous questions being asked by the people they would have met if they had travelled by day. At length they considered that they might venture to travel during part of the day. Accordingly, after breakfasting near a stream, of which they found an abundance on their road, they pushed forward during the morning. As they kept as much as possible on the by-roads, and avoided the villages, they met but few people. Some of them looked at them askance, others addressed them and inquired where they were going, but the greater number took but little notice of them, supposing, probably, that they were farmers from a distance. A few, seeing that they were coming from the north, asked for information regarding the Duke of Monmouth's misadventure. Of course, they could say they knew nothing of the Duke's movements, and as to the battles which had been fought, the less said about them the better; they might be taken for partisans of one side or the other, and all they wanted just now was to attend to their own affairs, important enough to them, whatever they might be to others. This answer satisfied the inquirers, and the travellers got on with less inconvenience than they had expected. They were not generally very acute persons, or they might have suspected that Stephen and his brother, who were fine-looking young men, were not farmers, though Simon, both in his dialect and appearance, showed his real character. At length the coast was reached. It was one of those rocky secluded little bays, or coves as they are called, which abound on the shores of Devonshire; three or four fishermen's cottages were scattered about on the sides of the cliffs; one was considerably larger and better built than the rest. In the centre of the bay floated a boat, or rather a little vessel. "The probabilities are that that boat belongs to the owner of the cottage. She is large enough to carry us to France or Holland. If the owner will let her to us we can procure sufficient provisions." "Let us inquire then," said Andrew. "Simon and I will stand by the horses, you will go down to the cottage." Stephen, agreeing to this, set off, and was soon at the door of the cottage. A superior-looking seafaring man opened it and bade him enter. "Does the boat brought up in the bay belong to you, friend?" he asked. "Yes, and as wholesome a one as ever floated on salt water; she will go through any amount of sea, always provided she is properly handled." "Then I should think she is just the craft to suit my two friends and me. I want to know whether you will let her to us for a couple of weeks or so." "Where do you want to go to in her?" asked the old man, eyeing his visitor. "To be honest with you, we desire to be put across either to the coast of France, or should the wind prove favourable, we should prefer running on to Holland." The old man eyed Stephen narrowly as he was speaking. "You have some particular reason, I conclude, for wishing to get off," he remarked. "It is not merely a pleasure trip you wish to make, and if you go, I need not expect you to bring the boat back again." "To be frank with you, we have a particular reason," said Stephen. "We are willing to pay accordingly. We will hand over to you a security, and pay a certain sum down, and give you a promissory note for the remainder." The old man seemed to be turning the matter in his mind. "I cannot send the boat alone, but you shall have the man who usually sails her since I have been laid by, Joe Savin, and my lad Tom Peddler, provided you pay their wages from the time they sail to the time they return into harbour." To this Stephen willingly agreed, highly pleased to make the bargain with so little trouble. He accordingly, mounting his horse, rode back to where he had left Andrew and Simon, who at once accompanied him to the house of the old pilot, for such he appeared to be. Here they all three underwent a further scrutiny. "Here are our horses, which, if I mistake not, are worth a considerable portion of the value of the boat; I will, in addition, pay you five pounds down, and will give you a promissory note for a further 10 pounds, which my father, Mr Stephen Battiscombe of Langton Hall, will pay you." "That is tolerably good payment, I will allow, for the risk I run of losing my boat," said the pilot; "but that risk is very considerable, and you must understand that if I did not suspect more than you have told me, I would not enter into the venture. I do not ask questions." From this remark Stephen knew that the old pilot suspected him and his companions to be fugitives from the field of Sedgemoor, and entertained a sympathy which he was unwilling to allow. "As there is no time to be lost, we will ask you, friend, to give directions to your men to go on board to store the craft with such provisions as we shall require for the voyage. I, of course, shall be ready to pay for them in addition; five mouths to feed, we will require a good store." "I have a cask of salted herrings, some dried cod, and I will see what my good wife, who is out marketing, can supply when she comes home," said the pilot. "May be we shall find some bread and other things in the village." Fortunately for the fugitives the goodwife soon returned home. On hearing the account they gave of themselves, she seemed to take as warm an interest in them as did her husband, by her exertions. Joe Savin and his mate being summoned, the little vessel was quickly provisioned. There was still some time of daylight when they finally went on board, having bid farewell to the old pilot and his wife. "Now, Joe, let us get under weigh," said Stephen. "As I have been to sea I can lend you a hand, and will either take the helm or help you forward." "You will take the helm, and let the other young men come forward and do as I tell them," said Joe, eyeing Simon's muscular form and Andrew's active figure. "We are stronger-handed than usual, for even when old Mr Headland is aboard, though he has got a head on his shoulders, he has not much bodily strength remaining." The main-sail was soon set, the anchor, with the assistance of Andrew and Simon, quickly hove up and secured, when the little vessel began to glide out of the cove. They had just got off the southern point of the bay when they saw a number of men running along the cliff towards them. As Stephen was steering he did not observe them particularly, but Andrew and Simon, after attentively looking at them, exclaimed, "They are soldiers!" As they caught sight of the boat, the soldiers were seen to beckon vehemently, as if to call her back. "Very unlikely that we will do that," said Stephen. "The fellows have somehow or other found out who we are, and old Mr Headland will, I fear, be the sufferer." "If those soldiers want us, should not we put back?" asked Joe. "The very reason we should not," said Stephen. "We should do no good, and should certainly have our voyage delayed." Just as he was speaking the sail gave a flap; the boat was becalmed under the high ground. "Get out the oars, lads; we must make the best of our way from the shore." Joe and the lads got out the oars, and Andrew and Simon assisted them to pull. They had not made many strokes before several shot came whistling over their heads. "Pull away," cried Stephen; "we shall soon be out of range, and in a few minutes will catch the breeze again." The soldiers once more fired; two bullets struck the boat, but did no damage; the third went through the main-sail. The soldiers shouted and gesticulated more vehemently than before. The party in the boat, at Stephen's suggestion, took not the slightest notice of them, though they pulled on with might and main till the breeze once more filled the sails and rapidly freshened. The boat now stood away to the southward, and was soon out of range of the soldiers' muskets. "Perhaps after all we shall be followed," remarked Andrew. "No fear of that," said Joe. "There is not a man left in the harbour to take out a boat; the chances are the soldiers are not able to pull themselves or they would have been after us by this time. See, the breeze is freshening, and by nightfall we shall be well away from the land." This information greatly relieved the minds of the fugitives; they had now every hope of getting free, and, should the fine weather continue, be able to land in Holland. Stephen's chief anxiety was for the old pilot; the horses would very likely be taken from him, and he might too probably be carried off as a prisoner for having enabled rebels to escape. Though they had not witnessed the cruelties practised by Colonel Kirk and his lambs, Simon had told him of what he had heard, and of the hundreds who had been hung up on the Bussex oak directly after the action. They were justly afraid that Mr Headland might be treated in the same cruel manner; and "if we had gone back we could have done no good," Stephen said to himself over and over again. For some hours the weather continued fine, and the boat made fair progress, but towards midnight a dark bank of clouds rose to the eastward, threatening a gale. "What do you think of it, Joe?" asked Stephen. "We shall catch it, but the boat will float like a cork; we will shorten sail in good time, though we shall not make much of our way towards Holland till it is over, I have a notion." The boat, it should be understood, was only half-decked; but she had good high sides, and was provided with water-ways, so that unless the gale should prove of unusual violence, they had no reason to fear for their safety. Though Andrew had lived near the sea, he had seldom been afloat, and Simon had never even seen the ocean before. At first he had been highly pleased with its appearance, but now that he saw the dark leaden foam-topped waves rising up, he began to look as if he would rather have been safe on shore; but he was a stout-hearted fellow, and was not disposed to give way to idle fears. The boat began to pitch and tumble about, and to take the water over her bows. "I will go to the helm now," said Joe to Stephen, "for though I see you know how to handle a boat in smooth water, it is a very different matter in a heavy sea." Stephen gladly gave up the helm, and stood by with the lad to shorten sail, should it be necessary. Two reefs had already been taken down, and the little vessel went bobbing away over the dark foaming seas, making but little progress. She might, as Joe affirmed, be the best sea-boat out of Kenway Cove, but she was certainly not a fast craft, and was inclined to make as much way to leeward as she did ahead. She was now standing over to the French coast, but Stephen and his friends were unwilling to land there except in a case of great necessity. Should they be discovered, the French Government, who were friendly with James, would be very likely to hand them over to him. Their only hope was to get into some retired place on the coast of Normandy, where they might live unnoticed, and engage themselves in fishing or some other employment. The wind increased; now the rain came down in torrents, drenching through those who were but ill-protected, old Joe, in a thick woollen coat, and a pipe in his mouth, and a tarpaulin drawn down over his head, looking as unconcerned as if it were a fine summer day. He advised Andrew and Simon to get into the cuddy. "You ain't of much use," he observed, "and there is no reason why you should get wet through to do no one good. Mr Stephen here may do as he pleases; we are likely enough to want his help; he has shown that he can give it." Andrew and Simon, though they did not feel complimented, followed the old sailor's advice, but the tossing and the tremendous thumps which they heard every instant against the bow of the vessel, effectually prevented them from going to sleep, and made them wish to get out again. They felt also very sick and uncomfortable: the cuddy was hot and close. The gale increased, and old Joe deemed it necessary to take down the last reef and lower the fore-sail, keeping only the small storm-jib set. The operation took some time, and while Stephen was assisting in shifting the jibs, a sea struck the bows, and carried him off his legs. Providentially he clung to the forestay, or he would have, the next instant, been overboard; but he saved himself. He got the storm-jib hauled well on board before the next sea struck the vessel. Sail being reduced, everything was made snug, and he came aft. Looking into the cuddy, he inquired how his friends were getting on. "Very badly," they both answered. "How soon is the gale likely to be over?" "It is impossible to say," he answered. "It may likely enough come on to blow harder; we shall then have to heave the vessel to, and wait till it decreases." Andrew and Simon groaned on hearing this, and wished themselves safe on shore. In a few minutes Joe determined to heave the vessel to, which was done under the storm-jib and mizzen, while the main-sail was lowered down and stowed. When morning broke, there the little vessel lay, riding on the leaden seas, and the dark clouds overhead, and masses of spray driving against her. Old Joe said they were pretty nearly about the spot where they were the night before--no nearer the French coast, no farther from that of England. There seemed to be little likelihood of the gale abating. Joe put the lad, who had been sleeping most of the night, to watch the helm while he took a snooze. The rest of the party had slept but little. Stephen had not closed his eyes, but he now felt very weary, and could no longer keep awake, so he lay down in the cuddy, caring less for the thumping sound than Andrew had done. He slept on for some hours in spite of wind whistling in the rigging, the roaring of the seas, which ever and anon broke over the little vessel, half filling her with water. Old Joe got the pump rigged, and bade Andrew and Simon, as they could do nothing else, work away at it. He kept them at it till their arms ached, but it was far better than being idle. At last Stephen got up; he proposed that they should have some food, as neither of his friends had taken anything since the previous evening. At first they declared that they could get nothing down. He persuaded them to try. Following his example, they succeeded better than they had expected, and were able again to turn to the pump. With an easterly gale such as they were now experiencing, there is generally a clear sky, but on this occasion, clouds massed on clouds came rushing along from the North Sea. Though hove-to, as far as old Joe could calculate, about mid-channel, the little vessel was drifting fast to leeward, farther and farther from the direction which those on board desired to go. Old Joe proposed at length that they should run back to some port on the English coast. Against this Stephen protested. They had had a narrow escape as it was, and wherever they might put in, they would be nearly certain to be suspected. "Then we must bear up for a French port," said Joe. "That will only be a degree better," observed Stephen. "Well, then, it is a choice of evils," said Joe. "If we do not get into some port or other, and it should come on to blow harder than it does now, the chances are the craft will go down. Better to be taken by the French." "We will hope that the gale won't increase," said Stephen, who having thus far succeeded in escaping from his enemies, was not inclined to despair. His brother and Simon were more out of spirits about the matter. Still it seemed probable that the gale would increase; not a break appeared in the clouds. As long as the provisions lasted, and the boat could keep above water, Stephen determined to remain at sea. The boat, however, was leaking considerably, and the provisions were becoming exhausted, so that even should the gale moderate they could scarcely hope to reach a Dutch port before their food would have come to an end. All day long the little vessel lay tossing about. They spoke little, though they had much to think about. Their thoughts were not such as they could give expression to before others. Joe, who was generally a cheery old fellow, sat looking glum and downcast. "It is all very well for you to say you won't go back, but if we don't, as I said before, we shall go to the bottom." Still Stephen was determined to attempt to get on as soon as the gale had abated. He knew that it was as dangerous to run before the seas, when there would be a great probability of being pooped, as to remain hove-to. That they had been drifting down channel he was aware. How far they had got it was difficult to say. To attempt to make the land they might fail to enter any sheltering harbour, and might be cast on some rocky shore, where the vessel would be lost. Stephen argued the point with old Joe. "Well," replied the latter, "you must be answerable for whatever happens. Remember, if the craft goes down it is your fault, not mine." Stephen was half inclined to smile at what Joe said, and willingly undertook to be responsible for whatever should occur, and going to the pump, set to work to encourage his companions. Thus they continued tumbling and tossing about as they had been doing for many hours. At length, overcome with fatigue, Stephen lay down in the cuddy, hoping to snatch a short rest. How long he had been asleep he could not tell, when he was awakened by a loud crash. Starting up, he saw to his dismay that the mast had gone by the board. Old Joe was equal to the emergency. "Get out the oars, lads, and we will try and keep the craft's head to wind, while I cut away the wreck. It is our only chance, for if she is brought broadside to the sea, she will fill in an instant and go down." Tom Peddler, accustomed to obey old Joe, promptly got out one of the oars, while Andrew and Simon got out the other; Stephen, springing aft, went to the helm. Joe soon cleared the mast, the butt end of which had been battering away against the side of the boat, threatening to knock a hole in her. By considerable exertion she was kept head to wind, while in a few minutes old Joe, who had been looking out, shading his eyes with his hands, declared that the gale was breaking. Soon a light was seen to shine forth between the clouds to the eastward, and it became evident that the wind, having played them this cruel trick, was going down. Though they had to pull hard to prevent the boat from being swamped, still, as long as they could do that, they hoped at all events to save their lives for the present. Though, after all, they should be compelled to put into a French port, to do so was not altogether hopeless, as they would have the excuse of coming in for the sake of getting a fresh mast. The wind continued to go down, and the sea to decrease so much, that their exertions were greatly lessened. They were able to enjoy a better meal also than they had taken. They had just finished, when Andrew, who was on the look-out, exclaimed--"I see a white sail away to the east. See, the canvas shines like snow against the clouds." Joe jumped up at hearing this, and took a look at the stranger, which he pronounced to be a large ship bearing directly down for them. "Whether friend or foe, we cannot escape her; but if she is Dutch we are in no danger. I do not know how a Frenchman would treat us. We have most to dread from one of our own ships; more's the shame it should be so." As there was no necessity any longer for keeping the oars going, all on board anxiously watched the approaching ship. "She is a man-of-war, I have little doubt," said Joe. "Carries fifty guns. She is English, too," he added; "she has hoisted her ensign at the peak." "Remember we have but one simple tale to tell," said Stephen to Andrew and Simon; "we are bound for Holland. We must neither show fear nor surprise if we are taken on board. Merely ask the English Captain to supply us with a mast and the necessary rigging, in place of the one we have lost." In a short time the frigate was up to the little vessel. A boat was lowered, and a lieutenant and midshipman came in her. "What has brought you into this condition, friends?" asked the former, looking at Joe. "Oh," replied Joe, "a sudden squall carried away our mast." "The Captain's orders were to bring your boat alongside," said the lieutenant. "Get out your oars; we will soon tow you there." Just then Stephen, who had been looking at the midshipman, exclaimed, "Roger Willoughby!" Roger started up and cried out, "Stephen Battiscombe! I should not have known you, you look so thin and careworn. What has brought you out here?" "My brother and I and our friend are going to seek our fortune in Holland," answered Stephen, who would rather not have had his name mentioned. As the lieutenant was in a hurry to obey his orders, he directed Joe to heave him a tow-rope, and the little vessel was quickly carried alongside the ship. On the deck Stephen saw his old commander Captain Benbow, who, however, did not recognise him, dressed as he was in countryman's clothes. "What brought you out here, my men, in mid-channel?" asked the Captain. "Come up on deck, and let me have a talk with you." Stephen at once obeyed; Andrew and Simon followed him more slowly. To Stephen's surprise Roger took no further notice of him, though his old friend, knowing how he had been engaged, had a shrewd suspicion of the truth, and thought that he had probably assumed some fictitious name. It was better to let him answer for himself. Stephen replied, as had been agreed on, that he and his companions were bound for Holland to seek their fortunes, and that in consequence of being unable to find a larger vessel, they had embarked in the _Duck_ and had it not been for the gale they encountered, they hoped to have been there by this time. "Not much chance of getting there unless you are fitted with a new mast," said the Captain. "My wish is always to help fellow-seamen in distress. Though you are dressed as a farmer, I am very sure that by the way you came up the side that you have been at sea before, and while I look at you, it appears to me that we have been shipmates. I will not ask questions. If I did I should want true answers. Come, my friend, the sooner we get your craft fitted out the better for you; the wind may breeze up again, and it may become a difficult job." Without taking further notice of Stephen and his companions, he ordered the carpenter and boatswain to try how fast they could fit and rig a new mast for the little _Duck_. "That won't be looked upon as neglect of duty or aiding and abetting. Remember, we don't know who these men are," he said, turning to Roger. "We found them in distress on the high seas, and we do what every man is bound to do, help them to get into port as best they can." Roger did not say that he recognised Stephen, although he guessed that the Captain, from what he said, had done so. He was longing himself to ask Stephen to give him an account of his adventures, but he judged that the Captain would object to his doing this. He was very thankful that Stephen had escaped from the battle of Sedgemoor, of which a full account had reached London, as well as of the dreadful slaughter which had been inflicted on the insurgents. Like all those who served under Benbow, the carpenter and gunner of his ship, aided by their crews, exerted themselves to the utmost to get the mast finished. They knew that it need not be very shapely, provided the main-sail, which had been saved, could be set upon it. In the course of a couple of hours the little _Duck_ was once more ready to continue her voyage. Stephen heartily thanked the Captain for his kindness. "Say not a word about it, my lad," answered Captain Benbow; "I am glad to give you a helping hand. I should have advised you to come on board my ship instead of continuing your voyage in that cockle-shell, but I am bound up the Bristol Channel to look out for fugitives from the Duke of Monmouth's unfortunate army, and my directions are to cruise between Bideford Bay and Bridgewater Bay. If I had found a craft coming from that part of the coast, I should have been compelled to detain her and all on board. Now, fare you well. I wish that you had stuck to the sea, and you would have kept out of difficulties into which so many at the present day have fallen. By the by, as you have been out so long, you may be in want of provisions; I have some private stores, and you shall be welcome to them," and he ordered his steward to put a keg of biscuits, a case of Spanish hams, a couple of casks of water, and other minor articles on board. The honest Captain, from the warmth of his heart, could not help shaking his old acquaintance by the hand as he dismissed him to his little vessel. Roger slipped down the side and grasped his hand. "I am so glad you got off," he exclaimed. "I did not speak to you before, because I waited to take the cue from the Captain. It is all right; remember, let them know at Eversden, through the Colonel, when you arrive safely in Holland. I am glad you are going there instead of to France, for the Captain thinks we shall be at loggerheads with the Mounseers soon." Saying this, and having wrung Stephen's hand, Roger sprang up the side of his ship, when the little _Duck_, shoving off, made sail to the eastward, while the _Ruby_ stood on her course down Channel. CHAPTER TEN. The gale had been blowing for some days on the Dorsetshire coast. The seafaring men along the shore pronounced it the hardest they had known at that season for many a year, harder than one which had blown a few days previously for a short time. A vessel, from stress of weather, had put into Lyme, and reported that she had passed two small craft, tempest-tossed and sorely battered, but they refused assistance, saying that they intended to keep the sea, as they were bound to the eastward. This information being given to the authorities at Lyme, notice was issued to the men stationed along the coast, placed there to prevent the escape of rebels, and they were directed to watch for the two vessels, which it was conjectured had on board fugitives from Sedgemoor, or others who had taken part with Monmouth. Colonel Tregellen had been deeply stirred with indignation at the cruelties practised by the Earl of Feversham and Colonel Kirk on the hapless Monmouth's defeated army, and he felt far more interest in them than would otherwise have been the case. "Had they been criminals of the darkest dye, they could not have been more severely dealt with. Instead of that, they were honest men, fighting bravely for what they believed a righteous cause," he observed, as he read the accounts of what had taken place. It is scarcely necessary to say how Alice Tufnell felt. Though she had warned and entreated Stephen Battiscombe not to take up arms, she knew that he was prompted by the highest and purest of motives. Her heart sank as she thought of the uncertainty that hung over his fate. No news had been received of him and his brother since the day of the battle, and their friends could not conjecture whether they had fallen at Sedgemoor, been killed in the pursuit, or were still in hiding. The first intimation that his sons were still alive was received from Farmer Stubbs, who had brought Stephen's letter, saying that he and Andrew were in the hands of Cornet Bryce, and that they were to be carried to Bridgewater or Taunton. Mr Battiscombe immediately sent off to Colonel Tregellen to ask his advice. Farmer Stubbs was very unwilling to put himself into the power of Colonel Kirk and his lambs, and declined going with the sum of money necessary to bribe those in authority. Mr Battiscombe had the money ready, which he hoped would be sufficient. He first thought of Mr Handscombe, but on applying to Mr Willoughby, who had last heard from him, he found that he had left London, no one knew whither. Colonel Tregellen himself would have been a fit person in some respects, for his loyalty would never have been doubted, but his health prevented him from going far from home. He was not suited by his temper and disposition to deal with characters such as Colonel Kirk and those associated with him. Poor Mr Battiscombe, in despair, applied to Mr Willoughby. He had taken no part in the rebellion, and his son, with his sanction, had entered the Royal Navy, and was serving under Captain Benbow. Feeling deeply for his friend, though the undertaking was very contrary to his habits, he agreed to set out without loss of time, and endeavour to carry on the negotiation. He had very little to plead for Stephen and Andrew, except that they were young men carried away with the flattery bestowed on them by the Duke, but their father would undertake for their good behaviour in future, and would send them out of the country. Farmer Stubbs, saying that he had a relative not far off, with whom he intended to stay till the storm had blown over, disappeared the next evening, and Mr Willoughby set out on his mission of mercy, which, as the reader knows, was to prove a bootless one. The storm had been blowing for some days, when Colonel Tregellen, accompanied by Alice on her pony, started on a ride to the village, where he had some tenants to visit, intending to return along the cliffs, where he hoped that the fresh wind off the sea would raise Alice's depressed spirits. On reaching the Downs the wind was so strong that they could with difficulty make headway against it, still the little pony seemed to enjoy the breeze even more than its mistress. When the Colonel pressed forward, his horse cantered gaily along. Alice at length, just as they reached the higher part, where an extensive view could be obtained over the ocean, begged to stop to regain her breath. The Colonel was looking westward, when he observed two sails in the distance. "Look out there, Alice," he said, "your eyes are sharper than mine. Tell me what those are." "Two small vessels or boats," she answered. "They have a very small amount of canvas, and are running to the shore, while they appear to be terribly tossed about. It is surprising that they can remain afloat in such a sea." "They must be in a desperate strait, or they would not stand in for this coast," remarked the Colonel. "Unless they can manage to reach Lyme they will to a certainty be lost." "They are not steering for Lyme," said Alice, "but are coming on directly for our bay." "Can they be the craft reported to have been fallen in with by the Lyme vessel?" observed the Colonel. "I pray that they may not be, as those too likely contained fugitives from Monmouth's army," said Alice. "There must be some one on board who knows this bay, or they would not be steering for it," said the Colonel. "As the vessels are small, the crews may hope to run them up on the beach and escape through the surf." In spite of the wind the Colonel and his adopted daughter were unwilling to leave the Downs till they knew the fate of the boats. The pathway down to the beach was too steep for the horses to descend, or in their eagerness they would have gone down. The Colonel rode as close as he could to the edge of the cliff, to see if he could observe old Ben Rullock, or some other fisherman, in order to desire them to make preparations for rescuing the storm-tossed crews, whosoever they might be. While he was watching he observed several persons coming along the cliff. "The fellows are on the look-out for those boats," he said to himself. "I wish they had not discovered them, for if the people on board are fugitives, should they escape the waves, they will fall into their scarcely less remorseless clutches." He watched the men as they descended the cliffs, but could not see what had become of them. "I verily believe they have hidden themselves, that they may pounce out on their prey, and give them less chance of escaping." The guards, who were all armed, seemed to have made signals to others, who came hurrying up till nearly a dozen were collected about the same spot. A reef of rocks ran off on the west side of the bay, which, circling round, formed a sort of breakwater, which, in moderate weather, enabled Ben Rullock and other fishermen to leave their boats at anchor in security, though at present they were all hauled up. It required nice steering to enter the bay so as to avoid the end of the reef; the two boats approached, their shattered appearance showing the urgent necessity which had induced them to steer for the land. Some of the people in them were baling, others pumping, both pressing eagerly on, almost abreast, instead of following each other. At length they drew close to the bay, when one, standing more to the westward than she ought to have done, struck the end of a reef. The next sea scattered her fragments, and she literally melted away from sight, leaving those who had been on board struggling helplessly in the waves. In vain those in the other boat threw out ropes to rescue the drowning people; they succeeded in dragging only one on board. As far as could be seen from the top of the cliff, the remainder perished miserably. Alice uttered a shriek of horror as she saw the catastrophe; no help could apparently be afforded from the shore; the other boat rushed forward up the bay, and disappeared beneath the cliff. "The poor fellows have escaped a watery grave, but only to find themselves prisoners in the hands of their enemies," cried the Colonel. Shouts and cries heard above the roaring of the seas came up from below the cliffs; then all was still. After the lapse of a few minutes a number of men appeared coming up the cliff which led down to Ben Rullock's cottage; they were the soldiers guarding six prisoners. The Colonel, followed by Alice, rode forward to inquire where the prisoners were to be conveyed, with a charitable wish to do what he could to alleviate their sufferings. Poor Alice could scarcely restrain the cry which rose from her breast as she saw the first of the prisoners, who was Stephen Battiscombe, followed by his brother Andrew; but she knew the Colonel's generous intentions. The state of the prisoners was sufficient, it might have been thought, to excite the compassion of their captors; they looked utterly broken-down and emaciated, as if they had long been in want of food, while the bitter disappointment they must have felt at finding themselves immediately on landing in the hands of their foes completely overcame them. Stephen lifting his eyes recognised Alice; he bowed his head, and then cast his eyes again to the ground, as if he felt he had so completely disobeyed her wish that she could have no further interest in him. "Where are you going to take these persons, my friends?" asked the Colonel of the soldiers. "Judging from their appearance they are scarce able to walk, much less to march any distance, and the sun is nearly setting. Whoever they may be, or whatever they have done, they are our fellow-creatures, and in sore distress. They certainly were not flying from the country, for you all saw that they steered for the shore, and evidently intended to land instead of attempting to go farther. I shall be glad if you will bring them on to Eversden Manor,--it is not far from this,--and I will give you and them quarters and provisions, which they at all events, judging from their looks, sorely want." The sergeant who had taken charge of the party, after making some remarks to two or three of his comrades, who seemed to like the idea of getting into comfortable quarters, instead of having to march to Lyme or Bridport, replied that he would accept the Colonel's offer. "Come then, friends," said the Colonel; "I will ride on ahead while you follow with your prisoners; but do not hurry them, for they are but ill able to move at a fast pace." Saying this he rode slowly on, with Alice by his side. "I thought it wise not to show too much interest in the young Battiscombes, lest it might be supposed that I was inclined to favour them," said the Colonel; "but the poor fellows seem perfectly broken-down for want of food. I fear that if I were to leave them they would be ill-treated or urged on too fast, but I think, were you to ride forward to the house and obtain some refreshment, it might shorten their sufferings. Platt can bring as much more food as he is able to carry." The idea was no sooner suggested to Alice, than answering, "That I will, thankfully," she started off at a fast pace across the Downs. "What has happened?" exclaimed Madam Pauline, who had seen her coming up the avenue at a gallop, her hair, which had escaped beneath her hat, streaming in the wind. Alice explained in a few words, and Madam Pauline, saying to herself, "It is sad, very sad; I am sorry, so sorry," set about heartily putting up such food as was ready, together with a bottle of her cordial waters, while Alice directed Platt to prepare to accompany her. No sooner, however, was a basket packed, than, taking it on her arm, she hurried back to meet the Colonel and the prisoners. She found them just as they had crossed the Downs near a tolerably sheltered spot. Here the Colonel requested the sergeant to halt, while she, immediately unpacking her basket, took round the contents to the famishing prisoners. She endeavoured to exhibit no special favour to one more than the other, though this was difficult. As she came up to Stephen a second time, she whispered, "Be on the watch; tell your brother." She then passed on hurriedly. After some time Tobias Platt arrived with more provisions, a portion of which he distributed among the soldiers, thus putting them in good humour, and making them more inclined than they might otherwise have been to treat their prisoners kindly. As it was getting late, the Colonel advised that they should proceed, and they continued their march to the manor-house. Alice again galloped forward to assist Madam Pauline in getting ready for their reception. She did not hesitate to confide to her aunt her intention of trying to enable Stephen and his brother to escape. "But you do not consider the risk, my dear Alice," said Madame Pauline. "Should these young men escape, the Colonel would be implicated, might suffer all sorts of fines and penalties, that he can ill afford, though I know he would gladly spend any sum to buy them off, if that were possible, and help poor Mr Battiscombe. However, we will see what can be done. What a pity that Mr Willoughby should have gone off on his useless errand! We must let Mr Battiscombe know that his sons have been captured, in order that he may take such steps as he deems necessary." "I will go," said Alice; "my pony is perfectly fresh, and I shall quickly gallop to Langton Hall and back." Madam Pauline hesitated, but Alice soon over-persuaded her to let her go. On arriving at home the Colonel was somewhat inclined to find fault with Madam Pauline for allowing Alice to set off by herself, though he acknowledged it was important that Mr Battiscombe should be made aware that his sons had been captured, that he might take such steps as he might deem necessary to preserve their lives. He did not conceal from himself the fearful predicament in which they were placed: hundreds, he heard, had been slaughtered, and the vindictive King was not yet satisfied. That King little thought that his cruelties were preparing the way for his own dethronement. There were numerous rooms in the lower story of the manor-house, and the Colonel proposed that one should be got ready for the young Battiscombes, and another for the remainder of the prisoners, who were of an inferior rank. There was no end of truckle-beds in the house, which he ordered to be got ready. He proposed allowing the soldiers to occupy the hall, while the sergeant might place his guards as he considered necessary. The sergeant, on his arrival, was well pleased with the arrangements that had been made. Not being without human feeling, he was satisfied that the worn-out prisoners should enjoy the comfort of beds and good food, while he was pleased with the ample fare provided by Madam Pauline for himself and his comrades. The Colonel looked out anxiously for the return of Alice, for he was afraid lest some accident should happen to her. There were wild characters abroad who pretended to be in search of rebels, and had succeeded in obtaining blood-money by capturing several. While Tobias Platt took care that the soldiers should be well supplied with food and good liquor, he did not forget the prisoners, especially the young Battiscombes, to whom he carried more delicate food, suited to their present condition. The Colonel was on the point of setting out for Langton Hall in order to meet Alice should she have left it, when she arrived, having ridden hard the whole distance. She had been detained in discussing plans with Mr Battiscombe, as also while a package of clothes, of which she had observed they stood in need, was preparing. She had brought it secured to her saddle. "We need not let the soldiers see the package delivered," she observed; "Tobias Platt can carry it in as part of their bedding. The clothes will enable them to present an appearance very different from what they do now." Tobias, with whom Stephen was a favourite, took good care to carry in the clothes as proposed, without being observed by the soldier on guard. The windows were barred with iron, intended rather to prevent ingress than egress, but answering both purposes. The sergeant, on examining them, considered that his prisoners were perfectly secure in the rooms. Both he and his comrades were kept generously supplied with food and good cider, together with somewhat potent beer; as they had been out all the day in the hot sun, they were well inclined to keep up their carouse. "It is tiring work, Master," said Tobias Platt, bringing a comfortable chair to where the sentry was pacing up and down. "You can watch as well seated as walking, I suppose, and I will get you a pipe of tobacco, if you have a mind for it." "Ay, that I have, and I say, Master, a glass of something to keep the throat moist won't come amiss." "You shall have it," said Tobias Platt, and he quickly returned with a small table, a jug of ale, and a pipe with some tobacco. "Mind you don't go to sleep, though," said Tobias, as the sentry, seating himself in the chair and placing his musket by his side, stretched out his legs, when, taking a pull at the jug, he began to puff away from the pipe which Tobias Platt had lighted for him. Tobias then, having placed a lantern with the dark side turned away from the sentry, quietly retired; he came back, however, before long, to find the beer jug empty, while the man was snoring loudly. "You will do," said Tobias, nodding as he passed. In a short time he came back accompanied by a light figure in a dark cloak, and turning a key, and noiselessly drawing back some bolts, glided into the room. Both the prisoners were sleeping. She was loth to awake them, yet it must be done. She turned the lantern on Stephen's face and uttered his name. He started up in a moment. "Can you forgive me?" he whispered in a low voice. "And yet you come as an angel of light to console me in my sore trouble." "I come not to blame you, Stephen, but to comfort you if I can. I would inform you the means for your and your brother's escape have been provided; you have simply to walk out of this room while the sentry is sleeping. Your father is aware that you have been made prisoner, and he has arranged for your concealment, or will endeavour to have you conveyed northward where search is not likely to be made for you." "Thanks, dearest, thanks a thousandfold," said Stephen. "For your sake I would use every exertion to escape, but I cannot desert my companions. I have already brought too many into trouble in endeavouring to get clear of my foes. I have induced several to join our unhappy cause who have lost their lives. I cannot run the risk of bringing the Colonel and his family into trouble, which I should do were I to escape from his house." "Indeed, he is anxious to save you, I am sure of it, else he would not have had you placed in this room," said Alice, "though he wisely would not commit himself further. He knew that I brought you your clothing, and he would willingly run any risk for the sake of saving you from the clutches of Judge Jeffreys, who is expected every day at Dorchester to commence the assize, and all who know him say that it will be a fearful one." "I must endure whatever I am called on to suffer," answered Stephen. "The Colonel and our father will be made responsible were Andrew and I to escape. Were you to be suspected of assisting us, they would not even spare you, Alice." "But were I betrothed to you I would urge that as my plea," said Alice, in a trembling voice. "I know what were your intentions, and if you will even now ask me to marry you, I will consent, and I shall then have a right to plead that I acted according to the dictates of duty, or should you not after all escape, I should be able to exert myself as I best can to obtain your pardon." A fearful struggle took place in Stephen's heart. He had long loved the girl who pleaded with him, and that love prompted him to endeavour to save her from dangers to which she might be exposed; but hope triumphed. Without further hesitation he pledged his troth to her; still he could not bring himself to desert his companions and to compromise the Colonel and his family, which he knew he should do were he and his brother to make their escape from the house. Andrew had been sleeping soundly all this time. He awoke him and told him of the arrangements that had been made to enable them once more to get free from the clutches of their foes. Two spare horses, Alice told them, would be in waiting outside the grounds at midnight, with a guide to conduct them northward. They would be many miles away before their flight would be discovered. By remaining concealed during the following day they might, by riding all night, get beyond the counties where the rebellion had existed. Andrew, according to his custom, considered the matter calmly over. "I agree with you, Stephen," he said; "we must not attempt it." And he used the same arguments which his brother had already done. "Let us remain and brave the consequences; we are deeply grateful to Mrs Tufnell." Both spoke so lightly that Alice, though she bitterly mourned their decision, was won over to agree that the course to be pursued was the right one. That they would have succeeded was doubtful, and before she left the room the sound of the sergeant's voice as he roused up his men to change the guard reached their ears, and she had barely time to escape from the room when the heavy tread of the soldiers' feet was heard coming along the passage. The guard at the door started up, not so completely overcome as might have been expected. The sergeant looked into the room, to find both his prisoners sleeping apparently in their beds; he then went to the other room, where he found all secure, but his suspicions must have been aroused from some cause or other, for he placed a double guard at the door, and retired highly satisfied with his own vigilance. Poor Alice went back to her room to weep, agitated by various emotions. Though disappointed that Stephen had not escaped at once, she felt that, now she was betrothed to him, she had a right to exert herself in his favour. She determined bravely to do so at all costs. She wished that Roger had been at home, as he would be able to assist her in whatever she might undertake; but there was not the slightest chance, she feared, of his returning for some time to come. Next morning the family at the manor-house were early on foot. The sergeant was evidently so well satisfied with the way he and his companions had been treated, that he had no wish to move forward. For the sake of the young Battiscombes, the Colonel was not in a great hurry to get rid of them, as he otherwise would have been. In order to have an excuse for remaining longer, the sergeant sent off one of his men to Lyme to learn whether he was to take his prisoners to that place, or to convey them to Dorchester, where, as the assize was soon to commence, they would have a speedy trial. Alice was in hopes that they would be detained another night, and Stephen and Andrew might then be persuaded to make their escape. Having dressed herself as much as possible like a waiting-maid, she took the opportunity of visiting them during the dinner-hour, under the pretence of carrying in their food. Stephen, to her disappointment, was firm as before; the same reasons weighed with him. It grieved him to say so, but he was sure that he was acting rightly. She had not long left the room when Mr Willoughby returned. He looked fatigued and out of spirits as he passed along the passage to the Colonel's private room, for it could not be justly called a study. Some time passed, when Madam Pauline, who was eager to hear what had happened, went in, accompanied by Alice. Mr Willoughby, who in the meantime had had a long conversation with the Colonel, now told Madam Pauline his first visit was to the abode of Farmer Stubbs, which to his dismay he found empty. Mrs Stubbs had gone no one could tell whither, possibly carried off by the soldiers in revenge for the escape of Stephen and Andrew, although he was not aware of that at the time. The farm itself had not been pillaged, except of portable provisions. This was probably owing to its distance from the camp, or it would have fared but ill. Unable to hear what had become of his young friends, Mr Willoughby had gone on to Bridgewater, and had run a great risk of being seized as a suspected adherent of the Duke of Monmouth, and it was only by asserting that he was brother-in-law to Colonel Tregellen, a well-known Royalist, that he had escaped. He had done his most to gain information of his young friends, of course in vain. It would have been folly to try and get access to any of the leaders for the purpose of purchasing their pardon till he could learn where they were. He said that he was sick at heart at the sight of the heads of the hapless rebels which were seen at the entrance of every village, while gibbets in great numbers lined the roads in the neighbourhood of Bridgewater. Mr Willoughby had several narrow escapes, when he encountered an old acquaintance, who was no other than Cornet Bryce. He had to look at him hard, for he little expected to see him in military guise. The Cornet looked much cast down. Mr Willoughby learned from him the cause of his depression, the escape, namely, of two prisoners. He fully expected to be placed under arrest and severely punished, should it be discovered by the General that they had got off. Mr Willoughby was not long in ascertaining that the two missing prisoners were the sons of his friend. He kept his counsel as to his object in coming to Bridgewater, and returned home as soon as he could. Alice was glad to see him arrive, as she thought he might possibly try to induce Stephen and Andrew to escape. He saw clearly the danger to which the Colonel would be exposed, and declined in any way committing himself, though he promised, should they be delivered over to the officers of the law, to use every exertion to obtain their pardon or liberation. As the sergeant had not ordered the man he sent to Lyme to make any haste, it was late in the day before he returned with orders to carry his prisoners to Dorchester. "I suppose, Colonel, that you do not insist on our setting out this afternoon?" said the sergeant. "It is a long day's march to Dorchester. We should make it better by starting fresh in the morning." The Colonel assured the sergeant that he was welcome to remain. He knew that in the meantime Mr Battiscombe was exerting himself, through certain friends, with those in authority to obtain the pardon of his sons. Every day he gained was of consequence. He also hoped leave might be obtained to enable them to perform the journey on horseback. In the evening he came over to see his two sons. The parting was an affecting one. Though he had been exerting himself to obtain their pardon, he knew too well that his efforts might prove fruitless. He remained that night at the manor-house, that he might be with them as long as possible. When he asked leave of the sergeant to allow his sons to ride on horseback, the request was refused, on the ground that he could not grant them a favour which was denied to the other prisoners, and that as he and his men would have to march on foot, they must be content to proceed in the same manner. A sad procession set forth from Eversden Manor on the early dawn of a bright autumn morning. Each prisoner was conducted by two guards with loaded muskets. Farewells had been spoken, and the order to march was given. Though no mention has been made of the other prisoners, they had been treated at the manor-house with every kindness and consideration, and had been supplied with means for purchasing provisions on the way, as well as on their arrival. Mr Battiscombe rode a short distance beyond the Hall with his sons. Upon his return home, Mr Battiscombe said that he had left the party marching on in tolerably good spirits, not believing, from the numbers already executed, that many more victims would be required to satisfy the demands of the law. Alas! they were to find that they were terribly mistaken. CHAPTER ELEVEN. The assize at Dorchester was opened on the 3rd of September. Jeffreys had already passed through Hampshire, and succeeded in Winchester in pronouncing sentence on the Lady Lisle for harbouring two fugitives from Sedgemoor. He condemned her to be burnt alive that very afternoon, but, happily, the excessive barbarity moved the feelings of the clergy of the cathedral, who induced him to put off the execution; and though every effort was made to obtain her pardon, the utmost that was gained was that her sentence should be commuted from burning to being beheaded. She was put to death on a scaffold in the market-place of Winchester, and underwent her fate with serene courage. At Dorchester more than three hundred prisoners were to be tried. The court was hung with scarlet, an indication of the bloody purpose of the Chief Justice. It would seem that the work would require a long time to get through. Jeffreys, to make it light, let it be understood that the only chance to obtain a pardon or respite was to plead guilty. On the following morning he attended Divine service at Saint Mary's Church. When the clergyman, in his sermon, spoke of mercy, Jeffreys was observed to laugh,--an omen of coming vengeance. The sermon over, the Judge, attended by many of the principal gentry of Dorset, Somerset, and Devon, entered the Great Hall. Without loss of time he commenced his charge to the Grand Jury in a tone of voice and language which astonished and alarmed all who heard it. He warned them that their business was to make most strict inquiries not only after principals but after aiders and abettors, the fact being that many of the jury had sheltered refugees, thus making them accessory to high treason after the fact. As not only weeks but months might have been consumed had the ordinary process been proceeded with, to avoid this the Judge adopted a plan to shorten the business, and to procure a confession, without which not a tenth part would have been legally proved guilty. Two officers, such was his plan, were sent into the jail to call over and take the names of the prisoners; they were to promise pardon or execution. If the prisoners confessed, they were told that they might expect mercy, otherwise not; and as many were induced to accept the proffered mercy, these officers were in a condition to appear as witnesses of their confession. The first thirty, however, mistrusting the cruel Judge, preferred the chances of an ordinary trial. This was on Saturday. The same evening Jeffreys signed a warrant to hang thirteen on the following Monday, which was punctually performed. Nearly the whole of the remainder were executed. Witnesses were brow-beaten in a most fearful manner. Jeffreys thundered at them, using the most abusive language; but the scenes which took place are too horrible, too disgraceful, to be dwelt on. No less than two hundred and ninety-two persons received sentence of death at Dorchester alone. Among them were the two Battiscombes; they had nothing to plead, except that they had taken up arms under the firm belief that they were fighting for the defence of the Protestant faith against Popery. Very many others were in the same case. Mr Battiscombe did not venture to plead for his sons, for he might himself have been seized and condemned by the unjust Judge, while he was utterly powerless to assist them openly. The health of the Colonel did not allow him to leave home, or, interested as he was in the fate of his young friends, he would have gone to try and help them. Mr Willoughby, however, who was dauntless in a good cause, offered to attend the assize to be ready to take advantage of any opening which might occur. As he listened, however, to the language of the Judge, who looked more like a drunken madman than a minister of justice, he was in despair; he exerted himself to ascertain the places and time of execution of the different prisoners. He found that Andrew, together with Colonel Holmes, Dr Temple--the Duke's physician--Mr Tyler, who had read the Declaration, were to be executed at Lyme, near the spot where the Duke of Monmouth had landed, about half a mile west of the town. It gave him slight hope that Stephen might escape; but he in vain endeavoured to see him or to ascertain what was to be his fate. He was returning from the Court to his inn, when he saw before him a slight female figure in a riding-dress; it was Alice. "Oh, uncle Willoughby!" she exclaimed, taking his hand; "do not blame me; while there is life there is hope. I cannot let Stephen perish without endeavouring to save him; I should never forgive myself." "I cannot blame you, Alice," said Mr Willoughby. "How are you going to proceed? What means have you at your disposal?" "I know that I can promise any sum that Mr Battiscombe has it in his power to pay, and I propose seeing the Judge himself," said Alice. "I will tell him that the death of one brother is sufficient to appease the demands of justice." "But I fear, Alice, that he will say both are equally guilty," observed Mr Willoughby. "And you must be prepared for a refusal. Still, I would not hinder you from seeing the Judge, terrible as he is in his manner and appearance." "I have thought over everything," answered Alice, "and resolved to brave the lion in his den. He condemned the elder brother to death, and he may be induced to suppose that the younger was led to join the Duke by his influence." "I fear much, Alice, that he will be influenced by no other consideration beyond the amount you can offer him," said Mr Willoughby. Strong in the justice of her cause, and prompted by her devotion to Stephen, in spite of the savage nature of the Judge, her aim was to see him before he entered the Court; for she heard that once there, inflamed and excited by his drams of spirits, and by his remarks to prisoners, witnesses, counsel, and jury, she was less likely to induce him to listen to her petition, or to understand its object. She had therefore to remain all night in an agony of doubt and fear in a room next to Mr Willoughby's. She awoke at early dawn from hearing a noise in the street, and, looking out of her window, the first figure she recognised was that of Andrew Battiscombe; there were two other gentlemen whom she knew by having seen them in court, and who she heard were condemned to death. Her eye ranged over the others, in dread lest Stephen might be seen; but he was not there. She felt relieved, and yet she knew how he must be grieving for the loss of his brother. She hurriedly dressed, in the hopes of being able to say a few words of comfort to poor Andrew, to hear from him of his parting with his brother, also to tell him of her intention of having an interview with the Judge. Scarcely, however, had she reached the street than the mournful procession, guarded by a strong band of soldiers, was ordered to march on. She would have rushed forward to speak to Andrew, as others were doing to their friends and relatives, but the soldiers closed round them, and kept every one off. She returned to her room to finish her toilet, so that she might be prepared to set out with Mr Willoughby as soon as it was likely that the Judge would have risen. Mr Willoughby was soon ready, and as it was understood the Judge breakfasted early, she was eager to start. She had nerved herself up for the encounter, fully prepared for whatever might be said to her. She had heard of the language Jeffreys was accustomed to use towards people of all classes, and she did not suppose her sex and youth would enable her to escape. She was glad, however, to lean on Mr Willoughby's arm as they approached the house where the Chief Justice had taken up his quarters. Alice had a letter ready, requesting to see him on an important matter. In a short time the servant, to whom she had given the letter, appeared and said that the Chief Justice would see her. Mr Willoughby thought it prudent to remain in the court below. He knew that, should he go in with her, unpleasant questions would be asked, and he would probably be branded as a Puritan, and perhaps sent off to prison to undergo his trial. Alice, without trembling, followed her guide and was ushered into a large room, at the further end of which sat the Chief Justice before a plentifully-spread breakfast-table. His eyes were ferrety, his nose and cheeks fiery red, his countenance even in rest had a savage expression. "Well, young woman, who are you, and what do you want?" he asked in a gruff tone. "Please, my lord, I am grand-daughter of a Cavalier who died fighting for his king; my father was a loyal gentleman, and I have been brought up by my guardian, Colonel Tregellen, an old Cavalier. I have had no sympathy with the late Duke of Monmouth, and yet I come to plead for the life of one who has been implicated in his rebellion." "Some crop-eared knave with whom thou hast fallen in love, wench," growled the Chief Justice. "Out on thee, for an idle baggage!" "I come to plead for the life of my betrothed husband," said Alice. "And, my lord, there are those who value him for his honesty and other good qualities, and are ready to pay as large a sum of money as they can collect, to obtain his pardon, and I am authorised to hand it over to your Lordship, that you may do with it as you think fit." Jeffrey's eyes sparkled as he turned them towards Alice. "What is the name of this precious youth, thy betrothed husband, wench? I warrant he thinks thou art worth living for." "Stephen Battiscombe," answered Alice. "Why, he is one I yesterday sentenced to death; he should have been hung by this time, so you are too late, wench." "Please you, my lord, it was his elder brother, Andrew Battiscombe," said Alice. "Were he even more criminal than he is, surely the death of one in the family is sufficient to satisfy the ends of justice." "I would stamp out the whole brood of vipers, could I catch them," said Jeffreys. Poor Alice felt her heart sink, but she was not to be defeated. "Whatever his crime, my lord, the sum I am authorised to place in your Lordship's hands, on receiving his pardon, will, I hope, condone it." "Ho, ho," said the Chief Justice, eyeing the notes and rolls of gold; then, turning to a list he had by his side: "I see he is condemned to be hung, and should have been strung up with his brother this afternoon. To pardon him is impossible. All I can do is to commute his sentence, and condemn him to be sent as a slave to the West Indies. There, do not be weeping, wench. You have obtained your lover's life, at a cheap rate too. If you care for him you will rejoice. You have saved him for a trumpery thousand pounds." "But can he not be pardoned, can he not be pardoned, my lord?" exclaimed Alice, clasping her hands. "To be banished to the West Indies as a slave is a terrible punishment." "We can hang him instead," said Jeffreys. "Then, will you give me a paper stating that his sentence is commuted?" "You doubt my word, wench? Well, you shall have it to satisfy your incredulity," and he wrote a few lines. "Stephen Battiscombe, sentenced to death, punishment commuted to ten years' slavery in Jamaica." Alice could scarcely refrain from giving a cry of dismay as she saw this. "Could he not be sent to Virginia?" she asked. "Could you not go out and join him there?" exclaimed the Judge, tauntingly. "If you are not content with having saved your crop-eared lover's life, you shall have his dead body by to-morrow morning, wench, and I will order him to be hung forthwith." "Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Alice, clasping her hands. "Let him live--in your clemency let him live!" and, scarcely waiting to pay a formal farewell to the Judge, she hastened out to rejoin Mr Willoughby. He had in the meantime discovered the prison where Stephen was confined. It was not a place into which Alice could have entered alone, but she was able to accompany him. Together they sought out the officer who had charge of the prisoners, and presented the document which the Judge had given to Alice, to prevent the risk of any mistake being made. The man looked well pleased. "A live prisoner is worth ten dead ones, and you may depend on it we will not hang him if we can help it." Alice had hoped to have been allowed to see Stephen, to communicate to him the fact that his life had been spared. This the jailer said was impossible, though he promised to do so as soon as he could. Alice remained another day with her kind friend Mr Willoughby, and at length succeeded in obtaining an interview. Stephen had heard the change in his fate. "While there is life there is hope," he said. "I may reach Jamaica; when there, I may succeed in obtaining my liberation, and happier days may be in store for England, and I may be able to return without let or hindrance." Alice was equally hopeful, and they parted, she having the satisfaction of believing that she had contributed to save Stephen's life. The Colonel received her with a look of approbation as she arrived. "You have acted like a brave girl," he said. "I trust that we shall welcome Stephen back again some day, though." The Colonel tried to keep up Alice's spirits, and did not tell her of the cruel execution which had taken place at Lyme a few days before, when twelve gentlemen, all of education and high character, were put to death, including poor Andrew Battiscombe. The fate of those who were transported was still more cruel. They were indiscriminately sold to West India merchants, planters, and others, who shipped them off crowded together in small vessels to Jamaica. Stephen, with upwards of eight hundred poor wretches, who had been condemned to be sold as slaves by Jeffreys, arrived in London, having been carried there in carts. Here they were awarded to the various noblemen, courtiers, and others who had applied for them, who sold them for the sum of ten pounds each. Few of them were of the rank of gentlemen-- nearly all Monmouth's officers having been executed, with the exception of such as could pay heavy fines for their lives. Lord Grey, Ferguson, Wade, and other leading men were allowed to live, the former paying forty thousand pounds to the Lord Treasurer, and smaller sums to other courtiers, for their lives. In London the slaves met many of the followers of Argyll, who had, like them, been condemned to the West Indies. Stephen, with about sixty others, was shipped on board a small vessel, the _Surge_, Captain Hawkins, which, with seven other vessels freighted in the same way, set sail together from the Thames. Never a sadder fleet left the shores of England. The unhappy passengers knew that they were never likely to see those shores again; they had been torn from their families, their relatives and friends, and were going to a pestiferous climate, to be employed in the open air under a burning sun, like the negroes from Africa,--a climate which, under such circumstances, is sure to prove fatal to Europeans. Stephen, notwithstanding what he had gone through, was in tolerable health, and he did his utmost to keep up his spirits. Scarcely was the fleet free of the Channel than, a heavy gale springing up, the _Surge_ was separated from her consorts, and proceeded on her voyage alone. The passengers were secured together below like African slaves, on a deck extending nearly fore and aft, with low benches on which they could sit, a bar running behind it with iron rings to which they were chained. Here they were compelled to sleep and take their meals, a few only being allowed on deck at a time. Stephen contrived to make himself known to the Captain, who listened with interest to the account of his adventures in Africa, and allowed him more liberty than the rest. The _Surge_ had not made much progress when she encountered another gale, in which she received much damage. A heavy sea came sweeping over her deck. "Hold on for your lives," shouted the Captain. When the sea had passed, the second mate and two other men had disappeared; they were seen for an instant struggling in the waves astern. There was no hope of saving them; indeed, it seemed but too likely that the _Surge_ herself would ere long founder. The pumps were manned, but the crew were soon knocked up. Stephen proposed to the Captain to liberate the slaves, in order to get them to work the pumps, and explain to them that unless they did so, the vessel would sink, and they would lose their lives. To this they agreed, Stephen setting them the example. Many of them, who had suffered greatly from the voyage, were unequal to the task, and sank down exhausted. The crew, who had no intention again of working the pumps themselves, endeavoured to stir them up. Several declared their inability to labour, and proved it by dying shortly afterwards on the deck where they lay. Stephen, however, urged the stronger ones to persevere explaining to them that they were working for the common good. The leak continued, and though by keeping the pumps going the water did not gain on the ship, it was found impossible to discover it, and it was evident that only by the greatest exertions they could hope to reach their port. A fever, however, of a malignant character broke out among the unhappy passengers as soon as they got into warm latitudes. No surgeon had been sent on board. First one died, then another, and another. Stephen suggested to Captain Hawkins various means for remedying the malady by fumigating the vessel. Nothing seemed to have the slightest effect on those once stricken. Before long two of the crew were attacked, and died. The weather again became calm, and the leak with considerable exertion was kept under, but the fever did not abate. The death-ship sailed on, losing sometimes three or four of her crew or passengers daily. The Captain had asked Stephen to take charge of a watch, and he now enjoyed perfect liberty, and took possession of the cabin of the second mate, who had been lost overboard. Should the death-rate continue there would be few left on board when the vessel arrived at Jamaica, even should the fair wind and fine weather continue. The first mate did not appear to be much of a navigator, and on the fever attacking the crew as well as the passengers, he lost all heart. Stephen did his best to doctor him, but before long he also succumbed, and the _Surge_ was left with a very limited crew. Captain Hawkins was a stout-hearted man, and kept up his courage. He asked Stephen to select some of the passengers to assist him in working the ship. It was Stephen's afternoon watch, when he saw heavy clouds gathering in the west. They came on rapidly, while the sea below them was broken up into a mass of foam. He immediately sent and summoned the Captain, and ordered sail to be shortened. Short-handed as the _Surge_ was through the loss of so many of her crew, this was done but slowly. The Captain, who had quickly come on deck, and Stephen exerted themselves to the utmost, while they tried to obtain the assistance of some of the passengers; but those not labouring at the pumps were unable to be of much use. Before all the canvas could be reduced the hurricane struck her abeam. Had she been under her usual sail she would have been sent completely over and have foundered. As it was, she heeled before the blast. The next instant two loud crashes came; she rose on an even keel, but her masts were gone. The Captain and Stephen summoned all hands to clear away the wreck before the butt-ends of the masts should stave in the vessel with the tremendous thumps they were giving against the side. Axes were found, shrouds and other ropes which held fast the masts were speedily cut. Still the hapless vessel lay in the trough of the sea, the waves dashing against her sides, and threatening to sweep everything overboard. The great object now was to get a sail rigged on the stump of the foremast and put her before the wind. When the masts fell several people had been injured, the Captain among them. At first he made light of it. Now that he wished to exert himself more than ever, he was unable to do so. He called for a chair, and sat aft, giving his directions. Stephen had to take everything upon himself. The men obeyed him willingly. While he and the party were working forward, the sea came rolling up and struck the vessel amidships. They held on for their lives. The sea washed right aft, carrying everything before it. When it had disappeared, Stephen looked for the Captain, who was nowhere to be seen, nor were any of those who were standing in that part of the deck; the helmsman among them was gone. Another hand was sent to the helm, the sail, which had been got ready, hoisted, and the vessel put before the wind. Stephen now found himself in command of the _Surge_, but from her condition he had very little hope of ever arriving at a port. To go to Jamaica was not to be thought of, as he should be delivering his companions, and possibly himself, into slavery. He resolved, therefore, if he could save the _Surge_, to carry her to one of the New England settlements, where he and his companions would be received as friends; indeed, all those who had escaped from Sedgemoor had probably already arrived there, and would welcome him with open arms. The number of the passengers and crew were, however, sadly reduced. Of the former, scarcely twenty remained alive, while of the crew only six were fit for duty--not a single officer, the boatswain having succumbed to the fever. Stephen picked out two of the best men to act as mates, though neither of them could take an observation. When he informed the passengers of his intention of steering for New England, as soon as the hurricane should be over, they all willingly undertook to aid him to the utmost. Of late the vessel did not leak as much as before; something had apparently got into the opening which prevented the water entering. This tended to keep up the spirits of the storm-tossed party. Still they were in a very desperate condition. They could hope to get up only very imperfect jury-masts, and then, even should they obtain a favourable wind, they would be a long time in reaching a New England port. With their reduced numbers, and their provisions and water, they hoped to hold out, if all hands were at once put on an allowance. Stephen determined to see to this matter as soon as the gale was over. Still the fever continued among them. One of the crew and two more of the passengers died the day after the loss of the Captain. Poor fellows! it seemed a hard thing, in the prospect of liberty, thus to be summoned away after all they had gone through. Stephen had kept the deck nearly two days without once going below, having his food brought to him. At length, worn out with fatigue, he was compelled to seek an hour or two's rest in the cabin to enable him to continue his work. How long he had closed his eyes he could not tell, when he felt that the ship hove on her beam ends. He rushed up on deck, and shouted to the crew. No voices replied. It was very dark, but he made out that the jury-mast had been carried away, and the vessel lay in the trough of the sea. He went to the helm. The rudder had been injured, if not carried away; scarcely any of the bulwarks remained. The _Surge_ lay a complete wreck amid the wild raging waters. Another sea had apparently swept the deck and carried away every one within its power. As he went below to ascertain if any of the crew survived, cries and groans of the terrified passengers met his ears. He had little or no hope to offer them. Going forward, he could not discover one of the crew. He aroused the passengers, and urged them to turn to at the pumps. They might keep the vessel afloat till the morning, and then build a raft, or perchance a sail might heave in sight and rescue them. Few, however, were able to labour efficiently. It seemed a wonder to Stephen that his own strength had been kept up, when he saw stout fellows, accustomed to wield the scythe and flail, reduced to mere skeletons. The morning came, the _Surge_ still floated, but to build a raft seemed beyond the power of those on board. They wanted both strength and skill. Stephen urged them to try, however. Collecting all the spars and planks to be found, he commenced to work, showing them as far as he was able what to do. The wind had fallen, the sea was going down, or they could not possibly have made even the attempt. The ship, too, had risen more on an even keel than before. It seemed very doubtful whether she would exist much longer above water. The hours went slowly by. The poor fellows laboured as hard as they could. First one dropped, then another, some from fever, others from fatigue. The _Surge_ had been kept afloat during the day. Another night was approaching; nothing could be done during it; even seamen could have scarcely worked in the dark. Stephen, as he went below to kneel in prayer, as was his wont, did not expect to see the sun rise again over the waste of waters. CHAPTER TWELVE. We must now return to our hero, Roger Willoughby, who had fortunately, from having joined Captain Benbow, been prevented from being drawn in by Stephen to serve the cause of Monmouth. The _Ruby_, after relieving Stephen and his companions, continued her course down channel. Roger earnestly hoped that his friend would be favoured with fine weather, and would reach a Dutch port in safety. The _Ruby_, on her course down the English Channel, then ran some way up the Irish Channel, according to the orders her Captain had received, but she fell in with no vessels or boats containing persons whom he considered himself bound to look upon as rebels. He boarded several vessels with passengers bound out to the New England States, where they said they were going to settle. Some had their families, and, of course, they could not be considered as rebels, while the greater number, who were of all ranks--gentlemen, well-to-do yeomen, and labourers--were single men; but as there was nothing to prove that they had been supporters of Monmouth, whatever the Captain might have suspected, he resolved to give them the benefit of the doubt, and would not detain them. Thus a good many escaped who would have tended to swell the victims of the Bloody Assize, of which the Captain, to his great indignation, heard when sending occasionally on shore. The _Ruby_, having remained the time she had been directed on the west coast, returned to Portsmouth, where she waited for orders. Seldom in those days could a ship's company be allowed on shore without the risk of losing a number of men, but so completely had Benbow ingratiated himself with his crew, that when their leave was up they all returned on board. Roger, meantime, was daily gaining nautical skill and knowledge. Liking more and more the profession he had chosen, he had won the regard and esteem of his Captain, who promised as soon as possible to obtain for him a lieutenant's commission. Roger had several messmates, with all of whom he got on very well, though some of them were jealous of the favour he received from the Captain. His chief friend was Charles Ross, a lad somewhat younger than himself, who had come to sea with Captain Benbow for the first time. He was a little fellow, light-hearted, merry, and full of fun, though he had his serious moments, which showed that he was not as thoughtless as many would have supposed. He and Roger were much together. Roger was always ready to impart to him the knowledge which he himself possessed, and especially to teach him navigation. Another messmate, who was generally known as Old Dick Kemp, had been a ship's-boy, but had been placed on the quarter-deck for his good behaviour and gallantry during the last Dutch war, for saving the lives of two shipmates, for behaving with great courage during a heavy gale on a lee shore, when the ship on board which he served narrowly escaped being cast away. Since then, however, Dick Kemp had not risen above the rank of master's mate, having no friends to plead for his promotion. Captain Benbow appreciated him as being a true tarpaulin, on whom he could rely at all times, which was more than he would have said for his lieutenants, who were young gentlemen of family sent to sea for the first time with that rank. Not having gone through the inferior grades of the profession of navigation, they knew nothing, and looked upon it as beneath their notice, while they were only slowly learning the art of seamanship, and could only manage to put a ship about with the aid of Dick Kemp, Roger Willoughby, or one of the other tarpaulins or true sailors. Such was the way ships were manned in those days. It is true that many of the shore-going young gentlemen who strutted about in silk doublets, feathers in their hats, and jewelled swords by their sides, fought bravely enough. When they found themselves in the presence of an enemy, they could ably superintend the working of the guns, which they looked upon as their principal avocation; or when boarders had to be repelled, or a boarding-party led, they were generally found fighting bravely at the head of their men. Since Charles the Second, however, made peace with the Dutch, the navy of England had seen no fighting except a few engagements with Algerine or Sallee rovers. Benbow's lieutenants soon learned to respect him. He always treated them as gentlemen, though he did not pretend to say that they were sailors. On the contrary, he drew a marked distinction between the gentlemen officers and the tarpaulins, giving the preference undoubtedly to the latter. The _Ruby_ remained so long at Portsmouth that Roger had time to write home, and also to receive a reply. He now heard for the first time of Stephen's capture, and of his narrow escape from death through the exertions of Alice. "Bless her!" he exclaimed. "She was always a true girl, and I knew that, should occasion require, she would prove a real heroine. Fancy her bearding that monster Jeffreys, and winning her cause, though I am afraid he will suffer fearfully, and be sent out to the West Indies; but he got accustomed to a hot climate in Africa, and will stand it better than most people; but poor Andrew! sad to think that he should have lost his life, after so nearly escaping. I wish I could have been on shore to help them, though I do not know that I could have done much; but I do know that I would have run every risk. I would have insisted on their making their escape when they were shut up at Eversden. I am sure that my uncle and Madam Pauline would not have found fault with me." All he could learn of Stephen was that he sailed a short time before with many hundred slaves from the Thames bound out to the West Indies. His father, who wrote, told him of the hapless Maids of Taunton, who had presented the banners to the Duke of Monmouth, being sold to the Queen and the Maids of Honour, who were making what money they could out of their parents and friends; but one poor little girl had died from fright at being so roughly addressed by Jeffreys. Many thousand pounds had been obtained by the courtiers to whom the slaves had been awarded, while the King had managed to get his share of profit out of the rebellion. These details, which were pretty well known on board, did not tend to increase the loyalty of the officers and seamen of the _Ruby_. The Captain himself, as became him, expressed no opinion, but Dick Kemp did not conceal his sentiments on the subject. Though he did not venture to say that he wished Monmouth had succeeded, he expressed his opinion that the King and his courtiers were as vile a set of ragamuffins as ever sat in high places, and that the Queen and Maids of Honour were well worthy of them. At length the _Ruby_ had orders to proceed to the West Indies to look after certain piratical craft, under the leadership of a daring Frenchman, who were infesting those seas. "It is just the part of the world I want to go to," cried Roger. "I have heard a great deal of the beautiful scenery, of their strange trees, curious productions of all sorts, and if we touch at Jamaica, which we are sure to do, I will make inquiries for my old friend Stephen Battiscombe; if I can hear anything of him, I will do my utmost to redeem him." "I will help you," said Charlie Ross. "So will I," said Dick Kemp. "I should not be surprised that the Captain would exert himself, since as you say he sailed with him." With a fair breeze the _Ruby_ sailed down Channel, carrying the fine weather some way into the Atlantic and then encountered a heavy gale; but her hull was tight, and her Captain had seen that she was well fitted, having carefully inspected her masts and spars, and every standing and running rope of her rigging before they were set up and rove. Escaping from the gale without damage, she ran into southern latitudes. She had a fair breeze. One day, with all sail set below and aloft, carrying her along at the rate of seven or eight knots an hour, Dick Kemp, Charlie, and Roger were on deck together, when, as they were looking over the side, they observed a dark triangular object cutting rapidly through the water. "Hilloa! what is that curious thing?" asked Charlie. "That is the fin of Jack Shark," said Kemp, "the vilest brute that exists; the hated foe of us sailors. I don't know how many fine fellows he has not grabbed by the leg, and gobbled up." "I wish that I had a gun, I would shoot him," said Charlie, "and he would do no more mischief; but unfortunately he has plenty of brothers and sisters like him; as soon as he sees the gun he will be off like a shot." "I will borrow a musket, and see if I cannot hit him," cried Roger. Roger was not long in getting the gun, while Kemp, hurrying forward, obtained a piece of rancid pork, which he fastened to the end of a line. "Now, Roger, look out," he said, as he threw the pork overboard, and Roger held his gun in readiness. Presently the fin disappeared; a white glistening object rose to the surface; off went Roger's musket. "I hit him, I am sure," cried Roger, as the shark sank. "I think you did, and right through the head. I saw a tinge of red, but it went in a moment," said Kemp. "We have settled the brute, and I wish we could settle every other that comes alongside. We will keep the pork, and if we can find a hook, we will have the next on board." On sailed the ship. The Captain, however, coming on deck, observed indications of a change, and ordered canvas to be reduced. Roger's duty required him to remain on deck; Charlie Ross ran up with the two other midshipmen to the foreyard to superintend the operation of taking in a reef. Roger was looking forward when he observed an object fall from the yard; at the same time a cry burst forth from the throats of several of the crew, "A man overboard!" As Roger ran to the side he had seen Charlie Ross on the yard-arm, but he was not there now, and as the person floated by he felt sure that he was his friend. Without recollecting the shark they had seen in the morning, without thinking of any danger to himself, his ardent desire being to save his friend, he plunged overboard. Charlie had struck the water on his side, and was apparently senseless, for he made no attempt to save himself; but still he floated. The ship running fast at the time, and only part of the sails having been furled, Roger heard the Captain give the order to heave her to, as he struck out towards his friend, whom he reached just as he appeared on the point of sinking. At that moment Charlie's consciousness had returned. "Never fear, you are all right," cried Roger. "Let me put my arms under you, and do not attempt to swim till you are better. I will tread water, and easily keep you and myself up." "Where am I?" asked Charlie, in a very faint voice. "Somewhere out in the middle of the Atlantic," said Roger, in a cheerful tone. "But the ship's not far off, and help will come to us as soon as a boat can be lowered; she's rounding-to, though she had so much way on her that she shot somewhat far ahead." Charlie was slowly recovering his senses, and did as he desired; but when Roger looked up, the ship seemed a long long way off; not till then did the thought of sharks occur to him. Though he had fortunately shot the one which had been following the ship, there might be many others. He, however, did not let this idea damp his courage, but kept treading water with might and main, and singing out at the top of his voice, as if he were hailing his shipmates, and urging them to come faster to his assistance. At length he saw a boat lowered, and pulling towards them, but she was still far away; the thought of the abominable sharks would come back. As Charlie was recovering, he told him to sing out, and at the same time to splash with his feet. "Just to keep away the cramps, Charlie," he said; for he did not wish to frighten him with the thought of the sharks. He looked round, and fancied he saw a dark fin in the distance, but he might, he knew, be mistaken. The boat drew nearer, the crew were giving way with all their might. Old Dick Kemp was steering her, standing up to observe the spot where the two lads were floating. Between her and them Roger observed that dark fin. "I hope that Dick will see it too, and if he has a musket in the boat, will try to hit it." Roger forgot, if he did, that the bullet would very likely strike them. He shouted and splashed, and bade Charlie do the same, till he was nearly exhausted. The fin disappeared; perhaps the brute had been frightened away; he hoped so, but it did not make him relax in his efforts. It is our best chance to keep the monster off, he thought; he could scarcely have struck out five minutes longer, when the boat got up. "Take him on board first," he cried, pushing forward Charlie. "We will have both of you together," said Kemp. Scarcely was he in the boat when a white glistening object appeared, and its huge mouth gaped wide, half leaping out of the water. It got many a blow from the seamen's oars; this had, however, no other effect than making it plunge down and make the water with its tail fly over them. "Now, lads, pull back as fast as you can," cried old Kemp. "We must put the boys under the doctor's care as soon as possible. You are a brave fellow, Roger; I always thought so, now I know it; and the Captain will say so too. I only wish that I were in your place." The Scotch doctor, Macpherson, who knew that his services would be required, was standing ready to order the lads to be carried to the sick bay. "I do not think there is much the matter with me," said Roger; but his trembling knees and pale face showed that he required care, while Charlie had scarcely yet recovered from the blow he had experienced on falling into the water. The gale seemed to have hung, back till Charlie and his gallant preserver were safe on board,--the ship was under snug canvas, and rode it out well. Roger was a whole day getting round. When he appeared on deck he was warmly praised by the Captain, and he received the compliments of the other officers, even the gentlemen lieutenants. "Faith," said the honourable Lieutenant Delamere, "it is more than I could have done if I had expected to be made Lord High Admiral forthwith for doing it." "It seemed to me," said Roger, "that it was just the thing to be done, and so I did it." "You tarpaulins are accustomed to the water; it is an advantage you have over us," remarked the lieutenant. The _Ruby_ remained hove-to under storm canvas for five days, when, the weather moderating, she once more made sail and stood on her course. She had been running on for several days, the wind had fallen to a light breeze, and the sea was smooth; it was soon after down. Charlie Ross, who was one of the midshipmen of the watch, was stationed on the topgallant forecastle. He had been looking out for some time when he was joined by Roger. "There is something away there on the starboard bow which puzzles me," he said. "It looks like the body of a huge whale." "It is either that or the hull of a dismasted vessel," observed Roger. "I think it the latter. You should have reported it to the officer of the watch. I will go and do so." Dick Kemp had charge of the deck, for the lieutenants in those days, unless they were tarpaulins or brought up in the service, did not perform that duty. Kemp came forward with his spy-glass, and soon pronounced the object seen to be--as Roger supposed--the hull of a dismasted vessel He at once sent below to obtain permission from the Captain to steer towards it. "Though she looks in a fearfully battered condition, there may still be people on board, and we must try to rescue them," he observed. As the _Ruby_ drew nearer a man could be seen on the deck holding on to a part of the shattered bulwarks and waving a flag. "There is one man on board at all events," observed Kemp; "there may be more. Willoughby, do you get a boat ready to lower, and I will let the Captain know that it is time to heave-to." Captain Benbow just then made his appearance, and at once issued the order to bring the ship to the wind. The boat was quickly alongside the stranger, a rope was thrown over the side by the man who had been seen waving the flag, and Roger scrambled on board. He and two other men were on foot, weak, and pale, and reduced almost to skeletons, while more lay about the deck unable to raise themselves. "We are dying of hunger and thirst," exclaimed the stranger, who appeared to be an officer. "For two days not a particle of food have we eaten, nor has a drop of water moistened our lips; for mercy's sake bring us some at once." "The quickest way would be to take you to our ship," said Roger, and he ordered his men to come up to carry the sufferers into the boat. While he was speaking, it struck him, in spite of his pale cadaverous countenance and emaciated appearance, that the officer was his old friend Stephen Battiscombe; yet he did not like to ask him, for, if Stephen Battiscombe, he was a convict, and might desire to remain unknown. He treated him therefore as a stranger when the _Ruby's_ men came to assist the officer. "No, no," he said, "take the remnant of my crew first, and then those poor fellows who are passengers. I have endured hunger this far, and can hold out a little longer, while I do not think the vessel will go to the bottom just yet." Roger directed that the two seamen should be lifted into the boat, and the two passengers; promising to return immediately for the remainder, he pulled back to the ship as speedily as his crew could urge their oars. On the way, he asked the two seamen who the person was who had waved the flag. "He was the mate of our vessel," answered one of the men. "What is his name?" inquired Roger, eagerly. "Simon Bates, I fancy," replied the other; "but we always called him mate." As he came alongside he sang out, "Half a beaker of water and some biscuit, or any food to be found." The water and some food were handed into the boat; and the moment the people he had brought were hoisted up on deck, he made his way back for the remainder. "Come along now, Mr Bates," he said, addressing the officer; "it is all right. The men say you are mate of this vessel." Before taking the perishing people into the boat, Roger offered them some water and food. The water was eagerly drunk, but one of the poor sufferers was too far gone to swallow the food. Still, as there was life in him, Roger hoped that the doctor might bring him round. "There are some more below, though I fear they are past help," said the mate, in a low voice, for he was but just able to speak. Roger descended into the cabin. There lay two more persons, but on lifting their hands he saw at once they were dead. In a berth on one side was another who seemed to retain some sparks of life, but he was too far gone to speak. Roger immediately sang out for some food and water, which was handed down to him. He administered a little to the sufferer in the hopes that he might be revived sufficiently to be carried on deck. Though he drank the water eagerly, just as he placed the food between his lips a deep sigh escaped him, his jaw dropped, and he was dead. No other persons being found alive below, Roger, with those he had rescued, shoved off from the sinking wreck, and from her appearance he judged she would not keep afloat many hours longer. When he had given an account of what had occurred on board, Captain Benbow inquired if he knew the name of the mate. "The men call him Simon Bates, sir," answered Roger. "Then let him be entered by that name among those saved from the wreck," said the Captain. "And who are the other people?" he asked. "They are passengers, sir," said Roger. "The ship's papers show that she was bound out from London to Jamaica." "There is nothing, I suppose, to show who the passengers are?" said the Captain. "I could discover no paper, sir," answered Roger. The people were soon brought on board, and placed under the care of the doctor, who attended to them assiduously. Just as sail was made, Roger, who was on deck, observed the bow of the craft from which the people had been rescued rise slightly in the water, then down she went, stern first, and nothing was seen on the spot where she had floated, her hull being the coffin of the rest of her passengers. After some time Captain Benbow summoned Roger, to learn what he could make out respecting the passengers. "With regard to the two seamen and the officer, the matter is clear enough," he said. "They say that he belonged to their vessel, and by his coolness and bravery saved their lives, so that if he likes to enter on board the _Ruby_ he shall be welcome to do so. I cannot give the seamen their choice when they recover. They will prove to be stout fellows I hope, and will be as well off with us as anywhere else; but with regard to the passengers the matter is doubtful. I fear that they are slaves destined to be sold to the planters of Jamaica, but I cannot bear the thought of handing them over to so cruel a fate. Do you, Willoughby, speak to the men. If any of them have served at sea the matter will be more easy, as I can then enter them among the crew of the _Ruby_. It will be far better for them than labouring in the plantations of Jamaica." "Ay, ay," answered Roger, clearly understanding the drift of the Captain's remarks. He first visited the mate and the two seamen, and told them that if they chose to volunteer, the Captain would receive them on board the _Ruby_. "With all my heart," said the mate, in a low voice, taking Roger's hand and pressing it. "Does he suspect who I am, for I am very sure that you know me?" "What he suspects I don't know, but he asks no questions," answered Roger; "and whoever you are, you will enter under the name the man gave you--Simon Bates." "Thank you, Roger, thank you," said the mate. "I little expected such good fortune; but the poor passengers! What is to be done with them?" "If they have served at sea, the Captain will allow them to enter on board the _Ruby_," said Roger. "Yes, that they have, and very useful they made themselves; indeed, without them the vessel must have gone down," said the mate. "From what I saw of them, I should say they have the making of good seamen in them when they regain their health and strength." "That is all right," said Roger. "I will speak to the men, and advise them to choose names under which they can enter." He found them, however, scarcely sufficiently recovered to understand him, much less to say anything, so that there was no hurry. He left them under the care of the doctor and his assistants. The crew of the _Ruby_ were chiefly west-country folk, and even had it been known on board that the rescued people were slaves condemned for joining Monmouth's rebellion, they would have gained the sympathy of those on board, with the exception, perhaps, of the gentlemen lieutenants and a few others. Nearly a week passed before the mate was able to leave his hammock. The Captain, on seeing him, beckoned him to approach. "I understand," he said, "that you have served long at sea, and I shall be glad, as I doubt not you will prove yourself worthy of it, to place you on the quarter-deck. Your men, I understand, have entered as of the people you were carrying out as passengers. We shall, I hope, have opportunities in which you can distinguish yourself and make your name well known." "Thank you, sir, I am grateful to you," said Simon Bates, of whose identity there could be no doubt, now that he had so much recovered, and was dressed in a becoming costume, obtained for him by Roger. "I will do my best, as you suggest, sir, to make the name of Simon Bates well known." A couple of weeks after this the _Ruby_ entered Port Royal, in Jamaica. As she was not to remain long, none of the crew were allowed to go on shore. A certain portion seemed to have no wish to do so; although Simon Bates might have walked the streets of Kingston with impunity, there was a risk that he might be recognised by some traitor and denounced. He therefore thought it prudent to remain on board. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. At the time the _Ruby_ reached Port Royal harbour the merchants at Kingston were constantly receiving accounts of depredations committed on their vessels by a piratical squadron under the command of a Frenchman. They could obtain no exact information as to the size or number of the pirate ships; they were generally supposed to be small craft. They allowed none of those they captured to escape, and either sent the merchantmen to the bottom, and made their crews walk the plank, or carried them off to the then little-known islands of the Bahama group. On the merchants making application to Captain Benbow, he willingly undertook to go in search of the pirate fleet, and forthwith got his ship ready for sea. He also purchased a couple of large boats, partly decked over and suited for those seas, fitted with sails and long oars, so that they could move rapidly both in a calm and in a breeze. He would willingly also have obtained a tender, but he could find no vessel suited for the purpose in the harbour. All preparations being made, the _Ruby_ sailed at daylight with a land breeze, and soon had run the white forts and batteries surrounding Kingston out of sight, though the Blue Mountains, rising high above them, were visible long afterwards. "I am thankful that we are clear out of the place," observed Roger to his friend Simon Bates, with whom he seemed to have a great deal to talk about when no one else was near. "I was never quite at my ease, fearing that some of the inquisitive authorities might have come on board." "I have been so wonderfully preserved that I entertained no fears on the subject," answered Bates. "My great wish now is to fall in with these pirates and to take an active part in their capture." "We will keep a bright look-out for them at all events," said Roger; "and if we can lay any of them aboard, I am sure you will do your part, and the Captain has every wish to give you an opportunity of distinguishing yourself." The _Ruby_ had, however, been a week at sea without the pirates being seen. Roger and Bates were always on the look-out. They were afraid that they might have got an inkling of the _Ruby's_ whereabouts, and were keeping out of her way. She at last stood round the northern side of Jamaica, and the next day fell in with an English merchantman, the master of which reported that he had been chased by several strange sail; but, his vessel being a fast one, by setting all the canvas he could carry, he had made his escape. He reported that they were far from small craft; two or three were good-sized frigates, and the rest were of a considerable burden. "So much the better," said Captain Benbow. "It will induce them to attack us; we must do our best to send them to the bottom one after the other." The merchantman having proceeded on her course to the west, the _Ruby_ continued standing on to the westward. It was Roger's morning watch; the wind had been light during the latter part of the night. Soon after dawn broke the look-out shouted, "Two sail on the starboard bow." Roger ran aloft to have a look at them. They were frigates, as far as he could judge at the distance they were off, and he hoped might prove to be part of the pirate squadron. Watching the strangers narrowly, he observed a third vessel,--then a fourth, some way farther off. This left him little doubt that they formed part of the piratical squadron of which the _Ruby_ was in search. Having satisfied himself on this point, he came below and went to inform the Captain, who was quickly on deck. "I am in great hopes that you are right, Willoughby," he said, after he had taken a survey of the strangers. "We will make the _Ruby_ look as much like a merchantman as possible, and perhaps draw them down upon us." This was easily done in a light wind; the vessel's course was changed to the northward, the yards were irregularly braced. The strangers, whether they suspected the ruse or not, stood on, expecting, if they were pirates, probably to gain an easy victory over the lumbering merchantman. Captain Benbow now ordered his ship to be got ready for action; and, collecting his crew aft, told them that they were likely to have a pretty sharp encounter, and that much depended on the way they worked their guns and trimmed sails, as he might direct them. Three large vessels were seen approaching, while two more appeared in the distance; they were evidently not aware of the character of the _Ruby_, or they would have come on in very different fashion. It appeared as if the object of each of them was to be the first to get up to pillage her before the arrival of her consorts. When, however, the leading frigate got almost within range, it seemed to strike her captain that the _Ruby_ was not altogether like a heavy merchantman. Instead of coming on, she suddenly hauled her tacks aboard and stood back towards her consorts. The _Ruby_ on this made all sail in chase; the frigate, however, was a fast craft and kept well ahead. As they saw the _Ruby_ coming, the strangers in succession hauled to the wind and steered to the westward, the frigate which had been leading making signals to the rest, till all five were collected together. At first they appeared as if they intended to try and make their escape, and Roger had begun to fear that they would get off altogether. "Hurrah!" he cried out at length to Bates, "they intend to come up to the scratch after all;" and he pointed to the strangers, which had now formed in two divisions, the two larger frigates in one, the third and two smaller vessels in another. As they carried together more than twice as many guns as the _Ruby_, they might have had a fair hope of gaining the victory. Captain Benbow, on seeing this, steered for the two frigates. As soon as he came within range of the leading one, he opened the whole of his starboard broadside on her; then, standing on, regardless of her shot, which came whizzing on board, he gave the second frigate a similar dose. Meantime the three vessels of the second division, standing towards the _Ruby_, commenced firing at her. The fight now became fast and furious; the pirates, for such there could be no doubt they were, though they had showed no flags, keeping on the _Ruby's_ quarters, poured in a galling fire on her. Several of her men were killed, and others wounded; but her crew, labouring actively at her guns, ran them in and out, loading and firing with wonderful rapidity, effecting no small damage on their assailants. At length the pirates gave signs of having had the worst of it; the two smaller vessels once more hauled their tacks on board and stood away to the westward, and one of the frigates soon followed their example. "Now, lads, we must capture one or two of the remainder," cried Benbow; and steering for the leading vessel, he poured a well-directed broadside into her. The second frigate, trying to support her consort, was severely punished, her deck being strewn with the dead and wounded. She now set all sail, and stood out of the fight, leaving her consort to her fate. Still the pirate fought desperately, frequently firing high, in the hopes of knocking away some of the _Ruby's_ spars and reducing her to her own condition; but no great damage was done, and the _Ruby_, now sailing round and round the frigate, reduced her to a complete wreck. At length a man was seen to spring aft with a white flag, which he waved above his head, and then threw down on the deck as a token of surrender. The _Ruby_ standing close to her, Captain Benbow ordered her to heave-to, and then, doing the same, lowered three boats with armed crews, sending Roger in command of one, Kemp of another, and Bates of a third. "Remember that these pirates are treacherous fellows," he observed. "Secure them as quickly as possible, and look to the magazines." The decks, as the British seamen clambered up the side, presented a fearful spectacle, covered as they were with dead and wounded, many dying without any attempt having been made to render them assistance. The rigging hung in festoons, the canvas shot through and through, yards and blocks scattered about the deck. "Where is your captain?" asked Roger. "We have no captain; he was killed early in the action," answered one of the men. "And your officers?" "They are all killed. We fought as long as one remained alive." As several bodies looked like those of officers, Roger thought that this was probably the case. He and his companions, however, had first to obey the Captain's orders and to secure the crew. They sulkily submitted to have their arms lashed behind them, and were ordered, as soon as this operation was performed, to stand on one side of the deck under charge of four of the seamen with loaded muskets, while Roger and Kemp took one party of their men forward to search for any of the crew who might have concealed themselves. Bates conducted another down below in the afterpart of the ship. He had just reached the Captain's cabin when he detected a smell of brimstone. He rushed towards the spot from whence it proceeded, and discovered a slow match leading towards the principal magazine. Some of his men showed an inclination to rush up on deck. "Come back, cowards!" he exclaimed. "We must put this out;" and, dashing forward, he cut the match for some way before the part which was burning, upon which setting his foot, he quickly stamped it out, crying to his men at the same time to cut the other end. It evidently had been a long time burning, and was probably ignited by one of the officers since killed. Ordering some buckets of water to be brought below, he searched round in the neighbourhood of the other magazine. An attempt had evidently been made to fire this one also, but the match had providentially gone out. The victors and vanquished would otherwise probably have been blown up together. Several pirates were discovered concealed in the after part of the ship. Roger did his best to ascertain if any of them were officers, but without success. As the pirate's boats were knocked to pieces, Captain Benbow made a signal that one of the _Ruby's_ should remain on board, while the other returned with as many prisoners as they could carry. As he was eager to go in chase of the piratical squadron, Kemp was directed also to return, leaving Roger in command of the prize, with Bates as his lieutenant. They forthwith loaded the two boats with the prisoners, but still a considerable number remained. "We can keep these fellows under, I should hope," said Roger to his messmate; "but it will be necessary to have a watchful eye on them. If they can work us any mischief they are sure to do it." As soon as the two boats got alongside the _Ruby_, she made sail in the direction that the pirates had taken, while Roger set to work to repair some of the damage the prize had received, so that she might be in a fit state to encounter a strong breeze, should one spring up. He had been directed, having done this, to steer a certain course for Port Royal, Captain Benbow intending to follow and accompany her in with another prize or two. Roger collected all the remaining pirates in the hold, with their arms and legs lashed, three sentries with loaded muskets being placed over them. These were all he could spare, as the rest of his crew were required to get the ship into order. He and Bates exerted themselves to the utmost. Bates was now assisting in knotting and splicing, now hurrying below to see that the sentries were vigilant. He had looked to the priming of the pistols which he carried in his belt, and kept his sword by his side. He had from the first expressed his regret that so many prisoners had been left on board. "I know the tricks of these fellows," he remarked. "They are capable of freeing themselves from fetters, and they make nothing of slipping out of rope lashings, however apparently secure." "Well, let us get the yards across, and fresh sails bent, and the rigging set up, and we shall have more hands at liberty to watch them," said Roger. Working away, they took a frequent look at the _Ruby_, till she had run them out of sight. Short-handed as they were, much remained to be done. When the sun set, and darkness covered the ocean, the sea remained calm, so that the prize floated motionless. No sail had yet been set, as the crew, of course, after their exertions, required rest. Roger therefore divided the men into two watches, he taking charge of one and Bates of the other. Bates begged to take the first watch of serving, that Roger and his men might then, after rest, be more wide-awake to watch the pirates. The prize had drifted considerably nearer the Cuba coast than when she had been captured. Bates, who was vigilant on every point, kept continually going below, while he turned his eye frequently towards the distant land. The watch was nearly out when, as he listened, he fancied he heard the sound of oars in the water. He well knew the sort of characters who inhabited the quays scattered about on that part of the coast of Cuba, and that if they had discovered the condition of the vessel they might have seen before sunset, they would be very likely to come out and try to capture her. He at once, therefore, sent down to call Roger, who was on deck in a moment. "We must be prepared, at all events," said Roger; and, the other watch being called, such of the pirate's guns as remained undamaged were loaded and run out. The necessary preparations for the defence were quickly made. In a short time the sound of approaching boats became more clearly audible. Roger was of opinion that there were three of them, each pulling a good number of oars. "We must not stand on any ceremony," observed Roger. "They are certain not to be coming with any good intentions, and the sooner we send them to the right-about the better. We will therefore fire at them as soon as we can see them clearly enough to take a steady aim." He gave the orders to his crew. Bates meantime had gone below to have a look at the prisoners; he found them considerably excited; they had overheard the remarks of the seamen, and knew that boats were approaching. They were probably too well aware of the character their crews. Bates had turned his lantern round on all the prisoners, and they appeared to be fast bound as before. He charged the sentries, however, to be very vigilant, suggesting to them that their lives would be the first to be sacrificed should the prisoners break loose. He then returned on deck, just in time to assist in firing the guns, as the strange boats came in sight. The guns must have been well aimed, for they could hear two of the shots strike, shrieks and cries rising from the boats, telling that several had been wounded. The third, however, came on, when Bates, who had carefully trained his gun, fired; almost the instant afterwards she had disappeared; the shot had gone through her. Crowded with men she must have sunk immediately. Whether any were saved it was impossible to say. "They brought their fate upon themselves," observed Roger. "We have to thank you, Bates, for discovering their approach, and for settling them afterwards." The other two boats had disappeared in the darkness, evidently finding that they had caught a Tartar, making their way as fast as they could to the shore. The British raised a hearty cheer; before the joyous ring had died away, shouts and cries rose from the hold, from whence a couple of shots were heard. "Follow me, lads!" cried Bates, and he sprang below, taking care to carry a lantern which he had left in readiness. Nearly all the pirates had by some unaccountable means broken loose. He fired his pistols at two who appeared to be the most active, then drawing his sword rushed among the crowd. One of the sentries had been killed, but the others were defending themselves, after firing, with the butt-ends of their muskets. "Down, all of you, or not one of you shall be allowed to live," Bates shouted, in a voice which awed the pirates; for almost immediately they ceased struggling, and those who were trying to release their companions gave up the attempt. Several had been unable to free themselves. Had they succeeded in getting on deck, while the crew were engaged with the boats, a number of the British seamen might have been killed, even if the pirates had not ultimately gained their object. "You have saved us a second time this night, Bates," said Roger. "I must take care that Captain Benbow knows how you have behaved." In the struggle it was found that no less than five pirates had been killed; but still there were enough remaining to make it necessary to be as vigilant as ever. The moment daylight returned Roger and Bates again set to work with their crew to repair damages. At length they managed to make sufficient sail, a light breeze springing up, to send the vessel through the water at a good rate. As they were so far to the westward, they had been directed, should the wind be suitable, to go round the east end of Jamaica. They therefore hoped with a favourable breeze to get into Port Royal in five or six days. It was an anxious time, however, for both of the young officers. The prize had been sorely battered, and as she heeled over the water rushed in through numerous shot-holes which had only been imperfectly plugged. They did their best to remedy this, but had to keep the crew at the pumps for the best part of both watches. Roger proposed making the prisoners work at the pumps, but Bates thought the risk too great for the advantage they would have gained. Desperate fellows as they were, the pirates might suddenly rise, and with handspikes, or any weapons they could get hold of, attack them. "We must keep all weapons out of their way, and tell them that we will shoot them through the head without scruple should they make any attempt of the sort," answered Roger. The crew, to whom the idea of making the prisoners work had occurred, at the same time asked why half a dozen should not be brought on deck and set to at the pumps? Bates, against his better judgment, consented. Six were accordingly brought up in order to turn to. They sulkily obeyed, but the boatswain's mate, who acted as boatswain, stood by with the cat in hand ready to keep them at their work, while the same number of men remained on guard, armed with pistols and muskets, ready to shoot any who should show the slightest sign of mutiny. This kept the first gang in good order. Then, having laboured till they could labour no longer, they were exchanged for another party. By this means the crew were greatly relieved, and leisure was given to them to stop the leaks. At night all were confined below. At length Morant Point, at the east end of Jamaica, was sighted, and, the breeze being favourable, the prize ran along the southern side of the island till she came off the palisades that formed the southern side of Kingston harbour. They had to wait till the sea-breeze set in, then with flying sheets ran through the entrance and brought up off Port Royal. When it was known that the prize was a pirate captured by Captain Benbow, numbers came off to see her, and congratulated Roger and Bates on their success. Roger took care that it should be known what essential service his messmate had rendered in preserving the vessel, declaring that he believed without him they would have been retaken. Among the visitors on board were several merchants and planters, who expressed their thanks to Mr Bates. "The capture of this vessel will make some amends for the loss of a shipload of slaves, fellows sent out in consequence of having joined Monmouth's rebellion," said one of them. "I had a list forwarded to me. I expected to get a good deal of work out of the fellows before Yellow Jack carried them off." "I should like to see it," said Mr Bates. "Perhaps she is the vessel, the wreck of which we fell in with, nearly all her crew and passengers having died." The merchants promised to bring it off, and in the list Mr Bates read the name of Stephen Battiscombe. He returned it, remarking, "I have little doubt that your slaves have all long since gained their liberty by the only means they expected--death. We will do our best to capture the remainder of the pirates to make amends to you for your loss." Roger was glad to get rid of his prisoners, who were handed over to the authorities; he also obtained hands from Port Royal to refit the prize with all despatch, knowing that Captain Benbow would certainly employ her as the tender to the _Ruby_, to assist him in his search for the piratical squadron, should he have failed to catch them. Several days passed, and, the _Ruby_ not appearing, Roger began to fear that some accident might have happened to her. At length, to his great satisfaction, the canvas of a large ship was seen over the palisades, and the _Ruby_ made her signal. The sea-breeze soon afterwards setting in, she entered the harbour, and brought up near the prize. Roger immediately went on board. Captain Benbow had waited, he said, in vain for the pirates; they had run in among the Bahama Islands, and hid themselves away, while it was impossible to follow them without experienced pilots, who were not to be found. "We must wait therefore another opportunity of discovering them," he observed. "In the meantime we will refit the prize, to the command of which I intend to appoint you, Willoughby, with Bates as your lieutenant. I will send Charlie Ross to assist you, with several fresh hands." Several weeks passed, for the dockyard people in those days were not very rapid in their movements. At length a merchant vessel came in, stating that she had been chased off Montego Bay, at the north-west end of the island, by several suspicious-looking craft, but that she had got into that harbour, and remained there till the pirates had disappeared. "Then the rascals are once more afloat," said Captain Benbow, when he heard of this. "We must go in search of them with the aid of your frigate. I hope we shall capture a few more, if not the whole of them." No time was lost in getting under way, Captain Benbow's only regret being that he had not a larger number of small craft to ferret the pirates out of their holes. He had, however, the two boats, which were likely to be of use. The prize had been so transmogrified by the dockyard riggers at Port Royal that even her old friends would not have known her. It should have been said that most of the pirates had been hung at Port Royal, as people in those days thought nothing of stringing up a couple of dozen of human beings at a time without any very strict examination as to their guilt. Two had escaped by turning King's evidence, on condition of their acting as pilots to the squadron in search of their comrades, should they be required to do so. Captain Benbow considered that he should be most likely to meet with the piratical fleet by sailing to the westward. Accordingly, the _Ruby_ and _Pearl_ stood in that direction, and, having a fair breeze, in a short time got round the western point, and entered the Channel between Jamaica and Cuba. They had a long cruise, however, without sighting the pirates, or falling in with any vessel which had escaped from them. The Captain began to fear that by some means they had heard of him, and were keeping out of his way. He determined, should he fall in with them, to sink all he could come up with, rather than allow the rest to escape. He had been at sea a month, when not far from the spot where the pirate fleet had before been, he sighted one evening, soon after dark, bright flames ascending from the ocean. Captain Benbow immediately made a signal to Roger to stand on in that direction as fast as sails could carry him, while the _Ruby_ followed. "What do you think those flames come from?" asked Roger of Bates. "From a burning ship, most probably one set on fire by the pirates," answered Bates. "They little thought we were so near them. We will summon the pilot, Jacques Tronson, and learn what he thinks about the matter. He knows that he is to be shot through the head if he misleads us. Besides which, I think he has seen the error of his ways, and wishes to be honest." Tronson was summoned, and acknowledged that he considered it the work of his late friends. Probably they were not far off, engaged in stowing away the cargo of the burning ship. "Then we will try and get up alongside one of them before the _Ruby_ appears, and they take to flight," said Roger. Tronson engaged, so far as he could, to enable them to do this. The _Pearl_ stood on. Unfortunately the flames of the burning ship, falling on her white canvas, would betray her approach to the pirates, who at present, however, were not likely to have observed her. Suddenly, as the _Pearl_ was about a couple of miles away, the flames were seen to rush upwards, and a loud explosion reached them. She had been blown into the air, and her burning masts and spars were seen coming down like rockets from the sky; then all was total darkness. The _Pearl_ passed close to the spot where she had been. Not long after, the look-out, Charlie Ross, who was looking out forward, saw a large ship hove-to on the starboard bow. He hurried aft with the information to Roger. Tronson was summoned to give his opinion. He declared his belief that she was one of the pirate squadron. "Then we will stand on and hail her. If she does not give a satisfactory answer we will run alongside and compel her to strike. The sound of our guns will soon lead the _Ruby_ to the spot," said Roger. Roger, hoping to take the pirate by surprise, determined to board her, under the expectation that her crew might be either engaged in stowing the cargo of the captured vessel, or carousing after their victory. Bates was to lead the boarders over the quarter, while Charlie Ross was to guard the forecastle to prevent the _Pearl_ being boarded in return. He considered it his duty to remain on board to direct operations. The _Pearl_ drew nearer and nearer to the stranger. Upon getting close to her, Roger asked what ship she was. An unintelligible answer was returned. Accordingly, firing a double-shotted broadside into the stranger, he ordered the _Pearl_ to be run alongside. Grappling-irons were thrown over her bulwarks and into her rigging. At the same moment Bates, leading nearly half the crew, sprang on board. Roger was not out in his calculations. The greater number of the officers and men were below, drinking hard and fast, as Tronson had thought likely. Some sprang to their arms, but many were cut down before they had time to do so. Some cried out for quarter, others fired up the hatchway. The British crew fired down in return. The deck in five minutes was swept clear of every human being. An attempt was made to blow up the ship, frustrated, happily, by Bates, and in ten minutes he and his handful of men had mastered the whole of the pirate crew. He and they shouted, "Victory! We have got full possession of her." "Well done, Bates!" cried Roger. "Lash the fellows' arms behind as fast as you can, and send them aboard." Just as he had said this, three sail were seen standing towards them. These were evidently more of the pirates intending to rescue their consort. Roger kept his prize fast, and ordered Bates, as soon as he had secured his prisoners, to work his starboard guns, while he commenced firing from his larboard broadside. There was a great probability of his being overpowered, for they all appeared to be large craft. When the _Ruby_ hove in sight the _Pearl's_ crew uttered a cheer as they saw her, and she stood on towards their assailants, who, seeing her size, hauled her tacks aboard, and stood away to the north-east. Not to be delayed, the pirates were bundled crop and heel into the boats and conveyed on board the _Ruby_, while Bates, who was told to take command of the new prize, with the _Pearl_, stood in the direction they were supposed to have gone, the _Ruby_ steering in the same direction. The pilot was of opinion that they had gone round Cape Maze, at the eastern end of Cuba, and were making for one of the Bahamas, among which they had every prospect of escaping. "But what do you say, Tronson? Can you pilot us off the harbour where you suppose they have taken refuge?" asked Roger. "You will receive a handsome reward if you bring us in sight of the pirates; whether we take them or not must depend on our own exertions; we do not expect you to enable us to do that, you may be sure." Tronson did not answer for a minute; at last he said, "Trust me, sir, that I would not assist you to get sight of them, unless I thought you would succeed, as, should I fall into their hands I should be treated in a way I do not like to think about. I know the island well where they have gone to, and I can take you off the mouth of the harbour; but if the big ship accompanies us, we shall have to make a longer course than they have taken, as she cannot cross the Bahama banks. They, however, will not expect us, and if we can manage to reach the island some time after nightfall, we may take them by surprise, if you go in with your boats, and perhaps obtain an easy victory. I will draw you a map of the channel and the harbour, and give you such full directions that I do not think you can miss your way." Roger was fully satisfied that the plan Tronson proposed was the one to succeed, and was eager for the morning, to lay it before the Commodore. All night long the ship stood on without sighting any vessels ahead. At daylight, the wind having dropped, Roger made a signal to the Commodore that he desired to speak to him, and being ordered in return to come on board the _Ruby_, he lowered his boat and quickly reached her deck. Captain Benbow was well pleased with the plan Roger suggested, which exactly suited his spirit. As soon as they came off the island, the _Ruby's_ two large boats were to be lowered, with three other smaller ones, while the _Pearl_ and the new prize should each send another. Thus they would have seven boats with well-armed crews, the two larger carrying guns in their bows. As the wind was light, several days were passed before the little squadron got clear of the passage and was able to steer in the direction of the island to which Tronson had agreed to carry them. As so large a number of the crews would be away in the boats, the prisoners were doubly secured, and reminded that they would be instantly shot should they show the slightest sign of insubordination. The weather was fine and sea smooth, though there was sufficient breeze to carry the ships through the water at the rate of five or six knots an hour. Navigation now became very intricate, but Tronson behaved with apparent fidelity, and skilfully piloted them amid the shoals and reefs; without him it was evident that they would have been unable to proceed. Just before darkness came on, he pointed out to Roger an island, or a collection of islands, with a few slight elevations rising blue and indistinct out of the calm water. "That is the place to which the pirates have gone; if you manage as I advise you, you may trap the whole of them before to-morrow is many hours old." As the ships could not as yet be seen from the shore, and darkness was fast approaching, the Commodore stood on till, by Tronson's advice, they brought up about a mile from the entrance of the harbour. As all lights were kept concealed, it was hoped that the pirates would not discover them. The crews who had been told off manned the boats, and were eager for the undertaking. Much to their satisfaction, the Commodore had selected only tarpaulins to command them, Kemp having one of the large boats, Roger the other, while Bates had charge of the one belonging to his prize, also of good size; the master, boatswain, and Charlie Ross commanded the other three. Roger and Bates were to lead, the _Ruby's_ three smaller boats to follow, and Kemp bring up the rear to assist where most required. An hour before dawn they shoved off. Roger, supposing Tronson had given him correct information, so thoroughly acquainted himself with the passage in the inner lagoon where the pirate vessels were said to lie at anchor, that he expected to have no difficulty in finding his way. The passage was soon gained, and with muffled oars the boats pulled on for a considerable distance; the cliffs formed the side of the channel, and had an enemy been aware of their coming, they would have found it trying work to get through. Not a sound, however, was heard, except when here and there birds rose from among the branches, roused by the appearance of the boats; in other places the shores were covered thickly with trees, the channel now turning in one direction, now in another. At length Roger saw before him a wide lagoon, on the shores of which appeared a few buildings. His attention was occupied chiefly by seeing four vessels anchored almost in the centre; one of them a frigate, the other three of smaller size, but still somewhat formidable craft. Roger determined to attack the frigate, Bates having before agreed to board the same vessel, while the other boats he knew would attack the remainder of the pirate's squadron. That they were the vessels they were in search of there could be no doubt. The pirates, following their usual custom in harbour, had either been carousing on board, or had gone on shore, and, trusting to their secure position, were not even keeping an anchor watch. The British boats were up to them and alongside before the alarm was given; Roger boarded on one quarter, Bates on the bow; but, as they climbed up the side, the pirates came swarming from below. The officers turned out of their cabins, shouting to their men to drive back their assailants. Some ran to the guns, others got hold of their hangers and small-arms. Roger found a strong party collecting to oppose him. Twice he had gained the bulwarks, when he and his men were driven back; the third time, he had gained the bulwarks, and was about to leap down on deck, when a thrust of a pike sent him back wounded into his boat. His men, however, fought their way up the side, and succeeded in gaining a footing, driving back the pirates, who were attempting to defend the after part of the ship. Bates in the meantime had been more successful; he and the whole of his men having got on board, and furiously attacking the pirates had driven them off the forecastle, when with flashing hangers they beat them back aft foot by foot till they were joined by Roger's crew. For some time Bates did not discover Roger's absence; at length he became anxious when he failed to hear his friend's well-known voice. He had no opportunity of asking questions; and shouting to the men of both the boats to keep together, he attacked the pirates, who had rallied on the starboard quarter under their officers, and threatened to make a desperate attack to try and drive back their assailants. Bates, however, shouted to his men to follow, and dashed forward and attacked the officer whom he had discovered to be the leader of the party. Bates was an unusually good swordsman; in a moment the pirate's sword was whirled out of his hand, the second blow stretching him on the deck. Their leader's fall somewhat disconcerted the rest; but they were desperate fellows, and again and again made attempts to break through the British; but several fell, and they had not advanced an inch. In the meantime the great guns from the other vessels were thundering away, and the pistol-shots and the clashing of hangers were heard amidst the cries and shrieks of the combatants. The issue of the contest seemed doubtful even to Bates; for he saw some of the pirates slipping down the after hatchway, and he knew too well that their intention was either to blow up the ship, or to get forward and attack him in the rear. Still, shouting to his men, he made a desperate effort to drive those before him overboard. Just at this juncture he heard a hearty British cheer, and old Kemp's voice shouting: "Come on, come on, my lads; we'll settle the scoundrels in quarter less than no time." The pirates, seeing this addition to their opponents, began to give way; some cried for quarter, others, panic-stricken, leaped over the sides; several tried to escape below, a few only fighting to the last; but Kemp coming up, they were quickly overpowered, most of them being killed, except those who had asked for quarter. "Look below!" cried Bates. "They may mean mischief." Kemp, taking the hint, followed those who had disappeared down the hatchway, while Bates and his men secured the prisoners. In a short time old Kemp returned. "Was not a moment too soon to stop these fellows blowing up the ship," he exclaimed. "But the rascals, though they had the mind, wanted the heart to fire the train." "And where is your captain?" asked Bates of one of the prisoners. "There he lies," answered the man, pointing to the gaily-dressed person whom Bates had cut down. It was often very difficult to distinguish the officers from the men by their dress; and as far as Bates and Kemp could ascertain, the whole of the former had been killed, they having fought to the last, well knowing, should they be captured, a rope's-end and the yard-arm would be their doom. The moment the last of the prisoners had been secured, Bates anxiously inquired for Roger Willoughby, his mind misgiving him lest he should have been killed. Some of his men answered that the last they had seen of him was falling back into the boat. Bates on this sprang down the side. "Thank Heaven you won!--hurrah, hurrah!" exclaimed a voice; it was that of Roger, who lay at the bottom, unable to move owing to his wound. "I am thankful, my dear fellow, that you are alive; we must have you up on deck and look to your hurts," said Bates. "Let them be looked to here," said Roger. "I do not think they are very bad. Lend me a hand-kerchief to bind up this scratch in my side, and send a hand down here to place me in a more comfortable position than I am in at present." Bates, having attended to his friend, had to return on board, while he sent a couple of men, who had been accustomed to look after the sick, down to assist him. In the meantime the three other vessels had been captured in succession by the boats of the squadron, Kemp having assisted with his crew in overpowering them. The next question was the possibility of carrying them out, as a proof to the merchants of Jamaica that the pirate horde had been destroyed. The chief difficulty was to effectually secure the prisoners. Old Kemp suggested that the shortest way would be to hang them up at once, or shoot them, but to this Bates would not agree. "No, no; they are human beings, and it is our duty to give them time for repentance," he answered. "We must carry them to Jamaica, and leave them to be dealt with according to law." They were therefore all brought on board the frigate and secured in the hold, with a strong guard placed over them. "Now," observed Kemp, "at all events we will burn down their storehouses on shore, so that not a trace may be left of the pirates' stronghold." Three of the boats, under the command of Charlie Ross, were accordingly sent to effect this; and in a few minutes flames were seen bursting up from various points along the shore, the buildings, owing to the combustible materials which they contained, burning furiously: not one remained standing. When Ross returned, he acknowledged that he had fallen in with a number of women and children, but as he had not the heart to injure them,--he had received no orders to do so,--he had allowed them to escape up the country. Roger had by this time recovered sufficiently to be lifted on board, and desired to be carried forward to assist in piloting out the vessels. Sail was immediately made on all the ships, the frigate leading, with the boats keeping ahead in readiness to tow her round should there come a squall of wind. They stood out towards the entrance of the harbour, intricate as was the passage; and though it seemed on two or three occasions that the frigate must drive on shore, yet she escaped clear, and the whole squadron got through in safety and stood towards the _Ruby_ and her consorts. She and they were seen preparing for action, Captain Benbow evidently fearing that his boats had been overpowered, and that the pirates were coming out to attack him. The British flag run up at the peak soon pleasantly undeceived him, and the hearty cheers which rose from the decks of the prizes, replied to from the scanty crews of the _Ruby_ and _Pearl_, showed him that his gallant fellows had gained the victory. Old Kemp at once returned to the _Ruby_ to receive the Captain's orders, and signal was soon afterwards made for Bates to come on board. Captain Benbow, shaking him by the hand in the presence of all the officers and crew, complimented him highly on the gallant way in which he had captured the pirate frigate, and assured him that it would be a great satisfaction to recommend him for immediate promotion. Roger had in the meantime been conveyed on board, to be attended to by the surgeon, with several other men who had been wounded, though, strange to say, desperately as the pirates had fought, not one of the British crew had been killed. Bates took charge of the _Pearl_, and old Kemp of the largest of the prizes, while other officers were appointed to the remainder, Charlie Ross among them. The whole squadron, piloted by Tronson, who had gained high credit for his faithfulness, made sail for Jamaica. Each carried the British ensign, and a certain number of prisoners on board. They arrived in safety, and were greeted by salvos of artillery from the forts, flags flying from all the redoubts on shore, and ships in the harbour. The merchants declared that a most important action had been performed, as at one blow the most powerful collection of pirates in those seas had been annihilated. The officers were received on shore and treated with festivities of all sorts. Next to the Commodore, Captain Simon Bates--as he was now called, being commander of a frigate--received the most honour. Being often on shore, he made inquiries about the unfortunate ship sent out some years before on account of Monmouth's rebellion, and he could hear of very few survivors. Several had succumbed to the climate, and others had been sent to the different estates in the interior, of whom he could gain no further tidings. He was the means, however, of rescuing his old acquaintance, Simon Stubbs, and helping two or three others. Simon's owner was very unwilling to part with him, and Bates had to pay a large amount to obtain his liberty. Although the exploit which has been described was among the most important performed at that period, Captain Benbow and his subordinates employed themselves in putting down piracy for the remainder of their stay in the West Indies. At length, to the infinite satisfaction of the British crews, the order was received to return home. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. Commodore Benbow's squadron met with tolerably severe weather on its passage to Old England. Not that the Commodore was much given to think about foul weather or fine; blow high or blow low, it was all the same to him; but as the gales were from the eastward, the squadron was considerably delayed, and at length, being in want of water, the Commodore put into Plymouth. Among the first who went on shore was Simon Bates, who was anxious once more to visit his native land. Roger Willoughby accompanied him. "I congratulate you, my dear fellow," said Roger, "on being once more a free man, with no one to suspect, except your own immediate relatives, the errant Captain Bates." They heard a great deal of talking going round, people speaking in an excited manner, and just then arrived at an inn, from the sign-board of which the countenance of the Prince of Orange was portrayed. They instantly made inquiries. "Have you not heard? On the 5th of November last the Dutch William, sailing from Holland with a fleet of six hundred vessels, landed at Brixham, and marched with an army of cavalry, artillery, and infantry on to Exeter, while he has since been joined by numerous noblemen and gentlemen of influence." "This is indeed glorious news!" exclaimed Captain Bates, or rather Stephen Battiscombe. "Yes, it is a very different affair from the landing of the unfortunate Duke of Monmouth and his handful of men," answered his friend. "This time we shall gain the victory, and drive James Stuart from his throne." The Governor of Plymouth had sent word to the Prince that the garrison he commanded, and most of the inhabitants of the city, were ready to join him. The Prince was advancing towards London. The captains returned to their ships, and Benbow resolved to remain on board his vessel till he could ascertain what side the rest of the fleet were likely to take. On his saying that he would sail eastward to look after the British fleet in the Medway, the men of all the ships came aft to their respective captains. "We were forced aboard these ships you see, Captain," said the principal speaker, "but we did not come to fight for King James. We came to serve our country, and now we find that there is a good chance of our getting a Protestant King. We have made up our minds to join him, whatever the rest of the fleet may do." "I am not the man to say you nay," answered Stephen Battiscombe. "I obtained my liberty without having to thank King James for it, and I am bound, therefore, neither by honour nor principle to serve him. Moreover, I am pretty confident that such will be the principles exhibited by the remainder of the fleet." Captain Benbow replied that his object was the same as that of his men,--to serve his country. They had not long to wait. On the 11th of December the reign of James ended, when he secretly left Whitehall, throwing his signet-ring into the Thames. That of William and Mary commenced on the 13th February, on which day they accepted the crown of England. Now, neither Benbow nor Roger hesitated to offer his allegiance to William and Mary. Battiscombe had long been anxious to go home and comfort his father, and he easily obtained leave from the Commodore to take his frigate round to Lyme, and Roger obtained leave to go with him. With joyous hearts they made sail. Roger led in the _Pearl_, and Stephen followed. From the fact of his having kept to his adopted name, Mr Battiscombe was not aware of his arrival, though the Colonel and Mr Willoughby were eagerly looking out for Roger. They hired horses at Lyme, and set off, accompanied by Charlie Ross. The day was advancing when they came in sight of the Manor House. As they got near the house, they saw a young lady walking at a brisk pace along the road, for the evening was cold. She first gazed at Roger, and then at Charlie, who was a tall fair youth, very like what Stephen had been. Turning round, she sprang towards him, recognising in a moment her betrothed lover, still loved by her. Throwing himself from his horse, their hands were clasped, and it was some minutes before she thought of greeting her old playmate, Roger Willoughby. "It is but natural," he answered. "And right glad I am to bring honest Stephen back to you, and I am sure the Colonel will be as glad as my father." Roger was not mistaken. A hearty greeting was given them by Madam Pauline. His duty to his father compelled Stephen, however, to set off for Langton Hall sooner than he otherwise would have wished. Roger declared that he must go with him. It was a mournful yet a joyous meeting: mournful, as it recalled the death of poor Andrew; and joyful, not only as he came back a free man, but having gained credit, honour, and a considerable amount of prize-money. Stephen had no wish to continue in the navy, for Captain Benbow had impressed upon him the fact that, if he did, he must make his ship his wife, and he cherished the hope that he might ere long recompense Alice, as far as he had the power, for her long and devoted attachment to him. He had obtained permission from the Commodore to leave his ship under the command of Charlie Ross. He knew that she would be well looked after during his absence. Among the captains who remained faithful to James was Captain Benbow, although his crew, as well as those of most others, desired at once to join William of Orange; but as soon as William and Mary had been declared Sovereigns of England, he and many others, to the great satisfaction of their crews, sailed up the Thames to offer their allegiance. Shortly after this, Stephen and Roger received a summons from their old captain to come up to London. They had there the honour of being introduced to the King, who complimented them on their gallantry, and confirmed them both in their rank, at he did also with others who had followed Benbow, while he himself was permanently made a Commodore. Stephen, however, thanking His Majesty for his kindness, begged leave to retire from the service, while expressing his desire at the same time to serve him on shore in whatever capacity the King might think fit to employ him. Roger returned with Stephen to the country, and was best man at his marriage with Mistress Alice. Roger stuck to his ship, and took an active part afterwards in the relief of Derry. There was soon plenty to do, as the French at once declared war against England, with the intention of replacing James Stuart on the throne,--an event by God's Providence happily prevented. There was one short adventure which took place early in Roger's career that reminded him of his first meeting with an individual who afterwards gained a name and fame in history. He was standing up channel in the _Pearl_, when he fell in with a ship which mounted thirty-six guns. Hoisting the British colours, he soon made out her number as the _Nonsuch_. She had two other ships in tow, apparently her prizes, and both considerably damaged. A signal was made for assistance, and the _Pearl_ being hove-to, Roger went on board. He found that she had been commanded by Captain Coyle, who had engaged two French ships off the island of Guernsey, one mounting thirty, the other twenty-two guns, the first being commanded by Captain Jean Bart and the other by Forbin. Captain Coyle and the master, both brave officers, had been killed early in the action, and there being no lieutenants on board, the command devolved on the boatswain, Robert Simcock, who continued the fight. The two French captains, who were very much out of spirits at being made prisoners, were on board, and complained bitterly of the way in which they were treated. Roger, introducing himself, spoke to Mr Simcock, and invited his old acquaintance to come on board his ship, and accompany him to Plymouth, to which port they were bound. Captain Bart willingly agreed, provided his friend Captain Forbin had the same advantage. "For, to tell the truth," he said, "our captor, though a very gallant fellow, does not quite understand how to treat gentlemen." They were not long in reaching Plymouth, when the Governor and other officials received the two French captains with all courtesy, but, of course, had to watch them carefully, and at night they and the doctor of one of their ships were imprisoned in a strong room with iron-barred windows. Of course Simcock was highly applauded for his gallantry. Directly the news was received at the Admiralty, he was made a captain, and appointed to the command of the ship in which he had so bravely fought. Meantime the two gallant French captains were supposed to be safely shut up in prison, though treated all the time with every consideration. On the morning they were to have been carried up to London, it was found that the whole of the trapped birds had escaped, with exception of the stout lieutenant, who had a wounded leg, but had been so fast asleep that he had not the slightest conception of what had occurred. "We shall meet again, my friend, some day," said Commodore Benbow when he heard of it. They did meet, for the Commodore was employed for several years afterwards in blockading Dunkerque. The Frenchman frequently, notwithstanding, managed to get out, and commit no small amount of damage on English shipping; in truth, he fully merited the name he obtained among his countrymen. Benbow, now an Admiral, was frequently sent to the West Indies, when he beat the enemy, and did much for English commerce. He set out on his last expedition in September 1701, accompanied by his old and faithful follower, Roger Willoughby. The manner in which several of his captains cowardly betrayed him when he had the French in his power, is too well known to be repeated. The French Admiral, Du Casse, though fully expecting to be captured, for he was well aware of the cause, wrote to Admiral Benbow a pithy letter, saying that he had indeed thought that night to have supped in the Englishman's cabin, but as he had escaped through the cowardice of some of his enemy's captains, he advised him to hang them up forthwith. The Admiral, being badly wounded during the fierce engagement which took place, directed himself to be placed in a cradle while he remained on deck directing the operations till the battle was over, when the fleet returned to Jamaica. Roger Willoughby remained by his beloved chief during the court-martial which sat upon the pusillanimous captains, and for a month afterwards, when the Admiral sank under his wounds. After the Admiral's death, Roger Willoughby returned to England, and among the first items of news he heard was that the brave French Admiral, who had been born the same day as Benbow, had also paid the debt of Nature. After this he served his country nobly for several years, when at length, returning to Eversden Manor, he took up his abode there, his father and uncle being dead, and Madam Pauline, who had a life-interest in it, being its sole occupant. Although the times of Benbow present subjects of great interest to those who are fond of historical tales, the author has been unable to do more than introduce a few of those he intended when he designed the work. He hopes, notwithstanding, that his readers will not find it less interesting than its many predecessors. 
60328	----	[Illustration: Book Cover] [Illustration: MAP OF CENTRAL AFRICA] [Illustration] THE BOY TRAVELLERS ON THE CONGO ADVENTURES OF TWO YOUTHS IN A JOURNEY WITH HENRY M. STANLEY "THROUGH THE DARK CONTINENT" By THOMAS W. KNOX AUTHOR OF "THE BOY TRAVELLERS IN THE FAR EAST" "IN SOUTH AMERICA" AND "IN RUSSIA" "THE YOUNG NIMRODS" "THE VOYAGE OF THE 'VIVIAN'" ETC. Illustrated NEW YORK HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 1888 By THOMAS W. KNOX. * * * * * THE BOY TRAVELLERS IN THE FAR EAST. Five Volumes. Copiously Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $3.00 each. The volumes sold separately. Each volume complete in itself. I. ADVENTURES OF TWO YOUTHS IN A JOURNEY TO JAPAN AND CHINA. II. ADVENTURES OF TWO YOUTHS IN A JOURNEY TO SIAM AND JAVA. With Descriptions of Cochin China, Cambodia, Sumatra, and the Malay Archipelago. III. ADVENTURES OF TWO YOUTHS IN A JOURNEY TO CEYLON AND INDIA. With Descriptions of Borneo, the Philippine Islands, and Burmah. IV. ADVENTURES OF TWO YOUTHS IN A JOURNEY TO EGYPT AND PALESTINE. V. ADVENTURES OF TWO YOUTHS IN A JOURNEY THROUGH AFRICA. THE BOY TRAVELLERS IN SOUTH AMERICA. Adventures of Two Youths in a Journey through Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Brazil, Paraguay, Argentine Republic, and Chili; with Descriptions of Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego, and Voyages upon the Amazon and La Plata Rivers. Copiously Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $3.00. THE BOY TRAVELLERS IN THE RUSSIAN EMPIRE. Adventures of Two Youths in a Journey in European and Asiatic Russia, with Accounts of a Tour across Siberia, Voyages on the Amoor, Volga, and other Rivers, a Visit to Central Asia, Travels Among the Exiles, and a Historical Sketch of the Empire from its Foundation to the Present Time. Copiously Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $3.00. THE BOY TRAVELLERS ON THE CONGO. Adventures of Two Youths in a Journey with Henry M. Stanley "Through the Dark Continent." Copiously Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $3.00. THE VOYAGE OF THE "VIVIAN" TO THE NORTH POLE AND BEYOND. Adventures of Two Youths in the Open Polar Sea. Copiously Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $2.50. HUNTING ADVENTURES ON LAND AND SEA. Two Volumes. Copiously Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $2.50 each. The volumes sold separately. Each volume complete in itself. I. THE YOUNG NIMRODS IN NORTH AMERICA. II. THE YOUNG NIMRODS AROUND THE WORLD. * * * * * PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. _Any of the above volumes sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price._ * * * * * Copyright, 1887, by HARPER & BROTHERS.--_All rights reserved._ PREFACE As indicated on the title-page, "The Boy Travellers on the Congo" is condensed from that remarkable narrative, "Through the Dark Continent," by one of the most famous explorers that the century has produced. The origin of the present volume is sufficiently explained in the following letter: "EVERETT HOUSE, NEW YORK, _December_ 1, 1886. "MY DEAR COLONEL KNOX,--It is a gift to be able to write to interest boys, and no one who has read your several volumes in the 'Boy Traveller' series can doubt that you possess this gift to an eminent degree. While reading those interesting and valuable books of yours, I have regretted that they were not issued in the time of my own youth, so that I might have enjoyed as a boy the treat of their perusal. Now, the Harpers desire a condensation of my two volumes, 'Through the Dark Continent,' to be made for young folks, but I have neither the time, nor the experience in juvenile writing, for performing the work. I suggest that you shall produce a volume for your series of 'Boy Travellers,' and assure you that it would delight me greatly to have you take your boys, who have followed you through so many lands, on the journey that I made from Zanzibar to the mouth of the Congo. "There is too much in my work in its present form for their mental digestion; but, narrated in that chaste and forcible style which has proved so entertaining to them, they would certainly find the journey through Africa of exceeding interest when made in your company. By all means take Frank and Fred to the wilds of Africa; let them sail the equatorial lakes, travel through Uganda, Unyoro, and other countries ruled by dark-skinned monarchs, descend the magnificent and perilous Congo, see the strange tribes and people of that wonderful land, and repeat the adventures and discoveries that made my journey so eventful. You have my full permission, my dear friend, to use the material in any way you deem proper in adapting it to the requirements of the 'Boy Travellers.' "Sincerely yours, as always, HENRY M. STANLEY. "TO COLONEL THOS. W. KNOX." The preparation of this book has been a double pleasure--first, to comply with the wishes of an old friend, and secondly, to carry the boys and girls of the present day to the wonderful region that, until very recently, was practically unknown. I have the fullest confidence that they will greatly enjoy the journey across equatorial Africa from the eastern to the western sea, and eagerly peruse every line of Mr. Stanley's narrative of discovery and adventure. The portrait of Mr. Stanley is from a photograph taken early in 1886. The maps on the inside of the covers were specially drawn for this work, and the publishers, with their customary liberality, have allowed the use of wood-cuts selected from several volumes of African travel and exploration, in addition to those which originally appeared in "Through the Dark Continent." In the hope that "The Boy Travellers on the Congo" will be as cordially received as were its predecessors in the series, the work is herewith submitted to press and public for perusal and comment. T. W. K. NEW YORK, _May_, 1887. CONTENTS CHAPTER I. CROSSING THE ATLANTIC OCEAN WITH STANLEY.--"THROUGH THE DARK CONTINENT."--AN IMPROMPTU GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY.--PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF STANLEY.--COMMENTS UPON HIM BY FRANK AND FRED.--HOW THE GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY WAS ORGANIZED.--READING STANLEY'S BOOK.--STANLEY'S DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND FOR ZANZIBAR.--JOINT ENTERPRISE OF TWO NEWSPAPERS.--PREPARATIONS FOR THE EXPEDITION.--THE "LADY ALICE."--BARKER AND THE POCOCKS.--ZANZIBAR.--PRINCE BARGHASH.--INHABITANTS OF ZANZIBAR.--THE WANGWANA. Page 13 CHAPTER II. TRANSPORTATION IN AFRICA.--MEN AS BEASTS OF BURDEN.--PORTERS, AND THEIR PECULIARITIES.--ENGAGING MEN FOR THE EXPEDITION.--A "SHAURI."--TROUBLES WITH THE "LADY ALICE."--AGREEMENT BETWEEN STANLEY AND HIS MEN.--DEPARTURE FROM ZANZIBAR.--BAGAMOYO.--THE UNIVERSITIES MISSION.--DEPARTURE OF THE EXPEDITION.--DIFFICULTIES WITH THE PORTERS.--SUFFERINGS ON THE MARCH.--NATIVE SUSPENSION BRIDGES.--SHOOTING A ZEBRA.--LOSSES BY DESERTION. 32 CHAPTER III. RETARDED BY RAINS AND OTHER MISHAPS.--GENERAL DESPONDENCY.--DEATH OF EDWARD POCOCK.--A CHANGE FOR THE BETTER.--A LAND OF PLENTY.--ARRIVAL AT VICTORIA LAKE.--NATIVE SONG.--AFLOAT ON THE GREAT LAKE.--TERRIBLE TALES OF THE INHABITANTS.--ENCOUNTERS WITH THE NATIVES.--THE VICTORIA NILE.--RIPON FALLS.--SPEKE'S EXPLORATIONS.--THE ALEXANDRA NILE.--ARRIVAL AT KING MTESA'S COURT.--A MAGNIFICENT RECEPTION.--IN THE MONARCH'S PRESENCE.--STANLEY'S FIRST OPINIONS OF MTESA. 53 CHAPTER IV. PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF KING MTESA.--HIS RECEPTION OF MR. STANLEY.--A NAVAL REVIEW.--STANLEY'S MARKSMANSHIP.--THE KING'S PALACE.--RUBAGA, THE KING'S CAPITAL.--RECEPTION AT THE PALACE.--MEETING COLONEL LINANT DE BELLEFONDS.--CONVERTING MTESA TO CHRISTIANITY.--APPEAL FOR MISSIONARIES TO BE SENT TO MTESA.--DEPARTURE FOR USUKUMA.--FIGHT WITH THE NATIVES AT BUMBIREH ISLAND.--SUFFERINGS OF STANLEY AND HIS COMPANIONS ON LAKE VICTORIA.--A NARROW ESCAPE.--RETURN TO KAGEHYI.--DEATH OF FRED BARKER.--EMBARKING THE EXPEDITION.--KING LUKONGEH AND HIS PEOPLE. 76 CHAPTER V. DEPARTURE FOR REFUGE ISLAND.--ARRIVAL IN UGANDA.--MTESA AT WAR.--STANLEY JOINS HIM AT RIPON FALLS.--A NAVAL BATTLE ON AN AFRICAN LAKE.--THE WAGANDA REPULSED.--CAPTURE OF A WAVUMA CHIEF.--STANLEY SAVES THE CHIEF'S LIFE.--HOW STANLEY BROUGHT THE WAR TO AN END.--HIS WONDERFUL MACHINE FOR DESTROYING THE WAVUMA.--RETIREMENT OF THE ARMY.--STANLEY'S RETURN TO HIS CAMP.--EXPEDITION TO MUTA NZEGE.--HOW IT FAILED.--THE EXPEDITION MARCHES SOUTHWARD.--IN KING RUMANIKA'S COUNTRY.--ARAB TRADERS IN AFRICA.--HAMED IBRAHIM.--KAFURRO AND LAKE WINDERMERE.--INTERVIEWS WITH KING RUMANIKA.--EXPLORING LAKE WINDERMERE.--AN UNHAPPY NIGHT.--IHEMA ISLAND. 102 CHAPTER VI. STANLEY TELLS ABOUT KING RUMANIKA.--THE KARAGWÉ GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY.--THE KING'S TREASURE-HOUSE.--GOOD-BYE TO HIS MAJESTY.--HOSTILITY BETWEEN ELEPHANT AND RHINOCEROS.--PLUNDERED IN USUI.--THE SOURCES OF THE ALEXANDRA NILE.--RETROSPECTION.-- QUESTIONS OF TOPOGRAPHY.--INSOLENCE OF MANKORONGO.--DEATH OF "BULL."--TROUBLES WITH THE PETTY KINGS.--INTERVIEW WITH THE FAMOUS MIRAMBO.--GENERAL APPEARANCE OF THE RENOWNED AFRICAN.--AN IMPOSING CEREMONY.--BLOOD-BROTHERHOOD.--HOW GRANT'S CARAVAN WAS PLUNDERED.--MYONGA'S THREATS.--A COMPROMISE.--AMONG THE WATUTA.--IN SIGHT OF LAKE TANGANIKA.-- ARRIVAL AT UJIJI. 124 CHAPTER VII. MR. STANLEY TAKES THE CHAIR.--DESCRIPTION OF UJIJI.--THE ARAB AND OTHER INHABITANTS.--MARKET SCENES.--LOCAL CURRENCY.--THE WAJIJI.--LAKE TANGANIKA.--STANLEY'S VOYAGE ON THE LAKE.--RISING OF THE WATERS.--THE LEGEND OF THE WELL.--HOW THE LAKE WAS FORMED.--DEPARTURE OF THE EXPEDITION.--SCENERY OF THE COAST.-- MOUNTAINS WHERE THE SPIRITS DWELL.--SEEKING THE OUTLET OF THE LAKE.--THE LUKUGA RIVER.--EXPERIMENTS TO FIND A CURRENT.--CURIOUS HEAD-DRESSES.--RETURN TO UJIJI.--LENGTH AND EXTENT OF LAKE TANGANIKA. 152 CHAPTER VIII. STANLEY CONTINUES THE READING.--BAD NEWS AT UJIJI.--SMALL-POX AND ITS RAVAGES.--DESERTIONS BY WHOLESALE.--DEPARTURE OF THE EXPEDITION.--CROSSING LAKE TANGANIKA.--TRAVELLERS' TROUBLES.-- TERRIFYING RUMORS.--PEOPLE WEST OF THE LAKE.--SINGULAR HEAD-DRESSES--CANNIBALISM.--DESCRIPTION OF AN AFRICAN VILLAGE.--APPEARANCE OF THE INHABITANTS.--IN MANYEMA.--STORY ABOUT LIVINGSTONE.--MANYEMA HOUSES.--DONKEYS AS CURIOSITIES.-- KITETÉ AND HIS BEARD.--THE LUAMA AND THE LUALABA.--ON THE BANKS OF THE LIVINGSTONE. 174 CHAPTER IX. DIFFICULTIES OF LIVINGSTONE AND CAMERON WITH THEIR FOLLOWERS.--PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF TIPPU-TIB.--NEGOTIATIONS FOR AN ESCORT.--TIPPU-TIB ARRANGES TO GO WITH STANLEY.--THE WONDERS OF UREGGA.--GORILLAS AND BOA-CONSTRICTORS.--THEIR REMARKABLE PERFORMANCES.--A NATION OF DWARFS.--HOW STANLEY DECIDED WHAT ROUTE TO FOLLOW.--HEADS OR TAILS?--"SHALL IT BE SOUTH OR NORTH?"--SIGNING THE CONTRACT WITH TIPPU-TIB.--A REMARKABLE ACCIDENT.--ENTERING NYANGWÉ.--LOCATION AND IMPORTANCE OF THE PLACE.--ITS ARAB RESIDENTS.--MARKET SCENES AT NYANGWÉ.--READY FOR THE START. 201 CHAPTER X. DEPARTURE FROM NYANGWÉ.--THE DARK UNKNOWN.--IN THE PRIMEVAL FOREST.--AN AFRICAN WILDERNESS.--SAVAGE FURNITURE.--TIPPU-TIB'S DEPENDANTS.--A TOILSOME MARCH.--THE DENSE JUNGLE.--A DEMORALIZED COLUMN.--AFRICAN WEAPONS.--A VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.--SKULLS OF SOKOS.--STANLEY'S LAST PAIR OF SHOES.--SNAKES IN THE WAY.--THE TERRIBLE UNDERGROWTH.--NATIVES OF UREGGA AND THEIR CHARACTERISTICS.--SKULLS AS STREET ORNAMENTS.--AMONG THE CANNIBALS.--ON THE RIVER'S BANK.--A SUDDEN INSPIRATION.--THE TRUE ROAD TO THE SEA.--TIPPU-TIB'S DISCOURAGEMENTS.--ENCOUNTERING THE NATIVES.--SUCCESSFUL NEGOTIATIONS.--THE EXPEDITION FERRIED OVER THE RIVER.--CAMPING IN THE WENYA. 221 CHAPTER XI. HOW STANLEY OBTAINED CANOES.--THE PEOPLE OF UKUSU.--THEIR HOSTILITY.--A FIGHT AND TERMS OF PEACE.--SEPARATION FROM TIPPU-TIB.--DEPARTURE "TOWARDS THE UNKNOWN."--A SAD FAREWELL.-- AMONG THE VINYA-NARA.--THE NATIVES AT STANLEY FALLS.--A FIERCE BATTLE.--DEFENDING A STOCKADE.--BOATS CAPSIZED IN A TEMPEST AND MEN DROWNED.--BEGINNING OF THE NEW YEAR.--A BATTLE ON THE WATER.--MONSTER CANOES.--AMONG THE MWANA NTABA.--THE NATIVES ARE DEFEATED.--FIRST CATARACT OF STANLEY FALLS.--CAMPED IN A FORTIFICATION. 243 CHAPTER XII. ATTACKED BY THE COMBINED FORCES OF THE MWANA NTABA AND BASWA TRIBES.--THEY ARE REPULSED.--EXPLORING THE FIRST CATARACT.-- CARRYING AND DRAGGING THE BOATS THROUGH THE FOREST AND AROUND THE FALLS.--AN ISLAND CAMP.--NATIVE WEAPONS AND UTENSILS.-- ANOTHER BATTLE.--HOW ZAIDI WAS SAVED FROM A PERILOUS POSITION.-- CAUGHT IN A NET.--HOW THE NET WAS BROKEN.--FISHES IN THE GREAT RIVER.--HOW THE OTHER CATARACTS WERE PASSED.--AFLOAT ON SMOOTH WATER.--A HOSTILE VILLAGE.--ANOTHER BATTLE.--ATTACKED BY A LARGE FLOTILLA.--A MONSTER BOAT.--A TEMPLE OF IVORY.--NO MARKET FOR ELEPHANTS' TUSKS.--EVIDENCES OF CANNIBALISM.--FRIENDLY NATIVES OF RUBUNGA.--PORTUGUESE MUSKETS IN THE HANDS OF THE NATIVES. 259 CHAPTER XIII. IN URANGI.--A NOISY RECEPTION.--WONDERFUL HEAD-DRESSES.--A TREACHEROUS ATTACK.--ANIMAL LIFE ALONG THE RIVER.--BIRDS AND BEASTS OF THE GREAT STREAM.--A BATTLE WITH THE BANGALA.-- FIRE-ARMS IN THE HANDS OF THE NATIVES.--THE SAVAGES, ALTHOUGH IN SUPERIOR NUMBERS, ARE REPULSED.--HIGH WINDS AND STORMS.--EFFECT OF THE CLIMATE ON MR. STANLEY'S HEALTH.--A GREAT TRIBUTARY RIVER.--FRIENDLY PEOPLE OF IKENGO.--PROVISIONS IN ABUNDANCE.-- ISLANDS IN THE RIVER.--DEATH OF AMINA.--A MOURNFUL SCENE.--THE LEVY HILLS.--HIPPOPOTAMUS CREEK.--BOLOBO.--THE KING OF CHUMBIRI.--A CRAFTY POTENTATE.--HIS DRESS, PIPE, WIVES, AND SONS.--INCONVENIENT COLLARS.--CURIOUS CUSTOMS. 277 CHAPTER XIV. TREACHERY OF THE KING'S SONS.--THE GREATEST RASCAL OF AFRICA.--A PYTHON IN CAMP.--STANLEY POOL.--DOVER CLIFFS.--MANKONEH.--FIRST SOUND OF THE FALLS.--BARGAINING FOR FOOD.--LOSS OF THE BIG GOAT.--EXCHANGING CHARMS.--FALL OF THE CONGO FROM NYANGWÉ TO STANLEY POOL.--GOING AROUND THE GREAT FALL.--DRAGGING THE BOATS OVERLAND.--GORDON-BENNET RIVER.--"THE CALDRON."--LOSS OF THE "LONDON TOWN."--POOR KALULU.--HIS DEATH IN THE RIVER.--LOSS OF MEN BY DROWNING.--SAD SCENES IN CAMP. 300 CHAPTER XV. THE FRIENDLY BATEKÉ.--GREAT SNAKES.--SOUDI'S STRANGE ADVENTURES.-- CAPTURED BY HOSTILE NATIVES.--DESCENDING RAPIDS AND FALLS.--LOSS OF A CANOE.--"WHIRLPOOL RAPIDS."--THE "LADY ALICE" IN PERIL.-- GAVUBU'S COVE.--"LADY ALICE" RAPIDS.--A PERILOUS DESCENT.--ALARM OF STANLEY'S PEOPLE.--TRIBUTARY STREAMS.--PANIC AMONG THE CANOE-MEN.--NATIVE VILLAGES.--INKISI FALLS.--TUCKEY'S CATARACT.-- A ROAD OVER A MOUNTAIN.--AMONG THE BABWENDÉ.--AFRICAN MARKETS.-- TRADING AMONG THE TRIBES.--SHOELESS TRAVELLERS.--EXPERIMENTS IN COOKING.--LIMITED STOCK OF PROVISIONS.--CENTRAL AFRICAN ANTS.-- "JIGGAS."--DANGERS OF UNPROTECTED FEET. 317 CHAPTER XVI. A DISAPPOINTMENT.--NOT TUCKEY'S FURTHEST.--BUILDING NEW CANOES.-- THE "LIVINGSTONE," "STANLEY," AND "JASON."--FALLS BELOW INKISI.-- FRANK POCOCK DROWNED.--STANLEY'S GRIEF.--"IN MEMORIAM."--MUTINY IN CAMP.--HOW IT WAS QUELLED.--LOSS OF THE "LIVINGSTONE."--THE CHIEF CARPENTER DROWNED.--ISANGILA CATARACT.--TUCKEY'S SECOND SANGALLA.--ABANDONING THE BOATS.--OVERLAND TO BOMA.--THE EXPEDITION STARVING.--A LETTER ASKING HELP.--VOLUNTEER COURIERS.-- DELAYS AT STARTING.--VAIN EFFORTS TO BUY FOOD.--A DREARY MARCH.-- SUFFERINGS OF STANLEY'S PEOPLE.--THE LEADER'S ANXIETY. 335 CHAPTER XVII. THE WEARY MARCH RESUMED.--RETURN OF THE MESSENGERS.--ARRIVAL OF RELIEF.--SCENE IN CAMP.--DISTRIBUTION OF PROVISIONS.--THE SONG OF JOY.--A WELCOME LETTER.--"ENOUGH NOW: FALL TO."--PERSONAL LUXURIES FOR THE LEADER.--"PALE ALE! SHERRY! PORT WINE! CHAMPAGNE! TEA! COFFEE! WHITE SUGAR! WHEATEN BREAD!"--STANLEY'S REPLY TO THE GENEROUS STRANGERS.--SUMMARY PUNISHMENT FOR THEFT.--GREETING CIVILIZATION.--RECEPTION BY WHITE MEN.--THE FREEDOM OF BOMA.-- LIFTED INTO THE HAMMOCK.--CHARACTERISTICS OF BOMA.--A BANQUET AND FAREWELL.--PONTA DA LENHA.--OUT ON THE OCEAN.--ADIEU TO THE CONGO. 351 CHAPTER XVIII. ARRIVAL AT KABINDA.--WEST AFRICAN MERCHANTS.--DEATH AMONG THE WANGWANA.--ILLNESS AMONG THE PEOPLE OF THE EXPEDITION.--STANLEY'S ANXIETY FOR HIS FOLLOWERS.--THEIR FAILING HEALTH.--ENCOURAGING THEM WITH WORDS AND KIND TREATMENT.--THE BANE OF IDLENESS.-- LEAVING KABINDA.--SAN PAULO DE LOANDA.--KINDNESS OF THE PORTUGUESE OFFICIALS.--H. B. MAJESTY'S SHIP "INDUSTRY."--CARRIED TO THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE.--THE WANGWANA SEE A "FIRE-CARRIAGE."--TO NATAL AND ZANZIBAR.--RECEPTION.--DISBANDING THE EXPEDITION.--AFFECTING SCENES.--STANLEY'S TRIBUTE TO HIS FOLLOWERS. 365 CHAPTER XIX. THE LAST MEETING ON BOARD THE "EIDER."--FOUNDING THE FREE STATE OF CONGO.--MR. STANLEY'S LATER WORK ON THE GREAT RIVER.--BUILDING ROADS AND ESTABLISHING STATIONS.--MAKING PEACE WITH THE NATIVES.-- BULA MATARI.--RESOURCES OF THE CONGO VALLEY.--STANLEY'S LATEST BOOK.--STEAMERS ON THE RIVER.--THE CONGO RAILWAY.--STANLEY'S PRESENT MISSION IN AFRICA.--EMIN PASHA AND HIS WORK.--HOW STANLEY PROPOSES TO RELIEVE HIM.--DR. SCHNITZLER.--BEY OR PASHA?--MWANGA, KING OF UGANDA.--HIS HOSTILITY TO WHITE MEN.--KILLING BISHOP HANNINGTON.--THE EGYPTIAN EQUATORIAL PROVINCE.--LETTER FROM STANLEY.--HIS PLANS FOR THE RELIEF EXPEDITION.--TIPPU-TIB AND HIS MEN.--FROM ZANZIBAR TO THE CONGO. 381 CHAPTER XX. MORE AFRICAN STUDIES.--MASAI LAND.--EARLY HISTORY OF THE MOMBASA COAST.--MOUNT KILIMANJARO.--ITS DISCOVERERS AND EXPLORERS.-- REBMANN'S UMBRELLA.--THOMSON'S EXPEDITION AND ITS OBJECT.--FRERE TOWN AND MOMBASA.--JOURNEY TO MASAI LAND.--HOSTILITY OF THE NATIVES.--NARROW ESCAPES.--MASAI WARRIORS AND THEIR OCCUPATIONS.-- MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF THE PEOPLE.--THOMSON AS A MAGICIAN.-- JOHNSTON'S KILIMANJARO EXPEDITION.--HEIGHT AND PECULIARITIES OF THE GREAT MOUNTAIN.--MANDARA AND HIS COURT.--SLAVE-TRADING.--MASAI WOMEN.--SURROUNDED BY LIONS.--BISHOP HANNINGTON.--STORY OF HIS DEATH IN UGANDA. 410 CHAPTER XXI. STANLEY'S HUNTING ADVENTURES.--AFRICA THE FIELD FOR THE SPORTSMAN.--HUNTING IN SOUTH AFRICA.--NIGHT-SHOOTING AT WATER-HOLES AND SPRINGS.--ABUNDANCE OF GAME.--DANGER OF THIS KIND OF SPORT.--LIONS AND ELEPHANTS.--MAN-EATING LIONS.--IN THE JAWS OF A LION.--DR. LIVINGSTONE'S NARROW ESCAPE.--THE HOPO, OR GAME-TRAP ON A LARGE SCALE.--DU CHAILLU AND HIS ADVENTURES.-- SHOOTING THE GORILLA.--RESEMBLANCE OF THE GORILLA TO MAN.-- PRODIGIOUS STRENGTH OF THE GORILLA.--HOW HE IS HUNTED.--THE END. 442 ILLUSTRATIONS. A Scene on the Congo _Frontispiece._ Map of Africa showing Route from Zanzibar to Boma _Front Cover._ Map of Emin Pasha's Province and the Congo Routes _Back Cover._ Portrait of Henry M. Stanley 12 Sandy Hook from Navesink Light-house 13 Stanley in Abyssinia 15 Musicians of the Dark Continent 16 Village where Dr. Livingstone Died 18 James Gordon Bennett 19 The _Lady Alice_, in Sections 20 Candidates for Service with Stanley 21 View of a Portion of the Sea-front of Zanzibar, from the Water Battery to Shangani Point 23 Zanzibar, from the Sea 23 Red Cliffs behind Universities Mission, Zanzibar 24 View from the Roof of Mr. Augustus Sparhawk's House 25 The British Consulate at Zanzibar 26 Seyyid Barghash 27 A Zanzibar Nurse-maid 28 Lady of Zanzibar Reading an Arabic Manuscript 29 Native Water-carrier, Zanzibar 30 Hindoo Merchant of Zanzibar 31 Negro Nurse-maid, Zanzibar 33 A Zanzibar Bride 34 Window of an Arab House, Zanzibar 35 Coxswain Uledi, and Manwa Sera, Chief Captain 36 A Merchant of Zanzibar 37 Tarya Topan 39 Universities Mission at Mbwenni, Zanzibar 40 Harem in the House of the Secretary of the Sultan of Zanzibar 41 "Towards the Dark Continent." 42 Scene in Bagamoyo 43 Wife of Manwa Sera 45 A Leading Citizen of Bagamoyo 46 The Expedition at Rosako 47 View from the Village of Mamboya 49 Our Camp at Mpwapwa 50 Detective and Assistants 51 An African Belle 52 An African Blacksmith's-shop 53 Funeral of Edward Pocock: View of Our Camp 55 In Memoriam of Edward Pocock 56 An African Lamb 56 Unyamwezi Porter 57 View of Kagehyi from the Edge of the Lake 59 Frank Pocock 60 African Arms and Ornaments 61 View near Victoria Lake 62 Dwellers on the Shore of the Lake 63 The _Lady Alice_ at Bridge Island, Victoria Nyanza 64 View of the Bay leading to Rugedzi Channel from Kigoma, near Kisorya, South Side of Ukerewé, Coast of Speke Gulf 65 View of Ripon Falls from the Uganda Side 67 Dressed for Cold Weather 68 The Victoria Nile, North of Ripon Falls, Rushing towards Unyoro, from the Usoga Side of the Falls 69 Reception by King Mtesa's Body-guard at Usavara 71 Waiting Orders 72 Sekebobo, Chief of Chagwé. Mtesa, the Emperor of Uganda. Chambarango, the Chief. Pokino, the Prime-minister. Other Chiefs. 73 Dwarf at the King's Court 74 The King's Dinner-dish 76 Fish found in Lake Victoria 78 Rubaga, the Capital of the King of Uganda 79 Fleet of the King of Uganda, Ready for War 81 Audience-hall of the Palace at Rubaga 82 Wooden Kettle-drum 83 African Hatchet, Spade, and Adze 83 Head of a "Madoqua"--Species of Antelope 85 Shugrangu House, an African Mission Station, with Grave of Mrs. Livingstone 87 Warriors of the Upper Nile Region 89 Reception at Bumbireh Island, Victoria Nyanza 91 Hut and Granary on the Island 93 A Woman of the Island 94 Village Enclosing Cattle 95 Heads of Spears 96 Central African Goat 97 Cairn Erected to the Memory of Frederick Barker: Majita and Ururi Mountains in the Distance, across Speke Gulf 98 At the Landing-place of Msossi, King Lukongeh's Capital 99 Store-house for Grain 99 Wakerewé Stool 100 Wakerewé Dwelling-house 100 Fish-nets 100 Wakerewé Canoes 100 Wakerewé Warrior 100 Strange Granite Rocks of Wezi Island, Midway between Usukuma and Ukerewé 101 Usukuma Canoe 102 Island called Elephant Rock 103 Mtesa's Camp, Ingira 104 One of the Great Naval Battles between the Waganda and the Wavuma, in the Channel between Ingira Island and Cape Nakaranga 105 Small Canoe 106 View of Country near Mtesa's Camp 106 The Floating Fortlet Moving towards Ingira 107 Uganda War Canoe 109 Wangwana Hut in Camp. Hut at Jinja 110 Head of Central African Hartebeest 110 The Camp of the Expedition 111 Mount Edwin Arnold 112 Marching towards Muta Nzege: Mount Gordon-Bennett in the Distance 113 Grass-roofed Hut, Unyoro 114 Native Hut, Karagwé 114 View near Kafurro 115 Central African Antelope, Karagwé 116 View of Ufumbiro Mountains from Mount near Mtagata Hot Springs 117 Rumanika's Treasure-house 118 A Spearman of Karagwé 119 Mountain Scene in Karagwé 119 Boat on Lake Windermere 120 Kagera Skiff 121 Native Woman of Fashion 121 Ihema Hut 122 A Native of Uhha 122 Boat of Lake Ihema 122 Hut of Uganda 123 Small Tembé of Ugogo 123 House of an Arab Merchant near Rumanika's Village 124 On the Way to the Meeting 125 Ground-plan of King's House 126 Treasure-house, Arms, and Treasures of Rumanika 127 The Expedition Traversing the Valley 129 Pottery in Usui 130 A Village in Western Usui 132 Camp of an Arab Merchant 133 "Bull." 135 A Hut and its Frame 136 View in the Interior of an African Village 137 Serombo Huts 138 War-Drum and Idol 139 A "Ruga-Ruga," one of Mirambo's Patriots 139 Hillside House in Mirambo's Country 140 Unyamwezi Chief and his Wife 141 Shield and Drum 142 Color-party of an English Expedition in Africa 143 Mountains along the Route of the Expedition 145 Fashionable Hair-dressing 147 One of the Watuta 148 Bow, Spears, Hatchets, and Arrow-Heads 149 Idols Sheltered from the Rain 150 Arab House near Ujiji 150 Whistle, Pillow, and Hatchet 151 Head of Uguhha Woman 152 Ujiji, looking North from the Market-place, Viewed from the Roof of our Tembé at Ujiji 153 Arab Dhow at Ujiji 154 A Native of Rua, who was a Visitor at Ujiji 155 Dress and Tattooing of a Native of Uguhha 156 Charms Worn by the Wajiji 157 A River Ferry-boat 158 Heads of Natives 158 The Wazaramo Tribe 159 Rawlinson Mountains 161 Head-dress and Hatchet 162 Brother Rocks 163 The Extreme Southern Reach of Lake Tanganika 164 Mtombwa 165 Kungwé Peaks 166 The "High Places" of the Spirit Mtombwa: View of Mtombwa Urungu 167 Mount Murumbi, near Lukuga Creek 168 Ubujwé Head-dress 170 Uguha Head-dress 170 Village Scene.--Dwellings and Grain-houses 171 A Woman of Uguha 172 Uhyeya Head-dress 172 Spirit Island, Lake Tanganika 172 Sketch Near Ujiji 173 In Council: The Courtyard of Our Tembé at Ujiji 175 Central African Goat 176 M'Sehazy Haven and Camp, at the Mouth of M'Sehazy River 177 Huts and Store-house 179 Sub-Chief, West of Lake Tanganika 180 Heads of Men of Manyema 181 Natives of Ubujwé 181 A Native of Uhyeya 182 One of the Wahyeya of Uhombo. (Back View) 182 A Valley among the Hills 183 Going a-fishing 184 Village Forge and Idol 185 Ready for Fighting 186 African Owls 188 A Village in Manyema 189 A Youth of East Manyema 190 A Manyema Adult 190 The Valley of Mabaro 191 A Young Woman of East Manyema 192 Village Scene in Southeast Manyema 193 House of an Arab Merchant 195 House of a Manyema Chief 196 Kiteté, The Chief of Mpungu 198 Village near Kabungwé 199 Native Houses at Mtuyu 200 Ants'-nest in Manyema 200 Hill and Village on the Road to Nyangwé 201 Waiting to be Photographed 203 A Young "Soko" (Gorilla) 204 Blacksmiths at Work 205 Native Trap for Game 206 Canoes on the River 207 "Heads for the North and the Lualaba; Tails for the South and Katanga." 208 A Follower of Tippu-Tib 209 A Canoe of the Wenya, or Wagenya, Fishermen 210 Pot-pourri 211 View in Nyangwé 212 A Bowman 213 Camp Scene 214 Escort of Gunners and Spearmen 215 Slave Offered in the Market 217 Nyangwé Heads 217 Nyangwé Pottery 218 Muini Dugumbi's Followers Attacking Nyangwé 219 Antelope of the Nyangwé Region 220 Near Nyangwé 221 Open Country before Reaching the Forest 223 Tippu-Tib's Body Servants 224 Jumah 225 The Edge of the Forest 227 Water-bottles 228 Stool of Uregga 229 Uregga House 229 Spoons of Uregga 229 Uregga Spear 229 Cane Settee 229 Bench 230 Back-rest 230 An African Fez of Leopard-skin 230 Prickles of the Acacia Plant 231 An African Ant 231 Marabouts, Storks, and Pelicans in the Forest Lakes 232 A Forge and Smithy at Wane-Kirumbu, Uregga 233 A Young "Soko" Sitting for his Portrait 235 Head of the Gorilla 236 Backgammon Tray 236 In Full Style 237 A Tributary River 239 Wangwana Women 240 Some of the People on Shore 241 Canoes in the Mouth of the Ruiki River 243 War-hatchet of Ukusu 244 Stool of Ukusu 244 Stew-pot of the Wahika 244 Encounter with a Gorilla 245 A House of Two Rooms 246 Canoe Scoop 247 Scoops 247 "Towards the Unknown." 247 Coil of Plaited Rope, Central Africa 248 War-drums of the Tribes of the Upper Livingstone 249 Village Scene 250 Musical Instruments and Mode of Playing 251 Gorillas and Nest 253 Native Pipe 254 Scene on a Tributary of the Great River--Launching a Canoe 255 Mwana Ntaba Canoe (The "Crocodile") 256 Village near the Forest 257 Native Corn-magazine 258 African Stool 259 Spear-head 260 The Kooloo-Kamba, or Long-eared Soko 261 A Baswa Knife 262 Style of Knives 262 Baswa Basket and Cover 262 Shooting a Crocodile at the Rapids 263 Cavern near Stanley Falls 264 The Desperate Situation of Zaidi, and his Rescue by Uledi, the Coxswain of the Boat 265 The Seventh Cataract, Stanley Falls 266 Pike--Stanley Falls 266 An African Suspension-bridge 267 Fish--Seventh Cataract, Stanley Falls 268 Baswa Palm-oil Jar and Palm-wine Cooler 268 Mouth of Drum 269 Wooden Signal-drum of the Wenya, or Wagenya, and the Tribes on the Livingstone 269 Drumsticks--Knobs being of India-rubber 269 Shields of Ituka People 269 Fish--Stanley Falls 270 Monster Canoe 271 Native Spade 272 The Fight below the Confluence of the Aruwimi and the Livingstone Rivers 273 Spear, Isangi 274 Knives, Rubunga 274 Rings for Protecting the Arm 275 Rubunga Blacksmiths 276 Double Iron Bells of Urangi 277 Beak of the Balinæceps Rex 278 The Balinæceps Rex 279 A Cannibal Chief 281 The Attack of the Sixty-three Canoes of the Piratical Bangala 283 Poisoned Arrows 284 A Crocodile Hunt 285 Elephant Hunters on the Congo 287 African Knife and Axes 288 Spears, and Shield of Elephant-hide 289 Spectators among the Trees 291 Encounter with a Hippopotamus 295 A Present from Chumbiri 296 The King of Chumbiri 296 Great Pipe of King of Chumbiri 297 One of the King's Wives at Chumbiri 298 A Bowman 299 Son of the King of Chumbiri 300 A Python in an African Forest 301 The Northern End of Stanley Pool 302 Map of Stanley Pool 303 One of the King's Warriors 304 African Reclining-Chair 305 A Present from Itsi 306 Floating Island in Stanley Pool 308 Village in the Valley of the Congo 309 Native Pottery 310 View of the Right Branch, First Cataract, of the Livingstone Falls, from Four Miles below Juemba Island 311 Over Rocky Point close to Gampa's 312 At Work Passing the Lower End of the First Cataract of the Livingstone Falls, near Rocky Island 313 African Pipes 314 Death of Kalulu 315 One of Gampa's Men 316 Village Idols 317 Hilly Regions back from the River 319 _Lady Alice_ over the Falls 321 Native Mill for Grinding Corn 322 Falls on a Tributary Stream 323 An Upland Stream and Native Bridge 324 The Nkenké River Entering the Livingstone below the _Lady Alice_ Rapids 325 Mode of Passing Boats over the Falls 327 Village on the Table-land 329 A Figure in the Market-place 330 African Market Scene 331 View in the Babwendé Country 332 Nyitti, an African Potato 333 Ugogo Cooking-pot 334 Wild Bull of Equatorial Africa 334 The New Canoes, the _Livingstone_ and the _Stanley_ 336 Cutting out the New _Livingstone_ Canoe 337 In Memoriam: Francis John Pocock 338 Fall of the Edwin Arnold River into the Pocock Basin 339 The Chief Carpenter Carried over Zinga Fall 340 The Masassa Falls, and the Entrance into Pocock Basin, or Bolobolo Pool 341 Camp at Kilolo, above Isangila Falls 342 View from the Table-land 343 "I want Rum." 345 Village Scene, with Granary in Foreground 346 In the Valley 347 Ant-hills on the Road to Boma 348 One of the Guides 349 Catching Ants for Food 350 Mbinda Cemetery 351 In the Suburbs of Boma 352 Outbuildings of an African Factory 353 Escort of the Caravan 354 Outside the Village 356 View in the Open Country 357 Wooden Idol 358 The White-fronted Wild Hog of Central Africa 359 The Hammock on the West Coast of Africa 360 The Circumnavigators of the Victoria Nyanza and Lake Tanganika, and Explorers of the Alexandra Nile and Livingstone (Congo) River 361 Native Belles on the West Coast 362 Native Blacksmiths near Boma 363 At Rest: Stanley's Quarters at Kabinda by the Sea 365 Expedition at Kabinda 366 Group of Mr. Stanley's Followers at Kabinda, West Coast of Africa, just after Crossing the "Dark Continent." 367 Scenery on the West Coast of Africa 368 A Dandy of San Paulo de Loanda 369 View of San Paulo de Loanda--The Fort of San Miguel on the Right 371 Dhows in the Harbor of Zanzibar 372 The Recuperated and Reclad Expedition as it Appeared at Admiralty House, Simon's Town, after our Arrival on H. M. S. _Industry_ 373 The Women of the Expedition 377 Stanley, as he Left England for Africa in 1874 378 Stanley, as he Reached Zanzibar in 1877 379 Ngahma, a Congo Chief 382 View of Vivi, from the Isangila Road 383 Port of Leopoldville 384 A Photograph 385 A Congo House 386 The Effect of Civilization 387 A Native of the Lower Congo 388 Emin Pasha 391 Blacksmith's Forge and Bellows 392 Some of Emin Pasha's Irregular Troops 393 Ivory-eating Squirrel, Central Africa 394 Battle between Native Warriors and Egyptian Troops 395 Native Warrior in Emin Pasha's Province 396 The King of Unyora and his Great Chiefs 397 Native War-dance 399 Breed of Cattle in Emin Pasha's Province 400 Lado, Capital of Egyptian Equatorial Province 401 Schooli Warrior, Egyptian Equatorial Province 402 Fortified Village near Lado 403 Ismaen Abou Hatab, Trusted Officer of Emin Pasha 404 Village in the Valley of the Bengo 405 A Traveller's Caravan near Wadelay 407 A Dyoor, Subject of Emin Pasha 408 Chief of Coast Tribe in Portuguese Territory 409 Tattooing among the Coast Natives 410 Doorway of a House at Mombasa 411 Heads of Coast Natives 413 View of Mombasa 415 Camp of an English Explorer in Africa 417 Slave Caravans on the Road 419 Slaves Left to Die 421 A Spring in the Desert 423 A Wedding-dance 424 Mandara's Left Ear 426 A Corner of Mr. Johnston's Settlement 427 View of Kilimanjaro 429 Camp Scene 430 African Adjutants 432 A Well-stocked Hunting-ground 433 Plain and Mountains in Masai Land 434 Ear-stretchers and Ear-ornaments 436 A Masai Warrior 437 Masai Married Woman, with Painted Face 438 Uganda Head-dress 440 Place where Bishop Hannington was Imprisoned and Killed 441 African Oryx, or Gemsbok 442 South African Hunting--in Camp 443 Night Hunting--Elephants Coming to Drink 445 An African Serenade 446 Close Shave by an Elephant 447 Death-grapple with a Lion 448 Rhinoceros and Dogs 450 Dr. Livingstone in the Lion's Grasp 451 The Hopo, or Trap for Driving Game 453 Paul du Chaillu in Africa 454 Gorilla Hunting--Mother and Young at Play 455 Du Chaillu's First Gorilla 457 Head of Kooloo-Kamba 458 Ear of Kooloo-Kamba 458 Du Chaillu Ascending an African River 459 Gorilla Skull 461 Human Skull 461 Skeletons of Man and the Gorilla 462 A Young Gorilla--Du Chaillu's Captive 463 [Illustration: Henry Stanley] THE BOY TRAVELLERS ON THE CONGO. CHAPTER I. CROSSING THE ATLANTIC OCEAN WITH STANLEY.--"THROUGH THE DARK CONTINENT."--AN IMPROMPTU GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY.--PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF STANLEY.--COMMENTS UPON HIM BY FRANK AND FRED.--HOW THE GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY WAS ORGANIZED.--READING STANLEY'S BOOK.--STANLEY'S DEPARTURE FROM ENGLAND FOR ZANZIBAR.--JOINT ENTERPRISE OF TWO NEWSPAPERS.--PREPARATIONS FOR THE EXPEDITION.--THE _LADY ALICE_.--BARKER AND THE POCOCKS.--ZANZIBAR.--PRINCE BARGHASH.--INHABITANTS OF ZANZIBAR.--THE WANGWANA. At eight o'clock on the morning of December 15, 1886, the magnificent steamer _Eider_, of the North German Lloyds, left her dock in New York harbor for a voyage to Southampton and Bremen. Among the passengers that gathered on her deck to wave farewell to friends on shore was one whose name has become famous throughout the civilized world for the great work he has performed in exploring the African continent and opening it to commerce and Christianizing influences. That man, it is hardly necessary to say, was HENRY M. STANLEY. Near him stood a group of three individuals who will be recognized by many of our readers. They were Doctor Bronson and his nephews, Frank Bassett and Fred Bronson, whose adventures have been recorded in previous volumes.[1] [1] "The Boy Travellers in the Far East," in China, Japan, Siam, Java, Ceylon, India, Egypt, the Holy Land, Africa; "The Boy Travellers in South America;" "The Boy Travellers in the Russian Empire." Seven volumes, published by Harper & Brothers, New York. [Illustration: SANDY HOOK FROM NAVESINK LIGHT-HOUSE.] Slowly the great steamer made her way among the ships at anchor in the harbor. She passed the Narrows, then entered the Lower Bay, and, winding through the channel between Sandy Hook and Coney Island, was soon upon the open ocean. Near the Sandy Hook light-ship she stopped her engines sufficiently long to discharge her pilot, and then, with her prow turned to the eastward, she dashed away on her course at full speed. Day by day and night by night the tireless engines throbbed and pulsated, but never for a moment ceased their toil till the _Eider_ was off Southampton, more than three thousand miles from her starting-point. Doctor Bronson was acquainted with Mr. Stanley, and soon after the steamer left the dock the two gentlemen were in conversation. After a little while the doctor introduced his nephews, who were warmly greeted by the great explorer; he had read of their journeys in the far East and in other lands, and expressed his pleasure at meeting them personally. As for Frank and Fred, they were overjoyed at the introduction and the cordial manner in which they were received. They thanked Mr. Stanley for the kind words he had used in speaking of their travels, which had been of little consequence compared with his own. Frank added that he hoped some day to be able to cross the African continent; the way had been opened by Mr. Stanley, and, with the facilities which the latter had given to travellers, the journey would be far easier of accomplishment than it was twenty or even ten years ago. Then followed a desultory conversation, of which no record has been preserved; other passengers came up to speak to Mr. Stanley, and the party separated. As the steamer passed into the open ocean most of the people on deck disappeared below for the double reason that there was a cold wind from the eastward and--breakfast was on the table. "What a charming man Mr. Stanley is!" Fred remarked, as soon as they had withdrawn from the group. "Yes," replied his cousin, "and so different from what I expected he would be. He is dignified without being haughty, and friendly without familiarity. Before the introduction I was afraid to meet him, but found myself quite at ease before we had been talking a minute. I'm not surprised to hear how much those who know him are attached to him, nor at the influence he possesses over the people among whom his great work has been performed." [Illustration: STANLEY IN ABYSSINIA.] "Just think what a career he has had," continued Frank. "After various adventures as a newspaper correspondent in Spain, Abyssinia, Ashantee, and other countries, he was sent by the editor of the New York _Herald_ to find Dr. Livingstone in the interior of Africa. He found the famous missionary; but when he came back, and told the story of what he had done, a great many people refused to believe him, because they considered the feat impossible for a newspaper correspondent. He came out of Africa at the same point where he entered it, and it was said by some that he had never ventured farther than a few miles from the coast. This made him angry, and the next time he went on a tour of exploration in Africa he made sure that the same criticism would be impossible." "Yes, indeed!" responded Fred. "He went into the African wilderness at Bagomoya, on the east side of the continent, and came out at the mouth of the Congo, away over on the other side. He descended that great river, which no white man had ever done before him, and passed through dangers and difficulties such as few travellers of modern times have known. And, besides--" Before Fred could finish the sentence he had begun the Doctor joined them, and asked Frank where he had put the parcel of books that they had selected to read during the voyage. "It is in our room," the youth replied, "and ready to be opened whenever we want any of the books. We will arrange our things this forenoon, and I will open the parcel at once." "You selected Mr. Stanley's book, 'Through the Dark Continent,' I believe," Doctor Bronson continued, "and I think you had better bring that out first. Now that Mr. Stanley is with us, you will read it again with much greater interest than before." The youths were pleased with the suggestion, which they accepted at once. Fred laughingly remarked that there might be danger of a quarrel between them as to who should have the first privilege of reading the book. Frank thought they could get over the difficulty by dividing the two volumes between them, but he admitted that the one who read the second volume in advance of the first would be likely to have his mind confused as to the exact course of the exploration which the book described. [Illustration: MUSICIANS OF THE DARK CONTINENT.] Doctor Bronson said he was reminded of an anecdote he once heard about a man who always read books with a mark, which he carefully inserted at the end of each reading. He was going through the "Life of Napoleon" at one time, and for three evenings in succession his room-mate slyly set back the mark to the starting-point. At the end of the third evening he asked the reader what he thought of Napoleon. "He was a most wonderful man," was the reply; "in three days he crossed the Alps three times with his whole army, and went the same way every time." While the party were laughing over the anecdote Mr. Stanley came up, and said he wished to have a share in the fun. The Doctor repeated the story, and explained how it had been called to his mind. "Well," said Mr. Stanley, "it would be very unfortunate for Masters Frank and Fred to get the story of the Dark Continent doubled up in the manner you suggest. I propose that they shall study it together, one reading aloud to the other, and, as the entire book is too much for the limited time of this voyage, they will be obliged to omit portions of chapters here and there. The readings can take place daily during the afternoon and evening, and the youth who is to read can devote the forenoon to selecting the parts of the chapters he will suppress and those which are to be given to the listeners. I will assist him in his selections from time to time, and, with due diligence, the book will be finished before we reach Southampton." It was unanimously voted that the plan was an excellent one, and the boys immediately proceeded to carry it out. The volumes were brought forth, and Frank retired to a corner of the saloon to make a selection for the first afternoon's reading. Mr. Stanley sat with him a short time, marking several pages and paragraphs, and then went on deck, where he joined Doctor Bronson in a brief promenade. Meantime Fred busied himself with an examination of several other books of African travel; he was evidently familiar with their contents, as he ran through the pages with great rapidity, and marked numerous passages, with the evident intention of referring to them in the course of the time devoted to what we may call the public readings. There was an intermission of labor towards the middle of the day, and at this time Frank and Fred made the acquaintance of two or three other youths of about their age. When the latter learned of the proposed scheme, they asked permission to be allowed to hear how the Dark Continent was traversed, and their request was readily granted. Consequently the audience that assembled in the afternoon comprised some six or eight persons, including Mr. Stanley and Doctor Bronson. Neither of the gentlemen remained there through the whole afternoon, partly for the reason that they were both familiar with the narrative and partly because they did not wish to seem otherwise than confident that the boys knew how to manage matters for themselves. This kind of work was not altogether new to Frank and Fred, as many of our readers are aware; and in all their previous experiences they had acquitted themselves admirably. When everything was ready Frank began with the opening chapter of "Through the Dark Continent" and read as follows: "While returning to England in April, 1874, from the Ashantee War, the news reached me that Livingstone was dead--that his body was on its way to England! [Illustration: VILLAGE WHERE DR. LIVINGSTONE DIED.] "Livingstone had then fallen! He was dead! He had died by the shores of Lake Bemba, on the threshold of the dark region he had wished to explore! The work he had promised me to perform was only begun when death overtook him! "The effect which this news had upon me, after the first shock had passed away, was to fire me with a resolution to complete his work, to be, if God willed it, the next martyr to geographical science, or, if my life was to be spared, to clear up not only the secrets of the Great River throughout its course, but also all that remained still problematic and incomplete of the discoveries of Burton and Speke, and Speke and Grant. "The solemn day of the burial of the body of my great friend arrived. I was one of the pall-bearers in Westminster Abbey, and when I had seen the coffin lowered into the grave, and had heard the first handful of earth thrown over it, I walked away sorrowing over the fate of David Livingstone. "Soon after this I was passing by an old book-shop, and observed a volume bearing the singular title of 'How to Observe.' Upon opening it, I perceived it contained tolerably clear instructions of 'how and what to observe.' It was very interesting, and it whetted my desire to know more; it led me to purchase quite an extensive library of books upon Africa, its geography, geology, botany, and ethnology. I thus became possessed of over one hundred and thirty books upon Africa, which I studied with the zeal of one who had a living interest in the subject, and with the understanding of one who had been already four times on that continent. I knew what had been accomplished by African explorers, and I knew how much of the dark interior was still unknown to the world. Until late hours I sat up, inventing and planning, sketching out routes, laying out lengthy lines of possible exploration, noting many suggestions which the continued study of my project created. I also drew up lists of instruments and other paraphernalia that would be required to map, lay out, and describe the new regions to be traversed. "I had strolled over one day to the office of the _Daily Telegraph_, full of the subject. While I was discussing journalistic enterprise in general with one of the staff, the editor entered. We spoke of Livingstone and the unfinished task remaining behind him. In reply to an eager remark which I made, he asked: "'Could you, and would you, complete the work? And what is there to do?' "I answered: "The outlet of Lake Tanganika is undiscovered. We know nothing scarcely--except what Speke has sketched out--of Lake Victoria; we do not even know whether it consists of one or many lakes, and therefore the sources of the Nile are still unknown. Moreover, the western half of the African continent is still a white blank.' "'Do you think you can settle all this, if we commission you?' "'While I live there will be something done. If I survive the time required to perform all the work, all shall be done.' [Illustration: JAMES GORDON BENNETT.] "The matter was for the moment suspended, because Mr. James Gordon Bennett, of the New York _Herald_, had prior claims on my services. "A telegram was despatched to New York to him: 'Would he join the _Daily Telegraph_ in sending Stanley out to Africa, to complete the discoveries of Speke, Burton, and Livingstone?' and, within twenty-four hours, my 'new mission' to Africa was determined on as a joint expedition, by the laconic answer which the cable flashed under the Atlantic: 'Yes; Bennett.' "A few days before I departed for Africa, the _Daily Telegraph_ announced in a leading article that its proprietors had united with Mr. James Gordon Bennett in organizing an expedition of African discovery, under the command of Mr. Henry M. Stanley. 'The purpose of the enterprise,' it said, 'is to complete the work left unfinished by the lamented death of Dr. Livingstone; to solve, if possible, the remaining problems of the geography of Central Africa; and to investigate and report upon the haunts of the slave-traders.... He will represent the two nations whose common interest in the regeneration of Africa was so well illustrated when the lost English explorer was rediscovered by the energetic American correspondent. In that memorable journey, Mr. Stanley displayed the best qualities of an African traveller; and with no inconsiderable resources at his disposal to reinforce his own complete acquaintance with the conditions of African travel, it may be hoped that very important results will accrue from this undertaking to the advantage of science, humanity, and civilization.' "Two weeks were allowed me for purchasing boats--a yawl, a gig, and a barge--for giving orders for pontoons, and purchasing equipment, guns, ammunition, rope, saddles, medical stores, and provisions; for making investments in gifts for native chiefs; for obtaining scientific instruments, stationery, etc., etc. The barge was an invention of my own. [Illustration: THE "LADY ALICE" IN SECTIONS.] "It was to be forty feet long, six feet beam, and thirty inches deep, of Spanish cedar three eighths of an inch thick. When finished, it was to be separated into five sections, each of which should be eight feet long. If the sections should be overweight, they were to be again divided into halves for greater facility of carriage. The construction of this novel boat was undertaken by Mr. James Messenger, boat-builder, of Teddington, near London. The pontoons were made by Cording, but though the workmanship was beautiful, they were not a success, because the superior efficiency of the boat for all purposes rendered them unnecessary. However, they were not wasted. Necessity compelled us, while in Africa, to employ them for far different purposes from those for which they had originally been designed. "There lived a clerk at the Langham Hotel, of the name of Frederick Barker, who, smitten with a desire to go to Africa, was not to be dissuaded by reports of its unhealthy climate, its dangerous fevers, or the uncompromising views of exploring life given to him. 'He would go, he was determined to go,' he said. "Mr. Edwin Arnold, of the _Daily Telegraph_, also suggested that I should be accompanied by one or more young English boatmen of good character, on the ground that their river knowledge would be extremely useful to me. He mentioned his wish to a most worthy fisherman, named Henry Pocock, of Lower Upnor, Kent, who had kept his yacht for him, and who had fine stalwart sons, who bore the reputation of being honest and trustworthy. Two of these young men volunteered at once. Both Mr. Arnold and myself warned the Pocock family repeatedly that Africa had a cruel character, that the sudden change from the daily comforts of English life to the rigorous one of an explorer would try the most perfect constitution; would most likely be fatal to the uninitiated and unacclimatized. But I permitted myself to be overborne by the eager courage and devotion of these adventurous lads, and Francis John Pocock and Edward Pocock, two very likely-looking young men, were accordingly engaged as my assistants. [Illustration: CANDIDATES FOR SERVICE WITH STANLEY.] "Soon after the announcement of the 'New Mission,' applications by the score poured into the offices of the _Daily Telegraph_ and New York _Herald_ for employment. Before I sailed from England, over twelve hundred letters were received from 'generals,' 'colonels,' 'captains,' 'lieutenants,' 'mid-shipmen,' 'engineers,' 'commissioners of hotels,' mechanics, waiters, cooks, servants, somebodies and nobodies, spiritual mediums and magnetizers, etc., etc. They all knew Africa, were perfectly acclimatized, were quite sure they would please me, would do important services, save me from any number of troubles by their ingenuity and resources, take me up in balloons or by flying carriages, make us all invisible by their magic arts, or by the 'science of magnetism' would cause all savages to fall asleep while we might pass anywhere without trouble. Indeed, I feel sure that, had enough money been at my disposal at that time, I might have led 5000 Englishmen, 5000 Americans, 2000 Frenchmen, 2000 Germans, 500 Italians, 250 Swiss, 200 Belgians, 50 Spaniards, and 5 Greeks, or 15,005 Europeans, to Africa. But the time had not arrived to depopulate Europe, and colonize Africa on such a scale, and I was compelled to respectfully decline accepting the valuable services of the applicants, and to content myself with Francis John and Edward Pocock, and Frederick Barker--whose entreaties had been seconded by his mother. "I was agreeably surprised also, before departure, at the great number of friends I possessed in England, who testified their friendship substantially by presenting me with useful 'tokens of their regard' in the shape of canteens, watches, water-bottles, pipes, pistols, knives, pocket-companions, manifold writers, cigars, packages of medicine, Bibles, prayer-books, English tracts for the dissemination of religious knowledge among the black pagans, poems, tiny silk banners, gold rings, etc., etc. A lady for whom I have a reverent respect presented me also with a magnificent prize mastiff named Castor, an English officer presented me with another, and at the Dogs' Home at Battersea I purchased a retriever, a bull-dog, and a bull-terrier, called respectively by the Pococks, Nero, Bull, and Jack. "On the 15th of August, 1874, having shipped the Europeans, boats, dogs, and general property of the expedition, I left England for the east coast of Africa to begin my explorations." Here Frank paused and informed his listeners that he would not read in full the chapter which followed, as they could not readily comprehend it without the aid of a map. "It contains," he said, "a summary of the history of the expeditions that have sought to find the sources of the Nile from the days of Herodotus to the present time, the accounts of the discoveries of the Central African lakes and of the Nile flowing from the northern end of Lake Victoria, together with a statement of the knowledge which Dr. Livingstone possessed concerning the Congo River and its course. At the end of the chapter Mr. Stanley repeats his proposal to solve the problems concerning the extent of Lakes Tanganika and Victoria, to find the outlet of the former, and determine whether the great river which Livingston saw was the Nile, the Niger, or the Congo. And now we will see," continued the youth, "how Mr. Stanley entered the African continent on his great exploration." With these words he referred again to the book, and read as follows: "Twenty-eight months had elapsed between my departure from Zanzibar after the discovery of Livingstone and my rearrival on that island, September 21, 1874. [Illustration: VIEW OF A PORTION OF THE SEA-FRONT OF ZANZIBAR, FROM THE WATER BATTERY TO SHANGANI POINT.] "The well-remembered undulating ridges, and the gentle slopes clad with palms and mango-trees bathed in warm vapor, seemed in that tranquil, drowsy state which at all times any portion of tropical Africa presents at first appearance. A pale-blue sky covered the hazy land and sleeping sea as we steamed through the strait that separates Zanzibar from the continent. Every stranger, at first view of the shores, proclaims his pleasure. The gorgeous verdure, the distant purple ridges, the calm sea, the light gauzy atmosphere, the semi-mysterious silence which pervades all nature, evoke his admiration. For it is probable that he has sailed through the stifling Arabian Sea, with the grim, frowning mountains of Nubia on the one hand, and on the other the drear, ochreous-colored ridges of the Arab peninsula; and perhaps the aspect of the thirsty volcanic rocks of Aden and the dry, brown bluffs of Guardafui is still fresh in his memory. [Illustration: ZANZIBAR, FROM THE SEA.] "The stranger, of course, is intensely interested in the life existing near the African equator, now first revealed to him, and all that he sees and hears of figures and faces and sounds is being freshly impressed on his memory. Figures and faces are picturesque enough. Happy, pleased-looking men of black, yellow, or tawny color, with long, white cotton shirts, move about with quick, active motion, and cry out, regardless of order, to their friends or mates in the Swahili or Arabic language, and their friends or mates respond with equally loud voice and lively gesture, until, with fresh arrivals, there appears to be a Babel created, wherein English, French, Swahili, and Arabic accents mix with Hindi, and, perhaps, Persian. [Illustration: RED CLIFFS BEHIND UNIVERSITIES MISSION, ZANZIBAR.] "In the midst of such a scene I stepped into a boat to be rowed to the house of my old friend, Mr. Augustus Sparhawk, of the Bertram Agency. I was welcomed with all the friendliness and hospitality of my first visit, when, three years and a half previously, I arrived at Zanzibar to set out for the discovery of Livingstone. "With Mr. Sparhawk's aid I soon succeeded in housing comfortably my three young Englishmen, Francis John and Edward Pocock and Frederick Barker, and my five dogs, and in stowing safely on shore the yawl _Wave_, the gig, and the tons of goods, provisions, and stores I had brought. [Illustration: VIEW FROM THE ROOF OF MR. AUGUSTUS SPARHAWK'S HOUSE. Frank Pocock. Frederick Barker. A Zanzibar boy. Edward Pocock. Kalula. Bull-terrier "Jack." "Bull." Retriever "Nero." Mastiff "Captain." Prize Mastiff "Castor." (_From a Photograph by Mr. Stanley._)] "Life at Zanzibar is a busy one to the intending explorer. Time flies rapidly, and each moment of daylight must be employed in the selection and purchase of the various kinds of cloth, beads, and wire in demand by the different tribes of the mainland through whose countries he purposes journeying. Strong, half-naked porters come in with great bales of unbleached cottons, striped and colored fabrics, handkerchiefs and red caps, bags of blue, green, red, white, and amber-colored beads, small and large, round and oval, and coils upon coils of thick brass wire. These have to be inspected, assorted, arranged, and numbered separately, have to be packed in portable bales, sacks, or packages, or boxed, according to their character and value. The house-floors are littered with cast-off wrappings and covers, box-lids, and a medley of rejected paper, cloth, zinc covers, and broken boards, sawdust, and other _débris_. Porters and servants and masters, employees and employers, pass backward and forward, to and fro, amid all this litter, roll bales over, or tumble about boxes; and a rending of cloth or paper, clattering of hammers, demands for the marking-pots, or the number of bale and box, with quick, hurried breathing and shouting, are heard from early morning until night. [Illustration: THE BRITISH CONSULATE AT ZANZIBAR.] "During the day the beach throughout its length is alive with the moving figures of porters, bearing clove and cinnamon bags, ivory, copal and other gums, and hides, to be shipped in the lighters waiting along the water's edge, with sailors from the shipping, and black boatmen discharging the various imports on the sand. In the evening the beach is crowded with the naked forms of workmen and boys from the 'go-downs,' preparing to bathe and wash the dust of copal and hides off their bodies in the surf. Some of the Arab merchants have ordered chairs on the piers, or bunders, to chat sociably until the sun sets, and prayer-time has come. Boats hurry by with their masters and sailors returning to their respective vessels. Dhows move sluggishly past, hoisting as they go the creaking yards of their lateen sails, bound for the mainland ports. Zanzibar canoes and 'matepes' are arriving with wood and produce, and others of the same native form and make are squaring their mat sails, outward bound. Sunset approaches, and after sunset silence follows soon. For as there are no wheeled carriages with the eternal rumble of their traffic in Zanzibar, with the early evening comes early peace and rest. [Illustration: SEYYID BARGHASH.] "Barghash bin Sayid, the Sultan of Zanzibar, heartily approved the objects of the expedition and gave it practical aid. It is impossible not to feel a kindly interest in Prince Barghash, and to wish him complete success in the reforms he is now striving to bring about in his country. Here we see an Arab prince, educated in the strictest school of Islam, and accustomed to regard the black natives of Africa as the lawful prey of conquest or lust, and fair objects of barter, suddenly turning round at the request of European philanthropists and becoming one of the most active opponents of the slave-trade--and the spectacle must necessarily create for him many well-wishers and friends. "The prince must be considered as an independent sovereign. His territories include, besides the Zanzibar, Pemba, and Mafia islands, nearly 1000 miles of coast, and extend probably over an area of 20,000 square miles, with a population of half a million. The products of Zanzibar have enriched many Europeans who traded in them. Cloves, cinnamon, tortoise-shell, pepper, copal gum, ivory, orchilla weed, india-rubber, and hides have been exported for years; but this catalogue does not indicate a tithe of what might be produced by the judicious investment of capital. Those intending to engage in commercial enterprises would do well to study works on Mauritius, Natal, and the Portuguese territories, if they wish to understand what these fine, fertile lands are capable of. The cocoa-nut palm flourishes at Zanzibar and on the mainland, the oil palm thrives luxuriantly in Pemba, and sugar-cane will grow everywhere. Caoutchouc remains undeveloped in the maritime belts of woodland, and the acacia forests, with their wealth of gums, are nearly untouched. Rice is sown on the Rufiji banks, and yields abundantly; cotton would thrive in any of the rich river bottoms; and then there are, besides, the grains, millet, Indian corn, and many others, the cultivation of which, though only in a languid way, the natives understand. The cattle, coffee, and goats of the interior await also the energetic man of capital and the commercial genius. "Those whom we call the Arabs of Zanzibar are either natives of Muscat who have immigrated thither to seek their fortunes, or descendants of the conquerors of the Portuguese; many of them are descended from the Arab conquerors who accompanied Seyyid Sultan, the grandfather of the present Seyyid Barghash. While many of these descendants of the old settlers still cling to their homesteads, farms, and plantations, and acquire sufficient competence by the cultivation of cloves, cinnamon, oranges, cocoa-nut palms, sugar-cane, and other produce, a great number have emigrated into the interior to form new colonies. Hamed Ibrahim has been eighteen years in Karagwé, Muini Kheri has been thirty years in Ujiji, Sultan bin Ali has been twenty-five years in Unyanyembé, Muini Dugumbi has been eight years in Nyangwé, Juma Merikani has been seven years in Rua, and a number of other prominent Arabs may be cited to prove that, though they themselves firmly believe that they will return to the coast some day, there are too many reasons for believing that they never will. "The Arabs of Zanzibar, whether from more frequent intercourse with Europeans or from other causes, are undoubtedly the best of their race. More easily amenable to reason than those of Egypt, or the shy, reserved, and bigoted fanatics of Arabia, they offer no obstacles to the European traveller, but are sociable, frank, good-natured, and hospitable. In business they are keen traders, and of course will exact the highest percentage of profit out of the unsuspecting European if they are permitted. They are stanch friends and desperate haters. Blood is seldom satisfied without blood, unless extraordinary sacrifices are made. The conduct of an Arab gentleman is perfect. Impertinence is hushed instantly by the elders, and rudeness is never permitted. [Illustration: A ZANZIBAR NURSE-MAID.] "After the Arabs let us regard the Wangwana, or negro natives of Zanzibar, just as in Europe, after studying the condition and character of the middle-classes, we might turn to reflect upon that of the laboring population. "After nearly seven years' acquaintance with the Wangwana, I have come to perceive that they represent in their character much of the disposition of a large portion of the negro tribes of the continent. I find them capable of great love and affection, and possessed of gratitude and other noble traits of human nature; I know, too, that they can be made good, obedient servants, that many are clever, honest, industrious, docile, enterprising, brave, and moral; that they are, in short, equal to any other race or color on the face of the globe, in all the attributes of manhood. But to be able to perceive their worth, the traveller must bring an unprejudiced judgment, a clear, fresh, and patient observation, and must forget that lofty standard of excellence upon which he and his race pride themselves, before he can fairly appreciate the capabilities of the Zanzibar negro. The traveller should not forget the origin of his own race, the condition of the Briton before St. Augustine visited his country, but should rather recall to mind the first state of the 'wild Caledonian,' and the original circumstances and surroundings of primitive man. "Being, I hope, free from prejudices of caste, color, race, or nationality, and endeavoring to pass what I believe to be a just judgment upon the negroes of Zanzibar, I find that they are a people just emerged into the Iron Epoch, and now thrust forcibly under the notice of nations who have left them behind by the improvements of over four thousand years. They possess beyond doubt all the vices of a people still fixed deeply in barbarism, but they understand to the full what and how low such a state is; it is, therefore, a duty imposed upon us by the religion we profess, and by the sacred command of the Son of God, to help them out of the deplorable state they are now in. At any rate, before we begin to hope for the improvement of races so long benighted, let us leave off this impotent bewailing of their vices, and endeavor to discover some of the virtues they possess as men, for it must be with the aid of their virtues, and not by their vices, that the missionary of civilization can ever hope to assist them. [Illustration: LADY OF ZANZIBAR READING AN ARABIC MANUSCRIPT.] "It is to the Wangwana that Livingstone, Burton, Speke, and Grant owe, in great part, the accomplishment of their objects, and while in the employ of those explorers, this race rendered great services to geography. From a considerable distance north of the equator down to the Zambezi and across Africa to Benguella and the mouth of the Congo, or Livingstone, they have made their names familiar to tribes who, but for the Wangwana, would have remained ignorant to this day of all things outside their own settlements. They possess, with many weaknesses, many fine qualities. While very superstitious, easily inclined to despair, and readily giving ear to vague, unreasonable fears, they may also, by judicious management, be induced to laugh at their own credulity and roused to a courageous attitude, to endure like stoics, and fight like heroes. It will depend altogether upon the leader of a body of such men whether their worst or best qualities shall prevail. [Illustration: NATIVE WATER-CARRIER, ZANZIBAR.] "There is another class coming into notice from the interior of Africa, who, though of a sterner nature, will, I am convinced, as they are better known, become greater favorites than the Wangwana. I refer to the Wanyamwezi, or the natives of Unyamwezi, and the Wasukuma, or the people of Usukuma. Naturally, being a grade less advanced towards civilization than the Wangwana, they are not so amenable to discipline as the latter. While explorers would in the present state of acquaintance prefer the Wangwana as escort, the Wanyamwezi are far superior as porters. Their greater freedom from diseases, their greater strength and endurance, the pride they take in their profession of porters, prove them born travellers of incalculable use and benefit to Africa. If kindly treated, I do not know more docile and good-natured creatures. Their skill in war, tenacity of purpose, and determination to defend the rights of their elected chief against foreigners, have furnished themes for song to the bards of Central Africa. The English discoverer of Lake Tanganika and, finally, I myself have been equally indebted to them, both on my first and last expeditions. "From their numbers, and their many excellent qualities, I am led to think that the day will come when they will be regarded as something better than the 'best of pagazis;' that they will be esteemed as the good subjects of some enlightened power, who will train them up as the nucleus of a great African nation, as powerful for the good of the Dark Continent, as they threaten, under the present condition of things, to be for its evil." Here Frank paused and announced an intermission of ten minutes, to enable the reader to rest a little. During the intermission the youths discussed what they had heard, and agreed unanimously that the description of Zanzibar and its people and their ruler was very interesting. [Illustration: HINDOO MERCHANT OF ZANZIBAR.] CHAPTER II. TRANSPORTATION IN AFRICA.--MEN AS BEASTS OF BURDEN.--PORTERS, AND THEIR PECULIARITIES.--ENGAGING MEN FOR THE EXPEDITION.--A _SHAURI_.--TROUBLES WITH THE _LADY ALICE_.--AGREEMENT BETWEEN STANLEY AND HIS MEN.--DEPARTURE FROM ZANZIBAR.--BAGAMOYO.--THE UNIVERSITIES MISSION.--DEPARTURE OF THE EXPEDITION.--DIFFICULTIES WITH THE PORTERS.--SUFFERINGS ON THE MARCH.--NATIVE SUSPENSION-BRIDGES.--SHOOTING A ZEBRA.--LOSSES BY DESERTION. Before the reading was resumed, one of the youths asked if Zanzibar was the usual starting-point for expeditions for the exploration of Africa. Mr. Stanley was absent at the moment the question was asked, but the answer was readily given by Doctor Bronson. "Zanzibar is the usual starting-point," said the Doctor, "but it is by no means the only one. Livingstone's expedition for exploring the Zambesi River set out from Zanzibar, and so did other expeditions of the great missionary. Burton and Speke started from there in 1856, when they discovered Lake Tanganika; and, four years later, Speke and Grant set out from the same place. Lieutenant Cameron, in his journey across Africa, made Zanzibar his starting point; and the expedition of Mr. Johnson to the Kilimandjaro Mountain was chiefly outfitted there, though it left the coast at Mombasa. "Zanzibar," continued Doctor Bronson, "is the best point of departure for an inland expedition anywhere along the east coast of Africa, for the reason that it is the largest and most important place of trade. Its shops are well supplied with the goods that an explorer needs for his journey, and its merchants have a better reputation than those of other African ports. Everything in the interior of Africa must be carried on the backs of men, there being, as yet, no other system of transportation. Horses cannot live in certain parts of the interior of Africa, owing to the tsetse-fly, which kills them with its bites; and even were it not for this fly, it is likely that the heat of the climate would render them of little use. Occasionally, a traveller endeavors to use donkeys as beasts of burden, but these animals are scarce and dear, and of much less use than in other lands. Until Africa is provided with railways--and that will not be for a long while yet--the transportation must be done by men. Every caravan that leaves the coast for the interior of the continent requires a large number of porters; and the difficulty of obtaining them is one of the greatest annoyances to merchants and travellers." [Illustration: NEGRO NURSE-MAID, ZANZIBAR.] One of the youths said he supposed it was because the demand was so great that there was not a sufficient number of men. "Not at all," replied the Doctor. "There are plenty of men in Africa, but they are not particularly anxious to work. Their wants are few, and they can live upon very little; consequently they are not over-desirous to go on a journey of several hundred miles and carry heavy burdens on their shoulders or heads. Added to their laziness is a lack of a feeling of responsibility or of honor. After engaging to go on a journey they fail to appear at the appointed time, and whenever they are weary of their work they coolly drop their burdens at the side of the road and make off into the bushes. In the first few days of a journey a traveller is always deserted by many of his porters, and it is only when he gets far from the coast and has possibly entered an enemy's country that he can keep his men together. All travellers have the same story to tell, and they all agree that the Zanzibari porters are the most faithful of all in keeping their engagements, or, to say it better, the least unfaithful. For this reason, also, Zanzibar is a favorite starting-point for explorers. Frank will now read to us about the difficulties which Mr. Stanley encountered in outfitting his expedition." [Illustration: A ZANZIBAR BRIDE.] Acting upon this hint, Frank opened the book and read as follows: "It is a most sobering employment, the organizing of an African expedition. You are constantly engaged, mind and body; now in casting up accounts, and now travelling to and fro hurriedly to receive messengers, inspecting purchases, bargaining with keen-eyed, relentless Hindi merchants, writing memoranda, haggling over extortionate prices, packing up a multitude of small utilities, pondering upon your lists of articles, wanted, purchased, and unpurchased, groping about in the recesses of a highly exercised imagination for what you ought to purchase, and can not do without, superintending, arranging, assorting, and packing. And this under a temperature of 95° Fahr. "In the midst of all this terrific, high-pressure exercise arrives the first batch of applicants for employment. For it has long ago been bruited abroad that I am ready to enlist all able-bodied human beings willing to carry a load. Ever since I arrived at Zanzibar I have had a very good reputation among Arabs and Wangwana. They have not forgotten that it was I who found the 'old white man'--Livingstone--in Ujiji, nor that liberality and kindness to my men were my special characteristics. They have also, with the true Oriental spirit of exaggeration, proclaimed that I was but a few months absent; and that, after this brief excursion, they returned to their homes to enjoy the liberal pay awarded them, feeling rather the better for the trip than otherwise. This unsought-for reputation brought on me the laborious task of selecting proper men out of an extraordinary number of applicants. Almost all the cripples, the palsied, the consumptive, and the superannuated that Zanzibar could furnish applied to be enrolled on the muster-list, but these, subjected to a searching examination, were refused. Hard upon their heels came all the roughs, rowdies, and ruffians of the island, and these, schooled by their fellows, were not so easily detected. Slaves were also refused, as being too much under the influence and instruction of their masters, and yet many were engaged of whose character I had not the least conception, until, months afterwards, I learned from their quarrels in the camp how I had been misled by the clever rogues. [Illustration: WINDOW OF AN ARAB HOUSE, ZANZIBAR.] "All those who bore good characters on the Search Expedition, and had been despatched to the assistance of Livingstone in 1872, were employed without delay. Out of these the chiefs were selected: these were Manwa Sera, Chowpereh, Wadi Rehani, Kachéché, Zaidi, Chakanja, Farjalla, Wadi Safeni, Bukhet, Mabruki Manyapara, Mabruki Unyanyembé, Muini Pembé, Ferahan, Bwana Muri, Khamseen, Mabruki Speke, Simba, Gardner, Hamoidah, Zaidi Mganda, and Ulimengo. [Illustration: COXSWAIN ULEDI, AND MANWA SERA, CHIEF CAPTAIN. (_From a Photograph._)] "All great enterprises require a preliminary deliberative palaver, or, as the Wangwana call it, 'Shauri.' In East Africa, particularly, shauris are much in vogue. Precipitate, energetic action is dreaded. '_Poli, poli!_' or 'Gently!' is the warning word of caution given. "The chiefs arranged themselves in a semicircle on the day of the shauri, and I sat _à la Turque_ fronting them. 'What is it, my friends? Speak your minds.' They hummed and hawed, looked at one another, as if on their neighbor's faces they might discover the purport of their coming, but, all hesitating to begin, finally broke down in a loud laugh. "Manwa Sera, always grave, unless hit dexterously with a joke, hereupon affected anger, and said, '_You_ speak, son of Safeni; verily we act like children! Will the master eat us?' "Wadi, son of Safeni, thus encouraged to perform the spokesman's duty, hesitates exactly two seconds, and then ventures with diplomatic blandness and _graciosity_. 'We have come, master, with words. Listen. It is well we should know every step before we leap. A traveller journeys not without knowing whither he wanders. We have come to ascertain what lands you are bound for.' "Imitating the son of Safeni's gracious blandness, and his low tone of voice, as though the information about to be imparted to the intensely interested and eagerly listening group were too important to speak it loud, I described in brief outline the prospective journey, in broken Kiswahili. As country after country was mentioned of which they had hitherto had but vague ideas, and river after river, lake after lake named, all of which I hoped with their trusty aid to explore carefully, various ejaculations expressive of wonder or joy, mixed with a little alarm, broke from their lips, but when I concluded, each of the group drew a long breath, and almost simultaneously they uttered, admiringly, 'Ah, fellows, this is a journey worthy to be called a journey!' [Illustration: A MERCHANT OF ZANZIBAR.] "'But, master,' said they, after recovering themselves, 'this long journey will take years to travel--six, nine, or ten years.' 'Nonsense,' I replied. 'Six, nine, or ten years! What can you be thinking of? It takes the Arabs nearly three years to reach Ujiji, it is true, but, if you remember, I was but sixteen months from Zanzibar to Ujiji and back. Is it not so?' 'Ay, true,' they answered. 'Very well, and I assure you I have not come to live in Africa. I have come simply to see those rivers and lakes, and after I have seen them to return home. You remember while going to Ujiji I permitted the guide to show the way, but when we were returning who was it that led the way? Was it not I, by means of that little compass which could not lie like the guide?' 'Ay, true, master, true every word!' 'Very well, then, let us finish the shauri, and go. To-morrow we will make a proper agreement before the consul;' and, in Scriptural phrase, 'they forthwith arose and did as they were commanded.' "Upon receiving information from the coast that there was a very large number of men waiting for me, I became still more fastidious in my choice. But with all my care and gift of selection, I was mortified to discover that many faces and characters had baffled the rigorous scrutiny to which I had subjected them, and that some scores of the most abandoned and depraved characters on the island had been enlisted by me on the expedition. One man, named Msenna, imposed upon me by assuming such a contrite, penitent look, and weeping such copious tears, when I informed him that he had too bad a character to be employed, that my good-nature was prevailed upon to accept his services, upon the understanding that, if he indulged his murderous propensities in Africa, I should return him chained the entire distance to Zanzibar, to be dealt with by his prince. He delivered his appeal with impassioned accents and lively gestures, which produced a great effect upon the mixed audience who listened to him, and, gathering from their faces more than from my own convictions that he had been much abused and very much misunderstood, his services were accepted, and as he appeared to be an influential man, he was appointed a junior captain with prospects of promotion and higher pay. "Subsequently, however, on the shores of Lake Victoria it was discovered--for in Africa people are uncommonly communicative--that Msenna had murdered eight people, that he was a ruffian of the worst sort, and that the merchants of Zanzibar had experienced great relief when they heard that the notorious Msenna was about to bid farewell for a season to the scene of so many of his wild exploits. Msenna was only one of many of his kind, but I have given in detail the manner of his enlistment that my position may be better understood. "The weight of a porter's load should not exceed sixty pounds. On the arrival of the sectional exploring boat _Lady Alice_, great were my vexation and astonishment when I discovered that four of the sections weighed two hundred and eighty pounds each, and that one weighed three hundred and ten pounds! She was, it is true, a marvel of workmanship, and an exquisite model of a boat, such, indeed, as few builders in England or America could rival, but in her present condition her carriage through the jungles would necessitate a pioneer force a hundred strong to clear the impediments and obstacles on the road. [Illustration: TARYA TOPAN.] "I found an English carpenter named Ferris, to whom I showed the boat and explained that the narrowness of the path would make her portage absolutely impossible, for since the path was often only eighteen inches wide in Africa, and hemmed in on each side with dense jungle, any package six feet broad could by no means be conveyed along it. It was therefore necessary that each of the four sections should be subdivided, by which means I should obtain eight portable sections, each three feet wide. Mr. Ferris, perfectly comprehending his instructions, and with the aid given by the young Pococks, furnished me within two weeks with the newly modelled _Lady Alice_. Meantime I was busy purchasing cloth, beads, wire, and other African goods, the most of them coming from the establishment of Tarya Topan, one of the millionaire merchants of Zanzibar. I made Tarya's acquaintance in 1871, and the righteous manner in which he then dealt by me caused me now to proceed to him again for the same purpose as formerly. "The total weight of goods, cloth, beads, wire, stores, medicine, bedding, clothes, tents, ammunition, boat, oars, rudders and thwarts, instruments and stationery, photographic apparatus, dry plates, and miscellaneous articles too numerous to mention, weighed a little over eighteen thousand pounds, or rather more than eight tons, divided as nearly as possible into loads weighing sixty pounds each, and requiring therefore the carrying capacity of three hundred men. The loads were made more than usually light, in order that we might travel with celerity, and not fatigue the people. "But still further to provide against sickness and weakness, a supernumerary force of forty men were recruited at Bagamoyo, Konduchi, and the Rufiji delta, who were required to assemble in the neighborhood of the first-mentioned place. Two hundred and thirty men, consisting of Wangwana, Wanyamwezi, and coast people from Mombasa, Tanga, and Saadani, affixed their marks opposite their names before the American consul, for wages varying from two to ten dollars per month and rations, according to their capacity, strength, and intelligence, with the understanding that they were to serve for two years, or until such time as their services should be no longer required in Africa, and were to perform their duties cheerfully and promptly. "On the day of 'signing' the contract each adult received an advance of twenty dollars, or four months' pay, and each youth ten dollars, or four months' pay. Ration money was also paid them from the time of first enlistment, at the rate of one dollar per week, up to the day we left the coast. The entire amount disbursed in cash for advances of pay and rations at Zanzibar and Bagamoyo was $6260, or nearly thirteen hundred pounds. "The obligations, however, were not all on one side. Besides the due payment to them of their wages, I was compelled to bind myself to them, on the word of an 'honorable white man,' to observe the following conditions as to conduct towards them: "1st. That I should treat them kindly, and be patient with them. "2d. That in cases of sickness, I should dose them with proper medicine, and see them nourished with the best the country afforded. That if patients were unable to proceed, they should be conveyed to such places as should be considered safe for their persons and their freedom, and convenient for their return, on convalescence, to their friends. That, with all patients thus left behind, I should leave sufficient cloth or beads to pay the native practitioner for his professional attendance, and for the support of the patient. "3d. That in cases of disagreement between man and man, I should judge justly, honestly, and impartially. That I should do my utmost to prevent the ill-treatment of the weak by the strong, and never permit the oppression of those unable to resist. [Illustration: UNIVERSITIES MISSION AT MBWENNI, ZANZIBAR.] "That I should act like a 'father and mother' to them, and to the best of my ability resist all violence offered to them by 'savage natives, and roving and lawless banditti.' "They also promised, upon the above conditions being fulfilled, that they would do their duty like men, would honor and respect my instructions, giving me their united support, and endeavoring to the best of their ability to be faithful servants, and would never desert me in the hour of need. In short, that they would behave like good and loyal children, and 'may the blessing of God,' said they 'be upon us.' "How we kept this bond of mutual trust and forbearance will be best seen in the following chapters, which record the strange and eventful story of our journeys. "The fleet of six Arab vessels which were to bear us away to the west across the Zanzibar Sea were at last brought to anchor a few yards from the wharf of the American Consulate. The Wangwana, true to their promise that they would be ready, appeared with their bundles and mats, and proceeded to take their places in the vessels waiting for them. As fast as each dhow was reported to be filled, the _nakhuda_, or captain, was directed to anchor farther off shore to await the signal to sail. By 5 P.M., of the 12th of November, 224 men had responded to their names, and five of the Arab vessels, laden with the _personnel_, cattle, and _matériel_ of the expedition, were impatiently waiting, with anchor heaved short, the word of command. One vessel still lay close ashore, to convey myself, and Frederick Barker--in charge of the personal servants--our baggage, and dogs. Turning round to my constant and well-tried friend, Mr. Augustus Sparhawk, I fervently clasped his hand, and with a full heart, though halting tongue, attempted to pour out my feelings of gratitude for his kindness and long-sustained hospitality, my keen regret at parting, and hopes of meeting again. But I was too agitated to be eloquent, and all my forced gayety could not carry me through the ordeal. So we parted in almost total silence, but I felt assured that he would judge my emotions by his own feelings. [Illustration: HAREM IN THE HOUSE OF THE SECRETARY OF THE SULTAN OF ZANZIBAR.] "A wave of my hand, and the anchors were hove up and laid within ship, and then, hoisting our lateen sails, we bore away westward to launch ourselves into the arms of Fortune. Many wavings of kerchiefs and hats, parting signals from white hands, and last long looks at friendly white faces, final confused impressions of the grouped figures of our well-wishers, and then the evening breeze had swept us away into mid-sea, beyond reach of recognition. [Illustration: "TOWARDS THE DARK CONTINENT."] "The parting is over! We have said our last words for years, perhaps forever, to kindly men! The sun sinks fast to the western horizon, and gloomy is the twilight that now deepens and darkens. Thick shadows fall upon the distant land and over the silent sea, and oppress our throbbing, regretful hearts, as we glide away through the dying light towards the Dark Continent. "Upon landing at Bagamoyo, on the morning of the 13th of November, we marched to occupy the old house where we had stayed so long to prepare the first expedition. The goods were stored, the dogs chained up, the riding asses tethered, the rifles arrayed in the store-room, and the sectional boat laid under a roof close by, on rollers, to prevent injury from the white ants--a precaution which, I need hardly say, we had to observe throughout our journey. Then some more ration money, sufficient for ten days, had to be distributed among the men, the young Pococks were told off to various camp duties, to initiate them to exploring life in Africa, and then, after the first confusion of arrival had subsided, I began to muster the new _engagés_. "There is an institution at Bagamoyo which ought not to be passed over without remark, but the subject cannot be properly dealt with until I have described the similar institution, of equal importance, at Zanzibar: viz., the Universities Mission. Besides, I have three pupils of the Universities Mission who are about to accompany me into Africa--Robert Feruzi, Andrew, and Dallington. Robert is a stout lad of eighteen years old, formerly a servant to one of the members of Lieutenant Cameron's expedition. Andrew is a strong youth of nineteen years, rather reserved, and, I should say, not of a very bright disposition. Dallington is much younger, probably only fifteen, with a face strongly pitted with traces of a violent attack of small-pox, but as bright and intelligent as any boy of his age, white or black. "The Universities Mission is the result of the sensation caused in England by Livingstone's discoveries on the Zambezi and of Lakes Nyassa and Shirwa. It was despatched by the universities of Oxford and Cambridge in the year 1860, and consisted of Bishop Mackenzie, formerly Archdeacon of Natal, and the Rev. Messrs. Proctor, Scudamore, Burrup, and Rowley. It was established at first in the Zambesi country, but was moved, a few years later, to Zanzibar. Several of the reverend gentlemen connected with it have died at their post of duty, Bishop Mackenzie being the first to fall, but the work goes on. The mission at Bagamoyo is in charge of four French priests, eight brothers, and twelve sisters, with ten lay brothers employed in teaching agriculture. The French fathers superintend the tuition of two hundred and fifty children, and give employment to about eighty adults. One hundred and seventy freed slaves were furnished from the slave captures made by British cruisers. They are taught to earn their own living as soon as they arrive of age, and are furnished with comfortable lodgings, clothing, and household utensils. [Illustration: SCENE IN BAGAMOYO.] "'Notre Dame de Bagamoyo' is situated about a mile and a half north of Bagamoyo, overlooking the sea, which washes the shores just at the base of the tolerably high ground on which the mission buildings stand. Thrift, order, and that peculiar style of neatness common to the French are its characteristics. The cocoa-nut palm, orange, and mango flourish in this pious settlement, while a variety of garden vegetables and grain are cultivated in the fields; and broad roads, cleanly kept, traverse the estate. During the superior's late visit to France he obtained a considerable sum for the support of the mission, and he has lately established a branch mission at Kidudwe. It is evident that, if supported constantly by his friends in France, the superior will extend his work still farther into the interior, and it is therefore safe to predict that the road to Ujiji will in time possess a chain of mission stations affording the future European trader and traveller safe retreats with the conveniences of civilized life.[2] [2] Mr. Stanley's words were prophetic. Since the above was written a mission has been established at Ujiji and several other missions at points along the road between Lake Tanganika and Bagamoyo. "There are two other missions on the east coast of Africa: that of the Church Missionary Society, and the Methodist Free Church at Mombasa. The former has occupied this station for over thirty years, and has a branch establishment at Rabbai Mpia, the home of the Dutch missionaries, Krapf, Rebmann, and Erhardt. But these missions have not obtained the success which such long self-abnegation and devotion to the pious service deserved. "On the morning of the 17th of November, 1874, the first bold step for the interior was taken. The bugle mustered the people to rank themselves before our quarters, and each man's load was given to him according as we judged his power of bearing burden. To the man of strong, sturdy make, with a large development of muscle, the cloth bale of sixty pounds was given, which would in a couple of months, by constant expenditure, be reduced to fifty pounds, in six months perhaps to forty pounds, and in a year to about thirty pounds, provided that all his comrades were faithful to their duties; to the short, compactly-formed man, the bead-sack, of fifty pounds' weight; to the light youth of eighteen or twenty years old, the box of forty pounds, containing stores, ammunition, and sundries. To the steady, respectable, grave-looking men of advanced years, the scientific instruments, thermometers, barometers, watches, sextant, mercury-bottles, compasses, pedometers, photographic apparatus, dry plates, stationery, and scientific books, all packed in forty-pound cases, were distributed; while the man most highly recommended for steadiness and cautious tread was intrusted with the carriage of the three chronometers, which were stowed in balls of cotton, in a light case weighing not more than twenty-five pounds. The twelve Kirangozis, or guides, tricked out this day in flowing robes of crimson blanket-cloth, demanded the privilege of conveying the several loads of brass-wire coils; and as they form the second advanced guard, and are active, bold youths--some of whom are to be hereafter known as the boat's crew, and to be distinguished by me above all others except the chiefs--they are armed with Snider rifles, with their respective accoutrements. The boat-carriers are herculean in figure and strength, for they are practised bearers of loads, having resigned their ignoble profession of hamal in Zanzibar to carry sections of the first Europe-made boat that ever floated on Lakes Victoria and Tanganika and the extreme sources of the Nile and the Livingstone. To each section of the boat there are four men, to relieve one another in couples. They get higher pay than even the chiefs, except the chief captain, Manwa Sera, and, besides receiving double rations, have the privilege of taking their wives along with them. There are six riding asses also in the expedition, all saddled, one for each of the Europeans--the two Pococks, Barker, and myself--and two for the sick; for the latter there are also three of Seydel's net hammocks, with six men to act as a kind of ambulance party. [Illustration: WIFE OF MANWA SERA. (_From a Photograph._)] "At nine A.M. we file out of Bagamoyo in the following order: Four chiefs a few hundred yards in front; next the twelve guides, clad in red robes of Jobo, bearing the wire coils; then a long file of two hundred and seventy strong, bearing cloth, wire, beads, and sections of the _Lady Alice_; after them thirty-six women and ten boys, children of some of the chiefs and boat-bearers, following their mothers and assisting them with trifling loads of utensils, followed by the riding asses, Europeans, and gun-bearers; the long line closed by sixteen chiefs who act as rear-guard, and whose duties are to pick up stragglers, and act as supernumeraries until other men can be procured; in all, three hundred and fifty-six souls connected with the Anglo-American expedition. The lengthy line occupies nearly half a mile of the path which, at the present day, is the commercial and exploring highway into the lake regions. "Edward Pocock acts as bugler, and he has familiarized Hamadi, the chief guide, with its notes, so that, in case of a halt being required, Hamadi may be informed immediately. The chief guide is also armed with a prodigiously long horn of ivory, his favorite instrument, and one that belongs to his profession, which he has permission to use only when approaching a suitable camping-place, or to notify to us danger in the front. Before Hamadi strides a chubby little boy with a native drum, which he is to beat only when in the neighborhood of villages, to warn them of the advance of a caravan, a caution most requisite, for many villages are situated in the midst of a dense jungle, and the sudden arrival of a large force of strangers before they had time to hide their little belongings might awaken jealousy and distrust. "In this manner we begin our long journey, full of hopes. There is noise and laughter along the ranks, and a hum of gay voices murmuring through the fields, as we rise and descend with the waves of the land and wind with the sinuosities of the path. Motion had restored us all to a sense of satisfaction. We had an intensely bright and fervid sun shining above us, the path was dry, hard, and admirably fit for travel, and during the commencement of our first march nothing could be conceived in better order than the lengthy, thin column about to confront the wilderness. [Illustration: A LEADING CITIZEN OF BAGAMOYO.] "Presently, however, the fervor of the dazzling sun grows overpowering as we descend into the valley of the Kingani River. The ranks become broken and disordered; stragglers are many; the men complain of the terrible heat; the dogs pant in agony. Even we ourselves, under our solah topees, with flushed faces and perspiring brows, with handkerchiefs ever in use to wipe away the drops which almost blind us, and our heavy woollens giving us a feeling of semi-asphyxiation, would fain rest, were it not that the sun-bleached levels of the tawny, thirsty valley offer no inducements. The veterans of travel push on towards the river, three miles distant, where they may obtain rest and shelter, but the inexperienced are lying prostrate on the ground, exclaiming against the heat, and crying for water, bewailing their folly in leaving Zanzibar. We stop to tell them to rest awhile, and then to come on to the river, where they will find us; we advise, encourage, and console the irritated people as best we can, and tell them that it is only the commencement of a journey that is so hard; that all this pain and weariness are always felt by beginners, but that by and by it is shaken off, and that those who are steadfast emerge out of the struggle heroes. "Frank and his brother Edward, despatched to the ferry at the beginning of these delays, have now got the sectional boat _Lady Alice_ all ready, and the ferrying of men, goods, asses, and dogs across the Kingani is prosecuted with vigor, and at 3.30 P.M. the boat is again in pieces, slung on the bearing-poles, and the expedition has resumed its journey to Kikoka, the first halting-place. "But before we reach camp we have acquired a fair idea as to how many of our people are stanch and capable, and how many are too feeble to endure the fatigues of bearing loads. The magnificent prize mastiff dog Castor died of heat apoplexy within two miles of Kikoka, and the other mastiff, Captain, seems likely to follow soon, and only Nero, Bull, and Jack, though prostrate and breathing hard, show any signs of life. "At Kikoka, then, we rest the next day. We discharge two men, who have been taken seriously ill, and several new recruits, who arrive at camp during the night preceding and this day, are engaged. "As there are so many subjects to be touched upon along the seven thousand miles of explored lines, I propose to be brief with the incidents and descriptive sketches of our route to Ituru, because the country for two thirds of the way has been sufficiently described in 'How I Found Livingstone' and elsewhere. [Illustration: THE EXPEDITION AT ROSAKO.] "At Rosako the route began to diverge from that which led to Msuwa and Simba-Mwenni, and opened out on a stretch of beautiful park land, green as an English lawn, dipping into lovely vales, and rising into gentle ridges. Thin, shallow threads of water, in furrow-like beds or in deep, narrow ditches, which expose the sandstone strata on which the fat, ochreous soil rests, run in mazy curves round forest clumps or through jungle tangles, and wind about among the higher elevations, on their way towards the Wami River. We followed this river for some distance, crossing it several times at fords where the water was about two and a half feet deep. At one of the fords there was a curious suspension-bridge over the river, constructed of llianes, with great ingenuity, by the natives. The banks were at this point sixteen feet high above the river, and from bank to bank the distance was only thirty yards; it was evident, therefore, that the river must be a dangerous torrent during the rainy season. "On the 3d of December we came to the Mkundi River, a tributary of the Wami, which divides Nguru country from Usagara. Simba-Mwenni--the Lion Lord--owns five villages in this neighborhood. He was generous, and gratified us with a gift of a sheep, some flour, and plantains, accepting with pleasure some cloth in return. "The Wa-Nguru are fond of black and white beads and brass wire. They split the lobes of their ears, and introduce such curious things as the necks of gourds or round disks of wood to extend the gash. A medley of strange things are worn round the neck, such as tiny goats' horns, small brass chains, and large, egglike beads. Blue Kaniki and the red-barred Barsati are the favorite cloths in this region. The natives dye their faces with ochre, and, probably influenced by the example of the Wanyamwezi, dress their hair in long ringlets, which are adorned with pendicles of copper, or white or red beads of the large Sam-sam pattern. "Grand and impressive scenery meets the eye as we march to Makubika, where we attain an altitude of two thousand six hundred and seventy-five feet above the ocean. Peaks and knolls rise in all directions, for we are now ascending to the eastern front of the Kaguru Mountains. The summits of Ukamba are seen to the north, its slopes famous for the multitude of elephants. Farther inland we reached the spine of a hill at four thousand four hundred and ninety feet, and beheld an extensive plain, stretching northwest and west, with browsing herds of noble game. Camping on its verge, between a humpy hill and some rocky knolls, near a beautiful pond of crystal-clear water, I proceeded with my gun-bearer, Billali, and the notorious Msenna, in the hope of bringing down something for the Wangwana. "The plain was broader than I had judged it by the eye from the crest of the hill whence we had first sighted it. It was not until we had walked briskly over a long stretch of tawny grass, crushed by sheer force through a brambly jungle, and trampled down a path through clumps of slender cane-stalks, that we came at last in view of a small herd of zebras. These animals are so quick of scent and ear, and so vigilant with their eyes, that, across an open space, it is most difficult to stalk them. But, by dint of tremendous exertion, I contrived to approach within two hundred and fifty yards, taking advantage of every thin tussock of grass, and, almost at random, fired. One of the herd leaped from the ground, galloped a few short, maddened strides, and then, on a sudden, staggered, kneeled, trembled, and fell over, its legs kicking the air. Its companions whinnied shrilly for their mate, and presently, wheeling in circles with graceful motion, advanced nearer, still whinnying, until I dropped another, with a crushing ball through the head--much against my wish, for I think zebras were created for better purpose than to be eaten. The remnant of the herd vanished. [Illustration: VIEW FROM THE VILLAGE OF MAMBOYA.] "Billali, requested to run to camp to procure Wangwana to carry the meat, was only too happy, knowing what brave cheers and hearty congratulations would greet him. Msenna was already busy skinning one of the animals, some three hundred yards from me, when, turning my head, I made out the form of some tawny animal, that was advancing with a curious long step, and I recognized it to be a lion. I motioned to Msenna, who happened to be looking up, and beckoned him. 'What do you think it is, Msenna?' I asked. 'Simba [a lion], master,' he answered. "The animal approached slowly, while I made ready to receive him with an explosive bullet from the elephant rifle. When within three hundred yards he paused, and then turned and trotted off into a bit of scrubby jungle, about eight hundred yards away. Ten minutes elapsed, and then as many animals emerged from the same spot into which the other had disappeared, and approached us in stately column. But it being now dusk I could not discern them very clearly. We both were, however, quite sure in our own minds that they were lions, or at any rate some animals so like them in the twilight that we could not imagine them to be anything else. When the foremost had come within one hundred yards I fired. It sprang up and fell, and the others disappeared with a dreadful rush. We now heard shouts behind us, for the Wangwana had come; so, taking one or two with me, I endeavored to discover what I felt sure to be a prostrate lion, but it could not be found. "The next day Manwa Sera went out to hunt for the lion-skin, but returned after a long search with only a strong doubt in his mind as to its having been a lion, and a few reddish hairs to prove that it was something which had been eaten by hyenas. This day I succeeded in shooting a small antelope of the springbok kind. "On the 12th of December, twenty-five days' march from Bagamoyo, we arrived at Mpwapwa. [Illustration: OUR CAMP AT MPWAPWA. (_From a Photograph._)] "Mpwapwa has also some fine trees, but no forest; the largest being the tamarind, sycamore, cottonwood, and baobab. The collection of villages denominated by this title lies widely scattered on either side of the Mpwapwa stream, at the base of the southern slope of a range of mountains that extends in a sinuous line from Chunyu to Ugombo. I call it a range, because it appeared to be one from Mpwapwa; but in reality it is simply the northern flank of a deep indentation in the great mountain chain that extends from Abyssinia, or even Suez, down to the Cape of Good Hope. At the extreme eastern point of this indentation from the western side lies Lake Ugombo, just twenty-four miles from Mpwapwa. "Desertions from the expedition had been frequent. At first, Kachéché, the chief detective, and his gang of four men, who had received their instructions to follow us a day's journey behind, enabled me to recapture sixteen of the deserters; but the cunning Wangwana and Wanyamwezi soon discovered this resource of mine against their well-known freaks, and, instead of striking east in their departure, absconded either south or north of the track. We then had detectives posted long before dawn, several hundred yards away from the camp, who were bidden to lie in wait in the bush until the expedition had started, and in this manner we succeeded in repressing to some extent the disposition to desert, and arrested very many men on the point of escaping; but even this was not adequate. Fifty had abandoned us before reaching Mpwapwa, taking with them the advances they had received, and often their guns, on which our safety might depend. [Illustration: DETECTIVE AND ASSISTANTS.] "Several feeble men and women also had to be left behind, and it was evident that the very wariest methods failed to bind the people to their duties. The best of treatment and abundance of provisions daily distributed were alike insufficient to induce such faithless natures to be loyal. However, we persisted, and as often as we failed in one way we tried another. Had all these men remained loyal to their contract and promises, we should have been too strong for any force to attack us, as our numbers must necessarily have commanded respect in lands and among tribes where only power is respected. "One day's march from Mpwapwa brought us to Chunyu--an exposed and weak settlement, overlooking the desert or wilderness separating Usagara from Ugogo. Close to our right towered the Usagara Mountains, and on our left stretched the inhospitable arm of the wilderness. Fifteen or twenty miles distant to the south rose the vast cluster of Rubeho's cones and peaks. "The water at Chunyu is nitrous and bitter to the taste. The natives were once prosperous, but repeated attacks from the Wahehé to the south and the Wahumba to the north have reduced them in numbers, and compelled them to seek refuge on the hill-summits. "On the 16th of December, at early dawn, we struck camp, and at an energetic pace descended into the wilderness, and at 7 P.M. the vanguard of the expedition entered Ugogo, camping two or three miles from the frontier village of Kikombo. The next day, at a more moderate pace, we entered the populated district, and took shelter under a mighty baobab a few hundred yards distant from the chief's village." Here Frank announced that it was late in the afternoon, and he wished to take a promenade on deck. With the permission of his auditors he would postpone the narrative until evening. The proposal was accepted, but before the youth could retire he was warmly thanked by those whom he had so agreeably entertained. [Illustration: AN AFRICAN BELLE.] CHAPTER III. RETARDED BY RAINS AND OTHER MISHAPS.--GENERAL DESPONDENCY.--DEATH OF EDWARD POCOCK.--A CHANGE FOR THE BETTER.--A LAND OF PLENTY.--ARRIVAL AT VICTORIA LAKE.--NATIVE SONG.--AFLOAT ON THE GREAT LAKE.--TERRIBLE TALES OF THE INHABITANTS.--ENCOUNTERS WITH THE NATIVES.--THE VICTORIA NILE.--RIPON FALLS.--SPEKE'S EXPLORATIONS.--THE ALEXANDRA NILE.--ARRIVAL AT KING MTESA'S COURT.--A MAGNIFICENT RECEPTION.--IN THE MONARCH'S PRESENCE.--STANLEY'S FIRST OPINIONS OF MTESA. When the audience assembled in the evening Frank turned rapidly several pages of the book and said that Mr. Stanley's expedition was greatly retarded by the heavy rains which fell frequently and converted the ground into a water-soaked marsh, through which it was very difficult to proceed. Christmas day was a day of gloom, as everybody was wet and cold and hungry; the natives had little grain to sell, and the expedition was reduced to half-rations of food. [Illustration: AN AFRICAN BLACKSMITH'S-SHOP.] Mr. Stanley wrote in his diary that he weighed one hundred and eighty pounds when he left Zanzibar, but his sufferings and lack of nourishing food had brought him down to one hundred and thirty-four pounds in thirty-eight days; and the young Englishmen that accompanied him were similarly reduced. In every new territory they entered they were obliged to pay tribute to the ruler, according to the custom of Africa, and the settlement of the question of tribute required a great deal of bargaining. There were frequent desertions of men, and in many instances they had not the honesty to leave behind them their loads and guns. At one place it was discovered that fifty men had formed a conspiracy to desert in a body, but the scheme was stopped by arresting the ringleaders and disarming their followers. "Some twenty or more men were on the sick-list and too ill to walk," said Frank, "several were carried in hammocks, and others were left at the native villages, in accordance with the arrangements made at Zanzibar. The expedition halted four days at Suna, in the Warimi country, where grain was purchased at a high price, and the people seemed inclined to make trouble. The leader of the expedition was obliged to use a great deal of tact to conciliate the chiefs of this people, who are numerous and well-armed, so that an attack would have been no easy matter to resist. Edward Pocock was taken seriously ill at Suna, and carried in a hammock to Chiwyu--four hundred miles from the coast, and at an elevation of five thousand four hundred feet above the sea. In spite of all the attentions he received, he died soon after their arrival at the latter place. I will read Stanley's account of the burial of his faithful companion and friend: [Illustration: FUNERAL OF EDWARD POCOCK: VIEW OF OUR CAMP.] "We excavated a grave, four feet deep, at the foot of a hoary acacia with wide-spreading branches; and on its ancient trunk Frank engraved a deep cross, the emblem of the faith we all believe in; and, when folded in its shroud, we laid the body in its final resting-place, during the last gleams of sunset. We read the beautiful prayers of the church-service for the dead, and, out of respect for the departed--whose frank, sociable, and winning manners had won their friendship and regard--nearly all the Wangwana were present, to pay a last tribute of sighs to poor Edward Pocock. "When the last solemn prayer had been read, we retired to our tents, to brood, in sorrow and silence, over our irreparable loss." [Illustration] "By the 21st of January," said Frank, "eighty-nine men had deserted, twenty had died, and there were many sick or disabled. Mr. Stanley would have been justified in fearing that he would be obliged to abandon his expedition and retreat to the coast. The loads were reduced as much as possible, every article that could in any way be spared being thrown out and destroyed. On the 24th the natives attacked the camp, but were driven back; and another battle followed on the 25th, with the same result. On the 26th the march was resumed, and the hostile region was left behind. New men were engaged at some of the villages, the weather improved, provisions were abundant, and in the early days of February the halting-places of the expedition presented a marked contrast to those of a month earlier. [Illustration: AN AFRICAN LAMB.] "The country in which they were now travelling," Frank continued, "was a fertile region, with broad pastures, and occasional stretches of forest--a land of plenty and promise. The natives had an abundance of cattle, sheep, goats, and chickens, which they sold at low prices; they were entirely friendly to the travellers, and whenever the expedition moved away from its camps, it was urged to come again. Mr. Stanley gives the following list of prices, which he paid in this land of abundance: "1 ox 6 yards of sheeting. 1 goat 2 yards of sheeting. 1 sheep 2 yards of sheeting. 1 chicken 1 necklace. 6 chickens 2 yards of sheeting." "On the 26th of February it was reported that another day's march would bring them to the shore of the Great Nyanza, the Victoria Lake. I will now read you what Mr. Stanley says about this march, and his first view of the lake. "On the morning of the 27th of February we rose up early, and braced ourselves for the long march of nineteen miles, which terminated at 4 P.M. at the village of Kagehyi. "The people were as keenly alive to the importance of this day's march, and as fully sensitive to what this final journey to Kagehyi promised their wearied frames, as we Europeans. They, as well as ourselves, looked forward to many weeks of rest from our labors and to an abundance of good food. "When the bugle sounded the signal to 'Take the road,' the Wanyamwezi and Wangwana responded to it with cheers, and loud cries of 'Ay indeed, ay indeed, please God;' and their good-will was contagious. The natives, who had mustered strongly to witness our departure, were affected by it, and stimulated our people by declaring that the lake was not very far off--'but two or three hours' walk.' "We dipped into the basins and troughs of the land, surmounted ridge after ridge, crossed water-courses and ravines, passed by cultivated fields, and through villages smelling strongly of cattle, by good-natured groups of natives, until, ascending a long, gradual slope, we heard, on a sudden, hurrahing in front, and then we too, with the lagging rear, knew that those in the van were in view of the Great Lake! the lake which Speke discovered in 1858. [Illustration: UNYAMWEZI PORTER.] "Frank Pocock impetuously strode forward until he gained the brow of the hill. He took a long, sweeping look at something, waved his hat, and came down towards us, his face beaming with joy, as he shouted out enthusiastically, with the fervor of youth and high spirits, 'I have seen the lake, sir, and it is grand!' Frederick Barker, riding painfully on an ass, and sighing wearily from illness and the length of the journey, lifted his head to smile his thanks to his comrade. "Presently we also reached the brow of the hill, where we found the expedition halted, and the first quick view revealed to us a long, broad arm of water, which a dazzling sun transformed into silver, some six hundred feet below us, at the distance of three miles. "A more careful and detailed view of the scene showed us that the hill on which we stood sloped gradually to the broad bay or gulf edged by a line of green, wavy reeds and thin groves of umbrageous trees scattered along the shore, on which stood several small villages of conical huts. Beyond these, the lake stretched like a silvery plain far to the eastward, and away across to a boundary of dark-blue hills and mountains, while several gray, rocky islets mocked us at first with an illusion of Arab dhows with white sails. The Wanyamwezi struck up the song of triumph: "'Sing, O friends, sing; the journey is ended: Sing aloud, O friends, sing to the great Nyanza. Sing all, sing loud, O friends, sing to the great sea; Give your last look to the lands behind and then turn to the sea. "'Long time ago you left your lands, Your wives and children, your brothers and your friends: Tell me, have you seen a sea like this Since you left the great salt sea? "CHORUS. "'Then sing, O friends, sing; the journey is ended: Sing aloud, O friends: sing to this great sea. This sea is fresh, is good, and sweet; Your sea is salt, and bad, unfit to drink. This sea is like wine to drink for thirsty men; The salt sea--bah! it makes men sick.' "I have in the above (as literal a translation as I can render it) made no attempt at rhyme--nor, indeed, did the young, handsome, and stalwart Corypheus who delivered the harmonious strains with such startling effect. The song, though extemporized, was eminently dramatic, and when the chorus joined in it made the hills ring with a wild and strange harmony. Reanimated by the cheerful music, we flung the flags to the breeze, and filed slowly down the slopes towards the fields of Kagehyi. "About half a mile from the villages we were surprised by seeing hundreds of warriors decked with feathered head-dresses and armed to the teeth, advancing on the run towards us, and exhibiting, as they came, their dexterity with bows and arrows and spears. They had at first been alarmed at the long procession filing down the hill, supposing we were bent on hostilities, but, though discovering their error, they still thought it too good an opportunity to be lost for showing their bravery, and therefore amused us with this by-play. Sungoro Tarib, an Arab resident at Kagehyi, also despatched a messenger with words of welcome, and an invitation to us to make Kagehyi our camp, as Prince Kaduma, chief of Kagehyi, was his faithful ally. [Illustration: VIEW OF KAGEHYI FROM THE EDGE OF THE LAKE. (_From a Photograph._)] "In a short time we had entered the wretched-looking village, and Kaduma was easily induced by Sungoro to proffer hospitalities to the strangers. A small conical hut, about twenty feet in diameter, badly lighted, and with a strong smell of animal matter--its roof swarmed with bold rats, which, with a malicious persistence, kept popping in and out of their nests in the straw roof, and rushing over the walls--was placed at my disposal as a store-room. Another small hut was presented to Frank Pocock and Fred Barker as their quarters. "In summing up, during the evening of our arrival at this rude village on the Nyanza, the number of statute miles travelled by us, as measured by two rated pedometers and pocket watch, I ascertained it to be seven hundred and twenty. The time occupied--from November 17, 1874, to February 27, 1875, inclusive--was one hundred and three days, divided into seventy marching and thirty-three halting days, by which it will be perceived that our marches averaged a little over ten miles per day. But as halts are imperative, the more correct method of ascertaining the rate of travel would be to include the time occupied by halts and marches, and divide the total distance by the number of days occupied. This reduces the rate to seven miles per diem. "We all woke on the morning of the 28th of February with a feeling of intense relief. There were no more marches, no more bugle-calls to rouse us up for another fatiguing day, no more fear of hunger--at least for a season. "At 9 A.M. a _burzah_, or levee, was held. First came Frank and Fred--now quite recovered from fever--to bid me good-morning, and to congratulate themselves and me upon the prospective rest before us. Next came the Wangwana and Wanyamwezi chiefs, to express a hope that I had slept well, and after them the bold youths of the expedition; then came Prince Kaduma and Sungoro, to whom we were bound this day to render an account of the journey and to give the latest news from Zanzibar; and, lastly, the princess and her principal friends--for introductions have to be undergone in this land as in others. The _burzah_ lasted two hours, after which my visitors retired to pursue their respective avocations, which I discovered to be principally confined, on the part of the natives, to gossiping, making or repairing fishing-nets, hatchets, canoes, food-troughs, village fences, and huts, and on the part of our people to arranging plans for building their own grass-huts, being perfectly content to endure a long stay at Kagehyi. [Illustration: FRANK POCOCK. (_From a Photograph taken at Kagehyi._)] "Though the people had only their own small domestic affairs to engage their attentions, and Frank and Fred were for this day relieved from duty, I had much to do--observations to take to ascertain the position of Kagehyi, and its altitude above the sea; to prepare paper, pens, and ink for the morrow's report to the journals which had despatched me to this remote and secluded part of the globe; to make calculations of the time likely to be occupied in a halt at Kagehyi, in preparing and equipping the _Lady Alice_ for sea, and in circumnavigating the great 'Nianja,' as the Wasukuma call the lake.[3] It was also incumbent upon me to ascertain the political condition of the country before leaving the port and the camp, that my mind might be at rest about its safety during my contemplated absence. Estimates were also to be entered upon as to the quantity of cloth and beads likely to be required for the provisioning of the expeditionary force during my absence, and as to the amount of tribute and presents to be bestowed upon the King of Uchambi--of which Kagehyi was only a small district, and to whom Prince Kaduma was only a subordinate and tributary. In brief, my own personal work was but begun, and pages would not suffice to describe in detail the full extent of the new duties now devolving upon me. [3] Captain Speke spelled it "Nyanza," which means "lake," or "great water." Out of regard to the work of the great explorer the name has been retained. [Illustration: AFRICAN ARMS AND ORNAMENTS.] "The village of Kagehyi, in the Uchambi district and country of Usukuma, became after our arrival a place of great local importance. It attracted an unusual number of native traders from all sides within a radius of twenty or thirty miles. Fishermen from Ukerewé, whose purple hills we saw across the arm of the lake, came in their canoes, with stores of dried fish; the people of Igusa, Sima, and Magu, east of us in Usukuma, brought their cassava, or manioc, and ripe bananas; the herdsmen of Usmau, thirty miles south of Kagehyi, sent their oxen; and the tribes of Muanza--famous historically as being the point whence Speke first saw this broad gulf of Lake Victoria--brought their hoes, iron wire, and salt, besides great plenty of sweet potatoes and yams. "Within seven days the _Lady Alice_ was ready, and strengthened for a rough sea-life. Provisions of flour and dried fish, bales of cloth and beads of various kinds, odds and ends of small possible necessaries were boxed, and she was declared at last to be only waiting for her crew. 'Would any one volunteer to accompany me?' A dead silence ensued. 'Not for rewards and extra pay?' Another dead silence: no one would volunteer. "'Yet I must,' said I, 'depart. Will you let me go alone?' "'No.' "'What then? Show me my braves--those men who freely enlist to follow their master round the sea.' "All were again dumb. Appealed to individually, each said he knew nothing of sea life; each man frankly declared himself a terrible coward on water. "'Then what am I to do?' "Manwa Sera said: "'Master, have done with these questions. Command your party. All your people are your children, and they will not disobey you. While you ask them as a friend, no one will offer his services. Command them, and they will all go.' [Illustration: VIEW NEAR VICTORIA LAKE.] "So I selected a chief, Wadi Safeni--the son of Safeni--and told him to pick out the elect of the young men. Wadi Safeni chose men who knew nothing of boat-life. Then I called Kachéché, the detective, and told him to ascertain the names of those young men who were accustomed to sea-life, upon which Kachéché informed me that the young guides first selected by me at Bagamoyo were the sailors of the expedition. After reflecting upon the capacities of the younger men, as they had developed themselves on the road, I made a list of ten sailors and a steersman, to whose fidelity I was willing to intrust myself and fortunes while coasting round the Victoria sea. "Accordingly, after drawing up instructions for Frank Pocock and Fred Barker, on about a score of matters concerning the well-being of the expedition during my absence, and enlisting for them, by an adequate gift, the good-will of Sungoro and Prince Kaduma, I set sail on the 8th of March, 1875, eastward along the shores of the broad arm of the lake which we first sighted, and which henceforward is known, in honor of its first discoverer, as 'Speke Gulf.' [Illustration: DWELLERS ON THE SHORE OF THE LAKE.] "The reluctance of my followers to venture upon Lake Victoria was due to what they had heard about it from Prince Kaduma's people. 'There were,' they said, 'a people dwelling on its shores who were gifted with tails; another who trained enormous and fierce dogs for war; another a tribe of cannibals, who preferred human flesh to all other kinds of meat. The lake was so large it would take years to trace its shores, and who then at the end of that time would remain alive?' Its opposite shores, from their very vagueness of outline, and its people, from the distorting fogs of misrepresentation through which we saw them, only heightened the fears of my men as to the dangers which filled the prospect." "Mr. Stanley explored the shores of Speke Gulf," said Frank, after a short pause, "and then proceeded to follow the eastern shore of the great lake, which stretched out to the east and north apparently as limitless as the ocean. On the islands of Speke Gulf he found great numbers of crocodiles, and at almost every step he took among the reeds, on the shore of one of the islands, a huge crocodile rushed past him into the water. Hippopotami were numerous, some of them coming disagreeably near to his boat, and evidently desiring to make his acquaintance. The natives around the gulf were not hostile, but caused despondency in the hearts of Stanley's men by predicting that it would take him eight years to circumnavigate the lake. "But on the shores of the lake itself the people showed signs of hostility, and came to the water's edge with their spears and shields. On such occasions the party kept away from land and parleyed at a safe distance. Once a war-canoe carrying some forty men armed with spears and slings came close alongside the _Lady Alice_; the men in the canoe were insolent and evidently wanted to fight. Before beginning, however, they exhibited their skill by throwing stones with their slings, and whenever they made good shots the strangers applauded and smiled. In fact, they had been smiling all the time since the canoe came alongside. "When he considered the time had come to put an end to their insolence, Mr. Stanley drew his revolver and fired rapidly into the water in the direction where the last stone had been flung. The effect was ludicrous in the extreme, as none of the fellows had ever before heard the sound of a firearm. They sprang into the water and swam away for dear life, leaving their canoe in the hands of the strangers. They were finally coaxed back, but were more respectful in their demeanor. "At another time," said Frank, "the natives came with a large fleet of canoes and attacked the _Lady Alice_, but were driven off without serious difficulty. Mr. Stanley's plan was, in fights of this sort, to use his large rifle with explosive shells, which he aimed just at the water-line of the canoes. The craft would thus be sunk or disabled, while the crew, who are all good swimmers, ran no risk of being drowned. Pursuit would thus be stopped, and the _Lady Alice_ have plenty of time to escape. [Illustration: THE "LADY ALICE" AT BRIDGE ISLAND, VICTORIA NYANZA.] "Without accident, the adventurous party reached the outlet of the lake and visited Ripon Falls, the head of the Victoria Nile, which flows into the Albert Nyanza. The latter lake is the source of the White Nile--the Nile of Egypt, and one of the historic rivers of the world." [Illustration: VIEW OF THE BAY LEADING TO RUGEDZI CHANNEL FROM KIGOMA, NEAR KISORYA, SOUTH SIDE OF UKEREWÉ, COAST OF SPEKE GULF. (_From a Photograph by Mr. Stanley._)] One of the youths asked how the Ripon Falls received that name. "The name was given by Captain Speke, the first white man who ever saw the falls," replied Frank. "He may be called their discoverer, as the visit to the falls was made during his exploration of the Victoria Nyanza. At the time his expedition was fitted out, the Marquis of Ripon was the president of the Royal Geographical Society, and hence the name that Captain Speke gave to the falls." "I suppose, then, that the Victoria Nyanza, or Victoria Lake, is the source of the Nile," another of Frank's auditors remarked. Frank looked inquiringly at Doctor Bronson, who immediately came to the youth's assistance. "For all practical purposes," said the Doctor, "Captain Speke's claim that he had discovered the source of the Nile when he found the stream which drained the lake, was a just one. But by common consent of geographers the source of a river is the brook or rivulet, however tiny, that rises farthest from its mouth. Adopting this as a rule, the source of the Nile was not the Victoria Lake itself, but its longest affluent, and this is a question not yet fully determined, though it is fairly well settled that the honor belongs to the Alexandra Nile, or Kagera River, which is certainly the longest affluent of the lake. The Kagera River flows from Alexandra Lake, which lies nearly due west from the southern end of Victoria Lake; the distance is about one hundred and fifty miles in a direct line, but much greater according to the African routes of travel." "Did Mr. Stanley visit Alexandra Lake and find out what streams flowed into it?" one of the youths inquired, as Doctor Bronson paused. "He was unable to do so," was the reply, "and no other traveller has yet completed the exploration. Some geographers think that the longest affluent of Lake Victoria will yet prove to be one of the streams coming in from the eastward, and having its source at the base of Mount Kilima-Njaro; but until this is shown to be an established fact, we may assume that the Alexandra Nile is the head of the great river of Egypt, as it certainly is the largest stream that flows into Victoria Lake." [Illustration: VIEW OF RIPON FALLS FROM THE UGANDA SIDE. (_From a Photograph by Mr. Stanley._)] "Are there any other falls on the Victoria Nile besides the Ripon Falls just mentioned?" was the next inquiry from the audience. "There are several falls and rapids on the stream," the Doctor answered, "the most important being Murchison Falls, not far from where the Victoria Nile emerges into Albert Lake. Lake Albert is more than a thousand feet below the level of Lake Victoria, and therefore you may expect a rapid descent of the river that connects these two bodies of water. [Illustration: DRESSED FOR COLD WEATHER.] "During the time that Egypt had partial control of the lake region of Central Africa, its government established a military station at Foueira, on the Victoria Nile, just above the Kuruma Falls. The river was explored from one end to the other, and it was ascertained that, though there were several places where for many miles the current was comparatively placid, there were so many falls and rapids that navigation was practically impossible. Consequently no use was made of the stream, and all expeditions through that region travel by land. Unless an expedition is sufficiently powerful to force its way, travellers avoid the villages and keep as much as possible in the wilderness, to escape the extortionate demands of its petty chiefs, who invariably demand a high tribute. Whatever they see they want, and it requires a great deal of diplomacy to escape from them without being stripped of everything of any value. "But we are wandering from the route where we left Mr. Stanley," said Doctor Bronson, "and will now turn back to see where he went after visiting Ripon Falls. Frank will inform us." Under this hint Frank continued: "Where the lake narrows at the head of the Victoria Nile, or just above the falls, there is a V-shaped bay which is called Napoleon Channel. On the east of this channel is the country of Usoga, and on the west that of Uganda. The latter is the territory of the famous King Mtesa, or rather it was his territory at the time of Mr. Stanley's visit, as he has since died and left the kingdom to his son. "Mr. Stanley found the people of Uganda friendly; and by one of the local chiefs he sent a message to the king to announce his coming. Then he waited at one of the islands until the chief returned with Mtesa's reply, which was that Stanley should come and see him. Escorted by a small fleet of war-canoes, commanded by a native named Magassa, he proceeded on his journey to Usavara, the port of Mtesa's capital, about ten miles farther inland. I will read Mr. Stanley's account of his reception. "When about two miles from Usavara we saw what we estimated to be thousands of people arranging themselves in order on a gently rising ground. When about a mile from the shore Magassa gave the order to signal our advance upon it with firearms, and was at once obeyed by his dozen musketeers. Half a mile off I saw that the people on the shore had formed themselves into two dense lines, at the ends of which stood several finely-dressed men, arrayed in crimson and black and snowy white. As we neared the beach volleys of musketry burst out from the long lines. Magassa's canoes steered outward to right and left, while two or three hundred heavily-loaded guns announced to all around that the white man had landed. Numerous kettle and bass drums sounded a noisy welcome, and flags, banners, and bannerets waved, and the people gave a great shout. Very much amazed at all this ceremonious and pompous greeting, I strode up towards the great standard, near which stood a short young man, dressed in a crimson robe, which covered an immaculately white dress of bleached cotton, before whom Magassa, who had hurried ashore, kneeled reverently, and turning to me begged me to understand that this short young man was the _katekiro_. Not knowing very well who the "katekiro" was, I only bowed, which, strange to say, was imitated by him, only that his bow was far more profound and stately than mine. I was perplexed, confused, embarrassed, and I believe I blushed inwardly at this regal reception, though I hope I did not betray any embarrassment. [Illustration: THE VICTORIA NILE, NORTH OF RIPON FALLS, RUSHING TOWARDS UNYORO, FROM THE USOGO SIDE OF THE FALLS. (_From a Photograph by Mr. Stanley._)] "A dozen well-dressed people now came forward, and grasping my hand declared in the Swahili language that I was welcome to Uganda. The _katekiro_ motioned with his head, and amid a perfect concourse of beaten drums, which drowned all conversation, we walked side by side, and followed by curious thousands, to a courtyard, and a circle of grass-thatched huts surrounding a larger house, which I was told were my quarters. [Illustration: RECEPTION BY KING MTESA'S BODY-GUARD AT USAVARA.] "The _katekiro_ and several of the chiefs accompanied me to my new hut, and a very sociable conversation took place. There was present a native of Zanzibar, named Tori, whom I shortly discovered to be chief drummer, engineer, and general jack-of-all-trades for the _kabaka_ (king). From this clever, ingenious man I obtained the information that the _katekiro_ was the prime-minister or the _kabaka_'s deputy, and that the titles of the other chiefs were Chambarango, Kangau, Mkwenda, Sekebobo, Kitunzi, Sabaganzi, Kauta, Saruti. There were several more present, but I must defer mention of them to other chapters. "Waganda,[4] as I found subsequently, are not in the habit of remaining incurious before a stranger. Hosts of questions were fired off at me about my health, my journey and its aim, Zanzibar, Europe and its people, the seas and the heavens, sun, moon, and stars, angels and devils, doctors, priests, and craftsmen in general; in fact, as the representative of nations who 'know everything,' I was subjected to a most searching examination, and in one hour and ten minutes it was declared unanimously that I had 'passed.' Forthwith, after the acclamation, the stately bearing became merged into a more friendly one, and long, thin, nervous black hands were pushed into mine enthusiastically, from which I gathered that they applauded me as though I had won the honors of a senior wrangler. Some proceeded direct to the _kabaka_ and informed him that the white man was a genius, knew everything, and was remarkably polite and sociable, and the _kabaka_ was said to have 'rubbed his hands as though he had just come into the possession of a treasure.' [4] Waganda signifies "people of Uganda." The prefix Ki, as in Ki-Swahili or Ki-Sagara, denotes language of Swahili or Sagara. The prefix U represents country; Wa, a plural, denoting people; M, singular, for a person, thus: U-Sagara. Country of Sagara. Wa-Sagara. People of Sagara. M-Sagara. A person of Sagara. Ki-Sagara. Language of Sagara, or after the custom, manner, or style of Sagara, as English stands in like manner for anything relating to England. "The fruits of the favorable verdict passed upon myself and merits were seen presently in fourteen fat oxen, sixteen goats and sheep, a hundred bunches of bananas, three dozen fowls, four wooden jars of milk, four baskets of sweet potatoes, fifty cars of green Indian corn, a basket of rice, twenty fresh eggs, and ten pots of mararaba wine. Kauta, Mtesa's steward or butler, at the head of the drovers and bearers of these various provisions, fell on his knees before me and said: "'The _kabaka_ sends salaams unto his friend who has travelled so far to see him. The _kabaka_ cannot see the face of his friend until he has eaten and is satisfied. The _kabaka_ has sent his slave with these few things to his friend that he may eat, and at the ninth hour, after his friend has rested, the _kabaka_ will send and call for him to appear at the _burzah_. I have spoken. _Twi-yanzi-yanzi-yanzi!_' (thanks, thanks, thanks). "I replied suitably, though my politeness was not so excessive as to induce me to kneel before the courtly butler and thank him for permission to say I thanked him. [Illustration: WAITING ORDERS.] "The ninth hour of the day approached. We had bathed, brushed, cleaned ourselves, and were prepared externally and mentally for the memorable hour when we should meet the foremost man of equatorial Africa. Two of the _kabaka_'s pages, clad in a costume semi-Kingwana and semi-Kiganda, came to summon us--the Kingwana part being the long white shirt of Zanzibar, folded with a belt or band about the loins, the Kiganda part being the Sohari doti cloth depending from the right shoulder to the feet. 'The _kabaka_ invites you to the _burzah_,' said they. Forthwith we issue from our courtyard, five of the boat's crew on each side of me, armed with Snider rifles. We reach a short, broad street, at the end of which is a hut. Here the _kabaka_ is seated with a multitude of chiefs, Wakungu[5] and Watongoleh, ranked from the throne in two opposing kneeling or seated lines, the ends being closed in by drummers, guards, executioners, pages, etc., etc. As we approached the nearest group it opened and the drummers beat mighty sounds, Tori's drumming being conspicuous from its sharper beat. The foremost man of equatorial Africa rises and advances, and all the kneeling and seated lines rise--generals, colonels, chiefs, cooks, butlers, pages, executioners, etc., etc. [5] Wakungu is the plural of _mkungu_, a rank equivalent to "general." Watongoleh is the plural of _mtongoleh_, or "colonel." [Illustration: SEKEBOBO, CHIEF OF CHAGWÉ. POKINO, THE PRIME-MINISTER. MTESA, THE EMPEROR OF UGANDA. CHAMBARANGO, THE CHIEF. OTHER CHIEFS. (_From a Photograph by Mr. Stanley._)] "The _kabaka_, a tall, clean-faced, large-eyed, nervous-looking, thin man, clad in a tarbush, black robe, with a white shirt belted with gold, shook my hands warmly and impressively, and, bowing not ungracefully, invited me to be seated on an iron stool. I waited for him to show the example, and then I and all the others seated ourselves. "He first took a deliberate survey of me, which I returned with interest, for he was as interesting to me as I was to him. His impression of me was that I was younger than Speke, not so tall, but better dressed. This I gathered from his criticisms, as confided to his chiefs and favorites. "My impression of him was that he and I would become better acquainted, that I should make a convert of him, and make him useful to Africa--but what other impressions I had may be gathered from the remarks I wrote that evening in my diary: [Illustration: DWARF AT THE KING'S COURT.] "'As I had read Speke's book for the sake of its geographical information, I retained but a dim remembrance of his description of his life in Uganda. If I remember rightly, Speke described a youthful prince, vain and heartless, a wholesale murderer and tyrant, one who delighted in fat women. Doubtless he described what he saw, but it is far from being the state of things now. Mtesa has impressed me as being an intelligent and distinguished prince, who, if aided in time by virtuous philanthropists, will do more for Central Africa than fifty years of gospel teaching, unaided by such authority, can do. I think I see in him the light that shall lighten the darkness of this benighted region; a prince well worthy the most hearty sympathies that Europe can give him. In this man I see the possible fruition of Livingstone's hopes, for with his aid the civilization of equatorial Africa becomes feasible. I remember the ardor and love which animated Livingstone when he spoke of Sekeletu; had he seen Mtesa, his ardor and love for him had been tenfold, and his pen and tongue would have been employed in calling all good men to assist him.' "Five days later I wrote the following entry: "'I see that Mtesa is a powerful emperor, with great influence over his neighbors. I have to-day seen the turbulent Mankorongo, King of Usui, and Mirambo, that terrible phantom who disturbs men's minds in Unyamwezi, through their embassies kneeling and tendering their tribute to him. I saw over three thousand soldiers of Mtesa nearly half civilized. I saw about a hundred chiefs who might be classed in the same scale as the men of Zanzibar and Oman, clad in as rich robes and armed in the same fashion, and have witnessed with astonishment such order and law as is obtainable in semi-civilized countries. All this is the result of a poor Muslim's labor; his name is Muley bin Salim. He it was who first began teaching here the doctrines of Islam. False and contemptible as these doctrines are, they are preferable to the ruthless instincts of a savage despot, whom Speke and Grant left wallowing in the blood of women, and I honor the memory of Muley bin Salim--Muslim and slave-trader though he be--the poor priest who has wrought this happy change. With a strong desire to improve still more the character of Mtesa, I shall begin building on the foundation-stones laid by Muley bin Salim. I shall destroy his belief in Islam, and teach the doctrines of Jesus of Nazareth.' "It may easily be gathered from these entries that a feeling of admiration for Mtesa must have begun very early, and that either Mtesa is a very admirable man, or that I am a very impressionable traveller, or that Mtesa is so perfect in the art of duplicity and acted so clever a part, that I became his dupe." Here Frank paused, and suggested that they would leave Mr. Stanley with the King of Uganda until the next day, when Fred would take up the reading during the afternoon and evening. As it was near the time for retiring, no one made any objection to adjournment, and in a very few minutes the members of the impromptu geographical society had dispersed. CHAPTER IV. PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF KING MTESA.--HIS RECEPTION OF MR. STANLEY.--A NAVAL REVIEW.--STANLEY'S MARKSMANSHIP.--THE KING'S PALACE.--RUBAGA, THE KING'S CAPITAL.--RECEPTION AT THE PALACE.--MEETING COLONEL LINANT DE BELLEFONDS.--CONVERTING MTESA TO CHRISTIANITY.--APPEAL FOR MISSIONARIES TO BE SENT TO MTESA.--DEPARTURE FOR USUKUMU.--FIGHT WITH THE NATIVES AT BUMBIREH ISLAND.--SUFFERINGS OF STANLEY AND HIS COMPANIONS ON LAKE VICTORIA.--A NARROW ESCAPE.--RETURN TO KAGEHYI.--DEATH OF FRED BARKER.--EMBARKING THE EXPEDITION.--KING LUKONGEH AND HIS PEOPLE. It was Fred's turn to read on the second day of the voyage, and early in the morning he began his preparations. With the aid of Mr. Stanley he marked the portions of the chapters that he would read and those that could be omitted in view of the brief time at their disposal. At the opening of the afternoon session of his geographical society Fred announced that he would begin the day's work by reading the description of King Mtesa's personal appearance as Mr. Stanley has recorded it. [Illustration: THE KING'S DINNER-DISH.] "In person Mtesa is tall, probably six feet one inch, and slender. He has very intelligent and agreeable features, reminding me of some of the faces of the great stone images at Thebes, and of the statues in the museum at Cairo. He has the same fulness of lips, but their grossness is relieved by the general expression of amiability blended with dignity that pervades his face, and the large, lustrous, lambent eyes that lend it a strange beauty, and are typical of the race from which I believe him to have sprung. His color is of a dark red-brown, of a wonderfully smooth surface. When not engaged in council he throws off unreservedly the bearing that characterizes him when on the throne, and gives rein to his humor, indulging in hearty peals of laughter. He seems to be interested in the discussion of the manners and customs of European courts, and to be enamoured of hearing of the wonders of civilization. He is ambitious to imitate, as much as lies in his power, the ways of the white man. When any piece of information is given him, he takes upon himself the task of translating it to his wives and chiefs, though many of the latter understand the Swahili language as well as he does himself." "Mr. Stanley writes that the king treated him with great courtesy," said Fred, after a short pause, "and they evidently liked each other's acquaintance. One day the king invited him to witness a naval review on the waters of Murchison Bay, on which Usavara is situated; at a signal from Mtesa forty magnificent canoes, each rowed by thirty men, swept around a point of land and drew up in front of the shore where the king and his guest and attendants were stationed. The captain of each canoe was dressed in a white cotton shirt and a cloth head-cover, neatly folded turban fashion, while the admiral wore over his shirt a crimson jacket, profusely decorated with gold braid, and on his head the red fez of Zanzibar. Each captain, as he passed the king, seized shield and spear, and went through the performance of defence and attack by water. "When the review was over the king asked Stanley, whom he called Stamlee, to show him how the white men could shoot. It was a heavy responsibility to be thus the representative of the shooting abilities of the whole white race, but there was no way of escaping it. A young crocodile was asleep on the rocks, and Stanley nearly severed its head from its body at the distance of one hundred yards with a three-ounce ball, an act which was accepted as conclusive proof that all white men are dead-shots. "And now," said Fred, "I will read the account of Mr. Stanley's visit to Rubaga, the capital city of Uganda. It is about ten miles from Usavara, the place where Mr. Stanley met the king, as has just been described. His majesty was on a hunting excursion at Usavara at the time of the explorer's arrival; he was accompanied by his court, after the manner of the kings of other countries under similar circumstances. "On the 10th of April the court broke up its hunting-lodges at Usavara, on Murchison Bay, and moved to the capital, whither I was strongly urged to follow. Mtesa, escorted by about two hundred musketeers and the great Wakungu and their armed retainers, travelled quickly; but owing to my being obliged to house my boat from the hot sun, I did not reach the capital until 1 P.M. "The road had been prepared for his Imperial Majesty's hunting excursion, and was eight feet wide, through jungle and garden, forest and field. Beautiful landscapes were thus enjoyed of rolling land and placid lake, of gigantic tamarinds and gum-trees, of extensive banana groves and plantations of the ficus, from the bark of which the national dress, or _mbugu_, is made. The peculiar domelike huts, each with an attempt at a portico, were buried deep in dense bowers of plantains which filled the air with the odor of their mellow rich fruit. [Illustration: FISH FOUND IN LAKE VICTORIA. Sama-Moa, in the Nyassa tongue; round, open-mouthed, scaled, and pig-headed-looking creature, twenty inches long.] "The road wound upward to the summits of green hills which commanded exquisite prospects, and down again into the sheltered bosoms of woody nooks and vales and tree-embowered ravines. Streams of clear water murmured through these depressions, as they flowed towards Murchison Bay. The verdure was of a brilliant green, freshened by the unfailing rains of the equator; the sky was of the bluest, and the heat, though great, was tempered by the hill breezes, and frequently by the dense foliage overhead. "Within three hours' march from Usavara, we saw the capital crowning the summit of a smooth, rounded hill--a large cluster of tall, conical grass huts, in the centre of which rose a spacious, lofty, barnlike structure. The large building, we were told, was the palace! the hill, Rubaga; the cluster of huts, the imperial capital! "From each side of the tall cane fence enclosing the grass huts on Rubaga hill radiated very broad avenues, imperial enough in width. Arriving at the base of the hill, and crossing by a 'corduroy' road over a broad slimy ooze, we came up to one of these avenues, the ground of which was a reddish clay strongly mixed with the detritus of hematite. It gave a clear breadth of one hundred feet of prepared ground, and led by a gradual ascent to the circular road which made the circuit of the hill outside the palace enclosure. Once on the domelike height, we saw that we had arrived by the back avenue, for the best view of this capital of magnificent distances was that which was obtained by looking from the _burzah_ of the palace, and carrying the eye over the broad front highway, on each side of which, as far as could be defined from the shadows of the _burzah_, the Wakungu had their respective courts and houses, embowered in gardens of banana and fig. Like the enclosure round the palace courts and quarters, each avenue was fenced with tall _mateté_ (water cane) neatly set very close together in uniform rows. The by-streets leading from one avenue to another were narrow and crooked. [Illustration: RUBAGA, THE CAPITAL OF THE KING OF UGANDA.] "While I stood admiring the view, a page came up, and, kneeling, announced that he had been despatched by the emperor to show me my house. Following him, I was ushered within a corner lot of the fenced square, between two avenues, into what I might appropriately term a 'garden villa' of Uganda. My house, standing in the centre of a plantain garden about one hundred feet square, was twenty feet long, and of a marquee shape, with a miniature portico or eave projecting like a bonnet over the doorway, and was divided into two apartments. Close by, about thirty feet off, were three domelike huts for the boat's crew and the kitchen, and in a corner of the garden was a railed space for our bullocks and goats. Were it not that I was ever anxious about my distant camp in Usukuma, I possessed almost everything requisite to render a month's stay very agreeable, and for the time I was as proud of my tiny villa as a London merchant is of his country-house. "In the afternoon I was invited to the palace. A number of people in brown robes, or white dresses, some with white goat-skins over their brown robes, others with cords folded like a turban round their heads, which I heard were distinguishing marks of the executioners, were also ascending to the _burzah_. Court after court was passed until we finally stood upon the level top in front of the great house of cane and straw which the Waganda fondly term _kibuga_, or the palace. The space at least was of aulic extent, and the prospect gained at every point was also worthy of the imperial eyes of the African monarch. "On all sides rolled in grand waves a voluptuous land of sunshine and plenty and early summer verdure, cooled by soft breezes from the great equatorial fresh-water sea. Isolated hill-cones, similar to that of Rubaga, or square tabular masses, rose up from the beautiful landscape to attract, like mysteries, the curious stranger's observation, and villages and banana groves of still fresher green, far removed on the crest of distant swelling ridges, announced that Mtesa owned a land worth loving. Dark, sinuous lines traced the winding courses of deep ravines filled with trees, and grassy extents of gently undulating ground marked the pastures; broader depressions suggested the cultivated gardens and the grain fields, while on the far verge of the horizon we saw the beauty and the charm of the land melting into the blues of distance. "The drums sounded. Mtesa had seated himself on the throne, and we hastened to take our seats. [Illustration: FLEET OF THE KING OF UGANDA, READY FOR WAR.] "Since the 5th of April, I had enjoyed ten interviews with Mtesa, and during all I had taken occasion to introduce topics which would lead up to the subject of Christianity. Nothing occurred in my presence but I contrived to turn it towards effecting that which had become an object to me, viz., his conversion. There was no attempt made to confuse him with the details of any particular doctrine. I simply drew for him the image of the Son of God humbling himself for the good of all mankind, white and black, and told him how, while he was in man's disguise, he was seized and crucified by wicked people who scorned his divinity, and yet out of his great love for them, while yet suffering on the cross, he asked his great Father to forgive them. I showed the difference in character between him whom white men love and adore, and Mohammed, whom the Arabs revere; how Jesus endeavored to teach mankind that we should love all men, excepting none, while Mohammed taught his followers that the slaying of the pagan and the unbeliever was an act that merited Paradise. I left it to Mtesa and his chiefs to decide which was the worthier character. I also sketched in brief the history of religious belief from Adam to Mohammed. I had also begun to translate to him the Ten Commandments, and Idi, the emperor's writer, transcribed in Kiganda the words of the Law as given to him in choice Swahili by Robert Feruzi, one of my boat's crew, and a pupil of the Universities Mission at Zanzibar. [Illustration: AUDIENCE-HALL OF THE PALACE AT RUBAGA.] "The enthusiasm with which I launched into this work of teaching was soon communicated to Mtesa and some of his principal chiefs, who became so absorbingly interested in the story as I gave it to them that little of other business was done. The political _burzah_ and seat of justice had now become an alcove, where only the moral and religious laws were discussed. "Before we broke up our meeting Mtesa informed me that I should meet a _white man_ at his palace the next day. "'A white man, or a Turk?' "'A white man like yourself,' repeated Mtesa. "'No; impossible." "'Yes, you will see. He comes from Masr (Cairo), from Gordoom (Gordon) Pasha.' "'Ah, very well, I shall be glad to see him, and if he is really a white man, I may probably stay with you four or five days longer,' said I to Mtesa, as I shook hands with him, and bade him good-night. "The 'white man,' reported to be coming the next day, arrived at noon with great _éclat_ and flourishes of trumpets, the sounds of which could be heard all over the capital. Mtesa hurried off a page to invite me to his _burzah_. I hastened up by a private entrance. Mtesa and all his chiefs, guards, pages, executioners, claimants, guests, drummers, and fifers were already there, _en grande tenue_. "Mtesa was in a fever, as I could see by the paling of the color under his eyes and his glowing eyeballs. The chiefs shared their master's excitement. "'What shall we do,' he asked, 'to welcome him?' "'Oh, form your troops in line from the entrance to the _burzah_ down to the gate of the outer court, and present arms, and as he comes within the gate let your drums and fifes sound a loud welcome.' [Illustration: WOODEN KETTLE-DRUM.] "'Beautiful!' said Mtesa. 'Hurry Tori, Chambarango, Sekebobo; form them in two lines just as Stamlee says. Oh, that is beautiful! And shall we fire guns, Stamlee?' "'No, not until you shake hands with him; and, as he is a soldier, let the guards fire, then they will not injure any one.' "Mtesa's flutter of excitement on this occasion made me think that there must have been a somewhat similar scene before my landing at Usavara, and that Tori must have been consulted frequently upon the form of ceremony to be adopted. "What followed upon the arrival of the white man at the outer gate had best be told as an interlude by the stranger himself. [Illustration: AFRICAN HATCHET, SPADE, AND ADZE.] "'At two o'clock, the weather having cleared up, Mtesa sent a messenger to inform me that he was ready to receive me. Notice is given in the camp; every one puts on his finest clothes; at last we are ready; my brave Soudanians look quite smart in their red jackets and white trousers. I place myself at their head; trumpets flourish and drums sound as we follow an avenue from eighty-five to a hundred yards wide, running direct north and south, and terminating at Mtesa's palace.... "'On entering this court, I am greeted with a frightful uproar; a thousand instruments, each one more outlandish than the other, produce the most discordant and deafening sounds. Mtesa's body-guard carrying guns present arms on my appearance; the king is standing at the entrance of the reception-hall, I approach and bow to him _à la turque_. He holds out his hand, which I press; I immediately perceive a sunburnt European to the left of the king, a traveller, whom I imagine to be Cameron. We exchange glances without speaking. "'Mtesa enters the reception-room, and we follow him. It is a narrow hall about sixty feet long by fifteen feet wide, the ceiling of which, sloping down at the entrance, is supported by a double row of wooden pillars which divide the room into two aisles. The principal and central room is unoccupied, and leads to the king's throne; the two aisles are filled with the great dignitaries and chief officers. At each pillar stands one of the king's guard, wearing a long red mantle, a white turban ornamented with monkey-skin, white trousers and black blouse with a red band. All are armed with guns. "'Mtesa takes his place on his throne, which is a wooden seat in the shape of an office arm-chair; his feet rest upon a cushion; the whole placed on a leopard's skin spread over a Smyrna carpet. Before the king is a highly-polished elephant's tusk, and at his feet are two boxes containing fetiches; on either side the throne is a lance (one copper, the other steel), each held by a guard; these are the insignia of Uganda; the dog which Speke mentions has been done away with. Crouching at the foot of the king are the vizier and two scribes. "'Mtesa is dignified in his manner, and does not lack a certain natural air of distinction; his dress is elegant--a white _couftan_ finished with a red band, stockings, slippers, vest of black cloth embroidered with gold, and a _tarbouche_ with a silver plate on the top. He wears a sword with ivory-inlaid hilt (a Zanzibar weapon), and a staff. "'I exhibited my presents, which Mtesa scarcely pretended to see, his dignity forbidding him to show any curiosity. "'I address the traveller, who sits in front of me, on the left of the king: "Have I the honor of speaking to Mr. Cameron?" "'STANLEY. "No, sir; Mr. Stanley." "'MYSELF. "M. Linant de Bellefonds, member of the Gordon-Pasha Expedition." "'We bow low to each other, as though we had met in a drawing-room, and our conversation is at an end for the moment. "'This meeting with Mr. Stanley greatly surprises me. Stanley was far from my thoughts; I was totally ignorant of the object of his expedition. "'I take leave of the king, who meanwhile has been amusing himself by making my unlucky soldiers parade and flourish their trumpets. I shake hands with Mr. Stanley, and ask him to honor me with his presence at dinner.' "Colonel Linant de Bellefonds having thus described our meeting, there remains but little for me to add. "As soon as I saw him approaching the _burzah_, I recognized him to be a Frenchman. Not being introduced to him--and as I was then but a mere guest of Mtesa, with whom it was M. Linant's first desire to converse--I simply bowed to him, until he had concluded addressing the emperor, when our introduction took place as he has described. [Illustration: HEAD OF A "MADOQUA"--SPECIES OF ANTELOPE.] "I was delighted at seeing him, and much more delighted when I discovered that M. Linant was a very agreeable man. I observed that there was a vast difference between his treatment of his men and the manner in which I treated mine, and that his intercourse with the Waganda was conducted after exactly opposite principles to those which governed my conduct. He adopted a half-military style which the Waganda ill brooked, and many things uncomplimentary to him were uttered by them. He stationed guards at the entrance to his courtyard to keep the Waganda at a distance, except those bearing messages from Mtesa, while my courtyard was nearly full of Watongolehs, soldiers, pages, children, with many a dark-brown woman listening with open ears to my conversation with the Waganda. In fact, my courtyard from morning to night swarmed with all classes, for I loved to draw the natives to talk, so that perfect confidence might be established between us, and I might gain an insight into their real natures. By this freer converse with them I became, it seemed, a universal favorite, and obtained information sufficient to fill two octavo volumes. "M. Linant passed many pleasant hours with me. Though he had started from Cairo previous to my departure from Zanzibar, and consequently could communicate no news from Europe, I still felt that for a brief period I enjoyed civilized life. The religious conversations which I had begun with Mtesa were maintained in the presence of M. Linant de Bellefonds; when questioned by Mtesa about the facts which I had uttered, and which had been faithfully transcribed, M. Linant, to Mtesa's astonishment, employed nearly the same words, and delivered the same responses. The remarkable fact that two white men, who had never met before, one having arrived from the southeast, the other having emerged from the north, should nevertheless both know the same things, and respond in the same words, charmed the popular mind without the _burzah_ as a wonder, and was treasured in Mtesa's memory as being miraculous. "The period of my stay with Mtesa drew to a close, and I requested leave to depart, begging the fulfilment of a promise he had made to me that he would furnish me with transport sufficient to convey the expedition by water from Kagehyi in Usukuma to Uganda. Nothing loath, since one white man would continue his residence with him till my return, and being eager to see the gifts I told him were safe at Usukuma, he gave his permission, and commanded Magassa to collect thirty canoes, and to accompany me to my camp. On the 15th of April, then, escorted by Magassa and his Watongolehs, and also by M. Linant and ten of his Nubian soldiers, we left Rubaga and arrived at Usavara. "In the evening I concluded my letters dated 14th of April, 1875, which were sent to the _Daily Telegraph_ and the New York _Herald_, the English and American journals I represented here, appealing for a Christian mission to be sent to Mtesa. "The appeal, written hurriedly, and included in the letter left at Usavara, was as follows: "'I have, indeed, undermined Islamism so much here that Mtesa has determined henceforth, until he is better informed, to observe the Christian Sabbath as well as the Moslem Sabbath, and the great captains have unanimously consented to this. He has further caused the Ten Commandments of Moses to be written on a board for his daily perusal--for Mtesa can read Arabic--as well as the Lord's Prayer and the golden commandment of our Saviour, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." This is great progress for the few days that I have remained with him, and, though I am no missionary, I shall begin to think that I might become one if such success is feasible. But, oh! that some pious, practical missionary would come here! What a field and harvest ripe for the sickle of civilization! Mtesa would give him anything he desired--houses, lands, cattle, ivory, etc.; he might call a province his own in one day. It is not the mere preacher, however, that is wanted here. The bishops of Great Britain collected, with all the classic youth of Oxford and Cambridge, would effect nothing by mere talk with the intelligent people of Uganda. It is the practical Christian tutor, who can teach people how to become Christians, cure their diseases, construct dwellings, understand and exemplify agriculture, and turn his hand to anything, like a sailor--this is the man who is wanted. Such a one, if he can be found, would become the saviour of Africa. He must be tied to no church or sect, but profess God and his Son and the moral law, and live a blameless Christian, inspired by liberal principles, charity to all men, and devout faith in Heaven. He must belong to no nation in particular, but to the entire white race. Such a man, or men, Mtesa, Emperor of Uganda, Usoga, Unyoro, and Karagwé--an empire three hundred and sixty geographical miles in length, by fifty in breadth--invites to repair to him. He has begged me to tell the white men that, if they will only come to him, he will give them all they want. Now, where is there in all the pagan world a more promising field for a mission than Uganda? Colonel Linant de Bellefonds is my witness that I speak the truth, and I know he will corroborate all I say. The colonel, though a Frenchman, is a Calvinist, and has become as ardent a well-wisher for the Waganda as I am. Then why further spend needlessly vast sums upon black pagans of Africa who have no example of their own people becoming Christians before them? I speak to the Universities Mission at Zanzibar and to the Free Methodists at Mombasa, to the leading philanthropists and the pious people of England. "Here, gentlemen, is your opportunity--embrace it! The people on the shores of the Nyanza call upon you. Obey your own generous instincts, and listen to them; and I assure you that in one year you will have more converts to Christianity than all other missionaries united can number. The population of Mtesa's kingdom is very dense; I estimate the number of his subjects at two millions. You need not fear to spend money upon such a mission, as Mtesa is sole ruler, and will repay its cost tenfold with ivory, coffee, otter-skins of a very fine quality, or even in cattle, for the wealth of this country in all these products is immense. The road here is by the Nile, or _via_ Zanzibar, Ugogo, and Unyanyembé. The former route, so long as Colonel Gordon governs the countries of the Upper Nile, seems the most feasible."' [Illustration: SHUGRANGU HOUSE, AN AFRICAN MISSION STATION, WITH GRAVE OF MRS. LIVINGSTONE.] "When the letters were written and sealed I committed them to the charge of Colonel Linant. My friend promised he would await my return from Usukuma; meanwhile he lent me a powerful field-glass, as mine, being considerably injured, had been given to Mtesa. "The parting between M. Linant and myself I shall allow him to describe: "'At 5 A.M. drums are beaten; the boats going with Stanley are collecting together. "'Mr. Stanley and myself are soon ready. The _Lady Alice_ is unmoored; luggage, sheep, goats, and poultry are already stowed away in their places. There is nothing to be done except to hoist the American flag and head the boat southward. I accompany Stanley to his boat; we shake hands and commend each other to the care of God. Stanley takes the helm; the _Lady Alice_ immediately swerves like a spirited horse, and bounds forward lashing the water of the Nyanza into foam. The starry flag is hoisted, and floats proudly in the breeze; I immediately raise a loud hurrah with such hearty good-will as perhaps never before greeted the traveller's ears. "'The _Lady Alice_ is already far away. We wave our handkerchiefs as a last farewell; my heart is full; I have just lost a brother. I had grown used to seeing Stanley, the open-hearted, sympathetic man and friend and admirable traveller. With him I forgot my fatigue; this meeting had been like a return to my own country. His engaging, instructive conversation made the hours pass like minutes. I hope I may see him again, and have the happiness of spending several days with him.'" One of the youthful auditors asked at this point what became of Colonel Linant de Bellefonds. Fred replied as follows to the inquiry: "He remained about six weeks at Mtesa's court, looking for the return of Mr. Stanley. The latter was delayed in various ways, and finally Colonel Linant started on his return to Gondokoro, to report to his superior officer, Gordon Pasha. He had a severe battle with the natives of Unyoro; it lasted several hours, but he managed to escape and reach Gordon Pasha's headquarters. In the following August he was sent on an expedition among the Bari tribe, and, at a place called Labore, he and all the men accompanying him were killed. He was an efficient officer, and was greatly liked by those with whom he served. [Illustration: WARRIORS OF THE UPPER NILE REGION.] "Mr. Stanley was greatly delayed on his return to Usukuma," Fred continued, "by the inefficiency of Magassa and his habits of procrastination. He did not assemble the required number of canoes which Mtesa had promised, and when Stanley sent him for more he returned without them. His whole course of action was one of duplicity, and caused a great deal of trouble and delay to the expedition. Stanley was not sufficiently powerful to force him to obey, and he was too far away from Mtesa's capital to inform the king of the bad conduct of his lieutenant. "On the way down the coast Mr. Stanley explored the Alexandra Nile for a short distance. He reported it about five hundred yards wide at its mouth, and narrowed to a width of one hundred yards about two miles above. Its current was so strong that the _Lady Alice_ breasted it with difficulty, and, after an ascent of three miles, the attempt to go farther was abandoned. In one place a depth of eighty-five feet was obtained with the sounding-line, and it was evident that the volume of water discharged by the river is very large. The people residing in the valley of the Alexandra Nile call it 'the mother of the river at Jinga,' or the Ripon Falls. "At Bumbireh Island the expedition stopped to purchase food, of which they had run short, but the natives proved to be unfriendly. Bumbireh is about eleven miles long by two in width, and has a population estimated at four thousand, scattered in some fifty villages. Here is Mr. Stanley's account of his experiences at this island. "At 9 A.M. we discovered a cove near the southeast end of the long island, and pulled slowly into it. Immediately the natives rushed down the slopes, shouting war-cries and uttering fierce ejaculations. When about fifty yards from the shore I bade the men cease rowing, but Safeni and Baraka became eloquent, and said, 'It is almost always the case, master, with savages. They cry out and threaten and look big, but you will see that all that noise will cease as soon as they hear us speak. Besides, if we leave here without food, where shall we obtain it?' "The last argument was unanswerable, and though I gave no orders to resume their oars, four of the men impelled the boat on slowly, while Safeni and Baraka prepared themselves to explain to the natives, who were now close within hearing, as they came rushing to the water's edge. I saw some lift great stones, while others prepared their bows. "We were now about ten yards from the beach, and Safeni and Baraka spoke, earnestly pointing to their mouths, and by gestures explaining that their bellies were empty. They smiled with insinuating faces; uttered the words 'brothers,' 'friends,' 'good fellows,' most volubly; cunningly interpolated the words Mtesa--the _kabaka_--Uganda, and Antari, King of Ihangiro, to whom Bumbireh belongs. Safeni and Baraka's pleasant volubility seemed to have produced a good effect, for the stones were dropped, the bows were unstrung, and the lifted spears lowered to assist the steady, slow-walking pace with which they now advanced. [Illustration: RECEPTION AT BUMBIREH ISLAND, VICTORIA NYANZA.] "Safeni and Baraka turned to me triumphantly, and asked, 'What did we say, master?' and then, with engaging frankness, invited the natives, who were now about two hundred in number, to come closer. The natives consulted a little while, and several--now smiling pleasantly themselves--advanced leisurely into the water until they touched the boat's prow. They stood a few seconds talking sweetly, when suddenly, with a rush, they ran the boat ashore; and then all the others, seizing hawser and gunwale, dragged her about twenty yards over the rocky beach high and dry, leaving us almost stupefied with astonishment! "Then ensued a scene which beggars description. A forest of spears was levelled; thirty or forty bows were drawn taut; as many barbed arrows seemed already on the wing; thick, knotty clubs waved above our heads; two hundred screaming black demons jostled with each other, and struggled for room to vent their fury, or for an opportunity to deliver one crushing blow or thrust at us. "In the meantime, as soon as the first symptoms of this manifestation of violence had been observed, I had sprung to my feet, each hand armed with a loaded self-cocking revolver. But the apparent hopelessness of inflicting much injury upon such a large crowd restrained me, and Safeni turned to me, though almost cowed to dumbness by the loud fury around us, and pleaded with me to be patient. I complied, seeing that I should get no aid from my crew; but, while bitterly blaming myself for my imprudence in having yielded--against my instincts--to placing myself in the power of such savages, I vowed that, if I escaped this once, my own judgment should guide my actions for the future. "I assumed a resigned air, though I still retained my revolvers. My crew also bore the first outburst of the tempest of shrieking rage which assailed them with almost sublime imperturbability. Safeni crossed his arms with the meekness of a saint. Baraka held his hands palms outward, asking, with serene benignity, 'What, my friends, ails you? Do you fear empty hands and smiling people like us? We are friends; we came, as friends, to buy food, two or three bananas, a few mouthfuls of grain or potatoes or muhogo (cassava), and, if you permit us, we shall depart as friends.' "Our demeanor had a great effect. The riot and noise seemed to be subsiding, when some fifty new-comers rekindled the smouldering fury. Again the forest of spears swayed on the launch, again the knotty clubs were whirled aloft, again the bows were drawn, and again the barbed arrows seemed flying. Safeni received a push which sent him tumbling; little Kirango received a blow on the head with a spear-staff; Saramba gave a cry as a club descended on his back. "I sprang up this time to remonstrate, with the two revolvers in my left hand. I addressed myself to an elder, who seemed to be restraining the people from proceeding too far. I showed him beads, cloth, wire, and invoked the names of Mtesa, and Antari their king. "The sight of the heaps of beads and cloth I exposed awakened, however, the more deliberate passions of selfishness and greed in each heart. An attempt at massacre, they began to argue, would certainly entail the loss of some of themselves. 'Guns might be seized, and handled with terrible effect, even by dying men, and who knows what those little iron things in the white man's hands are?' they seemed to be asking themselves. The elder, whatever he thought, responded with an affectation of indignation, raised his stick, and to the right and left of him drove back the demoniac crowd. Other prominent men now assisted this elder, whom we subsequently discovered to be Shekka, the King of Bumbireh. "Shekka then, having thus bestirred himself, beckoned to half a dozen men, and walked away a few yards behind the mass. Half the crowd followed the king and his council, while the other half remained to indulge their tongues on us, and to continually menace us with either club or spear. [Illustration: HUT AND GRANARY ON THE ISLAND.] "The issue had surely arrived. There had been just one brief moment of agony when I reflected how unlovely death appears in such guise as that in which it then threatened me. What would my people think as they anxiously waited for the never-returning master! What would Pocock and Barker say when they heard of the tragedy of Bumbireh! And my friends in America and Europe! "A messenger from the king and the council arrives, and beckons Safeni. I said to him, 'Safeni, use your wit.' 'Please God, master,' he replied. "Safeni drew nearly all the crowd after him, for curiosity is strong in the African. I saw him pose himself. A born diplomatist was Safeni. His hands moved up and down, outward and inward; a cordial frankness sat naturally on his face; his gestures were graceful; the man was an orator, pleading for mercy and justice. "Safeni returned, his face radiant. 'It is all right, master, there is no fear. They say we must stop here until to-morrow.' "'Will they sell us food?' "'Oh, yes, as soon as they settle their shauri.' "While Safeni was speaking six men rushed up and seized the oars. "Safeni, though hitherto politic, lost temper at this, and endeavored to prevent them. They raised their clubs to strike him. I shouted out, 'Let them go, Safeni.' "'A loud cheer greeted the seizure of the oars. I became convinced now that this one little act would lead to others; for man is the same all over the world. If a man submit once, he must be prepared to submit again. "The 'shauri' proceeded. Another messenger came, demanding five cloths and five fundo of necklaces. They were delivered. But as it was now near noon, and they were assured we could not escape, the savages withdrew to their nearest village to refresh themselves with wine and food. "After the warriors had departed some women came to look at us. We spoke kindly to them, and in return they gave us the consoling assurance that we should be killed, but they said that if we could induce Shekka to make blood-brotherhood, or to eat honey with one of us, we should be safe. If we failed, there was only flight or death. We thanked them, but we would wait. [Illustration: A WOMAN OF THE ISLAND.] "About 3 P.M. we heard a number of drums beaten. Safeni was told that if the natives collected again he must endeavor to induce Shekka with gifts to go through the process of blood-brotherhood. "A long line of natives in full war costume appeared on the crest of the terrace, on which the banana grove and village of Kajurri stood. Their faces were smeared with black and white pigments. Almost all of them bore the peculiar shields of Usongora. Their actions were such as the dullest-witted of us recognized as indicating hostilities. "Even Safeni and Baraka were astounded, and their first words were 'Prepare, master. Truly, this is trouble.' "'Never mind me,' I replied, 'I have been ready these three hours. Are you ready, your guns and revolvers loaded, and your ears open this time?' "'We are,' they all firmly answered. "'Don't be afraid; be quite cool. We will try, while they are collecting together, the women's suggestion. Go frankly and smilingly, Safeni, up to Shekka, on the top of that hill, and offer him these three fundo of beads, and ask him to exchange blood with you.' "Safeni proceeded readily on his errand, for there was no danger to him bodily while we were there within one hundred and fifty yards, and their full power as yet unprepared. For ten minutes he conversed with them, while the drums kept beating, and numbers of men bepainted for war were increasing Shekka's force. Some of them entertained us by demonstrating with their spears how they fought. Their gestures were wild, their voices were shrill and fierce, they were kindling themselves into a fighting fever. "Safeni returned. Shekka had refused the pledge of peace. The natives now mustered over three hundred. "Presently fifty bold fellows came rushing down, uttering a shrill cry. Without hesitation they came straight to the boat, and, hissing something to us, seized our Kiganda drum. It was such a small affair, we did not resist; still the manner in which it was taken completely undeceived us, if any small hope of peace remained. Loud applause greeted the act of gallantry. "Then two men came down towards us, and began to drive some cows away that were grazing between us and the men on the hill. Safeni asked of one of them, 'Why do you do that?' [Illustration: VILLAGE ENCLOSING CATTLE.] "'Because we are going to begin fighting presently, and if you are men, you may begin to prepare yourselves,' he said, scornfully. "'Thanks, my bold friend,' I muttered to myself. 'Those are the truest words we have heard to-day.' "The two men were retiring up the hill. 'Here, Safeni,' I said, 'take these two fine red cloths in your hand; walk slowly up after them a little way, and the minute you hear my voice run back; and you, my boys, this is for life and death, mind; range yourselves on each side of the boat, lay your hands on it carelessly, but with a firm grip, and when I give the word, push it with the force of a hundred men down the hill into the water. Are you all ready, and do you think you can do it? Otherwise we might as well begin fighting where we are.' 'Yes, Inshallah Master,' they cried out with one voice. [Illustration: HEADS OF SPEARS.] "'Go, Safeni!' "I waited until he had walked fifty yards away, and saw that he acted precisely as I had instructed him. "'Push, my boys; push for your lives!" "The crew bent their heads and strained their arms; the boat began to move, and there was a hissing, grinding noise below me. I seized my double-barrelled elephant rifle and shouted, 'Safeni! Safeni, return!' "The natives were quick-eyed. They saw the boat moving, and with one accord they swept down the hill uttering the most fearful cries. "My boat was at the water's edge. 'Shoot her into the lake, my men; never mind the water;' and, clear of all obstruction, she darted out upon the lake. "Safeni stood for an instant on the water's edge, with the cloths in his hand. The foremost of a crowd of natives was about twenty yards from him. He raised his spear and balanced himself. "'Spring into the water, man, head first,' I cried. "The balanced spear was about to fly, and another man was preparing his weapon for a deadly cast, when I raised my gun and the bullet ploughed through him and through the second. The bowmen halted and drew their bows. I sent two charges of duck-shot into their midst, and the natives retreated from the beach on which the boat had lately lain. "Having checked the natives, I assisted one of my men into the boat, and ordered him to lend a hand to the others, while I reloaded my big guns, keeping my eyes on the natives. There was a point about one hundred yards in length on the east, which sheltered the cove. Some of the natives made a rush for this, but my guns commanded the exposed position, and they were obliged to retire. "The crew seized their rifles, but I told them to leave them alone, and to tear the bottom-boards out of the boat and use them as paddles; for there were two hippopotami advancing upon us open-mouthed, and it seemed as if we were to be crushed in the water after such a narrow escape from the ferocious people ashore. I permitted one of the hippos to approach within ten yards, and, aiming between his eyes, perforated his skull with a three-ounce ball, and the second received such a round that we were not molested by him. "It was 5 P.M. We had only four bananas in the boat, and we were twelve hungry men. If we had a strong fair breeze, a day and a night would suffice to enable us to reach our camp. But if we had head-winds, the journey might occupy a month. Meanwhile, where should we apply for food? Fresh water we had in abundance, sufficient to satisfy the thirst of all the armies of the world for a century. But food? Whither should we turn for it?" [Illustration: CENTRAL AFRICAN GOAT.] Fred paused a few moments while his auditors waited in breathless anxiety for the continuation of the story. "At night a storm came on," said Fred, "and the _Alice_ drifted helplessly, while her occupants, weakened by nearly fifty hours without food and drenched by the rain that fell in torrents, felt that they were about to 'die in the Nyanza' as they had been told to do by the cruel natives of Bumbireh. In the morning the storm abated, and they reached an uninhabited island which Mr. Stanley appropriately named Refuge Island. The men gathered bananas, cherries, and other fruits, while their leader shot some ducks, so that they had an abundant supper, which, you may be sure, was eagerly devoured. They remained two days at Refuge Island to rest and gain strength, and also to make oars to replace those lost at Bumbireh. Then they continued their voyage and reached their old camp at Kagehyi without further molestation or suffering. "The party was welcomed most joyously by Frank Pocock and the men in camp, but the news that greeted the explorer was full of sadness. When he inquired for Fred Barker, young Pocock pointed to a cairn of stones near the shore, and in a low voice said Barker had died twelve days before, and was buried under the cairn. Several of the Zanzibaris had died, including three of the most trustworthy men of the expedition, while some of the worst spirits in the camp were on the verge of mutiny. The natives had continued friendly, and the camp was so well supplied with provisions that those who had preserved their health were in excellent condition. [Illustration: CAIRN ERECTED TO THE MEMORY OF FREDERICK BARKER: MAJITA AND URURI MOUNTAINS IN THE DISTANCE, ACROSS SPEKE GULF.] "Mr. Stanley and those who accompanied him on the boat expedition were greatly reduced by their privations and exposure, Stanley weighing only one hundred and fifteen pounds, or sixty-three pounds less than when he left Zanzibar. Rest was imperative, and in Stanley's case it was accompanied by fever which reduced him to a weight of one hundred and eight pounds in a few days. On the fifth day he had conquered the fever by liberal doses of quinine, but found himself very weak and pale." One of the youths asked what became of Magassa and his fleet of canoes. "That was what worried Mr. Stanley," replied Fred, "and during the delirium of his fever he was constantly asking for the canoes. They never came, and it was necessary to obtain other boats or make the journey by land. After much bargaining and diplomacy twenty-one canoes were purchased from Lukongeh, King of Ukerewé, a large island which separates Speke Gulf from the waters of the lake. They were in poor condition, but, by much patching and calking, were made available for transporting the expedition to Refuge Island, where the boat party retreated after its encounter with the natives of Bumbireh. "Mr. Stanley gives some interesting details concerning the king and people of Ukerewé. "The king, Lukongeh, was a handsome, open-faced, light-colored man about twenty-seven years old; he is supposed to be endowed with supernatural power, and seizes every opportunity to heighten this belief. He is believed to be enabled to create a drought at pleasure, and to cause the land to be drenched with rain. It was fortunate that, since his accession to power, rain had been regular and copious in its season. The king had not been slow to point out this immense advantage which Ukerewé had gained since he succeeded his father; he was therefore beloved and feared. [Illustration: AT THE LANDING-PLACE OF MSOSSI, KING LUKONGEH's CAPITAL.] "Aware of the value of a reputation as rain-maker, he was ambitious to add to it that of 'great medicine man,' and he besought me to impart to him some of the grand secrets of Europe--such as how to transform men into lions and leopards, to cause the rains to fall or cease, the winds to blow, and trees to produce fruit. Demands of this character are commonly made by African chiefs. When I stated my inability to comply with these requests, the king whispered to his chiefs: "'He will not give me what I ask, because he is afraid that he will not get the canoes; but you will see when my men return from Uganda, he will give me all I ask.' [Illustration: STOW-HOUSE FOR GRAIN.] "Many stories were current about the witchcraft practised by the people of Ukara Island, proving that those islanders have been at pains to spread abroad a good repute for themselves, that they are cunning, and, aware that superstition is a weakness of human nature, have sought to thrive upon it. Their power--according to the Wakerew--over the amphibiæ is wonderful. They had crocodiles which were trained to do anything they were told to do, and their king had a hippopotamus which came to him each morning to be milked! [Illustration: WAKEREWÉ STOOL.] "Coils of brass wire are much coveted by the Wakerewé, for the adornment of their wives, who wear it in such numerous circlets round their necks as to give them at a distance an appearance of wearing ruffs. Wristlets of copper and brass and iron, and anklets of the same metal, besides armlets of ivory, are the favorite decorations of the men. "Owing to the size of the expedition and the limited capacity of the canoes, it required two journeys of the flotilla to transport the entire party, with its baggage, from Kagehyi to Refuge Island. The work was safely accomplished, friendly terms were made with the natives in the vicinity; and now," said Fred, as he closed the book, "we will leave the entire party until we assemble again in the evening." [Illustration: WAKEREWÉ DWELLING-HOUSE.] [Illustration: FISH-NETS.] [Illustration: WAKEREWÉ CANOES.] [Illustration: WAKEREWÉ WARRIOR.] [Illustration: STRANGE GRANITE ROCKS OF UZUI ISLAND, MIDWAY BETWEEN USUKUMA AND UKEREWÉ. (_From a Photograph by Mr. Stanley._)] CHAPTER V. DEPARTURE FROM REFUGE ISLAND.--ARRIVAL IN UGANDA.--MTESA AT WAR.--STANLEY JOINS HIM AT RIPON FALLS.--A NAVAL BATTLE ON AN AFRICAN LAKE.--THE WAGANDA REPULSED.--CAPTURE OF A WAVUMA CHIEF.--STANLEY SAVES THE CHIEF'S LIFE.--HOW STANLEY BROUGHT THE WAR TO AN END.--HIS WONDERFUL MACHINE FOR DESTROYING THE WAVUMA.--RETIREMENT OF THE ARMY.--STANLEY'S RETURN TO HIS CAMP.--EXPEDITION TO MUTA NZEGE.--HOW IT FAILED.--THE EXPEDITION MARCHES SOUTHWARD.--IN KING RUMANIKA'S COUNTRY.--ARAB TRADERS IN AFRICA.--HAMED IBRAHIM.--KAFURRO AND LAKE WINDERMERE.--INTERVIEWS WITH KING RUMANIKA.--EXPLORING LAKE WINDERMERE.--AN UNHAPPY NIGHT.--IHEMA ISLAND. When the party assembled in the evening Fred was promptly in his place and ready for work. By way of testing the memories of his auditors he asked them where they left Mr. Stanley's expedition at the end of the afternoon's reading. "We left it at Refuge Island," replied one of the youths. "The canoes had made two journeys each way, between Kagehyi and Refuge Island, to bring up the men and baggage." [Illustration: USUKUMA CANOE.] "Quite right," said Fred, "and at Refuge Island they remained for several days, negotiating for a peaceful passage by the island of Bumbireh. A search expedition, which was sent by King Mtesa to ascertain what had become of his friend 'Stamlee,' joined them, and together there was a sufficient number of canoes to carry the whole party to Uganda. "But on arriving in Uganda," Fred continued, "Mr. Stanley found that Mtesa had gone to war with the Wavuma, who dwell on the farther shore of the lake, and beyond the Victoria Nile. He had marched to Usoga and fought a battle with the Wavuma, and was then preparing a naval expedition on a grand scale. Stanley was inclined to turn back when he heard this news, as he feared the delay which the war would cause. After due consideration he decided to go on, as the greater ease with which he could travel to the Muta Nzege would offset any delay caused by Mtesa's war. [Illustration: ISLAND CALLED ELEPHANT ROCK.] "He found Mtesa with his army at Ripon Falls, on the Usoga side of the river. Warriors, women, camp-followers, and all numbered nearly two hundred and fifty thousand, and, besides, he had a flotilla of three hundred and twenty-five canoes, large and small. The enemy was in great strength, though less numerous. They had a strong position on an island, and everything promised a severely contested battle, with the chances in favor of Mtesa. The army remained several days at Ripon Falls after Stanley's arrival, and then marched to a point of land near Ingira, the island where the Wavuma had their stronghold. During the delay in camp the king and his guest were often together, and Stanley embraced the opportunity to renew his religious instruction of Mtesa. He made an abstract of the Scriptures, which were translated into Swahili, and thus the king had all the principal events of the Bible, from the Creation to the Crucifixion, in a language he could read. Finally the king declared that he would renounce the faith of Islam, and accept Christianity, as he believed its principles were the best. "'Stamlee,' said Mtesa, as they parted, 'say to the white people when you write to them, that I am like a man sitting in darkness, or born blind, and that all I ask is that I may be taught how to see, and I shall continue a Christian while I live.' [Illustration: MTESA'S CAMP INGIRA.] "The fleets of Mtesa and the Wavuma people had several encounters, but without any decisive results. Mr. Stanley thus describes one of these naval battles: "The drums sounded from the water-side, and soon the beautiful canoes of Uganda appeared in view. The entire war-fleet of two hundred and thirty vessels rode gracefully on the calm gray waters of the channel. "The line of battle was formed by Chambarango, in command of the right flank, with fifty canoes; Sambuzi, Mukavya, Chikwata, and Saruti, all sub-chiefs, were ranged with one hundred canoes, under the command of Kauta, the imperial steward, to form the centre; the left flank was in charge of the gallant Mkwenda, who had eighty canoes. Tori commanded a force of musketeers, and with his four howitzers was stationed on the causeway, which was by this time two hundred yards from the shore. "In the above manner the fleet of vessels, containing some sixteen thousand men, moved to the attack upon Ingira. The centre, defended by the flanks, which were to menace the rear of the Wavuma should they approach near the causeway, resolutely advanced to within thirty yards of Ingira, and poured in a most murderous fire among the slingers of the island, who, imagining that the Waganda meant to carry the island by storm, boldly stood exposed, resolved to fight. But they were unable to maintain that courageous behavior long. Mkwenda then moved up from the left, and attacked with his musketeers the Wavuma on the right, riddling their canoes, and making matters specially hot for them in that quarter. [Illustration: ONE OF THE GREAT NAVAL BATTLES BETWEEN THE WAGANDA AND THE WAVUMA, IN THE CHANNEL BETWEEN INGIRA ISLAND AND CAPE NAKARANGA.] "The Wavuma, seeing matters approaching a crisis, and not wishing to die tamely, manned their canoes, and one hundred and ninety-six dashed impetuously, as at first, from the rushes of Ingira with loud, shrill yells, and the Waganda lines moved backward to the centre of the channel, where they bravely and coolly maintained their position. As the centre of the Uganda line parted in front of the causeway and disclosed the hotly advancing enemy, Tori aimed the howitzers and fired at a group of about twenty canoes, completely shattering more than half of them, and, reloading one quickly, he discharged several bolts of iron three inches long among them with terrible effect. Before this cool bearing of the Waganda the Wavuma retired to their island again, and we saw numbers of canoes discharging their dead and wounded, and the Waganda were summoned to Nakaranga shore to receive the congratulations of the emperor and the applause of the vast multitude. Mtesa went down to the water's edge to express his satisfaction at their behavior. [Illustration: SMALL CANOE.] "'Go at them again,' said he, 'and show them what fighting is.' And the line of battle was again formed, and again the Wavuma darted from the cover of the reeds and water-cane with the swiftness of hungry sharks, beating the water into foam with their paddles, and rending the air with their piercing yells. It was one of the most exciting and animating scenes I ever beheld. The Waganda distinguished themselves for coolness and method, and the Wavuma, as on a former occasion, for intrepidity and desperate courage." [Illustration: VIEW OF THE COUNTRY NEAR MTESA'S CAMP.] "Mtesa did not make any progress in his war upon the Wavuma," said Fred, "and became very ill-natured in consequence. One day he captured a Wavuma chief, whom he proposed to burn to death. The man was bound to a stake, and fagots were piled around him ready to be lighted, when Stanley interfered. With great difficulty, and only upon the threat of going away immediately, he succeeded in persuading Mtesa not to carry out his intention. Mtesa had repeatedly asked Stanley's advice and assistance. Stanley was anxious to end the war, and continue his journey, and at the same time he wished to prevent bloodshed. So he proposed to the king that in return for granting his request to spare the life of the Wavuma chief he would build something that would strike terror to the Wavuma and force them to submit. Let us hear his story of what he did: "'You must give me plenty of men to help me, and in three days I shall be ready,' I said to Mtesa. 'Meantime shout out to the Wavuma from the causeway that you have something which will be so terrible that it will finish the war at once.' "'Take everybody, do anything you like; I will give you Sekebobo and all his men.' "The next morning Sekebobo brought about two thousand men before my quarters, and requested to know my will. I told him to despatch one thousand men to cut long poles one inch thick, three hundred to cut poles three inches thick and seven feet long, one hundred to cut straight long trees four inches thick, and one hundred to disbark all these and make bark rope. Himself and five hundred men I wished to assist me at the beach. The chief communicated my instructions and urged them to be speedy, as it was the emperor's command, and himself accompanied me to the canoe fleet. "I selected three of the strongest-built canoes, each seventy feet long and six and a half feet wide, and, after preparing a space of ground near the water's edge, had them drawn up parallel with one another, and four feet apart from each other. With these three canoes I began to construct a floating platform, laying the tall trees across the canoes, and lashing them firmly to the thwarts, and as fast as the seven-foot poles came I had them lashed in an upright position to the thwarts of the outer canoes, and as fast as the inch poles arrived I had them twisted in among these uprights, so that when completed it resembled an oblong stockade, seventy feet long by twenty-seven feet wide, which the spears of the enemy could not penetrate. [Illustration: THE FLOATING FORTLET MOVING TOWARDS INGIRA.] "On the afternoon of the second day the floating fort was finished, and Mtesa and his chiefs came down to the beach to see it launched and navigated for a trial trip. The chiefs, when they saw it, began to say it would sink, and communicated their fears to Mtesa, who half believed them. But the emperor's women said to him: 'Leave Stamlee alone; he would not make such a thing if he did not know that it would float.' "On receiving orders to launch it, I selected sixty paddlers, and one hundred and fifty musketeers of the body-guard to stand by to embark as soon as it should be afloat, and appointed Tori and one of my own best men to superintend its navigation, and told them to close the gate of the fort as soon as they pushed off from the land. About one thousand men were then set to work to launch it, and soon it was floating in the water, and when the crew and garrison, two hundred and fourteen souls, were in it, it was evident to all that it rode the waves of the lake easily and safely-- "'The invention all admired, and each how he To be the inventor missed, so easy it seemed Once found, which yet unfound most would have thought Impossible'-- "and a burst of applause from the army rewarded the inventor. "Several long blue Kaniki and white and red cloths were hoisted above this curious structure, which, when closed up all round, appeared to move of its own accord in a very mysterious manner, and to conceal within its silent and impenetrable walls some dread thing, well calculated to strike terror into the mind of the ignorant savage. "At eight o'clock, on the morning of the 13th of October, the army was assembled at Nakaranga with unusual display, and it was proclaimed across the strait from the extremity of the causeway, that a terrible thing was approaching which would blow them into atoms if they did not make peace at once, and acknowledge the power of Mtesa; and I believe that they declared that all the Muzimus and the charms of Uganda were within, for I heard something said about Muzimu and Uganda. The old Mvuma chief was also placed in prominent view, and induced to urge them to accept the terms which Mtesa offered, viz., pardon to all, provided they went through the form of submission. After this announcement, which was made with all gravity, the awful mysterious structure appeared, while the drums beat a tremendous sound, and the multitude of horns blew a deafening blast. "It was a moment of anxiety to me, for manifold reasons. The fort, perfectly defensible in itself against the most furious assaults by men armed with spears, steadily approached the point, then steered direct for the island of Ingira, until it was within fifty yards. "'Speak,' said a stentorian voice, amid a deathly silence within. 'What will you do? Will you make peace and submit to Mtesa, or shall we blow up the island? Be quick and answer.' "There was a moment's consultation among the awe-stricken Wavuma. Immediate decision was imperative. The structure was vast, totally unlike anything that was ever visible on the waters of their sea. There was no person visible, yet a voice spoke clear and loud. Was it a spirit, the Wazimu of all Uganda, more propitious to their enemy's prayers than those of the Wavuma? It might contain some devilish, awful thing, something similar to the evil spirits which in their hours of melancholy and gloom their imagination invoked. There was an audacity and confidence in its movements that was perfectly appalling. "'Speak,' repeated the stern voice; 'we cannot wait longer.' "Immediately, to our relief, a man, evidently a chief, answered, 'Enough; let Mtesa be satisfied. We will collect the tribute to-day, and will come to Mtesa. Return, O spirit, the war is ended!' At which the mysterious structure solemnly began its return back to the cove where it had been constructed, and the quarter of a million of savage human beings, spectators of the extraordinary scene, gave a shout that seemed to split the very sky, and Ingira's bold height repeated the shock of sound back to Nakaranga. [Illustration: UGANDA WAR CANOE.] "Three hours afterwards, a canoe came from Ingira Island, bearing fifty men, some of whom were chiefs. They brought with them several tusks of ivory, which were delivered over to the charge of the steward. The old Mvuma chief was surrendered to his tribe, and thus the long war terminated on the evening of the 13th of October, 1875. "Glad shouts from both sides announced all parties equally pleased. The same afternoon, the canoe fleet of Uganda, which had by this time been reduced to two hundred and seventy-five in number, was escorted as far as Jinja by twenty Wavuma canoes, and after it had departed and rounded Namagongo Point, releasing their late foe from all fear of treachery, the Wavuma canoes presented us with a peaceful exhibition of their dexterity, and gave us an opportunity of viewing them more distinctly than we had previously been able to do through the smoke of gunpowder." [Illustration: WANGWANA HUT IN CAMP.] "As soon as peace was declared," said Fred, after a pause, "the king returned to his capital, and the army was dispersed. Mr. Stanley accompanied the king, and, after resting a few days, reminded Mtesa of his promise to give him a powerful escort to take the expedition to the Muta Nzege, a lake lying to the south of Albert Lake, and about two hundred miles west of Victoria Lake. Mtesa did as he had agreed, and sent an escort of about two thousand warriors under command of a general named Sambuzi. Escorted by several war-canoes, Stanley went to Dumo, where his camp had been established during the time the leader was absent with Mtesa in the war against the Wavuma. Frank Pocock had remained at the camp, and Stanley was greatly pleased to find everything in order and his men in excellent condition. [Illustration: HUT AT JINJA.] "The men had built comfortable huts and were abundantly supplied with food. The natives all around them were friendly in obedience to the orders they received from the king; altogether the Zanzibaris were having such a good time that they were in no hurry to leave. [Illustration: HEAD OF CENTRAL AFRICAN HARTEBEEST.] "On the seventh day after his return to Dumo, Stanley began his march towards the Katonga River, where he was to meet the Waganda escort under Sambuzi for the journey to Muta Nzege. He was obliged to halt several days at a place called Kikoma to wait for Sambuzi; the country was full of wild animals, and Stanley took advantage of the halt to shoot game to supply meat for the expedition. In five days he killed fifty-seven hartebeest, two zebra, and one water-buck. Lions and leopards were said to be abundant, but he did not get a shot at them. [Illustration: THE CAMP OF THE EXPEDITION.] "On New Year's day, 1876, the expedition crossed the boundary between Uganda and Unyoro. The king of the latter country was at war with the Egyptians who had established themselves on Albert Lake, and it was very soon evident that he would oppose the invasion of his territory by Stanley's expedition. Mr. Stanley sent out scouts to ascertain the state of affairs, and their interviews with the natives showed that the latter intended to fight. A mission to the king failed to secure permission to proceed, but during the time required for the mission Stanley had reached a point only a few miles from the lake. "Much of the country on the line of march was rough and picturesque, and Mr. Stanley names it the Switzerland of Africa. Mount Edwin Arnold is near the site of one of the camps of the expedition; it is estimated to be nine thousand feet above the level of the sea. [Illustration: MOUNT EDWIN ARNOLD.] "The courage of the Waganda disappeared when there was a prospect of fighting, and in spite of all the arguments which Mr. Stanley advanced they determined to return to their own country. He reached the shore of the lake, but finding the king bent upon war, and the Waganda refusing to remain with him, he was forced to leave without making the desired exploration. He was bitterly disappointed at the failure of this part of his expedition, but there was no help for it." "Did he go back to King Mtesa's capital," asked one of the listeners, "or continue his journey another way?" [Illustration: MARCHING TOWARDS MUTA NZEGE: MOUNT GORDON-BENNETT IN THE DISTANCE.] "He went to the frontier of Uganda, but not to the capital," replied Fred. "There he parted with Sambuzi and decided to travel southward to Lake Tanganika with no other escort than his own men. Mtesa sent to him the offer of an escort of fifty thousand or one hundred thousand men to Muta Nzege, but after his experiences with Waganda soldiers he declined the offer with many thanks, and presents of cloth, beads, and other valuable things. Then he marched southward into Karagwé, the country of King Rumanika, where he was hospitably received. Here is his account of his reception: [Illustration: GRASS-ROOFED HUT, UNYORO.] [Illustration: NATIVE HUT, KARAGWÉ.] "On the 25th of February we entered the Arab depot of Kafurro, in Karagwé. The place owes its importance to being a settlement of two or three rich Arab traders, Hamed Ibrahim, Sayid bin Sayf, and Sayid the Muscati. It is situated within a deep hollow or valley fully twelve hundred feet below the tops of the surrounding mountains, and at the spring source of a stream flowing east and afterwards north to the Alexandra Nile. "Hamed Ibrahim is rich in cattle, slaves, and ivory. Assuming his own figures to be correct, he possesses one hundred and fifty cattle, bullocks, and milch cows, forty goats, one hundred slaves, and four hundred and fifty tusks of ivory, the greater part of which last is reported to be safely housed in the safe-keeping of his friend the chief of Urangwa in Unyamwezi. "Hamed has a spacious and comfortable gable-roofed house. He is a fine, gentlemanly-looking Arab, of a light complexion, generous and hospitable to friends, liberal to his slaves, and kind to everybody. He has lived eighteen years in Africa, twelve of which have been spent in Karagwé. He knew Suna, the warlike Emperor of Uganda, and father of Mtesa. He has travelled to Uganda frequently, and several times made the journey between Unyanyembé and Kafurro. Having lived so long in Karagwé, he is friendly with Rumanika, who, like Mtesa, loves to attract strangers to his court. [Illustration: VIEW NEAR KAFURRO.] "Hamed has endeavored several times to open trade with the powerful Empress of Ruanda, but has each time failed. Though some of his slaves succeeded in reaching the imperial court, only one or two managed to effect their escape from the treachery and extraordinary guile practised there. Nearly all perished by poison. [Illustration: CENTRAL AFRICAN ANTELOPE, KARAGWÉ.] "'All these people,' said he, 'about here are as different from the ordinary Washensi--pagans--as I am different from them. When you go to see Rumanika, you will see some Wanya-Ruanda, and you may then judge for yourself. The people of that country are not cowards. They have taken Kishakka, Muvari, and have lately conquered Mpororo. The Waganda measured their strength with them, and were obliged to retreat. The Wanya-Ruanda are a great people, but they are covetous, malignant, treacherous, and utterly untrustworthy. They have never yet allowed an Arab to trade in their country, which proves them to be a bad lot. There is plenty of ivory there, and during the last eight years Khamis bin Abdullah, Tippu-Tib, Sayid bin Habib, and I myself have attempted frequently to enter there, but none of us has ever succeeded. Even Rumanika's people are not allowed to penetrate far, though he permits everybody to come into his country, and he is a man of their own blood and their own race, and speaks with little difference their own language.' "Hamed Ibrahim was not opening out very brilliant prospects before me, nevertheless I resolved to search out in person some known road to this strange country that I might make a direct course to Nyangwé. "On the third day after arrival, the king having been informed of my intended visit, Hamed Ibrahim and Sayid bin Sayf accompanied me on an official visit to Rumanika, King of Karagwé, and a tributary of Mtesa, Emperor of Uganda. "Kafurro, according to aneroid barometer, is 3950 feet above the ocean. Ascending the steep slope of the mountain west of Kafurro, we gained an altitude of 5150 feet, and half an hour afterwards stood upon a ridge 5350 feet above the sea, whence we obtained a most grand and imposing view. Some six hundred feet below us was a grassy terrace overlooking the small Windermere Lake, one thousand feet below, its placid surface rivalling in color the azure of the cloudless heaven. Across a narrow ridge we looked upon the broad and papyrus-covered valley of the Alexandra, while many fair blue lakelets north and south, connected by the winding silver line of the Alexandra Nile, suggested that here exploring work of a most interesting character was needed to understand the complete relations of lake, river, and valley to one another. "Beyond the broad valley rose ridge after ridge, separated from each other by deep parallel basins or valleys, and behind these, receding into dim and vague outlines, towered loftier ridges. About sixty miles off, to the northwest, rose a colossal sugar-loaf clump of enormous altitude, which I was told was the Ufumbiro Mountains. From their northern base extended Mpororo country and South Ruanda. [Illustration: VIEW OF UFUMBIRO MOUNTAINS FROM MOUNT NEAR MTAGATA HOT SPRINGS.] "On the grassy terrace below us was situated Rumanika's village, fenced round by a strong and circular stockade, to which we now descended after having enjoyed a noble and inspiriting prospect. "Our procession was not long in attracting hundreds of persons, principally youths, all the latter being perfectly nude. "'Who are these?' I inquired of Sheik Hamed. "'Some of the youngest are sons of Rumanika, others are young Wanya-Ruanda,' he replied. "The sons of Rumanika, nourished on a milk diet, were in remarkably good condition. Their unctuous skins shone as though the tissues of fat beneath were dissolving in the heat, and their rounded bodies were as taut as a drum-head. Their eyes were large, and beaming and lustrous with life, yet softened by an extreme gentleness of expression. The sculptor might have obtained from any of these royal boys a dark model for another statue to rival the classic Antinous. "As we were followed by the youths, who welcomed us with a graceful courtesy, the appropriate couplet came to my mind-- "Thrice happy race! that, innocent of blood, From milk innoxious seek their simple food." "We were soon ushered into the hut wherein Rumanika sat expectant, with one of the kindliest, most paternal smiles it would be possible to conceive. [Illustration: RUMANIKA'S TREASURE-HOUSE.] "I confess to have been as affected by the first glance at this venerable and gentle pagan as though I gazed on the serene and placid face of some Christian patriarch or saint of old, whose memory the Church still holds in reverence. His face reminded me of a deep, still well; the tones of his voice were so calm that, unconsciously, they compelled me to imitate him, while the quick, nervous gestures and the bold voice of Sheik Hamed, seeming entirely out of place, jarred upon me. "It was no wonder that the peremptory and imperious, vivid-eyed Mtesa respected and loved this sweet-tempered pagan. Though they had never met, Mtesa's pages had described him, and with their powers of mimicry had brought the soft, modulated tones of Rumanika to his ears as truly as they had borne his amicable messages to him. "Nature, which had endowed Mtesa with a nervous and intense temperament, had given Rumanika the placid temper, the soft voice, the mild benignity, and pleasing character of a gentle father. "The king appeared to me, clad as he was in red blanket-cloth, when seated, a man of middle size; but when he afterwards stood up he rose to the gigantic stature of six feet six inches, or thereabouts, for the top of my head, as we walked side by side, only reached near his shoulders. His face was long, and his nose somewhat Roman in shape; the profile showed a decidedly refined type. "Our interview was very pleasing, and he took excessive interest in every question I addressed to him. When I spoke he imposed silence on his friends, and leaned forward with eager attention. If I wished to know anything about the geography of the country, he immediately sent for some particular person who was acquainted with that portion, and inquired searchingly of him as to his knowledge. He chuckled when he saw me use my note-book, as though he had some large personal interest in the number of notes I took. He appeared to be more and more delighted as their bulk increased, and triumphantly pointed out to the Arabs the immense superiority of the whites to them. [Illustration: A SPEARMAN OF KARAGWÉ.] "He expressed himself as only too glad that I should explore his country. It was a land, he said, that white men ought to know. It possessed many lakes and rivers, and mountains and hot springs, and many other things which no other country could boast of. "'Which do you think best, Stamlee--Karagwé or Uganda?' "'Karagwé is grand; its mountains are high, and its valleys deep. The Kagera is a grand river, and the lakes are very pretty. There are more cattle in Karagwé than in Uganda, except Uddu and Koki; and game is abundant. But Uganda is beautiful and rich; its banana plantations are forests, and no man need to fear starvation, and Mtesa is good--and so is Father Rumanika,' I replied, smiling, to him. [Illustration: MOUNTAIN SCENE IN KARAGWÉ.] "'Do you hear him, Arabs? Does he not speak well? Yes, Karagwé is beautiful,' he sighed, contentedly. 'But bring your boat up, and place it on the Rweru (lake), and you can go up the river as far as Kishakka, and down to Morongo (the falls), where the water is thrown against a big rock and leaps over it, and then goes down to the Nianja of Uganda. Verily, my river is a great one; it is the mother of the river at Jinja (Ripon Falls).' [Illustration: BOAT ON LAKE WINDERMERE.] "By the 6th of March Frank had launched the boat from the landing at Kazinga village, on the waters of the Windermere Lake,[6] or the Rweru of Rumanika, and the next day Rumanika accompanied me in state to the water. Half a dozen heavy anklets of bright copper adorned his legs, bangles of the same metal encircled his wrists, and a robe of crimson flannel was suspended from his shoulders. His walking-staff was seven feet in length, and his stride was a yard long. Drummers and fifers discoursing a wild music, and fifty spearmen, besides his sons and relatives, Wanya-Ruanda, Waganda, Wasui, Wanyamwezi, Arabs, and Wangwana, followed us in a mixed multitude. [6] This lake received its name from Captain Speke, because Colonel Grant, his companion, thought it resembled the Windermere Lake in England. "Four canoes, manned by Wamyambu, were at hand to race with our boat, while we took our seats on the grassy slopes of Kazinga to view the scene. I enjoined Frank and the gallant boat's crew to exert themselves for the honor of us Children of the Ocean, and not to permit the Children of the Lakes to excel us. "A boat and canoe race on the Windermere of Karagwé, with twelve hundred gentle-mannered natives gazing on! An African international affair! Rumanika was in his element; every fibre of him tingled with joy at the prospective fun. His sons, seated around him, looked up into their father's face, their own reflecting his delight. The curious natives shared in the general gratification. "The boat-race was soon over; it was only for about eight hundred yards, to Kankorogo Point. There was not much difference in the speed, but it gave immense satisfaction. The native canoe-men, standing up with their long paddles, strained themselves with all their energy, stimulated by the shouts of their countrymen, while the Wangwana on the shore urged the boat's crew to their utmost power. "The next day we began the circumnavigation of the Windermere. The extreme length of the lake during the rainy season is about eight miles, and its extreme breadth two and a half. It lies north and south, surrounded by grass-covered mountains, which rise from twelve hundred to fifteen hundred feet above it. There is one island, called Kankorogo, situated midway between Mount Isossi and the extreme southern end. The soil of the shores is highly ferruginous in color, and, except in the vicinity of the villages, produces only euphorbia, thorny gum, acacia, and aloetic plants. "On the 9th we pulled abreast of Kankorogo Island, and, through a channel from five hundred to eight hundred yards wide, directed our course to the Kagera, up which we had to contend against a current of two knots and a half an hour. "The breadth of the river varied from fifty to one hundred yards. The average depth of all the ten soundings we made on this day was fifty-two feet along the middle; close to the papyrus walls, which grew like a forest above us, was a depth of nine feet. Sometimes we caught a view of hippopotamus creeks running up for hundreds of yards on either side through the papyrus. At Kagayyo, on the left bank, we landed for a short time to take a view of the scene around, as, while in the river, we could see nothing except the papyrus, the tops of the mountain ridges of Karagwé, and the sky. "We then learned for the first time the true character of what we had imagined to be a valley when we gazed upon it from the summit of the mountain between Kafurro and Rumanika's capital. [Illustration: KAGERA SKIFF.] "The Ingezi, as the natives called it, embraces the whole space from the base of the Mountains of Muvari to that of the Karagwé ridges with the river called Kagera, the Funzo or the papyrus, and the Rwerus or lakes, of which there are seventeen, inclusive of Windermere. Its extreme width between the bases of the opposing mountains is nine miles; the narrowest part is about a mile, while the entire acreage covered by it from Morongo or the falls in Iwanda, north, to Uhimba, south, is about three hundred and fifty square miles. The Funzo or papyrus covers a depth of from nine feet to fourteen feet of water. Each of the several lakes has a depth of from twenty to sixty-five feet, and they are all connected, as also is the river, underneath the papyrus. "When about three miles north of Kizinga, at 5 P.M., we drew our boat close to the papyrus, and prepared for our night's rest, and the Wanyambu did the same. [Illustration: NATIVE WOMAN OF FASHION.] "The boat's crew crushed down some of the serest papyrus, and, cutting off the broom-like tops, spread their mats upon the heap thus made, flattering themselves that they were going to have a cosey night of it. Their fires they kindled between three stalks, which sustained their cooking-pots. It was not a very successful method, as the stalks had to be replaced frequently; but, finally, their bananas were done to a turn. At night, however, mosquitoes of a most voracious species attacked them in dense multitudes, and nothing but the constant flip-flap of the papyrus tops, mingled with complaints that they were unable to sleep, were heard for an hour or two. They then began to feel damp, and finally wet, for their beds were sinking into the depths below the papyrus, and they were compelled at last to come into the boat, where they passed a most miserable night, for the mosquitoes swarmed and attacked them until morning with all the pertinacity characteristic of these hungry blood-suckers. "The next day we ascended the Kagera about ten miles, and, returning fourteen miles, entered Ihema Lake, a body of water about fifty square miles, and camped on Ihema Island, about a mile from Muvari. [Illustration: IHEMA HUT.] "The natives of Ihema Island stated to me that Lake Muta Nzege was only eleven days' journey from the Muvari shores, and that the Wanya-Ruanda frequently visited them to obtain fish in exchange for milk and vegetables. They were a genial people, those islanders of Ihema, but they were subject to two painful diseases, leprosy and elephantiasis. The water of the Lake Ihema was good and sweet to the taste, though, like all the waters of the Alexandra Nile, distinguished for its dull, brown, iron color. "We began from the extreme south end of the lake the next day to coast along the Muvari or Ruanda coast, and near a small village attempted to land, but the natives snarled like so many spiteful dogs, and drew their bows, which compelled us--being guests of Rumanika--to sheer off, and leave them in their ferocious exclusiveness. [Illustration: A NATIVE OF UHHA.] "On the 11th we rowed into the Kagera, and descended the river as far as Ugoi, and on the evening of the 12th returned once more to our camp on Windermere." [Illustration: BOAT ON LAKE IHEMA.] Here Fred regarded his watch, and said he would adjourn the reading until next day, when his place would be taken by Frank. The usual vote of thanks was passed unanimously, and then the little band of geographical students separated for the night. [Illustration: HUT OF UGANDA. SMALL TEMBÉ OF UGOGO.] CHAPTER VI. STANLEY TELLS ABOUT KING RUMANIKA.--THE KARAGWÉ GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY.--THE KING'S TREASURE-HOUSE.--GOOD-BYE TO HIS MAJESTY.--HOSTILITY BETWEEN ELEPHANT AND RHINOCEROS.--PLUNDERED IN USUI.--THE SOURCES OF THE ALEXANDRA NILE.--RETROSPECTION.--QUESTIONS OF TOPOGRAPHY.--INSOLENCE OF MANKORONGO.--DEATH OF "BULL."--TROUBLES WITH THE PETTY KINGS.--INTERVIEW WITH THE FAMOUS MIRAMBO.--GENERAL APPEARANCE OF THE RENOWNED AFRICAN.--AN IMPOSING CEREMONY.--BLOOD-BROTHERHOOD.--HOW GRANT'S CARAVAN WAS PLUNDERED.--MYONGA'S THREATS.--A COMPROMISE.--AMONG THE WATUTA.--IN SIGHT OF LAKE TANGANIKA.--ARRIVAL AT UJIJI. During all the forenoon of the following day Frank was busy preparing his matter for the work of the afternoon. When the party of youths had assembled Mr. Stanley came among them and asked at what point in the story of the Dark Continent they stopped on the previous evening. "We were in the country of King Rumanika, I believe it is called Karagwé," said one of the auditors; "and you had just returned from exploring Lake Windermere." [Illustration: HOUSE OF ARAB MERCHANT NEAR RUMANIKA'S VILLAGE.] "Ah, yes," replied Mr. Stanley, "he was a charming old man, that Rumanika, and very fond of strangers. After I had explored the lake he sent for me, and wanted to have a talk on geographical subjects. Of course I went to meet him." "Did he know anything about geography outside of his own country?" was the very natural inquiry of Fred. "Not much," was the reply; "and what he did know was very hazy. But he pretended to know a great deal about Africa, and gave me some startling information, which I gravely put down in my note-book. The sight of that note-book always seemed to inspire him to tell the wildest stories about his country, and I presume he thought I would spread them before my countrymen as the most solemn truths. "For example," continued Mr. Stanley, "he said at one of our meetings: "'Mkinyaga is at the end of Ruanda, and its lake is Muta Nzege, on which you can go to Unyoro. There is a race of dwarfs, somewhere west of Mkinyaga, called the Mpundu, and another called the Batwa, or Watwa, who are only two feet high. In Uriambwa is a race of small people with tails. "'Uitwa, or Batwa--Watwa--is at the extreme south end of Uzongora. "'From Butwa, at the end of a point of land in Ruanda, you can see Uitwa Usongora. "'From Butwa, Mkinyaga is to the left of you about three days' journey. [Illustration: ON THE WAY TO THE MEETING.] "'Some of the Waziwa saw a strange people in one of those far-off lands who had long ears descending to their feet; one ear formed a mat to sleep on, the other served to cover him from the cold, like a dressed hide! They tried to coax one of them to come and see me, but the journey was long, and he died on the way.' "Another time he said: "'Stamlee, how is it, will you tell me, that all white men have long noses, and all their dogs have very short noses, while almost all black men have short noses but their dogs have very long noses?' "He had observed the broad, short nose of my British bull-dog, and hastily arrived at the conclusion that all white men's dogs were pug-nosed. [Illustration: GROUND-PLAN OF KING'S HOUSE.] "Rumanika propounded a great many other questions, which I answered to the best of my ability, and generally to his satisfaction. I was somewhat puzzled about his question regarding the noses, but finally explained that originally the white men and their dogs had noses of the same length. The men had lengthened theirs by constantly smelling the good things they had to eat, while the dogs had shortened their noses by using them to push open the doors of the houses. "Another day," continued Mr. Stanley, quoting from his work: "Rumanika requested Hamed Ibrahim to exhibit the treasures, trophies, and curiosities in the king's museum or armory, which Hamed was most anxious to do, as he had frequently extolled the rare things there. "The armory was a circular hut, resembling externally a dome, thatched neatly with straw. It was about thirty feet in diameter. "The weapons and articles of brass, and copper, and iron, were in perfect order, and showed that Rumanika did not neglect his treasures. [Illustration: TREASURE-HOUSE, ARMS, AND TREASURES OF RUMANIKA.] "There were about sixteen rude brass figures of ducks with copper wings, ten curious things of the same metal, which were meant to represent elands, and ten headless cows of copper. Bill-hooks of iron, of really admirable make, double-bladed spears, several gigantic blades of exceedingly keen edge, eight inches across and eighteen inches in length; exquisite spears, some with blades and staves of linked iron; others with chain-shaped staves, and several with a cluster of small rigid rings massed at the bottom of the blade and the end of the staff; others, copper-bladed, had curious inter-twisted iron rods for the staff. There were also great fly-flaps set in iron, the handles of which were admirable specimens of native art; massive cleaver-looking knives, with polished blades, and a kedge-anchor-shaped article with four hooked iron prongs, projecting out of a brass body. Some exquisite native cloths, manufactured of delicate grass, were indeed so fine as to vie with cotton sheeting, and were colored black and red, in patterns and stripes. The royal stool was a masterpiece of native turnery, being carved out of a solid log of cottonwood. Besides these specimens of native art were drinking-cups, goblets, trenchers, and milk-dishes of wood, all beautifully clean. The fireplace was a circular hearth in the centre of the building, very tastefully constructed. Ranged round the wall along the floor were other gifts from Arab friends, massive copper trays, with a few tureen-lids of Britannia-ware, evidently from Birmingham. Nor must the revolving rifle given to him by Captain Speke be forgotten, for it had an honored place, and Rumanika loves to look at it, for it recalls to his memory the figures of his genial white friends, Speke and Grant. "The enormous drums, fifty-two in number, ranged outside, enabled us, from their very appearance, to guess at the deafening sounds which celebrate the new moon or deliver the signals for war. "My parting with the genial old man was very affecting. He shook my hands many times, saying each time that he was sorry that my visit must be so short. He strictly charged his sons to pay me every attention until I should arrive at Kibogora's, the king of western Usui, who, he was satisfied, would be glad to see me as a friend of Rumanika. "On the 26th of March the expedition, after its month's rest at Kafurro, the whole of which period I had spent in exploration of western Karagwé, resumed its journey, and after a march of five miles camped at Nakawanga, near the southern base of Kibonga Mountain. "On the 27th I had the good-fortune to shoot three rhinoceroses, from the bodies of which we obtained ample supplies of meat for our journey through the wilderness of Uhimba. One of these enormous brutes possessed a horn two feet long, with a sharp, dagger-like point below a stunted horn, nine inches in length. He appeared to have had a tussle with some wild beast, for a hand's-breadth of hide was torn from his rump. "The Wangwana and Wanyambu informed me, with the utmost gravity, that the elephant maltreats the rhinoceros frequently, because of a jealousy that the former entertains of his fiery cousin. "Should a rhinoceros meet an elephant he must observe the rule of the road, and walk away, for the latter brooks no rivalry; but the former is sometimes head-strong, and the elephant then despatches him with his tusks by forcing him against a tree and goring him, or by upsetting him, and leisurely crushing him. "During the next two days we travelled twenty-seven miles south through a depression, or a longitudinal valley, parallel to Uhimba Lake and the course of the Alexandra, with only an intervening ridge excluding the latter from our view. Tall, truncated hill-cones rise every now and then, with a singular resemblance to each other, to the same altitude as the grassy ridges which flank them. Their summits are flat, but the iron-stone faithfully indicates by its erosions the element which separated them from the ridges, and first furrowed the valley. "And now," said Mr. Stanley, "having told you about King Rumanika, and how I left him, I will lapse into silence and let you hear from Frank." With this hint, Frank opened the volume before him and read: [Illustration: THE EXPEDITION TRAVERSING THE VALLEY.] "Uhimba, placed by Rumanika in the charge of his sons, Kakoko, Kananga, and Ruhinda, is sixty-eight miles south of his capital, and consists of a few settlements of herdsmen. I was courteously received by Kakoko, and remained there two days. The next day we entered western Usui, and camped at Kafurra's. In Usui there was a famine, and it required thirty-two doti of cloth to purchase four days' rations. Kibogora, King of Usui, demanded and obtained thirty doti, one coil of wire, and forty necklaces of beads as tribute; Kafurra, his principal chief, demanded ten doti and a quantity of beads; another chief required five doti; the queen required a supply of cloth to wear; the princes put in a claim; the guides were loud for their reward. Thus in four days we were compelled to disburse two bales out of twenty-two--all that were left of the immense store we had departed with from Zanzibar. Under such circumstances what prospect of exploration had we? Were we to continue our journey through Uhha, that land which, in 1871, had consumed at the rate of two bales of cloth per diem? Twenty days of such experience in Uhha would reduce us to beggary. Its 'esurient' Mutwarés and rapacious Mkamas and other extortionate people can only be quieted with cloth and beads disbursed with a princely hand. One hundred bales of cloth would only suffice to sustain a hundred men in Uhha about six weeks. Beyond Uhha lay the impenetrable countries of Urundi and Ruanda, the inhabitants of which were hostile to strangers. [Illustration: POTTERY IN USUI.] "Kibogora and Kafurra were sufficiently explicit and amiably communicative, for my arrival in their country had been under the very best auspices, viz., an introduction from the gentle and beloved Rumanika. "I turned away with a sigh from the interesting land, but with a resolution gradually being intensified, that the third time I sought a road west, nothing should deter me. "On the 7th of April we reluctantly resumed our journey in a southerly direction, and travelled five miles along a ravine, at the bottom of which murmured the infant stream Lohugati. On coming to its source, we ascended a steep slope until we stood upon the summit of a grassy ridge at the height of five thousand six hundred feet by aneroid. "Not until we had descended about a mile to the valley of Uyagoma, did I recognize the importance of this ridge as the water-parting between one of the feeders of Lake Victoria and the source of the Malagarazi, the principal affluent of Lake Tanganika. "Though by striking across Uhha due west, or to the southwest, we should again have reached the Alexandra Nile and the affluents of the Alexandra Lake, our future course was destined never to cross another stream or rivulet that supplied the great river which flows through the land of Egypt into the Mediterranean Sea. "From the 17th of January, 1875, up to the 7th of April, 1876, we had been engaged in tracing the extreme southern sources of the Nile, from the marshy plains and cultivated uplands where they are born, down to the mighty reservoir called the Victoria Nyanza. We had circumnavigated the entire expanse; penetrated to every bay, inlet, and creek; become acquainted with almost every variety of wild human nature--the mild and placable, the ferocious and impracticably savage, the hospitable and the inhospitable, the generous-souled as well as the ungenerous; we had viewed their methods of war, and had witnessed them imbruing their hands in each other's blood with savage triumph and glee; we had been five times sufferers by their lust for war and murder, and had lost many men through their lawlessness and ferocity; we had travelled hundreds of miles to and fro on foot along the northern coast of the Victorian Sea, and, finally, had explored with a large force the strange countries lying between the two lakes Muta Nzege and the Victoria, and had been permitted to gaze upon the arm of the lake named by me 'Beatrice Gulf,' and to drink of its sweet waters. We had then returned from further quest in that direction, unable to find a peaceful resting-place on the lake shores, and had struck south from the Katonga lagoon down to the Alexandra Nile, the principal affluent of the Victoria Lake, which drains nearly all the waters from the west and southwest. We had made a patient survey of over one half of its course, and then, owing to want of the means to feed the rapacity of the churlish tribes which dwell in the vicinity of the Alexandra Nyanza, and to our reluctance to force our way against the will of the natives, opposing unnecessarily our rifles to their spears and arrows, we had been compelled, on the 7th of April, to bid adieu to the lands which supply the Nile, and to turn our faces towards the Tanganika. "I have endeavored to give a faithful portrayal of nature, animate and inanimate, in all its strange, peculiar phases, as they were unfolded to us. I am conscious that I have not penetrated to the depths; but then, I have not ventured beyond the limits assigned me, viz., the Exploration of the Southern Sources of the Nile, and the solution of the problem left unsolved by Speke and Grant--Is the Victoria Nyanza one lake, or does it consist of five lakes, as reported by Livingstone, Burton, and others? This problem has been satisfactorily solved, and Speke has now the full glory of having discovered the largest inland sea on the continent of Africa, also its principal affluent, as well as the outlet. I must also give him credit for having understood the geography of the countries he travelled through better than any of those who so persistently assailed his hypothesis, and I here record my admiration of the geographical genius that, from mere native report, first sketched with such a masterly hand the bold outlines of the Victoria Nyanza. Speke's hypothetic sketch made this lake twenty-nine thousand square miles in extent. My survey of it has reduced it to twenty-one thousand five hundred square miles. "Along the Valley of Uyagoma, in western Usui, stretches east and west a grass-covered ridge, beautiful in places with rock-strewn dingles, tapestried with ferns and moss, and bright with vivid foliage. From two such fair nooks, half-way down either slope, the northern and the southern, drip in great rich drops the sources of two impetuous rivers--on the southern the Malagarazi, on the other the Lohugati. Though nurtured in the same cradle, and issuing within two thousand yards of one another, the twin streams are strangers throughout their lives. Through the thick ferns and foliage the rivulets trickle each down his appointed slope, murmuring as they gather strength to run their destined course--the Lohugati to the Victoria Lake, and the Malagarazi to distant Tanganika. [Illustration: A VILLAGE IN WESTERN USUI.] "While the latter river is in its infancy, collecting its first tribute of waters from the rills that meander down from the mountain folds round the basin of Uyagoma, and is so shallow that tiny children can paddle through it, the people of Usui call it the Meruzi. When we begin our journey from Uyagoma, we follow its broadening course for a couple of hours, through the basin, and by that time it has become a river _nomine dignum_, and, plunging across it, we begin to breast the mountains, which, rising in diagonal lines of ridges from northeast to southwest across Usui, run in broken series into northern Uhha, and there lose themselves in a confusion of complicated masses and clumps. [Illustration: CAMP OF AN ARAB MERCHANT.] "The Meruzi wanders round and through these mountain masses in mazy curves, tumbles from height to height, from terrace to terrace, receiving as it goes the alliance of myriads of petty rivulets and threads of clear water, until, arriving at the grand forest lands of Unyamwezi, it has assumed the name of Lukoke, and serves as a boundary between Unyamwezi and Uhha. "Meanwhile, we have to cross a series of mountain ridges clothed with woods; and at a road leading from Kibogora's land to the territory of the turbulent and vindictive Mankorongo, we meet an embassy, which demands, in a most insolent tone, that we should pass by his village. This means, of course, that we must permit ourselves to be defrauded of two or three bales of cloth, half a dozen guns, a sack or two of beads, and such other property as he may choose to exact, for the privilege of lengthening our journey some forty miles, and a delay of two or three weeks. "The insolent demand is therefore not to be entertained, and we return a decided refusal. They are not satisfied with the answer, and resort to threats. Threats in the free, uninhabited forest constitute a _casus belli_. So the chiefs are compelled to depart without a yard of cloth on the instant, and after their departure we urge our pace until night, and from dawn next morning to 3 P.M. we continue the journey with unabated speed, until we find ourselves in Nyambarri, Usambiro, rejoiced to find that we have foiled the dangerous king. "On the 13th of April we halted to refresh the people. Usambiro, like all Unyamwezi, produces sufficient grain, sesamum, millet, Indian corn, and vetches, besides beans and pease, to supply all caravans and expeditions. I have observed that lands producing grain are more easy of access than pastoral countries, or those which only supply milk, bananas, and potatoes to their inhabitants. "At Nyambarri we met two Arab caravans fresh from Mankorongo, of whom they gave fearful accounts, from which I inferred that the extortionate chief would be by no means pleased when he came to understand how he had been baffled in his idea of spoliating our expedition. "During the march from Nyambarri to Gambawagao, the chief village of Usambiro, ancient "Bull," the last of all the canine companions which left England with me, borne down by weight of years and a land journey of about fifteen hundred miles, succumbed. With bull-dog tenacity he persisted in following the receding figures of the gun-bearers, who were accustomed to precede him in the narrow way. Though he often staggered and moaned, he made strenuous efforts to keep up, but at last, lying down in the path, he plaintively bemoaned the weakness of body that had conquered his will, and soon after died--his eyes to the last looking _forward_ along the track he had so bravely tried to follow. [Illustration: "BULL." (_From a Photograph by Mr Stanley._)] "Poor dog! Good and faithful service had he done me! Who more rejoiced than he to hear the rifle-shot ringing through the deep woods! Who more loudly applauded success than he with his deep, mellow bark! What long forest-tracts of tawny plains, and series of mountain ranges had he not traversed! How he plunged through jungle and fen, morass and stream! In the sable blackness of the night his voice warned off marauders and prowling beasts from the sleeping camp. His growl responded to the hideous jabber of the greedy hyena, and the snarling leopard did not dismay him. He amazed the wondering savages with his bold eyes and bearing, and by his courageous front caused them to retreat before him; and right bravely did he help us to repel the Wanyaturu from our camp in Ituru. Farewell, thou glory of thy race! Rest from thy labors in the silent forest! Thy feet shall no more hurry up the hill or cross mead and plain; thy form shall rustle no more through the grasses, or be plunging to explore the brake; thou shalt no longer dash after me across the savannahs, for thou art gone to the grave, like the rest of thy companions! "The king of Usambiro exchanged gifts with us, and appeared to be a clever, agreeable young man. His people, though professing to be Wanyamwezi, are a mixture of Wahha and Wazinja. He has constructed a strong village, and surrounded it with a fosse four feet deep and six feet wide, with a stockade and 'marksmen's nests' at intervals round it. The population of the capital is about two thousand. "Boma Kiengo, or Msera, lies five miles south-southeast from the capital, and its chief, seeing that we had arrived at such a good understanding with the king, also exerted himself to create a favorable impression. "Musonga lies twelve miles south-southeast of Boma Kiengo, and is the most northerly village of the country of Urangwa. On the 18th of April a march of fifteen miles enabled us to reach the capital, Ndeverva, another large stockaded village, also provided with 'marksmen's nests,' and surrounded by a fosse. "We were making capital marches. The petty kings, though they exacted a small interchange of gifts, which compelled me to disburse cloth a little more frequently than was absolutely necessary, were not insolent, nor so extortionate as to prevent our intercourse being of the most friendly character. But on the day we arrived at Urangwa, lo! there came up in haste, while we were sociably chatting together, a messenger to tell us that the phantom, the bugbear, the terror whose name silences the children of Unyamwezi and Usukuma, and makes women's hearts bound with fear, that Mirambo himself was coming--that he was only two camps, or about twenty miles, away--that he had an immense army of Ruga-Ruga (bandits) with him! "The consternation at this news, the dismay and excitement, the discussion and rapid interchange of ideas suggested by terror throughout the capital, may be conceived. Barricades were prepared, sharp-shooters' platforms, with thick bulwarks of logs, were erected. The women hastened to prepare their charms, the Waganda consulted their spirits, each warrior and elder examined his guns and loaded them, ramming the powder down the barrels of their Brummagem muskets with desperately vengeful intentions, while the king hastened backward and forward with streaming robes of cotton behind him, animated by an hysterical energy. "I had one hundred and seventy-five men under my command, and forty of the Arabs' people were with me, and we had many boxes of ammunition. The king recollected these facts, and said, 'You will stop to fight Mirambo, will you not?' "'Not I, my friend; I have no quarrel with Mirambo, and we cannot join every native to fight his neighbor. If Mirambo attacks the village while I am here, and will not go away when I ask him, we will fight, but we cannot stop here to wait for him.' "The poor king was very much distressed when we left the next morning. We despatched our scouts ahead, as we usually did when traversing troublous countries, and omitted no precaution to guard against surprise. [Illustration: A HUT AND ITS FRAME.] "On the 19th we arrived at one of the largest villages or towns in Unyamwezi, called Serombo or Sorombo. It was two miles and a half in circumference, and probably contained over a thousand large and small huts, and a population of about five thousand. [Illustration: VIEW IN THE INTERIOR OF AN AFRICAN VILLAGE.] "The present king's name is Ndega, a boy of sixteen, the son of Makaka, who died about two years ago. Too young himself to govern the large settlement and the country round, two elders, or Manyapara, act as regents during his minority. "We were shown to a peculiar-shaped hut, extremely like an Abyssinian dwelling. The height of the doorway was seven feet, and from the floor to the top of the conical roof it was twenty feet. The walls were of interwoven sticks, plastered over neatly with brown clay. The king's house was thirty feet high from the ground to the tip of the cone, and forty feet in diameter within; but the total diameter, including the circular fence or palisade that supported the broad eaves and enclosed a gallery which ran round the house, was fifty-four feet. [Illustration: SEROMBO HUTS.] "Owing to this peculiar construction a desperate body of one hundred and fifty men might from the circular gallery sustain a protracted attack from a vastly superior foe, and probably repel it. "Ndega is a relative of Mirambo by marriage, and he soon quieted all uneasy minds by announcing that the famous man who was now advancing upon Serombo had just concluded a peace with the Arabs, and that therefore no trouble was to be apprehended from his visit, it being solely a friendly visit to his young relative. "Naturally we were all anxious to behold the 'Mars of Africa,' who since 1871 has made his name feared by both native and foreigner from Usui to Urori, and from Uvinza to Ugogo, a country embracing ninety thousand square miles; who, from the village chieftainship over Uyoweh, has made for himself a name as well known as that of Mtesa throughout the eastern half of equatorial Africa, a household word from Nyangwé to Zanzibar, and the theme of many a song of the bards of Unyamwezi, Ukimbu, Ukonongo, Uzinja, and Uvinza. "On the evening of our arrival at Serombo's we heard his Brown Besses--called by the natives Gumeh-Gumeh--announcing to all that the man with the dread name lay not far from our vicinity. "At dusk the huge drums of Serombo signalled silence for the town-criers, whose voices, preceded by the sound of iron bells, were presently heard crying out: "'Listen, O men of Serombo. Mirambo, the brother of Ndega, cometh in the morning. Be ye prepared, therefore, for his young men are hungry. Send your women to dig potatoes, dig potatoes. Mirambo cometh. Dig potatoes, potatoes, dig potatoes, to-morrow!' [Illustration: WAR-DRUM AND IDOL.] "At 10 A.M. the Brown Besses, heavily charged and fired off by hundreds, loudly heralded Mirambo's approach, and nearly all my Wangwana followed the inhabitants of Serombo outside to see the famous chieftain. Great war-drums and the shouts of admiring thousands proclaimed that he had entered the town, and soon little Mabruki, the chief of the tent-boys, and Kachéché, the detective, on whose intelligence I could rely, brought an interesting budget to me. [Illustration: A "RUGA-RUGA," ONE OF MIRAMBO'S PATRIOTS.] "Mabruki said: 'We have seen Mirambo. He has arrived. We have beheld the Ruga-Ruga, and there are many of them, and all are armed with Gumeh-Gumeh. About a hundred are clothed in crimson cloth and white shirts, like our Wangwana. Mirambo is not an old man.' "Kachéché said: 'Mirambo is not old, he is young: I must be older than he is. He is a very nice man, well dressed, quite like an Arab. He wears the turban, fez, and cloth coat of an Arab, and carries a scimitar. He also wears slippers, and his clothes under his coat are very white. I should say he has about a thousand and a half men with him, and they are all armed with muskets or double-barrelled guns. Mirambo has three young men carrying his guns for him. Truly, Mirambo is a great man!' "The shrill Lu-lu-lu's, prolonged and loud, were still maintained by the women, who entertained a great respect for the greatest king in Unyamwezi. "Presently Manwa Sera, the chief captain of the Wangwana, came to my hut, to introduce three young men--Ruga-Ruga (bandits), as we called them, but must do so no more, lest we give offence--handsomely dressed in fine red and blue cloth coats, and snowy white shirts, with ample turbans around their heads. They were confidential captains of Mirambo's body-guard. "'Mirambo sends his salaams to the white man,' said the principal of them. 'He hopes the white man is friendly to him, and that he does not share the prejudices of the Arabs, and believe Mirambo a bad man. If it is agreeable to the white man, will he send words of peace to Mirambo?' "'Tell Mirambo,' I replied, 'that I am eager to see him, and would be glad to shake hands with so great a man; and as I have made strong friendship with Mtesa, Rumanika, and all the kings along the road from Usoga to Unyamwezi, I shall be rejoiced to make strong friendship with Mirambo also. Tell him I hope he will come and see me as soon as he can.' "The next day Mirambo, having despatched a Ruga-Ruga--no, a patriot, I should have said--to announce his coming, appeared with about twenty of his principal men. [Illustration: HILLSIDE HOUSE IN MIRAMBO'S COUNTRY.] "I shook hands with him with fervor, which drew a smile from him as he said, 'The white man shakes hands like a strong friend.' "His person quite captivated me, for he was a thorough African _gentleman_ in appearance, very different from my conception of the terrible bandit who had struck his telling blows at native chiefs and Arabs with all the rapidity of a Frederick the Great environed by foes. "I entered the following notes in my journal on April 22, 1876: "'This day will be memorable to me for the visit of the famous Mirambo. He was the reverse of all my conceptions of the redoubtable chieftain, and the man I had styled the "terrible bandit." "'He is a man about five feet eleven inches in height, and about thirty-five years old, with not an ounce of superfluous flesh about him. A handsome, regular-featured, mild-voiced, soft-spoken man, with what one might call a "meek" demeanor, very generous and open-handed. The character was so different from that which I had attributed to him that for some time a suspicion clung to my mind that I was being imposed upon, but Arabs came forward who testified that this quiet-looking man was indeed Mirambo. I had expected to see something of the Mtesa type, a man whose exterior would proclaim his life and rank; but this unpresuming, mild-eyed man, of inoffensive, meek exterior, whose action was so calm, without a gesture, presented to the eye nothing of the Napoleonic genius which he has for five years displayed in the heart of Unyamwezi, to the injury of Arabs and commerce, and the doubling of the price of ivory. I said there was _nothing_; but I must except the eyes, which had the steady, calm gaze of a master. [Illustration: UNYAMWEZI CHIEF AND HIS WIFE.] "'During the conversation I had with him, he said he preferred boys or young men to accompany him to war; he never took middle-aged or old men, as they were sure to be troubled with wives or children, and did not fight half so well as young fellows who listened to his words. Said he, "They have sharper eyes, and their young limbs enable them to move with the ease of serpents or the rapidity of zebras, and a few words will give them the hearts of lions. In all my wars with the Arabs, it was an army of youths that gave me victory, boys without beards. Fifteen of my young men died one day because I said I must have a certain red cloth that was thrown down as a challenge. No, no; give me youths for war in the open field, and men for the stockaded village." "'"What was the cause of your war, Mirambo, with the Arabs?" I asked. "'"There was a good deal of cause. The Arabs got the big head" (proud), "and there was no talking with them. Mkasiwa of Unyanyembé lost his head too, and thought I was his vassal, whereas I was not. My father was king of Uyoweh, and I was his son. What right had Mkasiwa or the Arabs to say what I ought to do? But the war is now over--the Arabs know what I can do, and Mkasiwa knows it. We will not fight any more, but we will see who can do the best trade, and who is the smartest man. Any Arab or white man who would like to pass through my country is welcome. I will give him meat and drink, and a house, and no man shall hurt him."' "Mirambo retired, and in the evening I returned his visit with ten of the principal Wangwana. I found him in a bell-tent twenty feet high, and twenty-five feet in diameter, with his chiefs around him. "Manwa Sera was requested to seal our friendship by performing the ceremony of blood brotherhood between Mirambo and myself. Having caused us to sit fronting each other on a straw carpet, he made an incision in each of our right legs, from which he extracted blood, and, interchanging it, he exclaimed aloud: "'If either of you break this brotherhood now established between you, may the lion devour him, the serpent poison him, bitterness be in his food, his friends desert him, his gun burst in his hands and wound him, and everything that is bad do wrong to him until death.' "My new brother then gave me fifteen cloths to be distributed among my chiefs, while he would accept only three from me. But, not desirous of appearing illiberal, I presented him with a revolver and two hundred rounds of ammunition, and some small curiosities from England. Still ambitious to excel me in liberality, he charged five of his young men to proceed to Urambo, and to select three milch-cows with their calves, and three bullocks, to be driven to Ubagwé to meet me. He also gave me three guides to take me along the frontier of the predatory Watuta. [Illustration: SHIELD AND DRUM.] "On the morning of the 23d he accompanied me outside Serombo, where we parted on the very best terms with each other. An Arab in his company, named Sayid bin Mohammed, also presented me with a bar of Castile soap, a bag of pepper, and some saffron. A fine riding-ass, purchased from Sayid, was named Mirambo by me, because the Wangwana, who were also captivated by Mirambo's agreeable manners, insisted on it. "We halted on the 23d at Mayangira, seven miles and a half from Serombo, and on the 24th, after a protracted march of eleven miles south-southeast over flooded plains, arrived at Ukombeh. "Through similar flooded plains, with the water hip-deep in most places, and after crossing an important stream flowing west-southwest towards the Malagarazi, we arrived at Myonga's village, the capital of southern Masumbwa. [Illustration: COLOR-PARTY OF AN ENGLISH EXPEDITION IN AFRICA.] "This Myonga is the same valorous chief who robbed Colonel Grant as he was hurrying with an undisciplined caravan after Speke. (See Speke's Journal, page 159, for the following graphic letter: "'IN THE JUNGLES, NEAR MYONGA'S, _16th September, 1861_. "'MY DEAR SPEKE,--The caravan was attacked, plundered, and the men driven to the winds, while marching this morning into Myonga's country. "'Awaking at cock-crow, I roused the camp, all anxious to rejoin you; and while the loads were being packed, my attention was drawn to an angry discussion between the head men and seven or eight armed fellows sent by Sultan Myonga to insist on my putting up for the day in his village. They were summarily told that as _you_ had already made him a present, he need not expect a visit from _me_. Adhering, I doubt not, to their master's instructions, they officiously constituted themselves our guides till we chose to strike off their path, when, quickly heading our party, they stopped the way, planted their spears, and _dared_ our advance! "'This menace made us firmer in our determination, and we swept past the spears. After we had marched unmolested for some seven miles, a loud yelping from the woods excited our attention, and a sudden rush was made upon us by, say, two hundred men, who came down _seemingly_ in great glee. In an instant, at the caravan's centre, they fastened upon the poor porters. The struggle was short; and with the threat of an arrow or spear at their breasts, men were robbed of their cloths and ornaments, loads were yielded and run away with before resistance could be organized; only three men of a hundred stood by me; the others, whose only _thought_ was their lives, fled into the woods, where I went shouting for them. One man, little Rahan, stood with cocked gun, defending his load against five savages with uplifted spears. No one else could be seen. Two or three were reported killed, some were wounded. Beads, boxes, cloths, etc., lay strewed about the woods. In fact, I felt wrecked. My attempt to go and demand redress from the sultan was resisted, and, in utter despair, I seated myself among a mass of rascals jeering round me, and insolent after the success of the day. Several were dressed in the very cloths, etc., they had stolen from my men. "'In the afternoon about fifteen men and loads were brought me, with a message from the sultan, that the attack had been a _mistake_ of his subjects--that one man had had a hand cut off for it, and that all the property would be restored! "'Yours sincerely, "'J. A. GRANT.') "Age had not lessened the conceit of Myonga, increased his modesty, or moderated his cupidity. He asserted the rights and privileges of his royalty with a presumptuous voice and a stern brow. He demanded tribute! Twenty-five cloths. A gun and five fundo of beads! The Arabs, my friends, were requested to do the same! "'Impossible, Myonga!' I replied, yet struck with admiration at the unparalleled audacity of the man. "'People have been obliged to pay what I ask,' the old man said, with a cunning twinkle in his eyes. "'Perhaps,' I answered; 'but whether they have or not, I cannot pay you so much, and, what is more, I will not. As a sign that we pass through your country, I give you one cloth, and the Arabs shall only give you one cloth.' "Myonga blustered and stormed, begged and threatened, and some of his young men appeared to be getting vicious, when, rising, I informed him that to talk loudly was to act like a scolding woman, and that, when his elder should arrive at our camp, he would receive two cloths, one from me and one from the Arabs, as acknowledgment of his right to the country. "The drum of Myonga's village at once beat to arms, but the affair went no further, and the elder received the reasonable and just tribute of two cloths, with a gentle hint that it would be dangerous to intercept the expedition on the road when on the march, as the guns were loaded. [Illustration: MOUNTAINS ALONG THE ROUTE OF THE EXPEDITION.] "Phunze, chief of Mkumbiro, a village ten miles south by east from Myonga, and the chief of Ureweh, fourteen miles and a half from Phunze's, were equally bold in their demands, but they did not receive an inch of cloth; but neither of these three chiefs were half so extortionate as Ungomirwa, king of Ubagwé, a large town of three thousand people. "We met at Ubagwé an Arab trader _en route_ to Uganda, and he gave us a dismal tale of robbery and extortion practised on him by Ungomirwa. He had been compelled to pay one hundred and fifty cloths, five kegs, or fifty pounds, of gunpowder, five guns double-barrelled, and thirty-five pounds of beads, the whole being of the value of $625, or £125, for the privilege of passing unmolested through the district of Ubagwé. "When the chief came to see me, I said to him, "'Why is it, my friend, that your name goes about the country as being that of a bad man? How is it that this poor Arab has had to pay so much for going through Ubagwé? Is Ubagwé Unyamwezi, that Ungomirwa demands so much from the Arabs? The Arab brings cloths, powder, guns into Unyamwezi. If you rob him of his property, I must send letters to stop people coming here, then Ungomirwa will become poor, and have neither powder, guns, nor cloths to wear. What has Ungomirwa to say to his friend?' "'Ungomirwa,' replied he, 'does no more than Ureweh, Phunze, Myonga, Ndega, Urangwa, and Mankorongo--he takes what he can. If the white man thinks it is wrong, and will be my friend, I will return it all to the Arab.' "'Ungomirwa is good. Nay, do not return it all; retain one gun, five cloths, two fundo of beads, and one keg of powder; that will be plenty, and nothing but right. I have many Wanyamwezi with me, whom I have made good men. I have two from Ubagwé, and one man who was born at Phunze's. Let Ungomirwa call the Wanyamwezi, and ask them how the white man treats Wanyamwezi, and let him try to make them run away, and see what they will say. They will tell him that all white men are very good to those who are good.' "Ungomirwa called the Wanyamwezi to him, and asked them why they followed the white man to wander about the world, leaving their brothers and sisters. The question elicited the following reply: "'The white people know everything. They are better than the black people in heart. We have abundance to eat, plenty to wear, and silver for ourselves. All we give to the white man is our strength. We carry his goods for him, and he bestows a father's care on his black children. Let Ungomirwa make friends with the white man, and do as he says, and it will be good for the land of Unyamwezi.' "To whatever cause it was owing, Ungomirwa returned the Arab nearly all his property, and presented me with three bullocks; and during all the time that I was his guest at Ubagwé, he exhibited great friendship for me, and boasted of me to several Watuta visitors who came to see him during that time; indeed, I can hardly remember a more agreeable stay at any village in Africa than that which I made in Ubagwé. "Unyamwezi is troubled with a vast number of petty kings, whose paltriness and poverty have so augmented their pride that each of them employs more threats, and makes more demands, than Mtesa, emperor of Uganda. "The adage that 'Small things make base men proud' holds true in Africa as in other parts of the world. Sayid bin Sayf, one of the Arabs at Kafurro, begged me, as I valued my property and peace of mind, not to march through Unyamwezi to Ujiji, but to travel through Uhha. I attribute these words of Sayid's to a desire on his part to hear of my being mulcted by kings Khanza, Iwanda, and Kiti in the same proportion that he was. He confessed that he had paid to Kiti sixty cloths, to Iwanda sixty cloths, and to king Khanza one hundred and thirty-eight, which amounted in value to $516, and this grieved the gentle merchant's soul greatly. [Illustration: FASHIONABLE HAIR-DRESSING.] "On my former journey in search of Livingstone, I tested sufficiently the capacity of the chiefs of Uhha to absorb property, and I vowed then to give them a wide berth for all future time. Sayid's relation of his experiences, confirmed by Hamed Ibrahim, and my own reverses, indicated but too well the custom in vogue among the Wahha. So far, between Kibogora's capital and Ubagwé, I had only disbursed thirty cloths as gifts to nine kings of Unyamwezi, without greater annoyance than the trouble of having to reduce their demands by negotiation. "On the 4th of May, having received the milch-cows, calves, and bullocks from my new brother Mirambo, we marched in a south-southwest direction, skirting the territory of the Watuta, to Ruwinga, a village occupying a patch of cleared land, and ruled by a small chief who is a tributary to his dreaded neighbors. "The next day, in good order, we marched across a portion of the territory of the Watuta. No precaution was omitted to insure our being warned in time of the presence of the enemy, nor did we make any delay on the road, as a knowledge of their tactics of attack assured us that this was our only chance of avoiding a conflict with them. Msené, after a journey of twenty miles, was reached about 2 P.M., and the king, Mulagwa, received us with open arms. "The population of the three villages under Mulagwa probably numbers about thirty-five hundred. The king of the Watuta frequently visits Mulagwa's district; but his strongly-fenced villages and large number of muskets have been sufficient to check the intentions of the robbers, though atrocious acts are often committed upon the unwary. "Ten miles southwest of Msené is Kawangira, a district about ten miles square, governed by the chief Nyambu, a rival of Mulagwa. Relics of the ruthlessness and devastating attacks of the Watuta are visible between the two districts, and the once populous land is rapidly resuming its original appearance of a tenantless waste. [Illustration: ONE OF THE WATUTA.] "The next village, Nganda, ten miles southwest from Kawangira, was reached on the 9th of May. From this place, as far as Usenda (distant fourteen miles south-southwest), extended a plain, inundated with from two to five feet of water from the flooded Gombé, which rises about forty miles southeast of Unyanyembé. Where the Gombé meets with the Malagarazi, there is a spacious plain, which during each rainy season is converted into a lake. "We journeyed to the important village of Usagusi on the 12th, in a south-southwest direction. Like Serombo, Myonga's, Urangwa, Ubagwé, and Msené, it is strongly stockaded, and the chief, conscious that the safety of his principal village depends upon the care he bestows upon its defences, exacts heavy fines upon those of his people who manifest any reluctance to repair the stockade; and this vigilant prudence has hitherto baffled the wolflike marauders of Ugomba. "Twenty-five miles in a westerly direction through a depopulated land brought us to Zegi, in Uvinza, where we found a large caravan, under an Arab in the employ of Sayid bin Habib. Among these natives of Zanzibar was a man who had accompanied Cameron and Tippu-Tib to Utatera. Like other Munchausens of his race, he informed me upon oath that he had seen a ship upon a lake west of Utatera, manned by black Wazungu, or black Europeans! [Illustration: BOW, SPEARS, HATCHETS, AND ARROW-HEADS.] "Before reaching Zegi, we saw Sivué Lake, a body of water fed by the Sagala River; it is about seven miles wide by fourteen miles long. Through a broad bed, choked by reeds and grass and tropical plants, it empties into the Malagarazi River near Kiala. "Zegi swarmed with a reckless number of lawless men, and was not a comfortable place to dwell in. The conduct of these men was another curious illustration of how 'small things make base men proud.' Here were a number of youths suffering under that strange disease peculiar to vain youth in all lands, which Mirambo had called 'big head.' The manner in which they strutted about, their big looks and bold staring, their enormous feathered head-dresses and martial stride, were most offensive. Having adopted, from bravado, the name of Ruga-Ruga, they were compelled in honor to imitate the bandits' custom of smoking banghi (wild hemp), and my memory fails to remind me of any similar experience to the wild screaming and stormy sneezing, accompanied day and night by the monotonous droning of the one-string guitar (another accomplishment with the complete bandit) and the hiccoughing, snorting, and vocal extravagances which we had to bear in the village of Zegi. [Illustration: IDOLS SHELTERED FROM THE RAIN.] "For the next few days there were no incidents of importance, our march being pressed with as little delay as possible. At noon of the 27th of May the bright waters of the Tanganika broke upon the view, and compelled me to linger admiringly for a while, as I did on the day I first beheld them. By 3 P.M. we were in Ujiji. Muini Kheri, Mohammed bin Gharib, Sultan bin Kassim, and Khamis the Baluch greeted me kindly. Mohammed bin Sali was dead. Nothing was changed much, except the ever-changing mud tembés of the Arabs. The square or plaza where I met David Livingstone in November, 1871, is now occupied by large tembés. The house where he and I lived has long ago been burned down, and in its place there remain only a few embers and a hideous void. The lake expands with the same grand beauty before the eyes as we stand in the market-place. The opposite mountains of Goma have the same blue-black color, for they are everlasting, and the Liuché River continues its course as brown as ever just east and south of Ujiji. The surf is still as restless, and the sun as bright; the sky retains its glorious azure, and the palms all their beauty; but the grand old hero, whose presence once filled Ujiji with such absorbing interest for me, was gone!" [Illustration: ARAB HOUSE NEAR UJIJI.] "And here at Ujiji," said Frank, "we will pause for the present. We have read the first volume of Mr. Stanley's very interesting work, and this evening we'll begin reading the second. The story it contains is even more exciting than that which you have just heard; it carries us among new people and into new lands, and introduces us to a part of the continent unknown to Europeans until Mr. Stanley made his remarkable journey through it." A motion to adjourn was carried unanimously, and very soon the party was dispersed over the steamer's deck. Some of them looked around for Mr. Stanley, and were disappointed to hear that he had not been visible about the deck or saloon for several hours. [Illustration: WHISTLE, PILLOW, AND HATCHET.] CHAPTER VII. MR. STANLEY TAKES THE CHAIR.--DESCRIPTION OF UJIJI.--THE ARAB AND OTHER INHABITANTS.--MARKET SCENES.--LOCAL CURRENCY.--THE WAJIJI.--LAKE TANGANIKA.--STANLEY'S VOYAGE ON THE LAKE.--RISING OF THE WATERS.--THE LEGEND OF THE WELL.--HOW THE LAKE WAS FORMED.--DEPARTURE OF THE EXPEDITION.--SCENERY OF THE COAST.--MOUNTAINS WHERE THE SPIRITS DWELL.--SEEKING THE OUTLET OF THE LAKE.--THE LUKUGA RIVER.--EXPERIMENTS TO FIND A CURRENT.--CURIOUS HEAD-DRESSES.--RETURN TO UJIJI.--LENGTH AND EXTENT OF LAKE TANGANIKA. When the party assembled in the evening, Frank was not in the place where the others expected to find him; he was among the auditors, and his former seat was occupied by Mr. Stanley. The latter said he had been sleeping during most of the afternoon, and would atone for his indolence by telling the story of a portion of his work after the arrival of the expedition at Ujiji. [Illustration: HEAD OF UGUHHA WOMAN.] "As you have assembled to hear the story of the Dark Continent," said Mr. Stanley, as soon as all were seated, "you shall not be disappointed. You can imagine that I am reading from the book, and I will keep it in my hands to assist your imaginations." Without further preliminary the distinguished explorer plunged at once into the midst of his subject and carried his audience, as on the enchanted carpet of the "Arabian Nights," straight to the shores of Lake Tanganika. [Illustration: UJIJI, LOOKING NORTH FROM THE MARKET-PLACE, VIEWED FROM THE ROOF OF OUR TEMBÉ AT UJIJI. (_From a Photograph by Mr. Stanley._)] "The best view of Ujiji is to be obtained from the flat roof of one of the Arab tembés or houses. Here is a photograph presenting a view north from my tembé, which fronted the market-place. It embraces the square and conical huts of the Wangwana, Wanyamwezi, and Arab slaves, the Guinea palms from the golden-colored nuts of which the Wajiji obtain the palm-oil, the banana and plantain groves, with here and there a graceful papaw-tree rising among them, and, beyond, the dark-green woods which line the shore and are preserved for shade by the fishermen. "South of the market-place are the tembés of the Arabs, solid, spacious, flat-roofed structures, built of clay, with broad, cool verandas fronting the public roads. Palms and papaws, pomegranates and plantains, raise graceful branch and frond above them, in pleasing contrast to the gray-brown walls, enclosures, and houses. "The port of Ujiji is divided into two districts--Ugoy, occupied by the Arabs, and Kawelé, inhabited by the Wangwana, slaves, and natives. The market-place is in Ugoy, in an open space which has been lately contracted to about twelve hundred square yards. In 1871 it was nearly three thousand square yards. On the beach before the market-place are drawn up the huge Arab canoes, which, purchased in Goma on the western shore, have had their gunwales raised up with heavy teak planking. The largest canoe, belonging to Sheik Abdullah bin Sulieman, is forty-eight feet long, nine feet in the beam, and five feet high, with a poop for the nakhuda (captain), and a small forecastle. [Illustration: ARAB DHOW AT UJIJI.] "Sheik Abdullah, by assuming the air of an opulent ship-owner, has offended the vanity of the governor, Muini Kheri, who owns nine canoes. Abdullah christened his 'big ship' by some very proud name; the governor nicknamed it the _Lazy_. The Arabs and Wajiji, by the way, all give names to their canoes. "The hum and bustle of the market-place, filled with a miscellaneous concourse of representatives from many tribes, woke me up at early dawn. Curious to see the first market-place we had come to since leaving Kagehyi, I dressed myself and sauntered among the buyers and sellers and idlers. "Here we behold all the wealth of the Tanganika shores. The Wajiji, who are sharp, clever traders, having observed that the Wangwana purchased their supplies of sweet potatoes, yams, sugar-cane, ground-nuts, oil-nuts, palm-oil and palm-wine, butter, and pombé, to retail them at enormous profits to their countrymen, have raised their prices on some things a hundred per cent. over what they were when I was in Ujiji last. This has caused the Wangwana and slaves to groan in spirit, for the Arabs are unable to dole out to them rations in proportion to the prices now demanded. The governor, supplied by the Mutwaré of the lake district of Ujiji, will not interfere, though frequently implored to do so, and, consequently, there are frequent fights, when the Wangwana rush on the natives with clubs, in much the same manner as the apprentices of London used to rush to the rescue or succor of one of their bands. [Illustration: A NATIVE OF RUA, WHO WAS A VISITOR AT UJIJI.] "Except the Wajiji, who have become rich in cloths, the rural natives retain the primitive dress worn by the Wazinja and other tribes, a dressed goat-skin covering the loins, and hanging down to within six inches above the knees, with long depending tags of the same material. All these tribes are related to each other, and their language shows only slight differences in dialect. Moreover, many of those inhabiting the countries contiguous to Unyamwezi and Uganda have lost those special characteristics which distinguish the pure unmixed stock from the less favored and less refined types of Africans. "Uhha daily sends to the market of Ujiji its mtama, grain (millet), sesamum, beans, fowls, goats, and broad-tailed sheep, butter, and sometimes oxen; Urundi, its goats, sheep, oxen, butter, palm-oil and palm-nuts, fowls, bananas, and plantains; Uzigé--now and then only--its oxen and palm-oil; Uvira, its iron, in wire of all sizes, bracelets, and anklets; Ubwari, its cassava or manioc, dried, and enormous quantities of grain, Dogara or whitebait, and dried fish; Uvinza, its salt; Uguha, its goats and sheep, and grain, especially Indian corn; rural Wajiji bring their buttermilk, ground-nuts, sweet potatoes, tomatoes, bananas and plantains, yams, beans, vetches, garden herbs, melons, cucumbers, sugar-cane, palm-wine, palm-nuts, palm-oil, goats, sheep, bullocks, eggs, fowls, and earthenware; the lake-coast Wajiji bring their slaves, whitebait, fresh fish, ivory, baskets, nets, spears, bows and arrows; the Wangwana and Arab slaves bring fuel, ivory, wild fruit, eggs, rice, sugar-cane, and honey from the Ukaranga forest. [Illustration: DRESS AND TATTOOING OF A NATIVE OF UGUHHA.] "The currency employed consists of cloths, blue 'Kaniki,' white sheeting 'Merikani' from Massachusetts mills, striped or barred prints, or checks, blue or red, from Manchester, Muscat, or Cutch, and beads, principally 'Sofi,' which are like black-and-white clay-pipe stems broken into pieces half an inch long. One piece is called a _Masaro_, and is the lowest piece of currency that will purchase anything. The Sofi beads are strung in strings of twenty Masaro, which is then called a _Kheté_, and is sufficient to purchase rations for two days for a slave, but suffices the freeman or Mgwana but one day. The red beads, called Sami-sami, the Mutanda, small blue, brown, and white, will also readily be bartered in the market for provisions, but a discount will be charged on them, as the established and universal currency with all classes of natives attending the market is the Sofi. "The prices at the market of Ujiji in 1876 were as follows: Sheeting cloths of four yards long. Ivory per lb. 1 1 goat 2 1 sheep 1-1/2 12 fowls 1-1/2 1 bullock 10 60 lbs. of grain--Mtama 1 90 lbs. of grain--Indian corn 1 1/2-gal. potful of honey in the comb 1 1 slave boy between 10 and 13 years old 16 1 slave girl between 10 and 13 years old 50 to 80 1 slave woman between 18 and 30 years old 80 to 130 1 slave boy between 13 and 18 years old 16 to 50 1 slave man between 18 and 50 years old 10 to 50 "The country of Ujiji extends between the Liuché River, along the Tanganika, north to the Mshala River, which gives it a length of forty-five miles. The former river separates it from Ukaranga on the south, while the latter river acts as a boundary between it and Urundi. As Ujiji is said to border upon Uguru, a district of Uhha, it may be said to have a breadth of twenty miles. Thus the area of Ujiji is not above nine hundred square miles. The Mtemi, or king, is called Mgassa, who entertains a superstitious fear of the lake. His residence is in a valley among the mountains bordering upon Uguru, and he believes that in the hour he looks upon the lake he dies. "I should estimate the population of the country to be very fairly given at forty to the square mile, which will make it thirty-six thousand souls. The Liuché valley is comparatively populous, and the port of Ujiji--consisting of Ugoy and Kawelé districts--has alone a population of three thousand. Kigoma and Kasimbu are other districts patronized by Arabs and Wangwana. "The Wajiji are a brave tribe, and of very independent spirit, but not quarrelsome. When the moderate fee demanded by the Mutwaré of Ugoy, Kawelé, and Kasimbu is paid, the stranger has the liberty of settling in any part of the district; and, as an excellent understanding exists between the Mutwaré and the Arab governor, Muini Kheri, there is no fear of ill-usage. The Mgwana or the Mjiji applying to either of them is certain of receiving fair justice, and graver cases are submitted to an international commission of Arabs and Wajiji elders, because it is perfectly understood by both parties that many moneyed interests would be injured if open hostilities were commenced. "The Wajiji are the most expert canoe-men of all the tribes around the Tanganika. They have visited every country, and seem to know each headland, creek, bay, and river. Sometimes they meet with rough treatment, but they are as a rule so clever, wide-awake, prudent, commercially politic, and superior in tact, that only downright treachery can entrap them to death. They have so many friends also that they soon become informed of danger, and dangerous places are tabooed. [Illustration: CHARMS WORN BY THE WAJIJI.] "The governor of the Arab colony of Ujiji, having been an old friend, was, as may be supposed, courteous and hospitable to me, and Mohammed bin Gharib, who was so good to Livingstone between Marungu and Ujiji, as far as Manyema, did his best to show me friendly attention. Such luxuries as sweetmeats, wheaten bread, rice, and milk were supplied so freely by Muini Kheri and Sheik Mohammed that both Frank and myself began to increase rapidly in weight. "Judging from their rotundity of body, it may fairly be said that both the friends enjoy life. The governor is of vast girth, and Mohammed is nearly as large in the waist. The preceding governor, Mohammed bin Sali, was also of ample circumference, from which I conclude that the climate of Ujiji agrees with the Arab constitution. It certainly did not suit mine while I was with Livingstone, for I was punished with remittent and intermittent fever of such severe type and virulence that in three months I was reduced in weight to ninety-eight pounds. [Illustration: A RIVER FERRY-BOAT.] "Muini Kheri's whole wealth consists of about one hundred and twenty slaves, eighty guns, eighty frasilah of ivory, two tembés, or houses, a wheat and rice field, nine canoes with oars and sails, forty head of cattle, twenty goats, thirty bales of cloth, and twenty sacks of beads, three hundred and fifty pounds of brass wire, and two hundred pounds of iron wire, all of which, appraised in the Ujiji market, might perhaps realize $18,000. His friend Mohammed is probably worth $3000 only! Sultan bin Kassim may estimate the value of his property at $10,000; Abdullah bin Suliman, the owner of the _Great Eastern_ of Lake Tanganika, at $15,000. Other Arabs of Ujiji may be rated at from $100 to $3000. "Sheik Mohammed bin Gharib is the owner of the finest house. It is about one hundred feet long by twenty-five feet in width and fourteen feet in height. A broad veranda, ten feet wide and forty feet long, runs along a portion of the front, and affords ample space for the accommodation of his visitors on the luxurious carpets. The building is constructed of sun-dried brick plastered over neatly with clay. The great door is a credit to his carpenter, and his latticed windows are a marvel to the primitive native trader from Uhha or Uvinza. The courtyard behind the house contains the huts of the slaves, kitchens, and cow-house. [Illustration: HEADS OF NATIVES.] "There is a good deal of jealousy between the Arabs of Ujiji, which sometimes breaks out into bloodshed. When Sayid bin Habib enters Ujiji trouble is not far off. The son of Habib has a large number of slaves, and there are some fiery souls among them, who resent the least disparagement of their master. A bitter reproach is soon followed by a vengeful blow, and then the retainers and the chiefs of the Montagues and Capulets issue forth with clubs, spears, and guns, and Ujiji is all in an uproar, not to be quieted until the respective friends of the two rivals carry them bodily away to their houses. On Arabs, Wangwana, and slaves alike I saw the scars of feuds. [Illustration: THE WAZARAMO TRIBE.] "Life in Ujiji begins soon after dawn, and, except on moonlight nights, no one is abroad after sunset. With the Arabs--to whom years are as days to Europeans--it is a languid existence, mostly spent in gossip, the interchange of dignified visits, ceremonies of prayer, an hour or two of barter, and small household affairs. "There were no letters for either Frank or myself after our seventeen months' travels around and through the lake regions. From Kagehyi, on Lake Victoria, I had despatched messages to Sayid bin Salim, governor of Unyanyembé, praying him to send all letters addressed to me to Muini Kheri, governor of Ujiji, promising him a noble reward. Not that I was sure that I should pass by Ujiji, but I knew that, if I arrived at Nyangwé, I should be able to send a force of twenty men to Muini Kheri for my letters. Though Sayid bin Salim had over twelve months' time to comply with my moderate request, not a scrap or word of news or greeting refreshed us after the long blank interval! Both of us, having eagerly looked forward with certainty to receiving a bagful of letters, were therefore much disappointed. "As I was about to circumnavigate the Tanganika with my boat, and would probably be absent two or three months, I thought there might still be a chance of obtaining them before setting out westward, by despatching messengers to Unyanyembé. Announcing my intentions to the governor, I obtained a promise that he would collect other men, as he and several Arabs at Ujiji were also anxious to communicate with their friends. Manwa Sera therefore selected five of the most trustworthy men, the Arabs also selected five of their confidential slaves, and the ten men started for Unyanyembé on the 3d of June. "My five trustworthy men arrived at Unyanyembé within fifteen days, but from some cause they never returned to the expedition. We halted at Ujiji for seventy days after their departure, and when we turned our faces towards Nyangwé, we had given up all hopes of hearing from civilization. "Before departing on the voyage of circumnavigation of Lake Tanganika, many affairs had to be provided for, such as the well-being of the expedition during my absence, distribution of sufficient rations, provisioning for the cruise, the engagement of guides, etc. "The two guides I obtained for the lake were Para, who had accompanied Cameron in March and April, 1874, and Ruango, who accompanied Livingstone and myself in December, 1871, to the north end of Lake Tanganika. "The most interesting point connected with this lake was its outlet. Before starting from Zanzibar, I had heard that Cameron had discovered the outlet to Lake Tanganika in the Lukuga River, which ran through Uguha to the west, and was therefore an affluent of Livingstone's great river. "I made many inquiries among the Arabs and natives, but could learn nothing about an outlet of the lake. The guide who accompanied Cameron declared that no such outlet had been found while he was with that officer, and, furthermore, all the streams he knew of flowed into and not from Tanganika. All this testimony inspired me with the resolution to explore the phenomenon thoroughly, and to examine the entire coast minutely. At the same time, a suspicion that there was no present outlet to the Tanganika had crept into my mind, when I observed that three palm-trees, which had stood in the market-place of Ujiji in November, 1871, were now about one hundred feet in the lake, and that the sand beach over which Livingstone and I took our morning walks was over two hundred feet in the lake. "I asked of Muini Kheri and Sheik Mohammed if my impressions were not correct about the palm-trees, and they both replied readily in the affirmative. Muini Kheri said also, as corroborative of the increase of the Tanganika, that thirty years ago the Arabs were able to ford the channel between Bangwé Island and the mainland; that they then cultivated rice-fields three miles farther west than the present beach; that every year the Tanganika encroaches upon their shores and fields; and that they are compelled to move every five years farther inland. In my photograph of Ujiji, an inlet may be seen on a site which was dry land, occupied by fishing-nets and pasture-ground, in 1871. [Illustration: RAWLINSON MOUNTAINS, LAKE TANGANIKA.] "The Wajiji lake-traders and fishermen have an interesting legend respecting the origin of the Tanganika. Ruango, the veteran guide, who showed Livingstone and myself the Rusizi River in 1871, and whose version is confirmed by Para, the other guide, related it as follows: "'Years and years ago, where you see this great lake, was a wide plain, inhabited by many tribes and nations, who owned large herds of cattle and flocks of goats, just as you see Uhha to-day. "'On this plain there was a very large town, fenced round with poles strong and high. As was the custom in those days, the people of the town surrounded their houses with tall hedges of cane, enclosing courts, where their cattle and goats were herded at night from the wild beasts and from thieves. In one of these enclosures lived a man and his wife, who possessed a deep well, from which water bubbled up and supplied a beautiful little stream, at which the cattle of their neighbors slaked their thirst. "'Strange to say, this well contained countless fish, which supplied both the man and his wife with an abundant supply for their wants; but as their possession of these treasures depended upon the secrecy which they preserved respecting them, no one outside their family circle knew anything of them. A tradition was handed down for ages, through the family, from father to son, that on the day they showed the well to strangers they would be ruined and destroyed. "'One day, while the husband was absent, a stranger called at the house and talked so pleasantly that the wife forgot all about the tradition, and showed him the well. The man had never seen such things in his life, for there were no rivers in the neighborhood except that which was made by this fountain. His delight was very great, and he sat for some time watching the fish leaping and chasing each other, showing their white bellies and beautiful bright sides, and coming up to the surface and diving swiftly down to the bottom. He had never enjoyed such pleasure; but when one of the boldest of the fish came near to where he was sitting he suddenly put forth his hand to catch it. Ah, that was the end of all!--for the Muzimu, the spirit, was angry. And the world cracked asunder, the plain sank down and down and down--the bottom cannot now be reached by our longest lines--and the fountain overflowed and filled the great gap that was made by the earthquake, and now what do you see? The Tanganika! All the people of that great plain perished, and all the houses and fields and gardens, the herds of cattle and flocks of goats and sheep, were swallowed in the waters.' [Illustration: HEAD-DRESS AND HATCHET.] "I made many attempts to discover whether the Wajiji knew why the lake was called Tanganika. A rational definition I could not obtain until one day, while translating some English words into their language, I came to the word 'plain,' for which I obtained _nika_ as being the term in Kijiji. As Africans are accustomed to describe large bodies of water as being like plains, 'it spreads out like a plain,' I think that a satisfactory signification of the term has finally been obtained, in 'the plain-like lake.' [Illustration: BROTHER ROCKS.] "Westward from Ujiji the lake spreads to a distance of about thirty-five miles, where it is bounded by the lofty mountain range of Goma, and it is when looking northwest that one comprehends, as he follows that vague and indistinct mountain line, ever paling as it recedes, the full magnificence of this inland sea. The low island of Bangwé on the eastern side terminates the bay of Ujiji, which rounds with a crescent curve from the market-place towards it. "The saucy English-built boat which had made the acquaintance of all the bays and inlets of the Victoria Nyanza, and been borne on the shoulders of sturdy men across the plains and through the ravines of Unyoro, is about to explore the mountain barriers which enfold Lake Tanganika, for the discovery of some gap which lets out, or is supposed to let out, the surplus water of rivers which, from a dim and remote period, have been pouring into it from all sides. "She has a consort now, a lumbering, heavy, but stanch mate, a canoe cut out from an enormous teak-tree which once grew in some wooded gorge in the Goma Mountains. The canoe is called the _Meofu_, and is the property of Muini Kheri, Governor of Ujiji, who has kindly lent it to me. As he is my friend, he says he will not charge me anything for the loan. But the governor and I know each other pretty well, and I know that when I return from the voyage I shall have to make him a present. In Oriental and African lands, remuneration, hire, compensation, guerdon, and present are terms nearly related to one another. "The boat and her consort are ready on the 11th of June, 1876. The boat's crew have been most carefully selected. They are all young, agile, faithful creatures. Their names and ages are as follows: Uledi, the coxswain, 25 years; Saywa, his cousin, 17; Shumari, his brother, 18; Murabo, 20; Mpwapwa, 22; Marzouk, 23; Akida, 20; Mambu, 20; Wadi Baraka, 24; Zaidi Rufiji, 27; Matiko, 19. Two supernumeraries are the boy gun-bearers, Billali and Mabruki, 17 and 15 years respectively. After eighteen months' experience with them it has been decided by all that these are the elect of the expedition for boat-work, though they are by no means the champions of the march. But as they have only light loads, there has never been reason to complain of them. "There is much handshaking, many cries of 'Take care of yourselves,' and then both boat and canoe hoist sail, turning their heads along the coast to the south. "We followed along this coast to the southern extremity of the lake, examining every river with the greatest care, in the full determination of finding the outlet if any existed. Then we followed the western coast in the same way, examining the rivers and studying the picturesque shores, which were bounded in many places by lofty hills or mountains. Many of these hills are supposed to be the dwelling-places of spirits who have control over the lake in various ways. [Illustration: THE EXTREME SOUTHERN REACH OF LAKE TANGANIKA.] "That part of the western coast which extends from Mbeté or Mombeté, to the south, as far as the Rufuvu River, is sacred ground in the lore of the ancients of Urungu. Each crag and grove, each awful mountain brow and echoing gorge, has its solemn associations of spirits. Vague and indescribable beings, engendered by fear and intense superstition, govern the scene. Any accident that may befall, any untoward event or tragedy that may occur, before the sanctuaries of these unreal powers, is carefully treasured in the memories of the people with increased awe and dread of the Spirits of the Rocks. "Such associations cling to the strange tabular mounts or natural towers, called Mtombwa, of which a sketch is annexed. The height of these is about twelve hundred feet above the lake. They once formed parts of the plateau of Urungu, though now separated from it by the same agency which created the fathomless gulf of the Tanganika. [Illustration: MTOMBWA.] "Within a distance of two miles are three separate mounts, which bear a resemblance to one another. The first is called Mtombwa, the next Kateye, the third Kapembwa. Their three spirits are also closely akin to one another, for they all rule the wave and the wind, and dwell on summits. Kateye is, I believe, the son of Kapembwa, the Jupiter, and Mtombwa, the Juno, of Tanganika tradition. "As we row past, close to their base, we look up to admire the cliffy heights rising in terraces one above another; each terrace-ledge is marked by a thin line of scrubby bush. Beyond Kateye, the gray front of the paternal Kapembwa looms up with an extraordinary height and massive grandeur. "The peaks of Kungwé are probably from two thousand five hundred to three thousand feet above the lake. They are not only interesting from their singular appearance, but also as being a refuge for the last remaining families of the aborigines of Kawendi. On the topmost and most inaccessible heights dwells the remnant of the once powerful nation which in old times--so tradition relates--overran Uhha and Uvinza, and were a terror to the Wakalaganza. They cultivate the slopes of their strongholds, which amply repay them for their labor. Fuel is found in the gorges between the peaks, and means of defence are at hand in the huge rocks which they have piled up ready to repel the daring intruder. Their elders retain the traditions of the race whence they sprang; and in their charge are the Lares and Penates of old Kawendi--the Muzimu. In the home of the eagles they find a precarious existence, as a seed to reproduce another nation, or as a short respite before complete extermination. [Illustration: KUNGWÉ PEAKS. (_From a sketch near the entrance to the Luwulungu torrent bed._)] "The best view of this interesting clump of mountain heights is to be had off the mouth of the torrent Luwulungu. "Everywhere we went we could see that the lake was rising. In places where I had camped with Livingstone in 1871 there were now several feet of water, and the guides repeatedly called my attention to low islands and beaches that were now submerged. One of the most interesting points we visited was Lukuga Creek, where Cameron thought he discovered the outlet of the lake. We reached it on July 16th, and made a careful survey. "The mouth of the Lukuga, which was about two thousand five hundred yards wide, narrowed after a mile to eight hundred yards, and after another mile to four or five hundred yards. Upon rounding the point of land on which Mkampemba stands, and where there is a considerable tract under tillage, I observed that the water changed its color to a reddish brown, owing to the ferruginous conglomerate of which the low bluffs on either side are composed. This was also a proof to me that there was no outflowing river here. Clear water outflowing from the Tanganika, only two miles from the lake, ought never to be so deeply discolored. "Wherever there were indentations in the bluffs that banked it in, or a dip in the low, grass-covered _débris_ beneath, a growth of mateté, or water-cane, and papyrus filled up these bits of still water, but mid-channel was clear, and maintained a breadth of open white water ranging from ninety to four hundred and fifty yards. [Illustration: THE "HIGH PLACES" OF THE SPIRIT MTOMBWA: VIEW OF MTOMBWA URUNGU.] "Within an hour we arrived at the extremity of the open water, which had gradually been narrowed in width, by the increasing abundance of papyrus, from two hundred and fifty yards to forty yards. We ceased rowing, and gently glided up to the barrier of papyrus, which had now completely closed up the creek from bank to bank, like a luxuriant field of tall Indian corn. We sounded at the base of these reeds along a breadth of forty yards, and obtained from seven to eleven feet of water! With a portable level I attempted to ascertain a current; the level indicated none! Into a little pool, completely sheltered by the broadside of the boat, we threw a chip or two, and some sticks. In five minutes the chips had moved towards the reeds about a foot! We then crushed our way through about twenty yards of the papyrus, and came to impassable mud-banks, black as pitch, and seething with animal life. Returning to the boat, I asked four men to stand close together, and, mounting their shoulders with an oar for support, I endeavored, with a glass, to obtain a general view. I saw a broad belt, some two hundred and fifty or three hundred yards wide, of a papyrus-grown depression, lying east and west between gently-sloping banks, thinly covered with scrubby acacia. Here and there were pools of open water, and beyond were a few trees growing, as it seemed to me, right in the bed. I caused some of my men to attempt to cross from one bank to the other, but the muddy ooze was not sufficiently firm to bear the weight of a man. [Illustration: MOUNT MURUMBI, NEAR LUKUGA CREEK.] "I then cut a disk of wood a foot in diameter, drove a nail in, and folded cotton under its head. I then rove a cord five feet in length through this, suspending to one end an earthenware pot, with which I tried an experiment. Along the hedge of papyrus I measured one thousand feet with a tape-line, both ends of the track marked by a broad ribbon of sheeting tied to a papyrus reed. Then, proceeding to the eastern or lake end of the track, I dropped the earthenware pot, which, after filling, sank, and drew the wooden disk level with the water. I noted the chronometer instantly, while the boat was rowed away from the scene. The wind from the lake blew strong at the time. "The board floated from lakeward towards the papyrus eight hundred and twenty-two feet in one hour and forty seconds. "In the afternoon, wind calm and water tranquil, the disk floated in the opposite direction, or towards the lake, one hundred and fifty-nine feet in nineteen minutes and thirty seconds, which is at the rate of about six hundred feet in the hour. "This was of itself conclusive proof that there was no current at this date (July 16, 1876). Still I was curious to see the river flowing out. The next day, therefore, accompanied by the chief and fifteen men of the expedition, we started overland along the banks of this rush and mud choked depression for three or four miles. The trend of the several streams we passed was from northwest to southeast--that is, towards the lake. At Elwani village we came to the road from Monyi's, which is used by people proceeding to Unguvwa, Luwelezi, or Marungu, on the other side of the Lukuga. Two men from the village accompanied us to the Lukuga ford. When we reached the foot of the hill we first came to the dry bed of the Kibamba. In the rainy season this stream drains the eastern slopes of the Kiyanja ridge with a southeast trend. The grass-stalks, still lying down from the force of the water, lay with their tops pointing lakeward. "From the dry mud-bed of the Kibamba to the cane-grass-choked bed of Lukuga was but a step. Daring the wet season the Kibamba evidently overflowed broadly, and made its way among the mateté of the Lukuga. "We tramped on along a path leading over prostrate reeds and cane, and came at length to where the ground began to be moist. The reeds on either side of it rose to the height of ten or twelve feet, their tops interlacing, and the stalks, therefore, forming the sides of a narrow tunnel. The path sank here and there into ditchlike hollows filled with cool water from nine inches to three feet deep, with transverse dykes of mud raised above it at intervals. "Finally, after proceeding some two hundred yards, we came to the centre of this reed-covered depression--called by the natives "Mitwanzi"--and here the chief, trampling a wider space among the reeds, pointed out in triumph water indisputably flowing westward! The water felt cold, but it was only 68° Fahr., or 7° cooler than the Lukuga. "I am of the opinion, after taking all things into consideration, that Kahangwa Cape was, at a remote period, connected with Kungwé Cape on the east coast--that the Lukuga was the affluent of the lake as it stood then, that the lake was at that period at a much higher altitude than it is at present, that the northern half of the lake is of a later formation, and that, owing to the subsidence of that portion and the collapsing of the barrier or the Kahangwa Cape and Kungwé Cape ridge, the waters south emptied into that of the deep gulf north, and left the channel of the Lukuga to be employed as the bed of the affluents Kibamba and Lumba, or the eastern slope of the Kiyanja ridge, to feed the lake. But now that the extension of the profound bed--created by some great earthquake, which fractured and disparted the plateau of Uhha, Urundi, Ubembé, Goma, etc.--is on the eve of being filled up, the ancient affluent is about to resume its old duties of conveying the surplus waters of the Tanganika down into the valley of the Livingstone, and thence, along its majestic winding course, to the Atlantic Ocean. "At present there are only a few inches of mud-banks and a frail barrier of papyrus and reeds to interpose between the waters of the lake and its destiny, which it is now, year by year, steadily approaching. When the Tanganika has risen three feet higher there will be no surf at the mouth of the Lukuga, no sill of sand, no oozing mud-banks, no rush-covered old river-course, but the accumulated waters of over a hundred rivers will sweep through the ancient gap with the force of a cataclysm, bearing away on its flood all the deposits of organic _débris_ at present in the Lukuga Creek down the steep incline to swell the tribute due to the mighty Livingstone. "On the 21st of July we sailed from the mouth of the future outlet Lukuga to the Arab crossing-place near Kasengé Island. "The Waguha, along whose country we had voyaged for some days, are an unusually ceremonious people. They are the first specimens of those nations among whom we are destined to travel in our exploration of the western regions. [Illustration: UBUJWÉ HEAD DRESS.] [Illustration: UGUHA HEAD-DRESS.] "The art of the coiffeur is better known here than in any portion of Africa east of Lake Tanganika. The 'waterfall' and 'back-hair' styles are superb, and the constructions are fastened with carved wooden or iron pins. Full dress includes a semicircle of finely plaited hair over the forehead painted red, ears well ochred, the rest of the hair drawn up taut at the back of the head, overlaid and secured by a cross-shaped flat board, or with a skeleton-crown of iron; the head is then covered with a neatly tasselled and plaited grass-cloth, like a lady's breakfast-cap, to protect it from dust. In order to protect such an elaborate construction from being disordered, they carry a small head-rest of wood stuck in the girdle. [Illustration: VILLAGE SCENE--DWELLINGS AND GRAIN-HOUSES.] "Their mode of salutation is as follows: "A man appears before a party seated; he bends, takes up a handful of earth or sand with his right hand, and throws a little into his left--the left hand rubs the sand or earth over the right elbow and the right side of the stomach, while the right hand performs the same operation for the left parts of the body, the mouth meanwhile uttering rapidly words of salutation. To his inferiors, however, the new-comer slaps his hand several times, and after each slap lightly taps the region of his heart. [Illustration: A WOMAN OF UGUHA.] [Illustration: UHYEYA HEAD-DRESS.] "On the 28th of July we skirted the low land which lies at the foot of the western mountains, and by noon had arrived at the little cove in Masansi, near the Rubumba, or the Luvumba, River, at which Livingstone and I terminated our exploration of the northern shores of Lake Tanganika in 1871. I had thus circumnavigated Lake Tanganika from Ujiji up the eastern coast, along the northern head, and down the western coast as far as Rubumba River in 1871; and in June-July, 1876, had sailed south from Ujiji along the eastern coast to the extreme south end of the lake, round each inlet of the south, and up the western coast to Panza Point, in Ubwari, round the shores of Burton Gulf, and to Rubumba River. The north end of the lake was located by Livingstone in south latitude 3° 18'; the extreme south end I discovered to be in south latitude 8° 47', which gives it a length of three hundred and twenty-nine geographical miles. Its breadth varies from ten to forty-five miles, averaging about twenty-eight miles, and its superficial area covers a space of nine thousand two hundred and forty square miles. [Illustration: SPIRIT ISLAND, LAKE TANGANIKA.] "In mid-lake, I sounded, using a three-and-a-half-pound sounding-lead with one thousand two hundred and eighty feet of cord, and found no bottom. I devoted an hour to this work, and tried a second time a mile nearer the Urundi coast, with the same results--no bottom. The strain at such a great depth on the whip-cord was enormous, but we met with no accident. "On the 31st we arrived at Ujiji, after an absence of fifty-one days, during which time we had sailed without disaster or illness a distance of over eight hundred and ten miles. The entire coast-line of the Tanganika is about nine hundred and thirty miles. [Illustration: SKETCH NEAR UJIJI.] CHAPTER VIII. STANLEY CONTINUES THE READING.--BAD NEWS AT UJIJI.--SMALL-POX AND ITS RAVAGES.--DESERTIONS BY WHOLESALE.--DEPARTURE OF THE EXPEDITION.--CROSSING LAKE TANGANIKA.--TRAVELLERS' TROUBLES.--TERRIFYING RUMORS.--PEOPLE WEST OF THE LAKE.--SINGULAR HEAD-DRESSES.--CANNIBALISM.--DESCRIPTION OF AN AFRICAN VILLAGE.--APPEARANCE OF THE INHABITANTS.--IN MANYEMA.--STORY ABOUT LIVINGSTONE.--MANYEMA HOUSES.--DONKEYS AS CURIOSITIES.--KITETÉ AND HIS BEARD.--THE LUAMA AND THE LUALABA.--ON THE BANKS OF THE LIVINGSTONE. Mr. Stanley was heartily applauded as he paused at the end of what we have recorded in the previous chapter. Under the stimulus of the applause, and with a reassuring glance at his watch, he continued the story of his march through the Dark Continent, occasionally reading from the book, but for the greater portion of the time holding the volume closed in his hands. "The sky was of a stainless blue, and the slumbering lake faithfully reflected its exquisite tint, for not a breath of wind was astir to vex its surface. With groves of palms and the evergreen fig-trees on either hand, and before us a fringe of tall cane-grass along the shores, all juicy with verdure, the square tembés of Ugoy and the conical cotes of Kawelé, embowered by banana and plantain, we emerged into the bay of Ujiji from the channel of Bangwé. "The cheery view of the port lent strength to our arms. An animating boat-song was struck up, the sounds of which, carried far on the shore, announced that a proud, joyous crew was returning homeward. "Long-horned cattle are being driven to the water to drink; asses are galloping about, braying furiously; goats and sheep and dogs are wandering in the market-place--many familiar scenes recur to us as we press forward to the shore. "Our Wangwana hurry to the beach to welcome us. The usual congratulations follow--hand-shakings, smiles, and glad expressions. Frank, however, is pale and sickly; a muffler is round his neck, and he wears a greatcoat. He looks very different from the strong, hearty man to whom I gave the charge of the camp during my absence. In a few words he informs me of his sufferings from the fever of Ujiji. [Illustration: IN COUNCIL: THE COURTYARD OF OUR TEMBÉ AT UJIJI. (_From a Photograph by Mr. Stanley._)] "'I am so glad you have come, sir. I was beginning to feel very depressed. I have been down several times with severe attacks of the horrible fever. Yesterday is the first time I got up after seven days' weary illness, and people are dying round me so fast that I was beginning to think I must soon die too. Now I am all right, and shall soon get strong again.' [Illustration: CENTRAL AFRICAN GOAT.] "The news, when told to me in detail, was grievous. Five of our Wangwana were dead from small-pox; six others were seriously ill from the same cause. Among the Arab slaves, neither inoculated nor vaccinated, the mortality had been excessive from this fearful pest. "At Rosako, the second camp from Bagamoyo, I had foreseen some such event as this, and had vaccinated, as I had thought, all hands; but it transpired, on inquiry now, that there were several who had not responded to the call, through some silly prejudice against it. Five of those unvaccinated were dead, and five were ill, as also was one who had received the vaccine. When I examined the medicine-chest, I found the tubes broken and the lymph dried up. "The Arabs were dismayed at the pest and its dreadful havoc among their families and slaves. Every house was full of mourning and woe. There were no more agreeable visits and social converse; each kept himself in strict seclusion, fearful of being stricken with it. Khamis the Baluch was dead, his house was closed, and his friends were sorrowing. Mohammed bin Gharib had lost two children; Muini Kheri was lamenting the deaths of three children. The mortality was increasing; it was now from fifty to seventy-five daily among a population of about three thousand. Bitter were the complainings against the hot season and close atmosphere, and fervent the prayers for rain! "Frank had been assiduous in his assistance to our friends. He had elevated himself in their opinion by his devotion and sympathy, until sickness had laid its heavy hand on him. The Wangwana were now his sincere admirers, and the chiefs were his friends. Formerly, while ignorant of the language, he and they were, perhaps of necessity, mutually distant; they now fraternized warmly. "Our messengers had not returned with our letters from Unyanyembé, but, to escape the effects of the epidemic, it was necessary to move and resume our journey westward. The Wangwana were therefore ordered to prepare, and my last letters were written; but, though I hoped to be ready on the 17th to strike camp, I was attacked by a serious fever. This delayed me until the evening of the 25th. "When, on the morning of the 25th of August, the drum and bugle announced that our travels were to be resumed, I had cause to congratulate myself that I had foreseen that many desertions would take place, and that I was prepared in a measure for it by having discarded many superfluities. But I was not prepared to hear that thirty-eight men had deserted. Thirty-eight out of one hundred and seventy was a serious reduction of strength. I was also told by the chiefs of the expedition, who were almost beside themselves with fear, that this wholesale desertion threatened an entire and complete dissolution of our force; that many more would desert _en route_ to Kabogo, as the people were demoralized by the prospect of being eaten by Manyema cannibals. As neither Frank nor I relished the idea of being compelled to return to Zanzibar before we had obtained a view of the Lualaba, I mustered as many as would answer to their names; and out of these, selecting such as appeared unstable and flighty, I secured thirty-two, and surrounded our house with guards. [Illustration: M'SEHAZY HAVEN AND CAMP, AT THE MOUTH OF M'SEHAZY RIVER.] "After preparing the canoes and getting the boat ready, those who did not bear a good character for firmness and fidelity were conducted under guard to the transport canoes; the firm and faithful, and those believed to be so, were permitted to march on land with myself towards Kabogo Cape, or M'sehazy Creek, whence the crossing of the Tanganika was to be effected. Out of the one hundred and thirty-two men, of whom the expedition now consisted, only thirty were intrusted with guns, as my faith in the stability of the Wangwana was utterly destroyed, despite their protestations to the contrary. I could afford to lose weak, fearful, and unworthy men; but I could not afford to lose one gun. Though we had such a show of strength left, I was only too conscious that there were barely forty reliable and effective in a crisis, or in the presence of danger; the rest were merely useful as bearers of burdens, or porters. "When we resumed our journey the second day from Ukaranga, three more were missing, which swelled the number of desertions to forty-one, and reduced our force to one hundred and twenty-nine. After we had crossed the Tanganika and arrived in Uguha, two more disappeared, one of whom was young Kalulu, whom I had taken to England and the United States, and whom I had placed in an English school for eighteen months. "Induced to do so by the hope that I should secure their attachment to the cause of the expedition, I had purchased from Sultan bin Kassim six bales of cloth at an enormous price, £350, and had distributed them all among the people gratuitously. This wholesale desertion, at the very period when their services were about to be most needed, was my reward! The desertion and faithless conduct of Kalulu did not, as may be imagined, augment my hopes, or increase my faith in the fidelity of my people. But it determined me to recover some of the deserters. Francis Pocock and the detective of the expedition, the ever faithful and gallant Kachéché, were therefore sent back with a squad to Ujiji, with instructions how to act; and one night Kachéché pounced upon six fellows, who, after a hard and tough resistance, were secured; and after his return to Uguha with these he successfully recovered the runaway Kalulu on Kasengé Island. These seven, along with a few others arrested in the act of desertion, received merited punishments, which put an end to misconduct and faithlessness, and prevented the wreck of the expedition. "It must not be supposed that I was more unfortunate than other travellers; for to the faithlessness of his people may be attributed principally the long wanderings of poor Livingstone. Cameron also lost a great number at Unyanyembé, as well as at Ujiji. Experience had taught me on my first journey to Central Africa that Wangwana would desert at every opportunity, especially in the vicinity of the Arab depots. It was to lessen these opportunities for desertion that I had left the Unyanyembé road, and struck through Ituru and Iramba; and though my losses in men were great from famine, the ferocity of the natives, and sickness, they did not amount to half of what they certainly would have been had I touched at Unyanyembé. By adopting this route, despite the calamities that we were subjected to for a short season, I had gained time, and opened new countries hitherto unexplored. "Unless the traveller in Africa exerts himself to keep his force intact, he cannot hope to perform satisfactory service. If he relaxes his watchfulness, it is instantly taken advantage of by the weak-minded and the indolent. Livingstone lost at least six years of time, and finally his life, by permitting his people to desert. If a follower left his service, he even permitted him to remain in the same village with him, without attempting to reclaim him, or to compel that service which he had bound himself to render at Zanzibar. The consequence of this excessive mildness was that he was left at last with only seven men, out of nearly seventy. His noble character has won from us a tribute of affection and esteem, but it has had no lasting good effect on the African. At the same time, over-severity is as bad as over-gentleness in dealing with these men. What is required is pure, simple justice between man and man. [Illustration: HUTS AND STORE-HOUSE.] "The general infidelity and instability of the Wangwana arises, in great part, from their weak minds becoming a prey to terror of imaginary dangers. Thus, the Johanna men deserted Livingstone because they heard the terrible Mafitté were in the way; my runaways of Ujiji fled from the danger of being eaten by the Manyema. "The slaves of Sungoro, the coast trader at Kagehyi, Usukuma, informed my people that Lake Victoria spread as far as the Salt Sea, that it had no end, and that the people on its shores loved the flesh of man better than that of goats. This foolish report made it a most difficult matter to man the exploring boat, and over a hundred swore by Allah that they knew nothing of rowing. "A similar scene took place when about to circumnavigate the Tanganika, for the Arab slaves had spread such reports of Muzimus, hobgoblins, fiery meteors, terrible spirits, such as Kabogo, Katavi, Kateye, and Wanpembé, that the teeth of Wanyamwezi and Wangwana chattered with fright. But no reports exercised such a terrible effect on their weak minds as the report of the Manyema cannibals; none were so greedily listened to, none more readily believed. "The path which traders and their caravans follow to Manyema begins at Mtowa, in Uguha, and, continuing south a few miles over a series of hills, descends into the plain of the Rugumba River about half-way between the Lukuga River and the traders' crossing-place. "The conduct of the first natives to whom we were introduced pleased us all. They showed themselves in a very amiable light, sold their corn cheaply and without fuss, behaved themselves decently and with propriety, though their principal men, entertaining very strange ideas of the white men, carefully concealed themselves from view, and refused to be tempted to expose themselves within view or hearing of us. [Illustration: SUB-CHIEF, WEST OF LAKE TANGANIKA.] "Their doubts of our character were reported to us by a friendly young Arab as follows: 'Kassanga, chief of Ruanda, says, "How can the white men be good when they come for no trade, whose feet one never sees, who always go covered from head to foot with clothes? Do not tell me they are good and friendly. There is something very mysterious about them; perhaps wicked. Probably they are magicians; at any rate, it is better to leave them alone, and to keep close until they are gone."' "From Ruanda, where we halted only for a day, we began in earnest the journey to Manyema, thankful that the Tanganika was safely crossed, and that the expedition had lost no more of its strength. "On the third day, after gradually ascending to a height of eight hundred feet above the lake, across a series of low hilly ridges and scantily wooded valleys, which abound with buffalo, we reached the crest of a range which divides the tributaries of the Lualaba from those of Lake Tanganika. This range also serves as a boundary between Uguha and Ubujwé, a country adjoining the former northwesterly. The western portions of Uguha, and southeastern Ubujwé, are remarkable for their forests of fruit-trees, of which there are several varieties, called the Masuku, Mbembu (or wood-apple), Singwé (wild African damson), the Matonga (or nux-vomica), custard-apple, etc. A large quantity of honey was also obtained; indeed, an army might subsist for many weeks in this forest on the various luscious fruits it contains. Our people feasted on them, as also on the honey and buffalo meat which I was fortunate in obtaining. [Illustration: HEADS OF MEN OF MANYEMA.] "Our acquaintance with the Wabujwé commenced at Lambo, or Mulolwa's, situated at the confluence of the Rugumba with the Rubumba. In these people we first saw the mild, amiable, unsophisticated innocence of this part of Central Africa, and their behavior was exactly the reverse of the wild, ferocious, cannibalistic races the Arabs had described to us. "From our experience of them, the natives of Rua, Uguha, and Ubujwé appear to be the _élite_ of the hair-dressed fashionables of Africa. Hair-dressing is, indeed, carried to an absurd perfection throughout all this region, and among the various styles I have seen, some are surpassing in taste and neatness, and almost pathetic from the carefulness with which poor, wild nature has done its best to decorate itself. [Illustration: NATIVES OF UBUJWÉ.] "The Waguha and Wabujwé, among other characteristics, are very partial to the arts of sculpture and turning. They carve statues in wood, which they set up in their villages. Their house doors often exhibit carvings resembling the human face; and the trees in the forest between the two countries frequently present specimens of their ingenuity in this art. Some have also been seen to wear wooden medals, whereon a rough caricature of a man's features was represented. At every village in Ubujwé excellent wooden bowls and basins of a very light wood (Rubiaceæ), painted red, are offered for sale. "Beyond Kundi our journey lay across chains of hills, of a conical or rounded form, which enclosed many basins or valleys. While the Rugumba, or Rubumba, flows northwesterly to the east of Kundi, as far as Kizambala on the Luama River, we were daily, sometimes hourly, fording or crossing the tributaries of the Luama. [Illustration: A NATIVE OF UHYEYA.] "Adjoining Ubujwé is Uhyeya, inhabited by a tribe who are decidedly a scale lower in humanity than their ingenious neighbors. What little merit they possess seems to have been derived from commerce with the Wabujwé. The Wahyeya are also partial to ochre, black paints, and a composition of black mud, which they mould into the form of a plate, and attach to the back part of the head. Their upper teeth are filed, 'out of regard to custom,' they say, and not from any taste for human flesh. "When questioned as to whether it was their custom to eat of the flesh of people slain in battle, they were positive in their denial, and protested great repugnance to such a diet, though they eat the flesh of all animals except that of dogs. "Simple and dirt-loving as these poor people were, they were admirable for the readiness with which they supplied all our wants, voluntarily offering themselves, moreover, as guides to lead us to Uvinza, the next country we had to traverse. "Uvinza now seems to be nothing more than a name of a small district which occupies a small basin of some few miles square. At a former period it was very populous, as the many ruined villages we passed through proved. The slave-traders, when not manfully resisted, leave broad traces wherever they go. [Illustration: ONE OF THE WAHYEYA OF UHOMBO. (BACK VIEW.)] "A very long march from Kagongwé in Uvinza brought us to the pleasant basin of Uhombo, remarkable for its fertility, its groves of Guinea-palms, and its beauty. This basin is about six miles square, but within this space there is scarcely a two-acre plot of level ground to be seen. The whole forms a picture of hilltops, slopes, valleys, hollows, and intersecting ridges in happy diversity. Myriads of cool, clear streams course through, in time united by the Lubangi into a pretty little river, flowing westerly to the Luama. It was the most delightful spot that we had seen. As the people were amiable, and disposed to trade, we had soon an abundance of palm-butter for cooking, sugar-cane, fine goats and fat chickens, sweet potatoes, beans, pease, nuts, and manioc, millet and other grain for flour, ripe bananas for dessert, plantain and palm wines for cheer, and an abundance of soft, cool, clear water to drink! [Illustration: A VALLEY AMONG THE HILLS.] "Subsequently we had many such pleasant experiences; but as it was the first, it deserves a more detailed description. "Travellers from Africa have often written about African villages, yet I am sure few of those at home have ever comprehended the reality. I now propose to lay it before them in this sketch of a village in the district of Uhombo. The village consists of a number of low, conical grass huts, ranged round a circular common, in the centre of which are three or four fig-trees, kept for the double purpose of supplying shade to the community, and bark-cloth to the chief. The doorways to the huts are very low, scarcely thirty inches high. The common fenced round by the grass huts shows plainly the ochreous color of the soil, and it is so well trodden that not a grass blade thrives upon it. [Illustration: GOING A-FISHING.] "On presenting myself in the common, I attracted out of doors the owners and ordinary inhabitants of each hut, until I found myself the centre of quite a promiscuous population of men, women, children, and infants. Though I had appeared here for the purpose of studying the people of Uhombo, and making a treaty of friendship with the chief, the villagers seemed to think I had come merely to make a free exhibition of myself as some natural monstrosity. "I saw before me over a hundred beings of the most degraded, unpresentable type it is possible to conceive, and though I knew quite well that some thousands of years ago the beginning of this wretched humanity and myself were one and the same, a sneaking disinclination to believe it possessed me strongly, and I would even now willingly subscribe some small amount of silver money for him who could but assist me to controvert the discreditable fact. "But common-sense tells me not to take into undue consideration their squalor, their ugliness, or nakedness, but to gauge their true position among the human race by taking a view of the cultivated fields and gardens of Uhombo, and I am compelled to admit that these debased specimens of humanity only plant and sow such vegetables and grain as I myself should cultivate were I compelled to provide for my own sustenance. I see, too, that their huts, though of grass, are almost as well made as the materials will permit, and, indeed, I have often slept in worse. Speak with them in their own dialect of the law of _meum_ and _tuum_, and it will soon appear that they are intelligent enough upon that point. Moreover, the muscles, tissues, and fibres of their bodies, and all the organs of sight, hearing, smell, or motion, are as well developed as in us. Only in taste and judgment, based upon larger experience, in the power of expression, in morals and intellectual culture, are we superior. "I strive, therefore, to interest myself in my gross and rudely-shaped brothers and sisters. Almost bursting into a laugh at the absurdity, I turn towards an individual whose age marks him out as one to whom respect is due, and say to him, after the common manner of greeting: "My brother, sit you down by me on this mat, and let us be friendly and sociable and as I say it I thrust into his wide-open hand twenty cowries, the currency of the land. One look at his hand as he extended it, made me think I could carve a better-looking hand out of a piece of rhinoceros-hide. "While speaking I look at his face, which is like an ugly and extravagant mask, clumsily manufactured from some strange, dark-brown, coarse material. The lips proved the thickness of skin which nature had endowed him with, and by the obstinacy with which they refused to meet each other the form of the mouth was but ill-defined, though capacious and garnished with its full complement of well-preserved teeth. "His nose was so flat that I inquired in a perfectly innocent manner as to the reason for such a feature. [Illustration: VILLAGE FORGE AND IDOL.] "'Ah,' said he, with a sly laugh, 'it is the fault of my mother, who, when I was young, bound me too tight to her back.' "His hair had been compelled to obey the capricious fashion of his country, and was therefore worked up into furrows and ridges and central cones, bearing a curious resemblance to the formation of the land around Uhombo. I wonder if the art grew by perceiving nature's fashion and mould of his country? "Descending from the face, which, crude, large-featured, rough-hewn as it was, bore witness to the possession of much sly humor and a kindly disposition, my eyes fastened on his naked body. Through the ochreous daubs I detected strange freaks of pricking on it, circles and squares and crosses, and traced with wonder the many hard lines and puckers created by age, weather, ill-usage, and rude keeping. "His feet were monstrous abortions, with soles as hard as hoofs, and his legs, as high up as the knees, were plastered with successive strata of dirt; his loin-cover or the queer 'girding tackle' need not be described. They were absolutely appalling to good taste, and the most ragged British beggar or Neapolitan lazzarone is sumptuously, nay, regally, clothed in comparison to this 'king' in Uhombo. "If the old chief appeared so unprepossessing, how can I paint without offence my humbler brothers and sisters who stood round us? As I looked at the array of faces, I could only comment to myself--ugly--uglier--ugliest. "And what shall I say of the hideous and queer appendages that they wear about their waists; the tags of monkey-skin, and bits of gorilla-bone, goat-horn, shells--strange tags to stranger tackle? and of the things around their necks--brain of mice, skin of viper, 'adder's fork, and blind worm's sting?' And how strangely they smell, all these queer, manlike creatures who stand regarding me! Not silently; on the contrary, there is a loud interchange of comments upon the white's appearance; a manifestation of broad interest to know whence I come, whither I am going, and what is my business. And no sooner are the questions asked than they are replied to by such as pretend to know. The replies were followed by long-drawn ejaculations of 'Wa-a-a-antu!' ('Men!') 'Eha-a, and these are men!' "Now imagine this! While we whites are loftily disputing among ourselves as to whether the beings before us are human, here were these creatures actually expressing strong doubts as to whether we whites are men! [Illustration: READY FOR FIGHTING.] "A dead silence prevailed for a short time, during which all the females dropped their lower jaws far down, and then cried out again 'Wa-a-a-a-a-antu!' ('Men!') The lower jaws, indeed, dropped so low that, when, in a posture of reflection, they put their hands up to their chins, it really looked as if they had done so to lift the jaws up to their proper place and to sustain them there. And in that position they pondered upon the fact that there were men 'white all over' in this queer, queer world! "The open mouths gave one a chance to note the healthy state and ruby color of the tongues, palates, and gums, and, above all, the admirable order and brilliant whiteness of each set of teeth. "'Great events from trivial causes spring'--and while I was trying to calculate how many Kubaba (measure of two pounds) of millet-seed would be requisite to fill all these hutch-oven mouths, and how many cowries would be required to pay for such a large quantity of millet, and wondering at the antics of the juveniles of the population, whose uncontainable, irrepressible wonder seemed to find its natural expression in hopping on one leg, thrusting their right thumbs into their mouths to repress the rising scream, and slapping their thighs to express or give emphasis to what was speechless--while thus engaged, and just thinking it was time to depart, it happened that one of the youthful innocents already described, more restless than his brothers, stumbled across a long, heavy pole which was leaning insecurely against one of the trees. The pole fell, striking one of my men severely on the head. And all at once there went up from the women a genuine and unaffected cry of pity, and their faces expressed so lively a sense of tender sympathy with the wounded man, that my heart, keener than my eyes, saw, through the disguise of filth, nakedness, and ochre, the human heart beating for another's suffering, and I then recognized and hailed them as indeed my own poor and degraded sisters. "Under the new light which had dawned on me, I reflected that I had done some wrong to my dusky relatives, and that they might have been described less harshly, and introduced to the world with less disdain. "Before I quitted the village they made me still more regret my former haughty feelings, for the chief and his subjects loaded my men with bounties of bananas, chickens, Indian corn, and malafu (palm-wine), and escorted me respectfully far beyond the precincts of the village and their fields, parting from me at last with the assurance that, should I ever happen to return by their country, they would endeavor to make my second visit to Uhombo much more agreeable than my first had been. "On the 5th of October our march from Uhombo brought us to the frontier village of Manyema, which is called Riba-Riba. It is noteworthy as the starting-point of another order of African architecture. The conical style of hut is exchanged for the square hut with more gradually-sloping roof, wattled, and sometimes neatly plastered with mud; especially those in Manyema. Here, too, the thin-bodied and long-limbed goat, to which we had been accustomed, gave place to the short-legged, large bodied, and capacious-uddered variety of Manyema. The gray parrots with crimson tails here also first began to abound, and the hoarse growl of the fierce and shy 'soko' (gorilla?) was first heard. "From the day we cross the watershed that divides the affluents of the Tanganika from the head-waters of the Luama, there is observed a gradual increase in the splendor of Nature. By slow degrees she exhibits to us, as we journey westward, her rarest beauties, her wealth, and all the profligacy of her vegetation. In the forests of Miketo, and on the western slopes of the Goma Mountains, she scatters with liberal hand her luxuries of fruits, and along the banks of streams we see revealed the wild profusion of her bounties. "As we increase the distance from the Tanganika we find the land disposed in graceful lines and curves; ridges heave up, separating valley from valley, hills lift their heads in the midst of the basins and mountain-ranges, at greater distances apart, bound wide prospects, wherein the lesser hill-chains, albeit of dignified proportions, appear but as agreeable diversities of scenery. "Over the whole, Nature has flung a robe of verdure of the most fervid tints. She has bidden the mountains loose their streamlets, has commanded the hills and ridges to bloom, filled the valleys with vegetation breathing perfume; for the rocks she has woven garlands of creepers, and the stems of trees she has draped with moss; and sterility she has banished from her domain. "Yet Nature has not produced a soft, velvety, smiling England in the midst of Africa. Far from it. She is here too robust and prolific. Her grasses are coarse, and wound like knives and needles; her reeds are tough and tall as bamboos; her creepers and convolvuli are of cable thickness and length; her thorns are books of steel; her trees shoot up to a height of a hundred feet. We find no pleasure in straying in search of wild-flowers, and game is left undisturbed, because of the difficulty of moving about, for, once the path is left, we find ourselves over head among thick, tough, unyielding, lacerating grass. "At Manyema the beauty of Nature becomes terrible, and in the expression of her powers she is awful. The language of Swahili has words to paint her in every mood. English, rich as it is, is found insufficient. In the former we have the word Pori for a forest, an ordinary thickly-wooded tract; but for the forests of Manyema it has four special words--Mohuro, Mwitu, Mtambani, and Msitu. For Mohuro we might employ the words jungly forest; for Mwitu, dense woods; but for Msitu and Mtambani we have no single equivalent, nor could we express their full meaning without a series of epithets ending with 'tangled jungle' or 'impervious underwood, in the midst of a dense forest'--for such is in reality the nature of a Manyema Msitu. "I am of opinion that Manyema owes its fertility to the mountains west of the Tanganika, which by their altitude suddenly cool and liquefy the vapors driven over their tops by the southeast monsoon; for while Uguha west was robed in green, its lake front was black with the ashes of burned grass. "We left Riba-Riba's old chief, and his numerous progeny of boys and girls, and his wonderful subjects, encamped on their mountain-top, and journeyed on with rapid pace through tall forests, and along the crests of wooded ridges, down into the depths of gloomy dingles, and up again to daylight into view of sweeping circles of bearded ridges and solemn woods, to Ka-Bambarré. [Illustration: AFRICAN OWLS.] "Even though this place had no other associations, it would be attractive and alluring for its innocent wildness; but, associated as it is with Livingstone's sufferings, and that self-sacrificing life he led here, I needed only to hear from Mwana Ngoy, son of Mwana Kusu,[7] 'Yes, this is the place where the old white man stopped for many moons,' to make up my mind to halt. [7] Mwana, _lord_; Kusu, _parrot_. [Illustration: A VILLAGE IN MANYEMA.] "'Ah! he lived here, did he?' "'Yes.' "By this time the population of Ka-Bambarré, seeing their chief in conversation with the white stranger, had drawn round us under a palm-tree, and mats were spread for us to seat ourselves. "'Did you know the old white man? Was he your father?' "'He was not my father; but I knew him well.' "'Eh, do you hear that?' he asked his people. 'He says he knew him. Was he not a good man?' "'Yes; very good.' "'You say well. He was good to me, and he saved me from the Arabs many a time. The Arabs are hard men, and often he would step between them and me when they were hard on me. He was a good man, and my children were fond of him. I hear he is dead?' "'Yes, he is dead.' "'Where has he gone to?' "'Above, my friend,' said I, pointing to the sky. "'Ah,' said he, breathlessly, and looking up, 'did he come from above?' "'No; but good men like him go above when they die.' "We had many conversations about him. The sons showed me the house he had lived in for a long time, when prevented from further wandering by the ulcers in his feet. In the village his memory is cherished, and will be cherished forever. "It was strange what a sudden improvement in the physiognomy of the native had occurred. In the district of Uhombo we had seen a truly debased negro type. Here we saw people of the Ethiopic negro type, worthy to rank next the more refined Waganda. Mwana Ngoy himself was nothing very remarkable. Age had deprived him of his good looks; but there were about him some exceedingly pretty women, with winsome ways about them that were quite charming. [Illustration: A YOUTH OF EAST MAMYEMA.] [Illustration: A MANYEMA ADULT.] "Mwana Ngoy, I suppose, is one of the vainest of vain men. I fancy I can see him now, strutting about his village with his sceptral staff, an amplitude of grass-cloth about him, which, when measured, gives exactly twenty-four square yards, drawn in double folds about his waist, all tags, tassels, and fringes, and painted in various colors, bronze and black and white and yellow, and on his head a plumy head-dress. [Illustration: THE VALLEY OF MABARO.] "What charms lurk in feathers! From the grand British dowager down to Mwana Ngoy of Ka-Bambarré, all admit the fascination of feathers, whether plucked from ostriches or barn-door fowl. "Mwana Ngoy's plumes were the tribute of the village chanticleers, and his vanity was so excited at the rustle of his feathered crest that he protruded his stomach to such a distance that his head was many degrees from the perpendicular. "On the 10th of October we arrived at Kizambala, presided over by another chief called Mwana Ngoy, a relative of him of Ka-Bambarré. "Up to this date we had seen some twenty villages, and probably four thousand natives, of Manyema, and may therefore be permitted some generalizations. "The Manyema, then, have several noteworthy peculiarities. Their arms are a short sword scabbarded with wood, to which are hung small brass and iron bells, a light, beautifully balanced spear--probably, next to the spear of Uganda, the most perfect in the world. Their shields were veritable wooden doors. Their dress consisted of a narrow apron of antelope-skin, or finely-made grass-cloth. They wore knobs, cones, and patches of mud attached to their beards, back hair, and behind the ears. Old Mwana Ngoy had rolled his beard in a ball of dark mud; his children wore their hair in braids, with mud fringes. His drummer had a great crescent-shaped patch of mud at the back of the head. At Kizambala the natives had horns and cones of mud on the tops of their heads. Others, more ambitious, covered the entire head with a crown of mud. "The women, blessed with an abundance of hair, manufactured it with a stiffening of light cane into a bonnet-shaped head-dress, allowing the back hair to flow down to the waist in masses of ringlets. They seemed to do all the work of life, for at all hours they might be seen, with their large wicker baskets behind them, setting out for the rivers or creeks to catch fish, or returning with their fuel baskets strapped on across their foreheads. [Illustration: A YOUNG WOMAN OF EAST MANYEMA.] "Their villages consist of one or more broad streets, from one hundred to one hundred and fifty feet wide, flanked by low, square huts, arranged in tolerably straight lines, and generally situated on swells of land, to secure rapid drainage. At the end of one of these streets is the council and gossip house, overlooking the length of the avenue. In the centre is a platform of tamped clay, with a heavy tree-trunk sunk into it, and in the wood have been scooped out a number of troughs, so that several women may pound grain at once. It is a substitute for the village mill. "The houses are separated into two or more apartments, and on account of the compact nature of the clay and tamped floor are easily kept clean. The roofs are slimy with the reek of smoke, as though they had been painted with coal-tar. The household chattels or furniture are limited to food-baskets, earthenware pots, an assortment of wickerwork dishes, the family shields, spears, knives, swords, and tools, and the fish-baskets lying outside. [Illustration: VILLAGE SCENE IN SOUTHEAST MANYEMA.] "They are tolerably hospitable, and permit strangers the free use of their dwellings. The bananas and plantains are very luxuriant, while the Guinea palms supply the people with oil and wine; the forests give them fuel, the rivers fish, and the gardens cassava, ground-nuts, and Indian corn. "The chiefs enact strict laws, and, though possessed of but little actual power either of wealth or retinue, exact the utmost deference, and are exceedingly ceremonious, being always followed by a drummer, who taps his drum with masterly skill born of long and continued practice. "On the 11th we crossed the Luama River--a stream two hundred yards wide and eight feet deep in the centre at the ferry--called the Rugumba in Ubujwé. Below the ford, as far as the Lualaba, its current is from three to six knots an hour, and about five feet deep, flowing over a shaly bed. "On the western side of the Luama the women at once fled upon the approach of our caravan--a certain sign that there had been trouble between them and Arabs. "My predecessors, Livingstone and Cameron, had, after crossing the stream, proceeded west, but I preferred to follow the Luama to its junction with the Lualaba, and thence to Nyangwé. "The Luama valley is about twenty miles wide, furrowed with many water-courses; the soil is poor, abounding with yellow quartz, but resting upon soft shale. The ridges are formed of dykes of granite, which peep out frequently in large masses from among the foliage of trees. "The people appeared to be very timid, but behaved amiably. Over fifty followed us, and carried loads most willingly. Three volunteered to follow us wherever we should go, but we declined their offer. "Our riding-donkeys were the first ever seen in Manyema, and effected a striking demonstration in our favor. They obtained more admiration than even we Europeans. Hundreds of natives ran up to us at each village in the greatest excitement to behold the strange, long-eared animals, and followed us long distances from their homes to observe the donkeys' motions. "One donkey, known by the name of Muscati, a high-spirited animal from Arabia, possessed braying powers which almost equalled the roar of a lion in volume, and really appeared to enjoy immensely the admiration he excited. His asinine soul took great delight in braying at the unsophisticated Africans of the trans-Luama, for his bray sent them flying in all directions. Scores of times during a day's march we were asked the name of the beast, and, having learned it, they were never tired of talking about the 'Mpunda.' "One must not rashly impute all the blame to the Arabs and Wa-Swahili of the Zanzibar coast for their excesses in Manyema, for the natives are also in a way to blame. Just as the Saxon and Dane and Jute, invited by the Britons, became their masters, so the Arabs, invited by the Manyema to assist them against one another, have become their tyrants. [Illustration: HOUSE OF AN ARAB MERCHANT, CENTRAL AFRICA.] "Bribes were offered to us three times by Manyema chiefs to assist them in destroying their neighbors, to whom they are of near kin, and with whom they have almost daily intimate relations. Our refusal of ivory and slaves appeared to surprise the chiefs, and they expressed the opinion that we white men were not as good as the Arabs, for--though it was true we did not rob them of their wives and daughters, enslave their sons, or despoil them of a single article--the Arabs would have assisted them. [Illustration: HOUSE OF A MANYEMA CHIEF.] "One really does not know whether to pity or to despise the natives of Manyema. Many are amiable enough to deserve good and kind treatment, but others are hardly human. They fly to the woods upon the approach of strangers, leaving their granaries[8] of Indian corn, erected like screens across the streets, or just outside the villages, in tempting view of hungry people. If the strangers follow them into the woods to persuade them to return and sell food, the purpose of the visit is mistaken, and they are assailed from behind depths of bush and tall trees. They are humble and liberal to the strong-armed Arab, savage and murderous and cannibalistic to small bands, and every slain man provides a banquet of meat for the forest-natives of Manyema. Livingstone's uniform gentle treatment of all classes deserved a better return than to have his life attempted four times. His patience finally exhausted, and his life in danger, he gave the order to his men, 'Fire upon them, these men are wicked.' [8] These granaries consist of tall poles--like telegraph poles--planted at a distance of about ten feet from each other, to which are attached about a dozen lines of lliane, or creepers, at intervals, from top to bottom. On these several lines are suspended the maize, point downwards, by the shucks of the cob. Their appearance suggests lofty screens built up of corn. "On the 13th, after a march of thirteen miles in a west-southwest direction, along a very crooked path, we arrived at Kabungwé. "At this settlement we observed for the first time spears all of wood, having their points sharp and hardened in fire and shafts eight to ten feet long. As each warrior possesses a sheaf of these weapons, besides a vast wooden shield, he is sufficiently armed against a native enemy, and might, by a little boldness, become a dangerous foe to an Arab. "The currency throughout Manyema consists of cowries. Six cowries formed the ration money of the Wangwana, three cowries purchased a chicken, two procured ten maize-ears, one cowrie obtained the service of a native to grind the grain, two cowries were a day's hire for a porter; so that the Wangwana and Wanyamwezi were enjoying both abundance and relief from labor while we were travelling through Manyema. "At Kabungwé I was alarmed at an insufferable odor that pervaded the air we breathed, for, whether in the house or without, the atmosphere seemed loaded with an intolerable stench. On inquiring of the natives whether there was any dead animal putrefying in the neighborhood, they pointed to the firewood that was burning, and to a tree--a species of laurel--as that which emitted the smell. Upon examination I found it was indeed due to this strange wood, which, however, only becomes offensive under the action of fire. "Between Kabungwé and Mtuyu, our next camp, the country is extremely populous. Were all the villages we passed inhabited by brave men, a brigade of European troops could not move without precaution. The people, however, did not attempt to molest us, though an enormous number came out to stare at us and our donkeys. "The natives are quick to adopt nicknames. In some places the Arabs were known by the name of Mwana Ngombé, 'lords of cows.' "The Sarmeen of my first expedition received from his comrades, for his detective qualities, the name of Kachéché, or the 'weasel.' "Sambuzi received the title of Mta-uza, or the 'spoiler;' and one of his subordinates was called Kiswaga, or 'fleet-foot.' "Kalulu's name was formerly Ndugu Mali, 'brother of money.' "Wadi Safeni had a young relative in the expedition entitled Akili Mali, or 'one who is wise with his money.' "In the same manner countries receive appellations distinctive of peculiarities, such as, Unya-Nyembé, land of hoes. U-Yofu, land of elephants. Unya-Mbewa, land of goats. Unya-Nkondo, land of sheep. U-Konongo, land of travellers. Unya-Nguruwé, land of hogs. U-Nguru, land of mountains. U-Kusu, land of parrots. U-Ganda, land of drums. U-Lungu or U-Rungu, plain land. Ma-Rungu, plateau land. U-Kutu, land of ears (long ears?). U-Karanga, land of ground nuts. U-Lua, or U-Rua, land of lakes. U-Emba, lake land. U-Bwari, land of food. "Mtuyu is the easternmost settlement of the country of Uzura. On arrival we perceived that all their women were absent, and naturally inquired what had become of them. They replied, in pathetic strains, 'Oh, they are all dead; all cut off, every one. It was the small-pox!' "We sympathized with them, of course, because of such a terrible loss, and attempted to express our concern. But one of our enterprising people, while endeavoring to search out a good market for his cowries, discovered several dozen of the women in a wooded ravine! They had been concealed under the supposition that we were slave-hunters. "Skirting the range of hills which bounds the Luama valley on the north, we marched to Mpungu, which is fifteen miles west of Mtuyu. Kiteté, its chief, is remarkable for a plaited beard twenty inches long, decorated at the tips with a number of blue glass beads. His hair was also trussed up on the crown of his head in a shapely mass. His brother possessed a beard six inches long; there were half a dozen others with beards of three or four inches long. Kiteté's symbol of royalty was a huge truncheon, or Hercules club, blackened and hardened by fire. His village was neat, and the architecture of the huts peculiar, as the picture below shows. [Illustration: KITETÉ, THE CHIEF OF MPUNGU.] "The Luama valley at Uzura at this season presents a waving extent of grass-grown downs, and while crossing over the higher swells of land we enjoyed uninterrupted views of thirty or forty miles to the west and south. [Illustration: VILLAGE NEAR KABUNGWÉ.] "From Mpungu we travelled through an interesting country (a distance of four miles), and suddenly from the crest of a low ridge saw the confluence of the Luama with the majestic Lualaba. The former appeared to have a breadth of four hundred yards at the mouth; the latter was about fourteen hundred yards wide, a broad river of a pale gray color winding slowly from south and by east. "We hailed its appearance with shouts of joy, and rested on the spot to enjoy the view. Across the river, beyond a tawny, grassy stretch towards the south-southwest, is Mount Kijima; about one thousand feet above the valley, to the south-southeast, across the Luama, runs the Luhye-ya ridge; from its base the plain slopes to the swift Luama. In the bed of the great river are two or three small islands, green with the verdure of trees and sedge. I likened it even here to the Mississippi, as it appears before the impetuous, full-volumed Missouri pours its rusty-brown water into it. "A secret rapture filled my soul as I gazed upon the majestic stream. The great mystery that for all these centuries nature had kept hidden away from the world of science was waiting to be solved. For two hundred and twenty miles I had followed one of the sources of the Livingstone to the confluence, and now before me lay the superb river itself! My task was to follow it to the ocean." [Illustration: NATIVE HOUSES AT MTUYU.] "It is getting late," said Mr. Stanley, glancing at his watch, "and I will leave you at this point where you can dream of the great river and its course to the sea. To-morrow you shall hear about some of the difficulties we encountered in going forward with the expedition." As Mr. Stanley retired he was loudly applauded, and it was evident that the little audience were greatly pleased to hear from his own lips the account of his journey through the African wilderness. [Illustration: ANTS'-NEST IN MANYEMA.] CHAPTER IX. DIFFICULTIES OF LIVINGSTONE AND CAMERON WITH THEIR FOLLOWERS.--PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF TIPPU-TIB.--NEGOTIATIONS FOR AN ESCORT.--TIPPU-TIB ARRANGES TO GO WITH STANLEY.--THE WONDERS OF UREGGA.--GORILLAS AND BOA-CONSTRICTORS.--THEIR REMARKABLE PERFORMANCES.--A NATION OF DWARFS.--HOW STANLEY DECIDED WHAT ROUTE TO FOLLOW.--HEADS OR TAILS?--"SHALL IT BE SOUTH OR NORTH?"--SIGNING THE CONTRACT WITH TIPPU-TIB.--A REMARKABLE ACCIDENT.--ENTERING NYANGWÉ.--LOCATION AND IMPORTANCE OF THE PLACE.--ITS ARAB RESIDENTS.--MARKET SCENES AT NYANGWÉ.--READY FOR THE START. The forenoon of the next day was passed as usual; and in the afternoon the party assembled for the continuation of the story of the journey across the Dark Continent. It was Fred's turn to read, and the young man was promptly in his place at the table, and with the open volume before him. [Illustration: HILL AND VILLAGE ON THE ROAD TO NYANGWÉ.] "Mr. Stanley left us, last evening," said Fred, "on the banks of the great river which he called the Livingstone, but which is more familiar to us as the Congo. Early the next day after his arrival he resumed his march, pressing forward in the direction of Nyangwé, the farthest point reached by Livingstone and afterwards by Cameron. Both these travellers greatly desired to explore the mysterious river which flowed past Nyangwé, but were unable to do so. Neither could induce his men to advance beyond that point; they tried to purchase or hire canoes with which to descend the river, but none could be obtained. "The same fate threatened to fall upon Stanley, and compel him to turn back to Ujiji just as had been the case with Livingstone. But it was his good-fortune to meet one Hamed bin Mohammed, or Tippu-Tib, an Arab trader of great influence, who is well known throughout Central Africa. He has a large force of Arabs under his control, and is a sort of migratory king among the people where he moves. He can easily assemble a thousand Arab fighting-men at a few days' notice, and at almost any moment he can command the services of two or three hundred of them. Here is a description of him as given by Mr. Stanley: "He was a tall, black-bearded man, of negroid complexion, in the prime of life, straight, and quick in his movements, a picture of energy and strength. He had a fine, intelligent face, with a nervous twitching of the eyes, and gleaming white and perfectly formed teeth. He was attended by a large retinue of young Arabs, who looked up to him as chief, and a score of Wangwana and Wanyamwezi followers whom he had led over thousands of miles through Africa. "With the air of a well-bred Arab, and almost courtier-like in his manner, he welcomed me to the village, and his slaves being ready at hand with mat and bolster, he reclined _vis-à-vis_, while a buzz of admiration of his style was perceptible from the on-lookers. After regarding him for a few minutes, I came to the conclusion that this Arab was a remarkable man--the most remarkable man I had met among Arabs, Wa-Swahili, and half-castes in Africa. He was neat in his person, his clothes were of a spotless white, his fez-cap brand-new, his waist was encircled by a rich dowlé, his dagger was splendid with silver filigree, and his _tout ensemble_ was that of an Arab gentleman in very comfortable circumstances. "The person above described was the Arab who had escorted Cameron across the Lualaba as far as Utotera, south latitude 5°, and east longitude 25° 54'. Naturally, therefore, there was no person at Nyangwé whose evidence was more valuable than Tippu-Tib's as to the direction that my predecessor at Nyangwé had taken. The information he gave me was sufficiently clear--and was, moreover, confirmed by other Arabs--that the greatest problem of African geography was left untouched at the exact spot where Dr. Livingstone had felt himself unable to prosecute his travels, and whence he had retraced his steps to Ujiji never to return to Nyangwé." "After a long conference," said Fred, "Mr. Stanley asked Tippu-Tib if he would accompany the expedition in the exploration of the great river. The Arab at first declined the proposal, but after several interviews and a considerable amount of negotiation, it was arranged that, in consideration of five thousand dollars, Tippu-Tib with one hundred and fifty of his followers would accompany Mr. Stanley for a distance of sixty marches from Nyangwé in any direction the latter should choose to take. The contract between them was very carefully drawn, and a considerable time was spent in arranging it. [Illustration: WAITING TO BE PHOTOGRAPHED.] "While these negotiations were in progress Mr. Stanley obtained all the information possible from Arabs and others relative to the region he proposed to visit. One Arab who claimed to have followed the course of the river for a great distance said it flowed 'to the north, to the north, always to the north, and there is no end to it till it reaches the salt sea.' He had, he declared, travelled to the north along the banks of the river till he reached the country of the dwarfs, a journey of nine months. They were a powerful people, although they were so small; the men were only a yard high, with big heads and long beards. His party had a terrible fight with these dwarfs, who fought with poisoned arrows that cause death almost instantly by the slightest scratch. Every man that was killed was immediately eaten by the dwarfs, who have the reputation of being the worst cannibals in all Africa. Out of two or three hundred Arabs that went on this expedition, only about thirty remained to return to Nyangwé. "After listening to this wonderful story Mr. Stanley asked the Arab if he saw any other curious things on his journey. [Illustration: A YOUNG SOKO (GORILLA).] "'Oh, yes!' he answered. 'There are monstrous large boa-constrictors in the forest of Uregga, suspended by their tails to the branches, waiting for the passer-by or for a stray antelope. The ants in that forest are not to be despised. You cannot travel without your body being covered with them, when they sting you like wasps. The leopards are so numerous that you cannot go very far without seeing one. Almost every native wears a leopard-skin cap. The sokos (gorillas) are in the woods, and woe befall the man or woman met alone by them; for they run up to you and seize your hands, and bite the fingers off one by one, and as fast as they bite one off, they spit it out. The Wasongora Meno and Waregga are cannibals, and unless the force is very strong, they never let strangers pass. It is nothing but constant fighting. Only two years ago a party armed with three hundred guns started north of Usongora Meno; they only brought sixty guns back, and no ivory. If one tries to go by the river, there are falls after falls, which carry the people over and drown them. A party of thirty men, in three canoes, went down the river half a day's journey from Nyangwé, when the old white man (Livingstone) was living there. They were all drowned, and that was the reason he did not go on. Had he done so, he would have been eaten, for what could he have done? Ah, no. Master, the country is bad, and the Arabs have given it up. They will not try the journey into that country again, after trying it three times and losing nearly five hundred men altogether.' "Before closing his contract with Tippu-Tib Mr. Stanley consulted Frank Pocock, his only remaining white companion, in order to obtain his views of the matter. I will read his account of the consultation and what followed it. "At 6 P.M. a couple of saucers, filled with palm-oil and fixed with cotton-wick, were lit. It was my after-dinner hour, the time for pipes and coffee, which Frank was always invited to share. "When he came in the coffee-pot was boiling, and little Mabruki was in waiting to pour out. The tobacco-pouch, filled with the choicest production of Africa--that of Masansi, near Uvira--was ready. Mabruki poured out the coffee, and retired, leaving us together. "'Now Frank, my son,' I said, 'sit down. I am about to have a long and serious chat with you. Life and death--yours as well as mine, and those of all the expedition--hang on the decision I make to-night.' [Illustration: BLACKSMITHS AT WORK.] "And then I reminded him of his friends at home, and also of the dangers before him; of the sorrow his death would cause, and also of the honors that would greet his success; of the facility of returning to Zanzibar, and also of the perilous obstacles in the way of advance--thus carefully alternating the _pro_ with the _con_, so as not to betray my own inclinations. I reminded him of the hideous scenes we had already been compelled to witness and to act in, pointing out that other wicked tribes, no doubt, lay before us; but also recalling to his memory how treachery, cunning, and savage courage had been baulked by patience and promptitude; and how we still possessed the power to punish those who threatened us or murdered our friends. And I ended with words something like these: "'There is, no doubt, some truth in what the Arabs say about the ferocity of these natives before us. Livingstone, after fifteen thousand miles of travel, and a lifetime of experience among Africans, would not have yielded the brave struggle without strong reasons; Cameron, with his forty-five Snider rifles, would never have turned away from such a brilliant field if he had not sincerely thought that they were insufficient to resist the persistent attacks of countless thousands of wild men. But while we grant that there may be a modicum of truth in what the Arabs say, it is in their ignorant, superstitious nature to exaggerate what they have seen. A score of times have we proved them wrong. Yet their reports have already made a strong impression on the minds of the Wangwana and Wanyamwezi. They are already trembling with fear, because they suspect that I am about to attempt the cannibal lands beyond Nyangwé. On the day that we propose to begin our journey, we shall have no expedition. [Illustration: NATIVE TRAP FOR GAME.] "'On the other hand, I am confident that, if I am able to leave Nyangwé with the expedition intact, and to place a breadth of wild country between our party and the Arab depot, I shall be able to make men of them. There are good stuff, heroic qualities, in them; but we must get free from the Arabs, or they will be very soon demoralized. It is for this purpose I am negotiating with Tippu-Tib. If I can arrange with him and leave Nyangwé without the dreadful loss we experienced at Ujiji, I feel sure that I can inspire my men to dare anything with me. "'The difficulty of transport, again, is enormous. We cannot obtain canoes at Nyangwé. Livingstone could not, Cameron failed. No doubt I shall fail. I shall not try to obtain any. But we might buy up all the axes that we can see between here and Nyangwé, and travelling overland on this side the Lualaba, we might, before Tippu-Tib's contract is at an end, come across a tribe which would sell their canoes. We have sufficient stores to last a long time, and I shall purchase more at Nyangwé. If the natives will not sell, we can make our own canoes, if we possess a sufficient number of axes to set all hands at work. "'Now, what I wish you to tell me, Frank, is your opinion as to what we ought to do.' "Frank's answer was ready. "'I say, "Go on, sir."' "'Think well, my dear fellow; don't be hasty; life and death hang on our decision. Don't you think we could explore to the east of Cameron's road?' "'But there is nothing like this great river, sir.' "'What do you say to Lake Lincoln, Lake Kamolondo, Lake Bemba, and all that part, down to the Zambezi?' "'Ah! that is a fine field, sir; and perhaps the natives would not be so ferocious. Would they?' "'Yet, as you said just now, it would be nothing to the great river, which for all these thousands of years has been flowing steadily to the north through hundreds, perhaps thousands, of miles, of which no one has ever heard a word.' [Illustration: CANOES ON THE RIVER.] "'Let us follow the river, sir.' "'Yet, my friend, think yet again. Look at all these faithful fellows whose lives depend on our word; think of our own, for we are yet young and strong and active. Why should we throw them away for a barren honor, or if we succeed have every word we said doubted, and carped at, and our motives misconstrued by malicious minds, who distort everything to our injury?' "'Ah, true, sir. I was one of those who doubted that you had ever found Livingstone. I don't mind telling you now. Until I came to Zanzibar, and saw your people, I did not believe it, and there are hundreds in Rochester who shared my opinion.' "'And do you believe, Frank, that you are in Manyema now?' "'I am obliged to, sir.' "'Are you not afraid, should you return to England, that when men say you have never been to Africa, as no doubt they will, you will come to disbelieve it yourself?' "'Ah, no, sir,' he replied. 'I can never forget Ituru; the death of my brother in that wild land; the deaths of so many Wangwana there; the great lake; Uganda; our march to Muta Nzege; Rumanika; my life in Ujiji; the Tanganika; and our march here.' "'But what do you think, Frank? Had we not better explore northeast of here, until we reach Muta Nzege, circumnavigate that lake, and strike across to Uganda again, and return to Zanzibar by way of Kagehyi?' "'That would be a fine job, sir, if we could do it.' "'Yet, if you think of it, Frank, this great river which Livingstone first saw, and which broke his heart almost to turn away from and leave a mystery, is a noble field too. Fancy, by and by, after buying or building canoes, our floating down the river day by day, either to the Nile or to some vast lake in the far north, or to the Congo and the Atlantic Ocean! Think what a benefit our journey will be to Africa. Steamers from the mouth of the Congo to Lake Bemba, and to all the great rivers which run into it!' "'I say, sir, let us toss up; best two out of three to decide it.' "'Toss away. Here is a rupee.' "'Heads for the north and the Lualaba; tails for the south and Katanga.' "Frank stood up, his face beaming. He tossed the rupee high up. The coin dropped. "'What is it?' I asked. "'Tails, sir!' said Frank, with a face expressive of strong disapproval. "'Toss again.' "He tossed again, and 'tails' was again announced--and six times running 'tails' won. [Illustration: "HEADS FOR THE NORTH AND THE LUALABA; TAILS FOR THE SOUTH AND KATANGA."] "We then tried straws--the short straws for the south, the long straws for the River Lualaba--and again we were disappointed, for Frank persisted in drawing out the short straws, and in leaving the long straws in my hands. "'It is of no use, Frank. Well face our destiny, despite the rupee and straws. With your help, my dear fellow, I will follow the river.' "'Mr. Stanley, have no fear of me. I shall stand by you. The last words of my dear old father were, "Stick by your master." And there is my hand, sir; you shall never have cause to doubt me.' "'Good; I shall go on, then. I will finish this contract with Tippu-Tib, for the Wangwana, on seeing him accompany us, will perhaps be willing to follow me. We may also recruit others at Nyangwé. And then, if the natives will allow peaceful passage through their countries, so much the better. If not, our duty says, "Go on."' [Illustration: A FOLLOWER OF TIPPU-TIB.] "The next night Tippu-Tib and his friends visited me again. The contract was written, and signed by the respective parties and their witnesses. The Wangwana chiefs were then called, and it was announced to them that Tippu-Tib, with one hundred and forty guns and seventy Wanyamwezi spearmen, would escort us a distance of sixty camps, when, if we found the countries hostile to us, and no hopes of meeting other traders, we should return with him to Nyangwé. If we met Portuguese or Turkish traders, a portion of us would continue the journey with them, and the remainder would return with Tippu-Tib to Nyangwé. This announcement was received with satisfaction, and the chiefs said that, owing to Tippu-Tib's presence, no Arab at Nyangwé would dare to harbor a runaway from the expedition. "Cowries and beads were then counted out and given that evening to Tippu-Tib, as ration money for ten days from the day of his departure from Mwana Mamba. "The next morning, being the 24th of October, the expedition left Mwana Mamba in high spirits. The good effect of the contract with Tippu-Tib had already brought us recruits, for on the road I observed several strange faces of men who, on our arrival at the first camp, Marimbu, eleven miles northwest from Mwana Mamba, appeared before my tent, and craved to be permitted to follow us. They received an advance in cloth, and their names were entered on the muster-list of the expedition at the same rate of pay as the other Wanyamwezi and Wangwana. "Through a fine rolling country, but depopulated, with every mile marked by ruined villages, we marched in a northwesterly direction, and on the 25th of October arrived at Kankumba, crossing the Mshama stream by the way. "About one mile from our camp was the marshy valley of the Kunda River, another tributary of the Lualaba, which rises in Uzimba; to the east-northeast of us, about eight miles off, rose some hilly cones, spurs of the Manyema hills; on the west stretched a rolling grassy land extending to the Lualaba. "The grass (genus _Panicum_) of Manyema is like other things in this prolific land, of gigantic proportions, and denser than the richest field of corn. The stalks are an inch in diameter, and about eight feet high. In fact, what I have called 'grassy land' is more like a waving country planted with young bamboo. "Young Kalulu, who, since his recapture at the Uguha port on Lake Tanganika, had been well behaved, and was in high favor again, met with a serious and very remarkable accident at Kankumba. A chief, called Mabruki the elder, had retained a cartridge in his Snider, contrary to orders, and, leaving it carelessly on the stacked goods, a hurrying Mgwana kicked it down with his foot, which caused it to explode. Kalulu, who was reclining on his mat near a fire, was wounded in no fewer than _eight_ places, the bullet passing through the outer part of his lower legs, the upper part of his thigh, and, glancing over his right ribs, through the muscles of his left arm. "Though the accident had caused severe wounds, there was no danger, and, by applying a little arnica, lint, and bandages, we soon restored him to a hopeful view of his case. "On the morning of the 27th we descended from our camp at Kankumba to the banks of the Kunda, a river about forty yards wide, and ten feet deep at the ferry. The canoe-men were Wagenya, or Wenya, fishermen under the protection of Sheik Abed bin Salim, alias 'Tanganika.' [Illustration: A CANOE OF THE WENYA, OR WAGENYA, FISHERMEN.] "A rapid march of four miles brought us to the outskirts of Nyangwé, where we were met by Abed bin Salim, an old man of sixty-five years of age, Mohammed bin Sayid, a young Arab with a remarkably long nose and small eyes, Sheik Abed's fundis or elephant-hunters, and several Wangwana, all dressed in spotless white shirts, crimson fezzes, and sandals. "Sheik Abed was pleased to monopolize me, by offering me a house in his neighborhood. [Illustration: POT-POURRI. 1. Fish-spear. 2,3. Spears. 4,5,6. Arrow-heads. 7,8,9. Modes of stringing bows. 10,11,12. Knives. 13,14. Walking-sticks. 15. Charm. 16,17,18. Drums. 19. Iron gong. 20,21. Iron bells. 22. Musical instrument. 23. Marimba. 24. Sticks for playing marimba. 25. Rattle.] "The manner that we entered Nyangwé appeared, from subsequent conversation, to have struck Sheik Abed, who, from his long residence there, had witnessed the arrival and departure of very many caravans. There was none of the usual firing of guns and wild shouting and frenzied action; and the order and steadiness of veterans, the close files of a column which tolerably well understood by this time the difference between discipline and lawlessness with its stragglers and slovenly laggards, made a marked impression upon the old Arab. "Another thing that surprised him was the rapidity of the journey from the Tanganika--three hundred and thirty-eight miles in forty-three days, inclusive of all halts. He said that the usual period occupied by Arabs was between three and four months. Yet the members of the expedition were in admirable condition. They had never enjoyed better health, and we had not one sick person; the only one incapacitated for work was Kalulu, and he had been accidentally wounded only the very night before. Between the Tanganika and the Arab depot of Nyangwé neither Frank nor I had suffered the slightest indisposition. [Illustration: VIEW IN NYANGWÉ.] "Nyangwé is the extreme westernmost locality inhabited by the Arab traders from Zanzibar. It stands in east longitude 26° 16', south latitude 4° 15', on the right or eastern side of the Lualaba, on the verge of a high and reddish bank rising some forty feet above the river, with clear open country north along the river for a distance of three miles, east some ten miles, south over seventy miles, or as far as the confluence of the Luama with the Lualaba. The town called Nyangwé is divided into two sections. The northern section has for its centre the quarters of Muini Dugumbi, the first Arab arrival here (in 1868); and around his house are the commodious quarters of his friends, their families and slaves--in all, perhaps, three hundred houses. The southern section is separated from its neighbor by a broad hollow, cultivated and sown with rice for the Arabs. When the Lualaba rises to its full amplitude, this hollow is flooded. The chief house of the southern half of Nyangwé is the large and well-built clay _banda_ of Sheik Abed bin Salim. In close neighborhood to this are the houses and huts of those Arab Wangwana who prefer the company of Abed bin Salim to Muini Dugumbi. "Between the two foreign chiefs of Nyangwé there is great jealousy. Each endeavors to be recognized by the natives as being the most powerful. Dugumbi is an east-coast trader of Sa'adani, a half-caste, a vulgar, coarse-minded old man of probably seventy years of age, with a negroid nose and a negroid mind. Sheik Abed is a tall, thin old man, white-bearded, patriarchal in aspect, narrow-minded, rather peevish and quick to take offence, a thorough believer in witchcraft, and a fervid Muslim. "Close to Abed's elbows of late years has been the long-nosed young Arab, Mohammed bin Sayid, superstitious beyond measure, of enormous cunning and subtlety, a pertinacious beggar, of keen trading instincts, but in all matters outside trade as simple as a child. He offered, for a consideration and on condition that I would read the Arabic Koran, to take me up and convey me to any part of Africa within a day. By such unblushing falsehoods he has acquired considerable influence over the mind of Sheik Abed. The latter told me that he was half afraid of him, and that he believed Mohammed was an extraordinary man. I asked the silly old sheik if he had lent him any ivory. No; but he was constantly being asked for the loan of ten frasilah (three hundred and fifty pounds) of ivory, for which he was promised fifteen frasilah, or five hundred and twenty-five pounds, within six months. "Mohammed, during the very first day of my arrival, sent one of his favorite slaves to ask first for a little writing-paper, then for needles and thread, and, a couple of hours afterwards, for white pepper and a bar of soap; in the evening, for a pound or two of sugar and a little tea, and, if I could spare it, he would be much obliged for some coffee. The next day petitions, each very prettily worded--for Mohammed is an accomplished reader of the Koran--came, first for medicine, then for a couple of yards of red cloth, then for a few yards of fine white sheeting, etc. I became quite interested in him--for was he not a lovable, genial character, as he sat there chewing betel-nut and tobacco to excess, twinkling his little eyes with such malicious humor in them that, while talking with him, I could not withdraw mine from watching their quick flashes of cunning, and surveying the long, thin nose, with its impenetrable mystery and classic lines? I fear Mohammed did not love me, but my admiration was excessive for Mohammed. [Illustration: A BOWMAN.] "'La il Allah--il Allah!' he was heard to say to Sheik Abed, 'that old white man Daoud (Livingstone) never gave much to any man; this white man gives _nothing_.' Certainly not, Mohammed. My admiration is great for thee, my friend; but thou liest so that I am disgusted with thee, and thou hast such a sweet, plausible, villainous look in thy face, I could punch thee heartily. "The next morning Muini (Lord) Dugumbi and following came--a gang of veritable freebooters, chiefest of whom was the famous Mtagamoyo--the butcher of women and fusillader of children. Tippu-Tib, when I asked him, a few weeks after, what he thought of Mtagamoyo, turned up his nose and said, 'He is brave, no doubt, but he is a man whose heart is as big as the end of my little finger. He has no feeling; he kills a native as though he were a serpent--it matters not of what sex.' "This man is about forty-four years of age, of middle stature and swarthy complexion, with a broad face, black beard just graying, and thin-lipped. He spoke but little, and that little courteously. He did not appear very formidable, but he might be deadly, nevertheless. The Arabs of Nyangwé regard him as their best fighter. "Dugumbi the patriarch, or, as he is called by the natives, Molemba-Lemba, had the rollicking look of a prosperous and coarse-minded old man, who was perfectly satisfied with the material aspect of his condition. He deals in humor of the coarsest kind--a vain, frivolous old fellow, ignorant of everything but the art of collecting ivory, who has contrived to attach to himself a host of nameless half-castes of inordinate pride, savage spirit, and immeasurable greed. [Illustration: CAMP SCENE.] "The Arabs of Nyangwé, when they first heard of the arrival of Tippu-Tib at Imbarri from the south, were anxious to count him as their fellow-settler; but Tippu-Tib had no ambition to become the chief citizen of a place which could boast of no better settlers than vain old Dugumbi, the butcher Mtagamoyo, and silly Sheik Abed; he therefore proceeded to Mwana Mamba's, where he found better society with Mohammed bin Sayid, Sayid bin Sultan, Msé Ani, and Sayid bin Mohammed el Mezrui. Sayid bin Sultan, in features, is a rough copy of Abdul Aziz, late Sultan of Turkey. [Illustration: AN ESCORT OF GUNNERS AND SPEARMEN.] "One of the principal institutions at Nyangwé is the Kituka, or the market, with the first of which I made acquaintance in 1871, in Ujiji and Urundi. One day it is held in the open plaza in front of Sheik Abed's house; on the next day in Dugumbi's section, half a mile from the other; and on the third at the confluence of the Kunda and the Lualaba; and so on in turn. "In this market everything becomes vendible and purchasable, from an ordinary earthenware pot to a slave. From one thousand to three thousand natives gather here from across the Lualaba and from the Kunda banks, from the islands up the river, and from the villages of the Mitamba, or forest. Nearly all are clad in the fabrics of Manyema, fine grass-cloths, which are beautifully colored and very durable. The articles sold here for cowries, beads, copper and iron wire, and lambas, or squares of palm-cloth,[9] represent the productions of Manyema. I went round the market and made out the following list: [9] Made from the fibre of the _Raphia vinifera_ palm. Sweet potatoes. Eggs. Basket-work. Yams. Fowls. Cassava bread. Maize. Black pigs. Cassava flour. Sesamum. Goats. Copper bracelets. Millet. Sheep. Iron wire. Beans. Parrots. Iron knobs. Cucumbers. Palm-wine (Malofu). Hoes. Melons Pombé (beer). Spears. Cassava. Mussels and oysters from Bows and arrows. Ground-nuts. the river. Hatchets. Bananas. Fresh fish. Rattan-cane staves. Sugar-cane. Dried fish. Stools. Pepper (in berries). Whitebait. Crockery. Vegetables for broths. Snails (dried). Powdered camwood. Wild fruit. Salt. Grass cloths. Palm-butter. White ants. Grass mats. Oil-palm nuts. Grasshoppers. Fuel. Pineapples. Tobacco (dried leaf). Ivory. Honey. Pipes. Slaves. Fishing-nets. "From this it will be perceived that the wants of Nyangwé are very tolerably supplied. And how like any other market place it was! with its noise and murmur of human voices. The same rivalry in extolling their wares, the eager, quick action, the emphatic gesture, the inquisitive look, the facial expressions of scorn and triumph, anxiety, joy, plausibility, were all there. I discovered, too, the surprising fact that the aborigines of Manyema possess just the same inordinate ideas in respect to their wares as London, Paris, and New York shopkeepers. Perhaps the Manyema people are not so voluble, but they compensate for lack of language by gesture and action, which are unspeakably eloquent. [Illustration: SLAVE OFFERED IN THE MARKET.] "During this month of the year the Lualaba reached its lowest level. Our boat, the _Lady Alice_, after almost being rebuilt, was launched in the river, and with sounding-line and sextant on board, my crew and I, eager to test the boat on the gray-brown waters of the great river, pushed off at 11 A.M., and rowed for an island opposite, eight hundred yards distant, taking soundings as we went. The soundings showed a mean depth of eighteen feet nine inches. [Illustration: NYANGWÉ HEADS.] "The easternmost island in mid-river is about one hundred yards across at its widest part, and between it and another island is a distance of from two hundred and fifty to three hundred yards. From the second island to the low shore opposite Nyangwé is about two hundred and fifty yards, and these channels have a slightly swifter flow than the main river. The mean depth of the central channel was twelve and a half feet, the westernmost eleven feet, and the entire width of clear water flow was about thirteen hundred yards. During the months of April, May, and June, and the early part of July, the Lualaba is full, and overspreads the low lands westward for nearly a mile and a half. The Lualaba then may be said to be from four thousand to five thousand yards wide opposite Nyangwé. "The Arabs, wherever they settle throughout Africa, endeavor to introduce the seeds of the vegetables and fruit-trees which grow in their beloved island of Zanzibar. At Unyanyembé, therefore, they have planted papaws, sweet limes, mangoes, lemons, custard-apples, pomegranates, and have sown wheat and rice in abundance. At Ujiji, also, they have papaws, sweet limes, pomegranates, lemons, wheat, rice, and onions. At Nyangwé their fruit consists of pineapples, papaws, and pomegranates. They have succeeded admirably in their rice, both at Nyangwé, Kasongo's, and Mwana Mamba's. [Illustration: NYANGWÉ POTTERY.] "The Wagenya, as the Arabs call them, or Wenya--pronounced Wainya--as they style themselves, are a remarkable tribe of fishers, who inhabit both banks of the Lualaba, from the confluence of the Kamalondo, on the left bank, down to the sixth cataract of the Stanley Falls, and on the right bank, from the confluence of the Luama down to Ubwiré, or Usongora Meno. "The Wenya were the aborigines of Nyangwé, when the advanced party of Muini Dugumbi appeared on the scene--precursors of ruin, terror, and depopulation, to the inhabitants of seven hundred square miles of Manyema. Considering that the fertile open tract of country between the Luama and Nyangwé was exceedingly populous, as the ruins of scores of villages testify, sixty inhabitants to the square mile would not be too great a proportion. The river border, then, of Manyema, from the Luama to Nyangwé, may be said to have had a population of forty-two thousand souls, of which there remain probably only twenty thousand. The others have been deported, or massacred, or have fled to the islands or emigrated down the river. "Tippu-Tib arrived at Nyangwé on the 2d of November, with a much larger force than I anticipated, for he had nearly seven hundred people with him. However, he explained that he was about to send some three hundred of them to a country called Tata, which lies to the east of Usongora Meno. [Illustration: MUINI DUJAMBI'S FOLLOWERS ATTACKING NYANGWÉ.] "On the 4th of November the members of the expedition were mustered, and we ascertained that they numbered one hundred and fifty-four, and that we possessed the following arms: Sniders, 29; percussion-lock muskets, 32; Winchesters, 2; double-barrelled guns, 2; revolvers, 10; axes, 68. Out of this number of sixty-four guns only forty were borne by trustworthy men; the others were mere pagazis, who would prefer becoming slaves to fighting for their freedom and lives. At the same time they were valuable as porters, and faithful to their allotted duties and their contract, when not enticed away by outside influences or fear. The enormous force that Tippu-Tib brought to Nyangwé quite encouraged them; and when I asked them if they were ready to make good their promise to me at Zanzibar and Muta Nzege Lake, they replied unanimously in the affirmative. "'Then to-night, my friends,' said I, 'you will pack up your goods, and to-morrow morning, at the first hour, let me see you in line before my house ready to start.'" [Illustration: ANTELOPE OF THE NYANGWÉ REGION.] CHAPTER X. DEPARTURE FROM NYANGWÉ.--THE DARK UNKNOWN.--IN THE PRIMEVAL FOREST.--AN AFRICAN WILDERNESS.--SAVAGE FURNITURE.--TIPPU-TIB'S DEPENDANTS.--A TOILSOME MARCH.--THE DENSE JUNGLE.--A DEMORALIZED COLUMN.--AFRICAN WEAPONS.--A VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.--SKULLS OF SOKOS.--STANLEY'S LAST PAIR OF SHOES.--SNAKES IN THE WAY.--THE TERRIBLE UNDER-GROWTH.--NATIVES OF UREGGA AND THEIR CHARACTERISTICS.--SKULLS AS STREET ORNAMENTS.--AMONG THE CANNIBALS.--ON THE RIVER'S BANK.--A SUDDEN INSPIRATION.--THE TRUE ROAD TO THE SEA.--TIPPU-TIB'S DISCOURAGEMENTS.--ENCOUNTERING THE NATIVES.--SUCCESSFUL NEGOTIATIONS.--THE EXPEDITION FERRIED OVER THE RIVER.--CAMPING IN THE WENYA. After a brief pause Fred continued to read from the book which lay before him: "When, on the 5th of November, 1876, we had left Nyangwé behind us, and had attended an elevated grassy ridge, we saw before us a black, curving wall of forest, which, beginning from the river bank, extended southeast, until hills and distance made it indistinct. [Illustration: NEAR NYANGWÉ.] "I turned round to look at Nyangwé, which we were leaving. How lovable and cheerful it appeared as it crowned the shoulder of one of those lengthy grassy undulations overlooking the gray-brown Livingstone! How bright and warm appeared the plain border of the river as the sun shone over its wind-fanned waves of grass! Even the hill-cones of Uzura and western Manyema ranked in line between the forest and the grassy plain, which were now purpling and becoming like cloud-forms, seemed to me to have a more friendly and brighter appearance than the cold blackness of the dense forest which rose before us to the north! "What a forbidding aspect had the Dark Unknown which confronted us! I could not comprehend in the least what lay before us. Even the few names which I had heard from the Arabs conveyed no definite impression to my understanding. What were Tata, Meginna, Uregga, Usongora Meno, and such uncouth names to me? They conveyed no idea, and signified no object; they were barren names of either countries, villages, or peoples, involved in darkness, savagery, ignorance, and fable. "Yet it is our destiny to move on, whatever direction it may be that that narrow winding path, running among tall grasses and down into gullies and across small streams, takes us, until we penetrate that cold, dark, still horizon before us, and emerge whithersoever the narrow path will permit us--a distance of two hundred and forty hours' travel. "The object of the desperate journey is to flash a torch of light across the western half of the Dark Continent. For from Nyangwé east, along the fourth parallel of south latitude, are some eight hundred and thirty geographical miles, discovered, explored, and surveyed; but westward to the Atlantic Ocean, along the same latitude, are nine hundred and fifty-six miles--over nine hundred geographical miles of which are absolutely unknown. Instead, however, of striking direct west, we are about to travel north on the eastern side of the river, to prevent it bending easterly to Muta Nzege, or Nilewards, unknown to us, and to ascertain, if the river really runs westward, what affluents flow to it from the east; and to deduce from their size and volume some idea of the extent of country which they drain, and the locality of their sources. [Illustration: OPEN COUNTRY BEFORE REACHING THE FOREST.] "A thousand things may transpire to prevent the accomplishment of our purpose: hunger, disease, and savage hostility may crush us; perhaps, after all, the difficulties may daunt us, but our hopes run high, and our purpose is lofty; then, in the name of God let us set on, and as he pleases, so let him rule our destinies! "After journeying a distance of nine miles and a half northeast, over a rolling plain covered with grass, we arrived at the villages of Nakasimbi; Tippu-Tib, with seven hundred people--men, women and children--occupying two villages, while our expedition occupied another, overlooking a depression drained by a sluggish affluent of the Kunda River. "Tippu-Tib is accompanied by about a dozen Arabs, young or middle-aged, who have followed him in the hope of being rewarded by him or myself at the end of a prosperous journey. "One of them is called Sheik Abdallah, alias Muini Kibwana--a name adopted solely for Manyema. He is very ignorant, can neither read nor write, but has a vast regard for those who have mastered the secrets of literature, like Tippu-Tib. He is armed with a flint-lock Brummagem musket, for which he has considerable affection, because--according to him--it has saved his life many a time. 'It never lies.' [Illustration: TIPPU-TIB'S BODY SERVANTS.] "The next is Muini Ibrahim, a Mrima (coast) man, of Arab descent, though ruder and unpolished. Americans would have very little to do with him, because the negroid evidences are so great that he would be classed as a full-blooded negro. Yet he speaks Arabic well, and is a fervid Muslim, but withal as superstitious as any primitive African. He affects to be religious, and consequently is not blood-thirsty, having some regard for the lives of human beings, and for this receiving due praise from me. He is also armed with a flint-lock musket. Sheik Abdallah and he are bosom friends, and each possesses from thirty to forty slaves, likewise armed with flint-locks. "Tippu-Tib's Arab dependants, who dip their hands in the same porridge and meat-dish with the independent Sheik Abdallah and Muini Ibrahim, consist of Muini Jumah (Master Friday), a nervous, tall young man; Chéché (Weasel), a short, light-complexioned young man of twenty-five years of age; Bwana Abed bin Jumah, the author of the dwarf story, who has consented to act as our guide; Muini Hamadi, a half-caste man of sturdy form and resolute appearance; and six or seven others of no special individuality or importance, except as so many dependants of Tippu-Tib. "The seven hundred people who follow our expedition at present consist of two parties: one party composed of three hundred men, women, and children, and commanded by Bwana Shokka (master of the axe), the confidential man of Tippu-Tib's staff, of great strength, tall and gaunt of person, and a renowned traveller; a man of great tact, and worth a fortune to his master, as he is exceedingly cool, speaks slowly, and by some rare gift conciliates the savages (when not actually attacked on the road) and makes them friends. In a few days he is to part from us, striking northeasterly for some dozen marches, the utmost reach of Arab intercourse. [Illustration: JUMAH.] "The four hundred who are to accompany us for a distance of sixty camps consist of about two hundred and fifty men--Arabs, half-castes, Wangwana, one hundred Wanyamwezi, Ruga-Ruga--mostly armed with spears and bows and arrows; others possess flint-locks. One hundred men consist of Barua, Manyema, Bakusu, Ba-Samha, and Utotera slaves; most of these slaves are armed with flint-locks, the others with formidable spears and shields. There are also about fifty youths, ranging from ten to eighteen years of age, being trained by Tippu-Tib as gun-bearers, house-servants, scouts, cooks, carpenters, house-builders, blacksmiths, and leaders of trading parties. Meanwhile such young fellows are useful to him; they are more trustworthy than adults, because they look up to him as their father; and know that if they left him they would inevitably be captured by a less humane man. The remainder of this motley force consists of women, the wives of Tippu-Tib and his followers. "Two hundred and ten out of the four hundred I have pledged to support until they shall return to Nyangwé, at the same rate of ration currency that may be distributed to the members of our expedition. "On the 6th of November we drew nearer to the dreaded black and chill forest called Mitamba, and at last, bidding farewell to sunshine and brightness, entered it. "We had made one mistake--we had not been up early enough. Tippu-Tib's heterogeneous column of all ages was ahead of us, and its want of order and compactness became a source of trouble to us in the rear. "We, accustomed to rapid marching, had to stand in our places minutes at a time waiting patiently for an advance of a few yards, after which would come another halt, and another short advance, to be again halted. And all this time the trees kept shedding their dew upon us, like rain, in great round drops. Every leaf seemed weeping. Down the boles and branches, creepers and vegetable cords, the moisture trickled and fell on us. Overhead the wide-spreading branches, in many interlaced strata, each branch heavy with broad, thick leaves, absolutely shut out the daylight. We knew not whether it was a sunshiny day or a dull, foggy, gloomy day; for we marched in a feeble, solemn twilight, such as you may experience in temperate climes an hour after sunset. The path soon became a stiff, clayey paste, and at every step we splashed water over the legs of those in front and on either side of us. "To our right and left, to the height of about twenty feet, towered the undergrowth, the lower world of vegetation. The soil on which this thrives is a dark-brown vegetable humus, the _débris_ of ages of rotting leaves and fallen branches, a very forcing-bed of vegetable life, which, constantly fed with moisture, illustrates in an astonishing degree the prolific power of the warm, moist shades of the tropics. "The stiff clay lying under this mould, being impervious, retains the moisture which constantly supplies the millions of tiny roots of herb, plant, and bush. The innumerable varieties of plants which spring up with such marvellous rapidity, if exposed to the gale, would soon be laid prostrate. But what rude blast can visit these imprisoned shades? The tempest might roar without the leafy world, but in its deep bosom there is absolute stillness. One has but to tug at a sapling to know that the loose mould has no retentive power, and that the sapling's roots have not penetrated the clays. Even the giants of the forest have not penetrated very deeply, as one may see by the half-exposed roots; they appear to retain their upright positions more by breadth of base than by their grasp of earth. "Every few minutes we found ourselves descending into ditches, with streams trending towards the Kunda River, discharged out of leafy depths of date-palms, Amoma, Carpodinæ, and Phrynia. Climbing out from these streams, up their steep banks, our faces were brushed by the broad leaves of the Amomum, or the wild banana, ficus of various kinds, and climbing, crawling, obstructing lengths of wild vines. [Illustration: THE EDGE OF THE FOREST.] "Naturally our temper was not improved by this new travelling. The dew dropped and pattered on us incessantly until about 10 A.M. Our clothes were heavily saturated with it. My white sun-helmet and puggaree appeared to be weighted with lead. Being too heavy, and having no use for it in the cool, dank shades, I handed it to my gun-bearer, for my clothes, gaiters, and boots, which creaked loudly with the water that had penetrated them, were sufficient weight for me to move with. Added to this vexation was the perspiration which exuded from every pore, for the atmosphere was stifling. The steam from the hot earth could be seen ascending upward and settling like a gray cloud above our heads. In the early morning it had been so dense that we could scarcely distinguish the various trees by their leafage. "At 3 P.M. we had reached Mpotira, in the district of Uzimba, Manyema, twenty-one miles and a half from the Arab depot on the Lualaba. "The poor boatmen did not arrive until evening, for the boat sections--dreadful burdens--had to be driven like blunted ploughs through the depths of foliage. The men complained bitterly of fatigue, and for their sake we rested at Mpotira. [Illustration: WATER-BOTTLES.] "The nature of the next two days' experiences through the forest may be gathered by reading the following portions of entries in my journal: "'_November_ 8.--N. one half W., nine miles to district of Karindi, or Kionga, Uregga. "'We have had a fearful time of it to-day in these woods, and Bwana Shokka, who has visited this region before, declares with superior pride that what we have experienced as yet is only a poor beginning to the weeks upon weeks which we shall have to endure. Such crawling, scrambling, tearing through the damp, dank jungles, and such height and depth of woods!... Once we obtained a sidelong view, from a tree on the crown of a hill, over the wild woods on our left, which swept in irregular waves of branch and leaf down to the valley of the Lualaba. Across the Lualaba, on the western bank, we looked with wistful eyes on what appeared to be green, grassy plains. Ah! what a contrast to that which we had to endure! It was a wild and weird scene, this outlook we obtained of the top of the leafy world!... It was so dark sometimes in the woods that I could not see the words, recording notes of the track, which I pencilled in my note-book. At 3.30 P.M. we arrived in camp, quite worn out with the struggle through the intermeshed bush, and almost suffocated with the heavy atmosphere. Oh, for a breath of mountain air! "'_November_ 9, 1876.--N. one half W., ten and a half miles' march to Kiussi, Uregga. [Illustration: STOOL OF UREGGA.] "'Another difficult day's work in the forest and jungle. Our expedition is no longer the compact column which was my pride. It is utterly demoralized. Every man scrambles as he best may through the woods; the path, being over a clayey soil, is so slippery that every muscle is employed to assist our progress. The toes grasp the path, the head bears the load, the hand clears the obstructing bush, the elbow puts aside the sapling. Yesterday the boatmen complained so much that I organized all the chiefs into a pioneer party, with axes, to clear the path. Of course we could not make a wide road. There were many prostrate giants fallen across the path, each with a mountain of twigs and branches, compelling us to cut roads through the bush a long distance to get round them. My boat-bearers are utterly wearied out.' [Illustration: UREGGA HOUSE.] [Illustration: SPOONS OF UREGGA.] "On the 10th we halted for a well-deserved rest. We were now in Uregga--the forest country. Fenced round by their seldom-penetrated woods, the Waregga have hitherto led lives as secluded as the troops of chimpanzees in their forest. Their villages consist of long rows of houses, all connected together in one block from fifty yards to three hundred yards in length. The doorways are square apertures in the walls, only two feet square, and cut at about eighteen inches above the ground. Within the long block is divided into several apartments for the respective families. Like the Manyema houses, the roofs glisten as though smeared with coal-tar. There are shelves for fuel, and netting for swinging their crockery; into the roof are thrust the various small knick-knacks which such families need--the pipe and bunch of tobacco-leaves, the stick of dried snails, various mysterious compounds wrapped in leaves of plants, pounded herbs, and what not. Besides these we noted, as household treasures, the skins of goats, mongoose or civet, weasel, wild cat, monkey, and leopard, shells of land-snails, very large and prettily marked, and necklaces of the _Achatina monetaria_. There is also quite a store of powdered camwood, besides curiously carved bits of wood, supposed to be talismans against harm, and handsome spoons, while over the door are also horns of goats and small forest deer, and, occupying conspicuous places, the gaudy war head-dress of feathers of the gray-bodied and crimson-tailed parrots, the drum, and some heavy, broad-bladed spears with ironwood staffs. [Illustration: UREGGA SPEAR.] [Illustration: CANE SETTEE.] "In the 'arts and sciences' of savage life, these exceedingly primitive Africans, buried though they have been from all intercourse with others, are superior in some points to many tribes more favorably situated. For instance, until the day I arrived at Kiussi village, I had not observed a settee. Yet in the depths of this forest of Uregga every family possessed a neatly made water-cane settee, which would seat comfortably three persons. [Illustration: BENCH.] "Another very useful article of furniture was the bench four or five feet long, cut out of a single log of the white soft wood of one of the Rubiaceæ, and significant as showing a more sociable spirit than that which seems to govern Eastern Africans, among whom the rule is, 'Every man to his own stool.' [Illustration: BACK-REST.] "Another noteworthy piece of furniture is the fork of a tree, cut off where the branches begin to ramify. This, when trimmed and peeled, is placed in an inverted position. The branches, sometimes three, or even four, serve as legs of a singular back-rest. [Illustration: AN AFRICAN FEZ OF LEOPARD-SKIN.] "All the adult males wear skull-caps of goat or monkey-skin, except the chief and elders, whose heads were covered with the aristocratic leopard-skin, with the tail of the leopard hanging down the back like a tassel. "The women were weighted with massive and bright iron rings. One of them, who was probably a lady of importance, carried at least twelve pounds of iron and five pounds of copper rings on her arms and legs, besides a dozen necklaces of the indigenous _Achatina monetaria_. "From Kiussi, through the same dense jungle and forest, with its oppressive atmosphere and its soul-wearying impediments, we made a journey of fourteen miles to Mirimo. It is a populous settlement, and its people are good-natured. "For several days we struggled on through the terrible forest. The Wangwana began to murmur loudly, while the boatmen, though assisted by a dozen supernumeraries and preceded by a gang of pioneers, were becoming perfectly savage; but the poor fellows had certainly cause for discontent. I pitied them from my soul, yet I dared not show too great a solicitude, lest they should have presumed upon it, and requested me either to return to Nyangwé or to burn my boat. "Even Tippu-Tib, whom I anxiously watched, as on him I staked all my hopes and prospects, murmured. The evil atmosphere created sickness in the Arab escort, but all my people maintained their health, if not their temper. The constant slush and reek which the heavy dews caused in the forest had worn my shoes out, and half of the march on the fifteenth of November I travelled with naked feet. I had then to draw out of my store my last pair of shoes. Frank was already using his last pair. Yet we were still in the very centre of the continent. What should we do when all were gone? was a question which we asked of each other often. "The faces of the people, Arabs, Wangwana, Wanyamwezi, and the escort, were quite a study at the camp. All their courage was oozing out, as day by day we plodded through the doleful, dreary forest. We saw a python ten feet long, a green viper, and a monstrous puff-adder on this march, besides scores of monkeys, of the white-necked or glossy-black species, as also the small gray, and the large howling baboons. We heard also the 'soko,' or chimpanzee, and saw one 'nest' belonging to it in the fork of a tall bombax. A lemur was also observed; its loud, harsh cries made each night hideous. [Illustration: PRICKLES OF THE ACACIA PLANT.] "The path presented myriapedes, black and brown, six inches in length; while beetles were innumerable, and armies of the deep-brown 'hot-water' ants compelled us to be cautious how we stepped. [Illustration: AN AFRICAN ANT.] "The difficulties of such travel as we had now commenced may be imagined when a short march of six miles and a half occupied the twenty-four men who were carrying the boat-sections an entire day, and so fatigued them that we had to halt a day to recruit their exhausted strength. "The terrible undergrowth that here engrossed all the space under the shade of the pillared bombax and mastlike mvulé was a miracle of vegetation. It consisted of ferns, spear-grass, water-cane, and orchidaceous plants, mixed with wild vines, cable thicknesses of the _Ficus elastica_, and a sprinkling of mimosas, acacias, tamarinds; llianes, palms of various species, wild date, _Raphia vinifera_, the elais, the fan, rattans, and a hundred other varieties, all struggling for every inch of space, and swarming upward with a luxuriance and density that only this extraordinary hothouse atmosphere could nourish. We had certainly seen forests before, but this scene was an epoch in our lives ever to be remembered for its bitterness; the gloom enhanced the dismal misery of our life; the slopping moisture, the unhealthy reeking atmosphere, and the monotony of the scenes; nothing but the eternal interlaced branches, the tall aspiring stems, rising from a tangle through which we had to burrow and crawl like wild animals, on hands and feet. "One morning, when we were encamped at a village called Wane-Kirumbu, Tippu-Tib and the Arabs came to my hut. After a long preamble, wherein he described the hardships of the march, Tippu-Tib concluded by saying that he had come to announce his wish that our contract should be dissolved! [Illustration: MARABOUTS, STORKS, AND PELICANS IN THE FOREST LAKES.] "In a moment it flashed on my mind that a crisis had arrived. Was the expedition to end here? I urged with all my powers the necessity for keeping engagements so deliberately entered into. "For two hours I plied him with arguments, and at last, when I was nearly exhausted, Tippu-Tib consented to accompany me twenty marches farther, beginning from the camp we were then in. It was a fortunate thing indeed for me that he agreed to this, as his return so close to Nyangwé in the present dispirited condition of my people's minds would have undoubtedly insured the destruction of all my hopes. "The natives of Uregga are not liberally disposed. Wane-Kirumbu's chief was the first who consented to exchange gifts with me. He presented me with a chicken and some bananas, and I reciprocated the gift with five cowries, which he accepted without a murmur. On witnessing this pleasing and most uncommon trait of moderation, I presented him with ten more, which appeared to him so bounteous that he left my presence quite affected, indeed almost overcome by his emotions of gratitude. "The men of these forest communities of Uregga, upon the decease of their wives, put on symbols of mourning, namely, a thick daub of charcoal paste over the face, which they retain for five 'years'--two and a half European years. Widows also mourn for their husbands a like period, with the same disfigurement of features, but with the addition of bands of sere leaf of the banana round the forehead. [Illustration: A FORGE AND SMITHY AT WANE-KIRUMBU, UREGGA.] At Wane-Kirumbu we found a large native forge and smithy, where there were about a dozen smiths busily at work. The iron ore is very pure. Here were the broad-bladed spears of southern Uregga, and the equally broad knives of all sizes, from the small waist-knife, an inch and a half in length, to the heavy Roman swordlike cleaver. The bellows for the smelting-furnace are four in number, double-handled, and manned by four men, who, by a quick up-and-down motion, supply a powerful blast, the noise of which is heard nearly half a mile from the scent. The furnace consists of tamped clay, raised into a mound about four feet high. A hollow is then excavated in it, two feet in diameter and two feet deep. From the middle of the slope four apertures are excavated into the base of the furnace, into which are fitted funnel-shaped earthenware pipes to convey the blasts to the fire. At the base of the mound a wide aperture for the hearth is excavated, penetrating below the furnace. The hearth receives the dross and slag. "Close by stood piled up mat-sacks of charcoal, with a couple of boys ready to supply the fuel, and about two yards off was a smaller smithy, where the iron was shaped into hammers, axes, war-hatchets, spears, knives, swords, wire, iron balls with spikes, leglets, armlets, iron beads, etc. The art of the blacksmith is of a high standard in these forests, considering the loneliness of the inhabitants. The people have much traditional lore, and it appears from the immunity which they have enjoyed in these dismal retreats that from one generation to another something has been communicated and learned, showing that even the jungle man is a progressive and improvable animal. "On the 17th of November we crossed several lofty, hilly ridges, and after a march of eleven miles northwesterly through the dank, dripping forests, arrived at Kampunzu, in the district of Uvinza, where dwell the true aborigines of the forest country. "Kampunzu village is about five hundred yards in length, formed of one street thirty feet wide, flanked on each side by a straight, symmetrical, and low block of houses, gable-roofed. Several small villages in the neighborhood are of the same pattern. "The most singular feature of Kampunzu village were two rows of skulls ten feet apart, running along the entire length of the village, imbedded about two inches deep in the ground, the 'cerebral hemispheres' uppermost, bleached, and glistening white from weather. The skulls were one hundred and eighty-six in number in this one village. To me they appeared to be human, though many had an extraordinary projection of the posterior lobes, others of the parietal bones, and the frontal bones were unusually low and retreating; yet the sutures and the general aspect of the greatest number of them were so similar to what I believed to be human that it was almost with an indifferent air that I asked my chiefs and Arabs what these skulls were. They replied, 'sokos'--chimpanzees(?). "'Sokos from the forest?' "'Certainly,' they all replied. "'Bring the chief of Kampunzu to me immediately,' I said, much interested now because of the wonderful reports of them that Livingstone had given me, as also the natives of Manyema. "The chief of Kampunzu--a tall, strongly-built man of about thirty-five years of age--appeared, and I asked, "'My friend, what are those things with which you adorn the street of your village?' "He replied, 'Nyama' (meat). "'Nyama! Nyama of what?' "'Nyama of the forest.' "'Of the forest! What kind of thing is this Nyama of the forest?' "'It is about the size of this boy,' pointing to Mabruki, my gun-bearer, who was four feet ten inches in height. 'He walks like a man, and goes about with a stick, with which he beats the trees in the forest, and makes hideous noises. The Nyama eat our bananas, and we hunt them, kill them, and eat them. "'Are they good eating?' I asked. "He laughed, and replied that they were very good. "'Would you eat one if you had one now?' "'Indeed I would. Shall a man refuse meat?' "'Well, look here. I have one hundred cowries here. Take your men and catch one, and bring him to me, alive or dead. I only want his skin and head. You may have the meat.' "Kampunzu's chief, before he set out with his men, brought me a portion of the skin of one, which probably covered the back. The fur was dark gray, an inch long, with the points inclined to white; a line of darker hair marked the spine. This, he assured me, was a portion of the skin of a 'soko.' He also showed me a cap made out of it, which I purchased. [Illustration: A YOUNG "SOKO" SITTING FOR HIS PORTRAIT.] "The chief returned about evening unsuccessful from the search. He wished us to remain two or three days, that he might set traps for the 'sokos,' as they would be sure to visit the bananas at night. Not being able to wait so many days, I obtained for a few cowries the skull of a male and another of a female. "These two skulls were safely brought to England and shown to Professor Huxley, who passed judgment upon them as follows: [Illustration: HEAD OF THE GORILLA.] "'Of the two skulls submitted to me for examination, the one is that of a man probably somewhat under thirty years of age, and the other that of a woman over fifty. Nothing in these skulls justifies the supposition that their original possessors differed in any sensible degree from the ordinary African negro.' "Professor Huxley thus startles me with the proof that Kampunzu's people were cannibals, for at least one half the number of skulls seen by me bore the mark of a hatchet, which had been driven into the head while the victims were alive. "In this village were also observed those carved benches cut out of the Rubiaceæ already mentioned, backgammon trays, and stools carved in the most admirable manner, all being decorated around the edges of the seats with brass tacks and 'soko' teeth. [Illustration: BACKGAMMON TRAY.] "The women of Uregga wear only aprons, of bark or grass-cloth, fastened by cords of palm fibre. The men wear skins of civet, or monkey, in front and rear, the tails downward. It may have been from a hasty glance of a rapidly disappearing form of one of these people in the wild woods that native travellers in the lake regions felt persuaded that they had seen 'men with tails.' "On the 19th a march of five miles through the forest west from Kampunzu brought us to the Lualaba, in south latitude 3° 35', just forty-one geographical miles north of the Arab depot Nyangwé. An afternoon observation for longitude showed east longitude 25° 49'. The name Lualaba terminates here. I mean to speak of it henceforth as THE LIVINGSTONE. "The Livingstone was twelve hundred yards wide from bank to bank opposite the landing-place of Kampunzu. As there were no people dwelling within a mile of the right bank, we prepared to encamp. My tent was pitched about thirty feet from the river, on a grassy spot; Tippu-Tib and his Arabs were in the bushes; while the five hundred and fifty people of whom the expedition consisted began to prepare a site for their huts, by enlarging the open space around the landing place. "While my breakfast (for noon) was cooking, and my tent was being drawn taut and made trim, a mat was spread on a bit of short grass, soft as an English lawn, a few yards from the water. Some sedgy reeds obstructed my view, and as I wished while resting to watch the river gliding by, I had them all cropped off short. "Frank and the Wangwana chiefs were putting the boat-sections together in the rear of the camp; I was busy thinking, planning a score of things--what time it would be best to cross the river, how we should commence our acquaintance with the warlike tribes on the left bank, what our future would be, how I should succeed in conveying our large force across, and, in the event of a determined resistance, what we should do, etc. "Gentle as a summer's dream, the brown wave of the great Livingstone flowed by, broad and deep. On the opposing bank loomed darkly against the sky another forest, similar to the one which had harrowed our souls. I obtained from my seat a magnificent view of the river, flanked by black forests, gliding along, with a serene grandeur and an unspeakable majesty of silence about it that caused my heart to yearn towards it. "Downward it flows to the unknown! to night-black clouds of mystery and fable, mayhap past the lands of the anthropoids, the pigmies, and the blanket-eared men of whom the gentle pagan king of Karagwé spoke, by leagues upon leagues of unexplored lands, populous with scores of tribes, of whom not a whisper has reached the people of other continents; perhaps that fabulous being, the dread Macoco, of whom Bartolomeo Diaz, Cada Mosto, and Dapper have written, is still represented by one who inherits his ancient kingdom and power, and surrounded by barbarous pomp. Something strange must surely lie in the vast space occupied by total blankness on our maps between Nyangwé and "Tuckey's Farthest!" "'I seek a road to connect these two points. We have labored through the terrible forest, and manfully struggled through the gloom. My people's hearts have become faint. I seek a road. Why, here lies a broad watery avenue cleaving the Unknown to some sea, like a path of light! Here are woods all around, sufficient for a thousand fleets of canoes. Why not build them?' "I sprang up; told the drummer to call to muster. The people responded wearily to the call. Frank and the chiefs appeared. The Arabs and their escort came also, until a dense mass of expectant faces surrounded me. I turned to them and said, [Illustration: IN FULL STYLE.] "Arabs! sons of Unyamwezi! children of Zanzibar! listen to words. We have seen the Mitamba of Uregga. We have tasted its bitterness, and have groaned in spirit. We seek a road. We seek something by which we may travel. I seek a path that shall take me to the sea. I have found it.' "Ah! ah--h!' and murmurs and inquiring looks at one another. "'Yes! El hamd ul Illah. I have found it. Regard this mighty river. From the beginning it has flowed on thus, as you see it flow to-day. It has flowed on in silence and darkness. Whither? To the salt sea, as all rivers go! By that salt sea, on which the great ships come and go, live my friends and your friends. Do they not? "Cries of 'Yes! yes!' "'Yet, my people, though this river is so great, so wide and deep, no man has ever penetrated the distance lying between this spot on which we stand and our white friends who live by the salt sea. Why? Because it was left for us to do.' "'Ah, no! no! no!' and desponding shakes of the head. "'Yes,' I continued, raising my voice; 'I tell you, my friends, it has been left from the beginning of time until to-day for us to do. It is our work, and no other. It is the voice of Fate! The One God has written that this year the river shall be known throughout its length! We will have no more Mitambas; we will have no more panting and groaning by the wayside; we will have no more hideous darkness; we will take to the river, and keep to the river. To-day I shall launch my boat on that stream, and it shall never leave it until I finish my work. I swear it. "'Now, you Wangwana! You who have followed me through Turu, and sailed around the great lakes with me; you, who have followed me, like children following their father, through Unyoro, and down to Ujiji, and as far as this wild, wild land, will you leave me here? Shall I and my white brother go alone? Will you go back and tell my friends that you left me in this wild spot, and cast me adrift to die? Or will you, to whom I have been so kind, whom I love as I would love my children, will you bind me, and take me back by force? Speak, Arabs? Where are my young men, with hearts of lions? Speak, Wangwana, and show me those who dare follow me?' "Uledi, the coxswain, leaped upward, and then sprang towards me, and kneeling grasped my knees, and said, 'Look on me, my master! I am one! I will follow you to death!' 'And I,' Kachéché cried; 'and I, and I, and I,' shouted the boat's crew. "'It is well. I knew I had friends. You, then, who have cast your lot with me stand on one side, and let me count you.' "There were thirty-eight! Ninety-five stood still, and said nothing. "'I have enough. Even with you, my friends, I shall reach the sea. But there is plenty of time. We have not yet made our canoes. We have not yet parted with the Arabs. We have yet a long distance to travel with Tippu-Tib. We may meet with good people, from whom we may buy canoes. And by the time we part I am sure that the ninety-five men now fearing to go with us will not leave their brothers, and their master and his white brother, to go down the river without them. Meantime I give you many thanks, and shall not forget your names.' [Illustration: A TRIBUTARY RIVER.] "The assembly broke up, and each man proceeded about his special duties. Tippu-Tib, Sheik Abdallah, and Muini Ibrahim sat on the mat, and commenced to try to persuade me not to be so rash, and to abandon all idea of descending the river. In my turn I requested them not to speak like children, and, however they might think, not to disclose their fears to the Wangwana; but rather to encourage them to do their duty, and share the dangers with me, because the responsibility was all my own, and the greatest share of danger would be mine; and that I would be in front to direct and guide, and save, and for my own sake as well as for their sake would be prudent. "In reply, they spoke of cataracts and cannibals and warlike tribes. They depreciated the spirit of the Wangwana, and declaimed against men who were once slaves; refused to concede one virtue to them, either of fidelity, courage, or gratitude, and predicted that the end would be death to all. [Illustration: WANGWANA WOMEN.] "'Speak no more, Tippu-Tib. You who have travelled all your life among slaves have not yet learned that there lies something good in the heart of every man that God made. Men were not made all bad, as you say. For God is good, and he made all men. I have studied my people; I know them and their ways. It will be my task to draw the good out of them while they are with me; and the only way to do it is to be good to them, for good produces good. As you value my friendship, and hope to receive money from me, be silent. Speak not a word of fear to my people, and when we part I shall make known my name to you. To you, and to all who are my friends, I shall be "the white man with the open hand." But if not, then I shall be "Kipara-moto."' "While I had been speaking, a small canoe with two men was seen advancing from the opposite bank. One of the interpreters was called, and told to speak to them quietly, and to ask them to bring canoes to take us across. "We had a long parley, but it resulted in nothing. The natives refused to ferry us over the river at any price, and on the way back they set up a war-cry which resounded through the forest, and was repeated from many points. Meantime my people were putting the _Lady Alice_ in readiness, and by the time I had finished my breakfast the _Lady Alice_ was in the river, and a loud shout of applause greeted her appearance on the water. "The boat's crew, with Uledi as coxswain, and Tippu-Tib, Sheik Abdallah, Muini Ibrahim, Bwana Abed (the guide), Muni Jumah, and two interpreters and myself as passengers, entered the boat. We were rowed up the river for half an hour, and then struck across to a small island in mid-stream. With the aid of a glass I examined the shores, which from our camp appeared to be dense forest. We saw that there were about thirty canoes tied to the bank, and among the trees I detected several houses. The bank was crowded with human beings, who were observing our movements. "We re-entered our boat and pulled straight across to the left bank, then floated down slowly with the current, meantime instructing the interpreters as to what they should say to the Wenya. "When we came opposite, an interpreter requested them to take a look at the white man who had come to visit their country, who wished to make friends with them, who would give them abundance of shells, and allow none of his men to appropriate a single banana, or do violence to a single soul; not a leaf would be taken, nor a twig burned, without being paid for. "The natives, gazing curiously at me, promised, after a consultation, that if we made blood-brotherhood with them there should be no trouble, and that for this purpose the white chief, accompanied by ten men, should proceed early next morning to the island, where he would be met by the chief of the Wenya and his ten men; and that, after the ceremony, all the canoes should cross and assist to carry our people to their country. "After thanking them, we returned to camp, highly elated with our success. At 4 A.M., however, the boat secretly conveyed twenty men with Kachéché, who had orders to hide in the brushwood, and, returning to camp at 7 A.M., conveyed Frank and ten men, who were to perform the ceremony of brotherhood, to the island. On its return I entered the boat, and was rowed a short way up stream along the right bank, so that, in case of treachery, I might be able to reach the island within four minutes to lend assistance. [Illustration: SOME OF THE PEOPLE ON SHORE.] "About 9 A.M. six canoes full of men were seen to paddle to the island. We saw them arrive before it, and finally draw near. Earnestly and anxiously I gazed through my glass at every movement. Other canoes were seen advancing to the island. A few seconds after the latest arrivals had appeared on the scene, I saw great animation, and almost at once those curious cries came pealing up the river. There were animated shouts, and a swaying of bodies, and, unable to wait longer, we dashed towards the island, and the natives on seeing us approach paddled quickly to their landing-place. "'Well, Frank, what was the matter?' I asked. "'I never saw such wretches in my life, sir. When that last batch of canoes came, their behavior, which was decent before, changed. They surrounded us. Half of them remained in the canoes; those on land began to abuse us violently, handling their spears, and acting so furiously that if we had not risen with our guns ready they would have speared us as we were sitting down waiting to begin the ceremony. But Kachéché, seeing their wild behavior and menacing gestures, advanced quietly from the brushwood with his men, on seeing which they ran to their canoes, where they held their spears ready to launch when you came.' "'Well, no harm has been done yet,' I replied; 'so rest where you are, while I take Kachéché and his men across to their side, where a camp will be formed; because, if we delay to-day crossing, we shall have half of the people starving by to-morrow morning.' "After embarking Kachéché, we steered for a point in the woods above the native village, and, landing thirty men with axes, proceeded to form a small camp, which might serve as a nucleus until we should be enabled to transport the expedition. We then floated down river opposite the village, and, with the aid of an interpreter, explained to them that as we had already landed thirty men in their country, it would be far better that they should assist us in the ferriage, for which they might feel assured that they would be well paid. At the same time I tossed a small bag of beads to them. In a few minutes they consented, and six canoes, with two men in each, accompanied us to camp. The six canoes and the boat conveyed eighty people safely to the left bank; and then other canoes, animated by the good understanding that seemed to prevail between us, advanced to assist, and by night every soul associated with our expedition was rejoicing by genial camp-fires in the villages of the Wenya." It was now time to adjourn the meeting of the _Eider_'s Geographical Society. Fred briefly announced that the reading would be continued in the evening, and immediately the little party proceeded to a promenade on deck, where they discussed the narrative to which they had just listened, and wondered what happened next. CHAPTER XI. HOW STANLEY OBTAINED CANOES.--THE PEOPLE OF UKUSU.--THEIR HOSTILITY.--A FIGHT AND TERMS OF PEACE.--SEPARATION FROM TIPPU-TIB.--DEPARTURE "TOWARDS THE UNKNOWN."--A SAD FAREWELL.--AMONG THE VINYA-NARA.--THE NATIVES AT STANLEY FALLS.--A FIERCE BATTLE.--DEFENDING A STOCKADE.--BOATS CAPSIZED IN A TEMPEST AND MEN DROWNED.--BEGINNING OF THE NEW YEAR.--A BATTLE ON THE WATER.--MONSTER CANOES.--AMONG THE MWANA NTABA.--THE NATIVES ARE DEFEATED.--FIRST CATARACT OF STANLEY FALLS.--CAMPED IN A FORTIFICATION. "Mr. Stanley's hope of obtaining canoes was soon realized," said Fred, when the party assembled in the evening, "but he suffered greatly before he secured them. Small-pox and other diseases carried off many of his people; the natives at first refused all offers of peace, and would sell no provisions. At the rapids of Ukassa, near the mouth of the Ruiki River, a fleet of canoes came to attack him, but the savages retreated when they found the strangers were ready to fight. [Illustration: CANOES IN THE MOUTH OF THE RUIKI RIVER.] "He found some old and abandoned canoes which his men repaired; and with these canoes and the _Lady Alice_ he transported a part of his force, while the remainder went by land. The banks of the river were densely peopled, and the houses in the villages showed a considerable advance towards civilization. Many of the villages were built in regular streets, and some of these streets were fully two miles long. From a native, who was made prisoner, Mr. Stanley learned that he was in the district called Ukusu, and that the people would not permit strangers to pass along the river. The river was about seventeen hundred yards wide, and thickly studded in many places with islands densely covered with trees and undergrowth. [Illustration: WAR-HATCHET OF UKUSU.] "The houses were of various patterns, but all of a single story in height. Most of them were mere double cages, made very elegantly of the panicum grass cane, seven feet long by five feet wide and six feet high, separated, as regards the main building, but connected by the roof, so that the central apartments were common to both cages, and in these the families meet and perform their household duties, or receive their friends for social chat. Near each village was the burial-place or vault of its preceding kings, roofed over, with the leaves of the _Phrynium ramosissimum_, which appears to be as useful a plant for many reasons as the banana to the Waganda. [Illustration: STOOL OF UKUSU.] "At one of the villages a large number of natives attacked the expedition, which had taken position and built a stockade close to the river's bank. Thousands of poisoned arrows came whizzing into the stockade, and hundreds of spears were thrown, but the rifles of the expedition held the savages at bay. When the day ended, the negroes retired to the opposite side of the river, where they tied their canoes to the bank. During the night Mr. Stanley and Frank Pocock crossed the river with the _Lady Alice_ and their large canoe; one by one the canoes of the natives were silently secured and taken away to the number of thirty-eight, and when the natives woke in the morning, they were probably never more astonished in their lives. [Illustration: STEW-POT OF THE WAHIKA.] "A peace was negotiated, and terms of blood-brotherhood were made. Mr. Stanley returned fifteen of the canoes, and retained twenty-three as an equivalent for the losses he had sustained in the attack. He had a sufficient number of boats now for his purpose. [Illustration: ENCOUNTER WITH A GORILLA.] "Tippu-Tib announced that he would go no farther. Mr. Stanley released him from his engagement, on condition that he would use his influence with the members of the expedition to remain with it. A satisfactory settlement was made with Tippu-Tib and his people; farewell feasts were given, and everything seemed favorable for the future. Provisions for twenty days were prepared, the men were assigned to the boats, and, to make the fleet as much like a civilized one as possible, each boat received a name. Here is the list: 1. The exploring boat, Lady Alice. 13. London Town. 2. Ocean, commanded by Frank. 14. America. 3. Livingstone. 15. Hart. 4. Stanley. 16. Daphne. 5. Telegraph. 17. Lynx. 6. Herald. 18. Nymph. 7. Jason. 19. Vulture. 8. Argo. 20. Shark. 9. Penguin. 21. Arab. 10. Wolverine. 22. Mirambo. 11. Fawn. 23. Mtesa. 12. Glasgow (flag-ship, commanded by Manwa Sera). [Illustration: A HOUSE OF TWO ROOMS.] "And now," said Fred, "we will hear Mr. Stanley's story of how they set out on their adventurous voyage: "The crisis drew nigh when the 28th of December dawned. A gray mist hung over the river, so dense that we could not see even the palmy banks on which Vinya-Njara was situated. It would have been suicidal to begin our journey on such a gloomy morning. The people appeared as cheerless and dismal as the foggy day. We cooked our breakfasts in order to see if, by the time we had fortified the soul by satisfying the cravings of the stomach, the river and its shores might not have resumed their usual beautiful outlines, and their striking contrasts of light and shadow. [Illustration: CANOE SCOOP.] "Slowly the breeze wafted the dull and heavy mists away until the sun appeared, and bit by bit the luxuriantly wooded banks rose up solemn and sad. Finally the gray river was seen, and at 9 A.M. its face gleamed with the brightness of a mirror. [Illustration: SCOOPS.] "'Embark, my friends! Let us at once away! and a happy voyage to us.' [Illustration: "TOWARD THE UNKNOWN."] "The drum and trumpet proclaimed to Tippu-Tib's expectant ears that we were ascending the river. In half an hour we were pulling across to the left bank, and when we reached it, a mile above Vinya-Njara, we rested on our oars. The strong brown current soon bore us down within hearing of a deep and melodious diapason of musical voices chanting the farewell song. How beautiful it sounded to us as we approached them! The dense jungle and forest seemed to be penetrated with the vocal notes, and the river to bear them tenderly towards us. Louder the sad notes swelled on our ears, full of a pathetic and mournful meaning. With bated breath we listened to the rich music which spoke to us unmistakably of parting, of sundered friendship, a long, perhaps an eternal, farewell. We came in view of them, as, ranged along the bank in picturesque costume, the sons of Unyamwezi sang their last song. We waved our hands to them. Our hearts were so full of grief that we could not speak. Steadily the brown flood bore us by, and fainter and fainter came the notes down the water, till finally they died away, leaving us all alone on the great river. [Illustration: COIL OF PLAITED ROPE, CENTRAL AFRICA.] "But, looking up, I saw the gleaming portal to the Unknown: wide open to us and away down, for miles and miles, the river lay stretched with all the fascination of its mystery. I stood up and looked at the people. How few they appeared to dare the region of fable and darkness! They were nearly all sobbing. They were leaning forward, bowed, as it seemed, with grief and heavy hearts. "'Sons of Zanzibar,' I shouted, 'the Arabs and the Wanyemwezi are looking at you. They are now telling one another what brave fellows you are. Lift up your heads and be men. What is there to fear? All the world is smiling with joy. Here we are all together like one family, with hearts united, all strong with the purpose to reach our homes. See this river; it is the road to Zanzibar. When saw you a road so wide? When did you journey along a path like this? Strike your paddles deep, cry out Bismillah! and let us forward.' "Poor fellows! with what wan smiles they responded to my words! How feebly they paddled! But the strong flood was itself bearing us along, and the Vinya-Njara villages were fast receding into distance. "Then I urged my boat's crew, knowing that thus we should tempt the canoes to quicker pace. Three or four times Uledi, the coxswain, gallantly attempted to sing, in order to invite a cheery chorus, but his voice soon died into such piteous hoarseness that the very ludicrousness of the tones caused his young friends to smile even in the midst of their grief. "We knew that the Vinya-Njara district was populous from the numbers of natives that fought with us by land and water, but we had no conception that it was so thickly populated as the long row of villages we now saw indicated. I counted fourteen separate villages, each with its respective growth of elais palm and banana, and each separated from the other by thick bush. "Every three or four miles there were small villages visible on either bank, but we met with no disturbance, fortunately. At 5 P.M. we made for a small village called Kali-Karero, and camped there, the natives having retired peacefully. In half an hour they returned, and the ceremony of brotherhood was entered upon, which insured a peaceful night. The inhabitants of Rukura, opposite us, also approached us with confidence, and an interchange of small gifts served us as a healthy augury for the future. "On the morning of the 29th, accompanied by a couple of natives in a small fishing-canoe, we descended the river along the left bank, and, after about four miles, arrived at the confluence of the Kasuku, a dark-water stream of a hundred yards' width at the mouth. Opposite the mouth, at the southern end of Kaimba--a long wooded island on the right bank, and a little above the confluence--stands the important village of Kisanga-Sanga. "Below Kaimba Island and its neighbor, the Livingstone assumes a breadth of eighteen hundred yards. The banks are very populous: the villages of the left bank comprise the district of Luavala. We thought for some time we should be permitted to pass by quietly, but soon the great wooden drums, hollowed out of huge trees, thundered the signal along the river that there were strangers. In order to lessen all chances of a rupture between us, we sheered off to the middle of the river, and quietly lay on our paddles. But from both banks at once, in fierce concert, the natives, with their heads gayly feathered, and armed with broad black wooden shields and long spears, dashed out towards us. [Illustration: WAR-DRUMS OF THE TRIBES OF THE UPPER LIVINGSTONE.] "Tippu-Tib before our departure had hired to me two young men of Ukusu--cannibals--as interpreters. These were now instructed to cry out the word 'Sennenneh' ('Peace!'), and to say that we were friends. "But they would not reply to our greeting, and in a bold, peremptory manner told us to return. "'But we are doing no harm, friends. It is the river that takes us down, and the river will not stop, or go back.' "'This is our river.' "'Good. Tell it to take us back, and we will go.' "'If you do not go back, we will fight you.' "'No, don't; we are friends.' "'We don't want you for our friends; we will eat you.' "But we persisted in talking to them, and, as their curiosity was so great, they persisted in listening, and the consequence was that the current conveyed us near to the right bank; and in such near neighborhood to another district that our discourteous escort had to think of themselves, and began to skurry hastily up river, leaving us unattacked. "The villages on the right bank also maintained a tremendous drumming and blowing of war-horns, and their wild men hurried up with menace towards us, urging their sharp-prowed canoes so swiftly that they seemed to skim over the water like flying fish. Unlike the Luavala villagers, they did not wait to be addressed, but as soon as they came within fifty or sixty yards they shot out their spears, crying out, 'Meat! meat! Ah! ha! We shall have plenty of meat!' "There was a fat-bodied wretch in a canoe, whom I allowed to crawl within spear-throw of me; who, while he swayed the spear with a vigor far from assuring to one who stood within reach of it, leered with such a clever hideousness of feature that I felt, if only within arm's-length of him, I could have bestowed upon him a hearty thump on the back, and cried out applaudingly, 'Bravo, old boy! You do it capitally!' [Illustration: VILLAGE SCENE.] "Yet not being able to reach him, I was rapidly being fascinated by him. The rapid movements of the swaying spear, the steady, wide-mouthed grin, the big square teeth, the head poised on one side with the confident pose of a practised spear-thrower, the short brow and square face, hair short and thick. Shall I ever forget him? It appeared to me as if the spear partook of the same cruel, inexorable look as the grinning savage. Finally, I saw him draw his right arm back, and his body incline backward, with still that same grin on his face, and I felt myself begin to count, one, two, three, four--and _whiz_! The spear flew over my back, and hissed as it pierced the water. The spell was broken. "It was only five minutes' work clearing the river. We picked up several shields, and I gave orders that all shields should be henceforth religiously preserved, for the idea had entered my head that they would answer capitally as bulwarks for our canoes. An hour after this we passed close to the confluence of the Urindi--a stream four hundred yards in width at the mouth, and deep with water of a light color, and tolerably clear. "We continued down river along the right bank, and at 4 P.M. camped in a dense low jungle, the haunt of the hippopotamus and elephant during the dry season. When the river is in flood a much larger tract must be under water. "The traveller's first duty in lands infested by lions and leopards is to build a safe corral, kraal, or boma, for himself, his oxen, horses, servants; and in lands infested like Usongora Meno and Kasera--wherein we now were--by human lions and leopards, the duty became still more imperative. We drew our canoes, therefore, half-way upon the banks, and our camp was in the midst of an impenetrable jungle. "At dawn we embarked, and descended about two miles, close to the right bank, when, lo! the broad mouth of the magnificent Lowwa, or Rowwa, River burst upon the view. It was over a thousand yards wide, and its course by compass was from the southeast, or east-southeast true. A sudden rain-storm compelled us to camp on the north bank, and here we found ourselves under the shadows of the primeval forest. [Illustration: MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS AND MODE OF PLAYING.] "About ten o'clock, as we cowered in most miserable condition under the rude, leafy shelters we had hastily thrown up, the people of the wooded bluffs of Iryamba, opposite the Lowwa confluence, came over to see what strange beings were those who had preferred the secrecy of the uninhabited grove to their own loud, roystering society. Stock-still we sat cowering in our leafy coverts, but the mild, reproachful voice of Katembo, our cannibal interpreter, was heard laboring in the interests of peace, brotherhood, and good-will. The rain pattered so incessantly that I could from my position only faintly hear Katembo's voice pleading, earnestly yet mildly, with his unsophisticated brothers of Iryamba, but I felt convinced from the angelic tones that they would act as a sedative on any living creature except a rhinoceros or a crocodile. The long-drawn bleating sound of the word 'Sen-nen-neh,' which I heard frequently uttered by Katembo, I studied until I became quite as proficient in it as he himself. "Peace was finally made between Katembo on the one hand and the canoe-men of Iryamba on the other, and they drew near to gaze at their leisure at one of the sallow white men, who with great hollow eyes peered from under the visor of his cap, on the well-fed, bronze-skinned aborigines. "At 2 P.M. we left our camp in the forest of Luru, and pulled across to the Iryamba side of the Livingstone. But as soon as the rain had ceased a strong breeze had risen, which, when we were in mid-river, increased to a tempest from the north, and created great, heavy waves, which caused the foundering of two of our canoes, the drowning of two of our men, Farjalla Baraka, and Nasib, and the loss of four muskets and one sack of beads. Half a dozen other canoes were in great danger for a time, but no more fatal accidents occurred. "I feared lest this disaster might cause the people to rebel and compel me to return, for it had shocked them greatly; but I was cheered; to hear them remark that the sudden loss of their comrades had been ordained by fate, and that no precautions would have availed to save them. But though omens and auguries were delivered by the pessimists among us, not one hazarded aloud the belief that we ought to relinquish our projects; yet they were all evidently cowed by our sudden misfortune. "On the 31st, the last day of the year 1876, we resumed our voyage. The morning was beautiful, the sky blue and clear, the tall forest still and dark, the river flowed without a ripple, like a solid mass of polished silver. Everything promised fair. But from the island below, the confluence of the Lowwa and the Livingstone, the warning drum sounded loudly over the river, and other drums soon echoed the dull boom. "'Keep together, my men,' I cried, 'there may be hot work for us below.' "We resolved to keep in mid-stream, because both the island and the left bank appeared to be extremely populous, and to paddle slowly and steadily down river. The canoes of the natives darted from either shore, and there seemed to be every disposition made for a furious attack; but as we drew near we shouted out to them, 'Friends, Sennenneh! Keep away from us. We shall not hurt you; but don't lift your spears, or we'll fight.' "There was a moment's hesitation, wherein spears were clashed against shields, and some fierce words uttered, but finally the canoes drew back, and as we continued to paddle, the river with its stiff current soon bore us down rapidly past the populous district and island. "At noon we came to the southern end of an uninhabited low and sandy island, where I ascertained the latitude to be south 1° 20' 3". The altitude, above sea level, of the river at this place is 1729 feet. After descending some five miles we formed our camp in the woods on the right bank. "The beginning of the new year, 1877, commenced, the first three hours after sunrise, with a delicious journey past an uninhabited tract, when my mind, wearied with daily solicitude, found rejoice in dwelling musingly upon the deep slumber of nature. Outwardly the forest was all beauty, solemn peace, and soft, dreamy rest, tempting one to sentiment and mild melancholy. Though it was in vain to endeavor to penetrate with our eyes into the dense wall of forest--black and impervious to the sunlight which almost seemed to burn up the river--what could restrain the imagination? These were my calm hours; periods when my heart, oblivious of the dark and evil days we had passed, resolutely closed itself against all dismal forebodings, and revelled in the exquisite stillness of the uninhabited wilderness. [Illustration: GORILLAS AND NEST.] "But soon after nine o'clock we discovered we were approaching settlements, both on islands and on the banks, and again the hoarse war-drums awakened the echoes of the forest, boomed along the river, and quickened our pulses. "We descend in close order as before, and steadily pursue our way. But, heading us off, about ten long canoes dart out from the shadow of palmy banks, and the wild crews begin to chant their war-songs, and now and then, in attitudes of bravado and defiance, raise spears and shields aloft and bring them downward with sounding clash. "As we approached them we shouted out 'Sen-nen-neh'--our Sesame and Shibboleth, our watchword and countersign. But they would not respond. "Hitherto they had called us Wasambye; we were now called Wajiwa (people of the sun?); our guns were called Katadzi, while before they were styled Kibongeh, or lightning. Katembo was implored to be eloquent, mild of voice, pacific in gesture. "They replied, 'We shall eat Wajiwa meat to-day. Oho, we shall eat Wajiwa meat!' and then an old chief gave some word of command, and at once one hundred paddles beat the water into foam, and the canoes darted at us. But the contest was short, and we were permitted to pursue our voyage. [Illustration: NATIVE PIPE.] "Farther down we met some friendly natives, who told us that we should soon come to the territory of the Mwana Ntaba, with whom we should have to fight; that the Mwana Ntaba people occupied the country as far as the falls; that below the falls were several islands inhabited by the Baswa, who were friends of the Mwana Ntaba. It would be impossible, they said, to go over the falls, as the river swept against a hill, and rolled over it, and tumbled down, down, down, with whirl and uproar, and we should inevitably get lost. It would be far better, they said, for us to return. "About two o'clock, in the afternoon of January 4th, as we were proceeding quietly, our vessels being only about thirty yards from the right bank, eight men with shields darted into view from behind a bush-clump, and, shouting their war-cries, launched their wooden spears. Some of them struck and dinted the boat deeply, others flew over it. We shoved off instantly, and getting into mid-stream found that we had heedlessly exposed ourselves to the watchful tribe of Mwana Ntaba, who immediately sounded their great drums, and prepared their numerous canoes for battle. [Illustration: SCENE ON A TRIBUTARY OF THE GREAT RIVER--LAUNCHING A CANOE.] "Up to this time we had met with no canoes over fifty feet long, but those which now issued from the banks and the shelter of bends in the banks were monstrous. The natives were in full war-paint, one half of their bodies being daubed white, the other half red, with broad black bars, the _tout ensemble_ being unique and diabolical. There was a crocodilian aspect about these lengthy vessels which was far from assuring, while the fighting-men, standing up alternately with the paddlers, appeared to be animated with a most ferocious cat-o'-mountain spirit. Horn-blasts, which reverberated from bank to bank, sonorous drums, and a chorus of loud yells, lent a fierce _éclat_ to the fight in which we were now about to be engaged. [Illustration: MWANA NTABA CANOE (THE "CROCODILE").] "We formed line, and having arranged all our shields as bulwarks for the non-combatants, awaited the first onset with apparent calmness. One of the largest canoes, which we afterwards found to be eighty-five feet three inches in length, rashly made the mistake of singling out the _Lady Alice_ for its victim; but we reserved our fire until it was within fifty feet of us, and after pouring a volley into the crew charged the canoe with the boat, and the crew, unable to turn her round sufficiently soon to escape, precipitated themselves into the river and swam to their friends, while we made ourselves masters of the _Great Eastern_ of the Livingstone. We soon exchanged two of our smaller canoes and manned the monster with thirty men, and resumed our journey in line, the boat in front acting as a guide. This early disaster to the Mwana Ntaba caused them to hurry down river, blowing their horns, and alarming with their drums both shores of the river, until about forty canoes were seen furiously dashing down stream, no doubt bent on mischief. "At 4 P.M. we came opposite a river about two hundred yards wide, which I have called the Leopold River, in honor of His Majesty Leopold II., King of the Belgians, and which the natives called either the Kankora, Mikonju, or Munduku. "Soon after passing by the confluence, the Livingstone, which above had been two thousand five hundred yards wide, perceptibly contracted, and turned sharply to the east-northeast, because of a hill which rose on the left bank about three hundred feet above the river. Close to the elbow of the bend on the right bank we passed by some white granite rocks, from one to six feet above the water, and just below these we heard the roar of the first cataract of the Stanley Falls series. [Illustration: VILLAGE NEAR THE FOREST.] "But louder than the noise of the falls rose the piercing yells of the savage Mwana Ntaba from both sides of the great river. We now found ourselves confronted by the inevitable necessity of putting into practice the resolution which we had formed before setting out on the wild voyage--to conquer or die. What shall we do? Shall we turn and face the fierce cannibals, who with hideous noise drown the solemn roar of the cataract, or shall we cry out, 'Mambu Kwa Mungu' 'Our fate is in the hands of God'--and risk the cataract with its terrors? "Meanwhile we are sliding smoothly to our destruction, and a decision must therefore be arrived at instantly. God knows, I and my fellows would rather have it not to do, because possibly it is only a choice of deaths, by cruel knives or drowning. If we do not choose the knives, which are already sharpened for our throats, death by drowning is certain. So, finding ourselves face to face with the inevitable, we turn to the right bank upon the savages, who are in the woods and on the water. We drop our anchors and begin the fight, but after fifteen minutes of it find that we cannot force them away. We then pull up anchors and ascend stream again, until, arriving at the elbow above mentioned, we strike across the river and divide our forces. Mwana Sera is to take four canoes and to continue up stream a little distance, and, while we occupy the attention of the savages in front, is to lead his men through the woods and set upon them in rear. At 5.30 P.M. we make the attempt, and keep them in play for a few minutes, and on hearing a shot in the woods dash at the shore, and under a shower of spears and arrows effect a landing. From tree to tree the fight is continued until sunset, when, having finally driven the enemy off, we have earned peace for the night. "Until about 10 P.M. we are busy constructing an impenetrable stockade or boma of brushwood, and then at length we lay our sorely fatigued bodies down to rest, without comforts of any kind and without fires, but (I speak for myself only) with a feeling of gratitude to Him who has watched over us in our trouble, and a humble prayer that His protection may be extended to us for the terrible days that may yet be to come." [Illustration: NATIVE CORN-MAGAZINE.] CHAPTER XII. ATTACKED BY THE COMBINED FORCES OF THE MWANA NTABA AND BASWA TRIBES.--THEY ARE REPULSED.--EXPLORING THE FIRST CATARACT.--CARRYING AND DRAGGING THE BOATS THROUGH THE FOREST AND AROUND THE FALLS.--AN ISLAND CAMP.--NATIVE WEAPONS AND UTENSILS.--ANOTHER BATTLE.--HOW ZAIDI WAS SAVED FROM A PERILOUS POSITION.--CAUGHT IN A NET.--HOW THE NET WAS BROKEN.--FISHES IN THE GREAT RIVER.--HOW THE OTHER CATARACTS WERE PASSED.--AFLOAT ON SMOOTH WATER.--A HOSTILE VILLAGE.--ANOTHER BATTLE.--ATTACKED BY A LARGE FLOTILLA.--A MONSTER BOAT.--A TEMPLE OF IVORY.--NO MARKET FOR ELEPHANTS' TUSKS.--EVIDENCES OF CANNIBALISM.--FRIENDLY NATIVES OF RUBUNGA.--PORTUGUESE MUSKETS IN THE HANDS OF THE NATIVES. Fred paused a few moments and then resumed the narrative: "At 4 A.M. of the 5th of January we were awake, cooking betimes the food that was to strengthen us for the task that lay before us, while the screaming lemur and the soko still alarmed the dark forest with their weird cries. [Illustration: AFRICAN STOOL.] "We were left undisturbed until 8 A.M., when the canoes of the Mwana Ntaba were observed to cross over to the left bank, and in response to their signals the forest behind our camp was soon alive with wild men. Frank distributed thirty rounds to each of the forty-three guns which now remained to us. Including my own guns, we possessed only forty-eight altogether, as Manwa Sera had lost four Sniders in the Ukassa Rapid, and by the capsizing of the two canoes in the tempest which struck us as we crossed the Livingstone below its confluence with the Lowwa, we had lost four muskets. But more terrible for our enemies than Sniders or muskets was the courage of despair that now nerved every heart and kept cool and resolute every head. "By river the cannibals had but little chance of success, and this the Mwana Ntaba after a very few rounds from our guns discovered; they therefore allied themselves with the Baswa tribe, which during the night had crossed over from its islands, below the first falls. Until 10 A.M. we held our own safely in the camp, but then, breaking out of it, we charged on the foe, and until 3 P.M. were incessantly at work. Ten of our men received wounds, and two were killed. To prevent them becoming food for the cannibals, we consigned them to the swift brown flood of the Livingstone. "The Mwana Ntaba and the Baswas at length retired, and though we momentarily expected a visit from them each day, for the next two or three days we were unmolested. "Early on the morning of the 6th I began to explore the first cataract of the Stanley Falls. I found a small stream about two hundred yards wide, separated by a lateral dyke of igneous rocks from the main stream, which took the boat safely down for a couple of miles. Then presently other dykes appeared, some mere low, narrow ridges of rock, and others, much larger and producing tall trees, inhabited by the Baswa tribe. Among these islets the left stream rushed down in cascades or foamy sheets, over low terraces, with a fall of from one foot to ten feet. The Baswas, no doubt, had recently fled to these islets to seek refuge from some powerful tribe situated inland west of the river. "The main stream, nine hundred yards wide, rushed towards the east-northeast, and, after a mile of rapids, tilted itself against a hilly ridge that lay north and south, the crest of which was probably three hundred feet above the river. With my glass, from the fork of a tree twenty feet above the ground, I saw at once that a descent by the right side was an impossibility, as the waves were enormous, and the slope so great that the river's face was all a-foam; and that at the base of the hilly ridge which obstructed its course the river seemed piling itself into a watery bank, whence it escaped into a scene of indescribable confusion down to the horror of whirling pools and a mad confluence of tumbling, rushing waters. "I decided, therefore, to go down along the left stream, overland, and to ascertain the best route I took eight men with me, leaving five to guard the boat. Within two hours we had explored the jungle, and 'blazed' a path below the falls--a distance of two miles. "Then, returning to camp, I sent Frank off with a detachment of fifty men with axes to clear the path, and a musket-armed guard of fifteen men, to be stationed in the woods parallel with the projected land route, and, leaving a guard of twenty men to protect the camp, I myself rowed up river along the left bank, a distance of three miles. [Illustration: SPEAR-HEAD.] "By noon of the 7th, having descended with the canoes as near as prudence would permit to the first fall of the left stream, we were ready for hauling the canoes overland. A road, fifteen feet in width, had been cut through the tangle of rattan, palms, vines, creepers, and brushwood, tolerably straight except where great forest monarchs stood untouched, and whatever brushwood had been cut from the jungle had been laid across the road in thick piles. A rude camp had also been constructed half-way on the river side of the road, into which everything was conveyed. By 8 P.M. we had hauled the canoes over one mile of ground. [Illustration: THE KOOLOO-KAMBA, OR LONG EARED SOKO.] "The next day, while the people were still fresh, we buckled on to the canoes, and by 3 P.M. of the 8th had passed the falls and rapids of the first cataract, and were afloat in a calm creek between Baswa Island and the left bank! [Illustration: A BASWA KNIFE.] "Not wishing to stay in such a dangerous locality longer than was absolutely necessary, we re-embarked, and, descending cautiously down the creek, came in a short time to the great river, with every prospect of a good stretch of serene water. But soon we heard the roar of another cataract, and had to hug the left bank closely. Then we entered other creeks, which wound lazily by jungle-covered islets, and, after two miles of meanderings among most dismal islands and banks, emerged in view of the great river, with the cataract's roar sounding solemnly and terribly near. As it was near evening, and our position was extremely unpleasant, we resolved to camp for the night at an island which lay in mid-stream. The inhabitants fled as we approached. [Illustration: STYLE OF KNIVES.] "During the morning of the 9th we explored the island of Cheandoah, where we were encamped, and found it much longer than we at first supposed. It was extremely populous, and contained five villages. We discovered an abundance of spears here and iron-ware of all kinds used by the natives, such as knives, hammers, hatchets, tweezers, anvils of iron, or, in other words, inverted hammers, borers, pole-burners, fish-hooks, darts, iron rods; all the spears possessed broad points, and were the first of this style I had seen. Almost all the knives, large and small, were encased in sheaths of wood covered with goat-skin, and ornamented with polished iron bands. They varied in size, from a butcher's cleaver to a lady's dirk, and belts of undressed goat-skin, of red buffalo or antelope hide, were attached to them for suspension from the shoulders. There were also iron bells, like our cow and goat bells, curiously carved whistles, fetiches or idols of wood, uncouth and rudely cut figures of human beings, brightly painted in vermilion, alternating with black; baskets made of palm fibre, large wooden and dark clay pipes, iron rings for arms and legs, numerous treasures of necklaces of the _Achatina monetaria_, the black seeds of a species of plantain, and the crimson berries of the _Abrus precatorius_; copper, iron, and wooden pellets. The houses were all of the gable-roofed pattern, which we had first noticed on the summit of the hills on which Riba-Riba, Manyema, is situate; the shields of the Baswa were also after the same type. [Illustration: BASWA BASKET AND COVER.] "The vegetation of the island consisted of almost every variety of plant and tree found in this region, and the banana, plantain, castor-bean, sugar-cane, cassava, and maize flourished; nor must the oil-palm be forgotten, for there were great jars of its dark-red butter in many houses." [Illustration: SHOOTING A CROCODILE AT THE RAPIDS.] "The natives on the mainland," said Fred, raising his eyes from the book for a few moments, "opposed the explorers, and a sharp fight followed, with the same result as at the first cataract. The boats were dragged overland around the worst of the falls, and then lowered through the last rapid by means of ropes. This rapid was separated by an islet from a steep fall which was impassable by the boats. A canoe was swept over this fall and one of its crew drowned; the rest were rescued by Frank Pocock and some of the land party who were below the fall. [Illustration: CAVERN NEAR STANLEY FALLS.] "Just before the boat made its leap over the fall, Zaidi, its captain, sprang into the water and caught upon a rock where he clung until Mr. Stanley devised and executed a plan for his rescue. Strong cables were made from rattans cut in the forest; two cables were attached to a canoe, one at its bow and the other at the stern, and then the canoe, manned by Uledi, the coxswain of the _Lady Alice_, and a youth named Marzouk, was lowered carefully down the current until the unhappy man was reached. It was a position of great peril, and the rescue of the poor fellow was due to the skill of the leader of the expedition and the bravery of Uledi and Marzouk. [Illustration: THE DESPERATE SITUATION OF ZAIDI, AND HIS RESCUE BY ULEDI, THE COXSWAIN OF THE BOAT.] "Seven cataracts in all were passed," said Fred, "some of them by lowering the boats through rapids and others by cutting roads through the forest and dragging the craft overland. Some of the natives along the route were peaceable, but the majority of the tribes and villages were hostile. Mr. Stanley always exhausted all possible efforts at peace, and never fought them until the natives themselves struck the first blow. A short battle was usually sufficient to convince the savages of the futility of opposition. At one place a strong net was drawn around the camp by the natives during the night, in the same manner that nets are drawn for hunting game in various parts of Africa. But the savages found that the plan so effective against wild animals did not work well against the expedition, as the net was cut to pieces by those whom it enclosed. [Illustration: THE SEVENTH CATARACT, STANLEY FALLS.] "The passage of the cataracts and rapids which comprise the Stanley Falls occupied twenty-two days. At the seventh cataract there was a fish-weir, and Mr. Stanley made drawings of several fishes that were caught there. Below Stanley Falls the river spread out again and presented no obstacles to navigation until Stanley Pool was reached, a distance of several hundred miles. [Illustration: PIKE--STANLEY FALLS.] "And now," said Fred, "you shall hear from Mr. Stanley about this part of the great river: [Illustration: AN AFRICAN SUSPENSION BRIDGE.] "We hastened away down river in a hurry, to escape the noise of the cataracts which, for many days and nights, had almost stunned us with their deafening sound. "The Livingstone now deflected to the west-northwest, between hilly banks-- "'Where highest woods, impenetrable To star, or sunlight, spread their umbrage broad And brown as evening.' [Illustration: FISH--SEVENTH CATARACT, STANLEY FALLS. 28 inches long; 16 inches round body; round snout; no teeth; broad tail; large scales; color, pale brown.] "We are once again afloat upon a magnificent stream, whose broad and gray-brown waters woo us with their mystery. We are not a whit dejected after our terrible experiences; we find our reward in being alive to look upon wild nature, and a strange elasticity comes over us. The boat-boys amuse me by singing their most animating song, to which every member of our expedition responds with enthusiasm. The men, women, and children are roused to maintain that reckless, exuberant spirit which assisted me to drive through the cannibal region of the Stanley Falls, for otherwise they might lose that dash and vigor on which depends our success. They are apt, if permitted thinking-time, to brood upon our situation, to become disquieted and melancholy, to reflect on the fate of those who have already been lost, and to anticipate a like dolorous ending to their own lives. [Illustration: BASWA PALM-OIL JAR AND PALM-WINE COOLER.] "At noon, on the 29th, when approaching a large village, we were again assaulted by the aborigines. We drove them back, and obtained a peaceful passage past them, until 1 P.M. From 1 P.M. we were engaged with a new tribe, which possessed very large villages, and maintained a running fight with us until 4 P.M., when, observing the large village of Ituka below us, and several canoes cutting across river to head us off, we resolved to make our stand on the shore. Material for constructing a boma was soon discovered in the outlying houses of the village, and by five o'clock we were tolerably secure on the edge of the steep banks--all obstructions cleared away on the land side, and a perfect view of the river front and shore below us. [Illustration: MOUTH OF DRUM.] "The savages were hideously bepainted for war, one half of their bodies being white, the other ochreous. Their shields were oblong squares, beautifully made of rattan-cane, light, tough, and, to spears and knives, impenetrable. A square slab of ebony wood with a cleat, and one long thin board placed lengthways, and another crossways, sufficed to stiffen them. Shouting their war-cries--'Ya-Mariwa! Ya-Mariwa!'--they rushed on our boma fences like a herd of buffaloes several times, in one of which charges Muftah Rufiji was killed, and another man received a wound from a spear, which glanced along his back. As the heavy spears hurtled through the boma, or flew over it, very many of us had extremely narrow escapes. Frank, for instance, avoided one by giving his body a slight jerk on one side. We, of course, had the advantage, being protected by doors, roofs of houses, poles, brushwood, and our great Mwana Ntaba shields, which had been of invaluable use to us, and had often in the heat of fights saved us and made us almost invulnerable. [Illustration: WOODEN SIGNAL-DRUM OF THE WENYA, OR WAGENYA, AND THE TRIBES ON THE LIVINGSTONE.] "From the Ruiki River up to this afternoon of the 29th of January we had fought twenty-four times, and out of these struggles we had obtained sixty-five doorlike shields, which upon the commencement of a fight on the river at all times had been raised by the women, children, and non-combatants as bulwarks before the riflemen, from behind which, cool and confident, the forty-three guns were of more avail than though there were one hundred and fifty riflemen unprotected. The steersmen, likewise protected, were enabled to steer their vessels with the current while we were engaged in these running fights. Against the spears and arrows the shields were impervious. [Illustration: DRUMSTICKS, KNOBS BEING OF INDIA-RUBBER.] "About ten o'clock of the 30th another conflict began, in the usual way, by a determined assault on us in canoes. By charging under cover of our shields we captured one canoe and eight men, and withdrew to a low grassy islet opposite Yangambi, a settlement consisting of five populous villages. We had discovered by this that nothing cowed the natives so much as a capture, and as it was the most bloodless mode of settling what might have been a protracted affair, I had adopted it. Through our captives we were enabled to negotiate for an unmolested passage, though it involved delay and an expenditure of lung force that was very trying; still, as it ended satisfactorily in many ways, it was preferable to continued fighting. It also increased our opportunities of knowing who our antagonists were, and to begin an acquaintance with these long-buried peoples. [Illustration: SHIELDS OF ITUKA PEOPLE.] "When the natives observed us preparing to halt on the grassy islet directly opposite their villages, with their unfortunate friends in our power, they withdrew to their villages to consult. The distance between our grassy islet and the right bank was only five hundred yards, and, as it was the eastern bank, the sun shone direct on them, enabling me, with the aid of a field-glass, to perceive even the differences of feature between one man and another. [Illustration: FISH--STANLEY FALLS. Fine scales; weight, 23 lbs.; thick, broad snout; 26 small teeth in upper jaw, 23 teeth in lower jaw; broad tongue; head, 11 inches long.] "We placed our captives in their canoe, and, giving each a few shells, motioned them to depart. As the warriors on the bank saw their friends return, they all gathered round the landing-place, and, as they landed, asked scores of questions, the replies to which elicited loud grunts of approval and wonder. The drumming gradually ceased, the war-cries were heard no more, the people left their processions to crowd round their countrymen, and the enormous spear-blades no longer flashed their brightness on us. We waited about an hour, and, taking it for granted that after such a signal instance of magnanimity they would not resume their hostile demeanor, we quietly embarked, and glided down river unopposed. "At a little after noon, on February 1st, we were attacked by a larger force of canoes than on any previous occasion. We were passing the mouth of the Aruwimi River, where there was a great concourse of canoes hovering about some islets which stud the middle of the stream. The canoe-men, standing up, give a loud shout as they discern us, and blow their horns louder than ever. We pull briskly on to gain the right bank, when, looking up stream, we see a sight that sends the blood tingling through every nerve and fibre of the body, arouses not only our most lively interest, but also our most lively apprehensions--a flotilla of gigantic canoes bearing down upon us, which both in size and numbers utterly eclipse anything encountered hitherto! Instead of aiming for the right bank, we form in line, and keep straight down river, the boat taking position behind. Yet after a moment's reflection, as I note the numbers of the savages, and the daring manner of the pursuit, and the apparent desire of our canoes to abandon the steady, compact line, I give the order to drop anchor. Four of our canoes affect not to listen, until I chase them, and threaten them with my guns. This compelled them to return to the line, which is formed of eleven double canoes, anchored ten yards apart. The boat moves up to the front, and takes position fifty yards above them. The shields are next lifted by the non-combatants, men, women, and children, in the bows and along the outer lines, as well as astern, and from behind these the muskets and rifles are aimed. "We have sufficient time to take a view of the mighty force bearing down on us, and to count the number of the war-vessels which have been collected from the Livingstone and its great affluent. There are fifty-four of them! A monster canoe leads the way, with two rows of upstanding paddles, forty men on a side, their bodies bending and swaying in unison as with a swelling barbarous chorus they drive her down towards us. In the bow, standing on what appears to be a platform, are ten prime young warriors, their heads gay with feathers of the parrot, crimson and gray; at the stern, eight men, with long paddles, whose tops are decorated with ivory balls, guide the monster vessel; and dancing up and down from stem to stern are ten men, who appear to be chiefs. All the paddles are headed with ivory balls, every head bears a feather crown, every arm shows gleaming white ivory armlets. From the bow of the canoe streams a thick fringe of the long white fibre of the Hyphene palm. The crashing sound of large drums, a hundred blasts from ivory horns, and a thrilling chant from two thousand human throats, do not tend to soothe our nerves or to increase our confidence. However, it is 'neck or nothing.' We have no time to pray, or to take sentimental looks at the savage world, or even to breathe a sad farewell to it. So many other things have to be done speedily and well. "As the foremost canoe comes rushing down, its consorts on either side beating the water into foam and raising their jets of water with their sharp prows, I turn to take a last look at our people, and say to them: "'Boys, be firm as iron; wait until you see the first spear, and then take good aim. Don't fire all at once. Keep aiming until you are sure of your man. Don't think of running away, for only your guns can save you.' "Frank is with the _Ocean_ on the right flank, and has a choice crew, and a good bulwark of black wooden shields. Manwa Sera has the _London Town_--which he has taken in charge instead of the _Glasgow_--on the left flank, the sides of the canoe bristling with guns, in the hands of tolerably steady men. [Illustration: MONSTER CANOE.] "The monster canoe aims straight for my boat, as though it would run us down; but, when within fifty yards off, swerves aside, and, when nearly opposite, the warriors above the manned prow let fly their spears, and on either side there is a noise of rushing bodies. But every sound is soon lost in the ripping, crackling musketry. For five minutes we are so absorbed in firing that we take no note of anything else; but at the end of that time we are made aware that the enemy is re-forming about two hundred yards above us. "Our blood is up now. It is a murderous world, and we feel for the first time that we hate the filthy, vulturous ghouls who inhabit it. We therefore lift our anchors, and pursue them up-stream along the right bank, until, rounding a point, we see their villages. We make straight for the banks, and continue the fight in the village streets with those who have landed, hunt them out into the woods, and there only sound the retreat, having returned the daring cannibals the compliment of a visit. "While mustering my people for re-embarkation, one of the men came forward and said that in the principal village there was a 'Meskiti,' a 'pembé'--a church, or temple--of ivory, and that ivory was 'as abundant as fuel.' In a few moments I stood before the ivory temple, which was merely a large circular roof supported by thirty-three tusks of ivory, erected over an idol four feet high, painted with camwood dye a bright vermilion, with black eyes and beard and hair. The figure was very rude, still it was an unmistakable likeness of a man. The tusks being wanted by the Wangwana, they received permission to convey them into the canoes. One hundred other pieces of ivory were collected, in the shape of log wedges, long ivory war-horns, ivory pestles to pound cassava into meal, and herbs for spinach, ivory armlets and balls, and ivory mallets to beat the fig-bark into cloth. [Illustration: NATIVE SPADE.] "The stores of beautifully carved paddles, ten feet in length, some of which were iron-pointed, the enormous six-feet-long spears, which were designed more for ornament than use, the splendid long knives, like Persian kummars, and bright iron-mounted sheaths with broad belts of red buffalo and antelope hide, barbed spears, from the light assegai to the heavy double-handed sword-spear, the tweezers, hammers, prickers, hole-burners, hairpins, fish-hooks, hammers, arm and leg-rings of iron and copper, iron beads and wrist-bands, iron bells, axes, war-hatchets, adzes, hoes, dibbers, etc., proved the people on the banks of this river to be clever, intelligent, and more advanced in the arts than any hitherto observed since we commenced our descent of the Livingstone. The architecture of their huts, however, was the same, except the conical structure they had erected over their idol. Their canoes were much larger than those of the Mwana Ntaba, above the Stanley Falls, which had crocodiles and lizards carved on them. Their skull-caps of basket-work, leopard, civet, and monkey skins, were similar to those that we had observed in Uregga. Their shields were like those of the Wariwa. There were various specimens of African wood-carving in great and small idols, stools of ingenious pattern, double benches, walk-staffs, spear-staffs, paddles, flutes, grain-mortars, mallets, drums, clubs, troughs, scoops and canoe-balers, paddles, porridge-spoons, etc. Gourds also exhibited taste in ornamentation. Their earthenware was very superior, their pipes of an unusual pattern--in short, everything that is of use to a well-found African village exhibited remarkable intelligence and prosperity. [Illustration: THE FIGHT BELOW THE CONFLUENCE OF THE ARUWIMI AND THE LIVINGSTONE RIVERS.] "Evidences of cannibalism were numerous in the human and 'soko' skulls that grinned on many poles, and the bones that were freely scattered in the neighborhood, near the village garbage heaps and the river banks, where one might suppose hungry canoe-men to have enjoyed a cold collation on an ancient matron's arm. As the most positive and downright evidence, in my opinion, of this hideous practice, was the thin forearm of a person that was picked up near a fire, with certain scorched ribs which might have been tossed into the fire after being gnawed. It is true that it is but circumstantial evidence, yet we accepted them as indubitable proofs. Besides, we had been taunted with remarks that we would furnish them with meat supplies--for the words _meat_ and _to-day_ have but slight dialectic difference in many languages. [Illustration: SPEAR, ISANGI.] "We embarked in our canoes at 5 P.M., and, descending the affluent, came to the confluence again, and then, hugging the right bank, appeared before other villages; but after our successful resistance to such a confederation of chiefs and the combined strength of three or four different tribes, it was not likely that one small settlement would risk an encounter. For several days after this battle we had little opposition. We avoided the villages as much as possible, and by the 8th of February we were entirely out of provisions. On the 9th we camped on a grassy islet in front of a village called Rubunga, where, after a great deal of parleying, we bought a plentiful supply of bananas and other food. We made brotherhood with the chief, and had no trouble during our stay. [Illustration: KNIVES, RUBUNGA.] "The people of Rubunga carry knives which are singular specimens of the African smith's art, being principally of a waving sickle-shaped pattern, while the principal men carried brass-handled weapons, eighteen inches long, double-edged, and rather wide-pointed, with two blood channels along the centre of the broad blade, while near the hilt the blade was pierced by two quarter-circular holes, while the top of the haft was ornamented with the fur of the otter. "The aborigines dress their hair with an art peculiar to the Warua and Waguha, which consists in wearing it in tufts on the back of the head, and fastening it with elegantly shaped iron hairpins--a fashion which also obtains among many kitchen maids in England. Tattooing is carried to excess, every portion of the skin bearing punctured marks, from the roots of the hair down to the knees. Their breasts are like hieroglyphic parchment charts, marked with _raised_ figures, ledges, squares, circles, wavy lines, tuberose knots, rosettes, and every conceivable design. No coloring substance had been introduced into these incisions and punctures; the cuticle had simply been tortured and irritated by the injection of some irritants or air. Indeed, some of the glossy tubercles, which contained air, were as large as hens' eggs. As many as six thin ledges marked the foreheads from temple to temple, as many ran down each cheek, while from lower eyelid to base of septum curved wavy lines; the chin showed rosettes, the neck seemed goitrous with the large vesicular protuberances, while the front parts of their bodies afforded broad fields upon which the native artist had displayed the exuberant fertility of his genius. To such an extent is this fashion carried that the people are hideously deformed, many of them having quite unnatural features and necks. [Illustration: RINGS FOR PROTECTING THE ARM.] "To add to the atrocious bad taste of these aborigines, their necklaces consisted of human, gorilla, and crocodile teeth, in such quantity in many cases that little or nothing could be seen of the neck. A few possessed polished boars' tusks, with the points made to meet from each side. "The most curious objects we discovered at Rubunga were four ancient Portuguese muskets, at the sight of which the people of the expedition raised a glad shout. These appeared to them certain signs that we had not lost the road, that the great river did really reach the sea, and that their master was not deluding them when he told them that some day they would see the sea. "In reply to our questions as to where they had obtained them, they said from men in canoes from Bankaro, Bangaro, Mangara, or, as the word finally settled down, from Mangala, who came once a year to buy ivory. These traders were black men, and they had never heard of white men or of Arabs." "We will now," said Fred, "leave you to pass the night among the people of Rubunga, who seem friendly enough to warrant my trusting you with them." The eager listeners took the hint thus conveyed and there was a concerted movement towards the doorway. [Illustration: RUBUNGA BLACKSMITHS.] CHAPTER XIII. IN URANGI.--A NOISY RECEPTION.--WONDERFUL HEAD-DRESSES.--A TREACHEROUS ATTACK.--ANIMAL LIFE ALONG THE RIVER.--BIRDS AND BEASTS OF THE GREAT STREAM.--A BATTLE WITH THE BANGALA.--FIRE-ARMS IN THE HANDS OF THE NATIVES.--THE SAVAGES, ALTHOUGH IN SUPERIOR NUMBERS, ARE REPULSED.--HIGH WINDS AND STORMS.--EFFECT OF THE CLIMATE ON MR. STANLEY'S HEALTH.--A GREAT TRIBUTARY RIVER.--FRIENDLY PEOPLE OF IKENGO.--PROVISIONS IN ABUNDANCE.--ISLANDS IN THE RIVER.--DEATH OF AMINA.--A MOURNFUL SCENE.--THE LEVY HILLS.--HIPPOPOTAMUS CREEK.--BOLOBO.--THE KING OF CHUMBIRI.--A CRAFTY POTENTATE.--HIS DRESS, PIPE, WIVES, AND SONS.--INCONVENIENT COLLARS.--CURIOUS CUSTOMS. It was Frank's turn to read on the next day, and, promptly at the appointed hour, the reader and his audience were in their places. Without any preliminary remarks, the youth plunged at once into the midst of his subject. [Illustration: DOUBLE IRON BELLS OF URANGI.] "On the morning of the 10th of February natives from down river appeared to escort us, and our friends of Rubunga also despatched a canoe and five men to introduce us to Urangi. In about two hours we arrived at the very populous settlement of Urangi, consisting of several villages almost joining one another. I doubt whether the people of Urangi and Rubunga are cannibals, though we obtained proof sufficient that human life is not a subject of concern with them, and the necklaces of human teeth which they wore were by no means assuring--they provoked morbid ideas. "We received a noisy and demonstrative welcome. In the afternoon the great chief of Urangi made his presence known by sounding his double iron gong. This gong consisted of two long, iron, bell-shaped instruments, connected above by an iron handle, which, when beaten with a short stick with a ball of india-rubber at the end, produced very agreeable musical sounds. He had a kindly reception, and though he manifested no desire or declared any intention of reciprocating our gift, he did not leave our camp dissatisfied with his present. He loudly proclaimed to the assembly in the river something to the effect that I was his brother; that peace and good-will should prevail, and that everybody should behave, and 'make plenty of trade.' But on his departure his people became roguish and like wild children. Scores of canoes flitted here and there, up and down, along the front of the camp, which gave us opportunities of observing that every person was tattooed in the most abominable manner; that the coiffeur's art was carried to perfection; that human teeth were popular ornaments for the neck; that their own teeth were filed; that brass wire to an astonishing quantity had been brought to them by the Bangala; as they had coils of it upon their arms and legs, and ruffs of it resting upon their shoulders; that while the men wore ample loin-coverings of grass-cloth, their women went naked; that ivory was to be purchased here to any amount, and that palm-wine had affected the heads of a great many. We also discovered that Urangi possessed about a dozen muskets. "During the night we heard drumming and the report of muskets, but were not otherwise disturbed. As we departed down the river in the morning we were treacherously attacked by a fleet of canoes, and had a hard fight to beat them off. Hitherto, on the river, we had only the arrows and spears of the natives to fear, but now they were using muskets. [Illustration: BEAK OF THE BALINÆCEPS REX.] "There was an abundance of animal life along the river. On the islands we saw several elephants; the river was full of crocodiles and hippopotami, and along the islands and banks there were flocks of storks, cranes, ducks, egrets, flamingoes, spur-winged geese, and other aquatic birds. We saw many fine specimens of the Balinæceps Rex, identical with the one inhabiting the Upper Nile. He makes his home among the lotus-flowers and papyrus-plants, and is noticeable for his enormous beak. [Illustration: THE BALINÆCEPS REX.] "During the forenoon of the 14th of February, while anxiously looking out lest we should be taken by some erratic channels in view of other villages, we arrived at the end of an island, which, after some hesitation, we followed along the right. Two islands were to the right of us, and prevented us from observing the mainland. But after descending two miles we came in full view of a small settlement on the right bank. Too late to return, we crept along down river, hugging the island as closely as possible, in order to arrive at a channel before the natives should sight us. But, alas! even in the midst of our prayers for deliverance, sharp, quick taps on a native kettle-drum sent our blood bounding to the heart, and we listened in agony for the response. Presently one drum after another sounded the alarm, until the Titanic drums of war thundered the call to arms. "In very despair I sprang to my feet, and, addressing my distressed and long-suffering followers, said, 'It is of no use, my friends, to hope to escape these blood-thirsty pagans. Those drums mean war. Yet it is very possible these are the Bangala, in which case, being traders, they will have heard of the men by the sea, and a little present may satisfy the chiefs. Now, while I take the sun you prepare your guns, your powder and bullets; see that every shield is ready to lift at once, as soon as you see or hear one gun-shot. It is only in that way I can save you, for every pagan now, from here to the sea, is armed with a gun, and they are black like you, and they have a hundred guns to your one. If we must die, we will die with guns in our hands, like men. While I am speaking, and trying to make friendship with them, let no one speak or move.' "We drew ashore at the little island, opposite the highest village, and at noon I obtained by observation north latitude 1° 7' 0". Meanwhile savage madness was being heated by the thunder of drums, canoes were mustering, guns were being loaded, spears and broadswords were being sharpened, all against us, merely because we were strangers, and afloat on their waters. Yet we had the will and the means to purchase amity. We were ready to submit to any tax, imposition, or insolent demand for the privilege of a peaceful passage. Except life, or one drop of our blood, we would sacrifice anything. "Slowly and silently we withdrew from the shelter of the island and began the descent of the stream. The boat took position in front, Frank's canoe, the _Ocean_, on the right, Manwa Sera's, _London Town_, to the left. Beyond Manwa Sera's canoe was the uninhabited island, the great length of which had ensnared us and hedged us in to the conflict. From our right the enemy would appear with muskets and spears and an unquenchable ferocity, unless we could mollify him. "We had left Observation Island about half a mile behind us when the prows of many canoes were seen to emerge out of the creek. I stood up and edged towards them, holding a long piece of red cloth in one hand and a coil of brass wire in the other. We rested on our oars, and the men quietly placed their paddles in their canoes, and sat up, watchful, but ready for contingencies. As we floated down, numbers of canoes advanced. "I hailed the natives, who were the most brilliantly decorated of any yet seen. At a distance they all appeared to wear something like English University caps, though of a white color. There was a great deal of glitter and flash of metal, shining brass, copper, and bright steel among them. "The natives returned no answer to my hail; still I persisted, with the same artfulness of manner that had been so successful at Rubunga. I observed three or four canoes approaching Frank's vessel with a most suspicious air about them, and several of their canoes menacing him, at which Frank stood up and menaced them with his weapon. I thought the act premature, and ordered him to sit down and to look away from them. I again raised the crimson cloth and wire, and by pantomime offered to give it to those in front, whom I was previously addressing; but almost immediately those natives who had threatened Frank fired into my boat, wounding three of my young crew--Mambu, Murabo, and Jaffari--and two more natives fired into Frank's canoe, wounding two--Hatib and Muftah. The missiles fired into us were jagged pieces of iron and copper ore precisely similar to those which the Ashantees employed. After this murderous outrage there was no effort made to secure peace. The shields were lifted, and proved capital defences against the hail of slugs. Boat, shields, and canoes were pitted, but only a few shields were perforated. [Illustration: A CANNIBAL CHIEF.] "The conflict began in earnest, and lasted so long that ammunition had to be redistributed. We perceived that, as the conflict continued, every village sent out its quota. About two o'clock a canoe advanced with a swaggering air, its crew evidently intoxicated, and fired at us when within thirty yards. The boat instantly swept down to it and captured it, but the crew sprang into the river, and, being capital swimmers, were saved by a timely arrival of their friends. At three o'clock I counted sixty-three opposed to us. Some of the Bangala distinguished themselves by an audacity and courage that, for our own sakes, I was glad to see was not general. Especially one young chief, distinguished by his head-dress of white goat-skin and a short mantle of the same material, and wreaths of thick brass wire on neck, arms, and legs, sufficient, indeed, to have protected those parts from slugs, and proving him to be a man of consequence. His canoe-mates were ten in number; and his steersman, by his adroitness and dexterity, managed the canoe so well that, after he and his mates had fired their guns, he instantly presented its prow and only a thin line of upright figures to our aim. Each time he dashed up to deliver his fire all the canoes of his countrymen seemed stimulated by his example to emulate him. And, allowing five guns on an average to each of the sixty-three canoes, there were three hundred and fifteen muskets opposed to our forty-four. Their mistake was in supposing their slugs to have the same penetrative effect and long range as our missiles had. Only a few of the boldest approached, after they had experienced our fire, within a hundred yards. The young chief already mentioned frequently charged to within fifty yards, and delivered a smashing charge of missiles, almost all of which were either too low or too high. Finally Manwa Sera wounded him with a Snider bullet in the thigh. The brave fellow coolly, and in presence of us all, took a piece of cloth and deliberately bandaged it, and then calmly retreated towards shore. The action was so noble and graceful that orders were given to let him withdraw unmolested. After his departure the firing became desultory, and at 5.30 P.M. our antagonists retired, leaving us to attend to our wounded, and to give three hearty cheers at our success. This was our thirty-first fight on the terrible river--the last but one--and certainly the most determined conflict that we had endured. "The Bangala may be said to be the Ashantees of the Livingstone River, though their country has comparatively but a small populated river front. Their villages cover--at intervals of a mile or half a mile--a line of ten miles. They trade with Ikengo and Irebu down the river all the ivory they have purchased from Upoto, Gunji, Mpisa, Ukeré, Rubunga, Urangi, Mpakiwana, and Marunja. I observed soon after the fight began that many canoes emerged out of a river coming from a northerly direction. For a long period the river of Bangala has appeared on West African maps as the Bancaro River. The word Bangala, which may be pronounced Bangara, Bankara, or Bankaro, signifies the people of Mangala or Mangara, Mankara or Mankaro. I have simply adopted the more popular term. [Illustration: THE ATTACK OF THE SIXTY-THREE CANOES OF THE PIRATICAL BANGALA.] "We continued our journey on this eventful day until an hour after sunset, when we proceeded to establish a camp at the head of a narrow, tortuous channel, which lost itself amid the clusters of small islets. "On the 15th, at noon, we reached north latitude 0° 58' 0". The strong winds which at this season blow daily up river impeded our journey greatly. They generally began at 8 A.M., and lasted until 3 P.M. When narrow channels were open to us we were enabled to proceed without interruption, but when exposed to broad open streams the waves rose as high as two feet, and were a source of considerable danger. Indeed, from the regularity and increased force of the winds, I half suspected at the time that the Livingstone emptied into some vast lake such as the Victoria Nyanza. The mean temperature in the shade seldom exceeded 74° Fahrenheit, and the climate, though not dry, was far more agreeable than the clammy humidity characteristic of the east coast. The difference between the heat in this elevated region and that of the east coast was such that, while it was dangerous to travel in the sun without a sun-umbrella, near the sea on the east coast a light double-cotton cloth cap saved me from feeling any inconvenience when standing up in the boat under a bright glaring sun and cloudless sky. While sitting down in the boat, a few minutes was sufficient to convince me it was dangerous, without an umbrella, even here. While at work at the Stanley Falls the umbrella was not used. The nights were uncomfortable without a blanket, and sometimes even two were desirable. [Illustration: POISONED ARROWS.] "The winds which prevail at this season of the year are from the southwest, or south, which means from the temperate latitude of the South Atlantic, and slightly chilled in their passage over the western ranges. In the early morning the thermometer was often as low as 64°. From 10 A.M. to 4 P.M. it ranged from 75° to 85° Fahrenheit in the shade; from 4 P.M. to sunset it ranged from 72° to 80°. From the 12th of January until the 5th of March we experienced no rain. "One remarkable fact connected with our life in this region is, that though we endured more anxiety of mind and more strain on the body, were subject to constant peril, and fared harder (being compelled for weeks to subsist on green bananas, cassava, and sugarless tea, and those frequently in scanty quantities), we--Frank and I--enjoyed better health on the Livingstone than at any other period of the journey; but whether this unusual health might not be attributed to having become more acclimatized is a question. "The mirage on the Livingstone was often ludicrously deceptive, playing on our fears at a most trying period, in a manner which plunged us from a temporary enjoyment of our immunity from attack into a state of suspicion and alarm, which probably, in nine cases out of ten, arose out of the exaggerated proportions given to a flock of pelicans or wild geese, which to our nerves, then in a high state of tension, appeared to be a very host of tall warriors. A young crocodile basking on a sandy spit appeared to be as large as a canoe, and an ancient and bleached tree a ship. [Illustration: A CROCODILE HUNT.] "At noon of the 17th we had reached north latitude 0° 18' 41", our course during the 16th and 17th having been southwest, but a little before sunset the immense river was gradually deflecting to south. "I quote the following from my note-book: "'_February_ 18, 1877.--For three days we have been permitted, through the mercy of God, to descend this great river uninterrupted by savage clamor or ferocity. Winds during two days seriously impeded us, and were a cause for anxiety, but yesterday was fine and calm, and the river like a sheet of burnished glass; we therefore made good progress. In the afternoon we encountered a native trading expedition from Ikengo in three canoes, one of which was manned by fifteen paddlers, clothed in robes of crimson blanket-cloth. We hailed them, but they refused to answer us. This sight makes me believe the river must be pretty free of cataracts, and it may be that there are no more than the Sundi cataract, and the Falls of Yellalla reported by Tuckey in 1816, otherwise I cannot account for the ascent of three trading vessels, and such extensive possession of cloths and guns, so far up the river. "'Since the 10th of February we have been unable to purchase food, or indeed approach a settlement for any amicable purpose. The aborigines have been so hostile that even fishing-canoes have fired at us as though we were harmless game. God alone knows how we shall prosper below. But let come what may, I have purposed to attempt communicating with the natives to-morrow. A violent death will be preferable to death by starvation. "'_February_ 19, 1877.--This morning we regarded each other as fated victims of protracted famine, or the rage of savages, like those of Mangala. But as we feared famine most, we resolved to confront the natives again. At 10 A.M., while we were descending the Livingstone along the left bank, we discovered an enormous river, considerably over a thousand yards wide, with a strong current, and deep, of the color of black tea. This is the largest influent yet discovered, and after joining the Livingstone it appeared to command the left half to itself--it strangely refuses to amalgamate with the Livingstone, and the divisional line between them is plainly marked by a zigzag ripple, as though the two great streams contended with one another for the mastery. Even the Aruwimi and the Lowwa united would not greatly exceed this giant influent. Its strong current and black water contrast very strongly with the whitey-brown Livingstone. On the upper side of the confluence is situate Ibonga, but the natives, though not openly hostile, replied to us with the peculiar war-cries "Yaha-ha-ha!" "'We continued our journey, though grievously hungry, past Bwena and Inguba, doing our utmost to induce the staring fishermen to communicate with us, without any success. They became at once officiously busy with guns, and dangerously active. We arrived at Ikengo, and as we were almost despairing we proceeded to a small island opposite this settlement and prepared to encamp. Soon a canoe with seven men came dashing across, and we prepared our moneys for exhibition. They unhesitatingly advanced, and ran their canoe alongside us. We were rapturously joyful, and returned them a most cordial welcome, as the act was a most auspicious sign of confidence. We were liberal, and the natives fearlessly accepted our presents, and from this giving of gifts we proceeded to seal this incipient friendship with our blood with all due ceremony. [Illustration: ELEPHANT HUNTERS ON THE CONGO.] "'After an hour's stay with us they returned to communicate with their countrymen, leaving one young fellow with us, which was another act of grace. Soon from a village below Ikengo two more canoes came up with two chiefs, who were extremely insolent and provoking, though after nearly two and a half years' experience of African manners we were not to be put out of temper because two drunken savages chose to be overbearing. [Illustration: AFRICAN KNIFE AND AXES.] "'By and by they cooled down. We got them to sit and talk, and we laughed together, and were apparently the best of friends. Of all the things which struck their fancy, my note-book, which they called "tara-tara," or looking-glass, appeared to them to be the most wonderful. They believed it possessed manifold virtues, and that it came from above. Would I, could I, sell it to them? It would have found a ready sale. But as it contained records of disaster by flood and fire, charts of rivers and creeks and islands, sketches of men and manners, notes upon a thousand objects, I could not part with it even for a tusk of ivory. "'They got angry and sulky again. It was like playing with and coaxing spoiled children. We amused them in various ways, and they finally became composed, and were conquered by good-nature. With a generous scorn of return gifts, they presented me with a gourdful of palm-wine. But I begged so earnestly for food that they sent their canoes back, and, while they sat down by my side, it devolved upon me until their return to fascinate and charm them with benignant gestures and broken talk. About 3 P.M. provisions came in basketfuls of cassava tubers, bananas, and long plantains, and the two chiefs made me rich by their liberality, while the people began also to thaw from that stupor into which impending famine had plunged them. At sunset our two friends, with whom I had labored with a zealot's enthusiasm, retired, each leaving with me a spear as a pledge that they would return to-morrow, and renew our friendly intercourse, with canoe-loads of provisions. [Illustration: SPEARS, AND SHIELD OF ELEPHANT-HIDE.] "'_February_ 20, 1877.--My two friends brought most liberal supplies with them of cassava tubers, cassava loaves, flour, maize, plantains, and bananas, and two small goats, besides two large gourdfuls of palm-wine, and, what was better, they had induced their countrymen to respond to the demand for food. We held a market on Mwangangala Island, at which there was no scarcity of supplies; black pigs, goats, sheep, bananas, plantains, cassava bread, flour, maize, sweet potatoes, yams, and fish being the principal things brought for sale. "'The tall chief of Bwena and the chief of Inguba, influenced by the two chiefs of Ikengo, also thawed, and announced their coming by sounding those curious double bell-gongs, and blowing long horns of ivory, the notes of which distance made quite harmonious. During the whole of this day life was most enjoyable, intercourse unreservedly friendly, and though most of the people were armed with guns there was no manifestation of the least desire to be uncivil, rude, or hostile, which inspired us once more with a feeling of security to which we had been strangers since leaving Urangi. "'From my friends I learned that the name of the great river above Bwena is called Ikelemba. When I asked them which was the largest river, that which flowed by Mangala, or that which came from the southeast, they replied, that though Ikelemba River was very large, it was not equal to the "big river." They said it would take me thirty days to reach the cataracts of the lower part of the river. "'Every weapon these natives possess is decorated with fine brass wire and brass tacks. Their knives are beautiful weapons, of a bill-hook pattern, the handles of which are also profusely decorated with an amount of brass-work and skill that places them very high among the clever tribes. These knives are carried in broad sheaths of red buffalo-hide, and are suspended by a belt of the same material. Besides an antique flint-lock musket, each warrior is armed with from four to five light and long assegais, with staves of the _Curtisia faginea_, and a bill-hook sword. They are a finely formed people, of a chocolate brown, very partial to camwood powder and palm-oil. Snuff is very freely taken, and their tobacco is most pungent. "'_February_ 21.--This afternoon at 2 P.M. we continued our journey. Eight canoes accompanied us some distance, and then parted from us, with many demonstrations of friendship. The river flows from Ikengo southwesterly, the flood of the Ikelemba retaining its dark color, and spreading over a breadth of three thousand yards; the Livingstone's pure, whitey-gray waters flow over a breadth of about five thousand yards, in many broad channels.' "From the left bank we crossed to the right, on the morning of the 22d, and, clinging to the wooded shores of Ubangi, had reached at noon south latitude 0° 51' 13". Two hours later we came to where the great river contracted to a breadth of three thousand yards, flowing between two low, rocky points, both of which were populous, well cultivated, and rich with banana plantations. Below these points the river slowly widened again, and islands well wooded, like those farther up the river, rose into view, until by their number they formed once more intricate channels and winding creeks. [Illustration: SPECTATORS AMONG THE TREES.] "Desirous of testing the character of the natives, we pulled across to the left bank, until, meeting with a small party of fishermen, we were again driven by their ferocity to seek the untravelled and unpopulated island wildernesses. It was rather amusing than otherwise to observe the readiness of the savages of Irebu to fire their guns at us. They appeared to think that we were human waifs without parentage, guardianship, or means of protection, for their audacity was excessive. One canoe with only four men dashed down at us from behind an island close to the left bank, and fired point-blank from a distance of one hundred yards. Another party ran along a spit of sand and coolly waited our approach on their knees, and, though we sheered off to a distance of two hundred yards from them, they poured a harmless volley of slugs towards us, at which Baraka, the humorist, said that the pagans caused us to 'eat more iron than grain.' "Such frantic creatures, however, could not tempt us to fight them. The river was wide enough, channels innumerable afforded us means of escaping from their mad ferocity, and if poor purblind nature was so excessively arrogant, Providence had kindly supplied us with crooked by-ways and unfrequented paths of water which we might pursue unmolested. "At noon of the 23d we had reached 1° 22' 15" south latitude. Strong gales met us during each day. The islands were innumerable, creeks and channels winding in and out among the silent scenes. But though their general appearance was much the same, almost uniform in outline and size, the islands never became commonplace. Was it from gratitude at the security they afforded us from the ruthless people of these regions? I do not know, but every bosky island into whose dark depths, shadowed by impervious roofs of foliage, we gazed had about it something kindly and prepossessing. Did we love them because, from being hunted by our kind, and ostracized from communities of men, we had come to regard them as our homes? I cannot tell, but I shall ever and forever remember them. Ah, had I but space, how I would revel in descriptions of their treasures and their delights! Even with their gad-flies and their tsetsé, their mosquitoes and their ants, I love them. There was no treachery or guile in their honest depths; the lurking assassin feared their twilight gloom; the savage dared not penetrate their shades without a feeling of horror; but to us they were refuges in our distress, and their solitudes healed our woes. How true the words, 'Affliction cometh not out of the dust, nor doth trouble spring out of the ground.' Innocence and peace dwelt in the wilderness alone. Outside of these retreats glared the fierce-eyed savage, with malice and rage in his heart, and deadly weapons in his hand. "To us, then, these untenanted islets, with their 'breadths of tropic shade, and palms in clusters,' seemed verily 'knots of paradise.' Like hunted beasts of the chase, we sought the gloom and solitudes of the wilds. Along the meandering and embowered creeks, hugging the shadows of the o'erarching woods, we sought for that safety which man refused us. "The great river grew sealike in breadth below Irebu on the morning of the 24th; indeed, it might have been one hundred miles in breadth for aught we knew, deep-buried as we were among the islands. Yet there were broad and deep channels on every side of us, as well as narrow creeks between lengthy islands. The volume of water appeared exhaustless, though distributed over such an enormous width. There was water sufficient to float the most powerful steamers that float in the Mississippi. Here and there among the verdured isles gleamed broad humps of white sand, but on either side were streams several hundred yards wide, with as much as three fathoms' depth of water in the channels. "At noon we reached south latitude 1° 37' 22". The Mompurengi natives appeared on an island and expressed their feelings by discharging two guns at us, which we did not resent, but steadily held on our way. An hour afterwards faithful Amina, wife of Kachéché, breathed her last, making a most affecting end. "Being told by Kachéché that his poor wife was dying, I drew my boat alongside of the canoe she was lying in. She was quite sensible, but very weak. 'Ah, master,' she said, 'I shall never see the sea again. Your child Amina is dying. I have so wished to see the cocoanuts and the mangoes; but no; Amina is dying--dying in a pagan land. She will never see Zanzibar. The master has been good to his children, and Amina remembers it. It is a bad world, master, and you have lost your way in it. Good-bye, master; do not forget poor little Amina!' "While floating down we dressed Amina in her shroud, and laid her tenderly out, and at sunset consigned her body to the depths of the silent river. "The morning of the 25th saw us once again on the broad stream floating down. We got a view of the mainland to the right, and discovered it to be very low. We hurried away into the island creeks, and floated down among many reedy, grassy islets, the haunt of bold hippopotami, one of which made a rush at a canoe with open mouth, but contented himself fortunately with a paddle, which he crunched into splinters. "On the 26th the grassy islets became more frequent, inhabited by the flamingo, pelican, stork, whydahs, ibis, geese, ducks, etc. The salt-makers find a great source of wealth in the grasses, and the smoke of their fires floated over the country in clouds. "At 10 A.M. the Levy Hills rose into view about two miles beyond the river, on the left bank, which as we neared Kutumpuku approached the river, and formed a ridge. Instantly the sight of the approaching hills suggested cataracts, and the memories of the terrible struggles we had undergone in passing the Stanley Falls were then brought vividly to our mind. What should we do with our sadly weakened force, were we to experience the same horrible scenes again? "At noon I took an observation, and ascertained that we were in south latitude 2° 23' 14". Edging off towards the right bank, we came to a creek, which, from the immense number of those amphibious animals, I have called 'Hippopotamus Creek.' Grass-covered islets, innumerable to us as we passed by them, were on either side. When about half-way through this creek we encountered seven canoes, loaded with men, about to proceed to their fishing haunts. Our sudden meeting occasioned a panic among the natives, and as man had hitherto been a dreaded object, it occasioned us also not a little uneasiness. Fortunately, however, they retreated in haste, uttering their fearful 'Yaha-ha-has,' and we steadily pursued our way down river, and about 3 P.M. emerged in view of the united stream, four thousand yards wide, contracted by the steep cultivated slopes of Bolobo on the left, and by a beautiful high upland--which had gradually been lifting from the level plains--on the right bank. "For a moment, as we issued in view of the stream, with scores of native canoes passing backward and forward, either fishing or proceeding to the grassy islets to their fish-sheds and salt-making, we feared that we should have another conflict; but though they looked at us wonderingly, there was no demonstration of hostility. One man in a canoe, in answer to our question, replied that the bold heights two hundred feet above the river, which swarmed with villages, was Bolobo. Being so near the border of the savage lands above, we thought it safer to wait yet one more day before attempting further intercourse with them. "On the 27th, during the morning, we were still among islets and waving branches, but towards the afternoon the islets had disappeared, and we were in view of a magnificent breadth of four miles of clear water. On our left the cultivated uplands of Bolobo had become elevated into a line of wooded hills, and on our right the wall of the brown, grassy upland rose high and steep, broken against the sky-line into cones. "Gradually the shores contracted, until at 3 P.M. the right bank deflected to a southeast course, and finally shot out a long rocky point, which to us, accustomed to an enormous breadth of river, appeared as though it were the commencement of a cataract. We approached it with the utmost caution, but on arriving near it we discovered that the mirage had exaggerated its length and height, for between it and the left bank were at least two thousand five hundred yards of deep water. "The time had now come when we could no longer sneak among reedy islets, or wander in secret among wildernesses of water; we must once more confront man. The native, as we had ascertained opposite Bolobo, was not the destructive infuriate of Irebu or Mompurengi, or the frantic brute of Mangala and Marunja. He appeared to be toning down into the MAN, and to understand that others of his species inhabited this globe. At least, we hoped so. We wished to test the accuracy of this belief, and now eagerly searched for opportunities to exchange greetings, and to claim kindred with him. As we had industriously collected a copious vocabulary of African languages, we felt a certain confidence that we had been sufficiently initiated into the science of aboriginal language to be able to begin practising it. "Behind the rocky point were three natives fishing for minnows with hand-nets. We lay to on our oars and accosted them. They replied to us clearly and calmly. There was none of that fierce fluster and bluster and wild excitement that we had come to recognize as the preliminary symptoms of a conflict. The word _ndu_--brother--was more frequent. To our overtures of friendship there was a visible inclination of assent; there was a manifest desire to accept our conciliatory sentiments; for we received conciliatory responses. Who could doubt a pacific conclusion to the negotiations? Our tact and diplomacy had been educated in a rough school of adversity. Once the attention of the natives had been arrested, and their confidence obtained, we had never failed to come to a friendly understanding. [Illustration: ENCOUNTER WITH A HIPPOPOTAMUS.] "They showed us a camping-place at the base of the brown, grassy upland, in the midst of a thin grove of trees. They readily subscribed to all the requirements of friendship, blood-brotherhood, and an exchange of a few small gifts. Two of them then crossed the river to Chumbiri, whose green, wooded slopes and fields, and villages and landing-place, were visible, to tell the King of Chumbiri that peaceable strangers desired friendship with him. They appeared to have described us to him as most engaging people, and to have obtained his cordial co-operation and sympathy in a very short time, for soon three canoes appeared conveying about forty men, under three of his sons, who bore to us the royal spear, and several royal gifts, such as palm-wine, a goat, bananas, and a chicken for myself, and a hearty welcome from the old king, their father, with the addition of a promise that he would call himself the next day. [Illustration: A PRESENT FROM CHUMBIRI.] "About 9 A.M. of the 28th, the king of Chumbiri appeared with _éclat_. Five canoes filled with musketeers escorted him. [Illustration: THE KING OF CHUMBIRI.] "Though the sketch below is an admirable likeness of him, it may be well also to append a verbal description. A small-eyed man of fifty years or thereabout, with a well-formed nose, but wide nostrils and thin lips, clean shaved--or rather clean-plucked--with a quiet yet sociable demeanor, ceremonious and mild-voiced, with the instincts of a greedy trader cropping out of him at all points, and cunning beyond measure. The type of his curious hat may be seen on the head of any Armenian priest. It was formed out of close-plaited hyphene-palm fibre, sufficiently durable to outlast his life though he might live a century. From his left shoulder, across his chest, was suspended the sword of the bill-hook pattern, already described in the passages about Ikengo. Above his shoulder stood upright the bristles of an elephant's tail. His hand was armed with a buffalo's tail, made into a fly-flapper, to whisk mosquitoes and gnats off the royal face. To his wrist were attached the odds and ends which the laws of superstition had enjoined upon him, such as charm-gourds, charm-powders in bits of red and black flannel, and a collection of wooden antiquities, besides a snuff-gourd and a parcel of tobacco-leaves. [Illustration: GREAT PIPE OF KING OF CHUMBIRI.] "The king's people were apparently very loyal and devoted to him, and his sons showed remarkable submissiveness. The little snuff-gourd was in constant requisition, and he took immoderate quantities, inhaling a quarter of a teaspoonful at a time from the palm of his hand, to which he pressed his poor nose until it seemed to be forced into his forehead. Immediately after, one of his filially affectionate children would fill his long chibouque, which was six feet in length, decorated with brass tacks and tassels of braided cloth. The bowl was of iron, and large enough to contain half an ounce of tobacco. He would then take two or three long-drawn whiffs, until his cheeks were distended like two hemispheres, and fumigate his charms thoroughly with the smoke. His sons then relieved him of the pipe--at which he snapped his fingers--and distended their cheeks into hemispherical protuberances in like manner, and also in the same way fumigated their little charms; and so the chibouque of peace and sociability went the round of the circle, as though it were a council of Sioux about to hold a pow-wow, and as the pipe passed round there was an interchange of finger-snaps in a decorous, grave, and ceremonious style. "Our intercourse with the king was very friendly, and it was apparent that we were mutually pleased. The only fault that I, as a stranger, could find in him was an excessive cunning, which approached to the sublime. He had evidently cultivated fraud and duplicity as an art, yet he was suave and wheedling. Could I complain? Never were people so willing to be victimized. Had we been warned that he would victimize us, I do not think that we should have refused his friendship. "An invitation was extended to us to make his own village our home. We were hungry; and no doubt we were approaching cataracts. It would be welcome knowledge to know what to expect below in that broad defile filled by the great river; what peoples, countries, tribes, villages, rivers we should see; if the tribes were amenable to reason in the unknown country; if white men had ever been heard of; if there were cataracts below, and if they were passable. We accepted the invitation, and crossed the river, drums and double bell-gongs sounding the peaceful advance of our flotilla upon Chumbiri. "We were proud of our reception by the dames of Chumbiri. Loyal and submissive to their king, they exhibited kindly attentions to the strangers. We held a grand market, and won the natives' hearts by our liberality. Back rations for several days were due to our people, and, filled with an extravagant delight--even as Frank and I were--they expended their ration moneys with a recklessness of consequences which only the novelty of the situation explained. We had arrived at port, and weather-beaten voyagers are generally free with their moneys upon such occasions. [Illustration: ONE OF THE KING'S WIVES AT CHUMBIRI.] "The dames of Chumbiri were worth seeing, even to us, who were sated with the thousand curious things we had met in our long travels. They were also pretty, of a rich brown color many of them, large-eyed, and finely formed, with a graceful curve of shoulder I had not often observed. But they were slaves of fashion. Six tenths of the females wore brass collars two inches in diameter; three tenths had them two and a half inches in diameter; one tenth were oppressed with collars three inches in diameter; which completely covered the neck, and nearly reached the shoulder ends. Fancy the weight of thirty pounds of brass, soldered permanently round the neck! Yet these oppressed women were the favorite wives of Chumbiri! And they rejoiced in their oppression! "I believe that Chumbiri--who, as I said, was a keen and enterprising trader, the first aboriginal African that might be compared to a Parsee--as soon as he obtained any brass wire, melted it and forged it into brass collars for his wives. That the collars were not larger may be attributed, perhaps, to his poverty. He boasted to me he possessed 'four tens' of wives, and each wife was collared permanently in thick brass. I made a rough calculation, and I estimated that his wives bore about their necks until death at least eight hundred pounds of brass; his daughters--he had six--one hundred and twenty pounds; his favorite female slaves about two hundred pounds. Add six pounds of brass wire to each wife and daughter for arm and leg ornaments, and one is astonished to discover that Chumbiri possesses a portable store of one thousand three hundred and ninety-six pounds of brass. "I asked of Chumbiri what he did with the brass on the neck of a dead wife. Chumbiri smiled. Cunning rogue; he regarded me benevolently, as though he loved me for the searching question. Significantly he drew his finger across his throat. "The warriors and young men are distinguished for a characteristic style of hair-dressing, which belongs to Uyanzi alone. It is arranged into four separate plaits, two of which overhang the forehead like lovers' curls. Another special mark of Uyanzi are two tattooed lines over the forehead. In whatever part of the lower Livingstone these peculiarities of style may be seen, they are indubitably Wy-yanzi, or natives of Uyanzi. "The country of Uyanzi embraces many small districts, and extends along the left bank of the great river, from Bolobo, in south latitude 2° 23' 14", to the confluence of the Ibari Nkutu, or river of Nkutu, and the Livingstone, in 3° 14' south latitude. The principal districts are Bolobo, Isangu, Chumbiri, Musevoka, Misongo, and Ibaka. Opposite is the country of the Bateké, a wilder tribe than the Wy-yanzi, some of the more eastern of whom are professed cannibals. To the north is the cannibal tribe of the Wanfuninga, of ferocious repute, and dreaded by the Wy-yanzi and Bateké. "On the 7th of March we parted from the friendly king of Chumbiri, with an escort of forty-five men, in three canoes, under the leadership of his eldest son, who was instructed by his father to accompany us as far as the pool, now called Stanley Pool, because of an incident which will be described hereafter. "For some reason we crossed the river, and camped on the right bank, two miles below Chumbiri. At midnight the Wy-yanzi awoke us all by the fervor with which they employed their fetishes to guide us safely from camp to camp, which they named. As they had been very successful in charming away the rain with which we had been threatened the evening before, our people were delighted to hear them pray for success, having implicit faith in them." [Illustration: A BOWMAN.] CHAPTER XIV. TREACHERY OF THE KING'S SONS.--THE GREATEST RASCAL OF AFRICA.--A PYTHON IN CAMP.--STANLEY POOL.--DOVER CLIFFS.--MANKONEH.--FIRST SOUND OF THE FALLS.--BARGAINING FOR FOOD.--LOSS OF THE BIG GOAT.--EXCHANGING CHARMS.--FALL OF THE CONGO FROM NYANGWÉ TO STANLEY POOL.--GOING AROUND THE GREAT FALL.--DRAGGING THE BOATS OVERLAND.--GORDON-BENNET RIVER.--"THE CALDRON."--LOSS OF THE _LONDON TOWN_.--POOR KALULU.--HIS DEATH IN THE RIVER.--LOSS OF MEN BY DROWNING.--SAD SCENES IN CAMP. "The sons of the King of Chumbiri," said Frank, "proved treacherous. Soon after starting they lagged behind, and the explorers continued without them. Nothing of importance occurred during the day, and the camp was made for the night in a dense forest near the bank of the river. Hardly had the explorers landed before loud shrieks were heard from a boy who narrowly escaped being eaten by a python. Half an hour later the same python, or another, was found in another part of the camp trying to throw his folds about one of the women. There was great excitement, and the snake was promptly killed. He measured thirteen feet six inches in length, and was fifteen inches around the thickest part of the body. [Illustration: SON OF THE KING OF CHUMBIRI.] "The next morning, just as they were preparing breakfast, they were attacked by a party of savages who opened fire upon them with muskets. Fourteen of Mr. Stanley's men were wounded before the assailants were put to flight; when the expedition continued on its journey it was found that their camping-place had been about two miles above the village to which their assailants belonged. All the warriors of the village came out to the bank of the river with their muskets and spears, but the travellers kept at a safe distance and were not harmed. The sons of the king came up with them shortly afterwards, but made such extraordinary demands for escorting the party to the falls that the explorer concluded to go along without them. He gives it as his opinion that this oily-tongued king is the greatest rascal in all Africa. [Illustration: A PYTHON IN AN AFRICAN FOREST.] "And now," said Frank, "I will read to you about the approach to the famous falls of the lower Congo. "About 11 A.M. of the 12th the river gradually expanded from fourteen hundred to twenty-five hundred yards, which admitted us in view of a mighty breadth of river, which the men at once, with happy appropriateness, termed 'a pool.' Sandy islands rose in front of us like a sea-beach, and on the right towered a long row of cliffs, white and glistening, so like the cliffs of Dover that Frank at once exclaimed that it was a bit of England. The grassy table-land above the cliffs appeared as green as a lawn, and so much reminded Frank of Kentish Downs that he exclaimed enthusiastically, 'I feel we are nearing home.' "While I was taking an observation at noon of the position, Frank, with my glass in his hand, ascended the highest part of the large sandy dune that had been deposited by the mighty river, and took a survey of its strange and sudden expansion, and after he came back he said, 'Why, I declare, sir, this place is just like a pool; as broad as it is long. There are mountains all round it, and it appears to me almost circular.'[10] [10] "Frank described the crater of an extinct volcano, which is six miles in length and four miles wide, as set forth more in detail subsequently." "'Well, if it is a pool, we must distinguish it by some name. Give me a suitable name for it, Frank.' "'Why not call it "Stanley Pool," and these cliffs Dover Cliffs? For no traveller who may come here again will fail to recognize the cliffs by that name.' [Illustration: THE NORTHERN END OF STANLEY POOL.] "Subsequent events brought these words vividly to my recollection, and in accordance with Frank's suggestion I have named this lakelike expansion of the river from Dover Cliffs to the first cataract of the Livingstone Falls--embracing about thirty square miles--the Stanley Pool. The latitude of the entrance from above to the pool was ascertained to be 4° 3' south. "The left shore is occupied by the populous settlements of Nshasa, Nkunda, and Ntamo. The right is inhabited by the wild Bateké, who are generally accused of being cannibals. [Illustration: MAP OF STANLEY POOL.] "Soon after we began our descent of the pool, skirting the right shore, we observed a chalky mount, near which were two or three columns of the same material. From a cove just below emerged two or three Bateké canoes, the crews of which, after collecting their faculties, consented to show us the cataract, the noise of which, as they attempted to describe it, elicited roars of laughter from the members of the expedition. This outburst of loud merriment conquered all reluctance on the part of the Bateké to accompany us. "After winding in and out of many creeks which were very shallow, we approached the village of Mankoneh, the chief of the Bateké. His people during the daytime are generally scattered over these sandy dunes of the Stanley Pool attending to their nets and fish-snares, and to protect themselves from the hot sun always take with them several large mats to form sheds. Mankoneh, to our great delight, was a bluff, hearty, genial soul, who expressed unbounded pleasure at seeing us; he also volunteered to guide us to the falls. He was curious to know how we proposed travelling after arriving near them, for it was impossible, he said, to descend the falls. By a ludicrous pantomime he led us to understand that they were something very fearful. "A few hundred yards below his village the pool sharply contracted, and the shore of Ntamo--a projecting point from the crescent-shaped ridge beyond--appeared at a distance of two thousand yards. It was then that we heard for the first time the low and sullen thunder of the first cataract of the Livingstone Falls. "Slowly Mankoneh, in his canoe, glided down towards it, and louder it grew on the ears, until when within one hundred yards of the first line of broken water, he pointed forward and warned us not to proceed farther. We made for the shore, and found ourselves on a narrow, ledgelike terrace bristling with great blocks of granite, amid a jungly tangle, which grew at the base of high hills. Here, after a short busy period with axe and machete, we constructed a rude camp. The only level spot was not six feet square. "Mankoneh, the Bateké chief, pointed out to us the village of Itsi, the chief of Ntamo, which is situated on the left bank, in a line with the beginning of the first cataract, and spoke of Itsi with great respect, as though he were very powerful. "About 5 P.M. a small canoe was observed to cross over to our side from the left bank, a mile above the falls. The canoe-men, through the representations of our hearty friend Mankoneh, were soon induced to land in our camp to converse with the white men, and before long we had succeeded in making them feel quite at home with us. As they were in a quiver of anxious desire to impart to the chief Itsi all the wonderful things they had witnessed with us, they departed about sunset, solemnly promising we should see the famous Itsi of Ntamo next morning. "Lashing our canoes firmly lest an accident should happen during the night, we turned to our rude huts to sleep in peace. We were all very hungry, as we had been able to purchase nothing from the natives since leaving Chumbiri five days before, and we had been more than usually improvident, having placed far too much reliance on the representations so profusely made to us by the mild-voiced but cunning king of Chumbiri. From very shame I refrain from publishing the stores of goods with which I purchased the glib promises of assistance from Chumbiri, not one of which was realized. [Illustration: ONE OF THE KING'S WARRIORS.] "Morning of the 13th of March found us, from the early hours of dawn, anxiously waiting the arrival of Itsi of Ntamo and the reappearance of Mankoneh. From our camp we might easily with a glass note any movement on the other bank. At 9 A.M.--Itsi evidently was not an early riser--a large canoe and two consorts, laden with men, were seen propelled up stream along the left bank, and, a mile above the landing-place, to cross the river at a furious pace. The rows of upright figures, with long paddles, bending their bodies forward in unison, and their voices rising in a swelling chorus to the sound of the steady beat of a large drum, formed a pretty and inspiring sight. Arriving at the right bank, with a perfect recklessness of the vicinity of the falls, they dashed down towards our camp at the rate of six knots an hour. The large war-canoe, though not quite equal to the monster of the Aruwimi in size, was a noble vessel, and Itsi, who was seated in state 'midship,' with several gray-headed elders near him, was conscious, when he saw our admiration, that he had created a favorable impression. She measured eighty-five feet seven inches in length, four feet in width, and was three feet three inches deep. Her crew consisted of sixty paddlers and four steersmen, and she carried twenty-two passengers, close-packed, besides, making a total of eighty-six persons. The other two canoes carried ninety-two persons altogether. "We cordially invited Itsi and his people to our camp, to which they willingly responded. Some grass, fresh cut, in anticipation of the visit of our honorable friends, had been strewn over a cleared space close to the stream, and our best mats spread over it. [Illustration: AFRICAN RECLINING-CHAIR.] "There were four or five gray-headed elders present, one of whom was introduced as Itsi. He laughed heartily, and it was not long before we were on a familiar footing. They then broached the subject of blood-brotherhood. We were willing, but they wished to defer the ceremony until they had first shown their friendly feelings to us. Accordingly the old man handed over to me ten loaves of cassava bread, or cassava pudding, fifty tubers of cassava, three bunches of bananas, a dozen sweet potatoes, some sugar-cane, three fowls, and a diminutive goat. A young man of about twenty-six years made Frank's acquaintance by presenting to him double the quantity I received. This liberality drew my attention to him. His face was dotted with round spots of soot-and-oil mixture. From his shoulders depended a long cloth of check pattern, while over one shoulder was a belt, to which was attached a queer medley of small gourds containing snuff and various charms, which he called his Inkisi. In return for the bounteous store of provisions given to Frank and myself, as they were cotton or grass-cloth-wearing people, we made up a bundle of cloths for each of the principals, which they refused, to our surprise. We then begged to know what they desired, that we might show our appreciation of their kindness, and seal the bond of brotherhood with our blood. "The young man now declared himself to be Itsi, the King of Ntamo; the elder, who had previously been passed off for the king, being only an ancient councillor. It was a surprise, but not an unpleasant one, though there was nothing very regal or majestic about him, unless one may so call his munificent bounty to Frank as compared to the old man's to me. We finally prevailed upon Itsi to inform us what gift would be pleasing to him. "He said, 'I want only that big goat; if you give me that, I shall want nothing more.' [Illustration: A PRESENT FROM ITSI.] "The 'big goat' which he so earnestly required was the last of six couples I had purchased in Uregga for the purpose of presentation to an eminent English lady, in accordance with a promise I had made to her four years previously. All the others had perished from heat apoplexy, sickness, and want of proper care, which the terrible life we had led had prevented us from supplying. This 'big goat' and a lionlike ram, gigantic specimens of the domestic animals of Manyema and Uregga, were all that survived. They had both become quite attached to us, and were valued companions of a most eventful journey of eleven hundred miles. I refused it, but offered to double the cloths. Whereupon Itsi sulked, and prepared to depart; not, however, before hinting that we should find it difficult to obtain food if he vetoed the sale of provisions. We coaxed him back again to his seat, and offered him one of the asses. The possession of such a 'gigantic' animal as an ass, which was to him of all domestic animals a veritable Titanosaurus, was a great temptation; but the shuddering women, who feared being eaten by it, caused him to decline the honor of the gift. He now offered three goats for what appeared to him to be the 'largest' goat in Africa, and boasted of his goodness, and how his friendship would be serviceable to me; whereas, if he parted in anger, why, we should be entirely at his mercy. The goat was therefore transferred to his canoe, and Itsi departed for Ntamo, as though he were in possession of a new wonder. "Our provisions were only sufficient to prove what appetites we possessed, and not to assuage them; all were consumed in a few minutes, and we were left with only hopes of obtaining a little more on the next day. "On the 14th Itsi appeared with his war-canoe at 9 A.M., bringing three goats and twenty loaves of cassava bread and a few tubers, and an hour afterwards Nchuvira, King of Nkunda, Mankoneh, chief of the Bateké fishermen near the Stanley Pool, and the King of Nshasa, at the southeast end of the Stanley Pool, arrived at our camp with several canoe crews. Each of the petty sovereigns of the districts in our neighborhood contributed a little, but altogether we were only able to distribute to each person two pounds of eatable provisions. Every chief was eager for a present, with which he was gratified, and solemn covenants of peace were entered into between the whites and the blacks. The treaty with Itsi was exceedingly ceremonious, and involved the exchange of charms. Itsi transferred to me, for my protection through life, a small gourdful of a curious powder, which had rather a saline taste, and I delivered over to him, as the white man's charm against all evil, a half-ounce vial of magnesia; further, a small scratch in Frank's arm, and another in Itsi's arm, supplied blood sufficient to unite us in one and indivisible bond of fraternity. After this we were left alone. "An observation by boiling-point, above the first cataract of Livingstone Falls, disclosed to us an altitude of 1147 feet above the ocean. At Nyangwé the river was 2077 feet. In twelve hundred and thirty-five miles, therefore, there had been only a reduction of 930 feet, divided as follows: Distance Feet. in miles. Fall per mile. Nyangé 2077 } Four miles below seventh cataract, } Stanley Falls 1511 } ---- } 337 20 inches. Feet, 566 } Four miles below seventh cataract, Stanley Falls 1511 } River at Ntamo, above first cataract, } Livingstone Falls 1147 } 898 5 inches, ---- } River nearly. Feet, 364 } uninterrupted." Frank paused a few moments, and, at the request of one of his auditors, repeated the figures he had just given. Then he continued the narrative as follows: "The wide wild land which, by means of the greatest river of Africa, we have pierced, is now about to be presented in a milder aspect than that which has filled the preceding pages with records of desperate conflicts and furious onslaughts of savage men. The people no longer resist our advance. Trade has tamed their natural ferocity, until they no longer resent our approach with the fury of beasts of prey. [Illustration: FLOATING ISLAND IN STANLEY POOL.] "It is the dread river itself of which we shall have now to complain. It is no longer the stately stream, whose mystic beauty, noble grandeur, and gentle, uninterrupted flow along a course of nearly nine hundred miles ever fascinated us, despite the savagery of its peopled shores, but a furious river, rushing down a steep bed obstructed by reefs of lava, projected barriers of rock, lines of immense boulders, winding in crooked course through deep chasms, and dropping down over terraces in a long series of falls, cataracts, and rapids. Our frequent contests with the savages culminated in tragic struggles with the mighty river as it rushed and roared through the deep, yawning pass that leads from the broad table-land down to the Atlantic Ocean. "Those voiceless and lone streams meandering between the thousand isles of the Livingstone; those calm and silent wildernesses of water over which we had poured our griefs and wailed in our sorrow; those woody solitudes where nightly we had sought to soothe our fevered brows, into whose depths we breathed our vows; that sealike amplitude of water which had proved our refuge in distress, weird in its stillness, and solemn in its mystery, are now exchanged for the cliff-lined gorge, through which with inconceivable fury the Livingstone sweeps with foaming billows into the broad Congo, which, at a distance of only one hundred and fifty-five geographical miles, is nearly eleven hundred feet below the summit of the first fall. [Illustration: VILLAGE IN THE VALLEY OF THE CONGO.] "On the 16th of March, having explored as far as the Gordon-Bennett River, and obtained a clear idea of our situation during the 15th, we began our labors with energy. Goods, asses, women, and children, with the guard under Frank, first moved overland to a temporary halting-place near the confluence. Then, manning the boat, I led the canoe-men from point to point along the right bank, over the first rapids. We had some skilful work to perform to avoid being swept away by the velocity of the current; but whenever we came to rocks we held the rattan hawsers in our hands, and, allowing the stream to take them beyond these dangerous points, brought them into the sheltered lee. Had a hawser parted nothing could have saved the canoe or the men in it, for at the confluence of the Gordon-Bennett with the great river the entire river leaps headlong into an abysm of waves and foam. Arriving in the Gordon-Bennett, we transported the expedition across, and then our labors ended at 5 P.M. for the day. [Illustration: NATIVE POTTERY.] "Itsi of Ntamo had informed us there were only three cataracts, which he called the 'Child,' the 'Mother,' and the 'Father.' The 'Child' was a two hundred yards' stretch of broken water; and the 'Mother,' consisting of half a mile of dangerous rapids, we had succeeded in passing, and had pushed beyond it by crossing the upper branch of the Gordon-Bennett, which was an impetuous stream, seventy-five yards wide, with big cataracts of its own higher up. But the 'Father' is the wildest stretch of river that I have ever seen. Take a strip of sea blown over by a hurricane, four miles in length and half a mile in breadth, and a pretty accurate conception of its leaping waves may be obtained. Some of the troughs were one hundred yards in length, and from one to the other the mad river plunged. There was first a rush down into the bottom of an immense trough, and then, by its sheer force, the enormous volume would lift itself upward steeply until, gathering itself into a ridge, it suddenly hurled itself twenty or thirty feet straight upward, before rolling down into another trough. If I looked up or down along this angry scene, every interval of fifty or one hundred yards of it was marked by wave-towers--their collapse into foam and spray, the mad clash of watery hills, bounding mounds, and heaving billows, while the base of either bank, consisting of a long line of piled boulders of massive size, was buried in the tempestuous surf. The roar was tremendous and deafening. I can only compare it to the thunder of an express train through a rock tunnel. To speak to my neighbor, I had to bawl in his ear. "The most powerful ocean steamer, going at full speed on this portion of the river, would be as helpless as a cockle-boat. I attempted three times, by watching some tree floated down from above, to ascertain the rate of the wild current by observing the time it occupied in passing between two given points, from which I estimate it to be about thirty miles an hour! [Illustration: VIEW OF THE RIGHT BRANCH, FIRST CATARACT, OF THE LIVINGSTONE FALLS, FROM FOUR MILES BELOW JUMBA ISLAND.] "On the 17th, after cutting brushwood and laying it over a path of eight hundred yards in length, we crossed from the upper branch of the Gordon-Bennett to the lower branch, which was of equal breadth, but twenty feet below it. This enabled us the next day to float down to the confluence of the lower branch with the Livingstone. We could do no more on this day; the people were fainting from lack of food. "On the 18th, through the good-will of Mankoneh, the chief of the Bateké, we were enabled to trade with the aborigines, a wild and degraded tribe, subsisting principally on fish and cassava. A goat was not to be obtained at any price, and for a chicken they demanded a gun! Cassava, however, was abundant. "From the confluence we formed another brush-covered road, and hauled the canoes over another eight hundred yards into a creek, which enabled us to reach, on the 20th, a wide sand-bar that blocked its passage into the great river. The sand-bar, in its turn, enabled us to reach the now moderated stream, below the influence of the roaring 'Father,' and to proceed by towing and punting half a mile below to an inlet in the rocky shore. "Gampa, the young chief of this district, became very friendly, and visited us each day with small gifts of cassava bread, a few bananas, and a small gourd of palm-wine. "On the 21st and the two days following we were engaged in hauling our vessels overland, a distance of three quarters of a mile, over a broad rocky point, into a baylike formation. Gampa and his people nerved us to prosecute our labors by declaring that there was only one small cataract below. Full of hope, we halted on the 24th to rest the wearied people, and in the meantime to trade for food. [Illustration: OVER ROCKY POINT CLOSE TO GAMPA'S.] "The 25th saw us at work at dawn in a bad piece of river, which is significantly styled the 'Caldron.' Our best canoe, seventy-five feet long, three feet wide, by twenty-one inches deep, the famous _London Town_, commanded by Manwa Sera, was torn from the hands of fifty men, and swept away in the early morning down to destruction. In the afternoon, the _Glasgow_, parting her cables, was swept away, drawn nearly into mid-river, returned up river half a mile, again drawn into the depths, ejected into a bay near where Frank was camped, and, to our great joy, finally recovered. Accidents were numerous; the glazed trap-rocks, washed by the ever-rising tidal-like waves, were very slippery, occasioning dangerous falls to the men. One man dislocated his shoulder, another was bruised on the hips, and another had a severe contusion of the head. Too careless of my safety in my eagerness and anxiety, I fell down, feet first, into a chasm thirty feet deep between two enormous boulders, but fortunately escaped with only a few rib bruises, though for a short time I was half stunned. [Illustration: AT WORK PASSING THE LOWER END OF THE FIRST CATARACT OF THE LIVINGSTONE FALLS, NEAR ROCKY ISLAND.] "On the 27th we happily succeeded in passing the fearful Caldron, but during our last efforts the _Crocodile_, eighty-five feet three inches long, was swept away into the centre of the Caldron, heaved upward, whirled round with quick gyrations, and finally shot into the bay north of Rocky Island, where it was at last secured. The next day we dropped down stream, and reached the western end of the bay above Rocky Island Falls. "Leaving Frank Pocock as usual in charge of the camp and goods, I mustered ninety men--most of the others being stiff from wounds received in the fight at Mwana Ibaka and other places--and proceeded, by making a wooden tramway with sleepers and rollers, to pass Rocky Island Falls. Mpwapwa and Shumari, of the boat's crew, were sent to explore, meanwhile, for another inlet or recess in the right bank. By 2 P.M. we were below the falls, and my two young men had returned, reporting that a mile or so below there was a fine camp, with a broad strip of sand lining a bay. This animated us to improve the afternoon hours by attemtping to reach it. The seventeen canoes now left to us were manned according to their capacity. As I was about to embark in my boat to lead the way, I turned to the people to give my last instructions--which were, to follow me, clinging to the right bank, and by no means to venture into mid-river into the current. While delivering my instructions, I observed Kalulu in the _Crocodile_, which was made out of the _Bassia Parkii_ tree, a hard, heavy wood, but admirable for canoes. When I asked him what he wanted in the canoe, he replied, with a deprecating smile and an expostulating tone, 'I can pull, sir; see!' 'Ah, very well,' I answered. "The boat-boys took their seats, and, skirting closely the cliffy shore, we rowed down stream, while I stood in the bow of the boat, guiding the coxswain, Uledi, with my hand. The river was not more than four hundred and fifty yards wide; but one cast of the sounding-lead close to the bank obtained a depth of one hundred and thirty-eight feet. The river was rapid, with certainly a seven-knot current, with a smooth, greasy surface, now and then an eddy, a gurgle, and gentle heave, but not dangerous to people in possession of their wits. In a very few moments we had descended the mile stretch, and before us, six hundred yards off, roared the furious falls since distinguished by the name 'Kalulu.' [Illustration: AFRICAN PIPES.] "With a little effort we succeeded in rounding the point and entering the bay above the falls, and reaching a pretty camping-place on a sandy beach. The first, second, and third canoes arrived soon after me, and I was beginning to congratulate myself on having completed a good day's work, when to my horror I saw the _Crocodile_ in mid-river far below the point which we had rounded, gliding with the speed of an arrow towards the falls over the treacherous calm water. Human strength availed nothing now, and we watched in agony, for I had three favorites in her--Kalulu, Mauredi, and Ferajji; and of the others, two, Rehani Makua and Wadi Jumah, were also very good men. It soon reached the island which cleft the falls, and was swept down the left branch. We saw it whirled round three or four times, then plunged down into the depths, out of which the stern presently emerged pointed upward, and we knew then that Kalulu and his canoe-mates were no more. [Illustration: DEATH OF KALULU.] "Fast upon this terrible catastrophe, before we could begin to bewail their loss, another canoe with two men in it darted past the point, borne by irresistibly on the placid but swift current to apparent, nay, almost certain destruction. I despatched my boat's crew up along the cliffs to warn the forgetful people that in mid-stream was certain death, and shouted out commands for the two men to strike for the left shore. The steersman by a strange chance shot his canoe over the falls, and, dexterously edging it towards the left shore a mile below, he and his companion contrived to spring ashore and were saved. As we observed them clamber over the rocks to approach a point opposite us, and finally sit down regarding us in silence across the river, our pity and love gushed strong towards them, but we could utter nothing of it. The roar of the falls completely mocked and overpowered the feeble human voice. "Before the boat's crew could well reach the descending canoes, the boulders being very large and offering great obstacles to rapid progress, a third canoe--but a small and light one--with only one man, the brave lad Soudi, who escaped from the spears of the Wanyaturu assassins in 1875, darted by, and cried out, as he perceived himself to be drifting helplessly towards the falls, 'La il Allah, il Allah'--There is but one God--'I am lost! Master!' He was then seen to address himself to what fate had in store for him. We watched him for a few moments, and then saw him drop. Out of the shadow of the fall he presently emerged, dropping from terrace to terrace, precipitated down, then whirled round, caught by great heavy waves, which whisked him to right and left and struck madly at him, and yet his canoe did not sink, but he and it were swept behind the lower end of the island, and then darkness fell upon the day of horror. Nine men lost in one afternoon! "This last accident, I was told, was caused by the faithlessness of the crew. One man, utterly unnerved by his fear of the river, ran away and hid in the bushes; the two others lost their hold of the tow-ropes, and thus their comrade was carried into the swift centre." Frank stopped at this incident, and said he would resume the story in the evening. His audience had listened with breathless interest to the sad story of the death of Kalulu and his companions, and when the party assembled for the evening session, all were eager to hear the continuation of the account of Stanley's perilous descent of the Congo. [Illustration: ONE OF GAMPA'S MEN.] CHAPTER XV. THE FRIENDLY BATEKÉ.--GREAT SNAKES.--SOUDI'S STRANGE ADVENTURES.--CAPTURED BY HOSTILE NATIVES.--DESCENDING RAPIDS AND FALLS.--LOSS OF A CANOE.--"WHIRLPOOL RAPIDS."--THE _LADY ALICE_ IN PERIL.--GAVUBU'S COVE.--"LADY ALICE" RAPIDS.--A PERILOUS DESCENT.--ALARM OF STANLEY'S PEOPLE.--TRIBUTARY STREAMS.--PANIC AMONG THE CANOE-MEN.--NATIVE VILLAGES.--INKISI FALLS.--TUCKEY'S CATARACT.--A ROAD OVER A MOUNTAIN.--AMONG THE BABWENDÉ.--AFRICAN MARKETS.--TRADING AMONG THE TRIBES.--SHOELESS TRAVELLERS.--EXPERIMENTS IN COOKING.--LIMITED STOCK OF PROVISIONS.--CENTRAL AFRICAN ANTS.--"JIGGAS."--DANGERS OF UNPROTECTED FEET. Promptly at the hour all were in their places. Frank was ready with the opened book, from which he read: "On the 30th of March a messenger was despatched to Frank to superintend the transport of the goods overland to where I had arrived with the boat. The natives continued to be very amiable, and food was abundant and cheap. They visited our camp from morning to night, bringing their produce from a great distance. They are a very gentle and harmless tribe, the western Bateké, and distinguishable by four cicatrices down each cheek. They are also remarkable for their numerous bird-snares--bird-lime being furnished by the _Ficus sycamorus_--and traps. About sunset a wide-spreading flock of large birds like parrots passed northeast over our camp, occupying nearly half an hour in passing. They were at too great an altitude to be recognized. Lead-colored water-snakes were very numerous, the largest being about seven feet in length and two and one half inches in diameter. [Illustration: VILLAGE IDOLS.] "Confined within the deep, narrow valley of the river, the hills rising to the height of about eight hundred feet above us, and exposed to the continued uproar of the river, we became almost stunned during our stay of the 31st. "On the 1st of April we cleared the Kalulu Fulls, and camped on the right bank below them. Our two absentees on the left side had followed us, and were signalling frequently to us, but we were helpless. The next day we descended a mile and a half of rapids, and in the passage one more canoe was lost, which reduced our flotilla to thirteen vessels. "About 2 P.M., to the general joy, appeared young Soudi and our two absentees who the day before had been signalling us from the opposite side of the river! "Soudi's adventures had been very strange. He had been swept down over the upper and lower Kalulu Falls and the intermediate rapids, and had been whirled round so often that he became confused. 'But clinging to my canoe,' he said, 'the wild river carried me down and down and down, from place to place, sometimes near a rock, and sometimes near the middle of the stream, until an hour after dark, when I saw it was near a rock; I jumped out, and, catching my canoe, drew it on shore. I had scarcely finished when my arms were seized, and I was bound by two men, who hurried me up to the top of the mountain, and then for an hour over the high land, until we came to a village. They then pushed me into a house, where they lit a fire, and when it was bright they stripped me naked and examined me. Though I pretended not to understand them, I knew enough to know that they were proud of their prize. They spoke kindly to me, and gave me plenty to eat; and while one of them slept, the other watched sharp lest I should run away. In the morning it was rumored over the village that a handsome slave was captured from a strange tribe, and many people came to see me, one of whom had seen us at Ntamo, and recognized me. This man immediately charged the two men with having stolen one of the white man's men, and he drew such a picture of you, master, with large eyes of fire and long hair, who owned a gun that shot all day, that all the people became frightened, and compelled the two men to take me back to where they had found me. They at once returned me my clothes, and brought me to the place near where I had tied my canoe. They then released me, saying, "Go to your king; here is food for you; and do not tell him what we have done to you; but tell him you met friends who saved you, and it shall be well with us."' "The other two men, seeking for means to cross the river, met Soudi sitting by his canoe. The three became so much encouraged at one another's presence that they resolved to cross the river rather than endure further anxiety in a strange land. Despair gave them courage, and though the river was rapid, they succeeded in crossing, a mile below the place they had started from, without accident. "On the 3d of April we descended another mile and a half of dangerous rapids, during which several accidents occurred. One canoe was upset which contained fifty tusks of ivory and a sack of beads. Four men had narrow escapes from drowning, but Uledi, my coxswain, saved them. I myself tumbled headlong into a small basin, and saved myself with difficulty from being swept away by the receding tide. [Illustration: HILLY REGION BACK FROM THE RIVER.] "Our system of progress was to begin each day with Frank leading the expedition overland to a camp at the head of some inlet, cove, or recess, near rapids or falls, where, with the older men, women, and children, he constructed a camp; the working party, consisting of the younger men, returning to assist me with the canoes down to the new camp. Anxious for the safety of the people, I superintended the river work myself, and each day led the way in the boat. On approaching rapids I selected three or four of the boat's crew (and always Uledi, the coxswain), and clambered along the great rocks piled along the base of the steeply sloping hills, until I had examined the scene. If the rapids or fall were deemed impassable by water, I planned the shortest and safest route across the projecting points, and then, mustering the people, strewed a broad track with bushes, over which, as soon as completed, we set to work to haul our vessels beyond the dangerous water, when we lowered them into the river, and pursued our way to camp, where Frank would be ready to give me welcome, and such a meal as the country afforded. "At Gamfwé's the natives sold us abundance of bread, or rolls of pudding, of cassava flour, maize, cassava leaves, water-cresses, and the small Strychnos fruit, and, for the first time, lemons. Fowls were very dear, and a goat was too expensive a luxury in our now rapidly impoverishing state. "On the 8th we descended from Gamfwé's to 'Whirlpool Narrows,' opposite Umvilingya. When near there we perceived that the eddy tides, which rushed up river along the bank, required very delicate and skilful manoeuvring. I experimented on the boat first, and attempted to haul her by cables round a rocky point from the bay near Whirlpool Narrows. Twice they snapped ropes and cables, and the second time the boat flew up river, borne on the crests of brown waves, with only Uledi and two men in her. Presently she wheeled into the bay, following the course of the eddy, and Uledi brought her in-shore. The third time we tried the operation with six cables of twisted rattan, about two hundred feet in length, with five men to each cable. The rocks rose singly in precipitous masses fifty feet above the river, and this extreme height increased the difficulty and rendered footing precarious, for furious eddies of past ages had drilled deep circular pits, like ovens, in them, four, six, even ten feet deep. However, with the utmost patience we succeeded in rounding these enormous blocks, and hauling the boat against the uneasy eddy tide to where the river resumed its natural downward flow. Below this, as I learned, were some two miles of boisterous water; but mid-river, though foaming in places, was not what we considered dangerous. We therefore resolved to risk it in mid-stream, and the boat's crew, never backward when they knew what lay in front of them, manned the boat, and in fifteen minutes we had taken her into a small creek near Umvilingya's landing, which ran up river between a ridge of rocks and the right bank. This act instilled courage into the canoe-men, and the boat-boys having volunteered to act as steersmen, with Frank as leader, all manned the canoes next morning, and succeeded in reaching my camp in good time without accident, though one canoe was taken within two hundred yards of Round Island Falls, between Isameh's and Umvilingya's. "At this place Frank and I treated ourselves to a pig, which we purchased from the chief Umvilingya for four cloths, we having been more than two weeks without meat. [Illustration: "LADY ALICE" OVER THE FALLS.] "On the 10th, having, because of illness, intrusted the boat to Manwa Sera and Uledi, they managed to get her jammed between two rocks near the entrance to Gavubu's Cove, and, as the after-section was sunk for a time, it appeared that the faithful craft would be lost here after her long and wonderful journey. Springing from my bed upon hearing of the threatened calamity, I mustered twenty active men and hastened to the scene, and soon, by inspiring every man to do his best, we were able to lift her out of her dangerous position, and take her to camp apparently uninjured. [Illustration: NATIVE MILL FOR GRINDING CORN.] "The lower end of Gavubu's Cove was reached on the 11th, and the next day by noon the land party and canoes were taken safely to the lower end of Garafwé's Bay. As our means were rapidly diminishing in this protracted struggle we maintained against the natural obstacles to our journey, we could only hope to reach the sea by resolute and continual industry during every hour of daylight. I accordingly instructed the canoe-men to be ready to follow me, as soon as they should be informed by a messenger that the boat had safely arrived in camp. "The commencement of "Lady Alice" Rapids was marked by a broad fall, and an interruption to the rapidly rushing river by a narrow ridgy islet of great rocks, which caused the obstructed stream to toss its waters in lateral waves against the centre, where they met waves from the right bank, and overlapping formed a lengthy dyke of foaming water. "Strong cane cables were lashed to the bow and stern, and three men were detailed to each, while five men assisted me in the boat. A month's experience of this kind of work had made us skilful and bold. But the rapids were more powerful, the river was much more contracted, and the impediments were greater than usual. On our right was an upright wall of massive boulders terminating in a narrow terrace three hundred feet high; behind the terrace, at a little distance, rose the rude hills to the height of twelve hundred feet above the river; above the hills rolled the table-land. On our left, four hundred yards from the bouldery wall, rose a lengthy and stupendous cliff line topped by a broad belt of forest, and at its base rose three rocky islets, one below another, against which the river dashed itself, disparting with a roaring surge. "We had scarcely ventured near the top of the rapids when, by a careless slackening of the stern cable, the current swept the boat from the hands of that portion of her crew whose duty it was to lower her carefully and cautiously down the fall, to the narrow line of ebb-flood below the rocky projection. Away into the centre of the angry, foaming, billowy stream the boat darted, dragging one man into the maddened flood, to whom, despite our awful position, I was able to lend a hand and lift into the boat. [Illustration: FALLS ON A TRIBUTARY STREAM.] "'Oars, my boys, and be steady! Uledi, to the helm!' were all the instructions I was able to shout, after which, standing at the bow of the boat, I guided the coxswain with my hand; for now, as we rode downward furiously on the crests of the proud waves, the human voice was weak against the overwhelming thunder of the angry river. Oars were only useful to assist the helm, for we were flying at a terrific speed past the series of boulders which strangled the river. Never did the rocks assume such hardness, such solemn grimness and bigness, never were they invested with such terrors and such grandeur of height, as while we were the cruel sport and prey of the brown-black waves, which whirled us round like a spinning-top, swung us aside, almost engulfed us in the rapidly subsiding troughs, and then hurled us upon the white, rageful crests of others. Ah! with what feelings we regarded this awful power which the great river had now developed! How we cringed under its imperious, compelling, and irresistible force! What lightning retrospects we cast upon our past lives! How impotent we felt before it! "'La il Allah, il Allah!' screamed young Mabruki. 'We are lost! yes, we are lost!' [Illustration: AN UPLAND STREAM AND NATIVE BRIDGE.] "After two miles we were abreast of the bay, or indentation, at which we had hoped to camp, but the strong river mocked our efforts to gain it. The flood was resolved we should taste the bitterness of death. A sudden rumbling noise, like the deadened sound of an earthquake, caused us to look below, and we saw the river heaved bodily upward, as though a volcano were about to belch around us. Up to the summit of this watery mound we were impelled; and then, divining what was about to take place, I shouted out, 'Pull, men, for your lives!' "A few frantic strokes drove us to the lower side of the mound, and before it had finished subsiding, and had begun its usual fatal circling, we were precipitated over a small fall, and sweeping down towards the inlet into which the Nkenké Cataract tumbled, below the lowest lines of breakers of the Lady Alice Rapids. Once or twice we were flung scornfully aside, and spun around contemptuously, as though we were too insignificant to be wrecked; then, availing ourselves of a calm moment, we resumed our oars, and soon entering the ebb-tide, rowed up river and reached the sandy beach at the junction of the Nkenké with the Livingstone. Arriving on shore, I despatched Uledi and young Shumari to run to meet the despairing people above, who had long before this been alarmed by the boat-boys, whose carelessness had brought about this accident, and by the sympathizing natives who had seen us, as they reported, sink in the whirlpools. In about an hour a straggling line of anxious souls appeared; and all that love of life and living things, with the full sense of the worth of living, returned to my heart, as my faithful followers rushed up one after another with their exuberant welcome to life, which gushed out of them in gesture, feature, and voice. And Frank, my amiable and trusty Frank, was neither last nor least in his professions of love and sympathy, and gratitude to Him who had saved us from a watery grave. [Illustration: THE NKENKÉ RIVER ENTERING THE LIVINGSTONE BELOW THE LADY ALICE RAPIDS.] "The land party then returned with Frank to remove the goods to our new camp, and by night my tent was pitched within a hundred yards of the cataract mouth of the Nkenké. We had four cataracts in view of us: the great river which emptied itself into the baylike expanse from the last line of the Lady Alice Rapids; two miles below, the river fell again, in a foamy line of waves; from the tall cliff south of us tumbled a river four hundred feet into the great river; and on our right, one hundred yards off, the Nkenké rushed down steeply like an enormous cascade from the height of one thousand feet. "Very different was this scene of towering cliffs and lofty mountain walls, which daily discharged the falling streams from the vast uplands above and buried us within the deafening chasm, to that glassy flow of the Livingstone by the black, eerie forests of Usongora, Meno, and Kasera, and through the upper lands of the cannibal Wenya, where a single tremulous wave was a rarity. We now, surrounded by the daily terrors and hope-killing shocks of these apparently endless cataracts, and the loud boom of their baleful fury, remembered, with regretful hearts, the Sabbath stillness and dreamy serenity of those days. Beautiful was it then to glide among the lazy creeks of the spicy and palm-growing isles, where the broad-leafed Amomum vied in greenness with the drooping fronds of the Phrynium, where the myrrh and bdellium shrubs exhaled their fragrance side by side with the wild cassia, where the capsicum with its red-hot berries rose in embowering masses, and the Ipomoea's purple buds gemmed with color the tall stem of some sturdy tree. Environed by most dismal prospects, forever dinned by terrific sound, at all points confronted by the most hopeless outlook, we think that an Eden which we have left behind, and this a watery hell wherein we now are. "Though our involuntary descent of the Lady Alice Rapids from Gamfwé's Bay to Nkenké River Bay--a distance of three miles--occupied us but fifteen minutes, it was a work of four days to lower the canoes by cables. Experience of the vast force of the flood, and the brittleness of the rattan cables, had compelled us to fasten eight cables to each canoe, and to detail five men to each cable for the passage of the rapids. Yet, with all our precautions, almost each hour was marked with its special accident to man or canoe. One canoe, with a man named Nubi in it, was torn from the hands of forty men, swept down two miles, and sunk in the great whirlpool. Nubi clung to his vessel until taken down a second time, when he and the canoe were ejected fifty yards apart, but, being an expert swimmer, he regained it in the Nkenké basin, and astride of its keel was circling round with the strong ebb-tide, when he was saved by the dashing Uledi and his young brother Shumari. "While returning to my labors along the bouldery heap which lined the narrow terrace opposite the islets, I observed another canoe, which contained the chief Waldi Rehani and two of my boat-bearers, Chiwonda and Muscati, drifting down helplessly near the verge of some slack water. The three men were confused, and benumbed with terror at the roar and hissing of the rapids. Being comparatively close to them, on the edge of a high crag, I suddenly shot out my voice with the full power of my lungs, in sharp, quick accents of command to paddle ashore, and the effect was wonderful. It awoke them like soldiers to the call of duty, and after five minutes' energetic use of their paddles they were saved. I have often been struck at the power of a quick, decisive tone. It appears to have an electric effect, riding rough-shod over all fears, indecision, and tremor, and, just as in this instance, I had frequently up river, when the people were inclined to get panic-stricken, or to despair, restored them to a sense of duty by affecting the sharp-cutting, steel-like, and imperious tone of voice, which seemed to be as much of a compelling power as powder to a bullet. But it should be remembered that a too frequent use of it spoils its effect. [Illustration: MODE OF PASSING BOATS OVER THE FALLS.] "From the 18th to the 21st we were busy among rapids and whirlpools, which brought us into Babwendé territory, where we encamped. Nsangu, a village of the Basessé, was opposite our camp, crowning with its palms and fields a hilly terrace projected from the mountain range, at whose richly wooded slopes or cliffy front, based with a long line of great boulders, we each day looked from the right bank of the river. The villagers sent a deputation to us with palm-wine and a small gift of cassava tubers. Upon asking them if there were any more cataracts, they replied that there was only one, and they exaggerated it so much that the very report struck terror and dismay into our people. They described it as falling from a height greater than the position on which their village was situated, which drew exclamations of despair from my followers. I, on the other hand, rather rejoiced at this, as I believed it might be 'Tuckey's Cataract,' which seemed to be eternally receding as we advanced. While the Bateké above had constantly held out flattering prospects of 'only one more' cataract, I had believed that one to be Tuckey's Cataract, because map-makers have laid down a great navigably reach of river between Tuckey's upper cataract and the Yellala Falls--hence our object in clinging to the river, despite all obstacles, until that ever-receding cataract was reached. The distance we had labored through from the 16th of March to the 21st of April inclusive, a period of thirty-seven days, was only thirty-four miles! "On the 26th we reached the terrific fall described by the Basessé people. The falls are called Inkisi, or the 'Charm;' they have no clear drop, but the river, being forced through a chasm only five hundred yards wide, is flanked by curling waves of destructive fury, which meet in the centre, overlap, and strike each other, while below is an absolute chaos of mad waters, leaping waves, deep troughs, contending watery ridges, tumbling and tossing for a distance of two miles. The commencement of this gorge is a lengthy island which seems to have been a portion or slice of the table-land fallen flat, as it were, from a height of one thousand feet. "The natives above Inkisi descended from their breezy homes on the table-land to visit the strangers. I asked if there was another cataract below. 'No,' said they, 'at least only a little one, which you can pass without trouble.' "'Ah,' thought I to myself, 'this great cataract then must be Tuckey's Cataract, and the "little one," I suppose, was too contemptible an affair to be noticed, or perhaps it was covered over by high water, for map-makers have a clear, wide--three miles wide--stream to the Falls of Yellala. Good! I will haul my canoes up the mountain and pass over the table-land, as I must now cling to this river to the end, having followed it so long.' "My resolution was soon communicated to my followers, who looked perfectly blank at the proposition. The natives heard me, and, seeing the silence and reluctance of the people, they asked the cause, and I told them it was because I intended to drag our vessels up the mountain. "Having decided upon the project, it only remained to make a road and to begin, but in order to obtain the assistance of the aborigines, which I was anxious for, in order to relieve my people from much of the fatigue, the first day all hands were mustered for road-making. Our numerous axes, which we had purchased in Manyema and in Uregga, came into very efficient use now, for, by night, a bush-strewn path fifteen hundred yards in length had been constructed. [Illustration: VILLAGE ON THE TABLE-LAND.] "By 8 A.M. of the 26th our exploring-boat and a small canoe were on the summit of the table-land at a new camp we had formed. As the feat was performed without ostentation, the native chiefs were in a state of agreeable wonder. After an hour's 'talk' and convivial drinking of palm-wine they agreed, for a gift of forty cloths, to bring six hundred men to assist us to haul up the monster canoes we possessed, two or three of which were of heavy teak, over seventy feet in length, and weighing over three tons. A large number of my men were then detailed to cut rattan canes as a substitute for ropes, and as many were brittle and easily broken, this involved frequent delays. Six men under Kachéché were also despatched overland to a distance of ten miles to explore the river, and to prepare the natives for our appearance. "By the evening of the 28th all our vessels were safe on the highest part of the table-land. Having become satisfied that all was going well in camp, and that Manwa Sera and his men were capable of superintending it, with the aid of the natives, I resolved to take Frank and the boat's crew, women, and children, and goods of the expedition, to the frontier of Nzabi, and establish a camp near the river, at a point where we should again resume our toil in the deep defile through which the mighty river stormed along its winding course. [Illustration: A FIGURE IN THE MARKET-PLACE.] "The Babwendé natives were exceedingly friendly, even more so than the amiable Bateké. Gunpowder was abundant with them, and every male capable of carrying a gun possessed one, often more. Delft ware and British crockery were also observed in their hands, such as plates, mugs, shallow dishes, wash-basins, galvanized iron spoons, Birmingham cutlery, and other articles of European manufacture obtained through the native markets, which are held in an open space between each district. For example, Nzabi district holds a market on a Monday, and Babwendé from Zinga, Mowa farther down, and Inkisi, and Basessé, from across the river attend, as there is a ferry below Zinga, and articles such as European salt, gunpowder, guns, cloth, crockery, glass, and iron ware, of which the currency consists, are bartered for produce such as ground-nuts, palm-oil, palm-nuts, palm-wine, cassava bread and tubers, yams, maize, sugar-cane, beans, native earthenware, onions, lemons, bananas, guavas, sweet limes, pineapples, black pigs, goats, fowls, eggs, ivory, and a few slaves, who are generally Bateké or Northern Basundi. On Tuesday the district above Inkisi Falls holds its market, at which Mowa, Nzabi, and the district above Inkisi attend. On Wednesday the Umvilingya, Lemba, and Nsangu districts hold a market. On Thursday most of the Babwendé cross the river over to Nsangu, and the Basessé have the honor of holding a market on their own soil. On Friday the market is again held at Nzabi, and the series runs its course in the same order. Thus, without trading caravans or commercial expeditions, the aborigines of these districts are well supplied with almost all they require without the trouble and danger of proceeding to the coast. From district to district, market to market, and hand to hand, European fabrics and wares are conveyed along both sides of the river, and along the paths of traffic. By this mode of traffic a keg of powder landed at Funta, Ambriz, Ambrizette, or Kinsembo, requires about five years to reach the Bangala. The first musket was landed in Angola in about the latter part of the fifteenth century, for Diogo Cão only discovered the mouth of the Congo in 1485. It has taken three hundred and ninety years for four muskets to arrive at Rubunga in Nganza, nine hundred and sixty-five miles from Point de Padrão, where Diogo Cão erected his memorial column in honor of the discovery of the Congo. [Illustration: AFRICAN MARKET SCENE.] "We discovered cloth to be so abundant among the Babwendé that it was against our conscience to purchase even a fowl, for, naturally, the nearer we approached civilization cloth became cheaper in value, until finally a fowl cost four yards of our thick sheeting! Frank and I therefore lived upon the same provisions as our people. Our store of sugar had run out in Uregga, our coffee was finished at Vinya Njara, and at Inkisi Falls our tea, alas! alas! came to an end. [Illustration: VIEW IN THE BABWENDÉ COUNTRY.] "What would we not have given for a pair of shoes apiece? Though I had kept one pair of worn-out shoes by me, my last new pair had been put on in the jungles of doleful Uregga, and now six weeks' rough wear over the gritty iron and clink-stone, trap, and granite blocks along the river had ground through soles and uppers, until I began to feel anxious. Frank had been wearing sandals made out of my leather portmanteaus, and slippers out of our gutta-percha pontoon; but climbing over the rocks and rugged steeps wore them to tatters in such quick succession, that it was with the utmost difficulty that I was enabled, by appealing to the pride of the white man, to induce him to persevere in the manufacture of sandals for his own use. Frequently, on suddenly arriving in camp from my wearying labors, I would discover him with naked feet, and would reprove him for shamelessly exposing his white feet to the vulgar gaze of the aborigines! In Europe this would not be considered indelicate, but in barbarous Africa the feet should be covered as much as the body; for there is a small modicum of superiority shown even in clothing the feet. Not only on moral grounds did I urge him to cover his feet, but also for his own comfort and health; for the great cataract gorge and table-land above it, besides abounding in ants, mosquitoes, and vermin, are infested with three dangerous insects, which prey upon the lower limbs of man--the 'jigga' from Brazil, the guinea-worm, and an entozoon, which, depositing its eggs in the muscles, produces a number of short, fat worms and severe tumors. I also discovered, from the examples in my camp, that the least abrasion of the skin was likely, if not covered, to result in an ulcer. My own person testified to this, for an injury to the thumb of my left hand, injured by a fall on the rocks at Gamfwé's, had culminated in a painful wound, which I daily cauterized; but though bathed, burned, plastered, and bandaged twice a day, I had been at this time a sufferer for over a month. "In the absence of positive knowledge as to how long we might be toiling in the cataracts, we were all compelled to be extremely economical. Goat and pig meat were such luxuries that we declined to think of them as being possible with our means; tea, coffee, sugar, sardines, were fast receding into the memory-land of past pleasures, and chickens had reached such prices that they were rare in our camp. We possessed one ram from far Uregga, and Mirambo, the black riding-ass--the other two asses had died a few weeks before--but we should have deserved the name of cannibals had we dared to think of sacrificing the pets of the camp. Therefore--by the will of the gods--contentment had to be found in boiled 'duff,' or cold cassava bread, ground-nuts, or peanuts, yams, and green bananas. To make such strange food palatable was an art that we possessed in a higher degree than our poor comrades. They were supplied with the same materials as we ourselves, but the preparation was different. My dark followers simply dried their cassava, and then, pounding it, made the meal into porridge. Ground-nuts they threw into the ashes, and when sufficiently baked ate them like hungry men. [Illustration: NYITTI, AN AFRICAN POTATO.] "For me such food was too crude; besides, my stomach, called to sustain a brain and body strained to the utmost by responsibilities, required that some civility should be shown to it. Necessity roused my faculties, and a jaded stomach goaded my inventive powers to a high pitch. I called my faithful cook, told him to clean and wash mortar and pestle for the preparation of a 'high art' dish. Frank approached also to receive instruction, so that, in my absence, he might remind Marzouk, the cook, of each particular. First we rinsed in clear, cold brook-water from the ravines some choice cassava, or manioc tops, and these were placed in the water to be bruised. Marzouk understood this part very well, and soon pounded them to the consistence of a green porridge. To this I then added fifty shelled nuts of the _Arachis hypogoea_, three small specimens of the _Dioscorea alata_, boiled and sliced cold; a tablespoonful of oil extracted from the _Arachis hypogoea_; a tablespoonful of wine of the _Elais Guineensis_, a little salt, and sufficient powdered capsicum. This imposing and admirable mixture was pounded together, fried, and brought into the tent, along with toasted cassava pudding, hot and steaming, on the only Delft plate we possessed. Within a few minutes our breakfast was spread out on the medicine-chest which served me for a table, and at once a keen appetite was inspired by the grateful smell of my artful compound. After invoking a short blessing Frank and I rejoiced our souls and stomachs with the savory mess, and flattered ourselves that, though British paupers and Sing-Sing convicts might fare better, perhaps, thankful content crowned our hermit repast." [Illustration: UGOGO COOKING-POT.] "That will do for this evening," said Frank, as he closed the book at the end of the chapter. "We will leave Mr. Stanley and his only white companion at their frugal feast, and congratulate them on their ingenuity in making the most that was possible out of the limited supplies which the native markets afforded them." [Illustration: WILD BULL OF EQUATORIAL AFRICA.] CHAPTER XVI. A DISAPPOINTMENT.--NOT TUCKEY'S FURTHEST.--BUILDING NEW CANOES.--THE _LIVINGSTONE_, _STANLEY_, AND _JASON_.--FALLS BELOW INKISI.--FRANK POCOCK DROWNED.--STANLEY'S GRIEF.--_IN MEMORIAM_.--MUTINY IN CAMP.--HOW IT WAS QUELLED.--LOSS OF THE _LIVINGSTONE_.--THE CHIEF CARPENTER DROWNED.--ISANGILA CATARACT.--TUCKEY'S SECOND SANGALLA.--ABANDONING THE BOATS.--OVERLAND TO BOMA.--THE EXPEDITION STARVING.--A LETTER ASKING HELP.--VOLUNTEER COURIERS.--DELAYS AT STARTING.--VAIN EFFORTS TO BUY FOOD.--A DREARY MARCH.--SUFFERINGS OF STANLEY'S PEOPLE.--THE LEADER'S ANXIETY. Fred took the chair the next day, and resumed the narrative at the point where it was dropped by his cousin. He turned several leaves of the book in slow succession, and said as he did so: "Mr. Stanley was destined to be greatly disappointed. In passing Inkisi Falls, he felt certain that he had at last reached Tuckey's Cataract, and henceforth would have an uninterrupted passage to the sea. But he soon found that there were other and larger cataracts to be passed, and as he had lost nine of his canoes he was in great need of an addition to his fleet. While the transport party and the natives were busy hauling the canoes around Inkisi Falls, taking them first to the table-land, twelve hundred feet high, and then down again, the carpenters were set to cutting down two of the largest trees and hollowing them out for boats. Two boats, the _Livingstone_ and the _Stanley_, were then made; the former, hewn from a single log of teak, was fifty-four feet long, two feet four inches deep, and three feet two inches wide. The _Stanley_ was not so large, but she proved an excellent boat, and was a credit to her builders. Afterwards a third boat was completed, to take the place of the _Jason_, which was lost at Kalulu Falls. "The country around Inkisi Falls was covered with fine timber. Mr. Stanley tells us that many of the trees were twelve feet and upwards in circumference, and their trunks were without branches for forty or fifty feet. The teak tree from which the _Livingstone_ was made was thirteen feet three inches in circumference, and when prostrate on the ground gave a branchless log fifty-five feet in length. [Illustration: THE NEW CANOES, THE "LIVINGSTONE" AND THE "STANLEY."] "The work of descending the various rapids and falls below Inkisi," said Fred, "was much like what had engaged the time and attention of the explorers since their departure from Stanley Pool. In some instances the boats were run through the rapids where it was thought they could be carried safely; in others they were lowered by means of cables, and at the worst falls they were dragged overland in the manner already described. In the passage of the Mowa Rapids the _Lady Alice_ struck the rocks, and was so severely injured that the repair of the boat took an entire day's labor by Mr. Stanley and Frank Pocock. Even then she took water badly, and with their limited materials it was found impossible to stop the leak properly. They were finally able to do so, with some beeswax which was brought to them by the natives. "The third of June was a melancholy day for Mr. Stanley, as it was marked by the drowning of Frank Pocock, his last remaining white companion. The circumstances were these: [Illustration: CUTTING OUT THE NEW "LIVINGSTONE" CANOE.] "Frank had been suffering from ulcers upon his feet and was unable to walk. Mr. Stanley had gone from the camp at Mowa to establish a new camp above the falls of Zinga, three miles lower down the Congo. Orders had been given for the boats to be lowered carefully down the rapids, while Frank was to be carried in a hammock. The hammock-bearers did not arrive as soon as expected, and as the _Jason_, under the command of the skilful Uledi, was starting to descend the rapids, Frank insisted upon being taken on board. In the rapids the boat was overturned in a whirlpool, and out of its eleven occupants three were drowned, among them "the little master," as Frank was called by the men of the expedition. His body was found by a fisherman, four or five days later, floating in the water below the rapids. Mr. Stanley gave the locality the name of Pocock Basin, in memory of the friend and companion whose loss he so deeply mourned that for some days he was hardly able to attend to the pressing duties of his position. [Illustration: FRANCIS JOHN POCOCK. Drowned June 3, 1877.] "Of his feelings on this sad occasion Mr. Stanley says: "As I looked at the empty tent and the dejected, woe-stricken servants, a choking sensation of unutterable grief filled me. The sorrow-laden mind fondly recalled the lost man's inestimable qualities, his extraordinary gentleness, his patient temper, his industry, cheerfulness, and his tender friendship; it dwelt upon the pleasure of his society, his general usefulness, his piety, and cheerful trust in our success, with which he had renewed our hope and courage; and each new virtue that it remembered only served to intensify my sorrow for his loss, and to suffuse my heart with pity and regret, that after the exhibition of so many admirable qualities and such long, faithful service, he should depart this life so abruptly, and without reward. "When curtained about by anxieties, and the gloom created by the almost insurmountable obstacles we encountered, his voice had ever made music in my soul. When grieving for the hapless lives that were lost, he consoled me. But now my friendly comforter and true-hearted friend was gone! Ah, had some one then but relieved me from my cares, and satisfied me that my dark followers would see their Zanjian homes again, I would that day have gladly ended the struggle, and, crying out, 'Who dies earliest dies best,' have embarked in my boat and dropped calmly over the cataracts into eternity." [Illustration: FALL OF THE EDWIN ARNOLD RIVER INTO THE POCOCK BASIN.] "A few days after the death of Frank Pocock," continued Fred, there was a mutinous outbreak in the camp, many of the men refusing to work. They said they would rather be slaves to the natives than stay where almost every day some of their number were drowned in the river. Thirty-one of the men packed up their property and left the camp. Mr. Stanley sent Kachéché, the detective, after them, and he also interested the chiefs of the tribes around Zinga to arrest the mutineers and bring them back to camp. [Illustration: THE CHIEF CARPENTER CARRIED OVER ZINGA FALL.] "Diplomacy and force combined secured the return of the rebellious men, and they were fully pardoned for their defection. Mr. Stanley pointed out to them the necessity of pushing forward, and on the morning after they came back everybody went at work with a will to pass the dreaded Zinga Fall. "Assisted by one hundred and fifty Zinga natives whom Mr. Stanley had hired, three of the boats were drawn up to the level of the rocky point above Zinga Fall on the morning of June 23d. The fourth boat was the _Livingstone_, whose construction has been described; it weighed about three tons, and when only a short distance above the shore the cable snapped and the boat slid back into the river. The chief carpenter of the expedition clung to it, and in the excitement of the moment he sprang into it just as it left the shore. Being unable to swim, he could not save himself, and was carried over the fall. Neither the carpenter nor the boat were ever seen again. It is supposed that the boat was jammed and caught among the rocks at the bottom of the river, where it was driven by the terrible force of the cataract. [Illustration: THE MASASSA FALLS, AND THE ENTRANCE INTO POCOCK BASIN, OR BOLOBOLO POOL.] "For another month and more the steadily diminishing band of explorers toiled among the rapids and cataracts of the Congo, and on the 30th of July drew their boats into a little cove about fifty yards above the Isangila cataract, the 'Second Sangalla' of Captain Tuckey. Here Mr. Stanley learned that Embomma, or Boma, was only five days away by land, and that there were three other cataracts, besides several rapids, before permanently smooth water could be reached. And here," said Fred, "I will turn to the book and read Mr. Stanley's account of how the explorers reached the sea." [Illustration: CAMP AT KILOLO, ABOVE ISANGILA FALLS.] "There was not the slightest doubt in my mind that the Isangila cataract was the second Sangalla of Captain Tuckey and Professor Smith, and that the Sanga Yellala of Tuckey and the Sanga Jelalla of Smith was the Nsongo Yellala, though I could not induce the natives to pronounce the words as the members of the unfortunate Congo Expedition of 1816 spelled them. "As the object of the journey had now been attained, and the great river of Livingstone had been connected with the Congo of Tuckey, I saw no reason to follow it farther, or to expend the little remaining vitality we possessed in toiling through the last four cataracts. "I announced, therefore, to the gallant but wearied Wangwana that we should abandon the river and strike overland for Embomma. The delight of the people manifested itself in loud and fervid exclamations of gratitude to Allah! Quadruple ration-money was also distributed to each man, woman, and child; but, owing to the excessive poverty of the country, and the keen trading instincts and avaricious spirit of the aborigines, little benefit did the long-enduring, famine-stricken Wangwana derive from my liberality. "Fancy knick-knacks, iron spears, knives, axes, copper, brass wire, were then distributed to them, and I emptied the medicine out of thirty vials, and my private clothes-bags, blankets, waterproofs, every available article of property that might be dispensed with, were also given away, without distinction of rank or merit, to invest in whatever eatables they could procure. The 31st of July was consequently a busy day, devoted to bartering, but few Wangwana were able to boast at evening that they had obtained a tithe of the value of the articles they had sold, and the character of the food actually purchased was altogether unfit for people in such poor condition of body. "At sunset we lifted the brave boat, after her adventurous journey across Africa, and carried her to the summit of some rocks about five hundred yards north of the fall, to be abandoned to her fate. Three years before, Messenger of Teddington had commenced her construction; two years previous to this date she was coasting the bluffs of Uzongora on Lake Victoria; twelve months later she was completing her last twenty miles of the circumnavigation of Lake Tanganika, and on the 31st of July, 1877, after a journey of nearly seven thousand miles up and down broad Africa, she was consigned to her resting-place above the Isangili cataract, to bleach and to rot to dust! * * * * * "A wayworn, feeble, and suffering column were we when, on the 1st of August, we filed across the rocky terrace of Isangila and sloping plain, and strode up the ascent to the table-land. Nearly forty men filled the sick-list with dysentery, ulcers, and scurvy, and the victims of the latter disease were steadily increasing. Yet withal I smiled proudly when I saw the brave hearts cheerily respond to my encouraging cries. A few, however, would not believe that within five or six days they should see Europeans. They disdained to be considered so credulous, but at the same time they granted that the 'master' was quite right to encourage his people with promises of speedy relief. [Illustration: VIEW FROM THE TABLE-LAND.] "So we surmounted the table-land, but we could not bribe the wretched natives to guide us to the next village. 'Mirambo,' the riding-ass, managed to reach half-way up the table-land, but he also was too far exhausted through the miserable attenuation which the poor grass of the western region had wrought in his frame to struggle farther. We could only pat him on the neck and say, 'Good-bye, old boy; farewell, old hero! A bad world this for you and for us. We must part at last.' The poor animal appeared to know that we were leaving him, for he neighed after us--a sickly, quavering neigh, that betrayed his excessive weakness. When we last turned to look at him he was lying on the path, but looking up the hill with pointed ears, as though he were wondering why he was left alone, and whither his human friends and companions by flood and field were wandering. "After charging the chief of Mbinda to feed him with cassava leaves and good grass from his fields, I led the caravan over the serried levels of the lofty upland. "At the end of this district, about a mile from Mwato Wandu, we appeared before a village whose inhabitants permitted us to pass on for a little distance, when they suddenly called out to us with expostulatory tones at an almost shrieking pitch. The old chief, followed by about fifty men, about forty of whom carried guns, hurried up to me and sat down in the road. "In a composed and consequential tone he asked, 'Know you I am the king of this country?' "I answered, mildly, 'I knew it not, my brother.' "'I am the king, and how can you pass through my country without paying me?' "'Speak, my friend; what is it the Mundelé can give you?' "'Rum. I want a big bottle of rum, and then you can pass on.' "'Rum?' "'Yes, rum, for I am the king of this country!' "'Rum!' I replied, wonderingly. "'Rum; rum is good. I love rum,' he said, with a villainous leer. "Uledi, coming forward, impetuously asked, 'What does this old man want, master?' "'He wants rum, Uledi. Think of it!' [Illustration: "I WANT RUM."] "'There's rum for him,' he said, irreverently slapping his majesty over the face, who, as the stool was not very firm, fell over prostrate. Naturally this was an affront, and I reproved Uledi for it. Yet it seemed that he had extricated us from a difficult position by his audacity, for the old chief and his people hurried off to their village, where there was great excitement and perturbation, but we could not stay to see the end. "Ever and anon, as we rose above the ridged swells, we caught a glimpse of the wild river on whose bosom we had so long floated. Still white and foaming, it rushed on impetuously seaward through the sombre defile. Then we descended into a deep ravine, and presently, with uneasy, throbbing hearts, we breasted a steep slope rough with rock, and from its summit we looked abroad over a heaving, desolate, and ungrateful land. The grass was tall and ripe, and waved and rustled mournfully before the upland breezes. Soon the road declined into a valley, and we were hid in a deep fold, round which rose the upland, here to the west shagged with a thin forest, to the north with ghastly sere grass, out of which rose a few rocks, gray and sad. On our left was furze, with scrub. At the bottom of this, sad and desolate, ran a bright, crystal clear brook. Up again to the summit we strove to gain the crest of a ridge, and then, down once more the tedious road wound in crooked curves to the depth of another ravine, on the opposite side of which rose sharply and steeply, to the wearying height of twelve hundred feet, the range called Yangi-Yangi. At 11 A.M. we in the van had gained the lofty summit, and fifteen minutes afterwards we descried a settlement and its cluster of palms. An hour afterwards we were camped on a bit of level plateau to the south of the villages of Ndambi Mbongo. "The chiefs appeared, dressed in scarlet military coats of a past epoch. We asked for food for beads. 'Cannot.' 'For wire?' 'We don't want wire!' 'For cowries?' 'Are we bushmen?' 'For cloth?' 'You must wait three days for a market'. If you have got rum you can have plenty!!' Rum! Heavens! Over two years and eight months ago we departed from the shores of the Eastern Ocean, and they ask us for rum! "Yet they were not insolent, but unfeeling; they were not rude, but steely selfish. We conversed with them sociably enough, and obtained encouragement. A strong, healthy man would reach Embomma in three days. Three days! Only three days off from food--from comforts--luxuries even! Ah me! "The next day, when morning was graying, we lifted our weakened limbs for another march. And such a march!--the path all thickly strewn with splinters of suet-colored quartz, which increased the fatigue and pain. The old men and the three mothers, with their young infants born at the cataracts of Masassa and Zinga, and another near the market-town of Manyanga, in the month of June, suffered greatly. Then might be seen that affection for one another which appealed to my sympathies, and endeared them to me still more. Two of the younger men assisted each of the old, and the husbands and fathers lifted their infants on their shoulders and tenderly led their wives along. [Illustration: VILLAGE SCENE, WITH GRANARY IN FOREGROUND.] "Up and down the desolate and sad land wound the poor, hungry caravan. Bleached whiteness of ripest grass, gray rock-piles here and there, looming up solemn and sad in their grayness, a thin grove of trees now and then visible on the heights and in the hollows--such were the scenes that with every uplift of a ridge or rising crest of a hill met our hungry eyes. Eight miles our strength enabled us to make, and then we camped in the middle of an uninhabited valley, where we were supplied with water from the pools which we discovered in the course of a dried-up stream. "Our march on the third day was a continuation of the scenes of the day preceding until about ten o'clock, when we arrived at the summit of a grassy and scrub-covered ridge, which we followed until three in the afternoon. The van then appeared before the miserable settlement of Nsanda, or, as it is sometimes called, Banza (town) N'sanda N'sanga. Marching through the one street of the first village in melancholy and silent procession, voiceless as sphinxes, we felt our way down into a deep gully, and crawled up again to the level of the village site, and camped about two hundred yards away. It was night before all had arrived. [Illustration: IN THE VALLEY.] "After we had erected our huts and lifted the tent into its usual place, the chief of Nsanda appeared. He was kindly, sociable--laughed, giggled, and was amusing. Of course he knew Embomma, had frequently visited there, and carried thither large quantities of _Nguba_, ground-nuts, which he had sold for rum. We listened, as in duty bound, with a melancholy interest. Then I suddenly asked him if he would carry a _makanda_, or letter, to Embomma, and allow three of my men to accompany him. He was too great to proceed himself, but he would despatch two of his young men the next day. His consent I obtained only after four hours of earnest entreaty. It was finally decided that I should write a letter, and the two young natives would be ready next day. After my dinner--three fried bananas, twenty roasted ground-nuts, and a cup of muddy water, my usual fare now--by a lamp made out of a piece of rotten sheeting steeped in a little palm-butter I wrote the following letter: "'VILLAGE OF NSANDA, _August_ 4, 1877. "'_To any Gentleman who speaks English at Embomma:_ "DEAR SIR,--I have arrived at this place from Zanzibar with one hundred and fifteen souls, men, women, and children. We are now in a state of imminent starvation. We can buy nothing from the natives, for they laugh at our kinds of cloth, beads, and wire. There are no provisions in the country that may be purchased, except on market-days, and starving people cannot afford to wait for these markets. I, therefore, have made bold to despatch three of my young men, natives of Zanzibar, with a boy named Robert Feruzi, of the English Mission at Zanzibar, with this letter, craving relief from you. I do not know you; but I am told there is an Englishman at Embomma, and as you are a Christian and a gentleman, I beg you not to disregard my request. The boy Robert will be better able to describe our lone condition than I can tell you in this letter. We are in a state of the greatest distress; but if your supplies arrive in time, I may be able to reach Embomma within four days. I want three hundred cloths, each four yards long, of such quality as you trade with, which is very different from that we have; but better than all would be ten or fifteen man-loads of rice or grain to fill their pinched bellies immediately, as even with the cloths it would require time to purchase food, and starving people cannot wait. The supplies must arrive within two days, or I may have a fearful time of it among the dying. Of course I hold myself responsible for any expense you may incur in this business. What is wanted is immediate relief; and I pray you to use your utmost energies to forward it at once. For myself, if you have such little luxuries as tea, coffee, sugar, and biscuits by you, such as one man can easily carry, I beg you on my own behalf that you will send a small supply, and add to the great debt of gratitude due to you upon the timely arrival of the supplies for my people. Until that time I beg you to believe me, "'Yours sincerely, "'H. M. STANLEY, "'_Commanding Anglo-American Expedition_ _for Exploration of Africa._ "'_P.S._--You may not know me by name; I therefore add, I am the person that discovered Livingstone in 1871.--H. M. S.' "I also wrote a letter in French, and another in Spanish as a substitute for Portuguese, as I heard at Nsanda that there was one Englishman, one Frenchman, and three Portuguese at Embomma; but there were conflicting statements, some saying that there was no Englishman, but a Dutchman. However, I imagined I was sure to obtain provisions--for most European merchants understand either English, French, or Spanish. [Illustration: ANT-HILLS ON THE ROAD TO BOMA.] "The chiefs and boat's crew were called to my tent. I then told them that I had resolved to despatch four messengers to the white men at Embomma, with letters asking for food, and wished to know the names of those most likely to travel quickly and through anything that interposed to prevent them; for it might be possible that so small a number of men might be subjected to delays and interruptions, and that the guides might loiter on the way, and so protract the journey until relief would arrive too late. "The response was not long coming, for Uledi sprang up and said, 'Oh, master, don't talk more; I am ready now. See, I will only buckle on my belt, and I shall start at once, and nothing will stop me. I will follow on the track like a leopard.' "'And I am one,' said Kachéché. 'Leave us alone, master. If there are white men at Embomma, we will find them out. We will walk, and walk, and when we cannot walk we will crawl.' "'Leave off talking, men,' said Muini Pembé, 'and allow others to speak, won't you? Hear me, my master. I am your servant. I will outwalk the two. I will carry the letter, and plant it before the eyes of the white men.' [Illustration: ONE OF THE GUIDES.] "'I will go, too, sir,' said Robert. "'Good. It is just as I should wish it; but, Robert, you cannot follow these three men. You will break down, my boy.' "'Oh, we will carry him if he breaks down,' said Uledi. 'Won't we Kachéché?' "'Inshallah!' responded Kachéché, decisively. 'We must have Robert along with us, otherwise the white men won't understand us.' "Early the next day the two guides appeared, but the whole of the morning was wasted in endeavoring to induce them to set off. Uledi waxed impatient, and buckled on his accoutrements, drawing his belt so tight about his waist that it was perfectly painful to watch him, and said, 'Give us the letters, master; we will not wait for the pagans. Our people will be dead before we start. Regard them, will you! They are sprawling about the camp without any life in them. Goee--Go-ee--Go-ee.' Finally, at noon, the guides and messengers departed in company. "Meanwhile a bale of cloth and a sack of beads were distributed, and the strongest and youngest men despatched abroad in all directions to forage for food. Late in the afternoon they arrived in camp weakened and dispirited, having, despite all efforts, obtained but a few bundles of the miserable ground-nuts and sufficient sweet potatoes to give three small ones to each person, though they had given twenty times their value for each one. The heartless reply of the spoiled aborigines was, 'Wait for the zandu,' or market, which was to be held in two days at Nsanda; for, as among the Babwendé, each district has its respective days for marketing. Still what we had obtained was a respite from death; and, on the morning of the 5th, the people were prepared to drag their weary limbs nearer to the expected relief." [Illustration: CATCHING ANTS FOR FOOD.] CHAPTER XVII. THE WEARY MARCH RESUMED.--RETURN OF THE MESSENGERS.--ARRIVAL OF RELIEF.--SCENE IN CAMP.--DISTRIBUTION OF PROVISIONS.--THE SONG OF JOY.--A WELCOME LETTER.--"ENOUGH NOW; FALL TO."--PERSONAL LUXURIES FOR THE LEADER.--"PALE ALE! SHERRY! PORT WINE! CHAMPAGNE! TEA! COFFEE! WHITE SUGAR! WHEATEN BREAD!"--STANLEY'S REPLY TO THE GENEROUS STRANGERS.--SUMMARY PUNISHMENT FOR THEFT.--GREETING CIVILIZATION.--RECEPTION BY WHITE MEN.--THE FREEDOM OF BOMA.--LIFTED INTO THE HAMMOCK.--CHARACTERISTICS OF BOMA.--A BANQUET AND FAREWELL.--PONTA DA LENHA.--OUT ON THE OCEAN.--ADIEU TO THE CONGO. After a pause of a few minutes, Fred continued the story of the weary march of the next day, and the formation of the camp near Mbinda, close to a cemetery where the graves were decorated with the property of their occupants. Many pitchers, bowls, mugs, and other articles of European manufacture were displayed there, and indicated the free intercourse of the natives with the merchants of Embomma. [Illustration: MBINDA CEMETERY.] "The natives," said Fred, "continued indifferent to the sufferings of the starving travellers, and persistently refused to sell any food. Early on the morning of the 6th of August the party moved out, and after toiling painfully over the flinty path went into camp near Banza Mbuko about 9 A.M. In despair the people flung themselves on the ground, and some of them appeared ready to welcome death as a relief from their misery. And now," continued the youth, "let us turn again to Mr. Stanley's narrative: "Suddenly the shrill voice of a little boy was heard saying, 'Oh! I see Uledi and Kachéché coming down the hill, and there are plenty of men following them!' "'What! what! what!' broke out eagerly from several voices, and dark forms were seen springing up from among the bleached grass, and from under the shade, and many eyes were directed at the whitened hill-slope. "'Yes; it is true! it is true! La il Allah, il Allah! Yes; el hamd ul Illah! Yes, it is food! food! food at last! Ah, that Uledi! he is a lion, truly! We are saved, thank God!' [Illustration: IN THE SUBURBS OF BOMA.] "Before many minutes, Uledi and Kachéché were seen tearing through the grass, and approaching us with long springing strides, holding a letter up to announce to us that they had been successful. And the gallant fellows, hurrying up, soon placed it in my hands, and in the hearing of all who were gathered to hear the news I translated the following letter: "'EMBOMMA, "'ENGLISH FACTORY. "'6.30 A.M., "'BOMA, _6th August_, 1877. "'H. M. STANLEY, Esq.: "DEAR SIR,--Your welcome letter came to hand yesterday, at 7 P.M. As soon as its contents were understood, we immediately arranged to despatch to you such articles as you requested, as much as our stock on hand would permit, and other things that we deemed would be suitable in that locality. You will see that we send fifty pieces of cloth, each twenty-four yards long, and some sacks containing sundries for yourself; several sacks of rice, sweet potatoes, also a few bundles of fish, a bundle of tobacco, and one demijohn of rum. The carriers are all paid, so that you need not trouble yourself about them. That is all we need say about business. We are exceedingly sorry to hear that you have arrived in such piteous condition, but we send our warmest congratulations to you, and hope that you will soon arrive in Boma (this place is called Boma by us, though on the map it is Embomma). Again hoping that you will soon arrive, and that you are not suffering in health. "'Believe us to remain, your sincere friends, "'_(Signed)_ "'HATTON & COOKSON. "'A. DA MOTTA VEIGA. "'J. W. HARRISON.' [Illustration: OUTBUILDINGS OF AN AFRICAN FACTORY.] "Uledi and Kachéché then delivered their budget. Their guides had accompanied them half-way, when they became frightened by the menaces of some of the natives of Mbinda, and deserted them. The four Wangwana, however, undertook the journey alone, and, following a road for several hours, they appeared at Bibbi after dark. The next day (the 5th), being told by the natives that Boma (to which Embomma was now changed) was lower down river, and unable to obtain guides, the brave fellows resolved upon following the Congo along its banks. About an hour after sunset, after a fatiguing march over many hills, they reached Boma, and, asking a native for the house of the 'Ingreza' (English), were shown to the factory of Messrs. Hatton & Cookson, which was superintended by a Portuguese gentleman, Mr. A. da Motta Veiga, and Mr. John W. Harrison, of Liverpool. Kachéché, who was a better narrator than Uledi, then related that a short white man, wearing spectacles, opened the letter, and, after reading awhile, asked which was Robert Feruzi, who answered for himself in English, and, in answer to many questions, gave a summary of our travels and adventures, but not before the cooks were set to prepare an abundance of food, which they sadly needed, after a fast of over thirty hours. [Illustration: ESCORT OF THE CARAVAN.] "By this time the procession of carriers from Messrs. Hatton & Cookson's factory had approached, and all eyes were directed at the pompous old 'capitan' and the relief caravan behind him. Several of the Wangwana officiously stepped forward to relieve the fatigued and perspiring men, and with an extraordinary vigor tossed the provisions--rice, fish, and tobacco bundles--on the ground, except the demijohn of rum, which they called pombé, and handled most carefully. The 'capitan' was anxious about my private stores, but the scene transpiring about the provisions was so absorbingly interesting that I could pay no attention as yet to them. While the captains of the messes were ripping open the sacks and distributing the provisions in equal quantities, Murabo, the boat-boy, struck up a glorious, loud-swelling chant of triumph and success, into which he deftly, and with a poet's license, interpolated verses laudatory of the white men of the second sea. The bard, extemporizing, sang much about the great cataracts, cannibals, and pagans, hunger, the wide wastes, great inland seas, and niggardly tribes, and wound up by declaring that the journey was over, that we were even then smelling the breezes of the western ocean, and his master's brothers had redeemed them from the 'hell of hunger.' And at the end of each verse the voices rose high and clear to the chorus-- "'Then sing, O friends, sing; the journey is ended; Sing aloud, O friends, sing to this great sea.' "'Enough now; fall to,' said Manwa Sera, at which the people nearly smothered him by their numbers. Into each apron, bowl, and utensil held out, the several captains expeditiously tossed full measures of rice and generous quantities of sweet potatoes and portions of fish. The younger men and women hobbled after water, and others set about gathering fuel, and the camp was all animation, where but half an hour previously all had been listless despair. Many people were unable to wait for the food to be cooked, but ate the rice and the fish raw. But when the provisions had all been distributed, and the noggin of rum had been equitably poured into each man's cup, and the camp was in a state of genial excitement, and groups of dark figures discussed with animation the prospective food which the hospitable fires were fast preparing, then I turned to my tent, accompanied by Uledi, Kachéché, the capitan, and the tent-boys, who were, I suppose, eager to witness my transports of delight. "With profound tenderness Kachéché handed to me the mysterious bottles, watching my face the while with his sharp detective eyes as I glanced at the labels, by which the cunning rogue read my pleasure. Pale ale! Sherry! Port wine! Champagne! Several loaves of bread, wheaten bread, sufficient for a week! Two pots of butter! A packet of tea! Coffee! White loaf-sugar! Sardines and salmon! Plum-pudding! Currant, gooseberry, and raspberry jam! "The gracious God be praised forever! The long war we had maintained against famine and the siege of woe were over, and my people and I rejoiced in plenty! Only an hour before this we had been living on the recollections of the few peanuts and green bananas we had consumed in the morning, but now, in an instant, we were transported into the presence of the luxuries of civilization. Never did gaunt Africa appear so unworthy and so despicable before my eyes as now, when imperial Europe rose before me and showed her boundless treasures of life, and blessed me with her stores. "When we all felt refreshed, the cloth bales were opened, and soon, instead of the venerable and tattered relics of Manchester, Salem, and Nashua manufacture, which were hastily consumed by the fire, the people were reclad with white cloths and gay prints. The nakedness of want, the bare ribs, the sharp, protruding bones were thus covered; but months must elapse before the hollow, sunken cheeks and haggard faces would again resume the healthy bronze color which distinguishes the well-fed African. [Illustration: OUTSIDE THE VILLAGE.] "My condition of mind in the evening of the eventful day which was signalized by the happy union which we had made with the merchants of the west coast, may be guessed by the following letter: "'BANZA MBUKO, _August_ 6, 1877. "'MESSRS. A. DA MOTTA VEIGA AND J. W. HARRISON, EMBOMMA, CONGO RIVER: "'GENTLEMEN,--I have received your very welcome letter, but better than all, and more welcome, your supplies. I am unable to express just at present how grateful I feel. We are all so overjoyed and confused with our emotions, at the sight of the stores exposed to our hungry eyes--at the sight of the rice, the fish, and the rum, and for me--wheaten bread, butter, sardines, jam, peaches, grapes, beer (ye gods! just think of it--three bottles pale ale!) besides tea and sugar--that we cannot restrain ourselves from falling to and enjoying this sudden bounteous store--and I beg you will charge our apparent want of thankfulness to our greediness. If we do not thank you sufficiently in words, rest assured we feel what volumes could not describe. "'For the next twenty-four hours we shall be too busy eating to think of anything else much; but I may say that the people cry out joyfully, while their mouths are full of rice and fish, "Verily, our master has found the sea, and his brothers, but we did not believe him until he showed us the rice and the pombé (rum). We did not believe there was any end to the great river; but, God be praised forever, we shall see white people to-morrow, and our wars and troubles will be over." "'Dear Sirs, though strangers, I feel we shall be great friends, and it will be the study of my lifetime to remember my feelings of gratefulness when I first caught sight of your supplies, and my poor, faithful, and brave people cried out, "Master, we are saved!--food is coming!" The old and the young--the men, the women, the children--lifted their wearied and worn-out frames, and began to chant lustily an extemporaneous song, in honor of the white people by the great salt sea (the Atlantic) who had listened to their prayers. I had to rush to my tent to hide the tears that would issue, despite all my attempts at composure. "'Gentlemen, that the blessing of God may attend your footsteps whithersoever you go, is the very earnest prayer of "'Yours faithfully, HENRY M. STANLEY, "'_Commanding Anglo-American Expedition_.' "At the same hour on the morning of the 7th that we resumed the march, Kachéché and Uledi were despatched to Boma with the above letter. Then surmounting a ridge, we beheld a grassy country barred with seams of red clay in gullies, ravines, and slopes, the effects of rain, dipping into basins with frequently broad masses of plateau and great dykelike ridges between, and in the distance southwest of us a lofty, tree-clad hill-range, which we were told we should have to climb before descending to N'lamba N'lamba, where we proposed camping. [Illustration: VIEW IN THE OPEN COUNTRY.] "Half an hour's march brought us to a market-place, where a tragedy had been enacted a short time before the relief caravan had passed it the day previous. Two thieves had robbed a woman of salt, and, according to the local custom which ordains the severest penalties for theft in the public mart, the two felons had been immediately executed, and their bodies laid close to the path to deter others evilly disposed from committing like crimes. "At noon we surmounted the lofty range which we had viewed near Banza Mbuko, and the aneroid indicated a height of fifteen hundred feet. A short distance from its base, on two grassy hills, is situate N'lamba N'lamba, a settlement comprising several villages, and as populous as Mbinda. The houses and streets were very clean and neat; but, as of old, the natives are devoted to idolatry, and their passion for carving wooden idols was illustrated in every street we passed through. "On the 8th we made a short march of five miles to N'safu, over a sterile, bare, and hilly country, but the highest ridge passed was not over eleven hundred feet above the sea. Uledi and Kachéché returned at this place with more cheer for us, and a note acknowledging my letter of thanks. "In a postscript to this note, Mr. Motta Veiga prepared me for a reception which was to meet me on the road half-way between N'safu and Boma; it also contained the census of the European population, as follows: "'Perhaps you do not know that in Boma there are only eleven Portuguese, one Frenchman, one Dutchman, one gentleman from St. Helena, and ourselves (Messrs. Motta Veiga and J. W. Harrison), Messrs. Hatton and Cookson being in Liverpool, and the two signatures above being names of those in charge of the English factory there.' "On the 9th of August, 1877, 999th day from the date of our departure from Zanzibar, we prepared to greet the van of civilization. "From the bare rocky ridges of N'safu there is a perceptible decline to the Congo valley, and the country becomes, in appearance, more sterile--a sparse population dwelling in a mere skeleton village in the centre of bleakness. Shingly rocks strewed the path and the waste, and thin, sere grass waved mournfully on level and spine, on slope of ridge and crest of hill; in the hollows it was somewhat thicker; in the bottoms it had a slight tinge of green. "We had gradually descended some five hundred feet along declining spurs when we saw a scattered string of hammocks appearing, and gleams of startling whiteness, such as were given by fine linen and twills. "A buzz of wonder ran along our column. "Proceeding a little farther, we stopped, and in a short time I was face to face with four white--ay, truly white men! "As I looked into their faces, I blushed to find that I was wondering at their paleness. Poor pagan Africans--Rwoma of Uzinja, and man-eating tribes of the Livingstone! The whole secret of their wonder and curiosity flashed upon me at once. What arrested the twanging bow and the deadly trigger of the cannibals? What but the weird pallor of myself and Frank! In the same manner the sight of the pale faces of the Embomma merchants gave me the slightest suspicion of an involuntary shiver. The pale color, after so long gazing on rich black and richer bronze, had something of an unaccountable ghastliness. I could not divest myself of the feeling that they must be sick; yet, as I compare their complexions to what I now view, I should say they were olive, sunburned, dark. [Illustration: WOODEN IDOL.] "Yet there was something very self-possessed about the carriage of these white men. It was grand; a little self-pride mixed with cordiality. I could not remember just then that I had witnessed such bearing among any tribe throughout Africa. They spoke well also; the words they uttered hit the sense pat; without gesture, they were perfectly intelligible. How strange! It was quite delightful to observe the slight nods of the head; the intelligent facial movements were admirably expressive. They were completely clothed, and neat also; I ought to say immaculately clean. Jaunty straw hats, colored neckties, patent-leather boots, well-cut white clothes, virtuously clean! I looked from them to my people, and then I fear I felt almost like being grateful to the Creator that I was not as black as they, and that these finely dressed, well-spoken whites claimed me as friend and kin. Yet I did not dare to place myself upon an equality with them as yet; the calm blue and gray eyes rather awed me, and the immaculate purity of their clothes dazzled me. I was content to suppose myself a kind of connecting link between the white and the African for the time being. Possibly familiarity would beget greater confidence. [Illustration: THE WHITE-FRONTED WILD HOG OF CENTRAL AFRICA.] "They expressed themselves delighted to see me; congratulated me with great warmth of feeling, and offered to me the 'Freedom of Boma!' We travelled together along the path for a mile, and came to the frontier village of Boma, or Embomma, where the 'king' was at hand to do the honors. My courteous friends had brought a hamper containing luxuries. Hock and champagne appeared to be cheap enough where but a few hours previous a cup of palm-wine was as precious as nectar; rare dainties of Paris and London abundant, though a short time ago we were stinted of even ground-nuts. Nor were the Wangwana forgotten, for plenty had also been prepared for them. [Illustration: THE HAMMOCK ON THE WEST COAST OF AFRICA.] "My friends who thus welcomed me among the descendants of Japhet were Mr. A. da Motta Veiga, Senhores Luiz Pinto Maroo, João Chaves, Henrique Germano Faro, and Mr. J. F. Müller, of the Dutch factory. They had brought a hammock with them, and eight sturdy, well-fed bearers. They insisted on my permitting them to lift me into the hammock. I declined. They said it was a Portuguese custom. To custom, therefore, I yielded, though it appeared very effeminate. [Illustration: THE CIRCUMNAVIGATORS OF THE VICTORIA NYANZA AND LAKE TANGANIKA, AND EXPLORERS OF THE ALEXANDRA NILE AND LIVINGSTONE (CONGO) RIVER.] "It was a gradual slope through a valley, which soon opened into a low alluvial plain, seamed here and there with narrow gullies, and then over the heads of the tall grass as I lay in the hammock I caught a glimpse of the tall square box of a frame-house, with a steep roof, erected on rising ground. It brought back a host of old recollections; for everywhere on the frontiers of civilization in America one may see the like. It approached nearer and larger to the view, and presently the hammock was halted by whitewashed palings, above which the square two-storied box rose on piles with a strangeness that was almost weird. It was the residence of those in charge of the English factory. [Illustration: NATIVE BELLES ON THE WEST COAST.] "Looking from the house, my eyes rested on the river. Ah! the hateful, murderous river, now so broad and proud and majestically calm, as though it had not bereft me of a friend, and of many faithful souls, and as though we had never heard it rage and whiten with fury, and mock the thunder. What a hypocritical river! But just below the landing a steamer was ascending--the _Kabinda_, John Petherbridge, master. How civilization was advancing on me! Not a moment even to lie down and rest! Full-blooded, eager, restless, and aggressive, it pressed on me, and claimed me for its own, without allowing me even the time to cast one retrospective glance at the horrors left behind. While still overwhelmed by the thought, the people of the expedition appeared, pressing forward to admire and gaze wide-eyed at the strange 'big iron canoe,' driven by fire on _their_ river; for there were several Wanyamwezi, Waganda, and east-coast men who would not believe that there was anything more wonderful than the _Lady Alice_. "Our life at Boma, which lasted only from 11 A.M. of the 9th to noon of the 11th, passed too quickly away; but throughout it was intensest pleasure and gayety. [Illustration: NATIVE BLACKSMITHS NEAR BOMA.] "There are some half-dozen factories at Boma, engaging the attention of about eighteen whites. The houses are all constructed of wooden boards, with, as a rule, corrugated zinc roofs. The residences line the river front; the Dutch, French, and Portuguese factories being west of an isolated high square-browed hill, which, by-the-bye, is a capital site for a fortlet; and the English factory being a few hundred yards above it. Each factory requires an ample courtyard for its business, which consists in the barter of cotton fabrics, glass-ware, crockery, iron-ware, gin, rum, guns and gunpowder, for palm-oil, ground-nuts, and ivory. The merchants contrive to exist as comfortably as their means will allow. Some of them plant fruits and garden vegetables, and cultivate grape-vines. Pineapples, guavas, and limes may be obtained from the market, which is held on alternate days a short distance behind the European settlement. "Though Boma is comparatively ancient, and Europeans have had commercial connections with this district and the people for over a century, yet Captain Tuckey's description of the people, written in 1816--their ceremonies and modes of life, their suspicion of strangers and intolerance, their greed for rum and indolence, the scarcity of food--is as correct as though written to-day. The name 'Boma,' however, has usurped that of 'Lombee,' which Captain Tuckey knew; the _banza_ of Embomma being a little distance inland. In his day it was a village of about one hundred huts, in which was held the market of the _banza_, or king's town. "The view inland is dreary, bleak, and unpromising, consisting of grassy hills, and of a broken country, its only boast the sturdy baobab, which relieves the nakedness of the land. But, fresh from the hungry wilderness and the land of selfish men, from the storm and stress of the cataracts, the solemn rock defiles of the Livingstone, and the bleak table-land--I heeded it not. The glowing, warm life of Western civilization, the hospitable civilities and gracious kindnesses which the merchants of Boma showered on myself and people, were as dews of Paradise, grateful, soothing, and refreshing. "On the 11th, at noon, after a last little banquet and songs, hearty cheers, innumerable toasts, and fervid claspings of friendly hands, we embarked. An hour before sunset the 'big iron canoe,' after a descent of about thirty-five miles, hauled in-shore, on the right bank, and made fast to the pier of another of Hatton & Cookson's factories at Ponta da Lenha, or Wooded Point. Two or three other Portuguese factories are in close neighborhood to it, lightening the gloom of the background of black mangrove and forest. "After a very agreeable night with our hospitable English host, the _Kabinda_ was again under way. "The puissant river below Boma reminded me of the scenes above Uyanzi; the color of the water, the numerous islands, and the enormous breadth recalled those days when we had sought the liquid wildernesses of the Livingstone, to avoid incessant conflicts with the human beasts of prey in the midst of primitive Africa, and at the sight my eyes filled with tears at the thought that I could not recall my lost friends, and bid them share the rapturous joy that now filled the hearts of all those who had endured and survived. "A few hours later and we were gliding through the broad portal into the ocean, the blue domain of civilization! "Turning to take a farewell glance at the mighty river on whose brown bosom we had endured so greatly, I saw it approach, awed and humbled, the threshold of the watery immensity, to whose immeasurable volume and illimitable expanse, awful as had been its power, and terrible as had been its fury, its flood was but a drop. And I felt my heart suffused with purest gratitude to Him whose hand had protected us, and who had enabled us to pierce the Dark Continent from east to west, and to trace its mightiest river to its ocean bourne." CHAPTER XVIII. ARRIVAL AT KABINDA.--WEST AFRICAN MERCHANTS.--DEATH AMONG THE WANGWANA.--ILLNESS AMONG THE PEOPLE OF THE EXPEDITION.--STANLEY'S ANXIETY FOR HIS FOLLOWERS.--THEIR FAILING HEALTH.--ENCOURAGING THEM WITH WORDS AND KIND TREATMENT.--THE BANE OF IDLENESS.--LEAVING KABINDA.--SAN PAULO DE LOANDA.--KINDNESS OF THE PORTUGUESE OFFICIALS.--H. B. MAJESTY'S SHIP _INDUSTRY_.--CARRIED TO THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE.--THE WANGWANA SEE A "FIRE-CARRIAGE."--TO NATAL AND ZANZIBAR.--RECEPTION.--DISBANDING THE EXPEDITION.--AFFECTING SCENES.--STANLEY'S TRIBUTE TO HIS FOLLOWERS. [Illustration: AT REST: STANLEY'S QUARTERS AT KABINDA BY THE SEA.] "After steaming northward from the mouth of the Congo for a few hours, we entered the fine bay of Kabinda, on the southern shores of which the native town of that name in the country of Ngoyo is situate. On the southern point of the bay stands a third factory of the enterprising firm of Messrs. Hatton & Cookson, under the immediate charge of their principal agent, Mr. John Phillips. A glance at the annexed photograph will sufficiently show the prosperous appearance of the establishment, and the comfortable houses that have been constructed. The expedition received a cordial welcome from Messrs. Phillips, Wills, Price, and Jones, and I was housed in a cottage surrounded by gardens and overlooking the glorious sea, while the people were located in a large shed fronting the bay. [Illustration: EXPEDITION AT KABINDA. (_From a Photograph by Mr. Phillips._)] "The next morning when I proceeded to greet the people, I discovered that one of the Wangwana had died at sunrise; and when I examined the condition of the other sufferers it became apparent that there was to be yet no rest for me, and that, to save life, I should have to be assiduous and watchful. But for this, I should have surrendered myself to the joys of life, without a thought for myself or for others, and no doubt I should have suffered in the same degree as the Wangwana from the effects of the sudden relaxation from care, trouble, or necessity for further effort. There were also other claims on my energies: I had to write my despatches to the journals, and to re-establish those bonds of friendship and sympathetic communion that had been severed by the lapse of dark years and long months of silence. My poor people, however, had no such incentives to rouse themselves from the stupor of indifference, as fatal to them as the cold to a benighted man in a snowy wilderness. Housed together in a comfortable, barrack-like building, with every convenience provided for them, and supplied with food, raiment, fuel, water, and an excess of luxuries, nothing remained for them to do; and the consequence was, that the abrupt dead-stop to all action and movement overwhelmed them, and plunged them into a state of torpid brooding from which it was difficult to arouse them. "The words of the poet-- "'What's won is done: Joy's soul lies in the doing--' "or, as Longfellow has it-- "'The reward is in the doing, And the rapture of pursuing Is the prize'-- "recurred to me, as explaining why it was that the people abandoned themselves to the dangerous melancholy created by inactivity. I was charmed by it myself; the senses were fast relapsing into a drowsy state, that appeared to be akin to the drowsiness of delirium. No novel or romance interested me, though Mr. Phillips's cottage possessed a complete library of fiction and light reading. Dickens seemed rubbish, and the finest poems flat. Frequently, even at meals, I found myself subsiding into sleep, though I struggled against it heroically; wine had no charm for me; conversation fatigued me. Yet the love of society, and what was due to my friendly hosts, acted as a wholesome restraint and a healthy stimulant; but what had the poor, untutored black strangers, whose homes were on the east side of the continent, to rouse them and to stimulate them into life? [Illustration: GROUP OF MR. STANLEY'S FOLLOWERS AT KABINA, WEST COAST OF AFRICA, JUST AFTER CROSSING THE "DARK CONTINENT." (_From a Photograph by Mr. Phillips, of Kabinda._)] "'Do you wish to see Zanzibar, boys?' I asked. "'Ah, it is far. Nay, speak not, master. We shall never see it,' they replied. "'But you will die if you go on in this way. Wake up--shake yourselves--show yourselves to be men.' "'Can a man contend with God? Who fears death? Let us die undisturbed, and be at rest forever,' they answered. [Illustration: SCENERY ON THE WEST COAST OF AFRICA.] "Brave, faithful, loyal souls! They were, poor fellows, surrendering themselves to the benumbing influences of a listlessness and fatal indifference to life! Four of them died in consequence of this strange malady at Loanda, three more on board H.M.S. _Industry_, and one woman breathed her last the day after we arrived at Zanzibar. But in their sad death they had one consolation, in the words which they kept constantly repeating to themselves: "'We have brought our master to the great sea, and he has seen his white brothers, La il Allah, il Allah! There is no God but God!' they said--and died. "It is not without an overwhelming sense of grief, a choking in the throat, and swimming eyes, that I write of those days, for my memory is still busy with the worth and virtues of the dead. In a thousand fields of incident, adventure, and bitter trials they had proved their stanch heroism and their fortitude; they had lived and endured nobly. I remember the enthusiasm with which they responded to my appeals; I remember their bold bearing during the darkest days; I remember the Spartan pluck, the indomitable courage with which they suffered in the days of our adversity. Their voices again loyally answer me, and again I hear them address each other upon the necessity of standing by the 'master.' Their boat-song, which contained sentiments similar to the following-- "'The pale-faced stranger, lonely here, In cities afar, where his name is dear, Your Arab truth and strength shall show; He trusts in us, row, Arabs, row-- "despite all the sounds which now surround me, still charms my listening ear. [Illustration: A DANDY OF SAN PAULO DE LOANDA.] "The expedition, after a stay of eight days at Kabinda, was kindly taken on board the Portuguese gunboat _Taméga_, Commander José Marquez, to San Paulo de Loanda. The Portuguese officers distinguished themselves by a superb banquet, and an exhibition of extraordinary courtesy towards myself, and great sympathy towards my followers. Two gentlemen, Major Serpa Pinto and Senhor José Avelino Fernandez, who were on board, extended their hospitalities so far as to persuade me to accompany them to their residence in the capital of Angola. To house the one hundred and fourteen Wangwana who accompanied me was a great task on the liberality of these gentlemen, but the Portuguese Governor-General of Angola nobly released them and myself from all obligations, and all the expenses incurred by us from the 21st of August to the 27th of September were borne by the colony. One of the first acts of Governor-General Albuquerque was to despatch his aide-de-camp with offers of assistance, money, and a gunboat to convey me to Lisbon, which received, as it deserved, my warmest thanks. The Portuguese commodore gave a banquet to the Portuguese explorers. Major Serpa Pinto, Commander Brito Capello, and Lieutenant Roberto Ivens, who were about setting out for the exploration of the Kunené or Noursé River, as far as Bihé, thence to Lake Nyassa and Mozambique, and upon the festive occasion they honored me. The Board of Works at Loanda also banqueted us royally; as also did Mr. Michael Tobin, the banker, while Mr. Hubert Newton was unceasing in his hospitalities. "The government hospital at Luanda was open to the sick strangers; Doctor Lopez and his assistants daily visited the sick-ward of our residence, and a trained nurse was detailed to attend the suffering. Pure Samaritanism animated the enthusiastic Senhor Capello, and free, unselfish charity inspired my friend Avelino Fernandez to watch and tend the ailing, desponding, and exhausted travellers. "Nor must the English officers of the Royal Navy be forgotten for their chivalrous kindness. When I was wondering whether I should be compelled to lead the Wangwana across the continent to their homes, they solved my doubts and anxieties by offering the expedition a passage to Cape Town in H.M.S. _Industry_. The offer of the Portuguese governor-general to convey me in a gunboat to Lisbon, and the regular arrivals of the Portuguese mail steamers, were very tempting, but the condition of my followers was such that I found it impossible to leave them. "The cordial civilities that were accorded to us at Loanda were succeeded by equally courteous treatment on board the _Industry_. Her officers, Captain Dyer, Assistant-Surgeon William Brown, and Paymaster Edwin Sandys, assisted me to the utmost of their ability in alleviating the sufferings of the sick and reviving the vigor of the desponding. But the accomplished surgeon found his patients most difficult cases. The flame of life flickered and spluttered, and to fan it into brightness required in most of the cases patience and tact more than medicine. Yet there was a little improvement in them, though they were still heavy-eyed. "Upon arriving at Simon's Bay, Cape of Good Hope, on the 21st of October, I was agreeably surprised by a most genial letter, signed by Commodore Francis William Sullivan, who invited me to the Admiralty House as his guest, and from whom during the entire period of our stay at the Cape we met with the most hearty courtesy and hospitality. He had also made preparations for transporting the expedition to Zanzibar, when a telegram from the Lords of the British Admiralty was received, authorizing him to provide for the transmission of my followers to their homes, an act of gracious kindness for which I have recorded elsewhere my most sincere thanks. "Had we been able to accept all the invitations that were showered upon us by the kind-hearted colonists of South Africa, from Cape Town to Natal, it is possible we might still be enjoying our holiday at that remote end of Africa, but her Majesty's ship could not be delayed for our pleasure and gratification. But during the time she was refitting, the authorities of Cape Town and Stellenbosch, through the influence of Lady Frere, Commodore Sullivan, and Captain Mills, Colonial Secretary, exerted themselves so zealously to gratify and honor us, that I attribute a large share of the recovery in health of my followers to the cordial and unmistakable heartiness of the hospitalities they there enjoyed. Here the Wangwana saw for the first time the 'fire-carriage,' and, accompanied by Commodore Sullivan, the Dean of Cape Town, and several of the leading residents of the Cape, the expedition was whirled to Stellenbosch at the rate of thirty miles an hour, which, of all the wonders they had viewed, seemed to them the most signal example of the wonderful enterprise and superior intelligence of the European. "I ought not to omit describing a little episode that occurred soon after our arrival in Simon's Bay. For the first three days after landing at Simon's Town, blustering gales prevented me from returning to the ship. The people thereupon became anxious, and wondered whether this distant port was to terminate my connection with them. On returning to the ship, therefore, I found them even more melancholy than when I had left them. I asked the reason. [Illustration: VIEW OF SAN PAULO DE LOANDA--THE FORT OF SAN MIGUEL ON THE RIGHT.] "'You will return to Ulyah' (Europe), 'of course, now.' "'Why?' "'Oh, do we not see that you have met your friends, and all these days we have felt that you will shortly leave us?' "'Who told you so?' I asked, smiling at the bitterness visible in their faces. "'Our hearts; and they are very heavy.' "'Ah! and would it please you if I accompanied you to Zanzibar?' "'Why should you ask, master? Are you not our father?' "'Well, it takes a long time to teach you to rely upon the promise of your father. I have told you, over and over again, that nothing shall cause me to break my promise to you that I would take you home. You have been true to me, and I shall be true to you. If we can get no ship to take us, I will walk the entire distance with you until I can show you to your friends at Zanzibar.' "'Now we are grateful, master.' [Illustration: DHOWS IN THE HARBOR OF ZANZIBAR.] "I observed no sad faces after this day, and Captain Dyer and his officers noticed how they visibly improved and brightened up from this time. "On the 6th of November H.M.S. _Industry_ was equipped and ready for her voyage to Zanzibar. On the twelfth of the month she dropped anchor in the harbor of Natal to coal, and fourteen days after her departure from Natal the palmy island of Zanzibar rose into sight, and in the afternoon we were bearing straight for port. [Illustration: THE RECUPERATED AND RECLAD EXPEDITION AS IT APPEARED AT ADMIRALTY HOUSE, SIMON'S TOWN, AFTER OUR ARRIVAL ON H.M.S. "INDUSTRY."] "As I looked on the Wangwana, and saw the pleasure which now filled every soul, I felt myself amply rewarded for sacrificing several months to see them home. The sick had, all but one, recovered, and they had improved so much in appearance that few, ignorant of what they had been, could have supposed that these were the living skeletons that had reeled from sheer weakness through Boma. "The only patient who had baffled our endeavors to restore her to health was the woman Muscati, unfortunate Safeni's wife. Singular to relate, she lived to be embraced by her father, and the next morning died in his arms, surrounded by her relatives and friends. But all the others were blessed with redundant health--robust, bright, and happy. "And now the well-known bays and inlets, and spicy shores and red-tinted bluffs of Mbwenni enraptured them. Again they saw what they had often despaired of seeing: the rising ridge of Wilezu, at the foot of which they knew were their homes and their tiny gardens; the well-known features of Shangani and Melindi; the tall square mass of the sultan's palace. Each outline, each house, from the Sandy Point to their own Ngambu, each well-remembered bold swell of land, with its glories of palm and mango-tree, was to them replete with associations of bygone times. "The captain did not detain them on board. The boats were all lowered at once, and they crowded the gangway and ladder. I watched the first boat-load. "To those on the beach it was a surprise to see so many white-shirted, turbaned men making for shore from an English man-of-war. Were they slaves--or what? No; slaves they could not be, for they were too well dressed. Yet what could they be? "The boat-keel kissed the beach, and the impatient fellows leaped out and upward, and danced in ecstasy on the sands of their island; they then kneeled down, bowed their faces to the dear soil, and cried out, with emotion, their thanks to Allah! To the full they now taste the sweetness of the return home. The glad tidings ring out along the beach, 'It is Bwana Stanley's expedition that has returned.' "Then came bounding towards them their friends, acquaintances, countrymen, asking ever so many questions, all burning to know all about it. Where had they been? How came they to be on board the man-of-war? What had they seen? Who was dead? Where is So-and-so? You have gone beyond Nyangwé to the other sea? Mashallah! "The boats come and go. "More of the returned braves land, jump and frisk about, shake hands, embrace firmly and closely; they literally _leap_ into each other's arms, and there are many wet eyes there, for some terrible tales are told of death, disaster, and woe by the most voluble of the narrators, who seem to think it incumbent on them to tell all the news at once. The minor details, which are a thousand and a thousand, shall be told to-morrow and the next day, and the next, and for days and years to come. "The ship was soon emptied of her strange passengers. Captain Sullivan, of the _London_, came on board, and congratulated me on my safe arrival, and then I went on shore to my friend Mr. Augustus Sparhawk's house. We will pass over whatever may have transpired among the reunited friends, relatives, acquaintances, etc., but I will give substantially what Mabruki, a stout, bright-eyed lad, the Nestor of the youths during the expedition, related of his experiences the next day. "'Well, Mabruki, tell me, did you see your mother?' Mabruki, knowing I have a lively curiosity to know all about the meeting, because he had been sometimes inclined to despair of seeing poor old 'mamma' again, relaxes the severe tightness of his face, and out of his eyes there gushes such a flood of light as shows him to be brimful of happiness, and he hastens to answer, with a slight bob of the head, "'Yes, master.' "'Is she quite well? How does she look? What did she say when she saw her son such a great strong lad? Come, tell me all about it.' "'I will tell you--but ah! she is old now. She did not know me at first, because I burst open the door of our house, and I was one of the foremost to land, and I ran all the way from the boat to the house. She was sitting talking with a friend. When the door opened she cried out, "Who?" "'"Mi-mi, ma-ma. It is I, mother. It is I--Mabruki, mother. It is I, returned from the continent." "'"What! Mabruki, my son!" "'"Verily it is I, mother." "'She could scarcely believe I had returned, for she had heard no news. But soon all the women round about gathered together near the door, while the house was full to hear the news; and they were all crying and laughing and talking so fast, which they kept up far into the night. She is very proud of me, master. When the dinner was ready over twenty sat down to share with us. "Oh!" they all said, "you are a man indeed, now that you have been farther than any Arab has ever been."' "Four days of grace I permitted myself to procure the thousands of rupees required to pay off the people for their services. Messages had also been sent to the relatives of the dead, requesting them to appear at Mr. Sparhawk's, prepared to make their claims good by the mouths of three witnesses. "On the fifth morning the people--men, women, and children--of the Anglo-American Expedition, attended by hundreds of friends, who crowded the street and the capacious rooms of the Bertram Agency, began to receive their well-earned dues. "The women, thirteen in number, who had borne the fatigues of the long, long journey, who had transformed the stern camp in the depths of the wilds into something resembling a village in their own island, who had encouraged their husbands to continue in their fidelity despite all adversity, were all rewarded. "The children of the chiefs who had accompanied us from Zanzibar to the Atlantic, and who, by their childish, careless prattle, had often soothed me in mid-Africa, and had often caused me to forget my responsibilities for the time, were not forgotten. Neither were the tiny infants--ushered into the world amid the dismal and tragic scenes of the cataract lands, and who, with their eyes wide open with wonder, now crowed and crooned at the gathering of happy men and elated women about them--omitted in this final account and reckoning. "The second pay-day was devoted to hearing the claims for wages due to the faithful dead. Poor faithful souls! With an ardor and a fidelity unexpected, and an immeasurable confidence, they had followed me to the very death. True, negro nature had often asserted itself, but it was after all but human nature. They had never boasted that they were heroes, but they exhibited truly heroic stuff while coping with the varied terrors of the hitherto untrodden and apparently endless wilds of broad Africa. [Illustration: 1. Wife of Murabo. 2. Wife of Robert. 3. Wife of Mana Koko. 4. Half-caste of Ganbaragara, whom Wadi Rehani married. 5. Zaidi's wife. 6. Wife of Wadi Baraka. 7. Wife of Manwa Sera. 8. Wife of Chowpereh. 9. Wife of Muini Pembé. 10. Wife of Muscati. 11. Wife of Chiwonda. 12. Wife of Mufta. THE WOMEN OF THE EXPEDITION.] "The female relatives filed in. With each name of the dead, old griefs were remembered. The poignant sorrow I felt--as the fallen were named after each successive conflict in those dark days never to be forgotten by me--was revived. Sad and subdued were the faces of those I saw; as sad and subdued as my own feelings. With such sympathies between us we soon arrived at a satisfactory understanding. Each woman was paid without much explanation required--one witness was sufficient. There were men, however, who were put to great shifts. They appeared to have no identity. None of my own people would vouch for the relationship; no respectable man knew them. Several claimed money upon the ground that they were acquaintances; that they had been slaves under one master, and had become freemen together on their master's death. Parents and brothers were not difficult to identify. The settlement of the claims lasted five days, and then--the Anglo-American Expedition was no more. "On the 13th of December the British India Steam Navigation Company's steamer _Pachumba_ sailed from Zanzibar for Aden, on board which Mr. William Mackinnon had ordered a state-room for me. My followers through Africa had all left their homes early, that they might be certain to arrive in time to witness my departure. They were there now, every one of them arrayed in the picturesque dress of their countrymen. The fulness of the snowy dishdasheh and the amplitude of the turban gave a certain dignity to their forms, and each sported a light cane. Upon inquiring I ascertained that several had already purchased handsome little properties--houses and gardens--with their wages, proving that the long journey had brought, with its pains and rough experience, a good deal of thrift and wisdom. "When I was about to step into the boat, the brave, faithful fellows rushed before me and shot the boat into the sea, and then lifted me up on their heads and carried me through the surf into the boat. "We shook hands twenty times twenty, I think, and then at last the boat started. "I saw them consult together, and presently saw them run down the beach and seize a great twenty-ton lighter, which they soon manned and rowed after me. They followed me thus to the steamer, and a deputation of them came on board, headed by the famous Uledi, the coxswain; Kachéché, the chief detective; Robert, my indispensable factotum; Zaidi, the chief, and Wadi Rehani, the storekeeper, to inform me that they still considered me as their master, and that they would not leave Zanzibar until they received a letter from me announcing my safe arrival in my own country. I had, they said, taken them round all Africa to bring them back to their homes, and they must know that I had reached my own land before they would go to seek new adventures on the continent, and--simple, generous souls!--that if I wanted their help to reach my country they would help me! [Illustration: STANLEY, AS HE LEFT ENGLAND FOR AFRICA IN 1874.] "They were sweet and sad moments, those of parting. What a long, long and true friendship was here sundered! Through what strange vicissitudes of life had they not followed me! What wild and varied scenes had we not seen together! What a noble fidelity these untutored souls had exhibited! The chiefs were those who had followed me to Ujiji in 1871; they had been witnesses of the joy of Livingstone at the sight of me; they were the men to whom I intrusted the safeguard of Livingstone on his last and fatal journey, who had mourned by his corpse at Muilala, and borne the illustrious dead to the Indian Ocean. [Illustration: STANLEY, AS HE REACHED ZANZIBAR IN 1877.] "And in a flood of sudden recollection, all the stormy period here ended rushed in upon my mind; the whole panorama of danger and tempest through which these gallant fellows had so stanchly stood by me--these gallant fellows now parting from me. Rapidly, as in some apocalyptic vision, every scene of strife with man and nature through which these poor men and women had borne me company, and solaced me by the simple sympathy of common suffering, came hurrying across my memory; for each face before me was associated with some adventure or some peril, reminded me of some triumph or of some loss. What a wild, weird retrospect it was, that mind's flash over the troubled past! So like a troublous dream! "And for years and years to come, in many homes in Zanzibar, will be told the great story of our journey, and the actors in it will be heroes among their kith and kin. For me, too, they are heroes, these poor, ignorant children of Africa; for, from the first deadly struggle in savage Ituru to the last staggering rush into Embomma, they had rallied to my voice like veterans, and in the hour of need they had never failed me. And thus, aided by their willing hands and by their loyal hearts, the expedition had been successful, and the three great problems of the Dark Continent's geography had been fairly solved." Fred paused and closed the book. The young gentleman's voice was husky; in fact it had been so at several points in his reading, and there were tears in his eyes as a natural accompaniment of the huskiness. He had been compelled to stop two or three times while reading Mr. Stanley's letter appealing "to any gentleman who speaks English at Embomma" to send relief to his starving companions, and also when he read the account of the arrival of the caravan with provisions for the suffering, dying people. Fred's auditors were equally affected by this touching narrative, and not one of them ventured to utter a word for fear he should break down before completing a single sentence. For two or three minutes no one moved or spoke. Finally Doctor Bronson made a remark that "broke the ice," and the formalities of the occasion came to an end. "That story of the suffering and relief in the last days of the journey through the Dark Continent always brings tears to my eyes," said the Doctor, as the party separated. "In Paris, in 1878, I was at a dinner party at which Stanley was the principal guest. He was then fresh from Africa, and when pressed to tell us something of his experience there he gave the story which you have just heard. When he repeated the contents of his letter, which he did from memory, and told of the prompt and generous response to his appeal, every cheek at that table was wet, and every one of the twenty or more men that composed the party pronounced it the most affecting story he had ever heard." And with this little incident the members of the _Eider_ Geographical Society adjourned to the open air. CHAPTER XIX. THE LAST MEETING ON BOARD THE _EIDER_.--FOUNDING THE FREE STATE OF CONGO.--MR. STANLEY'S LATER WORK ON THE GREAT RIVER.--BUILDING ROADS AND ESTABLISHING STATIONS.--MAKING PEACE WITH THE NATIVES.--BULA MATARI.--RESOURCES OF THE CONGO VALLEY.--STANLEY'S LATEST BOOK.--STEAMERS ON THE RIVER.--THE CONGO RAILWAY.--STANLEY'S PRESENT MISSION IN AFRICA.--EMIN PASHA AND HIS WORK.--HOW STANLEY PROPOSES TO RELIEVE HIM.--DR. SCHNITZLER.--BEY OR PASHA?--MWANGA, KING OF UGANDA.--HIS HOSTILITY TO WHITE MEN.--KILLING BISHOP HANNINGTON.--THE EGYPTIAN EQUATORIAL PROVINCE.--LETTER FROM STANLEY.--HIS PLANS FOR THE RELIEF EXPEDITION.--TIPPU-TIB AND HIS MEN.--FROM ZANZIBAR TO THE CONGO. On the next day there was another meeting of the geographical society, at which votes of thanks were given to Frank and Fred for their successful effort to interest and amuse their fellow-voyagers. One of the latter suggested that it would be a good plan to ask the author of the "Boy Traveller Series" to make a book for young people by condensing the two volumes of "Through the Dark Continent" into one, just as Frank and Fred had condensed them for the readings they had given on board the steamer. The suggestion was unanimously approved, and in compliance with it this book has been prepared. Doctor Bronson said they would be pleased to know that "Through the Dark Continent" was simultaneously issued in nine languages, an honor never before shown to a book on its first publication. One of the youths said he believed Mr. Stanley had published another book about the Congo country; he wished to know its title so that he could get a copy, as he was sure it would be interesting. "I'll tell you about that book," said the Doctor, "and why it was written. While Mr. Stanley was making his journey which is described in "Through the Dark Continent," an association was formed in Belgium for the purpose of developing trade and pushing civilization in Africa. It was under the patronage of Leopold II., King of the Belgians, and soon after Mr. Stanley returned to Europe King Leopold engaged him to go to Africa and manage the affairs of the International African Association, as the new enterprise was called. He went to the Congo valley in 1879 and remained there nearly six years. He made two or three trips to Europe during the period of his engagement, and one trip to Zanzibar; with the exception of the time spent on these journeys, he was occupied with personally supervising the work of developing trade and civilization on the Congo." [Illustration: NGAHMA, A CONGO CHIEF.] "How did he do it?" was the very natural interrogatory that followed. "He employed a large number of natives from the coast, Zanzibaris and others, and established stations at various points along the river. His first station is at the foot of the last cataracts on the Congo, and is called Vivi; steamboats and ships of light draft can land at its wharves and deliver or receive merchandise without difficulty. From Vivi he built a wagon-road among the hills and across the plains on the north bank of the Congo to the Isangila cataract, where he established Isangila station. Along the road he carried steamboats which had been so built that they could be readily taken apart, and put together again when navigable water was reached. Above Isangila there is a distance of ninety miles where the Congo is navigable, and here the steamboats were used for purposes of transportation until falls were reached again. Then another station (Manyanga) was established, more road was built, and so on step by step Mr. Stanley reached Stanley Pool, at the head of the group of cataracts that obstruct the navigation of the Lower Congo. Here he established a station and started the town of Leopoldville, the name being given in honor of the illustrious patron of the enterprise. [Illustration: VIEW OF VIVI, FROM THE ISANGILA ROAD.] "It was slow work building roads, transporting material, goods, and provisions, establishing stations, negotiating with the local chiefs, and in other ways performing the work of permanent colonization along the great river. The expedition landed at Vivi in September, 1879; it was not until June, 1881, that it reached Stanley Pool, above the highest of the cataracts. To say that the Africans were astonished at the enterprise is to state the case very feebly. They gave Stanley the name of Bula Matari (Rock Breaker), in consequence of his cutting through the rocks in his work of road-making. Such a thing had never before been known in Africa, and as Bula Matari he is known there to this day and will long be remembered. [Illustration: PORT OF LEOPOLDVILLE.] "From Stanley Pool the Congo is navigable to Stanley Falls, a distance of nearly one thousand miles. As soon as the steamers could be put together and affairs at Leopoldville were in a tranquil condition, Mr. Stanley proceeded up the river and established stations at various points. Then he explored some of the tributaries of the great river, discovered a lake which he named Leopold II., established peaceable relations with the native tribes, opened trade wherever trade was possible, and learned as much as he could about the country and its sources. On his first expedition, described in 'Through the Dark Continent,' he learned enough to convince him that the resources of the Congo were very great; what he ascertained during his later explorations confirmed in every way his earlier impressions and made him an enthusiastic advocate of the settlement and development of the Congo basin. "I haven't time to give you more than a bare outline of the work he performed there. The story is told in his later book, 'The Congo, and the Founding of its Free State,' a work in two volumes, which, like the 'Dark Continent,' has been published in several languages. Mr. Stanley returned from Africa in season to take part in the Congress or Conference of nations at Berlin in the latter part of 1884, where the affairs of the Congo State were discussed and an international treaty was made establishing the relations of the new state with the rest of the world. The country was opened to the commerce of all nations on the principle of free trade; a large territory on the north of the Congo State was given to France, while the right of Portugal to a large area on the south was established. Previous to the Conference there was a threat of trouble with both France and Portugal, but all was made smooth when the plenipotentiaries met and talked matters over. "The progress of civilization on the Congo has been very rapid," Doctor Bronson continued. "Before Mr. Stanley's adventurous journey in 1877 no white man had looked upon the Congo between Nyangwé and the lower cataracts; now there are permanent stations and trading posts all the way along the great stream from its mouth to Stanley Falls, and several stations have been established on the tributaries of the Congo wherever there is a promise of commerce. The route to Nyangwé is as safe as any part of Africa, and from thence to Tanganika Lake and Zanzibar there are no obstacles to traffic and travel. Recently a young officer of the Swedish navy crossed the African continent by way of the Congo, Nyangwé, and Lake Tanganika, and thence by the usual route to Zanzibar. He made the entire journey in seven months, or in two months less time than was taken by Stanley for his descent of the Congo from Nyangwé to Boma." One of the youths asked how many steamboats are now on the Congo and its tributaries. [Illustration: A PHOTOGRAPH.] "Mr. Stanley told me this morning," replied the Doctor, "that there are eight steamers running above Leopoldville and Stanley Pool, and two on the ninety-mile strip of navigable water between the Isangila Fall and Manyanga. Several new steamers will be placed on the Congo during 1887, some by the Congo State, others by an American trading company, and others by the missionaries. By the end of 1887 it is probable that not fewer than twenty steamers will be established on the Congo, at least fifteen of them above the lower series of falls. It is in contemplation to place steamers above Stanley Falls, so that navigation can be continued to Nyangwé and thus shorten the time of transit from the lower Congo to Lake Tanganika. The whole valley of the Congo is open to the commerce of the world only ten years after Mr. Stanley's famous journey 'Through the Dark Continent.'" [Illustration: A CONGO HOUSE.] The Doctor paused a moment to glance at a slip which had been cut from a newspaper, and then continued: "At its mouth the Congo River is of enormous depth, but only one hundred miles or so above Stanley Pool, Captain Braconnier said, a year or two ago, that 'steam-launches drawing barely two and a half feet of water have to be dragged along by our men.' H. H. Johnston mentions the same fact in his description of the Congo. 'Our boat is constantly running aground on sand-banks,' he wrote. 'It has an extraordinary effect to see men walking half-way over a great branch of the river, with water only up to their ankles, tracing the course of some hidden sand-bank.' Stanley, Johnston, and others attributed the remarkable shallowness of the river to its great breadth in this part of its course; but none of them knew how wide the river really is above the Kassai River. "We now have some new light on this question, which is a very interesting one, because the Congo is next to the greatest river in the world, and new discoveries with regard to it are apt to be on a large scale. Captain Rouvier has been surveying this part of the river, and he finds that for a distance of about fifty miles the Congo is much wider than was supposed. Its width, in fact, is from fifteen to twenty miles, a circumstance that has not been discovered before on account of many long islands, some of which have always been taken for one shore of the river. It follows, therefore, that there is an expanse on the upper Congo similar to and very much larger than Stanley Pool. Steamboats have passed each other in this enlargement of the river without knowing of each other's proximity. [Illustration: THE EFFECT OF CIVILIZATION.] "It is easy to understand, therefore, how it happens that the Congo is in this place so very shallow, while in narrow portions of the lower river no plummet-line has ever yet touched bottom. Navigation in this part of the Congo would be almost impossible were it not that here and there soundings are revealing channels deep and wide enough for all the requirements of steamboat traffic. "The great explorer has planned a railway from Vivi to Leopoldville, so that the lower series of falls on the river will no longer be a hinderance to commerce. This railway will be about two hundred and thirty-five miles long, and Mr. Stanley estimates its cost and equipment at something less than five millions of dollars, or one million pounds sterling. He estimates its annual revenue from freight alone at one and a half million dollars, while the passenger business would not be an unimportant item. The up-freights would consist of cotton cloth, beads, wire, muskets, gunpowder, cutlery, china-ware, iron, and other African 'trade-goods,' while the down-freights would include ivory, palm-oil, ground-nuts, hippopotamus teeth and hides, rubber, beeswax, gum copal, monkey and other skins, and several kinds of fine woods used in cabinet-making. Doubtless other products of Central Africa would come into market which are now unknown in consequence of the high cost of transportation. [Illustration: A NATIVE OF THE LOWER CONGO.] "Mr. Stanley says the navigable waters of the Congo basin that would have their outlet through the Congo railway are more than five thousand miles in length, draining a country of more than a million square miles, much of which is well peopled. The free State of Congo, as defined by the Berlin Conference, includes a territory of one million five hundred and eight thousand square miles, with a population estimated at forty-two million six hundred and eight thousand. North of the Congo State is the French possession of sixty-two thousand square miles and two million one hundred and twenty-one thousand six hundred inhabitants, and on the south is the Portuguese territory of thirty thousand seven hundred square miles and three hundred thousand inhabitants. So you see the Congo State, which our friend has created, is one third the area of the United States and more than one half its population. "And here," said the Doctor, "is a speech made by Mr. Stanley at a dinner which was given to him by the Lotos Club of New York, in November, 1886. I will read an extract from it, with your permission." Everybody signified a desire to hear it, whereupon Doctor Bronson read as follows: "I set out to Africa intending to complete Livingstone's explorations, also to settle the Nile problem as to where the head-waters of the Nile were, as to whether Lake Victoria consisted of one lake, one body of water, or a number of shallow lakes; to throw some light on Sir Samuel Baker's Albert Nyanza, and also to discover the outlet of Lake Tanganika, and then to find out what strange, mysterious river this was which Livingstone saw at Nyangwé--whether it were the Nile, the Niger, or the Congo. Edwin Arnold, the author of 'The Light of Asia,' said, 'Do you think you can do all this?' 'Don't ask me such a conundrum as that. Put down the funds and tell me to go. That's all.' And he induced Lawson, the proprietor, to consent. The funds were had, and I went. "First of all we settled the problem of the Victoria; that it was one body of water; that instead of being a cluster of shallow lakes or marshes, it was one body of water, twenty-one thousand five hundred square miles in extent. While endeavoring to throw light upon Sir Samuel Baker's Albert Nyanza, we discovered a new lake, a much superior lake to the Albert Nyanza--the Dead Locust Lake--and at the same time Gordon Pasha sent his lieutenant to discover and circumnavigate the Albert Nyanza, and he found it to be only a miserable one hundred and forty miles, because Baker, in a fit of enthusiasm, had stood on the brow of a high plateau and, looking down on the dark-blue waters of Albert Nyanza, cried, romantically: 'I see it extending indefinitely towards the southwest!' 'Indefinitely' is not a geographical expression, gentlemen. "We found that there was no outlet to the Tanganika, although it was a sweet-water lake. After settling that problem, day after day, as we glided down the strange river that had lured and bewildered Livingstone, we were in as much doubt as Livingstone had been when he wrote his last letter and said: 'I will never be made black man's meat for anything less than the classic Nile.' After travelling four hundred miles we came to the Stanley Falls, and beyond them we saw the river deflect from its Nileward course towards the northwest. Then it turned west, and visions of towers and towns and strange tribes and strange nations broke upon our imagination, and we wondered what we were going to see, when the river suddenly took a decided turn towards the southwest, and our dreams were terminated. We saw then that it was aiming directly for the Congo, and when we had propitiated some natives whom we encountered by showing them crimson beads and polished wire that had been polished for the occasion, we said: 'This for your answer. What river is this?' 'Why, it is _the_ river, of course.' That was not an answer, and it required some persuasion before the chief, bit by bit, digging into his brain, managed to roll out sonorously the words: 'It is the Ko-to-yah Congo'--'It is the river of Congoland.' "Alas for our classic dreams! Alas for Crophi and Mophi, the fabled fountains of Herodotus! Alas for the banks of the river where Moses was found by the daughter of Pharaoh! This is the parvenu Congo! Then we glided on and on, past strange nations and cannibals--not past those nations which have their heads under their arms--for eleven hundred miles, until we arrived at a circular extension of the river, and my last remaining white companion called it the Stanley Pool, and then, five months after that, our journey ended. "After that I had a very good mind to come back to America and say, like the Queen of Uganda, 'There, what did I tell you?' But you know the fates would not permit me to come over in 1878. The very day I landed in Europe, the King of Italy gave me an express train to convey me to France, and the very moment I descended from it at Marseilles, there were three ambassadors from the King of the Belgians, asking me to go back to Africa. "'What! Back to Africa? Never! I have come for civilization. I have come for enjoyment. I have come for love, for life, for pleasure. Not I. Go and ask some of those people you know who have never yet been to Africa. I have had enough of it.' 'Well, perhaps, by and by--' 'Ah, I don't know what will happen by and by, but just now, never, never! Not for Rothschild's wealth!' "I was received by the Paris Geographical Society, and it was then I began to feel, 'Well, after all, I have done something, haven't I?' I felt superb. But you know I have always considered myself a republican. I have those bullet-riddled flags and those arrow-torn flags, the Stars and Stripes, that I carried in Africa for the discovery of Livingstone, and that crossed Africa, and I venerate those old flags. I have them in London, now jealously guarded in the secret recesses of my cabinet. I allow only my best friends to look at them, and if any of you gentlemen ever happen in at my quarters, I will show them to you. "After I had written my book, 'Through the Dark Continent,' I began to lecture, using these words: 'I have passed through a land watered by the largest river of the African continent, and that land knows no owner. A word to the wise is sufficient. You have cloths and hardware and glass-ware and gunpowder, and those millions of natives have ivory and gums and rubber and dyestuffs, and in barter there is good profit. "'The King of the Belgians commissioned me to go to that country. My expedition when we started from the coast numbered three hundred colored people and fourteen Europeans. We returned with three thousand trained black men and three hundred Europeans. The first sum allowed to me was $50,000 per year, but it has ended at something like $700,000 a year. Thus you see the progress of civilization. We found the Congo having only canoes. To-day there are eight steamers. It was said at first that King Leopold was a dreamer. He dreamed he could unite the barbarians of Africa into a confederacy and call it a free state; but on February 25, 1885, the powers of Europe, and America also, ratified an act recognizing the territories acquired by us to be the free and independent State of the Congo.' "Perhaps when the members of the Lotos Club have reflected a little more upon the value of what Livingstone and Leopold have been doing, they will also agree that these men have done their duty in this world, and in the age that they live, and that their labor has not been in vain, on account of the great sacrifices they have made, to the benighted millions of dark Africa." Here the Doctor paused to enable his listeners to ponder a few moments on the magnitude of the work which their hero had accomplished, and also to wait for any question which might be asked. The first interrogatory referred to Mr. Stanley's present mission to Africa, for which he had abandoned his lecturing tour in America. "What is he going to Africa for now?" said one of the youths. "I have read that it is to relieve somebody who is shut up in the middle of the country and can't get out." "You are quite right," was the reply, "but in order to have you comprehend the situation I must give you a little explanation. [Illustration: EMIN PASHA.] "Most of you know," the Doctor continued, "about the rebellion in the Soudan country several years ago by which Egypt lost her possessions in Central Africa, and her power was completely overthrown in a region that she had held for more than sixty years, or had conquered since that time. Khartoum was captured, General Gordon was killed, and the provinces of the Soudan became independent of the khedive. Many of the white men in the country were forced to enter the service of the rebels in order to save their lives, as escape was next to impossible. "This was the case in the northern part of the Soudan, and it was generally supposed that the same state of affairs prevailed farther south. The equatorial province of the Egyptian Soudan was entirely cut off from communication with the outer world, and the belief was general that its governor, Emin Bey, had been killed by the rebels. But in the latter part of 1886 news came that he was still alive, and had maintained his position in a hostile country through the fidelity of the Egyptian troops that remained with him. He was short of ammunition and destitute of many other things necessary for the support of his people, his soldiers were in rags, and he feared that he would not be able to hold out much longer unless relief was sent to him." [Illustration: BLACKSMITH'S FORGE AND BELLOWS.] One of the youths asked how the news was brought from Emin's province so that the rest of the world could get it. "It was brought," was the reply, "by Dr. Junker, a Russian scientist, who was with Emin at the time of the insurrection. You remember King Mtesa of Uganda, whom Mr. Stanley converted to Christianity and who asked that missionaries should be sent to instruct his people? Well, the missionaries went there and were well received, but before they had accomplished anything of consequence Mtesa died and was succeeded by his son Mwanga. The son was opposed to the new religion, and very soon after he was raised to the throne he imprisoned the missionaries and ordered all of his people who had embraced Christianity to be put to death. Bishop Hannington, who had gone from England to take charge of the mission work in Central Africa, was killed by orders of Mwanga, and all white men were forbidden to set foot in the country. Dr. Junker came through Uganda on his way to the sea-coast, but he was brought ostensibly as a slave by an Arab trader. Mwanga heard that there was a white man in the Arab merchant's caravan, but when the merchant told him that it was a slave he had bought, and exhibited the captive tied with the rest of the slaves, the king made no objection. He was, no doubt, so greatly rejoiced to see the white man in captivity and disgrace that he did not wish to disturb him."[11] [11] Since the above was written a telegram has been received from Zanzibar, April 15th, which says: "A Somali trader from the Uganda country has arrived here bearing advices from Emin Bey. He was established, when the trader left, at Wadelai, north of the Albert Nyanza. He had two small steamers plying on the White Nile and on the lake. In November, which was four months later than the advices brought by Dr. Junker, Emin Bey visited the King of Unyoro, who was a six days' journey from Uganda. Emin Bey was accompanied on this journey by Dr. Vita Hassan, ten Egyptian officers, three Greeks, and four negroes. Subsequently he asked Mwanga, the King of Uganda, to receive him. The king said he would willingly receive him if he came without followers. Emin Bey thereupon went to King Mwanga, accompanied by Dr. Vita and three Greeks. He and his companions remained with the king seventeen days. Emin asked the king for permission to pass through his territory towards Zanzibar. The king, upon hearing this request, ordered the visitors to return the way they came, and declared he would have nothing more to do with Europeans. King Mwanga is a youth only eighteen years of age. He has a thousand wives. Sometimes he wears a Turkish and at other times an Arab costume, and often reverts to the native simplicity in the matter of dress. Emin Bey, when the king ordered him to return the way he came, went back to Wadelai, and was glad to escape from Mwanga's country. The Somali states that the messengers despatched from Zanzibar to carry information to Emin Bey that Mr. Stanley had gone with an expedition by way of the Congo River to effect his rescue were detained in Unyanyembé by the king, who was indisposed to allow them to proceed." [Illustration: SOME OF EMIN PASHA'S IRREGULAR TROOPS.] "What is the nationality of Emin?" queried Fred; "and why is he sometimes called Emin Bey and sometimes Emin Pasha?" [Illustration: IVORY-EATING SQUIRREL, CENTRAL AFRICA.] "Emin is his Egyptian name," answered Doctor Bronson, "but the gentleman is of Austrian birth and his real name is Dr. Schnitzler. He was an Austrian physician at the Turkish court at one time; afterwards he went to Egypt, and in 1877 was appointed to the command of the equatorial province of Egypt. He is about forty-two years old, tall and thin, very near-sighted, and a most accomplished linguist; he speaks German, French, English, Italian, Arabic, Turkish, and several African languages, is a great scientist and a prudent and careful commander of his people. At last accounts he had with him ten white Egyptian officers, fifteen black non-commissioned officers, twenty Coptish clerks, and three hundred Egyptian soldiers with their families. [Illustration: BATTLE BETWEEN NATIVE WARRIORS AND EGYPTIAN TROOPS.] "The rank of bey in the Turkish and Egyptian service corresponds to that of colonel in our language, while pasha or pacha is the equivalent of general. Since he was appointed to the command of the province Emin has been promoted; he was then Emin Bey and is now Emin Pasha. It is the Oriental custom to put the title after the name instead of before it; just as we might say Smith General, or Brown Major." [Illustration: NATIVE WARRIOR IN EMIN PASHA'S PROVINCE.] "And can't Emin Pasha get away from where he is?" one of the youths asked. "Certainly, if he came with a small body of picked men and with reliable guides," was the reply. "But he could not get away with all his people and their families, and he absolutely refuses to desert them. They have been faithful to him, and he believes in rewarding fidelity with fidelity. "He cannot come away through Uganda," Doctor Bronson explained, "because the new king, Mwanga, would not let him pass. He cannot go through Unyoro because the king of that country is leagued with Mwanga to keep out all white men, and kill them if they persist in entering his territory. There is a route through Masai land, north of Lake Victoria, but it would be unsafe, as the King of Uganda would be sure to hear of an expedition there and take measures to stop it. He might travel westward to the Congo or one of its tributaries without much danger of interference, but he has no provisions and too little ammunition to defend himself and his people in case of hostility." "And I suppose Mr. Stanley is going to carry ammunition, trade goods, and money to Emin Pasha," said one of the young auditors. "He has been engaged for that object," replied the Doctor. "The cost of the expedition is to be paid partly by the Egyptian government and partly by liberal gentlemen in Great Britain. Mr. William Mackinnon, a wealthy Scotchman, has contributed one hundred thousand dollars for the enterprise, and other gentlemen have given freely to the good work. [Illustration: THE KING OF UNYORO AND HIS GREAT CHIEFS.] "I call it good work," he continued, "because, according to all accounts, Emin Pasha has created a model government in the middle of Africa, and greatly benefited the people under his charge. He has suppressed slavery and slave-trading, taught many useful employments to the natives, developed agriculture, the raising of cattle and other industries, and almost entirely put an end to crime of all sorts. The province is divided into districts, each of which has a military station in its centre, where the taxes in grain and cattle are paid. Lado, the capital, is a well-built town, with a fortification for its defence, and the sanitary arrangements are of the most perfect character. Everything at Lado is under the personal supervision of Emin Pasha, and his subjects have learned to love him for the good he has done them. "If Emin Pasha should be forced to flee or surrender, the country would speedily fall into its old ways, and all the horrors of the slave-trade would be renewed; consequently Mr. Stanley's mission is in the nature of a missionary enterprise, and we should all hope for its complete success. We shall know more about it after we have been awhile in England, as Mr. Stanley is naturally reticent about his plans, and, in fact, cannot make them very definitely until he arrives there. So we will drop the subject for the present, and, if there is no further business, it will be well for us to adjourn." In accordance with this suggestion, the society made its final adjournment, but we may be sure that its sessions will long be remembered by those who attended them. On the arrival of the steamer at Southampton our friends said good-bye to Mr. Stanley, with many wishes for his success in his new journey to the Dark Continent. In response to their friendly words Mr. Stanley made cordial expression of his pleasure at having made their acquaintance, which he hoped to renew about a year later, if all should go well with him and his expedition. * * * * * Mr. Stanley remained about three weeks in England, busily occupied with preparations for his journey, and making a hasty trip to Brussels to confer with King Leopold, who placed the Congo fleet and the property of the Congo State generally at the explorer's disposal. The supplies, ammunition, and other material were shipped from England direct to the Congo, and Mr. Stanley proceeded to Zanzibar, by way of Cairo, to engage men for the expedition. What he accomplished there is best told in the following letter from his pen: [Illustration: NATIVE WAR DANCE.] "On arriving at Zanzibar I found our agent, Mr. Mackenzie, had managed everything so well, with the good offices of Mr. Holmwood, the acting consul-general, that the expedition was almost ready for embarkation. The steamer _Madura_, of the British India Steam Navigation Company, was in the harbor, provisioned and watered for the voyage. The goods for barter and transport animals were on board. There were a few things to be done, however; such as arranging with the famous Tippu-Tib about our line of conduct towards one another. Tippu-Tib is a much greater man to-day than he was in the year 1877, when he escorted my caravan, preliminary to our voyage down the Congo. He has invested his hard-earned fortune in guns and powder. Adventurous Arabs have flocked to his standard until he is now an uncrowned king of the region between Stanley Falls and Tanganika Lake, commanding many thousands of men inured to fighting and wild equatorial life. If I discovered hostile intentions in him my idea was to give him a wide berth, for the ammunition I had to convoy to Emin Pasha, if captured and employed by him, would endanger the existence of the infant State of the Congo, and imperil all our hopes. Between Tippu-Tib and Mwanga, King of Uganda, there was only a choice of the frying-pan and the fire. It was with due caution that I sounded Tippu-Tib on the first day of my arrival, and I found him fully prepared for any eventuality, to fight or to be employed. I chose the latter, and we proceeded to business. You will please understand that his aid was not required to enable me to reach Emin Pasha, or to show the road to Wadelay, or Lake Albert, which is a region he knows nothing about. There are four roads available from the Congo; two of them were in Tippu-Tib's power to close, the remaining two were clear of his influence. But Dr. Junker informed me at our Cairo interview that Emin Pasha had about seventy-five tons of ivory with him. So much ivory would amount to £60,000, at eight shillings per pound. The subscription of Egypt to the Emin Pasha Relief Fund is large for her present state of depressed finances. In this ivory we have a possible means of recouping the sum paid out of her treasury, with a large sum left towards defraying expenses, and perhaps leaving a handsome balance. Why not attempt the carriage of this ivory to the Congo? Accordingly I wished to engage Tippu-Tib and his people to assist me in conveying this ivory. After a good deal of bargaining I entered into a contract with him, by which he agreed to supply six hundred carriers at £6 per loaded head each round trip, from Stanley Falls to Lake Albert and back. Thus, if each carrier carries seventy pounds weight of ivory, one round trip will bring to the fund £13,200 net at Stanley Falls. [Illustration: BREED OF CATTLE IN EMIN PASHA'S PROVINCE.] "On the conclusion of this contract, which was entered into in the presence of the British consul-general, I broached another subject with Tippu-Tib in the name of his majesty, King Leopold. Stanley Falls station was established by me in December, 1883. Various Europeans have since commanded this station, and Lieutenant Wester, of the Swedish army, had succeeded in making it a well-ordered and presentable station. Captain Deane, his successor, however, quarrelled with the Arabs, and at his forced departure from the scene set fire to the station and blew up the Krupps. The object for which the station was established was the prevention of the Arabs from pursuing their devastating career below the falls--not so much by force as by tact, or, rather, the happy combination of both. By the retreat of the officers of the State from Stanley Falls the flood-gates were opened and the Arabs pressed down the river. Tippu-Tib being, of course, the guiding-spirit of the Arabs west of Tanganika Lake, it was advisable to see how far his aid might be secured to check this stream of Arabs from destroying the country. After the interchange of messages by cable with Brussels, on the second day of my stay at Zanzibar, I signed an engagement with Tippu-Tib by which he was appointed Governor of Stanley Falls, at a regular salary, paid monthly at Zanzibar to the British consul-general's hands. His duties will be principally to defend Stanley Falls in the name of the State against all Arabs and natives. The flag of the station will be that of the State. At all hazards he is to defeat and capture all persons raiding the territory for slaves, and to disperse all bodies of men who may be justly suspected of violent designs. He is to abstain from all slave-traffic below the falls himself, and to prevent all in his command from trading in slaves. In order to insure a faithful performance of his engagements with the State, a European officer is to be appointed Resident at the falls. A breach of any article in the contract being reported, the salary is to cease. [Illustration: LADO, CAPITAL OF EGYPTIAN EQUATORIAL PROVINCE.] "Meantime, while I was engaged in these negotiations, Mr. Mackenzie had paid four months' advance wages to six hundred and twenty men and boys enlisted in the relief expedition, and as fast as each batch of fifty men was satisfactorily paid, a barge was hauled alongside, the men were duly embarked, and a steam-launch towed the barge to the transport. By three P.M. all hands were on board, and the steamer moved off to a more distant anchorage. By midnight Tippu-Tib and his people and every person connected with the expedition were on board, and at day-break next day, the 25th of February, the anchor was lifted, and we steamed away towards the Cape of Good Hope. [Illustration: SCHOOLI WARRIOR, EGYPTIAN EQUATORIAL PROVINCE.] "So far there has not been a hitch in any arrangement. Difficulties have been smoothed as if by magic. Everybody has shown the utmost sympathy and been prompt with the assistance required. The officers of the expedition were kept fully employed from morning to evening at laborious tasks connected with the repacking of the ammunition for Emin Pasha's force. Letters were also sent by myself to Emin Pasha, acquainting him with our mission and the probable time of our arrival at Lake Albert, with directions as to the locality we should aim for. Tippu-Tib likewise sent couriers to Stanley Falls to acquaint his people of his departure by sea round the Cape to the Congo, with orders to concentrate in readiness at the falls." [Illustration: FORTIFIED VILLAGE NEAR LADO.] Before leaving Cairo, where he had an interview with Dr. Junker, Mr. Stanley wrote to the chairman of the relief committee in London, in which he explained the objects of the expedition as follows: [Illustration: ISMAEN ABOU HATAB, TRUSTED OFFICER OF EMIN PASHA.] "The expedition is non-military--that is to say, its purpose is not to fight, destroy, or waste; its purpose is to save, to relieve distress, and to carry comfort. Emin Pasha may be a good man, a brave officer, and a gallant fellow, deserving of a strong effort of relief; but I decline to believe, and I have not been able to gather from any one in England an impression that his life, or the lives of the few hundreds under him, would overbalance the lives of thousands of natives, and the devastation of immense tracts of country which an expedition strictly military would naturally cause. The expedition is a mere powerful caravan, armed with rifles for the purpose of insuring the safe conduct of the ammunition to Emin Pasha, and for the more certain protection of this people during the retreat home. But it also has means of purchasing the friendship of tribes and chiefs, of buying food, and paying its way liberally." [Illustration: VILLAGE IN THE VALLEY OF THE BENGO.] The point where he expects to meet Emin Pasha is purposely kept secret, but it will probably be at the southern end of Lake Albert, unless King Mwanga threatens trouble, in which case the march may be directed to Wadelay, on the White Nile. Stanley's fighting force, in case he is opposed by hostile natives, will consist of sixty Soudanese soldiers, in addition to the Zanzibaris, Somalis, and other east and west coast natives, enlisted in his expedition. When he went to Cairo he specially requested that a small force of Soudanese should be placed at his command. Volunteers were called for, and out of a large number who offered their services sixty picked men were chosen. These men are fine specimens of the soldiers who composed the larger part of the force with which Egypt held her Central African provinces. It was of such soldiers as these that Emin Pasha wrote these words last year: "Deprived of the most necessary things, for a long time without any pay, my men fought valiantly, and when at last hunger weakened them, when, after nineteen days of incredible privations and sufferings, their strength was exhausted, and when the last torn leather of the last boot had been eaten, then they cut a way through the midst of their enemies and succeeded in saving themselves. If ever I had any doubts of the negro, the history of the siege of Amadi would have proved to me that the black race is in valor and courage inferior to no other, while in devotion and self-denial it is superior to many. Without any orders from capable officers, these men performed miracles, and it will be very difficult for the Egyptian government worthily to show its gratitude to my soldiers and officers." [Illustration: A TRAVELLER'S CARAVAN NEAR WADELAY.] On the long march between Stanley Falls and Lake Albert, or Wadelay, these soldiers will perform guard and police duty for the expedition, and will defend it if attacked. Stanley also carries a machine-gun of the Maxim pattern, which was specially constructed so as to be carried by porters. If the explorer has occasion to show the natives that the gun will fire six hundred shots a minute, and that it will kill a hippopotamus or sink a canoe at a distance of a mile, he thinks the weapon will acquire a prestige which will make the savage glad to renounce any idea of attempting to impede his party with their poor spears and arrows. Lieutenant Stairns, an officer in the Engineer Corps of the British army, who accompanies Stanley, has special charge of the Maxim gun. [Illustration: A DYOOR, SUBJECT OF EMIN PASHA.] Two members of Stanley's party, who have been among King Leopold's agents on the Congo, went directly from Liverpool to the Congo for the purpose of hiring about three hundred porters to assist in transporting the goods around the Livingstone cataract to Stanley Pool, where the Upper Congo fleet was ordered to be in readiness to receive the expedition. Mr. Stanley estimates that his progress on the land march will not be greater than six to ten miles a day. The expedition reached Banana Point, at the mouth of the Congo, on the 18th of March, and on the same day re-embarked on vessels belonging to the International Association, which were awaiting the expedition. On the 19th the expedition anchored at Boma, the seat of the general administration of the Congo Free State, and a cordial reception was given the whole body. Mr. Stanley was confident of the success of his enterprise, and hoped that by June or July he would be able to render effectual assistance to Emin Pasha. The Congo Association had arranged to victual the expedition from Matada to Leopoldville. The expedition left Boma on March 21, arrived at Matada on the 22d, and there disembarked, the river being unnavigable thence to Leopoldville, on account of the Livingstone Falls. The expedition was to proceed on foot for eighteen days along the falls to Leopoldville, where Mr. Stanley was to be met by four steamers belonging to the Congo State. The English and French mission stations of the Upper Congo had also been requested to place their steamers at his service. Mr. Stanley's plans for a railway around the Livingstone Falls, on the Lower Congo, have aroused the Portuguese, who fear the effects of the new line of commerce. They have begun the construction of a railway from San Paulo de Loanda up the valley of the Bengo River to Ambaca, a distance of about two hundred and fifty miles. English and American engineers are in charge of the work, and they hope to complete the line in about three years. The railway can hardly be called a rival of Mr. Stanley's, as it is a long way south of the Congo, and its principal uses will be to preserve the local trade which centres at Ambaca, and prevent its diversion to the stations of the Congo State. The surveys for the Congo railway are in progress while these pages are in the printer's hands. [Illustration: CHIEF OF COAST TRIBE IN PORTUGUESE TERRITORY.] CHAPTER XX. MORE AFRICAN STUDIES.--MASAI LAND.--EARLY HISTORY OF THE MOMBASA COAST.--MOUNT KILIMANJARO.--ITS DISCOVERERS AND EXPLORERS.--REBMANN'S UMBRELLA.--THOMSON'S EXPEDITION AND ITS OBJECT.--FRERE TOWN AND MOMBASA.--JOURNEY TO MASAI LAND.--HOSTILITY OF THE NATIVES.--NARROW ESCAPES.--MASAI WARRIORS AND THEIR OCCUPATIONS.--MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF THE PEOPLE.--THOMSON AS A MAGICIAN.--JOHNSTON'S KILIMANJARO EXPEDITION.--HEIGHT AND PECULIARITIES OF THE GREAT MOUNTAIN.--MANDARA AND HIS COURT.--SLAVE-TRADING.--MASAI WOMEN.--SURROUNDED BY LIONS.--BISHOP HANNINGTON.--STORY OF HIS DEATH IN UGANDA. It was mentioned in the first chapter of this volume that Frank and Fred had provided themselves with a parcel of books which were to constitute the reading-matter for the voyage, "Through the Dark Continent" being of the number. Transatlantic travellers generally carry four or five times as many books as they can possibly read during their transit over the ocean, and our young friends were no exceptions to the rule. They were so absorbed with the readings which have just been described, and the presence of Mr. Stanley on the steamer, that they gave little attention to books other than the interesting volume under consideration. [Illustration: TATTOOING AMONG THE COAST NATIVES.] But they were not to be thwarted in their determination to inform themselves about Africa, and, after the voyage was over, devoted all the time they could spare to the perusal of the books which had been left unopened during the voyage. Frank busied himself with "Through Masai Land," a journey of exploration among the snow-clad volcanic mountains and strange tribes of eastern equatorial Africa, while Fred perused the life of Bishop Hannington and the account of his mission to the people of Uganda. As for Doctor Bronson, he contented himself with keeping an eye on the progress of the youths in their readings and in turning the leaves of "The Kilimanjaro Expedition," a volume which describes the work of an expedition of the Royal Geographical Society for the study of the region around Mount Kilimanjaro in eastern Africa, between the Indian Ocean and the Victoria Nyanza. [Illustration: DOORWAY OF A HOUSE AT MOMBASA.] "What can you tell us about Masai Land?" said the Doctor to Frank, one morning while they were at breakfast. "It's a remarkable country," was the reply, "and though one of the parts of Africa earliest known to travellers, so far as its coast is concerned, it was one of the latest to be explored. The routes from Zanzibar to Lakes Tanganika, Victoria, and Nyassa, and the Zambezi country are now pretty well known and almost as familiar to the reading public as the road from London to Brighton, but Masai Land was until very recently practically unknown." "Please tell us exactly where Masai Land is," said the doctor, "so that we shall know what you are describing." "It is that part of Africa east of the Victoria Nyanza," was the reply, "and of a line drawn through that lake perhaps a hundred miles each way north and south of it. Vasco di Gama, who first sailed around the Cape of Good Hope, landed on the coast of this region and was near being wrecked on the reefs of Mombasa, which is its principal port. The place is mentioned in a Portuguese book published in 1530, and a curious fact is that there was even at that early date a rumor of the existence of the snow-clad mountains that were never seen by a white man until 1848. In fact, from the time of Vasco di Gama down to 1842 hardly anything was added to our knowledge of that part of the world." "Are you sure about the mention of the high mountains in that Portuguese book?" "Entirely so," was the reply. "Mr. Thomson, the author of 'Through Masai Land,' quotes from it as follows: 'West of Mombasa is the Mount Olympus of Ethiopia, which is exceedingly high, and beyond it are the Mountains of the Moon, in which are the sources of the Nile.' The Mount Olympus which is thus mentioned is quite likely Kilimanjaro; the Mountains of the Moon are not yet easy to locate, as they have not thus far been found by explorers. They may possibly exist in some of the hitherto untraversed regions on the southern borders of Abyssinia." Fred wished to know who was the first white man to find the snow-clad mountains of Central Africa. "A German missionary named Krapf came to Mombasa in 1842 in search of a way to open Eastern Africa to Christianity. He began studying the tribes and people in the neighborhood, and was aided in that work by his colleague, Mr. Rebmann. In 1847 the latter, accompanied by only eight men, made an expedition from the coast as far as the desert region beyond the rich littoral belt, and reached the broken country in the direction of Kilimanjaro. In 1848 he made another journey and for the first time saw the famous mountain, though he was compelled to turn back when still forty miles from its summit. The good man was accompanied by only nine porters, and his only weapon was an umbrella." "Only an umbrella!" exclaimed Fred, in astonishment. "Yes, only an umbrella, as he thought it quite enough for a peace-loving missionary to carry. But he seems to have changed his mind later on, as we find him arming his porters with guns and increasing their numbers, though he still adhered to the old weapon of his first trip. In one part of his journal, on his third expedition, he says: 'It often rained the livelong night, with myself and people lying in the open air without any other shelter than my solitary umbrella.' But it is noticeable that as soon as he began to arm his men he got into trouble, as his third expedition was robbed of everything it possessed and Rebmann was forced to retreat in great distress to the coast. [Illustration: HEADS OF COAST NATIVES.] "This is the last we hear of Rebmann in exploration," continued Frank, "but his work was followed up by his companion, Dr. Krapf. The latter started in 1851 to found a mission in the interior, but was driven back with a narrow escape from death. He tells how at one time he was attacked by robbers who did not stop at the gunshots fired at them. They pressed on and on, and finally, when the situation was becoming desperate, the doctor opened his umbrella, which so frightened the scoundrels that they fled in terror. "Several explorers, missionaries, and others penetrated into the country as far as Kilimanjaro, but rarely beyond it, in the thirty years following 1851, and each of them found the journey more difficult than had been the case with his predecessor, on account of the hostility of the natives and the Arab traders. In 1882 the Royal Geographical Society sent an expedition under command of Mr. Joseph Thomson, who had recently returned from Central Africa, where he had made some extensive explorations. The object of the expedition was purely geographical, Mr. Thomson being instructed to ascertain if a practicable direct route for European travellers could be found from any one of the ports of East Africa to Lake Victoria, to examine Mount Kenia, to gather all possible data for a map of the region, and obtain general information concerning the country and its character, people, animal and vegetable life. The story of what he did on this expedition is told in 'Through Masai Land.'" "Of course he went first to Zanzibar," said Fred; "that seems to be the starting-point for nearly every expedition for exploring Eastern Africa." [Illustration: VIEW OF MOMBASA.] "Yes," was the reply, "he not only went first to Zanzibar, but he outfitted his expedition at that point and hired most of his porters among the Zanzibaris. Then he went up the coast to Mombasa, which he made his starting-point for the land journey; he took a few of the coast natives from Mombasa as porters, but did not find them as satisfactory as the Zanzibaris. Among the head men that he engaged for his expedition were several who had served with Stanley in his journey across the continent, including Manwa Sera and Kachéché, the detective. He was greatly disappointed with the former, as he proved altogether lazy and indifferent to his duties; he prided himself so much on his service with Stanley that he regarded himself as a purely ornamental personage while with Mr. Thomson. Kachéché was somewhat better, and as chief of the commissary department he did very well. Mr. Thomson's chief assistant was a Maltese sailor named James Martin, who was unable to read or write, but he had a liberal amount of common-sense that served him in place of education. During the whole journey there was never a single unpleasantness between Mr. Thomson and Martin, which is an exceedingly rare thing in African travel." "How did they go from Zanzibar to Mombasa?" Fred inquired. "They went in Arab dhows," Frank answered, "and had a very uncomfortable voyage. But as the distance is only one hundred and twenty miles, or two degrees of latitude, it did not last long, and the whole party was landed safely. Mombasa is on an island; on the other side of the creek which separates it from the mainland is a settlement known as Frere Town." "I've read about that place," said Fred. "It was founded in accordance with a suggestion of Sir Bartle Frere, when he went to Zanzibar in 1873 to try to suppress the slave-trade. The Church Missionary Society of England supplied the money, and the station was established and put in charge of several missionaries. Liberated slaves taken by British cruisers along the coast were sent to Frere Town, and in less than a year after the settlement was made not less than five hundred had been sent there. The natives of the neighborhood were attracted to the place, the population increased, and Frere Town may now be considered the principal station of the Church Missionary Society in Africa. At least that's what I've read in the life of Bishop Hannington." "You're quite right," said Frank, "and Mr. Thomson received more help from the missionaries in setting out for Masai Land than he did from the Arab authorities of Zanzibar. Several of the men that he hired at Zanzibar had failed to appear when the expedition started, and he managed to fill their places with men from Frere Town. In addition to his assistant, head men, cooks, and personal attendants, he had one hundred and thirteen porters laden with the goods and belongings of the expedition. Twenty-nine carried beads, thirty-four iron, brass, and copper wire, fourteen cloth, fifteen personal stores, nine books, boots, etc., six scientific instruments, photographic apparatus and the like, and ten were laden with tents and tent furniture, cooking utensils, and articles for the table. Then there were ten Askari, or soldiers, and several boys who were expected to be useful in various ways. "He had the usual trouble with his porters for the first few days on the road, and his soldiers were very busy hunting up deserters and keeping the lines in order. The men engaged at Mombasa and Frere Town were worse than the Zanzibaris, the latter being more accustomed to this kind of work, and besides they were already a good distance from home. Every morning the bugle was sounded and the procession started, the English flag being carried in front to denote its nationality to all whom they might meet on the way. At night the camp was made in open ground, where no one could leave without being seen, and the guards had orders to shoot any one who should try to get away. These orders were given in a loud voice in the hearing of all the porters, with the object of frightening them rather than with any intention of killing them. The order had a good effect, and the men were kept under control." "I can't understand how it is," said Fred, "that men will engage to go on an expedition and then run away from it at the first chance. Of course I know there are timid persons who are brave at a distance and cowardly when danger is near, but this wholesale desire to desert I cannot comprehend." [Illustration: CAMP OF AN ENGLISH EXPLORER IN AFRICA.] "Evidently that is peculiar of Africans more than of any other people," the youth replied, "since all explorers tell the same story. You remember how it was with Mr. Stanley, both when he left Zanzibar and later when he started from Ujiji and Nyangwé. In the first place many scoundrelly fellows enlist solely to get the advance pay and not with any intention of keeping their agreement. Then, secondly, all sorts of wild stories are told by the natives of the towns and villages through which a caravan passes, or where it stops for a day or two, so that the fears of the ignorant men are wrought upon. In Mr. Thomson's case the people at Mombasa and Frere Town filled the heads of his porters with the most horrible stories of the cruelties of the inhabitants of Masai Land, and said they were going to certain death. This alarmed them very greatly, and even a white man would have had good reason to hesitate. It is a fact that most of the Arab caravans that had ventured into the interior for the ten years previous to this expedition had met with disaster; all of them had lost men or been robbed of at least a portion of their goods, and one caravan lost no less than one hundred men, or one third its entire strength. "Mr. Thomson found that the Masai warriors came quite near the coast in their marauding expeditions, and several of the Wa-kamba villages in the region back of Frere Town had been plundered. The Wa-kamba people have large herds of cattle, goats, and sheep; they drive these herds into zeribas or stockades, at night, to prevent their capture, in raids by the Masai. The stories of these raids continued to alarm Mr. Thomson's porters, and, in spite of all his watchfulness, two of his men managed to get away. The attempts at desertion were effectually stopped by the circulation of a report that the Masai had occupied the road in the rear, so that all stragglers and deserters would meet certain death. From that time forward the men were kept in their places through fear of being massacred, if once out of protection of the fighting-men of the expedition." Frank paused a few moments, and gave Fred an opportunity for another question. "You remarked," said Fred, "that the early explorers of the country in the direction of Mount Kilimanjaro met with little opposition, Rebmann being accompanied by only eight porters and weaponed with an umbrella. How does it happen that later travellers have found the country so much more difficult of access?" [Illustration: SLAVE CARAVANS ON THE ROAD.] "I forgot to explain that part of it," was the reply. "When Rebmann and Krapf made their journeys the Arabs had not penetrated the country with their slave-hunting expeditions, and consequently the people had not been called to practise the art of war. In the last thirty years the Arabs have pushed far into the interior of Masai Land, just as they have pushed beyond Lake Tanganika and down the valley of the Congo. They have made war upon the natives, burning their villages, devastating their fields, killing those who opposed them and carrying their captives into slavery. The terrible scenes described by Dr. Livingstone, in the accounts of his work and travels, have been repeated over and over again in the region which has Mombasa for its seaport, and thousands of slaves have been shipped from that place to points where they could find a market. The English cruisers along the coast keep a sharp watch for the Arab slave-dhows, and when any slaves are liberated they are taken to Frere Town, as you already know." "The Arabs set the various tribes to warring against each other," said the Doctor, who had been a listener to the colloquy between the youths, "and were always ready to buy prisoners no matter from which side they were taken. It was estimated that for every slave that reached a market, at least four persons were killed or perished in one way or another. Many were killed in the attacks upon the villages, many of those who escaped captivity perished of hunger in the forest or deserts where they fled for refuge, and of those carried away as slaves, not half ever reached the coast. They died on the road, of hunger or fatigue, or were killed by their owners in consequence of their inability to travel." "Did the Arabs sometimes leave the weak and sickly ones by the roadside, when they were unable to keep up with the caravans, or did they always kill them?" Fred inquired. "Sometimes they left them to die or recover, as best they might, and Dr. Livingstone tells how he saw groups of dying people with slave-yokes about their necks, near the road where he travelled. Some of the slave-traders were tender-hearted enough not to take life wantonly, but this was not always the case. Those who looked upon the dreadful traffic purely in the light of business made it a rule to kill every slave who could not keep up with the caravan. They did so not from any special delight in the killing, but because it spurred the survivors on to endure the hardships of the march, and never to yield as long as there was power to drag one foot before the other. Sometimes they tied the unfortunate ones to trees and left them to perish; Dr. Livingstone came frequently upon instances of this barbarity of the Arab slave-dealers." [Illustration: SLAVES LEFT TO DIE.] "The people had thus a double incentive to learn how to make war," the Doctor continued, "as soon as the Arabs began to come among them. They endeavored to capture each other, as a matter of gain, and then they wanted to defend their homes and themselves. They became very jealous of the advent of strangers, and thus it came about that travellers needed much larger escorts than formerly. Strange to say, they had no particular desire to stop the slave-trade, and they readily listened to the Arabs, who told them that the presence of Englishmen in the country would interfere with the traffic. Of course the weak and small tribes suffered most by the Arab devastation; the strong tribes found the slave-trade profitable, and thus all the influence was in favor of its continuance. Along the coast towns of Africa, and in the interior districts, you will find many a chief who mourns the day when the foreigners put a stop to the slave-trade, and thus interfered with an industry which he had found profitable. "And now," he remarked, "we will return to Mr. Thomson and his journey into Masai Land. Frank has the floor." Thus appealed to, Frank went on with his story. "After passing the fertile belt along the coast, the expedition entered a desert region where the sun was so hot, shade so scanty, and water so scarce, that it was necessary to make all the marches during the night. The men suffered terribly from thirst, as the most of them, with characteristic African improvidence, drank up in an hour or so the supply of water which had been intended for two days. One night Mr. Thomson started out to find water, as his people were in a desperate condition. He found no water, but lost his way and was unable to return to camp. He says it was the first time he was ever lost in the desert; a feeling of awe took possession of him and he saw lions in every bush. Very soon he heard the roar of a lion, and then his sensations were exceedingly uncomfortable. He wandered aimlessly about; he fired his gun repeatedly, but heard no response. At last he was about to lie down, in despair, when he heard the sound of a gun to which he responded with his last remaining cartridge. Following the direction whence the sound came, he met a search-party that had gone to find him. When he reached camp he had been eighteen hours on his feet, without food and with very little water." "And what did his people do without water?" Fred inquired. "Water was found the next day," Frank explained, "but not until some of the men had so broken down that they could not go farther, and it was necessary to send water to revive them. After passing the desert belt they entered a mountain region, where water was abundant and the natives were friendly. It is the region of the Wa-teita, and consists of a series of slopes around the Ndara Mountain. The Wa-teita have herds of cattle, sheep, and goats, they raise Indian corn, sugar-cane, bananas, sweet potatoes, and similar articles, and have been able to resist the attacks of the Masai, chiefly through the security of their position and their skill in the use of the bow and arrow. The Church Missionary Society has a station among this people, and the natives appear to take kindly to his instruction. [Illustration: A SPRING IN THE DESERT.] "Mr. Thomson gives an interesting account of the Wa-teita women, who anoint themselves with oil, from head to foot, and would consider their toilet incomplete without it. They pull out their eyelashes and eyebrows, file their teeth into points, and then cover their necks with string upon string of beads, so that they can hardly turn their heads. On neck, shoulders, and waist, a belle of the Wa-teita carries from twenty to thirty pounds' weight of beads, and it is needless to say that beads are an important article of commerce among the traders who go from the coast to that country. "When a man of the Wa-teita wishes to marry he arranges the preliminaries with the girl's father, and agrees to pay a certain number of cows. As soon as the bargain is completed the girl runs away, and hides among distant relatives until such time as her betrothed can find her hiding-place, and catch her. Then he engages some of his friends, who carry her home on their shoulders, with a great deal of singing and dancing. When they reach home the bridal couple are shut up in their house for three days, without food; at the end of that time the bride is carried to her father's house by a party of girls, and after a while returns to the home of her husband and the ceremonies are over. [Illustration: A WEDDING-DANCE.] "Leaving this region, the expedition passed through a belt of forest, and came, at length, near the base of Mount Kilimanjaro, the famous Mount Olympus of Africa, already mentioned. Perhaps Doctor Bronson will tell us something about it, as he has been reading Mr. Johnston's book, describing the exploration to it." "A very interesting book it is, though less so to the general reader than to the scientific one. Mr. Johnston is, as you know, a naturalist, and the principal part of the book is devoted to his special line of study. The English Royal Geographical Society paid the expenses of the expedition, and instructed Mr. Johnston to reside in the vicinity of the mountain for at least six months, and make collections of the floral, animal, and other products of the region, as close to the snow-line as was conveniently possible." "From that I suppose that the mountain is capped with snow," Fred remarked, as the doctor paused a moment. "Yes," was the reply, "Kilimanjaro has an elevation of 18,880 feet, and is covered with snow throughout the year. The mountain has two peaks; Kibo, the higher of these peaks, has the elevation I mentioned, while the other--Kimawenzi--attains an altitude of 16,250 feet. These peaks are in the centre of a mass of surrounding mountains, but none of the others reach above the snow-line. Both Kibo and Kimawenzi are the craters of extinct volcanoes, and the whole region round about was evidently thrown up by volcanic or earthquake action, ages and ages ago. In a direct line the great mountain is about one hundred and seventy-five miles from the coast, but by the tortuous lines of African travel the distance is considerably more than two hundred miles. "Mr. Johnston arrived in Zanzibar on his way to Kilimanjaro in April, 1884, and after some delay in outfitting his expedition took the route by way of Mombasa. His troubles with porters and natives were similar to those of Mr. Thomson, so that a repetition of his story is unnecessary. He relates that on several occasions his camp was surrounded with lions at night, and though the brutes did no damage, they kept up a tremendous roaring which effectually prevented all sleeping. One night the roar was continuous, and the voices of no less than ten of these animals were counted; on the next morning the tracks in the soft earth around the camp indicated that a whole troop of lions had been present. Mr. Johnston noticed that whenever a lion was approaching the camp, and before he had given warning of his presence by a roar, the birds in the trees set up a nervous twittering. The approach of other wild beasts at night was notified in the same way. "The slopes of Kilimanjaro between the elevations of three thousand and seven thousand feet are occupied by an agricultural people; their chief is called Mandara and the name of the country is Chaga. Through his intimacy with the Arab slave-dealers Mandara had become avaricious, and exacted a heavy tribute from Mr. Johnston, as he had from previous visitors. The explorer described the monarch as about five feet eleven inches in height, of dignified bearing and fine figure. He looked more like a North American Indian than a native-born African, as his cheek-bones were high and his nose hooked, while his mouth was broad and thin-lipped and his chin rounded and resolute. The lobes of his ears had been bored and distended so that each contained a ring of wood three or four inches in diameter. The custom of boring the ears and subsequently distending them prevails in Chaga, and very often the distended lobe almost touches the shoulder of its owner. "Mr. Johnston purchased a site for his plantation after some bargaining, and then settled down to work. Mandara presented the stranger with a cow and some goats and sheep, the Zanzibari porters built houses, a kitchen garden was started with a great variety of seeds of the tropical and temperate zones, and before a week had passed the explorer was eating a salad of his own growing. At first he was greatly annoyed by the attendants of Mandara's court, who came daily to him on begging excursions. He suspected that they were sent by the chief, but assumed in an interview with that dignitary that such was not the case. By a little diplomacy he managed to win the monarch's favor, at least for a time, and compel his annoyers to stay away. [Illustration: MANDARA'S LEFT EAR.] "He found the nights cool at the elevation where his plantation was situated; at daylight the temperature was a little above fifty degrees, but it rose steadily with the sun as the day advanced. The air was pure and dry, and Mr. Johnston says that but for the occasional troubles with his neighbors the life on the mountain slope would have been delightful. On certain days the natives held markets, at which he bought various supplies for his people; he rarely did any purchasing himself, but left the business to his head men, as the natives invariably sought to cheat him in bargaining. "Mr. Johnston had brought two men from Zanzibar to assist him in collecting birds and plants, but they proved of no use, and had to be discharged and sent back to the coast. Consequently all the labor of collecting fell upon himself, and he was very actively employed during every day of his stay in Chaga. He had a great deal of trouble with Mandara, who begged constantly for anything he wanted, and would have soon reduced his visitor to a condition of beggary. At one time he cut off all supplies of food, forbidding his people to sell anything to the strangers, and placing a cordon of fighting-men around Mr. Johnston's settlement to make sure that his orders were obeyed. He finally became so troublesome that the explorer moved his camp to another district, where the chief was more amiable, though not less inclined to beg." [Illustration: A CORNER OR MR. JOHNSTON'S SETTLEMENT.] "Did he get to the summit of the mountain?" one of the youths inquired. "No," said the Doctor, "he was unable to ascend to the top, but on two occasions he reached the snow-line, at a height of 16,315 feet, which was higher than any of the natives had ever been. As the height by survey is estimated at 18,880 feet, he was within about twenty-five hundred feet of the desired point. Vegetation ends at 15,000 feet, and from that point to the snow-line the mountain consists of large boulders, broken rocks, and sand. Mr. Johnston says the ascent as far as he went is quite easy when compared with that of other great mountains of the world, but he was not properly equipped for the effort, and his men were unwilling to tempt the demons that are supposed to occupy the peak. He was bitterly disappointed at his inability to gaze into the extinct crater of Kilimanjaro, and was obliged to leave that honor for some future traveller. "By the end of six months in the country around the great mountain he was out of funds, and, as money is needed for living in Africa quite as much as in any other part of the world, he was obliged to return to Zanzibar. On the road to the coast he encountered a band of the dreaded Masai warriors, and for a short time was in great danger of an attack. How he prevented it is best told in his own words: "They called on two or three of our men to advance and confer with them, so Kiongwé, Ibrahim, and Bakari went. After asking various questions as to who I was, where I came from, and whither I was going, the Masai leader inquired, 'Had we any sickness?' This query aroused a happy but sadly unveracious thought in my mind. 'Tell him,' I said to Kiongwé, in Swahili, a language the Masai do not understand, 'tell him we have small-pox.' Kiongwé grasped the idea and said to the Masai captain, with well-feigned vexation, 'Yes, we have a man suffering from the white disease' (the Masai name for small-pox). 'Show him,' the leader replied, at the same time moving several yards off. I immediately dragged forward an Albino, who was a porter in my caravan--a wretched pink-and-white creature, with tow-colored hair and mottled skin. The Masai at once exclaimed, 'Oh, this is a bad disease--look! it has turned the poor man white!' Then he shouted out that he had no wish to interfere with us, nor would they take anything from our infected goods. One concession alone they asked, and this we readily granted, which was that we would not follow too closely on their footsteps lest they might get our 'wind' and catch the disease. And with this they turned around, rejoined their fellows, called up their herd of cows and donkeys, and slowly wended their way up the hilly path. In half an hour's time the last Masai had disappeared, and we saw no more of them." "And now," remarked the Doctor, "as we have seen Mr. Johnston safely on his return from the exploration of Kilimanjaro and the ascent of that famous mountain, let us return to Mr. Thomson and his journey to Masai Land." Under this hint Frank proceeded: [Illustration: VIEW OF KILIMANJARO.] "We left Mr. Thomson among the Wa-teita people near the base of Mount Kilimanjaro," said the youth, "and from there he went to Chaga and to the court of the chief Mandara. Very unwisely he showed his property to Mandara, who immediately coveted nearly everything, and managed to squeeze out a great deal by way of tribute. The explorer did not tarry long with this exacting ruler, but pushed on as speedily as possible in the direction of the Masai. On the threshold of their country he met a band of warriors and, somewhat to his surprise, was hospitably received, though not until he had gone through an elaborate ceremony by which he and the chief of the band were made blood brothers. The amount of tribute he was to pay was then negotiated, and, unhappily for him, it proved very heavy. "The good feeling only lasted a short time, as the news was received that a German expedition which had entered the country a few days before had had a fight with the Masai, and blood had been shed on both sides. The whole country rose in arms against the Englishman, and he was forced to retreat across the border. In the middle of the night he left his camp, his men moving in perfect silence and very fearful lest one of their donkeys should bray and thus show that the caravan was stealing away. Fortunately the animals followed the silent example of their masters, and the retreat was safely accomplished. [Illustration: CAMP SCENE.] "Leaving his men in camp in a safe place, Mr. Thomson returned to the coast to obtain a fresh stock of goods with which to attempt again a journey through Masai Land. On his return he had the good-fortune to find a large caravan belonging to some coast traders who were going in his direction, and after a little negotiation he arranged to join his forces with theirs. Thus he was comparatively secure from danger of attack by the Masai, but on the other hand his movements were dependent on those of the traders, who are never in a hurry as long as there is anything to be made by remaining in camp. On such occasions he devoted himself to hunting, and as the country abounded in game he found enough to do. Elephants, zebras, several varieties of antelopes, lions, leopards, and smaller game fell before his rifle, together with several rhinoceroses and buffaloes. He emphatically avows that he shot these animals only for food and not for the mere sport of killing. The meat thus obtained frequently kept his camp supplied for days and days together. "Mr. Thomson," Fred continued, "is enthusiastic in his description of the Masai warriors whom he first encountered. The elders of the tribe came fearlessly into camp notwithstanding that in the previous year they had attacked nearly every caravan that entered the country, and on one occasion stabbed about forty porters without the least provocation. He says they were magnificent specimens of their race, considerably over six feet in height, and with an aristocratic dignity that filled the Englishman with admiration. They referred to the attacks upon the caravans as the most trivial circumstances, and said it was only because the young warriors wanted to taste blood just to keep themselves in practice. Their language was equivalent to the old adage that 'boys will be boys, and their wild oats must be sown.' The debate ended peacefully and, luckily for the strangers, nearly all the fighting-men were at that time away on a cattle-stealing expedition. "The Masai people had a great horror of being photographed, as they supposed the camera was a bewitching machine which would work them great harm. Mr. Thomson came near getting into trouble by shooting a marabout stork which he saw near the camp. It seems that storks and adjutants are looked upon as sacred; as they, along with the hyenas, are the grave-diggers, or rather the graves of the Masai. These people do not bury or burn their dead, but simply throw out the corpses to be devoured, in much the same way as the Parsees of Bombay carry their dead to the Towers of Silence on Malabar Hill to be eaten by vultures. "The hunting was so good in the neighborhood of this camp that in one day our friend 'bagged' four rhinoceroses, one giraffe, four zebras, and four antelopes, all within six hours. He saw the tracks of elephants and buffaloes, but did not kill any; though a hunter from the traders' camp managed to kill an elephant whose tusks weighed a little short of two hundred pounds. The Masai people proved to be inveterate thieves, and, in spite of the greatest precautions, not a day passed without the loss of more or less property which the light-fingered scoundrels managed to lay their hands on. Mr. Thomson was looked upon as a wonderful worker of magic, but even the respect that was due him as a magician did not prevent the people from stealing his goods. [Illustration: AFRICAN ADJUTANTS.] "On the road the Masai used to rush up to the caravan singly or in twos or threes and attempt to carry off the loads from the porters' heads; if they failed no effort was made to punish them; and if they succeeded they were not pursued to any great distance, as their friends would be sure to come to their rescue. At night the camp was surrounded by a stockade or a fence of thorns, and several times the Masai attempted to enter the stockades and stampede the animals belonging to the caravan. Hostile demonstrations were numerous, and escapes from fights exceedingly narrow. [Illustration: A WELL-STOCKED HUNTING-GROUND.] "At a convenient point on the road Mr. Thomson left the caravan temporarily, to make a flying trip to Mount Kenia with a selected party of his best men. He kept up his character of magician, and, by an ingenious ruse with his teeth (two of which were false), he carried conviction with his assertion. 'Come to me,' he said to one of the wondering warriors, 'and I will cut off your nose and put it on again. Just look at my teeth; see how firm they are,' and as he said so he tapped them with his knuckles. 'Now I turn my head and, see, the teeth are gone;' and the crowd shrank back in dismay and was on the point of seeking safety in flight. 'Hold on a moment,' said the white magician, and with another turn of the head he put the teeth in place and stood smiling before the petrified spectators. "He says his artificial teeth were perfect treasures to him, and doubtless to their aid he owed his safety. But he was obliged to keep up his exhibition so frequently that it soon became a nuisance. His man Martin pretended also to be a magician, and told one of the Masai women that he could cut off his finger and restore it immediately. As he extended the finger the woman suddenly seized it and half bit it off, which raised a howl from Martin, and caused him for the future to make no further boasts of his magical skill. [Illustration: PLAIN AND MOUNTAINS IN MASAI LAND.] "The expedition reached the foot of Mount Kenia, but all thought of ascending it had to be given up, as the Masai were very troublesome and food was scarce. The mountain is thought to be a little more than eighteen thousand feet high, and its summit is covered with snow. Like its great neighbor to the south, it is believed to be an extinct volcano. In fact, the proofs of its former character are clearly shown in beds of lava and frequent traces of volcanic action. Up to a height of fifteen thousand feet its slope is very gentle, but after that it rises in a sharp cone almost like a sugar-loaf, and would be exceedingly difficult of ascent. The slope of the peak is so steep that the snow slides off in places and reveals the rocks, and to this circumstance Kenia owes its Masai name of Donyo Egéré or 'Speckled Mountain.' "With various adventures and narrow escapes Mr. Thomson pushed his exploration to the shore of the Victoria Nyanza, which he reached about forty miles to the east of the outlet of the lake. Near the lake he found a people unlike the Masai, as they had a decidedly negro type of countenance. The Masai have very little to identify them with the negro, and Mr. Thomson says they can in no sense be called negroes. In their cranial development, as in their language, they are widely different from the natives of Central and Southern Africa, and occupy a far higher position in the scale of humanity. "The Masai people are divided into some ten or twelve tribes, and these tribes or clans have many smaller divisions. Some are more aristocratic than others, and there is hardly a time when two or more of them are not indulging in war. Some of these wars have resulted in the almost complete destruction of the defeated tribes, and the expulsion of the remnant from the country; the defeated ones becoming peaceful and orderly, and the victors more insolent than ever. The boys in all the fighting tribes are trained to war; they live apart from the families and are under the control of a leader who is elected by ballot, has the power of life and death over his subjects, settles disputes, and may be turned out of office whenever he becomes unpopular with the majority. "The clothing of a Masai boy consists of a coating of grease and clay rubbed over his skin. When he becomes old enough he is equipped with a bow and arrows with which he practises upon small animals, and occasionally upon his playmates. Great care is taken in the distension of the lobes of his ears, which are nursed as carefully as the budding mustache of more civilized lands. A slender stick is thrust through the lobe, then a larger one is inserted, and the process is continued until a piece of ivory six inches long can be inserted endwise. "When the boy blossoms into a warrior he is equipped with a spear having a blade thirty inches long, a short sword, and a knob-stick; the latter intended for throwing at an advancing enemy, or crushing the skull of a disabled one on the ground. All these weapons are made by an inferior tribe that lives in the land of the Masai, and is compelled to do their menial work; from another tribe of the same low grade the Masai purchase their shields, as they never make their own. The markings and adornments on a shield show to what tribe or clan its owner belongs. "When going to war a Masai removes the stretchers from his ears and substitutes a tassel of iron rings, or something of the sort; covers his shoulders with a mantle of kite's feathers; winds a strip of cotton about his neck, and allows it to wave behind him as he runs; places his sword and knob-stick in his belt; anoints his body with grease and clay; decorates his legs with streamers of the long hair of the colobus monkey, so that he suggests the Winged Mercury. On his head is a remarkable contrivance formed of ostrich feathers, stuck into a band of leather and fastened around the face in an elliptical shape. His armament is completed by his spear and shield, and thus arrayed he is ready for business, and a very troublesome fellow he is, according to all accounts. [Illustration: EAR-STRETCHERS AND EAR-ORNAMENTS.] "Making war, stealing cattle from other tribes, plundering caravans, and similar predatory performances make up the life of a Masai warrior. When a man marries he gives up fighting and settles down into domestic ways, and thus it happens that all the warriors in Masai land are single men. Mr. Thomson says the Masai women are the handsomest of their sex in all Africa; they are slender and graceful, and distinctly ladylike both in manner and physique. They are dressed in bullock's hides, from which the hair has been scraped; their heads are shaved smooth, and sometimes their faces are painted white." "I have read somewhere," said Fred, "that they wear great quantities of wire, the same as did the women of Chumbiri described by Mr. Stanley on the Congo." [Illustration: A MASAI WARRIOR.] "That is true," Frank replied, "and the amount of wire worn by the Masai women is something wonderful. Telegraph wire is coiled around the lower limbs from the knees to the ankles, and around the arms both above and below the elbow. Round the neck more wire is coiled; it is arranged in a horizontal shape, so that the head seems to be sticking up through an inverted platter. The wire is put on when the women are young and is never removed, consequently the limbs present a withered appearance, the legs being of a uniform size from the ankle to the knee. The weight of iron wire worn by a Masai woman varies from ten to thirty pounds; in addition to this, she carries great quantities of beads and iron chains around her neck. [Illustration: MASAI MARRIED WOMAN, WITH PAINTED FACE.] "It seems almost a wonder," Frank continued, "that Mr. Thomson with his small party was able to make his way safely through Masai Land and back to the coast, as he did." "Perhaps it is a greater wonder," said Fred, "that Bishop Hannington, whose life I have been reading, a man of the most amiable disposition, went through Masai Land unharmed, to meet his death at the hands of Mwanga, the King of Uganda." "How did it happen that he ventured there?" "Because," was the reply, "he had been once to Uganda by the same route that Mr. Stanley followed, and the bishop found that route very unhealthy, and became so ill that he was sent back before reaching Rubaga. When he started again for Uganda, in the early part of 1885, he decided upon going through Masai Land, as the route was much shorter and the country far less swampy and pestiferous. The only perils were from the terrible Masai; they repeatedly barred his way, and several times were on the point of attacking his caravan, but, by a determined but gentle bearing, he managed to prevent actual hostilities. Some of his property was stolen in spite of all watchfulness, but there was no bloodshed on either side. "When the caravan was within fifty miles of Lake Victoria and all danger was supposed to be passed, Bishop Hannington decided to leave the caravan in camp and proceed with fifty of his followers to the lake, whence he would send word to the king of his approach. When he was near the Ripon Falls of the Victoria Nile he was imprisoned by a band of armed men and kept a close prisoner in a hut until word could be sent to the king. After an imprisonment of eight days he was killed in compliance with the king's orders." "Why did the king wish to put him to death?" Frank inquired. "The king, who had but recently succeeded to the throne of his father Mtesa, was only eighteen years of age, and easily swayed by his councillors. The latter were afraid of the influence of the Europeans, as they foresaw the ultimate destruction of their power through the advent of the strangers; they worked upon the young king and aroused his jealousy, and easily persuaded him to take severe measures. The natives who had become converted to Christianity were put to death or otherwise maltreated, no less than thirty being bound together and placed on a pile of wood where they were burned alive on account of their religion. The missionaries were imprisoned, all teaching of religion was prohibited, and the prospect was gloomy. "The old king, Mtesa, was always opposed to the exploration of Masai Land, and did not like the idea of Europeans coming to his dominions from that direction. His son and all the councillors had the same feeling, and it is now known that when Mr. Thomson reached the shore of the lake by that route he was in greater danger than he had supposed. The chief of the region bordering the lake was severely reprimanded and removed from office because he failed to bind the white man and send him a prisoner to Rubaga. "Just as the bishop was approaching Uganda by the Masai route, news came to the king that the Germans had seized some ports on the east coast of Africa and were about to take possession of all the country up to the shores of Lake Victoria. This information created great alarm, as it foreboded an advance of the white men in that direction; while it was under discussion Bishop Hannington reached the shore of the lake, and notice of his arrival was sent to the king. "From the Ugandan point of view all white men were alike, and all were at that time dangerous to the liberties of the country. After a short deliberation with his councillors the king gave orders that the bishop should be put to death; he had advocated sending him back to the coast, but was easily persuaded to the severer course. "The manner of his death is thus told by his biographer: "He was conducted to an open space without the village, and found himself surrounded once more by his own men. With a wild shout the warriors fell upon his helpless caravan men, and their flashing spears soon covered the ground with the dead and dying. In that supreme moment we have the happiness of knowing that the bishop faced his destiny like a Christian and a man. As the soldiers told off to murder him closed round he made one last use of that commanding mien which never failed to secure for him the respect of the most savage. Drawing himself up he looked around, and as they momentarily hesitated with poised weapons he spoke a few words which graved themselves upon their memories and which they afterwards repeated just as they were heard. He bade them tell the king that he was about to die for the B-a-ganda, and that he had purchased the road to Buganda with his life. Then, as they still hesitated, he pointed to his own gun, which one of them discharged, and the great and noble spirit leaped forth from its broken house of clay and entered with exceeding joy into the presence of the King." [Illustration: UGANDA HEAD-DRESS.] "The death of Bishop Hannington and the imprisonment of the missionaries at the capital of Uganda has by no means stopped the work of the London mission societies," the Doctor remarked, as Fred concluded the reading of the foregoing quotation. "For a time it has been suspended in Uganda, but the effort at Christianizing Africa is being vigorously pushed elsewhere. New stations are being opened every year, and I have just read in a newspaper that a small steamboat will soon be placed on the Victoria Nyanza. It is to be called the _James Hannington_, in memory of the hero missionary, and will no doubt be of great use in bringing the people of Central Africa to a knowledge of the ways and works of civilization." [Illustration: PLACE WHERE BISHOP HANNINGTON WAS IMPRISONED AND KILLED.] CHAPTER XXI. STANLEY'S HUNTING ADVENTURES.--AFRICA THE FIELD FOR THE SPORTSMAN.--HUNTING IN SOUTH AFRICA.--NIGHT-SHOOTING AT WATER-HOLES AND SPRINGS.--ABUNDANCE OF GAME.--DANGER OF THIS KIND OF SPORT.--LIONS AND ELEPHANTS.--MAN-EATING LIONS.--IN THE JAWS OF A LION.--DR. LIVINGSTONE'S NARROW ESCAPE.--THE HOPO, OR GAME-TRAP ON A LARGE SCALE.--DU CHAILLU AND HIS ADVENTURES.--SHOOTING THE GORILLA.--RESEMBLANCE OF THE GORILLA TO MAN.--PRODIGIOUS STRENGTH OF THE GORILLA.--HOW HE IS HUNTED.--THE END. [Illustration: AFRICAN ORYX, OR GEMSBOK.] One day while our friends were discussing "Through the Dark Continent" and considering its admirable qualities as a book of travel, Frank remarked that there were few volumes of African exploration which had so little to say about hunting adventures. "I suppose the reason may be found," he continued, "in the fact that Mr. Stanley was too busy with his work of ascertaining the characteristics of the country and people to give time to hunting. Occasionally he shot game to supply his people with meat, but in telling the story of his few shooting experiences he is exceedingly brief." [Illustration: SOUTH AFRICAN HUNTING--IN CAMP.] "Not only was he greatly occupied with his work as an explorer," replied the Doctor, "but he had a positive aversion to shedding the blood of animals, not even excepting the noxious ones. If a lion came in his way or threatened the safety of his camp he was ready enough to shoot it, but he did not have the craving for slaughter that leads a man to tramp all day through a forest or over hills, or sit through the night in a desolate spot for the mere pleasure of taking a shot at anything that happens along. Many African explorers have more to say about their hunting experiences than anything else, and I have now in mind the book of an explorer who gives minute details concerning all the large animals that fell before his rifle, but has very little to say about the country and its inhabitants. "For the hunter in search of large game Africa is now the best field, but owing to the rapid increase in the number of hunters, the growing use of firearms by the natives, and the colonization of hitherto unsettled regions, the great animals are becoming shy and scarce. South Africa was and still is a favorite resort of sportsmen, but every year they must go farther and farther into the wilderness before finding what they seek." "How do they get up their hunting expeditions?" Fred asked. "The usual plan," replied the Doctor, "is to fit out one or two wagons with provisions, guns, ammunition, and trade goods for several months, and then strike into the wilderness away from all settlements. Two or three saddle-horses, together with donkeys, oxen, cows, and sheep, constitute the live-stock of the expedition. In Central Africa it would be impossible to travel with wagons, owing to the dense vegetation and the condition of the country, which is full of swamps and morasses, but in South Africa the circumstances are different. The country is not densely wooded, and in many parts it is absolutely treeless. Sometimes water is found there with difficulty, and every volume of hunting adventures in South Africa contains stories of the sufferings of men and animals through scarcity or absence of water. But this scarcity of water greatly facilitates the work of the hunter." "How is that?" "Where the springs and water-holes are far apart the wild animals must go long distances to drink, and if the hunter watches in their neighborhood he will have plenty of what he calls 'sport.' A favorite plan of these African hunters is to conceal themselves near a spring and shoot the elephants, lions, and other large beasts as they come for water." "That ought to be very easy," said one of the youths. "Not as easy as you might suppose," was the reply, "nor is it without danger. In the first place very few of the animals visit the springs in the daytime, their drinking being done at night. Furthermore, they choose the hours when there is no moon, and thus reduce the chance of being seen. In the moonless part of a month they come at any hour between darkness and daylight, but usually about midnight; on the nights when the moon shines they select the hours when it is below the horizon. Thus if the moon rises early they wait until it has set, and if it rises late they come to drink before it is above the horizon. One hunter says that if it had not been for this habit there is many a lion, rhinoceros, or elephant now roaming the forests of South Africa that would have fallen before his rifle. He says he has frequently heard a lion lapping the water within a dozen paces of him when the night was so dark that he could not get a sight of the brute." "Do all the wild animals of Africa observe this rule?" "None of them do so absolutely, and some are more observant of it than others. But all seem to know that there is danger near their drinking-places, and they conduct themselves accordingly. [Illustration: NIGHT HUNTING. ELEPHANTS COMING TO DRINK.] "A great deal depends upon the selection of the spot for concealment, and in making his selection the hunter has many things to think of. He must carefully observe the direction of the wind and make sure that it blows towards him from the places whence the animals approach the drinking-spot. Then, if possible, he must so station himself that elephants, giraffes, and other large animals will be outlined against the sky as they come within his range. He digs a pit three or four feet deep and surrounds it with brushwood so that the change of the ground is not likely to be noticed. Sometimes there is a convenient ant-hill close to the drinking-place, and if so this forms an excellent shooting-box, as the animals are familiar with its appearance and therefore are not likely to suspect that it conceals anything dangerous. [Illustration: AN AFRICAN SERENADE.] "One famous hunter, Andersson, gives it as his opinion that a night ambush beside an African pool, frequented by large animals, is worth all other modes of enjoying a gun put together. Other hunters express the same opinion, though some of them admit that it is a cruel sort of sport, as it takes the prey wholly unawares and with little chance for defence or escape. The peril of this sort of hunting is that sometimes an elephant, rhinoceros, or lion discovers whence came the shot that wounded him, and charges directly at the spot. In such a case the hunter in his pit is at a disadvantage, and his chief hope of safety is by a well-directed bullet when his assailant is within short range. Sometimes a wounded or frightened elephant runs straight to the spot, in his terror, and is liable to kill the hunter by tumbling upon him. There is one instance I have read of, wherein an elephant ran directly over the hunter, who was lying flat on the ground; the great feet of the animal grazed the head of his would-be slayer, but did not harm him. Had the elephant been less frightened he would have made short work of the man." "Is a lion more dangerous than an elephant in a case of this kind?" asked one of the youths. [Illustration: CLOSE SHAVE BY AN ELEPHANT.] "There is not much to choose between them," Doctor Bronson answered, "as both are to be dreaded, perhaps the lion more than the larger animal. Neither the lion nor the elephant will attack man without provocation, but when wounded they are very likely to turn upon their assailants. The courage of the lion has been greatly overrated in story-books, and also his noble conduct. The hunters who have made his intimate acquaintance, and written about him, say his characteristics are much like those of the hyena, and, like the latter beast, he is a skulking rather than an honorable foe. The female accompanied by her young is apt to be dangerous, but as for the male lion it can be set down as pretty certain that he will retire from danger if he has a chance to do so, even at the expense of his dignity." "Haven't I read of lions watching by the roadside and killing men and women without provocation?" said Fred. [Illustration: DEATH-GRAPPLE WITH A LION.] "Undoubtedly you have," was the reply. "The lions thus described are the dreaded man-eaters, who rank with the man-eating tigers of India. Having once tasted human flesh and learned how easily it is procured, they lie in wait by the roads and paths, and spring upon the unfortunates who come within their reach. A man-eating lion will pass through an entire herd of cattle to get at one of the herdsmen; his movements are as stealthy as those of the cat, and the victim never has the least warning of his enemy's approach. Very properly he is the subject of dread, and when a man-eater appears in the neighborhood of a settlement, large rewards are offered for his head. Sometimes there is an entire suspension of work and business until the man-eater has been killed or driven away. These man-eaters have been known to come into a camp, spring upon a man asleep by the side of his companions, drag him into the bushes, and deliberately kill and devour him under protection of the darkness. While the lion, under ordinary circumstances, is not an object of any especial dread on the part of hunters, all have a terror of the man-eater. "You never know, when you attack a lion, whether he will slink away or turn upon you; and every African hunter can tell stories of narrow escapes. As an illustration I will repeat one that was told to Mr. Andersson by the hero of it. "He had gone out with some of his friends in search of five lions that had broken into his cattle-enclosure the previous night. The lions were tracked to a thicket of reeds, which were set on fire, the hunters being stationed around the thicket to intercept the animals as they came out. One lion took the direction in which two of the hunters were stationed, one of them being the narrator of the story. "He fired, inflicting only a slight wound. Immediately the lion sprang upon him; he thrust his gun into the lion's mouth, but the weapon was demolished in an instant. 'At that moment,' said he, 'the other hunter fired and the lion fell with a broken shoulder, so that I was able to rise and scamper away. But the lion was not done with me; in spite of his crippled condition he came after me, and my foot catching in a creeper, I fell to the ground. He was upon me again, tearing my clothing with his claws and grazing the skin in his efforts to grasp my hip. He laid hold of my left wrist and crushed it, and he tore my right hand so that I was totally helpless. Just as he had done this my friend came up again, accompanied by his dog, which seized the lion by the leg and thus drew his attention from me. My friend watched his chance and fired at very close range; the ball crashed through the lion's skull and stretched him on the ground by my side.' The mutilated hunter was carried to camp, and eventually recovered from his wounds, but his left wrist was permanently crippled. "Doctor Livingstone was once in a similar peril," continued Doctor Bronson, as he opened the account of the famous missionary's travels and researches in South Africa. "Here is his account of the occurrence: "It is well known that if one of a troop of lions is killed the others take the hint and leave that part of the country. So, the next time the herds were attacked I went with the people in order to encourage them to rid themselves of the annoyance by destroying one of the marauders. We found the lions on a small hill, about a quarter of a mile in length and covered with trees. A circle of men was formed round it, and they gradually closed up, ascending pretty near each other. Being down below on the plain, with a native schoolmaster named Mebalwe, a most excellent man, I saw one of the lions sitting on a rock, within the now closed circle of men. Mebalwe fired at him before I could, and the ball struck the rock on which the animal was sitting. He bit at the spot struck, as a dog does at a stick or stone thrown at him; then, leaping away, broke through the opening circle and escaped unhurt. The men were afraid to attack him, perhaps on account of their belief in witchcraft. [Illustration: RHINOCEROS AND DOGS.] "When the circle was re-formed we saw two other lions in it; but we were afraid to fire lest we should strike the men, and they allowed the beasts to burst through also. Seeing we could not get the people to kill one of the lions we bent our steps towards the village; in going round the end of the hill, however, I saw one of the beasts sitting on a piece of rock as before, but he had a little bush in front. Being about thirty yards off, I took a good aim at his body, through the bush, and fired both barrels into it. The men then called out, 'He is shot! he is shot!' I saw the lion's tail erected in anger behind the bush, and, turning to the people, said, 'Stop a little, till I load again.' When in the act of ramming down the bullets I heard a shout. [Illustration: DR. LIVINGSTONE IN THE LION'S GRASP.] "Starting and looking half round, I saw the lion just in the act of springing upon me. I was upon a little height; he caught my shoulder as he sprang, and we both came to the ground below together. Growling horribly, he shook me as a terrier dog does a rat. The shock produced a stupor similar to that which seems to be felt by a mouse after the first shake of a cat. It caused a sort of dreaminess in which there was no sense of pain nor feeling of terror, though quite conscious of all that was happening. It was like what patients partially under the influence of chloroform describe, who see all the operation but feel not the knife. This singular condition was not the result of any mental process. The shake annihilated fear, and allowed no sense of horror in looking around at the beast. This peculiar state is probably produced in all animals killed by the carnivora; and, if so, it is a merciful provision by our benevolent Creator for lessening the pain of death. "Turning round to relieve myself of the weight, as he had one paw on the back of my head, I saw his eyes directed to Mebalwe, who was trying to shoot him at a distance of twelve or fifteen yards. His gun, a flint one, missed fire in both barrels; the lion immediately left me and, attacking Mebalwe, bit his thigh. Another man whose life I had saved before, after he had been tossed by a buffalo, attempted to spear the lion while he was biting Mebalwe. He left Mebalwe and caught this man by the shoulder, but at that moment the bullets he had received took effect, and he fell down dead. The whole was the work of a few moments, and must have been the paroxysms of his dying rage. Besides crushing the bone into splinters, he left eleven teeth wounds in the upper part of my arm." "Dr. Livingstone resembled Mr. Stanley in having no special fondness for hunting," continued Doctor Bronson, "and he has given us comparatively few hunting adventures in the record of his explorations. He gives an interesting account of the way the people of South Africa hunt game by driving, in the seasons when water is scarce and the wild animals congregate near the places where they can drink. They arrange two hedges in the shape of the letter V, each hedge being a mile or two in length and fully a mile across at the entrance. Then a large party of men go out quietly, and move so as to drive the game into the opening. The hedges are low at first, but as they approach each other they are increased in strength, so that the animals cannot break through them. The enclosure is called a 'hopo;' at its end there is a pit with a fall of six or eight feet from the end of the hopo, so that the animals which jump in cannot easily spring out again. Buffaloes, zebras, giraffes, hartebeests, gnus, antelopes, oryxes, and similar animals are caught in these pits; sometimes lions are driven in, but they can easily spring over the hedges, and no attempt is made to stop them." "That kind of hunting is not confined to South Africa, I believe," said Frank. [Illustration: THE HOPO, OR TRIP FOR DRIVING GAME.] "Not by any means," was the reply; "it is known over pretty nearly the whole world. It is used in India and Ceylon for trapping elephants, in Australia for capturing kangaroos, and in other parts of the world for other animals. Hunting by _battue_, or beating, is as old almost as man himself, and has been practised in all ages; the chief difference between the ordinary hunt by _battue_ and the capture of game in a hopo is that in the latter instance the game is caught in a pit or enclosure, while usually it is shot or otherwise killed as the lines of men are drawn closely together. In many hunts of this sort the use of firearms is forbidden on account of the danger of accidents, and where they are permitted it is generally the rule to fire towards the outside of the cordon of men and not towards the inside. [Illustration: PAUL DU CHAILLU IN AFRICA.] "One of the most famous hunters in Africa," said Doctor Bronson, after a pause, "was Paul du Chaillu, who has written several books, interesting alike to young and old. When he first published the account of his adventures his stories were received with incredulity, but as Africa has become better known the truth of his assertions has been made manifest. He was the first white man to hunt the gorilla, and probably the first who ever saw one of those animals. In the course of his explorations he travelled some eight thousand miles, nearly always on foot and unaccompanied by a white man. [Illustration: GORILLA HUNTING--MOTHER AND YOUNG AT PLAY.] "Nearly everywhere that he went he managed to get on friendly terms with the natives, who had not then been contaminated by contact with the Arab slave-hunters. Once his cook, whom he had brought from the coast, attempted to poison him, and with this object put two spoonfuls of arsenic in Du Chaillu's soup. The great overdose caused it to act as an emetic, and thus the explorer's life was saved. The cook fled to the woods when charged with the attempt to kill his master, but was caught by the natives and sentenced to death. Du Chaillu interfered and saved the fellow's life, and he was delivered in chains to the custody of his brothers, who came to intercede for him. "Du Chaillu tells of one tribe of natives on the African coast who choose their chief or king by election, and may therefore be called republicans. When a king dies his body is secretly buried, and there is mourning for six days. During this time the old men meet to choose a new king; the choice is made in private, and neither the people nor the new king are informed of the result until the morning of the seventh day. The information is kept from the man of their selection until the very last. "As soon as it is known who has been chosen the people surround him, pound him with their fists or with sticks, throw all sorts of disgusting objects at him, spit in his face, kick him, roll him on the ground, and otherwise maltreat and abuse him. Those who cannot get at him by reason of the crowd utter all sorts of uncomplimentary phrases, and they anathematize not only him but all his relatives in every generation. Du Chaillu thought the man's life was in real danger; but the secret of the whole business was shown by some of the men occasionally shouting out, 'You are not our king yet; for a little while we will do what we please with you. By and by we shall have to obey your will.' "He is expected to endure all this with a smiling face and to keep his temper throughout. When it has gone on for an hour or so he is taken to the old king's house, where he is seated, and for a little while receives a torrent of abuse, but this time it is entirely in words. Then all become silent, the elders rise and say, the people repeating after them: "'Now we choose you for our king; we engage to listen to you and to obey you.' "Then the emblems of royalty are brought out, and the ceremonies of coronation take place with the most profound dignity. The king is dressed in a red gown and receives every mark of respect from those who so lately abused him. After the coronation he must remain for six days in the house, and during all this period there are loud rejoicings, and all his subjects come to pay their respects. The old king was mourned for six days, and it is considered nothing more than proper that the new one should have six days of rejoicing. The fact is, the new one is pretty nearly half dead at the end of the festival, as he is obliged to receive all comers at any hour of day or night, and sit down and eat and drink with them. Doubtless he is thoroughly happy when the festival is over, and he can walk out and view his dominions. [Illustration: DU CHAILLU'S FIRST GORILLA.] "The explorer gives an interesting account of the gorilla, and his first meeting with the animal makes a dramatic scene in his story. He had just shot a snake, which his men devoured with delight, but our friend, though very hungry, could not venture upon this sort of food. Noticing some sugar-canes growing near, he proceeded to cut them, in order to suck the juice and satisfy the cravings of his appetite. [Illustration: HEAD OF KOOLOO-KAMBA.] "As he was cutting the canes, assisted by his men, the latter called his attention to several that had been broken down and chewed into fragments while others had been torn up by the roots. It was evidently the work of gorillas, and threw the whole party into a state of great excitement. The tracks in the soft earth showed that there were several gorillas in company, and immediately Du Chaillu proceeded to hunt them. [Illustration: EAR OF KOOLOO-KAMBA.] "He divided his men into two parties, one led by himself and the other by an attendant named Makinda. The animals were supposed to be behind a large rock, and the two parties moved so as to encircle it. Suddenly there was a cry which had a very human sound, and four young gorillas ran from the concealment of the rock towards the forest. He says they ran on their hind-legs and looked wonderfully like hairy men as they inclined their bodies forward, held their heads down, and to all appearances were like men running for their lives to escape from danger. Du Chaillu fired at them, but hit nothing, and the animals made good their escape. The party ran after them till all were out of breath and then returned to camp. He says he felt very much like a murderer, as the animals had so nearly the appearance of humanity. "Some days later he was more successful in hunting the gorilla. He was out with his party, when suddenly the sound of the breaking of a branch of a tree was heard. The natives intimated that they were near a gorilla, and very cautiously all proceeded; soon they came in sight of the huge beast breaking down the limbs and branches of the trees to get at the berries. They stood still, as he was moving in their direction, and in a little while he was right in front of them. He had moved through the jungle on all fours, but as he came in sight of the party he stood erect like a man. [Illustration: DU CHAILLU ASCENDING AN AFRICAN RIVER.] "Then he gave vent to a tremendous barking roar which is very difficult to describe, and beat his breasts with his huge fists till they resounded like drums. This is the gorilla's mode of offering defiance, roaring and beating the breast at the same time. The roar begins with a sharp bark, like that of an angry dog, then glides into a deep bass roll, which literally and closely resembles the roll of distant thunder, so that it is sometimes taken for it when the animal is not in sight. "The gorilla was about twelve yards from Du Chaillu when he first appeared; he advanced a few steps, then stopped and roared and beat his breasts again, then made another advance and stopped about six yards away. As he stopped a second time, Du Chaillu fired and killed him. The shot was well aimed, and death was almost instantaneous. Measurement showed that the animal was five feet eight inches in height, but when standing erect, at his first appearance, he seemed to be fully six feet. "During his wanderings in Africa Mr. Du Chaillu killed several gorillas, whose skins and skeletons he preserved and sent to England and America, where they attracted much attention in the scientific world. On two or three occasions he was fortunate enough to capture some young gorillas alive, but found it impossible to tame them. They showed the most furious temper and bit at everybody who came near them; at first they refused food, but after a while their hunger got the best of their obstinacy and they ate the berries and leaves that were gathered for them from their native forests. But all sickened and died, and I believe that no one has ever succeeded in taming one of these animals." "Was nothing known about the gorilla until Mr. Du Chaillu hunted him?" Fred asked, as Doctor Bronson paused. "Something was known about him," was the reply, "but not a great deal; he had been heard of for several centuries, but no white man had ever seen a living or even a dead gorilla. Dr. Wilson, a missionary on the west coast of Africa, discovered the skull of a gorilla in 1846, and a year later he found the skull and part of the skeleton of another. These relics were sent, one to Dr. Savage, of Boston, and the other--the second discovery--to the Boston Society of Natural History. "Wonderful stories were told about this animal by the negroes. It was said that he lurked upon trees, by the roadside or overhanging the paths, drew up unsuspecting passers-by with his paws, and then choked them to death. He was said to carry a stick or staff when walking, and to use it as a weapon of defence; troops of gorillas thus attacked elephants and beat them to death; the gorilla built himself a house of leaves and twigs among the trees and sat on the roof; and sometimes whole armies of gorillas banded together for purposes of war. All these stories proved to be fables; almost the only truthful account of the gorilla's prowess was that he was a terrible fighter and more than a match for a lion. Mr. Du Chaillu says that the lion does not inhabit the same region with the gorilla, and there is little doubt that the latter can whip the lion in ordinary combat. [Illustration: GORILLA SKULL.] "The strength of this creature is prodigious. A young one, two or three years old, requires four strong men to hold it, and even then in its struggles it is likely to bite one or more of them severely. It can dent a musket-barrel with its teeth, and an adult gorilla will bend a musket as though it were made of the softest wood. It can break off trees three or four inches in diameter, and a single blow of one of its fists will smash a man's skull like a sledge-hammer. It fights with arms and teeth, and does terrible execution with both." [Illustration: HUMAN SKULL.] "Does the gorilla walk erect like man, or on all-fours like the other members of the ape family?" Frank inquired. "Ordinarily it walks on all-fours," the Doctor answered, "but under certain circumstances it stands erect. When it advances to meet an assailant, or when desiring to look around, it rises to an erect position, and then assumes its greatest resemblance to man. If you look at the human and the gorilla skeletons side by side, you will perceive a great difference in their structure and readily understand how the locomotion of the gorilla on his hind-feet alone would not be altogether convenient. The fore-legs, or arms, of the gorilla are very much longer than those of man, and also very much stronger. A man unarmed could offer no practical resistance to a gorilla, and all who have hunted him understand this fact." "Do they hunt him with anything else than guns?" [Illustration: SKELETONS OF MAN AND THE GORILLA.] "No; or, at any rate, they only do so on very rare occasions. The rule of the gorilla-hunter is to wait until the animal is quite near, say within twenty feet, before firing. Unless the first shot is fatal or can be immediately followed by another from a repeating rifle or a gun in the hands of others standing near, the man who fired the first shot is almost certain to be killed. The gorilla rushes upon him, and there is no chance for defence or flight. A single blow from the animal's fist generally terminates the struggle. One of Du Chaillu's companions was killed in this way, and the great hunter himself had a narrow escape. He said it was very trying to his nerves to stand and wait five minutes or more while the gorilla was advancing slowly, halting occasionally to beat its breast and utter its cries, until he was in the very short range desired." "What do you think of the relation of the gorilla to man?" Fred asked, with a smile developed on his face. [Illustration: A YOUNG GORILLA--DU CHAILLU'S CAPTIVE.] "That is a question I hesitate to discuss, as I am not versed in the arguments that have been advanced by the scientists. Perhaps we'll talk that over some other time, when we have more light on the subject. Du Chaillu says that the gorilla skeleton, the skull excepted, resembles the bony frame of man more than does that of any other anthropoid ape. The form and proportion of the pelvis, the number of ribs, the length of the arm, the width of the hand, and the structure and arches of the feet--all these characteristics and some of its habits, appeared to the hunter and explorer to place the gorilla nearer to man than any other anthropoid ape is placed." Doctor Bronson paused and looked at his watch; and his action was taken as a signal for suspending the talk about the wild animals of Africa. Frank and Fred thanked their mentor for the information he had given them, and especially about the gorilla; their curiosity had been roused by the repeated mention of the Soko in Mr. Stanley's story of his journey "through the Dark Continent," and consequently the account of this strange beast was heard with interest. And as their conversation comes to an end we will return our thanks to the trio of travellers, Doctor Bronson, Frank, and Fred, and express the hope that we shall meet them again. THE END. 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